Darkest Before the Dawn

…

“No, I’m Clark Kent, nice to meet you Mr Wayne.” With a grin, Clark finished the last of his coffee then set the cup down. “Well no, just be nice.” It was easier to say. “Speak to them, get to know a couple of them. I heard Scott was their leader back when they were still formed. Maybe start there?” Clark suggested. 

He raised an eyebrow slightly. “You’re not blaming the inaction on Steve Rogers are you? It sounded like you were implying that.” Clark tried to hide his amusement though. “I have no issues with the former Captain America, I can even relate to some things like the press, interviews, being an American icon.” It was personally nice for Clark to have someone around that could relate to that. 

“She doesn’t eat egg, so this doesn’t have eggs in it.” He pushed the cake closer. “It might make you smile.” Clark teased a little. “No, actually. I’ve been okay at balancing our diets. I’ve moved the meat into a large freezer so it’s not crossing with the food she can eat but other than that… it’s fine. I cook it all because she’s terrible at it.” He took a bite of his own slice then shrugged. “It’s cake.”

-

“On the contrary,” he said. “I have no professional problems with Rogers. I trust Diana’s judgement of him. I’m implying that we are held in a stalemate by the enemy, but I don’t believe the enemy is as unwilling to commit acts of war against our side as we are against theirs. I blame the conflicting moralities on the team, our own uncertainties of one another, our failure to fully integrate, and internal issues such as the trouble with the young Miss Maximoff. No one individual is responsible for our delicately hanging balance. What I fear is that the balance is an illusion and we’re allowing criminality to go unpunished for fear of its retaliation. Diana is holding the fates of thousands in her hands when you consider the sheer number of metahumans at the mercy of the ISA’s orders. Should she and Rogers draw their ire, they could turn their actions to a greater level. I understand why we wait, but I fear the small atrocities mounting in number might be just as bad as a full scale response.”

Bruce shrugged. “As for my personal feelings about Rogers... they are irrelevant.” Clark and Diana would claim Bruce did not play well with others. Bruce disagreed, but only because those with whom he did play well were not averse to predictability and following orders from others. Rogers was, in many ways, what Bruce would describe as a loose canon. He established his own rules and restrictions, he had imploded his teams, and he drew a lot of attention to himself. He operated in a manner completely foreign to the Batman and the man behind that cowl. Bruce knew he was a good man, but goodness wasn’t the same as tactfulness. He was unsold on Rogers’ capacity as a large scale leader when he was known to turn against his own team members when they disagreed. 

He scoffed. “Clark. You know I lack the muscles to smile.” He was capable of teasing Clark, and he did it now and accompanied it with one of the so-called impossible expressions on his face. “I had them removed.” He lifted his fork to take a bite of Clark’s vegan cake and was pleasantly surprised by the flavor. “You baked this?”

…

Understand? He thought that in a way, Bruce should just know. But it wasn’t as though he was a telepath, and as clairvoyant as the Bat seemed, he was just a man. “I assumed you’d only want to rehash an argument at Alfred’s behest.”

It was, perhaps, cruel of him to box Bruce in to only caring about Damian when asked to. He had made effort to understand him, talk to him, be interested in his hobbies, encouraged him to work in a team. That was before the ISA, though. Before the Sokovia Accords and Superman’s betrayal and un-betrayal. Since then, it felt like he was more Robin than Damian. Then Bruce had to throw himself fully into this work. Damian still felt wrong-footed in Sokovia and unable to find his bearings in a way that felt meaningful. His attempts at security were just the blunder that drew Bruce’s attention the most. The idea of taking all of those feelings, those thoughts, and putting them out into the world seemed physically impossible. An al-Ghul did not whimper and cry about feelings. A Wayne didn’t flounder for his place in the world.

“I came to Sokovia because Batman is supposed to need Robin.” It was the story they told themselves. They all needed Batman somehow, his approval, his leadership, his strength. And in return, they gave him a partner in his mission. Only… Bruce had more allies than he knew what to do with. The proof was in the filled rooms of the castle and friends flocking into Sokovia. “I wanted to remind you I was capable.”

Damian felt a lump in his chest, sitting like a rock. Some thing he had not fully formed with his own thoughts and words because he had been so stuck on the cyclical loop that was anger over his father and desire to be loved by him. “I’m not here just to wait for your commands.” 

-

Were this a different kind of conversation, perhaps Bruce might have found some means to fit in a joke for the sake of levity. He knew the tools to do so. He could ask Damian what it was people said when assumptions were made. Somehow in this circumstance, alleging that they were both asses didn’t seem as if it would be well received. Instead, he struggled not to dwell on the way his stomach grew uncomfortable when Damian implied Bruce’s emotional ineptitude. Alfred’s importance to the family and its harmony was unquestionable, but Bruce wasn’t entirely without empathy or emotional ability. That perception revealed yet another flaw in the careful machine of his family life. 

He was silent while Damian spoke, repeating something to him Tim was the first to really point out. Bruce would love to claim his efficacy was the same when he worked alone as it was when he had allies. After so long in the field, he’d come to understand the untruth in that. He thought they all did. 

“You think I don’t need you?” He asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “Damian... I encourage you to act and to grow independent of me. Our disagreement stems from an experience I learned the hard way.” Damian was so like him in many ways, but there were also places where he saw his mother. Bruce could only imagine the dissonance in his two halves, but he never intended to establish Damian as an afterthought.

“Nearly impossible,” Diana replied without having to give the question thought. “For all that he is an excellent leader and strategist, Steve is carried by his emotions and his loyalty perhaps even more than I am. He sees the girl as his responsibility, his charge, even though she is a woman grown. He will not change that way of thinking. And I daresay he may be hostile to any suggestion otherwise.”

Despite the subject, Diana’s eyes warmed at Bruce’s response and support. She even managed a small smile, reaching out a hand to brush his knuckles. “Thank you, Bruce,” she said, the words soft with gratefulness. “But I fear I must already ask your support. I have already reached out to M’gann, asking her to return from the Watchtower in case we need a telepath’s intervention for Wanda, so I haven’t been completely remiss, but…” Diana sighed and dipped her head for a moment, shoulders bowing, before raising her gaze again. “Something has happened. Something I discovered at the same time as… All of this. Something in the woods… has harmed Steve. My Steve, Steve Trevor. He’s lost all of his memories of the past century, and I fear that I had grown… Far too used to his remembering. I find myself—” Diana swallowed past her pride, jaw clenching. “Emotionally compromised. I… would ask too much of you, my friend, but… I fear that I am not prepared to pull my weight as a leader just now. I would ask for… A brief respite, a few days, or weeks, I’m not sure, but—just a short while. And there is no one I would trust to take my place more than you. Would you be willing?” she asked, more hope hanging on the words than she wanted to admit.  

-

Bruce winced slightly. While he could rail against such behavior for its foolishness, it would only serve as an exercise in hypocrisy. Was Bruce not the same in his stalwart defense of his Robins? Of his sons? He’d been on the receiving end of Steve’s self-righteousness, but the place from which his conviction originated was not necessarily foreign to Bruce. “Hostility is difficult to circumvent. But you trust Steve Rogers. Perhaps the best approach we can hope for is to trust in your instincts.” He smiled lightly. “Were it anyone but you, Diana, you know I would never suggest such a thing. I can take the precautions we have mentioned, but perhaps Steve Rogers is right and she is worthy of his loyalty. Perhaps she can maintain what she is doing until she is capable of control. I trust Zatanna’s influence, as well.” He wasn’t an optimist. The harsh realities of life had long since snuffed out the possibility. However, he could recognize Steve’s competencies and he was intimately familiar with Zatanna’s.

“Trevor has returned again?” He asked. “I didn’t know...” He should have known. It was his job to be aware, but the circumstances of Steve Trevor’s situation made him difficult to track. The woods could be explored. Question had a few reports on it. Perhaps Bruce could follow up. His mind halted its natural bursting pathways when she confessed to being compromised, to needing rest. When did Diana ever do so without adequate cause? Perhaps in a different circumstance, Bruce’s long extinguished ambition toward leadership to assuage his desperation for control might have sparked to life once more at the opportunity to take on such a role, but with her deep brown eyes full of uncharacteristic desperation, Bruce couldn’t summon any kind of selfishness of that kind. 

“However you need me to,” he reminded her, hoping the intensity in his tone was answer in itself. Bruce set down his mug so he could slide his hand across the table and gently slip his fingertips under hers. “Your position will be waiting for you when you’re ready. In the meantime, is there anything else you need? I can have a private wing cleared out for you to share with him if that’s what would be helpful.”

…

Thick hide hade her smile iching further upwards, spreading across her face. “A few other things may have,” she said with single-shouldered-shrug, taking another drink from the coffee cup still in hand. “I think it could definitely be argued that I’ve taken influence from certain methodologies of yours. I’d probably argue back until I was blue in the face, but the point would still stand.” In truth, Barbara knew there were a number of similarities between herself and the man that had trained her. Some were flattering, most were not, and she preferred to pretend that none of them were true. Back to business, and Barbara  sat up a little straighter, lightly drumming the fingers of her right hand on the surface of her desk and humming under her breath as she thought. “Captain Rogers, for certain,” she began, though that may not have come as a surprise. Barbara’s friendship with Steve had grown strong over the years, and she trusted him both inside and outside of the field. “I’ve worked with Black Widow and Hawkeye outside of the Nomads, prior to coming here. There’s no denying that Black Widow is competent and effective in what she does. Same can be said for Hawkeye, and personally speaking I’d prefer to work with him above Romanoff.” Though that was more of a personality clash than anything else; Natasha and Barbara’s unimpressed status with each other certainly hadn’t changed since their time working together for SHIELD. “The Winter Soldier. Well, the original iteration; the second has raised some concerns.”

“Well, I know how much you all hate to be compared to me.” He feigned indifference to it, but Bruce was observant enough to know they all would buck against any similarity to him. He had no words or methods to alter that perception, electing instead to leave it. He didn’t require their approval or acceptance to further what he needed to accomplish. It was entirely possible all of Bruce’s ability to be palatable died with his parents. The rest of it was pretense.

He winced. “I see. Evidently my most important methodology didn’t stick.” All assassins. She’d named all assassins, and all on Rogers’ team. Murderers who elected to exact justice to which they had no right. The decision to end life meant living in darkness where no one dedicated to protecting the world should live. “My files do not dispute their efficacy. I’m surprised the former Winter Soldier doesn’t raise the same concerns as the latter. Brainwashing and triggers. Black Widow as well. Instability and unpredictability.” They were no longer as closely aligned as they were in Gotham, and therefore she didn’t have to agree with him. It still darkened his mind to consider it. Perhaps Bruce needed to stop viewing Barbara as an extension of Jim. He’d afforded her that privilege for so long, denying her the right to form her own impressions to him while simultaneously shielding her from so much of his critical eye. A descendant of his oldest friend whose tiny hand he’d shaken upon their introduction when she was a child could hardly be judged on the same standards as the others. An oversight, perhaps.

Marc really wished his body could relax, but whenever he so much as thought the name Khonshu it was like he tightened in anticipation for bullshit. So he didn’t have the easy way with it that Jake did when he declared their ridiculous title. “I am the Moon Knight, Protector of the Travelers of the Night, and Fist of the ancient god Khonshu.” It really lacked the punch it did when he summed the suit while he did it. But it wasn’t a toy and he really didn’t need a vampire-meta-mind reading-night devil going feral over the glowing vestments.

He threw the ancient in there for the huff that damned bird skull always made. Even if he couldn’t see it, he could feel it.

“He told me to come here when there was suspicious magic, old magic. But it’s stopped for now. We have other work to do, though. The whole part where I protect the traveler.” Getting people out of Sokovia who needed to be out. Steven had some inklings of cases involving artifacts of significance, but they all agreed those were less important than the people who needed moved, or needed supplies. He couldn’t really read the Bat’s expression behind that cowl. The eyes looked like lenses, not blinking or tracking visibly. His face had otherwise been entirely stoic since Marc first got eyes on him.

Superman was what got his shoulders to drop, just a fraction. Exasperation reading on his posture more than anything. “I didn’t assault Superman, he attacked first. I didn’t even–” Marc huffed. Getting into Steven was too much. “It doesn’t matter anymore, anyway. The magic that was there is gone now, so whatever was causing it either stopped or Superman absorbed it or whatever. It was self-defense. Probably keeping him from going insane and shooting laser eyes at the whole city.” He could imagine the press field day over that.

The Moon Knight. Batman accepted the information and attempted to recollect any data he’d stored in his mind. Alfred was doubtlessly on the other side pulling it up manually to feed to Bruce through his earpiece. 

“Moon Knight, Master Bruce, is an allegedly former vigilante responsible for stopping a string of crimes in New York City not unlike so many of those which plague Gotham. According to your records, there have been counts of human trafficking rings, drug busts, and others. Khonshu is a moon god from the Ancient Egyptian period, depicted as the son of the god-king Amon and the air goddess Amaunet. There is some debate on the mother, as others name mother goddess Mut. According to your files, the man in front of you is not the first Moon Knight. The first reference to a hand of Khonshu dates back to at least 4000 before common era in ancient Mesopotamia. 

According to the notes here, this man could be a number of people. Jake Lockley is not one of them. On an Egyptian dig some years ago, it is reported that a man by the name of Marc Spector was the sole survivor of what appears to have been a massacre. You have written here: ‘Investigate connection between Spector and appearance of Moon Knight. Speculation’. I take it you did not investigate. Perhaps you were too caught up with Miss Kyle at the time. I seem to recall an overlap around this time.”

Bruce didn’t answer that. Only Alfred would take the time to put in such a jibe during a mission. Alfred and Oracle, but her business took her out of his ear and returned him to the days of old when the butler was there to be the eyes and the information. 

“Suspicious magic,” he repeated. Wanda Maximoff suited that description, and they would be foolish to believe such an event would have no fallout. Perhaps she was the cause of this. “What travelers are you aiding here in Sokovia?” 

“Vance Bloodgood,” Stephanie repeated aloud as she took typed out the name in her phone. Stephanie was able to find his social media profiles with ease, starting with instagram and scrolling through the thumbnail photos, finding that she was able to quickly confirm the information that Bruce had given her. “Goddamn, this dude looks like a real douchebag,” Stephanie said with a bit of a cringe as she clicked one of the photos to enlarge it. “New admittedly-awesome-looking sailboat, check. Lots of show-y gala photos at flashy museums, check. Too fast cars that cost more than the entire apartment building I grew up in, check.  Blonde women half his age, check.” Stephanie rolled her eyes as she continued to scroll, eyebrows knitting together slightly as she made notes. “What a fuckin’ tool,” she mumbled, more to herself than Bruce as she continued to scroll with her eyebrows knitting together just slightly in concentration. “Shit like this,” Stephanie confirmed, smiling slightly as she continued to other social media platforms to continue her digging. “Spy shit. Undercover shit, which I call spy shit because it’s more fun that way.” She’d done a few undercover-type-stints for Barbara and the Birds of Prey over the course of the past few years. Admittedly, it wasn’t Stephanie’s favorite type of operation but it was definitely sometimes necessary with the job. Even only half paying attention to Bruce with her nose deep in social media dive, Stephanie was able to notice the change in his disposition; the change was sharp, quick, and Stephanie looked up from her phone. She noted the tension in his jaw and found herself frowning before she could catch herself and fix her face. He’d always been hard for her to read, which led to overcompensating and jumping to every conclusion in the book (from bad to worse and back again, and everything in-between) - that had not changed over the years, and Stephanie’s mind was racing ahead to try to trace back to the change in his disposition. “I can do it, y’know. For all the shits and giggles I’m spewing, I’m more than capable of doing this job.” And she’d prove it, too. She was already internally bristling, prepared to further defend herself without the need to do so even indicated. Always jumping ahead. “I think I have an alias I can re-purpose for this,” she continued, pushing through and turning back to her phone. “It’s one I used once-upon-a-time for the Birds. Social media profiles should just need a little tweaking and then Barbara’s work is cut in half and my cupcake bribery will be next to nonexistent. Better for her health, y’know.” It took a few guesses to log back into those social media accounts, but Stephanie made quick work of it. “Meet Aurora King, already documented as a student at Georgetown University though now she just so happens to be studying art history.”

Her assessment earned a grunt, its amusement only demonstrated by the uptick of his lips. Stephanie had a way with words. Bruce certainly wasn’t the type to declare a suspect a “fuckin’ tool”, but her sentiments certainly weren’t misplaced. She was so different from Dick, Tim, and Damian. The way she expressed herself was only the top layer of that antonymic disposition. It was the very reason he had blocked her success at first. The consequences of that action were the reason he was working against his initial instincts to foster her now. 

Bruce knitted his brow when she defended herself. He was uncertain what about him had indicated the need. Perhaps his facial expression. “I wouldn’t have asked for your assistance if I believed you incapable.” He would have determined some other way to go about this. There were others in the Mousehole who could have accompanied him. Perhaps M’Gann M’Orzz, a master of disguise like her uncle. He questioned her capacity for dishonesty, however. He wasn’t untruthful when he told Stephanie he selected her for her personal skills. “Are you nervous?”

-

Bruce rarely allowed himself to be compromised emotionally. It was a luxury he could not afford in Gotham. The snow on the ground was mostly melted, though what little remained was stained a filthy brown and lined the gutters of the streets as he stepped out of the hospital door and into the alley adjacent to the building. The sterile scent and harsh white lights inside transported his mind to a limp hand in his as Stephanie Brown’s clouded blue eyes lost their light. He’d offered her peace through dishonesty that night, the last beats of her heart on the monitor tearing at his psyche and mocking him until the sustained tone of her death stabbed inescapable pain behind his eyes. Her death was not her failure. It was his. Bruce’s intentions in how hard he worked her before he sent her away were to prevent this very tragedy. His hubris allowed him to believe he could control Gotham’s bloodlust with a preventative measure. He’d never offered Stephanie his protection or guidance. He’d refused her at every turn before sending her away for a slight against him of his own creation, driving her directly into the path which led her to that hospital only a few short months prior. 

He’d killed her.

Jim Gordon was one of Bruce’s only friends. In many ways, he was more. It was Jim who’d found Bruce the day he’d lost his parents in a similar alley to the one which currently enveloped him in shadows where he stood with his fists pressed so tightly against his eyes that the pressure invited stars and dancing lights over a gray abyss he wished would consume him. Jim was present for so many of Bruce’s triumphs and failures as both a man and as the Bat. It would be remiss of Bruce not to consider him a form of family. He’d stood solid for Jim when the doctors informed him of Barbara’s condition. She’d never walk again. Joker’s bullet severed her spine’s connection to her legs. Barbara, so like Jim in her strength and stubborn refusal to be compromised by anything, was grounded. 

Joker should have been in Arkham. Bruce’s files and updates from the Asylum wrongly informed him of the clown’s continued containment. Had he been aware of the escape, he would have put out the call to all of his people to warn them. He hadn’t known. The man who knew everything in this city was blinded, and the cost was exponential.

Bruce was not a man to cry. Since the death of Thomas and Martha Wayne where through to his decision to begin his journey towards the required excellence of Batman, he’d succumbed to his emotions. He’d wept at first, until the anger became all consuming and he felt nothing but the desire to find the man who’d orphaned him and exact his vengeance. Back then, he’d wanted to curl his hands around that man’s throat and squeeze until the air left his lungs and he was as dead as the parents he’d stolen. 

The ferocity of his inclinations ultimately found no outlet when Bruce discovered Joe Chill was by no means the monstrous mastermind he’d constructed in his grief. He was not the hellbent demon intent on devastation and vile acts of cruelty like the murder of an eight year old’s parents before his very eyes. He was a victim of circumstance, and what he’d done rendered Bruce the very same. Bruce could not bring himself to take the life of the man who’d ruined his own. Instead, his rage turned inward to roil and create within Bruce Wayne a creature capable of all the heinousness he’d credited to Joe Chill before he’d found the truth. The monster he buried so frightened Bruce that he turned to the creation of something else. Batman was the unyielding wall poised between the public and its safety and the creature inside Bruce Wayne prepared to succumb to the anger he never released. That monster would destroy the world, twisting it to match his deviance and hate.

He’d repressed this monster through strict code and vicious adherence to his principles, refusing to even give voice to the monster. Even with Stephanie’s death, Bruce had been successful in keeping it contained. However, the news of Barbara’s paraplegia was the final breaking point. There in the alley, Bruce didn’t weep for Barbara. Instead, the beast provided him a complex fantasy wherein he captured the Joker and made him pay for all of his crimes. The torture Bruce enacted on the clown in the flashes he experienced were beyond the reaches of any vestige of humanity. The monster longed to hear the clown beg for death.

He wouldn’t beg, though. Bruce knew it. If anything, it would delight the Joker to realize he’d been right about Bruce. This was just another move in the clown’s chess game against the bat, the ultimate goal not to win anything but Batman’s destruction and the release of the monster within. 

“No,” Bruce snarled, the sharp tang of blood on his tongue pulling him from the vortex of the monster’s mind back to the physical presence within that alley. He forced the creature down, though the battle between them was more difficult to wage today than it had ever been before.

He schooled himself into something stoic once more. He’d need to be there for Jim. It was the least he could do. Barbara’s revolving door of visitors demonstrated how much she was loved. Bruce would remain a vigilant sentinel for Jim until duty called them both from where they wanted to be. 

His reentry into the hospital lacked triumph despite his victory over the beast. To the outside world, he was a man run ragged by tragedy with an admirable physical resilience. Most men would be crippled by the grief of Bruce’s circumstances, unable to keep from crying or screaming. Externally, nothing but fatigue showed on his face as he wished for the cowl which could conceal even that.

His eyes, though blue, were so filled with the storm of his crumbling life they appeared gray as he lifted them to the sound of his name. The approaching blond man was someone he recognized. The entire world knew Steve Rogers. Where Bruce relied on subtlety and shadow, Rogers was bathed in celebrity and ceremony. They’d collaborated two years prior during the Chitauri invasion, and thus Bruce knew him well enough to nod once. Rogers knew Bruce Wayne and Batman were one in the same after an unfortunate event in Gotham went awry and the man with the shield was incapable of leaving the situation to the man in the cowl, thus compromising Batman’s identity. It was a slip not often made by the Bat, but one with which he’d been forced to contend. 

“Captain Rogers,” he greeted, his voice raw and ragged from his internal battle in the alley. “I’m sure Barbara was pleased to see you. It was good of you to come.” The pleasantries were programmed, robotic and without weight. He was too compromised for that lie. The façade of his sociability was the last mask he cared to maintain at the moment.

@nomadcaptain​

…

“Bruce… Bruce, you are thinking way too hard about this. You have to remember that the X-Men dynamic is completely different to ours. You just need to make some effort to let them know that we’re all on the same side, welcome them into the fold. Wolverine seems to have settled in just fine with everyone.” At the question, all Clark could do was shrug a shoulder. It was a feeling that most people shared, eager to get back home but if it wasn’t for the ISA, and hell, the US government, all this would’ve been over sooner. “We’re all wanted for not signing.” He did sign, but refusing to co-operate had put a rather large target on his back and he couldn’t go back home because the ISA is watching his parents and the farm, waiting his return. 

“I could never get bored of you, Bruce.” Then he offered him a plate with cake on it. “It’s vegetarian if that helps?” 

-

“Have you met me?” His voice was dry. Clark and Diana tormented him endlessly for this overthinking. He endured it from everyone who was close to him. “How are we supposed to welcome them into the fold, Clark? Should I organize a potluck?” This irritated him. He didn’t have time to coddle the X-Men and ease them into serving their duties on a team they’d willingly joined. He bore enough of his own frustrations without taking on one as inane as pandering to make the X-Men feel welcome. 

“I know that, Clark. My whole family knows that. But it isn’t something we’re accepting. There needs to be a goal.” He sighed, clenching and releasing his fists. “This indeterminate waiting could drive me to madness. Inaction will get us nowhere. I know Diana and Steve are trying, but each leak they plug allows three others to spring forth from the pressure they’re containing. It’s an impossible task to keep trying to maintain this balance. Diana deserves better than that.”

He stared at the cake and laughed a little. “Vegetarian? Isn’t all cake?” He accepted the plate, though he and Clark both knew he’d likely eat only a bite or two for the sake of politesse rather than enjoying the confection to its fullest. His astringency about his diet was born of necessity. He couldn’t afford indulgence without the enhancements or innate abilities of the others. “Have Lois’ dietary restrictions driven you to shameful secret burgers yet?” Clark was a red-blooded American man. Denying him meat was akin to challenging his culture.

.

“I agree,” Diana said in regards to the wiring, inclining her head. “I will have it done.” Whether that meant convincing Steve so that he could ease his former teammate into the idea or enforcing it herself, Diana did not particularly care. Though she knew that a number of their residents did not appreciate the Mousehole’s constant surveillance, it was a necessary feature both for security itself and for the fact that they were staying in Bruce’s property by his grace alone. 

“I am not so much concerned about Xavier—though I am concerned—as I am about Lehnsherr,” Diana noted, taking a sip of her tea. (Her brows raised in interest at the flavor. Alfred had outdone himself; she’d have to tell Bruce, once they’d addressed most of their concerns. “He can be erratic and destructive if he feel that any of his people are being threatened. Though I trust in Scott’s diplomacy and in his reason given the circumstances, I do not trust how the information about Wanda would be received. And with the two of them collaborating so closely, I cannot begin to guess how they will influence one another." 

Diana tapped a finger against her mug in thought, the ceramic making a soft, muted noise with the motion. She watched Bruce as he raised his hand to his eyes, humanity and exhaustion showing brightly for just a moment, before his gaze was sharp on hers once more. 

"You know the answer to this question, my friend,” Diana replied quietly, shaking her head. “We do what we do because this world is so constantly in peril. Because there is no longer anyone left to respond to accidents and natural disasters on our previous scale, because innocent lives hang in the balance. If we were to lose our way, who would care for them?” Surely not the ISA. Diana lowered her mug, empty hands lacing together as she held Bruce’s gaze. “I will not allow us to lose our way over one wayward soul in our number. My sympathy does not extend to the point of allowing disaster to befall us, or this world. The danger she poses will be neutralized, or at the very least, lessened. One way or another." 

He nodded once, the case closed. If Diana took charge of the initiative, he had no doubt he would see it swiftly handled.

“It’s a fair concern. I assume the X-Men have developed means to deal with him after regular exposure. If Maximoff is a mutant, how difficult do you believe it will be to convince Rogers that she no longer falls within his purview?” Bruce didn’t dislike Steve Rogers. Dislike would require more than a professional regard for his efforts. He’d resented Rogers’ actions before, however. He vividly recalled Rogers’ behavior after Barbara’s attack, the day Stephanie died. Bruce would never allow Rogers’ judgements on him that day, when he was vulnerable and grieving, to pass. He was a self-righteous individual too selfish to approach the world with pragmatism over his extrasensory perception. He’d come to Bruce’s city in a time of his greatest failures and attempted to reprimand him, despite his lack of contextual understanding of anything in Gotham at the time. If he could elect to leave this matter to Diana to bring up with Steve, he would. Should he be required to handle it himself, he would do so on a professional level and attempt to contain his disdain. “I’d hope the X-Men would consider carefully before acting, should Lehnsherr’s intervention with Maximoff become imminent.”

Fielding Magneto would be no small feat, and it was a tribulation for which the Nomads were not equipped. 

Bruce expected her response and he swelled with admiration. The sentiments matched his own, even if her motivation of love and care differed from his. Bruce did care for the people they protected, but it was more detached. He lacked the ability to feel as profoundly as Diana, often wondering how she could manage to carry so much inside her and still function with as much strength as she did. “Then we get ahead of this and handle it before it gets out of control again. The girl will be dealt with. We’ll begin with the blood test. Once I have the results, I’ll have a more solid way forward.

…

Damian punched in the route, memorized from his own computer screen, quickly. That was right, then. If Batman was having him set a route, he must be pleased with the action. And then he went felt a flip in his stomach that he shouldn’t be trying so hard to be getting it right. He didn’t used to care so much. At some point along the way connecting with Bruce as his father instead of Batman had made him so painfully eager to get Batman’s approval. Dick never needed Batman’s nod of approval, neither did Barbara or Stephanie or Jason. Tim never seemed to need to try for it. Damian both hated the desire for usefulness and hated not getting it just so he could be haughty about it. He was glad he had the training to keep the journey off of his face. Especially when Bruce’s measured voice brought up their fight.

Damn. He’d been hoping it could be buried.

“Trapped in the Batmobile? It seems I have little choice but to agree.” Untrue. He knew where the emergency eject button was for both seats. If it really came down to it, he could do something drastic and throw the roof off the car to flee. That, of course, would only reveal that Damian was still insecure about it.

“If you’re expecting an apology father, I could rattle off something and we can move on. I’ll tell Alfred we had an emotional heart to heart. I see the great and terrible error of my ways. My undercover acting has been improving, I stand a chance of fooling him if he’s distracted. You can have the credit for your efforts and it’ll save us both the trouble.”

The peace of the Batmobile running a programmed route was irritating. At least if they had this conversation over a fight, Damian could throw his fist into a goon and worry less about the exact position of the muscles in his face and the carefree lilt to his voice.

-

Bruce’s mouth tightened into a line. “I am not asking for an apology. You can drop the defensiveness. There’s no need.” He’d asked for nothing. Damian’s tension made the impending conversation even more difficult. He couldn’t even approach the boy without instantaneous resentment. Bruce mused on his own demeanor, idly wondering if this was how he was perceived. It was unclear whether Damian’s response was the result of inherited distrust or some internal insecurity. Both were caused by Bruce, making the situation resultant from his failures either way. “And you can try to lie to Alfred, but he’s has no idea I’m initiating this at all. You’ll only confuse and upset him when he realizes you’re not telling the truth.”

He knew the truth of that would deter Damian from bringing their conversation immediately to Alfred. He was universally beloved in ways Bruce could never hope to achieve. It wasn’t a priority to him to be beloved, only efficient. Unfortunately, the two might not be as mutually exclusive as he’d prefer.

“I want to... understand.” 

.

Verbose as ever. Helena’s mouth pinched at the easy way orders fell from Bruce’s mouth, but she didn’t complain; only nodded as he headed out, already pulling out her phone to start sending the necessary messages that she’d be gone for… well. However long was necessary.

Contrary to the belief of some (Dinah), Helena could pack quick and light. She had a go-bag ready in all of a couple minutes after reaching her room, and after a double-check that she’d gathered everything she needed (suit, clothes, assorted identification documentation and weaponry most prominently), she was heading down to Sokovia’s version of the Batcave; down the narrow lift, even deeper underground, where Bruce’s screens illuminated so much of the stonework of the mountain’s inside. “Ready when you are,” Helena greeted, going the Batman Way™ and not bothering with pleasantries. “I’m guessing you’ll debrief me on the way over?”

-

He regarded her closely as she approached. He had a similar assortment of equipment, though characteristically less lethal. “Correct.” His own equipment was already properly packed. From the corner of his eye, Bruce noticed Alfred coming forward to collect Helena’s things from her to add them to Bruce’s. Bruce intercepted and did himself, saying nothing to the scowl on Alfred’s face as he saved the older man’s back the trouble.

“Over here.” He led the way to the holding area of the new Batwing, which gleamed sleekly under the unnatural lighting of the subterranean cave. This new prototype of the vehicle was cleaner and sharper, prepared to cut through the air and reduce travel time by significant increments. Bruce had devoted hours of his time here in the early years of Sokovia to its creation. Hauling open the door, he gestured Helena inside. Buttons illuminated the cockpit, giving off a sharp yellow light. 

“I have skimming programs in place within the code of the Dark Web. Barbara hacked the mainframes of the most trafficked sites so I could have eyes there,” he explained. “This morning I received a ping for one of my keyword phrases. Helena Bertinelli. A simultaneous ping for Huntress had my full attention.” Despite Helena’s jaded belief in Bruce’s lack of regard for her and her wellbeing, he considered her perspective and impact on the Gotham underground an asset worthy of preserving. She was a loose cannon when she was compromised, but her work with the Birds of Prey demonstrated her capacity for balance. Black Canary surely aligned more with Bruce on the concept of death and justice, and she tempered the other two. Oracle respected Bruce. She’d worked with Batman for years and had earned his respect in return. They could offer Helena the support he couldn’t and contain the anger she allowed to drive her. What resulted was someone Batman could work with. She’d been removed from the Justice League once, but he believed there was a place for this Huntress who had grown into her role. “An assassin by the name of Marcus Malone has taken a contract on you.”

Bruce inserted a drive into one of the waiting ports on a small console behind the pilot and co-pilot’s chair. “Marcus Malone is an assassin claiming competency with a few fabricated details on his resume. Fortunately for him, he’s the cousin of a well-known Gotham mob affiliate who could confirm the rap sheet Marcus provided. He managed to win the contract before it was sent into the hands of anyone else, I suspect to test the waters before any more well-known and more expensive hires. If this new blood is capable of assassinating Huntress, he makes a name for himself. If he isn’t, they know they need heavier guns. They underestimate you.” 

He might have smirked were the situation less precarious. “Marcus is one of my alia. As is his cousin. Both have been infiltrating different sectors of the Underground for years. Very few people know about them.” He had made the mistake of withholding information like this from his family before. He thought of Stephanie and jabbed his thumb against a button on the console with copious force. A projected image of Helena pixelated into place above the console and stared out at them, along with a page of her personal details. He scrolled through the file with purpose, stopping on a grainy image of Huntress on a rooftop in Gotham. “They know who you are. I don’t know how they found out, but I believe we can contain this. They’ve provided us with a rendez-vous point. Marcus will meet the employer’s representative. You will be nearby running facial recognition from a pair of contacts in my eyes feeding you everything I see. We’ll leave there with a lead to follow.”

…

Damian had unfortunately talked it over multiple times. He didn’t relish fighting with his father. It just seemed to be a natural state of being for them. To butt against each other and argue and never quite be able to see eye to eye. He thought he was helping and his father thought he was a pest. He thought he was anticipating a need and his father thought he was displayed a lack of training. He was once again falling short of his role and his father was once again standing apart from him and waiting for Damian to decide he was wrong. It was never Batman who was flawed. Always him. Donna seemed to think he was taking it to heart too much and he should just try to talk to Bruce again with a calmer head. Lois Lane, oddly useful, seemed to think Damian just needed to stop trying with his father altogether and focus on what he wanted without Batman’s legacy over his head. Helena thought he just needed friends.

He hadn’t quite come to a decision on whether or not he’d broach the subject of security with his father again or just let it fade out past them into the river of arguments they had. Either way, he had friends in Mousehole now. Oddly he had Wanda Maximoff to thank for that. The tension she created with that portal and her trip to Wundagore had rippled out in the base and seemingly into town. Damian had seen an uptick in break-ins according to his research in the last two weeks. He’d been intending to patrol anyway. He was itching to get in costume. He wasn’t rushing into his Robin gear to please his father. He was just eager to put his skills to use. He could almost believe that lie as he clasped his cape on. “Of course. Did you have a destination in mind, Father?”

Sometimes a patrol was just staking out locations they knew were common targets. Sometimes it meant tracking specific information down. Sometimes it was running a circuit. Damian was eager to move. “I could suggest a route. Loathe as I am to admit it, I’ve been running an old program Oracle wrote to predict likely targets and it is extremely useful.”

-

Despite the cowl, Bruce failed to achieve the same level of sharpness he typically preferred under the mantle of Batman. The intermingling of his personal problems with the suit and all which accompanied it created an unsettling purgatory between Bruce Wayne and the Batman. He’d exist there until this obstacle was overcome. 

He’d created a route with the intention of relative peace for the majority of the patrol’s duration. However, Damian’s offer reminded him of the imperative of collaboration on this outing in particular. If he was going to attempt to find the solution to Damian’s inquietude, he would need to focus on reestablishing trust in his abilities. Bruce lacked the inclination for quick trust, but it still ate at him to consider another failure on his part with a member of his family. In the years which had passed, was there never a sense of reliance on Bruce’s competence from Damian? If that was the case, it meant Bruce had failed to earn that regard. 

Grunting, he gestured to the display in the Batmobile and prompted Damian to enter his own route. It was a concession to begin what would not be a simple undertaking for Bruce. Connection emotionally was not his most well-honed skill. Typically, he could rely on others on his team to take up the slack for him and he’d left it underdeveloped for far too long for it to be a truly salvageable skill. He was going to make his attempts under Clark’s advice, but he disliked that he couldn’t accurately predict the possibility of his success. Emotions were too variable for that.

The Batmobile carried them away from the Mousehole under the cover of night and Bruce remained silent until the castle was well out sight, as if escaping prying eyes and probing ears. “I would like to revisit our last conversation.”

Marc rolled his eyes at that, hard. He shouldn’t. He should take the threat seriously. But hell, how many times had he been called a criminal because of fucking Jake’s bullshit. He shifted his weight onto his back foot when the figure moved closer. He finally made out that dark logo on the chest. Batman. Famous dark knight of Gotham. “Last I checked, an unregistered vigilante was illegal. You a mutant? Meta? Got something else going that’s probably a crime too? Safe to say nobody here tonight is operating entirely within the law.” He had a knife in his boot but if the rumors were true, Batman could get him on the ground before he actually got to it. He was good, but it was because Marc could take a hit. Over and over. Not because he was faster than a what, vampire?

“Trust me, buddy, if I told you why I was here, you wouldn’t believe me.” He let himself step all the way back, working his way into a beam of light. His hands stayed up, ready to throw punches. “Concerning reports? You’re going to have to be more specific. Plenty of people know my face around here who might say all kinds of shit about me.” The plant woman in the woods calling herself Poison Ivy. Peter Parker. That diner he was working with as a waypoint for people trying to get out of the city and out of Sokovia. The smugglers he was working against to keep them from selling out information to the ISA and fuck knew who else that wanted mutant names these days.

“I’m a concerned party.” People tended to assume he was enhanced in some respect. It was as if they didn’t believe a human being could strive for and achieve excellence. Bruce’s dedication to his cause demanded bodily feats the average human being could not accomplish, but his training and countless hours of field work had prepared him in ways which could only elevate him well above the median line. His family were all proof of the tenacity of humanity with the right direction. Even the least physically able of their number could perform feats of mental agility and acuity beyond the capabilities of most considered intellectuals. If their preparation and discipline led to the underestimation of their willpower and training, Batman never corrected the situation. Batman was a being well above Bruce himself. His purpose remained shrouded in the mysterious. Unanswered questions were the currency upon which he relied when it came to the efficacy of this cowl. 

“Try me,” he growled. Batman’s repertoire was vastly expanded beyond low level delinquency. The Justice League exposed him to more cosmic disturbance than he could have conceived, his colleagues provided insight to concepts no typical mortal man could imagine. Whatever Jake Lockley concealed was unlikely to surprise him. 

It was of more concern to Batman when Lockley required clarification. It meant there were other threads to follow for his own piece of mind regarding the man’s activities in this city. Outside of Gotham, Sokovia occupied its hallowed position. It fit there as a poorly reformed puzzle piece, but it had Batman’s immense focus on the day to day level. So far from home, he was unable to micromanage there the way he used to. Instead, he kept his watchful gaze on Sokovia. If Lockley was creating problems, Batman wanted solutions before those problems grew into calamity. This country had had its fill of tragedy. 

“Now, I know I’m not technically on your little team roster. Do you make shirts? Jerseys? Figure they’ve got little stars, maybe a little heart like that New York logo. Wouldn’t really go with the tie. Either way. Who would I put in a request for a better beer in the fridge to? Anything with the word ‘lite’ on it can’t be considered a real drink. Where do you keep the whiskey instead?” Constantine had a glass in his hand, presumably of the lite beer he was just complaining about, but it didn’t stop him rummaging through cabinets, not really making eye contact with the figure in the kitchen doorway.

The stench of stale cigarettes announced John Constantine down the hall. The moment the alcoholic British nuisance announced himself on Bruce’s land with the unceremonious deposit of his house, he’d risen from his place at his workbench and made for the elevator. They were already enduring a hardship with Wanda Maximoff. John’s particular brand of chaotic would be unhelpful unless Zatanna somehow managed to leash him.

“Mousehole requisitions are not equipped to enable your addiction, Constantine.” He was half shadowed in the doorway, arms knotted over his chest. “What are you doing here?”

He was grateful for their tumultuous journey back to the point where Bruce could reach out for Clark’s advice. The Waynes could credit so much of their times of harmony to Superman, and they weren’t even aware of it. It was on Clark’s recommendation that Bruce summoned Damian down to the Batcave with an invitation to patrol. He had no particular objective in mind, but the night’s disturbances usually found them whether he did or did not. Should it prove a slower night, it would provide more opportunity for he and his son to talk.

Bruce was tense against what he had to do. It was not his strong suit and still battled his disdain for the necessity of this outing’s secondary reason. It bothered him that Damian didn’t trust his advice and his experience. After working at his side for so much longer than any of his predecessors, Bruce would expect a literacy of Batman’s Code from Damian above the others’ understanding. Evidently, there wasn’t as equal an exchange of information as Bruce believed. “Are you ready?”

@onetruewayne​

…

It wouldn’t be the first benefit that Stephanie attended, but it would be the first in quite some time. Anything black tie or this high-brow was certainly out of Stephanie’s usual tastes and comfort zone, but she’d been working in the field long enough to learn how to adapt and overcome and to slide into whatever cover story she’d be taking on for the evening. She’d be lying if she said that the stakes weren’t a little higher than usual, considering just who she was working with. For the first time in a while, it wouldn’t be Oracle in her ear on whatever Bird-adjacent mission she was on. Nerves were a little more present, annoying and fluttering away in her stomach, but Stephanie was refusing to listen to that nagging anxiety rattling away at the back of her mind. Couldn’t listen to all that bullshit and get all up in her head about things, especially when she had to be listening to Bruce. Fingers (with very freshly painted nails, she hoped the polish was actually dry) idly drummed against her thighs as he spoke, Stephanie listening and nodding along. “Got it,” she said, once he’d finished with a final nod. “One attentive blonde bimbo at your service. Can do, no problem.” It was a cover that would play to her strengths - Stephanie was a people person to her core, talkative almost to a fault and a goddamn social butterfly ready to take flight at a moment’s notice. “This guy got a name? I’ll do some digging on social media en route, see what I can find so that I have some ins when it comes to conversation. Make it easier to get and keep his interest.” She’d opened the glove box when instructed, turning over and examining the comb that she’d found inside. “Super secret spy gear,” she said with a smile ticking in her cheek. “Sweet. Babs outfitted me with a pair of earrings for shit like this about a year ago.” At least she was familiar with the concept of the tech at hand. Made it easier, since technology was usually her least favorite part of field work. She reached up to pull down the visor mirror, deliberating on how best to turn the hair Helena had elegantly curled into an up-do for the comb without ruining it all. “You can count on me, boss.” That smile grew a bit warmer, spreading across her face as she glanced in his direction. “I know I can do it. It’s gonna go great. Do I get to make up my cover for the night, or did you already do that for me?”

He inclined his head, satisfied with her willingness to cooperate. “Vance Bloodgood. He’s old money, but he’s also a leading weapons manufacturer for the Swedish military.” Bloodgood was the type to be targeted by a number of Bruce’s rogues if he was running his game in Gotham. He thought of Selina emptying his coffers and smirked to himself. “He loves art and the ocean, according to my sources. He just bought a full sized sailboat a few weeks ago.” Bruce was present on most forms of social media, but he didn’t claim the literacy Stephanie undoubtedly possessed. It was probable she would have more information on their target in the time it took them to drive to the benefit than he collected in his cursory scans.

“ ‘Shit like this’,” he repeated. He looked over at her with a little amusement at the corners of his eyes. For a fleeting series of seconds, he didn’t see Stephanie. He saw a boy with dark eyes plucked from Crime Alley and dressed in red, yellow, and green sitting beside him stinking of cigarettes he didn’t think Bruce noticed he smoked. That thought struck Bruce so hard in the stomach his teeth clenched, causing the muscles of his jaw to stand out sharply. He’d seen Jason in her before. It got her killed. Inhaling through his nose, Bruce remembered the pepper of bullets at his feet and the vision of red in the trees outside the fortress nearly two years ago. His hands tightened so hard on the steering wheel that the leather creaked. 

Bruce’s conversation with Zatanna wasn’t all too comforting. Diana hummed low as she poured their tea, set the kettle aside; and then she had nothing more to do with her hands but cross them across her chest as she turned back to listen to Bruce while the tea steeped. 

There was something to be said for having someone who could be trusted to be balanced and objective in nearly all circumstances. Diana hoped that he would say something to assuage her fears, and yet. “Apparently she is building herself some sort of enclosure, attached to the castle,” Diana offered, mirroring Bruce’s first suggestion. “Though I am unsure as to how secure it can truly be, given that she is the one creating it, for herself, and how long her guilt will continue to weigh heavy on her mind if she is in solitude, left to her own thoughts.” Diana tapped her fingers against her arms, pondering Bruce’s suggestions for potential removal of Wanda’s abilities. Interesting. They would get back to that. 

“I do not disagree,” Diana began, weighing her words carefully. “Steve seems to be focusing on Wanda’s guilt over her actions, how terrible she feels for the near-disaster. And my heart goes out to the girl, it does. But affection blinds him; guilt does not mean that she can be trusted to control herself. We both know well what righteous anger, what loss, can do to someone. What would she do if something were to happen to one of the Avengers? She thinks of them as family, and she has reacted violently every time she has lost a family member. And while I commend her for taking steps to minimize any danger, I worry it will not be enough." 

Diana sighed as she turned to lift the infusers from their teas, setting them aside gently in the sink. She held Bruce’s mug out to him with a tight smile, then moved to sit closer to him. "They would be equipped, I’m sure,” she recognized, “but if it turns out she is one of their people, you know how protective they would become. And Zeus forbid Xavier overhear a wisp of our thoughts to nullify her powers. Which, Bruce, I would not be opposed to you researching further, just in case. If she were to lose control again, it would not be something we could fight through.” Diana could potentially defeat a rogue Superman in battle, but in the face of being zapped right out of existence? “I have been considering a visit to the Sorcerer Supreme. Just to talk. Steve already sent him… some sort of imitation Necronomicon they found on-site already, so he would have heard something of this.”

“An enclosure.” Bruce leaned forward. He instantly opposed this solution. The entire castle was wired to his surveillance protocols, without oversight. When the Nomads took it on, he’d understood the imperative for security. Very little went on in this fortress without his awareness, even if that awareness ended with the push of a button to ensure privacy for the less discerning members of the Nomads without the foresight to consider any eyes on them. Amorous behavior was nothing new to Bruce and he was no voyeur, but his desire not to observe did not preclude him from the awareness of the happenings and between whom. All information was appropriately cataloged and ultimately left to lie. His intimate understanding of the residence would be compromised by any magical addition made by an unstable witch, an outcome which was completely unacceptable to the Bat. “I want access to it for wiring,” he said. “If it’s her intention to remain inside, I want eyes on her. If she’s going to be staying here, she needs to consent to that at the very least.” 

He wouldn’t give weight to her concerns of isolation if only to avoid the hypocrisy. Bruce preferred the company of his own thoughts over the invasion of most other minds. Without knowing the girl they discussed on a deeper level than hypothetical, he couldn’t assess if she would benefit or suffer for her choice to isolate. Keeping her away from the more vulnerable members of their team was a good choice, but Diana was absolutely right about the lack of security. “I’ll speak to her directly if you’re not inclined to do it, but I know the Avengers are more delicate emotionally.” He didn’t need to clarify what he meant with her. Diana never begrudged Bruce his approach to the world, though they could not disagree more on interpersonal relationships. She would be the one more equipped to tell him if Wanda could handle any kind of conversation with him, particularly one which could turn explosive on her side. 

“Xavier chose his position when he elected to leave for Genosha rather than joining our resistance. He has no power over our decisions in the field. You’re inviting Scott Summers into a position of leadership. Put him in charge of handling those correspondences. He has experience with Charles Xavier, Erik Lehnsherr, and Genosha. If you’re offering him the spot, I’m assuming you’ve vetted him for his loyalties.” If she believed Summers worthy and her lasso confirmed that belief, Bruce would put his own opinions aside.

“The so-called Sorcerer Supreme may be a worthwhile avenue to explore. Bring Zatanna. I trust her more. She won’t lie to you and she’s typically transparent with her motives. She’ll also know the right questions to ask. If Maximoff remains here, Zatanna can use the influences from Strange to make it safer if they collaborate.”  He pressed his thumb and forefinger into his eyes until the room faded and the darkness became speckled with light. Releasing the pressure, Bruce lifted his gaze to Diana’s face. “This girl could unravel what you’ve been building. If she’s a mutant, then she invokes their protection. If they attempt to take her, which would be easy given how close she is to Jean Grey, the Avengers will stand against them. This will leave the Justice League in the middle trying to prevent a split. Is Wanda Maximoff worth destroying the Nomads when the ISA is poised to act if any sign of our weakness becomes known to them?”