After a particularly grueling patrol, Bruce is exhausted. He strips the uniform mechanically, dozes through his shower, and tugs the sweatpants left out for him on backwards. Fixing them seems like too much work, so he trudges back into the main area of the cave with the pants bunching in front and sagging slightly in back and can't bring himself to care overly much.

Alfred, after briefly checking his charges for injury, had gone up to bed at Bruce's urging, leaving behind a tray of refreshments and a reminder that "the training mats are not your bed, Master Dick" in his wake.

Through bleary eyes, Bruce notes that Dick has heeded the butler's warning and is not currently slumbering facedown on the blue mats padding the far corner of the cave. Bruce sighs in relief. The teen has an alarming propensity for sleeping in a myriad of places that are decidedly not his bed, and Bruce is not sure he has the energy tonight to rouse the boy and herd him to his room.

Bruce gives one last considering glance to where Alfred's cookies rest on the computer console, before deciding that chewing requires too much effort. He turns for the stairs, but before he can begin the climb a flash of some pale color catches his eye.

Taking a closer look, Bruce sighs resignedly.

Dick sprawls haphazardly in the big chair in front of the main computer, half falling out and fast asleep, head on one arm and legs draped over the other. One bare foot dangles a few inches above the cold floor, waving at him as the boy twitches in sleep.

"Ah, Dick," Bruce laments appealingly to the heavens, as if for strength. There is no answer, and he feels slightly ridiculous, but also completely justified. After all, the big man never had to deal with a teenage hellion prone to narcoleptic tendencies.

There is a chocolate chip cookie clasped possessively in the fist the boy holds close to his chest, and another held loosely in his slack mouth. Bruce removes both, careful of crumbs, and swipes a chocolaty smear from the teen's chin with only a slight grimace.

Say what you want about the miracle of life and all, but kids are gross. In a good way, usually, Bruce has learned.

He doesn't have the strength for the battle it will take to wake Dick now, so he simply scoops the boy into his arms and starts for the elevator they'd installed only months ago now. He sends a silent, but fervent, thanks to Alfred for the foresight.

Dick doesn't rouse during the short journey topside, or on the walk to his room. It's not until Bruce attempts to roll him gently into bed that the boy begins to stir.

Dick mutters angrily at being pried away from his guardian's warmth, at once kicking one leg violently and hooking his left arm firmly around Bruce's neck. Startled, Bruce fumbles, accidently sort of dropping the teen. Dick's grip ensures that Bruce tumbles to the mattress after the boy, and the man is left scrambling to fall in a way that does not crush his still unconscious captor.

"Shit, shit," he whisper-chants, but Dick only gives an unintelligible mumble and shoves his face sleepily into Bruce's armpit.

Well. This is awkward. Bruce has somehow ended up underneath Dick, with the boy's legs draped across his stomach and his face pressed under Bruce's arm still. Bruce wiggles a little, desperate for his own bed, but the teen's death grip around his neck only tightens.

He huffs for a moment, but it is clear that Dick is not letting him creep silently away anytime soon, so he pulls the boy's face gingerly out of his underarm and settles it on his shoulder instead. The legs are a more difficult situation, because Dick becomes an octopus when Bruce tries to separate them, but he is eventually settled with both legs pressed closely along Bruce's side, feet hooked around the man's calf.

A draft raises the hairs on Bruce's arm, and he stretches and pulls, reaching for the blanket at the end of the bed and accidentally dislodging Dick's head in the process.

Dick oomphs discontentedly as his head hits the pillowand his hand flaps around until it finds anchor in Bruce's shirt.

"Tati," he whines crossly.

Bruce freezes, the air driven suddenly from his lungs. Dick's hand tugs uncoordinatedly on his shirt and he lowers himself to the bed robotically.

He has enough Romani for that.

It didn't mean anything, he rationalizes. He's dreaming, and it's nothing.

"Here, kiddo," he murmurs, trying to still the rapid thrumming of his heart, "don't you want the covers?"

He reaches for them again, but Dick curls tight into his side.

"Da, shhh. Don' wake the 'phants. Alfred'll be mad," the boy slurs firmly.

Bruce lies perfectly still, allowing Dick to flop over him once more and struggling to think past the warmth flooding his chest and squeezing tight around his heart. His blood pulses loud in his ears with every thump of the organ, and he's momentarily blind and deaf to anything but the wiry little body pressed against him.

After several breathless minutes, his heart stops attempting to beat its way out of his chest and he calms considerably. Dick is still once more, and Bruce gives up on the blankets, choosing instead to tuck the boy closer to himself.

Dick babbles incoherently and finally releases his clutch around the man's neck to pat him approvingly on the head.

Bruce's lips quirk at the gesture.

"Dickie," he whispers, amused, "what are 'phants'?"

Dick shoves his nose into Bruce's neck and refuses to answer.

Okay, then, Bruce thinks, as his own eyes start to droop. Sleep sounds really good. Finally.

He curls onto his side, practically surrounding Dick and getting an elbow to the gut for his troubles.

"Goodnight," he sighs into the boy's hair.

"Da," the boy breathes one last time, in answer.

Bruce has just enough time to register that he's happy before his mind surrenders to the demands of his exhausted body and he tumbles after his son into oblivion.

A/N: This is just a little fluff piece to keep my brain going while I try to finish the next chapters of RtF. There will be at least three more chapters to this story (one for each of the boys). Just for the record, 'phant' is sleepy Dick speak for elephant. Reviews make me happy.