somniphobia

safehouse

The rest of the team was already inside by the time he slipped through the front door and locked it behind him, (Three locks. All of his safehouses had three sets of locks.) all of them doing exactly what he’d said and checking every window latch and every back door. Bruce could feel Superman’s eyes on him, scanning his movements for any sign of fatigue, but he refused to waver under Clark’s gaze. 

He was fine. He’d been hiding his entire life, disappearing in order to survive, weaving lies and shadows to everyone who laid eyes on him. A situation like this wasn’t something that was entirely unfamiliar. 
He just wasn’t used to having other people to worry about. 

He should feel better this time. There were people here he trusted with his life, people who had proven time and time again that they had his back as much as he had theirs, capable heroes who could hold their own no matter what the world threw at him. 
Instead, it was only sending his thoughts spiraling farther downward than they would have if he’d been alone. Too many things could go wrong. Too many people could get hurt. One wrong move could mean he loses a teammate. One bad decision could get his friends killed. 

This was exactly why he worked alone. 

“We should be safe here for a couple days at least,” Bruce said . Should be. They had to be. “I’ll keep an eye on things and make sure we don’t have any company. The sooner we come up with a plan the better.” 

“Nice place,” Hal commented, plopping onto the flimsy armchair in the corner of the main room. Bruce didn’t think that thing had ever been sat on before now. “If it wasn’t for the impending doom, this might actually be a nice getaway.” 

“It is a nice view,” Wonder Woman agreed. Bruce rubbed his temples, barely registering their words through the mush his brain was quickly melting into. “Right now all we can do is wait for J’onn to get back to us with more information. Until then, we all need to get some rest. We’ll be useless in battle run ragged like this.” 

“She’s right.” 

Bruce did his best to tune back in as Superman voiced his agreement, a shudder of relief falling over the rest of the team, but his mind was stuck elsewhere. 

This was one of the largest safehouses he had access to, but there was still the question of having enough room for everyone. The manor would have easily been able to house all of them, but putting Alfred or the kids at unnecessary risk was out of the question. 
It would be a bit cramped here, but it was far better than wearing themselves thin staying on the run, or dead on the battlefield. Though he’d never willingly admit it, he was beyond grateful to be out of that damn car, his stiff legs still protesting every little movement. 

They’d need to take shifts throughout the night. Bruce had no plans to leave his post or drop his guard anytime soon, but he could admit to himself that he wasn’t running at full capacity. He could use a second pair of eyes tonight. Not to mention he still needed to take stock of what supplies they had left, and gauge whether or not it was safe enough to make the drive into town to pick up more food or water or tools.

Bruce knew how to remain unseen, blend into a crowd and slip in and out unnoticed, but the idea of leaving the cabin for even a few minutes sent a rush of alarm shooting down his spine. 

Then again, sending someone else would mean one of them would be alone and defenseless, and Bruce wouldn’t be able to have eyes on a member of his team. They could be followed or hurt or captured, and Bruce would have no idea. 

He could send Barry, he’d be in and out in the blink of an eye and nobody would even notice, but that would mean using his powers, running the risk of being tracked down, and they couldn’t take that chance either. 
Which meant they’d need to hold off on making the trip for now, and hope they had enough supplies for all of them. Bruce always kept his safehouses stocked, always prepared for the worst, but he only ever planned on one person using them at a time. Two at most, if he and Dick managed to get caught up in something together. 

There were countless other things to worry about, whirling around his scattered mind like a torn up checklist. He should make another round of the house, double and triple check his security, maybe even scan the surrounding woods again just to make sure they weren’t being watched. After that, he still needed to–

“Batman?” 

Bruce blinked, careful not to make it too obvious that he’d completely lost track of the conversation. They were all staring at him, expectant and a little concerned, and Bruce ignored the frustration threatening to rise up in his chest. He’d usually never let himself zone out like this, and he felt a spark of panic flicker to life in his chest. He couldn’t afford to be off his game, not when the situation was so dire. Not when he had so many people relying on him. 
“There’s two beds,” he explained, taking a wild guess as to what they were asking him.  He had the odd sensation that he was floating, his voice far away to his own ears. God, he was so tired. “One in the bedroom down the hall, one in the loft upstairs. You can all work out who’s getting the couch. I’ll keep watch for the first few hours, but after that I need you to start taking shifts so I can handle some work around the house. I’ll need at least one of you to help me go over–” 

“Batman,” Clark said again, more forceful this time, and he almost looked surprised when Bruce snapped his mouth shut. He didn’t have the energy to try to talk over Superman right now. “You’re sleeping first. We can handle the rest.” 

Bruce hoped the way his panic skyrocketed wasn’t as obvious as it felt, silently grateful he still hadn’t removed his cowl. Not that it would do anything to deter the alien who could hear his heartbeat from across an ocean. “No.” 

“You need to sleep,” Diana said, the princess leaned far too casually against the kitchen counter, like she didn’t expect this to turn into much of a debate. “We can handle whatever it is that needs to be done, go on and get some rest.” 

“You all need to sleep more than I do,” Bruce argued. He was the one who was used to pulling all-nighters, running himself into the ground, being pushed forward by nothing but fear and spite. “I have work to do.” 

“What work?” Clark asked. His voice was soft, treading carefully, and Bruce was quickly becoming sick of being treated like a cornered animal. His skin was crawling, but snapping and creating an unnecessary argument was the last thing any of them needed. “Checking inventory and keeping watch? Any of us can handle that, it doesn’t have to be you.” 

“It’s my safehouse.” 

“This isn’t our first rodeo, Bats.” Hal was smirking at him from across the room, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes, shoulders held far too tense for his nonchalance to be genuine. “Seriously, man. We got this, go lay down. You look like shit.” 

“I’m fine.” 

“You are not fine,” Diana said, voice tilting towards something that teetered dangerously between affectionate and authoritative. “All of us managed to sleep in the car, and I know you. You didn’t get a chance to sleep before any of this started, did you?” 

And Bruce… didn’t have an argument for that. Because she was right. Just before the League had called him in to deal with what turned into an endless week of dodging extraterrestrial attack after extraterrestrial attack, he’d been trapped in a game of cat and mouse with Joker, keeping him on his toes for two nights in a row before he finally sent the clown back to his Arkham cell. 

He’d managed to snag maybe an hour and a half after that, dumping himself unceremoniously on the couch in the early afternoon sun before Alfred shook him awake to inform him of Superman's distress call.  

But that was his job. He was supposed to be able to handle this.