The Core + Their 1000th Game Wedding Vows

the core + their 1000th game wedding vows

Nap Time

Hear me out.

When you work the graveyard shift busting baddies and crushing cases, you likely average about two, maybe three hours of sleep a night. At most. There’s only so much time in the day, right? And Timothy Jackson Drake is not the only member of his family who’s dangerously sleep-deprived.

So, upon Alfred’s insistence (and many isolated incidents involving brick walls, hot coffee, shaving cream, and a lack of pants)–

A bargain was struck. Deals were made. Schedules were rearranged. Employers and Teachers were generously bribed.

All for one minor, but critically crucial thing:

Family Nap Time

It was actually Duke who had the idea, to everyone’s surprise. He stepped into the manor one day and witnessed a state of chaos on a scale only achievable by a family of the World’s Greatest Detectives:

Dick had climbed on top of the fridge and curled into a fetal position, clutching a cup of coffee like his very life depended on it.

His eyes were unfocused, staring into the eyes of demons nobody else could see.

Jason was screaming at the toaster in Portuguese and hitting it repeatedly with a whisk. Said toaster was on fire.

Steph was dutifully trying to put out the fire with the extinguisher Alfred always kept within reaching distance of the oven (for obvious reasons).

The only problem? She was nowhere near the toaster.

Instead, she was spraying the potted Ficus on the opposite end of the kitchen, screaming ‘aaaaayyyyyyyyyy’ in complete monotone.

Harper, who’d ‘spent the night’ to catch a quick hour and a half of sleep, was perched, bird-like, on the bar stool at the counter squeezing mustard into her Frosted Flakes. She stared, unblinking, at the bowl.

Whether she thought it was milk, or whether she was perfectly aware of what was in her hand and just didn’t care what she was doing is unclear.

Damian was hugging a struggling Alfred the cat like a teddy bear, and standing with his face in the corner of the room. Unmoving. Just…standing there.

Tim was wearing swim trunks (they were actually Dick’s, and had little yellow rubber duckies on them) and sitting in the kitchen sink. Said sink was running. Tim’s head was tipped back. He stared at the ceiling while water continued to overflow onto the floor.

Cass was nowhere to be seen. At least, at first.

Bruce walked in, wearing nothing but a pair of his best underwear and Selina’s fluffiest bathrobe. He was holding a carton of orange juice. He nodded at Duke, and, as the most lucid of the bunch, said,

“Morning, son. Breakfast?”

He stepped over to the fridge, and Cass was clinging koala-style to his back.

Whether Bruce was aware of this fact was also unclear.

Duke was fine. He operated during the daylight hours, and therefore had the best REM cycle in the family. But still…he had Concerns.

So, collaborating with Alfred (a.k.a. the Only One Anyone Actually Listens To) they came up with Family Nap Time.

The rules are simple:

At exactly 6am EST report to Wayne Manor

Family Nap Time shall take place at least three (3) times per week

Refer to the Family Group Messages for more info

Bring:

Your fluffiest blanket

If you do not have a fluffiest blanket, one will be provided for you

One or more pillow(s)

Body Pillows are Highly Encouraged

(But if necessary, a younger sibling will serve the same purpose)

Fuzzy or Comfy Pajamas (and Socks)

Not required

(But you must be wearing CLOTHES, MASTER JASON)

A raffle shall be had each week to determine who gets to pick the white noise played in the background.

Those who would like to opt out of background noise will be supplied with foam earplugs.

No, Master Timothy, the Bee Movie Script is not adequate white noise.

Master Jason, please take this seriously. Sirens, car horns, and explosions are not conducive to a positive sleep environment. I don’t care if that is what helps you sleep at night, why can’t you be more like Miss Cassandra and select wind chimes or ocean waves?

Everyone shall gather in the living room.

You are free to sleep anywhere you would like

Couches, the rug, by the hearth, all are excellent choices.

No, Master Timothy, you may not sleep in the chimney

Master Dick, the coffee table is an…interesting choice, but–

Miss Brown, please keep your hands to yourself

Especially within view of young Master Damian.

No cellular devices allowed

This means all of you

Yes, ALL of you

Even you Master Bruce, don’t give me that look

The Lights will be dimmed, and the curtains drawn.

This signals that it is time to Sleep

Glowsticks are banned, Miss Brown, I’m sorry.

Everyone must sleep for at least 3 hours, but you are free to stay as long as you would like.

Within reason

We made an exception one time, Master Timothy

But you cannot continue to spend the week on the sofa, no matter how little sleep you’ve gotten this past month.

There’s actual work that needs to be done

Failure to attend shall result in Mandatory Leave from all patrols and other related Vigilante Activity, to allow for the opportunity to sleep on your own time.

Either way, Sleep is a NECESSITY not a SUGGESTION

Needless to say, there’s some bumps in the road, and a few debates to be settled and rules to be tweaked. But all in all? Family Nap Time is a huge hit.

The rest of the heroes in the Super Community are well aware of this practice, as well.

Tim was teased about it at a Titans’ briefing only once. (The other Titans are still attending group therapy.)

Roy negged Jason about it a few times, then stopped once he started to notice how the dark bags under his friend’s eyes started to slowly disappear.

The Birds of Prey pick up the slack while Babs heads over to Wayne Manor to join the siesta festivities (Siestivities?) She always helps Alfred make chamomile tea for the others.

And lastly,

Barry Allen, the poor fool, burst into Wayne Manor one day and shouted something about an emergency in space that the League needed Bruce for, asap!

Twelve heads perked up out of a nest made of pillows, sheets and blankets set up in the living room, glaring daggers

It was at that moment, Barry knew

He. F****d. Up.

All he remembers is the unholy sound of shrieking, fingernails, fists, and being stuffed somewhere dark (the broom closet)

Anything past that? Gonzo.

Wally had to pick him up after Alfred gave the all-clear.

It’s become a sacred, but unspoken, rule for any hero outside of Gotham:

Let the Bats Sleep…or else

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