⋆ 𝙫𝙤𝙤𝙙𝙤𝙤 𝙙𝙤𝙡𝙡 ⋆

ANYWAYS… I was thinking

What if Bruce gets hit by a spell that forces him to re-live ever horrible thing that’s happened to him. Starting from his parents being shot to.. idk the most recent horrific thing you recently happen to him.

He’s just screaming bloody murder in the middle of the battle field reliving EVERY SINGLE TRAUMATIC THING TO EVER HAPPEN TO HIM.

Everyone’s their too, The JL, the kids, maybe the news so more ppl came see how tortured he is. Maybe superbat as well. ( I actually don’t know if you ship superbat or not from my last request but that was really good so ◡̈ )

I just thought that would be a really cool prompt!!

This is gonna have me make two posts cause I have a similar idea of my own that's been gathering dust in my notes

Anyhoos let me switcheroo this for a second. It starts with the most recent, and goes back.

First Bruce drops to the ground, grunting in pain. Then it scales up to a brief yell he tries to stifle. Diana calls an order for someone to pull him off the field when he doesn't respond on comms. Dick tries, but Bruce is a dead weight, watching things that aren't there. There's no room for extraction, not in the middle of battle, so he's just guarded as best as possible, and his comms are disconnected, but they can still hear him scream in agony across the battlefield.

They're not sure what's wrong, assuming it's some sort of mental spell, but then he screams for Damian.

The batkids abruptly understand what the spell was. "He's reliving his worst memories," Dick reports.

Tim fills in how they know. "That's how he screamed when Damian died."

There's a lull, but the fight still rages around them, so they have no choice but to carry on.

"Cass, no— Dick, baby— TIM!"

Somehow, worse than that, is when he relives being hurt. His back arches like it's being snapped again, and even without his comm line, his scream reaches all of them, nauseating, but it's all they can do to keep wearing down the enemy forces.

"No no no no no no no no JASON!"

"Dick PLEASE!"

They lose track of how many memories Bruce cycles through, until he is just crying into the ground, gasping for air.

"He should be approaching his training," Babs offers, signalling the near end, and everyone is relieved.

They finally manage to narrow their opponents enough, and Clark grabs Bruce, flying him to the Watchtower. Speedsters follow, and the kids crowd Bruce, holding his hand or whatever part they can reach, waiting for the spell to finally run its course.

Bruce cycles through the trauma of his training, then falls quiet, and they think it's finally over.

Another grunt. "Sorry, Alfred."

The kids freeze. "Please let me out. I promise I'll be good."

"Can I have food yet?"

Their whole world is torn apart, and Bruce abruptly wails, screaming for his parents. Clark pins him down to the bed when he thrashes so he can't hurt the kids, and they're relieved.

It's over. Finally.

"Sorry, Father."

"I won't do it again, I promise, please—"

"Mother.. Mother, please don't..."

"Mama. Mama it hurts, please."

Bruce's eyes finally clear, the spell passes, and his eyes fill with tears. "Oh," he says quietly.

Somehow he didn't make a complete fool of himself while facing his gay awakening and the biggest crush since he was in middle school.

Unless you count asking Bruce Fucking Wayne out on a date, sure that he will say no, but he asked anyway, because what does he have to lose?

Bruce Wayne said yes.

Now Clark is panicking because he's just a poor student, he can't afford the type of restaurant Bruce Wayne eats at!

He should cancel!

Clark doesn't cancel because his mama didn't raise a quitter.

He invites Bruce to a small bistro affordable to a student and somehow Wayne is having fun? Smiling and laughing at Clark's jokes, listening to his stories about Smallville and university.

He likes the food and cheap beer too!

Clark doesn't want the night to end, but unfortunately, it does. Wayne needs to go back to Gotham. He has kids.

Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

A car comes to pick him up and Clark waits with him to make sure nothing bad happens. And to spend a bit more time with him.

Eventually, the car arrives and they say their goodbyes.

Clark is sure this is the last time he's seeing Bruce Wayne with his own eyes, but then Bruce pulls out a card with his number - personal, not business one - and asks Clark to give him a call.

Clark is in too much shock to say anything so he just nods and takes the card.

Bruce catches his hand then and pulls him down to place a quick kiss on his lips.

Winking, Bruce gets into the car and drives away.

Empty nester Bruce who's just seen Damien off to university. He doesn't really have anyone who comes around regularly or even calls.

He accepted the invitation on impulse. The poor kid looked so embarrassed. It was adorable.

He knows it's just one date and then they'll never see each other again. To Clark it's probably just something from his bucket list. Plus he's so much younger, could be Bruce's son. Bruce shouldn't be interested in seeing him again.

Yet he can't help but give Clark his number, not getting his hopes up.

He feels so foolish staring at his phone constantly the next day. Especially when it keeps being silent.

Clark doesn't call.

Of course he doesn't, and when Bruce slowly begins to accept it at the end of the day when getting ready for bed, the phone calls.

He picks it up faster than he should.

"Hello?"

"Um, hi. It's me," the familiar voice reaches him. "Clark, that is."

"Clark," Bruce repeats, breathing out the name with relief. "I was starting to think you wouldn't call."

"The day was kind of hectic," the kid explains himself. "I finally got some free time, I hope I'm not interrupting anything? Or that you aren't getting ready to bed. It's kinda late."

"No, no, I wasn't doing anything important," Bruce lies, sitting down on the bed and playing with his robe. "How are you?"

Clark agrees and at first, Bruce is the only one cooking, but Clark can't stand just sitting there and watching, so he offers to help.

Bruce protests for only a moment before he gives in.

It's fun to cook with someone else. They keep talking and joking, and at some point, they have a little food fight.

Nothing extreme, just a bit of flour in the hair and pancake mix on the cheeks.

That one word haunts Clark for the whole trip back home.

Bruce is a father. A father of grown up children. His first is older than Clark! Hell, Bruce could be his father as well, that's how big of an age gap there is between them.

They have no business being together, not even for a one night stand.

Even if Bruce was childless, the age is still too big. They're at different stages in life, with different priorities. They would never grow old together and they would be judged constantly.

Sure, everything was perfectly legal, but that wouldn't stop people from calling Bruce a groomer, and Clark would rather not be called a gold digger.

Never calling and meeting each other again is the best decision they could make in their situation.

Clark wasn't a drinker....usually. But he drinks tonight. He had called Bruce and asked if they could talk. Bruce's eyes...he knew Clark had been spooked by something.

Clark looks at the prince of Gotham and lets the words fall on the table. "I don't know what we're doing, what I'm doing. You're old enough to be my father and even have adult children older than me. You were my first celebrity crush. I dream of making the world a more equal and less corrupt place in my own way because of you."

Clark weighs his words. "If we were to become something more serious...they would never let us have peace outside of Gotham. You would be labeled a pervert and a cradle snatcher and I would get labeled a gold digger. Any career I built would be called into question."

Clark wanted Bruce to understand, tears of frustration building in his eyes. "I like you, more than I should, and maybe I'm beginning to feel something more, but I don't know if I'm prepared for the consequences if things go further between us."

"You're right," he finally answers, throat dry like it doesn't want Bruce to speak and end this while they still can. "This could never work. Not because of us but because of everyone else. I didn't even tell my kids about you but I can imagine they won't be happy."

He can already imagine all of them asking if he lost his mind or suspecting Clark of wanting to use his money.

Bruce is a little desperate, but he's not stupid. He wouldn't let that happen, and he knows Clark's intentions are pure.

But to Bruce's kids it wouldn't matter.

And even if Clark proved them wrong, they still won't accept him as part of the family. As Bruce's boyfriend.

Not when he was younger than Dick, Casa and Jason and could literally be their younger brother.

"I never should've agreed to this," Bruce admits painfully. "Get both of our hopes up. But for what it's worth, I don't regret it."

Clark looks at him with years in his eyes.

Clark kisses him. It's warm and soft. It's perfect. He forces himself to pull away. "Thank you for everything. I'm sorry."

Bruce pulls him into a hug. "There's nothing to be sorry for."

Bruce walks Clark to the door, fantasies and dreams of a future that wouldn't ever be falling away as they accept the reality of their situation.

The door clicks locked between them like the closing of a book, Clark ponders, Perhaps an apt metaphor for the end of their little story.

He's constantly distracted, feels sick to his stomach and feels the need to cry at random.

He's a fucking mess and it shows so much his best friend Lois get concerned.

She knew since Clark came from Gotham that something was wrong, but she didn't push because she hoped he would talk with her on his own.

But Clark is getting worse each day and nothing suggests he's going to talk anytime soon. So Lois makes him talk.

At first Clark refuses, but after enough drilling, he spills the beans.

About everything.

Lois doesn't interrupt him, she just listens to Clark getting progressively more broken.

The house was too big, too quiet, too empty. The bi-weekly cleaning crew was efficient as always. Tim's reports indicated that everything was going well at WE. Jason was engrossed in running the Gotham focused Wayne charities.

Bruce finds himself at the graves. He talks for a long time, eventually hs words turn to Clark. He told them it was better for the boy to find someone his age.

Bruce reminiscences on the many relationships that never worked out as he goes to the empty manor. Harvey, Talia, Andrea, Selena...all leaving for one reason or another. He always dreamed of finding someone.

If he was a youn-

The buzzer rings. Bruce isn't expecting anyone. He opens the security feed and sees...

It's an impulsive decision, because he should stay away like they agreed. But if Clark came to him...

They meet in the foyer. Clark is clearly nervous about something. So is Bruce, even if he doesn't know about what exactly.

"You came back," is the first thing Bruce says.

"My friend dropped me here," Clark explains. "She had enough of me moping around."

Bruce hates the idea of Clark being hurt by their "break up", but part of him is also happy the boy is missing Bruce as much as Bruce misses him.

But then he realizes something.

"You told her about us."

There's no "us", but it's hard not to call them that.

Clark nods. "I needed to tell someone."

"And her response was to bring you to me," Bruce says, feeling the sudden need to send that friend a bouquet of flowers.

"She said we're being idiots," Clark reveals with a small smile.

"We're being right," Bruce corrects.

"Right doesn't always mean smart," Clark counters. "Her words, not mine. But I agree with her."

Bruce's heart begins to race with hope when Clark steps closer, within arms reach.

They look at each other, and Bruce is afraid to move a muscle to not spook Clark. Or cause this beautiful dream to end.

"I missed you," Clark breathes out. Like a relief.

So here a drabble i had in mind where Superman gets to confront him in this state (feel free to add stuff i love when you follow the storylines with your followers 🥺💕✨️)

Clark hadn't meant to listen. At first, it had only been habit.

A familiar heartbeat somewhere beyond Metropolis. One he had known for years, one he checked on less often these days.

Not because he cared less.

Because Bruce had made it painfully clear he wanted space.

Every attempt to help had been met with silence, anger, or a cold stare that said leave me alone.

Clark had respected that.

Until tonight.

Because tonight Bruce's heartbeat wasn't steady.

It wasn't tired.

It wasn't merely injured.

It was wrong.

Fast. Uneven. Dangerous.

By the time Clark reached Gotham, he was already imagining the worst.

The cave greeted him in darkness.

The elevator stood open.

A trail of discarded bandages led toward the kitchen.

And there...

Bruce.

Collapsed on the floor beside the refrigerator.

An empty wine bottle resting near his hand.

Another overturned beside him.

For a terrifying moment, Clark thought he was too late. Then he heard the heartbeat.

Still there. Still fighting.

Relief nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.

"Bruce."

No response.

Clark crossed the distance in seconds and crouched beside him.

The smell of alcohol hit immediately.

Underneath it lingered blood.

Old blood.

Fresh blood.

The scent of wounds that should have been healing.

Bruce looked awful, eyes swollen, face streaked with smeared makeup, cheeks damp.

He'd been crying.

Alone.

Something twisted painfully in Clark's chest.

"Bruce."

This time, Bruce stirred.

His brow furrowed.

A quiet sound of annoyance escaped him.

"Go away."

Clark almost laughed.

Almost.

"Not happening."

He slid an arm beneath Bruce's shoulders and helped him sit upright.

Immediately, Bruce tried to pull away.

The effort lasted all of two seconds before exhaustion won.

Clark felt the fight leave him.

Felt him sag against his side.

That hurt more than the resistance ever could.

Because Bruce Wayne wasn't supposed to feel fragile, yet lately, fragility seemed to follow him everywhere.

"Let's get you upstairs."

"No."

"You need sleep."

"No."

"You need medical attention."

A pause.

Then, bitterly:

"Already had that."

Clark swallowed.

Of course he had.

Alfred.

Always cleaning up the pieces left behind.

Clark carefully guided him toward the elevator.

Bruce didn't argue this time.

Didn't really cooperate, either.

He simply existed.

Like a ghost being carried through someone else's house.

The elevator doors slid shut.

Silence settled between them.

Clark listened to the machinery hum.

To Bruce's ragged breathing.

To the heartbeat still racing far too fast beneath bruised ribs.

And beneath all of it-

Grief.

He couldn't hear grief.

Not literally.

But he could feel it.

In every exhausted movement.

Every sleepless night.

Every injury Bruce no longer bothered avoiding.

The city had noticed.

Clark had noticed.

Bruce wasn't fighting criminals anymore.

He was daring them to hurt him.

As if every broken bone was penance.

As if pain could somehow balance the scales.

The elevator continued upward.

Then Bruce laughed.

The sound was quiet.

Broken.

Wrong.

Clark immediately looked down.

Bruce was staring at the floor.

"You heard me from Metropolis."

Clark frowned.

"What?"

A long silence.

Then:

"You heard my heartbeat."

"...Yeah."

Bruce nodded once.

Slowly.

Like he was putting pieces together.

His voice, when it came, barely sounded human.

"How long was he calling for help?"

Clark froze.

The words hit harder than any punch he'd ever taken.

The elevator suddenly felt too small.

Too quiet.

"Bruce."

"How long?"

His fingers tightened weakly against the sleeve of Clark's suit.

"How long was he screaming?"

Clark closed his eyes.

"Don't."

Bruce laughed again.

The sound cracked halfway through.

"Was he scared?"

God.

Clark couldn't do this.

Couldn't answer questions neither of them had answers to.

Couldn't give shape to horrors that already haunted Bruce every waking moment.

"Bruce..."

"Did he think I was coming?"

And there it was.

The real question.

Not how long.

Not how much it hurt.

Not what happened.

Did he think I was coming?

Clark felt something inside him break.

Because of course Jason had thought that.

Of course he had.

Batman always came.

Batman always found him.

Batman always saved him.

Until one day he didn't.

The elevator stopped.

Neither moved.

Bruce lowered his head.

The fight vanished from him all at once.

Leaving only exhaustion.

Only grief.

Only guilt.

"I know."

The whisper was almost inaudible.

"I know."

Clark stared at him.

At the man carrying a weight no human being should have to carry.

And for the first time in a very long time, Superman had absolutely nothing to offer.

No solution.

No rescue.

No miracle.

Only a hand on Bruce's shoulder.

And the silent wish that somehow.

Somewhere.

Jason had known he was loved.

Clark stayed the night, sitting by Bruce's bed like a statue, not moving a muscle, just watching. Listening.

He helped Bruce throw up when he woke up suddenly, already heaving. Then he fell back into restless sleep again, his body sticky with sweat.

Alfred brought water and something for the headache, not surprised to see Clark there.

Bruce woke up again around noon. Clark was still there. He called in sick to not go to work.

They didn't talk. Bruce didn't even make a sound despite his head killing him. He just laid there, numb, staring at the ceiling.

"It should've been me," he said eventually. Barely a whisper that would've escaped someone without superhearing.

Clark watched how tears started to build up and fall from Bruce's eyes before he turned his back to Clark, curling into a fetal position under a cover.

"It should've been me!" Bruce cried out and began to sob, his whole body shaking.

Clark wanted to touch him. To hug him. None of it would help. Only made Bruce push him away more.

So he stayed while he was, trying not to break too when Bruce mourned.

It should've been the Joker.

Clark didn't regret stopping Bruce from killing him. It would've broken the other man beyond repair.

He did regret not tearing the clown apart himself.

After his parents death he didn’t leave the house much to hang out with people, the Wayne manor is on the outskirts of Gotham so it’s not like he has any neighbours, and the few friends he did have weren’t as close. The only interesting things he could actually say would be about his teen years while travelling but it always brings down the mood of others whenever he brings up his training years so he stopped talking about it.

So while everyone else talks about all the fun they had and wishing they could go back, he just has to sit and listen to all the things he missed out on getting to do

They notice him not partaking. Someone asks, and Bruce just shrugs. "I didn't do it."

"Do what?"

"That."

"Which one?"

"Any of them."

They're sat in silence, watching Bruce suppress the urge to squirm, until Barry stands.

"Well then that's what we'll do."

"What?" Bruce asks.

The meeting room goes still as a choked noise comes from Batman. Superman freezes, hand midair, the red laser in his hand flickering out at his hesitation.

Everyone stares as Batman tears off the cowl, and buries his face in his hands. "I can't keep doing this. It's too— it's too much."

Diana reaches across the table. "Batman, we can delegate your duties to someone else on the mission if you need to take a break." Her hand is slapped away, and Batman stands, storming away from the table.

"And what about everything else? I haven't slept in four days! I have had two full meals in that time, because I've either been called away before I could have a bite, or one of the brats that live in my house would come and take my food! Most of them don't even live at home anymore!"

Dick slaps Wally's arm when he gets a glare, a flush rising on his cheeks. "Shut up," he mutters.

"I'm always being torn between Arkham or space, and none you will give me a second to breathe. If I'm not on patrol I'm running an international conglomerate, or training heroes, or offering tech support, or going to school events and recitals and being a chauffer, or..." Batman tears at his hair. "I'm so TIRED."

"Bruce—"

"I'm not Bruce! Bruce is missing, stuck in my body somewhere, and I can't find him to give him his damn life back. I thought— I thought I could kill you all from the inside, but just keeping up the façade of being Bruce Wayne is taking up all my time and I can't even try to kill anyone."

The entire room stares.

Then the door opens, and Tim smirks at them all. "One week exactly. Pay up."

Clark slams the laser pointer down. "You cheated!"

"Did not."

Hal stands, with Clark. "You and your siblings stealing his food! Fucking cheaters, making it harder for him."

"We won the bet on when he'd cave! Pay. Up."

Victor runs a hand over his face as the room descends into arguing. "Someone still needs to go and get the real Bruce from containment so we can swap them back," he reminds everyone.

Over Gotham, his own tragedies, Dick, I don't mind.

Anyways

Bruce and Oliver get deaged to their 20s, but they keep their memories.

And for the first time, they get to enjoy their younger years together. And all is fine... Except...

Oliver kidnaps Bruce. The kids go insane.

There's a video of the secret sons of the pair going around. On a disco, screaming their lungs and covered in sweat. Beat up Chanel$ in the background. The public has so many questions.

Dick is spiraling at having his dad pouting after he scolds him.

The PR team is amazing. They explain that there's a curse on the billionaires. They lie about them not having memories about their real ages.

Zatanna tells the families it'll take AT LEAST three weeks for the spell to dissipate. So Oliver is staying at the manor to avoid complications. Dinah smirks at his younger husband and tells him not to cause too much chaos.

Dick covers for Batman... And they use that shot to run away again. Tim is supposed to be on look out with Cass.

But the next morning there's a video of them four with champagne filled glasses on a limousine. Tim and Bruce are on the sunroof. Cass is laughing as Oliver throws half his body out the passengers seat to sign a t-shirt.

Dick is hyperventilating. Jason thinks it's hilarious, so he's forced to take care of them the next night.

Wrong move.

Jason has them on a jet to Berlin the next morning and he's trying to explain to Dick that Bruce looked at him with puppy eyes.

Dick asks him why he didn't go with them and where is Damian and what is wrong with this family.

Jason and Dick take a jet. Dick is furious at the person Jason chose as Bruce's chaperone. It doesn't matter if Jason tries to explain to him that the chaperone is for Damian, not Bruce, and that he couldn't say no TO THAT. But Dick's not having it.

... Of course there's a new video. Three to be precise. But this time they're more casual.

The first video is the longest. Bruce and Oliver are on the line for Berghain, and a little bit later, Jason and Dick arrive to try to get them out and back to the hotel. The bouncer tells them all to go inside... And Dick pushes them away to get in first.

The second is of them carrying Jason between the Waynes and Oliver recording in front of them.

The third one looks like a normal family outing around Berlin streets; except there's a beautiful woman with them, always standing alongside Damian. Net citizens later identify her as the kid's mother.

Dick has to deal with his siblings rage as soon as they put a feet out of the jet in Gotham.

The three weeks go by, and they return to their lives. Except that now, once a month, Oliver kidnaps Bruce, giving his kids heart attacks, always with a new video appearing of them in god knows what side of the world. Be it drinking a coffee with wonderful ancient ruins as a background, or strolling the roads of a neon illuminated city during the night.

The kids are all shuffling back to the Batcave, determined that Bruce will know what to do.

And in any case, they just hoped seeing a familiar face will get young!Dick to calm down. The kid has tried to escape them 5 times, each one resulting on someone getting tazed/bitten/punched.

And another 4 times counted of young!Dick sobbing uncontrollably because these mean, bad people who took him from patrol early all have either his Robin symbol or his Tati's Batman symbol despite "not being cool enough for it"

"Just wait until my dad gets to you all 😠 You're gonna be so sorry!"

"Yeah yeah kid, shut your trap"

They get to the Batcave, and expect Dick to be ecstatic at the sight of Bruce.

Except... Dick starts crying in fear, refusing to believe that Bruce is actually his Bruce, his Batman, his Dad.

Dick immediately runs to a confused Alfred instead, who tries to calm the terrified kid and ask him what he meant by That's not Bruce!

"Master Dick, I can assure you, that is still your father. He is just some odd 20 years older since you last saw him in this form."

"No! No Alfie! That's not Bruce! Bruce doesn't look like... like a MONSTER!"

Dick is, eventually, ushered away by a very worried Alfred. Bruce is stunned, surrounded by the rest of his kids who also don't know what Dick was saying, except what did it matter? His eldest son, his baby, had just called him a monster.

He's so heartbroken that he also flees the scene, determined not to frighten more of his kids.

Oracle buzzes in and they explain what happened. She flushes and tries to bring clarity to the situation by pulling up photos of the version of Bruce that Dick grew up with, and the version of Bruce now.

Less scars. Smiles wider. Doesn't look as chronically exhausted. Glows with hope.

And when you look at his eyes, there's not even a hint of rage or grief in them.

Cue my egotistical ramblings that only please me.

superman's eyes Vs Batman's eyes. So!!! Both have blue eyes but different. We know this. BUT - superman's eyes are like a deep, deep, vibrant blue. They have so much depth they look almost indigo. They're low-key alien in colour (I wonder why). They're comforting, soothing, velvety. Bruce's eyes however are STRIKING. such as in a Gregory House way (look up Gregory house eyes you'll get it yes sir). Superman's blue is inviting, comforting. Batman's blue seeks you out, is intimidating.

Carrying on from the above - I saw a headcanon I literally can't stop thinking about on here and I've absorbed it. That is Bruce's eyes are so expressive. The cowl hides those hurt, investigative, aggressive 🔵orbs🔵. Bruce must be conscious and restrictive of such a quality. Especially with cowl off and being in heated, professional discussion.

During his years abroad training prior Batman, he trained at a ballet school HOWEVER I'm thinking classic Black Widow, John Wick type-way. HEAR ME OUT! he learns INSANE BODY CONTROL, flexibility, his muscle memory and ability to learn choreography/moves by watching improves tenfold. Can you imagine him one day in the Batcave or League training area just whipping out a crazy QUADRUPLE Pirouette (I thinks that's the right terminology) with (almost) impeccable form.

He knows how to use a gun, how to fire a gun, how to dismantle a gun and gun solely so he knows how to remove them as a threat + to help with detective work. This man deffo believes in exposure therapy and desensitizing himself to his worst trauma ever by trying to overcome and master it (the psychological ramifications could be a wonderful ted-talk.) He knows what bullets make what holes, how far said bullet can be fired, what decade they come from -- ALL in the name of "forensic work" (but maybe also a lil bit of repetition of trauma etc etc). Imagine Bruce snatching one of Jason's pistols in an arguement dismantling it in a flash before his eyes.

Weapons. Bro knows how to use soooo many. Maybe not perfectly ... but each time he sees a new one he goes "I HAVE to learn what that is and how to use it" hence why he's had sparring lessons with Hawkman/Hawkgirl to learn how to use the mace, Diana for A LOT of ancient or magical weaponry, cyborg for a few alien ones. I want an occasion where in a fight Bruce has to fire arrows from Ollie's bow.

You know he's exhausted, knackered, tired, frazzled when he just.... zones out. Like eyes glaze over. Seeing beyond the veil. Lost in thought. Almost completely still. The batfam + a few JL members know this and judging by how many times he does it during conversation you can tell how tired he REALLY is.

Bruce cannot have powers. He cannot have magic. He cannot have anything "meta" in terms of power because he will *ALWAYS Tweak. The fuck. Out.* He knows this too. The core of Bruce's character is that he is deeply flawed. The crazy self-control, the no killing, the need to improve and rise above human limitations, to pursue knowledge - it's all to smother and keep dominance over his rage, his grief and his trauma. That is why Dick Grayson is his legacy: Despite his initial trauma like Bruce's, he has emerged a better human and hero despite it. That's why when Dick gets powers, he remains a good person and does not get corrupted by them. I think that's one of Bruce's greatest tragedies is that he is the launchpad for kinder people as he himself can never truly overcome his damaged core.

ANYWAY he gets a red lantern ring one time he genuinely goes on a rampage and Hal Jordan has to get his ass and stop him.

ANYWAY when he learns of magic with Zatanna and Zatara, Zatara is like FUCK NO you'll go NUTS. Bruce says "pfffff no", proceeds to go nuts, the two Zs have to save his ass and then he goes "okay maybe no magic for me actually."

(I think the above is partially canon tbh but I don't think it's talked about enough as it's such a good route to understand Bruce's character LOL)

his face card is INSANE. like it's INSANE. like that Jennifer Hudson tiktok audio from sing 🎶🗣️ "ONCE THERE WAS A WAYYYYYYY----" plays when he takes off the cowl. But this is nuanced, see? Good for Brucie disguise ✅ Bad for blending in when trying to lay low❌ Can be intimidating ✅ Can also be distracting ❌ Can help him look more trustworthy when gaining info ✅ Got him unwanted and scary advances + attention when younger and in with "elite society" ❌❌❌. Knowing how our current age makes edits and memes and fanpages of hot famous people would all apply to Bruce.

https://www.tumblr.com/ughtyrell/818330838409297920/a-scenario-where-everyone-expects-damian-to-side?source=share

Post -- also

"We're leaving the manor for a while, B. We can't keep doing this."

The words ring in Damian's ears. He'd frozen, heart pounding, realising his siblings were leaving him. They'd promised they were family, and now they were leaving him. And then there was a hand on his shoulder, Richard was guiding him out, and his blood ran cold. They weren't leaving him. They intended to make him leave.

And he'd numbly followed, the revelation making his footsteps drag, until they'd stopped in the foyer, next to a pile of suitcases, and Damian had choked, seeing his own among them. The presumptions, the expectations, the demands, they made a fury build in Damian, growing, roiling, hissing, until it finally clawed its way out of him as they negotiated where they would all be staying.

That Timothy would reside with Todd as a temporary measure while his own home was under repairs, though neither of them seemed particularly enthused. That Cassandra would move to live with Barbara. That:

"Damian'll come with me, course."

Damian carefully, deliberately, took a step back, forcing Richard's hand to slip off his shoulder. "No," he says, coldly. "I will not."

They all frown at him. "Where you planning on sleeping then, pipsqueak?"

He doesn't scowl at Todd, but the force of his glare does make his 'brother' do a double take. "In my room. In my home. I am staying with Father."

Richard turns to face him properly, disbelief colouring his face. "Damian—"

"You are not my father, Richard."

More reactions. Raised brows, parted lips. Richard chuckles, and smiles. "I know, Dami. But—"

"Do you? I am no fool, I know you have all made presumptions based on the six months Father was lost in time, but I will take care to remember it is he who I call by that title, not you. He is the one with the right to dictate my life without consulting me, though he would not, unlike you, who did not even inform me you were planning to take me from my home."

The foyer is silent. Damian walks to the pile, and extracts his suitcases. He hears steps before the voice comes, cracking slightly:

"Damian, please do—"

"No, Richard!" He whips around, loosening the reins on his mounting rage. "Your reasons for leaving Father are superficial. They do not show his tedium, they show your weakness! Too weak to love someone because it isn't easy."

Richard falters. Seemingly so do the rest of his siblings. Damian continues, his tongue a sharpened knife, his words barbed.

"I know Father does not love 'right'. I know he expresses himself incorrectly, and that it hurts sometimes, to love him, but what does that matter, when I know how much he loves me?" Damian blinks back tears. "When I heard Pennyworth express how blessed we are that I did not inherit his condition, and Father thanked a God that left him forsaken at eight for the same thing?"

Timothy pales some, and Damian swallows.

"It is not easy, but it is not Herculean. It is not Sisyphean. I thought that you were capable of seeing past his pecularities, to his core, that you could see the intention behind his flawed means of expressing it?" Forcing eye contact with Cassandra makes her bite her lip, breaking it to look away from his penetrating gaze.

"Do not penalise me because you do not care to put in extra effort. Do not puppet me because you only care to pick fights, but don't bother to spend time with Father, and wonder why your relationship has collapsed? Do not make me your mouthpiece because you don't accept the ways he reaches out to you as valid methods of trying to initiate a relationship, and always assume the worst of him."

None of them say anything.

"You are my family. I love you all." The words slip from his tongue with a surprising ease, this once. It is in that regard he did indeed take after his father. It is rare such sentiments come easy to his lips, he prefers showcasing them through his actions. "But I will not abandon Father for you. Certainly not until he actually does something that merits such an abandonment."

This time, no one tries to stop him as he retrieves his luggage and walks back down the hall.

He goes upstairs first, and returns them to his room. Not quite stripped bare, but certainly stripped back. He seethes at the audacious behaviour.

Moving through the hallway, he finds other doors ajar, and sees his siblings' rooms similarly barren.

Looking into Richard's room is when he feels a palm slip over his shoulder. He doesn't turn, but doesn't shove off the touch either. "Forgiveness will be earned. Forgetting will not."

"I understand," Cassandra whispers. "I've...been struggling. Frustrated. I should not have agreed with brothers. Dad deserves more."

"No one deserves anything. But I dare say Father has done his best to earn it, no?"

Neither of them say anything more, but he waits for Cassandra to return her own bags, and when she kneels, arms open to him, he allows himself to eek out a small number of tears on her shoulder.

They go downstairs together, and take the longer way to avoid the empty foyer. When Cassandra opens the door, Damian clenches his fists seeing Father kneeling where they left him standing, and he dare say bawling may be the most apt descriptor for what he sees.

Cass' breath hitches, and she runs across the room, dropping to her knees by his side. Father startles, moving away, but she lunges after, pulling him into a hug before he can resist, and two large arms come around her, squeezing her likely to the point of pain, but she doesn't make a sound as apologies are sobbed into the hug, promises to do better that Damian does not bother contradicting, not now, as he taps Father's arm and is welcomed in too. Wet lips shakily press to his head, then to his sister's hair, and Father gasps for air between their heads.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he whispers to himself, or to them, Damian isn't sure, but he hushes them anyway, and the three of them end up in a miserable silence punctuated only by tears from all three of them.

He's not sure how long they remain there, only that his knees hurt, when a hand smooths over his shoulder, running over his back to make its way over to Bruce's arm wrapped around him.

"Mum's taking the car to the garage, we're gonna stay for a little while, B," Duke says, lowering himself to kneel next to them. Damian is seized by an immense gratefulness for him too, even if he isn't sure how he came to know of today's fiasco.

“Chum, I just-“

“I said GET OUT”

There was a long moment of quiet followed by a sad sigh. The floorboards creaking as Bruce walked out.

Regret burned in his gut. Please don’t leave me alone.

Dick waited with bated breath for the click of the closing door. A signal that he could let out the brewing sob.

But it never came. Bruce’s sturdy presence could be felt through the cracked door. Refusing to give up and let him grieve alone.

Don’t leave.

“I know you’re still out there,” the bravado Dick tried projecting was cancelled out by nasally sniffles.

Silence.

“It’s just- you shouldn’t have to deal with me. My anger and hurt, I know it’s not healthy, but. . . But it’s all I have left of them.”

The admission hung in the air. A vulnerable, unifying truth.

“I won’t tell you to let those feelings go, lord knows I still haven’t.”

A quiet voice wafted in. Full of sincerity.

Dick was fully crying now, curled up in a Superman blanket and hugging his pillow.

There was a sharp inhale from outside the door. Was Bruce. . . crying too?

There was some more creaking floors as Bruce stood up and hovered in the doorway. Not hiding his tears.

“But sharing it can make it easier to carry”

Silence. Not inviting, but not pushing away. A start.

Tentatively, Bruce sat on the edge of the bed. Testing the waters.

A sniffle.

Slipping off his shoes, Bruce sat on the bed fully. His broad shoulder nearly touching Dick’s smaller one.

There was no pressure, no prying. A patient understanding.

And just like that, a wall collapsed..

Dick closed the gap, burying his head in Bruce’s chest as he began to sob.

“Oh Chum, I’ll always be here for you. You’re not alone.”

He hugged the small sobbing frame. A warm embrace of shared pain and love for the child who allowed him the privilege of letting him into his life.

— — - — — - — — - — — - — —

Nightwing was still, listening intently from where he was perched outside the open window.

He couldn’t get into a position to view the people inside without giving himself away.

Though he had no need to. Hearing was enough.

There was gentle and deep tone, an older voice . There was small, young voice. Someone who’d seen too much.

Another soul forced to grow up too soon.

His stomach churned at the familiarity.

He told himself it was disgust, anger at Bruce.

Deep down he knew that wasn’t true.

“You should have just let me be, I was doing fine on my own-“

Defensive and fiercely independent. The sound of angry tears hiding deep gratitude and desperation.

There was a rustling, a shifting of position as Bruce sat next to the new kid.

“Jason”

So that’s my replacements name.

“You amaze me, you are so brave and capable.”

A sniff.

“Yeah I know”

A tissue box being opened and handed to the child, Jason.

“I know you’re hurting Jaylad. . .but sharing it can make it easier to carry”

Dick’s heart stuttered, nearly falling off the ledge he was perched on.

He did not just say that.

Those words, full of love and sincerity. Spoken to him. That brought comfort to him. By a father that belonged to him.

Stealth be damned, Nightwing risked a glance through the window.

Bruce was hugging the child. The blue-eyed, black-haired child that looked too much like him for comfort.

Their estrangement had been taking a toll on Bruce. In passing moments when he’d spotted him the man had looked tired, older.

But in that moment, he looked. . . Content. Saddened at whatever tragedy this child had endured, but more whole.

A fire burned within him.

Hurt morphing into the ugly creature that was jealousy.

Fantasies of their reconciliation fixing everything, of having Bruce hug him like that again-

Somebody, that kid, had taken that from him.

It was a shameful ugly feeling. It wasn’t Jason’s fault, not really.

But the burning put inside him didn’t care for logic.

— — - — — - — — - — — - — —

“Hey Dad I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. . .?”

The kitchen and living room were empty. The sound of Bruce’s voice vaguely reached Dick’s ears from wherever he was upstairs.

It stopped him dead in his tracks. Nearly dropping the bag of Chinese takeout he was going to surprise him with.

That tone, gentle and sincere, was very familiar to him.

He couldn’t quite make out the words, but their soft cadence could be heard despite the painful sobs coming from the same room.

Without making a sound, he crept to the door. A childhood of practice at avoiding the manor’s creaky floorboards coming in handy.

“Oh god. I- I still can’t believe it, I-”

A fresh wave of sobs.

Dick had heard Tim cry before. But this was different. Something had changed, something terrible had happened.

His heart ached for Tim. He had an idea of what kind of tragedy may had befallen.

The kind of loss that killed the child you used to be.

The kind of loss that brought you into Bruce’s arms.

The kind of loss that brought out that gentle, kind tone. A patient understanding and a needed reminder that you weren’t alone.

A familiar fire flickered to life inside Dick, despite his best efforts.

“It hurts so much- oh god oh god”

The sounds of movements and a knowing embrace.

“I can’t take your pain away Tim…”

A voice crack. Bruce was crying now too.

“But sharing it can make it easier to carry”

Those words. Those goddamned words.

Jealousy burned in his gut. Angry at the words that were once special to him. Angry at yet another hurt child taking his place.

Angry at himself for feeling this way.

"I'm staying with father."

That makes everyone pause. Not expecting Damian to protest or say anything because the choice was obvious. Of course he'd go with Dick right?

"Damian come o-""You're not my father Richard."

"What? Dami, of course not, I wasn't saying-" "But you believe it. You all believe it. It is why you are all assuming I would be going with you and leave father behind."

Aka they never asked Damian how he felt about the parental role Dick has taken on towards him. Have never thought to confirm this status they've assigned Dick and Damian with Damian. And he finally shuts it down when attempting to take him away from his real father. His only father.

I imagine Damian didn't realize what role everyone assumed him and Dick were making until way later. Or didn't question it because he barely had a chance to create a father and son bond with Bruce. Neither did he get the chance to have a brother before so he assumes this is it with Dick. If he heard someone teasing Dick over being dad-like, he's assured that they're only poking fun.

issue is, Bruce is just so happy to see and talk to his kids at any point that he doesn’t even notice the breach of privacy, and the kids just end up feeling really awkward about how happy their dad is to see them.

Jason will bring up something in conversation with Bruce that was only privately relayed through texts between Bruce and a colleague, smirking because he knows Bruce is gonna be really paranoid about who’s watching his texts, except Bruce just smiles and happily chats with him for thirty minutes and he’s in a good mood all day because Jason willingly had a casual conversation with him, and when the JL ask why Batman’s in such a good mood at a meeting later that day Jason just goes bright red and doesn’t know what to say because he didn’t realise how much Bruce genuinely craves just catching up with him every now and then.

Dick will stalk him for weeks and wait until Bruce has a really tough busy day at work, specifically so he can wait for the evening where Bruce finally has a single moment to himself in a bar somewhere to relax, and then he busts in loudly sitting down next to Bruce and talking non-stop while ordering a drink, thinking that Bruce is going to be mad because this was his one peaceful moment and Dick ruined it by constantly tracking him. but instead the second Bruce realises Dick’s there all his exhaustion disappears. he gets a really wide genuinely pleased look on his face and happily offers to buy Dick a drink because ‘it’s so rare that they get to hang out!’ and Dick is left floundering because he was trying to be an asshole but now he just feels bad that he doesn’t spend time with Bruce outside of patrol business.

Tim keeps watching him through security cameras and updating him through text on his location in an attempt to make him tired of the constant supervision, but every time he texts Bruce like ‘you just walked into starbucks for the second time today.’ Bruce will just openly smile at his phone and respond like ‘would you like me to get you a drink? i can drop it off at your office if you’d like :)’ and Tim has to give up almost immediately.

He's sure of it. No one else may belive him but he feels eyes on him when he's supposedly alone, and he knows someone is watching him.

He can't, for the life of him, find his stalker. No amount of trackers or security or his kids trying to help reveal who it is, and eventually, every one thinks Bruce is hallucinating.

Clark Kent has an undeniable obsession with Bruce Wayne to concerning degrees. He knows it's wrong and he feels guilty after, but for a moment, he'd stretch his vision to see Bruce in Gotham. At galas, at dates, with his kids. Just a peek he swears, nothing more.

When he finds out Batman might have a security risk, he secretly keeps an eye out for him.