Bruce had intended to avoid it for as long as possible. He hadn’t known what he would say, how he would look into the eyes of the boy he once was and not feel every ounce of guilt and sorrow all over again.
But it was inevitable.
Cass knocked gently, then opened the door.
“He’s been asking for you,” she said softly, stepping aside.
Young Bruce stood in the doorway, small and uncertain. His sweater sleeves were too long. His shoes were a size too big. And his hair, soft and sleep mussed fell slightly over his eyes. He was hugging a worn stuffed animal to his chest. Something gray and floppy. It looked like a rabbit missing one ear. (I chose the most basic thing cause I don't think an owl plushie would go well with this TT)
Behind him stood the others, silent.
Older Bruce sat up slowly in the bed, the movement tugging on his still-healing wound. He winced but didn’t show it too much. Little Bruce froze when he saw him fully awake—eyes wide, mouth parted.
Then, with a hesitant step, he entered the room.
“Hi,” he said, voice cracking from hesitant excitement.
“Hi,” older Bruce replied, his voice low and warm.
“You’re me, aren’t you?”
There was no use pretending. No comfort in a lie.
“…Yes,” Bruce said, nodding slowly.
Little Bruce walked closer. His movements were careful, as if he was approaching something sacred or fragile. He climbed into the chair beside the bed and sat with his knees tucked up, watching the man he’d become.
“You’re taller than I thought,” he said thoughtfully.
Dick smiled faintly from where he stood by the doorway. Jason gave a quiet snort. Damian rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth twitched while tim and Cass let out a small giggle.
Little Bruce glanced around the room, clearly aware of the attention but too focused on the man in front of him.
“…Can I ask you a few questions?”
Bruce hesitated, then nodded. “Of course.”
“Do we ever go to space?”
Tim blinked. A soft laugh escaped him before he could stop it.
Bruce smiled. “Yes. More than once.”
Little Bruce’s eyes lit up. “Do we have a dog?”
Jason nodded. “Ace. A giant, sweet boy. Loves you the most.”
“Do we get to eat ice cream whenever we want?”
That made Dick grin. “You insist on it.”
The boy giggled softly.
The room warmed with the sound, just for a second. It was like a pocket of sunlight, tucked safely in the cold. The Batkids relaxed, even Bruce, his face softening for the first time in days.
Then came the fourth question.
The change was subtle, but immediate.
“…Does Father still hit us in the future?”
The air thinned. No one moved.
Little Bruce was still looking at older Bruce. His voice hadn’t changed. Still curious. Still open. He asked it the way a child might ask if it snowed every Christmas or if broccoli tasted better with cheese. But the silence that followed said everything.
Older Bruce didn’t speak at first. His hands clenched slowly on the bedsheet, knuckles paling.
“…No,” he said finally, and his voice had dropped, quieter now. “He doesn’t.”
Little Bruce looked relieved. “Good. It’s… hard to dodge when he’s tired.”
Jason’s breath hitched.
Dick stares with wide eyes and a shocked expression.
Cass’s hand slowly curled around the doorframe.
No one dared speak.
Tim looked away.
Damian’s jaw was tight. His hand had curled into a fist.
Then, softer:
“Can we eat as much as we want when we’re older?”
It was such an innocent question.
But it hit.
Hard.
Because for the first time, they noticed it—the hollowness in his cheeks, the way his sweater sagged at the shoulders, the thinness of his wrists.
He wasn’t just small.
He was underfed.
And none of them had seen it until now.
Bruce’s breath shook. “Yes,” he said, voice thick. “You can eat whatever you want. As much as you want, be it little or many. No one will hudge you.”
“Oh.” Little Bruce looked down at the rabbit in his arms, rubbing one thumb along the fraying stitching. “... That's nice..He says only greedy children ask for more then they receive.”
The boy finally looked up again, gaze locked onto older Bruce’s.
“…Do we make people proud someday?”
Bruce’s heart shattered.
He could see it now—all of it. How the child before him had been made to believe love was a reward, not a right. That obedience was the only path to safety. That silence was survival.
And yet he was still brave enough to ask.
Older Bruce swallowed hard.
“Yes,” he whispered. “You do. You make so many people proud. You save lives. You protect others. You become… someone they can love.”
Lies, they hate you.
“Even if I mess up?”
Bruce nodded. “Even then.”
The boy leaned forward slowly and pressed his head lightly against Bruce’s arm, careful of the bandages. The rabbit slipped from his fingers.
Older Bruce didn’t move.
He just looked at the child version of himself, the one who still had hope but didn’t know it yet and wanted so badly to reach through time and pull him out.
But all he could do now was offer the truth.
And maybe—maybe—start showing him that the future didn’t have to hurt as much as the past.
...
Little Bruce remained curled lightly against his older self, clutching his rabbit now not for comfort, but in protection. The older Bruce—tired, pale, still recovering—had one hand resting gently on his younger self’s back. His fingers trembled slightly.
The Batkids lingered in the room’s quiet corners, watching them with something like reverence. They had never seen Bruce like this. So open. So unguarded.
Jason had quietly lowered himself to sit near the bed, his arms folded, gaze lingering on the small boy protecting the man. Dick stood at the end of the bed, arms wrapping damian's shoulder in an attempt to comfort his brother . Tim had backed up to the wall, as though needing something solid to keep him standing. Cass sat on the windowsill, eyes fixed on the small hand pressed to older Bruce’s side.
No one dared interrupt, Until the door creaked. It opened with practiced precision. No knock. No announcement.
Thomas Wayne entered, adjusting the sleeves of his shirt, his coat draped loosely over one arm.
His eyes swept across the room, landing immediately on the figure in the bed.
Bruce.
Awake.
His gaze narrowed.
“…Well,” he muttered, his voice low and almost bitter. “So the sleeping mystery finally wakes.”
Older Bruce slowly sat straighter in bed, saying nothing at first. He did not flinch, but there was tension beneath the stillness. The pain in his gut tightened—but not from the wound.
“Hello, Father.”
Thomas crossed halfway into the room, pausing beside the dresser. His gaze flicked over the others.
“These are the people you arrived with” he says, eyes scanning over the Batkids without much care or curiosity. “Your entourage? Or… what? Henchmen?”
“They’re my children,” Bruce replied calmly.
Thomas stopped.
There was a pause—long, uncomfortable.
Then Thomas laughed. A dry, humorless thing.
“Children? Yours?” he scoffed. “You? What are you, thirty? Forty? What kind of life are you living?”
“They’re mine,” Bruce repeated, quieter now. “Not by blood. But they’re my sons. My daughter.”
Thomas’s lip curled faintly, like the idea itself offended him.
“I should’ve known,” he muttered, almost to himself. “Always had that reckless streak. Never followed the rules. Always doing things your way. Wild horse, just like your mother said. Now look at you—collecting children like strays in an alley.”
Jason stiffened.
Tim’s eyes narrowed.
Thomas kept going, voice sharper now. “You look like a brute. Covered in bruises. Scars. And you raise children? You raise them? Don’t make me laugh.”
Bruce’s jaw clenched—but he stayed seated.
“They’re better than I ever was,” he said, quiet and firm. “I didn’t get everything right. But I raised them with love.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“You? Love?” he spat. “You don’t even know what that word means. You probably parade them around like trophies and disappear when things get messy. Just like all the other men too cowardly to take real responsibility.”
And without warning—
A sharp crack sounded, The slap was sudden. Harsh. Loud.
Bruce’s head turned with the force of it, his cheek snapping red as pain exploded across his face. His healing body buckled forward slightly from the jolt.
The Batkids moved—
“Hey!”
“Don’t fucking touch him!”
"You bastard—"
But before anyone could leap forward, Little Bruce shoved himself between them.
He jumped onto the bed, arms out, body blocking his older self.
“FATHER, STOP!”
Thomas froze.
So did everyone else.
Little Bruce’s voice had cracked in pure panic—his small frame trembling, arms shaking as he stood between them.
“Why would you do that?” the boy gasped. “He didn’t even yell! He didn’t do anything! Why would you—why would you hit him?!”
And then it became heartbreakingly clear, The boy wasn’t trying to be brave.
He was scared.
He was trembling so hard his knees knocked together. His voice shook. But he didn’t move from his place between them.
The room had gone deadly silent.
Bruce—older Bruce—was breathing hard. Not from pain. Not even from the slap.
But from the sight of himself.
Six years old.
Trying to protect someone that was still practically a stranger. Because that’s what he thought love meant.
Protection. Defense. Sacrifice.
Jason stepped forward, his voice low and furious. “You hit him for saying he raised us?”
Thomas looked stunned but not apologetic.
He needed to hear it,” he snapped. “Look at him. A mess. Scarred. Walking around claiming to be a father. Clearly no one else has ever held him accountable—”
“That’s not your job anymore,” Dick bit out, voice cold and tight. “If it ever even was.”
Little Bruce was still standing on the bed, blocking older Bruce with his entire body. His arms had dropped slightly, but his face was pale and drawn.
He looked down at the man behind him.
“…Did he do that to us a lot?” he whispers quietly.
Older Bruce didn’t immediately answer, But his hand reached up and gently took the small hand in his own.
“No one will ever do it without reason again,” he whispered.
Little Bruce’s lip trembled.
Tim moved to his side slowly, crouching by the bed. “Come here, little guy. It’s okay now.”
Bruce didn’t let go of his older self’s hand. But he climbed down slowly, his feet hitting the floor like they were made of lead.
Thomas stood frozen in place, his mouth open but without a single excuse.
Martha stood in the doorway.
She’d seen everything. But she said nothing, not yet.
Only stepped into the room and moved straight to little Bruce. She knelt, gathered him in her arms, and whispered something only he could hear.
The child’s frame shuddered.
And Martha—her voice still calm—looked at Thomas over her son’s shoulder.
“Leave,” she said.
“Martha—”
“Leave, Thomas.”
Thomas backed away and let our a scoff as his eyes stray to Bruce on the bed "you ungrateful burden" before walking out the door.
Ps ps, before you go, please comment if you want more👉👈 it gives me motivation <33
Part 4! >:D
Sorry it took so long TT
Ps: I don't Stan the concept of dick being damian's parent so their relationship is more towards siblings ^^
Tho no hate to the ones that do like the father son relationship for dami and dink
Loving the idea of the batbros being so overly protective of each other especially Tim. specifically when he starts dating and the idea of him having sex or god forbid KISSING someone comes up. (As if he hasn't gone through like half of the young justice team) They are less than okay with it all..
Tim: Bruce I want to invite kon over for dinner is that okay?
Bruce: that's fine but is there any particular reason you're asking me instead of him just showing up like usual?
Tim: be wants a more formal 'meet the parents' dinner.
Bruce: oh? So you're dating?
Tim: ya, for a couple months now.
Bruce: well that's great I'm happy fo-
Jason from across the cave: WHAT?!?!
-----
Later that night at dinner
Jason, and dick staring daggers at kon
Bruce, surprisingly the most calm about all of this: so, how did this relationship come about?
Kon: it kinda just happened I think. We both liked each other for a while
Tim: ya I don't think we realized until the spin the bottle game tho
Dick*MAJOR SPIT TAKE*
Jason: YOU DEFILED MY BROTHER??!?
Kon, sweating, crying, throwing up:
Damian with his phone out: theres kryptonite in the second cabinet Todd!!!
There is now a video circulating of Bruce Wayne's kids attacking Lex Luthor's son and it creates such a huge scandal that in order to calm things down Kon and Tim have to announce their relationship so the public doesn't think these billionaires'families are going to kill each other. They get labeled as the romeo and Juliette of gotham/metropolis
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