Chapter Text
Bruce has had a very long day.
His children - every single one of them, from Dick to Duke - had joined him in the media room at noon sharp this Saturday for a mandatory watch of the Pacific Rim series Tim had discovered earlier in the month. His son had not stopped raving about it for the past two weeks and finally they had all caved and agreed to watch both seasons for their monthly family movie night.
And yes, he had of course enjoyed the series, and he had definitely enjoyed spending time with his children in a non-life-or-death situation, but really. Noon? On a Saturday?
While the show itself only took a little under six hours to binge, they ended up finishing nearer to nine hours due to snack trips, bathroom breaks, several arguments about conflicting theories, and occasionally pausing to quietly cry in each other’s company while they processed their emotions.
This had them finishing just in time to prepare for patrol. All of them take the time to stretch out their stiff limbs on the training mats, Dick volunteering to guide them through his own routine. (With the usual disclaimer that the majority of them wouldn’t be able to achieve quite the same range of motion he would.)
When they hit the streets, the comms are alight with banter and commentary. They’ve split up into pairs to better cover the city, but recent policy has been frequent check-ins and announced radio silences. Batman has, at long last, given up on getting his team to keep the chatter to a minimum outside of emergencies.
(This has nothing to do with the way his anxiety eases every time the check-in comes around and one by one they assure each other that they’re alright.)
None of the Arkhamites are loose, there are no large-scale operations tonight, the city is as quiet as Gotham gets. There’s still plenty of crime to stop, of course. But it’s your average crime, not the elaborate and violent schemes of the various supervillains.
That is, until an alarm goes off at a jewelry store about two blocks from where Batman and Batgirl are sitting on a rooftop discussing the pros and cons of having Batman wear a rainbow cape for the entirety of June.
(Stephanie makes some very good points.)
“I am not surrendering, to be clear.” Batgirl gets to her feet, lifting her arms to stretch side to side.
“Of course,” Batman acknowledges, nodding seriously. “I'll have to hear the rest of your arguments at another time.” He doesn’t grunt at the ache in his knees when he stands, he is not giving Stephanie any more ammunition for her ‘old man’ teasing, but it’s a near thing.
The robbery seems no more extraordinary than normal for Gotham. The thieves (seven of them, all but the driver visibly armed) are wearing Halloween masks, though not matching or themed as far as he can tell. This, at least, rules out most of the city’s supervillains. There’s a delivery truck backed up against the door (the logo belongs to a truck-for-rent company) and the license plate has been covered. Two gunmen keep watch, one on either side of the truck, and the driver (fingers tapping on the wheel, glancing around, nervous) sits alone.
Batman wastes no time. He and Batgirl descend upon the thieves like shadows, like the unholy terrors they’re whispered to be. The truck’s tires are easily punctured with a well-aimed batarang (he’ll have to praise Stephanie for her forethought, there) as they each drop down onto the guards. A single shot is fired off before both of them are incapacitated.
Unfortunately, this has alerted the four inside. With a shout of Bats, the thieves train their guns on the vigilantes, shouting profanity.
Letting Batgirl take the lead, he follows as she surges inside. He moves directly towards the gunman in the back of the jewelry shop. He is the largest, and based on the nickel tattoo (just beginning to fade) on his shoulder he's an experienced henchman. While he trusts Batgirl to handle herself, he will still do what he can to minimize the danger she - and all his protegees - face when involved in dangerous situations.
Taking him down is the work of seconds, but by the time he’s turned around Batgirl has neutralized two of the remaining three, and is headed for the fourth. Batman is impressed by Batgirl's speed.
(Bruce is proud of how far Stephanie has come. From the untrained girl who clocked Robin with a brick, to a highly skilled vigilante in her own right.)
She hits the final gunman with a strong punch to the jaw, ducking beneath the outstretched arm, and they drop like a stone.
He's about to congratulate her on the one-hit knockout, a move she's been working on for a while now, when the door of the getaway vehicle opens.
He hadn't forgotten about the driver, but he had foolishly dismissed them as a threat.
The driver wields not a gun or knife, but an amulet.
Magic.
The chain is golden and long, still looping around the neck even as it's held up threateningly. The stone at the center of the amulet is a shining purple, beginning to glow eerily.
Without thinking, Bruce launches himself across the jewelry shop to get in front of Stephanie-
A bright beam of light emanates from the stone, and he is consumed by white.
It's not painful. Quite the opposite, actually. He feels a strange sort of peace, for a few moments.
The white dissipates and he finds himself somehow transported to the Batcave.
He's on his back, blinking stars out of his vision when he notices his eldest standing over him. Nightwing, Bruce is pretty sure, was patrolling with Robin uptown. Did he lose time?
Only, something isn’t right. There are small details that don’t line up. Spots where he knows the suit was repaired are unblemished, where there are now repairs to places he knows should be untouched. There’s a mostly-healed bruise along his jaw, one that wasn’t there earlier today.
"Please tell me I haven't time traveled," he says, slightly muffled by the hand he's dragging down his cowled face.
Nightwing snorts, and Bruce hears the whine of the man's electrified escrima fade as they power down.
His day has just gotten much longer.