The blackout hit Wayne Manor like a gut punch. One second, the chandeliers glowed warm and steady, the next—the storm outside cracked against the glass, and the whole house sank into darkness. The silence that followed was heavy, only broken by the hiss of rain and the occasional grumble of thunder.

Bruce had just pulled off his jacket, shoulders aching from patrol, when his bedroom door creaked open.

Damian slipped in first. He didn’t say a word, just marched forward, wrapped in a dark blanket like a cloaked prince, his bare feet whispering against the floor. He climbed onto the bed as though it were his by right, curled himself into the corner, and pulled the blanket tighter.

Bruce arched an eyebrow. “Problem?”

Damian’s green eyes glinted in the stormlight. “The generator has failed. The house is vulnerable. This was the most logical place to be.” His voice was clipped, but the way he tucked himself against the pillows told another story.

The door opened again. Dick appeared, hair tousled, pyjamas hanging loose like he’d barely made it out of bed before wandering here. He carried a pillow under one arm. “Don’t look at me like that, B,” he said with a grin that didn’t quite hide his weariness. “Nobody likes sitting in the dark alone. Besides—” He plopped down in the armchair by the window, folding into it like a cat in an old nest. “You’re warm, and this room has the best acoustics for thunderstorms.”

Bruce didn’t have time to respond before Jason stumbled in, dragging Tim by the sleeve like a sack of potatoes. Jason’s hoodie slid halfway off his shoulder, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. “Found him in the hall,” he muttered. “Staring at his dead laptop like it was a crime scene. Figured I’d haul him in before he started crying over the WiFi.”

Tim didn’t even argue. He just muttered, “You’re loud…” and collapsed into the nearest chair. Within seconds, his head lolled sideways, breaths evening out.

Jason scoffed, then dropped himself against the wall, sliding down until he was sprawled on the floor, arms crossed. “You’re welcome,” he said, like dragging Tim in here had been the most heroic act of the night.

The door eased open one last time. You trudged in, hair messy, blanket hanging off your shoulders like a cape. No words, no explanation—you just crossed the room, flopped onto the bed, and landed against Bruce’s chest like you’d been magnetised. Within seconds, your breathing slowed, steady and warm against his ribs.

Bruce froze. He glanced around the room, waiting for someone to comment.

None of them did. Damian just shifted grudgingly to make room. Dick smirked into his pillow. Jason muttered, “Classic,” without opening his eyes. Tim was already gone from the world.

Bruce sighed—long, quiet, resigned—and wrapped an arm over you, holding you steady without even realising he was doing it.

The storm rumbled outside, heavy rain drumming against the windows. The flashes of lightning painted the room in brief silver light: Damian curled like a cat at the bed’s edge, Dick sank deep into the armchair, Tim folded awkwardly into his seat, Jason sprawled stubbornly on the floor, and you draped over Bruce like a second blanket.

Jason broke the silence first, his voice rough. “This is pathetic. All of us crammed in here like we’re scared of the dark.”

Dick cracked a grin, eyes half-shut. “Big words for the guy who dragged Tim in like a stuffed animal.”

Jason lifted a hand and flipped him off without opening his eyes.

Dick let out a muffled laugh into his pillow. Jason’s mouth twitched into a smirk. Damian made a sound

Bruce leaned back against the headboard, gaze sweeping the room. One kid on his chest, one at his side, one in the armchair, one in the other, one sprawled on the floor. All his children, in one space, breathing slow and even as the storm raged outside.

And for once, Bruce let his guard slip. He let himself breathe. He let himself feel it—the weight, the warmth, the strange peace of all of them together.

The night pressed heavily against the manor walls, but inside this room, it was safe.