when bruce is in a particularly bad headspace, god help the first batkid he sees. a zombie in his own home, eyes glazed over even as his body moves with his ingrained fluidity and grace. the moment he registers one of his children in his radius, his head snaps in their direction and the hunt begins. with a speed only a Flash could outdo, he’s dragging his kid into his arms, tucking their head into the crook of his neck and carrying them to the living room to initiate family cuddles. the others will stop by for a few hours, or perhaps the whole night, but that first child is never leaving his arms.
bruce gets so embarrassed once he’s back in his own body, but what he doesn’t know is that the kids all fight over who gets the comfort of Papa Bat cuddles.
sure, they could still join later, but they like seeing bruce, reduced to only his rawest self, be torn out of his own self hatred because he loves them more than he could ever hate himself. even stuck in a miserable spiral, all it takes is one look at any of his kids and he is rushing to love on them
















