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Headcanon that Jason Todd absolutely loved the idea of annotating books, but he couldnāt do it because he couldnāt afford his own books. Instead he uses and notebook and write down each thought he has about each page.
When he moved in with Bruce he was terrified to touch the library books so he keeps the journal. That is until Bruce finds him passed out over Pride and Prejudice with a pen to the notebook. Bruce buys him every single book he can think of and tells him he can do whatever he wants with them. All of them are filled to the brim with all of Jasonās thoughts and he almost treats it like a diary
When Jason dies Bruce leaves the room intact except for all the books, he takes them trying to get every single piece of his Jaylad that he can. He reads through them ritualistically and he treats them so carefully trying to keep them exactly how Jason left them. The only one that changed was Fahrenheit 451, it was Bruceās favorite and Jason had written what Bruce thought about it as well as his own thoughts and buried in the margins was simply ādadās favoriteā and that book has tear stains that smudged the ink. He refuses to read it now.
When Jason returns to Gotham he breaks into the manor āfor reconā and obviously checks his room. He notices all his books that are gone and assumes Bruce threw them out. He replaced him after all; he wouldnāt need those stupid books that held Jasonās innermost thoughts. He never checks Bruceās room.
Jason was helping Dick by clearing out Bruceās room after the funeral. Originally it was supposed to be Tim who did that but he refused saying he was āgonna bring Dad backā. And Dick had his hands full with the new not-assassin-anymore child that calls himself Bruceās spawn. Said spawn is way to young to clear out his dead fathers room.
So it fell on Jason to clear out his dead fathers room. To box things up and get rid of medicine and snacks that would otherwise expire. To get their adoption and birth (and death) certificates. All the good stuff.
At first it went well. Jason absolutely didāt cry at the photos Dad Bruce had hanging on the walls. Of every one of them. No he didnāt.
After boxing them up he got to the bookshelf. On top there was a worn out book about parenting traumatized children that Jason should probably give to Dick.
But next to it. Next to it was a book Jason would recognize anywhere.
He looked through the shelf in a hurry. And found what he was looking for.
Every single one of them.
And even though he should further clean up the room he had to read these again.
They were in pristine condition. Well cared for.
Until Jason came to the last of them. The book almost hidden in the lowest compartment of the shelf. Bruceās favorite.
And each page was stained withā¦ tears.
They smushed the ink and crumpled the paper. And now it seems as though more and more fresh stains are appearing on the pages. Making the ink even less readable. But Jason doesnāt care. He would always known what was once written there.
Itās not exactly realistic to how irl conditioning works even for the most trained soldiers, and not canon compliant since in canon Batman will be doing his fucking utmost to get a Robin to stop right now and come back here and if they feel very strongly about it they will just Ignore him. But in my head thereās a slight AU where Batman has drilled a very specific set of passphrase ācommandsā so deeply and so intensively into his Robins that they act as kind of instinct-override failsafes that literally cannot be disobeyed in the moment even by estranged Robins years later. Theyāre so effective he almost never EVER uses them because itās a universally hated autonomy violation. But when needed, Batman can roar a codephrased version of Robin, DISARM and within a split second every current/former Robin in hearing range has let go of what theyāre holding and dropped to their knees with their hands in the air before theyāve literally even had time to process what was said.
Like, this is so powerful that in the kinds of non-ideal scenarios where they hear him give the command, Steph falls sideways out of her chair to land on her knees, hits her face on the desk on the way down and then just stays in position bleeding profusely from her nose. Dick drops his mug so it shatters and lands on his knees in the same moment so his legs are cut and soaked in coffee. Tim, who was in the middle of a full-on sprint, simply face plants from the momentum of hitting his knees at that speed. It works so effectively that Batman usually cannot risk using that one over comms because if one of the Bats is driving or grappling they will simply let go/crash and die. And maybe thereās some version of a RELEASE command too. Though if youāve got enough willpower - like maybe Dick, or Jason after being away for all those years - you can manage to get up on your own if the RELEASE doesnāt come right away. Iād love if it was a struggle to do it though.
I think this has really good flavor as a point of immense contention that nonetheless is allowed to continue existing because Batman is adamant about their necessity and tries to only use these failsafes when it will literally save their lives. Other potential passphrase commands include a THROW (to get a bomb/dangerous item away from you), JUMP, and a generic version of DOWN for flat on your stomach (this drilled command does exist in canon but probably not to such a mind altering degree).
Saw the My Adventures With Superman season 3 trailer yesterday, and I just keep thinking about Kon. And my mind is just swimming with Superbat. Specificly, Superbat that never got around to realizing that the other loved them back before Clark 'died', and Bruce fighting like hell to protect Kon once he knows about him.
Like Clark has been gone for months, Bruce doesn't think he's coming back and trying to not let any of his kids or the League see how much Clark being gone is affecting him. So Bruce is throwing himself onto everything he can. And when he gets word of a Superman related project that Luther is looking for investors for, Bruce has to investigate.
He shows up to this private investor meeting, hides how much he seethes as Lex makes a fake speal about Metropolis needing Superman, and how its a tragedy he's gone. And then... Revealing his answer to the power vacuum. Superboy. A kid. Maybe 13 or 14, who is so eager to please who he thinks is his parent, and displaying his powers. And Bruce nearly drops his champagne flute. Because Superboy looks so much like Clark does in old photos. Their smiles are nearly identical.
When people are given a chance to interact with Superboy, Bruce hangs back, trying to get his heartbeat back under control. Because that's a little boy, basically Clark's son, and Lex is going to ruin him. And Bruce needs a plan. Only, there's a gentle touch on his sleeve, and Bruce looks down at a nervous smile and unnaturally blue eyes.
"Are you okay?" Superboy asked.
And Bruce feels his heart clench, and he reaches out, smoothing back Superboys hair, the same way he does with Dick and did with Jason. And Superboy leans into it. Because the part of him that comes from Clark knows that Bruce is good, loves Bruce unconditionally.
"Oh, chum," Bruce breathes, bending down to be on Superboys level. "What's your name?"
The kids confused. "Superboy?"
At the back of the room, Lex is starting to turn towards them, sensing that something is about to happen.
"How old are you?"
"I don't know..."
People around them are starting to murmur.
"Who takes care of you?"
"The scientists, when I'm in the tube?"
Security is pushing through the crowd towards him.
"I'm so sorry," Bruce breathes, pulling Superboy into a hug. "I'm so sorry."
And everyone can see how Superboy tears up, hands hovering before grasping onto the back of Bruce's jacket. It's clear he's never been hugged before.
And then Lex and security are on them, security pulling Bruce away forcefully. Superboy's reaction is immediate, yelling and shouting, and reaching out. Even as security is roughly escorting Bruce out, Bruce is trying to sooth Superboy, saying everything is gonna be okay. It's gonna be okay!
And Bruce makes sure of it. Lex can't keep him locked away. And the potential investors already have a sour taste in their mouths about the project. Bruce comes down on Lex with claims of child endangerment, neglect, and abuse. Lex tries to fight it, tries to show Superboy off, using threats against Bruce to keep the kid in line. But it's always clear that Superboy is terrified every time Lex takes him in front of people.
And then Batman drops a file on Lois Lane's desk, and the court of public opinion really pushes things forward.
The judge decides that Lex Luther isn't a suitable guardian, and that the Superboy project is unethical and illegal human experimentation. And with some strings and Superboy's own wishes, he gets placed with Bruce. Oracle helps scrub all the classified documents.
Dick comes to see them, helps Superboy get settled, helps him pick the human name Connor.
Connor adores Bruce, and follows him around like a little duckling at first. One day, Bruce asks Connor why he trusted him so quickly. Connor just said that a part of him knew that Bruce was good and true and amazing. And Bruce knows that it's Clark. Hopes that this is Clark's love, shining through.
And when Clark returns, he's met with Bruce, who dotes and mothers this kid that looks just like Clark, as if it was Bruce and Clark's kid. And Clark has this pang in his heart, because it's so clear that Connor loves Bruce, and its so obvious to Clark where Connor gets it from. But he can't tell if the love Bruce has for Connor, if he fought so hard for this poor kid, has anything to do with him.
It's raining nonstop where I am so I'm just picturing the Batfam during a flood.
Red Robin uploads a TikTok from the safety of a roof saying "watch him go!" As Red Hood keeps trying to drive his bike against the current. A big wave comes by and he's slowly dragged downhill. The caption reads "don't drive during floods".
Batman and Robin are on the ground helping civilians out of cars when the intensity doubles and in minutes Damian goes from wading knee deep in the water to swimming. The emergency batfloaties get triggered and he floats away as Bruce fails to grab him by half an inch. "Robin serenely drifting in the current" becomes a meme.
Someone takes a picture of a very flustered spoiler trying to squeeze the water out of her cape. The second she lets go the weight of the water makes her fall ass over backwards. Black Bat ends up giving her her waterproof cape.
Signal makes mirages of sharks in the water to scare the shit out of any criminals. Oracle uploads the recordings with Benny hill as background music. Bludhaven escapes the worst of the storm and Nightwing sends pictures to the group chat patting the barely wet concrete just to rub it in. He still slips on a puddle and eats shit, Barbara sends that to the group chat.
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The batkids doing that thing where they start to panic when they don't see Bruce in one of his designated spots in the manor. They check his bedroom, his office, the living room, and the batcave and realize they have no idea where he is. You can just hear the escalation in their voices when it goes from "B!" To "Bruce!" To "Dad!"
Silly headcanon but I like imagining that the batkids like doing the shirt thing with Bruce
You know the kind. Little kids hopping onto their parents and crawling into their shirts, then almost always fall asleep because the mama/dad's skin is so warm and soft and safe and homely
.
I can picture that it started with Cass disappearing from the room she's in with her siblings, and finding Bruce in some lounging seetee, then immediately start coming into his shirt, acting more on instinct than sense because of a general need to be rid of the discomfort
He's so taken aback. Bruce is used to his kids crawling on his lap or climbing into his arms, but under the shirt is a new tactic. He takes it in stride though because his baby girl looks upset and the questions can wait until she settles into position.
"Cass? Is everything alright, princess?"
Cass nuzzles into his collarbone, "It's loud with brothers, with everyone. Hot with so many bodies. You're a nice quiet. You're a nice warm. I'll stay here... okay...? š“"
When the rest of the family notes Cass' disappearance from the sibling peanut gallery, they start looking around for her. They find her in the same lounging room as Bruce, her entire body encased in his shirt. She's drooling on his shoulder and fast asleep. Bruce looks like he's about to cry. The shirt is tearing from the side.
.
That's the start of Bruce buying (and often getting customized) shirts that can stretch or at least is loose enough to accommodate his gremlin children, who all decided they want to try this at least once.
It's to no one's surprise that it's Damian who enjoys it the most next to Cass. He's already a very tactile person, and he enjoys being able to monopolize his dad's affections because deep down, Damian is a very clingy kid.
"Father, I require cuddles."
"Of course, come here baby."
Damian starts crawling into his shirt. He is so small that it barely stretches. Bruce's heart swells. His baby boy, his youngest child, is all but the size of a grape. He is love-shaped.
Bruce starts walking around doing work while carrying his son, who is happy to just get dragged around like an actual infant. Damian would eventually hop off for some reason or another, but Bruce enjoys simulating the years lost to him where Damian can only be held this way.
.
Sometimes, the kids don't do it for themselves. Imagine Bruce waking up randomly on a no-patrol day, bandages still on. The sun has barely peaked, the bedroom still chilly, and there's a giant lump under his blanket that wasn't there before.
He checks and lo and behold, Dick is current under his shirt, snoring on his stomach and hands curled on the hem of it. He's still in his Nightwing suit. His weapons are at the foot of the bed. His eyes are swollen because he was scared because his dad is injured enough to be benched and he didn't know until patrol came and Batman wasn't there.
Bruce kisses his forehead and tucks his eldest baby closer.
.
Tim is the weird one because he always does it from the back. He prefers essentially big spooning Bruce because (a) back-to-back has all the benefits of cuddle time while he can still use his phones, and (b) he's always been a piggyback ride sort of kid
It's come to a lot of hilarity. Sometimes Damian would come for his regular cuddles and then he'd realize that Bruce's shirt is stretched from the back.... Tim is there, one hand on Bruce's tummy and the other holding his phone, watching a youtube movie or something
"Um š¤Ø do you mind?"
"Yes I do mind Timothy š Get out of my Baba's shirt š¤¬ It's MY turn. You've been here since morning!
"Oh it's just YOUR Baba, is it? š¤"
And then they start arguing. Bruce, meanwhile, is resigned to figuring out how to tell his personal dressmakers to give him a set of shirts that can fit 2 angry, chaotic gremlin children
.
Naturally, Jason is skeptical of this. He makes quips about it when it's brought up.
"If it's just the skin-to-skin you guys like, just ask the old man to get his shirt off like they do to dads in the hospital š"
The kids would give some intelligent or passionate reason why the shirt cavern is a staple to the experience, and Jason would keep ragebaiting them. Meanwhile, Bruce can see through his second son.
Jason only has a problem for it because he can't do it. Jason is much more bulky and tall, even more than Bruce these days. His leaner and shorter siblings can easily shimmy to enjoy "shirt time" (patent pending) with their dad. He's bitter and jealous and Bruce has a little giggle any time he thinks about it.
Bruce solves this by getting one of those oversized sweater things. His shirts are already custom, but this one is the custom ā specifically just to fit his behemoth 6"5 danger baby of a child.
He wears it or changes into it when he knows Jason is coming over and is in a particular mood. Jason catches up with it and pretends to be offended. But sooner than later, he's found cuddling with his dad, head peaking out from Bruce's collar, and slowly falling asleep.
.
Alfred has a problem with it every laundry day. "Master Bruce, we cannot keep doing this! I am very sure that half your wealth is just going to replacing your shirts every month!"
Bruce would look up and go "But Alfred š„ŗ my babies need skin-to-skin contact"
Alfred would always give him a deadpan look and shift his eyes downwards, because in a comical act of fate, there'd always be a kid down there fast asleep when he has this conversation with this grown ass man
"Your babies are highly-trained operatives who have fought god at least twice"
"But look at them š„¹ they're so cute. Oh Alfred, they love having skin-to-skin because they feel warm and safe when they do it! They're so precious. Silly, even. Aren't they so precious and silly."
And then the child would peak out from the collar of the shirt like "š„ŗ"
Alfred would just sigh and get the damn sewing kit because there is truly no point in arguing on the few things the family can agree on
Damian: I've recieved my two complementary parent tickets for my recital
Bruce: That's nice, little love. Would I be getting one?
Damian: Naturally. The other one is for Jordan, of course, with the aisle seat as he has a propensity to extend his languid arms
Bruce: Why Hal?
Damian, who got his hair brushed by Hal earlier that day and got packed lunch made by Hal: It is for parents, Father. My mother and I have a complicated relationship, and your partner has pack bonded with me as of late. What is not to get?
Bruce, wearing Hal's sunglasses and eating a sandwhich that Hal forced into his hand before he left the manor to pick Damian up (there is still a hickey on his neck): I don't get it.
.
.
Hal, upon recieving his ticket: Aww, you think of me as a parent, Damian? š„¹
Damian: I think of you as my father's wife, more like
Hal:
Hal, currently wearing Bruce's clothes, eating in the Wayne manor dining room, and touching Wayne Enterprise aeraunatical engineering rnd blueprints on a private family server-connected tablet: ...How dare you?
Damian:
Damian: Truly, how dare I.
.
.
Hal, currently piloting the multi-million dollar military-grade plane that Bruce got for him: Hey, Damian said something weird the other day.
Bruce over comms, sitting in Hal's apartment and sleeping in his bed: As he always does. When do we go shopping for clothes to Damian's recital eve?
Hal: When I get back and once you bring out the dishes from the dishwasher like I asked you to
Bruce, who already put out the dishes, but would love to argue with Hal: No ā¤ļø
.
.
[over call]
Damian, angrily: ...and then they playfully argue as a way or romancing each other! A blimp with a blinking advertisement would be way less obvious! Could you imagine being less blatant than that!?
Jon, who has been getting clocked for having a crush on Damian since they were 10 by everyone except Damian: Hahahah... imagine that...!
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Bruce caught up in a hostage situation with two-face. Two-Face is going through his routine and unexpectedly he grabs Bruce, shoving the gun under his chin. "Big Harv? It's Bruce, remember? Let's talk about this."
"You make us, him weak. I'd be doing us a favor if-"
The gun is yanked away from him, Two-Face's body language completely different. He leans in and gives Bruce a chaste peck on the cheek. "Sorry Brucie baby. I'll get out of your hair now."
"What was-"
Glass flies as Red Hood and Nightwing burst in, Two-Face regaining control and taking off. Someone is asking if he's alright.
That night he touches his cheek and reminisces about two men who just wanted to make a better future for the city they loved.
He was married, Bruce tells himself. What they had was years ago, foolish, young hands in the darkness, nothing serious. They were just friends.
"He was married," he hisses, and throws himself down face-first onto his bed.
Harvey moved onā There was nothing to move on from. Nothing Harvey knew about. Friendships grow apart, hidden, buried feelings he had no way of knowing of don't come into play when by all appearances they're just friends.
"He was married," he whispers, and ignores the burning in his eyes. Gilda was lovely. They made a beautiful couple, and Bruce stood dutifully by and kept his mouth shut. What right did he have to voice anything when he left? Harvey was never his...but he could've been, if Bruce didn't leave, if he wasn't a coward, if he had just plucked up the courage and said something before leaving for training.
But he didn't do any of that. He kept quiet, and left, and let the world those few loved ones left think he was dead, because with what he was leaving to do, he might as well be. It could've killed him, and by some curse it didn't, and now here he lies in bed alone and miserable because he was a coward.
He's still a coward.
He can't bring himself to ask Harvey what that kiss meant. His cheek tingles, burns like a brand, and he wants to run to Arkham regardless of the storm raging through the city and demand answers, to demand if his longing he's suppressed for years because it wasn't his husband that was lost to them was not fruitless after all, and the childish crush that grew into effusive love was not wasted after all.
"He's married," he reminds himself, and drags a pillow over his head, like that will drown of the thoughts of what if...
No. The kiss can't have meant anything. Harvey was always affectionate. Bruce is just projecting.
It didn't mean anything.
"He's my friend."
"You love him. It's pathetic."
"It's Bruce. He's my best friend, of course I love him."
"You love him like you loved your wife. Maybe even more than you ever loved your wifeā"
A fist smashes the glass of the mirror, and Harvey stares at his fist as it bleeds sluggishly. Laughter echoes through the cell his mind he's not sure, and feels his lips stretch into a sick grin.
"You can't run from the truth when I know it too, 'Big Harv'. I know everything you don't want to admit."
"Shut up."
"And I know how to make it hurt."
"Shut up!"
Harvey closes his eyes, but it doesn't stop the flood of images in his mind of Bruce dying, bleeding out, burning, shot, stabbed, dying.
Imagine Bruce and Harvey publicly dating even after he becomes 2 face. It puts most Gotham people in this situation were there all pro āfuck all rouges and their associates!ā And ānot Bruce though heās coolā
News headlines will be like ā<insert company owner> has allegedly been working with the riddler and donating him money to help with his plans!ā And then the next page is just ābrucie and his boyfriend two face spotted taking picnic date at park!ā
Gothamite: fucking corrupt corporations
Metropolian: yeah, I mean Bruce Wayne dating a Rogueā
Gothamite: who the fuck do you think you are
Gothamite: get Brucie's name out of your fucking mouth
I think I read this headcannon somewhere else but I just love the idea of Dick biting Bruce as a kid as a way of showing his emotions.
Affectionate little nibbles or snapping his teeth when heās angry.
It confuses Bruce to no end but over time he finds it endearing and starts missing it as Dick gets older and turns to less unusual methods of communication.
Of course heāll still do it occasionally if heās particularly exhausted or distracted, a special little thing thats just theirs.
Until one day theyāre in the Watch Tower after some near world ending event and everyone in the League and the Titans are exhausted beyond belief, especially the non metas, and all Dick wants in the world is something to eat before bed.
But Bruce is convinced he needs something healthy and nutritious to recover his energy and all Dick wants is some sugary cereal and heās so tired and overwhelmed and distracted that when Bruce reaches across the counter to stubbornly take away the box after heās only had two bowls Dick just leans forward and bites his hand in retaliation.
In front of the whole League and his team, completely on instinct.
He goes bright red under his domino while Bruce just stands there in shock with clear indentations on his hand, trying not to cry. Heās also tired from the mission and overwhelmed with how much he missed Dickās little ways of showing affection and he promptly shoves the cereal back towards Dick.
He hesitantly reaches for the box, still blushing while Bruce is all teary eyed under the cowl as they sit in awkward silence at the counter.
Within a week the story of Nightwing biting Batman has passed to every member of both teams and no one knows what to think. Naturally neither Dick or Bruce clarifies anything but the story goes around for years with crazier and crazier variations.
Even though itās silly neither of them can bring themselves to lie about it.
And if Dick starts giving Bruce little bites again sometimes no one has to know.
When Bruce finally goes to the batcave after days of not leaving his room, he sees what Alfred has done. He saw a case. He saw Jason's Robin costume in a glass case on display with Good Soldier written.
Good soldier.
Not beloved son.
Not Jason Todd.
Good Soldier.
He had a breakdown. A bad one.
Since then, he couldn't see the memorial. Not because he couldn't but because his mind completely erased it in order to protect him.
He sees an empty space that bothers him for some reason he can't figure out.
When Dick screamed at him, telling about a memorial and pointing at that empty space. Bruce didn't understand. He couldn't even ask because of how angry Dick was, he didn't want to make it worse.
When he sees his children staring at that empty space, he becomes concerned.
And when Jason, his son comes back angry and resentful, too yells about a memorial.
Bruce doesn't understand. He starts to believe the empty space is hunted.
The saddest part, no one knows that Bruce can't see the memorial or that he can't understand why they are so angry.
Whenever he is close to finding out the truth, his mind doesn't let him. It resets and he forgets what he was doing.
The only one who knows is Oliver.
It breaks him.
He knows Bruce.
He knows his brother.
He knows his brother since they were kids.
He knew when his brother loves, he loves with his soul.
He saw the way his brother broke when his son died.
And then, the tragedy happened.
Oliver arrived at the cave one day to check on him. He stopped breathing when he saw the memorial. For Jason.
Good Soldier.
No, that can't be right.
Bruce would never.
He immediately grabbed Bruce and calmly asked about the memorial and who put it there.
Bruce blinked. He asked Oliver what he was talking about?
Oliver stills. He takes Bruce to the case. He points at it.
Bruce just looks at Oliver like he was the one who was not well.
"Ollie, there is nothing there. Are you feeling okay?"
Something was wrong.
Oliver describe the case to him, he made him touch it, he said the words 'Good Soldier'.
Bruce was horrified at the words. Then his face went blank. His eyes went empty. Just for a few seconds. Then he blinked, looked at Oliver like he just appeared out of thin air, and asked him, what they were talking about.
He had no memory of the previous minute.
Oliver shook his head, a shiver running through him. He was terrified.
He never tried to force him to see it again.
However he tried.
He tried to tell Dick, years ago, 'there is something deeply wrong with your dad. It's related to Jason.'
But Dick looked at him dead in the eyes and said to stay out of family business.
He tried to tell Alfred. He got told that it was Bruceās burden to bear, and his alone. That we shouldnāt interfere.
So, Oliver stopped trying. He became the only person his brother can go to.
Bruce would show up to his place, confused and broken. He didn't understand why his oldest son was angry.
All his children yell at a blind man for not seeing.
Bruce only went to Oliver when the confusion became too much. Since he was the only one who didn't get angry at him, didn't scream at him for something he couldn't see.
Oliver researched this psychosis.
He went to professionals.
Dissociative amnesia disorder with Psychogenic Blindness, they said.
Bruce remembers everything but the case he can't see.
The reset was the worst. Bruce always slept after the reset. He sleeps soundly and at ease as if his mind didn't just worked to erase
Oliver became the keeper of the one secret where the truth was more dangerous than any lie.
He would sit with Bruce as he talked in circles.
He loves his nephews and niece.
He also hates them. He hates their inability to see what was in front of them.
He knows how much Bruce loves them but he can't see what the problem is.
Then one day, Bruce came to Oliver, crying. But Oliver saw light in his eyes. He saw his brother light. He was happy and overwhelmed.
"Jason is alive, Ollie. My son is alive."
Oliver held him. His arms tembling.
The next week, Bruce came back.
He was crying but this time, it was silent tears which was somehow worse.
"He hates me. My son hates me. He speaks of a memorial. Ollie I searched the entire cave. There is nothing there. Why is he angry with me? Why is he not coming home? What did I do wrong? Is it something with the pit?"
Oliver tried for the final time, "Jason thinks you memorialized him as just a soldier. A tool."
And Bruce, oh Bruce looked at him with horror. He said, "But I didnāt. I wouldnāt. He was my son." He said it with such conviction, such truthā¦ his truth.
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Shamefully, it doesn't happen the next day. Or the day after that, or the week after that. Shamefully, they act as normally as they can while re-evaluating Alfred's every interaction with Bruce. They're sure he's noticed, but Bruce only silently observes as they make sure he's never left alone with the butler.
It's subtle, but it's there, how Alfred manages Bruce, as if their father can't be comfortable in his own home. It's in the disparaging comments regarding Bruce's nightlife and public persona. It's in the cold shoulder when Bruce is particularly obstinate with him. It's in the warning tut when Bruce, preoccupied and stressed, rhythmically taps his fingers.
It's in Alfred's cutting, watchful eyes and it's in Bruce's forever-tense shoulders and aborted movements.
Shamefully, a family of vigilantes well-versed in instigation is struck silent, is sick with fear and genuine revulsion at the prospect of someone they love (loved?) and trust (ā¦trusted?) hurting their father. Their dad, who loved them and saved them and always tried for them.
Shamefully, they all seem to be waiting for someone else to start the conversation; shamefully, when it happens, it's almost by accident.
Dick is helping Alfred bring out dinner at the dining table while Tim and Damian wash up, and Jason and Cas set the table; ever since they found out, the entire family has made a point of being home so as not to miss The Conversation.
"-swear, Timmers and Kon are not getting together by the end of the year. I'd bet on it!" Jason is saying when Dick enters. Cas raises an eyebrow and holds out a hand. "$100?" She shakes her head and grins, holding up five fingers. "$500??"
Dick laughs out loud as Jason visibly rethinks his bet. It's never good to go against Cas, but especially when she's this confident.
"You know what, I forgot but I actually quit gambling. Trying out a new thingā¦" Jason lies shamelessly, much to Cas's amusement. With the table set, Alfred brings in the last plate.
"What are we laughing at?" comes Tim's voice as he jumps down the stairs.
"Most likely, you, Drake," Damian tuts from behind him. He goes down to sit, almost falling to the floor when Tim yanks the chair from under him. He returns Tim's easy grin with a glare, but says nothing as Tim pushes the chair back in for him. Turnabout is fair play, and all that.
"Eugh, mushrooms?" Tim wrinkles his nose as he sits. "Don't we have vegetables that are lessā¦ slimy?"
Alfred raises an eyebrow at the comment. "Especially as a young, growing vigilante, I expect you to eat every bite, master Tim."
And that-
That rankles at something in Dick.
Food was a common issue noted in Bruce's Arkham patient reports. He struggled with texture, and mushrooms especially had been hard for him. Mealtimes turned into exposure therapy sessions where Bruce was forced to choke down bite after bite of food, even when it made him sick. And when he did sick up, he had to eat that too.
Alfred would have known about that. He knows, and there are still fucking mushrooms on the table.
There's a sudden shift in the air, a tension that didn't belong after such a common refrain. Intentionally, he drags his eyes up to Tim's, gets a nod. From his periphery, he can see that the others are suddenly sitting straighter, eyes sharp and knuckles white. Guess Dick isn't the only one suddenly electrified with anger.
"Or what?" Dick asks casually. It has to be him; somehow, they all know it has to be Dick. "You'll throw us in Arkham?"
Alfred, finally, catches on to the energy from the others. Unfazed as always, he responds with a cool, "If there is something you'd like to say, master Dick, then speak plainly." It's a challenge and an out in one; Dick could laugh and end it here and now, and Alfred would let it go.
Or, he could dig his teeth in deeper like a rabid dog.
"Sure, Alfie, we can talk. Let's talk about how a grieving eight-year-old under your care was sent to Arkham for electroshock therapy. Let's talk about the torture Bruce endured at your order."
Alfred sighs and straightens. "I do not know how you came upon that information, but I assure you it was not an easy decision to make. If I'd had another choice, I would have taken it."
"Another choice?! You had every other choice in the world, and you chose to hurt him." Dick lets his distress be swallowed up by anger. He wants to hurt for failing Bruce so badly, for never noticing this toxic dynamic, for keeping silent for weeks after realizing it. For weaponizing it, for joking about it.
"Master Dick! You have no idea what I was dealing with; I'd hope that if your child were as beastly as your father, you'd make similar arrangements!"
"Who the fuck are you calling a beast?" How could anyone look at Bruce, or even the Batman, and think beastly? Bruce and Batman both signal safety for Dick, something instinctual and soul-deep. Sure, the Bat might be scary sometimes, he guesses, but the Bat exists from compassion. He is the hand that reaches in the dark, no matter how many times he's burned or bitten. Sometimes, Dick thinks he's the only one to see that.
Dick doesn't realize he's out of his chair and snarling until Cas is there, lightning-quick, with a hand on his bicep. She casts a burning glare at Alfred. Jason's jaw hangs open, and Tim has a comforting hand on Damian's back as betrayal crosses the boy's face. Tim tilts his chin up to speak.
"I can tell you right now, Alfred, that we would show that child the same love Bruce showed us. I really wanted to believe you'd regretted it. How could you haveā¦?" Tim covers his mouth with a fist, gaze drifting to the floor.
They'd talked about it, what to do if Alfred regretted it. None of them believed it, not with the way he still manages Bruce, but they wanted to. It brought comfort, that they might not lose Alfred forever if they confronted the abuses he inflicted on their dad. Because, god, they still love him. He betrayed their father at his weakest and most vulnerable point and they all still fucking love him.
There were good times, weren't there?
Weren't there?
Cas takes the lead from there. "Dad wearsā¦ someone else when you're around. He has not been free to be himself." She swallows. "He's always burdened."
"I had to," Alfred says firmly. "You do not know what he was like, and you are lucky for that. You would never respect him as he was then. You'd certainly never love him."
As if any part of Dick could not love every part of Bruce. As if Bruce didn't save him, all of them. As if Bruce isn't the best man Dick knows.
What's it matter if he's autistic? How does that detract from his compassion, his intelligence, his bravery, his love? Because there is no feeling like being loved by Bruce Wayne, of huddling under his cape in Gotham rains or crawling into his bed after nightmares. Of his hard-earned praise or harder-earned laughs.
Bruce doesn't deserve this. He doesn't deserve his abuser still controlling him, eating Bruce's food and living in Bruce's home. He deserves fucking peace, and Dick will claw it out of the man in front of him with his bare hands if he has to.
He tears forward over the table, Cas stepping back and letting him get the first hit in. Alfred stumbles back, and the fear in his eyes sends wicked satisfaction down Dick's spine. His fist is centimeters away from Alfred's jaw when fingers wrap around his wrist and twist Dick to the right. There, Bruce stands over him, eyes flickering between his kids. Dick looks around too, tries to see what his dad must be seeing.
Tim and Damian are still by their seats at the dining table, standing but turned around to face Dick and Alfred in the walkway. Cas is across from them, where Dick had just been behind the table. Jason stands to Bruce's right, by the head of the table.
"I heard the local circus lost its elephant's toys."
Dick turns back to face Bruce. "ā¦Nah, they're in the elephant's trunk. I'm not mind-controlled, Bruce."
"Your fist was seconds from colliding with Alfred," Bruce says dryly. He positions himself more firmly in front of Alfred as he waits for an explanation, and Dick hates it. How could his dad still protect the man who threw him to sadistic doctors, who saw no value in Bruce's rawest self? Irrationally, he's mad at Bruce, too, for protecting the man who hurt his dad.
"He sent you to Arkham, Bruce," Jason says quietly, breaking the long silence.
Bruce takes .14 seconds more to blink than usual. "I'm aware, Jason. I was thereā¦?"
"That's the issue! B, you were just a kid, an autistic kid, and instead of- of- learning to support you, and make you feel safe, they sent you to fucking Arkham!"
Bruce looks at his kids again. "And this bothers you."
Dick wants to slam his head into the wall, but he settles for pushing his head into Bruce's shoulder and accepting the automatic arm wrapping around him as Bruce releases his wrist.
"Yeah, B," he says quietly. "It really fucking bothers us."
He closes his eyes as fingers rake through his hair.
"Alfred was right to do it, chum."
Dick jerks back, eyes wide as he stares at Bruce. What? Dick wants to tear out the tongues of Bruce's critics for just insulting Bruce; there's no saying what he'd do if he faced the sadistic Arkham physicians right now. And Bruce is saying they were right to do it?
Before he can get a word in, Bruce holds up a hand.
"No, listen. He's right. What I was back thenā¦" Bruce shakes his head in shame. "I'm sorry you found out I was ever like that. I'm sorry I was ever like that. I needed to go, okay? I needed that."
Dick is stunned speechless. Actually, if he tries to talk right now, he's going to vomit.
"You- you reformed it, though. You wouldn't do that if you didn't know it was wrong. You do know it's wrong, right?" Jason asks weakly.
"It's more complicated than that. I needed it. I was somethingā¦ I was uncivilized, undone, and I needed to be made human. Of course I don't believe any other child should go through it, Jaylad. It was cruel and unjust, but I needed it. Just me, son."
From behind Bruce, Alfred lays one arm on Bruce's shoulder, a rare comforting touch.
"You did well, master Bruce," he says quietly. Bruce closes his eyes and lets out a measured exhale. Dick turns and catches Jason's eye. There's helpless pain in there, but that has never stopped a Bat. They'll keep trying, they'll yell and shout and grab Bruce by the shoulders and shake until he understands that he matters too.
A quiet snuffle from Dick's right distracts him. Damian is looking at the floor in shame, fists clenched at his sides. Tim is looking down at him and still rubbing his back. "Dami?"
"Baba," he starts, then stops. "Father," he tries again, stiff. "I have something I must confess." He swallows thickly, and Bruce can feel his son's discomfort and shame from here.
Automatically, and against his own will, Bruce connects the dots between the pure anguish on Damian's face and the topic at hand, then forcibly tries to disconnect them. Still, his heart stops in his chest. No, there's no way. There is simply- it can't be. Damian must want to change the topic now to a case he messed up on, or something. Desperately, he hopes Damian won't say what he thinks he will say.
Desperately, he hopes he has not abandoned his son to a cycle of fear that Bruce is still stuck in.
"I believe I was born as- broken and beastly as you say you were." Bruce stops breathing. "I read the patient reports and the news articles. I alsoā¦" Damian audibly swallows before finally looking up at Bruce. He holds his hands behind his back, chin down but eyes level. It's the attentive and submissive stance every League member knows.
"Father, Grandfather noted the sameā¦ eccentricities in me when I was young. They successfully trained it out of me, but I must confess I have started indulging myself in them. I am, as you say, beastly." Damian dips his head and lowers his eyes in shame. "I'm sorry, Father." His voice had wavered throughout his speech, but he barely paused long enough to gather himself before continuing.
Bruce stares at his son in shock and a tidal wave of horror. His son? His son, saying he was coming undone?? Damian, as human and kind and brave as any of them, but all he saw of himself was this- this beast?
Because Bruce had said it, and meant it, but only for himself. How could- It is different, Bruce is different. Never mind that the behaviors are the same; it's different. It has to be.
He stumbles past Dick and kneels over to where Damian stands, hands hovering awkwardly over him in a moment of uncertainty. With Damian's words still pulsing in his mind, he settles a hand on Damian's cheek, gentle and sorrowful.
"Damian, you- you're not a beast, my boy." And there is such visceral pain in Bruce's voice, so evident that it makes half the room flinch.
His son is the same as him, and his son knows. He read Bruce's medical reports; he knows. Bruce's eyes flicker to the table where he knows a bowl of mushrooms sits. He's seen Damian eat them before- did he have the same issues Bruce had had, at that age? Had he felt too unsafe to express his distaste?
Despite Bruce's best efforts, had Damian felt unsafe his whole time in Bruce's care? Bruce tried so damn hard to steep love into the very foundations of this home so Dick would never feel alone, then Jason and Tim and Cass and now Damian, but it turns out he's been failing his youngest son.
Beastly, he said. Damian saw himself as beastly. Did he constantly feel isolated, even in the midst of his peers? Did his erratic impulses leave him disgusted with himself? Did he feel improperly assembled, a misshapen jumble of limbs and organs, each time he made a social mistake? Did Bruce raise someone just like him??
"You know I am, Father," Damian says quietly. A pained hitch escapes Bruce as Damian continues to drive a knife deeper in Bruce's very soul. "I- sometimes, I flap my hands, or I rock on my heels, or Iā¦ I'll repeat phrases, over and over, simply because itā¦ brings comfort." Damian says the last part in a shameful whisper, leaning forward into his father's palm and closing his eyes.
"And you- you absolutely should, Damian. You should do what comforts you, or relieves stress and anxiety." Bruce can't take his eyes off Damian's face as he speaks, trying to see all that he's apparently missed. "Why would I want you to suffer?"
"Because it's uncivilized, Father!" Damian snaps, stumbling back a bit in frustration. "If you are not allowed to- to satisfy your baser urges, then why should I? I am just like you! If you needed Arkham, then in equal measure, so do I!"
Bruce's jaw drops open. Bugs are crawling under his skin again, he thinks distantly. He can feel himself detaching from this world, this conversation. Damian can't possibly meanā¦. no. There's no way. He's so small, had Bruce been that small when he'd gone to Arkham?ā¦No, actually, Damian will be a teenager soon. Bruce had been 7, and then 8. But Damian is already so small, and he can't imagine sending his precious boy somewhere he would only hurt.
And, it's different, isn't it? Bruce needed it. Just him, right? Because it's only Bruce who was born so disfigured and unlovable, but Damian wasn't. Isn't. The family around him, right now, loves him so wholly in a way Bruce's parents just couldn't, with him. His brothers will accept Damian, will adjust and accommodate if it's for Damian. It's just when Bruce does it that it becomes too much. You can't be born broken and weird.
ā¦How does he even begin to explain all that to his son? Who demands that he treat him as Bruce treats himself, for this?
Impossibly, he wants his dad. And it's sick, because he knows exactly what his father would say.
Behind him, Bruce hears the clicking of worn, black leather shoes against hardwood, a sound that instinctively snaps him back to his body, even as he feels unsteady in his skin.
"Master Bruce, there are nearby clinics. The ones in Gotham, by your own design, no longer have the facilities needed for young master Damian," he adds reproachfully.
Bruce is stuck. He's stuck in his body (wasn't he just not here?), frozen as he internally screams at even the thought of sending Damian away to be- to be tortured!
(If it's torture to Damian, was it torture to himā¦? No, but- No. His parents sent him, the first time. It's blasphemous to even think that.)
As Alfred continues, Bruce slowly turns his head, a statue cracking apart.
"We're not sending him anywhere, Alfred," Bruce says softly. He can't even look the man in the eyes. The Batman is on his knees before his butler, unable to even look up.
How pathetic.
"He himself wants it. Weren't you just saying how much you needed it?"
"No," Damian cuts in. "I want to be treated as Father treats himself. Father believes he needed Arkham, so I must need it too."
What is he even saying? How could such a thing even be possible, for them to be treated the same? Bruce isā¦ ruined, disgusting, subhuman. He pretends better now, but his walls hide the same sorry excuse for a person that they always have. How could his darling boy ever be treated the same? No one could look at the two and deny Damian's compassion, so wholly separate from Bruce'sā¦ feeble attempt at personhood.
Bruce finally turns and stands to face Alfred, still hazy with shock but with a clear objective. "He's not going anywhere," he repeats firmly.
"It won't be easy, but it is necessary. He has already admitted to his training coming undone; soon, he will be unfit for polite society. It will be more of a burden to have him stay, master Bruce." There is sorrow and resolve in the old man's eyes, and it just makes Bruce hate the words out of the man's mouth even more.
"He's not a burden, he's my son!"
"No, he is not. You should know as well as I do that he is barely human for as long as this issue remains uncorrected!"
Bruce stumbles, feeling the words like a blow. With Bruce out of the way, Alfred can finally see Damian, who tenses under the cutting judgment in Alfred's face.
Bruce blankly observes Alfred's sudden coldness. Even if he stops Alfred from checking Damian into a clinic, Bruce knows the future awaiting his son:
Constant micro-managing to ensure Damian is unmoving and uncomfortable in his own home. Itchy clothes left on his bed because they are "proper," even though they can certainly afford the same clothes in softer textiles. Dishes prepared specifically to have the worst textures known to man. Tone policing and condescending social lessons designed to humiliate.
Bone-deep exhaustion from constantly masking, permanent isolation from knowing that your freest, calmest self is repulsive to even those who claim to love you.
Bruce can imagine this future so easily for Damian because it is just a mirrored reflection of his own past.
There is only one way to break the cycle, Bruce.
"Come, Damian, we shall pack your bags. You may choose which of the clinics you'd prefer."
Your son is so, so small, Bruce.
Damian, hesitant, takes his first step forward.
He will never be safe with him in your home, Bruce.
Damian takes another step towards Alfred, shaking off Tim's hand.
GET UP, BATMAN.
Batman lurches between his son Robin boy and Alfred, a possessive hand on Damian's shoulder.
"Alfred," he looks the butler in the eye. The man served him and his family as faithfully as he knew how for as long as Bruce has been alive. He has been loyal to both identities and has kept the family's secrets close to his own heart. But Bruce will not let him hurt his kids. Alfred will not look at them the same way he looks at Bruce.
He will not.
"You're fired."
Even for bats, the room is eerily silent. Batman's heart thuds against his ribcage, and for a moment, he's sure the bones will snap out of his chest and spill onto the floor. His throat closes as he stares Alfred down. The man's eyes are wide with shock, but his expression smooths out soon enough. He watches Batman ā Bruce, now, under those dissecting eyes ā with the same contemptuous look he always gives when he catches Bruce misbehaving.
Finally, Alfred comments quietly, "Very well, master Bruce. If my services are no longer needed, then I shall take my leave. I will be gone by daybreak." With one last bow, Alfred very carefully avoids the eyes of the rest of the family in the room. Eyes forward, chin up, back straight; that's how he taught Bruce to walk and that's how he walks now.
Knowing this is the right decision does not silence the screaming chasm in Bruce's chest. Even if for the wrong reasons, Alfred had known that hidden, vile part of him and stayed.
Bruce stares unseeingly at where Alfred had just been, past the click of Alfred's bedroom door closing. He wants to hide, he wants to fight, he wants to waste away into nothing. Alfred may have been repulsed, but he stayed.
What was Bruce going to do now? He is alone again, again, again. Always and again. His children would leave him one day. Damian would realize theĀ differenceĀ between him and Bruce and leave. His children would see the squishy, weak, deformed thing behind Bruce's walls and leave.
There is movement behind him, perhaps voices, but Bruce is blind and deaf to it all. There is only a ringing hollow in his chest as his mind drags him through shorn snapshots of his past.
He is 8 and he is alone in an alleyway. He is 17 and he is alone in Siberia. He is 21 and he is alone in the ruins of Lazarus. He is 36 and he is alone in Ethiopia. He is a thousand years older in mind than body and he is alone.
There is- oh. There is something draping itself over his shoulders. No, not draping itself. It's Dick. Dick is- oh.
Dick is draping his jacket over Bruce's shoulders.
He looks down at the lapels. It's so ugly, he thinks fondly. One hand clutches at the lapels. He tilts his head up to meet Dick's warm and worried gaze. His hand is on Bruce's shoulder- when did that happen?
"Hey, B," and Dick's easy grin has Bruce relaxing his shoulders, just the tiniest bit.
"ā¦I apologize for forcing your hand, Father," comes Damian's hesitant voice. He's still at Bruce's side, looking up at him.
It takes a moment for the words to penetrate through the fog in Bruce's mind. When his lips move, they don't feel like a part of him.
"You never have to apologize for what I do to keep you safe. I'm only sorry you weren't safe this whole time."
Damian studies the honesty in Bruce's face, then pushes himself in for a brief hug. If his voice is suspiciously thick when he manages a short, "Thank you, baba," then no one mentions it.
Jason huffs and throws himself into Bruce's chair at the dining table. Leaning back, he says, "I, for one, am glad he's gone."
"Jesus Christ, Jason!" Dick hisses, and Tim motions for him to cut it out.
Bruce purses his lips. The protectiveness that should leave him warm inside just raises his hackles. "No, it's fine," Bruce gets out, perhaps too forcefully. He's getting whiplash from his own mood swings, but he doesn't temper it. Can't, really. "Don't pity me, or coddle me just because of my condition, or my institutionalization. It was just another bad thing that happened, and I got up from it like I do everything else. I don't suddenly need kiddie gloves."
He's snapping at them, he knows he is, but. But, he still hears the echoes of doctors calling him stupid, making decisions for him like he couldn't be trusted with his own damn self.
He still feels chafed raw, a wound never healed, from the control Alfred holds held over his life.
Cass steps closer. Well, she jumps over the table and lands neatly in front of Bruce. "Not coddling. Accommodating."
He narrows his eyes, still aggravated by the suggestion. "I'm the same I've always been. I don't need accommodations."
She hums. "You accommodated me," she points out. "When I was still learning to speak, you and Barbara taught me sign, then English. So we could talk better."
"I'm the same I've always been," he repeats. "We talk well enough, now."
She crosses her arms and gives an impatient look.
The Batman does as he always does when faced with his teenage daughter's frown: he relents. "I- what do I even need accommodations for?" He barely manages not to spit the word out like poison. He's the fucking Batman, he's been functioning just fine all these years. What could he possibly need help with?
She gives a sweet smile at his surrender. "Later," she promises, and darts in to kiss his cheek.
Well. He can't exactly be mad at that. He huffs, but lets it go. At the very least, it's a promise there will be a later, with her at his side. Cas, who understands him inherently because she is the same, who wades through her own self-hatred with him. Who could choose to be an orphan, but instead chooses to be his beloved daughter.
He surveys the rest of his children.
Jason, who had hurt him and who Bruce had hurt, yet is still here. Who wants Bruce to be safe from someone he believes is Bruce's abuser, even at the cost of Alfred. Who allows Bruce the gift of being his father.
Tim, who wanted to believe Alfred had changed, but wanted more to ensure Bruce's mental well-being. Who saw value in Bruce even when he was at his lowest, who gives Bruce the privilege of caring for him.
Damian, who opened his heart to criticism and pain, and would have accepted it, too. Who has come so far from the perfect soldier he had been, who is now Bruce's precious son. Who allows Bruce the honor of guiding him to a gentler life.
Dick, his first Robin, his partner, his light, his son. Who wrapped his jacket around Bruce. Who swore an oath with him, who may leave but always comes back. Who chooses Bruce.
Maybe, he is not as alone as he'd thought. Maybe he's broken just enough cycles of pain and grief for them to be better than him. Maybe, instead of leaving him behind, alone, they're reaching back in their own dust. For him.
Bruce clutches the jacket tighter to himself. Feels his lips tick up in a smile (and this time it feels like him).
"Batburger?" he asks, holding up his car keys. "First one to the car rides shotgun."
He can't hold in his laugh at the subsequent scrambling as five vigilantes childishly wrestle and bite at each other to get a leg up.
He loves them, he trusts them, and he thinks, someday, he can be himself around them.
As he fondly watches their squabbles, he finds himself looking forward to it.
well, not quite. This is turning into a series. In the second part, the kids will actually learn how to identify and support Bruce through meltdowns, auditory processing issues, etc. It'll also deal with Bruce allowing himself to unmask, and the relief that comes with being loved even more for it. It'll be a bumpy road, but they'll overcome the chasm between them and end up in a better place, together, because of it. I'll still tag anyone who requests it in the next part, but it may be easier to subscribe to the ao3 series.
As always, constructive criticism is very welcome <3
