Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Gotham was cursed.

It was their unofficial slogan, born from a place of misery and reluctant fondness, because the city may not hesitate to drain your blood and consume your soul but she’s home and where would we be without her?

The city was fucked up, they would say. We’ve got crime on every corner and corruption from the lowliest police officer to the bitch of a mayor. Gotham must be cursed.

And Bruce would always reply, yes, Gotham really is cursed; deep ancient magic is suffocating the city and poisoning her people.

They would laugh only to realise that Bruce was serious and look at him like he’d grown a second head. They thought he was grasping at straws, so desperate for a reason that explained why Gotham was so fucked up that he blamed magic. Some people pitied him. Others got angry. They all believed Bruce was refusing to look at reality, the sad truth that sometimes, people were fucking monsters and the real curse was the goddamn corruption running rampant in Gotham.

But, really, Gotham was cursed.

The problem was, no one else seemed to see it. And Bruce tried. He really did.

He recruited Outside magicians, wizards, experts on all things supernatural and brought them to Gotham to investigate the foul magic plaguing the city. They had humoured him at first – Gotham’s level of fucked up did warrant the suspicion – and scoured the city up and down for any evidence of a curse in play. The fifth time they had found nothing, no altars or totems (aside from the usual cult things and the fact that cults were a norm was a problem in itself) or magical signals, they had all given up and told him to just accept that Gotham was just a little unfortunate and that maybe he should look into the more human elements at play here.

That’s the thing. Gotham was unfortunate. Really, really unfortunate.

Because there was a man who was just like any other. He had a job, a family and friends he saw every other day. Then one day, Gotham’s curse struck and the man tripped on some stairs, breaking his leg on the way down. He didn’t have health insurance and the medical fees took out a huge chunk of what little savings he did have. To make a bad situation worse, his boss wouldn’t accept a broken leg as an excuse for not going to work.

He had a broken leg, little savings, and no job.

The curse of misfortune hanging over his head may have dissipated when he tripped but that did not mean the misery ended there. The man still had rent to pay, a family to feed, and a life to live. His leg healed but no job would hire him.

But rent was due in a week, please, I’ll do anything. My little girl won’t survive on the streets.

He had a gun that he never planned on using. The first shot was an accident, and the second was because the husband had screamed and lunged at him. He almost pulled the trigger a third time but ran with the stolen goods instead.

He’s the same age as my little girl, what have I done?

He did what he thought he had to. He had a family to feed.

A curse befell the man and he befell another family.

And, yes, there were very real human elements at play here. If the man had health insurance or the health care system were not so predatory, he wouldn’t have lost his savings. If he was protected by a union, he wouldn’t have lost his job. If the man was given support at any point, he wouldn’t have felt so desperate that he resorted to mugging.

But, in the end, it all began with a broken leg.

Because the man was just like any other. He had a job, a family and friends he saw every other day. He was only one of many. It was just one unlucky event that spiralled into tragedy.

Unlucky events happened a lot in Gotham.

But no one would believe Bruce when he said Gotham was cursed. Not even when he could see the mist of misfortune hanging over the head of the next victim. Not even when he could accurately predict when the person running across the park would trip. Because no magic user could detect anything and really, Bruce, humans were responsible for their own shittiness.

Yeah, but maybe they would be less shitty if they weren’t so unlucky all the time.

Bruce stopped telling people about the curse and resolved to deal with it himself. Because Bruce knew that the curse was real – he could fucking see its goddamn mist every time he step foot outside the house – and it was rotting Gotham at its core, the very people that called the city home. So, he researched curses in his spare time, explored every nook and cranny of Gotham, delved into her history and looked for anything, anything that could destroy the fucking curse.

He found nothing, of course, until he met Amaya.

It was another standard if uneventful patrol. Batman perched on a gargoyle, peering down from his vantage point to observe two drunk frat boys lighting a blunt behind the dumpster. The tallest of the boys was surrounded by a light mist that Bruce knew meant that he was likely to trip in the next few hours. The other boy was entrenched in a heavier mist; he was almost guaranteed to stumble into something dangerous.

Batman wanted to be there when it happened.

A middle-aged woman in her mid-fifties stepped out of the bar, wrinkling her nose with distaste and dabbing at her green cardigan, muttering to herself. Bruce could barely make out what she was saying under the dim lighting of the bar’s exit. “Should have known not to be near him while he was cursed to trip. Stupid. I should leave this cursed city before it sinks its claws into me.”

Bruce twitched. Did he read that right?

“Young lads,” she called out to the frat boys, loud enough that Bruce didn’t need to read her lips to understand her. “Could you spare me a smoke?”

The boys glanced at each other and then back at the lady that looked like she belonged in a library or accounting office rather than outside a bar at 1 in the morning. The shorter boy shrugged and passed her his lit blunt. “It’s weed,” he told her bluntly.

“Yes, I am well aware. Thank you,” she said, taking a long drag from the blunt. “What are you lads planning on doing tonight?”

They shrugged. “Just having some fun. Want to come with? Some of our mates are gonna hire a bouncy castle over at the East end. Sure they won’t mind a weed-smoking lady hanging ‘round.”

The woman chuckled. “No thank you. You boys have fun but do be careful tonight, you especially,” – she pointed at the shorter boy – “a mist of danger hangs over you and you’re likely to wander into something less than pleasant.”

The woman reached into a pocket and produced a mint. She blew a cloud of smoke over it. “Here, as thanks. I’m not sure you need it considering a watchful eye follows you but it never hurts to be careful.” The woman looked up and curled a smile, looking directly at where Batman was hiding in the shadows of the gargoyle. Bruce was careful not to react.

The boy received the mint with a confused grunt. “You a witch or what? My mama’s aunt was a witch and she told her to avoid mangos or something bad will happen. The day she ate one, she met my Pa and Pa’s a piece of shit but Mama said it was a blessing anyway because she had me.”

The woman chuckled, “I’m a witch but not that sort of witch. It’s up to you whether or not you eat the mint.”

The boy looked apprehensively at it but when his buddy tried to snatch it for himself, he popped it into his mouth in a fit of possessiveness, grinning triumphantly as his friend pouted in defeat. That same friend tried to swing his arm around his shoulders but misjudged and ended up tripping over his own feet. The faint mist hanging over his head dissipated as he climbed to his own feet.

The boy laughed at his friend’s disgruntled appearance only to end up accidentally swallowing his mint. The heavy mist surrounding him also disappeared.

Bruce tried not to gape. With the level at which the curse clung to him, the boy should have had the misfortune to run into an active crime scene, not something as simple as choking on a piece of mint. He’s never seen something like this happen before. Usually, with curses that thick, the victim either rids the curse by using up all the misfortune in one fell swoop or small unlucky things happen to them until the cloud dissipates.

It wasn’t the mint that did this, Bruce knew. It was the woman. The self-proclaimed witch. She was still looking at him, taking another puff out of her blunt and smiling warmly like a mother to a child. There was something about that woman that seemed… otherworldly. It might’ve been the lack of reaction to the frigid Gotham winter, the conspicuously missing alcohol stain on her cardigan or the fact that she knew about the curse. She didn’t speak of it the way people liked to mock Gotham but with a surety and specificity that indicated that she knew.

Bruce has never met someone that knew before.

For the first time in a long while, Bruce felt the ghostly tendrils of hope gripping his heart.

He wanted to speak to her without the burden of trying desperately – to no avail – to prove that the curse existed. He wanted to discuss the stranglehold it held over Gotham without feeling like he was screaming at a brick wall that refused to listen to him. He wanted to question and finally have someone answer him back. He wanted to talk and be met not with doubt and pity but with understanding.

Batman kept silent and followed the woman as she made her way downtown, through the many alleyways, across the street and into an old building. He observed from the roof of the apartment opposite, taking in all the magical wards and alarms. Powerful wards that wouldn’t let Bruce in.

The woman unlocked the door to her building and looked over her shoulder. There was an amused smile on her face as she waved at Bruce.

He didn’t wave back.

He saw her again the next night. She was removing the curse on a tipsy woman who had shared a half-eaten doughnut with her. Two days after that, Bruce witnessed the middle-aged woman ruffle the hair of a little girl and removed the curse on her mother.

Each and every time, she would notice him watching her and wave at wherever he was hiding.

Finally, after one week, Bruce got tired of wondering what the hell her deal was – how was she removing the curse on so many people? He dropped down in an alleyway in front of her and loomed menacingly in the shadows.

“Batman,” the woman greeted with a grin, not at all affected by his theatrics.

“How do you keep dispelling the curse?” he asked curtly.

“I am the ancient witch Amaya; the curse may be powerful but so am I.” She spoke with a level of nonchalance that lent well to her claims but false bravado was a powerful tool; Bruce would know, he employed it daily.

“I’ve never heard of you before,” Batman growled low and deep, just to see if he could unsettle the ‘ancient witch’. Bruce knew many magicians – powerful magicians – and they knew other magicians. If such a witch existed, how could there not even be whispers of her in the magic community?

Amaya was unbothered by Bruce’s posturing. “I’m a nomad. I never stay long enough for people to learn my name.” She smirked, “I’m not in the habit of advertising my Gifts either.”

“And yet you’ve introduced yourself to me,” Batman grunted, slightly more conversationally.

“I was curious about what kind of man protects a city as cursed as this one. You have got to know how fruitless such an endeavour is, especially considering you can See the curse undoing every bit of good you do.”

“If it was pointless, why did you help three people this week alone and remove their curse?”

“They have shown kindness to me and I acted in turn. Temporarily dismissing the mist is nothing for a witch as powerful as me.”

“And how exactly did you do that?” Bruce asked.

“I gave them a minor blessing. It cancelled out that curse.”

“A blessing?” None of the magicians he knew could pass on blessings. That was something that strayed into the realm of gods.

“Yes, it’s rather unreliable at the best of times but they’re useful when it comes to curses.” Amaya snorted and added, “With how thinly spread this curse is, parlour tricks are enough to dispel it.”

Bruce frowned. Parlour tricks? A curse that confounded him for decades was neutralised by a simple parlour trick. “You said it was a minor blessing. That implies the existence of stronger blessings.”

“Oh, yes. I’m not capable of performing them but they do exist. Herbology and the likes are more to my style. I mainly learnt the minor blessing as a good luck charm of sorts.”

He deflated slightly. Bruce had been hoping that Amaya would be able to cast a stronger blessing on the entire city to rid Gotham of the curse once and for all but of course, it wouldn’t be that simple.

“Do you know anyone capable of performing a strong blessing? On a citywide scale?”

Amaya shook her head with a sad smile. “It will not work, not in the way you think. Blessings only get rid of the curse temporarily.”

“Even so, it will be gone for a while. That means fewer people losing their lives over a bout of misfortune. People shouldn’t be driven to desperation over loose bricks and uneven stairs.”

“No, they shouldn’t,” Amaya whispered. She sounded compassionate in a way Bruce didn’t expect a supposedly ancient being to be. In Bruce’s experience, those who had lived longer than countries have existed tended to be more jaded and apathetic to the suffering of the masses.

Amaya suddenly looked right into Bruce’s eyes, searching for something on his half-concealed face. “Tell me, why do you go out every night, fighting for a city that spits in your face?”

Bruce took a deep breath. Many have asked him that since he began his crusade but did he really need a reason to fight for his home? Did he actually need a reason to protect the people he shares a city with? Gothamites were hurting and Bruce had the will and the means, so why not?

“I do not do this for recognition or gratitude. I fight because Gotham may be cursed in both a literal and figurative sense but she is my home and she burns with ferocity like no other. People call her toxic; they say she’s a cruel and callous mistress but I know she’s as kind as the people that live within her borders. Her people are stubborn and there are fires in their hearts that keep the city glowing with life. They’re beaten and bitter but they live; they cling to the mortal plane and they survive.

How can I see this and not help? How can I listen to their song and not sing back? They are worthy of protection and if I can help keep their fires lit for just one extra day, then every drop of blood I shed for them is worth it.”

“Just one extra day, huh? Is that truly enough of a reason?”

“She’s my home. Do I really need a reason?”

Amaya laughed, the sound of her joy echoing in the empty alleyway. “You’re right. No one needs a reason to defend their home but rarely do they actually do it to such a degree. You’re one special lad. It’s no wonder the city elected you their prince and knight.

Bruce suppressed the instinct to flinch. There was only one Prince of Gotham and that was Bruce Wayne.

“I encountered your civilian ID in public and recognised your aura. No two people have the same auras, Bruce,” Amaya explained.

Bruce grunted. There was no defending against the magical ability to see auras. Bruce fucking hated magic. “It’s Batman while I’m in the suit, please. And I am no one special. I am just someone that doesn’t want to see another child orphaned senselessly.”

The witch smiled again, amused. “Not just anyone can do what you do.”

Bruce huffed. “There are seven others doing more than I could ever dream of.”

“It is not the same. You see her curse, they do not.” You know how truly fruitless this all is, she didn’t say but he heard nonetheless.

Bruce hesitated, “Do you know the reason why I’ve always been able to see it?”

Amaya took one step closer to Batman and placed a hand over his heart. “Gotham beats in your chest. She’s in your lungs and the blood coursing through your veins. You see her light and with it, her suffering too.”

He clasped her hand gently and whispered, “How can I ease her suffering?”

He wanted her to tell him, hand him a solution on a silver platter, and guide him to an answer that would finally free them from this cloud of misfortune hanging over their heads. Because Gotham’s had enough of misery. She deserved better. They all did.

“It is a very old and powerful curse,” was Amaya’s non-answer.

“That doesn’t mean it is unbreakable.”

“It will be difficult.”

“Nothing is too difficult for her.”

“I do not yet know the price.”

“I will pay what is necessary, nothing is too precious to lose. I’ll give my life for her. I’ll do anything if it means Gotham can breathe easier.”

Amaya searched for something in his face again and whatever she saw turned her face regal and solemn. She looked every bit like the ancient being she claimed to be. “If you truly wish to free Gotham from her curse, I will help you, Bruce Wayne. I swear on my magic.”

Nothing of note happened visually but Bruce could feel the weight of her oath settle over his chest. He knew he could trust her. Amaya would do everything in her power to help him break the curse. “Thank you.”

The corner of Amaya’s eyes crinkled and the woman let out an amused huff. “Don’t thank me yet. We don’t start until tomorrow.” Amaya pressed a key into Bruce’s hand. “Come find me at my apartment at 7 pm. Come as yourself. We’ll discuss what needs to be done over dinner.”

Bruce nodded and shot his grapple up at the rooftop, disappearing into the night. He returned to the cave, thrumming with energy. Someone believed him! They knew the curse was real! They were going to break it together! Bruce had to tell someone–

…Bruce had no one to tell it to.

Ace came bounding down the stairs and rubbed his head against Bruce’s side. Bruce grinned and squished Ace’s cheeks in between his hands. “We’re going to break the curse, Ace. Then, Gotham will be free,” he announced breathlessly.

The bat-hound barked, tail wagging excitedly behind him. He didn’t really know what was going on but Bruce was excited so Ace was excited too!

The good mood followed him through to the next morning – even the drab meeting didn’t put a damper on his mood. If anything, Bruce’s mood improved. He got to see Tim and exchanged nods with him, left some lunch at his desk that Tim was too preoccupied to notice, and signed a business deal that would help thousands of people. Things were going well.

It was only when he was home again, playing with Ace in the backyard, that Bruce paused to think. Am I too hasty right now?

He didn’t feel like he was rushing into things. After all, Bruce had been seeing the curse his entire life and had been plotting to destroy it since his teenage years. He was an adult now, turning thirty-nine in a month, and felt like it was about time he made some fucking progress. He’d exhausted all other options so why shouldn’t he grab the first hand offered to him?

Bruce didn’t have much to lose and Amaya had sworn to help him – he felt the vow settle in his soul and knew it to be true. He thinks she is trustworthy. He wants to trust her. She’s his only hope.

Bruce changed into inconspicuous clothing and drove his undercover car to Amaya’s apartment. The key that Amaya had given him served a dual purpose of bypassing both the door and the wards.

“Evening, Bruce,” Amaya greeted him as he stepped into her home. A nice herb scent combined with the rich scent of tomatoes and seafood wafted enticingly throughout the apartment.

“Amaya.” He nodded.

“I made some paella. I hope you like it.”

“Thank you, it smells delicious,” he politely told her. Batman may have had little to no manners but Bruce’s were ingrained in him. He took a seat in front of a plate and waited for Amaya to get settled.

“Before we discuss anything, I want to know what you know of the curse. What have you researched thus far?”

“I pursued both magical and historical avenues when researching this curse but thus far, I could only roughly estimate when the curse had a tangible effect on Gotham. I believe roughly two hundred years ago, crime rates in the city began picking up at an alarming rate, while at the same time, the wealth disparity between people saw a large increase. The journal of one of my ancestors supports my suspicion, wherein they document the downfall of an up-and-coming family, a tragedy that began when a loose brick resulted in a gargoyle falling on the head of the family.”

Amaya hummed in consideration. “In that case, it must be at least three hundred years old.”

“Can the strength of a curse grow with age?”

“It depends.” Amaya took a moment to sort her thoughts. “Curses are built on intent. They tend to die with their intended target or deteriorate over time if they are not constantly being fueled. This curse – it feels like a grudge, likely one cast with one’s dying breath. Its caster knew they would die before the curse could actually do anything so they crafted it with the intent for it to feed off of the grudges of others, fueling its power and gaining strength over time. It is likely why other magicians cannot sense it either. The caster knew that the curse at its infancy could be easily undone so they ensured it would be invisible.”

“What would have been the cure for the original curse? Would we be able to do the same thing but on a larger scale?”

Amaya laughed good-naturedly. “I’m afraid it’s not as simple as that. The curse has evolved to the point that it's completely different from the original curse. It still functions the same, but its core has been tempered with age and the grudges of millions of lives.”

Bruce grunted. It had been wishful thinking on his part but he just wanted things to be easy for once in his goddamn life.

“I can try unravelling the invisibility portion of the curse. It would be nice if other magicians help to research it.”

Bruce nodded. It would also be nice to see the looks on their faces once they realised that Bruce had been right the entire time.

“Well, that’s enough curse talk for tonight, I’m afraid this will be a long journey. How did you like the paella? I see that you’ve almost finished your plate. Would you like more?” Amaya asked, like a nosy abuela intent on fattening up everyone she saw, regardless of their size and weight. Abuelas never believed you ate enough.

Bruce looked down at his plate and to his shock, he did indeed almost finish his meal. He hadn’t even noticed that he had been eating so fast.

Before he could decline a second portion, Amaya scooped some more rice and seafood on his plate. “Eat up, don’t be shy. Running around like you do all night is sure to consume a lot of energy. Do you even eat enough at home?”

Bruce absently nodded, having a gut feeling that no matter what he said, Amaya wasn’t going to be satisfied. “I make sure to eat before and after work.” Amaya made a face like she was displeased and Bruce hurriedly added, “I drink a lot of protein and nutrient shakes too so I’m always full of energy.”

It didn’t work.

“That is not enough, young man. A growing man such as yourself should have at least three square meals a day if not five. Do you even eat home-cooked meals? Don’t tell me you eat takeaway every day.”

Bruce gulped. He did eat takeaway frequently, only cooking when he was in the mood for something specific. He couldn’t even say he purchased food from good restaurants. Bruce mostly let Ace guide him to any random restaurant when they went out for walks. “I will start cooking dinner for myself from now on,” he said to placate her.

Amaya narrowed her eyes at him. “Alright-”

Phew. Bruce felt relieved and then felt odd for feeling relieved. Why was he so nervous about this woman he had only spoken to once before worrying about what he ate?

“-But! You must eat dinner at my house whenever we meet up to talk about the curse. Bring your dog too. I want to meet him.”

“How did you know I had a dog?” Bruce has never told anyone about Ace in the five months he had him.

“I’m an ancient witch. I know things.” Amaya smiled but there was a glint of mischief in her eyes that Bruce didn’t trust.

“I have dog fur on me, don’t I?”

She laughed. “Yes, all over your pants leg.”

“Lovely,” he sighed. Bruce turned his attention back to his plate and started eating again to hide the flush of his cheeks. He was one of the world’s greatest detectives, he should have known even before he asked that first question.

They discussed some logistics and decided to meet up at Amaya’s house once a week to discuss what little progress they’d made or simply have dinner together. Bruce left an hour later, well-fed and feeling lighter than he had in months.

The week passed by at a snail-crawling pace. Bruce had gone through his routine – work, home, patrol – with thoughts of the curse, its cure, and his new ally Amaya at the back of his mind. The only time he took his mind off of it was when he wished Cass a happy birthday but other than that, it was all about the curse and Amaya.

Finally, it was Friday again and Bruce drove his car down to the witch’s apartment with Ace in the passenger seat, head stuck out the open window and happy to be out.

Amaya opened her door with a warm smile. She smelt of sage and rosemary, presumably emanating from the herb stains on the hem of her sleeves, or Amaya had simply worked with herbs so frequently that the smell became stuck to her skin and hair. She ushered Bruce and Ace in, cooing over the dog and interrogating Bruce over what he’s eaten since she last saw him a week ago. This time, Amaya kept the conversation light over dinner and only started speaking of the curse when they were finished eating. (She bullied Bruce into eating three servings again; Bruce could never say no to well-meaning abuelas.)

“I haven’t been able to undo the invisibility of the curse. However, I spent time getting a sense of the curse and I can tell it has no physical totem. It’s a mist floating about causing misfortune. I believe that in order to dispel this curse, we must find a way to create a vessel for the curse to inhabit and then destroy that vessel, ridding Gotham of it once and for all.”

Bruce felt his heart picking up speed in his chest and willed it to calm down. It was too early to get excited.

“The problem lies in creating this vessel. The curse is powerful; it is bound to Gotham. It will not leave Gotham nor will it bind itself to anything not of Gotham. My everything, magic included, is not of Gotham. It will reject me. Bruce, I’m afraid you must be the one to create the vessel.”

“This vessel you speak of, will it not require magic in the process of creating it?” Bruce asked. Bruce was many things but he was not a practitioner of magic. No, he left that frustrating art to the professionals.

Amaya nodded. “I’ll figure something out. I’ve thousands of years under my belt, I’m sure a solution will come to me,” Amaya said with levity. Her absolute confidence did wonders in laying rest to Bruce’s concerns.

The conversation strayed from the curse to cooking and somehow Bruce left with treats for Ace and two recipes that Amaya swore up and down would blow his taste buds away.

It was two weeks later that they finally made progress on their investigation – or at least Amaya did; Bruce couldn’t help much when it came to magic.

Amaya spoke of a potion that would enable Bruce to take a part of the curse within himself, tempering it inside his body. The potion would then create a vessel that could house the rest of the curse which would then allow them to destroy it.

It sounded insane.

It was the only plan they had.

The potion had a lot of unpredictable side effects and by drinking it, Bruce was essentially cursing himself. It would be as safe as can be, Amaya had assured him. Bruce needs only drink the potion and lay low for a hundred days. Amaya would take care of the rest.

Bruce was apprehensive.

It was still the only plan they had.

They got started on gathering the ingredients.

It turns out that Gotham had some wildly delicate magical plants growing alongside normal, ordinary plants. Well, ‘delicate’ as in they lose their magic if you harvest them wrong. ‘Delicate’ as in you must follow these five specific steps or rage in despair and go on a wild goose hunt for another magic plant (that looks almost identical to normal, ordinary plants).

Yeah, Bruce was really loving herb harvesting.

And yes, he had to be the one to harvest the herbs. As Amaya had stressed over and over again, she was an Outsider and apparently, the fucking curse was xenophobic so Bruce had to be the one suffering these fickle magic plants. AND he had to dry the herbs he collected and Gotham didn’t have much sunlight but it was important to the magic or whatever that he left them to sundry instead of using the many, many tools he had in the cave so Bruce just had to pray to the gods for mercy and hope that the fucking rain didn’t ruin everything.

(And by Gotham, he loved the city, but it rained too often.)

It was two days after they began harvesting herbs that they realised a problem. Amaya was an Outsider. She couldn’t brew the potion. Bruce was a Gothamite. He wasn’t an apothecary.

…Bruce had to postpone herb picking for potion brewing classes.

It was a damn good thing that Bruce had similar skill sets under his belt already otherwise Gotham would have had to just suffer for the rest of eternity. It also helped that Amaya was a great teacher that was liberal with her praises. Bruce learnt the recipes for minor pain potions, minor injury potions and minor antidote potions in just one week. He was good enough that he was allowed to practise at home. Which he did. To the point that the cave was starting to smell like a herbal medicine shop. It was no wonder why Amaya always smelt faintly of herbs.

“Good evening.”

Batman spun around and found Amaya standing behind him with a wrapped box in her hands.

“Amaya. It is not Friday.” His tone was flat but there was a question in there somewhere. Batman did a cursory search for anyone in the vicinity and relaxed when there were none.

She grinned. “I am well aware. However, considering today is a special day, I thought I’ll make an exception and come see you.”

Bruce frowned, unsure of what she was talking about.

Amaya laughed. “Happy birthday, Bruce.”

Oh. It was his birthday already? That meant that it had already been over a month since they started their partnership. Bruce hadn’t realised it’s been so long. “Thank you. You didn’t have to,” he said as he accepted the box.

“No, but I wanted to.” Amaya silently told him to unwrap it so Bruce unravelled the ribbon and opened the box, revealing a soft blanket decorated with leaf patterns. He recognised them to be the same herbs used in minor healing potions.

“It’s enchanted,” Amaya proudly told him. “Guaranteed to always be perfect. It will always smell of herbs and will never be too hot or too cold. Nor will it be too small or too big. Always just right.”

Bruce quirked a tiny smile. He had been the type of kid to drag their blanket everywhere with them. It was the perfect gift for him. “Thank you.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

When Bruce went home that night, he checked the text messages on his personal phone. Dick, Barbara, Tim, Stephanie, Damian and Cass had individually sent a simple happy birthday text. People he knew as Brucie also wished him a happy birthday. He thanked them all one by one and went to bed.

Amaya was right. The blanket was indeed perfect, not too hot, not too cold, it was warm and just right.

When Amaya was satisfied with the quality of Bruce’s potions, they started herb harvesting again. As they went down the list of ingredients, Bruce once again realised how much he hated magic. Some of these herbs grew in the most arbitrary of locations! How is there a plant that specifically grows in churches that have stained glass ceilings? And why is there a plant that grows and dies at dawn every day? Fucking magic. Make it make sense. Please.

Bruce went home every day and screamed because he hated magic so fucking much.

And no, he did not care that he knew how to make magic potions now and that they were actually quite nice and convenient and Bruce was planning on keeping them in stock. All magic sucked and Bruce hated it. He’ll use magic with resentment and bitter rage.

He thinks Amaya is amused by his hatred if her laughter at his rants were anything to go by.

“You’ve not been going on patrol as often lately.” Barbara’s voice was level but there was a hint of steel in there that made Bruce think of an army commander. He would know; his Uncle Jacob was a military man, not to mention Alfred.

“Hnng.” Bruce was glad that the menu hid his face so that Barbara would not be able to see the surprise flickering through it. He had not expected anyone to notice his frequent absences considering Batman truly worked alone now but Oracle did specialise in information so it made sense that Babara knew.

(Maybe Bruce had just assumed she wouldn’t care to know. The Birds did much more for Gotham than Batman nowadays.)

Barbara rolled her eyes. “What have you been doing instead? I haven’t heard much from you for all of March. It’s the 22nd, Bruce.”

Bruce looked up at the menu he was reading and made eye contact with Barbara. There was curiosity and stubbornness in them that told Bruce Barbara would press if he tried to give her a non-answer.

He suppressed a sigh. It was rare that he got to have lunch with Barbara and he hadn’t wanted to talk shop today, especially not when the topic in question concerned the curse. No one liked listening to Bruce talk about the curse, especially his children and children-adjacent. They didn’t like to see Bruce being so ‘irrational’ about Gotham. He’s learnt to speak around the subject or simply lie instead.

Naturally, confronted with questions about his slacking as Batman, Bruce fell back on his ingrained instinct to hide and lie. After all, if he talked about what he was actually doing, these rare lunches would become even more infrequent, at least until Bruce proved that he wasn’t being ‘delusional’ again.

“I’ve been learning how to make potions,” Bruce told her, which was true but not the whole truth. He hoped that the shock of the confession would be enough for Barbara to back off. Bruce would hate to lose one of the few good things he was still allowed to have.

Barbara raised one eyebrow; it was almost as impressive as Alfred’s. At the thought of his former butler, Bruce felt pangs of sorrow hit his chest and had to drink some water to compose himself. Stupid. Alfred’s just retired. You have to stop acting like he’s dead. (Yeah, retired and no longer speaking to you, a small part of him whispered and he shoved it back into its bitter box with all his might.)

“Potions. You. You’re making potions. As in magic potions.”

“Yes.”

“You hate magic.”

Bruce nodded.

“Why so suddenly?”

Bruce shrugged. “Met a witch. She offered. It seemed like a good skill to have.”

Barbara’s face scrunched up as if she couldn’t possibly imagine Bruce making any sort of magic potion. To be fair, Bruce from two months ago wouldn’t have been able to either. “What kind of potions?”

“Standard things for minor wounds, pain and poisons.” Bruce looked up at Barbara and inclined his head slightly. He reached into his pocket and placed a few small vials of a purple potion on the table. “Apparently, they’re really good for menstrual cramps.”

He knew Barbara suffered from chronic pain but she was more touchy about that than she was about period cramps. Barbara had unfortunately learnt from Bruce to hide her pain and it was only her indignance at wider society’s tendency to avoid talking about periods in ‘polite company’ that led her to becoming more open about her cramps.

Barbara blinked with bafflement but pocketed it anyway. “Why do you have it on you?”

Bruce shrugged. Then, just in case, he deposited his antidote and heal potions too. You can never be too careful in Gotham.

On Easter, a child saw Bruce harvesting some herbs and mistakenly thought Batman was searching for some easter eggs. The little girl reached into her pocket and produced a chocolate egg wrapped in colourful foil.

“Here ya go, Batman. Happy Easter!”

Bruce, a little startled and more than charmed, softened his features and gently pressed the chocolate back into her hands. “That was very kind of you but I’m quite alright, thank you. It’s not easter eggs that I’m looking for.”

“Then what are you looking for?” she asked, frizzy red locks falling over her face as she tilted her head in a show of curiosity. It reminded Bruce of Barbara when she was young, back when he was still allowed to call her Barbie without risk of dismemberment.

“A dandelion with a red stem,” he replied, gently brushing her hair back. She allowed it and nuzzled her cheeks against his gauntlets with a giggle.

“Oh! I know where’s one. It was very pretty and was growing by the fence. I’ll take you there!”

The little girl grabbed Bruce’s hand and all but dragged him to a small fence, crouching as she pointed at the dandelion. “See! It’s red, like my hair!”

“Yes, it is.” Bruce took a close look at the dandelion and was happy to note that its leaves also had a slight red tinge to them. That was another magic herb crossed off the list. “Thank you, honey,” he told the girl.

She grinned, bright and unabashedly. “I’m just like Robin because I helped ya!”

Bruce felt a pang of familiar hurt in his heart but schooled his features into gentleness. “Thank you, little Robin.” He produced a cookie from a secret compartment in his belt and pressed it onto her palm.

The girl looked at the cookie with awe and took a bite out of it. “This is the bestest cookies I have ever eaten!” she exclaimed.

Bruce hummed and showed her a sandwich bag of five more cookies but held onto it. “Now, little Robin, care to tell me what you were doing by yourself so late at night?”

She looked at the bag and then back at Bruce again. The girl gulped. “I was tryna look for more easter eggs. In case the Easter Bunny hid some here.”

“Hn. It’s dangerous at night so let’s try to stay inside, okay? I don’t want to see a little Robin hurt.”

The little girl wilted guiltily. “I know, Batman. I’m sorry, I just really like chocolate. And Mummy has work ‘til late and Daddy’s sleeping and he’s always tired so I came by myself. I won’t do it again.”

Bruce pressed the bag into the girl’s hands. “As long as you know.”

He didn’t think much of the encounter for a week and a half until an Arkham breakout benched him with a sprained ankle. Amaya told him that the minor heal potion he’d been making could speed up the recovery but it would take an entire day. It was still significantly better than the natural healing process so Bruce begrudgingly admitted that he actually liked magic.

Anyway, with the unexpected downtime, it suddenly occurred to Bruce that the child was searching for easter eggs which meant that night was Easter which meant it was April.

Bruce usually didn’t think of the date. He cared about it in relation to cases and events but other than that, he lived life not knowing if it was Monday or Thursday or February or September. Dates didn’t make much of a difference in his life. He saw no need to be conscious of it as anything other than a method of establishing timelines. But time does still flow and anniversaries inevitably come around again. Frigid winter gave way to spring, Easter came and went, and before Bruce knew it, it was the last week of April again.

April was arguably the worse month to ever exist. It was supposed to be about spring and life. Instead, April was a harbinger of death and a time for mourning. The month was cursed. Jesus died in April. Bruce’s parents died in April. Jason died in April. Bruce always had bad luck during April too. His favourite ice cream shop closed down for repairs in April. The exclusive Grey Ghost merch he’d been eyeing sold out in April. The criminals got crazier too, as if possessed by the unholy spirit of the devil that April must be.

Needless to say, Bruce hated April. He wished it was never April. He would petition for it to be removed from the calendar but he was afraid no one would accept there being eleven months because eleven was a ridiculous number. (It wasn’t the nice number that ten was nor was it the neat dozen that was twelve. It was stuck in between; the inferior amongst two of the greatest numbers to ever number.) And Calendar Man might actually kill Bruce if he removed an entire month from the calendar. Bruce’s death was a worthy sacrifice if it meant April no longer existed but getting taken out by Calendar Man certainly wasn’t. If he had to die for his sins, Bruce wanted his death to be at least a little dignified.

Inevitably, the last week of April came around and Bruce found himself paralysed with grief. And he mourned. He mourned his parents and the life they could have had. He mourned Jason and the relationship they used to have. What they'll never have again even though Jason was alive again. He mourned and Bruce felt every little bit of the loneliness consuming his soul.

When May came, he picked himself up again and went back to single-mindedly harvesting herbs and practising potion-making. And then the world kept telling him it was Mother’s Day soon and everything came to a stall once more. Bruce spent the day by his mother’s grave with a bouquet of her favourite roses. There were a few others out visiting their mothers, familiar faces Bruce recognised over the years of visiting his parents’ graves. He gave them a respectful nod and politely looked away. These people shielded Bruce from the paparazzi’s scrutiny when he was younger, the least Bruce could do was give them some privacy as they visited their deceased loved ones.

“Happy Mother’s Day. I miss you.”

Bruce placed a rock on his mother’s headstone and left, barely spending more than five minutes at the grave. He never considered this place to be the real resting place of his parents despite them being buried here. As far as Bruce was concerned, his parents’ graves lay in Crime Alley and their spirits inhibited the mausoleum that was Wayne Manor.

Finally, at the tail end of May, Bruce and Amaya finished gathering all the ingredients for the potion. Bruce was a halfway decent potion brewer but still found himself doubting whether or not he could truly succeed.

“I trust you’ll be fine,” Amaya reassured him.

Bruce grunted. He stood in front of the cauldron and threw in herbs in the order he was taught, taking care not to put them in too soon or too late. Potion brewing was an exact science, just like chemistry. Mixing in two herbs that did not interact well before adding in a herb that neutralised that interaction would spoil the entire batch.

When the potion turned blue and let out a fragrant puff of smoke, Bruce knew it was complete. He distilled the liquid and bottled the end result so that he could present it to Amaya for examination.

She grinned, wide and proud. “You’re successful.”

Bruce nodded, relief apparent on his face.

Amaya’s face fell solemnly. She looked every bit the ancient witch she proclaimed herself to be.

“I will remind you that you’ll be cursed upon drinking this potion. It seeks to transform the curse that you will be consuming alongside the potion, hence transforming you too. What exactly you will transform into is unknown and I cannot hope to predict all the side effects that will arise from tempering the curse. None will be inherently dangerous but it will be chaotic, no doubt.”

Bruce grunted. He’d been giving the spiel before. Amaya had been reminding him of this at least once a week since they began working on the potion.

“In one hundred days, the potion will have completed its task, creating a blue gem that will crystallise above your chest. That shall be the key to undoing this curse."

Bruce swirled the potion in his hands. “How long do I have until I must drink the potion?”

"It's best to drink it as soon as possible but you have a week before it loses its effects. I recommend you drink it during the witching hour."

"I understand."

"I cannot guarantee that this will work, Bruce," she warned him once more, eyes gentle and warm, looking at him in a way that no one else has in a very long time. "It's not too late to back out. Gotham will be fine even if you don't do this. Her people are strong."

"They are, but they still shouldn't have to bear this," Bruce told her in a rough voice. He cleared his throat to shake away the fear leaking into it. "I'll do anything I can to help lessen the burden."

"You are of Gotham. She will protect you."

Bruce quirked a tiny smile, putting on a brave face for Amaya. "She always has."

“I’ll see you in a hundred days,” Amaya whispered.

“Yes,” Bruce whispered back. He swiftly left, the roar of the batmobile drowning out what remained of their whispers.

Bruce went back to the Batcave, returning to a deafening silence that didn’t actually exist. The cave had always been home to plenty of ambient noises. It echoed with the chittering of the roosting bats overhead, the humming of the numerous high-tech machinery and the drip drop of water from the stalactites.

Not today. Today Bruce exited the Batmobile to a silent cave. He couldn’t hear anything over his thundering thoughts and the steadily rising tempo of his heart.

Bruce had dedicated his heart and soul to Gotham, something like this, something as minor as this, was nothing compared to the suffering and anguish he may be able to spare his city. Yet, he was still hesitating, staring at the blue vial in his hands as if it was deadly poison and not the antidote he had worked tirelessly to create.

He could do this. This was nothing. Bruce had taken on fear gas and joker toxins. He could handle a brief period of not being himself. He could do it – if it meant Gotham and her people could breathe a little easier, he’d do it over and over again.

He placed the vial carefully on his desk and opened up his emails for Bruce Wayne and Batman. He had drafted the emails when they had first started harvesting herbs and had slowly been making preparations for his hundred-day-long ‘sabbatical’. Vague comments and allusions to his younger years spent travelling incognito alongside a slow withdrawal from all his responsibilities had ensured that Bruce wouldn’t be questioned when he stopped participating in society. He wouldn’t be inconveniencing anyone by suddenly not being there either.

He was ready to disappear. Just a click of the mouse and Bruce was free to be a ghost for as long as he wanted.

He clicked send.

Bruce slumped back against his chair as if all his energy was instantaneously drained from him. All from the simple act of clicking a button.

He took a moment to gather himself and pulled up the messages on his phone. He had no new messages. Of course he didn’t. The last texts he received were all from his children and they were text messages rejecting his lunch invites because they were too busy and had prior engagements.

Bruce understood. He really did. But it still would have been nice to spend some time with his children before he disappeared for a hundred days.

(He shouldn’t feel this upset about it. Bruce had been incommunicado with them for longer periods before. It was the norm as of late. This occasion was no different even though it oddly felt more final.)

Right as the clock turned three, Bruce removed his suit piece by piece with a reverence he seldom felt. The procedure was unintentionally ceremonious. The motions he had been going through for the last twenty years became a ritual and though he was the celebrant, Bruce felt more like the sacrificial lamb about to be surrendered to the mercy of the Gods.

With the suit neatly back in its display case, Bruce finally uncorked the vial of the potion. This was it. The moment of truth.

He raised the vial to his lips… Here’s to hoping. Bruce downed the liquid.

It tasted of nothing and everything all at once. Liquid flames scorched his throat as he swallowed, roasting his body from within and burning relentlessly with sadistic glee. Bruce dropped the vial to the ground and hunched over, clutching his chest. It was excruciating.

The fire spread to his chest and beyond. It felt like his heart was no longer his own, throwing itself against the side of his ribs, twisting and fighting to escape its fleshy mortal prison. His vision blurred and the persistent headache in his head grew until it felt like he was Zeus giving birth to Athena. He was melting and dissolving into nothing. Bruce couldn’t help it. He fell to the ground screaming.

Ace came running. The loyal hound had been worried since he came back, sensing Bruce’s anxiety and tried to no avail to comfort him. He sniffed disdainfully at the fallen vial and proceeded to ignore it. Ace barked and growled loudly to scare off the intruders that were obviously the cause of this but found no one.

Ace whined. Bruce was still screaming.

Bruce clawed his way into wakefulness and opened his eyes to Ace’s head resting on his arm. He ran his trembling hands through his buddy’s fur and snuggled closer to the dog’s warmth. His body still felt muscle-less, a puddle of gooey flesh shaped into a human form.

“Ruff!” Ace excitedly licked Bruce’s sweaty face and nuzzled against his hand for pets.

Bruce let out a rusty chuckle and hugged his little friend before freezing. He raised his hands to his face and marvelled at the sight of his drooping sleeves. He had prepared himself for no longer being him but no, Bruce was still himself, just a younger version. He became a child again! In both body and mind.

It was as if nine-year-old Bruce was transported into the future with all of Adult Bruce’s skills and knowledge. In fact, adult Bruce’s memories felt like future memories and in an instant, nine-year-old Bruce knew exactly what kind of man he grew up to become.

Tears poured unbidden from his eyes and hateful sobs wracked his body. Ace let out a long keen and Bruce hugged him tighter. “Sorry Ace, I’m just tired,” he apologised.

Bruce was a failure. A failure of a son, a failure of a friend and a failure of a father. He was a man that was simultaneously too much and too little. Obsessive, controlling and paranoid. Absent, unavailable and inadequate. Bruce was a flawed and broken man and he knew it but still did nothing to change himself.

His future self was exactly what he always thought he’d be. Alone.

Too caught up in The Mission, Bruce allowed himself to drive away all the people he loved. He was alone in a hell of his own making with no one to blame but himself. Bruce was fated to die a lonely death and was both blessed and cursed with the knowledge that no one would miss him when he was gone.

The second time Bruce woke up, he was considerably less tired and much calmer. His tears had long dried, leaving swollen red eyes and a hoarse throat in their wake. Ace was resting against his chest, keeping him grounded. Bruce took in three deep breaths and sat up.

He cringed at the feeling of cold sweat glueing his undersuit to his body. “Computer, what time is it?”

“It is 1:39 pm,” the Batcomputer answered in its synthesised voice.

So he slept through the night. The most he’s slept in recent memory; both nine-year-old Bruce and adult Bruce were not very good at staying asleep. Turns out that crying yourself to sleep worked wonders for insomnia though. Emotional catharsis and a good night's rest all in one.

Bruce shakingly stood up and stretched his still sore muscles. He had been magically shrunk and spent the night on the cave floor so it was no surprise that every little movement sent a stabbing pain throughout his body. He staggered forward and Ace immediately followed to support him. The big dog came up to his chest in height and was more than able to support his entire weight. Bruce might even be able to ride him like a horse.

He took another step forward and groaned before he could stop himself as more pangs of hurt assaulted his body. Bruce took in a composing breath and looked to Ace with a put-upon grin. “Do you think you can carry me to the bathroom?”

Ace let out a bark and crouched down as if to tell Bruce to get on. More than a little stunned, Bruce let himself fall down on top of Ace and the dog stood up, walking in the direction of the Batcave’s bathroom. Once again, Bruce marvelled at the uncanny intelligence of his dog. He had never taught him those commands yet Ace had understood them and was able to so easily carry them out. Then again, he shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Ace was the Bathound; he’s beyond special.

“Good boy, Ace.” Bruce patted his dog on the head and let out a giggle at the answering bark.

The Batcave’s bathroom had a high-pressure shower and a large bath with an assortment of bath salts. Naturally, Bruce directed Ace to the bathtub, too exhausted to even consider standing under the shower for any period of time. He adjusted the heat of the water and sprinkled in some chamomile-scented bath salt. Finally, Bruce tore off his undersuit with much difficulty and melted into the bath with a relieved sigh.

Something interesting to note was that he no longer had the multitudes of scars that decorated his body. Bruce had never seen his skin so… flawless before. Well, he wouldn’t exactly call his scars flaws – there were quite a few that his edgy teenage self might call cool – but they weren’t exactly pretty either and were a constant reminder of near-deaths and unspeakable trauma.

He wondered if the potion did more than just shrink him; did it somehow remake his body?

After a good hour dedicated to mulling over his new situation in the bathtub, Bruce’s muscles were well and truly relaxed and his skin was beyond wrinkled.

He looked to the right. Usually, Alfred would set aside a bathrobe for-

Oh. Right. Alfred wasn’t here. He wasn’t Bruce’s butler anymore.

It felt like it was just yesterday when Alfred had wiped away his tears and promised to never leave him. That had been at the funeral over thirty years ago. Bruce remembered clinging onto the promise even as he spent sleepless nights at his Uncle Philip’s house. The current Bruce no longer had the luxury.

I hope you live a very long life, Mister Wayne. Goodbye, Sir. Bruce did not know what hurt more, that Alfred had called him Mister Wayne or that even after he quit, he never gave him the honour of being just Bruce to the man he considered a father.

(He knew that butlers call their young charges Master – Mister was for adults – but Alfred had always called him Master even after he matured into adulthood. He had a love-hate relationship with the address but Alfred transitioning to mister the moment he resigned was something Bruce had never prepared himself for. It had hurt more than the stab wound he had gotten the night before.)

Bruce scoffed despite himself, something bitter and pained that a child should not have been able to make. Fathers don’t turn in resignation notices. Then again, what did Bruce know about fathers? He was an insane child that grew up to become an insane man. He knew nothing about fathers. He just knew that there were no fathers in his life.

Alfred wasn’t a father. Sure, he raised Bruce from childhood well into adulthood and Bruce selfishly considered the man his father but Alfred was first and foremost the Wayne family butler. Bruce’s parents made it Alfred’s job to raise their heir and ever-loyal Alfred never willingly disobeyed an order, even when it came from the dead. So, no, Bruce was not Alfred’s son. He was Master Bruce, always Master, and Alfred was the Wayne family butler.

It was only a matter of time before he resigned and Bruce had always secretly braced himself for it. Still, it didn’t make it hurt any less when it finally did happen.

Bruce wasn’t a father. The kids were his children but Bruce was aware that it was one-sided. He was never their dad. He had been told as such many times before, often after screaming matches that resulted in his children storming out of his life once more. Bruce didn’t earn the title and though a boy called him father, he knew it was more formality than anything, an acknowledgement of one’s progenitor and nothing else.

The most Bruce could call himself was ‘mentor’ and even that was shaky at best. It seemed like Dick had taken even that role away from him.

Bruce hissed at himself. It was his own inadequacies that were to blame. He refused to place even the slightest bit of blame on his son, especially considering Dick had nothing to be sorry for. Bruce wasn’t good so Dick simply stepped up.

Drops of tears fell into the water and Bruce vehemently scrubbed them away with a scoff.

The self-pity was more than pathetic and quite frankly despicable. Bruce was… lonely, he would admit to that at least. However, he would not blame others for his solitude nor would he force companionship on other people. He knew he was not a very likeable man. He was all barbs and razor wire, an all-around asshole and a certified bitch.

There was a reason he was alone and that reason hasn’t disappeared along with his height.

Bruce emptied the bathtub and staggered over to the cabinet where his bathrobes were stored. His favourite fluffy magenta robe was comically large on him, sagging from his shoulders and dragging on the floor like a wedding gown. He looked like a child playing dress up, a fitting metaphor for how he felt most days.

Be it the tailored suits of the playboy Brucie or the kevlar armour of the Gotham Bat, Bruce was always wearing clothes that felt too big for him, always playing a role that encompassed more than just Bruce. Perhaps this time his role was a ghost or relic from the past. He sure felt like a spectre haunting the manor.

As his thoughts veered towards unwelcome territory once more, Bruce whistled a sharp two-tone tune that told Ace it was time to eat.

Ace barked excitedly and ran circles around his feet, causing Bruce to stumble and fall onto Ace’s back. As Bruce steadied himself, Ace bolted towards the lift, slamming the button Bruce had built for the dog on a slow day with his paw. Bruce patted his companion indulgently and properly saddled Ace’s back, humming as he rode his way to the kitchen.

Adult Bruce had made a chicken caesar salad for dinner yesterday but he hadn’t felt like eating much so three-quarters of the meal was still in the fridge. It was more than enough to feed the current Bruce, considering his much smaller stature. Ace, the clever dog, led him directly in front of the fridge and Bruce opened it without getting off of him. After Bruce got his meal, he directed Ace to his food bowl and sat down next to it. Bruce pressed the button that released kibbles into the bowl and patted Ace on the head.

“Let’s have fun for the next hundred days, Ace.”

At the ensuing bark, Bruce grinned and rewarded Ace with a slice of chicken.

Chapter Text

Bruce sat there on the floor beside Ace’s food bowl for a long while, his empty plate placed beside him. Truthfully speaking, he thought he would turn into a cat or a bat or even a hedgehog so he made no preparations for turning back into his, well, his nine-year-old self.

He had no trouble adapting to being a child again because despite being thirty-nine and six foot two just yesterday, the yesterday that Bruce also remembers is the yesterday of thirty years ago. He remembered being nine and going to the library and spending the entire day absorbed in books, the quiet chatter, and the turning of pages.

(He felt like the boy he was so many years ago and then reflected upon himself and wondered if he ever really stopped being that boy. Sometimes, it felt like Bruce was just better adept at hiding from everyone, including himself.)

Bruce wasn’t looking forward to being a cat or anything but Amaya said he reminded her of a cat and that it would be funny if he turned into a cat since he was Batman so he just, you know, thought the universe was enough of an asshole to make it happen. And when you plan around being a cat, you don’t give yourself any responsibilities and essentially prepare to disappear off the face of the Earth. In other words, Bruce had nothing to do.

He hadn’t had over an hour to himself in a very long time.

Ace nudged his head against Bruce’s shoulder and dropped his leash in Bruce’s lap. He sat down in front of him and waited patiently, tongue lolling out of his mouth and tail wagging behind him. Bruce stared at Ace and cocked his head to the side. Ace mimicked him, looking a thousand times more adorable doing it.

The now-boy held his dog’s face in both hands and scratched behind his ears. “I’ll need to get changed but I’ll be right with you,” he told Ace.

Bruce’s life largely centred around his work – Wayne Enterprises, Wayne Foundation and Batman – and even as a child, he obsessed over being better and getting justice for his parents but this––he still had This, he supposed.

(A part of him remembered that even now, thirty-one years later, his parents’ case was still unsolved and it stung to know that the very thing that started all this – the reason Bruce prowled Gotham at night – was yet another bullet point in the ever-growing list of things and people Bruce has failed. He couldn’t help but wonder if he—)

He gave Ace another pat on the head and picked up his dirty plate, doing a full body stretch as he stood up. It was a bit surreal to think that if it were yesterday’s him, Adult Bruce with bits of metal pinning his skeleton together, his joints would be cracking and popping, protesting and relishing the stretch at the same time. It was strange, to say the least, to be so affected yet untouched by events he could so clearly remember occurring.

Then again, the most impactful ones were never quite physical.

Bruce cleaned his dishes and headed to the attic, walking fast enough for his bathrobe to billow behind him like a cape. His clothes from his childhood were all kept in the attic. Neither Bruce nor Alfred could bear to get rid of the clothes his mother bought him so they were packed away in neat boxes, stacked unobtrusively in the corner. The clothes that Bruce brought back with him from Uncle Philip’s were also stored up there, not for their sentimental value but because Bruce hid them up there and Alfred simply let him.

Bruce easily found his clothes from when he was nine. They were still in the suitcase from when Bruce had thrown it up in the attic. He wasn’t sure how to feel knowing that Alfred hadn’t touched it after all this time. (Two years with his Uncle Philip and all he had to show for it was one measly suitcase; everything crammed in there, hidden away, never to be opened, never to be unpacked.)

He unzipped the suitcase and sniffed the first shirt he found. It still smelt of fresh laundry, courtesy of the enchantment cast over the entire manor, so Bruce dragged the suitcase with him to his bedroom and dug out an entire outfit, complete with socks and shoes. He put the rest away on an empty self in his wardrobe, finally unpacking his suitcase almost thirty years later.

(There were a pair of fake glasses buried under a sweater and when Bruce found it, he gave pause and placed it almost reverentially on the shelf. It was easy to forget who you were once upon a time when all reminders were hidden away. Fortunately for Bruce, he had become that person again.)

Bruce changed and looked at his reflection in the mirror. He wore a white collared shirt under his black sweater vest, paired with black shorts, white socks and equally unassuming black shoes. It made Bruce look every bit like the prim and proper ‘Prince of Gotham’ the media touted him as. He was always dressed in preppy clothes – no printed tops with his favourite cartoons or silly drawings – so that he upheld the image that befitted the influence and wealth his family held in Gotham.

Even after his parents passed, Bruce maintained the style and continued to purchase clothing that suited the image they created for him.

Of Bruce’s children, it was Damian that dressed most similarly. The boy had preferred looking neat and smart, naturally gravitating to the same type of clothes that Bruce wore in his youth. Damian had worn the same outfit Bruce currently wore once, he recalled, only instead of shorts, he wore trousers and had tied his katana to his belt.

Looking at his reflection now and thinking back to his baby boy, Bruce could see his image overlap with Damian’s. It was only now that Bruce could recognise how much they really resembled one another.

Damian had his mother’s eyes, nose and rich skin tone but he shared with Bruce Martha Wayne’s ears and Thomas Wayne’s square jaw. They had inherited the same unruly black locks that transformed into a bird’s nest if you didn’t care for it well and smallness that he wouldn’t grow out of until his teenage years. Damian must’ve just started his growth spurt because the last time Adult Bruce saw him, his son had shot up from waist height to chest height.

Bruce tore his gaze away from his reflection and walked out of his room. He had to take Ace out for a walk and maybe they’ll play in the garden for a few hours to make up for the recent bout of inactivity. Yeah, that sounded like a plan. They’ll run around and wrestle for it a bit and help Bruce get a better sense of his body. He did know how to fight at this age but Bruce was a much better combatant now. Playing with Ace would help him figure out his limits and adapt his fighting style from Batman to Robin. (Help keep his mind off the family he no longer had.)

He whistled one long tune followed quickly by a short tune. As always, Ace ran up to him with his leash in his mouth, his feet making pattering sounds against the hardwood floor. The boy accepted the leash and clipped it onto Ace’s collar despite not needing it; they were only going out to the manor grounds and maybe exploring the woods for a while. Still, Ace liked the leash so Bruce complied and holding onto the leash, he stepped out into the garden.

It was a lovely day today by Gotham’s standards. Sunny but cloudy enough that the late spring sun didn’t quite manage to raise the temperature above somewhere between warm and hot.

A good few hours later, Bruce giggled with delight as Ace tackled him to the ground and licked his face all over. The grass was nice and soft under his body and a cool breeze danced around in a flutter of joy. Bruce felt like he could just close his eyes and sleep, staying here in this moment forever. The world felt so warm and bright and beautiful; it felt like everything was going to be alright for once.

Bruce stared at his phone. He should probably call Amaya, right? They hadn’t made any plans beyond laying low for a hundred days because they thought Bruce wouldn’t be able to communicate but he was still human right now. He may not be able to go see her because of the magic but he could call or text.

(Was he allowed to speak to her?)

Call me any time you’d like. Any time. Keep this old lady company, won’t you?

That’s what Amaya told him and she seemed to enjoy it when Bruce randomly dropped by on his walks with Ace outside of their usual Friday meetings. So, she’ll be happy to hear from Bruce, right? If anything, Amaya might be interested to hear that Bruce was nine now and not a cat as they suspected.

Bruce shifted his weight from side to side and made a decision.

“Bruce–?”

“Amaya,” Bruce softly greeted.

“Hmm? Your voice sounds higher pitched. Are you perhaps a woman now or younger?”

“I’m nine years old. In body and mind.”

Amaya chuckled, warm and kind. It soothed some nerves in him that he hadn’t realised were unsettled. “Well, that’s certainly more convenient than being a cat. Shame though, I think you would have made a handsome kitty.”

Bruce let his lips form a pout because he knew Amaya couldn’t see him. “I still don’t think I’m particularly cat-like.”

“Oh, honey” – Bruce hated that tone when it came from anyone else; it was awfully patronising and people loved to patronise Brucie, but Amaya used it in such a motherly manner that it instead ignited a flame in Bruce’s chest, making it flutter with a long lost emotion – “I slow-blinked at you once and you blinked back.”

“That’s Selina’s fault,” Bruce grumbled. “She makes me do it to all her cats and I fell into the habit.”

Come to think of it, Selina once told him that he should have called himself Catman but he thought it was because she was obsessed with cat themes. Maybe Selina thought he was cat-like too… Actually, that would explain a lot about their relationship.

Thinking back to Selina, Bruce sort of missed her. (He missed her a lot.) He hadn’t seen her since late last year and last he heard, she had been causing havoc at the British Museum. But, well, it was fortunate that she wasn’t in Gotham because Selina had a habit of dropping by unannounced to make use of his TV. Sometimes, she even brought Ivy and Harley with her and forced him into their girls’ night slumber parties.

He was glad she hadn’t done that while Bruce was preparing to break the curse. He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain it without people questioning if he’s lost it again.

Now though… Bruce had already done the stupid thing and there was no going back now so maybe it was okay for Selina to visit again. She probably wouldn’t mind the fact that he was a child at the moment. It wasn’t like it changed much about their relationship.

He shelved the thought away for later and focused his attention on his conversation with Amaya.

“Since you’re a child again, your clothes must not fit you anymore. Did anyone buy you some kids' clothes?”

Bruce leaned back against Ace and stared up at the ceiling. Amaya was under the false impression that Bruce didn’t live alone and Bruce wasn’t inclined to correct her. Maybe she wouldn’t have been so nonchalant about it all if she knew he was a child living alone. People usually disapproved of that.

“I had some old clothes in the attic. They’re still in good condition,” he told her instead.

“Oh, you did tell me about that magic spell on your manor,” Amaya recalled.

Bruce nodded but remembered that Amaya couldn’t see him and hummed in the affirmative.

His great-grandfather was friends with a witch and had paid for a preservation spell to be cast over Wayne Manor. It kept everything inside nice and dust-free though it didn’t do anything about tidiness so the Waynes still employed cleaning staff to keep everything in order.

Bruce found out about it through reading his journal and realised that it had an expiry date. Thankfully, he found out in the nick of time and asked Zatanna to keep the spell going for another hundred years or potentially more.

“It won’t interfere with the spell, will it?” Bruce hadn’t felt anything odd thus far but it didn’t hurt to ask.

“No, it’s fine. It’s like that blanket I gave you. It’s very much yours now and so the potion won’t interact adversely with it.”

“That’s a relief.” Bruce loved the blanket Amaya gave him. Not only was it the only actual present anyone gave him that year but it was also exactly as advertised: always warm, always the right size, and always smelt like herbs that Bruce associated with safety and comfort. It was perfect.

“Be sure to take advantage of your newfound youth. Eat a lot, play a lot, and sleep a lot. And take care of yourself.”

“I will,” Bruce promised.

The thing about Ace is that he is a Good Boy but he is also a Bat. The Bathound shared the persistent trait that every Bat held dear to their hearts and made it their personal mission to prove to everyone else. That is to say, Ace was a Good Boy but he was also a Little Shit. A manipulative little shit that knew exactly what he was doing and getting away with it.

It was something Bruce didn’t realise for the first few weeks because, really, Ace was a Good Boy and only very subtly a Little Shit.

Ace rarely ever deployed the gremlin residing in his heart and mostly showed his devious side when it came to food. He didn’t like to eat alone – which Bruce didn’t like to think about because he met Ace as a stray on the streets – and simply refused to eat at all if he had to eat alone. Bruce learnt this the hard way when he filled Ace’s food bowl and the dog refused to touch it for hours until Bruce finally remembered that he should eat too.

Embarrassingly, it happened three more times before Bruce realised that he had to prepare a meal for himself first before Ace would even consider eating. (Sadly, Ace didn’t consider protein shakes proper meals.) The dog even watched Bruce take a bite before eating as well! Truly a manipulative shithead. Bruce was being tricked into eating every day by his own dog. Unbelievable. Bruce loved Ace so goddamn much.

As always, in order to satisfy his demanding dog, Bruce got started on cooking dinner. He pushed a chair in front of the kitchen counter and began to prepare a simple Filipino-style spaghetti. He was pretty limited in his options considering the lack of ingredients in the fridge but Bruce attempted to make it a more balanced meal by chopping some onions and carrots to add to the sweet tomato-drenched sausages and minced beef sauce. No amount of carrots would be able to offset the insane amount of cheese he added to the mix though.

Bruce hadn’t cooked much before when he was actually nine but the memories and skills of his adult self guided his actions and he had to admit, the end product looked rather appetising. He plated his cheese-piled pasta prettily and whistled sharply two times. Ace came running over, tail wagging excitedly behind him, waiting for Bruce to press the button (that Ace could easily press himself) and dispense his kibbles.

Bruce pressed the button and waited for Ace to eat. Ace did not. Bruce huffed and climbed back into his seat at the kitchen island and took a bite out of his pasta, making sure Ace could see him as he did so. Finally, Ace began to eat, the crunch crunch of the kibbles echoing in the kitchen.

As Bruce twirled his pasta around his fork, he thought back to the cooking journey that resulted in this plate of spaghetti.

The first time he cooked was when he was just six years old, sneaking into the kitchen in the middle of the night with his mother. They had giggled all the way there, shushing each other loudly lest they woke Alfred and suffer his Eyebrow of Judgement^™.

Bruce’s mother had sliced some chicken and bell peppers while Bruce cracked and beat three eggs. The result was a half-cooked, half-burnt omelette that was crunchy with egg shells and remarkably sweet from the thirty grams of sugar Bruce added. It tasted terrible. It was also the second-best omelette Bruce had ever eaten. Just narrowly beaten by the perfect chicken and cheese and bell pepper omelette Alfred cooked the next morning. (Alfred was also a Bat. A bonafide Little Shit.)

There weren’t a lot of opportunities for Bruce to cook, or even learn how to cook, but he grew up watching Alfred putter about the kitchen, making this and that, so Bruce had theoretical knowledge of most of Alfred’s recipes. It was through trial and error that Bruce managed to replicate the taste of Alfred’s cooking during his years away from home. He naturally added to his repertoire with every country he travelled with dreams of sharing them with his beloved butler but upon returning, Bruce had been too shy to even suggest it.

It seemed silly now that he thought about it. Alfred had proudly accepted all of Bruce’s crayon drawings and shoddily made cards, he would have gladly eaten anything Bruce cooked for him, even if it were burnt and under-seasoned (which it wouldn’t have been because Bruce is a good cook).

Bruce wondered why he liked to torture himself by constantly thinking ‘what ifs’ about things that will never happen.

The sun set long ago but it had only just dawned on Bruce that he was nine years old and in the manor alone. It wasn’t that Bruce had never spent the night alone as a child but he’s never experienced it in Wayne Manor. Alfred had always been around.

Alfred wasn’t here right now.

Bruce rocked back and forth uneasily. He should be used to this – he was – but things were so much bigger and scarier when you were young and small. The shadows looked alive and every creaking noise was an intruder looking to kill him. Bruce wasn’t allowed to die right now, not for a hundred days.

(He wondered if the potion would still take effect on his body after his death. Would he die a boy or would his body shift back to the man he was supposed to be? Perhaps the potion will continue to temper the curse within Bruce’s corpse and Amaya would be able to use the resulting gem to free Gotham from its poisonous clutches. It was a discomforting thought. Bruce had to live through the hundred days.)

It was because he was still adjusting, Bruce decided. Because ‘yesterday’, Bruce was living at his Uncle Philip’s house and he was used to the emptiness that elongated shadows into haunting figures and amplified every little sound. The emptiness of Wayne Manor was an all-consuming nothingness: bleak silence and static shadows. It felt like nothing was alive – nothing was real and there was no telling dream from reality.

Adult Bruce had grown accustomed to the deadness. Nine-year-old Bruce just needed a little more time.

To combat his uneasiness, Bruce made a list. Lists were magical things that grabbed abstract, blurry concepts by the throat and forced them to be coherent by slamming them on paper. Bruce loved lists. Even lists that weren’t actually lists but rather a series of half-formed ideas and thoughts vomited on paper, or as Alfred called them, a brainstorm in bullet point form. Still, Bruce liked lists so he called them lists anyway.

Situation

• Currently 9 years old
  *9 in mind and body
  *I have all of 39YO Bruce’s memories
• Have nothing to do because I thought I will turn into a cat/bat/hedgehog
  *I told Babs that I wouldn’t be available at all so I can’t solve cases
  *I told Lucius that I won’t be doing WE work so I can’t do that either
• Have an unplanned hundred-day vacation
  *Amaya said I could leave Gotham but there might be side effects
  *Unsure what the side effects will be but likely to not be dangerous and assured to be temporary
  *What do people do on vacations?
  —> Answer: whatever they want
  
• Paused grocery service because as far as the world is concerned, Bruce Wayne is overseas and no one is home
  *Need to buy groceries in a few days
  *Need transport
  —> Have unfinished R-cycle in cave
  —> Can repurpose
  —> Add dog seat for Ace
  




---




It was a pretty solid list that did a good job of summarising his situation, Bruce thought. He was a nine-year-old living alone with nothing to do. That was pretty much it.

Bruce inclined his head. Speaking of another child home alone, Kevin seemed to have life figured out. Maybe Bruce could watch the movie again and figure out what to do with himself. Aside from the B&E that Bruce did not have to worry about (Wayne Manor was heavily secured), that boy took care of himself really well – actually, he took care of the bandits pretty well too.

This was not at all an excuse to re-watch Home Alone for the twelfth time. Bruce just needed some inspiration.

He squirrelled away to the home theatre, making a pit stop at his room to retrieve his blanket, and pressed play. Amazingly, his blanket that was ‘just right’ as an adult was still ‘just right’ as a child. It had shrunk to match his bulk and Bruce didn’t have to deal with any excess fabric. It was fascinating and made Bruce love the gift even more.




---




So, Bruce had watched Home Alone again and Kevin did whatever the fuck he wanted so Bruce was going to do whatever the fuck he wanted too. He was going to watch TV and more movies, swing around in the gymnasium, game all day and night, play the piano at 3 am, make a robot for no reason, sketch random things, paint, and climb on the fucking chandelier.

(A part of him was tempted to recreate all the traps Kevin built but he had no bandits to entrap so he refrained from doing so.)

Bruce was going to do everything he wanted to because Bruce was nine and home alone in a manor that belonged to him and the only adult supervision around (he used to be thirty-nine, and totally counted as adult supervision).

To make sure he remembered this in the morning, Bruce added his goal to his journal entry for the night.

‘Have fun,’ he wrote, ‘It’s a vacation.’

He yawned and rubbed at his eyes. Tomorrow. Bruce will get started on his plan to do everything his heart desires tomorrow. For now, he slipped into his excessively large bed and made a burrito of his blankets. When he settled, Ace lay down beside him and Bruce wriggled closer to him.

“Good night, Ace.”

One day down. Ninety-nine to go.

Chapter Text

Bruce stabbed at his omelette with a fork and hummed pensively. It was 11 am. He had already walked Ace and played with him in the garden for an hour. Bruce had the entire day ahead of him to do anything he liked. The question was, what did he want to do?

He kicked his legs and they made thump-thump sounds against the kitchen island, acting as the beat to his humming.

He could go down to the cave and get started on finishing that bike he started making a long time ago. It had originally been a gift for Damian but, well, after Bruce came back from his involuntary trip across time, he came back to find that Dick had taken care of Damian’s transportation issue. There didn’t seem to be a point in finishing the bike so it lay abandoned for, hmm, three years now? No. Damian was nine when Bruce drew up the blueprints. He was now fourteen.

Bruce kept kicking his feet in tandem with his humming.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to work with motor oil and grease in his current clothing. The only clothes that fit Bruce were nice clothes made to be presentable. The clothes he was allowed to dirty had long since been thrown out and Bruce really didn’t want to ruin the only clothes he had that fit the current him.

Bruce brought his knees up to his chest and twirled the fork in his hand.

He supposed he could refill his cookie jar. His sugar intake was bound to increase and, well, Bruce needed to reward himself because he’d been ‘so brave’. (He could hear voices from his past overlapping, people commending him for his bravery when all he did was stand frozen as his parents were murdered before his eyes. It hadn’t felt like bravery; it was paralysing fear and an overwhelming sense of ineptitude and shame, a constant barrage of ‘what if’ and ‘my fault’. It felt like failure and bitter guilt.) Bruce decided the best way to treat himself was to eat as many cookies as he wanted. He could make chocolate chip cookies, peanut butter cookies and white chocolate macadamia cookies! Bruce was salivating just thinking of it.

He polished off the remainder of his omelette and hopped off his chair.

Oh, now that he thought about it, he did have clothes down in the cave consigned for messy work. They had irremovable stains and repaired cuts that were no longer presentable, fated to get dirtier and more worn-torn that they’ll no longer be fit for even rags. Bruce could wear those as an apron of sorts.

The boy hummed. His mind was already set on cookies. Not even the allure of his beloved bikes could lead him away from cookie paradise. He could work on the bike after he finished baking.

He walked over to the pantry with a skip in his step and dug out a bag of plain flour, brown sugar, regular sugar, baking powder and whatever else he needed for the cookies. He didn’t have any chocolate chips or nuts so unfortunately, he’ll only be able to make the peanut butter ones. That’s alright though, Bruce could just make them another time!

He was out of practice anyway, and though he knew the recipes off by heart because they were Alfred’s cookies and Bruce loved Alfred’s cookies, he knew he had to bake a few batches before they truly began even remotely to taste as good. Of course, even his best were merely poor imitations but Alfred had resigned so they were the next best thing.

Bruce preheated the oven and hummed a jaunty tune to himself as he pushed a chair to the counter where the scales were. He climbed onto the chair and placed a metal mixing bowl on the scales, calibrating it so that it read zero.

Bruce could remember asking Alfred – when he was six and the greatest mysteries in the world concerned the strange magic Alfred performed in the kitchen – why he weighed his ingredients instead of using measuring cups. Alfred had told him scales gave more consistent and accurate measurements than volume. He let Bruce weigh the flour and when Bruce had accidentally overpoured it by a large margin, Alfred said, Though it wouldn’t hurt to use both in tandem. Then he proceeded to scoop out the excess flour and put it back in the bag.

Bruce wanted Alfred to know that he could do it now. He felt a little silly about it; what kind of grown man was so proud of being able to do basic baking? He built the Batmobile for Gotham’s sake and this is what he wanted to show off?

What was he even going to say? ‘Hey, Alfred, I can bake halfway decent cookies now so can we maybe bake together sometime?’ Stupid. A kid asking someone out on a date for prom sounded less dumb. Not that Bruce ever went to prom or invited anyone out on a date. But he’d watched enough movies to know what it looked like.

“Ruff.” Ace sat on the floor and looked up at Bruce with big round eyes, tongue lolled and tail wagging behind him. He sniffed exaggeratingly at the air and not so subtly stared at the open jar of peanut butter in Bruce’s hand.

Bruce grinned. “Let me measure it first, buddy, then you can have a spoonful.”

Ace barked in agreement and waited patiently by Bruce’s chair/stool for his peanut butter tax. His hopeful eyes staring up at Bruce did not at all influence him to speed up the process. Baking, just like potion brewing and chemistry, was an exact science and science was not to be rushed, not even by puppy dog eyes.

…Bruce was now wondering if this was why Alfred had always looked vaguely amused when he would watch him bake, waiting to lick the spoon when Alfred was done with it.

He stifled a chuckle and measured out his 250g of peanut butter before scooping a spoonful of it for Ace. His loyal companion’s eyes shone with excitement and chowed down on it like it was the first time he had ever eaten something so delicious. It was adorable. It was an appreciation for the simple things in life that Bruce wished he had. Or, well, that Bruce wished Adult Bruce would let himself have, he supposed.

He combined all his ingredients into a dough and rolled that dough into balls, pressing them down onto the parchment paper with a fork and creating criss cross marks with it. Bruce slid his tray into the oven, set the time, and then sat down in front of the oven to watch it bake. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about watching them cook in the oven, but Bruce liked seeing the oven turn on and off as it maintained its internal temperature of 350F. It was captivating, like watching flames dance, only he was just watching the oven light turn on and off every minute or so as he hummed to himself and observed as the cookies turn from a pale brown to a caramel colour.

Ding.

Bruce grinned and took the tray out with oven mitts, relishing in the sweet aroma wafting from the cookies. He was tempted to eat them right away but knew from experience that not only would they be too hot, but they were also too soft to eat. He had to cool them down first and then transfer them onto a cooling rack for them to harden.

Baking really was a test of patience. No wonder Alfred was so adept at putting up with Bruce. He could never be more frustrating than baking.

(Lies. People liked baking. No one liked Bruce.)

While the cookies cooled, Bruce skipped down to the cave and rushed into the locker room, Ace dogging (heh) his every step. He shucked off his sweater and… oh. There was a small shirt hiding in the back, yellow but stained with grease and blue and red paint. A dinosaur on a skateboard was printed on the shirt but someone had grabbed a sharpie and drew monocles and a top hat on the dinosaur. He put it on. It was still big on Bruce but it was only the level of baggy, not drowning in fabric. It was nice. Bruce liked it, stained as it was.

He walked out of the locker room and headed towards the workshop. Behind the workshop was a super secret workshop that Bruce used to make dangerous things like gifts that no one was supposed to know about yet. Inside the workshop were a few (understatement of the year) tools and weapons that Bruce never managed to gift, including the skeletons of the motorbike for Damian.

Since Bruce was small now, he couldn’t drive a car around (even if they were self-driving, a child in the driver seat drew more attention than necessary) and the bike was perfect for someone of his height. He could use it to go to the city and get groceries and clothes for himself that held no sentimental value. Bruce nodded to himself and rolled the bike out of the SS workshop (it wasn’t a gift anymore so it didn’t belong there).

He felt rather excited to be able to work with his tools again. Bruce had always loved cars and mechanical work. His father taught him how to fix a car actually – he was seven and a charity gala was cancelled unexpectedly. They had spent the entire evening tinkering away at the car’s engine and he loved every second of it.

He adored taking machinery apart to figure out its inner workings and building them back up again piece by piece. Bruce especially loved building his own technology from scratch, knowing intimately how each part worked and what would happen if he removed a tiny piece and how to fix it in case of emergencies.

The kid hummed as he spent the entire day working on the bike and had just started making a seat for Ace when the dog nipped at the back of Bruce’s shirt.

Bruce pursed his lips at the interruption. He was repurposing an old go-kart and–

“Ruff.”

Oh. Right. Dinner. He had to start making dinner and to do that, he’ll have to wash off all the grease on his face and hands, which took forever, and that added with cooking and eating time meant that it would take way too long for Bruce to be able to get back to his bike.

Bruce groaned. He wanted to finish the bike today! The boy sighed. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Alfred wouldn’t approve but he wasn’t here so he had no say in this. Wait. Fuck. Brucie was supposed to be on vacation. Nooooooo. Goodbye delivery pizza, goodbye everything beautiful in this world.

“Ruff!”

“!! You’re right, Ace. The world is still a beautiful place.”

Adult Bruce had kept it for a rainy day but hidden in a secret freezer was a box of dinosaur chicken nuggets, aka, the best invention in the world. Bruce was never allowed to eat many processed foods when he was a child but Adult Bruce controlled his own finances and made sure to buy his favourite guilty pleasure at least once a month.

(Yes, he still hides them, much like he still conceals incomplete gifts and secret passions. He hides them because even though Bruce knows he lives alone in this too-big mansion and there is no one to stumble upon what he has hidden, he likes to maintain the illusion. The kitchen is still Alfred’s and Alfred disapproves of processed foods. His children still explore the rooms so gifts and gift ideas must be hidden away. Anything he wanted to keep to himself must be secured away. Bruce lives alone but the ghosts of his memories haunt the manor.)

If Bruce recalled correctly, Adult Bruce hadn’t broken into the stash of comfort food yet so nine-year-old Bruce was allowed to indulge. The nuggets would take fifteen minutes to bake and even less time to eat. He’ll be able to get back to his bike in no time.

The excited child jumped up from the ground (loathe though he was to admit it, nine-year-old Bruce was tiny and too short for the workshop table and it seemed like a hassle to haul everything up only to have to sit on the table anyway) and bound up the stairs to the manor, humming the Jurassic Park theme song all the way to the kitchen.

He did his best to clean his face and hands of grease, which took an annoying seven minutes and dug out his box of dino nuggets from the freezer. Bruce popped them into the oven and bounced on the tip of his toes as he watched them bake. He considered making a salad to go with it but decided that today was about indulgences and there weren’t any fresh greens in the fridge anyway.

Bruce fed Ace while they waited for the nuggets but the stubborn dog refused to start without him so Bruce decided to snack on his cookies first.

“Mmm~!” Bruce was a genius baker. The cookie was salty and sweet and soft and crumbly and perfect! Goodness, it was delicious.

He wanted to grab another one but reluctantly packed the rest away into an airtight cookie jar. It would be terrible if he spoiled his appetite for dinner, especially considering he was having dino nuggets tonight. Besides, they had already served their purpose and made Ace eat his food.

When his nuggets finished baking and cooled, Bruce dipped his dinosaur nugget in tomato sauce and bit its tail off. He then bit the arms and legs off his dinosaur so that it couldn’t run away and then bit off its head so that it couldn’t bite him in retaliation. All that he was left with was the torso so Bruce popped it into his mouth and finished it off.

Crunchy, simple and dinosaur shaped! He was in bliss.

Once he finished his nuggets, Bruce ran back down to the cave to work on his bike. In the end, it was 11 pm when he finished the final touches.

Bruce stepped back from the completed bike and put his hands on his hip proudly. He hadn’t tested it yet but he was confident in his skills. The motorcycle was capable of self-driving and speeding well over 200mph! It had a detachable seat for Ace too and extra storage space for groceries. Most importantly, it looked sleek in form and beyond awesome!

All that was left to do was to paint it.

Bruce rocked from side to side. The original plan was red, green and yellow but those weren’t his colours… Black with yellow accents would do fine. He took the bike apart again and spray-painted it with a nice matte black, using the yellow sparingly. Bruce debated adding a bat but ultimately decided against it. It wasn’t a bike for Batman but a bike for Bruce.

He looked at all the drying parts of the bike and grinned in satisfaction. As expected, making things was fun.

It was past 12 am but Bruce was a little too keyed up to go to sleep. He had done his entire nighttime routine (wash up, skincare, journal) but Bruce was still not tired. He draped himself over Ace and pouted. He hoped that this was not a sign of his resurging insomnia. He was on vacation. Was it too much to ask for six hours of sleep a day? He’ll even settle for five. Four was fine too. Anything was better than endless hours spent staring at the ceiling.

Bruce groaned and slipped out of bed.

He climbed the bannister of his balcony and hoisted himself up on the roof. Bruce wished he could say the stars looked beautiful from up there but the truth of the matter was, Gotham’s night sky was polluted beyond polluted. There were no stars to see. Hell, even the moon was scarcely visible.

“Mother,” he whispered and brought his knees to his chest. Mama, he wanted to say but stopped himself before the words could slip out of his mouth. His mother thought the address was undignified. Bruce would honour her wishes even in death.

(He remembered crying ‘Mama, Mama!’, hoping that maybe, by some miracle, his mother would wake up to scold him despite the hole in her head.)

“Do you remember those funny clouds above people’s heads I told you about? Well, I’m doing something about them but the process is very lonely. Or not. I think it’s just me. I’m the problem. I can’t seem to get people to like me enough to stay. I know–” he choked back a sob and continued, “…I’m aware that it’s due to my own shortcomings but sometimes, it feels like even the worst monsters have people that love them and yet I have no one.”

Bruce was back on that self-pity streak. Pathetic.

He let out a humourless chuckle and rested his forehead on his knees. Bruce couldn’t help it. Try as he might, Bruce had never managed to make himself as unfeeling as people accused him of being. He didn’t deserve what he desired but his heart was a traitor and it yearned. Oh god, it yearned.

“I just wish there was someone that cared about me.”

(He had Alfred once. Did Alfred ever care? He had his children. Did they care more for Batman? He had friends. Did they ever think him a friend too? He had no one now and it was all his fault.)

Bruce let out a long exhale and slipped back into bed.

(When Bruce was smaller – smaller than he was now – and he couldn’t sleep, Alfred would heat up milk on the stove and add some honey to it. The warm beverage was the ultimate cure to insomnia for little Bruce; once he finished the cup, he was fast asleep. It didn’t occur to Bruce that he could make the drink himself. He never trusted himself to use the stove quietly and clean enough at his Uncle Philip’s house to even think of attempting it. Bruce’s current circumstances were different now but he still operated under the rationale and logic of his nine-year-old self so the idea that he was not living under someone else’s roof never quite settled in for him.)

Two days down. Ninety-eight to go.

Chapter Text

The wind swept through Bruce’s hair as he rode around his property on his new bike. Jolts of adrenaline thrummed through his veins as he made minor jumps on the bumpy roads and made turns at almost 90-degree corners. The bike was smooth running and stable, easy to control, and the self-driving function worked just fine. Bruce ordered it to drive him back to the cave and it got him there no problem. It was perfect.

He hopped off the bike and greeted Ace with a hug.

“Hi, buddy. Are you ready to test the bike?”

“Boof!” Ace barked back. His tail was wagging behind him excitedly and he was looking at the bike with almost a gleam in his eyes.

Bruce grinned. He had taken Ace out in the batmobile for ‘patrol’ before and the dog had stuck his head out the window with his tongue out, enjoying the wind even with his specially designed cowl on. Bruce made it when he was bored one day and he was pretty proud of it. It was even Bat branded.

Perfect for a Bat-hound.

He attached Ace’s seat to the bike and strapped the cowl/helmet on the dog. Pausing for a second, Bruce also put on a helmet that he had neglected to wear earlier.

He strapped Ace into his seat and revved up the bike.

Bruce didn’t go too fast because Ace was also on the bike but he did test the more bumpy terrain and the tough corners. The bike ran smoothly just like it did before and Ace didn’t seem to be uncomfortable at any point during the ride. If anything, Bruce would say that Ace enjoyed the bike more than he did the Batmobile.

Bike tested, Bruce got dressed and put on the fake glasses he found amongst his belongings in the attic and messed up his fringe so that it almost fell over his eyes. People didn’t really pay much attention to what kids looked like so the rudimentary disguise was enough to hide how much he looked like Damian Wayne and consequently Bruce Wayne.

(Bruce liked to make fun of the Clark Kent style disguise but he had used it frequently even before he met Clark. It was the perfect lazy disguise wherein the only thing he had to do was change his mannerisms a little and that was enough to make people dismiss him as Bruce Wayne. No one really expected the Prince of Gotham to be in a dingy little store in downtown Gotham.)

He gave himself a brief lookover in the mirror and nodded to himself. Bruce looked like every other nerdy kid, albeit a rich one but he knew how to avoid attracting attention to himself so it didn’t matter too much. Once he bought some cheaper clothes, he would be able to better blend in.

Bruce grabbed some cash and hopped onto his new bike after he strapped Ace in. He drove through a secret tunnel that exited onto an obscure path into the CBD and parked his bike behind the supermarket. Bruce got a few stares for his smaller than usual bike but most people ignored him.

He leashed Ace and let his dog guide him into the store as he consulted his shopping list.

Shopping List

• Clothes
  →New underwear and socks
  →Hoodies
  →Pants
  →Casual shirts
  →Sleepwear
• Food
  →Dinosaur nuggets
  →Ice cream
  →Baking ingredients
  →Juice
  →Bread
  →Vegetables
  →Fruits
  →Pasta
• Ace
  →Kibbles
  →Treats
  →New toys
  →Shampoo

It was a very long list. Maybe he should have taken the car after all, underage driving notwithstanding. The bike did have pretty good storage space but it was still smaller than a car’s and, hmm, Bruce could just hang things on the handlebars and stack things in Ace’s seat. It would probably be fine.

Yeah.

It’ll be alright.

Bruce walked into the store and grabbed a trolley. He had to stretch his arms over his shoulder to reach the handle but it moved fine and served its function well.

As he wandered through the store, Bruce let his inner (now outer) child wild and put five boxes of dinosaur nuggets into his cart beside the huge tub of triple chocolate ice cream and the larger tub of vanilla bean ice cream. He added a few packs of frozen fruit and fries too because why not. The frozen goods meant that he had to make two separate trips so that they wouldn’t melt but it was worth it.

While he was at it, Bruce raided the candy aisle and threw in some chocolate bars and candy he always wanted to try. Then he went into the chip aisle and grabbed all the chip flavours he liked.

Casting a glance at his cart full of a child’s dream grocery run, Bruce solemnly pushed it to the fresh food area and went to find food food. When he was moderately satisfied with his healthy selection of meats and vegetables, Bruce pushed his now-full shopping cart to the register. The cashier looked around for a guardian but started scanning the items even when she found no one. She must be one of those cashiers that scanned items faster when there was an anxious child waiting for their guardian to come back standing in front of her.

She bagged everything for Bruce and looked around for a bit before giving him a smile. “That would be $249.42.”

Bruce paid with cash and the cashier blinked owlishly before laughing softly to herself. “Enjoy your sweets, buddy.”

“Thank you.” He gave her a smile too, not faulting her for just wanting some harmless fun (even if at the expense of a child’s slight panic) in an otherwise dull job.

The cashier smiled genuinely at him and shook a little bag of treats. “Is it alright if I feed your dog some treats?”

Ace shook his tail excitedly and barked.

Bruce nodded and allowed Ace to step forward. His dog sat in front of the cashier and looked up expectantly at her.

She chuckled warmly and tipped some treats into the palm of her hand. Ace ate from her hand and graciously accepted patting from the other (he was torn between eating the treats and pushing back for more pets; it was very entertaining to watch).

“He’s a beautiful dog,” the cashier praised.

“Did you hear that, Ace? The pretty lady said you’re beautiful.”

“Ruff!”

The cashier reached into her pocket and placed a lollipop into Bruce’s hand. “A treat for you too, for being a good boy.”

Bruce blinked owlishly and accepted the gift. “Thank you.”

“Have a nice day.”

Bruce pushed his trolley to his bike and unloaded the groceries into the storage space. He had to put half into Ace’s seat with him and a few on the handlebars but at least he didn’t have to leave them at one of his safehouses while he took the rest home.

He was annoyed by the swaying bags on the drive home but the sweet sugary lollipop in his mouth made up for it.




---




Bruce drove him and Ace to the mall and entered a children’s clothing store. The designs were very cutesy and nothing like what Bruce has ever worn before. He was both intrigued and mildly intimidated by the sheer selection of brightly coloured clothing in stock.

The shop assistant that welcomed them in the store hovered around Bruce. “Hello, sweetheart. Is there anyone with you?”

Bruce shook his head. “I wanted to buy new clothes but they were tired so they’re waiting at the food court,” he lied.

“Oh, well in that case, would you like some help finding clothes?”

Bruce glanced back at the overwhelming collection of different designs and nodded. “Yes please.”

“Excellent. Can you answer some questions for me? What is your favourite colour?”

“I like yellow,” Bruce answered. It wasn’t very Dark Knight of him but it was the honest truth.

“Do you have a favourite movie or tv show?”

“Grey Ghost.”

The shop assistant raised an eyebrow. “That’s a rather old show. I’m afraid we don’t have any of their merchandise in stock. Is there anything else you like?”

“I like dinosaurs and cars and trains and dogs and cats.” Bruce stroked Ace’s back and the shop assistant smiled down at them.

“I believe we have a shirt with a dog that looks similar to yours in stock. Would you like to look at it?” she offered.

“Yes, please.”

She led Bruce and Ace further into the store and pointed at a yellow shirt with a printed cartoon dog displayed proudly in the centre. The dog was happily carrying a stick in its mouth like it was playing fetch.

“Do you like it?”

Bruce stroked the soft material of the shirt and nodded.

“Great! Would you like to try it on?”

Bruce shook his head. “I would like to find some other clothes first. Thank you for your help. I think I can find the rest myself.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a very polite little gentleman,” she praised.

That was the second praise he got today. It was kind of nice to be complimented on his manners. Usually, Bruce’s politeness would be misconstrued as flirtations so this was a welcome change. (It was fun to flirt when both parties didn’t have expectations to go further than talking but it was a little burdensome when people mistook his ingrained politeness as wanting something more. Though Bruce had to admit it was his reputation that played a large part in that misconception.)

Bruce smiled at the store assistant. “Thank you.”

Now armed with some knowledge on how to choose clothes (kids wore clothes based on what they liked, not fashion or image), Bruce navigated the store a little more confidently. He chose a few sets of clothes following the theme of animals, space, dinosaurs and transportation. Bruce draped his chosen clothes gently over Ace’s back and walked over to the superhero-themed clothing he was very conscientious of ignoring.

Alas, the temptations were too much and he couldn’t resist going to peek at what kind of merchandise existed for his children. (He did not care for the Justice League merch. Neither, it seemed, did Gotham.)

There was an entire section dedicated to the Bats and Birds of Gotham. Correction. There was an entire section dedicated to the confirmed Bats and Birds of Gotham: Batman, Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, Batgirl and Spoiler. Black Bat and Red Hood did not have their own merchandise due to Black Bat being only a rumour and now based in Hong Kong, and Red Hood being a well-known crime lord, albeit a benevolent one who was rumoured to be working with the Bats.

Bruce did not want to accidentally show favouritism so he avoided buying any individual merch and set his eyes on a black hoodie. The hoodie had a stylized bat encircled in yellow like the bat signal (Bruce’s symbol) on the front but the sleeves were decorated with the symbols of his children. All except Black Bat and Red Hood.

Bruce shifted his weight onto his heels and hummed a soft tune to himself.

He liked the concept of the hoodie but it excluded two of his kids so he couldn’t buy it.

Oh!

Maybe he could make one himself!

Bruce had all the tools at home to do exactly that (surprisingly, outsourcing their uniforms wasn’t an option) and he could design them himself too so it would be extra cool.

He grinned to himself and looked around for a different hoodie. In the end, Bruce settled for a black hoodie outline with yellow on the inside with his symbol on the back, resembling wings more than a bat.

“Did you find everything you wanted?” the shop assistant asked kindly.

“Yes, thank you.” Bruce mirrored her smile and placed all his clothes on the counter.

“That would be $325. Would you like to pay by cash or card?”

“Card, please.” Bruce gave her the card of one of his disguises and input his pin.

“Would you like help carrying all these bags to the food court?”

“No thank you.” Bruce carried the majority of the bags and Ace carried one in his mouth. “Thank you for the help today.”

“No worries, sweetheart. Have a nice day.”

Bruce nodded and left.




---




“Alright, Ace. You were a very good boy today so go choose anything you’ll like,” Bruce told his dog as they stood at the entrance of the pet supply store.

Ace barked in reply and rubbed his sides against Bruce. Hurry up, he seemed to be saying.

Bruce chuckled and they stepped into the store. It was one that he frequented to buy supplies for Ace so he was a little concerned that the cashier would recognise Ace, but fortunately, the person manning the desk today was one that Bruce hadn’t met before. He relaxed and let Ace lead them into the section where the toys were displayed.

“Another tennis ball, Ace?”

Ace did not care about Bruce’s teasing comment and shoved his pack of five into Bruce’s hand.

Bruce chuckled and took the tennis balls and grabbed some more toys he thought Ace would like. His loyal companion had already moved on to another aisle so Bruce followed after him and picked up any treats that Ace expressed a slight interest in.

“Hey, little fella, that’s one cute dog you got there,” the cashier greeted him. “What’s his name?”

“His name is Ace.”

“Is Ace helping with shopping?”

Bruce nodded.

“He chose a lot of good treats.” The cashier scanned Bruce’s pile of treats and commented.

Bruce made a pleased sound. Ace used to be a stray dog but he was pampered by Bruce and had an excellent palate, obviously he chose the good snacks.

“Oh, kiddo, do you like cats?”

Bruce nodded, confused by the non-sequitur.

The guy smiled. “Well, if you wait a few minutes, I’ve got some tiny kittens in the back that need to be fed soon. I’ll bring them out here if you wanna watch.”

“Yes please,” Bruce replied, awed. He had helped Selina feed a few of her kittens and he always left feeling like he had held the whole world in his hands, lovingly, nourishingly. He adored having the privilege to feed the kittens like that, of being trusted by Selina to even see them.

“I’ll be back in a few.”

The guy was quick and very soon, he was back carrying a cushioned box of mewing kittens.

“I’ve gotta go make their milk. Can I trust you to look after them?”

Bruce nodded solemnly. He’ll protect the babies with his life.

Ace was a gentle beast but Bruce pushed him back just to be sure and his loyal companion obediently took a few steps back.

The cashier grinned and left with light steps.

Bruce watched the little kittens intently. There was a small ginger one and a calico and a tabby too; three little siblings that looked nothing alike. They were adorable. Bruce was already in love.

He blinked slowly at them and the tabby slowly blinked back.

Nnnnnnn~!

Bruce would die for them.

“Oh. I see we’re getting along.” The cashier came back with three tiny milk bottles and the kittens mewed louder. He chuckled and fed them all at the same time with experienced movements. “The orange one is Chai. The tabby is called Mocha and the calico is Frappe.”

“Mini cafe,” Bruce whispered.

“Adorable, aren’t they?”

Bruce nodded. “The cutest.”

“Would you like to try feeding Mocha? He’s the calmest of the lot. I’ll take a polaroid for you to take home too.”

“Thank you.” Bruce gratefully accepted the little kitten that was placed in his arms and supported its bottle as it suckled with all its might. Mocha looked up at Bruce and slowly blinked and Bruce blinked back, his heart melting where he stood.

Click.

The cashier took Mocha back after it finished drinking all the milk. He handed Bruce the polaroid he took and he saw himself looking adoringly at the little kitten while Ace watched at his side.

“I’ll have to put them to bed now. Did you have fun?”

“Yes. Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, little guy.”




---




Bruce went home before it got dark. He forgot to buy a few things on his list but the sun was setting and that’s when the Bats came out to play. Bruce did not want to accidentally run into his kids.

He did want to see them but Bruce was unsure how he would react to them in his current state. He was a child, in mind and body, and Bruce wanted to be Father or the very least Mentor to them. The child he currently was, nine-year-old Bruce, was a wild card. There were very few he was close to at that age and he clung to them like a goddamn burr and refused to fuck off.

Bruce had been doing a very good job at fucking off from his children for the past few years. He only bothered them about getting lunch every three months and was strictly professional when he saw them on the job. He wasn’t sure if older Bruce’s intentions would survive his younger self’s desperate need for family and Bruce needed them to. He needed to respect his children’s desire to be left the fuck alone but if this shithead of a child that Bruce currently was saw his family, then he wouldn’t be able to control himself. Maybe. Bruce wasn’t sure.

It was a fucked up situation that older Bruce had unknowingly placed on his young shoulders. (He was thinking of his normal self and his current self as two separate people but they may as well be. Same memories, different mentalities and all that.) Bruce was self-aware enough to know how broken he was as a child, how broken he currently was. To the current him, his parents were murdered barely a year ago. He was kidnapped three months after that and then shipped off to live with his uncle in his townhouse. That did a lot to a kid and Bruce, the adult, never really got over it, never mind Bruce, the kid, who was living through it.

Bruce couldn’t see his kids because he might cling to them and they’ll see him, a child, and they won’t be able to leave. Because he was a child. Because he had no one else. And Bruce would be fucking trapping them into his life again.

So, yeah. He went home early and cut off any possibility that he’ll run into any of them during the night.

He threw himself onto the couch and buried himself in Ace’s stomach as he settled down for a nap. Shopping was very exhausting. It was already nighttime and he only managed to get most of the items on his shopping list. And yes, the things he forgot were non-essentials but that was beside the point. Bruce had a goddamn list and he still managed to neglect it. He really was horrible at shopping.

But.

Bruce wrapped his arms around his dog.

“The people of Gotham are very nice, Ace.”

Sure, some people tried to pickpocket him because even though he was a kid, he was very obviously rich. But Bruce easily sidestepped them and they didn’t look like they were trying to do any harm. The people he actually interacted with were all very kind to him. Logically, Bruce knew they were paid to be nice but the service they provided went beyond their job description. They were just good people looking out for a kid they saw alone. Sure, they didn’t actually do anything about a kid with no guardian in sight but this was Gotham; everyone knew the CPS was worse than some of their actual villains. (He had been trying to make it better for decades but all his efforts kept being undone.) They looked out for Bruce in their own way and Bruce thought that was very Gothamite of them.

These were the people he wanted to protect when he drank the potion.

They were the Gotham he loves.

Chapter Text

Bruce did some light stalking on his kids. He was still respecting their boundaries! Everything was completely legal and he didn’t even hack anything. Bruce was just scrolling through their social media. No matter what the internet liked to say, that didn’t count as stalking.

Dick posted a dumb pun. He told a silly story about Damian. He shared a photo of himself online. Jason didn’t have a social media presence that Bruce knew of but sometimes the boys mentioned an unnamed somebody. Cass attended a ballet recital and gushed about it using twenty different emojis. Tim pretended to be a boring businessman and shared official posts WE told him to. On his private account, he complained about being trapped in a two-hour meeting. Tim went on a date with his boyfriend. They tried painting pottery together and forgot to post the results. Damian advocated for animal rights. He promoted a no-kill shelter. He shared his art on one of his alt-accounts.

His kids were doing fine. They were all good and doing better than Bruce. Bruce was happy for them.

The chandelier was a beautiful work of art. Its crystals glistened in the light like drops of rain and its glided curves made the light piece look both delicate and sturdy. It captivated Bruce and he stared and stared and stared at it, entranced. Bruce could see five possible ways in which he could launch himself upwards and climb onto the decorative light piece. Five methods that he knew Dick employed liberally when he was Bruce’s current size.

Bruce never quite understood the appeal of hanging from atop the chandelier, a habit that Dick maintained well into adulthood. He assumed that it was an acrobat thing but now that Bruce was a child again, staring up at the chandelier, he understood with the clarity of someone wearing prescription glasses for the first time, no, it was not an acrobat thing. It was the combination of skills and the unhinged gremlin that existed inside every child.

When he was a kid the first time around, Bruce would admit that he occasionally stared at the chandeliers and wondered how the world would look from up there. However, he never attempted to climb it because he just didn’t see a way in which that was possible or even safe. Now though, with all the skills and knowledge he’d gained over the years, Bruce could easily see himself jumping onto the reinforced light piece and that damn gremlin kept whispering tempting things in his ear.

Ace nudged against his side and snapped Bruce out of his trance. Right. He was only on day 4 of the curse and although Bruce had a solid grasp on how his current body moved, he’s never attempted advanced acrobatics with it. As such, it would not be a good idea to test them in such an unsafe environment

…There was somewhere in the manor that was conducive to safe acrobatics though.

The gymnasium was built in a spare ballroom, filled with everything a tiny acrobat could ever want. It was a birthday gift for Dick and even though Dick hasn’t used it in years, Bruce never had the heart to take it down. Well, given how large the manor is, there was never a need to anyway. Point is, there was an overly elaborate jungle gym and trapeze in his manor and the vicious gremlin inside of Bruce desperately wanted to be let out.

His not-so-inner gremlin was delighted. Bruce thinks he might have let out a few of the haunting cackles that Robin was infamous for but it was so fun! He went wheeeeeee and then whoooooooosh and he flipped and flipped again and again! A triple flip! Not quite the quadruple flip Dick can do but woah. It was exhilarating. It was thrill and adrenaline, it was being alive.

Bruce ran through the obstacle course, Ace hot on his heels, and flipped over a hurdle with unfettered delight. He wished he was swinging through the Gotham skyline, polluted air caressing his cheeks, the sounds of the city all around him. He yearned for the freedom of the dark streets but instead, he was a ghost trapped in this mausoleum of what used to be a home.

Still home, Bruce, he scolded himself. Make it home again if you have to. It’s all you have.

Ace placed a paw on Bruce’s foot and the boy gave him a tiny smile.

He took a long shower and wandered out into the hallway, hair dripping wet. Still in a playful mood, Bruce couldn’t resist doing another backflip for absolutely no reason, giggling as he landed on his two feet. Ace wiggled between Bruce’s legs and made a steed of himself once more, running valiantly through the corridor, Bruce’s soft laughter echoing through the empty manor.

Ace dropped him off at the music room where a beautiful grand piano sat in the middle. Behind the piano was a large window of stained glass that cast a beautiful multi-coloured glow on the room. It gave the room an ethereal sort of atmosphere, almost like a fairy tale.

Bruce let out a breathless giggle as he was nudged towards the piano. He scratched behind his companion’s ear and laughed. “Did you want me to play you some music?”

Ace barked in response, tail wagging intensely behind him.

Bruce grinned and hopped onto the piano bench. His legs were too short to reach the pedals properly so he’d have to do without them but that was fine. Bruce toyed around with a few melodies before deciding upon the Gray Ghost theme song, singing the lyrics with all the enthusiasm a tiny nine-year-old could muster. Which was a lot. It was amazing how much energy kids contained inside their little bodies. Bruce basically performed a mini concert with his happy dog as his lone audience.

An hour later, Bruce ended the little concert and went to greet the final boss of the day. Chandelier. Bruce tested all the flippy things his body could do. He has rested from his workout. He rid himself of all excess giddiness by playing the piano and singing. Bruce was ready. The gremlin was ready. The chandelier wouldn’t know what hit it.

He gave himself a running start, jumped onto the railing and launched himself into the air. From there, Bruce pushed against the wall with his feet, giving himself the extra momentum required to reach the chandelier, latched onto it and flipped one more time to seat himself on its curves. Holy shit. Bruce cackled and leaned against the chandelier’s chain as it swung back and forth from his stunt. That was not some acrobat shit. That was ninja shit and Bruce fucking loved every second of it.

Ace barked at him from below and Bruce cheekily waved from above. The view was beautiful from up here.

Bruce sat in his secret art studio (secret only because no one liked the east wing of the manor and Bruce had mostly blocked the path off – subtly, with ugly statues and grotesque gargoyles inexplicably taking too much space) and twirled a pencil in his hand. There was a misconception amongst pretty much everyone that Bruce didn’t have hobbies. He did but many of them happened to overlap with his activities as Batman. Hence, no one realised that he was actually enjoying himself when he was doing something like designing a new Batwing or working out.

He had displayed artistic skills on occasion but they were easy to dismiss as Bruce’s overcompensating perfectionism rather than a genuine passion for the arts.

To be fair, Bruce guarded his sketchbooks (hidden away in a secret art studio) more than he guarded his journals (stored in the bottom row of his bedroom bookshelf, hidden behind thick tomes of law books) so it wasn’t like anyone had any reason to suspect that Bruce enjoyed drawing and painting and singing and crafting and playing the piano.

Alright, maybe his love for the piano wasn’t so hidden considering the key to one of the secret pathways to the Cave was playing a tune on the piano. Or the fact that he has been witnessed broodingly playing the piano whenever he got stuck on cases. Or even more damningly, his birthday gift for Cass being a piece he composed himself that she could (maybe, hopefully) dance to.

His sketchbooks though… those he hid. He’d seen them go up in flames once before and decided that it’ll never happen again. Then, it was just a habit not to share what he creates and that’s why no one realised that Bruce liked to make art at all.

Bruce spun his pencil again and decided to draw the people he had met yesterday. The bored cashier, the professional shop assistant and the chipper cashier with the kittens.

He drew with a soft smile on his face until the rest of the night flew by.

It was too good to be true. He fucking knew things have been going too well. Four whole days free of stress, free of fucking heart-stopping nightmares and Bruce let his goddamn guard down. Why did he ever think they wouldn’t come back? They’ve not stopped for over thirty fucking years!

Bruce choked down the scream lodged in his throat and sniffled as big droplets of tears fell from his eyes. He suppressed his pathetic sobs and slipped out of bed, dragging his blanket behind him. The world felt so big and empty and scary and he was so cold. Alfred-, he needed Alfred to– to hug him and hold him close and run his fingers through his hair and rub circles on his back and let him feel the vibrations in his chest as he tells him he’s not alone, that he’s going to be okay.

He walked down the hall, through the kitchen, and across to the servants' quarter of the manor. The only thought on his mind was the mantra of Alfred’s name, the self-reassurance that once he reached Alfred, he’ll no longer be in that alleyway sitting in a pool of sticky blood and waiting for someone to help him, take him away from the stiff bodies of his beloved parents and hold him tight and remind him that he’s still alive.

“Alfred,” he cried in front of the locked door. Then, everything came rushing back and he was no longer the lost orphan boy who still had Alfred but rather the island of a man who had long since burnt all his bridges. Bruce resented his older self. If he hadn’t been so stubborn then Alfred would still love him. If he had been better, his children wouldn’t have left him. If he had been– if he hadn’t been himself, he wouldn’t be so alone.

The child slumped against the door and wrapped his blanket around himself. He can pretend – Bruce was very good at pretending – and making himself believe that Alfred was sleeping on the other side was easy. He can delude himself and make this all about not wanting to disturb Alfred’s rest. Bruce could do that. He excelled at it.

He hummed and rocked himself to sleep, ignoring the tears still streaming down his face and the sobs that were ruining the tune of his mother’s lullaby. Alfred was sleeping on the other side of the door and Bruce didn’t want to disturb Alfred so he couldn’t go inside.

The third time he woke up gasping for breath and stifling the start of a panic attack, Bruce let out a frustrated groan and pulled at his hair. The nightmares came back with a vengeance and there was nothing Bruce could do to stop them. He wished nightmares were tangible so that he could grab them by the throat and scream in their faces until they left him the fuck alone! He wanted to shout and roar until his throat was hoarse and tender. Until he no longer had a voice. He wanted to disintegrate into nothing so that they could no longer haunt him.

He was just so tired.

Bruce got up and mechanically left Alfred’s quarters.

That was the problem.

Bruce was trying to solve things like eight-year-old Bruce. That Bruce still had Alfred. That Bruce hadn’t– …was yet to know that the world could in fact get much worse.

Nine-year-old Bruce knew and ten-year-old Bruce knew even better.

Going to Alfred was not an option. He had to deal with this himself and Bruce just had to remember what a slightly older version of himself did.

(Adult Bruce would simply give up on sleep and work himself to the point of exhaustion.)

He used to leave his bedroom when the walls closed in on themselves and it got too suffocating. He would pace the hallways silently and when he was ready to sleep again, Bruce liked to go to the manor’s theatre room. It was a cosy room, filled with plush furniture and giant bean bags. There was a beanbag in particular, tucked away in the corner and not immediately visible from the door, that Bruce liked sleeping on.

Bruce walked over to the theatre.

Fuck nightmares.

Chapter Text

Bruce woke up at the dawn of day five and went back to sleep. When he woke up again, he tried to meditate but that was just an excuse for sitting still and not doing anything. It sounded better when he called it meditation (even though Bruce was failing to properly meditate) so that’s what it called it. He spent the whole day doing much of nothing, staring into space, trying not to think of anything at all. Bruce was, of course, unsuccessful.

Day six. Bruce tried to force himself out of this fugue and did some maintenance on the Batmobile and various tools in the cave. He solved a few cold cases and anonymously sent tips to the GCPD. He punched a punching bag for an hour and ran on the treadmill until he was too exhausted to think. He might have had a few breakdowns. Bruce wasn’t sure. His mind was caught in a fishing net, reeling him up towards doom.

Day seven. As if punishing him for trying to power through his exhaustion, the nightmares haunted Bruce for the entire night. Even when morning came, the nightmares followed him to his waking hours so Bruce changed into his new clothes and went out for a long walk with Ace around the city. The walk did nothing to help his exhaustion, but at least it helped to keep his mind off his nightmares. As soon as Bruce got back home, he collapsed onto the couch and tried to take a nap but rest did not come easy. Bruce even attempted to play some relaxing video games to lull himself to sleep but it did not work. But hey, at least he paid off his debt to that capitalist tanuki.

(Bruce was not a capitalist tanuki!)

It was day eight and Bruce was sorely tempted to email Lucius and beg for work but he refrained from doing so. He was on vacation, he reminded himself. It was just a hundred days. Bruce could handle not working for a hundred days. Easy. No problem. Nothing too difficult for the Batman.

Bruce plopped himself down on the floor and stared at the ceiling. He could hear Ace settle beside him and felt the soft fur of his tail brushing against his arm.

There was so much he could do yet so little that appealed to him.

Instead, he just laid there, flat on the ground and focused on breathing.

In and out.

In and out.

In and out.

Bruce decided to go to the too-bright, too-shiny, revolting city that called itself Metropolis.

He slipped on the familiar disguise of glasses and loose cheap clothing and drove out of the manor. Bruce then stored his bike at a safehouse and clipped Ace to a leash. The two of them quickly walked to the train station and Bruce took the train for the remainder of the journey. A ferry would have been faster but the train was more familiar.

As he stared out of the window, Bruce could feel himself settle into an old name, an old persona that he never quite managed to let go of. Pebble, they used to call him. Because the other two called themselves Rock and Boulder and he was the smallest of them. It fit the theme and it made Bruce feel like he belonged so he allowed it even though he privately thought it sounded stupid.

Rock and Boulder told him that street names were meant to be stupid. So that way, when you left the streets, no one would connect it to your real name.

Bruce never knew their real names though he was certain they knew his. (His face was plastered over newspapers for months – even uninterested street kids knew who he was – and they were the ones to give him his first disguise.) He still didn’t know if they ever left the streets but he never heard of a Rock or Boulder since he stopped going out as Pebble and went back to being just Bruce.

But now, for the first time in decades, Bruce allowed himself to put on Pebble’s skin and be the kid that was just a, well, roadside pebble. A kid that could be anyone. He was unmoored but free. It helped that the current him remembered being Pebble with startling clarity, having been him not too long ago.

Bruce hummed quietly to himself, letting his feet kick back and forth, too short to reach the floor.

This was something they did back in the day when he was actually nine and small and knew so little yet still too much. They would take a train across the city and pass the border into the neighbouring shiny city of Metropolis. There wasn't any real reason to. The conditions in Metropolis weren't much better to justify leaving the familiar streets of Gotham, where monsters scarcely bothered to hide their fangs. But there was something thrilling about it. Hopping on that train and staring out the window, just watching as the darkened streets and grotesque gargoyles gave way to the bright, overly polished mimicry of a city…

It was an adventure. Like little explorers, they mapped the city and dug around for the shadows in the city they called the centre of the future. They didn't make a habit of it – Metropolis didn't like being made to see reality and children living on the streets were stark reminders of it – but they did it enough that they could see the crevices where Gotham bled into Metropolis, where the shiny veneer of their neighbouring city peeled back and they saw the truth that the grass really wasn't greener on the other side. The world, it seemed, was equally shitty to kids like them, no matter where you were.

Ace licked his palm and Bruce snapped out of remembrance. He put earbuds in and closed his eyes as he listened to some music.

The Metropolis of today was both better and worse than it was thirty years ago. There were fewer violent crimes thanks to Superman and journalism kept uncovering the darkness hidden within the City of Tomorrow, forcing the government to take action and actually improve things for once. Still, Metropolis was a major city and Lex Luthor did live there. Corruption and the rising cost of living prevented the city from becoming the paradise they wished they were.

Bruce was already too familiar with the streets of Metropolis. He had no real goal in visiting. He just… needed to leave sometimes. Because as much as Bruce loved Gotham, every corner of the city was claimed by people that hurt to think about right now. He wondered if it hurt for them to think of him too, if they ever thought of him at all.

The train came to a stop at the station and Bruce took in a deep breath. The air was already annoyingly sweeter. The full force of the sun was beaming down on him, with only a few dusting of clouds to lessen the glare. It looked fake and almost cartoony; a too-blue sky and white fluffy clouds, so unlike the semi-permanently grey overcast skies of Gotham. It actually felt like late spring here too. Not so hot that Bruce regretted his hoodie (then again, Bruce was stubborn enough to wear it in the dead of summer) but hot enough to go to the beach. The beaches here didn’t have corpses regularly wash up ashore either, a small miracle considering their proximity to Gotham Bay.

Bruce’s stomach grumbled and he sighed. It was annoying being so small with an even smaller stomach that needed multiple small meals a day to satisfy itself.

He let Ace lead him out of the station. The dog sniffed at the air and confidently started walking forward like he always did when Bruce allowed him to choose where to eat. They walked for about fifteen minutes, only taking longer because a few people asked to pat Ace, and stopped before a diner.

Bruce raised an eyebrow. Ace didn’t tend to lead him to diners. He usually preferred food from different cultures; enticing spices and mouth-watering herbs and all. If Ace liked the classic American-style foods, Bruce would be eating burgers much more often.

He peered inside through the window. The diner was decently popular, with most seats taken. The customers seemed to be enjoying their food too so the quality wasn’t bad. It was a good diner but nothing special. Why would Ace take him here?

The only way to find out was to go in.

Bruce pushed open the door and it rattled the bell on top. It made a pleasant ring and Bruce stood at the entrance as he waited for a server to approach him.

“Hi, welcome to Amy’s Diner. I am Patricia and I’ll be serving you today. May I ask how many people will be eating, sweetheart?” the server greeted with a wide smile.

“Just me, thank you,” Bruce responded. “And Ace. Are dogs allowed in here?”

Patricia blinked and replied hesitantly, “Yes, dogs are fine. But, are you alone, sweetheart? Where are your parents?”

Dead. Buried six feet under. Mere skeletons in the best coffins money can buy, Bruce thought uncharitably.

“I’m big enough to eat by myself,” Bruce said instead.

“But you’re six,” Patricia blankly responded.

“I’m nine,” Bruce corrected indignantly.

Bruce was aware that he was smaller than average but he was not ‘mistaken for a six-year-old’ small, thank you very much.

Patricia chewed on her lower lip before plastering a smile on her face. “Well then, you’re a big boy. Come this way and I’ll get you settled.”

She led him to a seat close to the front and placed a menu in front of him.

“Could I get you anything to drink to start off with?”

“Coffee please.”

“Young man, you may be old enough to eat by yourself but you certainly aren’t old enough for coffee,” Patricia said sternly.

Bruce looked down at the menu and pouted. He always got coffee when he went to diners. He schooled his features into a polite smile. “Then, could I get a chocolate milkshake, please?”

“Yes, anything else?”

“Um, and waffles. With bananas and ice cream. That’s all, thank you.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll be right back with your order.” She smiled sweetly and walked away.

Bruce sighed and glared at Ace. He blamed him for leading him into a diner. If Ace wanted to sit in a diner, he should’ve done so in Gotham. Diners in Gotham would have let him order coffee. Stupid Metropolis.

While Bruce waited for his meal to be cooked, more people walked in and took up the remaining seats in the diner.

Bruce stroked Ace’s back. At least Ace chose a diner that was well-loved by the locals.

The bell over the door chimed again and in walked a large muscular man. His shoulders were hunched, wrapped in appalling flannel, his blue eyes hidden behind thick blocky glasses. Clark Kent. Kal-El. Superman.

“Ace,” Bruce scolded his dog.

Ace looked at him with guileless eyes.

Bruce scowled. He didn’t know how, but he was sure that Ace did this on purpose. He was a half-physic demon dog or something. This was what Bruce got for picking up a random dog from the streets. Shelter dogs probably weren’t demons.

“Hey, Clark. It’s been a while,” Patricia greeted while balancing two plates and five cups in her arms. They wobbled a little when she turned to face Clark.

“Whoa, Patricia, busy day today?” Clark asked, helping to stabilise the tray.

“Yep, it’s a full house,” Patricia laughed, sounding tired.

Clark scanned the diner and smiled ruefully, “Yes, I can see that.” He glanced down at his watch and shook his head. “I’ll just, uh, come back next time.”

“Oh no, Clark, who’s going to eat our apple pies if you aren’t? Just give me a sec. I’ll be right back.”

Patricia quickly set down the dishes for the people who ordered them, coming to Bruce’s table last despite him being the closest.

“Thank you,” Bruce said as he pulled his milkshake closer to drink it.

“You’re welcome, hun. Now, would you be willing to share a table with this gentleman here? He’s a polite young man, loves our pies, but he ain’t got enough time to spare, waiting for a table to open up.”

Bruce would really rather not.

“Oh no, Patricia, I’m fine, I’ll just come back next time. It’s fine, really. Wouldn’t want to disturb this boy and his family.”

“You’re both eating alone. Should keep each other company.”

Bruce secretly puffed his cheeks in annoyance. He wasn’t alone. He had Ace.

Clark finally looked at Bruce, making eye contact with him. “You’re here by yourself?” he asked, slightly concerned. Stupid Boy Scout.

“I’m with Ace.” He punctuated the reply with a pat on Ace’s head and his beloved dog leaned into the touch like the good boy he was. Bruce gave him a brief scritch as a reward.

“Well, I promise not to be a bother so can I sit with you two?” Clark asked, suddenly much more receptive to the idea than he was before.

Bruce observed him carefully. “Okay,” he grumbled. It was not okay but Patricia looked like she was going to force the matter and Clark looked oddly invested so Bruce reluctantly relented.

“Thank you.” Clark took a seat at the table and beamed at Bruce.

Bruce stabbed at his waffle with a fork and let the scrape of the metal against ceramic make a horrible noise that caused Clark to wince.

“Could I get a coffee and my usual please?” Clark asked Patricia.

“Of course, dear. I’ll be right back.”

Bruce was going to steal Clark’s coffee. As tax. For sharing his table. And Clark wasn’t allowed to say anything to Patricia because then he’d get in trouble for letting a kid drink coffee.

“What’s your name? I’m Clark. Clark Kent.”

Bruce really wasn’t sure how to interact with Clark right now. As an adult, he spoke to Clark as either Batman or Brucie Wayne (though Bruce did bleed into the personas at times, more than he would like) but he was Pebble right now. Pebble was… He was Bruce as a kid but more… happy? No, that wasn’t the right word. Liberated. God fucking damn it, it sounded strange but it was true. As Bruce, there were just so many rules and expectations imposed upon him. There was a conduct he had to follow, a reputation to live up to, and strict boundaries he wasn’t allowed to cross. Pebble had none of that. He was rude but he was also charming because you had to be charming for people to tolerate the rudeness. Cheeky. That’s how Bruce would describe Pebble. Audacious at times, maybe, to certain people he felt he could trust.

So, a blend of Batman and Brucie, which should logically just be Bruce but the real Bruce was a coward who liked to hide behind masks and fool himself into thinking he was just another persona.

When the silence dragged on for too long, the boy scout continued speaking, “So, what are you doing here without an adult?”

I am an adult, Bruce didn’t say. It both was and wasn’t correct.

“Eating.”

“By yourself?”

“With Ace.”

“Ace is not eating, is he?”

Bruce stared down at Clark while giving Ace a slice of banana. It was a good thing his waffles didn’t have chocolate on them.

Clark snorted. “Golly, you’re a smart cookie, aren’t ya?”

He didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Here’s your coffee and creamer, Clark. There’s sugar at the table too.”

“Thank you, Patricia.”

Cark poured the creamer into his coffee and while he was distracted with grabbing sugar, Bruce stole the coffee and stirred it before he took a big gulp.

Blegh. Bruce scrunched his face at the assault of bitterness taking over his senses. He knew his tongue couldn’t handle black coffee at the moment (he remembered the first time he tried black coffee and the betrayal he felt afterwards as he spat out the vile beverage) but there was already creamer mixed into it. The coffee shouldn’t have been this bad.

Clark laughed and snatched his coffee back. He poured two and a half packets of sugar into it before giving it a good stir. “That’s what you get for trying to steal coffee.”

“I didn’t try to steal it. It was a successful endeavour.”

“Uhuh. And how did that work out for you?” There was a shit-eating grin on Clark’s face and Bruce wanted to punch it off.

He stole Clark’s coffee again and took a careful sip. It was much better this time; milky and sweet with a rich aroma that tickled his nose. However, it was still too bitter to wash away the lingering taste of the sugarless coffee. Clark should’ve added in that last half of the sugar packet. Just to be an asshole though, Bruce took another big gulp and drank a third of Clark’s coffee.

“And that’s enough. Caffeine isn’t good for you, kid.” Clark grabbed his cup of coffee back and took a sip, humming in enjoyment at the taste of the beverage Bruce was denied.

“Don’t call me kid.”

“What can I call you then? Honey?”

“Don’t call me anything. Stop talking to me.”

“You were the one that stole my coffee. I think I’m allowed to call you anything I want.”

Bruce scowled and Clark squinted at him.

“You kind of remind me of someone. You’re both equally as grumpy.”

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat and he covered it up by snarking at Clark. “Yeah? Guess who’s the one that knows both of them? I don’t think we’re the problem here.”

Clark laughed good-naturedly. “Are you from Gotham too? I hear it in your accent.”

Fuck!

Bruce was too much like Pebble right now. His instincts were overrun by that kid and was exposing more of himself than he would have preferred.

“What’s it to you?” he deflected.

Clark smiled sadly and took a large gulp of his coffee. “Just an observation. You Gothamites are real tough. Never want to ask for help, do you?”

Bruce looked down at his waffles and decided to ignore Clark for the remainder of lunch. Stupid flying boy scouts and their fucking sensibilities. Ruined a perfectly good escapist trip out of Gotham. How was Bruce going to run away from his problems if they hit him in the face at 100 miles per hour?

“Here’s your meal, Clark.” Patricia placed a plate in front of Clark. “Oh, honey, you sure drank your coffee fast today. Would you like a refill?”

Clark laughed. “Yes, please. I’m afraid the little tyke here was a little overeager.”

Patricia glared at Clark, distinctly motherly in the way she scolded him. “Young man, how could you give a child coffee?!”

“He stole it from me!” Clark complained, instantly throwing Bruce under the bus. Some boy scout he was; he wasn’t even willing to take the blame for a child.

Patricia directed her glare at Bruce but he just blinked and pointed at Clark. Two could play the game. “He let me take it. I couldn’t have taken it twice if Clark didn’t let me.”

“Whoa, hang on a sec, buddy. I didn’t let you do anything. You did it yourself.”

Bruce cocked his head to the side. “Look me in the eye and tell me you couldn’t stop me from taking your coffee. You let me try it.”

“Alright, fine. I wanted to see how you’ll react and then if you’ll like it better with sugar,” Clark conceded.

Patricia tutted her tongue at them. “I sit you here so you’ll be a responsible adult but you decided to corrupt the youth instead.”

“Corrupt is a strong word.”

“You’re almost forty, Clark. You’re not young anymore. You’re a father. You should know better!” she chastised.

Clark was suitably sheepish. He raised two hands up in surrender. “I promise I won’t give the kid another sip.”

“Good.” Patricia sniffed and turned away as another table demanded her attention.

“She didn’t give me my refill,” Clark groused.

Bruce ignored him and focussed on eating. Clark seemed to get the hint and started eating his meal too. A comfortable silence fell over them, filled in by the chatter floating around the diner. It’d been a long time since he last shared a meal with Clark.

“Buddy,” Clark began, breaking the silence, “If you ever need someone to talk to, call me. I’ll help you in any way I can.”

He slid his business card over to Bruce with a kind smile on his face.

Bruce wondered why Clark always felt compelled to help him no matter what identity he met him in. Bruce never needed help but Clark always offered it. To Batman, the stoic caped crusader. To Brucie Wayne, the happy-go-lucky billionaire. Now to this random child, a bratty boy he met in a diner.

Clark’s hand was always extended but it felt just a bit off-centre. Not aimed right at Bruce, but a little to the left. The hand didn’t feel like his to grab.

(If Clark’s hand was directed to Bruce and not Batman or Brucie or Pebble, would Bruce grab it?)

He stowed the card in his pocket to satisfy Clark – ever the boy scout, feeling responsible for a random potential runaway he met at his local diner.

“Don’t call me buddy,” Bruce grumbled.

Clark laughed. “You still haven’t given me a name, kiddo.”

Bruce didn’t know what name to give him.

He adjusted his glasses and ran his hand through his hair, messing it up even more.

It dawned on him once more that his decades-old disguise was similar to Clark’s. The glasses, the cheap ill-fitting clothes, the fucking unkempt hair. It should have made Bruce annoyed but he felt oddly at ease with it.

Here they were, two people with too much to hide, just trying to find a place for themselves in the world.

Except, Clark succeeded. He had two loving parents, an award-winning journalist for a wife and two sons that still spoke to him.

Because Clark was a good man and he deserved every bit of happiness the world could afford him.

“I’m Pebble,” Bruce eventually said.

Clark blinked owlishly. “Pebble?”

“Yes.”

“That your real name?”

Bruce gave him a look and Clark smiled sheepishly.

“Right. Obviously not.”

“Boulder thought it was funny,” Bruce generously elaborated.

“Let me guess, you know a Rock too? And a Gravel? Stone?”

“Just Rock.”

“Of course,” Clark murmured. “Gothamites are nothing if not eccentric. You know, I’ve met a Matches before. Matches Malone.”

Hmm. Bruce had forgotten that. He had been investigating a lead that led him to Metropolis and Clark happened to be chasing the same lead. Bruce, as Matches, surreptitiously fed him hints about the organisation they were both investigating. That had the unexpected consequence of Matches charming Clark and the boy scout was determined to help him leave the life of crime. It had been annoying trying to convince him to drop it but he eventually did.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Clark had met a lot of Bruce’s personas. Most of them, in fact. And he had wanted to help all of them.

Was it Bruce? Did something about Bruce just scream ‘help me’ to the boy scout? Actually, Bruce didn’t want to know the answer. He was perfectly fine with living in denial.

“Matches isn’t a weird name.”

Clark gave him a flat look. “He’s called Matches because he keeps a matchstick in his mouth.”

Bruce shrugged. “You never know when you need to light something on fire.”

Clark squinted at him. “You know, Matches said the same thing to me.”

“It’s common sense. Everyone in Gotham knows that,” Bruce deflected.

He ate the last bite of his waffle and finished his milkshake.

“I don’t know if it’s a Gotham thing or a you thing,” Clark said.

Bruce shrugged and placed three twenty-dollar notes on the table. He hopped off the bench and grabbed Ace’s leash. “Bye, Clark.”

“Nice meeting you, Pebble,” Clark said, looking thoughtfully at the bills at the table.

Bruce left without looking back.

Seeing Clark for the first time in a long while settled something within him and Bruce didn’t dare examine it for too long less he uncovered some bullshit he didn’t want to deal with. Not now and not ever. The bridge had long since turned to ash and he had no plans of building a new one.

He wandered into a nice park with Ace. It was not as nice as any of those in Gotham of course, courtesy of Poison Ivy and Wayne Enterprise’s deal – they provided the land and she was free to do as she liked with it provided the parks remained safe for the average Gothamite.

Bruce threw a tennis ball for Ace and a few kids in the area asked to join. They ended up playing tag with Ace as It, laughing as Ace pounced on them, licking their faces in victory.

It was almost sunset by the time Bruce got back home to Gotham. No self-respecting Gothamite spent more than 24 hours in Metropolis if not strictly necessary. Nothing like a good ol’ escapist trip to the shiny Metropolis (derogatory) to make the hell city Gotham (affectionate) feel like home again.

Chapter Text

Bruce turned in his sleep, laying flat on his back instead of his usual position curled around Ace. His mind felt fuzzy, still caught in the in-between of sleep and wakefulness. Bruce had been mercifully tired enough that pacing up and down the hallway for ten minutes was enough to ward away another nightmare so he had a blissful six hours of uninterrupted sleep. But. Something was different.

Bruce quickly took stock of himself and dragged a hand over his face. Something was different indeed.

Ace’s tail thumped against the bedding and Bruce’s ears swivelled to track the sound. A tail thrashed under him, sandwiched awkwardly between Bruce and the mattress.

He dragged himself out of bed and looked over himself in the mirror. There were black floppy ears on his head and a sleek tail behind him. His canines looked longer than they used to be (they were already longer than average – Bruce had those to thank for the vampire allegations) and his nails had inexplicably grown claw-like.

Bruce touched his ear, marvelling at the feel of it. The base of the ear transitioned flawlessly to his scalp which was an odd feeling, going from fur to hair. Bruce’s tail wagged lazily behind him and he noted, with amusement, that he was matching Ace.

He wondered if the transformation spell intentionally gave him Ace’s features or if it was just a coincidence.

Bruce whistled a short tune followed by a long tune and his dog barreled over, sniffing Bruce’s new appendages. Ace’s tail wagged behind him like a mini motor. Bruce’s tail wagged in adoration of the sight.

“Let’s take a photo to commemorate, buddy.”

He wrapped an arm around Ace’s neck and took a photo of them with their matching ears.

After some consideration, Bruce sent it to Amaya with the caption: I left Gotham yesterday and woke up with these. I’ll keep you updated on any other side effects I find.

It was early in the morning and Amaya wasn’t good at replying at any time so Bruce set his phone down and got dressed. He considered tucking his tail in his trousers or around the waistband but decided against it. There was no one but Ace around to see them anyway.

After breakfast, they went out to the garden to play for a bit.

His ears perked at the new sounds he could hear; the birds chirping in their nests, small critters scavenging for food, and the soft crunch of grass being flattened by his feet. And then there were the smells; dirt, flowers, leaves, Ace, the same smell wandering around the garden that Bruce could track. Oddly enough, the new senses didn’t extend to his eyesight so Bruce could still see his usual spectrum of colours. It was strangely considerate of the curse/potion/transformation spell.

(Bruce wasn’t really sure what to classify being made into a curse’s vessel in order to spit out a different vessel to destroy that curse. He’d just call himself cursed for now. It seemed less complicated that way.)

Bruce inclined his head to the side and decided to test some things.

He threw a ball for Ace and didn’t feel the urge to chase after it.

He threw a stick and still didn’t feel anything different.

It was only when they played tug of war and Bruce got a little too into it, growl slipping from snarled lips, that Bruce realised he was feeling a little different. He quickly released the rope and slapped a hand over his mouth. Experimentally, he let a growl out again, marvelling at the vibrations he could feel through his fingers. The growl was much better than the one he let out as Batman.

Bruce gave Ace some treats to apologise for growling at him and then continued playing. They chased each other around the garden and then unnecessarily dug up a pit in the garden bed. Luckily, Bruce had been neglecting the garden for a better part of a year so all they ruined was a bed of weeds.

After playing for a little longer, Ace and Bruce sprawled on the grass, basking lazily in the sun and Bruce enjoyed himself, noticing all the little noises and smells he hadn’t before.

As far as side effects went, this one wasn’t too bad.

Amaya video-called him and she was beyond ecstatic. “You look adorable,” she cooed.

Bruce’s ear flicked before falling back in its floppy position and he sat up properly. “Hello to you too, Amaya.”

The witch laughed, “Yes, hello, Bruce. I must say, those ears look positively fetching on you.”

“Thank you, Amaya. Do you think this is the result of leaving Gotham yesterday?”

Amaya hummed. “I cannot say for certain without examining it in person but it seems highly likely.”

“I didn’t feel the urge to play fetch but I growled at Ace when I got a little too invested in tug of war. And I started digging a hole in the garden. Other than that, I have not noticed any other side effects.”

“So, it’s a little behavioural as well? Not surprising. Transformation spells do tend to influence the mentality and behaviour of the inflicted individual. You should know. You turned into a child.” She grinned impishly. “Tell me, Bruce, have you started chasing your own tail yet?”

Bruce scowled at her. “Ace doesn’t even do that.”

She laughed. “To be safe, do try to avoid chocolate,” she advised.

Bruce nodded. “Just to be certain, if this keeps happening, it won’t affect the final results, would it?”

“No, Bruce. You can keep travelling, it’s fine,” Amaya reassured him. “Just be sure to return to Gotham every so often and be here on the final day. Do remember that the side effects will last longer and be more severe the longer you’re gone.”

Bruce nodded.

“It was nice talking to you, Bruce. Talk to you next time.”

“You too, Amaya.”

Bruce draped himself over Ace and thought over what he could do today. He couldn’t leave the manor because of his new appendages but Bruce was itching for something to do. He had a lot of energy. Too much. God, was this why dogs were always running around, doing just about anything?

Energy was thrumming through his body and Bruce needed to burn it off.

Bruce jumped up. “Alright, Ace. We’re sparring today,” he told his dog.

He ran off to the cave and changed into active wear. There were some toy swords on the weapons rack. Bruce wasn’t sure whose idea of a joke that was (lies, it was Jason, long ago, when he was still a child, before he died. Bruce refused to let anyone take them down) but it served him well at the moment so he just shrugged and grabbed them. Once one of the swords was secured in Ace’s mouth, Bruce bowed at him, signalling the start of their duel.

Ace pounced at him, angling his head so the sword would wack Bruce on the side. Bruce flipped out of the way in a needlessly elaborate display of martial and acrobatic prowess. Ace tried to attack Bruce again and this time, Bruce opted to lightly parry Ace’s sword.

“C’mon, Ace. If you can get me, I’ll cook you a steak tonight.” he taunted with a wolfish grin, smile made more wild by his sharp teeth. Bruce’s tail wagged behind him, exposing his excitement.

Ace barked and lunged for Bruce with renewed enthusiasm.

Bruce snickered and dodged a few more times before being tackled and held down by Ace’s bulk. The sword had long been abandoned by his Bat-hound and Bruce was instead subjected to Ace’s retaliation.

“Ace!” he whined, trying to escape Ace’s tongue. His face was sloppy with drool and smelled disgustingly of dog breath. “Gross,” Bruce emphatically complained.

He giggled and turned to his side. Bruce decided to take a nap right then and there, doggy breath and all.

Bruce walked into his art studio and decided to paint what Ace would look like as a human. After all, Bruce was given Ace’s ears and tail, why shouldn’t Ace be given the same treatment? He did a quick sketch of a mischievous but reliable-looking kid that was around Bruce’s current age and grinned to himself.

“Look, that’s you, Ace,” he told his dog.

Ace gave him a woof and wagged his tail.

“Hnn. You’re right. You should still have your ears.”

Bruce added dog ears to the canvas and nodded in satisfaction.

He hummed and rocked on his feet in excitement, only to recoil backwards, tail tucked behind his legs, when the sharp scent of paint assaulted his nose. The downsides of this situation finally reared its ugly head.

Bruce squinted at Ace, “How do you stand this smell?” he asked.

Ace, unsurprisingly, didn’t answer him.

Bruce grumbled under his breath and resealed the paint bottle. He glared at his portrait of human Ace and made a promise, “Next time.”

Then he skipped out and headed to the piano room instead.

He had been patting Ace on the head when the thought came to mind. How would it feel to have fingers raking through his hair, gentle hands scratching the base of his ears, a warm hand cradling his face as he melted under their touch?

Bruce hugged Ace to his chest and satisfied himself with giving that to Ace instead. He let the thought remain a wistful daydream. After all, only Good Boys get pats and Bruce wasn’t a Good Boy by any definition of the word.

“Message from Kal-El,” the Batcomputer’s automated voice notified him.

Bruce stiffened and dragged himself to the desk, tail tucked shamefully between his legs. Ace kept close to his side, rubbing his flank against Bruce’s arm in a show of comfort.

He climbed into the ergonomic chair that was now way too big for him and opened the message.

Kal-EL: Long time no talk, Batman. It’s been too long since we last met. Not since the last alien invasion a year ago. I haven’t even realised how long it’s been until I saw a kid yesterday that reminded me of you. He’s a Gothamite too so maybe that’s why. A lot of Gothamites remind me of you. They’ve never been this young though. Is it strange that a Gothamite child reminded me of you rather than your Robins? You probably think I’m insulting you by calling you childish or something. I’m not, by the way. The kid was just very Gothamite, like you.

He called himself Pebble and refused to tell me his real name, just like a certain someone. Pebble had a dog with him, a very cute dog called Ace, but no guardian. I thought he was a runaway at first but his clothes were clean and he didn’t have any belongings with him. He paid in cash and tipped like you tend to do so I don’t think he was strapped for cash but something about him worries me. I’m not sure why I’m telling you about this. You just seem to always know what I’m talking about when I’m talking about Gothamites that I sometimes meet outside of Gotham. Anyway, I know you’re on leave from the JL (don’t give me that ‘contractor-only’ business, you’re a JL founder) and you’re busy in Gotham but if you have some time to spare, we should meet up. It’s been years since we had lunch together.

Bruce hugged his knees to his chest, the chair making squeaky sounds as he rocked himself back and forth.

He read the message again and again.

Was Kal trying to tell him something?

What did he mean by a lot of Gothamites reminded him of Batman? Did he know that they were all Batman? Did he have an inkling? Was he trying to confirm his hunch? Did he want Batman to fess up? Did he want him to confess that they were all him?

Maybe he didn’t know. Maybe he was telling the truth when he said he wanted to get in touch again. Maybe he missed Batman.

Or maybe he wanted to see Batman as his antithesis.

Small.

Weak.

Vulnerable.

Bruce tried to steady his breathing, made difficult by the hands he slapped over his mouth in order to muffle the mortifying sounds coming out of it.

It felt like Clark had seen Bruce instead of Pebble and that frightened him. Not many people saw Bruce nowadays and the idea of being seen, of being known, was terrifying.

(He was sure that if he was known, he would be tried and found wanting, and so Bruce, subconsciously perhaps, ensured that he would never be known in his entirety. It wasn’t difficult. Not many wanted to know Bruce anyway.)

Clark, Bruce decided, was to be avoided for the remainder of the hundred days.

He exited the high-security messaging program and pretended he never saw the message.

Bruce climbed onto the roof again and stared up at the night sky. He could catch a glimpse of the moon, its silver glow peeking through the thick smog, and it felt like a spotlight cast over him on an empty stage.

He closed his eyes and counted to ten.

One.

The wind was the embodiment of the intangible.

Two.

It caressed his cheeks and rustled his hair with cold formless hands.

Three.

The gentle breeze was Mama examining his new ears, lifting them up with an upwind and letting fall to frame his cheeks with a downwind.

Four.

The roar of the wind in his ears was Mama gushing about how adorable Bruce looked.

Five.

She liked to call him a dapper little gentleman, she would have called him the prince of puppies.

Six.

The rustling trees was Mama bragging about Bruce to everyone that would listen.

Seven.

The chirping crickets was Father listening and agreeing.

Eight.

He always thought Bruce looked like Mama.

Nine.

The increasingly louder chirping was Father singing about his beautiful wife and son for the world to hear.

Ten.

Father’s praise was always brief but rewarding.

Bruce released his breath slowly and opened his eyes. The moon was hidden behind the clouds again and a blanket of darkness fell over the world around him. The wind was currents of air and the chirping was crickets making mating calls to other crickets.

Bruce quietly slipped back into bed.

When Bruce woke up the next morning, he ran his hands through his hair and was mildly disappointed to find that his dog ears were gone. Then he froze and told himself that it was a good thing the side effects only lasted as long as he was gone. One day in Metropolis. One day of dog ears.

He messaged Amaya an update and got ready for the day, humming a soft tune under his breath.

Bruce spent the day not unlike yesterday and finished that painting of human Ace. It didn’t take too long and Bruce was left with nothing to do again.

It was boring being by himself.

When Bruce was actually nine, isolated as he was, he had people he could see, people he could talk to, and people he could play with. He could count them on one hand but he still had them. The current Bruce didn’t even have the option.

Ever since Alfred left over a year ago, Bruce had been alone.

It didn’t really matter (lie) when he was Batman but Bruce— Bruce couldn’t stand the loneliness.

He rocked on his feet and came to a decision.

“I’m going to build a new suit.”

Bruce built the suit in a fugue, almost meditative state. It reminded him of his early days as Batman, barely eighteen and debating the merits of restrictive but protective material or lighter, less armoured fabric instead of which college to attend like the rest of his peers. He did still end up going to college, taking an accelerated business course so that he could rightfully inherit the company his father left for him.

Hours flew by and Bruce stepped back to admire the new suit. It resembled his Batman one, black and grey, interspersed with blue. It wasn’t a total copy, more like inspired-by, with a domino mask instead of a cowl and the cut more similar to Robin’s suit than anything. Bruce could lie and say that it was because his proportions suited the designs they had for Robin’s suit but the truth was, he just wanted to feel a little closer to his children.

He caressed the cape and put the suit away.

This was stupid. Bruce was supposed to lay low for a hundred days and nothing says laying low quite like putting on a costume and fighting crime. For one, there was no way his children would ignore a new vigilante patrolling the city, let alone a child with a thirst for justice. Secondly, Bruce needed to stay alive so that he could spit out that stupid gem and help Amaya destroy the fucking curse. Throwing himself head-first into gunfire wasn’t very conducive to staying alive.

He’ll have to deal with his boredom some other way.

Chapter Text

Rosa toyed with the rusty old knife she found and flipped it in the air, catching it between her fingers like she saw on TV one time. Isaac and Gabriella (Gabe for short) looked as bored as she felt but it was worse for them because they had to sit through Henry showing off the batarang he found last night that he swore was special edition or some shit. It looked the same as every other batarang lying around.

She redirected her attention across the street where there was a Batburger. A little kid with a huge dog stepped out of the Batburger. He had messy hair and big round glasses, like a nerd, but his clothes were clean and new, lacking any holes or patch marks. A rich kid, Rosa indifferently labelled him.

The kid checked both sides of the road before crossing with his dog. He kept it on a short lease, barely allowing it to leave his side at all. The dog seemed well-trained, unlike the mutt Mr Houston, their stupid landlord, kept. Whenever they went on walks, Danger kept pulling Mr Houston along instead. Mr Houston liked to say Danger was well-trained but it was obvious that it never went to puppy school. Danger didn’t even sit.

The kid with the dog made eye contact with Rosa and kept walking straight towards them. He was a tiny little thing and looked shorter than even Isaac, the baby of the group because he was ten and younger than Rosa by a year and a half. He must be six or something. Kids that young shouldn’t be out alone and Rosa knew rich people hired people to look after their kids for them so there was no good excuse for why that kid was out alone with just a dog for protection.

“Hello,” the kid politely greeted them all.

Rosa squinted at him with suspicion and Henry finally shut up about the batarang he found.

“Could you do me a favour? I promise to repay you for the help,” the kid said.

“Whatcha want?” Rosa asked.

The kid turned slightly to the side to point at Batburger. “I want to collect their toys but you have to buy the Batmite-meal to get them. I can’t finish that many meals by myself. Can you help me eat them?” he explained in the posh bristol accent all the rich people had; Gotham but crisper, like they were saying all the letters in the word.

Rosa looked at her friends and saw the confusion on their faces. Never before had they heard such a strange request. She’ll suspect it was part of a plan to kidnap them but everyone knew Batburger was sacred and left it out of their schemes. Her friends just shrugged and left her to deal with the dumbass kid. “Can’t you just ask to buy the toys by themselves?”

The idiot kid blinked owlishly. “I didn’t think of that. I already bought the meals,” he said, showing them his receipt.

He had bought ten Batmite-meals. Rosa peaked inside the Batburger before and saw all the toys they had. There was Batman (obviously), Nightwing (Bludhaven traitor but he patrolled in Gotham more often in recent years so everyone was willfully ignoring the betrayal), Red Hood (even though he was technically still a crime lord), Batgirl (no one had seen her in years), Red Robin (in his old outfit), Robin (with only one of his cool swords) and Spoiler (with her full face mask). That was only seven.

“We’ll help you finish the food,” Henry said before Rosa could call the kid a fucking idiot with more money than sense and make him cry.

“Thank you.” The kid’s lips curled at the corners slightly, barely emoting, but his eyes creased and narrowed with joy. If you only looked at the top half of his face, the kid looked like he was about to start vibrating from excitement. If you covered his eyes, the kid would only seem mildly interested. Weird.

The five of them walked into the Batburger and Rosa felt her heart speeding up in her chest. She was too old to get excited over a kid’s meal but Rosa had never tried a Batmite-meal before and she’d always wanted to eat one. That it took one dumb rich kid to do so was irrelevant.

“Order number 27,” the Bat-minion (or whatever they called people who worked at Batburger) dressed in a shoddy Batman mask called out.

“That’s our order.” The rich kid approached the counter and they followed him. Lined up on trays were ten boxes of Batmite-meals and drinks. They couldn’t make a tiny kid with twigs for arms carry the trays so Rosa grabbed the one with all the food and Henry carried the drinks. They made it to a table without spilling anything, even though Gabe kept staring daggers into Henry, expecting him to trip and fall.

Isaac, Gabe and Henry squeezed onto the bench, abandoning Rosa to sit on the side with the rich kid. Jokes on them, the rich kid’s dog was actually really friendly, unlike Danger, and let her pet it.

“His name is Ace,” the rich kid told her.

Rosa hummed and gave Ace scritches behind his ear and the dog practically melted.

“My name is Henry. This is Isaac, Gabe or Gabriella, and Rosa. What’s your name?” Henry asked because he was being polite and sensible for the first time in his life. Apparently, all it took was to buy him some food.

“I’m Pebble,” the rich kid answered.

Rosa gave him a flat look. “What’s your real name?”

“Benny,” he said as if Benny was somehow a worse name than Pebble.

“Okay, Benny, did you get all the toys you wanted?” Rosa asked because she was the oldest and most mature of the lot.

They dug through the boxes and piled the toys up in front of Benny. The Bat-minion must have specifically chosen the toys for the kid because they were all different except for the extras because he bought ten meals and now the kid had the whole set. Benny separated the duplicates into a different pile and stared at them long and hard.

“I’m going to buy another meal,” he announced, hopping out of his seat surprisingly quietly.

“Wait, why?”

“There’s not enough toys.”

Rosa frowned. She must not understand rich people because there were clearly more than enough toys. While she was trying to work out rich-people-logic, Benny approached the counter and bought one more meal, bouncing on the spot as he waited for his extra-extra meal. They watched on speechlessly when he came back with his freshly made Bat-mite meal.

Benny dug the toy out of the new box and placed it in the pile of extras. He pushed them towards Rosa’s friends and asked, “Which ones do you want?”

Oh. Oh!

He wanted to give the extras to them but there were only three extras so he got another one. But the dumbass kid forgot he could just buy the toy instead of the whole meal so now they had eleven meals to share between the five of them. Benny was kind though so Rosa supposed they could forgive him for not being the brightest.

“I want the Batgirl.” Isaac grabbed the toy and put it in his pocket as if someone would appear out of nowhere to steal it from him.

“I want Red Hood.” Gabe did the same.

Rosa quietly got the Batman toy and Henry happily got the Red Robin.

“Let’s dump all the fries on the tray,” Gabe suggested. “Did you jokerise the fries?

“Yep.”

“Sweet.”

They all took the small pack of fries out of their boxes and tipped them onto the tray. A small mountain of fries formed in front of them.

Rosa grabbed a fry and threw it in her mouth. A flavour she could not describe as anything other than green but yummy exploded in her mouth. She has never had fresh jokerised fries before but damn, they were good.

She peaked to her side and Benny was nibbling on his burger, taking the smallest bites she’d ever seen. Rosa wasn’t sure if this was a rich person thing or a baby thing.

“Hey, Benny? How old are you?”

Benny swallowed and dabbed his perfectly clean mouth with a napkin before speaking. “I’m nine.”

“No way,” Isaac exclaimed. “I’m ten and I’m so much taller than you. What’s your real age? Five?”

Benny pouted and it was the cutest thing Rosa had ever seen. “I’m just short.”

“This is more than short, buddy. You’re tiny! You’re a baby!”

Benny looked offended and Rosa didn’t want to upset their rich overlord any longer so she threw a fry at Isaac’s head. “Just ‘cause you’re no longer the youngest, doesn’t mean you can call Benny a baby.”

Isaac huffed and ate the fry that bounced off his head and fell onto the table. “You guys call me a baby all the time.”

“That’s because you act like a baby.”

Isaac tried to argue that he was super grown up and not a baby but everyone knew the truth. Even Benny was more mature than him and he was dumb and apparently nine years old.

“Who is your favourite, Benny?” Gabe asked, gesturing at the small pile in front of Benny.

“I don’t have a favourite.”

“That’s a cap. You must have a favourite.”

Benny took a sip of his drink and shrugged. “I don’t.”

“Well, I like Red Hood because he fixed the lock at our house and he helped me with my homework one time,” Gabe explained. She’s told the story to them a hundred times already so everyone just nodded.

“I like Spoiler because she’s funny. She used to be Batgirl, right?” Isaac asked.

Gabe slapped Isaac on the shoulder. “You like Batgirl, you should know this. Spoiler was the third one. No one knows where the first and second went.”

Isaac rubbed his shoulder and drowned his sorrows in soda.

“Well, I like Red Robin because he fixed my skateboard for me and he did super cool tricks on them,” Henry told them.

“Batman saved me once and he gave me a cookie because he said I helped him save the other kids.” Rosa didn’t tell them why she needed saving. Everyone knew why.

“Have you ever met any of the Bats, Benny?”

Benny nodded but didn’t elaborate. He was a rich kid. He must’ve met them at a hostage situation or something.

By the time Rosa finished eating two Bat-mite meals, Benny had eaten just a little over half his burger. This was taking ‘slow-eater’ to the next level. It was a good thing Benny was rich because he would never have survived on the streets. Everyone would have snatched his food before he finished his first bite.

“Do you have any treats for Ace?” she asked him.

Benny nodded and took a bag of treats out of his pocket. “You can give him a handful.”

Rosa nodded, humming in excitement. “Does he sit?”

Benny nodded proudly. “He does most things. Just ask him and he’ll do it.”

Rosa’s friends perked up and hopped off the bench. They still had two boxes left but were pretty full from the two each they ate. They’ll take it home to eat later.

“Sit, Ace,” Rosa commanded.

Ace sat.

Rosa beamed at him and gave him a treat. “Good boy.” She patted him like she saw Benny do and Ace melted under her hand.

“Let me try,” Isaac said. “Ace, turn around.”

Ace spun around on the spot and sat back down. “Wow. Good boy, Ace,” he praised and gave him a treat.

“Play dead, Ace.”

The dog laid down on the floor and lolled his tongue out the side of his mouth.

They burst out into laughter and heaped Ace with praises and treats.

When Benny finally finished eating, he gave each of them a twenty-dollar note. That was eighty dollars on top of the food he bought! Benny was rich-rich.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said.

Rosa pocketed the note even though it felt like she was taking advantage of a dumb kid because who would refuse free money? “Tell us any time you need help.”

Benny smiled and walked away with Ace.

When Bruce parted from the kids, he slapped a cap on his head and made his way back to his bike. Ace walked happily beside him, thoroughly pampered by the children. He seemed to thrive under all the attention, standing taller with pride after every praise and subsequent reward for being a good boy.

Bruce grinned at the thought and gave Ace more scritches behind the ear. He felt a little apologetic that Bruce’s solitary lifestyle deprived Ace of the attention and social interaction that he so clearly craved. It was a little difficult giving your dog what you yourself clearly lacked, Bruce mused. The only option Bruce really had was going to dog parks more frequently and playing with Ace often to make up for the lack of social interaction. Quality over quantity. It was a good thing Bruce had plenty of free time lately.

He crossed the road after looking both ways and noticed in the corner of his eyes a familiar dense cloud. It hung over the head of a harried young man, coffee clenched in his hands, eyes sunken with stress. The young man wasn’t watching where he was going – a mistake that was near fatal in Gotham, cursed or not – but instead chose to trust that his blind instincts would steer him straight.

Without consciously making a decision, Bruce followed the man.

It didn’t take long for disaster to strike. The man turned at the corner and bumped into another man, spilling coffee all over his shirt.

“What the fuck, man?” the other man yelled in a thick Gotham accent.

“S-s-s-sorry!” the previously-cursed man stuttered.

“Sorry’s not gonna cut it, pal.” The other man pointed a knife at the guy and glared viciously. “Pay up or you’ll regret it,” he snarled.

“I don’t have– have money on me. The coff–fe-fee used the last of my money.”

“Pay. Up.”

Bruce sprinted close to the man with the knife and kicked the weapon out of his hand. He flipped to gather momentum and delivered a round kick to his jaw. Bruce then attacked his knees to bring the man to the ground. The fight was one-sided, lasting only a few seconds. Bruce may have been small but he had over thirty years of fighting experience under his belt and the other man was clearly not expecting Bruce to show up out of nowhere and take him down.

“It’s not very nice to point a knife at people, sir.” Bruce stood over the man and pointed a knife threateningly at him. He twirled the knife in the air and by the time it fell back in his hand, he had another knife in his other hand. Bruce twirled them both and they disappeared back under his clothes. After the intimidating display, he slapped a tenner on the man’s chest, “I’m sure that’s enough for the laundromat.”

The man gulped and sat up with such haste that Bruce stumbled backwards in surprise. “I ain’t afraid of you, you fucking brat!” He took a swing at Bruce, sloppy and weak but still managed to land it against Bruce’s cheek with enough force that Bruce fell onto his butt.

“RUFF!” Ace barked and growled threateningly at the thug that had just punched Bruce. The thug cast a wary look at Ace before pocketing the ten-dollar bill and running down the street.

Bruce held his cheek in one hand and readjusted his glasses, glad that they weren’t damaged from the shitty punch. He ran his tongue over his teeth. Thankfully, none were loose.

“Are, are you alright, kid?” the original victim asked Bruce. He offered Bruce a helping hand and Bruce let him pull him up.

“I’m fine. You really should look where you’re walking, mister,” Bruce advised. It may have been the curse’s fault that the conflict escalated so much but it was still better to be more aware of your surroundings, especially in Gotham.

“I know. I was just lost in thought. But, are you sure you’re okay? That looks like it hurts.” He reached out to touch Bruce’s red cheek but thought better of it and pulled back.

“It’s not that bad. I’m really fine, sir.” Bruce pocketed the knife he disarmed from the thug and nodded at the man. “Stay safe.”

The man nodded back. “Thank you for helping me. You stay safe too, kid.”

When Bruce got back home, he drank a minor healing potion, gagging at the bitterness, and marvelled as his swollen and purpled cheek healed over a span of two hours instead of two days.

Bruce set his new toys down on the Batcomputer desk. He debated if he should have the Batgirl represent Barbara or Cass and ultimately decided on Cass. Barbara had moved on from Batgirl a decade ago but Cass was most recently Batgirl so he chose her. He painted the figurine so that it more resembled Cass’ Batgirl than Stephanie’s. Bruce then designed a green snake in the same art style as the figurines and printed it out with his 3D printer. Then, for fun, he built a 3D model of Ace wearing his bat-style helmet, Agent A in his masquerade-style mask, and Batwoman and printed those too.

He arranged the toys in a neat row on top of the PC so they would not block the monitor but would still be visible if he craned his neck. In order of age (except Ace): Agent A, Batwoman, Bat-hound, Batman, Oracle, Nightwing, Batgirl, Red Hood, Spoiler, Red Robin and Robin.

Bruce smiled to himself. The Bat-clan. The family all neatly lined up along the edge of the Batcomputer.

Bruce snuggled up close to Ace and closed his eyes. There was part of him – a weaker, hateful part – that whispered, call them, they’ll come if they knew.

He grabbed that voice by the throat and trampled it to the ground.

It’s not fair to them.

He was the one who approached Amaya. He was the one who created the potion. He was the one to drink it. Bruce had no right to drag them into this hell of his own making. He wasn’t so selfish that he’ll force them to uproot their lives just so he’ll be less lonely.

Yeah, he didn’t think he would turn back to his vulnerable nine-year-old self but that was no excuse.

He made his bed and now he was going to lie in it.

Bruce scrubbed furiously at his eyes. Only day fourteen and he was already losing it.

Chapter Text

It was the twelfth of June, day seventeen out of a hundred. Tim and Damian’s exhibition opened today and Bruce really really wanted to go. He had it marked in his calendar and set up reminder after reminder to make sure he didn’t miss it. Bruce knew that the event would fall under the hundred-day period he was cursed but he was determined to attend, whatever form he ended up taking; cat, bat, hedgehog, anything. Fortunately, he only transformed into his younger self and it was marginally easier smuggling a child into an art gallery than a hedgehog riding on the head of a great dane.

Bruce looked up the details of the exhibit again and confirmed that it was family-friendly and allowed dogs. He let out a sigh of relief. Even if Bruce couldn’t show up as himself – their father, mentor, whatever he was – he could still support his sons by attending anyway. More importantly, he wanted to celebrate Tim and Damian working on an art exhibit together. Bruce couldn’t imagine them doing that the last time he saw them together (at that awful Thanksgiving a few months after he came back from the timestream) but he was glad that they were close enough to do something like this with each other.

He wore something that was more Bruce than Pebble and fixed his hair to something respectable. After he was satisfied with how he looked – neat clothes, round glasses, somewhat tamed hair (a look he had christened Benny at the Batburger) – Bruce clipped a leash to Ace’s collar and walked into the exhibit’s hall.

It was crowded and busy, as expected of an exhibition organised by two Waynes. But the venue was well organised and seemed to have been planned around the crowd. There were accommodations in place for anyone that needed them and it was clear that many considerations were had for this event.

Bruce stood behind a large family getting their paper wristbands at the entrance and tried to look like he belonged. The man putting the wristbands on the family looked a little put off at the fact that the family miscounted how many of them there were but shrugged and helped Bruce put on a child wristband. It helped that the exhibition was free and they only used the wristbands to count how many people attended.

Bruce politely thanked the man and walked in, keeping Ace’s leash short and close to him.

The exhibition featured many of Tim’s photos of Gotham (thankfully without its nightlife) and paintings that Damian had done of sights in Gotham. They were all beautiful and captured the grittiness of Gotham but also the intensity, the liveliness, entrenched in every street corner and every brick and tile. They captured something just so uniquely Gotham that Bruce was sure Outsiders wouldn’t be able to sense but every Gothamite would be able to feel. That in itself spoke of the love and pride his two boys had for their city.

It was even more apparent in the artworks Tim and Damian had collaborated on. Tim’s photos were printed on a large canvas and Damian had painted dogs, cats, racoons, birds, all sorts of animals onto the empty streets. It added a sense of whimsy and adoration to the otherwise bleak streets as Tim preferred to take photos in the dead of night or just as dawn broke.

Bruce took his time admiring all the art, reading every little description and comment left by Tim and/or Damian. Ace was patient with him, even as the hours flew by, and stuck by his side, not leaving even when other children tried to play with him.

“I told you it would be a success,” a familiar voice said to his left.

Bruce calmed his racing heart and schooled his features. He snuck a peak to his left and there, in the corner, wearing casual clothes and baseball hats, were Tim and Damian. Tim was grinning proudly and nudged his brother’s side playfully.

Damian clicked his tongue and crossed his arms. “Tt, I didn’t doubt that it would be popular, Timothy. It is only natural that my artwork would be beloved by the masses.”

(Bruce knew that Tim and Damian were closer now but he wasn’t aware that they were close enough for Damian to refer to Tim by his first name. He was happy for them but Bruce couldn’t help but feel hurt to have missed seeing it happen. It felt selfish to feel that way and Bruce hated himself for it.)

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yes yes. We all know. Your royal highness excels at everything he attempts.”

Damian sniffed imperiously. “We both collaborated on these artworks. I had no doubt that it would be a success.”

Tim threw an arm over Damian’s shoulder and pulled him into a side hug. “Aw, your dere side is showing.”

“Stop using weeb terms to talk to me, Drake!” Damian hissed as he escaped the hug.

“Dick said I should appeal to your interests and you’re a weeb, so yeah. Also, you gotta stop calling me Drake at every little provocation.”

“I am not a weeb, I simply have an appreciation for Japanese animation. And I will call you Drake as I please.”

“You have replica katanas from anime in your room, Brat. And– crap, I think someone just recognised us, let’s leave.”

Tim and Damian quietly left the venue and Bruce stepped out of his hiding spot behind a column. He took in a deep breath and tried to keep the giddiness from showing on his face. Bruce was glad he came to the exhibition today.

Ace nudged Bruce on his side and he continued to admire the rest of the art. When he arrived at the gift store, he bought one of each print—Bruce would have liked to purchase the original canvases but he didn’t want to draw attention to himself by negotiating their price. His favourite was an artwork Tim and Damian worked on together. It was of a quiet street, taken at first light, people just waking up and getting ready to start the day, and eight birds sitting on a telephone wire like gargoyles watching over everyone. They obviously represented the vigilantes and– and even Bruce was there.

When he got home, Bruce framed all the art prints and hung them on the wall of the hallway leading to his art studio.

Bruce was doing some light reading in the library when he received a message on his phone. It was from Saph.

Saph🐳: Hey, Brucie, long time no talk! The girls told me they hadn’t seen you in a while. Did you finally go on that trip you’ve been talking about?

It had only been twenty days since Bruce drank the potion but since he hadn’t been going to any social events, he hadn’t spoken to any of Brucie’s friends for roughly two months and a half. Bruce assumed that people wouldn’t really question his absence. He didn’t expect anyone to ask him about it.

Though, now that they did, Bruce wasn’t surprised that Saph was the one to message him.

He had known her since he was eighteen, barely an adult and without any real backing other than the money that he was in the process of inheriting. Saph saw how uncomfortable he was at galas and being twenty, and therefore a real adult (her words, not his), she offered to protect him from the ‘boring packs of old men and women haunting the galas’. The media obviously mistook their close proximity for something more but they both hated the press and so welcomed the misunderstanding. Saph, because she was lesbian and in the closet. Bruce, because he was building his cover and just wasn’t interested in being harassed at galas.

They played the game of ‘Are they or are they not?’ with the media for months, stating that they were only friends but flirted at every opportunity. It was fun trolling the press and reading the tabloids that resulted from lingering touches and whispered words. They escalated the game by bringing in Saph’s friends, lesbian and otherwise, and soon enough, Brucie was known to be a playboy, with a new girl hanging on his arms every week and big sex parties every other week. In reality, they were just having normal hangouts; painting nails and watching trashy shows on TV.

The girls often joked that Brucie was one of the girls and stated on multiple occasions that they were grateful they never had to worry about Bruce being attracted to them. Bruce joked back that he was glad they would never be attracted to him. Then, the girls would fake gag, because Brucie was their brother! It sometimes felt like he was at some kind of convent the way the girls kept jokingly calling each other sister and him brother.

Some people not within their inner circle thought Brucie was actually a playboy and tried to make advances on him but the girls always intercepted them before they could. After all, that was why the game started. To get the media off their asses and to stop people from harassing them at events. Annoyingly enough, people backed off more willingly if the other party was a romantic partner rather than ‘just’ a friend. As if romance somehow triumphed over friendship. As if a friend couldn’t be worried about a creep harassing their friend without it being something more.

Anyway, their decades-long game led to a friendship that only existed for social events and the occasional ‘sex party’. It was a relationship built on mutual benefits, one that Saph hadn’t needed since she officially came out. Bruce wasn’t really sure why they were checking up on him.

(Maybe they were just being good friends and wanted to see how he was doing. Adult Bruce didn’t think they considered him real-people friends but nine-year-old Bruce was surer of what was considered friendship than adult Bruce and he saw the friendship in their interactions. They teased each other and took the time out of their busy adult lives to meet up and when Bruce adopted his children, they congratulated him and gave him advice. When Jason died, they sent him heartfelt messages through text and comforted him in person when he finally crawled out of seclusion months later. So, maybe they were friends, real friends…)

Brucie🐥: I did. The signal is bad here so I can’t really talk much though. What’s up?

Saph🐳: I didn’t think you’d reply! When are you back? We should meet up sometime. It’s been forever!!!

Brucie🐥: I’ll be back in 3-4 months

Saph🐳: Where did you go?

Brucie🐥: secret 😉

Saph🐳: 🤨are you trying to climb Mount Everest again? It took you two years last time, Baby, maybe it’s time to give up. This time you don’t even have the excuse of a fake boarding school to hide the fact that you were trying and failing to climb Everest

Brucie🐥: Hey! I told you that when I was drunk. And it was a joke! You’re not allowed to use that against me
Brucie🐥: And the boarding school was real. I have the graduation certificate to prove it

Saph🐳: lol. Weakest lie I’ve ever heard and we both pretended to not know that the press thought we were dating after I came out

Brucie🐥: They what??? How could they think such a thing? You’re more lesbian than the lesbian flag!!! Why would we be dating?????

Saph🐳: you know the reason people think you’re actually dumb is because you keep making jokes like that right? No one knows when to take you seriously

Brucie🐥: :)
Brucie🐥: it’s so funny though
Brucie🐥: And its useful! Lex🤢 hates dumb people so whenever he tries to ‘befriend’ me, I just say something stupid and his soul leaves his body and then he leaves me alone. It's really a defense mechanism

Saph🐳: that’s BS
Saph🐳: You just like being a himbo
Saph🐳: Actually, you ARE a himbo.

Brucie🐥: Himbos are not very knowledgable Saph

Saph🐳: Exactly.

Brucie🐥: I know things! I know a lot of things!

Saph🐳: You may have graduated super young but you’re still dumb of ass ❤️
Saph🐳: Actually, how did you convince people to think you’re actually dumb and not trolling when you graduated early?

Brucie🐥: I sealed my school records and everyone assumed I paid for my grades ✌️ I was a teenager too and everyone thinks teenagers are dumb so when I left and came back still a dumb teenager, they weren’t surprised

Saph🐳: 🙄 and then you left for another 2 years without telling anyone where you were going

Brucie🐥: That’s just asking for the pap to harass u

Saph🐳: I bet youre just ashamed of where ur staying
Saph🐳: Don’t tell me youre staying at Metropolis 🤢

Brucie🐥: 🤮I have more self respect than that!

Saph🐳: Good. All my baby brothers hate Metropolis

Brucie🐥: Not a baby

Saph🐳: uhuh

Brucie🐥: I’m only younger by two years

Saph🐳: sure

Brucie🐥: 🙄

Saph🐳: 😁Let’s meet when you get back

Brucie🐥: I’ll let you know when

Bruce put his phone down. Being nine and inexplicably much wiser in the friendship department than his older, more repressed self, he decided that Saph was indeed his friend. Brucie’s friend but a friend nonetheless.

The only people he could say were Bruce’s friends were Harvey and Talia but Bruce hadn’t been a very good friend to them in too long. The other friends he had were Pebble’s, Rock and Boulder, and Bruce hadn’t been Pebble in decades so he wasn’t sure if he could qualify them as friends anymore. Batman didn’t have friends. Batman had allies and enemies.

But Bruce’s older self was kind of stupid. He didn’t even realise that Brucie’s fake girlfriends were actually his friends so who knows what else he missed. Perhaps Bruce wasn’t such an island after all.

…Something to think about after the hundred days was over. Or not. Bruce didn’t know if his older self would repress these revelations his current self kept having. He was an asshole like that. He would probably think that it's easier being alone even though the loneliness had been crippling him. Adults were dumb and Bruce’s adult self was even dumber.

Bruce put some more thought into the whole ‘even though adult Bruce is the World’s Greatest Detective he is oblivious when it comes to personal relations’ thing and did some self-reflection. He looked up the definition of friend just to be sure and was rather sure that the criteria of ‘bond of mutual affection, usually exclusive of sexual or family relations’ applied to a few people in his life.

He flipped the card Clark gave him and stared at Clark’s name.

Bruce was willing to lay down his life for Clark but then again, he was willing to die for just about anyone so he wasn’t sure how much that counted towards the affection department. Bruce found Clark’s company… more than tolerable. He missed it even. Bruce was probably fond of Clark and Clark might have been fond of Bruce too. He did invite Bruce or rather Batman out for lunch after all.

Clark was endlessly compassionate and he was always kind to Batman but he also confused Bruce. He was sure that if he messaged Kal back and tried to subtly find out if he thought of Batman as a friend, Bruce would only get more confused. That was the problem with friendly people. They treated everyone like a friend and you never knew who was actually their friend.

Thinking back, Batman was likely Clark’s friend once. Bruce was sure that if he revealed his identity, they would have been good friends. But that was before Jason died and then Bruce built more walls around himself. Before Bruce’s contingency plans were leaked and used against the Justice League. Before Bruce quit the JL and only worked with them as a contractor.

They all treated him differently afterwards. With betrayed distrust. As time passed and they understood his actions more (or maybe time had swept it under the rug?), the heroes regained their trust in Batman but Bruce would never forget the caution they showed him. All except…

Martian Manhunter.

Perhaps by virtue of being a mindreader, J’onn understood Batman better than most. Bruce kept his mind shielded most of the time but battlefields were distracting and emotions often ran high; it was understandable if J’onn sometimes picked up on the thoughts and emotions Bruce unintentionally projected.

And-

And Bruce had snuck onto the Watchtower a few times, quietly asking for J’onn’s medical services. Because Alfred had retired and Bruce didn’t want to face Leslie’s disapproval but he still couldn’t stitch up back wounds by himself. And so Bruce had to ask someone he knew to be discrete and wouldn’t lecture Bruce about things he already knew. The person that came to mind was Martian Manhunter because he had never exposed what he had learnt from Batman’s mind. Likewise, he never told anyone about the medical services he provided Batman. He was kind but he did not make a fuss about things Batman did.

That was the most crucial quality. If Bruce contacted Clark back and tried to subtly find out if he considered Batman a friend, Kal would make a fuss. Bruce didn’t want to fuss. It wasn’t conducive to quiet reflection and Bruce needed time to process all of this by himself. J’onn never bothered Bruce and didn’t make a big deal out of anything Batman did. He was good for quietly testing out the waters.

So, Bruce made an Oreo cheesecake, put his new suit on and headed up to the Watchtower after checking that no one else was on board.

“Hello, J’onn. It’s Batman. I’m here to do maintenance on the servers,” he lied. Bruce wasn’t sure if you could lie in mental messages but J’onn hadn’t called him out on it so he kept doing it. Having to be truthful was sometimes worse than being willfully dishonest. Even if the other party knew you were lying, they still didn’t know the truth after all.

“It’s been a while, Batman. It appears that you’ve gotten younger in your absence. Is this why you’ve taken a leave from the Justice League?”

“It’s temporary.” Then, because he didn’t want to seem rude, he added, “I brought an Oreo cheesecake. Have you had them before?”

“I can’t say I have.” Bruce could feel the curious-intrigued-anticipation coming from J’onn and sped up as he walked to the monitor room. “I’m looking forward to trying it,” J’onn said aloud when Bruce finally arrived. Little legs were annoying when you were trying to be fast.

Bruce wordlessly placed the homemade Oreo cheesecake on the table and gestured for J’onn to give him space to work.

The Martian happily moved to the side and served himself a slice of the cheesecake. “This is delightful!” he exclaimed after he took a bite. “I did not know perfection could be further improved on. Oreos on their own are already quite the delicacies but they taste so delicious as a cake.”

Bruce made a noise that could be interpreted as pleased or simply distracted. He didn’t try to guess which one J’onn would hear it as.

“I must say, Batman, you are a talented baker,” J’onn praised.

“Hrn.”

Bruce knelt on his knees so he could reach the keyboard easier. As he busied himself with getting comfortable, J’onn slid a plate and fork over to him. “You should eat this with me. The maintenance can wait a little while longer.”

Bruce made a noise at the back of his throat and ate a bite of the slice J’onn cut for him. He was secretly proud of his first attempt at an Oreo cheesecake. He might make it again, not just as a bribe for J’onn to keep mum about his presence at the Watchtower, doing maintenance on a machine that didn’t need it for another few months.

“I appreciate the gift but there is no need to bribe me into silence. I won’t tell anyone you were here if you don’t want me to,” J’onn said, amused.

It was harder shielding his thoughts now that he was smaller and in less control. Bruce suspected that he was projecting them loudly too. He tried to reinforce his shields because Bruce’s mind wasn’t a nice place to be in but they kept slipping. Bruce sent a mental apology to J’onn and the Martian sent back okay-no-need-for-apology.

J’onn was a genuinely nice guy and Bruce didn’t know what someone like him could see in a guy like Bruce. There just didn’t seem to be anything likeable about Bruce, nothing that would make others want to be friends with him. The only thing he could think of was his accidentally secret baking skills but baking skills weren’t really a criteria for friendship.

“I’ll make Oreo doughnuts next time,” Bruce grumbled. “You can be my taste tester.”

“I’ll be glad to.” J’onn smiled like he knew a secret Bruce didn’t and Bruce ate another bite of his cake to keep his thoughts from wandering. He finished the slice, politely rejecting J’onn when he offered another, and completed the maintenance of the Watchtower systems.

Just as Bruce was about to activate the zeta tube, J’onn’s voice appeared in his mind.

“I hope to see you soon, my friend.”

He showed up in the empty cave and tried to blink his tears away.

Professional and kind J’onn was his friend. What other friends did Batman unknowingly have?

“...Computer, open up messages to Kal-El.”

Batman: Kal, what is your criteria for ‘very Gothamite’?

Chapter Text

The curse, potion, or whatever was causing these side effects had taken a less fun turn. Bruce woke up expecting to have been changed again. He was only on the Watchtower for two and a half hours but he did leave Gotham to go to space. Amaya told him that as long as he left the borders of Gotham or the curse’s influence, he would be affected. She wasn’t wrong. Bruce did wake up changed. Oh boy, was he changed.

There was a large expanse of dark-dark-dark around Bruce. He pushed against it and it gave way after much fumbling but Bruce was still stuck in the dark. He was in a pocket of some sort, encased in an endless expanse of nothing.

(I’m trapped-trapped-trapped. It’s so dark. And cold. I want to go out. Let me go out. Please. I’m sorry. Let me out.)

Bruce collapsed onto his knees and felt a bite of something against his bare flesh. He pawed at it blindly, tracing the large round shape, the bumps in the centre, and the fabric surrounding it. The answer, when it came to him, peeked through the cloud of panic like the first rays of sunlight after a heavy storm.

That’s a button. These are my clothes. The prison is my blanket. I’m still in bed.

Bruce wasn’t trapped in a small, dark, inescapable prison. He was just tiny and doll-sized, but his clothes and blanket hadn’t shrunk with him.

He let out a sigh of relief and shook away the unwelcome thoughts from earlier.

First things first, Bruce had to escape the confines of his blanket. He crawled through, following the lines of his pyjamas, and peaked out into freedom. It wasn’t much brighter now that he wasn’t under the covers. It was 11 AM but the heavy ceiling-to-wall drapes covered what little sun there was so Bruce only had the slightest bit of light from the hallway to help him see.

Bruce looked to the side and Ace was still sleeping, tongue lolled out adorably. He felt a pang of irrational irritation at the thought that while Bruce was panicking, his beloved dog was peacefully getting his beauty sleep. Bruce pursed his lips and stood in front of Ace, hands on his hips and whistled sharply, ignoring the fact that Ace was much, much larger than him now.

Ace instantly shot up and peered down at Bruce curiously. His wet nose pressed against Bruce’s bare chest and the doll-sized child pushed it away in disgust.

“I need you to help me get into my wardrobe.”

Ace let Bruce climb onto his back and when Bruce got a good grip of his collar, he gently hopped off the bed. Ace then walked over to Bruce’s walk-in and nudged the door open with his paw. He trotted to where the ties, watches and handkerchiefs were kept and lowered his head as Bruce instructed him to.

Bruce crawled onto Ace’s head to get closer to the drawer and wedged himself in that little opening that was used to pull the compartment open. He pushed with all his might and fell into the neatly folded handkerchiefs, like falling into a bed of silk. Bruce pulled out a handkerchief wedged into the back of the drawer, knowing that he didn’t like it all that much. He wrapped it around his body, tying it into a makeshift toga, and jumped back onto Ace.

Ace very kindly helped Bruce close the drawer again and following routine, walked Bruce into the bathroom to wash up. The tiny boy did as best as he could in his current size, using tools made for real people and not dolls.

Bruce was in for a tough time today.

Bruce didn’t dare use the stove while he was the size of Thumbelina. He instead propelled himself onto the counter with the help of Ace and ate a third of a banana. Ace helpfully pressed the button to dispense his kibbles himself, leaving Bruce to wrestle with the monster of a banana on his own.

Once Ace was finished eating his kibbles, Bruce gave him the rest of the banana and sat on his dog’s head back to his bedroom. He climbed onto his bedside table and grabbed his phone, exerting himself to drop it onto Ace’s back. Bruce then jumped back onto Ace’s back and secured his phone as they made the journey to the living room.

“Thank you, Ace,” Bruce said as he pulled his phone onto the couch. “I’m sorry we can’t go on a walk today.”

Bruce was much too small at the moment and he was afraid a bird would swoop down and take him away.

“Go get yourself a treat. You’ve earned it.”

Ace barked and wagged his tail excitedly. He ran off and Bruce chuckled to himself.

He turned his phone on and found that Cass had sent him a message. Suppressing his excitement – Bruce was sure that if he still had a tail, it would be wagging like a motor behind him – he opened his messages. Cass had a habit of sporadically sending him videos. Mainly those of her dance performances. Or when she had learnt a new move and wanted to share it with Bruce.

The new video was also a dance video. Cass was dressed in pink tights, a tutu around her waist, and her hair tied neatly into a bun. She smiled as she pressed play on her speakers and got into position. A familiar tune started playing and Cass swayed along to the beat, dancing elegantly and effortlessly.

It was the piece Bruce had composed for Cass, written about the woman he got to know her as, someone that was more than the experiment her biological father created her to be. She was compassionate, fiercely protective, and endlessly persistent. Cass got excited about learning new words. She loved music and dancing. She had an enduring love for life itself.

And she danced like it. A breathtaking smile broke through Cass’ face as she expressed the different facets of herself that Bruce tried to convey in his music. The quiet child who encompassed what the Bat represented better than Bruce himself. The loving girl who charmed everyone with her awkward sincerity. The woman who tried time and time again to better herself even when she was already perfect.

Cass: [Video]
Cass: [Voice Message]

Bruce clicked on the voice message and listened as Cass spoke into the microphone with a husky voice. She was speaking in Cantonese again. Cass liked to practise her Cantonese with Bruce and these days, she used Cantonese with him more often than not.

Translated Transcript: I loved your gift for me. I listened to it a lot and spent a lot of time making the dance because it had to be perfect. Did you like it?

Bruce chewed on his lower lip. He tended to respond to Cass’ voice messages with one of his own. The problem was, his voice belonged to a young child.

He should make himself a voice changer to rectify this. For now, Bruce just texted his reply.

Bruce: It was beautiful. I loved it.

Cass: ❤️
Cass: [Voice Message Translated Transcript: Thank you. I just wish I could have completed it for your birthday.]

Bruce: That was only half a month after your birthday and you already wished me happy birthday.

Cass: [Voice Message Translated Transcript: I know. Does the piece have a name?]

Bruce: Cassandra.

Cass: :) I love it.

Bruce stared at his phone until the auto lock turned the screen off. He could see his reflection on the screen, a dumb grin spread across his tiny face. There was a warm feeling in his chest that he had no doubt he would keep chasing, rewatching Cass’ video and rereading their conversation over and over again in hopes of reaching that high until the next time Cass messaged him. It was likely it would take another month or so for that to happen. Until then, Bruce had the past chat logs to keep him happy.

He set his phone on a timer and hopped onto Ace’s head. Bruce grinned as he gently held Ace’s ears in his hands like handles and posed for the photo. His phone snapped one after three seconds and Bruce quickly jumped back on the couch to examine it.

The photo showed Bruce in all his tiny glory, wrapped in a shoddy toga, sitting on Ace’s head.

He had an internal debate within himself about whether or not to send it to Amaya. The witch said she wanted to keep in contact but Bruce had already bothered Amaya enough and everyone knew Bruce was only tolerable in small amounts. However, Amaya didn’t seem to mind Bruce all that much. She might’ve actually enjoyed his company. Last week, she called Bruce just to chat about a new potion she was experimenting with. Amaya was a nomad. She didn’t interact with a lot of people that knew her. Amaya might be lonely. Amaya might actually welcome Bruce’s company.

Bruce quietly sent the photo to her.

He wrapped Amaya’s magic blanket around himself, lips forming a small smile when it shrunk to match his three-inch height.

Grey Ghost played on the screen and Bruce drifted off to the sounds of his comfort show.

When he woke up from his nap, he wasn’t small anymore. Well, he was still small but at least he wasn’t doll-sized. The blanket was magical as ever and the handkerchief Bruce had been using as clothing had unravelled, nested between him and the back of the couch.

Bruce hopped on the couch and did a quick stretch before getting dressed in his room. He had planned on taking Ace out on a walk but a glance out the window quickly dissuaded him of the thought. Dark storm clouds gathered in the sky and faint rumbles roared in the distance.

He gulped and ran back to the living room, snatching his blanket before running down into the cave. The bats were chittering and flapping their wings more restlessly than normal. Horrible idea. Bruce ran back into the manor.

BANGGGGGG––––––!

Bruce screeched and threw himself onto the ground. He clasped his hands over his mouth and froze, muscles and joints locking in place. Bruce's shoulders were hunched to cover his ears in a vain ineffective attempt to block out the storm and thunder and loud angry noises.

There weren’t any other sounds except the rain pouring down upon them as if the sky was throwing a temper tantrum.

The sky crackled again and Bruce let out a whimper, the sound vibrating through his hands. Bruce released his mouth to breathe and curled around his blanket as if it were a plushie, using the soft fabric to muffle his voice instead. He let out another loud uncontrollable sob and buried himself under the blanket.

‘Quiet, quiet, quiet. Have to stay quiet.’

Bruce thought that it was very unfair that his older self had learnt techniques to manage this fear yet they all managed to elude him when he needed them the most. He irrationally felt abandoned by his older self, left to have a breakdown in the middle of his study like a hapless fool. The only strategy that came to mind belonged to his younger self: Closets are good places to hide. They muffle noises and are an extra barrier between you and the outside world. No one bothers to check the closet.

Eight-year-old Bruce was wise beyond his years.

Another strike of lightning incited a pathetic yelp from Bruce. He chewed on his knuckles in anger and tried to stifle the rest of his reactions.

Where was Ace?

Bruce scrambled onto all fours and then picked himself up on two shaky legs. He was worse than a newborn foal, trembling on weak legs, liable to fall at any moment. He took in a breath, ready to whistle for Ace, hoping that the sound would ring through the halls despite the heavy downpour.

‘Quiet, quiet, quiet. Have to stay quiet.’

That stupid fucking mantra repeating in his mind stopped Bruce from whistling.

He dug his nails into the palm of his hand and shook the thought from his head.

‘Not there anymore.’

He whistled, one short tune followed by a long one. Come here, Ace.

Bruce waited for Ace for what seemed like too long and wrapped his blanket tightly around his shoulders. Amaya said the blanket would always be warm but Bruce was still cold.

“ACEEEEE!” Bruce yelled as if in protest of his instinctual silence. He crouched down low between the threshold of his study and the hallway and slowly rocked himself. Tears trickled down his face but Bruce didn’t have the mind to wipe them away.

There was a keen coming from the end of the hall and Ace came running over with his tail between his legs and ears pressed flat against his head. Bruce had forgotten that Ace wasn’t good with storms either. He must have hidden beforehand only to be brought out from safety because of Bruce.

“I’m sorry, Ace,” Bruce sobbed and wrapped himself around his companion. “Please take me to my room.”

Ace crouched down low and when Bruce was securely on his back, took off into a sprint. Once they were in his room, Bruce tucked them away into his walk-in wardrobe. It was much bigger than a typical closet but it was still filled with clothes that helped to dampen the horrid sounds coming from all around.

“The Gotham Railway System was first designed in…” Bruce recited to himself. He spoke in a low whisper until his throat was hoarse and his voice was all but gone. He didn’t know if the storm was still raging outside but he didn’t want to check so Bruce curled around Ace, blanket wrapped around them both, and continued his recitation, soundlessly, until he lulled himself to sleep.

He crawled out in the early hours of the next morning, the blanket still hanging on his shoulders and grumpily stomped to the kitchen. Perhaps it was part of his small rebellion against his childhood mannerisms or just the anger thrumming through his veins making an attempt at being known. There was a part of him that wanted to scream at the top of his lungs but alas, his voice was long gone, sacrificed to a long night dedicated to the history of the Gotham Railway System.

But still, Bruce was upset. Mainly at himself. For not only losing all composure because of a storm but also for choosing a closet of all cliched places to hide. Eight-year-old Bruce was not wise. Closets were the worst place to hide from a storm because the manor had at least three perfectly soundproofed rooms closer to his study than his fucking closet. Not to mention, the cave had a fully functioning panic room that Bruce could hide in for the next three years if he wished to do so.

It was the dawn of day twenty-six. Just seventy-four more days of being a useless, snivelling, pathetic, coward of a child.

Selina opened the door to her apartment and was instantly met with a swarm of cats. They surrounded her and took turns coquettishly rubbing their sides against her legs while meowing like little demons sent straight from hell. Selina laughed and dropped her bags to pet all the cats within her reach.

“Alright, alright, kitties. I’ll feed you soon.”

She gestured at her bag, which was actually a pet carrier. “Look, I got new friends for you!”

Three little kittens - one missing a hind leg, another an ear, and one an eye - mewed from within the carrier.

The cats rubbed their bodies against the carrier and tried to scent the kittens.

Cats were usually territorial and most weren’t so welcoming towards newcomers intruding on their space but the ones in Selina’s colony were all remarkably friendly and readily welcomed new additions to the family.

Still, Selina released the kittens in her bedroom and closed the door behind her to give kittens a chance to get used to their new home at their own pace.

After she fed all the cats, peace finally befell her apartment.

“I wonder what Bruce is doing? He’s been suspiciously quiet all year.”

Chapter Text

Clark had messaged him back a while ago but Bruce ignored the message. He didn’t need the confusion of Batman’s potential friendships right now. He needed to leave and go to someplace that didn’t remind Bruce of being helpless.

Bruce sent J’onn some coordinates and asked him to beam him there. J’onn did as he asked without question and Bruce found himself back in Thailand where he had trained in the past. He didn’t take Ace with him because he didn’t want to needlessly subject a dog to teleportation so Bruce was alone. That was fine with him. Bruce just wanted to pretend he wasn’t a stupid fucking kid.

After a day of exploring the street markets and revisiting some of the locations he trained at, he felt more settled and so he asked J’onn to beam him back home. It was the dead of the night when Bruce got back and Bruce was too exhausted to do much so he ignored Clark’s message again. He just got ready for bed and wrapped his magic blanket around himself, cautious about turning too small again.

When Bruce woke up the next morning, he felt a flutter behind his back. He immediately groaned because he just knew that somewhere out there the universe was laughing at him. Bruce’s back was cold and there was something jutting out from his torn pyjamas. He peaked behind him and groaned again.

Bat wings. Fucking bat wings.

The wings curled around Bruce and he buried his face in his hands.

Bruce only had two sets of pyjamas. He shucked the ruined shirt off with disgust and wrapped his wings around his torso. At least Bruce looked cool at the moment. The shirt was a worthy sacrifice for the cool factor.

He flapped his wings experimentally, grinning as they did exactly as he wanted them to. Bruce flapped them again and giggled in excitement. He tucked his wings behind him and ran out of his bedroom, unintentionally startling Ace awake. Bruce didn’t notice. He ran to the stairs and climbed onto the railing. He flapped his wings and kept flapping them until they built up momentum.

Bruce jumped.

His heart soared in his chest and Bruce let out a peal of laughter as he flew around the foyer. He flew up high and down low, gliding towards the ground before suddenly flying up again. Bruce did a loop-de-loop and squealed with excitement.

“Ace! Ace, look at me. I’m flying!”

Bruce landed in front of Ace, stumbling a few steps, and threw his arms around his dog.

“I can fly!” he exclaimed again.

Ace licked his face and Bruce pulled away in disgust. “Okay, okay. Let’s eat breakfast. After I get ready.”

Bruce brushed his teeth and washed his face but then stood in front of his clothes at a loss. He exchanged his pyjama pants for a pair of shorts but that still left him with no shirt. Bruce did not want to destroy a shirt for this one day with wings.

Wait, I’m a genius.

Bruce grabbed a button-up and wore it backwards, button side at his back. It was a little awkward dealing with the collar and trying to do up buttons with his hands behind his back but at least Bruce wasn’t shirtless anymore. He could’ve gone shirtless but it was still a little chilly in the manor despite it being summer.

He left a big hole where the base of his new wings was and experimentally gave it another flap. Bruce smiled in success when he didn’t feel any obstructions.

Dedicating himself to being a bat as his alternate persona was accused of being, Bruce limited himself to just fruits today. He had a banana and two apples and then wondered if bats could eat cheese. A cursory search told him that fruit bats ate nectar, pollen, and fruits. There was no mention of dairy products at all. Bruce elected to ignore it and ate a block of cheese. The type of bat Bruce was was specifically a crime-fighting one. Their diet included justice, vengeance and cheese. It was very well-balanced.

Per the current tradition, Bruce took a photo of himself with the bat wings and sent them to Amaya. ‘No vampire or Batman jokes!’ he captioned it. Bruce was sure the caption would not deter Amaya in any way.

While he waited for Amaya’s reply, Bruce went down to the Batcave and read the message Kal sent him. He was, admittedly, nervous. Bruce still wasn’t sure why of all things he had latched onto the ‘very Gothamite’ part of Clark’s first message. He was curious, he supposed. What did Superman think made a quintessential Gothamite and why did he attribute that to Bruce’s personas?

Kal-El: Is this because I called that kid ‘very Gothamite’?
Kal-El: I don’t visit Gotham too often so I’m not very qualified to define what makes a Gothamite but you’re asking me for my own personal view of Gothamites so I’ll answer anyway. I tend to think of someone as ‘very Gothamite’ when they’re gruff and stubborn but still kind. The Gothamites I’ve come across have all been a whole cast of characters but they’ve shared similarities that I believe reflect the city as a whole. Gothamites are survivors trying to carve a space for themselves in the world. They’re independent and slow to trust but that’s just a part of their charm. I just realised that I’ve compared a whole city of diverse people to stray cats but I’m not taking it back! I hope that answered your question, Batman.

… Did that mean that Clark saw Bruce as a stray cat?

He did say that he thought Batman was ‘very Gothamite’ so that meant that he probably based his perception of Gothamites around Batman. Which meant that he saw Batman as a stray cat. Batman. Vengeance. The Night. A cat.

How was it that so many people in Bruce’s life separately came to the conclusion that Bruce was very cat-like?

No.

Bruce would admit that his behaviour sometimes resembled that of a stray cat but— oh Gotham, he was totally a stray cat. Before this hundred-day sabbatical, Bruce liked to don different disguises and go ‘information gathering’ when in reality, he was just lonely and wanted to interact with different people. He never stayed for long and kept his visits few and far between but still frequent enough for people to remember him. Stray cats like to visit different houses in the neighbourhood and bother several different people for food and company. Bruce… he was a stray cat. There was no denying it anymore.

NO, Bruce’s inner voice protested.

BAT, it insisted.

Bruce flapped his new wings behind him and nodded.

Bruce wasn’t a stray cat. He was a bat and bats were so much cooler.

Batman: I am not a stray cat.

Bruce’s new wings were wrapped around his torso, leaving enough room for the light to shine through and illuminate his book as he hung from the rafters upside down with only the claws on his feet to keep him safe. He was halfway through the book but he still hadn’t felt lighthearted yet. His claws hadn’t slipped up or loosened even once. Bruce suspected that he could fall asleep in this position, just like the bats in the cave and occasionally, the attic.

He crossed his arms to his chest and closed his eyes, wings wrapped more snuggly around himself.

Sleep sounded perfect.

Bruce stood on the roof of Wayne Manor and fluttered his wings behind him. The strong wind ruffled his hair and caressed his cheeks. Most importantly, it got caught in his wings and made them flutter even more.

Heart racing in his chest, Bruce took one step closer to the edge of the roof. He grinned savagely to himself and closed his eyes. The breeze was picking up, becoming stronger. Bruce waited. And waited. And waited.

“STEP THE FUCK AWAY FROM THERE!”

Bruce opened his eyes in shock.

“Selina?!”

Bruce lost balance and fell forward.

“Red, catch him!”

The wind roared and bellowed below him.

“Holy shit!”

Bruce flapped his wings and flew.

The Gotham Sirens watched with jaws dropped to the ground. They were stationary aside from Pamela’s vines that still stretched towards Bruce even as he flew higher into the air.

“Oh, you think that just because I’ve been gone for half a year, you can ignore me now? GET THE FUCK DOWN, BRUCE!”

Bruce gulped. Oh no. Selina was angry. Real angry. Not the playful kind of angry she got into sometimes. No. This angry meant that Bruce fucked up. Real bad.

(He vaguely registered that this was the first time someone had said his name in a long while. The fact that it was screamed in anger was… typical.)

Of all the times to show up, Selina really had to choose the absolute worst moment. Why couldn’t she have shown up when Bruce wasn’t doing something stupid? What about all those other days when he was just moping and doing nothing? Why did she have to show up at the very moment his impulse control was taking a nap? Did she have a goddamn radar for this sort of shit? Bruce couldn’t even defend himself. This was only his second time flying and he chose to experiment by jumping off the goddamn roof. (Not to mention his first attempt was jumping off the stairs, the equivalent of jumping out of a two-story building. He was belatedly recognising the recklessness of that now.)

Bruce’s self-preservation instincts woke up and he flew up higher, dodging Pamela’s persistent vines. How did Selina even know it was him? A boy with black hair and bat wings jumping from the roof of Wayne Manor could’ve been anyone!

Bruce focussed on fleeing. He wasn’t going to let Selina take him without a fight. His life was on the line here.

“Brucie~” Harley sang. “If you don’t come down, I’m dog-napping this lovely gentleman here.”

Ace was in Harley’s grasp, enjoying his pets like the adorable attention seeker he was.

Bruce’s moment of distraction was enough for Pamela’s vines to catch up and wrap around his torso. They constricted his wings and forcibly dragged Bruce down to ground level despite his squirming.

Selina was glowering at him.

Bruce ignored his pounding heart and put on a brave face. “Cat. Harley. Pamela. Long time no see.”

“Hiya, Brucie,” Harley cheerfully greeted. She took one hand off Ace’s cheeks and waved at him. Bruce would have waved back but he was unfortunately still wrapped up in vines. He settled for nodding at her instead. “You look adorable.”

“Bruce.”

Bruce studiously ignored the demon cat growling at him.

“Pamela. Could you please let me go? I promise I won’t run away.” He may or may not have attempted to flash his puppy-dog eyes at her.

“Or fly away,” Harley added with a giggle.

“Or that.”

Pamela smiled at him. The vines did not loosen. They delivered him to his doom.

The undertaker stood before Bruce and loomed over him with cold eyes. “Bat, darling, you’re looking awfully young.”

“Thanks. It’s my new skincare routine.”

Harley laughed out loud while Pamela snorted. Bruce kept his eyes on Selina. Her lips twitched with what he hoped was amusement.

“Don’t think you can joke your way out of this. What the fuck were you thinking, trying to jump off the roof like that.”

“I have wings!” Bruce protested. He tried to flap them in demonstration but they were still constrained in vines.

“You don’t have to jump off the roof to fly.”

“I don’t know how to fly from a standing position yet.”

“So you decided to test it out by jumping off a roof?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “I wouldn’t have gotten hurt.”

Selina sighed, anger dissipated. She looked from Bruce to the quiet manor behind him. “Is this why I haven’t heard much about Batman lately?”

Bruce nodded. “It’s temporary.”

Pamela finally let Bruce down and Selina crouched down to meet his eye level. Bruce tried not to avert his eyes. Selina always had sharp-looking eyes. “How did this happen?”

“Drank a potion. It’ll wear off by itself.”

“Did it happen while you were undercover or are you ‘undercover’ because of this?” Selina astutely asked.

“The latter,” Bruce reluctantly admitted.

Selina’s eyebrows rose. “You’ve been gone for a month and barely active since January.”

“Twenty-seven days,” he corrected. It hasn't been a month yet. “And how do you know that?”

“That’s basically a month, Bat,” Selina said as if she knew what Bruce was thinking. “And of course I knew about your inactivity. I’ve been on the run from the British Government, not dead.”

Fair point. Bruce shrugged and Selina’s eyes fell on his wings, wrapped around him like his cape.

“Is that from the potion too?”

Bruce shrugged again. “It happens when I leave the boundaries of Gotham. They’re temporary too. They’ll disappear tomorrow.”

“How old are you?”

“Nine.”

Selina hummed. “You look tiny for nine. Are you sure you’re not actually six?”

Harley snickered and Bruce glared at her. “I had a late growth spurt.”

“How do you know you’re nine?”

Bruce resolutely kept his eyes on Ace. He had two choices. Fess up or lie. He wasn’t sure which was better. Selina had been taking this all remarkably well thus far but who knows when she’ll react negatively. Bruce chose a third option. “I kept a height chart of my growth when I was small.” He chose to obscure the truth.

Selina snorted. “Of course you did.” She sounded fond. Perhaps Selina was one of those actually-a-friend-but-I-didn’t-realise-it people. He had never been able to define their relationship as an adult but now, friendship seemed like a good and fitting word. The question was: Was Selina a Batman-friend or a Bruce-friend. He met her as Batman but interacted with her as Bruce more often. Maybe she was both. Catwoman was Batman’s friend. Selina Kyle was Bruce Wayne’s friend.

“Why are you guys here?”

“Why? Couldn’t we have just come to hang out with you?”

“You didn’t know I was home,” Bruce pointed out.

Harley grinned. “Selina knew you were doing something dumb so we came to ambush ya!”

Bruce looked at the bag in Pamela’s hands. Alcohol and snacks. “You came to use my TV didn’t you?”

“Got it in one! Ding ding ding!”

Bruce shook his head in exasperation. “I’m not going to be pressured into drinking with you guys.”

“‘Course not! You’re a baby!”

“Not. A. Baby.”

Harely nodded. “Not a baby.” She punctuated the words with pats on his head.

Bruce shoved it off irritably and led them all in. The Sirens made themselves comfortable on the couch in his living room.

“That’s a pretty train,” Harley commented. She ran her finger over Bruce’s model of the Flying Scotsman and then pushed it along its tracks.

Bruce wrapped his wings tightly around himself and tried to casually stop the train with his foot. “Ace likes it,” he lied.

Harley hummed.

Bruce held his breath.

“That’s the puppy’s name?” Harley asked, turning away from Bruce’s train set and showering Ace with love and adoration. Ace basked in it with his usual enthusiasm, tail wagging with joy.

“Yeah,” Bruce replied, releasing his breath in relief. Fortunately, she didn’t suspect the toy train had anything to do with Bruce’s youth.

“He’s perfect.” Harley hugged Ace to her chest and Ace went willingly.

“He is,” Bruce proudly agreed.

Harley giggled and leaned against Ivy. “It’s so funny that you have bat wings right now. Really taking the whole bat thing to a new level.”

Bruce flared the wings behind him. “Do you want to see me fly again?”

Harley grinned. “Hell yes, I do.”

Bruce grinned back and bounced a little on the spot, excited to show off, to have someone to show off to. “It’s a little too cramped in here. Do you want to see it in the gym or outside?”

“Let’s go to the gym. There’s no padding outside,” Selina suggested.

“I’m not going to fall, Cat.”

“I know, Bat.”

Bruce huffed but conceded. They headed to the gym where all the floors were padded and there was a net below all the ropes. Bruce climbed up the ropes to the platform because he still hadn’t learnt how to fly from a standing position yet. He flapped his wings to gain momentum, grinning as Harley cheered him on, and jumped.

“WOOOOH, BRUCIE!”

He giggled and flew around Harley, giving her a high-five before flying up high again.

“Do a flip!”

Bruce did a flip. Then a loop-de-loop and a dive and rise. He landed in front of the Gotham Sirens, panting from exertion but grinning like a fool.

Oops. Was that too childish? He should probably act more mature so they don’t realise he was a child in body and mind.

“That was so awesome!” Harley exclaimed. She held her hand up for a high-five again and Bruce reflexively gave it to her.

Ah. He looked at the Sirens. Selina and Pamela looked mildly amused while Harley had moved onto rambling about what she would do if she had wings and what kind of wings she would have. It was decided that she would have feathery wings that she could dye whatever colour she liked.

They didn’t seem to have noticed to young state of mind Bruce was in. Then again, they didn’t say anything about the train set so maybe they didn’t care.

They split up as the Sirens went back to the living and Bruce got changed into something less sweaty. When he got back, the girls were already watching something and Bruce could see Pamela holding up his magic blanket. She sniffed it surreptitiously and looked vaguely appreciative.

“Bruce. What kind of herbs are these?” Pamela asked, pointing at the patterns on his blanket.

“Those are magic herbs used in healing potions. I have some dried ones in storage if you want some.”

Pamela hummed and draped the blanket over them. The blanket increased in size to fit comfortably over all of them.

“Wow. Your blanket is magic, Brucie. It’s so warm too,” Harley exclaimed, hugging the blanket to her chest.

Bruce puffed his chest out proudly. “I got it as a gift. It’s enchanted to always smell like herbs, be the perfect size and the perfect temperature.”

“Awesome.”

Selina eyed the blanket appraisingly and Bruce glared at her in warning. She held up her hands in surrender, a playful smirk hanging from her lips.

“Let’s play UNO,” Harley decided. She took a deck of cards out of her pocket and shuffled them with flair.

Everyone else agreed while Bruce gestured at the TV. Harley waved him off. “It’s a slow episode anyway.”

Bruce reluctantly joined in on their game.

They sat on the carpeted floor, each one taking one side of the coffee table. Ace sat behind Bruce and acted like back support that Bruce didn’t need now that he had reverted back to a time when his back was never broken. But the gesture was nice so Bruce didn’t stop him.

“Loser takes a shot. Except you, Brucie. You have to hug the winner for thirty seconds.”

“What?”

“The alternative is letting us pinch your cheeks.”

Bruce huffed. “You’re punishing the winner too.”

Ivy rolled her eyes. “Just don’t lose.”

“I’m going to win every round.”

Bruce lost.

Harley cackled while Selina spread her arms wide victoriously. Bruce stiffly wrapped his arms around her and she pulled him into a big hug. “You’re smaller than your dog,” she teased.

Selina was very warm to the point of being almost scalding. Bruce felt himself slowly relaxing against her as her fingers raked through his hair, nails scratching his scalp. The sensation was almost tingly, in a good, soothing way. Bruce could finally understand why Ace enjoyed being pat so much. He let out a near-silent sigh and counted down the seconds. Out of the corner of his eyes, Bruce could see Harley and Pamela making kissy faces at each other. He averted his eyes and suppressed the childish desire to roll his eyes at the PDA. Selina directed a smirk at him.

Thirty seconds were over. Bruce pulled away and Selina let him go without a fight.

Bruce was the winner of the next round. He poured Pamela’s drink and looked down to hide the shit-eating grin on his face. She threw it back without a chaser while staring down at him.

Harley won the next round and Selina lost. For some reason, they both took a shot, clinking their glasses with grins and letting a bit of the hard liquor splash on the coffee table. Bruce ignored it since it didn’t soak into the carpet.

Bruce lost again. Pamela didn’t initiate so Bruce had to be the one to stiffly approach her and wrap his arms around her waist. He hid his face in her midriff and felt fingers gently tugging at his hair. Bruce tapped his head. There was a flower crown being weaved in his hair. He studiously ignored Harley and Selina cooing at him. Pamela was warm too.

“Baby,” Pamela mocked with a smirk after the thirty seconds were over.

“Not a baby.”

Why did Bruce keep losing?!

“Come to momma, Brucie darling~”

Bruce gave Harley a stink eye. He robotically moved towards her. Harley spread her arms wide and wiggled her fingers, beckoning him closer. He sighed and hugged her. Harley was warmer than Selina and Ivy but she was the most aggressive hugger too. Her arms wrapped around him and she began to hold him like a baby. Bruce suppressed the desire to squirm and counted down the seconds to his freedom.

“Tickle session!” Harley shouted once the thirty seconds were over. She jammed her fingers under Bruce’s pits and attacked.

“No-o-o-o-o-o-o!” Bruce screamed through the involuntary laughter. He tried slapping Harley with his bat wings but Harley’s smile was devious and her fingers were relentless.

“That’s what you get for losing,” Pamela laughed.

“This– This wasn’t a part of the agreement!”

“Oh, Harley, we should get Bruce to paint our nails,” Selina casually suggested.

Harley stopped and pointed finger guns at Selina. “Great idea.”

Bruce panted and retreated back to the safety of Ace.

“Brucie~ where did you put the nail polish?”

Bruce stared warily at her. “I’ll get it for you but you’re not allowed to tickle me again.”

“Aye aye sir!” Harley saluted and sat on her hands.

He defensively wrapped his wings around himself and quickly grabbed his collection of nail polish. The UNO cards lay abandoned on the table while the Sirens drank and they all got their nails painted. Bruce painted his with yellow daisies, matching the flowers in his hair.

“We should eat,” Harley decided. “Selina, I want pizza.”

“Bruce, phone.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and retrieved Selina’s phone from the table for her.

She selected everyone’s orders and had them delivered to the manor. It was only now that they were all quiet and Bruce could pay attention to what was playing on the TV that he realised they were watching a trashy crime show. He automatically got annoyed, clocking the poorly preserved crime scenes, disregarded safety protocols, and incredibly dumb detectives.

No wonder they ignored it in favour of the card game.

The pizza arrived and everyone happily ate their food while watching TV. It had been a long while since Bruce last ate pizza. Maybe that was why it tasted better than usual.

After eating, the Sirens played a drinking game, taking a shot whenever the detectives did something stupid. They got tipsy fast despite their high alcohol tolerance.

Bruce didn’t participate in the drinking game (obviously). He babysat them, made sure they didn’t drink too much and drank some water in between. Thankfully, the Sirens stopped drinking before they got properly drunk so Bruce showered (he set the flowers aside to preserve them later) and changed into his pyjamas – shirt worn backwards to accommodate the wings. He curled up on the couch and settled down properly.

As the night dragged on, he felt his eyelids getting heavier. Bruce snuck a glance at Selina and she was focused on the TV so Bruce let his eyes close for just five minutes. As he drifted off, he was reminded of Rock and Boulder. Somehow, Bruce was able to interact with the Sirens the same he did with his childhood friends. On the days he wasn’t being clingy anyway. (There used to be days Bruce would hold onto both their hands and refuse to let go for hours.) Bruce really did have more friends than he previously thought he did.

Bang!

Bruce snapped his eyes open and he instinctively held his breath, ceasing all movements that could potentially make any sound louder than silent.

Uncle Philip was back. Bruce was being too loud. He already got one warning. If Bruce kept making noise, Uncle Philip would be angry.

Bruce’s friends were here. Uncle Philip didn’t allow guests. They couldn’t stay. Uncle Philip would– would… They couldn’t stay.

“Bruce?” a voice softly called out to him.

Bruce blinked.

Selina?

He let out the breath he was holding in and forcibly relaxed his muscles.

Bruce didn’t live with Uncle Philip anymore. Bruce was technically a grown adult and he lived alone in the manor. There was no need to worry.

“Your hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it before, Bat,” Selina absently murmured. Her hand slowly raised and approached his face. Bruce allowed it and Selina’s fingers gently raked through his hair. She ran her fingers along its length as if to measure it before letting Bruce’s hair fall back into its soft waves.

“Ah, yeah,” Bruce stupidly replied. He usually kept it short and didn't like to let it grow out. Too much maintenance was required and when it did get long, it had never been a conscious choice of his. Bruce should get it cut soon but the thought of a stranger touching his hair and coming close to his face with sharp instruments repulsed him. Eventually, Bruce would get angry at his hair and he would hack at it with scissors but for now, Selina was playing with his hair and giving him little scritches on his scalp and it was… fine. More than fine even.

“It’s really soft,” she commented.

“Mmm.”

It was like Bruce had an off button on his head. He was out in seconds.

Selina felt a small weight against her side and smiled when she saw Bruce slumped over, fast asleep once more. She continued running her hand through his hair, not unlike she would to her cats. Selina would have loved to keep playing with it throughout the day but to say Bruce had intimacy issues would be an understatement. He craved it but avoided it as if it burned. The ‘punishment’ game was already pushing him to the limits. It was part of why they’ve been doing a careful balance of giving him attention but not too much all night. Fortunately, Selina had plenty of practice with her cats and the other two followed her lead.

Bruce’s hair was baby-soft to match his squishy cheeks.

“Is he sleeping?” Harley whispered, drunk but not drunk enough to lose her wits.

“Yeah. He probably needed it.”

“How old did he say he was again?” Pam asked.

“Nine.” Selina huffed a laugh. “He avoided telling us if his mind regressed too but I think we can all tell.”

Harley giggled. “He failed to hide it from the start! Tried ta fool with by saying the train’s for Ace but it was obvious. Bruce even forgot to hide it by the time we were playing UNO! I’ve never seen him so animated before. And he has a slight accent! He sounds British!” she cooed.

“Fucked up that he probably didn’t tell anyone though,” Pam commented.

Selina hummed and kept patting Bruce. The boy had slumped further and was practically sleeping on her lap like a kitty. Funnily enough, this wasn’t caused by his young age. Bruce the Adult was also in the habit of curling up in her lap during movie nights and letting out cute little sighs when she scratched the right spot on his scalp. It really reaffirmed her opinion that Bruce should rebrand to Catman.

“You know Bruce. He’s the biggest idiot in Gotham.”

“You gonna tell his family?”

She wasn’t sure. Their relationship functioned like stray cats seeking refuge with each other, coming and going as they pleased. Bruce didn’t interfere with her affairs and she didn’t with his. It was comfortable that way. No pressure, no expectations, no responsibilities. As long as they didn’t go too deep into the deep end, they weren’t going to comment on anything. It’ll ruin the relaxing vibe of their girls’ nights after all.

The question was, did this count as going off the deep end?

Bruce was alone and that was fine when he was an adult– actually, it wasn’t fine but it was less bad when he was an adult. At least Adult Bruce had some meaningful interactions on occasion, even if they were under the guise of his various identities. (He thought Selina didn’t know but she totally did. She was glad for it. Strays often went to more than one house in the neighbourhood anyway.) The problem was, Bruce was a kid right now and Selina may have grown up without much parental supervision but even she recognised that kids shouldn’t be left on their own.

“Harls, do you think Bruce would be fine on his own?”

“Brucie has never been fine on his own. I was betting on him adopting another kid because he was lonely but he went and became a kid himself,” she laughed. “He definitely going to crack at some point though,” she added more soberly.

Selina could offer to stay but that was definitely not how their relationship worked.

She shrugged uncomfortably. “I think this will unravel by itself, sooner or later.”

Bruce made an adorable sound in his sleep and snuggled closer to her. It was so difficult being friends with a self-destructive little asshole. Unfortunately, the lovable bastard clawed his way into her heart and made himself at home. Selina cursed her soft spot for strays sometimes but, well, she didn’t regret this one.

Bruce woke up to the familiar grogginess of falling asleep on girls’ nights. He was sprawled on top of Selina with his arms wrapped around her as if she were a teddy bear. They were in his bedroom. Bruce shoved down his rising sense of alarm and noticed that his fists held onto Selina’s shirt with a grip to rival a gorilla’s. He released her shirt and let out a small sigh. Selina must have decided to sleep in Bruce’s bed with him because he wouldn’t let go.

“Selina?”

She groaned.

Oops. Hangover.

“Are my wings gone?” he asked.

Bruce felt hands patting his back clumsily before they fell back onto the mattress with a heavy thud.

“Gone.”

“Do you want some water and a painkiller?”

A moaned yes.

Bruce got off his bed and rummaged through the medicine cabinet for some painkillers. He got that and a glass of water and delivered it to Selina. She took it with a grateful nod.

“Selina. Where’s Ace?”

“Harley dog-napped him,” she murmured.

Bruce nodded. “I’m going to take Ace on a walk and then buy some food for breakfast. Do you want anything?”

“I want a tuna sandwich.”

“Sure.”

Bruce got dressed as Pebble with an additional cap on his head and stepped out of his room. He whistled loudly (he could hear a groan from his bedroom at the noise but ignored it) and Ace came running towards him. He licked Bruce’s face and ran circles around him.

Bruce giggled and patted Ace. “Good morning to you too, Ace. Let’s get breakfast.”

“Selina.” Bruce slammed his bedroom door open, mindful of the blood on his hands, and found Selina still lounging on his bed.

“Good morning, kitty,” she greeted, marginally more awake and alive than earlier.

“Selina, I think I fucked up.”

“What did you do?”

He could tell when she saw his bloody hands because her eyes widened and she shot up.

“It’s not my blood,” he quickly reassured her.

“Then whose blood is it?”

“I got caught up in an armed robbery at the shops. I took the robber out but not before someone got shot. I helped with first aid.”

“Of course you did,” Selina sighed. “Where in that story did you fuck up?”

“Selina. There are cameras in the store and witnesses. They saw me do things no ordinary kid should be able to do.”

Selina scoffed. “This is Gotham. People are used to weird things happening.”

“The kids are going to find out,” Bruce hissed.

“If they find out, they find out,” Selina said very unsympathetically.

“How am I going to explain this?” he asked in a panic, gesturing at himself.

Selina laughed. “Tell them what you told us.”

That was a horrible idea.

“...Should I just lie instead?” Bruce asked.

“Did you do anything wrong, Bruce?”

“No.” He’s just been hiding from everyone and going behind their backs to research the curse again. Not that it was hard to go behind their backs. There’s no need to lie when no one asks.

“Then, why are you afraid?”

Selina was playing therapist. She didn’t usually play therapist. She only pried when she thought Bruce was doing something stupid. Was Bruce doing something stupid right now?

“I don’t want them to know, Selina,” Bruce confessed as if that wasn’t immediately apparent. Selina may not have reacted poorly but that’s because Selina was Selina. She always accepted Bruce’s Bruceness with ease. And Harley and Pamela were Harley and Pamela. They used to be villains. They didn’t care what Bruce did with his life as long as he didn’t interfere with their business.

“Why?”

“I know them too well. They’re not going to let me live alone like this.”

“Would that be so bad?”

Bruce fell silent.

He didn’t want to be alone, of course. Bruce hated being alone more than he hated being hurt. But being alone was what he deserved. And if his children needed space, Bruce would give it to them. He wasn’t going to jeopardise that by revealing his less-than-ideal situation. Perhaps it was arrogance to assume his children would come running as soon as he even hinted that he needed help but Bruce, failure of a father though he may be, knew his children. They had kind hearts and he wasn’t going to take advantage of their good nature just so he wouldn’t have to be alone.

“Listen, Bruce, you’ve already fucked up. Even if you delete the security footage, there were witnesses. The kids are curious. They’ll research and they’ll find you. There’s no going back now.”

“But what if I lied and made up some other kid?”

“You know that’s not going to work. It’ll go over better if you fessed up first.”

Bruce contemplated it. He hated it when Selina used logic against him. “...We’ll cross the bridge when we get there.”

Selina gave him a look but he ignored it and went into his bathroom to wash his bloody hands.

“Ah.” Now that the adrenaline had worn off, Bruce could feel his ankle throbbing with pain.

Selina sprung out of bed. “You hurt?” she asked.

“Landed on my ankle weird. Should be fine after I drink a potion.”

“Potion?”

“I learnt how to make potions early in the year. They’re only minor potions but are rather effective. Last week, someone punched me but I drank a healing potion and the bruise disappeared in just two hours.”

Selina tensed but before he could ponder why, she strode forward and lifted him up onto his sink counter. “You been wandering around a lot, Bat? Getting involved in a lot of crime?”

Bruce washed his hands with soap. “Only in the daytime. And it’s not like I went looking for crime. I saw someone being held at knifepoint and interfered.”

“Can never resist, can you, Mr Dark Knight?” she teased.

Bruce rolled his eyes and hopped off the sink, mindful of his injured ankle. He did a full-body stretch and noticed Selina watching him with amused eyes. “What?”

“Did you know that you stretch exactly like my cats?”

“I’m not a cat, Selina.” Bruce was going to deny the allegations until the day he died.

She poked Bruce on the forehead and he squeaked. “Sure. Whatever makes you happy.”

His uninvited guests left after breakfast with gift bags of dried herbs and various potions. Bruce was both glad and dismayed that were gone. He had a lot to think about and that was a problem because it was just Bruce and Ace and his spiralling thoughts; a constant barrage of ‘Oh no, they’re going to find out. They’re going to be mad. Would they even care enough to be mad?’ If the Sirens were here, they could’ve at least served as a distraction and let Bruce suppress his emotions for a bit.

Chapter Text

Barbara’s text message came with no warning. The recipients checked the message marked private and urgent, expecting something big, but Barbara was cryptic as usual.

Big Brother 👁️👁️: I need to show you something
Big Brother 👁️👁️: It’s about Bruce

Nurse Joy: We don’t talk about Bruce

Liking Disney is not a personality trait, Dick: STEPH!!!!! WAS THAT A REFERENCE?
Liking Disney is not a personality trait, Dick: Who keeps changing my name????? This is bullying >:(

Jasus: No
Jasus: You forcing us to watch every new Disney movie is bullying
Jasus: Those live-action films are a soulless cash grab and you refuse to admit it

Liking Disney is not a personality trait, Dick: >:( MEAN

Big Brother 👁️👁️: Focus.
Big Brother 👁️👁️: I came across some security footage and I need your opinions

Tim Nook💰: What did Bruce do?

Big Brother 👁️👁️: You’ll see when you get your asses to the clocktower

Dick put his phone down with a sigh and screamed across the apartment. “Dami, did you see the chat?”

“I did,” Damian replied. “Let me finish this first and then we can go!”

Dick rolled his eyes and sat down heavily on the couch. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Patrols had been busy without Batman which Dick had expected after Bruce started spreading rumours that he was going on a sabbatical, which just meant he was going to go deep undercover (and Bruce hadn’t even had the decency to tell them before he told the world). He really did not need to deal with more of Bruce’s mess on top of the extra patrol load. Dick hoped that whatever Bruce did that Babs thought was so important, it wasn’t too troublesome.

On the other side of the city, Jason shoved his phone back into his pocket and lit up a cigarette. He took a long drag and glared at the overcast sky. Fucking Bruce. As Steph said, they didn’t talk about Bruce, especially not when Jason was around. At first, it was because any mention of Bruce tended to start fights but eventually, it simply became a habit. But now, Bruce gave them no choice because he must have done something so fucking stupid that Babs fucking snitched on him. Babs never snitched unless it was funny or serious and it didn’t sound like she was making a joke.

Tim’s reaction to the messages was just to sigh and pick up his pace at work. He tried to think back to the last time he saw Bruce and realised that it was much longer than a month. He ignored the uncomfortable feeling in his gut and drowned himself in work.

Steph groaned and texted Cass, asking her if she read Babs’ message. She received no reply. Cass must’ve been asleep or busy. Steph roughly untangled the knots in her hair and pulled a hoodie out of the hamper. Time to find out what bullshit Bruce got into this time.

“Hey, Babs, how’ve you been?” Dick asked, greeting Barbara with a hug.

“Could be better, could be worse.” She made a wide sweeping gesture at the other chairs in the room and told everyone to take a seat.

Once everyone was seated, Barbara turned back to her computer and brought a video up. The freeze fame showed the front door of a corner store, filmed from inside the store. It was clearly the shop’s security footage. Barbara pressed play.

A child and a large dog walked into the store. The child wore a cap that hid their face and a large hoodie that obscured their figure. The dog was a black great dane and stood at the child’s shoulder height. It was kept on a short leash and remained steadily by the child’s side. The child’s head moved as they scanned the store and they walked into the canned goods aisle.

The screen split in two to show the register and the child. At the register, a lady in a grey tank top was chatting with the cashier, both invested in the conversation. Their attention was drawn to the door and a man with a gun walked onto the screen. He pointed it at the two and shouted demands. The two raised their hands up and the lady slowly backed away. The child had frozen at the shouting and hid behind a box left in the aisle. They dragged their dog closer to themselves and watched as the armed robber threatened the two at the front of the store.

The lady kept her hands behind her head and knelt on the ground. Satisfied by the show of obedience, the man turned back to the cashier, waving the gun in her direction, and made his demands. The cashier shakingly nodded and typed the code for the cash register. Unbeknownst to the cashier and robber, the lady had gotten back up and was slowly creeping closer to the robber, arms raised for a tackle. Unfortunately, the robber turned just as the lady was about to attack. He shot her in the stomach and then shot at the ceiling, screaming something the cheap security cameras did not record.

The child flinched as the shots were fired. They unleashed their dog and grabbed a can from the shelf. The child threw the can with a perfect throwing stance and dashed forward, the dog running alongside them. The can landed first, hitting the robber on the hand, and forcing him to drop his gun. The child kicked the gun away and jumped onto the counter. They used the counter as a jumping board and executed a spinning kick to the underside of the robber’s jaw. The child then flipped in mid-air and landed with a handspring, cap falling at the motion, revealing short, messy hair.

The disorientated robber was then attacked by the dog and fell to the ground. The child knocked the man unconscious and they tied the man’s arms behind his back with the dog’s leash. The dog remained by the robber’s side as the child rushed to the lady’s aid. After a quick examination, the child removed their hoodie and tied it tightly around the victim’s stomach. They kept pressure on the wound and spoke to the victim. After a few minutes, the lady visibly calmed down.

The cashier replaced the child by the lady’s side. The child picked their cap up and put it back on their head. They then left with their dog. A few moments later, EMTs rushed in with a first aid kit in hand.

“Thoughts?” Barbara prompted the silent crowd.

Tim ran his fingers through his hair, releasing them from their gel prison. “Well, they’re obviously well-trained and accustomed to battle. They’re used to fighting adults too. And using the environment to their advantage.”

Steph nodded. “The kid planned their steps. They considered the situation first before making their move.”

“They fight like a Robin,” Dick added, voice hoarse. He rewound the footage and pointed at the screen. “That’s the handspring I used to do when I was Robin. I taught all of you how to do it too when you were Robin.”

Damian crossed his arms uncomfortably. He made no comment.

“I was wondering when he’ll finally get a new Robin,” Jason scoffed derisively.

“I’m still Robin, Todd,” Damian hissed.

“But you’re not Batman’s Robin,” Jason sneered. “You work with your team in Jump City and sometimes patrol with us in Gotham. You never patrol with Batman. Not since you moved in with Dick. Face it, Damian. You were replaced. Though, I’m surprised it took Bruce this long. He usually only waits a few months before he finds a newer model. He waited years this time.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jason,” Tim scolded. “You know damn well that I wasn’t your replacement. None of us were replacements.”

Jason snorted. “Yeah, tell yourself that.”

Steph crossed her arms and spoke with false nonchalance. “Well, I was only made Robin because your dad forced you to quit so I say I was very much a replacement.”

“Steph,” Tim said, uncomfortable. “You agreed to fill in for me.”

She scoffed. “He didn’t choose me but I was still replacing you.”

“Enough with all this replacing nonsense!” Dick scolded. “No one was a replacement for anyone. Robin’s a mantel. We wore it and then we didn’t. Leave it at that.”

“Well, looks like the Demon Brat’s not going to be wearing it for much longer,” Jason said, motioning at the still frame of the child doing a handspring.

Damian growled at Jason and reached into his pocket. A glint of silver flashed in the dull lighting.

“Look at the kid’s face,” Barbara interrupted. She pulled up a screen capture that was zoomed in on the child’s face. In the pixelated image, the child was wearing round glasses that somewhat softened the impression of his face, incongruous with their decisive combative skills.

“Let me guess, black hair and blue eyes?” Jason sneered and crossed his arms.

“Look closely,” Barbara instructed again.

They leaned into the monitor.

“...He looks like Dami when he was small,” Dick murmured.

“That means he looks like Bruce,” Steph added and jokingly shivered. “That man’s genes are terrifyingly powerful.”

“I thought it was strange that he was undercover when there’s nothing major going on… The kid looks stubborn and judging by the way he stepped in, has a strong sense of justice too. I’m surprised there isn’t already a kid running around in a new suit. Oh, that must be why Bruce hasn’t been Batman. He’s too busy trying to stop the kid from going out. A good call. The kid doesn’t look ready, he fumbled that landing, but he seems stubborn enough to go out anyway. Bruce probably has to physically stop him every night,” Tim speculated. “Well, either way, it looks like Damian’s not the only blood son anymore.”

Damian glared at Tim for the comment before turning to Barbara with a shout, “Barbara, what is the meaning of this!” There was a hint of insecurity under the ire.

They all looked to Barbara for confirmation.

“I don’t know.” She looked pained to admit it. “I called you all here to confirm what I was seeing and to talk about it.”

Barbara pushed her hair away from her face and brought up a few articles on the monitor. They were articles announcing Bruce’s vacation. The articles were dated a few days after Barbara received Bruce’s email about a break from Batman activities. “The kid must have shown up some time before this but he’s already absurdly well-trained so as Tim suggested, I think Bruce took a break from all his duties to focus on him. What I don’t understand is why he didn’t tell the rest of us.”

The Robins snorted.

“Since when has Bruce ever told anyone when he got a new kid, Babs?” Dick derisively asked, his tone unmistakably bitter.

“This again,” Barbara whispered under her breath. She looked Dick in the eye. “You weren’t told about Jason because you cut all contact with Bruce-”

“It’s not like he tried to talk to me either,” Dick interrupted.

“And when the two of you did speak, it was to fight about him interfering with your life. Then, he didn’t have to tell you about Tim, Steph, Cass and Damian because you were there for them. Don’t you dare put this on Bruce,” Barbara scolded.

Dick was stunned silent so Jason spoke up. “Since when did you start defending Bruce?”

“I’m not defending him, I’m just stating the facts.”

Dick shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms over his chest. “What about this new kid? He had plenty of time to tell us about him.”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense. Bruce is faking a four-month vacation and he let the rest of us believe that he was undercover. Why put all this effort into concealing the fact that he has a new child? We’re all experienced in dealing with highly trained and traumatised children. We could at least help make sure the kid doesn’t go out at night. It doesn’t make sense that Bruce would sacrifice going on as Batman just so he doesn’t have to tell us about the kid. With Damian, he told us the first night he showed up and had the custody papers drawn up within a fortnight. And the delay was only because no one was sure what was happening yet.”

Steph snorted. “Fortnight.”

Barbara looked up at the ceiling, praying for the strength to continue this conversation. She worked with children, actually, she worked as a Librarian and the children there were preferable to these overgrown ones. “Not to mention, the kid was at the bodega by himself at nine in the morning. It doesn’t make sense for Bruce to be so irresponsible.”

“So, what you’re trying to say is that Bruce is hiding much more than just a new Robin?” Tim asked.

“Yes. Do the rest of you have any idea what’s going on? Has Bruce contacted you at all?”

Only Jason met Barbara’s eyes head-on. “You know I have Bruce blocked, Barbie.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “But did Bruce talk to you before he went on break?”

Jason leaned back in his chair. “Last I saw him was the Arkham breakout back in April. I’ve not seen him or his pointy ears since.”

“I saw him at a work meeting but we didn’t speak,” Tim told them.

“Dami and I last saw him in April too,” Dick said. “But Bruce texted us in the middle of May for the routine lunch invite and that was the last I heard of him.”

“You get those too?” Steph asked. “Wait, no, of course you do. Does he also invite you every three months as if he automates the messages or am I just special?”

Dick snorted. “No, every three months for us too.”

“Same here,” Tim said.

Jason raised his eyebrows at them. “Bruce invites you out every three months? What, is he trying to pretend to fulfil familiar obligations or something? He probably has a checklist of things he thinks normal people do to maintain his cover.”

“Harsh, Jay,” Steph snorted.

“But true,” Jason refuted.

Dick ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what Bruce wants with these invites but when I went to the first few, Bruce was so… bland and boring. It’s like eating out with an android.”

“It’s not that bad,” Tim said. “We just eat together then we leave. He doesn’t even say anything if I’m on my phone.”

Jason snorted. “The only reason you don’t think it's bad is because you’re ignoring him.”

“Besides, I’m pretty sure you rejected his last few invites,” Steph commented.

Tim huffed. “If he invited me at work, then I’ll be more free to have lunch with him.”

Steph rolled her eyes. “As if you workaholics would ever take a lunch break.”

Tim opened his mouth and then shut it again with a put-upon expression.

“Blondie, do you ever accept the invites?” Jason asked.

Steph nodded. “Yeah, I accepted the first few but all we did was eat in dead silence so I stopped accepting. The free food’s not worth the awkward silence.”

“Exactly,” Dick said vindictively. “It’s already so hard finding time to do things, I’m not going to waste that with boring, bland Bruce. Even when I try to make conversation, he replies with grunts or one-word answers. Then we inevitably end up talking about work. It’s just not something I want to spend my afternoon on. You agree with me right, Dami?”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “Father does tend to be rather… quiet during these outings. He never reacts to anything we say and when we do speak, it's about work. I don’t particularly mind it but Richard is right when he says there are better ways to spend that time. Even being with Batman is preferable to how Father behaves on these lunch outings.”

Barbara frowned. “You’re over-exaggerating. Bruce is stoic at times but he’s not that bad.”

“Lunch Bruce isn’t stoic, he’s bland. There’s a difference, Babs,” Dick said.

Barbara readjusted her glasses. “I invite him for lunch from time to time, I know how he behaves. And apparently, I know more than any of you because none of you accept Bruce’s lunch invites. If he invited you all out in May, it might’ve been to introduce you to the new kid but since you all rejected him, Bruce must’ve decided you didn’t want to be involved.”

There was a long pause.

The only sound audible was the tick-tick-tick of the clock. An unusual occurrence for when they all gathered. You would think that a well-trained group of vigilantes that worked in the shadows would be more quiet. But no, this was the longest they’ve been quiet as a collective in a long, long while.

“That still doesn’t explain all the secrecy,” Damian said, breaking the silence.

Barbara tilted her head at him, conceding his point. “You’re right. Knowing Bruce, he has his own reasons and has convinced himself that he is right. I just hoped that one of you would know something so I could prepare myself to break down his logic before meeting up with him.”

She tapped on her phone. “I’m going to invite Bruce for lunch. I haven’t seen him in person since March anyway.”

Jason leaned in aggressively. “Why can’t we just storm into the manor and interrogate Bruce?”

“Because,” Barbara began, pushing Jason’s head away, “There’s a kid in the manor and we’re not going to start yelling at Bruce with a kid in earshot.”

Jason glanced at Dick then back at Barbara and scowled but backed down.

“I’m going to ask him during our lunch meeting. Don’t spy on us. I’ll tell you everything afterwards.”

The Robins grumbled but obeyed.

Barbara: Hey, Bruce. It’s been a while since we last had lunch. You choose a place

Chapter Text

The day passed by and the kids hadn’t confronted Bruce yet. He wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not. On the one hand, he had more time to think of a game plan. On the other hand, Bruce was panicking.

To make bad matters worse, Bruce was also subjected to the manor being empty again. After an entire night and morning surrounded by Selina’s mischievous teasing, Harley’s playful laughter and Pamela’s deadpan comments, Bruce was finding it difficult to go back to nothing once more.

It was all deafening silences again. Silence ringing in empty hallways. Silence echoing in cracks and groans of old wood. Silence rolling through wide, unoccupied rooms.

He felt so unbearably small in this too-big house made for families, not bachelors and their dog best friend.

Bruce curled up into a tight ball in the corner of the couch where he fell asleep last night. It was strange how his instinct to feeling small was to physically make himself as small as possible. He wondered if trying to stand big and tall would have any effect on how he was feeling but knew from experience that it didn’t. Batman felt small too often.

He wished something would happen soon.

Bruce took it back. He wished nothing happened.

The dreaded text had finally arrived. Barbara texted him. She invited him for lunch. Bruce reread the text over and over again. The phrasing of the message was the same as her previous lunch invites. What did that mean? Did Barbara know? Did she suspect something? But if she knew, Barbara wouldn’t be inviting him for lunch, she’d confront him in the manor. But if she didn’t know, why would she invite him out on such short notice? Barbara must’ve been under the assumption that he was deep undercover. Bruce didn’t typically respond to messages, let alone lunch invites, when he was undercover.

He should reject it. Pretend he was busy. Maybe just ignore it altogether. Bruce hadn’t even clicked on the notification yet. Barbara wouldn’t know that he read the message.

But what if it was a genuine invitation and Barbara never invited him again because Bruce ignored it? Was it really such a big deal that Bruce was a kid right now? Selina didn’t really seem to mind all that much, maybe Barbara would be cool with it. After all, Bruce was Batman. He could handle anything. Being a kid was hardly anything to be concerned about.

Oh Gotham, there was a limit to wishful thinking and Bruce was bulldozing right through it.

Bruce screenshotted the notification and sent it to Selina.

Bat: Does she know?

Cat: Obviously

Bat: What if I don’t go?

Cat: She’s testing to see if you’ll fess up
Cat: She’s giving you a chance and you better take it

Bat: What if she isn’t and it’s actually just a lunch invite? I’ll be exposing myself for no reason.

Cat: And if she is and you fail the test?

Bat: Why are you assuming that there is a test?

Cat: It’s Babs

Bat is typing…

Cat: Hang on Babs just texted me
Cat: She’s asking me if I’ve seen you recently
Cat: She totally knows

Bat: What did you reply?

Cat: I haven’t yet
Cat: What do you want me to say

Bat: Say no

Cat: So you want me to lie for you?

Bat: You’ve never had any problem lying.

Cat: Just fess up Bat
Cat: I’ll go with you if you pay for my meal.

The idea of meeting up with Barbara instantly sounded less daunting. It was silly to be afraid of how Barbara might react because she was like a cousin or niece to him but to be fair, Barbara was a terrifying woman with more steel in her spine than a commander. It was purely self-preservation to not want to upset Barbara. Bruce was afraid that his stupid mouth would say the wrong things because he was not good with words at all and Barbara would have a lot of questions unlike Selina and really, it would just be a lot easier with Selina there as a buffer.

Bat: Okay
Bat: Did you have any lunch spots in mind?

Cat: New seafood restaurant

Bruce searched up the seafood place and texted Barbara back.

Bruce: Is 12:30 alright with you? Selina will be with me. She wants to try the new seafood restaurant.

It didn’t take long for Barbara to get back to him.

Barbara: Are you seeing Selina again?
Barbara: Nevermind. I’ll ask you at lunch
Barbara: See you tomorrow, B

Bruce had never once dated Selina but the kids never understood their relationship and so they assumed wrongly. Bruce also didn’t understand their relationship – he didn’t understand how adult friendships worked and the media’s propensity to ‘ship’ any remotely friendly members of the opposite sex further confused Bruce because his feelings for Selina had always been purely platonic – so he neglected to inform them that they didn’t have the romantic relationship the kids thought they had.

He booked a table under Selina’s name and sent them both the details. Bruce then threw his phone across the room and tried to meditate. He was not anxious at all. Nope.

He pulled at his hair and chewed on his lips, just standing in his walk-in wardrobe and stressing.

Bruce looked at all his new clothes and immediately rejected them. They weren’t proper enough. Only his old clothes were suitable for the occasion. But they were kind-of-sort-of dorky and Bruce wanted to present himself as not his kid self but his adult self. He wanted to show Barbara that he wasn’t some helpless kid and that he could take care of himself.

Ace barked at him and shoved his phone in his hand. It was almost time to leave.

Bruce groaned and finally settled on a simple dress shirt and matching slacks. He styled his hair as neatly as he could, what with the waves and fluffiness that he wasn’t used to taking care of. Bruce briefly debated gelling his hair back like he did as an adult but decided that it was a bit too much. He instead wore his Pebble Glasses and transformed into Benny again.

It was good enough.

Selina arrived at the door just as Bruce finished fussing over Ace.

“Remember Ace, you can open any of the doors by pressing the buttons. You can go anywhere you like but don’t run too far into the woods; they’re dangerous.”

“Ever the nag, Bruce.” Selina leaned against the door frame and smirked at him.

“Selina,” Bruce sighed. He was not a nag.

“Why don’t you just take him with you?”

“The restaurant doesn’t allow pets. Besides, Ace would be fine by himself for a few hours.”

“Sure didn’t sound like it. Harley would be happy to dog sit if you’re so worried.”

“No, it’s fine.” Bruce didn’t want to bother Harley. Besides, it was nice to have Ace greet him at the door when he came home.

“Suit yourself then. I noticed them yesterday too but what’s with the glasses?”

Bruce pushed his glasses up with his finger and grinned. “My name’s Benny.” He did a little twirl for Selina and showed her his whole outfit.

Selina rolled her eyes and smiled. “You and your disguises. Come on, we have a lunch appointment to get to.”

Bruce nodded and got into the passenger seat of Selina’s car. He tried to ignore the butterflies in his stomach and then started swinging his legs and then stopped because he didn’t want to be annoying.

Bruce wanted to bite something. He was raised to be prim and proper but Selina had seen him do weirder things so he stuck the knuckle of his left first finger in his mouth and started to lightly gnaw on it. The mild sensation helped to distract him from the nerves ravaging his stomach.

Selina took one look at him and wordlessly handed over her iced coffee. It was still half-full so Bruce drank it all first. He winced at the brain freeze and pouted when Selina laughed at him.

Bruce wanted to chew on the straw but it was made out of paper. He cracked the lid open instead and started crunching on the ice.

“Did you know they make necklaces you can chew on?” Selina asked, a teasing grin playing on her lips.

He did. Tim had one. Bruce had bought it for him after seeing the boy chew on his lips one too many times. Then he had secretly left it in front of his bedroom door and didn’t say anything when he saw Tim using it the next day.

Was Selina suggesting Bruce buy one for himself?

It never occurred to Bruce to buy one for himself.

“You should get a cat-shaped one. You should wear things that represent you, don’t you think?”

“If it’s supposed to represent me, I’ll get a bat.”

“Are you saying you’re small, fluffy, and cute?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Bats aren’t cute. They’re scary.”

“To you, maybe.”

“There’s a reason why there are so many superstitions surrounding bats. Plenty of people find them scary.”

“Sure,” Selina laughed. “How about we compromise and get a paw-shaped one? You can pretend it’s because of your dog and I’ll know that it’s because you’re a cat.”

The old argument started up again and before Bruce knew it, he wasn’t chewing on ice anymore; it was half melted, doing a valiant job of making the paper straw useless mush. Even more surprisingly, they were pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant.

Bruce gave Selina a look and she pretended to be innocent. Was it his littleness that was making Selina so caring right now or was it their long friendship?

Barbara had already arrived. They could see her in the back corner of the restaurant looking down at her phone. They approached her and because Bruce was a coward and hiding behind Selina, Barbara greeted Selina first. “Hey, Selina. It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”

Selina grinned. “As well as you could be after stealing from the British Museum.”

Barbara laughed. “So better than ever.”

They took their seats and when she saw Bruce, Barbara’s breath hitched.

“You’re the kid who fights like Robin. You look just like Bruce.” She glanced around and looked back at Bruce when she saw no one else around them.

“He doesn’t just look like Bruce. He is Bruce.” Selina placed her hand on his head and Bruce was too nervous to knock it away.

(Bruce was more tense around family than he was with friends. It wasn’t something he was proud of. The thing is, you’re stuck with family for life and it's typically not something you have a say in. Even non-blood related families had a tie unlike any other. Bruce didn’t want to fuck up his frayed bonds any further.)

“Good afternoon, Barbara,” he tried to say.

“...Afternoon, Bruce. I really hope you have a good explanation for this.”

That was the problem. He didn’t. How was he supposed to spin this so that he didn’t have to talk about the curse? Play this off as a different curse maybe.

A waitress came to take their orders and thankfully delayed the painful conversation. Everyone gave their orders and waited for it all to arrive before they said anything. Needless to say, the wait time was excruciating.

(The public setting may or may not have been a big contributing factor when he accepted the lunch invite.)

“How long have you been like this?” Barbara asked at the first opportunity.

“Thirty days,” Bruce answered while poking at his prawns to separate the meat from the shell. It was nice to have an excuse to look down at the table instead of facing Barbara. Bruce didn’t trust his ability to control his facial features right now. Not to say he wasn’t good at it. He just wasn’t as good. Not good enough to deceive a detective’s eyes anyway.

“Thirty– Bruce!” Barbara scolded through gritted teeth, mindful of potential eavesdroppers. Maybe Bruce should gift Barbara some mouthguards. It couldn’t be good for her teeth to be clenching them like that. “You’ve been alone for a month? That’s why you took a leave from everything?”

Bruce had a feeling that his comment about Ace being with him would not go so well this time.

“Why didn’t you tell anyone?!”

He didn’t understand why Barbara was freaking out over the fact that he didn’t tell anyone rather than the fact that Bruce was now a kid. Well, he knew that she would eventually freak out about the whole didn’t-tell-anyone thing but Bruce thought that it would come after Barbara let the fact that he was a kid sink in. He had hoped that it would take at least a few days for it to fully register.

“Why?” Bruce asked. He made the mistake of looking into Barbara’s eyes and quickly rectified it by looking down at his food and taking a bite. It tasted decent but was missing a little something.

“What do you mean why?”

Selina was adding chilli flakes to her prawns. Yes. That’s what was missing. Once Selina was done with the spice, he grabbed the shaker and added them to his own food. He took another bite. It was so much better now.

“Why did I have to tell anyone?”

Bruce handed the chilli flakes over to Barbara and she added too much to her plate. It was kind of amazing how flawlessly they were having their meal while also having a disagreement. They were well practised in it. Too well practised even. Leave it to the Bats to excel in anything they do. (Except when it came to feelings because in that case, they were worse than a child. All they nailed was the dysfunctional part. At least, that’s all Bruce nailed. The others fared a little better in the other departments than Bruce.)

“You’re a kid, Bruce!”

That didn’t matter when he was eight. Why would it matter now? (It mattered a lot. That was the problem.)

“I’m thirty-nine,” Bruce said. “I only look nine,” he lied.

Selina gave him a subtle look and Bruce knew she knew. But Selina wouldn’t call him out on his lie just like he wouldn’t reveal that she had stress-adopted three more cats because of the debacle with the British Museum. That just wasn’t how their relationship functioned. After all, a safe haven was no longer safe if they blabbed your secrets to everyone.

“Nine? I thought you were six.”

Would people please stop indirectly calling him short?

“I can assure you, I’m nine, not six.”

Barbara took a bite of her now-too-spicy meal and coughed a little. Bruce pushed her iced coffee closer and she accepted it with a grateful nod. It was important to be polite even in the midst of conflict. It prevented the other party from using your rudeness against you.

“Nine or six, it doesn’t change the fact that you’re a kid right now. Have you been living alone this entire time?”

Bruce frowned. Of course, he’d been living alone. Who would he live with? Who would live with him? “I can take care of myself, Barbara.”

“Kids aren’t meant to take care of themselves. It’s dangerous.”

He could hear Barbara’s voice overlapping with Jim’s, both Gordons scolding him for something out of his control. Jim had told him that thirty years ago and now Barbara was holding onto that torch, forced to step up because Bruce couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself. Jim was distinctly less angry at Bruce though, more at the people who were supposed to be taking care of him. The circumstances had been different though. Bruce was legally an adult now. There was no one obligated to take care of him. He was in charge of himself. The responsibility fell upon him to make sure his needs were met and in Barbara’s mind, Bruce was doing an inadequate job of it. It was understandable why Barbara was angry at Bruce.

“I’m not a kid. I’m fine,” Bruce asserted. He had told Uncle Jim that too. It rang differently now but Bruce meant them the same way. Bruce hadn’t been a kid since his parents died.

“Somehow I doubt that. You know, I asked the others about it after I found the footage of you in the bodega. We all thought you were taking care of a new kid and that’s why you were taking a break from everything. I didn’t think you were the new kid.”

The wave of disapproval and disappointment coming from Barbara was almost unbearable but Bruce knew he deserved it so he just clenched his teeth and endured it. He stabbed at his prawn with one hand and hid the other, trembling with trepidation, under the table.

“What have you even been doing this entire time? I know you’ve been walking around during the day because you were caught on camera fighting an armed robber of all things but you haven’t been going out at night, have you? I’d have known but just to be sure, even you aren’t crazy enough to patrol as a kid without backup. Right?”

She looked at Bruce expectantly. He gave her a curt nod.

“Then what have you been doing? Finding the cure by yourself? Bruce, I know you don’t like asking for help but this is big. You shouldn’t have kept it to yourself.”

“I’m telling you now, aren’t I?” he snapped back and immediately froze because he talked back. Uncle Philip hated it whenever Bruce dared to talk back. It was rude. It was disrespectful. It was audacious.

A hand tapped against his. Uncle Philip didn’t do touch, especially not gentle ones. But Rock did. Boulder did. Uncle Jim did.

Bruce looked down at the hand. It was Selina’s. It completely slipped his mind that Selina did gentle touch too. Perhaps it was because Bruce didn’t know Selina when he was nine. He wrapped his free hand around Selina’s and let the touch remind him where he was.

Fortunately, Barbara didn’t notice.

“Would you have told me if I didn’t catch you on camera?”

Of course not.

“You wouldn’t have. No, of course not. You would have hidden it until you were no longer a kid. How long are you a kid for, Bruce? Do you know?”

“It will last a total of a hundred days.”

Barbara sucked in a breath and very visibly took a moment to compose herself. “And you didn’t intend to tell any one of us for the entire hundred days. You were going to hide it the entire time. I bet you’re only here right now because Selina convinced you. It’s like you don’t trust us, Bruce. You never ask for help and when we offer it, you refuse to accept it.”

Bruce was tempted to curl in on himself at Barbara’s angry accusations but years of being told to fix his posture stopped him. He sat at the table with an impeccably straight back and channelled his experience with unpleasant galas to present a pretty picture. He kept eating the prawn and didn’t look up from the plate.

Selina pressed her thigh against his. Bruce wrapped his foot around her leg.

“This can’t go on, Bruce. I know you think you’re fine. You probably are. But things can go from fine to not fine in the blink of an eye, especially when it comes to kids. You know this, Bruce. That’s why you went through all the trouble to fake being undercover to hide this from us, isn’t it?”

Bruce said nothing.

Barbara was undeterred. “I’m going to tell the others. You’re not going to live in the manor alone.”

Bruce clenched his fists around the silverware.

“I’m not leaving the manor,” he declared fiercely. This was the one thing he wouldn’t back down on. Bruce wasn’t going to be put at the mercy of the fucking Gotham foster system. Even eight-year-old Bruce knew that he wouldn’t be able to survive that cesspit. There was no way he was going to go willingly after all he’d done to avoid it when he was an actual child.

“You don’t have to.”

He knit his eyebrows in confusion. He didn’t have to leave the manor but he wasn’t going to be alone? ...The kids were going to come back home?

Bruce squashed down the hope rising in his heart. They were coming back for the wrong reasons. This was horrible. The kids were supposed to come back because Bruce was better and because they wanted to, not because they felt like they had to, like they had no choice because Bruce couldn’t be trusted to take care of himself.

This was exactly why Bruce didn’t want anyone to know about the whole situation. Just because Selina and J’onn (though he didn’t know the whole situation so did he really count?) easily accepted it, didn’t mean that everyone else would too.

“I don’t need help. I can take care of myself,” he restated, sounding like a broken record.

“We’re going to help anyway.” There was a familiar stubbornness in her eyes that Bruce saw when she told him she wasn’t going to stop being Batgirl and then when she told him about Oracle. It said: I’m doing this and nothing you say will convince me otherwise.

Bruce continued to hide his face and gave Barbara a jerky nod. It was clear he had no say in this. Stupid Bruce. He’d trapped his kids in his life again.

Out of Barbara’s view, Selina rubbed a hand up and down Bruce’s back. It helped him release the tension in his muscles just a little.

The rest of the lunch passed by with the effects of the disagreement still lingering in the air despite Selina diverting the conversation to her antics in the British Museum.

When they were back in Selina’s car, Bruce went to bite his nails but paused when he saw the manicure. He twiddled his fingers instead and looked out the window.

“That went well,” Selina commented sarcastically.

“Hn.” It was awful.

“She didn’t even ask why you turned into a kid.” She not so subtly gave him a look.

He ignored it.

“What will you tell them when they ask? One of them’s going to. Eventually.”

Bruce gripped his trousers. “I’ll lie.”

“Uhuh.”

“I don’t want to fight with them, Selina. I already know what they’ll say.”

“What will they say?”

“That I’m delusional and I found someone to feed into my delusions, needlessly endangering myself and those around me.”

Selina’s breath hitched and that’s when Bruce knew he fucked up. He’d ranted about it once before. The curse and no one believing him, his frustration with it all, and the fact that he wasn’t even allowed to speak of it without starting fights. Selina listened to him patiently through stammered words and gasping pauses. She didn’t believe him about the curse but she didn’t belittle him for it either. Still, Bruce didn’t speak of the curse to her again because she obviously didn’t understand him when he explained it. He didn’t want Selina to inevitably tire of him speaking of it.

Bruce wrung his trousers tightly, head hung low, shoulders hitched to his ears in shame.

“You should tell them that your potion-making teacher punished you for being childish,” Selina joked.

He felt the tension in his muscles relax a little and let out a chuckle. “And she what? Matched my appearance to my immature behaviour?”

“Exactly. We love a self-aware Bat,” she laughed.

Bruce rolled his eyes. At least the lie was somewhat believable. Bruce was known to be difficult.

(Love. Even when it was spoken in jest, Bruce couldn’t help the way his heart fluttered at the word. People didn’t typically use that word in conjunction with Bruce.)

Ace greeted them at the door, running circles around Bruce until Bruce was dizzy and had no choice but to lean on Ace.

“Do you want me to stay until they arrive?” Selina asked.

He considered it for a long moment.

“No thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. They’re my family. I can handle it.”

Selina gave him a smile and slowly raised her hand, telegraphing her movements as she made to ruffle Bruce’s hair. The hairdo he spent all morning fussing over was ruined just like that. “Alright. Come by to play with my cats sometime, Bruce.”

“I will.”

Selina left with one last hair ruffle and Bruce took a deep breath. Time to face the music.

Chapter Text

“So, what’s the tea?” Steph asked once Barbara got back from her lunch meeting with Bruce and Selina.

“Oh? You don’t know? What, did those five bugs you planted in the restaurant suddenly break or something?” Barbara took a sip of her coffee and smiled sardonically at the Robins.

“It was Tim’s idea!” Steph immediately snitched.

“Hey! You wanted to spy on them through the window!”

“And it would’ve worked, unlike those bugs you tried to use against Oracle.”

Tim grumbled, “Just tell us what happened.”

Barbara grimaced. Her grip on her coffee cup tightened. “Good news: there isn’t a new Robin. Bad news: the kid is Bruce.”

“What?!” the Robins asked in unison.

“He was shrunk a month ago. Apparently, the effect will last for a total of a hundred days.”

“That was Bruce?” Dick breathed out. ”Wait. You said a month?”

Barbara grimly nodded.

Tim cursed. “Fuck, that’s when he took a leave from W.E. He got Detective Conan’ed!”

“Detective what? OMG, Tim, you used a show’s name as a verb? You fucking dweeb!”

“Damian’s the weeb! And you understood the reference, Steph, so really, what are you pointing fingers for?”

“Detective Conan’s been around since before any of us were born, dumbass.”

“Wait. None of us knew and Alfred’s retired so who’s been taking care of him?” Dick asked, interrupting the bickering.

Barbara took a deep breath and they all knew that whatever she was going to say next wasn’t going to be pleasant. They couldn’t even delude themselves into thinking Selina was there for Bruce. The cat burglar had been causing havoc in England since last year and only recently came back.

“He said he’s not a kid and he can take care of himself.”

Steph snorted. “Yeah, of course he did.”

“I’m not letting him live alone anymore,” Dick said decisively. He glanced at Damian and returned the nod he got. “Damian and I are going to make sure Bruce doesn’t get into any more trouble.”

“I’ll help. Did Bruce say anything about it?” Tim asked.

“I told him we were going to help him and all he said was that he didn’t want to leave the manor.”

“Guess we’re moving back in then,” Dick murmured.

“Hold on,” Steph interjected. “You both have day jobs and Damian’s on summer vacation right now but he splits his time between Jump City and Gotham. And I have my nursing job. There’s no way we can keep an eye on him 24/7 and Bruce clearly needs it. We all saw the footage; there’s no way Bruce hasn’t gotten involved in more daytime crime fighting.”

Barbara took a sip of her coffee. “You’re right. I’ll be tracing his tracks when I’m less busy and–” Babs thought back to the way Selina grabbed Bruce’s hand under the table in a way that she would have interpreted as romantic had Bruce not been a child. No, Selina was calming him down in a distinctly comforting manner and Bruce had accepted that comfort without any fuss… something about it was niggling at her but Babs wasn’t sure what– “Anyway, there’s a lot I need to confirm before I do anything so in the meantime, I need you all to sort something out. At the very least, we should make sure Bruce doesn’t succumb to the temptations of Robin now that we know.”

“I’m surprised you even found the time to have lunch with Bruce with how busy you’ve been,” Dick said, looking pointedly at the dark eye bags under Barbara’s eyes, barely noticeable to even the trained eye thanks to her expertly applied concealer.

“Well, I’ve been looking through hundreds of hours of security footage so I needed a break anyway. It’s how I came across the footage of Bruce.” Barbara scowled. “I probably wouldn’t have found it otherwise.”

They all fell quiet and didn’t say the obvious. Bruce would have likely spent the entire hundred days by himself and then continued with his life as if nothing happened and they would have been none the wiser.

“If only Alfred was here…” Dick murmured quietly but Jason, sitting beside him, still heard.

“Don’t be stupid, Dickhead. Alfred got away from the crazy; don’t drag him back in,” he admonished.

“I was just saying, Jay, I wasn’t really…”

Jason scowled and stood up. “Anyway, you guys deal with this. I’ve got some rounds to make. Laters.”

No one stopped Jason from leaving nor did they fault him for doing so. As much as they would’ve appreciated his help, in the end, Jason and Bruce didn’t have a good relationship and forcing them together would only make things much worse. It was already surprising that he stayed until now.

After Jason left, the remaining Bats spent a while hashing out the logistics of everything and it was decided that the boys would stay in the manor while the girls visited from time to time. They would also operate out of the Batcave again instead of their individual bases since it was more convenient but one person would stay in the Cave so Bruce wouldn't be home alone.

With that all decided, they headed over to Wayne Manor to notify Bruce about the plans.

“Has Bruce replied to you yet?” Tim asked as they unlocked the manor doors.

“Nope,” Dick replied. He texted Bruce and told him they were coming over but Bruce hadn’t even read the text yet. (Actually, now that he thought about that, it was a small miracle that Bruce even left his read receipts on. Bruce was a lurker in both the digital and real worlds so the fact that he left his read receipts on was… hmm, considerate maybe.)

“He must be too busy with Selina,” Tim speculated.

“Ew, Timmy, Bruce is a kid right now,” Dick gagged.

“No! That’s not what I meant. I was just saying because Selina likes to tease Bruce. Being a kid is probably prime teasing material.”

“Her car’s not here,” Damian pointed out.

The boys looked around. Sure enough, they only saw their own cars.

“Maybe she parked it in the garage,” Dick weakly suggested.

They all knew that Selina didn’t like parking in the garage. Bruce was home alone again.

“Or they didn’t go home after the lunch meeting with Barbara,” Tim offered.

“Yeah! That!”

Damian crossed his arms over his chest. “How long must we wait until Father returns home?”

“I don’t know but that just means that we’ll have the manor to ourselves while we wait,” Dick said optimistically.

“It’s weird that we’re just coming in without the owner even being here though,” Tim said.

“Technically, it belongs to us too.”

“Yeah, but none of us have even lived here for years and I doubt you’ve been visiting. When was the last time you set foot into this place?”

Dick frowned and tapped his fingers on his thigh. The last time he visited the manor was to pick Damian up and that was about three and a half years ago. Before that, it was the disastrous Thanksgiving dinner four years ago. For all that he had mourned the man after he was gone, Dick hadn’t done anything to reconnect with him when he came back. If anything, it felt like they were further apart than they ever have been. Hell, Dick couldn’t even clearly recall the last time he had seen Bruce, mask or otherwise. The little kid in Dick never could’ve imagined this—they used to be so close.

Tim had gone back to Wayne Manor more frequently than the others. After a half-year cooldown from Thanksgiving, he dropped by occasionally to either collect W.E. files or help deliver them for Bruce to sign. The visits were always short and entirely professional (save for when Alfred was present; a brief tea time was mandatory when Alfred was there). Still, the last time he visited was two years ago.

Damian was the one who spent the least amount of time in the manor. He lived there with his father for a total of six months (three months before Batman ‘died’ and three after his return) but similar to his brothers, he had mixed feelings about the place. The manor was something like home – it was supposed to be home – but Damian had just… left. He followed Dick like a child of divorce because his brother couldn’t be in the same room as their father without starting a fight and Damian was closer to Dick than he was to his father. Damian was supposed to go back after their relationship improved but the years went by and they drifted apart more and more until all that was left were the occasional text and gifts in the mail.

“Whatever. Let’s raid the pantry while we’re here.” Dick shrugged, trying to ignore the nerves in his gut.

“He’s a bachelor. Do you really think he has much food in the pantry?” Tim dryly said.

“I’m a bachelor and I have food in the pantry.”

“That’s because Damian set up a grocery service for you guys.”

Dick stuck his tongue out at his little brother. “You live on broccoli and chicken. You can’t say shit about our pantry.”

“Broccoli and chicken is a perfectly balanced diet. It’s got protein and greens. What more do you need?”

“I don’t know, flavour?” Damian scoffed. “You’re pathetic.”

“Oh, of course Your Highness over here thinks my pantry isn’t good enough. Just because I meal prep, doesn’t mean I don’t eat good, Damian.”

“Yeah, Dami, Tim’s broccoli and chicken tastes perfectly fine. It’s the fact that he eats it every day that has me concerned.”

“Of course you think that, Richard. Before I moved in with you, you subsisted on takeaway and frozen pizza. Not to mention, all those abhorrent sugary confections you call cereal. No matter how many times I tell you, you still insist on—”

While his brothers argued about what constituted a proper diet, an argument Tim set off, Tim walked into the stately manor, cool indifferent eyes searching for any changes since the last time he visited. There weren’t any. The manor was in a time bubble of its own and probably hasn’t changed much since before Bruce was born.

Tim walked up the stairs where he once broke his arm skateboarding down the rails and habitually walked into the kitchen. He hadn’t even realised where his feet were taking him when he looked up and he was in the place where Alfred used to scold him about sitting on the counters and breaking into the coffee cabinet. He hopped onto the counter for old times' sake and smiled to himself when he saw him in the corner of his eye.

The boy was pale, almost wraith-like, with hair like ebony and eyes the colour of ice. He stared at Tim with a look of almost mystification, head cocked slightly to the side and wispy hair falling to cover his intense eyes. Before Tim could do anything other than stare, the boy turned and left on silent feet.

Tim jumped off the counter and ran after him, catching sight of the boy just as he turned the corner. Tim reached the corner seconds later but the boy was nowhere in sight. Tim knew the manor intimately well. There was nowhere in the corridor that you could hide, no hidden passageways or trap doors to escape to. The boy was just inexplicably gone.

The thing is, he was not just any boy. Tim recognised him from the portrait hanging above the double staircase and saw him in the clenched jaws of his annoying little brother, in the mature face of the man he came to talk to today.

“Bruce?” he asked the empty hallway. All that answered back was a cool draft that ruffled his hair.

Tim immediately ran to where Dick and Damian were still bickering in the foyer. Damian looked like he was about to stab Dick and Dick looked like he was having the time of his life arguing. Tim, being the wonderful brother that he was, was about to do the both of them a solid and save them a trip to the med-bay.

“I just saw a Victorian ghost boy that looks like Bruce.”

They stopped and gawked at Tim.

Tim was still having a minor breakdown. It was one thing to hear about it but it was an entirely different thing to see it in person. Holy shit. Bruce turned into a kid.

“What?” his brothers squawked. They must’ve been hoping that Barbara was just pranking them too. A weirdly elaborate prank that she didn’t have the time to concoct but anything was better than this.

“I thought I was hallucinating Damian at first for some god-forsaken reason but he’s so fucking pale and he’s got blue eyes and he looks just like Bruce in that painting.”

“The one above the stairs?”

“Yeah. But he’s so tiny. I mean, we saw it in the video but it was 480p max and I thought it was the angle that made him like so small. He was toddler-sized.”

“You said he looked like a Victorian ghost boy haunting the manor. Maybe the ghost thing made you think he was tinier than he actually was.”

“So you’re not going to deny the Victorian ghost haunting the manor thing?”

“There’s a reason why the vampire allegations have never died down,” Dick dryly said.

Tim snorted. He used to spend hours on the ‘Bruce Wayne is a Vampire’ forum trolling the conspiracy theorists until he actually met Bruce and became half-convinced that the rumours were true. Bruce had this ethereal air about him, an unnatural sort of elegance and grace, something about him that just screamed nobility. The thing was, Bruce knew about the allegations but thought it was because of his paleness and somewhat long canines. Nope. It was the otherworldliness of his everything. Bruce was a fae-like creature dancing amongst the Gotham elite and wasn’t even aware of it.

“Good evening, boys,” a soft voice intoned behind Tim. “I didn’t expect you to arrive so soon.”

Tim spun around and Bruce, this tiny, little child, was standing there with a huge ass dog by his side. It was the same dog in the video. Since when did Bruce get a dog?

“Holy shit…” Tim breathed out. The dog was nearly as tall as Bruce. Which just solidified Bruce being tiny in Tim’s mind. Bruce and tiny were never things Tim associated together in his mind.

The dog’s ear flicked and it raised its head to look at them. Its tongue lolled out of its mouth and it tilted its head to the side, looking so adorable for Batman’s dog.

“...Bruce?”

“Yes?”

“You’re… small.”

The boy – Bruce? – looked down at himself and nodded, as if needing confirmation that he was now a little boy and tiny.

“We thought you were undercover,” Dick croaked out. There was the underlying accusation that he was lying to them to cover up his current situation. They would not have questioned it too, if not for Barbara. Even then, she had only come across the footage by chance.

Bruce just looked at them blandly. Like he thought they were stupid or not worth his time. He looked like he was already bored of the conversation. “I said I was taking a break from Batman and working on a personal project.”

“And what was that exactly? Did you find a fountain of youth or something?” Dick spat out with more vitriol in his voice than strictly necessary. He spoke with his villains with less venomous tones. Being around Bruce always brought out the angsty teenager inside him. Perhaps it was the fact that they never resolved the fight that started when Dick was an angsty teenager that made it so Dick never stopped being that angsty teenager in front of Bruce. Or maybe it was the fact that they fought pretty much every time they met that Dick instinctively met everything Bruce said and did with aggressiveness. It wasn’t something he was proud of and yet it was the only way he knew to talk to Bruce.

Bruce showed no visible reaction to the hostility. He usually didn’t. Somehow, that was more infuriating. As if whatever they did or said to him had no effect on him. Like they were less than bugs in his mind; at least people got annoyed at flies. Maybe that was just his strategy to get them to leave him alone. Stonewall them until they got tired of talking to a brick wall and left. “No. I assure you, it was not my intention to be regressed to my nine-year-old body.”

“You’re nine?”

“But you’re so small!” Tim blurted out.

“Yes, well, I only started to grow taller when I reached my teenage years. I was a late bloomer,” Bruce said, somewhat defensively. Standing beside Dick, Damian puffed out his chest, having reached that age himself. Tim unfortunately never got that blessed late puberty so he couldn’t relate.

Dick blinked. Bruce was being so casual about this but there was no way they were just going to sweep Bruce being a kid for an entire month under the rug.

“Were you even planning on ever telling us about this?”

“I fail to see how that would be of import to you.”

“Import— Bruce, you’re a child!”

Bruce scowled, his first visible reaction since they started talking. Great. They finally upgraded from being less than bugs. “I am not a child!”

Oh Gotham, he looked just like Damian, only paler and somehow less angry and more naive-looking. Maybe that should’ve endeared him to Dick but it only riled him up even further. Here Bruce was, a small porcelain doll, weaker than Damian was when he first arrived, but still insisting he wasn’t fragile, and Dick hated that he still expected more from Bruce, the Batman ‘I work alone’ himself.

Dick gestured at him in disbelief.

Bruce crossed his arms and his scowl deepened. “I am not a child.”

“You’ve been a kid for thirty days and you didn’t think to tell anyone!” Dick blurted out. “What the fuck, Bruce? How have you even been taking care of yourself?”

“Like normal. I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself, as you well know. I’ve been doing it for the past two years.”

There was a slight bitterness at the allusion to Alfred’s retirement but they all wisely made no comment on it.

“Bruce, there’s a huge difference between an adult taking care of themself and a kid doing it. You know this! And before you say you are an adult, you have a kid’s body. Kids are small and weak and prone to getting hurt!”

“And yet I’ve been fine all this while.”

“Oh, yes, because the big bad Batman doesn’t need any help. He’s too good to need help. Too good for any of us,” Dick sneered. “Well, now look where that got you.”

Bruce clenched his dog’s collar. The dog sat by his side like a guard dog and stared at them with unblinking eyes. “I’m not going to do anything stupid. There’s no need to supervise me.”

“You’re four feet tall right now, Bruce,” Dick scoffed derisively. “I don’t think I can trust your judgement on what counts as stupid.”

“I am fine,” Bruce insisted. “I have everything under control.”

“You fought an armed robber the other day and fumbled the goddamn landing, Bruce!” Dick laughed unkindly. “As much as you want to deny it, you’re not in control. You have a child’s body and you’re powerless.”

“Those were extenuating circumstances,” Bruce squeezed out through clenched teeth. “People don’t typically run into armed robbers at nine in the morning.”

Before the tension in the air could explode, Tim stepped in. “Well, it’s good that you’ve been taking care of yourself and all but now that we’re here, we can help. And before you say you don’t need help, it’s more of a roommate situation. Splitting chores and all that.”

“Yes, Father. You would not deny us from the manor, would you?” Damian added. He looked nervous though he spoke confidently. It was as if Damian wasn’t sure if they were still welcome at the manor.

There was an implacable expression on Bruce’s face before his features smoothed back into that hateful bland expression and he nodded. “We’re roommates. You will not be taking care of me.”

“As long as you don’t do anything stupid, I won’t have to.”

Bruce’s lips thinned but he nodded with one jerky incline of his head.

“Father. I was not aware you had a dog,” Damian said, swiftly and unsubtly swerving the conversation onto calmer pastures.

Bruce stroked his dog's back. “His name is Ace. I got him almost a year ago.”

Damian nodded. “May I?”

Bruce nodded back. “Play with him as long as you like. He likes the attention.”

At the permission, Ace left Bruce’s side and bounded towards Damian. The youngest Wayne’s eyes lit up with glee and he gave Ace the patting session of his life.

“Father, Ace appears to be rather friendly. Is he friendly towards cats as well?”

“He’s never attacked another creature unprompted as far as I am aware of.”

Damian squeezed Ace’s cheeks between his hands. “Then, will it be alright if I brought Alfred to the manor with me?”

Bruce blinked. Then, after a pause, he said, “Yes. Your cat is welcome, Damian.”

“Thank you, Father.”

“...Hn.”

Dick clapped, drawing attention to him.

“Let’s lay down some ground rules first. No going out at night. This is non-negotiable. We know you are not a kid but you are still kid-sized and thus require supervision. You don’t want us to supervise you so the solution is for you not to fight as you originally planned. No fighting in the day too,” he said.

Bruce’s jaw shifted but he nodded.

“Dinner is mandatory. Think of it as check-in.”

Something implacable flickered across Bruce’s face before he nodded.

“That’s all I can think of for now. Oh, and we’ll be using the Cave while we’re living here. We still have access right?”

Bruce nodded. “All your rooms are still ready for you but if you would prefer guest rooms, then they are available for your choosing.”

Then he turned on his heel and left as if he couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Dick ran his hand through his hair and growled, “I forgot how infuriating it was to talk to him. This is going to be a very long two months,” he groaned.

“Two months and a week,” Tim corrected just to be annoying.

Dick threw his shoe at him.

Chapter Text

Bruce’s heart was pounding in his chest. Could a nine-year-old get a heart attack? Bruce wasn’t entirely sure but he was about to find out if he didn’t calm down soon. He picked up his pace – glancing backwards to make sure no one had followed him – and sprinted through the hallways as quietly as he could. As soon as Bruce reached the home theatre, he threw himself onto the beanbag and curled up into a foetal position. He wished he had his blanket to cocoon himself but he sadly left it in the living room. Bruce would have to settle for curling into a little ball.

He reviewed what happened earlier and hugged himself tighter.

Bruce fumbled. He fumbled so fucking badly.

The whole thing was a mess from start to finish.

The kids arrived sooner and later than Bruce expected, catching him off guard. He honestly thought that they would ambush him soon after he got back from lunch. That’s why he had been waiting in the cave, immersing himself in Batman’s home territory to hopefully be able to better emulate his vigilante persona. But hours passed and the kids still hadn’t arrived so Bruce took his sweet time calming his nerves by playing with Ace in the garden (newly revamped thanks to Pamela) and then went to make some tea when that wasn’t working. He was instead met with Tim sitting on the counter as he was wont to do so many years ago and Bruce panicked. He ran away and kept running even when Tim chased after him.

Bruce turned the corner and used his training to propel himself up to the ceiling. He clung to the corner with all four of his limbs and watched as Tim looked for Bruce down the corridor. The Bats liked to say people didn’t often look up but that applied to them too. Tim whispered Bruce’s name softly and then left.

The boy dropped from the ceiling and wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. Why was Tim here so soon? Were the others here too? How many of them were angry at me?

He quietly ran back to the living room to get Ace and checked his phone. Dick had messaged him telling him they were all coming soon. That was twenty minutes ago. They were all already here. Bruce was planning on showing them that he wasn’t a mess, no sir, Bruce had everything handled. He was fine.

He wasn’t doing a very good job of that thus far.

But Bruce rectified the mistake! He was calm and he addressed the boys with impassivity even though his heart was racing because his boys were home. And when they questioned him, he didn’t falter even once! Not even when Dick’s tone turned accusatory and venomous and Bruce was scared and tried to school his features into something else that instead came out as anger. But the mask remained firmly in place.

(Did the mask help him come across as the older Bruce? The one that they knew. Their father. Their mentor. Was Bruce able to make himself look like he wasn’t a burdensome child? He doubted it. Dick called him powerless.)

Bruce stood his ground and insisted that he didn’t need help even when Dick continued to berate him. By Gotham, it was so hard to keep his composure when he looked at him like that, with contempt and anger. If it weren’t for Ace, Bruce might have frozen up and mentally checked out of the conversation. Thankfully, before that could happen, Tim stepped in and proposed a compromise. And just like that, the budding fight dissolved and they were once again relying on Tim to play peacekeeper. Bruce was supposed to be better at not doing that.

Then they proposed a mandatory dinner.

Bruce would have laughed if he wasn’t so fucking furious.

All these years, he had been inviting them for lunch or dinner so that he could spend time with them as family. He had been rebuffed at every turn but he never gave up and kept up with the invites every three months. Always, they rejected him.

Now, they wanted mandatory dinners.

There was something building up in the back of his throat but Bruce forcibly swallowed it back. He clenched his fists in his hair and took a deep breath. That’s strange. Why did it sound like a sob? Bruce was… Bruce was not crying. He wasn't, damn it! His kids were home and that was no reason to cry.

Hey, silver lining: Ace finally got to meet his kids. Damian looked really excited to play with Ace and Ace was beyond happy at the prospect of being spoiled. He usually stuck with Bruce all day, barring when he was asleep, but Ace could probably be convinced to hang out with his kids instead. If Bruce’s situation was forcing his kids to stay with him then the least he could do was make it more bearable by loaning out Ace.

Bruce finally let go of his hair and smoothed it back down so it didn’t look like he’d been through a hurricane.

It was day thirty. His kids would only be forced to be here for seventy days… That was over two months. And Bruce had to make sure they weren’t there when it wore off so they wouldn’t see a gem crystallising above his chest. (Not to mention, the initial transformation hurt. What if Bruce screamed again and bothered them?) It would raise too many questions that Bruce wasn’t prepared to answer.

By Gotham, this all wouldn’t have been an issue if he hadn’t been stupid and naively trusted his rudimentary disguise to hide his identity. Bruce should have at least tried to fight less like a well-trained combatant.

Bruce stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes. It was too late for regrets now. He’ll just have to… deal with it. Whatever happened, happened.

Holding his head in his hands, he groaned. It was so unBatman of him to not make plans. It seemed as though the idea of his kids being home was so overwhelming that it shorted out his brain and prevented him from doing more than… marvel maybe. Panic, definitely. Hope, a little. In any case, Bruce was just going to have to go with the flow of things.

The kids left to pack their belongings for their temporary stay so Bruce had a few hours to himself to really let the fact that this was happening sink in. Unfortunately, Bruce had a thick skull so before he knew it, he received a text on his phone from Dick telling him it was time for dinner. He languished and procrastinated for a few minutes (Bruce may or may not have rolled around on the floor), then decided that he was Batman and he was afraid of nothing.

It was dinner with his boys. Bruce had been wanting this since that failed Thanksgiving years ago!

Bruce should be happy.

He should be happy.

Why wasn’t he happy?

As he neared the kitchen (because his kids preferred the kitchen island over the dining table in the dining room), Bruce could hear his kids talking loudly over each other.

“Maybe he only eats if Bruce feeds him.”

“Damian gave him a treat from the pantry earlier and he ate that no problem.”

“Dami, did you spoil his appetite with treats?”

“Of course not! I only gave him one.”

“Then why isn’t he eating?”

“Well, maybe he just hates you, Dick.”

“Rude. I’m extremely lovable. Plus, Ace was playing with me earlier. He loves me.”

Ah. Bruce’s kids were finding out how much of a little shit Ace was.

Damian made eye contact with him as he stepped into the kitchen. “Father,” he greeted. “Do you know why Ace isn’t eating his food?”

Suddenly all eyes were on him.

Be cool. Be Batman, Bruce told himself and relaxed his stiff limbs. “He doesn’t eat unless he sees you eating first.”

“Seriously?” Dick groaned. He glanced at Bruce and then quickly looked away. “Well, sit down and eat then.”

“Takeaway again, Richard?” Damian complained.

“Don’t blame me! Bruce was the one with the empty pantry.”

Bruce was too busy to do any grocery shopping. First, he turned doll-sized, then he escaped to Thailand and then sprouted bat wings, then the Sirens visited, and then he started panicking over the possibility of being exposed. Which he was. The very next day. Bruce had a busy week! Groceries simply fell to the wayside. Plus, he had a stockpile of frozen goods in a hidden freezer. Not to mention the MREs in the cave. He wouldn’t have starved.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You’re so judgy for someone who eats hummus by itself.”

“Hummus is a gift to mankind that someone like you who only eats broccoli and chicken would never be able to appreciate.”

The kids (Bruce was the only kid here right now – even Damian was a teenager – but Bruce’s kids will always be kids to him) were serving themselves some fettuccine alfredo as they bickered so Bruce sat at the kitchen island, sitting at the head of the table, closest to Ace’s food bowl. He served himself a plate of pasta and looked pointedly at Ace as he took a bite.

Ace began to eat.

“Huh. He actually started eating,” Dick commented.

“Weird dog,” Tim said.

“Hey! You take that back! Ace is not weird!”

“Weird isn’t bad, Dick.”

Bruce was once again impressed by his children’s ability to bicker no matter the situation. He always marvelled at how quick they were at firing back with retorts and quips while staying well within the boundary of jokes and teasing. Bruce had never been quite as adept at knowing what was okay and not okay to say when coming up with things on the fly. His children though, they parried back and forth like conversations were a sport and something that could be won. It made them noisy but Bruce was appreciative of it. Their voices filled the empty halls of Wayne Manor and finally, finally, it felt lived in, like the home Bruce remembered it to be.

Would it be odd to say he missed it when he never had it at all? Never once had he had all his children home together, all of them on good terms with each other. (Well, Jason and Cass weren’t here but Bruce never had even three of them together like this. The most he had was two at a time and the less said about it the better.) But Bruce had missed it nonetheless and he was glad to see the squabbles play out before him

Especially since their incessant bickering also helped make dinner an easier affair. The kids were too busy with each other to pay Bruce any attention. It was easy to just sit there and eat, silent as a mouse as he watched his kids, now all grown up, but still as childish as he remembered them being.

Oh.

It came to him like a flash of lightning in the dead of the night.

A solution to his qualms.

Bruce could simply be silent and unobtrusive for the remainder of his children’s stay in the manor. He had plenty of practice in it; Bruce knew all the rules and the tricks and the what-nots. It was dead silence and hiding in plain view and staying out of the way. He could do it. This was how Bruce would make this situation more bearable for his children.

Once he finished his meal, Bruce stared at his empty plate for a long moment. He glanced at his kids. They were no longer bickering and had moved on to a discussion about Alfred the cat. Apparently, Damian was keeping Alfred in his room and was planning on slowly introducing him to different parts of the manor. He even placed one of Ace’s beds in the corner and replaced it with Alfred’s to get the two pets used to the smell of each other in the meantime.

Bruce admired the dedication and forethought Damian put into this, especially given that the decision to move into the manor had been so last minute.

Anyway, the kids weren’t paying him any mind so Bruce quietly hopped off his seat and brought his plate to the sink. The movement brought Damian’s attention to him and he paused mid-sentence to look at Bruce, causing the other two to also look at him. Bruce pretended to be unbothered and used the step stool to reach the sink. He could feel the intensity of their stares concentrated on the stepstool and he hated how the tool served to further remind them of his supposed helplessness.

Bruce reminded himself that he was Batman and so he was not helpless and did not care for the opinion of others. He maintained a blank expression and washed his hands as calmly as he could. While he washed his hands, Damian resumed speaking and they all stopped looking at him. Bruce secretly let out a sigh of relief and calmly walked out of the kitchen. Ace followed behind him. Bruce kept this Batman mask on even when he went to the library to do some light reading.

Thankfully, the kids were serious when they said they were just going to treat each other like roommates. If they tried to take care of him, Bruce wouldn’t have been able to hide as much as he was.

…Wait. Hide?

Oh no.

Bruce put his book down and checked the security cameras on his phone (hurriedly putting in the five passwords and cursing his slippery little fingers). He wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or not to have found them down in the Cave. Bruce hadn’t left projects lying around in the Batcave because he needed everything to be where they belonged (it was a matter of life or death sometimes) but there were the figures on top of the Batcomputer and the announcement system. What if Kal messaged Batman and they got curious? They might find his reports on the curse!

But those didn’t need to be so urgently hidden. The figures were only visible if you craned your head up. (Dick had a habit of doing exactly that when in deep thought.) Clark was unlikely to message him at least until tomorrow. He was busy with a deadline on his exposè on Luthor again.

He didn’t fuck up just yet.

Bruce hurriedly went through the common areas in the west wing of the manor to do what he neglected to do in the hours prior because he was too busy brooding. Bruce was… lying, or rather, obscuring the fact that he wasn’t mentally as old as they believed him to be. He wasn’t a child – he never considered himself one ever since the mugging – but he also wasn’t an adult. To keep his children blind to the truth, Bruce needed to hide evidence of his younger state of mind.

Now, Bruce was generally a rather neat person, but living alone in an excessively large house meant that there was no need to put his things away when he wasn’t actively using them. Hence why, there was a half-built Lego set of the Gotham Zoo scattered across the coffee table in the den, children’s literature books left on tables in various rooms, video game boxes scattered on the floor beside the console, a custom-built remote control car modelled after the batmobile in his study, and his old train set laid out in the sitting room beside the garden.

He spent an entire hour packing away his things and moved the Lego and train sets to the home theatre. Bruce’s children didn’t typically bother using the big screen to watch movies so he was confident that none of them would stumble upon his toys.

Phew.

Bruce was acing this whole adult thing.

Nurse Joy: So how was it

Jasus: Horrible.

Nurse Joy: Would any less biased members of the team who were ACTUALLY THERE like to contribute?

Tim Nook💰: It went fine
Tim Nook💰: No one even screamed

Nurse Joy: Boooooo! Boring!

Jasus: Stop lying

Tim Nook💰: Ok fine dick yelled a lot
Tim Nook💰: Tensions were high

Sir Dickolas: I didn’t mean toooooooo!!!

Jasus: LMAO
Jasus: Keep telling yourself that, Grayson

Sir Dickolas: I swear I just wanted to talk

Jasus: All your ‘talks’ with Bruce turn into screaming matches and you know it

Sir Dickolas: It’s not like ur any better mr dufflebag

Jasus: That’s really not the comeback you think it is

Sir Dickolas: I know
Sir Dickolas: Thats why i avoid talking to him
Sir Dickolas: No talking means no yelling
Sir Dickolas: See how peaceful dinner was because i didn’t talk to Bruce?

Jasus: What a cop-out. Fitting, for a cop.

Sir Dickolas: EXCUSE YOU.

Jasus: ACAB

Sir Dickolas: I JOINED TO WEED THEM OUT FROM THE INSIDE

Jasus: YOU DON’T EVEN WORK IN BLUD ANYMORE

Sir Dickolas: IM A SPY FOR COMMISH

Nurse Joy: lmao
Nurse Joy: Anything else u guys do?

Bark AND Bite: I pet Father’s dog. His name is Ace. He is a very good boy

Sir Dickolas: He’s so adorable!!! And friendly!!! [Blurry photo of Ace]

Nurse Joy: I’m sure he is
Nurse Joy: @Tim Nook💰pics?

Tim Nook💰: [Beautiful photos of Ace being adorable and beloved by the Robins past and present]

Nurse Joy: Thank you for your service
Nurse Joy: Awwww he’s so cute
Nurse Joy: What a good boy
Nurse Joy: So what’s weird about him?

Sir Dickolas: ???

Nurse Joy: He’s BATMAN’s dog
Nurse Joy: obv something is weird about him

Sir Dickolas: …

Tim Nook💰: He doesn’t eat unless he sees you eating first
Tim Nook💰: Treats don’t count

Nurse Joy: I knew it!

Jasus: When’s ur shift end

Nurse Joy: In an hour

Jasus: Meet you @ the docks
Jasus: Drug bust
Jasus: Potential human trafficking

Bruce couldn’t relax.

He already cleared the house (mostly) of ‘evidence of youth’ and was successfully being ‘so quiet that he’s non-existent’, not that it mattered considering everyone had left ten minutes ago. Bruce thought at least one of them would stay in the manor with him, or at the very least, the Cave, but they all suited up and drove off together without saying a word to Bruce. Logically, Bruce should be glad to be home alone, free to act as he pleased. He even took the opportunity to further encrypt his reports and disable his personal announcement system, rerouting them to his phone instead. And he displayed his figures in his room instead of on the Batcomputer.

But…

His children were on patrol and Bruce was just sitting here, doing nothing.

It’s what he’d been doing for the past month but Bruce had been able to ignore it thus far because he had an excuse. Now that the kids knew about him, it felt like Bruce no longer had the excuse. He had a suit and the skills; he could get out there and fight alongside them, keep them safe.

But Bruce restrained himself because he knew that it would be better for everyone if he didn’t.

Still…

He couldn’t just stay in the manor.

“Ace, what do you think I should do?” Bruce whispered.

His dog trotted past him and returned with a ball in his mouth. He placed it down by Bruce’s feet and barked.

“Are you saying to stop worrying and play with you instead?” Bruce laughed. He grabbed the ball and stood up. “Alright. Just for a bit.”

He stepped out into the garden with Ace and tried to ignore the part of him that many have called overbearing.

Tried being the operative word.

Bruce walked back in ten minutes later and slumped over on the couch. He stared out at the night sky. Ace seemed to have forgotten how much smaller Bruce was now and sat on top of him. Bruce giggled and wriggled out from under Ace to lay on top of him instead.

It’s late; I should get ready for bed, he thought as he stared at the shadows outside.

Bruce hopped off the couch and dragged himself over to his bedroom. He went through the motions of his routine and wrote the longest entry in his journal for a long while, filled with literary masterpieces such as: Barbie looked tired; is she working too much? And, Selina’s car doesn’t run as smoothly as it should; she should get it checked out. Maybe I can have a look for her. And, My mind sees the kids as simultaneously children and adults. It’s weird. I wonder if I could play the ‘Older Than You’ card and have them experience the strange disconnect I’m currently feeling. I doubt it. The kids were never really in the habit of listening to me.

He curled around Ace in bed an hour later. Sleep did not come easily. It did not come at all.

His mind wouldn’t stop reminding him of the many dangers involved with being a vigilante, especially one in Gotham. What if someone slipped a knife through the gaps of their armour? What if they couldn’t dodge a stray bullet? What if their grappling hooks malfunctioned? What if an Arkham breakout suddenly occurred? What if? What if? What if?

What if they needed Bruce?

Bruce threw his blanket over his head and curled into a tighter ball.

It didn’t matter. They didn’t want him.

Even though he told himself that, Bruce still laid wide awake, phone in hand, ready to jump into action the second the kids asked for help.

They didn’t.

In the end, Bruce only went to sleep once his phone told him the kids were back in the cave. He didn’t let himself check the security cameras. The proximity alarms were the only small allowance he gave himself.

Sixty-nine more days. How was Bruce going to survive this?

Chapter Text

Incoming video call: Cass

Bruce stared at his phone screen and shot up. Ace let out a whine and rolled on top of Bruce in retaliation for being woken up. Bruce usually would’ve apologised for it but he was too preoccupied with the call. He rolled Ace off him and ran his hand roughly through his hair. He tried to tame it to no avail; every cowlick bounced back up like springs.

Incoming video call: Cass

The call was going to end soon if he didn’t pick up. Bruce abandoned his hair and pressed accept call. The camera only showed the barest glimpse of his face, illuminated solely by the harsh glare of his phone screen. By contrast, Cass’ camera showed her face in a room with good lighting, allowing Bruce to see her from the chest up. She looked tired and there was an angry furrow in her brows.

“Hello, Bruce,” Cass greeted him in English.

“Cass.” Bruce nodded.

“I heard about you,” she said.

Bruce waited for her to continue. Cass pursed her lips.

“Everyone is upset at you,” she stated.

Bruce parted his lips. Are you? he didn’t ask. He shut his mouth and readjusted his position, further obscuring his face.

“I heard they lectured you a lot.” Cass’ serious face melted away and she grinned mischievously. It was the most beautiful thing Bruce had ever seen. “Payment for worrying me. I want another song.”

Bruce let out a startled chuckle. “You’re already tired of ‘Cassandra’?”

Cass shook her head. “I love it. Forever and ever. But–” Cass shifted and leaned her head against her arms– “I would like to meet little you.”

His heart jumped at the phrasing but Bruce calmed it down by telling himself that no matter how perspective Cass was, it was no use if she couldn’t see him. His darling daughter could barely see his face, she couldn’t see how truly little he was. It was just phrasing.

“I was going to surprise you but I will say it now. I am almost finished here. In a few weeks, maybe sooner, I will come home. Make the song and come pick me up, okay?”

Bruce’s breath hitched. “To the manor?”

Cass laughed, a low husky sound that reminded Bruce of autumn. “Silly Bruce. Where else?”

Cass considered the manor home. Cass was coming home. Cass wanted Bruce to welcome her home.

“Just give me the call, I’ll be there,” Bruce promised once he was sure his voice wouldn’t waver. “Was there any kind of song you were imagining or do I have free rein?”

“Dealer’s choice.”

Bruce huffed a laugh and it came out as a yawn. “Maybe—Maybe I’ll call it ‘Small Secrets’.”

Cass burst into giggles. “Little baby needs to go back to sleep. Six in morning there?”

“Hn.” Bruce elected to ignore the address. “Have you had dinner yet, Cass?”

“Not yet. Going with dance friend soon.”

“Alright. Have a nice meal and stay safe.”

“Sweet dreams, B. Talk to you next time.” She waved and ended the call.

Bruce hugged his phone to his chest and went back to sleep with a smile on his face.

He woke up in a cold sweat an hour later.

Bruce was so caught up in the euphoria of Cass coming home that he forgot what Cass coming home meant. As soon as she laid her eyes on him, Bruce was going to be exposed. Even if he tried to be Batman, Cass was going to see right through him. He had no hopes of trying to conceal this from her.

Bruce rocked himself back and forth.

He could bargain with her. Bribe her into secrecy. Convince her that she didn’t need to tell the others.

Cass would understand why Bruce needed to hide this.

She would understand.

She would.

Bruce didn’t go back to sleep and got dressed. He quietly made his way over to the kitchen with Ace and prepared a quick meal for himself. With all the kids asleep, the manor was dead silent, save for the sound of Ace munching on kibbles.

He kicked his feet back and forth and pushed his granola around in his bowl. Why did he have granola and why was he choosing to eat it? Bruce didn’t even like granola. Bruce squinted at the box of granola with suspicion in his eye. Was this leftover from when Alfred still worked here? He grabbed the box and checked the expiry date.

…

It was six months past the best-before date.

Ew. Yuck. Ew ew ew ew ew.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that he was eating granola, it had to be expired too?

Bruce discarded the contents of his bowl and threw the box into the bin angrily. He stared at it and stared and stared and stared.

Sigh.

Bruce crouched down in front of the bin and pulled on his hair.

“It’s just one thing after another after another…” he muttered to himself. His grip on his hair was starting to hurt now but Bruce didn’t let go.

Ace nudged his wet nose against Bruce’s neck and placed his head on his shoulder. Bruce loosened his grip on his hair and let his hands fall by his side. He rested his head against Ace’s forehead. He closed his eyes and focused on breathing. In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. In, hold, and out. He repeated it for a few minutes.

“I’m okay. I just got really overwhelmed all of a sudden.”

In, hold, and out.

“I’m okay.”

In, hold, and out.

“Now, we’ve had breakfast (a few bites, at least) so let’s go on a walk, shall we?”

Ace happily licked Bruce’s cheek.

“Ew,” Bruce laughed, pushing Ace away from him.

He shot up from his crouch and hummed a soft tune as he stepped out into the garden. One look at the blackout-curtain-covered windows above and Bruce gathered Ace’s scattered toys. He headed towards the woods and walked further away from the manor.

“We haven’t actually wandered too deep into the woods before,” Bruce idly commented. “What do you say about exploring it today?”

Ace barked in reply.

Bruce hummed. “You know, I used to play here all the time, much to Alfred’s concern. That’s how I fell into that old well and then the cave that one time. It didn’t stop me from running into the woods though.”

The well had long since been sealed off to prevent another accident.

They walked some more and eventually Bruce could hear the faint sound of running water and ducks quacking in the distance.

“Did you know, Ace? There’s actually a pond with lots of ducks and fish deep inside the woods. There’s also a gazebo in the middle of it. It’s really pretty. I used to play there all the time when it got hot but I’ve haven’t been since my parents… since my parents died.”

Bruce took a deep breath and patted Ace’s head. “You can’t swim in the pond but there’s a small hill that you can run up and down from. Doesn’t that sound fun? And we can be as loud as we want because it’s really, really far from the manor.”

“Woof!”

“Yeah, the kids worked hard last night so we shouldn’t disturb them.”

Ace lovingly rubbed the side of his body against Bruce.

“Of course, Ace worked hard as well.” Bruce gave Ace a thorough head rub and laughed as Ace licked his hand in return. “Good boy, Ace.”

After a fifteen-minute walk – made much longer by the essential sniff inspections from the almighty Bathound – they arrived at the pond. It was as beautiful as he remembered it being. A singular stone gazebo in the centre of a large body of water with an arching bridge attaching it to the mainland, gargoyles that resembled ducks guarding the four corners, ducks swimming through duckweed and tall reeds, pretty fish surfacing to eat bugs, and a swing attached to the branch of a sturdy tree overlooking the pond.

“Alright, Ace, have fun. Don’t harass the ducks!”

Ace barked and dashed off. He ran to the edge of the pond and peered into the water. The ducks pulled back from the bank at Ace’s approach and kept watch from a distance. Bruce’s dog didn’t try to interact with the ducks. Instead, he put his snout into it and then pulled back in shock. Ace repeated the motion a few times before slapping the water with his paw.

Bruce laughed as he set Ace’s toys down on the grass and sat on the swing. It was still nice and secure even after decades of disuse. Bruce swung back and forth testingly, and then more vigorously when it didn’t snap. The swinging motion reminded him of grappling across rooftops and Bruce stared at the ducks and the ripples in the water until his mind shut off and it was almost peaceful.

Bzzz.

His security alerts told him that Tim’s car left the premises. Soon after, Dick’s car also left.

Oh. Right. They both had day jobs.

Bruce leaned back in the swing, gripping onto the rope for balance, and stared up at the sky. The crown of the tree blocked most of his view. If he were a poet, he would say something beautiful about it but he wasn’t so Bruce was mostly just annoyed. There was probably a metaphor to be found in there.

“They’re all busy people, aren’t they?” he murmured to himself.

Dick and Tim had jobs. Damian… had friends he hung around sometimes. They all had a life elsewhere. Honestly, it was likely that they would be outside of the manor more often than not. Bruce didn’t know why he was so worried. Plus, the manor was so big and Bruce didn’t even have to stay inside. He wouldn’t run into them and they wouldn’t stumble into him either. The only time he could expect to see them was at dinner.

The beginnings of a plan formed in his head.

During the day, Bruce could spend time in the woods or the city. He’ll return just before dinner, in which he would be quiet and unobtrusive and good. Once dinner was over, Bruce could head to the east wing of the manor or the theatre until he went to bed or his kids headed off on patrol.

Bruce jumped off the swing and landed a good few feet away onto soft grass.

He grinned.

Suddenly everything was a lot less overwhelming.

It was a little past one when Bruce finally decided to go back inside. Or rather, Ace decided to go back inside. The adorable bastard woke Bruce up from his nap in the gazebo and whined until Bruce gathered the dog toys and walked back. Ace was a little muddy from messing around in the pond so Bruce grabbed the garden hose and gave him a quick rinse.

“Father.”

Bruce startled and almost dropped the hose. He shut the tap and turned around.

“Damian.”

His teenage son stared at the pair of them with his usual intense gaze. “Did you go on a walk with Ace?”

Bruce nodded.

Damian nodded back. After a pause, he continued, “Does Ace usually go on walks for this long?”

Yes and no. Ace walked for as long as Bruce wanted to walk. If he was busy, they went on short walks whenever possible. If he wasn’t busy, the walks often combined with playtime until it was time to eat or Bruce wanted a nap. Since Bruce already napped, it was probably time to eat now. Come to think of it, Bruce was a little hungry. All he’d had all day were a few bites of expired granola.

Just thinking about it made him annoyed.

“Walk times vary,” Bruce answered.

Damian nodded. He didn’t say anything else so Bruce turned away and tidied up Ace’s toys. When he turned back, Damian was still staring at them. For a moment, Bruce wondered if he was caught in a staring contest with Damian but the boy blinked.

“Would it be possible for me to also go on walks with Ace?”

Bruce reflexively looked back at Ace. The dog was drying off in the sun and staring at the butterfly that just landed on his nose.

“You can take him out whenever you like, Damian. Ace likes going on walks.”

Damian’s face was smooth in a way that told Bruce he was suppressing a facial expression. He could tell because his own face did that too. They looked too similar for Bruce to not be able to recognise his facial expressions reflected on Damian’s face. That didn’t mean Bruce could tell which emotion he was suppressing though. Whatever it was, Damian just nodded and then… he kept staring.

In the past, when Uncle Philip would stare at Bruce like that, it meant that he wanted Bruce out of his sight.

“You have a leaf stuck to your collar.”

Bruce brushed his fingers across his shirt collar and grabbed the leaf. He twirled it between his fingers before letting it slip through and fall to the ground. “Thank you.”

Damian nodded. His gaze did not leave Bruce.

Bruce shifted his weight between his feet and stepped inside. Damian’s gaze followed him but he remained standing where he was. Surely Bruce did not have any more leaves stuck to him. He vowed to check himself in the mirror as he left the room and Damian’s line of sight.

He could hear Ace’s happy bark and Damian murmuring, “Would you like to meet Alfred? I’m sure you’ll both get along.”

Damian seemed to really like Ace. Perhaps Bruce should shorten their morning walks to give Damian more time with him.

Bruce nodded to himself and headed towards the kitchen to make himself a sandwich and some tea. In the middle of assembling the sandwich, he made a realisation.

‘Somehow, my plan had already veered off course.’

Bruce was only supposed to see his kids at dinner but Damian saw him at the glass door facing the garden. Come to think of it, he also knew that Bruce and Ace had gone out for a long walk. Did Damian go looking for Ace and come to the conclusion that Bruce had taken him outside? Had he waited in the living room facing the garden for Ace to return?

To prevent something like this from happening again, Bruce had to shorten his walks with Ace. In fact, he should just ditch Ace altogether. Bruce would probably be fine without Ace… Well, he still intended on sleeping together but they didn’t have to be together during the day.

‘Sorry Ace, you’re too charming for your own good.’

Bruce grabbed his sandwich and tea and escaped to his art studio.

Dinner was broccoli and chicken rice. Tim had made it. Apparently, he was trying to defend his honour or something. Bruce wasn’t sure. He only caught snippets of the conversation as he walked into the kitchen.

His plate was already served so Bruce climbed into his seat and waited for everyone to get settled. Ace adopted a similar posture, sitting before his filled food bowl, waiting for someone to eat before he did.

“I cooked yours separately, brat. No chicken. Extra broccoli and added potatoes. But the sauce is the same so eat it and admit that it's good and flavourful.”

Damian pointed his fork at Tim. “All you did was boil the broccoli and potatoes. You didn’t even season it. All the flavour is from the sauce packet you purchased.”

“Stop being a hater, hummus boy.”

“Eat a jalapeno, white boy.”

Tim gasped. “I can eat jalapenos!”

Damian snorted. “Sure.”

“Dick, tell him!”

Dick averted his eyes.

“Dick!”

Dick shoved a piece of broccoli into his mouth. “This is really good, Timmy,” he murmured through a mouthful of greens.

Bruce took a bite too. It was his first time eating Tim’s cooking but all Bruce had to say was that he didn’t hate it. The broccoli was slightly overcooked and the parts that weren’t drenched with prepackaged sauce were incredibly bland. It was edible though.

The sound of crunching filled the kitchen. At least Ace was enjoying his meal.

“It’s overcooked,” Damian ruthlessly stated. “The large chunks are bland and smaller chunks are overly sauced and salty. Learn to cook properly, Drake.”

Tim scoffed. “Then you cook next time, Chef Ramsey.”

“I will. And I will show you what real food is. Oh. But you won’t be able to eat it, would you? After all, you think black pepper is spicy.”

“I’ll eat it! After all, my adorable younger brother made it for me.” Tim’s lips stretched obscenely wide like a supervillain.

“Heh.” Damian returned the smile. “Not little anymore, huh?”

Tim and Damian were about the same height now. Tim was just a little taller. It wouldn’t be long before Damian surpassed him.

“Who knows what’ll happen in the future? You might get stuck at that height forever or even shrink. Just look at what happened to Bruce.”

Bruce froze at the sudden mention of his name.

They all looked at him.

Why?!

Bruce was so quiet. Why did Tim do this to him? To win a stupid argument that he couldn’t win anyway?

“Now that you mention it, how did this happen anyway? I don’t think we asked yesterday. Bit busy with other revelations,” Dick inquired.

Timmmmmmm------! Bruce cried inside.

“Right. You prepared for your ‘vacation’ weeks in advance. You knew something was going to happen, didn’t you?” Tim astutely pointed out.

“I did.”

For the love of Gotham, just leave it at that, please.

“Father, how did this happen?”

Bruce internally screamed. It’s okay, Bruce. You rehearsed this with Ace. Just remember to set the scene. “I do not wish to discuss it.”

Dick sighed. “When do you ever? It’s either you tell us or we investigate it ourselves. You know this, Bruce.”

Yeah, he did.

He purposely thinned his lips. “There is no need to investigate. Everything has been taken care of.”

Tim raised his eyebrow at him. “We’re not asking so we can tie up loose ends, Bruce.”

“It is none of your concern,” he said, putting Batman’s authoritative decisiveness into his tone. The same one he realised the kids had been chaffing under.

“Was it magic or an alien artifact? Is there any possibility of it happening again? We need to know some details, Bruce.”

Bruce let the tension in the air bubble until it was almost suffocating. That’s what Batman would have done. Put on a face of oppressive stoicness while he weighed his options. Bruce had already decided his answer but if he answered too soon, it would be obvious that he was lying. Or at least, misleading them. “It was a potion. One of its kind.”

Dead silence.

Could they hear the sound of his racing heart because Bruce was drowning in those thunderous beats right now?

“Why did you drink the potion?” Dick asked. Bruce could tell he put a considerable amount of effort into making sure his voice came out even but the way he white-knuckled his fork betrayed the truth.

“Because I had to.” Bruce turned his attention back to his plate and worked on finishing the few bites left. He practically screamed: This conversation is over.

Dick took a deep breath and composed himself. Before he could say anything, Damian spoke up. “I would like you to elaborate, Father.”

Bruce stared into Damian’s eyes and his son stared back. He put his fork down and engaged in a staring contest with Damian for the second time that day.

“Did someone force you to drink the potion, Bruce?” Tim asked, a touch of impatience in his tone.

Bruce directed his gaze at Tim. (Damnit, he lost the staring contest.)

“I was working on something for an old friend. The potion was a necessary part of helping them.”

Friend, Dick mouthed to himself with disbelief written across his face. Which was rude because apparently Bruce did have friends, quite a few of them too if his recent revelations had anything to say about that. And Gotham was Bruce’s oldest friend.

“That doesn’t make sense. How does you drinking a potion help your friend?” Tim asked, frowning in confusion.

“The details are irrelevant. I drank a potion to help a friend and it temporarily transformed my body. That is all you need to know.”

“At least tell us who this friend is.”

“No.” (Bruce loved how rude and inconsiderate Batman was sometimes.)

Bruce polished off the last bite and pushed back against the table. He walked as though unaware of the stares following him and placed his dishes in the sink. Then he walked out. The conversation was officially over and Bruce decided he had won it.

Chapter Text

Now that Bruce didn’t have to worry about his kids digging too deep (he checked; none of them were trying to access his personal files), it was back to business as usual.

His day for the past few days now went something like this: Wake up before the kids at too early o’clock because of insomnia or nightmares or whatever and eat breakfast (not the yucky granola). Walk Ace for an hour or so. Let Ace find Damian when the boy woke up.

Hide away in the east wing or the theatre. Eat lunch (optional). Nap. Hobbies. Talk to Amaya (only on Friday). Dinner. Retreat. Sleep.

It was depressingly easy to slip back into old habits, if you could even call them ‘old’ considering they were technically the habits of the current Bruce and would remain his habits until he shed the title of child and knocked on the doors of teenagehood. Nonetheless, Bruce had spent an entire month not practising those habits but now that he wasn’t living alone anymore, the old rules took effect and there was no more humming to himself, or laughing as he ran through the corridors, or speaking to Ace about anything and everything. It was back to silent feet and voiceless everything.

In a way, it was easier.

This way, Bruce didn’t have to navigate the rocky waters that were his relationship with his children. Didn’t have to pretend that he was more or less than he was. Didn’t have to confront what he was hiding from. He’d survive the remainder of these hundred days and when they left, he’ll continue to survive.

Tim played with his mug, balancing it on its side with his finger. The coffee inside sloshed around, on the verge of spilling. He let the mug fall flat on the table. A few droplets escaped. Tim cleaned the mess and glanced to the side. Dick was still staring at the seat Bruce vacated a few moments earlier.

“He could at least be a little less obvious about avoiding us,” Dick murmured to himself.

Tim recalled Bruce sitting at the table, feet dangling from the seat because his legs weren’t long enough to reach the floor. Seeing him like that, Tim had to consciously remember that there was an adult inside that child’s body. Honestly, if Tim was the one in Bruce’s shoes, he wouldn’t want to be seen like that either.

He poked his mug again. The coffee rippled inside as the mug made a thud-thud sound against the table.

“Would you stop that inane sound?” Damian complained.

Tim flicked his mug pointedly.

Damian glared at him but in a show of commendable restraint, he took a deep breath and ignored Tim. “Father will eventually tire of avoiding us. Even Alfred has started venturing out of my room.”

“Okay, one: Bruce is not a cat getting used to a new environment. Two: Bruce is stubborn as fuck. Three: he’s been attending dinner as agreed. I don’t see anything wrong with our current arrangement,” Tim listed.

Damian scowled. “So when I spend all day in my room, I’m an angsty teenager, but when Father does it, it’s perfectly fine?”

Tim snorted. “Maybe when Bruce starts blasting music from his speakers at 5 AM, I’ll start calling him an angsty teenager. But for now, he’s just an adult enjoying his own personal space in his own home.”

“Bruce doesn’t actually like spending time in his bedroom,” Dick told them.

Tim and Damian both made an inquisitive sound at the same time. To this day, it still disgusted Tim whenever he accidentally synced with one of his siblings, which occurred too often. Unless they did it in front of a stranger, in which case, it was hilarious because of how creeped out they would get.

“The only times he’s in his room is when he’s sleeping or forced to stay there for bed rest. Even then, he preferred to spend most of that recovery time in the medbay.” Dick looked into the middle distance, reminiscing a time neither Tim nor Damian were there for. “You used to be able to find him working in his study or the cave. If not, he was in the library or the living room. Always in a common area where it was easy to find him. I thought he’ll continue to do so regardless of the fact that we’re here so it’s a little suspicious that Bruce is going out of his way to avoid us.”

The Bruce Dick remembered was different from the one Tim knew. The few years he lived with Bruce, the man could only be found in his study or the cave, and maybe, on a few rare occasions, the cellar (though Bruce was oddly never drunk when he emerged from its confines. Maybe he just needed a cold and dark man cave that wasn’t The Cave). He was always working and Tim practically never saw him in the living room. Tim couldn’t even picture him watching TV unless it was the news or something like that.

Dick tapped his fingers on the table rhythmically. Tim shot a glance at Damian and the teen didn’t even twitch. He was really loving the favouritism here. “If Bruce didn’t mention a ‘friend’, I might’ve believed that bogus story he told us a few days ago.”

Tim snorted. “Hey, B could have friends.”

“He doesn’t call anyone a friend. They’re allies. In fact, the only people I’ve heard B call his friends are Talia and Harvey.”

“Talia has been busy with League business and Two-Face is still in Arkham.”

Dick hummed. “In any case, Babs is running a program in the background to scour all the security footage in Gotham for what B’s been doing for the past year. She’ll contact us once it’s finished.”

Damian made a pensive face. “I cannot completely rule out Mother’s involvement in this. She had been keeping in contact with Father throughout the years. It is possible that she asked him for a favour.”

“Magic and potions do seem like League bullshit,” Tim agreed.

“I didn’t know that Bruce kept in contact with Talia. He’d never spoken of her since…” Dick pulled a face. “I guess not since they broke up and Talia fell pregnant with Damian.”

“Ew, Dick, can you not?”

“Must you be so immature, Timothy?”

“Do you want to hear about how B and Talia made you before they broke up?”

“Urgh, Tim, stop being so vivid,” Dick protested despite the fact that he was the one who bought it up first. “Anyway, What do Talia and Bruce talk about?” Dick asked as if that was more important.

“I do not know. Mother has never shown me their emails.”

“Should I hack B’s email?” Tim offered.

Damian glowered at him. “That’s private business.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “I can guarantee you that they’re not exchanging love mails.”

“No, we’ll see what we can gather from the footage first,” Dick refused. “Damian, you ask Talia if she’s spoken to Bruce recently. But be subtle. We don’t want to tip them off. B hates destroying records but he won’t hesitate to destroy all the evidence if he suspects we’re on to him.”

“I’ll ask her after we see the footage,” Damian crossed his arms and grumbled.

“That’s not going to be for a while since Babs is not actively working on it.”

Damian shrugged. “We have two months. It’s plenty of time.”

Tim drained his mug and slammed it on the table. “When we go on that beach trip that we’ve planned for months, we’ll take B with us. Has anyone told Bruce yet? No? Well, someone tell him tomorrow. Anyway, while we’re gone, Babs can hack into the Batcomputer and disable whatever defences and systems B’s got on it without him noticing or interfering. Then, we’ll finally be able to see what he’s been doing at home all by himself.”

“Someone would have to tell Jason too.”

“Dibs not!” Dick yelled.

“Dibs not!” Damian echoed.

“Damn it!” Tim cried. “Fuck. He’s going to be so annoying.” He ran his hand through his hair in despair. “Well, that’s enough scheming. I’m going to work on some cases. I’m already two days behind schedule.”

“You have a schedule for cases?”

“Yes, or I’ll never be able to manage everything. I’m currently working on six active cases, three of which I need to get lab results from, and another two that I should’ve solved by now but have been put on the back burner and Steph wanted to talk to me about one tonight. It’s a fucking lot, okay?”

“Tt, this wouldn’t be an issue if Richard’s colleagues were less incompetent.”

“I really don’t have a comeback for that.”

“Hey, Babs? Can I use your shower? My pipes are clogged and my landlord said he’ll send someone over to fix it tomorrow,” Steph shouted into her intercom.

Barbara let her in. “Go ahead. Stay the night too. You can help me go through some of the footage I found. I’ve been running a program in the background to track B’s movement throughout the year and it’s not complete yet but all my other cases are on downtime so I figured I’ll check them out.”

“Yeah, sure.” Steph nodded and tugged on her scrubs and readjusted her backpack strap. “I’ll be quick. Twenty minutes max! Thanks, Babs!”

“No worries.”

Barbara wheeled herself back to her computer and clicked through the few videos her program found of Batman throughout the earlier months of the year. There weren’t that many because Batman was skilled at avoiding the cameras but they still existed. In them, Batman appeared to be collecting… weed? Wild plants? No, herbs. Magic herbs.

She suddenly recalled Bruce gifting her a couple of potions when they met up in March.

Barbara pulled up the group chat.

Sir Dickolas: Bruce said he was working on something for an old friend and drinking a potion was part of it. He said it was one of a kind so it’s not something we have to worry about. It’s obviously bullshit but the potion part should be true

Barbara checked Cass’s text from a few days ago.

Cass😇: Bruce is still hiding something

There was no doubt about it. Bruce created the potion himself.

The question was why.

What did Bruce tell her again?

He met a witch and potion-making seemed like a useful skill to have.

Barbara huffed a chilling laugh. The bastard lied to her. And she believed him!

Fuck. Why did she so easily believe him? Bruce hated magic with his entire being. There was no way he would learn how to do magic, even if it were via a potion, simply because it was a nifty skill to have. The bastard didn’t even use modern medication for his pain; there was no way he’d use a magic one.

But that meant that Bruce had been preparing for this since before March. He had all year to tell them, to keep them in the loop, but he still chose to keep them in the dark. He actively chose to do whatever this all alone!

And Barbara didn’t even know what stung more. That Bruce hadn’t trusted them with this. Or that he collecting all those herbs for probably months and Barbara still hadn’t had a clue. Not a damn one. She was Oracle. She was supposed to be the all-knowledgable one of Gotham and yet she didn’t know what Batman was up to.

She just… she trusted that Bruce could take care of himself. She thought that she could trust him to reach out if he needed anything. And he never hesitated when it came to solving crimes or tracking down rogues. So Barbara let herself believe and she was realising the fallacy in that now. Bruce was independent to a fault. This, whatever it was, was obviously not time-sensitive. So Bruce knew he could handle it himself. And so he did.

“So, what’s B-man been up to?” Steph asked.

Barbara suppressed a flinch and answered. “You should’ve taken your time.”

Steph raised an eyebrow at her. “I took a full twenty-minute shower.”

Barbara groaned into her hands.

“What’s got you so distracted?” Steph asked as she wrapped her hair in an old T-shirt.

“Bruce.” Barbara pointed at her screen and glared. “He made the damn potion himself.”

Steph whistled as if impressed. “Really? Didn’t know his talents extended to creating an elixir of temporary youth.”

Barbara rolled her eyes at her. “There’s definitely something else going on here. Back in March, Bruce mentioned that he was learning how to make potions from a witch and I’m willing to bet that witch knows exactly what Bruce is doing. Problem is, witches are notoriously difficult to track down. I don’t think following Batman’s footsteps will be of much help either.”

Steph hummed. “You know, the boys mentioned taking Bruce away with them on the beach trip. They said you could take the opportunity to hack into his computer without him freaking out and deleting everything.”

“I could do that even with Bruce there,” Barbara retorted defensively.

“Yeah, I know, but that would take more time. You’re too busy to waste time battling Bruce in the cyber world. Plus, it will be easier if Bruce doesn’t notice. He won’t have time to build up his defences.”

Barbara pulled a face but agreed. “You’re going to the manor tomorrow, right? I need you to find whatever transport Bruce has been using and put this on it.”

She gave Steph a small tracker.

“He might visit the witch again. I’m not sure. Couldn’t hurt to have it.”

“Alright.” Steph rolled the tracker in her hand.

Bruce had a belated realisation. He was so shocked that he was only having this realisation now that he dropped his cookie. (Yes, he was having cookies for breakfast. No, this did not say anything about the state of Bruce’s mental health. Cookies were a perfectly normal breakfast item. They weren’t any worse than Dick’s sugary cereal with all the marshmallows.)

Bruce could work now.

He could solve cases without the kids wondering how he had time for all that if he was undercover. He could do paperwork for W.E. and take some workload off of Lucius and Tim. (Bruce noticed the bags that looked like bruises under the boy’s eyes and had been feeling guilty.) He didn’t have to spend all day looking for something to do anymore!

Vacation over!

Bruce shoved the remainder of his cookie into his mouth and ran off to his study. His socked feet slid against the hardwood as Bruce made an abrupt U-turn and ran to his bedroom instead. The study received too much foot traffic because it was the main entrance to the Batcave. He retrieved his laptop instead and dashed towards the home theatre.

After a long fifteen-minute deliberation, Bruce carefully drafted an email to Lucius. He read the email seventeen times and agonised for three minutes before finally hitting send. Then he read the email another nine times.

Ace made a keening sound and dropped his leash in Bruce’s lap.

Bruce glanced at the time. It was already eight. “Oh, sorry, Ace. I lost track of time.”

He slammed his laptop shut and clipped the leash onto Ace’s collar.

“We’ll just go on a short walk today, alright? You can go on a longer one with Damian.”

Ace rubbed his head against Bruce’s side and whined. His ears flopped more than they usually did, a damning effect when combined with his drooped tail.

“Ace…” Bruce felt like he was the worst villain in the world right now. That was absurd. It was a wonderful privilege to be able to spend time with Damian. Why was Ace looking so sad?

Ace graciously ceased the sad act and licked Bruce’s nose. He then tugged on the leash and guided Bruce out to the garden.

“Sometimes, I can’t tell who’s taking care of who here,” Bruce murmured.

It turned out to be a good thing that Bruce shortened their walk because as he was walking back into the manor, he got an alert that someone had arrived. Not long after, he heard Stephanie’s voice boom through the manor from the direction of the study. “SUP BITCHES, THE QUEEN IS HERE!”

Ace immediately went on guard and stood before Bruce with his haunches raised.

“It’s alright, Ace,” Bruce whispered. “It’s just Stephanie. She’s a friend.”

Ace went to investigate and Bruce had no choice but to follow.

“Shout a little louder, Brown. I’m sure the whole neighbourhood hasn’t heard you yet,” Damian growled. He stomped angrily from the kitchen to better yell at Stephanie.

”SUP BITCHES, THE QUEEN IS HERE!” Stephanie screamed louder.

Sometimes Bruce thought it was a shame that Stephanie didn’t pursue a path in theatre given how well she projected her voice and her love for the dramatics. He had to admit that her current profession as a nurse suited her just as well though.

“You. Are. Insufferable.”

“Awww, love you too.”

“Can you two idiots stop being so fucking loud?” Tim slammed his bedroom door open and complained.

“Go back to sleep, Timothy!” Damian ordered.

“I can’t because you fuckers keep yelling!” Tim grumpily made his way to the study.

“You would think that in a house this big, you wouldn’t get woken up because people are being too loud!” Dick shouted from inside his room.

“Oh, great! You’re all awake. Good morning,” Stephanie said gleefully, voice dripping with honey. There was a wide smile plastered across her face, a look she mastered from her many customer service jobs. “Bruce, come out from wherever you’re hiding, let’s talk.”

Bruce flinched but did as commanded. “Good morning, Stephanie.”

She smiled, shark-like. “Been a while, Bruce.”

“How have you and your mother been?”

Stephanie rolled her eyes at him. “As if you don’t already know. Thanks for asking anyway. We’ve been good. Mum’s actually planning on going on vacation to Philly to visit some old friends in a few weeks.”

Bruce nodded. He had known because Crystal had posted about it on her Facebook.

“And how have you been, Bruce?” Stephanie asked him. “It must be difficult being so tiny again. How does it feel to not be built like a fridge anymore?”

Bruce shrugged. He was himself but he was also a different person. There was a disconnect between his older and current self that Bruce was acutely aware of. Older Bruce was skilled at accessing loud noises and reacting accordingly. Current Bruce froze indiscriminately until he remembered he wasn’t actually nine. There was also the fact that everyone towered over him and Bruce had to crane his head to look at them but that was par for the course for all kids, let alone one as short as him.

“And this must be Ace. He’s so cute!”

Bruce nudged Ace and his dog stepped forward to let Stephanie pat him.

“Anyway, I know the boys already lectured you about all this so I’m just going to be brief.” She raised her hand and moved towards Bruce. His eyes zeroed in on it as his muscles locked in place.

Thud.

Stephanie flicked Bruce’s forehead. Bruce rubbed the dull pain in a daze.

“Damn, your skull’s so thick. Well, I hope that sinks through your thick skull better than words because I’m not letting this bullshit slide again, Bruce. You lectured us for years about safety protocols and backup and whatnot and then you pull this shit. You have a team for a reason. Keep us updated on these kinds of things. Not just to inform us of your extended leave because you drank an APX potion.”

Bruce took a moment to process all that and his mind latched onto the last thing he heard. APX? “Paracetamol and codeine?”

“No! Not APX as in the pain meds. APX as in the fictional toxin that turned Shinichi into Conan!”

“It’s called APTX 4869,” Damian corrected.

“Urgh, you dweeb. Anyway, the next time you turn into Conan, well, it’s more accurate to call you Haibara right now—”

“Why Haibara?” Damian interrupted.

Stephanie grinned with too many teeth. “Here’s an opportunity for you to fess up, Bruce. Don’t forget what you shared with Babs at the start of the year.”

Bruce paled upon realising what Stephanie was hinting at.

“Father?”

“Haibara is the scientist who developed the poison and ended up drinking it herself, isn’t she?” Tim said.

Fuck.

Bruce gulped and then smoothed out his features. “Yes, I made the potion myself.”

Dick’s bedroom door slammed open and his eldest son made his way to the study door where they were all standing. “You did this to yourself?”

Bruce stopped breathing when his eyes landed on Dick. His boy clearly just got out of bed after a too-short rest, dressed in just a tank top and his boxers. His hair looked like he’d just been through a hurricane and there were crease marks on his face, along with a few bruises in various stages of healing decorating his body (Bruce should’ve shown them where the magic potions were kept). But that wasn’t what Bruce was paying attention to. Above Dick’s head was a cloud no one else could see.

“I did,” Bruce croaked. He felt his composure slipping away from him like the wind flowing through the gaps of his fingers. There was nothing to grab onto. Nothing that could be done to steady himself.

Dick was cursed. He was cursed and Bruce no longer had the authority to bench him until the cursed cloud dispersed. Dick was cursed and he was going to go out there where every move was a matter of life or death.

“You said you had to drink it but now you’re saying that you made it yourself?” Tim asked but Bruce couldn’t take his eyes off Dick.

“I had my reasons,” Bruce shakingly said. He tugged on Ace’s collar and took a deep breath. Bruce was standing at the precipice of something, a choice, a fork road where both paths lead to uncertainty, that he couldn’t walk back from. “I need to make a phone call.”

“What?”

Bruce turned and walked away amidst the rising sounds of protest behind him. He paused.

“You wanted answers so wait while I’m getting them.”

Chapter Text

Bruce slammed his bedroom door shut, just narrowly missing Ace. He shakingly found Amaya’s contact and called her, pacing back and forth frantically. His free hand snaked its way to his hair and pulled punishingly. The pain did nothing to ground him. It was not helping at all. Bruce knew he should stop the habit but he couldn’t. His grip tightened. His vision blurred with unshed tears. He almost tripped over his own feet.

Ace barked at him.

Bruce paused and took a moment to compose himself. He took all the panic and fear and worry and pushed it down-down-down, forcing it into a small box until he did what he had to.

He could sense his kids gathered outside his door. They were whispering amongst each other, debating whether they should barge in or not. Bruce locked the door and escaped out onto the balcony. He lifted himself up onto the ledge and climbed onto the roof.

“Bruce?” Amaya finally picked up.

“Amaya, I have a request.” Bruce went straight to the point.

Amaya hummed. He could hear a stove being turned off in the background.

“My son, Dick, the curse has chosen him as the next target. It’s only minor but even the smallest mistake out in the field can kill you. I cannot bench him. Please, would you meet him and bless him?” Bruce rushed out, choking on his emotions towards the end.

He could remember the last time he tried to bench Dick; it was so long ago but it may as well have been yesterday for how the memory still gripped his heart with icy tendrils of dread. Dick was still Robin, just a teenager, and the cloud floated above his head, a mockery, a reminder that for all the good Bruce did for Gotham, it was still not enough, it would never be enough. But it wasn’t the first time Bruce had seen a cloud over the head of a loved one. (Alfred: broken leg, dominoed into losing custody of Bruce. Jim: grazed by a bullet, spiralled into divorce. Harvey: stabbed, estranged from family) Bruce knew what to expect. He just had to bid his time in a safe, controlled environment until the curse struck. Or at least, keep an eye out so he could help when it eventually did.

But Dick didn’t want that. Dick wanted independence. He wasn’t willing to be benched while he was completely fine and he certainly didn’t want Batman hovering over his shoulder like a ghastly spectre. So after another fruitless fight, Bruce let Robin out and then watched from (too far) a distance as Robin was shot and Batman did nothing. Just as Bruce did nothing the night his parents were mowed down by two 9mm rounds.

The box was shaking, threatening to burst open. Bruce reinforced the locks and squeezed his eyes shut.

“Of course,” Amaya told him and Bruce felt the tension leave him all at once. “My magic will linger around him for a few days though. It’s going to affect you. Are you fine with that?”

“Yes,” Bruce responded with no hesitation. A few days with extra appendages or his son’s potential death. They weren’t even worth comparing.

“Alright. Tell him to meet up with me at Frog Eye’s Cafe.”

Bruce grunted. He waited a few moments. “Amaya… I’ve been lying,” he confessed, like a criminal put on trial, waiting for a guilty verdict.

“About what?” Amaya asked kindly, her tone that of a mother’s when faced with their misbehaving child.

And Bruce felt the urge to let every sin he’d committed spill from his mouth. But he knew better than to do that so he only let out the relevant ones. They’d be here for much longer if he did anyway.

“I haven’t been living with the kids. It’s just been me. Up until a few days ago. They found out and they feel responsible. They wanted to take care of me. I- I told them I was an adult and I said nothing of the curse, just mentioned that I drank a potion. But Stephanie realised that I made the potion and Dick is cursed. Everything is spiralling out of my control and I don’t think I can keep up with the lies anymore. But I don’t want them to realise that I’m a child. I’m their father, Amaya. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. Amaya, I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay.” There was no judgement in her tone and Bruce couldn’t be more grateful for it. “I don’t love the fact that you were a child living alone for the past month but that’s been rectified so I won’t comment any further on it. I also don’t approve of you trying to hide your age from your children but I understand where you are coming from. So, here’s what’s going to happen. You will tell your children to meet up with me at the cafe. I will help remove the curse on your son and then I will answer their questions. I will tell them of the curse and the potion but I will not reveal the truth of your age. Is that acceptable for you?”

“Yes,” Brue emphatically responded. “Yes, thank you, Amaya. Truly.”

“No need for thanks, Bruce. Just remember to keep up with our weekly chats.” Amaya laughed warmly.

“I will.” Hesitating, he added, “The kids have never believed in the curse. They hate any mention of it. Dick especially. They may get… aggressive.”

Amaya hummed. “It’s hard to believe in something no one can sense.”

Bruce understood that now but he was born being able to see the cursed clouds. For the longest time, he didn’t understand what they were, nor did he know that others weren’t able to see them too. It wasn’t until he was four that he was told the truth.

‘Mama, why don’t the people here have clouds on their heads?’ he remembered asking his mother when they had gone on a business trip to New York City together.

‘New York is rather sunny. It’s strange how clear the skies are here, isn’t it?’ his mother had laughed.

Bruce did think it was strange to see an expansive blue sky. He had thought that was just a thing that existed in cartoons, the same way cheese was always drawn triangular and full of holes. ‘No, Mama, I’m not talking about the rain clouds. No one here has the floating clouds above their heads like Mrs Anderson did before she fell and sprained her wrist.’

Then his mother had gone quiet and pensive. She looked at him in a way she never did before and held him by the shoulders, ‘No one has clouds above their heads, Bruce.’

Bruce had tried his best to convince her that he was telling the truth but was instead instructed to keep it to himself. People would look at him strangely, his mother had advised him. And so Bruce kept it to himself until he was older and orphaned and it no longer mattered if people thought he was weird. Perhaps he should have just kept listening to his mother considering how angry talking about the curse made people.

“I used to think that if I was able to convince other people that the curse really existed, then they would be able to see it too. I- I think that it was this insistence that caused them to react so strongly to any mention of the curse,” Bruce murmured, making the realisation as he spoke.

“It’s highly likely that they won’t believe me either then. You know, that might actually be another effect of the curse. Just like my ‘Notice-me-not’ wards cause people’s eyes to glaze over my more dangerous artefacts, the curse may be directing people’s thoughts away from any evidence of its existence,” Amaya suggested.

Bruce’s grip on his phone tightened. “Maybe. My tendency to spiral when it came to the curse probably didn’t help either.”

“Well, the real reason I’m meeting up with them is to remove the curse on Dick so whether they believe us is not really important. It might be fun to debate with them on the topic too. I’ve seen them out on patrol before and they do argue so fun.”

Bruce huffed a laugh, Amaya’s confidence affecting him. “They’re something special.”

“I would expect nothing less from your children, Bruce. Oh, and do send them with some of your cookies, please. I’ve been craving them and none make them like you do.”

“I stole the recipe from Alfred. He makes them much better,” Bruce said tightly.

“I’d like to compare them one day,” Amaya said lightly as if it was a sure thing that she would one day meet Alfred and they’d chat and exchange stories and—and it was never going to happen because Alfred was back in England, away from the cesspit that was Gotham.

Bruce just hummed instead of saying all that. “I’ll pack some. Thank you for everything. Talk to you next time, Amaya.”

Bruce hung on and let out a deep sigh. He closed his eyes and leaned back against his hands, head tilted up towards the overcast sky. “Watch over them for me, Mother.”

He carefully climbed down the roof and padded across his room to the door. He unlocked it and opened the door. The kids were all looking at him, waiting.

“Go to Frog Eye’s Cafe. My associate will meet you there. She will answer your questions,” he told them. Bruce avoided looking at Dick, unable to bear seeing that cloud above his head once more.

“Why can’t you answer our questions?” Steph asked.

Bruce thinned his lips. “I will answer them after you return.”

“Who is your associate? What does she look like?” Tim asked.

“Her name is Amaya. You’ll know who she is as soon as you see her.”

Dick raised his eyebrow––somehow, his hair was even more messy than it was before. “Are you not coming with us?”

“No. You’ll understand why later.”

Dick frowned. “We’re not leaving you home alone, Bruce.”

Bruce bit his tongue and swallowed back the frustrated words. “It will only be for a few hours,” he said instead.

“One of us should stay behind. I-”

“No,” Bruce hurriedly said. It would defeat the purpose if Dick stayed home. “You need to hear it yourself.”

“The faster we go, the faster we’ll be back,” Stephanie said.

Dick grunted, sounding so much like Bruce that it hurt as much as it warmed his heart.

The kids left and the box threatened to open again. Bruce slapped on another lock and made his way to the kitchen. He climbed to the top shelf of the pantry and hopped down with his cookie jar. There weren’t that many left because he had some for breakfast but it was still enough to fill a sandwich bag.

He found Stephanie and Damian waiting in the hall for Tim and Dick to get ready.

“Give this to Amaya,” he told Damian.

His son accepted the bag but raised his eyebrows at the contents.

Bruce shrugged. “She likes cookies.”

Damian nodded and said nothing more.

Bruce then returned to his room and waited for his kids to leave. When his security alerts told them their cars left, he slid down the wall and held his head between his knees. The locks on the box broke off and the panic and trepidation and worry came flooding back. Bruce’s breathing hitched and before he knew it, he was gasping for air, tears streaming down his face, faster than Ace could lick them away.

Steph texted Babs while she waited for everyone to get ready. Then, after some consideration, she texted Jason too. Babs responded immediately. Jason left her on read. She scoffed and put her phone back into her pocket.

“Damian, you think Jason will come?”

Damian sneered. “He’ll coincidentally be in the area and come check it out. Five minutes late.”

Steph chortled. “It’s close enough to Crime Alley for him to camp it out and wait for our cars to arrive.”

Though Jason loved to act otherwise, it was so obvious that he cared. The man hated how much he still cared about Bruce, so much so that he’d throw a bloody (literally bloody) fit whenever he caught himself caring about a man he hated (wanted to hate). Steph got it more than the others. She still found herself caring about Arthur too. Found herself reminiscing on the days before Cluemaster, before the crime, before he became an angry man. When he was just Dad who would buy her pretty dresses and watch Jeopardy with her. When she caught herself caring, Steph put extra effort into being a hero, just to prove to herself that she was not her dad’s daughter anymore. Being a hero was the biggest fuck you she could give to Arthur who was still a villain despite how pathetic he was as one. Bruce was a hero so Jason just went the other direction.

‘At least he restrains himself to rapists and other murderers,’ she thought to herself.

Bruce walked up to them and broke Steph out of her musings. His face looked more blank than usual and almost bloodless. Seeing the way Ace clung to his side made Steph almost… concerned. But Bruce just gave her a brief nod and then gave Damian a bag full of yummy-looking cookies. He instructed him to give it to ‘Amaya’ before leaving without looking back.

Sometimes, Steph wondered if she was like Jason. If she cared about Bruce but willfully ignored the part of herself that whispered of her reluctant affection. Bruce was just a coworker, barely even a partner in crime-fighting—her brief stint as Robin told her that Batman didn’t even want partners. Hell, the man called her Stephanie when everyone else called her Steph. (Except Damian but he was Damian. All Richard, Timothy, and Stephanie. With Bruce, it was Dick, Tim, and Stephanie.)

The fact that she was wondering probably meant that she did care.

That was annoying. Caring for a man like Bruce Wayne when he himself didn’t was draining.

“We’re ready,” Dick told them. He had cleaned up well in the ten minutes he was gone and almost looked respectable. Tim too. But they both wore baggy clothing that hid numerous weapons under their folds. It looked like the both of them heard Bruce call someone an associate and automatically thought of ‘assassin’ and ‘criminal’.

Well, everyone Bruce knew on a personal level were deadly in some way so it wasn’t an unfair assumption.

“Are we going separately or in one car?”

“I’m driving,” Dick said.

And so off they went to meet this mysterious Amaya who was the new owner of the delicious cookies in Damian’s pocket.

“Don’t even think about it,” Damian snarled.

“What?” Steph blinked and tilted her head to the side.

“They don’t belong to you.”

Steph pouted and whined. “Just one, Damian. Just one! This Amaya person won’t even know.”

“No. Father entrusted them to me. I will safely deliver them to their intended recipient without fail.”

“They’re cookies.”

Damian turned his nose up at her and sniffed.

“You can’t just carry around a bag of yummy-looking cookies and not give me one.”

“You have cookies? Dami, give me one,” Dick demanded, snaking a hand back with a distinct ‘gimme’ pose.

Damian smacked that imperious hand.

“Ow!”

“I already said that Father is gifting these to his associate.”

Steph already hated Amaya, the cookie withholder that she was.

Steph loved Amaya, generous cookie-distributing goddess.

As soon as they entered the cafe, they saw her and knew just as Bruce said they would. Amaya looked like every other middle-aged woman but there was something in her eyes and the way she held herself that spoke of wisdom beyond the average mortal. Then, the otherworldly Amaya waved them over and like the dutiful son he was, Damian handed over the sandwich bag of cookies, stiffly saying, “These are from Father.”

And without hesitating, Amaya opened the bag and shared them with everyone!!!

“Hn? These taste like Alfred’s cookies…” Dick said through a mouthful of delectable-goddess-shared cookies.

Steph slowed down her chewing and savoured the taste of the choc-chip cookies. She didn’t have as many opportunities as Dick to eat Alfred’s cookies but the man did serve them to her every time Steph was over so she recognised the taste. There was the familiar balance of sweetness and bitterness of the dark chocolate and a chewiness that reminded her of fudge.

“Huh. It does.”

Amaya smiled. “Bruce told me that they’re not as great at Alfred’s but he does love to downplay his skills.”

“Bruce made these?” Tim asked.

Dick sputtered and choked on his cookie. Amaya just chuckled and offered him a glass of water.

Then while they were all having a mild panic, mentally rearranging their worldviews because Bruce could bake Alfred’s cookies, Amaya brought out her phone and started texting. Steph peeked because of course she did.

Amaya: The cookies have already paid for themselves

Bruce: Thank you. I’ll send some more over at the first opportunity.

Amaya: Wonderful

Amaya had blatantly tilted her phone screen towards Steph and allowed her to read their conversation. When she tapped the keyboard away, Steph could even read their previous conversation, though she didn’t know when it took place. At the top of the screen was the bottom of a photo—green grass and the feathery behind of a duck.

Bruce: Ace has successfully befriended the ducks.

Amaya: That is so adorable!
Amaya: How about you, Bruce? Do the ducks go near you?

Bruce: No, but I plan on buying bird seeds on my next trip to the city and luring them to me.

Amaya: Best of luck!

Bruce: Thank you. I will share the results when I get them.

Steph used to think Bruce didn’t know how to say thank you unless he was out being Brucie, in which case he was always unfailingly polite. Not like those obnoxious rich assholes that pretended to be polite, whose manners only served to remind you of their blue blood, their supposed better upbringing, whose thanks you - tongues curled around the consonants, breathy, because they didn’t mean it - were just dismissals in disguise, when they deigned to acknowledge you anyway. No, Brucie always looked you in the eye and smiled in a way that told you he actually did appreciate what you’ve done for him even though all you’ve done was take his coffee order.

(Steph would know, she was his server once, but he pretended not to know her because he was with some business partners who clearly wanted to get into his pants and weren’t getting the hint. She spilt iced coffee into theirs instead and Bruce left her a $900 tip and didn’t let her manager fire her. Steph quit anyway but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless.)

But Bruce didn’t say thank you. Not when Alfred cooked and cleaned and stitched him back up. Not when Dick pushed him out of the path of a bullet. Not when Tim found a crucial clue that solved a case he’d been working on for weeks.

Bruce didn’t say thank you but he said it to Amaya. Multiple times.

Dick finished mimicking a dying whale and finally voiced his questions. “Did Alfred teach Bruce how to bake his cookies?”

“Alfred did what?”

Jason walked into the cafe with Babs at his side, both looking bewildered. Steph was willing to bet that Jason watched them all greet Amaya and then share cookies. Then, because cookies held a strange allure over vigilantes, he came out of hiding only to spot Babs’ van in the parking lot. Finally, because he had dramatic timing, Jason walked in just in time to hear the life-changing information.

“Jay, try these. You too, Babs.”

They both accepted the cookie and Steph spared a moment to think about the fact that they were eating outside food in a cafe. They didn’t even order anything. But despite the no outside foods or drinks sign outside, no one told them off. On the contrary, everyone else seemed to give them a wide berth, eyes glazing off their table before they could land.

The others noticed when Steph did—she put no effort into making her glances stealthy.

“You must be the witch that taught Bruce how to make potions,” Babs observed. She hadn’t eaten her cookie yet but Jay had.

“Fuckin’ hell, these do taste like Alfred’s cookies,” Jason exclaimed, interrupting what was no doubt going to be the start of an intense debate. Alas, it was delayed until the much more important conversation could start and finish.

“Right?!” Dick said, sounding vindicated despite none of them having disagreed with his previous statement.

The baking skills must’ve been a recent development if Dick and Jason didn’t know about them. Unless Bruce concealed his expert baking skills for some unknown reason and endured cookie confiscations for nothing. Maybe that’s why Bruce hid his skills. Alfred would only get more creative with his punishments if he knew.

“But Alfred said he never taught Bruce how to cook. Said he was never interested,” Jason revealed, snagging the last cookie on the table.

“But these are clearly Alfred’s cookies,” Dick argued.

Amaya just looked bemused. “I wasn’t aware that Bruce’s affinity for the kitchen was a secret.”

That drew their attention back to Bruce’s mysterious associate.

“How do you know about Bruce’s cooking skills?” Dick asked somewhat antagonistically.

“We used to meet once a week for dinner and updates. He helped me with the meals and shared some cookies with me. Of course, he always insisted that Alfred’s cookies were better and that he had only stolen the recipe from the man.”

“I can’t really taste the difference,” Tim said.

“That’s because you destroyed all your taste buds with the acid you consider acceptable hydration. These are a little sweeter than Alfred prefers.” Jason turned to Amaya and scrunched his nose at her. “And who are you to be having dinner with Bruce once a week?”

Amaya smiled patiently. “I am the ancient witch Amaya. I’m typically a nomad but I’ve been staying in Gotham for the past year. Pleased to formally meet you.”

“Right. Nice to meet you,” Dick responded. “How do you know Bruce?”

“Straight to the point, I see,” Amaya laughed. “Why don’t we order something first? It’s rude to take up so many seats when we’re not patrons.”

As if on cue, the waitress let out a startled gasp once her eyes landed on their table. She scrambled for a pile of menus and approached their table with a flustered smile. They quickly ordered and once the waitress left, eyes slid over their table once more.

“That spell of yours is very handy,” Steph commented.

“Thank you. It’s a little finicky but I’ve had plenty of time to master it.”

“Are you actually an ancient witch? From the olden days?”

“Yes,” Amaya said simply. Steph didn’t need to ask her to prove it. Her very being was evidence enough. There was just something so magical about Amaya, like Wonder Woman but more… magic.

“How come no one’s ever heard of you before?” Tim asked.

“I’m a nomad and I don’t typically do anything that attracts the attention of others. I prefer to stick to myself mostly.”

“How did you attract Bruce’s attention then?” Babs asked. “When did you meet him? What did you two do together? What updates were you referring to?”

“I met Bruce at the start of the year. A week or so after the New Year. He watched me cast a few blessings and asked for my help. I made a vow to do exactly that and we’ve been doing that since,” Amaya patiently answered.

“Please elaborate,” Babs asked, or rather, demanded.

Amaya seemed bemused. “Will you listen to my explanations?”

They all frowned. That’s what they were here for. Of course they would listen.

“Bruce tells me that you get aggressive when it gets brought up.”

There was a pause.

“The curse,” Dick hissed, venom dripping from his tongue, instantly proving Amaya’s point.

“Right. I’m leaving.” Jason pushed away from the table and stood up.

“Your order still hasn’t arrived yet. Why don’t you wait till you receive it? It couldn’t hurt to stay for a few more minutes,” Amaya suggested.

Emotions battled for dominancy on Jason’s face before curiosity won and he settled for the familiar scowl, clicking his tongue as he sat back down.

“What do you know about the curse?” Damian asked.

“More than any of you, I’m guessing,” Amaya said.

Damian bristled because it always rankled him whenever someone implied - or in this case, directly stated - that they knew more than him on any topic. In truth, Damian really didn’t know much about the curse. By the time he came around, Bruce had long since learnt to keep his mouth shut on the topic. He slipped up around Damian just once and only Steph was around to witness so she had the dubious honour of being the one to explain why Batman had suddenly clammed up and looked more constipated than usual. Though truthfully speaking, Steph didn’t know much more than the bare bones either. It was a forbidden topic after all.

“What do you know about the curse?” Tim repeated in Damian’s stead.

“To put it simply, it causes bad luck. And that bad luck sometimes causes a chain of events that spiral in something much, much bigger than a simple sprained foot or spilt drink.”

In a world of magic and superpowers, Bruce’s curse made logical sense. A curse that manufactured little events until they snowballed into bigger ones would cause a lot of damage and remain under the radar for a long while. But correlation didn’t always equate to causation. Just because people got unlucky sometimes didn’t mean that they were cursed. Sometimes people were just that, unlucky.

Jason leaned back in his seat and spread his legs wide, an unmistakable show of power that only men liked to do. Steph mostly found it annoying and an excellent target. Direct line to the groin and all that. “Bruce tried to show me ‘evidence’ of the curse when I was Robin. We followed a guy that was supposedly cursed for a long while. On the third night, the guy got drunk on his ass and tripped, spilling his beer on a trigger-happy dude. A fight broke out. Batman intervened before anything could get worse.”

Jason rested one foot over his thigh and tapped his ankle. “Thing is, when you follow people for long enough, something is bound to happen to them. In a city like Gotham, more often than not, that something is shitty and life-threatening.”

“Don’t you think Gothamites have too much bad luck?” Amaya asked.

Before anyone could reply, the waitress chose that moment to return with two trays of expertly balanced drinks. “Three lattes, two matcha, one mocha, and one chai latte,” she said, announcing the drinks as she placed them down in front of their intended recipients. They all thanked her politely and waited until she left before continuing their conversation. Steph noticed that eyes glazed off of them once more.

“Misery breeds misery,” Damian said, answering the question. “It’s not unusual for Gotham to be the way it is.”

“Are you sure?”

Babs heaved a heavy sigh. “Just tell us why Bruce approached you about the curse.”

“Because he saw me dispelling the curse from someone,” Amaya answered plainly.

“You can’t dispel something that doesn’t exist,” Dick growled.

“Why do you believe that it doesn’t exist?”

“Because there’s no evidence! Bruce called in every magician he knew and none of them could find anything. If the curse really exists, why can Bruce sense it but not those magicians? And before you say anything, Bruce asked magicians born and raised in Gotham too. They found nothing as well. It doesn’t make sense for them to see nothing but for Bruce to be able to. This curse is just something Bruce made up to cope with the fact that no matter what he does, Gotham never seems to get better.”

Amaya looked even more bemused as if Dick was just a little kitten hissing at her instead of a tiger roaring angrily in her direction. “If, as you say, this is Bruce’s coping mechanism, what’s the harm in letting him believe in it? Why the anger?”

“Because it's a poor coping mechanism distracting him from the real problems plaguing Gotham. The real curse is the rampant crime and corruption eating the city alive, not this fictional magical catch-all.”

“But Bruce is addressing those problems. Ever since he started as Batman, crime rates have been steadily dropping. The police are significantly less corrupt. Politicians, though largely useless, have not been actively making things worse. You know this better than I do. What’s the real reason for your anger?”

Steph was curious too. As a side effect of Bruce learning to shut up, only speaking of the curse off-handedly, like it slipped out unintentionally because it was on his mind 24/7, she wasn’t as opinionated about the curse. Sure, she got irritated whenever it was mentioned but that was because Batman wasn’t supposed to be irrational like that. Other people are allowed to believe in a Gotham curse but Batman wasn’t. Batman was Gotham’s hero. If Batman had to invent a curse to believe Gotham was worth saving then was it really? But you didn’t get mad at Catholics for praying to God before eating so Steph reigned in her irritation and usually let the moment pass.

Not Dick though. Dick always responded with hot-blooded anger, ready to dispute any evidence that such a curse existed at any time.

Then again, Steph had only heard Bruce talk about it six times in the eight years she’s known him. Babs and Jason who were there when Bruce was younger were exposed to it more and they were more like Dick when it came to the curse. Comparing it to the Catholics again, it was like having a devout priest for family who would never shut up about the bible, preaching at every inopportune moment. Though they weren’t quite so explosive in their reactions as Dick. Funny that, Dick being more angry than Jason in response to Bruce.

Dick laughed, cold and mocking. “Because everything is about the damn curse. His parents. Mine. Me getting shot. Jason dying. Every damn thing can be traced back to the curse.”

Steph wondered if the curse was like the Devil to Bruce. But instead of ‘the Devil made them do it’, it was ‘the curse made them do it’.

Jason slammed the table causing cutlery to clang and coffee to spill. “My death was not because of fucking bad luck!” he growled.

Dick winced. “He didn’t say that the curse killed you. He thought that things would be better if there wasn’t a curse and if things were better, then maybe you would still be alive.”

“Things would be better if the Joker was dead too. I don’t see Bruce doing anything about that,” Jason spat.

Great. They were talking about two taboo topics today. Might as well start talking about Bruce’s parenting while they were at it. Let’s bare our hearts to this stranger, shall we?

“This conversation isn’t about you, Jason,” Damian tutted.

“Hate to agree with Damian but if we talk about that, we’ll be here forever. Let’s just stick to one topic,” Tim added.

Babs rubbed her thighs - her tic whenever the Joker was brought up - and said, “Our feelings on the curse are of no importance right now. The real question is what you are doing with Bruce.”

Amaya took a leisurely sip of her coffee. “I told you, I’m helping him. We’re breaking the curse together.”

Jason scoffed. “You’re scamming him is what.”

“Oh? How so?”

Jason leaned on his forearms across the table and came obnoxiously close to Amaya’s face. A few mugs suffered in collateral as their owners rushed to rescue them from spilling any further. “Bruce is desperate. He wants to believe in something that doesn’t exist but no one would entertain him. Then, you come along and do the right things. Play into his delusions. Tell him he’d been right all along. Then you watch him dance on your palms all the while unaware of it. Does it entertain you? To see Batman reduced to a little kid, barred from his duties, unable to haunt Gotham as he’s always done?”

“You paint me to be such a cruel person,” Amaya sighed. “Is it so hard to believe that I’m actually helping your father?”

“He’s not my father,” Jason hissed.

“Isn’t he?”

“No.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes, I say so. Why the fuck did you turn Bruce into a kid?”

“I didn’t. The potion did.”

“You gave him the potion.”

“He made it himself. I just taught him how to.”

“Why did you do it?”

“We needed to temper the curse and give it corporal form. The curse is xenophobic so I couldn’t do it. That’s why Bruce is the one creating a vessel in his body. The potion is facilitating that creation.”

Dick, Jason, and Babs scoffed. “That’s what you told him to get him to do something so monumentally stupid? Did you tell him he had to do it alone too? Like some kind of martyr?”

“No. Bruce is responsible for his own actions. I didn’t know he was alone until today.”

She seemed completely sincere and a little regretful so Steph nodded. “Great. So Bruce was just stupid. Why are you playing along with him? Is it to give him resolution? Convince him he broke the curse so he’ll finally give up on it? ‘Cause if it’s not and you’re just playing with him, we’re going to have problems.”

As if planned, they all stared at Amaya with their best Bat-glares with faces that promised hell.

Amaya smiled at the intimidating display as if endeared. “Rest assured. I made a vow to help Bruce. I’m not capable of backing out of it.”

Babs hummed and readjusted her glasses. “What if Bruce still wants to pursue the curse after the hundred days are over? Will you continue this farce?”

Amaya sighed. “It is not a farce. The curse really exists. I can sense it because I am more powerful than it.”

“In that case, why can Father see it and not Zatara or Constantine?” Damian asked.

That was a good observation. Zatanna was of Gotham; she should have been more sensitive to any magical nonsense going on in her own hometown. Constantine was entrenched in supernatural nonsense, that was literally his area of expertise. They couldn’t see it. Why could magic-less Bruce?

“He’s special.”

“Are you actually trying to convince us or are you here to just waste our time?” Dick asked impatiently.

Amaya laughed. “Believe it or not, I am actually trying. Though, admittedly, not very hard. In truth, I know you’re not going to believe me. Bruce had tried and failed for years so I don’t see why I would be any different.”

Tim frowned. “If you’re not here to convince us, then what are you here for? Why did Bruce send us to you?”

Bruce told them Amaya could give them answers and she did but every answer stank of more bullshit than the last.

“Yeah, Bruce was clearly never going to tell us any of this. If this is just more lies to get us off his back, I swear I’m going to kill him, shrunken or not,” Dick growled.

“I’m not lying about this and neither is Bruce.”

“So what you’re saying is there really is a curse on Gotham that gives people bad luck every now and then and you and Bruce are the only people who can see it,” Babs dryly summarised.

“Yes,” Amaya cheerfully replied.

“I can’t believe I entertained this bullshit for as long as I have.” Jason pushed back against the table to leave. Amaya didn’t say anything to stop him this time but Dick held him back with a hand on his chest.

“If this isn’t some ploy, why is Bruce willing to give us answers now?” Dick asked Amaya. “Why? He clearly knows that we won’t believe him.”

Amaya’s smile grew warmer, pleased. “Bruce’s goal isn’t for you to believe him.”

“Then why did he tell us to see you!?” Steph shouted, tired of the short answers that only led to more questions.

“So that you-” Amaya pointed at Dick- “would come to see me.”

Dick frowned and Jason threw an arm in front of him protectively. A mirror of Dick’s pose just a moment earlier so now they just had arms crossed in front of each other, playing hero and damsel at the same time. Steph discretely snapped a photo and snickered when Tim silently asked for a copy.

“Why did Father want you to see Richard?” Damian asked, fingers twitching towards his hidden knives.

It wasn’t that they believed Bruce would lead them into a trap. It was simply instinct, a knee-jerk response to a potential threat. Besides, Bruce didn’t seem to have all his screws tightened, his judgement wasn’t exactly trustworthy at the moment.

“The smallest mistakes in the field could lead to injury and death. Bruce couldn’t bench you nor could he risk your death so he asked me for help. I’ve done my job. Everything else is just me fielding questions so you wouldn’t badger poor Bruce too much later.”

“Are you implying that Richard is cursed?” Damian growled.

“He was but not anymore. Temporarily anyway. Who knows when the curse will choose him next.”

“You didn’t do anything but talk,” Tim pointed out. “How could you remove something that no other magician could sense with so little fanfare?”

“The curse covers the entirety of Gotham, it’s spread very thin. A little blessing is enough to do the trick.”

“Magicians can’t cast blessings,” Babs stated. “That’s the territory of gods and charlatans.”

Amaya chuckled. “I’m not a god but I’m a very powerful witch.”

Jason growled, “Why are we putting up with this charade? The curse doesn’t exist. Ergo, Dick isn’t cursed. We’ve played along with Bruce and his accomplice long enough.”

Babs shot an annoyed look at Jason before turning back to Amaya. “I’ve no doubt that you’re powerful but why are you doing this? Why are you playing along with Bruce’s delusions? Everyone else in the magic community that he was willing to consult refused to even entertain him once they determined the curse didn’t exist. Why are you different?” Babs questioned. Essentially rewording what Jason said in a more diplomatic manner.

“I’m not playing along with him, the curse really does exist. The original castor was rather crafty and had quite the grudge so it is just really, really well hidden.”

Babs sighed, finally accepting that Amaya wasn’t going to go against Bruce’s narrative. “So Dick is cursed and Bruce saw and called you?”

Amaya nodded.

“Why didn’t Bruce come with us? Isn’t it better to remove the curse in front of him for peace of mind if nothing else?”

“Great question,” Amaya said approvingly. “The simple answer is this: if Bruce leaves Gotham or comes into contact with any foreign magic, he gets a side effect, the severity and duration of which is dependent on how long he was gone for or how long he was exposed to it. They’re nothing dangerous and thus far, the side effects have only lasted one day.”

Steph’s eyebrows raised. “Did he leave Gotham or see you?”

“He left Gotham. I’ve some photos if you’d like to see them. He is very adorable in them.”

Well, Steph wasn’t going to refuse so she nodded.

(She heard Dick and Babs hissing about the fact that Bruce went travelling by himself as a kid and how dangerous that was and decided to ignore them.)

Amaya took out her phone again and scrolled through her texts with Bruce. “This is the most recent.”

She flipped the screen around and Steph could see a photo of Bruce as his current child self but with extra bat wings and a backward shirt. It was captioned ‘No vampire or Batman jokes!’ and dated back to the 22nd of June, just eight days ago.

“Ironic,” Steph murmured, unsure what else she could say. Around her, the others echoed the same sentiment.

Amaya scrolled some more.

“You know, you could just tap on the photo and swipe left instead of scrolling through the texts,” Tim advised.

Amaya smiled. “Thanks.”

She scrolled back down and tapped on the photo of Bruce with the bat wings then swiped left. The new photo was of Bruce sitting on top of Ace’s head, wrapped in a shoddy toga made out of a handkerchief because he was tiny.

Steph could practically taste the anger rolling off of the older kids.

Amaya seemed unaware of what she set off or simply did not care. She swiped through the photos again. The next photo was of Bruce taking a selfie with Ace, the both of them sharing the same ears. “That’s all of them.”

“That was three photos. Bruce left Gotham three times?” Dick questioned. “How did he get around when he was that tiny?”

“I’m not sure. I was under the impression that he was living with his family at the time so I didn’t ask any questions.”

Steph winced, feeling a pang of guilt assault her heart. She wasn’t sure why she felt guilty. Bruce concealed his situation from everyone and he quite literally did this to himself. Steph had no responsibility in this. She wasn’t even his family.

“So when we get back, something is going to happen to him because we were around you?” he asked because although they may not believe in the curse, the potion itself was very real.

“If I don’t cast magic on you, my magic won’t cling to you so most of you are fine. Dick, of course, has my magic lingering on him.”

“What did you do to Richard!” Damian hissed.

Amaya laughed, “I told you. I removed the curse from him. Casted a blessing and poof, it vanished.”

“We didn’t see you do anything!”

“Blessings are done with intent by people with the power to do so. Very little is needed to complete it. Just an offering and it's done.”

Steph gasped. “The cookies. They were the payment. The offering. Is that what you meant by the cookies paid for themselves?”

Amaya looked at her approvingly. “Yes, great catch. I infused the cookies with a blessing and when he ate it, the job was done.”

“Should we quarantine Dick away from Bruce?” Tim asked.

“Don’t you want to see what he turns into next? I’ve been waiting for him to grow some cat ears,” Amaya laughed. At Damian’s expression, she added, “It’s all harmless. You don’t have to worry about it. I’m sure Bruce doesn’t mind either. He wouldn’t wander around so much otherwise.”

“Did he tell you why he left so much? Or where he went?” Steph asked.

“No. You’ll have to ask him yourself.”

Steph pursed her lips and did exactly that. Bruce took an annoyingly long time to pick up but once he did, she rattled off her question without giving him a chance to speak. “Hey, Bruce? Where did you go in the last month?”

There was a pause and then she heard a bark from Ace, followed by Bruce making shushing sounds.

“Put it on speaker, Steph,” Babs instructed her.

She put it on speaker.

“What are you referring to?” Bruce finally said, voice a little husky as if he just woken up.

“You leaving Gotham.”

“...How much did you share, Amaya?” Bruce asked, correctly deducing that he was on speakerphone from the feedback or something.

“We just had a fun little debate on the curse and then I told them about the side effects of the potion and it came out,” Amaya reported.

“Hn… did you- no, you probably did. I didn’t intend for anyone else to see those photos, Amaya.”

“But you’re so adorable in them and who else would I show them to?” Amaya protested fondly.

“I would rather those photos stay private.”

Steph rolled her eyes—the way Bruce was talking, they might as well have been spreading his nudes around. He probably wouldn’t mind those as much. Gotham knew how often ‘scandalous’ photos of Brucie were leaked over the years.

“Oops, I already sent them to your family,” Amaya unrepentantly lied. She pointed at her phone and mouthed to the rest of them, ‘Want the photos?’

Obviously, they nodded. Tim got the photos from Amaya first and then sent them to the rest of them. Even Jason. The sweet allure of doing something Bruce didn’t want them doing and all that.

“So, where did you go and why?” Steph asked again.

Bruce sighed. “I went to Metropolis because I wanted to test the side effects and Ace likes riding on trains.”

“Ew, why would you go to Metropolis?” Steph asked. “You could have done that by going to Blüdhaven.”

“Tradition,” Bruce said cryptically.

“Tradition?” Steph repeated. “What kind of tradition involves going to Metropolis?”

Bruce hummed. “Is there a reason for this line of questioning?”

“Well, the others were concerned that you were travelling by yourself while you’re pint-sized. Are you aware that you are prime kidnapping material in your current state?”

“I’m prime kidnapping material no matter how tall I am,” Bruce blandly stated. Which was true given the whole billionaire thing and the pointed lack of bodyguards at any given time. Still didn’t make it any better though.

“At least when Brucie gets kidnapped, there’s ransom. Random kids don’t get ransoms,” Dick bit out.

“I know how to stay safe,” Bruce said tersely.

“Why did you go three times?” Tim asked before Dick could reply. Dick sent him a look that said he knew what Tim was doing (all the while, he and Jason had maintained their crossed pose as if they forgot to put their arms back down) and Tim shrugged innocently.

“I had some theories to confirm,” Bruce replied in that tight way that suggested he wasn’t going to expand any further on the topic. Steph was familiar with that tone. Every second sentence out of Bruce’s mouth was spoken in that tone.

Picking it up, Tim hummed. “So you wouldn’t mind if Dick infected you with Amaya’s magic?”

Amaya wiggled her nose, “I would appreciate it if you didn’t treat my magic like a disease.”

“The side effects are harmless. I don’t mind.”

“So we don’t have to cancel the beach trip?”

“Pardon?” Bruce sounded so British sometimes. Steph wasn’t even sure if he was aware of how much Alfred had influenced him.

“Didn’t the boys tell you? We’re going to the beach. All of us. You too.”

“But I don’t have any suitable attire for it,” Bruce muttered, still sounding confused.

Steph caught a look of surprise on Jason’s face. “What?! No one told me Bruce was coming!”

“Tim was supposed to tell you yesterday.”

“I was busy!” Tim defended.

“Like hell am I going to accept this excuse. We planned this trip for months and you’re only now telling me Batshit is coming too?!” Jason protested.

“It’s bat guano,” Damian corrected.

“Shut the fuck up, Demon Brat. Why the hell did you all decide Bruce was coming too?”

“We can’t just leave him home by himself, Jay!” Dick argued.

“It’s a fucking day trip and the little bastard survived an entire month by himself, apparently going on adventures whenever he wanted, so I don’t see why the fuck he has to come with us too.”

“He doesn’t have to come, Todd. We’re inviting him. Father’s company will surely be better than yours, what with your constant complaints and whinging,” Damian hissed. “Father, would you like to come with us on our beach trip?”

There was a bark from Bruce’s side of the call.

“Ace, stop licking me—” Bruce cleared his throat. “I appreciate the invitation but it is unnecessary. You should proceed with your plans as originally intended.”

Damian’s eyebrow twitched at the rejection and he turned to glare at Jason, deciding that it was his fault, probably correct considering Bruce didn’t seem too opposed before Jason opened his big mouth. Jason proceeded to glare back and they were both locked in a battle of daddy issues.

“Bruce was the one that rejected the invite, fuck you looking at me for, brat?”

“You didn’t want to go in the first place, Todd, so I suggest you stay in Gotham instead. Father and Ace will have a good time in your place!”

“Fuck you! I’m going to have a great time! I’ll destroy your ass in beach volleyball!”

“Father and I will wipe the floor with you so hard that the sand turns into glass!”

“Oh yeah? Next thing you’ll tell me that Ace is going to score his own point.”

“Ace is a very capable dog!”

“Bring it on, gremlin. I’d like to see you fucking try. I’ll make all three of you cry until your tears form a new ocean.”

God, they were so fucking dramatic.

Everyone watched on amusedly as Jason and Damian traded insults and no one was inclined to point out that Jason had basically invited Bruce to the beach himself.

Steph put her phone off speaker mode and brought it to her ear. “Damian needs you to team up against Jason in beach volleyball so you can’t opt out anymore. I’ll help you buy swimwear so you don’t have to worry about it. Better yet, we can go shopping together and I’ll buy you ice cream.”

“...Okay. Thank you.”

Steph was tempted to ask ‘for what?’ but she knew better than to push. Instead, she hummed and said, “We’ll discuss the rest of the details later, Bruce. Laters.”

“Hn. See you later, Stephanie.”

The call ended.

Amaya threaded her fingers together with a pleasant look on her face. “Do you have any more questions for me?”

“I do have questions but I understand that you’re going to give me the same answers each time so I will refrain from asking them again,” Babs said. “Just to clarify, Bruce will be completely safe from the potion during this hundred-day period, correct?”

“Yes,” Amaya answered. “It’s a tweaked transformation potion. Completely harmless. If anything, it’s actually good for him, considering how many healing herbs I added in the ingredient list.”

“Well, that’s one way of tricking Bruce into taking medicine,” Tim murmured to himself. Damian elbowed him in the gut for the hell of it.

“Oh, I do have a request though,” Amaya suddenly said.

They all sat up straighter.

“I know you all feel very strongly about the curse but so does Bruce. He’s never going to change his opinion on it. No amount of yelling would ever make him decide the curse isn’t real. So, do me a favour and don’t harass him about his decision to resolve the curse, alright?”

Dick jutted his jaw out mullishly but nodded. “Thank you for the advice. I will contact you if we have any further questions.”

After saying their goodbyes, they left the cafe and headed back to the manor where Bruce was waiting for them.

Chapter Text

Damian was sure that if this were a movie, there would be tense music playing in the background. War drums perhaps, to imitate the sound of a speeding heart. The needlessly dramatic music acting as a narrative device instead of this drivel Timothy had playing on the car’s stereo system. Though, Damian had to admit, Timothy had a better taste in music than Richard, who solely listened to a circus playlist that was updated on a weekly basis. Still, Damian would have preferred Stephanie’s nattering over this incomprehensible ruckus.

Unfortunately, she had sequestered over to Barbara’s van to escape the angst oozing from Richard. Stephanie had also said that the boys ‘needed to sort this shit out before we put our two cents in too’ but it was mainly the angst’s fault.

Tension racked up as the manor gates appeared in view. The gates rolled open without any of them inputting their codes, a sure sign that Father was watching them. The consideration did nothing to ease the angst. Richard drove forward, followed by Jason’s bike because he didn’t share Stephanie and Barbara’s opinion that they should let Richard talk it out with Father first. Apparently, he wanted to see ‘the shit go down’ for nostalgia’s sake.

As soon as they parked, Damian could hear Jason loudly complaining about ‘excessively long driveways’ and ‘ostentatious gates’ as if he didn’t already know they were there to deter the pests that called themselves paparazzi. Once he was done complaining about the driveway, Jason moved onto grumbling about Father. “If he was going to open the gates, he should’ve unlocked the front door too. What’s with this half-assed hospitality? This is the problem with rich people—growing up with a butler taking care of everything left Bruce with subpar hosting skills.”

Timothy snorted and looked up from his phone. “When we go to your place, you make us clean your dirty dishes from the night before. Bruce has never made us clean up.”

“Yeah, ‘cause the manor’s fucking magic.”

“Yeah,” Timothy agreed with a big smile plastered across his face, “It’s got a dishwasher.”

“I’ve got one too, you.” Jason shook his head as if dismayed. “C’mon, Dick, unlock the door already!”

“You all have keys too, why do I have to be the one unlocking the door?” Richard whined but opened the door anyway.

Father was nowhere in sight. It was to be excepted. The man didn’t show up in front of them unless it was dinner – for a scant thirty minutes. Damian suspected that time would be much shorter if it weren’t for Father’s ingrained table manners. Always taking small bites, cutlery making minimal sounds against porcelain dishware, completely finishing his previous bite before taking another. The careful manner of eating was elegant and put a show of savouring the food (a show because he was too methodical for it to be more than that—Damian didn’t even know what his father liked to eat because he ate everything in the exact same way, same blank expression on his face.) The elegance sacrificed speed and prolonged Father’s presence at the dinner table.

None of the others practised their table manners so zealously, though they were all trained in the restrictive etiquette. Richard knew he should eat with his mouth closed but frequently chewed with it open, even speaking with his mouth full, somehow making himself comprehensible anyway. Cassandra played with her food, drawing with them before she would start eating. Jason took big mouthfuls, scarfing down his meal in five minutes, only eating slowly when he took a second serving. Timothy slouched, always placing his elbows on the table and frequently tapped an absent beat against the dishware with his fork in between bites. Damian himself ate in big mouthfuls, taking another bite before he swallowed the previous.

Father’s untouchable perfection was always broken when Richard confronted him at dinner. The measured bites became varied in size, gap between bites much longer, golden silence broken by terse answers. The interrogations (because let’s be real, that’s what they were) made dinner feel like defusing a bomb and the tension would’ve given Damian indigestion if not for the fact that they did the real thing on a weekly basis. Damian suspected that Richard timed his questions to coincide with Father taking a bite intentionally. It disrupted the flow of Father’s meal and-, well, made Father feel more… real(?), Damian wasn’t sure how to phrase it right. Compared to a Father that ate perfectly elegantly, a Father that kept raising and lowering his fork, missing his bite because of Richard… just seemed more like a person.

Damian didn’t get to see Father the person very often.

And he knew it wasn’t fair of him to relish in these occasions when it so obviously caused his father distress just because they were rare because Damian was the one that left. He didn’t want to leave—Damian wanted to get to know Father, the one in the rare stories Mother told him, the one that wasn’t Batman or Brucie: Father the person. But Father’s Batman and Damian’s Robin fought constantly and Father got hurt more because they didn’t work well as a team and he had to keep covering for Damian and it made Richard angry because he kept giving Father advice on how to work with Damian and both of them argued over Damian and Father never rested because Damian wasn’t good enough and-

And-

It was just easier for everyone involved if Damian left.

He wasn’t supposed to be gone for so long. It was supposed to be temporary. But somewhere along the line, they must’ve decided it was for the best if Damian just stayed with Richard permanently because they didn’t talk about him going back anymore. The reason he left didn’t even exist anymore. Damian’s Robin got along just fine with Father’s Batman. They didn’t work together like he did with Richard’s Batman but they still worked as a cohesive unit—when they did work together anyway. The problem was, it was all very professional. Like they were coworkers, not father and son, not even partners.

Perhaps, Damian could’ve broached the topic of returning, or tested the waters, at lunch but lunch was a painful affair. Because lunch wasn’t with Father the person, but rather whatever mask or shield Father hid behind during the meal. Damian hated the lunch because it was so obvious that Father didn’t want to be there but he invited them anyway because Father had this annoying tendency to do what’s right and his idea of right was keeping in contact with family and Damian was his son - even if he hadn’t wanted a blood son (yeah, Damian knew he was an accident, a mistake, despite no one mentioning it. The surprise and mute horror on Father’s face when he was introduced said enough.) - and as a father, going no-contact with your son was not the right thing to do. So a lunch invite every three months it was. A burden given his busy work schedule but a sacrifice Father was willing to make to do the right thing.

Despite - or in spite of - everything, Damian was back now. That was supposed to mean more opportunities with Father the person and Damian made his attempts but Father liked his space and Damian wanted to respect that (Damian stayed in the common areas hoping that Father would also be there but he never was) and at dinner, he had his shields up and Damian didn’t know how to breach them or what he’ll even do if the shields did fall and it was all terribly complicated.

So yeah, it probably wasn’t right for Damian to look forward to seeing Richard break Father’s composure at dinner but Damian decided that ‘right’ was an arbitrary qualifier anyway.

“You haven’t met Ace before, have you, Jay?” Richard asked.

“No, I see enough mutts on a daily basis,” Jason moodily replied, looking pointedly at Richard.

Richard gave him a two fingered salute and a cheeky grin. Jason returned it.

“I’ll call him over,” Damian generously offered. He whistled a tune he overheard Father using in the garden; a short tune followed by a long one. The sound of Ace’s claws clacking against the floorboards echoed shortly after, indicating that Father was not too far from them all.

“Ace, this is Jason. He is an imbecile and we shall show him who’s boss when we defeat him in beach volleyball.”

Father’s dog circled around Jason curiously, sniffing the hand that was held out to him. After the inspection, Ace rubbed his head against Jason’s fist, being entirely too friendly to the imbecile Damian just declared war on. Naturally, Jason gave Ace a thorough pat, shooting Damian an annoying smirk while he was at it.

Damian whistled for Ace to come back to him. “Let’s play in the garden, Ace. Alfred would appreciate the supervised outside time too.”

“Hah! Sore loser,” Jason mocked.

“Wait. Ace,” Richard called out. He crouched on the floor and beckoned the dog over to himself. “Where’s Bruce?”

Ace licked Richard from cheek to forehead and looked to the hallway.

“Wait, you’re gonna talk to him now?” Timothy’s eyebrows raised to his forehead as he waved a questioning hand at Richard.

“No time like the present,” Richard answered with false nonchalance.

“Damn.” Jason whistled. “You haven’t even had a proper meal yet. This is going to be great. A hangry Dick is such a dick.”

Richard shot a glare at Jason before turning back to Ace. He scratched behind the dog’s ears and kissed him on the forehead. “Go get Bruce!” Richard commanded in a baby voice, high-pitched and overly happy.

Ace guided Richard down the corridor and out of sight.

“5 minutes,” Jason declared.

“10,” Timothy returned.

“Tt.”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. You’re not going to partake in such childish games–”

“3 minutes. I bet that there’ll be shouting within 3 minutes.”

Jason smirked. “Didn’t think you had it in ya, Brat. I thought you were a Saint Dick fanboy like Timbit here.”

Damian shrugged. “I was privy to many of their arguments while I lived here.”

Timothy scrunched his nose at them. “Did Dick really fight with Bruce that often when you guys were Robin? He was rarely at the manor during my run.”

“Ahh, Timbo, so naive. You’ll see soon. C’mon, I’ll make us a snack to go with the teenage drama.”

They relocated to the kitchen and watched Jason rummaged through everything, visibly judging them for their choices in groceries.

“---------could’ve died!-------”

It was two and a half minutes after Richard went to see Father.

Damian smirked. “I’ll thank you two for being my drawing models in advance.”

Ace led Dick to Bruce’s study and Dick instantly had a flashback to all the times he had argued with Bruce in that exact room. Somehow, their arguments always happened in the study (if they didn’t already happen in the cave anyway). He wrinkled his nose and shook his head as if to shake off the memories themselves.

Dick knocked on the door. “Bruce, it’s Dick. I want to talk to you.”

“Come in,” Bruce’s young voice called out.

And it still disturbed Dick to hear the soft dulcet tones of Bruce’s current form because he kept expecting Bruce’s mature voice, the one that Dick had always known him to have. Bruce’s voice was supposed to be deep and rich, like the rumbling of thunder in the distance while you were safe and warm under sheets, not this ringing hand bell beckoning you closer.

Dick opened the door and Ace walked in ahead of him. The dog jumped into Bruce’s lap and sat himself right in front of Bruce’s face, completely dwarfing his small frame. A disgruntled Bruce gave Ace a light nudge and convinced him to lay down in his lap instead of sitting in it.

(He privately thought Bruce would make Ace sit on the floor but he supposed even Batman couldn’t resist spoiling his pet.)

Dick took a seat on the armchair next to the couch.

“What were you thinking, Bruce?” he began. “I really thought this whole thing was because of your obsession with the ‘Mission’ and your hatred of vulnerability, but this— the curse, really, Bruce?”

“Amaya already told you what you needed to know,” Bruce stubbornly said instead of answering Dick.

“Bruce, you know better than to trust a stranger you met less than a year ago!” Dick ran his hand up and down his thighs. “This isn’t even about the curse, well, it is, but not at the same time. How could you just drink something without knowing its full effects on you?”

“I knew enough,” Bruce insisted.

“No you didn’t. All you had to go off on was the words of the stranger you met a few months ago. That’s all. And you drank this mystery concoction without telling anyone what you were doing. And you hid this for an entire month. That meant no one was there to check if there were any harmful side effects. No one there to help if anything went wrong. I don’t care why you felt you had to drink that damn potion, Bruce. You could’ve died! And we’d have been none the wiser!”

Dick was huffing and puffing by the end of his speech and he hated how weak and helpless he felt as reality dawned on him once more. They really could’ve gone the entire hundred days without knowing what Bruce was doing and Bruce could’ve been dead from the start of it. Dick didn’t know what he’d hate more; finding a corpse that was recognisably Bruce at the beginnings of decay or finding a corpse so unrecognisable that they needed to do DNA testing to know it was Bruce.

“But I’m not dead,” was all Bruce had to say in return.

“And I’m thankful you’re not. But you have to understand, Bruce, there were so many different ways this could’ve gone and most of them are. Not. Fucking. Great.”

“Amaya made a vow to help me. She ensured me that the potion would be safe. I wouldn’t have taken it without that assurance.”

Dick got that. He did. Really. Bruce probably weighed his choices on a scale and decided what the best course of action was. Unknown but nonlethal side effects for a hundred days vs the supposed wellbeing of the entirety of Gotham. It was obvious which one Bruce would choose. He made a calculated decision and being Batman, he was really fucking good at those. But Bruce—Bruce had never been good at making choices that prioritised his own well-being.

“Really, Bruce? Are you telling me that the thought that you’d die from it never crossed your mind at least once?”

Bruce clenched Ace’s collar and scowled at Dick. “There’s enough death in my life without my having to chase after it. I knew I wouldn’t die from the potion, Dick.”

Dick wriggled his toes with discomfort and let out a heavy sigh. “This is going nowhere. Fine. Fine. You were certain that the potion would’ve been harmless and it was. You’re a kid. The additional side effects were more cute than anything. If not for the fact that you were alone for the majority of this!”

Bruce grimaced. “I was managing myself fine, Dick.”

“Sure, let’s say I believe that. But if this happened to any of the rest of us, you would have forced us back to the manor the instant you found out. You wouldn’t have let us deal with it alone.”

“That’s different. I’m your fa– guardian.”

“We’re family, Bruce. Family takes care of each other. And kids take care of their parents all the time. What do you think happens when people get old, B?”

Bruce froze and then tried to pretend he didn’t by patting Ace. “I’ve not gone senile just yet.”

Dick snickered lightly, “Oh, I’m not quite sure about that, old man. If the tabloids are to believed, you’ve gone senile five years ago!”

Bruce gave Dick a flat look. “You read that drivel?”

Dick smirked. “They’re convenient when I need something to put hot pots on.”

Bruce gave him a disgruntled look. Having also been raised by Alfred, Dick knew all too well the old butler’s gripes about eating directly from a pot. Dishes were to be served, not delivered. But Dick was often too lazy to wash a plate in addition to everything else so pot it was.

As if encouraged by the lull in the conversation, Ace pushed into Bruce’s hand and began to beg for pats. Bruce indulgently gave him exactly that and Dick sat there, watching them, realising that this was the most relaxed he’d been with Bruce in years. They hadn’t had this - joking about old age and whatnot - since before Bruce was sent careening across time and space.

He missed this, Dick acknowledged. He missed it and he didn’t want to jeopardise it anymore by continuing this same old tired argument.

“Listen, we’ve had arguments like this thousands of times already. And we’ll continue to have these arguments as long as we continue on the path we are. I don’t want to keep arguing with you, Bruce. I’m tired of it. So,” Dick paused to take a fortifying breath and noticed Bruce tensing up in response. “So, I’m going to meet with you in the middle here and I need you to do the same.”

Bruce tilted his head ever so slightly and Dick took it as a sign to keep talking.

“I realise that you didn’t tell us anything because it had to do with the curse. None of us take you talking about the curse kindly. We’d have stopped you from doing what you wanted to do. Which is exactly why you didn’t tell us. But! But, if I promise not to stop you, would you keep us in the loop from now on?”

The judgement in Bruce’s eyes escaped his blank mask prison. “You hate any mention of the curse.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do.” Dick ran his hands though his hair. “But you’re a grown ass adult, even though you currently look like a kid, and you can make your own choices despite my disapproval of them. You want to do something dumb, you do it, but let us know so we can pull you out before anything happens. In exchange, I’ll try not to blow up at any mention of the curse. I still hate it, of course. You did fire me over the damn thing after all. But this is something you’ll never change your mind on and I’m just going to have to live with it. I’ll ask you not to mention it if you don’t have to but I realise that you already do that so… anyway, I don’t argue about the curse and you tell us when you’re going to do something curse-related. Well, ideally, you tell us when you’re about to do anything dumb but I’ll settle for curse-related dumbness for now. Deal?”

Bruce stared at Dick for a long few minutes, and Dick stared back, letting Bruce read whatever was on his face as much as he wanted as Bruce made his infamous calculated decision.

“...Deal.”

Dick grinned and sealed it with an overenthusiastic handshake.

(Bruce’s hand was so small in his.)

“I didn’t fire you because of the curse,” Bruce suddenly said.

“What?”

“You said I fired you because of the curse. You’re wrong. I didn’t.”

Without giving Dick a chance to gather his thoughts, Bruce stepped out of his study.

“I’ll see you at dinner, Dick.”

“That went surprisingly well,” Jason commented as soon as Dick stepped into the kitchen. “You only yelled once.”

Dick wrinkled his nose at them and stole a cucumber slice from Damian’s plate. “I made a compromise. I’m not going to yell at Bruce about the curse anymore and he’ll stop hiding when he does shit like this.”

“Unlikely, considering you two.”

“Ye of little faith, Little Wing.” Dick leaned on his arms across the counter. “Are you going to yell at Bruce now that I’m not, Jason?”

Jason crossed his arms. “If he doesn’t do anything to piss me off, I won’t.”

“Well, lucky us,” Tim drily said. “Bruce doesn’t do anything at dinner. He eats and he leaves. Nothing for you to yell about.”

Damian scoffed. “I’m sure Jason will find something to nitpick.”

“Just you bastards watch. Dinner will be so peaceful you’ll think we were all angels.”

And he was right. Dinner was peaceful. They ate (Jason cooked and it was delicious), they dispersed, and Bruce and Jason didn’t look at each other even once.

(But Tim stared while Bruce valiantly ignored him. No matter how much he stared, Bruce did not show any signs of growing cat ears.)

Chapter Text

Bruce climbed onto the roof for the second time that day, though this time in a much better mood. A silly grin emerged on his face and exuberant giggles escaped his mouth. It felt like the crickets were chirping louder in response to his joy.

“Mama, I’m still his father,” he told the overcast sky. The wind howled in his ears and Bruce thought that might have been a scolding for calling her Mama but he was too excited to hold himself back. “Dick didn’t say it but he implied it! And he called me B! It’s been years since Dick called me B… And Jason cooked dinner. He didn’t look at me but we ate together and it was all I could ever ask for.”

The wind blew across his face and Bruce closed his eyes. Air always tasted almost fresh up here.

“I’ve never had this before. It’s so nice, Mama, the table doesn’t look so empty anymore. The only way it could’ve been any more perfect were if Cass and Alfred were there too. It’d have been crowded but perfect nonetheless.”

Bruce hugged himself tightly and choked on a sobbing laugh.

“I thought it was all over. The curse—they hate it so much. But they stayed and Jason was at dinner and Dick promised not to yell at me about the curse anymore and he said I was his parent! It’s so good… It’s good and I won’t have it for much longer. 64 more days, Mama. 64 precious more days until they leave again.”

The wind howled in his ear.

“I’ll be fine. I was fine before and I’ll be fine after. I’m always fine. Just fine.” Bruce took in a shuddering breath. “I’ll talk to you again next time, Mother.”

Bruce sat up, immediately lost balance, and fell back down. He twisted in his sheets and felt a tangle of limbs struggling against the cloth prison. Bruce pushed against the sheets and stupidly pushed himself off his own bed while he was at it.

He sprawled on the floor, all ten limbs spread eagle because he had ten now, and made eye contact with Ace.

“Good morning, Ace,” Bruce dazedly greeted from his position on the carpeted ground. “It seems I’ve become an octomer.”

The eight red arms that have replaced his legs waved at Ace as if to also greet him.

The door slammed opened and Damian stood there, dishevelled from sleep, eyes wide with panic. “Father, I heard a thud! What’s—”

Damian came to an abrupt halt and blinked.

(Bruce sometimes forgot that he shared a wall with Damian. The other kids’ rooms were opposite Bruce’s.)

“Good morning, Damian.” Bruce attempted to sit up but his new limps wriggled on the ground and sent him sprawling back onto the floor. Instead of allowing him to sit up, they waved at Damian, faster and more excitedly than Ace’s tail wagged.

“Good morning, Father,” Damian managed to greet back. He encroached further into Bruce’s room and helped Bruce up. “Your tent- I mean, arms are looking dry. Shall I run a bath for you?”

Bruce’s new arms wrapped around Damian’s torso, suction cups sticking to his pyjamas and the exposed skin of his arms. This forced Bruce closer to Damian and considering his son had a hand on his back to help him sit up, their new position fit the definition of hugging by all technicalities except intent.

“That would be wonderful. Thank you, Damian,” Bruce rushed out. He looked down to hide the rush of blood flooding his face and hoped that Damian couldn’t feel the heat of it through his thin shirt.

Bruce didn’t know much about octopuses (octopi? octopodes?...’Octopuses’ was funnier to say) but he recalled reading about the large nerve clusters at the base of each of their eight arms, allowing them to multitask without much input from the central nervous system. In other words, octopus arms basically had minds of their own and in this case, they functioned like overeager puppies clamouring for affection, attaining it without concern for boundaries or a single thought for Bruce’s embarrassment.

Imagine having arms that didn’t listen to you and exposed your inner desire for hugs.

Mortifying.

Bruce hoped that Damian interpreted the disobeying arms’ actions as eagerness for water instead of a shameful exploitation of his son’s kindness.

To Bruce’s relief, Damian just hummed and lifted Bruce up with ease, carrying him to the adjoining bathroom. The octopus arms wriggled happily around Damian and Bruce glared at the betrayers while secretly relishing in the warmth of his son.

When was the last time Bruce hugged Damian, he wondered. The answer was sadly, but not surprisingly, never. Bruce grabbed him out of the way of danger, carried him out of the batmobile a few times, and comforted him through fear toxin exposures, but they never consciously, intentionally held each other in loving embrace. Even this wasn’t a hug. Not really.

“What temperature should I set the water?” Damian asked.

Bruce’s son was considerate and thoughtful. He felt proud despite having no role in his upbringing.

“Room temperature,” Bruce answered after thinking it over.

Damian nodded and turned the faucet on. He sat on the side of the tub, still holding onto Bruce, and watched as the bathtub filled up. One of the octopus arms wrapped around Damian’s torso unravelled to dip into the tub, like a curious child exploring a cool new thing. It tapped the rising water with the tip of the arm and then slapped with delight, splashing the shallow water up the inner walls of the tub.

Damian watched curiously while Bruce died of embarrassment on the inside.

“Can you not control the arms, Father?” he asked, no reproval in his tone.

“No,” Bruce admitted. “Octopus arms have minds of their own. I can tell it to move but it mostly does its own thing.”

“Ah. It makes sense why Ursula had to scold her arms now.”

Amusement bubbled in Bruce’s chest and his octopus arms pat Damian in response. “How many times has Dick forced you to watch ‘The Little Mermaid’?”

Damian scowled. “5 times this year alone.”

July had just begun.

Bruce hummed. “You’re a good brother, Damian. Most people wouldn’t entertain Dick’s obsession like that.”

Damian’s cheeks suddenly heated up and he turned his face away from Bruce, still holding him in his lap. “Thank you, Father.”

Damian had gotten better at accepting compliments. Bruce was glad. That meant that he was receiving them much more often.

When the bathtub filled up, Damian turned the faucet off and pulled Bruce’s pyjama shirt off before he could protest.

“Tt. Father, I can count your ribs. You need to be eating more,” he scolded as he lowered Bruce into the water. To Bruce’s relief, his octopus arms released Damian’s torso and began to play around in the water. Being in the water was like being submerged in aloe vera, soothing and instantly relaxing.

“You’re exaggerating,” Bruce huffed. He traced his fingers along his ribs and confirmed that they were in fact not uncountable. “I’m just naturally thin. Alfred said it was because I was born premature.”

“You still need to eat more,” Damian insisted.

Instead of arguing, Bruce just hummed his assent.

“Father, you can’t realistically spend the next week in the bathtub. I know octopuses can spend upwards of 30 minutes outside of water but that is nowhere near enough time to do anything. Not to mention, you’ll get everything wet if you were to travel back and forth. That also rules out carrying around a spray bottle to rehydrate.”

“I’m fine with staying in the bath or a pool.”

Damian scrunched his face with disgust. “That would be unsanitary and restricting. I think we can set up a portable tub instead. Timothy should be able to attach some wheels to it and get it to move smoothly.“

He stood up as if to go inform Tim but Bruce’s octo-arm suddenly shot out of the water and wrapped itself around Damian’s arm.

“Father?”

Bruce flushed, becoming almost as red as his new arm. “It did that on its own.”

Damian offered his arm to Bruce’s exploring limb and it slithered across it, bending Damian’s fingers back and forth as if it were an art mannequin.

“Perhaps they’re just curious. Father, you did posit that they had minds of their own. Since they were formed today, everything is new to them. Hence the exploring.”

Bruce was so, so, so, so glad that Damian was approaching this from the lenses of a scientist.

But Bruce knew the truth and the truth was fucking mortifying.

He willed the disobedient limb back into the bath and thankfully, it obeyed, releasing Damian’s now wet arm.

“I’ll be back in just a moment, Father.”

Damian left his father in the bath and barged into Timothy’s room.

“Get up, you need to get to work,” he commanded.

Timothy shot up from bed. “Wha? What? What’s going on? Who escaped? Don’t tell me it's Riddler because we just put him back.”

“No one escaped. Father needs your help. His legs were replaced with octopus arms and now he needs to be submerged in water or he’ll dry out. Make a motorised water tank for him.”

Timothy collapsed back onto the bed with a groan. “Dive into the damn harbour, Damian. I thought there was an Arkham breakout again! What time is it anyway?”

“Quarter past six.”

“6:15. Narrow’s butthole! I only had two hours of sleep.” Timothy took in a deep breath and then another. “Okay. Motorised water tank. Does he need air bubbles like a fish tank? No, that’s dumb. You said his legs were replaced, not his whole body. B’s not got gills. I literally just need to make a water tank on wheels. Yeah, that’s easy enough. We can repurpose some of the old battle bots. They should be in the Cave.”

“Battle bots?” Damian asked.

“Yeah, B considered building some robots to deal with the rogues back when I was Robin. We workshopped a few prototypes together, drawing inspiration from cartoons and whatnot but ultimately, it was decided that they were too impractical.”

“You worked on it together?” Father tended to work on his tools alone or commissioned Fox to make them. He never made anything with Damian.

“Uh, yeah.” Timothy hopped out of bed and put on a shirt he picked up from the ground. He didn’t even sniff it. Disgusting. “Saw him drawing up the blueprints and asked if I could help. He said yes. Don’t think he was seriously considering using them even at that point.”

Damian grunted. “They could easily be hijacked.”

“Exactly.”

“Hurry with the tank. I don’t want Father to be stuck in the bath for too long.”

“You put him in the bathtub?” Timothy asked incredulously.

Damian ignored him and went into his room. He rummaged through his closet and pulled out an old swim shirt. He then went back to Father’s room and knocked on his bathroom door.

“Come in,” Father called out.

“Timothy is currently working on the tub. And I brought you a swim shirt because I didn’t think you’ll want to stay shirtless.”

“Thank you, Damian,” Father said, accepting the shirt.

Damian was exaggerating earlier when he noted that Father was thin - in truth, Father’s form was athletic, though not near as muscular as Damian was at that age - but he just looked so… small. Especially in that swim shirt. It hung loosely on his frame, sticking to his wet skin in folds, instead of snugly like a swimsuit was supposed to.

Swallowing down the wrongness of it, Damian turned his attention to the bathroom floor.

Ace had migrated into the bathroom at some point and was playing with a few of the octopus arms that have made it their mission to pat and play with Ace. One of them snaked over to Damian and wrapped itself loosely around Damian’s wrist. Damian sneaked a glance over at Father. He didn’t seem to notice.

Damian decided not to inform Father.

The limb was paradoxically warm despite being cold and slimy.

Damian stayed there watching Ace get pampered until Timothy texted him fifteen minutes later.

“Your tank is complete. I’ll bring you down to the Cave to test it,” Damian offered, opening his arms wide.

“It’s fine. I have better control over the arms now,” Father refused.

“You’ll get everything wet, Father.” Damian leaned down and picked Father up without warning. The octopus arms immediately wrapped around his torso and soaked his shirt. Father’s human arms also wrapped around Damian’s shoulders. They, too, were cold and wet from being in the bath. Damian should get him a robe.

“I made you wet,” Father murmured, pulling back from Damian slightly. The octopus arms didn’t behave similarly and instead tightened around Damian, though not uncomfortably so. Poison Ivy had a stronger grip.

“I need to change anyway,” Damian murmured back. He placed a steadying hand on Father’s back and walked down to the Cave, Ace following on his heels.

Timothy, to his sleep-deprived credit, didn’t even blink at the sight of them coming down the stairs. Instead, he proudly presented his creation with jazz hands. “I made a water tank on wheels! A water tank-tank! It’s got a foldout table that you can put your stuff on. That’s where the controls are too, so you can move y’know. And changing the water will be super easy. All you have to do is press this button and it will tip over.”

Timothy demonstrated and did jazz hands again.

“Just gotta add some water and we’re gucci.” He snickered to himself and whispered: “H2O, just add water.”

“Did you make that from the battle bots, Tim?” Father asked.

“I did. How’d you know?”

Damian looked pointedly at the battle bot remains strewn all over the table and floor.

Father hummed. “Just a guess. Thank you for the tank, both of you. Go back to sleep, Tim. You look like you’re about to keel over.”

“Nah. I already downed two energy drinks after Demon Brat woke me up. Can’t go back to sleep now.”

Timothy didn’t look like someone who should be denying sleep. His eyebags had eyebags and he was swaying on the spot. But Damian refused to feel guilty about waking him. Sure, Damian could’ve made the tank himself but that would’ve taken longer and Father would’ve had to suffer the bathtub alone. (The fact that Father let Damian keep him company without saying anything about it was not at all a contributing factor.)

“Go to sleep, Timothy, or I’ll tell Richard.”

Timothy shivered. “Not the octopus.” He suddenly snorted and cackled like a croon. “Can’t call Dick the octopus now that Bruce literally has octopus arms!”

Damian bit his bottom lip and when he controlled his amusement enough, he growled, “Go back to bed, Timothy.”

“Hey, you’re the one who woke me up, Banshee. Suffer as I did. I don’t have work today anyway.”

“Tt.”

Damian walked past Timothy and placed Father down in the water tank. Father stared at his octopus arms as they slithered off Damian’s torso and into the tank.

“Is it comfortable, Father?”

Father grunted.

The water tank wasn’t particularly tall but it was wide and accommodated all eight of Father’s new arms. Timothy had thought ahead and even added a backrest, stolen from an office chair from who knows where, and padded the harsh edges of the tank. With some added water, it was the perfect portable habit for Father in his current state.

Father tested the tank and drove it forward slightly. The wheels moved smoothly across the Cave floor. It most likely wouldn’t have a problem even with water in it.

“It works just fine,” Father reported. His octopus arms crept up the walls of the tank and began prodding curiously at the various additions. One even started poking the wheels, though it was smart enough not to get caught under it.

“Coolio. I’ll put water in it then. We can use the hose we use to wash the Batmobile.” Timothy grabbed the hose and began filling the tank up. Father’s octopus arms began to trace the hose. One wrapped itself around its curvature, another slithered across Timothy’s bare arm (Timothy scrunched his nose at the curious sensation of a slimy limb exploring his arm), and a third poked its tip into the hole, causing water to spray everywhere.

Timothy let out a manly squeal and almost dropped the hose but thankfully held on.

“My apologies.” Father glared his arms into submission and they reluctantly slithered back under the water.

“No worries. I didn’t think you’ll have much control of them anyway.”

Damian and Father made identical inquiring sounds.

“No one can ever control them in the movies.”

“Hn.”

A moment of silence fell over them before Timothy broke it with a yawn. “After this, we can go get breakfast and test out how comfortable the side table is. If it’s too finicky, I’ll make adjustments.”

“I want breakfast sandwiches from the food truck on the corner of 27th avenue,” Damian demanded.

“Yes, yes, your highness.” Timothy sighed as if greatly burdened. “And you, B? What do you want?”

Father blinked and cleared away the dazed expression on his face. “An egg sandwich, please.”

“So, same as Dami.” Timothy nodded. “I’ll be back in a mo’.”

He turned off the tap, the tank filled just halfway, and hopped on a bike, still dressed in his wet sleep clothes.

“Tt. Slob,” Damian tutted.

Timothy flipped him off and drove away.

“I’m glad you and Tim get along so well,” Father commented. His octopus arms splashed around in the tank as if to express joy despite Father’s stoic face… Damian squinted and took a better look. There was a small smile hanging on Father’s lips.

Damian remembered how he treated Timothy when he first arrived in Gotham, seeing him as an usurper of his rightful position, rather than a brother, and going as far as almost killing him to take his spot. Damian knew now that he was fundamentally incorrect in how he approached everything but he didn’t understand back then. So when Father was so furious that he couldn’t bear to look Damian in the eyes, Damian had felt indignant, bewildered, and afraid. Damian thought Father would kick him out. Casted aside in favour of the stray he picked up from the neighbours. Father ended up disappearing before he could kick Damian out but even after he returned, there was a part of Damian that always wondered: when?

Seeing Father now, so content that Damian and Timothy were getting somewhat along, Damian thought that perhaps Father would never kick him out at all. If he decided to stay after this, perhaps he would be allowed to. Of course, Damian didn’t voice all this. Communication was never the strong point of Waynes or al Ghuls and Damian happened to be both.

“Timothy can be useful sometimes,” he grumbled instead.

Father just hummed and drove his tank over to the elevator. The water in the tank didn’t splosh around and just rippled slightly at the motion. “You should get changed before you catch a cold, Damian.”

Damian pursed his lips. “Yes, Father.”

They got on the elevator together (with Ace) and split ways in front of their respective bedrooms.

“Thank you for the help again, Damian.”

Damian faced the ground to hide his smile. “No need for thanks, Father.”

Chapter Text

“So, octopus arms. Do they listen to you?”

“No.” Bruce huffed and pulled his misbehaving arms away from his bookshelf. They were fiddling with his Batburger figurines and Bruce did not trust them to not secretly take one to further expose him in front of his children. “I can command them but they have the impulse control of a two-year-old which is to say none at all.”

Amaya let out a light laugh but apologised once Bruce made a disgruntled sound at the blatant dismissal of his plight. “Sounds tough, especially for a man with so much to hide,” she commiserated.

It almost sounded like she was trying to tell him something, but Bruce refused to examine what.

(‘The unexamined life is not worth living’? Yeah, right. Bruce was perfectly content within his bubble of self-ignorance. Fuck Socrates.)

“I think most of the out-of-control actions can be explained away by them being, well, out-of-control. They’re largely harmless and can be useful so I’m not too concerned,” Bruce reasoned. One of his octo-arms started fixing his bed hair on its own accord. Another began to make his bed. That was convenient. Nice to know the extra limbs weren’t all hell-bent on killing him. (Social death was a very real and serious thing.)

“I really thought you’ll get cat ears this time,” Amaya teased.

Bruce wrinkled his nose. The way Amaya had been going on about cats this whole time, he was afraid she’ll hex him into one if he didn’t eventually gain cat features. Given how powerful Amaya was, Bruce was sure she could make it permanent if she so wished… Amaya wouldn’t but since she was so captivated by the idea, Bruce decided that he’ll keep going outside of Gotham until he woke up with cat ears.

Bruce pat Ace on the head and hummed. “Thank you, again, for yesterday,” he said haltingly. “I never imagined that-” he trailed off uncertainly. “It turned out better than I could have ever imagined. Thank you for that, Amaya.”

“I didn’t do much but you’re welcome. I’m glad that I could be of help to you, Bruce.”

“All you’ve ever done is help me.” Nine of Bruce’s arms wrapped around himself and he hoped that his voice did not sound as vulnerable as he felt. To have acknowledged he was given help was to acknowledge that he needed help to begin with. Not aid but help. It was such a small distinction but it made all the difference to Bruce. Aid was more pragmatic, practical. Help was… something else. Personal.

“I made a promise to you, Bruce. I don’t intend to break it.”

Bruce grunted and took a moment to compose himself. “I’m not sure how baking with ten arms is going to work out so I’m afraid I’ll have to delay the additional payment.”

“No rush, I’ll be here whenever you’re ready.”

Bruce hummed noncommittally and peeled the octo-arms off himself.

Knock-knock.

“Father.”

“I’ll talk to you next time, Amaya.” He hung up and set his phone down on the side table.

Bruce directed his mobile water tank over to the door and opened it. Damian stood outside with a grey bathrobe in hand and thrust it in Bruce’s face. Under Damian’s unrelenting gaze, Bruce accepted the robe and wrapped it around himself, carefully ensuring that the fabric didn’t hang over the tank, and bunched it so it didn’t fall into the water.

“Thank you.”

He waited for Damian to say or do something. Damian continued to stare. His son stared a lot. It was a habit Bruce had noticed when they met for the first time and he was fine with it since it meant that Damian was observant but Bruce privately thought that he could stand to be more… subtle. Just so the subject of his observation didn’t notice, of course. Not because Bruce felt like a slide under a microscope being studied by his son. Nope.

His stupid, traitor arms curled in on themselves and sank Bruce deeper in the water.

“...I’ll go set the dining table,” Damian solemnly informed him before stomping off moodily like a sullen teen.

Bruce frowned in confusion and looked to Ace as if the dog could help explain his son’s behaviour to him.

Was this a ‘Bruce did something wrong’ thing or ‘Damian is a teenager’ thing?

He wasn’t sure.

When Bruce was Damian’s age, he did that to Alfred a lot but that was because he was planning on running away studying abroad and wasn’t sure how to tell his guardian? Temporary custodian? Employee? Bruce’s uncle technically had custody over Bruce but after his uncle’s girlfriend fell pregnant, Bruce negotiated to be moved back into the manor and Alfred became his caretaker again. Not that the wider world knew. As far as anyone was concerned, Bruce was in the ‘better hands’ of his uncle, not the ‘lowly servant’ his parents had named in their will.

Anyhow, Damian stared at Bruce in an eerily similar way to how Bruce stared at Alfred back in the day.

…Was he planning on leaving?

Did Damian want to go back to the LoA?

No! He couldn’t!

Talia had entrusted Damian in Bruce’s care. Dick may have taken over the responsibility but Bruce was still supposed to ensure Damian was safe! Talia said the LoA wasn’t safe for Damian. No matter what, Damian couldn’t go back.

Wait. No. Think rationally, Bruce.

He took a deep breath, tensed his muscles, then relaxed them all at once as he released his breath.

Damian had training with his team in Jump City scheduled for the next few months. Bruce’s son took his responsibilities very seriously. He wouldn’t just leave without a good reason. Talia hadn’t informed him of any major changes in the LoA and Damian seemed pretty settled in Gotham. He had no reason to leave.

Even for Bruce, the leap from Damian staring to Damian returning to the League of Assassins was too much.

Still, Bruce frowned and grabbed his laptop. Entering eight (Talia said it was a lucky number) separate passwords, he opened the program he made to specifically email Talia and sent her a coded message. To his surprise, Talia replied after just five minutes. Usually, there would be a waiting period of roughly a week for questions not marked urgent and life updates happened every few months (barring major changes).

Beloved🌼: Has Habibi spoken to you recently?

Ya Amar🌙: We call frequently, Beloved.

Beloved🌼: Has he been acting strangely lately?

Ya Amar🌙: No more than usual though he did mention that he has moved back into the manor. He didn’t tell me why.

Beloved🌼: I’ve recently been transformed into a child form. (It’s temporary.) The kids moved back in to make sure I didn't stumble into trouble.

Ya Amar🌙: Interesting. What are you hiding?

Beloved🌼: Nothing they need to know. How’s your progress with the quest?

Ya Amar🌙: I’ve taken over 80%. The leader has not suspected a thing.

Beloved🌼: Have you found out why he’s so weird about Habibi yet?

Ya Amar🌙: Not yet but I will unearth his secrets soon. I won’t allow anything to endanger our son.

Beloved🌼: Good.

Bruce exited the program and slid his laptop into the storage space of the tank. Ace took the opportunity to beg for pets, a request Bruce gladly gave into. He socialised with four separate people within the span of twenty minutes, Bruce deserved some reprieve.

Knock-knock.

And that was the end of his alone (with Ace) time. Not that he was complaining.

(Bruce spent too much time alone. He hated being alone. Which is why it was so confusing that he chose to be alone most of the time. Well, not confusing because he knew why but—urgh.)

“Bruce? Come eat,” Tim called out.

He opened his door and found that Tim wasn’t holding a sandwich in his hands, which meant that they were eating in the dining room together. Which was fine. More than fine. But Ace’s food bowl was in the kitchen because Bruce didn’t bother with the dining room often (all there was in that room were large paintings of his ancestors and cabinets and a singular long table that would never lose that emptiness no matter how many flowers he decorated it with) and he couldn’t just feed Ace and then go eat in the dining room. Ace didn’t like eating alone. It would be mean of Bruce to do that. But Damian already set the table and-

“Damian set Ace’s food bowl in the dining room and got some of the wet food from the pantry because Ace deserved something different since we were all eating takeaway for breakfast. He didn’t ask though so I’m just telling you now to make sure you’re fine with that,” Tim rambled, interrupting Bruce’s thoughts.

“That’s fine. Did he feed Alfred a different breakfast too?” Bruce asked as they made their way to the dining room.

“Oh, yeah. Went the whole mile. Bone broth with salmon and tuna pâté on the side. Really spoiling him.”

Bruce hummed.

“He even transformed the living room of Dick’s apartment into an elaborate cat tower for a solid week before Dick put his foot down because even Dick wasn’t a fan of doing acrobatics on his way to the breakfast table. Like, I know League training adds a solid ten years to your age for every year you're with them - just look at Jason’s hair - but did Damian really have to speedrun into becoming a crazy cat lady at fourteen?”

Bruce’s stupid octopus arm snaked its way over to Tim’s hand while he was distracted by the tale (should Bruce give Damian free rein to remodel a room for Alfred?) and wrapped itself around his son’s wrist. He quickly snatched it back and sunk it in the water before Tim realised and issued a command with his hand at Ace. His beautiful darling dog brushed against Tim’s side and licked his hand affectionately as commanded. Tim paused his story and pat Ace on the head with a fond smile. Embarrassing hand holding desire successfully disguised, Bruce increased the speed of his tank and hurried over to the dining room.

“Took you long enough, Timothy,” Damian disdainfully said.

Tim rolled his eyes. “I had to piss.”

Damian made a disgusted face. “Never utter those words to me again.”

“Piss. Piss. Piss.”

“Meow~” Alfred wandered over to Tim and rubbed his side against his leg.

“Ah, sorry, wasn’t calling you.” Tim laughed and pat Alfred on the head.

Bruce’s octopus arm sneaked out to pat Alfred as well - he always had a fondness for cats - but because they were wet, Alfred shied away from the limb. Undeterred, Bruce leaned down to use his human arm instead and was gifted a beautiful rumble of a purr in response.

“Father, is it alright if I feed Ace this can of wet food?”

“Yes,” Bruce answered simply. “Thank you for bringing Ace’s food bowl here.”

“Hn.” Damian crouched down and opened the can, attracting Ace to his side instantly.

Bruce directed his tank to the dining table where a space was cleared for him. An egg sandwich sat on a plate along with a glass of orange juice. (Well, it was actually toast but the truck owner insisted it was a sandwich so who was Bruce to argue otherwise?) Bruce made eye contact with Ace and made sure he watched as he took a bite of his still warm sandwich. Ace attacked the wet food with gusto, earning a chuckle from Tim and Damian.

“Demon, eat before the food gets cold.”

Damian rolled his eyes and took a seat beside Bruce, leaving Bruce in between his two sons.

“After we eat, do you wanna repurpose the battle bot scraps?” Tim asked through a mouthful of food.

“Tt-, swallow before you speak, Timothy,” Damian scolded.

“I’ll do what I want,” Tim childishly said.

“One day, you’ll choke and you’ll remember this.”

“Jokes on you, I know how to do a Heimlich on myself.”

As his sons bickered over his head, Bruce took a long sip of his orange juice, grimacing at the buttery fingerprints left on the glass. The sandwiches from the food truck on the corner of 27th Avenue were good but unfortunately, they were messy to eat, and left your hands greasy with butter. Bruce typically liked to eat them with a fork and knife but Damian hadn’t set one on the table and Bruce didn’t want to bother them by getting one. He’ll just have to wash his hands later.

Bruce took another bite of his sandwich and frowned. Ew. A flood of sour-sweetness replaced the tangy orange flavour in his mouth as he crunched down on a slice of pickle.

Fuck.

He forgot to ask for no pickles.

Disgusting.

If he was alone, Bruce would’ve spat out the pickles and picked the rest out. Alas, he wasn’t, so Bruce forced himself to swallow the bite and prepared himself for another battle with the cursed cucumbers.

SMACK—!

The sandwich was slapped out of his hands and fell to the plate, disassembling into a mess of eggs and cheese and lettuce and pickles. And buttered toast. But who cared about the toast when Bruce had been attacked by a mysterious assailant?

He looked down.

His octo-arm was smugly waving at him.

Attacked by his own impulsive arms. Typical.

Bruce wasn’t sure how he was supposed to explain this. How do you begin to explain that pickles were your nemesis but you were going to suffer in silence only to be thwarted by your own arm in an act of etiquette-betraying-everything?

“Oh shoot, I gave you the wrong one.” Tim grabbed his plate and reached over to switch it with Damian’s. The sandwich on Damian’s plate also had one bite taken out of it but at least it wasn’t lying sadly in a disembodied mess. “Damian’s got extra pickles while yours have none. The one without pickles was marked but I must’ve accidentally given it to Damian instead.”

Well.

Bruce didn’t know how Tim knew that he didn’t like pickles but it was convenient that he didn’t ask for an explanation.

To think he didn’t have to suffer after all.

What a novelty.

Damian reassembled his sandwich and they all carried on eating as if nothing happened.

“Thank you,” Bruce said anyway.

Both of his sons grunted in response.

“What do you want to do with the scraps anyway?” Damian asked, resuming the conversation.

Tim shrugged. “I dunno. Something fun.”

“You only want to keep tinkering because you want an excuse not to clean up after yourself,” Damian accused.

Tim scoffed. “Not true.”

The lack of a comeback spoke volumes.

Bruce enjoyed his pickle free sandwich while Damian mercilessly mocked Tim.

“The ability to turn a pile of scraps into something usable is crucial to any Bat!” Tim argued only to interrupt himself with a loud yawn.

Bruce frowned and turned to Tim. “You should go to sleep.” One of his octopus arms rubbed up and down Tim’s back in a soothing motion and Bruce allowed it. “I’ll clean up the worktable.”

“Father, don’t spoil Timothy. He clearly doesn’t know how to clean up after himself, otherwise his room wouldn’t be so disgusting. It’s only been a week since he started using it again!”

“Shut up, brat. It’s my room; I’ll do whatever I want with it.” He stuck his tongue out childishly at Damian before turning to address Bruce. “Thanks for the offer but-”

An arm blocked Tim’s mouth.

Bruce felt his cheeks warm up at the audacity but pushed through with parental authority he thought he lost long ago. “Get some rest.”

Tim stared at Bruce for a moment before nodding. Only then did Bruce’s octo-arm release him. “I’ll try after breakfast but no promises.”

Bruce hummed. That was good enough for him.

“Don’t worry, Father. I will make sure Timothy rests as instructed,” Damian swore.

Bruce just nodded at that and went back to eating his sandwich.

Breakfast concluded without further events.

Tim watched Bruce drive off in his new mobility device and looked to Damian with a strange look on his face.

“You didn’t say anything about it,” he said, waving his wrist in lieu of saying what ‘it’ was.

“You didn’t either,” Damian shortly returned. He, too, avoided ‘it’.

Tim touched his wrist and dried his wet skin with his sleeve. It left a wet patch on the fabric but Tim didn’t mind, his back was already wet from Bruce’s back rub anyway. “He didn’t notice. I didn’t think mentioning it was a good idea.”

Damian nodded in agreement. “He pulls away when he notices it.”

“He’s clearly not in control but from what I’ve gathered so far, they’re mostly just impulsive.”

“Yes. Slapping the toast was a good indicator for that.”

Tim looked gobsmacked at Damian. “I knew I hadn’t placed the sandwiches wrong! You switched them to test him?”

Damian crossed his arms and sniffed. “I had a hypothesis to confirm. The results were telling.”

“We already knew Bruce couldn’t control his new arms. What was your new hypothesis?”

“I wanted to see if their actions correlated with Father’s emotions and impulses or if they acted individually. Clearly, the former is more likely.”

“Nuh duh. What confused me is why the tentacles kept touching us and wrapping around our wrists.”

“Octopus have arms, not tentacles,” Damian corrected. “From what I saw in the bath and cave, the arms are sensory seeking and curious. Father may have been subconsciously searching for stimulus.”

Tim flexed his fingers, recalling the strange but not off-putting sensation of the textured arm bending and straightening them, as if he were a hand model at a craft store. All the while Bruce was enjoying his pickle-free sandwich.

“I don’t think that’s all there is to it but it’s not hurting anyone so I’m not going to say anything about it.”

He was never going to admit what he wished it was about. Tim had an inkling Damian wasn’t being entirely honest either.

“You need to go to sleep,” Damian ordered. “I’m going to do some research on octopuses.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Go help Bruce with the clean up.”

“-Tt-”

Bruce stared up at Dick, arms curling nervously into themselves under the water. Dick stared down at him with an incomprehensible look on his face. His eyes scanned Bruce up and down, flickering from his new appendages to his face to his appendages again.

Five minutes passed just like that and Dick was still staring.

“Octopus?” Dick murmured. His arms raised and his breathing picked up in intensity.

Bruce gulped.

“Bruce. Please. This is my greatest wish in life.”

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut and spread his (human) arms wide. He nodded like a man sent to death row.

“Real octopus hug!!!” Dick squealed, all previous evidence of sleepiness wiped from his face. He wrapped his arms around Bruce and lifted him out of his tank. Bruce instinctively wrapped his own arms around Dick in order to stabilise himself. “Squeeze tighter, Bruce!” he ordered.

Bruce squeezed tighter.

“Tighter!”

“I’m already hugging you tight,” Bruce said in a panic. Not to mention, Dick was squeezing Bruce rather strongly. He felt like his innards were being squeezed out.

“It’s not a real octopus hug if you’re not left with bruises at the end of it,” Dick insisted.

Bruce sighed and tightened his grip.

“Yes! Just like that! This is a dream come true. Everything I’ve done in life was just for this moment.”

Bruce’s son was scary.

The captured boy could hear whispering behind him.

“Hey, what do you think this means?” Tim whispered.

Bruce looked behind and shot his youngest sons a pleading look. (He hadn’t had a Dick-hug in years but Bruce already socialised all morning; his battery was drained! Plus, this intensity was terrifying!)

Tim and Damian looked away.

“Some things are best left unknown,” Damian replied as they both inched backwards, retreating from the scene of the crime quietly.

Chapter Text

Tim Nook💰: We all lost the bet ://

Nurse Joy: Which one
Nurse Joy: Wait y r u awake its 10

Tim Nook💰: Y r U awake

Nurse Joy: Some of us aren’t nepos timothy

Tim Nook💰: Uve gotten sassier since u became a nurse

Nurse Joy: It comes with the degree 💅

Tim Nook💰: College is a scam

Nurse Joy: Says the nepo

Tim Nook💰: :/

Nurse Joy: Anyway y r u awake
Nurse Joy: Don’t tell me u haven’t gone to sleep yet

Tim Nook💰: Resident demon woke me up to build a tank

Nurse Joy: A tank???
Nurse Joy: What does he need a tank for
Nurse Joy: Y does he need one built
Nurse Joy: The batmobile is right there

Tim Nook💰: Not that kind of tank
Tim Nook💰: Water tank

Nurse Joy: Like for fish???

Tim Nook💰: 😏

Big Brother 👁️👁️: Bruce.

Tim Nook💰: :(((((
Tim Nook💰: You’re cramping on my vibes rn babs
Tim Nook💰: How do u even know

Nurse Joy: ✨ORACLE KNOWS ALL ✨

Big Brother 👁️👁️: So he didn’t grow wings?
Big Brother 👁️👁️: Shame

Tim Nook💰: No cat ears either
Tim Nook💰: I thought Jason’s raccoon bet had a pre high chance too but nope
Tim Nook💰: Complete left field

Bark AND Bite: Timothy
Bark AND Bite: Father told you to sleep half an hour ago

Tim Nook💰: If he tells me to again I will

Bark AND Bite: You know very well why he cannot

Tim Nook💰: Seems like im not sleeping then

Bark AND Bite: I should’ve made you clean up your own mess

Tim Nook💰: It was a collaborative mess
Tim Nook💰: You commissioned it on Bruce’s behalf
Tim Nook💰: I built it
Tim Nook💰: Bruce used it
Tim Nook💰: You both cleaned up
Tim Nook💰: Simple math

Nurse Joy: IS HE A FISH
Nurse Joy: MERMAID
Nurse Joy: 🧜

Tim Nook💰: Better if u ask dick

Nurse Joy: WHAT COULD BE BETTER THAN MERMAID

Tim Nook💰: 😏

Bark AND Bite: He’s still trapped yet you laugh at his misery from a safe distance away
Bark AND Bite: It’s been over half an hour Timothy

Tim Nook💰: The poor guy

Jasus: WILL YOU ASSHOLES SHUT UP
Jasus: SOME OF US R TRYING TO SLEEP

Nurse Joy: Just turn ur notifs off idiot

Tim Nook💰: U see Jason has a chronic disease called FOMO
Tim Nook💰: I’m afraid its incurable

Jasus: It’s on site, Jimothy.

Tim Nook💰: Remove the j from my name 🤢

Jasus: JIMOTHY

Tim Nook💰: 🖕

Bark AND Bite: Should I walk Ace while Father is occupied?

Tim Nook💰: Don’t you walk him every morning anyway?

Bark AND Bite: Father takes him for morning walks while I do afternoon walks
Bark AND Bite: Given Father hasn’t had the opportunity to walk him today, I think I should take Ace for a longer walk today

Nurse Joy: WHAT DID BRUCE TURN INTO

Tim Nook💰: You were close but too basic

Nurse Joy: WHAT
Nurse Joy: Mermaid but not mermaid
Nurse Joy: Mer
Nurse Joy: WHAT KIND OF MER IS HE

Big Brother 👁️👁️: No
Big Brother 👁️👁️: Seriously?
Big Brother 👁️👁️: The poor guy
Big Brother 👁️👁️: Dick will never leave him be

Nurse Joy: WHAT KIND OF MER IS HE
Nurse Joy: @Big Brother 👁️👁️ HOW DID YOU GUESS

Big Brother 👁️👁: He is a mer
Big Brother 👁️👁️: But better according to Dick’s standards
Big Brother 👁️👁️: What is an aquatic animal that Dick loves?

Jasus: Fuck
Jasus: Why are you making feel bad for Bruce
Jasus: You say he’s been trapped for half an hour?

Bark AND Bite: 45 minutes now

Jasus: And you just let him suffer?

Nurse Joy: HOW IS EVERYONE GUESSING SO EASILY
Nurse Joy: @Tim Nook💰 Give me answers or give me death 🗡️

Tim Nook💰: Geez Brutus
Tim Nook💰: Fine
Tim Nook💰: I’ll give you a hint
Tim Nook💰: What kind of hugs does Dick give

Nurse Joy is typing…

Nurse Joy: OMG THE POOR GUY

Meanwhile, Dick was staring up at the ceiling, wondering if he should get into the pool.

Octopus could typically only survive outside the water for thirty minutes. It had been forty-five minutes since Dick lifted Bruce out of his tank.

But Bruce wasn’t an actual octopus; he was probably fine. Kaldur was an aquatic creature and he lived on the surface no problem.

Then again, Kaldur didn’t have tentacles. There was probably a good reason Bruce was in a tank when Dick saw him.

Things would be so much easier if he could just ask Bruce.

Who was still in his arms.

Tentacles wrapped around Dick, holding on tight.

Human hands clenched tightly around his shirt.

The rest of his body lax.

Because he had fallen asleep.

Twenty minutes ago.

And Dick had spent those twenty minutes laying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, covered in a cool magic blanket he found, wondering if he should do something or take it as a sign that he too should take a nap.

Ten on a day-off really was an ungodly hour to be awake.

Oh.

A lightbulb lit up in his brain.

Dick fished out his phone and opened it straight to the group chat, ignoring the conversation that was actively taking place.

Sir Dickolas: I need someone to get me a spray bottle
Sir Dickolas: Preferably one with a mist option

Nurse Joy: Release your hostage dick

Sir Dickolas: ???

Nurse Joy: Isn’t an hour good enough for you
Nurse Joy: Poor Brucie the octopus
Nurse Joy: He died an ignoble death
Nurse Joy: Out octopused by Dick

Sir Dickolas: Rude
Sir Dickolas: Bruce and I are having a perfectly good time
Sir Dickolas: Anyway I need a spray bottle

Bark AND Bite: Why do you need a spray bottle

Sir Dickolas: Bruce is going to dry up!!!

Jasus: And? Dried octopus is a good drinking snack

Tim Nook💰: Let him back into the tank dick

Sir Dickolas: I can’t

Big Brother 👁️👁️: Wdym
Big Brother 👁️👁️: Surely 45mins is enough for you

Sir Dickolas: I’m trapped

Big Brother 👁️👁️: Is that what we’re calling it now?

Jasus: If ‘it’ refers to a sick fantasy involving hapless marine animals, then I suppose so
Jasus: Not that Bruce is hapless
Jasus: But even he doesn’t deserve this

Sir Dickolas: HE FELL ASLEEP AND NOW HE WONT LET GO
Sir Dickolas: THESE TENTACLES ARE STRONG

Jasus: lmao
Jasus: First time?
Jasus: Octopus hugs are strong aren’t they?

Tim Nook💰: [Surprised Pikachu.jpeg]
Tim Nook💰: Me when the consequences are consequencing

Bark AND Bite: Octopus have arms not tentacles Richard

Sir Dickolas: Just get me a spray bottle
Sir Dickolas: We’re in the garden den

Nurse Joy: Get a humidifier
Nurse Joy: And put it directly over bruce
Nurse Joy: Should get a constant mist
Nurse Joy: Keep him from drying out without wetting everything else

Sir Dickolas: Ur a genius steph
Sir Dickolas: This is why you have a degree and we don’t
Sir Dickolas: Dami could you get the humidifier from my room
Sir Dickolas: Like fast
Sir Dickolas: Bruce’s ‘arms’ are looking dry

Bark AND Bite: Fine.

Dick placed his phone to the side and cautiously rested his hand on Bruce’s back.

When was the last time he cuddled with Bruce, he wondered, if this even counted as a cuddle session.

It was hard to recall. Most times he remembered happened when he was a child, and those were more him ambushing B and refusing to let go until the man just took to toting him around everywhere he went. Those at the office affectionately named him ‘little burr’ back in the day.

Things were not… good between them after Dick turned into an adult. Heck, they weren’t good since he stormed out at sixteen. But… they had their moments. For one, Bruce never declined a request for a hug. He would grumble about it but he always obliged. Like just now, despite his obvious aversion and, now that Dick was thinking about, plans to return to his room to rest.

But.

Just once.

Once.

He wanted Bruce to be the one to reach out first.

Dick didn’t want to always have to ask for one. To be the one to spread his arms first. To be the one doing the squeezing. He didn’t want to have to trick and cajole his way into a hug. He didn’t want to always be taking advantage of Bruce’s soft heart for that boy on the circus floor (for that had to be who Bruce was seeing when Dick asked for hugs. The boy he initiated a hug with for the first and only time. That hug was what helped convince Dick to say yes when Bruce offered to move him from juvie to his home.)

It wasn’t really something he could tell Bruce though. Once he did, the offer would be disingenuous at best and forced at worst. It was a lose-lose situation.

Dick sighed and tenuously ran his hand through Bruce’s soft locks. In his sleep, the boy nuzzled against his palm, not unlike a cat, and simultaneously loosened and tightened his grip on Dick.

This counted as a hug from Bruce, Dick tried to tell himself and hoped that he would be satisfied with that.

“Richard,” Damian called out. “Your room is an absolute mess. Are Father and I the only ones in this household that actually bothers to tidy up?”

Even as he nagged, Damian busied himself with plugging in Dick’s small humidifier and carefully set it down on Dick’s waiting palm. Dick held it above Bruce’s back and set the humidifier to the highest setting.

“A wet or damp towel would probably work just as well,” Dick mused.

Damian scrunched up his face. “A tank offers the best environment for Father’s new arms.”

Dick snorted. “Sure, buddy. You totally didn’t neglect the option because tanks are cooler.”

“Tt- think what you want.”

“I think I shall,” Dick replied with a cheeky grin. “Anyway, help me take a photo of us. I want to send it to the group chat as proof that I am absolutely not taking Bruce hostage.”

His baby brother rolled his eyes but obediently took a quick snapshot of Dick and Bruce on the couch - legs (Dick’s because Bruce didn’t have legs anymore) covered by the awesome magic blanket he found (what was up with that anyway?).

Despite how quickly Damian took the photo, its quality was still on par with photos Dick would spend minutes fussing over. A credit to his artistic eye and the discussions he would share with Tim concerning their respective art mediums.

Bark AND Bite: [Photo of Dick and Bruce cuddling on the couch. Sunlight shines over a majority of the photo, leaving just the upper portions of Dick and Bruce’s bodies in a subdued shadow. The humidifier in Dick’s hand makes for a strange picture, especially given the mist rising and falling from its spout, casting a hazy film over the whole image. Bruce is curled up over Dick’s torso, an easy feat thanks to his smaller size and the flexibility of his new limbs. He is fast asleep, unaware the hand Dick has on his head and another rested on his back. Bruce’s hands are tightly fisted in Dick’s sleep shirt and from under his oversized robe, red arms snake around Dick’s lower torso.]

Nurse Joy: !!!
Nurse Joy: 🐙
Nurse Joy: OCTOBRUCE

Jasus: I can’t believe you would knock him out just to cuddle
Jasus: Shame on you Dickie

Bark AND Bite: Richard said he’s napping and no longer answering questions

Nurse Joy: Answer the people coward!!
Nurse Joy: Also im swinging by after work to get some octohugs myself
Nurse Joy: K bye <3

Tim Nook💰: Another one bites the dust

Big Brother 👁️👁️: I’ll also be there
Big Brother 👁️👁️: See you at dinner

Tim Nook💰: We’ll order enough pizzas to feed three extra mouths

Nurse Joy: Lmao
Nurse Joy: @Jasus remember to pick me and babs up <3

Jasus: Fuck you

Chapter Text

It was dinner time and Bruce was Not Looking at anyone. He stared at his plate and seemed entirely focussed on eating as fast as decorum allowed him to. Tim wished he would throw decorum out of the window because it was very painful to watch him elegantly eat pizza with a knife and fork. (Steph had provided the silverware because it never ceased to amuse her how posh Bruce was. Well, she referred to it as pretentiousness but Tim thought posh was more accurate.) Alas, the only times Bruce would eat with his bare hands were in the cowl, and even then he was fastidious about cleanliness and never made a mess.

Perhaps that was the reason he had yet to realise that his octopus arms had wrapped around Tim and Damian’s wrists again.

Tim caught Damian’s eye across the dining table again and the same silent understanding that had them both sit by Bruce’s immediate sides at the head of the table flashed through his little brother’s eyes. Damian continued to use his left hand to eat and Tim kept his low and out of sight.

The arms twitched around Tim’s wrist (and presumably Damian’s) whenever the others looked at Bruce. Which. Was more than understandable. Tim was sure that if Dick hadn’t made dinner mandatory for check-in purposes, Bruce would not have shown himself until the day he no longer had the octopus arms.

After his capture, and impromptu nap (a child’s body was annoyingly susceptible to those; a fact Tim resented until he discovered the glory that was energy drinks), Bruce was then forced to entertain Steph’s curiosity. Because, for all his flaws, one thing they all knew Bruce would never deny them was the right to pursue harmless curiosity. He even encouraged it, training them to use their senses to the best of their abilities, so that their curiosity may one day lead to previously unsolvable cases being solved and inescapable traps becoming escapable.

Well, he didn’t encourage all their senses. Tim still remembered the ten-page report he was forced to do on proper risk assessments (with citing too!) after he licked an unidentified white powder on the counter of a crime scene once. It wasn’t even anything dangerous! Tim knew it was flour - it was right next to a bowl of half-mixed batter - and he just wanted to know if it was self-raising or plain. (Okay, fine, a small part of him thought it might’ve been a different type of unidentified white powder commonly found in crime scenes.) It was plain flour, by the way. Bruce tested the flour after they got back to the cave. Tim’s sense of taste wasn’t good enough to discern the difference.

Anyhow, Bruce endured Steph and Babs, poking and prodding at his new limbs for well over an hour, while Jason heckled them from a distance (it was somewhat amazing how many insults he could give Bruce without directly addressing him even once). Steph squeezed the arms in her hands like a squishy or a stress ball, while rapid firing questions about the sensations he could feel, if they were different or the same as his usual ones. Babs joined in with questions on his control over them, to which Bruce confirmed that they had their own mind, though he was able to wrestle back control if he focused. He was vague about the details though, which was just like Bruce. He was never one to share anything personal.

After satisfying their scientific minds, Bruce promptly disappeared, only to be resummoned for mandatory dinner a scant hour later.

Currently, Bruce’s octopus arms were curled under him in what looked like an uncomfortably tangled mess, with only two arms free to secretly wrap around Tim and Damian’s wrists.

“Soooooo,” Steph awkwardly began.

The octopus arm around Tim’s wrist tightened.

“The curse-” everyone in the room tensed. “The beach-” Steph pivoted. “Let’s discuss the details.”

“What’s there to discuss? We already set the date and location,” Dick asked through a mouthful of pizza.

Disgusting habit, as always.

The Drakes’ would have never tolerated that, not to mention all the other upper class snobs Tim was unfortunately acquainted with growing up. He wondered what it was like for Dick; going from the lax circus environment he was born into to the stifling world of wannabe aristocrats he was thrust into. Bruce and Alfred didn’t enforce table manners on any of them but it must have felt alienating when everyone except him followed the same arbitrary set of rules. Perhaps this disgusting habit was Dick’s way of rebelling against the snobbery, because Tim knew Dick was perfectly capable of flawlessly following the rules. He was good at playing the golden child when he needed to.

“Yeah, but what if Bruce is still an octopus in a few days?”

Dick swallowed the mess of pizza in his mouth. “It’s a private beach but it’s outside Gotham. Leaving is supposed to cause side effects, right?” he directed the question to Bruce.

The octopus arm around Tim’s wrist twitched.

Bruce answered with a curt nod.

“Would the side effects worsen?” Babs asked.

The octopus arm slithered out from around Tim’s wrist as Bruce placed his silverware down with nary a sound. “You need not concern yourself with the side effects,” he replied tersely.

“Yes or no, Bruce,” Babs asked again.

Bruce’s lips thinned. “... I imagine it would be quite similar to an extended exposure to foreign magic. I have been exposed to Amaya’s lingering magic for an extended period of time today. If the side effects compound, we will find out tomorrow morning.”

That was a roundabout way of saying that Dick was a cuddle monster and held him captive for Too Long. It was also a roundabout way of revealing that—

“You mean to say you let yourself be around Dick knowing he had foreign magic on him when you didn’t know how exactly it would affect you?” Babs concluded.

“I knew that it would cause me to develop side effects.”

“But you don’t know the effects of prolonged exposure,” Dick conjectured.

“I will not be harmed,” Bruce stated blandly, as if simply by his say so, no harm would ever come to him. It would be so easy to fall into the security brought on by his confidence. Batman, even in a diminutive form, was scarily reliable. He seemed more invincible than the Man of Steel himself.

Even after witnessing Batman beaten and battered so many times over the years, there was still a large, childish part of Tim that believed the man would always be there in the shadows, watching ominously—a haunting wraith standing guard over Gotham. Such was the reality of one who has never fully known a Gotham before Batman. Even those who could remember a time before there was Batman began to take his presence on the street to be as constant as the rumble of cars on the road. Hence why whispers of Batman never ceased despite Bruce’s inactivity for the past year.

They should probably create false sightings anyway, just in case.

“You don’t know that though,” Dick hissed. “You promised to keep us in the loop. That means telling us about things like this!”

“You knew there would be side effects.”

“I didn’t know that you were only referring to one time exposure. I wouldn’t have stuck around if I knew you didn’t know.”

Steph reached across the table for another slice of pizza. “Ah, fuck, I cracked opened that can of worms, didn’t I?” she whispered to Tim.

“Yep,” he replied. “It was going to happen sooner or later though.”

Jason barked a sharp laugh. “What’d you expect, Dickface?” he asked with a mocking smile, ever the shit stirrer. “Transparency and Bruce could be antonyms; he’s fucking allergic to honesty.”

“Shut up, Jason,” Babs harshly ordered. “Bruce, I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt here and assume you didn’t realise this was information we would have wanted to know. Given that you yourself did not have the full answer, I’ll go out on a limb and say there’s a lot you don’t know about how this whole thing work – which is a whole ‘nother problem we need to talk about – so let’s just say that from now on, if you suspect anything, and I mean anything, could happen as a result of this situation then you tell us,” Babs negotiated, nay, commanded, all Oracle, the Eye in the Sky, not Barbara, kindly librarian.

There was a long, long pause.

“You promised, Bruce,” Dick quietly reminded him.

“...”

Bruce nodded.

“Thank you,” the two oldest expressed.

Tim could see Jason rolling his eyes and signalled for Damian to punish him for being an unnecessarily antagonistic shithead. Damian gladly did so. (It was honestly the one thing that they consistently agreed on—getting back at Jason for whatever he is being annoying about. Jason was often annoying. The first time Damian called Tim, Timothy, was during one of their earlier collaborations.)

He could tell when Damian enacted justice because Jason suddenly squawked and turned to Damian in what could only be described as a hissy fit. “What the fuck, Demon?”

“You. Ate. My. Pizza,” Damian growled.

They bought two different vegetarian pizzas just for Damian, which was more than enough, and he was usually happy to share. Jason especially liked to take a slice or two to ‘refresh’ his palate from all the meat or whatever.

“Tsk, tsk, Jay, how could you?” Steph chided. “You stole a hungry teen’s pizza?”

“Oh, I ate one slice out of SIXTEEN, and all of a sudden, I’m a fucking criminal. Time to enact fucking medieval justice on dear ol’ Jason, he ate a single slice of pizza,” he dramatically responded. Tim could practically see him gearing up for an overly theatrical soliloquy.

“Should’ve just asked,” Tim said with zero sympathy.

He suddenly noticed Bruce looking down. A single half-eaten slice of vegetarian pizza lay sadly on the plate.

Unfortunately, Jason noticed at the same time. “Bruce ate one too!” he snitched.

Damn. What happened to ‘snitches get stitches’?

“Apologise for this grievous crime,” Jason demanded, directly addressing Bruce for the first time in forever.

“I-,” Bruce began, uncharacteristically flustered. “I apologise, Damian. I was not aware that the vegetarian pizzas were not for sharing.”

They were for sharing. Damian did not like to fill himself up on pizza and tended to make himself a small snack afterwards if he was still hungry.

“Apology noted but unnecessary, Father,” Damian said with a nod. “I noticed you taking a slice and would have interceded had I objected to its loss.”

Steph stifled a snort.

“What is this favouritism?”

“You took the good one I was saving,” Damian hissed.

Jason pursed his lips. “It was a particularly good slice,” he conceded.

All the slices were good ones; Emma’s made the best pizzas in Gotham.

“Damn. You should apologise, Jay,” Dick interjected, laughter in his voice.

Damian’s gaze sharpened on their eldest brother. “You took the second best one, Grayson.”

“Dami!” Dick whinged.

Sometime during the manufactured bickering, Bruce’s octopus arm snaked back around Tim’s wrist. Tim utilised his extensive training not to react. Somehow, during all that commotion, he had managed to forget Bruce was there. Bruce was very good at that - fading into the background - so Tim felt justified in forgetting the subject of their conversation for those few moments (long moments, but who was counting? Certainly not Tim.)

The touching did make him wonder, however, and Tim wasn’t sure Bruce would be supportive of this type of curiosity.

He’ll have to observe him some more.

The key to understanding Bruce did always lie more in what he didn’t say than what he did. Tim wasn’t sure he was very skilled at reading the silence in his Robin days, but he was an adult with a corporate job now. He couldn’t be too bad at it.

(Though, thinking back, one time Robin!Tim had mistakenly thought Bruce was staring at a music box because he wanted one [to be fair, it was bat-themed], when in actuality, it was a clue that would later lead to them rescuing five people. The visible bafflement [visible to a Bat, at least] on Bruce’s face when Tim had presented him with an identical music box was a treasured memory.)

There was a lot to read in the unspoken at tonight's dinner. Jason was there and not causing a scene. That may have been an aftereffect of yesterday’s taunt or his desire to ‘see the shit go down’ like some kind of pyromaniac movie star watching explosives go off from a questionably safe distance. But other than a minor comment, Jason was non-combative, and actually noticeably holding back to keep the peace. Exemplar A, he shut up when commanded. B, he didn’t retaliate when Damian kicked his shin.

Dick and Babs were peace-keeping too. Despite their little confrontation with Bruce, which only started out of concern for his safety, they were quick to drop the topic and kept their accusations to themselves. Well, that might’ve been thanks to Babs though. She was most skilled out of them all in keeping her charged conversations with Bruce shout-free. The promise Dick extracted from Bruce helped too.

As for the rest of them, well, they had always taken more of a backseat when it came to their issues with Bruce. None of them were as inclined to argue about it in front of everyone as the older ones were. Tim preferred to bottle his up and pretend they didn’t exist. Damian seemed to have taken the same strategy. Steph took to ranting to Tim about innocuous details while keeping the crux of her issues to herself. Which the older kids did too. They yelled about surface details and then kept mum on their actual qualms.

(Tim supposed Alfred and Cass’ preferred method was to simply leave.)

All very healthy of them.

Silence did always speak the loudest in the colony.

Chapter Text

Bruce had made another promise he didn’t intend on keeping. First, to Dick, about informing him about his curse-related actions. Bruce was planning on telling Dick about things he would frown upon but approve, not the riskier things he would not. He knew Dick promised not to interfere but the family was made of liars; promises meant nothing when weighed against supposed ‘better interests’. The little compromises would have to do to uphold the illusion of honesty. Then, Barbara (and Dick) extracted a promise from him to tell her about any side effects. Bruce was only going to tell her if they were as harmless as he expected them to be. He would be keeping the finer details to himself.

(Jason was right when he said transparency and Bruce were antonyms.)

Bruce was already in a… frazzled mood upon waking up and realising that he forced Dick to be his pillow. Being made the centre of curiosity and ridicule by Stephanie, Barbara, and Jason not long after did not help. He could barely restrain himself and those fucking octopus arms from reaching out and- and doing that which he had no right to. Instead, he tied himself into a knot and kept his head low. Held a tight leash on himself even as Barbara and Dick berated him for his mistruth, despite Bruce not knowing that it was something they would have wanted to know.

He wasn’t even doing it on purpose!

Side effects were passive. They weren’t an active curse-related dumb thing he was about to do. How was Bruce to know that they would be concerned over such a minor detail? Thankfully, Barbara and Dick let it go after extracting another promise from Bruce. Then, aside from a minor jab from Jason that later dissolved into harmless bickering, dinner was completed and Bruce made his escape.

Unlike Jason and Stephanie, Barbara stayed overnight, something she hasn’t done since the last time she helped babysit Jason, presumably not trusting that Bruce wouldn’t lie to her about any additional side effects despite the promise. A fair assumption. Bruce was still lying and concealing the damning fact of his mental age. He knew now that they wouldn’t take it kindly. Not like Selina or J’onn.

There would be consequences, no doubt, were this truth to come out. It wouldn’t be another lecture, more scolding, it would be worse. Perhaps it would be better if Bruce just confessed. His secrets kept tumbling out of late, it was possible that this one would be exposed too. But Bruce wasn’t in the habit of confessing. He had secrets older than the kids. Bruce wasn’t letting them know if he could help it.

He didn’t enjoy lying to his kids, but he would, and he does.

People were right not to trust him.

Trust was a gift too precious for the likes of Bruce.

Bruce sighed and held his face in his hands. Feeling like the two paltry human hands were inadequate to truly express the sheer exhaustion his nine-year-old bones felt, he raised his grey octo-arms and–

Wait.

Grey?

Bruce blinked.

Weren’t they red?

He looked to where he expected Ace to be sleeping only to remember that Bruce sent Ace away last night. He had opted to sleep on an air mattress in his bathroom, using three humidifiers to keep him moisturised. As such, Bruce told Ace to go somewhere more comfortable, less he got sick from being wet all night. The problem was, Bruce had gotten accustomed to curling beside Ace as he fell asleep, and thus, slept very poorly last night, only managing a scant few hours.

Surely, the grey was a result of inadequate sleep and not–

Okay.

Denial was a waste of energy. The kids were right to be worried. The side effects compounded. (Once again, only after he went to sleep. What would happen if he didn’t sleep? What if he slept outside Gotham?) It would be best if Bruce were not exposed to any more foreign magic right now. Which meant Dick would stay away.

The arms turned blue.

What in the five boroughs?

They were now a pale purple.

A hypothesis occurred to Bruce. He immediately set about testing it.

Granola. Pickles. Stale chips.

The arms turned green.

Of course. Of fucking course. Because why not? Why not have the misbehaving impulsive thought revealing octopus arms reflect emotions too? Clearly, Bruce was not suffering enough. Let’s further compromise his ability to keep a secret, to keep his private thoughts and emotions to himself, to maintain some semblance of composure when every day, he just wants to- wants to-... His desires were too precious to whisper even in the privacy of his mind. How dare this magic take from him what he dreads expose?

The arms turned red.

Fuck you.

And what’s worse was that Bruce did this to himself. He chose this. Brewed the damn potion and swallowed every last drop. He had no one to blame for this but himself.

Bruce wished he turned into an animal instead of his younger self, subject to emotions and impulses as fickle as the tides, shackled with weakness and neediness inherent to children. As an adult, he could pretend they didn’t exist, well enough that sometimes, he could forget he was merely pretending. As a child, he could suppress them well enough that dinner meetings were enough to tide him through to the next day. Now, as an octopus hybrid, he could neither pretend nor suppress.

If only he had been fully animal, Bruce could have submitted to those instincts instead and been anonymous and free for these hundred days. Instead, he’s nine and exposed.

His masks were magically crumbling and Bruce just wanted to hide-hide-hide.

… He was camouflaged now. But only his octo-arms. The rest of him was still fully visible so Bruce was confident in saying that this newfound ability was useless. But it was also useful in that he could convince the others that the change was simply camouflaging. Easy enough to force the change; hiding was his default state, he was always wanting to hide.

The arms continued to camouflage with Bruce’s surroundings as he pulled himself back into his tank. Bruce went about his morning routine while repeating the mantra of ‘hide-hide-hide’ in his mind, keeping his octopus arms contained within the tank, and most importantly, camouflaged.

It didn’t take too long for Barbara to find him in the kitchen, finishing a breakfast of eggs on toast.

“Good morning, Bruce. Is there any bread left?” she distractedly greeted, making herself a cup of coffee.

“Good morning, Barbara,” Bruce responded, swallowing his last bite. “There’s still half a loaf left.”

“Great, I can make a sandwich for lunch then.” She tiredly pushed her hair away from her face and watched the coffee slowly pour into her mug. “Do you mind popping two into the toaster for me?”

Bruce hummed and did as instructed. “Would you like anything with your toast?”

“Do you have any bacon and eggs?”

“I believe Tim bought some.”

Barbara yawned and mixed creamer into her coffee. She took a sip and set it aside as she placed a clean pan onto the stove. “Come to think of it, what are you doing up so early?”

Bruce shrugged. “I’m used to waking up early at this age.” He helped Barbara get the bacon and eggs from the fridge and some sandwich ingredients while he was at it.

“So you used to be a morning person?”

Bruce hummed. “Would you like me to pack your lunch?”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Barbara nodded haltingly as though stunned.

He busied himself with making a sandwich just like Alfred’s at the counter while Barbara fried up some bacon. Despite, their lower heights, the tasks were still accessible due to Bruce renovating everything in the manor (except the east wing) to be wheelchair friendly. Something that came in handy even after Barbara stopped frequenting the manor. (When Bane broke Bruce’s back, and now, as he was water tank bound.)

Deciding to rip off the band-aid, Bruce revealed, “I can camouflage now.”

The bacon in the pan sizzled. Barbara flipped it and cracked two eggs into the pan.

“... So we should keep Dick away from you.”

“The magic lingering around Dick should dissipate in a day or two. I suspect it would take a little longer for me to regain my legs.” Bruce knew more about magic than he liked to admit, and he was rather confident in his predictions. He just had to endure this… loss of control, for a few more days.

“Bruce,” Barbara said. Bruce waited for her to continue but when she didn’t, he let the moment pass and finished assembling her sandwich. His octo-arms had slithered out at one point and opened a cabinet to take out a cookie jar. Bruce had refilled it last night in a fit of insomnia. He packed a few with Barbara’s sandwich.

“Bruce,” Barbara tried again. She plated her breakfast and tapped her finger against the handle of her mug. “... I’m sorry for not checking in with you as often.”

His octopus arms turned pale purple. Fortunately, Barbara was looking down at her plate instead of Bruce, so his lie was still safe for now.

“I help the others with patrol every night - I never had to check in with them - so it never occurred to me to check in with you, even though we don’t work together anymore. I know we went out for the occasional lunch but it doesn’t excuse the fact that I let you… slip away.”

Bruce got his octo-arms back under control. He picked at his nails. “... You’re not under any obligation to check in on me.”

“No, but I should’ve. I didn’t even know you got a dog, Bruce. How long have you had Ace?”

“A year.”

The dog in question perked up at the sound of his name and clamoured for some pats. Bruce dutifully gave them to his good boy.

Barbara stabbed her toast and cut it aggressively. “It would’ve been nice to have met him a year ago. How did you even find him?”

The night Bruce found Ace wasn’t one he recalled very well. He wasn’t… of sound mind, and definitely shouldn’t have been wandering around as he was. But, luckily for Bruce, a little protector had attached itself to him, and the shaggy dog scared away any potential threats to his life, guarding Bruce all the way home.

“He was a stray and wouldn’t stop following me.”

Barbara huffed a laugh. “You and your strays,” she said fondly.

Bruce frowned. Ace was the only stray he’d kept. The rest, he brought to shelters he’d anonymously funded.

“Anyway, shoot me some texts every now and then. I don’t care what you text, doesn’t even have to be anything important, take a photo of a random flower you saw or whatever. Just, keep in touch, yeah?” Barbara implored, uncertainty in her tone.

Bruce blinked. “... Only if you do the same too.”

“Deal.”

Bruce nodded and left the kitchen feeling very confused but at the same time oddly happy.

“Bruce, Babs told me about the new side effect,” Dick called him in the afternoon and said. “I’m going back to my apartment for a few days.”

Bruce’s human hands stopped painting while his octopus ones continued to butcher his canvas with vibrant colours, leaving suction marks all over his cityscape.

“I’ve already told the others. Steph said she might pop in after work to bother you again. Oh, and I told Tim to go grocery shopping. Tell him if you need anything. Dami’ll go with him to restock on his art supplies, I think. I’ll remind them to pick up dinner on the way home too. Anything you want to eat, B?”

Bruce hummed absently and tried to fix his painting by adding strong outlines around everything but the blotches.

“No? Tim can choose whatever then. Actually, we’ve been eating take out too much, haven’t we? It’s not healthy. Oh, I know. Dami can make shakshuka. It’s his favourite dish.”

It’s Talia’s favourite too. She taught Bruce how to make her preferred version of it.

“You just gotta remind him when’s the best time to start cooking. They both get lost in whatever they’re doing, you know? Actually, now that I think about it, you do too. I’ll call Dami when it’s time and he’ll get you both when dinner’s ready.”

“We’re capable of taking care of ourselves, Dick.”

His octopus arms (the parts not covered in paint) flickered like LEDs in a gamer’s room, reflecting his swirl of conflicting emotions. Bruce felt like a child. And not like usual. Not in the same helpless ‘child alone in a big world’ kind of way. He felt like a child in the ‘child under the care of a trusted adult’ kind of way. Which, considering Dick was his son, was very confusing, to say the least.

At least, when the commissioner, back when he was still a detective, made Bruce feel that way, it was understandable. In the then detective’s eyes, Bruce was very small and very traumatised, and very vulnerable, and also very prone to running away. Very stray kitten found in a dumpster of him.

In Dick’s eyes, Bruce is supposed to be Batman. Tall. Strong. Intelligent. ADULT. More adult than Dick. Those were not keywords that invoke the feeling of ‘please take care of me or I’ll die’. So, it was odd, that Bruce was being treated like a child, not an adult that could take care of themselves. Was Bruce not being Adult enough lately?

“Mhm. I’ve seen you skip dinner because you got stuck on a case, only to raid the kitchen at 3 AM for some shredded cheese like some kind of goblin. Spare me the big, strong, capable man talk and just indulge me, yeah? Which reminds me, I should get Timmy to add shredded cheese to the shopping list.”

… Right. Adult Bruce in Dick’s eyes was rather unreliable, huh. Probably a side effect of the fact that most of Dick’s memories of him were from when he still lived in the manor, before he moved out at sixteen. Bruce was still in his twenties then. Who he was in his twenties really shouldn’t be used to judge who he was today, at the age of technically thirty-nine.

“Don’t worry about us and make sure to eat a proper dinner, Dick.”

“Aaaaand, that’s my cue to hang up now. Bye Bruce!”

His octopus arms turned a light purple at the abrupt end of the call. Was it something he said?

Barbara: Thanks for the sandwich and cookies
Barbara: They were nice

Bruce: [Photo of Ace sleeping on a dog bed]

Barbara liked the image

Stephanie has added Tim, Damian, and Bruce to the chat
Stephanie has renamed the chat ‘Refuel or diefuel’
Stephanie has changed her nickname to Steph💜
Steph💜has changed Tim’s nickname to Timber🪓
Steph💜 has changed Damian’s nickname to Dames🎀
Steph💜 has changed Bruce’s nickname to (k)night🐴

Steph💜: Can you believe Dick wants us to cook lmao

Timber🪓: We /have/ been eating a lot of take out lately

Steph💜: Ew get outta here with that bs

Timber🪓: :]

Dames🎀: He wants me to make shakshuka
Dames🎀: Shakshuka is a breakfast meal

Steph💜: Imagine eating breakfast for dinner
Steph💜: Perish the thought

Timber🪓: Lmao says waffle girl

Bruce was in a group chat.

Bruce hasn’t been in a non-business group chat in… ever? Unless the Girls and Galas and Greatness (and Brucie is here) group chat counted. That was just used to coordinate their trolling and protective services though. It wasn’t really a chatting group chat. Bruce mostly kept that chat muted.

Maybe they added him mistakenly. (And gave him a nickname while they were at it. Was the (k)night in reference to ‘Dark Knight; and the ‘I am the Night’ parody video? And the horse… Was that in conjunction with knight in the same way the axe referenced lumberjacks in Tim’s nickname and the bow connected to a dame in Damian’s? Or was it a pun and the horse was in fact a female horse?)

Refuel or diefuel

Steph💜: @(k)night🐴 Thoughts on dinner?

Well, that confirmed that. He was in this group chat intentionally.

Refuel or diefuel

(k)night🐴: Whatever is easier.

Timber🪓: We’re getting batburger then

Dames🎀: I do not want batburger

Steph💜: Gasp
Steph💜: Traitor
Steph💜: Fake bat

Dames🎀: Their vegetarian options leave much to be desired
Dames🎀: I am not in the mood for fries and salad

Timber🪓: How bout a milkshake
Timber🪓: Want a milkshake b

Steph💜: I want double fudge w rainbow sprinkles

Timber🪓: Oh im sorry
Timber🪓: I wasnt aware u changed ur name to b
Timber🪓: My bad

Steph💜: 💔
Steph💜: Ur so mean Timmy
Steph💜: Drown in the singular tear i shed over this

Timber🪓: Oh no
Timber🪓: Anyway
Timber🪓: B what milkshake u want

(k)night🐴: Banana, thank you.

Timber🪓: Nws
Timber🪓: Damian and I will be back in two hours with whatever dinner he decides on

Steph💜: And I shall be there too

Dinner sounded nice. Too nice. Bruce was worried he would slip up. It was hard enough keeping his octopus arms camouflaged during his brief interaction with Barbara that morning. How was Bruce to keep it from changing colours and exposing him for the liar that he was all throughout dinner? He’d have to stay vigilant. More so than he already was.

Cat: I’m coming over to kidnap you
Cat: I let the kids be long enough
Cat: My turn for a girls night at my place

Bat: I am currently an octopus hybrid with octopus arms instead of legs. I require a water tank or judicious placement of humidifiers less I dry out. The octopus arms have minds of their own.

Cat: That’s hilarious
Cat: I’m kidnapping you extra hard
Cat: Girls night just the two of us :3

His saviour had arrived to burglar him.

Refuel or diefuel

(k)night🐴: I regret to inform that I will be missing dinner. I will report in at an appropriate time instead. Selina has expressed her intentions of ‘kidnapping’ me for the night. Possibly tomorrow too.

Steph💜: !!!

Dames🎀: Father what does Kyle want from you

Timber🪓: So you dont wnat a milkshake anymore

(k)night🐴: She stated that she stayed away for long enough in respect of you kids. I suspect she is curious about my current state. And no, Tim, I do not want a milkshake. Thank you for the offer.

Steph💜: Shes gonna hog octobruce!!!!!!!

Dames🎀: Send my regards to Kyle, Father

(k)night🐴: I will, Damian.

Timber🪓: Wait
Timber🪓: Do we need to tell the others about this????
Timber🪓: Babs and Dick dont need to knwo do they

Steph💜: …
Steph💜: What babs and dick dont know cant hurt them

Dames🎀: It is unnecessary to report this
Dames🎀: Father does not require supervision and this is not curse related
Dames🎀: And regards to the dinner agreement
Dames🎀: Father has already stated his intentions of reporting in

Steph💜: Hard agree
Steph💜: The dinner thing is weird anyway
Steph💜: When I heard Dick was reinforcing mandatory dinner I was like whattttt
Steph💜: Theres no way thats gonna last long
Steph💜: And Im right!!
Steph💜: Here it is. Collapsing 💜

Timber🪓: The dinner rule is just a check in tho
Timber🪓: No idea what u find so weird about it

Steph💜: :)

The conversation was taking a weird turn but at least Bruce avoided dinner? He should stop changing colours tomorrow too. Perfect.

Chapter Text

When Selina laid her eyes on Bruce, she instantly burst into a fit of laughter.

Bruce’s octopus arms turned pink and a dusting of the same colour decorated his cheeks. “It’s not funny,” he complained.

“Oh come on, Bruce! You’re stuck in a tank. It’s fucking hilarious.”

Bruce crossed his arms and glared at Selina. (He did not pout. He didn’t!)

“What’s with the tank anyway? Did you just have this mobile monstrosity lying around?”

Bruce’s jaw dropped at the description. The arms turned a pale red. “It is not a monstrosity. Tim made it for me out of the old bot scraps in the Cave.”

“Oh. Leftovers from your blueprint hobby?”

Pink again. “Tim still thinks there were tactical intentions to those bots.”

Selina nodded faux-solemnly. “Can’t let him find out you’re a bigger dork than him.”

“You’re the dork.”

“Is that the best you can do? You have so much left to learn, my Padawan.”

Selina teased him some more even as they got to work getting Bruce and his water tank into her car. They emptied the tank first and then wrapped his octopus arms in a wet towel. Humiliatingly, Selina carried Bruce into the passenger seat of the car, laughing over Bruce’s protests. With the help of a ramp, she managed to get the tank into the trunk and then away they went.

Ace stayed home because as much of a good boy he was, Selina’s place was the home of a colony or two of cats. Cats did not tend to like dogs even if they were good boys.

(Bruce would deny spending ten minutes to say goodbye to Ace.)

“I got you a present,” Selina said, apropos of nothing. “In the glove box.”

The octopus arms squirmed in their wet towel prison, eager to see what the gift was. Bruce simply raised an eyebrow at his friend.

Selina smirked. “Nothing bad, I promise.”

Bruce opened the glove box and found a small gift bag, typical of jewellery shops. That was a point to it not being stolen. He opened it and found a small flat box inside. It was very light. Bruce rattled it next to his ear. Whatever it was, it was packaged tightly.

“So paranoid,” Selina groaned.

Bruce opened the box.

Nestled inside was a necklace. The chain was made of a black wax string and it was attached to a dark grey pendant. Carved into the pendant was a stylised black triceratops skull.

Bruce ran his fingers over the design, “I thought you said you’ll get a paw print.”

“Turns out they make different paw prints for cats and dogs, so I changed my mind. ”

Bruce slipped the necklace around his neck and adjusted it to fit him better. He brought it to his mouth and lightly chewed on it, making a mental note to properly sanitise it later. “Thank you.”

“This is why you always follow your kidnappers,” Selina joked.

They made it to Selina’s flat in companionable silence and once again, Bruce was carried out of the car. Selina deposited Bruce on the couch, wet towel and all, and then went back out to retrieve the tank.

Immediately, the cats converged on him.

“Hello,” Bruce whispered his greetings. “It’s been a long while. I see you have some new friends.”

He nuzzled the cats who still recognised him despite the new and strange appearance, some even playfully swatting at his octopus arms. Bruce did his best to pat each one individually but it was difficult when they kept pressing against him, clamouring for more.

Naturally, Bruce found himself buried in purring cats by the time Selina came back.

“What did I say, kindred spirits.”

“Selina, help,” Bruce begged, barely audible under the rumbling of Mt. Feline.

Selina laughed instead of helping. “I gotta fill up that tank of yours, Brucipus.”

“Brucipus?”

“Well, I can’t call you Bat now, can I?”

“You’re horrible. I’ll like a refund on our friendship.”

His heart skipped a beat at the realisation of what he’d just said but Selina just replied without pause, “Sorry, store policy states no refunds without receipts.”

She finally shooed her cats away and sat beside where he had collapsed on the couch. A gentle hand raked through his hair. “Besides, I stole you from your tower so you don’t get a say in this.” Selina grinned and tweaked Bruce’s nose.

Bruce squawked and covered his face with his hands, grateful that his octopus arms were still trapped in their towel prison. He didn’t want to know what colour they were now. “Are you calling me a princess or treasure? I want to be the dragon instead.”

Selina snorted. “You certainly hoard enough to be one.”

“I do not,” Bruce lied.

“Sure, and I go to galas for the food.”

Bruce rolled his eyes at Selina and unravelled the towel wrapped around his octopus arms. They were yellow. Huh. “Are Harley and Ivy joining us?”

“Nope. I told you, it’s just us.”

Bruce hummed. It was so obvious that Selina just wanted to gossip. About Bruce specifically.

“What are the new kitties’ names?” he asked instead.

“Wukong, Bajie, and Wujing.”

“The disciples of the monk Tang Sanzang? Nerd.”

Selina flicked his nose. “You’re the one who recognised their partial names.”

She popped him back into the tank and they headed to the bathroom to fill it up. The octo-arms danced around in the glass confines, delighted at the fresh water. They were still yellow.

“How are your new limbs treating you?”

“They’re annoying,” Bruce complained. He glanced down. The arms were orange. Ugh. So fucking annoying.

Selina also looked down. “I can see how that’ll be a problem. You hate colour.”

Pale purple. “No, I don’t.”

“It’s okay, emo boy. You don’t need to deny it.”

“My favourite colour is literally yellow.”

“And mine is blue. What a wonderful bonding session this has been.” Selina laughed and walked back to the couch to cuddle with her cats. Bruce took a moment to join her, still feeling baffled over what that was all about.

They didn’t continue the conversation and instead began to play a two player game on Selina’s console.

“Hey, how many of your secrets have spilled out?”

Bruce’s finger slipped and his character fell into the abyss. “You did that on purpose,” he accused.

“You can’t prove it.”

Pouting, Bruce tried to catch up in the game. “They know it has to do with the curse.”

Selina’s character fell into the abyss. Bruce’s octo-arms turned bright yellow as a beautiful smug smile bloomed on his face. He might’ve laughed too.

“You told them?”

“No. I asked Amaya to.” Because Bruce was too much of a coward to tell them himself. Because he didn’t think he could handle adults yelling at him in his current state.

“Who is Amaya?”

“An ancient witch.” Bruce didn’t allow her to distract him again and focussed on crossing the finish line.

“Your potions master?”

“Yes.”

“So they know and they didn’t lock you up?”

“What do you mean ‘lock me up’?”

Selina aggressively pressed a button. “To stop you from doing anymore ‘curse’ things.”

“We’re under an agreement that they won’t try to stop me as long as I tell them about it.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, there’s no way you’re keeping that promise. Your kids were naive enough to believe you?”

(Blue-grey.)

“They didn’t have a reason to doubt me. I had been remarkably honest at the time.” His character won the game but Bruce wasn’t feeling very victorious.

“Clearly.” The sarcasm was palpable as Selina side-eyed him. “They’re very blind when it comes to you.”

Bruce noticed. The kids didn’t have a problem detecting when Batman was under the influence of drugs or mind control but when it came to Bruce, they tended to only see what they expected. Most days, Bruce didn’t know how they interpreted his actions and words, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that. However, lately, he was just grateful for the reprieve that blind spot afforded him.

“You lying to them all the time doesn’t help either.”

That was depressingly true.

“I wouldn’t say all the time.”

“Is it hard? Pretending to be more mature than you are?”

When the silence stretched uncomfortably long, Selina visibly began to backtrack.

“Will I finally see my immature son learn about responsibility?” she dramatically sighed. “Maybe one day, he’ll learn to put the toilet seat down after he’s finished in the bathroom too. Ah, a mother can hope.”

All of Bruce’s limbs splashed water on Selina and the cats escaped en masse.

“Hey!”

“I’m more mature than you! Even at this age!” he protested, verbally acknowledging the truth of his mental age.

“Gasp! I have more maturity in the tip of my pinkie than you do in your whole body.”

“Did you just say gasp out loud?”

“You called yourself mature while splashing water on me.”

“You deserved it.”

“This is child abuse.”

Bruce spluttered into a surprised laugh. “That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Hush, child.”

(Yellow turned to purple.) “You baffle me.”

A grin. “I know.”

“No, really. I… Since we met, you… you just had a way of…” Bruce paused, frustrated at himself for his ineloquence. He’d never known how to properly say what he really wanted to say. Heartfelt speeches didn’t come naturally to him and Bruce hadn’t known he would be spilling his heart out tonight. He hadn’t had time to even ruminate over possible words that would convey even a fraction of what Selina meant to him.

The silence dragged on uncomfortably once more but this time Selina let it be. Bruce looked at her in askance and she just looked back patiently.

“You’re weird,” he finally decided upon. Which was not what he meant to say. It was true but it still wasn’t where his train of thought was going before it was so brutally cut short by his inadequacy.

“So are you,” Selina volleyed back.

“This is not what I’m trying to say. You- ugh.”

(Orange, close to red.)

“Do you want me to help brainstorm?”

“I don’t even know what there is to brainstorm.”

Selina hummed. “Then think on it, Detective.”

Bruce wrinkled his nose. “Don’t call me that.” Ra’s called him that. He called Tim that. Which was weird because who used the same nickname for two different people in the same circle? Unoriginal decrepit fosil. Bruce hated Ra’s and he was glad he rejected his offer to be his heir decades ago.

(Now that he was thinking about it, maybe that was why Ra’s married Bruce and Talia without either of their inputs. Not that either of them took it very seriously.)

“Alright, Brucipus. Collect your thoughts while I feed the cats. Call out when you’re finished thinking.”

Through the cacophony of mewing cats and a cooing Selina, Bruce chewed on his new gift and tried to do as directed.

Selina was… she was kind of bossy, honestly. And she always did whatever she wanted. Selina stole whenever she fancied it, and had a habit of disappearing for months at a time. She was self-serving and cared for herself first and foremost.

But she was kind in her own special way. Selina kept the population of stray cats in Gotham safe and under control. She helped fund multiple shelters and provided safe options to women in need. The museum in Gotham would be filled with much more stolen art pieces and culturally significant relics if it weren’t for her.

And.

And she didn’t judge. Or, if she did, she mostly kept her opinions to herself.

“Still brainstorming?” The main character of his thoughts sprawled across the couch and scrolled through her phone. “I’m gonna order dinner while you do that.”

Bruce decided to help her order dinner instead. When the food arrived, Bruce’s octo-arms foisted the food he didn’t like onto Selina’s plate and then stole a bite of the food he did like for himself. Selina’s only response was to steal some of Bruce’s food in return, and then shovelled some vegetables into his mouth. The octo-arms went pink and orange at the intrusion of bell peppers ruining the taste of his dinner.

Then they played some more games, watched a children’s film, and cuddled with a cat or ten. (Maybe he cuddled with Selina too. Or, the octo-arms did, and then Selina dragged him into a cuddle session.)

“You’re weird,” Bruce repeated later that night. He was situated on an air mattress with two humidifiers set on max on either side of him. The air mattress had a small hole in it and made a noise every time he shifted. Someone had stuck glowing cat stickers on the ceiling. Bruce suspected the culprit was Harley.

“So you’ve said,” Selina replied from up on her bed.

“You’re a thief.”

“A very good one.”

“You hate rich people.”

“Who doesn’t?”

“Despite that, you’re my friend.”

Bruce half expected Selina to make another joke but instead, she turned and looked down at him from where she was laying in bed. “You’re one of my best friends, Bruce.”

He took that as permission to be even more vulnerable than he already was. “When I’m around you, I don’t feel like I’m being graded on an invisible rubric.”

Selina raised an eyebrow. “Feel like that often, do ya?”

Bruce felt the octopus arms curled up and tie themselves into knots. A few covered his face. “A lot of people expect me to be more than I am. I’m given a role with no script and then they’re disappointed when I say the wrong lines. But you… you just go along with the… ad-libs. You adapt to the changing roles with ease and- and I don’t know where I’m going with this metaphor.”

Selina was leaning slightly out of bed now. “What I’m getting is that you have a very high opinion of me.”

“I’m comfortable around you and it confuses me. You make me feel more relaxed than my family does.”

Selina kept silent. It was her turn to contemplate now. “I can’t comment on your family other than say that you’re weird about it. But I can explain why you’re comfortable with me; you’re a cat and there’s a reason cats like me.”

(Pale purple. But the arms were uncurling.)

“Cats don’t like being touched without permission. They don’t like to be manhandled. They have their boundaries and reinforce them with tooth and claw. You show that you respect those boundaries, you back off when warned, you earn their trust. They let you get close. They let you touch them. Soon, you’re rubbing their belly and all you get is a playful swat when they’ve had enough. A cat’s affection is a privilege to be earned and all cat owners know that.”

Bruce scrunched his nose and pretended he couldn’t see the pink and yellow squirming about on the air mattress in the dim lighting of street lamps peeking through the gaps of blackout curtains. “You sound like a horse girl and I’m the wild horse you tamed.”

“Pffttt! You’re the one who said it! I compared you to a cat and you choose to be an ill-tempered horse?”

“I am not accepting the cat allegations.”

“Sure, sure. Whatever you say, kitty.”

“What boundaries do I have?” Bruce couldn’t help but ask.

“Just think about and you’ll know, dummy. You’re uncomfortable when they’re not respected.”

“I’m uncomfortable when I’m out in public.”

“That’s because you don’t know if people are going to respect your boundaries and you’re a paranoid bastard so you’re uncomfortable in advance.”

“Huh. Then how come I’m comfortable around you?”

“You trust me not to make you uncomfortable. Ergo, you feel comfortable enough to be comfortable.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.” Selina leaned down and clumsily ruffled Bruce’s hair. “Now, go to sleep.”

“... Goodnight, Selina.”

“Goodnight, Bruce.”

“Bruce. Bruce.”

He jolted awake and froze at the sight of Selina leaning over him, concerned look on her face barely visible in the sparse lighting. Eyes wide, he just stared.

“You were having a nightmare,” Selina explained, one hand raking his hair in long soothing strokes.

“I-’ Bruce choked on the word and swallowed heavily. “Was I too loud?” He shouldn’t have been. His nightmares were never loud. Not anymore.

“No, you were quiet,” Selina answered almost knowingly. She pointed her chin to the side and Bruce followed her gaze to his writhing octopus arms. One had knocked over the humidifiers. Another wrapped itself around his torso. A few curled under the blanket. Most were grabbing Selina.

Bruce flushed with shame and his octopus arms withdrew at his command. Damn abominable things. He hated everything about them.

The arms turn invisible.

Useless, hateful things.

Selina leaned across him to straighten up the humidifier. On the way, she gave the arms a gentle pat and looked back at him. Whatever she saw in his face led to her opening her arms. “Come on,” Selina whispered encouragingly.

The octopus arms went without hesitation. Bruce didn’t check what colour they were. He was stuck watching Selina’s face.

“I’m here for you.”

Bruce took in a shuddering breath. He could feel himself devolving into a hot mess, tears falling without permission, pitiful sobs leaving his mouth, loud in a way he’d not heard from himself in a long, long time.

His loud was still achingly quiet. Bruce wasn’t sure he knew how to cry without a gag anymore. He used to be loud, he remembered. It was easier to remember now, with the memories much closer to the surface now than they had been before. Once upon a time, when he was sure his cries would be met with comfort, Bruce had been loud.

“Come here.”

He crashed into her arms and let go.

She held him tight, one hand at the base of his head, another rubbing circles in his back. Selina wasn’t Alfred. She wasn’t Mama or Papa. But Bruce felt comforted nonetheless.

“You’ll be alright,” she whispered.

And Bruce let himself believe for that brief moment.

Once Bruce’s sobbing died down, he pulled back and Selina let him go without a fuss.

“I’m going to heat up some milk.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I’m going to. You stay here and keep Bajie company.” Selina swooped the kitten from the foot of her bed and popped it down in Bruce’s arms. Bajie’s only response was to sleepily nuzzle Bruce’s hand. By the time Bruce got his faculties back, Selina had already stepped out of the room.

He took the moment to compose himself, burying his face in Bajie’s fur. Bajie began to purr. The sound was a balm washing over him, as Bruce tensed and untensed his muscles, feeling his heart rate slow back down to that unremarkable beat.

“Here.” Selina placed the mug in his hands. It was warm. Bruce took a sip. It was sweet, tasting like honey. Just like Alfred used to make it. Bruce wondered how Selina knew.

“Thank you,” he said belatedly.

Selina hummed and knocked her shoulder against his. She had a mug in hand too.

“You asked me,” Bruce began hesitantly. “You asked if it was hard to pretend. It is and it is not.”

“Is this what your nightmare was about?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Selina waited for Bruce to gather his thoughts for the nth time that night.

“I’ve been thinking about it since you asked. I think I act more maturely in front of them. At least, that’s the intention but… I also acted quite similarly at this age. Perhaps if we spoke more often, it would take more effort on my part to conceal it,” Bruce said carefully.

“You do have an old soul,” Selina teased.

An octopus arm playfully swatted Selina’s shoulder and she took it hostage, squeezing it like a toy in her hand.

“You did a pretty good job when we went to lunch with Babs.”

“You think so?”

“Mhm.”

“She might’ve been too distracted by the whole kid thing though.”

“Maybe. But I only found you out because you had your guard down around me,” Selina revealed. “You weren’t prepared for us and were easily baited into acting immaturely along with us. Harley was excited so you felt able to be excited in return, just like a kid. You pouted at losing at UNO. You got flustered when it came for your punishment. You kept the flower crown in your hair the entire night. Those are the kinds of things you’re more mindful of when it comes to your family.”

Bruce saw some flaws in that assumption. His kids were immature and frequently acted childishly in front of him, yet Bruce never felt inclined to act accordingly. Instead, he kept to himself and focussed on maintaining the golden silence his Uncle Philip loved so dearly.

“The kids are childish,” he said.

“You’re weird about family,” Selina repeated. “And we drag you into our nonsense.”

Unlike the kids.

“They’ve been more interested in me as of late. I thought that these two months would just be quiet dinners together but yesterday, I had breakfast with Damian and Tim. And then, I accidentally fell asleep while Dick begged a ‘real octopus hug’ out of me. This morning, Barbara said she’ll be checking-in with me more often. I don’t think I’ll be able to hide for much longer if this trend continues,” Bruce rambled.

Selina hummed and took a sip of her milk. Bruce did the same. “They’re going to find out. No matter how blind they are when it comes to you, the truth will come out eventually. There are a few things you can do. You can try to hide it as long as you can, and deal with the inevitable fallout, or you can fess up and better present your case.”

“I don’t like how mature and wise you sound right now. It’s weird,” Bruce grumbled.

Selina tweaked his nose for that comment. “Is that our favourite word today? ‘Weird’.”

“Do you think they’ll let me keep going around by myself if I told the truth?”

“Let an unsupervised child wander around, you mean?”

Bruce gulped a large mouthful of his milk. “I let them wander around when they were Robin.”

“Liar.”

“Okay. I let them think they went around unsupervised. So, they should be open to giving me that same freedom, except it’s real because they don’t know I kept an eye on them.”

Selina hummed and patted Bruce’s head in a patronising manner. “A boy can dream.”

As if on command, Bruce broke out into an ear-splitting yawn.

“Right. Time to go back to sleep.” Selina laid flat on her back and held Bruce to her torso. “You’re lucky it’s summer right now, Brucipus. I’ll be abandoning your fishy ass to sleep alone otherwise.”

Bruce slapped Selina’s shoulder with a pink/yellow/grey arm. “I’m not fishy.”

“You sure? Because you’re doing a rather good impression of a barnacle right now.”

Bruce knocked his forehead against Selina’s clavicle. “You’re the barnacle.”

“We really need to work on your comebacks, kid.”

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor sat on top of a hill over at Bristol, a part of but apart from Gotham, her nearest neighbour being the unoccupied Drake Manor. The stately manor was a thing of beauty, a blend of historical and modern architecture, preserved by both magic and human labour. She used to be occupied by the extended Wayne family - parents, children, grandparents and uncles and cousins - and servants - kitchen staff, housekeepers, butlers, and valets. Now, the sole occupants were the Wayne patriarch and his loyal dog (discounting the occasional guess appearance from the bats under Wayne Manor).

Name:

The loyal dog gained a name along with a home the night he decided to follow the sad looking human home. After cycling through countless names, the dog and human were finally satisfied with the short but sweet ‘Ace’ and so the stray with no name became Ace, loyal companion and the best dog a man could ask for.

Along with his name, Ace gained a superhero identity. His human made a helmet just for him and even swapped out his collar for one with spikes and bats. And then he gave him another name. Ace was the Bat-Hound. Hound. Not Dog. Because Bat-Dog sounded too much like bad dog, and Ace was much too good to be called bad. He was a Good Boy. Everyone told him so! His human, the witch, the children, everyone. Plus, he was a superhero now and everyone knew that superheroes were good. Just look at his human. He was a superhero and he was the goodest man Ace knew.

Ace’s Silly Human’s superhero identity was Batman. The Bat-Hound knew this because on the few times he’d been on patrol with his masked human, drive-through workers called him Batman, before they gave him his takeaway and the Batmobile sped back to the Batcave.

It wasn’t until months after Ace met his Silly Human that he found out his name name. That’s because his human didn’t talk to anyone, at least not where Ace could hear, and the few he did talk to didn’t use his name at all, just sir or mister. It was only after his human met the witch called Amaya, who adored Ace and frequently hosted dinner, that Ace learnt his human’s name. Bruce. His human was called Bruce. It was a good name, short but sweet. Ace preferred to call him Ace’s Silly Human though.

Locked Doors:

Ace and Bruce spent pretty much all their hours together, except when Bruce went out by himself, so Ace noticed a lot of things about his Silly Human. Bruce was strange in all aspects of his life but Ace thought this might be the strangest of them all.

He had a habit of standing in front of closed doors.

These doors were typically those near the room they sleep in, but there was another door, further away; down the hall, through the kitchen, and across the lesser frequented area of the house, whose purpose is not known to Ace. Bruce never touched the doors and when Ace tried to open the doors for his Silly Human, he found that they wouldn’t budge. They were locked out and whatever his human wanted from behind them, they were barred from it. But Ace didn’t think Bruce wanted to unlock the doors. He just stood in front of them with a lost look on his face, staring blankly for minutes and then hours, until whatever thought he was lost in was put to rest.

When Bruce went quiet and stared at locked doors for too long, Ace would sit beside him, leaning against his bulk as a reminder that he wasn’t alone, because Bruce forgot too often.

Then when Bruce came back, he would pat Ace on the head and scratch behind his ear, and call him Good Boy. Then, they’ll go on a walk, or eat, or just cuddle, and they’ll leave the locked doors behind.

Sleep:

Unlike Ace, who could sleep anywhere and anytime, Bruce was not very good at sleeping and staying asleep. Ace knew this because when Bruce did sleep, he always curled up around Ace even though the bed was so big and had so much room. And because they were always touching, Ace would feel it when Bruce’s dreams turned bad. His arm would tighten around Ace and sometimes, Bruce would even stop breathing.

Ace learnt that if he nuzzled against Bruce softly, or licked him on the temple, Bruce would sometimes relax and continue sleeping. If Ace failed at soothing the hurt before it scared Bruce awake, Ace liked to lick Bruce until he was shaking with laughter, until whatever ruined his sleep was out of mind. Unfortunately, once he was awake, Bruce still liked to leave the warmth of the bed, and occupy his mind with work or any task he could find.

As always, Ace would follow, and then nap wherever Bruce decided to go. Sometimes, Bruce would see Ace sleeping and go back to bed. Most times, he didn’t.

Art:

Except for days his mind was somewhere else, Bruce was always doing something. Most of the time, that something happened in the house under the house. In the cave, Bruce exercised and sat at the computer and did things in the lab and pretended not to look at the bats. He was always busy in the cave, so most of the time, when Bruce was in the cave, Ace just stayed in the various beds down there and played with his toys.

In the house upstairs, Bruce did a lot of different things. Ace’s favourite was when he played with him. He liked going on long walks around the manor, or at the dog park. If Ace was lucky, Bruce would even play fight with him! Ace’s second favourite was when they went to the music room, with the pretty coloured windows and big piano. Depending on his mood, Bruce would make the piano sing or shout or scream. And Ace would howl, joining in on the fun. Bruce didn’t really appreciate it when he did it to the quieter songs though. Ace didn’t blame him. Not everyone could appreciate good music when they heard it.

In quieter moments, Bruce liked to sketch or doodle or paint. Most of the time it was doodling on the margins of case files when he was lost in thought. Sometimes though, Bruce would sit down properly and dedicate his time to do a full sketch. He mostly stuck to graphite or pen, but when the mood struck, Bruce would use colour pencils too. Even rarer, he would paint with watercolour or oil or acrylic. Ace didn’t really find this as fun as the others but he would still sit at Bruce’s feet and watch him relax.

Hurt:

For some bizarre reason, Bruce was always getting hurt.

He’d leave when the sun had long set and the moon was at its peak, and then come back a few hours before sunrise, smelling of blood and pain and hurt.

Bruce was a human that hurt. Ace knew this from the start. Knew it when he chose to follow him that night. When the streets were dark, and Bruce should’ve been rushing to his destination instead of walking as slowly and unaware as he was. Ace had known that Bruce didn’t think about personal safety.

Yes, Bruce took care of his hurt, and wrapped white bandages around them instead of letting Ace lick his wounds better. And yes, Bruce rested when he needed to. But it still hurt to see Bruce get hurt and not be able to do anything about it!

The only thing Ace could do was stay close. When Bruce stumbled, Ace was there to catch him. When his back ached, Ace was there to support him. And when his heart hurt, Ace was there to comfort him.

He still wished he wasn’t getting hurt as often.

Small:

Recently, Bruce had changed and turned really small. Smaller than Ace! He was like a little puppy. One time, he even grew puppy ears.

The smaller Bruce played with Ace more and laughed a lot. Ace loved hearing Bruce laugh, especially when Ace licked his face and he tried to pretend not to like it. Little Bruce also cried a lot. Ace didn’t like that part of the transformation. But he tried his best to comfort Bruce and keep him company.

It helped that Bruce was smaller than Ace now and he could easily carry him on his back.

Before Ace could get used to the changes, new people started living in their home. They weren’t exactly ‘new’ to the home - Ace recognised their smell from the rooms Bruce would stand in front of for hours - but they were new to Ace. The humans made Ace’s Silly Human behave strangely. Ace wasn’t sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, Bruce liked that they were there, and Ace liked their pets. On the other hand, they made Bruce sad, and Bruce kept telling Ace to go to them instead.

Ace listened to Bruce because he was a Good Boy, but he wanted to be with Bruce instead.

Not to say that he didn’t like the new people.

They played with him and gave him treats and pats.

But they weren’t the sad human Ace met that night so Ace found himself missing Bruce when he was with them.

Regardless, he split his time between Bruce and the other humans, while hoping that maybe they’ll spend time together instead so that Bruce wouldn’t have to send Ace away.

Art Break:

[A.N: While trapped in this writer’s block, I’ve also been drawing in an attempt to get over it lol. Here’s Octo!Bruce sulking in his tank because of Selina. He’s totally grumpy and angry, guys. Don’t look at the colour of the octoarms. They totally do not represent joy and bashfulness. Bruce is so angry.]

[The selfie with Ace! I did this on my brother’s iPad and I don’t have a stylus so yeah]

Chapter Text

Dick stared at the skyline from up on Wayne Tower and smiled. “Quiet night; should we play some tag?”

“Nightwing,” Damian hissed. “I will string your guts along the intersection.”

“Not only did you utter that cursed phrase, you also want to spread your magic cooties to us? Hard pass,” came Steph’s reply.

“Magic cooties?” Dick spluttered.

“You turned B into an octopus and made his legs disappear!”

“B is literally the only one who would be affected by that! And it's not my fault I got dosed by a magic cookie.”

“Skill issue,” Tim mocked.

“You all ate the cookies as well!” Dick protested.

“And yet,” Jason teased.

“You know what? I’m it and the rest of you are dead meat!”

“Oh no, I’m so scared. Someone, save me from this clown,” Jason deadpanned.

“Still a better clown than the Joker,” Tim and Steph chorused automatically.

“The bar’s in hell,” Jason lamented. “If only I could send him there too.”

“You know what they say,” Dick began, too used to his self-assigned Jason redirecting role to falter now, “It’s not the destination, it’s the journey.”

“The real treasure was the hell we inflicted on the way,” Babs drily added. “Remind me again how many bones you broke the last time he made an escape?”

Jason guffawed and sounded distinctly demonic, especially through his voice modulator, though he largely toned it down on the comms. “Only all the ones in his hands and feet. I was feeling generous that day.”

Babs laughter joined Jason’s until she cut herself off with a groan. “Break in at White Corner.”

“Nightwing,” Damian cursed. As he was the closest operative, he went to take care of it.

“Armed robbery at the Main Street Bank.”

“I deal with that cursed q word at my real person job and I deal with it now,” Steph complained. “At least, I’m allowed to beat up the guilty party this time.”

“You better sleep with one eye open tonight, Dickwing,” Jason swore.

“Domestic alteration at the Ivy Apartments. Needs close observations.”

“I thought you were meant to be blessed right now,” Tim groused.

“I’m being bullied.”

“It’s your fault for jinxing it. Also, you’re needed at the docks.”

Dick groaned, triggering a laugh from Babs.

“You really only have yourself to blame for this.”

He grumbled all the way to the docks, leading to everyone unanimously deciding to kick him off the main comm line, out of pure annoyance. Dick grumbled even more after that, to his audience of one. Poor Babs was forced to leave the private line open in case of emergencies, but it was all worth it for—

“There’s nothing here?!”

This exact moment.

Babs burst into laughter as Dick realised what she had done.

“Oracle, why?” he cried.

“Because I could.”

Defeated, Dick plopped down on the ledge of a warehouse. “You’re in a good mood today.”

Babs hummed. “I spoke with Bruce this morning.”

“I don’t see how that has anything to do with your mood. If anything, I’d expect it to worsen,” Dick joked, legs kicking back and forth in the air.

“You know, you complain about Jason being antagonistic about Bruce, but you’re no better.”

Dick paused, legs stilling in midair. “... I was just joking.”

“You sure?”

Dick opened his mouth and then shut it again. “Yes,” he answered decisively. “Yes, I am.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

Dick scrunched up his nose. “What does B have to do with your mood?”

“I caught him just as he was finishing breakfast. Turns out, he used to be an early riser, and the habit followed him into, well, regression.”

“The naps too.” Dick chuckled, remembering how Bruce had fallen asleep on him just yesterday. Despite how flustered he was in the moment and the extra information he learnt afterwards, Dick still couldn’t bring himself to regret what happened. It was one of the best hugs in his life, ‘cause octopus, duh, and he got to cuddle for so, so long without Bruce complaining about it!

“He helped me pack my lunch, and slipped in a couple of cookies while he was at it.”

“What? Why didn’t I get any cookies? What is this favouritism? I knew you were always the favourite child,” Dick gasped dramatically.

“Oh hush you. I’m the favourite wherever I go.”

“All hail the mighty Oracle.” Dick fell back onto his back and stared up at the night sky. He could see a couple of satellites twinkling in the black, brighter than stars. Morbidly, he wondered if one ever fell, would someone make a wish upon it? “What did you two speak about?”

“Things,” Babs replied cryptically. Before Dick could press, she continued, “Did you know he had Ace for a year now?”

Dick hummed. “Yeah, he mentioned.”

“Oh?”

“Mm, when we arrived at the manor.”

“And we didn’t know about him for that entire year.”

‘Just like we didn’t know about the regression for a month,’ Dick’s mind supplied. ‘And the potion making. And the renewed determination about the curse nonsense.’

“Are you upset because you, Oracle, the all-knowing, didn’t know, or because he didn’t tell anyone?” Dick asked.

Babs was silent for a moment. “The others still want to play tag. You want to be added back to the main comms?”

“You give me shit for getting annoyed at B for the same thing,” he said, ignoring her poor attempt at dodging the question. It wasn’t often that he got to be the one lending an ear to Babs, and he wasn’t going to mess this up.

“That’s because you don’t talk to him. I met up with him for lunch on a somewhat regular basis. He had so many opportunities to tell me and he didn’t,” Babs ranted.

“Been holding that in, huh?” Dick teased.

“It’s worse because he wasn’t even hiding it, not really. They went on walks in public all the time! All Bruce did was slap on a cap and some sunglasses, and voilà, disguise.”

“You should’ve known, but you didn’t because you weren’t keeping an eye on him, and so you missed it all for an entire year. That’s why you’re annoyed. I’m guessing you’re going to be keeping an eye out for Batman and B from now on?”

Babs grunted. “I already spoke about this with Bruce. We agreed to text.”

“B’s horrible at texting. And replying.”

“Well, I’ve already texted him this afternoon and he replied with a photo of Ace sleeping, so I say it’s going pretty well so far.”

“A photo of Ace?”

“I told Bruce that he doesn’t have to text anything relevant and he took it to heart.”

“So the photo was his version of the thumbs up emoji.”

“I’d prefer Ace over a thumbs up any time. And if I play my cards right, I might be able to get Bruce into the habit of taking photos every time I text him. I’d get a general idea of where he is and what he’s doing from the background alone.”

“Holy mastermind Batman! You’re training him to give you updates without realising it. That’s why you were in a good mood; you’re excited about laying the foundations of your plan.”

“Stop being an idiot and tell me if you want access to the main comms or not.”

“Ahh, not yet. I still wanted to ask you what you think about the whole curse thing.”

“You already know what I think.”

“Yeah, but I want to know if its changed. ‘Cause, you know, Amaya.”

“No, and I prefer not to think about it.”

“That’s not like you.”

“Yeah, but I would rather keep my relationship with Bruce at least somewhat cordial, if not good. Thinking about the curse is a good way to sour that relationship again, and if this whole situation has taught me anything, it’s that Bruce slips away all too easily. I can’t afford to risk it. Not again.”

Dick hummed. “At least you’d have your texting plan?”

“And you? Have your thoughts changed?”

“No, I still don’t believe it and fucking hate it. I’m trying to practise talking about it without being angry.”

“Well, good luck with that. Now, you want in on tag or no?”

Dick flipped onto his feet. “What’re their locations?”

Damian knelt on the floor and growled softly, pulling at the thick corded rope. The other end of the rope was held in between Ace’s jaws, and he pulled back, tail wagging happily as they played tug of war. Damian growled again in an attempt to make Ace do the same. Ace’s tail wagged.

Father’s dog was friendly. Perhaps too friendly. Damian had thought it would be best to teach Ace how to look and sound fierce, even if he was anything but, so that in case of an emergency, he could better protect himself. Damian’s training might, possibly, just a slight chance, be a lost cause.

Ace suddenly perked up and dropped the rope, causing Damian to tumble forward. The dog rushed out of the room, yipping excitedly all the while.

Damian cussed under this breath and chased after him.

“Ace!” Father’s young voice greeted the dog. “Selina, put me down.”

Damian slowed down as he rounded the corner and peeked down from his vantage point at the stairs. At the front doors stood Father and Kyle, while Ace excitedly ran circles around them. Well, ‘stood’ was far too generous a term for Father. He was held on Kyle’s hip, octopus arms wrapped in what appeared to be a wet towel.

Kyle cocked her hip out further. “Hmm, no can do. I don’t listen well to demands.”

“Selina.”

Kyle grinned.

“Selina.”

Ace barked.

“Selinaaaa—” Father whined.

Father. Whined.

No, perhaps Damian was mistaken. The high-pitched tone of Father’s current vessel, his child form, must’ve been colouring his perspective, altering the dignified demand to a childish whine. Yes, that must be it.

“Bruceeee—” Kyle mockingly copied. In Kyle’s lilting voice, the tone did not differ greatly. It sounded as childish as it had in Father’s young voice. But Kyle was frequently in the company of Harley Quinn. The childish tone may just be something she picked up from the immature doctor.

Father heaved a heavy sigh. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please put me down,” Father said in resignation.

Selina smiled widely. “All you had to do was ask.” She plopped him down on Ace’s back like a sack of rice.

“Selinaaaaa!” It was unmistakably the whine of a wronged child.

However, Damian remembered being that wronged child; nine and so very small despite all his skill and experience. A seasoned warrior stuck in a body that was too easy to dismiss and belittle. He remembered when indignity would be interpreted as the grumbles of a disgruntled child. Grievous injustice dismissed because the speaker was young. Because the child body was incapable of commanding the same respect as grown bodies, of conveying the more complex tones that separated minor complaints from genuine suggestions, and all was reduced to undignified whining.

But.

Damian had never heard Father sound like that before. It had been about a week since they discovered Father’s condition and the entire time, Father’s voice had never adopted a quality that could be mistaken for childish disgruntlement. It had to be a conscious choice. Perhaps Father was aware of the quality of his voice, and so chose to avoid speech that would make him sound like a child. But if that was the case, why had he spoken like that with Kyle? What was it about Kyle that had Father lower his guard like so, when he didn’t do so with them?

If Damian had to guess, he would say it was because Father was their leader. Despite their increasingly rare team ups, Batman was still very much in a position of commander over the Gotham vigilantes. If Damian were in Father’s position, he too wouldn’t want to undermine his position by freely appearing childish.

Yes, that must be the case.

Ace took to Father riding his back well, despite all the squirming. Damian wondered if this had happened before. Not when Father was his usual size, but as this smaller form. He wondered what his father did during the month he was alone. During the year he was alone.

“Father. Kyle,” Damian stepped out of his hiding spot and greeted them.

Father immediately tried to straighten from his slouched position on Ace’s back and failed.

“Damian,” Father returned the greeting with as much dignity as he could manage, what with the towel and the fact that he was riding his dog like a horse.

“Hey, Damian. Do you mind looking after your dad for me while I go get his tank?” Kyle leaned in with a conspiratorial grin. “He’s cranky because I destroyed him in Mario Kart.”

Damian half-expected his father to protest the claim, just like the rest of his siblings would. The Father he saw playfully whining at Kyle would have. Instead, Father just sniffed and ignored her. Maybe he did lose. “Damian, feel free to return to your previous activities. Selina will be leaving soon.”

Damian felt dismissed.

Kyle, who had been more explicitly dismissed, simply leaned down and tweaked Father’s nose. “Stop being weird.” She took it even further by pinching Father’s cheeks, to his obvious displeasure.

“Ace,” Father commanded once he escaped the patronising pinch.

The loyal hound walked them over to Damian and hid behind him.

Kyle straightened up and snickered. “Alright, I’m actually getting the tank now.”

When she left, Damian turned around to see Father clenching Ace’s collar and studying it with an intensity that he afforded cases. “How was your night with Kyle, Father?”

“It was fine.” After a moment of hesitation, he added, “How was your night? What did you three wind up having for dinner?”

“Stephanie and Timothy were being annoying as usual. We had Thai curry and mango sticky rice,” Damian answered.

A silence fell over them, and Damian resisted the urge to fidget. It wasn’t often that Damian was alone with his father, and with the absence of a sibling to act as a buffer, he was unsure how to proceed. All Damian knew was that he didn’t want to leave. At least, not yet.

“We played rooftop tag last night,” he said to fill in the silence.

Father hummed. Just when Damian thought that was it, he added, “Must’ve been an uneventful night.”

“It was. Richard cursed us somewhere near the end of patrol, but we handled it quickly and the rest of the night was smooth going.”

The octopus arms trapped in the wet towel must’ve twitched or something, because Father suddenly lost balance and almost fell off Ace’s back. Damian quickly grabbed hold of his torso and supported him with his chest.

Kyle wolf whistled behind them. “Look at you two hugging. Getting along, aren’t you?”

“Don’t you have a lunch meeting to ruin?” Father said with a scowl, the tips of his ears bright red. He pulled away from Damian’s hold.

Kyle grinned widely. “Aw, are you embarrassed?”

“Selina.”

Kyle raised her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’m heading out now. I’ll see you when I see you. Try not to be weird, Bruce.”

“Mm. Bye, Selina.”

They watched Kyle saunter out, closing the door shut behind her. The engine of her car sounded and then roared in the distance until it couldn’t be heard anymore.

“I’ll help you fill up your tank,” Damian offered. He lifted his father up by the pits of his arms and placed him into his empty water tank.

“... Thank you.”

They walked/rode side by side in relative silence, following Ace who had decided for himself to be their guide.

But then Father spoke up, even though it wasn’t awkward and Father had never felt compelled to fill the silence with his voice. Mother told him that his father had always been a listener. “How did Dick curse the patrol? He’s supposed to be the opposite of cursed right now. Amaya blessed him.”

And Damian abruptly remembered that Curses were a touchy subject, and of course his Father was concerned by his casual mention of it.

“He said it was a quiet night and then incidents just started happening.”

“Ah.”

“Hm.”

“He should’ve known better than to say that.”

“Yes, we made sure to get revenge for his crime.”

Ace veered to the kitchen instead of a bathroom or the garden, where the hose was.

“--the last one.”

“They’re all fucking wrong.”

Damian and Father shared a look and then entered the kitchen. It smelt like a bakery in there. Cookies littered the counter tops, most of them missing a bite or two. Stephanie and Timothy sat in the middle of the mess with their head in their hands.

Ace sniffed the cookies along the edge of the kitchen island and barked.

The two startled and stared at them like deer in headlights. Their eyes landed on Bruce, and shook with what looked like guilt.

“What have you two done?” Damian hissed.

Stephanie sheepishly chuckled. “Welllllll, we may or may not have gone on a snack binge last night after trouncing Dick in tag. That snack may or may not have been the cookies we found in the cupboard. We may or may not have only realised after we finished them all and then decided to replace them the next day with bakery cookies, only to remember after we brought them that no cookies ever taste as good as the ones we ate.” Belatedly, she added, “Sorry?”

“I’m sorry too,” Timothy quickly echoed. “Did you need those cookies for anything?”

Father hummed. “I had planned on giving them to Amaya.”

Stephanie winced. “Sorry.”

“No, I should’ve known better than to store it in a communal area.”

Father presumably hadn’t had to hide food in a long while, and so forgot that the rest of them were a bunch of dishonourable hyenas.

“That’s a lot of cookies,” Father commented.

“Yeah, we visited every bakery in Gotham with a five-star rating. There were more than we thought. Gothamites don’t mess around when it comes to baking.”

“Sounds like there should be less five stars though,” Timothy mused. “Shouldn’t we be pickier if there are so many good bakeries?”

“They were all so good though. Not as good as Alfred’s but still so good. Better than anything found in Metropolis at least,” Stephanie said with the satisfaction of someone who’d eaten enough cookies to last until dinner and some. “Maybe you can give these cookies to Amaya instead. I know we took a bite or two out of them, but, like, we can chop them off. Can’t we use them to make cookie crumble or something? Or, like, a cheesecake base.”

An expression of distaste openly flashed across Father’s face. Damian had never seen him so honest before. “I’ll remake the cookies, thank you.”

“We’ll help,” Timothy instantly offered.

“Yeah, B-man,” Stephanie echoed.

“Father, I would also like to offer my assistance.”

“... Don’t you have other things to do?”

“Nah, it’s my day off.”

“Mine too.”

“I was only playing with Ace, I don’t have any obligations at the moment.”

Father visibly considered it.

“Please, I’ll be soooo guilty if you don’t let us help,” Stephanie insisted.

“... Alright. If you insist.”

“Yes! I’m stealing the damn recipe and rubbing it in Jason’s face!” she cheered. “Oops, pretend you didn’t hear that.”

Father thinned his lips. “Hn.”

“Do we even have the ingredients to make the cookies?” Timothy thought aloud.

Father manoeuvred his tank over to the pantry and did a quick survey of its contents. “We’re low on sugar. I already used the last of the butter as well.”

“Tell you what,” Stephanie began. “You send us a list of ingredients and we’ll buy them. In the meanwhile, you can fill up your tank or whatever.”

Father didn’t answer even after a beat.

Timothy took out his phone and began typing. “We’d need to buy ingredients to turn these cookies into a cheesecake too. It’s kinda a waste, though. Urgh. If only we didn’t take a bite out of all of them.”

“Is turning them into more dessert really the solution here?”

“Well, it won’t look half-eaten in cake form, would it?”

They both turned to Father in unison. “B, do you know how to make no-bake cheesecakes?”

Father nodded.

“God, how the fuck did we not know about your hidden talents?”

Father shrugged.

“Okay, text us what we need! We’ll buy lunch on the way back.”

Then, the two left, leaving behind a mess of cookies and crumbs.

Damian clicked his tongue disdainfully. “I will clear up this mess. Father, you should go fill up your tank.”

Father hummed in reply. “Thank you, Damian.”

He scrunched up his nose. “Timothy and Stephanie should be the ones thanking me.”

Father chuckled and sounded more like a giggle but Damian held his breath in wonder anyway. “Thank you, Damian,” Father said again.

Damian averted his eyes. “You’re welcome, Father.”

Steph and Tim came back with the groceries and lunch. They quickly got to the kitchen where Bruce and Damian were waiting for them.

Bruce had filled up his tank again and his tentacles were comfortably swimming in the water. His hair looked wet too and it looked like he hadn’t bothered to do more than give it a cursory rub with a dry towel. Steph’s hand itched to fix it and give the curls the treatment they deserved. She hadn’t even known Bruce had curly hair. In retrospect, she should’ve, because Damian had curls too even though he hid them behind his gelled spikes. Come to think of it, Bruce did that with his slick back hair too.

Damian and Bruce had already gotten started on the cookies. The oven was pre-heating and they had gotten out a bunch of mixing bowls that Damian was currently sifting flour into. Damian looked to Bruce for approval and he gave him a firm nod. A tentacle also gave Damian a pat on the back while Bruce’s attention was back on the electronic scale.

Steph turned to Tim and raised an eyebrow.

He shrugged.

She stared pointedly at the tentacle.

“They do that,” Tim admitted. “Bruce doesn’t realise. We’re not talking about it.”

“So it’s happened before?”

Tim shrugged again. “C’mon, lunch is getting cold.”

Steph decided to let it go. “We’re back!” she announced. Neither of the two reacted with surprise and just turned to give her an acknowledging nod.

“That’s… a lot more than I texted you.”

She grinned. “Yes, well, I figured we should make extras just in case.”

Bruce frowned. “Aren’t you sick of cookies?”

“Never. Perish the thought. How dare you accuse me of such a thing, B.”

Bruce blinked. “Alright,” he said slowly. “I suppose we can double the recipe.”

Damian sighed and sifted more flour into the bowl.

It was a surprisingly good time. They snacked on the light lunch Steph and Tim bought, while Bruce instructed them on the baking process, only stepping in when things got a little more technical. Steph got a few pats on the back and Bruce remained oblivious to it all.

In the middle of it, Bruce got a text and then snapped a photo of their cookies without taking a moment to make sure the photo looked nice.

“Who are you texting?” Tim asked.

Bruce looked up at them. “Barbara.”

“Babs? Why?”

Bruce replied as he kept texting. “It’s her new way of checking-in. She texts, but we don’t have to have a conversation and I can just send random photos instead.”

“Looks like you’re having a conversation right now,” Steph pointed out.

“She was asking why I’m baking more cookies when the jar was full yesterday.”

“She knew about the cookies?”

“Hn.”

“How?”

“I gave her some for lunch.”

“Not fair. How come Babs got some and we didn’t?”

Damian butted into their conversation. “You both ate an entire jar last night. And you’re getting Father to make more right now. Actually, I think you don’t deserve them. I’ll be taking the extras and sharing them with Richard and Jason. You two get none.”

“What?! We helped make them!”

“You were just an overglorified hand mixer.”

Steph and Tim looked to Bruce for support.

Bruce shrugged. “You did eat an entire jar and a bakeries worth of cookies.”

“Life is so unfair.”

A tentacle pat Steph on the shoulder.

On the bright side, Bruce gave them the cheesecake after Damian went to deliver the cookies. Steph had no idea when he made them, but damn, were they delicious.

Chapter Text

Tim leaned back against the back of Bruce’s office chair and held back a sigh. He kept up a look of polite interest, and nudged his laptop more to the side, to keep the grandfather clock well out of view. It was highly unlikely that it would swing open, considering everyone else was busy with their day jobs and friends, but Tim liked to be careful.

He had asked to use Bruce’s study today, since he was working from home and his own room wasn’t exactly presentable. Not to mention, Bruce’s study was much more comfortable, from the wide desk to the ergonomic chair, everything was beyond luxurious and cushy. Naturally, Bruce allowed him, and Tim had spent all morning making video calls after video calls. He only had two left and it was just paperwork after that. And not as much as he was expecting either, because apparently now that they knew he wasn’t actually deep undercover, Bruce had been taking back his workload and cleared the paperwork that needed either his, Tim’s, or Lucius’ signature.

His efficiency was somewhat terrifying. Maybe it was the lack of vigilantism that did it.

“—any questions?”

Tim snapped out of his daze and put on a polite smile. “Not at the moment. I’ll forward them to your email if any occurs. Great work as always, thank you, and I hope you have a good rest of your day.”

“Thank you too, Mr Drake. Have a nice day. Well, as nice as it could be with the forecasted weather. It’s quite fortunate you’re working from home today. Looks to be a bad storm rolling in tonight.”

Tim glanced out at the window and squinted at the thick blanket of clouds covering the sky. “Yes. I would hate to be driving in that.”

After saying their farewells, Tim shut his laptop screen down and texted Damian.

Me: Do you and Colin need picking up
Me: Apparently its gonna storm pre bad

Gremlin: Yes
Gremlin: I’ll call you
Gremlin: Colin wants to go grocery shopping after so you have to drive us there too

Me: Aight gonna pick up some energy drinks too

Grelim: Addict

Me: 🖕

Gremlin: 💅

Me: Steph is a bad influence

Gremlin: Excuse me Tim I am perfectly capable of being a bad influence on my own!
Gremlin: This is Colin btw

Me: Oh so sorry Colin
Me: Ofc
Me: How could I forget the corrupting influence of Damian’s best friend
Me: You’re the one who tormented us all with Damian’s Roblox phase

Gremlin: :)

Tim put down his phone and checked the time. Ten minutes until his next meeting. Enough time to make a coffee.

On his way to the kitchen, he found Bruce staring out the window with a pensive look on his face. A few tentacles were patting Ace on the head, while the rest stayed in the tank. Bruce’s hands were occupied by a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea. He had placed them on the side table but still kept a hold on them to stabilise them.

Weird. Bruce didn’t usually bring his food out of the kitchen or dining room. In fact, unless he was offered food, he didn’t eat outside the designated locations. Which meant no snacking on chips in the living room or having secret meals inside his room so he didn’t have to share them with his goblin brothers. The last one might’ve been a Tim thing but still.

“Hey, Bruce,” Tim greeted. “I was about to make a coffee, want one?”

“No, thank you,” Bruce declined. He looked down at his plate of food. “... Have you had lunch yet?”

“No,” Tim answered. “I, uh, I’ve only got ten minutes until my next meeting. Sorry.”

Bruce furrowed his brows at him, and then raised them as if something had occurred to him. He was being unusually expressive. “I’m aware that you’ve got a busy schedule. I wasn’t inviting you to have lunch together.”

“Oh, uh, okay,” Tim awkwardly said. He had never been the best at speaking with Bruce one on one, especially when it wasn’t about work. There were too many occasions of him putting his foot in his mouth in front of Bruce. Case in point, what just happened.

Bruce brushed off his stammering. “I made some sandwiches.”

“Ye—s,” Tim dragged out the e in his mild befuddlement. “I can see that.”

Bruce looked at him blankly. “For you.”

“Oh.”

Tim stood there awkwardly while Bruce just stared at him. Ace was scratching his ear.

“... It’s fine if you don’t want it,” Bruce said, breaking eye contact.

“No! No, I was just dazed out, sorry. It’s all the meetings, you know? Um, thank you for the lunch, B.” Tim grabbed the plate.

“The tea as well.”

“What?”

“Take the tea too.”

Tim nodded and sipped on the tea. It was still too hot, but made how he preferred it. With lemon and honey. “Guess I won’t be having a coffee after all,” he said.

Bruce hummed. His tentacles were teasing Ace, booping him on the nose, and then retreating back into the tank when he tried to catch them. Bruce was staring out at the sky again.

“Looks pretty bad out there, huh? Apparently, it’s going to be raining all night. I’m just hoping it doesn’t start until after I picked up Damian.”

Bruce turned to look at him.

“Yeah, he went out to the mall with Colin today. They’re going grocery shopping after too. Need anything from the shops?”

Bruce shook his head. “Don’t speed if it starts raining.”

Tim snorted. “Yeah no, I’m not the biggest speed devil in this family; you are. I’ll properly abide by road rules.”

Bruce nodded. “Eat the sandwich even if you don’t finish it all,” he said, driving off.

Tim made a face. “He acts as though I skip lunch all the time.”

His PA grabbed him lunch along with his own, so Tim always had something to eat at work even if it was cold and had been sitting there for a few hours. Honestly, Bruce had no faith in him.

The sandwiches were delicious. He finished them all before his next meeting.

Bruce checked the weather forecast again. They didn’t change since the last ten times he’d checked.

Heavy rain. Thunderstorms.

It didn’t say when the storm would start, nor how long they would go on for. The weather in Gotham was notoriously difficult to predict. The unique combination of chemical waste, toxic gas, smoke of various colours, and other such substances making up the pollution in his beloved city caused weather patterns to behave strangely. A toxic gas outbreak could cause rain for three days, or a dry spell for a week. No one could really say.

Rumbles of thunder echoed as the storm clouds rolled in.

Bruce’s octopus arms twitched in his tank, causing the water to splash against the sides. He glared them into submission and they calmed down. Overdramatic traitors. The rumbles weren’t even bad; the engine of his sports cars sounded louder. No, when the storm was here and rumbles turned into claps, that’s when the twitching was justified. But Bruce wouldn’t allow them to behave like skittish animals unless he was alone, free from the watchful eyes of his children.

This time, he’ll retreat to a soundproof room. Bruce didn’t want to have a repeat of that night in his closet again.

“I told you to hurry up!” Tim complained, running through the parking lot with his hands over his head. It didn’t do much against the pelting rain, but at least, the nasty sky water wasn’t getting in his mouth. “No one needs ten fucking minutes to say bye.”

“It wasn’t ten minutes,” Damian spat back. He aggressively pulled at the door handle before Tim even had the chance to unlock his car. “Hurry up! I’m getting wet.”

“You should’ve thought of that before you starting doing a whole monologue to say bye to Colin,” Tim huffed. He unlocked the car and quickly slipped in to avoid the downpour.

“Don’t speed,” Damian cautioned him.

Tim rolled his eyes. “You and Bruce. No faith.”

“You drive like a maniac.”

“Bruce drives worse.”

“In a heavily armoured vehicle with ample cushioning!” Damian hissed, grabbing onto the side handle as Tim swerved out of the parking lot.

“You’re more than welcome to jump out and bike back,” Tim said, pointing his finger at the bike tied securely to his car.

“Tt-” Damian clicked his tongue and crossed his arms moodily. “I am not getting wet just because you can’t abide by road rules, Drake.”

“If you want to be home before the storm starts in earnest, then you’re just gonna have to accept a little rule breaking. Don’t worry, Dames, I’ve got good enough reflex to dodge cars.”

“The roads are slippery.”

Tim turned up his music and floored the gas. Figuratively. He did promise to abide by road rules, after all.

Tim and Damian made dinner together, arguing the entire time. Their voices, though not heated, were loud enough to drown out the thundering storm. It looked bad enough that they decided to skip patrol all together. Jason would call them if any telephone poles caused problems, or the streets flooded or something.

Tim kinda wished Bruce had cooked instead, even if it was just sandwiches—because the sandwiches were good—if only to avoid the menace of Damian adding chilli to everything (“It’s kimchi stew; it’s supposed to be spicy.” Blah blah blah, Tim didn’t care). But Bruce disappeared somewhere as usual and Ace wasn’t hanging around to con some kitchen scraps, so they had to text Bruce to tell him about dinner.

Me: Dinner is ready

Bruce is typing…

Tim waited for the text to send.

Bruce is typing…

“Stop adding more red pepper paste to the broth!” Tim hissed, setting his phone down to still Damian’s hand.

“It’s bland!”

“It’s literally not. Look at that, it’s fucking hotter than hell’s hot springs.”

Damian scoffed. “Just because you cannot handle spice, doesn’t mean the rest of us should suffer for it.”

“Bro, Bruce is a little kid right now. You think he can handle this?”

That gave Damian pause, and also reminded Tim that he hadn’t read Bruce’s reply yet, if he even sent it.

Bruce: I’m not hungry
Bruce: Enjoy your meal

“See? I bet he smelt that chemical bomb and saved himself the trouble.”

“No, I bet it’s your poor attempt at japchae that turned Father away.”

Tim gasped. “It’s delicious!”

“It looks like the intestines of roadkill. How you managed that with noodles, I would never understand, but I suppose we all have our talents somewhere.”

“But it’s delicious,” Tim insisted, and really, that was all he needed to say. Because, for once, Tim got the seasoning and the balance of ingredients right, and even though it looked gross, the taste was what really mattered.

Damian pursed his lips, clearly in agreement but unwilling to admit it. “Whatever. Fluff up the rice, Timothy.”

Tim rolled his eyes and went to do just that.

He took photos of their meal and sent it to the group chat Steph made, just so Bruce knew what his options were if he decided he was hungry later that night. It had the unfortunate side effect of Steph roasting his japchae to hell and back, but that par for the course with her. Even if Tim hadn’t sent the photos, she’d have somehow found out about it, and roasted him about it anyway.

Something he used to do a long time ago, back when he was still Robin, was making Bruce eat. Just, subtle nudges and silent pressure until Bruce yielded and ate something. Tim realised he might’ve been replaced by Ace now, and it was slightly concerning to know Bruce had gone back to old habits in their absence, but at least he could be reassured that Bruce had been eating regularly with Ace around.

Anyway, he also realised that this afternoon had been a role reversal of sorts, with Bruce doing to Tim what Tim did to Bruce. And so this was just Tim returning the favour.

Bruce hunkered down in the panic room near his office. He managed a small meal (a snack, really), and fed Ace before the rain got so heavy, so he wasn’t lying when he told Tim he wasn’t hungry. Besides, Bruce didn’t think he would be able to keep anything down with his stomach feeling so tight.

He didn’t remember storms being so daunting before, even back then, when the hurt was closer than it was now. It was all a rush of emotions; fear when the lightning struck, tension in the silence that followed, bated anticipation for the next boom. When that storm had caught him off guard, the first week of his transformation, Bruce had panicked, and he had been afraid, but he hadn’t felt quite so cornered.

By all logic, with him safely tucked away in a soundproof room, Bruce should feel calmer. He should be more relaxed and not so fearful.

Ace was calm. He sniffed at the objects in the room, and played with the squeaky toys, and tried to make Bruce join him. But Bruce just stayed in his tank as his octopus arms hugged himself, and tried to breathe. It was difficult, with his heart in his throat, but Bruce tried anyway.

His buzzing phone caught his attention, and thinking it was Barbara, Bruce checked his notifications. His phone informed him that Tim sent a photo in the group chat, but since Bruce didn’t open the app, he couldn’t actually see it.

Thankfully, he didn’t have to. Stephanie instantly replied with graphic descriptions of the image, and ruthlessly tore Tim apart with her commentary. The only reply Tim had to offer was that it was delicious and Steph was just a sad loser because she couldn’t eat his yummy japchae. Stephanie didn’t care for the taste and informed him to get his eyes checked, for surely, that was not made with food native to Earth. Tim repeated his defence, no matter how cunning Steph’s insults were.

As he read the messages, Bruce felt his octopus arms uncurl and he breathed easier.

“Guess you’re not getting another lecture on Gotham’s trains, boy,” Bruce joked, patting Ace on the head.

The weather app told him the storm passed, and Bruce waited another half hour before he left the confines of his panic room.

That japchae Tim made sounded good; he wondered if there was any left.

Damian wandered into the kitchen for a drink and found Father desperately chugging a glass of milk. His octopus arms splashed around in the tank, causing water to spill out the sides. On the table was a bowl of Damian’s kimchi stew and a plate of Timothy’s japchae. Perhaps, Timothy was correct in his assumption that Father would not be able to handle the heat in his current state.

Father saw him approach and backed away from the fridge. Damian ignored the way Father blinked back his tears and grabbed a sports drink out of the fridge. In truth, he added more chilli into the broth just to mess with Timothy, Father was merely an unintended victim of his prank.

“It might be best for you to just eat the japchae, Father,” he advised, catching Father hesitantly grabbing the spoon again.

“I don’t want to waste it,” Father said. “It’s good. Just a tad bit spicy.”

Damian wondered if Father was even able to taste the stew through the heat of the peppers. He felt his chest warm from the praise anyway.

“I’ll eat it in the morning.” Damian grabbed the bowl before Father could protest and put it aside. “Timothy’s japchae is good despite its appearances,” he added, to persuade Father to eat that instead.

Father hummed and picked up the chopsticks. He carefully brought the noodles to his mouth and chewed slowly. The roadkill noodles really did warrant the caution.

“Do you like it?” Damian asked.

Father nodded and took another bite.

Halfway through the meal, the rain grew heavier. Damian wondered if the storm was back.

A flash of light flickered outside, followed by a loud clap of thunder a few seconds later.

A loud splash of water and a yelp drew his attention back towards Father.

He was in his customary position; back straight, head held high, eyes directed at his plate. Perfect table manners as always. However, his octopus limbs told a different story. Two arms covered his ears. Another wrapped around his mouth. Two more grabbed onto Damian’s arms. One had reached for Ace; the source of the yelp. The rest hugged Father’s torso.

Father blinked and tightened his hold on his chopsticks.

The arms withdrew, skulking back like scolded children.

“Father?” Damian hesitantly asked.

“My apologies. I will clean up the water after dinner,” Father said, looking down at the puddle of water on the floorboards. He was only just now noticing the trail of water following him from the fridge.

“Father-” Damian tried again.

Another clap of thunder interrupted him.

Damian watched as the arms slapped themselves around Father; his ears, his mouth, his torso, Ace, and Damian. All the while, the human parts of father sat stock still.

Father made the octopus arms withdraw yet again.

“You don’t have to clean up the water,” Damian continued. He struggled for a moment. “... Are you alright, Father?”

“Yes,” Father lied. He was still staring at the now-larger puddle of water. The octopus arms fidgeted in their glass confines.

“Is it the noise? I can grab my noise-cancelling headphones if you’d like?” Damian offered.

“Thank you, but I’m alright,” he declined.

Damian was going to grab it regardless but–

“The storm is setting off my instincts and making the arms go haywire. I don’t believe this form is quite so fond of the electrical display,” Father excused. He looked at Ace and put his chopsticks down on his plate, before picking it up. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight. Get Ace settled.”

Father directed his tank to the sink. “Good night.”

Damian stared long and hard at Father’s face. He let the subject drop. “Good night, Father.”

Father didn’t join them for dinner the next day either. The next time Damian saw him, he had his legs back, and made no mention of that stormy night.

Chapter Text

Dick: I heard you have your legs back
Dick: Is it alright for me to come back?

Bruce: The magic lingering around you should've worn off a few days ago

Dick: Sweet
Dick: Just in time for the beach trip
Dick: You ready for it?
Dick: We’re going tomorrow

… Bruce forgot about the beach trip.

Was it too late to say he didn’t want to go?

Well, he did want to go; Bruce hadn’t been on a family trip since his parents died, and even before then, it was a rare thing. He imagined (hoped) they’d have gone on more if his parents hadn’t died when Bruce was eight, but they did, and the only family he had left were Waynes that saw him as a Kane, and Kanes that saw him as a Wayne. Because the Waynes and Kanes were the Montagues and Capulets, and Bruce’s parents were Romeo and Juliet if they had gotten a happy ending. Until they were murdered, of course. So maybe they were Romeo and Juliet if they got to have just a little bit more time together.

Anyway, Bruce wanted to go with his kids to the beach. He imagined it would be nice, even if Bruce spent the whole day trying not to get in the way of his kids’ fun. Ace would love it. Bruce had never taken him to the beach before, but Ace enjoyed playing in the duck pond and what was the ocean if not an overly large pool of water?

Bruce wanted to go for Ace’s sake, but Damian kept looking at him, and Bruce could think of too many reasons why. Damian could finally be connecting his out-of-control octopus arms to Bruce’s impulses and filthy desires. He could be suspicious of Bruce’s behaviour during the thunderstorm. Damian may found that the truth that Bruce was really just a pathetic coward instead of the iron-willed knight he tried to be.

It was too much to think about.

Bruce wanted to avoid Damian until he could rebuild his mask and reinforce it with enough steel that Damian forgot how weak Bruce was.

But the world was never kind to one Bruce Thomas Wayne.

“Bruce! Let’s go shopping! We’re buying beach clothes with your card!” Stephanie shouted.

Steph was having fun.

She didn’t expect to enjoy herself so much when she dragged Bruce out on a shopping trip. Steph had suggested it on a whim after all, but here they were, at the mall on a Saturday afternoon, having fun.

Bruce had dressed down from his usual cashmere sweater vests and smart button ups. Instead, he was wearing dorky glasses and a comfy hoodie that Steph had no idea he owned. Instead of a typical rich kid from Bristol, he looked like a child in one of the more comfortable areas of Gotham, with parents that worked in an office or something like that.

“What do you think of this one?” Steph asked, presenting a navy blue striped shirt to Bruce.

He touched it between his fingers and got a feel for the fabric. “It’s nice but if we’re going to be moving around a lot, I would prefer not to wear such a stiff shirt.”

A big reason why this whole thing was so fun was Bruce actually giving feedback and matching her energy (the best he could, anyway. In the most pragmatic Bruce way). Steph thought Bruce would select an outfit with ruthless efficiency, and demand to leave, but he didn’t. Bruce didn’t sigh and drag his feet. He was an active participant and that was so, so fun.

“You’re fun to go shopping with,” Steph told him honestly.

Bruce’s hand froze on a clothes hanger before resuming their appraisal of the next clothing item. “I go on shopping dates from time to time. People like it when I look at clothes with them, instead of being an overglorified bag holder.”

Steph frowned. “Are you Brucie-ing me?”

Bruce raised his head and looked Steph in the eyes with a blank look on his face. Round glasses framed big round eyes, softening the usual intensity present in Bruce’s eyes, and Steph couldn’t help but think: There’s no way those eyes belong to Batman.

“No… Do you want me to stop giving feedback?”

“No, but…” Steph searched for the right words, fists clenching and unclenching as she sunk into deep thought. “I don’t want you to pretend to be someone else. Not when you don’t have to.”

“I’m not.”

Steph pursed her lips and reexamined the situation. It was likely that the only times Bruce went shopping with other people, it was as Brucie. Bruce had no reason to do so. Tim had told her once, back when he was still Robin, that he had only realised the guestroom was his room when clothes had appeared in the closet overnight. Alfred had handled most of the clothes shopping. Bruce never had to.

She was overreacting. Bruce wasn’t emoting a lot, and she hadn’t seen him smiling once. Brucie would’ve been charming grins and soft smiles. This was… This was just Bruce shopping with her, probably in the only way he knew how. Besides, Bruce wasn’t always drab and solemn. The baking they did together the other day was also fun.

“As long as you’re not forcing yourself…”

Bruce stared at her.

Steph stared back.

Bruce turned back to the rack of clothes. “What do you think of this one?” he asked.

It was a Hawaiian shirt.

“It’s perfect.”

Today was Gabe’s birthday. Usually, that meant a small cake from the supermarket after dinner and a little toy from the dollar store. But this year was different. This year, Gabe was getting a present from her friends too. Because the rich kid they met a few weeks ago gave them twenty each, and everyone still had some change left over. Her friends were nice enough to suggest treating Gabe to ice cream for her birthday even though they all knew that by the time it was their birthday, none of them would have any money to do the same for the others.

In a way, this was a gift for them all. The chance to buy a friend a birthday present and eat ice cream from a proper ice cream store, not a bodega. At least, that’s how Gabe chose to see it. She’ll feel guilty otherwise.

They walked over to the ice cream store, money hidden in various secret pockets, when they saw a familiar little figure.

“Is that Benny?” Henry asked.

Isaac went on his tippy-toes and squinted at the little guy. “I don’t see Ace. He’s walking with some lady.”

“It looks like him. He’s wearing the same dorky glasses as last time,” Rosa commented.

The two walked close enough for them to see their faces clearly. It was Benny and a blonde lady they didn’t recognise.

Gabe didn’t think they would see Benny again.

Meeting him the first time was so strange that she half thought it hadn’t happened. If it weren’t for her full belly and the money in her pocket, not to mention the Red Hood toy she kept by her bed, Gabe would’ve thought they were gassed with some kind of wonderland gas or something like that. But days passed, and Red Hood was still the first thing she saw when she woke up, so Gabe decided that Benny was real but just a weirdo.

It wasn’t every day you saw a tiny kid with a huge dog wandering around.

Not only was it dangerous as fuck, it was stupid as hell. Kids weren’t supposed to walk around by themselves. Everyone knew that. Like, Gabe and her friends didn’t have adult supervision but they had each other. Benny only had Ace, and Ace was too much of a sweet boy to hurt anyone. But, well, Benny seemed too dumb and naive to think about things like safety. He did carry over a hundred dollars in cash, after all. Benny didn’t even bother to hide it!

So it was a bit of a surprise to not only see Benny again, but to see him without Ace and with an adult.

“Benny!” Isaac called out, waving with both arms in the air like an idiot.

Benny’s adult looked behind them and then back at Benny when he shyly waved back. Gabe could see them talking but they were too far to hear.

Once they got close enough, Isaac skipped over to them.

“Hi, Benny,” he cheerfully greeted, ignoring the adult.

“Hello,” Benny echoed.

“Where’s Ace?” Henry asked.

“At home,” Benny answered.

“Awww, I thought we could pet him again.”

“Are you getting ice cream too, Benny? You should join us! It’s Gabe’s birthday so we’re getting ice cream with the remaining money you gave us last time,” Isaac suggested.

Benny gave his adult a sideward glance. “N-”

“We’d love to!” she answered with a bright smile before Benny could refuse. “My treat. Happy birthday, Gabe.”

Gabe scratched her cheek. “Ah, thanks. I guess.”

Rosa elbowed her lightly.

“I mean, thank you for the food.”

Gabe could tell that Benny’s adult seemed to find something about this funny, but Benny wasn’t stopping her, and Gabe knew from last time that Benny was a good kid, so she decided to trust that his adult didn’t have bad intentions. Besides, she was buying them ice cream, so Gabe didn’t voice the thought. (She didn’t want to get elbowed by Rosa again.)

They swung open the door, the bell hanging over it ringing loudly, as they walked inside as a pack. Inside was much cooler than outside, and there weren’t many people. Just a couple sharing a cone, and the worker behind the counter.

“What flavour do you want, kids? Two, no, three scoops each. In a waffle cone. Can’t miss out on the egg waffle cone,” Benny’s adult said, nodding to herself.

Three scoops? And an egg waffle cone?!

They let out a collective gasp of awe.

They were only planning on getting three scoops to share between the four of them. One for Gabe for her birthday. Two for everyone else. But now they were getting three each? In an egg waffle cone?

“Are you rich like Benny?” Isaac blurted out.

Benny’s adult raised an eyebrow at Benny. He hummed in response.

“No, but I’m a friend of the family and it comes with its perks,” she bragged.

“Is that your way of saying you’re his nanny?” Isaac asked.

Rosa slapped him upside the head.

“Rosa!” Isaac complained, rubbing the back of his head.

“No, his nanny is Ace,” Benny’s adult joked, laughing to herself. “I’m really just a family friend. I’m babysitting today.”

Rosa said that Benny’s family was probably not very involved since he was walking around by himself, but if he had a family friend, that meant Benny wasn’t alone all the time, right?

“We should order our ice cream now,” Benny suggested, turning towards the ice cream display.

Isaac skipped over and the rest followed. “Can we really get three scoops each?”

Benny’s adult grinned again, but not as bright as before. Softer. Like the sun at sunset, instead of the afternoon. “I know you probably won’t finish it all, but it’s exciting to have three scoops, isn’t it?”

“No way! I’ll finish it,” Isaac protested.

“Oh, really?” Benny’s adult leaned down and poked Isaac on the forehead. “Don’t force yourself, you’ll get sick. Speaking from experience.”

Gabe made a curious noise.

“Yeah, my boss bought me ice cream when I was feeling bad. I ate so much I threw up.” She laughed and looked at Benny. “He hasn’t bought me ice cream since, so I think I might’ve traumatised him a little.”

“Gabriella, you should choose first since it’s your birthday,” Benny said.

“Call me Gabe.”

Benny nodded. ”Happy birthday, Gabe.”

“Thanks.”

She ordered her ice cream and watched as the worker scooped out three giant balls of ice cream into an egg waffle cone for her. But it didn’t end there; Gabe got sprinkles and caramel drizzle!

“Wow,” Gabe exclaimed when she received her cone. It was heavy and the size of her whole head. The worker gave her a cup and spoon ‘cause it was too big to just eat by itself. With the sprinkles and everything, this was the best ice cream Gabe’s ever had. She hadn’t even eaten it yet!

The others chose their ice creams as well, each getting a different flavour so they could share and try something new. That was twelve flavours between the four of them!

“B, I’m choosing the banoffee for you, but do you want anything else?”

“I’m fine with just one scoop.”

“Nah, choose at least one more. I’m getting two as well.”

After thinking it over, Benny pointed at the triple fudge.

“Huh. I thought you would get vanilla.” She hummed and redirected her attention to the worker. “I’ll also get the banana toffee, and a rocky road, thank you very much.”

After everyone got their ice cream, Benny’s adult paid and stuffed a lot of money into the tip jar. Benny also added some money, though Gabe couldn’t see how much they both put in. Judging by the amount of notes, and the look on the worker’s face, it was a lot.

Gabe was convinced that Benny’s adult was also rich.

They found a table big enough for all of them. Rosa climbed into the bench opposite to Benny and his adult’s, so this time, they couldn’t sacrifice her to the stranger. Gabe quickly followed Rosa and left the boys to fight over who had to sit next to Benny. Strangely enough, Isaac didn’t bother fighting and directly sat beside Benny.

A silence fell over them as they all dug into their ice cream. Literally. The cones of ice cream were basically mountains.

“Benny, Benny, you should try this,” Isaac said, breaking the silence. He had a grin on his face that Gabe knew to be no good, but Benny mustn’t have sensed it, because he reached out to grab Isaac’s spoon.

“No.” Isaac withdrew his hand and spoon. “Say ahh.”

“Ahhh,” Benny obeyed, opening his mouth like a baby bird.

Isaac fed Benny the ice cream, and Gabe instantly saw the reason for the shit-eating grin on Isaac’s face. Benny cringed, face scrunching into an adorable little pinch as he shivered dramatically. “It’s so sour!” he complained.

Isaac laughed. “Right? It’s like they put ten million lemons in it. Here, try this one too.” He scooped another bite of ice cream for Benny.

Benny pursed his lips and turned his nose up at it.

“It’s yummy, I swear!”

“You eat it first,” he insisted.

Isaac heaved a heavy sigh. “Fine.” He spooned the ice cream into his mouth and did a weird dance, moaning with delight at the taste.

Benny watched his face and then opened his mouth wide. “Ahh,” he wordlessly demanded.

Isaac grinned and gave Benny a bite. Benny took a moment to take in the taste and licked his lips clean. “Yummy,” he declared.

“Try this too,” Henry chimed in.

Benny obediently opened his mouth like a baby bird and was fed more and more ice cream. He hadn’t even had more than a few bites of his own ice cream. Gabe knew Benny liked the taste of his own ice cream more because she saw his eyes crinkling with joy when he tried them, but he gave everyone else a bite of his own ice cream in exchange for every bite they gave him. In the end, over half of Benny’s ice cream went to them, while he was fed the weird (but good) flavours they had chosen at random.

“So, which one was your favourite?” Henry asked.

“The banoffee, obviously,” Gabe answered before Benny could.

“I asked Benny, not you.”

“It’s so obvious, he ate that one the most. When he wasn’t busy giving it to us, anyway.”

“What, really, Benny?”

Benny nodded and ate the last of the banoffee ice cream he had.

“Aw, B, you like the ice cream I chose for you?” Benny’s adult teased.

Everyone snapped to attention and stared at her. They had been so focussed on Benny that they had completely forgotten about her.

“Here, I still have some left. Say ahhhh.” She scooped some banoffee ice cream with her spoon and hovered it in front of Benny.

“... Ahhhh.”

She chuckled and fed Benny.

“Yummy?”

“Mn.”

The conversation picked up again and moved onto Gabe’s birthday plans with her family. Mama had promised to make spaghetti for dinner today, and Gabe was kind of full from the three scoops of ice cream, but that was Gabe’s favourite so she was really looking forward to it.

While they were talking, everyone had finished their cones, so they said bye to Benny and his adult, and went home.

It had been nice to see Benny again. Gabe hoped to run into him more. Hopefully with Ace next time.

Steph never really hung out with Bruce one on one. When they were alone, it was usually as Batman and whatever vigilante Steph happened to be at that moment. That meant they had something to do, a mission to focus on. Their interactions had a purpose, and expectations that followed. That didn’t mean that they always had something to do though. Being a vigilante meant a lot of waiting, and that meant a lot of silence to fill.

However, Steph’s stilted attempts at conversation usually fell flat. Batman didn’t respond to jokes with anything but mute judgement or lectures or simply shut it down like some kind of fun hating dictator.

‘Focus, Robin/Spoiler/Batgirl,’ he would scold.

Whatever, Bossman, I didn’t want to bond anyway.

Steph couldn’t even go with the tactic of teasing him out of the broody silence with light taunts and insults. Batman never responded to those, and it just made Steph feel like a massive bully. It would be much easier if Steph knew what Batman was thinking, but the guesswork left her stumbling and dreading being alone with him.

And that was all as vigilantes who were only ever together when there was a job to do.

When Bruce and Steph were alone together, things were much worse. Granted, it rarely happened. Just once or twice when she was Robin, and then that one time she accepted his lunch invite. But it was enough for Steph to understand that unless you were actively doing something, had something else to focus on as a buffer, being alone with Bruce was challenging. It was awkward silences, overthinking, and stilted attempts at conversation.

Which is why Steph intended to get drive through ice cream and drop Bruce off at the manor before going home. (Ice cream after shopping was a tradition of hers.) But she felt guilty about calling him fake, so she drove them to the ice cream shop downtown that did egg waffle cones and had a pretty decent selection of flavours. Steph especially liked their banana toffee ice cream, and maybe the usual Bruce would have found it too sweet, but the current Bruce, despite being an adult on the inside, was outwardly a kid, and a very young one at that. Kids loved all things sugar. Steph decided she’ll order it for him instead of letting Bruce choose a boring flavour like vanilla or something.

She didn’t expect to run into a group of kids, nor for them to recognise ‘Benny’ and invite him to their birthday party.

She swiftly invited herself to the kid’s party so that she could kill two birds with one stone. One: Steph didn’t have to be alone with Bruce in a meal setting. Two: she can dig for information on what Bruce had been up to in the month he was a kid and alone. Actually, make that three birds. Three: Steph got to see what Bruce thought kids acted like.

This would be great.

She watched the kids excitedly choosing their ice cream, fondly recalling one of her most cherished memories -- getting a ‘secret’ treat with Mum after shopping. And maybe that one time with Bruce too. She didn’t think back on it very often, had almost forgotten it honestly, because Steph didn’t think back to that time period much at all. But, now that the pain and confusion of those days had mostly passed, Steph could recall that day with a… fondness that she never associated with it before.

Bruce had been kind to her when it felt like every thing and one in the world was against her. He had a way of making her feel shitty just by being his competent hard ass self, but that night, Bruce had been kind and… comforting. He even let her pretend that the nausea was from eating too much ice cream and not… not morning sickness.

Now, Steph was in another ice cream shop, watching Bruce be kind to other kids in his weird little way.

She got so lost in watching that she half-forgot to dig for information. But seeing Bruce be spoon-fed by a bunch of kids like a baby was so much better. She even got to do it herself!

“So, the kids were nice,” Steph said once they were back in her car.

Bruce hummed.

“How’d you meet them?”

“I saw them hanging out on the streets with no adult around, so I wanted to make sure they were being safe about it.”

“That’s funny, ‘cause I’m pretty sure you had no adult supervision either.”

“I’m the supervision.”

Steph snorted. “Sure.”

The conversation died, and Steph began to awkwardly tap her fingers along the beat of some half-remembered song stuck in her head.

“If you wanted to check on them again, I wouldn’t mind coming along.”

She caught Bruce glancing at her in the rear-view mirror.

“It’s fine,” Bruce declined.

Steph hummed. She turned on her music and let it drown out the suffocating silence the rest of the way to the manor.

“See you tomorrow, Bruce.”

Chapter Text

Dick knocked on Bruce's door, and waited for a reply. If he was still a kid, he'd have simply strolled in and woke Bruce up in the most fun way possible. Namely, jumping on his stomach, and acting surprised when Bruce would catch Dick in his blanket. Because of course, he woke up the instant Dick step foot into his room. Somehow, once he'd reached his preteen years, Alfred managed to instil the virtues of knocking in Dick, though he'd still walk in without waiting for a reply. Now though, Dick did the polite thing and simply waited.

While he was reminiscing, the door opened a crack, and the child form of Bruce stared up at him. He didn't have the sleep mussed eyes Dick expected of the early hour, but his hair was a mess, flying in different directions. Bruce's collar also betrayed signs of him just waking up, one side popped up while the other lay flat against his shirt.

"Good morning, Dick."

"Morning, Bruce. We're leaving in half an hour. We'll be getting breakfast on the way."

"I will get ready." Bruce nodded, and the particularly errant strands of his hair bobbed up and down with the movement. Dick shoved his hands in his pocket and resisted the urge to mess it up even more. If Bruce was anything like Damian, he would not appreciate the head pat.

“Great! We’ll be in the foyer.”

Bruce nodded again and shut the door.

Dick stared at the door for a moment before walking to Damian’s room to repeat the process. Only, he knew that Damian would not be as pleasant as Bruce was. Sleepy teens with an arsenal of throwing knives were not to be messed with. Dick knocked rapidly on the door without pause for five minutes.

“... What,” a demon growled from inside.

“We’re leaving in thirty minutes!” Dick announced cheerfully through the door. “See you in the foyer!”

He cartwheeled out of there to whimsically escape the teen angst aura and accidentally made eye contact with Bruce. The little bat was still in his bed raddled state, but his shirt was half unbuttoned. If Dick had to guess, he’ll say that Bruce had been starting to change when the obnoxious knocking caught his attention.

Dick paused on a handstand and spoke to Bruce while upside down. “B, if Dami’s not out in thirty minutes, I’m counting on you to drag him out.”

Bruce blinked and Dick took that as an affirmative.

“Thanks!”

He finished cartwheeling his way out of there, holding back a laugh. It had been too long since Dick last baffled Bruce with random ‘circus’ moments. He’d forgotten how fun it was.

Dick used the time to double-check he’d packed everything; the cooler with all the food in it, the grill and coal, towels, spare clothes, sunscreen, etc. Once he confirmed that it was all present, he loaded them into the trunk of his car, and attached the doggy seatbelt he found in the garage to the backseat while he was at it. Dick checked that he brought sunscreen again and decided to remind Tim to bring his own special sunscreen as well. Tim was joining Steph and Jason in Jay’s car, so he called him instead.

“Baby bird, did you remember to bring your white boy sunscreen?” Dick asked as soon as Tim picked up his phone.

“For the last time, Dick, I have sensitive skin! Normal sunscreen gives me rashes,” Tim groaned.

“Uhuh, rashes. Totally not sunburn because normal sunscreen is not strong enough to save your pasty skin.”

“I’m not that pale. Bruce is five shades lighter than I am.”

Dick snorted. “He’s at most two shades lighter. And Bruce is a vampire, remember? So, really, you should be concerned that you’re only a few shades off from a vampire.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too, Timmy!”

Tim rudely hung up on him but Dick heard some noise behind him so he graciously didn’t call back to bother him again.

Damian trudged in moodily, hoodie thrown over a pair of shorts, curls free and frizzy, and eyes half closed. He had a backpack held loosely in one hand, while the other held his phone. Bruce, meanwhile, had tamed his hair, and put on a blue Hawaiian shirt and a pair of shorts. His bag was being carried in Ace’s mouth, which Dick assumed was against Bruce’s wishes, because he kept trying to tug it back.

“Morning, sleepyheads,” Dick greeted. “Ready to leave?”

Damian didn’t answer and simply trudged pass to get to the garage. Bruce did the same.

The only polite member of this household headbutted Dick’s shin on his way out.

“At least I have you, buddy.” Dick gave Ace a good pat on the head. Ace wagged his tail at the praise and went over to Bruce to share the good news.

Dick went out just in time to see Damian strapping Ace in and slumping into the passenger seat. “Hurry up, Richard!”

Dick rolled his eyes and got into the driver's seat, “Everyone put their seatbelt on?”

“Yes. You’re the only one who hadn’t.”

Dick made a show of putting his seatbelt on and turned the engine on. He pretended to readjust his rearview mirror and discreetly checked on Bruce and Ace. They looked cosy back there. “Alright, let’s go!”

He drove off just as the sun was rising and made a comment on its beauty. Dick was, of course, ignored. Thus, the long drive to the beach was spent in silence. Well, not silence. Dick’s super awesome playlist was playing in the background. But no one was talking to him and Tim and Steph and Jason didn’t pick up their phones after the first three calls, so, silence.

The silence was briefly broken up by breakfast. They found a random place to eat and stretch their legs before getting back on the road. Unfortunately, this shitty car ride was about to get a lot worse for Dick, because Damian decided a full stomach meant nap time and judiciously turned Dick’s music off. So now, it was actual silence and a car full of sleeping children and a miserable Dick.

Or not. Bruce was still staring out the window, watching the scenery flash by.

“Did I mention I like the shirt? Cause I like the shirt,” Dick commented.

Bruce didn’t react.

“B?”

No response.

Maybe Bruce was actually sleeping and did it with his eyes open like the weirdo he was. Dick’s never seen him sleep like that before though.

“Bruce, are you awake?” Dick asked, voice slightly louder. He caught Damian stirring in the corner of his eyes. Oops.

Bruce’s hand reached up and removed an earbud from his ears. “Yes, Dick?”

“Oh, you were listening to music?” That wasn’t fair. Dick wanted to listen to music too but he couldn’t because Damian was sleeping and he forgot to bring his own earphones.

“Yes.”

“Do you mind sharing an earbud with me? I left mine at home.”

”Okay.” Bruce took his seatbelt off and reached over to place an earbud into Dick’s ear.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean now. Put your seatbelt back on, Bruce!”

Dick heard the telltale click of a seatbelt and let out a sigh of relief. It was followed by a familiar melody being played in his right ear as Bruce unpaused his music.

“Oh, you listen to them too? What’s your favourite song? Wait, no, let me guess: Lady Gotham.”

There was a pointed silence.

Dick giggled. “Of course that’s your favourite! Breaking news: Best way for indie artists to get Batman’s attention—Sing about Gotham!”

“That wasn’t the first song of theirs that I listened to,” Bruce protested.

“Oh yeah? What was it then?”

Bruce mumbled something.

“Could you repeat that?”

“Matches.”

“That’s their first song!… Wait, don’t tell me… No, it can’t be true. Matches? That song is about Matches Malone?”

“Matches helped them out of a bad situation and it was a thank you gift. I didn’t think they’ll build a fanbase because of it, or that that’ll be their first official song,” Bruce explained.

If Damian were not asleep, Dick would have cackled.

“Matches?” Dick repeated.

As if planned, the next song that played was Matches.

Dick let out a cackle that woke up Damian from his light sleep.

“Matches,” Dick giggled, much to Damian’s confusion and ire. But he must’ve decided it wasn’t worth his time because he closed his eyes and went back to sleep.

They didn’t speak for the rest of the car ride so that they (or rather Dick) wouldn’t wake Damian again. But the music playing in Dick’s right ear and the imaginary screen play of ‘Matches’ wonderful adventures’ kept Dick well entertained. He’d ask Bruce what actually happened but Bruce had a way of turning the most interesting stories into dull reports, so Dick decided it was best left to imagination.

“We’re here!” Dick screamed as he finally pulled into the parking lot of their private beach.

Damian scrambled out of the car to stretch his legs, and helped Bruce get Ace out of his seatbelt. While they were doing that, Dick got their stuff out of the trunk and set them down on the ground. He noticed Jason’s car a little ways down from his own, and looked around for his brothers and Steph. They were setting up a parasol and laying down beach towels and chairs under it.

“Dami, help me bring these down to the beach where Jay and the rest are,” Dick requested, pointing Damian in the general direction.

Damian grunted and grabbed the grill and coals before marching away.

Dick gave Bruce his earbud back, and enlisted him and Ace (mostly Ace) to grab a bag or two as well. It was kinda funny seeing Bruce struggle to carry the bag before Ace hefted it onto his back and trotted away. Holding his giggles back, Dick grabbed the cooler and locked up.

“Yo!” he greeted. “Anyone get in the water yet?”

“We just set everything up, Dickbag.”

“Well, good job.” Dick set the cooler down on the sand and eyed everyone. The three that arrived first had already changed into their swimsuits. Dick quickly striped off his shirt and toed off his shoes. “Race you to the water!”

“You cheat!”

Jason chased after him, sand flying in the wake of his powerful strides, and lunged at Dick just as he reached the water. They both fell into the water with a great splash. Jason tried to hold Dick’s head underwater but was instead flipped onto his back by Dick.

“I still win!” Dick cheered.

“You’re both fucking losers!” Steph heckled from a safe distance. “Timbo, help me set up the net.”

“Now?”

“Hey, we’re about to watch the match of the century. Two kids and a dog up against a big fat bully.”

Tim watched Bruce and Damian put a life vest on Ace and snorted. “I think they’re pretty busy right now. Besides, I’m going to take some photos first.” He held up his camera in demonstration. “We’ll play after lunch.”

Steph huffed. “Fine. I’ll make a sandcastle instead.”

Everyone had split off to do their own things.

Dick was sunbathing, taking in as much sun as he could. Apparently, the cloud-filtered sun in Gotham and Bludhaven weren’t good enough for him. Made his beautiful skin look sun starved rather than sun kissed or something like that. Made him lose the complexion he shared with his parents… After the first time they noticed this, Bruce had always made sure to periodically send Robin to sunny locations for missions to subtly and productively allay the issue, but Dick seemed to have taken a more direct approach.

Jason had raided the cooler Dick brought. He criticised half the ingredients, and shook his head in dismay at the rest. Jason then started re-preparing the skewers on the spot, adding sauce for marinade and whatnot, before putting them back into the cooler. Bruce hoped no sand got on the food. He didn’t dare look too closely; even when they collaborated on cases, Jason would sometimes deem eye contact enough cause for a fight.

Stephanie got busy building a big sandcastle. She had brought out buckets and spades from the trunk of Jason’s car, and got to work. Bruce had not known Stephanie to be the type to build sandcastles, never mind the elaborate one she was currently making, but Bruce and Stephanie had never really spent much time together outside of their masks. He knew the broad strokes. Stephanie liked purple. Her justice was about doing right by the victims. She hated her dad and loved her mum. But he didn’t know if she preferred Italian to Mexican food. What shows she was watching. If she liked building sandcastles at the beach.

Tim wandered off with a camera to take photos. He crouched low to get a shot of a crab wandering near the shore. After getting his photos, Tim sat back and laughed at the results. Bruce hoped Tim would post in online later. He’d never get to see the photos otherwise. Whenever Bruce asked to see Tim’s photos, he would hand them to Bruce and wait tersely nearby, like a student expecting a bad grade and harsh feedback. Even when Bruce would praise him, Tim never seemed to believe him.

Damian had gone swimming with Ace. They lingered in the shallow waters for a good while, until Damian could be certain that Ace wasn’t afraid and knew how to swim in the life vest. Then, they ventured out into the deeper waters, enjoying the push and pull of the waves. If Damian were the one to have found Ace that night, he would have spoiled him rotten. Would have taken care of him instead relying on him like a lifeline. Damian probably doesn’t need an Ace to remind him to eat.

Bruce tore his eyes away from his children and redirected them to the book he was pretending to read; a medical journey on the latest advancements on infectious diseases. Bruce only brought it to look more like an adult, but if quizzed on it, he’d regrettably be unable to answer any questions. It just required too much effort to force his child mind to understand the complex text, and Bruce was honestly too distracted to even try. Still, he stayed under his shade and pretended.

There was something nice about everyone splitting off to do their own thing, even if they arrived as a group. So very often, Bruce was an outsider looking in as they bantered and laughed. Right now, there wasn’t a ‘they’. They were separate but one. Together but not, and Bruce got to be part of that, which was nice.

“Lunch is ready, ya pricks!” Jason yelled sometime later.

Dick shot up from his beach towel and snatched a skewer. “I’ve been starving!”

The separated pack congregated once more, each in different states of dishevelment.

“Wash off whatever sand or seawater’s clinging to you,” Jason ordered.

They obediently washed their hands with soap and water, and grabbed skewers of their own. Bruce trailed behind them and gingerly took a skewer once he was sure Jason didn’t oppose to him eating his food. Jason had kindly grilled some unseasoned cuts of meat for Ace as well, set aside on what was clearly a doggy bowl, so Bruce grabbed it and placed it down for Ace. As usual, Ace waited for Bruce to eat before chowing down on his meal.

He half watched Ace eat, making sure he didn’t choke on the meat and all, and half watched the kids trade insults and jokes. Dick was currently gently ribbing Tim about his reddening skin. The rest rapidly jumped in and the conversation jumped back and forth in a lively, loving manner.

“Either B has some magic sunscreen, or you forgot to reapply yours. Either way, this proves that you’re the whitest person here,” Dick declared.

Tim let out an offended gasp, “Bruce is whiter than bread! He– he did all the classic white boy things! He even went on a world tour to ‘find himself’ and came back knowing how to meditate and shit.”

Stephanie guffawed. “OMG, I never realised the Batman training was a ‘white boy finding himself’ world tour!”

Bruce scrunched his nose, and tried to squash down the offence he felt at his training years being reduced to something like a white man going to a developing nation for the first time and preaching about his ‘enlightened’ world views or some nonsense like that. Those four years forged Batman. No matter the kids’ thoughts on Bruce, they couldn’t deny Batman’s significance.

“At least Father’s world tour was productive. Timothy, your progenitor went haring about the globe only to steal cultural heritage from less developed nations.”

“Ooof, he’s right. Your parents really did cosplay the British museum.”

“I donated the stuff back after they died,” Tim nonchalantly said. “Anyway, the only reason Bruce doesn’t look affected by the sun is because he’d been sitting in the shade all day, whereas I have been walking around under the death rays.”

“And so have everyone else, and yet you’re the only lobster here,” Damian tutted.

“If Bruce didn’t laze about under the parasol, he’d look worse than me!”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen him sunburnt though?” Dick revealed. “B, have you ever been sunburnt?”

Bruce hid his startle at being directly addressed. He’d assumed that he was a passing topic, used only to further antagonise each other, but evidently, that was not the case. “I’ve always been mindful about using sunblock, so no, it’s not something I’ve experienced.”

“So am I! I reapply every two hours!” Tim whined. “What kind of sunscreen do you have?”

Bruce shrugged. “The one I’ve always used.” His mother had favoured this brand whenever they went on trips outside Gotham… A thought occurred to Bruce. “Tim, are you using Gotham sunscreen?”

“Yes? I mean, it says on the label that it’s made for Gotham, and it’s the only one that doesn’t make my skin break out into rashes.”

“Oof.” Stephanie placed a sympathetic hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You’re supposed to use Outside sunscreen. The usual sunscreen is made for Gotham’s weak sun; it blocks UV rays but still lets you absorb vitamin D. I think it even increases the amount.”

“Daily sunscreen application has no effect on vitamin D levels. The most sunscreen does is slow down absorption rates, which is pretty negligible,” Tim rattled off.

“All that trivia, and not a lick of actual knowledge.” Jason heaved a heavy sigh. “Gotham barely has any sun. We’re not risking any of that vitamin D. Our weak ass sun also means we’re just not used to sun in general, so when we go outside, we burn to a crisp. That’s why you need to use different sunscreen too. Not just any random sunscreen you buy from the outside but Outside sunscreen. Got it, dummy? Bitch, you even went on a few desert missions. How’d you survive in the desert not knowing basic sun protection knowledge?”

“I used the desert mission kit for that and just ignored the rashes it gave me.”

“What a loser,” Damian mocked.

Tim glared at Damian and his wonderfully russet brown skin. “Fuck you too.”

Jason laughed and threw a bottle of aloe vera gel at Tim. “Use that to soothe your pride!”

“I hate all of you.”

Bruce had failed as a parent. How did Tim not know something as basic as this? He quietly grabbed his sunblock from his bag and placed it in Tim’s hand.

“Thanks, B. You’re the only real one here.”

Bruce carried that warmth with him for the rest of the meal.

“Beach volleyball!” Steph cheered. “Can’t wait to see you get destroyed, Jason.”

Jason scoffed. “These brats are lucky if they can get the ball over the net.”

“Don’t come crying when you’ve lost to those brats,” Tim taunted. He directed his camera at Jason and zoomed into his face.

“Come out in the sun and say that to my face.”

“Fuck you.” Tim zoomed out and made sure the camera could see the middle finger he was pointing at his brother.

Jason returned it. “That’s what I thought.”

Dick clapped loudly. “Alright. Standard beach volleyball rules. We’ll do best of three ‘cause we don’t have all day, and I wanna play too. Everyone agree?”

Nods all around.

“Team 1 is Damian, Bruce, and Ace. Team 2 is Jason. Rock Paper Scissors, winner serves first.”

Steph suspected that much of the match would just be Damian and Jason antagonising each other while Bruce stood there with Ace. He didn’t look very invested in the game—had been dragged into it without so much as a say so—which sucked, because Steph was looking forward to seeing them make each other eat shit. She really was banking on Bruce’s competitive nature to kick in, but he cared zero percent, and Jason and Damian cared too much percent.

Jason scored the first point, which he immediately decided to be an asshole about.

“I’m not even putting any effort into this, and I’m still winning. Are you even trying, Demon Brat, or are the two handicaps dragging you down too much? I haven’t even had to use my double touch permission. Should I play with one hand to even the playing field a little?” he taunted.

Steph rolled her eyes at the obvious lie. As if everyone didn’t just watch him sprint across the sand to block the ball Damian sent over the net. The man was glistening with sweat and it certainly wasn’t from manning the grill all afternoon.

“Todd,” Damian growled. He turned to Bruce and Ace. “Father, you may not be tall enough to set the ball over the net, but you can still intercept the ball and pass it to me. Ace can do the same. We’ll make Todd pay for underestimating us.”

Bruce averted his eyes from Damian’s intense stare and nodded.

Damian nodded back and went into position. He did a jumping serve and quickly followed that with a middle finger at Jason.

“Fuck you too!” Jason volleyed back, unable to keep himself from returning the middle finger. The result was a sloppily hit ball that Bruce easily set back to Damian.

The teen grinned savagely and jumped, spraying sand everywhere. He slammed the ball into Jason’s side of the court.

“Point to Team 1!” Dick called out.

“GO DAMIAN!” Steph cheered. “EAT SHIT, JASON.”

“Fuck you, cheerleader!” Jason yelled.

“Where’d your bravado go, Jason?” Tim taunted.

“Fuck you, lobster boy.”

“Skunk.”

“Wonder bread.”

Dick quickly interrupted with a sharp whistle. “The next team to score wins. Jason’s serving this time.”

The match was much more exciting now that all players were actively participating. Bruce was running around in the back, bumping the ball every time Jason sent it there. Damian would hit it back over the net. Jason actually took advantage of him being allowed to double touch and set the ball high over the net, before jumping and slamming it down, only to be blocked by Damian. Then, he’ll send it over to where Bruce was hanging about, and the cycle would repeat.

The real MVP was Ace. Whenever Jason sent the ball flying, Ace would be behind Bruce to steady him, because as skilled as Bruce was, he was still a little guy and the force with which Jason hit the ball could easily send him flying. The extra support didn’t stop Bruce’s twiggy arms from getting red and bruised. It was nothing compared to the wounds they collected after each patrol, but Steph still felt the urge to yell at Jason to hit a little lighter whenever she caught sight of those red arms.

Jason hit the ball towards an empty spot on Team 1’s side of the court. With Bruce and Damian on the other side, it looked like Jason was going to win after all.

“Boo,” Steph moaned.

Just as all hope was about to be lost, Ace sprinted across the court and intercepted the ball before it could land! Bruce arrived just in time to set the ball for Damian, and the teen spiked it into the opposite court.

“Point to Team 1! Team 1 wins!”

A burst of giggles erupted from the sandy court.

“Ace! You won the game!” Bruce squished Ace’s cheeks between his palms and pressed a kiss against his head. His face was flushed from the physical exertion, hair sticking to his face with sweat, and eyes bright with excitement. Bruce didn’t look like a vampire or a sickly Victorian child anymore. He looked like a… He looked like a kid.

Ace responded by knocking Bruce onto his back and licked his face with excitement.

“No, stop it, that’s disgusting!” Bruce squealed, letting out more of those bubbly giggles.

They watched in stunned silence, unable to take their eyes away from Bruce’s display of jubilance.

“Haven’t seen that in a while…” Dick wistfully sighed.

Steph made an inquiring noise but did not turn her head to look at Dick. She kept her eyes trained on Bruce, and suspected Dick did the same. It was as though they were all Robin again, watching mesmerised as Batman did what Batman did best.

“I used to play chess competitively, and I forced Bruce to help me.” Dick let out a laugh. “He was ruthless, man. Always kept victory just out of reach, and when I’d inevitably make a fuss about him winning, he’d laugh and walk me through all the possible moves I could make to beat him next time.”

Steph never got to have that with Bruce. Tim never got to have that. Damian certainly didn’t. She wondered if Jason did. Instead of saying any of that, she said, “Nerd.”

Dick shoved her shoulder in retaliation.

“Father, we must celebrate this victory.”

The giggling tapered off and Bruce pushed Ace off of him.

“Let’s push Jason into the ocean.”

“You wish, brats.” Jason grabbed the two under his arms and ran towards the water. “Go take a swim!” He threw them both in where the water was deep enough and ran back to the safety of the shore.

Ace barked and hefted Bruce onto his back. He helped Damian back up as well and trotted out of the water. Bruce slid off Ace’s back on the dry sand and made a hand gesture at him.

“Get away from me, Ace,” Jason warned, taking a step back.

Ace shook himself aggressively and flung seawater all over Jason. The big loser squawked and hid behind Dick to shield himself. Dick simply turned around and threw Jason over his shoulder before running into the ocean.

“Accept your punishment for losing, Jay.” He grinned and dropped the big oaf in the water.

While they were doing that, Steph approached Bruce. “Here, B, for your arms.” She held out an ice packs she made from the ice in the cooler and some towel.

“... Thank you, Stephanie.”

Steph hummed and watched him wrap them around his arms.

“I can’t believe Ace managed to win the game,” she said.

“He’s a good boy,” Bruce said matter-of-factly.

Steph laughed. “Yeah, he is.”

Today was a good day.

Chapter Text

The warm light of the sun caressed the peach fuzz of his cheeks in the most gentle wake-up call Bruce had ever known. He hovered in the sweet spot between sleep and wakefulness, limbs heavy and slack, wrapped snuggly in his blanket, surrounded by the homely smell of herbs. Bruce turned and buried his face in Ace’s fur. He hadn’t had such as restful and comfy sleep in a very, very long time; Bruce wasn’t going to cut it short just because he forgot to close his blackout curtains.

… He didn’t remember opening his curtains.

Bruce reluctantly pulled away from Ace and opened his eyes.

He was in the living room. The one with the best view of the garden. Bruce did not remember going to sleep in the living room. In fact, he didn’t remember going to sleep at all. His last memory was getting home from the beach and—

There was no and.

Bruce closed his eyes and buried his face in Ace’s fur again. If he went back to sleep, he wouldn’t be in the living room anymore. If he went back to sleep, he’ll wake up in his room, because he definitely didn’t fall asleep in the car and get carried out like a child by one of his kids!

Ace licked a wet stripe across Bruce’s hair.

“Ew!” he complained, pushing away from his buddy.

Ace hopped off the couch and crouched low.

Bruce sighed and slovenly rolled onto Ace’s back, half-heartedly holding onto his collar for balance. Ace once again proved why he was the best boy and brought Bruce back to his room, gently letting him down once they were in his closet.

“Thank you, Ace.”

Bruce pressed a kiss against his furry forehead before peeling his beach clothes off his skin, and throwing them into the laundry hamper. They were sticky and stiff from the dried seawater after Jason threw them into it. Bruce remembered doing that to Jason in their pool once, after he’d taught him how to swim. Maybe that was revenge for that. Or maybe that was just Jason being Jason.

“Urgh, stupid pasty skin,” Bruce moaned, staring at the vivid purple bruises along his arms. They didn’t hurt much thanks to the ice Stephanie gave him, but the thin, pale quality of his skin made it look like he’d broken them or something.

Resolving to wear long sleeves until the bruises disappeared, Bruce hopped into the shower and, naturally, began to brood. As the hot water poured over his head, yesterday repeated in his mind in technicolour. The car ride, lunch, the volleyball match, the giggling, Stephanie’s kindness, dinner in the car, falling asleep… Bruce thud his head against the shower tiles and wished he could curl up and die.

Instead of doing that, he washed away the sweat and salt from yesterday.

? … ?!

Bruce had a tail. It was a soggy thing, hanging sadly from above his butt cheeks. Bruce touched his ears. They were rather long and triangular, elongating from the side of his head, like elf ears if they were furry.

Right. The side effects. How could he forget?

Bruce stepped out of the shower and dried himself as fast as he could. Bruce’s hair was fluffier than usual, and he had a strong feeling he would be unable to tame it. Annoyed, Bruce threw his towel into the laundry hamper and climbed onto the bathroom vanity to peek at himself in the mirror.

His eyes had adopted the strange rectangular iris of sheep and goats, ears elongated just as he felt, and hair wool-like. Bruce wasn’t educated enough about bovidae to differentiate between sheep and goats from this distorted lens. He was leaning towards goat, however, as he respected their intelligent reputation. Not to mention, goats were associated with the occult and devils. Sheep, on the other hand, were docile and innocent. They were the ones being protected. Goats were the enemy. They were so much cooler.

Hopping off the vanity, Bruce got dressed and exited his bathroom. He found Ace waiting by the door and crouched down by the dog. Squishing his cheeks, Bruce said, deadpanned, “I always knew you would be the death of me.”

The fucking giggling…

Ace licked his nose and walked out of the closet. Bruce followed, almost absentmindedly, through the winding halls and into the kitchen. As soon as they step foot into Alfred’s sanctuary the kitchen, Bruce’s stomach gurgled. He quickly made himself a sandwich and made sure Ace watched him eat, before grabbing a glass of milk to go along with the meal.

Bruce chewed on the bread (was he chewing more than usual? Grazing?) and stared out the window, Ace still visible in the corner of his now widened field of vision. It was a nice day, and despite getting more than his fill of sunshine yesterday, Bruce had the urge to run about, and touch some grass or something. But Ace was still eating, so Bruce followed his lead and kept eating his sandwich too.

Once Ace was finished with his breakfast, he decided that he wanted to go on a walk. He informed Bruce of this by carrying his leash in his mouth and dropping it at Bruce’s feet.

“Message received, buddy.” Bruce chuckled and clipped the leash onto Ace’s collar. He allowed the dog to guide him out into the garden and then through the woods to the duck pond they currently spent most of their walks at.

After he unclipped Ace’s collar, Bruce began to have some fun himself. He climbed onto a decently sized rock and jumped off, giggling to himself all the while. Bruce decided climbing all the nice rocks in the surrounding area was a worthy venture, and thus the morning passed by quickly, as he jumped on and off of the many rocks.

It was Ace that had to end their walk, instead of the other way around. Bruce glanced at the sky, and noted the sun’s position. It was nigh noon, and Damian should be up by now. They needed to get back soon so that Ace could get some rest before he went on his second walk with Damian.

They weaved through the grove of trees, and made it back just in time for Damian to stumble into the kitchen for breakfast. Normally, Bruce would make himself scarce at this point, but he blindly followed after Ace, and watched him lap up water from the water bowl by the sink.

“Good afternoon, Father,” Damian greeted.

“Good afternoon, Damian,” Bruce returned.

“I see that you’ve gained an extra feature.”

Oh, right. Bruce had almost forgotten. He touched the end of his fluffy ear and tugged at it slightly. “I seem to have gained bovidae features. I am not entirely sure if they belong to a sheep or a goat.”

Damian leaned down slightly and raised a hand. “May I?”

Bruce nodded.

Damian gently ran his hands through Bruce’s hair, combing the strands near the crown of his head, and at the base of his ears. Bruce stood still, barely breathing, so as to not lean into it more than he already was, and stared unflinchingly at a spot on the floor. Unfortunately, his new features betrayed him, as they so oft do, and twitched incessantly as Damian’s warm hands carded through his hair. Maybe Damian would believe it if Bruce said he was ticklish.

“Young goats typically grow their horns about a week after birth. I didn’t feel any nubs, but it could also be because the transformation didn’t include them. Do you have any other new features? Other than the eyes and ears,” Damian asked.

“I also have a tail.” It was wrapped around his waist, kept in place by his shirt, which was in turn tucked into his trousers.

“Goats have short, upturned tails. Undocked, sheep have long tails that hang low.”

“It’s rather long,” Bruce offered reluctantly.

Damian nodded to himself. “You’re a lamb,” he confirmed.

If Damian wasn’t staring at him, Bruce may have been tempted to pout. He wanted to be a spooky goat… Bruce could’ve gone the entire day living under the delusion that he was a cool goat instead of a loser lamb, but— “You’re really knowledgeable about animals, Damian.”

Damian cleared his throat. “Thank you, Father.” Then, after a pause, he added, “I plan to make some omelettes. Would you like some?”

Bruce should probably say no and retreat back to the theatre that no one but him goes to, but the thought of being alone filled him with such dread that he found himself nodding.

Damian looked at him for a moment before turning to the stove. The ingredients for his omelette were already on the counter; spinach, feta, and eggs. Damian heat up a pan before turning to the fridge and grabbing a large handful of spinach. He rinsed those and added them to the bowl on the counter.

As Damian began sautéing the spinach, Bruce made himself useful by cracking more eggs into the bowl. He seasoned them some more, and then beat them with a fork. It made a terrible clanging sound as it collided with the mixing bowl, the unpleasant noise accentuated by his heightened senses.

“Thank you, Father,” Damian said, taking the bowl of eggs from Bruce. The eggs entered the pan with a slight sizzle, and Bruce watched as Damian pushed the eggs around to cook them evenly. “I’m not the best cook, but I’m sure the omelettes would turn out adequately.”

“Your cooking is good, Damian,” Bruce responded.

Damian grunted. “Mother taught me a few of her favourites, but most of my culinary skills come from wilderness training and the likes. They weren’t about making food good but rather edible.”

Bruce hummed. He had received the same training, albeit a crash course version because he proved himself to be somewhat of an old hand at it already. Bruce remembered his teacher scoffing at him at the time, for ‘wasting time’ adjusting the seasoning of his foraged meal. Apparently, so long as the meal adequately sustained you for a time, it didn’t matter if it was under or over seasoned. Despite Bruce’s habit of denying himself good things simply to show he could, he ignored his teacher’s disdain. The tasty meal was an excellent demonstration of his survival skills, in his humble opinion.

“Most of my practical cooking knowledge comes from Richard. He may not cook very often, but he does know most simple recipes. I learnt by watching him, and anything more complicated, I searched online.”

Damian plated the completed omelettes and set them on the table. Bruce followed with the cutlery.

“Father, would you like orange juice?”

“Yes, please.”

Bruce fell in step behind Damian and helped him hold the glasses after he had grabbed them from the cabinet above. They walked to the fridge together, and Bruce held still to allow Damian to fill the glasses with orange juice, before popping the bottle back into the fridge. Finally, they returned to the kitchen island and began to eat.

“Father, how did you learn how to cook?” Damian asked after a moment of silence.

Bruce blinked and decided to answer honestly. “I used to watch Alfred cook and then recreated his recipes during my journey.”

Damian took a long sip of his orange juice. “It seems we both started cooking for roughly the same reasons.”

Bruce rolled the words around in his head. “... It would seem so.”

Homesickness.

Not for the first time, he wondered what was it like for Damian to have been uprooted from his life and placed on the doorsteps of a practical stranger. Was it anything like Bruce and Uncle Philip? Was it worse? At least Bruce was allowed to stay in Gotham. Damian was forced to leave behind everything familiar and adapt to a place so foreign, both in terms of culture and values, that he was functionally made to relearn everything he knew.

Bruce hoped it wasn’t worse. He would hate being worse than Uncle Philip. Not that Uncle Philip was horrible. He was just… unprepared. Ill-equipped to take care of a grieving child, especially one as needy as Bruce. Uncle Philip had a lot on his plate at the time—Bruce should be grateful that he still took him in after Bruce had been thrust onto him like that.

“Is there any left for me?” Tim’s sleepy voice interrupted Bruce’s reflection before it could spiral into that vicious but familiar territory of justifications and poor excuses that benefited no one, especially not Bruce.

“Timothy, shouldn’t you be at work?”

Tim scowled. “How am I supposed to turn up to work like this?” He gestured aggressively at himself, showcasing his mess of flaking, sunburnt skin.

Damian snorted. “This is what you get for being dumb.”

“Fuck you.”

Bruce placed his fork down. “Tim, I have a potion that should heal your burns within a few hours. They’re down in the cave.”

Ace barked.

“Ace knows where they are. He’ll take you to them.”

“Oh. Thanks, Bruce… Are you a goat right now?”

Bruce considered lying.

“Father is a sheep.”

Tim snorted. “Sheeple,” he muttered under his breath.

Bruce’s keen new ears caught it, and he once again lamented his new transformation. Sheep had terrible reputations. Goats… Being associated with the devil probably wasn’t much better, but Bruce was Batman and he was kind of used to the occult reputation. Relished it, even.

“Lead the way, Ace,” Tim instructed, giving Ace a rough pat on the head.

Bruce almost followed, but stopped himself just before he got off the stool. He was eating lunch with Damian. There was no reason to go down to the cave with Tim.

It didn’t take long for Tim and Ace to return.

“Those potions taste disgusting, B,” he reported with a whine in his voice. “But they’re really effective. I already feel it working. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce responded plainly.

Tim made himself a coffee and took a seat beside Bruce.

“You need to eat breakfast, Timothy,” Damian said.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Can’t be bothered cooking. My food’s coming in ten minutes.”

Damian tutted. “You have to unlock the gate and open the door for the driver.”

“I know, brat. It’s not my first rodeo.”

Bruce and Damian finished their breakfast before Tim’s order arrived. Damian cleaned up with Bruce, and they walked out of the kitchen. Tim and Ace followed.

“Are you planning on eating in the living room, Timothy?” Damian disdainfully asked.

“Calm down, little landlord. Driver’s here. I’m getting my food.”

“But you’re planning on eating in the living room.”

“Only because you planted the idea in my head.”

“Whatever.”

For some reason, they all went to the door to collect Tim’s food. The driver handed Tim two paper bags, trying not to stare at Wayne Manor too obviously. Then, he tried not to look too star-struck when Tim stuffed a wad of cash into his hand.

“Drive safe.” Tim waved the delivery driver bye and reached into a paper bag. “Here, I got us some drinks. Banana milkshake for Damian and B. Pup cup for Ace. Another coffee for me.”

Damian took a sip of his milkshake. “This is adequate.”

“Thank you, Tim.” Bruce copied Damian and drank a small sip of the milkshake. He didn’t bother commenting on Tim’s caffeine intake. Bruce didn’t have much of a right to lecture him on it.

Tim nodded at him and led the way to the living room. “You watching anything interesting lately?” he asked Damian.

Damian answered with a detailed explanation of the anime he was watching, utterly disregarding spoiler warnings and the like. By the end of the spiel, Bruce felt like he had watched it himself, and knew the characters and their motivations as well as any other fan. Tim, on the other hand, was working on something on his laptop, and let out the occasional ‘mhm’ through a mouthful of bagel to show he was paying attention.

Perhaps it was this half-hearted display of listening that prompted Damian to turn the telly on and play the first episode of the show despite the detailed summary.

“The voice acting and sound design are well done, and deserve to be appreciated,” he explained.

And so, a distracted Tim, Bruce and Ace sat on the couch and obediently watched the episode, and another, and another, and another. Though his gaze was focused on the TV, Bruce’s widened field of vision allowed him to watch Damian as well. His son was concentrated on the screen, entranced as though he were watching it for the first time.

And it was fun, but Bruce was feeling jittery from sitting still for so long. He stretched his limbs and tried to shake out the restlessness.

“Wow, Bruce. What happened to your arms?” Tim exclaimed with a soft gasp, lifting his eyes from his laptop for the first time in twenty minutes.

The sleeves of Bruce’s shirt had ridden up with his stretch and exposed a slither of the mess of black and purple on his arms. Bruce pulled them down. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. It looks like you broke your arm.”

“I just have pale and thin skin. It looks worse than it is. It doesn’t even hurt.”

“Wait, is this from volleyball?”

Bruce shrugged.

“Father, have you used any medicine for your bruises?”

Bruce shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Damian frowned and turned to Tim. “Go get a healing potion from Father’s collection.”

“You’d think you were allergic to using your manners.” Tim rolled his eyes but walked off without another word.

Bruce made to follow.

“Father, Timothy can get the potion by himself.” Damian stopped him and made him sit back down. He pushed back Bruce’s sleeves and tutted at the sight of his arms. “I’m going to kill Jason the next time I see him.”

Bruce pulled his arms out of Damian’s soft grip and pushed his sleeves back down. “It’s not his fault; I bruise like a peach. You two are overreacting.”

“Hush, Father.” Damian frowned at Bruce. “Why didn’t you use the potion?”

“I didn’t need it and they taste gross.”

Damian hummed. “And yet you thought it necessary to hide.”

Bruce didn’t know how to respond to that so he simply didn’t.

“Did you at least put ice on it?” Damian asked.

“Stephanie gave me some ice yesterday.”

“Hn.”

They both turned their attentions back to the TV until Tim came back.

“Here’s your potion.”

“Thank you, Tim.”

“No worries.”

Bruce chugged the potion in front of their watchful eyes, and tried not to wince at the now familiar horrid taste. Once emptied, he swapped the potion for his banana milkshake and drowned the bitterness out with the sweet drink.

Damian and Tim turned their attention back to their anime and laptop respectively and the hours went by peacefully.

Bruce noticed things. People who knew Bruce on a more personal level accused him of being emotionally blind, but Bruce was a detective, and a good one at that, and he noticed things. Namely, Dick was much more comfortable around him now that they had their chat.

That weren’t nearly as close as they were back when they were Batman and Robin, but they weren’t walking on eggshells either, waiting for another inevitable fight to erupt. Not to say they were always fighting—it was Jason with whom nearly every interaction ended in a fight—but they were both notably on their best behaviours, unwilling to trigger another argument and make it awkward for the rest of the family. Not that it had mattered, considering the family wasn’t around Bruce very much before now.

Anyhow, Dick was comfortable again, and Bruce was finally remembering a little tidbit about Dick Grayson that he had so conveniently forgotten. Namely, he was annoying.

“Baa baa black sheep, have you anymore,” Dick sang, as he had for the past hour. "Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full."

“Dick,” Tim interrupted. “If you sing that song one more time, I swear I will—”

“Wow wow wow.” Dick held his hands up in the air in faux surrender and put on an innocent face. “If you wanted me to sing a different song, you should’ve just said so.”

“We told you to shut up at dinner, and we’re telling you to shut up now.”

Dick let out a heavy sigh. “You’re all so mean. Bruce is enjoying my singing, aren’t you?”

Bruce shared a look of suffering with Damian and Tim.

“I bet you’re sulking because you’re a sheep and not a goat. God’s lost lamb vs the Devil’s…” Dick paused, in search of a suitable alliterative adjective, “... gnarly goat. You and your occult obsession. Spooky manor, haunted cave, the bats. When will it all end?” he joked, unknowing of just how true his statement rang.

Tim snickered. “Was gnarly really the best you could do?”

Dick flipped the bird at him and sang loudly, “Mary had a little—”

Damian flung a pillow at his brother’s face. It, naturally, devolved into a pillow fight. Everyone vs Dick, of course. Bruce had somehow been dragged into it, and was hiding behind Ace’s bulk, as he threw as many decorative pillows (of which they had many) as he could at his son. Laughter filled the living room, and if a certain giggle joined the cacophony, well, it was too chaotic for Bruce to know.

The next morning, free from any side effects, Bruce made his way down to the cave. He inputted his login details into the Batcomputer and brought up the manor’s security footage from the other day. Heat flooded his ears as he watched Dick carry him out of the car and tuck him in tightly on the couch where he’d woken up. Bruce quickly sped up the footage and watched carefully for when he’d started transforming.

… There!

An hour after he’d been tucked in returned home, Bruce’s hair started to get curlier and his ears just sort of elongated and turned into that of a lamb’s. It was a quick and fluid process, so unlike that first painful transformation that Bruce began to wonder. What made the transformations so different? It couldn’t have been size and mass. When he’d turned doll sized, Bruce hadn’t felt any pain from the transformation. Was it because the initial transformation involved him taking the curse into himself? Was it caused by interactions with the various herbs within the potion? Was it because he hadn’t been asleep at the time?

So many questions and no answers at all.

Bruce searched for his deeply buried Curse folder to create a file for his observations of the transformation that he’d neglected to do thus far.

… Someone had opened his folder.

Two days ago.

Everyone who had access to the Batcomputer were all at the beach. Everyone except Barbara and Cass and Alfred.

Alfred was retired. Cass was in Hong Kong. Barbara didn’t go with them to the beach.

Chapter Text

Bruce stared unblinkingly at the screen. His teeth gnawed at his lower lip, leaving indents, but thankfully didn’t draw blood. Ace nudge his head against Bruce’s shin, and whimpered until Bruce released his lips. Still staring at the screen, he blindly rubbed Ace’s head with one hand and brought Selina’s gift for him to his mouth with the other. Bruce replaced the sharp focus brought on by pain with the soothing sensation of the soft silicone against his teeth, biting down and releasing in a pattern known only to him.

It was early in the morning. No one was awake yet. In fact, the kids must’ve gone to sleep two, three hours ago. Maybe just an hour ago for the worst of them. Bruce had time.

He could encrypt the files again. Better than he did the first time. But while Bruce was good, he was no match for Oracle. Because it must’ve been Barbara that did this. Because the rest were at the beach, and Bruce would’ve noticed them using their devices too intensely for too long. And if it wasn’t them, no one else could’ve done this. Wouldn’t have even known to. But then again, Oracle was good enough to leave no traces. The person that opened his encrypted folder hadn’t even done the most basic action of disguising when the folder had been open. It blatantly stated: Folder last opened July 9th.

Barbara wanted Bruce to know she had been snooping. But why? And why did she open this folder? The kids wanted nothing to do with the curse since they learnt about it. Bruce told them about it anyway. Especially the older kids. They heard enough that even the mere suggestion of it set them off. And sure, they agreed to be more open to it, but that was more about not yelling at Bruce about the curse, rather than an active interest in it.

The folder was large. It contained all the documentation Bruce possessed on The Curse. Above all… personal recounts. Barbara had access to it for two days. Given sufficient motivation, she’d have been able to read through most of them in that scant time.

Unless this was all an elaborate diversion and they were obvious about it to conceal what they were really looking for.

What did they want?

Bruce was really not sure. He wasn’t even certain that he could do much to stop them from finding out if they really wanted to know. Bruce taught the kids everything they needed to know, and everyone knew the old adage about students and mentors. Besides, everything important was locked behind the same amount of layered encryption and firewalls; the most Bruce could do was change his passwords again and hope for the best.

And so he changed his passwords and sat back in his seat.

The next plan of action was damage control. Since there was no point speculating what Barbara’s true target was, he had to assume she was combing through his files on the curse. Bruce needed to identify points of contention, anticipate queries, formulate answers, so on and so forth.

He grabbed a blank notebook from the desk drawer and jotted his thoughts down in shorthand. Bruce wrote down and crossed out potential questions and responses, adjusted them to be more realistic, then crossed them out again, because he could never accurately predict what his children were going to say. They had a talent for flustering Bruce despite his preparations, and especially loved going off script. However, the act of planning and drafting itself kept Bruce’s mind focussed, and kept him from spiralling into darker territories.

Finally, a good two hours later, Bruce threw the book into an incinerator and did what he did best: pretend nothing happened.

While it was agreed that they would all be keeping a closer eye on Father, the reality was, the responsibility mostly fell on Damian, if only because the rest had jobs while he was on summer vacation. Even then, Damian didn’t actually see Father that much more often than the others, as at least Timothy or Richard would be at dinner with them, and Father made himself scarce otherwise. But Damian was still home the most, and he had more opportunities to observe his father than the rest.

Father was hiding something. Damian knew this. His siblings knew it. There didn't exist a world where Father was entirely honest, but... Father was hiding something and Damian was starting to see what it was that he was hiding.

He wasn’t liking what he’d been seeing.

They had all simply taken Father’s claims at face value, hadn’t they? Despite it having been proven that he had concealed crucial facts about the situation from them, they still believed what he had told them at the start and responded accordingly. It had felt right at the time, but hindsight was twenty-twenty and Damian was questioning the intelligence of his past self.

“Ace.” Damian crouched down in front of the dog when he came to him for his afternoon walk. “Take me to Father.”

Ace did an adorable head tilt and turned back the way he came from. Damian followed as they made their way to what he recognised to be the mini theatre room. He had only been inside it once or twice before, when the manor was still new, and he wanted to get a sense of it. Damian didn’t see much of a point in using it, as the television was more than big enough, and had state of the art speakers. The projectors were honestly too much of a hassle to bother with.

Damian didn’t hear any sounds coming from inside even when he pressed his ears against the solid wooden doors. He wondered if he would be able to find more substantial evidence of Father’s secret behind them.

Instead of opening the doors and forcibly finding out, Damian did the polite thing and knocked. “Father, it’s Damian. I would like to speak with you.”

After a short moment, Father cracked the door open by a slither and slipped through the opening. Damian was barely able to make out the colour of the carpet, let alone what Father had squirrelled away in this lesser frequented area of the manor. A small part of him marvelled at how risky this was; it would have only taken a whim for any one of them to inadvertently discover his secret. Then again, not once had any of his siblings ever considered using the theatre room to watch their movies. They’d never have gone looking here for what Father was hiding.

Father looked up at him expectantly.

Damian felt his mouth go dry. Everything clogging his mind earlier — the excuses, justifications, explanations — vanished without a trace, and the accusations came spitting out like gunfire.

“You lied to us.”

Father didn’t react in the way Damian expected him to—by not reacting at all—Instead, he creased his eyebrows ever so slightly and pursed his lips in what Damian recognised as disagreement. He only recognised it because it was the much more subdued version of the expression his own face made.

“I haven’t lied. You just don’t believe it.”

“No, you… You lied. All this time, you- we—You lied and we- we believed you, and it’s not right, what we did. Not when you’re… not when you’re…”

He couldn’t say it. Damian was never the most eloquent, a trait he’d inherited from his father, but his words usually didn’t fail him like this. Damian actually prided himself on being verbose, and never fell upon filler words to pad his sentences. He constructed his words beforehand, as his mother had taught him, and resorted to insults when the words were slower to come.

Both strategies failed him and now he was stammering in front of his father like some kind of gasping fool.

Ace licked his palm and shocked him out of his unproductive spiral.

“Damian, what do you think have I lied about?” Father asked, voice as even and unaffected as always. How could he act like that when the implications of his secret was enough to send Damian reeling?

“So much, Father. So much.” Damian let out a bitter chuckle. It was highly likely Father didn’t even know which of his lies Damian was talking about.

“And which lie have you discovered?”

Yeah, that confirmed it.

Ace’s head swivelled between the two of them, as though unclear which he should be comforting. He settled for nudging his head against both their palms one after the other, before laying between their feet like some kind of umpire or referee.

Damian wished he had Ace’s senses, if only so he could get a better idea of how his father was feeling. But he didn’t, and so he had to contend with Father’s unreadable mask.

“Father, you’re a child,” Damian finally said.

“So it would seem,” Father responded calmly.

“No, not just physically. You- you lied. You told us that you were still an adult on the inside but you’re not. You’re a child. In mind and body.”

There was a beat of silence. “I may look like a child, but I’m a forty-year-old man, Damian.”

“You’re thirty-nine.”

“Thirty-nine,” Father amended. “Not a child.”

Damian clenched his jaws and stared down at his stubborn father. He was good at acting like he was older than he really was. Even now, he was skilfully dismissing Damian’s claims like a mature adult, instead of reacting like a child would, and getting defensive. Damian didn’t think, had their situations been reversed, that he would manage the same level of acting. He was, admittedly, very short tempered as a child, and prone to childish outbursts. Then again, his father wasn’t a very emotional man. It must’ve made it easier to maintain the act despite his younger state of mind.

“I’ve been watching, Father,” Damian said, breaking the silence. “You’re careful when you’re in front of us, and I can never catch you alone, but I’ve been trained by the best detectives in the world, and I’ve noticed things.”

Damian let the silence hang once more. He was curious if he waited long enough, his father would, for once, be the one to break it. After all, this concerned his secret. He had to be curious about what Damian’s noticed.

It’s too long before someone opened their mouth to speak. To Damian’s hidden and small delight, it wasn’t him.

“I suspect it is a moot point at this time to inform you that your perception of me is coloured by my appearance,” Father began to say. “You’d no doubt had already factored that into your considerations. You’re too smart not to.”

“That is correct,” Damian confirmed. He ignored the flutter in his chest at the unexpected praise. Father’s distraction techniques would not work on him.

“What have you observed to lead you to your conclusion, Damian?”

Damian felt his spine straighten and feet fall shoulder width apart. His arms folded behind his back as he gave his report. Without good, solid evidence, Father would never admit his lies. “It was the transformations that caused me to suspect.”

An image of Father in his tank, octopus arms escaping the glass confines, appeared in his mind.

“When you transformed into an octomer, you had difficultly controlling what the arms did. They often grabbed things without your knowledge, and acted without warning. When you noticed, you would be able to control them for a brief while, before your focus would slip, and they would do as they pleased once more.”

“The transformations are physical. It is only natural that they came with physical effects.”

Damian didn’t fail to notice the emphasis on ‘physical’ in Father’s otherwise flat tone.

“If it’s simply physical, why did you follow me around yesterday?”

Father creased his brows with confusion.

He hadn’t even noticed.

“Father, you never stay in the same room with us if you can help it.” Damian’s hands clenched behind his back. He could only hope that Father’s secret explained his avoidance, rather than him sincerely not wanting to be around them. “But yesterday, you made food with me and kept following me whenever I went to grab something. When Timothy went to get his food, you followed him without even considering the repercussions of the delivery driver seeing your ears. You’re fortunate that the driver was too star struck to notice, and that I hid you behind my bulk.”

Father tugged his earlobe and grimaced.

“And then you followed me into the living room and stayed.” Damian took a deep breath. “Are you familiar with the behavioural patterns of sheep, Father?”

Father didn’t answer the rhetorical question.

“They’re followers. Infamously so. This effect wasn’t a physical one, Father, it was blatantly behavioural. Which begs the question, why would one transformation impact your mind, while the other doesn’t?”

“They’re side effects, they affect me in unpredictable ways,” Father tried to say.

“You were afraid of the storm! You whined to Kyle. You giggled. Please stop lying to me, Father,” Damian begged.

“I’m not a child,” Father insisted. “All of your evidence is circumstantial at best.”

Damian threw his hand in the direction of the door in front of them in frustration. Ace immediately sat at Father’s feet and blocked him with his body. “If you’re not a child, you won’t mind if I opened that door, would you?”

Father stared into Damian’s eyes and Damian stared back.

“Just admit it,” Damian softly implored.

Father didn’t react.

“I’m opening that door,” Damian warned.

Father stood stock-still as Damian walked around him and grabbed the doorknob. As he grasped it, doubt crept in. Father wasn’t stopping him. Was there truly nothing in the theatre room? Was Damian wrong?

He turned the doorknob and pushed the door open.

Train sets, legos, children’s books, toy cars, hand consoles.

An assortment of toys littered the ground.

“Don’t tell anyone-!” A small hand grabbed a hold of a corner of his sleeve and weakly tugged. When Damian looked down, Father turned wide trembling eyes up at him. "Please," he begged, soft and fragile like. It felt unfair that Father could look and sound like that when he was asking something so difficult.

"You lied to us," Damian repeated.

"I did."

"And now you want me to lie for you."

"You don't have to lie. Just don't say anything."

"You're a child, Father. A child."

“So?”

Damian’s mind stuttered at Father’s dismissive tone.

"What does that change? Hm? Tell me, Damian, what does this information change? I'm still me, just younger in mind than initially thought."

"It changes everything," Damian stressed.

"And I don't want anything to change!" Father let go of Damian's sleeve and wrapped his arms around himself. "What does it even matter? In a month or so, I'll change back. And I'll be big again. And everything would go back to normal."

"But you're not big," Damian pointed out.

Just look at yourself, he didn’t say. How can you act like that and expect me to still treat you like you want us to, when it was already so hard to begin with?

"Do you remember how frustrated you were when Dick tried to treat you like a kid? Don't put me through that, Damian."

Damian had been frustrated, but he was old enough now to understand and appreciate Richard for what he had done.

“He was right to. I was a child.”

“But I’m not.” Father continued before Damian could say anything. “Not a normal one, anyway.”

“Is it so terrible?” Damian questioned. “Why go through all this effort to hide it when the truth would be so much easier?”

"I refuse to be treated like a child by my own children, Damian!"

"What about Pennyworth?"

Father faltered. "I won't put him in this position again. Besides, I took care of myself at this age the first time, I can do it again."

“What do you–”

“If you say anything, I’ll run away,” Father interrupted. “I’ll disappear and none of you will be able to find me. Don’t think I won’t be able to do it.”

Damian had no doubt Father would be able to do exactly that even in his regressed state.

“I can’t keep this a secret from them,” Damian tried to say.

“You can.” Any other time, the unwavering trust would have felt like a gift. Now, it was a burden.

“This is unfair. If the others found out that I knew and did nothing, they’d blame me. You can’t make me do this, Father.”

“If, and only if, they found out, I’ll tell them I forced you to keep it secret.”

“That’s not good enough. You know how they are. They think of ten different loopholes and blame me for using none. I just got Richard respecting my decision-making, you can’t make him doubt me again!”

Father wavered but hardened his eyes again. “It won’t come to it, but if it does, I’ll argue your case. You can’t tell them, Damian.”

“You’re being unfair, Father.”

“I know. I know and I’m sorry. But I can’t— Please.” This was the most expressive Damian had ever seen his father, and he hated that this was why. Even more so when Father turned those round eyes at him and begged.

“… Okay, I’ll keep quiet.”

“Thank you.” The relief in his voice was stark. It did nothing to sooth the pit in Damian’s stomach.

“I won’t tell anyone so, would you allow me to accompany you-”

“I don’t need supervision,” Father coldly shot down.

Before Damian knew it, he was staring at the closed theatre doors.

He regretted saying anything.

Chapter Text

Dinner made Bruce feel all sorts of complicated things; a mix of contradicting emotions and desires. On the one hand, it was mandatory, but only for Bruce, because the others came and went inconsistently, which was really unfair and made Bruce feel like a misbehaving child, or untrusted in general. Not to mention, dinner had many rules for Bruce. He had to be an adult, he couldn’t draw any attention to himself, and he couldn’t be a bother to his family. On the other hand, it was nice having company while he ate. Listening to the children bicker and chatter about any and everything thing helped the food go down easier. But then again, the same children made dinner more difficult for Bruce when they directed that chatter at him. Thankfully, the children mostly leave him alone at dinner now, and the difficult questions ceased.

Tonight’s dinner was terse and it was Bruce’s fault. Guilt ate away at his heart but none of it showed on his face. He simply kept his head low and ate as fast as he could. The sooner Bruce finished his meal, the sooner he could leave.

It wasn’t Bruce’s mood that made dinner so tense. It was Damian’s. He sat at the far corner of the table and sawed away at his meal with a fierce scowl on his face, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes, shoveling food into his mouth as though he was rushing to leave. Any attempts to talk to Damian was met with a harsh glare and a threatening point of his utensils. For once, his brothers knew not to poke the bear, but the way they kept sneaking glances at Damian did not help.

Bruce knew the root cause of Damian’s ill temper. It was Bruce’s carelessness. His failure burdened Damian with the weight of his secrets, and now Damian was an accomplice to Bruce’s lies.

To be honest, Bruce wasn’t entirely sure why Damian was so distraught about it. Bruce’s mental age was none of his or his siblings’ business. His physical age hadn’t been any of their business. They had all been Robin at some point, they knew how capable children can be. But then again, the kids always did think themselves Batman’s equal. Robin simply wasn’t a mere child in their eyes. So, maybe if they found out about Bruce’s age, their bleeding hearts would feel responsible for him, as Damian’s did. Bruce doubted the threat to run away would work on all of them.

But Damian really didn’t need to worry. Bruce was fine. His mask was being reinforced and everything was fine. The others wouldn’t find out about Bruce and so they won’t find out about Damian knowing about Bruce. It was fine.

Bruce resolved to reduce the chances of them noticing his childishness by simply reducing the amount of time he spent around the kids. Bruce had already decided to do this from the start; he had simply been greedy, guard lowered by the unexpected ‘acceptance’ of the curse. Bruce wouldn’t allow himself the warmth of their company any longer, even if that meant being rude and saying no to their kindness. He’d only have dinner now, and even dinner was a smite too much. Since he was being rude already, maybe he should discard rules of polite table manners, and speed up his eating.

Sneaking a look at Damian’s frowning face, Bruce strengthened his resolve. Once he saw how good Bruce was at being an adult, he’ll realise there was nothing to be concerned about, and he’ll stop being so grumpy!

Bruce was in the theatre room finishing up his model kit of the Gotham Zoo. He considered putting all his toys and such away but ultimately decided against it. To begin with, it was Ace who led Damian to the theatre, and Damian already had suspicions anyway. As long Ace didn’t betray him again, the theatre was as excellent hiding space. It received less traffic from the kids than Bruce’s bedroom, which the kids had a history of appearing in on the rare occasion.

A piano melody cut through his musing.

Eyes wide, Bruce scrambled for his phone. His heart rate shot through the roof as adrenaline pumped through his veins. That was the song he composed for Talia as a ‘wedding’ gift. He’d set it as her ringtone and programmed his phone to always play it when she called, no matter if his phone was set to silent. Because Talia preferred to text and she never called, and if Talia called, that meant it was an emergency, and if it was an emergency and she was calling Bruce, it was bad.

"Talia." Please be okay. Please be okay. Please be okay.

"Beloved." Talia sounded like she was holding onto her emotions with a very firm grip but they were slipping anyway. Bruce only heard her like this a few times. None of those times were moments he liked to reminiscence on. "You're a child again. I had forgotten that. Forgive me. I won't be bothering you."

"No-!" Bruce quickly interjected. "It is of no consequence. I am still me. I've informed you of this, ya Amar." The old nickname fell from his lips without his meaning to. Unbidden, he saw memories of sitting in the pristine gardens in the league with Talia, the two of them laughing, young and newlywed despite not being romantically involved. Ra's misunderstanding and them playing along with it because Bruce was leaving soon… Beloved. Ya Amar… Names that were almost inside jokes making fun of Ra's and told of their fondness for each other.

Ya Amar. Talia. She needed him and Bruce wasn't going to sit here idle just because he was nine again.

Talia took in a deep breath, the old nickname having settled a few of her doubts. "I figured out why my father was so strange around Damian."

‘Father’ was spat out like poison. Talia had her suspicions about Ra’s for quite a while now, but she still always spoke of him with some semblance of respect. That smidgen of respect was now gone without a trace. All that remained was hate and utter disgust. No, perhaps disgust was too tame a word. Talia spoke of him with the rage of a smoldering volcano and the judgement of biting arctic winds. What could be so bad that even that bit of respect had vanished, gone without even a trace?

Talia laughed and it grated on Bruce's ears. It sounded nothing like the soft laughter he was accustomed from her; it sounded like scratched records and untuned instruments. Talia sounded so pained and hysterical. Bruce hadn't seen Talia since she dropped Damian off at the manor five years ago but he could so vividly picture the way her hair must be falling over her eyes, lips curled almost animalistically and eyes glazed over with horror.

He wanted to give her a hug. But Talia wasn’t here. She hadn’t been here in over five years. Hadn’t been within hugging distance to him in fifteen.

Ace squeezed his head on Bruce’s lap. Bruce curled over him and hugged him instead.

"He wanted to use my son - our son - as a vessel. A body suit to replace his aged and weary one. He wants- he wants to erase habibi and wear his body as his own."

Bruce was glad no one was here to see him, if only for the fact that his head whipped around to stare at his son despite him not being there. Still, face twisted with horror, Bruce looked to the direction of Damian’s room and stared.

His baby boy, a vessel?

"Is that-, how is that even possible?" Bruce choked out.

"Ra's found a way." Then, very quietly, Talia added, “I can’t let this threat go unchecked any longer, Bruce.”

Bruce took a deep breath. Ra’s, over six hundred years old and leader of one of the most powerful underground societies in the world. Talia may have spent the past five years doing a quiet take over but Ra’s power and influence could not be underestimated. Not to mention, while the LoA respected strength, many of its old codgers were still deeply misogynistic. Hence why, Talia had never been named heir when Bruce, an outsider, had.

“Talia, what do you plan to do?”

“I need you to keep Damian safe,” Talia said instead of answering.

“I will,” Bruce swore. That went without saying.

“You cannot protect him as you are, Beloved.”

As much as it pained him to admit, Talia’s blunt statement was true. Bruce probably couldn’t beat Damian in an equal fight in his current state. He wasn’t much of a protector anymore. “... What do you want me to do? You called me for a reason, and it wasn’t just to tell me about this.”

“Astute as always. There is one place that Ra’s influence does not stretch.”

A light bulb lit up in Bruce’s mind. “Space,” he answered.

“Send habibi on an off-world mission with the least suspicious protective detail you can,” Talia instructed.

Bruce closed his eyes and buried his face in Ace’s fur. He knew the youngest generation of heroes hadn’t gone on any off-world missions yet. They, as all generations have before them, were eager to prove themselves and desperately wanted to leave Earth for adventures beyond the blue planet. Damian was no different.

But the timing of it all…

“I assume you don’t want Damian to know of this.”

“It’s not something he needs burden himself with,” Talia answered.

“How long do you want him away?”

“At least ten days. Preferably over two weeks.”

Tim’s birthday was in a week. Damian was going to think Bruce made him miss his brother’s birthday just because he found out about Bruce. He was going to hate him if he didn’t already. “I’ll call in a few favours. I should be able to get him and his team on a space mission within 48 hours.”

Bruce could hear Talia let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you, Bruce.”

“He’s our son, ya Amar.”

“Yes… Beloved, I-" Talia broke into sobs. "My father orchestrated everything. That night, fifteen years ago. You were worthy and I was of his blood. He wanted an heir but he realised we weren't interested."

Static played in Bruce's ears over the disjointed sentences. The dusty old box that he shoved all his memories of that night into burst open and flooded back into his conscious mind. The confusion, guilt, fear, revulsion, doubt, everything hit Bruce all at once.

“Beloved?”

Bruce realised that he was making pathetic keening sounds. He wiped his tears away before Ace could lick them.

Ra's used their enemies against them. Ra's led them into a trap. Ra's engineered the worst night of Bruce and Talia's lives. Ra's created this wedge between Bruce and Talia. Ra's destroyed their friendship. Ra's made Bruce and Talia betray each other so he could dance around in a new body, made on the graves of their child and steel-forged friendship.

"It was all his fault?" Bruce whispered. He still did not dare to speak of that night in more than a whisper. To speak it aloud was to shout it out for the world to hear that he was a fool that trusted the wrong people and betrayed his dear friend in the most primal of manners.

Fifteen years of only speaking through emails because an insane dictator wanted a younger body.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Bruce. My father poisoned us both. I was made to violate you. My father caused me to betray my closest and best friend. I am so sorry. There was nothing I could do in the past to make amends, and now, doubly so."

"No. No, ya Amar. It wasn't your fault. You did nothing wrong. I was the one foolish enough to fall for such an obvious trap. You, you were just following my lead."

They never spoke of it after that night but now that they were, it was all pouring out in a flash flood of hurt and guilt.

Bruce put all that blame on himself and he hadn't realised that Talia was doing the same.

"It wasn't your fault. I was the one that—you were begging for me to stop," Talia cried.

Bruce's eyes were stinging with tears. "We were given different drugs. You couldn't hear me."

"No, I heard but the drugs made me think you were enjoying it."

Bruce squeezed his eyes tightly shut and tried to calm his breathing. He couldn't risk falling into a flashback. Not when Talia needed him. "It wasn't your fault and it wasn't mine either. He was the one that set everything in motion."

"You couldn’t even look at me after it happened.”

“It was my fault. The drugs took your mind; I should’ve stopped you.”

“You couldn’t move.”

Bruce's breath hitched.

"See? You can't even speak of it in any detail. That's what I did to you."

"No. You did nothing to me, Talia. And I regret saying nothing and allowing this to fester between the two of us for so long. The best time to speak of it was fifteen years ago. The next best time was five years ago. The most opportune moments have already passed. Why must we continue to wait for the 'right' moment?"

"I assaulted your person, Beloved. What is there to speak of?"

"No! You did nothing to me, Talia. It was all Ra's. He betrayed us both."

"I was too weak to resist the drugs."

"Would you call me weak for being unable to fight back? For 'letting' the drugs paralyse my body? For- for crying and begging even when I knew it was futile?"

"No-, no, you were trying to reach out to me and I just kept going. I've been trained, Beloved. I should have been able to resist it."

"Your father trained you himself, ya Amar. He knew you wouldn't be able to resist, just like he knew I would be helpless and unable to do anything but- but lay there and take it."

"He's my father. How could he do this to us?"

"I'm so sorry, Talia."

Talia took in a deep breath. "I love Damian."

"I love him too."

"His life will not be defined by my father's orchestrations."

"No, it will not. It never has and never will."

Bruce thought of Damian. Kind, awkward but sweet. Passionate. He loved art and music and animals. He was a fierce protector and a gentle soul. Such a kind boy can not disappear for a mad man.

"I will make sure Ra’s can never touch any of us again, Beloved."

Bruce wilfully ignored the ambiguity of that declaration. He was too small to make a meaningful impact. "Okay, ya Amar. I'll open your favourite wine to celebrate together when you're done."

"Beloved-"

"No, Talia. Fifteen years have been long enough. How much longer are we going to let that man's schemes drive us apart? We were the best of friends. We are technically still married. We used to be inseparable and I miss that. I miss you, Talia. Emails just don't compare to seeing you in person. Please."

"Okay. Okay, I will. See you soon, Beloved."

"See you soon, ya Amar."

The line disconnected.

Bruce dropped his phone.

He burst into tears.

Bruce had been holding onto this pain for fifteen years, never telling anyone, never getting any help. The one person who understood was another victim—

Victim.

For the first time, Bruce acknowledge what he was. A victim of sexual assault. He and Talia had been used to create an heir, Damian, so that Ra’s may take over his body. He didn’t care about how they felt; he just took and in taking, he destroyed one of the greatest bonds Bruce ever had with another person.

Bruce refused to allow Ra’s to take from him again. He’d protect Damian at any cost.

Bruce had been keeping up his correspondence with Clark since they started texting again. He had been sparse and late with his replies but Clark never seemed to mind. He’d simply reply back as if no time at all had passed.

Batman: I need you to do me a favour.

Kal-El: What do you need?

The fast reply and cautious answer made Bruce nod in approval. When they first met, Clark was so eager to please that he’d always agree without learning what he was agreeing to. Bruce had chastised him for it many times, and it seemed that Clark had finally got it through his thick head.

Batman: Take Robin and his team on an off-world mission. It needs to last for a minimum of ten days.

Kal-El: Do I get to know why?

Batman: No.

Kal-El: My son is a part of his team too

Batman: I don’t want him interfering with what’s happening here. Don’t tell him.

Kal-El: So you decided to send him the furthest place you could think
Kal-El: You know, I’ll suggest you ground him but from what I know about Robin, that’ll never work

Batman: Do you agree or not?

Kal-El: Sure
Kal-El: Superboy’s been wanting to go on a space mission anyway.
Kal-El: I’ll get a Lantern to join us too.

Batman: Thank you.

Kal-El: Awww
Kal-El: No need for thanks Batman!

Bruce exited the messaging program and took a deep breath to steady himself. He’d secured the mission and protective detail. Bruce didn’t want Damian to be blind sided by this, especially since it would mean he missed Tim’s birthday, so he had to tell him himself.

Usually, Robin would be out on patrol at this time. Fortunately, given his foul mood, Dick made the executive decision to bench Damian for the night, and miraculously, Damian hadn’t protested. Which spoke volumes about his mood.

Bruce knocked on Damian’s door and waited.

Damian opened the door. His face was scrunched in a scowl but then dissolved into blankness when he saw Bruce. “... Father,” he greeted.

“Damian. May I speak to you?”

His son nodded stiffly and moved to the side to let Bruce in.

“I’ve organised an off-world mission for you. You and your team will receive the details very soon.”

Damian froze and gaped at Bruce.

“It will take close to a fortnight, possibly more, so be prepared.”

When he spoke, Damian’s voice was soft and quiet. Wounded. “Father, I already promised not to tell anyone.”

Bruce hid his guilty flinch. “I know. This isn’t because of that.”

“Then why, Father?”

Bruce looked down at his feet. “It’s not your fault, Damian. I promise you. It’s just…

“You’re making me miss Timothy’s birthday.”

“... I’m sorry.”

“What can I do for you to believe me when I say I won’t tell anyone?”

“Please go on the space mission.”

“Father.”

“I’m sorry, Damian.”

Silence fell upon them like a heavy curtain.

“... Fine.”

“Thank you.” Bruce’s gut churned with guilt and relief. Damian would never forgive him for this. He turned and left Damian’s room.

“I wouldn’t have told anyone, Father.” Damian shut his door closed.

Chapter Text

Babs tapped her fingers against her desk. Displayed on her screen were the contents of Bruce’s Curse folder. They were all written in a simple coded language that had only taken her ten minutes to crack. Then another ten to write a simple program to translate them all once she realised that the entire folder was written in the same basic code. It was almost as though Bruce had developed it when he was less experienced and paranoid, and then never bothered to update it.

Thus far, Babs had only worked on the folder when she had spare time, of which she did not have much, so Babs hadn’t gotten very far into it. She’d skimmed the effects of the curse, most of which she was already familiar with, thanks to Bruce telling people in his inner circle about it, in his attempt to convince them of this curse. Though, admittedly, Babs didn’t recall too much about it, and Bruce had significantly reduced the amount of times he spoke about it in the past decade, so she was actually learning a lot about it in this skim read.

Bruce’s curse had a lot of layers to it. It was to Babs’ understanding that they caused misfortune, which then stacked up to cause even greater harm. What she hadn’t known was that there were levels of misfortune. Some people got away with minor harm, while others were cursed for a great while, and landed themselves in great trouble. Enough to drive them to desperation.

Supporting his claims were old newspaper clippings, journal articles from Wayne ancestors, and even local folklore, some obscure enough that even Babs had never heard them before. The stories varied but shared a commonality of Gotham being cursed, be it by an angered deity, or a spiteful wraith. Some claimed that the Gotham had been the grounds of ritual sacrifice, and the resulting karma resulted in the today’s crime rates. All very interesting stories that had no grounds in reality.

What Babs hadn’t expected to find in the folder were anecdotal reports. None of them were dated – in fact, a lot of them were written on the same day, when Bruce must’ve decided to document them – and they were all anonymous. Some of them were written with sparse details, in observations and aftereffects alike. Others were incredibly detailed, almost as though Bruce had stalked these victims to observe the greater effects of this curse. There were notes of interventions on these latter cases. Which begged the question, were the more simple ones because Bruce was unable to keep a closer eye on these victims? Because he hadn’t thought to observe them yet, and simply wrote down what he had remembered of them?

The simple ones sounded a lot like recollections of childhood memories.

Which was strange, really, because Bruce had included a report about a man who had been grazed by a bullet. It was written in that same sparsely detailed manner but Babs could read between the lines well enough to guess that the man was a cop. One that Bruce had known on a personal level at that. He observed that the man’s wife divorced him the same week he was shot. That the ex-wife had relinquished parental rights to their toddler daughter. That the man worked less to stabilise his home situation, which delayed his promotion by another year.

Babs had asked her dad about her mother once before. She asked about the divorce. Why hadn’t she ever visited? Was she even alive? Her dad told her that her mother never approved of him being part of the police force, on account of it being dangerous. She had threatened to leave if he ever got shot. Miraculously, Jim had avoided being shot for a good few years. Until the year Babs was one, and he’d gotten grazed on his bicep by a bullet. Babs’ mother made good on her threats and left Jim and Babs both, starting her life anew in a different state. Babs’ dad had to take on fewer cases, and only really did desk work, to focus on raising Babs. Naturally, his promotion was delayed.

All of this told Babs two key things. One, the cop in question was her dad. Two, Bruce knew her dad when he was a kid.

Babs had never thought too much about when Dad and Bruce first met. She had just assumed that they met as Batman and then-Captain Gordon. That Bruce had searched obsessively for the one cop in the GCPD that wasn’t corrupt, and that her dad proved himself again and again, until the paranoid Bat deemed him worthy. Babs also assumed that Brucie Wayne met Commissioner Gordon through galas and charity events. Then, her final assumption, that Bruce Wayne and Jim Gordon met when she and Dick became friends.

Obviously that last assumption was false. Bruce had to have met Dad when he was a kid. When would Bruce get the opportunity to meet a cop as a child? The most obvious answer was during the Wayne case.

Babs hacked into the GCPD servers and found the Wayne case files. It was one of the most infamous unsolved case in Gotham, and one that even Outsiders knew about. Honestly, the Wayne tragedy was probably the most popular topic on true-crime podcasts. Babs shuddered to think about the thousands of podcasters talking about Bruce’s story. How many of them were respectful about it? What percentage of them treated it with the proper weight it deserved? Were there any of them that realised that Bruce was not a character in their story, but a real, living person?

It wasn’t that she hated true-crime podcasts; Babs followed a select few herself. Partly because she was a workaholic and felt the need to stay informed on the public perception of various cases. The GCPD liked to take credit for a lot of the work the Bats did at night, usually the quieter, more low-key things. So, Babs liked to keep an eye on the true-crime community and stay apprised on what the public realised were Bat doings, and what they were willing to believe the GCPD did. That, and it was fun listening to podcasters shit on the GCPD for all their incompetence and corruption.

Still, Babs avoided any episodes covering the cases of people she knew personally. They all avoided them, really. Even Jason didn’t like hearing about his own case, no matter how much he liked to weaponise and joke about his own death.

Babs couldn’t say for sure why the others avoided them, though she had good guesses, but personally, Babs didn’t think she could stomach hearing such intimate details of their trauma being shared by a stranger. She still remembered the air of vulnerability surrounding Dick when he shared his story with her, how small he had looked, the tremble in his voice, and it was like he was nine again, watching his parents fall once more. The thought of a stranger, no matter how respectful, telling his story with an impersonal tone didn’t sit right with her.

All that to say, Babs only knew the bare bones of the Wayne case. She hadn’t even been born yet when Bruce lost his parents, and naturally, didn’t witness the media circus that ensured after the tragedy. However, when the Flying Graysons fell, and Bruce took Dick in, the media dug it all up again and had a field day with all the parallels.

Honestly, the only information Babs learnt from Bruce personally was that his parents died at 10:17 pm because Bruce’s obsessive mind had him set that as the grandfather clock entrance’s password. The rest, she learnt unintentionally. So, Babs knew that the Waynes had gone to the then-newly revamped Park Row to see a movie, and had a cut through an alley on the way home, only to lose their lives in a mugging gone wrong. That was all.

Still, the glaring label of cold-case reminded Babs that the man who worked night after night, getting closure and justice for everyone, never got to have that himself. The injustice of it stung her heart, and a determination to solve it herself welled within her, before Babs forcibly squashed it. If it was solvable from the evidence in the case file, Bruce would have solved it decades ago. If there was new evidence to be found, he’d have already turned it over and over and over again. Besides, in order to solve it, she must look over all the details of the crime, including the witness report of Bruce Wayne, age eight, and Babs didn’t think Bruce would be very happy about that. It was bad enough that that photo of him was so public.

Babs turned her eyes away from the case notes, and searched for her dad’s name.

Detective J. Gordon, one of the investigators on the case.

Well. Not lead investigator but still important enough that he probably spoke to Bruce more than once. Babs would even guess that her dad was the cop to speak to Bruce the most. That must’ve been why Bruce had known him well enough to include him in his delusion, and Bruce hadn’t always been so closed off about the Curse, so maybe her dad knew more details. Maybe, Dad could help her help Bruce.

Babs called her dad.

“Gordon speaking,” Dad’s gruff voice answered.

“Hey, Dad. You sound grumpy. Have you eaten yet?”

“Barb?” her dad’s voice immediately softened. “I was just headed out for some grub. You?”

“Ew, who even says grub?”

“I do.” Dad chuckled. “Care to join me if you hadn’t eaten yet?”

Babs hummed. “I’ll save that for Sunday dinner. Dad, did you know Bruce when he was younger? Like, when he was a kid.”

“What brought this on?”

“Just wondering.”

“I don’t think there was anyone who didn’t know Bruce Wayne since he was born. His birth was celebrated like them British princes.”

“Dad,” Babs groaned. Sometimes, her dad was worse than Bruce when it came to vague, non-committal answers. Came with the media training, she supposed. “You know what I mean.”

“Sure, I do. Just wondering why you’re suddenly asking, is all.”

Babs leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. “Why are you trying to hide it?”

It was a while before Dad answered her. “Not a pleasant first meeting, is all. It was a difficult time for Bruce.”

“Oh.” Babs thought about a young orphan and police with zero answers. About the simmering rage concealed under Batman’s cool, analytical mind. Dad must’ve met a Bruce who hadn’t yet learnt to hide his emotions behind logic. He must’ve had to face that hurt boy again and again and told him that justice couldn’t be served. “Did you know him well?”

Her dad huffed. “Kid damn near stalked me for answers on his parents.”

Unbidden, Babs chuckled. The mental imagery of a tiny Batman stalking around her dad was too good.

“Har har, laugh it up. I thought I was being haunted by a Victorian ghost boy for months.”

“I can’t believe Alfred let Bruce do that,” Babs expressed through her laughter.

“He didn’t have much of a say,” Dad replied.

Come to think of it, Alfred always said a snarky comment or two whenever Bruce did something he disapproved, but he’d never directly stop him. Another curious element of their strange dynamic. It must’ve been stranger when Bruce was younger, and they were transitioning from employee-employer to guardian-ward. They seemed to have found a balance between the two, but Babs was always thought it was rather messy.

“Anyway, I got to get back to my meal. I’ll see at Sunday dinner, yeah?”

“Yep. Stay safe, Dad.”

Dad chuckled and hung up.

Babs hadn’t had the chance to puzzle out how this all slotted into what she knew about Bruce and his curse when Steph appeared on her screen, the call being automatically accepted through the emergency call function. “Jason’s been possessed!”

“What,” Babs said eloquently.

“He said he’s gonna stay in the manor while Damian’s gone. Jason. In the manor. Even I hardly sleep over.”

“Did you do a toxin check?”

Steph scoffed. “First thing we did. Well, after we tied him up. Tim says Jason’s results all came clean. He’s still tied up though.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Dick’s doing that long as cognitive test that Bruce made years ago. Oh, and no one’s told Bruce yet. It’s just me, you, Dick and Tim who know that Jason’s possessed.”

Babs could hear some cursing in the background and then: “Fuck you, Blondie! I told you to call Babs over, not fucking spread your delusion!”

“You tried calling a family meeting! And announced you were staying in the manor for two weeks! Of course, you’re possessed!” Dick screeched.

“I passed all the cognitive tests!”

“Well, it’s an outdated test, so we’ll have to do more,” Tim stated.

“I hate this fucking family!”

Jason didn’t sound possessed, and it seemed like he was sound of mind. Something else was going on. Possibly related to Damian’s sudden and abrupt departure.

Babs had to get to the manor. It was time for a ‘family meeting’.

Jason scowled at his so-called siblings. Traitorous bastards without an ounce of common decency or a brain cell or two in those vacant shells they call their skull. Jason shall get his vengeance and he shall laugh as he bathed in their spilled blood.

“Oh, he’s looking murderous now, I think this might actually be Jason,” Tim murmured. The cold-hearted bastard used an impetuous finger to poke at Jason’s cheek as if poking at roadside kill. Jason snapped at the insolent appendage, which Tim had unfortunately pulled away just in time, though not before Jason nicked the tip with his canines. “Ow! Gross. I’m going to have to take a rabies shot now. This is definitely fucking Jason.”

“Fuck you! You have rabies! Your mum has a rabies!”

Tim snorted and ruffled Jason’s hair, something he was only able to do because Jason was tied up by a hundred different contraptions and if he wasn’t fucking trapped, he’ll take the fucking little shit and—

“Did you just spray me with water?!” Jason screeched.

Dick smiled. “Yep, you’re Jay, alright.”

“I’m going to fucking dunk your fat ass into the harbour, you stain on humanity!

“My ass is not fat! It’s fucking juicy.”

“Are you trying to make me throw up? ‘Cause imma fucking spew all over your clown shoes, dickhead.”

“What’s going on, Jason?” Babs cut through the bickering with a no-nonsense voice.

Jason sighed and slumped back against his restraints. “Talia called me.”

“Talia?” Talia’s number one hater echoed. Jason still didn’t understand how Dick could be such a big hater when his interactions with Talia were so limited. They hadn’t spent more than a hour or two together since Dick was a kid. Or so Jason heard anyway.

“Does this have something to do with Damian going to space?” Babs astutely asked.

Jason rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

He earned a smack on the head for the sass. Damn it, this was bringing back childhood memories. It was Babs’ favourite thing to do when he got too cocky.

“Damn it, Babs. I think I earned the sass after being tied up and interrogated!”

“Untie him,” Babs commanded.

After a moment in which all the assholes exchanged eye contact and silent conversations that obviously said ‘you do it’ ‘no, you do it,’ Tim finally released Jason from his restraints. Jason immediately took the opportunity to capture the shithead in a headlock and gave him a noogie.

“Ah! Jason! Please, I surrender!” the little shit begged.

“Bitch please, you knew I wasn’t possessed from the start.”

“Jason.” Oops. Dick’s voice was serious. A serious Dick was not to be messed with.

Jason released Tim and finally answered the question. “Talia was iffy on the details, but from what I gathered, she asked Bruce to send him to space for his safety.”

Dick’s eyes sharpened. “Damian’s in danger but they didn’t think to tell us?”

“Why did you think I called a family meeting, dumbass?”

Steph crossed her arms. “What’s the threat? Damian’s in space, which is notoriously hard to get to, and has two senior JL members escorting his team… Why does he have two? One Green Lantern should be more than enough to protect a baby team’s first off-world mission.”

Dick quickly caught on to her train of thought. “Superman’s on the team. I thought it was because of Superboy, but Bruce might have actually called in a favour.”

“So, Talia thinks there’s a chance she can’t eliminate this threat so she asked Bruce to get Damian as far away as possible from it, to literally outer space, and Bruce still thought there was a chance that this threat could reach Damian so he called Superman?” Steph surmised.

“What kind of enemy’s got them both so worried? Bruce, I get, he’s a paranoid bastard, but Talia too?” Dick questioned.

Jason crossed his arms casually. “Well, I think they’re both being paranoid but I don’t blame Talia. It’s hard not to be overly cautious when it comes to shit like this.”

“What shit?” Steph asked. She kicked Jason lightly in the shin. “Why’re you edging us with the intel?”

Jason kicked back. “I wasn’t even supposed to tell you, bitch. You should be grateful I’m even sharing this with you.”

“So, Talia thought you alone could handle it if anything unexpected happened, but she still thought it was best if Damian went to space?” Tim mused. “... Is the LoA involved?”

“Wow, short stack, you do have a brain in there after all.”

Tim, amazingly, ignored the insult. “The only person who can really oppose Talia when it comes to the League is Ra’s. Does Ra’s want Damian back? Damian was supposed to be trained by Bruce, after all. Maybe he thinks Damian’s wasting his time here.”

Jason scoffed. “If only.”

“What did Talia tell you, Jay?” Dick snapped.

“First things first, Talia’s got it under control, she’s just paranoid. Remember that. Secondly, Ra’s used the magic mountain dew one too many times and it's not as effective anymore. He wants a new body.”

Dick gasped. “Damian.”

“Fuck,” Tim added. “That’s fucked up.”

“Yeah, you can say that again.”

“Fuck.”

“Are you sure two weeks is enough time for Talia to handle this? Maybe we should tell Supes to delay the mission longer. Should we go to space too?” Dick rambled nervously.

“Then we’ll just be leading him to Damian,” Steph interjected.

“I already told you Talia’s got it under control.” Jason flicked Dick’s ear. “Have you got your listening ears on?”

Dick rubbed his ear and glared at Jason. “Excuse me for doubting that two weeks is enough time to overthrow a 600 year old bastard.”

“Talia’s not the type to be overconfident,” Babs commented. “She must’ve planned this beforehand and only let Jason know once it was necessary.”

“Exactly.” Jason shot Babs a finger gun just for the hell of it. “I don’t know exactly how long she’s been planning this for – Bruce might be the only one who knows – but from what I’ve gathered, Talia basically took over the entire League, aside from her dad’s most loyal. Her victory is all but guaranteed.”

Dick pursed his lips. “Then why did she tell you to stay in the manor?”

Jason’s face twisted with displeasure at the reminder. He was still on the fence about staying in the manor—he hadn’t stayed for more than a few hours since before he died. “Told you, she’s paranoid, and she’s worried about the asshole who looks like Damian still in the manor.”

Everyone’s eyes widened. “You think Ra’s will try to take Bruce?”

Jason shrugged. “Talia seems to think so.”

“Ra’s is weirdly obsessed with Bruce,” Tim murmured. “But I think the most he’ll do is try to use him as leverage.”

“I don’t think it’s gonna happen, but for Talia’s peace of mind, and the weapons she promised to supply me, I’m gonna ‘guard’ Bruce until the situation blows over. And for my sake, I’m roping you bastards in too, even though Talia told me to keep this to myself, ‘cause she doesn’t want Damian knowing about his grandpa’s evil plan to steal his body for himself. Something about not wanting him to taint his image of family even further.”

“Oh, kay,” Steph said slowly. “That’s, like, a lot. I vote we tell Damian afterwards though. Kid was super confused about the sudden mission and angry about it. He deserves to know why it happened. And, this is about him so he needs to know. We’re not protecting him by keeping this a secret. Besides, there’s really not much more we can say that can taint Ra’s image any further than it had already been ruined. Maybe he’ll realise that there was less love there than he thought, or maybe he’ll think his grandpa finally lost the last of his sanity. Either way, Damian’ll be fine finding out.”

Tim shifted. “He doesn’t need to find out. Damian doesn’t even talk to Ra’s. Why tell him that some creep tried to take over his body? It’ll never be relevant once we take care of the issue.”

Babs crossed her arms. “We won’t be able to hide this from him forever. He’ll be curious about why his mother suddenly took over the League. But we don’t have to tell him now. Damian’s only fourteen. He’s already had to contend with his opposing upbringing, we don’t need to be adding to that.”

“There are so many reasons why Talia would want to take over the League,” Tim interjected. “And Damian wouldn’t be able to find the real truth, because there would be no evidence of it. Talia’s not dumb enough to keep records of this shit-show around. She’ll be destroying every last bit of it so that there isn’t the slightest chance that someone would be attempting it in the future.”

“This obviously wasn’t a spur of the moment decision on Ra’s part. Who knows how long he’d been brewing it!” Steph screamed. “Once he knows, Damian would be able to make sense of whatever weird interactions he’d had with Ra’s before. Don’t keep this clarity from him out of a misguided attempt to protect him.”

“You’re just making assumptions,” Tim accused.

“So are you!”

Before this debate could devolve into screaming, Jason turned to Dick. “What do you think we should do?”

Dick thinned his lips. “If Damian found out before he was sent away, he’d have wanted to resolve the situation himself. But since he left without knowing, there’d be nothing for him to resolve. He’d just be left with his own thoughts. But if he found out that we all knew and kept him in the dark about it, he’ll never forgive us. I hate to say this, but I think we should tell him when he gets back.”

“Then we’ll do that,” Jason decided.

Jason decided to ambush Bruce with the information at dinner. The others wanted to talk to him about it right then and there, but Jason thought it would be more fun to surprise the fucker instead. Besides, no one knew where Bruce went during the day, and Ace wasn’t there to guide them. They’d have had to text him to find out, and that would’ve ruined the confrontation Jason had in mind.

As he made a complicated stew, Jason ran through a few scenarios in his mind. Scenario one: Jason laid out all the facts and slapped Bruce in the face with his secrets. Scenario two: Jason let the others grill Bruce about Damian. Scenario three: they leave Bruce in the dark for once and let him sweat about why Jason was here.

When Bruce walked into the kitchen with Ace, eyes scanning the room, apprehension flickering across his face as he took in the fact that they were all there, Jason decided to go with an entirely different scenario. They had unintentionally made it look like an intervention, so why not lean into it?

But first, dinner. Jason low-key wanted to give Bruce indigestion through this tense dinner. And what a magnificently tetchy meal it was. The others were angsty, practically bursting with the need to interrogate Bruce about the situation. Bruce himself was Noticing how strung the others were and ate 0.5 times faster than usual. Even Ace was acting different. Jason didn’t know much about the dog, but he was assuming Ace didn’t usually snuggle next to Bruce’s chair during dinner.

“Talia told me about Damian,” Jason finally began, locking eyes with Bruce, as he set down his spoon.

Bruce paused, and finished his sip of stew. He scrutinised Jason, and everyone in the room, obviously trying to suss out how much they knew. Jason put on his poker face, and didn’t need to look to know the rest did too.

“What did she say?” Bruce finally said, when it was apparent that he wasn’t going to get much out of their faces.

Jason spun a knife in his hand. “Just a little something about Ra’s and his dastardly plans.” He stabbed the knife into a bread roll and smiled, eyes still boring into Bruce’s soul.

Bruce’s eyes trembled before he blinked and the shutters fell upon them once more. “Do you intend to go after Ra’s?”

“No, Talia’s got that handled. You, on the other hand…” Jason deliberately trailed off ominously.

Bruce inclined his head and finished his stew for a few painfully long minutes. “Damian is safe,” he stated.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Dick blurted out, finally sick of Jason’s dramatics. Urgh, Bruce regained his composure way too fast. He barely even lost it.

Except…

Bruce flinched minutely at Dick’s question.

“I have nothing to tell you,” Bruce growled. Or attempted to. It was hard to sound menacing when you had the voice of a snot-nosed brat.

“This isn’t some mission or case, Bruce. This is Damian’s life!”

“Damian doesn’t need this stain on his image-”

“Image?!” Dick interrupted. “You care more about reputation than his fucking safety? Ra’s is trying to take over Damian’s body, and you’re worried about image?”

Bruce blinked, almost like he’d been taken aback. “Damian would not appreciate it if it was known that he was groomed to be his grandfather’s vessel.”

“What?” Steph gasped. Now, Jason knew her surprise was faked, because they had already guessed this shit was going on in the background for a long while, but Bruce didn’t know they knew. “How long have you known this? Don’t you think we should’ve known too so we’d know to be on a look-out if Ra’s decided to prematurely reap the benefits of his plans?”

Jason almost whistled. Blondie was good.

“You already had your guards up against League operatives. Informing you ran the risks of tipping off Ra’s.”

“Damian deserves to know.”

“No,” Bruce hissed. “He does not need to be questioning his entire life just because of a mad man. Is it not enough that he’d been raised in a cult?”

“Are you really holding his childhood up against him, Bruce? You?” Steph mocked.

Low blow. Everyone knew Bruce did not know about Damian until the kid showed up on his doorsteps.