#neglectedbrucewayne

Damian can admit that when he first came to stay at the Manor, he was overly critical and nitpicked at every single action that everyone made, but especially his father. He can admit he was extra hard on the man. He was raised with exceptionally high expectations for this man whom he had never met before.

When faced with the knowledge that the unstoppable Batman was a human, just like the majority of the world, it was quite the adjustment.

And no one has ever claimed that Damian Wayne-al Ghul was good at adjustment.

Or lowering his expectations.

Damian was raised with very high presuppositions; it’s only fair that everyone else in the world should be held to the exact same standards that he was. Dick has taught him differently in the prolonged absence of his father. All of his family had.

But just because he now understands this fact, it doesn’t erase the months that he spent belittling every single movement and decision his father made. They were not his finest moments by a long shot.

He’s doing his best now to express his… love for his family. It’s a hard journey, but Damian wouldn’t say he loves them if he didn’t mean it.

Bruce does not see it like this.

When Damian decides to set up shop in Bruce’s study and do his art there, Bruce is confused but pleased that his youngest son wants to spend time with him. It's been hard to spend time with any of his children without feeling emotions that he doesn't want to feel.

To Damian and his siblings, this is a last resort.

“Baba.” Damian decided to come out strong, melting Bruce’s heart from the get-go. He’s always noticed that Bruce is more likely to bend to his will when he calls him Baba instead of Father. He definitely didn't enjoy saying it as well; that would be ridiculous. “Will you pose for me? I really want to draw you.”

Bruce looks surprised as he slowly sets down his pen and gives Damian his full attention. “Are you sure you want me? You’ve never drawn me before.” He points out, making Damian scowl.

It’s true, he’s asked all his siblings at least once to be drawn, just so he would have some practice drawing different facial expressions and bodies. He's also drawn all his best. Even Alfred has been asked multiple times to sit and allow himself to be drawn by Damian.

Damian opens his mouth for an explanation before closing it. He doesn’t have one.

Somewhere along the way, when he realized that the presumptions he made about his father were false and unreachable by any human being, he started to avoid the man.

How do you interact with a legend who can do spectacular things, but at the end of the day is still vulnerable to human emotions?

For him? He couldn't. He looked at the people his father had surrounded himself with, his siblings, and followed their lead. No one ever said they were good at expressing their emotions. It was easy for Damian to see why his Baba couldn't fathom the love Damian held for him, even before he had met the man.

“I can’t?” He asks, instead of answering. It’s the coward's way out, but it works. It always works.

“Of course you can.” Bruce soothes and waits for Damian to sit down, watching him situate himself. “Should I… I don’t really know what to do…” Bruce admits, almost sheepishly as he awkwardly crosses his arms over each other and leans against his desk.

“This is fine, Baba,” Damian assures.

Yes, it’s beyond awkward-looking, but Bruce is a very awkward person. Perhaps drawing him naturally would smooth it out.

Damian spends the next hour carefully sketching, erasing, and scrutinizing his father. He barely stops himself from groaning out in frustration when he looks over the finished sketch, grimacing at how serious and stiff Bruce looks.

He didn't like it at all.

"Are you done?" Bruce asks, the only change in his face from the past hour being an eyebrow raised in question. "Am I allowed to see or...?"

"No." Damian quickly says, hugging the piece of paper close to his chest. In a split second, he's able to see his father's face drop before fixing itself to remain impassive. "I mean, you know I don't enjoy showing people my work father."

"... really?"

"Yes." Damian cringes and hopes it's enough to save himself. "Thank you for allowing me to draw you, Father. I... I have to go play with Titus now. It's in the schedule." Damian quickly bowed out of the room, ignoring his father's deep sigh is resignment, and quickly escaping.

--

A week passed, and Damian felt like a failure for not being able to even say those three words that he and his siblings were trying so hard to convince his father were true.

But it was a nice morning. Everyone was home.

Bruce looked so happy.

Before Damian even realized it, his pencil was moving across the page in front of him. He didn't draw Dick, who had an arm slung around his father's shoulder. He didn't draw Tim, who was pressed into Bruce's other side. He didn't draw Jason, who had kicked his feet up into Bruce's lap comfortably. He didn't draw Cass or Steph, who were playing with his hair and trying to give him pigtails. He didn't draw Duke, who was doing his stand up comedian bit and making Bruce laugh unabashedly.

No, it was only his Baba.

Had Damian ever seen his Baba smile like that before? Before they decided to actually pay attention to whether or not their dad knew he was loved? When was the last time he had laughed so freely?

Damian pushed through his siblings, especially Todd, and sat himself right on his Baba's lap. "Look." He simply said, holding the crisp piece of paper up for Bruce to see.

Bruce blinked in surprise at the sudden request but nodded anyway, taking the paper with all the seriousness in the world and gazing at the picture Damian was most proud of.

Bruce stared silently, tears gathering in his eyes as he gazed at the beautiful portrait his baby boy made of him.

He looked so kind… so soft… it looked nothing like him.

"This is..." Bruce swallowed, taking in a shallow breath, "this is me?"

Damian nodded.

Bruce cocked his head as he continued to stare, his siblings looking over his sketch over Bruce's shoulders as well.

"Are you sure?" Bruce asks, with an air of doubt around him. How long had it been since he had seen himself look like this? "This person looks..."

"It's you, Baba," Damian said firmly. Resolutely. "This is what you look like to me. This is how we all see you, Baba, even if you can't see it. I drew it because... because I love you, Baba." Damian admitted softly, his cheeks dusted with a light pink in slight embarrassment from being so emotionally vulnerable in front of all his siblings.

Bruce let out a soft groan, and for a moment, Damian believed he had pushed too far, that he had messed things up like he always did, but then his Baba was hugging him so tightly, and Damian could feel tears dripping onto his clothes as his father's body silently shook.

I do not know why my brain seems to work best in bullet point format, but here we are.

Anyway, this is once again based on @brucedefender4eva's posts.

Check out their stuff!: part 1, part 2, part 3

“Don’t fucking touch me!” He screamed, smacking away Bruce’s hand with vitriol and anger on his face.

So, Bruce does as he’s ordered. It’s the only thing he can give Jason.

It’s the only thing he’s really been good at.

Damian is his only blood-related child.

He notices quickly that Damian is just like him. Too much like him. Sometimes, it’s like staring in a mirror and seeing his younger self instead of his reflection.

It’s a different time now, and people are more accepting than they ever were; the chances of Damian being treated the way he was are zero, especially with him around to protect his son. He knows this, yet his hands shake as he tucks them into his pockets, watching as Damian babbles on about a self-interest of his.

He watches, he always watches, to see how his children interact with Damian. Always ready at a moment's notice to jump in and meditate, to explain away the strange habits Damian has formed.

He doesn’t have to.

His children also watch, then adjust, and then they accept him.

So… easily.

When Damian has an emotional outburst from being overstimulated by his siblings, instead of snapping at him or giving him the silent treatment, they allow him to de-stress, then apologize for pushing him over the edge. They don’t rant and rave about how he needs to get off his high horse like with him

When Damian shrinks away from physical touch, they respect his boundaries and don’t push him. They don’t snark about how he thinks he’s too good for their touch like with him

When he’s up in the late hours of the night from insomnia, they stay by his side and comfort him. They don’t tell him to go back to bed and leave him with a hollow feeling like with him

He knows it’s childish, stupid, and wholly immature, but his heart clenches and his stomach twists itself into a nasty knot.

It’s not fair.

Why can his children understand that Damian’s brain is wired differently, but when it comes to him-

Bruce always cuts his thoughts off there. He would never want to breed resentment in his heart for any of his children, especially Damian. He’s glad that Damian is getting all the love and accommodations that he needed but never got.

He’s ecstatic watching the young boy grow and thrive in areas where he still feels unsteady and unsure. He knows Damian will take the world by storm and be a billion times better than he ever was

Bruce knows that he is simply too much of a problem, a burden, to be correctly loved. He keeps hoping and hoping like a stupid child that someone will love him unconditionally

He finds himself drifting away, keeping to himself, and locking himself away in his bedroom or office. He can control all his hurt, pain, longing, and sorrow.

It hurts too much

But once again, all he gets are texts demanding he stop being so selfish and making everything about him. He doesn’t know why they’re mad at him this time; he honestly doubts that they know why they’re mad

It’s his place in their lives

——

Cass knew Bruce.

She knew Bruce more than anyone, only being rivaled by Alfred and Dick, but that was to be expected. Really, the only thing those two had on her was time.

But she could confidently say she understood him in ways they simply couldn't comprehend, not for lack of trying, but for the very makeup of their beings.

They both had darkness within them.

The crippling fear of disappointing another person, especially one that you love, can be debilitating. The strain mentally and physically is beyond taxing. Knowing that you are able to perform correctly in one area of your life yet miss the mark completely in another area that matters more is... hard.

She knew and she understood how hard it was to simply believe that someone could love you, especially after years of being told and shown the exact opposite. Years and years of being told that you’re not even on the level of dog shit on the bottom of someone’s shoes messed with your psyche.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t frustrating to watch as her Dad simply rejected it.

She wasn’t good with words, just like Bruce. But unlike Bruce, she also wasn’t good at writing down her feelings, not that he utilized that skill often.

For days, she stewed on what she could do, replaying what her siblings and Stephanie had said happened when they told Bruce they loved him, while trying to make it seem like nothing was bothering her.

With the way he appeared to unconsciously hurt himself any time his emotions got too big, she didn’t want to put any more pressure on Bruce. He does that to himself enough. She just wishes he saw what the rest of the family does, what all of Gotham does.

Cass likes Bruce’s hands. They’re big, warm, and gentle, no matter how scarred they were, and have the ability to hurt. And yet, he chooses not to.

He has never hit her unless they were sparring, and even then, Bruce doesn’t go for the kill. He never hurts her because he wants to hurt her. It’s not a fun game for him. He pushes her. Challenges her. Guides her in ways her father that man never could.

He chooses to save people. Her.

She dons a shadow to follow in his footsteps, to atone for the murders she had committed, to become free and be the one people look to for help. She takes his words, his actions, and nestles them right beside her heart so she knows what’s just.

He trusts her. She is not a weapon to be used and discarded till she is needed to inflict pain once more. No.

She is… Princess. Love, darling, gremlin, menace, an older sister, a younger sister, a daughter, and a granddaughter.

She is Cassandra.

And maybe… maybe Bruce forgets that he is Bruce. Maybe he just needs a push in the right direction. She can do that.

“What’s this?” He asks softly, always softly, and takes the flimsy piece of paper from her hand, looking over it seriously. Always so serious when it comes to her and the people he loved.

“Dance trope.” She explained, shifting her feet once, twice, three times. She was filled with boundless energy just thinking of how Bruce would react to her dance. “It’s finished. It’s finally finished. Show time.” She smiled, then did jazz hands. She got that from Stephanie and Dick.

She likes the fluttery movement; it reminds her of when Bruce stops paying attention to how to perfectly control his body and lets his hands flap in excitement or just to stimulate himself.

Bruce smiled back and reached out, pausing for a second just in case Cassandra wanted to duck out of the way, before patting her head. No matter how much he tried, her hair remained fluffy and bouncy, undeterred by the gentleness of her Dad smoothing back her hair.

“Sounds fun.” He crooned, his eyes crinkling at the sides, showing off his crows' feet. That’s how she knew he was smiling, even if the rest of his face remained a stoic mask. “There’s only one ticket?”

“Yes.” Cass nodded, grabbing the ticket and folding it carefully before placing it in the front pocket of his slacks, patting the fabric for extra security. “Just you this time. You’ll come?”

Bruce lets out a soft chuckle, and Cass is unashamed to say it’s one of her favorite sounds. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

She could tell that he was still confused about why he had been the only one chosen, but before he could ask, Cass dances out of the study, her socked feet helping her glide and spin across the wood floor, feeling lighter on her feet than she had since the realization with her siblings.

Yes. There’s no way he could possibly misunderstand her.

Despite what Dick claims, Cass thinks she knows Dad best and understands him the most.

And before she knew it, she was backstage. Her hair had been pulled back into a loose bun, letting a few strands frame her face perfectly. Everything was progressing perfectly.

“Remember,” Bethany finished filling in her eyeliner, taking a step back and admiring her work on such a beautiful subject, “this isn’t ballet, there are no rules. You’re meant to have fun. Be loose, express yourself, this is to show your family how much you appreciate them.”

Cass nodded. Of course.

She would express herself like no one had ever expressed themselves. Bruce would understand the love she had for him without her even having to say a word.

The bright lights of the stage, the gaze of hundreds of people, and the deep base of the music that could only be drowned out by the rapid beat of her heart. Exhilarating.

This is it. He’ll see the love and thought and admiration she put into this dance. The months she took to carve each move into her very soul. She bares it all to him, here up on stage, no words needed.

Cass takes her final pose as the music comes to an end; she’s never danced harder in her life. As her breath comes out in short, harsh pants, her eyes lock onto the one man who has irrevocably changed her life forever.

Bruce stood, tallest in the crowd but also front and center, clapping loudly. Even from on stage, Cass could see a few tears slip down her Dad’s face.

The moment she comes off stage, she’s greeted with a comically large yet beautiful bouquet of flowers.

Daphne flowers: grace and charm. White and blue hyacinths: prayers for a loved one, sincerity, and deep care. And of course, roses, just to keep with the tradition of expressing passion.

“I understand,” Bruce murmured softly, pulling his daughter into a hug, “I completely understand.” He whispered, and Cass felt her heart swell as pressure built behind her eyes and her view got a little blurry. The music of the next dance number faded away to a quiet hum. It was only her and her dad.

“You do?” She croaked.

“Of course I do. You were so… magnificent, beautiful, breathtaking… I simply don’t have the words to express how I feel after seeing your performance.” Bruce whispered back fiercely, pulling back to look her in the eyes. Cass reached up and gently wiped away a tear that slid down his cheek.

“You still miss him, don’t you?”

Cass paused.

“I’ve read plenty of books about this and… and I’ve experienced it myself a few times. David was the first father you ever knew. It’s perfectly normal to still miss him, even after everything that he’s done.”

And once again, just like every other important moment in her life, words failed Cassandra.

“Sometimes…” Bruce pauses, wondering if this was the right time and place to be this honest with his daughter, “sometimes I wish I could have had you as a baby. To save you from all that heartache you experienced so young.” Bruce lets a wistful sigh pass through his lips as he closes his eyes to reminisce about what could have been. “I think… I think I would have loved you right. I know I would have tried.”

Cass nodded, burying her face into Bruce’s shoulder and taking in a shuddering breath. “You would have. I know this.”

“I’m sorry you miss your father,” Bruce says instead of acknowledging her words. “I’m sorry I can’t fill that place in your life. I’m sorry… that my love isn’t enough for you.” Bruce says, his voice so mournful that an ache forms in Cass’s chest, so tightly wound she feels like she’ll suffocate. “I’m sorry he wasn’t able to see the dance you made for him.”

“No…” She swallows the lump in her throat.

Bruce looks confused.

“For you,” Cass says forcefully, dropping the bouquet and holding his hands. Those stupid, kind hands. “For you, Dad.” She repeats, looking him in the eyes.

He has to know. He must.

“I…” Bruce takes in a breath and stills, his eyes jumping to every corner in the room before returning to Cass’s, then looking away once more. That’s okay with her; she knows he’s bad at eye contact. “I don’t understand…” he whispers, his voice… scared… scared of love just like Stephanie said.

“That’s okay, I will tell you until you finally do. I will show you from now on.” Cass can feel her own tears starting to slide down her cheeks, ruining the meticulous makeup Bethany had painstakingly put on for the performance. “I’m sorry you don’t understand. I’m sorry I made you not understand that I love you.”

Bruce shuddered, and his body made an aborted jerking motion, as if the words spoken so sincerely rocked him to his very core, and it was instinct to escape such a raw emotion. “I don’t…” Bruce stopped and wet his lips. His fingers flexed in Cass’s hands, trying to dig his fingers into his palm like usual, but Cass stopped him.

“That’s okay.” She repeated, squeezing his hands before throwing herself into his embrace again. Always so warm and encompassing. Bruce should give out hugs more, but then she’d want to keep them all to herself. “I love you.”

Cass pulled away and scooped up her bouquet. “Home?” She asked, squeezing her Dad’s hand.

Bruce nodded silently, his eyes distant as he squeezed her hand back. He was quiet, yet it was obvious his mind was running a million miles an hour. Maybe he had slipped into being nonverbal again just as she often did.

“Okay... this one is seven letters. Non-drinkable dessert whose name comes from the Arabic word for 'drink.’" Stephanie tapped her pen against her lips.

“Sherbet.”

"I thought that was eight letters?"

"What? No? How do you spell it?" Bruce doesn’t look away from… well, whatever he happens to be looking at. It’s gotta be pretty far away since he’s using his binoculars to spy across the rooftops into the alleyways. Or, as Dick likes to call ‘em batoculars.

"S-h-e-r-b-e-r-t."

"No second ‘r'. Common mistake. When the word was imported into English in the early 17th century, it came from languages many considered exotic, thus its spelling is inconsistent. In this case, there is no ‘r’, but that spelling isn’t necessarily incorrect." Stephanie nodded and clicked her pen twice just because it felt right, before scribbling down sherbet.

She sighed as she looked over the half-filled crossword puzzle before tucking it away, pretending that she would find time to complete it at a later date. “We should get ice cream after patrol.”

“Hrn.”

“We should both get rainbow sherbet. That’s the best kind.”

Bruce looked over at her for the first time in an hour and did a tilt, which she could only assume was him raising an eyebrow at her. Steph clicked her pen twice, making Bruce’s lip twitch up only slightly. “Hrn.”

Victory.

“Ya know,” Steph laid her head down on her arms, gazing over the unusually peaceful Gotham night, “you can be pretty okay sometimes. I’m glad I got to know you and your crazy family.”

It was a perfect way to start. The guys had already warned her that Bruce wouldn't understand what she meant if she just came out and said it. She didn't want him to think that this was a prank in the way he had thought their concern was.

Bruce unwillingly let out a quiet snort and shook his head, readjusting his binoculars and looking back out. “So? What else is it that you want?”

“Hm?” Steph tilted her head. “I’m pretty content with us getting ice cream?”

“Yes, but you don’t try to butter me up unless you want something,” Bruce stated, like it was a well-known fact that she should’ve already been privy to.

“That’s not true.” Stephanie frowned, her voice coming out harder than she meant for it. “That’s not true at all.” She glared at the side of Batman’s head, knowing he saw it by the way his jaw tensed.

The air around them shifted, no longer comfortable and cozy like a few seconds prior. “You’re right, I’m sorry,” Bruce said simply, his voice soft, but she could tell he was just saying that to keep her from getting angry and storming off.

She tried hard to think of all the different times she complimented Bruce without trying to receive anything in return, and came up blank. Tried to think of when the compliments were genuine and not surface-level. Anything. Anything at all in all the years they’ve ever known each other.

Damn it. Damn it all.

Steph huffed and buried her face in her arms, feeling like she was 15, and instead of being Spoiler, she was Robin all over again. Or at least, trying and failing to be Robin.

“You suck sometimes.” She muttered, the Gotham breeze rustling her hair and carrying her soft words to Bruce.

“I know.”

“But you can be really great too, not just to me, but to all of us.”

Silence.

“And you make me angry when you don’t listen. When you dismiss my words like I have no idea what I’m talking about. I used to think that I hated you. Not just for that, but for a lot of things.”

“I know.”

“But sometimes, I feel like you’re the only one who sees me? Like, you can listen, but you get too much in your head and decide that the only way you can protect us is your way and no one else’s.” Steph twiddled with her fingers, her eyes firmly locked on the stray alley cat ambling gracefully down the sidewalk below them. “But when you’re good… you’re so good.”

Silence.

Was Bruce seriously only agreeing with her criticisms and ignoring the positive aspects? Of fucking course he was.

“I don’t want you as my Dad. You could never be my Dad.” Steph said, and for a moment, she wished she hadn’t. She’s said it a million times before, but his reaction every time just hurts her heart.

She can hear Bruce take in a shuddery breath before slowly releasing it and letting his shoulders drop. The first time she ever said that to Bruce, it was a lot meaner with more curse words woven in.

Then she had seen the tears in his eyes before his face hardened and he snarled out his own responses, she didn’t let herself think too hard in the moment, too busy combating the venomous words they spat at each other.

But later, when she crawled into bed at her apartment, long after her Mom went to work, she allowed herself to drown in all her negative emotions. She allowed herself to wonder how Bruce was doing.

Steph shook her head, getting out of her thoughts, and powered through. “But no matter what, you’re an important part of my life, and I don’t know if I would be where I am without you. You’re not my Dad Bruce, but I love you all the same.”

As she moved her hand to lay it on his arm (physical contact had always been the best way for her to get her emotions across), Bruce expertly stepped away and shook his head.

“You don’t, you shouldn’t.” He grunted. “I have done nothing but hurt you. And yet, you seem to stick around; I can’t get rid of you. Really, it must be for everyone else rather than sticking around for me." Bruce smiled softly, which only caused a bit of dissonance due to wearing the cowl. “You’re always going to be part of my family, Stephanie, whether or not you see me in your family.”

“I do see you as part of my family. My Mom and I love you, Bruce.”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings. Your mother has given me plenty of stern talkings too.” Bruce shook his hands, a nervous tick he had tried many times to be rid of, but never could. At least he wasn't digging his fingers into the palm of his hands and trying to draw blood. Not that it would work with the thick padding of his suit's glove.

She really didn't know what to say to that.

“You scared B-man?”

“Of?”

Before she could give him a response, there was loud arguing, quickly followed by a few gun shots.

Without a word of communication between the two of them, they launched themselves off the side of the building and quickly inserted themselves into the scuffle.

The two worked in tandem, easily becoming an indomitable force of nature as they dispatched the criminals and protected a lonely civilian who was unfortunately caught in the crossfire.

As Spoiler launched herself off of Batman’s back to get a guy sneaking up behind him while Batman simultaneously threw his batarangs to the opponents that were behind her, she found herself wondering why they couldn’t possibly work together so well all the time.

Life would be a lot easier that way.

Spoiler let out a soft sigh as she finished tying the last unconscious goon to a light post nearby, glancing over the silent Bat to her left, trying to gauge what emotions he was feeling.

“Yes,” Bruce said suddenly, startling her out of her thoughts. She looked up at him and pulled down her hood, brushing her hair out of her face.

“What?”

“I am scared.”

“… you don’t even know what I was going to ask.”

“I already know. I am scared.” He repeated.

Bruce started walking away the moment they could hear the police sirens softly blaring throughout the streets, steadily coming closer to their location.

Stephanie sighed and lazily kicked a dented soda can into a nearby recycling bin, absentmindedly making a mental note to ask Babs for the footage later. “Course he’d be scared of love. Idiot.” She murmured, pulling out her grappling gun.

“Spoiler.” Batman’s voice grumbled on the coms, making her raise an eyebrow. He wasn’t that far away from her yet; whatever he wanted to say, he wanted all of them to hear. “Hurry up, I thought we were getting ice cream.”

Steph couldn’t help the snort of laughter that forced itself from her body, barely stopping herself from doubling over in laughter as the rest of the bats angrily chimed in the moment they heard ice cream, Tim already threatening to track their locations.

“Shut up, losers! This is a private thing between me and the boss man!” Steph grinned slyly, zipping up onto the roof and landing beside Bruce, who was apparently waiting for her.

It sucks that no matter what she or anyone else has said, Bruce doesn’t believe that he’s loved by the people around him.

But… he loves her. Now she just has to figure out how to get it past his thick skull that she also loves him, and so does everyone else.

“Do you think they have purple sherbet?”

“If not, I can pay someone to make it. For next time. If you want…”

Bruce blinked, startling out of his book as he felt a familiar presence standing above him as he was laid down comfortably on his couch. Duke was standing above him with a grin on his face, waving down at the man and pulling out his earphones.

“Whoa, sorry B-man, didn’t mean to startle you.” Duke chuckled, holding up a pastry and a cup of coffee as a peace offering.

Bruce chuckled softly and shut his book, getting up from his reclined position on the couch and patting the leather cushion beside him. Duke flopped down beside the man with a small "oomph" and handed over the pastry.

"I thought you were hanging out with your siblings? What are you doing back so early?" Bruce questioned, pulling out a chocolate eclair and raising an eyebrow at Duke.

"Hey, Dick told me they were your favs. If you don't like 'em, blame him and not me. It got a little too crowded at the cafe, so I decided to bounce." Duke shrugged, taking a sip of Bruce's coffee before scrunching his nose in disgust and setting it down. "Gross. I can never understand how you drink black coffee."

"I don't drink it for the taste, only its ability to keep me awake." Bruce chuckled, handing Duke a napkin to wipe his mouth with. "And eclairs? I don't mind. It's more of an inside joke between the two of us."

Duke nodded in understanding, leading the two to sit in silence for a while.

Duke hesitated for a second, turning over what he wanted to say in his head for a bit, before deciding to just spit it out. “You’re a good Dad Bruce. You try… really hard, and I think that’s the most important part of being a good Dad.”

Bruce blinked in confusion, his nose scrunching up as he stared at Duke. “But… I’m not your Dad?” Bruce said slowly as if Duke could somehow forget that little tidbit.

“Yes, I know- ugh” Duke groaned and put his head in his hands. “Fuck, they were right. This is hard…”

“Who was right? About what?”

“Bruce, you dense fool.” Duke shook his head, ignoring the offended expression on Bruce’s face. “You are… a very important parental figure to me. You’re not my Dad, you’re not my mom, but you are important.”

Bruce just chuckled and shook his head, taking another bite of the chocolate eclair. “Alright Sunshine. Whatever you say.”

Duke narrowed his eyes. "You're very important," Duke said again, carefully watching Bruce's facial and body expression. "I, and everyone in this house, care about you. I love you lots, Bruce." No matter what Duke said, Bruce just looked like a single word wasn't getting through to him. Just like the others had said.

"Why don't you believe us when we say we love you?" Duke huffed out in frustration, grabbing what little was left of Bruce's pastry and throwing it down on the coffee table, forcing the older man to actually look at him.

Bruce let out a sigh as he looked Duke in his eyes, searching for something and frowning as if he couldn't find it. "Are... are you having a prank contest with your brothers?" Bruce dug his nails into the palm of his hands as he frowned harder.

“A prank-!”

“Or maybe a competition to see who can pull a reaction out of me?” This was said as Bruce bit the inside of his cheek, chewing on his flesh and letting go just before he started bleeding.

If Duke had longer hair, he’d be pulling it out in frustration. “Bruce-“

“Oh… I understand.” Bruce breathed out quietly, a soft look in his eyes as he gently took Duke’s hand into his own. For a second, Duke naively believed that Bruce did understand. “Duke, I don’t know what may have happened, but no matter what, I’m happy to continue fostering you until you want to leave.”

“Until I want to…?”

“You don’t have to worry about me kicking you out or some other ridiculous notion. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want until you inevitably become sick of me.” Bruce smiled softly, gently patting Duke’s hand. “Jason did the same thing when he was younger, trying to use sweet words as a way to convince me not to ‘return him’. His words, not mine.” Bruce chuckled.

Duke simply just stared at Bruce, unable to come up with a single thing to say.

“I know-“ Bruce let out a harsh huff, his face twisting into the self-deprecating expression that Tim told him to watch out for, “I know that I’m the reason why you’re here in the first place. Why you can’t be with your parents. I know you must resent me for that, you have to hate me.”

Oh.

“And I’m okay with that. I deserve to be hated for taking away your parents.”

Oh no.

“But no matter what, I’m going to love you and see you as one of my own. After all, you fit right in. Everyone in this family has a valid reason to despise me.” Bruce laughed, like it was funny, like somehow Duke was supposed to agree with the bullshit spouting out of his mouth. “It’s a bit cowardly of me to think you’d allow me to love you. Selfish…” Bruce whispered the last word, pulling his hands away and once again digging his nails into the palm of his hand.

And really who was Duke to judge? Wasn’t he even more of a coward by not being able to say a word against Bruce? To comfort this man who so generously decided to open his home, his life, and his love to a stranger?

Duke’s eyes focused on a singular red crimson drop slowly making its way down from Bruce’s clenched fist and splattering on the couch. Alfred would throw a fit later.

He wanted to surge forward, take Bruce’s hand, and stop him from hurting himself any further. But he was stuck. Frozen with the weight of the guilt Bruce has decided to put on his own back.

“You don’t have to bring me pastries and coffee, you don’t have to sit and talk with me, and I especially don’t want you to think that you have to lie and say you love me.” Bruce smiled stiffly, patting Duke once on the back with his other hand and pressing a kiss to his forehead before standing up from the couch.

“Alright Sunshine, I’ve got some work to do in the cave. I’ll see you later?” Bruce nodded, not waiting for an answer before leaving the living room.

Duke blinked and glanced over at the half-eaten eclair before snatching it and shoving the rest in his mouth. “Shit.” Duke cursed, crumbs flying everywhere. “Of course, he blames himself for my parents… I'm a fucking idiot.”

Duke groaned and scrubbed his eyes, willing away the familiar pressure of tears before whipping out his phone and texting the group chat that excluded both Alfred and Bruce.

——

Dick: Have you ever doubted that I love you?

Bruce: …

——

It wasn’t a fight. At least it didn’t really feel like all those usual fights, and Bruce was pretty sure it wasn’t a fight. But then again, he’s always been wrong in guessing about his children.

Dick seems… distant. Distant but still close. Usually when Dick wants to be distant, he leaves. His children are very good at leaving and not telling him where they are. He always knows, though, he’s Batman.

Bruce doesn’t remember any scathing words being exchanged between them. No heated glares, heavy air, stilted conversations. Nothing that usually promises an argument is to come or has passed without Bruce realizing it.

But for some reason, Dick was still lingering around the hallways. If Bruce turned around, he would see his eldest child standing around the edges, his body tense, and a perturbed expression on his face. Just watching him, waiting for a moment that Bruce was honestly scared to come.

It was starting to worry Bruce. His baby has always been a bright and shining star, even when he doesn’t want to be.

But Bruce also knew that if he tried to pry, he would only push Dick away. After many years of trail and errors, Bruce decided the best course of action would be to let Dick figure it out himself or come to Bruce on his own.

Strangely enough, it didn’t take very long for Dick to come into his study, his face trying and failing to adopt a calm and nonchalant expression as he sat in the edge of his desk.

“Hey B…” Dick said lowly, fiddling with one of the snow globes he had on his desk. Bruce had gotten that specific one from Dick when they first visited Zitka at the zoo when he was nine and Dick had begged to get something from the gift shop.

“Dick.” Bruce nodded, setting down his pen and giving his son his full attention.

Dick let out a shuddering sigh and set down the snow globe. Bruce’s hands twitched with the urge to fix it and set it straight, but then Dick turned the globe and moved it to the exact position that he liked.

Bruce couldn’t help the small twitch of his lips. He was probably being too obvious, Dick most likely remembers the several panic attacks he had when Dick was a child, unable to process and handle when his prized possessions were askew. He worked on it. He's fine now.

“I heard something pretty interesting… from Jay.” Dick started haltingly, his eyes staring deeply into Bruce’s. “You guys had a pretty… deep convo recently… right?”

Bruce felt stupid. A deep conversation? He’s assuming that Dick means an emotionally charged conversation but he truly doesn’t remember anything like that happening recently.

“Okay, okay, I can see you racking your brain, so I’ll just tell you,” Dick said, grabbing his Dad’s hands and holding them in his own. Bruce hadn’t even noticed when he started digging his fingernails into the flesh of his arm, close to drawing blood.

Shit. He always fucking does this. Making Dick worry and take care of him like he was an invalid incompetent manchild.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.” Dick murmured causing Bruce to purse his lips together silently. “Seriously, it’s okay B. I know why you are the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Bruce nodded silently because it was easier to do so than argue why he should’ve already grown out of his childish habits. You’d think having the media point out his self inflected scars when he was 12 would’ve kicked him out of the habit already…

“What was it that you wanted to talk to me about? I don’t remember any particularly deep conversation with Jason.” Bruce rumbled, tilting his head to the side when Dick’s nose scrunched in annoyance.

“Of course you don’t, just like Jay said…” Dick huffed under his breath. “Okay, let’s just… blurt it out. Get it over with.”

Dick seemed to try and hype himself up, squeezing Bruce’s hands tightly before releasing and continuing the action a few more times.

“Jason said that you think that we hate you, but like, I really don’t know where that came from, and I’m just super confused because I don’t think I’ve said it that often, and yeah I’ve said it, I probably shouldn’t have, really shouldn’t have since you think that I hate you, well you think that all of us-“

“Chum.” Bruce stopped his son’s rapid word vomit with one word, his eyes crinkled with fondness and amusement as he squeezed Dick’s hands back. “Sweetheart, I didn’t understand a single word you just said. Slow down for me, okay?”

Dick took large gulps of air, his face burning with embarrassment as he squeezed his eyes shut. “Right! Right duh, I just- ugh…”

Bruce absentmindedly trailed his eyes over Dick’s face, so much older than when he had last seen him. Maybe a little gaunt… he’ll make Dick some brownies, the ones he used to make when Dick was smaller. Maybe they could watch a movie later, anything that would get DIck to fall asleep.

“Dad…” Dick breathed softy, making Bruce’s heart race. Uh oh, why was this a Dad moment? Did Dick want something?

“Jason came to me and he told me that… you think that I… we hate you. Do you?”

Bruce let out a confused hum. Was that the important conversation he had? Bruce didn’t feel like it was an important conversation; it had been mostly resolved by the time Jason decided to leave. Well, Bruce felt as though it had been resolved.

“… you said it,” Bruce said slowly. The last time he said that, Jason had gone silent and stared at Bruce with a horrified expression before hugging him. It was a nice hug, so Bruce guessed he had read his second son’s expression wrong, and it was all okay in the end.

“No, B, I could… I could never…” Dick’s throat dried up. Why couldn’t he just force the full sentence out? 'No, I don't hate you.' Why does his tongue feel like it's a million pounds? Why do his lips refuse to move?

Bruce hummed sympathetically and nodded his head, like he understood, like he could sort through the mess in Dick’s mind. Bruce had always had an uncanny way of peering into all of their minds when it was the most jumbled, and yet, he was getting it completely wrong this time.

“It’s okay. I’m not mad. It makes perfect sense.” Bruce nodded, having the fucking audacity to pretend that it did make sense. Like Dick hating him was perfectly normal, like living in a house and caring for people who he thinks hate him is nothing out of the ordinary.

“Wha-? No, Bruce, it’s not supposed to make sense!” Dick ran a hand through his hair, carelessly ripping through the knots and tangles, barely feeling the pain radiating from his scalp. The one in his chest hurt a fuckton more.

Bruce chewed on his lower lip, unable to dig his fingernails into the palm of his hand, he settled for digging the heel of his foot against the dorsum of his other, still bruised painfully from a rough night of crime fighting alone.

“What did I do wrong this time?” Bruce asked, wanting to know why Dick was here and why he seemed so… distraught. Not even angry, which was somehow worse.

He had to have done something wrong, after all, both DIck and Jason had come to him separately to rehash this same old conversation. Something must have happened.

That, for some reason, seemed to be the wrong thing to say.

“Dad, you know we love you… right…?” Dick whispered quietly. “You know that I love you, right?” Dick tried to grin, hoping that he would see his father’s face transform into a smile, to hear his deep chuckle of amusement, to listen to his Dad say ‘yes, of course I know that you love me, that you all love me.’

But it never came.

Bruce was quiet. No he was completely silent, staring at his son with a truly baffled expression that Dick has only seen very few times in his life. Like the words coming out of his son’s mouth were such an obvious lie, and he was trying to figure out why he was lying right to his face. Like Dick's love was such an unreachable object for him that there was no way he could already have it.

No no no no no no-

“Dad-!” Dick choked on a sudden sob, forcefully tearing its way out of his throat without his permission. “Please! Tati please! You have to know that I love you!”

Bruce swallowed and slowly extracted his hands from Dick’s grip, well, he tried to. Dick held on tight, steadfastly refusing to let go. “Dick, sweetheart, let me get you a cup of water. I don’t know why you’re crying, but I promise we can figure it out together. I’ll be right back, I swear.” Bruce said, his voice giving away how stressed he was in this situation.

Dick desperately clawed at his Dad’s hands, trying to stop him from leaving, but somehow Bruce escaped his hold. He always escapes his grasp.

As Bruce quickly fled the room, Dick slid down off Bruce’s desk and onto the floor, curling up into hisself. Trying to hide away from the shame and horror that was threatening to explode from his body.

How could this have happened? When had he stopped telling his Dad that he loved him? When had Bruce stopped believing him?