My Batman One

(Trust me and read a little further)

Bruce smiled softly.

“HAPPY FATHERS DAY!” Damian cheered, his siblings chanting it as well, voices sing-song. Dick was smiling ear to ear, hugging everyone, as thanks for the surprise, he was showered with gifts.

Taking a sip of his coffee, drinking in the sight one last time before dipping into the shadows, leaving once more. After all, why would he ruin their moment? He was never a dad, he was more of a- therapist… Yeah… No reason for him to be sad…

Besides he had other things to tend to.

Bruce felt his throat dry as time went on. Tears spilling from his eyes like they were only meant for that purpose. Bruce was crying his heart out for his dad, wishing that he was here, wishing he knew how to be a good dad, just like him. He begged to know how he could've been a good dad, a better one. One who knew what to do, when to do it, what to say, one who never made mistakes. All he wanted was to be with his dad, to have his dad, to be a better dad too.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

He cried out to the world. Why, he still questioned, had they taken a good man? Why not someone who was flawed in every way, flawed as a human, a son, a father, he was no dad. All he was and is, is a failure, a stain on this earth.

Blood fell from his face like tears, he wasn't sure where it was coming from, all he knew was that he was deserving of it, all he knew was that this was a proper punishment for a man like him. The facts lined up in front of him like a line in his hazy mind.

He deserved suffering.

Bruce derived the suffering of his kids, the suffering of his parents, the suffering of everyone who had the dishonor to be around him, he deserved that and so much worse.

He deserved to die.

He deserved a painful, slow death. His thoughts and eyes alike were clouded as the blood continued to drip. How long had he been here? His muscles felt weak, blood and dirt coated his hands like a second skin, a shallow hole dug where his hands were, nails digging into the dirt even as his muscles shook from exertion, he whimpered as the tears flowed in a quiet stream. He couldn't help but feel repulsed with his own humanity. The way he bled, cried, and trembled. He screamed for the world to hear, swaying on his knees. He fell forward, strength, no matter how plentiful or how many times it had been tested- had finally given out on him, sending him face first into the stone of his parents grave. Blood leaked from a small wound on his forehead and some other place, maybe his nose? Or perhaps his mouth? His throat did feel raw- maybe it was both? The thought swirled even as consciousness seemed to try to evade him.

Bruce held on, if only to not be found here, pathetic and weak. He curled in on himself, whimpering and crying silently.

Why am I so horrible? A tiny voice asked him, small, feeble and on the verge of tears, throat seemingly clogged. He listed every reason.

Emotionally inept, not prepared, not enough, not a good dad, not a good teammate, not a good coworker, not smart enough, not strong enough, not charitable enough, simply just not perfect.

Distantly, Bruce heard the sounds of voices, quickly approaching in a rain that he hadn't known had started. The voices sounded familiar, the voices sounded teary, what had he done wrong now? Were they about to comment on their lack of satisfaction with his pain? He had some comments too if that was it.

Oddly enough, that wasn't it. They were hoisting him up to sit, it hurt, but that was okay, it was good even. His head hurt as they all spoke, something about “sorry-” and “prank-” he couldn't understand. Why would they ever need to apologize to him of all people? This must be a mistake or maybe a dream? What a selfish dream it was, the faces came in and out of focus, allowing him the realization that these were “his” kids. Oh, could he get any more selfish!? Thinking of his kids apologizing to him, especially when there was no reason to, how self-absorbed could he be!

Bruce was sleeping, the sedatives had taken effect.

The doctors had done what they could, the blood loss had been significant.

They had been lucky to find him in time.

Dick didn't have the heart to say that the real luck was that Superman had intervened, because he had felt something wrong with his best friend's heartbeat, and Superman had wasted no time.

He had rushed Bruce to the hospital immediately, saving his life.

But now, in front of that bed, Superman seemed more god than man, and he was furious.

"Superman..."

"You're never home for Father's Day," Superman's voice was harsh, dry, and Dick felt an atavistic part of himself tremble, because he knew. He knew he was in danger. "Ever since you were nineteen, you never came to the Manor. Bruce was sorry. But he tried to understand you. Things were difficult, you were always arguing, and he didn't want to make you feel obligated."

Superman turned around, eyes red, anger concealed by a mask of apparent calm. Dick swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his heart pounding, but he tried to stay calm.

He tried not to feel like that eight-year-old who'd just lost everything again.

"Whose idea was that? Jason? Sounds like something he'd do, trying to kill your father."

"It wasn't Jason," Dick croaked, half lying, because it was true that Jason had been the most enthusiastic. "It was me. I thought... it might be..."

Superman's expression didn't change. "Funny? Is that what you thought? That it would be funny for the others to celebrate you, to Bruce's face, letting him know he meant nothing to any of you, and that you were happy to ignore him."

"That wasn't the plan! I...there were gifts for him. The prank..."

"Richard, changing the clocks in the house is a joke. Swapping salt for sugar is a joke. Throwing you a Father's Day party, with speeches about how you're the father everyone wants and how lucky they are to have you in their lives, you and not him, that's pure and simple cruelty."

Dick flinched as if he'd been physically hit.

This is cruel, Cassandra had said on a video call, when they'd told her about their Father's Day plans. I don't want to be a part of this. It's not funny.

No one had listened to her. It was brilliant, they were convinced of it.

Bruce was in for the surprise of a lifetime, after their prank. He'd be a little hurt at first, but then he'd understand. He should have understood.

But he'd left in the middle of Damian's speech. Bruce was gone, and there was... there was so much blood, and if Duke hadn't noticed, if he hadn't noticed his absence, then they wouldn't even be having this conversation right now.

They were so wrapped up in their prank that they hadn't even noticed Bruce was gone.

"I... no one wanted this..."

Superman snarled, "Now, that's the problem, Richard. I don't believe you. Because what you always do is hurt him. You treat him like he's a monster, you distance yourself from him, you complain that he's difficult, you're surprised that he's walking on eggshells with you and the others. Of course he does that, when it seems like no matter what he does, you get angry."

"It's... it's not like that..."

"Why the prank, Richard?" And oh, now Superman looked so tired, " Why did you think it was a good idea to put on this charade on a day like this? Do you hate him so much?"

Because it had seemed like a good idea. Because there had been tension between all of them for months, and Dick just wanted to fix things.

It was supposed to be just a prank, that's all.

A prank to bring the family together. They were supposed to celebrate, for once.

They were supposed to give Bruce their presents, and then spend the day together, not worrying about the damn world ending.

Well, surprise. Dick's world was literally hanging by a thread right now.

"We don't hate him," he managed, unable to recognize his own voice. "None of us hate him, I swear, Superman."

The Kryptonian's face darkened. "For years, I've heard all of you say otherwise. How lightly you use the word hate. Is Bruce too present? Trying to be a parent? Does he worry? Then he's being a bully, he's meddling in nobody's business, he needs to be put in his place, and you've thrown your contempt in his face. A prank like today just proves how much none of you care about him."

"It wasn't supposed to be this way, we..."

Here one of my headcanon

Bruce's family is ableist toward him, but not toward other heroes or allies.

It's an attitude they've all inherited from Alfred, continuing with the same hypercritical attitudes and accusations of being abnormal.

But Talia happens to witness this, sees how her son treats Bruce, and she's horrified.

"Do you realize how lucky you are? What I've had to give up? Your father loves you, with all his heart, and you spit on it. You prefer that freak, who doesn't remember that if it weren't for your father, he wouldn't even be here now, who doesn't even know what loyalty or gratitude is. I'm disappointed in you, Damian. Bringing you to Gotham was a mistake. Beloved deserves better."

She didn't say it , but Damian could hear it loud and clear: he deserves better than you.

Vicky Vale wrote entire articles about the Wayne's promiscuity, and more than a few saw it more as the resentment of an ex than the serious work of a journalist.

If Bruce had sued everyone who'd slandered him over the years, he'd become the world's first trillionaire.

Because it's not just journalists or Gotham's elite: everyone he knows has commented on his sex life or insulted him for it.

And that was fine, really. It hurt when his kids joked about it, when they ended up calling him a man-whore or making other slurs about his sex life when their arguments got out of hand.

He didn't say anything. He'd learned years ago that it wouldn't help. The jokes continues.

At first, Tim saw nothing wrong with joking like the others about how Bruce was a man whore, or that he'd slept with everyone at least once, and that he was easy.

They were just jokes, right? But then he got together with Kon shortly after her relationship with Bernard ended, and the journalists started grilling him, denigrating him, questioning his seriousness, wondering how long it would take him to tire of his new toy before moving on to another, and that, after all, he was still his father's son.

And the others were certainly not supportive, teasing him mercilessly, crossing every boundary because that's what they'd gotten used to, and even if Tim fought back, they wouldn't stop, because Tim was the one who couldn't take a joke.

Bruce intervenes: Bruce sued the newspapers that denigrated Tim, it's Bruce who defended Tim's public image, and it's he who has always defended Tim from others, too.

A grace no one has ever granted Bruce.

When things finally calm down and things get back to normal, Tim can't even look Bruce in the eye.

For a few weeks, he was going crazy during this shitstorm, hating everyone, and his sanity was suffering.

What does it mean that Bruce had been dealing with all this for years? What does it mean he doesn't hate everyone for how he was treated? How could he still want to defend Tim after years of insults?

Bruce shouldn't have done anything.

He should have let Tim deal with this alone, without any support, because it would only have been fair.

When he mentions this to Kon, his boyfriend looks at him strangely.

Kon: Honey, it makes sense that Bruce would help you. He's your father, right?

Tim: No, it doesn't make sense. You weren't there, you don't know what I called him, all the times I shamed him when one of his relationships ended, or... how I insulted him for things I had no right to talk about... why didn't he just ignore it?

Kon: Tim... how could he ignore it? He loves you.

Tim: But I don't deserve this, don't you understand?! We've all put him through hell, always judging him, as if we were better... it's not fair that he helped me and I've never done anything for him.

In short, just Tim who doesn't know how to deal with the knowledge that Bruce loves him more than he deserves, and doesn't know how to live with this new awareness, especially after years spent sabotaging any remotely healthy relationship with his father.

he convinces himself that he is such a failure as a parent that the only thing he can properly provide is this unconditional guarantee that he will always put his children before himself. so when batfam tries to reciprocate, it's already too late and whatever they do he immediately takes this as a failing on his part?

sorry for the word vomit, feel free to delete!!

He knew something was off the moment Steph tried to badly sneak the package she'd been hiding in her hoodie over in his direction, placing it onto the worktable in the Cave.

It was a simple, small square box wrapped in newspaper that had been hastily scribbled on with bright neon highlighter. Probably for coloring the paper. Something thrown together in a lack of time. Interesting.

He blinked down at the little box then glanced back towards Steph. She was standing there with her arms crossed, biting her lip and darting her gaze away, then back between Bruce and the box.

Stephanie had never given him a gift before.

They, the kids, never got him gifts. Not really. Not since Dick and Jason were young teens in school bringing him their arts and crafts projects, however simple they had been. Sometimes Alfred would whisk them away under some excuse near the holidays to pick something out for Bruce.

But those days were long gone now.

There hadn't been anything after Jason's death, and Dick moving out and creating that ever permanent distance between them now. It was understandable. Bruce hadn't earned anything of the sort.

Tim always talked more about gifts he was planning to get someone else. Usually with the silent expectation that Bruce help give options, as much as a form of input as it was in itself Tim's "gift" for Bruce. Expectations to spend time together. Bruce never complained. Tim had his own family before...

Well. Everything.

And now he had the others. Dick and Jay, Steph, Duke, Damian. Cass. Tim got gifts for all of them save for Bruce, and Bruce was fine with that, watching the younger kids grow and depend on one another. It made sense to him.

He was just a mentor, after all.

Cass and Damian sometimes gifted handmade things to others, but not Bruce. Usually they seemed to hesitate on such matters around him. He didn't want to make them uncomfortable, they shouldn't feel obligated to do anything they didn't want to. Especially after everything they had been through, trying to adjust to civilian life beside their vigilante activities. Gift giving was something at the bottom rung of priority. So Bruce stayed clear of the matter.

Duke was still new to the family but he was getting on well with the others closer to his age. Bruce didn't expect the teen to treat Bruce as a parent figure, considering what happened to Duke's parents was ultimately Bruce's fault. And that included things like gifts. Bruce never expected anything of the sort from any of them, especially Steph, who had made it clear time and time again that Bruce wasn't her father.

That was fine with him. He certainly didn't want to intrude or take a place that was already claimed in her life, or any of their lives.

Still he caved and went along with whatever the kids wanted whenever they badgered him for his spare time, giving him those pleading looks. Demanding. Giving each other strange glances when one would run up and ask demand Bruce go with them on patrol, or they needed to do such and such thing afterward and Bruce better be there. Slotting him into an almost-parentified role before stepping back whenever they remembered, got too uncomfortable, or were tired of his presence that day. Then the next child would corner Bruce for his time.

It was fine. He was used to the flightiness of eight children yanking him in different directions by now (they would always be children to him, no matter their age).

Tuesdays and Fridays were the days Steph spent the most time at the manor, and usually she'd always insist during one of them that Bruce needed to train with her, or she was in desperate need of study time and wanted Bruce to help her with her coursework since he had been a med student himself once upon a time. Some days she'd drag Bruce somewhere "fun for once". A hole in the wall. Arcades, roller skating rink. Sometimes she invited one or two of the others. Usually Tim or Cass, sometimes Duke. Other days she was very specific they had to go alone.

Bruce had gotten quite used to the routine by now. Regardless of whatever thing she had planned, she would step back and leave without too much said between them and repeat it again next week.

There had never been any gifts from her before. So what was with the change now?

Bruce remembered trying to give the kids various gifts over the years, all with modicums of success or failure. They always appeared uncomfortable with bigger things, but appreciated smaller, thoughtful gifts. Or things that could be considered a necessity, especially on patrol, rather than an outright gift. He accommodated for that. Even accommodated for the holidays and birthdays where he knew they wanted something more substantial, more personal, even if they refused to ask for it. That, too, was fine.

It was fine he never received anything more than kind words or a short phone call, especially after an argument where one of them would storm off, sometimes more. At least when they came back he could breathe again. It was fine they didn't keep things static and agreeable, because it helped him remember his place. He wasn't to sway too close or too far. It would remind them.

It was fine.

It had been just fine.

Why were things changing now?

What had he done wrong this time? What had he failed to accommodate for? What did he do? What had she seen?

It was fine. Everything was fine as long as they kept things as they were. The way it worked.

Bruce stared down at the package and hoped he had mistaken the situation.

"What is it?"

"You'll see." She laughed in a stilted way, swaying from one foot to the other uncomfortablely.

Bruce tensed and asked, "Who is it for?"

"Who?" Steph blinked at him, frowning. "For you, dumby. Who else is here to give something to?"

Bruce stared at her, a shallow void expanding within his chest. The longer he didn't respond, the more antsy she appeared.

He wrangled the words that sounded best and gently provided, "You don't need to force yourself to give me something. It's okay."

Her face paled then flushed over, and she snapped out "I didn't 'force' myself to do anything! It's just a little something is all."

Bruce put on a small smile and slid the package back over to her. She frowned and looked at the box then back to Bruce, confused.

"It's okay, really. You should reserve things like this for the others."

Steph scoffed and turned fully towards him. "What, am I not allowed to get you a gift now or something?"

"You never did before." Bruce pointed out. She made a face and looked away so he couldn't place the emotion on it. "It's alright, really. I stopped getting gifts years ago."

She turned back towards him at that, a flash of confusion crossing her eyes. "But... isn't it your birthday today?"

Bruce paused, thinking.

Huh, it was.

He hadn't celebrated it in nearly ten years now. Especially now that Alfred had died and wasn't around to tell him a simple "Happy Birthday" as per usual. Dick and Jay had outgrown bringing it up, or so Bruce assumed. He wasn't even sure if the other kids were aware of when it was.

Part of him preferred it that way.

"Nobody celebrates it, so it's nothing of importance to me." Bruce stated, as simple as possible. Adding no inflection of any kind.

A shocked expression settled on Steph's features. He picked up the box and pressed it into her cold hands, and he continued, "You shouldn't feel the need to reciprocate anything. I am perfectly content with how things have been."

Steph made a garbled sound like she were trying to protest.

"Truly. I prefer it this way." Bruce said, before he turned and walked away.

As long as he kept his distance, as long as he didn't put too much expectation into their relationships with him, then everything was fine. And they would stick around.

They would still spend time with him, however much distance they put between himself and them while doing so.

It was fine.

Stephanie found the others in the living room—why were they there, why didn't they have anything, why weren't they with Bruce?—all of them, in one of those rare moments of relaxation before a patrol.

She clutched the box to her chest, not trusting her hands not to shake.

Nobody celebrates it, so it's nothing important to me.

Bruce's words were ringing in her mind, on loop, derisive, even though that wasn't the man's intent.

No, Bruce was too kind to be rude to them, even if they deserved it.

God, who ignores anyone's birthday? Especially their father's birthday?

(Bruce wasn't her father, except in a way he was, but Stephanie didn't want to give him that power, the power to disappoint her, to make her feel inferior. She didn't want to feel that way anymore...and she'd ended up making him feel that way, and if that wasn't fucking irony, she didn't know what was.)

The first to notice her was Tim. He looked up and asked, "Hey, Steph. What did you get us?"

Someone approached, perhaps trying to see the box, but Stephanie wouldn't let them.

She slapped the stray hand—oh, it was Duke—and growled, "Don't touch. This is Bruce's."

It should have been Bruce's. A silly thing, the most he could afford, but it was his, something Stephanie had wanted to give him for once.

She didn't know why: maybe she wanted to make up for all the gifts he'd given her over the years, maybe it was a whim.

But he'd refused. He'd refused because he wasn't used to having someone do things for him, and the confusion, that was what had killed Stephanie.

"For Bruce? Why?" Duke asked, massaging his hand.

Stephanie's eyes widened. "You're not serious. Tell me you're kidding."

" Stephanie, what..."

But she had already turned to the others. "Do you even have any idea what day it is? Nothing?"

"Yeah, it's February 19th. So?" Jason said, bored.

"So today's Bruce's birthday," Stephanie said slowly, as if she were talking to idiots. "Did any of you even wish him a happy birthday? No one?"

She only had to look at the others' expressions to know the answer.

"I don't believe it...not even an happy birthday? Jesus Christ, you're..."

"Ah, Bruce's not one to celebrate," Tim tried to say, but Stephanie had no time for bullshit. "Isn't he like that? If no one's bothered to do anything for him for years, then obviously he doesn't celebrate! You all treat his birthday like it's a nuisance! Like his existence is a nuisance, like..."

"Stephanie," Dick's words were harsh, pointed, a warning, "Bruce is not a nuisance."

"Yeah, too bad he doesn't know! He was surprised I remembered his birthday, which isn't surprising, considering you were all here doing nothing instead of trying to do something for him for once!"

"What do you mean he was surprised?" Dick asked, a flash of guilt crossing his face. Stephanie didn't even have the chance to feel satisfied, because she knew it was pointless.

The damage had been done,” He was surprised because none of us ever does anything for him. We nag him all the time, we all want to be the first ladies of this family, but no one does anything nice for him. God, he’d settle for the least to have everyone at home, but we don’t even give him that! When…fuck…”

“Steph,” Tim tried to calm her, but she didn’t want to be touched.

It took her a while to catch her breath, trying to remember a time when at least one of them had made Bruce feel loved.

It was hard to remember: Bruce always did something for them, tried to choose them all, so as not to displease anyone, but he was never a first choice.

Damn, he saw all of them playing at being family and excluding him, like a fucking exclusive club, a club that wouldn’t exist without him.

Of course Bruce didn’t think he was important. They had made him think so.

“We don’t love Bruce,” she realized, disgusted.

"God, we fucking suck, fucking..."

"Stephanie, we love Bruce..."

"Oh, don't be so delusional, Dick!" she snapped, angry at both herself and the others, "You love being Bruce's first choice so much, but have you or any of us ever done that? Did we ever choose Bruce first?"

what if bruce talks about his special interests very passionately but to his kids he rambles and hes embarrassing

so they sit him down and say let's draw up a code to let u know when ur talking too much

maybe its simple 'B' but drawn out or lilting im not sure

and then they tell bruce thats his priot to say "sorry im rambling" or something along those lines and shut up

and bruce views it positively as its something Alfie did for him to train him for society

and hes thankful "I dont know when to stop talking sometimes, I dont pick up when I've become boring, thank you for this"

and maybe it spirals to the JL using it and the kids teaching their teams

maybe its used so often bc bruce was comfortable enough to ramble passionately and now he realises people were finding excuses to leave and were half asleep

maybe bruce goes back to the non verbal state he was in as a child with Alfie's corrections and rules

and no one really notices theyre just grateful he's learned and it was never intended to be cruel it was ignorance

maybe Harvey does or Harley or Khoa im not sure..

I've had half formed ideas about this but im not that coherent with words so if this is something you'd like to build on please do, im always in awe by your writing. but please dont feel any pressure and ignore if not something you're interested in, its very long

I really hate to stray from anon's preferred characters, but can I do Talia? Please? You can't answer before I write this so I'm sorry.

"B."

"Bruce."

"Beeee."

"Bruce."

"B."

It's a sound that is familiar. All the way back in time to when Richard was young, and he would tear around calling beloved's name for attention, full of wonder, and joy, and childish jealousy.

But that is not what she hears now.

No.

It is not a call for attention, but for silence.

A reprimand for daring to express himself.

Her beloved is a quiet man. He has been, ever since they were teens together under her father's watchful eye, but she misses his loudness. Those moments inbetween, where he would laugh, or cry, or make those cherished noises when none of the languages he new would suffice for the emotions he felt.

She understands why his cackle left. Why he hides that away, after she saw him flinch at his own laugh, memories of a white face and stretched red lips stripping the joy from the moment.

She remembers helping him form a new laugh, a muted chuckle that was nothing like the one he had before, one he trained into himself so firmly you would never be able to tell it wasn't his real laugh.

She does not understand why his voice has left. His smile. Him.

She does not recognise the man before her.

She married Bruce Wayne, and has loved every iteration of him, even with their differences. She does not love this man. He makes her heart ache, her stomach twist, her very bones itch from discomfort.

It is like standing toe-to-toe with a mimic. Everything looks right, but it is hollow. Dispassioned. Dead.

She waits, biding her time, until she cannot anymore.

Bruce's bedroom door is not locked when she tries the handle. It never is. He would not deny his children access to him, and she curses his selflessness. He truly has nowhere to be his own space.

She steps in, closing the door behind her, and the figure on the bed slumps back, a shuriken clattering onto the bedside table.

"Tee."

"Bruce."

She locks the door before padding across the soft carpet, sliding onto the bed. He lifts the duvet for her, and she presses close, enveloped in warmth beneath the plush bedding.

"You okay?" he murmurs sleepily, pressing his lips to the side of her head, and she allows him to wrap her in his arms.

That is one thing she cherishes about the two of them. No matter how many times he is shut down, or dismissed, or reshapes his relationship with someone, with everyone, and he pulls back, stops touching, stops talking, stops hugging, and kissing, and being, it does not touch the two of them.

"No, beloved." He tenses beneath her, and she strokes his thigh. "Calm."

He does as she says, relaxing again, through she can still feel the worry in his stare, searching her face in the darkness. "What can I do?"

"You can come back to me." She presses closer, sliding into his lap, cupping his face. "I do not know why you are not allowed to talk anymore, or express excitement, or simply be yourself within your own home, but beloved..." She strokes a hand across his cheeks, tugs almost teasingly on the top of his ear. "You are not yourself. I know the man I married, I know the man I had a son with, and I know the man I love even if we have been separated for longer than our son has been alive. That is not the man I have seen for the past week." She looks into his eyes, imploring. "Where did he go?"

He cries.

He cries, and she holds him, and eventually he tells her about being too much, and not enough, and he knows that he needs it, that he doesn't know how to act right, but their training feels cruel, he cannot make himself welcome it, he feels like an intruder on his own family.

Talia cries.

She cries, and he holds her, because she cannot fathom how he has been living. How he has been believing he acts inherently wrong, and must be corrected and trained like a wild dog. Talia cannot fathom treating an animal like that, let alone a man. A friend. A father.

They cry.

They cry, and they hold each other all night, until the sun is creeping around the curtains, and their eyes have run dry.

The butler raps on the door and Bruce calls an acknowledgement, so he bustles off again to ready the rest of the morning.

They shower together, not quite ready to part yet, he smears moisturiser on her nose and they giggle together, his electric toothbrush dies halfway through and she chokes on her toothpaste at his indignant expression.

He ties a towel around his waist and lets her borrow his dressing gown, and she closes her eyes as he combs through and blow dries her hair. He signals he's done by inserting a slobbery finger into her ear and the doorway to his walk-in chips as the brass statue on his shelf becomes abruptly airborne.

He locks himself in there and she steals his slippers to return to her own room, but when she exits, he is there with a sheepish grin to press a kiss to her cheek, and she lounges on his bed as he styles his own stubborn hair. Nearly forty years of existence and he still fights with his mother's cowlicks just as fruitlessly, cursing his Kane lineage until she cannot breathe for laughing.

Time ticks on through the morning, and Talia sees the door handle twitch. And again. Bruce does not notice, but she does.

They go down to breakfast at time that has never even heard the word 'punctuality', and all sort of suspicious looks are earned.

Bruce tenses but does not address it, and Talia plucks Damian out of his seat next to Bruce's own, sliding into place. Her son gapes at her, and she presses a kiss to his cheek, stealing his hashbrown before he snaps to and snatches his plate away, kissing her cheek in return before stomping off to the next available seat.

The butler is stiffly silent as he delivers their plates, radiating disapproval, but Talia just thanks him demurely and smacks at Bruce's hand when his fork creeps onto her plate.

Conversation around the room resumes stiffly, and some time in, she sees Bruce's attention snap to Timothy's conversation with Richard.

She pokes his ankle with her toe, and for a moment she thinks he won't do anything, but then he turns to her, a shy smile on his face.

"Do you remember the summer we spent in that conservation centre in Australia?"

She tilts her head. "Yes?"

He launches into an explanation, and she slowly sees the links form between the memories and the conversation across the room.

They give him two minutes.

The rage that fills her as a lilting "Beeee~" comes from further down the table is incandescent, but she contains it within herself.

Bruce falters, but only for a moment, and keeps talking. She twines their ankles together, hoping he can feel her pride in him, and listens.

Another minute.

"B."

Firmer this time.

Bruce swallows, discomfort flickering through his eyes, and keeps going.

His point begins to conclude, but Talia can feel confused, indignant stares coming from her other side, so she asks him how the land formations affect the migratory patterns, and watches his eyes light up.

He launches into the new branch of the topic, and she allows smugness to suffuse her.

He hates Talia. She hurts Bruce ( no more than he did, but he was always better at accuse people than see his own errors.)

The worse part is that Talia stays. She doesn't go away after a day or a week. She stays. And he can't stand it.

Dick: How dare she be here, we don't want her.

Damian: You don't want her. But mother make him happy.

Dick: nonsense, he is happy only because someone listen to him.

Damian: so, this is because he is never happy with us. We never listen to him, or let him talk about the things he likes.

Dick tries to replay, but how could he? He was the one who tought Damian how make Bruce shout down. To be honest, he tought it to a lot of people. But come on, who wants to listen to Bruce ramblings for hours? It's so noisy! And boring and...

Talia Al Ghoul wants to listen to Bruce. Because she loves him.

And he’s had exactly two bad reactions in his life that have lead to him having to go to the hospital, once when his parents were still alive, and once after his parents had already died, when he was ten. 

After the first reaction he had when his parents were still alive (I imagine he was between 4-6 at the time) Martha and Thomas completely band mango from the manner entirely, to the point that any restaurant they want to had to remove all mangos from the premises for the time that the family was dining with them. 

Bruce doesn’t tell the Batkids about this allergy, not because it’s a secret or anything, but because he simply forgot to, he’s only had two bad reactions to the fruit in his entire life, and he’s never really around it all that much anyway, and he himself forgets about it for the most part. 

Alfred is the one to inform all the kids of, and in force the rule that Martha and Thomas set, but he doesn’t tell the kids it’s because Bruce is deathly allergic. 

The kids think it’s kinda ridiculous, but don’t make a fuss about it, deciding to let Bruce have this one weird rule without question. 

Until, that is, they get into ANOTHER fight. Until this one, stupid argument. It’s one of the handful of times where it’s all the kids vs Bruce (usually at least one of the kids is on his side or some of them choose to not take sides at all, but not this time) and they want sweet, petty revenge. 

So they get him a cake. And they pretend that it’s a peace offering. And they don’t tell him it’s a mango cake until it’s too late. 

(They always thought it was kinda weird that Bruce refused to allow mango on the grounds/that he refused to eat it, as all other fruits had been his safe food since forever, so it always felt kinda weird that this was where he drew the line.)

He has a terrible reaction. His face breaks out into bright red hives, he can’t breathe, his eyes water, and he can’t breathe, his throat swells ,  AND. HE. CAN’T. BREATHE. 

And it had been so long since he had had his last reaction, and the manor was supposed to be a safe place for him, that they didn’t even have an epipen in the house anymore, and Alfred was out running errands and Bruce. Couldn’t. Breathe.

(As an aside because i couldn’t find a way to fit it in anywhere, EVERYBODY in Gotham knows about this allergy for the most part. Martha and Thomas (and later on, Alfred) made a HUGE deal about it when it was first discovered, because they didn’t want Bruce to have to suffer through another reaction. All this to say that it’s one of if not the first thing that pops up when you google the name Bruce Wayne (after all the articles about The Wayne Family Murders of course)

(again, sorry if this isn’t cohesive(?) I’m writing/sending this in at almost 4:00 in the morning 😭😭)

Lightning flashes into the room, and Barry appears, already kneeling next to Bruce. The man writhes on the floor, grasping at his teammate, and Barry clasps it tightly, eyes flicking over Bruce at superspeed, making a dozen calculations in the time it takes them to blink.

"Hey, hey, try to stay calm," his voice is calm but firm, guiding Bruce to lie down, manoeurvring him to open his airway, for whatever good that will do. "Supes commed. He's stuck in the Dromenka galaxy, but he heard you. Hal's on standby up top to get the medbay ready."

"What the hell is going on?" Dick mutters, sinking to his knees.

Barry glares at him. "You guys clearly fed him mango. You know, the one thing that can kill him." He blurs, and resolidifies with an EpiPen in hand. "Blue to the sky, orange to the thigh," he chants, and slams the pen down.

The kids blink, and he's gone again.

And so is Bruce.

"Bruce is allergic to mango?"

"Bruce is deathly allergic to mango?"

"We fed Bruce mango?"

Barry crosses his arms, standing in front of Bruce's room in the medbay, glaring at the group when they approach. "You think you're getting by?"

Tim tilts his chin up. "I think we're his kids. You can't keep him from us."

The BatCave materialises around them, and everyone's eyes are drawn to the batcomputer, where the dozens screens display the same message:

"This is all your fault," Jason barked at Tim, as the boy and the others were busy trying to hack the zeta tubes' systems and get back to the Watchtower.

"Congratulations on your brilliant idea! You almost killed him!"

Tim glared at him. "My brilliant idea? I didn't see you protesting!"

"That's because it was supposed to be a fucking prank! Not an attempted murder!"

"Sorry I took away the satisfaction of killing him like you wanted!"

"You little..."

"Shut up!" Dick barked, finally silencing them.

Everyone looked at the older brother with looks of mixed anger and concern.

Dick had been the worst off. Guilt was a bitch, and he was drowning in it.

If it weren't for Clark and Berry, they wouldn't even be here. Oh, if it weren't for them, they'd be arguing with the funeral home about arranging a funeral right now. Bruce's funeral.

Because they'd almost killed him over an argument so stupid it hadn't even been in the top ten of all time, and the casualness with which they'd done it had been embarrassing.

No wonder Zatanna had teleported them all back to the cave. They didn't deserve to be in Bruce's room.

Not after what they'd done.

"Richard?" Damian's voice brought him back to the present situation, the mess they'd gotten themselves into due to their own stupidity. He swallowed, "Jason, it's not Tim's fault."

"It was his idea!" his brother protested, and before Tim could argue or try to end Jason's bloodline once and for all, Dick interjected, "Yeah, it was his idea. But we all went along with it, and we did it enthusiastically. Because we're assholes, that's why. Because we wanted revenge and to spite him. Well, we got our revenge. I'm sure Bruce will accept the food we offer him again..."

His voice trailed off. Bruce doesn't accept food from anyone. That's how paranoid he was, and often rightfully so.

But he'd never been that way with them. Because he trusted them. He trusted they wouldn't hurt him.

Which they'd done without even thinking. They'd decided to abuse Bruce's trust in them, breaking the only thing he'd ever asked of them, without even a second thought.

No, it was more important to feel satisfied and have fun at Bruce's expense.

They didn't even know Bruce was allergic to damn mangoes.

But Bruce knew their allergies and preferences. He'd banned a lot of things from the Manor just for them, he'd asked Alfred to cook vegetarian for Damian, he'd learned old Roman recipes for Dick, he'd tolerated spices for Jason and Duke, he'd made waffles for Stephanie, but none of them had thought to respect his one simple request. They hadn't cared.

They'd never questioned it, even though they knew Bruce never did anything without a good reason. And Bruce had almost died.

Because of Dick. He rested his forehead on the cold desk, fighting the urge to cry.

There was no going back from something like that. No excuse would suffice. Let's be honest, if the tables were turned, Dick would have demanded they all go no contact with Bruce and never show up again. It would be the least they could do.

(Never, not even after the worst arguments, had Dick ever considered not being a part of his father's Bruce's life anymore. Because the anger passed, and he would always need his father, Bruce. But now, he had automatically eliminated himself from the equation, for something so foolish and stupid, that it threatened to cost them everything.)

"Let's keep going," he said, hoping Alfred wouldn't come back again, and God, how were they going to tell Alfred? How were they going to explain to him that they had almost killed Bruce because they were terrible sons?

But Martha was a Kane , and that book was meant for the Waynes. Even if she married into the family that still didn't fix her inability to cook. to fix that problem she just gave it to their chefs at the Manor, Thomas didn't seem to mind as long as the staff made the dishes according to what was written. After all it's just a silly tradition in the grand scheme of things. And years down the line, they never paid attention to their meals and who cooked them- who had the book- chefs come and go and they passed the recipes between each other, not for value but for the Mr and Mrs preference.

17 years later Bruce wonders why he never got the recipe book, and thinks that Alfred kept it somewhere safe, so he learns how to cook in his travels to remember his childhood through food he used to love

Six years after that 23 years old Bruce wonders why Alfred keeps avoiding his questions about his family's heirloom, Alfred tells him it's silly and he has a butler to cook for him- why does he even want to enter the kitchen when he doesn't need to? it's absurd.

Two years later when 25 years old Bruce is missing his mother and struggling with a grieving Ward- who refuses to eat anything- pleads with Alfred to give him the recipe book -to try and find something he used to like as a child, in the hopes Dick would like it - is when Alfred confesses that his parents didn't care what happened to the book, that they gave it to the chefs , and Alfred- after their death, couldn't find it, didn't make the effort to look for it because it didn't matter to the Master and Mistress

'Sir? Sir, you haven't checked in in almost two hours, are you in need of assistance? Are the entourage with you?'

“Alfie?” Bruce whimpered, “I- I don't know where- I'm in the city but I don't know.”

“Master Bruce?”

“Are you really real, Alfie? I- I hear you i-in this hat.” a sniffled, “Alfie ‘m so cold.”

“Master Dick, enough of these jokes- What channel is Master Bruce on?”

“Alfie please.”

or

For reasons unknown to the Justice League, magic has taken Bruce's memory and put him back to where he was at five years old. Until the magic users return from wherever they are, the Batfamily and the JL must deal with a five year old who wants his parents and doesn't know just how much his life has unravelled.

Dick shouldn't be so nervous about being at the Manor. He shouldn't. It was his home, too (once.) It was his home...well, Bruce's home.

He was always welcome, Bruce had told him so, in his own way, and even if it wasn't always clear, he'd always made sure Dick was comfortable when he came to visit.

There was always a room for him.

So, he shouldn't be nervous about a visit, right?

Well, the principle was sound, but faced with Clark's cold, unimpressed look, all his good intentions went out the window, and he felt like he was twelve again.

"Hi, Clark," he swallowed, smiling, even though he was aware that his heartbeat was betraying his anxiety.

"Richard," the Kryptonian greeted him, sipping his coffee, watching him like a hawk. "What do you need?"

Nothing's it's good to see yoi, Dick, or Did you just finish patrol and want breakfast? Alfred made pancakes.

The worst part, though, was that Clark wasn't smiling. And a Superman who wasn't smiling should already be considered one of the signs of Raven's father's arrival in this dimension.

"Nothing, I just wanted to check on everyone... you know, I haven't been here in a while and..."

"You haven't been here in a year, Richard," Clark lowered his cup to the table, trying not to break it, but Dick noticed the cracks in the cup. "I wouldn't call that just not coming for a while. You actively ignored Bruce's calls while answering the others', and left for a mission to Tamaran without even telling the League. Months without any information, not even the Lanterns could tell us what you were doing. And now you come here, like nothing happened?"

"Look, I know how it looks..."

"No, you don't seem to," the Kryptonian said icily. "And that's kind of your problem, isn't it? You act without thinking about the consequences, and often you don't even have to face them, luckily for you. But you think I'm going to let you just pretend nothing happened, show up as if nothing happened? Pretending you care about Bruce?"

"I care about Bruce," the boy interjected, stopping smiling, "He's...he's important to me, okay?"

"So important that you ignore his calls, Richard? So important that you mock him in front of the League? So important that you tell him you think he's the real alien among us? Really, Richard?"

Dick felt the tension rise, he gasped, "I..."

"If that's how you show someone is important to you, I don't want to imagine what you'd do if you hated them. Wait, I know. I've seen it every day since you became Nightwing."

"I don't hate Bruce," he spat, the mere suggestion of it being offensive. But Clark scoffed, "Of course, I only got confused by the...ah, right...three hundred and sixteen times you told him that, Richard. Silly me, how could I ever think you hate him?"

"You know I didn't mean it, Bruce made me angry..."

"He made you angry, but your reactions have always been disproportionate in the face of offense."

"Disproportionate? He took Robin away from me, he kicked me out of the house, he never treated me as an equal, to him I'm still a child..."

"You're acting like a child," Clark cut short the tirade, "It's true, he took Robin away from you, after Two Face had you on the brink of death. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you. And he didn't kick you out of the house, you're the one who left, because you thought you only had a place in his life as Robin, because you didn't think you could simply be his son. And he treats you as an equal, but he also treats you like his family, only you can't stand it. He pampers you too much, doesn't he? He wants to keep you safe. How dare he? He's the worst person ever! No matter what he does for you, all the compromises, all his trying to make amends even when he shouldn't. It's never enough for you."

The guilt began to creep back up, gnawing at him from the inside. Yes, he knew he'd made a mistake.

Fuck, Roy had called him an asshole, and Roy was usually the one to bash Batman.

But after meeting Kory's parents, her father's coldness, his refusal to acknowledge his mistakes...needless to say, it helped put a lot of perspective. Bruce wasn't a perfect parent.

But he'd die before he'd let one of them be enslaved.

Dick slumped his shoulders. He had nothing else to say in his defence. "You can't stop me from seeing him. He wouldn't let you."

Clark laughed then, but it was a dry, unpleasant laugh. "Bold of you to assume he, or even Damian, wants to see you. Why do you think I'm the only one here, Richard?"

I'm new here.

I was a post about dick hating talia and wondered, do you know of any fics/drabbles etc of the batkids driving away anyone bruce likes/loves? Like they are so consistently cruel to her (him/them) that bruce has no choice but to part ways with the only person who genuinely loves (understands/accepts/knows) him and in the end the batkids move out of the manor as time passes. And bruce ends up all alone with only ghosts and his memory for company.

No one was ever good enough for them.

Not Selina. Not Talia. Not Julie or Silver, or anyone else. Especially Khoa (not that Bruce could really blame them on that one, still his heart aches all the same). The kids would always look at Bruce and his partners with down turned lips. Assessing. Judging.

You can do better, they'd say as they cornered him in the cave. Usually right after he'd spent time with any of his romantic partners. They're not good for you.

It wasn't always a clean sweep either. Sometimes, most of them would be relatively fine with whoever Bruce was seeing at any given time. But all it took was one of the kids to have a strong disapproval for whomever was in Bruce's life, and he'd get the message fairly quickly. Sometimes their displeasure spread to all the rest like a wildfire growing out of control. Other times the individual kids who had some issue with the current partner were just too loud to ignore.

None of the children would fight for any of his relationships, even when they themselves weren't opposed to one (for once). It was even worse, Bruce found, when he ended up dating someone from the League.

No matter how long he'd known any hero, or how close they had been over the years, it didn't matter. If Bruce didn't end things, he'd have things ended for him, one way or another. Most of his romances ended because of his vigilantism, or moral differences, yes, but sometimes...they couldn't handle the stress. Not for what he did, but the weight the kids put on them.

Or at least, that's what Clark had said last year.

The kids were very...protective, he'd say. But it didn't feel like protection. It was just another thing he came to deny himself having in this lifetime. Something else he slowly made off-limits to make more room for his children. And he loved them, he did. He would do anything for them.

But sometimes...

He just wanted to feel less alone.

If long term relationships were off the table, then all he had left was one night stands. Short little flings. Temporary bandaids to tide him over when the weight became too much.

But for some ungodly reason, even that was slowly becoming off limits.

"Who'd you run off with last night?"

Bruce sat still in his chair, looking away from the case files he had been pouring over to find Dick half-sitting on the console, arms crossed with a bored expression on his face. Though Bruce could still spot the crinkles in the corners of Dick's eyes. The simmering disapproval underneath.

"Nobody you need worry yourself over." Bruce replied, and went back to staring at the case files. He heard Dick sigh and then suddenly fingers were entering his vision to shut the files, pushing them away. No distractions or leeway to get out of this conversation, it seemed.

Bruce took off his reading glasses and set them onto the table, then leaned back in the chair and deigned to turn towards Dick. Now his face was shimmering with annoyance, perhaps anger.

"You gonna start talking now or do I need to pry it out of you?"

"What does it matter who I was with?" Bruce sighed, staring Dick down. Lately the kids had been so damn nosy into the matter. What did they think this was, some secret marriage situation or something? "I do have a personal life of my own, you know."

"Then the least you could do is let us know who you were with. We'll find out one way or another."

Bruce scoffed, "If that's the case, why bother asking?"

"I want to hear it from you." Dick said, with a razor edge tinge to the words. "Who are you seeing this time?"

"I wouldn't call a one night stand 'seeing someone', and none of you know them so what does it matter? I won't be seeing them again anyways. That's the point."

Dick rolled his eyes. "God, B. This is like the tenth time you've done this. What happened to having a normal relationship like everyone else?"

Normal?

Bruce grit his teeth, feeling the fire arise in his chest.

"Why bother when I'm never allowed to have one."

Dick made a sour face, raising a brow towards Bruce. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"None of you ever approved of who I was dating. I got tired of trying, only to have to end things because none of you were happy with it."

"They weren't good enough for you, Bruce. You deserve better."

Bruce crossed his arms, trying not to gnash his teeth in his mouth out of irritation. A small little thing in the back of his mind cracked in half and the words on the tip of his tongue let themselves loose in consequence.

"Who is better? Who is good enough?"

"What?"

"Who." Bruce reiterated, jaw tensing. "Who do you think is good enough? Who is a good choice? Which one will satisfy the lot of you?"

"I...I don't--" Dick knitted his brows together, a complex expression blooming on his face. "That's not fair and you know it!"

"And yet all of you are so quick to judge every partner I've ever had. You want to talk about 'not fair'? It's never been fair to me to never leave me to my own relationships without all of you meddling in them somehow."

"We don't meddle--"

"What are you doing right now?" Bruce asked, getting silence in return. "I'm still waiting. Give me an answer. Who's good enough for all of you? What was so wrong with everyone previously that they were immediately disqualified from loving me?"

"Selina is a kleptomaniac and a villain." Dick spat out, without hesitation.

"Selina is doing things her own way. She's not a villain. And she was never obligated to be a hero, either." Bruce snapped back, adding, "You're not a stranger to dating villains yourself, Dick."

Dick was glaring at him now. "Shawn was reformed."

"I'm not talking about Shawn. She was lovely, by the way."

"Don't turn this back on me! Talia is a psychopath. You can't excuse all of her behavior towards you."

Bruce sighed through his nose. "She's made some hard choices in her life."

"She hurt you, Bruce. Bad."

"So have you." Bruce pointed out. Dick paled and pulled back. "Who hasn't at this point?"

The young man shook his head. "We just want what's best for you. We worry."

"No, you demand. You instigate. You always disapprove for one reason or another. Usually to the tune of 'I can't get them involved in this life', or they're already a part of it somehow but not 'the right fit.' They're a villain or they're a League member and for some reason that's even worse? So who fits? Who's better? Point them out to me. Or maybe you all just don't want to see me happy when it doesn't immediately involve all of you. Maybe you're afraid I won't put all of you first for once?"

Bruce paused to take a breath, sighing as Dick ran his hand over his face. "I love you all, I do, but you are my children. And despite how much I do for you, how much I sacrifice, how much I adore each and every one of you--I know I won't have you around forever. Half the time you find a reason to leave me here, alone, due to one fight or another. For any slight at all. Sometimes even because of whatever partner I have that week. Now you're irritated that I don't have one? Make up your minds. I can't read them. Nothing will keep you here yet you are all so quick to leave whenever it suits you, and hurts me the most. I need a life outside of you. If not to be less alone, then to stay sane from all of this."

"I--I didn't. We never--" Dick cut off, moving away from the console, about four feet. Then he started pacing. He stopped after a minute and looked back at Bruce over his shoulder. "You can't blame us for all your relationships falling apart. You do plenty of that all by yourself."

Dick paused, letting the tension between them grow. Then he snapped out, "What happened to Sasha, Bruce? Or Harvey? Diana? Where's Vesper, Bruce?"

Bruce felt a cold chill wash over him, like he was being thrown into ice water. All the fire and anger that had been simmering beneath his skin was snuffed out in an instant.

"I just--We--Just want what's best for you." Dick said, shifting in his stance uneasily from one foot to the other. "And they aren't it."

Dick walked away before Bruce could reply, practically leaping up the stairs leading out of the cave.

Bruce just sat there. Thinking. Drowning in the echoes of the conversation. Feeling the shards of ice stabbing into him.

He didn't notice the presence behind his chair until a warm hand landed on his shoulder.

"You know none of that is on you, right?" Zatanna spoke, her words were just as warm as her hand. He pinched his brow with one hand and raised the other to grasp at her fingers.

It wasn't a secret marriage situation, no, but they had always been on-again-off-again until recently. More on than off these days. It was...nice. Bruce already had to sneak around with his other flings, trying to have some privacy, and Zatanna didn't mind the added secrecy. She understood better than most.

"I don't know what to do with them. It's getting so out of hand, Zee."

"I can think of something. A few things, actually." She said, smirking in that playful way she does when she's made big plans he doesn't know about. "Wanna stay with me for a while? Got some shows across Europe the next few months. We could use the vacation, sneak around a little less."

Bruce huffed a small laugh. Even despite his soured mood, she always knew how to get a laugh out of him. He turned in his chair and put his hands on her waist. "I thought you liked that part."

She chuckled and ran her fingers through his hair. "Oh, I do. I just also might turn those little birds of yours into actual birds if they don't knock their crap off."

"Fair's fair." Honestly, he wouldn't mind that one bit right about now.

She clicked her tongue and made a face. "I don't remember them learning this kind of cruelty from you. What the hell happened?"

"I don't know." It was true. He had no idea why they were so adamant to make him miserable forever like this. Why couldn't they just understand? "How soon can we go? I...don't want to stay here."

"Anytime. Right now sound good?" She suggested, leaning over him where he sat and staring straight into his eyes, wrapping her arms around his neck loosely. "You can bring your fancy case files, or we can drop them off with Barbara? Leave the little gremlins with something to do other than come looking for you until you get back?"

"Sounds good." Bruce murmured, leaning into her space and touching his forehead against her own. "Zanna?"

"Yes?"

"What if...what if I don't want to come back?"

"Then you don't have to." She smiled at him. God, he loved her smile. "And they can learn to deal with it."

But when some of the kids invite him out, he figures why not. He's almost prepared, he almost has everything ready to leave and train, to become Batman.

He tenses up a bit when they walk in the direction of Park Row, between shops, but no one else does so he forces himself to relax. Then there's a scream, blood curdling and coming from the alleyway.

He's running before he realises, towards the sound, the sound of Mother screaming, and he tumbles into the alleyway mere seconds after gunshots ring out.

Martha and Thomas Wayne lie on the ground, thrashing weakly, gripped by their death throes.

Bruce calls for them, racing forward, and the gunmen steps out of the shadows, muzzle aimed at the centre of his forehead.

He's frozen, hyperventilating, watching his parents die all over again out of the corner of his eye, focused on the gunman's finger compressing the trigger.

A shot rings out, he tenses, and a flag pops out of the end of the gun.

The theatre group spills out of the shadows, picking up their cast members, howling with laughter, jeering and hollering in Bruce's face.

He feels the tears spill down his cheeks, and turns tail and runs. Their cheers ring out behind him, and he runs through Gotham's streets, dodging pedestrians, pets, vehicles, when he spills into the road, and keeps running until he's tearing up the driveway to the manor, banging on the door for Alfred.

The butler opens the door, a reprimand on the tip of his tongue for Bruce's dishevelled state, but he's already pushing past, thundering up the stairs.

Bruce Wayne is not in his bed when the butler looks for him the next morning.

Bruce Wayne is labelled missing, and search parties comb Gotham for him.

Bruce Wayne is declared missing presumed dead, and the investigation is closed.

Bruce Wayne's manor is inhabited only by his butler, who failed in his charge to keep the boy safe.

Bruce Wayne's schoolmates don't tell anyone what they did, and swear each other to secrecy, mouths clamped shut as a procession moves through the school hallways.

Bruce Wayne is mourned by Gotham, their poster boy for tragedy stripped from them, an entire source of entertainment for the masses gone in an instant.

Bruce Wayne swings through the streets of France, and catches the attention of the local catburglar.

but Bruces kids who cannot stand these signs and fear them because Bruce cannot age past the Age he was when he adopted them/took them in because that means he's more than just a Myth he's less than Batman and they cannot deal with that and cannot handle the fact that he's getting older and might one day be too old or get to a point where he can't do things with them that they want and rely on him for and they just can't deal with the idea of one day not having him

Bruce who spends money on wrinkle removers and skin smoothers and who dyes his hair so that his kids don't have to see signs of age

For Bruce, aging shows that he is alive but for the kids aging shows that he is that much closer to death

Batman is stoic, Batman is crude, Batman is rude, Batman is struggling to breathe, laughing while grabbing Zatanna's elbow? What?

Hal is honestly offended at the sight.

Everyone in the Justice League knows B has a close relationship whit the members of the Dark wing of the team... For some reason. And neither Zatanna nor Constantine has a free enough calendar to just go hang around the Watchtower. Normally, if they're up there, it means work. But not today.

Apparently, Zatanna had been having a hard time while trying to make contact with the bat. And, in her words, "I refuse to call the brats for input on my man". Diana is the only one who doesn't look taken aback by her words.

"Your man?" Oliver gapes at her "The brats?"

Barry perks his head between the circle that is forming around the magician. "You know who Batman is?" Hal pushes him aside.

"... What is your relationship with him?"

Zatanna opens her mouth to speak, but quickly whips her head around as if called. Not a second later, the automatic doors open, and Batman steps inside, followed by a floating, beaming, Superman.

"YOU BITCH!!" Everyone freezes. Clark's eyes grow comically wide as the woman strides towards the pair, lifting her hand. Hal hisses, expecting a slap to hit across the bat's face.

Instead, her hand rises higher, and slaps one of the bat ears to the front, making the cowl tilt slightly to the side.

Batman just grumbles as he fixes the offended cover, just for the other ear to be slapped.

"Would you sto-?" Hal doesn't get the chance to digest how much higher and annoyed Batman's voice sounds.

"YOU LEFT WITHOUT A WARNING!"

"I WAS BUSY SAVING THE FUCKING PLANET!"

"YOU STOOD ME UP!!!"

"I DID NO- oh shit"

"OH SHIT INDEED, YOU BITCH!"

She's not stopping her assault to his cowl. Batman is now failing to stand straight, trying to prevent his cowl from moving too much and exposing himself.

"YOU. KNOW. HOW. HARD. IT. IS. FOR ME. TO. TAKE. TIME. OFF?!" Every word gets emphasized by a slap on the pointy ears, or his padded shoulder, or his cape when he tries to turn to cover. "I. MADE. TIME. FOR. YOU!!"

"Ok, stop, stop!! I'M SORRY! ZANNA STOP!!" Her hand freezes in the air.

She narrows her eyes to him.

"Can I make it up to you today?" She purses her lips, contemplative.

"Is Wing coming to town?"

"I... It's Saturday, so... Yes?"

"Then no"

"Oh, come on!"

"No! I can deal with Robin. He's manageable! But that hormonal douchebag-"

"ZANNA!!"

"... Sorry" her arms cross, and the ground seems to catch her attention while she avoids B's glare. "That was rude of me. I'm sorry"

"Don't apologize to me"

"Fiiiine. I'll tell the kid I'm SORRY."

"... So?"

"Ugh. Ok. For you!"

And he's fucking smiling!? "Great. I need to finish here and I'll be gone"

"Mind if I accompany you?"

"You might steal my pillow if I say no"

"Hell yeah, I will!!"