Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a quiet night for patrol.

For once, Bruce’s entire rogue gallery was either lying low or behind bars. Selina Kyle was somewhere in Europe, and Dick was getting a good night’s rest for his big math test tomorrow. Even the various Gotham mob families weren’t making any noise. The biggest bust Bruce had made tonight was a B&E in the Diamond District.

That is to say, there should’ve been no reason for anyone to be tailing him tonight.

To be fair, he doesn’t think he’s encountered this particular entity before. They were flying, and so far away that Bruce should’ve lost them ages ago as he weaved through the shadows.

There was only one person he could think of that it could be.

Bruce made his way over to a nondescript rooftop of an abandoned building, turning to face the distant figure. Then he waited.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Superman didn’t waste time approaching him once he saw that he had his attention. Bruce had seen him on TV when he first appeared a couple of years back, all smiles and primary colors saving Metropolis from an alien invasion. He’d started researching Superman after that, taking note of his friendship with Lois Lane and his irregular periods of absence throughout the day. It was the ghost of a 9-to-5; which, on top of Superman’s behavioral and speech patterns, pointed to a human upbringing and a double life. Bruce would’ve investigated further, if it weren’t for the calamitous appearances of Two Face, the Joker, and Hugo Strange. As Superman was deemed a latent threat, he and the various other vigilantes that had cropped up were moved to the bottom of Bruce’s priority list.

Perhaps it was time to revisit those case files.

The second Superman was close enough, Bruce growled out, “What do you want with Gotham?”

“I don’t!” Superman waved his arms in a ‘no way’ gesture, landing on the rooftop. Another human habit. “I just want to talk to the Batman.”

Suspicious.

Was he here to pick a fight? Or maybe to stage an intervention on the Bat’s methods? Or, was this a warning? If Superman was convinced that Batman was a threat that needed to be eliminated, then Bruce would respond in kind. He had remade the Batsuit using a tungsten alloy and had painstakingly tracked down a small supply of Kryptonite within two weeks of Superman appearing, all for this moment. He wasn’t going to go down easy.

Bruce stared at the deceptively earnest figure silently, hand moving to a hidden compartment on his belt where he’d stored a Kryptonite ring. While making the first move was generally the smarter choice, he didn’t want to give Superman more reason to be hostile than he had to.

Superman shifted uneasily, a small frown appearing on his chiseled face. “You…are the Batman, right?”

Bruce nodded, not seeing any point in lying. He doubted there were many people skulking around Gotham at night with high-tech, bat-themed suits. Plus, Bruce didn’t trust Luthor to have a complete list of Superman’s abilities. Who knew if the alien had a way to tell if someone was lying via pheromones or telepathy or something?

“Great!” Superman beamed, which both raised Bruce’s hackles and threw him off-balance. He took a step closer, which didn’t help Bruce’s nerves any. “I’ve been talking to the other heroes—” Not a hero. “—and we’ve been thinking about forming a superhero team.” Eugh. “It’s not official or anything, but I’ve been calling it the Justice League for now.” Ew. Why? “And, well, I’d love it if you joined! You’re the perfect candidate: the first ever superhero!”

Hold up.

What?!?

Now that Bruce thought about it, all those vigilantes appeared after he did. First it was him, then Superman, then Wonder Woman, then Flash and Green Arrow and so on and so forth.

Shit. Did he unwittingly start a trend of weirdos in tights saving kittens from trees? God, Alfred was never going to let him live this down. Or Selina. Or Dick.

Regardless, Bruce barely had to think about his answer. “I’m not joining your club.”

“It’s not a club,” Superman protested (was that a pout?). “It’s a league. The Justice League!”

Bruce really wished he’d stop calling it that. “What’s your mission statement?”

This seemed to give Superman pause. “...what?”

“Your mission statement,” Bruce repeated patiently. “What are you hoping to accomplish?”

Superman stared at him blankly, uncomprehending.

Bruce felt his eye twitch. Thank god he was wearing a mask. “Take your idea back to the drawing board. Figure out what you want to do and how you want to do it. Then we can talk.”

Piece stated, Bruce stepped back and let himself fall backwards. He shot out a grapple and swung away, leaving the most powerful man on the planet alone on a dingy rooftop on the outskirts of Gotham.

There was no way he was joining some stupid superhero club when he could be doing something actually productive. He’d been doing business long enough to know the difference between a good and bad startup. And this? This was barely an idea. Hardly anything worth investing his time or money in.

Bruce landed perfectly beside the Batmobile, getting in and setting an automatic course for the Batcave.

With any luck, he’d never be forced to cross paths with another ‘hero’ again.

Three weeks later, Bruce was faced with not one, but two superheroes.

“Superman tells me you want to learn more about the Justice League,” Wonder Woman said in lieu of a greeting, smiling warmly at him. She stuck her hand out, like this was a business meeting, and they hadn’t accosted him mid-patrol.

Bruce squinted at the so-bright-they-were-blinding duo, feeling vaguely unsettled.

He’d just stopped an armed robbery after a hard day of executive budget planning and preventing Mayor Bella Reál’s sixth assassination attempt this month, with only a forty-two-minute power nap before patrol. Not the worst condition he’s ever been forced to socialize in, but it was up there.

Luckily, Wonder Woman didn’t seem to take any offense from his non-reaction. She retracted her hand and continued, “Currently, we have Flash, Green Lantern, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Aquaman, Hawkwoman, and Martian Manhunter on board.” Bruce’s eyebrows rose. “We’ve also secured a confidential line of communication via Martian Manhunter, and have already formed small team-ups on occasion.” Yes, Bruce was aware. The results were, admittedly, impressive. “If you’re willing, we still firmly believe that you would be an invaluable addition to the group, Batman.”

Bruce waits for her to continue, but that seems to be the end of her pitch. He looks between her and Superman, who is beaming at Bruce in a way that reminds him viscerally of Dick after winning another mathlete competition. He has to squash down the urge to offer him a juice box and a lollipop from his belt.

Finally, he turned back to Wonder Woman. At least she must have some leadership acumen, as her island’s princess and ambassador. “Are you two heading this group?”

Wonder Woman frowned. “We want to work with each other, not for. We stand together, as one.”

Yikes.

While that was a nice sentiment and all, Bruce was under no illusions that a herd of rule-bending vigilantes would work peacefully together forever. Even the smallest organizations had a chain of command. Surely, these adult men and women understood the importance of laying down ground rules and establishing boundaries? At the very least, someone had to be in charge of calling meetings, filing paperwork, and dealing with the public. A group this powerful would need a representative who could communicate their intentions to world governments.

Was it cynical to treat a superhero league like a business? Maybe.

But there was a reason Wayne Enterprises was an international conglomerate with a toe in every industry.

“What’s the scope of your work?” Bruce asked, deciding to table the leadership issue for now. If delegation was their only problem, then that was an easy enough fix.

This time, it was Superman who answered. “We want to help as many people as we can!”

Bruce bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood. “Who’s funding this?”

“All of us are willing to pitch in as much as we can,” Wonder Woman replied seriously. “But the majority will have to come from generous citizens.”

Bruce was going to cry. He’d cry, then grease paint would run down his face, then there’d be a new wave of rumors about the Bat crying oil and how he must surely be a vengeful wraith who was cursed to haunt Gotham for his remaining afterlife.

These people couldn’t seriously think that every super-powered vigilante was going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair in their sharing circle, could they? There needed to be checks and balances within any organization to prevent tyranny and corruption. Additionally, they needed a reliable source of donations that wouldn’t immediately out their civilian identities. And for the love of god, they needed a proper chain of command, an avenue for delegation, and a very strict vetting process in case any other promising, costumed do-gooders popped up.

No association in the world could be this easygoing. Management was hard work! Bruce should know; he’d recently taken in an eight-year-old.

“You don’t have to give us an answer now,” Superman said gently. As if Bruce were the problem. “Here’s a communicator. Contact us when you’re ready to talk. We’ll be waiting.”

Bruce snatched the device out of the air instinctively, then stared at it balefully. Did they think he was an idiot?

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Batman.” Wonder Woman grinned at him. Bruce hunched his shoulders reflexively, resisting the urge to cover his eyes. He hadn’t seen anyone that happy to see him since Officer Martinez took his witness statement for the exploding cake incident. “We hope to hear from you soon!”

Yeah, right.

Bruce watched as they flew off into the night. When he could no longer see them, he returned his gaze to the communicator he now possessed.

Eleven minutes later, he was in a safe house, dismantling it. So far, he’d found three trackers, all belonging to the US government. Two were military-grade, while the remaining one contained elements Bruce had never seen before.

Alien, then.

He blasted them all with heat, pleased when his hypothesis proved correct and the alien bits didn’t melt. Logic dictated that any foreign substances from space would have to withstand very extreme temperatures if they’d made it all the way to Earth’s surface, after all.

Squirreling the alien technology away into an empty pocket, Bruce reassembled the communicator, double-checked that it wasn’t sending out any more satellite pings using his (patented) wrist computer, then set off for home.

“Master Bruce, you’re back early,” Alfred greeted, straight-backed and waiting with a warm towel over his arm. Bruce took it gratefully, removing his cowl to wipe his face. “Should I be happy or concerned?”

“We have to burn safe house nineteen,” Bruce reported, instead of dignifying that with a response. “Also, investigating the other vigilantes is now our top priority. We still don’t have any documented weaknesses for Wonder Woman.”

Alfred arched an eyebrow. “Very well, sir. Am I to believe that you have received another invitation to the ‘Justice League?’”

“I’m not joining them,” Bruce replied automatically. He scowled, shedding pieces of the Batsuit as he made his way to the showers. Alfred trailed after him, picking up the armored pieces dutifully with a judgmental air that Bruce ignored. “It was worse than that episode of Shark Tank I was forced on. At least those people had an actual product to look at. This…I don’t even know what to do with this.”

He’d just managed to get down to his body compression suit when Alfred said, “Good thing you’re well-versed in the art of business, then, Master Bruce. I was starting to think you’d never make another friend.”

“Friend?” Bruce gaped, turning to look at his sorta-butler-sorta-father-definitely-family incredulously. “I can’t exactly ‘make friends’ when everyone is behind a mask. More to the point, I don’t want to ‘make friends’ with them.”

“Master Bruce,” Alfred tutted. “May I remind you that you have found a close acquaintance in Miss Selina Kyle while ‘behind a mask?’ I thought you would consider a league of superheroes a moral improvement over an international thief.”

Bruce grimaced. “Selina is…a work in progress.”

“And Mister Harvey Dent?”

“Also a work in progress.”

“Of course, sir.”

Bruce scowled at him. “I’m not joining a league of super-powered vigilantes to socialize.”

“Of course, sir,” Alfred echoed affably. Ass. “Whose identity would you like for me to uncover first?”

Bruce huffed, unzipping his compression suit. He needed to get in the shower before he passed out. “I don’t care. Give me whichever ones stump you. If you manage at least half, their ‘league’ is dead in the water.”

“Hmm,” Alfred hummed, considering. “Understood, Master Bruce.”

Bruce relaxed, his shoulders slumping. At least Alfred was reasonable.

He showered, using his specialized soap to remove the grease paint. Dressing in a comfortable shirt and sweatpants, he stumbled out of the cave locker room, bypassing Alfred on the Batcomputer, then took the hidden elevator out of the Batcave. He didn’t trust himself around stairs right now.

The sliding doors opened to reveal one Dick Grayson, who was fuming with more rage than his forty-nine inches could contain.

“Bruce!” Dick yelled. “I can’t believe you met Superman without me! Again! I am never letting you patrol by yourself ever again!!”

Bruce blinked at him blearily, uncertain if he was hallucinating. “What are you doing out of bed? It’s…” Fuck, what time was it? “…late.”

“It’s only two!” Dick argued.

Huh. No wonder Alfred was surprised to see him. “It’s still late. You have school tomorrow.”

“I’m not a baby,” Dick protested, puffing his cheeks. Bruce valiantly resisted the urge to pinch them. “I wanna meet Superman!”

Bruce just stared at him. Abruptly, he turned and strode down the hall.

He was way too tired for this.

“Wha—Bruce!”

“Later, chum,” Bruce yawned, eyes slipping closed. Ha! And Alfred said teaching himself to navigate the house blind was ‘obsessive’ and ‘depressing.’ “It’s bedtime now.”

“Yeah, right! I know you don’t sleep! Bruce! Bruce!!!”

“I’ve uncovered the identities of Superman, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman.”

Bruce looked up from the case he’d been working on. Harley Quinn and Joker had broken up again, and all of Gotham was dealing with the fallout. Fortunately, it seemed like Harley was in a vengeful mood, as she’d forwarded him the addresses of all of Joker’s hideouts last night. Bruce was combing through them in case it was a trap.

He cast his mind back to their conversation a week ago. “That’s five out of ten. Half.”

“Not necessarily,” Alfred responded primly, depositing a mug of cocoa on the desk. Bruce murmured his thanks. “Aquaman and Black Canary are quite forthright in their identities as Arthur Curry and Dinah Lance, respectively. Therefore, I’d say that I uncovered less than half.”

Bruce groaned, hunching over his keyboard. “Technicalities.”

“I was under the impression that you loved those, Master Bruce.”

Bruce groaned again, louder. “Whatever. Lay it on me.”

Alfred exhaled heavily through his nose, then moved in front of Bruce, taking over the computer.

“Clark Kent,” Alfred began, pulling up an image of a stocky, black-haired, blue-eyed man in thick glasses and a rather horrid suit.

Bruce wrinkled his nose in disgust. “Superman.”

Alfred nodded. “He’s an investigative journalist for the Daily Planet. He usually targets unethical businesses and corrupt foreign governments, and often shares a byline with Lois Lane. Three years ago, he won the Pulitzer Prize for reporting on the Batman.”

Bruce stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

Bruce covered his face with his hands. “His disguise is a pair of glasses, and he writes articles about himself. How has no one else figured this out?”

“I believe it is because few people realize he has a civilian life.” Alfred pulled up another picture, this time of an ice palace. “This is the Fortress of Solitude, located in the Arctic. It is the home of Kal El, also known as Superman.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, grimacing as he took a long sip of cocoa. “Do people actually believe he grew up isolated in Elsa’s castle?”

“I’m afraid so, sir.”

“Right.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. Anyone who listened to Superman talk and didn’t immediately think Kansas was an idiot. But, well. He’d learned that the world was full of idiots. “Okay. Next. Green Arrow, go.”

This time, Alfred pulled up a photo from Bruce’s personal camera roll.

Bruce slammed his mug down on the table, feeling aggrieved. “Motherfucker.”

“It is a very distinct goatee, sir,” Alfred murmured. “Also, his identity seems to be something of an open secret in Star City.”

“That idiot,” Bruce growled. “Oliver Queen. Son of a bitch—”

Alfred cleared his throat pointedly. Bruce shriveled under his guardian’s disapproval. “Sorry, Alfred. Continue.”

“Very good, sir.” Alfred pulled up another photo, this time of Oliver Queen arm-in-arm with a familiar blonde woman. “In addition, the fact that he is dating Miss Lance in both identities is a dead giveaway.”

Bruce was going to strangle Oliver the next time he saw him.

“Moving on,” Alfred said brusquely, no doubt sensing Bruce’s rising bloodlust. “Wonder Woman’s identity was the most difficult to uncover, despite being a public figure. While I don’t doubt that she is Themyscira’s princess and ambassador, she also goes by Diana Prince, presently a museum curator.”

Bruce frowned. “Presently?”

“She used to work for the US military,” Alfred elaborated, pulling up a series of black and white photographs. “She was a soldier, a nurse, and a clerk. Then, she left to travel the world as a problem-solver with a side clothing business. She continued doing odd jobs until three years ago, when she settled down in Washington, DC. She revealed the existence of Themyscira not long after.”

Three years. Bruce was beginning to sense a terrible pattern here. “Let me guess: Aquaman also revealed Atlantis’ existence three years ago?”

“Yes, sir.” Alfred turned toward him, eyes twinkling mischievously. “It seems your debut was quite inspiring.”

Bruce (very manly) whimpered, thunking his head down on his desk. “Creating Batman was a horrible mistake.”

“Yes, well.” Alfred smirked at him in amusement. Fucker. “It’s far too late now to put the genie back in the bottle, Master Bruce.”

Bruce took a deep breath, then sat up. He ran his fingers through his hair, grimacing at the oily feeling. “Fine. Alright. Fine. But before we do anything else, we’re uncovering the rest of them. And putting contingency plans into place.” He gave Alfred a pointed look. “Non-lethal plans.”

Alfred pursed his lips. “Might I remind you, sir—”

“Non. Lethal.”

Alfred heaved a burdened sigh. “As you wish, Master Bruce.”

Three days and sixteen cups of coffee (plus two more mugs of cocoa) later, Bruce was now the proud owner of two viciously firewalled files buried deep in his internal servers. One contained everything he could glean about all the existing American vigilantes. Their names, ages, strengths, weaknesses, social security numbers, and everything else down to their favorite color were in that file. The other was filled to bursting with all the various ways to take them down.

Bruce raised his arms above his head in a satisfying stretch, feeling his joints pop. “All that, and we still don’t have a documented weakness for Wonder Woman.”

“I must say, I’m more concerned about Martian Manhunter,” Alfred muttered beside him. “While I can’t profess much surprise that the government has been sequestering aliens, this Amanda Waller person looks dangerous.”

“At least we know where those trackers came from,” Bruce snorted. “Can’t say I blame her for wanting to tag us.”

Alfred rested his chin on his hand, lips quirking up. “Is it an ‘us,’ now, sir?”

Bruce felt his face color. “You know what I meant!”

“Indeed, I do.” Alfred smiled at him fondly. “I’m glad you’re taking them under your wing, Master Bruce. You’re more inclined toward the practice than I expected.”

Bruce blushed deeper, hiding his face in his hands. “Stop. You’re not funny!”

“I assure you, I speak with the utmost seriousness, sir.”

“Alfred! You can’t tease me anymore; I’m almost thirty!”

Alfred bumped shoulders with him affectionately. “You’re merely twenty-eight, Master Bruce. The youngest of your superhero cohort by far, despite being the first. Though, you were always a prodigy.”

“Ugh.” Bruce scowled, the red fading from his cheeks at his annoyance. “I bet Dick could run circles around them.”

“I have no doubts concerning Master Dick’s abilities,” Alfred chuckled, standing up. “But you need adult friends, Master Bruce.”

“I have adult friends!”

“Adult friends who aren’t criminals, then.”

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it.

Damn. He got him there.

“If that is all,” Alfred continued, hiding an ear-splitting yawn behind his hand. “I’m going to bed. Make sure to call your new friends, Master Bruce. They all seem to like you very much already.”

“Go away, Alfred.”

The old butler chuckled again, before leaving Bruce to brood in the dark. Bruce turned to look at the open files one more time on his computer.

Flash, AKA Barry Allen. Forensic scientist for the Central City Police Department.

Green Lantern, AKA Hal Jordan. Former pilot for the US Air Force, current test pilot for Ferris Aircraft.

Hawkwoman, AKA Shayera Thal. Ambassador of Thanagar, and a detective in Midway City. Has been operating locally and in secret for decades.

Martian Manhunter, AKA J’onn J’onzz, AKA John Jones. First discovered alien, kept secret by the US government. Currently working as a police detective in Middleton. Has several alternate identities around the world.

Bruce wondered at the sheer number of them connected to the military or police. On the surface, it made sense. The skills learned in those careers were easily transferable to their vigilante ones.

However, such connections spoke of deeper ties. If they weren’t careful, the Justice League was going to end up being a puppet of the US military.

Fuck.

There was no longer any choice in the matter.

Bruce needed to clean house before the League got off the ground, lest superheroes became the new nuke.

“Welcome, welcome! Oh! Batman! So glad you could make it!”

Bruce cowered under the dazzling grin of Wonder Woman. He gave her a small nod before slipping past her into the inconspicuous one-story house.

He wasn’t sure why she looked so pleased by his presence. After all, it was Bruce who had painstakingly organized this meeting after moving Heaven and Earth to align all of their schedules. He’d bought this place via a friend of Matches Malone, who got to keep it after today.

Callie didn’t question how Matches had acquired the money for a three-bedroom in Central City and why he was only using it for one day, and he never offered an explanation. Gothamites were easy like that.

Bruce shuffled into the corner of the room, ignoring Superman, who was beaming at him.

Of course, these two were the first ones here. Bruce had shown up a whole hour early, specifically to observe everyone as they came in, and yet.

Not the leaders, my ass.

After about a half hour of listening to Wonder Woman and Superman chatter about baseball (seriously, baseball?? What in the geriatric—), the others started showing up.

Hawkwoman came in casual clothes, which surprised Bruce. From her headstrong personality, he thought she’d be the type to show up in full hero regalia. Next came Green Lantern, who in direct contrast was fully suited up. Then Martian Manhunter, then Aquaman, then Green Arrow and Black Canary, and finally Flash, who was a whopping twelve minutes late.

Bruce watched them all from his strategic vantage point in the corner. While he couldn’t physically track and retain the minute mannerisms of nine people at once, he was comforted by his cowl’s recording capabilities.

“Are we all here? Ten? Good!” Superman was practically glowing, he looked so excited. Did Kryptonians age slower than humans? He definitely didn’t look over forty. “Welcome to the first meeting of the Justice League!”

Bruce took that as his cue to push off the wall and join the group at the dining table. He took the empty seat next to Superman, trying and failing to make eye contact with the rest of the group. He wasn’t sure why the seat was left empty, considering Superman’s friendliness and popularity. Maybe the other heroes (except Wonder Woman, who was happily seated on the Man of Steel’s other side) were more cautious than he’d thought.

Lost in thought, Bruce missed how Superman’s megawatt smile brightened as he settled down beside him.

“We’re so happy you’ve all found the time to come,” Wonder Woman began, gesturing widely to the group. “Since it is our first meeting, Superman and I were thinking that we could take this time to get to know each other! Strong bonds equal strong warriors!”

Bruce’s brain screeched to a halt.

“Excuse me?” He protested, clenching his fists under the table. He did not buy a house so they could do icebreakers. “You told me you were trying to build something. I came here because I thought you were serious.”

Wonder Woman frowned at him. “We are serious. If we’re going to work together, then we’re going to need to get to know each other.”

“We already know each other,” Bruce argued, patience running thin. “All of us have been active for at least a year. The whole world knows who we are.”

“What’s your idea, then, Batty?” Green Lantern interjected, sounding irritated. Bruce shot him a glare at the unsubtle insult. “Got an itinerary?”

Ha! Jokes on him.

“Of course I do,” Bruce growled imperiously. “I’m Batman.”

With that, he unlatched one of his belt pouches, pulling out a sheaf of paper.

“Item one,” he read aloud. “Write a mission statement.”

Superman and Wonder Woman straightened next to him, likely remembering his questions last time they met.

Good. At least they’d have some idea what they needed to discuss.

Flash raised a hand. “Um. Isn’t it just to help people?”

“No,” Bruce replied curtly. “And put your hand down; this isn’t high school.”

This time, it was Hawkwoman who spoke up. “Why not? I thought that the obvious answer, as well.”

Bruce wanted to slam his head against the table. “It’s way too vague. It sounds unprofessional, childish, and, frankly, untrustworthy. Moreover, what’s the line?” He needed them to understand this. “If a known dictator requests our help in taking down a group of insurrectionists, would you engage?”

Hawkwoman opened her mouth furiously, then hesitated. “I—”

“The answer is no,” Bruce growled. “If this is going to work, we can’t side with any one government. We can’t be political or militaristic at all. We’re already toeing the line, with all of us being based in the US.” He very deliberately didn’t let his gaze stray from Hawkwoman’s.

In his peripheral vision, Martian Manhunter blinked. While the action wouldn’t usually be a notable one, Bruce hadn’t seen the alien blink the entire time he’d been in the room.

Definitely working for Amanda Waller, Bruce confirmed mentally. Although whether or not he’s doing it willingly remains to be seen.

To Bruce’s horror, Martian Manhunter turned and locked eyes with him.

Shit, Bruce thought wildly. He’s a telepath! Clear your mind—ugh, no, what am I thinking? Clutter it!

Immediately, Bruce let all his wayward thoughts rise to the surface.

How and why did Martians develop vocal cords, if their entire species was telepathic? Or did J’onn shapeshift them into existence when he came to Earth? Do Thanagarians lay eggs, or is that xenophobic? Actually, speaking of birds, was Dick—no. Stupid, stupid, stupid; was he trying to give himself away?! No wonder everyone left him, he was such a—okay, wow, too deep. Think of something else. Was Harley going to get back together with Joker again? If anyone was unlovable, it would be that guy. No, no, that was mean. Everyone deserves a second chance, even if it’s actually their third. Or tenth. Or fiftieth—

Martian Manhunter clutched at his head, which Bruce counted as a success.

Pleased with the results of his little experiment, Bruce continued on with his thoughts close to the surface, letting them pass in and out of his mindspace even as he focused on the task at hand. If anything, it was rather freeing to not have to constantly try to suppress his endless curiosities and worries.

“To be honest, I don’t think that’s possible,” commented Aquaman casually. Bruce zeroed in on him. What had they been talking about, again? “I’m King of Atlantis and Wonder Woman is Princess of Themyscira, not to mention the de facto alien ambassadors we’ve got in the room. We’re already political.”

Oh, right.

Bruce unclenched his fists slowly, instead running his gloved fingers over the ridges of his leg armor. Hopefully, Superman was above using his X-ray vision for dumb stuff like looking through tables. “I never said you couldn’t be political. I said the League can’t be political. If anything, having multiple affiliations is better for us.”

“I get it,” Green Arrow said thoughtfully. Bruce never thought he’d say this, but thank god for Oliver Queen. “Like how celebrities can’t diss brands or products. It’d destroy any chance of a working relationship they could have with the parent company.”

Bruce's eye twitched. “…yes.”

The rest of the meeting progressed in much the same way. Every time Bruce read off another item on the list they needed to get done, he was argued with by at least three people before they got anywhere.

“Why do we need a ‘power structure?’ It feels authoritarian. Can’t we just take turns being the leader?”

“Do we really need this much paperwork? What even is an ‘incident report?’”

“I don’t think we need a main base. Can’t we just meet here again?”

“What the hell is an ‘outreach initiative?’ Isn’t that the same thing as a mission statement?”

“What’s wrong with starting a GoFundMe? It’s a valid way to raise money!”

“You’re being paranoid. We fight the bad guys, keep civilians out of the way, then bam! Happy ending! Threat analysis sounds unnecessarily complicated.”

Bruce was on the verge of exploding. “We need threat analysis protocols so that we can quickly identify the best route to neutralize hostiles and minimize collateral damage.”

“Why can’t I just jump in?” Flash asked uncertainly, scratching his head. “I have eyes.”

Bruce barely refrained from shaking his fist at the man. “Jumping in without assessing an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good.”

“So what?” Green Lantern demanded. “I’m just supposed to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?!”

“Yes,” Bruce stressed. “You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce could hear muttering abound in the room at his answer. Unfortunately for everyone, his cowl was fine-tuned to pick up the quietest of sounds.

“Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” Aquaman muttered to an irate Hawkwoman.

“Fucking tightwad. That guy’s got a major stick up his ass,” Green Lantern whispered hotly to a frowning Flash.

However, the one that hurt the most was when Wonder Woman mumbled to Superman, “Maybe…we shouldn’t have asked him to join?”

Complicated emotions roiled in Bruce’s gut. Shame, anger, betrayal, self-mockery, frustration, then finally, cold fury.

Martian Manhunter wasn’t looking at him at all, now.

Good. Maybe he’d finally learned to stay out of Bruce’s head.

Green Arrow and Black Canary seemed to be having a heated, silent argument with each other. Green Arrow’s lips kept twitching, like he wanted to smile but was frowning too much to make it happen. In contrast, Black Canary’s glare was deadly, though the rest of her face remained neutral.

Bruce looked down at the papers he’d brought, eyes dry and tongue thick in his mouth.

How long had he spent on this already? Figuring out everyone’s identities and how to neutralize them safely, securing a time and location for them to meet, organizing a startup how-to list, agonizing over how he was going to hide what would likely be his largest superhero expense from Wayne Enterprise’s budget supervisors.

The answer was too long.

He knew he should’ve listened to logic. This is what he got for humoring Alfred. The worst part was, Bruce couldn’t even leave.

Not without handing the US government the keys to the Atom Bomb 2.0: Superhero Edition!

Bruce didn’t even like business meetings. He hated those boring old executives who dragged their feet poring over every little detail on whatever proposal or project was on the day’s docket.

Now, he had become one of them.

Fuck. He missed Davis and Charles and their stupid, hour-long tangents about whose department was in charge of what. He missed every last one of those stuffy, trust fund, Harvard man-babies because at least they knew what they were doing. More than anything, he missed Lucius.

When Bruce finally came home after five fucking hours of listening to people a decade his senior bitch and moan about him being pedantic and stiff, Alfred was waiting.

“How was the first meeting?” The old butler asked, offering Bruce his customary warm towel.

Bruce snatched it out of his hands as he walked by, scowling fiercely. “I am not making friends.”

Chapter Text

It takes weeks until they have some semblance of a proper organization.

And even then, Bruce feels like he’s holding the Justice League together with duct tape and a handful of glue.

During their second meeting, he demanded to see everyone’s comms. Under their reproachful eyes, he quickly and skillfully dismantled them, taking out the hidden trackers, before reassembling them with his own slipped inside. Then, Bruce had Superman laser the unwanted bugs (unexpectedly, the alien hardware hadn’t melted. Bruce inferred from this that they were Kryptonian in origin), watching Martian Manhunter carefully all throughout. However, the alien looked just as surprised as everyone else to see military-grade tracking devices in their communicators. Fortunately, Bruce managed to pass blame off the Martian by turning the reveal into a lecture about thoroughly investigating unknown technology and taking care to avoid government surveillance. He’d take care of the Amanda Waller issue with Martian Manhunter later.

In their third meeting, Bruce drew up schematics for a home base (no, they were not calling it the ‘Hall of Justice’) in DC. Wonder Woman was delighted, as it was her city of residence. Bruce was just glad she didn’t argue, as he really didn’t want to encroach on reservation lands so they could settle in a non-congressionally-represented area.

(He had other plans for a potential satellite, but that was for later.)

Eventually, Bruce learned to just do things without waiting for group approval. It was frustrating, and more than a little exhausting. It seemed like he was the only one willing to actually put any work into the Justice League (which they still didn’t have a better name for).

All this had the unintentional side effect of putting Bruce in a leadership position alongside Wonder Woman and Superman.

Why they deferred to him instead of Aquaman, who was a literal king, he had no clue, but at least it made his life easier.

Two months after their disastrous first meeting, a monsoon hit South Asia and the Philippines were flooded.

All the League members who could fly (plus Aquaman) were on site within the hour. Everyone else arrived on the Batwing six hours after Superman made the call.

Green Arrow complained to Bruce that he and the other non-fliers could barely do anything, so why were they even here? Bruce grit his teeth and told him that if he wanted to be useful, he could buy his own damn jet (even though Bruce had actually built his), then set the vehicle on autopilot before jumping down.

For the next thirty-nine hours, the Justice League was neck-deep in evacuation and rescue efforts. The fliers saved family after family, the survivors telling every newscaster they could find about how awesome Superman was, how angelic Hawkwoman seemed, how confident Green Lantern appeared, and how cool Wonder Woman looked floating down to extend a helping hand. Even Martian Manhunter received praise, though a lot of it was buried under the shock that Martians were real and living among them. The non-fliers also rescued people, but were mostly focused on pulling stragglers out of the wreckage, setting up medical tents, and moving supplies. The Hippocratic Oath was alive and well as doctors and nurses stepped up and got to work.

However, the most winsome member by far was Aquaman, who called upon Atlantean magic users to coax the flood back into the ocean.

It was a perfect debut for the Justice League. There were no villains in natural disasters, which meant minimal backlash. Bruce tried not to think about how fortunate it was for their first appearance to be in an underdeveloped country halfway across the world from the US, but, well. And to top it all off, every Leaguer remained on site until the crisis was over. Usually, flooding this bad would take longer than two days to wash out, but the Atlanteans had been working overtime.

Overall, it made for a very, very good first appearance.

(Bruce carefully didn’t think about how much the Justice League’s debut mirrored his own.)

After it was all over, Bruce flew everyone home then face-planted on his Armani Casa couch and slept for fourteen hours straight. When he finally managed to peel himself off of the Italian leather (mentally apologizing to Alfred for the grease stain), he was treated to his own cowled face on the living room flatscreen performing a triage.

“Alfred!” Bruce yelled, irate.

Tinkling laughter echoed from down the hall. Grumbling to himself, Bruce begrudgingly continued to watch the news report. He needed to see how favorable the League’s reception was.

“We are the Justice League,” Wonder Woman announced to a particularly gutsy reporter. “The ten of us are wholly dedicated to protecting communities in need, wherever we’re needed. For now, we’ll mainly be focusing on natural disaster sites and public safety threats, but our hope is to someday be able to respond to all threats.” She looked straight into the camera for this part. “This is not a commination, or a warning. It is a promise, a plea to your world governments to help us help you. Thank you.”

Mission statement, check, Bruce thought, relief crashing through him. Outreach initiative, check. Future goals, check.

Bruce briefly despaired that they were stuck with the name ‘Justice League’ for the foreseeable future, but it was quickly overpowered by his pride.

Bruce paused.

Was he really…?

No. Yes? No. But, yes, that was pride surging through him and flowering in his heart. He’d built the League brick by brick, and was damn proud of their first official operation.

“This ‘Justice League’ is a farce!”

Bruce’s head whipped up, the smile he wasn’t aware he was wearing falling from his face. Luthor’s bald head shone under the talk show’s stage lights, his expression smarmy as ever.

“It’s obviously a cover for political infiltration,” Luthor was saying. “They outright told us that they wanted to collude with world governments! I mean, come on.”

“Would political agents really spend two days aiding flood relief efforts, though?” The talk show host countered, leaning toward Luthor conspiratorially.

“There’s no question,” Luthor retorted dismissively. “Look around! Not a bad word to be said about these ‘heroes’ anywhere. Of course, it’s a ploy!”

Bruce watched as Luthor continued to spit vitriol, growing more and more incensed with each and every word. Abruptly, he reached for his phone, swiping through his contacts for the number he wanted. Not looking away from the TV, he hit dial.

“Mr. Wayne? Have you returned to the office?”

“Hello, Director Emerson,” Bruce greeted, the half-formed plan in his mind beginning to take shape. “Yeah, I’m back. Sorry.”

“I’m used to it, Mr. Wayne. Your emails more than made up for your absence.”

“Oh, good,” Bruce mumbled self-consciously. “Anyway, you know the Justice League?”

“…the superhero team everyone keeps talking about?”

“That’s the one. Luthor doesn’t seem too fond of them.”

“…okay…?”

“You hate Luthor, too, right?”

A pause.

“Mr. Wayne, I assure you, I have no plans of leaving Wayne Enterprises—”

“That’s not it,” Bruce interrupted impatiently. “I want to set up a donation fund to the Justice League. Tell PR that Wayne Enterprises is behind them one hundred percent, and tag Luthor.”

Startled coughing racketed down the line. “A-are you sure, Mr. Wayne?! The Justice League is very new, so an investment—”

“An investment in public safety is always worth it,” Bruce said quietly. “Wouldn’t you agree, Director Emerson?”

Silence.

“…I understand, Mr. Wayne. I’ll see that it gets done.”

The call ended not long after. Immediately, Bruce reopened his contacts list to dig for a number he hadn’t looked at since boarding school.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Bruce tapped the call button.

A long ring, then the line clicked. “Y’ello?”

“Oliver,” Bruce muttered skittishly. “Hey.”

There was a dull thud, then a loud crash. “B-Bruce?!”

“Yeah.”

“Bruce Wayne?!?!”

“…yeah.”

“Dude, holy shit!” Oliver Queen yelled. Bruce winced, holding the phone further away from his ear. “Is this a butt dial? Do you have cancer? Where have you been?!”

“You’re the one who got trapped on a deserted island for a year,” Bruce mumbled petulantly.

“Old news, Brucie.”

“Do not call me that.”

“It’s cute! Anyway, to what do I owe the pleasure? If it’s an invitation for waterskiing, I’m afraid you’re gonna have to find somebody else. I’m fresh off a bend, you see.”

Sure he was. “It’s a proposal, actually.”

“Aw, business? Booooriiiiing.”

Bruce gritted his teeth. He knew it was an act, but that didn’t make it any less annoying to deal with. “I think you’ll like this one. Want in on my new donation charter for the Justice League?”

Another crash.

“Wha—huh? Justice League? W-why are we talking about the Justice League?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Luthor publicly denounced them on national TV this morning. I find him very annoying. And ugly. This seemed like a good way to spite him. You in?”

“I—” Oliver hesitated. “…you know what? Yeah, I’m in. Pleasure doing business with ya, Brucie!”

Bruce’s eye twitched. “Mmm.”

“Sociable as always, I see. Hey, did you ever finish med school?”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wha—no, wait, hey!!!”

Beep.

Surprisingly, things were going well.

In an effort to drum up more investors, Bruce threw his first ever gala.

It was a raging success.

Between that and Batman’s regular appearances with the League, the reputations of both of Bruce’s identities were improving. Gordon was finally promoted to police chief as the Bat went from dangerous vigilante to renowned hero. Meanwhile, Bruce—dubbed Brucie after Oliver had shouted the nickname and tackled him on live television—became a bonafide media darling. Bruce had no idea how or why people seemed to love him so much, but at least it was good for promoting his various charities.

Dick was absolutely delighted by the new changes. Every day, he bombarded Bruce with memes of him being compared to a raccoon, or in a random corner with sunglasses on and a wine glass in hand. Once, he even managed to convince Bruce to show up to an event in glitter makeup.

That night, Wayne Enterprises’ stock value shot up a record-breaking sixteen percent.

However, all this came with the unfortunate side effect of bringing both Dick and Robin into the limelight. A nationwide debate about child sidekicks was sparked. Batman was ostracized by the League for weeks. In the end, all protest was silenced after Robin was recorded performing a quadruple flip, then double-kneeing Penguin in the face.

Meanwhile, Dick took to being a media star like a duck to water. He was verified on all social media platforms, and demanded that Bruce film him doing elaborate acrobatic routines twice a day. He also enjoyed ‘vlogging,’ which mostly consisted of trying to catch Bruce off guard in his own house. Clips of Bruce hunkered behind the couch eating a bag of shredded cheese or blasting MCR while face-down on the floor invaded YouTube. Bruce’s own follower count jumped into the hundred millions, despite him never posting a single thing.

One major downside to the new popularity was that Batman’s rogues became wary of the other heroes. Kryptonite flooded Gotham’s black market, though most of it ended up squirreled away in the Batcave. Dr. Freeze built a new lair after making a small fortune selling weapons to Captain Cold. Most alarmingly, Poison Ivy and Scarecrow teamed up to make new anger-inducing, mind control chemicals, which Bruce promptly shut down.

(Harley broke Ivy out of Arkham almost immediately, which both frustrated and surprised Bruce. He hadn’t even realized they were friends.)

On the bright side, this created a very convenient excuse for Bruce to keep the other Leaguers out of his city. He was getting annoyed at them constantly interrupting patrol to ‘hang out.’ It took Flash nearly getting skewered by one of Calendar Man’s machines for them to back off.

After months of careful planning, Bruce managed to build the Hall of Justice and his satellite.

(He quickly christened it the ‘Watchtower,’ not wanting to get stuck with something stupid like the ‘Satellite of Justice.’ No one argued. Bruce nearly sobbed from the sheer relief.)

He coaxed Superman into lying to the press that the Hall of Justice was their one and only base, a claim that was conveniently backed by award-winning investigative reporter Clark Kent. Bruce then converted the building into a tourist attraction (hey, they needed to generate funds somehow), paying independent artists to craft statues and hiring interior designers to erect a (semi-truthful) museum exhibit about superheroes. Wonder Woman was unexpectedly (or maybe not, considering her designer days) very helpful when creating merch.

In his (infinitesimal) free time, Bruce got to work outfitting the Watchtower with Bat-level security systems and gadgetry. Everything was state-of-the-art and then some. It even had dorms, a med bay, a sanitization chamber, and a kitchen. Not to mention, a mechanical wing and a chemical lab.

(Bruce didn’t tell anyone how he'd managed to rig the transporter technology.)

(He was too guilty to look Martian Manhunter in the eye for weeks.)

All in all, things were good.

Very good.

Alfred looked incredibly smug as Batman deplaned after putting out fires in Brazil, a lipstick mark on his cheek from an enthusiastic Black Canary.

“Not a word,” he warned him.

Alfred’s lips quirked. “Of course not, Master Bruce.”

Sometimes, though, Bruce sincerely considered quitting.

“Baaaaats!”

Bruce twitched, fingers stalling above his keyboard. He’d been writing the incident report for their latest fight against Prometheus, despite not being in the battle, because no one else wrote incident reports.

“BAAAATTSSSYYYY!!!”

Bruce gritted his teeth so hard they squeaked. “What.”

“Can you show me how to coordinate the map for the transporter again? I’m trying to get to Botswana!”

Bruce slammed his hands against the monitor desk and got up, making his way to the transporter room.

He’d specifically designed the software to replicate phone map applications. They were supposed to be user-friendly. He’d tested their facility with Dick, who was nine.

“Oh, good! You’re here!” Green Lantern grinned at him. He was standing in front of the transporter console, which was on the default screen. “You know, you should really design a less complicated system. All these buttons are really confusing.”

Bruce glared at him, jaw clenched so tight he was surprised it didn’t creak. Without breaking eye contact, he stepped forward, typed B-O-T-S-W-A-N-A in the search field, then hit enter.

“Setting course for Gaborone, Botswana.”

Green Lantern looked at the console, then the transporter, then at Bruce. “Huh.”

Bruce was going to kill him.

You are a grown-ass adult, he wanted to shout at him. How do you not know your way around a digital map?!

Out loud, he said, “Was that all?”

“You know, you could be more friendly,” Green Lantern scolded, crossing his arms. “It’s not my fault you souped up the whole damn place!”

Bruce was going to strangle him with his bare hands.

“Oh, hey, guys!”

Flash sped over to them, clutching an electric green orb to his chest.

Bruce wasn’t going to ask. He didn’t care. In fact, he actively did not want to know.

“Are you guys using the transporter? Are you going anywhere near an ocean?” Flash asked rapid-fire, tossing the orb from hand to hand so swiftly it looked like it was vibrating. “Actually, doesn’t matter; I’ll just tag along.”

Okay, now Bruce was getting a little worried. “Flash, have you logged that artifact’s specs into the database?”

Flash blinked at him, one eye at a time. “Uh. What?”

“That item you’re holding,” Bruce elaborated impatiently. “Did you make a file for it?”

Green Lantern rolled his eyes. “Unclench your asshole, Spooky.” He turned to Flash. “Of course you can ride with me, buddy! We’re going to Botswana!”

“You can’t just bring an unknown object here then—!” Bruce’s words fell on deaf ears when the two beamed away in a flash of light. “Goddamnit.”

Someone tapped Bruce on the shoulder.

“Batman, hey,” Aquaman greeted pleasantly. Bruce jerked his chin in acknowledgment, beating back the urge to snap at him. “Can you help me login to my FaceBook account? I forgot the password again.”

Bruce was going to launch himself out of the airlock.

“Woah, you know Morse code?!”

“Of course I do. Don’t you?”

“I haven’t studied it since I was a cadet, so. No.”

Fucking war fossils. I’ve gotta do everything around here.

Other times, Bruce wanted to quit for an entirely different reason.

It was the third Sunday of the month, which meant everyone was at the Watchtower this evening. Superman said it was for bonding. Every time, Bruce tried to get out of it, and every time, he failed.

Clayface was robbing banks? Green Lantern showed up and bubbled him.

Bane was killing drug lords? Wonder Woman intersected and dropped him off at Blackgate.

Catwoman was stealing priceless artifacts? Black Canary called her and asked her not to, pretty please, not tonight; they were trying to get Bruce to socialize.

Bruce hated it.

“Get out of my city,” he growled at Martian Manhunter’s stoic face. “I’m not coming tonight.”

The alien just blinked at him. “Your presence was requested.”

“I don’t care,” Bruce snapped. “I’m busy! Maroni is dealing arms again; I have to find out—”

“He’s keeping them at the Tricorner Yards.”

Bruce froze. He quickly turned to glare at the dealer he was gripping, squinting at him suspiciously. The pasty man’s handlebar mustache quivered. “For how long?”

“Until Wednesday,” Martian Manhunter answered smoothly. “Maroni bet Falcone he couldn’t find them in a week.”

Bruce’s glare grew into an incredulous look. “How does he know that?”

“He’s very nosy,” Martian Manhunter replied seriously. He cocked his head. “Also, the goons have their own betting pool.”

“The goons?”

“Yes. The Goonion meets every other Thursday.”

Bruce stared at Martian Manhunter. Abruptly, he released the dealer, just, incredibly done with the situation. “Get out of here.”

The dealer was gone before the words were even out of his mouth.

Smart guy.

“Fine. Fine.” Bruce really wished he could rub his temples without the cowl getting in the way. “I’ll come.” Good thing he knew better than to bring Dick out with him tonight.

They went to the nearest transporter and beamed up to the Watchtower. Bruce promptly left for the mechanical wing. Surely, someone had broken something in there that needed fixing.

“Batman! Hey, Batman’s here!”

Fuck.

“Yo, dude!” Green Arrow slung an arm over his shoulder. “You’re late again! You’re starting to make me think you don’t want to be here.”

“I don’t.”

“Ha! This guy.” Green Arrow shook his head mirthfully, oblivious to Bruce’s death glare. “You should meet this kid I know. Real gloomy, like you. You’d just sit in silence and stare at each other; it’d be hilarious!”

Thankfully, Black Canary showed up to save him. “Lay off, troublemaker. Quit trying to play matchmaker; it’s gross.”

“Now there’s an idea!” Green Arrow grinned at her. He was very bad at hiding how smitten he was. “But nah. Bats is a mean and grumpy old man. I can’t subject that poor, cute kid to that.”

Dread pooled in Bruce’s stomach.

Are they talking about who I think they’re talking about?

“You know, ever since he called you, you haven’t shut up about ‘the kid,’” Black Canary accused, using finger quotations. “Should I be jealous?”

Aaaaand Bruce was done socializing.

“I’m leaving,” he said abruptly, turning around to do just that.

Unfortunately, instead of the transporter, he found himself face to face with Superman, who was backed by the observation window.

Bruce stiffened, looking over his shoulder in alarm. Behind him was Black Canary and Green Arrow, who were pointing and laughing at him. Martian Manhunter stood just behind them, in front of the transporter. His expression remained neutral, but Bruce could tell he was amused.

Bruce turned back to scowl at Superman, snapping, “You can’t just cart people around without warning. It’s disorienting.”

“I just did.” Superman grinned at him unrepentantly. “Enjoying yourself?”

“No.”

Superman sighed. “You know, some of us are thinking of revealing our identities to each other. Building trust like this is important.”

Bruce bit his tongue before he could protest that he already knew all their identities.

“Not that you have to reveal yours!” Superman continued quickly. “But, well. It’d be nice to know.”

“I’m Arthur Curry!” Aquaman swaggered over to them, throwing an arm over both their shoulders.

Superman’s smile stiffened. “We know, Aquaman.”

“Just letting you know how much I trust you.” Aquaman beamed at them, ruffling Superman’s hair.

Bruce couldn’t help it.

He smiled.

Both men froze. Bruce dropped the expression as anxiety speared through him, sending him into a spiral of self-doubt. Did he do something wrong? Make another social faux pas he wasn’t aware of? Why were they looking at him like that?

In an instant, Superman grabbed Aquaman and flew them to the other side of the room, practically bowling over Wonder Woman in their haste. The three of them ducked into a huddle, Superman heatedly whispering as Aquaman nodded fervently. Wonder Woman’s face changed rapidly, going from concerned to confused to delighted.

Bruce turned away, slunking off into the corner of the room.

They’re the ones who forced me to come, Bruce mulled sulkily. They should know by now that I don’t do people.

God. What was he even doing here? Bruce wasn’t a superhero. He didn’t have powers. How could he ever amount to the incredible feats these people accomplished simply by existing? How could he possibly make a difference in the world when he was already struggling so much just to save Gotham?

Suddenly angry, Bruce stalked his way back over to the transporter.

They could make him come. But they couldn’t make him stay.

These people didn’t need him.

Maybe he should stop trying so hard to belong where he didn’t fit in.

“Fucking shit. Batman’s gonna kill me!”

“I don’t kill.”

“HOLY—ack, wait! Don’t look!!”

“Don’t look at—are you fucking kidding me.”

“Um, haha…oops?”

“Five.”

“Yes, Master Bruce.”

“Five Keurigs. What group of incompetent idiots breaks five Keurigs?!”

“Truly a tragedy, Master Bruce.”

“To be fair, coffee is gross.”

Bruce looked at his ward in exasperation. “You’ve never broken the coffee maker.”

“How could I?” Dick sipped his cocoa. “I never make coffee.”

Alfred patted Dick’s head, handing him a cookie. Dick squealed as he took it, kicking his feet. Bruce’s heart melted.

“You know,” Bruce began, leaning forward. “Bad guys drink a lot of coffee. Maybe you should—”

“I’m not gonna stop being Robin, Bruce.”

“But—”

“I’ll patrol without you,” Dick said, suddenly looking very serious. “I’ll patrol without you, and I’ll be super effective, and I’ll kick a bunch of dangerous criminals in the face without your supervision. I’ll kick ‘em dead, Bruce. Dead. Do you want that?”

“…no.”

“That’s what I thought.”

Chapter Text

Diana is in San Francisco for a diplomatic matter when the ground shakes.

A woman bursts into the room, looking frantic. “A sinkhole opened up near the elementary school!”

Diana wastes no time. “Take me there.”

Ten minutes later, she is scouring through a decaying school, looking for wayward kids. She commed the League about the emergency as soon as she was on site, but no one had responded yet.

“Young warriors, do not fear!” Diana called out. “I’m going to get you out of here, I promise! Just shout and I will come get you soon!”

Diana had been repeating this message every five minutes or so. She heard plenty of voices, but the structural damage was hard to navigate around. Not to mention, Diana could only haul so many people by herself.

She was busy evacuating a classroom, four at a time, when help finally came.

Black drones adorned with bright yellow flares canvassed the halls like a dark plague. They swarmed the building, little blades whirring as they flew around seemingly at random. As quickly as they started, they stopped, then each scattered in a different direction. One whizzed by Diana, spilling highlighter-yellow paint as it went.

“Please evacuate now. Follow the colored paths to the exit. Do not touch or step outside the yellow lanes. Please evacuate now.”

One of the kids on Diana’s shoulder whimpered. It startled her into action, heart swelling as she continued making her way outside.

She knew exactly who was behind this.

“Follow the drones, young warriors!” Diana exclaimed. She couldn’t prevent her grin from spreading into her voice. “I promise they’re safe! Wonder Woman and Batman are here to help!”

Tiny faces poked out of the surrounding doorways. Slowly but surely, the halls filled with brave, trembling kids. Beaming, Diana put down her cargo and led them to the front exit, her golden sandals never straying from the highlighter-yellow paths.

By the time they reached the outside, Diana had dozens of children and a handful of adults behind her, all moving carefully but steadily through the half-destroyed school.

Past the crumbled doors, day was overrun by night.

More black drones were buzzing around, spewing both warnings and reassurances. Yellow police tape decorated with little bats sectioned off precarious areas. Dark gray scaffolds were erected along the outer walls of the school.

And in the center of all, leaning against the hood of a hulking nightmare of a vehicle, was Batman.

He was frowning at the holographic display on his wrist computer, but looked up the moment Diana stepped outside. Then Batman seemed to freeze for just a moment, something relieved and worried and nostalgic in his expression, before it was wiped clean, and he returned to his work.

Diana smiled, unoffended. She turned, hands on her hips, and glowed at the sight of crowds of children pouring out of the ruined building. All of them led by little black drones with bright yellow flares.

“Please assemble behind the yellow tape. This is for your safety. Please remove all caps and sunglasses, then face the drones. Your attendance will be recorded.”

Diana watched in amazement as children and grown-ups alike followed directions, heads turning upward in waves. Every single instruction was followed by a reason; a small yet monumental act. Diana had never known that Batman was capable of such thoughtfulness.

“We’re missing four faculty members and fifty-one students,” a gruff, familiar voice rumbled beside her. Diana turned to find Batman scowling at his hologram, as if he could will the missing people into existence if he glared at it hard enough. “Two of the faculty are trapped under rubble. The other two are missing, presumed dead. Thirty-six of the students are scared and hiding. Eleven are trapped. The remaining four are also missing, presumed dead.” His voice tightened around the word ‘dead,’ angry and uncomfortable. Diana read it as the despair it was.

She clasped a hand on his shoulder, warm and solid. “Take me to them.”

It took less than an hour to account for every student and faculty member. Fortunately, it was after lunch, so the cafeteria workers were long gone. Diana took off to help the trapped people, following the pinging drones. Meanwhile, Batman asserted that he would coax out the frightened kids. When Diana emerged, six bodies slung around her person and seven clutching onto her armor, she was unsurprised to see Batman already out front.

He looked up when she approached. “The paramedics are here. Take the injured to them. Relief workers and police are also here.” Here, he hesitated. “You can go back to your meeting, if you’d like.”

Diana shook her head in wonder. “And you?”

“If I go now, a third of the building collapses,” Batman huffed. “I’m not leaving till every kid is reunited with a guardian. Also…regarding the deceased…” He scowled again. “I’m not leaving.”

Diana felt her heart flutter and soar. “I’m not leaving, either. Someone has to talk to the press.”

Batman hunched his shoulders. “…thanks.”

“No, thank you, Batman,” Diana laughed, clapping him on the back. “Everyone else was too busy to help. I’m glad you were nearby.”

“I was busy, too.”

Diana paused. “…pardon?”

“I mean—” Batman cut himself off with a growl, shuffling his feet. Diana’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “This was more important. There were kids in danger, so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Oh.

Oh.

So he really is human.

Diana smiled, looking at her comrade. Really looking at him. If she tilted her head just so, Batman was no longer menacing, but sweet. Not intimidating, but awkward. For a single moment, she saw straight through the cowl and saw a man struggling to do his best to help everyone he possibly could.

“Well, thank you,” Diana finally said. Batman looked away from her. Diana’s grin widened. “The help was very much appreciated.”

Beyond the bat-themed police tape, she could see countless children jumping into the arms of their parents. Ambulances were lined down the block, and relief workers were handing out water and shock blankets.

It had taken them ninety minutes to show up.

It took Batman sixteen.

Knowing a hug wouldn’t be permitted, Diana wrapped an arm around Batman’s armored back. Batman didn’t move away.

In the photo taken of them at that moment, Diana’s smile outshone the sun.

Since then, the League began taking more notice of the Bat’s actions.

Sometime later, Barry complains that meetings are too slow for him. Even at normal speeds, his brain runs faster than most, so it’s a struggle to stay focused.

The next day, Batman brings a box of fidget toys.

“To help you focus,” he explains.

Barry almost cries, he’s so touched.

In the next big battle, Shayera is severely injured.

Without hesitation, Batman abandons his foe and grapples to her location, catching her midair and swinging away from the battlefield.

As soon as she’s settled in the grass, he examines her wing. “May I touch it?”

Shayera blinks at him, dazed and confused. “What?”

“Your ulna is broken,” Batman elaborates patiently. “I need to stop the bleeding and set it.”

Shayera glances at her mangled wing. Then back at Batman, who is looking at her chin. Slowly, she nods.

Batman promptly pulls out a roll of bandages, then gets to work. He folds her wing gently against her body, taking care not to ruffle her feathers too much. He then wraps the bandages in an ‘X’ shape, wrapping from top to bottom, down and across.

“You are well-versed in avian medicine,” Shayera commented. “Are you a veterinarian in your civilian life?”

“No,” Batman grunted curtly. “But you have ornithic physiology.”

Shayera tilted her head at him. “…yes? And?”

“So I learned,” Batman replied simply. “Specifically in case something like this happened.” The last part was said accusingly.

Shayera stared at him. “…huh.”

During an infiltration mission, Oliver is paired with Batman. Black Canary and Martian Manhunter aren’t available, so they’re the only two with any stealth capabilities.

Unfortunately, stealth was no longer an option.

“We need backup!” Oliver shouted into his comm, then nocked another arrow. He took down a grunt who was coming up on Batman’s left side, then was promptly tackled.

Batman looked over his shoulder at the commotion.

Abruptly, smoke filled Oliver’s vision.

Batman was by his side in an instant, incapacitating Oliver’s attacker with a well-placed kick. He loomed over Oliver, using one hand to shove his hood further over his head, while the other held out a strip of fabric toward him like an offering.

A dark green, very familiar strip of fabric.

Alarmed, Oliver took the mask and shoved it onto his face, tying it so quickly his hair got caught.

Not a second later, Green Lantern showed up. “Hey, woah! What’s with the fog cover?” He glared at Batman. “Thanks for making everyone’s job harder, asshole. And what’re you doing, hovering over Arrow like a creep?”

Batman said nothing, glancing down at Oliver before turning on his heel and vanishing into the smoke.

“Spooky bastard,” Green Lantern grumbled, giving Oliver a hand up. “You alright, man?”

“Um, yeah, uh,” Oliver stuttered, mind in a tailspin over what just happened. “I’m good, thanks.”

No, Oliver wanted to scream. Batman knows my identity! How is this alright?!

But…Batman hadn’t said anything.

Instead, he provided a cover, even though it made it harder to fight, hid Oliver under his cape, even though the only conscious people left were their allies, then gave Oliver back his mask.

Huh.

Barry really hates his superpower sometimes.

He feels like a hyperactive kid, needing Batman to give him toys so he can pay attention.

And now, his stomach won’t stop grumbling.

He can’t help it! Superspeed means super-metabolism, which means Barry is super hungry, like…all the time.

And Batman makes them do post-mission briefs (“If I’m the only one who’s going to write incident reports, you’re all damn well going to sit down and listen to what went wrong and how we can do better next time.”), which aren’t actually that long but are when Barry’s just ran circles around giant robots and is starving—

His stomach rumbles again.

Barry slumps lower in his seat, his face as red as his costume.

Thankfully, Batman doesn’t skip a beat. His voice remains a cool monotone, syllables performing a steady march that’s a little too gravelly to be droning. Not that that stopped Aquaman from looking two seconds away from passing out, anyway.

As soon as Batman releases them, Barry speeds over to his space dorm and collapses. Tomorrow is Sunday, and he hates running on an empty stomach. His date with Iris will just have to wait.

It’s a wonder she hasn’t divorced him yet.

“Uh. Since when do we have a fully-stocked pantry? Jesus, how long is this thing’s shelf life? And why is this protein bar—holy fuckballs, it’s nine-thousand calories?!”

“Since last night. Thirty years, apparently. Also, I dunno. Something something science, I guess.”

“Who the hell managed to—we have vegan options?! And an allergen section?!?”

“No one’s fessed up. And, yup. Pretty thoughtful, actually.”

“No one’s—?! Wait…was it… was it Batman?”

“I mean. Probably.”

“Dude. What the fuck. Overnight?!”

“…yeah.”

Dinah couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

Wonder Woman had told them all about Batman helping out at that elementary school, sure, but she’d never even hinted that he was capable of this.

This, being Batman crouching before a small child, carefully pressing a Bluey band-aid to their knee. Said child was also sucking on a lollipop, a juice box in their other hand, both of which had come from Batman. More specifically, a pouch on Batman’s belt.

“Do you…” Dinah cleared her throat. “Do you always carry around…all that? With you? Everywhere?”

Batman didn’t even spare her a glance, too focused on sticking themed band-aids on every new cut the kid showed him. “Yes.”

Dinah looked at the kid, relaxed and happy after Batman’s ministrations. Then she looked at Batman himself, who wasn’t friendly, but was patient and understanding as he answered questions and handed the kid more lollipops.

Dinah smiled softly at Batman’s back. “Is that so?”

Bruce wasn’t quite sure how he got here.

“And don’t get me started on how inherently selfish it is to just sit on all that money!” Superman fumed. “In the current capitalist framework, trickle-down economics is a sham. Not to mention, with all the loopholes billionaires use to avoid taxes, the middle class is the one paying for—”

“Dude, fully agree, eat the rich and all that,” Green Arrow (AKA Oliver Queen, richest man on the West Coast) interrupted, placating. He put a hand over his chest. “But my city’s billionaire—”

“Him? Really?” Superman rolled his eyes. “Oliver Queen is a self-centered prat who’s too busy partying to get caught up in white collar crimes.”

Green Arrow spluttered. “I—well, sure, in his nightlife, but—”

“But nothing.” Superman crossed his arms imperiously. “Last I heard, Queen was commissioning a private jet. Do you have any idea how bad those are for the environment?!”

At this point, Bruce was actively doing his best to discreetly shuffle away from the conversation. He hadn’t made eye contact with either man in the last fifteen minutes, and hoped he wouldn’t have to until at least next week.

“Okay, well, what about his billionaire!” Green Arrow cried, pointing at Bruce. Shit. “Bruce Wayne is the richest man in the world! Plus, what about that billion dollar corruption scandal he was a part of!”

Ouch.

Bruce winced, turning his face away, so the expression wouldn’t be caught. The accusation was like a serrated knife through his heart, made worse because these were his hero friends colleagues saying it.

“Bruce Wayne is just a spoiled prince who grew up in an empty mansion,” Superman dismissed. “The corruption started when he was born, and ended after almost a decade of him hiding from the public eye. Everyone with half a brain knows he wasn’t involved.”

Bruce felt gutted. Was he really that transparent, that vulnerable? He wished that he could pull off the playboy persona Oliver did, just so there’d be some separation of identity, and it wouldn’t cut this deep, but he couldn’t. He just couldn’t. It was too late to start, the personality too foreign, and his social battery too low—

“Okay, cool your jets, golden boy.” Green Arrow frowned. “Wayne’s been through a lot. His parents were killed right in front of him, his house blew up, then his nanny-caretaker-guardian guy almost died.”

Superman threw his hands up. “You were the one who brought him up!”

“Yeah, and now I’m telling you to shut up!!”

“Oh, come off it—woah, hey, Batman, you okay?”

Bruce kept his head lowered, trembling all over. He knew his heartbeat was all over the place, which was likely the reason Superman sounded so concerned, but his composure was shattered. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His throat was too dry, his eyes too wet. It felt like all the blood in his body was rushing to his head.

“Batman, it’s okay. No one blames you for the Wayne Manor explosion,” Superman reassured him soothingly, placing gentle hands on his shoulders. “From what I heard, you solved the mystery right before the Riddler flood. You did your best, buddy.”

Bruce shook him off roughly, anger sparking in his gut. “My best wasn’t good enough.” He needed to control his breathing. Now. Now. Before Superman (or worse, Oliver) caught on and everything was ruined. “The flood, the explosion, the corruption, the—the Wayne m-murders, all of it was my fault, my—!”

“Oookay, cowboy,” Green Arrow interrupted, catching Bruce’s wrist. He hadn’t even realized he’d been swinging his arms around like a distressed toddler. “You did catch the Riddler and evacuate people. You succeeded in blowing the Renewal Fund corruption scheme wide open. Also, the Wayne murders were way before your time. You would’ve been, what, a teenager? Way too young for your freaky fursuit.”

Bruce glared at him venomously, yanking his wrist out of his grip. “Don’t coddle me. You’re right, okay?! You’re both right. Bruce Wayne is a selfish prick who’s too trapped in his own head to notice what’s going on in his own house, and I’m worse because I’m supposed to be the solution, but instead I’m—”

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” Black Canary charged over to them, waving her arms. “Guys, what the fuck, is Batman yelling?! What the hell did you two idiots say to him to get him this worked up?!?!”

“Don’t look at me!” Green Arrow cried, raising his hands in surrender. “I was defending Wayne’s honor!”

“‘Defending his honor,’ yeah, right,” Superman scoffed, though he did look guilty. “You slandered him first!”

Black Canary stamped her foot. “What are you guys, five?! And you’re arguing about Wayne? Bruce Wayne? You know he’s considered Gotham’s Prince, right? Of course, Gotham’s Knight is gonna be upset if you start flaming him!”

“He dissed him, too, though,” Green Arrow muttered.

Dinah shot him a death glare. Oliver withered.

“Batman, sweetie, it’s alright.” Black Canary moved in front of Bruce, but didn’t touch him. Her shoes were very nice. Military-grade, and well-polished. “You and Bruce Wayne are a huge help to Gotham. You save lives every night, and the whole city every other week. The mob no longer shadow rules the government, and Park Row is getting a new school out of the Renewal Fund. Speaking of which, Wayne’s charities have single-handedly replaced Gotham’s social welfare system. Wayne Enterprises is the most worker-friendly, eco-friendly, everything-friendly in the country, and Wayne even adopted an orphan last year. Those are all facts.”

Slowly, Bruce looked up. He still couldn’t quite meet Dinah’s eyes, but that was normal for him.

“Do…” Bruce licked his lips. “Do they really call us the Knight and Prince of Gotham?”

Dinah’s smile was dazzling.

J’onn very much liked his new friends.

It was time for their monthly meeting again, and they were all hanging out in the kitchen. It had become a very popular social spot after Batman had filled it up with various snacks and energy drinks.

Currently, J’onn was having a pleasant conversation with Aquaman about human frailty. It was fascinating how advanced Earth was, despite its primary inhabitants having relatively low cognition and physicality. Although, the Atlantean brought up a good point in that most of the advancements came from crash-landed alien technology. Who knows if humans would have discovered holograms and teleportation, otherwise?

Next to them, Wonder Woman and Hawkwoman were arguing fervently over whether swords or maces were the superior weapon. It was an argument they’d had many times before, and likely would have again.

In the corner of the room, Batman stood alone. He was focused on the holographic screen in front of him, no doubt solving some case or typing up a report. Though, J’onn knew he was keeping an eye on things from how his gaze flickered around the room every so often.

Not too far from him, the remaining Leaguers were discussing superhero costumes. Green Lantern was poking fun at Flash’s ‘onesie,’ while Black Canary kept referring to Green Arrow as ‘Robin Hood.’ Meanwhile, Superman was taking fire from all sides.

“It’s just so bright.” Green Lantern shook his head in disbelief. “How can you stand to look in a mirror? Don’t you have super senses?”

Superman scowled. “It was designed by people who lived under a red sun, jackass.”

“Yo, you got Big Boy Blue to cuss!” Green Arrow chortled.

“Big what?!”

“At least he’s wearing different colors,” Black Canary pointed out, amused. “Can’t say the same for the rest of you.”

“Leave me out of this!” Flash quickly finished chewing his bite of pepperoni, jalapeño, and olive pizza, then swallowed. “Also, I’m totally wearing different colors! Check the lightning bolt!”

Green Arrow nudged Superman playfully. “At least we’re not wearing capes. It’s the 21st century! Talk about a fashion don’t.”

“At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick,” Batman muttered from his corner.

Superman abruptly spat out the orange juice he’d been drinking.

J’onn, himself, was rather taken aback. He hadn’t expected such a one-liner from a man who was often just as, if not more, stoic than himself.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Green Lantern exclaimed, aggrieved. Orange juice was dripping down his chin. “Not cool!”

J’onn coughed, lifting a hand to hide his smile. Even Wonder Woman and Hawkwoman ceased their quarreling to snicker in their direction.

Aquaman smirked at J’onn. Apparently, he hadn’t been as successful as he’d hoped in hiding his mirth. “Yo, Supes!” He called out. “Down the wrong hatch?”

J’onn watched as Superman’s eyes flickered from Aquaman to Batman, then Aquaman again.

Will he tell them? J’onn wondered, content to let this play out without his interference. Would they believe him?

For a second, it looked like Superman was going to out Batman.

Then, he caught Batman’s eye and seemed to wilt.

“…yeah,” Superman said after a long pause. “My bad. Sorry, Lantern.”

“You better be!”

J’onn turned away, not wanting anyone to see the naked affection that was surely painted all over his face.

Chapter Text

Dick leaned his head on his arms, watching his guardian.

Bruce didn’t notice, too absorbed in whatever case file he was working on that morning. Never mind that he had a board meeting in two hours. “How come you don’t get fired?”

Bruce looked up at the non-sequitur, blinking as if surprised to see another person there. “What?”

“From being a businessman,” Dick clarified. Bruce just continued to stare at him, stupefied. Ugh, adults. “The people at work always get mad at you for giving away too much money, right? Why don’t they just get rid of you?”

A corner of Bruce’s lips quirked up. “Well, for starters, my name’s on the building.”

“So? Steve Jobs was fired by his own company. Plus that Twitter guy.”

“Well, Steve Jobs wasn’t a majority stakeholder.” Bruce lifted one shoulder. “Not to mention, profit has gone up quite a bit since I took over.” A wry smile crossed his face. “No matter how much money I give away, more keeps coming in.”

Dick thought about that.

He thought about his phone, which was WayneTech. He thought about his school cafeteria, which received daily shipments from Wayne Agriculture trucks. Finally, he thought about the local hospital, which was funded entirely by Wayne Medical.

“…that’s kinda messed up,” he concluded.

Bruce laughed. Well, he exhaled heavily through his nose, but same thing. “Yeah. It kinda is.”

Honestly, Bruce should have gone broke a long time ago.

Wayne Enterprises had had minimal oversight for twenty-six years, their best products hidden away by a distrustful Lucius Fox. Not to mention all the mafia members who’d infiltrated every sect of the company.

(Bruce tried not to think about how much Wayne Enterprises’ survival was likely attributed to those mafia members.)

After the Renewal Fund scandal, Bruce took an axe to Wayne Enterprises. He rooted out every last bit of corruption, dug up incriminating evidence against shady department heads, and kicked anyone who gave off bad vibes to the curb.

In a matter of weeks, most employees of Wayne Enterprises left of their own volition. Stock value had crashed to the ground, and Bruce the hermit was going on an internal rampage. There was no more profit to be had, no more money to extort.

After generations of prosperity, Bruce Wayne effectively brought Wayne Enterprises to ruin.

Then, he bought every open share on the market.

Company solidly back in his own hands, Bruce put his head together with Lucius Fox, one of the few people who stayed, and began drafting project proposals.

Four weeks later, WayneCorp holograms flooded the market. Then cars. Then fabrics, then phones, then alloys, then tasers, then vaccines, until there was a Wayne version of every existing product and some non-existent ones. And the Wayne version was always better than any other iteration, as well as cheaper.

Using archaic Wayne Railroad systems and brand new Wayne Aerospace cargo planes, Bruce forewent negotiating with external companies. In the digital age, all he needed were warehouses and his own inventions to ship any product on his online store, anywhere in the world. Seeing as Wayne Enterprises was built on Gotham real estate, railroads, and overseas shipping, he had both in spades.

The whole world had watched as one of the largest international companies heralded one of the most expensive scandals in history. Which meant the whole world was watching what Wayne Enterprises would do next.

In six months, Wayne Enterprises made a miraculous recovery and was once again on top of the food chain. New divisions opened up while other conglomerates clamored to broker deals with them. A new board of directors was hired, after which Bruce stepped back into the shadows. Lucius Fox was publicly credited with Wayne Enterprise’s rebirth: the loyal genius who salvaged a megacorporation from the wreckage of its baby CEO’s grief and rage.

This headline was further popularized after Bruce started the Wayne Foundation. Gotham public education became free overnight, as did healthcare. A new library opened in Governor’s Square, and social workers’ salaries doubled. It was unprecedented. The cost was so exorbitant, it was stupid.

The world fell in love with Wayne Enterprises.

Not a single store opened outside of Gotham, but it didn’t matter. Products flew off the warehouse shelves as soon as they were made. All essential materials were sourced by Wayne Manufacturing, all shipments done by Wayne Shipping. Meaning, every cent spent on Wayne products went back to Wayne Enterprises, which in turn went back to Bruce Wayne, holder of over 70% of the company stock.

That is to say, Bruce Wayne was filthy rich.

And no matter how much money he dished out to charity, people all over the world poured ten times as much back into him.

Bruce absolutely hated it.

“I’m glad you’ve been getting along better with your friends, Master Bruce,” Alfred commented, absently picking up a discarded gauntlet.

Bruce scoffed, unlatching his chest plate. “I’m just glad they’ve stopped complaining about mission briefs. And that they’re finally writing incident reports.”

“A symptom of your shared fondness, I’m sure.”

Bruce bristled like the very idea was repulsive.

Alfred hid a smile behind a demure hand. “Oliver Queen keeps requesting your presence at special events. His invitations have gotten increasingly creative.”

“Yeah, him and every other point one-percenter,” Bruce grumbled scathingly. “He should consider himself lucky I don’t burn them.”

Alfred arched an elegant eyebrow. “I would think that a more typical response than simply staring at said invites until the event in question passes.”

“I don’t—!” Bruce sputtered, face flushing. “That was one time!”

“Four times.”

“That’s not—you keep count?!”

Alfred picked up another gauntlet, saying nothing.

“Whatever,” Bruce huffed. “Regardless, some form of…comradery is to be expected after a certain point. The League has proven to be useful.”

“Has it now?” Alfred replied mockingly. “If I recall, you lot saved an entire quadrant of the galaxy from Sinestro last week.”

Bruce finished undoing his chest plate, leaning down to get started on his thigh armor. “Jordan needs to learn to take care of his own mess. That whole episode barely had anything to do with Earth.”

“And yet, you all went, anyway.”

Bruce glared (pouted) at Alfred, looking so much like his nine-year-old ward, he was tempted to offer him hot chocolate.

Alfred hung up the gauntlets in the armory, then returned to retrieve the fallen chest plate. “All I’m trying to say, Master Bruce, is that I’m happy you’re putting yourself out there. They seem good for you.”

Bruce didn’t reply. Taking this to mean the conversation was over, Alfred knelt down in front of his charge and began taking off his boots.

After every article of the Batsuit was removed and put away, Alfred heard a low, quiet voice mumble, “They are.”

Arthur hates how many missions the League has on land.

Sure, logically, he understands that the vast majority of Earth’s inhabitants are land dwellers, but it still sucks.

Running and jumping is so much more tiring than swimming. It’s harder on the joints, and Arthur can feel his spine compressing into itself with each elaborate maneuver he’s forced to make.

“Uugghhhh, my back,” Arthur moaned, slumping over the break room counter. “Someone, please end my pain. I don’t care how. Kill me, if you must.”

Unexpectedly, Batman of all people spoke up. “Try yoga. It helps me.”

“…Batman, you do yoga?” It shouldn’t be surprising, considering how unexpectedly limber the man is, but Arthur is still taken aback. He tries to imagine Batman doing a tree pose, and fails.

“Yes,” Batman replied solemnly, blank-faced. “My son got me into it.” His eyes lifted to meet Arthur’s, for what was possibly the first time ever. “…it’s good for you.”

Okay, forget taken aback. Arthur is floored by this news. “You have a son?!?!”

Batman freezes in place.

Abruptly, he pivots and walks away. Distantly, Arthur hears the transporter go off.

He turns to Flash, who is staring at him wide-eyed, a sextuple-decker sandwich in his hands. “You heard that too, right?!”

Flash just gapes at him. A tomato slides out of his sandwich and splats on the floor.

“There is no way I’m fitting in there,” Hal protested, waving his arms. “Make Flash do it!”

“Flash is built like a dorito,” Green Arrow hissed back. “Also, he’s not even here!”

“So what? He can get here in, like, two seconds!”

Wonder Woman stepped between them, her arms spread out. “Alright, alright! Stop bickering, I’ll do it—”

“No offense, Wonder Woman,” Superman interrupted, grimacing. “But, uh…you, um. Also. Can’t fit.”

Hal’s eyebrows shot up. He didn’t think anyone would be brave enough to say it.

Thankfully, Wonder Woman didn’t look at all offended.

“Well, obviously,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But if Green Lantern refuses to do it, Martian Manhunter is injured, and Green Arrow can’t get ahold of Black Canary—”

“I can get ahold of her, she’s just busy—”

“—then the responsibility falls to me,” Wonder Woman summed up grimly. “At the very least, I am willing to try.”

Okay, well, now Hal just felt like a dick. “No, wait—”

He cut himself off as a lump of black metal clattered beside his feet.

Bewildered, Hal turned to find Batman casually shucking off pieces of his suit. “Dude, hey, what are you doing?”

Batman looked at him like he was an idiot. Unfortunately, the expression was a familiar sight. “Taking off my armor, so I can fit.”

Hal jabbed a finger at him, saying, “Yeah, right, you—” he faltered as Batman’s pauldrons hit the floor. “Oh my god,” he breathed, voice strangled.

Batman straightened up, having finished removing his fauld. He unfastened his cape, then nodded at the shell-shocked group. “There. I should be able to fit now.”

“No fucking way.” Green Arrow pointed a shaky finger at the suddenly-very-skinny Batman. “Since when are you a twink?!”

Behind him, Superman looks like he can’t decide whether to maul Batman or feed him chicken noodle soup.

Wonder Woman’s hands are over her mouth, her eyes shining.

Okay, this has gone on long enough.

“Alright, chicken legs, go ahead,” Hal cut in brusquely, none-too-gently shoving Batman toward the vent cover. “Find a way to get us in, and try not to get lasered before we get to you. Green Arrow, you hang back with Superman. Who knows if Luthor has any surprise super weapons protecting his Kryptonite supply.”

Batman scowled, but didn’t argue.

Ha! See, Hal can be smart, too, sometimes.

After Batman is gone, having shimmied through the vents (Hal kept a hand wrapped around Superman’s bicep…just in case), silence reigns amongst the group.

After a few awkward minutes, Green Arrow finally broke the tension. “…no wonder he’s so good at hiding in the shadows.”

Wonder Woman cuffed him upside the head.

Barry starts a conspiracy board.

Superman scolds him when he finds out, which kinda makes Barry feel like he’s disappointed Jesus.

Still, he defends himself. “I just think it would be useful! Haven’t you realized how little we all know about Batman? If anything, I think he’d be proud of my detective work!”

“You know,” Green Lantern mused, rubbing his chin. “He makes a good point.”

Superman crossed his arms, frowning at them both. “It’s still wrong.”

“Supes. Boy Scout. Baby Blue—”

“Stop.”

“I guarantee you, Batman has his own files on us,” Green Lantern continued, heedless of Superman’s warning tone. He slung a casual arm over Barry’s shoulder. “Also, fifty bucks he’s actually part bat.”

“One hundred!” Hawkwoman called out, walking by them.

In a nanosecond, Barry tallied their bets to the board.

Superman blinked, probably aware that Barry had moved, but was likely too unsure to call him out on it. He glanced at the board again, his frown deepening, then huffed, “If Batman finds out—”

“He probably already has,” Barry muttered.

“—I want it on record that I’m against this.”

“Uh huh.” Green Lantern grinned, squeezing Barry’s upper arm playfully. “And what’s your bet?”

“…Ten bucks he has a dog.”

As it turned out, Batman did own a dog.

“You fool,” Aquaman seethed. “Obviously, Batman is blonde!”

“Ohoho,” Wonder Woman cackled, shoving her face against her comrade-turned-mortal-enemy. “Batman is a creature of the night! His hair undoubtedly reflects the blackness he thrives under!”

“It’s a misdirection! His belt is yellow!”

“His cowl is black.”

Aquaman yowled in inarticulate rage, tackling Wonder Woman to the floor.

Wonder Woman gave as good as she got, hooking an ankle over his calf and flipping them over.

J’onn watched as they scrabbled and swiped at each other, calmly sipping his mug of tea. He briefly leaned to one side as a live starfish sailed past his head.

After a couple of minutes, the placid alien finished his drink and set it down. He tilted his head at the pair, eyeing the interesting shade Aquaman turned as Wonder Woman pressed her arm harder against his throat.

“You know,” J’onn said conversationally to the brawling heroes. “I’ve always thought red hair suited Batman best.”

Later, all three of them got in trouble for putting a hole in the floor.

Bruce took one look at what Green Arrow brought to their monthly hangout meeting and said, “I’m not eating that.”

Green Arrow stuck his tongue out at him. “What, too uppity to dine on hot wings like the rest of us common folk? Or are you on a diet?” The last part was said with extreme derision.

“It’s not that,” Bruce defended, though the overbearing smell of grease did make his stomach turn.

Socialize, whispered a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Alfred. You only have to do it once a month.

Bruce took a deep breath. “…I’m a vegetarian.”

In unison, every single member of the League turned to look at him. “YOU’RE A WHAT?!?!?!”

Bruce is never socializing again.

Hal banged his fist against the table, startling Flash. He knew he looked crazed. He felt crazed. Crazed things were afoot.

“I’m going insane.” Hal laughed deliriously, one hand yanking at his hair. “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new! Next, he’s going to tell us he speaks Swahili!”

Batman passed by the duo, not even pausing as he said, “I do.”

“Oh, come on!!”

“…which is why I think Dr. Ivo has relocated to Shanghai. Any questions?” Clark looked around the room. When no one spoke up, he plopped down in his designated chair, sighing deeply. “Great. So, the real dilemma is: how do we convince a foreign enterprise to turn over one of their employees? The Chinese government has been skeptical of working with us in the past.”

“Corporate infiltration?” Black Canary suggested, drumming her fingers against the table.

Clark grimaced. “It would take months to pull off something like that.”

“I have connections.”

Slowly, Clark turned to face Batman, who was looking stoically at his left ear. He blinked twice, flabbergasted. “…in Shanghai?”

“Yes.”

Later, the word ‘SHANGHAI???’ appeared on Flash’s conspiracy board, emboldened and underlined three times.

Billy’s about two seconds away from throwing up.

Is he sweating? Oh god, he probably is sweating. Does he stink? What if someone tells him he stinks? Oh no, what if Wonder Woman tells him he stinks—?!

Superman knocks his shoulder lightly against his. Billy flinches, not used to large, muscular men touching him so familiarly. Especially not large, muscular supermen.

“Relax,” Superman said soothingly. It’s not very soothing. “You’ve done a lot of good in Fawcett City. You’re gonna be fine.”

Billy couldn’t quite hold back his strangled laugh. “I’m the first new member of the Justice League.” At ten years old, he doesn’t add. “I think I have the right to be nervous.”

“Exactly!” Superman beamed at him. Billy has to fight to resist the urge to shield his eyes. “That should tell you how impressive you are. Have faith in your abilities!”

My abilities come from a really old, really dead wizard, Billy thinks, not a little hysterically. Also, I’m a runaway foster kid. Also, I haven’t eaten in two days.

They enter the meeting room, which contains a large, metal table and not much else. The entire Justice League is sitting at it, including the actually-a-legit Martian.

“Everyone, thanks for coming,” Superman greeted them warmly. He stepped further into the room, then gestured toward Billy. “This is Captain Marvel. Our new teammate.”

Wonder Woman (Wonder Woman!!!) stood up and strode over to them. Billy watched, awestruck, as she took his hand and shook it firmly. “Glorious to meet you, Captain Marvel! I look forward to fighting with you in battle.”

“You, too,” Billy replied faintly, overwhelmed. I am never washing this hand again.

Green Lantern also made his way over, slinging an arm over Billy’s shoulders. “Hey, you’re like, immortal, right? What’s that like?”

“Uh,” Billy stalled, swallowing thickly. “…long?”

Green Lantern guffawed, slapping Billy’s back repeatedly. Billy tried not to wince. “Dude, you’re hilarious! Hey, isn’t this guy hilarious?”

“More than you,” Black Canary retorted, smirking at Green Lantern. “Not that that’s difficult.”

Oh, wow, was this banter? Did superheroes banter outside of villain fights? That was so fun!

Billy grinned, feeling much more at ease. Maybe I can be a part of this, after all!

He happily let Green Lantern steer him to an empty seat, missing how the man snickered as he walked away. Billy turned to his right, still riding the high of being welcomed by everyone’s favorite heroes (including Wonder Woman!!!), only to stop short. His face paled.

Batman tilted his head at him, white lenses boring into his soul.

“…hello,” the nightmarish creature finally said, inclining his head slightly.

Billy swallowed his whimper. “Um. Rizzed to meet you, bro.”

Batman stared at him, offering no response.

Billy quickly turned away, heart hammering. He glanced around, looking for anything to distract him, anyone—

His eyes landed on Flash.

“Oh, dude, are those Double Stuf Oreos?!” Billy exclaimed excitedly, his previous Batman encounter already forgotten. “Can I have some?!”

Flash blinked at him, surprised. He pushed the brightly-colored box across the table almost unconsciously. “Uh—”

“Fanum tax!” Billy cried happily, reaching forward to snatch the proffered box. “Thanks, man!”

Across the table, Hawkwoman (were those actual wings? So cool!!) gawked at him. She seemed baffled, but that couldn’t be right. Maybe she was just hungry.

“Captain Marvel, was it?”

Billy froze. Slowly, he turned to face Batman once more, cookie still halfway between his lips. “…yeah?”

“That’s quite an…interesting name you have.”

Billy swallowed his Oreo quickly, indignation flaring in his chest. “It’s an awesome name!”

“Mmm,” Batman hummed. He was still staring at him. “Tell me, does the phrase ‘skibidi toilet’ mean anything to you?”

“Erm, what the sigma?” Billy crossed his arms, confused and pissed about it. “Of course it does!” He looked back at Flash, aggrieved. “Can you believe this guy, chat?”

Batman didn’t stop staring at him for the entire meeting.

“His name is Billy Batson. He’s ten years old and is a runaway.”

“…’bat son,’ Master Bruce?”

“Yes, he’s—oh, shut up, Alfred! Stop laughing!!”

“Am I getting a brother?”

“Wh—Dick, it’s a school night! Go to bed!”

“But am I?”

“No!”

“Maybe later, Master Dick.”

“Stop giving him weird ideas!”

Bruce should’ve known this would happen at some point.

“Alright, Wonder Woman: Oliver Queen, Bruce Wayne, and Kylie Jenner!” Green Arrow leaned forward eagerly, almost lifting himself off his chair in his eagerness.

Black Canary smacked his arm. “We’ve already done Oliver Queen, you megalomaniac.”

“Fine, fine. Spoil all my fun,” Green Arrow muttered. Louder, he said, “Okay, then Kylie Jenner, Bruce Wayne, and Lex Luthor! Happy now?”

Superman grimaced. “Not really.”

“Actually, I wanna hear this.” Green Lantern straightened up, eyes glimmering. “Milady?”

Wonder Woman rolled her eyes, but obliged. “Hmm…kill Luthor, fuck Kylie, and marry Wayne.”

“Oh, damn!” Green Lantern snickered. “You’d pick money over women? Color me impressed.”

Hawkwoman leaned over and slapped the back of his head. “You’re a pig.”

Black Canary snapped her fingers. “A space pig!”

Bruce couldn’t prevent the huff of air from escaping his lips.

Unfortunately, this caused Green Lantern to focus on him. “Oh, yuk it up, Bats! How ‘bout you play a round, huh? FMK: Kylie, Bruce, and Lex?”

“I’m against killing,” was Bruce’s automatic reply. Internally, he cursed himself. He should’ve just left the room.

“Oh, go fuck yourself.” Green Lantern made a crude gesture. “This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it!”

The thing is, Bruce wasn’t actually all that upset. This sort of ribbing was to be expected from Green Lantern. From the whole League, really. So, his next words weren’t born out of frustration or anger or anything like that.

Rather, looking back on it, Bruce was pretty sure he just thought it’d be really funny.

“Fine,” Bruce growled, gauntlets pressed so tight against his thigh armor, they creaked. “Fuck Bruce, marry Kylie, and Kill Lex.”

Green Lantern fist-pumped, triumphant. “See! Now, was that really so hard?”

Bruce shot him a withering glare.

Well. I tried.

A year later, Bruce is officially thirty.

Dick is now in middle school, he’s apparently started a trend for child sidekicks, and the Justice League has quadrupled in size.

Oh, and Metropolis is being burnt to the ground by its own citizens.

Surprisingly, it’s not Luthor this time. Manchester Black has returned, and has made it everyone’s problem.

Literally, everyone. He somehow got his hands on a psionic device that amplified his telepathic abilities, allowing him to hijack the minds of half the city. Currently, anyone in costume gets rushed by normal-looking civilians doing normal-looking things. Except, that is, for the ones planting bombs and starting fires. Not that there were any of those running free anymore.

Somehow, the original ten ended up being the only ones available to respond to the crisis. It was nostalgic, for sure, not that anyone could enjoy it when weaponized innocents kept chasing them.

“This is stupid,” Hawkwoman growled. “We’ve already restrained the destructive ones, called in external emergency services, and determined that Manchester Black is doing this remotely. We need to get out of the city and back to base so we can track him down!”

Flash shifted nervously. “I could try running us to the Metropolis transporter? One at a time, that is.”

Superman was already shaking his head. “They’re down right now. Cyborg is refitting them to implement Mother Box technology.”

“Perhaps we could fly everyone out?” Wonder Woman suggested.

Black Canary grimaced. “And get shot at again? No, thanks. Why do Metropolitans even carry laser guns?!”

“Well, with all the alien attacks—” Superman began.

Black Canary raised a hand, cutting him off. “Nope. Don’t wanna hear it. I almost got my head beamed off!”

“I believe there is an obvious solution we are all missing,” Martian Manhunter interjected solemnly. “We must change into our civilian forms.”

Immediately, protests abounded.

Bruce, however, was contemplative. To his surprise, so was Green Lantern. The two men locked eyes, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Bruce looked away and took a steady breath. Thought about it. Swallowed the regret. Then—

He took off his cowl.

Everyone fell dead silent.

“Oh, fuck,” someone whispered.

Bruce can’t look any of them in the eye. He has to. “Clark Kent,” he greeted stiffly, nodding to the man. “Diana Prince.” Wonder Woman smiled at him. It’s bittersweet. “Oliver Queen. Dinah Lance.” They stared at them, mouths gaping. Bruce moved on. “Barry Allen. Shayera Thal. Hal Jordan. Arthur Curry.” Finally, he locked eyes with Martian Manhunter. “J’onn J’onzz. Or would you prefer John Jones?”

“If you are able to pronounce it, I would appreciate being called by my birth name,” Martian Manhunter opined, looking unsurprised that Bruce knows who he is. “Though, I am impressed that you managed to uncover it.”

“Of course I did; I’m Batman,” Bruce replied automatically. He took a deep breath. “I’m also…” Here, he broke eye contact, looking at the floor. “Bruce Wayne.”

Oliver inhaled sharply. “You bitch. I can’t believe you knew the whole time!”

“Of course, he did.” Dinah shook her head wonderingly. “Didn’t you hear? He’s Batman.”

It breaks the tension.

Green Lantern laughed, powering down his suit. “Jesus fuck, man, I thought you lived in a cave or something. You’re a billionaire? As in, the fucking billionaire?!”

“Well, I do also operate out of a cave,” Bruce mumbled. “We’ll be going there, since the Watchtower is unavailable.”

Hal shot him an aggrieved look. “Bro. You have issues.”

“And you’ve been hanging around Captain Marvel too much,” Barry snarked, already in civilian clothes. He glanced at Bruce. “Any chance you know who he is, too?”

“I know the identities of every League member.” Bruce shuffled his feet. He still couldn’t look at any of them. “It’s a safety precaution.”

Diana grinned at him, producing a bundle of office clothes from…somewhere. “Naturally. Lantern, a partition, please?”

“Oh, right, sure.” Hal fumbled with his ring. “Also, you can just call me Hal. No point in wearing civvies if we’re just gonna out each other.”

Everyone gets changed, laughing and chatting. There’s no awkward silences, no bad blood. They, like Bruce, probably felt that this was the right move. A good move. One that had been coming for a long, long time.

“It’s so annoying, having to wear a jacket all the time when I’m outside Midway City,” Shayera complained, picking at her long sleeves. “It’s so hot today.”

“Oh, I can fix that.” Clark blew a frosty gust of wind at her, ruffling everyone’s hair.

Shayera’s eyelashes fluttered, her expression pure bliss. “Oh, that’s wonderful. Thank you.”

“No problem at all.”

“Hey, not to kill the mood,” Oliver interrupted, killing the mood. “But Brucie, babe, why is your eyeliner, like, all over your face?”

Bruce scowled. “It’s not eyeliner; it’s greasepaint.” He swiped at it self-consciously. “It reduces glare. It also acts as an additional barrier in case the cowl ever gets removed by someone other than me.”

“You know,” Arthur interjected, hand on his chin. “I didn’t believe the others when they told me, but you really are skinny. Too skinny. Do you eat enough?”

Bruce’s scowl deepened. “Too much muscle would restrict movement. I’m already carrying too much weight, as is.”

“You do have a fuckton of armor,” Dinah agreed, lightly kicking the roll-up duffle bag he’d used to store the Batsuit in. “Too bad you’re not a ranged fighter.”

“I’m an everything fighter.”

“Oh, well, alright, then.”

“Fascinating as exploring our new dynamic is,” J’onn cut in, tilting his bald head at them (it had barely taken him a second to change. Damn shape-shifter.) “I believe we have a foe to hunt down.”

Clark couldn’t stop staring at Bruce.

(God. Bruce. Bruce Wayne. He’s such an idiot.)

Bruce, who is leading them through the complicated subway system to his house. To his mansion, Rao. Bruce, who is Batman, who is so soft-spoken that Clark wants to wrap him up into a blanket and whisper reassurances in his ear until daylight breaks. And from the careful way Diana cleaned the greasepaint from Bruce’s face, he’s not the only one.

Rao almighty, Bruce is shy.

As in, hermit-shy. As in, his-parents-were-murdered-right-in-front-of-him shy.

He’s also very pretty.

(Holy fuck, is he pretty. Clark had already wanted to cut himself on that jawline; why did Batman have to be supermodel-level gorgeous? Clark suddenly feels very inept in his plaid shirt and ratty old jeans.)

J’onn is staring at him in a very judgmental way. Clark ducks his head in shame.

The subway ride is surprisingly quiet. No one attacks them. People barely even look at them. It’s surreal, to be around so many of his fellow heroes and just be…ignored.

You’d think, with two billionaires and two known superheroes (despite their civilian wear) in the car, there’d be a lot more whispers and stares. Perhaps a discreet photo, or even a video. But, no. No one expects to see celebrities on their evening commute, so they don’t. Not even the people who’ve surely been commanded to attack any heroes on sight.

Finally, they make it to Gotham. However, instead of hailing a cab or a limo or whatever it is rich people use to get home, Bruce directs them to a service tunnel that looks like it hasn’t been used since the 80s.

Inside, a tank is waiting for them.

Okay, maybe not a tank, but it looks pretty damn close. It’s massive, obsidian black, and is so shiny it hurts.

“I don’t usually take this one out,” Bruce muttered, probably noticing how everyone’s jaw has dropped. “But there’s a lot of you, and it’s better if we move quickly and quietly, so…”

“Are you telling me this thing has a silent mode?” Barry choked out. “How?! It’s the size of my apartment!”

Bruce jutted out his chin, though he was still looking down. It’s a very nice chin. “It took some modifying.”

“The Watchtower, Wayne Enterprises, Gotham,” Shayera listed, shaking her head ruefully. “How do you even find the time?”

Oliver startled like the thought had just occurred to him. “Yeah, and you have a kid, too, right? Dick?”

“Oliver!” Dinah smacked him upside the head.

“Ow!! Hey, what gives?! That’s his name!”

“He’s right,” Bruce chuckled. Chuckled. “That is his name.”

(Oh Rao, Bruce was smiling at them. Clark was going to die.)

They pile in. Bruce assured them that it’d only take ten minutes (nine minutes, forty-two seconds) to get to ‘the cave,’ so they all settled in for the ride.

It’s quiet for about two seconds.

“So, you’re like, a baby,” Hal states matter-of-factly.

Bruce scowled at him. “I’m thirty years old.”

“And I’m forty-three!”

Bruce’s scowl deepens. It’s horrendously cute. “Your age isn’t my problem. I’m a legal adult, and I’ve been in the business for longer than any of you. In both ways.”

Jesus, he really is young, Clark thought numbly. No wonder he never got any of our references.

“Wait a second.” Dinah sat up, looking stricken. “Wayne Enterprises is the Justice League’s primary patron. Just how much have you been pouring into us?!”

“Hey, Queen Industries contributes a lot, too!” Oliver complained.

Arthur laughed, pointing out, “Not nearly as much as Wayne Enterprises, though.”

“Well, sorry if I can’t match the donation of the richest company in the world!”

“I don’t even know how that happened,” Bruce mumbled, looking contrite. “I only needed enough to support Batman. Everything else was unnecessary.”

Barry paled dramatically. “Please tell me how to accidentally become filthy rich.”

“Well,” Bruce mused, tilting his head. “Step one: be born into money.”

“Goddamnit.”

Hal laughed, slapping his friend’s back. “Sorry, tiger.”

“I still don’t understand how you find the time for all this,” Shayera muttered, running her hands over the plush leather seats. “Do you even sleep?”

“He does,” Diana confirmed, sounding amused. “I caught him dozing off during monitor duty, once.”

Bruce glared at her. “I hadn’t slept for three days straight. There was a breakout at Arkham; you know this!”

“I do, which is why I’ve never mentioned it.” Diana smiled mischievously at him. “Till now, that is.”

Bruce growled at her, making Diana laugh. She reached forward to pinch his cheek. Bruce swatted her away. The sight caused something warm and happy to glow in Clark’s chest.

J’onn nudged his shoulder. “Your feelings are very strong.” He looked at him seriously, eyes as calm and steady as a lake. “In my experience, bonding is accelerated when such emotions are voiced.”

Clark was already shaking his head. “Didn’t you hear Hawk—Shayera? He’s got too much on his plate, as is.” His expression softened as he looked back at Bruce. “Besides, I’m content with what we have right now.”

J’onn stared at him for a moment longer, then nodded.

Soon after, the car-tank-stealth vehicle pulled to a stop. Everyone climbed out, necks craning as they took in the cavernous expanse they’d been dropped off at.

“Is that water I hear?!” Arthur said excitedly, turning toward the noise. “Is there a—oh. Oh, wow.”

Curious, everyone else turned, as well.

Behind them, a massive waterfall roared and splashed as it fell in mesmerizing cascades. Light bounced off the individual droplets, forming shadowed patterns on the walls that danced to an unsung rhythm. Although it was a good two hundred yards from where they were standing, Clark could almost feel the water’s cool spray.

“That cannot be practical,” Dinah breathed, looking elated.

“It’s not.”

They all turned toward the new voice. There stood an older gentleman, in the very sense of the word. His posture was ramrod-straight, his hair slicked back, and he had an air of elegance that was impossible to ignore. He was also in a three-piece suit and was holding a warm towel over one arm.

“Thanks, Alfred,” Bruce murmured seemingly in reflex, taking the towel. He flapped a hand at the refined man. “Everyone, this is Alfred Pennyworth. My butler.”

“BUTLER?!?!”

Clark wasn’t even sure who said it. It could’ve been any of them. More likely than not, it was all of them.

Bruce glowered at the group. “Rich, remember? It’s not that weird.”

“It’s definitely weird,” Oliver protested. “I’m rich, too, you know. We have a cleaning lady named Maria who comes in on Tuesdays. I have never had a butler.”

Bruce rolled his eyes. Thankfully, Alfred took the criticism in stride.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet Master Bruce’s work friends,” Alfred greeted politely, bowing to them. No one was surprised that he was able to recognize them in civvies. “Would anyone like refreshments? If you’re anything like him, this is going to be a long night.”

Bruce scowled at the man. In a weird way, it was comforting to know he did that to everyone. “This is not a sleepover, Alfred.”

“No?” Alfred looked amused. “Shame. I was about to fetch your footie pajamas for you.”

Bruce didn’t even bother to dignify that with a response, rolling his eyes as he wiped his face with the towel and disappeared into another section of the cave.

Alfred led them all to a dimly lit area, which contained a handful of benches and chairs. A bright yellow loveseat was shoved into one corner, which Hal refused to look at. For that reason alone, Shayera and Dinah took it.

As soon as Alfred left, Barry burst out, “Guys. Guys. Do you remember my conspiracy board?”

“Oh my god.” Dinah’s face lit up. “You all owe me so much money.”

Hal wagged a finger in her direction. It was slightly off-center, due to the fact that he refused to look at the couch she was on, but the sentiment was there. “Nuh uh! I totally got that he lives in a cave!”

“Apparently, he lives in a mansion.” Arthur spread his hands, looking smug. “The cave is just his basement.”

“Semantics!”

“Do you think Batman genuinely owns footie pajamas?” J’onn mused out loud, leading to further arguments and spiraling.

Alfred returning quieted them back down immediately. “Here are your beverages, sirs and madams. As none of you requested anything specific, I took liberties in fetching what I thought you might like.”

He set down a plate of cookies, then another filled with various cheeses, nuts, and fruits. From a large metal tray (that Clark was half-tempted to ask if he needed help carrying), he handed Hal a highball, Diana a cup of ouzo, J’onn a chocolate shake, Clark a glass of milk, and so on until every hero was holding a wildly different drink.

Clark glanced from Alfred to his glass of milk, nonplussed. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark and guess that this is everyone’s favorite drink?”

Murmurs of assent echoed throughout the group. Alfred simply smiled at them.

“Right,” Clark muttered, staring down into his milk. He’d bet it was farm-sourced and organic, too. “Batman.”

“What is it?”

Everyone looked up as Bruce reappeared, apparently having just finished showering and getting changed. His hair was still wet and slicked back, little droplets framing his face as they curved down his impeccable jawline. He was also newly dressed in black sweats, black shoes, and a tight black shirt that left little to the imagination.

Clark gulped.

(A lot of people gulped.)

(Goddamnit, Clark was having a meltdown. His hair looked so good wet.)

Bruce looked so arresting, they almost didn't notice the small child clinging to his leg. Almost.

“Uh,” Barry started eloquently, making vague hand gestures. “You’ve got, uh. You’ve got something attached to your thing, there.”

“I’m Dick!” The child supplied gleefully. Everyone reeled back before remembering what Oliver mentioned in the car. “I’m so happy to finally meet you all!”

Bruce ruffled Dick’s hair, casually affectionate in a way Clark hadn’t thought him capable of. He then took the last two mugs from Alfred’s metal tray, keeping the Robin-themed one for himself while handing the Batman-themed one to Dick.

From this, everyone seemed to make the connection from Dick to Robin at the same time.

“You take your ten-year-old out to fight crime?!” Arthur accused, looking distraught and vaguely ill. “Garth is twelve, and he’s still in Atlantis training!”

Dick released Bruce’s legs to cross his arms, leveling them all with a Bat-worthy glare. Clark couldn’t decide whether it was more terrifying or cute. “Wally is also twelve, and he’s already out on the streets!”

“Wally has superpowers!” Barry protested, face red.

“Roy doesn’t, and he’s thirteen!”

“Roy sticks to the back,” Oliver defended, rubbing his neck with a flustered expression. “He’s never engaged with criminals directly.”

“And Donna is seventeen,” Diana added, likely correctly assuming that the Bat clan already knew about her protégé. “An adult by my people’s standards.”

Dick glared at them harder, effectively going from ‘cute’ to ‘terrifying.’ Clark had never seen someone so young look so murderous before. “Why is everyone so judgy?! I’ve been doing this for just as long as any of you! Don’t treat me like a kid!!!”

“Dick,” Bruce chided gently, crouching down to rub his son’s back. “They’re just concerned. It means they care about you.”

Dick opened his mouth angrily, only to falter at the earnestness in Bruce's expression. After a long moment, he huffed and uncrossed his arms. “You’re all lucky Bruce likes you so much.”

(Clark tries not to die a little inside. He fails.)

Bruce blushed, standing back up. He faked a cough, then said, “Shall we figure out where Manchester Black is hiding, then?”

Barry looked off to the side, where Dick was using Clark as a jungle gym. Even after their rough start, Dick warmed up to them surprisingly quickly. It was a startling contrast from his mentor’s prickly and distrustful demeanor.

Speaking of which.

“We can analyze the explosion residue here. My lab should have everything we need,” Bruce mumbled, already flicking on machines and preparing slides.

Barry looked around the artificially-lit space, taking in the high, cavernous ceiling and dripping stalactites. “This doesn’t look very safe. Or clean.”

“My lab is perfectly functional and sanitary,” Bruce dismissed.

A bat screeched somewhere nearby.

“…don’t worry about that.”

Even with the advanced processing power of the Batcomputer, it takes them all night to pinpoint Manchester Black’s location.

Turns out, Luthor is involved.

“He’s on a LexCorp satellite,” Bruce reported. “The Watchtower is finished with its Mother Box integration, so we’re all clear to suit up and take a ship out to its location.”

“Or,” Hal raised his hand sarcastically. “All the space-breathers can just take care of it, lickety-split.”

Bruce frowned, about to argue, when Alfred stepped in. “I must concur, Master Bruce. Master Dick will be waking up soon, and will be expecting your presence at the breakfast table. After all the excitement he went through last night, I find it prudent he starts his day in a good mood.”

“Alfred—”

“Marvelous idea,” Diana interrupted, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder reassuringly. “Take the rest of the day off, Bruce. The Justice League has your back.”

Bruce’s mouth slanted as he looked at her. His eyes scanned over the rest of the group, taking in their visible eyebags and drooping shoulders. “…fine, but call it in. You’re all exhausted. I trust Cyborg to handle the rest of this operation.”

“Also a seventeen-year-old kid,” Dinah muttered. “All of you, seriously.”

Bruce ignored her. “You can use the Batcave’s transporter to return to your hometowns.”

“The Batcave?!” Oliver echoed, incredulous.

Internally, Bruce cursed himself for allowing Dick’s propensity for nicknames to influence his speech. “Nevermind that. Leave.”

It took some more token protesting and grumbling, but eventually everyone left. Bruce sent off the mission notes to Cyborg with a high-priority urgency alert, then took a moment to sit back and finish the cocoa he never got around to drinking.

Unsurprisingly, Alfred had somehow kept it warm for him.

Bruce smiled, watching Dick through the security footage as he woke up, yawned, and sluggishly started getting ready for school.

Yeah.

He knew the Justice League was a good idea.