I don't know what I am doing

Like Dick didn’t tell Bruce to his face that he didn’t want to be adopted because he wasn’t going to replace his father…

Like HELLO?!? Did y’all forget about that or something? Like Bruce is not gonna repeatedly ask Dick if he can adopt him when he’s already given him the answer..

Every time I see something about adoption within a blended family irl, it’s the kid that asks because ITS THEIR DECISION!!! So if Dick wanted to be adopted later on he should’ve said something. Like bro he’s got all these kids why wouldn’t he adopt you?¿?

Like you’re literally the reason he started to live instead of just surviving…

But then I check the comics... he's almost always gravitating towards Bruce and bobbing like an eager duckling after his brothers + Steph. He melts into hugs and loves having his face/head cradled. His parents kiss his forehead in every comic run he's ever been in.

He is comically shorter compared to most characters. He is almost always grinning and cackling like a playful, conniving child; if not that, he's huffing and pouting and looking around for someone to bother because he's bored and wants attention.

He has playground friends like Maps that he draws for when he's figuring out words to put to meaning his adoration of them, like an actual shy child making friends.

He's a brilliant kid, but emphasis on the "kid" like yes I knew that, I'm so great, everyone praise me and give me head pats I'm so amazing

his eyes are completely white, no trace of colour or variation in shade except for a slightly darkened pinpoint at his irises.

bruce wayne wears coloured contacts. he'd begged alfred for them nonstop as a child after his parents were gone, when the children at school bullied him for his eyes and the wayne's were no longer around to make the other kid's parents correct the behaviour. alfred eventually relented, and they settled on a shade close to thomas wayne's: a bright blue. bruce felt happier with them knowing he looked more normal, and he was so relieved that his father's eye colour made him that way.

there aren't many photographs of a young bruce wayne, except, of course, for the famous one of him standing over his parents' bodies, pale eyes wide, stark against the dark blood streaked across his face. but even that photo had been printed in black and white, and so nobody in gotham actually remembers that bruce's eyes are devoid of any colour.

he spends years travelling across the world, training under different masters to hone his other senses and make up for his lack of one. the experience is gruelling, and painful, and he fails a hell of a lot more than he triumphs in the beginning. but bruce doggedly pursues mastery—he will never be caught unawares again, not like that night, when the rain had muffled the sound of the mugger, and bruce could only tremble as he heard his father shout, could only wince as his mother screamed, could only fall to his knees and cry when the officers found him and asked him if he could identify the killer without thinking.

the batman doesn't need white lenses. with eyeblack smeared around his eyes, everyone he encounters assumes he's some kind of creature. he has a few different features in the suit to help him sense things, like tiny 360 degree microphones on his shoulders to help with audio input, and gloves with easily detachable palms when he needs to feel something to understand how it works.

he meets clark kent at a luncheon when ace uses her service dog training to stop kent before he walks into a table of food by shoving her body between him and the canapés. mr. kent apologizes profusely and somehow manages to get bruce to agree to a quick interview.

bruce is not unconvinced that the whole ordeal was orchestrated, but he could use a break from all the business partners and people trying to grab at his dog, so he agrees. they end up at the edge of the gathering. mr. kent is kind, respectful, and funny in a way that sneaks up on bruce. he finds himself genuinely laughing when mr. kent manages to squeeze in a joke or to, unable to stop the conversation when it's the most interesting one he's had all day.

but—with gotham being, well, gotham—bruce's fun is quickly cut short by a rogue attack.

stupidly, damningly, bruce is caught completely unawares. mr. kent immediately ushers him further away from the luncheon crowd before explaining he must help the others and running off.

well, so does bruce. it sounds like poison ivy—vines cracking pavement as they surge out of the ground is a very distinct sound. the batsuit is in the car, there's no time to get it, so bruce commands ace forward to help evacuate the screaming guests and sets off after her, shouldering two people at a time and guiding them all further away from ivy.

he's on his fourth trip back for more people, heart pounding, when he gets whacked hard by a vine flung through the air. the wind gets knocked out of him as he lands, and he's definitely got a cracked rib, but he's more upset that he didn't anticipate it. he can't afford to lose focus, even for a moment; that quick lapse of judgement could cost people their lives, and god, maybe it already has—

"mr. wayne!" calls a familiar, if slightly deeper, voice. before bruce can protest, he's being lifted off the ground into kent's arms. kent's very strong, very muscular arms.

god, what the hell is he wearing? kent's shirt is so tight and...slippery. bruce isn't sure he's felt anything like it, before. which should be nearly impossible—ra's made him commit the texture of almost every known material on earth to memory. if bruce had felt this before, he'd know it.

he decides to focus on the more important matter. "mr. kent," he says heatedly, shoving at kent's shoulders and trying to squirm out of his grip. "what in the world gives you the right to pick me up like some ragdoll—!"

"oh gosh," mr. kent says, grip wavering on bruce. "that's not what i—there's been a bit of a misunderstanding, you see—"

"superman! bruce wayne was saved by superman!" someone shouts from below.

...below. how high in the air is bruce right now? he quickly changes tack, pulling kent as close as he dares, gripping him tight instead of pushing him away.

except—except he's not with kent, is he? at least, not entirely. "superman," bruce echoes slowly, ears straining for any telling reaction. "clark kent."

mr. kent—superman—sighs. "cat's outta the bag," he says sullenly. bruce gets the distinct feeling of descending, an odd experience considering there's nothing under his feet, but soon superman is helping him to stand on solid ground again with a hand on his bicep and the other on his waist.

big hands. warm hands.

"if you could—" superman begins hesitantly. god, he's got a handsome voice. "i know it's a lot to ask, but it would...it'd mean a lot if you didn't tell anyone about this. about me."

he sounds so heartbroken. bruce doesn't want to be part of any reason for that uneven tone. "of course not," he says, absently tugging at his clothes and smoothing down his hair. "you saved me. it's the least i can do."

bruce doesn't have to see to hear the smile in superman's voice as he thanks him profusely, pulling him into a tight hug.

"thank you," superman says earnestly as he pulls away.

"thank you," bruce replies, smiling wider than he has in a long time.

(a month later, superman meets batman for the first time on a rooftop in gotham. clark had spotted the coloured film over bruce's eyes immediately when they first met, and peeked underneath to check for any eye strain he might be hiding in case clark needed to move them somewhere with more shade.

"I won't forgive you," but it's Clark with Dick and the Batkids (minus Cassandra and Duke) after another fight with Bruce, one really bad, in which they were at they worse, and later they expected things to be as always, like in the past, because they were used to it.

But Clark won't have any of it. Clark saw his lover afterward, he saw how close he was to lose him, because of them. So no, things won't return to normal, you don't deserve it. Bruce maybe could forgive you. For sure, he won't, and he will be sure you will live with the consequences. You know, all the canon things this brats said to Bruce and now they finally saw the utterly bullshit and double standards.

I am mildly curious why Cass and Duke aren't considered part of your batkids doing the do here, but I will try.

Clark had found Bruce kneeling limply on the floor of the cave. Limp and deathly pale.

And Bruce was just....sitting there. Staring brokenly towards nothing. No sounds, no turning his head at the sudden arrival of company. No acknowledgement of any kind.

The expression on his face was haunting.

Clark hadn't expected that scene, flying into the cave to ask a question he'd immediately forgotten at the sight of Bruce. Clark just flew over to the man and started running a vitals check.

"Bruce? What happened?" Clark asked, putting his hands on Bruce's shoulders to steady him. He felt cold, more so than usual. "Fear Toxin?"

Bruce didn't respond. His heartbeat was abnormally slow, but not weak. His pupils reacted to the penlight Clark grabbed from the medbay cart nearby. That was a reassuring start but it wasn't telling him enough to pinpoint what was afflicting the detective. Clearly something was.

"They left."

Bruce murmured, quietly. Almost as if he were in disbelief. Voice small yet chock full of coarse sand, exceedingly rough around the edges.

"What?" Clark asked, knitting his brows together. He looked around the cave, searching for signs in every spectrum of his vision. He didn't find any spilled lab equipment or stray sample vials, so it probably wasn't accidental exposure. Nobody else broke in here. All Clark saw were the usual traces of the kids presence, perhaps most recently a few hours ago. "Who? Who left?"

"Tim, Jay, Steph. Dick." Bruce's voice broke off at that name. He took a haggard breath, practically a half sob, then said, "They left me, Clark."

"What do you mean." What the hell was he talking about? Clark knitted his brows together. "Where did they go?"

"Not coming back." Bruce stated oddly. Almost calm. Still with that twinge of disbelief sneaking around the ominous words. "Never coming back..."

Bruce kept muttering to himself for a moment more, incomprehensible to Clark, before going back to his blank stare towards the shadowed wall. Clark only picked Bruce up and carried him towards the medbay. He was convinced it was an induced psychotic episode of some kind, caused by some kind of reaction to any number of the usual toxins. A new amped up version of fear gas sounded likely.

But as Clark ran the kit (he was well used to this by now, working up some of the finer tests in this medbay over the years) the results came back normal.

Clark glanced at Bruce who was all but a hollow shell, practically vegetative where he laid in the bed. That wasn't entirely uncommon in a fear toxin exposure, although Bruce would have been more fidgety even so. Pupils dilated and tittering around. Silent fear oozing from the bed. Clark remembered those scenes well, too well.

This...wasn't any of that.

Clark ran another kit. Normal.

Then he ran the tests for more obscure things. Maybe a bad batch of Joker Gas? Had he been drugged with a cocktail of something unknown? Maybe more traditional drugs, though Clark didn't find anything like that in Bruce's system. Should he have Zatanna or J'onn on standby? He didn't feel any magical presence, that telltale obnoxious ringing in his ears accompanied by a headache from the tricky stuff, but maybe it wasn't present enough for Clark to pick up on. J'onn would be able to tell if it was mind control of some kind.

After all the tests came back negative and Bruce was still so distant, still seemingly drowning inside his own mind, barely breathing, so deathly still...

It was only now that Clark noticed the trail of old tears streaking down Bruce's lifeless face.

Clark called J'onn.

The Martian arrived shortly and gave the scene before him a strange look. One Clark only saw when there was something only a mind reader could hear or discern from any given situation. J'onn walked over to Bruce and stood there for a time, closing his eyes and occasionally speaking something in Martian.

After a few minutes, Bruce's eyes closed and he fell limp on the medbay bed. Dropping like a discarded doll onto the sheets. The suddenness of seeing that tore a flinch from Clark, and his worry jumped up to his throat.

J'onn opened his eyes and regarded the blanket off to the side, before collecting it and draping it over Bruce.

"He needs rest. And time." J'onn said, looking solemnly down toward Bruce. There was a deep sadness in his eyes, and it wasn't the usual permanent kind that had been sitting there for a long, long time now.

"You put him to sleep?" Clark asked, feeling unsteady. He didn't like not knowing what was going on.

"His mind is...in chaos." J'onn twisted his lips for a moment, ruminating over how to phrase his response, Clark was sure. "It is better that he be asleep for the time being."

Not good. Really not good.

"What caused this?"

"This is no ill effect from toxins. The children caused this state."

The kids?

Clark blinked rapidly then did a double take from the bed where a practically comatose Bruce lay, and the spot where Bruce had been kneeling when Clark found him. The kids...did what? This?

How?

"I'm not sure I follow."

"They have hurt him. Deeply." The Martian sighed, his hand resting on Bruce's shoulder, all kind comfort despite the etching lines of concern now showing on J'onn's face. "This is grief. Heartache. In an immense quantity."

What?

Clark stared towards Bruce. Even in sleep, the man's face looked so...anguished.

He thought of the few words Bruce had spoken before going silent.

They wouldn't have...?

Could they?

"How long will he be out?"

J'onn did an approximation of a shrug. He still did not appear to be used to human gestures of body language yet. Clark thought he might never get them down, but that was okay, he didn't need to with how articulate he was all the time. "A few hours, perhaps longer. I can do no more than that."

A few hours of rest would do Bruce good, Clark wagered.

But there was still that horrible, eerie feeling in his bones that a simple nap would not fix whatever had been broken in Bruce.

"I'll take things over from here, thank you." Clark spoke, moving closer to the bed and lingering at the foot of it. "J'onn...what did you see?"

"Perhaps....it would be best you saw for yourself." J'onn stated ominously, then gestured toward the Batcomputer. Clark knew there were cameras in the cave, ones with audio.

He had a terrible feeling blossoming in his gut, but nodded towards J'onn anyways, who then made his exit by phasing out of sight. Clark took once last glance of Bruce before he made his way over to the computer.

He pulled up the most recent surveillance footage dated back a few hours before. In it, he saw all of the children save for Cassandra, Damian, and Duke in a broken semi-circle near the workbenches. All pairs of eyes on Bruce.

They did not look happy.

Bruce was standing near the console of the computer, arms crossed loosely with a tight look on his face as he regarded the children. His children.

Dick spoke up first.

"Why are you always like this?"

The words were overfull of a thousand accusations. Bruce stiffened where he stood at the precipice of their discontent. Clark crossed his arms and tried to ignore the pointed edge he heard in Dick's voice.

"I told you before, it was need-to-know information. You didn't need to know."

"No, but you hid this shit from us anyway, then nearly died because of it! Not to mention the threat to our civilian identities. Thanks a lot, asshole." Steph snapped out, kicking a foot in the air where she sat on one of the workbenches, clearly upset.

"Your identities were not compromised. We made certain of that."

"Really? Because it feels like every time you pull a stunt like this, some hyper bullshit happens afterwards. And it's all your fault for not speaking the fuck up sooner." Jason chimed in, lines of anger etched into his face. "We're getting sick of this shit, old man."

Bruce sighed through his nose, his frustration clear on his face, along with a deep exhaustion. Clark had a feeling this wasn't the start of this particular conversation. "You all know there are risks to what we do. Many risks."

Tim scoffed where he sat on the floor. "Yeah, but this is getting out of hand, isn't it? First the case with Marlowe, then the stunt with Talia the other week, and now this?" The teen ran his hand over his face and remarked, "You were half dead out there. Probably would have died if Jay hadn't dragged you out. 8/10 points for effort."

"Tim, I'm fine. I lived. It was a mistake."

Dick stepped forward like a shield being put into place, eyes all-consuming ire. "Everything is always a mistake with you, these days. You don't trust people to help you when you need it, and we shouldn't have to beg you to ask us for it! Then there's your choices as of late, and it's like you're doubling down on this shit all over again!? Are we even a team here or not? Are we even your kids?"

Bruce's brow rose and a flicker of panic cross his face. "I do trust you. And you are my children. But this wasn't something I thought required your attention." He explained, bringing a hand to the side of his temple, the telltale sign of a headache approaching. "You all have ongoing cases of your own. You're in good places right now. And it's not as if we don't have high risk cases like this from time to time. I followed the set protocols, you already know this. I simply didn't want to sap your attention away for something that didn't require it!"

"If that's the case, then why are we here?" Jason snapped out, all bite.

"You tell me." Bruce threw back, jaw set in stone. "You all showed up today like this is some sort of intervention? What is it that you want from me? What do you want me to say?"

"You know what?" Dick said, stepping into the theoretical spotlight. "Maybe nothing at all. No apologies can fix this, not like you'll actually make changes anyway. Maybe this is an intervention! But not for you." Dick spoke, getting louder. "You know what we want? To be done with this constant cycle of shit you pull. Maybe, we're tired of the lies and the secrets and what's done for 'our own good'! We don't need you anymore. Not this, not your bullshit, not your distance or your tutelage or your love. Gotham will be fine without the goddamn Batman. We'll make sure of it. And we'll be perfectly fine without this. Without you."

Bruce stood still, eyes wide. Jaw clenched tight.

Clark felt his own heartbeat rise up to his throat.

In a small voice, Bruce whispered, "You don't mean that."

"Do I?" Dick asked, all fire and brimstone. "Sure feels rock solid to me! I'm done. Go get yourself killed for all I care, you clearly seem to want it."

"I'm with Dick, we're done." Jason added, pushing away from the workbench.

"How are we supposed to trust you with our backs when you won't trust us with yours? And how well has that gone so far?" Steph pointed out, grabbing her bag that had been prone next to her on the table top as she hopped down. "How many more of us need to die to get this through to you? Or does it only end whenever you finally get yourself killed?"

Bruce looked deathly pale. "You know it's not as simple as that. There have always been risks in what we do!"

"Maybe not, but maybe it is that simple. Maybe you just have a deathwish too great to push past. Maybe your risks are far too risky." Dick said, collecting a few scattered things before heading towards the stairs, all the others in tow. "Goodbye, Bruce. Don't reach out. I'm taking Damian with us."

"Dick, wait--!" Bruce tried to reach out towards Dick. His hand was met with a particularly brutal smack away from the young man.

Bruce took a shocked step back. Clark hadn't ever seen Dick react like that before.

"No. If you want an audience to your death, go find someone else. You know what? You're not our father anymore." Dick ground out through his teeth, eyes all ablaze in an anger Clark couldn't even recognize the source of. "You haven't earned it. You never did. Certainly not after this.

The four of them left in a hurry afterwards, despite Bruce's plea that they stay. Clark hadn't seen them so sure of themselves before. Heard them be so...cruel.

He hadn't realized he was leaving indented handprints in the edge of the console until he saw what happened next on the footage.

In the silence lingering afterwards, catching the horrified look on Bruce's face...

Bruce just stood there. For an uncomfortable amount of time. Face stuck in shock and horror.

The way Dick had said it, so casually and with such malice tattooed into his words...Like he'd meant it, had meant it for a long while now...Where the hell had that come from? Clark couldn't figure it out. It was like he had seen a completely different person talking. Not the sweet, chatty child he once knew. Not the man he thought Dick had become in the years since.

Then, Clark saw Bruce break down.

The weight of the argument seemingly cascaded over him accompanied by a keening sound hidden in the back of his throat, tears falling freely down the man's face.

What came next drove a spike of horror into Clark's heart.

It was...difficult to watch. To listen to.

Clark ended the playback and checked the time on the counter. This had been six hours ago. Six hours Bruce had been left here alone, after that. After what they'd told him.

And he believed them.

Clark felt a horrid mess of things fill his chest. Anger, disappointment. Ten thousand conflicting emotions. He'd never thought they would go that far. Be so horrible.

They had all left for one reason or another, before. But never like this.

Fast footsteps suddenly echoed down the stairs, running, and Clark looked over to find Damian sprinting down, skipping steps. He looked half dressed in his Robin uniform, just the boots and pants, but was still wearing his school uniform top and jacket.

"Where's Father?" Damian demanded, speed walking toward Clark.

"He's resting. For now."

"They said they weren't coming back." The boy spoke, nearly snarling. Head snapping around the cave, searching until he finally spotted Bruce's sleeping form in the medbay. His eyes only softened ever so slightly in relief. "I didn't want to go with them. Traitors."

Clark couldn't blame the boy. He wouldn't want to be carted off by irrationally angry siblings without any real input of his own. Dick had spoken about taking Damian as if he were owed it somehow. What was with that? How much had Damian even been told about the elder siblings actions anyway?

Clark still wasn't sure what exactly had caused his mess. He recalled the events with Marlowe, but, he didn't think it was anything so out of the ordinary that it would tempt this severe of a reaction. What else had happened since? Or was there something else Clark was missing, something different? Maybe this wasn't caused by a breaking point, more so maybe this was something else. He'd seen these four specifically have very volatile reaction towards Bruce over the years. Certain kids more so than others. But this? It was like the hammer crashing into the scalpel. Crude and hard and fast, but hitting with a surgical precision that was extremely effective.

Whatever this was, whatever the cause...Clark had a distinct feeling that no matter what Bruce had done, it would've ended this way regardless.

And that in and of itself was telling of a different issue altogether.

There was movement in his peripheral and Clark glanced over at Cassandra arriving on her bike, tossing her helmet off before stalking over toward the bay. Guess she, too, heard what had happened through the grapevine. She sat on Bruce's bed and took up his hand in her own. Damian watched her for a moment before jotting over to join her.

Clark watched them for a time, giving them space. He heard the arrival of someone else--Duke, he guessed correctly as the teen ran over, asking the others what was happening where they huddled around their father.

"They said they weren't coming back. What happened?" Duke asked, all panicked notes and elevated heartbeat.

"They are fools." Damian replied, curling up against his father's side. "Let them leave. It's what they wanted all this time."

"Good riddance." Cass murmured, staring down at Bruce's hand with a sadness and raging fire deep in her eyes. "Won't forgive them. Never. Betrayers."

And all at once, those conflicting emotions within Clark's chest fizzled out.

Batman and Robin: Year One #10

At his entrance, Clark waved at Dick, who walked over with a light grin.

"So, you're why Bruce ran off in the middle of patrol?"

Clark gave a sheepish smile.

"Lex has been experimenting with lab-grown kryptonite. I had to call in Diana and Bruce; they're upstairs right now."

Dick cocked his head. "Isn't the post-kryptonite protocol to go to the Watchtower?"

"I prefer being here after a rough mission, honestly. I'm sure you feel the same..?"

Snorting, Dick responded. "I don't know many people who prefer being in Gotham after a rough day, no. Though, the city does grow on you. Like black mold."

That made Clark laugh, and Alfred tut from where he was still cleaning the surgical tools.

"Not that," Clark clarified amusedly. "I meant, don't you want to be around your brothers and sisters after a bad day too?"

Dick paused. He'd known, everybody knew, that Clark, Bruce, and Diana were far closer than most in the League. They were each other's first call; hell, Dick and his siblings had grown up with their Auntie Di and Uncle Clark.

Still, Dick had thought that was a... family friend situation.

There was a loud clang from behind Dick, and both Clark and Dick turned to Alfred. His back was towards them both, so Clark asked, "Alfred...? You okay?"

"I apologize for the startle, Master Clark. It seems my old age is catching up to me, and in my clumsiness I dropped the scalpel set." He turned to them briefly, eyes suspiciously red and soft, lips helplessly twitched upwards. He held the bowl of rubbing alcohol and scalpels. "I shall return momentarily."

Clark smiled at Alfred's retreating back, and smiled wider at Bruce and Diana's incoming voices.

"-one month, Bruce. They'll be together by the end of the month," came Diana's lilting voice.

"They still don't know they even like each other," Bruce argued back.

"Not everyone needs half a dozen years to accept their feelings after realizing it," Diana teased back.

The duo stopped by Clark's cot, Diana ruffling Dick's hair and Bruce laying an arm on his shoulder before dropping it.

"Are you betting on Booster Gold and Blue Beetle again?"

"I'd bet the batplane on it taking longer than a month."

Diana turned her head sharply to Bruce, an eager grin and a hungry look in her eyes. "You swear it?"

Bruce narrowed his eyes in a challenge. "I swear it."

Dick watched the interaction with glee, even as he analyzed it through the lens of siblinghood and not friendship. They... really do bicker like siblings, huh?

"I'm going to wash up, do you need anything from the manor?" Dick asked Clark, who had been watching Bruce and Diana with fond eyes.

"I'm good," he said, not looking away from the duo. "I've got what I need."

Dick thought of the bone-deep loyalty he had to his brothers and sister. He thought about how he'd easily drop everything, the Titans, Bludhaven, his friends, to be there when they call. The instinctual need to protect, a surprise each time he felt it with a new sibling. The trust in his siblings to have his back if he needed them; that, no matter what nasty words or harsh blows they dealt each other, if Dick was in a dark place, they would be the first to reach a hand down.

1- him sulking because he wants selina.

2- him being flustered because of selina.

3- him gazing lovingly at selina.

4- him being distracted by selina and daydreaming about her.

5 - him being happy & at peace because of selina.

6 - him being playful around selina and selina only.

honorable mentions : him panicking because he can’t find selina.

This one???? The “tearing up Gotham in my Batmobile >:)” one???

BRUCE DOES IT TOO.