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“I usually get one queen on trips,” Bruce told Duke when he was ordering the hotel room. “It’s big enough that we can share, but I can get two if you’d be more comfortable with that.”
“One’s fine,” Duke said easily. It should’ve been anyway — it seemed like personal space was diminishing the more he lived with the Waynes anyway, with the countless amount of times he’d woken up from movie nights or quiet times in the library with one or more body parts on and/or under him. Of course, those body parts had never belonged to Bruce Wayne, but they probably wouldn’t even touch.
That was what he was thinking as he got ready for bed a few nights later, washing his hands with the sticky hotel bar soap before examining himself in the mirror. Bruce had said he could have the bathroom first, so he needed to be quicker in case he was waiting on him.
“A fucking sleepover with Batman,” Duke murmured to his reflection. “You got this.”
He changed into his pajamas — an old t-shirt and sweatpants — before tying his durag. He brushed his teeth speedily before making his way back into the room. “All yours,” he told Bruce as he shoved his old clothes and toothbrush into his backpack.
“Thanks,” he said. “Mind if I take the left side?”
“Sure.”
Duke settled on the right side of the bed, plugging his phone in and pulling the covers out.
It was anticlimactic when Bruce came back out and slid into his own side. He told Duke they had to wake up by seven and then bid him goodnight.
That was that. They weren’t even near each other.
Not until Duke woke up later into the night and found his face buried into Bruce’s chest and Bruce’s arms wrapped around him.
He hadn’t felt so — protected in a long time. It was warm and made him feel small, in a good way, in the way that a child should feel when they’re being held by their parents.
And, inexplicably, while deciding if he should just go back to sleep or extricate himself from Bruce’s grip, he realized that there were tears in his eyes. He blinked them back as hard as he could, but it didn’t work too well, and soon they were streaming down his face.
“Shit,” Duke said under his breath. “Fuck.” He sniffed, hard, but that didn’t do much and he gasped on a sob that was trying to escape. The second one went more easily and he couldn’t help it as he began properly crying into Bruce’s chest.
There was movement as Bruce woke up, and then his arms were tightening around him as Bruce began to rock the two of them a little.
“S-sorry,” Duke sobbed out, but Bruce shushed him.
“Don’t apologize. Shhh, it’s okay. I’m here. Right here, chum.”
That’s the problem, Duke thought fiercely for a moment, suddenly wanting to push the man away. The man who would never be able to replace his parents. The man who — who had kids of his own that Duke couldn’t ever compare to.
But Bruce wasn’t the problem. Duke knew that. The problem was that he’d lost his parents. Maybe forever. And no one could bring them back. And he needed them.
He needed Bruce too, he knew. For times like this when he couldn’t have his parents.
Duke relaxed as best as he could. He could give Bruce a hard time and keep up the distance they’d had since their mentor-protege relationship started, but it didn’t seem worth it. Not in the darkness of an unfamiliar hotel room as the man rocked him with all the care in the world while sobs wracked through his whole body.
It took a while, maybe up to thirty minutes, for Duke to quit crying so hard and another twenty for him to finally fall back asleep. Bruce didn’t ask him to say anything the whole time. Just held him until the exhaustion of crying in the middle of the night hit him properly.
When he woke up, they’d shifted positions. Originally, they’d been facing each other on their sides, but Bruce had moved to lay on his back and Duke was tucked into his side, wrapping an arm around his middle.
While Bruce’s right arm was being held hostage, he was awake, Duke realized, when he saw his left hand using his phone. “Morning,” Bruce rumbled after Duke had fully blinked himself awake. His voice was rougher than usual, presumably from sleep. It vibrated his chest, and thus into Duke’s ear that was resting over it.
“Ah,” he replied, “mornin’.” Under him, he could feel a patch of drool and flustered, wiping at his mouth. “Sorry.”
“I’ve had much worse,” Bruce dismissed easily.
“Right,” Duke said. “Blood.”
Bruce winced as if that wasn’t even the half of it. “Among other bodily… fluids.”
“Yikes.”
“Parenthood is gross,” he agreed.
Duke huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, well.” He sighed, sobering. “Sorry about last night.”
“Don’t apologize,” Bruce insisted immediately, almost before Duke could finish. “Everyone needs to cry sometimes.”
“Well, not all over you, though.”
Bruce shook his head. “I think some people need to be held as they cry, too.”
Duke couldn’t come up with a response to that for a moment. Finally, he settled on: “Thanks.”
“Of course,” Bruce said. He hesitated before offering. “I know that we’re still getting used to each other, but you're always welcome to come into my bedroom whenever you’d like or need. Or just asking for a hug. That’s okay, too.”
“Oh.”
“Only if you want,” he added, “no pressure. But — sometimes it’s hard to ask for physical contact. And I know the other kids tend to be all over you, however unintentionally that is, but if you want anything from me ever, I’m always available.”
“Always?” Duke asked skeptically.
“Not always,” Bruce allowed. “I try to be, though. There when you need me.”
Duke was still on the fence. He felt ridiculous — he was sixteen, for fuck’s sake. But here he was, still pressed into Bruce’s side. “What time is it?”
“7:32.”
“You said we were supposed to wake up at seven,” Duke protested. “It’s — we’re late.”
“I said up, not out. We have some time. It’s fine.” He didn’t move to get up, so Duke didn’t either. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really,” Duke mumbled. “Do I have time to take a shower?”
There was a pause, and then Bruce was moving his arm aside to let him get up. “Sure.”
And that was that. They went along with the mission, though Bruce kept glancing at him for the rest of the day. He tried to enjoy his first mission abroad, and to not let Bruce’s glances bother him. It went pretty swiftly after Bruce eventually gave him some space. They didn’t talk about it again and they flew back to Gotham that night — not having to sleep another night in the hotel room.
Bruce sent him up to bed the second they got home and he gratefully took the out, avoiding anyone else in the manor and promptly going to sleep. In his own room. Alone.
It was fine.
The next day was standard. A Sunday, so no patrol. Bruce told him to consider it a well-deserved break after a job well done. No one else was in the manor that day — Damian, Duke, and Cass were the only permanent residents at the time — along with Alfred and Bruce, of course, and Cass was staying over at Steph’s, Damian was out, and Alfred was on a date.
Yeah. A date.
Bruce, too, was out of the house for whatever reason. Duke hadn’t seen him before he’d left.
So he had the manor to himself.
He took advantage of it happily at first, made a beeline to the fridge for some whipped cream and blasted Boyz II Men through rooms that weren’t his. In the comedown, though, as “On Bended Knee” was crooned to him, he felt torn.
An empty manor was rare. Horribly rare. But he had somewhere else to be.
Quickly, he got dressed and headed out to see his parents.
***
“Good evening, lad,” Alfred greeted him when he got back. Duke knew his eyes were wet and bloodshot — helplessly showing evidence of how much he’d cried before he’d returned home. “You missed dinner.”
“Yeah, sorry, Alfred,” he said, shrugging off his jacket. “I should’ve texted.”
“Would you like it now? Have you eaten?”
He opened his mouth to say he wasn’t hungry, but took it back before it was even out. “I… no, I haven’t eaten since breakfast.” At the look on Alfred’s face, he couldn’t help but add: “Sorry.”
“Let’s do something to remedy that, hm?”
Alfred was a pretty quiet man. He tended to respond to people instead of striking up conversation about himself. However, after he had Duke sit at the bar in the kitchen and began warming up the food, he took it upon himself to start talking about his date. He seemed to be able to tell that Duke just wanted something to listen to.
Soon, his plate was warmed and Alfred was setting it in front of him before turning to clean up the kitchen. Duke picked on it, but after a while, managed to get most of it down.
“Thanks, Alfred,” he said.
Alfred grabbed his plate. “No trouble, lad.”
Duke moved to leave, but when he was almost out the door, Alfred said something else, too. “I hope you feel better.”
Duke swallowed. “Thanks, Alfred,” he repeated.
He headed up to his room, and took the time to peek at Damian’s, only to find him half-asleep. “Sorry,” he murmured, “goodnight.”
“Nuh,” Damian grunted back, rolling over away from the light.
Sunday nights meant Monday mornings were coming right after them, and Duke and Damian got the night off because of school while the others took care of the city. Bruce — on occasion — took the night off as well. This was not one of those nights, Duke was sure, by the way his bedroom door was open.
He passed it to finally reach his room and went through his daily bedtime routine. Brushed, dressed, and sleepy, Duke turned his lights out and laid down.
But he couldn’t fall asleep. After an hour of tossing and turning, he gave up, throwing his covers off.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he muttered to himself as he shoved his slippers on and made the quick trek across the hall. Bruce’s door was still open. He hadn’t returned yet, but maybe that would be better.
Duke paused in the doorway. He looked at Bruce’s bed. And then he slowly took his slippers off, shut the door, and slid into it.
He was pretty sure he had the same kind of mattress, though Bruce’s was bigger — giant, actually. It was soft and warm despite no hot-blooded bodies being in it for at least the past few hours.
It smelled like Bruce. And… a little bit like Ace. But mostly Bruce.
He melted into the sheets easily and was asleep before he could even worry about how Bruce would react to finding him there.
Duke woke up to the click of the bedroom door closing and the distinct sound of dog paws on carpet. There was a hissed “Ace, no,” before those paws landed on the bed right next to him. There was a loud and hard thump as Ace dropped herself down into his side and forced out an exhale from him.
Still coming to, he could only feel and hear Ace’s tail wagging against his leg. She may have been adorable, but her tail was a weapon.
Above them both, Bruce sighed. “Sorry, Duke, I didn’t think she’d jump on you. I was trying to let you sleep.” To Ace, he chided her, “Stubborn old dog.”
Her tail just wagged even harder.
Duke let out a noise that he hoped resembled, “It’s fine.”
He opened his eyes to find Ace raising her neck to sniff at his face. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head. “Mornin’.”
Bruce was in front of his mirror, buttoning his shirt up. He was watching them in the reflection.
“What time is it?”
“Around eleven.”
“You’re just waking up?”
“Long night,” he explained vaguely. Bruce finished buttoning his shirt and turned to properly face Duke. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you were awake, but if you want to talk now….”
Duke groaned, falling back onto the pillows. “Aren’t you supposed to be the emotionally constipated adult who just leaves things alone?”
“I’m trying this new thing out,” Bruce said dryly, “where I try to be supportive of emotionally constipated children.”
“You know, I was looking forward to being the second youngest because everyone says the younger siblings can get away with anything because adults mellow with old age.”
He put his hands on his hips. Honest to god just put his hands on his hips, one leg slightly in front of the other, and faced off against Duke. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just call me old.”
“If you want the truth, you’re standing like a grumpy old lady right now.”
Duke wasn’t sure if he could beat Thee Batman in a battle of wills, but he sure was going to try.
There was a moment where Bruce just stared at him before sighing and crossing his arms instead. “Here’s the thing. You’re in my care, right?”
“Right,” he agreed flatly, “so you’re going to care for me in ways that I don’t want, but you think I should have.”
Bruce shifted, conceding the point. “Who told you that one?”
“Who do you think?” Duke asked and at the same time they both answered, “Jason.”
“Well, I repeat that because I mean it. And the ways I… attempt to care for him are different from the things I want to do for you.”
“Like what?”
“I’m not expecting anything from you here. You have parents, you’re almost an adult, and I am not trying to take the place of anyone because they’re still here. I’m trying to be something extra. I know you don’t want another father.” He paused — closed and opened his mouth for a second. “Unless — you do? You don’t, right? I’m also trying to not make assumptions.”
Duke laughed. He’d never been able to laugh genuinely when thinking about his parents before. “No — no, I don’t want another dad. I’m good with just a Bruce.”
“Just-A-Bruce,” Bruce agreed, somehow making it sound hyphenated. “That’s all I’m trying to be here, kid. And Just-A-Bruces check in when it seems like their kids aren’t doing so good. Whether you want it or not. And I’m going to keep doing it even if you don’t want to talk to me today or tomorrow or the next day after that. That’s just how it goes.”
Somehow, when Duke hadn’t been paying attention, the conversation had stopped being some sort of battle. It’d felt more comfortable then — like they were sparring but verbally and he knew he was going to lose, but it didn’t matter because it was teaching him.
“Well,” he said, defensiveness in his voice, “check in.”
Bruce didn’t smile, but he looked like he wanted to. “How are you doing?”
“Shitty.” He sighed. “I miss my parents,” he admitted quietly, “so much, but I miss them more now that things are starting to get better.” Bruce didn’t say anything. Duke focused on petting Ace. “The more Just-A-Bruce you become, the better and worse I feel. I don’t — I don’t want you, but I do, but I — I shouldn’t.”
“You want them,” Bruce said. “I understand.”
Duke supposed he did. “When I want something — like a hug or to talk — and it feels good or helps, all I can feel is guilty once I start thinking about it. Or maybe not guilty, but something….”
“Mournful?” he suggested.
He nodded. He wanted to cry.
“Duke,” Bruce started. He was still standing up so he moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Duke, that makes perfect sense. You’re grieving.”
“It making sense doesn’t mean that there’s a solution for it.”
“You’re right,” he acknowledged.
Bruce thought. Duke watched him think. It was the look he had in his eyes when he was coming up with a plan, or a lecture, or a training exercise. He didn’t say anything else, and he didn’t look like he was going to say anything for a hot minute.
Duke didn’t mind. He had his own thoughts to think through.
Mourning. Grieving.
They were words you typically heard when it came to those thinking of the dead — something his parents were most certainly not. He was going to get them better. He had to, even if it felt more and more impossible. And he could still talk to them even if they didn’t respond like they used to. But….
But he was mourning them. He didn’t miss them now, he missed them from Then. He was mourning the time his parents were losing — more and more of it every second of every day. He mourned the years he could’ve had with his parents if it didn’t happen. He mourned his old life. Not just them, but what a life with them meant. His home. His old school, his old friends that he’d just suddenly outgrown in the time it took him to lose his parents.
They weren’t dead, he knew. But his old life with them was. Who he was before this was. Who they were before this was, too.
When things die, you can’t get them back. Well… in this world, you could, but from what Duke had seen — things were never quite the same. And when you find out you can’t get things back, you know you need to stop going backwards. That’s what he was doing with this unending loyalty — trying to force things back to where they were.
He was refusing to go forward. Forward meant Bruce instead of his parents or Bruce and eventually his parents, too. Forward meant no more asshole foster parents except an asshole foster parent who excessively cared. Forward meant not knowing where it was going to take him.
Duke wanted his security back. The old security — his mother rocking him in her arms even when he was too big for it and his dad’s humming as he made his way through the house. Before this, before Bruce, before the Manor, he hadn’t been able to imagine any other kind of security.
Now he could. And it scared him.
There was Alfred ready to greet him at the door every time he got home. The Alfred that made him a plate from dinner and left it in the fridge instead of just putting everything into containers for him to sort out later. And there was Damian, who was quickly becoming the annoying little brother he’d never wanted, but loved fiercely. Ace who he liked to take on walks, Titus who liked to ignore him unless he had a treat.
And there was Bruce. His mentor, but something much more than that at the same time. The man who’d welcomed Duke into his own home. Who started by trying to tiptoe the line of giving him space and “checking in” and was getting bolder and bolder everyday. There was everyone else, too. People he trusted, people he could depend on.
It wasn’t the same. There were the obvious differences — class was one, race was another. He definitely wasn’t in the Black household he was used to — or the neighborhood for that matter. There was no neighborhood at all. The Wayne Estate was humongous.
He’d remember those differences sometimes, some small thing would remind him — like the portraits of all the past Waynes or the fact that he could go outside and still not hear any cars or see any houses.
He supposed he was mourning that, too. He’d talk to Steph about that.
“Here’s what I think,” Bruce said finally. “I think that you deserve to be loved by as many people as possible. I think you were destined to be a part of this family even if it was just for crime-fighting and not civilian life. I think you’re worried that you’re replacing your parents but disrespecting them by thinking that’s even possible.”
Duke felt tears well up in his eyes.
“They’re irreplaceable. You don’t want to replace them and neither do I. I know I won’t compare to what they did for you, but, Duke, you shouldn’t be comparing us in the first place. This is just a new family that you’re welcome to join. You can have multiple, you know.”
He stood up and grabbed a tissue box off of his nightstand, dropped it next to him.
“I’ve never been great at communicating and laying all my thoughts out, but I’m trying to get used to saying this more often: I love you. I am so proud of you, I can’t even put it into words. I’m glad everyday that you decided to move in here and you’ve added so much to my life, whether it be good or chaos.”
“The two aren’t mutually exclusive,” Duke protested shakily before blowing his nose.
Bruce smiled. “I know. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I said so much and you got it in two words. Me and your parents aren’t mutually exclusive. I will be bothering you for the rest of my life, just so we’re clear, no matter what happens.”
“Bruce?”
“Yes?”
“I’m pretty sure I could use a hug right about now.”
A moment after Bruce gathered him up in his arms, Duke began full out sobbing. It felt like all he was doing was crying lately.
“I love you, too,” he tried to say through his sobs.
Bruce understood. “You don’t have to feel pressured to say that just because I did,” he said, which meant he may have understood the words, but not the meaning.
“I just wanted to say it,” Duke told him miserably.
“Oh,” he said. And, of course the dude could handle speeches he planned out and knew exactly how to hold crying kids, but didn’t know what to say to someone saying I love you.
Bruce was always prepared… until he wasn’t.
Duke scoffed into his chest and then started laughing a little. He couldn’t help it. Bruce’s contradictions were just amusing to him.
“Are you laughing?” Bruce asked. At this angle, he couldn’t see his face. “Or are you crying?”
“Both.”
“Are you simultaneously crying about your parents while laughing at me?”
“Yeah,” he said, and then laughed harder, and then sobbed harder. “Jesus fuck.”
“You teenagers and your multitasking,” Bruce muttered. He started rubbing his back. “C’mon, you’re just working yourself up now. Can you breathe with me?” His other hand was splayed loosely on Duke’s wrist. “Five in, two hold, seven out.” He inhaled noisily, and waited for Duke to do the same. “Okay, 1… 2… 3….” As he spoke the words, he tapped the inside of Duke’s wrist as well to keep the rhythm.
Duke wasn’t expecting the breathing exercises to help, but after a few more breaths, he felt like he could stop laughing. A few more after that allowed him to stop crying.
He laid there in Bruce’s arms, only the occasional sniff, while Bruce sat silently for a few minutes.
“I think you should get a therapist,” Bruce said. “I’ll try and find someone for you. Give you some options. It’s hard — finding ones you can talk to about vigilante stuff too, but I think I can make that happen. Unless you want to just be known as a civilian.”
Duke took in a deep breath before he tried to talk again. “A therapist that knew would be cool, but I’ll take what I can get.”
“Noted.” He kept rubbing his back. “Are you feeling better?”
“Kinda.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It means I’m okay enough to go away if you need to leave, but I’d rather not.”
“I’ve got nowhere to be,” Bruce said. “It’s fine. I’ll stay as long as you want.”
“Can you go back to not saying mushy stuff every five seconds so I don’t start crying again? I’m hanging on by a thread here, man.”
“My apologies.”
Ace moved so she could rest her head on his leg.
Duke started crying again.