UVFan

"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.