New idea : time travel/magic where the Batkids actually see important events that shaped Bruce, feat. Alfred, and realise that Bruce is a cycle breaker who tries his best. - @superblyscentedflower
The spell seemed harmless enough, the batkids had returned in less then an hour. Bruce had panicked of course, he had began his search for them already (not that he would admit that), but they were unharmed.
Yet the kids seemed.. off.
They looked at Bruce like he was something to be pitied, like he was fragile.
"What's happened? Are you hurt?"
"I- No, no injuries."
"Good, good.." Bruce wondered if asking 'what happened' another time would be 'crossing another boundary', he decided he didn't want to risk it. If they wanted to tell him, they would come to him.. Probably.
"Let's go home, Alfred is just as worried as I am."
The kids stiffened, which would've gone unnoticed, but not by the world's greatest detective, not by batman, not by their dad.
The car ride was quiet and a bit tense, with looks being shared between the kids and then towards Bruce. Bruce has absolutely zero clue what happened for any of this to make sense but decides against prying.
They would come to him, they should come to him. But he can't help giving worried glances in the mirror, what has happened?
The kids stood up —after the dizzyness had faded and their vision had returned to normal— to check in on eachother and their surroundings.
They were at the manor, but something was off. It seemed too cold, too distant, too silent. Like no one had lived there in a long while and the only thing that suggested otherwise was the fact that everything was clean.
Not a spec of dust to be seen. Not a sound to be heard.
"Where... Are we?"
No one had an answer, it was the manor but.. it also wasn't.
"Shh, I hear something"
Scratching. And without communicating any more, the 7 of them moved in perfect unison. In perfect order, like a milatairy force if you will.
While they made their way towards the noise they could hear another, faint crying. Although they didn't really hear the crying itself, they heard the faint gasping for air.
The cries of a child who wasn't allowed to be heard. And maybe that hit some of them harder then the rest.
When the kids came close enough to identify where the noise came from —a cubboard— the noises stopped. Replaced by a hoarse voice,
"Alfred..?"
The kids weren't even near the door yet, how did this kid-
"I promise I won't run along the corrdors again, just let me out Alfred."
And while the safest choice was probably to back away slowely, Tim couldn't let this slide. So he made his way to the door, stopping in front & putting a hand on the expansive wood.
"We're not Alfred, little guy."
Tim could practicly hear the gears turning in the kid's head.
"Who are you?" The voice was not trembling anymore, but it was hoarse. Like he'd been screaming... Oh. Oh..
"We're just friends who want to help you," he wispered against the door, while his hand was testing the lock. "I'm going to open the door, okay? Get yourself out of the door's way."
He'd felt the door oppened inwards, and the lock was fairly easy to open, harder then the average lock, but he was done in under a minute.
The door opened and Tim stared at a little boy, no older then 10. He stepped back when he saw the icy blue eyes examining him.
He'd seen those before, they were in every portait in the manor.
"What are you doing with that boy?" A stern voice echoed down the hall and the boy flinched. Actually flinched.
Tim turned his head towards the new voice, the man was Alfred, but much younger and with eyes that looked 10x as old as their Alfred.
He oppened his mouth to form a response but before he could do so the blinding light returned and for a second they felt weightless.
When they felt solid ground under their feet again they nearly tumbled over.
"What the fuck was that about Red?" Jason asked, suprisingly calm for how he was feeling. He'd seen the expression on Tim's face when opening the door and he wasn't quite happy with what that implied.
"That.. I.. That was Bruce.." Tim mumbled, a feeling of familairity creeping its way into his chest. The kid'd had bloodied nails and red eyes from crying, that was nothing he expected Bruce to go through.
Jason was about to ask what he was on about when a child sneaked around the corner.
Oh. That was Bruce.
He looked around the same age as before, although he had a much different vibe about him. Where he'd looked scared and sad earlier, he now looked like he had accepted the situation and tried his best.
Jason expected the kid to see them and freeze, but he didn't. In fact the mini-Bruce didn't even seem to notice them.
The kid looked around to see if no one was watching and then hid some kind of snack or candybar inside a vase. And that's when Jason froze, because he remembered Bruce, his Bruce, letting him leave his hoarded food in places all around the manor.
Why did Bruce have to do that? He was a billionair, why was he hiding away food?
The kid turned towards them and ran. Not the other way, but towards them & before anybody could fully get out of his way he passed trough. Like a ghost Bruce ran trough them & down the hall, towards the stairs.
"..."
"What in the.."
Without another word they all followed the smaller version of their father. They watch as he hides a few more foods in various places around the manor, checking for somebody watching everytime.
Every single time Bruce revealed an hiding spot it was like Jason got punched in the stomach, most of those he'd used himself. They weren't original.
Someone used them for the exact same reason years before.
Once evening hit they waited for Alfred to call for dinner like he'd always had. But it never came.
They had seen Alfred walking around doing various chores, but not a sign that he was taking care of Bruce in any way.
The sun set. Nothing.
It neared midnight. Nothing.
1 in the morning. Nothing.
At 3 there was a change, Bruce came downstaires and grabbed something from behind a book.
The light returned and dissapeared, a lot quiker then last time. They also didn't feel as weightless or disorentated anymore. It was improving.. Whatever 'it' may be.
This time they didn't even get the chance to ask questions, there was yelling just on the other side of the wall.
"You do not get to fool around like this, young man!"
"This is my house, is it not!?"
"Master Bruce, you ruined the furniture with the stunt you just pulled, go outside and do not come back before you've calmed down!"
"Fine, I will! But not because you told me too"
The next thing the kids knew the door slammed shut.
And then the door locked.
"Wait, Alfred, what are you doing?"
"Outside is all the room for you to fool around in, I will let you in ones you've learned your lesson."
"Alfred, it's raining and it's already dark-"
But the older man was gone, the key hanging in front of the window. Teasing. Threatening.
Dick walked up to the door, placing a careful hand on the old wood at around the height Bruce's hand was aswell. But he passed through.
His hand passed through in the same way Bruce had done earlier. Like a ghost.
So he stepped through, sub-conciously still preparing for a thud but it didn't happen, instead he was standing behind the small version of his dad.
Bruce looked older, older then last time anyway.
It was cold, really cold. Too cold for Bruce to be outside without a hoodie. Not in the Gotham winter.
To Dick it feels like he's under-reacting to the fact that Alfred, their loving butler, just locked a child outside in the Gotham-winter-night. But there've been a lot of discoveries about Alfred and Bruce's childhood, could you even call it that? in the past.. it felt like days.
Bruce took a step back, not a single ounce of anger or sadness on his face. Just.. Acceptance.
'He accepted it? He accepted the fact that he might freeze here? Or starve? This boy looks like he hasn't aten in days!?'
And Bruce just sits down under the nearest tree. Cold, wet & hungry. Dick sat down next to him, arms around the little boy like Bruce, their Bruce, had done countless times to him. To them.
His siblings neared them, sat with them, trying to give the littlest bit of warmth to Bruce. The rain slowely turned into snow as they sat with him, not touching but hopefully close enough for the boy to feel the slightest bit loved.
12 hours. 47 minutes. 23 seconds.
In the snow, underneath a tree. Not a word spoken, just the quiet humming of a boy. A boy much too young.
And then the light returned, a bit sloppier this time.
They returned to the manor, the warmth welcomed with open arms.
At this point they knew the drill, although they really wished it'd be over soon. It's been about 24 hours, and the kids really can't stand how familiar the boy's face is.
"Master Bruce, don't you think you're being childish?"
No response, that's new.. Odd.
"Very well, suit yourself then."
Cassandra checked if they could touch stuff again, she could. Good, the last 12 hours where horrible.
And then they all saw Bruce, much older at this point but still young. Sitting at the end of a dinner table, no food, no people, just plates & cutlery.
And the silence Alfred left him with.
Speaking of Alfred, it didn't look like he could see them as he'd just walked past them without batting an eye.
They weren't sure if the residents could hear them and therefor stayed silent, comunication consisting of looks & nods.
They moved again, but as soon as they stepped in eyes view of Bruce the boy looked up, eyes wide, still silent, hand grabbing the first thing he could throw; a knife.
They all ducked, years of training seen in a fraction of a second.
But this kid hadn't gone to training yet, Bruce was way too young to have gone already. But the knife penetrated the wall behind them, moving a bit from the sudden stop & then staying there, halfway in the wall.
Bruce opened his mouth but there were no words, just the quiet breathing and his stance that indicated that he did not trust them.
"We're safe, we won't hurt you."
He seemed to relax a tiny bit, still on edge but not about to throw a fork anymore. Cass started making her way to his side, slowely, trying not to scare him or make any sudden movements. Kind off how you would aproach a scared cat.
"What's happened?"
No response,not verbal atleast, but the way his body tensed tells her enough. She slides over a notebook and a pen, which she carried with her in case she went non-verbal. Maybe in the back of her mind she also kept it in case someone else needed it.
"How can we help you?"
The boy's pale hand reaches for the papers carefully, checking for any chamge of mind before scribling down 'Just stay, please'.
She nods before passing the note down to Jason who eyes it suspiciously.
They could wait, it's not like they had much of a choice anyway. Whatever spell that had been, it's been quite clear what the point was.
The note made it full circle and landed back with Bruce who's blue eyes had followed the strangers with a suspicion that could rival Jason's.
"Would you like to tell us what happened?" Dick asked, pointing at Bruce but nothing in particulair.
The younger Bruce eyes them suspiciously before writing down a single word.
'Bullying'
"Almost forgot that'd happened.." Duke whispers somewhere at the end of the circle they'd created.
But before anyone could start comforting Bruce the blinding white light returned, for much longer and completely fucking up their balance.
As they returned to reality they all stumbled fir a bit, their balance gone to shit & the light had been much brighter this time.
They checked their surroundings and came to the conclusion that Bruce was no where to be seen and took the oppertunity to make conversation.
"Right. So, what the fuck's going on?" Jason exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air.
"This-" Duke huffed "This is Alfred?"
No one had an answer on either of those questions. It's not like they really wanted an answer, not really.
"You really haven't changed, have you, master Bruce?" Alfred's voice cut through the air like a bullet.
"Alfred please, I don't think I can handle this right now." That was 100% Bruce, he sounds much older & much more tired. Not yet The Tired Dad Voice(tm) though, they supposed that happened later.
"Always so emotional, master Bruce. You're home now."
"That's not the point, Alfred. They were my friends."
The kids all looked at eachother in unison, they all knew where this was going.
Bruce was sitting hunched over, head in his hands, clearly upset. If they could tell, why couldn't the older man who was standing behind him, cleaning some older-looking vase.
No one said anything after that, Alfred just finished up and left, leaving Bruce alone with his thoughts. Bad idea, especially if this was after his training-years.
Damian clearly remembered how supportive Bruce had been during the transition from the LoA to the manor, he'd been very understanding. He thought him slowely how to be a child, a son.
They carefully made their way around the corner, a lot more careful with the fact that sometimes they can get percieved.
But Bruce didn't seem to notice, not when they coughed either so they took the chance to gather around him. A cuddle-pile subconciously formed around their dad, they'd hugged the kid version, younger version and now they just needed to hug their dad.
When Bruce stared sniffing and hiccuping all of them tried their best not to cry with him, but when Damian started taking shuddering breaths they all broke.
How could have Alfred looked at their dad like this and leave him? How could Bruce give them the support he never got, even when he needed it most?
The white light was really flickery this time, and the only reason they didn't fall over was because they were holding eachother.
When they opened their eyes they stared right into the icy-blue eyes of Bruce. Smaller again..? So much younger. Why had they gone further back in time?
"Master Bruce. You can't let your education go to waste like this." His voice was raised. Alfred actually raised his voice, he did that?
"But Alfred, he made fun of my parents!"
"That is no excuse young man, one more call from the school and there'll be consequences." Bruce looked down, nodding his head.
"What was that?"
"Yes, Alfred.." Bruce's voice was barely above a whisper but Alfred looked too tired to fight the boy on it. "Go to bed, master Bruce."
Duke really wished he could punch Alfred, but he was physically unable, he also couldn't because it still felt wrong deep in his bones & he didn't think he'd win the fight.
His time at school after his parents' "death" wasn't exactly sunshine and rainbows either. He'd really struggled, he wanted to spent all his time looking for them, school wasn't the priority.
And Bruce'd had the same problem. Except he saw his parents die, he saw it happen. And now his only parental figure didn't understand, not realising the affects that can have.
The following transition of white light was really dim now, still disorientating but less blinding.
"You are doing what?" Alfred's voice was the closest to normal it had been in a while, the kids would sigh in relief if they weren't focused on the tone of his voice.
It was mocking, Alfred was mocking someone. Bruce probably, why would he-
"Dress as a bat and run around, fighting muggers?"
Oh. What the hell. They'd imagined this conversation plenty of times but witnessing it..
"Did you hit your head, master Bruce?" Alfred's voice seemed genuinly concerned, except for the way he said 'master Bruce' as a swear. Like it disgusted him in this moment
"I can't let anybody go through what I did, Alfred. You don't have to help me," Bruce inhaled, "But you can't stop me either."
Alfred really wasn't supportive of Batman, was he? They hoped it was mostly out of concern, please let it be out of concern.
Them it hit Steph, she also needed to prove herself to Bruce. It took a while and she hadn't been very happy with how dismissive he'd been in the beginning but..
He'd given her a chance.
Alfred had not.
Bruce had given her chances and time to prove herself, he'd been suspiciois —but really, who wouldn't have? Her dad was an enemy of Bruce— but she'd had a chance.
Then they were suddenly back in the open air, no light, no weightlessness, no dizzyness. Just a quick teleportation.
Green Latern had the alien —who'd cast the spell— in a ball, the magician furiously banging against the green orb.
As soon as Batman spotted the kids he ran walked over, barely containing the urge to hug them. Maybe when they were back at the cave, if they'd allow him.
Bruce turning into a kid again for whatever reason
And at first he is serious and scared bc duh who are this people and where are his parents? And batkids kinda expect that from Bruce
But what they didn’t expected was how quickly Bruce trust them and not only that, he is a ball of sunshine and rainbows
They thought mini Bruce would be more like as angry as Jason or reserved as Tim, even silent like Cass
But they never expect he turned into someone more similar to Dick, with tons of energy, talking and smiling a lot, except Bruce, at contrast of Dick, he seems very naive
And it so weird bc they had heard Alfred’s mentioning how troublesome and hard was raising Bruce, and it was easy to believe him since the concept of raising Batman does sounds very difficult, having a teen traveling the world and constantly fighting and so so angry, and on top of that going crime fighting on a bat costume
But this kid? He’s adorable, he talks more than any other kid about how much he adores his parents and his life and loves to play he is a hero like Zoro
Bruce as a kid isn’t even athletic as Dick was, so there’s not jumping between furniture or hanging on the chandeliers or climbing the bookshelves, Bruce just runs around and swings his stick pretending it’s a sword
People love to dismiss how impactful his parents death was, even when Bruce really took their trauma very seriously, in exchange some people seems they treat his as a joke “it had been years why you aren’t over it?” But seeing how much Bruce change it really kicks in
One thing is on Bruce parents death anniversary checking out on him and for expirience knowing how tragic it can be, but they didn’t change as much as Bruce did
Maybe they were kinda able to get over it, with just occasional flashbacks when they were triggered, because they had Bruce as a support system, but Bruce had Alfred, someone who complains how hard and difficult he is, so he has to come over it alone in a way
Only seeing it with their own eyes how drastic the change was, it makes them realize how good their father really is
Bruce objective was that they don’t turned like him, and he really succeeded, they are more capable of moving on and cope with their trauma, like if they had more tools to work with, ofc it affects them but in contrast Bruce tries very hard yet seems he will always be stuck in every traumatic event that happens to him
shane asks sveta to bring him back some soil from irinas grave
sure, it’s just soil, not her actual ashes or even her real gravestone (though sveta did consider chipping a corner off but ultimately decided against that)
and so shane brings the little pot of soil to his their cottage and plants a cherry tree that will blossom in the spring-summer time and be a place of beauty and peace for ilya to remember his mother
Shane and Bood are instant friends much to Ilya’s confusion. Zane comes in and starts talking to Shane like he’s been on the team for years. He tells Shane about the vacation he and Cassie went on and that he liked the photos Ilya had sent from their honeymoon. After their showers, Bood asks Shane what he thought of the AHL call ups at camp, particularly the defenseman from Edmonton who seems particularly promising. Shane doesn’t seem uncomfortable, so Ilya stays out of these structured conversations Zane is creating for them, and is pleased to hear Shane talk about him to Yuna over dinner that weekend.
By the next week, Shane is chatting with Zane as much as Ilya during practice, coming up with drills for the team to run through and nagging him about the way his left skate turns out when he’s shooting. Ilya is genuinely pleased even through his surprise when Shane mentions that they are going to babysit for Bood the next Tuesday so he can take Cassie out for a date night. Apparently they had worked it out at lunch. Wyatt had offered, but Lisa was working a double and would appreciate him home and paying attention to her that night, so Shane had suggested that he and Ilya do it.
Wyatt had worked his way into this dynamic at some point, gravitating over to Zane and Shane in the locker room for casual conversation and logistical discussions. Shane didn’t really know anything about superheroes, but Wyatt was totally cool with that and happy to explain, so Shane didn’t mind the detailed explanations about heroes and powers and comic books.
Ilya floats around, comfortably social as Captain once more without a secret life beyond hockey. He had hovered around Shane slightly the first week, but more often than not finds himself with Troy and Luca, only glancing at Shane for an occasional visual check in. Shane doesn’t like Troy yet and he hasn’t figured out how to talk to Luca without feeling like he’s gonna be asked for an autograph, so he waits for Ilya to break off and check on him throughout the day. When they get in the car to go home, Ilya gives Shane the full run down of everything that happened that day as Shane fills in any gaps he can.
They eat dinner on the couch with their legs tangled together. They suck each other off in the kitchen washing dishes. They shower together with Ilya’s lavender scented body wash. Shane reads in bed with Ilya’s head in his lap. They turn off the lamp and set an alarm. They fall asleep, one arm thrown across the other man’s hip. They’re in the same bed. In the same city. On the same team. And Shane is friends with Zane Boodram like they’ve played together for years.
Bruce asked, so quietly that at first he thought he hadn't actually spoken the question aloud. But Jason turned his head from where he was working at the bench in the cave, fixing up whatever broken gadget he had.
"What? What do you mean?"
"The insinuations. The 'jokes'. Why?"
There had been a...change, certainly, after Jason had come back from death. There were more over time, especially after they managed to explain his death away and bring him back to legally living status, through no small amount of headache and paperwork. That the wrong body had been identified in that explosion years ago, that Jason had actually been alive in a foreign country this entire time.
It wasn't perfect, but it had worked.
But then Jason had started a new, terrible habit, seemingly out of thin air one day.
These....jokes.
Bruce hesitated to call them that. He didn't find them funny. They never sounded like jokes at all. He thought even the Joker wouldn't find them amusing in the slightest. The League sure hadn't, either.
At first they had been hit or miss, strange little things that popped up every now and again in a conversation that derailed it entirely. They made Bruce incredibly uncomfortable, what these things implied, but most times they were laughed off easily enough by whatever audience happened to be in the room. Jason only ever made these comments around others. Never in private.
Bruce wanted to ask him to stop, to ask where the hell these things were coming from, but Jason always changed the conversation onto something else smoothly enough. Usually the audience was quick to want to change the topic as well. Bruce tried asking him in private, after the ones he'd been witness to, why he was making these comments. But Jason brushed him off every time.
Bruce had hoped it was just a strange coping mechanism, a trauma response that would fade with time. They had all been under so much stress recently, and now Jason was back...
And these moments had been few and far between, up until now. Something odd that would make Bruce's hairs stand on end whenever they happened, if he was even present for the episode at all. With some looks he'd been receiving lately from the JLA, he felt these comments were made without his presence more often than in.
Then, the most recent one...
Bruce took a deep breath. He hadn't been present to see this one, but he didn't need to in order to know how awful it was.
"Come on, B, you know they're not real--"
"Then why does it feel like you think they are?" Bruce asked, voice sharper now. Louder. "Nobody else takes them as a joke. They take any inclination of abuse seriously. So why do you think these are just jokes?"
"Seriously? Obviously, they're not real!" Jason chuckled and laughed it off, shaking his head. He continued to focus on the workbench but did gesture outwards with a screwdriver in hand. "Who would think they are? I bet it's just Clark overreacting again."
"Everyone." Bruce stated dully. He could hear the pindrop silence in the room. "Everyone took them seriously. Every single comment, every time. Especially the most recent one."
He'd felt the stares, the judgement. Curious and hesitating glances when he passed by. Some didn't know what to believe, other just needed ammunition to prove their own theories correct. Ammunition like this.
What the letter burning a hole through his pocket had entailed.
"Do you want your siblings taken away by CPS?"
"What? No, of course not!" Jason stopped, smile dropping and finally looking away from the workbench. "You know I don't trust those social worker idiots for shit!"
"Then why did you tell the League I was abusing you all?" Bruce was on the verge of shouting yet trying to keep his wavering voice steady, and god he wanted to crumble and scream out all the pain he felt but that wouldn't help anything. He just wanted to know why? "You know how hard I had to fight with social services just to become your guardian. So why would you ever fool around with any notions that I'm a bad parent, to any degree, when you know that risks your siblings being taken away? You being taken away?"
"I-I never--Fuck, it was just a damn joke! Besides it's not like everything has been sunshine and roses here anyway! You've had your moments."
"Maybe I'm not a perfect guardian, but I've done my best to keep you safe and give you what you needed. What you wanted." Bruce felt the edge of a breakdown approaching, starting to question every little choice he had made so far in his life. He knew he hadn't been perfect. He could have been better, been stronger. He still screamed himself hoarse from the nightmares of holding Jason's limp body in that goddamn dessert. "Do you not want to be here? Do you not want me to be your guardian? Is that it?"
"That's not--No, I never meant to--!?"
"Then why?"
Jason's eyes were wide with panic, scrambling for an answer. "I just thought...it didn't mean anything! It was just a harmless prank! I didn't think anyone would take it so seriously!?"
Harmless.
Bruce felt like an iron hot poker had burned away every nerve ending he had until the only thing left he could feel was static.
"And why do you think spreading rumors about me being abusive towards you all would ever be harmless?"
Bruce asked this so much more calmly than he felt.
He didn't get a reply.
----------------
"What the hell did you do?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake..."
Jason groaned, knowing another round of screaming was starting up. He'd hidden away in the farthest corner of the old part of the cave just for that very reason. Jason had already been yelled at by a couple of the others in quick succession once the news broke, but he knew those were milquetoast compared to whatever Dick had in store.
"What. Did. You. Do?"
"It was just a stupid shitty prank, alright!? God, you're all insufferable. It'll be cleared up soon anyway what with Babs losing her fuckin' mind over this."
"A prank!?" The shriek intoned in just such a way Jason had to yank his head in the opposite direction or risk getting deafened. "Jesus Christ, Jason, they're investigating him for some frankly heinous shit, and taking Damian away, probably Tim and Duke too. Cass only gets a pass because she's overseas and that's more of a paperwork matter than anything else. Is that what you wanted from this 'prank'?"
"Of course not! I just--It was just a stupid joke that got out of hand, that's all, it's not my fault the idiots in the League took everything so goddamn personally!"
Dick just stared back him, like he were in complete shock. His face was ghostly white, which popped quite unnaturally with his eyes as wide--and filled with disappointment--as they were.
A minute went by in silence. Jason thought Dick was gearing up to go on a psychological verbal knife-throwing spree tearing him down, piece by piece.
Then--
"He gave me my life back after my world fucking ended." Dick spoke, unnervingly quiet and calm. It sent a harsh wave of goosebumps over Jason's skin. "And if I recall correctly, he did the same for you. So I can't believe you would ever do something like this in return. As a 'joke'."
A wall of ice rose up around Jason, like he were being entombed in an iceberg.
Dick said nothing else and turned on his heel, disappearing in the opposite direction.
All of Bruce's League friends pull away from him - why wouldn't they, those are some pretty horrible allegations, none of them want to be friends with such a person. They even hold a meeting about kicking Batman off the team, voted for unanimously. They don't believe Dick's words because everyone knows he is loyal to Bruce like no one else. They don't believe Tim and Damian because they're young and impressionable. They could be just scared to speak the truth. They don't believe Barbara because she isn't part of the family and might not be privy to everything that goes on behind the doors. They don't believe Duke, as he hasn't been part of the family that long.
It's only when Jason himself, while holding the lasso of truth, says that he lied that they believe them. The weight of their disappointed stares will follow Jason for a long time.
Fic where Bruce is spelled and his thoughts become audible so everyone realises Bruce thinks they all secretly (/not-so-secretly) hate him and demand to know why.
"Why. Why would you think we hate you?
And they hear their own voices flash through Bruce's mind, insulting him, degrading him, everything that they said in the wake of Jason's death, the rejections, the times he fucked up massively and he can't imagine caring about him after that, physical fights, arguments, things to others he was never meant to overhear, and the entire room is in silence.
They're all either staring at each other or the floor, having just heard the terrible things hurled at their father by the ithers that they didn't know about, or are too ashamed to look at anyone.
20 year old Bruce in the watchtower watching 32 year old Barry (jokingly) get babied for being the youngest
Barry feels a strange compulsion to turn that onto Batman. He can't explain it, but Bruce finds himself being supplied with snacks whenever Barry is also hungry, the fidgets they conceeded on letting the speedster have in meetings also slid over to him, and mother-henning at hyperspeed whenever they get back from a mission.
Bruce is just blinking in confusion, he didn't think he did anything to give away his age.
Everyone else is also blinking in confusion, why is Barry mothering someone older than him?
Bruce, three seconds away from dropping a glass of champagne on the floor, dramatically slipping in the pieces, and falling into the lap of the senator they’re trying to get information out of in a bizarre, sleep-deprived, but likely wildly successful seduction attempt: can you just let me have this please
I fear it’s very beneficial for the people around Bruce Wayne to keep him as far away from inhibition lowering/truth serums as humanly possible cause if that man said a FRACTION of the depressing and self deprecating stuff he thinks about 24/7 out loud EVERYBODY is developing a drinking problem
Why...? Bruce had asked himself that very same question about a thousand times by now. Every time one of the League members gave him that look, the one of mild distaste and disappointment. Of disgust hidden beneath the shadows nestled in the corners of their faces.
He asked himself "Why?" every time he made a suggestion only for it to get overruled or ignored until they absolutely had to take the advice, and then he never got even so much as a "You were right, sorry," or a "Thanks for looking out for us." in return.
In fact, most times this happened, the League attributed the idea to one of their other members. Not Bruce. Never Bruce. If they ever even took his suggestion up front they would only do so quite reluctantly, and even then, it was a matter they did not linger on.
Needless to say, they kept their distance. Walked to the opposite side of the hallways whenever Bruce passed, pouring over the debrief files and paperwork. If he entered the mess hall for coffee, all noise sapped from it as all present members inside awkwardly adjusted to his oh-so-offensive presence.
He only grit his teeth, used to it by now, and carried on.
Sometimes, Bruce wondered if the sudden burst in noise after he'd left a room was because they were simply waiting for him to leave, or if something substantial had actually decided to be made the topic of conversation at that exact moment in time. If Bruce was said topic.
He knew what the answer was. He didn't have to sugarcoat it to himself.
He asked himself "Why?" every time, and then proceeded to ignore that question and the myriad of possible answers, burying the sour taste on his tongue behind his iron mask. He knew why. It was written all over their faces whenever they looked at him.
They thought he didn't belong here. He wasn't one of them. He had no powers of his own, just sheer determination, a fortunate plethora of useful resources, and more than a few mental illnesses fueling his desire to make this world a better place.
And something about that seemed to...scare them.
Or maybe it was more accurate to say that they were disappointed by it all. That someone who had the means but wasn't obligated to had chosen this path, rather than had some meta power thrust upon them and become obligated out of sheer responsibility, or some kind of birthright. Not that it couldn't be argued he had a form of birthright in and of itself (one could argue everyone on Earth did), but they clearly seemed to restrict Bruce's to Gotham.
Almost as if to say "It's your circus, you deal with it."
They were too stubborn to realize nor care where the funding for the Watchtower, and the League itself, mainly came from. Though he had heard in passing that they all assumed it was solely Oliver's doing, maybe a little from Ray. It could make sense until you did the math. Oliver didn't even have the capital anymore to fund half of what was required to keep everything running smoothly day-to-day. He gave up a sizable portion of his wealth a few years back and wasn't planning on regaining it, as far as Bruce was aware.
And Ray, being one of the nicer members who didn't look at him like he were a ticking time bomb--though still had eyes filled to the brim with concern besides the small kindness he showed, and was always trying to egg Bruce into a conversation about therapy--had only contributed minor amounts here and there. Most of his funding went towards medical programs across the country and sometimes abroad. It wasn't exclusive toward the League.
Not that they cared to figure that out. Oliver usually laughed it off uneasily, avoiding Bruce's gaze. Ray gave them all a strange look at any mention of funding, and usually clasped a gentle hand on Bruce's shoulder as if to comfort.
So hearing the words that Arthur just spat at him made a small flame inside of Bruce begin to burn into a raging wildfire, one long overdue.
Why are you even here, kid? Go home.
Why?
Why?
He could tell them why. List off every single thing they've done so far to ridicule and minimize his presence, rattle off every time he gave tactical advice that was ignored or reluctantly implemented without so much as an acknowledgement his way. Give them detailed records of every time they talked about him as if he wasn't even in the room, like they'd completely forgotten how diverse the security and surveillance on the tower was. Because they dropped all pretense of caring whenever it came to Bruce. Because being in his presence was such an offense to them.
He could do all of this. The boiling blood in his veins urged him to. He could set the record straight with a brutal tongue lashing, aimed right at Arthur and the four others standing idly behind him, giving Bruce their trademark stares.
But he wouldn't. He forced his heartbeat to calm and let the anger cool within him, the only visible give away for his anger the rolling close of his fingers into fists for exactly four seconds before he opened his palms and turned away.
Because, despite what the members of the League thought about him, or his place on this team, or how much they didn't want to admit they needed him-- the world needed the Justice League.
And he was going to make certain they were there for whatever future threats awaited them.
And then Bruce gets badly injured and is in a coma for a few weeks and suddenly they have a long bill for property damage that didn't pay itself magically like always and when they ask Oliver and Ray what's up with that they say well that was usually Bruce's thing to do and we don't really have the funds to pay it atm so the JL has to sit there awkwardly waiting for him to wake up as their bills mount 🙂↕️
Your "weird kid Bruce" headcanons are not weird enough. Staring at ants/other bugs is not weird. Climbing trees is not weird. Fascination with dinosaurs is not weird. Make him collect animal bones
Imagine one of those scenarios where the batkids are starting a prank war that low-key ends up being Bruce whump with how much they target him and make him miserable
Imagine this time it's Bruce that hasn't slept in days after a mission, and just when he manages to fall asleep in one of the couches in the living room of the manor with Ace by his side, a kid approaches him, ready to set up a prank that will wake him up, except Ace is there looking straight at the kid like, without growling or baring his teeth but with such intensity that it says: do it, I dare you.
And when the batkid leaves Ace just goes back to snuggling with Bruce so they can nap together ❤️
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