#{/daffy if he excuses himself please don't check up on him to make sure he's okay}

[blindedguilt]

((from @booksofthelibrary ))

The young girl runs up behind the boy and sprays him playfully with a little bit of water. A harmless prank as she giggles before handing him a brand new net that she made for him. A 'R' carved into its handle.

"happy birthday!"

::RIVERSAL

"Waaah...!!" A sharp squeal erupted from the boy at the feeling of cold water on his back, the momentarily cry of shock quickly turning to a string of bright giggles as he flicked back a few drips from his hair towards Daffy. "Oi, you!! I'll get you for that, you know! You better watch your back, miss..."

He could hardly say he was displeased at her betrayal so much as pleased he had someone to play with! His brothers tried, but could never fully get in on his games, whether it be through confusion or other business they had to attend to.

Admittedly, though he would never say it out loud, he secretly felt rather jealous, perhaps even upset at the news of her getting together with Lukhege when he had initially found out. It was frustrating, in a way - he had finally found himself a friend to play with, and for what? ...Yet, even despite those initial worries, he was glad to be further comforted in the thought that he hadn't been forgotten by her presence with him that day.

The once beaming smile faded with the momentary rush of excitement and into curiosity as he was offered the finely crafted net. "Oh...This is..." A soft red creeped up to his cheeks with a sheepish, somewhat awkward look to his smile as he idly turned it over in his hands. It would have seemed forced in a way that he was trying to smile if not for the faint twinging at the corners of his lips threatening to break out into a wide grin. For someone who was usually so excitable, it seemed Riversal in particular had the most trouble accepting gifts - even compared to his younger brother Laum, who, while sheepish, was always capable of clearly showing his gratitude. Riversal, however...

The boy's long coat swayed as he rocked back and forth once on his heels, unable to fully look the other in the eyes as he spoke in a quiet, awkward little peep. "Thank you, Daffy... This is... Nice. Um...! Thank you. Well..."

Promptly, he spun on his heel, took a few awkwardly shuffled steps, and sat with his back turned and his feet spread to either side of the net he held between his legs. Though she couldn't see it, it wasn't hard to guess how red his face must have been as part of the kind gesture.

"...Come back later," He said suddenly, a flatly dismissive, determined tone to his voice, "I have something to think about." One of his tricks, now involving his new present, most like. "Thanks... Again."

His next words, though meant to be spoken in a tease, came off as nothing but a half-hearted suggestion in all his distraction. They were nothing more than a mouthed, near-inaudible whisper as he stared and plucked idly at the strings of the net with his fingers, too deep in thought to even notice the water dripping from his hair, much less to speak. "...Go chat with your boyfriend..."

Whatever could he be plotting? Whoever could he be plotting against? Riversal didn't speak, and sat there deep, deep in thought for a very long time.

"Hah! Got you!!"

...Ah, poor Leonard. It seemed that he had been chosen the unfortunate victim of his prank that evening. From a distance, the small Riversal could be seen standing triumphantly atop his older brother's back like a proud hunter with his prey. Leonard, conversely, would have been near invisible if not for his large form and the striking beige of his coat against the greenery of the forest. The poor hermit laid cruelly fettered on the ground, all that was visible being the blond of the head that laid face-down and the shoulders of both arms spread on either side. The net that had toppled him should have been relatively easy to remove from the foot tangled within it - his brother that stood on his back, however, was not.

"Please, release me at once!" The muffled plea sounded from the ground. With a dramatically boisterous laugh, Riversal's hands found themselves resting smugly atop his hips.

"No! I've got you, now, brother~!"

"Riversal! Please!!" A bit more insistence in his tone, and enough in a voice as deep as his to make the now 11-year-old almost immediately jump out of his skin and straight to the side of his ailing brother.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry!!" Riversal was the one pleading now, his tone as frantic and shaky as his hands as he removed the trap net from Leonard's back. The eldest looked pale as he sat up on his knees, deathly silent in the face of his younger brother's apologies and concerns as to his wellbeing - his eyes were screwed tightly shut. He seemed shaken, with his shortness of breath, Laum noticed with a tiny frown.

...Maybe he was claustrophobic? Poor brother.

[autumnhobbit]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559116/chapters/41380742

"Hood here, come in, Agent A," the communications line buzzed, and Alfred quickly answered it. "Present, Master Hood. What is Batman's condition?"

"We think it's stable but who the hell knows," Jason said, exasperation leaking into the tone. "He's letting Wing and Red help him, somewhat reluctantly. But he's being a total ass. Sorry not sorry," he tacked on.

Alfred sighed. "Considering the circumstances, I will not hold it against you, Master Hood." He pursed his lips as he walked towards the medical bay to prepare it for their arrival. He’d heard the undercurrent of stress in Jason’s words. “And I may even be persuaded to privately admit that I am inclined to agree with the sentiment."

Jason huffed a half-laugh, the sound echoing fuzzily in the comms. "You know him better than anyone, A."

"That I do, Master Hood," Alfred sighed, shaking his head even as he wheeled a few machines closer to the gurney, reclined the bed so it would be ready when they returned. "That I do."

"...I've gotta go," Jason said all of a sudden, more of the strain he was undoubtedly feeling leaking into his voice. "We'll be back as soon as we can. Eta thirteen minutes."

"Copy," Alfred responded, heart heavy. "I'll be waiting."

Jason disconnected the communication without another word, which left Alfred to his work. He prepared the necessary tools, retrieved a bag of Master Bruce's blood type from the fridge and attached it to an IV pole, dug out the saline and hydrogen peroxide. He washed his hands and made sure the box of sterile gloves was within reach, as well as the phone in case they wound up needing more professional help than he could provide. With that done, there was nothing to do but wait for the boys to arrive with their patient.

It was only a few more minutes before the distant rumbling of engines signaled their return, and Alfred brought the gurney out to right outside the parking spaces.

The door was thrown open, and Master Damian was the first one out, staggering a bit as he landed on his feet as he spun and held the door open. Next was Timothy, who exited a bit more slowly than his younger brother. He stood next to the door, arms raised and ready to help guide the injured party out of the vehicle. And finally, Jason slipped out of the car. Bruce's arm was draped across his shoulder, his head hanging against Jason's chest. Dick clambered out of the driver’s seat, and quickly ran to Bruce and Jason, and pulled Bruce's other arm around his own shoulders.

"Will you survive, Master Bruce, or must I retrieve the will from the safe-deposit box," Alfred asked, leaving just enough point to his question to make certain he knew what trouble he was in.

Bruce didn't respond beyond a grunt mixed with a groan. Jason snorted. "I get the Corvette."

"Uh, excuse you," Dick said, mock sassily. "He expressly promised me that car for my eighteenth birthday."

"Yeah, and you're twenty-five," Jason shot back.

"I'm pretty sure the Lamborghini is mine," Tim said brightly.

"Why did Father tell me I could have it, then?" Damian asked imperiously. Tim stuck his tongue out at him.

"Meant...for you to share it," Bruce rasped, raising his head just slightly from Jason's shoulder. "Have t'....get along if you want the car."

Silence. "Father." Damian said, sounding a mix of impressed and disgusted. "You are despicable."

"--Savage," Tim said simultaneously, and the two of them looked at each other, sputtering in surprise.

"Did you? Did you just say 'despicable?' Are you Daffy Duck?"

"The most fitting word you can conjure up is 'savage!?'"

"It's a meme! I don't expect you to know it when you've just now gotten into Looney Tunes jokes! What kind of compound is Ra's running over there?"

"Hush," Bruce grunted, as Jason and Dick helped him ease down onto the gurney. "Hurts my head."

Tim and Damian both instantly closed their mouths.

"Besides," Bruce mumbled. "It makes me sad when you fight."

Jason laughed. "If you think that was a fight, you haven't been paying attention."

"That was playful banter," Dick agreed, easing Bruce's head and torso down onto the mattress.

"I...didn't mean to disturb you, Father," Damian said quietly, dipping his head a bit in shame.

"Me neither," Tim said a bit awkwardly.

Bruce huffed. "S'alright," he sighed dismissively. "m getting old, is all."

Alfred gently stepped up beside Richard, and pressed two fingers to Bruce's pulse, glancing at his wristwatch to measure the beats. Bruce lay still and blinked up at him as he did so, while Richard carefully removed the cowl, and Jason yanked his own helmet off and promptly dropped it on the floor.

"A bit irregular and thready, but mostly stable," Alfred declared after a moment, removing his hand from Bruce's neck. "Boys, if you would move him into the med bay..."

Jason and Richard didn't hesitate, Richard taking the head of the gurney to push it while Jason walked alongside and guided it in. Alfred followed, leaving Damian and Timothy behind to shower and change.

When the boys brought the gurney to a stop, Alfred bustled up alongside them and began working. With a sterile gauze and antiseptic, he began cleaning the surface abrasions and similar minor injuries. He gently wiped the blood from Bruce's forehead and cheek, while Jason cut away at the suit with a utility knife. Richard attached monitors and carefully inserted an IV into his father's arm.

The entire time, Bruce lay still and uncomplaining, blinking sluggishly up at them. Alfred suspected a concussion, and whipped a small penlight from his pocket to confirm it. Bruce cringed, a pained hiss escaping him as he clenched his blown eyes shut. Tsking, Alfred placed the light back in his pocket and donned a pair of gloves. "You are actively attempting to drive me to an early grave, aren't you," he asked, mostly to himself, carefully pressing against Bruce's neck and chest to check for injuries.

"No, Al.” Bruce mumbled. "You know that." He smiled, though it was a bit strained, his eyes still closed and face still tight with pain. "What would I do without you, anyway?"

"Heaven knows," Alfred said. Richard clicked the last connection together to set up the heart monitor, and rapid beeps immediately came from the machine. Alfred lifted his head in concern, glancing at the monitors. "Master Bruce...?"

"'M alright, Al," Bruce assured weakly. He grinned faintly, almost a grimace, and shifted one shoulder just slightly in a shrug. "...Hurts," he admitted quietly, voice thick.

Alfred sighed. "Richard, if you would please prepare the morphine pump...?"

"Already on it," Dick said, emerging from the storage closet, pushing the pole in front of him.

Alfred fixed his gaze back on Bruce, as he continued to probe him for injuries. When his hand applied deft but light pressure to one section of Bruce's ribs, Bruce's breath stuttered and the heart monitor picked up a bit.

"That one at least is definitely broken," Alfred muttered under his breath, feeling around for how extensive the damage was. Bruce's eyes were shut, and though he was trying to breathe steadily, sweat was still breaking out on his forehead. Richard finally managed to get the IV in, and he pressed the button on the pump a few times to start a dosage. Bruce finally relaxed, the tension in his shoulders loosening slightly.

"What was it, Master Richard?" Alfred asked, not looking up.

"Lead pipe," Dick said, and Jason snorted.

"Still not as bad as...you with that tire iron," Bruce said, breathless but fond, tilting his chin in the direction of Jason's snort. Jason rolled his eyes, leaning his elbow on the rail of the gurney and brushing back Bruce's sweaty bangs with deft, gentle fingers.

“Sure it wasn’t. ‘Tis but a scratch,’” Jason’s voice rose in a mock British accent.

“Right. I’ll do you for that,” Dick parroted back.

“You’ll wHAT.” Jason had been pressed into service by Alfred to hold an icepack to Bruce’s side, and gave an impersonation so indignant while bent halfway over and not looking up that Bruce snorted with laughter and immediately winced. Jason immediately looked flatly at him, long-sufferingly. “What’re you gonna do, bleed on me?” he went on, dropping his gaze back to the bruised ribs he was holding the ice pack on.

“I’m invincible.” Bruce replied, in a chipper tone that drew a high, surprised noise out of Jason.

“You’re a looney.” Alfred replied calmly, reemerging from the supply drawer with gauze and medical tape. He passed his dumbfounded grandsons, who promptly dissolved into helpless laughter, and set the supplies down primly on the adjustable table, moving to start removing the top of the suit.

Beneath the loud, obnoxious yet endearing cackling of the boys, Bruce glanced up warily, with the same hesitant expression he’d had as a misbehaving child. “You okay, Al?” He asked, in the same way he used to ask, are you mad at me.

“Of course, sir,” Alfred replied solemnly, prying the top panel off the uniform and setting it down next to the gurney. “Simply....weary of your city returning you to me like this.”

Bruce watched him studiously for a moment, doubtless trying to gauge his honesty, before slowly transitioning to sheepishness upon finding it. “It...has its issues,” he hedged.

“Understatement of the century.” Alfred sighed.

Jason, unsurprisingly, was the first to clamber up from the floor and his overblown hysterics, using Dick’s head as a crutch. “Al,” he wheezed, slightly breathless, “never change.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow. “I should hope not, Master Jason.”

Dick scrambled to prop an elbow against the floor and promptly flipped from there onto his feet, and enthusiastically wrapped a limp Bruce in an unhesitating hug. “And you never change, either.”

Bruce smiled a small but warm smile and tipped his head against his oldest’s arm in reply.