Chapter Text
It was a new batch from Crane. Cuddle pollen and fear gas mix.
Unknown effects.
But it was better him than the others.
"Nightwing.” Bruce’s voice through the comm line. “Take over leading commands. Signal's mask is broken. No spares. Giving him mine," he rumbled in that no-nonsense, mid-combat Batman tone they’d all grown used to.
"Yikes," Steph managed between kicks.
"What--B. We don't know what this stuff does--"
Dick's voice was cut off by a snarled: "Take. Over."
"Tt. I should be the one to command," Damian's muttered through the line.
"As if, princeling--incoming!" an explosion and gunfire from Jason's direction, somewhere on the battle field (a block between City Hall and the Financial District). "...--I'm good!"
"Oracle, any luck on the new antidote?" Tim asked breathlessly as he hopped across a rooftop, chucking down a Batarang as a goon tried to sneak up behind Dick.
"Negative. Unknown component. Is Signal injured?" Barbara responded. There was rapid typing in the background of her audio.
"I'm--I'm good!" Duke's voice finally rang out. Muffled slightly in the way the rest of them were; masked and safe from the fumes. "B's acting weird though--woah!" Duke's voice cut off as Bruce suddenly reeled towards him.
The thing about Bruce? He could, and had frequently, carried multiple Robins at once--including Jason's hulking form one armed.
So Duke? Weighed nothing.
The sixteen year old was suddenly scooped up like he wasn't only a few inches shorter, and made of muscle like the rest of them. He was being held chest to chest, legs around a kevlar wrapped midsection, Bruce's forearm across his rump, supporting his leg with his hand. He adjusted slightly, before wrapping the cape firmly around him, ignoring the confused protests and squirming.
A low, offended growl overtook the Bat as goons started charging them, and he almost immediately started throwing Batarangs with precision. His body was angled to keep Duke from harm, the cape wrapping tighter.
Dick downed another goon before whipping around to see what the commotion was. As he did? He gasped in delight. "Holy shit—B's got a pup."
Jason barked out a startled laugh from where he was grappling with two henchmen. "Did the old man just baby-bat Signal?"
Tim, still perched on the rooftop above them, adjusted his comm with an amused smirk. "Oracle, you getting this? We need footage for the archive."
Stephanie cackled as she roundhouse-kicked a goon into a dumpster. "Awwww! Duke’s blushing under that mask!"
"Names," Barbara commented.
Damian scoffed from where he was slicing through restraints to free hostages. "Tt. Father has finally lost what little sanity remained."
Duke flailed uselessly in Bruce’s grip, voice muffled against his chestplate. "BRU--BATMAN—PUT ME DOWN!"
But Bruce's only response was to gently bounce Duke like he was a particularly fussy toddler.
Duke was new. He’d been with the Bats around two months now. Since his parents had been Jokerized about a year ago, and he'd been living on the streets before that galavanting as an unsupervised, lowkey-meta-vigilante to exact his vengeance (and run from a not-so-cool bio dad/god), he'd been inevitably discovered by the Bats about six months ago. After a while, he’d moved in, at least once they'd finally convinced him to come stay with them as a foster kid.
And Duke had not yet experienced how...protective, Bruce got, when affected by fear gas, or cuddle pollen, anything.
His base instincts? Primal. It was something the others had described as ‘caveman Bruce’ on many occasions. He tended to protect his ‘batpups’. And right now?
Duke was the pup.
The entire battlefield seemed to pause for a second as Bruce adjusted his hold—one hand cradling the back of Duke’s head like he was shielding him from gunfire (there was no gunfire, most of the goons were downed), the other arm tightening around his waist.
Jason, who had seen this exact behavior before when he was tiny and Bruce got concussed on patrol, snorted. "Ohhhh, he’s imprinted. Congrats, Signal. You’re officially adopted now."
Stephanie wiped fake tears from her domino. "They grow up so fast...straight into Batman's baby-carrying instincts."
Dick gasped dramatically over comms. "Wait. Is it just based on whoever’s closest? I thought I was special last year!”
Meanwhile, Duke wheezed as Bruce suddenly rolled, taking them both into a shadowed alcove while still keeping him tucked safely against his chest. "...Did you just—did you just somersault with me?! Dude, put me down–!”
Bruce didn't respond verbally—just rumbled deep in his chest and started patting Duke down for injuries like an overbearing mama bat inspecting her pup for bruises. Alfred's dry voice crackled over comms. "Sir, if you could kindly not traumatize our newest charge before dinner?"
Bruce didn’t respond, just glared out from behind the storefront he'd hidden them at–a slightly hidden vantage from the chaos of the goons still being downed by the others. Jason had caught Crane by now. It wasn't a huge deal; just a normal fight that Duke could handle just fine.
If it weren't for Bruce's hand cupping his cheek over metal, and tilting his head side to side, grunting in distaste at the helmet as he tried to find the latch to look at Duke's domino clad face.
Duke sputtered as Bruce's massive gauntlet-clad fingers fumbled clumsily at the edges of his helmet. "B—Batman, I swear if you break my mask—"
Bruce ignored him, growling low in frustration when he couldn't find the release mechanism (because Duke had learned from Jason’s horror stories and installed a biometric lock).
Stephanie landed nearby, clutching her ribs from laughter. "Oh my god, I think he’s trying to check your temperature like a sick kid. B, we have literal thermometers in the suits."
Dick swung down next to them, grinning. "Nah nah nah, this is classic Batdad behavior—first comes the baby-carrying, then comes the 'must inspect child for ouchies' phase." He leaned in conspiratorially toward Duke. "He did this to me once after Fear Gas. Held me up by the armpits to check for head wounds."
Jason crowed from across the street where he was zip-tying Crane. "I GOT IT ON CAMERA!"
Bruce finally gave up on removing Duke’s helmet, only to press their foreheads together instead through the visor with an audible thunk. His voice came out gravelly and utterly serious. "...No fever?"
Yeah. He was definitely a little inebriated on the gas.
Duke went completely still. "...Did you just headbutt me?"
"Are. You. Hot."
Bruce's voice was firm. He was staring down at him with an intensity even felt behind the cowl's lenses. His one hand stayed in Duke's grip. His free hand was pressing ribs, arms, and back to assess for injuries.
Duke was starting to realize why everyone was calling Bruce "Caveman B" during these sorts of situations. He was...well, not acting like Batman. He wasn't the confident Dark Knight; he was more like a giant, growly, overly concerned parent, and Duke suddenly understood Tim getting carried in his sleep once or twice.
Dick, Steph, and Jason were all laughing silently, completely useless at helping while GCPD closed in for cleanup. "Yeesh. He’s cranked up to eleven on this one,” Steph giggled.
"What about twenty?" Jason muttered.
Steph was wheezing in her comms as she moved to help Cass with zip-tying some goons. "I can't—"
Bruce was oblivious to the talking around him. He lifted his head as he glanced around the area, scanning. Satisfied with the goons on the ground and not attacking, he stood, and shifted to hold Duke on his hip. The teen made an undignified squeak, flailing briefly before clinging automatically to Bruce’s shoulders to keep from falling. But Bruce just grumbled something about 'needing to get to safety' as he pressed the Batmobile keys a few times to summon the vehicle, only for Dick to pry them out of his definitely-gas-drunk-fingers.
Dick, sounding like he was holding back more laughter, pulled a bit harder. It was no use–Bruce’s grip was tight. "I will drive," he announced as firmly as he could. "B, sit in the back with Signal."
Bruce stared at Dick. Hard. Scrutinizing.
Until he released the keys and reached a hand out to instead cup Dick's face.
"My baby."
A very caveman, pleased, contented rumble.
The kids all secretly loved when he got like this. It was like the fear gas just cranked up his overprotectiveness and affection to a hundred.
Dick melted instantly, leaning into the touch like he was still twelve years old and getting tucked in after patrol. "Aww, B—"
Jason fake-gagged. "Disgusting. I’m gonna puke."
Stephanie elbowed him. "You wish you got forehead kisses from Batman."
Damian, in a rare moment of emotional vulnerability (read: bratty jealousy), mumbled; "...It is only because Signal was nearby. It would be me if I had been."
Bruce—still cradling Duke with one arm—reached out to pull Dick against his side with a grunt, effectively sandwiching both sons against him like a very armored teddy bear. "...Safe."