Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time Jon Kent shows up at the door, it hasn’t even been two weeks since the Night of the Owls. He doesn’t show up at the gate, either. No, he shows up the front door, grinning up at Alfred, and asks if Damian’s free.

Alfred goes and gets Bruce.

Bruce calls Jon’s parents.

He gets dragged off by a very annoyed Lois giving him a lecture about how foolish it was to fly across the Bay--and in broad daylight, no less!--and does not end up spending any time with Damian.

The second time Jon Kent shows up, it’s in a car, at the gate, with his father in tow.

Jon sulks about the fact that flying would be so much faster, and that the car ride is a giant pain, and is delighted when Damian agrees that he should be allowed to simply fly over.

Clark points out that there are inherent risks to flying over the bay, but does promise to show him how to fly safely.

They end up going to a restaurant with open air seating, and Damian and Jon run off to the play area in the park beside the patio to get into trouble.

Bruce is just happy no one’s going to end up with a broken arm this time. Damian’s still adjusting to civilian life, and having a friend who he doesn’t have to hide his identity around--and who is indestructible as a bonus--is a nice option to have.

“I never did thank you for calling us first,” Clark says. “If Lois had gotten home and he wasn’t there...”

“Hopefully you didn’t punish him too hard,” Bruce says. “I think he was just excited to see Damian again.”

Clark smiles at that.

“This is the first time he’s had a friend he could... ah, be himself around. So he seems to really like it.”

“Damian complains constantly, but when I gave him the option of coming or not, he came up with an elaborate reason why, really, he just had to go,” Bruce says, unable to keep his own smile off his face.

But he’s not just here to let Damian have a play-date. No, he’s got business to get to.

“Did they contact you?”

Clark frowns, his expression darkening, but doesn’t answer right away as the waitress arrives to the mostly patio to deliver their food. She definitely recognizes who Bruce is, but she’s also making a point to not stare too openly, which Bruce appreciates.

“Yes,” Clark says when they’ve left. “No offense meant to them, but I’m being a bit wary with this. I know you probably want Damian involved, but I don’t think Jon’s ready, and I’m not sure I’m ready for him to be ready.”

“Understandable,” Bruce says. “Given the choice they wouldn’t know my identity either, but I didn’t get that option. I’m lucky they’re willing to keep it to themselves.”

He doesn’t want to think about how things would have played out if he’d been outed as Batman to the whole world.

“Have you met any of the others yet?” Clark asks.

“Not yet,” Bruce says. “Trevor says he’ll arrange something. They’re all over the place though, and luring them out of their cities to come visit is a task in itself.”

He knows them, at least in general terms. Knows their areas, the places they patrol. He’s not sure if Clark does, so he keeps it to himself.

“I was actually wondering which of you was joining,” Clark says.

“We discussed,” Bruce says, sipping his drink. “I made it clear that it’s an all or nothing situation, and they’ve said they’re wanting one or two at most from each group. Some of the recruits are solos, but lots of them have their own... extended families.”

He takes a bite of his lunch and watches Clark mull it over.

“It makes sense,” Clark says. “If we’re intended to be a way to reach out to each other, you don’t want one city getting overruled by the fact that you brought thirty people to the meeting.”

“We’re not quite at thirty,” Bruce points out. “Now it’s just a matter of figuring out who’s going to take the slot. Jason doesn’t have much interest in it, if I’m being honest, and he was my first choice.”

“Not your husband?”

Bruce chokes on his food.

He takes a second to recover, coughing and spluttering, as he wonders if he’s going to die via pasta noodle before he finally manages to recover. He grabs is water, downing half the glass in one shot, and exhales.

Clark looks mortified.

“My what?” Bruce says.

Clark looks even more mortified.

“Sorry,” he says. “I know you don’t wear a ring, but I kind of thought that was just for privacy reasons.”

Bruce feels like he’s just been slapped in the face. Several times. By Clark.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “Do you think that Slade and I are... together?”

Clark looks confused.

“Are you not?”

Bruce is trying to figure out how the hell he made that mistake. Was is something they did? Was it something Slade did?

“No,” he says. “We’re not. We’re just... co-parents.”

Clark looks deeply skeptical, nodding his head with a faint mhm.

Bruce realizes, to his intense horror, that he’s blushing.

Goddammit.

He gives his food all his attention and tells himself it’s so he doesn’t choke again. Mercifully, Clark doesn’t bring it up again, but when Jon and Damian join them for their own food, Bruce can’t help but wonder what Jon thinks. Did his dad tell him...?

Chapter Text

Bruce does not run into Slade when he gets home, a fact for which he is infinitely thankful. He heads straight to his office, sitting down in his brand new desk chair, and then calls Dick.

“’yello,” Dick says. There’s a lot of noise behind him, and Bruce frowns.

“...Are you busy?”

“Bruce?” Dick says, sounding suddenly panicked. There’s a noise like he just dropped the phone, and then his voice comes through again. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

Bruce pauses, confused.

“Nothing’s wrong?” 

Or at least not in the sense Dick is expecting, anyway. He sounds like he’s waiting for Bruce to tell him that someone’s died.

“Something’s wrong,” Dick says firmly. “You never call.”

“I call you all the time,” Bruce points out.

“Bruce, you call me every other week at 5PM on Monday like clockwork. I could set an alarm to you, and now it’s one PM on a Saturday and you’re calling. Something’s wrong.”

It wasn’t an intentional choice. But that’s when his make sure you’ve called Dick and Tim alarm goes off, and it is when he’s done with work usually.

Bruce grumbles.

“I just had a question.”

“A question which could not wait an additional two days.”

“If you’re busy-”

“I’m not busy,” Dick says. “I was just making food.”

Bruce grunts. He knows better than to lecture Dick on his choice of schedule. Work throws that into complete disarray with surprising regularity.

“Alright Bruce,” Dick says. “Hit me, I’m ready.”

“I was out for lunch with Clark,” Bruce says. “And he-”

Bruce has to take a moment to work up to it.

“He asked me how my husband was doing.”

Those were not his exact words, but the principal of it is the same, and Bruce doesn’t want to have to explain everything that’s been happening with the League over the phone.

Dick is silent on the other end.

“Dick?” Bruce finally prompts.

“Uh,” Dick says. “Just not sure what to say to that.”

It is not the answer Bruce was hoping for. Bruce was hoping for something more like ha, how funny, how could he think that?

Bruce feels a sinking feeling in his gut.

“Dick,” he says. “You don’t think that Slade and I are...?”

“In a relationship?” Dick asks. “I mean, honestly, it had crossed my mind. But you’re both adults, and I can get why you wouldn’t want to tell anyone about it, what with Jason and Damian.”

Dick thought something was going on?

“What?” Bruce says. “No. Why would you even think that?”

Bruce knows he’s made a mistake almost immediately, because Dick starts listing things off.

“You trust him with literally anything, you’re raising four boys together, one of those boys is named Wilson-Wayne like it would be if you were married, when you got hurt he sat by your bed until you woke up and refused to move, you finish each other’s sentence-”

“Dick,” Bruce says, absolutely pleading. “You’re killing me here.”

Now that Dick’s pointed it out, he knows exactly why Clark made the assumptions that he did. It’s slapping him in the face, over and over, and Bruce sags as far back as the chair will accommodate.

“How many... How many people think like this?”

At the very least not the public. Slade has only been not a felon for less than two weeks, and it feels like a mercy that they haven’t gone out in public yet if that’s what everyone thinks.

“Well,” Dick says, and Bruce knows he’s not going to like the answer. “Most people who know you two, probably.”

Most people?

“Who?”

He’s going to have to talk to everyone in his life about this, isn’t he?

“Well, Tim thinks that Slade’s interested in you, but that you’re too much of a dumb ass to notice,” Dick says, and Bruce can tell he’s smiling even through the phone. “Barbara agrees with him, but says Jim-”

“Please do not tell me that Jim thinks that Slade and I are together.”

“Jim’s words, according to Barb, were ‘Of course there’s something going on, come on!’ and then he went on a tangent about government overreach.”

Bruce wants to die. He considers the possibility of just remaining there in his seat until he ceases to exist, because that seems like a better option than going back to his life in a world where he has to look Jim in the eye with the knowledge that the subject of him and Slade being together was apparently part of a dinnertime conversation at the Wayne-Gordon house.

Bruce groans.

“I need to call Tim,” he says.

“You probably do,” Dick says. “Try not to be too hard on yourself.”

Tim is not available when he tries to call, and Bruce is forced to leave his office, dying of shame, to fetch food from the kitchen. Alfred is there, but when he asks Alfred the same question he asked Dick, he gets a small smile and a polite excuse for Alfred to leave.

Bruce dies a little bit more and slinks back to his office with sandwiches.

“Tim,” he says. “Please pick up.”

Tim does not pick up, but Barbara eventually does.

“Bruce!” She says. “What’s up?”

“I need to ask you something important,” he says, wondering how his life came to this. “Do you think Slade and I are in a relationship?”

“Nope,” Barb says. “Who told, was it Dick or my dad?”

Bruce is definitely going to die. He’s attempting to will himself out of existence.

“Clark,” he says, his voice cracking.

“Oooh,” she says. “Ouch. Barely even knows you and already has that impression.”

“This isn’t - we’re not -” Bruce starts.

“Oh I know,” Barbara says. “You’re way too oblivious. Slade could be holding a sign that says I HAVE FEELINGS FOR YOU and you wouldn’t notice.”

“He what?”

Bruce can feel the eye roll through the phone.

“Steph was right,” Barbara mumbles. “You are a dumbass Bisexual.”

“I’m a what?”

“Never mind,” Barbara says. “Listen, Bruce, before you go running over the whole of Gotham making sure everyone knows you and Slade aren’t together, have you considered... talking to him?”

Bruce is struggling to imagine something he’d like to do less.

“What about Jason?” He asks instead. Please don’t let Jason think that.

“Tim brought it up once,” she says. “And he made a disgusted noise. Tim thinks he’s in denial.”

Bruce really is going to die.

Chapter Text

Bruce makes an attempt to avoid Slade, but it goes poorly from the word go. The problem is that they live together, and that they spend an exceptional amount of time together, so when Bruce doesn’t greet him when he gets back, Slade knows something’s up.

Bruce manages to avoid him for a whole two hours before Slade finally catches him on his way to the library to grab a bit of reference material, cornering him  before he can get away with a scowl on his face.

“You’re hiding,” Slade says.

“I am not hiding,” Bruce says, which is the most transparent lie he’s heard since Damian told Jon he was perfectly normal.

“Uh huh,” Slade says. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I going to have to drag it out of you?”

Bruce considers his options. Escape seems unlikely. Slade’s faster than he is, and he has him boxed in, his hand pressed up against the wall to block Bruce’s escape.

Telling the truth seems like the worse option somehow.

“Are you blushing?” Slade says, and Bruce feels nothing but horror as he realizes he is.

Slade jerks backwards, and Bruce tries to remember what the hell he’s supposed to be doing. He was getting something, wasn’t he?

“I...” Honesty, Bruce. He has to deal with it eventually. He makes himself breathe, counting out the breaths.

“I would like to talk about this later,” he finally says.

Slade looks at him, his expression impossible to read.

“...Alright,” he finally says. 

Bruce heads to the library. It’s all he can do not to sprint, and Slade lets him go.

Bruce feels like someone’s taken a hatchet to his dignity as he effectively hides in the library. Every time he thinks about it, the situation seems to somehow get worse. Is Tim right? Has he just been absolutely oblivious? Does everyone know but him?

“Master Bruce?” Alfred calls, sliding the door open. “You are missing dinner.”

“Talk to me, Alfred,” Bruce says, sinking farther into his armchair. “Before I die.”

Maybe he should call his therapist. He’s only saw him the week before, but this is... this is something else. So far outside what they normally talk to he’s not sure Valli will even be willing to discuss it.

Alfred makes a knowing hmm and sits down himself.

“I expected this would happen eventually,” Alfred says. “For someone so intelligent, you can be... exceptionally myopic about matters relating to relationships. Your ability to connect to your sons has improved greatly, but your romantic relationships...”

Alfred smiles, just for a moment.

“If I can be so blunt, sir, you are a bit helpless in the field. Your last relationship only started because her father staged an attempted murder to ensure you couldn’t miss her intentions.”

Bruce opens his mouth to object, and finds he can’t quite find the words.

“While you have been with several women since your first encounter with Miss al Ghul,” Alfred continues, “they were all women who clearly stated their intentions towards you, and you rather unfairly took at them at their word, seeing them for only a while before leaving them. You haven’t given anyone a chance in a long while.”

Bruce suspects that Alfred’s holding himself back from saying you used them to maintain your Bruce Wayne persona. It’s one of the reasons he hasn’t dated in so long, because the realization that he was using them felt like a slap to the face.

Bruce groans.

“I’m afraid,” Alfred says, “that your only choice is to speak to Mister Wilson about the matter. Although if I can say sir...”

Alfred fixes him with his very best I-raised-you-and-I-know-what-you’re-thinking look.

“You may wish to consider your own feelings towards Master Wilson before you attempt a conversation.”

Alfred stands up, smiles at him, and then drops the bomb.

“You have an hour, and then he’ll be up to speak with you.”

Bruce doesn’t get a chance to protest before Alfred’s already left. An hour? He’s not sure he could get his feelings under control if he had a week. And now he has an hour to figure out what the hell he feels about things.

He feels like he’s defusing a bomb, only those have schematics.

Bruce decides cheating is necessary. He pulls out his phone, digs through his contacts, and finally makes use of his therapists for emergencies number.

This is an emergency, Bruce decides, because he’s strongly considering the possibility of escaping out the window.

“Hello?” Valli says. Bruce hopes he’s not with a patient.

“Are you busy?”

“For you, Bruce? No,” Valli says. There’s a bit of shuffling on the other end, and then Valli comes back.

“I’m in my home office now,” he says. “So you can speak freely.”

“Do you do... relationship counselling?”

There’s a pause on the other end.

“I don’t do couples counselling, if that’s what you mean,” Valli says. “If you mean in terms of helping someone navigate their feelings towards a relationship... yes. My specialties lie primarily in the direction of trauma, but helping you sort through your emotions is a part of that.”

Valli, mercifully, does not guess who he’s talking about.

“A friend of mine--the one I mentioned last session--made the assumption that Slade and I were married.”

Valli makes a small noise on the other end of the line.

“And how did you feel about that?”

“I choked on my food,” Bruce says. “And almost died. I don’t - I didn’t get it. How anyone could think that. But then I talked to Dick and Tim and Alfred and apparently everyone thinks that we have something going on. Did you?”

“I have only a very limited view of things,” Valli points out. “I know only what you tell me, and have never met Mr. Wilson, let alone seen the two of you interact.”

“That’s not really answering the question,” Bruce says warily. After years he’s getting better at noticing when Valli dodges his question, but he doesn’t often point it out. He simply observes.

“I think you think very highly of him,” Valli says. “I think the worst thing you’ve ever told me about him is that he takes the last bit of food and doesn’t tell Alfred when things need restocking.”

Bruce groans.

Even his therapist thinks something’s going on.

“He’s just-” Bruce starts, before cutting himself off and deciding he needs to come at it a different way. “There’s no point in even... even considering it. I like what we have right now. We’re a family. The boys love him. What if something happened?”

Bruce tries not to think about the expressions Valli would be making if he were there in person.

“If people held themselves to that, things would never get done. No one would ever start anything. I would like to think that both you and Mr. Wilson are mature enough that if you did date, and if you did break up, that you could handle the emotional fallout in a healthy, mature way.”

The idea of him handling anything in a healthy, mature way feels alien.

“I think it’s a sign of your progress,” Valli says, “that your first response wasn’t absolutely not. Whether or not you have actual feelings for Mr. Wilson, you’re at least willing to sit down and consider the option. Exploring your feelings in a safe, healthy way.”

Bruce grumbles to himself. All of this is well and good, but it doesn’t give him and actual-

Someone knocks at the door and Bruce almost drops his phone.

“Sorry,” he says. “I need to go. I might call you later.”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne. Have a good evening.”

Bruce mumbles an apology and hangs up, staring at the door with dread.

Someone--definitely Slade--knocks at the door again.

Bruce definitely isn't ready for this.

Chapter Text

“It’s not locked,” Bruce calls when Slade knocks on the door the third time. The other man looks downright surly when he pops his head in, scowling at Bruce for making him wait.

“I was starting to wonder if I was going to have to come in the window and drag you out myself,” he says. “Now are you going to tell me what the hell is going on?”

Apparently no one--even though almost everyone seems to know--has thought to tell Slade what’s happening.

Somehow that makes it worse.

“Clark,” Bruce blurts out. “Thought we were married.”

Slade’s eyebrows go up, down, and then up again in short order. It would be comical if Bruce didn’t feel like he was close to screaming or being sick or both. He’s not prepared for whatever the hell this is.

“Oh,” Slade says.

He steps inside and closes the door behind him.

“Explains the blush,” he says after a moment.

“Apparently,” Bruce says. “Everyone thinks we’re in... something. More or less.”

Slade makes a face at that.

“Even the kids?”

“Dick thinks we were, and were hiding it for Damian and Jason’s sake. I have no idea what Damian thinks. Jason thinks everyone who thinks that is an idiot. And Tim...”

Bruce makes a face.

“And Tim?”

“Tim thinks that I am oblivious, and that you have ‘obvious feelings for me’.”

Slade folds his arms over his chest.

The fact that he doesn’t laugh or attempt to deny it or anything like that makes the answer fairly obvious.

“You do,” Bruce says. “Tim was right.” He no longer has any idea how he feels about anything.

“Bruce,” Slade says, “I am not the first gay man to have feelings for a straight one.”

Bruce wonders how many times in one day he’s going to have the rug jerked out from under him.

“You’re gay?” He says before he can stop himself. “You were married.”

Slade gives him a distinctly unimpressed look.

“It was the 60s,” Slade says. “And I was in the military. Of course I got married to a woman.”

“Does Adeline know?” Bruce asks before his brain can catch up to his mouth. He winces a moment after.

“No,” Slade says with an obvious scowl. “And she’s not going to. I wasn’t out to myself when we split up, and I’m not going to look her up now and give her another reason for why we didn’t work out.”

“Slade,” Bruce says, deeply uncertain. “Do you... think about it? Like how did you figure it out?”

Slade lets out an honest to god groan and starts to pace slowly around the room. He’s too much of a fighter to let himself be caught sitting down, and it’s the best sign that he’s actually anxious about what’s happening.

“That I’m gay?” Slade says with a shake of his head. “Really, I’ll consider it a mercy that none of the boys has ever come out to you.”

“What?” Bruce blurts. “Are they gay?”

Slade gives him a look.

“For one,” he says, “if they are, i’m not going to out them to you. And two, even if one of them was and they had told you, you’d have sat there helpless and tried to figure out what pansexual means.”

Bruce does not know what it means. He’s too busy trying to figure out which--if any--of his sons is still in the closet to him. Did they tell Slade, or is he just guessing?

“Bruce,” Slade says. “Focus. You can obsess over that later.”

Slade is right, but Bruce wishes he hadn’t brought it up at all, because now he’s thinking about the present, and that’s the last thing he wants.

“How long?”

“What?” Slade asks, his eyebrows furrowing together.

“How long have you been... interested?”

Bruce isn’t sure he’s ready for the answer, and he knows he’s not ready when Slade rolls his eye.

“You’re going to get annoyed.”

“Now you’re making me nervous.”

“Remember when we first fought?” Slade says. “Snow on the ground, down at the docks. Thought you’d be an easy kill, and I kept you on the ropes to start. Got my hand on your throat and normally that’s when people buckle, and instead you did this ridiculous flip...”

Slade looks starry eyed.

“You hadn’t beaten me yet, but I already knew you were going to be a real opponent. A good fight.”

“Slade,” Bruce says, slightly horrified. “You didn’t even know what I looked like.”

“I have a type,” Slade says with a wave of his hand. He looks a bit more sure of himself, a bit more normal. “My type just tends to be men who can kick my ass. It’s a very narrow pool.”

If Slade’s telling the truth, it’s a pool of one.

“Knew you were my type after we fought that night, even with what little of you I could actually see.”

Bruce is having a hard time believing that.

“But if you must know,” he says, “it went past ‘he probably looks good under that suit’ when I saw you playing with Jackson the first time. You looked happy. I thought it was a good look on you.”

Bruce’s face is burning. He can’t take this. How is he supposed to deal with this?

Slade pats him on the shoulder and Bruce can’t stop himself from burying his face in his hands to hide how red he is.

“I’ll stop torturing you for now,” Slade says, and then excuses himself without another word. He leaves so quietly that Bruce doesn’t even realize he’s gone until he glances up and looks around, realizing Slade just isn’t there anymore.

All that talking, and he has no idea what Slade was thinking.

Chapter Text

Bruce can’t stand the thought of having dinner with everyone, so he hides in his office and buries himself with work. He catches himself wondering what Lucius thinks--surely he can’t think him and Slade are a couple--and eventually just sags back into his chair.

Alfred finds him after maybe an hour, pulling open the door.

But when Bruce looks up, it’s not Alfred bringing him dinner. It’s Jason, the tray held between his hands.

It’s a monumentally bad idea, and there’s no way he should be up, and Bruce springs up immediately, taking the tray from him before sliding a chair up to him so that he can sit.

“You should still be in bed,” he chides. “If you strain yourself-”

“If I stay in bed any longer,” Jason says, “I’m going to go insane. Eat your damn food.”

Bruce doesn’t feel like eating. Bruce doesn’t feel like anything. It’s not even nine in the evening and Bruce is already considering just going to bed to make the day be over faster.

“Eat,” Jason says, and Bruce sits down at his desk and starts to eat. He barely tastes it, and he grows increasingly concerned when Jason--his food delivery job done--doesn’t leave.

Which means he wants to talk about something.

Bruce is dreading it.

Jason waits until he’s done the very last bite of food, and then leans forward.

“What did you do?”

Bruce goes stiff. He doesn’t see a point of lying (because Jason will see right through him), but actually figuring out what to say is... something else entirely.

“That,” he finally settles on, “is between Slade and I.”

“Apparently fucking not,” Jason says. “Considering you both skipped dinner. Do you know how weird it is sitting down with just Al and Damian? And especially when it’s obvious Al knows what’s going on, because when I asked why you weren’t there he gave me his Master Bruce and Mister Wilson need some time to themselves nonsense.”

Jason’s been increasingly aggressive lately, and Bruce is doing his best not to hold it against him. He knows why: The pain and frustration of not being able to go out is getting to him. Patrols have been sparse since the Night of the Owls, and Jason hasn’t been (and likely won’t be) ready for another one for a while.

He’s going stir crazy.

“Just tell me what’s going on,” Jason says.

Bruce does not want to tell him. He doesn’t want to have the talk with him right then.

“I can’t,” he finally says. “But I will... I will deal with it.”

Jason glares, obviously considering if he wants to argue, and then pushes himself to his feet.

“See that you do,” he says, in his very best imitation of Alfred, and then limps out.

Bruce slides the abandoned tray to the edge of his desk and pulls out his computer. Anything he can do to put off following up with Slade he’s happy to do, and that means a lot of furious searching through the internet for answers.

He figures out what pansexual is, although the finer details elude him. The general sense he gets is that most people just know, and he ends up taking an actual quiz in hopes it’ll give him an answer.

Mostly, Bruce hasn’t though much about it, and the more he thinks about it then, the worse he feels.

He googles confessing your feelings to a straight man on a whim, and the results aren’t pretty.

Confessing your feelings will end your friendship one page says.

Don’t tell them, whatever you do another says.

It’s not a good idea, it’ll ruin things says a third.

The internet, as far as he can tell, is in pretty universal agreement on the matter.

Bruce feels sick.

Even if he feels distinctly out of his depth with everything that’s happened, he understands that much clearly enough: That Slade didn’t tell him. That Slade kept his feelings to himself. And that Bruce tripped over it anyway and basically forced him into having the conversation.

The more he thinks about it, the more he’s convinced Slade left the room because he’d thought he’d just watched their friendship go down like a burning ship sinking beneath the waves.

He goes to find Slade.

The problem is that finding Slade is a whole other matter. He’s not in his room. He’s not in the library, or the reading room. He’s not in the workout room in the manor, or down in the cave.

Bruce is forced, somewhat begrudgingly, to text him.

Bruce: Where are you now?

Slade: Out.

Bruce scowls at the phone.

Bruce: We need to talk.

Slade: Already did.

Bruce takes a deep breath and reminds himself that strangling Slade would probably not help things.

Bruce: We need to talk again.

Bruce stares down at the phone, waiting for Slade to text back, but he doesn’t.

Bruce: Slade.

Bruce: Slade, we need to talk.

Slade: Bruce.

Slade: We don’t need to talk. We need space.

The last goddamn thing Bruce wants is space. Bruce is pretty sure he’s going to die if Slade insists on space. He tries to imagine the worst case scenario, and it’s definitely something along the lines of what’s happening right then: Slade fucking off to who knows where to start working again and do something dangerous.

Bruce: Come back to the house please.

There’s no response, and Bruce can feel himself growing increasingly frustrated. Why can’t Slade just have a conversation with him?

Bruce: Please come back.

Bruce buries his face in his hands. Now that he’s thought about it, he can’t un-think it. He can’t stop himself from thinking about what Slade must be thinking. About the fact that there seems to be a universal consensus of don’t tell him, don’t let them find out on the subject.

Confessing your feelings will end your friendship feels burned into his retinas. Like every time he blinks for the rest of his life he’s going to see it.

Slade: On the roof.

Bruce lets out a small sigh of relief and puts his phone away.

Chapter Text

The Roof could technically be any part of the manor, but Bruce knows exactly which part he’s talking about. There’s a flat part of the roof just above Jason’s old room where he’d spend his nights when he was feeling unhappy, and Bruce pulls himself up onto it with practiced ease.

Slade’s got a cup of something that looks a lot like whiskey in his hand, and he’s staring out over the grounds.

It occurs to Bruce that the entire time he was panicking about Slade running away from the house he wasn’t more than fifty feet away.

“Slade,” Bruce says, plopping down just beside him.

“Bruce,” Slade says, and knocks back the rest of his drink before setting it aside.

“I’m not going to throw you out,” he says, because that seems like a good place to start.

“Don’t think you could if you wanted to,” Slade says. “I suspect Jason and the others would have some choice words for you if you tried.”

Bruce really can’t argue that. If he tried to throw Slade out for some stupid reason, he’s pretty sure even Alfred would turn on him. Some sort of lecture about that not being the boy he’d raised.

“I meant more...” Bruce says, taking a breath. “This doesn’t change things.”

Slade actually laughs at that.

“If you think that,” Slade says. “You’re kidding yourself.”

“Things don’t have to change-”

Slade reaches out and takes his hand, and Bruce forgets what he was saying, blinking at him stupidly. Slade rolls his eye and releases it, letting his hand drop down to the roof.

“See? Different. You wouldn’t have batted an eye about that yesterday.”

Bruce wants to argue. Wants to say no, you’re wrong, but it’d be a lie. Things are different. He’s second guessing himself. Everything he says. Everything Slade does.

“I don’t want thing to change,” Bruce says, correcting himself.

“They’re changing either way,” Slade says, and there’s a note of bitterness in his voice. “You know why?”

“...Because of Clark?”

He hopes Slade isn’t angry at Clark. He honestly doubts Clark had any idea what he unleashed with his misunderstanding.

“Because of me,” Slade says. The bitterness isn’t an undercurrent anymore. It’s blatant, slapping Bruce in the face with how obvious it is.

“You?” He says stupidly, because he can’t figure out what Slade’s talking about.

“I let myself get complacent,” he says. “Let myself get greedy. What we had was fine. Co-parenting. Friends. But I kept pushing the limit, and eventually it got so obvious everyone knows, and when everyone knows eventually someone’s going to not keep their mouth shut.”

Bruce’s brain reels with the revelation. That it wasn’t just people picking up on what was already there. That it was a slow escalation of affection until everyone picked up on it.

And he didn’t. And he was blissfully, woefully ignorant.

“Oh,” he says.

Slade snorts.

“Slade,” he says. “I didn’t - I didn’t realize -”

“Of course you didn’t,” Slade says. “You’re oblivious.”

Bruce wants to argue that Slade’s wrong, but he’s already hit by how oblivious he is about that sort of thing several times that day, so he keeps his mouth shut.

Slade sighs, reaching up to drag his hand through his own hair.

“This isn’t your fault,” Slade says.

“It kind of is,” Bruce points out. “This is me just... not... knowing any of this stuff. I don’t like this. Not... knowing any of it.”

He hates having blind spots. He hates not understanding, and he doesn’t understand a bit of this.

“We’ll go back to normal,” Slade says, “as much as we can. Might be a bit awkward for a while, but we can move past it. I’ll get over it, we can go back to doing the co-parenting thing, and-”

“Slade,” Bruce says. “I don’t want to go back to how things were before.”

Slade turns his head, eyeing Bruce warily.

“I don’t want to... to go back to you being miserable. That you’re just sitting there-”

“Bruce,” Slade says. “One, I’m not spending all damn day sitting around pining over you. It’s a thing, but it’s not like it’s the only thing in my life, alright? And two, what you’re suggesting is a hard no. I’m not going to do any of the shit you’re about to suggest. I don’t want you doing anything with me so I won’t feel bad.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that,” Bruce says, annoyed.

“You were,” Slade says. “Even if you don’t admit it.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then humor me,” Slade says, giving him his full attention. “When was the last time you masturbated?”

Bruce considers if he can manage the fall from the roof without severe injury. He decides the answer is no.

“I don’t know,” Bruce says, and Slade makes a face. “March? April?”

Slade makes a small noise that Bruce can’t place for a moment. It takes him a second to realize it’s some kind of scandalized outrage.

“March?”

“Or April.”

“Bruce,” Slade says with a look of horror. “It’s December.”

“...So?”

“Oh my god,” Slade says. “Did - jesus, do you not at least have the awareness that jerking off once a year is kind of strange?”

Bruce has to admit--only to himself, because he wouldn’t be caught dead confessing it to anyone else--that he did not.

“I don’t know,” Bruce admits. “It’s not something I deal with. There’s always just... something better to do. Something more important. I’m busy, and -”

Slade starts laughing. Bruce isn’t sure if he’s able to go any redder, but his body is sure making an effort. Mortified doesn’t begin to cover it.

“Jesus, Bruce,” Slade says. “I was going to give you a speech about how everyone’s different and then wave you off to Dick or Tim or someone for a speech on how you’re probably asexual, but I should have known. It’s you after all.”

“Known what?” Bruce says.

“I think,” Slade says, looking too goddamn amused, “you’re actually have a perfectly average sex drive, and you’ve just drilled it out of yourself because you’re too busy to deal with it.”

Bruce is reconsidering his jump off the roof and try a roll to protect my legs plan.

“Are we really having this conversation?” Bruce asks.

“Sure are,” Slade says. “Sure letting me feel better.”

Bruce grumbles to himself.

“At least tell me what you’re thinking,” Bruce says. “I’ve got no idea. That whole conversation in the library and I just have... no idea what’s going on in your head.”

“You already know what’s going on in my head,” Slade says. “I’m gay. You aren’t. It’s not going to work, and now that it’s out there’s no putting it back in the bottle.”

“Does...” Bruce clears his throat. “Does Jason know your gay?”

Slade fixes him with a look.

“You’re trying to fish if any of the kids have talked about this stuff with me,” Slade says. “And it’s not going to work.”

“No!” Bruce protests. “I just wasn’t sure how... open you are with this.”

Slade tilts back, sprawling out on his back on the little patch of roof, and stares up at the stars.

“Doesn’t come up much,” he finally says. “I had a point before, you know,” Slade adds after a moment.

“A point?”

“When I asked you about the last time you jerked off. I was expecting a two nights ago in the shower, but the question still stands.”

“Which is?” Bruce says. He feels like he’s going to regret letting Slade ask.

“Who were you thinking about?”

“Do you really want to know?” Bruce suspects the answer is no.

“Mmm,” Slade says. “Probably not, but I’ve already asked, so you might as well say it.”

“Talia,” he says. “The last time we were together.”

Slade grunts.

“I should have seen that coming,” he says. “Can’t see it, though. She doesn’t seem like... your type.”

“I don’t have a type,” Bruce says.

“Everyone has a type,” Slade says. “You just don’t know your type. Tell me about her. What you liked about her.”

“Her... her openness, I guess,” Bruce says. “Honesty. She was an amazing woman. Driven, and..”

He pauses, squinting at Slade, who looks like he’s holding back a laugh.

“What?”

“Did you just describe the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul as having the quality of ‘openness’ and ‘honesty’?” Slade says. “She hid Damian from you for years.”

Bruce can’t help himself--he’s going pink again, although for very different reasons this time.

“That was how it felt,” he says.

“That’s more you than her,” Slade says.

Bruce is silent for a moment, turning it over in his head, and then nods.

“Probably,” he says. “With her, I was myself. With everyone else, I’m... two people. Batman and Bruce Wayne. I didn’t have to hide.”

“That’s a hell of a type to have,” Slade says.

The sit in silence for a little while, Bruce staring out at the lights of Gotham while Slade stares up at the stars.

“What were you thinking?” Slade asks. “When you were messaging me?”

“That you were going to run away,” Bruce says. “That ‘distance’ meant you going overseas and meeting your militia or something like that.”

“Retired,” Slade says.

“And yet Denali still has your suit.”

“Still retired,” Slade says. “I wouldn’t do that you you and the boys. It’d kill Jason if I abandoned him.”

Bruce doesn’t disagree. He can’t imagine how Jason would have reacted. He’d have been absolutely devastated.

There’s another long moment of silence, and then Bruce says it.

“I want to try,” Bruce says, and Slade doesn’t move.

“Try what?”

“This,” Bruce says. “Us. Not just as co-parents.”

“I can manage a friendship.”

“Not that,” Bruce says. “I mean... something - a relationship. Between us.”

“Bruce,” Slade says. He hasn’t even moved, his eye still fixed on the sky. “You aren’t attracted to men.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says. “I barely look at... well, anyone. I haven’t - I haven’t -”

He can’t quite figure out how to explain it. How to vocalize it. But Slade’s always been better than him at figuring out what it means.

“You used to be attracted to people,” Slade says. “And you’re not really now. And you think you trained yourself out of it, and you want to see if you can train yourself back into it.”

“Exactly,” Bruce says, relieved that he doesn’t have to figure out what to say.

“It’ll still be women,” Slade says. “That isn’t going to change.”

“Driven, skilled, and someone I can be honest with aren’t traits that only apply to Talia, you know.”

Slade turns his head, squinting at him.

“Careful,” he says. “That was almost a flirt.”

“The way I see it,” Bruce says, “we were already doing almost everything a couple does. Everyone thought we were. Clark thought we were married. And if we can do all that without me even being aware of it-”

“Bruce,” Slade says. “I’m not saying you’re wrong on that front. But a relationship isn’t just those things.”

“Slade,” Bruce says. “In case you haven’t noticed, my one and only serious relationship was with an assassin who’s father wanted me to take over his criminal empire. I don’t exactly have a good baseline for these things.”

“At least you recognize it,” Slade says with a small laugh.

There’s another silence.

“Christ,” Slade says. “This doesn’t feel real. I’m going to wake up soon, right?”

“You didn’t answer,” Bruce says.

“You didn’t ask a question.”

Bruce thinks that it’s monumentally unfair that Slade’s making him ask. But he supposes that’s the line Slade’s made in the dirt: That if Bruce can’t make himself ask, Slade isn’t going to take him seriously.

He takes a deep breath and Slade sits up, turning to face him properly.

“Slade,” he says. “Are you willing to try?”

Slade looks at him for a long moment, and then nods. He leans in, and for a moment Bruce thinks he’s going to go for a kiss.

He doesn’t. Instead he flops his head down onto Bruce’s lap, resting his head on Bruce where he sits.

“If this is a dream,” Slade says, so quietly Bruce can barely hear the words. “Please let it last a bit longer.”

Chapter Text

“Father?” Damian calls from somewhere, and Slade sits upright so fast Bruce sees an afterimage.

“Damian?” Bruce calls. He’s not sure where he is, but the last thing he wants is for Damian to walk in on Slade being affectionate before they’ve had a chance to talk to him.

Assuming they are going to talk to him.

Only Bruce can’t imagine not talking to him. They aren’t supposed to keep secrets. Not like that.

Damian’s head pops out the window, and he cranes his neck around, squinting up at them.

“Jason is upset,” he says. “He says you both vanished.”

Bruce has no idea what time it is, but he guesses they’ve probably been up there for at least an hour.

“We’ll be down in a moment,” Slade says. “Can you make sure Jason isn’t doing anything stupid?”

Damian vanishes from sight, and Slade glances towards him.

“So?” He says. “Are we telling them?”

“They’re going to find out no matter what,” Bruce says. “And I don’t think I could... even attempt to hide this sort of thing from them.”

“And if they disapprove?” 

Bruce hadn’t thought of that. He doesn’t know what to think of that.

“...I don’t know,” he finally says.

What is he going to do if they don’t? He’d sort of taken it for granted that as long as things worked out with Slade, everything else would go along with that.

“Bruce,” Slade says. “Stop it. You’re panicking.”

Bruce wants to argue he’s not panicking, but there’s a definite flair of anxiety.

“What if Jason says no?”

Slade makes a face.

“Bruce,” he says. “You’re a grown man. I’m a grown man. And you know what? Jason’s a grown man. He can deal with his father starting a relationship.”

His fathers, but Bruce doesn’t correct him.

“And Damian?” Bruce says. “He’s not a grown man. He’s a child. He’s-”

“Stronger than you think,” Slade says. “I think he’ll be fine with it.”

Bruce isn’t quite so sure. Damian, as far as he can tell, has even more limited exposure to relationships than he does. The only healthy relationship he’s think Damian knows is Tim and Barbara, and he met them when they were already together.

Which is a whole other level of pressure. Damian, he’s aware, looks up to him. Whatever he sees, he’s sure to model.

Slade presses a hand to his back, and Bruce can’t stop himself from shivering at the touch.

Slade smirks at him, the bastard.

“Let’s go,” he says.

Bruce flips himself down into the reading room, heading back into the house proper. He isn’t surprised to find Alfred in the kitchen, but he is a bit surprised to find Jason sitting at the center island, looking sour as Damian delivers him a variety of snacks.

He scowls at them as they come in.

“Jason,” Slade chides. “You’re acting like a child.”

“You,” he says, “are hiding something.”

Ah. Jason’s never been good with secrets, and the idea that he--and especially Slade--are keeping something from him is what’s making him so sour. Bruce’s concern about who’s going to react badly slides neatly from Damian to Jason.

“We-” Bruce falters for a moment. “We were just coming to tell you about that.”

Putting it in words seems impossible. He barely knows what they have, and the idea of explaining it to someone else is daunting.

Right then, Bruce really just wants to go to bed. The day feels like it’s lasted forever. If they could just pause everything, get a good nights sleep, and pick up in the morning... well, that’d be nice.

Mercifully, he doesn’t have to figure out how to say it, because Slade does.

“I talked with Bruce,” he says. “We’re going to try a relationship.”

“What,” Jason says, a look of absolute horror on his face.

Alfred simply politely smiles, while Damian’s look get so intense it looks a lot like he’s trying to set someone on fire with his mind.

Maybe himself.

“It’s tentative,” Slade says. “We’re playing by ear. But you’re the first to know.”

“Father,” Damian says. “Is this true?”

The question is kind of ridiculous, considering he’s standing right beside Slade, but he nods anyway.

“Yes,” he says. “We’re going to... play it by ear.”

Damian marches up to Slade, and Bruce holds his breath.

“If you harm him,” Damian says, and Bruce can already tell where he’s going. “I’ll kill you.”

Bruce says Damian! at the same time Alfred says Master Damian, but it’s Bruce who gets there first, scowling down at him.

“Damian,” he says. “We’ve talked about threats. You know the rules.”

“There is a good reason this time, father,” Damian says. “I had to make myself clear.”

“You know the rules.”

Damian scowls at Slade.

“I apologize,” he says, not sounding even slightly genuine.

Slade does a better job of it, reaching down to ruffle Damian’s hair. Damian swats his hand away.

“Kiddo,” he says, “you should realize by now that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt your dad.”

Damian scowls at him.

“I’ll be watching you,” Damian hisses at him.

“I for one,” Alfred says, “think this could be an excellent opportunity for both of you.”

Bruce glances at Jason, and realizes, just from the look on his face, that Jason had absolutely no idea. All of his brothers might have realized, but Jason’s clearly caught off guard, and Bruce feels a little bit of relief at the fact that he’s apparently not the only one who missed all the signs.

“You’re dating?” Jason finally manages.

Slade winces.

“That’s the idea,” he says.

Jason doesn’t say anything. His face keeps shifting through different reactions, like he can’t decide how to react.

“Why,” Bruce says, taking a deep breath, “don’t we go to bed for the night. This is a lot for all of us, and I want... I really would like to just go to bed.”

“Are you-” Damian starts, and Alfred interrupts.

“No, Master Damian,” Alfred says. “And while I am sure you are eager to get back to a regular patrol schedule, you should also be resting. You still have some bruises that haven’t quite healed.”

Damian scowls.

“I think rest is in order for all of us,” Alfred says. “And I will see you all in the morning for breakfast.”

Bruce is happy to get away, but still wary about Jason. His eyes dart to Jason, and then to Slade, and Slade gives him an almost imperceptible nod.

I’ll handle it.

Bruce excuses himself. He tries to keep to his eternally on-again-off-again routine, tucking Damian in, and then heads to bed himself.

His bed has never felt so nice.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes into blissful, lovely ignorance. He feels great. Well rested.

And then the previous day crashes down on him, and Bruce rolls over, burying his face in the pillow.

He checks his phone. Meeting after breakfast through the afternoon. That means...

He calls Valli’s office and leaves a message. Not urgent, but maybe Valli could give him a call? He tries not to sound too needy. He’s a grown man having relationship problems, but he can’t remember having felt so overwhelmed in... maybe his entire life.

The relationship is already nothing like what he had with Talia. They couldn’t be more at odds.

Slade and Jason aren’t in the kitchen when he arrives, but Damian is, and Alfred’s in the process of setting out food.

“I understand you have a meeting shortly, Master Bruce?” Alfred says.

“Unless you want to contrive a reason why I’m not going to have to sit in on the meeting, yes,” he says, starting on his eggs.

“I’m afraid you must,” Alfred says. “The room will be quite empty, and your absence would be too sorely missed.”

Alfred turns out to be right.

What happened in Gotham is a unique case, almost entirely unparalleled in modern history. There’s no precedent for the entire city council is wiped out.

Not quite everyone. Two members of the city council weren’t allied with the Court of Owls, and while one of those was killed, one survived. He sits alone at a table meant for a dozen people as various officials filter into the room.

“Councilman Wilson,” Bruce says, ignoring all the seats that have been neatly laid out for them and heading right up to chat with him before he starts. “How are things?”

“A nightmare,” Wilson says. He looks exhausted, like he’s aged twenty years in less than a month. While the other non-Court council-member was excluded for their outspoken stance on corruption, Bruce is fairly sure the Court didn’t recruit Wilson due to his age. He’s the youngest of the council, only 24, and Bruce is fairly sure he’s the youngest person in the room.

As stressful as the situation should be, Bruce just feels relief. At least he has a handle on this. Dealing with ridiculous political situations is his bread and butter by this point.

Bruce drifts back to the audience side of the room, taking a seat in the front row. He’s been at meetings like this before, but the room’s not even half empty. Between the dead--all the sort of people who would have been here and their families--and those who were arrested, the mood’s grim.

“Alright,” Wilson says. “Calling this... emergency meeting to order.”

He doesn’t sound official, and Bruce winces sympathetically.

“The emergency response team is attempting to withdraw now that things have stabilized,” he says. “So our next step is to ensure that Gotham has a new Mayor and a new city council.”

Easier said than done.

“The state government,” he says, “has suggested that we take volunteers. Running a full election will take too long, and we need an outgoing council in order to run an actual election. They have approved...” He glances down, skimming over the papers. “Volunteers filling the position from among city officials and those sitting on any sort of local council. Within a year we’re supposed to run an actual election.”

He flips through.

“Mayor?” Someone asks.

“Oh, sorry,” he says. “Uh, we’re using a policy from 1892 for this one, which should give you an idea of how this situation is. When the council is full, a vote is held. Majority rules.”

It’s a simple policy, intended for a simple time, but the idea of electing twenty city council members after the entire last batch was arrested is simply not plausible.

“So,” he says, looking up. “This is it. Everyone who meets the criteria is here. Volunteers?”

The room is dead silent. Everyone looks around, and Bruce winces again. Wilson has a hard, hard job.

“Anyone?” He says. “I understand what happened to the last council was a tragedy, and what happened to Councilman Maxwell...”

Bruce takes pity on him and raises his hand. He already tries to sit in on most council meetings when he could, and he has significantly less work to do now anyway. The moment his hand goes up, six more shoot up around him in short order, just like he hoped he would.

By the end of the meeting, they have fourteen members including Wilson, who’s busy squinting at the rules to determine if that’s enough. Eventually he decides yes, it's probably enough, and swears them all in in a manner that's best described as extremely hasty.

He promises to contact them all with the first meeting's info, all but begging them to show up so they can vote a mayor in before the holidays.

Bruce doesn’t think he’s actually qualified for city council by any possible metric, but he does sit on the business council, and that’s apparently the only qualification required when literally no one wants to actually take the job.

“Thank you,” Wilson says to him after the meeting is adjourned. “I didn’t think anyone was going to take it.”

“I don’t think they were either,” Bruce admits. “And fair warning, I’m going to background check everyone who just signed up.”

“I was kind of hoping you would,” Wilson says. “I want to say I’m now paranoid enough for the whole damn city, but I’m not even sure that’s enough in Gotham. If you’d told me how bad things were without me even realizing, I’d have laughed in your face.”

“Anyone would have,” Bruce says. He doesn’t mention that he’s already background checked Wilson to hell and back. Bruce knows the name of both of his grandmothers, and he can be fairly confident that he’s clean.

Wilson lets out a sigh.

“Thank you again,” he says. “For making sure it’s not just me up there.”

“You’re doing just fine,” Bruce says. “Try not to worry.”

“I am the physical manifestation of worry,” Wilson says.

Bruce can’t help but laugh at that.

Chapter Text

Bruce stops by Wayne Enterprises to check in with Lucius before he heads home. He considers his options heavily, and then goes to get some mini-cheesecakes for the house before he finally goes back to the manor.

Slade’s taken Jason for his physical therapy appointment, but Damian’s more than happy to pick out a key lime pie one before going back to his workbook.

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks. “About last night.”

“You mean about the fact that you and Mister Wilson are in a relationship.”

Bruce raises an eyebrow at that.

“He’s still Slade,” Bruce points out. “He’s still the same person he was before.”

Damian tuts at him.

“Things always change, Father.”

Bruce slides the key lime a bit closer, and Damian snatches it up.

“If you must know,” he says, “I think that Mister Wilson-”

“Slade,” Bruce corrects. He’s not sure why Damian suddenly feels so intent on calling him Mister Wilson, but Bruce doesn’t like it. Despite their exceptionally rocky start, Slade and Damian have a perfectly healthy relationship, and Bruce is already feeling like what he and Slade started is spoiling that.

“I think that Slade,” Damian continues with another tut, “is a perfectly suitable match for you. He is a capable combatant, and able to keep up with us. He already fits in nicely with everyone.”

“But,” Bruce says, “you’re unhappy.”

He knows Damian well enough to spot that a mile off, and Damian folding his arms over his chest and averting his eyes make it that much more obvious.

“Talk to me, Damian,” Bruce says. “I need to know what’s going on.”

Damian scowls.

“It’s childish.”

“Damian,” Bruce says. “I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but you are a child-”

“I am a teenager,” Damian protests. “Jon is a child, I am a teenager.”

Bruce sighs.

“You’re a teenager,” Bruce says. “Which means you’re allowed to have your childish moments. Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“It is nothing you can fix,” he says. “It is simply something I will have to deal with myself.”

“There’s nothing you have to deal with yourself,” Bruce says. “We’re supposed to be there for each other for a reason.”

Damian is silent for a moment.

“It means you will not be with mother again,” he says. “It means she’s really not coming back.”

“Oh, Damian,” Bruce says, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “I know you miss her. I miss her too. And nothing that happens with Slade is going to replace her, alright?”

“As I said,” Damian says sullenly. “It’s childish. It’s nothing you can fix.”

“I can fix it a bit,” he says. “Or at least try and make it better. We still have the coordinates. I was thinking I could... get someone to go get your mother’s body. Make sure she’s properly buried. Put her alongside your grandfather, so you have a place to visit them.”

A place to mourn. Something he’s been denied.

“I am not so sentimental,” Damian says, but there’s tears in the corners of his eyes.

“I’ll be back in a little bit, alright?”

Seeing Damian so affected by it gives him at least one idea, and he gives him the space to recover as he excuses himself to his office, settling in his chair and calling Trevor.

“This is Steve Trevor,” he says the moment he picks up. “What can I do for you Mr. Wayne?”

It’s a casual enough greeting, intended to be more politeness than anything, but Bruce plans to take him literally.

“I’m looking for something,” Bruce says. “Was it you or the DEO who took final possession of the Talons?”

“DEO,” Trevor says. “Why?”

“Do you think you could get me a specific Talons’ body?”

Trevor’s overly eager to stay in Bruce’s good books, so Bruce thinks he has a pretty good chance.

“That would depend,” Trevor says, “on what you want to do with it.”

Bruce weighs his options and decides that honesty is the best policy.

“The Court’s representative told me that my son’s aunt was among those they used as material for their experiments. If she was recovered, I’d like to give her a proper burial.”

“I’m assuming without acknowledging how she died?”

“That’s the idea,” Bruce says. “We have a private cemetery.”

He’s strongly considering making it an actual private cemetery. There’s not much issue putting actual names on the stones if it’s on private land, safe within the Wayne Manor security system.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Trevor says. “The body might not be... entirely intact.”

He sounds pained when he says it.

“I understand that,” Bruce says. “I’ll send you a description.” It occurs to him as he says it that it isn’t likely to help. He only knows Nyssa’s general description. He doesn’t know any major defining features. With her body likely damaged--especially on the head--she’ll be almost identical with most of the other members of the League.

“On second thought,” Bruce says. “I’ll send you a DNA sample to compare to.”

“That would make things easier,” Trevor says. “We’ve got every Talon on file while we try and identify them.”

“Any progress?”

“Absolutely none,” he says. “Zero identifications. And no progress on the three we managed to capture alive. DEO is already pushing for us to terminate the recovery project.”

Bruce doesn’t let himself hope. He knows better.

“Thanks,” Bruce says. “I’ll be in-”

“Mr. Wayne?” Trevor says, and Bruce winces. He’s about to ask for something.

“I know we said we wouldn’t push you for a yes or no while Gotham recovers, but have you given any thought to meeting the founder? I thought that might help you feel more comfortable in your choice.”

“Have you talked to Superman?”

“He said he’d go if you went.”

Bruce sighs.

“Alright,” he says. It’s an obvious case of you scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. He’s fairly sure Trevor will check the DNA anyway, but going to the meeting will definitely ease things for him.

Explaining I’m doing this so Batman will go to the meeting will go over a lot better than I’m doing it in hopes Batman might warm up to me.

“Just send me the details,” Bruce adds.

He finishes up the call and heads back to check on Damian, but he doesn’t tell him about Nyssa. Not right then. Not until he knows for sure. Rose was aiming specifically to hurt him when she talked about Nyssa, and Bruce isn’t ruling out the possibility that she lied about the whole thing just to anger him.

He’s not going to give someone bad news until he knows it’s real.

Chapter Text

Slade and Jason get back not long after Bruce does, and Jason simply blows right past Bruce without a word, vanishing into his room. He’d been planning a talk, and Bruce stares down the hallway, weighing his odds.

Generally rooms are considered more or less sacred ground. If someone is in their room, you try not to disturb them. Especially with the door closed. But Bruce can’t stand the thought of Jason just stewing in his own juices before Bruce has even had a chance to talk to him about things.

He’s halfway down the hallway when Slade’s hand falls on his shoulders, and Bruce stops short.

Slade was right. It is different. Because now his brain can’t stop going is it his a casual touch or is this intended to be affectionate?

He can’t decide. Mercifully, he doesn’t have to.

“Give him a bit of space,” Slade says. “We already talked a bit about it, but right now what he needs is a shower and a nap. She worked him extra hard today to work off some of his energy and he’s in a good amount of pain.”

Bruce winces. It’s been slow going getting Jason back up to his usual standard, and he knows how much it must be frustrating him.

“What does he think about it?” Bruce finally says.

“He was caught off guard,” Slade says. “Which was most of his reaction. Beyond that, he’ll have to tell you himself. I’ve already done my part, and you’re going to need to do your half.”

Slade pauses for a moment.

“Damian?”

“Feels like I’m replacing Talia with you,” Bruce says. “I thought it would be helpful if he had... If we brought her body back. So he had a place to properly mourn her. Otherwise it’s just she went away and never came back.”

“And that’s hard for anyone,” Slade says. “Especially a kid.”

Bruce nods his head, and Slade drops his hand.

“I have to say,” he says. “You don’t talk about her much.”

Bruce is suddenly very happy Slade’s still standing mostly behind him. It hides the worst of his embarrassment.

“It was...” He falters, then shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Kind of hoping,” Slade says quietly, “that one day you’ll tell me. Even if she was a past relationship, she was still a part of your life.”

Bruce offers a reluctant nod, and tries to change the subject.

“I ended up on city council,” he says.

“And how’d that happen?” Slade asks. He sounds amused, and Bruce risks a glance over his shoulder to find that Slade’s smirking at him.

“Our only surviving councilman was desperate for anyone to fill the seats,” Bruce says. “No one was taking them, so I volunteered and a bunch more people were suddenly willing to jump in. It’s just an interim position.”

“Uh huh,” Slade says. “Who’s the mayor? Last man standing?”

“We haven’t decided,” he says. “We’re voting at the first meeting.”

Slade gives him a look.

“What?” Bruce says.

“You realize you’re going to end up mayor, right?”

The thought had not occurred to Bruce, but now that Slade’s pointed out it seems absolutely inevitable. He’s the man who rebuilt the city after the Arkham City project failed, and despite the fact that everyone else helped, the news has apparently decided he was the only one responsible for everything.

And he’s the man behind the bat, and everyone knows it.

Bruce grunts.

“I’ll just decline.”

“You should take it,” Slade says. “Wayne Enterprises doesn’t need you hovering over them anyway, and Gotham obviously does. Having you as Mayor might be the only way Gotham gets a mayor that actually finishes a whole term.”

Bruce can’t deny that the position is feeling more than a little cursed.

“It’s a conflict of interest,” he points out. “For Wayne Enterprises, and for the League.”

“Disagree,” Slade says. “At least on the League. Who better to represent the vigilantes of Gotham than the mayor of Gotham?”

“You, for one,” Bruce says. “You have a better understanding of the other side of the equation than anyone. You’d be valuable to the league.”

Slade is exceptionally casual as he reaches up, straightening Bruce’s tie for him.

Bruce’s face is on fire.

Worse, Slade seems to know exactly what he’s doing to him. He’s smirking the whole time he does it, and he takes far too long for what should be a quick (and entirely unnecessary) tightening of a tie.

“Then we can both go,” Slade says. “They can manage two, and Jason’s made it pretty clear he wants to stay in Gotham.”

Bruce wonders how he’s supposed to respond with Slade so close, and he only manages to remember what words are when Slade finally drops his hands.

“How about,” Slade says, “I’ll tell Alfred and the boys about the council thing, and you go give Dick and Tim a call to let them know about the us thing.”

“We could wait,” Bruce says. “Until they’re here.”

“Or you could do it right now,” Slade says. “Before they hear it from Damian or Jason.”

Bruce hates that he’s right.

Bruce ends up calling Dick first, which is a pattern he can’t help but notice that seems to stem entirely from the fact that his name comes first on Bruce’s contacts.

“Dick?” He asks.

“Oh god,” Dick says. “What happened now?”

“It doesn’t have to be an emergency every time,” Bruce says. “Can’t a father call his son without it being a crisis?”

“No,” Dick says. “With you its always a crisis.”

“Well, this isn’t,” he says. “I was just calling to let you know that Slade and I have agreed to... to start a relationship.”

There is a stunned silence on the other end.

“Dick?” Bruce says.

“Sorry,” he says. “Is this - is this about the conversation we had yesterday?”

Bruce clears his throat.

“Yes,” he says. “I was oblivious before. And I’m... not oblivious now.”

Dick is silent on the other end.

“Congratulations,” he finally manages. “This is going to be a... a hell of a change for you.”

“I dated people while you lived with me, Dick,” Bruce points out.

“You had dates,” Dick says. “With pretty women who were attracted to you because you were rich and attractive. That’s not nearly the same thing as this.”

It’s Bruce’s turn to be silent.

“Just,” Dick says warily, “take it slow, alright? This is new for you.”

“I’m not a teenager,” Bruce protests.

“You might as well be,” Dick says. “I dated more people by the age of eighteen than you have in your entire life.”

Bruce opens his mouth to protest, and then grunts.

“I have no idea how many people you even dated,” he admits.

“Nor will you,” Dick says. “That’s a number I keep to myself.”

Bruce grunts.

“I need to call Tim,” he says. “So I’ll have to let you go.”

“Tell him I’ll give him his money when I come up on Sunday.”

Bruce is silent for a moment.

“Dick,” he says, his voice strained. “Did you bet money with Tim about the status of Slade and I’s relationship?”

“No,” Dick says, sounding perfectly happy. “I bet money on whether or not you’d somehow failed to notice the fact that Slade was totally into you.”

Bruce makes a strained noise and hangs up.

He calls Tim immediately after, and mercifully he doesn’t have to talk to Barbara.

He does, however, have to listen to a lot of excited babbling.

“Jackson!” Tim calls in the background. “No, put that down.”

“Tim,” Bruce says before Tim can hang up the phone.

“Oh,” he says. “Bruce? I wondered why he was playing with the phone. It should be locked.”

“Unlocks if someone calls,” Bruce says. “Or at least enough for them to answer.”

“So,” Tim says without an ounce of preamble. “How did it go with you and Slade?”

“You’re killing me,” Bruce mutters under his breath. “You’re killing your father. And you bet money on whether or not I was oblivious?”

“Ohhh,” Tim says. “Dick told?”

“He said you’d get your money the next time he sees you.”

“At least he’s a graceful loser,” Tim says. “I knew there was no way in hell you’d realized, because if you had you’d have freaked out.”

“I didn’t freak out.”

“You kind of freaked out, Bruce,” Tim says.

Bruce is having a hard time arguing.

“I just wanted to tell you,” Bruce says. “So that you would know. So you weren’t caught off guard.”

“Is Sunday dinner still happening?”

“Nothing’s changing, Tim,” Bruce says.

Tim gives a knowing hmmm.

“I mean it,” Bruce says. “It’s important that what we have currently not change. That includes Sunday dinners.”

“Mhm,” Tim says. “How’s Jay taking it?”

“As well as he takes anything.”

“So terribly, then.”

“He’s frustrated,” Bruce points out. “He doesn’t like being confined to the house, but he’s not well enough to go anywhere else.”

“And,” Bruce adds after a moment. “I took a spot on city council.”

“I know.”

Bruce pauses.

“You do?”

“Please,” he says. “Barbara has the security feed for city hall. We watched the whole thing.”

Well, at least there’s that.

“Bruce,” Tim says seriously, “just take it slow. Don’t rush in. There’s no hurry on this.”

“Now you’re making it sound like you’re the father.”

“In this area,” Tim says, “Am I not the master? Only one of the boys who got married.”

Bruce grumbles.

“I’ve got to get back to finishing up these chores, Bruce,” Tim says. “But I’ll see you this weekend, alright?”

“Alright Tim,” he says. “Say hello to Barbara for me.”

“Love you,” Tim says, waiting ever so patiently for Bruce to say it back.

“Love you too,” he says after a moment.

Tim hangs up, and Bruce sags in his seat.

They bet money on him being oblivious?

Chapter Text

Bruce spends most of the evening making arrangements. It takes a bit of wrangling to get someone willing to go dig up Talia’s body without too many questions, and a bit more to get the paperwork all done for a family burial plot on Wayne property. He ponders headstones and options, and decides that moving everyone over might be nice.

Having his parents on the grounds would save him any future trips to the cemetery.

He wonders about Slade, and about Joseph, and then decides against it. It would mean fighting with his ex-wife, and he knows Slade hates that more than anything.

Jason comes to find him juts before dinner, and Bruce steels himself as Jason flops down onto the chair in front of his desk. He looks unhappy, but it’s hard to tell how much of that is a reaction to the situation, and how much is just him being in pain after walking to the office.

“If you’d told me,” Bruce says, “I’d have come to you.”

“I’m supposed to try and walk regularly,” Jason says. “Fastest way to speed up my recovery is doing all the things I’d usually do. Even if it hurts.”

He knows how insane Jason’s pain tolerance is, and the fact that he’s still in so much pain kicks home how bad the damage was.

Jason scowls at him.

“I’m not going to give you the if you hurt Slade speech,” he says. “You don’t need to hear it and you’ll just miss the point and lecture me about threats of violence.”

Bruce wants to think he probably wouldn’t, only he effectively did the same thing with Damian the day before. That was different, he reminds himself, because he’s pretty sure Damian was being completely serious.

On second thought, he’s not sure Jason isn’t serious.

“What I am going to tell you is that he’s delicate.”

Bruce struggles to think of a word that suits Slade less than delicate. The man is violence in motion. He’s a brick wall. He might as well be made of stone. But when he thinks about it, he realizes that Jason means emotionally, and his brain goes back to Slade’s whispered prayer as he lay his head into Bruce’s lap.

“He’s been hurting,” Bruce says quietly. “Because I didn’t notice and he didn’t want to push me away.”

“At least you realized that much,” Jason says.

“I’m not -” Bruce pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m going to try not to.”

“Bruce,” Jason says. “Are you even gay?”

Bruce should know the answer. He should be able to just say it. But the question seems to get more and more complicated every time he thinks about it.

“Alright,” Jason says, taking Bruce’s silence for what it is, “lets just walk through this before you do something stupid and hurt Slade more.”

Jason scoots his chair closer with a grunt.

“When you see a supermodel,” Jason says. “What do you feel?”

Bruce hasn’t gone to a Victoria Secret show in years.

“I... don’t know,” he finally says. “Feel or think?”

“Either,” Jason says. “Both.”

“I used to think... they’d be good. That they’d look good on my arm, and people would be convinced.”

Jason scowls.

“And?”

Bruce digs back through his own memories.

“And... Nothing?”

Jason grunts.

“Okay,” he says. “This isn’t going to work. Did you not crush on anyone in school? You went to school. You had a normal life before you started running around doing the Batman thing.”

His school days feel like a million years ago.

“I liked... Sandy. She was in the grade above me, and I thought she was the prettiest girl at school.”

“Alright,” Jason says. “That’s something. Was there anyone else? Anyone else you felt like that for?”

Bruce feels like he’s taking a spoon to the very bottom of the barrel, hoping to come up with something.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I was going to ask her out, and then she got with Douglas. And it was... she was the head cheerleader, and he was the head of the football team. I thought they fit together. That they looked nice together.”

Jason’s like a shark with blood in the water.

“What about Douglas himself?”

Bruce considers. He doesn't even remember what Douglas looks like.

“I don’t know,” he says. “Everyone said he was attractive.”

“Did you agree?”

“Jason,” Bruce says desperately. “That was decades ago. I don’t remember what I ate for lunch a week ago.”

“Okay,” Jason says. “You are beyond helpless.”

Bruce can’t argue that. He’s not sure why this has to be so complicated.

“Slade said you thought he was going to leave when he was up on the roof,” Jason says. This feels like safer territory. This is something he knows, rather than something he may or may not have felt more than twenty years ago.

“Yes,” he says.

“How did you feel then?”

Bruce considers.

“Devastated,” Bruce says. “If he left it would... it would ruin everything we had here. Thinking that he’d just leave and not come back...”

“Thank god,” Jason says under his breath. “There’s at least some hope for you. That is something we can work with. You have feelings for him.”

Feelings for Slade. He tries to wrap his head around it, tries to fit it into a neat box. He guesses that Jason’s right. He has feelings for Slade. The thought of Slade leaving--of him abandoning them--makes his chest hurt.

“Yes,” Bruce finally says.

Jason mutters something under his breath and leans back in his seat.

“There,” he says. “Those are the feelings you need to focus on. How you feel about Slade. Just keep those in mind and let them guide you and hopefully you won’t screw it up too badly.”

“I’m not going to screw it up,” Bruce protests.

“Bruce,” Jason says, “everyone screws up their first real relationship. It’s a thing that happens.”

“One,” Bruce says, “this isn’t my first relationship. And-”

“This is effectively your first relationship,” Jason says. “Talia does not count.”

“Why doesn’t she count?” Bruce asks, bristling.

“Because she was insane, for one,” Jason says. “Because your entire relationship was based around the fact that her father wanted you to pork her so he could have Damian and you’d take over the League for another.”

Bruce winces at the crudeness.

“It was real,” he says. “I had feelings for her I hadn’t had about anyone else.”

Jason looks less than convinced.

“Whatever you tell yourself,” he says finally. “Now come to dinner before Alfred drags you out there.”

Chapter Text

Bruce expects something to happen that night, but it doesn’t. He keeps waiting for Slade to make a move, but in the end he manages to go to bed without any sort of extra physical contact or anything.

He realizes that he feels slightly disappointed in that and tries not to think about it.

He gets a call from Trevor the following morning as he’s dressing, and picks it up as quick as he can.

“Mr. Wayne?”

“Trevor,” Bruce says. “What can I help you with?”

“I just wanted to tell you that ARGUS has booked a table at The Red House in downtown Gotham,” he says. “For lunch today. Booking starts at eleven, and we’re hoping you’ll bring Superman along.”

Bruce considers.

“He’s sort of obvious in his suit,” Bruce says.

“To clarify,” he says, “the entire restaurant has been booked. But yes, it would probably be better if he came in civilian clothes. We understand this might be... ah, less than ideal, but it will just be the three of you. No ARGUS representative will be there.”

So he’s hoping Clark will be willing to show up in civilian clothes.

“I’ll talk to him,” Bruce says. “It’s short notice. He might have work.”

“Thank you,” Trevor says, even if Bruce hasn’t given him any sort of commitment. “I did want to let you know that we’ve located the correct Talon for you,” he says.

Bruce holds his breath. He doesn’t know what he wants. Is it better that she be one of the Talons given a quick death, or if she’s one of the few living ones, brainless and unable to even feed themselves?

“We’ll be sending the body directly to you,” Trevor says. “You can expect it in a few days. Should I send it to...?”

“The manor,” he says. “We’re having a private family plot installed in the back.”

“Of course,” Trevor says. “I could only convince them to turn it over on the grounds that the body would be secure.”

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “I’ll make sure it is.”

Bruce is about to say his goodbyes and hang up when Trevor clear his throat. He has something else to ask, and Bruce doubts he’s going to like it.

“I know you obviously wanted to keep her identity secret,” Trevor says, “but there was a connection in our database.”

Bruce doesn’t like a single word of what Trevor just said.

“Who?”

“They would have been a sibling of your son’s aunt,” Trevor says. “Half sibling, actually. Different parents.”

Talia, then. Bruce has no idea how they got Talia’s DNA, but he doesn’t like it.

“I still need to call Superman,” Bruce says, “so if there’s a particular point...”

“You said the body we’re sending was your son’s aunt,” Trevor says. “I thought you might be interested to know that he has another living relative.”

Trevor pauses, clearing his throat.

“How exactly did you acquire this DNA?” Bruce is struggling to imagine Talia being so sloppy. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, and he needs to know exactly what is happening before he leaps through the phone to strangle Trevor for dragging things out.

He’s a step beyond agitated. He’s pacing the room furiously.

“His DNA was in a federal database,” Trevor says. “There’s no death certificate.”

His.

Bruce’s brain feels like it’s on fire.

“His?” Bruce says.

Trevor seems confused.

“Yes,” Trevor says. “He lives in Metropolis.”

“How-” Bruce takes a breath. Trevor can’t know. He doesn’t have enough DNA samples to make any further connection, and Bruce isn’t going to send him Talia or Damian’s DNA.

“Never mind,” he says. “Could you send me the information?”

“We don’t have much,” Trevor says. “But I’ll get it ready for you and send it over.”

Bruce doesn’t know what he’s going to do with that information. Ra’s had said I have no sons when they’d first met, but Ra’s had said a lot of things which turned out to be complete lies.

“Thank you,” Bruce says after a moment. “I’ll look into things.”

“Of course, Mr. Wayne,” Trevor says. “Hopefully the meeting goes well.”

He needs to talk to Slade, but he needs to talk to Clark first, so he calls him while pacing across his office.

“Bruce,” Clark says. “I’m just at work. What’s up?”

Bruce knows the line to Clark’s work isn’t secure, so he keeps it brief. “I finally got the date for the meeting,” he says. “They were hoping today in Gotham, around Lunch.”

Clark hmmms.

“I can probably take lunch. Should I meet at your place?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “Business casual.”

“You’re sure?” Clark says.

“As much as I can be,” he says. 

“Alright,” Clark says. “I’ll come by around eleven and we can go together. You can show me the new car.”

Bruce doesn’t have a new car, but it makes for nice small-talk, a great pretense for their conversations.

He says his goodbyes and hangs up, scrubbing at his face.

A son. Ra’s had a son, and his brain is going a mile a minute. It seems like the sort of thing that might very well cause trouble, and it’s not something he can ignore.

I have no son, Ra’s had told him, and Bruce wonders just what else he lied about.

Chapter Text

Convincing Slade to come to the meeting turns out to be significantly easier than Bruce expected. He’s expecting an argument, but all he does is ask and Slade simply shrugs his shoulders and goes to change.

Slade almost never does anything formal--even if it is supposed to be casual--so when he slows up looking like an honest to god businessman Bruce forgets what he was doing. He’s in grey slacks and a white shirt that’s probably a smidge too small, but it hugs his figure in a way Bruce hadn’t-

“Bruce,” Slade says. “My eye is up here.”

Bruce scowls at him, face going red.

“I almost never see you like this,” he protests. “I was just trying to figure out how you come across.”

“Mhm,” Slade says pointedly. “I’m sure.”

Clark arrives on the grounds ten minutes before they’re supposed to go, dressed in something that is not business casual.

“What’s with the suit?” Slade asks from the back door when they go out to meet him.

“Normal clothes don’t hold up well to flight speed,” Clark says. “Can I borrow a bathroom to change?”

Clark eyes Slade with obvious interest, but he holds back his question until he finally emerges from the bathroom, looking like Clark Kent rather than Superman.

“So,” he says. “Is he coming?” He glances between the two of them as Bruce pulls his shoes on.

“He’s coming,” Bruce says. “He’s an asset we can’t afford to miss, and what happens in the League is stuff he’ll need to know.”

“Oh Bruce,” Slade says with a roll of his eyes. “An ‘asset’? You say the sweetest things.”

Clark glances between them, looking more confused by the second.

Bruce decides to have mercy on him.

“We decided to try dating,” Bruce says. “And now he’s torturing me.”

“Oh,” Clark says. “Oh! That - yes, that would - is it because of me?”

“Partially,” Bruce admits. “It’s a long story.”

Clark doesn’t push for further details as they load into the car. Bruce lets Slade drive, enjoying the passenger seat with Clark in the back as they head down into Gotham proper.

“The architecture is something else from the ground,” Clark mumbles to himself, craning his neck to watch building after building go by.

One of the buildings has a large dent in the side, and Clark winces, saying nothing.

The Red House is an old restaurant, and one Bruce is familiar with. It’s the kind of place he imagines the Court of Owls visiting regularly, so there’s something almost amusing about spotting the private party sign.

A man with a Red House nametag is waiting near the front of the entrance, and he glances down at his clipboard in obvious confusion.

“I was told there would be two of you?” He says. He obviously recognizes Bruce, but ends up glancing between Slade and Clark, unsure of who he’s supposed to let in.

“There’s three,” Bruce says. “And we’d like to go inside now.”

The man apparently decides he doesn’t want to argue with Bruce Wayne and lets them inside. The majority of the restaurant has been cleared, leaving only a single large round table in the middle, and Bruce heads towards it, with Clark and Slade behind him.

“I preferred the diner,” Clark says quietly. The whole restaurant screams expensive, and Bruce gets the distinct impression that it’s the kind of place Clark is uncomfortable being. He doesn’t like the blatant displays of wealth.

There’s a woman at the table, and Bruce’s first thought is some kind of official. She’s wearing glasses and a suit, and her long black hair falls around her shoulders. She’s fair and perhaps even a bit dainty, and is the obvious odd man out in their group.

Up close, Bruce decides that dainty is the wrong word. He’s just spent too long around people like Slade and Jason, who are on the excessively muscled side of things.

Bruce shrugs off his winter jacket, and Clark and Slade do the same.

“You’d be our contact?” Bruce says, wishing Clark would take a bit more control of the situation. He’s the one who might as well be a human lie detector.

“Of course,” she says, standing up and offering her hand. “Diana Prince.”

Bruce shakes her hand, and the dainty impression comes back.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says. Slade offers his next, and she looks him over appraisingly as he introduces himself. It’s Clark who obviously takes her interest, though, and their handshake goes from polite to aggressive very quickly.

She’s squeezing his hand, and Bruce sees Clark wince, which is a pretty stunning sight.

“That test would have been awkward if you’d guessed wrong and broke my hand,” Clark says as he shakes his hand out and takes his seat.

“Wayne might have passed as Superman if I did not already know his identity,” she says as they all sit. “But Wilson would not have made a convincing Superman.”

She gives them a smile.

“Perhaps I should re-introduce myself,” she says. “I am Diana of Themyscira.”

It’s Slade who gets the reference.

“You’re an amazon?” He asks.

“Ah!” She says, looking pleased. “At least one of you has heard of us.”

“We’ve all heard of amazons,” Bruce says, fairly sure Clark has. “I was just not aware they were... well, real.”

“Hidden by magic,” Diana says with a wave of her hand. “We have only recently begun to deal in mortal affairs.”

Hidden by magic. Bruce guesses that he probably shouldn’t be surprised given what he knows of Clark, but magic feels... beyond whatever the hell Clark is.

“And you are?” Diana prompts.

“Batman,” Bruce says after a moment. He resists the urge to add of Gotham.

“I operate as the Gotham Knight,” Slade says.

Everyone looks at Clark, who clears his throat.

“Superman,” he says. “Or Kal-el.”

“Kal-el?” Bruce asks, baffled.

“Kal, of the house of El,” he clarifies. “El means ‘star’.”

Bruce is pretty sure Clark missed his point.

“The house of El from where, exactly?” Slade asks.

“Krypton,” Clark says, suddenly embarrassed. “It’s a planet.”

“Well,” Slade says, “that explains the powers.”

“An alien...” Diana says, giving it some thought. “Unusual. Regardless, I was under the impression I would only be meeting two.”

She looks pointedly at Slade.

“Clark is representing two people,” Bruce says. “I have to represent...”

He has to mentally count them off. “More than ten,” he finally settles on. “The other Batman has no interest in the Justice League, and said he’d defer to me. The others have made similar decisions. Slade would be a good part of the group, and has a considerable amount of knowledge we could draw on.”

Slade grins.

“I’ll arm wrestle you for it.”

Bruce thinks it’s ridiculously unprofessional, but he doesn’t get a chance to object before Diana plants her elbow on the table, giving him a wolfish grin.

“I like it,” she says. “But I will hold back for your sake. I wouldn’t want to break you on our first meeting.”

“Please don’t,” he says. “I want to see what you’ve got.”

Bruce has a pretty good feeling someone is going to get hurt, and he has a sneaking suspicion that it’s Slade.

Diana of Themyscira wouldn’t be founding the Justice League if she was an average human.

Even so, it’s genuinely surprising how fast the match is over. Clark counts them down, and then Slade’s arm is slamming to the table with a crack.

Bruce winces.

Diana sighs.

“I warned you this would happen. Always so headstrong...”

Slade’s looking at his broken arm with absolute confusion.

“Regardless,” Diana says, “you did far better than most.”

Bruce decides to never get into any kind of physical contest with her, and reaches over, helping hold Slade’s arm into the right position so it can heal.

“He’ll heal,” he says. “Just give him a few minutes.”

“You dented the table,” Clark says quietly, inspecting the damage.

“ARGUS will pay for a new one,” Diana says. “It was necessary to get a feel for what I am going to be dealing with here.”

“As the leader of the Justice League,” Clark says, and Diana nods.

“If any of you wish to challenge me for leadership,” she says. “Speak now.”

Bruce has his hands full with Gotham, and the idea of having to work even more closely with ARGUS is of no interest to him. Clark is apparently thinking the same thing, because he doesn’t argue.

“Then it is settled,” Diana says. “Trevor has selected several potential recruits. I’ll be visiting them over the coming weeks, and then I hope to have the first group meeting so that you all can meet each other.”

There’s a loud crack as Slade’s arm finishes fixing itself, and he shakes out his hand impatiently.

“Useful,” Diana says. “Regardless, I assume I can consider all three of you to be accepting membership?”

Her attention is obviously on Clark, who clears his throat.

“I’d prefer any future meetings be in costume,” he says. “Keeping my identity confidential...”

“Of course,” Diana says. “I have no intention of forcing you to reveal yourself. An official meeting will be held at ARGUS headquarters, in costume.”

Clark breathes a sigh of relief.

“Then yes,” Clark says. “You can count me in. If anything as big as what happens to Gotham elsewhere, it’ll be good to be able to reach out.”

The meeting wraps up shortly after, with another round of significantly-less-crushing handshakes. Diana leaves first, at which point Clark glances back to them.

“Not what I expected,” he admits. “But Lois asked me to invite your family for lunch tomorrow, if you’re interested. Jon has the day off school, and was hoping Damian would come visit. I think Lois is hoping to meet you all properly.”

Bruce winces.

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Bruce says. “But I’m worried we wouldn’t all.. ah, fit.”

“We can make it work,” Clark says. “It might be a bit cramped, but anyone who wants to come is welcome.”

“I’ll see who wants to come then,” Bruce says. “Do you want us to bring anything...?”

“No no,” Clark says. “You’re our guests.”

Bruce decides to bring something anyway.

Chapter Text

Clark waits until they’re back at the manor to change, flying home with a quick wave to Damian, who comes out to greet them. What he knows about Damian’s family is weighing on him, but he makes a choice not to say anything just then. He can keep the secret for one more day, and tell Damian when he has more information.

Michael’s there when they arrive, going over paperwork with Jason. For once, Jason doesn’t look annoyed or upset, working contentedly through a stack so high it looks like it’s threatening to fall over.

“Bruce,” Michael says when he sees them. “Slade.”

“Michael,” Bruce says. “Good to see you again.”

“And you,” he says. “I was just getting Jason’s help with work.”

“Of course,” Bruce says. “You’re always welcome in here.”

“If it’s alright with you,” Michael says, “I was going to come pick Jason up and take him to work tomorrow.”

Jason makes a disgusted noise.

“I can drive myself!” He protests.

“Not safely,” Slade says. “You’re not going near a gas pedal until your legs stop locking up.”

Jason scowls at him.

“I think it would be good for the staff to see he’s not secretly dead,” Michael continues as if there was no interruption at all. “And he has quite a few gift-baskets to pick up.”

“Jason was actually invited to lunch,” Bruce says, “with the Kents.”

Michael might not know who they are, but Jason certainly does.

“Get me an IOU,” Jason says. “Work comes first.”

Bruce decides taking one car would make things easier, and doesn’t push it.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “I’m going to invite them over for dinner this week though.”

“You don’t need to warn me,” Jason says, making a shooing motion. “Now let me work.”

“I’m surprised,” Slade says once they’re out of earshot, and Bruce raises an eyebrow.

“Because I didn’t force him to come?”

“Because you didn’t stare at my arms when I was arm-wrestling Diana.”

Bruce goes from perfectly composed to feeling like he’s on fire in half a second.

“We were in public,” Bruce points out. “Did you do that entire thing just so you could show off your arms?”

“Not entirely,” Slade says. “I thought you might want a peek.”

Bruce suddenly finds himself sorting back through the five years of Slade sharing a house with him. Thinking about all the times he walked out of the training room shirtless. Thinking about all the times, after a particularly long training session in the cave, that they’d shared the shower room.

He wonders how many times Slade’s looked at him.

He’s a little bit afraid of the answer.

“Is this revenge?” Bruce says. It feels like revenge, and when Slade leans in, taking advantage of the extra three inches of height to make Bruce feel tiny, he sees Slade grin.

“A little bit,” Slade says. “You’re cute when you blush, you know.”

Bruce cannot remember the last time he was described as cute. Maybe never. Or if he was, it was probably by Alfred.

He sure as hell hasn’t been called cute by anyone he was involved with.

As much as he was involved with anyone, anyway.

“You’re enjoying this,” Bruce mumbles as Slade braces his hand against the wall, hemming him in.

“More than a little bit,” Slade admits.

Slade has figured out just how to get under his skin in record time, and Bruce doesn’t like it. It puts him on the defensive too much. It leaves him reacting, rather than acting.

He tries to stop thinking like Bruce Wayne. He tries to think about Batman.

Bruce shifts slightly, closing the distance between them as he reaches up, resting his hand on Slade’s hip.

Slade’s breath hitches, and he leans forward, pressing his forehead against Bruce’s own.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Slade says quietly. 

“At least we’re even now,” Bruce says.

“We aren’t even close to even,” Slade says.

He’s so close and Bruce is very firmly out of his element. Slade has more experience, Slade knows what he’s doing, and...

He’s not sure. He’s not sure what he’s supposed to do next. He’s sure there’s an obvious thing he should be doing, but right then he has no idea what it is.

“I want to kiss you,” Slade says, which gives him a very clear idea of what’s supposed to come next.

Bruce hesitates, and Slade pulls back.

“You’re not ready,” he says. He looks hurt, and Bruce steps forward, only for Slade to catch his wrist.

“No,” Slade says. “You’re not ready. I don’t want you pushing past your own discomfort and doing something you’ll regret.”

Bruce can’t help it--he snorts at that.

“Slade,” Bruce says. “My entire life has been pushing past discomfort. That’s what I do.”

“This is different,” Slade says pointedly. “You have no idea what you’re doing here.”

“I’m not going to if you take every bit of hesitance as a no,” Bruce points out. 

He moves in to kiss him. Slade’s still holding his wrist, and for just a moment Bruce thinks he’s going to pull him away.

He doesn’t.

At the very least, this is something he knows. A kiss is a kiss. He’s kissed people before. It feels easy, regular, practiced, but it still feels different. Slade’s taller, which is very nearly a first (there was that one model, back when he was younger, who towered over him), and his beard scratches on Bruce’s chin, which is absolutely a first.

Slade presses in closer, a hand pressing into the small of his back.

Bruce can’t decide if he wants to have his eyes open or closed. They end up half-lidded, trying to focus on the feelings of it.

It feels different, but Bruce can’t put his finger on it.

Slade breaks the kiss.

“Bruce,” Slade says pointedly, “in case you forgot, one of us needs to breathe.”

He feels light headed, and leans back into the hand at his back, taking a moment just to breathe.

“You are killing me,” Jason says, and Bruce’s head snaps around. Jason’s standing at the corner, scowling at the pair of them. “I leave you alone for two minutes and you two start acting like horny teenagers.”

Bruce face burns. If the kiss wasn’t bad enough, having Jason walk in on them is something else.

“Stop bullying you father,” Slade says with a snort. “He’s delicate.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

“Then stop making out with him in the hallway!” Jason protests.

Slade decides the only solution to the problem is to press in again, kissing Bruce for a second time.

Jason storms out of the hallway, muttering to himself about teenagers.

Chapter Text

Bruce tries to keep himself calm, but it’s easier said than done. He’s giddy for the rest of the afternoon, and every time he tries to do anything, his brain just snaps back to Slade in the hallway, leaning over him.

He wants to say that he feels like he’s in high school again, only he was never this bad in high school.

Jason catches up to him not long after dinner, cornering him in the hall. He looks a bit annoyed, but more than that he just looks flustered.

“Bruce,” he says, and Bruce tries to brace himself for whatever the hell is coming. He shouldn’t be half so nervous about this kind of talk, but he is.

“I just want to say that...” Jason trails off for a moment, huffing to himself. “I’m not upset at this, alright? Slade said you probably thought I was upset or something.”

Bruce didn’t tell Slade that, but he guesses it was probably fairly obvious in his reactions.

“...A little bit,” Bruce says. “Of everyone, you and Damian are going to be the most... affected by this.”

“I’m not,” Jason says, leaning his shoulder against the wall. He winces as it makes contact, but otherwise seems fine. Sore, obviously, but doing better. “Listen. The only thing I’m worried about is... what happens if things go wrong. If you guys have some kind of messy split, everything’s going to go to hell. So do I kind of wish you guys weren’t doing this and things were staying as normal? Yeah, I do. But the cat’s already out of the bag, and you can’t put it back in. So just... take it slow. Don’t do anything stupid.”

He fixes Bruce with a look, scowling.

“But that doesn’t mean you two should just fuck around in the hallway,” Jason protests. “Go someplace private!”

Bruce tries not to die of shame and slinks away.

The following morning, Alfred politely declines the invite to lunch with the Kents. The last of the contractors are coming that morning to finish repairing the front entrance, and he wants to be around to supervise. Damian says that he might as well go to see Metropolis, just for the sake of scouting, but smuggles several things into his bag to show Jon just the same.

They manage to catch the ferry on the way to Metropolis, which is a long and slow one hour trip across the bay.

“There should be a bridge,” Slade complains.

“There should,” Bruce agrees. The trip would be a lot faster if there was a bridge over the bay, and the ferry operates so infrequently that taking it poses a risk for any sort of serious schedule. “But neither state can agree on who’s supposed to be paying for it.”

“Politics,” Slade mutters under his breath. “You can fix that when you’re mayor.”

Damian leans forward, up between the seats.

“Wait,” he says. “Is father becoming the mayor?”

“We don’t know,” Bruce says at the same time Slade says yes, and he shoots Slade a glare.

“It’s a possibility,” he says. “We’re waiting to see.”

Damian hmmms contemplatively and leans back in his seat.

The difference between the Manor and the Kent’s home is light night and day. The manor is sprawling, a massive house on a massive estate with plenty of rarely used, almost empty rooms. The Kent house is not actually a house so much as it is an apartment, and every room is crammed full of things. The Kent’s place feels distinctly lived in, from the report card stuck to the fridge with a magnet covered in Metropolis emergency numbers, to the children’s bicycle hidden behind the couch.

“Mr. Wayne!” Lois says when she lets them in the door. “Clark will be here in just a bit. He’s just finishing up at work and picking up Jon.”

Damian makes a face at Jon not being there, and Bruce plants a hand on Damian's back, sliding him forward.

“Please,” he says. “Call me Bruce. This is my son Damian.”

Damian apparently decides he wants Lois to like him, because he is the incarnation of professionalism and politeness as he gives a small bow.

“It’s very nice to meet you, Mrs Lane. Jon talks about you all the time.”

Lois is obviously smitten with how polite Damian is, and Slade rolls his eye. Bruce elbows him lightly in the side, and he clears his throat, offering his hand for a shake overtop of Damian’s head.

“Slade Wilson,” he says. “Slade’s fine.”

The way Lois’s eyebrows go up make Bruce pretty sure that Clark has mentioned Slade before, but he doesn’t get to ask because the door opens behind them, and Clark and Jon spill into the room.

“Oh!” Clark says. “You’re already here.”

There is a concentrated effort to get them all out of the very narrow hallway, with Lois ushering them into the family’s living room. Jon and Damian vanish almost immediately to Jon’s room, and Bruce settles onto the couch while Slade inspects the family photos on the wall.

“He will not stop talking about Damian,” Lois says. “He tells me that Damian is a... a ninja?”

A ninja is not how Bruce would choose to describe him, but he guesses that it’s accurate.

“He was raised by his mother’s side,” Bruce admits. “Who were... ninjas, yes.”

Ninja sounds infinitely less awful than assassin.

“You have a truly bizarre family,” Lois says with a small laugh. Clark delivers chips and dip, and Bruce can’t help but feel like he’s slipped sideways and ended in some other, parallel dimension, where he is a perfectly normal man visiting his perfectly normal friend and not a space alien, his wife, a masked vigilante and his mostly reformed mercenary.

Slade grabs some chips and dip for himself and settles in beside Bruce. Bruce can’t help but be aware that Slade is right there, his leg pressed up against Bruces.

He tries very hard not to think about it.

“Our political corespondent at work says you ended up on city council, Bruce,” Lois says.

“Only temporarily,” Bruce says. “No one else was going to take it, so I threw them a bone so other people will file in. I expect we’ll have elections sometime around next summer.”

“Did they choose a mayor yet?” Clark asks.

Slade is smirking.

“Oh no,” Clark says, glancing between Bruce’s pained expression and Slade’s smirk. “What am I missing?”

“We’re going to vote next week,” Bruce says. “Slade thinks they’re going to vote for me.”

“Who else are they going to vote for?” Slade asks. “The only surviving member of the last council is barely out of college.”

“Age isn’t an indicator-”

“Age is absolutely something people will have in mind,” Slade points out.

Clark is glancing between the two of them, and Bruce realizes what it looks like. Like they’re bantering. Like a married couple.

Bruce is mercifully saved by the beep of an oven, and Lois hops up, heading to the kitchen.

“Hold on just a moment,” she says. “Food will be out in a second. Can you go get the boys, Clark?”

Bruce makes an attempt to help set the table before being shooed away by Lois, and Slade is smarter than him and simply asks if Lois would like any help. She gives him a few small tasks to do, and then gets him to sit just as the boys run out of the room.

“Dad!” Jon yells, hopping into a seat just beside Clark. “Did you know Damian gets to use a sword?”

Bruce wonders how many more things Damian is going to say before Clark’s going to consider calling child services.

“With supervision,” he says. “When necessary.”

Slade laughs beside him.

The rest of the meal finishes up in a mostly orderly fashion. There’s a few comments from Damian or Jon which make Clark and Lois’s eyebrows shoot up, but for the most part things pass without too much trouble. Bruce increasingly gets the suspicion that either Lois or Clark are moments away from asking something, but they never quite do that.

“Actually,” Bruce says as the boys help clear the table. “If it’s not too much trouble, I don’t suppose I could ask you to watch Damian for a few hours? I have a friend I wanted to drop in on while we were in the city. I don’t make it out to Metropolis as much as I’d like.”

“Please dad?” Jon says immediately, giving his father the best puppy dog eyes he can manage.

“I don’t see why not,” Clark says. “Just a few hours?”

“Maybe not even that,” Bruce says. “I’m not sure he’s in town today.”

Clark nods.

“We’ll see you when you pick him up then,” Clark says. “It was lovely to have you.”

“And we’d love to return the favor,” Bruce says. “Why don’t you come for dinner sometime next weekend? You can meet Jason and Alfred.”

Clark looks confused.

“Jason is-”

“Our son,” Bruce says, which only makes him look more confused. “The current Batman.”

“And Alfred?”

“The butler,” Slade says. “And the last line of defense the world has against Bruce’s cooking.”

Bruce huffs.

“I’m not that bad,” he protests.

“Alfred told me the story about your attempt to make him soup, Bruce,” Slade says. “You have no secrets.”

Bruce tries not to sulk too openly.

“Of course,” Lois says. “Dinner this weekend sounds lovely, thank you. I’ll get Clark to call you when I’ve had time to look at our schedule.”

Bruce reminds Damian to mind his manners, and he and Slade leave the apartment behind.

Chapter Text

“So,” Slade asks as they slid into the car. “An ‘old friend’?”

“Trevor called me yesterday,” he says. “They’ve located Nyssa’s body and are sending it to the mansion.”

Slade raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t ask, so Bruce doesn’t answer the unspoken how long have you known she was dead?

“He also informed me that there’s another al Ghul,” Bruce says. “Living in Metropolis. They would be Nyssa’s half-brother.”

“Could be through the mother,” Slade points out. “And thus not an al Ghul. Are you going to tell Damian?”

Bruce considers the option. He also considers restraint. Considers taking his time and doing more than a cursory search into what appears to be a particularly old man.

But he needs to tell Damian about Nyssa sooner rather than later, and to do that he needs to have the full picture.

“They’re an al Ghul,” Bruce says. “And this is for Damian’s sake. It’s about having something to tell him that’s less grim then by the way your entire family is actually dead.”

“His entire mothers side,” Slade corrects.

Bruce grunts and punches in the address, pulling out of the parking lot.

The closer they get, the less tension there is. They’re well into the suburbs of Metropolis, driving past parks and white picket fences. When Bruce’s GPS lets them know they’ve arrived, Slade grunts and squints out the window.

“Are you sure we’re in the right place?”

It does not look like a place where Ra’s al Ghul’s son would live. It looks like a completely average American house. Two stories. White siding. A rope swing hanging from an oak tree in the front yard.

“Are you sure?” Slade repeats.

“This is the address,” Bruce says as he pulls himself out of the car.

Slade follows just behind him as he unlatched the front gate and heads up the cobblestone path to the front door.

“Are you sure?” Slade asks again as he looks at the Bless this home and all who enter doormat.

Bruce is not sure, but he knocks anyway.

The woman who answers is probably around Bruce’s age, and she looks at the two of them with obvious confusion. It takes her a second, and then she seems to recognize Bruce, but recognizing that Bruce Wayne is on her doorstep does not seem to help her in the slightest.

“Yes?” She says. “Can I help you?”

“I apologize for the interruption,” he says. “Does a Dusan Ballou live here?”

He’s pretty sure the answer is no. The whole thing is ridiculous, and about as far from Ra’s al Ghul as things can get, but when Bruce says his name her eyebrows immediately go up.

“Father?” She says. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” Bruce says quickly. “I was just hoping to talk with him for a bit. We have a mutual friend.”

She ushers them in, and goes to find her father.

“What in the hell is this,” Slade mutters under his breath.

“Mr. Wayne,” a voice says. “I’ve been expecting you.”

That reminds him of Ra’s.

But the man in the doorway is older than Bruce ever saw Ra’s. He’s in his late eighties, or maybe even his nineties, old and frail and using a cane. His hair is white, but it’s his skin that draws Bruce’s attention, not just pale but white as a sheet of paper. Thick sunglasses cover his eyes, and Bruce realizes what he’s looking at.

The old man’s an albino.

“I can’t say the feeling is mutual,” Bruce says. “I was hoping we could speak...?”

“Maria,” Dusan says, patting his daughter’s hand. “Could you give us a bit of privacy?”

She gives him a look of obvious disapproval.

“I’ll go do the groceries,” she says. “If you insist.” She turns her attention to Bruce, giving him her very best smile. “If you need anything, please make sure my father gets it for you, since he isn’t going to let me play hostess.”

Dusan steadily makes his way across the room, taking a seat in an old, well-worn armchair.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Wayne,” he says.

Bruce sits. Slade does not. Instead he lurks just beside Bruce’s seat, a frown on his face like he’s expecting the old man to toss a ninja star at them.

Bruce isn’t entirely ruling it out.

“I knew you’d find me eventually,” Dusan says once the front door closes behind his daughter. “It was simply a matter of time.”

Bruce does not feel the need to explain that he found him almost entirely by chance.

“You’re Ra’s al Ghul’s son,” Bruce says. Better to clear the air and get that point out of the way.

“Yes and no,” Dusan says. 

“That’s not a question that can be answered with yes and no,” Slade points out, and Dusan’s eyes flick up to him, acknowledging Slade for the first time.

“I was born his son, yes,” he says. “But he never acknowledged me as such.”

It feels like a story. Bruce can see it coming. Ra’s always had a penchant for tales, and obviously Dusan carries the same trait.

“I know why you have come,” Dusan says, and Bruce seriously doubts that. “And I will tell you my story before we discuss further. So that you can know the truth, without whatever lies Ra’s may have told you.”

Bruce attempts to exchange a look with Slade, but it goes unanswered. Slade only has eyes for the old man, hyper-vigilant and wary of an attack.

Dusan doesn’t seem to mind.

“I was Ra’s’ first born, and his only son. I should have been the heir to all he had, the child he so desperately wanted. But I was born weak and frail. Ra’s said then and there that I would never amount to anything, and told the midwife to leave me out in the elements, the way they had done in years before. My mother--his wife--begged for my life, and in the end Ra’s spared me out of his love for her. He gave me to his father, and sent me away.”

The fact that Ra’s would leave a sick baby to the elements does not surprise Bruce. He’s sure Ra’s would have seen it as a mercy, to let the baby die early before it had to be helped through life. He despised weakness, and a baby who could barely keep living would certainly be seen as weak.

The fact that he spared Dusan out of love for his wife does.

“My grandfather raised me,” Dusan says. “He trained me in the ways of the league, but his attempts were pointless. I was all but blind in the sunlight, and my vision was terrible at any time of day or night. When I was old enough to stand on my own, my grandfather sent me away and told me to leave the League behind and never return. I was convinced that it was a test. That if I could find a way to be useful, that Ra’s would finally accept me.”

Bruce is silent as he listens, turning over the facts. Turning over what he knows of Ra’s. Nothing of what the man says strikes him as strange or unusual. It’s new, but it doesn’t strike him as false. Ra’s was always focused on power and loyalty in his followers, and his family were no different.

“I went out into the world and found my place. I became a spy, working for both sides and feeding them information on the other. I became well versed in international politics. I taught myself to be fluent in twelve languages. And most of all I waited for the day that Ra’s would come for me, seeking my help.”

He pauses, his lips turning downward into a frown, but the expression passes in a moment.

“He did not, as you can imagine. I still had some small contact with the league, and with my grandfather. I learned, in broad strokes, what was happening. That my mother had given birth to another child, who Ra’s doted on. That he’d had another daughter in addition. I began to lose hope. I left my work behind and found a wife. We moved here, to America. Even so, I could not completely give up hope. We made our home in Metropolis, so close to Ra’s empire. I continued to wait.”

Bruce realizes he’s never once referred to Ra’s as his father. The fact gives Bruce a small bit of hope.

“I learned of you. That Ra’s wanted you to be your chosen heir. I hated and envied you when I learned you’d rejected him, but I remained here with my family. I tried to think little of him. But when I learned that my grandfather had passed--abandoned by Ra’s--I sprang into motion. I saw it as my chance. I knew that Ra’s lived only by the grace of the Lazarus fluid being pumped into him, but that the source was weak, and the effect minimal. He would need a new pit to be restored to his full strength, and I went into the world to find one.

“It took me months, and but in the end I found it. A pit, just as good as the one in Gotham. I sealed the entrance to its location and returned to the League for the first time since I had been cast out. I told them I had to speak to Ra’s, and that what I had to tell him was important, and they let me pass.”

Dusan leans forward, his story obviously coming to an end.

“I came to him with a vial of Lazarus fluid in my pocket, and the location of a pit that would have restored him to health on my lips. It would have allowed him to revive my sister, and to allow the League to regain all of its lost power. But when I came to him, as frail and ill as he was, he would not speak to me. He would not acknowledge me. I begged him to listen to me, told him that I was his son, and that I had come to prove my worth to him, and he said to me then the only words he had ever spoken to me: That I was no son of his. He had them throw me out, my message undelivered.”

Bruce lets himself wonder for a moment what the world might have been like if Ra’s had listened. If Ra’s had returned to his true power. If Talia had come back.

It’s a much different world.

“I realized then what I should have realized years before. Ra’s was not my father. He had turned his back on me, and I had spent years of my life seeking favor from a man who would never accept me. I know that my sisters believed that the pit had ruined him, but I do not believe it was the pit. I believe it was immortality. Men like you and I believe in the future. We try and make the world a better place for our children. We try and make sure that our children will be better than we are. But Ra’s didn’t have that. He did not need children, because he didn’t believe he would ever die. What use is an heir for someone who will never release control of his empire? So Ra’s always found some new failing. He always pushed for what he could not have. He tossed away people like they were nothing more than trash, and rotted the family from the inside out.”

The man speaks with obvious passion. This is the mistake that haunted him: The belief that if he was good enough, his father would take him back. But Ra’s never had, and now... and now what?

“If you have come to seek my help to return Ra’s to life,” Dusan says, “you will not have it. If you have come to find the location of the pit, I would rather die.”

Oh.

Slade actually laughs beside him, and Dusan frowns at him.

“Mr. Ballou,” Bruce says, “we aren’t here for the pit. Until you told me, I assumed they were all destroyed. My only concern with the pit is that it is inaccessible.”

Dusan looks thrown off, staring at them warily.

“It was destroyed,” he says. “I buried it myself when Ra’s turned me away.”

“Good,” he says.

Dusan looks increasingly confused.

“I do not understand,” he says. “Why you are here if you did not come for the pit?”

“I came to find out if you were a threat,” Bruce says honestly.

Dusan somehow manages to look more confused.

“A threat?”

“Both of your sisters are dead,” Bruce says. “If you had sided with Ra’s, you would be the last heir to his empire. I had to be sure you weren’t... planning to reclaim it.”

“I would not place myself on that rusted throne,” Dusan says. “Even if Ra’s himself came back to offer it to me. My life is near its end. Soon enough I will pass on, and my children and grandchildren will die without learning the truth. I would prefer to take it with me.”

“They don’t know about Ra’s,” Bruce says quietly.

“My wife knew parts,” Dusan says, “before she passed. That the man who had fathered me was a dangerous man, who might hurt them if he knew. So I took her name. We hid, and counted on the fact that he had no reason to seek me out.”

“You can relax, then,” Bruce says. “The League is gone.”

“Hm,” Dusan says. “Perhaps I misjudged your intentions in coming here. You are not the man he thought you were.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Bruce says. He opens his mouth, hesitating for a moment, unsure of what he wants to say.

“What did you know about your sisters?” Bruce finally asks.

“If you’re asking if I was aware of your love affair with my sister, then yes, I was aware of it. It was obvious to anyone who knew Ra’s what would happen when he became fixated on you. Talia first, if he could, and if you would not have her you would have Nyssa. If you wanted, I have no doubt he would have given you both.”

Bruce winces at the thought.

Dusan pauses, and then cocks his head.

“Ah,” he says. “You are trying to feel me out, to see if I know of your son.”

Bruce frowns. He hadn’t yet decided if he wanted to bring up Damian, but the choice is taken from him just the same.

“He was Ra’s’, through and through,” he says. “Although I doubt that would have deterred you. It is a pity he was not with you when the League fell.”

His face twists in sadness, and Bruce takes a moment before deciding that it’s genuine. He’s talking about the death of an innocent, someone who suffered at Ra’s’ hands the same way he did.

“He wasn’t,” Bruce says, “but he wasn’t killed when the league died either.”

Dusan’s head snaps up, his eyes narrowing.

“He still lives...?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “He didn’t die in the raid.”

Dusan doesn’t reply right away. Instead, he reaches up, wiping at his eyes, the first hints of tears starting to fall.

“To think,” he says, “that my nephew still lives.”

He pushes himself to his feet with surprising agility for a man so old, and Bruce watches Slade tense in his peripheral vision. He stays seated, content that his safety is all but assured, and waits for the man to return from rummaging in his drawers.

“I understand,” Dusan says, “if you do not wish to tell him of me. But if you do, I would ask you to give them these.”

He holds out two photos, and Bruce takes them carefully. The first is of Dusan and his children, an older woman at his side. The photo looks dated, but Bruce recognizes the woman who let them in among his children. The second photo seems more recent, and Dusan looks more like himself. A small army of grandchildren sit around him, a small cake with 92 written on it in the foreground.

“Thank you,” Bruce says, tucking the photos away. “I will see what he says.”

He won’t commit to anything. He needs to talk to Damian first. But they have heard the story, and Bruce has things to do, so they say their goodbyes before long and return to the car, the old man lingering in the doorway.

“What did you think?” Bruce asks as he slides into the passenger seat.

“Hard to say,” Slade says. “Old, for sure. Still in good shape. Still has that League training in him. His story sounds perfectly plausible to me. I think he was considering stabbing you when he talked about the pit. I think he meant it when he thought you were there for it.”

Bruce thinks about the pit, but pushes the idea away. There’s no life in that, no life to be had in bringing back the long dead. Some things should stay buried.

Chapter Text

They pick Damian up from the Kent’s home about an hour after lunch, and Bruce hears all about how Jon got in trouble for hovering in front of the window from Damian on the way home. Damian informs them that Jon is silly, and then goes on a tangent about all the way’s that he would use the ability to fly.

Bruce considers telling him there, but it feels wrong. Damian would be trapped, and there’d be no way to give him any privacy or space. So instead he waits through the ferry ride back to Gotham, waits through the drive back to the manor, and only speaks up once they’ve gotten back.

The photos in his pocket feel like they’re burning him.

“Damian?” Bruce asks carefully. “I was hoping we could talk about something.”

Damian goes stiff, staring at him for a moment before nodding, and Slade gives him a quick nod before heading up to the house.

Bruce doesn’t take him into the manor. He decides, then and there, that he already knows the best place to tell him.

They go to the grove out back, where the pomegranate tree is starting to grow. It’s had almost two years to grow, and it’s good and settled, although far from the size it’ll once reach.

Damian pauses in front of it, silent, and then finally turns to Bruce.

“You found Aunt Nyssa,” he says. It is not a question. He’s too sharp for his own good at the best of times, and he knows what Bruce has come to tell him.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “The Court’s representative told me. She sought them out when she returned to Gotham, and they betrayed her.”

Bruce isn’t sure anyone knows who she was. He’s not sure if Slade told Jason. He’s not sure Slade’s accepted it himself. But they know the general idea: That she sought revenge on Slade, and she had worked with the League to attempt to get that.

“What happened to her?” Damian asks, but Bruce is sure he’s already guessed.

“She was one of the Talons,” Bruce says. “ARGUS is sending her body here. I’m going to... to make a little cemetery here. Behind the house, so we can keep them close. I’ll move my parents here too.”

Ra’s and Talia and Nyssa, all side by side in death the way they’d never been in life.

Damian does not look upset. He looks distant, and he glances back to the three.

“It was better,” Damian says. “Better that she die then live like that.”

Bruce reaches out and rests a hand on Damian’s shoulder. He expects grief, but doesn’t really get it. Damian is a stone, and it feels like a blow to realize how familiar he is with death.

“There was something else,” Bruce says. “You have an uncle.”

Damian doesn’t move, but his lips turn down a bit.

“I do not,” he says simply.

“You do,” Bruce says. “The same way that your great grandfather was still alive when you were a child. He was born ill, and Ra’s cast him out of the family, but he’s still alive.”

“That was who you want to meet today,” Damian says, and once again it’s not a question, just a statement of fact.

“Yes,” Bruce says. “I’ve known about Nyssa for... for a little while. Or at least knew what I was told. There was no way of knowing whether it was the truth until I had ARGUS confirm it. And when they mentioned him, I had to be sure he wasn’t going to be a threat.”

“Whatever remains of the league would not have taken him,” Damian says. “They followed Ra’s to the end.”

“He has no interest in them anymore,” Bruce says. “He has children of his own, and grandchildren. He has a life in Metropolis. He gave me pictures of them to give you, and I think he’d like to meet you.”

“I have no interest in meeting him,” Damian says. “He is not family, only blood.”

Bruce opens his mouth to say you’re still a part of his family, and then he realizes what this is about. He realizes why Damian is saying the things he is. It’s not about Dusan at all. It’s about blood and choice.

Bruce lets go of Damian’s shoulder, stepping in front of him and kneeling down in front of him. Even if his voice is stony, his face shows the signs of distress Bruce is expecting.

“You’re still my family,” Bruce says. “Family is... family is complicated.”

“Of course father,” Damian says. “I would never doubt that.”

Bruce doesn’t believe him.

“I said you could talk to me about anything, Damian,” he says.

Damian is silent, and Bruce reaches up, taking his hands. He should have seen this coming. He should have seen the consequences of being so firm on they’re my sons with the other boys. It’s sent that message, but it’s also sent another one.

“Family is the people you choose,” Bruce says. “Whether they’re blood or not. Dick and Jason and Tim are my sons, but you are too. I chose you too.”

Because that’s the flip of they’re my sons: The fact that Bruce chose every single one of them, and he didn’t choose Damian.

“I wonder a lot about what life would have been like if I’d known about you. If Talia had mentioned you. I’d have come for you then and there. I’d have fought the whole League to bring you to a place you could grow up safely. I know I’m not doing a great job with this, but I’m trying to do what I can to make up for not being there for you before.”

Damian frowns at him.

“Father,” he says, but it’s still stiff. “I am just fine.”

“I’m worried you’re not,” Bruce says. “I’m worried that you... that you still feel out of place here.”

“I have Titus,” Damian says. “And Jason and Alfred. Even... even Slade, even if he’s stupid.”

“And me,” Bruce says. “You’ll always have me.”

Damian is silent.

“Damian,” Bruce says. “I know you said you didn’t want to, and I respected your choice on it, but I think you do need to talk to someone now. A professional, who can help you sort through your feelings. what happened to you... losing your family like that--”

“They weren’t my family,” Damian protests, looking upset. “They were Ra’s followers. My family was already dead. And they’re not even my family, they’re bad people-”

Bruce pulls Damian into a hug, and Damian squirms, annoyed.

“You can’t make up your mind,” Damian mumbles. “Does blood matter or not?”

It’s complicated is the answer, but it isn’t an answer that’s going to give Damian any sort of piece of mind. So he tries to think things through. Thinks of what his therapist would say.

But in the end, his mind goes back to Slade and Rose.

“Blood matters,” he says. “But it’s not the only thing. Family is... the people you have bonds with. The people you surround yourself with. Sometimes that bond is forged by blood. Sometimes that blood is forged by choice. Sometimes it just happens. And those bonds... those bonds stay until they’re broken. It’s alright to still consider Ra’s your grandfather. It’s alright for you to still love him, even if I... even if I don’t. He’s still your family.”

“You aren’t going to be mad...?” Damian says, his voice whisper quiet. Bruce gives him another squeeze and pulls back.

“I’m not going to be mad,” Bruce says. “He still raised you. He was still a huge part of your life.”

“I miss him,” Damian says quietly, and this time it’s him who leans forward, pressing against Bruce and burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder.

This is what he wouldn’t talk about. Not just their deaths, but the feeling he was cut off from them. That, knowing what kind of person Ra’s was, he wasn’t allowed to miss him.

“I know,” Bruce says quietly, rubbing circles on Damian’s back. “He was your grandfather. He was still... he was still important to you.”

“We’ll give him another funeral,” Bruce says when he finally pulls back. “A proper one. Him and Nyssa and your mother. All the al Ghuls.”

Damian nods once, wiping at his face as if he refuses to be seen looking upset.

“Alright,” he says. “I will help.”

“Thought you would,” Bruce says. He digs into his jacket and pulls out the two neatly folded photos, holding them out for Damian.

“These are yours,” Bruce says. “But I’m not going to make you meet them. Whatever you decide, I’m just fine with it, alright?”

Damian takes the photos, but he doesn’t look at them. Instead, he simply nods, tucking them away.

Bruce leans down, pressing a kiss to the top of Damian’s head, and then heads back to the mansion with him.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day feels almost blissfully peaceful by comparison. Jason blows in just before dinner, ranting about some company or another trying to scam Wayne Outreach while he was gone. He somehow manages to keep angrily ranting while ruffling Damian’s hair, and then the two have a brief (mostly non-serious) fight that ends with Damian reminding Jason that he is, in Damian’s words, easy prey while injured.

“Low blow,” Slade says from his seat, flipping through the paper.

The lawyers get back to him with approval for the cemetery out back in record time, which Bruce suspects has a lot to do with the fact that the grounds have already had an extensive (and largely modified) survey done. He knows just where to dig to create the graves, so it’s really just a matter of waiting for things to start arriving, and it certainly isn’t going to be that night.

Slade ends up taking Damian on patrol that night, heading out into Gotham. The crime rate’s low, but it’s not zero, and the patrol is as much about reminding people that the bats are still there as it is anything else.

They have a short conversation about sending someone out in the suit--or even Bruce himself going--but decide against it.

“They already know he’s hurt,” Slade points out. “No point in faking it.”

Bruce stays in the cave, where he’s needed most.

When they get back, Bruce catches Slade smirking in his direction, but he doesn’t get an answer until Damian’s gone to bed.

“Apparently,” Slade says, “Damian approves of my ‘courting’ you, on the grounds that I’m a good swordsmanship instructor.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

He sleeps well that night in what little time he has to actually sleep.

There’s work in the morning, helping make sure nothing’s caught on fire at Wayne Enterprises, but Lucius shoos him away and tells him he has city business to do. In the end, Bruce ends up digging up the previous City Council’s minutes for the last year, and starts systematically going through them, trying to figure out just how bad the Court’s influence was.

The answer, as it turns out, is very bad. He digs up several signs of obviously shady agreements, and ends up calling Jim to have him pass it on.

He catches Slade napping on the couch in the living room when he goes to get him for lunch, and when he sits down, reaching out to try and gently shake him awake, Slade catches his wrist.

“Bad idea,” Slade mumbles, “trying to sneak up on me.”

He releases Bruce’s wrist, and Bruce rolls his eyes.

“As if I could do anything to you now,” Bruce says. “If I so much as looked at you too harshly, all the kids would gang up on me.”

Slade cracks his eye open, a smile on his face.

“Probably,” he says. “I’ve slid very firmly into the cool uncle place, and you know how kids feel about that.”

Bruce doesn’t, but he can guess.

He leans down, pressing a quick kiss to Slade’s forehead, and then heads to the kitchen.

He expects follow up, but he doesn’t get it. There’s the same light teasing that Slade always does, but he doesn’t actually engage further. He doesn’t try and corner Bruce in the hall, and doesn’t make any further moves. It’s around that point Bruce realizes that he’s not just expecting it--he’s hoping for it--and groans.

He ends up seeking out Slade on his own, and finds him training in the workout room. Bruce wonders if this was the reason Slade didn’t come to him, because he’s shirtless and soaked in sweat as he works through a particularly intensive routine. When Bruce walks in on him, he’s in the middle of one handed push-ups, which seem to strain him mostly in terms of keeping his balance.

Bruce lets himself actually look, trying to get into the right mindset of it.

Slade is nothing like the women he’s had on his arms at Wayne Charity Galas. He couldn’t be less like them if he tried. They were thin and dainty, largely younger than Bruce (or sometimes his own age) by a few years. They were the kind of people he could pick up with one arm, who were taken by his looks or his money or his status.

Slade doesn’t seem particularly impressed by any of those things. He has no idea what kind of money Slade is actually sitting on, and while there’s no way it’s Wayne family fortune money, it’s definitely not a small amount of cash either. Similarly, he has no real interest in Bruce’s status, because up to that point he hasn’t even appeared in public with him.

Looks... That one Bruce is less sure of.

“I’m curious,” Bruce says, leaning against the door frame as he watches. “Am I actually your type?”

“I already told you that,” Slade says, not even pausing.

“I meant physically,” Bruce says, “not in the ‘can kick my ass’ sense.”

“Fairly big. Muscular. I’d say so, yeah.”

Both traits that fit Slade himself pretty well.

Bruce isn’t sure he has a physical type. Everything feels all muddled. But he has to admit that he likes what he’s seeing right then--the drip of sweat down Slade’s back, the strain of his muscles to keep him properly balanced.

“Did Dick show you that?”

“Did similar things before him,” Slade says, “but he said I couldn’t last as long as he did when it comes to balance, so I’ve got to practice. Kid’s a lot smaller than I am, and his balance is better than mine.”

Not many people can call Dick a kid, but Slade pulls it off.

But now he’s thinking about Slade’s type, and it’s hard to stop thinking about it.

“I know about Adeline,” Bruce says. “But was there anyone after her?”

“Oh hell,” Slade says, and he flips himself back onto his feet one smooth motion, stretching out. “I’m not trying to balance myself while talking about my ex-wife.”

Bruce winces, and Slade goes to grab a towel.

“You mean serious relationships?” Slade asks as he towels off. “No. Too busy with work, and I was never in one place long enough.”

“Not-serious relationships?”

Slade shoots him a look.

“You sure you want to know the answer to that?”

Bruce isn’t sure. The answer, in the end, is it doesn’t matter if I want to, because you answering that way means there’s a yes, so he doesn’t say anything at all.

“A few,” Slade says. “Figured myself out. Not relationships, but sex.”

“Recently?” Bruce asks. He’s not sure why he asks. Does it really make a difference if the answer’s yes? If Slade tells him that he was sleeping with someone the month before? It shouldn’t, but Bruce sort of feels like it does.

“Not really recently,” Slade says. “The last guy I had anything beyond a one night stand with got married two years ago, and I haven’t done anything since then. Thought about it, when you were being particularly oblivious, but didn’t.”

Two years ago would be right around the time Slade started going on missions again, once Jason had started running around the city as Batman. He wonders if those things are connected. If Slade left just so he could get some distance-

“Bruce,” Slade says. “It’s not any difference from those models you used to bring over.”

Bruce makes a face.

“It’s been more than two years for me,” Bruce says. “They-”

“Bruce,” Slade says, stepping over to him. “You get what I mean. They didn’t mean anything. Best I got out of them is a casual friendship. I wasn’t interested in them like I am in you.”

Slade reaches forward, resting his hands on Bruce’s hips, and Bruce can’t stop himself from shivering.

Slade has him wrapped around his finger, and Bruce knows it. There’s an agonizing slowness when Slade leans forward, pressing the lightest, most chaste kiss Bruce can imagine to his lips, leaning down to press kisses down his neck and onto his shoulder blade.

“You don’t have to go so slow,” Bruce mutters under his breath. It feels like Slade’s treating him like fine glass, like he’ll shatter if he touches too harshly. His fingers are just ghosting over his skin, barely touching if they’re touching at all.

“No,” Slade says. “I really do.”

He cups the side of Bruce’s face with his hand, and Bruce leans into it instinctively, eyes drifting half closed. It’s so soft, so at odds with how Slade presents himself.

“You don’t,” Bruce protests. “I can handle this, you know.”

“I shouldn’t have even kissed you when I did,” Slade says pointedly. “I said I’d make you make the first move on everything so I didn’t go too fast, and I got greedy and broke that rule almost immediately.”

“We can go at your speed,” Bruce says. “You don’t have to hold back.”

Slade leans in, his breath warm against Bruce’s cheek.

“Bruce, if we went at my speed, Jason would have walked in on you with your pants around your ankles.”

Bruce chokes, and Slade laughs, breaking the tension. 

“Trust me, Bruce,” Slade says. “I’m fine with slow. I’m happy it’s happening at all. I’m perfectly fine with taking my time. Like unwrapping a present--sometimes the fun is watching things come undone.”

Bruce thought he was doing a pretty good job holding himself together before, but now his face is on fire again.

“Don’t rush it,” Slade says, pressing a kiss to his forehead before heading to the showers.

Chapter Text

Bruce is aware that he doesn’t actually have more obligations than he did a decade ago. Back then he was busy being the one man roadblock for a few dozen murderers and monsters, and stopping all of them was more than a full time job.

It just feels like it’s more obligations because they’re all split up.

He has to make sure Jason gets to his doctor’s appointments, therapy, and physical therapy. He has to make sure Damian gets to class, and shuttle him around to whatever play date Alfred’s set up. He has to go to his own therapy (as infrequent as it is), handle work, and now he has the city council business to deal with.

The only reason he manages is because he has Alfred and Slade running interference, taking turns making sure everyone gets where they need to be.

Bruce nearly misses his own checkup, the doctor inspecting the scar tissue on his side in absolutely no hurry despite the fact that Bruce has to make it to city hall in less than twenty minutes.

“You need to do more stretches,” he says.

“So I’m cleared to go back to my self defense classes?”

The one mercy of the situation is that literally everyone in the city knows that the manor was attacked and that both Bruce and his son were attacked by Talons. It’s one of the few major injuries he’s had which doesn’t require him to come up with some kind of contrived explanation for the injury.

“You’re clear,” the doctor says. “Considering they probably saved your life, I certainly can’t begrudge you them.”

Bruce barely makes it to city hall in time. The first meeting was only those already involved in local politics, but this is an actual meeting. It’s open to the public, and Bruce recognizes several familiar faces as he heads in, mostly business owners. There’s an obvious gap right near the front, a space where everyone’s backed off, and when Bruce reaches Councilman Wilson up near the front he sees what the issue is.

Roman Sionis is sitting right in the front row, his grotesque skull mask staring straight at the council. To his right is a thin man that Bruce recognizes as his second in command, the man who runs most of his more legal businesses to give him a bit of deniability.

Christ. Almost every member of the council looks intimidated to hell and back, and Bruce sighs, pulling out his phone. He’s got five minutes till things start, and he’s not going to get anything done like this. He’s not sure Wilson’s going to be able to talk with Black Mask staring at him through the whole goddamn meeting.

Well, two can play that game.

Bruce makes a point of reassuring the council members before they can lose anyone, letting them know that things are firmly under control, and right as they’re supposed to actually start the meeting Slade walks right in the door like he owns the place. He doesn’t even pause, heading right up to Roman and taking the seat beside him.

The bomb defused, Bruce nudges Wilson. He still looking alarmed, but he clears his throat, ushering everyone up to their places. Bruce can’t fail to notice that he’s put Bruce directly to his right, and he makes a quick swap so he’s instead on Wilson’s left, sitting directly in front of Roman.

Wilson clears his throat, staring the meeting as Bruce watches Slade lean forward, planting himself right between Roman and his second and command. Slade’s saying something, but Bruce can’t tell what, and Roman’s face being literally frozen in place makes it impossible to read his expressions.

Wilson’s not even finished introducing the new council when Roman abruptly gets up, leaving the room. His second in command scurries behind him, and Slade leans back in his seat, looking smug.

Slade looks so smug as he leans back in his seat.

The entire council breathes a collective sigh of relief when he’s gone, and the meeting forges onward.

Bruce can’t even pretend to be shocked when Wilson nominates him for mayor the moment the subject comes up.

He is surprised when someone expresses a concern. He’s sure plenty of people have concerns, he just expected them to stay quiet considering how obviously enthusiastic for him the only person who actually wanted to be on council is.

“I have some concerns,” Rogers says. “I don’t mean any offense, Mr. Wayne, but are you still... ah, infected?”

It’s a fair question, just one one Bruce had planned to field in public any time... well, ever. It catches him off guard, and he takes a moment to swallow before leaning forward.

“An understandable question,” he says. “While obviously this isn’t something with a long medical history or a lot of test cases, I’ve been given as clean a bill of health as one can under the circumstances. There were some concerns that undue stress might cause the infection to flare up, but that’s been ruled out in light of the events of the last few weeks.”

If stress was going to make the infection flare up, the Night of the Owls would absolutely have been stressful enough to cause it.

“My doctor believes that it’s completely dormant.”

He doesn’t mention the potential risk of fear gas. Crane’s been incarcerated long enough that the threat seems, for once, relatively distant. And he doesn’t want to paint a target on his back.

“Does that answer your concerns?” Wilson asks.

Rogers nods, settling back in his chair. Wilson asks if anyone else volunteers.

Moore sticks his hand up, and then everyone votes. It’s not blind--Bruce feels like it probably should--but there’s no actual question who’s going to win. Moore isn’t particularly well liked, and in the end his only vote is himself.

When it’s obvious which way the voting is going, even Moore changes his vote.

Somehow, Slade looks even more smug.

The moment the meeting’s over, Slade swaggers right up to the desk, grinning at Bruce as he leans against it.

“So,” he says. “Mr. Mayor.”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

Wilson’s glancing between the two, but musters up the nerve to clear his throat and offer his hand.

“I’m not quite sure what you did,” Wilson says, “but you seem like you’re a friend of Bruces, and you got rid of Sionis for us, so you’re certainly a friend of mine. I’m Andrew Wilson.”

Slade shakes his hand, the smirk never leaving his face.

“Slade Wilson,” he says. “No relation.”

Wilson looks perplexed for a moment.

“...Are you sure? Slade’s a pretty unusual name, and I’m pretty sure I had one on my family tree.”

Bruce is not expecting Slade to get into a conversation with Wilson about whether or not they’re actually related, but he does. Bruce watches in something approaching horror as the two go over a family tree that Wilson pulls up on his phone.

“I like him,” Slade says as they finally leave, almost a half hour later. There’s debate about if he’s a third cousin once removed, or a second cousin twice removed, and Bruce wonders what the hell he just brought into his life letting them meet.

“What did you say to him?” Bruce asks when they’re in the parking lot.

“Andrew?”

Bruce wonders how Slade got to Andrew faster than him, and then decides it’s probably because calling someone else Wilson is too weird.

Maybe he should start calling him Andrew.

“Sionis,” Bruce says. “Who you scared out of the room.”

“I told him I knew where his bodies were buried, and if he didn’t clear the hell out the GCPD would too.”

Bruce’s eyebrows go up, and he pauses by the door to his car.

“...Do you?”

“No,” Slade says with a wave of his hand. “But I know enough, and he doesn’t know who the hell I am, so as far as he can tell it seems perfectly plausible.”

“You realize he’s going to look into you,” Bruce points out.

“Not a problem,” Slade says. “Going to redirect our attention to root out Black Mask gang activity and see if we can’t get him in Arkham within the next week or so.”

“Something I should have done a long time ago,” Bruce says with a sigh.

“You’re retired, Bruce,” Slade says. “I need to go pick up Jason, but I’ll see you back at the house.”

He ducks into the second car, and Bruce watches him go.

Chapter Text

The next two days feel almost normal. There’s no crisis. No one breaks down. No one dies. Tim and Dick both agree to come out to dinner to meet the Kents properly. He invites Michael, but he declines. Work’s too busy, and he’s obviously trying to establish his own life, separate from the bats. 

He debates inviting Jim, but decides against it. Jim might be connected to the family, but that’s not the same thing as being one of them. He’s a family friend, not family, and he’s not a vigilante either.

It feels strange having someone over who isn’t part of the family who knows their secrets. It feels strange to welcome them in.

But they do. The Kents arrive just before dinner, and the moment Bruce clarifies that the house is secure, Jon starts to float around without hesitation. Damian drags Jon off to show him his room, and Bruce is sure he’ll find them down in the cave before the night is over.

There’s a round of introductions--proper ones, without suits or masks--and both Clark and Lois end up rather taken with Jackson, doting on him and giving both Tim and Barbara some obviously needed rest.

“So you’re, what, an actual alien?” Dick asks after they’ve finished dinner and retired to the living room.

“Kryptonian,” Clark says, as if that’s a word that means anything to any of them.

“Which is?” Dick fires right back.

Clark blinks, and then laughs.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m really only used to talking about it to Lois and Jon, who obviously already know. Someone from Krypton. From what I’ve learned, they had a society that was similar enough to ours. No powers or anything, just a human level of strength. But their planet died, and I was sent out in an attempt to save me. As far as I’m aware, I’m the last-” He pauses, glancing towards the hallway where Jon and Damian should be, and then back to Dick. “The second last of my kind.”

“Oh,” Dick says, wincing. “Sorry, I didn’t realize-”

“No,” Clark says with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. I didn’t know much of this myself to start. I was raised down in Kansas. As far as I knew, I was a perfectly normal human until I was a teenager, when my parents told me the truth. Came as quite a shock to me.”

“You didn’t notice the flying?” Tim asks.

“Didn’t fly when I was young,” Clark says. “Jon only started recently. We’ve had to be careful to make sure he doesn’t start using powers by accident. Last thing we want is him starting to fly during the school’s track and field day.”

“We were lucky no one noticed when his freeze breath started coming in,” Lois says with a sigh. “He had a cold. Thankfully I stayed home with him that day.”

“And I thought I had a difficult time with the boys,” Alfred says. “Can I get anyone anything from the kitchen?”

There’s a round of nos, but he goes to get snacks anyway.

“So,” Lois says with a pointed look at Bruce. “Mayor Wayne?”

“Only temporarily,” Bruce says. “Gotham’s been struggling to find people to fill the council seats, and almost no one even wanted the job.”

“That’s because everyone knows it’s cursed,” Dick says. “Even up in Bludhaven, the joke is that you’ve got a better life expectancy as a Bludhaven convenience store worker than you do as Gotham’s mayor.”

“They’re not wrong,” Barbara says. “Even dad says he thinks the position’s cursed. He had mixed feelings about you taking it, but he’s hoping that you can break the curse.”

Bruce takes that as a vote of confidence.

“It’s only temporary,” Bruce says. “We’ll have an actual election by next summer, and then someone else can take over.”

“I don’t see why,” Slade says. “You’d do just fine as the mayor, and you don’t have to worry about guys like Sionis threatening the mayor.”

Slade says the name like it’s a slur.

“Who?” Clark says.

“Roman Sionis,” Tim says. “The crime lord Black Mask. With how much of a mess Arkham City was, he ended up walking. We haven’t managed to get him on any charges yet, so he’s still walking around.”

“Showed up to the election,” Slade says. “Thought he could intimidate the council. Sent him packing though.”

“Dad told me all about it,” Barbara said. “Apparently the officer who was playing security at the meeting said Black Mask cleared out in record time after you got there.”

Slade looks damned pleased at that.

“And,” Barbara adds, “apparently half the police department were trying to figure out who the hell you were.”

Oops. Slade doesn’t look at all deterred by it, but Bruce drags his hand down his face.

“We’ll have to figure out something for that,” Bruce says. “Come up with some story.”

“Sorry if this is a personal question,” Clark says, clearing his throat. “But what is the story? I’ve heard... some things.”

Bruce wonders for just a moment how much Clark knows, and then remembers: Everything. He was just outside for the conversation with Waller in the hospital, and Bruce ticks down a mental checklist. The experiments. Slade’s connection to Deathstroke. The deal they made.

He’s sure Slade’s sorting through the same list, but Bruce knows at the very least that Rose wasn’t explicitly mentioned, so that’s one thing he doesn’t have to worry about.

Slade, however, doesn’t look at all bothered. He looks almost unnaturally calm.

“You mean who I was before I joined the bats,” Slade says with a wave of his hand. “Deathstroke?”

“Hold on,” Lois says. “You were Deathstroke? Orange-and-black killer for hire?” It’s obvious Clark didn’t clue her in, because she looks horrified.

“Now Lois,” Clark says. “He’s reformed.”

“And legally a separate person,” Slade says, kicking his feet up on the coffee table for all of five seconds until Alfred glares at him and he sets them back down on the floor.

“And he didn’t kill the mayor,” Clark adds. “He was framed.”

Lois gives him an annoyed look. Bruce suspects Clark’s getting a lecture on the way home.

Bruce decides to intervene.

“Slade operated as Deathstroke before he knew us,” Bruce says. “He helped with some family matters -”

“You can just say it,” Jason says, rolling his eyes.

Bruce doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want to talk about what happened. He doesn’t want to alarm Clark and Lois by telling them the truth. He almost never talks about it. It’s not about shame, but instead about memory. Talking about what happened to Jason brings up memories that aren’t his, that he doesn’t want to think about.

Tim takes pity on him and keeps it brief.

“Jason was kidnapped,” he says. “Slade rescued him, worked with him, and then helped him find his family again.”

“Slade’s as much Jason’s father as I am,” Bruce says. He fights the urge to say if not more.

“I suppose I should consider myself lucky you never showed up in Metropolis,” Clark says, and even if he doesn’t really know, Bruce feels it deep down. He knows what Slade’s about to say.

“I did,” Slade says, completely unashamed. “You just didn’t know it.”

Bruce is momentarily caught off guard. Not just because he didn’t know it--although it doesnt’ seem at all surprising in retrospect--but because Slade’s volunteering the information so readily.

“What?” Clark says, his face the picture of concentration. “When? I’d have noticed you.”

“Mmm, like... five years ago? Six? Back when most people didn’t even know you existed. I used an abandoned building as bait, put a recording of a woman crying for help to draw your attention while I worked on the other end of town. Took a while to set up, and wasn’t nearly worth the paycheck.”

Bruce really, really wishes that Slade would just shut up. It’s like he’s intentionally trying to bait Clark, to see if he’ll take issue with it. 

“Slade,” he says. “I’m not sure why you’re saying this, but it’s-”

“It’s what?” Slade says, eyebrows up, the picture of innocence.

“Rude, for one,” Dick says. “Stop baiting the guests, they’re not used to you yet.”

Clark’s lips are pressed in a thin line, his expression undeniably unhappy.

“You came to Metropolis, baited me with an empty building, and then killed someone while I was trying to save a woman from a burning building...?” Clark says.

Bruce can feel Clark’s respect for them ebbing away.

“Not a murder,” Slade says. “Even before I knew how dangerous you were I wasn’t willing to do that kind of thing in a city with a protector. Last thing I wanted was some angry batman figure hunting me down.”

Bruce clenches his teeth, but the admission that no one died seems to relax Clark slightly.

“Excuse us for a second,” Bruce says. Realistically speaking, it’s a completely pointless gesture--because Clark can hear anything they say from anywhere in the house--but it’s more for his own comfort than for anyone else’s as he plants his hand on Slade’s shoulder, almost daring him to argue.

Everyone else, for the most part, averts their eyes, the conversation abruptly changing to something far lighter.

Mercifully, Slade doesn’t argue. He goes with Bruce, even when Bruce pushes him into his office, closing the door behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” Bruce snaps. “Are you trying to pick a fight with the one man on the planet who can turn you into a smear? They’re supposed to be our friends.”

“They’re not our friends,” Slade says, “unless they know our secrets. All those conversations with them and you didn’t think to tell them who I was?”

“It wasn’t my secret to tell,” Bruce says.

“You were going to let them put me on this Justice League thing without telling them who I was!”

He wasn’t. Not really. He tells himself that over and over as Slade starts pacing around the room, looking increasingly agitated. 

“It just wasn’t the right time,” Bruce says.

“It’s never going to be the right time,” Slade says. “There’s never going to be a right time to say the guy I’m screwing around with used to kill people for cash, Bruce. You know it, I know it-”

“That’s not what this is,” Bruce protests. “We’re not screwing around. This is supposed to be-”

“Just let me finish,” Slade snaps, and then he’s up in his face, inches away.

“You are surrounded by good people, Bruce. And you want me to be a good person. But wallpapering over it isn’t going to erase what happened. Waller clearing my warrants didn’t change anything that happened.”

“You’re guilty,” Bruce says, but the moment he says it, he knows he’s wrong, because Slade throws his hands up.

“No, Bruce, I’m not. That’s the problem. Because I’m not guilty, and I think you want me to be. How could you not tell them about who I was? How could you plan to put me on your fucking superhero council without including that oh-so-pertinent detail that I used to kill people for a living?”

Bruce opens his mouth to protest, but Slade presses a finger over his lips, silencing him.

“Don’t say you were going to tell them. Because you weren’t. You were going to dodge around it like you always do until you had to tell them.”

Bruce things it’s unfair. He thinks the whole damned conversation is unfair. And the fact that Clark is probably listening in is only making it worse.

“What do you want me to do, Slade? Because if what you want is for me to just say that what you did before doesn’t bother me, then I won’t. It does. It probably always will. And Christ, I was willing to move past that because you’re different, but I’m not going to pretend like I’m okay with it!”

Slade seems to soften, however slightly. The sharp edges of his anger blunted, he seems less massive, no longer looming over Bruce.

“No,” he says. “That’s not what I want.”

“Then tell me what the hell you want, Slade. Don’t just start going off on Clark because you have an issue with me.”

Slade seems to deflate slightly at that.

“I just want you to be honest with them. To not hide it. I don’t want to feel like I have to hide it, like everything before I moved in here has to be some great secret we have to be terrified of people finding out. I lived long enough hiding from it. I don’t want to do it again.”

“I can’t be honest with everyone,” Bruce says. “You are in... if the public found out-”

“This isn’t about the public,” Slade says. “The same reason that Clark is important to you, he’s supposed to be important to me. The Kent’s are the only people who we can just talk to without having to second guess everything they’re saying. I want that too.”

Bruce makes himself take a breath. His heart’s pounding away in his chest, his emotions all over the place. Frustration runs straight into anger runs straight into sadness and right back to frustration.

“I’ll tell them,” he says. “Or you can tell them. And I’ll tell Diana so she knows. But you need to apologize to them for this... this mess.”

For the fact that Bruce practically had to drag him out of the room mid-conversation. For the fact that Bruce should have dragged him out sooner.

He hopes Slade doesn’t argue, and mercifully, he doesn’t. His anger seems to have faded, ebbing away as they argued.

“I’ll apologize,” Slade says. Bruce Stays still as he leans in, pressing a kiss to Bruce’s forehead. “But I don’t want to hide us either.”

Bruce’s cheeks burn. He doesn’t know. He hasn’t even thought about that, and his silence seems so telling in the face of Slade’s admission.

“I don’t mean right now. But I mean eventually. I don’t want to have to sit back and watch you with a model on your arm because it makes for good cover.”

“You’re not going to be a secret,” Bruce says. “I’m not going to hide you.”

He leans up, because it seems like the right thing to do, and presses a kiss to Slade’s lips. It’s soft and gentle, nothing like the first few kisses they’d had, but Bruce feels Slade melt under his hands, the tension easing away as he breaks the kiss.

“Too many secrets,” Slade mutters under his breath.

“You’re one to talk,” Bruce says. “And this better be a hell of an apology.”

Chapter Text

The apology does, in the end, turn out to be a hell of an apology. It feels surprisingly genuine, coming from Slade when they head back into the living room, all conversation going dead the moment they’re heard. It’s an apology not just to the Kents, but also to everyone in the room right then whose conversation was destroyed. Slade mentions, only briefly, that he was reacting to other things, and that he didn’t meant to take it out on others.

Clark, with all the grace of someone raised in a small town, accepts the apology. Lois still seems concerned, but inevitably lets Clark take the lead.

The conversation becomes significantly lighter after that. They talk about Metropolis, and work, and how the repairs to Gotham are going. About an hour after the argument, Jon and Damian burst into the room, demanding to demonstrate a trick, which turns out to be Damian tossing ninja stars at an apple atop Jon’s head.

The fact that Jon couldn’t actually be hurt by the ninja stars does not answer the question of where Damian got the ninja stars, and while Bruce suspects Slade is the answer, it’s Jason who won’t meet his eye as Bruce confiscates them.

They see the Kents off not too long later, into the back of a station wagon that looks distinctly out of place beside the Wayne family cars. They’re an oddly matched pair of families, but there’s promises of getting together again soon.

Bruce sprawls onto the couch, exhausted beyond belief when they’re finally gone. He reminds himself to call Clark the next day, just for the sake of a double apology... and to make sure Lois didn’t take too much issue with him hiding what he’d heard.

Bruce knows it’s Slade just by the size of his hands when he reaches down, kneading his thumbs into the muscles of Bruce’s back, but that doesn’t change things as he melts into the couch under the steady pressure.

“We’re going to be taking off,” Tim says, Jackson asleep in his arms. “That was a hell of an evening.”

“Don’t remind me,” Bruce says, muffled by the fabric of the couch.

“I’m just disappointed I didn’t get to let Clark know that we lured Slade away from a life of villainy with family, alfred’s cooking, and the sight of Bruce’s ass.”

Bruce is too exhausted to do much more than bury his face in the pillow.

“It is nice,” Slade says, sounding amused as he works his way across Bruce’s shoulders.

Damian makes a noise of disgust.

“I’m going to be taking off too,” Dick says, reaching down to ruffle Bruce’s hair where he lays on the couch. “Work to do, city never sleeps, you know the deal.”

“Come visit more,” Bruce says, muffled.

But he’s having a hard time staying awake. Slade’s an expert at what he’s doing, working over every inch of Bruce’s back, working out all the knots and tension that have been building up there.

Bruce is asleep within a few minutes, before he even sees Tim and Dick to the door.

He wakes to motion above him, and the softness of a mattress under his back. He reaches up on pure instinct, catching Slade’s wrist, and cracks his eyes open.

“Go back to sleep, Bruce,” Slade says.

He’s half tucked into bed, his clothes rumbled around him, and despite the instruction he sits up anyway.

“Need to change,” he says. Things come back to him in bits and pieces, and he glances around, confused.

How the hell did he get into his room?

“Did you carry me?” Bruce asks, confused.

“Was surprised you didn’t wake up,” Slade says. “Tired from managing patrol last night, I would guess.”

Bruce should get up and change. Should get ready for bed. Instead he leans against Slade where he sits on the bed, already ready to tuck him in. He’s a comforting presence, and Bruce simply rests there.

“We’ve got to figure you out,” Bruce says. He sounds tired, even to himself, but it feels important to say then, not later. “Explain who you are. You need... not to be a secret, but some kind of cover story.”

“Bodyguard,” Slade says, and Bruce twists his head up to squint at him.

“I’ve worked as a bodyguard before,” Slade explains. “Explains my skill set. Explains how we met. No one would bat an eye to learn you’d hired a professional to guard the house, and no one would bat an eye after your house was attacked if you upgraded. Especially now that you’re mayor.”

“Doesn’t explain why we’re dating,” Bruce says.

He’s not sure Slade meant it as a test, but it feels a bit like one anyway, and Bruce catches sight of Slade smiling out of the corner of his eye.

“How about,” Bruce says, “you were my head of security before, but then you swept me off my feet and now we’re dating.”

“Scandalous,” Slade says, but it doesn’t sound like a protest, and he leans down, pressing another kiss to Bruce’s forehead. “We’ll figure out the details in the morning.”

Slade leaves him alone to change and get ready for bed, which doesn’t take nearly as much time as it should. Bruce is eager to get into bed, but when he’s finally there he takes a while falling asleep, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about things.

Chapter Text

Bruce has it more or less figured out by the time he reaches breakfast the following morning. There’s a lot of moving parts--and a lot of things to deal with--but he’s pretty sure he has it all covered.

“So,” Bruce says. “The story I have is that you were the manor’s head of security. It explains why we’ve been so... untouched despite multiple break-ins. Explains a lot of other oddities about the house too. Anyone who trails you back won’t find much paper trail, but a lot of billionaires are paranoid so I doubt that’ll be much of a surprise. I’ll get the lawyers making a paper trail to legitimatize things. Maybe I’ll have you hired through Wayne Enterprises.”

Slade gives him a look. Jason scowls.

“What are we even talking about?” He asks in between bites.

“Legitimizing Slade’s presence in our life,” Bruce says. “If the team can’t find a way to put Sionis behind bars, he’s going to keep being a thorn in our side. That would mean having Slade around would help a lot, but people are going to ask questions--the police already are.”

There are some police--people like Cash--who already know who Slade is. Those people aren’t going to be fooled by any story. But those people are also those most loyal to Jim, and Bruce hopes they’ll follow his lead.

He’s just going to have to give him a heads up.

“Don’t go through Wayne Enterprises,” Slade says. “Harder to make a paper trail with the government having dug through your stuff so recently. Only one you have to worry about if it’s a personal thing is the IRS.”

Bruce is going to have to get his lawyers to deal with that too, because he doesn’t want to end up in jail for tax evasion.

“So, head of security?” Slade asks.

“Former head of security,” Bruce says. “If we’re dating-”

“If I’m former, we can’t explain how I’m body guarding you.”

Bruce grumbles to himself, reaching up to rub at his temple.

“Just keep paying him,” Jason says. “You wouldn’t be the first person screwing around with someone you hired.”

“That looks awful,” Bruce protests. “I’m supposed to be the mayor.”

“Temporary mayor,” Damian points out. “So it won’t even be an issue before long.”

“And if anyone asks,” Jason says, “just say that’s a personal matter. Plus, Tim’s hot on Mask’s tail, so it won’t be an issue that long.”

Bruce suspects it’s going to be a lot more complex than that, but he can’t think of anything better.

He calls Jim first, because he suspects the conversation won’t take as long. Jim’s not all that much of a talker while he’s at work.

“Commissioner Gordon,” he says when he picks up the phone.

“It’s Bruce,” he says.

“Mr. Mayor,” Jim says, humor in his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I thought I’d give you a heads up,” Bruce says. “I assume you heard about Roman Sionis showing up to the council meeting?”

Jim is silent for a moment, then clears his throat.

“This a work call?”

“Not that kind,” Bruce says. “I wanted to let you know Slade’s going to be around more. Official capacity. I think having a bodyguard around will help the council members relax a bit.”

“You’re making him your body guard?” Jim asks, and Bruce can hear the hesitation in Jim’s voice.

“I am,” Bruce says. “He’s been head of security at the manor for a while, but if I’m going to be in public more often, I’d rather have him with me.”

“Are you sure that’s... wise?”

“I think it is,” Bruce says. “I know you don’t like him, but he and I-”

“I already know,” Jim says, interrupting him.

“...Tim told you?”

“Tim and Barbara both called me separately to make sure I knew.”

Bruce grunts. He should have seen that coming.

“I know you don’t like him,” Bruce says again. “But I trust him. And I wanted to give you a heads up.”

Jim is silent for a moment.

“Alright,” he finally says. “Thank you for letting me know, Bruce. I’ll let Cash and the others know so they don’t get spooked.”

Bruce hadn’t even thought of that, but that’s one of the many reasons he likes having Jim on his side.

“And for the record,” Jim adds. “I’m not going to give him the talk, because he could take me out as soon as blinking, but make sure he knows I’m thinking about it anyway.”

“...The talk?” Bruce is baffled.

“The ‘I’ve known that boy since he was ten years old, and if you break his heart, I’ll break your knees’ talk.”

“Jim,” Bruce protests. “He’s not going to break my heart.”

Bruce is mortified. The fact that the phone line might very well be tapped is only making things worse.

Jim laughs on the other end, and Bruce reaches up, rubbing at his forehead.

“I need to go,” Bruce says. “I’ve got some more calls to make. But I’ll see you around.”

He calls Clark next. He doesn’t pick up his personal, so he leaves a message, but he hasn’t even finished leaving his message before Clark calls him back.

“Everything alright?” is the first think Clark says, which doesn’t bode terribly well.

“Just fine,” Bruce says. “I actually wanted to call and... apologize for yesterday.”

“Please,” Clark says, “you don’t need to apologize.”

“I do,” Bruce says. “Especially considering what you... overheard.”

“I didn’t.”

Bruce pauses for a moment, confused.

“You didn’t?” He doesn’t understand how Clark couldn’t. Slade can hear right through doors and walls with the tiniest bit of concentration. And he knows Clark’s got better hearing.

“I focused on the conversation,” Clark says. “I didn’t listen in.”

“I didn’t mean to assum-”

“Bruce,” Clark says. “I know why you’d be worried. But I don’t... naturally listen to everything. I can tune it out. I believe people have the right to their privacy. So whatever you spoke to him about, that’s between the two of you.”

Bruce sighs. He’s full of assumptions all over.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “I’m sorry for... making that assumption. I just wanted to make sure everything was fine with you.”

“Just fine. Got a lecture from Lois until I told her it wasn’t my secret to share, and then she calmed down a bit.”

Bruce winces at that.

“I... I wanted to ask if Lois knew about - ah, me and Slade.”

He’s not sure if that was another not my secret to share.

“Oh!” Clark says, and Bruce is fairly sure he’s embarrassed just from his tone. “I - ah, yeah, I told her about that. Because I told her about how you reacted when I first came up, and she said she had thought the same thing. And then I didn’t want her thinking you weren’t after you told me.”

Bruce lets out a sigh of relief.

“That’s good,” Bruce says. “I just didn’t want there to be any confusion. I think... more or less everyone knows.”

Almost everyone. He still has to call Diana, but he needs to call the lawyers first and make sure everything’s in order.

“I’ll see you next week,” Bruce says. “Say hi to Lois and Jon for me.”

“I will,” Clark says. “Pass on my best to everyone else.”

Bruce hangs up, but he doesn’t even put the phone down before calling the lawyers. He’s dreading the phone call with Diana, and he’s eager to put it off as long as possible.

Maybe after lunch.

Chapter Text

Bruce isn’t done lunch when his phone rings. He eyes it warily--phone calls seem to almost always mean bad things--but when he checks the caller ID it’s Diana. He glances down at his half eaten plate, and then nods to Alfred, excusing himself from the table to take the call.

There’s no avoiding it.

“Diana,” he says. “I was actually going to call you later today.”

“Were you?” She says. “Excellent. This makes it far more convenient for the both of us. What were you calling about?”

“Perhaps you should go first,” Bruce says, settling into his office chair. “Mine might be a bit... longer.”

“No,” she says. “I insist.”

Bruce really wishes she wouldn’t.

“I wanted to talk to you about Slade,” he says. “There are some things I should tell you about him.”

Some things, as if they’re minor and not huge, major things that could threaten everything they’re setting up.

“Yes?” Diana says, giving him nothing.

“Slade is...” He trails off for a moment, making himself take a deep breath. “We’re in a relationship, for one.” It feels easier to start with that. Easier to say then the other thing he needs to say, because Diana seems less likely to get upset over it.

“Yes?” Diana says, and Bruce squints.

“...A romantic relationship,” Bruce clarifies.

“I was aware,” she says. “You have a son together, yes?”

“...Yes?” Bruce says. It hadn’t occurred to him that Diana would know about Jason--she’s never met him--but he guesses it makes at least that much easier.

“You obviously work closely with him,” Diana says, “so it was obvious to me that your relationship would still be ongoing, rather than one where you had split up.”

She says it so matter of factly that Bruce weighs his options and decides trying to explain all the ways in which she wrong doesn’t really have a point. There’s no real point to breaking things down, to explaining that no, the relationship is recently, and trying to explain what the hell is going on with Jason’s last name.

“Was that all?” Diana asks.

Bruce tries not to let his nerves get the best of him. He spends a moment wondering how he got so invested in the whole Justice League thing, and then decides it was inevitable. He’s tired of being alone. He’s tired of his family being the lone island in the sea.

“No,” he says. “I wanted to make sure you knew why I was bringing him onto the council.”

“Because he has considerable strength?” Diana says.

“No,” he says. That didn’t even factor into things. “Slade used to be a - a criminal. He worked as a mercenary, and he’s familiar with the underworld. I don’t doubt his loyalties at all now, but I believe he’d be an excellent resource for understanding how all that works, and would be a real asset.”

It sounds convincing to him, but he’s inherently biased, so he braces himself for any kind of reaction.

“Yes?” Diana says, and Bruce abruptly realizes, letting out a sigh.

“And you already knew that he was.”

“Yes,” Diana confirms. “Steve Trevor informed me of his past and connection to you before he approached you. He had some concerns, but I believe he has had them calmed since meeting the two of you.”

They already knew. They knew before they’d even approached them. Every bit of worry he had was for nothing.

Well, at least that’s out in the open.

“So there’s no issue?”

“No,” Diana says. “I see it as no different from a warrior coming to understand that their queen has become corrupt, and choosing to swear themselves to the other side. Some believe in loyalty over all, but I believe that loyalty should be to a people, not a single ruler.”

Bruce isn’t quite sure the situations are directly comparable, but then he also has no idea what Amazon culture is like.

“You said you had something to talk to me about?” Bruce asks, making a note to let Slade know.

“Yes,” Diana says. “We have made contact with almost all of our potential recruits. Most have confirmed their willingness to be involved with the Justice League. However, we have been unable to identify the identity of one such recruit, and were hoping that you--and perhaps Slade Wilson--would be willing to assist.”

“Why me?” Bruce asks immediately, wary. “Superman’s the one with enhanced senses.”

“I am under the impression you were a detective,” Diana says. “That you frequently solve crimes. That sort of investigation is what we need here, and Steve Trevor believes you would be the one most likely to convince them to come along, as they appear to be another ordinary human.”

“How many are we up to?” Bruce asks.

“Ordinary humans? One. He would make two. If you mean all of us, eight. He would make nine.”

Bruce doesn’t think he can name nine vigilantes operating in the US, which means at least a few are ones he doesn’t know about.

“When does this need to happen by?” Bruce asks. “I’m not sure if he told you, but I ended up mayor of Gotham.”

Tracking down a vigilante is going to take time. It’s not a one day deal. And there’s only going to be so much that he can do remotely.

“We hoped to have the meeting before the ‘holiday season’,” Diana says.

It’s the tenth of December, which gives him a bit more than a week.

“Send me the files,” Bruce says. “I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t make any promises. Just because we’re both human doesn’t mean--”

“Steve Trevor is under the impression that he was inspired by your vigilantism,” Diana says. “And will be most likely to listen to you.”

“I’ll look into it,” Bruce says. “But again, I can’t make any promises.”

“Of course,” she says. “I will have Steve Trevor send the files over.”

Chapter Text

The files are fairly skimpy when they arrive, hand-delivered by a courier in the early afternoon. There’s only four pages, and two of those are blurry shots of the man on rooftops.

The details, as Diana has them, are basic. He’s been operating for years. He sticks to one city. Major archery bent. Blond, or with a convincing enough fake beard that he looks blond.

It is not a lot to go by. It screams of spending days searching a city he’s entirely unfamiliar with and getting nothing from it.

Slade knocks on the open door of Bruce’s office, leaning in.

“Alfred wants to know if you’re going to be up for dinner,” he asks.

“Should be,” Bruce says. “There’s not much I can actually do with this.”

He drops the folder onto his desk, sagging back in his chair.

Slade steps forward, picking up the file and flipping through distractedly.

“I told Diana about us,” Bruce says. “And about your history.”

“And?” Slade asks without looking up.

“I said she always thought we were together, because we’re both Jason’s dads, and I didn’t have the willpower to explain all that. And apparently she already knew you were Deathstroke, and apparently Trevor was worried about that too but now he’s fine with it.”

“Handy,” Slade says.

“And now,” Bruce says with a wave to the folder. “They want me to track down the last member of the League so we can have an actual meeting, but the guy’s been expertly avoiding all of the people ARGUS sends, and probably Diana herself. They think he was inspired by me and might be more willing to talk, but it’s not like I can just drag the bat signal over to the west coast.”

Slade grunts, reaching down to pick up the phone on Bruce’s desk. Bruce stares in utter confusion as Slade methodically punches in a number--which Bruce hastily writes down in case Slade doesn’t feel like sharing it--and starts a phone call.

“Hello,” Slade says, and there’s a pause, where Bruce can just barely hear someone talking on the other end, but not what they’re saying.

“You don’t know me,” Slade says. “But I know you. I have some information you would be very interested in, and I’d like to be a friend. I’m going to be in town tomorrow night, and I thought we could meet up.”

There’s a silence at the other end as Bruce stares up at Slade in abject confusion. How the hell did he look at the skimpy file Diana provided and get a phone number out of it?

“I don’t see you as having much of a choice, personally,” Slade says. “After all, you need to figure out how I know who you are, and you can’t risk not knowing that.”

Another silence as Bruce furiously flips through the file, half expecting to see that the vigilante’s written a phone number on his arm or something. No such luck.

“Of course,” Slade says. “I’ll call you when we’re there.”

Slade hangs up, and Bruce stares up at him in utter confusion.

“That,” Slade says, tapping the file, “is the mentor of the kid I was supposed to kidnap over on the west coast.”

Bruce stares down at the file, things clicking into place.

“The one you were paid to kidnap? And then didn’t?” 

“That was about three years ago,” Slade says, “but I figure it couldn’t hurt to call. They didn’t have the guy’s number, but they had his protege in case I wanted to call him out or something, so I just called the protege and one can follow another. If we’re lucky, they’ll come together.”

“No matter what,” Bruce points out, “they’re going to come armed.”

“We can handle it,” Slade says. “Just have to talk them down.”

“And,” Bruce protests. “What if I was busy tomorrow night?”

“You aren’t,” Slade points out. “I know your schedule.”

Bruce huffs.

“Ask next time,” he says. “Stop being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic.”

“Says the man who ran around with bat-ears.”

“They have antennae in them,” Bruce protests, and Slade gives a knowing little hmmmm. 

He books a flight despite his own protests, and then makes a few calls to make sure he’s fully covered. He has no plans on being there for more than twelve hours, but he still needs to make sure that nothing is going to burn down in his absence.

Lucius all but handles Wayne Enterprises on his own. The City Council has nothing until the next meeting. He checks in with his overseas team and realizes that Talia’s body is arriving the next day, much to his frustration.

“Let Jason and Alfred handle it,” Slade says. “Alfred already handles everything else that happens on the grounds.”

Bruce doesn’t want to let them handle it, but he doesn’t have much of a choice. He lets Tim and Dick know he’ll be out of town, and then has to sit down and tell Damian, who of course wants to come along.

“You need to stay here,” Bruce says. “I can’t take everyone with me, and someone who can handle themselves in combat needs to be around to keep an eye on Jason and Alfred.”

He keeps his voice quiet, his tone conspiratorial.

Damian’s eyes light up in response.

“Don’t tell Jason I said that,” Bruce says. “It would hurt his pride to know he needs someone else to guard him.”

It’s about fifty percent the truth, fifty percent letting Damian feel helpful when there’s not actually much for him to do. There’s absolutely no reason to believe the manor is in any danger, but if something were to happen, Jason hasn’t recovered enough to put up much of a fight. He might be able to handle a mugger, but not much more than that.

“Of course, father,” Damian says. “I will ensure the house remains safe while you are gone.”

Bruce presses a kiss to the top of Damian’s head.

“Your mother’s body will be arriving tomorrow,” he says. “But we don’t have your aunts yet, so we’re going to wait so we can bury them together, alright?”

Damian nods, and Bruce rests a hand on his shoulder.

“If you need anything,” he says. “Jason or Alfred-”

“I’ll be just fine, father,” Damian says. “I do not need a babysitter. The only one in this house who does is Titus.”

Titus doesn’t need a babysitter. He needs a larger dog bed, as evidenced by his legs hanging off the back of his own in the corner of Bruce’s vision.

“Alright,” Bruce says. It’s not really the first time, but it feels like the first time he’s been away from Damian. Every other time he’s been within a few hours drive at most, and Damian’s been safely within Slade’s protective bubble. Even if Gotham’s so much safer than it was, he’s still wary to have both of them away.

Chapter Text

They leave first thing in the morning for Star City. There’s pros and cons to both options, but in the end there’s no real question to how they’ll fly, because they need to bring their suits, and there’s too great a risk of someone finding them in their luggage.

So they fly private, on a Wayne Enterprises jet. Bruce recognizes the pilot, shaking his hand as they load things up, and then Bruce slides into the little eight seater.

“First time flying private?” He asks Slade with a grin.

“Nope,” Slade says, kicking his feet back.

Slade is apparently taking full advantage of the fact that he can sleep anywhere, because he sleeps for the entire five hour flight. Bruce works instead, writing up a proposal for city council to zone the entire east side of old Gotham into a city park. The ground’s toxic, the city unlivable, and the few small reclamation efforts didn’t go anywhere under the Court of Owl’s direction.

Easier to write it off and let nature take its course where the damage is the worst.

He’s relieved when they touch down just outside of Star City, and Bruce shakes the pilot’s hand as Slade collects their luggage, carrying one case in each hand as if they weigh nothing at all.

“Thanks for the smooth trip, Will,” Bruce says.

“We’ll see you here tomorrow morning, bright and early,” Will says.

Bruce rents a car and heads to a hotel he’s stayed at a few times, not far from downtown. Slade sweeps the room methodically for any cameras or other surveillance devices, and only then does he call the phone number back.

“It’s me,” he says, because obviously they know exactly who’s calling. “I’m in town. If you have a place you’d suggest for a meeting...”

This is something they talked about at least. Letting their wayward archer pick the place. It opens them up for a trap, but it’s also a show of trust. If they get their early and wait, Bruce is hoping that seeing their suits will be enough to lure them out of hiding.

Or that’s the theory, anyway.

“Alright,” Slade says. “At eleven.”

He hangs up and turns back to Bruce.

“We have a location,” he says. “Not too far from here, just in downtown. Easy enough to get to.”

Only it’s three in the afternoon and they haven’t eaten. The last thing he wants is to show up to what may or may not be a fight with an empty stomach.

“Why don’t we go on a date?” Slade proposes, and Bruce’s eyebrows go up.

“Here?”

“Why not here?” Slade says. “Less likely for the paparazzi to bother you. I’ll show you a place I like.”

A date. An actual date. Bruce’s face is on fire, and Slade leans down, pressing another small kiss to his lips. It’s almost chaste compared to their first few kisses, and the delicacy of it never stops throwing Bruce off.

So they go on a date. Bruce is of two minds for what he’s expecting--either the dodgiest place in the whole of Star City, the kind of place Slade goes when he needs to lie low--or the swankiest restaurant in Star City.

It turns out to be neither. 

It’s decidedly middle class, with booths and nice decorations, but the prices for a full meal are standard for a city as large as the one they’re in. The waitress shows them in without so much as a second glance, and Bruce spends the entire first ten minutes trying to figure out the why. Why this place? Why this restaurant?

“Bruce,” Slade says. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?” Bruce asks, inspecting the menu for some kind of clue.

“Trying to figure it out. There’s no big deep meaning for this. It’s just a restaurant I heard was good.”

Slade might as well have suggested he stop breathing. Bruce has as much chance of stopping himself from obsessing over the details as Slade does of spontaneously regrowing his eye.

“It’s our first date,” Bruce says. “I’m going to over-analyze every part of it.”

“Can’t really argue with that,” Slade says. “But try not to.”

The issue, Bruce comes to realize as dinner plays out, is that them on a date is much the same as them not on a date. They've eating together before with just the two of them. Not really out in a restaurant, but the feeling is mostly the same. It’s not like they can talk about anything too personal where people can overhear.

Bruce is happy to leave by the time they’re finished.

“They was underwhelming,” Slade admits as they head back towards the hotel.

“We’re too private for public dates,” Bruce says. “I’ll set something up when we’re back in Gotham. We can go out for dinner where we can actually talk.”

“Even that’s underwhelming,” Slade points out. “The whole point of going to a nice restaurant is for the good food, only you have to be at the absolute top to beat what Alfred makes on any given day.”

“Not food then,” Bruce says. “Activities.”

“Just watch,” Slade says. “I’ll take you to a carnival and watch you go insane trying to figure out why people play the games when they’re so obviously rigged.”

“I have been to one before,” Bruce protests. “Dick likes them. Circuses, carnivals, street fairs...”

Bruce lets them into the hotel room, crawling into the bed almost immediately as he throws his jacket over the chair. They have hours to spare, and he doesn’t want to set up his laptop for such a short period of time. Better to leave it packed and ready to go on short notice.

“You know,” Slade says as he pulls off his own jacket, “I was kind of hoping they’d just give us the one bed by accident, but I suppose that was too much to ask when their client is Bruce Wayne.”

“Oh?” Bruce says. He can’t actually see Slade, because he’s rolled onto his side, but he can hear Slade moving around the room just the same. “And why would that be?”

“Convenient excuse,” Slade says, and Bruce hears Slade sit on the other bed.

“You don’t need one, you know,” Bruce says.

There’s silence on the other side of the room, and then he hears Slade pick himself up, the bed creaking only moments before he feels Slade’s weight settle onto his own.

Bruce tenses, despite having put out the invitation, and only relaxes when he feels Slade lay down just behind him. An arm reaches forward, resting on his side, and Slade pulls him a bit closer, burying his face against the back of Bruce’s neck.

He feels big. Bruce is used to being one of the biggest people around. Even Jason, who’s almost as big of him is a little bit shorter, but Slade feels like he dwarfs him in sheer size.

Bruce lets out a sigh of simple relief as Slade pulls him a bit closer, the feeling of Slade’s warm breath on the back of his neck lulling him to sleep.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes before his alarm, Slade’s hand on his arm.

“Bruce,” he says. “Time to get up.”

Bruce pushes himself upright, stretching out and cracking his neck.

“How are we doing this?” Slade asks, grabbing the bag with his gear and hefting it onto the bed. “Changing and then leaving, or leaving and then changing?”

“Changing then leaving,” Bruce says. “We’ve got a balcony for a reason.”

They’re careful as they leave, making sure no one is looking up as they leave the balcony behind. Star City is an unknown to them, but it’s still a city, and so many of the rules still apply. They keep the rooftops, moving warily as they head towards the meeting point.

They’re well away when they pause, sheltering on a rusty fire escape and minimizing any chance of being spotted.

Slade squints.

“Someone’s already on the roof,” he says. “Too far to pick out more details.”

“Speak directly into my comms,” Bruce says. “And let me know how many you spot. We’re definitely walking into a trap.”

They both know it, but that’s part of the point of the situation. Someone who knows they have backup waiting is less likely to be tense.

Bruce shoots a line down onto the roof they’re supposed to meet on, and ziplines down first, followed closely by Slade. He can’t hear Slade talking, but his voice comes through loud and clear on his communicator.

“At least two,” he says. “Three.”

Bruce trusts Slade’s vision a lot more than he trusts his own, so he keeps his head straight, his vision focused on the man on the other end of the roof. The outfit the man is wearing isn’t too far off of the costume Tim used to wear before upgrades. A material that looks like leather in a dark red, a hood pulled up over his head to hide his features. From dead on, Bruce’s impression is that he looks young. Maybe a bit younger than Jason, but it’s hard to tell--Jason tends to look a bit older than he actually is, aged prematurely by stress.

Not a teenager, at least, but also not the man they’re supposed to be approaching.

“Who knew it would be the Batman?” The boy says. “And his plus one.”

He’s more correct than he knows, but Bruce doesn’t let it show.

“I apologize for calling you out here like this,” Bruce says. “But we had limited options for making contact.”

“Calling my personal phone is pretty much a nuclear option, isn’t it?” The guy says.

“It was the option we had,” Bruce says. “As you can imagine, we’re hoping to speak to your whole group. You, your mentor... everyone.”

“Well,” the guy says, looking annoyed. “Should have mentioned that on the call. Didn’t bring him.”

“3 o’clock,” Slade says over the comms. “Right behind the billboard lighting.”

Bruce keeps his eyes forward.

“We both know that isn’t true,” Bruce says. “And this would go a lot faster if I were talking to him directly, rather than having him listening in.”

The guy’s face twitches.

“I don’t know-”

Bruce lifts his hand, turning his head slightly as he points directly towards where Slade indicated. He can’t really see them--the billboard’s lights are too bright--but he trusts Slade’s instincts.

If not, he’s going to look really stupid.

There’s a moment’s silence, and then Bruce spots movement. Someone hopping down the billboard, cutting their way towards them.

The Star City group are obviously more low tech. It’s leather, not carbon fiber or tri-weave or anything else he’s used. The bows strapped on their back aren’t off the shelf, but they’re close enough to what he’d buy at a sporting goods store that he wouldn’t be surprised if they were purchased and modified from it.

Bruce is already thinking of upgrades by the time the leader--or at least the older one--shows up. He’s wearing a similar enough outfit, only in green, and he leaves his hood up as he folds his arms over his chest.

“If it isn’t the Batman,” he says. “Coming all the way to Star City for little ‘ol me.”

“We aren’t intending to set up shop,” Bruce says. “This is just a visit.” He suspects that’s what the archer is thinking, and he wants to get ahead of it.

“And what, exactly, do we owe this visit to?”

Something about the way he says it rings a bell in Bruce’s head, but he doesn’t have time to think about it.

“Introductions,” Bruce says. “You already know me. This is the Gotham Knight. We didn’t bring anyone else along with us, so you can stop checking for backup we don’t have.”

The green one squints at them, and the red one bristles.

“Green Arrow,” he finally says. “This is-”

“Red Arrow.”

“And your friends?” Bruce prompts.

Green Arrow squints at him.

“You’ll get their names when we figure out what you want.”

“Friendly, aren’t they?” Slade says in his ear.

Bruce regrets giving Slade the option to talk to him without having the option to answer back. He’s too chatty for how focused he should be.

“I’m sure you already heard what happened in Gotham,” Bruce says.

“Hard to miss,” Red says. “Considering basically anyone who was anyone got arrested for corruption.”

“As a result of what happened,” Bruce says, “we were forced to call in additional help. For us, that was Superman. But it established that there’s a need there--a way for us to network, and call in additional resources as needed. The government has-”

“No,” Green Arrow says.

Bruce pauses, caught off guard by the bluntness. He’s not even pretending to be considering it.

“It doesn’t involve going public,” Bruce says. “It’s about having a way for us to contact each other.”

“I’m not opening myself up to the government sticking their nose in my business.”

“We’re an independent entity,” Bruce says. “We’re not part of the government, we’re just leaving a channel open.”

“Don’t need their help,” Green Arrow says, “and don’t need yours. If that’s all you wanted, you can clear out now.”

The itch is back, the feeling that he’s missing something. That something is just going over his head and if he holds his hand in the right place he’ll be able to catch it.

“Too late,” Slade says in his warped Gotham Knight voice.

The roof is silent, and the Arrows glance at each other.

“...What?” Red finally says.

“Too late,” Slade repeats. “You already got our help, you just didn't know it.”

Green Arrow glares at Slade, which Bruce already knows is completely ineffective, but made that much more so by the fact that Slade’s face is invisible behind the Gotham Knight helmet. There’s no way to read him, no way to gauge his reactions.

“Same way we knew how to call Red over there,” Slade continues, nodding towards the younger man. “Back before I was on team Bats, I worked as a mercenary. Got pulled out here to fight you. Only the guys who pulled me out here didn’t want me to deal with your arrows. He wanted me to kidnap him--” Slade jerks his head towards Red Arrow. “--And make sure you got the picture that way.”

This only serves to make Green Arrow look more agitated, but Red Arrow seems genuinely taken aback.

“Wait,” Red says. “When was this?”

“We would have handled it,” Green snaps.

“Would you have handled it before or after they started removing his fingers? Guys like that don’t fuck around,” Slade says. His voice is impossible to read through the voice modulator, but Bruce can see the tension in his stance from years of experience with Slade. Kidnapping is a personal subject for him.

“When the hell was this?” Red interrupts.

“Three years ago,” Slade says. “You were sixteen or something.”

“I was eighteen,” Red says. “And you killed the entire fucking Belloni family!”

“Started from the top,” Slade says. “Worked my way down. Fighting a masked vigilante is one thing. Kidnapping his kid-”

“I’m not his kid,” Red says, the chip on his shoulder visible from space.

“Kidnapping his protege goes over a line,” Slade says. “Choosing to target a masked vigilante at their civilian life puts all of us at risk. So I shut it down. Erased it. Burned the information they had.”

“Kept it for yourself,” Green says.

Ah. Bruce makes the sudden connection, and realizes what the familiarity is.

“Oh,” he says. “That’s who you are.”

Green squints at him.

“Listen,” Bruce says. “I understand that you’re not eager to partner up with the government. Neither was I. But there are things moving that are bigger than any one city. Superman’s an alien. He’s probably not going to be the only one. And if something that can’t be handled by an arrow shows up in Star City, you’re going to need a way to contact someone who can handle it.”

“I’m not putting my city in the hands of someone who doesn’t even live here,” Green says.

Bruce can see why he’s saying that. He understands. But Green Arrow isn’t seeing the big picture. He hasn’t yet had to stare down the barrel of a gun, knowing that the only way to deal with the situation is to take the nuclear option. Bruce has. With the Night of the Owls, the choice was clear: Let Gotham die, or go for help.

For him, there was no question.

“We should talk to them,” Red says. “At least hear them out.”

“We’ve heard what we need to,” Green says. “I’m not signing up to some government team so they can start spying on us. The fact that they had to send him is all the information I need.”

“Are you crazy?” Red snaps, well into an argument with his mentor, and seeming to have completely forgotten that Bruce and Slade are even there. “Star City could be attacked tomorrow by space aliens and we’d have no idea what to do to get help. We’d have no one to call, and no one to rely on but our little group. We can’t handle everything!”

“We sure as hell aren’t letting the government handle things,” Green snaps. “Even if they say they’re staying out of it, how long before they change their minds? How much longer before they want our identities? Before they want to hold us accountable for everything that happens in costume? We can’t save people if we spend every minute worrying about if we’re going to get sued for leaving a pothole behind!”

“We can’t save everyone if we don’t even know what we’re saving them from!” Red yells right back.

“This giving you flashbacks?” Slade asks over comms.

“We were never this bad,” Bruce mutters under his breath. Maybe he’s just remembering things with rose colored glasses, but even his worst arguments didn’t seem half so vicious as this. They at least kept their control, even if they had major ideological differences. Bruce is starting to wonder which of the two is going to throw the first punch.

“Something tells me the boys would remember it differently,” Slade says.

Bruce grunts.

“You--” Red says, jabbing his finger at Green’s chest. “--Can do whatever the hell you want. But I’m going to make sure Star City stays safe, and if that means playing nice with some special interest group of the governments, so be it.”

“You don’t have-”

“I have whatever the fuck I want, old man. Now clear out if you aren’t going to be taking them up on their offer.”

Green Arrow bristles, his hands balls into fists, but to Bruce’s surprise he doesn’t swing.

“Fine,” he says. “I’m going.”

He turns without a word to Bruce or Slade, vanishing down the fire escape.

“One of our watchers is going after him,” Slade says over comms. “The other is sticking around to keep an eye on things.”

Red Arrow watches his mentor leave, and only then turns back to him.

“He’s an idiot,” Red says with a grunt. “So what’s the deal?”

“We were going to invite someone from your team to join a meeting,” Bruce says. The fact that it was supposed to be Green Arrow doesn’t matter all that much. Any member of the team should work in theory, but he’s not sure how much Diana’s going to like having someone so hot headed on the team.

She’ll simply have to deal, because it’s obvious Green Arrow isn’t signing up.

“Good,” Red says. “In Gotham?”

“Metropolis,” Slade says. “We can send you the details.”

There’s a pause, and Bruce realizes that Red is acting almost... awkward. He pretends that Red was one of the boys and takes a guess.

“But you don’t have a way there.”

“No,” Red says. “Don’t think my car’s going to get me there, and Green isn’t going to buy a plane ticket.”

“Oh hell, kid,” Slade says, earning himself a scowl. “This whole thing is about being willing to ask for help from other heroes.”

Red stares at him for a moment, and then clears his throat.

“Don’t suppose I could bum a ride?”

Bruce sighs, digging a hand into a pouch on his belt and pulling out a notepad and a pencil.

“Come to this address tomorrow at seven,” Bruce says. “In civilian clothes.”

“In civilian-” Red starts to protest.

“In case you forgot,” Slade says. “I already know who you are.”

“And I already know who your mentor is,” Bruce adds.

Slade can’t actually give him a look, but it’s implied by the turn of his head.

Red squints at the paper, and then tucks it away.

“Fine,” he says. “See you in the morning then.”

“Bring your suit,” Slade adds.

“Obviously,” Red says. “I might be trusting you guys with my identity, but I’m not trusting everyone.”

Bruce sighs.

“We’ll see you in the morning then. Don’t be late.”

Red gives a lazy wave over his shoulder as he turns away, vanishing down the same fire escape his mentor did.

Chapter Text

They don’t talk as they cut across Star City, heading back to the hotel. Slade keeps him updated, but he doesn’t spot anyone following them, and he’s pretty sure their fourth Arrow went after Red.

“Wow,” Slade says once they’re safely inside. “Can’t believe we just adopted again.”

“We didn’t adopt him,” Bruce protests. “He’s just on loan. We’ll go to the meeting, and then I’ll ship him back to Star City on a commercial flight.”

“On loan,” Slade says. “Who are you kidding yourself. You’re lucky he doesn’t have black hair.”

“He has a life here,” Bruce says. “And he’s twenty-one, not ten.”

Slade’s already peeling the suit off, unlatching the helmet carefully.

“Real downside of this suit,” he complains, “is I can’t kiss you while in it.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, peeling off his own suit and neatly packing it up.

“So,” Slade says. “You going to tell me who our mystery blond is?”

“Oliver Queen,” Bruce says. “CEO of Queen Industries. Facial hair is probably a bit obvious, but it’s obvious he’s not in the business of hanging around people long enough to get a good look at them.”

“What?” Slade says. “He’s rich? His gear’s extremely underwhelming, if so.”

“He probably doesn’t have the resources I do as far as cutting edge technology,” Bruce says as he finishes packing his suit. “But more likely he wants to make absolutely sure no one links it back to him. With the state of Gotham, people knowing I funded Batman is a plus. Star City is a lot more stable, and people would likely frown upon someone outfitting a vigilante.”

“Should still have better armor,” Slade says. “One good bullet and they won’t be firing another arrow.”

Bruce shivers as Slade ghosts a hand down his bare side, Slade’s hand hovering over the large scar there. It’s still pink and fresh, only just out of bandages, and it’s tender enough that he flinches away when Slade touches it even a bit.

“Sorry,” Slade says. “Just looks sensitive.”

“It’s fine,” Bruce says. “I’ve had worse.”

Which isn’t quite true. He’s had a lot of injuries, but most of them are deeper. The one in his side is wide and shallow, leaving a much larger scar despite a minimal amount of actual damage.

Slade presses a kiss to his neck.

“Do I get a repeat of our nap earlier?”

“Did you actually sleep?” Bruce asks.

“I did alright,” Slade says. “But it was obviously the best sleep you’ve had in a while. You were out like a light.”

“I can manage,” Bruce protests.

“That doesn’t answer if you want to or not.”

Bruce hesitates. It’s not that he doesn’t want to. It’s that it feels fundamentally different, sleeping with someone beside him. It’s been a long time, but the feeling of it...

Bruce has to admit it’s nice.

“Alright,” he says. “We can share a bed. At least for tonight.”

Tonight is something special, something different. Far from home, there’s less concern of someone bursting in the door or any of the other complications that come with it as they slide under the covers, Slade’s arm looping around him, careful to avoid the patch of scar tissue.

Despite all his hesitations, Bruce is out like a light in record time, lulled to sleep by the rhythm of Slade’s breath.

Bruce wakes to his alarm, but Slade turns it off before he can, already rolling out of bed.

“Up and at ‘em,” Slade says.

They’re already packed, so it’s just a matter of getting dressed and checking out, something sped along by virtue of Bruce’s membership with the hotel chain. They’re out in under ten minutes, already on their way to the airport.

Bruce drops the car off just up the street, and they walk back to the private terminal together.

They spot Red before he spots them, his backpack dropped onto the ground. He’s got shaggy red hair that runs down his neck, and he looks freezing, wearing only a light jacket.

He spots them as they approach, squinting at the outfits. They’re both in suits, and it’s the first time he’s seen them without masks.

“Wait a second,” Red protests. “I know you.”

“Bruce Wayne,” Bruce says, sticking his hand out. “And this is Slade Wilson. Before you ask, this isn’t a secure flight, and any conversation has to happen after we land.”

“Roy Harper,” Red says, shaking his hand. “And you actua- wait a second, that’s how you know who he is.”

“We’ve been in meetings before,” Bruce says. “I’d recognize his beard anywhere.”

“Told him he should have trimmed it.”

“Alright,” Slade says. “Lets get going before they take off without us.”

Roy looks actually alarmed by that, which almost makes Bruce feel bad when they reach the tarmac and he finds a private plane waiting for him.

“Morning Will,” Bruce calls. “Do we have room for a plus one?”

Will squints at Roy, pulling out a clipboard and scribbling down some information.

“Sure do,” he says. “Where’d you pick him up?”

“Friend of the families,” Bruce says. “Wanted to visit Gotham. Seemed more convenient to just take him along, since he’s got holiday break.”

Roy keeps his mouth shut until they’re already off the grown, staring out the window.

Slade’s already asleep, and Bruce rolls his eyes.

“So,” Roy says. “Got anything to do?”

“We have wifi,” Bruce says. “If that’s what you want.”

It turns out it is, because Roy immediately pulls out his phone, distracting himself for the majority of the flight. He dozes the rest, and Bruce goes back to work, sending Alfred a quick message of warning that they’ve picked up a tag-along.

Alfred doesn’t even pretend to be surprised.

Roy looks a little bit green by the time they’ve landed, and Bruce ushers him out, nudging Slade awake.

“Thanks for the flight, Will,” Bruce says with a nod. “See you next time.”

Will gives him a little salute and turns back to his post-flight checklists. Roy slings his bag over his shoulder, disembarking to find Bruce’s car already waiting, pulled right up to where the plane has taxied to.

“Convenient,” he says.

They haven’t even gotten into the car when Roy leans forward, apparently dying to ask questions.

“So where exactly are we going?” He asks.

“The meeting isn’t for at least another week,” Bruce says. “Which means you’re my guest. I need to call Diana, but otherwise we’re going back to the manor.”

“The manor,” Roy says pointedly.

Bruce rolls his eyes.

“You do realize I could just get a hotel?” Roy asks.

“You could,” Bruce says. “But I’d rather keep an eye on you while you’re in Gotham.”

“You sounded just like Oliver when you said that,” Roy says.

“Seems like we share the same bit of common sense,” Bruce says. “I’m not having another vigilante run around Gotham without supervision. Does he even know you’re here?”

“Canary does,” Roy says. “Which means Oliver will. She checked in on me after we split up.”

“Who was your fourth?” Slade asks as they head back to the manor.

“New Speedy,” Roy says. “I wouldn’t come crawling back, so Oliver got a replacement.”

“Oh boy,” Slade says. “This again.”

“What?” Roy says, confused.

“I’ve had three Robins,” Bruce says. “Managing the transition has been... difficult at times. I like to think we’re past that.”

“Mostly,” Slade says. “We’re working on it.”

Bruce sighs and sags back into his seat.

It’s going to be a long ride back to the manor.

Chapter Text

Bruce isn’t surprised to see more or less the entire house waiting on the front step as they pull in. Alfred’s there, with Jason and Damian at his sides, and Titus is perched between them, only approaching the car when it’s safely parked.

The next few weeks are going to be busy, and they all know it. Bruce feels like he has a million things to do, and keeping them all on-task is going to be difficult.

Slade handles their (far too heavy for Alfred) bags, and Roy slings his backpack over his shoulder as he pops he hops out of the car.

“He has red hair,” Damian protests, as if that’s the most important takeaway of the situation.

Roy looks confused, reaching up to comb his fingers through his hair as if that’s going to give him an answer.

“What,” Jason says, “you thought the age gap between me and Damian was too big, so you had to plug the gap?”

Roy looks even more confused.

“We’re not adopting him,” Bruce says. “This is Roy, and he’s a guest until the meetings over and done with.”

“Of course, Master Bruce,” Alfred says, offering to take Roy’s bag only to be declined as they head into the front hall.

“So he knows?” Jason asks, giving no hint as to what he’s talking about.

“He knows,” Slade confirms. 

Jason eyes Roy warily, and Roy eyes him right back.

“So,” Roy says, “you’re the Batman?”

“The second one,” Jason says.

“Explains the injury,” Roy says. Jason isn’t using a crutch, but he should be, and it’s obvious in the way he moves that he’s still healing, short of breath after even a short walk.

“Not surprised that reached Star City,” Slade says, vanishing down the hallway to go stow their bags.

“My name is Damian,” Damian announces, scrutinizing Roy. “You worked as a masked vigilante?”

“Red - you know what, scrap that name. I’ll come up with something new while I’m here.”

“Good luck,” Bruce mutters under his breath, and Roy shoots him yet another confused look.

“Don’t mind him,” Jason says. “He’s been trying to change his name since he handed off the cowl, only he’s still Batman to literally everyone, despite his repeated insistence we use a different name.”

“Have you eaten yet?” Alfred asks. “I have enough left over from lunch to hold you over until dinner.”

“Not yet,” Bruce says. “I need to call Diana, if one of you could show Roy where he’ll be staying?”

“I’ve got it,” Jason says. “Alfred can handle the food.”

“I will ensure Jason doesn’t lead him astray,” Damian announces, sliding up to Jason.

Bruce retires to his office, sagging into his seat and already exhausted as he dials.

He doesn’t get Diana right away. Instead he has to bounce through Trevor, only getting her on the phone after a few minutes.

“Have you given thought to my request?” Diana asks, and Bruce is caught momentarily off guard until he realizes what she’s talking about. He never actually said he was going to look into things. He just accepted the files, said he’d think about it, and then went off and handled it.

“We’re a bit past that,” Bruce says. “I had a connection, so I headed to Star City yesterday. I managed to make contact with your vigilante--who goes by Green Arrow--last night.”

There’s a silence on the other end, but Diana is never as thrown off by things as she probably should be.

“And?” She says.

“He has no interest in joining the league,” Bruce says. “He has at least four people in a loose team over there, and one of them expressed interest in attending as their representative. He’s less wary of ARGUS’s intentions with the whole thing.”

“So you have someone who will attend?”

“Yes,” Bruce says. “Green Arrow’s first protege. He’ll be staying with me until the meeting.”

“At your house?” Diana asks.

“I have guest rooms,” Bruce says. “And I already knew his identity, so I thought it might be appropriate to share my own in turn.”

“Excellent,” Diana says. “Then I will consider your task a success, and move forward with the meeting planning. Are you free on the 22nd?”

Bruce pulls open his calendar, squinting at it as he moves things around.

“Free enough,” he says. “The city council will have already closed for the holidays at that point.”

“Excellent,” she says. “I will contact Superman and the others and let them know.”

“Do we have a place you’re hosting it...?”

“ARGUS has provided a secure facility,” Diana says. “Within Metropolis itself.”

Bruce suspects that secure doesn’t mean up to his standards, but he can’t let himself micromanage it. He has too many other things on his plate.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ll make sure the new recruit gets the information he needs.”

Diana doesn’t seem at all bothered they’re getting Green Arrow’s former protege rather than the man himself, but he supposes there’s not much difference between them on her end. They’re both vigilantes who patrol the same area, and know all the same people. 

Bruce takes a moment to go over his schedule. His calendar is cram-packed with different meetings and appointments. Jason’s therapy. Jason’s physio-therapy. Damian’s canine training classes. A visit with the Kents. The city council meetings. The league meeting.

And now he has to also handle having a stranger in the house. He’s not particularly concerned by ill intentions--they have mutually assured destruction on that part--but there’s still an added bit of headache from having to deal with an extra person.

Bruce locks his computer and heads to the kitchen.

“Alfred?” He asks. “Did we get any deliveries while I was gone?”

“You did,” Alfred says. “They are located down in the cave’s freezer for privacy reasons, but we are still waiting on a delivery from ARGUS. I expect them tomorrow.”

Alfred wipes his hands, turning his attention to Bruce properly.

“I hope you do not mind, sir, but I collaborated with Master Jason and Master Damian to have headstones properly prepared. They’re already on grounds--it’s just a matter of an actual burial when Miss Nyssa’s remains arrive.”

Bruce makes a point of checking. The freezer is used for a variety of reasons, from chemical storage to explosives, but it’s also served as a morgue more than once, and three caskets sit inside. Two he recognizes, burned into his memories, and he refuses to open them. The third is obviously more recent, the casket itself brand new.

“She’s just bones,” Damian says, and Bruce jumps, spinning in place. He didn’t think he left the door open, but obviously he did, because Damian’s standing just in the entrance, his mouth down-turned.

“You looked,” Bruce says. It isn’t a question.

“I wanted to know,” Damian says. “There was an extra arm in there. Alfred said we could relocate it properly when we moved the remains.”

Bruce’s eyes slide over, finding a small box settled just at the foot of the caskets.

An arm. Not hard to guess whose arm.

“Alright,” Bruce says. “When your Aunt’s remains arrive, we can bury them all at once. Make... make a day of it.” He could get a backhoe. But getting one onto the property back where he wants it would be difficult. There’s too many trees. They can manage, even if it’ll take a while.

He prefer those moments. Feeling grounded from the effort and exertion.

Damian bobs his head, and Bruce steps over, resting a hand on Damian’s shoulder.

“...You’re not really adopting him, right?” Damian says, and Bruce smiles.

“No,” Bruce says. “He’ll just be a family friend, just like Jon. Not family, but someone we can rely on.”

“Maybe we could adopt Jon,” Damian says pointedly.

“That isn’t quite how it works,” Bruce says. “I think Clark would have something to say about that.”

“Then just adopt Clark,” Damian says.

Bruce laughs at that, and gently tugs Damian out of the freezer, closing the door behind them.

Chapter Text

“You’ve made a mistake,” Slade says just before dinner, and Bruce’s head snaps up, alarmed.

“What?” He says. He’s in the middle of doing paperwork, but Slade isn’t even looking at him, eyes distractedly skimming through the book he’s thumbing through.

“Bringing him here. Roy went on a tangent about how Oliver--who he’s calling ‘Green’--is the most stubborn person he knows, and then Jason got started on you, and now they’re swapping stories.”

Bruce groans.

Slade is proven exactly right when Roy, settling down for dinner, announces that his new name is Arsenal before they can even start eating.

“Only called myself Red Arrow so that people would think we were teammates rather than me being his sidekick, but that obviously didn’t work, so I should have a totally unique name,” Roy says.

Damian looks oddly proud, and Bruce eyes him warily.

“I came up with it,” Damian says.

“Sure did,” Jason says. “I just said he should start calling himself Green Arrow. Let him fight you for the right to use the name.”

Bruce groans.

“Boys,” he says. “Please. We haven’t even been home a whole twelve hours, and I have a council meeting--”

“You’re the mayor, right?” Roy says. “How’d that happen?”

“No one else wanted it,” Jason said. “And Bruce was the only one stupid enough to paint a target on his back.”

“Gotham barely has any super-criminals anymore,” Bruce says. “Our reputation-”

“Is that you only cleaned yourself up because you’ve got Batman,” Roy says, interrupting again. “When are you going to tell them that’s you?”

“I’m not going to,” Bruce says. “It invites too much attention. I have too much already.”

“Jason,” Slade says while Bruce tries to focus on his food. “Can you see if Michael’s willing to drive you to work tomorrow? I need to go to Bruce to play up the whole body guard thing in case Sionis shows up.”

“I can drive!” Roy volunteers. “I kind of want to see Gotham anyway.”

“Hate to tell you,” Jason says, “but I work in the shitty part of Gotham.”

“That’s the best part.”

“What am I supposed to do tomorrow, father?” Damian says.

“Help Alfred,” Bruce says. “I’m sure he’s got plenty for you to do.”

“I can think of a number of tasks which need doing,” Alfred says. “Many of which could take advantage of your unique skill set.”

Bruce suspects Alfred means cleaning the second story windows, but Damian seems to be expecting something more in line with fighting ninjas.

“We’ve got patrol tonight,” Slade points out. “Tim and Steph covered for us while we were gone last night.”

“You should have just let me go with them,” Damian says.

“Would have messed up the schedule,” Slade says. “We need to get back into the swing of things.”

“So you, what, rotate?” Roy asks, looking thrown.

“Do you not?” Jason asks. “You’ve got... what, four of you?”

“Three, really,” he says. “Green’s not letting his new sidekick go anywhere alone yet. We really just do our own thing.”

“Bad planning,” Jason says. “We rotate out. When we can, we try and make sure there’s at least one person out every night. Damian goes with me or Slade, Steph and Tim mostly work as a duo, and then Michael goes solo. Sometimes we swap around--Stephanie and Michael worked as a pair for a while, and sometimes Slade runs solo trips so we were on a four day cycle.”

“Organized,” Roy says, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth.

The more Bruce hears from Roy, the more apparent the differences between the two groups are. They’re both small groups of vigilantes, but their differences are many. Even when there were only four of them, they were significantly more organized, and treated it more like a job. Something that had to be done. Oliver’s team seems to go out more in response to things, following up leads rather than keeping regular patrols.

Plus, there’s an intense and obvious focus on maintaining their identities. They’re not supposed to get close. Supposed to keep their distance. And their civilian allies are few and far between.

“Hold on,” Roy protests during an after-dinner conversation. “You guys work with the cops?”

“Unofficially,” Jason says. “Officially, the GCPD does not endorse the vigilante Batman and his work. Unofficially, the commissioner’s my brother’s father-in-law.”

Even if he’s heard it a million times, every time Bruce hears Jason refer to Tim or Dick as his brother he feels his heart pound. They’ve come so far. They’re miles from how things were when he first came back to them.

“Wild,” Roy says. “Green would go crazy if we got within a hundred feet of our police chief. He hates the guy, and the feeling’s mutual.”

“Comes with being a vigilante,” Slade says. “Anyone who operates in a mask tends to get a lot of anger from those who can’t.”

Alfred enters, setting down a tray of snacks.

“I should inform you that your normal patrol time begins shortly,” Alfred says. “I would also recommend that Master Bruce go to bed a bit early, as he has quite a day ahead of him.”

“I’ll handle the computer,” Jason says. It’s a seat he’s handled a few times since his injury, a way to be involved and connected without straining himself further. “You sleep.”

“Alright,” Roy says. “I’ve got to see this.”

Bruce doesn’t sleep right away that night. Instead he lies in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering what’s missing.

It isn’t hard to realize: Slade. Slade’s missing. The feeling of a comforting warmth beside him. It’s something he always wanted, and had only a few times before, but now that he’s had it...

It seems to take a long time before he finally manages to fall asleep.

Chapter Text

The manor is an absolute madhouse the following morning. Jason’s up and getting ready for work. Roy’s gawking at the vehicle options he has at his disposal. Damian’s sprinting around the manor with Titus, going for what he calls a morning jog, only it’s more like a morning all-out-dash.

“I don’t know where they get all the energy,” Slade says as he steps into the dining room, adjusting his tie. “Damian was out all night, had three hours of sleep, and he's already up and about."

"I try not to think about it,” Bruce says, standing by the kitchen entrance. He’s already ready to go, but Alfred’s promised a quick breakfast before they head out the door.

"Take this," Alfred says, handing Bruce a packed lunch. "And my apologies. This week has been quite hectic. I'm afraid this is hardly up to my usual standard."

Bruce suspects not up to my usual standard is still going to be miles above what anyone else has brought.

"Father!" Damian says, shooting into the room at top speed. "An ARGUS van is just pulling up to the gate."

Bruce lets out a groan of frustration.

"Master Bruce," Alfred says, "please go. I will handle things here."

Bruce doesn't want to leave Alfred alone with it--because he doubts Damian is going to be much help--but he doesn't have much choice. Slade collects his own packed lunch, heading down towards the car already.

"Oh no," Bruce says. "Tell me you didn't bring a gun."

It would be a standard enough part of a bodyguard's equipment, but Bruce doesn't want to go down that path if he can.

"You can relax," Slade says. "I know how you feel about guns. I didn't bring one. I can handle whatever they're going to throw at me with my fists."

"I'll be shocked if you need your fists," Bruce says as he slides into the passenger seat. "I'm pretty sure you can just glare them down if you need."

"Probably," Slade says. "Tim's still trying to see what he can dig up on Sionis, but he's done a better job covering his tracks this time. Nothing we can get him on right now, so we might have to wait until he starts trying to threaten council members."

"I'll make it clear that they can come to me if he tries anything," Bruce says. "And hopefully they'll feel like they can."

Bruce makes a point of introducing Slade to the city council when they arrive. They look almost universally wary, but Slade puts on a good show of looking approachable, and they all seem to relax when Bruce explains that Slade's there as a bodyguard, intended to insure that no one is put at risk.

"He's new?" One of them asks, looking Slade over as if expecting to see some kind of bodyguard credentials hanging out of his pocket.

"He was the manor's head of security before this," Bruce says. He doesn't like lying, but he's still exceptionally good at it. He's had a lot of practice, after all. "But he's taking a more direct role."

"Because of Sionis," someone says, and Bruce frowns a bit.

"Because of what happened to the last council," he says. "I'd rather make absolutely sure meetings feel secure. And if anyone bothers you--for any reason--please do not hesitate, even for a moment, to let me know."

Bruce makes a point of looking at every member of the council, making sure they understand, and he gets a round of nods and affirmations.

"I'm going to check the room," Slade says. "And I'll see you all in there when it happens."

Technically speaking Slade's Bruce's body guard, which means he's supposed to be in the audience. But it's also perfectly reasonable to have a seat saved for him, so Bruce makes a point of letting the building's security know to put up a small sign.

There's no sign of Sionis when they come into the room, and Slade seems perfectly at ease, watching them go through business. Bruce suspects that people are thinking that the council will coast until the holidays are over, and then get down to work (if they even get down to it at all before the election).

Bruce has every intention of proving them wrong. He starts the meeting by tabling a new budget bill, reallocating funding from the cities vastly underutilized prison budget towards more social programs.

"The budget was made when ensuring that various super-criminals stayed behind bars was priority number one," Bruce says. "Both Blackgate and the mental health facility that handles those who would otherwise be considered criminal now have top of the line security. There hasn't been a breakout in almost a year, and so much of the budget is either completely wasted or goes unused. Better to ensure that people don't need to commit crimes to survive."

Bruce has the feeling that none of the council members are actually aware of half the issues he brings up over the next hour, but he has it all neatly organized, providing them with a copy of his proposals to be voted on the following week.

He brings up the park suggestion along with it, pointing out that spending huge amounts of money trying to clean up the east side of old Gotham is throwing good money after bad, and there's a round of head nodding.

Bruce is feeling distinctly unchallenged by the time the meeting wraps up. Wilson--or Andrew, he guesses--is the only one who's really weighing in on anything, meaning Bruce is dominating almost the entire meeting with only the barest hint of effort.

"I need to get new people on the council," Bruce mutters once he's back in his car. "People who aren't just there for a pat on the back."

"Good luck with that," Slade says. "We both how playing the politics game goes."

"Don't remind me," Bruce says, sagging back into his seat. "This is one of the reasons I didn't want to get into politics."

"Too late," Slade says. "You're in it now, and there's no getting out of it."

Bruce lets out another sigh.

"And I've got bodies to bury when we get home," Bruce says. "We should put it off until tomorrow." It's already three, and he's not sure they'll have time before it gets dark. Especially not with the ground as cold as it is.

"Bruce," Slade says. "Did you forget what you're dealing with here?"

Bruce squints at him.

"I can't ask you to do that," Bruce says. "They're not your parents. They're not your... It's something I should be doing."

"Bruce," Slade says pointedly. "Damian might be your son, but he's still my family. Even if his mother was your ex, I'm still going to do what I can to be there for him."

Bruce leans over, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"Careful," Slade says. "You don't want to be encouraging distracted driving with behavior like that."

Chapter Text

It feels like mercy when Bruce checks Nyssa's body in the privacy of the freezer and finds half her head missing. It shouldn't be a relief, but it absolutely is. It means Deadshot was the one who killed her. It means Bruce doesn't have to worry about Damian finding out that one of the family were the ones to do it.

It shouldn't matter, but it does. Because he doesn't want to imagine how Damian might have reacted if it was him who'd killed Nyssa without even realizing it. Even if she was already dead in almost every way.

It's just one less complication.

Roy stays in the house, with Alfred ferrying drinks and food back and forth as they get to work. Jason's not well enough to really help, so he declares himself upper management, tells Bruce he should pay him twice as much, and kicks his feet up in a lawn chair Alfred brings for him.

They each take a shovel and get to work.

Slade's doing the bulk of it, but Bruce and even Damian do their parts as well, digging each grave in turn. Two for Bruce's parents, which he handles mostly by himself. Then three for the al Ghuls, set off to the side. They relocate the pomegranate tree, and Slade hauls a series of particularly heavy gravestones down from the house, carefully placing each in it's proper place.

The sun's already starting to sink, and Bruce grunts.

"We should do this tomorrow," Bruce says. "When we have light."

Damian inspects the holes, but finally turns away.

"You are correct, father. We won't be able to see shortly."

Slade picks Jason up, chair and all, and they leave the holes unfilled, heading back to the house. Bruce is exhausted, dripping with sweat, and Alfred wrinkles his nose.

"I believe a shower is in order," Alfred says. "Perhaps Mister Harper might be willing to help me get dinner ready while you all wash off."

"Oh!" Roy says from the couch, deep into his phone. "Yeah, of course." He hops right up, looking awkwardly to Alfred for direction.

The water comes off him brown, and Bruce sighs with relief under the warmth of the shower. He spends longer than he should rinsing off, arriving to dinner late, and weighs his options for the night as he eats.

"I was thinking," Jason says. "That you should take Roy on a test drive. Show him how we operate. Give him some ideas to take back to Star City when he goes."

Bruce takes a moment to be relieved that Jason's saying when, not if.

"We went last night," Slade points out, "and we won't be up for another few days."

"Well obviously you're going to want to run through some drills," Jason says. "See if he's up to par."

"Hey!" Roy protests. "Of course I'm up to par. I was trained by the best."

"Second best," Jason says.

"Third best," Damian says.

"Best in Star City," Bruce interrupts before they can gang up on him any more.

"His gear probably needs upgrading," Slade says. "You should have seen what he was wearing."

"What's wrong with what I was wearing?" Roy asks, looking equal parts confused and offended.

"It couldn't take a bullet, for one," Slade says. "Which tends to be an issue, because criminals have guns in this day and age."

"You only get shot at if you're stupid," Roy says. "They shouldn't even know you're there if you do things right."

"Hope for the best," Bruce says, "but prepare for the worst. You can't assume you'll manage things perfectly every time. You need a contingency plan that doesn't involve hospitalization."

"If I didn't have proper gear," Jason says, "I'd be long dead. Only thing that kept me alive was having a nice, well armored suit keeping the Talon from pulling my heart out through my ribs."

"Not at the dinner table, Master Jason," Alfred says.

"Sorry," Jason replies immediately.

None of them even pause from their food, despite the grim subject.

"Green wants us low-key," he says. "Nothing that would stand out too much, or be distinct. Everything we have should be something that could reasonably be made by someone with a low budget and time to kill."

"You're less geared then the gangs you're fighting," Slade says. "Get some actual armor."

"You," Bruce says pointedly, "are going to be visiting the Justice League. No one would bat an eye if your city's representative started wearing something that could take a few hits."

Bruce is hoping that appealing to the idea of Roy as the city's representative might be enough to convince him to wear something that'll keep him from dropping dead at the first bit of trouble.

"Was that a bat pun?" Roy asks instead.

Bruce groans.

"It was," Damian says. "He can't stop himself from making them."

Dinner ends with Damian, Roy, Jason, and Slade heading down into the cave to investigate Roy's gear, and Bruce helps Alfred clean up despite Alfred's insistence that he doesn't need any help.

"Really," Alfred says quietly, "I'm just happy that you're putting him in something that will keep him safe. Young vigilantes are one thing. Young vigilantes with even less gear than the average police officer is something else entirely."

Bruce doesn't point out that Roy is hardly young. He's pretty sure Alfred classifies anyone younger than Bruce's age as young.

Bruce goes down to the cave not long after, watching in amusement as Damian rants about Roy's gear.

"Are you aware," Damian says, voice absolutely outraged, "that actual ninjas wear sturdier gear than this? This is barely a biker jacket! This couldn't stand up to anything!"

"It's held up just fine so far!" Roy protests, and Slade has to bribe him with gear. Roy's about the same build as Dick, and only an inch shorter, so they're able to pull out some of those old prototypes to see what fits. 

"It's blue!" Roy protests.

"We'll paint it," Slade says. "If you want to come out on patrol, you're going to be wearing something that you aren't going to freeze to death in. Gotham gets cold, and we're expecting snow within the next week."

Roy huffs, but seems perfectly happy with the suit he's offered. It fits like a glove, even if it does have blue accents, and Slade promises to get it fixed up before patrol.

Bruce struggles to sleep that night too. Slade's right there, just on the other side of the hallway, but going to him means admitting defeat. It means sneaking past Damian and Jason's rooms. Bruce can't stand the idea of getting caught, so he makes himself endure, a pillow wrapped in his arms for extra support.

Chapter Text

Bruce is just pulling on his shirt when his phone's alarm goes off, a sharp trill that sets every nerve in Bruce's body up to high alert. That's the warning alarm, the something has gone wrong alarm. He grabs his pants, grabbing his phone to check the message even as the signal of beeps spells it out for him.

Possible identity breach.

He doesn't bother trying to figure it out over his phone, bolting out of his bedroom and sprinting for the main cave access.

Slade's right behind him, and he sees Damian going after Jason out of the corner of his eye. He's pretty sure he spots a flash of red hair coming into the main hall, but he doesn't have time to stop as he pounds down the stairs into the cave. The computer's screens are all lit up, flashing information faster than he can read it, and he drops himself into the seat.

"Computer," he says. "Give me a status update."

"Possible identity breach," the computer's synthetic voice announces. "Slade Wilson."

Slade. Why is it Slade? Slade's not the same as Jason or him in terms of sheer scale, but Slade's identity being compromised runs into a whole host of problems.

"Source?"

Slade's leaning over the back of his chair, his eyes flicking over the screen.

"Gotham Inquirer."

A tabloid. They might still be able to salvage things.

"Pull it up."

The front page of the Gotham Inquirer appears on the screen in front of them. The first thing he sees is a photo of Slade, dressed in a suit. Bruce can't say for sure--the shot doesn't have enough detail--but he's fairly sure it's from yesterday's council meeting.

The second thing he sees is the headline.

Batman Unmasked!

The cave is silent as Bruce reads over the article, but he's barely half finished when he sags back in his chair.

"Cancel all alerts. Send a link to the article to all family members."

"Sending," the computer confirms.

"They think I'm Batman?" Slade says, incredulous.

"Oh dear," Alfred says from behind them.

"It makes sense, father," Damian points out. "They already know you have a connection to the Batman, and have been providing funds for him. Then you arrive at a city council meeting with a man in tow who fits Batman's physical characteristics."

"I have a beard," Slade points out.

"Article doesn't think you're the current Batman," Jason points out. "It thinks you're the original Batman, and that you've retired into a life of relative peace."

"I'm concerned about where this leads," Bruce says. "If they think Slade is Batman, how long before they think that Jason Wilson-Wayne might be the new one?"

"Easy enough to avoid," Alfred points out. "If necessary, I would recommend having Mister Lane put out an outraged statement that someone would claim that Master Jason wasn't attacked in his home by Talons. As long as people can believe that he was up and about the morning after Batman was attacked, that will rule him out as a likely suspect."

"Ugh," Bruce groans. "This is going to make a headache for me. We're going to have paparazzi again."

"Does this... uh, happen often?" Roy asks, and Bruce glances over his shoulder.

"Exactly like this?" Bruce asks. "No. But thinks similar to this happen more than I'd like. There's no hard evidence to this, but the nature of Slade's background means the more they dig, the more convinced they'll get."

"Military background's locked down," Slade says. "Which means as far as anyone can tell, I pop out of and then back into existence a few years ago."

"Great," Jason says. "Another headache."

The headache begins almost immediately. Bruce fields calls from Lucius and Jim asking what he's going to do about it, and Bruce gives them the same answer: That he's going to ride it out and treat it like the joke it is.

None of them are in much mood for a funeral, so Bruce checks with Damian and gets a maybe tomorrow from him. The last thing he wants is something half-hearted, and the bodies aren't going anywhere.

He goes to work instead, and isn't surprised to see reporters waiting just outside Wayne Enterprises, hoping for a statement. When one attempts to hound him, Bruce handles the question the way he's handled similar questions in the past: With a smirk.

"If you want a proper interview," Bruce says, "you'll need to talk to the Wayne Enterprises press manager. But it'd be a waste of time. If I did have Batman at my beck and call, I wouldn't be stupid enough to parade him around city council meetings where everyone could see him."

It eases the pressure of the story a bit. The major Gotham newspapers aren't willing to report on something so obviously steeped in speculation, but there's a fair amount of online chatter about the story. Slade becomes a major source of gossip, and Bruce works with Barbara to set up a few trackers, keeping tabs on what's being said.

"This isn't how I expected to spend my day," Slade says when Bruce gets home. He's sprawled out on the couch, his feet kicked up, flicking through news stories on his phone. "This one calls me handsome and says I look good in a suit."

"You do," Bruce says. "And you are. But try not to let them get too many shots of you while you're in public."

"Easier said than done," Slade says. "But I'll do what I can to lay low."

"I like this idea they have," Slade adds when Bruce settles down on the couch beside him. "Apparently they think you've hired me, had me playing batman for ten years, and that I got injured and had to retire so you found someone new."

"That's pretty much what Green thinks," Roy says, coming into the living room with Jason at his side. "That Gotham's people are basically just representatives of various companies, making sure to enforce their interests."

"He's alarmingly wrong," Bruce says, bristling. "Is that what he thinks?"

"Part of it, anyway," Roy says. "No patrol tonight?"

"Tonight's Michael," Slade says, still buried in his phone. "We're tomorrow night."

"I honestly thought you guys would be an every night kind of group."

"Work smarter, not harder," Slade says. "If you work every night you're going to be doing a shitty job of it."

Roy doesn't complain, but does seem lost in thought just thinking about it.

Chapter Text

Bruce feels like he's dying as he goes through the day. He can't decide if it's just him being needy, or if Slade's actually pulling back, but the more he thinks about it, the more convinced he becomes that Slade is giving him space for whatever reason.

Bruce doesn't need space. Bruce needs the feeling of Slade's breath on the back of his neck again.

He tries--he really does--to keep himself from getting distracted. There's a lot to do, and Slade is busy anyway, loading Damian and Titus up to take him to his classes. It's the last one until January, and Damian looks equally excited and horrified by the prospect of not having them.

"Should get him volunteering at an animal shelter," Jason says under his breath as they watch the pair go.

"Bad idea," Bruce says. "He'll adopt the whole shelter."

Bruce heads out to the backyard, tidying up the holes and making sure all the stones are properly planted. There's some slight maintenance to do there, but nothing particularly strenuous. 

He lets his fingers run over his parents headstones, wondering what they'd think of him now. Would they approve? He's sure they'd like their grandchildren, and their great-grandchildren. He's sure they'd be happy with the state of Gotham. He's less certain how they'd feel about him, and the mess he made of things for so long.

He's even less certain how they'd feel about Slade. Would they feel happy Bruce is giving him a chance? He likes to think they would, and Bruce tries not to think about it too much.

The more he tries to think about what his parents would or wouldn't have thought, the more the reality of it sinks in: He was a child when they died, and he barely knew them at all.

He returns to the house before he can get too morose, searching around until he finds Jason and Roy down in the cave. They've rigged up the range Bruce used to teach batarange usage, only Roy has a bow, and Jason has a gun.

"Jason," Bruce says, annoyed. He's not going to ask where he got it, because there's one obvious answer.

"Oops," Jason says, but he doesn't make any move to actually hide it, even if he does tuck it back into its holster.

"The rule was no guns in the house," Bruce says, which isn't really true anymore. The rule is more no guns where I can see them. He knows Slade has them, he just also knows that Slade keeps them safely tucked away.

"If I went to work without a gun, people would be alarmed," Jason points out. "Especially after I got mauled."

Bruce frowns, and Roy glances between the two of them, looking wary. He seems to get it's an argument he doesn't want to be a part of, and keeps himself entirely out of it.

"Just..." Bruce forces himself to take a deep breath. "Just keep it out of the cave. I know Slade has a range he can take you too."

"We've been," Jason says. "Was just showing Roy."

Bruce goes back upstairs rather than dragging the argument out. It's a subject on which he suspects they'll never agree, his own aversion to guns deep and lasting. It's one of the subjects he touched on in therapy, but also the one they never made any real progress on. Guns are meant to kill things. Guns took his parents away. Guns put him on the path he's on right then.

The fact that both Slade and Jason use guns isn't lost on him either.

Titus wakes him from his nap on the couch, the dogs wet nose nudging against his face as he cracks an eye open.

"You really are an old man," Slade says, standing above him. "Napping on the couch and getting woken up by a dog."

"Father!" Damian announces, "Reggie wants to know if I can come over and bring Titus over the holidays."

Bruce has no idea who Reggie is--the kids in Damian's class change out with surprising regularity--but Slade obviously does. Bruce has seen this song and dance before.

"Ask Slade," Bruce says.

Damian scowls.

"I am asking you," he says.

"Which means Slade said no."

There's no reason Damian would be driving with Slade--who drives him half the time with Jason unable to do so--and not ask him at all.

"That's because he says Reggie is a bully," Damian says. "But that doesn't matter, because I'm not going to see Reggie, I'm going to see Anna."

Bruce is almost entirely sure Anna is a dog.

"Damian," he says. "Don't go over to people's houses just to play with their dogs."

"But father!" Damian protests. "Reggie keeps her in a crate all day if someone isn't over."

"Then he's a poor owner," Bruce says. "But don't let people think you're his friend by going over there just for the sake of his dog. Better to let him get bored of them, and hope they give them up to the pound."

It's the wrong thing to say.

"Can we adopt Anna if she is sent to the pound, father?"

Bruce groans, burying his face in the crook of his arm.

"Titus would get jealous," he says. "And we can't manage another dog around the house."

"You're right," Damian says. Bruce half expects something else, but instead, when he squints at his youngest, he just catches Damian looking particularly intense.

"Oh no," he says. "What now?"

"Nothing, father!" Damian says, darting out of the room.

Bruce groans, and Slade lets out a laugh.

"He's got you around his finger," Slade says. "Just wait, he's going to come back with a wolf and tell you that a wolf isn't the same thing as a dog."

"Please no," Bruce says. "He's going to end up with a zoo." He's only just managing to keep Damian from adopting every animal he comes across, and it's only a matter of time before it breaks.

"I'm going to-" Slade says, already starting to leave, and Bruce lifts his arm away to look up at him.

"You're going again," Bruce says, and Slade pauses, glancing down at him.

"Yes?" He says, and there's an edge of mischief in his voice that convinces Bruce that he was right. That Slade is intentionally pulling back for who knows what reason.

"Why don't you come to my room tonight," Bruce says. "So we can talk."

"Talk," Slade says, that bit of mischief growing as Bruce watches. "Of course."

Slade reaches down, dragging his fingers through Bruce's hair, and Bruce barely manages to contain a shiver.

"I'll see you tonight then."

Chapter Text

Bruce expects to have to wait. It's patrol night, and Roy's supposed to be going out with them. But when he heads down to the cave to figure out who's doing what, he finds Damian and Roy already suiting up, with Slade still in a t-shirt.

"Nightwing's going to meet you out there," Slade says. "He's brought two of his proteges with you for regular practice runs, and he'll show you how things are done around here."

It's the first Bruce's heard of it, but he keeps quiet.

Roy's new gear has been neatly painted, although Bruce has no idea who actually did the deed. It's a mix of greys and dark greens, letting him camouflage in the night against the sky as well as he would in a dark forest. He still has a hood, but other than that the suit's fairly similar to Nightwing's original one.

His bow, at least, is still the same.

"What's the plan with Nightwing?" Bruce asks.

"Wants to take the new recruits on the memorial climb," he says. "He says there's no building like it for practice up in Bludhaven."

"What kind of a name is Bludhaven?" Roy complains.

"It was an old whaling town," Damian says as he finishes restocking all his pouches. "Named for the scent of blood from the butchering that happened there."

"Gothamites are something else," Roy says.

Jason settles in by the computer, chatting with Barbara as he does. Bruce watches Roy and Damian take off, Damian seeming to enjoy the position of experienced elder compared to a man so much older than him.

Slade rests a hand on Bruce's shoulder, guiding him back up the stairs.

"Everyone's busy," Slade says. "And Alfred's in bed."

Which means it's just the two of them for the next few hours.

"Did you bribe Dick into coming into town just for this?"

"He asked me a few weeks ago," Slade says. "I've just been keeping it in my pocket for all this time."

Bruce huffs, but doesn't break stride as they turn towards the bedrooms. For Bruce, there's no question where they'll end up. Slade's room might be sitting right at the end of the hallway, the master suite, but a huge portion of the room has mysteriously been relocated behind a bookcase to store one of the manor's safe rooms. Bruce is the one with a larger bedroom, the only secrets there a hidden space where a backup suit once hid. Now it contains only a few emergency supplies, just in case.

"Mmm," Slade says, looking around as they enter Bruce's room as if he's never been there before. "Nice. Very homey."

Bruce elbows him.

"You've been in here before."

"It's different when it's you letting me in for something like this," Slade says.

"Something like this?" Bruce asks, raising his eyebrows.

Slade smirks at him, winding an arm around Bruce's back, and Bruce forgets what he was arguing about. Something about having Slade right there, in such close proximity to him, is simply shutting down his brain. He can't think. Can't process. There's just Slade, pressed against him, face lingering just overhead.

"I think," Slade says pointedly, twisting around to get Bruce over to the bed, "that you might have liked sharing a bed while we were in the hotel."

Bruce doesn't have the self control to deny it. He suspects that if he does--even just for a minute--that Slade will pull back and go back to his room.

"You wanted me to say it," Bruce realizes. "This is what you meant. That you wanted me to make the first move. Inviting you in."

Slade is still smirking, and he only stops when he leans down, pressing his lips to Bruce's own. Bruce practically melts into it, digging his fingers into the fabric of Slade's shirt.

"You're too good at this," Bruce hisses when he breaks the kiss. "You know exactly what you're doing and I have no goddamn idea." He hates the lack of control, the way he feels like he's gone completely off the rails. He's used to having control. He's used to being in charge. And when he fought Slade, he had all the control. Even at the worst of times, he still felt like himself.

Like this? Like this he doesn't feel like himself. Like this he feels like Slade hasn't just stripped off his armor, but instead like he's stripped off his skin and found a whole different person underneath.

"You have no idea how hard it is to not just toss you onto the bed," Slade says, and then Bruce is sort of being tossed onto the bed, only it's more that the back his knees hit the edge and he simply falls backwards.

He ends up on his back, with Slade hanging over him. Slade at least looks flushed, his face red, and it's the first real sign that he's being just as affected by things as Bruce is.

Slade reaches down, hiking up the bottom of Bruce's shirt, and Bruce sucks in a breath. It's a mess, and he knows it. He knows on a strictly intellectual level that Slade isn't likely going to be bothered by scars, but that doesn't stop him from holding his breath when he spots Slade inspecting some of them, dragging the flat of his thumb up a particularly long gash.

"You need to take better care of yourself," Slade says, leaning down to do something that Bruce can't twist his neck up enough to see.

It turns out to be mouthing his way along the long-healed scar. The sensation is bizarre, a mix of too intense and no sensation at all, and Bruce keeps shivering from the feeling of it.

"Who gave you this one?" Slade asks, and Bruce has to think about it. He only knows the answer because it's one of the larger ones on his torso.

"A Falcone thug," Bruce says. "From when I was just starting. The armor didn't hold up to a machete."

Slade drags his thumb across a puckered burn scar.

"And this one?"

That one's easier to place.

"Firefly," Bruce says. "Someone shot me earlier that night, and it compromised the fireproofing."

"And," Slade says, his voice husky. "Which one's mine?"

He looks downright predatory as he says it.

"You know," Bruce says, because he's absolutely sure that Slade does.

Slade does. His face looks absolutely wicked.

"Lots of bruising along your back," Slade says. "And on your forearms from when you landed coming out of the warehouse."

"You're really fixated on that fight," Bruce points out, amused. Of their fights, why that one? Why fixate on that?

"Of course I am," Slade says. "I had you bent over, a sword to your throat, and anyone else would have been dead then and there. I've done that exact pin dozens of times, and instead of dying, you pushed off the ground, grabbed onto my arm, and used my own weight against me to flip yourself back onto your feet and throw me."

"Had to lean into the sword to do it," Bruce admits.

Slades hand goes up immediately, pulling down the front of Bruce's collar. And right there, where he's seen it a million times, is an almost invisible little horizontal cut across the base of his throat.

But the feeling of a hand so close to his throat makes him wary, and Slade seems to pick up on that, pulling back.

"You're wearing too many clothes," Bruce says.

Slade reaches up, pulling his shirt off in one smooth motion. Bruce doesn't have much ground to say that he looks like he's practiced, because he's practiced himself (mostly in the name of getting his suit on and off faster), but Slade seems to be making a point of making it look nice. Fluid, even.

Slade is muscular. This isn't the first time Bruce has seen him shirtless--not even close--but it's the first time he's really looked. The second thing that catches his interest--something he genuinely didn't notice before--is how few scars Slade has.

"Regeneration," Bruce complains, attempting to mirror Slade's own actions by dragging his fingers across one of his scars.

"Heals through all but the worst injuries," Slade says. "Most of what I've got are from when I was a hell of a lot younger."

Slade rolls to the side, letting Bruce sit up, and Bruce pulls off his shirt, second guessing himself.

"We're just-" He stops, faltering after a moment. "We're just sleeping?"

"Sleeping," Slade says, "if I can keep my hands off you."

Bruce pulls himself out of the bed and grabs a pair of pajama pants. He's too paranoid to risk sleeping naked--the house has come under attack too many times for that--and he's not going to enjoy sleeping in his work pants anyway.

When he steps out of the bathroom, he's sure Slade's arranged himself like that on purpose. He's shirtless, the blankets pulled up to just over his waist, and one arm is propping up his head on the pillow while the other rests on the sheets.

"Come on," Slade says. "Bed's getting cold."

Bruce is sure he's blushing, but he slides into the bed anyway. He can't help but notice that Slade's taken the right side of the bed, letting his good eye keep an eye on Bruce.

Not that it matters, because he rolls onto his side immediately.

"Are you even wearing anything?" Bruce protests when his foot nudges Slade's leg and finds it bare.

Slade grins at him like the asshole he is.

Despite Slade's response, it is, and Bruce rolls onto his own side, letting Slade pull him in closer until Bruce's back is pressed to his chest, his arm wrapped around Bruce's side.

"Bruce?" Slade says right as Bruce is starting to fall asleep.

Bruce doesn't quite have it in him to manage a coherent response, so he grunts to make it clear he's awake. He's pretty sure Slade's literally just checking to see, so he's surprised when he actually says something.

"You ever get hot and bothered?"

Bruce has to think about it.

"...Sometimes," he says. "Mostly in the morning."

"Next time it happens," Slade says, pressing a brief kiss to his neck, "Think of me and let yourself enjoy, alright?"

Bruce doesn't respond, but the suggestion stays in his head even as he falls asleep.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes, not to his alarm, but to the feeling of Slade shifting behind him, his arm pulling away as he rolls out of bed.

"Slade," Bruce mumbles into the pillow, and Slade stops.

"Wasn't trying to wake you," Slade says. "Just figured I should sneak out before Jason or Damian gets up."

Bruce doesn't answer. Instead, he rolls over, reaching out to grab Slade's arm and pulling him back into the bed.

"You're going to kill me like this Bruce," Slade mutters. "You have no idea how you look."

Bruce doesn't, because he's still half asleep, but that doesn't stop him from curling up against Slade and trying to get the last half hour or so of sleep. Slade doesn't seem interested in trying, running his hand down Bruce's back instead.

"Bruce," Slade says after a few minutes. "I don't know how to tell you this, but if you stay there much longer, things are going to end up really uncomfortable."

Bruce cracks an eye open. Slade looks... flushed. Embarrassed. And when Bruce shifts his position, he realizes why, his own face going red as he rolls back.

" Thank you," Slade says, rolling out of bed as Bruce buries his face in his pillow.

It's the sixteenth. Which means, without even checking his calendar, that the Kents are supposed to be over that night. He hasn't told them about Roy, which may or may not change things, but he's got the day free, which means...

Bruce groans, burying his face in the pillow even harder.

He can't put it off. He can just leave the graves sitting open, the bodies sitting down in the cave. He has to stop putting it off. Even if it does feel like ruining a good night with an awful morning.

He drags himself out of bed, checking his phone just to make absolutely sure. Disappointingly, he's not misremembering at all, and he rubs at his face in frustration.

"See you at breakfast," Slade says as he heads out of the bathroom, exiting the room while taking obvious care to keep the door from slamming.

Bruce barely has the energy to lift his head, but he goes to get showered and dressed anyway.

When Bruce makes it to the kitchen, Jason is sitting there, arms crossed over his chest, looking deeply unimpressed.

"I swear," Jason says. "While we have guests? You're worse than teenagers."

Bruce goes for the coffee maker, where a freshly brewed cup of coffee sits, already waiting for him. He takes a big gulp before he manages a retort.

"He's in a completely different wing of the house," Bruce points out.

"Just keep Damian from noticing."

"I'm barely even making an attempt," Bruce admits. "Damian notices everything that happens in this house. Trying to hide anything from him is just going to make him look into it harder."

Plus, if he's lucky, Damian will be too distracted by Jon to pay all that much attention.

Alfred shoos them out to the dining room, where they catch Roy peeking around the corner.

"This is the right place," Jason says. "Everyone's just trickling in. Happens on the rare days where no one has any work."

"Honestly, still kind of worried I'm going to get lost in here," Roy admits, but he perks up immediately when Alfred arrives with food.

Damian and Slade show up together, completing the table.

"What's on the schedule today, boss?" Jason says in between mouthfuls of eggs.

"I need to call Superman," Bruce says. "And make sure he still wants to come over."

"Wait, what?" Roy says. "Superman's coming?"

"Superman comes to visit as a friend of the family," Bruce says. "In his civilian identity. He may wish to put it off considering."

"Oh!" Roy says. "I mean, if it's a whole thing, I can always duck out for the evening."

"I'll ask before you make any plans," Bruce says. "But it's not a major issue to miss a week. You're a guest--I don't want to put you out over this."

"Worst comes to worst," Jason says, "I've got a few places to tour him around to."

"How did patrol go?" Bruce asks Damian, glancing towards him.

"Excellent," Damian says. "I completed the climb five minutes faster than either of Dick's new proteges."

"Roy didn't finish," Jason says with a snort.

"I'd never used a grappling hook before in my life," Roy complains. "They're not exactly intuitive."

"You'll catch on," Slade says. "Just takes some time."

"I was also thinking," Bruce says, preparing to crash the mood, "that we should probably have the funeral today."

The mood sinks immediately. In particular, Bruce feels bad for Roy. He has no relation to anyone being buried. He's a stranger to the issue. But he soldiers through just the same.

"Of course, father," Damian says. "This morning?"

Damian's reaction is hard to read. He's a little bit too stiff, which means he's hiding his emotions, but... he's going to be burying his family. It's understandable he'd get emotional.

"Roy-" Bruce starts, but Roy interrupts.

"Please," he says. "You don't need to worry about me. I kind of tagged along on a whim and family stuff comes first. I can hang out and watch TV and stay out of your way."

"We don't want you to feel left out-" Jason starts, before realizing how fucking awkward saying you shouldn't feel left out at a funeral is.

"This is one area," Roy says, "where I am happy to be left out."

They end up leaving Roy in the house as they get down to business. Jason takes Damian down towards the graves, while Bruce, Slade, and Alfred head down to the cave. There's too many to make just one trip, so they settle on splitting it--Wayne's first.

It's less of a solemn funeral for them, and more of a simple re-interring. It feels strangely calming knowing that they're nearby, knowing he's not going to have to go down to Gotham cemetery. It feels more private.

Alfred clutches his hat in his hand as Bruce works on filling in the graves.

"I hope they appreciate the effort," Alfred says. "And a better view of the grounds. I think they would appreciate that."

"Probably not their neighbours," Jason mutters under his breath, and Bruce glares at him, hoping Damian hasn't heard. If he does, he doesn't show it.

Once the majority of the dirt has been filled in, the three of them trek back down to the cave. Bruce wonders if it's intentional that Slade opts to handle Nyssa, leaving Alfred to handle the small casket carrying what remains of Ra's, and Bruce with Talia. It feels intentional, but he tries not to read too much into it.

They do Ra's first. Of all of them, he's the least liked, the one who was the most active antagonist towards them. The fact that Slade's the one who killed him doesn't help him either, but Bruce lowers the small casket down anyway, trying to figure out what to say. It's not for Ra's' sake, but instead for Damian, who stares up at him expectantly.

"We had a lot of differences," Bruce says. "But I think we can all be thankful for the part Ra's played in Damian's life."

He falters, unsure of what else he can possibly say that isn't going to come across as insulting.

Damian bends down, resting on his knees, and says something quiet. It's in Arabic, but the language feels archaic, far enough that Bruce only catches only bits and pieces. A solemn wish that his grandfather finds peace, and rest at last.

Bruce is happy for it to be over. He feels better about giving Nyssa and Talia a place in the graveyard with his parents. Ra's is something else entirely, there only because of how important he is to Damian.

Nyssa goes next, and when Bruce speaks, the words sound more genuine. He hopes she finds peace. He hopes she knows that Damian is safe and happy.

He suspects she'd hate being buried next to Ra's, so he makes a point of putting her on the far side from him. Talia goes in the center, the last one to be buried. He's soaked with sweat by the time he lowers her down, ready for the entire day to be over.

It's not even noon.

But it's Damian who speaks first.

"Mother," he says, in English this time. "I want you to know that I am happy here. That I have... that I have father here with me, and I have brothers. That I have a family. And that I forgive you for not telling father about me."

He goes silent, and Jason reaches out, resting a hand on Damian's shoulder. Damian's making a clear effort to not cry, but when Bruce clears his throat Damian turns away, burying his face in Jason's shirt to hide his tears.

In the end, Bruce says nothing--he simply grabs the shovel and gets back to burying.

It's just after lunch when they're finally finished. All the dirt's where it should be. Everything's in place.

"I'll plant some grass over the graves," Alfred says. "So the headstones can take focus. But for now, I think it's time for lunch."

Alfred goes to prepare the meal while everyone else heads back to their rooms. Bruce wants to check on Damian, but he needs time to decompress himself, soaking the dirt away. It's only once he's done that he heads to Damian's room, knocking on the door.

"Damian?" He calls quietly.

Damian makes a noise of acknowledgment, and Bruce lets himself in. He finds Damian sitting on the edge of his bed, his head down, and moves over to sit down beside him, wrapping an arm around Damian's shoulders.

"It's alright to feel sad," Bruce says. "You remember what I said before, right?"

Damian nods, and Bruce gives his shoulders a little squeeze.

"Father," Damian says, and Bruce feels a sudden spike of nerves. "I made a decision."

Bruce tries to brace himself as Damian looks up at him. There's stubbornness to it, his jaw clenched, his nerve steeled. He's preparing for an argument.

"I have decided not to meet my uncle," he says. "He is blood, but he's not family. I never met him. And he... it would be better if the al Ghul line ended. It would be better if we didn't try and hold it together. I'm not an al Ghul anymore. I'm a... I'm a Wayne. So it would be better-"

Bruce cuts him off with a hug, giving Damian a little squeeze.

"I'm not going to argue with you," Bruce says. "It's your decision."

He's not even sure how he feels about it. A part of him feels like Damian would be better to know them. But a part of him also feels like the only thing that Damian and Dusan have in common is an egomaniac who had horribly unhealthy relationships with both of them.

"And," Bruce adds, "it's always a decision you can revisit. If you ever change your mind... you just need to let me know."

And he still has the photos. Bruce isn't sure what he did with them, but he decides not to ask. He doesn't want to give Damian the impression he has to turn them over.

"Do you still want to see Jon tonight?" Bruce asks, worried that it might be too much.

But Damian's face lights up immediately, nodding.

"I guess," he says, his body language giving away how much he wants it. Bruce smiles at him and nods.

"I'll go talk to Clark," Bruce says. "If he doesn't want to come over while Roy's around, I'll drive the two of us over for dinner, alright?"

Damian nods, his enthusiasm leaking out, and Bruce presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"Alright," he says. "Lunch time. Lets see what Alfred has for us."

Chapter Text

Lunch consists of a suspiciously high number of Damian's favorite foods, a fact that does not go unnoticed by Bruce. As worried as he is about Damian, his youngest seems no worse for the wear by the time lunch is finished. There's absolutely no way to know that he spent the morning burying all that remains of his mother's family, and Bruce leaves him with the others as he heads to his office to call Clark.

"Bruce?" Clark asks, and Bruce is fairly sure he's at work, considering the hour. There's a muffled noise, and Bruce squints at the phone.

"Am I interrupting?" he asks.

"No, sorry," Clark says, and there's another noise that Bruce registers as a swallow. "Just eating lunch. Are we still coming tonight?"

"That's actually what I was calling you about," Bruce says. He has to pick his words carefully, because while he knows his side is secure, there's no way to know that Clarks is while he's at work. Someone could overhear, so it's better to be careful.

"A friend of the family is actually visiting us," Bruce continues. "He's a bit on the younger side and still adjusting to things. He's fine with meeting you and Lois, but I wanted to make sure you were willing to meet a new face."

He puts all the emphasis on friend of the family and new face and hopes Clark gets the picture well enough.

"Is he close?" Clark asks.

"A close friend? We only met him recently, but his family are similar to my family, so it's an easy fit." It's hard to dodge around without actually saying anything that might give it away, and he's sure Clark's having the same trouble, because there's a pause on the other end.

"Are you... sure this is a good idea?" Clark says. "We wouldn't want to overwhelm him."

Bruce is fairly sure he's asking if it's a good idea for them to come. If they trust Roy. And Bruce pauses for a moment to let himself think before he answers.

"I think it'll be fine," he says. He can't figure out a way to convey the concept of mutually assured destruction in a family friendly manner that doesn't raise any red flags.

"Alright," Clark says. "We'll be there a bit before six."

Bruce finishes up the call normally and sags back into his seat.

He goes to find Alfred a few minutes later, letting him know that there's been no change of plans. Then he goes to find Roy, letting him know that he's welcome to stay for dinner and meet the others.

"Neat," he says. "By the way, have you been keeping track of all these news articles?"

Bruce groans. He doesn't want to think about them.

"They're pretty wild," Roy adds. "You've got people photoshopping the cowl onto his head and everything, only the beard makes it look weird, so you've got beardless edits..."

Bruce buries his face in his hands and lets out another groan.

"Stop tormenting him," Jason says. "Wait till things get really bad, and then torture him with those."

Bruce scowls at Jason and goes to find everyone else.

He finds Slade out back, looking out over the estate, and when he steps up to him, Slade nods towards the graveyard.

Oh. Damian's there, barely visible from the house, sitting down in front of the trio of graves of his mother's side.

"How long has he been out here?" Bruce asks.

"Not too long," Slade says. "I just wanted to keep an eye on him."

"Of course," Bruce says. "Thank you. Clark's still coming tonight."

"Mmm," Slade says. "Maybe it's not the best time, but I did want to..." He trails off, and Bruce looks up at him, eyebrows furrowing.

"Yes?"

"Mm," Slade says again. "Wanted to ask you about Talia. I feel like I've talked a lot about myself, but don't know much about your relationships."

"Most of them don't even count," Bruce says. "Growing up everyone told me I had to be careful around women. That they'd be after my money. Alfred said that was silly, but Alfred was just one voice compared to literally everyone else. There was always someone throwing themselves at me. Someone pretty and..."

Bruce frowns.

"It feels wrong to call them empty headed, because they weren't. But that was how I saw them back then. That the only thing they cared about was my money and status. That none of them were really interested in me."

It was a lonely, awful time. He tries not to think about it too much. He's past that. They're all past that. He doesn't feel the need for a woman on his arm at a charity gala, or to bring someone home just so that no one asks questions.

"Except Talia," Slade says.

"Except Talia," Bruce confirms. "She was... she was very different."

Bruce stares out at the grounds for a moment, and then realizes Slade is staring at him. He clears his throat, deciding that Slade probably deserves more explanation.

"It was when I was just starting out as Batman. I didn't have much or a routine at that point, and before I met Dick. At that point I was still leaving Gotham semi-regularly. I was pursuing training with different masters. I agreed to help one of them protect an artifact, and when I got there I found Talia being attacked by strange men who claimed to be from the Society of Shadows. I fended them off, but ended up poisoned. When I woke, it had been days, and Talia had nursed me back to health."

He can see the questions forming on Slade's lips, but he bites them back, letting Bruce continue his story uninterrupted.

"I was... excited to have someone know my secret. I met her father and the league. They told me the stories that I'm sure you've heard. That the League wanted a better world. They gave me a place where I could walk freely without having to hide my identity, and accepted me as one of their own. They gave me training, and treated me..." He frowns a bit, second guessing himself.

"Not one of their own," he corrects. "Better than one of their own. As one of their family, like I was an al Ghul. Ra's lavished me with so much praise I became suspicious before long. He... came on too strongly. Moved too fast. I realized his idea of a better world meant genocide, and told him I'd have no part of it. I realized that he'd arranged the attack on Talia just to draw us together. And when I refused him, she told me her feelings were true and out of respect for that, he let me leave."

There's something in Slade's posture that throws him off. He seems stiff, almost wary, and Bruce raises an eyebrow.

"You... have thoughts?" Bruce says, almost wary.

Slade clears his throat.

"How long was this? Like, you said back before you met Dick, but..."

Bruce runs back through the order of events. The year after he met Slade. Probably around the time he was escaping from Waller.

"August," Bruce says after a fair amount of consideration.

Slade makes a noise that Bruce can't decipher, and Bruce squints at him.

"Did you meet her again?" Slade says. "After that. Before what happened in Arkham City."

Before she died, in other words.

"Once," Bruce admits. "I saw her at a conference in Metropolis the year before. She told me she was leaving her father behind, and I was... I was happy for her. She seemed eager to start a new life, but only on the condition I would kill Ra's."

"Which you wouldn't," Slade says.

"No," he admits. "When I denied her, she sent her men to attack me and left."

Slade clears his throat, and Bruce squints at him. There's anxiety building in his chest, and he tries not to let it bother him.

"Slade," Bruce says. "Just say it. It's killing you to not say it."

"Bruce," Slade says, "I mean this in the nicest possible way, but have you thought about the... the timeline of your love affair with Talia?"

Bruce hasn't really. He tries not to think about her too much, because even years later the pain of her death still hurt. Finding out about Damian was icing on the cake, a level of betrayal he wasn't prepared for.

"What about it?" He finally asks, preferring to have Slade just say it rather than having to dig around in memories he didn't want to dig around.

"I was under the impression that you spent... months with her. Years. Not... what, a month? A month and then one night at a conference?"

It's not even that long. He wasn't even gone for the whole of August. But thinking about it makes his face burn, and he turns his head away.

Stupid. Slade's pointed it out and now he's second guessing everything, trying to go back over what he remembers. Talia said she was willing to leave her father for him if he killed Ra's. But the first thing she'd done was go back to him.

How much of it was even real? How much of it wasn't just Ra's' machinations, twisting things around?

The more he thinks about it, the worse it gets. He thinks about what happened in Arkham City. He thinks about one of the only times that Alfred ever refused him. About him choosing Talia over stopping the destruction of Arkham City.

Stupid. He grinds his teeth, spiraling downward, and only falters when Slade touches his arm.

"Bruce," Slade says. "She cared about you."

Slade can't know that. If they ever met at all, it was only in passing. But it's still what he needs to hear, and he feels a bit of the tension easing away. Even if it's not true--even if he has no way of knowing--he has to let himself believe that at least some of it was real. That she cared, even if she didn't care enough to truly leave her father behind.

"I shouldn't have asked," Slade says quietly. "I was just curious. You're... a bit of an enigma at times."

Bruce isn't used to talking about himself, and he bobs his head just once, a confirmation. It's easier when people ask. Even if sometimes it hurts.

Chapter Text

Bruce is happy to see the Kent's pull up to the gate. It means a distraction from the increasing number of Slade Wilson is Batman! speculation that he's really not ready to deal with right then. It would be absolutely ridiculous for him to comment on it any more than he already has. He's already addressed it, even in an offhand manner.

It's stopped the news, but he hasn't dissuaded the internet at all.

"Bruce!" Clark says as the whole family piles out of the car, with Jon's feet seeming to be suspiciously not quite touching the ground as he darts up the steps to Damian. Damian's face lights up in a way he normally tries to hide when Jon practically tackles him, and the two dart down the hall towards Damian's room.

"Jon!" Clark calls after him. "At least -"

He glances towards Roy, who's standing to the side awkwardly, and then scowls, preparing to go lecture Jon when Bruce catches his arm. He keeps his voice low, quiet enough that probably only Clark and Slade can hear him.

"Damian's had a rough day," he says, and that's enough for Clark to turn away, leaving Jon to play rather than hauling him back for an introduction.

He turns his attention at last to Roy, and Lois looks him over expectantly.

"I was picturing black hair, I have to admit," Lois says, and Slade laughs at that.

"So you're..." Clark pauses, looking him over. "One of Dicks?"

Roy looks confused.

"No," Bruce says. "He's from Star City."

"Star City?" Clark asks, glancing over his shoulder. "Wait, is he one of the archers over there?"

"That'd be me," Roy says. "I was the red one. I go by Arsenal now." He sticks his hand out, and Clark gives him a nice firm handshake. "You're Superman?"

"Please," Clark says, sounding almost pained. "Clark is fine. Every time someone calls me Superman I die a bit inside. It sounds very..."

"Pretentious?" Roy offers without an ounce of shame.

Clark winces, but doesn't disagree.

"He's not a big fan of the name," Lois says, offering her hand. "No fancy name for me. Just Lois. Our son--the flying one--is Jon."

"Roy," he says. "I'm just visiting for the big... Justice League meeting thing. And seeing Gotham while I'm at it."

"Come visit Metropolis sometime," Clark says. "Much better architecture. Less grim."

He winks at Bruce, who rolls his eyes.

Alfred ushers them out of the hallway and into the living room while he finishes up dinner, and they settle in to talk. Clark seems particularly interested in life in Star City, and ends up pulling the entire story of how he ended up in Gotham out of him in short order. It reminds Bruce that Clark is a reporter, something that occasionally slips his mind.

Really, Bruce is just waiting for one of them to bring it up, and Lois finally does over dinner, looking over at Slade with a mischievous grin.

"So," she says. "How does it feel being Batman?"

"Plenty of perks," Slade says without missing a beat. "But the boss keeps wanting me to shave the beard so I can put the cowl back on."

"I'm not sure I'd recognize you without it," Jason says.

Damian squints at Slade, obviously attempting to imagine him clean shaven, and then wrinkles his nose.

"Are you going to... deal with that?" Lois finally asks.

"Can't," Bruce says. "If I give it too much attention it makes it look legitimate. Better to ignore it and let it die out."

"How many people do we have for the meeting now?" Clark asks, swapping subjects.

"From what Diana said?" Bruce says. "Nine, counting the four of us."

"So Diana..." Clark's clearly counting it down. "Probably the one in Central City. Who else?"

Bruce offers a shrug, glancing to Slade.

"Heard rumors about weird stuff down in Australia along the coast," Slade says. "But no idea beyond that. Depends on if they're looking into pulling people from outside of the states."

"I doubt it," Jason says. "I'm waiting to hear about what really weird shit shows up at the meeting."

"Language," Alfred says between bites.

"Weird?" Clark asks.

"I mean," Jason says, looking at him. "You're an alien. And we know about you, but what're the odds you're the only alien? And Wonder Woman's an amazon, so who knows what kind of stuff there is out there."

The table goes silent as everyone spends a bit trying to think of what might be out there.

"I bet Grays are real," Roy says. "Just wait."

"You mean the movie aliens?" Clark says. "I always thought they were funny."

"Probably better not to speculate," Bruce says. "We'll meet them before long. I'm sure most of them are ordinary enough."

He doesn't actually believe that. Not really.

"For the record," Bruce says to Roy. "The two of us are the only total humans of the pack."

"Wait," Roy says, looking mystified. "Is he not?"

He jabs a finger towards Slade, who laughs.

"Oh god no," he says. "Not even close."

Bruce rifles back through what he's seen and realizes that as far as Roy knows, Slade is an ordinary human. Roy wasn't around to see him digging the graves, and he didn't do anything particularly spectacular in front of him.

"Alright," Slade says, standing up. "Now I've got to show off. Requests?"

"Fight my dad!" Jon announces.

"I want to show off," Slade says, "not get tossed around like a rag doll."

Bruce sighs, because it's obvious who it's going to be.

"Alright," Bruce says. "After dinner. Now sit down and finish."

Slade looks ridiculous smug as he sits back down.

"Okay," Roy says. "Prepare me for this. How crazy is this going to be?"

"Pretty crazy," Jason says. "Even if Bruce is getting old."

Bruce rolls his eyes.

"I don't go on patrol much anymore," Bruce says. "But I still work out regularly, and still train with everyone. I'm a bit rusty, but I can at least give Slade a fight."

"I am looking forward to this, father," Damian says, and Bruce realizes that more or less none of them have seen him in a real fight with Slade.

All of a sudden he's not looking forward to it much at all.

Chapter Text

Bruce has a sneaking suspicion he's going to embarrass himself as he warms up. Slade's at the top of his game, literally unable to not be on top of his game. He goes on patrol regularly, and Bruce hasn't had an actual real fight in months, exempting the Night of the Owls.

"No weapons? Weapons?" Slade asks, stretching out. The cave feel absolutely packed, with everyone having piled in, lining the wall to watch just outside the sparring zone. "We doing this in suits?"

"No suits," Bruce says. "This is supposed to be about you showing off, and the suit hides that."

Too easy to think it's augmented strength from the suit, rather than just Slade being ridiculous. But it also takes away some of his advantage. Without the armor of his suit, he's not going to hold up to real blows.

He's second guessing himself already. He's about to get his ass handed to him in front of an audience.

"Alright Bruce," Slade says, stripped down to sweat pants and a tank top. "Show me what you've got."

His grin looks absolutely predatory, and Bruce is really second guessing his decision making process.

Bruce's outfit matches Slade's own, and he has a feeling that it's going to end up bloody before the night is out.

No pressure, Bruce reminds himself. Just a friendly spar.

Which goes out the window the moment Slade lunges at him. He's fast, faster than any human should be, and he swings hard. Bruce drops, kicking Slade's ankle as he does.

Slade feels infinitely more dangerous without the armor between them. The armor felt like an equalizer, and without it, Bruce is faced with the fact that Slade could crush his bones with one well placed strike. Sparring is different, and Slade's moving a lot faster--and swinging a lot harder--than he does when he spars with the boys.

Slade lets Bruce's kick connect, using it to give him momentum going downward. Bruce rolls, getting out of the way, and flips himself back up onto his feet as fast as he can.

Slade tackles him before he can even get to his feet, knocking his breath out of him, and Bruce goes down. With anyone else, he'd pull them into a choke, but Slade can hold his breath for too long for that to be effective, and cutting off circulation is too precise for him to pull off in their position.

Which means that Bruce ends up on his back, with Slade pinning him, and no serious options.

He grunts and taps out before he can embarrass himself.

"Holy shit," Roy says. "He's fast."

"Yeah," Jason says. "But now it just looks like Bruce is just -"

"Master Jason," Alfred says. "I think you've tormented your father quite enough."

"Alright," Roy says. "I've got to try this."

Roy rolls up, no bow, ready to give it a try.

He lasts one blow, and Bruce knows Slade's holding back. Slade just lays him out, and Roy is left wheezing on the floor, staring up at the ceiling of the cave.

"How the hell are you so fast?" He asks as Slade helps him up off the floor.

"Secret experiment," Slade says. "You should see how fast I heal."

"I want to try," Damian says.

Embarrassingly (for Roy, anyway), Damian does a bit better. He jumps, dodging the first blow before Slade's hand darts out, catching Damian by the ankle and dangling him before he can hit the ground too hard.

Damian huffs.

"Try me!" Jon says, and Lois grabs his arm.

"Oh no," Lois says. "Absolutely not."

"Dad?" Jon asks.

Clark waves his hands. "I'm out," he says. "Not much of a... sparring person. A small mistake and someone ends up seriously hurt."

"Bruce," Slade says, looking absolutely no worse for the wear. "Pull on the suit and lets go again."

Bruce with a suit and Slade without is a more even match up, and Bruce sighs as he heads to the tube, pulling out his armor and starting to snap it all into place. Roy's rubbing absentmindedly at where Slade hit him, and Bruce suspects he's going to have a big bruise in the morning to remember the fight by.

Bruce even puts the cowl on, just in case he wants to headbut Slade in the face. He's sure it looks ridiculous with Slade in sweatpants and him fully geared up, but he's sure as hell not letting Slade bring out a gun.

The second fight lasts a lot longer than the first. It's also a hell of a lot bloodier. The bladed fins of his gauntlets cut into Slade's forearms any time he blocks, but Slade barely seems to react to what should be a pretty excruciating pain. Slade headbutts him in response, and Bruce jerks back to minimize the damage, his head still ringing from the blow. Slade spins, aiming a kick to Bruce's torso--stupid, or maybe intentional, because he knows that's where the suit is most heavily armored--and Bruce simply takes it, bringing his elbow down on the lower half of Slade's leg. Anyone else would probably have their tibia snap, but Slade's made of tougher stuff, letting the momentum of the blow knock his leg down. He lunges, almost an exact mirror to how their last match ended, only this time Bruce is ready.

Slade's shoulder should catch him in the stomach. It should knock him to the ground and let Slade pin him.

But Bruce jumps instead. Slade's over extended himself, cocky from his wins, and Bruce punishes him for it. Slade stumbles forward, target missed, and Bruce lands hard on the edge of Slade's shoulder with a crack that can't be healthy. Anyone else would be howling, but all he gets from Slade is a grunt, his left arm useless.

Slade goes down hard but doesn't stay down for a moment, rolling--which has to hurt even more--to his feet in one smooth movement.

Bruce pushes his advantage immediately, stepping in to stomp Slade's instep--a mistake, because he's not going to falter and fall the way others will--and Slade steps forward at the same time, clotheslining Bruce.

But Bruce is ready. He's done this before only once in training, and never with Slade, but there's no better time than right then.

So he lets Slade sweep him off his feet with the force of the blow, pushing off with his feet as his arms latch onto Slade's one good arm. The momentum of the hit spins him, his feet going up and over his head, and all his momentum is turned right back against Slade as he twists Slade's arm with another crack as Bruce lands on his feet with only a slight stumble.

It's not the flip, but it's a flip, and Slade's got both arms out of commission, effectively ending the fight.

Slade looks like he's strongly considering finding a way to just throw Bruce over his shoulder to take him upstairs, but Bruce needs a second. He's exhausted, reaching up to peel off the helmet, soaked in sweat from what wasn't more than two minutes of fighting.

Maybe he is getting old.

"Holy shit!" Roy announces, and Lois makes a completely pointless attempt to cover Jon's ears at the language.

"That was exhausting," Bruce says. "And now I need a shower."

"That was quite the show," Clark says. "And quite a way to end the night. We need to be getting back to Metropolis, though."

"It was good having you," Bruce says.

"And good meeting you," Roy adds.

"Why don't I see you out," Alfred says. "I imagine Master Bruce would enjoy a shower after that workout."

He absolutely wants a shower.

He somehow doubts he's going to get one, because Slade is giving him a look.

Alfred, Roy, and the Kents head up the stairs to see them off, and Jason rests his hands on Damian's shoulders, scooting him up the stairs after them.

"Alright kiddo," Jason says. "Let's go see Jon off."

He shoots Bruce a I-hope-you-appreciate-this look and tows Damian upstairs, leaving Bruce alone with Slade in the cave.

Chapter Text

It feels strange to realize that only a few years ago, the look Slade's giving him would have been enough to make him run for the hills. It's a hungry look, one that promises all sorts of wicked things, and even with all the history between them, it takes a concentrated bit of self control to keep from retreating when Slade advances on him.

"I can't believe you flipped me," Slade says. His one arm's already healed, and he stretches it out as he advances. Bruce can't help himself, falling back out of pure instinct until the back of his leg hits one of the storage racks in the cave.

There's nowhere to go, and he goes still as Slade leans in, burying his face into Bruce's shoulder as one arm wraps around his lower back, pulling him closer.

"You have no idea what that does to me," Slade adds, and he's dead wrong because Bruce can feel what it did to him. He feels like there's an iron rod pressed up against his hip, making it extremely clear just how Slade feels about things.

"Slade," Bruce says, his own voice catching in his throat. "I need to shower." Because god, he's soaked in sweat and now he's thinking about things and he's trying very hard not to think about anything at all.

Slade reaches down and literally scoops him off his feet, one arm under his back and the other under his legs. It's strain he probably shouldn't be putting on a freshly healed bones, but any additional damage he does will just end up healed anyway, so he tries not to pay it any attention as he latches onto Slade's neck for stability.

Slade is barely any bigger than him, but he makes carrying Bruce look easy as he simply hauls him into the showers, closing the door behind them.

It's supposed to be a communal shower. It's large enough for several people, and Slade takes full advantage of that space, setting him down on the bench in the middle.

Bruce isn't really used to being manhandled like that. To being just picked up like he weighs nothing and carried around like he's no more difficult to carry than a bag of groceries. Slade doesn't do it often, and most of the time when Slade does he's too injured and out of it to really notice, so when he does it right then--so casually--it's all he can think about.

"Bruce," Slade says, and his voice sounds breathy, catching in his throat. "I said I'd wait for you to ask but please."

Bruce isn't even sure what he's asking for. But a part of him--a part he didn't even know existed until recently--wants the same thing.

"Yes," Bruce says, and he doesn't even know what he's agreeing to, but Slade obviously does.

Slade drops down to his knees in front of Bruce and that makes Bruce's breath catch in his throat because Slade is just there, on his knees, sliding up to him. There's something desperate in the way Slade moves as he leans forward, pulling at the waistband of Bruce's sweatpants to hike them down as fast as he can.

"Slade," Bruce chokes out when Slade surges forward, mouthing across Bruce's still-mostly-clothed crotch, leaving a messy wet spot and a feeling of intense warmth. That gets Bruce to attention, because it's hard to ignore something like that, something so sloppy and intense and almost painfully desperate.

Because it is desperate. Slade's working his mouth--hot and wet--across Bruce's growing erection like it's the only source of water in the desert. Like if he doesn't get his mouth on it he's going to goddamn die.

He pulls off after a moment, nostrils flaring, and his eye flicks up to meet Bruce's own.

"Bruce," he says. "Whatever you want to do, just do it. You want to grab my hair? Go for it. You want to fuck down my throat? Do it.  I can hold my breath."

Bruce makes a noise he didn't know he could make, something just above a whine, because Slade is on his knees and he just said fuck down my throat and Bruce's brain is no longer operating like it should as Slade reaches down, jerking Bruce's pants finally out of the way.

Bruce's brain is absolutely no longer working, because the sight of it--of Slade just licking a stripe up the side of his cock--has killed him. Of Slade on his knees, pupils blown, sucking the head into his mouth.

It is not the first blowjob Bruce has gotten. It's not even the first good blowjob. But there's something undeniably different about the fact that it's from Slade. It's impossible to forget, visible in every single thing he does. The way his beard drags across Bruce's skin. The way he swallows Bruce all the way down to the base way too early and just inhales. The feel of his hands--always big but feeling particularly giant--resting on Bruce's thighs.

Slade can't possibly be breathing because he's swallowed Bruce completely but Bruce is pretty sure he's the one not getting enough oxygen because he keeps forgetting that he actually needs to breathe.

Bruce doesn't mean to touch Slade's head. He's trying to keep his hands to himself, let Slade set his own pace. He's doing what he can to keep himself under control, to keep himself still, and when Slade drags the flat of his tongue along the head Bruce chokes, his hand darting up to cover his own mouth before he makes a noise that people in the fucking house are going to hear.

Slade doesn't let him. Slade catches his wrist, pulling his hand down, and Bruce whines.

He doesn't understand how Slade can be so good at what he's doing. He doesn't understand how he can be doing the things he's doing and making the noises he's making and making it look so good. Slade's mouth making a pop as he releases Bruce's dick shouldn't be half as erotic as it is, but the sight of it makes Bruce's mouth water.

His fingers end up tangled in Slade's hair anyway, tugging Slade forward because Bruce needs every single thing he can get and he feels like he's going to die if he doesn't get it right then.

He doesn't last very long. He knows that sex isn't like porn and people don't just last hours, but it feels like Slade's barely been working him at all and his toes are already curling, his entire body hunching forward as he pants.

"Slade," he says entirely pointlessly, because there's no way Slade could miss all the signs he's giving off.

Slade pulls away and Bruce feels like he's going to scream. If Slade stops he's going to go absolutely nuts because he's so, so so close and all he wants right then is to finish and he's so close, and-

Slade doesn't pull all the way off. He pulls back to the very tip and sucks, and his hand comes up to stroke Bruce and that's all he needs, tipping right over the edge.

Bruce is not coherent for the next few moments. He can't process anything other than Slade. Slade's mouth, Slade's tongue, Slade's hands on his thighs. He paints Slade's tongue white and Slade loves it, and he sits there, mouth messy, until Bruce blinks down at him slowly and Slade finally pulls back, closing his mouth and swallowing it all down.

Bruce groans.

It's not fair. It's not far that Slade can look like that.

"Slade," Bruce says again, like it's the only word he can remember.

Slade leans in and kisses at his thighs and Bruce at least has the awareness to recognize that there's another noise, and Slade's hand is down between his own legs, and-

"Slade," Bruce says. "Let me-"

"I got it," Slade says. "I've got it. You rest. You did great."

He kisses Bruce's thigh again and Bruce doesn't even have the time to protest--because god he wants to help--before Slade shudders, leaning forward to press his forehead against Bruce and letting out a groan.

Bruce feels like he doesn't even have legs anymore. He hasn't even showered and he's not sure his legs are even going to work because Slade is right there.

"You were so good," Slade says a few minutes later, leaning up to press a kiss to Bruce's lips. Bruce is wondering how the hell he's still managing to sit up, but he does a bit better when Slade helps him up, pulling him under the hot spray of a shower. 

Bruce buries his face in Slade's shoulder and just lets himself enjoy the feeling of it.

Chapter Text

Bruce barely remembers getting up the stairs that evening. Mostly, he remembers waking up in the night, curled against Slade and realizing he's distinctly underdressed.

He can't bring himself to get out of bed, so he settles for curling closer to Slade and letting himself go back to sleep.

He wakes to someone pounding on his bedroom door, and he doesn't have time to wonder who it is before he hears Jason yelling.

"You better be goddamn covered!" He yells.

Bruce squints at the nightstand, wondering how it got so bright without his alarm going off, but his phone dock is empty, his phone misplaced somewhere. Slade grumbles beside him, stretching out in place.

"We're under the covers, at least," Slade says, and Jason pops the door open.

He averts his eyes rather pointedly, heading over and holding out a phone for Bruce to take. Bruce suspects it's going to be bad, and he's proven exactly right when Michael's on the other end.

"Boss?" He says, which means it's bat business, because in any other situation his boss would be Jason.

Jason might be Batman, but there's still a tendency to look to Bruce when it comes to big things.

"I'm here," Bruce says. "What's happening?"

"I got a call at work from a newspaper, asking for a statement for a story they're running today."

That's bad.

"Which paper?"

Which paper is calling matters more than the story they're running. A gossip rag running with perfect info is going to be less notable than a legitimate paper running with some minor detail.

"Gotham Inquirer," Michael says.

That's bad. The Inquirer has one of the shitter reputations, publishing whatever they can get their hands on, which means they've either got really convincing evidence, or they're dead on.

"What?"

"They're running a story that Jason's the second Batman."

Bruce's breath catches in his throat, and it takes him a moment to catch himself. No. This isn't life or death. This isn't the end of the world. This is one shitty paper.

"On what evidence?"

"They wouldn't say," Michael says. "They just wanted a statement. What do I say? They're running the story at ten."

Bruce squints at the phone--it's just after eight--and then presses it to his ear again.

"I trust your lead on this," Bruce says. "You kept your own secrets for years, and I trust you to keep this one too. Whatever I tell you is just going to come off as stilted, so just... respond as Michael Lane."

Michael's been Jason's second in command at Wayne Outreach for years, and he knows how to handle it. He's ready for this.

"Alright," Michael says, voice wavering for a moment. "I'll let you know if I hear anything else."

Bruce hands the phone back to Jason and buries his face in his pillow.

He had a really nice night and now he's going to have to get himself out of bed and deal with this mess.

Jason leaves at a genuinely impressive speed, slamming the door behind himself, and Bruce rolls out of bed, heading for the shower. A proper shower this time.

"Mmm," Slade mumbles from the bed. "Guess that means my plans are out the window."

Bruce suspects Slade's plans would have involved staying in bed a lot longer.

"Afraid so," he says. "Work to get done."

The rest of the morning is a frantic hop from point to point. He has Barbara dig up information on whoever keeps writing the articles. They don't seem to be connected to anything dangerous, and there's not much Bruce can do to prevent them from publishing without making it very obvious that it's true. All he can do is file the information away from later, and he considers consulting Clark on the matter while he's at it.

Clark might have ideas, but he is a journalist, and he might not be willing to share them.

The news article is better than he expected. It does claim that Jason is Batman, but the evidence is on the nonexistent side of the spectrum. The only actual pieces of evidence presented are that A) Jason has been gone for around the same period of time that Batman has, implying that his injury is the same one that took out the second Batman, and B) that Jason's full name is Jason Wilson-Wayne, and that Slade Wilson is obviously the first Batman.

It's not exactly a terribly believable article, but Bruce doesn't like it existing anyway.

Michael was apparently "unavailable for comment" for the initial article, but his opinions show up that afternoon in a much different newspaper. That newspaper is more credible, and rather than focusing on the specific claims, it instead focuses on the increasing rise of Batman identification articles in the Gotham media. Without naming names, it mentions a recently published article, identifying one Jason Wilson-Wayne as a likely suspect for the second batman, and then has a quote from Michael that makes Bruce happy he had faith in him.

I saw an article this morning about my boss being Batman. And I have to say, if that were true? It would be amazing for Wayne Outreach. But Wayne Outreach isn't affiliated with Batman, even if our parent company might have connections, and the idea that Mr. Wilson-Wayne might be him is unfortunately untrue. I spent the morning of the attack with Mr. Wilson-Wayne, and he was in perfect health. If he was Batman, he'd already be healed up.

A second article--one that makes Slade absolutely howl with laughter--shows up online during dinner.

Local woman denies recent Batman claims, the headline reads when Slade prints it out, planting it directly on the kitchen table. The article runs with a picture of an older woman that Bruce recognizes, holding in her hands what is undeniably an actual batarang.

Gertrude Hill can claim a rare distinction among Gothamites: Not only does she know who Batman is, she saved his life. Mrs. Hill was one of three members of the public who came to Batman's aid the day before the Night of the Owls, saving his life from one of the creatures the police identifies as Talons. 

"He was a sweetheart," Mrs. Hill said in a statement earlier today. "An absolute dear. What happened to him shouldn't have happened, and I was just happy he made it out okay. I'm not sure Batman's ever going to come back after what happened to him, but I don't like all this talk about trying to find out who he is. Mark my words, that boys still in a hospital bed somewhere, not up and walking around."

Mrs. Hill's claims of having rescued Batman might seem outlandish, but her story was verified by multiple people, both on and off the record, around Gotham General Hospital.

One surgical assistant was willing to confirm both that they treated Batman, and that Mrs. Hill was one of the civilians to bring him in on the condition that they not be named for this article.

"No matter what anyone says," Mrs. Hill added, "I know that all these stories are just bothering people who don't need bothering. I'm sure that Wayne boy is a fine young man, but he's not half as attractive as the real Batman. The real Batman looks like a supermodel, I'm telling you!"

Slade absolutely howls with laughter, and Jason buries his face in his hands.

As hilarious as more or less everyone seems to think the article is, Gotham finds it that much funnier. The idea that Batman is supermodel gorgeous spreads like wildfire, killing off the original Gotham Inquirer report before it can gain any real traction. The only real result it gets is the following day, when the Gotham Gazette runs an article about the statement by Mrs. Hill, leading to speculation that the Batman might have retired entirely.

Bruce isn't sure about that. They haven't talked much--or at all, really--about what's going to happen when Jason gets better. If Jason just hops back into it, there's no doubt it'll lead to speculation.

"Maybe," Jason says just after lunch the following day, "Batman can just be a sometimes thing."

Slade looks up from his phone, and Bruce glances over as well. Even Roy looks up from his notebook, where he's busy sketching out something that looks a lot like an alternate costume design.

"A sometimes thing," Bruce repeats.

"Gotham needed Batman when you started," Jason says. "Really, really badly. But now... maybe Gotham doesn't. Or not so much. So maybe Batman stops being a day to day thing, and only comes out when he's really needed. When there's some big thing happening. Not for day to day stuff."

Bruce chews on the idea for a while.

"I'm not sure if I get a say," Roy says, "but I think what Jason's saying sounds about right. When people think about Batman, they're thinking about him fighting people like Killer Croc or the Penguin or Black Mask."

"So Batman doesn't retire," Jason says. "But he only comes out when he's really needed. And I take... some new identity. Something else to be the rest of the time."

"If we can take out Black Mask," Damian adds, "then Batman can help with that."

Jason wrinkles his nose.

"Unless you're going to hold off on that, there's no way I can convincingly get in the suit."

"We can have Dick," Bruce says. "He'll pass as you at a distance long enough to keep the charade up. And then Batman will fade into the background again until he's needed."

Bruce lets his hand wander over, tentatively resting it on Jason's shoulder. It feels like he's giving up the mantle. Like he's abandoning being Batman. But it feels almost inevitable. Either someone's going to have to wear it long term in his place, or it's going to be too obvious when Jason Wilson-Wayne and Batman return to the public eye at the same time.

"I think it's a good compromise," Bruce says. "Because you're right. Gotham... probably doesn't need Batman there every night. The police are doing a lot better. They have more of a control of things. And the stuff that we're needed for feels a lot less often."

"Plus you'll have the league," Roy points out. "For the really big stuff."

"Means Lucius gets to design a new suit," Slade points out. "He's going to have plenty of fun with that."

"Have you come up with an idea for a name?" Damian asks, very obviously bursting with ideas.

"Not yet," Jason says. "I've got time to kill. I'll wait until the perfect thing comes to me."

"Hawk," Damian says. "Or Osprey. Or-"

"I'll wait," Jason repeats, rolling his eyes.

"The mantle's always there if you want to go back to it," Bruce says. "It's yours."

He wants to make that clear. He thinks it's important that it be clear, that Jason knows that it'll wait for him, even if Dick does end up using it temporarily to give them some cover.

Jason huffs, but Bruce catches the hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Chapter Text

Bruce sits in for patrol that night, letting Roy go out and experience an actual normal patrol for once. Jason heads to bed early, and Bruce spends most of the evening digging through Roman's tax records for some kind of hint as to where he's basing his operation out of.

Or for that matter what his operation is. He doesn't think Roman has it in him to go completely legitimate. The man has too many vices, and is all too eager to hurt people.

"B," comes Slade's voice through the private comm line, and Bruce swaps over to it.

"What's happening?"

"This is your heads up," Slade says. "But you didn't hear anything from me."

Bruce winces.

"What?"

"Shrike found a box of abandoned kittens," he says. "And we're convincing him to take them to a shelter. But I'm pretty sure he's going to just smuggle the smallest one home, because it's a runt and he's worried the shelter's going to put it down."

Oh no. A cat.

"Remind him that he already has a dog," Bruce points out.

"We have," Slade says. "Several times. And I've told him no. But if you hear something mewling in his room..."

Bruce sighs.

"Just tell him he can," he says. "If he's going to do it anyway, we might as well lay out some ground rules."

Bruce is waiting when the group returns to the cave. Slade wasn't kidding when he called the kitten a runt, because it's absolutely tiny, it's eyes not even open yet.

"Their mom died!" Damian wails, distressed in a way that's way too strong to be entirely believable. "And he's too small, the shelter won't-"

"Damian," Bruce interrupts. "It's fine. You don't have to convince me."

Damian falters, squinting up at him.

"...I don't, father?" He's toned back the theatrics, going from 'wailing over the loss of every good thing in his life' to 'mildly upset' in the blink of an eye.

"You don't," Bruce says.

Damian squints at him, and then turns to squint at Slade.

"You told," Damian says accusingly.

"Guilty," Slade says, throwing his hands up. "I wanted him to know so he had time to prepare."

Time to prepare mostly meant briefing Alfred, who arrives not long later with a warm bottle of milk and a blanket.

"You're going to need to take care of him," Bruce reminds Damian. "He's your responsibility."

Damian nods his head enthusiastically, and Bruce tries not to melt too obviously as he watches Damian very, very carefully feed the tiny kitten.

"Oh wait," Roy says. "Is that milk? Because you shouldn't feed normal milk-"

"You needn't worry," Alfred says. "Thanks to Mister Wilson's warning, I was able to go fetch proper supplies. A nursing cat would have been a better alternative, but I think we can make do with this."

Damian deposits the kitten with Bruce as he goes to change into his pajamas, and Bruce watches it wriggle around until it finally settles in, dozing in his lap. It's so small that Bruce is actually a bit taken aback, and he makes sure Damian's out of hearing range before he glances at Alfred.

"Is it... going to be fine?" He's worried Damian's going to bond with it, only to have it die because it's too sickly.

"We'll take it to the vet tomorrow," Alfred says. "I'm sure they'll be able to check them over, even on such short notice."

Damian returns, scooping the kitten right back up into his arms, and Bruce leans back in his chair. The kitten doesn't seem particularly interested in going anywhere, but does seem particularly interested in eating more than its tiny body should be able to hold, and the need for it to be fed every two hours means they need an actual schedule.

Bruce ends up waking up two hours early, hardly getting any sleep at all, so that Damian can actually get some sleep himself while Bruce takes over feeding the kitten.

Damian squints at him before he goes to bed.

"Father?" He asks, and Bruce nudges the kitten back into place.

"Yes?"

"Are you sharing a room with Mi- Slade?"

Bruce knew it was coming at some point, but he still feels like he's not actually ready for it. He doesn't like lying to his kids.

And a part of him feels like he shouldn't need to. This isn't something he needs to be ashamed of. He's not doing anything wrong. It's just his own instinctive desire to hide it. He's spent so long hiding everything about his life that it feels instinctive to try and do so again.

He doesn't need to hide it, he reminds himself.

"Yes," he says.

Damian stares at him, his eyes drifting down to the kitten.

"Is that... normal?" Damian asks.

Bruce isn't sure how to respond right away.

"That... would depend on your idea of normal, I guess," he says. "It is... common for people in relationships to share a bed or a room, yes."

Damian stares at him for a long moment, and then nods.

"Alright," he says. He turns as if to go, and then falters, doubling back and pulling out his phone, lifting it up. There's a click, and Bruce squints.

"...Did you just take a photo?"

"I promised Barbara and Timothy that I would send them a photo of you with the kitten."

Bruce sighs, but can't stop himself from smiling a bit.

"You should have a photo of yourself with them," Bruce points out. He stands, depositing the kitten into Damian's arms, and takes out his own phone to take a photo. It's a nice one. Damian's smiling--something he rarely does for photos--looking perfectly happy with the kitten in his arms.

"Have you thought of a name?" Bruce asks.

"I am still thinking, father," Damian says.

Bruce ushers him off to sleep and settles back into the chair with the kitten.

Alfred relieves him an hour later, swapping off feeding duties. Bruce crawls back into bed, desperate to get at least a bit more sleep.

Chapter Text

Damian dotes on the kitten from the moment he wakes. It's a good distraction, and a good lesson in responsibility. It gives him something to fill his time with, something that Bruce has always struggled with. Everyone else has doctors appointments or work, but Damian stands alone, without anything to do.

He's not ready for school. They've talked about it over and over, but in the end there's no school option that seems like a real choice. What he needs is socialization. People his own age, or at least close to it.

College--the level he probably should be at--isn't going to give him any of the things he needs.

It's a hard situation.

Slade, Alfred, and Damian leave just after breakfast to take the kitten to the vet. Bruce takes the tiny amount of time to himself to finish up his Christmas shopping online. Buying gifts is easier than he remembers it being, if only because he feels like he has a much better understanding of what everyone likes. It's less guesswork.

He gets something for Roy, just in case, but he's not sure how long he'll be staying once the meeting's over. He's talked a lot about things he's planning to do back in Star City, and Bruce suspects he's missing home after so long away.

But there's not long until that. He has a council meeting the next day, and then the League meeting only two days after that.

And even if he likes Roy, Bruce is sort of looking forward to having it be just family again.

He checks on Jason to make sure he's doing his exercises, but instead finds him settled in on the couch, working away at his laptop.

"Busy?" Bruce asks.

Jason doesn't look up.

"Was just looking at this... Gertrude Hill lady," Jason says. Bruce grabs a seat beside him, leaning over to find Jason looking at the original article.

"What about her?"

"I don't remember her, for one," Jason says. "Did she... is she actually...?"

"Yes," Bruce says, guessing what he means. "Her and two others finished off the Talon that was attacking you and helped you get to the hospital."

"We should do something for them," Jason says. "They saved my life."

Bruce had been thinking the same thing, but put the idea aside for a while. It's hard to think about doing anything without it potentially risking their identities. 

"I agree," Bruce says. "Maybe an... anonymous Christmas gift would get the idea across without too much risk."

"I'll think of something," Jason says. "Do you have their names?"

Bruce gives him all the information he gathered in the aftermath. Even if it probably wasn't necessary, that didn't stop him from looking into them, trying to weigh the odds they'd attempt to blackmail him or use that information against him.

"Mm," Jason says. "Paranoid."

Bruce doesn't just let Jason handle it. In the end they go through options, picking out something for each of them. Bruce arranges the for the whole thing to be sent anonymously, and arranges a little note to be included.

Thank you for everything you did for me.

There's a little bat symbol beneath it. Bruce likes it because it works on two levels--one from Jason, whose life was saved, and one from him, who didn't have to bury his son again.

Bruce can't stop himself from leaning down, kissing the top of Jason's head.

"You're affectionate today," Jason says. "Good mood?"

"Good mood," Bruce agrees. "Things have been busy, but it's... it's a good busy." No one's fighting. Jason's recovering.

"Bruce..." Jason falters for a moment, obviously steeling himself to ask something unpleasant, and Bruce braces himself.

"Should I ask Slade?"

Bruce clenches his jaw a bit.

"Ask what exactly?" The conversation's taken a sharp downturn at absolutely record speed.

"He's hiding something," Jason says. "He gets... nervous at times. Doesn't want to talk. Avoids certain subjects."

Bruce can guess why.

"I..." Bruce takes a deep breath. "It's a personal thing for him. And I'm not sure if he's ready to talk about it. But the worst that will happen is that he'll say he can't talk about it right now. So... I would say ask him. Ask him and tell him that it's bothering you."

Jason stares up at him and then finally nods.

"I'll ask," he says. "I think Roy was going to go out tonight, and then if you can keep Damian busy..."

Bruce nods.

"Damian will be busy with the kitten," Bruce says. "But I'll keep him occupied if you want some private time."

Jason lets out a sigh of obvious relief, sagging back into the couch.

"And," Bruce adds, "you're supposed to be doing your stretches."

Jason scowls.

"They hurt," he says. "And I already did them-"

"You should be doing them," Bruce chides. "And you've never let pain stop you before."

He doesn't think the pain's doing it. Jason's pain tolerance is sky high. It's something else, so Bruce does what he can to minimize it.

"Why don't I work through them with you? Maybe I can get some flexibility back."

Jason makes a face.

"You two are killing me with this... romance stuff."

Bruce rolls his eyes, but Jason's already climbing off the couch, settling into the first position as he starts to work through his stretches.

"Have you ever thought about it?" Bruce asks. "The romance stuff, I mean."

He feels a little bit guilty about asking at all, because a part of him is definitely feeling around to see if he can figure out which of the boys confided in Slade. It bothers him a little bit that they didn't talk to him. If it's Jason, though... then maybe that's a bit more understandable. But Dick? Damian?

No, it can't be Damian. He's too young, Bruce decides. And if he's being honest, Damian has to be farther behind the curve than Bruce himself is.

So it's either Jason or Dick, and his money's on Jason.

"It's not for me," Jason says. "I'm not..."

Bruce glances over at him, genuinely unclear on what he's not is supposed to lead into.

"Not what?"

Jason makes a face. He looks frustrated, even as he shifts into the next position, and Bruce is confident he's not enjoying the conversation. It's an unpleasant subject, apparently.

"Not... comfortable," he says. "You know what I look like under my shirt. I'm not... I'm unpleasant to look at."

Oh. Bruce takes a moment before answering, pulling his thoughts together. He doesn't want to speak too quickly. If he does, it'll just come off as disingenuous.

"I think," he says, picking his words with all the focus he'd use disarming a bomb, "that you're not nearly as bad as you think you are."

There's absolutely no point in trying to pretend like Jason doesn't look like a mess under his clothes. Years with the Joker were not kind to him, and in places he's more scar tissue than skin. But that isn't the point, so he tries to forge on.

"I think that if you found the right person," he continues, "that they'd like you either way. That they'd... not mind at all."

He thinks of Slade, and Jason elbows him.

"Stop thinking of Slade," he says. "Your face went all red."

"It's relevant," Bruce protests. "I had all sorts of reasons why I'd never end up in an actual relationship, and Slade blew past all of them like they didn't even exist."

"Really?" Jason asks, squinting. "You seemed very... together when I first lived here. Like you knew how it all worked."

"I knew how it was supposed to look. I didn't know how it was actually supposed to go. So I went through the motions because it would keep anyone from looking too closely at me."

"Mmm," Jason says. "I should have seen that coming. Did you even figure out if you're gay yet?"

Bruce should have seen that coming.

"I am... attracted to Slade," Bruce says. "So... something like that. Bisexual?" He's still not clear on the differences. Putting a name to it feels wrong, like he's signing a contract to something he's still trying to wrap his head around.

"Bisexual," Jason says. "Mm."

Bruce squints at him, unsure of how he's supposed to take it. What's he supposed to get from that? Jason's not exactly giving him a lot to go on.

"And...?" Bruce says.

Jason glances at him.

"And what?"

"You're really not giving me anything to work with," Bruce says. "I don't really... know all that much about that side of you. If you ever dated, or-"

Jason laughs.

"Bruce," he says. "Be serious. When would I have dated someone?"

"Recently," Bruce points out. "You've had time since you took up the mantle. You could have dated someone then."

"No," Jason says. "I didn't want to. I... don't know if I want to. Maybe one day, if I find the right person."

Bruce smiles at him, letting himself exhale. It's alright. Everything is going to be just fine.

"You will," Bruce says. "One day. And until then, you have plenty of people who are more than happy to have you around."

His family. His friends.  His work.

The whole of Gotham, really.

Bruce leans over, pressing a kiss to the top of Jason's head, and Jason swats him away, his face going red.

"I swear," he says. "You're getting all mushy in your old age."

Chapter Text

Damian, Slade, and Alfred get back from the vet just before lunch. Roy heads out almost immediately, swearing he has to meet a friend in Metropolis as he borrows a car. Bruce suspects he just wants to get out of the house by himself a bit, and lets him go.

"Healthy?" Bruce asks Alfred quietly, but he's sure the answer is yes because Damian is currently attempting to safely introduce the tiny kitten to Titus.

"The new kitten is perfectly healthy," Alfred said. "And a girl. Thankfully I was able to dissuade Master Damian's naming sensibilities."

Oh no.

"What was he going to go with?"

"He was deeply torn between Chiroptera and Miyotis."

Bat and also bat, in other words.

"What did we go with?"

"I recommended a more Titus-esque name, and since she's a nice golden-blond color, Master Damian settled on Portia."

"From the Merchant of Venice?" Jason asks, whistling to himself. "He's got taste, for sure. At least this one's less violent."

Bruce watches Damian scoot Titus away from the kitten and go back to feeding them.

When he looks up, Jason's got a look in his eye, and Bruce moves forward, settling in beside Damian to keep an eye on him. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Jason and Slade drift off to go talk.

"She's so small," Damian says quietly, and Bruce smiles to himself.

"She is, yes," he says. "So you're going to need to be really careful. To make sure she's taken care of."

Damian's look is one of intense focus as he cradles the kitten in his lap.

"I will, father," he says with the tone of someone swearing a blood oath.

Bruce stays with Damian and the kitten as Alfred apologizes for a late lunch. He's not sure if Jason asked Alfred to put it off, or if Alfred, always more aware than everyone else about happenings in the house, simply sensed that was needed.

Jason and Slade come back almost an hour later, and lunch is mysteriously ready almost immediately.

Both look relatively serious, although Bruce suspects that they're both making a point of hiding their reaction. Damian is too distracted by Portia to notice, constantly having to make sure that Titus doesn't get too curious.

"Why don't we set up their bed?" Jason says just after lunch. "And show Portia the toys you got her."

Damian's face lights up, and he deposits the kitten into Jason's arms to go pick up the supplies they stocked up on.

Bruce takes the opportunity to nudge Slade away, hoping to get him somewhere private.

"How did it go?" Bruce asks, immediately nervous. He knows it should be okay. He knows Jason can handle it. But putting them both put on brave faces is unpleasant.

"He was caught off guard," Slade says. "He just... needs a bit of time to adjust."

Bruce nods, leaning over against Slade's side. He's used to Slade being his emotional support, and seeing Slade so shaken throws him off. He rubs his hand up Slade's back, letting Slade relax into it with a sigh.

"I should tell the other kids," Slade says. "The last thing I want is them finding out from someone else, or by accident. And eventually it's going to come out. This kind of thing always does."

Bruce can't disagree. One day, they'll find out. He doesn't think Tim or Dick would be as affected by it as Jason would, but Damian... Damian might.

"If you need anything," Bruce says. "Let me know, alright?"

"A bottle of whiskey before I have to call the boys," Slade mutters under his breath. "But I shouldn't."

Slade doesn't tell Damian next. He tells Alfred, who takes it with a level of grace and lack of surprise that seems typical for him. Alfred knowing makes it easier, because when Slade tells Damian he takes it poorly, and Bruce has to track him back to his room, where he sits on the bed with his kitten.

He looks young, and Bruce settles in beside him, scooping Portia into his arms.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce says. Damian doesn't answer straight away, scowling down at his hands.

"She hurt Jason," he says. "I don't want her to come here."

Bruce falters. He wasn't in the room for Slade telling him, but he wonders how Damian jumped to that.

"She isn't," Bruce says.

"But she's family," Damian protests. "Slades family is our family, and-"

"Damian," Bruce says. "She's not coming to live with us."

Damian scowls at him.

"She should," he says. "Even if she hurt Jason, she's always been alone, and she just wanted... she was alone. She shouldn't be alone."

Bruce wraps his free arm around Damian's shoulder, pulling him closer.

"You have a big heart," Bruce says. "And maybe one day we can go visit. But she hurt a lot of people, including your brother, and even if what happened to her was awful, that doesn't change the things she did. She could have come to us. She could have talked it out. And instead she lashed out."

Damian's opinion seems to be all over the place. He seems to hate her for hurting Jason, and hate her for what she did to Gotham, but his pity towards her situation is obvious. Bruce suspects it's empathy--that he knows better than almost anyone to know what it's like to be alone and isolated, tricked into believing things that aren't true.

"Right now," Bruce says. "I think the people who need your support the most are Jason and Slade. They're both really upset by this. So why don't-"

"I'll show Slade Portia again," Damian says. "And... and tell him that it's okay. I think he was worried I'd be angry with him."

"I think he was too," Bruce says. "And I think he'd like to see Portia again. He might be calling Tim and Dick, but if you're quiet I'm sure he'd be alright with you sitting with him while he calls."

He's almost entirely sure Slade's calling Tim and Dick, but he's also sure that a show of support from Damian would be appreciated.

Damian nods, spiriting Portia off to go find Slade as Bruce gets up, going to find Jason.

It's harder than it looks. In the end he finds him down in the cave, going through training exercises he definitely shouldn't be going through.

"If you tear a muscle," Bruce says, "I'll tell Alfred to stop making you hot cocoa."

"Bold of you to assume he'd listen to you," Jason says. "You might be head of the house, but that's not going to stop Alfred from spoiling his grandkids."

Bruce huffs.

"You shouldn't be pushing yourself so hard. You're still healing."

Jason doesn't stop, but he does slow down, which is more or less all Bruce can really hope for. His movements are less aggressive, and it's more like a stretch and less like he's trying to beat something into the ground.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Bruce asks.

"No," Jason says immediately.

Bruce doesn't push. He lets Jason keep going, working through the rest of his exercise. And just like he expects, when Jason is done--toweling the sweat off himself--he talks.

"That whole time he was taking care of me," Jason says, frustration evidence in his voice, "she was looking for him. Trying to find him. And he had no idea. It's... it's bullshit."

"It is," Bruce agrees, because he thinks it is. It isn't fair to anyone. There was almost a happy ending. One where she found him and he told her the truth--that he didn't know she existed--and they could be happy together.

"But he... he should have told me. He should have told me back when it happened. I shouldn't be finding out weeks later. He's just been sitting on this."

Bruce gets the impression Jason's more upset that Slade kept it a secret than he is about what the secret is. Any secret feels like a betrayal.

"He isn't used to telling people things," Bruce says. "It's just been him for a long time. I think... I think we have to be thankful he told us at all."

"But you knew," Jason says, and his tone is accusatory.

"I was there," Bruce says. "He couldn't have hid her if he'd wanted to."

"But you saw her," Jason says, his eyes flicking over to Bruce.

Bruce pauses for a moment, and then nods.

"He didn't," Bruce says. He's not sure if Slade told Jason that, but he says it anyway. "He wasn't ready. I'm not sure he's ready now. He almost killed her."

"He said he tore her eye out."

Bruce winces.

"He did," Bruce says. "Did he tell you... how things happened?"

"I knew some of it already," Jason says. "He told us that you both fought the court's representative, and that you two managed to stop her."

"More him than me," Bruce mutters under his breath.

"But she got you in an explosion and you were hurt. That's why you ended up in the hospital. He didn't say who she was, or why she did it until today."

Revenge. The world's most awful, misleading revenge.

"He said she wasn't his daughter, but..." Jason says, trailing off.

But. There's a lot of but. Not his daughter but could have been. Not his daughter after what she did. Who knows? There's no telling, and Bruce doubts that even Slade has any idea what the but would mean in this case.

"I want to meet her one day," Jason says, catching Bruce off guard. "Not now. Not for a while. But one day I want to... to meet her. The person who should have been my sister. Does that make me fucked up?"

Bruce should be serious, but instead he laughs at that, earning him a dirty look.

"Jason," he says, "I think we're all a bit fucked up. But no, wanting to talk to her doesn't make you strange. Just means you want to... to know more about her. Even if it's a bit like staring death in the face."

It's easier after that. They don't talk about the meeting, or about Rose. They talk about other things, happier things, until it's finally time for dinner. Bruce doesn't get a chance to really talk to Slade until they're curled up in bed, but when he does Slade lets out an almost pained sigh.

"Told them," Slade says. "Dick and Tim and Barbara. I need to tell Michael, but... I told Jason he could tell him if he wanted. Michael's more Jason's friend than mine."

Bruce doesn't doubt that, and he curls against Slade's side, pulling him into a hug for once.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes before his alarm. He wakes to a dream, to something pleasant, but the dream slips away the moment he opens his eyes. By the time he reaches out, turning off the alarm before it can ring, he's already forgotten whatever it was he was dreaming about.

His body hasn't, Bruce realizes. He grunts, looking down--past Slade's arm, wrapped around his torso--to find that he's got an erection tenting in his pajama bottoms for the first time in what feels like years. Normally he'd ignore it.

But he remembers Slade's voice--husky and layered with want--telling him to think of him and enjoy himself.

So he tries. It's awkward with Slade just behind him, still asleep, but he lets his hand wander down, brushing across the fabric. He's sensitive, and the tiniest touch is enough to make him shiver, spurred on by the feel of Slade's breath on the back of his neck, pressing so close.

He's pretty sure he fell asleep with him pressed up against Slade's back, but sometime in the night they flipped, returning to their usual position.

It feels nice to have a usual position. To have Slade there, pressed up against him.

He takes care--a lot of care--not to wake Slade. So he doesn't actually take his pants off, just hikes them down slightly so he can let himself free. He keeps his elbow in place, doing everything with his wrist to minimize the motion being transferred to the bed, and he uses his other hand--pressed across his mouth--to minimize the sound.

It's been a long, long time since he last masturbated. He tries not to drag it out, tries to make it quick, and then one minute to the next there's a searing pain in his neck and a whine escapes past his lips.

"You bit me," Bruce hisses, reaching up to swat at Slade's head. He didn't even feel him moving, didn't even know he was awake, but now Slade's there, latched onto where Bruce's neck meets his shoulder, dragging his tongue across it.

"Lightly," Slade says when he pulls off, and then Slade's hands--god why are his hands so big--are wrapping around his middle. "It's just a hickey."

"I have a council meeting today," Bruce hisses. "I can't have a bite mark on my neck."

"It'll be under your collar," Slade says. "I was careful."

Slades fingers run across Bruce's straining erection and he gets slapped back to reality in very short order, letting out a whine that he only just muffles.

"Were you enjoying yourself?" Slade asks, his hands going still. "Rude of you not to wake me, you know."

"You told me to do it myself," Bruce says. "So I was trying."

"Mmm," Slade said. "Meant more when you were alone. Downside of that is that I don't plan to leave you alone anytime soon."

He leans down, and Bruce feels Slade's lips ghost over the place where he bit.

And then he feels something else.

"Are you hard?" He hisses. Something hard is nudging against the back of his thigh, and Slade shifts position a bit, letting Bruce feel him just between his legs.

"How could I not be," Slade asks, "when you're making those noises?"

Damn that man's senses. He might as well not have covered his mouth at all, because Slade obviously heard every single thing.

"I have work," Bruce protests, as if that's going to change things. He has work, but the meeting doesn't start until noon, and they have at least four hours to do whatever they want, eat, get ready, and get to city hall. Slade doesn't even dignify the protest with a response, mouthing at the bite again.

"If you want me to stop," Slade says, "I'll stop."

Bruce is silent. He doesn't actually want it to stop. He's not sure what he'd do if Slade just got out of bed and went to shower. Follow him in? Finish himself off with his hand like he'd first planned?

"I should return the favor," Bruce says quietly. "You already did me once-"

"As much as I like the idea of you having your lips on me," Slade says. "The bed is nice and warm, and you'd be a lot better doing that for the first time on your knees. Maybe next time."

Slade nudges between his legs, and Bruce hisses at the feeling of it.

"Then-" Bruce starts, only to be cut off by Slade kissing him hard on the mouth, stealing the breath from him so hard it takes him a moment to recover when Slade pulls back.

He watches in confusion as Slade actually pulls back, rolling over to the nightstand. Bruce can hear him pull over the drawer, and Bruce rolls around so that he can see what he's doing a moment too late.

Slade rolls back, a grin on his face that means he has something in mind.

"Wanted to try something," he says. "Thought it'd be nice."

Oh no.

Bruce squints at him, wary at the look Slade's giving him.

"What's the catch to this idea?" Bruce says.

"There isn't one," Slade says. "Just let me have my fun, and I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

Bruce huffs, but Slade's the one who actually knows what the hell they're doing. Bruce is becoming increasingly aware that his sex life would be considered painfully vanilla. A blowjob. The odd handjob. Sex, missionary position. He tried doggy style exactly once, and Slade... he's pretty sure Slade would laugh if Bruce actually admitted to that being the breadth of his experience.

So Bruce lets Slade roll him over onto his side, facing away again.

"As much as I like seeing your face," Slade says. "This'll be nicer for you. Take your pants off?"

It's phrased as a question, and Bruce pauses before reaching down, pulling them off his hips. Slade's boxer shorts are removed in very short order just behind him, and Bruce falters at that.

"Hold on," he says before Slade can do anything.

"Mmm?" Slade asks, reaching down to suck at the side of Bruce's neck until Bruce swats him away, wary of Slade leaving a mark that he can't hide under a collared shirt.

"I want to see you," Bruce says. "I still haven't really... seen you." God, he's felt him, but he hasn't actually seen him without pants.

He rolls over, and Slade reaches out, taking Bruce's hands in his own before pulling them towards him. His mouth seems stuck in a permanent smirk as he lets Bruce press his hands against his stomach.

"Go on," he says. "Feel around."

Slade doesn't have as many scars as he should. All but the very worst ones heal away into non-existence. His skin is clear and smooth as Bruce drags his hands down Slade, enjoying every time he finds a little line, a little ridge.

He's so goddamn muscular, and despite himself Bruce ends up sliding down a bit, sheets peeling back so he can actually look.

There's a lot to look at. A trail of white hair running from just below his belly button, a train leading to... to, well, his dick. Bruce feels embarrassed just looking at it, but Slade reaches out, sensing his hesitation, and takes Bruce's hand, guiding it down to touch.

He does touch. He touches, peeling the skin away from the head, and swipes his thumb over the head the way he likes himself, and Slade groans in a way Bruce isn't used to. It's a strange, heady thing to feel Slade coming apart in his hands, to watch the way he reacts to every little motion.

Slade leans in, voice soft and husky when he speaks.

"Your hands feel so goddamn nice on me," Slade says, and Bruce feels a shiver run up his spine. "Never thought I'd get a chance to see this. To watch you just... figure it out. And you know what I'm going to do with this?"

Slade reaches down, giving himself a stroke before arching forward, his own erection pressing against Bruce's.

"One day this is going to fit right inside you and you're going to goddamn scream at how good this makes you feel."

Bruce shudders, and Slade drags him into another kiss, humping up against him.

"You rile me up," Slade says when he breaks the kiss. "I had all these plans and things I wanted to do and the moment you got your hands on me I tossed them all out. I'd do anything you wanted right now. Do you even know how weak you make me?"

Something about the way Slade says it all--fast and breathless--goes straight to Bruce's own erection. It feels like physically proof of everything Slade's been saying, about just how bad he's wanted things for so long. He can feel himself twitch, and when Slade swipes his palm across the top of Bruce's erection it comes away wet.

"I was going to fuck your thighs," Slade says. "But now I kind of just want you to fuck me."

Bruce chokes a bit at that, and Slade silences his surprise with another kiss.

"But-" Bruce finally tries to say when he can, faltering. "You-"

"Me what?" Slade says, giving Bruce that look that means he knows exactly what he's thinking, but won't say it so that he can make Bruce do it.

Bruce has to take a moment to try and pull his thoughts together, which is excruciatingly difficult to do with Slade ever so slowly dragging his hand across him.

"I thought you would... be... in charge," he says.

"You thought I'd never bottom," Slade says, cutting right to the heart of the manner. "That you'd be... what, the 'woman' in this relationship?"

Slade's eyebrow goes up, and Bruce feels his face burn.

"Just because I prefer it," Slade says. "Doesn't mean that's the only thing I do. I'm versatile. And you..." Slade's arm loops around his waist, and Bruce's back arches as he feels Slade drag a finger across his hole. "...Aren't ready for any of that."

Bruce can't decide if he means physically, mentally, or emotionally, but eventually decides the answer is all three.

"Oh," Bruce says, well aware that it's not a particularly eloquent answer, only it feels like every bit of blood that should be in his brain is located firmly south and refuses to leave. He's almost painfully hard.

"If you don't want-" Slade starts, and Bruce interrupts.

"No," he says. "I just... wasn't expecting it."

"Hold out your hand," Slade says, and Bruce is confused as he complies. He at least understands what the lube's for when it's poured over his hands, and Bruce shuffles a bit, half sitting up as Slade rolls over.

"Slade, I-" Bruce starts, feeling like he was just dropped into the deep end of the pool. "I don't know what to do."

"Upside of it just being me," Slade says, "is that I'm a bit of a masochist and you probably couldn't hurt me all that much if you tried. Go slow. Explore. You'll figure it out."

Bruce is left with his hands slicked with lube, a good view of Slade's back, and absolutely zero direction.

He guesses. He trails his thumbs down Slade's back (which earns him an appealing shiver that seems to be only magnified by all the muscle), pressing them into the divots just above his ass for a moment. Then he takes his time, dragging his fingers across the flesh of Slade's ass.

It's a good ass, he decides. He can tell at least that much, because it's not like it's that different from what he's used to.

He starts with a single finger, which earns him an appreciative moan from Slade. He doesn't wait long before adding a second. Slade is tight and feels furnace-hot around him, but the lube does a lot to ease his way in as Bruce starts to scissor his fingers, using his free hand to spread Slade as best he can.

Every sound he gets from Slade feels like a gift. Like some kind of a reward. He makes it up to three fingers--taking a lot longer than Slade would probably like--before he catches himself rutting up against Slade's leg.

"Bruce," Slade says. "I said you could do whatever you want but you are driving me fucking insane here." There's a whine in his voice that spurs Bruce on, and he presses up, adding a fourth finger.

"Talk to me," Slade says, and it feels like the first actual request of the night. Like the first thing that isn't a question. He's asking for this.

"I have no idea what I'm doing," Bruce admits. "I've never done anything like this, but every time you make those noises I feel like I'm losing whatever bit of self control I still had. I shouldn't be - I should be getting dressed and taking my time and instead I'm - I'm getting ready for this. To just - to fuck you."

Slade gives an appreciative groan and rocks back against his fingers.

"I said I'd let you," Slade says, "but just - just roll onto your back."

Bruce is happy to oblige. He's happy to withdraw his fingers, reaching down to rub at himself because he's so, so goddamn hard, and when Slade rolls up onto him, straddling Bruce's hips with Bruce's cock resting right between the cleft of his ass... Well, Bruce feels like he's going to lose his mind.

He rocks his hips up, which is hard to do with all of Slade's weight on him, and Slade lets out a barking laugh, reaching down to rest a hand on the center of Bruce's torso.

"Hold still," Slade says, "if you can manage that. Just let me set the pace."

Bruce lets his hands rest on Slade's thighs--spread almost obscenely wide, his cock on full display--as Slade lifts himself up, lining himself up. Bruce stops breathing for a moment, too deeply distracted by what he's seeing, and chokes when Slade starts to press down.

He's so tight. He's so tight and hot and wet and Bruce is losing his mind.

"Slade," Bruce says, and his voice sounds more like a whine than anything else. "I can't-" He's not sure he's even going to manage to convey anything, because he's so close, and there's been too much lead up, and god he doesn't have the stamina Slade does, so it's a mercy when Slade stops, hanging almost halfway there, and gives him a moment to catch his breath, to ease his way back from the edge before he embarrasses himself.

"What's your refractory time like?" Slade asks, as if it's a completely normal question that absolutely anyone should be able to answer, and Bruce glares at him because how the hell should he know?

"You know what?" Slade says. "I don't care. I'll manage."

Slade presses down and Bruce cums with a high pitched whine, pressing up hard enough to lift himself from the bed as he buries himself in Slade's ass.

Slade leans down, pressing a kiss to Bruce's lips, and Bruce whines at the sensation, overstimulated and feeling absolutely wrung out. A part of him--a big part of him--also feels a little bit pathetic, because they literally just started and he just finished, and Slade's still hard in front of him.

He reaches out to try and help and Slade swats his hand away.

"I think I can get you back up," Slade says. "Just need to give you a minute."

Bruce is dying of embarrassment and Slade doesn't even seem to mind, showering his face with little kisses while Bruce tries to catch his breath.

"Talk to me," Slade says, and this time it's another instruction.

"That was so - Jesus, Slade, that was so good but how the hell are you supposed to - how are you supposed to hold on?"

Why the hell did he last so much longer in every single encounter he's ever had? How did he manage twenty minutes with his first girlfriend and what feels like thirty seconds with Slade?

"Well," Slade says, "for one, you shouldn't ask me, because I'm shamelessly cheating. You don't even want to know the kind of stamina I've got."

Bruce scowls at him, and Slade smirks right back. He still feels breathless, but when Slade clenches down on him he whimpers.

He's still buried inside Slade. He can still feel the mess he made. It's almost painful how overstimulated he is, but there's something nice about it just the same, the feeling of just being inside.

Slade nudges him, and he talks again.

"I'm-" He starts, faltering, before trying again. "Embarrassed. I guess. Because I didn't - you're supposed to last-"

"I think it's cute," Slade says, which doesn't at all feel like an adjective that should be applied to him. "Shows me just how attracted to me you are. That you can't wait to get your hands on me. That you can't even control yourself when you get the chance to touch me. Can't wait to take you apart. I bet you'll scream when I finally get my fingers in you."

Bruce's face is burning, but when Slade clenches again he feels himself twitch.

"There we go," Slade says. "Not too bad. Better than someone your age, but you're a hell of a lot fitter than someone your age." He rocks again and Bruce whines because he's still so sensitive that it's edging close to pain.

"Just like that," Slade says, rocking his hips once more.

He does it slowly, dragging Bruce back to full hardness bit by whining bit. By the time he's fully erect Bruce feels like it's been hours, and Slade is still hard and he's still inside him, and when Slade lifts himself up before dropping back down it tears a sound from Bruce's throat that's almost a sob.

"I'm going to ride you," Slade says. "And we'll see if I can't wring another orgasm out of you today."

Bruce is wondering how the hell he's going to manage to walk.

Slade's good to his word. He rides Bruce with the energy of a man a man a third his age, and it's all Bruce can do to keep up, slapping his hips upward when Slade brings himself down. There's something desperate about it, something so needy, and Bruce whines desperately as he starts to feel his balls tightening again, heading towards an orgasm.

"Please," Bruce begs. "Please let me help you-"

Slade lets him. He even helps, pulling Bruce's hand up so that he can find the proper place, jerking him off irregularly as Slade bounces on top of him, grinding down when he can, his head tipped back in obvious ecstasy. 

Bruce is happy he invested in sound proofing, because Slade is loud, and when Slade suddenly clenches down on him--clenching down so hard it goddamn hurts--Bruce tips over the edge so hard he can barely tell that Slade's cumming.

Bruce comes to with Slade's face hovering over his, looking alarmed.

"Bruce?" He says, and Bruce blinks up at him.

He is so tired.

"I think you blanked out for a moment there," Slade says. "Might have gone a bit too hard."

He looks almost sheepish as he finally pulls off of him, leaving Bruce in a spent pile in the bed.

"I have work," Bruce groans into a pillow. "I can't even stand and I have work."

He can't imagine sitting down in front of the council like this. For that matter he can't imagine cancelling on them either. He's supposed to be the mayor.

Slade swats the side of Bruce's leg.

"I'm the one with two loads in me," Slade says. "I'm going to have to rinse out, or else I'll be sitting in the meeting with cum dribbling down my leg."

Bruce's face burns at the thought of it.

Chapter Text

They arrive to breakfast late, which feels like a walk of shame. The only mercy is that Damian isn't there. He does get a very firm are you kidding me look from Jason.

"So," Bruce says, adjusting his tie before digging into his breakfast, "what's the schedule today?"

"I'm taking the runt to the mall," Jason says. "He wants to buy some gifts himself."

"I'm going to go with them," Roy says. "Wanted to pick up a few things, and..." He falters, just for a moment, and then catches himself. "I talked to O- Green last night."

Bruce had hoped he would. He'd hoped that someone from Star City would reached out, because the idea of Roy being there for more than a week without any contact from the people back home feels wrong.

"How'd that go?" Slade asks.

Jason, notably, does not ask questions. He reacts like he's heard it all before, and Bruce suspects that's because he has. Roy probably talked to him about it first.

"Pretty sure Canary twisted his arm a bit," Roy says, "but he apologized for being short with me, and the fight we had before you guys even got there. We're going to talk it out when I get back. Offered to pay for the flight and everything."

Bruce lets himself relax, the tension that sprung up the moment Green Arrow was mentioned easing out.

"That's good," Bruce says. "After the League Meeting?"

"Day after," Roy confirms. "Which is going to be a hell of a flight, but that's for Green to deal with."

He shifts a bit, and then reaches up, scratching at the back of his head. "I just wanted to... thank you guys for having me. It was good to get away. Get some space. Perspective."

"Of course," Bruce says. "You're welcome back any time. And I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of you for League business."

He has no idea how often the League's supposed to be meeting, but the idea still stands.

"We'll stay in touch," Jason says. "You aren't getting away from me that quickly."

Slade and Bruce go together--there's no need to pretend they're not when the fact that Slade's his bodyguard is public knowledge--but they see Jason, Roy, and Damian off first. Alfred remains behind, babysitting Portia and looking perfectly happy to do so.

Bruce's face absolutely burns when, right before they pull out, Slade reaches up, pulling Bruce's collar down to check the bite on his neck.

"Ass," Bruce grunts, readjusting his collar to hide it. He knows Slade's going to enjoy sitting in on the meeting with the knowledge it's there, and if he thought he could get away with it without anyone noticing, he'd likely have gone back for a turtleneck.

They arrive to city hall a half an hour before the meeting is supposed to start, which is a bit later than he'd like. Bruce grabs his file folder, heading up the steps with Slade coming right after him, looking disgustingly calm considering they're supposed to already be inside.

But he catches up as they cut through the halls to where the rest of city council waits, leaning in to whisper in Bruce's ear.

"Grey shirt, ten o'clock," Slade says before pulling back. Bruce doesn't look immediately, letting his eyes sweep as normal, but he doesn't recognize the man, and keeps his question to himself until they're safely into a private room.

"Who?" Bruce asks as he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up. Andrew glances up, giving them a quick wave before turning back to the council member he's talking with.

"No idea," Slade says. "But he told whoever he was talking to that you'd arrived, which means he was waiting for you."

Bruce feels uneasy, but he makes himself exhale. He doesn't have to worry. Everything's fine. He simply takes a moment and lets himself take a nice deep breath, reminding himself (not for the first time) that he should feel nothing but pity for anyone stupid enough to try and get at him.

He has the best bodyguard money can't buy.

"Everything alright?" Andrew asks, and Bruce adjusts his collar for what feels like the fiftieth time before nodding.

Things slide from mildly suspicious to extremely suspicious the moment Bruce enters the room and finds Roman Sionis sitting in the front row. Slade cuts off, taking his customary seat right beside him.

Roman looks annoyed, but he doesn't make a scene. His presence is clearly bothering the rest of the council, but Bruce does what he always does and simply forges onward, hoping that the council will follow.

They work through the agenda with surprising speed. He gets his park suggestion approved, and his budget is accepted with only slight concessions. It was never intended to hold up long term, only for six months, which makes it an easy sell. It's their last meeting before the holidays--they won't do anything until mid-January--and everyone seems eager to finish things up.

They're halfway through when Bruce's phone rings, and Bruce almost dies on the spot.

His phone. He's run through Gotham as a costumed vigilante for years, perfectly balancing his real like and vigilante life, and somehow he's gotten so thrown off by things that he forgot to silence his phone.

Bruce murmurs and apology and silences it. There's a bit of laughter from those watching--mostly amused by how embarrassed he is--until Bruce's phone rings again.

It's a security feature. Even when Bruce's phone is on silent, it's not really on silent. It's just sending any calls straight to voicemail. But for some people--the manor's ground line, the family's cell phones, Clark--calling twice bypasses that entirely. It means it's an emergency.

"Excuse me," Bruce says, grabbing his phone. Caller ID says Jason, and he ducks to the corner of the room, leaving Andrew to handle the next point on the agenda as he answers.

"Bruce," Jason says. "You're at your meeting?"

"Yes," Bruce says. Jason doesn't sound upset. No one's screaming in the background. He sounds perfectly calm.

"Act normal. Is Black Mask there?"

Bruce doesn't need to look. He's been doing his best not to glare at him the whole goddamn meeting, and unless Roman's developed the ability to teleport, he's still there.

"Yes."

"Good. Keep him there, and call me back in thirty."

"Alright," Bruce says, keeping it vague.

Jason hangs up, and Bruce grunts, pocketing his phone as he returns to his seat. Andrew glances up, eyebrows raised.

"Everything alright?"

Keenly aware that he has a few hundred people watching him, Bruce plays it off.

"More or less," he says. "The dog ate something it shouldn't have, and they were calling me to let me know they were taking him to the vet."

Bruce doesn't need to come up with a story that isn't going to freak Slade out. He's sure Slade was listening to the conversation, and even if he wasn't, Slade isn't unaware enough to buy the story.

Everyone else is.

"Hopefully he's alright," Andrew says, looking distressed. "Do you need to go...?"

"No," Bruce says, waving off the offer. "We've only got a bit left on the agenda, and I'd prefer to finish it up before the holidays."

It takes all of his focus to keep from staring at Roman. To only let himself glance. Roman seems smug, but he always seems smug, so that hardly seems like anything particularly notable. Working through the rest of the agenda feels like torture, going over perfectly mundane council business while something is happening that he knows nothing about.

Bruce doesn't get his answer for almost twenty minutes, which feel like the longest twenty minutes of his entire life.

There's a knock at the council room door, and more or less everyone in the audience rotates, staring towards it as it pushes open. Jim's there, in full uniform, and he has no less than eight officers with him as he heads into the room. A murmur of alarm passes through the audience, and Bruce clears his throat, tapping his mic.

"Silence, please," he says, which is completely unnecessary but also absolutely mandatory, because if he doesn't hear what Jim is about to say he's pretty sure he's going to regret it for the rest of his life.

Jim stops directly beside Roman, pulling out a piece of paper and presenting it to him.

"Roman Sionis," he says. "You're under arrest."

And right there, in the middle of the council room, Jim starts to read Roman his rights. It strictly speaking not necessary--there's no way Jim's going to question him in the council chamber--but Bruce gets the impression that Jim has been looking forward to this since he first had to let Roman go after what happened in Arkham City.

Roman's face is more or less stuck, and there's not much he can do as far as emoting goes, but even so Bruce is pretty sure that if his mask wasn't melded to his face he'd be able to see the blood vessels in his forehead throbbing. Roman is a step beyond furious, downright apoplectic, and Bruce suspects he's considering his options.

He doesn't have options. Slade's standing up, right behind him, and Roman's boxed in.

Slade says something to Roman--something that Bruce thinks is try it, please, I'm begging you--and Roman offers his wrists for Jim to cuff him.

There's still points on the agenda, but it's obvious they aren't getting done. The entire room is going nuts as people pull out phones, taking pictures of Roman getting arrested in front of more than a hundred people.

It's going to be front page news the next day, and everyone knows it.

Jim heads across the room, going straight for Bruce, and Bruce feels suddenly anxious.

"Sorry for the interruption, Mr. Mayor," Jim says, meaning he's trying to keep it formal. Bruce reaches up, covering his microphone so they can talk without being overheard. "No one's hurt, but when this is done you should call your oldest."

"Dick?" Bruce asks, bewildered.

Jim winces.

"Oldest still in the house," Jim says. "Jason."

Bruce was already planning to call him the moment he could, but he can't stop himself from narrowing his eyes.

"How bad is it?" He asks.

"Everyone's fine," Jim says. "Just a bit of a scare. They'll fill you in." He glances back over his shoulder to the officers standing around Roman. "I need to get going."

There's no point in dragging it out, so as Roman is escorted out of the room Bruce leans forward to speak into his microphone.

"I think we can wrap this up early," Bruce says. "But thank you to everyone who came, and we'll reconvene in the new year."

The council breaks up, and Bruce heads for the waiting room, pulling out his phone as he goes.

Chapter Text

Bruce hasn't even cleared the door and he's already calling Jason. He's been told everything is fine, but his standard of everything is fine is very different from Jim's own.

"Jason?" He says the moment he hears the phone click.

"Bruce!" Jason says. He sounds fine, but that doesn't mean anything. "You alone?"

The door behind him opens and the others start filing in, so Bruce heads for the far wall.

"Near enough. What's happening?"

"Did they get Black Mask?"

"Jason, if you don't tell me whats-"

"Bruce, did they get Black Mask?"

"Jim arrested him," Bruce says, voice strained. "What happened?"

"He tried to kidnap us," Jason says. "Mostly Damian."

"He what?"

Bruce spins around, considering going after Jim just to get a minute alone with Roman.

"Bruce," Jason says, "calm down. He's fine. Totally fine. Better than fine."

Bruce is not calm. Roman Sionis just tried to kidnap his son and Jason can't be expecting him to take that well.

"Just tell me what actually happened," he says right as Slade pops his head into the room. Bruce waves him over immediately, and Slade hustles over.

"We were at the mall, and then we realized someone was tailing us. They weren't coming any closer, so we had Roy split off, but they still didn't come after us. So Roy came back, and Damian split off, and then the guys tailing us went after him."

"You let Damian go off alone?" Bruce asks, trying to contain himself. Slade plants a hand on his shoulder, leaning in to hear a bit better.

"He's fine," Jason says. "Either way, someone tried to accost me and Roy, and I played the spoiled rich kid. Roy kicked their asses, and now everyone thinks he's my bodyguard."

"What about Damian?" Bruce asks, voice strained.

"They sent like four guys after them and Damian forgot about playing innocent child who wasn't raised as a ninja, and just absolutely destroyed them. Knocked two of them out, broke one guys collar bone, cracked the fourth's ribs. The one guy was still conscious and Damian told him that if he ever wanted to use his arm again he was going to tell them who sent them, and the guy confessed that Black Mask had asked them to kidnap Damian to blackmail you in front of a bunch of witnesses."

Bruce makes a wheeze.

"He did this in front of people?"

"Like, half a dozen people. Not a ton, but enough."

Slade looks like it's taking all his effort not to burst out laughing, and Bruce glares at him.

"Anyway," Jason says, "then he ran back to me and played up the whole excited kid thing and was excited about how all his self defense training paid off, and now everyone thinks you've got him working with the world's best self defense instructor."

It's better than the alternative, at least.

"He's fine?" Bruce asks.

"He's fine," Jason confirms. "Everyone's fine. Roy's happy he got to beat someone up. Damian's happy he got to beat someone up. I think Jim Gordon's Christmas just came early. And I think Gotham just set a new record for the fastest an arrest warrant's ever been signed by a judge."

Bruce exhales, and Slade plucks the phone out of his hand.

"Everyone's alright?" Slade confirms, and then there's a pause. "Make sure Damian's not just hiding it. He might be a bit shaken after what happened."

Slade snorts at something Jason says.

"I'll see you at home," he says, and then passes the phone back to Bruce.

"Are you home?" Bruce asks.

"No," Jason says. "Roy's just giving his statement, and then we're done. They wanted to check Damian over, but he's just fine. Might have some bruising on his hand from where he punched the guy, but that's the worst of it."

"Alright. We'll see you at home then," Bruce says, and says his goodbyes.

Slade looks happy about the whole thing.

"I thought you'd be angry," Bruce says. "Or, you know, plotting Roman's death."

"Considering it," Slade says. "But I think going to jail because he tried to kidnap a thirteen year old and got his ass kicked is embarrassing enough for him."

Bruce sighs and heads for the car.

Alfred's already heard what happened when they get back, and Bruce grumbles to himself as he waits by the front door. He has no reason to be agitated—everything is completely fine—but he's on edge anyway.

"So I guess I'm a self defense tutor now," Slade says. "Explains why Damian did so well."

It's not even that far from the truth, but...

"Just wait until someone else wants to hire you," Bruce says. "Everyone's going to hear about this."

"Which is the best part," Slade says. "Black Mask's entire scheme wasn't foiled by Batman or the Gotham Knight or anything like that... no no, it was ruined by a kid."

The front gate beeps, signaling one of their cars has just pulled in, and Bruce makes himself wait until they reach the front door before he pulls Damian into a hug.

"Father!" Damian protests, sounding outraged. "Let me go!"

Bruce squeezes him anyway.

"We're fine," Jason says. "Honestly."

But Jason leans in, joining the hug just the same. Roy gets corralled into it by Slade, who joins in last.

Damian grumbles when he's finally released from the hug, and Bruce inspects his hands. There's only minor bruising, and Bruce huffs, finally letting him go.

"Go check in with Portia," Bruce says. "And I'll have to call Jim and check in on things."

Jason pulls Bruce into a hug, and Bruce makes himself exhale again.

"We're fine," Jason says. "I know you're freaking out a bit, but we're totally fine. Damian kicked ass, Roy kicked ass, I deserve any emmy for the role of the dumbass helpless rich boy..."

Bruce can't help it—he laughs at that.

"I'll make sure you're put up for consideration," Bruce says. "But I'm happy everything turned out alright. You... you reacted well in a tough situation."

Jason grins at him.

"Don't you forget it."

Chapter Text

Bruce calls Jim to check in, and confirms that everything is more or less the way Jason described it. Jim seems absolutely delighted by the fact that he managed to arrest Roman before Christmas.

"When I told the judge what had happened they were practically tripping over themselves to sign the warrant. Going after the mayor is a big enough thing with what happened to the last two. Going after the mayor's son?"  

"At least the council doesn't have to worry," Bruce says. "That's one less thing."

"The timing couldn't have been better," Jim says. "I've got two days to wrap this up, and then I'm off for the holidays. Sionis will get to spend the holidays sitting on his ass in prison, because there's no judge that's going to give him bail with how much of a flight risk he is."

"Are you still coming for Christmas Day?" Bruce asks.

"Assuming you'll still have me."

There's no question of where everyone's getting together around the holidays, because there's only one house large enough to hold everyone.

"Of course," Bruce says. "You're family. And if I don't have you over, Tim and Barbara will leave in the middle of the celebration to go visit you, and then Alfred will get upset."

He won't show it, but Bruce knows he is.

"I'll see you then," Jim says, and then wraps up the phone call.

Bruce spends the rest of the day trying not to be anxious. Trying so hard not to be anxious. But he keeps catching himself checking in on Damian and Jason, neither of which seems at all bothered by anything that happened. They both seem to be in great spirits, and eventually Bruce is forced to admit that maybe, just maybe, he's worrying over nothing.

He's helped to that conclusion by Slade sitting behind him, giving him an almost painful shoulder massage just after they finish dinner.

"Ah!" Damian yelps suddenly, and Bruce is so out of it he doesn't even properly looked up. "I didn't finish my shopping!"

Jason's not up to it, and when Bruce offers Damian makes a face and refuses (so it's not so hard to figure out who the gift's for), and in the end Slade and Roy escort him right back to the mall to finish his shopping.

Bruce can't help himself—he ends up falling asleep on the couch.

He wakes to Slade nudging him awake.

"The boys are wrapping gifts," Slade says. "And then Jason wants to watch a movie."

Jason's choice of Christmas movie turns out to be Die Hard, which is absolutely terrible to watch together. As it turns out, Slade is extremely picky about fight scenes in movies. Every time someone pulls out a gun he starts pointing out all the issues until Jason throws his hands up.

"You are ruining Die Hard," he announces. "We'll watch what you want."

Slade puts on John Wick, but they don't get more than five minutes in before Slade jerks upright, turning off the movie.

"Oh no," he says. "We can't watch that one." Slade glances over at Damian, who squints at up at him, confused.

Bruce squints at him, but has no idea what he's talking about.

In the end, Roy gets them to watch How the Grinch Stole Christmas, and Bruce decides that's probably for the best. There's no real violence, there's no guns for Slade to critique people's trigger discipline on, and the movie turns out to be fairly funny.

"I asked Michael about christmas eve, you know," Slade says during a lull. "He says he'll take patrol."

"He should come here," Bruce says. "He's family."

"He was invited by Cash to visit with his family," Jason says. "And Cash is working Christmas Eve."

Bruce lets himself be happy that Michael's got that far. That he's reintegrating into society. That he has friends and people he knows and he's not just spending every waking moment running around in a costume.

But it still feels a bit sad to have him miss Christmas.

"Plus," Jason says quietly. "There's a girl."

"What!" Damian says, sitting bolt upright. "A girl?"

"One," Slade says, "I'd hope she's a woman. Two, that's his business."

"She's a cop," Jason says, completely ignoring Slade's second point. "And I think he's hoping to see her Christmas Eve."

"Ooooh," Roy says. "One of those."

Bruce is eager for the meeting to be over. It's looming large in his brain, a constant presence. The Justice League. He spends a bit of time trying to figure out who the other members of the team could be but comes up blank. Whoever they are, they're keeping a low profile.

He decides to check his suit over in the morning and heads to bed just before midnight. Slade follows not long after, sliding into bed after him.

"Still stressed?" He asks, fingers running along Bruce's neck, ghosting across the bitemark he's left there.

"Keep thinking about what would have happened if Damian had been grabbed," Bruce mumbles into his pillow. "Roman's not a nice person."

"Can't help but notice you call him Roman," Slade points out.

"I knew him when we were kids," Bruce says. "Back when... when my parents were still around. You know when all the adults are talking and they tell all the kids to go play together, even when they're all different ages? He was the designated teenager that was made to watch all the younger kids. I never thought he liked us all that much, but watching him slide down into... all this is something else entirely."

Slade nuzzles against his neck, and Bruce rolls over to face him.

"Not sure why I'm so agitated by this. They weren't hurt. They're not bothered. They weren't in any real danger."

Slade gives him the are you stupid look, and Bruce goes red.

"What?"

"Bruce," Slade says with a pained tone, "has it occurred to you that you're overreacting to this because the last time one of your kids went missing it launched you into a nightmare scenario that lasted years?"

Oh.

"It didn't occur to me until just now," Bruce mumbles.

Slade rubs slow circles against his back.

"It's different now," Slade says. "Gotham's a better place. Safer. And you've got everyone watching your back. Even if something did happen to the boys—even if one of them got taken—you've got a small army who'd bring them back. What happened to Jason isn't ever going to happen again. Not to anyone."

It doesn't completely calm his nerves, but it's enough to take away the worst of them.

When Bruce dreams that night, it's of Slade, hunting down Black Mask for taking Damian. Strangely enough, it's not a nightmare.

Chapter Text

Bruce spends the morning with the kitten. They're gaining weight rapidly, and they're tentatively easing the feedings farther apart. He's finished up his work for the council, putting it aside for the new year, and he totes the kitten around while he checks on his suit, making sure it's ready for the next day.

Roy might be even more excited than he is, and spends most of the morning down in the cave, training with Damian while Jason watches.

Slade vanishes just after breakfast, claiming he needs to finish up some shopping of his own, and Bruce rolls his eyes at the secrecy. All his gifts are already under the tree (set up by Alfred weeks ago) in the ballroom (decorated by Alfred), and nicely wrapped (by Alfred).

Except for the gift for Alfred, which features the world's worst wrapping job.

Bruce is pretty sure that Christmas without Alfred would just involve him lying down dead in a pile of wrapping paper and Christmas supplies.

He's surprised when midway through a feeding his phone beeps for the house security alarm, signalling not just that someone's at the front gate, but that Alfred's either not answered or passed it directly to him. The gate is mostly intended to keep anyone from driving right up, but it opens automatically for family cars. Anyone up to and including Jim Gordon can simply drive straight in, so anyone stopped by it is worth inspection.

But normally it's Alfred that handles it.

Bruce deposits the kitten with Jason, heading up the stairs before checking the security feed on his phone.

There's a pickup truck sitting in the entranceway. Bruce doesn't recognize it, so he flips cameras to the one by the intercom so that he can see who's inside. That doesn't help. There's two men (both in their thirties) sitting in the car, and Bruce doesn't have even a passing familiarity with either of them. They don't seem like Black Mask's type, but Bruce is fairly sure if they were GCPD officers he'd have at least a spark of recognition with them.

Bruce taps the house's security system.

"Alfred?" Bruce prompts.

"At the front of the house, sir," comes the reply almost immediately. "I was just waiting to see if you recognized them before I answered the intercom."

"I don't," Bruce says, heading towards the front of the house as he listens into the conversation.

"Hello?" The man driving says. He's younger of the two, blond, and looks a bit impatient as he leans forward, pressing the intercom button again before glancing to his friend. "Wrong house?"

"Hello," Alfred says through the intercom, and both of the men jump in surprise, the blond one leaning out the window. "May I ask who it is?"

The blond one glances back towards the one in the passenger seat, and then leans out the window again.

"This is the Wayne residence, right? Like... Bruce Wayne?"

Bruce hesitates over his options. If he sends a potential alert, Slade's going to drop what he's doing to come home. If he doesn't...

He decides not to right then. He can hit it if anything comes up, but so far the men have done nothing but wait patiently.

"Yes," Alfred says. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Uh," the blond one says with another glance to his companion. "He doesn't know us. We were told to come here though?"

"May I ask by who?"

Bruce certainly hasn't told anyone, but that doesn't rule out someone else. Bruce steps up beside Alfred, tucking his phone away as he watches the blond one turn back to his companion, having an inaudible whispered conversation with him.

"That's suspicious," Bruce mutters under his breath. "They don't know who sent them?"

Bruce suspects they're trying to come up with a convincing lie, and wonders if he's going to have to call Jim after all.

"Uh," The blond one says again, turning back towards the intercom. "Diana?"

Bruce exhales and mouths Diana Who?, even though he already knows what they're going to say.

"Master Bruce knows several Diana's. May I ask to which you are referring to?"

"Diana of... uh. The-my-skra?"

He says it all wrong, but the way he says it makes it obvious he's read it off a paper, rather than hearing it from Diana's own mouth. He mouths hold on to Alfred, and then steps away, pulling out his phone to call her.

"Bruce Wayne," she says by way of greeting. "To what do I owe this call?"

"Did you send people to my house?" Bruce asks, trying not to sound too agitated.

There is silence on the other end. When Diana speaks again, she sounds almost pained.

"I... yes," she says. "I apologize. Things have been exceptionally chaotic here. One of our members does not currently have an address and needed a place to stay, and I told him that one of the members lived nearby and might be able to provide accommodations." He can hear her rifling through papers in the background as she speaks. "I had intended to call you last week, but never actually managed to do so. I suspect that Steve Trevor might have taken my lack of comment on the matter as a yes and provided your address to them."

Bruce makes a small pained noise.

"Please," he says, "please be more careful with anything related to my identity."

Diana sounds genuinely horrified when she speaks.

"I swear to you," she says. "On my -"

"I don't need that kind of oath," Bruce says. "Just please be careful."

"If you send them-"

"They're already here," Bruce says. "And they already know, so that damage is done. Are they both going to be members?"

He glances into the security suite, checking the cameras to find them still sitting in front of the gate, although they appear to be having a conversation he can't hear.

"Yes," Diana says. "They will both be full members of the team."

Bruce exhales.

"They can stay here then," he says. "I have space. But please don't-"

"I will not," Diana says. "You have my word. And I will speak to Steve Trevor on the matter. It would seem there was a grave miscommunication."

Bruce wraps up the conversation and shoots out a quick message onto the families secure line.

Batman: JL members are visiting the house tonight. Avoid to maintain identities.

He tucks the phone away and nods to Alfred.

"They'll be staying the night," Bruce says. "There was a... miscommunication with the League."

"Hopefully there will be no further miscommunications," Alfred says. "As I only have so many clean sheets."

Chapter Text

Despite his very explicit warning, the three boys come darting up the stairs, Titus at their heels and the kitten buried in Jason's arms. He at least has the sense to tuck the kitten away in their bed before coming back to the main hall, and Bruce scowls at them as Alfred lets the truck in.

The men look downright normal as they approach the door, which Bruce knows is some kind of a lie. He and Roy are the only completely human members of the league, which means either the pair aren't human at all, or they're some kind of modified human the way Slade is.

The first one is the younger of the pair, closer to his mid or even late twenties, and he's chattering away as he heads up the step. The other one is a bit older--early thirties--and is wearing a brown bomber jacket which makes his identity plainly obvious.

Jordan, his tag reads. The patches single him out as air force, or at least former air force.

They seem to know each other, because they're having a conversation even as they stop in front of the door, with Jordan reaching out to knock just as Alfred pulls the door open. The pair stares up at the literal welcoming party—mostly a sea of black haired men with the exceptions of Roy and Alfred—and then clear their throat.

"Hi!" The blond one says. "I guess we should come in and then do introductions...?"

"Most likely," Alfred says, waving them in as everyone else shuffles back.

They wait until the door is closed before they say anything else. The blond one looks excited, while his partner looks more wary.

But it's Jordan who offers his hand first, apparently deciding Bruce is where he should start.

"Hal Jordan," he says. "You'd be Bruce Wayne?"

"Yes," Bruce confirms, giving him his most standard business-standard handshake. "We didn't know you were coming, so I apologize for the wait at the gate."

"Wait," the blond one says. "You didn't know we were coming? We were told you were going to put us up for the night."

"There was a miscommunication," Bruce says. "They assumed, but didn't ask."

"It's been sorted out," Bruce adds when he sees the blond one's look of panic. "We have the space."

Roy sticks his hand out for Jordan to take, introducing himself, and the blond sticks his hand out to Bruce.

"Barry Allen," he says. "Nice to meet you."

Bruce shakes his hand, glancing between the two as introductions continue.

"I'm going to assume that one of you is the man from Central City?" Bruce asks, glancing between the two.

Allen raises his hand somewhat sheepishly.

"That's me," he says. "I was going to run up here tomorrow morning, but Hal asked if he could stay with me, and that doesn't really work because he'd have to leave tonight to get here in time."

"Plus," Allen says, "that kind of flight would draw too much attention."

Bruce can't stop himself from squinting at Allen.

"Pretend not all of us have read your top secret League files," Jason says. "Do we know them?"

"I know of Allen," Bruce says. "Central city has a red blur-"

"The Flash," Allen says. "That's the name I'm going by. Blur sounds... weird."

"A Flash," Bruce continues. "Who operates at a vigilante with significantly enhanced speed."

"Master Bruce," Alfred says. "Mister Wilson has just arrived at the front gate."

"Of course he'd come flying home," Jason says. "Probably wants to know what the fuss was about."

"Hold on," Jordan says. "There's more of you?"

"This isn't even close to all of us," Jason says.

"For the record," Roy adds, "I'm on loan."

Slade doesn't even park properly. Instead he pulls right up into guest parking, hopping out of the car and heading for the front door as they all watch.

"Calm down," Bruce says the moment he pulls the door open. "This isn't a crisis."

Slade squints at the two new arrivals, as if waiting for them to announce that it is.

Bruce is not expecting Allen's face to light up at the sight of Slade. He looks downright delighted to see him, offering his hand the moment Slade's closed the door.

"It's really great to meet you," Allen says. "I'm Barry Allen. I've been - well, I've been watching your work for years, even before I started getting into this whole business."

Bruce has a slow dawning realization of what's happening as Slade looks down at the offered hand.

"You've been watching my work for years?" Slade says, mystified, and then very suddenly seems to get it, letting out a laugh as he shakes Allen's hand. "God, I would hope not."

Allen looks confused, glancing back towards Jordan, who shrugs.

"He," Jason says with no small amount of amusement, "isn't Batman."

Allen blinks in confusion, glancing over to Jason.

"Huh?"

"He's not Batman," Jason confirms.

Allen's face starts going red at the realization that somewhere along the line, he's made a mistake.

"Wait," he says. "So this is Superman's...?"

"This is where Batman lives," Slade says, throwing his arm around Allen's shoulders and steering him around until he's looking at Bruce. "You just looked at the wrong guy."

"Wait," Jordan says. "Wait, hold on. You're saying Bruce Wayne is the Batman? The first one?"

Bruce has never been happy for all the Slade Wilson is Batman articles, but he sure is right then.

"That would be me, yes," Bruce says, trying to keep his amusement from showing on his face. "My son Jason currently holds the mantle, but prefers to focus on Gotham rather than the League."

Bruce watches Allen's eyes track across the small gang of boys before finally settling on Jason.

"Oh!" he says. "So you were injured then. I was wondering if that was just some kind of... weird.. thing."

"Or if you were a metahuman," Jordan adds. "Or an alien."

"Is that what you are?" Bruce asks pointedly at Jordan. "I have to say I'm not familiar with... whatever it is your work is."

"I'm former air force," Jordan says. "Now I work as the Green Lantern of Sector 2814."

Jordan gets a round of confused looks.

"He's space police," Allen adds helpfully, earning an annoyed look from Jordan.

"Space police," Slade says, sounding equal parts unimpressed and skeptical.

"Perhaps," Alfred says, "we should not be doing this type of introduction in the entrance-way. It might be better to do anything of this sort downstairs.

"Probably a good idea," Bruce says. "We can exchange our other names downstairs, out of sight."

Bruce is just happy he invested in stairs for the cave, because there's too many people for just one elevator trip.

Chapter Text

Jordan lets out a low whistle as they reach the cave proper, and Allen goes from gawking to actually inspecting things in record time.

Literally record time, because he can't quite stop himself from zipping around the cave, a barely visible blur as he inspects everything, oohing and aahing as he goes.

"Guess that answers what he can do," Roy says.

"Barry!" Jordan yells, and there's another blur, with Allen stopping just in front of them. He looks like a kid at Christmas, obviously deeply interested in all the gadgets.

"Sorry!" Allen says. "So, uh, where are we starting?"

Bruce can't imagine it's going to be an easy thing, managing so many people and getting everyone's introductions out, so he attempts to make it a bit easier.

"I'll start," he says. They're forming up into a loose ring, which is nice, because the alternative feels a little bit us versus them for his tastes.

"My name is Bruce Wayne. I assume both of you are at least passingly familiar with me, but I was the first Batman back when all this started. I've effectively retired from serious one on one crime fighting, but I still help manage the family as a whole. I sometimes go by Sonar."

"Which is a name literally no one ever calls you," Slade says with a snort.

"I'm Roy," Roy says. "Roy Harper. I go by Arsenal, or before that, Red Arrow. Or Speedy, I guess, but pretty much no one knew that name thankfully."

"Speedy?" Jason says, shocked. "When were you Speedy?"  

"Back when I was doing the sidekick thing," Roy says with a scowl. "Don't get me started, little Robin-"  

"Alright," Jordan interrupts. "So what's your... uh, powers? For both of you. Does Batman even have powers?"

"I don't," Bruce says. "We make do with the latest technology."

"Same," Roy says. "Only less 'the latest technology' and more 'whatever we can get from the local outdoor enthusiasts specialty shop'."

"So wait," Jordan says, "do none of you have powers?"

Four hands point towards Slade, who snorts.

"I'm the resident metahuman in the bunch," Slade says. "If you can even count me as one."

"What's your thing?" Allen asks.

"Punching really hard."

Bruce rolls his eyes.

"He's your standard enhanced human," Bruce says. "Stronger, faster, tougher, better regeneration, great senses... The usual."

"Huh," Jordan says. "Honestly I figured you'd either all had some kind of sneaky powers, or none of you did. So wait, if you're not Batman, who the hell are you? The priest guy?"

Technically Jason's supposed to have gone next, but Slade isn't going to ignore the question.

"The Gotham Knight," he says. 

"Any relation to the Arkham Knight?" Allen asks, looking around.

Bruce has to admit he's surprised anyone from outside of Gotham even knows that name.

"I thought we said we weren't going to bring up the conspiracy theory stuff," Jordan says, scowling at Allen.

"I'm just saying," Allen fires back, "there's a lot of really weird stuff in Gotham, and the cities biggest conspiracy theory did turn out to be true, so all of that stuff might have some validity to it!"

"Have you been reading the tabloids?" Bruce asks, baffled.

"He spent the entire drive up here reading through the weird parts of the internet to learn what he could about the Batman," Jordan says. "He was extremely painful to ride with."

"Only because you wouldn't let me out to run-"

"Like that wouldn't have been suspicious looking!" Jordan says.

"Okay," Jason says. "Now I have to know. What's the weird part of the internet saying about the Arkham Knight?"

Slade gives Jason a look that Bruce suspects is unreadable to anyone outside of the family, but which he interprets as a clear are you sure you want to go down this line of conversation?

"A whole bunch of Gotham's villains say that there was this guy called the Arkham Knight a few years back," Allen says. "And that he was working with Deathstroke and Scarecrow, and they were going to pull the absolute craziest scheme you've ever heard of in order to kill the Bat. But then, one day to the next, almost everyone involved in the scheme gets arrested in this huge simultaneous takedown... except for the Arkham Knight and his second and command. Police say they got an anonymous tip. Except..."

Jordan lets out an exasperated groan as Allen leans in almost conspiratorially.

"There's a theory that the whole Arkham Knight thing was actually a setup by the Bat himself. That the whole thing was a great big plan to catch all the villains at once by pretending to be one of them, and that it was actually Batman himself under the cowl. People think Deathstroke was probably Nightwing, because he stopped showing up in Bludhaven right around that time."

He looks straight at Bruce, clearly expecting some kind of confirmation of the theory.

"Wow," Jason says, "somehow they managed to get all sorts of facts right while also being completely wrong."

Allen deflates, and beside him, Jordan laughs, smacking him on the back.

"Told you," he says. "Way more likely that something else went wrong. Maybe the Arkham Knight got killed or something. But honestly? Probably the whole thing was a sham. Arkham Knight was Black Mask or someone like that, clearing out Gotham's underbelly so that they could take over."

It's interesting to realize how much information there is out there, but also how hard it is to connect.

"Both theories are wrong," Bruce says. "The Arkham Knight was genuine, and really was working with most of Gotham's criminal element to kill me. But he had a change of heart, and ended up selling out his former allies instead of going through with his plan."

Jason, arms folded over his chest, lifts a hand.

"Arkham Knight," he confirms. "Formerly."

Slade mirrors his position.

"Deathstroke," he says. "Also formerly."

Allen, rather than being upset he was wrong, instead looks excited. Like he's pulled back the curtain and gotten a peak at how it all works.

"You converted the Arkham Knight?" He says. "Thats-"

"Slade did," Bruce says, with a nod towards him. "I can't take credit for any of that."

"And you were the guy pretending to be-" Allen starts, looking Slade over before abruptly stopping, his eyes fixed on Slade's eyepatch.

Slade smirks at him, and Allen looks momentarily panicked.

"Wait," he says, "hold on, are you telling me he's actually Deathstroke?"

He glances between the group as if expecting a gotcha. Bruce sighs.

"Please tell me you didn't-" He starts, and Slade laughs.

"We never fought," Slade says. "Never went anywhere near Central City. I'd have remembered a guy with powers like his."

"Oh, no-" Allen says. "Sorry, I was just reacting on reputation. Deathstroke is kind of like..." He gestures in a manner that is so unclear Bruce has no idea what he's trying to convey. "He's a big deal."

"Please," Damian protests, "his ego is large enough without you inflating it."

Slade does look extra smug.

"Either way," Slade says, "yes, I was Deathstroke before. I'll be joining you guys on the League both to represent the active members of our team, but also to provide some insight on how things work on the other end. No offense, but most of you strike me as goody-goodies, and I doubt many of you have experience with how mercenary contracts are managed or anything like that."

"Guilty," Jordan says. "Definitely not my area."

"In case it wasn't completely clear," Jason says, "I'm currently operating as Batman. Before that I was the Arkham Knight, and before that I was Robin."

"You were-" Allen starts.

"The second Robin," Jason says. "You're thinking of Nightwing, who was the first one."

Allen looks around as if expecting Nightwing to pop out of hiding at any moment.

"Who's up in Bludhaven," Slade says.

Damian looks annoyed at having been left for last on their side.

"You're all awful at introductions," Damian says. "That is Slade Wilson, and that is Jason Wilson-Wayne. I am Damian Wayne. I operate as Shrike."

Bruce notes Allen and Jordan's eyebrows going up at the names, but neither says anything.

"Well," Allen says, "I already said I was Barry Allen, but... Barry Allen. I go by the Flash, and I operate out of Central City. Haven't been doing this all that long, honestly. Was pretty happy when Wonder Woman contacted me."

"Is it just you out there?" Jason asks, and Allen nods.

"Just me," he says. "I have some friends who have my back, but that's a pretty different thing than them helping with the whole... fighting crime thing."

Bruce isn't sure if Jordan's intentionally left himself to last, but it feels telling that he is, because he's the one Bruce is most curious about. Space Police, indeed.

"I'm Hal Jordan," he says. "I operate as a Green Lantern of Sector 2814, which includes Earth, on behalf of the Green Lantern Corps."

"What is it you do?" Jason asks skeptically. For all Jordan's talk, he hasn't actually done anything.

Jordan brings his hand up in a fist.

"In bright-"

"Oh no," Allen says. "Please do not say the oath."

Jordan looks offended.

"What?" He says. "The oath is perfectly-"

"We both know you don't need it," Allen says. "And they're going to think you need to say it every time you turn. You can say it later."

"It's a sacred oath," Jordan protests.

"It's an oath you're supposed to say while charging," Allen says. "You just think it sounds cool."

"It does."

"Just show them the suit already!"

Jordan rolls his eyes and clenches his fist, and there's a burst of green light that seems to roll over him. When Bruce can actually take a proper look, he's covered from neck to toe in a green and black bodysuit, a domino mask fitted across his eyes.

"...Neat," Roy says. "What's it do?"

"Energy constructs," Hal says, producing a sword of green light to demonstrate.

"Solid light?" Bruce says, scrutinizing the demonstration.

"Based on willpower," Jordan adds with a dirty look towards Allen. "The Green Lanterns are about willpower, and we exist to keep the balance between the corps."

"Let's get to the important bit," Slade says. "How many of these corps are there are on earth?"

"Probably just me," Jordan says with a shrug. "Space is a big place, and there's a lot of area to cover. I'm off planet a lot of the time. I only know about the whole League thing because I know Barry."

Bruce lets out a sigh of relief that there's probably only one Lantern running around earth. The last thing he needs is an army of them.

Slade and Jason seem interested in the whole lantern corps idea, and end up drifting over to Jordan. Bruce is more interested in Allen, and heads in his direction along with Roy and Damian. More than anything else, he's curious as to just how he ended up getting powers, and how he ended up handling crime in Central City by himself.

Most of all? Bruce wants to know how Diana found a man who can move faster than he can blink.

Chapter Text

They spend most of the afternoon swapping stories. He hears about how Allen got his powers (accident), and about how Diana managed to recruit him (asking nicely). He gives Allen and Jordan a general idea of what happened during the Night of the Owls, and then Slade gives them the whole story about when he was first hired to kill Batman. Bruce doesn't think it's a terribly appropriate story, but it holds Damian's attention until Alfred calls them for dinner and they all head upstairs.

Allen is absolutely delighted when he spots Portia, and ends up playing with the kitten for most of dinner, zipping back and forth between the kitten's bed and the table and earning himself several annoyed looks from Jordan.

"You are killing me," Jordan mutters under his breath. "Can you not be a polite guest for two minutes?"

After that Allen does mostly settle down, but not before repeatedly and enthusiastically complimenting Alfred's cooking.

"We're going to head straight from the meeting back home," Jordan says. "Or Barry is, anyway. I'm heading back on assignment, there's some trouble-"

"Out in space?" Roy says, eyebrows going up.

"-Out in space," Jordan says with a sigh. "My mentor's going to come pick me up before we go, so you might get to see him."

"Is he an alien?" Roy asks, looking excited by the prospect.

"Alien is relative," Hal points out. "But he's not from Earth, no."

"How many sectors are there?" Bruce asks, unclear on just how big Jordan's territory is supposed to be.

"Three thousand six hundred," he says.

Bruce does some mental math.

"How many have sapient life in this sector?"

"More than you're thinking," Jordan says. 

"Is Krypton one of them?"

Jordan seems caught off guard, and he squints at Bruce.

"That's 2813," he says. "Tomar-re's territory."

Bruce makes a note of that.

"Hold on," Jordan says. "How exactly do you know about Krypton? Because that is not a planet that any Earth government knows about."

"I know a lot of things Earth's governments don't know about," Bruce says, grinning at Jordan.

Slade snorts at that, but Bruce doesn't plan to give up Clark's secret so easily. He's already said more than he should, but curiosity got the better of him.

"Keep your secrets then," Jordan says with a grumble.

"Speaking of secrets..." Allen starts, and Jordan immediately looks horrified.

"Barry," he says. "Absolutely not. We said we were not going to ask."

"You said you weren't going to ask," Allen says. "I want to ask."

Jordan looks straight at Bruce.

"If you're going to kick him out over this," he says, "I want it on record I told him not to."

Bruce tries to figure out what they might ask. He's not sure he can think of anything that they might know about which might elicit that kind of a reaction. But the more he thinks about it, the more paranoid he gets, and his brain starts to turn things over.

Is he about to ask about the infection? About the Joker? About-

"Are you two together?"

Bruce's brain falters, and he looks up at Allen, whose eyes are flicking between him and Slade.

"Because there is a stubbornly persistent rumor that Bruce Wayne and Batman are lovers, and that Jason is actually your son through some kind of weird magic or something, and-"

"Oh my god," Jason says. "Some weird magic called adoption."

Allen at least has the self respect to look embarrassed. 

"Yes," Bruce says. "We are."

Slade takes that as his cue to lean over, hooking an arm around Bruce's side and pulling him down to press a kiss to his cheek.

Damian makes a face at them.

"Thank god," Jordan says. "Because if you weren't this entire dinner meeting was going to be really awkward."

Jason, on the other hand, looks pained by the realization that the internet thinks he's some kind of strange magic baby.

"We should have known that Jason's name would give the wrong impression," Bruce says with a sigh.

"Which is amusing, since he had the name before we were together," Slade points out.

Damian very suddenly looked horrified.

"Wait," he says, "am I going to have to be Damian Wilson-Wayne?"

"You'd be Wayne-Wilson," Slade says without missing a beat. "And no. No one has to change their name who doesn't want to."

Bruce's face feels like it's on fire with how casually Slade says it, and Jordan looks at him, amused by his reaction.

"Can we please change the subject," Bruce begs.

Even though they do, it's all but inevitable it comes up again. Damian and Roy go to rendezvous with Stephanie for patrol, and Bruce makes sure that all three guests are back in their rooms before he retires for the night. Slade's already there, waiting in bed, and when he crawls in beside him, ready to sleep, Slade brings it up again.

"You got embarrassed at the name thing," Slade says pointedly.

"I think it would be weird if I didn't," Bruce says. "We haven't been... together all that long. The idea of marriage..."

Slade presses up against him, arms looping loosely around his waist.

"I know," Slade says. "I just wanted to check in and make sure you weren't... doing that thing you do where you get stuck in your own head."

Bruce makes himself exhale and lets himself lean into things.

"A bit," he says. "I try not to think too far ahead."

"Then don't," Slade says. "We have time. And I'm not in a rush."

But he wants to, is the unspoken thing. He's left the door open, just in case Bruce ever wants to stick his head in.

"Big day tomorrow," Slade adds, combing his fingers through Bruce's hair. "So get some sleep."

Bruce sleeps peacefully, curled up against him.

Chapter Text

Despite Jason's repeatedly stated disinterest in the league, he shows an awful lot of interest in them getting ready to go.

"It's not too late," Bruce says over breakfast. "I can still talk t-"

"No," Jason says, "I'm sticking with Gotham, and that's final."

The other problem comes up almost immediately.

"Okay," Hal says. "I mean this isn't an issue for me, because I can just swap immediately, but are you guys going in suits, or...?"

Damian bursts in, kitten tucked under his arm, to announce that it's begun to snow.

"It doesn't count until it's sticking on the ground," Jason protests. "And they're going in suits."

"And what, taking the batmobile?" Roy asks. "Because that is going to look ridiculous stuck in Metropolis rush hour traffic."

The more Bruce thinks about it, the worse it gets. They have five people—one of which who can in theory get their on their own—and need to somehow balance maintaining their identities with not drawing attention.

"Do you not have something low profile?" Jordan asks. "Like, subtle?"

 "God," Slade says, "we should take the Murciélago."

"The what?" Allen says.

"Lamborghini," Jason says. "One, it's a sports car that does the wing-door thing. Two, it's totally blacked out and you can't see anything happening inside. Three, it's a six digit car."

"Four," Damian says, "the name means 'bat'."

Roy thinks it's hysterical.

"It's the only thing we've got that doesn't scream I am being driven by Batman," Slade points out. "Or at least the only thing that isn't easily traceable back to Bruce Wayne."

"Fine," Bruce says.

Bruce feels slightly ridiculous climbing into a sports car with the suit on. He feels a bit too bulky for something so sleek, and he's worried he's going to ruin the seats. The suit isn't exactly soft-seat-friendly. It's meant to be armor, not made for comfort.

The only consolation is that as ridiculous as he looks, Slade looks twice as ridiculous slipping into the passenger seat.

"I want this car," Jordan complains. "Why can't I have a car like this?"

"Because you spend eleven months a year in space," Allen says. "And you can't drop the money you've got on a fancy car you won't even drive."

"So whose truck is out front?" Slade asks as Bruce pulls out.

"Mine," Allen says. "Can't run everywhere. Sometimes I need to transport things around."

Slade grunts, and Bruce is pretty sure he's moments away from calling it a bucket of rust.

Which it is. The truck looks to be about as old as Jason.

"We're not taking the ferry," Bruce says, hoping to avoid the insult entirely. "We're going to just have to cut up along the bay."

"Why isn't there a bridge?" Jordan asks. "How can you guys have two giant cities beside each other and not have a bridge between them?"

"I asked the same question," Roy says.

"And I ask myself that every time I go to Metrop-" Bruce starts.

He's interrupted by his phone ringing on the center console, and he eyes the caller ID before picking up.

"Are you already on your way?" Clark asks immediately.

"Just left," Bruce says.

"Are you coming in suits? I'm not sure what I'm supposed to wear."

"Just fly in," Bruce says. "We're all in suits."

"Wait," Clark says, sounding suddenly panicked. "Are you driving the batmobile?"

"We're not," Bruce says. "We went low profile."

"Why do I suspect that low profile-"

"It's a fancy sports car," Slade says, "but blacked out."

"Oh!" Clark says. "Wait, am I on speaker?"

"You are," Bruce says. "We've also got two others in the back."

"Alright," Clark says. "I'll see you when you get here."

Bruce says his goodbyes and hangs up.

Allen blurs forward, leaning up between the seats.

"Was that Superman?" He asks.

"That was Superman," Bruce says.

"I should have just flown in," Jordan says. "Way faster."

The car ride is uneventful for their way around the bay. But they're not all that far past the state line when Bruce spots highway patrol.

"Please no," Bruce says under his breath. "You have got-"

The car flips it's lights on.

"Hold on," Jordan says. "Are we getting pulled over?"

"Excessive tinting is illegal," Bruce says.

"Are we pulling over?" Slade asks, craning his neck around.

"I'm not getting into a police chase," Bruce says, signalling as he starts to head for the shoulder.

"Uh," Allen says, "just for the record I can super not get arrested."

"One, we're not getting arrested," Slade says. "Two, why?"

"I work with the cops," Allen says, looking mortified. "If they run my ID-"

"We're not giving them our IDs," Bruce says, stopping the car.

He's already second guessing his decision to not simply hit the gas. A few years ago he'd have hit the gas without a second thought. But he's been trying to improve relations with the police. Starting trouble right then seems like a particularly bad idea.

"What's the plate going to come back to?" Slade asks.

"Error," Bruce says. "Which is probably what's taking so long."

"I want you to know," Allen says, "that I have literally never in my entire life been pulled over."

"I have," Roy says. "Don't ask."

"This is the most ridiculous situation I've ever been in," Jordan says, "and I've been to space."

"Stick around," Slade says, "you'll see a lot more completely ridiculous shit."

Bruce watches his mirrors as the cop finally climbs out of their vehicle.

"One's staying behind," Slade says. "Probably trying to run the plates still."

"How much trouble-" Allen says.

"Quiet," Bruce interrupts, and everyone goes silent as Bruce rolls down the window.

The cop looks absolutely baffled as he stares in the window. Bruce doubts he can see the back, but he's looking at Batman and the Gotham Knight, and they're fairly recognizable, even to someone on the Metropolis side of the bay.

"...Well," the officer says. "You don't see that every day."

Allen cracks up in the back, and Jordan shushes him. Roy, mercifully, stays quiet.

The cop can't stop himself from leaning over, peeking into the back. Allen waves.

"Alright," the officer says. "Should I be expecting trouble?"

"No," Bruce says. "We're just going to meet someone."

"Alright then," the officer says. "I'm going to go right back to my car and pretend like I didn't see anything, but this is definitely a story that's getting told at the precincts christmas party."

Bruce grins at him.

"Feel free," he says. The cop gives a little salute, and then heads back to the cruiser. Bruce waits for him to climb back in before he pulls back out into traffic.

"That went well," Bruce says.

"I'm sharing a car with you," Allen says, "and I'm still not entirely convinced you're not an urban legend."

Chapter Text

They make it into Metropolis without anyone else pulling them over, which feels like a mercy. They're badly behind schedule after being pulled over. Bruce had plans to arrive early, and as things are he's worried they're not even going to make it on time.

Clark calls him with five minutes to go.

"Where are you?" He asks.

"Three blocks away," Bruce says. "Why is there so much traffic? We're past rush hour."

"Metropolis always has traffic," Clark says. "Everything go alright?"

"We got pulled over," Roy says helpfully.

"You got- you got pulled over?" Clark splutters.

"By highway patrol," Bruce says. "Your side of the bay. They were very polite about it."

"Am I going to see a news story about this tomorrow?"

"Depends on how slow the news day is," Bruce says. "Now unless you're going to fly down and carry us there-"

"I am most definitely not," Clark says. "We're trying to stay low profile."

Bruce grunts.

"Then let us sit in traffic hell."

Clark says a quick I'll see you soon and hangs up.

"Do I need to-" Jordan starts.

"No," Bruce says. "We just need to wait."

They're five minutes late when Bruce finally pulls into the building. He wants to describe it as nondescript, but he's seen enough high security government buildings to recognize one. There's all the telltale signs: No clear signage indicating what the building's used for. A limited number of entrances and exits. High fences that disguise what's inside.

The parking lot he can see is half empty, and Bruce slides up to the entrance, rolling down his window. The security guard immediately lets him in, gesturing for him to head down into a parking garage under the building itself.

"Do we know where we're going?" Jordan asks.

"Only one way to go," Allen says, pointing towards a bank of elevators.

"That's how these places work," Slade says. "Keep in mind we're probably on camera. Even if they promise you we're not."

Bruce lets himself out, and everyone else piles out too. The area is clean, if fairly empty, and when they step into the elevator there's only one button that's not blacked out, making it an easy choice as Bruce taps it.

"This is kind of spooky," Allen says.

Slade grunts helpfully.

The first thing Bruce sees when the elevator door clicks open is Clark on the far side of the room, in conversation with a blond man he doesn't recognize. They pile out of the elevator, but he doesn't see Diana anywhere, which strikes him as odd.

He doesn't have long to think about it. Clark heads towards them, floating just above the ground, and every mental warning bell Bruce has goes off at once. There's something wrong.

Clark isn't Clark. He has the wrong expressions. He has the wrong look. He's not holding himself the way he's supposed to be, and when he looks at Bruce, blank and inexpressive, Bruce doesn't hesitate to fling a batarang at them, plucked from his gauntlet.

Roy yelps behind him, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Jordan produce a shield of green light.

The batarang embeds itself in 'Clarks' torso. Clark doesn't even react to that properly, looking down at the bit of metal sticking out of his chest as if it doesn't feel it at all.

Bruce guesses it probably doesn't, but he's already starting to fall back—elevator is too enclosed to retreat to—when he hears Diana's voice.

"J'onn!" She yells. "I told you no!"

Bruce spots her at the far side of the room with Clark, with Diana jogging across the room while Clark flies. Bruce glances back to the fake Clark just in time to see their entire body ripple, shifting.

They become him. Batman, complete with suit, and the same inexpressive face. Only floating two inches off the ground.

There's very obviously no danger, but Bruce still has to fight the urge to toss another Batarang out of pure instinct.

Clark—the real one—inserts himself between them, and shoots Bruce a dirty look.

"Did you throw a batarang at them?" Clark asks.

"It was pretending to be you," Bruce protests.

"Why did you even bring them?"

"Because I bring them everywhere. They're part of the suit."

Clark glares at Slade, who... isn't doing anything. Who didn't do anything, Bruce realizes. As alarmed as he was, Slade didn't do anything, which means he knew the situation was under control from the start.

"You should have stopped him," Clark says.

"Don't see why," Slade says. "Batarang isn't going to do much damage, and if he's not immune to the damage, he'll learn a hard lesson about impersonating someone."

"J'onn," Diana says, sounding exhausted. "Please go back to your old form. The one we talked about."

The thing—J'onn, apparently—ripples again before taking a form Bruce doesn't recognize. An older man, pushing into his forties, with dark skin and a shaved head.

He also, mercifully, stops floating.

"Wait a second," Jordan says. "You're a martian!"

J'onn looks up, still inexpressive, and nods.

"We should get out of the doorway," Slade says. "They've got a table set up and it'd be a shame to waste it."

He ushers everyone out of the doorway, back towards the table. The room's large and almost entirely empty, and aside from Clark and Diana, there's only two other people in the room. The shapeshifting man, and then another man who's heading for the table as they do.

Which makes nine total.

"Introductions?" Diana says as they start to settle into their seats. Bruce notes her taking special care to make sure J'onn actually sits down, because he seems to be unclear on the concept of taking a seat.

"Feel free to go first," Jordan says, who seems distracted by J'onn.

"My name is Diana of Themyscira," she says. "I have been working together with ARGUS to assemble this group in the hopes that greater collaboration between heroes will help all of us. I understand that we come from different backgrounds, but all of us have a common goal."

Bruce isn't entirely sure about any of that, but it sounds nice at least.

"For many of you, this will be your first time meeting other... heroes and metahumans. I hope we can all come together, and see past our differences."

She seems to be looking rather pointedly at the blond man Bruce hasn't yet met, who leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head. He's wearing an orange top of a material bruce can't identify, and while his first thought is scale pattern, his brain eventually corrects to just scale.

"So," she says, "to elaborate, I am from Themyscira, the lost island of the Amazons. We have remained hidden from the wider world for centuries, but now we are taking steps to rejoin mankind. I have been working closely with Steve Trevor, of ARGUS, who hopes to join us later."

Bruce wants to ask what do you do, but doesn't want to get too pointed. First meetings.

And of course she glances to him next.

Bruce sighs and pushes himself to his feet.

"I assume most of you already know me," Bruce says. "I operate as the vigilante Batman in Gotham city, just across the bay. At the current time I've largely retired from direct work. Instead I help coordinate..."

Bruce trails off, trying to mentally count. Does he count Dick and his own?

"Around a dozen vigilantes in Gotham and the surrounding area."

"I'll ask," the blond man says, "since no one else seems willing to. What powers do you have? Or am I to believe that you're all just humans?"

Bruce decides he doesn't particularly like the man, which isn't a great start.

"I have no powers," Bruce says. "We make do with technology."

"I have received the blessings of the gods," Diana says, which earns a confused look from almost everyone.

"Which means?" Slade says.

"Strong, fast, durable, healing, flight, and so on," Clark elaborates.

"I also wield the bracelets of submission and the lasso of truth," Diana announces.

Jordan gives Bruce a is this real look.

"Anyone ensnared by the lasso is compelled to speak only the truth, among other useful abilities. The Golden Perfect is the Amazon's most sacred relic."

Magic. Magic magic magic. Bruce can already feel a headache coming on.

"Moving on," Bruce says. "Yes. Ordinary human." He looks to Slade, who stands up.

Surprisingly, Slade reaches up, snapping the faceplate of his helmet up to show his face.

"Slade Wilson," he says. "AKA the Gotham Knight. AKA Deathstroke."

There is a distinct lack of response to what should be a significant reveal. Jordan and Allen already know, but neither J'onn nor the blond man have any reaction at all, which feels very telling.

"Enhanced... all the usual stuff. No magic. I operate as a vigilante in Gotham."

Slade sits right back down, and Bruce starts second guessing if he should show his face.

"I'm the Flash," Allen says, notably not saying his real name. "I... uh, go fast."

"Way to undersell yourself," Jordan says. "Go for a run."

Allen, apparently willing to demonstrate, vanishes in a flash of red. He's so fast Bruce is barely catching an after image, and then he's back in his seat almost the moment he left.

"Fast," Diana says, looking surprised. "I may have underestimated your speed."

"I operate out of Central City, and I'm doing the whole vigilante thing, a lot like Batman did. Does. Did?"

"Did," Bruce confirms.

"Hal Jordan," Jordan says, throwing Bruce's real identity count off even further. "Green Lantern of Sector 2814. I represent-"

Jordan actually stops himself, glaring at Allen, who holds his hands up.

"I wasn't going to say it," he protests.

Jordan huffs.

"I represent the Guardians of Oa, and the Green Lantern Corps. My area includes Earth. Our primary directive is to ensure order, justice, and peace throughout the universe."

Bruce feels like he can hear Allen thinking the words space police.

"And I make hard light constructs, and a bunch of other neat stuff," he adds.

"I go by Arsenal," Roy says, standing up. "No powers to speak of. I mostly fight with a bow, and I'm doing the vigilante thing over in Star City. I'm here representing a much smaller group of heroes, including Green Arrow, since they couldn't make it."

Everyone looks towards the blond man, who huffs and stands up.

"My name is Arthur Curry," he says. "You may call me Aquaman, or King Arthur."

He goes to sit down, and Diana clears her throat.

He sighs and stands back up.

"I am here representing Atlantis," he says. "Atlanteans are a hearty people, better suited for life in the deep sea. I also possess magic of my own, and can communicate with sea life."

"Hold on," Allen says, alarmed. "Atlantis?"

The meeting's only just started, and Bruce's head is already throbbing.

"Yes," Arthur says. "We are only just beginning to make contact with the surface world. Themyscira was the first place we started."

Which means he brought Clark, Roy, and Slade into the fold, Diana brought Arthur, and Allen brought Jordan. Which means there's one odd man out.

"I go by Superman," Clark says. "Or Kal-el."

"Oh!" Jordan says, and then quickly covers his mouth.

Clark looks at him confused.

"Oh?"

"Batman asked me if Krypton was in my sector," Jordan says, sounding almost sheepish. "I guess you're why?"

Clark's expression softens, and he nods.

"Yes," he says. "While earth is my adopted home and where I was raised, I am originally from Krypton. This gives me significantly enhanced physical abilities, among other things."

He settles back down, which just leaves one.

J'onn does not stand up. He turns to Diana, who sighs and stands.

"This is J'onn J'onzz," she says. "One of, if not the final survivor of Mars. He has been isolated for quite some time, and was only recently recovered by ARGUS. He is still... attempting to adjust to human society."

J'onn nods.

"He's a shapeshifter," Diana says. "Among other things."

"That's everyone?" Bruce asks.

Diana nods, offering a rare smile. She's been serious for the majority of the meeting, looking exhausted from keeping an eye on J'onn, but for just a moment she looks hopeful.

"That's everyone," she says. "If anyone knows of anyone else—or encounters anyone who might make a good asset to the team—please speak up. But otherwise this is every costumed vigilante I'm aware of, as well as those representing various metahuman groups."

Realistically speaking, that puts her, Arthur, and Jordan on the side of representing various non-human groups, and Clark, Roy, Slade, and himself on the side of costumed vigilantes. Once again J'onn stands alone, the odd man out in every way possible.

"Why don't we all try and get to know one another, and then we can get down to actual business?"

Chapter Text

It's effectively a meet and greet, and even if the company is different, Bruce has plenty of experience with meet and greets. That's not to say he enjoys them, but he knows what to do.

So he drifts. Everyone's standing again, milling about and ending up in loose groups. Clark's having an animated conversation with Jordan, and there's no question as to what they're talking about. Clark looks excited, and keeps gesturing with his hands without seeming to notice. Arthur's talking with Diana, his body language closed off. Roy and Barry are having their own conversation just off to the side, and Bruce considers joining them for a moment. Slade, however, does.

"I'm going to go check on Arsenal," he says. "Make sure he's not too overwhelmed."

It hasn't escaped Bruce's notice that Arsenal is the youngest on the team, and he has to admit to himself that it feels kind of nice to watch Slade check in on him.

There's only one person who stands alone, so Bruce pushes away his instinct to check in with Clark and heads over to J'onn.

Clark is, strictly speaking, an alien. It's something Bruce made his peace with back when he first found out.

But J'onn is something else entirely. He doesn't act human. He doesn't even properly pretend to be human. Bruce supposes that it's that which makes talking to him a bit easier. Even if J'onn takes the shape of someone that he knows, it's never an actual half decent impersonation. There's no question that Bruce would ever mistake J'onn for anyone else for more than a moment.

Ironically, the only person he could potentially pass for is Bruce himself—or at least as Batman, whose stoic nature fits J'onn.

"Diana said you were from Mars?" Bruce asks, attempting to make conversation.

J'onn turns to him, and Bruce realizes with alarm that J'onn has not yet realized that humans need to blink.

"Yes," he says. "I am from Mars."

Bruce is silent for a moment, hoping for an elaboration, but he doesn't get one.

"Are there more?" He asks, hoping to prompt a conversation out of him.

"There were."

Bruce can't tell if J'onn is actually upset by the question, because he doesn't show any sort of emotional reaction. For that matter, Bruce isn't entirely sure if he has emotions the way a human does.

"How long have you been on earth?" He asks, and for the first time there's a reaction—a slow and lazy blink—from J'onn.

"Forty years," he says, and Bruce falters for a moment.

"You've been here forty years?" Bruce says.

"Yes," J'onn says.  

Forty years without figuring out what a smile is or why humans do it really doesn't really add up, so Bruce ignores his normal objections (don't want to seem like he's prying, don't want to cause offense) and simply asks.

"Forty years around humans?"

"No," J'onn says. For once, he doesn't make Bruce dig for clarification. "When I arrived on earth, I was not able to clearly communicate to the people here. They were afraid that I was dangerous, and confined me."

"And are you?"

Maybe it's not the nicest thing to say, but J'onn seems particularly straight forward, and he can't help but expect that he'll get a straight answer.

"Yes," J'onn says. "I have numerous capabilities that far exceed an ordinary human. I would be dangerous if I chose to turn against humanity."

Straight to the point then.

"Do you plan to?"

"No," J'onn says. "When they tried to harm me, they did so out of fear. When Diana and Steve Trevor came to collect me, they were not afraid."

"When was that?" Bruce asks. He's putting money on it being fairly recent, because J'onn seems particularly quick to adapt, and particularly willing to comply with whatever Diana asks of him. He can't imagine they've been out and about long.

"Ten days ago," J'onn says.

Which means Diana was collecting J'onn right around when he was in Star City. All of a sudden Diana's mistake with Jordan and Allen makes a great deal more sense.

"And they are treating you kindly?" Bruce asks. He doubts J'onn has much of a perspective on what is or isn't kind by the standards of Earth.

"Yes," J'onn says. "Diana is teaching me to understand humans. She herself is not one, but she understands them in a way I do not. She has taught me many things... that humans may be afraid of my appearance. That humans do not like the idea of anyone seeing their thoughts."

Bruce barely manages to keep a straight face.

"Is that something you can do?" He asks, his instinct to simply leave the situation immediately rising.

"Yes," J'onn says. "But Diana has said that I should not, so I do not. Humans do not share thoughts way Martians do."

But there's no way to know, which sets Bruce on edge. He tries not to show it. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Slade head towards Diana and Arthur, and Roy and Allen start heading towards them.

"How're things over here?" Roy asks.

"I was just asking J'onn about what he can do. The answer turns out to be quite a lot."

"I am still learning which things humans cannot do," J'onn says. "Humans appear to be quite fragile."

He looks at Roy with what Bruce takes to be interest, and then to Allen.

"Oh," Allen says, "uh, reminding humans that we're squishy is generally a bit of a faux pas."

"I will remember that," J'onn says.

"He's still learning," Bruce says, filling the new arrivals in. "From what he's said he's only been walking around for a bit over a week."

"Ten days," J'onn corrects.

"I mean... he looks pretty human," Roy says. "With how Hal describes it, I assumed aliens would be a lot more wild looking."

"I do not look like this naturally," J'onn says automatically. "Diana suggested that I take a human form in order to avoid alarming people. I was told that if I went about in my natural form, that humans would panic."

Bruce braces himself for whatever he's about to see.

"Now I have to see," Allen says. "Can you show us?"

Without further prompting, J'onn begins to shift. His skin turns an inhuman green, the shape of his skull shifting. He's still mostly human, but it's the eyes that throw Bruce off the most. They're a solid red, with no iris or pupil to be seen, and that makes it impossible to tell where he's looking.

Bruce realizes the answer might very well be everywhere at once.

Roy whistles.

"Alright," he says. "That's more like what I was expecting when I was told Superman was an alien."

"Perhaps Diana was wrong," J'onn says. "The four of you do not seem particularly panicked."

"Well," Allen points out, "we were warned. And all of us have been around some pretty weird stuff."

"Four?" Roy asks. "Counting you?"

Bruce is happy Roy asked, because he's half expecting to find out there's a tenth member of the team who can turn invisible.

"Four," J'onn says, turning his attention to Roy. "Not counting me."

"Humans try and count only people who are in the immediate area," Allen says, attempting to explain. He looks as confused as Bruce feels, only Bruce isn't showing it.

"I apologize," J'onn says, "I am counting only the humans in the immediate area. If you do not wish to be counted as a human, The Flash, then it would be three."

Bruce feels a bead of sweat rolling down his neck, and his anxiety slams into high gear.

J'onn is an alien. He has telepathy. His senses are well beyond whatever a human has access to, and even if Diana has told him not to...

"You aren't actively reading minds," Bruce says, "but you can still feel them?"

Roy looks at Bruce, alarmed, and mouths he can read minds? Bruce ignores him. He doesn't have the time for it. What's happening right then is too important.

"Yes," J'onn says. "I do not have the capability to turn off my senses any more than a human could turn off their sense of touch."

"Hold on," Roy says. "Where are we getting our fourth?" He looks at Bruce, not at J'onn, but Bruce isn't able—or willing—to explain. Right then, he only has eyes for J'onn.

"What else can you do with your powers?" He says. "Mentally. Could you attack someone mentally?"

Allen looks even more alarmed, and he zips off in Diana's direction as J'onn tips his head.

"Yes," he says. "Diana has forbidden me from doing anything of the sort."

"If she gave you permission-"

"If I gave permission for what?" Diana says, joining the conversation with Slade and Arthur hot on their heels.   

Slade slides over to him, pressing a hand to his back.

"B," he says. "You are acting a little bit deranged right now." His voice is quiet, but it hardly matters in a room of super-humans who can hear a pin drop from a mile away. Bruce can't even pretend to be surprised when Jordan and Clark join the cluster. Clark looks alarmed.

"Ask him how many people are in this room," Bruce says to Slade. He knows he sounds desperate. He knows he sounds crazy. But right then there's only one thing he cares about, and J'onn's offering it up to him without even realizing.

Slade looks to J'onn.

"There are ten," he says, "counting myself."

"There's nine," Arthur says, confused.

"Point to them," Clark says, cutting to the heart of the matter.

J'onn does.

"One, two, three..." He counts them off, pointing to each in turn. "Five," he says, pointing to Bruce. "Six," he says, pointing to Bruce again. "Seve-"

"Oh fucking hell," Slade hisses. "Are you telling me he has enough of a presence that he can feel him?"

"Who the hell are we talking about?" Roy protests. "What the hell is going on?"

"The Joker," Slade says, because Bruce can't make himself say it. "The Joker's been in B's head for years. Literally, apparently."

Diana looks alarmed. She's not the only one.

"It's under control," Clark says. "Isn't it?"

"Under control isn't the same thing as gone," Bruce says, his voice strained. "I just need to talk to J'onn."

"Why don't we give them space," Clark says, and starts aggressively scooting everyone to the far side of the room. Slade stays, his hand still pressed to Bruce's back as if worried he's going to topple over, and Diana stays, looking equal parts alarmed and confused.

"I was not aware this was a distressing subject," J'onn says. "I should not have spoken of it. I apologize."

"No," Bruce says. "This is good. This is a good thing. This is - this is something you can help with."

"Explain to me what is happening," Diana says. "Because this is the first I've heard of it."

Bruce turns to Slade, and Slade answers for him.

"Bruce was infected by the Joker years ago," he says, "and even though we stopped the infection, he's still... well, infected. It's just not advancing. He's got the Joker under control, but he's still in there, and nothing we can do can stop it. So Bruce has all the Joker's memories, and that's something he's been living with for a long while."

"And J'onn could stop that," Bruce says. "He could get them out. Get rid of them."

That's all Bruce wants right then. He wants to be able to do things without having to fight with his own brain to keep memories that aren't his own from coming up. He wants to never again have to worry about nightmares of him—not the Joker, but him— torturing Jason. He wants them gone. He wants to stop remembering what caused each and every one of Jason's scars.

He wants to stop remembering himself causing those scars.

"Bruce," Slade says, rubbing circles in his back. "Deep breaths."

He knows he's acting deranged. He knows he's leaving a poor impression with people he barely knows. But right then he doesn't care.

"Can you do it?" Bruce asks, trying not to let his voice crack.

"Yes," J'onn says. "This would not be a difficult task. There is a clear separation between the two of you."

J'onn looks to Diana, who rubs at her forehead.

"How long would this take?" She asks.

"Several hours," J'onn says. "It would be better if you rested for the duration. It can be quite taxing, and I do not know how a human might react to that sort of mental intrusion. The few who I attempted it on before became quite panicked when they realized what was happening."

Bruce is fairly sure it would be different, considering he's wanting J'onn in his head.

As strange as that sounds to him.

"Why doesn't J'onn come back to the manor with us," Slade says. "Hal's leaving from here, so we have a spare seat."

"I am capable of flight," J'onn says.

"No offense meant to you," Diana says, "but J'onn needs to stay with me for the time being. He hasn't... adjusted well enough to humans to keep from causing a panic or drawing attention to himself."

"Of course," J'onn says without complaint.

"Then you can both come," Slade says. "I'm pretty sure Flash wouldn't object to running back to the house and meeting us there."

"I have my own car," Diana says. "I can simply drive us over afterwards. I should express my... concerns... about allowing J'onn to dig around in anyone's head."

"If I had an option," Bruce says, "any option at all that wasn't guaranteed to render me braindead, I would take it. This is that option."

He already feels himself starting to calm down. It's going to happen. Tonight, from the sounds of it. Tonight he'll be gone. He'll be able to hold Jason without having to fight away a stab of guilt. He's spent so long adjusting to it, and now he's finally going to have to stop forcing himself to live with it because there's no other option.

"Alright," Diana says. "I'll bring J'onn to the manor after the meeting. I will bring Steve Trevor along, unless you object."

"We don't," Slade says automatically. "That'll be fine. He's coming?"

"He will be here shortly," Diana says. "And then we plan to start the meeting properly. This was simply intended as a way for everyone to get to know each other."

"Alright," Slade says. "Just yell when he gets here. I'm just going to make sure Bruce is doing alright."

It's the most obvious dismissal he can manage, and Diana takes it for what it is, leading J'onn away while speaking to him quietly.

Slade pulls Bruce against him.

"Deep breaths," he says. It's largely pointless—Bruce is already calming down on his own—but having him there is helping Bruce anyway, and he leans against him.

"I shouldn't have... I should have kept myself contained," Bruce says. "Asked after the meeting."

"It's a big deal for you," Slade says. "So I can't blame you for losing your mind a bit there. Hell, it's a big deal for me. And I know it'll be a big deal for Jason."

Jason. Bruce wonders if they've talked about it. If he's said anything to Slade. But he's afraid to ask.

"We can talk about it after, alright?" Slade says. "Once things are all done."

Bruce knows why. Slade doesn't want to say anything on the off chance it doesn't work. On the off chance J'onn says there's nothing I can do and leaves Bruce as he is.

Bruce doesn't know how he'd handle that, and he nods against Slade.

Someone clears their throat, and Bruce glances up to find Clark, looking worried.

"Are you alright?" He asks quietly. "I'm not used to seeing you this... distressed."

Bruce doesn't normally feel this distressed, but it's the second time in a month that he's felt this agitated, this uncertain about what's coming.

"I'm fine," he says. "I just needed a moment."

"Do you need some water? Snack? Anything?"

"I'm fine," Bruce says.

Clark goes and gets him a glass of water anyway, and Bruce drinks the whole thing in one go.

"Trevor just got here," Clark says. "So the meeting-"

"I'm fine." Bruce says for the third time. "I can handle it."

He feels more like himself as they head back towards the table.

Chapter Text

Bruce gets a lot of odd looks as he settles in at the table, but he ignores them. Let them think what they want. He feels more in control than he did before. For that matter, he feels more in control of the situation than he has for weeks. Things are being handled. Changes are taking effect. He can handle this.

"For those who don't know me," Trevor says, "my name is Steve Trevor. I'm the primary liaison from ARGUS to the Justice League. This is just our first meeting, and the primary purpose of this was for you all to meet one another, so that you can work more closely. However, we do want to discuss two points which have come up more recently, in order to get your input on things."

Bruce has a pretty good idea of what the two points will be, and his eyes flick to Diana and Arthur.

"Both Themyscira and Atlantis have reached out, and expressed an interest in making contact with human society as a whole. In establishing diplomatic relations. This would be... a significant change, as you can imagine. As far as the public is aware, no one on earth has made contact with non-human sapient life—"

Arthur snorts, and Bruce catches Jordan grinning.

"—Whether on planet or off. This would be a significant change to the status quo."

"You're talking about going public," Clark says.

"We are," Trevor confirms. "I imagine there's a level of suspicion to begin with. Many of you haven't exactly been subtle, and things are increasingly stacking up. It's only a matter of time before something happens that we can't deny."

Bruce has been thinking the same thing. There seem to be more of them every year, not just vigilantes, but things that can't be explained. Metahumans and Aliens and now apparently Atlanteans and Amazons.

How long before the public finds out on their own?

"I support this," Bruce says. "At this point it's not a matter of if, it's a matter of when. Going public allows us to control how the information is released, and what information is released."

"That seems quite easy for you to say," Arthur says. "You have no secret to reveal. The knowledge that aliens and other non-humans walk among them will have no effect on you and yours."

Bruce turns his attention fully to Arthur. He understands why the man is combative. Or more accurately, he can guess. The information he knows is enough to put together a clean enough picture of things.

"I agree," Bruce says, which seems to catch Arthur off guard. "I bare none of the risk if this goes poorly, but I have friends who will. I want to see a clean transition as much as anyone."

"I think..." Roy says, faltering for a moment before seeming to steel his nerve. "I think Batman is right. While everyone who is going to be affected by this gets a say, you can't discount the human reaction to things either."

"I have no issue with being revealed to the public," J'onn says.

"Nor do I," Clark says after a moment's hesitation. "Although I would obviously prefer that my civilian identity remain separate. I don't want to put anyone near me at risk."

Bruce imagines that means Jon is going to stay private.

"I'm really just a glorified science experiment," Allen says, "but I'm fine with the League being a public thing, if that's what we're talking about."

"That's almost everyone," Diana says. "Slade Wilson? Hal Jordan?"

"Fine with it," Slade says. "Under the name the Gotham Knight, obviously."

"It would be the same for me. Plenty of planets know about the existence of the Corps without issue," Jordan says.

"Arthur?" Diana prompts.

"That would depend on the circumstances," Arthur says. "While the Amazons might be willing to leap directly into things, we are more hesitant."

It all but confirms what Bruce has suspected: That Arthur came to Themyscira and Themyscira alone, and was only pulled into the league by Diana herself.

It isn't overly hardly to guess why. It isn't hard at all to follow that one small assumption to the clear solution.

"Of course you are," Bruce says. "You have every reason to be." The fastest way to get Arthur to come around is going to be to appeal to his sensibilities, and every time he does, Arthur seems to be thrown off even further.

"He does?" Allen asks, confused.

Bruce couldn't have asked for a better lead in, and it's increasingly obvious that his assumption is correct. Everyone else is confused, including Trevor. Diana, and Diana alone seems to be the only one who knows what's going on, and she gives Bruce a subtle nod.

"He does," Bruce confirms, emboldened by Diana's subtle confirmation. "For most of you, the revelation that humankind is not alone will have minimal effect on your day to day life. Things for you will stay as they are. But Arthur has every reason to be distrustful of the human reaction. Atlantis is traditionally placed at the bottom of the sea, meaning every complaint you've ever heard about garbage and plastic being dumped into the ocean goes straight to him. He's seen nothing but human waste, and I can't imagine that would give a very positive impression of us."

Arthur frowns a bit at that, and Bruce suspects he's missed his mark slightly. He doesn't let that stop him. The core idea is still sound.

"He's also the one with the most to gain," Bruce continues. "As I said, going public will not affect the majority of you. But it does have the potential to greatly impact Atlantis. Going public has the potential to put significant pressure on governments around the world to deal with the problem of what we're doing, as a species, to the ocean. In terms of boosts to the Atlantean quality of life, I can't imagine a larger one, and I imagine that's why Arthur was willing to become a part of the League at all. It puts a face to what's happening. For lack of a better term, it humanizes the oceans to humans at large."

It is not, in fact, why he imagines Arthur joined the League. Bruce is entirely sure that Arthur didn't plan to join the league, that he came only because he was dragged by Diana. He's pretty sure that Arthur's initial plan was something significantly more violent. Something more along the lines of stop ruining my home or else, rather than the more peaceful solution Bruce has just claimed he's pursuing.

He's very politely put Arthur in a chokehold. Arthur can't deny what Bruce has just said without hinting at his original plan and risking someone else catching on. But Bruce has already provided him with a solution: Agree with what he's saying, claim Bruce's plan was the plan all along, and accept the solution with grace.

He does.

"I must admit I am impressed," Arthur says. "I did not expect that someone who had never even been to Atlantis would understand the dilemma we face so well."

"Going public remedies a number of issues," Bruce says, "and allows us to minimize the fallout of that information going public when some sort of a disaster happens. Going all at once also allows us to spread it around, and keep any one group or person from getting all the focus."

He turns to Diana, who smiles at him as he returns to his seat.

Slade discretely squeezes his knee under the table, and Bruce shoots him a small smile.

"It would seem that Batman is already thinking two steps ahead," Diana says, "and came to the same conclusion I did. Going public is what is most likely to work best for everyone. I've already spoken to Steve Trevor about our options with this, and if we agree to move forward, he'll begin to pursue this through the appropriate channels."

"Do we have a timeline?" Allen asks.

Diana looks at Trevor, who shrugs.

"The longer we put it off, the higher the likelihood that it'll come out on its own. Sooner is better than later."

"Is New Years plausible?" Jordan asks. "I'll be back in the area around then."

"Back from... space?" Trevor asks.

"From space," Jordan confirms. "I've got a training mission for the next week, and then I can be back in the area."

"We can aim for that," Trevor says. "And Diana can keep you all updated."

"Should we take it as a vote?" Diana says.

The votes results are clear before they even start, but it feels nice to do it anyway. It makes things clear in a way they weren't before, and when the last vote is cast—by Diana herself—everyone seems to be in a good mood.

"Then I think we can declare this meeting finished," Diana says.

Bruce has to admit he's happy it's over.

Chapter Text

When they first arrived, the group was more clustered, splitting off into little groups of who-knows-who. Now they stand together a bit more, less spread out, and Diana seems happy with that.

"I can't stay too long," Clark says to Bruce. "We're leaving to visit family for the holidays. J- My son's upset he can't give gifts, but I told him we'd visit after the holidays."

"Of course," Bruce says. "Just let me know when you'll be back in town and we can set something up."

"Are you going off the roof?" Jordan asks, cutting in.

Clark looks confused, but nods.

"Perfect," Jordan says, "because I wasn't sure if I was going to be able to get up there, and taking off from ground level is a bit weird."

"We can go together," Clark says.

"Wait," Allen says, zipping over. "Are you meeting your mentor? Because if he's going up there, I'm going up there."

"You've met him before?" Slade asks, and Allen nods.

"Bit of a stick in the mud," Allen says.

"That's because you made fun of his name," Jordan protests. "It wasn't exactly a great first impression."

Clark makes a face.

"What's his name?"

"Sinestro," Jordan says, and Allen makes the most blatant now you see what I mean face imaginable.

"It's... quite a name," Bruce points out.

"It's a completely non-human culture," Jordan says. "He's a great guy. And he's probably already waiting."

Diana's in conversation with Arthur, Roy, and J'onn, so Trevor's the one who gets everyone into the elevator, swiping a card key to get them up to the roof.

It occurs to Bruce that he's riding in an elevator with two people who can actually fly, which feels sort of ridiculous. It's also cramped, which isn't exactly fun.

Mercifully the ride up doesn't take too long.

The roof isn't even empty when they get up there. 

There's a man floating just off the ground, dressed in a green uniform identical to Hal's own. The only difference is the lack of a mask, which doesn't seem to matter much considering that he couldn't possibly be mistaken for a human. His skin is red, with a black hair and a thin mustache. He's mostly human shaped, but his head seems slightly longer, and his eyes have black sclera with bright yellow irises.

Absolutely no one is going to mistake him for anyone from earth.

"Sinestro!" Jordan says, zipping up towards him.

"Did you finish your meeting?" Sinestro says, seeming significantly more relaxed than Allen's description made Bruce believe.

"We just wrapped up," Jordan says. "They've decided to let everyone know that there's life beyond humans, so that means the Corps will get acknowledged here."

"Policy indicates you should have at least three Lanterns present," Sinestro points out. "I will see if-"

"Could you see if Tomar-re is free?" Jordan asks, and Clark perks up immediately. He lifts off the roof slightly, inching a bit closer, almost hesitant.

It's unusual for him, but then Bruce hasn't ever had to see him deal with anything relating to his home planet.

"Why would I bother Tomar-re specifically?"

Jordan nods his head towards Clark.

"He's Kryptonian," Jordan says. "I thought Tomar-re might like to know."

Sinestro looks genuinely taken aback, gawking for a moment at Clark, who goes a bit pink himself.

"I wasn't aware any had survived," Sinestro finally says. "I'll speak to Tomar-re. I'm sure he'll make time."

"Thank you," Clark says. "It would be nice to speak to someone who's more familiar with things. Was... was Tomar-re the lantern when...?"

"He's a Xudarian," Sinestro says, as if that should clarify things. "But yes, he was the Lantern of 2813 when Krypton met its end."

Bruce winces. He's not the only one.

"It'll be good to speak with him then," Clark says. "But I do need to be going."

"So do we," Sinestro says. He turns his head, looking over those remaining on the roof, and then nods.

"Perhaps we will speak more when we return."

He lifts off, and Jordan waves before taking off, heading straight up. Clark doesn't linger much longer.

"I'll see you after the holidays," Clark says. "And it was nice meeting you Flash."

Flash looks almost embarrassed to be directly addressed, but gives a quick wave as Clark takes off, heading deeper into Metropolis.

"Lets go get Arsenal," Slade says. "And have that talk with Diana."

Slade heads for Roy, but when Bruce steps out of the elevator it isn't Diana or J'onn who heads right for him, it's Arthur. He should have expected it, but he still takes a moment to mentally brace himself.

"Batman," he says, and Allen takes that as his cue to zip over to where Roy's talking with Diana and J'onn, leaving Bruce alone. "It would seem that I have greatly misjudged you."

He seems to be in good spirits, so Bruce takes that as a positive thing.

"Hopefully not too greatly," Bruce says. "I imagine we got off on the wrong foot for a whole variety of reasons."

"So it would seem," Arthur says. "Diana put you up to it, didn't she? She's been quite intent on the idea of our two nations revealing themselves for a while."

Bruce smiles at him, and it takes a lot of effort to make sure it doesn't come across as too smug.

"No," he says. "She didn't say a word. Until we met, she hadn't mentioned you or the other members of the team. I didn't know what the meeting was going to be about, either, although I had my guesses."

Arthur's eyebrows go up.

"Oh?" He says. "And would you swear that on her lasoo?"

"I would," Bruce says without hesitation.

Arthur looks almost impressed, which Bruce decides is a good thing.

"Well then," he says. "I truly have misjudged you."

"And I you," Bruce says. "I misspoke earlier during the meeting. I think I may have said something that offended you."

"Oh no," Arthur says. "Not at all. I think I simply gave the impression that I've lived in Atlantis my whole life, which couldn't be farther from the truth."

Bruce's eyebrows go up, and Arthur laughs.

"I'm half human," he says. "I was raised just on the coast of Massachusetts."

That catches Bruce off guard.

"Really?" He says. "That is... quite surprising."

Arthur grins at him.

"Good to know you don't actually know everything," he says. "I was starting to worry."

Bruce spots Slade coming towards them with Allen and Roy in tow, and Bruce glances back to Arthur, nodding.

"Seems like they're ready to leave. But I'm sure I'll see you around shortly."

"Of course," Arthur says. "I need to go speak to Diana, anyway."

Slade reaches him right around the time Arthur heads off.

"Everything handled?" He asks, and Slade nods.

"Already spoke to her," he says. "J'onn, Trevor and Diana will come by for dinner. I already let home know."

Bruce tenses slightly, but nods. They can talk on the way home.

"I'll have to miss it," Allen says. "I need to get back on the road, and I've got two days of driving."

"Why are you driving home?" Roy asks as Bruce nods to those remaining in the room as they head back down to the parking lot.

"Truck," Allen says with a sigh. "I drove it up here to bring Hal along, but now I have to drive it back."

"How about," Bruce says, "I buy the truck from you, and you just buy a new one when you get home?"

Allen eyes him, confused.

"You mean like... what?"

"One of ours is always looking for old trucks to haul things around in," Slade says, obviously having a similar line of thought to Bruce. "Bruce buys your truck. You use the money to buy a new truck when you get back home.

Allen's costume is entirely red, and his face is starting to match it.

"It's an old truck," he says. "It's really not worth-"

"Please," Bruce says. "You've been a pleasure to have around, and if I can get you home in a few hours rather than a few days, that'll be better for everyone. Think of it as a Christmas gift."

Bruce takes a second, and then reconsiders.

"Better plan," Bruce says. "I know a dealer in Central City. If you give me your address, I'll get him to drop a truck off for you."

Allen is squinting like he knows Bruce is lying (because he is), but also like he very, very desperately doesn't want to spend two (or even three) days driving back by himself. He's clearly weighing his options when Bruce catches Roy mouthing go for it out of the corner of his eye, and Allen sighs.

"I'll owe you one," he says. "If you need anything down in Central City-"

"Of course," Bruce says. "Should I get one of the boys to grab your things?"

"It's all in the truck," he says. "I'll leave the keys on the seat for you, though."

He looks Bruce up and down and then grins.

"I'll see you in a few weeks, hopefully?"

"Hopefully," Bruce says.

Allen is gone in a flash of red.

Chapter Text

"I think you're getting predictable," Roy says as he slides into the back seat. "You were totally lying about knowing a dealer in Central City."

"It might have been a slight fib," Bruce says. "I know someone who knows someone, and that's close enough."

"Don't get him anything expensive," Slade says as he pulls the door closed. "He'll lose his mind if you do your you thing and get him the best thing on the lot."

"He did give us his truck-"

"His truck isn't worth the metal its made of," Slade says.

"He was nice," Bruce protests.

"He will draw attention if you get him a nice truck. Get him a mid range truck. Something that isn't going to make people ask how the hell he got it."

Bruce huffs as they leave the parking lot.

"The real downside of this costume," Slade says as they drive home, "is that I can't even kiss you without the helmet injurying you."

"It wasn't exactly designed with makeouts in mind," Bruce says. He's sure he's blushing, but the cowl's hiding the worst of it. He's also very aware of Roy in the back seat, looking amused.

"While we're all paying attention," Bruce says, "I don't want anyone talking about what J'onn is here for."

"They're going to find out," Slade points out.

"I don't want to give Jason false hope if it doesn't work," Bruce says.

"They're going to guess."

"They're not going to guess our new friend is a psychic alien," Bruce points out. "Just spend a few hours saying you'll tell them later. If it doesn't work... I'd rather tell them that way. I don't want to tell him it might work and have it not."

Roy swallows and nods.

"I won't say anything," he says. "Should we-"

"I'll tell Diana," Slade says with a sigh, pulling out his own phone to make the call.

Bruce feels another flutter of anxiety as they drive home, and he tries to push it down. It'll be fine. J'onn seemed confident. He knew what he was doing.

"Please don't let us get pulled over," Roy says when they spot not one, not two, but three highway patrol cars parked just up ahead.

They zip right on past, and the lead car flashes their lights—just a brief boop boop —without actually stopping them.

Slade reaches forward, flashing their lights right back.

"Were they just... waiting to prove we exist?"

"Probably," Slade says with a laugh. "Someone called bullshit on the guy who pulled us over."

There's no other cops on the way home, which is nice. Bruce heads right for the manor, and as they're getting close spares a glance back to Roy.

"So," he says, "you're heading home tomorrow?"

"That's the idea," he says. "I've got tickets in the morning. Jason said he'd drive me."

Bruce isn't entirely sold on the idea of Jason driving anywhere, but the airport isn't in downtown, and Bruce can't exactly commit to giving him a ride the next day.

"Alright," he says. "I'd appreciate it if you didn't mention who you stayed with to Oliver."

Roy looks surprised at that.

"Uh," he says, "any reason?"

"Because my schedule says Wayne Enterprises has a meeting with Queen Industries about a shared project next month, and I told Lucius I'd be there."

Slade cracks up at the idea.

"I think I'm rubbing off on you," Slade says. "Giving you all these ideas."

"I thought it would be better for us to talk face to face, rather than using you as our proxy."

"That might be better, yeah," Roy says. "I won't say who you are then."

"Thank you," he says.

Bruce isn't all that surprised to spot Jason and Damian in the cave when they pull in, and he climbs out carefully, pulling the cowl off.

"This suit is not meant to be worn that long anymore," Bruce grunts, and Slade starts peeling off his armor at the same time.

Roys armor is significantly more breathable, but he makes a point of changing too.

"How'd it go?" Jason asks.

"Well," Bruce says. "Met the two other members of the league. Clark says hello, and that he'll visit sometimes after the holidays. He's going out of state."

"I'm not going to get to see Jon?" Damian protests, looking outraged.

"Clark said he was upset he wasn't going to get to see you before they left, but the meeting took priority."

Damian sulks.

"Where's Portia?" Bruce asks, half expecting to find the kitten already underfoot.

"Asleep with Alfred," Jason says. "He doesn't want to risk moving and waking them, so he's pinned."

"You should have seen all the weird stuff they had," Roy says, mostly to Jason. "Apparently Atlantis is a real thing, and Mars is occupied space."

"Or was, anyway," Slade says. "Diana, Trevor, and J'onn are coming over tonight for dinner."

"Alfred said he wishes you'd give more notice, father," Damian says.

"I gave him all the notice I had," Bruce says. "I doubt they'll be picky."

Bruce isn't even clear on if J'onn eats human food. Or if he eats at all.

"So?" Jason says pointedly. "What'd you talk about? And don't give me that it's official league business shit."

"They're going to go public," Bruce says. "About... everything. Aliens, Atlanteans, Amazons... All of that."

"Not our names?" Jason asks, looking alarmed.

"No," Bruce says. "Not our names. For us, nothing is going to change. This is only a change for everyone else, because it means they don't have to worry that the truth is going to get leaked, or come out in an alien invasion or anything like that. It'll be revealing themselves on their own terms."

"Probably for the best," Damian says. "Is Jon...?"

"I don't think so," Bruce says. "I imagine they'd prefer to keep him quiet. Clark's risky enough, and Jon isn't a convincing enough liar to hold up to scrutiny."

"Hold on," Jason says suddenly. "Where's Barry?"

"Gone home," Roy says. "And Bruce bought his truck."

"You bought his truck?" Jason asks, giving Bruce a dirty look.

"For you," Bruce says. "I thought it would be a good work truck, and you're always complaining that the trucks at work can't be trusted to haul anything."

"So you bought me a truck?"

"So he wouldn't have to drive it home," Bruce says. "It's a long drive for him, and running it is a lot faster. Speaking of which..."

He excuses himself to the side of the cave to make a call before he forgets.

Chapter Text

Bruce goes to change before dinner, and Slade catches him in the room midway through slipping on a new shirt. He closes the door, which could mean one of two things, and Bruce breathes a sigh of relief when it turns out he just wants to talk in privacy.

As much as he likes Slade, he's definitely not in a good position for any sort of physical affection right then.

"You did really well at the meeting," Slade says, reaching up to adjust Bruce's collar. "You had me worried a bit at the start."

"I'm fine," Bruce says for what feels like the millionth time. "I just got worked up."

Slade runs a hand down his back, and Bruce feels himself melt a bit, leaning against Slade with a sigh.

"Sit down?" Slade prompts, and Bruce lets himself sink down on the bed, with Slade settling in beside him.

"I'm worried about this," Slade says. "About not telling the boys. This is basically-"

"We're not telling them," Bruce says. "I don't want to bring it up if I don't have to. I don't want to get Jason's hopes up and be proven wrong."

"Bruce-"

"I know he thinks about it," Bruce says. "I know he does. I know it bothers him, because how can it not bother him? I remember torturing him, Slade. I try not to think about it, but I remember shooting him. I remember... I know what it's like to choke him until he passes out. And he knows that. And I know it bothers him."

"He knows it wasn't you," Slade says, pulling Bruce against him. "He knows this isn't something you chose."

"That doesn't change that he has to live with the knowledge that I know all those things. That the - that he's in my head."

He doesn't want to think about it. He doesn't want to think about the implications of the Joker being enough of a separate consciousness in his head that J'onn can pick him out of a crowd. Because with that comes with the most obvious one: That the Joker's been watching everything they do. That he's been a silent voyeur.

Bruce shudders, and Slade presses a kiss to the top of his head.

"You're working yourself up," Slade says. "And getting agitated. You need to be calm."

"This is not a calm situation," Bruce mutters.

"It's going to have to be if you want to hide this from the boys for a single second."

Bruce grunts.

"I am going to tell them that you are doing something with J'onn," he says. "And that it's important, and that you need space, but you'll talk to them after the fact. I am not telling them that nothing is happening."

"They'll ask-"

"And I am perfectly capable of refusing to tell them. Unlike you, I am perfectly capable of denying them things."

Bruce grunts again.

"I am not worried," Slade says, "because I know you're going to be fine, and you'll come out of this a happier person. But I am worried you're going to make Jason and Damian panic. Nevermind Dick and Tim..."

"Do not tell them," Bruce says. "They aren't even here, and I don't need them rushing down while they're trying to get ready for Christmas."

"I'm not going to tell them," Slade says. "You can tell them yourself when they get here, after things are all done. But I mean what I said. I'm going to let Jason and Damian know something is going to happen so they don't worry."

"They're going to worry anyway," Bruce says. "That's why it's better not to say."

"You think they're not going to notice you going missing for a few hours with a weird man who doesn't know what facial expressions are?"

"Plus," Slade says, "I'm staying with you. And they'll definitely notice when we're both gone."

Bruce doesn't protest. Instead, he just curls against Slade, letting himself breathe.

"I don't think you're going to make it through dinner," Slade finally says. "I think even attempting to have dinner is going to be pointless, because everyone's going to be paying attention to the fact that you're worrying a hole through the floor."

"I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that," Bruce says, feeling a shade defensive.

"Don't. When J'onn gets here, have him start right away," he says. "We can have dinner after."

"He said it would be hours," Bruce points out. "I'm not having everyone sit around-"

"You absolutely are," Slade says. "Overruled. You're going to do it right when he gets there, and then we'll have a celebratory dinner when you're done."

"But-"

"No," Slade says, sounding sterner than he has in a long while. "You don't get a say in this. We might get equal say in everything else, but in this? I get final say. I'm not going to let you stress yourself sick trying to eat dinner with us. Alfred can put it off."

He presses in, and Bruce melts against him. Slade feels like safety.

Bruce takes a bit to himself after Slade leaves to think. To relax. And when Alfred knocks to let him know that Diana has arrived, he feels more himself.

He's ready. Or he thinks he is, anyway.

Diana and her group have all gone full civilian. It's easier for Trevor and her, but obviously harder for J'onn, who looks distinctly odd with his lack of facial expressions. He's still in the same form he was before, but when Alfred finishes hustling everyone in he looks to Diana, obviously seeking permission.

"You'd have to ask Mr. Wayne," she says.

"Once we're out of the doorway, it's fine," Bruce says.

Alfred nearly has to pry Trevor's jacket off him. It's not the first time he's been in the house, but he looks significantly more awkward this time around, which Bruce chalks up to the more casual setting. Before he was there on official business. This? This is closer to a social visit.

"I understand we had plans for dinner," Bruce says, steeling his nerve. "But unless you object, I'd like to get started with J'onn beforehand."

It's obvious Slade's warned the boys, but neither Jason nor Damian looks happy. Jason looks away, while Damian slides up to him, lips set in a firm line.

"I do not approve of you hiding things from us, father," he says pointedly. "But I will allow it this once, since Slade says that it is important to you."

Bruce feels a slap of guilt, but nods. He's hiding things from them. He shouldn't be, but he is.

"Alright," Diana says. "I'll help you get set up, and then come back."

Trevor winces, but nods.

Bruce doesn't say goodbye. He doesn't let it be one of those things. He doesn't want either of them panicking more than they already are.

Slade's thought ahead. They don't go back to his room, but instead to one of the guest room where the bed's been set out, with chairs alongside it. It's probably better, but Bruce feels a flutter of anxiety as J'onn settles in a chair.

"This will not hurt," he says. "You may dream, however."

Bruce doesn't want to dream, but he knows he's going to. Slade settles down at his side, reaching out to take his hand.

"I'll see you soon," he says, and Bruce feels himself fall asleep in moments.

Chapter Text

When Bruce opens his eyes, he knows he's dreaming. He knows it in a way that he has a hard time describing, in the same way that he knows that he's alone in the manor. He fell asleep in the guest room, but he wakes in his own bed.

When he looks down, he realizes that he's dressed in the batsuit. It seems appropriate that he is as he lifts himself out of the bed, setting out into the manor in search of the thing he needs to find.

He doesn't know what he's looking for, but he's confident he'll know it when he sees it.

He doesn't have to search far. The house itself is empty and feels only vaguely defined. The rooms he checks feel less like actual places and more like a sketch that hasn't been quite filled in. When he's checked all the obvious places, he heads down to the cave, knowing that's where he'll find it.

Every step down into the cave makes bile rise in his throat.

At the very bottom of the stairs he finds not the batcave itself, but the entrance to Arkham Asylum, impossibly large, taking up space that doesn't exist.

It's exactly the way he remembers it, the way it was before it burnt down two years before. Before it was damaged so severely that the entire thing had to be demolished down to the last brick.

It stands as it does in his memories, and as he steps past the threshold he hears the distant sound of laughter.

He knows where to find him. He knows because there's only one place he could be. Not in his cell. Not in the warden's office. No, the Joker will only be one place: Deep beneath Arkham, in the same place he kept Jason.

Arkham feels like a living, breathing thing, a creature whose throat he is walking into willingly. The air feels cold, biting at every bit of exposed skin, and the laughter gets louder and louder as he descends into the belly of Arkham.

Bruce knows the door only from the Joker's memories. He's never been there, never stepped into Arkham since the day Jason came back to him. He doesn't think he could take it. Or didn't. But now he has no choice.

He opens the door.

It's not Joker he finds, but Jason. A younger Jason, frail and hurt, dangling from the ceiling by his wrists. The chain's low enough that his feet drag the floor, but he makes no attempt to stand, beaten down too badly to even manage that much.

He doesn't speak, but Bruce feels like his heart's been pulled from his chest just from the sight alone.

"Oh Bats!" The Joker says, absent one moment and there the next, standing just beside Jason. "How nice of you to join us. I've been keeping poor Jay here occupied while we wait!"

Bruce wants to vomit. He's not even sure if he can in the bizarre dream world.

"Oh Bats," Joker says with a sigh. "Really, you think you're dreaming of me? I'm flattered. But we both know this isn't a dream."

It's not a dream any more than his fear toxin hallucination was. This is something else. A vision, maybe. The representation of the tug of war they've been having in his brain from the moment he was infected.

Bruce ignores the Joker and steps forward, cutting Jason down. He sags into his arms, but there's no reaction from him. He's too lost in his own head.

Or not even that, he reminds himself. This Jason isn't real. The real Jason is safe at home. This is just... something else. His guilt? His thoughts about Jason?

He doesn't even know anymore.

"I have to admit, Batsy," the Joker says in that sing-song voice of his as he circles them. "I am a little but upset you brought someone in to help. You were just so desperate to get rid of me!"

"You don't exist out there," Bruce says, "and soon you won't exist in here, either."

Joker laughs again, high pitched and impossibly loud. The Jason in his arms is no longer there, vanished into thin air the moment Bruce let his attention wander.

"Oh Bats! Is that what you think? That your little friend is going to peel me out and you'll be rid of me? I think we both know that isn't true. Because if you'd really wanted me gone, I'm sure you'd have found a way."

It isn't true. He knows it isn't true. He knows he's spent so long searching desperately for a way to get rid of the Joker. But the accusation is one of those lies that hurts just to hear, that burns his ears. It feels plausible in a way it shouldn't.

It's not true. But it feels true.

"I'm going to be rid of you," he says, just to let himself hear it. Just to say it out loud.

"If that was what you wanted," the Joker says, sliding ever closer, "you'd have killed me years ago. You'd have killed me when I took your little baby bird away from you. You'd have killed me when I took your lady love away. And you'd certainly have killed me when I started taking your own body away from you!"

"All I want," Bruce says, "is to be rid of you."

"No no no Batsy," the Joker says. "What you want is to keep me around. You just don't want to admit it to yourself. Because I know a secret about you."

Bruce knows, absolutely and without question, that he doesn't want to hear the secret. That he doesn't want to hear what the Joker is about to say. But just for a moment, he's powerless. He can't say anything. Can't move. Can't speak.

All he can do is listen.

"You need to keep me around, Bats," the Joker says. "You just keep on holding onto me. You need me, because I give you a way out. No one's going to blame you for retiring when you've got me kicking around your head. But if I'm gone? Then they'll want you back. They'll want you to be Batman again for real. And then you'll have to admit to yourself that you don't want it back."

This isn't the same as the last lie. That was a lie that felt true and hurt like it was.

This isn't a lie. This is just a truth, hard and painful.

"You don't want to admit you're happier like this," the Joker says, his voice pitching up, his gestures becoming more animated. "Happier having set the fight aside while you let other people do your work for you."

Bruce is frozen in place as the Joker leans forward, his grin spread ear-to-ear as he leers down at him.

"So here's what's going to happen, Batsy," the Joker says. "You're going to leave. You're going to walk right on out and leave me here. You'll go back, and you'll tell then that it failed. That your friend couldn't help you. That the infection had spread too deep, and that there was no way to get me out without killing you. And then I'll keep your little secret, and you can keep things how they-"

"No," Bruce says. He isn't sure when he gained the ability to speak. His tongue still feels like lead in his mouth. He still feels like he's going to be sick. But he's speaking because he has to speak. Because he has to say no.

"No? Oh, dear basty, we both know-"

"No," Bruce says again, pushing himself to his feet. Everything seems to be falling apart around him. Arkham is collapsing, and they stand alone, untouched by the damage. "I might have thought that once," he says. "I might have thought that I needed you. But I've moved past that. I'm better than that."

"You still need-"

Bruce won't let him speak. Every time the Joker tries, he just speaks over him. There's no telling if it's the real thing—if this Joker has the same mind as the one he fought a hundred times—but it feels close enough that Bruce isn't sure there's a difference.

 "I don't need you," he says. "I have people I care about. People who care about me. And you aren't going to hurt anyone I care about ever again."

The dream—the vision—is already flaking away around him as his hands close around the Joker's throat. There's no laughter to cut off, nothing to stop. He hasn't let the Joker get a word in, and he's not going to.

He won't let the Joker laugh ever again.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes on the bed, his cheeks wet. A hand—Slade's hand, because of course it's Slade—is clenching at his own, and he offers a squeeze when Bruce lets his eyes flutter open.

"The process is complete," J'onn says, his voice distant and unaffected. Bruce feels like he's been emotionally wrung out, but already it feels like the dream is fading, slipping away from him with every waking moment.

"Did it work?" Jason asks, and Bruce has a moment of confusion as he turns his head.

Damian and Jason are sitting just beside the bed. Damian looks absolutely furious with him, while Jason's looking up at J'onn.

"Yes," J'onn says. "There is only one consciousness residing inside him at this time."

"Are you sure he's not just asleep?" Jason asks immediately, his voice agitated.

Slade gives Bruce's hand another squeeze, and Bruce reaches his free hand up, rubbing at his eyes.

"Consciousnesses do not sleep," J'onn says. "But it was dormant before, if that is what you were asking. Now it simply does not exist."

Bruce chokes out a noise of relief, and Slade reaches down, pulling Bruce up and against him. Bruce can't remember having ever felt so tired. Not sleepy—the last thing he wants to do is sleep—but simply exhausted beyond measure.

"Father," Damian says, and Bruce isn't sure how or when Damian made it to this side of the bed, but he's holding out a glass of water and Bruce straightens himself up enough to take it, downing it in one go.

He feels slightly less dead, but only slightly.

"He will need a bit to recover," J'onn says, his flat voice taking on an almost clinical tone in light of what he's saying. "I will go speak to Diana."

Bruce is silent as J'onn leaves, and only once he's closed the door does Slade reach up, running his fingers along the side of Bruce's face.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like someone tore my entrails out through my mouth," Bruce says, his voice raspy even to his own ears.

Damian passes him another glass of water. He feels strangely empty, but the bits are starting to fall back into place.

"Idiot," Jason says.

"Jason," Slade says, a note of warning in his voice. "Give him space."

"He's an idiot. Why wouldn't he tell us?"

"He didn't want to worry you."

"Like we weren't going to worry anyway."

"I agree," Damian says, "father should have known we were going to worry regardless."

"Sorry," Bruce mumbles, still coming back to himself, and he jumps when Jason leans over, latching onto his side and pulling him into a hug.

Damian joins him immediately, and Slade hooks his arms around the three of them, pulling them closer.

"You still should have told us," Jason says, muffled by Slade's shoulder.

"Stop bullying your father while he's emotionally compromised," Slade says.

Bruce tries then. He tries. He feels back, trying to call up memories he's spent years pushing away. Tries to remember hurting Jason. Tries to remember the things that the Joker did.

But he finds nothing. Whatever part of his mind that once held those memories is gone, emptied out. He remembers having them. He remembers his reactions to them. But he no longer remembers any memory that wasn't his own in the first place.

Bruce lets out a sob of pure relief, and Slade pulls him tighter against him.

"Is he gone?" Slade asks, and Bruce nods his head.

They stay like that, the three of them curled together, for what feels like a very long time.

But eventually Bruce's stomach rumbles, and he's forced to reluctantly admit that he is absolutely starving. He hasn't eaten in hours, his legs feel stiff from sitting on them oddly, and he's increasingly aware that he probably has guests sitting around somewhere in his house.

"We should eat," he says, and the desperate hug that they were pulled into quickly ends. "And shower," he adds quickly. He's fairly sure he must have been sweating in the hours since he lay down, because his shirt feels stuck to his back in a way that isn't even slightly pleasant.

"How long was I out?"

"Seven hours," Damian says. "J'onn said that was about the right amount of time."

Seven hours? His distress must show on his face, because Slade squeezes his shoulder.

"We've all had a bite to eat," Slade says. "While we waited. Go shower, and then we can have dinner when you're done."

Bruce isn't sure it counts as dinner when it has to be almost midnight, but he tries to let himself relax, nodding.

"Please let everyone know I'll be out in a bit, and that I'm... sorry for the wait."

Jason rolls his eyes at him, and Damian nods as if he's been given some all-important task.

"We'll see you out there."

Bruce showers in his own room, letting the hot water soak away the worst of the sweat. He feels significantly more together when he comes out, towelling off and dressing. He's trying not to rush, but he also doesn't want to make anyone wait any longer than they already have.

He isn't surprised when he opens his bedroom door and finds Jason standing in the hallway, arms folded across his chest.

"Talk?" He says, raising an eyebrow, and Bruce hesitates for a moment before nodding.

"How long did Slade keep it from you?" Bruce asks as they settle down in the library, which seems like a much nicer place to have a conversation.

"Five minutes?" Jason says. "If that? He wasn't going to keep it from us. And there was no way we wouldn't notice what was going on."

He should have known.

"You should have told us," Jason says pointedly.

"In my head, things were a lot... cleaner. I'd have held myself together, and you wouldn't have even known anything was happening until it was done."

"Because you were afraid it wasn't going to work."

Bruce's lips press together, and he makes himself inhale.

"Yes," he says. "I wasn't sure if it was going to work."

"But it did," Jason says, and it's obvious he's saying it just to say it. Just to hear it said out loud. "He's gone for good. You're not... you aren't infected anymore."

"I might still be physically," Bruce says. "We won't know for a while. But... mentally yes. He's gone. I can't remember anything he did. That part of him is... it's dead."

Bruce isn't expecting another hug, but he gets one anyway, with Jason wedged beside him. It's a tight fit, and Bruce is overly aware of how many cracked and bruised bones Jason has. He's still recovering, so he makes a point of scooting back, giving Jason as much space as he can get.

"Good," Jason says. "It's... it's good that he's dead. That he's gone."

"I know it bothered you."

Jason winces, looking away.

"...A bit," he finally admits. "It wasn't your fault, and I didn't want you to feel like it was you, but... a bit, yeah."

He wonders if the physical changes will start to revert. If he'll stop being so pale. If he'll stop having that green tint to his hair. There's no way of telling so soon, but he makes a note to himself to start checking. He hopes they do. 

"But it's done now," Jason says. "He's gone. So I don't... we don't have to worry about it anymore. Because he's gone for good."

Bruce knows Jason's saying it just to say it. Just to say he's finally gone. Because even after the Joker had died, he hadn't been able to say it. There'd always been something else. Some last scheme. Some new infection. Even when they'd pushed past it, it was still there, a constant undercurrent in Bruce's life.

"Which means," Jason says, and Bruce knew it was coming, "you can come back-"

"I can," Bruce says, "but I won't."

Jason's face falls, and Bruce reaches up, lifting his chin.

"You don't need me. You don't need that Batman. And... I don't need it either. I think I did once, needed to be Batman just to keep myself going, but I don't anymore. I don't need to do that. To go out and... fight crime one on one. I could tell you that it's because I'm getting old, but in the end it's because I don't want to. Because I'm... I'm happy like this. With this family. Gotham doesn't need the old Batman, the one who spent every night searching for trouble... and I don't need that Batman either."

He doesn't know what reaction he's going to get. Rejection? Jason telling him that the city does need him?

What he gets is another hug, Jason curled against him as Bruce wraps his own arms hesitantly around Jason.

"Alright," Jason says, his voice cracking. "If you're sure."

"I'm sure," he says. "Gotham needed Batman once, but now it needs Bruce Wayne."

He ruffles Jason's hair, and for once Jason doesn't protest, simply tolerating the gesture.

"We should get to dinner," Jason says, pulling away. "If we're any later I think the next super-criminal we'll need to worry about is Alfred."

Bruce laughs at that, helping Jason to his feet. Jason rarely shows if he's in pain, making it hard to tell if he is, but Bruce catches at least one small wince as they head towards the door.

It would have been nice if Jason hadn't inherited his stubbornness.

Chapter Text

The food is already on the table when Bruce reaches it, but Alfred stops him before he gets to it, pulling him into a hug of his own. Bruce returns it, bothered by how wet Alfred's eyes seem. He hasn't seen him cry in years, and it's a testament to how much that evening has changed things that he sees it happening right then.

Diana, Trevor, and J'onn have taken up three of the seats at the large dining table, and everyone else is scattered about. Slade picks a seat closer to them, beside Roy, leaving the seats to the right and left of Bruce to the boys. The tables meant for closer to twenty, and there's plenty of space.

"It's good to see you are well," Diana says. "I must confess I was worried when it took so long."

"Longer than I expected," Bruce admits. "I'm sorry for keeping you so long."

"Please," Trevor says, "any time you want to keep me around, feel free."

"Alfred's been spoiling them," Roy says.

"Stress cooking," Jason agrees.

"I have every reason to stress cook," Alfred says with a small huff as they start to pass the dishes around. "Since someone was unwilling to tell me what was happening until they were already unconscious."

Bruce winces.

"I had all these plans about going out on patrol tonight," Roy says. "But I don't think anyone's going out tonight."

"Not anyone from here," Slade says. "This is a Robin night."

"I don't know how you keep up with things," Diana says.

Bruce glances around, realization hitting him.

"Hold on," he says. "Did you even do introductions?"

"Informally," Jason says. "We were all kind of distracted."

J'onn is sitting in his natural form at the dinner table (to Bruce's relief, he seems to eat like an ordinary human) without any sort of panic, so he supposes they were serviceable introductions.

As they eat, Bruce keeps catching Damian sneaking peeks at him and then looking away, perfectly happy.

"While we're here," Bruce says, "I want to announce my formal retirement from the position of Batman."

There's a few gasps or other noises of shock, but overall the reaction is more subdued than he expected. Jason already knows, and Slade in particular seems to have guessed before he said it.

"I can't say that's a surprise," Slade says. "You've got better things to do with your time."

"If I may ask," Diana says, her tone formal. "What of the league?"

"I still want to be part of it," Bruce says. "I just think having me as a member as Batman while having another separate Batman in Gotham seems... conflicting."

"If everyone already thinks Bruce Wayne is funding Batman," Trevor points out, "why not make it legitimate? Be a part of the League as Bruce Wayne, the man behind Batman. Say the original Batman's now officially retired."

"Slade can be on the council as our representative," Jason points out. "And you can be representing... well, you."

Bruce weighs his options, even if there's no need to rush.

"A part of me always thought I'd go public in the end. That I'd pull back the curtain and tell people the truth. But the more I think about it, the less it feels like a real option. If they think I'm backing Batman, I'm still the rich man backing Batman. Nothing changes. If they know I'm Batman, it means they might start trying to figure out who my Robin's were. The connections too easy to make, even with the steps I've taken to protect everyone's privacy."

Even just finding out the names of his sons is difficult. Finding out who they are? Nearly impossible.

"This would be the closest thing to that," Diana says. "Representing yourself. It would allow you to speak publicly as a member of the league."

He'd be the only one with any sort of accessibility. The only member of the league with a real human identity.

"I'd like that," he says. "It seems like the best option."

"I'll talk to my superiors," Trevor says. "See what they say. But I doubt they'd object. They're pushing for more transparency, and this exceeds their expectations."

"Oh," J'onn says suddenly. "I wished to return something of yours."

Bruce blinks, turning to J'onn in confusion, and tries not to laugh when J'onn holds up his hand, his palm rippling, and then produces a batarang.

Jason and Damian look equally confused as Slade reaches out, taking it from J'onn and tucking it away.

"Your father stabbed him with it," Slade says.

"He looked like Clark," Bruce says. "I thought he was impersonating him."

"I was," J'onn says. "I believed you would be more friendly if I took on the form of someone you liked. I misunderstood the situation."

"Have you considered having Jason as part of the league?" Diana asks, eyes flicking between Slade and Bruce. "While he recovers, at the very least. It would be good to have some young blood."

"Not interested," Jason says with a wave of his hand.

"If you want young," Roy says, "put Damian into the League. He'll be happy to join in."

The look on Damian's face makes it clear that he would be perfectly happy to join in.

"We're taking a firm eighteen or older stance," Diana says. "Which I'm afraid rules out your youngest."

Damian sulks openly.

The meal wraps up before too long, the last of the food being cleaned out. Damian and Jason help clear the table, being helped by Roy, and then it's fairly obvious that Trevor is ready to go.

"It was good to see you," Diana says, "and to meet your family. They all seem like good people. Perhaps I will have you to Themyscira sometime."

Roy lets out a low whistle, and Jason elbows him in the side.

"That would be nice," Bruce says. "I haven't gotten to see as much of the world as I'd like."

J'onn is as stiff and formal as ever when it's time or his goodbye, but Bruce doesn't let him. Instead, he pulls the man into a hug, which he completely fails to reciprocate.

"Thank you," Bruce says quietly. "For giving me my mind back."

"Of course," J'onn says, and Bruce gets the impression he's confused by the entire exchange as Bruce pulls back. "I will speak to you at the next council meeting."

There's another round of goodbyes and thank yous, and Bruce catches Jason and Slade saying something to J'onn before they finally make it out the front door. J'onn shifts back into his human shape, sticking close to Diana as they head to the car.

"...I don't know about you," Bruce says, "but I'm exhausted."

There's a round of acknowledgement.

"I have to start cooking tomorrow for the holidays," Alfred says. "And a good night's sleep will help with that a great deal."

"I'm going to stay up with Roy a bit," Jason says. "Since it's his last night."

"But we'll catch you guys in the morning before we go," Roy says.

"I assume breakfast will be in order?" Alfred asks, and Roy grins at him.

"I," Damian announces stiffly, "will be caring for Portia tonight."

The kitten needs a lot less care than when they first arrived, but they still need to be fed every few hours.

"Of course," Bruce says. "I'll take the seven o'clock feeding."

"Good," Damian says. "Titus has been behaving, but is still overly curious. You will need to be cautious, father."

"I'll be careful," Bruce says.

Damian heads off to get the kitten, and Roy and Jason head down to the cave.

Slade doesn't even try and keep up the pretense of going to his own room, heading straight for Bruce's instead.

Chapter Text

Slade doesn't drag things out as he pulls Bruce against him, and Bruce doesn't fight the urge to nuzzle in for warmth. He still feels tired, even if the worst of it has eased away, and being beside Slade takes the edge off in a pleasant way. 

"Were you worried?" Bruce asks before he can stop himself.

"A bit," Slade says. "Not enough to let the kids know, but a bit. Any kind of mind-screw stuff like that makes me nervous."

"That makes two," Bruce says. "I don't like... people in my head."

Clown or otherwise.

"Well," Slade says, "now you don't have to worry about it."

He presses a kiss to Bruce's temple, and Bruce winds his arms around Slade's sides.

He's happy. He feels so goddamn happy. He's not sure he's ever felt such a pure feeling of relief. Everything is fine. The nightmare is over.

"You're cute when you're happy," Slade says. "I feel like I don't see you smile as much as I probably should."

Bruce supposes it's true. Slade smiles a lot (even if a lot of them are more smirks than smiles) but he rarely smiles himself.

Maybe that'll change. His load is a lot lighter now.

He leans up, pressing a kiss to Slade's lips, pressing in closer, and-

"No," Slade says, breaking the kiss. "You need sleep."

"I want-"

"I know," Slade says, "you're making it pretty obvious. But you just spent seven hours in some kind of a magical coma, and I want you to sleep and be fully yourself before I do anything more involved than kissing you."

"I'm not drugged," Bruce protests. He wants this. He's sure Slade wants this. So he's not sure why it has to be a whole thing. "I'm not even tired."

"You're tired," he says. "You just don't feel it yet. We can mess around in the morning. Roy'll leave, and then we have all day to do whatever you want."

Bruce doesn't want to wait. He feels like he's been waiting forever for things, only he knows it hasn't been long at all. But he feels... selfish. Every encounter feels like it's been about him, rather than about Slade or even them. He knows enough to know that being a selfish lover is a shitty thing to be.

"Tomorrow," Slade says, kissing him again, light and chaste.

"Tomorrow," Bruce grunts. "But I'm waking you up for it."

Slade laughs at that, pulling at Bruce's shoulder to roll him over until his back is pressed to Slade's chest.

"I'll look forward to it."

It's obvious that Slade expects Bruce to forget. That he'll wake up in the morning, go about his business, and then maybe remember.

But six hours later when Bruce wakes—before his alarm is even close to going off—there's absolutely no chance he's forgotten.

He wakes up hard, and Slade is the same way, morning wood pressed against Bruce's ass making it particularly hard to forget what he said the night before. His face burns at the idea, but Slade's grip is loose, and it's easy to flip around, facing him properly.

Slade looks different when he's asleep. The tension isn't there. Slade always holds himself taught, like a bowstring that's been pulled back and is ready to fire, and asleep he has none of that. He looks relaxed, and that's intoxicating in its own way.

Bruce slides down the bed. Slade sleeps only in underwear—despite Bruce attempting to extoll the virtues of sleeping in pajama pants—which makes it that much easier to slip them down, Slade's cock springing free.

Bruce has absolutely no experience. Outside of his awkward explorations with Slade, he's never so much as touched a dick that wasn't his own. He's certainly never given a blowjob. But he's seen Slade do it, and he's seen it done by others, so he has at least a general grasp of the theory.

He's always been a quick study.

He leans forward, dragging his tongue across the head, and wrinkles his nose at the taste. Not exactly pleasant.

"You can stop pretending to be asleep," Bruce says, and when he glances up Slade's cracked his eye open, looking amused.

"I was going to just let you go at it," Slade says.

"You'd be a poor mercenary if you slept through this," Bruce says, but he does make at least an attempt to go at it. He's wary of his teeth, settling for licking up the side, and up close? Up close Slade feels ridiculously huge. It feels so large in his hand that he feels like he's going to dislocate his jaw just trying to get it into his mouth.

Slade knows him too well, because he laughs at Bruce's hesitance.

"Bigger up close?" He says.

"You seem... a lot bigger than what I'm used to."

Slade's knee slides up along the inside of Bruce's thigh, making him shiver, and when Slade nudges it against Bruce's own erection he bites his lip.

"We're about the same size," Slade says. "I'm just a bit thicker. You're just not used to seeing your own dick up close."

Bruce is trying to focus on what he's doing, but when Slade moves—shifting him up on the bed so they're nearly face to face—he's firmly distracted by the feeling of Slade's hand on him, pulling him closer.

"See?" Slade says, using his hand to press them together.

"This was supposed to be a blowjob," Bruce says.

"I got that impression. But you don't want to be doing it lying down your first time. Harder on you."

Bruce has a sneaking suspicion he knows where this is going.

"You just want me on my knees in front of you," Bruce says, but that doesn't stop him from sliding off the bed anyway. Slade follows, sitting up straight as he lets his feet fall to the floor. He's still wearing his underwear, but Slade keeps them hiked down.

Bruce thinks he might like it better that way. The fabric pulled down to show Slade off is strangely enticing in a way that full nudity isn't.

Bruce settles down on his knees. He's sure the position bothers people, but Bruce trained with a grandmaster who was a fan of seiza, and he folds his legs neatly under him, the tops of his feet flat to the floor.

"Formal," Slade says, fingers reaching out to comb through Bruce's hair.

"I think my instructor would be horrified I'm in this position with an erection," Bruce says with a laugh, and Slade nudges his head closer. He's gentle, and obviously making a point to be careful about it, but Bruce lets him guide him anyway.

"Cover your teeth with your lips," Slade says. "Don't try and take too much at once."

Bruce doesn't have experience, but he does have enthusiasm. He wants to be good at it. He wants to see Slade react to it. So it's easy to make an effort at what would probably be considered a very embarrassing task.

Slade turns out to not be quite as big as he first thought. He certainly fits in his mouth, even if it does make his jaw ache, and the sound that Slade makes when Bruce first takes the head into his mouth is heavenly. 

He lets one hand roam down Slade's thighs—because god does Slade have nice thighs—while the other works at Slade's base.

He can get about half comfortably. After that it starts to ache, but he's focused. He's intent. He knows what he has to do, and he knows that he can do it, so it glares up at Slade when Slade catches him by the hair.

"You're going to choke," Slade says, his voice lacking the edge it usually has. He sounds a little bit wrung out, a little bit hot and bothered, and Bruce likes that. "I don't want you choking."

"I can suppress my gag reflex," Bruce says pointedly, and Slade raises an eyebrow.

"And this is your first time sucking dick?"

"It was for missions," Bruce says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the side of Slade's cock. He feels less nervous, more in control. The noises Slade makes every time he touches him are doing a lot to spur him along, the very best kind of positive encouragement. "I swallow something down that I can't be caught with, then retrieve it later."

"Learning from drug mules, I see," Slade says with a laugh. He drags a thumb across Bruce's cheek and sighs.

"Fine," Slade finally says, "you can try it."

Bruce realizes he desperately wants to try. He wants to swallow Slade all the way down.

He makes a point of winding himself up to it. Of going deeper every time he goes down on him, his lips pressed against him. He still doesn't like the taste—it's a bit too bitter—but there's still something nice about it because of what it represents. It means he's doing a good job. It means Slade's enjoying it.

It leaves absolutely no ambiguity that this is a two-sided experience.

He finally goes all the way down. There's a bit—right at the end—where he can feel the head of Slade's cock pressing to the back of his throat, where he has to push down his gag reflex and tilt his head to get the last bit in, and then his nose is pressed into Slade's pubes, his lips sealed around the bottom.

Slade makes a choked noise, and Bruce knows he wants to hold him there by the way Slade trails his fingers down the back of Bruce's neck.

So he tries to stay there. He breathes through his nostrils even though it burns and he tries to move his tongue as much as he can (which isn't much), and he just stays there.

Slade pulls him off with one hand and the pop Bruce's mouth makes sounds amazing even to him.

"Fucking hell," Slade hisses. "Fucking-" He cuts himself off and bends, his fingers tangling into Bruce's hair to drag his head up. The kiss isn't soft or chaste, it's almost bruising, and Bruce gasps into it as Slade reaches down, jerking himself off.

"Tell me where you want it," Slade says like he's said that exact line a million times. Bruce has no idea what to answer. The taste is awful but the idea is good so he does the thing he absolutely shouldn't—his throat is going to ache the whole goddamn day—and goes right back down, swallowing Slade down.

  He makes it all the way down before Slade cums. He can feel Slade twitching in his mouth, but the majority of it is going right down his throat. That thought is a nice one, and Bruce groans around the intrusion, trying not to choke. Slade's holding him there, he realizes, but he almost didn't notice until Slade finally pulls him back up.

There's another bruising, almost painful kiss, and Slade pants against him.

"You should do that more often," he says.

Slade's foot nudges against Bruce's own erection and he shudders. He hasn't touched himself, but he's still hard, and the contact is stimulating enough for him to rock against it, desperate for release.

"You want to get off?" Slade asks, and Bruce doesn't answer so much as he groans. He unfolds himself from the floor, a little bit shaky, and Slade grabs his wrist, pulling him onto the bed.

"Told you pants would just get in the way," Slade says, pulling them down and discarding them onto the floor.

Bruce has a sneaking suspicion they're going to end up needing two beds: One for sleeping, and one for not sleeping, because otherwise he's never actually going to get any sleep in the future. Slade's insatiable—when Bruce spares a glance he realizes he's already hard—and shows no sign of slowing down.

Bruce is desperate to get himself off now that Slade's had his turn, but when he brings his hand down Slade turns away from the nightstand, smacking his hand away.

"No," he says. "This one's on me."  

Bruce can't entirely tell what Slade's doing as he presses a hand to his chest, keeping him in place. He feels Slade kissing his way down, and decides he has a pretty good idea of what is about to happen.

He's completely wrong. Slade wraps his arms under Bruce's thighs, hauling his hips up so that they're almost level with his face, and then leans in.

He completely ignores Bruce's painfully hard erection, pressing a kiss to his hole instead.

Bruce whimpers and can't stop himself from bucking. Only Slade's strength keeps him in place, and Bruce is sure he's going to have bruises from the angle later. 

Slade presses another kiss and then runs the flat of his tongue against Bruce's hole, and Bruce bucks again.

"Slade," he says desperately, because the sensation is... weird. Bruce doesn't want to call it pleasant, because it's not quite that. Just strange, and more than a bit overwhelming.

"Keep saying my name like that," Slade says, and leans in again. Not being able to see it only serves to make it harder to react to what's happening. When he can see, there's a sense of anticipation. With his waist propped up by Slade, he can't see a damn thing, and it's driving him mental.

Slade isn't being careful. He's not being precise. Bruce is sure there's a skill to it, but right then all he can really notice is that Slade is really into it. He's sloppy, leaving a mess as he digs in, and when he presses his tongue in, Bruce nearly screams at the sensation. It's so goddamn strange, and his stomach is fluttering at the feeling of it.

"Slade," he chokes out again. Slade is making noises and they're all filthy and Bruce's cock is dripping onto his own stomach. He can't stop himself from reaching up, wrapping a hand around himself as Slade eats him out.

Bruce is so messy that when Slade starts to press a finger in he doesn't even notice right away. Slade hits the first knuckle before it registers in his brain that it isn't just Slade's tongue, and he chokes without meaning to, clenching down.

"Easy," Slade says. "Just one finger."

One finger feels like an awful lot. It feels strange and different, but when Slade shifts his grip—Bruce can barely figure out how Slade's managing to balance him—Bruce lets out a sigh of pure relief when Slade pushes Bruce's hand out of the way, staring to jerk Bruce off in time with how he's moving his finger.

It isn't hard to push Bruce over the edge. He clenches down, his noises almost a scream as he presses back into the bed, cum splattering across his own chest.

Slade eases him down carefully, withdrawing his hand.

Bruce is downright exhausted, so it feels nice when Slade picks him up.

"Come on," Slade says, "let's get the mess off you."

It isn't the first time he's showered with Slade, but it's the first time they've showered together in their own room.

Chapter Text

Jason gives them a dirty look when they make it to the table late for breakfast. Jason knows when Bruce gets up. He knows when the alarm is set to. And he can definitely guess what's made them late.

Roy's digging in like it might be the last time he gets to eat Alfred's cooking, and Damian is watching him with a disgusted look at his face, muttering something about table manners.

"Everything packed up?" Bruce asks.

"Didn't have much to pack," Roy says. "Suits all folded, though. Going to say it's motorcycle gear if security questions it."

It'll pass well enough as that as long as they don't squint too much at it.

"Should I prepare a lunch to take with you?" Alfred asks.

"I can manage airline food," Roy says. "Flight won't be that bad."

"You're going to go crazy," Jason says with a laugh. "That's a looooong flight."

"Don't remind me," Roy groans. 

"Are you sure you're up for driving him?" Slade asks Jason. "One of us can always drive the two of you."

"I can manage," Jason says. Realistically speaking, he shouldn't. He shouldn't be driving for months. But that advice is assuming a standard level of medical care, and Jason isn't getting a standard level of medical care. He's getting the best there is, with all sorts of experimental treatments to speed up his rate of healing. Some of them are the same ones that helped his leg heal years ago, and some are even better than that.

They're also expensive as hell, and even with all that Bruce wouldn't trust him on a long drive.

"Are you going to come visit?" Damian asks pointedly.

"I mean," Roy says, going as red as his hair. "If you'd have me back. I was thinking maybe Jason might want to come out and see the coast."

"Part time Batman means I have time to visit," Jason points out.

"Make sure it's not too soon," Bruce says. "I need to torment Green Arrow a bit, and I won't have you ruining that."

"As if I'd let Jason go anywhere until he's fully healed," Slade says.

"You think you have a say?" Jason says. "I'll get on a plane if I want, old man."

"Do you think I wouldn't break into an airport and carry you back out kicking and screaming if you tried? Because I would."

"Master Jason would never try such a thing," Alfred says. "I would be very upset if he did."

That ends the discussion.

Damian doesn't say goodbye to Roy so much as he drops Portia in Roy's lap, letting Roy play with the kitten while Jason gets a lecture on safe driving from Slade that he absolutely doesn't need.

"It was nice having a new face around," Alfred says. "I do hope you'll come back sometime soon Mister Harper."

"If you promise to make those pot pies again you can have me back any time," Roy says with a grin.

"Of course. I would be my pleasure."

When Jason comes back, Damian carefully takes Portia back, the kitten curled up in Damian's arms and perfectly content to go back to sleep.

"We'll see you off in the cave," Bruce says, keeping a perfectly straight face as they head down.

Jason suspects. Roy doesn't seem to.

So when they get down to the cave and there's a great big duffle bag with don't open till Christmas pinned to the top Roy looks absolutely horrified.

"Oh hell," he says. "You can't-"

"We absolutely can," Bruce says, picking the bag up and simply placing it over Roy's shoulder for him. The bag's heavy enough to make his shoulder sag. "And you're forbidden from opening it till Christmas. If you want to be really mean, open it in front of your mentor."

Roy squints at the bag.

"But I -"

"Roy," Bruce says pointedly. "I have a reputation for giving slightly obscene gifts, and you've just spent, by my count, a week and a half living with us. It was good for Jason to have someone closer to his age around, and we were happy to have you."

Jason rolls his eyes.

"Just take the bag," Slade says. "Once Bruce does this, there's no stopping him."

Roy squints.

"I will find a way to pay you back," he says.

"I'm sure you will," Bruce says, who is sure of no such thing.

Roy huffs at him.

"Are we going?" Jason asks. "Or are you deciding to live in my basement?"

"Fine!" Roy says. "I'll see you at the next League meeting... probably. I don't know. I need to talk to the boss about that."

"We'll be in touch," Bruce says. Slade's smirking, and Bruce elbows him lightly as Roy hops in the passenger seat of Bruce's Bugatti.

"I don't remember saying he could drive that," Bruce mutters under his breath.

"Too late," Slade says as Jason grins at them, already starting to pull out.

Roy waves until he's out of sight.

"Think he's going to make it to the airport before he opens it?" Bruce asks.

"I think he'll make it through security before curiosity gets the best of him, but I already booby trapped it."

"You what?" Bruce asks, horrified.

"It's not that bad," Slade protests. "I just put the tablet on the top with a 'to hold you over until Christmas' note, and lathered on some guilt tripping about how I know he wouldn't go through it all before then."

"Have you been taking lessons from Alfred?"

"I learned from the best," Slade says.

Bruce laughs at that.

Chapter Text

Bruce has things to do. Everyone's coming the very next day, and there seems to be an endless string of tasks that need doing. Alfred handles the overwhelming majority of them, but Bruce knows he wouldn't mind some help. There's things that need to be picked up. Gifts that need organizing. Bruce even had gifts of his own that still needed wrapping.

Which is why it was so frustrating that Slade was making absolutely sure they weren't getting anything done. It was like a switch had been flipped, and there was no unflipping it. The moment they were alone, Slade slid right up to him and started getting handsy. Lips on his neck. Teeth on his throat. Hands slipping up under Bruce's shirt.

The only mercy was that Slade's senses were good enough to keep them from getting caught, which stopped being much of a mercy when, after the third near-encounter with Damian (who was chasing Titus around the house with Portia in his arms), Slade simply dragged Bruce into the office.

"I have things to do," Bruce had protested.

"So do I," Slade had said with that smirk of his.

Bruce had ended up sprawled on his own desk, Slade's mouth on his dick and his fingers in his ass.

The only mercy was that Slade only wrung one orgasm out of him. He was already tired from that morning, and Slade showed no sign of slowing down.

"Please let me work," Bruce said when he dragged his pants back up. "I have to get Alfred's gift wrapped."

"It's one gift," Slade pointed out. "How long can that take?"

An hour, apparently. Slade spent the entire time laughing his ass off and absolutely refusing to help as Bruce attempted to manage a wrap job that didn't look like the box had gone through the paper shredder.

It wasn't Slade's first Christmas with them. Not even close. But it was their first Christmas together, so that was something. Slade's first presents had been small, with the exception of Jason, who he spoiled endlessly. Every successive Christmas had incorporated Slade a little bit more.

"So who's coming?" Slade asks, settling in just behind Bruce where he sat on the floor, covered in bits of tape as he makes an attempt at wrapping a second gift.

"Jim's coming on Christmas day," he says, ignoring Slade's grunt. "Tim, Barbara, and Jackson are coming tomorrow morning. Michael's politely declined and is going to handle patrol for us. And Dick's coming closer to dinner tomorrow. He has work in the morning."

"How long before we start hosting the Justice League Christmas party?" Slade asks.

"I'm surprised we aren't already," Bruce says, abandoning his attempt at wrapping. "Are you already done wrapping?"

"I was done a week ago," Slade says. "Unlike some people, I don't leave things to last minute."

"I was busy," Bruce says, "with you."

"Not busy enough, apparently," Slade says, leaning forward to press a kiss to the back of Bruce's neck.

"How can you still be ready to go?" Bruce says. "How can you be so goddamn horny all the time?"

He doesn't get it. He feels like if Slade so much as grabs his ass one more time he's going to lose the ability to walk, and yet there Slade is, ready for another round.

"I'm working up to it," Slade says, "and the closer you get to something, the higher the anticipation."

"Keep it in your pants," Bruce protests. "The boys-"

"Jason is downstairs," Slade says, "and Damian's asleep after being up all night with his kitten."

"Alfred-"

"Is busy, and isn't going to disturb us."

That time Slade jerks him off, and there's something particularly terrifying about doing anything outside the confines of a locked room. Slade makes a point of being discrete, and doesn't drag it out, but Bruce has a hard time focusing on what's happening when he's spending every moment waiting for someone to walk in on them. He's having a hard time maintaining his erection, even if Slade is great with his hands.

"Alright," Slade says, "this isn't working."

He hikes Bruce's pants up, throws Bruce over his shoulder, and heads back to their room.

He stops having trouble once they're inside.

Inside the safety of their room, it's easy to surrender to Slade's attention. Even if Slade's leading, he's more willing to be an active participant when he's not worrying about who's going to find out, and Slade seems to like it when Bruce rubs slow circles down Slade's back.

"Two fingers this time," Slade says. He uses a lot of lube, and goes exceptionally slowly, but the feeling of it is different. It's weird, and Bruce bites at the back of his hand to keep from yelping as Slade works him open.

"I was going to get you a toy," Slade says, "something to help you open up. Thought it might make a fun Christmas gift."

"No," Bruce chokes. "Absolutely not."

The idea of opening a sex toy, in front of his family is enough to make him want to push Slade out of the bedroom then and there.

"A private present," Slade says. "I wouldn't do it in front of anyone. What do you take me for?"

"An absolutely insatiable bastard?"

Slade laughs and presses in a third finger.

"Tell me what you like," Slade says, still as he lets Bruce adjust to the intrusion.

"When you talk," Bruce mumbles, embarrassed to be admitting it. "I like when you say this... stuff."

"You mean when I tell you how badly I want to fuck you?" Slade says, knowing damn well exactly what Bruce means. "When I talk about all the things I'm going to do to you when you're ready?"

It probably shouldn't, but Slade's voice—especially when he's talking about filthy things like this—goes straight to Bruce's cock. It has such an effect on him that he's starting to get worried, because if Slade whispering in his ear is enough to give him a boner he's going to have a big problem.

Slade curls his fingers and Bruce yells, his entire body tensing. He has no idea what the hell just happened, but his entire body jerks as Slade does it again, whining.

That doesn't feel strange. It feels good.

"Prostate," Slade says. Bruce doesn't hear what he says after that, because Slade rubs the tips of his fingers into it and Bruce sees stars.

It's too much too fast, and the sensation goes from enjoyable to overwhelming and almost painful quickly. Slade eases back, nudging it only occasionally, and finishes Bruce off with his mouth in what seems like an apology.

"Kind of worried I'm going too fast," Slade says when he finally settles in beside him. "And that you're not going to tell me if I am."

"I'm... along for the ride," Bruce says after a bit of consideration. "I don't have any sense of how this is supposed to go."

"Just feel it out," Slade says. "And just... say what feels right. If you feel nervous about how fast it's going, say it. If you feel alright with it, say that."

"How about," Bruce says, "we make this a Christmas gift. For both of us."

"Seems more like a gift for me," Slade says with a laugh.

"It'll be a gift for both of us if you do it right."

Slade's obviously wise to him, because he nuzzles against Bruce's side with obvious suspiciousness.

"What's the catch?"

"It's a Christmas gift," Bruce says, "which means you get to open it on Christmas day after everyone else is gone."

Slade groans.

"This is cruel. You've set the gift out but I'm not allowed to open it? You expect me to go through the whole of tomorrow thinking about it, knowing what I'm going to get?"

"I'm sure you can manage," Bruce says. "The alternative is me getting up on Christmas morning and having to greet Jim at the door bowlegged."

"Pretty sure he'd just leave," Slade says with a snort.

"Be nice," Bruce says. "You said you weren't going to hold it against him."

"Doesn't mean I can't torment him a bit," Slade says.

He's silent for a moment, his fingers dragging over Bruce's side, and Bruce can't stop himself from shivering, rolling to face Slade.

"Are you going to be alright to wait?" Bruce asks. He's not sure if he's asking too much.

"I can wait," Slade says. "I've waited before, and I'll wait again. I'm not that bad."

"You could have fooled me," Bruce says as Slade curls against his side.

 Slade's true to his word: He waits.

Chapter Text

Bruce double checks his own gifts, making sure they're all ready to go and safely under the tree. He supposes it's a mercy that Damian doesn't believe in Santa Claus (he can't imagine having to pretend they were real), because that's just one thing to worry about.

Maybe when Jackson is older it'll be an issue, but he doubts it.

He's impatient for people to start arriving, and he's not the only one. Damian keeps checking if Tim has arrived, the kitten carried everywhere with him as he stalks about the house.

Jason has apparently not inherited his father's preparedness, because he's wrapping gifts when Tim and Barbara arrive.

"Just distract them!" Jason yells, and Slade lets out a laugh and goes to get the door.

Barbara has Jackson held tightly in her arms to keep him from running off into the house, while Tim is loaded down with a stack of gifts. He's practical, which tells Bruce that every gift is probably the same thing, because they're all almost identical in shape. He takes them carefully, heading over to drop by them by the tree as everyone heads towards the main living room.

"I want snow," Tim complains.

"We had snow," Jason counters.

"Real snow," Tim says. "Snow that stays on the ground."

They haven't had more than a light dusting all season.

"Then go skiing," Bruce says. "Plenty of snow elsewhere."

"Jackson's not being let anywhere near... anything. We can barely keep up with the running as it is."

Damian is in the process of very carefully attempting to introduce Portia to Jackson, a risky maneuver that's getting supervised by Slade and Barbara.

"I can't believe you let him get a kitten," Tim says pointedly.

"It was inevitable," Alfred says. "Master Damian's interest in animals is particularly infectious."

Titus lifts his head, seeming almost aware of the fact that he's being spoken of, and Bruce reaches down, scratching between his ears.

"When's Dick getting here?" Barbara asks, and Bruce offers a shrug.

"Sometime around dinner."

"Is he bringing someone...?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Alfred says. "While he technically has a permanent plus one available to him, I would hope he would have given me some sort of notice so I could prepare an appropriate number of place settings for dinner."

They chat about the League Meeting, and it's not long after that when Slade elbows Bruce in the side.

"Tell them," he says pointedly, giving Bruce a look.  

Bruce wrinkles his nose.

"I was going to tell them later," he says. "It's not Christmas talk."

"It's a good thing," Jason says. "Tell them."

Bruce thinks it's a little bit grim, but he supposes he probably should tell them.

"One of the members of the league is a telepath," he says. "He was able to help fight off the last bit of the infection for me."

"Wait, you mean...?" Tim looks shocked. Of all of them, he's the one who knows the most about the infection. He's the one who worked with Bruce through all the early stages, who figured out how to determine the rate of infection. "Did you test?"

"I don't need to," Bruce says. "I can't access any of his memories. They're gone."

"You should test anyway."

Bruce thinks it's pointless, but eventually allows Tim to drag him down to the cave, setting it all up to test the way they did years ago. They haven't in a long time. Once the infection was stable, it was just a matter of seeing if the green tint would leave his hair and eyes, and it hasn't.

Or hadn't. Bruce wonders if the effect is already started to lessen, but there's no way the effect would be visible after just two days.

He sits patiently as Tim rigs the whole thing up, feeling increasingly silly at how seriously his second oldest is taking things.

But it's worth seeing the relief on Tim's face when the results come back clean, a perfectly normal reaction that Bruce hasn't had since they first devised the test.

It's worth it for the hug he gets, tears in Tim's eyes as he finally lets Bruce head back upstairs as he cleans up.

"Clean bill of health," Tim says. "Were you really not going to tell us until after the holidays?"

"I didn't want to bring it up," Bruce says. "It's kind of a grim topic."

Slade and Jason both roll their eyes in response.

He settles in beside Slade and catches Tim stiffening in response. He glances over, confused, but doesn't get any sort of explanation.

"...What?" He asks, confused.

"Nothing," Tim blurts, exchanging a quick look with Barbara.

"Probably expecting you to start doing something inappropriate on the couch," Jason says pointedly.

"Master Jason!" Alfred protests, and Damian laughs from his place on the floor.

"I didn't swear!" Jason protests. "We all know they're screwing around-"

Alfred gives him such a hard look that Jason shuts up immediately.

"I'm keeping my hands to myself," Slade says, the picture of innocence. "And I am shocked you'd accuse me of doing anything inappropriate."

"It's been awful," Jason says. "They can't keep their hands off each other."

Damian makes a face.

"Well I for one," Barbara says, hauling Jackson back onto her lap, "am happy you two are getting along."

"I was worried it'd be too much of a change," Bruce admits.

"Nothing's actually changed," Tim points out. "You two still act the same way you always did, except now, in theory, you're kissing."

Slade takes that as an excuse to lean over, giving Bruce the world's most chaste kiss.

Bruce has had a lot more intense kisses than that, but being kissed in front of people makes his face go red.

He's saved only by the ring of the doorbell.

"Dick?" Damian says, popping to his feet and scooping Portia up with one hand with impressive speed. He darts off towards the door as Alfred goes after him, and it isn't long before Dick appears, barely visible beyond a stack of presents.

Slade and Tim help unload him, dropping them under the tree, and then Dick flops down between Tim and Jason, making them scoot out of the way to accommodate him.

"Traffic was awful," he complains. "I figured I might as well leave early before it got even worse. Whose idea was it to have construction on Christmas eve?"

"Probably your fathers," Slade says. "He is running the place now."

"That's on Bludhaven," Bruce says. "I didn't sign off on anything of the sort."

"I still can't believe you're mayor," Dick says. "And what's this I hear about you being on the Justice League as yourself?"

Bruce hadn't kept that a secret. If he was representing them, they deserved to know.

"Batman's being retired," Bruce says. "The original Batman completely. The new one is going to be... part-time." He spares a glance to Jason, who reclines farther into the couch.

"Too risky to come back right around the time I heal," Jason says. "And Batman has... partially outlived its usefulness. So I'm going to come back as something else, and Batman can just show up in extreme situations."

"Does this mean you're getting a new suit?" Dick asks.

"I better be," Jason says. "New suit, new gadgets, new name."

"Did you pick one yet?" Tim asks, and Jason shrugs in response.

"He should be Shrike Jr," Damian says, and Bruce catches him smiling to himself as Jason leans over, aggressively ruffling Damian's hair before Damian can swat his hand away.

"I think we're past the point of using legacy names," Bruce says. "It causes more trouble than is necessary, and the bats are too high profile for anyone to miss the change the way they might have before."

"Back when half of Gotham thought Batman was a myth," Dick says, "and the other half thought you were a vampire."

"A part of me misses those days," Bruce says with an exaggerated sigh. "All I had to do was hiss and people would stop what they were doing to run away."

Alfred calls them for dinner, and they head towards the kitchen. Alfred won't even let them go into the larger dining room, scooting them towards the too-small main dining room.

"It's already set for Christmas morning," Alfred says. "You'll just have to wait."

It feels unusual to do everything at a table too small for all of them, but none of them is willing to argue with Alfred. He brings out everyone's favorites, and insists everyone take seconds (or thirds, if they're willing to take seconds on their own). 

And as tradition dictates, the boys vanish into the kitchen to clean up the mess after dinner, leaving Alfred to sit and talk.

"I don't know why I let them," Alfred says under his breath. "I don't think Tim even knows where the pots and pans go."

"I've trained him," Barbara says. "He knows the difference between different kinds of baking trays now."

Jackson is settled in on Bruce's lap, already asleep, and they're all doing their best to keep the volume down.

"Bedtime gets earlier every year," Alfred says with a smile, sparing Jackson a quick glance.

"Don't tell him that," Barbara says. "We've only got a few years before he's staying up until midnight and trying to say that because it's twelve-oh-one, that means it's technically Christmas and he's allowed to open presents."

"Tim tried that on me," Bruce says with a laugh.

"Tim tried that on me," Barbara says. "Last year!"

"What did I try?" Tim says popping his head around the corner and looking alarmed. "I didn't do it."

"Yes he did!" Jason yells from the kitchen.

There's a scuffling in the kitchen which Bruce is fairly sure is Dick and Jason squabbling over whether or not Tim did or did not do whatever it is they think they did.

"We're going to retire a bit early," Barbara says. "See if we can't keep Jackson asleep until the morning."

"I'm good," Dick says as the boys finally emerge from the kitchen. "Don't want to ruin my sleep schedule too badly."

Jason seems distracted by his phone, and Slade leans over, clicking his tongue and making Jason jump.

"And who would that be that you're messaging?" Slade says with a grin that says I already know who it is.

"I was just checking in with Roy," he says. "Making sure everything's good over there."

"How's Michael?" Dick asks as Tim and Barbara collect the toys that Jackson has left strewn about.

"Currently making eyes at his lady love," Jason says. "I told him to confess like six times and he is not having it."

"I'll heckle him about it next time I see him," Dick says with a grin. "You know, as is my duty as an officer of the law."

It probably isn't at all how he intended it to be taken but it does remind Bruce of something. A little while later, when Dick goes to grab his last bag out of the car, Bruce goes after him, catching him just by the entranceway.

"Dick?" He asks, and Dick glances up, staring at him for a moment before finally pulling back, his bag slung over his shoulder.

"Yeah?"

"You... know you can tell me anything, right?" Bruce says.

What he means if that if Dick is dating someone—especially a man—that he can tell him. That's what he's trying to get across. But Dick immediately goes so red he makes a tomato look subtle, and Bruce realizes he's just accidentally prodded at something else entirely.

"Oh no," Dick says. "He told you?"

The correct thing to do would be to say I don't know what you're talking about, because he absolutely does not.

But that is also not the Bruce Wayne thing to do, so he dodges the question.

"What I was or wasn't told doesn't really matter," Bruce says, which is absolutely true. "This is just me making sure you know you can talk to me."

Dick looks absolutely mortified, burying his face in his hands.

"I can't believe he told!" Dick protests. "He said he wouldn't!"

As sneaky as Bruce can be, he's also not willing to toss Slade under the bus (because there's absolutely no doubt in his mind that Slade's the he in this picture, and it's also absolutely no doubt that whatever the secret is, it's a lot more important than Dick maybe-possibly being pansexual).

"No," Bruce says with a wince. "He didn't. I'm not sure what you're reacting to, honestly."

Dick squints at him, and then somehow ends up looking even more mortified.

"Oh my god," he says. "Did I just - god damnit!"

Bruce is getting more alarmed by the second. It was supposed to be a you can talk to me if you need to, and instead Dick's reaction is... so far beyond that he's not sure what to think.

"Is - is everything alright?" Bruce makes himself ask.

Dick groans, scrubbing at his face.

"Now you're doing the worried father thing," he says, "which means you're going to snoop around and hassle Slade until he tells you. So just tell me what it was you were trying to get out of me."

Bruce is all too eager to ease his own confusion.

"Slade said—entirely hypothetically—that it was a good thing none of the boys had come out as pan to me, because I wouldn't even know what that was because I was so clueless."

Dick squints at him so intensely his eyes are nearly closed.

"That's it?" He says, and Bruce nods. Dick throws his hands into the air, exasperated, but at least no longer quite so embarrassed.

"You could have just said 'if you want to come out to me you can'," Dick says.

"I thought you might not want to," Bruce says carefully. "Not everyone is supportive."

Dick looks at him like he's stupid, and Bruce does feel a little bit stupid right then.

"Bruce," he says, "you are literally dating a man at this exact moment. I'd hope you'd be supportive of the fact that one of your sons is interested in guys."

It's Bruce's turn to go red.

"So what...?"

Dick throws his hands in the air again, as dramatic as ever.

"Slade didn't even tell you, and I've been spending all this time mortified you'd find out, but you know what? You might as well hear it from me before he tells you himself."

"He wouldn't," Bruce says pointedly. "He can keep secrets."

"I didn't tell Slade about that," Dick says. "He found out."

Oh no.

"Did he... did he walk in on you?" Bruce isn't clear as to how that's possible, because Dick's only stayed with them occasionally, and Slade definitely doesn't have a key to Dick's apartment. Maybe through the window while picking him up for patrol...?

Dick groans.

"I went to a gay bar," Dick says. "And he was there. And we did that thing where you stare at each other in horror and then pretend you both spontaneously went blind and didn't see anything, but eventually he came around to Bludhaven to give me the please be safe lecture and we had to have a whole talk about it."

"You ran into Slade in a gay bar?" Bruce asks. He feels like his brain just broke. The idea of it—of the two of them both being not just at a gay bar but in the same gay bar—makes his head hurt.

"Like, years ago," Dick says, obviously wanting to avoid any possible unnecessary implications. "Back when he was first living with you. And it was the most awkward moment of my entire life, bar none. No question."

Bruce can't help himself: He laughs. He's worked himself up over the idea of Dick going to Slade for a serious conversation, when the truth is so much better. The idea of Slade giving Dick—who had to be in his late twenties by that point—a lecture about safe sex is so funny Bruce can't stop himself from laughing.

"Do not tell Tim or Jason," Dick says desperately. "I will literally die of old age still haven't not heard the end of it if they find out."

Bruce has to wipe the tears from his eyes just to manage an answer.

"Your secret's safe with me," he says.

He throws an arm around Dick's shoulders and steers him back towards the house, doing everything he can to stop himself from laughing again.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes to Slade up against him, gently nudging him awake. It's still dark—the sun hasn't yet started to peek over the horizon—and his alarm isn't even close to going off.

"It's early," Bruce protests, and Slade laughs under his breath at him.

"Damian's pacing outside," Slade says. "He's been up for at least an hour, so I thought you might want to throw him a bone."

Bruce huffs, but does end up getting out of bed. He makes a point of showering, pulling on the ugly Christmas sweater that Dick got him last Christmas, and is amused when Slade does the same, pulling a lime-green monstrosity over his head.

Damian is waiting in the hall when the door opens, Portia fully absent for once.

"Father!" He says, doing a poor job of hiding his excitement. "Tim says that when you're up, he'll wake up Barbara and Jackson."

"Well, I'm up," Bruce says, and Damian darts off immediately.

Alfred has hot cocoa waiting for them, and Dick's already up.

"Alfred won't let us into the ballroom," he says. "I think he's up to something."

Once upon a time, there was a second tree in the living room. The arrival of a dog in the house made that an impossible task, so now the manor's sole Christmas tree remains tucked away in the ballroom on the far side of the house. It's massive and highly decorated, and it's also a strict no dog zone.

Damian complains about it, but does finally let Titus stay behind.

Bruce isn't quite sure how Alfred manages to do anything in secret. He lives in a house with some of the best investigators in the country, and one of them has enhanced senses. And yet somehow, every year Alfred manages to surprise them.

This year is no different. Parked just above the fireplace is a new family portrait. It matches the look and style of the one of his parents, but this one has everyone. Slade and him standing shoulder to shoulder. Dick, Tim, Jason, and Damian in front of them.

"Aren't you supposed to sit for portraits?" Slade asks, inspecting the painting.

"I made do," Alfred says. "I intended for it to be a surprise."

Bruce can't help but notice the distinct lack of Barbara and Jackson in the portrait (although he supposes that probably would make it too large to fit over the fireplace), but the issue is rapidly remedied when Alfred produces a second portrait, of Tim and his family.

"I wasn't sure you'd be able to transport it," Alfred says.

Tim looks like he's not sure where to fit it.

Jim shows up before they can actually dig into any of the wrapped gifts, depositing his own just under the tree before stopping to inspect the portraits.

"You're going to have to get me the name of the guy who does these," Jim says before grabbing a seat.

They started with Jim's gifts, because as the last to arrive his were the farthest from the base of the tree. He'd gotten something for everyone, although what he got them varied fairly heavily.

He'd gotten Bruce reservations to a nice restaurant.

He got Slade a Batman mug.

Jim absolutely picked favorites.

Damian insisted on going next, clearly excited for the reaction and proud of what he'd done. He distributed the gifts—each thin and reminding Bruce of a thin book—and made everyone open them simultaneously.

Bruce braced himself, prepared to be excited about anything Damian had gotten him. 

It turns out he didn't have to bother getting himself ready. Inside of his package—and apparently everyone elses—was a neat sketch the size of a normal piece of paper. There was no doubt in Bruce's mind that everyone had gotten a sketch, but there was also no doubt that everyone had gotten a different sketch.

After all, he was pretty sure Jim might not have been a big fan of a sketch of Slade, asleep, with Portia curled up in his lap.

The art was excellent, but also obviously in Damian's own hand, because he'd signed it in the corner.

Which was particularly baffling because Bruce hadn't realized Damian could draw at all.

There was a round of appreciative noises and a set of compliments, and Bruce couldn't stop himself from running his thumb over the drawing before realizing that he probably shouldn't be doing that, and realizing he had a drawing of sleeping Slade, and quickly tucking it out of sight.

Everyone else's were less... well, that. Tim, Barbara, and Jim had gotten a matching set of Jackson. Dick had a landscape of Gotham's skyline. Alfred had one of the family around the table. Jason had one of, of all possible things, that motorcycle he'd been hinting at wanting (only this one had him riding it, which Bruce supposed was probably supposed to be a consolation prize).

When Bruce glanced over he determined that Slade had gotten one of Titus and Portia.

Which meant he was the only one with a drawing like his.

And there was no way it wasn't intentional, because Damian was smirking at him, and if Bruce didn't know better he'd think that Damian was actually Slade's son, because that smirk must have been genetic.

And Bruce almost managed to keep a low profile about it. Almost. But then as everyone was oohing and ahhing over the art and telling Damian how good it was, Dick looked right over at him and asked "What'd you get, Bruce?" like he was the picture of innocence and didn't know exactly what he was doing.

Bruce probably shouldn't have been embarrassed. It was just a drawing. But something about showing it—because there's no way to not—makes his face heat up.

There's a lot more oohing and aahing the second time around, but for a much different reason.

Jason elbows Damian and gives him a wicked little grin, and Bruce sighs in response.

Chapter Text

Tim's gifts are the same as always, which isn't necessarily a bad thing. Everyone is neatly handed another identically shaped gift, which turn out to be ordinary looking tablets.

Only it's Tim, so nothing's ever just normal.

"I've worked with Barbara," he says. "They hook into the same secure network, so you can send messages through them without having to worry about anyone getting compromised. All top of the line."

"Better than the patchwork we've got going," Barbara says. They have a secure audio connection, but this is something new, and Jason lets out a low whistle as he inspects it.

"And while I'm here I'm going to rig up the mansion with a new network to make extra sure it's secure," Tim adds. 

Barbara's gift is a bit less practical. As is tradition, she's taken her turn on the terrible sweater task, providing them all with identical christmas sweaters with a hawaiian shirt pattern.

They look awful, which is the whole point.

"Next year," she reminds them. "We even got one for Jackson."

Jason's gifts are significantly less uniform and far more personalized. He doesn't catch what everyone else gets, but when he opens his own gift he finds a very nice thermos—apparently intended for when he's at work—with the Batman logo on the side. They also all have a different clothes, and the theme of the year is apparently Batman. 

He's gotten Jackson a shirt that says My dad can beat up Batman. Slade has a pair of pajamas, the top of which says I'm not saying I'm Batman, I'm just saying nobody has ever seen me and Batman in a room together.

"You are not wearing that," Bruce protests.

"I am absolutely wearing this," Slade says. He makes a point of peeling off his sweater, pulling the top on just to prove a point.

When Bruce opens his gift, he finds an identical pair of pajamas to Slades, only his doesn't say I'm not saying I'm Batman.

No, his says I'm not saying my boyfriend is Batman.

Bruce groans. The boys absolutely howl with laughter.

Dick's packages are oddly shaped and strangely lumpy, but he's obviously excited for whatever's inside.

It turns out to be a stuffed toy. A stuffed toy of Batman, which isn't all that unusual.

What's unusual is that everyone has one. Not just one of Batman, but one of themselves. Tim's got Robin, Damian's got Shrike, Jason's got a slightly different looking Batman (completely with the upgrades Jason made to the suit), and Slade's got the Gotham Knight. Barbara, Jim, and Alfred have their own things, entirely separate, and Dick chats excitedly about the purchase.

"Someone had a nightwing one and I thought it was adorable, so I asked them where they got it and they told me about this store, and they do like... everyone. They've got one of Clark too, and I imagine it's not long before they have the other league members."

Damian's hugging himself, and Bruce spots Dick sliding Slade a package discreetly as Bruce goes to get his own gifts.

Bruce knows he has a tendency to go overboard. He knows his choice of gifts tends to lean heavily on the excessive end of things. Everyone else in the family has managed to contain themselves and settle for something nice and small.

Bruce has not, and they all know it, and there is a very obvious bracing of themselves as everyone gets ready for whatever nonsense Bruce is about to unveil.

He hasn't changed, but at least he's self aware about it now.

So he stares doling out packages.

Barbara's got some new computer parts that aren't going to be out for at least another year, highly experimental and probably not supposed to be in the hands of anyone at all, especially not someone who doesn't work for Wayne Enterprises. Tim's got a new camera with all the lenses possible, which he starts excitedly taking apart just to try it all out.

He's gotten Dick nothing but a card, but the card does include the deed to a small dojo up in Bludhaven that he purchased and upgraded so that Dick can train his proteges there discreetly. Damian's got a new upgrade to his Shrike gear, and a very high quality custom made sword.

Alfred gives him a dirty look when he sees the sword, and Bruce attempts to ease things by pointing out he has contractors coming to upgrade the greenhouse for him in the New Year and handing over a horribly wrapped package of new gardening tools for Alfred's roses.

Barbara and Tim get a college fund and a stack of toys on Jackson's behalf, and Jim gets a new high end coffee maker for himself.

Which just leaves Slade and Jason.

"Now," Bruce says carefully, "I know this might be excessive-"

There's an almost simultaneous gasp of horror, and Bruce glares at almost everyone.

"Oh god," Dick says. "If it's so bad you're apologizing, how bad is it going to be? Did you buy him an entire bookstore chain?"

"It's not that bad," Bruce protests, feeling defensive. "I just knew I probably wasn't going to get another chance, and I thought you'd really like it, and I've been trying for three years to get a copy without breaking the bank..."

"Oh god," Tim says under his breath.

Jason looks horrified as Bruce passes him an envelope.

"Just open it," Bruce says with a huff.

Technically, the present is in the library—neatly placed there the night before—but he can't exactly tote it downstairs.

Jason rips the envelope open, skimming through it.

"You got me the First Folio?" Jason asks, his mouth forming a little o of surprise.

He knows how much Jason likes Shakespeare. He knows the importance of that. And he knows how much he likes old books. The First Folio is the holy grail of book collecting, and finding a copy in half decent shape is difficult. There's less than three hundred copies still around, and Bruce has been keeping an eye on auctions for years.

He's slightly worried the gift isn't going to have the desired effect—Jason likes books but maybe not necessarily collecting— but the way Jason's face light up makes it obvious that he likes it.

Jason pulls Bruce into a quick hug, and then grins at him.

"That almost makes up for you not letting me get the bike."

"When you're better," Bruce says automatically. 

Slade looks extremely amused by the whole thing, like he's right on the edge of laughing. Bruce isn't sure if it's that funny, but Slade seems to think so.

Bruce settles back, and Damian looks him over, scrutinizing.

"Where's your present for Slade?"

"He's getting it after," Bruce says. "But it's private."

There's a lot of exchanged glances between more or less everyone in the room, and Slade clears his throat, getting up to fetch his own gifts.

Slade's gifts are all deeply personal. 

He has a cookbook for Tim, who's trying to teach himself to cook. He's got a spa day for Barbara. Dick's got a fancy new set of escrima sticks. Damian's got a little adjustable harness so he can take Portia out on walks with Titus. Bruce thinks that's a bit silly, but Damian seems to love the idea, so he's willing to roll with it.

He's got Alfred a rare rose cultivar, and he's got Jim a mug (Bruce can't decide if it's intentional or simply a good sign they understand how things are between them), and he's picked out a nice storybook for Jackson.

He selects a small box from the tiny pile of remaining gifts and heads over to Jason, looking impossibly amused.

"Well," he says, "this is awkward, but you might as well open it."

Jason does, letting out a choked noise, and then glares up at Slade. Then, to Bruce's intense confusion, he glares at Bruce.

"What?" Bruce asks. "What am I missing?"

Jason holds up a sealed glass enclosure with a copy of Shakespeare's First Folio inside, and Bruce chokes.

"How-"

"Because the collector who was selling them off had four copies," Slade says. "Which means we probably both got notified at the same time, and bought two from the same set."

Bruce groans.

"I think it's funny," Barbara says. "You both got him the same thing? And not like the same video game or anything like that. No no. You both got him an item that has less than a thousand copies."

"Might have to donate a copy," Jason says. "Not sure Gotham Library's got the security for it, but we can always upgrade them."

Slade glances at Bruce and seems to second guess himself, but after a moment he goes to retrieve one of the last gifts. There's still a few under the tree—some for Michael, Steph, and Duke, some for the Kents, and a few spares just in case anyone unexpected drops by—but as far as Bruce can tell this is the last one for the family.

And it's coming for him.

He braces himself as Slade leans down, handing him a box. He feels like there's pressure, because everyone's staring at him and he's not entirely sure he wants to open whatever it is in public.

But when he opens it, it's... a watch. A watch from the same brand as the one he always wears to work, only a slightly newer model.

And Bruce has to admit to himself that his heart is sinking a bit, because it's... well, it's a very nice gift. It's expensive. But it's also the sort of thing that someone trying to make a deal with Wayne Enterprises would get him if they thought he had much say in the company that bares his name.

"Try it on," Slade says, and he has that wicked grin on which clues Bruce in that maybe, just maybe, there's something else to it.

He gets it onto his wrist before he feels the slight scratch on the back of his wrist, and then he peels it right back off.

The back, normally perfectly flat, has been engraved.

You make me better.

Below it is a little S that Bruce recognizes from Slade's signature the few times he's seen it.

He doesn't want to, but his eyes are watering, and Slade leans down, pressing a kiss to his forehead as Bruce wipes at his eyes.

"So you can keep me with you while you're in all those fancy meetings," Slade says, and Bruce knows it's the best gift Slade's ever given him.

Chapter Text

They still have breakfast to do, but first they have to tidy up. All the wrapping paper gets shoved into garbage bags, and everyone scrambles around trying to keep a hand on their gifts. Alfred carefully escorts Jason's second folio up to the library for safe keeping in the climate controlled vault Bruce had built, and then goes to finish up dinner. Damian takes Alfred's new tools out to the greenhouse, and the rest back to his room for him.

Bruce collects his own things and carries them back to his room, lingering at the doorway waiting for Slade. When he doesn't appear immediately, he ducks into his room, propping the Batman doll up on top of his dresser. After some consideration, he props up Damian's sketch just beside it. He's not sure where he's going to put it, but he knows he wants it somewhere. His office? Only the image of Slade, looking so damned vulnerable seems too intimate a piece for an office where guests regularly are. 

His thermos goes to the kitchen, and the tablet ends up on his nightstand so he can inspect it later.

He looks the watch over again, and then puts it on. The engraving is deep enough that it catches ever so slightly against his skin, reminding him that it's there when he shifts.

Slade finally nudges his way in, arms loaded down with gifts. He grins when he sees the watch, starting to sort his own stuff out.

He drops an Gotham Knight doll beside the Batman one, and after a bit of digging, drops a Deathstroke one on the other side.

"Dick got me both," he says. "Said he couldn't risk letting Jim see, so he had to sneak it to me."

"I doubt he'd approve," Bruce says.

Slade also shows him the other half of Damian's gift: A handful of almost complete sketches, each one of Bruce with Titus.

"Apparently," Slade says, "he was trying to make it a matching set. But he couldn't get your look right and said that none of them were up to standard, but he said he'd try again."

"We need to put him in... I don't know, art classes?" Bruce says, inspecting the sketches. "Only I think he's beyond even an adult's art class..."

"More like get him exhibiting his stuff," Slade says. "He's almost at that level."

"We can look into it," Bruce says, pushing himself up from the bed as he tucks the watches box away.

He digs around, retrieving his own gift, and when he straightens up Slade is staring at him.

"Wait," he says, "you got me something?"

Bruce makes a face.

"Why would I not get you something?" He says, before realizing what Slade seems to have thought. "I wouldn't give you sex," he protests. "That's not - that isn't a gift. That's something for both of us. Did you really think I wasn't going to get you anything?"

Slade hmms and mysteriously forgets to answer the question as he takes the box.

"You're hard to shop for," Bruce says. "This was a lot easier before we were dating, when I could just get you some new gadget and call it a day."

"Only you would call getting some kind of new bullet-resistant polymer to work as a gauntlet to be easy," Slade says, peeling off the wrapping paper. He doesn't rip it. No, he unfolds it carefully, pulling the box open.

Inside are a pair of cufflinks and a tie pin, neatly matched. They're high end, not unlike the style Bruce normally wears, and the cufflinks in particular are monogrammed with a stylized B.

For Bruce. Or for Batman, he supposes.

"I wanted to get you a good suit," he says. "The one you have barely fits."

Which is less about the suit itself and more about the experience. About getting properly fitted. About the places Bruce will take him in that suit.

Slade leans over, giving him a short kiss. He's smiling, which Bruce decides means he likes it, but Bruce can't help but ask.

"Did you really think I wasn't going to get you anything?"

"Mmm," Slade says. "You can be a bit dense at times. And I'd have been perfectly happy with other things. You could have just given this to me earlier."

Bruce's cheeks go red.

"It just seems... private."

Which it has no reason to be. It's simple accessories and a promise to get him a good suit. There's nothing private about it, and everyone's probably expecting him to have either gotten him nothing at all, or something actually inappropriate.

"You're a shy man," Slade says. "Can't say I'm surprised you're awkward giving affectionate gifts in front of people."

It definitely sounds like Slade's teasing him, and Bruce rolls his eyes, taking Slade's hand and pulling him upright.

"I almost got you a new patch," Bruce says. "But I like the one you have now."

It's small, strapless, and subtle. It hides perfectly under sunglasses, and the fact that it can be described as strapless seems to amuse Jason to no end.

"I'm committed to this one," Slade says. "If I changed it up you wouldn't recognize me."

They head to lunch, which turns out to be Alfred's real masterstroke. The table decorations are beyond even Alfred's usual standard, and there's a whole line of dark chocolates in the shape of bats at each place setting.

He's made everyone's favorites, and Jim laments several times that he's going to have to go home and be alone that night, which prompts Alfred to pack him leftovers for dinner.

"Don't listen to him," Barbara says. "He just wants to take them to the station and gloat about the food he gets here."

"Let him," Dick says. "I mean, I do the same thing every time I visit."

There's a general consensus among everyone at the table that Alfred's cooking is worth gloating over.

Bit by bit, people start to trickle out. Jim's the first to go, but Barbara, Tim, and Jackson follow not long after. Jackson needs to go down for his afternoon nap. Dick excuses himself not long after swearing he has other people to visit but also promising to come back up more regularly.

Jason announces he's going to follow Jackson's lead and go down for a nap, and Damian, never one to be outdone, agrees.

Alfred retires to his greenhouse to make sure everything's ready for the new one, and Slade ends up hooking his arm around Bruce's waist, pulling him along towards the room.

"We should get you a dresser," Bruce says on the way there.

"A dresser?"

"The one in your rooms too big to move. We'll have to get you a new one for our room."

Slade grins at that, and Bruce is entirely sure it has nothing to do with where he stores his clothes.

Chapter Text

Bruce kept waiting for something to happen. For someone to yell. For the alarm to go off. For Alfred to come fetch them. Because it felt a little bit too perfect, and every other time he set something up, his life intervened.

Just this once he doesn't want it to. Just this once he wants for everything to go right.

"My room," Slade says as he closes the door behind them. "My bed. My Bruce."

He drops Bruce onto the bed like he weighs nothing at all, and Bruce reaches up, fingers tangling in that stupid, stupid T-shirt.

I'm not saying I'm Batman stares down at him, and he can't stop himself from laughing, tugging at the hem of Slade's shirt.

"Take this off," he says.

"Oh?" Slade says. "Are you asking me to strip? Because I hope you realize I'm going to make you use your words today..."

Of course Slade would do that. Of course Slade would make him ask, because he knows it drives Bruce crazy to have to. He's always been a if I have to ask, something's gone wrong kind of person, but this? This is a whole added layer of embarrassment.

Bruce swallows down his nerves and reminds himself that it's Slade. He can trust Slade.

Even if a part of him still reels at the idea. The part of him that wears the cowl and won't ever take it off.

"Show me what you have under there?" Bruce asks, and Slade laughs, stripping off the shirt before dropping it on the floor. "That's more like it," he says.

Bruce reaches up to do the same, and Slade eases back to give him room as he pulls off his own sweater, letting it join Slade's shirt on the ground. He makes a point of carefully removing the watch too, laying it on the nightstand. They're on top of the covers, and it's actually daylight out, which gives Bruce a good view of what he has to work with. Slade's all fine muscles with the faintest trace of pure white chest hair, and he looks amused as he trails his fingers down Bruce's chest.

"Good enough to eat," he says, which makes Bruce shiver. Something about Slade being so possessive riles him up. Maybe part of it is that he can't. Or that he wouldn't. That Slade couldn't be possessive if Bruce wasn't letting him.