Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You know, being a cryptid wasn’t planned. Not at all. However, seeing how effective it is, the true fear in criminals’ eyes when they see his silhouette in the darkness against the pale moonlight, Bruce can’t say he’s.. not grateful for it.

Batman was just a legend. That’s all it’s ever been. A ghost story that originated in Gotham that kids tell at sleepovers to scare each other. It first started when unconscious criminals were found beat up at the scene of their crimes. Sometime during the night, a crime would happen, and it would.. simply be stopped. That was all. No police reports, no neighbours seeing someone get involved, nothing. By the time morning came, the bodies were left on the ground. Knocked out, but never dead. Not one single casualty. He comes in quick and quiet, leaves the bad guys swept off their feet, and vanishes without a trace. 

The thieves or drug dealers who were found unconscious woke up with a fright, crying out for help so that “he” doesn’t get them. When interrogated, all criminals seemed to agree on one simple thing:

It wasn’t human. Period. Whatever attacked them didn’t speak. It didn’t even fucking blink. It made no noise, was pure, solid black, and flew at them before they even noticed it. An ambush on all of them. It was a ghost, a shadow, a new freaky type of ninja that pops out of nowhere. Nothing made sense. If this was an animal, Gotham’s animal services would’ve sent out a notice to the news — a message, some type of warning, but this had no warning. No apology of oops, sorry guys! One of our big bats escaped their cages again! It simply existed all of a sudden, practically appearing out of thin air. 

Now, the details.. they get a lot more messy. Some claimed that the beast had horns. Others say no, it’s not just horns, they’re ears. Huge ones, that’s how the monster must’ve found them during their break ins or robberies. Others accuse it of being police brutality — unleashing a monster upon “innocent citizens” to capture them and falsely accuse them of crimes they didn’t commit (only two of the drug dealers caught were truly believing this theory, but still).

It spread like wildfire among the underground of Gotham. Tales of a wicked monster with claws, fangs, black leather skin, and white eyes staring at thieves in the darkness. Only the lower face of a man, it must’ve tried to copy a human and failed, too unmoving, too unnatural to ever be like them, leaving abusers K.Oed in alleyways with an efficiency that police have never had before.

Numbers improve. Statistics show good work. Bruce is at home, and proud. But proud isn’t enough. Pride won’t help Gotham. He can’t stop here. Judging by the police files he hacked into, crime is down 10% within the last few weeks alone. That’s good. The light of the large computer monitors shine down on him in the darkness of the cave as his calculating gaze watches the charts soar down in amounts of 911 calls recently.

“Master Bruce, if you will,” the caring butler chimes in, coming down with a silver tray with tea on it. “I’d advise you to tune in to the news channel. There’s something I believe you should see.” The amused smile on Alfred’s face quickly tells Bruce that it isn’t anything serious — a big relief considering that he has a new suit upgrade idea and wants to build it sometime hopefully within the next few days.

“What is it this time?” Bruce asks with a small smirk, easily pulling up a new tab and letting his computer display the local news channel. A woman comes onto the screen, brown hair and green eyes as she stands at the scene of last night’s weapon bust at the docks.

“—hands full with trying to figure out the mysterious vigilante behind the scene we’re witnessing. The police have searched the entire area for traces of whoever helped stop the weapons deal, but no suspects or arrests have been made to anyone but those left behind here,” she states firmly.

“Yea, I did that last night,” Bruce comments, tilting his head as he looks at Alfred with a confused smile. “I’m glad they noticed the gift I left for them. Don’t tell me you forgot my night life,” he teases.

“Oh no, I am unfortunately well aware of your late night activities,” the butler replies with a playful look of his own, picking up the pot of tea and pouring some into the cup. “But just wait. There’s more.”

“Police have begun a thorough investigation on this matter and are cross referencing the data collected by witnesses,” the woman declares. The camera cuts to a thug Bruce remembers busting last night, one on the ground next to a few of the now empty crates.  “I’ve never seen anything like that in my life..” the stunned older man says, nursing a bruise on his wrist as the officer’s handcuffs sit uncomfortably on it. “That thing was fuckin’ huge!” A younger man says in a mix of awe and horror. “That wasn’t real! That.. that’s a monster! It had horns! And- and wings! It flew at us!”

“Okay, we’ll.. have to censor that,” the woman mumbles with a sigh, turning back to the camera. “I’m Rachel Williams and this is—“

A short noise escapes Bruce. It’s somewhat a scoff, the other part being perhaps what could be considered a laugh.

“They think I have wings?” He can’t help himself but ask, as silly as it sounds. “I’m afraid so,” the older man says with a nod, stirring the tea gently. “And if I may add sir, that’s the least humorous assumption of them. As Ms. Williams was saying, they’re questioning your opponents as to what they saw the night of your heroic entrance.”

“Heroic isn’t quite the word I’d use to describe it,” Bruce adds, shaking his head. “Definitely not according to the people that I went up against. They’re low level street thugs. I made sure to pull my punches. But saying I have horns? Where did that one come from?”

“I don’t think it’s too far off,” the butler comments, examining the man’s combat suit on the table. “After all, the ears can be rather exaggerated in the shadows, no? A frightening image for those that know they’re guilty of something.” His gaze travels to the cowl, the points on top sticking up.

“Hm..” Bruce hums with a newly lit curiosity. Just how many criminals have actually told police what they think they saw? How many were that inaccurate? This.. might actually work out in his favour, surprisingly.

A quick search shows that the answer is a lot. Apparently criminals were urgently (and fearfully) telling officers that there’s a creature that comes in the night. That part is true. Creature isn’t exactly the word Bruce would pick to describe himself, but hey, why not?

“They seriously think I’m some soft of..” he murmurs, shaking his head in disbelief as a video plays.

“A cryptid!! Guys, oh my god! It is real!” Said in what’s very clearly a younger boy’s voice. His face isn’t shown, but the camera is angled up from a lower perspective thanks to the kid’s height, aimed directly at one of the rooftops. “There!” He exclaims in a whisper, pointing excitedly at the rooftop and—

Motherfucker. You’ve got to be kidding him.

Yea, that’s uh.. that’s Bruce. Well, not Bruce. It’s Batman, slinking into the shadows, and for just a second, Bruce can admit it: that’s one brave kid. Looking at himself in his suit from a child’s view, a different perspective that shows how he really looks when he’s out there in the dark streets of Gotham, he can confirm that he might look a little intimidating.

You can barely see the glimpse of his cape flowing, which you can barely tell is a cape thanks to the lack of light in that area. Side note: set reminder to donate extra to the funding of the lower side of the city again, this time specifically asking for better roads and more street lamps. Last thing he needs is for someone there to get hurt and freak out when he comes to help, thinking he’s a monster. But seriously?! A kid is the one to catch him on video??

“That’s..” and for once, he’s actually kinda stunned. It’s not a bad thing, not by any means. Obviously whoever he’s fighting is gonna see him — not necessarily first, but still, they will at some point see him. That’s inevitable, he can accept that. But describing him like he’s some terrifying gargoyle come to life to chase after thugs like he’s a Scooby Doo villain?

That can be helpful. That spreads fear. And if the gangs and thugs in Gotham fear him.. his job just got so much easier.

Maybe, just maybe, he’ll lean into this. 

Chapter Text

It starts as drawing up blueprints and writing down ideas. After all, if you’re gonna call a man a giant bat hybrid, you’re giving him a lot of options. And inspirations. And right now, he’s got a ton of them. Researching is one of Bruce’s favourite hobbies. If he can study it, he’ll want to know as much as he can, and today’s topic happens to be local legends. Cryptids, monsters, what would fit his persona best? 

How much is possible? How much is realistic? He’s not sure, but listing them seems like a good first step.

Wings: fully functioning, able to withstand pressure and wind speeds, won’t fly off mid flight, or break in half. Need to fit snug against his back, but not too tight or it’ll cause chest and back pain. Don’t make it too heavy, again, back pain is a hell of an issue to fight while you’re trying to stop crazy villains. Make sure it’s strong. If a wing accidentally breaks, we don’t want to accidentally traumatize a bad guy and make their mental state worse. Or even worse, scare nearby civilians. Could be part of the cape? Connecting down the back, extending down the spine for more accurate flying and adjusting.

The cowl: a big talking point before in interrogations. Clearly it’s doing its job to intimidate enemies, but maybe a different shade? A slightly darker tone? The ears itself can be a little pointier, but that’s mostly for aesthetic and not much functional purpose. Not a high priority on the list, this can come last. Possible idea: new echolocation tech?

Gloves: apparently he has “razor sharp talons”? This one could have a functional use, allowing him to grab onto the sides of walls and dig his claws in deep enough to keep him from falling, but only if the claws are strong enough. Something so small usually isn’t so tough. Stiletto nails are killer to decorate and paint, but using them to keep yourself from falling off a ledge? That’s a bit trickier. This one will need some testing, play around with different materials.

There’s plenty of blueprints and mathematical equations. Sketching and building is the next step.

Materials are easy to gather. For what he’s doing at home in his cave, he won’t need a ton. He plans to make a rough draft, test it, adjust as needed, and eventually make a final design that’ll be fully operational for the wings. For the other stuff, it’s small details that matter. Nit picky things, really.

Coding, wiring, figuring out how to make them big enough to hold him, but not large enough to tank him. It takes a minute to find the perfect fit, but when he gets it? He definitely gets it. A solid, heavy outline skeleton of what a full pair of wings would have inside. 8 feet long on each side, he’ll have to train with different exercises to better build the muscles he’ll be using, but it’s nothing impossible. Now the material.. this is the tricky part. Gotta make something that can withstand all the crazy shit he sees in a night.

Joker started a fire? Well, he doesn’t want his back to catch the flames and burn him up. Fireproof. Gotta be wind resistant if he’s gonna be flying. Has to be able to withstand force from blows and punches if he does get hit. Can’t fly if his wings have holes in them from cheap shots a thug got on him. Eventually, he has it. And it’s beautiful.

Fully customized wings, but remember — it’s only the rough draft. A first try that’ll need a trial run several times before it continues onto the final round of acceptance to Bruce’s standards. He has a job to do, and if this won’t help him do it, then he’ll move onto better ideas.

He puts the wings on. The back plates are heavy, but he can feel them move. That’s a new feeling. Moves up, moves down. Okay, we’ve got basics, now let’s just..

He tries to fly. Thank god he’s alone because he’s sure he looks stupid as hell. It’s all in the name of science, justice, and a little bit of curiosity to see if he can actually make himself fly. This is a challenge now, or at least, he’s taking it as one.

He doesn’t get far. They fluttered a bit, got a good few schwoops in, but he landed quickly. It’s a mix of I’m flying awe and I know what I need to adjust.

More sensors. Make it move more. It needs to be sensitive, needs to pick up information about his surroundings like he does. If something can’t keep up with him, then it’s gotta go or stay at home to be worked on. Can’t be using faulty equipment.

He patches it, fixes the problem with it being too slow. It detects movement like a dream, the slightest muscle twitch from Bruce and it’s twitching too, turning with his shoulders like it’s a second pair of arms. He tenses, the wings tense. He tilts his head to better study a crime scene, the wings are slowly wrapping around him, waiting for their turn in action like they’re sentient.

Second flight test. Lands on his face, instantly. What was the problem this time? Too heavy now. He wanted power to flap the wings, but it appears to be too much for the skeleton. Fuck, ok, fine. We adjust again.

This cycle continues for a while before Alfred comes down.

“Master Bruce,” he calls warmly, stepping out of the elevator. “Goodness, what happened to you?” He asks, wearing an expression of concern as he approaches the man sporting a few new bruises and scrapes since he last saw him. “I have ideas,” Bruce says, and Alfred can see it — a certain fire he gets in his eyes when he has just the right plan in his mind, already envisioned it a dozen times over to make it perfect, and is still working on it. It’s the same fire Alfred saw in him when he upgrades his suit, comes back from a successful patrol, sees that crime rates are down.

The butler’s gaze travels to the wings. One of the many different designs he’s made. He likes this one best, but a second opinion would be nice—

“Absolutely not,” the butler says, crossing his arms with a look of pure disbelief. “Master Bruce, I am to always support your decisions, and as much as I love helping you on your crusade, how, pray tell, am I supposed to help you if you fall mid-air?”

Bruce has seen that look before on his dear friend. It’s the look of I love you too much to let you hurt yourself doing dumb shit. Kinda like the look of a disapproving mother when her son says he wants a motorcycle for his birthday. It’s not that there’s not love — it’s that there’s too much. Too much to say yea, do it! Who cares?

“I know what you’re thinking,” Bruce says with a nod, and suddenly his mind flashes back to all the times Alfred’s had to come get him. When he got trashed by Bane the first time they met. When Scarecrow’s fear toxin got to him. When Joker blew up a warehouse with both him and Bruce inside. And every time, there’s that same look on Alfred’s face. He doesn’t even have to say it. His eyes scream it for him.

I love you, but god damn, it hurts to see you hurt. You’re my responsibility mixed with I can’t believe I let this happen.

“Falling mid-air would definitely suck, I agree,” he says, wiping off some dirt from one of his previous falls. “But I’m testing them out here to make sure they’re safe. I need this fail proof before I go out. You know how I do it.”

That earns an irritated huff. A quiet gesture that says I know you won’t listen, but damn it if I’m not gonna be there to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.

“What about if we ran this by Mr. Fox?” Alfred suggests, trying to find a compromise. “Perhaps he can double check the details and enhance it.”

…

“Alfred, you’re a genius.”

“I’m aware, sir.”

Lucius is called later that evening and after a quick “why are you doing this?” explanation, he reluctantly agrees to the almost ridiculous idea. Almost because if this does work, he’ll owe Bruce twenty bucks. Lucius  is skeptical of the idea, but continues anyway, double and triple checking everything down, even helping suggest different materials for different weather conditions.

Multiple sets of wings are made. Some for heavier weights, some for lighter. Some with heavier material, some with thinner ones for hotter months. But they all keep the illusion of a bat. Same dark color and almost identical texture of the flying mammals. When it comes time to fly, Bruce proudly wears the final product in the Batcave, and as he jumps around the spacious area, the wings take off.

Powerful, wide, and fast. Everything he wanted. Moving as fast as his mind would move his arm, as naturally as lifting a hand. Flying feels free. It’s a sudden realization, but not a bad one! It feels so.. peaceful. So comforting to let the air glide across his arms as he dives around the cave.

From his perspective, it’s a success, but then he remembers the video that the boy had recorded.

He has to remember that he doesn’t look the same to everyone else. While yes, he does want to look intimidating to scare his opponents, he doesn’t want to scare the children he needs to protect. Bruce puts extra lollipops into his suit pocket from now on. Just in case there’s a kid at a crime scene he visits.

A few days pass. He patrols without the wings as he’s still upgrading his extra gear, and with the locals thinking he already has wings, it can’t hurt to wait an extra day or two to make sure everything is safe and operating correctly. He goes out on patrol, fights a few bad guys, stops a drug deal in one of the back alleyways, notices the fearful stares he’s getting from goons, and then it hits him.

There’s a smell. A really strong pepermint smell.

He looks up. At the top of the warehouse he had followed a gang go into proudly stands the one and only Joker. “Batsy! My favourite nocturnal creature!” He calls cheerfully, standing by the guard rail above. A trap that he’s just fallen into. The doors shut behind him almost instantly, the smell only amplifying.

“I’ve got a surprise for youuu!” He sings, looking at his henchmen. “Show ‘im, boys!” Two of his men remove the top to a big boiler, moving onto the one on the other side of the room and opening it.

Two liquids, hot and steaming. Ammonia and peppermint. Both bat repelling smells. And the side effects of ammonia on people.. not good. With all the doors and windows sealed, the vents being closed, and no way out in sight, this situation is not ideal.

“I saw the tapes the other day and boy, that was a laugh!” He cackles from his high spot, gripping into the metal bars. “A real man bat hybrid? Now that’s a rarity I’d like to have! But unfortunately, I can’t keep you for my collection. You’re a bit.. dull.. on the colors. But this!” He gestures wildly to the liquids. “Two of your favourite flavours, mixed into one! If this doesn’t get you outta my hair, I gotta consider a new style!”

“Pour ‘em out!” He calls, running to the ladder and climbing it. “Ta-ta, Batsy! Have fun!” He gives a playful wave before opening a panel to make it up onto the roof. Bruce, as quick as his reflexes with allow, throws a Batarang to the goons as they pour the liquids into the middle, amplifying the smells. The liquids create a smoke so thick it’s almost impossible to see through, falling onto the different levels and stairs, slowly flooding the warehouse.

Not good. He can fight the nausea for now, but it’s not a nice feeling. If only he had his wings, he could fly up to the ladder, kick open the panel, and capture the Joker. Note to self: wings. Smart idea. Let’s actually use them next time.

He uses his grappling hook to pull himself up to the goons level, trying to contain the damage and fix the boilers back into their upright positions. Flipping a few of the control levers will tilt them back into place, but won’t fix the mess underneath them. A swift dodge from the first one, make him swing and accidentally hit his partner, keep them both from falling in the mess down below, and knock out the first one with a blow to a pressure point by his collarbone. Effective, but not brutal. No blood, but maybe a few bruises. Next goon is same song and dance, but with his other side. This one is left handed, Bruce can tell by how he leans into the punch. Leg sweep and leave him. New goal is to capture Joker and thank him for the wonderful reminder that maybe some inventions are best tested out in the field.

He makes it to the ladder, trying to open the panel only to find that it’s locked. If only he had the claws he designed, he could pry this open. Sigh. Okay, point taken. Use the good ideas. Instead he brings his legs up and kicks the panel open, letting them fall back down and jumping up, getting onto the roof.

Joker has escaped. He’s unfortunately nowhere in sight. Bruce has escaped the death trap, but hasn’t captured the Joker. Now the maniacs escaped Arkham, immediately tried to kill him with bat repellents, and laughed as he made his getaway.

What’s even more a kick in the dick is when it gets out on the news.

Chapter Text

“Two vaults of boiling hot liquids were found when the doors were pried open, with two of Joker’s men unconscious by the bridge of the control panel. Could this be the work of a new hero, or the work of a creature on the loose?” The reporter says, the smoke billowing out of the building behind her. “It’s been rumoured by police and recently caught criminals that the secret to this madness isn’t quite human. It appears that there’s more truth to this Batman legend than the police are willing to confirm.” 

“I saw it!” An old lady being interviewed says, a look of surprise on her face as she gestures to the top of the building. “It was a giant bat! He stood on the rooftop and flew out!”

“He did, she’s right!” Her grandson says, a teenager standing behind her wheelchair. “He got outa there so quick, he didn’t waste any time. I was with her last night, playing the old card game she likes when I look out the window and see this huge black thing roaring in the sky!” He rambles, crazy gestures as Bruce changes the channel.

He knows how this looks. A giant rumoured bat ran away from a catastrophe of two well known bat repellents, ha ha, very funny. But it actually helps him the more he thinks about it. If his enemies underestimate him and pull out a peppermint mid fight, he’s distracted them. Deceived them and let them think they’ve won, only to strike when they’ve got their guard down.

It’s basic fighting. Don’t underestimate your opponent. Or whip out pieces of candy. Might work if he really was half bat, but as for right now, it’s not doing a damn thing to him. Aside from, you know, almost drowning him, but that’s not the point.

“That was quite a fight,” the butler states, stepping into the cave with a tray of food. A light snack with a glass of water, nothing too heavy plus an anti nausea pill for the side effects of his most recent fight. “Still seeing straight, I hope?” He gauges, trying to figure out where Bruce’s mind is traveling now.

His gaze is silent as he watches the screens. “I fucked up,” he admits, his arms crossing with a sigh. “I could’ve gotten to Joker faster. I could’ve caught him.” A beat. “I should’ve caught him. Now someone else could get hurt because of me.”

“Ah ah ah, Master Bruce,” the butler stops him. “Need I remind you that this clown king is the only one responsible? Not you, not the police, him. He chooses his madness. You choose to stop it. If someone gets hurt, it’s the attacker’s doing, yes?”

“Yea,” Bruce murmurs softly. “But that’s- I should’ve done something,” he protests.

“Nonsense. You did do something. You tried your best and that’s good enough. You survived. You even helped his henchmen stay upright, correct? They’ve shown the inside of the building on the news. That was radiant work,” Alfred praises, sighing when he sees the look on Bruce’s face. “I know capturing him and sending him back to Arkham is your plan, but we’ve done this before. He’ll get out, enjoy his freedom with wild schemes, and then you’ll get him. I wouldn’t worry about it, sir.”

“What about your equipment, hm? The butler continues, going over to one of the many tables with new gear spread across it. “We’re adding claws, I see.”

Bruce is silently thanking the universe for giving him someone as caring as Alfred. He really is there for him. Always supportive in his corner, knows just how to get Bruce to stop spiraling and keep creating.

“Yea,” Bruce says, tearing his gaze from the screens and wandering over to the workspace. “These, if I’m right, should be able to hold my body weight, but the new problem is attaching them to the suit.” Metal alloy like the wings have, but sharpened at the ends. “Placement is also an issue. If I put them on where my nails should be, it’ll make it easier to use and catch myself with, but making a fist would be nearly impossible without hurting my palms,” he considers out loud, fiddling with the silver blades. “If I put them on my knuckles, it won’t hurt my palm, but I’d need to learn how to climb a different way. I wouldn’t be able to use my palms, I’d need to remember to use the outsides of my hands, and with muscle memory.. it might take a minute.”

A quiet, comfortable silence overtakes the cave for a moment before Bruce finally gets it.

“Retractable talons,” he says, looking at the claws. “I should’ve thought of that sooner!” Alfred watches with a proud, amused smile as Bruce scurries to get different types of materials.

New plan for the nail blades: they do indeed go at the end and not the knuckle. They should sink back in when Bruce makes a fist and pop right back out instantly when he opens it. Almost like a switchblade! When it’s got the room, it should stay out, and without the space, it should retract in. But that’ll take some coding and— sensors! Smart sensors! Ones that can detect movement and predict when he’ll make a fist, oh, he loves his job!

He gets to designing new blades that have a barely visible slot in the back to slip into. Attaching microchips and the right sequences allows it to function as a fully immersive nail that comes in and out at will. Even better than he hoped!

Full test on one hand, works! Now we make a second set for the other hand and viola! It’s beautiful! The cowl, meanwhile, was adjusted by making the points just a little sharper. Helps build up his shadow for intimidation, but it’s nothing that’ll disrupt his work. He has however added extra sensitive sound plates in them, only visible from the inside of the cowl. With the points moving very slightly to detect noises and frequencies better, it feels more alive, more real.

More like this is me naturally, and less of I’m just a guy in a costume. It comes to life like how his passion ignites his work. He feels like his outfit truly suits him now, the image he’s been going for this whole time. Who knew all he needed to do to feel more natural in his costume was to become the animal he dresses up as? Proves his point that doing something fully is so much better than half done. 

After trying on the newly upgraded suit in the cave and getting used to the feeling of it, he takes it out on patrol the next night. Being able to fly is.. indescribable. Freeing. He’s not limited by gravity for just a moment, able to let go and rela—

A scream. He can hear it thanks to the cowl’s new audio system. Picking up sounds like that from below is both disturbing and helpful. He dives down, letting the wings flap quietly as he lands, searching the area. The ear twitches again. Second floor home break in, one woman and one man with a few figures in masks with guns. Let’s be quick before someone shoots.

Bruce is on it. Basic break in, nothing major to write home about, job well done. Bad guys knocked out and police have been called.

However. These people are the first to see Batman quite this close, and with the realistic wings and talons at the ends of his fingers, it’s definitely a shock. He can’t tell if the woman is screaming at him or the unconscious criminals. Either way, she’s still cowering in the corner with her husband protecting her. Bruce takes this as his sign to depart.

He goes to the window, his wings springing to life and soaring him high up into the air. He’s done his job and now he’ll search for his next one.

The interview of the married couple goes up on the news the next morning.

“And he was just this.. huge thing, I mean, I’ve never seen anything like it before!” The wife says, clinging to her husband’s arm as she shakes her head.

“We were having dinner when they broke in. I went for my knife, but I didn’t have time. There were about five of them, all with guns, coming in before I knew what was happening,” the husband says, gesturing to the front door of their apartment.

“I think to myself oh god, I gotta keep her safe, I can’t let her get hurt, and this.. I don’t know, it almost looked like a gargoyle, busts in through the window!”

“Quite an eventful night,” Alfred chuckles as he makes breakfast, hearing the TV from the living room. “A gargoyle! That’s a new one, sir.”

“It is,” Bruce agrees with a smile and nod, watching the news from his comfortable spot on the couch. “Hey, I got this flyer last night, by the way. Wanted your opinion on it. I found it on one of the rooftops,” he says, getting a crumpled paper out of his pocket and going to the kitchen counter to show the butler.

“A.. Haly's Circus, sir?” Alfred asks, a brow raising at the invisible question of can we go to the circus? One he hasn’t heard in years from Bruce.

“Yea, I just thought.. why not?” He shrugs with a casual smile. “They’ve got.. the Flying Graysons, tightrope acts, animals,” he continues, reading off the attractions at the bottom of the poster. “I thought it’d be fun.”

Alfred shoots him a look. The look of a knowing parent that says why are you really doing this?

Bruce sighs. “Okay, fine. They’re gonna help raise donations for the children’s hospital,” he admits softly. “Don’t you already donate to them, sir?” The butler questions, flipping the pancakes he’s been working on. “Well yea, but if I can get more people to help, that’s even better for them. The circus always gets attention, but if playboy Bruce Wayne gets people to show up, it’s worth it.”

Does he like playing the silly I’m just a ditzy billionaire playboy role? Not exactly. A lot of crowds, a lot of noise, and paparazzi always trying to talk to him. Sounds fun, yea, but he’d much rather be at home, in his cave, working on his ideas and upgrades. But if it’s for a children’s hospital? He’ll definitely do it.

Chapter Text

Suit, on. Not Batsuit, no. Not this time. Has to be a totally way too expensive, form-fitting suit with a fancy sparkly watch and matching sunglasses. This is Brucie Wayne. We’ve got this. Promising Alfred that he’ll be home soon (Alfred doesn’t doubt it, the man is too addicted to his work to never not come home), he’s off in one of his luxury cars, traveling off the circus that’s visiting Gotham.

Cameras, lights, and way too many people. Wow. The fairgrounds are packed with fun little games, fundraising tables and activities, and food stands. Maybe he should have brought Alfred? The butler insisted on staying home (and perhaps getting a quiet moment for himself to watch TV without having to manage the house like a tired mom), and with how much Alfred does for him, Bruce will happily oblige with whatever the butler wanted to do, whether that’s stay at home or travel with him.

The activities and games are fun and Brucie donates a generous amount like he always does. Not for the cameras, not for the act of looking good, but for the genuine hope that the hospitals will get the money and use it for good. A few kids bump into him here and there, but it’s nothing serious. He can’t blame them as the crowds are packing into the circus tent, bright lights above them shining down onto the stage. He finds his seat as the show begins, watching the crew come out and perform their acts. Trained animals, trapeze artists, tightrope walkers, Bruce hasn’t felt this much awe in years. It reminds him of the feeling of his wings — the feeling of this shouldn’t be possible, but we made it! It’s like being a little kid again and riding the world’s tallest rollercoaster!

The Flying Grayson’s come out next, two adults and one kid. He’s about eight or nine if Bruce’s estimations are anywhere near correct. He’s young with dark hair that’s been combed back and styled to stay out of his face, fitting for his parents’ act. The father goes first, swinging back and forth. The mother joins next, swinging back and forth, reaching out for her son, and just as the son almost jumps—

Bruce stands up, ready to leap over the people in front of him and help, but he’s too late. The couple hits the floor. No safety net. He looks up. The boy is standing where he was before, but is yelling for his parents. Bruce’s gaze snaps up. The wires holding the parents had snapped, weakened and broke entirely.

Police arrive. People are moved out. All Bruce can think is that there’s a boy. Alone, sobbing, and sitting in the circus tent. This shouldn’t have happened. He can’t help but watch from a distance. Leaving feels wrong, but staying feels like intrusion upon a tragedy, one that he watched unfold and did not stop.

It’s guilt. It’s shame. It’s oh god, if only I knew. I could’ve stopped it. That kid could still have his parents, his family. That was torn away from him like it was Bruce—

Bruce’s parents were gone in an instant too. Before he even knew what was happening. A quick shot, bang, it’s over. But it’s never really over. That pain stays. How can you move on from that? Especially alone? Bruce had Alfred, but this kid, who does he have?

Nobody. All he has is the pain and grief.

Police are interrogating everyone. Bruce recognizes the officer nearby. GCPD commissioner Gordon. They’ve met before at a few galas and charity events, but this time, it’s at a crime scene.

“Commissioner,” he says quietly, standing beside him. “What happened?”

It’s a stupid question, Bruce knows that. But what he’s really looking for is, is there anything behind the scenes? Foul play, attempted murder, sabotage, or truly an accident?

“Cable snapped,” Gordon answers softly in a hushed voice. “The weight of both parents made it break faster. If they caught the kid, they would’ve all went down instantly. It’s a miracle he didn’t jump.”

“Was it..” Bruce goes to ask before being beaten to it by the officer. “Sabotage? Yea. It was,” he nods grimly. “My men have already checked the cables. The Graysons have had a record of never falling. Ever. Even with shitty equipment. This circus, they’ve got the best supplies for their staff. Their wires never break, but magically this time, it did. So I had another officer check for me. Turns out someone had cut it just right to break under pressure.”

This wasn’t just a bad cable breaking loose. This was murder. Blatant sabotage, almost killing an entire family, including an eight year old boy. Bruce has to look away and take a deep breath to hide his anger.

“And the boy,” he murmurs, looking over at the kid. He’s shaking with how hard he’s sobbing and Bruce is certain he’s gonna make himself sick if he keeps crying that hard. He can’t blame the kid, he’s felt that before. “What will happen to him?”

“Well, he has no other family, so foster care will be most likely,” Gordon answers, crossing his arms as he sighs. “You can’t do that. We both know how bad the foster care system is,” Bruce protests softly. “He has no other family? He’s completely alone?”

“I’m afraid so,” the commissioner nods with a shrug. “There’s no other choice.” A pause. Bruce watches the boy with a look of pity, sympathy, and sadness.

“I’ll take him,” he states firmly. “Don’t send him to the system. Let me talk to him first. Please,” he quickly adds before Gordon can say no. “Five minutes.”

The older man sighs. “Ok. Go talk to him,” he murmurs understandingly with a nod. He’s heard about Bruce’s parents — who didn’t when they passed? They were some of the richest people in Gotham, and seeing how young Bruce was when he lost him.. he can understand Bruce’s thought process here.

He goes to the boy quietly, slowly, letting his footsteps be heard so he doesn’t scare the poor kid. “Hey,” he says gently, sitting beside the boy. Oh god, he’s never talked to kids much aside from high fiving them at fundraising events. Okay, just.. be patient, he supposes. That’s what Alfred did with him.

The boy looks up at Bruce, and that look? Bruce could find the man who did this and kill him himself. Red face, tears running down his cheeks, sobbing into his hands and shaking. “Hi,” he mumbles quietly, his voice trembling as he wipes his eyes. A silence falls as the boy looks back at the ground, trying to keep everything in for a moment.

“I’m so sorry,” Bruce mumbles, because if he met his younger self when he was this knee deep in pain, that’s all he’d know how to say. I’m sorry. It’s the only thing to say.

This accidentally breaks a dam in the boy, with sobs escaping him as he cries into his hands. Bruce immediately feels a thousand times worse. He didn’t cause the parents’ fall, but seeing the kid so upset and hurt, he could break a brick wall with his bare hands right now.

He puts a hand on the boy’s shoulder, testing his limits. Can he handle touch right now? The boy leans into it, so Bruce is assuming yes. He carefully checks the child for injuries as he moves to holding him in a side hug. He can feel his own eyes get misty at the memory of what happened, of even thinking about how much pain the boy much be in. He knows that pain too well.

“It’s okay,” Bruce mumbles, rubbing the kid’s back. “I’m here.” The boy leans into his attempted hug and cries. Bruce won’t dare tell him not to, he’s letting him work through it. It’s a long healing process and bottling it up will not work — it’s never worked for Bruce, so he damn sure doesn’t want to do that to this kid.

A few minutes turn into a while. Definitely more than the five minutes that he promised Gordon. When he finally calms down enough, Bruce takes the chance to talk to him. Not about this, no. The tears are enough unspoken words. Too many I love you’s he didn’t get out, too much what happened? and what will happen now?

“What’s your name?” He hums, rubbing the little one’s back. The answer doesn’t come for a minute, but when it does, Bruce smiles a little.

“Dick.”

“You callin’ me names now?” He teases softly with a very tiny smirk. Just the littlest bit of a playful gesture to distract. And it works, thank god. The police have wrapped everything up and moved it all out, so it’s just Bruce and the boy.

“No,” he giggles quietly with a hiccup and a sniffle. “It’s my name.”

“Ohh, I see,” Bruce nods, his other hand on the boy’s head as he moves his hair out of the way. “My name is Bruce. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Mh.”

“Did the police talk to you yet?” He asks softly. “They have important questions.”

“Yea,” Dick mumbles, his face in Bruce’s chest as he melts further into the hug. All that crying has definitely tired him out, the adrenaline fucking his system up harder than it ever should have.

“Ok. There’s.. something I wanna ask you,” he says patiently. “I know what it’s like to lose your people. To need somewhere safe to go when you don’t have anyone left.”

“You.. you do?” Dick asks, his eyes watering as he looks up at him.

“Mhm. I do,” he confirms. “I wanted to offer that for you. A safe place to stay. The police said foster care is an option, but I figured I’d ask and check on you.”

…

“You mean it?”

Bruce can feel his heart break even more. The boy is afraid he’s being lied to. Pranked. Like it’s all some bad dream after the nightmare he lived through.

“Yea, I mean it,” he says. “I’ve got extra room at my house. You can come and pick whichever room you like. I can take care of you. Or you can go to a different family in foster care,” he reminds. “It’s your choice.”

…

“I wanna go with you..”

This is how Bruce ends up coming home with a kid in his arms, asleep and snoring as he carries him inside.

Chapter Text

Bruce helped the boy into the car. He didn’t have much, just a few spare clothes and toys. Life in a moving circus meant you had to be able to pack up and go whenever needed. Bruce makes a mental note to buy the kid more toys and games. Gymnastic sets instantly come to mind and he’ll definitely be looking into those.

The drive home is mostly quiet with the exception of a few questions. Ones like how old are you? Why are you wearing a suit? Are you always this tall? Am I gonna be okay? Is your house big? It’s a mix of childish ones and more mature ones that the kid shouldn’t have to worry about. Bruce happily answers all the questions and notices that it gets quiet. He hears a soft snore and glances into the mirror to see the backseat, seeing the boy he buckled in is asleep.

Good. He shouldn’t have to worry about things right now. If he feels safe enough to fall asleep, that’s wonderful. Let him rest and keep the drive comfortable. No hard stops, no sharp turns or fast racing like he does in the Batmobile.

He arrives home and shuts his door as quietly as he can while still shutting it properly. Don’t need his car getting stolen while he brings his kid—

Not his kid. The boy isn’t his kid. Don’t think that, god, what’s wrong with you, Bruce? He’s not your son, you fool. He’s a random boy you took pity on! Straighten up!

After mentally berating himself and gathering himself for a moment outside the car, he carefully opens Dick’s door and unbuckles the child. A bit skinny for doing such bold acts in a circus, but he’s sure he and Alfred can fix that up in no time. He picks Dick up and holds him against his chest, shutting the car door and looking at the mansion’s front doors.

Alfred is inside, opening the door. It’s almost midnight now and he’s turned on the outside patio lights, highlighting Bruce and the boy. Bruce approaches the steps, going up to the now opened doors thanks to the butler.

He gets a look. It’s a merge of what, who, why, and when? all in one.

“My word, sir. It seems you’ve brought a little companion,” the butler delicately comments in surprise. “Care to explain?”

“He’s from the circus I went to,” Bruce starts in a hushed voice, his hand rubbing Dick’s back. “You remember the Graysons I mentioned?”

“..yes?” The butler responds with a glance of confusion and curiosity, putting the dinner he made back into the oven to keep warm. “He’s their son. Their act was sabotaged. The parents.. they fell. No safety net. They didn’t make it.”

“My word!”

“I know,” Bruce murmurs, adjusting his hold on the kid. He’s light, but he wants to make extra sure he doesn’t drop him. God knows he doesn’t need to see or be reminded of anything falling down after tonight.

“But Master Bruce, why is he here?” The butler questions. Bruce pauses. He’s not quite sure how to describe this.

He’s not Dick’s parents. He’s not his dad. Not related to him in any way, but he can’t help but care. He doesn’t want to replace Dick’s parents; he could never, he knows that. And he would never try to do that. But this kid.. he doesn’t want to leave him to suffer in the hands of foster care. The system is horribly flawed. He doesn’t want him to see that after such a trauma. No one deserves to.

A pause. It’s silent.

“No, Master Bruce, you cannot be serious,” Alfred says, crossing his arms with a look of I know what you’re thinking and I will not allow it. Disbelief and surprise with a bit of pride.

“Alfred,” Bruce tries, but he’s cut off short.

“No sir. You must see reason to this!” The older man says, making sure not to be too loud. “If the boy has already lost his parents, he’ll be—“

“Emotionally unstable and traumatized, I’m aware, Alfred. That’s how I was when I lost my parents,” Bruce adds.

“So then you surely must see the risks here. Trauma can do so many things to little ones. You were hyper independent. You hated trusting people. You still do!” Alfred says, trying not to get frustrated. “What if the boy goes the opposite way? What if he clings?”

“Then he’ll cling. I’ll be there,” Bruce says with a serious look. “I don’t plan on leaving him.”

“You’re a busy man! You don’t have time for raising a child! What happens if—“

A beat. Alfred looks away with a deep breath.

“If you pass, Master Bruce.”

The words had to be said.

“The boy has lost his people. He gets a second guardian who loves him, and then you pass in some accident on your patrol. How will I ever explain that to him?”

…

Bruce.. didn’t think about that. Hurting a child that deeply once.. that leaves a permanent scar. Doing it twice? God..

“I won’t die,” Bruce murmurs, watching his dear friend. “I’ll make extra sure I don’t. I’ll train harder. I’ll be safer, we’ll make more equipment, we’ll—“

“Sir. You’re spiraling. We’re both.. spiralling. Just..” Alfred sighs, looking at Bruce and the boy. “Only you can go to a circus and come home with a child.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave him!”

Alfred can’t be mad. This is how he felt when Bruce lost his parents. A little boy alone in the world, desperately needing comfort. It seems that this time, the boy accepted it much quicker than Bruce did when he was younger. Stubborn little thing. Resilient and strong at such a small age. Alfred could never be mad at him for feeling what he felt.

“Maybe.. a break from your night life. Just for a while,” he suggests weakly. “See how things work here. Help the boy adjust and at night, we make safety upgrades to everything. The manor, the cave, your suit.”

Bruce considers the idea. A break from work sucks, it always does. Whether he’s sick or has two broken legs and a dislocated arm, it’s not fun. He’d much rather be out, making sure the city is safe. But for Dick.. he can do it. He can take a break, and new security measures are good. Safety measures are a must if he’s going to take care of Dick.

“I’ll do it,” Bruce agrees with a nod. “For Dick. He’s worth it.”

“It’s a big responsibility, but if you are determined..” the older man gives a nod of approval. “Very well. The boy will stay with us. I’ll fix the legal work and papers.”

“Thank you.” Bruce sighs with relief, smiling when he notices that his shoulder’s wet with drool. He pats the little one on the back, going up the stairs and finding one of the many spare bed rooms. Spacious, close to his own bedroom in case Dick needs him for anything, with one window, a walk-in closet, and a bathroom. The toys and kid sized clothes will come later. Bruce carefully maneuvers Dick into the bed, pulling the fleece blankets over him and giving him a kiss on the head.

Bruce stays there with him that night. Just in case he has any nightmares. The chair beside the bed is comfortable anyways.

Chapter Text

Bruce wakes up with a blanket over him, the smell of bacon, eggs, and pancakes being cooked downstairs, and a snore.

He smiles fondly. There’s Dick, lazily drooling into the pillow. Is this how his parents felt about him, he wonders? How Alfred felt when Bruce was younger? A strong wave of “I need to take care of you and keep you safe”?

No, Bruce is just crazy, right? The others.. they had reasons to feel that way. Bruce is getting way too attached way too easy.

But look at his little face! It’s so adorable with his cheek smooshed into the pillow, all cozy and warm! Yea, Bruce decides. He’s definitely gonna keep him, if that’s what the kid wants. It’s not like money will be a problem and homeschooling is one of Alfred’s many lovely talents. The butler doesn’t seem to mind the boy’s presence, so it works out nicely. But that’s only if the boy decides to stay. Bruce would hate to keep him here if he were unhappy—

“Mh?”

His gaze goes to the little boy’s eyes, opening slowly and barely staying open. “Hi sleepyhead,” Bruce murmurs with a soft smile. Last thing he wants is to scare the boy after such a horrible experience. That’s gonna take a lot of recovering, but he understands.

“Hi,” Dick mumbles with a yawn, stretching his arms out into the bed and sitting up. His gentle sleepy expression turns to one of confusion, looking at the bed and the blankets. Bruce notices and chimes in before he starts to panic. “We’re at my house,” he says, getting the blanket off his lap and putting it onto the chair he sat on. The thing is a bit stiff on his back, but that’s fine. Just proof he needs to train more in his mind. Or get comfier seats, both options are good.

“Wow..” Dick hums in awe, observing the big bedroom, the window and the desk. “It looks..”

“Spacious?” Bruce suggests with a playful smirk. “Just wait until you see the rest of the house. There’ll be plenty of room for you to run around and play.”

Getting Dick up was no problem thankfully. The little boy is so energetic and curious that he’s practically bouncing off the walls like a puppy in a new home, he. is. everywhere. Curious and interested in touching everything, which is fine with Bruce. Let the kid get familiar with the house, it’s a good thing in his mind. Bruce picks him up for breakfast after letting him explore for a bit and goes downstairs, setting him into one of the dining room chairs.

“Ahh, finally awake, are we young sir?” Alfred asks with a soft smile. He doesn’t want to scare the boy, but judging from how he’s comfortably hugging onto Bruce’s arm and making him kneel beside him to play with his hand, he’d say the child is settling in just fine.

“Hi,” Dick waves to the cooking butler. “Is that your dad?” He asks, toying with the man’s fingers. “Alfred? No, he’s..” Bruce responds, looking at the butler. How would he describe their relationship?

Alfred is definitely a parental figure for him, and he’s definitely like a dad but sometimes he’s caring like a mom. Protective, loving, but also stern when he needs to be. But he isn’t replacing Bruce’s parents, so..

“He’s like what I am to you,” he answers, trying to keep it simple. Don’t over complicate it for such a little boy, he mentally scolds himself. “I’m not replacing your parents or trying to take their place, but I wanna take care of you.”

“Oh,” Dick says with a nod. “Ok. Can I..” He murmurs hesitantly, like he’s scared to ask. Unsure of if he even should. “Can I see mommy?”

Fuck. Oh god, how does Bruce answer this one..

“I don’t know, buddy. I’m sorry,” he replies gently, shaking his head lightly. “I miss her,” the boy mumbles, looking at the table as his playing movements with Bruce’s hand pauses. “I know you do,” Bruce says with a deep breath. “But it’s gonna be okay. You’re safe here with me and Alfred. We’re gonna keep you company and help get you settled in.”

“Settled in?” Dick copies, tilting his head curiously with a confused look, his small hands holding onto Bruce’s. “Yea! You know that room of yours, it’s a little empty like you said,” Bruce agrees with a smile. “I think some toys oughta help fill it in. And some stuffed animals and blankets. What do you think?”

“Yea!” The boy giggles with a nod. “Shopping trip?”

“Oh yea, shopping trip!” The man says happily. “But first, you will have breakfast!” Alfred chimes in with a kind smile, setting a plate of warm food down in front of him. “You can’t be running about with no fuel.”

“He’s right. But if you’re good, I think we might be able to find some candy too while we’re out,” Bruce whispers with a charming smile. “Really?!”

“Yup! And actual clothes your size,” he teases, ruffling the boy’s hair and standing up. “That way you don’t have to steal mine.”

“But yours look cool!” Dick says, eating his meal and glancing at Alfred. “Thank you, sir.”

“Such manners already! You’re welcome, lad,” Alfred praises softly with a smile. “You picked a good one if I might say, sir.”

“I know,” Bruce replies with a gentle smile, making a mental shopping list. The TV plays in the background, a news anchor going off about some underground drug ring getting busted — something that usually would be fine for them to watch, good even for Bruce’s nocturnal hobbies since it’s a source of information, but with little ears in the room, Alfred switches the channel.

“Not to worry, sir. I’ll record these for you until you get back,” the butler says, setting the remote down on the living room coffee table. “Thank you, Alfred,” he says, going to Dick when he’s finishing and easily picking him up. “You ready to go, little man?”

“Yea!” The boy excitedly giggles, and judging by the look on his face, he absolutely loves being on Bruce’s shoulder. He practically lights up at being in the air and it only serves to remind Bruce of the boy’s life as a whole. Always moving, always energetic and busy, in the air with impressive flips Bruce had to train himself to do over the span of years. 

He’s a skilled little boy. Talented. Bruce won’t let that potential go to waste. He’s gonna raise him as best he can.

“Then we’re off,” he announces, getting his keys and going to his garage through the luxurious manor. “You wanna pick a car for us, buddy?” He asks, holding Dick’s hand as he walks by a variety of expensive sports cars. “Wow! How’d you get so many?!” The kid asks with a laugh, the shine on the vibrant rims catching his attention. “I bought ‘em! Do you like them?” Bruce slightly bounces the boy while he walks. If flashy cars are enough to please him, it’s definitely gonna be fun spoiling him.

“Yea! Oh, that one!” Dick points to one of the fast, sleek models. Black and blue exterior with a modern design inside, comfortable seats and.. no kid car seat. Hm. Bruce has never had this problem before. Now that he’s got Dick, there’s a lot more to think about.

“You can sit here until we get you a booster seat,” Bruce says, buckling Dick into the back of the car. “Can we go fast?” He plays with the seat belt, observing the inside of the car in awe. “Sure, as long as you keep that seat belt on,” he replies, getting into the driver’s seat and locking the doors. He starts the car and the boy laughs like it’s a rollercoaster he’s been dying to get on. “This thing goes a lot faster in the city,” he says, looking in the rear view mirror. “Just wait til we get out there.”

“Yay!”

They drive into Gotham, making sure to avoid any darker areas or places known for drug deals. Sometimes being Batman gives you knowledge you need in day to day life. Or sometimes it breaks your arm — it’s really a Russian roulette at this point. He plays the radio to make sure Dick doesn’t get too bored, but that doesn’t seem to be a problem with how he’s watching everything pass by through the window, enchanted by the tall buildings that go on forever and the lights sparkling in the windows. 

Going into the store, however, is where we hit our next problem. First off, the baby needs a booster seat, that’s on his mind, but before he can even get into the baby / kid isle, he’s being bombarded by paparazzi, flashing cameras, and a woman with a mic.

He hates being Brucie Wayne. And now he’s got a child and please just leave him alone.

But he doesn’t say that. He’s gonna be polite, play the part, be good, so he does.

“Haha, hi Susan!” He chuckles, internally wincing as he picks up Dick and holds him close to his chest. Dick looks up at Bruce with a confused glance and plays with a duck plushie he found on one of the shelves.

“Hi Bruce! Didn’t think we’d run into you of all people here!” The blonde woman comments, looking at her camera guy with a smile. “We were just filming on the remodel of the store! What do you think so far?”

Easy question. He’s got this.

“I think they’ve done great, honestly!” He says, tilting his head slightly as he subtly scans the area. No threats, just a few people shocked that he’s there and a cashier recording them from where she stands at a check out line.

“The prices dropped a bit and the floor got new tiles and everything looks amazing—“

Dick is trying to nom the duck plushie.

“No, no, baby,” he chuckles, moving the plushie away from the boy’s mouth. “Play, don’t eat. Don’t put things in your mouth!”

“Oh my goodness!” The woman laughs, leaning closer to see Dick. “And who is this? Are you babysitting for another charity?”

“No, I’m.. this one’s mine,” he says with a slightly flustered smile and a nod. “Yours?!” She gasps. “No way! The infamous playboy finally had a kid! I thought you said you use protec—“

“He’s adopted,” he stops her, cutting her joke short. No sex jokes in front of little ears, please, he mentally begs.

“Adopted?” She confirms, watching Dick play with the stuffed animal and lay his head on Bruce’s chest. He’s behaving and the billionaire is mentally thanking him so much. “Well, that’s—“

“I’m sorry to cut you off, Susan, but it’s time for his nap,” he comments with a fatherly laugh, patting Dick on the back. “We’ve really got to get going, so, have fun!”

He quickly walks down the aisle of the store and makes distance. He tries not to laugh as he whispers to Dick. “You get an extra cookie tonight if you tolerate them.”

“I already did. You owe me a cookie,” Dick whispers back with a playful giggle. “Oh, you’re great. I’m keeping you,” Bruce murmurs, trying to keep his amusement hidden.

Dick eventually picks out a booster seat while very adamantly confirming that he is almost adult height (he is not) and that he doesn’t need one (he very much does). It’s a black one with rainbow colors on the side and when Bruce questions the design over the other ones there, Dick states that it’d look good in any car because it’s got all the colors. Bruce did not argue against this fact, Dick has won and next is the clothes section.

Quickly retrieving a cart, Dick is placed into the part in the front so that he doesn’t run away or try to eat things he isn’t supposed to again. The booster seat is put in and they zoom over to the boy’s clothes. With only a few articles of clothing from Dick’s old life in the circus, Bruce lets him pick out whatever he wants as long as it’s comfortable and it fits. Only two rules.

Of course Dick picks the brightest ones there. That’s fine, he did technically listen to the rules. If the kid likes colors, who is Bruce to tell him no? Toys are next with Dick asking why so many Lego pieces are in a single box and describing that one time that he tried to do a puzzle with somebody in the circus and failed because they had lost too many pieces. Why? Because an elephant had taken it and anytime they tried to get it back, the elephant became territorial. They named that elephant  “corner piece #2” and Dick thoroughly misses him.

From that whole story, Bruce gathers that he should get him an elephant plushie. His name is “corner piece #3,” as deemed by Dick. His excitement is contagious, tapping all the “try me” buttons in the toy isle. It gets loud very quickly, and while internally Bruce flinches at every small noise and goes on alert mode, he smiles every time Dick lights up when a dinosaur toy moves or roars. 

Car seat, clothes, toys, plushies, the boy finds the blankets and immediately picks a few favourites. One with tigers that he said remind him of the lion tamers (Bruce doesn’t dare point out that they’re totally different animals) and the other with stars. According to Dick, stars are mini spotlights that shine on planets and help aliens find their way through the galaxy. Very creative, Bruce approves the answer and they make their way to checkout. The cashier watches them curiously like she’s dying to ask something.

“Who’s the mother?” She whispers to Bruce, her hands scanning the price tag for one of the toy’s Dick liked. A nightlight here, an action figure there, and a forced smile from Bruce.

“He’s adopted,” he states. “I’ll pay with card, please.”

After an awkward checkout and Dick playing with his plushie, Bruce lets Dick push the cart with him to their car. He looks away for two seconds as he hears someone call his name, and Dick is off, dashing through the parking lot by himself, happily riding the cart with his feet up on the metal bars.

“Oh god damnit, Dick! Get back here!” Bruce yells like a worried mother, running after the cart. Thank god he can run as fast as he can, because while Dick isn’t in any real danger, Bruce’s mother hen instincts will NOT let that happen again. Not when he’s so little!

Dick pouts as he scooped up and put into his new booster seat in the car. “You sit and stay!” Bruce says firmly, booping his nose gently. “Running off with the cart like that, are you trying to get kidnapped?!” He asks exasperatedly, shaking his head. “Little troublemaker, that’s what you are!”

”That’s what you are!” Dick pipes back, pausing as he sees someone come up to the car. 

Bruce turns around and there’s a man carefully approaching him. “Hey, I’m sorry to bug you like this, Mr. Wayne,” the man says, his black hair swept back with a casual plaid shirt and jeans. “I’m.. Clark Kent with the Daily Planet. I’d appreciate it if you had a minute.” He says, taking out a notebook and pencil from his pocket.

“You’re.. a reporter?” Bruce says, quickly studying him. He looks more like a—

“Yea, I know. I’m a city guy nowadays, but at heart I’m a country boy. Raised in Kansas,” Clark replies with a warm smile. “Your son is adorable! What’s his name?”

“Ahh, this is Dick,” he answers softly, turning to look at his kid before seeing him try to bite a block he got him.

“No, don’t eat that!” He laughs, removing the block from the boy’s mouth. “What is your fascination with eating shit?! How old are you?” He scolds with a playful smirk, his hands on his hips and his back to the reporter. “I’m six! Let me bite things!” Dick bites back with a giggle. “No! You’re six! Didn’t your mom ever tell you not to eat things that aren’t food?!”

“No!” Followed by more giggles. Clark listens to their lighthearted debate about eating things before Bruce turns back around.

“I’m sorry, you were saying?”

“I had a question about the recent events going on,” Clark states. “Yes, the adoption was legal,” Bruce answers on autopilot before Clark continues. “Ah, no sir. I meant about the..” he hesitates, looking at Dick with a concerned look.

“About the monster in Gotham. Especially now as a father, you must be worried,” he whispers carefully. “Monster? What are you talking about?” Bruce asks with a confused glance towards Dick. The kid isn’t paying attention, instead singing along to the pop song on the radio.

“The shadow of Gotham, the bat monster that swoops in at night?” Clark asks hesitantly. “There’s been multiple reports of it. Police have started night patrols to walk people home because they’re scared it’ll take people.”

“What?” Bruce stares at him. “Okay,” he starts with a scoff.

He’s seriously being questioned about his own secret identity being a threat to him, his own child and the whole city of Gotham?? What is happening?! 

“There is no bat monster, there is no shadow of Gotham, and there is nothing paranormal going on, okay? There’s science and hard facts. Not monsters under the bed,” he states confidently.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to take my son home. He needs his nap.”

“Yea, I need my nap!” Dick adds in the backseat, perking up with a hopeful look. “And two cookies!”

“One cookie.”

“No, two! I helped you twice!”

A sigh. “Two cookies.”

Chapter Text

A few weeks have gone by, many nights of which have been spent by Dick’s bedside or in Bruce’s bed with the boy curled up into his side. Days of comfort and trying to take his mind off things, getting him back in a normal routine with healthy habits, getting a proper education and homeschooling. It’s been.. entertaining to watch, to say the least.

The boy climbs. Everything. If it’s in his reach, he will either touch it, grab it, or climb it, and if it’s the climbing option, you better be there to catch him or else he’s jumping off it. Even when he’s being held! That part gave Bruce a heart attack the first few times he did it. The boy throws himself back and hangs on his arm like a little spider monkey.

The duck plushie he adores is called Mr. Quack, the blanket is Starry, and almost everything has been named, even common items. Spoons, bowls, towels, the littlest things in the house that you wouldn’t even think of. Bruce is having a hard time remembering all of them, but he thinks he’s keeping up? Stephanie is one of the birds outside that constantly visits Dick’s window, Jamie is apparently a raccoon that he saw outside Leslie’s place which is a whole other story because the boy hates doctors. Getting him there meant the promise of ice cream and at least two scoops WITH sprinkles. And not the hard ones either, they both agreed on that. Has to be the soft ones, easier to eat and much tastier. His favourite flavour at the moment is Cookie Dough with extra dough.

He’ll sleep anywhere, and no, it’s not an exaggeration. The car, the kitchen counter, the trampoline (yes, Bruce caved and got him a trampoline, it keeps Dick in one place for a while so he doesn’t have to worry as much), the bath, Bruce’s office, literally anywhere but his own bed.

Bruce has tried to coax him into bed. He has one for a reason. Plenty of squishy things and soft blankets, it’s practically a nest of fluff. But no, Dick insists on stealing Bruce’s clothes, occasionally taking a piece of his food when he isn’t looking, and sleeping on his desk. The little freeloader! The audacity!

That’s where we are today. With Dick not willing to admit defeat, lying on the corner of the work desk at Wayne Industries. “You can go home, Dick,” the man chuckles. “I’m not forcing you to be here.”

When he watched Bruce get up in his fancy suit this morning, it was a variety of wild questions. You’re a business man? What do you sell? Do you sell candy? Why didn’t you give me any? Oh, you make robots? Can you make me a robot? Like Iron man! I’d wanna be Iron man, he’s cool—

They got Dick dressed that morning and hesitantly allowed him to come with. Running around the entire complex drained him a little and now it’s nap time. Which someone is refusing.

“No, I wanna be here,” is the mumbled protest he gets in response. Glancing up to see the boy dozing off, the man quickly adjusts a bandage on his arm and pulls his sleeve over it, checking to make sure it isn’t causing a visible bump in his suit. “C’mere,” he mutters, gently pulling the boy to him and setting him in his lap. “Last thing we need is you getting a head injury in here. What if you forget your schoolwork?”

“Good,” the boy tiredly argues back with a yawn. “I don’t like math anyway.”

“You gotta do math, buddy,” he chuckles, rubbing his back as his other hand types away. Meetings, new projects, deal offers, money management, it’s all boring stuff really. But when Bruce tried to tell Dick that this morning, he was having none of it. He demanded to be let in on the “secret robot store” that Bruce runs.

so here’s the secret robot store. A lot of monitors, a keyboard, and paperwork. Bruce can’t blame the little guy for falling asleep in here, he practically does himself everyday. Comes in, taps some stuff, basic checking in on everything, and he’s done. He definitely prefers his other life in his cape and cowl, but that seems to be a problem nowadays.

There’s cameras. A lot of them in Gotham, whether it’s a civilian on their phone or a security camera at the bank. He knows this, it’s nothing new, but with so many ways to be caught on video, it’s harder to navigate and stop criminals and not get shot or trapped in some ridiculous bad guy’s plan—

Bruce winces. Tries not to make any noise when Dick lays on the wound on his side. He covers it up with a slight cough and continues his mundane work, hoping the soft sounds and background noise will help soothe the boy to sleep.

Poison Ivy got a good hit on him yesterday. He’s only seen her as Bruce Wayne once or twice when she visited Harvey in the hospital. After trying to poison him in her wild attempt of assassination after he trampled some rare flowers, they broke up and Harvey recovered only for him to become Two-Face a year later. It’s been rough for Harvey and for Ivy, she’s been busy with her plants.

Really busy, unfortunately. She’s got a poison that she was trying to spread all throughout Gotham via the airway systems, trying to turn the biggest factories and buildings in the city into greenhouses. Luckily Batman got there just in time — his second or third time meeting her as his vigilante self.

He had also managed to scare the shit out of her yesterday, and that, he feels kinda bad for, but hey! Don’t poison the air and then not expect to get jumped, ok?!

He found the warehouse she was hiding in, using her vines as carriers for the ingredients she put together. Mixing them together created a fertile serum that would spread vegetation and flowers like wildfire. The city would flourish with Mother Nature, but work places and big parts of the city would be overgrown like a bad apocalyptic movie.

Dropping down into the main room of what was now a makeshift laboratory of chemicals, he examined the room around him before taking a few silent steps towards Ivy. When she turned to reach for an empty spray bottle, she saw him and screamed out of surprise.

The enhanced noise modulation in his cowl did not help him here. This caused a two day headache that’s still going strong.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?!” She yelled at him, holding her chest with her hand, leaning against her table. “Gave me a damn heart attack! Don’t you know better than to sneak up on a woman like that?”

Batman, who at the time is seeing stars from the noise, is attempting to recover from the startle. Ivy must have interpreted his head being down as an apology of sorts though (?) because she coos as she sits on her desk.

“Don’t scare me and then act all shy,” she comments with a confident smile, the weeds and greenery promptly trying to attack him. “Come on, you can be an experiment for me. My first human test subject for the new formula that’ll rule Gotham!”

Bruce has done this song and dance before. Dodge a lot, always tuck the legs in when jumping so she can’t grab them, make her miss and smash her own equipment without noticing, and boom, main workspace is down. The liquids and mixtures splash onto the floor, but with a swift side step and a jump, he can narrowly avoid them. Now to cut the carrier vines and stop them—

He gets thrown by a vine. That’s happened before, okay, no big deal. Kinda throws you for a minute, but nothing major — the thorn however is a problem. In his torso, to be specific. “Oh, did that sting?” She teases, scowling when she looks down at her broken equipment. She had tried to go around it, to be careful, but nevertheless, she still has her weeds spreading through the city. Urgently getting up and throwing a batarang towards the blue lights that are helping the plants grow, it goes dark in the warehouse. Taking the brief moment he gets from her shock, he examines the wound. Not too bad, his suit took most of the damage, but it still broke the skin and cut deep. That’ll be a set of stitches and a disapproving look from Alfred when he gets home.

With Ivy trying to find him in the pitch black darkness, he takes the chance to take out another batarang and launch it towards one of her poisonous carriers. 

He’s gotten used to working in the dark. She hasn’t. He’s got a clear advantage here.

It cuts through the vine, causing it to limply collapse to the ground, landing with a surprised gasp from the woman. “My baby! You’ll pay for that!” The goo from inside seeps onto the floor, adding to the mess below. 

Sending a silent signal to the local police, a distress call is sent. He should have this done by the time they get here. Using his wings to get somewhere high, he settles on one of the metal ceiling bars above them, throwing the batarang and trying to remember which directions the ones with poison were going to. Judging by her frustrated growl, he’s guessing he hit the right ones.

She only grows more irritated, trying to find a light source. She’s got a backup light somewhere..

While she’s distracted, the bat tries his best to dodge her, taking out three more vines. He lands by a knocked over shelf, a few pots shattered into small pieces. The majority of her work has been handled and only two remain if he’s correct in his mental counting. The vine he needs to sever is at the top and it looks like she’s guarding it. He needs a distraction in the silence, something to really throw her off—

chirp!

It’s such a stupid move that has Bruce saying that if it works, he’s retiring. Because there’s no way one of the biggest villains in Gotham gets taken down by a chirp—

It worked. Ivy smashed the ground where he chirped from, thinking he was there. Fully convinced in her swing, she huffs and searches the area, giving him time to fly up and use his talons to cut the last two vines.

Sirens. Police are here and he’s making a quick getaway to the rooftop, flying up and observing her from above. Without her grow lights and the water supply inside smashed to bits, she can soak in the water but it won’t be as helpful as it was before. Infusing it with vitamins and nutrients was smart and was a good idea! But it doesn’t work when his talons can cut right through it.

“Curse you, Batman!” She yells, watching the officers kick in the warehouse doors. The shadow stands on the roof, looking down with his head tilted. The officers take her into custody, going right back to Arkham. He stands by the edge of the roof, and from the ground below, he can hear a shocked mumble.

“I’ll be damned..” a man mumbles with a soft scoff. “It is real.”

Bruce looks over his shoulder at the man, sharp white eyes glancing back at him. Commissioner Gordon. He recognizes him.

“Whatever you are, thank you.”

The bat nods, turning and flying off into the night. He’s real, and now some of the police have seen it themselves.

But that’s a story for another day. He kisses Dick on the forehead, finishing up some last minute emails and replies with the kid snoring. Yes, he’ll do a gala. No, he doesn’t wanna have a father-son play date on TV. No, he doesn’t want to be a special guest star on Hot Single Dads in Gotham. And yes, the new prototype will be released this Thursday, the new hard drive that has so much extra storage you’ll never need another one.

“This is why we don’t eat too many skittles at once,” he laughs softly, trying not to jostle the kid as he stands up and turns his monitors off. “Sugar crash 101.”

Leaving his office, he passes by the TV in the main conference room. The commissioner is giving a statement about last night’s herbal incident.

“We uh.. cleared everything here up. It was definitely a mess,” he says, the cameras zooming in on the chemicals inside and the spills all over the floor of various toxins and compounds.

“We think she was trying to take over the city again, which.. knowing her is actually pretty accurate,” he states. “And who is responsible for stopping her? Other officers have told us that she was already defeated by the time you got here,” the reporter asks curiously.

“That is a mystery to both of us,” he says with a shrug, shaking his head. “But we’ve got an idea of who it might be..”

A couple of the employees talk by the TV, their hushed conversation barely audible to Bruce’s recovering ears.

“But that’s so scary!” A woman whispers to her friend. “That can’t be real!”

“It is! The police said it was huge! There was a monster lurking around the warehouse,” her friend murmurs, moving her hair over her shoulder. “I’m staying home tonight. No way I’m going out with that in town!”

“It isn’t real,” another lady adds, sipping her water bottle. “Nobody believes in fairytales like that. Didn’t you check the newspaper? Wayne himself said he didn’t believe in the rumours and he knows tons of what goes on in the city. He practically runs it!” 

“Maya, shush! He’s right there,” the brunette gently scolds the other one, waving at Bruce. “Hi Mr. Wayne.”

“Hey ladies,” he greets with a friendly smile. “Enjoy your break. Don’t work too hard!”

He waves back at the group, making his way to the elevator and riding it down. Now we go home and do it all again.

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne has been in a car crash.

Or at least, he had to fake one.

This whole catastrophe started about two weeks after the Ivy incident. Bruce’s hearing is much better now and his headache finally eased up. He’s made sure that Dick gets his daily walks (Dick insists that if he doesn’t, his legs won’t grow. Apparently using them means making them happy and only happy legs grow) and is kept safe and healthy.

And now we introduce Bane. Out of Arkham and running on fresh venom, tearing through town looking for the bat so that he can finally establish dominance over the city. Classic Bane stuff.

This unfortunately cuts his time with Dick short tonight. Having dinner and getting him to bed a little earlier than normal (because Dick refuses to go to bed without a goodnight kiss in person), he’s taken care of and told that Bruce has a late night meeting with a CEO of something something blah blah blah. Boring important business decisions. Dick has learned now from experience that “business” is adult code for “lame,” and is perfectly okay with not getting involved.

Bruce makes his way down to the batcave and sighs, rubbing his face with his hands while the footage of Bane plays on the monitor. He’s making the center of Gotham look like a wrecking yard, and the police don’t have to power to stop him.

“Pondering a late night decision, sir?” Alfred questions, glancing up at the footage from his spot by Bruce’s gear. Checking and cleaning each one with careful hands, making sure they work properly and won’t malfunction on him when he’s out there in the city. His wings are a special case to handle though, each bolt and nerve ending having its own sensor. Only way to check it is to put it on and Alfred does not want a midnight fly in the park.

“Last time I fought this guy, he sent me to the hospital,” Bruce states, arms crossed as he examines the mess. He’s uncertain about fighting this one, especially with having more risks — when it’s just Bruce fighting, he’s fighting for all of Gotham, self sacrificing and willing to die for his cause. But now, he’s got Dick, and that has to change. It will change. He’s gotta play it so much safer now, but how can you do that with someone like Bane?

“Ahh, yes. I believe we’ve already used the “I fell from my tenth story balcony” tale last time, if I remember correctly,” the butler replies, coming to the main table, the monitors lighting up the cave. “Two broken legs, a broken wrist, a sprained ankle, and three broken ribs.”

“That.. wasn’t my best moment,” Bruce adds hesitantly. “I am aware of that, sir,” the butler states firmly. “You have an important decision to make.”

“And what is that?” The younger man asks, trying to cross reference the fighting styles of his foe from their last encounter. “Will you fight Bane, or leave it to the police?” The butler questions.

“I’ll fight him. What kind of question is that?” Bruce answers with a scoff and a small smile, narrowed eyes searching the screens. “You say that like it’s obvious,” Alfred comments. “Why?”

“Why? Because the police can’t stop him. They’ve never been able to,” Bruce answers bluntly. “If they could, I wouldn’t’ve had to fall into an alligator pit.”

“Ah, no sir, that was the excuse for the last time Joker and Harley had sent you to the hospital,” Alfred corrects gently.

“Whatever excuse we used,” Bruce huffs, “I got beat to hell and the police weren’t helping. If anything, they only pissed Bane off more and that made him hit me harder like I was the one yelling at him.”

“Sir, need I remind you that there’s a little one upstairs?” Alfred reminds cooly. That makes Bruce stand straighter and sigh. “I know,” he mumbles. He can’t argue against that. “I gotta play it safe. I already have ideas for taking him down.”

“Hopefully better ones than last time?” The older man inquires, helping Bruce into his cowl and adjusting his wings. They flap and flicker to life, laying flat against his back, occasionally twitching and moving on their own.

“I didn’t know what he was last time,” the billionaire protests, “but this time we do.”

Going out into the city, Bruce lands on a lamppost and waits in his crouched position. A few smoke bombs can scare away the remaining people or provide them cover to escape. Luckily Bane doesn’t seem to care for any of them, he’s just after the Bat. A rumour, a myth, and yet he’s seen it with his own eyes, determined to take the creature down.

“So the Bat does hear his people,” Bane laughs, standing proud in his chaos of smoke and debris, smashed roads and—

Oop, that’s a car! Bruce flies out of the way of Bane’s launched vehicle and throws a batarang aimed at the tubes pumping the criminal’s favourite drug, only for it to be crushed in the bigger man’s hand.

“Your wings,” Bane comments, tilting his head with a chuckle. “You show them now? You’re mocking me. Taunting me with a trophy?”

Another launched car in the bat’s direction, swooping down to examine the venom intake of his foe. Too much is the obvious answer, he’s always addicted to it, but he seems to be doing a bit more than he usually does.

“Last time you hid them,” he says, swinging a piece of concrete like it’s weightless. The bat makes him miss, gliding upwards and avoiding his attack, throwing another batarang that hits the piece of concrete.

“And now you show, like I won’t take them.”

The batarang explodes into the piece Bane holds, causing more smoke and giving Bruce a change to strike. Going for the tubes and wires of venom, he cuts one of them loose, trying to move as fast as possible to avoid both Bane’s impossible grip and the free flowing venom. Bane reaches for the beast with an irritated growl, picking up a fire hydrant like it was never part of the street and throwing it.

“Get down here, you monster!” He yells, trying to hit him in the air and knock him down. This is.. surprisingly easier with wings. Now that he’s not always on the same level as Bane on the ground, he can roam the air and take over from above. “You think you’re so tough in the air?!”

Bruce goes for another hit, dropping a smoke bomb and letting it roll towards Bane, exploding as it approaches.

This is where things get messy. And bad, very quickly, actually.

Apparently, sometime between their first encounter and now, Bane had switched the dial on his venom. Meaning that while turning the dial left used to be the “off / slow” button, turning it right used to be the “on / more” part.

Bane has switched them. Why? Who knows? Just from looking at this though, Bruce can tell that the wires are thicker, more durable than last time. They take slightly longer for him to cut through, even with his talons. He turns the dial left, thinking it would stop the flow.

And it would’ve. If this was Bane’s old wires and venom setup. But it’s not. It’s the stupid new version that’s backwards, and now instead of canceling Bane’s ability, he’s made him stronger.

He’s accidentally making his enemy overdose on venom and he doesn’t even know it.

This time, Bane actually does manage to grab the bat, and it’s not good. “I’ll claim your body!” He grunts, the muscles twitching underneath his skin, panicking at the new surge in the amount of the drug. “And your wings to be mounted on my wall!”

He throws the Bat into a wall, giving him no time to recover before sending him to the ground, fists flying and brute force being displayed. His words don’t quite match up with his racing thoughts, spiralling and seeing only violence, only anger at this creature underneath him. He just wants to hit and smash and this overdose is putting that on blast.

He brings a piece of concrete down, smashing it into the bat as he tries to make his escape. With a sickening CRACK, a hurt wing took most of the blow, but he’s still got a lot of injuries under here. Quickly trying to roll out of the way, he dodges the next slam and climbs onto Bane with an injured jump assisted by a pile of debris. Using his claws to cut open the wires in a last ditch effort, he manages to snatch them all out and leave Bane with no more incoming serum.

The withdrawal is fast, angry, and loud. Throwing the bat as hard as he can over his shoulder and into the ground, smashing the bat’s chest, he stands tall in the middle of his savage land.

“I,” he pants, standing proudly as he laughs, looking at the people fearfully watching in the sidelines, a mix of police and civilians.

“Have killed your beast! He is no more..”

The victory turns into Bane’s muscles seizing and his mind fogging up. An overdose turned to none at all, a shot given and a shot yanked out, his body doesn’t function well going cold turkey on it. He stands there with a wobbly stance before taking a step back, trying to keep his breathing steady. It shakes, it hitches, and his body hits the ground with a thud.

Nobody moves. For a minute, the whole center of Gotham is in a standstill.

Bruce can barely get up, his vision fading in and out. Bane has never thrown him that hard before. He knows his mistake, has already realized what Bane must’ve done with his dial, but it’s too late. The damage is done — both to the city and to Bruce.

One of his wings is bent, crippled and broken. It twitches while he attempts to get up, trying to fight the bile coming up his throat. This.. might be worse than last time he fought Bane. Pain wise, at least.

He’s alive, his mind clings to that fact. He’s got a large pool of blood underneath him and the world looks funny, but he’s alive. He has to be alive, has to stay awake. Can’t pass out, otherwise who’d take Dick to the playground? He promised, he has to keep that promise. He promised Alfred he’d be safe and he can’t even stand up properly.

His leg is bent and his arm is definitely broken from where the concrete smashed it, his wing flinching inwards with pain and covering it. From laying down, to a crawling position, now to sitting and trying to stand, his other wing can still fly, flapping and getting some height. The other one can still move, albeit very shitty and not very fast.

Police move in to arrest Bane, but everyone in that crowd had seen them and their encounter. He can hear the cameras flashing and clicking below him, but that’s the least of his worries. Home. He needs home now. He wants his baby and Alfred and the cabinet of pain killers he keeps in the batcave.

He quickly figures out that flying home is impossible. His wing is too broken and he can barely see straight. He’s almost flown into a building three times now. Tapping the small button on his utility belt, he sends an SOS signal to Alfred, hoping he’ll receive it. He’s forced to land in an alleyway, leaning against the wall. Something is wrong with his breathing, it’s wheezy and he can’t seem to cough it up, and did he just spit out more blood? He can’t tell, everything tastes like iron so he’s gonna guess so.

Headlights. He looks at the road. That was fast, he’s gotta give it to the butler. Or maybe he blacked out for a minute, he’s not totally sure. Alfred gets out of the car and rushes into the alley, coming to Bruce with a look of pure concern.

“My word,” he murmurs in shock, offering Bruce an arm and helping him to the car. “Safe, we agreed on!” He starts to lecture, closing Bruce’s door and speeding to the hospital. “This is a hospital trip, sir.”

“No, no..” the younger man argues in the backseat. “No hospital.” His eyes are closed, shaking his head and spiting up more blood onto the seat beside him. “Home.”

“No, sir. This is a hospital trip!” Alfred reiterates. “Car crash,” Bruce mumbles breathlessly with a hand wave to one of the buttons on his belt. “I got a plan. Just.. let me take this off.”

He works on taking off his gear and changing into the spare clothes they always keep in the back. Cuts, bruises, nasty gashes, open wounds, bleeding onto his gear and articles of clothing, he slowly works his way into civilian clothes.

“This’ll.. send a car on autopilot into.. that one road,” he mutters, trying to focus on his shaky breathing. “That nobody listened to me about.” 

It takes Alfred a minute to understand the dizzy mumbles, but he gets it.

“The road you tried to tell the community board about?” He tries to clarify, looking in the rearview mirror. “The one they didn’t listen about when you said it would be easy for anyone to accidentally fly off the side of?”

“Uh huh. That one,” Bruce mutters, leaning his head back against the seat.

He told the city officials that certain roads were bad months ago. He was happily willing to pay them to fix it, but they never agreed to. Said they had too many important things to fix first, and never looked back at it. The contingency plan here fixes both problems, giving Bruce an excuse to be hurt and spreading awareness about the bad road.

“Car goes boom, I’m hurt, easy story,” he murmurs, groaning when he moves his shoulder the wrong way. “Just say the red car crashed cuz the.. right side of the thing sucks. Too many cracks.”

Trying to stay calm and quickly move him into the hospital, Bruce is rushed into the ER. His story checks out with one of his cars found by the road Alfred told them about. It seems like a genuine story and without any reason to suspect any foul play, they treat him without looking too deep into the details.

Waking up to a steady heartbeat monitor, the billionaire tries to sit up with a groan of pain. He’s bandaged and stitched back together, trying to remember everything. He’s got casts and IVs hooked up, aiding him in his recovery.

A suprised noise comes from beside him, a tiny figure running to his side and darting so quick he can barely make out who it is. For a second, he nearly throws hands, still half out of it. It’s Dick, he realizes, with a very angry looking Alfred standing by the door of the hospital room. He hugs Dick with a sigh, letting his head fall onto the kid’s shoulder.

“Oh, kid,” he mumbles, kissing his cheek and hugging him. One arm is in a cast, but that’s not stopping either of them. “You got hurt!” Dick says, watching him with anxious wide eyes. “Alfred says you got into a car accident.”

“I did, buddy,” he mutters, laying his cheek on top of the boy’s head. “Are you okay?”

“I.. yea, I’m fine,” Dick replies with a mix of confusion and frustration. He’s not angry at Bruce, but more so the situation. This is his real first time seeing Bruce hurt hurt and not just a paper cut or a bruise.

“Are you okay? The doctors said when the car flipped, you broke your arm,” he points out, looking at the cast like it personally assaulted Bruce. Worry with a hint of panic and a dash of fear. 

“I’m okay, buddy, I promise,” Bruce replies with a tired smile. He sees the coloring books on the table beside where Dick was sitting before. They must’ve been here for a while.

“Can you go color for a bit while I talk to Alfred?” He suggests softly, giving Dick a hug. “Ok,” the boy nods hesitantly, going to his previous spot and resuming his coloring.

He looks at Alfred. Alfred looks at him with a stern expression. The expression of “you lucky bastard, if we were at home and there wasn’t a child in the room, you’d so be a dead man!”

“You, are..” Alfred ponders for a moment. “Grounded.”

A beat of silence.

“I’m.. grounded?” Bruce questions softly, tilting his head to the size with narrowed eyes. He winces, trying to ignore the surges of pain as he moves.

“Yes,” Alfred responds with a deep breath. “You are grounded. We will go home and have a very mature conversation about how you are not allowed to drive at night anymore.”

“Alfred,” the injured man starts, but he’s shortly cut off. “No! Do not “Alfred” me, Master Bruce! You are grounded! Period!”

A nurse comes into the room as the tension grows. “Hey, I’m sorry, is everything..” she pauses. Her gaze flickers from Alfred to Bruce, back to Alfred.

“Is now a bad time?”

“No!” “Yes!”

Alfred glares at Bruce with a huff. “He’s all yours,” he states to the nurse, walking out of the room trying to calm himself.

A few hours go by. It’s been about a day. Alfred and Dick have been there by his side with Dick trying to tell him circus stories to distract him. So far he’s colored Bruce four pictures in hopes that he recovers well and says that they can go out for cupcakes when he’s feeling good. The doctors let him leave after a few days of bed rest, all of which Alfred refuses to speak to him.

When they finally do go home, Bruce tells Dick to go draw for a minute before they go out to play. He finds Alfred in one of the guest bedrooms, cleaning and dusting.

He stands there for a minute. Awkward, quiet, and timid.

“I’m sorry,” is what he manages to come up with. Shy and anxious, he’s not sure what else to say. “Don’t apologize to me,” Alfred states, looking at him with a firm expression. “Don’t.”

“You made your choice. I made mine years ago when I agreed to help you. And I have, have I not?” He says, cocking a brow up. “Who you need to say you’re sorry to is that boy. When I told him about your supposed car accident, he nearly bawled in my arms.”

He takes a step towards Bruce, crossing his arms. “We said safe. That was not safe.”

“Who else was gonna do it?” Bruce asks, gesturing behind him. “The city wasn’t! The police weren’t!”

“So you feel you had to throw yourself at walking death to save us all?” Alfred proposes sarcastically, walking by him. “No, no sir, you will not. That child wouldn’t dare let you leave this house if he knew what you were doing!”

“I..” he tries to find his words. “I fucked up. I own that. And to you, I’m sorry I didn’t listen, but I felt it was necessary to try my best.”

“Which was a ridiculous idea.”

“I’m gonna go apologize to Dick,” Bruce continues softly. “And no more patrol for a month. Deal?”

“Two months,” Alfred stands. “And quality time with the boy every day.”

“I do that anyway,” Bruce nods with a slight limp. “I’ll go snatch him up and we’ll watch Spongebob.”

Chapter Text

Bruce is trending. Well, technically not Bruce, but rather his bat form.

A video taken from one of the citizens watching the spectacle of the large shadow tackle Bane and rip out his venom tubes like he owes the creature money and then quickly get smashed into the pavement has apparently gone viral overnight, with the oh so very helpful title being “Bat Bird Creature Fist Fights Bane (what the fuck?? totally real, not clickbait!) #ilovelivinginGotham”

Gotta love the internet.

Alfred gets a good laugh out of the title before showing it to Bruce, knowing he’d see it anyway since it made the news. Trying to keep little eyes and ears away from it, Dick is more than excited to play on his gymnastics equipment in the training room. Bruce has allowed him in there with the rule that he doesn’t try to pick up anything bigger than his own head. Nothing too big or heavy that he could possibly drop on himself. He’s a big seven year old now and he’s got this! Except for anything heavy.

Life goes on as planned. Surprisingly peaceful for the two months that Bruce has been resting and not going on patrol. He made his deal with Alfred and followed it fully. Extra time with Dick, no working unless it’s for security and safety upgrades. Which is killing Bruce by the way. Being the bat is when he can move and feel free from everything.

Being in the manor is.. nice. Calm. Domestic and playful. But it’s not what he’s trained for. He’s taught himself to always expect a blow, a shot, a bullet, fists flying at him. Instead all he’s fighting nowadays is boredom in the office at work and pillow fights at home. Don’t get him wrong, he loves the pillow fights! But the man is a fighter at heart, it’s more his skill set. Being a father figure is a work in progress.

Seeing the video though, Bruce almost doesn’t recognize himself. That also makes him doubt his parenting skills. The attention from the video has the news reporters bringing in one of the animal researchers at the Gotham University of Animal Health and Welfare to give a statement on it.

“Joining us today is Dr. Martinez of the Gotham’s Animal Division. Can you tell us what we’re looking at here, Dr. Martinez?”

“As you can see here,” the researcher says, studying the video, “this is a clear display of aggression in bats and animals naturally. From the very start, when the bat approaches Bane and flaps their wings— right there! That’s a sigh of hostility! It’s showing that it means business!”

“Why would a bat creature fight a criminal?” The news anchor asks the woman. “It could be for a number of reasons,” the researcher suggests with a nod. “The first thing I’d think of is that the creature is territorial and maybe they have a pup nearby. When bats get pregnant, they get a lot more defensive to protect themselves and keep themselves safe. Or it could have a colony nearby that it wants to protect. Bane could’ve simply wandered into its area without knowing and ticked it off.”

“But with a creature moving like this, at such speeds and agility, could it really be pregnant?” The newswoman asks skeptically. “And with how much damage they took, could they really have survived those blows?”

“Honestly, I can’t say accurately,” she admits, shaking their head as the video plays, watching the giant bat figure fight off Bane like a bird defending its nest. Bruce realizes that when he jumped on Bane’s back to cut off his venom supply, apparently his wings had also been swatting at him at the same time with a mind of their own. From a distance, if he didn’t know that was him, they’d definitely be moving from Gotham.

These people are thoroughly convinced he’s an animal. And possibly pregnant. Holy shit. He’s amazing at his job!

“I’ve never seen a bat this big, but it could be a possible genetic mutation, or perhaps a rare specimen from somewhere across the world?” Dr. Martinez offers the possibility with a curious look. “I’ve worked with animals for over twenty years and I’ve never seen anything like this, and I mean.. we aren’t getting pranked here, people. This is the real thing. People saw this in person. This footage has been captured from multiple different angles, different lighting, and it all shows the same thing.”

“What do you advise civilians to do? Is that area safe to be around?” The blonde anchor asks carefully. “Uh, seeing as there’s been no civilian reported incidents in that area with this creature, I’d say it should be safe, but to be extra cautious, I’d avoid the area just in case it is protecting a colony,” the brunette advises. “As for police, I’d recommend officials searching the area and trying to help relocate the bat so that nobody harms them.”

“I see. Thank you for your time, Dr. Martinez. I’m Jennie Roberts and this concludes our—“

“They think,” Bruce laughs quietly, looking up at his butler. “I’m pregnant?!”

“Apparently so, sir,” the butler teases with a smirk. “You’ve certainly got them fooled.”

“I didn’t think I looked like that,” Bruce mumbles with a small smile, crossing his arms in disbelief. “Oh, don’t start, sir! You look fine,” Alfred replies calmly, bringing him a water bottle. “You look your best when you’re healthy and not in bandages, if I might add.”

“Hey, I did my two months!” Bruce protests playfully, his head leaned back on the couch. “Only day work and that’s it. I listened.”

“Don’t think you’re sneaky. You still tried to train during those months of rest,” the butler stops him. “I believe that defeats the purpose of said period, sir.”

“You train?” Dick asks from his current spot by the kitchen, coming to the living room. Practicing his front walkover again, he lets himself fall back onto the cushion beside Bruce. “Yea. It’s for..” Bruce answers, looking up at Alfred for how to handle this.

“Master Bruce is fan of sparring,” Alfred states gently, setting down the boy’s cup of apple juice onto the table. It’s got the new safe lid that Bruce found at the store to help prevent leaks from when Dick accidentally knocks it over doing his flips or tricks.

“Sparring?” Dick copies, looking up at Bruce curiously. He lays on top of him and lets his head rest on Bruce’s chest. He remembers to be careful, that the billionaire is still healing and can’t rough house as much.

“Mhm,” the man replies, letting the boy relax in his lap. “When I was a little older than you, I wanted to learn how to fight.”

“Why?” The boy asks, looking up at him.

“Because I was angry,” Bruce answers simply with a boop to the kid’s nose.

“Why?”

“Because.. of what happened to my parents,” he answers honestly. “I was angry that I couldn’t stop what happened to them. I felt like it was my fault, so I wanted to get stronger and help people. That way, nobody else would have to feel what I felt.”

…

“I don’t think it was your fault,” Dick says quietly, holding onto Bruce’s shirt and poking his face. “I’m glad you think so, buddy,” Bruce smiles. “It was a healthy way for me to get my emotions out. Kinda like you and your cool tricks.”

“You mean my flips?” Dick giggles. “Yea, those! Do they make you happy?” Bruce offers his hands to play with, watching the boy happily accept them. “Yea! They remind me of the circus, but not in a sad way. They make me excited!”

“Good! You can tell what you feel and you know what makes you feel better,” Bruce approves with a nod. “That’s a very useful skill in life.”

“But why do you fight?” Dick asks innocently, tapping Bruce’s cheek. “Doesn’t that hurt?”

“It used to,” he responds truthfully. “But now I know better. I spar instead of full on fight. Sparring just means I’m not fighting to hurt you, I’d just need to knock you on your butt to win. It’s kinda like.. when we play fight and I throw you onto the couch.”

“Yea,” the boy laughs. “That’s fun though! It doesn’t hurt.”

“That’s the point. It’s safe and fun.” The two play for the next few hours, getting Dick ready for bed and all snuggled in with his stuffed animals.

“You remember I love you, ok?” Bruce murmurs gently, kissing the boy on the forehead. “If you ever need me, I’ll be right here.”

“Ok,” Dick smiles, hugging him and laying back down in bed. “Good night, bug,” the man hums, turning off the night and letting the night light illuminate the room.

It’s dark and quiet in the city as of late, and it’s been making Bruce a little tense. The twenty six year old stands at the edge of a rooftop, dressed in his cape and cowl as he searches. Quiet means someone’s planning something, he’s just not sure where or who.

He stops a few muggings, a few assaults in the streets, stopping to rest for a minute on the top of some abandoned building. His wings relax for a moment, his head lowered as he listens to his surroundings.

He hears footsteps, quickly jumping into the shadows and crouching behind an AC unit. His ear twitches with his wings, skittering to cover him and blend in with the darkness.

“I know you’re there,” a woman’s voice calls on the rooftop. “Come out or I’ll make you.”

Cold, tense, serious. Whoever’s there isn’t playing games, and they already know he’s here. Bruce sighs, keeping his cowl and gear on tight, standing up to his full height to look at the woman.

Long brown hair, sharp cheekbones, and bright green eyes, the woman wears a tight black suit, eyeing him as he stands up.

“I’ll be honest, I wasn’t sure if you were real,” she says calmly, starting to circle him from a distance. Slow clicks of her heels touch the rooftop, a methodical metronome for his sensitive hearing. He watches her cautiously, never turning his back to her. His wings flap for a moment, considering taking off, but he remains.

“The monster of Gotham is certainly a title. One we’ve never seen before,” she continues, studying him, her gaze searching for weaknesses. He keeps his cloak wrapped around him, trying to close off any details she could possibly notice.

“That’s one we’d like to have,” she adds, tilting her head and standing in front of him. “You’re a predator. A beast in a world that fears you.”

She offers her hand with a soothing look. “Join us. Our league. We can help you. Train you and keep you alive, away from this horrible city.”

Bruce pauses. This woman comes from nowhere, introduces herself to what she must think is a creature, and then tries to tame him? No, no thank you.

He takes a step back and her gaze hardens ever so slightly. She keeps her hand extended, the offer still available.

“I’m warning you,” she states, a little more firm than before. “Come with me, darling.” 

Bruce takes another step back. She sighs. 

“In our world, you either join or die. If we cannot tame you..” she says, drawing a blade tucked into her sleeve.

“We’ll have to kill you.”

She lunges towards him with an attack, aiming for his throat. Barely moving out of the way, she grazes his shoulder instead, cutting him as he jumps back. Before he even knows what to do next, she’s kicking him backwards and pushing up again, an endless barrage of attacks in only a few seconds.

Whoever she is, she’s good.

Bruce knows to play defensively here with how fast she is. Watching close details to see how she’ll charge next, part of him wants to fly away, but like with Bane, he’s unsure if that would be the right idea.

He gets a hit in, and then another one, knocking her to the ground, but it’s no use. She gets right back up and keeps swinging, eventually getting a deep cut on his chest. He starts to make his getaway, now deciding to retreat. His wings take off, flapping and soaring out of her reach. 

She scoffs, looking at her blade. He can hear her words from below, a murmured, “too easy.”

What the hell is going on? He’s never seen that woman before, and— and she talked about a league? Trying to tame him and capture him?

What in the world..

He flies home, going through one of the secret tunnels around the city that lead back to the batcave. Landing in the cave, Bruce shakes his wings (thank god he fixed them after the Bane incident or else he would’ve had a much harder time getting away) and goes to his desk.

“Sir, are you alright?” The butler questions, coming down the elevator and going to the billionaire. “You never come home this early..” he sees the wound on his chest and sighs, going to retrieve the bandages and first aid kit on the table.

“I’m fine. Just.. confused,” Bruce mumbles back in response, taking the eye lense out of his cowl. The white lense isn’t just for hiding his eye color, but also recording his night, analyzing every move from him and the criminals he fights. “This crazy lady came out of nowhere. Said her group wanted to tame me or had to kill me. Something about a league..”

Pulling up the footage and showing it to Alfred, the butler hums with a confused glance. “She only wanted to harm you, it seems,” he remarks. “After all, if she truly was determined to kill you like she had stated, she could’ve thrown that knife.”

“It’s not just that.” Bruce shakes his head. “That woman was skilled, Alfred. If she really wanted me dead, she would’ve done it. I have no doubt about that. What I’m wondering now is..”

He zooms in on her weapon, coated in his blood, the red crimson color shining off of it.

“She got my blood. She has my DNA. I don’t think she wanted me dead, she just wanted that. But I can’t figure out why,” he says, crossing his arms and sighing as he watches the screen. “If it was to figure out my identity, then it’s still an easy excuse out for us. We could say it’s a vampire bat, that it attacked me, that it’s a wild experiment we were doing, but.. I’m not sure.”

“She didn’t talk to me like I was a person. She didn’t say she knew who I was or that she was gonna find out. She acted like..”

“Like you were a stray kitten in an alleyway,” Alfred finishes, looking up at the display. “A mindless animal and not a human.”

A pause. They both watch the footage before Bruce clicks it off. “Trying to find her is impossible too. I already tried searching her in the databases. No personal or public records of anyone who matches her face or description.”

“So it seems we have a mystery,” the butler concludes. “One that isn’t from Gotham.”

“No,” Bruce scoffs, shaking his head. “Definitely not from Gotham. I would’ve remembered her. She was.. badass. Kinda scary.”

“At least you had your wings,” Alfred comments, flicking them gently with a smile. “With how long it took to fix them again, we’d better hope that woman takes off soon.”

“Yea,” Bruce agrees. “I could definitely use a break..” he looks over towards Alfred, noticing the small figure behind him, standing by the elevator.

Dick is standing in the cave, looking at Bruce with a sniffle, watery eyes, and a very puzzled look on his face.

Alfred notices Bruce’s face, quickly turning around and freezing.

Now they’re all in a standstill. The boy looks at them while Bruce and Alfred watch him, both wide eyed like parents who got caught putting presents under the Christmas tree.

Dick is the first one to speak up.

“You’re a.. werebat?” He sniffles, wiping his eye with his hand.

Bruce tries not to smile at the remark. Shush, it’s not funny, he scolds himself.

“Hey champ,” he carefully murmurs, taking a hesitant step forward and slowly taking his cape and cowl off. He’s still got the bleeding cut on his chest, but that’s not his biggest worry at the moment.

“You’re bleeding,” Dick points out gently with an anxious look. “I am, you’re right,” Bruce nods with a “what do I do??” look to his butler. “You let me get a bandaid and we’ll talk, okay kiddo?”

Dick nods, observing the cave in awe. There’s bats flying around in the darkness, the batmobile, his gear and outfit now laying on one of the tables. He takes a bandaid from Alfred, both of them making sure it fully covers everything.

“You be open, and honest,” Alfred whispers to him, cleaning his wounds. “Tell him the truth. No more lies. He knows.”

“I know,” Bruce agrees hesitantly, walking to Dick and gently picking him up, setting him on the table where he can’t knock anything important over.

“You’re.. dressing up as a bat?” The boy asks, watching the cloak like it’ll jump up and bite them.

“No, I—“ Bruce chuckles. “I.. am the bat. Have you seen anything on the news about a giant bat in Gotham? Or heard anyone talk about it?”

“Uh huh. The kids at the playground said their parents talk about it,” the boy nods, a look of realization hitting his face. “You fought Bane?!” He yells, moving onto anger and shock.

“And a few others, yea,” Bruce nods reluctantly, knowing he’s about to get chewed out by a seven year old. No shame in it, his kid cares and he loves that, but he doesn’t want him upset.

“Are you insane?! Look at him! That guy is like..” he pauses, another look of realization. “Did Bane make you get into the car accident??”

“No, that’s,” Bruce sighs, shaking his head. “Not quite. See, you and the rest of the world know me as Bruce Wayne.” He kneels in front of the boy to be more eye level with him, offering his hand to let him hold. Dick takes it with a look that demands an answer. “The car accident was from a cover story. My real injuries were from Bane.”

“Nobody besides you, Alfred, and a close friend of mine know I go out at night. I’m a vigilante called Batman. Do you know what a vigilante is?” He tries to explain calmly.

“That.. you’re like a hero. But you do it yourself,” Dick answers unsurely. “Yea, that’s exactly it! I’m not a hero, but I take care of bad guys and come home. During the day, I manage my business at Wayne Industries. At night, I help clear out bad guys and leave them for the police to handle.”

“But.. why?” The boy questions, pointing at his previously bleeding chest. “You’re hurt. This gets you hurt, why would you do it?”

The look on his face and his voice makes Bruce consider retirement, it really does. Betrayal mixed with so much innocent confusion and hurt.

“Because.. I love this city. My parents loved this city. We wanted it to be the best it could be,” Bruce tries to explain. “And I feel like I owe it to them. To everyone. If I can help someone, just the littlest bit, it’s all worth it.”

Dick is quiet. His face goes from hurt to silently trying to understand, to a much more serious look. Eventually he speaks.

“I want to help.”

“No.”

The answer is immediate. A stern no.

“Why? You do it!” Dick argues, crossing his arms and looking at the vigilante.

“It’s dangerous, Dick! You saw what happened when I fought Bane and I’m a grown man! You’re seven!” Bruce argues back, watching his son. “You can’t go out there with me. You’ll get hurt.”

“You got hurt!” The boy chimes in with a pout. “That’s not fair! You love this city and you’re willing to get hurt for it! I’m.. I’m smart! I’m capable! I can handle myself!”

“You most certainly cannot,” Bruce says firmly. “No means no, Dick. I’d lose my mind if you got hurt because of me. You’re my responsibility—“

“And you’re my responsibility!” Dick blurts out, cutting Bruce off. “I love you and I want you safe! If we’re a team, we have double the chance of not getting hurt!”

“I don’t think that’s how math works, buddy,” the bat tries to explain carefully. “You, you lied! To everyone, to me!” Dick says, looking away with a hurt expression.

“Baby,” Bruce murmurs softly, rubbing the boy’s hand with his thumb as he holds it. “I didn’t want you hurt. I do this to protect people.”

“But I wanna protect you too,” the boy states persistently. “I..” the man sighs. “I know. But that’s not your job. You’re too young. Nobody so little should have to fight.”

“You did.”

“I.. am aware. And I’m aware that I sound like a giant hypocrite right now,” Bruce states. “But—“

“Let me prove that I can do it.”

“What?”

“Let me prove that I can do it,” Dick repeats adamantly. “I’m like your mini me, isn’t that what you said to that one lady?”

“That was a joke at Wayne Industries, baby,” Bruce clarifies.

“But still! I’m strong, that’s what you always tell me! I can do hard things!”

Bruce is really regretting his parenting skills now. The praise wasn’t a lie, the boy is talented, but damn.

“I believe the young master might be onto something, sir,” the butler speaks up.

“Really?” Dick perks up with a hopeful smile.

“Yes.” The butler nods. “He’s young, but so were you when you first started. You have the guidance of your teachers, and now you have all their knowledge put into one. With you training him, I believe there’s no one better to show him the way of what you do.”

Bruce sighs. It’s two to one. “Fine.” Dick’s smile grows before he continues. “But we go by my rules.”

“Aww..”

“Rule number one is we don’t tell anyone about this or who we are.”

“Why?”

“Because if a bad guy knows I have a kid, they could try to take my kid as leverage,” Bruce explains, holding the boy’s hand. “Then I’d have to beat someone’s ass.”

“So we don’t tell anyone to keep them safe. If you’re fighting a bad guy and they figure out who you are, they’ll come for you during the day too. They’ll know a lot more about you.”

“So it’s like if a stranger at the park asks who you are?” Dick asks. “Yes,” Bruce nods. “We say no thank you and don’t tell them anything. They’re strangers.”

“Rule number two is when I say something, we listen,” Bruce warns. “When we’re out there and in danger, if you don’t listen, you could get hurt.”

“I can do that! That’s like when Alfred tells me not to touch the stove cuz he’s cooking,” the boy adds.

“That’s right,” he continues. “At home, I’ll always take care of you and love you. But as Batman, I’m a lot more stern and tough. I have to be so people don’t recognize me.”

“Ok!”

“And you need training,” Bruce adds firmly. “Lots of it. You’d need to commit to it. It’s a big thing to handle, bud. You can stay at home if you aren’t sure.”

“No, no, I wanna go with you! I wanna help keep people safe!” The boy stops him. “I’ll train as long as you teach me. I’ll listen!”

Bruce sighs. “Then fine. Well..” he glances at Alfred for his opinion. Seeing an approving nod, he continues. “We can start your training tomorrow. You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“I had a nightmare,” Dick mumbles, looking at Bruce. “I wanted to sleep in your bed with you.”

“Okay. Then we’ll do that,” the man promises, hugging the boy.

A pause. Dick looks at the wings and the suit.

“I thought the wings were real—“

“That’s a story for tomorrow.”

“I want wings!”

“Tomorrow, Dick! C’mon!”

Chapter Text

“Father, I have the DNA piece we needed,” the woman says, returning to her home. “Good,” an older man states, standing up from his spot on the mat, watching the future assassins train against each other.

“Thank you, Talia. You never fail to impress me,” he says, strong hands taking the blade she used. “Come. I take it the beast could not be calmed into submission?” He inquires, going further into their base. “No, he could not be,” Talia follows him.

“I tried to reason with it, but it appears you were right. It seems.. too animistic to be sentient,” she admits quietly. “Making it bleed was easy though. I got a clean strike and it fled.”

“As animals of prey often do,” he nods understandingly. “Nonetheless, we have what we needed.” He enters a large research room, wiping the blood off the blade and putting it into a glass slide, entering it into a scanner.

“We’ll run the DNA and see where this animal could’ve came from. If we’re lucky, we’ll find a link to an underground lab and the creature will rat it out without even knowing,” he explains, watching their systems analyze the blood. “Then we’ll take one for our own. Create dozens of the large winged mammals for our army. It will be beautiful.”

“Yes, father.”

Match found!

Talia glances up at the screen, a confused look appearing on both their faces as the results pop up.

“Blood Match 100% — Bruce Wayne.”

A silence falls upon both of them.

“Is this.. a joke?” Ra’s turns to his daughter. “No, father. It’s not,” she states firmly, shaking her head. “I truly did cut the creature in the chest! I made sure to be in an area with no cameras or security and catch it off guard. Only the legend and I were there.” 

“Hm,” he ponders, turning back to the DNA sample. “Ah, I see what could’ve happened then.”

“Yes?” She questions, her expression full of befuddlement.

“It must be a vampire bat,” he concludes. “That fool Wayne is one of the richest men in the world, and according to the headlines, he’s a ditz. He must’ve been drunk or out partying and the damned bat bit him.”

“It had his blood in its system because it was feeding from him,” he deduces with a sigh. “What shall I do, father? Shall I try again? Lure it somewhere else and try to get a piece of wing or skin?” Talia offers with a concerned look.

“No. Don’t bother,” Ra’s watches the match flash on the screen in front of them. “We’d be fools to waste any more time. If that blood truly is from the bat, it’ll still have its DNA somewhere in there. We’ll make do with what we have.”

“Instead of capturing young creatures to tame,” he moves over to a pod on the table, developed for months under the League’s skilled craftsmanship. “We’ll make them ourselves.”

“The blood, Talia,” he says, extending his hand. She gets the sample from the desk and hands it to him, watching him put it into the pod. “With your DNA already in here, we’ll add the bat’s and create our first experiment.”

“But isn’t it a work in progress?” She asks, watching the pod glow inside and mix the DNA, the clear shield wall covering it to protect it from outside germs and bacteria. “It is. However, if we’re to succeed, sometimes risks are needed. It’s not like this can hurt anything we do. We leave it and in a few months, the creature should be developed.”

“I see,” Talia mumbles, staring at the pod. “Can I..” she trails off.

“Yes?”

“Can I keep the first one?” She asks hesitantly. “It has my DNA. It should be mine, no?”

“I already planned on that, daughter. No need to worry. It’s rightfully yours. It will be your heir. Your creature, son, whatever you consider it to be. Half you and half myth.”

Talia nods with a small smile. “Thank you, father.”

“With your brain and the creature’s strength, we’ll be able to conquer anywhere we like. Now come. We have work to do,” Ra’s says, exiting the room.

Chapter Text

When Dick said he wanted to help Bruce, he loved the determination in the little boy’s eyes, but he didn’t know how long this phase would last.

It turns out to be very long apparently, and according to the butler, he guesses it isn’t a phase at all. He think the boy means it 100%.

A few months have gone by of schoolwork and training, both of which Dick has thoroughly excelled in. He knows more than Bruce did when he started, already having experience with gymnastics and his adrenaline craving stunts. He can throw himself off the chandeliers and somehow always hand perfectly. He’s only crashed three so far, all of them on accident he says, but his agility is something Bruce can admit is impressive. The chandeliers on the other hand, are less than impressive to clean and replace.

He gets distracted a lot and tends to get moves mixed up sometimes, but that’s part of being young and healthy, a mind that occasionally wanders or a switch up. That means he’s remembering moves at least, and that shows progress!

Playing with Bruce’s wings in the cave, the boy quickly discovers that they’re far too big for him to handle. Too heavy and way too clunky. Not fast enough for him, he had told Bruce. Demanding his own pair and trying to make his own, he learns that making things is hard. Not impossible, just a little hard. So he watches how Bruce walks him through the process of how he made his own wings, and eventually Dick comes to him with a proud, poorly drawn version of his own wings. Ones that would fit his smaller form, be lighter and more flexible to match his body, but still get him off the ground.

Bruce has never had a prouder moment. His little mini me that was falling asleep in his office mere weeks ago like a content kitten has put in the work to be like him. He’s a role model and that fact could make him cry by itself.

The math was a little off and Dick doesn’t quite know what materials to use, but that’s no big deal. Bruce can handle all that, using Dick’s rough draft as a sketch and correcting any miscalculations or mistakes. Sending the outline to Lucius to have him double check everything, he promises Dick that his wings will be here soon.

Dick is very excited and while the wings are in development, it runs into a poorly timed situation.

“No, I don’t wanna go!” He whines, trying to escape Alfred’s fussing hands. “I’m afraid it’s not optional, young master,” the butler says, brushing off the boy’s shoulders. “Master Bruce doesn’t have a babysitter for you and neither of us will be able to fully keep an eye on you if you’re away from the crowd.”

Wayne Annual Gala, hosted at Wayne Manor collecting donations from Gotham’s elite, this year donating to the children’s hospitals and orphanages. Wayne himself will be there, donating a large sum as he always does, and will be encouraging others to do so as well.

“I don’t need someone to watch me! I’m seven!” He tries to argue, being shushed as Alfred fixes his hair. “Ah ah, sir. You are indeed seven, and you’re also on your second suit already,” he scolds gently. “You keep this one clean and behave and maybe I’ll bring you an extra cookie.”

“Or get me outta here sooner,” the boy mumbles, crossing his arms. “Possibly that too, yes,” Alfred nods, turning to face the stairs. “The boy knows to behave, sir.”

“He always behaves,” Bruce says, fixing his own suit. “You look good, bud! Do you like the outfit—“

“No.”

Bruce tries not to smile. He felt the same way when he was younger and his parents did this — put him into a fancy suit and told him to be good in a sea of people he didn’t know. 

“I’d rather do math if that tells you anything,” he huffs. “Ouch,” Bruce says, patting him on the back. “It’ll be okay, kid. Just stay close to me and be polite. If anyone touches you or makes you uncomfortable, you tell me right away, ok?”

“Ok..” he murmurs, fiddling with the sleeves of his suit and trying to free himself.

People slowly start to fill the manor, guests arriving with plenty of cameras flashing. Paparazzi question and interrogate Bruce and the poor kid as the billionaire gives a polite laugh and tries to excuse them. Going into the middle and greeting guests as they flood in, Dick is like 90% sure as the night goes on that he saw a lady named Selena that Bruce talked to put something shiny in her dress pocket and never mention it. Trying to tell Bruce that however is like talking to a brick wall that’s been yelled at by a thousand builders.

He’s busy. Dick sighs, staying by Bruce’s side, even through long drawn out boring conversations.

He was promised his wings and more training after this, and a cookie if he behaves, and damnit, he’s getting that cookie!

The night goes on. And on, and on, and oh my god, he’s so sick of it! Alfred seems to notice while handing out champagne glasses to the guests, offering his hand to Dick and calmly leading him upstairs like nothing ever happened. Bruce notices the absence of the small person by his side and sees Alfred bringing him to comfort. The night’s winding down, most of the donations already having been made. Bruce steps out onto the balcony for a minute of fresh air, a sigh of relief escaping him as he evacuates the main room as politely as possible.

Someone’s already out here. Going to the side the other person isn’t on, the lights help highlight the figure.

Clark, from the store parking lot. That silly journalist that had asked Bruce about the monster situation. He looked vibrant before in the daylight, now more shy and reserved in the dark afterglow of the gala.

“Are you enjoying the party?” He asks politely, giving a small smile.

“What?”

His voice seems to snap Clark out of his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, you..” he chuckles, his head leaned down slightly. “You caught me off guard. Your party, it’s..”

“Loud?” Bruce throws out, leaning back against the balcony lazily. “Obnoxious?”

“No, no, not that!” Clark corrects lightly. “Just very.. populated, that’s all.”

“That’s journalism talk for loud and obnoxious,” Bruce teases lightheartedly. “It’s okay, you can say it. I don’t mind.”

Clark laughs, a comfortable silence falling between them.

“You seem rather iffy about your own party, Mr. Wayne,” the journalist comments, earning a smirk and a slight laugh from Bruce.

“Sorry, maybe I’m just.. projecting or something,” he adds with an embarrassed smile, shaking his head.

“No, you’re right,” the host confirms. “I hate parties to be honest. I only do them because it helps the charities.”

“Really?” Clark says, biting his lip as he looks over at Bruce. He fixes his glasses and looks out into the city. “That’s.. rather generous of you. I’m sure they appreciate it.”

Another comfortable silence, shorter than last time.

“Bruce.”

“Hm?” The reporter looks over with a curious head tilt.

“You can call me Bruce. No need for the extra “Mr. Wayne” stuff,” he says, watching the other man.

“Thank you, Bruce,” Clark replies with a warm voice. “Where’s Dick? Last time I saw you guys, he was glued to your side.”

“He remembered,” Bruce thinks to himself with a grin. “He’s with my butler upstairs. He doesn’t seem to be a big fan of crowds either.”

“Aw, I get that,” the man nods with an understanding tone. “Hey, if you uh, ever need a helping hand..” he looks towards Bruce, his words trailing off with a flustered shrug when the billionaire looks back at him.

“Oh?” Bruce replies with an amused chuckle. “No, go on. Is it those good Kansas boy instincts, trying to help a neighbour?”

“It might be,” the shy reporter flushes, looking away with a grin he can’t seem to shake. “I was just saying.”

A comfortable pause.

“You know, that suit is not doing you enough justice.”

Clark can’t help but laugh.

“What’s wrong with my suit?” He playfully remarks, looking down at himself. He can practically feel the gala’s host eyeing him.

“Nothing’s wrong with it, but it’s definitely not as snug as it could be,” he explains simply, scanning his form. “You’ve got muscle under there that that suit isn’t showing properly. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s from a rental.”

“It might be from a rental,” he admits softly with a skittish look.

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with that,” Bruce shrugs calmly, his thoughts wandering happily. “You think I could take you out to dinner sometime? Maybe get you a new suit to go with it?” 

Clark blushes, a pink hue dusting his cheeks while he attempts to glance to the billionaire. “Me? You’d wanna take.. me, to dinner?”

“Absolutely,” he clarifies with a proud beam.

“You’re— you’re sure? We don’t need anything big. A.. coffee would be fine,” Clark offers with a soft nod.

“Coffee dates are for friends and business associates. I’m a little bit more interested than that,” the vigilante replies confidently. 

“I..” the journalist starts, sighing with a torn smile and shaking his head. “I can’t, I’m sorry. I don’t do one night stands.”

“Good. I don’t either,” Bruce states openly. “What?” Clark asks with a slightly shocked expression. “All the reporters and headlines—“

“Say I date and love taking people out, I know,” he finishes. “But that doesn’t mean I sleep around. I only have sex if I’m really connected to a person. I can’t remember a first real relationship.” 

“Really?” The reporter can’t stop himself from asking. “But you’ve got all the money and looks a guy could want.”

“And no good company to go with it,” Bruce adds. “But with you, maybe we could change that.”

Clark flushes while Bruce admires the view. The bright stars above don’t dare compare to the tan skin and soft freckles below it, broad shoulders and styled hair of a man trying his best to look formal.

“I..”

“Here. At least let me give you my number. Consider it for me and let me know what you decide on,” Bruce offers patiently. “If you aren’t interested, that’s totally okay. But if you are, I know some great restaurants I think you might be interested in.”

Clark caves when he sees those eyes, the piercing light blue that he can’t help see the reflections of other planets in. Of shiny stones or rare minerals he’s found in outer space.

“Yea,” he accepts. “I’d like that.”

Chapter Text

Ending the gala and getting back to Lucius about the new designs, Dick is presented with his wings. Colors chosen by him, for him. Red and green with accents of yellow, bright feathers instead of the dry black leather of Bruce’s.

He loves Bruce, he really does. But he’ll always tease him for his broody, gothic style choices. Spooky and tough to the touch? No thank you, that doesn’t scream “I’m here to save the day” in Dick’s eyes. Civilians are used to vibrant bursts of colors — think Superman or Wonder Woman. They aren’t all dreary and monotone!

Bruce didn’t take any offence. He enjoyed hearing the boy’s perspective and was content with giving his in return. The dimmer shades fits Gotham’s color palette and helps convey a sense of fear in bad guy’s, and while Dick thought that was totally badass and cool, he still wanted to be unmistakably him. So he did, got his smaller customized wings, and did the same process that Bruce did about a year ago. Hopping around in the cave and figuring out how to fly.

The sensors connect to his back and shoulder muscles, undetectable to the naked eye. Hidden away and safely tucked underneath his cape, his wings are more active than Bruce’s, constantly moving to match his energy levels. When he’s sleepy or needs a nap, they droop slightly or his feathers will ruffle when he yawns, shaking as he stretches. While Bruce’s are hesitant, observant and still like him, Dick’s twitches, it flutters, it’s lightweight and thin, but still strong underneath. The feathers were a special design, made to be extra cushiony if he ever falls (Bruce’s idea) and warm enough to keep in heat if it’s too cold (Alfred’s idea when he commented that the boy wouldn’t be able to bring a coat).

The mental checklist is a go. The boy has training, plenty of it daily and has been prepared for months. He knows what to look for out there, body language, fighting strategies, counting if he’s outnumbered. He knows what certain drugs look like and that if he sees anything, he should immediately tell Bruce and make sure not to touch it.

“So, you are a werebat?” The boy says, letting Alfred double check that his costume fits. “No, Dick. It’s just me in the costume,” Bruce confirms for what feels like the sixth time tonight. “But the whole city is convinced! You had me convinced and I live with you!”

“Oh please, you didn’t know anything until we told you!” Bruce argues back, ruffling Dick’s hair.

“Whatever,” the boy pouts, his wings matching his breathing, the slow rhythmic up and down continuing steadily. “It helps if the city thinks we’re something we’re not. It throws them off,” the billionaire explains, putting his own wings on and letting them settle onto his back. The sensors activate in mere seconds it snaps to life, shivering and stretching out to fully extend as he moves his arms.

“So we’re purposefully lying?” The boy questions skeptically. “Whatever happened to “don’t lie, your tongue will fall out” guys?”

“It depends on who you lie to and what it’s about,” Alfred corrects, fixing the boy’s shirt. “If it’s something harmless like a surprise birthday party, it’s approved. However, if it’s something serious and you lie to us..”

“No more sidekick business,” Bruce finishes firmly. “You know the rules. If you’re hurt, tell me. If you don’t, it could get worse and we’ll have to fake another car accident.”

“Still can’t believe you guys did that,” Dick adds. “Especially without me. Sick and twisted, you two.” He shakes his head disapprovingly. He’s definitely picked up that one from Alfred. 

“Yes, very tragic indeed. I believe the ice cream Master Bruce bought you had made up for it?” Alfred inquires with a teasing smile. “It might have,” Dick shrugs, giggling when he feels his wings move with him. “Oh! I have ideas though!”

“What now?” Bruce asks, drawing up a new blueprint for extra gear he has in mind. “No, you don’t get your own car.”

“I wasn’t gonna throw out the car idea again,” the boy scoffs. “That’s for when I’m eight and I know how to drive. For now, I wanna join the pranking the city thing. That is so much more fun than just being normal vigilantes!”

He hops off the table and goes to Bruce, pawing at his wings and playing with them while the man works.

“You just like it because it feels like joining a secret club,” Bruce teases with a knowing smirk. That’s absolutely his mischievous kid and he adores it. 

“Yea! It’s awesome! I love this club!”

“You still need a name, you know.” Bruce puts away the blueprint and lets the kid poke him.

“Oh yea. I guess I do.” Dick agrees, running around the cave and working on getting used to flying. “I’m not a bat, so that won’t work.”

“He does sort of remind me of a robin, if I might add, sir,” Alfred comments, checking the news on the monitors. “The colorful feathers and all.”

“Yea! I can be that!” Dick cheers happily. “And look,” he lands on the ground, showing off his cape. “The outside is black like yours, but then it opens and I got all the colors!”

Bruce loves how excited the kid is, showing off his little outfit. Now if only the kid would stay home and play dress up instead of insisting to fight by his side.

“You do indeed,” the butler acknowledges with a nod. “Although I’m not sure how the public will respond to such a variety of creatures.”

“Their guesses have been bad every time,” Bruce says bluntly. “One lady said I was pregnant, another said maybe I had a nest in town, and most of them think I’m some sort of escaped lab creature.”

Dick pauses, looking at him and bursting out laughing. “You’re pregnant?!”

“I guess I am now,” he shrugs with a chuckle. “You can come with me if you still want to. Twenty bucks says the whole city goes nuts.”

Dick laughs, mostly preoccupied with his new attachments. “That’ll be fun. Oh! Are we still doing the secret message thingy?” He asks curiously.

“Yes, we are,” Bruce confirms. About a month ago, the two kept bickering about how one of them was bound to say something about their identities, it’s inevitable. Dick said it wasn’t impossible to not leave little hints here and there on accident, but Bruce had claimed that it was possible. After all, he’s done this for about two or three years and nobody’s got any clues on his real name or face. Alfred, being the mediator that was needed, stepped in and suggested a code.

Dick still wanted to talk. Of course he did, he’s a kid, Bruce doesn’t fault him on that. All kids like to yap and hearing Dick go off is especially funny. The boy has an attitude that rivals Bruce’s, hence the argument. To keep it to where they could still talk but not be understood by others, they made a code. A mix of chirps, whistles, clicks, hums, body language, and more. Their own unique sequences that both of them thought was a cool idea. Bruce didn’t think either of them could remember it, but when Dick said the billionaire was “too scared of a challenge,” he took it as a dare. He will not be challenged by a seven year old and lose. Dick, however, wasn’t willing to lose either, and so he learned their new language.

It was a combination of firstly making the sounds and then deciding what they meant, then using and applying it to daily life so they both got the hang of it. Even Alfred understands most of their nonsense vocabulary since he’s constantly hearing it in the house. Now with the duo communicating what they mean without anyone else being able to comprehend it, they’re ready to go. Dick has his outfit, his mini utility belt, and wings. His mask and boots, his name and fighting style.

Looking at the boy, Bruce is incredibly proud. He’s come a long way and he’s learned so much in the year he’s been here— and he just landed on his face. That.. tends to be part of the learning process with the wings.

Bruce gets Dick in the batmobile, letting him play with the buttons inside, and they’re off into the city, parking somewhere quiet and isolated before soaring off into the night. Following by a trail of giggles, the pair makes their way through the rooftops and alleyways, Dick quietening up when he spots a bad guy before dropping down onto them and flipping them.

Thank god Bruce has studied so many styles. He’s realized that everyone has a unique way their body moves, only some people recognize it and calculate their own, figuring out how to utilize it best. For Dick, it’s gonna be his tricks and combinations of gymnastics and acrobatics. Maybe he’ll pack more of a punch when he’s older and has more weight on him, but for now, as long as he’s safe, Bruce doesn’t mind taking him out here. He’ll be keeping a very close eye on the boy and if there’s anything really serious, Dick knows to fall back and hide in Bruce’s cape or get behind him. 

With a few confused yells from the men beneath them, Dick takes down his first drug bust effortlessly and with a chirp and a laugh, pointing at a pile of drugs like it’s gold. He’s located the bad stuff! Bruce gives a proud nod, moving him away from the substances and escorting him out. The police will be on their way with a silent signal sent from their belts.

The night goes surprisingly good! For Dick, he thinks it’s amazing! The view from way up in the sky is higher than he’s ever been in the circus! The tight ropes and swinging acts have nothing on this! Doing one of his favourite moves he made with his mentor, he climbs on his back and points up, wanting to do a sky dive together.

The bat gives a content, amused hum and flies up, away from the criminals they stopped from robbing a house. Getting plenty of height in the cold, crisp air, Dick pushes off of Bruce and spreads his own wings, gliding on his own right above his mentor. He gets just a touch higher and if anything goes wrong, Bruce is right there to catch him. Stop a few home break ins, help some old people cross the street, easy stuff for the boy. It’s all smooth sailing until they both land to take a small break. Normally the vigilante would never, but with a little helper on board, he’s happily willing to pause and check in on him.

Still bickering and playing in their own made up sounds, Bruce is very thankful for his butler’s wonderful suggestion. If they hadn’t done it this way, their secrets could be revealed or Dick would be censored in what he says, which isn’t fair to the poor kid. Now they can both talk freely without worry!

Until Bruce hears something, his cowl’s ear twitching. Dick gives a curious trill, tilting his head and looking around. He’s got enhanced sensing systems too, in his mask with the smallest of wires connecting to chips underneath. They’re weaker than Bruce’s since the adult is more familiar with it, but they’re still better than a normal human’s hearing and seeing.

The shadow moves over the pop of color and hides him in his cloak, moving them back carefully into the darkness of the rooftop. A heartbeat is heard, a figure approaching from the sky, flying to them. 

Bruce recognizes the iconic S symbol. Superman. But why is he in Gotham on a calm Thursday night? Last time he checked, there wasn’t anything world ending happening here.

Superman carefully lands on the other side of the roof, looking at the tall figure.

“Wow..” he mumbles with a smile, cautiously staying in place. “That’s.. you’re real..”

He seems more like a stunned kid getting money from the tooth fairy than seeing a monster. Bruce has seen a lot of mixed reactions to his alter ego, most of them being afraid, but this.. this one is different. 

“Okay, we just..” he mutters softly, taking a step forward with a friendly smile. “Need to get you out of Gotham, ok?”

Another step forward.

The animal flaps its wings as a sign of aggression, an irritated huff escaping it. Clark quickly studies the creature, trying to decode which parts are organic and which parts aren’t. To him, it all seems organic. Moving, breathing. The cowl and cape (to Clark at least) seems like a larger part of skin and the outside of the wings underneath, hugging over itself and trying to keep itself warm and protected. 

Clark thinks he’s threatened it. Made it feel scared.

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes softly, staying in his spot. “You can’t be in Gotham, buddy. It’s not a good place for you,” he tries to coax him out from the shadows.

“We gotta get you someplace safe. The zoo in Metropolis has plenty of room,” he offers gently, cautiously stepping closer. The wings flap and reach forward, almost mimicking a punch. “Oh, you’re hurt..” he mumbles sadly, seeing the scar from where Bane had attacked the creature. It looks like the wing has healed, but it definitely left a mark.

A low growl comes out as the creature’s middle moves. A small whine comes from underneath it as the outer layer of blackness shifts.

There’s a younger one. Oh my god, Clark has intimidated a hurt animal with a child. He feels so bad! He’s such an awful person!

“Oh, I am.. so, so sorry,” he mutters, taking a step back. Bats are territorial. They don’t normally attack humans unless they’re protective or acting in defence. If Clark gets attacked, he wouldn’t blame the animal at all. It’s lost and confused and now has a pup.

What does he do? Call the zoo? Ask them to send someone to help? He’s Superman, but he can admit when he’s a little clueless. This isn’t rescuing a cat out of a tree or a lost dog, it’s a very big, very strong looking creature with a little one. That’s a baby! He doesn’t wanna scare the baby!

In his stunned silence and quiet panic of trying to figure out what to do, the baby escapes the bigger figure with a soft giggle, taking a few steps towards Clark and looking back at the parent. The larger one comes slightly closer, but stays a few feet away in case it needs to get their young and flee. Smart idea, Clark thinks. Animals are usually more intelligent than people give them credit for.

”Oh, no, sweetheart. You gotta stay with your mama,” Clark tries to gently urge the kid to go back. What if this is like petting a newborn deer and then the mother disowns it because it smells like a human? He doesn’t wanna do that to the poor thing! “Go back, please, be good.” 

The little one pokes his arm and waves up at him, chirping and giggling. It’s got a darker exterior like the adult, but the inside is bright and colorful, making it easier to spot them. The face could easily be mistaken as a human child if their round eyes weren’t completely solid white. Human arms and legs, but the middle being red, green, with tints of yellow like their wings. Chirping while they hop up and down, it seems like they’re trying to play with the hero instead of attack him.

The mother (father? Clark has no idea) eventually comes over warily and preens the others’ wings while they’re distracted, fixing them and adjusting the feathers with sharp, taloned hands. The kid tries to shake them off and the two get into what seems like a squeak off, noises coming from both of them. With the smaller one climbing onto the older one’s back, it waves to Clark before the bigger one flies off into the clear sky, the younger one spreading its wings and flying with it, twirling in the sky.

Clark stands there in awe as he watches them soar away. He taps his ear piece with a surprised smile.

“Hey Diana, you were right. The bat actually was pregnant,” he tells the woman, still in shock at the fact that such a myth actually exists.

“Ha! I told you!” Diana happily cheers. “Is the baby cute?”

“Very cute. And.. oddly colorful,” Clark says, his feet lifting up as he flies away.

Chapter Text

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Barry starts, watching Clark like he’s grown a second head. “You’re telling me that the myth, the legend, that fairytale story made up by the news in the crazy crime filled city, is actually real? Like 100%?”

“Yea!” Superman confirms with a grin. “You should’ve seen it! It was huge!”

“How huge are talking?” Hal asks, casually leaned back in his chair. “As big as a horse or like.. a house, or..”

“About my size. Maybe a little taller,” Clark answers, using his hand to estimate the height he remembers. “If you count the ears.”

“Wow,” Barry mumbles, looking at Hal. “That can’t be real,” the green lantern blurts out. “Come on, that’s probably just some weirdos in costumes.”

“Diana and I already considered that,” Clark states. “I checked it out from a few feet away. From what I can tell, it’s real. Both the parent and the pup.”

“Pup? What is it, a dog?” Hal teases lightheartedly. “It’s a kid or it’s an animal. Which is it?”

“A hybrid, if I had to guess,” Diana suggests. “With the face of a young boy, but the animalistic features of the parent.”

“Yea, ok, sorry to butt in, but you keep saying parent,” Barry says, crossing his arms. “Is it male or female? Or does it seem like more of a third option?” He asks, trying to get a scientific idea of the creature.

“Uh..” Clark shrugs slightly. “I don’t know, honestly? I know from the metropolis zoo that bat pups usually stay with their mothers, but I couldn’t tell if it was female.”

“Perhaps it’s a mix as Flash stated,” the Martian calmly suggests. “Able to possess a strong body and produce young with both male and female biological features.”

“So it knocked itself up?” Hal jokes with a playful smirk. “That can happen sometimes in nature—“ Barry starts.

“I couldn’t tell the gender. That’s on me,” Clark owns it. “What I did gather is that they both have wings. The kid’s young and has the outside appearance of the adult, that black outer layer of skin. They’re so young that they didn’t even know to be afraid of me. They kept chirping and making sounds to each other.”

“Is it possible they were trying to communicate with you? Mimic speech patterns or initiate conversation?” The Martian wonders out loud.

“Maybe?” Clark says hesitantly. “It’s more like they just wanted to say hi. The bigger one wanted nothing to do with me though. It growled at me while the little one waved.”

“It waved at you?” Barry confirms with a skeptical look. “So it knows human behaviours, how we say hello. Someone either taught it that or it’s someone dressing up.”

“Or it’s their culture,” Diana offers. “If they aren’t human, but aren’t fully animalistic, there’s a chance there’s a whole new species out there in hiding.”

“But why hide?” Hal asks. “I mean, it’s not like we’re hunting them down and interrogating them.”

“They could be hunted,” Barry realizes. “They could be endangered by being killed for their materials. Think elephants. People like their tusks and ivory, so they take it.”

“And what did Bane say on that tape?” Clark remembers, adding to Barry’s theory. “He’ll take their wings as a trophy.”

“What a horrible thing to say,” Hawkgirl comments with a disgusted look. “Your wings are a part of you, the same as any other limb. To take them is..”

“A crime. It should be illegal,” Wonder Woman adds sternly. “And for some animals, it is.”

“It might not be for them. If they’ve been hiding, they probably don’t have any laws protecting them,” Barry says sadly. 

“I tried to talk to them. As much as I did, I only got chirps and noises in response. I don’t know if they understood anything I said,” Clark shakes his head. “For now, they’re in Gotham. It’s not the ideal place with all the air pollution, but I don’t know how else to move them. I don’t wanna hurt them or do it by force.”

“No, that would be unwise,” the Martian says. “Leave them be for now. You said they were still recovering from Bane’s attack?”

“Yea, the scar on their wing was.. big,” the man replies.

“To be so strong to fight and have a child at the same time.. that strength is truly one of a mother’s,” Diana says. “I wish we could help it.”

“I’ve already got a plan,” Clark tries to reassure her. “I’m gonna get some fruits and berries from the store later and try to get it used to human contact. I’ll see if I can feed it. For the little one though, it had more feathery wings, so I’m not sure if it’s a more of a bird or a bat. I’ll get food for both just in case.”

“It’s half bird?” The green lantern cocks an eyebrow. “How does that happen? A bird mates with a bat and suddenly the baby is both and still somehow looks human? Again, impossible.”

“One possibility is that their species takes on different physical traits as a way to adapt,” J’onn proposes. “The big one is capable of flight with leathery wings and could’ve copied the pigment from the inspiration of nocturnal animals.”

“It does only come out at night,” Clark adds with an agreeing nod.

“Indeed. For the younger one, it might simply not know how to draw inspiration from other beings in nature yet.” J’onn stands up, going to the doorway. “I’ll look further into this. I recommend we play it safe. One at a time if we insist on meeting it, but do not scare it.”

“Got it, boss,” Hal says as Barry nods. “I’m gonna go see if anyone’s found a sample yet. Maybe it left behind a feather or something,” the speedster stretches, going to his work.

“You wanna help me feed the bats next time?” Clark asks Diana with a soft smile. “Sure, why not? I wanna see the baby anyway.”

The first night is a huge success for Dick and is celebrated with plenty of high fives, fist bumps, and playing at home. Dick excitedly showing off his rad moves to the butler, a new video game, and plenty of “you did so good!” kisses and hugs.

“Were you scared?” Bruce asks, sitting back down on the couch with a bowl of popcorn. “No way! That was awesome!” Dick laughs, landing on his father figure and laying in his lap. “Did you see how I flipped that one guy? That was so cool! Aw, I wanna do it again!”

“Maybe tomorrow, if you behave,” Bruce teases, booping his nose and moving his hair out of his face. “Which movie tonight, champ?”

“Mh.. Nemo?” Dick asks, looking up at Bruce with loving, playful eyes. “Nemo again? You really like that one,” the man comments, reaching for the remote.

“It’s a good one!”

Turning on the TV, it plays the news as it always does when turned on, the basic channel set as the main station before they had even adopted the circus boy.

“Tonight, mere hours ago, captured on multiple different videos and cameras, was the bat of Gotham spotted once again,” an anchor states. “Now with what appears to be a much smaller version, a young pup sticking by its side. The researchers looking into this case have been given an award for their combined efforts to help the local animals and their incredible predictions for this momentous occasion.”

“While not harming civilians, there’s live footage and record evidence of criminals being fought and left for the police,” the man adds. “Crime rates continue to drop as police keep searching for the true cause and motive of these two mysterious creatures.”

Dick laughs and Bruce tries to keep his amusement in.

“Good job, Robin,” he says, looking down at the boy in his lap. “Really got ‘em this time.”

“Suckers,” the seven year old giggles, rolling into Bruce’s torso. “I’ve never played a prank on the whole city at once. Thanks for letting me join.”

“And thank you for showing me your awesome butt kicking moves,” the billionaire praises softly. “Let me find Nemo.. which channel was it on again?”

A bit of time passes, a couple weeks of working together turning into a few months. Dick has been doing excellent at this new crime fighting hobby and the cold weather kicks in harder as winter rapidly approaches. Making better upgrades for both of their suits, keeping warm is a top priority and preventing frostbite on their wings is another challenge. Installing new thinly veiled micro devices that can generate a small amount of heat, wrapping themselves in their cape is an easy work around.

Tonight, it’s Mr. Freeze attacking the bank, freezing over the large left wall of the building and trying to get it to break into ice chunks and bits of rubble. With the people inside keeping the doors locked, he’s attempting to force his way in via chilly destruction. 

The Bat and Robin are quick to fly in, swooping down with Robin delivering a kick before Freeze even notices them.

Victor recovers, looking up at the pair. The bat lands not too far away with Robin back flipping away from the bad guy to make distance.

“Come to stop me, have you Batman?” He replies calmly. “I didn’t take you as one for making such obvious mistakes.” He lifts his gun, aiming to hit the bird boy. With the smaller one in his sights, a quick chirp from the bat alerts both of them to move, an ice wall forming between them.

“Bringing your sidekick was a foolish move,” he warns, shooting an icicle towards the bat and missing. “The weather works in my favour this time, and I won’t miss my chance.”

With Robin fighting off the villian’s henchmen, Bruce takes the main fight of trying to stop Freeze himself, delivering a kick before hitting a pressure point on his wrist to make him drop the gun. Quickly catching the weapon, Bruce has it momentarily before Victor throws a punch aimed for the bat’s face, making him move away and release it in order to dodge. The gun drops to the ground between the two as Victor gets to it first, shooting at the bat and barely missing.

“With this money,” he shoots again, the bat jumping and rolling out of the way, hiding behind a parked car, “I’ll purchase the materials I need to bring my wife back.”

“Have you no compassion, beast of darkness?” He inquires, turning the vehicle to solid ice, causing it burst into pieces with a well shot icicle. “Turn back and flee! You have no need to be here.”

The red goggles in the pure white snow drifting down from the sky stand out in a chilling sight. Flying over to another car, Bruce’s mind formulates a new plan to knock him off his guard—

Robin has tried to tackle Freeze.

Victor throws the bird into the snowy road, trying to freeze him and keep him subdued in the cold.

“Do not make me harm you, child,” he warns with a glare. “Simply move out of my way.” 

Robin easily gets up and flies away with Victor missing the potential body shot, but he learns and adjusts rather fast — he knows by now that these two are hard to hit. Nailing the snow gathered above a ledge on one of the buildings with an icicle causes it to fall onto the kid.

“Fuck!” The boy exclaims with an irritated huff, wiping the snow off his face, his wings shaking and shivering as he tries to get most of it off.

“Robin!” The Bat scolds, throwing a batarang while Victor is distracted and nailing the gun, jamming it and causing it to implode on itself, creating a blizzard in the area and making the snow fall even harder.

Batman swoops over to Robin and scoops him up, doing one of the moves they had practiced before — clinging to his mentor’s torso and making sure not to grab his wings. Making sure Dick’s uninjured, their idea continues as they had planned before initiating the fight. Tucking himself in safely, Dick lets go when Bruce gets enough height above Freeze, dropping down and kicking him back into the ice covered ground.

His henchmen have been defeated and he’s without his weapon. The blizzard is.. another issue, but hey, they aren’t the weather channel. They’re just doing their best. Police sirens can be heard nearby and that’s their cue to leave.

Going home that day, Dick gets a case of the sniffles and plenty of hot chocolate, along with a look of “I won’t tell Alfred we said a bad word if you don’t, just don’t do it again.” With Christmas soon, he helps Alfred prepare the decorations and designs a gingerbread mansion with Bruce, trying to see how tall they can make it before it falls down.

Bruce couldn’t think of a happier way to spend the holiday.

Now if only he could figure out who keeps stealing his car tires.. 

Chapter Text

It’s a few weeks after Christmas and Dick is having a field day playing with the hoops in the batcave. An interactive training course to play on and learn with. Using his wings and doing his best to fly through them as fast as he can, he sets a new personal best.

“Woo!” He cheers, landing at the end spot, the black dot on the ground. “I did it! Bruce, I beat my old score!”

“Good job, buddy,” the bat praises with a smile from his spot by the computer. He’s been watching from a distance, studying the boy’s moves; helping him adjust where he needs to, how to cover his own blind spots, slowly upping the sensitivity on the enhanced senses in his suit to make sure he doesn’t get too overwhelmed at once.

“The temperature’s low enough for the good snow to pile up if you wanna make a snowman,” Bruce offers, tilting his head and switching off the monitors.

Dick nods and takes off his wings, setting them on the table before getting an idea.

“Can you make me a snowman?” He asks with a childish giggle. “Like.. a snowman that looks like you?” Bruce wonders, mentally measuring how much snow that would take. “I’d say you’re about.. maybe two big snowballs tall, three if I make the top one smaller for the head.”

“No!” The boy laughs, taking his dad’s hand and leading him to the elevator. “I wanna be the snowman. Let me embrace winter.”

“No way!” Bruce chuckles, picking the boy up and holding him as they rise in elevation. “Last time you embraced winter, you got a cold.”

“Yea, but that wasn’t my fault! That was Freeze being mean!” The boy protests, laying his head on Bruce’s shoulder while they exit the elevator. “That’s one way to describe it,” the billionaire agrees.

Getting dressed in what Bruce would think is fine winter clothes, they’re stopped in the living room by a certain butler.

“And where are we going during this terrible cold chill?” He asks with a curious hum. “I’m gonna be a snowman!” Dick answers with an excited beam. “Bruce’s gonna help me!”

“I did not say that,” Bruce says, trying not to laugh as Dick glares at him. “He will help me,” the boy decides for the both of them. “You’re awfully mouthy for a seven year old—“

“Boys,” the butler cuts in with an amused smile. “I believe scarfs are in order, as well as some gloves.”

“Noooo,” Dick whines, letting his face flop back onto Bruce’s shoulder. “I don’t like gloves.”

“I am aware, young master,” Alfred responds, getting the articles of clothing he had laid out hours before, knowing that the two would want to go out. “But you can’t exactly be a snowman with numb little hands, can you?”

“Maybe,” he pouts slightly, letting Alfred wiggle the tiny torture devices over his hands. “My hands feel trapped.”

“Trapped is better than frozen solid ice cubes,” Alfred comments, getting a scarf and wrapping it around the boy. “Master Bruce knows that all too well.”

Dick looks at Bruce with a curious glance. “You do?”

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Bruce mumbles, looking away with an embarrassed smile.

“Master Bruce has a consistent track record of getting sick almost every winter because someone does not dress for the occasion correctly,” the butler explains, looking over the boy with a nod. Properly dressed with his jacket, winter boots, and extra accessories.

“Now, if you will,” Alfred gestures for Bruce to put the boy down. “It’s your turn, sir.”

Bruce nods with a reluctant hum, putting Dick down and trying to run as quietly as possible to the door and escape. When the boy notices, he laughs and runs after him.

“Don’t leave me! He got me, he’s gotta get you too!” He giggles, taking the man’s arm and trying to drag him back inside. “No, I made it outside! That’s fair game!” Bruce argues, watching the boy wrap himself around his leg, effectively koalaing him and keeping him in place for Alfred to calmly waltz over.

“A charming attempt, sir. Very daring, if I might add,” he says with an amused smile, putting the scarf around the billionaire. “Hands, please.”

With a satisfied hum, both of them are now Alfred approved for the winter. Going into the yard, they’re both eager to push each other over and make snow angels, seeing who can make a bigger one. Dick goes back to his idea of being a snowman, trying to describe it to Bruce.

The duo makes two big snowballs, leaving room for a head at the top. With some general estimates included, Bruce picks Dick up.

“You really wanna freeze?” He asks, lowering the boy into the snow man, right into the middle. “Yes! It worked!” Dick giggles gleefully, his head just barely peeking out.

He’s a snowman. Bruce takes out his phone and takes a picture, saving it and making it his new wallpaper. “That’s a new photo to the family album,” he comments with a laugh. “I was right! You are two snowballs tall!”

“How many would you be?” The boy asks, watching Bruce play with the stick arms on the sides of the body. “Uh.. maybe three or four?” The billionaire guesses, putting some rocks they found in the middle for buttons.

“Wow.” The boy smiles, trying to eat some of the snow before Bruce scolds him. “Don’t eat that!” He chuckles. “Let me know when you wanna escape your snow body.”

“Ok!”

Early January, beginning of a new year with snow still flooding into the city. The kid is thoroughly enjoying his time outside, both during the day and at night. Tonight they stopped the Joker from ruining the mayor’s somewhat late New Years Party celebration with dozens of wild hyenas painted with clown makeup.

Wild times. Getting the hyenas back into the crates the mad man released them out of was a bit of a challenge, but the two managed. Joker was.. surprisingly touched by the bat though.

“Oh, my goodness! What is this?” He had laughed from his spot above the crowds, screaming and running away from the party. “A.. a baby bird?! Batsy, I..” he fake sniffles, wiping away a non existent tear from his eye. “I truly thought I was the only one in your heart! To know you were with someone else, ugh!” He cackles, dramatically laying back against the railing.

“The heartbreak! The drama! The details I’d die to know! How painful,” he cries, closing his eyes sadly. “Get ‘em!” He shouts to the hyenas, sending them after the pair.

Going back to their system of chirps and clicks (and totally not mentioning Dick’s blurted out accident the other day), they eventually manage to clean the mess and sort out the animals. As Joker is dragged away, he had yelled something about “oh, the betrayal! The horror! To be cheated during love, is so, so.. sickening! Good day to you all! When I get my sickly pale hands on that backstabbing flying rodent—!”

The doors of the truck going back to Arkham muffled the rest of his speech.

With a job well done, the two settle onto a rooftop on lookout duty to spot incoming crime. The air moves a certain way, the sound registering to both of them. Two heartbeats, coming their way and landing on the other side of the building. Bruce instinctively moves towards Dick, hiding him behind him.

Wonder Woman and Superman.

The large shadow stays tense, watching them both as the bird tries to peek out from behind the bat’s cape.

“Oh wow..” Diana whispers with a smile, kneeling down onto the cold roof. “It’s okay, little one. We aren’t gonna hurt you.”

“We brought a gift,” Clark says gently with a warm smile. “My mom made them, actually. Blueberry muffins.” Holding a bag, he breaks off a piece of a muffin, offering it to the two.

Bruce easily sees their idea, feeding them like they’re pigeons in New York. He won’t lie, it’s absolutely hilarious to him, but he’s gotta keep it in. Can’t laugh or else they might know something is up—

Dick is cackling. He too seems to realize the situation, taking an excited few steps to Clark and extending a hand boldly. He’s expecting a muffin now, he’s been told he’d be fed and he openly wants it.

The bat sighs, looking down and trying his best not to crack a smile. It’s impossible though when Clark gives the bird a blueberry muffin and Dick brings it to the bat like it’s a delicate piece of glass.

Thank god he added poison scanners in their lenses. The boy knows not to eat anything he gets from strangers until Bruce or Alfred gives the okay, and with Alfred not being here, it’s up to Bruce to check it thoroughly. Seeing no poison on any of his scans, he nods with a low hum, allowing the bird to eat it.

The bird breaks off a piece and offers it to their parent, the bat taking it and eating it with a nod. This is actually really good!

To Bruce and Dick, this is absolutely hilarious. To Diana and Clark, they think they’ve done something good today, and that makes the other two laugh even harder.

“Look at their little wings,” Diana comments with a soft smile. “So cute.”

“How old do you think it is?” Clark says quietly, sitting on the rooftop by Diana. “Mh.. it’s hard to say not knowing much about their species, but he’s definitely younger.”

With an approving nod from the bat, the pup happily goes to Clark and pats the hero’s head as a silent thank you with a smile and a nod. They both like the muffins! He holds out his hand, expecting more. His wings fluff up as he waits, hopping in place. 

“Hi little guy,” Clark mumbles, glancing up at the child and trying not to scare it. “You like the snack?” He takes more of the muffins out and carefully gives it to the bird. 

The pup hums and chirps, the larger one taking a few slow, hesitant steps forward.

“Is that bigger one always this shy?” Diana asks in a whispered voice. “Yea, from what I saw last time,” Clark answers calmly. “They’ll come in their own time. Just don’t rush and let them come to you.”

The bat seems to appreciate that idea, moving their wings and shivering in the cold. The little one yawns, giving a curious trill as he points to Diana, communicating with the bigger creature. A series of deeper chirps comes from the bat and the pup seems to understand, waving at the woman.

“Oh, there’s the wave,” she smiles, kindly waving back at the boy. “I think this one is a little boy.”

“You think so?” Clark says, tilting his head and offering his hand to the small animal. The bird giggles and plays with the strong man’s hand as Diana takes out a small baggy from her pocket. “Here, you think he’ll like these?”

“Hm, maybe?”

Peanuts. Bruce sees a pattern. They’ve brought food specifically catering to bird’s and bat’s common interests. Bread and peanuts for the birds, berries for the bat. It’s a clever move. Too bad it won’t work though—

Damn it, Dick.

Taking it from the woman’s hand, the bird happily accepts the peanut and munches on it. Scanning it himself for poisons, the systems in his lenses automatically try to detect the harmful substances, and when they find none, the kid doesn’t hesitate.

Chirping to the woman, she takes it as a thank you and gives a warm “you’re welcome” before the bat stands behind the boy, reaching a hand out from behind the outer layer of their wing to pat their head.

“What a strong parent,” she remarks, looking up at the creature with no fear. “Keeping your child safe during such cold times. Do you think they’d appreciate a blanket?” She asks the man beside her.

“I don’t actually know. Maybe they have a nest somewhere close by?” He thinks out loud, looking around for it from his current spot.

“It’s likely.”

Humming to the child, the bat seems to grow tired of standing still, their wings shifting absentmindedly. The baby climbs onto their torso and wraps themselves onto the older one’s side, attaching to them like a piece of velcro.

The bat wraps their wing around the baby, hiding them from view. It nods to the two heroes, turning away and spreading its wings, gaining serious height in seconds. From a distance, the black outer layer of the boy’s body helps him blend in with the bigger one’s torso. A genius way of hiding their young, built in camouflage.

“A unique creature indeed,” Diana says, the pair watching them fly off into the distance.

Heading back to the batmobile after a long night of stopping crime, there’s a very obvious problem yet again.

There’s a tire missing.

Bruce leans back against the wall of the alley, rubbing his smiling face with his hand. Dick laughs childishly, trying to stay quiet. The bat takes a deep breath, but can’t help laughing when Dick adds a whispered, “wasn’t me.”

“You don’t say,” Bruce replies lightheartedly, both of them trying to keep their composure and not burst out laughing in the alleyway. 

Third time. It’s the third time now! Come on! Who keeps doing this?!

The first time was before Christmas. Bruce had come by to make a quick donation to the orphanage nearby and check on everything to see how it was going. Say hi to the kids, wish them a merry Christmas, hope everything went well. When he went back to his expensive car outside, there was a tire missing. Okay, no big deal. Kinda unexpected, but hey, if someone needs one that bad, who is Bruce to complain? He’s just sorry that someone needs a wheel so badly that they had to steal it.

The second time was when Dick had come with Bruce on their patrol. Bruce had very reluctantly parked in Crime Alley because Robin insisted he wanted to see all the parts of the city. To protect your city better, you need to know it better, and so Bruce could see his logic and hesitantly agreed. When they came back ready to go home, it had happened yet again, but with two tires missing this time. 

Bruce was getting a little suspicious here. He stops, smirks, and looks at Dick. “You know anything about this?” He questioned with playful expression. “Why would I take your tires,” Dick couldn’t help but giggle. “Where would I even put a tire? We go home in the same ride! I was with you the whole time!” He protests, the pair laughing at the silliness of the situation.

Someone had the balls to take Bruce’s Wayne tires. Okay, fine. But the wheels off of the batmobile? Not just once, but twice. Who’s brave enough to steal from Batman?!

“This is getting ridiculous,” the bat chuckles, looking around for whoever could be nearby. That’s when he sees it, the small silhouette pushing a too big tire down the street. Struggling and almost falling, the billionaire can tell that it’s definitely a kid, which makes it just that little bit more impressive to him.

“Stay here,” he tells Dick quietly, his smile fading as he observes the kid in the distance. Bruised, tatted clothing littered with holes and tears, dirt and dust covering him. Robin nods and climbs on top of the vehicle, his legs dangling down as he waits.

“Hey, kid,” the bat calls out softly, causing the boy to flinch and look back in panic. “It’s okay. I’m not mad.”

The kid looks torn between running and freezing. Bruce takes that moment to continue before the kid darts away.

“That was really bold of you,” he laughs with an amused nod. “How’d you get that tire off?”

“I uh..” the kid starts, trailing off as he holds up a tire iron up with a shrug.

“Ah, I see,” the cloaked shadow nods, keeping a few feet away to not scare the boy. “What do you need the tires for, if you don’t mind me asking?”

The kid’s expression goes from defensiveness to confusion, holding the tire iron by his side. 

“Somebody’s gotta pay the light bill.”

Bruce’s heart breaks a little.

“Oh, kiddo. The bills are your parent’s job, not yours,” he says, shaking his head and kneeling.

“I know that. They don’t,” the boy replies sarcastically with a scoff. “They’ve got better things to do apparently.”

…

“How old are you, buddy?” the vigilante asks, tilting his head and trying to pick up any little details he can with his lenses. This kid is talking to Bruce while he’s fully decked out as his alter ego, and the kid couldn’t care less. He was just worried that he’d be yelled at for stealing. Not eaten by the beast or attacked by a monster, no. He isn’t concerned about that. 

He’s bold. Brave. Desperate.

“Seven,” he mumbles, crossing his arms. “But I know what I’m doing! I got the tire off perfectly fine!”

“You did,” the bat nods with a slight smile. “I gotta admit, I’ve never seen anyone do that to the batmobile that wasn’t a supervillain. You’re impressive,” he laughs. “Have you been the one stealing tires around here for money?”

A guilty look. The boy kicks at the ground, looking away from the shadow. “Maybe.”

“I’m not mad, kiddo, I promise,” Bruce reassures, still in his cowl and cape. “I wanna help.”

“I don’t need your help!” He argues back quickly, trying to push the tire down the road again.

“Do you have a name?” Bruce questions. Maybe it’s like calming a street cat? Bruce doesn’t have too much experience with kids, mostly with ones he visits at the orphanages, or charities, or Dick — but Dick isn’t a street kid. He was a circus boy. He wasn’t worried about bills or stealing.

“Jason,” is the answer he gets, grunting as he tries to keep it rolling. “What do you put in here, cement blocks?!”

That makes Bruce smile.

“Heavy duty customized iron and steel. It has to be tough if it’s gonna help me catch bad guys,” he replies calmly.

He hears the boy’s stomach grumble. He frowns, looking back at Dick playing with his wings on the top of the car.

“I have snacks in my car if you can give me back my tire,” he offers, holding out his gloved hand.

Jason gives an irritated huff, stopping and looking at the bat. Unafraid, but stubborn. He glances back at the wheel before looking down.

“I wanna keep our house,” he mumbles, feeling the grooves in the car part. “I don’t wanna lose it. But mama can’t pay the bills this month.”

“I’m sorry about that,” Bruce replies softly. “Is your mother okay? Where’s your father?”

“My dad’s a dick,” Jason blurts out like it’s obvious. “He’s somewhere. Never around though..” he kicks the ground, moving a rock beside him. “Mama’s sick on her thing.”

“Your mother is sick?” The bat asks, trying to get him to open up more. To continue to give out information he doesn’t have to, but has been dying to tell someone. The vigilante can tell when a little one needs someone to hear them.

“Yea. She’s real attached to that.. nasty stuff,” the kid says quietly, playing with his sleeve string. “Sometimes she uses a needle or just huffs it. I think it’s gross. She tells me she can stop when she wants to, but she never does.”

A mother lost to addiction, a father that’s not around, and a little boy stealing for money. He’s not just gonna leave him here, but he can’t send him to an orphanage or to the foster system, both are horrible and he knows it.

“Okay,” the creature says, watching the boy slowly come closer and take his hand, examining his talons curiously. “I won’t hurt you, I promise. Your mama, does she need a hospital?”

“No! No, you can’t tell her I told you! She told me not to tell anyone!” Jason quickly scolds anxiously.

“Ok, I hear you,” the cryptid murmurs, holding the boy’s hand. “Your mama’s secret is safe with me. Here, can we go to my car? I can unlock it and get you a snack,” he offers patiently.

“Mh..” the boy hesitates.

“Yea,” he decides unsurely. He’s skittish like a stray dog and about as skinny as one. Poor kid.

“My Robin’s up ahead if you wanna say hi,” the bat smiles, standing up and slowly walking back to the batmobile.

“Your Robin?” Jason copies with a confused look, watching the brightly colored child on the vehicle. The tire lays on the street not too far from the car, the bird on top looking over at them with a friendly smile.

“Hi!” He says excitedly, waving to the kid beside Bruce. “Did you take our tires?” He giggles.

“He might’ve.” “I might have.”

Jason looks up at the bat with a shy smile. “I was told you had snacks,” he tells the bird, watching their feathers fluff up as they take the keys and unlock the car door from above. “Uh huh! We got snacks in here!” The sidekick says, nodding when he sits back up and moves his legs. “I get hungry on patrol sometimes so Batman brings them for me.”

“How do you..” Jason mumbles, pointing at the boy’s wings skeptically. “Hm?” Robin looks up innocently, tilting his head at Jason. “The wings?” He questions.

“Yea..” Jason nods slowly. “What are you guys?”

“Something unique,” Batman says, taking a small baggie of gold fish, handing it to Jason. “You can eat as many as you want. If you wanna sit in the car, I can turn the heating on.”

“Yes please.”

The answer is almost immediate. It’s cold as hell out here and for someone in clothes spotted with holes and tears, it’s even colder.

Getting Jason into the car and eating goldfish like a starved man that hasn’t seen food in years, he’s scarfing them down while the two talk outside the vehicle.

“What are we doing?” Dick asks the bat, his wings trying to shake off the snow gathering around them. Bruce sighs, running a hand over his face. “I don’t know,” he admits quietly. “If he goes to an orphanage or the foster care system, they won’t treat him well. They never do.”

“Why don’t we keep him?” The boy suggests, yawning as he stretches his arms, his wings fluttering with the relaxed movement.

“It’s not that simple,” Bruce shakes his head. “He’s got a mother that’s struggling with what sounds like addiction. Maybe he’s got other family he can go to, but with those injuries and this temperature, he’s not gonna make it far on his own. I’d take him to our place, but..”

“You don’t want him to see the manor and know our secret,” Dick finishes, understanding his mentor’s thought process. “Okay, I see you. What if..”

He looks around, trying to think of a plan. “We, both me and you like this, drop him off at Bruce Wayne’s manor, wink wink?”

“Wink wink?” Bruce looks over at the boy with a curious glance.

“And then Bruce Wayne just happens to be home and then.. you know, maybe takes the kid in? And perhaps the butler could contact the legal people like he did last time?”

“You just want a kid your age to play with,” the Bat teases gently, getting the tire and trying to get it back on. 

“That too. C’mon!” Dick says, hopping off the top of the car and getting inside. “We’re gonna help you, dude!”

“Yes, we will,” the large bat confirms. “We’re gonna drop you off somewhere safe. We know a family nearby that takes in children.”

“I don’t wanna go to a foster family!” Jason is quick to say, the bag now empty. He holds it in his shaking hands, still shivering from the cold.

“Hey, hey, we’re not sending you to a foster family,” Dick stops him, and for a minute, the bat simply stands back and watches his Robin take control. “We know a really good guy that loves kids. He’s got plenty of money and has more than enough food for you. He can take care of you. Can we at least bring you to him?” He asks softly.

A natural leader, stepping up and keeping Jason calm.

The street kid hesitates, but eventually agrees. “Fine. But if the guy’s a creep, I’m leaving!”

“That’s fair. But to be honest, we kinda know the guy,” Dick whispers to the boy, hopping into the seat beside him. “You do?” Jason asks with a confused glance. “I thought you guys were like.. animals. That’s what the news said.”

“We are,” Robin nods, offering the boy a hidden lollipop he had put in the backseat. “And besides, if the family sees you, they’ll wanna help you! They helped me before!”

“Really?” Jason asks with a shocked face. “But you’re..”

“Different. Yea, I am. But that didn’t stop them from helping me,” the bird says, letting the boy take the candy and curiously inspect it.

The bat takes them into a nicer part of the city, where the wealthy usually tend to plot their huge homes and luxurious fortunes. It’s got a massive yard and a gigantic house, perfectly trimmed bushes and trees outside.

“We’ll drop you off here,” the bat states, getting the two out of the car. “Robin and I have to go, but this family is trusted. They can take care of you and help get your mother the help she needs.”

“But if she—“

“If she knows you told someone, she’d be upset, we know,” Dick stops him gently. “But her life could depend on it. You’ve seen what that bad stuff does to her. If you tell the family, they can help save her life.”

A delay. Jason stills before looking up at the bird.

“Look, we have to leave, but if you wanna get help with those injuries and get your mama help, go to that door right there and knock. A nice old man will open the door. All you have to say is Batman told me to ask for Bruce Wayne, ok?” Robin says softly, watching the boy eat the sucker.

“Ok,” Jason mumbles, watching as the bird gets back into the car.

“You know what to do, Jason. Do what’s best for you and your mother,” the bat gently urges, getting into the batmobile and speeding off.

The street kid stands there, watching the vehicle fade out of sight. It’s ice cold outside as he slowly starts to walk towards the impressively large house. He stops and waits a few times along the way, but makes it to the front door and pauses.

“What’s best for mama..” he murmurs, biting his lip while he thinks.

He knocks. Quiet, gentle, part of him hoping nobody answers. Scared of rejection or looking like a fool. He doesn’t need to be standing at a rich man’s home, the people here wouldn’t care about a street rat—

“Hello?” An older man opens the door. Wearing a nice suit with a caring look in his eyes. “How can I help you, young sir?”

“Uh..”

Jason freezes.

“Batman told me.. to ask for Bruce Wayne.”

Chapter Text

“Oh, I see,” the man nods, the warmth from the house radiating out from the doorway. “Then come in, please. Make yourself at home.”

Anxiously stepping into the mansion, there’s flower vases by the entrance, high price furniture decorating the place, clean and tidy without a single thing out of place. No yelling or arguing in the other rooms, just a comfortable silence and some background music coming from the dining room.

It’s the opposite of Jason’s home. He’s.. sort of envious when he thinks about it. Rich people are usually pricks, mean stuck up assholes that only think of themselves, but so far, he’s only heard good things about the people here. It’s weird. Confusing. Definitely more than any child should have to worry about.

“Come sit by the fire, child. Get warmed up,” he gently urges, bringing the boy to the couch by the fireplace, the flames inside flicking with an orange glow.

Going over to the phone, the older man dials a number and speaks calmly. “Master Bruce, you have a young gentleman waiting for you in the living room,” he states, hanging up the phone.

“My name is Alfred. I’m the Wayne family’s butler,” he explains with a warm smile. “Can I get you anything while you wait?” He offers, watching the boy sit on one of the couches like he’s in a doctor’s office. Still and tense in an unfamiliar environment.

“No thank you. Sir. I’m good,” he quickly corrects himself.

“Very well then,” Alfred replies with a slightly amused smirk. “I’ll be off tidying up if you need me. Don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

Tidying what? Jason thinks. The house looks spotless. If there’s anything to tidy up, it’s the dirt and snow Jason brought in. He looks around the main area, seeing pictures of a little boy, a man, and Alfred, smiling and having fun.

This is.. weird. Is this a trap? Has he been pranked by the local cryptids? Maybe he shouldn’t have trusted a giant bat and a human bird hybrid.

A man startled him out of his thoughts, walking into the room with a smile. “Hey,” he holds a towel, striding in and offering it to the boy.

Black hair, a fancy suit, and a sparkly watch. He strides into the room confident and calm like he owns it, which.. he kinda does. It’s almost intimidating, especially seeing how much bigger he is than Jason.

“Hi,” Jason responds meekly, looking down at the floor, his legs dangling from the couch. He accepts the towel, drying himself off with it and getting the melted snow out of his damp hair.

“Alfred tells me that Batman sent you,” he asks, sitting down on the couch across from Jason.

“You know Batman?” Jason asks with a skeptical glance up at the man.

“I do,” the younger man says with a proud nod. “Occasionally he’ll send kids here that need help. Batman doesn’t exactly have the legal tools or money that I do. They help with immediate danger like.. robberies or crimes. I can help with legal stuff or get you food and clothes, anything you’d need.”

“So,” he says, leaning back into the soft cushions. “My name is Bruce Wayne and I’m here to help with whatever you need. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

“What’s.. going on?” Jason questions. “I tried to take the wheels from the bat’s car. Instead of busting my ass like he should have, he gave me a snack and the, the.. bird thing talked to me. It said I could come here and you’d help. I told him I didn’t want a foster family, but they said you weren’t one.”

“Yea,” Bruce confirms. “We aren’t a foster family here. Well, I wouldn’t be against it, but I don’t usually foster kids. It’s me, my butler, and my son, Dick.”

“You named your son Dick?” Jason cocks a brow before quickly correcting himself. “Sorry sir, I didn’t mean it like that—“

Bruce was laughing.

“No, no, don’t worry. I don’t mind,” the man shrugs with a smirk. “It’s honest. I can appreciate that! You can speak your mind here. His name is Richard, but everyone calls him Dick. My son is adopted, actually. I didn’t get to name him.” He gratefully accepts a cup of hot chocolate from the butler, watching as the other one is set in front of Jason.

“What made you adopt a kid you didn’t know?” The boy asks curiously, eyeing the drink like it’ll fight him.

“He lost his parents. He used to be in the circus. After an accident, he was all alone. It.. kinda reminded me of myself,” the adult explains calmly. “When I was little, my parents were murdered. I knew what it was like to be alone and scared. I didn’t want that for him.” He shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Jason mutters. “Don’t be. If things didn’t go the way they did, I wouldn’t have my son. I love him more than anything in the world. And Alfred, and all the holidays I get the spend with them,” Bruce replies.

”I used to be really avoidant of it all,” he admits. “After my parents, I kinda closed off everyone and everything else. I hated getting close to anything and opening up, but I think Alfred and Dick have really helped me grow as a person.” 

Jason isn’t gonna cry. He’s not. He’s having another mood swing and this sappy ass sob story isn’t helping. His softer gaze hardens as quick as he can manage.

“Right,” he nods.

“I’m sorry, this isn’t about me. What’s your name?” Bruce asks softly, sipping his hot chocolate and carefully setting it back down.

“Jason Todd.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Jason. Can you tell me what’s going on at home? Or why you needed to steal tires?” Bruce asks, seeing the boy pick up the warm cup and hold it close to him.

“I.. needed money,” he admits quietly. He’s not proud of that fact, but it’s the truth. He didn’t come all the way here to lie. “My parents aren’t paying the bills and we won’t get any more warnings to pay on time. We were already told we had our last chance last time.”

“I see.” The man says. “Your dad. What does he do for work?”

“He doesn’t work,” Jason scoffs and looks away, holding his cup a little tighter. “Mama says he’s a bum and a deadbeat. I say he’s never around enough for me to know, but I guess that says something.”

“Hm, ok,” Bruce replies calmly. “Your mother. What does she do for work?”

“She’s got a part time job at some convenience store. It’s open late at night and it’s close to the house. She said the jobs in the better parts of Gotham aren’t hiring at the moment and we don’t have enough to move,” the boy explains. “But she’s also been saying that for two years with different jobs, so I don’t know.” He sighs, shrugging and drinking the warm sweetness.

“If she has a job, isn’t she getting paid? What does she do with the money?” The billionaire inquires, trying to prompt the conversation he already knows is coming.

“Uh..” the boy hesitates, watching his drink swirl inside the cup. “She.. buys bad stuff.” It’s hard to admit with how much he loves her, but he’s trying to remind himself that he’s doing this for her. Not against her.

“Bad stuff,” Bruce nods. “Like.. alcohol? Does she drink?”

“No. Well.. sometimes, but only if it’s been a bad week,” the boy answers. “Dad does too when he’s around, but that’s not often.”

“Oh, ok. What about.. drugs? Do they have any of those?” Bruce questions nonchalantly. Don’t make it a big deal and hopefully neither will the boy. Keep calm and maybe he’ll follow lead.

A big pause. Jason sits in the silence, watching the fire.

“Yea.” He finally answers.

“It hurts her, doesn’t it?” The man softly asks with a worried look. “It usually does for people who use them.”

“She lost a lot of weight,” Jason comments, the orange flickers lighting up the room. “Dad pointed that out during an argument. I can’t remember what it was about, but he said it. He yelled at her for leaving needles everywhere. I..” he shakes his head, biting his lip.

“I don’t see why they do it. Ever. What’s so bad to resort to that? I thought killing yourself was a horrible thing to do,” he mumbles sadly.

“It is,” Bruce agrees gently. “It’s not okay. People who do that need help. And for your mother and you, we can get her help.”

Jason goes quiet, listening to the crackles and pops, the scent of his drink calming him.

“Ok.”

“I’ll have my butler contact a legal team. We can get your mother to a team of people that can support and help her. As for your father, I’m not sure what they’ll do. Maybe try to help him too with food stamps or a job offer, try to get his life on track,” he suggests with a caring look.

“What about me? I don’t wanna go to foster care,” Jason says timidly.

“You won’t. I was just getting to that,” Bruce answers lightly. “If you want, you can stay here with me and my son. He’s about your age and I’m sure he’d love a friend. I can become your guardian until your mother is healthy again. Then you can go back to her. Does that sound okay?”

No. No, it doesn’t sound okay, Jason says in his head. Why are you being so nice? This has to be a trap, there’s no way it’s not. He’s gotta be a creep or a liar or something because nobody is this nice. Not even his mama. She lies every time she says she’ll quit, every time she says she won’t tolerate his dad’s shit anymore and still does. 

“It feels too good to be true,” he states firmly. “What do you want in return?”

Bruce tilts his head with a concerned expression. “I don’t want anything in return,” he says truthfully. “I know I have a privilege in the world and I wanna make as big of a difference as I can to help people. If that means helping your family out until they’re healthy and happy, I’d be more than willing to do that.”

He doesn’t trust it. How can he? This is like when dad pretends to be nice and then comes home wasted, slamming empty cupboards and screaming at his family. Or when he says he’s got money from a job he did and comes home with a pack of beer. It’s all fake and Jason won’t fall for it again!

“I’m not stupid,” Jason says defensively. “You don’t have to treat me like I’m helpless. I can handle myself.”

“I believe you,” the billionaire tells him softly. “I know you’re a capable kid. If you’ve talked to the bat, it means you’re really special. Not a lot of people can do that.”

“What, you can’t?” Jason replies sarcastically.

“No, we can’t.” Bruce answers simply. “Those creatures aren’t human. They only appear when people are in need. To have seen them and talked to them means that you must’ve needed their help in some way. Whether that was bringing you here or getting you warm, it’s a good thing.”

“Hmph.”

A brief silence falls between the two before Jason speaks up.

“You got any house rules I should know about?” Jason asks quietly, still watching the fire and avoiding eye contact.

“Only a few, but they’re basic things. Clean your room, we have a butler but he takes care of a lot of stuff, we so try to lighten his work load,” the man says with a small smile. “Be nice and respectful to each other. Don’t try to hurt anyone. Uh.. if you break a chandelier by swinging on it, preferably tell someone so we don’t step on the glass.”

“Break a chandelier?” Jason asks. “Who the hell is crashing your chandeliers?”

“Dick,” Bruce answers with a smile. “He’s a playful one. You’ll like him!”

He stands up and starts to head for the kitchen. “We can get you dinner and then you can pick a room. You got a favourite food?”

“…I like spaghetti,” Jason mumbles, his face muffled slightly by the couch as he looks over it to see Bruce.

“Then I’ll make us some spaghetti,” the billionaire says. “You’re welcome to go anywhere in the house. Just be nice and behave. If you need anything, you can always tell me or Alfred. Doesn’t matter what time it is or how big of an emergency.”

The butler comes into the kitchen with a playful scowl, pushing Bruce out of his way. “Out of my kitchen! Go! On with you!” He scolds lightheartedly. “Trying to put me out of my job, what am I making here?”

“I’d tell you if you didn’t push me!” Bruce laughs, leaning against the kitchen counter. “Jason wanted spaghetti.”

“It’s fine. I don’t need it,” the boy tries to back peddle. “You don’t have to.”

“Nonsense,” Alfred replies, popping Bruce‘s hand when he tries to steal a freshly made cookie. “Too hot, sir. Do not!” He warns with a comfortable grin. “As for you, young sir, you can get whatever you feel like anytime you need it. Simple things that are this easy to do would be ridiculous not to. I’m sure you’re still recovering from your frightful encounter with those beasts outside.”

“Beasts outside?”

“Indeed. Coming here must’ve been an interesting trip if you came with them, no?” The butler inquires.

Jason rests his head on the couch, watching the two from a distance.

“It had a car.”

The statement makes Alfred chuckle and Bruce smirk.

“Who would’ve thought that monsters can drive?” The billionaire remarks, dinner being made and prepared by the two adults as Jason slowly adjusts from his spot in the living room.

They don’t seem bad, but who knows? He can’t be totally sure just yet. The boy eats dinner with several reminders from the butler to slow down, not to eat too fast, to relax. The older man pulls Bruce into the hallway to talk to him, a concerned look on his face.

“First you bring a circus boy and now you bring an abused child covered in snow and bruises,” he whispers to the vigilante. “If you bring home another child in the new two weeks, you owe me a vacation, sir!”

“You wouldn’t take a vacation even if we went as a family,” Bruce says in a hushed voice, knowing the man far too well.

“As a family? With the looks that child gave you? I’d think he’d prefer to take your tires again,” the butler comments, crossing his arms.

Bruce sighs. “He’s not a bad kid.”

“So you say. You also say you found him stealing,” Alfred points out.

“His mother—“ Bruce starts, getting stopped by the older man raising his hand.

“I heard. I don’t need a retelling. All I’m saying is that the boy has many issues we’ve never handled before. He’ll need a trip to Leslie to treat the more.. severe issues,” he murmurs, looking over at Jason, shivering by the fireplace.

“I can fix the cuts and bruises. New clothes, a room, and food won’t be an issue. Him eating so fast he hurts himself might be though. Judging by the looks of him, I’d say he needs a bath and a physical evaluation by a professional doctor,” he says. “I do my best, but I am only one man, sir.”

“I know. Thank you,” Bruce tells him, hugging the older man.

“You’re welcome, sir,” the butler replies calmly.

“Still, if you keep bringing home strays, I might consider hosting an intervention.”

Chapter Text

Jason picked one of the many rooms at the top, on the same level as Bruce, right across from Dick’s. Showing him inside and letting him look around, Jason decided it was fine. No weird cameras hidden anywhere, no drugs left on the floor or stashed somewhere he could see. He was planning on picking the smallest room as to not be a burden, but all the rooms seem huge. There’s not one he would describe as small in here; even the bathrooms are bigger than his old room. Cleaner too.

“I don’t get it,” he mumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to the sounds of the house. “If you can’t understand the monsters, how do you know them? You said you can’t talk to them.”

“There’s other ways to communicate,” Bruce answers softly, sitting down in a chair by the desk. Keeping some distance to let the boy relax, not pushing or trying to make him get used to touch — that won’t work, no. Jason’s more like a cat. Trust and touch has to be earned, and Bruce is totally okay with that. He can wait.

“They were hurt. We helped by showing trust and respect. Don’t hurt animals or people, help the ones you can.”

“So they’re like Santa?” Jason questions with an eye roll and a scoff. “That’s so fake.”

Bruce looks away, not quite sure how to help the boy calm down. He’s gonna be frazzled for a bit, but he doesn’t blame the poor kid.

“I’ll let you relax. Give you some quiet time,” he says softly. “Alfred’s calling the legal team I talked about earlier and I’ll have him bring you some toys. Dick might’ve left one or two in here on accident, but I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if you played with them.”

He stands up carefully, not wanting to startle him. He can see how the child watches his hands, lowering his head and turning away instinctively when Bruce gets up.

“You need anything, I’ll be in my office. Right across the hall.” He closes the door behind him, leaving the boy be.

For a few minutes, Jason takes the time to just breathe. He’s not being hurt, they’ve been nothing but nice to him, they’ve given him a room and taken him in and none of it makes sense! They’ve got this confusing story about the creatures outside and he doesn’t know why they left him here with these people.

He lays back onto his bed, feeling the soft mattress and melting into it. This is so much nicer than the hard, tough one at home. And there’s no screaming or fighting next door and it’s.. kinda nice. Pulling the blanket over himself to try and stay warm, his head hits the pillow and he’s passing out instantly. Comfortable and quiet, it almost felt like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop before. But with nobody around, it should be safe and he’ll hear if anyone comes by.

Some time passes. His eyes open slowly, his face in a mix of fuzzy blankets and pillows. He opens his eyes, head snapping to check the blankets. That’s a new one, he didn’t have that one before he fell asleep.

Someone’s been in here. There’s a few coloring books and crayons on the table, a couple toys and actions figures on the desk, and a new blanket above Jason. He kinda likes this one though, it’s warm and a dark red color. A cup of what smells like apple juice has been left on the desk, a lid on top of it with a bright straw sticking out. The little note underneath it says “hope you feel better :) —Dick.”

This family is so strange..

Stretching and sipping his apple juice, it’s early into the next morning with the sun shining in through the blinds. Getting changed into the clothes laid out on the chair, he’s in a way too big t-shirt and pyjama pants. Seriously, who the hell can fit these? A giant?

He wanders around for a bit before going down to the kitchen, putting his cup in the sink and washing it. Like instinct, the butler swoops in, gently ushering the boy away.

“Ah ah, young sir. You people, I say. Trying to take my jobs,” he teases, patting the boy’s head. “I appreciate your assistance, but please. Leave it to me. I don’t get paid for nothing, you know.”

And now he’s being asked not to do dishes. This house only get weirder..

“But then how do I earn my spot?” Jason asks, a puzzled look on his face.

“Earn your.. no, dear child. You don’t have to earn your keep,” the butler gently reassured him, cleaning the cup and drying his hands. “You don’t have to do the minor, tedious tasks. That’s my job, although I do appreciate you trying. It was very sweet of you.”

“You’re a responsible young man. I see Master Bruce did well taking you in,” he continues. Giggles come from the living room as Bruce carries a boy in his arms, setting him on the counter. “Hi!” The boy waves at him. He seems familiar somehow, but Jason isn’t sure. Maybe he’s just sleepy.

“Hi,” Jason looks up at him with a shy wave. “I’m Dick! I left you some apple juice on your table,” the other boy says. “Mhm. I found it. Thank you,” Jason nods.

“Bruce says you’re gonna be staying with us. If you ask nicely, he’ll give you ice cream,” Dick whispers with a playful smile. “I have my own thing of strawberry in the freezer.”

“What? No, the strawberry is mine,” Bruce looks at Dick with a teasing smile. “You stay away from my ice cream!”

“No!”

”You still gotta finish up those chocolate snack cakes! You have enough treats, let me have mine—“

Jason learns quickly that Bruce and Dick are close. Comfortably close. Like father and son. He feels kinda like he’s intruding into the family, but with some reassurance that they’re happy to have him, that worry decays away over time. Hours turn into a few days, then a couple of weeks. He still flinches at loud noises or shies away when someone gets too close, but Dick is helping him open up and make jokes more often. He makes a few sarcastic remarks and with only a few mood swings here and there, they’ve got a trip to Leslie’s office.

Driving to the doctor’s office, Bruce helps Jason out of the car and into the building. Talking to a nurse, Jason plays with his jacket sleeve while Bruce works on the paperwork and signing in. With a smile from the nurse, they sit in the waiting room.

“You’re doing good, buddy,” Bruce praises softly, offering his hand and watching Jason take it. Still slow and careful, but faster than before. A step of progress.

“Why am I here? Neither of us are sick,” he whispers. “You’re right. We aren’t sick, but we wanna make sure you’re healthy and don’t have any issues we don’t know about,” Bruce explains quietly.

“You don’t trust me,” Jason states, but it’s more of a question than a fact. He doesn’t wanna argue or fight, but he’s wondering if Bruce thinks he’s lying about being fine.

“No, kiddo. I trust you,” he says with a nod, holding his hand. “Sometimes we get hurt and we don’t even know it. Like one time, Dick passed out in the kitchen. Gave Alfred a heart attack it scared him so bad.”

“What was wrong with him?” Jay asks with a concerned glance up at the man.

“He kept forgetting to drink his water,” Bruce answers simply with a shrug. “Alfred had reminded him, but he kept getting so distracted by other things, he kept forgetting. The point is, his body was struggling and we didn’t even know it. A doctor might’ve recognized the signs, but we didn’t until it hit the last second.”

“Oh,” Jason mumbles with a nod. “Ok. Is he.. okay now?”

“Yea, he’s good. We just gotta keep him extra hydrated since he loves to run around,” the man replies with a smile. “I’m thinking of getting him one of the belts that can clip a bottle on, so he’ll always have a drink—“

“Mr. Wayne?” the nurse calls out. “Leslie is ready for you.”

“Thank you,” the man says with a polite smile, tapping Jason’s knee. “Come on, little man.”

Moving into the back room, Jason fidgets and plays with his clothes, sitting on the table and briefly looking up at the woman. White hair and blue eyes, she’s taller than him, holding a clipboard.

“Good morning you two,” she greets happily. “Bruce, you’ve got another one I see.”

“I do. His name is Jason,” the man says, standing beside the table. “He’s a very smart kid. A little sassy, but he’s nice when you get to know him.”

Jason smiles and tries not to laugh, poking Bruce’s torso with a fake offended smile.

“Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. You can be sassy,” he shrugs with a smirk. “We still love you.”

“An attitude is normal in young boys,” Leslie adds with a nod. “We’ll do some blood work and a physical exam to make sure everything’s normal. When we’re finished, you can get a sucker from the nurse if you want.”

The sucker is nice, but Jason isn’t focused on that part.

“Why bloodwork?” He asks Bruce with a worried look. He wasn’t told about this until now!

“Problems can hide in your body and you might not feel the symptoms or side effects of it. It’s just to make sure we know what’s going on for sure,” Leslie explains, trying to keep it simple and not overwhelm the boy.

“Do we have to?” He asks anxiously. He doesn’t wanna see another needle, he can easily pass. “I’m not hurting or anything.”

“I understand, but it’s to double check in case anything is sick or not quite right,” she says, looking at Bruce. “It’s your decisions. I leave that to both of you. You can decide while I check over little stuff, ok? There’s no rush.”

Checking his vitals and writing everything down, she keeps her findings on her file and finishes up pretty easily.

“The bloodwork might help you, Jay,” Bruce says, going to pat Jason’s head before stopping himself. Gotta go slow and steady he remembers, and instead offers his hand. Jason takes it and nods. “I guess. But I don’t wanna see it..” he mumbles, looking at the ground.

“That’s okay. Bruce to here to distract you. He’ll make sure you don’t have to see it,” Leslie tries to comfort the boy, getting her tools ready.

“Mhm,” the billionaire nods, kneeling in front of Jason and letting Leslie take his previous spot. “You two seem oddly rehearsed with this,” Jason comments unsurely. “He tends to visit and try to help the people that are scared,” the older woman tells him, moving his sleeve, cleaning the area with an alcohol wipe, and tying the tight band around his arm. “It’s gonna be a little poke,” Bruce says, cupping the boy’s face with his hand and blocking his view of Leslie.

A few seconds pass and there’s the poke. Jason tries not to cry, tears welling in his eyes. He won’t. He doesn’t need to. He’s fine.

“You’re doing awesome, kiddo. Just relax,” he shushes softly, and the praise is not helping when he’s trying to stay stoic. Jason gives a short hum, looking at Bruce’s chest and seeing the little details in his suit, attempting to distract himself. She finishes a minute or two later, taking out the needle and giving him a bandage with some cartoon character on it.

“You did so good!” She murmurs, moving all her equipment away before nodding to Bruce. “You’re all finished. For being so brave, you can get a piece of candy.”

“Thanks,” Jason mumbles, looking down at the bandaid with a scowl. His guardian helps him down from the table and goes up to the front desk, Jason choosing a cherry sucker and opening it. “We’ll call you with the results,” the nurse tells Bruce, waving at the boy. “Bye, sweetheart!”

“Bye,” Jay waves back, the duo going back to the car.

“You so betrayed me,” he states, eating his candy.

“It wasn’t on purpose! I forgot!” the man says quietly, a guilty look on his face. “I’m so sorry!”

A small pout.

“Will an apology hug make it better?” Bruce offers, opening his arms to the short boy. “Fine,” he reluctantly agrees, letting the billionaire pick him up and hug him. 

“And I wanna stay up an extra hour tonight.” 

“Damn it, Jay.” 

Chapter Text

“This has got to be the stupidest idea you’ve ever had!”

The officer beside Gordon can’t help watch in disbelief as the commissioner sets up his new idea. “It’s not that stupid if you actually think about it,” Gordon says nonchalantly with a shrug. “It could work.”

“It could work?! Why the hell would we want it to work?” Officer Andrew asks, crossing his arms. “We look like a goddamn cult summonin’ that crazy bastard! It’s a monster, Gordon! You can’t tame it and you definitely can’t try to use it to be the police team’s bulldog!”

The commissioner adjusts the big spotlight he had argued with the mayor over, tilting it up into the dark sky above.

“I know that,” he replies calmly. “We aren’t gonna use it. Whatever it is, it’s got a motive and an agenda. We might not know what it is, but it’s not killing people. That tells me it’s not just mindlessly wreaking havoc on the city. It might be sentient.”

“Sentient? Have you lost your mind, old man?” The other man replies with a scoff. “What are we gonna do? Ask it kindly to keep catching bad guys for us? And what’s with the funky decorations?” He questions, gesturing to the neat areas of plants and what looks like an attempt at a rooftop garden.

“Well, those are moonflowers and, these over here, I think they’re uh.. what did Barbara say..” Gordon points to the plants. “Oh, evening primrose!”

“And why are they on the Gotham City Police Department rooftop?” Andrew asks with a puzzled stare.

“Bats like the scent,” Gordon shrugs. “Listen, civilians are scared of this thing. If it really is a threat, we need to see it and check it ourselves,” he continues, walking by the thin water stream going by the flowers.

“So we’re making a home for it up here?” The officer says, tilting his head, observing the roof with a sigh. “I don’t see how the mayor is allowing this.”

“He’s not,” Gordon shakes his head. “But if he’s got a problem with it, he knows to tell me. This shouldn’t bother anyone anyway. If it does, we can take it down. It’s just to get an idea of the creature so we know what to do next.”

“Contact a zoo,” the officer mumbles under his breath. “Or a freak show that’ll take in weird ass animals.” The strong fruity smell emanates from the rest of the wannabe garden. It’s small, makeshift and half done, but it’s still a good plan in Gordon’s eyes.

Pale flowers, gentle water streams, the lights are off with the big spotlight turning on, tilted directly into the sky and posting up a bat shaped silhouette into the stars.

“I had my daughter look some of it up. She’s been asking me questions about this thing for weeks and I haven’t had any answers,” the commissioner states, wandering around the rooftop lazily.

“You had her research a mythical creature?” The man asks with a brow raised.

“It’s not mythical. Some of the other officers have seen it themselves,” Gordon replies. “And yes, she looked up bats and read about what they like. Dark spots with cracks and places to hide. There’s no predators up here and it could be a comfortable spot to land if it gets tired of flying.”

“Great. So we’re catering towards nocturnal predators and welcoming it to our rooftop. What a great idea,” the officer says sarcastically with a sigh. “Whatever. Have fun on your rooftop, Gordie—“

It’s goes dead silent as the two look up, seeing a big black figure flying around in the sky, circling above them and landing with a clean swoop down onto the opposite side of the roof.

It stands there, watching and listening, tilting its head with a low growl.

“Ohmyfuckinggod,” Andrew mumbles anxiously, trying to walk backwards to the way downstairs, hitting something behind him and making a bump. The creature’s head snaps over to it, staring him down with solid white eyes, a sharp shape that’s upturned at the outer corner with a menacing glare.

“Don’t move,” Gordon mumbles firmly, staying in his spot and keeping still. “We don’t wanna threaten it.”

“What is that?!” The officer mumbles, mostly panicking with a bit of adrenaline dripping into his system. Gordon’s eyes scan for details almost immediately — a large figure, dark as the night with a leathery sheen to its wings. It watches the pair before stepping to the side and looking down at one of the flowers, a light colored one.

“Told you bats like certain flowers,” Gordon quietly brags, smiling to the other guy. “Man, fuck this! It’s gonna eat us!” The officer whispers back, eyes locked onto the beast like it’ll charge at him. “No, no, just.. stay still,” the commissioner assures him, not moving from his spot.

A small hand pokes out from the beneath the wings, trying to poke the flower. When the bat creature notices, it looks down and squeaks at it, adjusting its wings to cover itself back again. A muffled chirp comes from underneath, earning questioning looks from both of the police officers.

“Did it.. steal a child?” The officer asks with a puzzled glance. “Nah, probably not. The kid would be screaming,” Gordon says.

It chirps to the pair, tall ears twitching ever so slightly as it nods its head at the huge spotlight.

“This?” Gordon says gently, slowly pointing at the light. The monster nods. Andrew panics even more.

“It can understand you?!” He whisper yells to the commissioner. Ignoring the scared man, he continues to stay calm in front of the bat.

“We wanted to see if we could talk to you. Figure out where you’re from and what you are,” he says truthfully. “You’re a big mystery to the city, pal. We wanted to know if you were a threat or not.”

The bat tilts its head and then shakes it side to side. A no.

“No? You’re not a threat?” Gordon confirms with a sigh of relief. “Good. Thank you.”

“That animal just.. responded to you,” the other man says in shock. “And you believe it?! How do you know it’s not just copying you?”

“I didn’t shake my head. If it’s copying humans, then it copied someone else. That means it’s smart enough to learn,” Gordon shrugs. “Out of all the shootouts and crazy schemes we’ve seen, this is what scares you?”

“I’ve never seen anything that big fly before, commissioner,” Andrew admits, frozen in his spot. “I’ve heard what the criminals we catch say about it. That it weighs ten tons and it hits even harder. You didn’t listen to what they said in the interview tapes?”

“Now if I were to listen to every interview we did in the history of ever, you think I wouldn’t be bored outta my mind?” Gordon responds with an amused smile. “Besides, half of those people contradict each other. The other day Joker had told me that Bane and the bat were fighting because Bane killed its mate.”

“It had a mate?” The man asks with a befuddled expression, brows furrowed in confusion. “That’s not the point,” the commissioner continues. “What I’m saying is over half of it is malarkey. It’s lies and fake stories, that’s what Joker and his lackeys do. We can’t trust what every criminal says.”

The hand tries to reach out of the wings again, this time succeeding and getting a head out. It’s a little boy, giggling softly and looking at the white flowers. A human mixed with a bird instead of a bat like the creature behind it.

“Oh my god, it has a baby,” the officer whispers. “We’re so gonna die!”

“We’re not gonna die,” the older man scoffs. “It’s perfectly calm, just don’t scare him.” He stretches slowly, keeping his movements careful as he sits down beside the light. “You got a name?”

No answer. The kid escapes the winged creature and crouches in front of the water stream, watching it in awe as it flows to the plants. Brightly colored, the short wings on his back puffed up and ruffled in what Gordon assumes is excitement.

“I’ve heard criminals call it the bat man. Just a nickname, but they never did agree on a gender. Some say it’s a bat woman. I’ve heard both,” Andrew murmurs, trying to help with any information he can remember.

“A few of the villains we’ve caught keep calling it that,” the older man nods. “Well, I guess we’ll call you Batman. Is that okay?”

A nod from the large bat. Unblinking eyes looking at them and watching the vibrant bird like child below it. The boy chirps happily, standing up and following the water around the rooftop.

“I take it you both like the decorations?” Gordon smiles. Another nod. “I heard it eats people when they walk home alone,” the younger officer whispers. “You’re not helping, go back downstairs,” Gordon whispers with an amused chuckle. “Just saying,” Andrew adds, carefully maneuvering down and going back into the building.

Comfortable silence fills the rooftop, occasionally broken up by the chirps and squeaks between the two.

“Can you talk at all?” Gordon questions gently. The shadow doesn’t nod or shake its head. The bird doesn’t either, instead preferring to focus on sitting by the water and laying down on his stomach. His wings stretch out as the older one hovers nearby, standing by protectively. 

“You’re a dad, huh?” Gordon smirks, glancing at the kid. “That’s yours?”

A nod and a chirp. This one is his.

“You protect him well. Constantly staying nearby. I respect that,” he comments. “I got a daughter. She’s been so curious about you.”

A hum. The younger one follows a caterpillar, his eyes never leaving it. Climbing onto a leaf and eating, the boy gives a soft trill.

“You’re nocturnal I take it,” the commissioner states, fine with filling the silence in by himself. “You come out at night and take care of criminals. Why?”

No answer. Silence. Both of the cryptids are still.

“Do you have a reason?” Gordon questions calmly. “I mean, you have to, right? You only go after really specific people and you never kill or eat anybody. At least that we know of.”

No answer. The bird hops up and heads towards the older man, but the bat stops him.

“I won’t hurt him,” Gordon reassures softly. “I don’t have any food on me, so I can’t feed you two, but I promise I won’t hurt you unless you go hunting people. As long as you’re not hostile, we’re totally fine.”

The bat hesitates, but eventually relents and lets the boy go closer. He stands beside the bat, holding onto the outside of its wing and waving at Gordon with a childish smile.

“For animals,” he chuckles, waving back at the boy. “You sure are smart.”

Letting the boy chirp at him for a while, he’s more than happy to listen and watch as they sit calmly in the makeshift garden. He hears the boy’s stomach growl and he hums in thought. Getting out his walkie talkie from his pocket, he taps on it.

“Hey, Mike, can you bring me some bird seed? Or like.. some bread?” He asks curiously. “Anything leftover in the office? I think I’ve got a donut on my desk.”

“Wha— bird seed? Are you feeding the birds again?” A male voice comes in from over the radio. “Yea, but I found a really cool bird this time. I wanna feed it,” Gordon says with a smile. “Just bring the donut please.”

“Can’t you get it?” The other man asks with a sigh. “Nah, my knees are aching,” Gordon chuckles. “You’re only saying that cuz I called you old earlier!” Mike replies, footsteps coming up the stairs. The beast instinctively wraps himself around his pup, shielding him from view.

A man pokes his head up, seeing the bat and freezing.

“Gordon. What the fuck is that,” he whispers, eyes wide in fear as he holds a glazed donut and a napkin. “It’s our new friend. This is Batman,” he introduces the inhuman pair. “And his baby is.. some kind of bird. I’m not quite sure yet.”

“His.. baby?” Mike asks skeptically, seeing the boy’s head pop out of the black wings. “Did that bat just give birth?” He asks quickly. “No, no,” Gordon laughs. “It hides underneath. It’s actually really clever!”

Taking the donut from Mike and letting him go back to his work, the commissioner breaks off a piece and offers it to the boy. “Here you go,” he says, watching both creatures tilt their heads and study it before the bat nods.

The bird was waiting for permission. These things are highly intelligent for mere beasts. Eating the donut and sharing some with its parent, the boy chirps and gives a thumbs up.

Another copied human action. Where are they from? Who made them? Who taught them this?

”Hey big guy, can you tell me where you came from?” He asks, looking up at the darker colored cryptid. It shakes its head. A no.

”Hm. Well, ok. Fair. If I was feared by a city, I can understand being hesitant,” Gordon responds with a hint of sympathy. “I’m gonna turn this light off, but you and your kid are welcome here anytime. It was nice of you to stop by and humour me. Keep up the good work you two.”

With that, Gordon turns the light off and heads back inside. Dick, now very energetic at their rooftop gift and donut, definitely wants to come back tomorrow. 

Chapter Text

“I don’t get it. Why not just watch a movie or go talk?” Jason asks, laying on Bruce’s bed like a sprawled out cat in the sun. “Cuz Bruce has a cruuush!” Dick teases with a giggle, watching his father figure fix his tie and suit while he looks in the mirror.

“Not true,” Bruce states, hoping the smile on his face doesn’t give him away. “I don’t have time for romance. I’m a business man.”

“I’m a business man,” Dick mocks with a playful look. “I don’t have time for games! We have to be serious! I’m only taking you out so I can study you!”

“You’re gonna study a random lady all night long?” The former street boy asks, watching as Dick hops down from the wardrobe and flops on top of him. “It’s not a woman! Daddy likes a boy!” He answers, putting his head on his friend’s tummy.

“You like a boy?” Jason asks with a confused glance, tilting his head back to see Bruce. “I thought the paparazzi always called you a ladies man.”

“I like both. Both is good,” the man nods, taking a deep breath. “Okay, I’m only gonna be gone an hour. I’ll be in Metropolis, but if either of you need me, call me. If Alfred can’t handle something, I’ll be right there.”

“Make sure you stay inside and the doors stay locked,” he continues, watching the two boys fight over a pillow. “Just behave and be good. I’ll be back in time to give you both good night kisses.” He goes to the kids with Dick knowingly sitting up for a goodbye kiss, the man kissing his forehead. Jason watches and hesitates, but also sits up, putting his forehead forward with a wanting glance up at the billionaire.

“You want one too?” Bruce asks with a proud smile. A nod from the boy. “Mwah! There you go!” He says, ruffling Dick’s hair and going to the doorway. “Dick, watch your younger brother! Take care of him and behave for Alfred!”

“I’m not a younger brother!” Jason argues with the excited circus boy. “You are! We got you, you’re a brother, and you’re younger! That equals a baby brother,” Dick states confidently, waving to Bruce as he heads downstairs. “I’m not a baby either! I’m only younger than you by a few months!” The former street kid pouts, looking away and studying Bruce’s bedroom. He’s not in here too much, but it looks so.. adultish.

A moment of silence passes.

“Wanna help me paint his walls?” Jason asks with a mischievous smirk, earning a laugh and a nod from Dick. “Yea!”

9:00 on Friday night, this exact apartment at this exact street. Bruce is parked outside the building location he’s checked for the fourth time. Knowing it’s 100% the place the journalist had told him about, Clark comes out in a cheap suit like last time with his hair a little tousled. His shirt’s a little sideways and he looks like he’s got his mind elsewhere.

“Sorry,” he mumbles with an embarrassed smile, trying to fix his hair. “I uh.. emergency with my neighbour,” he states, getting into the car.

“Oh, is everything okay? Bruce asks, looking through the car window to see the building. Nobody’s yelling or anything, so maybe there was a minor misunderstanding or something?

“Yea, no, it’s fine!” Clark assures him with a shy wave of his hand. “The old lady across from me lost her cat. I went to find it.”

“Ah, I see,” Bruce responds, his eyes scanning the other man. Subtly skeptical, he’s spotting details that he isn’t quite sure how to feel about. Hey, maybe he’s paranoid, but paranoia has kept him alive this long.

“You still wanna go to dinner?” He asks, leaving the doors unlocked. “We don’t have to if you’re busy.”

“No, I mean— yea, I wanna go to dinner,” Clark replies, a little flustered, trying to play it off with a playful smile. “Don’t tell me you’re backing out on me now,” he jokes lightheartedly.

It’s timid teasing, not quite as confident as he was at the gala. He’s nervous about something, but it could be that he’s just anxious for their date. Bruce can understand that — he’ll let it go for now, but keep it in the back of his mind.

“No, I’m good with the plan as long as you are,” the billionaire confirms, locking the doors and pulling onto the road, driving to the restaurant he had planned a reservation at. “I booked a place nearby for us. Figured you’d wanna go somewhere familiar.”

“Oh, thank you. Again, you didn’t have to,” Clark says with a smile, watching the other man drive them. An expensive car, Clark thinks. Is he trying to show off? Or maybe it’s just another vehicle for the billionaire. He’s never seen an article with Bruce Wayne and cars together, so who knows? “I’m totally fine with something small.”

“Come on,” Bruce smirks, glancing over at the journalist and shaking his head. “If I’m gonna take someone out, someone that I’m actually interested in, it’s go big or go home. I wanna take it seriously.” A small pause with curious eyes. “Unless you wouldn’t want that?”

“No, I’d..” Clark laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’d love that! It’s just, with work and how busy both of us are.. I never really imagined a billionaire would ever try to take me out.”

“Surprise,” Bruce shrugs calmly, stopping at a red light. “So, where was the cat?” He asks nonchalantly.

“What?” Clark replies with a confused look. “Oh! The cat? Uhm,” a nervous laugh. “You know, in a tree outside. It jumped out her window when she left it open,” he explains, nodding with his words.

Bruce looks over at the man with a suspicious glance. “Your neighbour across from you, her cat jumped out the window,” he confirms. More of a statement than a question, repeating it to make sure it’s Clark’s last answer.

“Yea, slippery thing snuck right out,” Clark agrees with a smile.

“Right,” Bruce nods, looking forward at the road.

He had studied the building as he had drove up to it. Clark had specifically told the billionaire which apartment was his.

The room across from Clark’s doesn’t have a window.

A silence fills the car as they arrive. Getting out and opening Clark’s door for him, they go inside. A few other people are dining, surrounded by expensive decorations and beautiful views, Bruce buying them a wonderful spot at the top. A nice, wide open space for both of them to be undisturbed.

“Wow..” Clark mumbles in awe, going up the stairs and sitting down at their table. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

“For taking out the best journalist in Metropolis? Yes, I did,” Bruce reassures him with a smile. “If I don’t give you a front page story date, was it really interesting enough to consider a second?”

Clark laughs with a content smile. “Clever,” he comments, taking the menu offered to him by a waiter and giving a mouthed out “thank you.”

Ordering their food, their meals are brought out to them. Clark admires the view while Bruce asks small questions about his work or life. Both seem much calmer now, but there’s a hint of underlying tension, at least on Bruce’s end. The waiter pours their wine as the night continues.

“So, what’s your relationship with that Lane girl?” Bruce casually asks, sipping his drink. “You mean Lois?” Clark asks, raising a brow. “We’re good friends. How’d you know about her?”

“She’s famous,” the billionaire says nonchalantly, looking at the man across from him. For a second, Clark gets an oh shit look on his face. It’d be hilarious if this didn’t support a theory Bruce has.

“For her writing,” he continues, watching the journalist give a sigh of relief. “Yea, she is,” Clark confirms with a smile. “But how’d you know I knew her?”

“She’s friends with Superman.”

Another oh shit look on Clark’s face.

“And?” He says, looking at the billionaire with narrowed eyes.

“And you have plenty of interviews with him. I figured you must’ve talked to each other at some point to discuss what you know about him,” Bruce answers simply. “You’ve done co-writing before. The two of you on the same piece.”

“Once or twice, yea,” Clark responds. “But that doesn’t—“

BOOM!

Exploding in the distance and causing the ground to shake, the air of seriousness is amplified by a thousand. Cars and roads being broken and buildings being shot at, it seems some of Lex’s failed security robots that Clark had covered in his article last night have apparently escaped being shut down. Or Lex didn’t listen when he was informed that it would go rouge. Either way, it’s putting people in danger. 

“Excuse me,” the journalist says quickly, Bruce standing up at the same time. “Right. I need a moment,” the billionaire states, both of them taking off into different directions, Bruce going downstairs and Clark heading to the restrooms.

People are screaming, trying to flee the attacking robots and pilotless mechs. Superman flies out, trying to move everyone to safety as he studies the things. He got a tour of how they work yesterday, but it wasn’t a good enough look to know how to shut them down instantly. There doesn’t seem to be a kill switch anywhere that he can see..

Because Lex didn’t put one. That’s partially what made it so dangerous. But he can’t focus on that at the moment, instead looking up to see a giant black shadow soaring above them, landing on top of the robot and clawing open the back panel. Using its talons to cut through the metal, it grabs two specific wires and connects them together, jumping high above the bot before it explodes. The robot slumps to the ground as the bat lands next to it, standing up to its full height.

First in Gotham and now Metropolis, at a very convenient time. Huh.

“Didn’t know you’d come here,” Superman says calmly to the cryptid, safely delivering a child to their mother, the family running away to avoid the destruction.

“You miss me that much?” He teases gently, flying to a robot and punching it back. “Or do you just like the trouble?”

The bat hums with what sounds like purr almost, attacking one of Lex’s other mindless drones, knowing exactly how to disable them.

Superman notices this. Questioning the bat has never been easy, but he’ll make sure to note it down. Maybe that can help him track where it came from. Could be from one of Lex’s secret projects or a lab he owns if it knows how his tech operates.

Knocking out the soulless pieces of armour is easy with the two of them, the creature flying to whichever one is targeting civilians and dismantling it before it can even shoot. It’s got an efficiency that even Superman’s impressed by.

“Thank you,” the hero says, dragging the last of the bots to the pile they’ve made. “You did good. I’ve got to go, but I appreciate the help. I’ll come back to Gotham to visit you soon.” 

His mind brewing with possibilities and ideas, Clark comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, seeing Bruce come back to the table a few seconds after him. Both just in time to greet each other. Adrenaline in their systems, slightly hotter than before, both with their hair messy and clothes looking like they’ve been put on in a hurry.

“I hope you can forgive me. Family matter,” the billionaire explains calmly, brushing himself off and settling into his seat.

“You’re perfectly fine,” Clark assures him. “I had my own emergency. Looks like we’ve got perfect timing.”

Bruce smiles gratefully, his expression turning amused when he fully glances at the man. “You’ve got rubble in your hair,” he comments smoothly.

“Huh? Oh!” Clark says with an embarrassed laugh, fixing his hair. “Sorry, I..”

He pauses, his expression going from shy to wary.

“Rubble?” He asks with furrowed brows. “That’s an odd word choice.”

Bruce straightens, clearing his throat. “You’ll have to forgive me. After all, I’m not the writer of the group.”

“Right,” Clark nods with a careful stare. He doesn’t know, right? No, no, how could he? But rubble.. who says that? He could’ve just said a piece of rock, but that specifically? Word choice matters, and to pick that was a deliberate decision, right? Is he trying to let me know that he knows?—

“You know, I gotta say, for a man from Gotham, you’re.. oddly calm,” he states with a dimpled smile. “Why do you say that?” Bruce asks with an innocent head tilt.

“Well, it’s just.. with everything happening there. I’ve heard horrible stories about that monster,” he adds with a worried glance. “If you ever need a place to stay, I’ve got room for you and your son.”

“What a generous offer,” the billionaire responds with slightly narrowed eyes. “But it’s the second time you’ve asked about that beast in the time we’ve talked. Why do you ask me about it?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Clark says, keeping eye contact. He doesn’t dare break his gaze away now. 

“The first time we spoke. You asked about it during our brief interview. Now again. Are you really offering support, or am I making you question things, Kent?” Bruce replies with a firm glance and a small smirk.

“I’d offer support to a good friend any day,” Clark answers, tilting his head to the side. “But I will admit, I do have questions.”

“Like?”

“I wouldn’t be the second best reporter in Metropolis if I showed my hand right away,” he shrugs with a smile.

“Second best?” The billionaire questions.

“Lois would be first,” the journalists explains. “After all, she’s got more interviews with Superman and other heroes than I ever have.”

“And between you and me, that’s a fact. You can check that,” he whispers teasingly, leaning forward slightly.

“Oh, you are.. something else tonight, Mr. Kent,” Bruce comments, his voice dangerously low with a smile and an amused chuckle. “Maybe that wine’s getting to your head.”

“Or maybe you can’t handle the hard facts,” Clark softly fires back with a cocky smile. “Good looking, but.. god, how paranoid. You gonna sue me for doing my job?” 

Bruce chuckles at the other man’s confident teasing. Not many people would talk to him like that. It’s new. He quickly discovers that he likes it. “Not at all. Although you can’t be mad when I do the same,” he replies with a playful glance. “You work so closely to heroes. Do you think of me as a threat, Mr. Kent?”

“Oh no, I’d never,” the journalist says sarcastically, biting his lip to hide his smile. “Not the.. billionaire who mysterious disappears at dozens of galas or events. Or at his own parties that he decided to host and had to ditch last minute,” he continues.

“I could say the same about you,” Bruce fires back, staring at the man. “A journalist who magically vanishes when an explosion happens. Or when Luthor goes crazy on a rampage and Superman suddenly shows up.”

A silence falls between the two, both smiling with eyes locked onto each other.

“I’m onto you, Kent.”

“I’m onto you too, Bruce. Don’t think you’re slick.”

“I never said I was.”

“Your face says otherwise.”

Both laugh at the playful tension. It’s serious underneath, but with how it feels in the air.. it’s different.

“I can’t tell if you’re flirting or threatening tonight,” Clark says with an amused smile.

“Maybe both?” Bruce shrugs teasingly. “Why choose? You’re hot.” 

“Oh, shush!” Clark scolds playfully. “You’re bad, but I like this side of you,” he grins, finishing his drink and watching the billionaire. “All bold and daring.” A hint of color washes his cheeks with a flustered smile, but that could be from anything. Totally not the silly billionaire’s words. 

“Most people never even meet it. You’re one of the special few,” Bruce states, his words gentle, the look in his eyes warm. “We should have another date.”

“We should,” the journalist agrees.

“For research purposes,” the other man clarifies, definitely not because he’s romantically attracted to the tall, fit man in front of him. “For your questions and my ideas. Maybe we can race and see who gets to their conclusion first.”

“I’d love that.”

Bruce comes home that night a smiling mess. He’ll never admit it to anyone, but that— that tension, that passion, the drive, even if someone’s suspicious of him; if anyone was to be suspicious of his double life, he’d want it to be Kent. Someone trustworthy with a magnetic energy and good personality to back it up. Someone you know who seems to match your energy like a missing puzzle piece you didn’t know you didn’t have.

Luckily, Clark feels the same.

Chapter Text

“You told him what?!” Dick blurts out as Bruce retells the events of yesterday. “Relax, I don’t think he knows anything. Kent is a reporter, it’s his job to ask questions. That’s all,” Bruce says, picking Jason up from his playing spot in the mud. Gotta censor his words in front of this one, vigilante talk is for later. “You need a bath, Dick, did you finish your homework from last night?”

Two kids and a secret life and potentially tracking someone that knows Superman is a lot at once. Bruce is quickly learning this.

“No,” the circus boy admits with a guilty look. “We were busy!”

“Busy with what? I left you with Alfred for a whole hour— Jason, don’t eat the leaf, no! Drop it! Drop it!”

Sensing the man’s slightly overwhelmed mind, the butler is here to take the muddied child as he tries to protest the thought of a bath. “No, free me! Dick, help!” He laughs, being easily carried away by the older man. Being held is surprisingly nice, and although it took a good bit to warm him up, he’s getting healthier over time. Still a bit small for his age, but malnutrition tends to do that. 

“I can’t! He’s lecturing me about school!” The boy giggles, being scooped up by his father and brought inside the house. Plopping the boy on the couch and getting out his work, they sit down together and Bruce helps him focus.

Hours of soft domestic comfort fill the air, more lively than ever before. Arguing over what to have for dinner, the boys building their own secret club out of blankets and pillows, staying up late for family movie nights and going out during the day, Bruce finding their attempt at painting his walls and leaving little handprints everywhere — Bruce wouldn’t trade it for the world. Getting Jason into bed, it’s time for the bat and bird to come out again, donning their signature (and oddly convincing) costumes into town.

Killer Croc is smashing everything in sight while Two Face is using him as a distraction for a gang war. Bruce wishes that that was a sentence he’d never have to say, but unfortunately he does.

Robin picked up very vague details over the police radio. “Something something Black Mask called Two Face a bad word and then it started a full on fight,” he explains to his mentor, sitting in the passenger seat of the batmobile. “Hey, you think I can drive us one day?”

“No.” The answer is immediate, Bruce trying not to smirk at the silly question. “Go on.”

“Aww,” the boy mumbles with a pout, crossing his arms. “Two Face started shooting at the guys’ building after that.”

“That doesn’t sound right. Usually Two Face is calmer than that,” the bat replies with a puzzled hum. “Something else must’ve been bothering him. Black Mask certainly wasn’t helping. I bet the name calling was the straw that broke the camel’s back.”

“So we gotta find out what upset Two Face?” Robin asks, looking out the window to see the lights of the city, passing cars by that seem so slow compared to their high tech vehicle.

“It’d be a good idea to before he continues shooting all night,” the vigilante responds, turning around a corner and trying to find a dark, isolated spot to park. “But what upset Croc?” The boy can’t help but wonder out loud. “Maybe they’re connected?”

“Could be. Croc was spotted on Two Face’s territory a few hours ago, but that didn’t last long. He left and went back into his sewers without any incidents,” the man hums. “Something tells me that Harvey’s using him as bait for us.”

Leaving the car in an alleyway, locking the doors behind them, and flying up to the tops of buildings, the conversation continues in their secret language of clicks, chirps, and various other noises.

“So it’s a trap?” The bird asks, jumping off a rooftop and letting his wings extend, the wind breezing against his skin. “They want us to focus on him and not the real fight.”

“Exactly. Croc can cause all the damage he wants — but that’s all it is. Damage. Not trying to kill,” the darker colored vigilante explains. “When Harvey has his sights on someone, he’ll lock on. He’s too stubborn to let go, plus he’s got a bad history with Black Mask already. This isn’t their first dance together.”

Dawning off into the night and scoping out the surrounding areas, police can be seen trying to contain Croc’s mess of throwing things and smashing through buildings, tearing up the North part of Gotham while Harvey attacks at the opposite end. Another piece of evidence to point that it most likely is a trap to distract everyone. No clear motive for attacking, no going after anyone specifically or robbing anyone, it’s just pure violence to say “look at me!” 

“Get him! I don’t wanna see anyone sittin’ around until that bastard’s gone!” Two Face yells at his men, watching them reload and continue to fire at the building Black Mask’s holed up in. “Try to take my guns and see what happens!”

That makes more sense now, Bruce thinks. The motive wasn’t just Black Mask calling Harvey petty names, it was also the fact that he had tried to hijack his weapons. No villain in Gotham takes kindly to that.

“So.. what do we do?” Robin chirps quietly, sitting beside his mentor and watching the show below. “I’ve never exactly been in a gang war. Never thought I would be to be honest! This is like, really new for me—“

“Robin. Focus,” the bat gently reminds with a smile. “We have to separate them. Keep them from killing each other and knock out their goons if possible.”

“Don’t both of them belong in jail?” Robin asks with a confused look. “Why don’t we just call the police?”

The bat gives him a curious tilt of the head. “Robin, hello? Police, currently occupied with the giant crocodile downtown?” He asks with a scoff. “Ring a bell yet?”

“I’m sorry, I’m tired!” The boy says with a quiet giggle. “Whatever, help me beat these guys up!”

Dropping down from the rooftop and onto some of Two Face’s men, Robin takes on Harvey’s army while the bat goes after Black Mask’s men, silently sneaking into the building and knocking a few of them out. Making his way down the hall, Black Mask comes out from around a corner, gun pointed at him.

“Oh shit—“

The second he sees the creature, he’s managed to freeze up from fear and shock combined, the gun almost falling from his hands before he fires at the bat, missing and hitting a man behind him.

“You know, this thing is stupid, who needs a war?” He rambles quickly, trying to nail the monster again, shooting the wall twice and the cryptid in the wing once as the shadow swoops forward and lunges, knocking the gun out of his hand and tackling him back, using a pair of handcuffs to lock him onto the office desk leg.

“Oh, that’s not good,” he mumbles, trying to escape the cuffs and hit the creature above him. “Don’t eat me! The asshole’s out there! Get him, not me!”

For a second, Bruce considers looking around for any other weapons or intel in the room, but what he hears outside makes panic fill his mind.

Chirp!

There’s a certain high pitch chirp they made, designed for a specific use in mind — an SOS. A help me, I messed up, I’m outnumbered, or an I’m hurt / caught, help!

To the vigilante’s mind, his partner needs help.

To Bruce‘s and the Bat’s mind, somebody’s grabbing his kid.

Fuck no. That doesn’t happen.

Flying out the broken window and landing on one of Harvey’s men, he kicks the goon backwards as he books it to find his bird. There’s Robin, clawing at a bad guy with his smaller talons, his wrist bent in an unnatural way with a gun pointed at him. Two Face mumbles something under his breath, trying to shoot the bat, but gets thrown back when he’s hit with a wing and the force of the wind.

Diving directly into the man that has his hands on the smaller creature, wings flapping wildly as he claws at him with a hiss, he causes the man to scream for help. “Get him off me!” He yells, trying to tear away from the beast picking him up, dropping him swiftly into a dumpster nearby.

Going to the bird, picking him up, and hiding him under his cape, he’s listening for any other noises in the area as he settles down in a safer spot out of the gang’s reach. “Are you okay? What hurts?” He asks, opening his cloak and looking at the boy inside, clinging to his side. “He bent my wrist,” the boy winces, tears gathering in his eyes as he tries not to cry.

“I’m okay. It just scared me,” he tries to reassure the bat. Bruce kneels, staying in front of the kid in case someone tries to get an extra shot in. “It’s broken,” he states, looking over his hand. “We’ll get you home.”

“No, no, don’t,” the boy argues quietly. “You’re right here. He’s only got a few people left, I got the majority tapped out. Forget about me and go get them!”

Bruce gives a stubborn look. He knows Dick is right, but damn it, he really doesn’t wanna leave him on his own, especially if he’s hurt.

“I’ll be right back,” he states firmly. “Do. Not. Move.”

Taking off, he’s making sure to listen for any movement behind him, praying that the boy listens and stays put. Hurriedly gliding towards the criminals, he’s knocking them out of the way and bumping into Harvey, pushing him back into a set of crates previously used as cover. With Dent shooting at him, he’s unable to dodge a quickly thrown batarang, jamming his gun and causing an explosion of smoke. Making him cough, the beast swoops in to deliver one last blow to the ground before handcuffing him to a light pole outside the building.

Back to Robin, he’s taking him under his wing and bolting back to the mansion. Forget the batmobile, Bruce thinks. He can call it back with autopilot. What matters most is getting Dick back home, safe and sound.

“Just hang on,” he murmurs to the boy, going through one of the shortcut tunnels that connect to under the manor. Landing in the batcave with a sigh, they’ve made it back in record breaking time. With no Harvey to pay Croc, he’s bound to stop eventually, wearing himself out. The police can strike when he’s weak and get him on their own. Right now his kid is hurt and he’s not worried about anything else.

Robin’s gotten scratches before, bruises plenty of times, and pushed down more times than he can count, but a broken bone? That’s new.

Setting him onto the main desk carefully, Bruce gets the first aid kit, moving off his cowl and popping the box open. The butler seems to sense their presence, coming down into the cave himself.

“You’re back early. What happened out there, sir?” He questions, walking towards the vigilantes. “A bad guy broke my hand,” Dick says, a little pouty that he had interrupted the fight. “One of Harvey’s men grabbed him and broke his wrist,” Bruce briefly explains, getting what they need from the kit and fixing it themselves. No pale fingers or deformities, so that’s good. “Can I get an ice pack, please, Alfred?” He asks, wrapping the boy’s wrist. “I’m so sorry.”

“No, don’t do that,” Dick scolds his father figure. “I’m Robin. I’m gonna get hurt. It’s inevitable, like you said. That’s why we gotta be super strong.” He flinches at the throbbing pain in his hand, trying to breathe through it.

“You’re doing really good. I’m proud of how well you handled that. You did.. phenomenal,” Bruce says, kissing the boy’s forehead and holding him close, his head in the bat’s chest. That chirp scared him so bad, he almost had a heart attack when he heard it. “You did exactly what you were supposed to.” 

“I don’t want you to regret bringing me,” Dick mumbles shyly. “I wanna stay with you and help save people.”

“I know you do, buddy. You’re still my partner,” the man reassures gently, taking the ice pack with a mouthed out thank you to Alfred. “I only regret letting them get their hands on you. I’m not blaming you.”

Noticing the power and lights going out, Bruce casts a concerned glance towards the butler. “What’s happening?” He starts, the older man cutting him off.

“That would be Croc, sir. That has happened four times within the last hour, I’m afraid,” he informs the pair. “He’s proving to be quite a nuisance to the police tonight.” Trying to turn on the batcomputer proves pointless. “We do have our backup generator in case of emergencies, but I do believe it’s only the power he’s been messing with.”

“Do we go out again?” Dick asks, looking up at Bruce. “I can still fight!”

“No, you can’t. Not right now,” the vigilante answers, getting the boy a stack of books to keep his wrist elevated on. “Keep this up, please.”

“Perhaps it would be wiser to stay home for the rest of the night,” Alfred suggests softly. “I am sorry about your injury, lad. But Master Jason has been asking for you both.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” Bruce responds, shooting a worried look to the butler. “Just a nightmare. He was rather insistent about wanting comfort from either of you. I told him that you were both at a late night emergency for Wayne Industries.”

“Thank you,” the man nods. “I’ll go get him.” Starting to remove his suit, he gets the sudden rush of deja vu, seeing a small figure by the stairs.

There’s Jason, standing there with a hurt expression. Bruce can feel the anger radiating off of him. The why didn’t you tell me? and the how dare you lie to me?

“Hey, how long do I gotta freeze this?” Dick asks, stopping when he notices the other boy. There’s the boy he’s come to see as a brother. The same one he helped attempt to bake Alfred’s birthday cake with. Same one who was snippy for weeks without knowing why. Hurt and constantly lied to, now being both again, but this time by the Wayne’s.

Alfred senses the tension. Turns around. Sees the child. Oh no, here we go again. For the second time.

It’s a long silence.

“The sensor and eye scanner locks were disabled with the power, sir,” the butler adds, looking away and busying himself by going to Dick and trying to help with his injury.

Jason looks at Dick, but mostly has his eyes on Bruce. Dead staring at him before his eyes start to water. The man’s gaze softens, knowing he’s messed up once again. 

“Kiddo—“

Bruce can’t get anything else out before Jason is running back up the stairs and into the manor, storming away in tears.

He’s been betrayed again. By the same man who told him that he’d never have to worry about that with him.

Trusting people leads to disappointment, everyone lies, and nobody truly means what they say. All their progress has been undone. 

Bruce rubs his face with his hand, standing in his spot with his thoughts running rampant. “Stay here. I’ll handle Croc,” he says sternly, getting his cowl and leaving the way they came in. 

He’s made another mistake, one he’s not sure if he can fix. 

Chapter Text

Bruce is fighting Croc, Dick feels really bad and is currently trying to fight the butler on whether or not it’s okay to go to his friend upstairs, and Alfred is doing damage control to the best of his abilities.

Seeing Jason that upset, his best friend who’s been there for him for months, almost a year or just a little bit more, hurt this badly and not be able to comfort him is killing Dick.

The butler is trying to convince him to give the poor boy some space. Having Dick try to talk to Jason and getting lashed out at won’t help anything, but he can still understand the child’s empathy. He’s proud of the boy’s compassion, but he doesn’t want him to get hurt too.

Bruce feels like shit. Both emotionally and physically. Getting slashed at by Croc is nothing compared to hurting someone he promised to protect. He had one job and still managed to mess it up. Doesn’t feel good. They’re gonna need a long talk.

Coming home means seeing Dick holding his wrist up in a very smart mouthed way that tells him that he’s probably been lectured to keep it up more than once and this is his sarcastic response in retaliation. Keeping the ice pack on it, he’s flocking to Bruce to help get the man’s cape and wings off.

“Tell him, Bruce! Tell him I’m right!” He says adamantly, moving their equipment out of the way and looking back at Alfred with an irritated glance. “What’s he trying to do?” The bat asks the butler, getting bandages for his new injuries. With help from the older man, he’s patching up nicely and stopping any bleeding.

“Trying to comfort Master Jason, sir,” the butler states with a sigh. “I figured the poor boy would want time for himself. He’s been in his room since you left. However, Master Dick would like to make his remorse known to his friend and give a formal apology. I simply told him to wait for now.”  

“We both want to apologize. It was messed up that we hid what we do and lied,” Bruce says to Dick flatly. “No going around it. It’s my mistake. You’re a kid and joined my idea. Not your fault.” He winces when a particular spot is wrapped by careful hands.

“I’ll go talk to Jason,” he says, getting up with a short grunt. “Stay here and rest.”

“I can—“ Dick tries to pitch in. He’s cut off too quickly to get any more out.

“No,” the vigilante states. Not too sharp, he’s just a child doing his best, but clear enough to let him know that Bruce’ll handle it.  “I’m gonna clear it up really simple to him. I know how you feel. You’re a very kind person, and I give you that. That’s an amazing trait the world’s missing. Let me handle this, just for now. Ok?”

“Ok..” Dick mumbles defeatedly, slumping back in his spot.

Going upstairs is an overthinking mess in the billionaire’s mind. Out of all his mistakes, this was probably the easiest to avoid and it still happened. So much for world’s best detective. Out in the field, he’s great, but as a father figure? A parent? Maybe he was wrong about all this. God, he shouldn’t have taken in these kids. Alfred was right, he’s a business man and a fighter, not a caretaker. What was going through his mind?

Knocking on Jason’s door is met with a wobbly “fuck off!”

That makes him feel worse somehow. He didn’t think that was possible.

“Jason,” Bruce says quietly. “Can we talk, please?”

“No!” comes through the door. That was the expected answer, but it doesn’t make it any easier. The whole situation is a mess that he made and then drug these people through. Family. People he’s supposed to take care of.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you. I’m sorry I lied to you about our story. Gotham thinks we’re something we’re not. When it comes to doing what we do, lies like that, they help throw people off to hide our real identities,” Bruce explains gently, keeping his voice soft and easy. Being loud or harsh won’t help at all. The boy has every right to be upset. 

“So what, you— you take me in and then lie to me?! I wasn’t supposed to find out?” Jason asks irritably with a sniffle from behind the door.

Bruce looks at the wall, glancing at the paintings. “Yea,” he admits quietly. “It was a stupid idea, but when we found you on patrol, I felt like I had to help. Even if it meant lying about that. I did the same thing when I took in Dick—“

“That doesn’t make it okay! That’s so fucked up!” The boy yells, frustration radiating from the bedroom. “I know,” Bruce agrees with a nod. “I do what I do to protect Gotham and the people in it. I took in Dick because he was like you. Alone and needing help.”

“I never needed help! You pushed that onto me!” Jay tries to argue weakly, pacing in his room. The bed creaks quietly as he sits down on it. 

“Jason,” the billionaire says a little firmer. “If you saw another boy on the street with no parents around, would you help him if you could?”

A pause. A sniffle.

“…yea.”

“That’s why I did what I did,” Bruce says calmly. Be patient, don’t overwhelm him. “Sending you away wouldn’t help you. Giving you somewhere safe would.”

…

No answer.

It’s deserved, he acknowledges. Let the kid have time to digest everything and let everything out. 

“I’m here to give you options. I don’t want you to feel trapped in a house you don’t want to be in,” he states, staying in the hall. “You can stay here with us, like you have been. But now you know everything, and we won’t hide anything anymore.” He takes a deep breath. “Or you can go to a foster family.”

“No! That’s not fair!” The boy argues from his room, getting up and opening the door. Face to face, Bruce can see the tear stains on his cheeks and the anger in his eyes. “Why can’t I just leave?”

“Jay, we both know why you can’t,” the man says softly. “You’re seven. You’re still recovering from everything the doctor—“

“I know. Because I’m sick,” the boy replies with a scoff. “That doesn’t mean anything!”

“It means you’re malnourished and anemic,” Bruce corrects, trying not to raise his voice. “You could easily get worse without proper care. If you live on the streets, I don’t think it’ll get better. We’re still struggling to get you to a healthy weight.”

“You don’t know anything! You just lie all the time! Your friend probably does too!” He says, referring to Leslie.

“I lied to keep you safe,” Bruce responds. “If I told you and you told anyone else, we’d all be in danger. Bad people could come for you if they knew.” 

“Who am I gonna tell, Bruce?!” The boy yells, tearing welling up in his eyes. “There’s nobody! My dad is an asshole, you’re always at work, Alfred’s always busy, my mom—“

He chokes up, wiping his eyes.

Alfred got the unfortunate news two weeks ago. Jason’s mother had overdosed. The information wasn’t handled well.

“I know,” Bruce says softly, opening his arms for the boy to come into. Jason sniffles with a frustrated glance up at the man, but eventually goes to him, crying into his chest.

“I miss her,” he mumbles. “And then, then this and I..”

“It’s a lot,” the billionaire apologizes. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with it. I wanted to keep you safe and away from it.” Picking him up and moving into the boy’s room, the vigilante sits on the bed with the kid, rubbing his back carefully. “Deep breaths. You’re okay.”

A few minutes pass by, a silence falling between them. The bat takes deep breaths, hoping the child will follow his lead.

“I know I broke your trust. I’m sorry everything’s gone downhill lately, because it has,” he admits quietly, moving the child’s hair out of his face. “You can make your choice whenever you’re ready. We can do whatever you wanna do.”

As much as he’s come to enjoy Jason’s witty presence and the true personality of his behind the skittish exterior, he doesn’t want to make the boy miserable. If he truly wants to leave, the billionaire will help him do that. Get him somewhere else, somewhere that’s safe with sane people who don’t dress up and play vigilante every night in a city of criminals, clown themed henchmen, a plant woman, and unfortunately so much more. 

“You’re crazy,” he mumbles, the shaky words barely coming out. “I mean, going around the city in a gimp suit, who does that?”

Bruce shoots a concerned look down at the boy. “How do you know what a gimp suit is?” The quick words escape him before he can think.

“My mom—“ the boy gives a small giggle. “She said my dad looked like he was wearing one forever ago during a fight. She explained it after he left.”

Another worried look. “Okay,” the adult says quietly, patting Jason’s head in surprise. That one definitely caught him off guard. “No, it’s.. not a gimp suit—“

“Looks like one though.”

He’ll let Jason win this one. He was an asshole, he can admit it. It made the boy smile making fun of the billionaire. That’s so much better than crying and isolating himself.

“I give you that,” Bruce agrees. Jay can have this one. Fighting a seven year old, he’s figured out, is like fighting a tsunami of “nuh uh”s and “I’m right, you’re wrong.” Choose your battles, he reminds himself. Their voices are important too. They gotta win sometimes. 

“I do it to help people,” Bruce murmurs. “If I got you involved, you could get hurt.”

“Then why is Dick doing it too?” Jason asks with a grumpy look.

“Because Dick found out and wanted to help. I only let him because he trained for months to prove he was serious,” the man clarifies, patting the boy’s back. “He swore to take it seriously. He knows it’s not a joke to go out there and fight crime. Plus I make sure to watch him really closely.”

“So you trust him and not me,” Jason states, letting his head lay on the billionaire’s chest, looking away with a huff.

“It’s not that I didn’t trust you. You had so much going on at one time..” Bruce tries to explain. Make it simple, don’t overwhelm. Do as the parent teaching books said. Maybe it’ll help for once. “If you see that I’m overwhelmed, do you tell me that you broke something?”

“What?” The kid asks, looking up with a confused glance.

“It’s an example. Now, if you see that I’m already stressed out, but you have something to tell me, would you tell me right away?” The man continues patiently.

“No?” Jay answers hesitantly. “I’d.. wait until you’re okay and chilled out. Then I’d tell you.”

“That’s what I was going to do with you. Wait until you were old enough to understand or calm enough to fully listen.”

“Oh.”

A pause and some deep breaths from both of them. Understanding each other’s point of view and slowly coming to terms with what’s happened.

“Can I help—“

“No,” Bruce shakes his head with an amused expression. “God, you.. little boys and wanting to help.” He tries not to laugh or smile. Both times now, when someone’s found out and then immediately wanted to help.

“Why? Dick gets to!” Jason whines in protest. “Dick has been trained and is still being taught how to fight,” the adult answers. “So no, you cannot. You don’t have training, plus your health conditions make it harder.”

“I’m. Not. Sick!” Jason fusses, looking up at the billionaire with the most serious face he can muster. “I can do it! Isn’t that what you tell me? I can do anything I want to as long as I set my mind to it?”

His advice, once again, comes to bite him in the ass. Damn you, past Bruce.

“I.. did say that, yes,” the vigilante confirms. “But you’d need a lot more training and safety gear. And more vitamins, which you already don’t like to eat.”

“They taste like play doh.”

“I know they do.”

Another silence. Bruce lays his head on top of the small boy’s.

“You don’t have to forgive me or Dick. That’s your choice. I just want you guys okay and healthy,” he admits quietly, a hint of vulnerability seeping into his words. “If something happens to any of you, that’s on me. You’re my responsibility.”

“You’re doing the mother hen thing again,” Jason comments, relaxing into the warm hug. He wore himself out with his previous crying, and now all the energy has kinda poofed from his system.

“I am not.”

“Am too,” the boy finishes.

Pick your battles, Bruce.

“Whatever,” the man sighs, kissing the child’s head. “Still, my responsibilities, even if you know what play doh tastes like.”

Staying together and talking it out feels a lot better, Jason realizes. “I wanna stay here,” he murmurs, listening to Dick’s footsteps run up the stairs.

“Jay!” He calls, his hand wrapped and without his ice pack. He’s escaped from Alfred’s lecturing. “I’m sorry we’re mean!” Appearing in the hall, he stands by the doorway anxiously.

Bruce chuckles fondly at the sudden intrusion. “He knows, Dick.”

“Thanks though,” Jason giggles, looking over at his friend. “You guys are weird..” Yawning and stretching into the pillows beside him, he’s clearly tired. 

“You need a nap,” the billionaire states softly, moving to make room for the exhausted child. “Nooo!” Jason tries to deny, pushing off the bed, causing the man to smile. “Jay, please, I’ve had a hell of a night. I just got done fighting a crocodile. Please, do not fight me on this.”

Jay pauses. Narrows his eyes and looks at Bruce. Glances to Dick, then back over to his guardian. Bruce knows this mischievous ass look.

“I’ll nap,” he agrees. “If you let me join.”

“No!” The man laughs, leaning back against the pillows. “What kinda deal is that?”

“I wanna help fuck with people!”

“Language, master Jason,” Alfred comments from the doorway.

“I like to think of it as playing Halloween every night,” Dick adds with a smile, sitting down in the chair next to the desk. “And you get to play hero! It’s fun!”

“Jay, just go to bed. I don’t need another sidekick, we aren’t doing this—“

Dick gasps with ideas. “We could be an army! Think of it! It’d be beautiful! And we can all pick bright colors and go out at night! It’ll be like an invasion! Oh my god, they’d think we’re aliens!” 

“Yea!” Jason agrees, pointing at his friend. “He gets it!”

“Fine. Can we all go to bed?” Bruce sluggishly relents, caving in as he sees his Robin flop into the bed beside them. “What? I wanted to join the pile.”

Bruce can’t be bother to protest. It’s nighttime, they should all be in bed, and he’s beat. Literally.

“No more secrets?” Jay murmurs softly with a yawn, his eyes closing as he stays on his caretaker’s side.

“No more secrets,” the vigilante confirms, his own eyes closing.

Chapter Text

Jason falls on his face for what seems like the 700th time this evening.

Practicing all day to work on “the basics,” apparently “basics” is a concept and not an actual thing, because to Bruce, he thinks of baby steps. How to throw a punch, how to dodge a punch, how to watch your opponent’s body language. To Dick, however, this does not mean the same thing. To him, it means backflips, cartwheels, and some type of body contortions that look painful in Jason’s eyes.

Backflips are not for people with low iron. They, as a family, know this now. More vitamins, water, and extra soft sparring mats. Pillows and blankets scattered around the mats just in case someone wobbles and looses their footing.

“When do I get my own superhero outfit?” Jay asks, laying on the floor as he looks over at his guardian, working on some new upgrade to his darkly colored suit.

Taking the tool out of his mouth and setting down the one in his hands, he drops the screwdriver into his right hand. “When you learn how to kick butt,” is the simple answer he gets in response, an amused smirk as the inventor glances back at the two boys. “Dick, baby that arm. You hurt it more and you’ll have to take a longer break.”

“I know!” The older boy whines, plopping himself down on the mat. “He’s so.. grr sometimes,” he whispers to Jason with a giggle. “Very grr,” the other boy agrees, getting off the floor and attempting another cartwheel. To both boys’ surprise, he actually nails it this time!

Standing up in a shocked silence, he laughs victoriously and celebrates, Dick clapping and cheering with him. Jason throws a pillow at Bruce, hitting him in the head since his side is to them as he works. With a short “oof” and a chuckle, he looks over. “What?” He asks with a curious smile. “I did it, old man! I’m hired!” Jason says, hopping in his spot. “I did the cartwheel!”

“You were already hired,” the vigilante teases, using another tool to fix part of his suit’s internal structure. “You just need a good bit of training. You’ll need to be able to spar with me and Dick and win at least once.”

“I got you, dude,” Dick whispers to Jason with a smile. “That’s easy—“

“You can’t let him win, Dick,” Bruce scolds with an entertained glance to the kids. “Remember, if he joins us, there’s less bad guys for you to take out. You’ll have to split them up.”

“Aww, man..” the boy mumbles, looking at his friend. “Sorry, Jay. Maybe you’re not meant for fighting—“

“Don’t agree with him!” Jason protests, getting off the floor and shadow boxing the other boy’s side, lightly pawing at him to not hurt his injured hand. “Two sidekicks can do even more work!” Both boys laugh and continue to wrestle, time passing by rather quickly before any of them know it.

Weeks of sparring and training feel so long without any real action. The adults in the manor are relived that Jason is around a healthy weight and that he can play without them worrying too much about him getting hurt as easily as before. The bruises that he occasionally gets when he bumps into furniture or from playing outside fade away, currently more healthy than he’s likely ever been.

Being fitted for his wings is a very important task, one that Bruce doesn’t take lightly. To carry someone lighter than Dick, but not weigh him down or be as heavy as Bruce’s, not as flexible as Dick’s but working with his own body language, it takes a lot of work. And coding, and restructuring, and building ideas. So much time spent in the dimly lit cave late at night, listening to the bats squeak at each other while the children lay on the pillows scattered around, munching on a pack of crackers.

“I thought—“ a short crunch, “you guys were total monsters at first. Got me good.” Jason lays on his back, the other boy stealing a snack from the pack beside him and laying on top of his friend.

“Yea! It’s fun when people see us,” the first Robin says. “So far, the news thinks—“ eating the stolen cracker, “Dad’s a bat, like an actual bat monster, and I’m his bird kid. He helped me learn how to fly and ignore the cameras out there!”

Bruce looks over fondly at the boy with a warm smile. Maybe he is doing something right. The kid knows that he’s there for him and that’s all that matters.

“Do they even know you’re vigilantes?” Jason asks, cocking an eyebrow up curiously. “Or do they like, see you and immediately run to the horror forums online?”

“Uh.. a mix of both, I think?” Dick answers with a confused head tilt. “I’m not sure to be honest. Half the time we get talked to like we’re monsters, but that’s usually by bad guys. The other half of the time people are thanking us or treating us like animals at a zoo.”

“They know our names and that we stop crime. That’s the most important part,” the billionaire explains with a yawn, trying not to drop the metal skeleton of the in progress wings being made. “We use their theories to make bad guys scared. What they think doesn’t matter as long as it helps obscure their view of us.”

“So if you have two Robins, what would happen?” Jay asks, watching Bruce open his hand. “That’s the thing. We don’t know,” the man says with a shrug, catching the snack the boy throws with a grateful smile. “Two Robins and a bat might scare even more criminals off. It’s been working so far and we’ve seen less and less of the usual crazy people.”

“Yea, usually it’s robberies. Small stores, maybe a mugging. But assault and violent crimes are down,” Dick adds happily, content in his spot. “Will I be a Robin or something else?” Jay asks, rubbing his eyes with his hands. 

“Depends. What do you want to be?” Bruce replies, tinkering with the wings. “One of you, come hold this for me, please.”

“I got it!” Dick says, quickly getting up and jumping in to help hold the part, rotating it the way that the man needs. “Thank you.” Moving the part works just fine, sensors can make it come to life later. Jason gets up and comes to look at the tech, examining the screws and bolts.

“I don’t know what I wanna be,” he mumbles, poking the cold iron of the frame. “Maybe we can both be Robins!” Dick offers with a nod. “Would you be okay with us.. both being the same?” Jay questions hesitantly. “I don’t wanna mess up and make you look bad.”

“Don’t worry about that! We all make mistakes out there. Plus, if we’re matching, we can totally trick the bad guys into thinking we’re doubles!” The other boy laughs, nudging him with his arm. “Ok, if you’re sure,” Jay responds, looking at his guardian with a shy glance. “Can I be a Robin like Dick? Maybe I’ll pick another name for myself in the future.”

“Sure,” his caretaker replies, getting the angle just right and checking the parts he needed to examine. “Here, we can make it simple: being a Robin means you’re a sidekick. My little helpers. When you’re all big and grown up, if you’re still wanting to do this sort of thing, you can pick your own name and outfit. Until then, we’ll all compromise on what gear and strategies are best.”

With both kids accepting the simple rules to work as a team, getting the second Robin’s outfit and gear is next. With the butler getting the boys’ measurements and clothes in order, his suit is slightly smaller than Dick’s and just a touch less vibrant.

“For your suit, I’ve got a similar outfit to Dick’s, but with a few minor adjustments,” the inventor states, proudly presenting the costume to the boys. “Your cape is a tiny bit longer than his, but just enough room to help you hide without it completely smothering you. The soft padding on the inside is in case you fall.”

“Mine has it too!” Dick adds, playing with his friend’s hand absentmindedly. “Mhm, it does,” the billionaire confirms patiently. “Your suit will have the same safety features that Dick’s has.”

“Why is mine darker than his?” Jason asks curiously, moving the fabric with an excited smile. He’s more anxious to get to the action rather than focus on the outfit, but the question still comes to mind.

“Because in your fighting style, you’re a mix of me and him,” Bruce answers simply. “You’re not as bright and loud as Dick, but you’re not as dark and quiet as me. With this, you’re still colorful, but you can blend into the shadows whenever you want and stand out whenever you think that’s better. It gives you options.”

“Oh, ok,” Jay nods, taking the outfit and going to the side room to change.

If you had told a much younger Bruce that he’d be 27 years old with two eight year old sidekicks fighting crime in Gotham to avenge his parents’ death and protect their city and a lot of other moody stuff he’s thought before, he totally would’ve called you an asshole and never spoke to you again. What a sick joke! A mockery! A horrible attempt at humor!

And now he’s living it. He can’t even complain because watching these two goofy ass kids wrestle and battle over snacks like they’re two raccoons fighting over a shiny jewel is too funny to pass up.

Coming back into the cave’s main area, the outfit fits perfectly thanks to Alfred’s tailoring and a lot of redesigns, added pieces and accessories.

“It fits!” He says, going to Bruce with a content look. “Can I have my wings? Please?”

“You can,” Bruce chuckles, nodding as he picks up the wings and gets them adjusted. “This strap goes over and these little light up things are called sensors. They’re gonna change to your skin color and blend in so nobody can see where to pop them off at.”

“But you guys don’t have straps on yours, do you?” Jay asks with a puzzled glance at the two. “No,” Dick shakes his head, sitting on the table with his legs dangling off.

“It’s so you’re extra safe,” the man explains softly. “You’ve had a lot less training than Dick, but you’re gonna do really good. I believe in you, but this is for mistakes, and we all make those, ok? And look, they slide right under your shirt and nobody will ever see them. They aren’t too tight, are they?”

“No, they’re good,” the boy responds, feeling the sensors attach to his shoulder blades, cooling his back upon gentle impact. He flinches when the wings move without him meaning to, accidentally yelling and moving towards Bruce. “Why does it do that?!” He laughs, watching them tense up and flutter, feathers of red and green accidentally panicking.

“It’s you!” Bruce smiles, hugging the boy and patting his head careful to not his new attachments. “These will react to your body language, vitals, and everything else. Get used to them and you can practice flying. After that, you’ll get your first time as my second Robin.”

“And for the record, I’m very proud of you for all your practice,” he whispers, kissing him on the forehead, the boy’s wings slowly relaxing.

“Father, it’s time!” Talia reminds her parent for what feels like the tenth time this hour. “I am aware, daughter,” he tells her calmly, moving away from his writing and rising to meet her gaze.

“The others say the pod’s stayed healthy the whole time, they made sure,” she says confidently. Would it be silly to say that she’s been watching it as well? Sitting with it and considering the future of the small creature inside? How she’ll take care of it and have her own heir?

It feels silly, but she can’t help it. It’s part her, even if the other part is animalistic.

Going into the room she’s memorized the layout of, dodging the table and supplies laid out for their plans and investigations, she stands by the desk, waiting for her father. Coming in mere seconds later, it feels like eternity for the woman.

“You are very excited for this,” Ra’s remarks with an amused smile. “I will admit, when I told you about this project, I didn’t expect you to be so.. committed. You make me very proud, daughter.”

“Thank you, father,” Talia smiles with a thoughtful hum, looking away and watching the pod fondly. “When we had discussed the League’s future, I was so anxious to tell you..”

A pause. Ra’s knows what she’s referring to.

“Not wanting to be with men romantically doesn’t change your personality, nor your sharp mind and abilities,” Ra’s reminds her kindly. “With this, you’ll still get the blood heir you wanted. We’ve just removed a large middle man.”

He turns to face her, cupping her cheek with his scarred, rough hands. “Your excellence and proficiency continue to amaze me. I’ve raised you well,” he murmurs softly, his expression warm. “Don’t let this hold you back or drag you down. Every part of this is to further hone your skills, for all of us. You and I, the League.. and now your child.”

Talia leans into her father, letting her head rest on his chest for a moment. “Thank you, father.”

“I mean every word,” he says, patting her back and standing beside her. “Now, do you want to do the honours? It’s been long enough, living in there. If our estimates are correct, it’ll be like any other newborn. The likelihood of an attack is low,” he teases with a smile.

“I’m aware of that,” she laughs softly, her hand nervously reaching for the pod. She’s not scared of getting attacked, but rather what her life will be like now. Despite wanting children, she never cared to be sexual. Adoption was a big consideration, but she was willing to try this first.

Tapping the correct buttons and sequences, the glass opens with the smoke pouring out, a soft cry coming from inside. The woman doesn’t hesitate, reaching out and offering her hand, feeling something grab it.

There’s her child, so small and fragile. She never knew what it would feel like to have this moment, never quite imagined herself in this situation, but god, is she happy to have it.

That’s hers. It’s an insane thought to comprehend for the woman. Made with her genetics, with eyes barely open that shine her emerald green color. Carefully picking up the creature and getting it wrapped properly to keep it warm, she holds it to her chest.

“A son,” she whispers excitedly to her father. “I’ve got a son! Can you believe it?”

“Yes..” he responds quietly, his gaze calculating while he quickly studies the newborn.

Delicate, rather lame in size compared to the great beast they had tried to capture, and more.. human looking. But perhaps it’ll take the human disguise of Talia’s child with the genetics of the monster inside, or even develop the more animal side of their heritage later on in life.

“He looks like me, Father..” she says, looking down at the baby as her excitements dims. She knows what her father is thinking. Did the tests fail? Will she be separated from her son? Will he be experimented on?

“He does indeed,” he replies gently, taking a step closer to see the baby. “It’s all in due time. We’ll monitor him closely to make sure he grows and stays healthy. Do you wish to name him?” Placing his hand on her back, he watches her smile and lightly rest her cheek against the baby’s head.

“Damian,” she replies after thinking for a moment. “I’ve thought about it for a while. I like that one.”

“Very well then. The League welcomes your heir,” he tells her softly, watching Talia’s smile grow as the newborn tries to escape the blanket and move. “Oh, he’ll be the best, father!”

Today, Damian Al Ghul has been welcomed into the world with loving arms. For the betterment of the world and for the intent of forming him into a proper weapon to help save the planet. With him, their plan of taking over the world to save it starts now, with very small steps at a time.

Today, Bruce Wayne had unknowingly gained a third son in this world.

Chapter Text

Jason sucks at this. That’s a fact he literally won’t even deny at this point.

He’s not graceful like his friend (brother? He doesn’t know at this point) nor careful and clean in his movements like his guardian (who he refuses to call Dad because damn it, he doesn’t wanna get hurt). They’ve got talent, which they both insist is due to training but still, Jason is skeptical. He’s trained plenty and despite that, he’s still not up to par with them. Finally managing to knock down Dick for the first time, Bruce stands up from his seat beside the mat.

“You’re fast,” he comments, watching the two boys. With Dick’s hand feeling much better after a very needed rest, he can spar and help the other boy improve. “But I’ve got a better idea. Bear with me,” he nods, gesturing for Dick to get up. “You’ve got agility, but all that movement you’re dying to do, you’re not getting that energy out by using the combinations and movements we showed you.”

“Yes sir,” Jay mumbles with a disgruntled pout, gently kicking the mat beneath him. “Hey, that’s not a bad thing. What works for us might not work for you, that’s totally okay,” Bruce states patiently. “Thank you for trying, but I want you to try something new.”

“What is it?” Jason asks, looking up at his mentor while Dick walks around in a backbend, making the man chuckle. “Improvise,” Bruce suggests calmly. “Start with an open mind and do what feels best. Your fighting style should reflect who you are and how you normally act so that it feels natural. And you, my little friend,” he boops Jay’s nose, “don’t like plans. You’re impulsive. You do whatever comes to mind.”

“I tried to do your thingies!” the boy protests before Bruce stops him, kneeling to his height and patting his head. “I know you did. But that style might not be for you. Here, try it this way and we’ll see how it goes, ok? Do whatever comes to mind now that you know to watch for our body language.”

Dick gets up in his spot, stretching and ready to go. “Are we going again?” He asks, watching his friend with a smile. “Yea, B wants me to improvise my way through it though,” Jay responds unsurely, glancing over at his guardian. “Remember to be easy with each other,” the man reminds them, studying their positions. “First one down loses. When you’re ready, go ahead.”

With the first Robin throwing a punch, the second one’s eyes quickly watch the arm that leans into it, going around him and kicking out the boy’s supporting leg, causing him to fall and tumble, picking himself up with a front roll. Back into a fighting pose, he watches Jason try to kick at him before countering—

Bruce turns away with a smile, adjusting the wings of his second Robin’s suit. “Is feathers okay or would you prefer something else?”

“Feathers is— ah!”

A tumble. Jason gets back up to try again.

“They’re good!”

Getting Dick knocked down to the matt is harder than it seems, but Jay manages to win eventually. Cheering and celebrating, he goes to Bruce to get his wings put on properly. “Your idea worked, B!” He tells the man with a proud smile. Looking over at their gear and equipment, he notices the Batmobile sitting idle.

“Hey, if we’re all gonna fly, why do you have a car?” He asks childishly, watching Bruce demonstrate how to clip his utility belt on. Gear is on, next is feathery attachments getting strapped on.

“It’s in case we need backup or a safe place to rest at,” the vigilante answers, poking Jason’s wing to test them and seeing them respond with a twitch. Fluffing up, they breathe with him and flow in sync as he moves.

“But I thought we were supposed to be like wild animals? Like monsters or somethin’,” the boy says, feeling Bruce’s wings as the man settles into them. “That doesn’t mean I can’t have a car,” Bruce teases with a playful grin. “I’m a billionaire, if I want a fancy car, I’m gonna have a fancy car!”

A pause.

“Plus we can listen in to the police radio.”

There’s the real answer.

“You couldn’t do that with a radio on your belt?” Jason questions, following the bat to another table as he puts his mask on. The black outline holds the white lenses on the inside like Dick’s, hiding eye colors, but with a shape slightly sharper than the other boy’s.

“I could, but why would a monster have a radio?” The billionaire smirks, getting his cowl on and helping Jay with his enhanced sensing modules. “These small indents are buttons, they’ll turn the sound around you up or down, ok?”

“Ok,” Jason nods, tilting his head as he pokes at them. “In short, it helps confuse people more. And I’ve got a mini radio in my belt,” Bruce adds to his previous answer, patting the child’s head. “Dick! Come on, we’re going!”

“I’m coming!” The former circus child says, running to the group. “If you have trouble flying, just cling to me. I don’t mind,” he whispers to Jay with an excited smile.

The three exit through an underground tunnel, spiraling into the city from beneath. So far, gliding is an easy step, but getting up seems like a small problem. It’s not the frame or the structure of the wings, but rather Jason’s lack of trust — the same problem he had while practicing in the cave. Going through hoops is fine, but long jumps and harder angles, that’s definitely more of a challenge. But for now, he’ll get used to it in the city.

He hears chirps. Looking over to his friend and mentor making noises, confusion takes over his expression. “Hey,” he calls out, the others slowing down to stay with his speed as they soar up. “What’s with the chirps?”

The bat hums before looking at Dick. “Did we forget to tell him?” He asks quietly with a small guilty chuckle. “I think we did,” the first Robin replies with a shy smile. “Sorry, Jay! We forgot to tell you, we have a code! It’s how we talk out here!”

“But you talked to me in real words!” Jason replies, dodging a telephone pole and getting elevation. Flying is so much faster out here than in a cave.

“That’s cuz you’re like, seven! You’re a baby!” Dick teases, laughing in surprise as he dodges an apartment building he didn’t notice. He’s gotta look forward more, Bruce notices. Kids, clumsy and fun. He’ll watch them extra closely tonight.

“I’m only a few months younger than you! And thank you very much, I’m. eight!!” Jason yells, giggling as the wind plays with his hair, blowing it around into his face. “Okay, well, now we can teach you our language! Congratulations!” His friend says, swooping over to stay by him and fly a few feet beside him.

The night goes good, as planned. Bruce hadn’t heard any crazy big villains were out in town, so it’s the perfect night to let Jason get out and be free. With Dick, he wanted the outdoor air, but could tolerate the inside of the cave for a while. Jay, Bruce estimates, will do better in real life than indoor training. It feels more real, more alive and in the air. Helps him focus more and really connect to what he’s doing. He’s slowly learning the chirps and noises, their special language as they go. Is he amazing at it? No. But he’s determined to make it work.

With (luckily) no big crimes or schemes going on, the group stops some burglaries, petty muggings, the bat even stops a car chase to demonstrate how to do it — getting a solid landing on the car and either letting the driver crash it (getting off the car before then is a must, Jason learns) or by getting the window open and turning the wheel to hit something yourself. Note: please try not to hit any other cars. Or pedestrians, or houses, or— there’s a lot of things NOT to hit, ok?

Landing on a rooftop with both boys laughing and wrestling, both adrenaline high from fighting and taking down criminals, the bat watches with an amused chuckle. They’re so cute! Little colorful Robins trying to see who can fly better or stop more crimes.

He’s so proud of them! They’ll get extra cuddles tonight.

Footsteps. Bruce immediately moves to cover both the kids with his cape, keeping them safe underneath the protective material of his leathery wings.

There’s a small heartbeat he’s picking up, his night vision working overtime to locate the person nearby. He sees it — a child.

God, what is it with him finding kids everywhere? Is nobody in this town a good parent?? Keep your children at home!

Orange hair peeking out of a.. cowl almost like his. Purple instead of black, with a cape and everything, with a yellow bat symbol on the chest. She’s got a belt similar to his with a recorder on it, the blinking red light visible.

“Log #10 — first contact,” she states quietly, skittishly trying to sneak up to him. As he’s watching her. From underneath his wings, there’s a few chirps and squeaks, the translation being something along the lines of “what are we doing?” and “oh, there’s probably somebody there.”

Dick’s used to them meeting people out here, good and bad. Jason, however, is not. He’s new. Literally his first night out. Bruce’s never had to practically stand on top of him and hide him from something. He can feel Jason poking him from underneath as Dick clings to his side in case they need to take off.

The girl hesitates, slowly creeping closer to her current spot, only a few feet away. The bat looks around while internally  Bruce is silently searching for her parents.

“Hi buddy..” she murmurs softly, offering her hand carefully. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I just need to study you for my research paper. You are.. a lot taller in person.” Having to crane her neck up to see it, the entity is definitely a sight! An experiment gone wrong and escaped to the city, or maybe a genetic mutation! A side effect of pollination? Animal testing? 

The bat tilts its head, giving a low hum and backing up. No, no thank you. That’s not his kid! Somebody come get their child! He will give her bonus points though for the outfit, it’s adorable that she tried to match him.

“No, please don’t run,” she adds, opening her utility belt and pulling out—

Oh, you’ve got to be kidding him. A small container of raspberries and orange slices, separated by a thin wall between them inside. She opens it and offers the looming creature a raspberry. The beast pauses.

He can’t encourage it, right? That’d be a bad thing to do. But she’s so little and she’s not hurting anyone. She’s like twelve, she’s harmless! His scanners aren’t picking up any poisons, so while he’ll reject the food, he’ll still give an appreciative nod.

…

She’s still waiting. Before he can take another step back or fly away, a small pale arm is reaching out from his protection and grabbing the berry. With a happy chirp of thanks, that’s Jason taking the snack with Dick now trying to steal it. Opening his wings to allow her to see the two underneath, she gives a surprised “aww!”

“You have babies!” She says with a short gasp, kneeling down to see them better. “I saw one on the news, but two?! That’s incredible!”

Good god, what has he done. Convinced the city that otherworldly creatures come out at night to take their food and beat up bad guys.

…

But if it keeps crime down, then fuck it, yea, why not? Dick likes orange slices anyway.

Watching the two.. non human beings (?) fight over a raspberry, she giggles softly and holds out an orange slice. Dick gives up on the raspberry battle, but he will be taking the slice, thank you very much.

“Do you.. talk?” She asks, looking up at the bat. It hums, the birds briefly chirp at her. “Log update, no talking, just noises,” she says calmly. “Okay. Test time,” she mumbles, standing up and getting slightly closer to the bat. “Can I touch you?” She ponders anxiously, slowly reaching out a hand to poke him.

For her, it’s a tense, scientific moment. Her whole future career of exploring new species begins here. For him, it’s hilarious, and he’s desperately trying not to laugh. With Jason coming back for another berry, he watches as she makes contact with his guardian. Yea, it’s.. a poke. What’s she expecting? he wonders.

“Ok, contact is a yes, if slow and careful,” she updates her recorder. “What about the babies?” Offering a berry to the littlest one, he takes it with a grateful nod. While eating it, he sits down on the ground by Dick and she gets brave. Sitting beside the baby, she glances at the momma bat (dad? She doesn’t know just yet..) and doesn’t sense any immediate hostility. The bigger creature stands in front of its kids and watches her, tilting its head like it’s wondering what she’s doing.

“Hi,” she murmurs gently, extending her hand and poking Jay’s wing, making him flinch at the unexpected touch and fluff his feathers up. “Sorry! Sorry,” she apologizes, retracting her hand. “I won’t touch.”

The littlest gets up with a huff, going to their parent and letting them fix their ever puffing up wings. “Update, the smallest one is.. fussy? They don’t seem crazy about people.” The bat preens the young one’s wings and calms them down. 

The other bird still in their spot laughs at her update, chirping at her. “Another slice?” She asks, offering the open container. The bird nods and takes one. “You can nod.. you understand me!” She exclaims with a bright smile. “I’m so getting an A on my paper!”

That night is spent with them going around the city with an additional friend by their side. Flying and adapting to the wind, the littlest seems to learn fast! The new girl follows and takes plenty of very studious notes, using a makeshift grappling hook to keep up with their flight. Bruce nearly shits himself when she gets into one of their fights though.

Dropping down onto a gang beating up a couple and trying to take their purses, the bat takes the majority of the members while the pups help out. “Oh, yea!” She says confidently, dropping down after them, descending to the ground and back flipping into the fight. Bruce notices and nearly yells at her to move. Thank god he’s gotten used to kids being stupid.

She’s untrained! And not his, but now she’s his responsibility since she’s following them! She kept up surprisingly well so far, but in a fight?

To everyone’s surprise, she does.. shockingly well. Knocks a guy out with a kick to the head. Huh. Those boots must be heavy.

“Let’s go! Woo!” She celebrates, giving the purses back to the women. “Here you go, ladies.”

“Thank you,” the blonde says with a grateful smile. The red haired woman pauses when she sees the bat and birds. “Are.. are you.. their kid?” She asks fearfully, pointing at the large creature. “Me?” The young girl asks. “Uh.. no— yes! Maybe. Is that important?”

“Uh.. no, I.. guess not. Thank you anyway,” the red head says, getting her girlfriend and continuing their walk home a little faster. “Well, that was fun! Good job!” The girl praises the animals, her hands on her hips proudly. “But why do you stop muggings?” She questions like she’s expecting an answer.

“Who is this?” Jason chirps to Bruce. “No idea,” the man underneath the cowl squeaks back. “Just tolerate her. She’s not one of us.”

No duh. That’s why they have the code. If you don’t know the code, you aren’t part of the group. Easy way to spot an outlier, and in this case, it’s her. He doesn’t wanna be mean and try to scare her off though. She’s not hurting anything, and hey, if he has to babysit for a night, it’s not the worst thing ever. 

Hearing something else when they’ve perched on a fire escape, the bat hides their pups inside the wings again. “You’re hiding them,” the girl comments curiously. “Why? Did you hear something?”

Looking up, the cryptid must have magical hearing, because that’s—

“Oh my god, it’s Superman!” The girl laughs, waving at the heroes flying above them. “Come on, guys! Let’s go say hi!” Using her grappling hook to zoom up to the roof, she watches as Superman lands, Wonder Woman beside him. Flash zooms in right as her feet hit the ground. “Told you I’d win,” the woman teases the blonde to her left. “You only won cuz I wasn’t tryin’,” he replies with a lighthearted smirk.

“Hi!” The girl in purple waves to the famous group. “What are you guys doing in Gotham?”

“We’re here to visit a friend,” Superman smiles warmly, offering his hand for a fist bump. “What are you doing out here? It’s awfully late for someone your age.”

“I’m studying!” She explains happily, hopping in her spot. “My teacher said that if I got a report on the myth of Gotham, I’d get an A for the whole semester AND no homework!” 

“And which teacher is this?” The man asks with a quirked brow and smile. “My science teacher. He didn't think I could, but I’m gonna prove him wrong! I’ve been studying them all night!” She holds up her recorder as proof.

“Studying who?” Flash asks, getting interrupted by the large beast approaching from behind her. Zooming to guard the girl from the creature, he blocks the legend’s view of her. “Woah, stay there, big guy!”  

“Don’t worry, they’re friendly!” She tells the speedster with a nod. The creature stands there with narrowed white eyes, a low growl emerging from it. “You probably scared them,” she comments, getting out the container of snacks. “Here, you gotta be nice.” Handing Flash an orange slice, she gestures for him to hold it out as an offering.

Here we go again, Bruce thinks. How many heroes are gonna come out here? How many people are gonna try to feed them tonight— goddamn it, Dick, stop taking the bait!

The pup reaches out and shows themselves, accepting the treat and eating it. “The big one likes the orange and the baby likes the berries. I’ve learned a lot about them,” she informs the speedster, 100% serious in her work.

“And you’ve.. blended in with them?” Diana asks with an amused smile. “That’s a very brave task to take on by yourself.”

“Thank you! I made my outfit at home,” she states contently with a twirl. “So far, I know they like these foods and they fly really fast. The parent is protective of their babies, so you gotta be careful. Oh, and the littlest one doesn’t like to the touched.”

“Littlest one.. this one?” Flash asks skeptically, pointing at the one nibbling the orange. “That’s the one we saw before,” Clark chimes in with a fond glance towards the animals. “Same colorful body and everything.”

“Indeed,” Diana confirms, her hands crossed behind her back as she watches. “No, the baby! There’s a smaller one,” the girl says, taking a treat and holding it out. Another small hand emerges and there’s a smaller pup still inside the wings of its parent. 

“Oh my goodness,” Diana chuckles, watching the baby emerge and take the berry with a thankful nod. “There’s two,” Clark states with a wide smile. “The baby seems shy though.” He waves to the pup with a friendly beam. “Hey little guy. I like your wings!” 

“Okay, that knocks out the theory that the pups are born brightly colored and learn to blend in,” Barry mumbles, eyeing the darker colors and looking back at the group. “Uh, guys? You wanna come do whatever you normally do with them?”

“We usually just visit to say hi and sit with them,” Clark says casually with a shrug. “We brought snacks before, but it seems this smart young woman beat us to it.” He gives a high five to the girl, her cape swaying with the wind.

“So it can reproduce,” Flash states, listing the known information in his head as he watches the younger bird. “It eats, it probably sleeps during the day since it’s never seen during daytime, and diet wise.. it doesn’t like a carnivore. Maybe an omnivore?” He suggests while he analyzes the myths in front of him, leaning down to see the little ones better. “Wow, even the babies have claws!”

“Any ideas on why the second pup is less bright than the first one?” Clark questions, sitting down and laughing as the first bird sits practically on his lap. “Is it sick? Or maybe it’s trying to blend in?” 

“Could be a few reasons,” Barry says, offering a fruit to the parent. It shakes its head no. “Let’s say the other parent is super bright. It’s a genetic trait, so then it’s DNA and it’ll show in the kids. It won’t be the same every time, kinda like hair color. Or maybe the second pup adapted to the environment faster than the first. It could be sick, but that’s a whole different story—“ 

It’s a long night. Barry examines the creatures to find some science behind the gothamite craze and combines his theories with the girl’s knowledge — whose name turns out to be Barbara. When questioned about where her parents are, she simply says “at home. You know, busy,” with a nonchalant shrug.

An escaped child. Not a big deal as she promises to go home, but Clark volunteers to walk her home anyway. The smaller pup has fallen asleep in his parent’s lap while said parent is currently sitting on the floor with the taller pup dozing off into their side, using their wing as a blanket to keep themselves warm. As morning comes, the heroes watch the creatures bundle together and fly off, soaring away and retreating.

“Have animals ever been seen doing what they do?” Diana inquires, stretching her arms above her head. “Fighting crime and copying human behaviour? Not really,” Barry replies, his mind working overtime to try to put together a solid idea. What an odd case..

“They’re highly intelligent and know what a nod means. They know that shaking their heads means no, and they even know what no means,” he continues, pacing around the roof. “But it’s not just that- they fight criminals. Gotham’s become a lot more peaceful with them here.”

“How would they know which people to attack?” She wonders to her teammates. “They wouldn’t,” Barry answers, “unless they’ve seen someone do it before.”

“What do you mean?” Clark questions, a puzzled look on his face. “You think they’ve.. been attacked before?”

“Yea,” Flash nods bluntly. “They’ve already been hurt by Bane, but even then, they fought him off. The animals know how to fight, probably from watching all the crime in the city. They knew what they were doing way before they fought him. They’ve recognized the actions and know that it means bad things, whether that’s pain or loss of habitat or resources.” 

“So the animals will have an uprising?” Diana questions with a thoughtful hum. “If they continue like this, I don’t personally see a problem with it. Good for them.”

“Yea, maybe. But they’re animals. I mean, copying human behaviour that closely, it’s.. uncanny. Impossible almost,” the speedster rattles off in awe. “I guess we’ll have to keep an eye out,” Clark replies with a smile.

Arriving home, the morning ends with a comfortable cuddle pile on the many pillows and blankets in the cave. An unintentional nest of affection and warmth.

Chapter Text

Did the bat intend on having a preteen dress up like him like it’s Halloween and follow him around on his patrol? No. Did it still happen? Yes.

For months, actually. Barbara has proved herself to be determined and very stubborn, coming out at during the night and helping the cryptid around the city. Videotaped and recorded, both on the news and internet taking viewers by surprise, there’s the girl in purple — Batgirl, she’s dubbed herself proudly, standing as a representative between human and monster.

Bruce, by now, of course knows who she is. Too many little jokes and bits of info slip out here and there from the girl. He was bound to figure it out eventually. Has he told her father though? No, not yet anyway. She’s been helping their goals and she’s proven herself with her fighting, a lot of gymnastics moves mixed with the grace of her 2pm ballet class every Thursday. She knows her size puts her at a disadvantage, but she uses that fact well — causing enemies to try to attack her and getting them to injure each other instead. She’s slick, she’s fast, and she’s got combat training from her dad’s “business friends,” according to her tired ramble one late night when she should’ve been at home in bed.

Oh, and she got an A on her paper. Bonus for her, the teacher actually gave her credit after seeing witnesses provide evidence for everything that she claimed. And the best part? Nobody (that she knows of) knows that she’s Batgirl! It’s awesome! She gets to hang out with these ancient creatures of unknown origins and learn their language, trying to mimic their sounds and chirps. She always gets funny looks from the animals when she does this though, maybe it’s working? She does know that the kids like watching cartoons on her phone when she lets them play on it, so that’s also going on her report.

Even the Justice League members visit sometimes! Having small picnics on the rooftops of Gotham or in the peaceful garden on the GCPD building, the creatures have proven to be quite friendly when faced with non criminals. Barry notes the steady growth of the animals, the babies evenly getting bigger and stronger while the parent continues to hover around them and play with them, preening their wings whenever they relax or nap. After an intense debate about an important question, a handful of the League members come to the city once more.

This time, it’s at the GCPD garden, Jason sitting by the flowers and chirping away to Bruce, asking how they glow at night with occasional corrections to his chirps. Just a pitch lower than intended or a pitch higher and the whole word changes meaning. Gordon watches with a relaxed smile, seeing the large beast spend time with his kids. Universal dad child bonding time calls for unbothered moments, and with that understanding, Gordon takes his leave downstairs to tend to his work.

Enjoying the rare peaceful night, the bat sits by the water and watches his Robins like a tired soccer mom whose kids finally wore themselves out. With Ivy back in prison a few days ago and no new breakouts to be updated on, he feels like he can finally breathe—

Heartbeats are approaching. God. Damn it.

Soft footsteps land on the roof, three pairs of feet and an alien. Bruce jumps to cover Dick and Jay while a hiss comes from the voice box he installed a few weeks ago, his eyes darting to the newcomers. Clark, Diana, Barry, and a green one — J’onn. Martian Manhunter, Bruce has heard of him, but that doesn’t mean the bat is okay with him getting so close to his kids. He doesn’t know him!

“Please, do not fret. We do not wish to harm you,” the Martian says calmly, raising his hand in a peaceful gesture. The bat stays tense, slowly moving back and keeping distance. “I was told they were familiar with your presence,” J’onn states, more of a question than an observation. “They were,” Barry hums, trying to carefully move closer. “They won’t hurt you, big guy. You can relax.”

The Martian looks at Bruce. Bruce looks back.

“He’s fearful of me,” the alien says quietly. “Very well. I understand.” Floating a few feet back, he nods and occupies himself with the flowers on the rooftop. He’ll let them slowly adjust, moving away to show that he doesn’t intend on jumping the creatures. “We just came by to update you,” Barry tells the tall being, his footsteps gentle on the ground. “We wanted to offer you a spot in our group, the Justice League. It was Supes’ idea,” he whispers with a smile, the two robins underneath peeking out and skittishly staring at the group. With the parent’s approving nod, they emerge and flock to the alien, chirping and waving hello.

“Looks like the kids are interested,” Diana comments contently. ”The League offers membership to anyone who wants to do good, and despite some members protesting because you aren’t quite human, you do have the intent to do good,” Clark explains warmly. “I believe that should allow you to join. We can provide a home for you and your kids if you need somewhere safe.”

“We know it’s a big decision, so we wanted to offer a tour,” Flash suggests as he carefully paces around the flowing gentle streams. “Let you see all the rooms and stuff. Maybe add your own and make a nest, who knows?”

The beast gives a skeptical hum, tilting its head. This could be a good thing, Bruce ponders, or a really bad thing. A trap or a possible safe haven to hold his notes. Or in case the world goes to shit and needs help. Thinking it over, it seems to come to a decision, its ear twitching in the brief pause. Squeaking something unintelligible to the birds, the Robins nod and start to fly off.

“Are the.. kids not comin’?” Barry asks, gesturing to the children flying away. With an order to go home, the bat shakes its’ head. If it is a trap, he doesn’t want them around. An SOS to Alfred will be fine, but he doesn’t want his kids in danger. “Here, we can lead you there if you’ll follow us. It’s a short flight,” Clark offers, waiting patiently for the creature to accept. With a nod, they’re off to..

A fairly small base. If this is supposed to be a League, maybe we should’ve made a bigger place. Dick could have made something better at home— no, he shouldn’t judge too hard. It’s a team doing their best. But come on guys, really?

Bringing the myth inside the compound earns a few baffled stares from fellow heroes, mumbles of “oh my god, look, it’s real!” and plenty of shocked gasps accompanied by jaw dropped faces. He’s certainly made a reputation for himself and he’d by lying if he said it didn’t make him just a little proud. Stay out of his city and out of his way, it’s that easy.

Moving into what looks like the main control center, Bruce is making a checklist of everything to modify or at least notify someone about. There’s.. just.. so much in the wrong spots. Call it controlling, call it what you will, but he’ll gladly call it common sense and a lack of thinking ahead. Who puts things in the way of where you’ll need to be? If we have an emergency, why the hell would we wanna play Jenga with the furniture to escape? The middle of the table displays the current location and outline of the building, with all levels and rooms described to the side.

The bat blankly stares at the map while mentally, Bruce is looking at this thing like it personally offended him. Whoever designed this building plan needs to be fired in three different languages because this thing is a mess! Who the fuck puts an exit door there?? And these vents are like a mix match bunch of wires like the inside of a color coded bomb — nothing good’s gonna come from it! And there’s so little safety precautions, how are these people still alive?! They live here?!

The bat shakes its head with a disgruntled noise, searching for something on the desk. “Is it not to your liking?” Diana ponders curiously, watching with confused eyes as the creature picks up a pencil nearby and finds a new empty blueprint.

“Holy sh— it can write?” Barry asks in shock, leaning against the table like this is the most interesting thing he’s seen in years. “It can write! Wow, ok! That’s new.”

“And it’s writing.. a new building?” Clark thinks out loud, cocking a brow as the creature draws with a hum. Some big tower design, much more complicated than their base on land. “Are you making a new base instead?” He can’t help but laugh. “Wow! Is ours that bad? I thought we did pretty good.”

“I helped design it! Of course it was good!” Oliver adds from his spot, cleaning his arrows on the desk nearby with his feet kicked up casually. 

That might be why it sucks, Bruce thinks. Green arrow designed it. Good at shooting, but contingency plans and backup ideas? Extra fail safes? Yea, maybe the man’s got a few, but when it comes to base making, there’s not as many as there should be. They’ve got all these heroes and not one of them has ever taken an interest in interior decorating? Not even once?

“I wouldn’t let the bat draw on it. He’s just gonna add nests everywhere,” Hal teases. His curiosity gets the better of him though, not so sneakily taking glances over to see what’s being changed and added.

“That’s a whole new structure,” Barry states, eyes wide in surprise. “Whoever raised this thing is a genius, cuz with these systems..” he murmurs, pointing at the mathmagical equations on the paper. “It’s doing math, guys! It can do math!”

“No, that’s fuckin’ fake,” Hal declares with a confident smile. “You can take the mask off.” Tapping the bat in the arm, waiting for the prankster to show his face. The bat stares at him bluntly, full silence, with a blink. Another blink, and then it’s writing again.

“Is it seriously not a person under there?” The green lantern mumbles hesitantly to his teammates, turning to them with an unsure expression. “We don’t think so,” Barry shakes his head. The bat nods to itself before taking the blueprint and looking dead at Clark.

“Wait,” it speaks sternly with a firm nod. “Few months.” 

Its’ voice sounds like gravel, rumbly and inhuman, something that’d make you scream if you heard in the dark. It says no more, instead calmly walking out the building and flying away.

The group is dead silent for a good minute. Barry can’t stop the astounded smile from growing on his face. “It talks! Haha, it talks!” He cheers, standing up proudly. “My theory was right! It does learn from humans! Let’s go!”

“An interesting hypothesis,” J’onn agrees, phasing through the wall. “I didn’t wish to startle our guest, although it appears he’s more comfortable than we presumed.”

“Comfortable enough to tell us our place wasn’t good enough,” Hal scoffs, rolling his eyes and looking at the overview of the panel. “Perhaps it doesn’t feel safe enough yet,” Diana suggests with a shrug. “Only time will tell.”

“Yea, maybe we shouldn’t let an elderich monster join the team? Just a thought,” Oliver chimes in, feigning nonchalance. “After all, the thing could only eat.. oh, I don’t know.. four of us and not get full?”

“Ollie, relax. It doesn’t appear to be a threat. If we thought it was, we wouldn’t have brought it here,” Diana says with a smile. “So far it’s only gone after criminals. I don’t see a problem. Unless you’re intimidated by it?”

“What? No! I’m not scared of that thing!” He replies quickly, moving to the desk and busying himself with his work. “It’s just.. creepy lookin’ is all.”

“Sure. We can go with that,” she smiles, turning to go to the training area. “I wonder how fast it can fly?” Hawkgirl says, going with Barry to the lab branch of the complex.

The wrestling in the batcave’s nest of pillows is broken up by both children looking over at their mentor. “Hey B!” Jay calls, getting tackled when he’s not looking. “Alfred, oh my god, the strongest people on the planet are stupid,” Bruce rambles off quickly, going into his work mode with a warm smile to the kids. “What do you mean, sir?” The butler asks with an amused smile, bringing water for the family and placing it down on the side table. “Their blueprints suck. Period,” the bat states, taking off his cowl and starting up the batcomputer.

“I’m remaking their base. They need help desperately,” he rattles off. “It’s like they’re trying to get attacked!”

“Perhaps you’re a bit.. dramatic, sir?” Alfred suggests with an entertained look in his eyes, feigning innocence with a smile. “Alfred, if the world ended tomorrow, guess who’d still be here?” The vigilante asks with an energetic glance. “You could call me dramatic, but at least you’d be alive and able to call me it! They will not be!” He says, gesturing wildly to where the base was. “Our planet is in the hands of wildly generous people! Ones that apparently can’t design a safety system for shi—“

“Children are present, sir.”

“Shi.. itake mushrooms. There, are we good?”

“Very, sir.”

Hours pass, and Bruce’s theory of “Dick could do it better” turned out to be true. Even his children could design a better place—!! Don’t get him started, ugh. Absolutely irks him when it’s so simple to fix and nobody does. He gets it, the world is a big thing to protect, but protection. starts. at. the. main. core, people! You can’t expect a country to do well if the government’s main office is run by a bunch of raccoons with only left thumbs! You gotta help ‘em!

Goodness. The resources and cost isn’t a problem. Getting into space isn’t a problem. Building it takes months like he estimated and a team paid off very well with extra money to “keep it on the down low” with the explanation being that Bruce Wayne wants a private view of space. Big wowie, huh? Outlandish and crazy, but still ditzy and silly enough that when Bruce needs to pull out a “I’m so wild, haha!” moment, it’s believable. Fake, but perfect as an excuse all thanks to a highly practiced and trained persona for the cameras.

Waiting for the League to return, it doesn’t take long, finding him one night on his patrol. Still keeping his Robins away, sending them home without him means he’s listening to their chirps as they fly away towards the manor. Hopefully they manage to avoid extra cameras this time. Last time they ended up trending for months all because they were fighting over a snack Babs gave them mid flight. That unfortunately ended up with Jason almost falling out of the air and hitting a water tower face first, which, thank god, was avoided - his brother caught him. This ended in a scolding at home and Jason having to wear a bicycle helmet on patrol for two weeks as a punishment. This only made them go more viral with new theories stating that the birds were becoming more human and stealing from people’s trash and— Oh nevermind! It only spirals from here!

“What’s up, big guy? You got the new plans for our house?” Flash teases lightheartedly, zooming over to the bat’s side. “Can we get another word?”

“Up.”

The bat takes off, flying like there’s no tomorrow. For Bruce, he knows he needs height. It’s a loooong way up and he will NOT look slow. He loves racing but he’s never one to get last place — he’ll make sure of it. With a shrug from Clark, the group follows with Shayera carrying Barry the whole way up, scolding him to stop squirming or she’ll drop him.

The Watchtower is up ahead, all the way high up with an unbelievable view of the planet. Incredible, fully functional, and brand new. Bruce is a little lightheaded from the fly and needs an anti nausea pill right about now, silently taking one when the team is too busy exploring the new area. Thank you Alfred for your wonderful planning of hidden medicines, Bruce has never been more thankful. Could you imagine? “Welcome to my ship—“ and then a mess of the water he drank a few hours ago and some dry heaving. Way to make a first impression memorable.

We’ve avoided that horrible case though. With the main League members stunned as they look around, Superman finds his way beside the creature. “Told them you were good,” he says with a proud smile. “I knew you were a smart cookie, but this.. this is a new one.” He follows the silent being’s steps to the main center (which is so much more organized now, you’re welcome) and watches the screens light up. “You can see the whole world from here,” he murmurs, his gaze flickering between the spotlights. “So, you think you can finally tell me who taught you all this? I’d take a guess, but I don’t wanna sound crazy,” he asks with a playful grin. No answer from the creature. “We’re glad to have you,” Clark pats the animal gently on the shoulder. “Thank you for this. For everything. You can help us set everyone up if you’d like. Move things from our old place to here, assuming you’re okay with that?”

A nod. Bitch better use the base, he built this thing for something. It’s not here just to look pretty on starry nights.

Suddenly the teleporters were a good idea. Thank you Dick for the idea and his sidekick’s tiny hands helping build certain pieces and codes of work. Extra cartoons for both his kids tonight. With enough energy to power the boosters here and keep the teleporters up and running, maybe he’ll consider adding a mini version to his suit? Possibly, if he can get the ratios and equations right and the energy behaves the way he needs it to. Point being, he’s set up the Watchtower and become an official member. After weeks of keeping it up and everything running smoothly, bringing the kids that have been dying to see it is a must. Literally. Jason won’t leave his side and demands to be included into the super secret hero club.

So fine, he huffed and gathered his two pups, going to the teleporting spot at the old compound to beam up to the new one. Viola, he presents them with the place and immediately loses track of both the sprinting-at-full-force-kids, a type of run that only mischievous children can do. He sighs. Thank god he’s chipped them.

“Your children are excited to be here,” Shayera comments softly with a smile, walking by his side and going down the hallway. “I think they’ll like the place. There’s plenty of room to fly around and play, and I saw the anti-Flash features,” she laughs, shaking her head. “How if there’s too much movement the panel closes itself? That was smart.”

Finding a big side room, a large tree is planted in the middle with toys and playground equipment spread out. An extraordinary display for them to branch out, landing on the solid limbs and laughing, trying to push each other off.

“This really is something else..” she mumbles, admiring the area. “Your creator.. friend.. whoever made you or helped you with this, they’re a real genius,” she says, gesturing to the kids. “Is it okay if I say hello?”

A nod. “I’ll be a good babysitter, I promise,” she teases, her wings gliding with a practiced smoothness, carefully lifting up to meet the kids.

Kids are settled, equipment is getting moved, and the bat’s part of the team. Met with endless chirps at the end of the night, he makes a mental note to add one at the manor — they’ve already got toys and fun parkour equipment, but it seems they’ve really grown attached to the high places. If only he knew they’ve come to love it because it reminds them of being with him. With the bat distracted, Flash takes a quick moment to pull Clark off to the side.

“Listen Supes, I really need you to think about my offer,” he whispers quickly, looking up at the hero. “So you brought me to a.. storage closet?” Clark asks with a curious tilt in his words. “Yea, ok, maybe, but I thought it’d be safest,” Barry responds anxiously.

“No bugs, no listening devices, I checked everywhere, ok? This room, at least from what I’ve seen, is completely safe, and hoping that that.. thing.. doesn’t have super hearing, we need to talk,” he rambles. “I know you hesitated on my offer, I know that, but after seeing all this? I think we have to.”

“Look, Barry, I’m not sure..” Clark sighs, looking away and crossing his arms, leaning back against the wall. “Like I said, it’s just a theory. I don’t have any concrete evidence.”

“Concrete evidence— are you seeing this?!” Barry copies, gesturing wildly around them. “You’re telling me a creature, an animal that’s obviously not natural, made this, this.. SHIP in the sky, and you don’t want to even possibly look into how it could be this smart?!”

“Maybe it didn’t make it?” Clark shrugs. “Maybe it just.. knows it’s here?”

“So somebody else made it. That’s a whole other thing to investigate,” Barry replies in a hushed voice. “You’re my way in, dude. You have a starting theory, so let’s look into it. If you’re wrong, no harm done. But if you aren’t..” he tilts his head, trialing off.

“I know. Just..” he takes a deep breath, looking around the storage closet. He knows his teammate is right and the deal mentioned before.. somebody’s gonna look into it eventually. At least if they find out what’s really going on first, they can manage it best.

“Fine, we’ll do it. I’ll grab my notebook and camera and change real quick,” Clark relents with a disapproving nod. “I’m gonna feel really bad if this ends up being wrong though.”

“No, we can’t do it yet,” Barry says, shaking his head. “That thing is still in here. With us! Don’t let it know that we’re onto it or else it might panic. If it’s protective of its owner, I don’t wanna be a snack. Let it relax and think we like the place. Give it a few days and then it’s go time. It’s been nice so far, but we don’t wanna piss it off. The thing can talk now, so it’s clearly evolving somehow. That’s why I say we act sooner instead of later.” 

“Ok,” Clark mumbles, uncrossing his arms and leaving the closet. So much for keeping his theory a secret.. 

Some days had passed. Nothing major, nothing big to notice aside from making sure their new base is safe and sound. With all the League members not finding any problems or concerns, the whole thing seems to be very well protected, the bat even giving a full on instruction guide to J’onn about how to operate the systems. With J’onn constantly watching the monitors, they’ve got nothing to worry about. The manor’s been lively and fun with the only occasional problem being somebody trips down the stairs running too fast (Jason is more guilty of this than Dick, but he’s learning which angles not to slide into).

With a knock on the door and Bruce playing with the kids in the kitchen, Alfred’s goes to answer it. Having to forfeit the kitchen to little delinquents isn’t ideal, but hey, it gives him something to clean later. Idle hands tend to dull the mind as he’s told Bruce before. “Hello?” He greets the two men standing outside. “Ah, Mr. Kent. You’ve brought a guest. I don’t believe you had a scheduled meeting with Mr. Wayne today? Unless this is some sort of.. secret rendezvous?” 

“Uh, no, I’m sorry about that,” Clark apologizes with a shy smile, his camera by his side. “This is my friend, Barry. He’s a..”

Clark shoots a concerned glance at Barry. Fill in the blank, Flash. How are we doing this?

“Reporter and researcher sir,” the blonde says confidently, offering his hand to the butler. “We’ve spotted unusual fauna and animal concerns around the area and we just wanted to look around, help check everything out.”

“Local animal concerns?” The old man questions, a confused expression on his face. “Is this something urgent? Do I need to get the kids out?” He whispers with a worried scowl.

“No, they should be fine,” Barry says, holding a clipboard with his other hand. “See, we’ve got suspicious reports about some things going on and we were hoping to take a look around if that’s okay? Just to make sure nothing’s getting in or out that could be dangerous.”

“Oh my,” the butler mumbles, only getting a brief glance at the jumbled notes and scratchy writing. “Yes, please, do check. I’ll bring the kids to play upstairs and you can search wherever. Is there any specific concerns?”

Clark hesitates but Barry answers for him. “I’m afraid we can’t say at the moment, sir. It’s strictly against protocol. But if we do find anything, we will let you know. Clark here is doing an article on it and I figured I’d help him.”

“Of course,” the older man nods, welcoming them inside. “I will inform Master Bruce of this situation. We’ll be upstairs, but please, search anywhere you’d like.” Moving to the kitchen and quietly speaking to the billionaire, he takes the kids away with a polite nod to Clark.

Standing in the living room of the manor, the silence kicks in and Clark crumbles. “We’re such horrible people,” he mutters with a guilty look. “I mean, we’re breaking into an innocent man’s house and scaring his kids! We’re awful!”

“Clark, don’t start this,” Barry whispers, starting his search and looking around the house, remembering not to use too much of his speed in case there’s cameras planted around. “He might not be innocent. You said he seemed like he knew about the you know what.”

“Well, yea, but..” he shrugs, his gaze going to the family photos, holidays spent together and close bonding moments. That only makes him feel worse. “This is a family man. He’s a good guy, I think. He never seemed bad.”

“But he seemed suspicious, that’s what you told me,” Barry points out. “God, that butler does amazing work. There’s not a single thing of dust, I swear.”

“He seemed to know something,” the journalist tries to specify, skittishly walking around the manor. He feels like a stranger, intruding into what should be a private place. “I’m not sure what, but he.. he’s smart, I know that much. I mean, the man constantly falls asleep at his own work meetings but still has a flawless company. They only use clean resources and if a building plan hurts the environment, he’ll refuse to do it. One deal made it to the media two weeks ago because a construction site was gonna take away a rare flower’s habitat and he didn’t want to do that.”

“So the guy likes nature. Maybe that’s part of some evil plan?” The scientist suggests, zooming around quietly. Disappearing for a minute and reappearing by the couch, he sits down and looks over at Clark. “Did a little search, scanned the entire house aside from upstairs where your friend is. I went fast enough to make sure nothin’ could catch me even if he does have some kind of security system. I can’t find a thing besides old antique furniture from decades ago and a well taken care of garden. Which by the way, has no suspicious plants, I checked.”

“So now we look crazy,” Clark nods, biting his lip. “That’s great. We’ve interrupted a nice family evening and found nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Ah, ah, ah, not totally,” Barry cuts him off. “When I run, there’s an echo. Not like “yea, it’s a big house” echo, but like there’s something underneath us. It’s vibrating back when I run, I can feel it.”

“Maybe he’s got a basement?” The journalist weakly suggests. “Look, I’m just really ready to go. I feel bad.”

“I know you do, but it’s all worth it if we can help out the you know what, right?” Barry asks quietly with a knowing look. “Yea, it is..” the other man mumbles. “What should we do then? Ask about where the way down is?”

“About that,” Flash answers hesitantly. “I.. can’t find any stairs. Anywhere in the house that go down. There’s none.”

“None at all?” Clark asks, earning a shake of the blonde’s head. “Ok, then.. do you want me to ask him? He’s more used to me than you.”

“I was just about to say that,” the scientist responds, standing up from the couch. “I’ll keep looking, but ask him where the way down is, please.”

“Ok,” the journalist mutters, anxiously going upstairs with a sigh. He’s supposed to be a hero, not a.. a weird snooping investigator! This goes against what they do, right? Is this illegal? It sure feels like it!

“Hey, um..” he gently knocks on the door to the bedroom he can hear Bruce’s voice come from. “Bruce? It’s Clark. I was wondering, my friend said he can hear a slight echo—“

The billionaire opens the door with a friendly smile. “Yea, it’s a big house. I’m sorry if it bothers him,” he replies, leaning against the doorframe. “Yes, well.. he believes there’s a lower level to the house. Is that true?”

“It is,” the man confirms with a nod. “Although your friend must be.. very observant to notice that. My kids have lived here for years and have never even noticed.”

Clark gives a nervous chuckle, fixing his glasses. “He is, I apologize. He’s simply worried about your family. That’s why I agreed to work with him.”

“I see. What about you and him, hm?” Bruce says lowly, reaching out and carefully fixing the top part of the journalist’s suit, smoothing out the edge with fond hands. “Work buddies or something more?”

“No, we’re just—“ the other man laughs with a flustered smile. “We’re just friends. We talk sometimes.” He clears his throat, tearing his gaze away. “But uh, he was curious if maybe there was a way down to the basement? And if you could show us down there?”

“Yea, I can show you,” the billionaire shrugs casually, walking with the man downstairs and going to the grandfather clock in the study. “I’ve actually been considering closing the whole way off since nobody ever goes down there,” he explains nonchalantly. His heartbeat is calm and his body language is relaxed and oh- it makes Clark feel so bad! The man doesn’t look guilty at all! “We keep it covered up with furniture so the kids can’t get down there. You’ll have to excuse the dust though.”

Moving the clock out of the way, there’s very old, broken stairs that lead down with an unstable path. “Watch your footing,” he warns politely, offering his hand to help Clark down. “Oh! There you go. Now, are you.. looking for something specific?” He asks, his voice slightly husky as he stands beside the man, his arm snaking around the other’s waist. “We.. uh, we might be,” Clark chuckles, looking around the unlocked level.

The basement is.. spacious, dark, and has a few old boxes in it. That’s it. Barry comes down and falls on the stairs, catching himself and landing beside his friend. “Wow, this is .. something!”

“Do you mind if we take some pictures or samples? Won’t be long, promise, Mr. Wayne,” Barry continues with a charming grin, wandering around the area. “Not at all, feel free. Anything to keep the house safe. I got kids, fellas. If anything here is dangerous, it’s gotta go,” he smiles, going back upstairs. “Have fun, boys.” He gives an extra wave and a flirty smile just for the reporter. 

A moment of silence passes. Clark listens for any noises with a shameful expression as the blonde paces, picking up dust samples, bits of rock and the floor chipping off.

“Barry. He sounds innocent,” the journalist mumbles, watching his friend. “He sounds like—“ The blonde gets cut off by a squeak. Both heroes freeze, look up, and see the swarm of bats.

“Oh my god, what the fuck.” Barry’s terrified face stays locked on the ceiling of the basement. A thousand little white dots in the darkness stare back at him, unmoving and unblinking. “We were so right! Holy shit! Call Diana!”

“No, we don’t need Diana,” Clark says quietly, trying to stay calm. “It’s just bats. That’s not evidence. There must be somewhere they’re getting in at. They could’ve flown in a window and..”

“And what, Supes? They’re moving a whole damn clock to get down here? I don’t think so!” The speedster whisper yells, inching his way back to Clark’s side. “This is so evidence!”

“Maybe he doesn’t know,” the man suggests, using his camera to take a picture. “What if—“

He’s cut off by Barry screaming. The camera flash has aggravated the bats and sent a swarm towards them.

With Barry carrying his friend up the stairs and practically throwing the clock over the hole, he stares at Clark. “Call the police. Call J’onn. Get somebody for that!”

“We can’t accuse an innocent man of harbouring a creature that’s done nothing but help the city!” The black haired man protests. “We don’t even know he made it! There’s no proof of that!”

“I thought you were a reporter! Don’t you love getting stories?” Barry argues back. “The proof is in the pudding! And the pudding has bats, dude!” He points to the clock. “He’s at least letting it hide in there! Its’ people are living in this man’s home!”

“He’s just a normal human. Bruce Wayne has no superpowers,” Clark explains, examining the rest of the room. “He can’t hear the echo like we can. He probably forgot he even had a basement. I can hear if he lies, just like anyone else. At least let me tell him and then we’ll wrap this up.”

“Tell him what, that we know he’s nuts?” The blonde scoffs, pacing around the study. “Yea, great going. Hey buddy, we know about your secret pet. That doesn’t look good on us.”

“Maybe it is a secret pet, we don’t know,” Clark chimes in, trying to defend his.. what are they exactly? More than friends but not quite dating.. “He seems like a good man, and he.. could’ve found it hurt and nursed it back to health.”

“And then it escapes every night to fight crime?” Barry adds with a skeptical look. “I’ll be right back,” the other man sighs, heading upstairs.

Knocking on the door again, Clark’s hesitant voice comes through. “Hey Bruce, did you.. know about your basement?” He asks, his voice hinted with tension.

“What about my basement?” The billionaire opens the door, greeting his close friend. “It’s messy, I know. Alfred doesn’t even clean down there.” Draping his arm over Clark’s shoulder, he waits for him to continue with a relaxed smile.

“No, I mean, the.. how long has it been since you’ve been down there?” The journalist questions, his work training peeking out a touch. He’s loved his job for years and he knows which things to ask — and the best part? His hearing is a lie detector on the spot. He’s just gotta calm down and focus.

“Ooh, that’s..” Bruce grimaces, trying to remember. “It’s been a good minute! It’s been years from what I can remember. We don’t even keep storage in there,” he shakes his head. “Why? Is there a problem?”

His heartbeat is steady. No jumps, no spikes, not even the faintest touch of anxiety or adrenaline.

Damn you Barry for talking him into this.

“I’m afraid there’s bats down there,” Clark states with a sorry look. The word alone could possibly trigger a response if he’s guilty.

“There’s.. bats?” The other man repeats with a confused look. “Like.. real life ones? Not decorations or anything? You’re sure?”

He doesn’t even believe his dear friend at first. “Yea, I’m sure. They uh.. flew at us,” Clark continues with an apologetic nod.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, I did not know about that,” Bruce says, reaching out with a concerned touch, scanning over the man. “Are you hurt? Is your friend okay? I’m so sorry!”

“We’re fine. I just wanted to let you know,” the journalist smiles. “Thank you, yes! I’ll call animal control right away! I don’t want to kill the poor things but they can’t stay here.” Bruce replies with a sure nod. “Glad we could help. We’ll be going now.” With Clark turning away, the billionaire gently grabs his arm to make him stop. “Actually, with how late it is, would you want to stay for dinner?” Bruce offers with a kind grin. “You’ve been so helpful, I’d hate to seem ungrateful.”

“Oh.. no, I shouldn’t do that,” Clark freezes, regretfully shaking his head. “I’m sorry, we have to go. But I appreciate the offer! Maybe some other time?” He can’t possibly accept after intruding and almost accusing the man of.. what, hiding a monster in his basement? That’s ridiculous.

“Ok, I understand. If you’re even bored on a slow day at work though, you know who to call,” the man replies with a playful smile, nudging Clark’s arm. “Go on, get. I got a house to run, farm boy.”

His teasing does soften to blow of their foolishness. “I’m going,” Clark mumbles with a fond smile, meeting up with Barry in the living room. Leaving the manor, both are silent for a brief pause before Barry speaks up.

“He didn’t make it. No chemicals, no lab equipment, nothing is down there in that basement,” he says firmly. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t hiding it.”

“The man didn’t even know he had bats,” Kent says, going to his car and getting into the driver’s seat. “I listened to his heartbeat. He never lied once.”

“Then that means it’s more than just an animal. What if..” the scientist rattles his brain for theories. “We know it learns, but what if it can adapt? Make itself look human when it wants to?”

“Now Barry, that is ridiculous—“

The two argues as the engine kicks on and they drive home. Guilty or not, the guy had bats. He just.. didn’t know about them. Could be the same with the big scary creature that comes out at night.

“So how’d you hide everything?” Dick asks his father, being picked up and carried back into the kitchen with Jason in the other arm. “Oh, that’s easy. Everything is on a swivel plate on the ground. Press one little hidden button and it all hides itself. Pretty cool, huh?” The man answers with a smile, placing Jason on the counter and Dick on the floor. “What are we making next?” He asks, opening the pantry and surveying the ingredients present. 

Chapter Text

Babies grow. That’s just a fact. One that oddly enough, doesn’t seem to be effecting a certain child born from a test tube about eight months ago. But it should, right? God, she doesn’t know! She’s helped raise assassins before, but never this closely! Never this personally!

“Father,” Talia says with a shaky deep breath, interrupting her father’s morning tea time by the beautiful view on the balcony of their home. “Yes, daughter?” Ra’s asks calmly, looking over at her and the bundle in her arms. “I’m worried about Damian. He’s not growing properly,” she states firmly, the concern clear in her words. With the sunlight pouring in, the old man takes a closer look at the child.

Big bright emerald eyes, a chubby little face, and soft grabby hands innocently look up at him with a giggle. Healthy skin, no external injuries, no clear signs of distress. Young, fragile, and frail, like a baby deer new into the world.

“Darling, he looks fine,” he tries to console her, offering his finger for the baby to hold. He knows how his daughter dotes on her son, loving and tending to him constantly.

She’s attached, regardless of if she likes to admit it or not. He can’t blame her, it’s similar to how he felt raising her — knowing that one day, through all the childhood moments and training she went through, she’d be a spectacular leader that would make him proud. Grown up and helping manage the League, she’s exactly what he imagined his child would be like. Strong, intelligent, and determined. 

“No, father, it’s..” she pauses with a sigh, trying to find her words. Her head’s a mess with concern and confusion, stuck between what she can only assume is motherly paranoia and overprotectiveness. “He’s not growing. All the doctors have said that he’s healthy, but.. isn’t he small for his age?”

“Hm.” Peering into the blanket bundle, there’s the talkative little baby, trying to nibble his finger. “He seems normal, Talia. I assure you, you looked the same way when you were only a few months old.”

“But father, he’s older than just a few months,” she argues back softly, holding her baby close to her, unconsciously shielding him from the dangers of the world. “The doctors assume he’s about four months old with how his progress shows, but he’s eight months old. I know the exact date. It’s not making sense.”

“His progress,” Ra’s repeats carefully. “How are his motor skills? He can clearly grab things, yes?” Seeing how Damian holds onto his grandfather’s hand, he’s got a very basic fundamental principle down, so that’s a good sign.

“He can reach for items he sees and hold onto them, but that’s all I can get him to do,” she reports sadly, watching her son with a fond smile. “He’s very social and he loves to talk, but he hasn’t said his first word yet. I’ve tried to put him onto solid foods, but it’s like his body rejects it. He doesn’t sit up on his own and he can barely roll from his stomach to his back.”

“This is.. unusual,” Ra’s agrees gently with a concerned nod. “Yet the doctors have stated he’s of good health? There’s no obvious concerns?”

“Aside from him not reaching the usual milestones of a newborn, yes,” Talia repeats, her words a little sharper than intended. It’s the worry of a parent, Ra’s notes. Nothing personal, just anxiety spiking out. Taking Damian out of Talia’s arms, he notices the baby still cooing and laughing.

“No separation anxiety, I see. He’s a calm one,” he comments, bouncing the child with an old melody he remembers. “He weighs less than he should and he can’t do nearly what they’re saying he should be able to,” she says, shaking her head as she bites her lip. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong, father. I’m.. fearful for us. For him. If I fail, I..”

“You aren’t failing, daughter. I raised you and plenty of other assassins. Some grow faster than others,” he gently assures her, her son giggling and giving him a gummy smile. “Could it be a side effect of how he was made?” She ponders, walking around the open space and thinking. “It wasn’t tested before we used it. What if he’s been created.. wrong?”

“That, my darling, is fear talking,” Ra’s clarifies with a knowing look. “We do not speak like that of our children, for they are made of us. We always grow stronger, one way or another. You must remember, your child is a new creation, one that’s infused with a mythical creature’s blood. If it’s not quite acting as a normal infant, that’s to be expected.”

A pause. Talia watches her son, listening to her father and knowing he’s right. “I wish we could’ve studied that beast more,” she mutters, standing beside her father and letting her head rest on his shoulder. “What if Damian grows up and wishes to see him? What will we do?”

“That’s your decision,” the man answers easily. “You’ll love your son like I love you. Teach him to be strong, and you’ll never have to worry about if he gets hurt. If you want him to meet the myth, take him and seek him out. Just know he may lash out like certain animals do when a human’s touched their child. If you don’t wish to, then don’t.” Reaching for his mother, Damian babbles and smiles at her, wanting the intimate contact. “The case is irrelevant regardless. He’ll be ours and the League’s, not the beast’s. He’ll come to understand that.”

Talia hums in response, her head spinning with so many news updates that she’s heard, rumours and speculations doing nothing to ease her fears. “I’ve kept an eye on Gotham and the bat. From what I’ve heard, there’s.. the creature has children now.”

“I’m aware, daughter. I’ve been watching from a distance,” Ra’s responds, keeping his voice calm and steady. Not wanting to upset the child, he moves to sit down by the view with his daughter beside him. “It’s a shame we couldn’t get one of the little ones to study, but their time will come. We’ll run into one of them someday, I’m sure. Until then, you have your hands full with this one.”

“He has siblings,” the woman whispers softly, cupping her child’s face and stroking his cheek with her thumb. “Two of them. Both look older than him, but they’re so.. vibrant. They’ve got gorgeous feathers, father. I want my Damian to grow up to be that wonderful.”

“He will,” Ra’s confirms with a slow nod. “He’ll learn and train with the best. However, you cannot panic when he grows differently from an average human infant. Perhaps the bat’s DNA causes him to age or hit milestones slower. That’s how it achieves such a long life. I assure you, you don’t have to feel bad about creating him.”

“I know, but..” she starts, trailing off while she leans against him. “But you do. You have no need to, my dear. This could be a rare dying species, and by making another pup, we’re helping the bloodline continue. If the other pups are older than him in Gotham, then the bat must’ve hid them and raised them somewhere secret. They could be decades old and we’d have no idea. Let’s raise this one and see how it fairs.”

The woman gives a content smile, giggling at the sight of her baby playing with her hand. “I love him.”

“I know you do. Now go, rest for a while. I’ll see if I can get the little one to sit up and move,” he lightly urges her with a kiss to the top of her head. “Come on, little bat.” With Talia leaving, hopefully she can calm her mind and relax for a bit, even if it’s just a little.

Sitting down on the bed, there’s nothing but soft satin sheets and pillows to cushion the boy. Setting him down results in an endless string of coos and laughs as he face plants into the blankets. “Onto your back, come now,” he gestures with an amused grin.

“Okay, so what if we just.. didn’t fight them?” Flash asks, brainstorming up solutions for their latest conundrum — a parasite from another planet landing onto Earth via a comet landing somewhere in California and spreading through the state like wildfire, moving onto the next states around it. A black leech like alien that turns blood into an inky tar, making humans like mindless drones. “Keep anyone sick isolated and kept away from everyone else and I can research the alien. Study it real quick and then make an antidote.”

“Yea, but how do you make an antidote for something that lives in someone?” Hal asks with a grossed out expression. “It’s literally just.. sitting in their bodies. The only part you can see on the outside is the dark sludge stuff in their veins. How can we cure that without hurting them?”

“Same way we made a fix for worms and other Earth parasites, genius,” Barry replies with a confident smile. “You study it, you find out what can kill it, and then you make it. Think.. ringworm.”

“Ringworm?” Diana copies, walking into the meeting room to update the status reports in the console. “Yea! People got ringworm and then found out what hurts it. Put that into a medicine or cream and bam! No more ringworm,” the scientist explains with a lighthearted nod.

“Okay but that’s on Earth,” the green lantern counters, crossing his arms and looking out the large observation window. “And the things to make the medicine are on the same planet. We can’t just track the planet this thing fell from and then make an antidote with it, can we?” He asks. “That would take too long. It’s already infected about four more states.”

“Five,” Wonder Woman corrects, typing away into the system.

“Dang, really? Which one?” Hal responds, glancing over her shoulder to view the world map in front of them.

“Guys, any update on the antidote?” Superman’s voice chimes in from the command center. “Uh, about that,” Barry starts, looking at his teammates from his spot, leaned over at the table and trying to form new ideas. “Can you get me a sample? All the ones I tried to get before to study die too quickly. It’s like as soon as they get torn off their host, they die, but if we do it that way, we’re gonna accidentally injure a lot of innocent people.” 

“I thought you said you had a sample?” Clark asks the speedster, the sound of people yelling and screaming in the background of his comm.

“I did. Again, it died. Need a new one, please. Preferably one that’s living so I can see how it reacts to things in its environment. Maybe it’s allergic to something on Earth, but we’ll never know unless I can get one and test it,” the blonde explains.

“Can’t you just.. borrow somebody that’s infected?” Hal asks from his position by Diana, flinching when the large shadow appears out of nowhere. “Holy shit, dude! Make a noise!”

“No, that’s not—!” Superman huffs over the comm link, helping the people on his end evacuate the large crowds. “Flash, tell him that’s not morally acceptable! We are NOT kidnapping someone that’s infected to experiment on them! That’s not okay!”

“But if it’s for the better of humanity..” Barry says, tilting his head to the side, considering the option. “It could work. Now, is kidnapping wrong? Yea, we know this, but! This could be the one time it’s actually okay.”

“Okay?! No, no, we’re not doing that!” Clark responds, flying through the crowds of scared civilians, attempting to sort through the infected civilians and the fearful but healthy ones. “Oh my god, they started another fire. Okay, I’ll be five more minutes.” Sighing and tapping off his comm, he’s off to help with the disasters in the city and hope they don’t escalate any further.

“That was productive,” Barry comments, standing up and stretching his arms above his head. “Try J’onn, see how he’s doing in Nevada,” Diana suggests, filing into the latest news and numbers. “Maybe he’s got a better idea of how to contain the sick.”

“Gotcha, princess,” the speedster notes, tapping the button for J’onn’s personal line. “Hey Martian, good news?”

“No,” the Martian’s stoic voice comes from the speaker. “It’s—“ that’s the sound of rubble and debris falling on top of him. “It’s awful. The victims are acting like zombies. When the parasite touches someone healthy, it connects to them almost instantly. It attaches into their system and rewires their brain chemistry. Truly a terrifying sight.”

“Oh, that’s not..” the scientist trails off, glancing over at the bat. “When did he get here?” He mouths out to the green lantern, pointing at the stealthy creature and getting a shrug in response. “Any idea what hurts these things?” Looking over at his notes, he’s scribbled down a list of possible answers and chemical combinations to create a type of pesticide. None have been proved effective yet, unfortunately. 

“At the moment, no. With the aliens in their minds, I cannot find a way to help them. Physical harm would only hurt their bodies, but not the parasite within,” J’onn reports, rescuing a civilian out of a trapped car. “They act recklessly without thought. Their heads are empty when I use my telepathy on them. The police are helping locate lost survivors, but I fear their numbers are dwindling.”

“Yikes. I think I’m onto something with the newest formula I got going in the lab, but that was with the expired test subject I used. It’s gonna have to be a mist or a shot though,” Flash rambles off, peering down at his work while the bat moves to his own space, typing into the system. “I can’t see these people willingly eating an antidote.”

“Yes, a mist would be best,” the Martian replies firmly. “With such large numbers, giving out shots would risk you and anyone else also getting infected. Close contact is the main concern right now.”

Humming in response to a tap on the shoulder, Diana looks up at the bat now residing beside her. “What’s up?” She asks quietly, not wanting to interrupt the call in the background. Gently tapping the “send message to all” button beside her, a confused expression takes over her face as she watches. All of their comm links beep with a message popping up on the holoscreens.

A full on plan. Names, exact locations at highly specific times, what their job is, and when it should be done by. What to do after it’s done, and how it’ll end. Perfectly written down with easy, simplified explanations and instructions. All done by the bat pushing a few buttons.

Clark’s voice cuts through the silence. “I’m seeing an updated plan, flying back to base now. Flash, I thought you said you didn’t have the formula made yet?”

“I don’t, that’s not me,” the scientist says with a surprised smile. “That’s our bat friend. He just came in here and did it for us.”

“What chemical is he saying to use?” Diana asks, knowing the blonde has more experience with the substances mentioned in the block of text. “No way,” Flash mumbles in disbelief, his eyes narrowed as he reads the ingredients and compounds mixed together. “You beat me! How did you do that? I was so close!” He whines, leaning back in his chair with a defeated look as the creature pulls out what looks like a toolbox from underneath his wings.

Opening it reveals multiple tubes of the described liquid inside, a water-to-powder formula, and using the places they were assigned to — wind turbines, large air conditioning systems and units in the cities, specific airplanes and flights flying over the sick states — it’ll turn into the antidote upon air contact. Inhaled through the respiratory system and killing the parasite. 

“This says I need to be here,” Hal points out on the map in front of him, earning a nod from the large cloaked figure. “So I go.. now? To here?” He clarifies, tapping the location to clarify. Another nod. “Creepy that it understands us..” he mumbles, taking an antidote vial and flying off.

“Are we all seriously following a plan made by an animal?” Green Arrow whispers to Wonder Woman. “Why don’t we start askin’ the squirrels for help then? At least we know they’re from Earth.”

“I don’t see why we shouldn’t try,” Diana tells him, skimming the text once more. “It seems like a logical solution and if it helps save the lives of those that are infected, why shouldn’t we try?”

“Because, just maybe I’m the only one to notice, it’s a monster! What if this is some type of poison?” He fires back, shooting the cloaked figure a sharp look.

“It’s not,” Barry states, shaking his head and double checking the formula. “It’s similar to mine, but mine was only ever temporary. The parasite would die off for a bit before it grew stronger. This thing is strong enough to actually kill it without leaving behind harm on the host. It’s basically parasite killer wrapped up in a lovely little toolbox here.” 

“Am I the only one who sees how nuts this is?” Oliver questions, passing by the table and grabbing a vial, gunning towards the teleporters.

With Hawkgirl coming by shortly after his departure, passing out the vials isn’t too hard, each hero getting a handful of their own in case extra is needed. Taking the right amount based on the number of citizens in a state, the plan works exactly as intended. The antidote leaves minor headaches and dizziness in the victims, but no known long lasting effects. Taken to hospitals for an extra treatment to those that were in accidents while controlled, the majority of the heroes come back to the tower once it all calms down.

Even going so far as to dowse the comet the alien came down on, it all seems relatively harmless now. With Superman thanking the team for their help and going to congratulate Batman on his success, the bat gets a sharp ping from his arm, some muscle moving underneath his wing that Clark can only assume is like a microchip, like one you’d put in a dog that often wanders off on his own. You can’t see it, but judging from how the bat responds, he can both hear it and feel it.  

“What’s that?” He asks, hoping his curiosity masks his underlying concern. “Hm.” A disgruntled hum comes from the nocturnal creature. Maybe it’s a reminder to go home? It is day time, so it wouldn’t be surprising if someone was wary about letting it loose. But that would mean that the bat does have an owner, one that lets it out to help people, but is hesitant about releasing it during the day, probably in fear of people seeing it.

It’s a secret, Clark theorizes. Which begs the question of - why? Why make this creature? Who made it? When? Was it supposed to be sentient? Or perhaps it’s not, maybe it’s like a dog on a leash, being used and commanded to attack. That would explain the chip, sending codes and commands through the sounds and dings. This proves that it has an owner, but one that (to Clark’s knowledge) will not claim public ownership of. 

What if it’s being abused? That thought hurts and only serves to solidify his want to help. It can speak, it’s proven that fact before, but it doesn’t do it often. Some victims get too scared to speak.

He unfortunately doesn’t have the time to ask any questions, not with how fast the bat is moving to the teleporters, stepping onto the metal plate on the ground and disappearing. He’s being.. threatened? Scolded? The chirp could possibly hurt his sensitive ears?

Clark doesn’t want to intrude and make things worse, but.. he needs a second opinion. Poor thing! And— it has babies, he remembers. What if the babies are in danger too?!

Jason and Dick took a joyride in the Batmobile. That was the emergency. How it exactly played out was a lot more embarrassing than that though.

With Bruce busy, being on their own in the cave, training and sparring was fine. It’s fun, it’s safe, but eventually it feels unproductive. Why fight each other when there’s real bad guys to stop?

“Man, can we go out yet?” Jason asks, dodging a kick from his brother.

“No. I don’t think dad’s back yet,” the other boy replies, throwing another punch and landing it, hitting Jay’s shoulder. 

“Why do you call him dad?” The younger boy questions, sweeping his sibling’s leg out from under him. “Cuz he’s.. like a dad?” Dick answers with a confused look, giggling when he does a front roll and makes the other child fall onto the mat.

“But he’s not your dad,” Jay says with a confused glance, accepting Dick’s helpful hand to get up. “No, but he acts like a dad. He takes care of us like a dad. He’s like.. a third parent,” the older boy explains, looping back into his spot, ready for their next match.

“You’re weird,” Jason adds, putting his hands up into the position his mentor taught him. “But I guess you’re right. He’s slow today. I thought we had flying practice?”

“Yea, but something came up. I think he said aliens were taking over again?” The first Robin tells him, starting their next spar. “Again? How often does this happen?” Jason smiles, catching Dick off guard and knocking him down. “A lot more often than it should.”

Five more minutes pass. The kids grow bored, inevitably. Searching the cave for something to do, playing with batarangs like a game of darts ends in a score of 4-3 (Jason won, but just barely!) and using their grappling hooks as totally extra practice and definitely not seeing who can hang upside down the longest, Dick easily succeeds in their challenge with previous experience dangling from circus acts (which his brother claims is cheating since he’s got years of doing it, but Dick protests that it’s natural talent).

“What about this?” Jay asks, laying on top of the batmobile, falling into the chair when the top opens up. “Hey, buttons!” Poking around the front center turns on the headlights and makes the car beep, which Dick thinks is how you’re supposed to lock the car doors? He’s not sure, there’s a lot of settings and personalized buttons in here that his guardian has made over the years.

“Did you know dad built this car with a buddy?” Dick informs him with a warm smile, sitting down in the familiar seat. “I think his name is Mr. Fox.”

“Nothing’s on,” Jason points out, seeing the interior dark and dull. “I can do little stuff, but the engine is dead. Is it broken?”

“No, the keys just aren’t in yet,” Dick replies. “Here! I have the extra keys he gave me.” Fishing out a set of keys in his pocket and trying them out, finding the one that fits is what had happened. The engine purrs to life and the inside of the vehicle lights up, bright things to push and pull with an awesome front windshield that shows everything in front of them. It even has a small HUD in the corner to help display Gotham’s streets and alleyways in case a shortcut is needed

“You think we could drive it?” The younger boy suggests with a playful smirk. “I wanna see how fast it can go!”

“Mh, I don’t know.. the cave isn’t really a good place to test it. We have plenty of room, but not to drive. I think a road would be best. If we’re gonna be sidekicks, we gotta know how to drive in case dad gets hurt,” Dick thinks out loud with a nod. With Alfred busy upstairs on a business call, he doesn’t see why they can’t have some extra practice. 

“I can drive! My mama got drunk years ago and when we got into the car, she started to fall asleep, so I took the wheel! I know how to drive!” Jason beams proudly, climbing over the console and switching seats with his friend, now holding the wheel with his legs barely reaching the pedals.

“Can you ride a bike?” Dick questions innocently.

“Yea?” and a puzzled glance comes from the smaller child.

“It’s kinda like that. See, this pedal makes it go vroom—“

The car went vroom.

Unfortunately, all the way into Gotham. Hitting buildings, stopping and starting multiple times, almost flipping over at least three times, smashing light poles, but luckily, no one was harmed.

Headlights were broken, the car was tested to its abilities, and the top speed the kids had seen was about 150. Not for long, no. They kept hitting things that would slow them down, all the while the inside of the vehicle was a mix of screaming and the radio blasting some pop song that neither of them could figure out how to turn off.

The news had a field day. The pictures went viral — two brightly colored birds with their heads down shamefully as the bat stood in front of them with a menacing stare that screamed “are you fucking kidding me.” It was the type of anger only a parent of multiple children could have. 

Both kids were grounded, and now Bruce knows not to let anyone under 18 ever borrow his car keys. Or any keys, actually, for any type of emergency. But give the poor man some leeway, today’s been a mess. From way too damn early this morning, he’s been having to study beings from another planet, creating antidotes to alien life forms, administering vaccines, and traveling to about six different states. If everything were to go to hell, he’d want his kids to be safe in the car. If he can’t give them somewhere to hide and be safe if the world’s possibly ending, then he’s failed his job.

There’s self blame, of course. He’s a responsible adult and if he were anyone else, he’d say he’d need a drink after the day he’s had. Immediately checking both children for injuries, they’re relatively fine aside from the adrenaline of being in a speeding and out of control car. 

Discussing punishment is hard, especially with Dick’s sad puppy dog eyes that scream we missed you. Agreeing to two months of no patrol, extra schoolwork, and earlier bedtimes,  (Bruce had proposed three, but the eyes got him), they’re off to talk about what not to do in a car and how to signal for help if they ever do get stuck in it again.

Although he will be thinking of how to include them. Little mini motorcycles their size would come in handy..

Today we start with driving lessons. If they succeed, we’ll see how it goes. 

Chapter Text

Robins have plenty of training, that’s what Bruce had told Alfred that evening. I taught them everything they know, and they know enough to go into the city with my watch.

Apparently he’s going to have to teach them what to do when paparazzi swarms them. Not just as Bruce Wayne’s kids, but as Robins too.

When he took Dick in, he told him upfront — yes, I’m famous. No, it doesn’t matter. No, you don’t have to talk to the cameras. No, you don’t have to pose for pictures. Just be you and ignore them. Hide behind me if you want. If you’re uncomfortable, tell me and I’ll get you out of there.

Jason got the same identical lecture when he was adopted. Same message of I’ll always be there if you need me. Don’t mind the camera flash’s and the screaming crowds. And for the most part, the kids ignore it pretty easily. Bruce makes sure they stay away from strangers and don’t get dived bombed whenever they leave the house.

However. Problem hits when it’s not during the day. When it’s at night, it’s different. Instead of “I can ignore the noise,” it’s “I can’t afford to ignore any noise and let someone get the drop on me.”

Bruce trained them to work around it. To play and not be bothered. Batman trained them to always pay attention. To listen to every little detail and sound cue, any movement or muscle twitch in the shadows could mean getting hurt by an unknown enemy.

It’s a bit confusing, especially tonight with their latest debacle.

Scarecrow and his fear toxin. Honestly, the man needs a new hobby but Bruce can respect the grind — he’s been into this chemical business so long the vigilante’s still baffled that the man hasn’t accidentally killed himself yet. Sent himself to the hospital plenty of times for blowing himself up, but has it ever stopped him? No.

That leads us to here, standing at the top of the big water plant in the Northern section of the city. Why? Nobody knows and that’s what Scarecrow loves about his job — creating fear and studying its effects on victims just because he wants to. 

With the bat landing on top of the skyscraper beside the building, he peers down at the man, surveying the area and counting the total number of visible goons. “Remember your practice. Masks on quickly if the gas is released, call for help if you need it,” he reminded with a whisper. 

With a silent nod from both his Robins, dropping down onto the henchmen and taking them out is simple. Pressure point lessons have helped them figure out where to press in order to get someone knocked out with little to no pushback. Teaching stealth isn’t the easiest to do, but his kids are fast learners. Loud, rambunctious, and thankful that being quiet is only temporary. With the bat creeping through the shadows and incapacitating some of the watchful guards, one of the other goons notices the form of an unconscious man left by the kids.

“Hey boss! We’ve got bodies!” He calls out, lifting up his gun and aiming for the darkness around him. Paranoid and anxious, Bruce is tense to have his children so close to what could be a horrific encounter. Hitting the guard and starting the real fight, they’ve got the upper hand with the knowledge of where everyone is.

“Be on guard! The bat must be near,” he can hear Crane’s voice ring out to his goons. “I want operations to go, now! Let’s go!” 

Hearing Scarecrow’s command crackle through his helper’s radios, the latest batch of fear toxin created flows through the tube, not yet fully attached to the water supply. The rich red smoke floods out of the end, spilling out and corrupting his field of view. 

With the lines leading to the chemical plant not too far from here, the vigilante’s mentally calculating the easiest way to cut the cord without spewing out the toxin. Thank god somebody called the police when they saw him setting this stuff up. The bat just happened to get here first, but it’s good to know that backup is coming.

Getting his mask on, Bruce is safe. Checking on his kid’s from his spot sulking in the darkness, he can see Dick put his on next to Jason—

A henchman hits the smaller boy as he fiddles with his mask, sending him to the ground and causing the armour to fall out of his hands. Breathing in the thick smog, he coughs and searches for his face plate with teary eyes.

With Dick fighting off the bad guy, Jason’s left on the ground, his mind being warped by the chemicals he’s breathing in.

Bruce’s instincts scream to go get the poor boy, but he knows the main threat and way to fix the problem is over there — right by the water tank. Flying over and kicking Scarecrow backwards, he does his best to make the fight as short as possible.

“Concerned, are we, Bats?” Crane taunts, dodging and reaching for the spray gun on the railing nearby. “Your bird is sick. Choose, monster. Your child, or the city.”

Spraying the bat with fear gas clouds his vision, but proves useless other than that.

His gaze goes to the mask, something that irritates Crane like no other. An easy way to block his weapon, something so obvious feels like a mockery of his work.

Locked on tightly, it’s got a release switch that Bruce made sure Crane wouldn’t be able to hit. The villain definitely tries though, attempting to find and destroy any openings in the bat’s armour. Hitting the spray gun out of the man’s hands after landing a good blow to his arm, Bruce can hear the screams of his child.

“Mama!”

It’s Jason, and he sounds terrified.

Causing Bruce to look over at him, he’s punched in the face by Scarecrow, who’s currently taking advantage of the other’s urgency to help. With Dick by Jay’s side, hushing him and doing his best to calm his brother down, Bruce regains his focus.

Jason is safe, he reminds himself. He’s just scared, that’s all. He has Dick protecting him and I’ll go to him in a second after I deal with this—

“Daddy!”

Okay, now Crane’s getting thrown off the railing.

Rushing forward to scoop the man up, Bruce digs his talons a little too deeper than he probably should have, but that’s not what’s on his mind at the moment. With a strong push of his wings, he’s picking the protesting villain up and gaining height, escaping the red cloud of toxin to see the clear air above. 

Throwing him into the pile of boxes and spare crates in the alleyway, the criminal lands on a set of tossed out furniture someone had left. Bruce doesn’t exactly have time to be gentle right now. Swooping back down into the poisoned area, his movements are swift and sharp, fixing the main problem — the hose and the remaining guards. 

Dick swears he’s never seen his mentor move so fast before. The guards are no match for him. Moving through the smoke and causing them to collapse like they’re nothing, he moves to the source of the smoke. 

Plugging up the end of the still running hose with a liquid-to-solid cement like chemical that’ll harden in seconds from his tool belt, the useless tube is thrown far away and left off. It’ll back up the tubes and explode the factory it’s in, but that’s a problem for the police sirens in the distance, rapidly approaching. Seeing how quickly the police arrive, they get out just in time to witness the scene in front of them.

Flying over to his child at a speed he didn’t know he could achieve, the shaking child is doing what Bruce had taught him to at the cave — go limp.

It was a simple idea. If you get hit by fear toxin, you’re going to hallucinate. It’s not an if or when, it’s a definite you will hallucinate.

To make this easier for everyone, Bruce gave the instructions: find a safe place and go limp. An ally (meaning Bruce or Dick, maybe even Alfred if times are desperate and he has to come pick them up) will protect you. When the fight is over or we have to change locations, someone will pick you up. Do your best not to fight them. Try your hardest to ignore anything you’re hearing and seeing. If you’re hit by the toxin and you run away, someone will have to chase you to get you to calm down — and that will only look scarier. 

Too scared to even think of the SOS chirp, he’s calling for his mentor. By name. Which means in Jason’s language, help me! Need you!

Bruce isn’t gonna make his child wait any longer, lifting him up by the back of his outfit in the spot where purposeful scruff had been added months ago in case this ever happened, scooping him up in his strong arms. Consoling his boy with soft hushes and murmurs, he keeps him close and warm, rubbing his back and kissing the top of his head.

“I don’t wanna,” the boy cries in Bruce’s arms, sobbing and keeping his head in his guardian’s arms. With a guilty looking Robin beside him, his mentor gives a nod to the ground, a silent gesture that they’ll stay here for a moment.

The police get out of their vehicles, arresting the henchmen and going around the bat carefully. His wings are covering the smaller bird, irritably jittering every few seconds. He shouldn’t have let this happen, how dare they touch his fucking child—

“Fear toxin?” Commissioner Gordon questions softly, standing a few feet away. He knows what it does to people, he’s gotten hit with it before himself. Not a fun experience, especially for kids.

The large shadow nods, lowering his head to keep it over his son’s, shuffling to let Dick crawl in under his other wing and sit beside his brother.

The vigilante doesn’t care how many people see them — it doesn’t mater. He doesn’t care that the people on the street are recording with their phones, murmuring to each other and pointing at them. His baby is still shaking, his breathing unsteady and voice wobbly. The camera flashes and clicks aren’t helping Jason’s paranoid mind though, only adding more noise to frustrate and scare him, and Dick.. he looks scared as well. He doesn’t know what to do about this.

With a series of quiet chirps to Dick, the boy understands the commands he’s being given: check my tool belt. Left side, second in the front. Fear toxin antidote. Ready yet?

He had made a batch for the antidote hours ago, but it was developed slowly since they weren’t in an emergency at the time. Plus because it’s based on an old formula, there’s a chance it’ll be less effective. He figured it’d be done by now, but with a sad nod from the boy, it’s a no.

Still another few minutes, Dick had chirped back. Not the right color yet. It’s supposed to be blue, right? Right now it’s green.

Two more minutes, the man estimates, watching Jim take a step closer. Growling at him and flapping his wings in a defensive manner, the commissioner raises his hands in a peaceful gesture and takes a step back.

“The factory,” he whispers, pointing at the chemical plant close by. “Was he.. do we need to go there?”

A nod.

“Thank you,” Gordon replies, keeping his voice gentle. Carefully gesturing his men to storm the plant, he kneels in his spot. “There’s a hospital I know. They accept metahumans.”

Bruce glares at the man. Fuck that, leave us alone, he has this handed his mind rattles off.

“Please. Let us help you. I can call an ambulance,” he urges, offering his extended hand. “Or you can ride in my car. I can get us there quick.”

“No.”

Jim tries not to flinch. The bat can speak.

“Leave us.”

“Ok. Sorry,” the older man apologizes, backing off and going to his officers. Slowly standing up, Bruce keeps his kids locked onto his torso. He can’t fly them home, Jason probably won’t react to that well and being in the air with a panicking child is a recipe for disaster. Tapping his belt and calling the batmobile, this is exactly why he made it. Emergencies happen.

Watching the crowd around them scatter out of the way as the vehicle arrives, the bat lets the top adjust back before climbing inside and keeping his children in his lap. Setting it to autopilot, the top closes and locks the doors, zooming off and speeding away back to the manor.

With Jason sniffling and whining into Bruce’s chest, the man refuses to let go of his son, even in the comfort of the nest in the cave. The butler helps the other child who’s still insisting on being nearby and settles him into the blankets a little bit away from the two. Bringing them hot chocolate and letting the family relax, his youngest is recovering with the antidote in his system. He had fallen asleep sometime after the adrenaline wore off, waking up with his face in his guardian’s chest.

“Hey dad,” he mumbles sleepily, his eyes barely open with a tired whine.

Dad. Bruce’s heart melts at that. He’s been accepted by his son! At least somewhat! He’s doing something right!

“Hey champ,” the billionaire whispers, one hand on the back of his son’s head. “How are you? Are you feeling okay?”

“Mhm,” Jason mutters, cuddling back into the warmth. He’s not leaving the hug, not when it’s this comfortable and he feels like he could nap for a million years. “We home?”

“Yea, we’re home, sweetheart,” Bruce replies, laying his cheek on top of the kid’s head.

A beat. Comfortable silence as his slow breathing continues. Dick crawls over and leans into his guardian’s side, letting his head lay against his shoulder. Wrapping an arm around the older child, Bruce makes room and accepts him into the hug.

“Hey dad.”

“Yea?”

“Fuck that guy.”

Jay’s comment makes his brother laugh. 

“I’ll let you say it this once,” Bruce whispers with a lighthearted smile, keeping his sons close.

Days have passed. Jason recovered fully and took some time off from patrol (Bruce refused to stop hovering and had to make sure he was healthy). Batdad instincts are still strong in his mind, but he’s trying not to annoy the kids.

Simple mistakes can mean big consequences out there in the crime ridden city. At least they’re okay though, that’s what matters. Waking up on a lazy Sunday, the billionaire has no plans or parties to attend and fully intends to spend his day with his kids, which brings us to our next point.

The internet is a bizarre place. Bruce knows this. It’s got everything from fanmade Harry Potter AU’s written decades ago to how to summon aliens from another planet via a candle and two marshmallows on a Thursday night and everything in between. Does that mean any of it is true? No.

But it’s still hilarious to watch.

The news played that morning like it always does. Dick is playing on his guardian’s phone, tapping away on some game with cats and other various animals that make small noises in the background that Alfred can hear in the kitchen as he cleans up after making breakfast. Jason, coloring in the book beside his brother, glances up at the wide screen to see the anchor lady.

“With more tourists coming to visit Gotham city, the recent influx has lead to the rise of traffic issues and car accidents. Is the local bat attraction to blame, or is it something else? Joining us today is Mr. Elviro, a self proclaimed specialist of supernatural spectacles and wild life. Mr. Elviro, what can you tell us about this otherworldly phenomenon that’s been living in our city?”

The camera pans to a man in his twenties. Younger than Bruce, but still old enough to make the billionaire shake his head and smirk when he walks into the room, leaning on the back of the couch. Even people around his age are buying their silly little act. 

He knows people have seen them stop car chases and robberies, but to think about them any longer than that? He hadn’t considered it too much. He’s the fear the stops criminals from acting out — and apparently the same fear that has a cult based around him. That’s a new one.

“Well, as you can see on my website,” the man with glasses starts, using his hand to card through his hair and push it out of his face. “We’ve got all known information on this case in collaboration with the police and local law enforcement. Although they don’t always believe what we say online, we do have a lot of valuable evidence to what this creature could be!”

“And what exactly do you and your people believe it is?” The woman inquires.

“We’ve got a lot of different takes for it! We were so naive in the beginning, we trusted the police when they told us that it could be a wild animal,” the man shakes his head with a cocky smile. “How wrong they are! This thing couldn’t possibly belong to a zoo! Look at the sheer size of it!”

“So we kept looking. We didn’t stop there, no. Then we thought of metahumans, which is another possibility. But the only thing human about it is the lower face and the very messy appearance to seem human. That doesn’t mean it is human,” he continues in his fast ramble, the words coming out so quick the subtitles are struggling to keep up with him.

“But it could still be, so we checked any evidence we could. Searching ID’s, countless profiles online in police departments, missing people’s posts, social media, birth records of possible meta humans and any known ones in Gotham.”

“My assistants have checked the all the databases we could look into for any meta with that ability or appearance and we found none, lady. None at all. So, what else could it be?”

A pause. Bruce is thinking the meta idea was probably the best theory, so maybe something like that? Then he hears the man finish his thought. 

“It’s a monster that was summoned from a secret cult thousands of years ago, coming up from the pits of the Earth to feast on humans, and I have undeniable proof.”

That makes them all laugh. With the deadly serious look on the man’s face, even the anchor is trying to keep herself from smiling.

“A.. cult, you say,” she states, doing her best to keep her amusement hidden.

“Yes! Think about it! We’ve got records of cults and large organizations dating centuries ago, and where else to summon something with that much power? Something so bold among human that deals out its own justice?” He questions, going on his almost manic tangent. “In the place known for crime! It’s a real solution that can help save the city! The police haven’t put an end to the criminals and crazy people, so we needed a saviour!”

“And our.. saviour.. is the bat?” The woman asks with a puzzled expression, looking down at her notes.

“Yes,” he confirms, fully convinced in his words. “See, hundreds and hundreds of years ago, we have drawings. Ancient pieces of history in art, and what’s always there in this region of the world? Bats. But not just any bats, one. large. bat. It’s Batgod.”

The vigilante is laughing into his hands, glancing over his shoulder to see if his butler is hearing this nonsense. The older man indeed is, an amused grin on his face and a proud nod.

“Batgod,” he repeats quietly with an entertained chuckle.

“Is it.. possible that this is just because this region has a plentiful bat population?” The anchor struggles to spit out without giggling.

“No,” Mr. Elviro continues sternly. “It’s true, we’ve got a more than healthy population of them, but that’s because they were the inspiration! When the people years ago first founded their own area and civilization, they lived in Gotham, studying and experiencing the area themselves. These people, from their own records, say they had an excellent supply of resources that were stolen. So what did they need? A hero, someone to avenge them. Think.. Superman but for revenge.”

“Ok..” the anchor nods, taking a deep breath and looking at her co-host. It doesn’t help when he’s smiling too.

“They did a ritual and with all their belief combined, they summoned this demon! What else better to base it on than the natural animals that couldn’t be taken from them? The bats!” He states, an astounding amount of energy radiating off of him. “It rose up from the center of the Earth to consume the bad people! It’s a creature that feeds on evil!” 

“I see. And what of the.. “feast on humans” part?” She inquires, leaning back in her chair. The news crew’s quiet laughter can be heard behind her.

“Okay. We’ve all seen the babies, ok? Those little birds that the Batgod has,” he shoots back with no hesitation.

“Obviously a demon demands a sacrifice! It finds a small human and bam! Batgod steals them and sucks away its soul, makes them part demon! It eats their memories and makes them work for it!” 

“How..” the anchor laughs, lowering her head slightly.

“No, no, don’t lose me here, listen,” the man adds, seeing her reaction. “It kidnaps them and we literally have proof! I mean, look at the footage we captured the other day!”

A video plays from the side of the street, Jason crying into Bruce’s arms. His colored wings trembling and twitching, the larger leathery wings of his parent over him, caging him in his protection. 

“Oh, that’s just embarrassing,” the boy mumbles with a pout, his mentor ruffling his hair with a calm smile. “No, it shows you’re tough. You survived,” his guardian tells him.

“And watch! He picks this screaming child up and literally consumes him!” The man dramatically exclaims, the bat in the footage hiding the child in his arms. 

“Just as the poor child starts to remember his family, bam! The Bat swoops in and whisks him away! The boy was limp from terror! He couldn’t move he was so scared! If that’s not the work of a demon, I don’t know what to tell you! And look, he eats the other one too!”

That’s the footage of Dick crawling under his father’s wing. Sad looking and worried, round eyes and shoulders down, his wings fluffing up with concern and regretfully lowering. 

”It takes their bodies and smuggled them into this war mech!”

There’s the batmobile and them getting in it.

“Where do you think the really bad guys go? He takes their bodies! The babies probably use the bones as chew toys! This time the kids started to realize what was happening and he restrained them! Hide your children after hours, people, or it’ll take them too!” He warns with a concerned look. 

“Can we—“ the anchor laughs, “Phil, turn him off. This is nonsense.”

“It’s not nonsense, it’s on my website! Look it up!!” The man hastily chimes in before he’s cut off.

“Anyways,” the brunette says, wiping the tears from her eyes. “He’s done. We’re sorry about that interruption, folks.”

“I’ve never heard of that before,” the billionaire mumbles to his kids. “Just when I was gonna do upgrades too. Now they think we’re demons.”

“I didn’t know you were a kidnapper,” Dick says teasingly, poking his mentor in the chest. “I did. He stole me,” Jason adds, getting pushed playfully by his mentor. “I did not steal you!” His guardian protests, his gaze flickering up to the screen where his teammates are displayed.

“Our next guests are the heroes we’d like to thank for their hard work. Helping with the recent alien crisis, they’ve been doing their best to keep us all safe,” the woman says with a smile. “Fortunately for curious viewers, they tell us that they’re teammates with the local legend.”

“We are!” Flash says with a friendly grin, giving a thumbs up to the camera. They’re somewhere by the peaceful fountain in the center of town, cars passing by behind the handful of heroes.

“Can you start from the beginning? How did the bat join you? What does their companionship entail?” She questions.

“Well.. we met him on the rooftop one night,” Superman explains with a warm smile. “He had his kids and we talked a few different times before we offered him a spot on the team. He’s put so much hard work out here into Gotham, we figured he’d deserve a proper team.”

“And have you figured out who he really is?” She continues her interview. “Is it really a he? What is he? A meta human seems most likely, no?”

“Uh, we kinda originally assumed he was an animal,” Flash chimes in with a nervous head tilt. “Which, our bad Bats, sorry, but that’s what everyone was saying. Some of us think he’s maybe a meta human, but others are still convinced he’s a creature someone made and let loose.”

“Interesting theory. Do you have any evidence?”

“I don’t.. know how much we should say on that,” Clark shakes his head hesitantly. “We don’t know what he is, but we know he’s smart and he’s very helpful. We believe he’s a good person, but he’s secretive. And being good teammates, we should respect that, despite how curious we are.”

“Are you not willing to help feel the citizens know who their heroes are?” The anchor asks curiously. “How should they know not to fear this creature?”

“From everything we’ve seen, he doesn’t seem harmful to civilians,” Shayera adds. “Maybe he’s a meta human, maybe he’s not. Whatever he is, he’s a parent and a hero. We thank him for his work. Now, if that’s all, we’ll be on our way.” Turning to go to the rest of the team admiring the fountain away from the camera crew, she grumbles under her breath. “Some interview that was.” 

“Don’t mind her,” Flash says with a skittish smile. “She’s just protective of her friends. Anyways, can we continue to real interview now?” 

“Right, my apologies,” the anchor clears her throat. “With the alien attacks out of the way, what’s next for the Justice League?” 

“We plan to continue to monitor for threats and potential attacks,” Diana answers, her arms by her sides. Tuning out the boring discussions, Jay climbs over the couch and lifts his arms up in front of his parent, a silent gesture that demands to be held.  

“You’re friends with Wonder Woman?” He asks as Bruce lifts him up. “I am,” he confirms, walking to the main table and looking out the window to see the clouds outside. “She’s nice. Do you two wanna play outside before it rains?” He offers, looking over at his older son running to get his raincoat. 

“I wanna play in the puddles!” 

They’re heroes, yes. But they deserve the chance to be kids too. A rainy day won’t hurt them. 

Chapter Text

“Are you sure?” The unsteady reporter asks, looking at himself in the mirror, his best friend beside him — the woman donning a black ponytail and a purple shirt, a matching skirt and heels paired with it. She looks so put together, how does she do it?

“Absolutely positive, for the tenth time this hour,” Lois replies sarcastically, standing beside him and looking at the reflective surface. “You look fine. I’m sure he’ll be impressed by the crooked tie and everything,” she smirks, moving in front of him to fix it.

“I’m just nervous. I know it’s silly, I’m sorry,” he apologizes sheepishly, glancing down at her with a fond smile. “But he’s so nice!”

“Oh, here we go,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes and chuckling, shaking her head at her co-worker’s excitement. “Go on, Smallville. Tell me all about him.”

And he does. 

“He’s just as kind as he sounds in Gotham’s newspapers! At first I was kinda skeptical, he’s a billionaire, of course everyone loves him, you know? But,” the journalist rambles excitedly. “He pays for the children’s hospital and donates a lot and he has these two adorable kids and he feels.. good to be around!”

“He sure sounds like he’s got you hooked all right,” Lois comments, standing back and double checking his outfit. “But how are you gonna tell him that you’re.. you know?“

The man shrinks at the question. “I don’t know,” he admits, his shoulders slumping down at the thought. “I mean.. he’s great, he’s polite, he even gave me his credit card and told me to go crazy! We’ve been really good friends for a while now..”

“But you want to be honest with him,” the woman points out, going into the kitchen and getting a drink from the fridge.

“I do!” He groans, going to the comfortable blue couch and plopping down with a defeated look.

“It’s been eating at you. I can tell,” she clarifies, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I’ve never seen you so worked up over someone, and we’ve chased how many Lex stories now? We’ve gone after the craziest of people, and this guy gets you going.”

“He does! You don’t get it, Lois!” Clark responds, watching the city through the window. Calm lights in the distance as the world winds down for the night, a peaceful evening for once where everyone can live in harmony without some type of emergency busting in. 

“I do too! Remember two months ago, I met that one girl from the apartment building across from mine? We took the same bus and everything. It was fate,” Lois shrugs with a content grin.

“But you’ve got experience with dating,” Clark says bluntly, crossing his arms. “I don’t. The most I’ve ever done was taking a girl to prom and freaking out when she kissed me.”

“I know. Funniest story I think you’ve ever told me,” she giggles at the memory. “All dressed up only to spill punch everywhere when she got too close. A clutz right from the start.”

“Yea, and it bothered her — not that I blame her!” The man tells her. “I was a total idiot, but with Bruce.. he sees me mess up and he still doesn’t mind. He plays it off and doesn’t ever get upset. It’s like.. that one night we went out last month? Do you remember?”

“The trip to the Gothamite Elite Club? Yea?”

“Okay, like there! That place was packed with the wealthiest people in Gotham. We’re talking paparazzi lining up at the doors like it’s a red carpet event. Actors, singers, models — you name it. And we start to order and the waiter brings us some type of fancy champagne that I wouldn’t be able to afford with all the money I make in a year.”

“Yea?”

“And I dropped it. Total, oh my god, I shouldn’t have ever come here moment. As soon as my glass was poured and I picked it up, it was the most embarrassing thing ever,” Clark goes on with a smile.

“And Bruce, well, he flinches from the noise and looks up at me real fast. Makes sure I’m not hurt and while everyone’s so focused on me dropping my glass on this floor that costs more than my rent, he “accidentally” knocks his own drink off the table with his arm while handing me a napkin. Then he plays it off and takes the blame. Makes everyone laugh and the tension practically disappears.”

She laughs, nodding her head. “A good distraction, huh? See, that’s sweet! That’s the type of relationship you need! I’m just iffy on the fact that he’s a billionaire and usually the ones with a lot of money are freaks,” she explains nonchalantly. “But if he’s not, then hey, I hope you both do good.”

“He’s good, I know he is,” the man says, pausing with a sigh.

“But you think he knows something. That’s about where you were last time you were updating me over the phone,” she fills in, remembering the phone call from a while ago. Their lives are always busy at the Daily Planet, especially with crazy aliens invasions, double lives, and Lois almost dying more frequently than she’d like to admit on her pursuit of good stories. “Okay, I’m listening, go ahead.”

“Barry and I checked Wayne Manor. There’s nothing there to indicate that he’s housing the Batman,” he’s quick to explain, frantic to get everything off his chest. “The bat can talk and build stuff apparently?? Or it knows someone who can? And it’s all so confusing and I don’t know what to do! Do I confront him? Do I keep getting closer to him? Or do I pull away because I don’t want him involved in my secret life?”

“Ah ah, don’t pull away. That’s avoidant and making him chase even harder,” Lois points out, sipping her soda. “And with how hard he’s already chasing, I don’t think he’d stop.”

“I met his kids! I even met his butler! I’d feel so bad if I just up and left him now, but if they got hurt because of me.. I don’t know what I’d do, Lois,” the journalist confesses anxiously.

“Relax, nobody besides Jimmy and I know,” she assures her friend with a wave of her hand. “But if you were to get into a full committed relationship, I’d definitely tell him. That way you don’t look like you’re ditching dates 24/7 if the world’s ending.”

“But if he’s somehow connected to the bat or the Watchtower.. ugh, I don’t know!” Clark groans, the underlying frustration present in his words. “I want to believe he’s a good guy. He doesn’t seem like he’d do anything shady or illegal. The man won’t even jaywalk! His record’s totally clean!”

“Then what makes you think he’s so connected to everything?” She questions skeptically, her eyes slightly narrowed in thought. “What about him screams suspicious? Aside from the disappearing during the Lex evil robot dinner you told me about? I get it, he disappeared, but so did you. Maybe he had family in town and wanted to check on them?”

“He would’ve mentioned that,” Clark answers easily, shaking his head. “The man loves to tell me everything. Every little detail so I don’t feel left out. Plus when we came back to the table, he said I had rubble in my hair. Who calls a piece of dust rubble?!” He exclaims. “He’s gotta know I’m Superman, or at least thinks something like that! I think he knows more than he’s saying is all.” 

“Play it off, Smallville. Maybe you’re Superman’s twin?” She shrugs, throwing the empty soda can into the kitchen trash can. “Or a doppelgänger. That’s a real thing, you know! Jimmy swears he has one.”

“Jimmy was sleep deprived that morning. That doesn’t count,” the reporter mumbles, perking up when he hears the doorbell ring.

“I’m not here. Go get your man. I’ll leave a few minutes later,” she whispers to him, peeking out from behind the kitchen wall. “And call me if you need a ride! Ditch him if you have to!”

“Shush!” He whispers back with a chuckle, brushing himself off and getting the door. “Bruce! Hi! It’s good to see you,” he greets the man in front of him. “You’re early.”

“Well, I wouldn’t wanna make you wait,” the billionaire states, offering his arm for his date. “I’ve been looking forward to seeing you again. That smile is one of the best parts of my day.”

“And the other best parts?” The slightly taller man asks, taking his date’s arm and closing the door behind him. Leave it to Bruce to do the old fashioned arm walk that the older rich couples do. Always leaves Clark a little flustered due to the close proximity.

Same man who can fly to the moon and back, fight alien wars, and change lives — but god, a single loving father that’s too generous for his own good absolutely makes him weak. And the smile? It makes him melt every time.

“My family, of course,” Bruce answers with a charming grin, escorting the reporter out of the building.

Opening Clark’s car door for him, the shy journalist can’t even remember what date they’re on, as bad as that is to admit. One quickly turned into two and then three, they got more comfortable and that turned into four and oh, what number is it now? Five or six?

After admitting their theories on each other one night with too much wine on a date night — Bruce saying that he thought Clark was in a secret harem with Lois and Superman while Clark thought the billionaire perhaps had been treating and caring for the bat of Gotham — their fears were put to rest. Assuring each other that both ideas were very wrong, the two men had calmed down their overthinking minds. 

With that out of the way, they saw no hesitation to keep going out together. Buying Clark a new keyboard, computer, and desk for his office at the Daily Planet, sending flowers and bouquets constantly to both his house and work place along with chocolates and plenty of other candies, Wayne is doing his best to slightly spoil the man who often says he doesn’t need any special treatment. 

Showing up at Wayne company parties as a guest, day dates and casual trips, attending important meetings together with Clark as an interviewer and Mr. Wayne as his very important, totally doing my job business man, he looks so good in his suits when he’s up on the mic—

“Hello? Baby?”

The sweet name and voice calls Clark back to action. Shaking his head gently, his eyes meet an amused look from his.. not-partner-but-also-definitely-not-not-partner.

“Yea, I’m good,” he reassures Bruce with a nod. “I’m just.. it’s hard to explain.”

“That’s okay. You got this. Can you use your words for me, please?” The billionaire softly offers his hand to hold, comfortable in his spot in the driver’s seat. Nothing like Clark’s parent’s old pickup trucks or cars that barely run — not that he didn’t love them, but he feels.. almost out of place when he sees the extravagance of the other man.

He doesn’t want it to stop though. No, not at all. Bruce makes the worry that he doesn’t fit in dissolve effortlessly without fail every time.

“I..” he takes a deep breath, trying to think.

His date’s hand is warm and the scent of his cologne, vanilla and some type of herb if Clark had to guess, floods his brain. Makes it go haywire and fizzle out. Safe, relaxed, content to be here, with no worries about if there’s some horrific invasion happening or if there’s a huge threat that the League has to face today.

“I’m nervous. About.. going to your place,” he murmurs with a slow nod. “I know you’re letting me set the pace and all, and I really appreciate that! But you, you know how I dated once or twice in high school. I never had to worry about going to someone’s house or meeting their family.”

“And you still don’t,” Bruce calms him gently, rubbing his thumb over the other’s knuckles. “You don’t have any need to worry. You’ve been there before and you know everyone. Dick absolutely adores you, Jason’ll probably try to rough house with you since you’re bigger than him, and Alfred knows about us. All we’re gonna do is have dinner.”

A pause and an anxious sigh. The reporter looks away before the billionaire uses his other hand to carefully move his chin back to him.

“You’re okay, I promise,” he whispers, steady and confident. “Nothing bad is gonna happen. I trust you. If you don’t want to do this, that’s totally okay. Just say the word and we can try again a different time.”

“I trust you too,” Clark replies, shaking his head. “I want to have dinner. It sounds nice.”

I just feel out of place, like I’m the first fish ever to go out onto land, the words go unsaid. Is he supposed to be this skittish? Lois teases him for it, but he gets flustered and nervous so easily. He’s a year younger than the playboy, 27 years old and still used to his old Smallville ways of romance — flowers, presents, and meeting the parents.

But this isn’t Smallville, it’s Metropolis and occasionally Gotham, and while Clark does love his life here, sometimes he misses the way things used to be. So simple and easy on the farm.

He can calm down. Listening to Bruce’s heartbeat like it’s a lullaby usually helps. What’s he even so worried about anyway? His partner has such pretty blue eyes and that jawline? So distracting—

“Baby.”

“Yes.” Clark’s attention is snapped back once again, both of them smiling now.

“Dinner. My place. Yes, no, maybe so?” The businessman asks soothingly. “Do we need more time to think?”

“No,” the reporter replies. “I mean, yes! Dinner, yes, please.”

“You’re adorable,” Bruce chuckles, kissing his partner’s hand and starting the car up. The way the engine purrs to life reminds Clark of the look in his date’s eyes when he starts a new project, all fierce and determined. Passionate and self assured, like nothing could take him down.

Superman tries to be that confident. Whether he’s successful or not, Clark doesn’t know, but he certainly tries. He wonders what Bruce must think of him, if he’s ever been in the crowds of people he’s saved one of the many times there’s been a bad accident or problem in Metropolis.

“I wanted to ask you,”the journalist starts after a serene pause. “What.. are we, exactly?”

“What do you mean?” The playboy tilts his head curiously, his hand holding Clark’s as the other occupies the steering wheel. “I’m taking my lovely date to my place. What are you thinking?”

“I’m just,” the journalist struggles. “I know romance and relationships are important for celebrities and I just.. wanted to know which labels fit us.”

You know, like the articles the paparazzi rave about. Brucie Wayne and his mystery date that nobody’s heard of. A partner that came from nowhere, but neither of them have cleared up any rumours or gossip. Fiancés? Husbands? Boyfriends? Just a one night trip that the playboy wanted more of?

“First off, I don’t care about being a celebrity,” Bruce states with a warm smile, going easy on the road. “That has nothing to do with us unless you’d want it to. I try to keep the media away, but they’re nosy people. I’ll try to keep them farther away if it bothers you.”

“That’s not..” Clark sighs. “It doesn’t bother me, exactly. Photos and questions are fine, but I guess what I’m asking is..”

Don’t fuck it up, Smallville.

“Are we.. dating? We’ve called each other our dates and all, but are we still single at the end of the day? I know it doesn’t matter but..”

“Hey, if it matters to you, it matters to me. And our relationship absolutely does,” Bruce straightens out with a concerned glance. “I take us very seriously. If you’re okay with us going out and being official, then let’s do that. I’m willing to go as fast or as slow as you want.”

Wayne Manor is tall. Clark remembers that fact as they pull into the driveway. The outside emits an aura of luxury that he’d never even imagined he’d ever be invited into for longer than an interview. The garden is gorgeous with fountains favouring water as clear as crystals.

“I’d want you to be sure before we make it official,” The journalist mutters, looking through the squeaky clean windshield and admiring the view, the other man beaming and opening his door for him. “That’s all.”

“I think I’ll be more than sure after this evening,” he jokes with a playful smirk. “Alfred makes great lasagna. Maybe you can tell him some home recipes and he’ll surprise us next time.”

Being welcomed into the mansion, he’s greeted with the laughter of Wayne’s two energetic sons running around in the living room, currently involved in what looks like a game of tag, jumping over the couches and trying to reach each other.

“Hi boys,” their father greets them with an entertained smile, seeing his oldest sprint over the coffee table and shuffle around his youngest.

“Hi dad!”

“Hey, B!”

“Jason’s doing better,” Clark comments happily, spectating the children’s game with a friendly wave to the kids. 

“He is! My boy is all strong and healthy. Not a single bruise,” Bruce assures proudly, sitting down on one of the side couches with his partner.

The last time Clark saw Jason, the boy was still a little bitey with strangers, prickly and defensive when he felt someone get too close. Now he’s spastic and fun, carefree and lively.

“And about us,” Bruce murmurs softly, his hand on the journalist’s shoulder, leaning against him as he crosses his legs. “I think it’s about time we made us official. To clear your mind and any worries you may have.”

“Really?” The other man asks with a surprised look. “I figured you’d want someone big. Someone that’s got a lot going for them. I’ve got my job and my apartment and my dog, but that’s about it.”

“I’m not going into relationships based on what I can gain,” the billionaire nods, leaning his head onto Clark’s chest, peacefully watching his kids play with no hesitation. “I want something real. And I feel like you’re real. You wouldn’t use me and I wouldn’t use you. We both really like each other and taking it slow and steady, I don’t see why we shouldn’t.”

A content moment passes. The smell of delicious cooking wafts in from the kitchen, the giggles and smiles of the young boys, the smooth music playing somewhere in the large, expansive manor.

Clark could get used to this.

“I’d like that,” he admits softly, laying his cheek on top of Bruce’s head. “I tend to worry when it comes to all this. I’ve only gotten you flowers twice, but I’d still love to be your boyfriend. If you’ll have me.”

“Then I’ll have you,” Bruce affirms, kissing his chest and snuggling into his partner. It’s domestic, it’s calm.

It’s everything Superman shouldn’t have. God, what’s he doing? A mistake, that’s what it is; but he can’t help but fall deeper into it. Should he be here? Loving on some man that’s made more money than Clark will ever spend? Probably not, but would he ever tell the man to move?

No. He’s too in love with him, pining after a man that’ll mourn him one day. If Superman crashes in a battle, can’t quite make it home or has to sacrifice himself for the planet he cherishes, what then? He leaves a lover to grieve? That’s the whole reason he never got involved in romance or silly relationships.

Feeling it now though, completely infatuated over the charismatic playboy, sometimes he can’t help but think maybe it’ll work; this time, the chance I’m taking, it’ll all be worth it. We could be happy together.

And when he sees his boyfriend’s smile, the businessman makes it all feel okay. The world is right and not on fire like his nervous system likes to tell him when it spikes up and freaks out. He blames his overactive senses and mind, working faster than he’d like in day to day life.

Dinner goes well. Surprisingly well. Amazing, actually. Clark sits beside Dick and Jason takes his spot (that he practically demands) by his father, with the doting butler at the end of the table. Getting whatever juice the kids are having because both men don’t want to drink around them, apple juice and meals are given and eaten with idle small talk and plenty of laughter.

A family, that’s what it feels like. He can remember being that young, sitting at the dinner table with his family when they’d bring friends or neighbours over to eat with them.

It was casual, it was this soothing environment of no big deal, come over anytime. And as the night goes on, it feels more and more like home, the muscles that were once tense and worrisome easing up and giving in to the soft home cooked food and his partner’s family.

Scented candles burning here and there, a comfortable stable temperature, helping clean up after and being shooed away by the butler who insists upon doing the dishes by himself, but was still flattered that Clark would offer to assist. The night simmers with reading the kids storybooks to bed and helping tuck them in with a goodnight kiss from daddy and a hug from their father’s new official partner.

Which, by the way, is a title Clark is SO going to brag about. When he gets home, you better believe he’s calling his ma and raving about it to her!

Relaxing in the living room and watching some late night TV show together, the sound of old gameshow reruns while the younger man grows more accustomed and welcoming to his partner’s touch. Slow caresses of their arms or Clark’s broad chest, moving closer when the businessman wraps an arm around his boyfriend’s waist and walks him to his car, escorting him home for the night.

The dates to Wayne Manor become more frequent. Once a month turns into twice a month. Then maybe three, then maybe once a week, twice a week, Clark loses track. He visits often, babysitting the kids whenever Bruce is too busy with meetings or work.

It’s another late night, this time the two making out on the loveseat after the kids have been in bed for the past hour and a half. Clark always gets so flustered, the tips of his ears go red and he can’t even handle looking at his boyfriend. They’ve been taking their relationship slow like the journalist wanted, but god, he still wants to be affectionate with his man. He’s just.. shy about it. And new to it, and scared he’ll mess up.

“You’re a good kisser, babe,” the billionaire tries to assure him, leaning his head against the reporter’s strong arm as he attempts to recover. “You can take your time. I’ll be here.”

“Oh, you..” the younger man smiles, gleefully leaning his head back. This is heaven, it really is. He’s love drunk and he doesn’t want to escape. Is this what Kara meant when she said Kryptonians fell hard? “I know what you’re doing. You’re luring me in.”

“Oh?” Bruce quirks a brow up with a curious smirk. “And how, pray tell, am I luring you in?”

“You knew I couldn’t resist home cooked meals,” Clark mumbles, kissing the billionaire’s cheek carefully like he’s a delicate work of art. “And the cute kids and the domestic life.”

Bruce chuckles, leaning closer and holding the side of his partner’s face with his hand. “Nobody can resist Alfred’s cooking, love. That, and if you can’t resist the domestic life, you might be secretly wanting it.”

A peck to his boyfriend’s sharp jawline. Clark can’t help but beam happily at the affection and attention he’s getting.

“You and me, we’re unstoppable. I feel amazing when you’re with me,” the billionaire admits, staying close to his lover. “That’s why I wanted to ask you to stay tonight.”

Oh god. Oh fuck.

Here it comes. Here it is. The part where Clark embarrasses himself thoroughly.

His partner wants sex, and he can’t give it.

“Oh, Bruce, I..” Clark mumbles with a sad look, remorseful as he shakes his head and slightly pulls back. “I don’t.. I’m not ready for that.”

The playboy immediately stops and straightens up before donning a look of realization.

“Sweetheart, I’m not asking for sex. I know you’re shy. If kisses rile you up, I wouldn’t dare ask for that,” he says simply, making sure to clear up any confusion. “We agreed on baby steps for us so that we’re both comfortable. I figured a small step forwards would be sleeping in the same bed. I’d never touch you that way if you didn’t want me to.”

Oh.

That’s.. a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” Clark replies quietly, hugging his partner and relaxing into his comforting touch. The man is so patient, even after all these months. 

“Mhm. I just wanted to see if you’d be interested in that,” Bruce offers with a yawn, his eyes watering ever so slightly. “If you’re not, I can drive you home and everything will be fine. Your call, love.”

Superman’s mind races. How much muscle has he been hiding under way too baggy suits and shirts? Would he be too hot for Bruce to lay with comfortably? Ma and pa always did say he ran hot, and what about the blankets? He’d take up so much room and accidentally take it all!

“You’re thinking,” the billionaire comments lazily, drawling circles on the other’s chest to gather his focus back. “Talk to me?”

“I.. would love to sleep with you.”

Congrats on fumbling your words, Kent.

“Not in that way! I mean, not, NOT in that way! I’d love to do that, but I mean like, lay beside you and stay the night and..” he rambles, biting his lip and pausing. “I wanna stay the night. Please.” He lays his head on his boyfriend’s moving shoulder, softly laughing and nodding.

“Then let’s get ready for bed. You can borrow some of my clothes if you need any,” the older man soothes, lifting his head up. “Come on, farm boy. We gotta brush our teeth.”

“Oh, I didn’t bring a toothbrush. I’m sorry.”

“There’s already one in the bathroom for you. Always prepared, honey.”

With a teasing boop to the journalist’s nose, they’re off and getting ready for bed. He’s been slowly drawn in by the family and fun for a while, he can admit it, but this is a big step.

Sure, he still slept in his parent’s bed after a nightmare when he was eight or nine, but sleeping next to a partner? He never went into relationships this far. Maybe a small coffee date with a pretty lady, sobered up when he remembered who he was and that he shouldn’t, and then called it off. And while he could call it off here.. he doesn’t want to. Is it selfish? It’s.. not, right? Bruce wants him to stay too, otherwise he wouldn’t have asked.

He’s gotta stop overthinking.

Opening the bathroom door and turning off the light, he skittishly goes to his partner, sitting down beside him in the bed, the farm boy taking the left side as the rich man occupies the right. The silk sheets are soft and snug with so much room that the concerns about taking up too much space becomes nonexistent.

“Hey,” Bruce murmurs softly, looking up at him. “You’re doing good. You feeling okay?” He’s only in a simple t-shirt and his boxers, but he still looks like he came right out of a fashion magazine. 

“Mhm.”

“You’re fiddling with your hands again. You wanna try to lay down or walk for a bit?” The billionaire offers. He knows how his partner paces the floor when he gets worried or his head is too loud. 

“I wanna stay with you,” Clark nods, taking a deep breath and pulling up the blanket. He can see Bruce reaching for his own shirt, so the action makes him feel unsure. Does he need to as well? “Can I.. keep my shirt on?” 

That makes his boyfriend laugh. He loves that sound, all at ease and so loving. “Of course. I usually sleep with mine off, but if you want me to keep it on, I can. What do you prefer?”

“No, no, you can take it off,” the reporter dismisses his offer kindly, leaning back into the pillows behind him. “You shouldn’t have to change what you do just because I want it.”

“If we’re dating,” Bruce says, standing up and casually taking his shirt off. “Then we’re equals. You gotta remember that. I’m not a co-worker, I’m a doting boyfriend,” he teases lightly, laying his shirt on the chair by the desk.

“So yes, if we’re together, I want to give you whatever you want and get whatever makes you comfortable. You can still expect a puppy on Christmas like I promised.”

Clark isn’t focused on the other’s words, instead staring at the packs of muscle and the built up solid form his partner has. He knows staring is rude, but..

He can see every scar the man has, showcasing a display of so many different stories all on one canvas. His torso, shoulders, the deep, recently healed up cut on the back of his neck, bullet holes, burn marks, cuts, scratches, bruises of varying colors.

What catches his eyes most is the two deep indentions in the middle of Bruce’s back, the muscles around it trained and tense at the ready.

Like wings. The shape— it’s a crazy thought, maybe he’s just paranoid, but..

It looks painful. It’s been cut into his back, healed up, and cut into again, like a wound opening and closing every so often only to be pried open again. What could’ve happened? His whole body seems so.. conditioned for it. And he pays no mind to it, like he’s used to this.

“What.. happened here..?” He mumbles, his hand hesitantly reaching out before he stops himself. If it’s hurting, he doesn’t want to poke and cause more harm.

“Hm?” Bruce hums curiously, turning around to see Clark on the bed. He looks down at his stomach with a slight smile. “I told you I didn’t have too much time to workout. I’m hoping to keep in better shape when all the meetings and deals finish up.”

Clark pauses, with what he hopes isn’t an obvious stare. It’s.. kinda obvious his boyfriend works out, even if he says he doesn’t have time, but when the fuck did he get shot??

“When did you get shot?” He asks, a hint of protectiveness coming out in his words, his thumb ever so gently caressing the lower hip of his partner, feeling over the pale skin.

“Oh, it was.. I wanna say a run in with some of Joker’s henchmen when I took the day off years ago,” Bruce shrugs, shaking his head and looking down at the memory. “I wasn’t feeling good and when I went for a walk to clear my head.. one of them saw me witness a robbery. It wasn’t pretty.”

“You look gorgeous.”

The words slip out without any second thought. No hesitation, no fear or doubt.

“Sorry,” the journalist shakes his head, gaze scanning the rest of his form for any injuries. “The scars are.. wow, but you’re still incredible. You’ve.. got a lot of them. Not that I mind! I’m just.. worried.”

“Not all of us can look like a Ken doll, dear,” the billionaire jokes, sitting down beside his partner and letting his hand glide across the journalist’s chest. Firm, tan skin perfect without a single flaw, no scars or wounds, a doll that jumped out of the box and came to life, sitting compliant and waiting with those caring doe eyes.

“Hey,” he adds, seeing the concerned look he’s getting. “I’m fine. I promise.” Lifting the other man’s chin up with a finger and giving a gentle kiss to ease any fear, he smiles and pulls Clark’s arm closer.

“How’d you get so buff anyway? All those chores on the farm do you good?” The playboy chuckles, doing his best to distract and change topics.

Clark knows what Bruce trying to do, but his concern is stronger than his politeness.

“Your back,” he states, a little firmer now. “What happened. Who hurt you?”

That mark couldn’t have been done by himself. That takes someone on the outside trying to cut in. Superman has rescued victims before, plenty of them from hostage situations, and not all of them were unharmed. You start to recognize what certain injuries look like over time. 

“What do you mean?” Bruce asks with a confused expression, tilting his head and standing up when Clark gives a serious glance. Moving in front of the full body mirror on the wall, he can see the mark previously mentioned.

Listen, Bruce isn’t a perfect inventor. Not at all. His suit took a while to make good enough and then his cowl took even longer and by then, he had remade both of them countless times — the point is, sometimes his inventions and works aren’t the most solid (although they usually are), sometimes there’s.. accidents. A minor side effect from using his wings and setting the sensors up just the way he wears them.

He didn’t know that they were leaving dents in his back.

He knows for a fact the children’s wings aren’t hurting them because he helps give them baths and their backs look perfectly healthy, so it must be the weight of his set? Possibly the material he’s been using? Both are different factors from his previous designs and the kid’s models..

“I didn’t know that was there,” he admits quietly, a puzzled expression as his mind races with calculations, trying to locate where he fucked up in his work.

Clark can hear his heartbeat. It’s calm, honest. Bruce isn’t lying, which means that if someone isn’t hurting him and he’s not doing it himself..

He doesn’t know what happened. Why? He’s a werebat. The werebat of Gotham. 

A meta who doesn’t know they’re a meta. Sometimes it’s a split personality, a mental issue, sometimes even a fragment of a lost mind begging for help. At night, the wings inside his body escape and break the skin, causing the scarring and aching muscles, only to retract and hide back under the surface during the day. The talons cut out when the moon rises and sink back in during the sunlight, same for the ears and protective layer of leathery outer skin. 

He couldn’t have been experimenting or caused it by a chemical reaction since Barry checked the manor — there’s no chemicals or lab equipment around, unless..

Someone experimented on him? Someone turned him into that creature and controls it at night, the memories of following orders fading out of his feral mind when he morphs back to human.

But that doesn’t explain the children.. maybe they’re part of the experiment? Little meta humans who also go through a similar process like their father? Unable to remember anything during the night, living a secret life they can’t recall when the sun comes up?

Who would do such a thing to an innocent family? Maybe it’s all mutations they aren’t aware of. Wild sides of them coming to life when it’s dark and nobody’s looking. With less than human minds of their own, it’s possible that their creature forms seek out justice against criminals who once wronged them long ago. Maybe they’re seeking revenge? Or simply recognizing the patterns of harm and trying to help, their natural protective instincts kicking in? 

Clark doesn’t know. He does however know that he’ll be watching and guarding the family extra extra safely now.

Laying in bed with Bruce is probably the most comfort he’s had since he moved to Metropolis. Kisses and cuddles can distract him during the moment, but he will be keeping this family safe — Superman or not.

Chapter Text

“I didn’t know! How was I supposed to tell?!” Bruce exclaims, pacing around in his dimly lit cave after showing the butler the newly identified wounds. “The photoshoot for that one magazine is in a week, not yesterday! I didn’t think to check my back! Who does that?”

“Well sir, might I suggest adding routine checkups to your schedule before you undress around a certain someone who isn’t aware of your.. ahem, double life?” Alfred proposes, setting a glass down onto the table beside the younger man.

“I feel like such an idiot,” the billionaire mumbles, his rough hands on his face. “I can’t let him find out that I’m Batman. I don’t think he knows, but I gotta throw him off somehow.”

“Are you still strong in your belief that your significant other could be the man of steel?” The butler ponders, earning a confused head tilt from Dick, the two siblings sitting on the work desks nearby.

“I thought you told him you thought he was in a secret relationship with Superman?” The child asks, stretching his arms out in front of him as his wings expand with the motion.

“I did. I lied,” Bruce says bluntly, looking over his shoulder at his kids. “I don’t condone lying, by the way. Don’t do it, but in this case, to protect us, it’s absolutely necessary.”

Moving some papers and extra notes out of his way, excess documents and files that he’ll return to later, he’s looking for his design models sketched out on paper to get a visual of where he went wrong.

“So now you think Clark is Superman? Or do you think he knows Superman?” Jason questions, leaning forward to see the two men, playing with Alfred’s hand when the older man offers it to the boy.

“One of the two. Both theories are possible, but I’m not sure yet. I want to say he is Superman, but I don’t have concrete evidence,” the vigilante sighs, finally finding the right set of scribbles he needs. “We’re all getting suit upgrades so I can make sure there’s no faults. If there’s any objections, let me know please.”

“Why don’t you just offer him a piece of that green rock Superman hates?” Dick says with a shrug. “Give it as a gift. I mean, we give you rocks all the time and you love them. If he’s not Superman, then he gets a gift! If he is, then you’ll know.”

“Already thought of that, buddy,” Bruce replies, grabbing a pencil nearby and correcting his earlier written remarks and ideas. Gotta find all the miscalculations he made and fix them..

“The rock is called Kryptonite, and it’s extremely rare. Only known ones I can think of are held by the government, but even then, if I did give him it, it could kill him. Kryptonite emits a radiation dose that over time makes humans sick.”

“So he’ll get hurt either way?” The younger boy asks, trying to peek from his spot to see his guardian’s studies.

“That’s right,” his father confirms, starting a whole new page with remodel layouts in mind. “And I’d rather not kill my current boyfriend. He’s funny when he wants to be.”

“Are you.. forgive my foolish assumption, sir, but it appears that you’ve been courting this journalist simply to study him and prove your theory correct,” the butler hesitantly suggests with a knowing look.

“What? No! I would not do that!” The billionaire replies in shock, pausing his movements.

A beat.

“Yea, ok, so maybe I was a little at the beginning, but that’s not a bad thing!” He quickly adds. “I was simply studying a possible opponent and taking a nice guy out on a date, there’s nothing wrong with that.”

“I was under the impression that you two were coworkers in the Justice League, no?” The butler questions, his hand being toyed with by the younger child. “And yet you call him an opponent.”

“Clark isn’t an opponent. Superman is. He’s an alien, you’ll have to excuse me for being a little paranoid,” the vigilante states. “He kept coming into my city! This is my place to guard! I work alone and by myself. I don’t need anyone else coming in and getting involved.”

Unless they’re small children with no parental figures around, Alfred thinks. The man has such a soft spot for kids, but he’ll die before he ever admits it. 

“But don’t you like Clark?” Dick blurts out nonchalantly, swinging his legs back and forth. “You said you thought he was pretty and you get all sappy when he comes over.”

“I.. like him,” his father answers hesitantly, continuing his new upgrades on the sheet in front of him. “He’s a good friend and a.. pleasant partner. But as Superman and Batman, giving us muffins is fine. As long as he stays away and doesn’t get any closer.”

“That’s confusing though,” Jason chimes in with a puzzled glance. “That means he only loves half of you and you don’t even give him the chance to see the rest. Cuz Batman is like, your favourite hobby ever. To hide that from someone that’s important..”

Bruce turns around with an approving nod, leaning against the table behind him. Smart kids.

“Extra story for you tonight. Thank you for calling me out on a mistake. Technically it’s not a nice or healthy thing to do, but I’m only doing this because I want us all safe,” he explains calmly. “I’m not willing to take any risks like that. It’d be selfish for me to trust people that easily and tell them everything. That puts all of us in jeopardy, understand?”

“Yea. It’s not the most honest thing, but I see why we do it,” Jay agrees with a grumble, nodding and poking his brother’s wing, watching it fluff up in response. “Important safety stuff and adult reasons.” 

“Good. I’ll get these base models done and sent to Lucius and then we can go out, ok? You two can help me add the smaller parts and correct me if I subtract something wrong,” he says with a smile, chuckling at his kids excitedly flocking to him to help. He loves building with them, the funniest little helpers he’s ever had.

As promised, the blueprints get mailed, requests sent for specific materials, types of metals, and various fabrics. Capes, cowls, he wants a big revamp to all their equipment because he’ll be damned if his own projects hurt his children. That will not happen, he will not let it.

Flying into the city, the boys chirp gleefully with their high pitched squeaks echoing in the abandoned buildings they search for drug deals, freaking out common criminals and thugs they find. With Penguin in prison after his attempt at sabotaging the other clubs in the city went haywire, there’s not a current big bad to look out for, although the family knows to always be listening out for things.

Barbara stops by and surprisingly enough, tries to chirp at them. That makes all of them stop and turn their heads, because this time, she didn’t just make a random noise — it was a real word they had been using. 

To her, this is such a good sign for her research!

To Bruce, he’s thinking how the fuck did a child learn our language? The one we literally made up in a cave and have told no one how to speak aside from each other?

Her explaination? An excited ramble about how she’s “been studying the audio tapes and logs she’s been recording” whenever she runs into them. Apparently the recorder she’s been keeping on her belt also picks up their chirps and noises. No duh, Bruce figured that much from the first night she ran into them.

But to study it? That’s.. commitment. Like, holy shit, she’s serious about this, commitment. And the kids don’t know what to do in response!

Now someone knows what they’re saying! Bruce has never trained them for this because honestly, he never thought it’d happen!

Granted, she doesn’t know everything yet. Her tones and pitches are off occasionally, kinda like Jason’s sounds, but she’s definitely learning the basics, which admittedly, is scary smart for a thirteen year old.

So now at night, the bat takes on a third child. Temporarily! She’s not his own! She has a parent, he knows this for sure! But she’s out here all alone, following them and fully believing that they’re some magical creatures and come on, he doesn’t want to ruin the magic for her! Not after she spent so much time putting in effort and actually learning a whole new language that doesn’t even officially exist! 

Crouching down in front of the girl, he offers a gloved hand with sharp talons, making extra sure to be careful and not cut her. Let’s see how much she really knows..

“Hello,” he says in their unique code, seeing a surprised look light up her face, followed by a delighted squeal. Taking a small deep breath, she copies him. “Hello!”

Dick starts to laugh, going to her and yapping almost immediately to her: “Hello! You, Barbara! Nice to meet you!” His wings flap behind him, the fluffy appendages jutting up to greet a friend who finally understands them. 

Bruce watches her face for any micro expressions. She doesn’t seem to have any bad intentions, but he’s gotta be prepared for everything and turning off the mental habit of tracking someone’s body language is easier said than done. She seems to recognize the hi and the you part, but her own name is where she gets lost.

She copies the chirp for her name with a puzzled expression, the silent question of “what?” easy to read on her face.

Each name is specialized in their system. A signature sound that they’ve given each other, each call fitting the person.

Bruce’s is a short call, easy to signal dad! if you need him. Dick’s is higher pitched and loud, happy sounding and friendly. Jason’s is a touch more mischievous, playful pitch that’s just a little off tune since it matches his style of squeaks.

Barbara’s is like her: flexible, the sound starting high, going low, and then high again to represent how she flies with her grappling hook around the city. Up to the skyline, back down to Earth in the alleyways, then back up again to spread hope.

Jason repeats her name and points at her, nodding to show that it’s her. Eventually she gets the message and Bruce begins teaching her baby words — boy, girl, tall, short, fly, wing, feet, ground, look, stay, thank you, and goodbye.

Smart girl. She should go home. Get some rest. The bat looms over her with an approving purr at the end of the night, nodding proudly and giving her a gentle pat on the head.

“Home.” He tells her, pointing to Batgirl and then the GCPD building. “Safe.”

She repeats his message, trying to understand it. Safe she knows, the group communicating constantly about where is safe for victims and where isn’t, but home isn’t one she knows. He decides to modify it a little.

Pointing to a bird’s nest close by, he does the same noise: home. To her, it’ll register as nest. They mean about the same thing when you’re a walking talking human sized animal that fights crime. Nest equals home. She gets the meaning as he continues, moving spots and perching on the rooftop of the police building. When he knows that she’s safe here with the police below them, he does the chirp for goodnight, gives her one last head pat, and soars off. 

Cute kid. If only her dad paid more attention to her, maybe she wouldn’t be out here fighting low level thugs. But that’s not the only person they bump into tonight, instead seeing a familiar brightly colored suit flying through the night sky to them.

Damn it, Superman. Or, if Bruce is correct, Clark.

An idiot. An adorable, way too involved, caring and kind, bumbling idiot. One that Bruce is way too fond of to truly be mad at. Silly farm boy with a heart of gold.

“Hello,” the hero says, a look of pure concern on his face. Not the usual warm grin he gives them, but it appears he’s brought two blankets and a baggy of snacks, little crackers that have been crushed up into smaller parts. Easier to eat, Bruce assumes.

“I got you guys some stuff if you can work with me,” he murmurs, a lot more gentle than their previous interactions. “Can you understand me? You can, right?” He asks carefully, looking at the bat and two birds beside him. The bat nods with a soft hum, staring at him.

“Good. I know that you can talk,” he adds, watching the bat and slowly taking a step forward. “But I don’t know if you want to. I want you to know that you can around me. I won’t be mad, I promise. Anything you say, I’ll listen. That goes for all of you.”

Glancing around the area, the hero decides to keep the conversation going. If he’s right and this is his partner at night, an animalistic, beastly side taking over, he wants to make sure they’re safe. Last time he checked in with Bruce was a few hours ago with Clark spending extra time in the office and his partner putting his kids to bed.

And suddenly the mysteries are out in the city. Odd circumstances, but he doesn’t want to accuse his boyfriend of anything, goodness no! He doesn’t even think his partner knows about this, instead assuming that Bruce is blacking out when this occurs. 

“Can you.. show me where you stay at? Please? Do you have a nest, or.. someplace you like nearby?” Superman asks, a slightly guilty look on his face. He feels bad about interrogating a bunch of animals minding their own business, but if this is his boyfriend and their kids..

He doesn’t wanna risk it. Besides, these things seem sentient and should be protected. It’s a good thing he’s here either way!

The bat tilts its head with a soft hum, nodding and starting to fly up towards a much taller rooftop. One that’s close enough to the GCPD, but far away enough to give them space to relax when the Robins need a break. This is where Babs usually finds them, sitting on the edge and looking out at the city, preening each other’s wings or napping peacefully at the end of a successful patrol.

“You like this spot, huh?” Superman comments as they land, gazing around the open space. “Okay, here. I got you this in case you had a nest but needed more warmth.”

He offers the fluffy blankets, watching the taller creature give a curious trill. Cautiously taking the blankets after a moment of consideration, the bat feels the fabrics with his hands and lets the birds take them, both smiling and bundling up underneath the soft material. They play with it like it’s their parent’s wing, hiding beneath it and using them as a shield.

“For you, I’ve got this,” the hero murmurs, pulling out a small metal bracelet. “My friend has one too. When you hit the button, it sends a signal that I can hear. If you ever need help, press this, ok?” Taking the bat’s hand and carefully maneuvering it onto his wrist, it’s solid and silver, thick and shiny.

Clark knows that Bruce prefers silver over gold, a comment mentioned months ago in a random conversation they had as they were going for an interview at an important press conference. 

“And these are for if you guys get hungry,” he says, kneeling and offering the bag of crackers to the birds. With a thankful chirp, they’re sharing some with the bigger creature, the darker colored Robin sitting by his side with a yawn. The other Robin starts to form a nest with the blankets, tucking them around the group and making a circle with the parent’s legs in the middle. 

Looking at the kids, there’s definitely some major differences from Dick and Jason — mainly the big white eyes and puffy feathers, whole appendages that they don’t have during the day. Maybe there’s some type of underlying gene or mutation that lies dormant during the day hours? But there’s gotta be some part of them left, some tiny piece of their human mind still in there.

“Baby?”

The bat flinches, the movement almost unnoticeable. Its head turned at first, recognizing the pet name and soft voice, but stopped itself. There was recognition — a flicker of I know you, but it.. stopped itself.

Superman smiles, offering his hand carefully with a step closer. “Yea, it’s okay. I’m here. Do you recognize me?”

To Clark, he’s sure that this is his partner. That sad head tilt, what would be round eyes is currently narrowed white irises with his two children, carefree and playful, is instead venturing out into the city at night to protect the city he loves.

He still loves Bruce, of course he does. This doesn’t change a thing aside from him having a more wild life at midnight. Clark can’t blame his poor boyfriend for having a mutation!

Bruce is such a sweet, loving man that his concern for his home goes beyond his efforts during the day, checking in on the local orphanages monthly and paying off children’s hospital bills at the biggest hospitals, going out into the darkened city and cleaning up the streets more effectively than the police ever have! What an admirable thing to do!

It does, however, change things for Bruce, who is now 100% certain that Superman is Clark.

Nobody else outside the manor has ever spoken to him so tenderly, hushed and considerate. Benevolent and merciful, he’s everything Bruce isn’t — and that makes this realization hit even harder, makes him sick and puts a heavy pit in his stomach.

His lover is an alien of god knows how much power and yet he can’t find it in himself to be mad at it. Just saddened and a little disappointed.

He’ll have to put distance. Cut the hero off, as painful as it is, the vigilante has to do something to scare him off. It’s like losing a limb, but if it can keep his family safe, he’ll have to let it go. He can’t let Clark in, especially knowing that he’s Superman.

Letting in a human is dangerous. Risky and downright life ending if they tell the wrong person and someone comes after his family, but to let in an alien?

He doesn’t even want to think of it.

He was really hoping this time it would go good. He was a fool to think such a thing. Get over yourself, Bruce. You aren’t meant for such things.

He’s not a soft man. He’s never been good at that. Maybe for his kids, he’ll happily learn to be and let that side of himself out, but for a partner? He was an idiot.

Hesitating and staring at the ground, the bat nods slowly, hiding his kids under his wings and preparing to fly away. Clark doesn’t want to get in their way, especially if they feel like they have to help the city, but he does want them safe. He’ll watch, from a reasonable distance. If they’re skittish still, he doesn’t want to push them, but he thought they’d have a better reaction — perhaps one of comfort or affection? The kids seemed to light up and enjoy his presence, but the bat seemed more hesitant than normal.. it’s odd.

Gliding through one of the many underground tunnels to make their way home, Jason flies a touch above his guardian as Dick leads the way for them, having memorized the paths back to their cave.

“Are you mad at Superman?” Jason asks, his wings relaxing as his feet hit the cold floor of their home, his soft footsteps echoing slightly. 

“No, why?” Bruce responds, landing and taking off his cowl with a sigh, putting it on one of the many work stations.

“You seemed like you didn’t want to be around him,” his youngest son yawns, going to his dad and letting his head lay on the man’s side. “You dipped really quick when he was talking. I thought maybe you were upset at him.”

“With how he spoke tonight, we might have more problems than we thought,” the vigilante states, tapping the batcomputer’s keyboard and loading up a big map of Metropolis. A red dot is shown, leaving a faint red line behind it everywhere it goes.

“What does that do?” Dick asks, climbing up onto the table and sitting beside the monitor.

“It’s a map of Metropolis. The red dot is Superman. I put a tracking chip on his suit one of the first times he visited us,” his father explains calmly, gazing up at the screen. “Now that the data’s loaded and ready, we can see everywhere he’s been.” 

“You’re tracking people now? Isn’t that like.. super paranoid?” His oldest child teases with a smile, watching the butler enter the cave.

“Your father has always had a hard time trusting people, I’m afraid,” he chimes in, bringing a first aid kid and opening it. “Come now. Scrapes, cuts, any bruising. Show me, please.”

Both children go to the older man and allow him to bandage their minor wounds, little marks and maybe a bruise or two. Nothing major.

“When it comes to our real identities, I’ll be as careful as I need to be,” Bruce says, glancing at his kids. “The red dot keeps going back to Clark’s apartment. That tells me that I was right.”

He would’ve liked it better if he was wrong. But the world doesn’t work that way and he knows life isn’t fair. Moving on.

“Maybe I would’ve told Clark one day about who we really are, but with this? Him being an alien from another world? That’s flat out dangerous. We aren’t telling him,” he states firmly, deciding for the family.

With Dick’s rambunctious energy practically radiating from their side of the cave, the butler gives an amused smile and offers his hand to the older boy. “It appears someone is still feeling their adrenaline,” he says lightly, knowing his friend is stressed enough as it is.

All their gear needs new, better protective upgrades that Bruce personally feels responsible for, constantly worrying about his kids and their safety, having to find out that his boyfriend that he’s been seeing for almost two years now altogether is Superman, and then there’s still bedtime and holy fuck, he looks down at his schedule and he’s missed a meeting three hours ago.

Bruce sighs. Nods to Alfred with a thankful look, and goes back to staring at his notes. One child is taken care of, being brought to the gymnastics equipment upstairs to let him run his energy off while the other continues to poke at gadgets and gizmos left on one of the side tables. 

He’s still full of energy too. Damn it. Normally Bruce would let them get a bath and then go to bed, but it’s later than normal because of a certain batgirl not wanting to leave his side the whole night (which is a whole different internal debate, because if he’s smart he’ll tell her father) and a certain superhero wanting to keep them in his sights at all times, which is just so..! Ugh!

And then there’s a beep. Jason’s playing with some of the inventions left on the side that Bruce always said he’d come back to one day but hasn’t had the time yet.

“Jay, honey, put that down, please,” he says, trying to keep his kid entertained while still checking to see if Lucius has responded. There’s like a thousand tabs left open from earlier and now he’s gotta clear them out, and which ones were important again? He’s missed a good bit of work due to unfortunate timing and circumstances, but—

Another beep.

“Sweetheart, come on,” Bruce urges, a little firmer, nodding his head towards the desk. “You can play upstairs.”

The stuff on the table isn’t necessarily dangerous, but some parts of it are unstable or have broken parts. Therefore, they’re put in the back, where Jason is curiously investigating— and Bruce has dropped his pencil again, oh my god.

He wants a shower, he’s hot, he’s got missed calls from so many businesses people and politicians that he’s considering just deleting his number all together, and—

Beep!

“Jason! Get over here!”

He’s used to yelling at Dick, everyone knows the boy blocks out any instructions whenever he gets too excited. His mind runs on pure spastic energy and he’s off like a dog with a stick that’s too big for him. So in this case, he somewhat raised his voice, ok? He’s never one to get loud at his kids, but he knows that sometimes they don’t listen unless you match their level of volume. Which is usually fine, Dick loves it, match his energy, he dares you! 

Until it’s Jason he’s yelling at.

His voice makes the boy flinch and pause, freezing in his spot and putting whatever half done gadget he was holding back onto the table quietly. He’s still in his Robin gear, his wings squeezing around him nervously as he lowers his head, his fluffy attachments following.

“Sorry.”

It’s mumbled and shy, but Bruce can see the tears gathering in his son’s eyes from his spot by the computer, the light projecting a few feet away and highlighting the skittish boy.

He’s not Dick. Bruce has to remember that. For all the times Jay claims to be hard and tough, he’s still a child. Wiping his eyes with a sniffle, he starts to walk away and trudge towards the cave exit to go upstairs.

“Sweetheart, come here please,” the man mumbles with a tired sigh, opening his arms and waiting for the kid to look back. Jay pauses, wiping his eyes and looking down at the floor. “I’m good,” he murmurs with a sniffle. “‘S.. allergies. That’s all.” His voice is whiny and wobbly and Bruce knows what that means. 

“Honey, you don’t have allergies. It’s not even the right season for that. C’mere,” he continues, keeping his arms open. The Robin takes a few grumpy steps forward and goes into his guardian’s arms, his walls crumbling with a pathetic whine.

“I’m not mad at you,” his father assures lightly, picking the boy up into his tired arms and going upstairs. Bruce sits down in the chair in his study, the quiet ticking of the clock audible beside them. “I’m sorry for raising my voice. That wasn’t nice of me.”

The apology just makes Jason cry more. The detective knows that it might not even be because he told the boy to simply move away from what could be broken or sharp objects, it was more likely the tone of voice and the volume. He’s the opposite of Dick when it comes to that.

“I know, baby. Get it out, it’s okay.”

He’s not gonna be mad that Jay is upset, the child comes from a place where he’s probably been yelled at a lot. Raised voices meant raised fists followed, but that’s not how the Wayne family is gonna raise their kids.

After a few minutes of getting the anxiety out of his system, the little boy is relaxing and slowly falling asleep on his father.

“I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“I’m not, buddy. I’m.. a little irritated at myself and the situation and a whole bunch of other things. But not you. You’re fine. You’re doing what kids do and poking things,” his father kisses the top of his head. “I promise. I’m sorry I got loud. I’m used to yelling at Dick cuz he never listens. We both know how he is.”

“Yea.” That makes Jason smile.

“Let’s get you in bed and read you some stories, ok?”

“Ok.”

His son is squishy. Emotional and sensitive but he’d rather do extra homework than ever admit it out loud. Lesson for today: be extra squishy with Jason when trying to get his attention. His oldest son, on the other hand, doesn’t mind the yelling. Alfred walks into the room with an amused smile when he sees the two together, a passed out Robin in his own arms.

“I see we’ve got two sleepy children. Is it bed time, perhaps?” He suggests. Maybe Jason’s a little fussy from a late bedtime, that could also be part of this.

“Yes,” the billionaire whispers, carefully getting up and bringing the boys to their bedrooms.

About three or four months pass.

Bruce Wayne has finally went to his meetings and gotten the majority of totally real work done at Wayne Enterprises and the gajillion other places he owns and has made a lot of important decisions: no, we probably shouldn’t destroy the national park and put a mall there — fire whoever made that suggestion. Yes, another hospital would be a good idea, but we need somewhere safe to put it. Are they still hiring people that are looking for work? Of course! Paid breaks for everyone! Anyone can join the team at a Wayne owned company!

Oh, and there’s his children’s birthdays and interviews and even a game show that he stars on with his kids running around in the background causing trouble.

Note: remember to pay for the studio light that Dick broke by climbing onto it and doing a radical awesome pose to show off to his brother.

Extra note: remember to apologize to the owner of previously mentioned game show and pay for the damage that Jay did by coloring on the equipment backstage with markers that he found.

Clark Kent, meanwhile, has been an important figure at the Daily Planet, not important enough to be recognized or noticed, but enough to keep his job and pay his bills. Chasing bylines and racing Lois to see who can get them first, he’s been on his same old with trying to keep Metropolis safe and occasionally going out with his boyfriend.

Until he finds Kara in space. That’s gonna be a while helping her adjust to life on Earth. With his newfound cousin, she’s been learning about Kal-El’s planet and how society functions and it’s.. way too complicated, in her eyes.

Long story short, Bruce isn’t too happy to see a Supergirl hanging with Superman. Slightly relived when she reveals on accident to civilians that she’s his cousin and not a romantic interest, but she’s still an alien. Still a threat. He needs to stop being silly, to stop feeling and look at the situation logically.

That doesn’t mean he ever takes off the watch that Superman gave him. Every patrol, as much as it hurts to acknowledge it. It’s there, on his wrist. Bruce Wayne can’t wear it since the gift wasn’t given to him, but the bat certainly can. Even if it’s stupid to trust someone that could be an enemy.

Pushing himself into his cave and continuing upgrades, his cowl now covers the lower half of his face to fully hide him, his gloves being sharper on the sides and darkening the fabric of it all.

The talons don’t necessarily need a change, but they’re a little longer, the armour inside his suit being reinforced and solidified. Harder plates on the outer arms and legs, keeping the velcro-like attachments to his torso so that he can pick up his kids and stick them on whenever he needs.

The wings get an entire new layout, larger and wider to accommodate his larger frame. Adding more muscle as times goes on, changing them is inevitable. Thankful that he has the materials and tools, the set comes out as drawn in his sketchbook — more intimidating with pointier edges at the end. If this new set leaves dents in his back, who cares? Clark can either sleep in his apartment like he does half the time or Bruce’ll wear a shirt to bed, easy workaround.

For the kids, the lower halves of their faces will be covered too. That way we don’t have a repeat of the “oh no, I’ve been hit and breathed in fear toxin” accident. Not that he blames his kids, no, not at all. He just doesn’t want to hear them cry like that again, and if he can help prevent it, he absolutely will. Built in masks have been added that filter out any sort of toxins or poisons.

With Dick being a whole ten years old and Jason at nine quickly following, they get the talk of “you’re big boys, I’ll let you have stronger claws if you promise to behave” and with pinky promises not to play too rough with each other when they get their new suits, the children get stronger gloves too.

For their feathery counterparts, Jason’s has to be a touch heavier since he’s gained a healthy amount of weight. As he continues at a slow pace due to his somewhat stunted growth, eventually his wings have to grow too. Dick is steady on his growth rate so Bruce estimates he’ll need an upgrade in a year or so. Until then, unless there’s an accident or injury, the boy can use the pair that he has. To not let him feel left out though, he bumps up the color pigment knowing that his son will appreciate the dramatic flair.

Speaking of his kids, he’s got a parent-teacher conference that he has to attend in five minutes and he’s rushing out the door of his office to pick them up. Never a dull moment with the two goofy little people that he’s responsible for.

Damian is almost two years old. So close! Talia has been counting down the days until his birthday and cannot wait! 

With her joy of teaching him about the world, however, there lies a problem. Something is definitely wrong with his growth. He appears, at least to her and the doctors they’ve seen, to be fully human. Now, Talia never got the chance to fully study the creature he’s half made of, so she’s holding onto the hope that he’ll grow into his monstrous features as he ages, but that’s the problem.

His aging is so.. slowed. Delayed. Yet again, bringing him to the doctors leads to the same conclusion: he’s behind in his progress. At nearly two years old, he can barely manage what a one year old can, and she’ll admit, she’s still worrying that she’s failing him.

He acts more like an infant than a toddler, but he has gotten better! He can now roll over and sit up on his own, much to Ra’s expectations thanks to their practice with simple movements. He can wave, he can clap, he can do basic stuff like pick up things around him. Walking is still a big no. He can maybe hold onto something and stand, but that’s about it.

Damian babbles like he’s on a podcast and the mic is all his, the boy doesn’t know what silence is. The only real word he’s said so far is “mama,” at which Talia cried tears of joy because at least they’re going up in abilities, yes? She’s not totally failing if her baby can speak, right?

She’s concerned, but at the same time, her father is a soothing balm to her worries. He’s raised kids before, the old man knows what he’s doing. They’ve got this. 

Oh, the joys of children.

Chapter Text

“And that’s how we met! Aww, I still think of it like it was yesterday!” The Joker cackles, his feet propped up on the poker table with his fellow rouges of Gotham around him. The smooth jazz music plays in the background of the secret hideout, the roughed up criminals and thugs fighting or gambling at the other tables. 

“It’s true!” Harley squeals excitedly, leaning down to hug her partner in crime. “And in the future, we’re gonna have the prettiest weddin’ ever!”

“Is that so?” Ivy asks with a skeptical hum, folding and passing her turn to Penguin. Her hair is done up in a ponytail, a casual white top with a green skirt to match her heels.

“Ab-so-lutely! Now, Harley, dear, another drink, darling? Pretty please with extra sugar on top?” The clown sweetly begs his woman, leaning his head back to look up at her.

“Of course! Anythin’ for you, Mr. J!” She giggles, happily prancing over to the bar to get her man his request. The blonde gives a playful wave to the men behind the counter, her red and black outfit combo easy to spot in the crowd.

“Are you really going to get married?” Penguin questions, using his turn and pushing some of his chips to the middle of the table.

“Goodness no!” Joker laughs, shaking his head frantically. “I’m a free man! I love my Harleen, but sometimes she’s a little too wild for even me to handle!” Winning the round yet again, the crazed man collects his earnings and starts the next game.

“I miss my wife,” Mr. Freeze mumbles, getting his cards with a sad look. He’s in his ice frozen suit, the cold seeping out and causing Penguin to shiver with a glare.

“We know, Victor,” Ivy sighs, picking up her own hand once the clown’s dealt her all her cards.

“I might get married. I’m prime marriage material, you know?” Oswald suggests humbly with a shrug, starting the round with his move first. “Maybe I’ll get a honey, some kids, a nice house.”

“You getting married? That’s a funny one!” Jack can’t help but tease, giggling away. “What lady friend of yours is gonna stay when you get sent back to jail again?”

“Why, you—!”

“Ok, which one of you is insane enough to put up the bounty?” Two-Face asks, walking over to the rambunctious table and standing beside Oswald, gazing down at the man’s cards.

“Bounty?” The shorter man repeats, looking up at the former DA with a confused expression. “How much is it? Who’s it for?”

“Ooh, do tell,” Pamela slithers her way in, leaning closer onto the table. “C’mon, attorney. Give us the details.”

“The one for the bat?” Harvey clarifies with a stern stare to the woman. “It says it’s requested by a “Dr. Strange.” I figured that was one of you people’s weird new aliases.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never a Dr. Strange,” Jack says, the wide casual smile never leaving his face as he plays his move, the next turn going to Victor.

“Maybe I’ll use that one in the future! Oh, I can see it now! Bright stages, spotlights with my name in dazzling colors, a TV show for me and Harley to star on! I can be the doctor and she’ll show everyone what’s so strange about—!”

“It’s not me,” Oswald cuts into the energetic ramble, moving his chips around.

“Nor I,” Freeze adds calmly, shaking his head. “Perhaps Ms. Isley?”

“Mh, perhaps not,” Pamela states in response, watching the crime boss. “Can we get some details, Mr. Dent? Maybe a location and some more specifics? A price, perhaps?”

She’s lowering her voice on purpose and Harvey knows it, knows the way she used to do it when they’d go out together and she’d find something she’d want. That manipulative woman, so hard to please but damn, she’s worth it sometimes—

“Keep talkin’ that way and you’ll get none of the details,” Harvey threatens, watching the game continue.

“Yeesh! What’s got his boxer briefs in a twist?” The clown mumbles, painted face pale in the flickering florescent lights of the club.

“Oh, don’t mind him,” Pamela smiles, just the touch confident that used to drive the attorney mad. “He’s still upset that I tried to kill him a few years ago. When we dated and everything.”

“Ahh! I see, I see!” He laughs, nodding away and ushering Harvey to come closer. “You two are in need of some.. relationship counselling! Take it from me, we’ve all tried to kill each other at least once!”

“It’s true,” Penguin confirms, Freeze giving a hum of approval from his spot.

“Why not forgive the lovely lady? After all, she only tried to kill you to save the precious plants of Gotham! Where would we be without her?” Jack exclaims with a playful smirk, fake gratefulness and appreciation lining his voice. 

“Don’t encourage her,” Two-Face grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away from the table to watch the bunch of drunk idiots fighting in the distance.

“Well? Details here, Harv? Give them to us.” Oswald plays his turn and the round passes onto the next person. The song from the jukebox switches to an older beat that the clown seems to recognize, mumbling to lyrics to himself. 

“Something about capturin’ the bat and bringin’ ‘im to a therapy place. Somethin’ somethin’, someone wants to test on it to see what it really is. Doesn’t look government approved, but the pay is good. Few thousand bucks.”

“And how many.. few thousand, are we talking here?” The green haired man questions, scooting his chair closer and leaning towards Dent. “Clown schemes are costly, you know. I have bills to pay! A wife and kids! Think of the children, Harvey!” He begs dramatically, a hand on his forehead as he throws his head back.

“Hundred thousand.”

“What?!”

“No way!”

“That’s mine!”

The price catches the attention of nearly every thug looking for cash in the area.

“A HUNDRED thousand just for bringing the bat ALIVE?!” Joker cracks up with a slap to his knee, clapping and letting his chair hit the ground. Placing his feet on ground and sprouting up, he’s eager to get going.

“Harleen! Get the hunting gear! It’s bat season!” He calls as he starts on his way out, the blonde scampering with a positive “yes, Mr. J!” as she sprints off.

“Not if I can get to it first!” Penguin quacks, letting his cards hit the table and running off for his own plans. With him out of the way, the former attorney moves beside Ivy, placing a careful hand on her shoulder.

“Let go! I’ve got work to do!” She urges him, clearly ambitious to get the reward money and complete the job before anyone else. People are rushing to the bounty board to find the specific details about the requested mission and she’ll be damned if she gets to it last!

“Not so fast, doll face. We’ve got lost time to make up,” the man comments lowly. “Got a plan for us, if you know what I mean.”

She looks up at him, slowly leaning closer towards the crime boss. “You want a team up,” she quickly realizes. “Why now? I thought you hated me.”

She’s gotta be skeptical with how often they’ve fought in the past. Joker was serious when he said they’ve all tried to go at each other at least once, and between these two, it’s been years of revenge going back and forth.

“Part of me does,” he admits, gesturing up to his face. He can’t help but soften up ever so slightly when she’s this close. 

“And what does the other part want?” Ivy questions slyly, a mischievous hand going to his suit and feeling the smooth texture of it.

“To hit you with a truck,” he whispers, a deep chuckle rumbling in his chest, just the way she’s been missing.

“My, my. What violent words.” An amused smile takes over her face. “I hope you can put your money where your mouth is. Empty threats are so.. boring, dear. What’s your idea?”

“Oh, I got it covered..” Two-Face offers a hand, helping her up and guiding her out of the hideout.

The night is loud and violent tonight, what seems like riots and gang wars going on in the streets of the crime ridden city. The chaos has led to five murders so far and about twenty something reports of assault, according to the police radios he’s tapped into. Plenty of property damage and quite a few fires.

And here stands the bat trying to analyze the crime scenes with two multi colored children in capes (one of them about to trip on said piece of fabric) fighting over the last chocolate granola bar that Dick had snuck onto patrol thanks to the extra large pockets he demanded when redesigning his outfit.

It’s gonna be a long night.

Studying the first murder scene, he makes sure to assign the children jobs to keep them busy and cover their eyes if they try to look over to assist with the investigation. They will not be seeing dead bodies tonight. Last thing he needs is his children traumatized even more.

Giving both Robins the jobs of escorting scared civilians home and protecting them from thugs looking for fights, he scans the scene: a woman attacked on the street in broad daylight as the sun was setting, graffiti next to it of a bat symbol and a big red X over it.

How artistic.

Nevertheless, he’s searching the victim’s ID and face recognition with the data chip he has installed in his cowl. An office worker named Mina Ryland, no criminal record or concerning past to note. Twenty two years old, cause of death: blunt force trauma to the head. Looks like a hard hit from something solid. Maybe the steel pipe on the ground beside her? He’s working with genius criminals tonight, folks.

Hearing police arrive, he finds a spray paint can on the ground about ten feet away from the body. Way to tank both a person and the environment. Remember to recycle, people. Come on!

The logo on the empty can is one of a bird: a peacock with bold, daring colors with its wings spread wide and proud. The symbol for Perry the Peacock’s art materials and supplies company, located in the East part of the city. Looks like he’ll be heading there to search for more clues.

Chirping and listening for his helpers, the two boys call back from the sidewalk across from him, happily waving to their mentor but keeping the distance they know he wants.

Going to them, they’re eager to tell him that they’ve escorted plenty of people to their homes, stopping bad guys with Dick even managing to find a small metal piece on the ground.

The silver top of a cane, a 1990’s model if Bruce’s scanner is correct. A certain club owner absolutely loves these things. He’ll be furious when he finds out he lost one.

That’s for later. For now, the group takes to the sky and heads over—

Someone yells, a group pointing to the creatures in the sky and immediately drawing their weapons. The bat quickly covers his kids with his own wings and falls onto the rooftop of a hotel, checking them both for injuries. Dick got grazed by a bullet, clutching his arm and trying to breath through it as he assures his father that he’s fine, he’s felt worse before.

Bruce is mentally panicking. Nobody ever looks up, that’s like their whole thing! They’ve been able to fly around the city for years and nobody ever cares to look up! Why now does everyone try to shoot them down as a unit together?

It must be some sort of resistant group, a new gang motive or something. It’s the criminals grouping together and fighting back, it makes sense. It was bound to happen eventually.

Using the first aid Bruce keeps in his tool belt, he offers to take his oldest home, but the boy rejects the suggestion, insisting that they continue with their patrol. Hesitantly allowing them to follow him, moving through the shadows is no hard task. While everyone is now searching the skies, the shadows are a perfect place to hide.

There’s another body. That is.. totally uncalled for. An older man, attacked right in front of the art supplies store, a guard judging from his uniform. This time it’s a bullet wound to the torso. What is going on?

Trying to keep his kids from seeing the poor man, they climb up onto the peak of the building, their radios going off.

“We’ve got an anonymous caller on line five. Says there’s a hostage being held in Perry the Peacock’s art materials store, address is—“

Someone is below them with a hostage, but with the clues left behind, it seems too easy. Too intentional. Dropping down into the top level of the building, the bat sulks through the darkened hallways to find the office, tapping into the security cameras.

Nothing. They’re all downed. The place has been cut clean of cameras and monitoring views. Security is off, but he can hear the footsteps and heartbeats of people downstairs — about forty of them, with one of their heartbeats racing like they’ve ran a marathon, likely the hostage.

Signalling his Robins to investigate the other rooms and take out any bad guys they see, the shadow blends in and peers over the railing in front of him, seeing the culprit on the level below him.

Penguin, umbrella in hand as he paces around a man tied up in a chair, armed guards blocking off every exit and door of the room. It’s a trap, the detective instantly deduces; but why? Why alarm the police with no explanation or amount of ransom money wanted? No, it’s more than that..

The pure blinding lights turn on, hurting the vigilante’s eyes and forcing him to wince back at the sudden brightness. Looking to his side he detects the electronic humming, a motion detector, many of them set up around the building. He didn’t set it off, so one of the kids must’ve—

The sounds of fighting and combat come from the other room. His Robins must’ve found some guards and accidentally tripped the sensors unknowingly. Penguin sends a handful of his men to go upstairs and check on the activated equipment, but the majority of them stay in the current room.

He’s gotta act now then. Throwing a smoke bomb onto the floor, he glides down to cut the hostage free with his talons while Oswald and his goons are coughing, unable to spot him in the thick fog. Picking up the hostage and flying to the higher level where the bat once was, the vigilante shushes the man and gestures for him to hide in the corner.

The hostage is safe, for now. That’s what’s important. Gliding down into a kick, he’s hit one of the men, taking on the group fight and countering blows left and right, using his grappling hook to snatch any guns out of their panicking grips.

With Cobblepot joining the catastrophe, the Robins are jumping over the railing above and ambushing him. Aiming his umbrella at the younger bird, Jason’s too distracted dodging a guard’s attack and doesn’t notice in time. Dick, attempting to rescue his brother from the flying needle shooting out of the umbrella, tackles the Penguin and crashes him to the ground. 

The shot’s been fired though, now the direction being shifted just a touch to avoid his brother but nail his father in the arm.

Clutching his arm while still countering blows, he pulls the needle out as the police burst through the door. Gesturing for his kids to go first, the bat uses his grappling hook to zoom up to the upper floor, his head dizzy as he listens to the criminal below.

“It’s not over, Bat! You’re hit! That was my winning shot! Get. back. here!” The short man yells in protest, squirming on the ground with officers getting him into handcuffs.

Bruce’s head hurts, motioning for Jay to bring the hostage downstairs. Listening to his guardian’s orders, Dick sits by his father upstairs, helping him climb the ladder to the rooftop. Almost passing out, he manages to mumble directions to his oldest while barely hearing his son’s whispered apologies.

“Right side, third slot. Anti drowsy syringe. Put it.. here, press it down,” his father guides him, the boy anxiously putting the cool metal to his dad’s arm and injecting the antidote.

Good thing he made extras, plenty of rogues try to use sleep gas as a weapon. Except this time, it wasn’t to be inhaled, it was a needle. His antidote, a caffeine boost mixed with some medicine to kickstart his energy back to life, should help him. 

His brain throbbing and his body begging to pass out, the man powers through it with the home made meds now fighting it off. Jason scurries back up to his family, sitting beside Bruce with a sniffle.

“I’m sorry!” He blurts out, fearfully looking at the needle the criminal had shot. “No, it was my fault,” Dick explains, shaky hands putting the empty injector back into the pocket of Bruce’s belt. “I hit Penguin to bump his shot away. It hit dad.”

“It’s fine,” their guardian manages with a small forced smile. “I’m good. We’re all safe. I’ve got an antidote. I’m a little drowsy, but it’ll wear off. Are you two okay?” Checking both children for injuries, they seem shaken up watching their mentor almost fall, but they’re fine physically.

“Yea.”

“Yes sir.”

“Good. Then let’s go. No flying out in the open tonight. Stick to the ground and corners if you can,” he instructs clearly, standing up fully and adjusting his utility belt.

“Line two, we’ve got a robbery at Specialties Jewelry. Owner says about six masked men entered, robbed them of gemstones, and then fled the area. Customers were harmed, but none reported seriously injured. Sending ambulance and officers to scene.”

“To the Jewelry store..?” Dick mumbles hesitantly, unsure on what to do. “Yea,” Bruce mutters, taking a deep breath and straightening up. His vision’s slightly blurry, so it’s good that they’re not flying this evening.

The store isn’t far, the team silently entering through the back entrance with Jason lock picking the door open. With a thank you from the vigilante, they examine the front counters and glass cases that have been smashed. Brute force, shards laying everywhere on the ground surrounding the counters, a mess waiting for the staff to clean up. Witnesses are curled up on the sides of the room, crouched on the floor against the walls.

Suggesting that the Robins go outside to look for any footprints or anyone running around the area that isn’t a raging gang, Bruce has a quiet moment to check the catalogue of gems.

Real gold, pure diamonds, and the most expensive of jewelry weren’t taken. Already odd of robbers to do. If money wasn’t the goal, why steal? Even if you don’t know jewelry well, diamonds are easily a good selling point.

Sapphires, rubies, emeralds, all left untouched in their displays. Cross referencing with the catalogue, this case should hold rose quartz, but it’s empty. Both spots of the precious stones are gone, and the ones across from it, two moss agate rings, also currently missing.

Rose quartz and moss agate. Plant themed. Pamela’s agenda, but usually she doesn’t book it for gems and shiny stones. Why now? And why two of each both times?

Two is Dent’s number, but neither of them get along— haven’t gotten along actually in.. about four years now? Maybe it’s to be petty? To use his calling card against him?

Here again, on the other row. Cherry blossom stone necklaces and lavender amethyst bracelets. Two missing in each row. Common themes, but what does it mean together? There’s a few possibilities.

“Nothing outside. Sorry boss,” Jay reports, being extra careful to avoid stepping on any stray glass pieces. “What’d they take? Buncha expensive junk?”

“Mhm, but only the plant named ones,” the bat responds, using a claw to tap the names of the rhinestones. “If you see anything odd, let me know, please.”

“Gotcha, big man.”

“Is that.. a child talking to that thing?” A scared customer whispers to another, watching the bird chirp at the large dark figure. “I think so?” Someone replies unsurely, flinching when Jay happily waves at them. 

Searching the area, any traces of the thieves have vanished, but Dick manages to find a key on the ground by the entrance. Showing Bruce and using his internal scanners to analyze it, the mold of the item perfectly matches with one of the spare keys kept by janitors at the opera house in the richer part of the city.

Giving a gentle nod to the fearful manager that almost screams when she sees the frightening bat and tiny birds following him, they leave the premises and start to flock towards the opera house.

With the correct address memorized, they stop just shy of the front doors, instead rerouting to take the top entrance and staff rooms upstairs. The dome above the large building is glass, but peering through it doesn’t seem to help — nothing can be seen. Nobody’s down there from what they can see or hear. Lowering the ladders to allow his birds down easier, they stay together and follow the path down, entering the main stage and stalking by the hundreds of rows of empty seats. 

The spotlights turn on and the way they came in is suddenly blocked off by vines, easily Poison Ivy’s doing. The weeds start to grow and pile around their ankles, but with the use of their claws, don’t stay attached for too long.

With dozens of gang members donning black and white gear to honour their boss, they raise their weapons and keep them trained on the creatures. Flooding in from every open door before the vines take over and cover them shut, there’s a little over fifty henchmen total. The armour is of questionable strength, but all seem to be carrying some type of weapon or item. Some metal pipes, most having guns, knives, or even brass knuckles.

“Our first show tonight is but a mere opening, folks,” Two-Face’s voice calls out, the curtains on the brilliant stage pulling back and revealing him in one of his finer midnight black and pristine white suits, custom made with silver accents on his scarred half and gold on his own. The side he dislikes more is covered by a mask, broken in half and smoothed at the cracked parts in the middle.

Flipping his coin with the practiced ease of a man who’s practically made it his religion, it lands on the scratched side, promoting his call of “first act, rough ‘em up good!”

Fighting the guards and hired men is no small feat, and dodging their aim is even harder. Plenty of batarangs and bullets flying, the bangs! of the auditorium so loud, it’s enough to hear outside the front doors, echoing into the back of the house.

Smoke bombs deployed, Bruce can take out about five to ten goons by ping ponging off one and into his next target. The Robins team up and double down on the closest people to them, a mix of items and trained skills being used. In the middle of taking down over half the group, it’s time for another coin flip, this time landing on the unscathed, polished side.

“Ooh, you lucky bastards! Act two, gentlemen! The lovely woman needs her introduction! Keep him busy while I greet the lady of the house,” he instructs gruffly to his followers, holding out his hand as Poison Ivy steps out from behind the curtain, a red dress made of soft petals, her heels clicking on the solid wood beneath her. Flower petals flow down and fall from the top of the stunning spotlights and ceiling of the room, creating flourishing spots and wells of poisons on the ground.

“Lucky, are we?” She asks, taking Harvey’s hand and waltzing into his arms, the music of the opera starting to play as the bat hits a man into one of the speakers, accidentally turning the system’s volume up. 

“In your company, I always am,” the former attorney grins softly, one hand in hers as the other rests on her waist, swaying back and forth as the plants of the auditorium grow restless and violent, volatile and cruel as they swing and slash at the vigilantes.

“You sure are,” Isley smirks, letting him twirl her around and continue their dance. She’s missed his company, as stupid as their arguments used to be. Even the time she tried to kill him, she had admitted to herself that his handsome face would indeed be missed.

That doesn’t mean the longing ever faded. Especially when she found out he had lived after her attack.

“I missed this so badly,” he admits with a deep chuckle, shaking his head. His eyes are glued onto her, unable to tell if it’s the toxins she’s emitting or the left over pheromones she put off to make the creatures fighting not too far away hallucinate.

Either way, it feels like heaven to him and he’s not complaining. She’s the break he’s desperate for when it comes to his other half, despite the fact that she’s sometimes one of his split personality’s triggers. He’s falling deeper in love every step of the way, and with a woman like her by his side, he’ll let his henchmen weaken the bat and finish him off. He’s got more important matters at the moment. 

“Good to know,” Pamela murmurs, gazing up at the crime boss when he pulls her closer. “I could use you around more often.”

Thud!

One of the Robins gets thrown against the wall, the sound reverberating in the auditorium. Neither of the rogues pay any mind to it.

“Boss me around like old times?” Dent suggests with a playful smile, tenderly leaning down to kiss her neck.

Another smoke bomb is dropped and the sound of one of Pamela’s many thorn nets coming down to trap the creatures is audible, a scared cry coming from one of the birds. 

“Don’t act like you didn’t love it,” she drawls, leaning her head back to allow him to press more fond kisses to her skin. “We’re both pure sin now. You can follow me and maybe I’ll let you help. If you behave.” 

Keeping her close, his hand slides to her back, feeling the velvet of her outfit. “What a pleasure that’d be,” he murmurs lowly, the floral fragrance emanating from her filling the room. “We share the money, go somewhere warm, have us the best vacation ever. It’s well deserved after so much hard work.”

“You mean my hard work,” she corrects him confidently, the handpicked gems sparkling in her ears, the lovely gifts he got her. “Ah, ah, toots. My men,” Harvey whispers, listening to the music peppered with the recognizable sounds of blows and hits dealt surrounding them. “They could be our men if ya let me in,” he offers.

“You’d forgive me, at long last?” She gasps, throwing her arms around him and letting him pick her up. “Only for you, doll,” he grins, setting her down gently and glancing over at the audience.

“Act three. And don’t forget it, ya bums!” He commands his henchmen, the remaining few trying to hit the vigilantes into the growing vegetation and trap them in the thick weaves of greenery. “For us, sweetheart.” The smell of poison and smoke makes an almost nauseating sense, but the two on stage couldn’t care less. 

“For us,” she confirms, her hand reaching up to his cheek to pull him closer to her. Kissing him, the extra weeds and blankets of moss around the stage begin to wrap around his ankles, spiralling up to trap him.

“You..” he mumbles with a scoff, his eyes half open with a dazed effect. “I should’ve known.”

“You should have,” Ivy agrees, taking a step back as her partner falls victim to a toxin induced slumber, his eyes closing and his body going limp against the soft grass. 

“Always the lover, Harv. Always the fool. Someone has to get the job done.” Stepping off the stage, she lets a healthy green vine escort her to the main floor, her eyes locking on the bleeding bat and injured Robins before her.

“It’s time to finish this,” she states assuredly, her heels avoiding the bodies on the floor as she raises her arms and commands her undergrowth to rise and flourish upon her targets. She winces every time her weeds are cut, but it’s a minor wound she can push through and ignore. For 100k, she can bear it.

Panicked chirps of help me! come from the younger bird, the slithering deadly to the touch shrubs and wires of large flora trapping his smaller form and needing an extra hand to cut him free. Sharp batarangs slice through the air and whack the jungle like greenery, with Ivy herself attacking the other Robin.

The bat is thrown to the ground and held by tangled cords and ropes of vegetation, the plants thrashing him around once they have him in their hold. He’s unable to get to his child and he’s not handling it well. Jason is freed partially, but still trying to fight off the remaining bundles of leaves, ones that cut deep with their sharpened ends and dig down into his skin.   

Getting the older boy in her grasp, Pamela slashes the wriggling child with the thorns on her bracelets, wrapped flowering beauties of red roses around her arm and hand to be used as a weapon.

The pained scream has the bat’s head snapping over and quickly undoing his pocket, unlocking a part of his utility belt and pulling out what he didn’t want to have to use — a vial of acid, usually used to dissolve metal in case they ever got handcuffed or trapped and didn’t have another way out. Unscrewing the top, he pours it onto the chains of green holding him back and escapes, going to his child as quickly as he can.

Throwing the rest of the acid onto Isley and hiding his Robin behind him, he attempts to shield the child from the scene. Dousing the woman results in a terrified scream, causing her plants to shrivel and tense up in agitation and fear, pain making her fall back with new growth emerging from under the floor — a humongous rose summoned in agony and panic to swallow her and engulf her injured form, allowing her to hide and regenerate.

Which gives them time to escape. Cutting his boy free and swiftly picking him up with what could only be described as a mother’s adrenaline, the boy cries into his father’s shoulder as the fresh blood dares to gush out, his uniform torn with open gashes underneath.

Calling his other Robin, Jason scoots under his mentor’s wing with a cough, collapsing into his side. The man pulls out his grappling hook, the mechanism purring to life when he shoots it up towards the glass above them. He’s just gonna have to tank the hit of the dome, because with Ivy’s plants freaking out around them, they’re taking out the support beams of the building — it’s all going down in rubble and debris. If they stay to find a real exit, they’ll be smashed.

Hiding Dick’s head and back under his other arm, he braces himself for the impact and takes the blow when the glass smashes against his suit, landing on the side of the building and using his wings momentarily to fly down into an alleyway as police arrive a few seconds later. They’ll catch Ivy, but they need to get home NOW. Everyone seems active tonight and it’s too much for them to handle, both the wounds and how scared both kids are.

Murmuring shushes to his little ones, Bruce struggles to get up to the fire escape of the building next to him. Isley did plenty of damage to them during the fight, the marks and scars evident on their armour, scratched and roughed up, even broken in some parts. One of his cowl’s ears are bent, his wings twitching with hostility and defensiveness, hoping to scare any potential threats nearby off. It’s like everyone tonight decided to just show up and have one big get together!

Climbing up to the other roof with only one small break to breathe, his head’s swimming with fatigue and his chest hurts from the attacks taken. He can only image the injuries his children got, his youngest ready to collapse and his oldest struggling to hold onto him, shivering under his father’s hold. He should’ve never let this happen, they should’ve stopped earlier—

BANG!

A shot rings out. Bruce can feel the impact on his already busted and cracked armour plates.

A sloppy shot to his gut, dropping him to ground with a cut off yell. His lungs are trying to use air that he doesn’t have and this situation just got so much worse.

Making sure he doesn’t accidentally let his kids hit the hard floor, he puts his other hand out flat to stabilize himself on the cold rooftop, a chill running down his spine and mixing with the tremors of hurt and shock in his torso.

He can hear the cackles and laughter from their current position, his eyes watering as tears drip down his mask.

“Haha! I got him, Harleen! One clean shot for Team Jokerz!”

“Oh, you did it, Mr. J! We’ll be rich!”

Joker and Harley, with the clown prince lying down on his stomach with a customized sniper rifle a good distance away on a vantage point they must’ve found. With Harley in a safari themed outfit with binoculars and the Joker camping out on the high spot with more ammo on his left beside him, they were waiting — this was planned. Dressed in hunting gear with a professional scope painted with their iconic childish color pallete, he actually managed to land a shot.

Any other time, the bullet wouldn’t have been able to penetrate Bruce’s suit, but with the trauma it’s endured all night — being thrown around and smashed against support beams, shot and stabbed repeatedly, tackled and beaten —  even the under-plate is slightly fractured. Gushing from his stomach, the world grows heavy and slurred around the vigilante as he listens to their debate, the sound drowning in his ears.

“But puddin, I thought we needed ‘em alive?”

“Oh, my Quinzel, we do, we do! This is only a.. temporary stop for them! After all, I’ve been fighting this thing longer than anyone else has! I know the truth! Only real harm stops it, not some silly tranq dart! No, no, that wouldn’t do!”

“Do we need to give ‘im a bandage, puddin? He looks awfully sad down there.. poor thing.”

“Aw, don’t get sappy on me now, Harley! Call the doctor! The strange one! Tell him to bring a crew and get. me. my. money!”

Chapter Text

Beep!

Alfred despises that noise. That dreaded beep! that signals that something somewhere along the way has gone wrong. Something unexpected, so harmful that it’s caught his master off guard and left him unable to help himself, in need of aid.

Bruce doesn’t ask for help often. He’s a stubborn man and when it comes to calling SOS, he simply refuses to do it. Only very rare emergencies does the button ever light up and flash the bright red that it does. The butler will give his master some credit: the man has been more careful ever since he’s taken in his children, but when it comes to himself on patrol, he refuses to fall and admit he needs a hand sometimes.

Checking the monitors and system down in the cave, his earl grey tea will have to wait in the dining room for later. The request for assistance comes from.. here, pinpointing the exact location and time, about midnight when it was signalled. From the origin point when it had begun, it continued and traveled west, going to a.. rest hospital?

“Gotham’s most passionate, pristine working place of care and comfort,” the butler murmurs under his breath, reading the text off the bright screen. “Rest and relaxation for clients are our goals, to ensure a better life and a healthier future.”

Good reviews with a few celebrities checking in and out, it seems like a legitimate business, but that doesn’t mean it is one. And with his master not planning any vacations as of recent, Bruce isn’t the type of go on spur of the moment relaxation trips. The vigilante doesn’t even rest when he’s beat and battered with broken bones, let alone stop his own patrol and book a stay in a hospital.

Unless something happened to the kids. But no, Bruce wouldn’t do that either. When his children are hurt, he wants to be their comfort, taking care of them himself or bringing them to Alfred for help. The billionaire is a bulldog when it comes to his boys, and if they’re upset, it’s amplified by a thousand.

Grabbing the spare, older model cowl by the extra outfits and laundry that he had put up earlier, the butler is on the hunt tonight. Normally the chores of the manor keep him occupied, but sometimes there are tasks that have to come first, and his family will always be one.

Picking up the shotgun he’s hidden behind the stairs to the entrance of the cave, he retrieves the ammo he’s hidden in a storage box far away in the back with the sneakiness of a parent hiding a pack of alcoholic beverages from their very underage children.

His master may have a no gun rule, but the butler does not. While he’s made this clear once or twice before when he’s had to come to the vigilante’s rescue, now his grandchildren are in danger too.

Alfred never agreed to uphold the no kill rule anyway.

Clark is startled out of bed by a loud ringing sound, jolting upright as his hazy mind tries to recognize the unfamiliar hum — and then it clicks.

It’s like Jimmy’s watch, but it’s not his. The pitch is higher, a touch louder and he’s only heard it once or twice before. It’s the watch he gave the bat! He tested it out before he gave it to the little group of course, but they never really used it. Looking at his clock, checking the time in red bold numbers in the darkness, he’s getting dressed and flying out of his apartment before the next minute passes. It’s gotta be serious if they’re using it, zooming over to the area he can hear the ring from.

Metropolis to Gotham, pinpointing where it’s coming from, the call leads him to a rooftop by what looks like a shattered building. Yeesh, that’s.. not good. The hero can’t even tell what it was supposed to be, the structure reduced to rubble and fallen walls, the ceiling collapsed into the ground below.

But that’s not where the frequency is coming from. It’s from just a touch over and— here we go! Landing in the pale moonlight, he picks up the disregarded piece of silver, the front of it smashed and broken with the sound still ringing out. Good thing the most important parts are inside and not on the outside, otherwise this would’ve went silent. They definitely pressed the button more than once, the side jammed into the frame of the round watch. Quickly scanning the area, the hero’s heart races as he hears someone else’s coming up to the area.

“Ah, you’re here,” a voice says calmly, gaining Clark’s attention. Donning a similar external appearance to the bat the hero is so familiar with, the underneath reveals to be a fancy suit with a gun in his wrinkled hands. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen him either?”

“I uh..” Clark starts, pausing and tilting his head with a confused expression, eyes narrowed as he tries to solve the mystery in front of him.

That’s Alfred’s voice, hidden under an exterior like the bat’s. Dark, a little faded and old but still strong and thick enough to shield him from the cold breeze of the night, with the face being partially covered by the top. It’s similar to the bat’s, but if it’s not natural..

The bat sheds? Like.. its’ skin? That must be so painful! Oh, Clark is awful! His boyfriend’s been hurting at night and he hasn’t been there! It must be the most sincere act of trust, to be there when Bruce is vulnerable and open as he forms a new outer shell. That leather is always so tough, it must break or flake off when it gets too rough. And who else better to be there than the butler his partner trusts most? The comfort he finds in the older man must transcend his animalistic mind at night.

Or maybe it’s an act of affection? Shedding a layer to give to his dear friend to help him protect himself too? Keep himself warm and safe during the colder months? Clark isn’t totally sure which option is more likely, if his boyfriend only let him be around him when he’s like this, maybe the reporter could study it more, but regardless.

“No, I haven’t,” Clark answers truthfully, assuming they’re both looking for the same person. “I’m searching for Batman. He used the watch I gave him in case he ever needed help.” Lifting up the trashed piece of silver to show the older man, he gets a polite hum in return. “But it’s been left here. I don’t hear his heartbeat or the Robins. Usually their chirps are pretty easy to pick up.”

It freaks him out, if the hero is completely honest. The one time he doesn’t stay the night or hover around Gotham, something bad happens. Gosh, he’s such a bad partner! 

“That’s because they’re not here,” the older man replies simply with a nod, a sleek black ship zooming above them. Stopping and lowering itself onto the rooftop, the butler leans against it like it’s nothing new, the weapon resting idly in his hands.

“Luckily, I know where they are. If you’d like to help,” he says, knocking on the glass and watching it open, climbing inside the small ship. “You’re welcome to join me. I’ve got a family to rescue and a hospital to destroy. Quite a big task for a bloke my age, but things will get done one way or another.”

The ship’s quiet engines purr to life once more and shoot off, jetting away with Clark following immediately by its’ side.

“Are you..” he’s dying to ask, unsure about what to say.

Are you the older gentleman that takes care of the house and my partner’s family? Or am I crazy? Does he have a twin? Is that rude to ask? He really hopes not.

“Sorry, nevermind.”

“I know what you’re thinking, lad. You aren’t very subtle,” the older man comments, tapping the correct buttons to adjust the internal GPS and navigation settings. 

“We know each other. I believe we both recognize who the other is. Now, if that’s out of the way, I’ve got intel that says our mutual friend is being kept at a hospital nearby. Follow me and I can guide us there.” The engines steadily blast towards the pinned point on the system, their ETA about twenty minutes away.

“Yes sir.”

Clark’s anxiety only grows. A hospital?! What the hell happened? He feels so bad, he should’ve been here! The poor butler of the mansion is having to come out here and play rescue when he should be asleep or relaxing at home and it’s not like they can call the police. They don’t usually treat metahumans too well.

Clark soars beside the ship, ever so gently placing his hand on the wing and helping it go faster.

They’ll find Bruce and the kids. They will.

Everything hurts. The burning pain radiates from his torso and extends towards his limbs, clawing away like it’s a trapped prey trying to escape a rabid hunter. There’s weight on his left thigh, his form slumped over against the cold iron bar behind him, the smell of blood mixed with chemicals in the air as the tech in the background beeps and clicks every few seconds.

His vision comes back, staticky black and white dots clearing out of his way to reveal the beaten and injured form of his child shivering on his leg. That’s Jason, whining and crying into his father’s chest. Giving a relived look when he sees Bruce start to stir, he taps the boy beside him. There’s Dick, his side bandaged messily, shuffling closer under his guardian’s wing with a sight of relief.

Sitting up with a strained grunt, his sons are trying to help him up, the hole in their parent’s stomach patched up and managed. Not well, Bruce can tell, but still. It’s something.

Someone wants them alive. Why bandage them? They could’ve bled out, been killed easily and taken out. This is intentional.

“Daddy,” his oldest whispers, poking Bruce’s face, desperately wanting his attention.

“Dad! Wake up, please!” Jason murmurs with a hiccup, his little hands grabbing his father’s chest and gently shaking him. “Please!”

“Ok, ok, it’s ok,” the man shushes his kids, his gloved hand holding the back of his youngest child’s head. “I’m awake.” Wrapping his arm around Dick, he pulls them closer and realizes that his cowl’s systems are down fully. The enhanced hearing and senses have been beat up too bad, but the SOS signal should still be up and running. Should being the key word because he can’t exactly check right now, not in.. wherever they are.

“What happened after I got shot?” He asks firmly, his voice gentle but holding the strict tone of I need answers, this is an urgent matter. No games, not playing around.

“You.. they shot you and you pressed the watch thingy you had from Clark and—“ Jason rambles anxiously, wiping his eyes with tear tracks running down his cheeks. “Then we both panicked and hit the button to make sure it called him.”

“And how long ago was this?” Bruce shifts, scooting onto his less injured half to relieve the pressure on his side. It’s recent, judging from how his wound is feeling. They need actual treatment now.

“Not too long ago,” Dick answers, flinching when a door shuts in the distance. “A group came. Buncha guards with guns at first. A- a helicopter came down, brought us into it, and took us here. Then they put us in here and left. There’s people in doctor’s coats. About 15 of them, I think.” 

“Good, good. You both did amazing,” Bruce praises, kissing his son’s head. “You counted hostiles. That’s great. Did you both stay hidden? They didn’t hurt you, right?” His eyes are looking for any new wounds, but they’ve all got a few bruises and bleeding cuts. It’s hard to tell which is from here and which are from the previous fights.

“We’re okay. They didn’t hurt us. They actually gave us bandages,” Dick mumbles, listening for anyone as he watches the door. “They took your watch,” he tells his father when he sees the man search for his missing silver addition. “They saw us tapping it and broke it. Sorry.”

“I really hope you and Clark are getting along,” Jason sniffles, his forehead slumped against Bruce’s sore chest. “Why?” The vigilante asks, holding them tightly when he hears footsteps nearby. “Cuz I pressed the fuck outta that button,” his son whispers defeatedly.

“Language,” Bruce tries not to smile, looking around the room they’re stuck in. Cold, lights off, no windows, and one door that’s most likely locked.

Trapped in a large iron cage with bars too thick for any of them to slide through, there’s tech lined up in the room, equipments and machines that Bruce can admit he’s never seen before. Some vials and test tubes, an IV, a gurney in the corner, a monitor and computer system, it’s a whole lab in here. No logos or anything though for him to identity the place with.

“There’s a short guy, I think he’s running the place,” Dick explains, wanting his mentor to know everything he does. “Funny shaped head, glasses, a weird beard thingy. He said he wanted to test on us.”

“Okay, not good but thank you for telling me,” the bat sighs, his head resting on his child’s. “They want us alive. That’s good. All we have to do is wait for help.”

He hates this situation. His kids are hurt, he can’t break them out of here, they’re trapped and essentially helpless in god knows where, and someone wants to test on them. What a fun weekend.

“I think our suits called Alfred,” Jason mumbles, looking up at his mentor with a worried glance, watery eyes and a trembling lip. The hidden little chip inside their suits shines a small red dot just barely through the fabric, only visible on the inside where the guards wouldn’t have checked.

“That’s good. He’ll help. Don’t worry, sweetheart,” his father responds, rubbing his cheek with his thumb. “What happened to your claws? You’re missing one.” Looking at his son’s hands, the ones fearfully gripping his suit, there’s a stubby end instead of a sharp, taloned one.

“It broke off when I clawed at one of the bad guys. It got stuck in his arm and broke off,” the boy huffs, pouting and slumping against Bruce.

“We’ll get you a new one at home,” their guardian whispers carefully, keeping his voice down. “How’s your side, baby? You doing okay?”

“Mhm.” The bright Robin curls further onto his dad. “It hurts, but the bandaids are covering it. They said your um..” he gestures to the man’s stomach, making sure not to lay on the wound. “You should be okay. With enough rest and medicine.”

“I’ll be fine,” Bruce reassures them softly. “You two hid and did so good. And you tried to protect us, didn’t you? Our brave little hero.”

“I tried,” Jay shrugs. “‘S not like it did any good.”

“You showed them that we mean business. That’s a good thing, baby,” Bruce corrects gently, the warm fabric of his wings keeping them shielded from the cool breeze of the AC vent in the ceiling. “Nobody pushes Robin around, right?” He asks with a smile, hoping to keep them calm.

“Mhm.”

Silence takes up the room, heavy and tense. Footsteps disappear and reappear a few different times before someone actually enters the room.

Unlocking the door and entering, there’s the man Dick described earlier, shorter than Bruce and only slightly taller than the kids. A goatee, glasses, and a white coat. Sitting up, the bat uses his large wings to hide the kids from view. Flicking on the lights, the man comes in and sets his clipboard down on the desk. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” the doctor states, strolling to the computer and waking it up from its previous rest. “I’ve paid quite a hefty price for you all. You can get comfortable in there. This is where you’ll stay until I can get a more.. permanent enclosure set up.”

Typing commands into the system, the doctor loads up a file with plenty of blank spaces to fill in.

“Now, we’ll do some easy tests and study your kind. The birds are a good starting point since they were awake first..”

Scrolling down and seeing that his assistant has put in the information they know so far, he gives a nod of approval.

“4 feet and 2 inches tall for the small one, four inches taller for the older one..” he reads off with a quiet mumble, double checking everything. “Good, good. Estimated weights, that checks out.”

“Now, you, my big friend, are what I’m going to test my machine out on,” the doctor proudly declares, pointing to Bruce and then the metal attachments and wires in the corner.

“This thing scans for memories and while it’s great to use on our celebrity friends to see their more.. hidden secrets, we’re gonna use it to see how your kind views the world.”

“Is there any more of you, where you come from,” he rattles off nonchalantly, loading up the machine and looking over to check if the light is on. “How many of you are left, could you be hunted and sold or are you endangered? Really, it’s a guessing game, but we’ll find out soon enough!”

“Your species is so captivating, and the fact that we know nothing about it? That’s the real fun,” he comments, clicking something on the machine and bringing it over to the gurney. “We’ll get you fixed onto here and set up.”

Standing in front of the cage and lowering his head to see the creatures better, his tone is a fake kindness. One of exploitation and lies hidden beneath a veil of goodness. “If you behave, we won’t have to hurt you. Don’t make me call the guards and it’ll be fine.”

Fetching the key out of his pocket, he unlocks the door and opens it, the bat growling at him and crawling back with a jolt of pain. His wings flap defensively, lowering back down to cover the birds hiding in his sides.

“Oh, don’t be like that. Come on,” the doctor says, gesturing to the gurney. “Go. Let’s move. Don’t make me get the taser.”

The bat pauses, hesitates, and eventually complies.

Bruce carefully moves his youngest off of him, getting a panicked look from his son. “No, dad, no! Don’t, don’t, please!” Hands shooting out to stay attached to his father, the bat moves and lowers Dick to the ground. “Keep Jason safe,” the vigilante chirps to his oldest. “Just listen and be careful. Wait for help.”

A shock right now is only going to do more harm than good. If some dumb machine that might not even work is threatening his family, he’ll handle it. He’ll see if he can break it when the doctor isn’t looking. He’s got his utility belt still, so he can—

He’s getting tackled by guards the moment he limps out of the cage, being restrained as he claws and flares his wings, cutting their suits and gear. The cage door is shut and locked behind him, both Robins chirping loudly and trying to get out, reaching for their parent.

“You two will stay in there. On the gurney now, please. I need a report while this one is alive preferably,” the man says dismissively, adjusting the machine as the bat is held down and strapped in.

Picking up a syringe from the table nearby, he injects the bat’s tied down arm with it, pushing the drug into his system. “That’ll keep him calm,” he says, dismissing the guards to leave as the medicine takes over. “Heavy weight tranquilizers, made stronger just for you.”

“And with this, we’ll see every memory as far as you can remember. Or at least, that’s how it works on humans. It might need some adjustments, but it shouldn’t be too bad. We have plenty of time.”

Moving to hook to up the sensors to the bat’s head, the doctor quickly yanks back his hand when faced with attempts to bite him, fading determination fleeing as the world goes black once more.

“Keep going and I really will use the taser!” He threatens with a pointed look, fixing his glasses and pushing a button on the device. The monitor displays static, eventually fading and leaving them with..

black. Pitch black nothingness.

“Hm. That’s not right. Maybe one of them is off..” the man mutters unsurely, moving the wires around ever so gently to ensure that they’re functioning correctly. “I don’t understand, this worked on everyone I’ve used it on! Even metahumans!”

Taking off certain attachments and changing their positions on the bat’s head, there’s movement and darkness, but nothing solid. Just a bunch of black waves where there should be a picture, a memory, anything that the beast has ever seen.

“That’s not right! Unless..” the doctor hums, tilting his head in thought. “Are you.. blind?” He mumbles, running through the list of possibilities. “Did I seriously get the strongest of your flock captured and now I learn you’re blind? That is.. so frustrating!” He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “And I bet you have the most knowledge of your kind! Now I’ll never be able to see it.”

Pacing the space around the gurney, he looks over at the birds. “Maybe it’ll work on them? We could try that. I’ll just have to find some other way to extract the information out of you—“

A knock comes from the door, earning a gruff “in a minute!” from the busy scientist. A thud comes from the hallway, but the preoccupied man inside doesn’t seem to care.

“You can survive bullets, fight that crazy Bane monster of a man, but you’re blind. I thought blind bats were just a common misconception!” He rambles off, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected surprise. “This dampens, like, all my plans here! Fine. We’ll do it some other way.”

Another knock on the door. As the doctor goes to yell at whoever is outside, it swiftly opens with a forceful kick.

“Good evening,” the butler states calmly, shotgun held in trained hands, aim straight on the scientist with a bit of blood staining his once clean suit. “I tried to polite and knock, but some people don’t exactly have the manners to greet their guests.

“What are you—?! Guards!” The scientist calls, looking around the stranger for his assistance. Paid guards for what? Sitting around and being lazy?

“I’m afraid they’re gone,” the older man comments. “No help will be coming. In fact—“ there goes a shot to the landline phone on the wall. “No backup either. What a pity. Now, you can undo that,” he gestures to the gurney, “and that,” then the cage, “and I’ll leave you to the police. If you don’t like that option, may I remind you who has the shotgun here?”

“Who do you think you are?!” The doctor huffs, standing by the side of the gurney. “Coming into my hospital and demanding what I do with my patients—“

“Actually, I believe the crowd here is what’s called hostages. A patient is someone that requests help from a real doctor.”

“You aren’t police! You aren’t even an officer! Guards!”

“Do you not hear me? They won’t be coming. None of them,” the older man with the dark cloak says with a shake of his mostly covered head. “Besides, I’ve brought us company.”

Coming into the room behind the guest is the hero in blue and red, crossing his arms with a very unimpressed look.

“Release Batman. Now. We won’t ask again,” he says firmly, watching the doctor. “I’ve called the Justice League to help extract your other hostages. Keeping meta humans in cages, what is wrong with you?” He scolds, the doctor undoing the straps that hold the dark creature and allowing him to stumble off, almost falling thanks to the drugs he was given.

Clark catches the half asleep bat, immediately by his side to help him stand. “It’s okay, I’m here. It’s me,” he says softly, his hands resting on his partner’s torso with a look of pure concern.

“I’m seeing what has become of humanity, Superman!” The balding man defends himself. “It’s for the good of survival! Think of it! If every man could possess the power and abilities that the animals here can!”

“That’s where you’re wrong. They aren’t animals, they’re people,” Superman clarifies boldly. “The people in those rooms back there?” He points behind him, into the hallway with knocked out guards decorating the floor. “They’re human, even the ones with animalistic traits. The tiger woman with the stripes and fur back there is still a woman, not a rare species for you to hunt and torture.”

“Why, I’d never torture them! We’re testing the limits of the body and mind! You just don’t want people to have the power that you have! That’s how all you superheroes are—“

Alfred shoots the ceiling.

“Gentlemen,” he cuts in briefly, hearing the sirens get closer. “The cage now, perhaps?”

“Fine!”

Unlocking the cage results in the younger boy sniffling and kicking the doctor’s knee out, making him fall to the floor momentarily before picking himself up, the two birds rushing over to their parent with stressed chirps. With the shadow of a beast’s head on Clark’s chest, he picks his children up slowly, letting them attach to his aching sides. He’ll carry them home and make sure they’re safe.

“Trade me,” the older man whispers to Clark with a tap on the arm, tending to the bat and inspecting the vigilante as Superman nods, taking the doctor by the arm and dragging him out of the room.

“My goodness,” the butler hums, concerned gaze traveling along his family. “You people had me so worried, you’re all grounded! On bed rest as of now!”

Watching Bruce nod and silently sulk over to the still on computer, Alfred watches and offers his arm to lean onto. “What are you doing now, sir? We must be going. Police have arrived to take the other victims into custody.”

“I’m tanking his system,” the vigilante mutters, working as quickly as a drugged man can. “All these files are for different patients he’s captured and experimented on. He’s looking into peoples’ minds and getting their memories. I’m assuming that’s how he funds this place.”

“Via blackmail of memories and secrets?”

“Exactly. So I’m deleting them all. Have fun doing business now.”

With one final push, he deletes all the files and even goes so far as the delete the user profile, then turns the monitor off. Any information in that computer, any files or research on any scared soul that Dr. Strange targeted or tracked, is now gone permanently.

“Alfred. If you want one last shot,” the billionaire whispers with a small smile, nodding his head to the computer.

Bang!

The computer gets its’ own shot, courtesy of a certain caped older man.

“Thank you, sir.” The butler smiles proudly, offering assistance to his ward’s limp. “Now, let’s go home, shall we?”

Taking the ship home, Clark is there to fly with them and ensure a safe flight with no hostiles or threats occurs. Leaving when they approach the manor, Alfred thanks him for his support and wishes him well, telling him to stop by in the morning. Superman, very reluctantly, leaves.

(He will 100% be back in the morning.)

((He is already counting down the hours, pacing in his apartment.))

Explaining what happened to his dear friend, the children’s injuries come first. Always. Getting them squeaky clean with warm baths and soft towels, patched up and bandages properly, both are beyond sleepy, yet still wanting to stay by their injured father.

Bruce follows the routine of when he gets into too much trouble: cleaning up and disinfecting wounds with Alfred’s caring hands tending to him as the older man lectures about safety and such, guaranteeing a four month bed rest and no patrol (with no exceptions!) for any of them.

The suits and tech are trashed, but it’ll have to wait. For now, the family is warm in a cuddle pile in Bruce’s large bed. Silky, smooth, and comfortable, unlike their previous holding cell. Jason has his soft light brown teddy bear and Dick has one of his favourite plushies tucked into his chest, both safe and secure with their daddy.

His poor babies. He’s probably muttered apologies about a million times now, giving them plenty of kisses and hugs, snuggles and reassurance. Neither of the kids are mad at him, but it’s more self doubt. Self blame that eats at him over the hours. Alfred gives a knowing look, coming over and feeling his forehead with the back of his hand.

“You did good, Master Bruce. Please, allow yourself to rest. You’ll be doing so for the next few months,” he whispers, gesturing to the snoring children on his chest. “I suggest you get used to it.”

“Thanks, Alfred,” he smiles softly. “For everything. Coming to get us and helping us home.”

“Nonsense. It’s my job to take care of you all. I can’t exactly do that if you’re missing, can I?”

“I suppose not,” Bruce chuckles, his head leaned back into the fluffy pillow. “Love you.”

“I love you too, sir. Now, sleep.”

Chapter Text

The night is finally over and the sun has risen just enough for totally reasonable people to start their day. 

..right? Right. Totally. Perfectly normal to show up at someone’s house at this hour.

The cool breeze of Gotham chills the reporter’s arms as he stands at the wide front doors of his partner’s house. He’s come prepared: carrying blankets draped over his left arm while holding a bouquet of Bruce’s favourite flowers mixed together, a first aid kit in the other arm, snacks that the kids love in his pockets, and more — literally, a backpack full of thought out ideas he hoped would help. When it comes to his boyfriend, being over prepared is impossible.

It’s a little late for bandages assuming that the butler has probably already handled everything (and knowing the sweet old man, he definitely has), but Clark would feel bad if he didn’t bring extra supplies. He’s gonna be the best he can be to his loving partner to make up for all his previous mistakes and letting him get hurt!

“Good morning, Mr. Kent. You’re here awfully early,” the butler greets with an amused smile, opening the doors to allow their familiar guest inside. “Would you like help with that?”

“No thank you, but I appreciate it. I’ve got it,” the taller man replies warmly, entering the manor and listening to the sounds that surround him. Heartbeats upstairs, a gentle snore and some innocent giggles, the man lets a huge sigh of relief escapes him.

“I take it they’re okay?” He can’t stop himself from asking, letting the butler grasp the flower stems kindly and put them in a nearby vase. Ming dynasty, a fancy one that Bruce loved when he was little, if the reporter remembers it right.

“Master Bruce is doing better than expected,” the butler reports contently, getting some water for the flowers. His footsteps echo so quietly on the clean floor, almost a ghost-like grace as he glides along.

“And the young masters are quite pleased to have so much time with their father. After.. recent events I’m sure you’re aware of, it was quite a scary experience for them,” he continues, giving Clark a knowing look.

“Actually, I was wondering if I could.. tell Bruce the truth? About who I am and.. everything,” the reporter skittishly asks, timidly setting down the first aid kit, watching the older man come to scoop it up to put in safe keeping.

Everything has a certain place where it belongs according to the butler, but Clark is convinced he can learn where everything goes eventually. He knows that cups are always in the top left shelf in the kitchen and that Bruce prefers his coffee black, that Dick likes to sleep face first into his pillow with no cares in the world while Jason tends to curl up in a ball unless he’s laying next to Bruce or has Alfred by his side.

Little things. Each one makes Clark grow fonder of the family, slipping quicker than sand in an hourglass. Too worried about intruding or not being wanted around at the beginning, that anxiety and tension ceases once he’s in the family’s presence.

“Of course. I’m sure he’d love to see you and thank you himself,” Alfred answers, checking the box with the ease of a skilled medic. “And for the record, all of this..” he gestures to the gifts, “isn’t necessary.”

“I know, I’m sorry!” The hero apologizes, scratching the back of his neck. “It’s pretty cheap, getting gifts for a billionaire. He could get all of it himself—“

“But it’s the thought that counts.” Putting a kind hand on the journalist’s shoulder, the butler gives a nod of approval. “My master deserves the world. You’re willing to give him that and more. I approve of this, your little rendezvous and what not. I want you to know that.”

“You.. you do?” Clark asks with a relived grin. “Oh, that’s.. great! I was so worried I’d come off wrong or mess up.”

“Nonsense. You care for my boy. And between you and me,” Alfred whispers proudly with a grin. “You make him so happy. I think you’re a key part to helping him open up more. He can be so stubborn and put his walls up, but you and the young masters help more than you know.”

“That’s amazing!” The taller man beams, holding the strap of his backpack with traces of excitement in his touch. “I want to talk to Bruce first, if that’s okay. Then tell the kids however he thinks is best. I love him no matter what he’s like at night. Metahuman or mutant or.. anything, I still love him and I want him to know that.”

“That is excellent, Master Kent. I believe you can find them on your own? Perhaps with a certain super hearing ability?” The older man teases with a fond chuckle, making his way to put the med kit up.

“I think I can. Thank you!” Clark replies warmly, observing the comforting home as he strides to the stairs. The house is a soothing mix of familiar scents and voices, with smells of apple pie in the over in the kitchen with traces of Bruce’s cologne and the rich vanilla and cinnamon scented candles in the hallway.

Leading down with expensive portraits and paintings he’s listened to stories about, how they were created or the timeframe in which they were made, how the family obtained them and the signs of life around them: a marker here, a toy left on the couch there, maybe a sock or a blanket temporarily disregarded in the quest to take care of two ten years old at the same time, managing work and school and everything that goes on at night.

Clark could fly up the stairs, his personal method much faster and easier, but he doesn’t want to come off too strong. What if Bruce doesn’t want him using his powers around the kids? What if he wants to keep it a secret? No, he won’t use them yet. After all, it’s his partner’s house and it would be rude to not ask for permission. Plus, this keeps him human. Keeps him grounded and gives him more time to appreciate the shelter he’s been welcomed into. All the little things to learn about and admire.

Following the sound of the heartbeats upstairs, he arrives to the desired room and softly knocks on the door. A gentle giant like his boyfriend always calls him, patiently waiting and hoping to be let in.

Clark trips on his own feet a lot, he’ll admit that any day, but when it comes to a certain billionaire with a soft spot for kids? He’s stumbling over his own words constantly, tumbling down a hill of what should I say? and did I flirt right? I hope so, anytime he tries to speak.

Everyday feels like meeting for the first time all over again, same light blue eyes that make his heart race and his face go red. The man that makes Clark have to call his mother and ask what do I do? or tell her the exciting news of he wants another date!

But this is important. He shouldn’t be gushing, not when his boyfriend is hurt. That’s for another time. Right now, he’s gotta protect him and provide comfort! Be comforting!

“Come in!”

Nudging the door open with his shoulder, his gaze absorbs the scene in front of him — his way too handsome to be human partner in bed, sleepily cuddling with his youngest son drooling onto him, his older child using colored markers to quietly entertain himself by drawing on his father’s bicep. Doodles of animals and stars, a blue elephant and a red and orange circus tent, a group of stick people trailing down his parents’ arm that seems to resemble the family.

Clark has never wanted to join a cuddle pile more.

They’re so cute! All of them! The most wholesome little family that deserves the best and nothing but the best! There’s a momentary pause before he snaps out of his doting daze.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” he can’t help but chuckle softly, observing Dick color in what appears to be a dog (or at least the journalist assumes is a dog?) on the pale, scarred skin in bed.

He should’ve been there to prevent those scars. That’s what his mind is telling him. All those previous wounds and mistakes, moments where he was somewhere else in the world not even aware of what was happening.

He’ll do better. His Bruce shouldn’t have to fight. Shouldn’t have to hurt or bleed or be scared. Ever.

“I wanted to check on you guys. Make sure everything was okay,” he clarifies, taking a few steps into the room and standing at the foot of the bed. The blinds are tilted open just a touch, enough to let the sunlight in but not enough to blind the sleeping little one. 

“Of course.” The billionaire lazily ruffles his son’s hair, gesturing for him to get up. “Dick, can you be a big boy and carry your brother to his bed?”

The child considers the offer with a contemplative thought and a mischievous expression. “Can I build a tower of pillows around him?”

His father laughs, a loving and adoring sound for someone so strong. So hardheaded and hardworking, yet squishy and affectionate when it comes to domestic life. “Sure. But remember the rules, you’re still on bed rest.”

“I know,” the boy deflates with a sigh, crawling off the bed and going to the other side, scootching in to pick up his little brother. “No jumping off anything that’s higher than the couch.”

“That’s right,” the man confirms, helping with careful movements to make sure Jason is fully supported in his brother’s arms. “No crazy circus moves. I will however let you collect all the stuffed animals in the house and surround your brother, if you can get him into bed safely.”

“Deal!” Dick giggles, trying to use his stealthy spy skills to keep his footsteps silent and not wake up his sibling. He’s got this!

With the two adults the only ones left in the room as the kids waddle away, the vigilante sits up with a wince. “I missed you,” he admits tenderly, afraid to break the silence between them. So much longing over the night with desperations of close contact and touch, ones that they couldn’t quite break until daylight shone.

“I bet I missed you more,” Clark replies, the worry underlying his words more prominent to Bruce’s trained ears.

Sitting on the silky pliant bed in front of his partner, the journalist’s eyes check for the visible wounds. Some bruises, bandages on his arms and chest, but with a shirt on, he’s covering the main part that Clark is worried about.

“You scared the hell out of me last night.”

The attachment in the reporter’s words would be enough to make the past versions of the billionaire years ago recoil if they were here today. The pure care and concern from anyone who isn’t Alfred or Thompkins is rarely ever genuine, he learned that when he was young. Far too young, in his butler’s opinion. When compliments were given, a thank you was traded back to whoever in the expensive luxurious galas wanted his attention. Polite, but never genuine. Never real. None of it was, it’s how he learned that being nice was a rare concept in the world — one that people either never did or expected something good out of. Wanted something in return, but wouldn’t outright say it unless they were the ballsy type. 

And here’s someone in front of him who is so good it hurts. Burns at the back of his throat to claw its way up and argue that no one is ever that good in life for free, that considerate and respectful, wanting and accepting, it. is. not. possible. He doesn’t deserve it anyway, he’s gotten too used to being suffocated in the sea of corruption and lies in this city.

They’ll want to use him. Take some part of him with every flirtatious hand on his arm or chest, grabbing his tie to undo it for the hell of it, for their “one night with a billionaire,” another playboy label in the magazines the next morning. Learning not to drink whatever champagne fluke he’s been handed because who knows what the servers have put in it? How many people want to see the “prince of Gotham” fall tonight in the middle of the crowd, surrounded by cameras that always seem to find him?

Life is lessons. Love goes against those lessons.

God, help him, because he can’t help himself.

The billionaire looks away, unable to meet the concerned state of his partner.

“You know,” he acknowledges in a low voice, awaiting a negative reaction to follow his words. The journalist can hear his heart rate speed up, expecting conflict and bracing himself.

”How do you.. feel about it?”

Clark pauses. The brief pause breaks out into a smile and a chuckle.

“How do I feel?” He asks, eyes round and delicate as he offers his hand. It hurts when his partner doesn’t accept it immediately, but the reporter can see his defence crumbling piece by piece, eventually taking his hand.

“I feel like I’d love you no matter what. You could be bright purple with rainbow colored spots and I’d still adore you. It doesn’t change a thing,” the hero whispers, his words a soothing balm to the opened and salted wounds from years ago, cautions and bricks placed mentally to avoid disappointment and hurt.

“So you’re a bat at night. That’s great, I love bats! I think they’re adorable! I wrote a report on them in middle school one time!” The journalist continues with a passionate smile, leaning forward to wipe the unnoticed tears tempting to fall from his boyfriend’s eyes as he laughs. “And the kids? I love birds too! I feed them all the time when I go on walks! They’re great!” 

“My point is, I love you. I’m not here for the money, or for the butler, or even the really good crumpet cakes he makes on Mondays. I want you, and I want to be a part of this family if you’ll let me,” he reassures, his thumb rubbing the other’s knuckles.

Bruce didn’t know he was close to crying. Didn’t even feel it, instead too focused on how this, his whole life, he would’ve considered a sin. It’s forbidden, too stupid for such a man in his position to fall for, practically begging to be punished.

“I want to let you.” The words escape him. “I’m just.. scared.”

“What are you scared of, hm?”

“Of.. letting you in. Of you knowing who I am at night and maybe, somehow using it against the kids or me or my family. I never told anyone, and I— I wanted to tell you, I did,” the billionaire rambles, his voice cracking just enough for Clark to move forward and hug him, wrapping his strong arms around him.

“I understand. I hear you,” the hero responds patiently. “But when you think that, I want you to ask yourself something. Would I ever, in a million and one years, ever consider doing that to you and the kids?”

“No.”

“That’s right. I would never. Ever. Not even if the world was at stake. I’d rather us move to Saturn and stay there. I mean, I’d wanna visit Earth sometimes, I love my ma and pa and my friends, but if we gotta live on Saturn, then let’s go!” 

Bruce chuckles at that, sniffling and leaning into the embrace, melting further into the affection when he receives a tender kiss to the shoulder.

“You can let it out, babe. I’m right here and I don’t plan on going anywhere. I wanted to be honest with you though and let you know I knew about your nightlife,” Clark murmurs, rubbing his partner’s back as he feels the bat take a deep breath.

“I figured you did.” The vigilante pulls back to play with the reporter’s hair. Silly little curl in the front is always fun to play with, a short distraction from the overwhelming wave of emotions he’s got bundled up inside.

“I also wanted you to know that.. I’m Superman,” Clark confesses, trying to gauge the other’s reaction.

A blank stare.

“I know, farm boy.”

That.. is not what the hero expected. He thought maybe some yelling, a “how could you do this?!” like Lois did when he told her, a “how dare you!” soap opera type of yell and then he’d respectfully give his man space to cool down, but nope! Instead he gets a calm “I know.”

“What?”

Clark tilts his head like a puppy. Bruce smiles every time he sees that cute little innocent look on his face, waiting for an answer he doesn’t understand.

“Only Superman has an ass like that,” the billionaire answers, trying not to laugh. At Clark’s shocked face, the laugher escaped him and he shrugs. “The children are out of the room, I’m allowed to say that! You both have the same dimple in your left hip. And I know your ass. It looks amazing in that tight suit, but honestly it’s perfect in anything—“

Clark snorts, his face flushing up to his ears, resting his embarrassed forehead on his boyfriend’s shoulder. “No way,” he mumbles, shaking his head. “There’s no way that’s how you knew!” 

Did.. did his ass transcend his disguise?? Was it so obvious based on the shape of his behind who he was? That— that can’t be possible! Right?!

“No, I knew when I saw it. I was like, damn that’s definitely him. Same shape and everything,” the vigilante is cut off by a sheepish groan from the man resting against him. “That and I put a tracker in your suit. I’m not sorry.”

“You put a tracker in my suit?” The reporter repeats with a surprised grin, listening to the steady heartbeat close to him and attempting to calm his flustered mind.

“Take it out and I’ll put two,” Bruce promises with a playful look, running his hand through the black curls of his favourite reporter.

“I wasn’t gonna, but I guess that ruins one of my gifts,” the hero responds, blushing and red faced as he opens the backpack beside the bed, the one he brought from home. “Your favourite planet is Jupiter and you liked its’ 56th moon, so I..”

Pulling out a rock from the bag, Bruce has to look away. It’s too much and now he can feel his own face heating up.

He has a man who yearns so badly he traveled to another planet.

It was an inside from joke years ago. Stargazing one late night, Clark had asked if Bruce had a favourite planet. Simple question, expecting an easy answer of Mars is pretty or Mercury seems interesting, but no, what answer did he get instead?

He was met with the nonchalant response of “Jupiter, but specifically its’ 56th moon.” When asked why the 56th moon, Bruce simply said “it’s the coolest moon, I mean, how many other moons do you know about?”

It was a half done answer that Bruce came up with on the spot randomly, tired and dazed from being asked questions all night after another wild gala filled with crazed interviews and paparazzi screams that bordered on harsh interrogation. He wasn’t drunk, but Clark would tell he was mentally tapped out for the night and needed quiet time in bed.

The billionaire did not however think that his boyfriend would take it seriously or be this committed to the bit. But he is, and that makes him crack up.

“You did not!” He says, looking at the foreign rock cradled in the reporter’s hands.

“I did! Look!”

Like that helps at all. Yes, it’s clearly a rock, one with a bit of ice and plenty of rich materials for the vigilante to study and, “I thought you’d like this piece cuz it’s shiny!”

Such a sweet boy. This is why Alfred approves of him.

And he doesn’t expect anything in return, just sitting there like an excited little kid waiting for his teacher’s praise of “yes, you did it! Good job!”

“I love you so much,” the billionaire tells him, kissing his partner before examining the mineral. “I’m gonna study this and if it’s real, I’ll buy the wedding ring tomorrow.”

“The wedding ring?” Clark copies with a confused look. A moment or two pass before he realizes. “Oh my gosh, you wanna get married?? I can get the ring, don’t even worry! I need your ring size and we can get the kids little tuxes, that’d be adorable!”

His naive partner. So saccharine and ready to please. The billionaire wants to keep him so badly, he might just let himself.

“I’ll worry about all that,” he replies, tapping his partner’s nose. “That’s for later. For now, I have science to do.”

“Ok! Does it..” Clark stumbles momentarily, “bother you that I’m an alien?” Watching his boyfriend take the otherworldly piece of nature, the bat shakes his head.

“It did at first,” Bruce answers, leaning into his partner and keeping the material in his lap, feeling the edges with his finger tips. “Everyone is a threat to us, they just don’t like to show it. Especially an alien with powers we don’t even fully know about. But once I saw how you acted and treated people, and.. this,” he holds up the rock as evidence, “I knew you were too good.”

“And I love you,” the alien adds with a pleased look.

“Yes, you love me,” the vigilante smiles, his head resting on the reporter’s chest.

“Can I get you to say it back?” The journalist teases ever so softly, his finger on his boyfriend’s cheek.

“I love you too, my goofy ass fiancé.”

This one. He wants this one. Clark is his, he’s decided it. Decided it years ago actually but letting him in this deep? Now he’s definitely keeping him.

“Now, come on. Let’s go tell the kids you’re Superman. Dick is your biggest fan and when he finds out it’s official, he’ll want a ride around Metropolis.”

Shifting to get off the bed, the bat is cut off by a certain hero picking him up like he weighs less than a feather and walking into the hallway.

“You’re hurt. You need relaxing, not walking down a thousand stairs. That hurts people,” the hero explains casually, striding to Jason’s room and kissing on Bruce’s shoulder.

“And where did you hear that?” The billionaire questions, letting his head lay on the wide shoulder beneath him.

“My ma and pa. When I was little, she’d get hurt sometimes and my pa would pick her up and carry her around. Now I’m carrying you—“

“DAD, THERE’S A SPIDER!”

“Oh my god.” Bruce laughs into the reporter’s shoulder. He shouldn’t be laughing, he knows his kids hate spiders, even if they’re usually harmless. “Second time this week.”

“I’ve got it,” Clark replies, gently setting the man down onto a couch nearby. “I’ll come back for you once I get the spider!”

“Wait, don’t you need a tissue?” His partner suggests, gesturing to the bathroom.

“Why would I need a tissue?” The reporter curiously asks, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

“To squish it?”

“No, I’m not gonna squish it!” He exclaims in shock, walking into the kid’s room. “I’m gonna take it outside! Poor baby doesn’t know where he is! He’s just a lost little guy—“

More screams of terror from the children, Bruce lowers his head with a guilty smile. He shouldn’t laugh at that, but his kids yell at the smallest of things. Can fight criminals all night long and avoid loud gunfire while smiling but god forbid a spider gets in the house.

“There we go, come on. Thank you, buddy.”

Appearing in the hallway, Dick and Jason are quick to run out and flock to their father. “I’m gonna take him outside,” Clark whispers, nodding as he goes to the stairs, hands covering what Bruce can only hope is the previously mentioned arachnid. 

“What do we tell Mr. Clark?” Their father asks them, letting his oldest son climb onto his shoulder like a scared cat.

“Thank you!”

“We love you, Mr. Clark! Thank you!”

After coming back inside and playing with the kids for a bit, the talk comes of “oh wow, dad’s crush is Superman!” with a good bit of teasing. Some surprise, a lot of begging to be taken on a ride as high as he can fly, but the alien is surprisingly accepted into the family for who he really is. With that out of the way, both adults promise to do their best to be open and talk more if there’s any issues or concerns.

Bruce is comfortable enough to let his partner move in now that he knows about their double lives. He never thought he’d ever say that in his life, accepting someone from the outside into his personal space, but here he is. Now that Clark knows everything, why not let him in? Seeing no real problems, he knows the alien won’t tell anyone about their secret. He’ll show him the cave later when they’re actually allowed down there as a family and not stuck on rest mode thanks to a certain mother henning butler.

The family celebrates their parent’s communication skills by an outing to the park a few hours later. Very hesitantly allowed by Alfred who still insists they take it easy, Bruce promises to not do any heavy work (throwing his kids around and tossing them up to grab onto monkey bars doesn’t count as heavy, right?) and has Clark with him to soothe both the older man’s worries and his boyfriend’s anxiety of oh no, did he hurt his stitches? and are the babies okay?

So yes, the babies and Bruce are fine. Release them from the constraints of the house please, because while they appreciate the love and concern, they are lively people with a drive to move frequently. Especially Dick, who has gotten so worked up by being cooped up in the house that he’s taken to climbing things that he shouldn’t be more often than not. Fridges, shelves, trying to see what he can and can’t balance on — which is a lot more surprising than you’d think, he’s like.. creepily agile for a child. Possibly hyper mobile too, Bruce will have to ask Leslie on that one.

Jason meanwhile has been fine in the house but has made it crystal clear that he misses the outdoors. Mud and dirt and wind and rain, all of these things he’s used to and to not have them regularly is throwing him off. So the park seemed like the best option, especially with the city adding more equipment and toys for the kids. Clark has a holiday off from work and can spend the whole day with his family and the adults can talk about moving him into the manor and such while the children play in the background.

While discussing how and when to move his things into the manor, something catches the detective’s eye.

Bruce is curious what the little shadow is.

The little figure hiding in the distance, scurrying around and sneaking by when nobody’s looking. He first caught onto it when they were driving through the city, a small silhouette on a balcony. Didn’t think anything of it, maybe somebody’s kid wanted to take a look outside. No big deal.

But then it followed them, and yes, it is the exact same tiny shadow each time. Same height, thin wiry frame that’s so easy to miss if you aren’t intently looking for them. Now, the billionaire doesn’t exactly have his cowl on at the moment since it’s daytime, so he doesn’t have his enhanced hearing at the moment. He’s considering the possibility of a runaway child or one that’s potentially lost, but every time he tries to look over at them or see them better, the kid disappears. Flat out vanishes into thin air. It’s kinda impressive, honestly.

“Babe,” he whispers, nudging his boyfriend as the hero sits down beside him. After watching Dick do a somersault and happily show off his moves, their son is content to play with his brother and push each other off the slides, trying to see who can run back up them first. Currently they’re 2 to 3 in a tight race—

“Yea?” The reporter smiles, kissing his partner’s cheek. He’s so calm and comfortable, if he heard something he would’ve said something, right? Clark is one of the most protective people he knows, and with him seeing all of them slightly injured and banged up, there’s no way he’d let anyone dangerous nearby them.

So what’s in the distance?

“I swear I keep seeing a kid in the distance,” Bruce says quietly, leaning into his partner.

“We.. are at a park, sweetheart. I think that’s kinda normal here,” Clark chuckles innocently, obliviously watching the boys play with some of the other kids. One girl and her brother, twins by the looks of it, with Jason taking an offered piece of chalk to draw with, giving a thankful nod in return.

“No, not them. You don’t see the..” Bruce mumbles with a sigh. “In the shadows. To the right of us. The pretty blue eyes in your face, use them, please.”

Clark does as he’s asked. Looking over to the right while trying to be as subtle as a man built like a brick wall in disguise can be, he hears the heartbeat first. Slow, methodical, calm, but still fast enough to be from someone younger than them. Then he sees them: with the look of a lost duckling waiting on their parents to come pick them up, a girl hides in the shade, out of sight for everyone else.

“Oh, you think she’s scared?” The journalist mumbles sadly, keeping his head down and tilted towards his partner to not intimidate the girl.

“It’s a girl?” The billionaire whispers, narrowed eyes unable to see much further before she disappears. “I would say we could stop to get her some food, but she keeps leaving. Makes me wonder whether she’s in a bad home situation or if she’s searching for her parents.”

“I don’t know. Isn’t there an orphanage that way? Maybe she’s from there,” Clark suggests, pointing to that one part of Gotham he remembers has a sadly large amount of abandoned kids.

“She could be.” Bruce shrugs, making a mental note to check the databases of the local orphanages later for the little details he could make out. No taller than 5’0, short hair judging by the faint outline of her, a basic weight estimation.

Glancing back at the children playing, his youngest son has drawn plenty of colorful displays on the sidewalk and concrete nearby, decorating with doodles and pictures from his favourite stories. Dick’s been having the time of his life on the swings and pull up bars, hanging upside down and having fun. The “don’t climb higher than the couch rule” can’t apply when he’s outside, so ha! He wins!

A yell catches everyone’s attention when an angry man storms over to the twins, the friends that Bruce’s children had made, harshly snagging them by their arms and pulling them away while grumbling under his breath. Something that Bruce couldn’t quite make out due to being so far away, but his partner definitely could.

“What a mean old man,” he mumbles, scoffing quietly, his stern gaze locked onto the irritated man.

“What’d he say?”

“He storms up, starts telling the kids they’re stupid for staying out so late. Saying they’re basically asking to get kidnapped and that if they want to get fed tonight, they better get their behinds home now,” Clark summarizes with a disapproving look, shaking his head. “Certain people are not meant to be parents.”

“No, they’re not,” Bruce agrees, shaking his head as he watches the group leave, the twins being pulled and almost tripping on their way.

Then he looks over at his own children. There’s his oldest, standing there not knowing what to do now that their new friends were dragged away. He shrugs and starts going to Jason, who.. blankly watches the anxious children leave.

Something’s not right. Blame it on the detective skills he’s honed or the overprotective batdad tendencies he’s got, but Jason doesn’t normally sit that tensely anymore — hasn’t sat that still in months.

He gets nightmares, which Bruce expected, but sometimes those bad dreams leak into the day, causing him to occasionally freeze and fawn to avoid trouble. Flinching at noises he’s gotten used to in the manor, spur of the moment flash backs despite him knowing everything is fine.

Usually it’s all fixed with a hug, some reassurance and soft words of encouragement if he isn’t feeling up for touch, a bowl of his favourite cereal or his favourite blanket, but it’s still a thing that happens — and that’s what Bruce is seeing right now.

Getting up with a worried expression he doesn’t even try to cover up, he treads through the playground to carefully approach his son. Loud enough to let his son hear his position as he grows closer, but not too loud, not wanting to scare the poor child.

Judging by the zoned out look, it’s safe to say it’s most likely a flashback or a memory he’s tried to repress, which.. honestly, Bruce can’t blame him, he did the same thing when he was younger. Tried to push things down and bury them until they suffocated in the dirt beneath him. Only problem being that it doesn’t work — it might for a minute, but not in the long run. It only leads to more pain and while Bruce has felt that before, he doesn’t want his kids to ever experience it.

“Jaybird?” Their father calls quietly, slowly kneeling beside the covered in chalk child. No response, just this look, staring off into the distance where the people went.

“Baby? Are you okay?” He asks, hesitantly putting a hand on Jason’s back in a cautious attempt to ground him back to reality, lead him back to the playground they’re in. Not.. wherever he thinks he is.

Jay seems to snap out of it, blinking once or twice and looking up at his father. “‘M good,” he mumbles with a nod, looking back down at the dusty light pink color he’s holding. “Just..”

Bruce allows him time to answer on his own, moving to sit next to him instead of staying on his knee. “Mhm?”

“He said the same stuff an old foster dad used to say,” the boy admits skittishly, holding the piece of chalk like it’s a lifeline. “I don’t.. I tried to be good. I really did.”

“What stuff did he say?” Bruce questions simply. He didn’t know his kids could hear what the old man called out, but Jason hates talking about the previous foster homes he’s been at. If this is a way for him to open up, his father wouldn’t dare tell him to stop.

“Stuff like I was bad. Or I didn’t deserve to stay with them ‘n he’d kick me outside for the night. Or I wasn’t appreciating them enough so I had to be taught a lesson, or—“ the kid chokes up, his eyes watering before he even realizes it.

“Oh, baby..” his father whispers, wrapping an arm around his son and holding him. Seeing him drop the tension and melt, Bruce takes it as a sign that someone’s having a bad memory and needs comfort. Luckily, touch seems to be accepted and Jason leans into it like a kitten desperate for attention and reassurance. 

“You’re okay. Some people don’t deserve children. You guys are little blessings, you know that?” The man whispers, kissing his youngest’s forehead before the boy buries it into his dad’s chest.

“That’s not what he said,” Jason’s wobbly voice mumbles with a whine, his hands clutching onto his father’s back. Bruce can feel the tears falling wet his shirt, the trembling in his son’s body as he recalls the events.

“I know. Sometimes adults are mean to people that don’t deserve it. We all have our bad moments, but that doesn’t make what he did okay. He shouldn’t have told you all those bad things,” his guardian tells him, rubbing his back and taking a few deep breaths to set an example for Jay to copy.

With Clark coming over timidly and picking Dick up, he gestures to the car parked nearby with a thumbs up to his partner. One child down, covered in dirt and tired from getting all his energy out, Jason can get the attention he needs right now.

“He was scary..”

God help the previous foster father if Bruce ever finds him. Every little detail makes him want to hunt this monster down.

“I bet he was. A lot of foster families tend to be spooky, huh?” Bruce hums, rocking back and forth to keep his child calm. The yelling is gone and Jason slowly comes back down to where they are over the span of a few minutes, listening to his dad’s voice and getting plenty of kisses and comfort.

“Mhm..” the boy sniffles, wearing himself out. “I try to be good. I want to be good for you guys..”

“And you are. You do great, honey. You’re amazing.”

“But I snap at you guys and I’m, I’m mean when I don’t try to be, and—“

“Jaybird. Don’t spiral on me here,” his father reminds him softly, hugging him and carefully standing up. “You can get as much reassurance as you want. I’ll tell you until you believe it. You’re the best baby I could ever ask for.”

“What about Dick?” The boy sniffles, wiping his eyes with his hands. He feels them move, but he trusts his parent not to drop him. He’d never.

“You and Dick both. You’re my favourite people in the whole world,” Bruce whispers with a comforting smile. “And Alfred. That man is such a dad to all of us, it’s incredible how much he does.”

“What about Clark?” Jay questions curiously, seeing the journalist play with his yawning brother in the car.

“I love Clark too,” Bruce tells his youngest with a mischievous look. “But I’ll always love you guys more. It’s our little secret.”

“Love you too.” Jason is cuddled up into his father’s arms and there’s nowhere he’d rather be. Talking about the bad stuff is hard, but his chest feels lighter now that he’s got the yucky emotions out.

In father we trust. He always knows best.

Chapter Text

The grounding is finally over and the time for action is here. Celebrating Bruce’s 30th birthday is a grand, way too over the top party at his manor, with the paparazzi going nuts over his fiancé and their two adorable little kids. Bruce himself didn’t really want to do this, but according to the butler, the news is starting to question where he’s been and what he’s been up to and apparently a party is due by now.

Waking up beside his partner, the Kryptonian’s arm is snugly wrapped around Bruce’s waist, acting as a weighted blanket to keep him warm. He gives a sleepy chuckle as he hears the snore behind him and the pitter patter of small feet on the floor, the kids excitedly entering their room and jumping on their parents to wake them up and tell their dad happy birthday. The mansion is decorated with colorful rainbow streamers, confetti poppers for the kids to scare each other with, and homemade happy birthday cards from everyone, four in total.

Bruce is keeping them all in his nightstand, he decides it on the spot. He’s too in love with them, Jason’s little scribble handwriting and Dick’s doodles, Clark writing him a love letter inside the light blue construction paper folded in half to make a card with various hearts drawn on it.

Alfred spoils him with one too, fancy looking with a gift card inside for a restaurant that his partner adores, giving them something to do on another night together. He knows Bruce well enough to know that if the couple goes out to eat, he’ll want to spoil Clark more than anything.

On the other side is a joke “free pass” that the billionaire and butler have done on several birthdays before, a “get out of jail free” card for different situations. Fancy writing details the description, describing the scenarios in which it can be used. It’s an ongoing inside joke year after year without fail. A few years ago it was “get out of a meeting via a home emergency,” and now it’s a “parents need a private moment away from the children” card to pull out whenever they need it. 

The day is amazing, the best birthday present he could’ve gotten: his playful kids and fiancé, his butler very pleased at seeing them all so happy. Bringing the kids outside and playing with them, venturing out to watch a movie that they’ve been raving about for weeks now, then finding a stray dog that the kids practically beg Bruce to keep, he can’t find it in himself to say no. The poor thing was scavenging for food outside the theatre and he feels too bad for it. It growls at the group when they approach, but the man can be patient when he needs to be.

The puppy isn’t too big, a messy black coat that’ll shine so pretty once he’s bathed, the family continues to feed him and get him to follow them to their care. He’s got a bite to him and Bruce bets that the animal used to be a fighting dog based on how the pup acts, knowing the underground rings tend to profit in these lower areas. The dog seems to adore the children though, sniffing their hands and licking at them, even nuzzling at Jason’s legs and making him laugh.

“It’s a birthday gift!” His sons had insisted. A surprise from the universe to reward him for all the good he’s done, kinda like Santa! Or maybe this was Santa’s doing? Who knows! Either way, Bruce accepts the creature and names it Ace, explaining that it was named after someone important. The answer to the question of “who is Ace?” was a brief “someone I met on a mission one time,” with a glance to Clark that says I’ll tell you later to soothe the journalist’s curiosity.

Opening the front doors to greet the couple and kids back home, Alfred smiles when he sees the pup trailing behind Dick. “I did say no more kids,” he remarks, raising a brow. “Now you’ve got a furry one. I suppose he’ll need adoption papers too?”

“Yes please,” the billionaire admits defeat instantly, the dog licking his hands and demanding attention. Technically it’s not a child, it’s a fur baby, but still, it counts as a new member. The hoard grows at a steady rate. Ace has joined the family, and the children could not be happier.

Night, however, was a different story. 5pm, it all starts to go downhill. Mandatory party to keep up appearances is starting plus they have a new doggy friend who isn’t the happiest around strangers. Ace, for safekeeping, will be upstairs with Alfred keeping him company.

From fighting the good fight of hassling Bruce’s youngest into a suit, the butler learns that Jason is not a fan of certain fabrics, doesn’t care for buttons, and absolutely despises ties. No, he will not do them. No thank you. Kinda like how he only likes certain pairs of socks. Will be accept any clothes if he’s desperate? Yes. He’s used to it from his time with his biological family and using whatever he can get or scavenge in the dumpsters, but now that he can choose what he wears? He is somewhat picky, which isn’t a problem, but it’s just that little bit of an extra struggle for both the old man and the child.

Clark on the other hand is mostly clueless when it comes to very intricate suits and details, but is willing to learn. Smoothing out the outfit and admiring how it looks, Bruce has gone over the basics of how the parties usually work: how long they run, who’s going to be attending, excuses to use in case Superman needs to arrive, etc. Giving his partner a quick run down of don’t drink your glass if you looked away for even a second and you can stay by me or by yourself, either is fine. If you get tired, I recommend going to the balcony. Usually it’s quiet there.

Within the next hour, famous celebrities and politicians begin to fill in, stepping out of high class limos in suits that look more expensive than any piece of clothing should be. Cameras flash and click wildly as the family steps out to greet the guests, shaking hands with plenty of “wow, nice of you to show up! Thanks for coming!” politeness. Jason hates the crowds and adamantly clings to his father’s side, Bruce’s comforting hand on his back about 80% of the time they’re mingling with the guests.

Knowing that Dick is safe with Clark is so much easier than handling both crazy little delinquents on his own, although Clark himself sometimes gets overwhelmed or is caught off guard by oddly worded questions. Tricky interviewers trying to get him to slip up or insinuate something he doesn’t mean. Things like “oh, are you two married yet? Well, why not? Are there problems in the relationship? Do the kids know? Do they hear you two argue?”

Clark quickly discovers that he isn’t a fan of celebrity gossip, nor the attention and media coverage they get. He’ll grin and bear it for Bruce and the kids, but only for the Wayne family. The journalist successfully keeps the child by his side entertained by letting him crawl on him like a cat tree, answering questions without flinching at the same time.

Once Clark gets used to being on the receiving end of the questions and adapts to the fast paced theories, it’s just like work at the Daily Planet — shouting interrogations and demanding answers instantly. He gets it from the crowd’s perspective, they’re curious and write the headlines, it’s their job. He knows how they work, so he’ll take the time to help some of them. Besides, he gets a few laughs from the audience when he nonchalantly keeps talking with their oldest son hanging upside down from his arm, crawling his way up the reporter like a spider monkey with no limits.

Bruce, back over on his end, has had plenty of uncomfortable moments this evening, most of them being “so you’ve been lying about your sexuality?” and controversies of “was liking the girls you were with in the past all a lie?” and now suddenly he’s being demanded to clarify and explain his sexuality to the crowd bit by bit, which just isn’t fun in general and by the way, totally uncalled for in front of his kids. Those questions alone, when asked in such a demanding manner in front of his eleven year old, gets at least two rude reporters escorted out of the building.

Then someone knocked over some fancy statue that the billionaire doesn’t even remember buying in the main room and causes everyone to look over which is the luckiest thing that’s happened tonight, and when Bruce spots his fiancé helping the man that he bumped into up from the ground by the statue, he’s discreetly aware of what’s happened and secretly loves his partner for it even more. Gotta love super hearing and the compassion to make a distraction, taking the focus and giving him a minute to breathe.

Before the billionaire can properly sneak away with his kid, the crowd starts up again. And then the theories: not the fun ones, but the weird ones. Is Clark his sugar baby? No, not quite. Both of them actually like each other and he doesn’t believe Clark would ever use him for his money. Do they plan on adopting more kids? Eh, who knows. They don’t know yet. When is the wedding? In a few months, weeks, days, undecided for now.

The party continues on this path of awkwardness and audacity. The boldness of the public will always baffle the man.

Are we going to discuss how Jason almost stabbed some rich snob with a butter knife for saying his brother acts like a wild squirrel that shouldn’t be allowed indoors? No. Jay has already been lectured and told that it was a bad thing to do (although he does get bonus points for defending his brother).

The children did well. Mostly. Considering how much worse it could’ve gone, they behaved like saints compared to what chaos they could’ve unleashed. Current offences and mistakes are written down on the mental scoreboard Alfred’s kept track of over the past few dreadfully long hours:

Dick, god bless the boy, has seen enough of these big public events to have a general idea of what to do and what not to do.

This knowledge did not save him.

Bad boy points here are for firstly riding down the stairs. Sliding down them, to be exact. Aside from not using the stairs correctly, he tried to sneak a champagne glass — but in all fairness, he tried to get one for Jason too. At least he wasn’t selfish and only got himself one. Luckily Clark stopped him before the boy could drink any or give one to his little brother.

He also accidentally offended an older couple by saying he didn’t know who they were. Apparently they took offence because they’ve been in so many movies over the timespan of blah blah, Dick stopped listening after a little bit. Deciding to have his own fun when neither parent had their full attention on him, he did successfully manage to convince several guests that Jason is a smaller clone of Bruce (and because they look so similar, who could really say it wasn’t true? Bruce could’ve birthed the boy judging by physical appearances) and that cloning technology miiiight be sold sometime soon so that you too at home can make your child robotically! The product name? Robo-babies! Easy, simple, another way to have kids! Don’t believe him? Watch the next kid the family has! They’ll be a clone too!

Next he had created a domino effect, which wasn’t on purpose so does it really count? Bumping into a rich guy when Clark turned his gaze to a reporter asking nosy questions lead to the startled ancient man in a dark red tuxedo spilling his glass onto a lady’s clean dress and then the lady spilled her drink onto the man beside her and do you see how this spiralled? So yes, it technically was Dick’s fault, but he did not know that would happen! If so many people didn’t drink, this wouldn’t have been a problem!

Moving onto Clark’s mistakes, he pulled a Velma twice and lost his glasses. Once in the kitchen somehow (he never even went in there?) and another in the dining room when a woman in a blue dress tried to flirt with him. Panicking, he swatted her hand away when she tried to touch his chest with a sultry look, apologized, and darted off so quick he genuinely forgot them. Not too bad, but still. Oh, and the statue, but that one was on purpose and Bruce was definitely appreciative.

Jason did surprisingly good, staying quiet and even occasionally saying hi to the guests. He did scowl at one or two older ladies that pinched his cheeks and called him adorable though. Most people thought he was younger than he was and cooed at him, only solidifying his belief that indeed, these old people are weird. He pulled away from the offered hugs and hand shakes, but his father doesn’t blame him. He’s skittish of strangers and he’s doing his best. He almost panicked when the statue fell and made a loud THUD in the main room, but he didn’t panic too much! Clinging to Bruce’s torso with both arms like they were being thrown off a waterfall, the boy calmed down when everyone went back to talking and he realized what happened.

A nice surprise though, the commissioner showed up as a guest and talked to Bruce for a bit, even bringing his daughter Barbara to let her see what the big deal was since she was curious. Jason likes Barbara, he thinks. She’s nice, her favourite color is purple, her hair is a funny orange hue that’s natural! How cool is that?! The two talk about their favourite books for a while as Bruce catches up with Gordon, asking how his work’s been and if there’s anything new. Maybe play dates are a good idea for the future? Dick loves attention and Jason does not, but he could enjoy small timed bits of interaction to get more socialized. A book club would be a cute idea!

It’s an idea for later. Gordon seems on board with it, and it’s good news for the night as the party ends. Bruce would rather have dinner at home than go out, so the family spends their night together, relaxing after such a loud evening of small talk and gossip among the elites of the city. An extra dessert thanks to Alfred with Clark doing his best to help out wherever he’s allowed, the kids stick the birthday candles on his cake and he gives plenty of hugs, making a wish and blowing out the tiny lit fires.

He’s got the best birthday he could ask for: chocolate cake, his kids, a fiancé who has traveled to multiple different planets for him, his loyal butler, a puppy that’s escaped from upstairs, and he can patrol later! Fuck yea!

It’s about eight pm after a fun wind down time, the butler helping their new pup get used to the house and smells. The sun is down and it’s dark enough to go out for the nocturnal creatures.

The vigilante escorts his partner down to the cave for the first time, hoping he’ll stay calm about it. After explaining how he moved things around and actually does use the basement, it’s time to finally show him. This time, a few shiny objects of metal and tech have been left on the desks, the batmobile currently out of the way with the nest of pillows in the corner.

Clark’s eyes light up and he lets out the softest “awww!” Bruce swears he’s ever heard.

“You have a cave! That’s the cutest thing ever, oh my gosh,” the reporter coos as he grins ear to ear, hugging his partner as he observes the open space. “Does it make you feel safer to.. you know, change down here?”

Change? Odd word choice, but ok. “Yes,” Bruce replies, going to his computer and letting the scanner’s register Clark’s retina ID as safe and allowed. What is so adorable about it, Bruce has no idea, but Clark seems to melt at the idea.

“We have a system to make sure only the right people come down here. It’s registered you, so you can come down whenever you want. I’d appreciate it if you asked before fiddling with anything. You and those grabby hands,” the billionaire teases, feeling his partner move behind him to hold onto his hips.

“Only for you,” the farm boy says, seeing the bats fly around above them. “Oh, you have friends! Are they nice? I think I saw them before when me and Barry came down here.”

“Mhm. They don’t bite. Now, shoo and lemme change, Kansas. The kids want to go out on patrol and if I keep them waiting any longer, Jason’s gonna steal his wings and sneak out on his own.” Bruce smirks, turning around and kissing the man looking down at him with a slightly confused expression.

Steal his wings? Ohhhh! It must be an expression! Like, slang for their flock! That makes sense! Of course they’d have different phrases, it’s like being in Smallville versus Metropolis, you gotta learn the vocabulary! Ok, he can do that.

“Can do, boss. Do the kids get ready down here too?” The reporter asks, examining the complex computer system behind his partner, his gaze going back to the face he adores.

“Usually.” With a final kiss, Bruce goes around the journalist to a table off to the side. “And by the way, I’m mean at night. I’m sure you’ve noticed.” Referring to the times where the bat has fled or shrugged off the hero’s hand that was trying to comfort him after a hard night.

“I do it to everyone. It’s to keep them away so nobody guesses who I’m close to.” Like Gordon, like his teammates, like Barbara even, the little girl who follows them so fondly. He doesn’t want Joker or some other crazed lunatic in Gotham targeting his friends because of him. 

“It’s not always intentional. I just.. get into that mindset and it’s hard to differentiate. When I’m all wound up and getting shot at and having to protect the kids at the same time..” he trails off, trying to find a better way to explain.

Apparently he doesn’t have to. Clark seems to understand perfectly.

“I get it, babe,” he reassures softly. “It’s like when there’s an alien invasion and you flinch the next time someone tries to hug you. I totally get it.”

Yea, ok. Why not? They’re different situations, but as long as he gets the message, let him use his example.

“Good.” Bruce is honestly surprised he got it that easily. He expected a more dramatic reaction, but then again, they’re both in the same line of work at night. They have similar struggles in this regard. “Thank you. We’ll be out in the city if you need us.”

“Then I’ll do my normal patrol and wait for you in bed,” Clark replies contently. “Use your new watch if you need me!” he reminds, going up the stairs to the exit of the cave. Looking back, he continues.

“I love you! If you need anything, you let me know!” Okay, now he’s done.

Turning to leave, he spins around once more. “Happy birthday!”

“Clark!” His partner laughs.

“I know, I know!” The hero raises his hands, leaving to give his bat privacy. “Love you!”

“I love you too! Shoo! Go!”

His entertaining hero. Bruce adjusts the silver watch, a unique chime ringing from it when needed with an easy to press button. Switching into his gear, the kids follow like little ducklings and get changed into their own outfits. Wings attached and ready to go, full utility belts fixed from last time things went horribly wrong, the group is ready to go.

Patrol is so, so fortunately quiet. The bat missed stopping normal criminals instead of getting booby trapped in a death opera of Two-Face and Ivy, which by the way, hasn’t been easy to manage in Arkham.

According to what he’s heard from snooping around, the two are trying more than ever to kill each other, so much so that the guards have had to put them at separate ends of the building. They drive each other crazy, and not in the good way. Ivy even managed to get her poison into the food and pay off a handful of workers to deliver it to Harvey. Harvey, in return, had, from what Bruce has heard, sent over about two dozen men to whack the weeds and plants in the courtyard.

Both villains feelings were hurt that day.

Aside from that, everything is smooth! Superman hovers from a distance, keeping a watchful eye as he flies around in Gotham, visiting Metropolis every now and then during the night to double check that everything is okay.

On another note, Barbara is back. This time, after studying more of their secret codes, she’s confident in communicating with them! It manages to catch the bat by surprise again.

“Hello!” She chirps, landing proudly beside them on the top of a supply house. “Drug deal?” Hands on her hips, she observes the now peaceful area. 

“Already handled,” one of the Robins says. They’ve got unique chirps and calls for their names, but as far as she knows, they’re both called Robin in English. Maybe all the babies of their species are called Robins?

“Hey, when you guys were made, are all of you Robins? Is it..” she struggles to remember the words she’s looking for. How to phrase her question best in translation. “The name for all children like you?”

Both boys pause with a soft hum. The bigger one looks at the smaller one with a shrug. The little one has a puzzled look like he’s genuinely trying to decipher what she’s saying. His wings twitch in thought, fluttering ever so slightly and shivering when the wind picks up. 

“We’re both Robins,” the bigger one answers, his head craning back to see their parent. Checking for the right answer, he waits a second or two before he gets a response.  

“The little ones are Robins.” The large bat confirms, shifting his wings to help cover the youngest. Pitch black leather spreading to open and protect from the cold air passing by. 

“Yea, but are.. all babies called Robins?” She continues. Does the creature know the difference between human babies and their babies? It has to, right?

“Mine are. Yes.” Putting its’ hand on the smaller one’s back, the little bird’s wings puff up confidently, reassured and steady.

“What are you.. your species called?” She asks, following them as they travel up to a higher vantage point.

No answer. The babies look unsure, glancing over to their guardian. When no reply is given from the shadow, they both shrug.

“You guys cover..” she gestures to her own face. “Mouths. Why? You didn’t always look like this. You had.. half human face before.” Her grammar isn’t perfect, but the message gets across the same.  

They didn’t have the facial coverings way before, she remembers it distinctly. Now it looks like their human skin was covered by the rest of their body. Feathers and fur replacing what was once mortal. Maybe the internet theories were right? Once you turn into one of these creatures, it takes over your body and transforms you.

The bat looks back at her, offering a hand so she doesn’t fall off the thin railing she’s on. “Adaption,” it clarifies, deep voice echoing out into the dark night.

“Oh. Do you.. adapt a lot?” Accepting the clawed hand, she studies their talons as he moves her away from the ledge. What could this be made of? It’s cool, textured similarly a bird’s claw, rough and hardened with cracks in it—

“Yes.”

Listening to a police radio on the little Robin’s hip, the bird sits on the side while the bigger one does a few tricks to entertain itself, climbing up the dark outer layer of the bat and sitting on their shoulders.

“During the day. Where do you stay?” She wonders, holding the clawed hand and standing in front of the tall being.

“We hide.”

Simple answer. Hm. Ok, she can work with this. Finally being able to ask questions and mostly understand them is a big help. She’s getting pieces of answers, but not the whole thing. 

“Where? A nest? In a building? Or do you stay outside?”

“Too bright outside. We hide somewhere dark.”

“A cave!” She realizes, earning a very rare smile from the bat. The muscles on its’ face move and shift ever so slightly, what appears to be a pleased look.

“I’m right!” She cheers, holding up her fists triumphantly, jumping in her spot. Their smile is confirmation enough, she’s totally nailed it!

“Can I know where your cave is? I can bring food and water,” she offers, watching the baby play with the ears of their parent.

“No.”

Their ear twitches and the Robin giggles, waving at her. The birds look bigger than last time she’s seen them. They’re growing, that’s good!

“We live in a secret place. We don’t tell anyone to stay safe.”

“Oh. I see,” she responds with a small nod. “Are you..” how does she describe it? A calm pause passes as she thinks of her words. “The last of your kind?”

The bat gives a curious hum.

“Don’t know. Think so.”

It doesn’t even know for sure. It’s a creature, capable of their own special language and protecting humans that have nothing to do with them, doing all this work on its’ own, and it could be the very last of its’ species. What a sad story for such nice, thoughtful beings! 

“Aren’t there any more of your kind in Gotham? You guys come out at night. Does anyone else?” She suggests, gently poking at the wing of the bat. The creature, surprisingly enough, accepts the childish gesture.

“We are the only ones in our family.”

So they stick together in herds. Flocks. Murders, or isn’t that what a group of crows is called? Maybe not bats and bird creatures.

“If I’m not family, why do you let me stay around you guys?” Barbara offers a hand to the Robin laying on the bat’s head, the bird gratefully taking it and playing with her gloves.

“You’re baby.” The towering figure answers with a content nod. 

“What?” The teen laughs with a confused expression, staring at the myth above her. “I’m.. baby?”

“Yes. Baby. Like big one and little one,” the bat explains with a fond smile, gesturing with a tough hand to his Robins.

They.. think she’s a Robin? No, no, that can’t be it. She picked the name Batgirl, she knows they’ve heard her say it before.

“But I’m not a Robin,” she points out, peering down at her outfit. “I’m.. like you. I’ve got a dark outer layer and pointed ears.” She flicks her cowl’s thin ears to further reiterate her point. “I look like a bat, but I’m human.”

“Yes.” The creature acknowledges softly. “And still. Baby.” The police radio is silent as the little Robin comes to their parent, demanding to be held with a silent gesture of grabby hands.

“But I’m fifteen! I’m not.. small like them! I’m bigger and older! Right?”

She never did get a solid answer for their ages. She is the oldest, right..?

“Are you?”

A soft chuckle comes from the shadow, ruffling her hair like she’s a child. The legend holds their bird with one arm, allowing her to hold the other.

“Hey, I am an adult! Big! Not kid! Not.. little!” She points to the birds. “They’re bird babies! Yes?”

“Yes.”

“Then what am I? Human, right?” She tries again. Do they not recognize her as human? Has her costume worked so well they think she’s one of them?

“Human baby.”

The bat can’t help but smile when he sees her puzzled face. A deep rumble comes from the amused shadow, a purr almost as his Robin pokes at their guardian’s head.

“Where do you come from?”

“Gotham. Your language skills are much better.” The being seems pleased, offering a slow hand that pats her head. “Good job.”

“Thank you!” She beams happily. “I’ve been practicing! I actually—“

A siren rings out eerily close by, with the bat acting before he can think. Swooping his wings over the kids, the Robins stick to his sides while Batgirl is left under the main part, tucked into his chest and being held close, covered as the predator slinks into the shadows.

“Shh, it’s okay. Calm,” the creature whispers, trying to soothe the girl. He can tell she was suprised by how tense she got, hearing the alarm. “Robbery below us. I’ll find safe spot.”

Maneuvering to a good section of shadows to let go of the children, Barbara can see why the birds like it now. It’s warm under their wings! Dark and homey, like a cave would be. Mimicking the sense of home to comfort its’ pups, this is totally going into her research! It’s got a hard inner body, but it’s still capable of bending and flexing when needed—

Right, robbery job. They’ve gotta stop it. Ok, go time!

Landing on one of the robbers, Batgirl is in it to win it with first place, going from target to target to stop them. The birds follow, causing the criminals escaping the building last to drop the bags of cash and panic. The bat swoops in and incapacitates the ones furthest away, trying to make their getaway. With a successful heist prevented, the owner peeks out from behind the counter, a short older man with a confused glance.

“Thank.. you?” He mumbles, tensing when the bigger Robin waves at him, giving a friendly chirp.

“They say you’re welcome,” Batgirl translates for the shopkeeper. “Police will be here soon.”

“You.. understand them?” The owner can’t help but ask. “They talk to you?”

The fact that Barbara has become the local translator for the colony of creatures is amusing enough, but it gets even better when she’s put on the news as Batgirl and praised for it. She’s been seen before by plenty of civilians, but now it seems real — serious, not just a silly joke or prank by a bored teenager with nothing better to do on a Friday night. Claiming to be an adopted member of the flock, she’s the first official human member to ever be accepted by the Batman of Gotham.

And suddenly people are asking where they can sign up. Asking how much she knows, how she learned their language. Is it indeed like vampires where you transform once you’ve been accepted?

Not wanting to ruin her fun, Bruce can’t find it in himself to tell her the truth. She’s a kid, having the time of her life and trusting them with her late night rants about her dad or her stupid schoolwork, and as silly as it sounds, he doesn’t want to take that sense of comfort away from her. If her talking to what she thinks is animals or some magical creatures helps her sleep at night, then why would he tell her no?

Besides, the Robins like her anyway. She’s like a big sister to the little birds.

Chapter Text

One foot in front of the other. That’s what matters. Staying out of clear sight from prying eyes and hiding with the environment around her, blending into the shadows. It’s not hard, not at all. It’s easier than breathing at this point, especially considering the recent weather conditions. A shaky inhale, her legs continue to carry her onwards. Where to? She isn’t sure. Not yet anyways. She’s sure she’ll find something to do, somewhere to go, a nice spot to people watch perhaps.

Craning her head back to see the sky, the sun is at just the right spot to tell her that it’s about eight or nine in the evening. Can’t be ten since this area tends to clear out around that time, oddly enough. She’s roamed the streets so much she’s surprised her footprints haven’t been engraved into them — although if they did, she knows her father would be sorely disappointed.

She misses him. As much as it hurts to say, to think about. His strong arms, the way he’d buy her pretty dresses and make her feel special, his teachings, he does love her — he does. He fixed her in ways she didn’t even know were possible, like a mother tiger chewing on the scruff of her cub to make them numb to the sensation, cut the weakness out of her like a surgeon removing a cancer. She’s his daughter, biologically, made from war and violence and all the bloodshed that created her.

But it’s out of love, isn’t it? She’s meant for greatness, that’s what he always said. A purpose, a destiny, to serve the greatest organization in the world; a group that would lead the future of this planet. He wanted the best for her, for her to serve under the highest leader, the wisest mind he could find.

Now the only person she serves is her ballet teacher on weekdays, three pm to seven pm, unless there’s a show or performance that night. This time she gets the part of the black swan, the learned movements practically imprinted into her mind at this point. She’s been practicing for weeks with her friends—

Friends. That’s a funny word. Sounds funny, it’s spelled funny, even the meaning is funny. People who like each other and mutually decide to communicate. Isn’t that called working together? Co-workers? That means teamwork. Daddy used to say teamwork was stupid, it was only for fools who couldn’t get the job done by themselves.

Devotion is what’s important. Strength by oneself, not depending on others. The League — that’s who she was created for. A gift that would take a while to be delivered, hand crafted by her father and molded to be the perfect soldier, yet it would all be worth it in the end if everything went to plan.

Which it didn’t, obviously. Otherwise Cassandra wouldn’t be walking around in the bone-chilling rain at such a late hour in the city of crime of all places.

She actually wouldn’t be in the rain outside at all if her father had his way, so stubborn and demanding that she stay inside. Outside was for training purposes only, and if it wasn’t practice time or drills, she would be cooped up inside the four walls of her bedroom and out of view, hidden and neatly tucked under his roof to never be seen by anyone else. Her existence would remain undetected by the whole world, except for her father and her future owner.

Her whole life has been in that house. Occasionally he would bring her to this big palace she’s seen a few times; she remembers it well. A grand castle with many openings and doors, wide glass panels that shine and glimmer when the light hits them, water flowing in elegant streams along the walkways. Her father holding her hand and bringing her to an older man, kneeling before him like he was a king and his word was god as he would glare at her and her father. It was years ago, her having been about a mere three or four years old the first time they visited that odd place.

The older man didn’t seem happy. A stern, angry look in his emerald eyes, sharp stares and a harsh frown that made the young girl feel like she was hollow, like he saw right through her as if he already owned her soul and knew it. He was above them in every sense of the word. How dare they step into his domain and present her as his new future soldier? A low growl rose in his throat, sour words jutting off his tongue when he did choose to speak.

Disappointed. That’s what he was.

Surprised, somewhat. She could tell. His face could conceal it, but not his body. Not all of it. The man spoke in disbelief, proclaiming that what he saw was not what he desired. Weak and little, she couldn’t protect a flower if the wind blew too hard. That it was a disgrace to his honour and league, a serious blow that he would not stand for.

Her father took the criticism with a tense clench of his jaw. Promised that over time, they’d see the true nature of her. A blessing in disguise, that his theory of one true language was real. With a dismissive gesture, the older man in the royal green cloak had shooed them away, sent them home and moved on to more important matters as if they were just an annoyance he was glad to be rid of.

Daddy was harsher after that visit. Meaner, but only in the ways that mattered. Almost all, she realizes when she recalls the events. Their usual relax after work time where he’d fix himself a drink and watch as she showed him her favourite moves she’s been learning became a breeding ground of anxiety, of what can she gather from his facial expressions today? How does the aura radiating off of him this evening compare to how he is when he drinks? Is his anger the level of slamming cupboards like last time or is it the height of his yelling after a particularly hard training session?

She misses him. It makes her throat tight and her eyes watery when she remembers his larger hand on hers that night, standing behind her.

“One goal tonight. To understand dead,” he had told her firmly, putting the pistol in her hand, the motion practiced and precise. He knew exactly what he was doing, slipping it into her small fingers, lifting her arm to aim at the man he had tied up for a perfect, clear cut target. No possible way to miss unless it’s intentional; and his daughter does not mess up intentionally.

The shot fired before she even knew what was truly going on. She was in the middle of studying the target — an anxious, scared expression, a trembling mouth with a thick piece of tape over it, eyes blindfolded by a piece of torn fabric. Male, Caucasian, dark brown hair cut short, late 30s to early 40s, a birthmark on his neck the shape of an oval, a wedding ring on his left hand, his eyebrows furrowed in worry and panic as a wet tear falls down his cheek—

BANG!

Terror, and then.. nothing. Dead, as her father had said.

Her fingers sting from where he’s forced them down, pulling on her and the trigger at the same time. She is a trigger, isn’t she? Not quite, she’s more so the gun. Her master would’ve been the trigger, at the end of the day. That’s her job, to follow orders and do as she’s told.

And yet, she’s here. In the pouring rain, her feet had brought her to where her mind has momentarily forgotten, approaching the dance studio’s entrance to greet her friends with a wave. Thanks to Gotham’s funding and support, she’s been one of the lucky students to join without paying for the class since she’s been assumed to be “lower class.” What a strange fascination adults have with money.

She can see the other girls in their designated groups, getting ready and dressed extra early in case anyone has a wardrobe malfunction. Their shoulders scream tense, worried, the teacher’s frantic as she spots the young girl. Her dark blue eyes are wide and antsy, graciously bringing the girl inside with a gentle hand on her back, her voice softly scolding her for being wet and requesting a girl nearby retrieve a towel for them.

She’s a mother. The teacher is, Cass noted weeks ago. From the cracked nails and the scratches on her arms, it’s not from a pet, but a child. A toddler, if the bags under her eyes say anything — and they do. At least, to Cassandra. She was confused the other day when the slightly older girls just found out the woman had her second child. Wasn’t it obvious? The maternity leave, the small bump that would grow over time, how she was so busy both before and after work with her husband constantly dropping by to visit her and make sure she was okay?

It was so glaringly obvious. She’s come to realize that some people are oblivious like that. Not in a bad way, but naturally. Innocent, naive, whatever you’d like to call it. The other children are not raised like her, not taught the same things. That’s..

bad, if she looks at it from her father’s viewpoint. Everyone should know how to defend themselves, and reading the people around you is a survival skill, it’s about as important as food and water. About as essential as the air we breathe; if you aren’t careful, someone could take yours and end it then and there. That’s why it’s so critical. Observe and react accordingly, and no one will be able to catch you off guard.

However, if she looks at it from her viewpoint (she figured she’s allowed to have an opinion if she’s going to be on her own), then it’s.. ok. Not everyone is amazing at everything and besides, humans all over the world know different languages. So what if she can understand one fluently? All the other girls can do things she can’t.

They can read real words without getting confused. They can speak and sing and talk to each other so casually it burns, her own shame rising up in her chest when she realizes that she can’t even compete with their basic skills. But it’s a part of life. It’s nothing to be upset over, it’s just something to acknowledge and learn from, even if it’s aggravating to attempt to study. The letters move all the time, frolicking around the page like they don’t have a job to be doing—

“—like a wet cat! You’re lucky you’re cute,” her teacher warns with the tone a tired mother might use, drying off the girl’s dark hair with the fluffy towel she was brought.

Cass isn’t fully sure if the analogy is correct, but it’s what she can assume based on what she’s observed of the mothers who visit the class to support their kids. Her own mother was never around much. Occasionally when she’d stay up way later than she should in secret, she’d look out the window of her bedroom and see her mother stand in the driveway.

Watching, waiting, but never entering the house. Her tall, lean figure, poised like a silent venomous threat to anyone who dares approach her. Perhaps that’s why her father never ventured outside to greet her. The only reason the girl knew it was her mother outside was because of the way her father looked at the woman. 

The loud sound of a rip! can be heard from the selection of students off to the right of Cassandra and her teacher. A fellow member’s outfit had torn down her side, a product of the wrong size. Her mentor sighs, hanging her head temporarily before calling for one girl specifically.

“Barbara! Honey, can you get Ms. Cassandra ready please?” She asks, looking back to see the red head approaching them, her own outfit on and laced up properly. The correct size, thankfully, unlike the other swan’s who will now need an outfit exchange. 

“I’ve got it, Ms. Lockley. One black swan, coming up!” The older girl smiles, offering her hand to the smaller child as she takes the towel with her other. Cassandra meets her gesture, placing her hand into the teenager’s. The ballerina leads the soon-to-be-swan into the prep rooms, makeup splayed out on the vanity tables with plenty of mirrors around to view their appearances, checking that nothing’s out of order.

“You and the rain, I swear,” Barbara laughs, letting the girl sit down in the chair in front of her. The redhead’s hands use the towel to dry her friend’s wet hair, doing her best to make her look presentable for a Gotham stage. “You know the rules. We gotta brush it and put it up! Can’t let you go on stage with a lion’s mane,” she teases, a smile pulling at her lips as she watches the younger girl offer her the hairbrush.

Cassandra is.. unique, the teen thinks. They had met a few months ago, Barbara noticing the quiet girl in the street by the studio. Lingering, but never stopping her or getting in her way. She’s seen the child play with the alley cats sometimes, and that’s about the best way Barbara can describe her friend — a stray cat. Shy, skittish, flinches easily, but once she warms up to someone, she’s absolutely wonderful. Endearing and charming in her own way, with that adorable little head tilt of hers that reminds the teen of a lost owl.

She remembers meeting her in the space between the good Chinese restaurant and the cafe that afternoon, seeing the girl smile at the pack of kittens she had found. When Barbara tried to introduce herself, the young girl had fled the scene. No problem, the teen has faced bigger challenges before. Maybe she came off too strong?

She had tried again the next day, this time bringing a can of cat food. Seeing the black haired child sit beside the mama cat, the redhead had offered the cat food by leaving it at the end of the alley, keeping distance but offering a token of friendship. Cassandra was hesitant, but eventually accepted, slowly making her way towards the food and showing it to the kittens after she examined it.

Their relationship only grew from there. Barbara would sit with her both before and after class, seeing her watch through the windows when Ms. Lockley would teach a new combination of moves. Afterwards, they’d play together at the playground or visit Barbara’s house, coloring in her room or letting the teen read out loud to let her friend experience the stories she had once done before.

Barbara could tell things were off right away. No parents, a girl only eight years old (according to Cassandra), who can’t read, write, or speak. Major red flags, all of it. Not Cassandra’s fault of course, but Barbara couldn’t help but ask where her parents were.

The only answer she got is that Cassandra was a runaway. That she loves her dad, but sometimes he does bad things. And no, unfortunately Cass would not elaborate anymore than that vague statement, and only then, she had to write it with very simple words that Barbara had taught her. Seriously, the little girl didn’t even know how to hold a pencil correctly! When she tried the first time, she held it like it was a weapon!

The teen can still picture the image in her head from that day: “daddy do bad things, makes me sad :(“ written in extremely shaky handwriting on the whiteboard they had gotten her, paired with the shameful look the young girl wore. This is the same method they had used to learn her name and how old she was — very wobbly chicken scratch on a whiteboard. 

Barbara had lied to her father. Not the first time, but still. Saying that Cass was a friend from school, an exchange student who was still learning English, who didn’t have an excellent home life due to absent parents. It’s not that big of a lie, right? Either way, it allowed Cass to hang out at their house without suspicion and spend the night with them frequently, and it’s not like her dad was around enough to see much of the two anyway. Always busy with work, she told her friend. Cass had reluctantly agreed with a knowing frown, writing on the board: “my daddy two.”

Words aren’t needed. Not when they have so many gestures. They’re definitely helpful, but needed? Not quite. Barbara likes to talk anyway though to help Cass feel included, narrating everything from doing her hair and styling it into a neat bun with a shiny silver clip, to doing her makeup and patting her cheeks with a light coating of blush.

“There we go! So pretty!” She praises with a grin, moving out the way to let her friend view her reflection. Her eyeshadow is done all smoky eyed and she can’t help the smile that seeps into her normally blank expression.

“Do you like it?” The redhead asks, standing behind her friend and leaning down to see both of them in the reflective glass. This, Cassandra decides, she prefers much more than her father behind her.

Today she’ll be good. Not her guardian’s type of good, leaning how to better inflict pain onto victims or counter attack quicker than anyone’s ever seen, no. Not right now. She’s gonna be good and entertain a crowd and most importantly—

Cass nods, earning a delighted squeal from her best friend. “Ahhh! We’re gonna do so good! Oh, come on! We gotta help the others!” The excited teen rambles, taking Cassandra’s hand and bringing her back to their class. “I got these friends that are gonna watch our show and my dad should be there tonight!”

Barbara is popular, Cass has realized. Someone is always looking for her, whether it be her father or her teachers or her other friends, she knows a lot of people. It would make Cass jealous, if it didn’t look so overwhelming. Being popular seems to take a lot of her own private time away, and the only real time she gets to settle down and relax is at night.

Cass knows what it’s like to work all day. Train, practice, memorize moves like it’s a prayer God will be testing her on tomorrow morning. It’s not easy, but it becomes routine, simple in and out, eventually evening out to simplify to something akin to breathing. Different situations and skills between the two, but a similar scenario of life.

School, after school classes, chores, homework, and then nighttime — that’s Barbara’s schedule, from what she’s told Cass. The redhead never told her friend what she does at night, but it’s okay. She doesn’t have to. The black haired girl already knows.

She’s seen her friend in action, stalking through the shadows late nights when she’s got nothing better to do and can’t seem to settle down. When she hears the police sirens, follows the loud sound and finds a stopped robbery with a proud Batgirl outside the store, the young girl knows who it is without even needing to hear the voice of the vigilante.

The way this “Batgirl” has her hands placed on her hips. The way she stands, so confident but ready to act at the drop of a pin. Their neck with a mole on the top left by her jaw. How she tilts her head just slightly to the right, but starts to turn and instead paces around as she walks the officers through her recap of the crime.

That’s Babs. 100%. The voice only confirms the theory. With nothing else to do, the little night owl occasionally grazes in the shadows around Batgirl, studying her actions in an effortless hush, silenced footsteps and a quiet stare. The costumed girl is kind and caring, gentle in the ways that she’s seen her friend act in class.

Regardless, it’s safe to say the silent ballerina got a new nighttime hobby. Is it stalking? Maybe, but it’s not for anything bad, no malicious intent lies in her actions at the end of the day.

She wants to be around her friend. It’s stupid and it’s silly, she knows that, but it’s like she craves the comfort she gets from the older girl.

It’s a ridiculous thing, really. Father said comfort is only for weak people, for those who are too sensitive to survive the world. That anyone who needed it or depended on it would perish quickly without the company of others to baby them.

Yet she can’t help but follow from a safe distance. Soothing, like when she was smaller and would sleep with her favourite blanket, letting daddy tuck her into bed for an adequate amount of sleep for a good performance in battle the next day. See? He does love her. He was good to her. Maybe all of this was a mistake..

There’s no time for that now. No time to think like that at all.

Getting ready and going to their show, the group dance goes phenomenally. Turns out Barbara’s dad did indeed manage to make the show, sitting in the front row with a family, a queer group of people, the sum of them being two adult males and two younger boys. Fancy suits, luxury fabrics that radiate the energy of we’re too expensive for you, yet their faces maintain a warm smile with the two adults seated by Jim looking funnily enough satisfied with the girl’s performance.

Cass looks into the crowd with a hopeful gaze when the spotlight is on the white swan and not her, giving this black swan a momentary pause to see the crowd more clearly. Her eyes scan the faces of strangers, both elites and common people coming together to observe the performance.

She doesn’t see her father.

Part of her is disappointed. Maybe it’s for the best.

She distracts herself, her focus returning to the family she saw before. The part that confuses Cassandra about the specific group is that.. well, the family doesn’t have a child in the performance. Jim has Barbara, sure, but who does the other family have?

Nobody, turned out to be the answer, told to her by Babs after the show ends. Right, they came to support Babs, Cass remembers, but still, it’s confusing. Why cheer on a race horse that isn’t yours? Are they betting on Barbara to fail? Why come to celebrate some other family’s achievements and not just.. develop your own achievement, craft someone to win and prop them up on stage yourself? Her father would’ve disapproved of this peculiar notion. 

After the ending poses are struck, the applause fills the theatre, echoing loudly around the ancient building. Celebrating backstage, the younger girl sits down with her friend happily rambling beside her.

“Did you see him? That was Jason! He’s the youngest kid the Wayne’s have, but they’re super nice! They’ve been letting me stay over at their house when Dad gets too busy—“

Cass gently adjusts her friend’s strap that was falling from her shoulder. Her best friend smiles and continues as if nothing in the world was wrong.

“And Dick, you’d like him! He’s loud, but he’s really funny! Bruce Wayne is their dad, and he’s got this like, suuuuper big house that’s got a million rooms in it! Oh, and a butler, and I think they got a dog too! I haven’t been able to go over in a minute, but they—“

“My little girl!”

Jim proudly rushes through the busy staff area, coming up to his daughter and scooping her up in his arms, peppering her face with dozens of well-earned kisses.

“You did so, so good out there! Awh, you make me the proudest! My little girl is so talented!”

It’s funny, in a way. If Cassandra’s father were here, he might find amusement in her practicing childish routines and dances, but.. to be proud of it? That’s nonsense. It’s nothing more than learning and practicing, picking up simple combinations and timing them correctly with musical beats. Irrelevant and not even close to being nearly as important as her real work or being a true soldier.

She couldn’t help but look for her parent, whether it’s an instinct for her to count people in the room including him or not, she senses his absence. A part of her still seems to ache for his hugs and rare praise. However, the rest of her remains in its’ wish to be free, to stay on stage and perform, even if it’s minute and will never matter in the long run.

It’s not world changing, and thank god it’s not life changing. She wouldn’t be able to handle that again.

The family from before has now entered the room, smiling and shaking hands with the teachers and managers. That man, the older one, he reads calm and steady. Self assured with a familiar voice. His boys, too different to be twins, are fiddling with the schedule lists by the door, reading off which future group dances will be performed and when.

The older one of the two is younger than Barbara, his body lean with muscle. A gymnast like Babs, if she had to guess. He moves so fluidly, so lightly that she can recognize the pattern of trained feet anywhere.

The younger one, messier hair with paler skin, has a few bruises and bumps, but it doesn’t look like anything severe. She would suspect abuse or mistreatment with how she’s seen people act around the city, but looking at the kids and their parent..

They read completely relaxed. Loose and happy, well fed and well dressed, clean and tidied up for the occasion. Like expertly groomed cats, one with zoomies, hyper and spastic as the other calmly chats with Babs, staying by the people he’s familiar with.

Something is too familiar though. Locking eyes with the man, the figure and build is so close to being what she sees when the sun goes down, the nocturnal creature that flies above her and communicates with her friend when she dons her cape and cowl.

His language is.. well, basic, to put it bluntly. Easy going shoulders with a casual grin, a playful tap on the arm to whoever he’s talking to, a ditzy bump into a table that’s absolutely on purpose but disguised as accidental and somehow everyone believes it and laughs or being respectful to the women of the group and giving an extra step back. Holding doors and complimenting the ballerinas, he acts polite, he seems good, but those shoulders of his seem to hold a fair amount of muscle underneath the pristine, freshly pressed suit. He can try to hide it all he wants, but there’s a certain posture that just screams I’m not who I seem. 

But who knows? Maybe she’s looking too far into it. After all, a man being a bat is crazy, even if it’s in part of its’ name. It doesn’t help though when the man doesn’t break eye contact with her and a flash of concern hits him before he can hide it.

He’s recognized her. That’s what happened in the millisecond before he masked it. He’s good at hiding his emotions, she’ll give him that, but she’s better. Has to be better or else she wouldn’t have survived this long on her own. There’s concern in those light blue eyes of his, but if he’s anything like the other elites here (according to the behaviours she’s studied from the wealthy and powerful locally), then he most likely won’t say anything. 

It’s still a notable thing though. Not many people ever notice her, let alone recognize her.

“And who is this?” The man asks softly, doing his best to appear gentle and at ease as he approaches the group. His boys are still playing with the papers, asking something about classes to the teacher nearby. The adult’s hands are open by his sides, no gestures of aggression so far; giving her room to settle in his presence, it’s like he’s talking to a skittish fawn more than a person. He’s kneeled down in front of them, leaving plenty of room between them.

“This is Cassie! She’s my best friend!” Babs laughs, her father kissing her cheek one last time before setting her back down on the ground. “Cass, come say hi!” She urges gently, offering her hand to the girl.

The black haired girl nods and accepts, standing before the man and looking up at him. Round dark eyes scan him almost robotically like he’s a specimen in a lab study, only kept in her presence so that she can understand him better.

She has seen him before. She will not point it out, but she mentally acknowledges this fact. 

He’s got a shiny wedding ring with a gem she’s never seen before. Bright and sparkly, the silver around it thick and smooth. Married, most likely to the man standing beside the kids. Tan, built bigger, stronger, hiding his muscles under the clothing he’s in, a semiformal dress shirt that’s too big for him with his tie crooked enough to tell her that he just put it on, and in a hurry too. Blue eyes on both adults, the taller one wearing a set of newly fixed glasses, obvious by the repaired crack in the middle of them. Put back together and fixed, a curious choice for a family so well off money wise. He stops by the boys and listens to the teacher talking to them, his interest captured for the moment.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Cassie,” the rich man says with a soft smile, offering his hand for what she can tell is a handshake, a momentary agreement of peace for mutual benefit.

She does not shake his hand. He will not have her peace. He will however receive her blank stare, her onyx eyes glaring daggers like she’s trying to pierce through him, although most adults who see her do this particular look cast it off as shyness. She’s betting on the strong 80% chance that everyone around her will use the same excuse as before and pardon her, writing her off as a quiet child that’s too skittery for her own good.

“Cass is mute,” Babs explains, watching the man retract his hand with an understanding nod. “She doesn’t talk. She can still understand us though!”

“Ahh, I see,” he replies patiently, carefully moving up out of his lowered position with a subtle wince that tells the black swan that he’s got an injury on his left side. “She did very well tonight. You both did! I can’t believe Gotham has such great dancers!”

The injured man looks at Cass. She looks back. This is a stare off, but his gaze isn’t angry or mean. Not mocking or trying to hide an insult; not from what she can tell anyway. His words sound sincere. It’s.. nice.

Cass nods. She approves of him. For now.

“Thank you,” Babs delightfully replies, babbling away at something to her friends and calling them over to greet Cass.

“Oh, I like your tutu! They’re pretty!” The older boy comments, a carefree, fun expression on his face as he comes to the group. “Your shoes are pointy at the end. Do they hurt to dance on? Barbara says they don’t but I don’t know—“

Oh good lord, he yaps like the redhead. Ok, not a bad thing. It’s stimulating, a lot of noise going on in the room at once, but it’s not too much. She can handle it. She’s gotten used to her best friend’s rambling but two of them at once is new. And when they mix match back and forth in the conversation, it’s a mess of voices. Both children appear content though and the adults of the group seem more than willing to let them chatter onwards. Gordon talks to the rich man — Wayne, if Cass had to guess, the father that Babs had described before countless times — while the younger boy takes a shy step forwards.

“I think you looked really cool out there,” he mutters quietly, his head tilted downwards as he plays with the floor beneath him like it’s the most interesting thing ever. His eyes don’t dare to look up and it’s then that Bruce glimpses over and realizes something.

His youngest son is bashful when it comes to making friends.

When it comes to adults, sure, the kid will mouth off like it’s nobody’s business, but that’s a defence mechanism. It always has been. Now that he’s got real adults who actually take care of him and love him, that’s been fading away and they’ve got to the soft inner personality of the boy — all playful and emotional and squishy, like Dick, only a little less loud and a little bit more anxious when it comes to sudden noises.

But when it comes to other kids his age.. that’s where Bruce’s children differ.

Dick loves the attention. The spotlight is always on him and he craves it, being in the bright view of the circus from birth, put up on stages and learned how to walk on balance beams and tightropes.

Jason, however, did not grow up like that. He didn’t have the positive attention. In fact, any attention was usually bad. People would yell, run him off when he tried to find food or scraps in the trashed streets, call CPS when they saw him alone or even try to kidnap him. It was tough for the boy, more than Bruce had initially assumed.

There’s not a cure to a bad childhood, but there is ways of coping with it. Ways to heal and recover, and that’s what they’ve been doing, yet when Jason stands beside this girl he’s only known for two seconds thanks to a brief introduction, he’s as timid as a mouse.

Cass can tell his background from his stance. Most children are talkative, she’s found. Always rambling on without a clue in the world — no idea about confusing social cues or misinterpretation of speech. Adults love to do that, paint lies as pretty compliments and fake smiles, but not normally children. When they are rarely shy due to different personality traits, they aren’t necessary this jittery. They don’t usually flinch like he does when someone he doesn’t recognize gets too close. The way the boy lingers around his parent blatantly states I need the reassurance.

She sees his language. He’s skinny, some muscle underneath, but not enough to be an immediate concern. He is not a threat to anyone here, and if he ever was, she could handle it. In return to his mousy demeanour, she does her best to reciprocate — to show interest back.

“Mh.”

It’s a soft noise, a very hushed and faint sound that emits from her throat. An easy hum to show yes, I’m acknowledging you and yes, I’m tolerating you. Continue. To further assist him, she even looks at him and nods her head, a sign for go on. Your turn.

The look on his face almost makes the girl smile. Almost. It’s a cross between bewilderment and astonishment, like he’s shocked she could even make that noise. Being totally honest, she’s a little stunned herself. She’s constantly silent, only really using nods or shakes of her head paired with the periodic hand gesture — not that anyone in particular had complained about it, but still. She doesn’t communicate like everyone else.

His face cracks into a smile, his hands moving from his pockets to out in front of him as he plays with his hands. He’s nervous, fidgeting but never addressing it. Social anxiety, she predicts. Easily readable in children, more common in younger people than adults.

In his mind, he’s gotten a noise of approval and he’s taking it! She’s nice and she does ballet! What if she likes reading too? Or drawing! He’s got a new paint set he could share with her from his birthday. That’d be fun!

“My name is Jason,” he states, just a touch bolder now that he’s feeling brave. “It’s nice to meet you. We came to support Barbara.”

A nod. She’s listening.

“We have a book club. We meet up when our dads aren’t too busy.”

Another hum. Curious, interested, and innocent in nature. The new presence goes from a possible threat to a non-hostile rather quickly. No weapons, no aggression or fast movements.

Mr. Wayne looks over, sees the two talking away (or rather, Jay excitedly telling the girl about his dad’s at-home library) and smiles, giving an approving glance.

The dance went well. Cass has a good day, aside from the amount of noise when people leave the theatre. It’s always so noisy and when the clicks of shoes all hit the ground at once, it can be a bit overstimulating — only for a few seconds though, most talk in small cliques and then break off into the crowd leaving. Her teacher gives her a hug and praises the team of swans, rewarding them with a set of new hair clips and ribbons she had found at the store the other day, promising to let them wear them next time during practice.

The studio closes. The front doors shut, locking up as her teacher gently urges her to go home and get some rest for next time, reminding her one last time what a good job she did.

Why do adults repeat themselves so much? Why do they give praise after praise for something so inconsequential, so insignificant and minor? It’s minuscule compared to other achievements in the world, all the real work she could be doing. So why praise her for a simple dance? She doesn’t quite understand it, but she does give one last thankful nod before exiting the building as requested.

The rain has stopped luckily, the streets damp with puddles for her to splash in, a mirrored behaviour she’s seen plenty of other children do. The act, to her, is.. new. Why splash in it? It’s water, an easy concept to grasp. It does not move in its puddle form, still and calm until someone—

sploosh!

A hint of amusement creeps its’ way up onto her usual stoic face. Maybe it’s the sudden movement that’s so amusing? She won’t lie, it took a while to realize what other people were doing when they played in the water, but from her understanding, it appears that they merely enjoy the sound or splash of it. A straightforward, painless pleasure, taking a minute to enjoy something her past life wouldn’t have allowed her to.

Plus her teacher can see her through the windows. If this helps to sell the act of “I’m an innocent little girl, don’t suspect anything,” then Cass can indulge for a second. Last thing she needs are those crazed people who chase after children to put them in those overpacked orphanages. She could fight the workers off, but she would rather not be violent if she can help it. Besides, she has other plans tonight.

Looking up, she hears the chirping of exactly the creature she was hoping to find. For someone so hidden during the day, he is an awful predator at night. Stealth is important, not random noises squawked out into the night as if to announce here we come! It could be significant though.. perhaps a clan’s call? A big group signal? A flock’s way of picking prey?

She will investigate this matter and find out the truth.

Walking down the street to appear as though she’s going home to fool her sweet teacher, she slips into any alleyway and with everyone already gone home, she’s free to kick off the wall, onto a dumpster, and grab the pipe above it on the wall, pulling herself up and moving onto the ledge of an apartment window. With the lights off inside the home, she’s quick to effortlessly jump again, propelling herself up to a fire escape.

Getting up to the rooftops is no problem. Parkour was probably one of the most fun training routines she used to perform back home, scaling things just to learn how to climb down and descend properly. It hurts when things go wrong or her foot missteps, but it’s a lesson, as anything going wrong is. Keep your balance and move forward and maybe you won’t break an ankle this time like she did when she was five. She knows what to do.

Her goal tonight isn’t anything too complicated. Gotham has a.. questionable vigilante apparently, that everyone seems to constantly gasp or gawk at, so excuse her for being a littttle curious about it. She thought it was total nonsense. Come on, seriously? A bat creature comes out at night and just, what, saves people? Stops crime? That’s not real, Cass would know. She has always been taught to dismiss fantasy, as it has no real meaning or purpose. Its’ only true existing concept is to entertain silly children who can’t handle the real, harsh world around them — a coping mechanism, like daydreaming or affection. They’re nice, yes, but not needed, and definitely not essential. The girl has been fit to survive without any of those inferior subjects.

What convinced her was seeing it in action. Hearing Babs chat on and on about how it’s 100% real, and how she’s seen it herself, the redhead came up with some lie she thought was undoubtably convincing (it would’ve been to everyone else, but not Cass) about how she was near a robbery (not specifying that she was helping stop it) when she saw the creatures come down was a starting point. Fake, the black haired girl first assumed when she heard the details — the largest with a pitch black body, presumed to be the oldest as it’s been around the longest, trailed and followed by two brightly colored human-bird hybrids, fully equipped with wings puffed up and most likely too big for their body, all of them chirping as a way to communicate. Easily a ploy to rob someone or scare Gothamites away from wherever someone doesn’t want them to go, but then Barbara added that they help citizens, not hurt them.

Cass did not verbally respond to the story, however, if she could, she would probably ask how Babs got so many details from seeing them (according to the redhead) only once. Blowing it off, she figured it had nothing to do with her and instead focused on her ballet classes, finding food, and avoiding the views of anyone too concerned who might call the police when seeing her all alone. Then one night as she’s walking back to the abandoned apartment building she’s come to call home, she hears it.

A mugging, happening on the road to the right of her. Her dress sways with the wind as she covers her head with her arms, hearing something flying above her.

She looks up and there it is, standing in the way and blocking her from view. Tall with obsidian wings curling in on itself, two sharp points on its head, it really does resemble a bat as her friend had told her.

It stays in its’ place, the attacker making a shocked noise at the sudden appearance. Well known, Cassandra guesses, causing fear so widely that it immediately inflicts it the second it appears, an inhuman being that spooks anyone it’s near. The thing hasn’t even moved yet and the offender is wary.

A stupid move, she thinks, immediately showing its back to her. It’s not like the criminal was going to hurt her too, and even if he tried, she could handle it. Regardless, the creature acts in a protective manner, shielding and guarding her. 

But that’s not very animalistic, is it? To constantly interact with humans in such a manner? Even if this was an animal hiding another species’ young, it’s bizarre, abnormal. No, she knows, it’s something more.

Just as she’s making her move to back up and flee, two other smaller beings do indeed drop down from seemingly nowhere to land on the attacker, the other one helping the victim onto the other side of the street. The bat watches, nodding slowly as it takes a careful step away from the girl, eyeing her like it’s checking in.

Again, not a very animal thing to do. Three things are happening at the same time here: something is going on, she’s not in on it, and for once, it doesn’t seem bad.

Not like when things would progress through training, she was told something would happen and next thing she knows, she’s suddenly a murderer of all things, no. This was a good thing that happened, and although she doesn’t know quite what’s going on, she appreciates it. Usually Gotham, from what she’s observed, is full of crime, hostility, or weird fake rich people. This was different, in a positive way.

That doesn’t mean she isn’t suspicious though.

She’s got plenty of free time, pleeenty of time to look around and be nosy. Technically she doesn’t have any missions and when Barbara is at school and Cass isn’t being babysat by Jim, she’s free to wander wherever she likes.

And she has. So far, she’s gathered this:

Firstly, they are not wild animals. The general public seems to think they are, but no, no, not wild.

Possibly tamed and trained? Yes. This is a lot more likely. She was quick to jump on the “no way, that’s fake” train when she heard about them, but when she saw it in person with a first eye view of the bat’s wings?

There’s muscles, even veins pumping through it! It’s leathery and tough, but not too thick or too thin, this is precise, the kind of precision only nature can make. That’s not paint, it’s genuine pigment accompanied by conscious movement underneath, like a limb extending and adjusting, the top bone rotating to fit its position.

So no, it is not fake. The feral part, on the other hand, appears to be. Just a rumour, as Gothamites love to do. Now, on the other hand, the children..

She’s not sure. She didn’t get to see them upclose and personal like she did with the bat. They definitely look younger, tinier in general size with feathers, but there’s no patchiness. No feathers are missing, none fall off with some tacky glue underneath to expose some elaborate ruse, no. None of that was there, plus the different parts of the wings expand and flex just like any of the pigeons she feeds. That kind of movement is so hard to copy realistically, it would be nearly impossible if they were fake.

The big one is composed. Acts cool and quiet, calm and collected. The.. strange bird children are not. They look human, but in funny costumes, which momentarily kicked her back into the “this is a prank, it has to be” boat, but alas, wrong again.

Their eyes are white. Solid white, like the bats. And sure, the outside of their eyes has a surrounding red hue and has an outline where the pigment dissolves into their natural skin color, which could be a mask, right? It appears not. It doesn’t poke up anywhere like most masks do. So maybe it’s glued on?

Nope. She saw the bigger bird literally do a backflip off of a street lamp, land on the crook, and the damn thing never moved. If these people are flying around and fighting for hours on end, a mask surely would’ve moved at least once. 

Is it fake? Possibly, but if it is, whoever made that “mask” deserves a raise. Could be paint, but still, whatever paint lasts through that much movement throughout an entire night deserves an award. Not a single visible smudge or mark to show that it was fake or drawn on.

The littler one is more defensive of the victim, standing in the way and protecting them similarly to how the bat was blocking Cass from view, she recalls in her memory. This indicates a training or an instinct, considering that their whistles and chirps come after they’ve assumed their positions. They weren’t told where to stand beforehand, this was practiced. 

Werecreatures is a possibility, a metahuman with dormant genes until night hits seems like the correct choice. That must be the case, but even so, the way these things move, they’re definitely trained. She had made a mental note to herself to check the local karate training places, boxing rings, fight clubs, etc to see if any of the fighters move like this.

Nobody in any of those places did. Not until she saw Bruce Wayne for the first time.

So now she’s out here waiting to confirm her theory: Bruce Wayne is Batman, whether he knows it or not that the media is making him out to be a mysterious hero. The “he can’t control it” idea is blatantly false seeing as how he still has his morals even when he’s not quite himself. Judging by that, he shouldn’t hurt her, as he hasn’t hurt any child in Gotham.

No reports of Batman or his Robins hurting people. Crazy, isn’t it? Almost like someone who knows what they’re doing. Only criminals have been targeted, cut by talons or stuck by whatever device the creatures use which by the way, why the fuck does nobody ever mention that??

She might’ve snuck into police headquarters one time when Jim fell asleep watching her doodle in her coloring book he bought her, but in all fairness, he left the keys in the open, so technically it’s his fault. Sneaking by the distracted officers was no problem, it was a late night and everyone was busy, but the amount of footage they have on the creatures isn’t much. She had to dig to find any, but it was there.

Security camera videos of a fight with Poison Ivy after she escaped Arkham again, something about “claiming revenge” on a “shitty, two faced, lying son of a—!” ex (Cass will have to look into that one in the future too). But there, the tiny ball that the darker colored Robin had dropped onto a vine, electrocuting the greenery and therefore shocking Ivy herself in the process.

Raccoons don’t do that shit. Cats, as smart as they are and as much as they love toys, have never made or used an electric ball, especially to chase away pests they don’t like. So why can a bat and two birds?

Metahumans. A werebat and his two bird kids. Okay, fun. Her idea is proved correct once more.

Scanning the rooftop she stands on, she.. doesn’t see anything suspicious. A good thing, yes, but not quite what she’s looking for. She could either wait for a crime to happen, make one herself, or..

She takes a few steps closer to the edge. Hops up onto the trim of the building’s top, one foot hovers over the ledge, and she lets herself fall forward.

She will be the crime tonight. An oh no, save meeee! situation that the bat loves to step into.

If this works, she meets the bat or possibly a robin. Hopefully not Batgirl because she does not need Babs out here thinking that Cass is lost or scared and tries to take her back home to Gordon’s house while pretending she doesn’t know her. That’s just counterproductive for everyone.

If it doesn’t work and nobody comes, she can easily catch herself. Her father had trained her extensively to avoid injuries from extreme heights.

She is confident in her knowledge of how to safely maneuverer herself if no one provides aid the same way her parents watched her take her first steps without offering their hands.

Cassandra Cain does not fold under pressure, even if she applies it to herself. If only she knew that she didn’t have to.

Chapter Text

Bruce, at the current moment, has nearly shit himself, because what in the seven shades of Gotham fuckery is going on.

It’s been a long day, ok? He got up extra early today due to some politicians spamming his phone line. Not ideal, but whatever, he can manage some uh huh’s and okay, whatever you say’s for a bit as he’s waking up. Then he has to rush to get dressed and hurry to Wayne Enterprises for some anniversary of the company he can barely remember.

His ass is sore from sitting for hours in some supposedly oh so soft chair that turns out to be a ruse of a purchase, zoning out during the most boring, unnecessary business meetings anyone could possibly come up with, things so simple you don’t even need a meeting and if you did, you probably shouldn’t be working with highly flammable chemicals. A safety guide review for factory workers that play scientist should probably know what they’re doing BEFORE they enter the job position! Why would “do not eat the product” have to be in the corner of every slide?? What’s the clearance level for their positions again?!

Okay, but no. It’s fine, it makes him sigh and wonder who the hell his company is hiring, but it’s whatever. He’ll.. pay for more lunch breaks. Less of a chance someone breaks an arm trying to play on the conveyor belts or feels a little silly one afternoon and munches on a piece of radiation if they’re on a lunch break, right? So far, he’s fallen asleep about four times this morning alone, only once successfully getting a nap of about fifteen minutes in between meetings, business proposals, and slideshows. 

He manages out of his personal limo into the front yard of his home at the very end of his work day and he’s free! Until his back cracks and reminds him that he’s 31 years old as of a month ago. Damn it. Or maybe it’s from being thrown by Bane into a lamppost so hard the metal broke under his weight the other day. He hates the fact that that video of the previously mentioned incident went trending, but even he can admit it was a good throw. Honestly it could be either, but he’s really hoping for the second option. The idea of aging isn’t exactly ideal, especially with these two boys swarming at his weary ankles like bitey little chihuahuas that have chewed through their last toy and won’t last another minute without some affection.

He’s a good dad. He throws his kids around, in a loving way of course! Teases them, reads to them, even lets them into the personal way too big to be reasonable pool outside and sword fight with the pool noodles. Dick thomps his brother on the head with the neon green styrofoam he’s chosen, recovering from the bright orange noodle that had thonked his cheek moments ago until Bruce finds his own hot pink water noodle and jumps into the battle.

He’s not around too much during the day, and that eats at him, even if he doesn’t openly say it. His boys deserve someone present and attending, so he does his best to make up for it. Comes home and anytime he gets the chance, asks Alfred how their day was — all of them. What their favourite colors are, have they changed from last week? While Bruce himself might not be cooking their favourite meals everyday, he does take the time to learn which ones are preferred and offer them when his kids are sad or hangry. He pays attention to how they like their schedules, which games or exercises they like best, little details even down to how they like their beds made, which plushies or toys go in the correct order so that they’re in proper place. 

And to his husband, he makes sure to direct his attention onto him as well, although it’s hard not to with how the Kryptonian practically plops himself down either beside or behind his partner to paw at him for love or attention. He won’t sit in the way or demand it, but he will stay and quietly rub the billionaire’s back in hopes the bat will reciprocate the closeness back. Clark shows love by touching. Closeness and kindness in words and gentle kisses on soft weekend mornings. Cuddles in bed while watching some sappy cliche movie he saw with his family years ago.

While Bruce is.. okay on romantic touch, he’s not as cuddly as his partner. Instead, he tries his hardest to show he cares in other ways. Last weekend, he had hacked into the Fortress of Solitude’s systems (which might’ve taken a good bit of time, not that he’d admit it. Kryptonians have a unique way of programming things, but he’s not called the world’s best detective for nothing) to study everything and anything he could find. Their alphabet, the lost in space language which then opened a whole new pathway of Kryptonian history and Jesus, these people really sent baby Clark down to Earth with a lot of information. Why would he need to know about how their economy works?? He was only a few months old when he came down here! What good would that do a baby—

Bruce studies. Eventually one night when they’ve put the kids to sleep (or at least a quiet sleepover in the library because Jason kept wanting one more story and Bruce let him win this fight since it’s a weekend), they’re sitting in bed with the chatter of the TV show playing in the background. The billionaire is leaned back into the Kryptonian who’s currently soaking in the sun from the artificial yellow sun heat lamp Bruce had built him for his birthday, his strong tanned arms wrapped around his husband’s waist. The affectionate reporter lays his head on the businessman’s shoulder, watching him scroll around on their laptop to find a nice possible vacation spot if Gotham’s crime ever takes a second to ease up and let them breath. The billionaire is dying to surrender to sleep and let it overcome him entirely, and his partner definitely isn’t helping acting as a weight blanket, but the philanthropist has goals and work to do today. Sleep is for later when he’s actually achieved everything he needed to. 

It’s out of nowhere when Bruce speaks up in Kryptonian. It comes out not as smooth as the billionaire hoped, but the message was clear: pronunciation precise, practiced like he had repeated it plenty of times before.

“What do you think of this one?” was the meaning translated into English. So casual and nonchalantly slid into the air like it was a candle being lit without another word. The fire could be felt, but it was almost undetectable without paying close enough attention.

For Clark, it was instant recognition: a double take with a grin he couldn’t hide. A laugh of both confusion and oh my god, you did not just?? How??

“When did you learn that?” He can’t help himself in asking, his arms tightening around his partner with a proud purr. “That’s mine! You know— how?? Babe!” Peppering Bruce’s face in bashful kisses, the reporter’s pupils are blown out and the billionaire makes a mental note to further look into the brain functions of the alien species. This type of innocent pleasure and happiness seems to accumulate along with family and friends in their part of the brain, associating everything intimately close with.. in human terms, cuteness aggression. It’s interesting enough to learn about not only for his partner, but also as another planet; that’s a treasure trove of secrets that his partner’s secret base helped unlock. Clark gets an extra kiss for that one.

“Your fortress,” the billionaire answers simply, gratefully accepting the kisses with a smile.

“My fortress— I didn’t even tell you about that yet! I totally forgot, I’m so sorry—“ the reporter stops himself with a puzzled look. “How did you know about it?” He whispers, watching the man he’s infatuated with.

“Tracker on your suit, honey. You never took it off,” Bruce replies, clicking on the option of possibly interested for the Hawaii resort. “So is that a yes on Bora Bora or would we rather Fiji?”

The Kryptonian is speechless. For a moment, Bruce considers he’s broken his spouse or accidentally said some unforgivable words, because the farm boy is just.. frozen in place. Very out of character for someone with a fast paced life of chasing a story one moment, stopping aliens the size of Godzilla the next, and then coming home to a domestic war of two (almost) teenage boys.

Someone took the time to watch both the mild mannered Clark Kent and the bold Superman (totally not because the vigilante was preparing to take him out when they first met), study him (like a specimen in a petri dish, but much more romantic!), take an interest in him (it used to be because Bruce thought he was a threat, but it turned out to be all because he was so deeply in love!), AND study his heritage! (This one was genuinely out of love (and some curiosity)).

And now he’s learned the language that Clark’s only ever heard in his biological parents’ message?! The one that makes his head snap towards the sound in recognition of home? Gosh, Clark got so lucky! His partner is just the darndest sweetest guy around!

“You’re a yes!!”

If the billionaire could compare how he feels to anything in the world right now, it would be the equivalent of a group of children surrounding a kitten in a new home. Everybody wants a piece of him, but it’s all out of love. At night, his presence demands respect and fear; during the day, he’d rather be anything else. To his children, his spouse, his Alfred who always helps him out, his real friends of Lucius at work and that one friendly lady who helps keep stock and does her job properly at Wayne Enterprises, he 100% prefers to be.. this. Squishy and soft and maybe the whole ditzy billionaire act isn’t totally fake, because all these kisses and smooches are doing something to him.

And then it’s night. Fully night, the time when he and the kids go out as the bat and the birds. Trying to get Clark to let go is like getting a puppy off of a new chew toy — he. will. not. let. go. Any other time of the day, Bruce would adore it, but right now he has a job to do and if he’s not there, he can virtually guarantee that someone will go wild, whether it’s someone poisoning the water supply (it’s happened four times alone this month thanks to some trivial debate between Mr. Freeze and Scarecrow) or lighting another greenhouse on fire (Get this, Firefly is being paid by a certain someone due to a domestic dispute to torch anywhere with plants. So far, he’s done a pretty good job of it despite irritated firefighters’ complaints).

“Clark, darling, I have to go,” the billionaire laughs, trying to push away his lover who clings to him like glue. The shiny silver watch and custom made wedding ring shines with affection as his husband shakes his head. 

“Can I come with? Please?” The Kansas man begs, giving his partner an inch away from the bed before dragging him back into the warmth of the bed. 

“No! I go out alone, you know this—“

It is so hard to argue when you’re married to a giant sap. The man sighs, leaning his head back only to get smothered in fondness and doting like a well loved teddy bear. Fine, fine, he can play it this way.

“Kal-El” he coos quietly in the alien language, looking up at him partner, the other’s eyes black with the bright blue color around his pupils barely showing. “If you be good and patrol Metropolis, I can talk to you more like this.”

The foreign speech is the way to win. Thank you Krypton and Kal-El’s parents.

“Oh, that’s so unfair,” Clark whines with a smile, his forehead going to Bruce’s shoulder. The language flows so easily for him, his tongue naturally moving with the sounds he’s listened to on loop for years whenever he craved comfort. “Sweetheart, please. One more hour. Maybe two? You’re so tired, you need sleep anyway! Come back to bed!”

“Ah, I agreed to that an hour ago,” the billionaire replies in English. “Behave and you’ll get your reward.” Feeling the alien reluctantly give up with a defeated whine, he presses one last gentle kiss to his partner’s forehead, muttering the praise of “good boy” and “we’ll be home soon.”

The Bat and his Robins have to keep their privacy. Knowing the lunatics in this crazed city, if they found out that THE Superman had a soft spot for the mysterious creatures, the cryptids would be kidnapped faster than the time the biggest gang leaders in town placed drunk bets on who could steal a Robin first.

That.. did not end well for anyone. Very long, complicated story that resulted in Jason losing his last baby tooth and an unconscious gang laying in the street, crooks dropped off by the Bat’s disgruntled claws in front of the police headquarters to ensure a swift arrest as soon as someone looks out the window to see the shocking sight of the body pile outside. Dick, on the other hand, had somehow hurt his shoulder during a cartwheel and needed assistance, getting manhandled by some older man trying to take advantage of the situation to win the challenge and therefore the prize money. He, similar to the others, ended up in the body pile.

The message was clear: do not touch his babies. Period. And for everyone’s sake, don’t place bets on who could kidnap them first. Seriously, who does that?

Striding to gather the kids in the library, the man is greeted with the sight of his youngest passed out on top of the chapter book he’s been reading with his older brother drooling on his upper back, blankets draped over the both of them. Jason doesn’t seem to mind the extra weight as his sibling snores, all lazy and lax in their cozy spot on the floor, pillows that they must’ve scavenged from around the manor surrounding them.

His adorable babies, bundled up and safe. Kneeling down beside them, he checks on their temperatures with a calloused hand to their foreheads; they’re not too warm and definitely not cold. A large chunk of his mind tells him to just slump onto the floor next to them and give in to the cuddle pile, but he manages to resist. For now. He knows they love going on patrol and punching bad guys, but they’re still growing. Sleep is important, and with a kiss to both of their resting heads, he carefully stands back up, heading for the door with a yawn.

“Kids are with you tonight, grandpa,” he whispers with a teasing look, gently nudging his butler, the older man busy with cleaning up the hallway and collecting the action figures left from playtime hours ago. “My, how generous,” the butler replies with a roll of his eyes and a smile tugging at his lips. “Do have a safe night out there, sir. I would hate to have to fake another car crash.”

Kids? Safe. Husband? Obsessed and patrolling his own city, Lex is always plotting something and there’s a handful of villains that tend to get bored to death without the caped hero in Metropolis. That only causes more trouble if he doesn’t appear, plus it keeps up his normal image. Good. Batsuit? Prepared and ready to be put on. Wings are aligned and feeling good!

And then he goes out into the city. Stops a handful of petty crimes, the robbery of a gas station, prevents a drug deal — normal stuff really. Almost flies into more non-moving objects than he’ll ever confess to, but it’s whatever. He is flying just fine, thank you very much! Totally not like a wine drunk mom on a stressful Tuesday! 

When he gets a free moment and happens to be close by, he leaves a bag of cash in front of one of the orphanage’s donation boxes he’s picked tonight to gift. Tomorrow he’ll probably visit the one on third street, make sure they’re doing oka—

“Now now, let’s do be fair! I believe it’s my turn for you to share!”

That’s Mad Hatter. Oh, damn it. The frequency of that man’s headpiece consistently hurts the bat’s sensitive ears. This one’s gonna be a doozy. It’s odd that he’s nearby though; the big players of Gotham’s underbelly usually claim their own territory, yet Tetch’s so called “land” isn’t in this area at all. It’s actually on the other side of the city. The possibility that the Hatter is setting up clues or games in the nearby area flashes through the bat’s mind, but Jervis is a quiet one. Scarily quiet, only giggles or hushed rhymes escape the man when he’s setting up his traps, not.. whatever he’s arguing about.

“No! This is my territory, haven’t you heard? Riddler’s area of expertise! You need to leave, immediately!”

Ooookay, so he’s.. fighting Riddler? Maybe they’ll take each other out if the bat is lucky tonight? Sighing and lifting his wings, he’s off to stop the escalating argument between the two. There’s another noise, the sound of wood hitting wood, a hollow thud! erupting between the fighting. 

“Ey, watch it, dummy! I ain’t one to be fucked with, you hear? You keep tryin’ me an’ I’ll knock that clown ass hat of yer’s clean off the map!”

And Scarface. Lovely, a deranged threesome tonight. But why are they all gathered up in Quest Industries? Riddler literally owns this tech company, he bought it with the money from his robberies and crimes months ago, it’s commonly known that he owns it. People purposely avoid this area because they don’t want to end up in some elaborate puzzle scheme.

Flying closer and circling the grey and green painted building around similar to how a vulture would, the thermal and night vision in his suit’s lenses reveal the inside of the room — Scarface with Wesker’s hand supporting him, the Riddler pointing his cane at the others, and Mad Hatter who’s holding.. something? Some piece of tech? It’s reminiscent of a piece of armour, a sleeve for an upper arm, composed of several different types of metal and judging based on the model and size, his suit scans the components and..

“Model 8395 of device K.E.Y, produced and manufactured by Quest Industries.”

Thank god we can identify the serial code number, because that’s exactly what we need right now.

“This project ensures an innovative approach to settings / controls of electronics from long range locations, allowing reach of other products from a far distance.”

So Riddler was gonna watch from somewhere high and control a puzzle from afar, likely a safe zone he’ll set up outside a riddle. Okay, not the first time he’s done that idea; it is a decent strategy in case he wants to step in.

“The Kinetic Encryption Yottabyte is an input device that can be used to send codes or override other electronic systems. It can transform, alter, or re-command lines of code in mere seconds, all while saving the original function in its’ extended storage to be used in the future.”

As much as the bat gets irritated with his opponents consistently somehow finding new ways to do crazy evil schemes instead of getting a self-soothing hobby at home, he can admit when they’ve got semi good ideas. A Yottabyte is a lot of storage room with plenty of power to overpower other systems. If Nygma wanted to, he’d be able to take over the billboards, stoplights, big screens, and more in the city. Only reason he hasn’t yet is probably because this model is incomplete. According to the files in the company’s database, this model is the closest they’ve gotten so far to a fully operational version. K.E.Y is still a work in progress, but it doesn’t seem like the Mad Hatter or Scarface are aware of that yet.

“Oh, you calm down!” Riddler scolds the puppet to his left, turning his attention onto his other guest. “I don’t even know why you’ve brought him to my workplace! This is a professional setting!” He rants, critiquing the colourfully dressed man before him as he points his cane at Jervis.

“No, no, no, don’t you dare accuse me, you walking questionnaire! I did not bring this one!” The Hatter defends himself, gesturing to Wesker and Scarface. “I assumed those two fools were yours!”

“The fuck I get hated on for? I’m here on my own terms, ya dweebs!” The wooden gangster pipes up, all of them starting to argue. “This idiot’s just my ride! I got business to do here!”

The group being distracted is great, despite the sound troublesome for his cowl’s ears. For this one, he could go in and take them all on at once, but he doesn’t exactly know why they’re here anyway. They could be doing stuff that’s 100% legal — the chance is extremely rare, but still, he’ll need evidence first. He shouldn’t just assume based on their history, but it’s a little hard when the group consists of a guy who’s obsessed with Wonderland, a puppet, and someone with a shit ton of puzzles and way too much time on his hands. His head hurts so bad despite the headache medicine he took earlier and maybe drinking some water would’ve helped, but ehh. Whatever. He can get this done.

The voices inside the office begin to mix once everyone verbally attacks each other at the same time, but when the bat flies by the window this time, getting a not so amazing grip on the open ledge to listen in better without being seen, the whole room had froze.

“What was that?” Edward hesitantly breaks the silence, looking at the window from his current position. If his company gets busted into by police when he’s being a completely law abiding citizen for once because of these two, it’ll be an even bigger bitch fight. Wonderland and Scarface’s turf would not look the same after his rampage. Riddler is picky about who can come in and even get to witness his brilliant genius mind at work, and police are totally not invited in! 

“I do say, what was that?” Tetch mutters unsurely in response, taking a step back from the open area. “I had requested a private meeting, I did, I did! You said no guards or security for this matter!”

“That’s— what? You think that’s my people outside the window? Do you think any of my men are that limber? I wish! It’s not like I’m hiring acrobats— although I could..” Edward stops himself and the bat can practically see the new ideas forming in the man’s mind.

“Ahh, you both really are suckers! I’ve got you good now!” The puppet cackles, reaching for the metal device in the Hatter’s hands. “That’s probably my guys outside! Billy and Tommy, my backup buddies! Good for nuthin’s are findin’ a way in!” 

“Not so fast! What do you think you’re doing? I invested in this piece and I’ve come to collect what’s owed!” Jervis snaps at the wooden doll, keeping the tech in his grip. “This will do me some good in my plans to build up the White Queen’s palace, oh yes it will!” 

“Is that what this is about? You’re upset because you chose to invest here and I didn’t graciously hand over to you one of my best creations yet?” Edward sharply questions with a confused glance, a pointed glare as he takes a step forward. 

“Noooo, I’m upset because I was kindly willing enough to lend you a gloved hand with your work and supply plenty of extra materials, and I haven’t seen a lick of profit back! No free test samples as promised, no collaborations, I even stopped getting update E-mails! I mean, who in their right mind does that?! Nobody even bothers to check those and yet your people stopped sending them to me!” The Hatter explains with dramatic exasperated frown. “We were partners, Edward! What good has come of us?” 

The bat is too sleepy to follow fully on what’s going on. Who is against who again? Partners? Oh, fuck it.

“Well, that’s not on me! Talk to customer support! That is such a minor technical difficulty, you doddleheaded—“

Seeing a flash of black move around the corners of the room, Wesker fidgets nervously, grimacing as he tries to get his boss’ attention when Nygma clears his throat and tries to maintain his composure.

“Uhm.. sir?” He adjusts his glasses with a slight flinch when the puppet starts to yell at him.

“Not now, dummy! I’m tryna get us paid!” He argues, a fake hand going to retrieve the hidden gun in his pocket. “Alright, stick ‘em up, both of you! This is a robbery and I’m takin’ home the bread!”

“Like hell you are! You dare show up to my office with such a mundane way of theft? I could come up with a dozen more creative ways in under an hour!” The Riddler argues, seeing the surprised look on his friend’s face.

“Goodness, do you just.. bring that everywhere with you?” Tetch inquires, leaning back out of the gun’s aim.

“I sure do! And I’m gonna use it on ya if ya don’t hand it over!” The doll threatens, gesturing for the still-in-development piece of tech.

Wesker’s eyes lock onto something in the darkness. The room is neat and tidy, but there’s only one lamp on and it’s unfortunately leaving shade in that one corner. And then something moves and the man begins to tremble because whatever is staring him down has solid white eyes and he swears, honest to god, that he can make out the shape of large fangs that could rival Croc’s. It shuffles around Nygma’s workspace like a raccoon searching for shiny things or maybe even a dog for food and oh god, what if it has a craving for human flesh?! 

“S-sir?”

“Not now, dummy! And stop shaking before I shake you!” Keeping his sights on the Hatter, Scarface is quick to continue his heist. “This baby’s gonna sell real nicely on the black market, so hand it over or else you’ll both end up headless on the five o’clock news.”

“I don’t think so,” the Riddler counters with a smug grin. “You know what else is gonna have a neck with no head?” He pulls off the top of his cane, the question mark top now being used as the handle of a small handgun, bedazzled with question marks, green and purple hues highlighting the weapon. “You’re going to find out if we can’t settle this in an even manner, Pinocchio.”

“W-wouldn’t the answer b-be a bottle?” Wesker answers skittishly, raising his other, unoccupied-by-a-very-mean-puppet hand hesitantly.

“Technically yes! Good job, that one is fairly simple. Perhaps your other identity isn’t as ignorant as you make him sound, hm?” Edward praises the man holding the puppet softly only for the doll beside him to scoff. His aim however doesn’t skew away from the duo.

“Ah-ha! You’re not the only one who came prepared!” Jervis proudly states, swinging his arm down and letting the hidden pistol he’s had underneath his sleeve drop down into his hand, cards and symbols painted on the entirety of it. “I too have an ace up my sleeve, for the Cheshire warned me of your deceit!”

“What the hell is he on about?” The doll mumbles with a puzzled glance to the Riddler, only receiving a shrug and head shake in return.

“Honestly, I don’t even—“ The Riddler prompts, starting a tangent that’s quickly cut short.

The looming, half invisible and cloaked in darkness thing that Arnold kept trying to warn them about is now over Jervis’ head, casting a large shadow around the man. Nobody even noticed except for the hushed older man until the gloom colored ghost had reached a massive paw down and just gently lifted it out of the Hatter’s grip like he was never holding it.

Nobody knew that Jervis could scream quite as loud as he did that moment. Rushing over to hide behind Edward, his gun, now dropping on the floor, is discarded and left there as the group takes a few immediate, massive steps away, all yelling and panicking in various directions. Scarface is cursing out his dummy for not telling him that something was here, Edward lecturing Jervis for keeping the window open and causing them both to stay late, and Jervis shouting about a ”minion of the Jabberwocky” lurking in the room with them. 

They all fled rather quickly. Either way, no matter who got the tech at the end of the night, the bat was eventually going to investigate them regardless. He’d rather interrupt now than have a shootout and a three way duel on a casual Thursday night. Now he can study.. this thing, and hopefully figure out all it does.

When he hops back onto the open ledge however, he sees something in the distance, a little blob falling from a building at a height that is definitely not survivable for someone so small. For a good minute he’s convinced he’s seeing things until his thermal scanners show that yes, that is a real person. And so, he’s busy again, pocketing the device and swooping away.