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Bruce sat up, jolting upright, well aware of Alfred’s startled “my word” as he did so. His hands were shaking. Viciously. He couldn’t stop them anymore than he could stop the tears that were streaming down his face. The memory of it was so fresh in his mind. He had been smiling. So had his son. Things were good. And then… just three minutes to midnight.
Blood. Blood everywhere. On his hands. On the ground. On his suit. On his son. His son, eyes so blank. Barely any breath left. He wasn’t going to be able to save him. He knew as the minutes ticked down that there was nothing he could do. But that last smile his son gave him. That last look.
They had been so close this time. So why…? Why had it…?
“Master Bruce, whatever is the matter?”
Bruce whipped his head to Alfred. The butler was always at his side. Bruce could trust him just as he always had.
But he was wasting precious time.
Throwing the covers off himself, Bruce bolted out of bed and grabbed the shirt and pants Alfred had laid out for him. He was still running as he tugged on the pants, hadn’t even bothered with the shirt as he threw open a bedroom door.
“Father?”
His youngest bolted up in bed at the sound, surrounded by his pets. The pets had never wronged Damian. Not once. They were just as trustworthy as Alfred. Bruce couldn’t let himself breathe, though. Not yet. They still had the day. Too much time.
“Get dressed. We’re grabbing your siblings,” Bruce instructed quickly, beginning to tug on the shirt. Then he turned to the dog. “Don’t let him out of your sight. You hear me?”
Titus gave a woof of agreement, clearly sensing Bruce’s stress. Damian, clearly confused, bless him, just pulled himself out of bed. Ace hoped off the bed and gave a huff of annoyance before butting Bruce’s leg and walking at a quick, brisk pace to the next occupied bedroom.
“Master Bruce!” Alfred’s clipped and agitated tone barely phased Bruce at this point. “I would like to know what on Earth is going on here.”
“I don’t have time to explain,” Bruce shook his head. “Every second counts, right now, Alfred. I have to… I have to keep moving. Just… just call Kate. Tell her I need her to meet me here. With the girls. Including Bette. Please.”
Alfred blinked. Stunned. Bruce was already opening Duke’s door where his newest child was already dressed for the day.
“Well, if you put it that way,” Alfred hummed, clearly unsettled.
“Hey, Bruce, what’s up?” Duke turned to the man. “And why is your shirt half on?”
“We’re getting your siblings,” Bruce stated simply. “Come on.”
Bruce tugged on the rest of his shirt as waited for his kids to join him in the hall, Alfred a short distance away on the phone.
“Yes, my dear, I am well aware how late it is, but I’m afraid Master Bruce is quite insistent you gather the girls and come here immediately. He even said ‘please’.”
Duke and Damian clearly caught that last part, sending a look to Bruce in different expressions of shock. But Bruce ignored them. Preferably, Bruce would rather get the girls himself, but he also knew from past experience that he didn’t necessarily have time for that. Kate, however, was better than he had ever given her credit, for. She’d keep them safe. She had before.
“Miss Kane would like to know if the ‘girls’ include Harper and Cullen, as well, Master Bruce?”
Harper and Cullen. He… it had been a while since he had seen them. They’d only been lost three times that he remembered, and he always felt it safer to just leave them where they were. But Bruce’s whole body was tingling, charging with adrenaline.
“Yes. No costumes. And the Manor We’ll all have brunch together, Alfred.”
Alfred cocked a brow but relayed the message as Bruce dragged his children to the garage, grabbing keys to a car he deemed big enough. Alfred cocked a brow at that.
“Call Lucius. I want him and his kids here, too.”
“And I suppose I won’t be given a why?”
“Not till midnight. Please, Alfred. Just… not get them here. Please.”
Kate could convince the girls to come. Alfred would and did convince Kate. Alfred could also wrangle Lucius. That was covered. Bruce would come home and find them all here enjoying brunch.
He had to believe that.
Because by his own faults, he needed to be the one to bring Dick, Jason, and Tim to the Manor. It had to be him. He’d messed up before when he tried to let someone else do it. So he had to be the one to bring them back. He’d go to Jason last, knowing that each second he and Jason talked would be like agony of wasted time, but never that. Never ever. Jason was his son. And he needed him to know that.
But Tim and Dick were at Tim’s Nest in the theatre in the Alley. He’d go there first. He bring them with him. And then he’d go talk to Jason. He had to.
With two of his poor, confused kids in the car, he took off out the Manor gate and on his way to his other sons. He knew Duke and Damian had questions, but neither was asking them right now. For which Bruce was grateful. He couldn’t handle them right now.
They got to the alley, and despite the ache in Bruce’s heart at the location, of this place, the burning desire to have his kids safe was overpowering anything his parents’ death could ever hope to do to him. Long strides had him in the building, and he expertly made his way to Tim’s safe house. Both an injured Dick and sleep-deprived Tim whipped their heads up to Bruce as the man barreled into the room, all the grace and poise of both Batman and Brucie completely gone.
Dick was completely taken aback by Bruce, more so than anyone (except maybe Alfred) by the state of the feared vigilante. Dick, his precious oldest son, had known him the longest. Had been able to read him better than anyone and had often taken the brunt of Bruce’s wrath.
“Bruce, what’s-?”
Bruce surged forward and pulled Dick into his arm, cutting the older off.
“Oh-kay,” Dick muttered. “Last night wasn’t that bad.”
Bruce reached out and snagged Tim next, pulling his third son into his arms. He wanted to grab Damian and Duke, too, but they were in too far away to grab, and Bruce knew beckoning them closer would just freak them out.
“Home,” Bruce stated simply, looking both boys dead in the eyes. “We’re going to grab Jason and go home. Please.”
Bruce knew it was the please that would throw his sons off. Had used it to many times more recently to do just that.
From past experience, Bruce knew that Dick was more sore than anything. Just a few bruises. But they were well-placed bruises, and had several times been the downfall of Dick in many cases. Both by Bruce’s own fault, and by circumstances out of his control. So if Bruce opted to carry Dick to the car, then it was because Bruce knew what too much strain could do.
And Tim, his son, so exhausted. Bruce snagged the coffee from his son’s hand, threw it down the sink, and grabbed every electronic off Tim he could find. He shoved the stumbling boy in back of the mini-van beside Duke and grabbed a blanket from the glove compartment.
“Make sure he sleeps,” Bruce told Duke as he put the very confused Dick into the seat next to the equally confused Damian.
“Bruce, what’s-?”
“Please, Dick,” Bruce turned desperately back to his son once he was in the driver’s seat. “Not now. Please. I can’t do that right now.”
Dick was clearly at a loss, but he didn’t ask any further questions as Bruce raced them halfway across town. Tim was fast asleep on Duke, who had taken to wrapping an arm around Tim. Dick was whispering to Damian about something.
“Dick, calling Clark is a bad idea,” Bruce spoke up once the name caught his interest. “It will interfere.”
And he had tried. He had tried to call Clark. And Diana. And Constantine. And Zatanna. And Hal. Barry. Shiera. John. J’onn. Ray. Anyone who thought might be able to help. He even tried to call Dinah, but it didn’t like that. The side effects.
“You have to give us something to go on, here, Bruce,” Dick said, gaze narrowed.
Bruce gripped the wheel, knowing he might be making a mistake.
“I’ll tell you when we get to Jason,” Bruce promised, locking eyes with Dick through the rearview mirror. “Just… let me get us to Jason.”
“How do we know this isn’t a trap?”
“I don’t… have an answer for that.”
Dang it. Dang it. He was going to lose them.
“Dick, chum. Please.”
Dick seemed to seriously mule this over, in which Bruce felt his blood pressure slowly rising. But, eventually, his oldest son, so brave and wonderful, gave a nod.
“Yeah. Sure. Just until we get to Jason.”
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“He said please?” Babs questioned.
“At least twice,” Alfred confirmed. “I can’t fathom what he must have dreamt about for this to have happened. But whatever it is, he’s certainly in a state.”
“And we’re sure it’s him?” Steph cocked her head.
“Quite.”
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Jason nearly slammed the door in his face, but Bruce was desperate. He shoved himself into the house, using all his strength, well aware that his other sons had tensed up for a fight to hold Bruce back. But Bruce didn’t care. He stumbled into the house, well aware that Jason was also ready for the non-existent fight to come, and just… froze.
Blood. So much blood. His son was smiling. Saying goodbye. And Bruce couldn’t… there was nothing he could…
There had been a speech. A whole speech Bruce had prepared comprised of other speeches that had really gotten to Jason. But all of that went out the window as Bruce took in his son. Alive. Breathing. Ticked off at him.
Bruce didn’t care if Jason never smiled again after the absolute nightmare he would have from now on.
“What do you want old man?”
Hearing Jason’s voice is what did it. Bruce collapsed to his knees and broke down in the grossest, ugliest sobs a human could ever possibly muster. His kids were panicking, but he couldn’t care. At least their panic meant they were alive.
“Gro-ground Ho-hog d-day.”
Instantly, each of his kids stopped their panicked shouting.
“Ground Hog Day?” Damian griped. “Father, you mean to tell me all this nonsense was for a holiday that is a month away that has to do with the act of terrifying a small animal?”
“I don’t think that’s the Ground Hog Day he’s referring to,” Duke interjected.
Dick was at his side, trying to coax Bruce threw breathing, clearly still freaked out, and even Jason was at Bruce’s head, hands fluttering about nervously. He’d really scared them, hadn’t he? Please don’t let him mess up this soon in the day.
“Bruce,” Tim’s voice was even, every edge of the detective Bruce knew he was. Bruce was so proud of Tim, and he’d never be able to say it enough. “Are you trapped in a time loop?”
Bruce could barely nod his head. Why was it so hard to breathe?
Jason swore above him. “Ground Hog Day. You’ve been reliving the same day over and over. Dang it, B. Why does this stuff happen to you?”
Bruce had managed to crawl forward, grabbing onto Jason’s arms and pressing his fingers to both pulse points. He needed the confirmation. Further confirmation. Jason clearly realized that Bruce desperately needed this, probably because Bruce was a sobbing mess on the floor, and tugged Bruce just a bit closer into a sort-of-not-really hug.
“What is this nonsense you’re prattling on about?” Damian demanded.
“Ground Hog Day is a movie where a guy relieves the same day over and over until he does the thing he needs to do,” Duke explained to the younger. “It’s called Ground Hog Day because the date the guy keeps reliving is on Ground Hog Day.”
“How many times?” Jason questioned.
Bruce did not want to answer that question.
“Bruce,” Jason said, earnest. Begging. “How many times?”
“396 days,” Bruce said. “Today is the 397th day. And I… can’t keep doing this.”
“397?” Tim hissed from somewhere to Bruce’s right. “You’ve been doing this for over a year?”
“I was… so close,” Bruce admitted, the confirmation causing a heavy weight to fill the room. “Three minutes. I dropped my guard for three minutes.”
“I died in those three minutes, didn’t I?”
Bruce’s grip on Jason got tighter.
“I was standing right there. There was nothing I could do.”
Bruce had been thinking it over since he woke up. There really was nothing he could. Every possibility would have reset the timeline no matter what he did.
“Okay,” Jason whispered. “Okay. What do you need, old man?”
“I…” he hadn’t give a grand speech yet. He hadn’t managed to convince Jason that he would hold on and never let him go, again. Then again, Bruce and Jason were similar in so many ways. Sometimes words weren’t enough. Action sometimes spoke louder than words. “I need to bring you all home. Please. Where it’s safe.”
“Then we’ll go home.”
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“Okay, B, what the heck is going…” Steph paused in her prepared tyraid as she took in the faces of a worn Bruce and a panicked/worried cluster of birds. What really let the ladies know that something was wrong was that Jason was letting Bruce keep an arm on his wrist. “…on?”
“Ground Hog Day,” Tim informed the others. “Bruce is experiencing Ground Hog Day.”
Steph’s face twisted into shock as she looked at Bruce and Jason. At the way Bruce was surveying the room with a wild desperation as he counted each of them. It was so odd for them to see, and Cass slunk up to her father, fitting herself against his chest as he subconsciously wrapped around her.
Then Bruce seemed to panic.
“Where’s Kate-!?”
“Relax, Bruce,” Kate appeared behind them, giving her cousin a tap to the back of his thigh with her foot as she brought a couple trays into the room. “Alfred made brunch, and given the nature of your desperation, we thought it best to be someplace cozy. Never would have guessed Ground Hog Day.”
“How many days?” Babs demanded.
“397.”
The entire room sucked in a gasp.
“What do you need us to do, Bruce?” Dick questioned softly.
“Stay here. All of you. Please.”
To Bruce’s relief, he was dragged into the room, and even Alfred stayed nearby. With his family gathered around him, Bruce watched them, switching out who sat near him so he could feel their pulse, and listen to their breathing, and see they were alive.
They were watching cheesy movies, and Bruce always had a moment of panic whenever one of them got up to get snacks, but he felt he could breathe just a little easier whenever they came back. Slowly, as the day drew on, they fell asleep around him, and Bruce checked to make sure they were still breathing. But even he couldn’t ignore the lull of exhaustion.
As the last of his family settled into dreamland, Bruce went with them.
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“Master Bruce,” a gentle hand shook him awake. “You must wake up now, Master Bruce.”
Slowly, painfully slowly, Bruce forced his eyes open, well aware of how exhausted he truly was. He hadn’t been this exhausted in years. Not since he started his training. He had found ways to make sleep work properly for him that allowed him to function. He thought he might have been drugged, but the sound of Alfred’s voice coaxing him ever so gently was enough to let him know that wasn’t it.
It crashed down on him like a ton of bricks.
Bruce bolted up, eyes immediately searching desperately for the sunlight. For his bed. For the sign that time had restarted once again and his cycle would continue.
He fell asleep. How dare he fell asleep. He couldn’t be that selfish when his children were…
But… but this wasn’t his bed. He was in the main sitting room where the television had been set up and the food was scattered around in a mess Bruce would have to clean up. But his family… his family was here.
Dick. Jason. Tim. Cass. Damian. Duke. His children he could call his legally to the public were the ones scattered closest to him. Pressed against him and breathing.
Kate and Bette were nearby, sleeping on a couch, leaned against Luke and Jace. Tam and Tiffany spread out in their laps. Steph and Babs were close to him too, his two girls he couldn’t quite call his, but were his whether they liked it or not. Harper and Cullen. The two knew ones, dragged into this nightmare. Bruce needed to do more to reach them. Not that he was very good at it.
They were all still breathing, and Bruce buried his face in his hands, relishing the moment. “What time is it, Alfred?”
“12:30 A.M.,” the familiar voice of his friend washed over him, making Bruce go rigid. “Or, to be more exact, 12:32 A.M. Your cycle is over, Bruce.”
Bruce jerked his head up to see several Justice League members nearby. Bruce and Diana were on either side of him, Clark studying Bruce’s face in worry as Diana laid a comforting hand on his shoulder, neither daring to disturb the children sleeping around him.
Dinah, Helena, Zatanna, and Constantine were here, too. They three girls looked worried, but Constantine just looked off-put.
“He broke the spell on his own,” Constantine was saying to Zatanna. “I’m not entirely sure why I had to be dragged along, Zee.”
“I already told you why,” Zatanna hissed.
“He already talked to me, and I’d just end up giving him the same answer,” Constantine huffed. “He had to figure out what the spell wanted of him. Looks to me like he found it.”
Bruce’s grip grew tighter on Dick and Jason, the two on the outermost side of his children. Damian and Cass had managed to share his lap. Duke and Tim pressed into his sides, heads tucked into his waist, and his two oldest sons wrapped in his arms.
Jason stirred at his side, hand reached up to fist in Bruce’s shirt like he had when he was young.
“Bruce?” his son’s voice was laden with sleep, a yawn following his name.
“It’s okay, son,” Bruce buried his face into his son’s hair, pressing his lips to his son’s head as he hid his tears from his friends. “Everything is okay now. You just go back to sleep.”
Jason hummed and snuggled further into Bruce’s touch. “Kay. Night dad.”
His breathing hitched, but Jason was already too far gone into the dreamland to notice, as were the rest of his children. And Bruce…Bruce was so exhausted. He needed to sleep. He needed to keep his kids close He needed…
“Go back to sleep, Bruce,” Diana instructed. “Everything will be alright come morning. We’ll look after Gotham.”
Bruce could care less about Gotham in this moment. He just wanted his kids to be alive and breathing and well.
397 days of seeing them disappear through his fingers. Death. An argument gone too far. A pressure that weighed too much. A connection without chance of repair. Bruce had seen it all. And now, sitting here with his kids, his family, Bruce could sleep. And he could breathe.
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“The cowl,” Bruce stated, holding the cowl in his hands while down in the cave. “It was the cowl.”
“What was, sir?” Alfred questioned.
“Day 397,” Bruce turned to the Butler, and the man’s eyes widened. “That was the only time I didn’t put the cowl on.”
“Well, then I suggest you put that thing away, Master Bruce, and make your way upstairs,” Alfred huffed as if that answer was rather obvious. “The children are waiting for their father.”
Bruce hummed, looking back down at the cowl once more before moving to place it back on it’s mannequin. Gotham still needed a Batman, but Batman had forgotten that he, too, needed something. His family.
It was a good thing Bruce Wayne was still here to remind them both of that fact.
Closing the case door to the suit, Bruce began his walk up the stairs, taking a moment to breath in the shift of air from musty cave, to pleasant house full of rambunctious children. Yes, it did have a rather particular odor, the last one did. It smelled like home.
“Hey, dad,” Jason grinned as he met Bruce outside the office, carrying a box of books to his bedroom. “Ready to help me with that bookcase?”
397 days of pure agony, losing his kids. Those were a nightmare of the past. But these last 24 days…
Those days were his perfect little blessing.
“As I’ll ever be, lad. Just tell me you’ve already organized them in their boxes.”
“I did. Promise.”
“Good.”
“But I may change it up, anyways.”
“You’re killing me here, Jay.”
“Nah, you can’t die yet. You have to wait till we give you grandkids. Dickie’s already getting a head start on that one, though.”
Bruce proceeded to trip over his own feet.