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The funniest thing about Ghostmaker is as it pertains to Batman he is genuinely losing the idgaf war bad. You don’t care? Okay whatever helps you sleep. He cares way more than he wants to admit. Mind you all this hooting and hollering about how he doesn’t care and it’s just about competition just for Bruce to clock his shit anyways. Even that man’s kids know.
When Gotham realizes Batman and Red Robin have been absent for a few days, you'd think her rogues would take advantage of it.
But no. Gotham and Blüdhaven rogues avoid it like the plague. Whatever illegal business or evil schemes that might've been in the works is getting put on hold. Rogues will be staying out of sight until the Bat and Bird are back in the scene.
These rogues have learnt it the hard way the first few times they tried something. When they tried capitalising on Batman's abrupt disappearance.
Blüdhaven rogues would realize Nightwing has stopped telling jokes as they face him. Wait, scratch that. He wasn't even talking at all. No puns, no cheesy quips, nothing. You point a gun at him, that bullet will be lodged in your thigh before you even have a chance to blink. He's not even doing those elaborate flips and routines anymore. Blink once and you'll find yourself defeated and captured. Hell, you don't even see him anymore. You're just dangling upside-down with a bullet in your thigh and the streets are dead and empty. You're praying either the ambulance or cops get to you first before Death's scythe does, smelling that endless gushing of blood on you.
Red Hood is shooting you point blank. Giving up his monologues and theatrical dramatics, even his own goons are scared of him. You would actually pray that Red Hood has his guns on him or that they're loaded because the alternative of a gun-less Red Hood is much like hell on earth. He doesn't prolong it though. He's very much itching to leave, much like you are. Except you'd be leaving this world.
Unfortunately, rogues don't even get to see Batgirl before you're inevitably knocked out and wake up in either Arkham or the GCPD's custody. It's disorienting as fuck because either a doctor or Commissioner Gordon himself is telling you what you did and why you failed, meanwhile you're thinking back on what the fuck just happened. You're almost amazed if not horrified at how fucking silent Batgirl moved. None of that cat-and-mouse bullshit. No, you're prey before you even knew you were being hunted.
Robin adheres to the no-kill rule. But that's not really good news, is it? Unfortunately he's unlike his predecessors. Rogues would wish that the kid would just slice through them with his katana. 133 of your bones would either be crushed or dislocated. You have 206. That's sixty-five percent of your skeletal system. Robin is unfortunately far, far more agro than the older Birds you've seen this week. He's clearly putting all his anger out on you. But why?
Why is all of this happening while the Bat's gone?
Easy. Because it's—quite frankly—a really, really stupid idea to drag four Alphas out of the pack nest just because a bunch of wannabes decided it'd be the best time to have their screen time during their pack's most vulnerable week. Heat season.
The Pack Omega's in heat, and unfortunately, because they're always in such close proximity, Tim's heat cycle synced up with momma's. The entire Manor's on high alert. They've got two vulnerable Omegas and four Alphas on protective overdrive who won't let up. The Betas are tense, caught in-between two loose canons, yet Duke, Steph, and Alfred all try their best to keep the fort standing.
It's never an easy time of the quarter for anyone involved. Dick as the Pack Alpha must always be glued to his mother's and little brother's side at all times; periodically scenting them to keep outsider Alphas out.
Jason as a Dominant Alpha is extra defensive and overprotective, often using his sheer size to bar anyone and everyone out of the nest.
Cass only has one thing on her mind: protect-pack-omegas-in heat. Cass is already aware of any outsider before they even realize they're trespassing. Like how a polar bear is already stalking its prey before said prey even realizes they're minced meat.
Damian as a growing Dominant Alphan pup is extremely sensitive and pulling him away from his dam might literally just cost you your limbs.
It's all the same for Rut Season as well. Wayne Manor is under lock down, Batman, Red Robin, The Signal, The Spoiler, and Oracle; all of them are clearly rushing to get the job done.
Batman's not even interrogating rogues anymore. One look and he's already determined your sins, already judged you and your entire existence. Your soul has been weighed and your Karma has already been measured in preparation for your next life. And he will deal with you appropriately, quickly, and without fanfare. You're not even sure if he breathed during the entire encounter. You realize the Bat has been pulling his punches on usual days—only during this particular week do rogues get to experience his full strength.
You're still alive by the end though—maybe even thanking god for Batman's willpower and discipline because Red Robin is hardly patient during this time of the year.
Red Robin really doesn't like it when his time is being wasted. He's always been a little... Unhinged, and rogues never really know what they're gonna get with him. The first time they met him during his Robin days, they made the mistake of sighing in relief. They're not sure if they prefer him when he's quiet or when he's mocking them, or baiting them. What they do know is they prefer that he does not put his lips together and whistle at a frequency they can't hear. Because that often signifies the arrival of one of the Superboys. It's usually the same time they realize that the Kryptonian Famtheon does not have a no-kill rule. Honestly, once you realize it's that time of year and you see Red Robin perched on a rooftop, just give up.
Rogues often make the mistake of being relieved they realize they're facing off against Signal or Spoiler—they're much more calmer than the other two, but... Again, who could really trust that? Signal could smile at you once and that'll probably be the last thing you'll see for a few weeks. He really doesn't have time for you. So just, scoot over and give yourself up, alright? Unless you prefer being swallowed up by sheer darkness—or you know, get engulfed by blinding light? Either way, you don't get to pick your poison.
If you think you can handle Spoiler because she's smaller and human, then you'd probably be the biggest idiot in the city. Not even The Riddler would take his chances with this one. You won't even realize that Spoiler has already figured out your plot and Oracle has already disengaged whatever technology or weapon it is that you planned to use. The Spoiler is always rushing during this time. But hell, maybe for the kick of it, Spoiler will give you a souvenir once she's done wity you. A little existential crisis, take you on a fun little psychological journey while you're on your way to government custody. Just for funsies. So you don't get bored, yk?
Gotham and Blüdhaven rogues don't know the truth about these situations, they just think that Batman and Red Robin are somewhere else on a high-stakes mission, leaving the other four without proper management/supervision from the Bat.
If Nightwing, Red Hood, Batgirl, and Robin are missing, they'd think that Nightwing is on an off-world mission, that Red Hood has business outside of Gotham, that Batgirl is... Well, they can't really figure that one out; that Robin is handling matters with the Teen Titans. With the Alphas, their rut cycles don't sync up, so this happens on four separate occasions throughout the year and Gotham and Blüdhaven rogues have just accepted that they're gonna have at least nine bad weeks sporadically every year.
Eventually they learn their lesson and they treat the rest of the week like a work-off holiday—a break from all the crimes they commit because it's just not worth it. Clearly the Bats and the Birds all have someplace to be. Who the fuck are they to get in the way?
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NSFW// Thinking thoughts of beefy bruce. Like just a mountain of muscle. Dark patches of hair all along his body. With the prettiest pink pussy known to man.
Like, bruce who is as very dominant force, hes known who he was at a very early age and transitioned quickly. Thankfully his parents kept him away from the public religiously when he was younger and when the incident happened, with his short hair he was labeled as a boy in the media.
So by the time hes in his mid 40s, hes been a man happily for decades. And has passed almost that entire time (preteens were hard, we dont talk about it).
And one of those things that come with this was, hes only ever topped. He very rarely let anyone touch him there, even himself. It's always made him feel awful about himself but hes never wanted to get the surgery. Maybe its self punishment, maybe its fear, maybe its just because he doesn't want to.
But for some ungodly reason, hes had a nagging desire to.. be with superman. To maybe.. bottom? He isnt sure. When superman does something extraordinary, like lift a building, bruce gets.. wet.
That does not happen normally.
But Clark is oblivious so bruce is left squirming, feeling a range of emotions.
Eventually, bruce decides to touch himself with the thought of superman, since hes going insane. He's soaking wet after a mission and is desperate to get off. He cant ignore it like he usually does. He needs to cum, he needs.. something inside of him.
He finishes embarrassingly quick, devious fingers on his clit.
Although despite bruces best try, Clark does figure out what is going on with bruce, and that hes the cause. So, he makes his move on bruce.
One thing leads to another and he has bruce under him, fully naked but still hiding the prize between two deliciously muscular thighs. Bruce is shy, never letting himself be in this position despite how much he wants it. Needs it.
But with gentle coaxing, Clark opens those legs and finds his new religion. Dripping wet, soaking his cute curls, is the perfect little cunt hes ever seen. Clark cant help but place his cock on top of it, showing off the sheer difference. His pussy is so tiny, how will it ever fit all of him?
But they're both stubborn men, they'll make it work.
And it takes a while, Clark doing his very best to insure that bruce doesnt go off the deep end when getting his virgin cunt filled. His pretty little mewls are a juxtaposition to his large frame shaking with pleasure.
And when bruce cums as clark is finally fully in? Eyes rolling back and squirting? Clark knows hes never letting this man know another cock.
Imagine him crying as he's desperately trying to clean up the vandalism done on Harvey's poster. Like, just the image of Brucie Wayne crying in public for the first time while cleaning up a ruined poster like a desperate little thing despite knowing it won't be able to change reality.
I know it’s unpopular when DC comic artists draw all the batboys with the same exact features, but I think it’s hilarious when they (and Bruce) all have the same shiny, jet-black hair in the same slightly long, slightly layered style.
Alfred is purchasing Pantene condition refills in bulk and unclogging shower drains nearly every week. If a hair ends up somewhere, nobody can tell whose it is without DNA testing (Tim has stooped to this before).
“Clark's just standing in the middle of a Nirvana concert actually experiencing nirvana” - capricious bastard (@capricious-bastard13), 2026
guess who got back from a bit of a break- anyways, i got so excited to return to drawing again, i started colouring hahaha and i have opened requests :) currently there’s only two more open slots !!
clark’s shirt is supposed to reference the mighty crabjoys but you only see the damn claw 😭
Autism is a largely complex condition. It is largely genetic, with over half of the genetic material linked to it coming from the father.
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
Damian has autism and needs accommodations. Bruce is a bastard who needs to stop acting so fucking weird and just listen to what he’s told.
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Had this idea that when thing settled down and Jason was in the Cave, he insisted his uniform be taken out of the case and just replaced with a plaque or something because it's morbid. Jason who when alone, picks up the costume and is like "damn I was tiny" and got some reason he picks up Tim's which is balled up in a laundry basket and he compares the weight and it strikes him that Tim's suit is at least three pounds while his is not even half that weight. No wonder I died. And he says as much to Tim, not in a jabbing away but in a sort of commentary way and Tim is literally sat there like
Because is Jason's ass for real? Tim goes into detail how Bruce barely let him patrol without constantly updating the suit. More padding, more coverage, more shock absorbition. Bruce was frantic to make sure Tim was protected because he couldn't save Jason. "By the end of my first month, I couldn't fucking walk," Tim tells him. "The man was literally one bruise away from rolling me in bubble wrap."
Bruce who overhears this just apologises like he did back then but it's the withdrawn, sort of guilt ridden apology a parent makes when they know they're doing the right thing but is sorry their kid is so upset. Jason understands and says as much, saving his pride with a shove on Tim's shoulder than he's lucky Bruce didn't send him out in a suit of armour from downstairs when he came back, the big old mama Bat. Tim laughs but Bruce just says without thinking that if he had his way, none of the kids would be out on patrol and then hastily excuses himself after saying something like "because none of you are focused enough" but Tim and Jason know.
In an odd world where heroes, superheroes, and vigilantes exist, there is only one thing missing: Batman.
In this world, Batman doesn't exist, he isn't a concept, not even an urban legend. Why? Because the man meant for the cowl is Bruce Wayne; beautiful, damaged, and fallen Bruce Wayne who's only goal in life now is to give his children a better life, a better future.
Since it's an AU, there may be changes to the dynamics, characterizations, and identities of certain characters. This is a 'What-If' AU after all.
"That was so cool!" Bruce hears the familiar squeal of his second youngest. His head is still reeling. Looking up at the familiar yet unfamiliar boy- man? …holding him, Bruce still sees the kid he first invited into his home; the boy whom he screamed at the top of his lungs for as he landed the winning gold at a gymnastics tournament. His eldest son, Dick, who would run into his arms is now holding him in his after having just faced The Penguin's goons. Protecting him.
How has Bruce failed so spectacularly?
He was supposed to be the one protecting them—he would catch any bullet for them, use his body as a shield, all for them. Not this. Not the other way around.
When Bruce's broken heels hits the floor, he holds onto the man before him, looking up, his blue eyes shining wet with tears. "I'm sorry…" Bruce whispers, throat closing up as tears threaten to spill, forcing a pitiful whimper out of him. "Mom!" "Mommy!" Jason and Tim yell in unison as they hold their mother steady, Bruce's eyes didn't leave Dick's figure until the two had completely embraced him. When he turns around to hug them, his eyes immediately catches sight of two other masked individuals.
He sees how the shorter one flinches when their gazes meet. The taller one nudges him before the smaller vigilante sheepishly hands him his cane. With Bruce's arm still wrapped around Tim and Jason, Bruce grabs the cane with his free hand, pulling at it harshly so that the youngest vigilante gets pulled along as well. The kid tensed up in Bruce's embrace at first—the warmth having become unfamiliar after so many years—but eventually, stiff shoulders melted and began trembling as Bruce's lapel is wet with tears.
Bruce glances at the other vigilante, taller, stronger, and wearing an all-black bat costume that couldn't have been comfortable. Bruce's arms had always been wide, like a wingspan—and much like a bat's, they wrapped perfectly around the four of them. "I am so, so, so sorry." Bruce wails. His youngest child, his only daughter, reduced to cleaning up the system's mistakes. This is not how Bruce wanted their lives to go.
The four of them stayed like that for another minute until gunshots started erupting everywhere. "Kill that damned bird!" They hear The Penguin yell. Damian flinches and was quick to pull away, Cass hesitated and they both turned to Bruce anxiously, itching to go. Bruce nods—they needed to help Dick; the best Bruce can do despite his failures as a parent is to not get in the way.
After watching Damian and Cass go, he finally turns back to Jason and Tim. Both boys were looking at him nervously, Bruce's eyes narrowed. They knew.
That night, at Wayne Manor—after facing countless news reporters at the venue—all members of staff were dismissed for the night. Without the clattering and thudding of cleaning and walking around, The only noise in the manor is Bruce's unsteady movements in the kitchen. None of them got to have a proper meal at the reception, so with their three other siblings coming up, Bruce decided to cook despite his sprained right foot.
He didn't let Jason nor Tim change out of their suits, not yet at least. He wanted answers first. And he wanted them once their siblings come home. Bruce knows they'll come, it's too late for them to hide from him anyway.
Just in the nick of time, The door to the… basement? …opens and Dick, along with Damian and Cass, comes out and the three gathered around the table, taking their seats as they once did some years ago. Dick is now 18, Jason and Cass are 15, Tim is 13, and Damian is 11 when they all finally reunited.
Damian is noticeably fidgeting—he was still so young when he was taken by the League, along with Cass, is it horrible to say he doesn't remember much of the man who raised him, loved, and cherished him? How can he embrace Bruce with hands that have been stained with others' blood? What if Bruce doesn't want him anymore? What if he-
"Dam-dam?" Damian's thoughts are knocked out of him as a plate is carefully placed in front of him. He looks up and he's met with blue, glacial eyes—eyes that are very warm and familiar. "Are you okay, chickadee?" It's ironic how the alias Damian's using now is so reminiscent of what Bruce used to call him. They aren't out of costume yet, but when Damian looks at his siblings, he sees just how nervous they are as well.
Damian couldn't take it. There's a lump forming in his throat—it's been so long since he's seen his mother, so long since he's felt his embrace. Talia's weren't as comforting, and it's not like he could ask his grandfather for hugs. He hasn't even seen Cass since they got taken away—only seeing her again last year when they managed to break out.
"I-!" Bruce smiles and kisses the top of his head. Damian leans into it. "You can tell me everything while we eat; I'm sure you've had a long night." Damian nods and soon, everyone filled their plates and bowls. One sip of the warm stew has Dick's face scrunching up in its sourness. "Is this tamarind stew?" He asks and Bruce raises a brow, "It is… Has your tastes changed?" Dick eagerly shakes his head—he's always been weak against sour foods, but Bruce's tamarind stew was his one and only exception. It's warm, healthy, and Dick likes how the fish goes down easily.
Cass is tapping the table meekly which catches Bruce's eager attention; ["Do you…we, have chilli?"] She signed. Bruce smiles and slides the small bowl of fresh chilli peppers next to him, towards her. "Can I have one too?" Tim asks and Cass was about to pass the small bowl until Jason cuts in. "Don't. He has the spice tolerance of a single grain of salt." Cass tilts her head at Tim, there's a lilt in the corner of her lips and Tim's face turns as red as the chilli peppers. "N-no I don't!" Jason's easy laughter echoes in the dining hall; "Sure you do! You've got white boy taste buds!"
Just like that and the family's already fallen back into rhythm. Bruce's home finally feels right again. Looking back, who cares if his children hid secrets from him? They probably had a good reason, right? This is all that matters. Them, their family. It's all Bruce needs in life…
But Bruce needs to be a parent; so once the banter calms down, Bruce's questions filled the dead air. What happened, why, how did it end up like this? How long have Tim and Jason known? Where were you staying?
Luckily, his children were all willing to answer his questions. "Cass and I were trained to be assassins, but we got separated and have only met each other again last year." Damian's tone was…formal. His manner of speaking is strict. Bruce wonders where his baby who babbled mindlessly went. Seeing Bruce's sad expression, Damian tries to salvage the conversation. "H-However it all worked out in the end! I get to protect you now, mother." Mother? Where did 'mama' go?
Bruce forces a smile, a radiant one. "Thank you, habibi… But that's supposed to be my job… For all of you." Damian cringes at himself and feels like sinking into his chair. ["You've helped and protected us for so long-"] Bruce shakes his head, "You don't owe me anything, baby. None of you do. I'm your parent, it's my job." Cass's eyes are downcast—it's already been made clear that Bruce doesn't like the path they've gone down on, but-
"Jason and Tim have known for six months." Dick cuts in. Five heads swiftly turned to him, Tim's face is ghostly pale. "Dude, what the hell??" Jason snaps back and Dick chuckles, cutting the tension in the air once more. Bruce sighs. "We've… been staying in the cave since we got here." Damian sighs. Now it was Bruce's turn to go pale. "The cave?!" What, with all of those nasty creatures?? "It's not that bad!" Dick defends and Jason's nodding too. "When Tim and I discovered the cave-" Bruce's brows furrowed. "You went back to that place?!"
"It's how we discovered that Cass, Dick, and Damian are back… We saw them in there and…" Tim glances at Cass. Oh how he missed his sister. "It's not too shabby. Jason and I helped them fix it up some more and…" Tim's face flushes, nervous. "I… helped them create their…equipment…" Tim hangs his head low, ashamed to have gone behind Bruce's back. He's been kind enough to indulge Tim and spoil him by funding his projects—only for Tim to go behind his back and use the money for something else.
Bruce felt like he was going to have a headache and heartburn at the same time. "So… you all have been in on this for the past six months and…." He glances at Jason and Tim, both boys looking down shamefully. "have helped with keeping their secrets, 'fix up' that dingy old cave, and created their, what, grappling hooks and others I have yet to know about?" All five of Bruce's children looked incredibly guilty. Bruce couldn't help but sigh heavily. On one hand, they've all gone behind his back; but on the other… They've all built such strong bonds that they're able to network and trust one another with this.
"You've helped one another and yet…" He looks at all three of his now-supposed vigilante children, "None of you decided to 'fix up' the costumes?" Bruce just couldn't stay mad—and he doesn't blame them for keeping this a secret from him either. One glance at all three and he already knew it was them. No matter how long it's been. "What's wrong with our costumes??" Dick whines, and Bruce raises a brow, looking at his son up and down—appraising him. "Really? You're asking?"
Damian snorts. "I told you it was ridiculous." Bruce glares at his baby. "Baby, you're dressed like a street light." Damian chokes on his water. "You're a walking highlighter, my love." Bruce glances over at Cass who shrinks in her seat. "…yours is fine, sweetie." Bruce's eyes lands on the tear on her suit. "But it looks like you all need a costume with a more durable material." Bruce sighs before his eyes land back on Dick who still seems to be cradling his figurative burn.
"Explain to me why you decided to dress like a cheap hooker?" Jason has his head hidden behind Tim's shoulder, trembling from holding back laughter. "Don't get me wrong sweetie—you can dress like a hooker if that's what you want, but please don't look cheap." Dick's face is red and heating up. "Ma!!" Tim has the edge of the table cloth and buried his face in it, hiding his laughter. Whereas Damian looks vindicated and Cass has an amused smile playing on her lips, mindlessly stirring the leftover soup from the stew.
"It's-" Dick groans, flustered and embarrassed. "I'm trying to lean towards my acrobatic roots!" Bruce didn't seem impressed by the reasoning. "I'm pretty sure there are better designs for that, chum." Dick huffs.
Looking at the costumes, it does seem like the three of them have a theme going on… Birds and Bat? "What… have you decided to call yourselves?" Bruce can't have himself slipping in public and accidentally calling his children by their names or nicknames. ["Batgirl… bats are scary and needed to instill fear in our enemies."] Cass signs and Bruce nods, seemingly agreeing. Bats are scary.
"You would call me chickadee and birdie… and Dick said I could have Robin, so…" Damian's face was red, suddenly feeling shy. Bruce wanted to tear up. God, he just wants to cuddle with them now. "Nightwing." Dick says, the embarrassment has seemingly faded away now. "I… went with Robin at first, but when we were finally reunited and agreed that we would protect you and Gotham,
"I decided to pass it on to Damian and adopted the name Nightwing." Dick smiles up at Bruce. "Do you remember? Whenever I couldn't sleep I'd ask you to sing me lullabies and you'd even called me nightingale even though I was bad at singing?" Dick chuckles. "How could I forget?" Bruce smiles. Whatever grievance, disappointment, or betrayal Bruce felt was erased—even if it's just for tonight. "I was inspired by it, and…" Dick looks away for a while, "A teacher of mine, a mentor, told me this legend from his home… A famed hero called Nightwing." Dick clears his throat. "I'm… very sorry, momma. I know this isn't what you wanted for us."
Bruce looks away, it was true. He still feels like such a failure. "But you raised us to fight for what's right. I don't think I could ask for a better momma." Dick stood up and was about to go in for a hug but Damian beats him to it—already on Bruce's lap, arms around his mama's neck and face buried in the crook of Bruce's shoulder. "Mother- no- mama!"
Neither Damian nor Cass received Bruce's gifts as he sent them; making Damian feel like his mama has abandoned him, forgotten him. It sowed a seed of resentment in Damian for a long time until the three of them reunited.
Talia accidentally slipped once, mentioned something about a letter from Bruce, one that Damian knew nothing about. If there was a letter… then was there something more? Damian wanted to know. There had to be, right? Mama couldn't have just- he couldn't…! It drove Damian insane. Thus, he escapes; and when he did, he encounters Cass who had also broken out of the League of Shadows.
It was just the two of them for some time until they met Dick during his travels. They learned that Bruce did actually send them a lot of things. Not just letters, but gifts, memorabilia. Cass broke down for the first time when she finally saw the blanket and plushie that Bruce has knitted her.
Damian also cried when he was sent his favourite stuffed toy and baby blanket. There was an obvious cut in the blanket and was replaced by a patch of what Damian assumed was Bruce's shirt—that just about broke him. His mama had probably been distraught since he lost them. He wished they could take all of Bruce's letters and gifts home, but they were still running away from the League so they had to move quickly and could only bring a few of what Bruce had sent them.
Their first night back in Gotham, Cass refused to separate herself from the blanket and so did Damian.
It took a second for Bruce to process the chain of events that just happened. Before he knew it Damian, Dick, and Cass were on him, locking him in a hug and suddenly his suit and lapel were wet. Jason and Tim were standing back, they've had Bruce all to themselves for five years, so it's only fair that the other three gets their moment with him.
But when Bruce's eyes met theirs and his arms opened even wider, there were no hesitations and all six of them were wrapped up in each other.
"…Will you let me remake your costumes?" Bruce asks amidst the cuddle ball. There's an audible groan Dick.
Bruce wraps his scarf around Damian—it's the next day and Wayne Enterprises has already done damage control and only selected necessary journalists who wanted to cover the situation. But that's not where the Wayne family is headed today. "I don't understand what happened, mama." Damian huffs, seemingly disappointed as he fiddles with the fringes of the scarf. "Uncle Harvey was so bereft. He kept screaming for you even though I told him you were safe."
Bruce sighs, kissing Damian's forehead. "He ran into the fire…" The tween mumbled. "Which is why we'll be visiting him today. Along with you getting your vaccine shots." Damian flinches, looking up at his mother with furrowed brows, indignant. "I'm a trained assassin! I don't need rabies shots!" Bruce frowns. "Then give up the cave." Damian huffs and looks away—grumbling. Bruce chuckles fondly at his baby. "Come on, I think your siblings are waiting for us downstairs."
Bruce will be reintroducing Dick, Cass, and Damian to society next week; for now however, they'll spend their time together as a family.
Speaking of which, Bruce's brows furrowed as he sees his children gathered around the living room, with Tim holding a giant newspaper. Curious, Damian runs ahead of Bruce and tries to see what the newspaper says, but Jason and Tim attempted to hide it when they realized Bruce and Damian have arrived. "Is everything alright?" Bruce asks, eyes already on the poorly-hidden newspaper behind Jason. He looks at Dick for an answer, but sees his eldest looking extremely irritated at best and ready to kill at worst. Cass's face is blank which sends shivers down Bruce's spine.
Bruce sighs, "Give it to me." His hand is laid out for the newspaper. "Uhhh…. no…?" Jason looks away. "Jason Todd-Wayne." Jason whines and surrenders the newspaper. Bruce is no stranger to tabloids—neither are Jason and Tim. The media attributes Jason's acting career to Bruce's wealth just because his mom decided to build a foundation in his honour. For Tim it's him being labelled a traitor to the Drakes for choosing to be a Wayne—the farthest the media has taken it was pointing at Tim as the prime suspect for the Drakes' Fire Incident. Bruce sued the publication.
Reading through the article, Bruce's face darkens.
The Myth of Redemption: The Curious Reinvention of Bruce Wayne.
Throughout the course of the history of rehabilitating one's public image, we will see a familiar pattern: apologies, disappearance, more apologies and supposed self-reflection, and then of course; charity. It is believed that nobody has done this better than the now-beloved Bruce Wayne.
CEO of Wayne Enterprises and devout father of five—this is how he is known today.
But once upon a time, he also used to be America's most promising actor. A prodigy, they claimed.
Borne from the old-money wealth of the Wayne and Kane family—two of the founding families of the city of Gotham—it was no doubt that the young heir was beloved by the masses. Audiences adored him. Critics praised him. He was also lovingly known as the "Pearlescent Prince of Gotham".
Then tragedy struck. The small family of three was gunned down that faithful night in what was formerly known as Park Row, now Crime Alley.
At seven years old, Bruce Wayne became the sole survivor of a targeted shooting incident. The attack left a permanent damage to his left leg, leaving him with a limp still visible to this day. The nation grieved with him. But the world continues to spin and the living must keep on living. Everyone learned to move on. Everyone except for Bruce Wayne.
Following the death of his parents came the death of his promising acting career. Disappearing for eight years, no one has heard from him, not even Wayne Enterprises' representative at the time said anything. Many believed that the young Wayne heir has become disconsolate with grief and chose to isolate from the world instead.
That decision was more or less respected. Nobody would push a grieving child into the spotlight—the cameras, the reporters. The life of a celebrity is taxing especially with the heavy weight of grief.
But then he comes back after his years of self-imposed isolation. However, he was no longer the grieving child star when he came back. Although inhibiting the same prowess for acting, something has noticeably changed in Bruce Wayne.
A young man with a trust fund the size of a small country's GPD, a growing reputation for excess, and having absolutely no interest in becoming a cautionary tale.
Nobody saw it coming. The parties—perhaps it would be understandable—but the following four years became a masterclass in self-destruction. Nightclubs, mansion parties, tabloid scandals.
Alcohol, drugs, more alcohol, more drugs. Repeat.
Along with enough rumors of romantic(?) partners to fund a gossip column's publishing house for the next decade. Depending on which publication you've read, Wayne was reportedly either searching for meaning, or collecting bad decisions to add to his web-infested awards shelf.
Many of his defenders call it a 'coping mechanism'. His critics call it irresponsibility.
But this writer, who has seen it happen in real time, will say it was inevitable.
There seemed to have no bottom to Wayne's downward spiral. However, it is quite an impressive feat on how well he cleans up for formal events. So much so that one would never be able to guess that the young Wayne heir was abusing fentanyl.
Every scandal often blurred into the next, equally as outrageous as the last. His family fortune insulated him from consequences—as evident with his continuous role offers—consequences, that would have destroyed any other person.
However… after the tragic disappearance of Bruce Wayne's lover, the reaction from the young scion was immediate once it has reached national news.
Whatever tenuous control he had maintained over his life appeared to have collapsed entirely. Several reports revealing repeated overdoses, hospitalization, and extended periods of seclusion.
Perhaps for the first time, Wayne looked less like a grieving star and more like a man coming apart in the most public display of self-execution. Rumors circulated that the Wayne fortune was being used no longer for luxury, but rather to keep their sole living heir alive.
Then, like a magic act, Bruce Wayne disappears. Nary a news nor word of where he's gone to. No statements from Wayne Enterprises, not even from the Wayne Household as then-represented by faithful servant Alfred Pennyworth. For almost three years, Bruce Wayne has disappeared from the public lens yet again.
Reports suggested he left the country. Others say he was receiving treatment overseas. But a few conspiracy theorists have claimed that he has died and was replaced by a doppelganger.
Then he came back.
And somehow, impossibly, annoyingly, sober.
Bruce Wayne was finally sober. Clean. No scandals to report, no arrests, no late-night photographs that could be interpreted salaciously, nothing. For journalists used to covering disasters, this was profoundly disappointing.
Many were awaiting yet another fall. Yet miraculously, it never came.
Only his philanthropy work and charities, his quiet appearances, and his frustrating commitment to staying out of trouble were the only things of note.
However, perhaps the strangest part of Wayne's new chapter wasn't his clean, new shell. But the children.
Richard Grayson, son of two acrobats from Haly's Circus; Damian, whose last name and background remains unknown; Jason Todd, son of a drug addict and thief; and Timothy and Cassandra Drake, children of the late Jackson and Janet Drake. Each child appearing at different points in Bruce Wayne's life.
Now some may wonder if this is yet another one of those carefully orchestrated publicity campaign—a stunt to show how much Wayne has grown over the years. Yet instead of a dramatic unveiling in a magazine spread, each adoption seemed to have carried on a quieter approach with almost little to no fanfare aside from the obligatory public introductions and a brief interview from Wayne himself.
But it doesn't change the predictable applause of the masses.
"How inspiring,"
"How generous,"
"What an upstanding young man."
The praise flowed and overflowed seamlessly. Effortlessly.
Yet one simply cannot act blind regarding the mythology being constructed around him—for one is not a renowned actor like Bruce Wayne.
The grief-stricken child,
The troubled teen,
The redeemed adult,
The benevolent father.
Every chapter fits a little too neatly. A little too curated.
Every headline seemed so eager to transform a deeply flawed man into a saint.
But perhaps Bruce Wayne has truly changed. Perhaps sobriety has endured and persevered. Perhaps the scandals are genuinely past him and five, young children have found a warm, loving home in Wayne Manor.
All of that may be true.
But let's not forget that redemption stories have always been the public's favorite work of fiction for it allows everyone to forget the chapters they once condemned.
The man who has infamously drowned himself in substances and notoriety is now presented as the very image of grace and responsibility. The heir who once seemed determined to squander every privilege bestowed upon him since birth, is now being applauded for his charity work and foundations. The celebrity once synonymous with recklessness, sins, and vices has somehow become the patron saint of second chances.
And maybe that's exactly what he is.
Or maybe, we simply enjoy rewriting history until the ending feels satisfying enough.
Either way, Wayne's sprawling estate has become the centerpiece of a narrative the public desperately wants to believe—a grand manor occupied by a damaged survivor, and the children he has gathered beneath its tiled roof.
A family, they call it.
But I beg to differ.
A house of orphans, more like.
Bruce felt like throwing up. Did his kids read everything…? No… no, they weren't supposed to learn about his… his-
"Mom…?" Bruce flinches and turns around, all of his children are staring at him. How is he supposed to face them now? They know… they know just how ugly and filthy he truly is.
Gripping the newspaper, he flashes them a smile. "Let's go visit uncle Harvey." A series of murmurs comes from his beautiful brood and they all stand up to leave. Bruce tosses the newspaper aside and grips his cane just a little bit tighter until Dick offers him his arm.
Damian looks down at the news paper, he didn't get to read it like the rest of his siblings, so he decides to call over a maid and have it taken to his room. Before he hands over the newspaper, Damian's eyes catches the name of the author.
By: Clark Kent, Senior Journalist from the Daily Planet.
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