It had been three days since Bruce's sons had been rescued and he had never felt more relieved. When he had gotten word from Oracle that the boys' trackers had come online for a little over ten minutes, he immediately—and anonymously—called key figures in the police and navy and gave them the coordinates, hinting that criminals and the lost Wayne boys might be at that location. It had taken the message fifteen minutes to be verified and another twenty for a rescue team to be assembled. He had sat in his hotel room, figuratively biting his nails, unable to do anything that would give away his identity.

It killed him to stay on the sidelines.

If only they had gone missing as their alter egos, then he could have sent Superman in to save the day, but, of course, his luck was nonexistent. He waited two tense hours for the phone to ring and tell him that his boys were safe. Alfred sat with him in silence, worrying just as much as he was. When the call finally came, he almost broke the phone in half. Damian had been shot in the chest, Dick had a hundred and two fever from infection, Jason had a concussion, and Tim had been shot in the shoulder.

He lucky they were alive.

Alfred had already readied the car while he was on the phone and they left as soon as Bruce hung up. They made it to the hospital in record time, just in time to see Damian being wheeled into emergency surgery, pale and unconscious. Bruce was ushered away, despite his protests, and pushed into a waiting room where he demanded to see his sons. A flustered nurse took his threats with as much calm as she could muster, but finally let him through after an okay from a doctor.

Bruce had burst into a private room to find three of his sons in bed, fast asleep. They had been bandaged and cleaned and fed, and Bruce had been told that the exhaustion took hold despite their best efforts. Dick looked extremely pale and still laying in that big bed, but a nurse assured him that they had been able to keep his fever under control and he was going to be okay. Tim was the opposite—badly sunburned, redder than Bruce had ever seen him. His arm was bandaged into a sling, but his face was peaceful as he slept. Jason had bandages wrapped around his head and he had broken a finger in his right hand.

Alfred had pulled up two chairs and they sat together, next to the beds, waiting for them to wake up. Tim was the first, fighting wakefulness, but finally his eyes opened and focused on his two father figures. Bruce had tried to get him to fall back asleep, but Tim had wanted to tell him everything. From the crash, to drifting on the wing, to landing on the island and making camp, to being captured, and to being rescued by Damian. Bruce didn't say it outloud—listening to Tim's story in silence—but he was so proud of his sons for working together and surviving.

Now, three days later, Bruce hung up the phone on Clark. He had asked Superman to go to the island and pick up all of the items left behind that could link the Waynes back to the Bat. Clark had just called him back to say that he had gathered up all of the weapons and suits the boys had left and was en route to the Bat Cave. He also made Bruce promise to tell the boys hello for him.

As he tucked his phone back into his pocket, Tim walked into the room, his arm still in a sling. His sunburn was not as severe anymore, fading to a dull pink. He had barely been allowed to leave his hospital room, despite his best efforts. Between Alfred and the nurses, all of the boys had been forced to stay in bed and rest. Jason, however, had snuck out the first chance he got to buy cigarettes.

"Hey, Bruce. Alfred told me to tell you that Damian woke up. They moved him to a regular room and he's ready for visitors."

The tightness in his chest that had been there since the boys disappeared finally dissipated at the news. "Thanks, Tim. How are you feeling?"

"Great," Tim said, but Bruce could tell he was still in a lot of pain despite the pain pills.

"Liar, but I'll let it slide," he said, ruffling Tim's hair on the way out and ignoring Tim's squawk of indignation.

Tim led the way to the ICU where Damian was staying. He had been asleep ever since he got out of surgery, his brain forcing him to recover from the trauma of having one of his lungs punctured and almost bleeding out. He was lucky that the medics had arrived as quick as they did or he'd be dead. They had considered keeping Dick in the ICU as well, but once his fever broke, he recovered remarkably fast. His hands were still in pain and he was sleeping most of the day, but he wasn't dying anymore.

Bruce stopped in the doorway to Damian's room, allowing Tim to enter first and settle in on the couch. Being rich had its perks and private hospital rooms with real furniture was one of them. Jason was already sprawled on the couch and only moved over when Tim kicked him in the shin. He grumbled and shifted over, leaving a space big enough for Tim. His head wasn't bandaged anymore, but his right hand was in a cast. When Bruce had asked how he broke his finger, Jason had quickly changed the subject.

Dick was sitting in a wheelchair next to Damian's bed talking to the boy. Alfred stood on the other side, studying Damian's charts.

"Lil D, you were amazing. I was only awake for some of it, but I saw those theatrics. If you ever want to give up crime fighting you could become an awesome child actor," Dick said, grinning.

"That's preposterous," Damian said, his voice raw from having a tube stuffed down his throat. "If I were to hang up the cape, then who would be there to change Drake's comm frequencies to the country station during patrol."

"I knew that was you, you little brat," Tim said from the couch, but there was no real malice in his voice. For now, everyone was on good terms with each other, still shaken up from what could have happened.

Bruce chuckled and Damian looked at him in surprise. "Father," he said.

"Damian," Bruce said, walking into the room. He took a seat in the unoccupied chair next to the bed. "It's good to see you awake. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine; I've had worse," he said.

"I know, but I'm glad you're okay. I'm glad all of you are okay," Bruce said, addressing the other boys as well. "You really had me worried there for a while."

"Aw, daddy bats was worried about us," Jason said.

"We're fine now, B, thanks to the Monkey King over here," Dick said, gesturing at Damian. "Our brains would probably be all over that warehouse if him and his army of monkeys hadn't saved us."

"I'm impressed," Bruce said, smiling at his youngest son. "How did you manage to harness an entire pack of monkeys?"

Damian blushed at his father's praise. "It wasn't that hard."

"Damian's a regular Disney princess," Jason chimed in, smirking.

Tim snorted. "Which one?"

"I'd say it's a tie between Snow White or Cinderella."

"Did you sing to them?" Tim asked.

"No," Damian said, glaring. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Then he's Cinderella because Snow White sang to the animals to get them to do stuff."

"No, Cinderella definitely sang to the mice," Dick said, butting in.

"Who else had singing animal friends?"

"There was no singing involved," Damian said, affronted by their accusations.

"Okay, but no one kissed you to bring you back to life, so that gets rid of Snow," Jason said.

"Maybe you should have, Jay. You might have the lips of life," Dick said, grinning.

Jason glared. "Why don't we test that theory—I'll throw you off the roof and then kiss you. If you live, you were right. If not, well then we know why you're named Dick."

"Okay," Bruce said, cutting in. "Alfred is in the room, which means everyone needs to play nice."

"For every insult uttered in my presence, I restrict cookie privileges," Alfred said, deadpan, his eyes sparkling with humor.

The boys grumbled to themselves, not willing to risk it. Damian's eyes fluttered shut before he could catch himself and he rubbed at them, trying to keep them open. Bruce watched in amusement, impressed at his son's determination. However, he was still injured and needed his rest.

"I think this has been enough excitement for one day," Bruce announced, standing up. "You need rest if you're ever going to get better."

"But, Father, I'm not tired," Damian protested, trying to sit up. He winced in pain. "I just woke up."

"Doesn't matter. It's the doctor's orders."

Damian crossed his arms and tried his best not to pout, but failed miserably.

"We'll visit you later," Jason said, standing up and stretching. Something popped in his back and he sighed with pleasure.

"And we'll bring ice cream," Dick whispered, conspiratorially.

Alfred gave him a disapproving look, but said nothing as he took the handles of Dick's wheelchair and wheeled him out of the room. Tim and Jason followed after, quietly bickering to each other. Bruce moved to follow, but Damian's voice caught him.

"Could you stay, Father. I… I don't want to be alone right now," he said, quietly.

"Of course," Bruce said.

He pulled up a chair and settled in while Damian sank back into his pillows. Bruce was about to say something, but when he looked up, Damian was already fast asleep. Bruce simply smiled and sat there in a comfortable silence, guarding his son as he slept.

Wow. It's finally over. I'm not going to lie, this story has been hard to write because I lost motivation to continue many times throughout, but I am so, so grateful for everyone who kept reading and liking and commenting. You guys are real troopers! Thanks so much for bearing with me. I hope everyone enjoyed the story and if not, thanks for reading anyway!