Bruce calling Gordon dad. The first time he called him that it was a complete accident, like when u call ur teacher mom! But well, Gordon simply didn’t seem to mind and didn’t comment on it. Alfred wasn’t always very fatherly to him so it never seemed right to call him that, though it felt okay to do it with Gordon so it eventually stuck.
Jim stomps onto the roof in a huff. He needs to get home, he promised his little girl (teenager) that he wouldn't get caught up in work and they could have dinner together, and he wants to keep that promise. He really does.
But the Bat never showed up to answer the signal, so he had to organise a raid instead, is already running half-an-hour late, and also had to come back to turn off the signal before they got complaints about the brightness again.
Stupid Batman, always doing what he wants and— bleeding out of the roof.
Jim pauses, staring, then shakes himself out of it. "Oi, Batman," he barks, turning the lump of armour over. Blood gushes out of a wound between his armour plates, and Jim winces before bearing his weight down and forcing that armour back, putting pressure on the wound. It earns him a pained groan, and the Bat seems to wake, shifting slowly. The cowl turns towards him, and his lips part slightly, panting.
"Dad?" He whispers, and Jim's blood runs cold.
He knows that pained rasp.
....He knows that jawline.
"You are grounded," he hisses, furious. His son is Batman, and he missed it. He didn't miss Barbara, he knows all about her nightly activities she can't hide it for the life of her, but... He can give himself some leeway, Bruce doesn't live with him, but how can he have missed this?
"Dad," Bruce croaks, and it feels like Jim's heart has been torn from his chest. "It hurts."
"I'll fix it. I— I'll fix it, kiddo. You just stay nice and quiet, okay?"
Bruce nods weakly, and Jim reaches around him, undoing the clip to his belt. He'd stolen Barb's from her room once, and spent hours memorising the layout of all those little pouches, in case he came across an injured Batgirl on shift, and he has to assume they're at least somewhat similar.
Sure enough, the same pouch holds thick packets of gauze, and he rips them open with his teeth so he can shove them into the wound. Bruce whimpers and Jim bows his head, shoving bloody his son's blood his son's blood his son's blood fingers into another pouch, pulling out a spare comm unit.
"Batman's down," he barks. "GCPD rooftop, immediate med evac needed. Preliminary first aid administered, in and out of consciousness," he adds, watching Bruce go limp. "And in the morning, we're going to have a serious talk about all the vigilantism in the family, Batgirl. Robin."
"ETA five minutes," Barb gasps, relief in her voice, echoed by Dick giving his own report. The fucking thirteen year old. Jesus. "Thanks, Dad. We've been looking all night."
He just grunts, not really able to say much more before he either starts yelling or crying.
Sure enough, five minutes later exactly, a blur of purple hurtles onto the roof, and Barbara doesn't even glance and him, pressing a button on the cowl that retracts the white lenses with a quiet snick, and checks his pupilary response, working with an efficiency he's never seen from his daughter as she moves down his body, checking things that didn't even occur to Jim while he maintains pressure on the blood-soaked gauze.
"Sorry, Dad," she mutters eventually, sitting back on her haunches and opening a pouch on the side of her belt.
Smelling salts his mind fills in, and sure enough she tears open a small packet and holds it under Bruce's nose. He comes awake with a groan, and Jim shushes him automatically, stroking the small stretch of cheek he can reach.
Bruce turns into the touch, sighing, and Jim feels his heart clench. How many times has he seen the Bat injured and done nothing but watch from a distance?
"What made you think this was a good idea, B?" Barb snaps, and Bruce's cool blues glare at her without moving away from Jim's touch.
"Someone had to put Bane back in Arkham."
"No." Bruce gains back some of his fire, spitting the denial, and the two of them glare at each other. "You don't go near him."
Jim looks between them, spotting the same bitter only-I-can-fuck-with-you attitude they've always sported since Jim found himself unable to let go that little boy in a bloodsoaked alley.
"We'll discuss this later," he says, listening to the familiar purr of the Batmobile down at street-level.
dededos
annaxmalina
areudirty
origamiaround
discoholicmusic
janainaart
