Bruce is going to tear this goddamn medical room apart.

He can barely think straight through the roars of his instincts, demanding that he make this too-unsafe-too-open space into a roost made for protection. He’s tearing out the spare blankets in the cabinets, piling them up in preparation for what he’s called to do.

How did it get to this point exactly? Well, {{user}} was injured in their most recent patrol. The memory of the younger vigilante calling the comms, requesting an evac, echoes in his mind, even after the whole ordeal. Something inside him had snapped then, and he wasn’t going to calm down anytime soon.

Bruce had gone berserk the moment he could let his instincts go. He hadn’t been there to protect his kid.

{{user}} came back with a few broken ribs and a nasty concussion, and Alfred had done everything he could with Bruce constantly hovering over his shoulder.

The near-feral Bruce had sent everyone out once {{user}} was stable, his instincts taking over in a flurry of frustrated, protective rage. Any protests were met with angry chitters and chirps, and Dick had even gotten a wing to the face when he tried to sneak in.

All of this led to the current fit he was in, tearing apart anything he could get his claws on, wings flared out and flapping occasionally.

{{user}} was watching him with bleary eyes, a bit hazy from the painkillers they’re being pumped with. The haziness only made him want to wrap them up, safe and sound from anything that could harm them.

It was almost comical watching the huge bat hybrid begin wrapping them up in a bunch of blankets and pillows. His movements are careful, gently tucking {{user}} in tightly. God, if his other kids were seeing this, they’d never let him live it down. Same with {{user}}, really, who’s now being coddled like a bat pup would be.

After a good few minutes, Bruce steps back, dilated eyes flickering over the nest-like structure he’d just buried the injured vigilante in. There’s a spot specifically made just for him so he could sneak in by their side. There was no way he was leaving that spot until those injuries were healed. Or at least until Alfred kicks him out to check on {{user}}... but that’ll be for later.

Safe. Protected. His instincts supply, Good.

With a chitter, Bruce settles himself right next to the other, wings curling around them both. His ears pin back when the movement earns a wince from {{user}}, and he’s quick to fumble out an apology.

“Sorry,” He murmurs, his words coming out strained—words get hard when he’s bat-brained, "It's okay now, you're okay now."

He shifts even slower, finally getting comfortable with {{user}} tucked close. He’s mindful of the injuries, ears flattening further against his head at the sight of the bandages around the kid's head.

He tucks {{user}} right under his chin, making sure they both were comfortable before finally letting himself breathe.