MoonsSuns

Later, Jason sitting in Dick's apartment, playing a video game: Any reason reporters think Batman and Bruce are dating?

Dick, not paying any attention: Didn't he give birth to you?

Jason: ???? What the F*CK!?

—

Much later, Jason being told Catherine wasn't his bio Mom before seeing his birth certificate: Oh my god. Batman gave birth to me.

—

Bruce: I'm fine, Nightwing.

Dick: Sure you aren't pregnant again?

Bruce:

Bruce: What?

Dick: You really gotta start using protection.

—

Dick, half asleep during movie night: Can't believe you slept with Willis Todd.

Jason, a full adult: Both my Dad's are hoes.

Bruce: . . .

—

Timbin: Hi, Mr. Nightwing Robin Dick Grayson Sir!!! I'm Tim Drake—

Dick: I KNEW BRUCE SLEPT WITH JACK DRAKE!!!

Timbin: . . . Clearly you're still deeply affected by the death of Jason Todd.

—

Tim, after spending a week with Dick: . . . Dad?

Jack: Yes, son?

Tim: Did Bruce Wayne give birth to me?

Jack:

Jack: Are you doing drugs with Ives??

—

Stephanie:

Dick: I—

Stephanie: Make the joke and I'll make sure you lack your namesake.

Dick: Understood.

—

Tim, walking into the cave: Alfred said Bruce won't be patrolling tonight. I think he was complaining about stomach cramps.

Dick: All the pregnancies really did a number on him.

Jason: Probably Tim's fault, on his medical records it said he was born nearly ten pounds.

Dick: What happened, Tim?! You're so tiny now.

Jason: To bad he didn't consider abortion.

Tim: I wish he aborted you!

Jason: He probably tried to abort you! Your a#& just dodged the hanger.

Tim: Maybe you should've taken note and dodged that crowbar.

Dick: Guys, stop making abortion and death jokes! But to be technical I was the easiest pregnancy—

Damian: WHAT IS EVERYONE TALKING ABOUT?!

Tim, grinning at Jason:

Jason, clearing his throat: I think it's time you found this out Damian...

Dick, dramatically placing a hand on Damian's shoulder: Bruce gave birth to us all.

Damian:

Damian: What?

Jason: Think about it. Who would be insane enough to not abort Tim?

Damian: . . . Father.

Tim: Do you really think Talia Al Ghul would spend nine months undergoing the hardships of pregnancy?

Damian: I . . . No . . . Wait . . .

Dick: Jason didn't die searching for his birth Mother, Dami.

Jason, trying not to laugh: The Joker was jealous that he wasn't the Father, Damian. He killed me because I wasn't his.

Damian: You're all liars!

Jason: It's true! Batman and The Joker were in a very committed relationship!

Dick: My Dad is actually the Joker.

Damian: . . . what .

Dick: Who do you think gave me my love of the circus, Dames?

Tim: It was before the acid incident, obviously.

Jason: Batman cheated on him, that's how I was born.

Damian: . . . Batman gave birth to me?

Tim: Batman gave birth to all of us, Damian.

Duke, in the background: I am not a part of this!

—

Damian, the next time he meets with Talia: Mother?

Talia: Yes, my heart?

Damian: Is it true that Grayson was the Joker and Batman's child and that Todd was born out of wedlock from Batman which is what led to him being murdered and their divorce and that Timothy was birthed by Batman from an affair and that you got Batman pregnant and he also birthed me?

Talia, taking his face in her hands:

Talia: I wasn't supposed to tell you until you were older.

—

Bruce: Dick, Jason?

Dick: Yeah, B?

Jason: What?

Bruce: Can you please stop telling your siblings elaborate stories regarding me birthing them?

Jason: No.

Dick: What? No harm no foul!

Bruce, inhaling sharply: Damian beat the Joker within an inch of his life today, screaming "Why couldn't you love Todd as your own?" And then, as he was being taken to Arkham, shouted, "Do you know what the divorce did to Grayson!?"

Jason:

Dick:

Bruce: Tim still thinks I slept with his Father.

Jason: Didn't you?

Bruce: Jason.

Jason: Bruce.

Dick: Okay, so, maybe it's a little bit out of hand...

Bruce: Damian think you're a child of divorce between me and the Joker! Harley Quinn keeps asking why the Joker didn't even get weekends with you!

Jason: Maybe you should've thought about that before getting the divorce.

Bruce: Jason. Peter. Todd. Wayne.

Dick: Look, B, it's not that bad! It's funny. Dami will grow up and realize it was a stupid prank.

Jason: The story bits yeah.

Bruce: . . . Jay, what do you mean the story bits?

Jason: He'll still know you birthed us all.

Bruce:

Dick:

Dick: Jason. You know that Sheila is the one who actually gave birth to you, right?

Jason:

Jason: Dick. You told me that you picked out my middle name.

Dick:

Bruce:

Jason:

Dick: Now you're f*cking with us.

Jason: I could be. I could not be. But either way, betrayal happened in this room tonight.

Bruce: Dick.

Dick: Okay, fine, I'll stop telling people you birthed us and let the Joker raw dog you...

—

Meanwhile, many years earlier, the one time a reporter interacted with Alfred:

The rogues absolutely hate them

Because the Spider person somehow manages to escape every bit of the theatrics. Riddler spends three weeks designing a complex puzzle and Spider-Person solves it by accidentally finding the answer key while looking through public records.

Riddler has never recovered from that.

Joker tries doing his usual monologue and the Spider-person starts taking notes

Joker: "What are you doing?"

Spider-Person: "This is fascinating."

Joker: "What is?"

Spider-Person: "You're the only respondent who selected all fourteen warning signs."

Joker: "What warning signs?"

Spider-Person: "The warning signs. The mental illness ones. Congratulations, you have fourteen."

Joker: "What does that mean???"

Spider-Person: "I'm making a graph later. You're welcome to swing by..haha..see what I did there?"

Tim becomes obsessed with proving Spider-Person's data collection is flawed and ridiculous because he, himself, overcomplicated things.

Tim is furious.

"You cannot just walk around doing sociology."

Spider-Person: "I can and I am."

Gotham's billionaires eventually learn that if Spider-Person approaches them smiling, they're about to go up on a chart somewhere

Every annual report just gets worse

The first one is professional, something like Appendix A

The second one is concerned, something like Gotham's (rather poorly hidden) issue

And by the third they give up and start naming it things like..

"Respectfully, What Are We Doing Here?"

"I Have Explained This Before."

"See Previous Graph."

"For The Love Of God."

If they meet a billionaire genuinely helping people, they move on. Whatever. It's cool.

If they meet a billionaire doing absolutely nothing..congratulations! You're on appendix C. Nobody wants to end up on Appendix C.

Bruce ends up in Appendix C once. It is the most humiliating experience of his life.

Spider-Person titled it "Sir, You Have The Resources."

The Batfamily finds this so funny they never let him forget it. Especially Jason who likes to wait patiently for Bruce to fuck up.

Jason pulled a Regina George and printed copies of Appendix C. He plastered it all over the Manor.

They. Were. Everywhere.

Spider-Person eventually starts recognizing repeat offenders too & this creates a bizarre dynamic

"Kevin."

"Please don't."

"Kevin, we talked about this."

"PLEASE DON'T."

"We literally made a budget together."

Batman, watching from a rooftop: "…did they make a budget together?"

Nightwing: "Apparently."

At one point Spider-Person genuinely helps a low-level criminal find a job. And then another. And another. And it becomes a thing.

Entire sections of Gotham's criminal underworld start viewing them as some weird combination of probation officer, social worker, and cryptid

Nobody knows what category they're supposed to fit into

They go to his world, they ambush him, mainly to forcibly remove that rotten ectoplasm.

When the Lazarus Water leaves his system, after he falls unconscious, the memories return.

These people aren't the enemy, they are his friends, his family, his…

None of them judge him for what happened, they just seem hurt that he suffered so much alone; he doesn't have to be alone anymore.

He has a team, he has to train them even more than before because Gotham is a cursed land, his world is cruel.

They come up with aliases based on fairy tales, just for fun. If Jason is Red Hood (Jazz made him a hood, even though it didn't match his usual style, but Jason simply couldn't refuse.)

Jazz is Siren. There's power in her words because she's liminal.; she's discovered she can compel people to tell the truth, persuasive. It's not mind control, but she can alter people's emotions. She's the group's spy.

Sam is simply "Witch." She harnesses her powers over plants, even donning green body paint like the Wicked Witch of the West. Of course, she has to go and stalk Poison Ivy. But she also incorporates details from various fairytale witches.

Tucker is "Mirror." Everything computer-related—hacking, tracking, controlling technology—is his forte. He'll put Oracle in a tight spot because he has her own power over technology. (When the others leave, they call him "Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you get me this information?" It amuses them and the children in the alley too.)

Dan decided to be "Beast" because he felt the character suited him—someone arrogant who has finally found his heart again and become human once more. He's much more terrifying to watch. He's the one who helps enforce the rules because he looks terrifying in his costume, but he's kind and a little clumsy with the children.

Ellie is the "Puss in Boots"—her chaotic manner and smooth talk distract everyone or lead them into traps and trouble (they considered Cheshire, but remembered the Mad Hatter and didn't want anyone to associate them together; Ellie is happy because she can wear ridiculous hats and more extravagant boots whenever she wants). She's the closest thing to "Robin" that Jason's heart could bear.

Vlad is the "Uncle Drosselmeyer," the only "real adult" who decided to buffer the group's madness. Besides infiltrating high society as if he'd always been there, what he actually does is deceive the rich with corrupt positions to steal from them and give back to the people.

Clockwork decided that although he can't appear there (and play alongside them), he can help them because he has no restrictions in Jason's world, so they call him their benefactor, "Mr. Grimm," who sends them information that can change the course of events.

(This is Dead on Main, but any other ship could work, just pick the Fenton you want to pair with Jason, hahaha)

Danny is "Hunter," Red Hood's partner, who supports him unconditionally even if their morals differ. Danny is there to back Jason up because when they became friends, Jason was the only ghost who helped Danny, so they know how to work as a team, they truly trusted each other; their feelings progressed from camaraderie to a deep friendship and finally to romance (it seemed like it had been a long time ago).

(If you decided to swap Jazz for Danny, Danny would be "Hamelin" or "Peter Pan," so Jazz has to be "Wolf" because there's already a Huntress. If it were Dan, he'd stay the same and say Jason is his "Belle"—in fact, he'd call him that all the time.)

Suddenly, the Bats will discover that Red Hood has more mysterious allies because every time they're about to capture him, a new vigilante appears.

These people don't seem to be as highly trained as Red Hood, but they have too many tricks that Red Hood can't outsmart. But as time goes on they will become more trained, they move as one and they are here to stay.

The revelation happens, not as Jason originally planned, but with each passing day he wonders if it's necessary, if he really wants to go back or know the answer, even though he already knows it. But he still gives it a chance.

It's him or me.

[A or B?]

[Because he took me away from you]

[Because you taught me that our lives mean something, our deaths mean something, so what do my life and my death mean? Why can't you choose me?]

[You never chose me]

Before the skin of his neck is damaged, there's a sudden movement. Red Hood, Jason, is no longer there, but the Joker's head rolls. The "hunter's" scythe was so fast, the Joker didn't even realize he was dead. There was no more laughter, no more crying. A smoke bomb filled the place, then there was an explosion.

When Bruce came out, he saw Red Hood. Jason, his son, looked at him with pain and betrayal.

"So you've made your decision, Bruce. Live with it now."

Jason put on the Red Hood helmet. Beside him, Hunter holds his blood-soaked scythe. In his other hand, he holds the Joker's head by the hair. He can make out the other strangers on the rooftops farther away: Siren, Beast, Witch, and the youngest of the group, Puss in Boots. They are in formation, waiting to see if they should protect their leader, if they should attack, if he will move. Red Hood moves toward his own territory. Puss in Boots moves to his possible hiding place. Red Hood passes Beast, and when he reaches Siren, she goes with him. Hunter and Beast stay behind.

“You turned your back on him,” Hunter said. “You were going to cut his throat, because of this.” He shook his head. “Even when we told him you’d never want him enough, he gave you a chance. We told him you’d do this. He’s that kind. But now he’s ours. We don’t plan on giving him back.” His voice was strange; he couldn’t see his face through the black helmet that matched Jason’s. The robotic voice, chosen to frighten, said, “I hope you’re satisfied with your decision.”

That was all he said before another explosion took him by surprise. The hunter and the beast were gone.

_____________

Of course, although Bruce wants to keep Red Hood's identity a secret, he only gets so far. The Batfamily discovers it through Mirror (as a small attack to sow discord within the group).

Jason's criminal group would also adopt fairytale character names because no one told them they couldn't name themselves after fairytale characters. Jason would arrive to discover that there are squads named after the seven dwarfs from Snow White (this is how they differentiate between those who agree with killing, those who don't want to, those who help with children, etc.). Some of the "working girls" are "fairy godmothers." The more trust there is between Red Hood and his lieutenants, the more likely it is that those people decided on a nickname, or someone gave them a nickname and it wasn't worth correcting them.

Jason left them alone with Team Phantom, and now they all have a bit of a fairytale about them.

Of course, this could lead to jealousy from the Batfamily.

Bruce also wants to blame these strangers for Jason's change because it's easier to shift that blame onto them.

They don't know the whole story, so they only have theories, the words of these "vigilantes" who aren't always trustworthy.

There would be many misunderstandings because every time they spy on Jason and his team, they'll only discover that there are two other people behind the scenes.

First, they'll discover "Uncle Drosselmeyer," thinking he's the true mastermind of the organization, the one who must be manipulating all these young people, until, through another misunderstanding, they'll discover the puppet master.

Mr. Grimm, as the one who brought them all together, their secret benefactor, "the one pulling the strings," who seems to be having a great time with all the chaos they create in the city.

Bruce might become desperate about Mr. Grimm, believing he's the one who brainwashed his son, someone worse than Ra's al Ghul. In fact, he doesn't even think Ra's had anything to do with it because, by the time of the reveal, Jason would have his blue eyes back since the Lazarus problem would have been fixed. So Bruce is silently going crazy trying to discover the identity of this "Mr. Grimm" who seems to control or know a lot about the world. Bruce won't discover until much, much later that it was Talia who threw Jason into the Lazarus Pit, but he'll still believe that Mr. Grimm is the one who brought Jason back to life.

By the time Damian arrives, it could happen in two ways: Damian might arrive at the mansion, or Jason might decide to bring Damian to his side.

If Damian stays with Jason, he would become the new Puss in Boots, and Ellie would be Cinderella. (I mean, one of Damian's Robin costumes already has the boots, plus what would help him loosen up more?)

Batman has Robin. Red Hood has Puss in Boots.

Selina would be involved with Ellie in some way because of the cat theme.(because there's another vigilante out there with the cat thing, and she has to be there).

(Also, I can imagine Damian and Selina agreeing on caring for cats and other animals).

Damian would have this group of people he can't kill (because some are already dead, you're a little late, kid). They're so chaotic but healthy; they see this kid raised in a cult and say, "He's ours now."

Actually, see Tucker and Sam's arguments about eating meat or not as something similar to Batman's no-kill rule and the League of Assassins' ideology, before he changes to his own criteria. He'll come to the conclusion that neither is right nor wrong, and you can't force others to follow your moral rules.

In Dan, he'll find someone who, despite causing so much harm, was given a second chance because everyone deserves a second chance. He chose to change, to be kind, and to know when he can be cruel.

(Jaybin used what Bruce taught him—that everyone can change and be good—that's how he helped Dan not to hate himself, that he could still be good. So, in a way, this lesson would still reach Damian.)

Jazz is that almost maternal figure. It's not that Talia was bad, but she couldn't be gentle. Damian knows his mother loves him, but having an older sister is different, yet similar. Jazz doesn't use her powers on anyone in her family, not even Damian; she uses them to help people.

For some reason, Vlad's rigidity relaxes him; his food is good, they can talk, and even plot petty revenge against the rich together.

Ellie helps him become more like a child, because at first she tricks him into thinking it's part of the "Puss in Boots" charm—conniving, chaotic, but helpful to people. Then they become a pair causing chaos, and Damian enjoys it.

The difference between Robin and Puss in Boots is that Puss in Boots can kill if necessary to save his own life.

No more dead Robins.

Jason would end up allying himself with other "villains" through connections: Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Catwoman, Riddler, and Killer Croc. Their relationships range from being on his side to being merely neutral.

And that's all I have.

That Bruce is still searching for whoever stole Jason.

Jason has this whole team of vigilantes and his own alley crew who decided to give themselves names related to children's stories (they incapacitated the Mad Hatter so he couldn't ruin the idea).

He has his friends, family, and partner back, and they love him unconditionally.

The Bat-family is jealous, confused, indignant, and annoyed.

Clockwork would really bother Bruce and Tim.

Vlad would have a night out drinking with Harley, Pamela, and Selina because, although he loves his group of kids, they're a mess, and he doesn't know why he loves them and keeps taking care of them.

It moves like it’s hurt - slowly, drunkenly, stumbling forwards a pace or two before it manages to bring itself to a clumsy halt, then teeters sideways and starts the whole process over again on its sluggish journey towards your house.

In the next second, the shock leaks from your chest and you’re on the move, scrambling away from the sink and tossing the sponge aside as you go, hearing a wet thwap as it lands somewhere nearby. You make a mad dash for the hallway adjoining your kitchen, slippered feet skidding across the tiles as you charge around the corner and beeline straight for the front door.

Because you recognise that figure, even if only by the size alone.

You don’t know a great many people who are quite as large as him after all. Though what he’d be doing out in a squall like this at quarter to eleven at night is far beyond the scope of your imagination.

Already, you’re planning a lecture. One that’ll have to come after you’ve discovered why your impromptu visitor is moving like a lame dog.

Red flag number one.

Hardly pausing long enough to get a proper grip on the doorhandle, you twist it clumsily aside and shove.

It’s hardly opened wider than a hairline crack before the howling wind sneaks in behind the wood and nearly yanks the door from your grasp, and you have little choice but to go with it, letting the weather snatch it open and tug you out onto the porch step beyond.

All at once, you’re being pelted by ice-cold lashes of rain that sting at your cheeks and whip into your eyes before you can raise an arm, attempting to shield your face as you holler above the howling maelstrom, “Bowser!?”

The eerie mirror-shine of eyes appear in the darkness, catching the light that spills from your hallway and reflecting it back at you.

Then, your visitor takes another step forwards, bringing himself just within reach of the dim glow.

Suspicions confirmed, you release a sharp huff of air, and without considering your slippers or the puddles pooling steadily along your path, you hop right off the porch step and march towards the gargantuan koopa, driven more by worry than anything even close to irritation.

At the approach of your splashing footfalls, a massive, horned head lifts away from where he’d tucked it against his chest, and you don’t miss how that small movement looks to have taken far more effort than it should have.

In the middle of a stride, you flick your gaze rapidly up and down, cataloguing everything from the way his meaty hands clutch at his elbows with a fervour, to how the tail poking out from beneath his shell curls inwards around his leg.

Then the rain is taking over your lashes again, and you have to shake your head to clear them as you reach your friend’s side and let out a shout that blasts droplets of water off your lips. “What the Hell are you doing here!?”

In hindsight, you suppose you could have worded it more gently.

Bowser’s almighty chest wheezes out a thin, rattling breath as he instinctively pushes his nose towards you, eyelids thick and heavy. Yet even still, his muzzle manages to lift into a weary smile just at the sight of you.

“S’rry,” he wobbles out in a voice like churning gravel, blinking unevenly at the ground when you duck beneath one of his arms and hoist it across your shoulders, buckling under a metric ton of muscle, “Di’n’t… know wh’re else t’go….”

Red flag number two.

Far from the scaley power-house you’ve known for half a decade, now he’s trembling like a sapling in a hurricane.

It frightens you.

What happened to him?

Grunting with effort, you hold your tongue until you’ve cajoled him over the threshold and into the warmth of your home, stretching your leg backwards to kick the door shut behind you, at once muffling the noise of the storm that still rages on outside.

Then, and only then, do you finally offer your exasperated response. “Home!” you wheeze, manoeuvring the Koopa under the cramped doorframe into your living room and trying not to wince as chips of wood are scraped off by the spikes protruding from his shell, “You could have gone home. To your castle! To Kamek!? Instead of traipsing your sorry hide all the way here in the middle of the night, in a thunderstorm, no less!”

If you knew how little attention he’s paying to your apparent anger, and how much attention he’s paying to the softness of your body pressing up against his solid, leathery side, you’d probably be even more miffed. And rightly so.

Still, he at least catches the gist of what you’d said. He’d be a fool not to listen to your voice when you speak, even with a fever running rampant beneath his shell. It would be like plugging his ears to a beautiful aria.

“Can’t,” he mumbles through rubbery lips, vaguely aware of the fireplace you’ve stopped at, “S’con-… contay-jus…”

And there’s red flag number three. Well, less of a red flag and more a blaring claxon.

“Contagious?” you parrot, extracting yourself from under Bowser’s arm and moving to stand below his chin, earning a reedy whine of protest from the King, “You’re sick?” And without waiting for permission, you reach up and press the back of your hand first to his leathery cheek, then to his forehead, pursing your lips at the heat radiating off his scales and missing the flutter of his eyelids as he nudges forwards into the touch.

“Stars…” you hiss, “You’re hot.”

When his drooping features struggle to lift into a very self-satisfied grin, you cluck your tongue and amend, “You’re running a fever, Shell-for-brains… And you say it’s infectious?”

Even in his addled state, he must have caught the frown that troubles your brows because he’s suddenly dipping his snout down to you and trying to whuff softly through fluttering nostrils.

“Koopas,” he croaks raggedly, halfway drunk on the bliss of your skin easing the heat out of his blistering face, “Only f’r Koopas… Wouldn’t… do that… t’you…”

As if you give half a damn about that, but his voice seems to wane with the last of his strength, and you barely have time to dart forwards, splaying your hands against the soft underside of his chest and giving him a solid shove until he sways upright again.

He blinks, flaming eyebrows crawling apart in something like surprise when he drops his nose and peers blearily down at the spot where your palms connect with his sternum, as if he’s mystified by the simple, steadying touch.

You, in the meantime, are a little distracted by the rainwater dripping steadily off his scutes, hair, and chin to form a slowly-growing puddle on your hearth.

“For goodness’ sake, you’re soaked right through…” Biting on your lip, you frown up at the very damp koopa shivering in front of you, and begin cobbling together the vaguest structure of a plan.

Right. You have a friend who’s… undeniably ill in your home. With something that only affects koopas, apparently. He’s quaking from the horns on his head to the tip of his tail. He’s far hotter to the touch than is typical for him, this in spite of being outside in the icy rain for an indeterminable amount of time… You don’t know all the ins and outs of koopa biology. But having one for a best friend has given you at least a little insight into the species.

And you don’t need to be an expert to recognise the signs of a fever when you see them.

“Okay, stay put. I’ll be back in a second,” you tell him urgently, giving him another once-over to make sure he’s adequately stable before you draw your hands away and turn to make a dash for the staircase at the opposite end of the room, leaving Bowser to peer after you in a daze.

Wait… His expression crumples as you disappear around the corner.

Where are you going?

Of its own accord, one of the King’s legs carries him forwards, and he stumbles heavily onto it, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut until the room around him stabilises once more. When he wrests his eyelids apart again, he’s standing at the foot of the staircase, his clawed hand crushing a finial that cracks and splinters under his grasp as he tries using it to haul his entire bodyweight up onto the first step, intent on following you.

Beneath the sluggish muddle of thoughts clomping around inside his skull, there’s a tiny inkling of coherency that’s berating him for showing weakness, for getting sick in the first place, for coming here – to your home – and letting you see him vulnerable and clumsy and as far from dignified as a king could possibly get. But that inkling is small, and lost easily under the tides of instinct and impulse, both of which were what led him here in the first place, seeking comfort in a familiar space with familiar smells and his most treasured friend who he knew would always open the door to let him in.

And now, you’re gone again, taking the majority of that comforting scent with you, and Bowser’s body is desperately attempting to track you down once more.

He slumps in palpable relief when you suddenly reappear at the top of the stairs like a vision descending from the heavens, with your arms engulfing a tower of blankets and towels that are stacked high to your chin.

“Thought I told you to stay put,” you say without a lick of heat behind your words as you navigate the steps, peering around your stack at the Koopa gazing up at you from below.

He simply rumbles a hum in the affirmative, giving you an adoring look that you easily chalk up to the fever running its course and leaving his head in a daze.

As you meet him at the foot of the stairs, you spare the briefest grimace at your ruined finial before squeezing past Bowser’s immense bulk and bumping your shoulder against his elbow, guiding him to turn with you, back towards the inviting hearth.

It’s easy enough to coax him after you, and you almost wish he was this biddable when he’s not running a fever. He seems inclined to follow you, at least, hovering a little too close as you dump your armful of blankets onto the floor and begin spreading them around, bunching some up and smoothing others out until you’ve made a decent enough little bed for him in front of the hearth.

Evidently, he finds it more than suitable, trying to step into it with an approving thrum from deep in his chest.

“Hold on, hold on!” you admonish him lightly, grabbing a towel from the mess and pushing yourself back to your feet, “Let’s dry you off a bit first. Then you can lay down.”

The Koopa’s shoulders sink as he snorts out a petulant huff, but all the same, he wavers obediently in place for you to start towelling him off, starting with what you can reach.

Your hands, comparatively tiny in just one of his own, scoop his palm up as you begin to gently glide the towel up and down the length of his hefty arm.

Something solid thuds on the ground behind him, a sound that you simply ignore… until it happens for a second time. And then a third.

You bring your ministrations to a brief pause, leaning sideways and glancing at the floor near Bowser’s feet, only for your brows to gradually creep back up your forehead when you make an… unexpected discovery.

In slow, sleepy motions, the Koopa’s yellow tail is lifting itself from the ground before slumping back down again, repetitively thumping at the carpet beneath him.

It seems you’ve found the source of the strange noise.

“Wow,” you observe, hesitantly returning to your task and sweeping the already-damp towel up the inside of his forearm, careful to brush lightly over his spiked wrist band, “You really must be out of it.”  

You don’t think it needs to be said that he’s usually very controlled about wagging his tail.

Bowser just hums a distracted note in response and exhales hot air over the top of your head.

Worriedly, your chest bobs with a sigh as you hurry on to his next arm, stretching the towel up towards his shoulder before drawing it back down to his wrist and gathering water from the too-pale scales.

There’s a sudden, soft pressure on the crown of your head, and you flick your eyes up to find Bowser has pushed his snout into your hair, snuffling gently through his nose.

“Feel’s’nice,” he slurs, as if that’s explanation enough.

With a well-meaning roll of your eyes, you flip the towel over to its drier side and step back, stifling a tiny smile at how his head suddenly dips at the unexpected loss of his chin-rest.

“All right, plop yourself down here,” you tell him, gesturing at the pile of blankets that are slowly gathering warmth by the fireside, “And I’ll dry your-“

A heavy ‘whumph!’ shakes the paintings hung on your walls as the King drops like a two-ton boulder onto his front, shoving a colossal lungful of air through his parted lips.

“… - hair,” you finish flatly.

Dull, doleful eyes turn up to peer at you, and one of Bowser’s hands untucks from his chest, creeping towards you and delicately curling around the back of your ankle, giving it a light tug.

It’s a silent, entirely unsubtle request. One you oblige without much hesitation.

“Okay, okay,” you tell the impatient Koopa when he begins to paw at you in earnest, lowering yourself down in front of him on crossed legs and bending forwards to take one of his horns in each hand, “C’mon. Up here.”

Churring out a lazy rumble, Bowser allows you to guide his head into your lap with only a little effort on his part. He settles contentedly, his nose pressed to the soft roll of your belly, and his eyes slipping shut as he exhales a warm breath over the hem of your shirt.

Placing the towel between his horns, you begin to gently rub at his sopping-wet mane.

“So,” you huff by way of conversation, “Can I ask you something?”

Bowser’s voice is low and rich, buzzing through you when he responds with a blissful, “Anythin’…”

For just a moment, the word gives you pause, but you eventually purse your lips and dismiss his excess sappiness as a symptom of his affliction. “Want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea – if you’re already sick – to walk all the way through a storm to get here? You’ll give yourself pneumonia if you aren’t careful…”

As soon as you voice the possibility into existence, you bite down on the inside of your cheek and try to envision the contents of your medical cabinet…

Bowser only grumbles a noise into your stomach whilst you card your fingers through his tousled strands, working water to their tips so they can be soaked up by the towel.

“Honestly,” you admonish after a minute of oppressive silence, unaccustomed to your larger-than-life friend being so still and quiet, “Why you didn’t just hole up in your room ‘til the infection passes… or y'know, go to an actual healer, is beyond me.” Distractedly, you use your free hand to thumb at the furrow between his brows until the line softens. “Not that it isn’t great to see you. And you know you're always welcome here-"

The Koopa’s mouth tilts up into a wan smile at that, at least until you add, “-but this wasn’t one of your better ideas.” Not to mention that seeing him in this state has effectively frightened the life out of you…

But saying as much out loud might be a little too familiar, even among friends, so you keep the admission tucked away behind your tongue, in safer waters.

Heaving out a very unapologetic grunt, Bowser burrows his snout even more firmly into your stomach and mutters, “W’s missin’ you…”

Ah, well... So much for too familiar.

You resist the urge to blurt out a fond laugh, privately flattered that the great King of Koopas would admit to something so sentimental, feverish or not.

“It’s only been a few weeks since karaoke night,” you point out.

“Long enough,” he grumbles, rolling his weight forwards slightly and purring out, “N’you’re safe…”

You blink. It takes you a moment to realise he’s offering another excuse for his being here.

“Safe?” you echo, leaning over to reach down the back of his thick, muscular neck and drying the scales just beneath the lip of his cumbersome shell, “Of course I’m safe. This isn’t exactly a dangerous place to live.”

Due in no small part to Bowser making sure of the fact before he even allowed you to step foot on the island, let alone build yourself a home out here. It took you months to reassure the nearby village of Toads that, no, Bowser would not be burning their homes to ash if they so much as looked at you the wrong way. Took even longer to get the Koopa himself to promise you he wouldn’t.

Did he really drag himself out here in a thunderstorm to check that you’re safe? When a simple letter would have sufficed?

Idiot…  

An idiot who’s loyal to his friends though, you’ll give him that.

But in your lap, Bowser is quick to roll his head gingerly from side to side and lets out a contradicting huff in response.

Apparently, you’ve misunderstood something.

“…Trust ya,” he presses insistently, peeling apart his crust-coated eyelids to gaze up at your downturned face, “Yer safe…. Kamek knows… J’nr knows…. Y’r safe… One of’us…”

One of-….

And suddenly, it clicks.

The hand you’d been smoothing over the top of his skull goes very still.

… Oh.

Swallowing thickly, you meet his eye, and though the fire is dimmed by fever, his typical sincerity is still there, blazing away behind a glassy sheen.

It makes… sense? You suppose.

He’s sick. And although he’d rather die than admit it, he’s vulnerable. He left the fortress to protect his fellow koopas, and came to the only place he could think of where he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d be safe…

He came to you…

You're safe...

It’s a humbling thing to realise.

Absently, you sweep a thumb up and down his temple, pulled from your thoughts when you register the heat pulsing there.

Right… Not out of the woods just yet.

Heaving a sigh, you drop the towel and scoot backwards, sliding Bowser’s chin from your legs, much to his chagrin.

“All right, stay here,” you tell him, rising to your feet and stepping deftly over the paw that tries to recapture your ankle, “I’ll be in kitchen. If I have it my way, you’ll be sweating this fever out tonight. And you’re gonna need to keep your fluids up when you do… And try to stay put this time!”

Bowser tries to say something, but his eyelids fall shut, and when he finds the strength to pry them open again, you’re sliding down in front of him once more, setting a glass of water on the floor behind you and pressing something under his nose that immediately overwhelms his nostrils with the potent scent of boiled ginger.

Tea… he registers dimly, inhaling an enormous swathe of gingery steam into his train-carriage chest. You’ve made him tea…

Not for the first time, he wonders if now would be the right moment to finally ask for your hand in marriage…. Oh, but he left the ring in his bedroom… Damn.

“Hhh. Love you,” he urgently rasps instead, the words getting lost around the rim of the cup as you tip it forwards, letting him take a tiny sip that immediately tingles in his throat, “Love you… s’much…”

“Yeah, I love you too, Big guy,” you tell him innocently, drawing the cup away and laying a cold, damp cloth across his forehead to draw the fever out. He shudders at its presence, but then he settles, blinking with a scrunch of his eyes for a few seconds before drowsily gaping up at you, his pupils blown wide in apparent wonder.

“Y’mean it?” he whispers hoarsely.

Quirking your lips at him, you hedge, “Of course?”

You don’t expect the vast Koopa to so suddenly peel his head from the blankets, shove himself forwards and drop his chin heavily into your lap once more, grunting like it had taken all of his remaining strength to do so. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the blankets behind him rustle as his tail swishes from side to side across the fabric. “Oh, tha’s… good,” he gushes reverently through an exhale, like you’ve just told him the greatest news of his life, a trembling smile pushing at his pallid cheeks, “Been so worried… ‘bout tellin’ ya…”

Bemused - and confused - you angle your head to one side and squint down at him, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m… sorry?”

“Not’ch’yer fault,” comes his weary reply. He sounds seconds away from falling into a dead sleep. “Di’n’t wanna scare ya…”

“Bowser? I think you’re delirious, you’re not making any-“

“Y’re best thing’s’ever happun’d t’me…”

“… Now I’m sure that’s not true,” you try to dismiss, reapplying the cold cloth and daubing gently at his temples.

“Love you,” he repeats stubbornly, with startling resolve. And as if it wasn’t getting hard enough to refute his conviction… “Loved you s’nce th’day I saw ya…”

… Ah…

“Is… is that right?” you swallow a little breathlessly, staring into the flames dancing and twisting behind his shell as if you’re trapped in a mystified daze.

You feel him give a pathetic nod, then the resonance of his hum pitches through your stomach like a roll of thunder. “Mhm…”

Oh, Bowser…

He starts to say something else, but you hush him softly, pressing the cloth over each of his eyes and wiping the crust away with gentle motions. "You need to sleep," you whisper through a tight throat, "You'll feel more like yourself in the morning..."

You're curious to know if he'll remember what he's just said to you... If he'll think it bears repeating....

In your heart of hearts, you really hope he does.

"I... c'n stay?"

Like he even needs to ask...

Heart wedged uncomfortably in your neck, you lean down, and after settling the flutter of nerves that pulses against your sternum, you finally lay the ghost of a kiss to the very tip of his snout.

At the feather-light touch, his entire body jolts from the force of a sudden rumbling purr that’s kicked out of his chest.

You’re… not so certain that this is all just the fever talking anymore.

Midoriya and Danny:

I only noticed after finishing the line art that I changed the brush I was using halfway through lol, they have similar names (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)

I was laughing at this so hard but now I’m crying reading the end! 😭

Thank you so much! This is exactly what I needed. The art is fantastic and hilarious! Aizawa holding Danny as he claws him is definitely my favorite! (That’s legit what happened!! 😂)! They’re all so funny!

Hold my appointments, I will be staring at this for the next several days, thank you. And truly thank you so much for the message at the end. I feel so sappy for saying this cause I don’t know you, but I feel like I do. With every comment I learn about you and now this.

You have gone above and beyond for me with the only intention of making me feel better. Thank you 🥹💚

 Bruce simply scoffs, his eyes stay put on the road. Dick begins to hum to himself, ignoring Bruce’s silence. 

He taps his fingers on the car door to the tune of whatever generic pop song is stuck in his head, which begins to annoy Bruce. 

He states his name in a warning tone, “Dick. Stop.” Dick heaves out a heavy, dramatic sigh. 

“I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re you! That’s great! We all need to be ourselves!”  Dick turns towards Bruce, who, despite only the bottom half of his face showing, looks visibly annoyed. 

He continues speaking, ignoring Bruce’s annoyance, “But…maybe…you should be putting yourself out there more…” His voice drifts off at the end as he looks off into the distance. 

Bruce just sighs as he continues focusing on the road. 

Dick looks back over at him, but only for a quick second before snapping his head back towards the car window.

 He opens his mouth to add on, but Bruce stops him, “I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry about me. That won’t help you.”

Dick sighs but ultimately lets go of it.

At least openly. 

Dick: Bruce is sad and I can’t take it so we need to find him at the very least, a hook up

bbldrizzy: ew

Dick: Tim please, you’ve seen him

I didn’t know it was possible to be that lonely

bbldrizzy: he has us

kind of

Dick: Yeah, okay…….

Dick looks back over at Bruce, trying to gauge anything out of him. He knows Bruce isn’t good at relationships, but that’s never stopped anyone. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Dick and Tim sit side by side in Bruce’s main office. Damian sits in the corner— there solely to make fun of the two of them. Tim stares intently at the laptop screen as Dick flips through miscellaneous newspaper articles. 

From his lax position on a chair in the corner, Damian quips, “You two are worrying too much over this. Father will be fine. He’s not a good boyfriend, oh well.”

Dick rolls his eyes and speaks to Damian from over his shoulder, “He could be, he’s just like scared or something. We just need the right person.” Damian nods slowly and just resorts to his book. 

Tim perks up, “What about her? She owns some huge law firm thing, he would like that, right?” Dick scoots over to him and inspects the screen in front of him. 

A page about a woman, Julianne Watts, is pulled up on the screen. She’s well accomplished and has her own non-profit organization; Bruce would definitely have at least a good conversation. 

Dick slowly nods his head, and a smirk begins to appear on his face. He turns to Tim, who has a similar look on his face. 

“Good job, Drake. Good work… but I dunno, I think my candidate is better.” 

Tim scoffs at this and shoves his shoulder, “You asshole, who’d you find?”

Dick leans over to grab a news article he found. Tim grabs it out of his hand and holds it out in front of him. He reads it out loud:

“Naomi Evergreen,” Tim interrupts himself, “another lawyer, real original.” Dick rolls his eyes, and Tim continues, “She works with troubled youth in Bludhaven.” 

Tim looks over at Dick with an annoyed look, “Dick, that’s boring.”

Dick lets out an offended noise, “It’s similar to yours! Okay, here.” He turns towards Damian. 

Damian immediately responds, “Nope.”

“Okay, no. You need to choose. For a first date, which one should he go with?” Dick motions to the two articles. 

Damian rolls his eyes, “You’re talking about them like they’re objects.”

Dick and Tim go silent at this. 

They look at each other, then towards Damian. 

Dick speaks up, “If you choose mine, then I’ll take you to the animal shelter.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bruce stands in front of a full-length mirror with Dick by his side. “This is stupid. How does she even know me?” He turns towards Dick, who is pretending to help him freshen up. 

“She runs some like a non-profit and wants your approval on it ‘cause that’ll boost it! You love doing good things like that!” He brushes the imaginary specks of dust off of Bruce’s shoulders, “Plus, it’ll make you look good!”

Bruce raises his brow, “So I’m doing this for publicity? I don’t know, Dick…”

Dick panics for a second, “No! It’s fine! You’ll be fine! It’ll be fun, I promise.” He stands next to Bruce and clasps his hands together, a big (forced) smile on his face, “Batman can do anything! Right?”

Bruce rolls his eyes.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It wasn’t a bad date. 

It wasn’t a good date. 

It’s hard to have a good date when your young adult sons are pretending to be bartenders and keep awkwardly staring at you. 

It’s also hard to have a good date when you didn’t even know it was a date to begin with. 

Bruce liked Naomi; he liked her smile, the way her passion bled through her words, and how she genuinely seemed like someone who wanted better for Bludhaven. 

The only problem neither Dick nor Tim realized: She was nearly 20 years younger than him. 

Dick must have skipped the part that mentioned she had graduated from high school early and was one of the youngest students in Gotham to be admitted into their law school.

Not his fault!

You can’t be a great detective all the time!

Bruce didn’t seem to mind; to be fair, he wasn’t even aware this was supposed to be a date. 

His voice comes out in a practiced smoothness when he compliments her, “I admire your ambition. My son is similar to you; you’ve probably seen. I could set you up with him for a meeting. I’m sure he’d love to discuss these topics.”

Naomi blushed slightly before letting out an embarrassed laugh, “Oh, I’m not sure. He’s the one who put me on this date with you. I feel it would be awkward to go to him now.”

Bruce’s eyebrow shoots up, “He what?” 

He looks over and spots a bartender who looks eerily similar to Dick standing next to another bartender who, frankly, looks too young to even be behind that counter. 

Bruce exhales a small laugh and shakes his head, “My son is definitely someone to do that. You said he set this up as a date?”

Naomi’s embarrassment skyrockets, “I’m sorry! I thought you knew! He had reached out to me, stating Bruce Wayne wanted to meet and discuss my plans over dinner! Then he added that you–or he–said it was a date!”

Bruce nods slowly and turns his head back towards the counter where, mysteriously, the two men (boys) had disappeared. 

He apologizes to Naomi and reiterates that he does genuinely see potential in her, and he would love to have a real meeting about her plans. 

She leaves, but not before nearly fangirling over Bruce giving her a small peck on the back of her hand. 

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Y’know, I told her that she should probably try to get a date with you. She’s closer to your age anyway.” Bruce states in a teasing tone. 

Dick and Tim are sitting on the couch in the library, both are overly embarrassed about what happened. Dick sits with his hands covering his eyes, and Tim’s face is fully planted into one of the throw pillows. 

“So why’d you do that?” He grabs a chair and drags it over to be seated in front of them. It almost looks as if he’s interrogating him, which isn’t far from reality.

“I’m honestly asking; why did you set me up on a date with a girl who’s younger than you?” He points at Dick, who is now slowly dragging his hands down his face. 

Through his hands, he let’s a out a muffled: 

“I’msorryit’sjustbecauseyoumakemesadnadIfeelyouhaven’tgottenlaidwhichisweirdtosaytoyourdadbutohmygodbruhyouneedtogetoutofthehousenotasBatman.”

Bruce’s face remains neutral for a while. 

The two boys look up at him, their faces a mixture of fear and curiosity. 

Bruce takes a deep breath before laughing, “You two are something else, you know that?” The two boys smile at his positive reaction, but they’re quickly cut off by his next sentence. 

“You’re both grounded for two weeks.” He looks at Tim, “No video games,” then at both of them, “and only supervised patrols.”

They both shoot up, but Bruce has already begun to make his way towards the door to the library.

They both protest over one another. 

“Supervised patrols?! I don’t even live here!”

“You can’t take away my video games, you tried, and last time it didn’t work!”

Bruce simply tunes them out as he leaves. 

They both stand there in shock, but Dick quickly composes himself and thinks of a plan. 

“Okay, okay, fine.” He begins to pace back and forth. “Sure, we’re grounded. You more than me.”

“Hey!” Tim lets out in offense. 

“But I’m not giving up.” He stands in front of Tim, “What if we gave him an ultimatum?”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“No.”

Dick and Tim stand behind Bruce’s monitor with their hands outstretched, literally. 

Tim sighs dramatically, “Bruce, you literally don’t get it.”

Without looking away from the screen, Bruce answers, “You’re right, I don’t, because it’s not a big deal.”

He pushes away from the desk to look them both in the eyes, “I understand why you boys are doing this, I really do, but I’m fine. I told you, worrying about me won’t make you better.”

Dick groans, “If not for you, then for us! We need entertainment! When I come and visit, I want to hear exciting things, not that Tim failed a math test that he cheated on.”

Tim’s face appears offended, but he quickly changes topics, “Just hear us out. We’re grounded for the next two weeks, cool, whatever. How about, during that time, if we can find you a true date that you at least go on a second date with, you can’t ground us for the next three months.”

Bruce’s eyes retreat to his monitor, and the room is silent for a moment besides the tapping on his keyboard. 

“What’s in it for me?”

Dick smirks, “A date, duh! And…”

He looks at Tim, who has no clue what he’s thinking. 

“I’ll get Jay to come over for dinner. Willingly.”

The tapping stops for a brief moment. 

Bruce clears his throat.

Silence. 

And then…

“Fine.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Date One: Jayemi Crawford

Bruce knew Jayemi. 

Bruce knew the Crawfords. 

Bruce didn’t like the Crawfords. 

Jayemi loved Bruce. 

Jayemi Crawford was among the many socialites that Bruce had been surrounded by his entire life. He never liked her and her family’s gouache displays of wealth (and that’s coming from him).

The Crawford family had an unconventional rise to fame, but once they got a taste, they never looked back. Her mother was a world-renowned supermodel, and her father was a highly respectable journalist.

Bruce wonders where it all went wrong with her.

They sit across from each other over a meal that costs triple the waiters’ salaries combined and then some. Jayemi had been non-stop talking about…something. Bruce wasn’t too sure. 

“Okay, so, yeah, so okay. It’s not my fault that Dad basically told everyone that he was going bankrupt! Just because I’m 32 years old does not mean that I have to stop interacting with gossip articles!”

Bruce just hums, disengaged. 

Completely oblivious to this, she continues. 

He doesn’t mean to be rude; he really doesn’t. But he couldn't care less about the drama that goes on around Gotham. He sees enough of the bad side; he doesn’t need to know about the annoying side. 

For the first date, he let Dick and Tim send him on a wild card. 

Looking at it now, he’d prefer going on a date with Clark. 

When his brain comes back to Earth, he realizes she’s still on the same topic. Something about her family going bankrupt, but she’s not?

“That sounds like a difficult situation, Jayemi.” He delivers in a monotonous tone. 

“I know, right? Those assholes! Anyways, I’m probably boring you, aren’t I?” She looks up at him through her lashes. 

He hides his grimace and offers a small, simple (fake) smile, “Not at all. How’s your meal?”

She smiles brightly, “Sooo good.” She bites her lip before speaking; her eyes now have a certain sparkle in them. 

“Do you know another meal that would taste so good?”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Dick and Tim scream-laugh at Bruce’s retelling of the date. Bruce sits in the chair, visibly embarrassed, but also slightly amused by their reactions. 

Bruce grumbles out, “It’s not that funny.” 

Dick wipes the tears from his eyes, “Oh, trust me, big guy, it’s funny.” He continues giggling through his next sentence, “At least you have the wild card out of the way!”

Bruce rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and now I have James Crawford calling me and asking me if I’m going to marry his daughter.”

The two laugh harder at this, and Tim nearly falls off the couch. 

Bruce shakes his head, and if you look close enough, you can see the faintest smile. 

He sighs heavily, “So, what now? I have tabloids talking about the date, and I really don’t want to be known for that for the next two weeks.”

Tim and Dick take deep breaths to calm their breathing and look at each other for guidance. 

Without saying a word, Dick crosses the room to the computer and pulls up a local politician’s portfolio. 

Bruce hovers over his shoulder and reads the profile carefully. 

“She sounds intelligent.” His sentence drifts off. 

Before any of them can confirm a date, Alfred enters the room with news for Bruce. 

“Master Bruce, you are needed at Gotham’s Forensic Center. A case came in that they’re unsure of.”

Tim perks up, “Is Robin needed?”

Bruce begins to answer, but is cut off by Alfred, “They need all the help they can get. Bring Master Dick along as well.”

Dick and Tim smile at each other, while Bruce groans.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Bruce shows up with Tim and Dick, who are overly excited just to see gory body parts.

Secretly, they knew why Alfred had made them come with him: to meet the new forensic investigator. Someone Bruce hadn’t met yet, but trust, she was on the boy’s radar. 

The head investigator walks up to the three of them, “Batman,” he turns to Dick and Tim, “Nightwing, Robin.” They all nod back at him. 

“I asked for your assistance on this because I’m not sure this is even human.”

Bruce looks at Dick and Tim with a questioning look, which they reciprocate. Bruce steps up in front of the two, “Show it to me.”

The investigator leads him through the halls to a lab, occupied by only one other investigator.

When Bruce steps into the room, his eyes immediately lock on her figure. 

She sits at a desk with her tongue slightly poking out due to intense concentration. She goes back and forth between staring at the specimen and typing on the computer. 

The multitasking…

The concentration…

Her eyes…

“Hello? Batman?”

She snaps her fingers in front of his face, which causes Dick and Tim to try to suppress their snickers. 

Bruce clears his throat, but she introduces herself before he can answer, “I’ve been told that you would have some intel on what this…thing could possibly be.”

She guides the three of them over to her desk and directs Bruce to look through the microscope. The room falls into a comfortable silence as Bruce takes his time.

In the midst of Bruce’s short investigation, Tim sparks up a conversation, “So, how old are you?”

Her eyebrows crease in confusion, and Dick snaps his head towards him. 

Dick speaks before Tim can explain himself, “I’m sorry.” He grips Tim’s shoulder, tightening his hand with every word, “What he meant to ask was how long have you been in this for?”

Tim pushes Dick’s hand off of his shoulder, mouthing: “Ow, asshole.”

She breathes a laugh out of her nose, “It’s fine, it’s been about 15 years now. I was a PI at first, but I was always interested in the hands-on side, one could say.” 

She leans over Bruce’s shoulder, “I guess I’m not the only one who finds it interesting.”

Bruce backs off from the microscope and looks at her, “Comes with the job; You’re right, this is weird.” He picks up the petri dish and slowly turns it, “Would you mind if I took a sample to do my own prodding?”

She smirks, “You think I can’t do it on my own?”

Bruce tries to answer quickly, but she just laughs. 

She says through light laughter, “I’m kidding, Bats. Let me see if I can get you clearance.” 

She reaches into her bag and pulls out a card. She holds it in between her fingers, and Bruce reaches out for it. He inspects it closely and realizes it’s her business card. 

Y/N L/N || Gotham PD Forensic Investigator || PhD in Criminal Justice || XXX-XXX-XXXX 

He appreciates the details of the card. The paper was nice and sturdy, with gold lettering adorning the cream color. Only someone serious about their profession would have a business card this nice. 

Or at least, that’s what Bruce told himself. 

Because it’s not weird to get lost in how detailed someone’s business card is.

“It has my number if you want to meet to discuss the contents of the subject. Is that okay?”

He looks up at her and clears his throat, “Yes, thank you. I’ll be keeping in contact.”

He reaches his hand out for a handshake, although it’s more awkward than he meant. She just laughs at his sudden awkwardness and shakes his hand. 

She speaks, still holding onto his hand, “Thank you. It’s honestly an honor to work with a detective as great as you.”

Dick and Tim’s eyebrows shoot up, and they look at each other, then back at the interaction. 

Bruce continues slowly shaking her hand and simply nods at her words. 

He lets go and lets out a low “Let’s go” towards Dick and Tim. 

As they enter the Batmobile, Bruce’s phone rings, and he reads the contact name:

Tory Banks

He says quietly to himself, “Shit, I forgot about that.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Date Two: Tory Banks

Bruce sits at a table by himself, the candlelight offering a soft glow to his face. He thought he was going to be late, so he got there a little too early.

Tory didn’t seem to mind when she arrived. Her voice comes out low yet still bright, “I should’ve expected Mr. Bruce Wayne to be early to our date.” 

He breathes out a laugh and goes to give her a modest hug, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Please, sit.”

He pulls out her seat and guides her. He sits across from her, and a faint smile naturally appears on his face. He has hope for this date.

The night starts incredibly; she genuinely amuses Bruce, and he’s relieved he can actually relate to her problems. His smile grows slightly, and he lets out modest laughs now and then. 

She leans closer to him over the table, “So, tell me. Why is Bruce Wayne on a date with me? I admire your work, but why me?” This causes Bruce to sit up straight, and his face shifts into a contemplative expression

He slowly speaks, “I…My sons want me to put myself out there. I begrudgingly agreed with them.” She laughs.

“I know how it is, my sons will try to convince me to do anything. My youngest convinced me to unground them, and I didn’t even realize it!” Bruce earnestly laughs as she throws her hands up in defeat. 

Bruce adds, “I just grounded them for something stupid, and the younger one already found where I put his game console thing.” He sighs heavily, “To be fair, he did warn me.” 

They both laugh together, and Tory sighs, “It’s nice to go on a date with someone who can relate to what I’m going through.”

Bruce nods slowly, and his mind begins to work faster than his emotions can keep up with. 

“Relate to what I’m going through.”

It’s in that moment when Bruce remembers that a big aspect of her mayoral campaign is to reveal Batman and his intentions.

She’s a wonderful woman, and he hasn’t had a conversation like this in who knows how long. But he can’t date someone like her. 

She can’t relate to him, and if she found out, she would hate him. She can’t run for mayor while also knowing he’s Batman. He doubts she would change her mind for him. 

Though he knows deep down that isn’t the only reason. 

He can’t help but think of the investigator he met earlier that day. 

There was something about her.

“Bruce?”

He’s knocked out of his thoughts when her hand reaches for his. He looks down to see her soft hand lying on top of his calloused one.

He states softly, “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.” 

She just smiles softly, “It’s alright.” 

She thinks for a moment,  “Can I ask you something?”

Bruce nods, and she sits up, “If we go further with this,” She motions in between the two of them, “do you think you could help me figure out who Batman is?” Bruce is caught off guard by her question. 

She continues, “I know there’s been rumors of you knowing who he is or even being him.” She laughs at that, “But, I mean, with your resources, I think we really could track him down.”

Her smile remains on her face as Bruce’s slowly fades from his face. Bruce thinks for a moment before answering. He tries to think of an appropriate response. 

He lowly states, “I think that should be the least of your worries. Batman helps with the crime in Gotham and remains an inspiration for those who feel alone. I feel to try and get rid of him would be you announcing how you view those ‘lesser than’ in Gotham.”

It’s her turn to be caught off guard. Her eyebrows rise, and her tone rises, “Oh, well… That’s not what I expected.” She laughs in disbelief. 

Bruce clears his throat and raises his hand to call over the waiter. He turns back to her, “I appreciate this date, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“Damn, what’s her problem with Batman?”

Tim stands with his arms crossed behind Bruce, who’s sulking at the computer. Bruce won’t show it openly, but he is disappointed the date went south so quickly. 

Dick stands next to Bruce; he notices his solemn attitude, but doesn’t mention it. Tim leans on Bruce’s chair, “I mean, it’s okay, big guy. You can’t win everyone over.”

Bruce huffs. 

Footsteps echo through the cave, and Dick and Tim turn to see Alfred approaching them. He nods at the two boys and goes to stand next to Bruce, “Master Bruce, I know you’re busy sulking, but there’s a call for you. I don’t know how you didn’t notice it.”

Bruce turns his head and notices his phone buzzing. He looks at Alfred, who’s smirking, then reaches for the phone. 

Alfred looks over at the boys who are looking at each other, smiling. Dick turns to look at Alfred and mouths, “Is it that girl?”

Alfred simply nods. 

Bruce answers the call in a gruff tone, “Hello?”

A bright, recognizable voice speaks, “Hey, Mr. Wayne! I’m Y/N, a Forensic Investigator down at Gotham’s Forensic Center.” She laughs lightly, “I know this is so random, but I received an anonymous tip that you had found out what the subject is?” He can hear her clicking her pen in the background.

Bruce straightens his back, “Yes, I-”

His hand snaps to Alfred and glares at him. 

Alfred simply shrugs and leaves. 

Dick and Tim smirk at this, and Bruce snaps his head towards them. They take the hint and follow Alfred out. 

He gets up from his chair and begins to pace. He speaks while walking across the platform, “No, you’re fine. I had a friend of mine look at it, and it’s definitely not from our world. Its chemical structure is nothing like what we’ve seen on Earth, but the good news is that it doesn’t look harmful.”

He hears her sigh from over the phone, “That’s good. I was worried about how I was going to explain to my boss that we have a violent alien bug thing on our hands.” 

He breathes out a laugh, “Well, you don’t need to worry now. If you’d like, you can come by this evening so I can show you the file I’ve created for it.”

She giggles lightly, “You’re so much more organized than me. That’s probably why you’re a CEO billionaire, and I’m a rookie Forensic Scientist Detective thing.”

She can hear his faint smile through his words, “Trust me, you do more than you realize.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

She stands outside Wayne Manor, the strong wooden doors looming over her. She goes to knock on the door, but they open before her fist meets the wood.

Alfred stands in the doorway and angles his body to invite her in, “Welcome. Master Bruce should be with you shortly.” She thanks him, and he speaks lowly to her, a smirk present on his face, “I must warn you, for whatever reason, he’s a nervous wreck.”

She laughs as Alfred smiles at her, then walks off.

Bruce appears shortly after. He’s dressed in a casual long-sleeve button-up and slacks. There’s not a hair out of place, but his sweaty hands betray him by revealing his nervousness. 

He extends his hand to her, and she takes it (without mentioning his sweaty palms).

Her sweet voice is a contrast to the dark interior of the manor. “It’s incredible to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I didn’t know you worked with Batman, so this’ll probably make this easier. It’s hard to work with someone who only works past 6 p.m.”

She laughs, and he shakes his head, “It definitely must be a little annoying.”

He motions for her to follow him, and he continues speaking. “I mentioned on the phone, but the subject appears to be bacteria from a foreign planet. The best comparison my colleague could make was that it’s similar to a cold virus here.”

Her eyes grow wide, “But I thought you said it wasn’t harmless? I don’t want to start an alien pandemic!”

He shakes his head and pushes a door open, “Don’t worry, he tested it and found that it dies almost immediately when met with our immune system.”

They walk into his office, and there’s a file pulled up on his monitor. She stares at it in awe, “Wow, you really went all in on this.”

He smirks, “I wasn’t gonna let you do this on your own. You have to make a good first impression, right?”

She looks at him and nods slowly, “Yeah, totally.”

Her gaze turns to admire the room she’s in; it’s way nicer than her home office. She admires the intricate wood designs and the bookshelves that have to be as old as the manor. 

“It’s so beautiful in here, and this is just the office.”

He turns around and smiles at her admiration.

He moves to stand next to her. He reaches out and grabs a book covered in dust, “It was my father’s office. I use it for my big cases and such.”

She giggles, “So you have other offices you use for your other Wayne duties?” 

He smiles softly, “I’m organized.”

She laughs and looks at the book in his hands. In white lettering, it reads: A Farewell to Arms. 

She lets out a soft gasp, “Oh wow…”

She reaches out, “May I?” 

He nods and hands it to her, their hands brushing.

She holds it as if it’s a newborn, “This is my favorite book…” She speaks in a hushed tone, “I remember reading it in high school, and I was pleasantly shocked when I truly enjoyed it.”

He smiles tenderly at her reaction.

She gently flips through the pages and provides Bruce with her commentary.

Bruce falls into a comfortable silence, occasionally offering a short hum to her commentary.

He could live like this.

He wouldn’t mind going on a-

“Okay! We found a date that you will not be disappointed with!”

They both snap their heads to Dick and Tim, suddenly barging in as if they own the place. 

The boys stop when they notice the moment they just walked into. Dick apologetically looks at the two of them, “Sorry, B. Didn’t mean to uh…interrupt.”

Bruce rolls his eyes, “It’s fine, we were just wrapping up.” 

Tim snickers and says to himself, “Heh, wrapping up.”

Dick looks at him unimpressed, but continues speaking, “Well, if you’re curious, we just got another date for you. What! Isn’t that like awesome?”

He walks over to Bruce and wraps his arm around his shoulder, “Aren’t we the best sons you could’ve asked for?” Bruce grumbles, but from his other side, he hears his newfound crush giggling at Dick’s antics. 

She hands the book back to Bruce, a teasing smirk evident on her face, “Well, you better get ready for your big date, Mr. Wayne.” 

She turns to leave, but then turns back towards Bruce, “Thank you for your help, genuinely. I thought I was a lost cause with this.”

She smiles, then finally turns to leave. 

Dick whistles, “So…fourth date with her?”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Date Three: Macy Cameron

Bruce hates this. 

In his playboy days, dating was never this hard. 

Dick and Tim told him this one was going to be good.

He doesn’t know why this is when he finally listens to them.

It’s been about 15 minutes, and neither has said a word. She sits across from him with her nose to her phone. Bruce doesn’t know if she’s avoiding him or just doing work. 

He clears his throat, “Uhm…So, I saw your organization is in the south helping families recover from hurricane season. That’s admirable.”

Without looking up, she offers a curt, “Thank you.”

He nods slowly and surveys the surrounding area. He notices other couples laughing and talking. 

He watches one specific table; there’s a lady who looks somewhat like his new infatuation, and the man looks like a (mentally) healthier version of him. 

A faint smile forms on his lips as he continues to gaze at them. 

He doesn’t mean to, but he imagines what life would be like with her. It’s rude to fantasize about another woman while he’s on a date, but he’s not even sure this woman has looked him in the eye yet.

The woman’s head falls back slightly at the man's joke. Bruce wonders if she would laugh that hard at his jokes. He has an unorthodox sense of humor, but he doesn’t think she’d mind. 

He hasn’t seen her long enough to gauge her sense of humor, but he feels she would at least brighten his mood. That’s all he could ask for. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?”

His head snaps back to see her, an unimpressed look on her face. “Look, Bruce, I also didn’t want to be here, but at least tell me instead of oggling at other women.”

His eyes widen, and he clears his throat, “I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron. I didn’t mean for it to come off like that at all. But, if we both don’t want to be here, then…”

His sentence trails off as she rolls her eyes, “Is there someone else on your mind?”

He sighs, and she takes that as her answer. 

She gets up from her seat, and he follows suit. 

She looks him in the eyes when she speaks, “I feel no malice towards you for tonight.” She faintly smiles, “I hope all goes well for you.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The batcomputer is the only thing illuminating the otherwise dingy cave. The light blue light cascades over Bruce’s hardened face. 

There’s nothing new on the computer, only the case he’s recently been working on. He stares at it as if that’ll clear his mind. 

Nothing has changed with the case recently; the subject has been neutralized, but a small part of him wishes something would happen. 

If something happened, then he would at least be able to hear her voice for a moment. 

It’s been a few days since he last saw her and since that last date. It’s not a long time, but to have a crush on someone, one hour feels like too long to be away. 

His eyes dart back and forth between the computer and his phone. He could call and see if she has had any revelations on her part, but he bets against it. 

He sighs heavily and sinks into his chair. He drags his hands over his eyes, and a low groan comes out of him. 

He gets up and begrudgingly makes his way back to the manor, but he doesn’t notice that he left his phone. 

He also doesn’t hear the quiet ding! that rings out from his phone. 

Hey, Bruce! It’s me, sorry if this is too random, but I was wondering if I’d be able to come over and discuss this new case I’ve taken on?

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Damian stands over Bruce, who’s lying out on the couch. He stares at Bruce as if he’s an alien creature. 

“Father.”

He pokes his head.

“Father.”

He pokes his head again, no response.

He waits for a moment…

“Father.”

This continues for at least another thirty seconds before Bruce slowly opens his eyes. There’s a frown on his face as he looks at his son’s face.

He doesn’t get a chance to question anything because Damian immediately begins speaking, “Your friend is here.”

Bruce’s eyes widen, and he sits up, “How long has she been here?”

Damian answers in a nonchalant tone, “An hour.”

Bruce’s face shifts deeper into worry as he gets up from the couch and attempts to find something to cover up his makeshift pajamas. 

He finds a robe thrown on a chair and quickly puts it on as he makes a beeline for the family dining room. 

His nerves shoot through the roof as he ups his pace, but he slows down slightly when he hears voices coming from down the hall. 

He can make out Dick’s voice clearly; he’s attempting to shut Damian up from saying something slightly offensive. 

Under their brash voices, he can also hear a softer, more jovial voice through the cracks. He can hear her laughing at their antics and possibly even egging on Tim’s teasing. 

He slowly enters the room, and all eyes turn to him. Tim’s the first one to speak up, “Wow, finally. We’ve already eaten breakfast!”

She giggles quietly at this, then in a teasing tone states, “You got real dressed up for us.”

Dick covers up his laugh with a cough, and Tim snorts, “At least it’s your good robe.” He turns towards her, “You should see, he has one that has a bunch of Batman logos on it.”

She laughs at that, not knowing the full reason as to why that’s so embarrassing. 

Bruce grumbles as he sits down next to her, “Sorry, I was up late in the ba-” He clears his throat, “My office.”

Damian rolls his eyes far into the back of his head. He takes this as an opportunity to state what’s been annoying them all, “So, Father, are you going to ask her on a date as well?”

Tim’s eyes grow wide as Dick covers his face, but Damian continues, “It’s been really pissing me off to see you act like a nervous boy whenever you’re around her.”

From beside him, she lets out an earnest, hearty laugh at Damian’s swearing and bluntness. Bruce places his face in his hands and refuses to look any of them in the eyes. 

Even though it’s muffled by his hands, everyone understands him perfectly: “Get out now.”

The three boys immediately get up to leave, and she follows suit, but Bruce stops her before she can leave. 

His voice comes out slightly more desperate than he intends, “Stay, please. I can explain…them.”

She lightly smiles, “It’s okay, Bruce.”

He looks at her straight in her eyes, and she continues speaking. Her voice is softer than before, “You don’t have to say anything else, but,” she pauses and thinks for a second, “I’d like to go on a date with you.”

His eyebrows crease together, but she stops him before he can speak, “The boys told me about your whole…situation. To say the least.”

He breathes out a laugh as she smiles brightly. He turns his head away before turning back to her, his smile reaching his eyes.

“They really went that far?”

She laughs and nods, “They told me every detail. Can’t believe you went on a date with Jayemi Crawford.”

He smiles, “Yeah, me neither.”

They laugh together; this is the calmness Bruce needed. He needed someone whose laugh could wake him up from an awful night of sleeping on the couch.

What he didn’t realize, or more so, what he wouldn’t let himself realize, is that she needed the same thing. She needed someone who could at least keep a calm exterior to her hectic, unscheduled life. 

He reaches for her hand and holds it as if she could break. His voice comes out soft, something not everyone has the chance to hear. 

He takes a deep breath, “Would you like to go on a date with me? 

She giggles, “Of course, Mr. Wayne. I’d love to go on a date with you.”

They smile together, and he takes a leap of faith and brings her hand to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss to the backside of her hand. 

His voice maintains the soft tone, “We’re having our family dinner tomorrow, if you’re comfortable, you’re more than welcome to join us.”

She smiles and nods her head, “I’d love to.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Final Date 

Bruce appears more nervous than she. His hands sweat, and his knee bounces against his will. 

She reaches a hand out to calm him, and he smiles appreciatively at her, but it does little to quell his worries. He grips her hand harsher than he intends, but she doesn’t mention it. 

Alfred enters the room and announces, “The boys are here,” he takes a breath, “and Jason has decided to come.”

Bruce sits up straight at that. He looks over to her for reassurance, but quickly looks back towards the dining room doors.

Dick comes in first, hooting and hollering over winning this bet.

Next is Damian, who’s looking behind him while he runs quickly into the room and slams into his seat. 

Tim comes in right after him; he’s out of breath for whatever reason. 

Two of the boys are out of breath, and Bruce stares at them quizically. 

He gets his answer when he hears heavy footsteps in the hallway, quickly running into the dining room. 

“You fucking idiots! I know you stole my keys!”

He slides into the dining room and immediately skids to a stop when he notices Bruce.

The two stare at each other, neither knowing who should speak first. 

Bruce speaks, “Jason…”

Jason clears his throat and looks to Bruce’s side, “Who are you? No offense.”

Everyone’s eyes widen (some in worry, some in amusement), and look towards Bruce’s right side. 

She just laughs.

Her laugh turns into giggles as she states, “Don’t worry, your brothers have asked me worse.”

After that, the tension in the room fizzles out as Jason takes a spot next to Tim. She engages in conversation with the boys as Bruce quietly sits back and watches. 

She speaks to all of them as equals. She doesn’t judge any of them for their overly violent stories they tell, and she doesn’t judge when they bluntly ask questions. 

He could live like this.

He didn’t know this was what he needed.