Archive of Our Own ^beta

“He’s kinda pretty, don’t’cha think?” The man practically pressing up against him all but purred.

There was someone else - another man, farther away, possibly taller than the first - who all but snorted at the comment. “Yeh, well it’s Bruce Wayne. If the genes didn’t make’m pretty, then the money sure did.”

“Mmh.” Whatever the first man was looking for in that response wasn’t enough if the heat of his breath on Bruce’s cheek was anything to go by.

Bruce couldn’t see nor talk with the haphazard gag and blindfold job. No doubt made out of the same material that was binding his wrists. His legs, however, were free range.

“H-hey! Watch it, buddy!” The one closest to him hissed. Bruce’s left knee collided into the chest plate his kidnapper was wearing; bullet proof vest, mass produced brand, not military grade. “Don’t be a lil bitch, Brucie.”

Bruce should’ve anticipated the press on his right thigh and the catch in his breath that came with it, the pain he hadn’t.

“Careful,” taller man spoke up, “I think we broke that leg.”

“Or,” the other man’s cadence dripped forewarning, “he likes my hand here.”

“Red.” A warning tone.

“Blue.” Bruce could all but hear the smile in this so-called ‘Red’s voice.

Bulletproof vests, code names- Bruce bit into his gag harder- polyester ripstop fabric. These guys were serious. It had been a long time since Bruce Wayne had been kidnapped. Kidnapped well, even.

The Children’s Fundraiser for Type One Diabetes wasn’t for another month. The annual Gotham Library party just passed. Bruce Wayne hadn’t had a public date in a good while and certainly hadn’t talked to any particularly petty socialites in over two months. He hadn’t pissed off anyone important enough in quite sometime. Something wasn’t right.

The hand around his right thigh twitched.

“When’s the car gettin’ here?” Red asked, but not to Bruce.

“An hour.” Blue responded.

“That’s perfect.”

“Don’t put your grubby ass hands on the merchandise, idiot.” Blue said it as if he had a hundred other times. “Need’a keep’em pretty.”

A different hand twisted the underside of Bruce’s jaw. With his shirt half unbuttoned the pair of kidnappers were getting a good look at Bruce’s deltoids and clavicle.

Red sighed out, letting his breath catch the hairs of Bruce’s neck. “He’s gotta little scar here.”

The lick was not at all what Bruce had anticipated next. The saliva stripe from his neck to ear chilled in the warehouse’s air. The nape of Bruce’s neck was all but tingling with the blood rushing fast and fearful between his ears. Bruce Wayne had never been taken hostage for anything less than his money.

Red played with Bruce’s pulse point on his neck. His gloved thumb drawing playful patterns along some tendons. “Gettin’ nervous, are you?”

“Hmph!” Something said in the corner of the room.

“Blue?!” Something heavy fell soon after.

Bruce tapped his emergency response button on his Rolex the millisecond the two men had grabbed him off the streets, in broad daylight. It was only a matter of time before one of his masked children literally swooped in an assured his safety. Not that part-time Brucie Wayne, full-time Batman, Bruce Wayne needed saving. The man had tumbled out of stickier situations with less ligaments at play before. Ripstop wasn’t full stop. But Bruce Wayne can’t so much save himself all the time.

“You good?” A noise not unlike one of his sons’ said.

The blind covering Bruce’s eyes reviled a smiling Batman and two or more unconscious grunts laying about the dusty warehouse.

“What are you doing?” Bruce asked.

Batman got up and did a little spin. Very agile, loose. A smile too wide, body too narrow. “Don’t I look pretty?” Bruce gave him access to the suit when needed, he should’ve know he’d do something like this.

Bruce sighed. “What are you doing, Dick?” Quieter this time, in case the walls wanted to listen in.

“Bruce Wayne has never been saved by the Batman before in broad daylight. Think it was about time you meet your alter ego.”

True. Batman had an affinity for saving children in the same regard Superman to pretty women. Flash was partial to dogs, which entirely was his own doing, pretty women just liked a hot man in spandex and children favored a man that wore something like cat ears.

“Let me help you up and dust you off.” Dick attempted to scoop Bruce in a bridal carry.

Bruce wasn’t having it. “My leg is fractured, not broken. You don’t need to carry me out like some damsel.”

“You don’t, but Brucie Wayne wouldn’t wanna pass on the offer.” Bruce could almost see Dick’s eyebrow wiggle. “Com’on. It’ll look cute for the photos. When’s the last time the both of us got a family pic.” Bruce didn’t stop Dick from picking him up this time. “Yah know, maybe Alfie will frame it. Hang it above the mantle. It’s very Hannah Montana of us, don’t’cha think.”

“I don’t know who or what that means.”

“B, we have Disney Plus. I need you to use it at least once.”

“Damian and I watched Coco.”

“Ok, baby steps.”

Crooks, thieves, human traffickers - one thing was for sure - they were all incessantly dramatic. The ground floor made for quicker escapes. Why anyone wanted to carry Bruce Wayne up some stairs was beyond him. Dick had carried Bruce down three flights before the latter allowed himself to make a comment.

“I could have walked down these just fine.” Bruce held in a grimace at the metal stairs creaking in their conjoined weight. “You didn’t need to carry me the whole way.”

Dick shrugged, even with holding Bruce steady. “Think of it as situational training. When’s the next time I’ll get the chance to wear the cape and carry two hundred pounds? You make amazing dead weight might I say.”

At that Bruce rolled his eyes.

“Hold me real quick. Gotta put the voice mod on before we see the press.” Dick shimmied his father to one side, Bruce clasping his hands behind the cowl. “How’s my hair, anything in my teeth?”

His father laughed, good heartedly. The double doors opened under the giant boot of the Batsuit, red and blue lights flashed, camera’s sounded, and the whine of police sirens failed to cease.

“Bruce, Bruce! How do you feel?!” “Batman! Batman over here!” “How are you feeling, Mr. Wayne?” “Do you think this attack was from the Joker, Batman? Or perhaps Scarecrow?” “Mr. Wayne, what is your relation to Batman?” “Any comment on the whereabouts of Superman at the moment, Batman?” “Bruce Wayne, Gotham Gazette, are you funding the Batman?” Vickie Vale, along with a hundred other reporters, shoved microphones in the billionaire’s face.

Bruce plastered a giant grin on, camera noises tripled. “Just a broken leg, maybe a sprained ankle.” He almost giggles. “I honestly want to go home and have a mimosa and lie down.”

Dick, jostled Bruce lightly, turning up and out of the way of the swarming frenzy. EMTS, firefighters, and Gordon were there to take their place.

“He has a possible fractured fibula on the right leg, see to it he doesn’t move it.” Batman said to the awaiting EMTS. A brunette couldn’t decide if she wanted to stare at Bruce Wayne or Batman.

“Any ideas on the kidnapping?” Jim Gordon rushed him aside. “It’s not like you to come out in the sun.”

Dick, in this suit, didn’t bother joking back. “Possible human trafficking. Empty syringes and bottles of Rohypol and Propofol in duffel bags can be found on the main floor, upstairs you will find a few unconscious men.”

“Why Bruce Wayne?” Bruce barely hears Gordon say to his alter ego.

“Expensive cargo.” Is what Batman leaves him with.

~<•>~

Bruce Wayne saved by The Batman.

Clark Kent doesn’t so much think ‘the’ needs to be capitalized, front and center of The Daily Plant, but, what does he know. He was on vacation.

“You leave for three days and your little boyfriend makes the news.” Lois slaps yesterday’s paper on his desk. As if he didn’t read it, get an email alert, and visibly have it up on his laptop - three tabs open at different parts - as they speak. Dramatic.

And, because Clark feeds into her dramatics, he smirks, “Which one?”

“Which-” Lois tosses her hair back, centering herself, “-you dog.” She matches his grin. “You’ve talked to Bruce Wayne maybe, what, four times?”

“Five. You didn’t account for the one time I went to the red carpet for Cat and he said ‘no comment’ to my question.”

“‘Cuz that doesn’t count, Clark.”

“Cat seemed to think it did.” His cocky tone is making her lose their little game. “She quoted it in her article.”

“Ok, so, five times.” Lois snatches the paper back off his desk. Before leaving the mail room she spins, “and I meant Batman, Smallville.”

Jimmy - who had been one desk over - now just listening in, slide on over in his office chair. “What’s up with Batman? Did’ya hear the news?”

“That Bruce Wayne was saved by Batman?”

“Yes, but in broad daylight? Don’t’cha think that’s, like I don’t know, really weird?” Jimmy steals a pen out of Clark’s pen jar and clicks it one too may times for the superhero’s liking. “I thought he was a vampire.”

“Who,” Cat struts in. “Are we talkin’ about Batman being a vampire again?”

“He is-“

“No, ok look. This is the real news,” she claps her hands together, “those two are obviously dating.”

Jimmy’s caustic chuckle cuts her off. “Oh-oh wow, you’re serious?”

“Batman and Bruce Wayne?” Clark hears himself say. He didn’t want to indulge in her gossip but a reporter is nothing if not curious.

“Who do you think pays for Batman’s cool gadgets, or-or where do you think he stores that giant ship we saw once?” Cat doesn’t need to know that ship she is referring to is at the base of one of the League’s towers; states away. “Bruce Wayne’s gotta have a moat around his place by now. That’s where he stores the Batman ship- the batship!” She pats herself on the back for the terrible pun.

“People say Oliver Queen or Lex Luthor funds the Bat.” Jimmy enlightens.

Cat shakes her head, her red hair goes with it. “No, no. Lex Luthor is bald and stupid-“

“He’s literally a genius, Cat.”

“He’s never once said anything smart.” Clark sees her barely suppress stomping her heel into the linoleum. “You can be a genius and an idiot. Look at him! How do you not find a cure for baldness if your IQ is over two thousand!”

“She’s got a point.” Clark shrugs.

Jimmy tosses the stolen pen back at Clark’s face. He lets it hit him and rattle to the floor.

Clark mentally checks out of their petty argument when Jimmy tries to counter-argue the logistics of Dracula and Edward Cullen reproducing asexually, to make Batman, of course. “If they drink blood and can’t die, two men can have a baby, Cat!” Is what Clark lets himself hear.

Superman isn’t so much so interested in uncovering Batman’s humanity- which is entirely real, and knows it personally. For all Flash and Aquaman (even Lantern) have played into the meta narrative for Batman, the man had always ended their arguments with explicit knowledge that he, Batman, is just some guy. Clark believes it in the broken bones and bloody skin. Seen it in the rise and fall of Batman’s chest, the tiredness of his shoulders, the weight of it all after a tough battle. But Jimmy is right. Batman doesn’t come out before dusk. And Cat is right, herself. Clark never once asked Batman where he got his golden plated credit card. Where he gets his gadgets; the Batship? Clark first met the man when the Bat wore Kevlar armor and drove a souped up vintage Lincoln to tattle on drugdealers. Clark didn’t question the money back then.

But now, sitting between a third-person perspective and a lap full of cited reports on said man, Clark wonders why he never asked before.

Would the Bat come out before night for a paycheck, or does he have a soft spot for a certain billionaire?

~<•>~

Bruce has alarms set in nearly every room in the house, silent arms on the windows, retinal scans for parts of the cave, practical deadbolts on all the manor egresses, even a code word encrypted fridge because Stephanie is terrible. Bruce pretends he doesn’t notice when Tim hacks into it to show off to the blonde, giving her a soda or a snack. Bruce will keep restocking the fridge, silently, regardless.

Chipping his children and deepest friends is out of the question, but not by his choice. Even if he knows that sort of thing gets into the wrong hand eventually.

“I just don’t think leaving ‘human chipping’ on the caves browser when you go up for a coffee break is the smartest move, B.” Dick had said to him once.

So now, Bruce settles for dead bolted doors and password locked refrigerators.

With the comfort of knowing who or what is coming through your doors cannot be a threat- without an alarm blaring- you find yourself not always double checking which child is lurking around every corner.

“You know,” Jason spins around in the cave’s dark office chair, “it’s a little sad when you have to start dating yourself to make news, Brucie.”

“That’s not why Dick wore the cowl.” Bruce wears his hostility like his suits.

Jason steps out of the dark leather chair and settles into his own warm hide of his jacket. “No? ‘Cuz Dick was tellin’ me how Alfie was gonna print it out an put it on the fridge.”

“He didn’t say that.” Eggshells.

His son tosses his hands into the air. “Maybe not those exact words, but- doesn’t matter, at the end of the day the news seems to think both versions of you are sucking face, or cock, doesn’t really matter the schematics-“

“Jason.”

Red Hood’s superpower is interrogation. Better than Batman’s could ever wish.

“Don’t you think you’re mixing work and play? This is breaking every workplace relationships code of conduct. Usually Brucie sleeps with his coworkers, I didn’t know Batman was a slut too.”

It’s the way he pries and picks. Inch by inch, eroding on your patience.

“Is there a reason you’re here,” the older man sighs, releasing his hands to his sides, “other than to mock me?”

Jason flinches. “What, don’t like seeing me?”

“Don’t say it like that.”

“Say what like what?”

And when Red Hood is done peeling back your veneered integrity, all that’s left behind is viscera and veracity. Much like a pirate that pillages and plunders, if you don’t give up exactly what Jason wants, you go overboard.

“I want to see you,” Bruce attempts, “whenever you’ll allow me.”

“That’s sweet.” Acerbic arrogance.

Bruce doesn’t say a word, takes over the seat Jason left and stares up at him. His son shifts his weight but never once does the crease between Jason’s brows slide away.

“Look-“ Jason supplies after their silence.“You’re toeing a line that’s too dangerous to cross, Bruce. The Bat and Bruce aren’t in the same room not because they’re the same guy, they aren’t in the same room because once they are people like Vickie Vale start reading into things. You can’t be too cutesy with the Bat.” Jason stares down the leftmost part of the cave, “people already think Brucie is Batman’s sugar daddy, now they’re stealing you off the streets, what’s next?”

“You don’t think I already know that.” Enmity responds.

Bruce would rather eat his own foot then throw Dick under the bus. Jason would see a flaw in it anyways, all his children would have. Dick the scapegoat, Bruce the useless father that can’t keep his children on a tighter leash- even if it suffocated them. Bruce will take the fall.

“Yeah well, doing and knowing are two different things.” Jason’s blood doesn’t match Bruce’s, but his disappointed speeches attempt to. “I already know all about your contingency plans; kryptonite, nanites, magic bullets- the only thing you forgot to add was yourself.”

Bruce hadn’t had much of a chance to do any footwork with his healing leg. Another week or two and he’d be back to kicking three hundred pound men in the head, but, Alfred had taken one look at the bruises marring Bruce’s thighs and knees and gave him a mandatory staycation from Batman. In their older ages, Bruce allows for the demands of Alfred to sway him. This is to say: not much was getting done on finding out the reason for his kidnapping, the bigger picture.

“Dick can wear the suit when I can’t. You could too if you put down your guns for the night.” An offering like no other leaves Bruce’s mouth.

“I didn’t come here because I was jealous.”

“I didn’t say that.”

They dance in circles like this when they meet up. It’s in the same light as meeting up with old friends, with the ‘how’s the kids’ and the new job promotion speeches- quick, uninterested, fleeting niceties. But with them it’s the total opposite. Jason and Bruce have since throw away the need for pleasantries and replaced them with suborn grief and shoving more skeletons in their California king-sized closets.

Bruce is trying, maybe failing, at escorting some skeletons out- brush off the dust, take them for a walk.

He’s trying to do better every time Jason visits. Which is more and more every month.

“You sound concerned.” Is what Bruce tells Jason.

Jason takes in a deep breathe. “I don’t want Dick to get hurt.” There’s more he could say but he doesn’t.

“If you want-” the older man holds back breathing in air-laced insecurities, “I’d like you to wear it for me. The suit - I need you to do me a favor - in a weeks time. Alfred won’t let me so much as take a jog on my leg.”

Jason drops his hands and nearly drops his jaw. “You want me to wear the suit? Are you ok?”

“It’s- you don’t have to- I can ask Dick to parade around and tell the others-“

“Woah-woah, back up there, Brucie. ‘Tell the others’?” There’s judgement in his parroting. “You haven’t told the League who you are yet?”

“No,” Bruce says, penitent expression present.

Jason paces, taking in the room: stalactites, crystal cases with well worn suits, that dinosaur Damian won’t let Bruce get rid of that Jason stole. Bruce watches his son types in a code on the mini fridge and pulls out two cans of sugar-free Red Bull. Somewhere Jason finds them straws.

Slate grey eyes take in the opened can, bendy straw prebent and slid into the pull-tab holder so the carbonation doesn’t beat the plastic out. Bruce takes the offering with a smile. The fridge code is Jason’s birthday this time after all.

“If I do this,” Jason says mostly into the can, “I’m not being the barer of bad news. I’m not telling your friends Bruce Wayne is the Batman. You also can’t be cute- Brucie cute. I don’t want the Bat remotely associated with you or Dick, Damian’s only thirteen-“

The carbonation makes Bruce’s nose twitch. It’s not a chuckle. “Alright.”

“I can’t believe I have to be the one to tell you that.”

Bruce let’s the sugar sweetness add more restless adrenaline to his veins. “You’ve always been good at that, forcing me to grow up.”

The sotto vonce of his sweetest boy responds in a barely audible chuckle. “I’m not the responsible one here.”

“I trust you all the same.”

Jason belly laughs. “You’re getting sappy, Oldman.” The nickname always sounds like one word.

Their rules in responsibility always clashed, it showed in their unending arguments under the stalactites of the cave often. But Bruce saw the attempts of restraint from Jason. The pulled back punched and soft bullets, the bubbles of the carbonated drinks with bendy straws. Bruce attempts backs, to give in to the reckless abandon nature of Jason from time to time. Batman breaking legs of people that hurt children was a well known secret now because of it.

Jason Todd can wear a bat suit and Bruce Wayne can wear a sports coat. They can work together where it counts.

~<•>~

Green Latern grins ear-to-ear upon Batman’s entry. “Are we here to talk about Bruce Wayne being your boyfriend allofasudden?” The last few words slur out as one collective.

The League is already in their assigned seats; Batman is the last to join. Jason is doing a terrible job at being less than anything incredulous. Bruce had gave strict orders of operations and a report Jason should be going off, however, Jason decided he’d be having as much fun as he possibly could with the granted privileges that came with the Batsuit.

The ‘report’ in Jason’s batsuit clad hand is something Alfred wrote up on Jason’s way here. Emailed and printed in the car. It’s not so much a report as it is a plea from his built-in grandfather to pull Bruce’s head out of his ass. Sometimes you need the help of Batman. Sometimes you need the help of the Justice League. And sometimes you need a three hundred word document written by your sudo-grandfather to tell his son in a fursuit to make sure his friends go to a big, big party and make sure nobody gets kidnapped.

The report slaps down on the industrial round table. If all eyes weren’t on Jason yet, at least the ears are now.

“In not so many words, yes.” Batman, Jason, breaks the silence.

Superman, to his right, looks dizzy. While, Wonder Woman -to Jason’s left- almost looks dazzled.

“Wait- he’s ugh- like, really your boyfriend?” Flash asks the loaded question.

Jason shakes his head. The cowl is slightly too tight on his face; he makes a mental note to ask Bruce to get them all specially designed Batsuits if this masquerading keeps up.

Batman doesn’t sit down. “I just spoke with Wayne, he’s not a fan of The Batman poking into his personal business, but I suppose he’d rather us then sex traffickers. The men that captured Wayne are bold and had done this before from the looks of it. Their persons of interest don’t have much in common other than the immense amount of money they can payout in ransom. Once again, Wayne isn’t keen on having men stalk him, but,” he pulls up a list on the holographic white board behind himself, “we made a compromise.”

“About what?” Aquaman chimes in, already looking disgruntled.

“The Children’s Funraiser for Diabetes will be held at the Children’s Museum tomorrow night. Bruce Wayne will no doubt be donating a lump sum as he does every year, making him a honorary guest of the night.” There’s a blueprint of the museum on the whiteboard. Red circles are around the two main exits and a few smaller ones, a blue line underlines the main stage - no doubt where the function will mostly take place - and a looping video surveillance of the roof and back entrances plays in the corner. “If we watch him, we’d be watching out for our suspects.”

“Ok? Look, Spooky. I didn’t know you could pimp us out to be billionaires’ bodyguards.” Lantern interjected.

“You want us to go to a party? As what, local superheros?” Aquaman adds.

“I’m assuming we would dress down in regular clothes.” Wonder Woman speaks.

“I haven’t been to a decent party in a minute.” Green Arrow expresses the only amount of joy left in the building.

Black Canary leans back in her uncomfortably stiff chair. “Is this the part where we share our secret identities?” Jason turns his head to hide a grin.

Manhunter turns to the blonde. “‘John’ is not my secret identity, but I am willing to play as him if the situation requires.”

“I’d sure Batman will want you close enough for telepathy linking if the comms aren’t what we need.” She adds and Manhunter smiles.

Flash raises his hand as if he were in school. “Ugh, yeah. Isn’t it a bit weird to tail a guy that probably has tighter security than the President? Like, what does he need us for? No offense?”

“If you wanted high-security protection on your boyfriend, Batman, you could’a just asked.” Lantern says with a sneer.

Batman crosses his arms. Jason has seen Bruce do a pose like this when he was in disappointed dad mode, it seems fitting to replicate.

“Plus, how are we gonna get invited to a fund raising foundation? I don’t got a’lot’a funds to begin with.” Flash grunts the last part mostly to himself.

Arrow straightens in his seat. “I think Canary and I will have no problem getting in. Flash, if you need some money to get in, let me know.”

“Wait, like actually, that’s really sweet of you, dude!”

Superman turns to Batman. “If you’re sure about this, Batman, I also can work my way in, sorta. I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“I can wear a new dress.” Wonder Woman whispers.

Lantern stands, palms spread out over the table. “Woah-woah, wait? Is that just it? We’re just security detail for B-Man’s boytoy?”

“And what would we even be looking for,” Aquaman inquires. “Ski masks and sniper rifles aren’t really cocktail attire.”

“Wait, what am I gonna wear!?” Flash babbles to himself.

Arrow pats him on the back. “I have something I’m sure you can borrow.”

Flash’s mask squeezes up with his wide cheeks. “Dude, you’re literally so cool. Do you know that?” He’s practically blushing.

Lantern rattles the table with his fist. “Does nobody else think this is weird?!”

“I, for one, can’t say I’m a huge fan of going to a giant millionaire, kiss-ass party.” The blond man to Lantern’s right vouches. “Half of them don’t recycle. Do you think Bruce Wayne cares about the ecosystem?”

Jason nearly loses his cool and laughs. If Damian were here he’d be rattling the beachy, blond bimbo’s head like a ragdoll.

“Ok- no, not really where I was goin’ with that, Aqua. But, sure, I appreciate the enthusiasm.” The ring holder shakes his head. “I just think it’s silly to go through all this trouble for one guy.”

“Who doesn’t recycle.”

“Who doesn’t recycle. Yes, Aquaman.”

Batman sighs. “I don’t so much care about anyone’s personal grievances or opinions on Bruce Wayne. Superman didn’t ask Jeff Bezos if he paid his taxes last time he pulled the man from a burning building.” The blue and red colors fidget on Jason’s right. “This is a fundraiser at a children’s museum, for children. Children will be there. Our persons of interest are human traffickers. If they can’t get their hands on Bruce Wayne - with tighter security than the US president - who do you think will be leaving in a suspicious white van?”

“And if we don’t find any suspicious activity?” Superman questions.

Green Arrow shrugs for Jason. “Then we at least can enjoy a party?”

“Not all is lost,” Wonder Woman remarks, “even if nobody is reprimanded, we know the children are safe.”

Flash kicks his feet up. “Who brings children to a fundraiser anyways?”

“Maybe a fundraiser for children,” says Black Canary, “at a children’s museum.”

Flash sticks out his tongue.

Green Lantern, still not sitting down, hunches his shoulders, applying more pressure to the round table. “Great. Canary, Wonder Woman, Arrow and maybe Superman and kinda-sorta Flash have an in. Where does that leave Aqua and I?”

“Your aliases all have access to the party. I assure you.” Jason wishes he could roll his eyes right now. He’s so grateful he practically works alone. Bruce’s patience is entirely omnipresent and calculatively under wraps if this is his daily adventure outside of an office job. To think the man prefers this over yacht clubs.

“How’s that?” Aquaman asks.

Jason steps forward, the steal frame of the Batsuit boot is digging into his big toe. His body is begging him to wrap this meeting up. “Bruce was kind enough to extend the invitation to the rest of you.” Batman says, dramatically opening the manilla folder to six shiny, shiny tickets.

“There’s only six.” The Amazonian announces it like a question.

Jason releases a tight breath. “J’onn will disguise himself as waitstaff. He will be able to get quick intel if he’s moving around the rooms, and if he notices anything he will be the fastest at letting us know without disturbing the peace.”

“This is to not harm the children?” Superman asks.

“Correct.”

Flash lets his heels slide off the table, rather ungracefully. “And then who are you gonna be? The janitor?” He asks Batman.

Jason lets his mouth barely hold back a smile. “I’m going to be the boyfriend.”

~<•>~

Clark straightens himself, not at full height but close enough that he’s eye-to-eye with the other man’s blue eyes. “And where would your boyfriend be tonight, Mr. Wayne?”

“My boyfriend?”

“Ugh- um yes, there was a rumor that you were bringing a boyfriend with you.”

“Huh,” Bruce Wayne slides an easy hand down the lapel of Clark’s suit, “No, can’t say I was bringing a boyfriend with me this time. But if you find me one let me know.”

Bruce Wayne picks make believe lint off Clark’s chest and pats the spot for good measure before walking, white teeth leading the way.

Batman, are you even here? Clark says into the abyss of the groups telepathy.

Why wouldn’t I be?

So, you and pretty boy aren’t dating? Clark hears Lantern butt in.

If I were dating Batman I don’t think I would tell my local news reporter either. Batman says.

Ok, wow, so much for secret identities being secret. Flash somehow yelps over the telepathic channel.

I can’t keep it to myself! Clark hears Lantern yell. You should’ve seen the way Supes was stuttering over himself when Brucie touched him!

Clark pointedly doesn’t comment.

Where even are you? Black Canary asks like she’s offended.

Hors d’oeuvres. Lantern responds.

I was gonna say something about your suit shrinking in the wash but didn’t know if that was a bit harsh. Did they have suits your size on Krypton? This time it’s Green Arrow rattling around in Clark’s head.

In Spooky’s defense, you are six foot intimidating even with the glasses, Supes. It’s not hard to pick you outta a crowd when you tower over it. Lantern snickers.

Seriously?! Clark knows he’s not thinking alone in his head, but the sentiment is all the same. Batman, where are you?

Hiding in the shadows. Flash answers for him.

Hiding in plain sight, actually. Batman says for himself.

You didn’t give yourself an invitation. Arrow says it in a way that it requests an explanation.

I didn’t need one. Boyfriend, remember?

Yah know, Bruce is really pretty. Flash adds.

Someone barks a laugh over the mental communication. Clark didn’t know they could do that either, never mind who it was.

I can see the three of you making fools of yourselves as we speak. Canary pipes up, again. Why don’t we all meet by the champagne flutes. We should’ve shared our secret identities back at the Tower.

Nevertheless, Canary is right again. Flash privately says to himself; telepathically to everyone else.

Barry, please remember to turn off private thoughts in the group telepathic link. Manhunter finally speaks up.

Barry, the Flash, sputters over himself in the link. Wait, wait. You knew our names and identities this whole time?

He can read our minds, Barry. Lantern states the obvious.

Why didn’t you say anything?

J’onn is a kind man. Wonder Woman makes her way to the drinks, waving gently to a woman with bleach blonde hair and a silky smooth dress.

“Hal, did you really have to wear green?” Barry approached him in his own corresponding colored suit.

“Too on the nose?” It’s said between the Lantern’s smile.

“The maroon isn’t much better for me though, huh?”

“It’s one of my older ones. One that can actually fit your scrawny, little body.” Oliver Queen tumbles in with open arms. Barry doesn’t know he’s going in for a hug until he’s wrapped up tight in tweed and sandalwood. Those big, jeweled hands smooth down the sides of Barry’s, now, suit. “You clean up good, kid.”

“What are you, my dad?”

Oliver’s head tips back, a good natured grin spreads evenly over million dollar teeth. “Oh no, I don’t make a habit of adopting kids like Wayne.”

“Times ticking, Oldman. Moira would have wanted to see a soccer team by now.” The saccharine baritone behind Barry makes him flinch.

“Bruce.”

“Ollie.”

Barry purposefully allows himself to be nearly cradled between the two suits. The men hug like they really mean it and the younger man’s eyebrows shoot to the ceiling.

Bruce smiles down to Barry. “Who’s our friend?”

The dusty blond man simmers under the heated gaze. If the billionaire saw Barry swallow the lump in his throat, Bruce didn’t mention it.

“Barry,” Oliver grasps the younger’s shoulder, hard, “is a very good friend of mine, Bruce. Play nice.”

Instead of shaking Barry’s hand, Bruce laces his fingers around the forearm in his bright, Roman gesture.

“I always play nice.” Bruce says over Barry’s head.

Bruce Wayne could be a grain taller than Barry but his shoulders and smolder put Superman to shame. The heat vision is a close second to whatever Bruce’s slate grey eyes are doing to Barry right now. Hot, hot, hot.

Superman, are you sure you’re not Bruce Wayne? Barry ask while gazing up into those big, blue eyes.

Clark is taller. It’s Batman.

How do you even know that?! It’s Lanterns turn.

Barry realizes he still hasn’t let go of the other’s velvet suit. His lips tumble out a ‘sorry’ even if it can’t be heard over the clatter of glassware and childish laughter.

“He said play nice, not play with your food.” Black Canary’s face is on a woman in a floor length dress. The seam of her neckline nearly meets the marble tile.

“Dinah!” Bruce’s attention is now hugs and kisses.

Harold saunters up behind Barry, palm tapping his ass. Barry will go to the grave saying he never made a noise at that.

“You could pretend a lil better, yah know.” Hal purrs in Barry’s ears. “Not making it so obvious wanting to fuck Batman’s boy.”

“What-“ Barry’s hairline turns strawberry blond from the heat of his blush. “No, no. That’s not- I wouldn’t.”

“Maybe you both could share ‘em?”

Barry’s face melts into the reds of his suit. He watches a few people shake hands near a podium on a stage. There’s a kid, who doesn’t look like he could even legally drink, taking the mic.

“Batman can possibly hear you.” Oliver interjects. If Batman can, he doesn’t mention it.

Harold saves Barry the embarrassment this once, choosing to turn the conversation around, facing Oliver. “You know Bruce Wayne.” Not a question, but it holds a bite.

“Yes,” Oliver fixes a cuff link out of place. “We went to school together for sometime.”

“And you never mentioned it?”

“Never came up.”

Harold folds his arms. “We could’ve used you for intel.”

Oliver shrugs, not playing into the never ending hostility of Harold Jordan. “Could’ve,” another shrug, “can’t say I know the next time Bruce Wayne is going to get kidnapped in broad daylight, though. Don’t think I’d’ve been much help.”

Green Lantern smacks his lips.

“Barry knew who you were without needing introduction.” Oliver notes.

“Yeah, he’s my best friend, of course he knows!” Hal scuffs the bottom of his shoe on the floor. “Sorry I have friends. Does anyone know who you are?”

“My wife?”

“You have a wife?!” Hal asks a little too loud.

“Dinah?”

“You’re kidding!”

Barry breaks them up. “Where’s- Clark, was it?”

Yes. Clark Kent, Daily Planet. Superman announces over the groups subconscious. Arthur and I are keeping a close watch near the children’s center.

“Who the hell is Arthur?” Harold whispers. The two other men look back just as confused.

Aquaman! Is yelled back by the man himself.

How’d you even hear that? Barry shoves a cracker topped with a little bit of everything into his mouth. Wait, it’s kinda clutch we can talk while eating.

Your mother would be soo proud. Harold’s snarky voice bounces to each of them.

I have super-hearing and told Arthur. Clark answers sometime after.

You’re a tattletale. Barry says with his mouthful of something probably expensive.

“I’m proud of you,” Wonder Woman, six foot gorgeous, says in her gentle tone. Her footwork makes her dress sway something magical. She must’ve glided over here because Barry hadn’t heard a thing. “If that matters.” She teases.

“Oh-oh yeah, yeah. That matters. Thank you- ugh…” The crackers are fighting to get down Barry’s throat.

“Diana Prince.” A hand is given to him.

“Do I shake this or kiss it?”

Diana’s black curls bounce with her laugh. Her hand squeezes his and he practically bounces along with her.

“And I just want to thank my dad for helping me out with my diabetes- and Alfred of course- wherever they are hiding in the crowd.” The boy at center stage is wrapping up his speech.

“Bruce just left, by the way,” Black Canary, now Dinah, saunters over to the group. “You guys know he’s-“

Everyone! Clark’s ‘Superman’ voice cuts the blonde off. Come to the children’s center on the second floor. Something’s not right.

Canary, you and Flash stay on the ground floor. Arthur says, setting a plan. If someone tries to leave you are our best options at hand.

“What are we looking for?” Barry asks his partner.

Dinah’s lips thin watching the rest of the League pretend not to run for the elevator. “Not sure.” The energy of the room hasn’t shifted. The speaker at the podium has changed to a severely balding man, grunting out a cue card speech. The younger boy with dark hair is nowhere to be seen.

Dinah fixes her attention back to the speedster. “Let’s just make sure Bruce stays in the building and doesn’t get captured tonight.”

“Wasn’t he just here a minute ago,” Barry asks, “how’d he just disappear?”

The woman fixes him with a look. “That’s kind of his thing.”

Barry doesn’t know how she knows that, doesn’t ask. Clearly Oliver and her are in the starlight scene enough to the know the man well enough to receive kisses and hugs. He’s not upset.

The pair are just standing there watching the crowd bob and weave with music, drinks, the unending commentary of man with his receding hairline.

I hate you so much right now.

Ugh, Batman? Barry looks at Dinah when he poses the question over the link. Who yah thankin’ to?

My- Batman cuts himself off. Bruce Wayne.

Need some help?

No. A beat of silence. Ok, yes. Back alley.

Dinah juts her head in a direction, somewhere to the far right of the stage. The man bites his lip and heads to it. Barry recalls Batman’s blueprints during the meeting having an alarmed door circled in red. If you run fast enough through an alarmed door there’s a good chance you won’t trip it. Barry chances it.

“I need to go find Damian.” A man slurs behind a wall somewhere outside of the museum.

“Sit down.” Another says, firmer.

Barry quickly turns the corner. Him and the voices are somewhere between two buildings; some would call it an alleyway, Barry would call it stinky.

“You just got stabbed in the neck with some drug. You’re not going anywhere.”

“Then go find my fuckin’ son.” Barry sees Bruce Wayne, on the wet ground- in his sexy, sexy suit- curled up next to the dark halo of the Batman.

“I’m not leaving you here to die either, Bruce.” Batman says down to the billionaire.

“Not die. Juz’ feel like shit.” Whatever drug Batman was talking about, Bruce Wayne is filled with it.

Barry steps in something wet and the pair look up from their (also) wet corner.

“Barry,” Batman says in that voice that has Barry’s hair sticking up, “stay here with Bruce and I’m going to go find his son.”

“Mh son, j’son.”

“Yeh yeh, shh shh.” Batman props the other man up against the brick wall of the museum. Barry takes the spot on the other side of the billionaire. “Barry is going to sit here and keep watch of your vitals so you don’t die.”

Bruce mumbles into Barry’s neck, “I luff yew.” His head weighs a ton.

“Jesus fucking Christ, he is so high,” Batman says to himself.

Barry’s mouth falls open.

Batman fixes the scleral lens of his cowl onto Barry’s face. “Just- stay here until the coast is clear. I’m going to find his six thousand kids and break someone’s leg.”

Barry blinks up at him.

“Dun do dat.” Bruce Wayne giggles onto Barry’s shoulder. Barry stops himself from smelling the man’s shampoo.

Lantern had been making crude comments for a week straight about Bruce Wayne and the Bat of Gotham kissing and fucking. And while it was funny, Barry didn’t think it held much weight. Green Arrow seemed to think otherwise, saying the billionaire and the Bat must’ve had something worked out, something probably with money. Superman, who now the League knows as a full-time reporter, had interjected that neither the paying or the ‘playing’ seemed really fitting for Batman, to him.

But now, with Bruce Wayne’s head slowly sinking into Barry’s lap - and Batman out and about chasing after the man’s children - Barry has to wonder what the connection is.

Later, the dark-haired man’s head stirs in Barry’s soft hold. Bruce’s face has the lines of a button from Barry’s suit pressed into his skin.

“Mhn, where’s he?” Bruce’s barely awake, barely sober voice, is even deeper than that of his regular tone.

“Who?” Barry tries to pull back and not be so close, they’re practically touching noses. “Batman? He said he was going to get your son? Damian or… Jason maybe?”

“Dick.” The other mutters under his breath.

Barry reels back. “Ok, kinda rude. You were drugged in an alleyway and Batman saved you from being taken again, he’s literally going to go find your child.”

Whatever Bruce says after that gets lost in the wind. Barry can’t get a read on his face because Bruce is using the speedster’s shoulder as leverage to stand up on shaky feet.

“Ok, ok,” Barry stands with him, “lemme help you up atleast. That’s my whole shoulder you’re usin’ as a crutch.” Bruce doesn’t even flinch when Barry wraps an arm around him. “Can I just say, Sir -you’re like- really built for a guy that types on a computer all day. What’s your cardio routine like?”

Batman once said that when he rescues children he likes to talk about something they can relate to, something that will get them to laugh. The Flash is adopting that knowledge now.

The bridge of Bruce’s nose is nearly in the dusty blond’s ear. “When you have kids, everyday is cardio. It’s a marathon without a finish line.”

Barry actually snorts at that.

By the time they get inside the building’s first floor it is decently cleared out. Most of the crowd is out by the big front doors. Children are huddled up in their mothers’ arms and some people are crying. So much for keeping the peace.

On stage is Superman, in all his red, gold and blue while Batman is nowhere to be seen. The rest of the team has stayed in their dress attire waiting by the stairs.

“Father.” A small boy with the greenest eyes Barry has ever seen is prowling up to them much like a cat.

Bruce Wayne almost drops to his knees and pulls the tween up into his strikingly strong arms. “Damian.”

“Father, you are being dramatic again.” The child doesn’t move from his father’s hold but looks reluctant to be smothered. “Grayson was nearby the whole time like you said. I was safe.”

Bruce frets over his son’s appearance. Basically on his knees, Bruce is nearly eye level with Damian, combing his equally black hair with his big ringed fingers.

“I still worry.” Bruce smiles. “They didn’t- hurt you at all, did they?”

“The men? No,” Damian shakes his head. “I wouldn’t let them even if they tied.”

Bruce is still kneeling down, breaths out a sigh Barry sees more than hears.

Damian’s green glare is up at Barry. “Where were you both?”

Bruce stands, patting the boy on his shoulder. “Batman saved us in an alleyway.”

Batman saved Bruce, Barry just showed up. Barry doesn’t have the heart to correct the man. Even if he did, it’d do no good in this situation anyway.

“Where is he? Batman?” Bruce asks his son.

Damian tuts and smacks his lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“If anyone cares to know,” a tall, twenty something and the kid from the stage speech make their way through a crowd of reporters filing in the building. “Tim and I are fine. Not kidnapped. Again, if anyone cares.”

Oliver makes his way over to Barry in the same fashion.

“Where were you?” Oliver asks him.

“In an alleyway with Bruce.”

Oliver’s eyebrows shoot up. Barry tries to stop the comment before it’s out of his mouth but Hal is by his side in an instant.

“Ooo, an alleyway with Bruce Wayne, huh?” Hal sing-songs.

Barry, not for the first time tonight, is embarrassed. He takes another glance at the family just yards away. If they heard him he’d die! “That’s not what I meant! He was high- and- and Batman was there…”

“Oh wow,” Hal claps him on the back. “You took that threesome to heart.”

Oliver is no help by laughing at the comment. “I think you have a crush, Barry.”

“Bruce smells like mint and musk, and like, super hot - but, he called Batman a dick so-“ Barry doesn’t get to finish his sentence. A generous slap on his back cuts him off.

“Oh wow!” Harold laughs on top of him. “Really?! Damn, ok. Now I have a crush on him. Anyone that can give it back to Spooky is a friend of mine!”

Oliver must say something in response because Hal is laughing harder into Barry’s side. Dinah slides up to Oliver and wordlessly wraps herself around him. But, Barry doesn’t notice it, doesn’t see the flashing lights of the police out front of the museum, doesn’t mind Superman floating around the stadium to help the police locate some crying child, he hardly takes in Hal’s next terrible joke. All Barry’s eyes are locked on is the exchange of Bruce and the slightly taller man approaching him. Bruce is already encapsulated in a ring of men with dark hair and light eyes - smaller, wilder carbon copies of himself with varying personalities. And then there’s another, sauntering up to the halo of boys just like him. His frame is massive, imposing, the lines and edges of his suit are crisp, harsh, cut so sharp you’ll bleed. His teeth are in a feral grin. Fangs filed and claws hidden away in his suit pockets. A wisp of painful, pearl white hair stands out from the beyonds of black hair.

Hal’s joke rocks Barry’s shoulders. Oliver is swayed back and fourth by his own laugher, taking Dinah with him.

“Did you see B throw a chair at that guy?” Jason Todd says to the crowd of boys painted by the same hand.

“Jason.” Bruce smiles with his eyes.

“Of course, B thought someone stole his baby boy so a chair to the face is awfully nice all things considered.” One of the other boys says.

“Father, I was fine.” The smallest one pouts.

“You know he had no idea where you were, kid.” The tallest responds.

“Bold of you to assume he doesn’t have us microchipped.” The one from the stage  hours ago says, not looking up from his phone.

“He literally can’t do that. I told him not too!”

Bruce lets the trifecta chirp amongst  themselves. The son with the white hair is tugged aside from the rest. Barry rolls his eyes at one of Oliver’s story, pining his gaze back at Bruce Wayne.

“I’m glad Batman was here to save my son.” Bruce’s hand is playing with the pressed edges of Jason’s suit.

Jason knocks the hand off. “Superman is here too, yah know?” There’s something in the way his grin is twisted that has Barry fully invested. “Maybe you should go thank him.”

“I’ll be sure to the next time I see him.”

“Yeah,” Jason purrs, soft and easy. “I’m sure he’d appreciate a ‘thanks’ now though.”

“I wanted to thank Batman first.” Bruce adds.

Jason pulls his lower lip under his teeth. He shakes his head. “You know he doesn’t stay around when the lights come on.”

“I could invite him to dinner?” Bruce raises his shoulders. “As a thanks.”

Jason’s laugh is all ivory, razor teeth. “Yeah, yeah. I’m sure you could, Oldman.” He shoves said man in the direction of the stage. “Go say your thanks. This isn’t how Alfie raised you.”

Bruce Wayne is up on stage with Superman quickly. Clark Kent is doing a fantastic job of keeping himself in check with Bruce’s smile invading his space.

“Do you think Bruce Wayne and Batman are in love?” Barry asks whoever’s left around him.

Dinah actually smiles at his comment. “I think there’s a lot we don’t know about them.”

“I heard Bruce say he loves Batman when he was really, really high in that alley.”

Hal shrugs, pulling Barry into his space by his shoulder. “The amount of woman I’ve told I loved when I was high- please!”

Dinah’s smile grows. “I can’t wait to find out.”

~<•>~

The night Alfred gives the Bruce the ‘OK’ to crawl around in the cape is the night he sets a cup of nice hot tea on the man’s desk and kisses his head. He appreciates it with a smile.

Bruce knows the energy he alludes to his team and ‘friends’. The taciturn, ostensibly mysterious man that wears a dark, leather cape at night, cannot simply have a heart. Try as Superman might to listen to it, past Batman’s lead laced suit - it is there, the heart - even if nobody has noticed it. Bruce’s closeted heart is large, larger than his head most days. His heart drives him - a regular, meta-less man - to adorn the cape and cowl and prowl the night of his city; because it’s Batman’s city. His heart. And deep, deep down in his heart (Allegory, city) is children. Children being hurt on Batman’s watch makes him swallow back the bile of his pride.

I’m not fast enough. I’m not there enough. I’m just a guy, I’m just a guy, I’m not enough.

Tim presses his little forehead between Bruce’s shoulder blades and talks him down a ledge. His son with a brain is nothing if not reassuring when Bruce needs it the most.

“I’ve been checking the links to Red and Blue’s boss while you were away.” Tim says ‘away’ like it’s a replacement word for something. “I’m too short to wear the suit, but I can hack a computer without being a Bat, so…” There’s a usb slipping into Bruce’s pant pocket.

“You’re amazing.” Bruce says, not turning around. Praise makes Tim nervous.

His third oldest smile’s into his dad’s dark-washed shirt. “Well those guys didn’t seem to like Damian, and judging by their affinity for Wayne boys- I think I’m next.”

Bruce turns around. “Is that a hunch or something in the usb? Your kidnapping?”

Tim apologizes with his eyes. “A hunch.”

Bruce lets out a breath.

“So,” Tim purses his lips, those big blue eyes stare owlishly up at the man. “Jay was saying you haven’t told the League who you are yet.”

Bruce breathes in.

“Maybe after this mission you should say something. Have them over for dinner?” Bruce winces at his son proposal. “Or- or don’t? Just thank them for helping saving your son next time you’re all together. If they can’t put the pieces together that’s their problem.”

His father doesn’t respond, puts the usb in the giant computer in front of himself and lets the files download in silence.

“You’re always talking about being a team- this isn’t very teamlike.” Tim walks in view, he moves the keyboard over so his ass can be on the desk. “Jason said all of the heroes were there the other night at the museum, they all met each other, Bruce. As themselves- they’re civilian selves. And you, what did you do?”

The file isn’t even to twenty five percent yet.

Tim cocks his head. “You pretend like you hardly knew them, dude!”

“Did you just ‘dude’ me?” Bruce’s nose scrunches. “You’ve been spending an awful lot of time with Jason.”

“Yeah well, who do you think was helping with the intel.” The line between his father’s brows softens. “Jason also said that your team thinks you’re actually fucking yourself.”

“They usually tell me to go fuck myself, thought I’d try it out.” Bruce shrugs.

Tim screams out a laugh. “I honestly forget how funny you are sometimes- maybe you should crack jokes with your friends once and a while?”

Bruce pulls him into a hug. “Batman needs to be serious.”

“He also needs a heart,” Tim looks up. “And friends, lots ‘n’ lots of friends.”

“You’re saying that like I don’t,” Tim’s hair smells like mint, “have lots ‘n’ lots of friends.”

Tim moves to wiggle the mouse on the computer. ‘30%’ blinks back in yellow. “Friends usually know the first names of their friends,” the boys says to his father, not looking at him. “Preferably a last name too. A few of mine even remember my birthday. Shocking, I know.”

Bruce regrets training the sarcasm into them, his boys, just as much as he trained them to learn and read up on every single bit of information about the people that come even five feet of them.

“And Damian needs a friend. Preferably his age. Did you know Superman has a son?” Tim’s smile is doing well to disguise the smirk in his eyes. “He’s probably the same height, I think he’s like ten- so maybe not the same age- we can pretend. He’ll fit right in; blue eyes, black hair. It’s been a bit since you’ve adopted another one.”

“Don’t joke about that.” Bruce breaks up their hug to really look at him.

Tim plants his feet on the seat of Bruce’s leather chair, pulling the grown man closer. The wheels squeak an uncomfortable noise, his father and Tim both sneer down at the wheels. “Sorry, bad joke. Clark would probably kill you and I don’t really like the idea of that, either.

Tim checks the computer again. It’s up to thirty-two this time!

“Dick said I should do something about it,” Bruce isn’t looking at his son when he breaks the silence. “Jason had a lot to say. Unwarranted well of wisdom that he is.”

Tim laughs out his nose. “Jason wasn’t disappointed, dad, he’s just… like that.”

“Blunt?”

His son laughs. “Why you saying that like you’re not the sole reason he’s like that? The all powerful Batman doesn’t like a mirror held up to him?”

Bruce crosses his arms and gives in. “No, I don’t.”

“Actually letting the league know who you are would actually- no, it really would -make so many things so much easier,” Tim starts. “You could take Diana to the ritzy parties you can’t take us kids to, or have Clark be on lookout duty.”

“I know-“

“Harold could fly the plane?”

“You ruined it.”

They both laugh.

Tim flicks Bruce with the back of his foot. “He’s a really good pilot.”

“I know that, I trust him.”

“Then prove it.”

Tim makes a grand exit by hoping off the desk and spinning Bruce in the chair before he leaves the cave for the night. The mouse had been moved in his sons departure. Forty-four percent. The result of the blinking angel number has Bruce rolling his eyes and going to bed.

~<•>~

Bruce doesn’t like to enter his partners’ territories without notice. High speed chases don’t necessarily give you a warning courtesy.

“Superman, I’m in your city.” Is all the warning Batman offers in return. He says it out loud, in the open air. A godless prayer.

The state highways end, leading the chase into industrial parks, bleeding into dirt paths and chain-linked fences. The car in front of the Batmobile plows thru a hastily done up gate, Batman follows through the rubble.

“Do you need assistance?” Superman asks over the intercoms of the car.

Batman grunts going over the better part of the once gate. “Assistance would be appreciated. If they are leading me to their hideout I’m not entirely sure what’s waiting for me.”

“Coming.” Bruce can hear the buttons flinging off Clark’s button up while he responds.

So he actually does rip his shirt in haste. Not even for the dramatics. Bruce hums.

The industrial warehouse is like them all: dark, barely lit, littered in crates and barrels, bifolded tables are set up with tarps coving the contents underneath - the children in literal cages forces Bruce to aim for the captors’ knees.

Bruce is good about corralling the perpetrators as far, far away as he can get them from the kids. There will be blood. The last thing Batman needs is to traumatize more children. The fight ends with a snap of a tall man’s shoulder dislocating and a huff out of The Batman. Superman, along with The Flash, slide to halt at the scene of the aftermath.

Batman shoo’s away the men’s comments and concerns. “Get the kids out of here, call the police. I’ll clean this up so they don’t see.” He kicks a man for good measure.

Superman levels him with a look but doesn’t say anything when he leaves. The children can be heard cheering and crying whilst Batman rolls an unconscious body into a storage room.

Surprisingly, after unlocking two of the three laptops set up in the storage room Bruce found, there’s not much to uncover. The trail leads him right to where he is: the warehouse and all accounted children. Bruce pings the IP address to Tim for good measure. He immediately receives a text, on the Batman’s phone, of a slew of clapping and thumbs up emojis.

‘Looks good.’ Is what the text reads.

The kids are safe, unharmed, remotely unscarred where it counts, and safely and properly returning to their guardians in a matter of time thanks to Superman flying them home. Batman would have something to say about that if the kids didn’t look so excited to be carried one by one into the sky by the literal Superman. Flash has a fan or two that prefer the scenic run home.

At the very least there are no more kids left to locate under this ring. The traffickers were disturbingly well equip for the job, but they had just started by the looks of it. Bruce Wayne’s capture seemed to be the catalyst.

Batman doesn’t stay for the cleanup. He watches Flash giggle with the last child in his arms before bolting in lines of red and yellow. Superman is nowhere to be seen and Bruce is too tired to care to look for him. Hoping in the Batmobile, Bruce hightails it to the Metropolis underground zeta-beam. Bruce doesn’t hold back the sigh once he’s at the Watchtower.

“Thought you might come back here.” Superman says to the stars outside the giant window of the Watchtower’s meeting room.

Batman sets down the the file capture device he used on the laptops at the scene, on the desk Cyborg frequents the most. Victor will know what best to do with it. Bruce barely wants those files in his vicinity. He feels a great desire to wash his hands.

Aquaman and Manhunter are already seated at their not-actually assigned seats, watching intently at the blinking light on the hologram of earth. Flash’s tracker can be seen blipping from Metropolis, all the way over to Star City.

“Arrow should know about this” Aquaman says to the room.

“Would you like for me to contact the rest?” Manhunter asks the question to Aquaman but he looks up to Batman when the former doesn’t respond.

Batman nods and heads to the Tower kitchen.

By the time Bruce heads back to the meeting table, with enough water for the team and enough snacks for Barry (and a decanter of whiskey), the rest of League is there, barring Flash.

“Of course he took a break at Central City,” Green Lantern points to the gently rotating Earth hologram. Flash’s orange dot is idle on the state of Missouri. “Did he need a snack that bad?”

“The calories he burns running that much is no joke.” Aquaman whistles.

“Didn’t you practically swim here?” Superman asks.

Aquaman shakes his head. “It’s different.”

Green Arrow doesn’t look convinced. “I don’t think it really is.”

“You’re not meta, you don’t get it,” Aquaman says.

Lantern winces. “Aqua, I have a magic ring and I feel winded when I walk up stairs. How in the world is swimming different from running?”

“Don’t humans burn more calories swimming?” Superman interjects.

Wonder Woman shakes her head in response. “I believe that’s just a myth. They seem to be interchangeable with fat depletion. It’s just the muscles you are using that are different from swimming to running.”

The zeta-beam makes a whirring noise upon the entry of their last Leaguer.

“Sorry I’m late,” Flash announces to the group, out of breath, half finished Clif bar in hand. “There was a bank robbery in my city, had to stop it.”

“Why were you in Star City, anyways?” Arrow asks, not mad in anyway.

“We found the warehouse of those human traffickers.” Flash says, looking to Superman.

Superman steps away from the stars and settles in closer to the round table. Everyone still standing quietly takes their seats, Batman sets the tray of drinks down over the hologram. The image of Earth fizzes away from the center of the table.

Superman takes charge of the unofficial debriefing. Flash adds in information of his own he gathered from police that he over heard. The leader of the group was, in fact, holding the children of wealthy families’ hostage for ransom, as the team had predicted. The exchange seemed to be going to plan for the traffickers: decently under radar and not a hair out of place for the children whose parents coughed up the cash.

The cache of children Batman found weren’t going to be so lucky. Their parents’ must have been scrounging for money.

Bruce pawed for the whiskey.

“Everything alright?” Superman stopped his discussion at the odd behavior of his friend.

“No,” Batman pours himself a decent glass, “Continue.”

Nobody seemed convinced enough to not stare oddly at Batman nearly chug the glass he poured, but Superman quickly picked up his speech.

Flash took off the full headed mask. Dirty blond hair sprung out from under the latex texture. He attempted the comb through the static that clung in his clumps of hair. “It seemed like the families that didn’t know their child were missing weren’t quick enough,” the dusty hair could not be tamed by Barry’s fingers. “They were all either away or out of town, the nannies or something were supposed to be watching them probably hadn’t noticed immediately either.”

Lantern took off his ring. A quick halo of green came as fast as it went, practically slurping itself back into the ring. The now unringed hand grabbed for a glass of water. “Jesus Christ.” Hal looked almost normal sitting next to his costumed colleagues.

“If Batman weren’t there-“ Barry cut himself off.

“We were just in time.” Clark finishes for him, kindly.

Arrow took that as his queue to peel his domino mask from his face. The ring of black eyeliner left behind reminded Bruce much of himself. The idea of peeling off his own mask sounded euphoric right now.

“I’m surprised they captured Bruce Wayne first, then,” Hal said to the group. Most of his friends were now practically disrobing.

Diana’s tiara circuit clanked against the metal of the table. The chime of her bracers echoed soon after.

Hal stares down at his ring left of the table. “If they wanted ransom they shouldn’t’ve picked on The Bat’s plaything.” He smiled to himself but looked up to Batman and it dropped.

“It played more like a test run,” Dinah runs her own fingers in her blond hair.

“What?” Barry grimace covers his whole face. “They were just testing kidnapping techniques on Bruce Wayne?”

“Possibly?” Dinah answers Barry, but was staring holes into Batman’s lenses. He had been fiddling with the seam of his cowl for a minute.

“Are you saying they wanted to see how fast Batman would rescue him?” Arthur added.

“Maybe?” Clark gestures.

“No,” Bruce couldn’t hold back longer. It had been easy when his kids were pretending to play Batman and he had a scapegoat for his team talking about him in third person. But him, Bruce Wayne, Batman, were too many people to play underneath one mask, so he ripped it off from the front.

“No,” he repeated. “I wasn’t used as a test run, believe me.”

“Oh my god,” Barry wheezes.

“You’re kidding.” Hal said at the same time Clark remarks ‘Bruce Wayne’ under his breath.

Bruce took the final sip of his drink like it hurt him. “They had plans to sell me like cattle, don’t get it twisted.”

“Then how did you save yourself?” Dinah’s no-nonsense question felt like fresh air to Bruce.

“You were on the news. The both of you?” Clark’s hands were folded in his lap, eyes squinting. “My job wrote about it.”

“My son is about my height.” Bruce let’s them fill in the blanks. His glass is looking far too empty now.

“The one with the diabetes?” Barry whispers across to Hal.

“No! The taller one, idiot.” He theater-whispers back. Bruce shakes his head at them.

“Wait, no- no!” Hal turned his attention back to Bruce. “This whole time you let us talk about you in third person, and then- and then you set up this wild fucking plan to chase you around a giant party!”

“No, that was Jason’s idea.” Bruce corrects.

“Is that who was in the alley?” Barry leans across the table. He’s drawing an invisible family tree on the Watchtower table. The Bat nods to the speedster.

“So there wasn’t a threesome- ow!” Hal rubs his ankle from underneath the table. “Watch it! I don’t have my ring on, Princess.”

Diana smiles sweetly back.

“Is that why you had both you and your son in the telecommunication link?” J’onn finally asks.

“Can’t you hear all of our thoughts all the time?” Arthur’s brows were fighting for the middle of his face.

J’onn closes his eyes. “I do not like to pry into everyone’s personal thoughts.”

“Oh my god, does that mean Batman heard everything I was thinking during the party?” Barry flutters.

Bruce looked up at him from under his dark lashes. “You can call me Bruce now, Barry.”

“I hate you!” Barry said, blushing like mad. “You were flirting with me! You’re so evil, do you know what that does to a guy, Bruce?!”

Clark’s cheeks redden, taking a sudden interest in the stars once more.

“So you’re not funding Batman, or fucking Batman,” Oliver crowds closer, “Bruce Wayne is the Batman.” Bruce just hums in response.

“I feel like angelic music should be playing in the background.” Hal made wide gestures with his hands. “Praise be!”

“Our father, who art in heaven,” Barry plays along.

“My oldest son saved me from my original kidnapping and then my second was with Batman at the museum party.” Bruce clears the air of confusion. “My leg was in no state to run around in a fifty pound suit.”

Arthur laughs, cutting off Barry’s Our Father prayer. “Bruce, I saw you throw a chair at a guy.”

“I thought he kidnapped my son!” Bruce exaggerates with his gauntlet hands.

Oliver’s look is sweet. “I don’t doubt you would do worse out of the Batsuit, given the chance.”

“Bruce really likes breaking legs, actually.” Barry’s smile is wide.

Clarks hands are placed on the round table, he finally turns to Bruce to look at him. “The scene at the warehouse- that was a bit aggressive, no?”

“There’s not enough aggression for people that hurt children.” Hal whoops at Bruce’s speech. Clark’s frown turns to a lopsided smile.

Barry begins clapping, Diana claps along with the beat, Hal’s gospel could use some work. The entire left side of Bruce is losing their goddamn minds.

Clark hands brush’s the back of the Batsuit. The hard material doesn’t bend under the gentle touch but Bruce feels it all the same.

“I’m glad you could us trust with this.” It’s said to Bruce quietly, like they are, in fact, in church. With the terrible singing behind them to boot.

Bruce doesn’t have the heart to break up the song, he leans in closer even if Clark’s Superman hearing could hear Bruce sneeze over an atomic bomb. “I’ve always trusted you.” Bruce says like he would in a confessional.

Clark’s smile is all in his cobalt eyes. The hand on Bruce’s armor curls up to the back of his neck. Dick was right, Brucie Wayne would never pass up on being carried around bridal style if the hero had Clark’s smile.

Perhaps Clark and Diana can take turns using his body like a frisbee in space.

J’onn’s big green face breaks out into an almost terrifying smile. “Bruce, I would love to indulge in the human custom of throwing you up in the air.”

Bruce’s laugh shakes the hand off his neck and quiets the chaos choir to his side. He attempts to hide his silly grin behind his fisted hand but the chuckle doesn’t have an off switch. When he opens his eyes, the league is looking at him like he hung the stars right behind them.

“What?” Bruce wipes some of the charcoal color from under his eye. “Is it the eyeliner.”

“If getting you to laugh was this easy we should’ve taken that damn mask off years ago.” Hal smug tone got him another nudge under the desk from Diana. “Hey! I never actually took off his mask, alright!”

“Good thing you didn’t,” Bruce picked up the discarded cowl and ran his fingers along the edge that met the neck of his suit. “If the electrocution didn’t stop you, then my head would have exploded off from the bomb implanted inside.”

Barry’s scream only furthers the wildly uncomfortable look Oliver is glaring into Bruce. Hal looks ready to rip out his hair. Bruce doesn’t even turn enough to see the disappointed look from Clark.

“You’re insane,” Dinah sighs out from across the table. “You’re actually so insane.”

Bruce shrugs. If only she knew. The wet leather sound his cowl makes hitting the iron table when he tosses it makes his nose scrunch up. Barry is still cracking himself up.

Bruce is glad the excitement’s back in the room. Worrying himself sick with human traffickers and children sends his body into a barely functional state. If his teammates can find humor in his disturbingly thought out contingency plans, he’ll take it.

They seem to take ‘Brucie Wayne’ well enough, for now at the very least. Minding the silly jokes, his team seems to ultimately not care. The weight of the cowl is off his shoulders and it feels like, maybe for once - just for a little bit - Bruce can finally breathe a sigh of bone deep relief. There isn’t much he finds solace in beyond his children and Alfred, a extremely casual Brucie Wayne hookup isn’t anything to snub his nose at - but his team has always forever been a point of contention. Work and play cannot mix. Bruce has seen it, done it, fucked it, fired it. It’s terrible, if he’s being polite.

But this, this team that’s beyond just work is the closest thing to family that isn’t adoption papers or blood, is something. It’s a start.

“Well,” Hal stands while tapping the table, “this has been real fun but I’d like to get to bed before the sun wraps around the Earth again.” Most of the team follows suit.

“I’m glad I was there to help you, Bruce.” Clark is in his friend’s personal space again. “You can always call when you need me. In or out of the suit.”

“What’s a team without trust.” Bruce can practically hear Tim now ringing a cowbell and screaming for joy.

“Do you ever feel like you’re interrupting something?” Barry giggle-whispers to Hal, not even a foot away from the other two.

Hal shoves Barry right as Dinah and Oliver wave their goodbyes before they’re beamed out of the Tower. “Barry, you can’t say a damn thing after the stunt you pulled in the alleyway.”

“There was no stunt!” His friend blanches. “Bruce’s son- that was Batman at the time- told me to watch over him because Bruce was unconscious and could possibly die.”

“Then why did I hear all about his-“

“No, no, no! Shut up.”

Bruce feels a terrible smile take over his face. Work and play can mix sometimes. “Barry, I’d love to hear what you thought about me.”

Barry whirls around to shove a finger in Bruce’s face. “No you don’t! You’re evil, and just ‘cuz you’re pretty doesn’t mean you can bat your pretty eyelashes at me, and- and make up for it!”

“How about dinner?” Bruce asks. “My son says I should invite you all to dinner. Team building with friends.”

“You have friends?” Hal snickers. Clark taps him on the shoulder. “Ok, ow, Big Blue. Again, no ring! Is it Hurt-Hal-Day or some shit?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-“ Clark begins an apology of his own but Hal begins talking over him about powers and lantern batteries, and something about bruising like a peach.

“Um, dinner,” Barry brings Bruce back to speed. “We should- you and I, only- as an apology. Because you owe me. Remember?” He bits his lower lip and tucks his hands behind his back. “I want Italian food and I don’t wanna run there or drive- you’re gonna pick me up.”

Bruce almost laughs. “Awfully demanding.”

“Yeah, well, I should set the ground rules for how you should apologize to me. Don’t’cha think?”

“Sounds like a date to me.” Aquaman who had been quiet up to this point, interjects.

Barry gasps. “Wha? No, no. See, Arthur, this is how I know you haven’t been on a date because, during a date, both parties want to be there. Bruce, here, won’t want to be there because it’s for an apology-“

“Who says I wouldn’t want to be there.” Bruce leers down to the other.

“Ok, well- no, hold on, don’t say it like that!”

“I’m also married.” Arthur interrupts, again.

“Is everyone married?” Hal says, mostly to himself, but now he’s close enough to Bruce where the latter feels like it involves him now too.

“I was almost married.” Bruce says before he can think better of it. Going down that rabbit hole never left him with anything close to a smile.

“Oh wow, same.” Clark’s short laugh doesn’t reach his eyes.

“I didn’t expect that.” Arthur whistles.

Hal grips both of Bruce’s shoulders, like if he doesn’t he’ll keel over. “Every time you open your mouth without that damn mask on I get whiplash.”

“I can tell it to you again with the mask on.” Bruce responds bluntly.

“Is’atta joke?” The ringed hero is already chucking. “Does that mean I’m invited to you’s and Barry’s date? I feel like I should be invited.”

Barry is being shown wedding photo’s off Arthur’s phone and whips his head around to Bruce and Hal. “Not a date!” He yells. “But you’re not invited!”

Hal’s brown hair and brown eyes drape over Bruce’s frame as if he always could get away with it. “So if it’s not a date,” his lips purse, “then you wouldn’t mind if ‘lil ol’ me joined, huh, Barry.”

Barry and Hal, quite literally, argue over Bruce before darling Clark swoops in to rally them.

“Alright, alright,” his Kansas cadence leaks through, “Bruce invited the group for dinner. Maybe we should let him decide when and who he sees at his house.”

Bruce steps out of the semicircle and fixes his make-believe suit, patting himself down. “Normally it’s women who argue over who I see for dinner.”

Diana, from her corner, chuckles with J’onn. Clark is already putting up solacing hands but he’s too late.

“If it was a fight, I’d win.” The Lantern suit slips back on for good measure while Hal makes his joke.

Barry retrieves his hooded mask from the round table. “Nu uh, dude. You can’t even catch me.”

“Clark can.”

“Wha-,” Barry looks to Clark but Big Blue is already walking away with Bruce. “That’s an unfair two-on-one. Superman doesn’t count.”

“I don’know…” The green-fitted man saunters on up to his friend. “Looks to me like Clark’s winning.”

J’onn and Arthur make their departure from the tower in tandem, leaving Diana, Clark and Bruce curled in their red, blue and black corner. Diana’s fisted grip is shaking the Bat’s cowl and pulling fake punches on it, Clark’s big shoulders are jumping with laughter, Bruce is bemused but smiling. Clark’s large hand taps the lower back of Bruce. Their theater whispers to each other send Diana to wiggling the mask in the air with more gusto.

“I don’t have a crush on Batman, Hal.” Barry says to his friend, tightly and quietly.

At that, Hal’s grin is entirely covering his face. “No, but you do have a crush on Bruce Wayne. And now, they’re the same person.” He leans close to his friend. “If I was a better friend I’d let yah go on that date alone, but I really wanna eat dinner at a billionaire’s house.”

“I don’t blame you.”

When the time comes and Barry is the last to leave Wayne Manor, Hal is the first to make fun of him.