#batsignal.

      “ I need someone of your particular…history..to get me in. I may dress as a bat but apparently that’s not enough to get me through the door. And you’re more than capable to hold yourself up in a fight should something happen. Is that a yes or no? “

Hi. I’m still trying to figure out the exact timeline I’m going this time around but for me, realistically, this Broose would be a lot better equipped to handle Damian. And I think that’s more credit to the Alfred and Bruce relationship as its written in this verse.

Alfred still can’t stop Bruce when he’s got a dumb idea in his head but he brings a lot of sense and reason to Bruce’s nonsense. And that ostensibly, this or my Bruce is written with so much Father energy that I think he’d be more equipped to handle emotionally the task of having a surprised child than the comics. 

And I think its also because at least my Bruce hasn’t gone through the whole traumatic and unnecessary event of the whole Crisis event that adds further turmoil to the relationship. This bruce just hasn’t had those universe breaking moments. He’s just some guy fighting bad guys in Gotham and maybe around the world but that’s it. 

So him finding out he’s had this child all along is more of a gift than what some comic writers might try to write as a burden. Because here is a man that is more in tune with his mortality more than ever, and understand what he might lose at any point and is not willing to squander it. Not anymore. 

A low growl springs forth as her weight takes over, her hands snakes, slithering to stake their claim. Biting along the carved out scars she had left him from their first introduction. A curse and a promise he has never truly dispelled. 

Her name was a warning - as if the answer wasn’t obvious - as if saying it further out loud would embolden the curse between them - as if he could think of an answer to that question to anything but her.

A shift and his form leans closer, maneuvering between knots and sateen to lift his thighs and slide - press - pull her flush against him. His nose pressed against her cheek. His stubble grazing against her jaw. His breath right on her lips. 

The answer is three throbbing lines on his skin. 

“You’re not making me say it. “ He whispers. The first parry in a game he knows he will eventually lose - or really already lost before the war begun. But the night was young. There were plenty ways to lose so to speak. 

A tilt of his head and a slow curl of a smile at the edge of his lips. What do they say? Different rhyme? Same song? He turns back towards the screen then, leaning back into his chair as the different programs and simulations loaded to stretch and take over the entirety of its real estate.

" I'm sure Alfred has gone into great detail expanding on it. " He remarked dryly. However, without the usual cut or bite near the end. "But I'd be remissed to point out the actual reason. "

He doesn't bother to check if Victor had stopped listening. His early years vague when he wills it but crystal clear to the forefront of him whenever he dares to wade back into those murky waters. When things seemed more dire than they were now.

"He'd thought I'd fallen into the darkness of the caves and anonymity because there was nothing for me to go back to. But it was the pressure of having to disappoint my parents that held me back. To think I wasn't worthy of the legacy they hoped for me to grow up into just because they weren't there to make sure I did."

His head turns towards his direction, a small gentle smile on his lips.

"You're young, Victor. The world will forget your regrets before you do."

"We've been here before, Pamela." He looks down then, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips. "That's not where I keep the bat-bombs."

Nothing quite like just getting up and then being pulled into some tender arms that could crush his larynx if Clark wanted to. Fortunately for him, that seemed to be far from his intent and he shakes his head with a quiet laugh while one arm snaked around and along the other's back to gently cradle the nape of his neck.

" There. There. You want to tuck me into bed too?"

Alfred hands him the package in his office. His frame leaning back, relaxed into his chair that gave a soft creak. He looks over the scribbled name of the sender with narrow eyes. Weary with suspicion even then.  His hand fumbles in his drawers for his letter opener, breaking through the tape and then opening the box to reveal its content. 

It’s the design, more so, that catches him off guard. 

Bruce Wayne wasn’t exactly a fan of sequins. He didn’t like the noise they made. 

Nonetheless, he finds amusement in the prospect. And without further second guessing, he hung it over his shoulder and made his way to his room. A few minutes later he disrobed and slid it on to discern in front of the mirror. Smirking to himself as he picks up his phone and through some precise maneuvering finds a satisfactory angle to take a picture that would show clearly well how the words are stretched out to spell AUTISM across his ass. 

A swish and his phone signals the email sent back to Stark.

[ SENT ] CLICK FOR IMAGE ATTACHED.

Note: Black and Glittery would have sufficed.