English isn't my native language; it's me and the translator against the world. This is just an idea that I'll probably end up using later, but until then...
Jason dies (as always). His ghost ends up in Amity Park, where he meets Team Phantom and they have many adventures, spend time together, become family, and are happy (not for long). Jay is pulled back into life, forgetting much of the time he spent as a ghost, and plots his revenge.
Team Phantom panics because Jason has disappeared, so they search for him (they've been through a lot, they've grown, even Dan has been redeemed alongside Vlad). Clockwork tells them he's found their Jason and shows them everything that's happened, everything that's changed.He's no longer the heroic little ghost, he's no longer sweet, nerdy, he doesn't even seem like the same Jason they knew. But Clockwork lets them see everything, not a summary, but everything that has happened, everything he has survived. The moments when they glimpse something of that boy they loved, they see how the corrupted ectoplasm alters his mind, amplifying every negative emotion and trauma. Clockwork shows them the future, how that confrontation will end, and the possible bad outcomes for Jason.
Because for his entire "family," things will be alright, they'll be happy, the world is safe, but they don't even notice their supposed brother.
They can go before the confrontation or after it; they can try to stop it or they can join him.
They decide to join him.
[Because Robin has magic, even in the worst moments, Robin kept them together when they felt they were losing them, because Robin is theirs]
They go to his world, they ambush him, mainly to forcibly remove that rotten ectoplasm.
When the Lazarus Water leaves his system, after he falls unconscious, the memories return.
These people aren't the enemy, they are his friends, his family, his…
None of them judge him for what happened, they just seem hurt that he suffered so much alone; he doesn't have to be alone anymore.
He has a team, he has to train them even more than before because Gotham is a cursed land, his world is cruel.
They come up with aliases based on fairy tales, just for fun. If Jason is Red Hood (Jazz made him a hood, even though it didn't match his usual style, but Jason simply couldn't refuse.)
Jazz is Siren. There's power in her words because she's liminal.; she's discovered she can compel people to tell the truth, persuasive. It's not mind control, but she can alter people's emotions. She's the group's spy.
Sam is simply "Witch." She harnesses her powers over plants, even donning green body paint like the Wicked Witch of the West. Of course, she has to go and stalk Poison Ivy. But she also incorporates details from various fairytale witches.
Tucker is "Mirror." Everything computer-related—hacking, tracking, controlling technology—is his forte. He'll put Oracle in a tight spot because he has her own power over technology. (When the others leave, they call him "Mirror, mirror on the wall, can you get me this information?" It amuses them and the children in the alley too.)
Dan decided to be "Beast" because he felt the character suited him—someone arrogant who has finally found his heart again and become human once more. He's much more terrifying to watch. He's the one who helps enforce the rules because he looks terrifying in his costume, but he's kind and a little clumsy with the children.
Ellie is the "Puss in Boots"—her chaotic manner and smooth talk distract everyone or lead them into traps and trouble (they considered Cheshire, but remembered the Mad Hatter and didn't want anyone to associate them together; Ellie is happy because she can wear ridiculous hats and more extravagant boots whenever she wants). She's the closest thing to "Robin" that Jason's heart could bear.
Vlad is the "Uncle Drosselmeyer," the only "real adult" who decided to buffer the group's madness. Besides infiltrating high society as if he'd always been there, what he actually does is deceive the rich with corrupt positions to steal from them and give back to the people.
Clockwork decided that although he can't appear there (and play alongside them), he can help them because he has no restrictions in Jason's world, so they call him their benefactor, "Mr. Grimm," who sends them information that can change the course of events.
(This is Dead on Main, but any other ship could work, just pick the Fenton you want to pair with Jason, hahaha)
Danny is "Hunter," Red Hood's partner, who supports him unconditionally even if their morals differ. Danny is there to back Jason up because when they became friends, Jason was the only ghost who helped Danny, so they know how to work as a team, they truly trusted each other; their feelings progressed from camaraderie to a deep friendship and finally to romance (it seemed like it had been a long time ago).
(If you decided to swap Jazz for Danny, Danny would be "Hamelin" or "Peter Pan," so Jazz has to be "Wolf" because there's already a Huntress. If it were Dan, he'd stay the same and say Jason is his "Belle"—in fact, he'd call him that all the time.)
Suddenly, the Bats will discover that Red Hood has more mysterious allies because every time they're about to capture him, a new vigilante appears.
These people don't seem to be as highly trained as Red Hood, but they have too many tricks that Red Hood can't outsmart. But as time goes on they will become more trained, they move as one and they are here to stay.
The revelation happens, not as Jason originally planned, but with each passing day he wonders if it's necessary, if he really wants to go back or know the answer, even though he already knows it. But he still gives it a chance.
It's him or me.
[A or B?]
[Because he took me away from you]
[Because you taught me that our lives mean something, our deaths mean something, so what do my life and my death mean? Why can't you choose me?]
[You never chose me]
Before the skin of his neck is damaged, there's a sudden movement. Red Hood, Jason, is no longer there, but the Joker's head rolls. The "hunter's" scythe was so fast, the Joker didn't even realize he was dead. There was no more laughter, no more crying. A smoke bomb filled the place, then there was an explosion.
When Bruce came out, he saw Red Hood. Jason, his son, looked at him with pain and betrayal.
"So you've made your decision, Bruce. Live with it now."
Jason put on the Red Hood helmet. Beside him, Hunter holds his blood-soaked scythe. In his other hand, he holds the Joker's head by the hair.
He can make out the other strangers on the rooftops farther away: Siren, Beast, Witch, and the youngest of the group, Puss in Boots.
They are in formation, waiting to see if they should protect their leader, if they should attack, if he will move.
Red Hood moves toward his own territory. Puss in Boots moves to his possible hiding place. Red Hood passes Beast, and when he reaches Siren, she goes with him.
Hunter and Beast stay behind.
“You turned your back on him,” Hunter said. “You were going to cut his throat, because of this.” He shook his head. “Even when we told him you’d never want him enough, he gave you a chance. We told him you’d do this. He’s that kind. But now he’s ours. We don’t plan on giving him back.” His voice was strange; he couldn’t see his face through the black helmet that matched Jason’s. The robotic voice, chosen to frighten, said, “I hope you’re satisfied with your decision.”
That was all he said before another explosion took him by surprise. The hunter and the beast were gone.
_____________
Of course, although Bruce wants to keep Red Hood's identity a secret, he only gets so far. The Batfamily discovers it through Mirror (as a small attack to sow discord within the group).
Jason's criminal group would also adopt fairytale character names because no one told them they couldn't name themselves after fairytale characters. Jason would arrive to discover that there are squads named after the seven dwarfs from Snow White (this is how they differentiate between those who agree with killing, those who don't want to, those who help with children, etc.). Some of the "working girls" are "fairy godmothers." The more trust there is between Red Hood and his lieutenants, the more likely it is that those people decided on a nickname, or someone gave them a nickname and it wasn't worth correcting them.
Jason left them alone with Team Phantom, and now they all have a bit of a fairytale about them.
Of course, this could lead to jealousy from the Batfamily.
Bruce also wants to blame these strangers for Jason's change because it's easier to shift that blame onto them.
They don't know the whole story, so they only have theories, the words of these "vigilantes" who aren't always trustworthy.
There would be many misunderstandings because every time they spy on Jason and his team, they'll only discover that there are two other people behind the scenes.
First, they'll discover "Uncle Drosselmeyer," thinking he's the true mastermind of the organization, the one who must be manipulating all these young people, until, through another misunderstanding, they'll discover the puppet master.
Mr. Grimm, as the one who brought them all together, their secret benefactor, "the one pulling the strings," who seems to be having a great time with all the chaos they create in the city.
Bruce might become desperate about Mr. Grimm, believing he's the one who brainwashed his son, someone worse than Ra's al Ghul. In fact, he doesn't even think Ra's had anything to do with it because, by the time of the reveal, Jason would have his blue eyes back since the Lazarus problem would have been fixed. So Bruce is silently going crazy trying to discover the identity of this "Mr. Grimm" who seems to control or know a lot about the world. Bruce won't discover until much, much later that it was Talia who threw Jason into the Lazarus Pit, but he'll still believe that Mr. Grimm is the one who brought Jason back to life.
By the time Damian arrives, it could happen in two ways: Damian might arrive at the mansion, or Jason might decide to bring Damian to his side.
If Damian stays with Jason, he would become the new Puss in Boots, and Ellie would be Cinderella. (I mean, one of Damian's Robin costumes already has the boots, plus what would help him loosen up more?)
Batman has Robin.
Red Hood has Puss in Boots.
Selina would be involved with Ellie in some way because of the cat theme.(because there's another vigilante out there with the cat thing, and she has to be there).
(Also, I can imagine Damian and Selina agreeing on caring for cats and other animals).
Damian would have this group of people he can't kill (because some are already dead, you're a little late, kid). They're so chaotic but healthy; they see this kid raised in a cult and say, "He's ours now."
Actually, see Tucker and Sam's arguments about eating meat or not as something similar to Batman's no-kill rule and the League of Assassins' ideology, before he changes to his own criteria. He'll come to the conclusion that neither is right nor wrong, and you can't force others to follow your moral rules.
In Dan, he'll find someone who, despite causing so much harm, was given a second chance because everyone deserves a second chance. He chose to change, to be kind, and to know when he can be cruel.
(Jaybin used what Bruce taught him—that everyone can change and be good—that's how he helped Dan not to hate himself, that he could still be good. So, in a way, this lesson would still reach Damian.)
Jazz is that almost maternal figure. It's not that Talia was bad, but she couldn't be gentle. Damian knows his mother loves him, but having an older sister is different, yet similar. Jazz doesn't use her powers on anyone in her family, not even Damian; she uses them to help people.
For some reason, Vlad's rigidity relaxes him; his food is good, they can talk, and even plot petty revenge against the rich together.
Ellie helps him become more like a child, because at first she tricks him into thinking it's part of the "Puss in Boots" charm—conniving, chaotic, but helpful to people. Then they become a pair causing chaos, and Damian enjoys it.
The difference between Robin and Puss in Boots is that Puss in Boots can kill if necessary to save his own life.
No more dead Robins.
Jason would end up allying himself with other "villains" through connections: Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Catwoman, Riddler, and Killer Croc. Their relationships range from being on his side to being merely neutral.
And that's all I have.
That Bruce is still searching for whoever stole Jason.
Jason has this whole team of vigilantes and his own alley crew who decided to give themselves names related to children's stories (they incapacitated the Mad Hatter so he couldn't ruin the idea).
He has his friends, family, and partner back, and they love him unconditionally.
The Bat-family is jealous, confused, indignant, and annoyed.
Clockwork would really bother Bruce and Tim.
Vlad would have a night out drinking with Harley, Pamela, and Selina because, although he loves his group of kids, they're a mess, and he doesn't know why he loves them and keeps taking care of them.
So...one day I thought "hmmm, what if we had another season about the bad timeline" and then I went to draw it.
Tip jar (my Ko-fi page)
Fanart Edits Fanfics Little interesting details
_________________ Cover___________________
Ep 1. Master Leonardo becomes Baby Blue once again
Ep 2. Can you carry your uncles?
Ep 3. Raph is dead. The good news is it's fixable
Ep 4. Your brain may be human, but your soul speaks in turtle
Ep 5. Mikey looks sixty, but he's not even forty. Donnie can do something about that
Ep 6. Krangified
Ep 7. How many cool points does your dad have?
Ep 8. You may not be human. You might actually be a turtle
Ep 9. Commander O'Neil
Ep 10. Tiny Tello
Ep 11. The little things
Ep 12. Everything is falling apart
Ep 13. You are in the past, your thoughts are in the future
Ep 14. Donatello
Ep 15. Raphael
Ep 16. And the two they left behind
Ep 17. You've got cuddles and hot water. Both are limitless
Ep 18. So many turtles
Ep 19. Find the Krang, stop the...wait..
Ep 20. The winter is long
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C.A.S. Animated project - Part 1 Part 2
Quick q&a:
Drawn in Procreate (mostly). Commissions are closed. Tcest dni. This whole comic is about family and platonic relationships. My youtube. Basic round brush. Page size: 1620×2160.
If you use my comic pages in your art (such as edits, redraws, etc) please credit me as their author and attach a link to this blog. Thank you:)
"It seems so weird looking at him giggling." Steph muttered, "But understandable too."
Jason kept on giggling as he texted his phone, having gotten the boy's number.
"Yeah, I would have kissed him in the mouth for having done Joker, but too bad Jason got to him first." Barbara sighed.
"By the way, you haven't said anything much, Damian." Tim looked to Damian, who was quietly reading a book.
"What else is there left to say?"
All of them were ignoring Dick and B arguing with a Jason who wasn't listening shit to them. Dick was defending Jason while Bruce was protesting about Jason going after a guy who killed Joker.
"What do you mean by that?" Steph looked at Damian, who sighed, as if it was common sense.
"Jason was given the head of his enemy, a fitting gift if one should want to court him." Damian replied.
PING!
All of them looked at their phones for the notification. Jason seemed to have posted something online.
Jason Todd: Does anyone have a good recommendation for a taxidermist?
"Jason!" Bruce scolded him.
"What? Was I just supposed to keep his head in a cooler?" Jason argued.
Almost immediately, there were multiple recommendations, and taxidermists jumped at the opportunity to taxidermy the Joker's head.
Many people also wanted to watch the process and clamoured for a live stream.
"Should I learn taxidermy, too?" Tim muttered, which made Steph snort.
"Tim!" Bruce scolded him next.
Then, Alfred came in with a display case.
"Master Jason, could I recommend using this glass dome to display the head?"
Many cheered when it was revealed. Damian approved of it as it was a beautiful glass case.
"Also, a package for you arrived." Alfred handed Jason a package with multiple 'fragile' marks stamped around the package.
Jason curiously inspected it and picked up the letter addressed to him.
Hey,
So. Uh. This is the heart.
I wasn’t sure if you wanted it, but since I already gave you the head, I thought it might feel incomplete without the rest. Not all the rest, obviously — just the important part. Well, I guess the second-most important part, after the head.
I put it in a jar of preservatives, but if you want to do something else with it, sorry.
Anyway, I thought maybe you'd want to do something with it. Bury it. Burn it. Play football with it. I don’t know. But the jar is really sturdy, and I tested it with a jackhammer.
I guess what I’m trying to say is… I remembered what he said when he thought I was you, and I didn’t like it.
So now he won’t anymore.
Hope this helps.
Danny
Jason just
Swoons
He buried his face in his hands and screamed into them. The others clamoured behind him to read what was in the letter, passing it around for everyone to read.
Steph whistles.
"That's the most awkwardly romantic thing I have ever seen."
Cass nudged Jason to open the package quickly. She looked up at him in anticipation.
Damian just plucked the package and opened it, revealing a heart sitting in a jar of preservatives. He held the heart high above his head to present it to everyone.
"Jason..." Dick sniffled, arms going around Jason tightly who for once let it happen.
Bruce looked at the scene and then sighed. He couldn't be angry at how relieved everyone felt upon Joker's death. He came up to Jason and reached out to squeeze Jason's shoulder. His son, who died at the hands of Joker.
He was so glad that he was able to see him grow up so big.
"I will be paying very handsomely to the taxidermist. You just have to choose who you feel is the best." He murmured.
Tim already stole his wallet from the back of his pocket to take out a card.
"We're using his BLACK CARD!!!" Tim yelled, presenting the card into the air.
Steph wrestled him for the card, and both of them dropped to the ground.
Alfred just side-stepped them to help Dick and Jason to screen for a good taxidermist.
Cass, Barbara, and Damian were just looking at the heart in awe, and they started discussing where the best place is to display both the heart and the head.
Bruce looked at his family. He supposes he should approve of Danny, as this was the first time in so long that everything was peaceful.
Jason was being held hostage by the Joker. He immediately wanted to kill him, but currently, he was in his civilian form, and he hated he couldn’t act on his urges.
The dude beside him who was kidnapped as well by accident bc some goons who weren’t aware that his identity as Jason Todd had been brought back from the dead thought that the twink was Jason Todd rather than a tank looking man.
Right now, the guy was being suicidal, taunting the Joker by saying that "he isn't a clown bc at least clowns are funny! Meanwhile, you're just a joke!"
He insulted, taunted and joked around, but then Jason noticed he tried to keep the attention on himself and not Jason, the 'main dish'.
Then, the guy taunted Joker even more by revealing that he removed his handcuffs and playing around with it.
Having enough, Joker lunged at the guy, infuriated, especially since he was being humilated live.
The guy, not expected it, stepped backwards and tripped on his chair. And along the way, accidentally decapitated the Joker that way.
It was unbelievably dumb and something you wouldn’t expect at all.
The guy reached out towards Joker, like he was scrambling to find balance as he tripped back on the chair. He fell backwards, his hands pulling on Joker's head while his feet were pushing Joker's body, accidentally severing Joker's head from his body.
Everyone in the warehouse and those watching live pause in disbelief. Not able to react.
The dude got up sheepishly, only to realise he was holding a head. He stared at the head, then the body, then the body.
"Uhhh...." He stammered before helping Jason out of his confines and handed him the head.
"For you?" The guy said, as if he doesn't even know why he was handing a random guy someone's decapitated head.
Jason clutched the head to his chest like a maiden clutching flowers given to her. He ignored the blood staining his clothes bc the blood only made it all real.
His nightmare had finally come to an end, and Joker died a humiliating death. Even B couldn't blame him for the absolute accidental death.
"Marry me." He breathed out.
The response he got was a pretty red face and sputtering by the guy.
Happy New Years Everyone! Hope everyone is having fun!
AU where Danny and Damien are brothers and this is only discovered because Danny entered a Damian Wayne look alike contest while vacationing in Gotham.
His parents adopted him as a baby and kinda just forgot they did. They still love Danny of course but Danny’s been with them so long they just forgot. Talia sent Danny away because he was a sickly baby with a weak heart. Danny grew out of the sickness as he got older and took some meds for his heart till the accident and then his heart didn’t need full operating capacity to survive.
The Wayne’s were live streaming the contest and placing bets on who is going to win and since Damian is supposed in school they think he skipped and entered himself in contest. They don’t know why Damian would do it and it doesn’t help that when Danny wins and the judges are wondering who he is he cheekily answers “Well I’m Damian Wayne of course.”
Eventually Damian gets home from school and the family is asking questions about the look alike contest he entered himself in and naturally “Why would I enter myself in such ridiculous things.” and heads off to do whatever.
Cue a race to the computer to figure out who the kid that looks exactly like Damian is and they find out it was Danny wearing contacts (he probably just made his eyes glow green but he has to tell people he wore contacts) but the resemblance is very uncanny and they also discover Danny is adopted. So for safe measures they find out where he’s staying and kinda illegally collect some DNA samples from his hotel room while Danny is out.
The test results come back positive that Danny is directly related to Bruce and Damian. Damian is surprised as hell as it was stressed that he was the heir to the league and no one else. Bruce is at a point where sure it’s a surprise but he’s not surprised something like this would happen.
Danny in the meantime is ecstatic that he got $300 for turning his eyes green and standing on a stage. He’s having the time of his life in Gotham with his $300 and suddenly Bruce Wayne is standing at his hotel room door and asking to do an official DNA test to see if they’re related. Danny thinks he’s the legit son of Fentons but Bruce is very insistent and offered to buy him lunch no matter the results. Danny decides to do it because free lunch with Bruce Wayne. He heads back to the hotel room and his parents come back later than evening and Danny’s like.
“Hey the funniest thing happened. Bruce Wayne asked me to take a DNA test to confirm whether or not I’m his biological son. Crazy right?”
And the Fenton parents “Wait, oh shit. Funny story Danny, we adopted you as a baby so that might be an actual possibility”
“Wait what???!!!??” And Danny spends the next 15 hours freaking out because there’s an actual chance he might be the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Damian Wayne’s brother.
Test comes back with positive results of course and the Fenton’s are invited to have Dinner with the Wayne’s. As many siblings as possible try to find a way to justify their presence at the dinner to meet their new little brother.
Damian would have mixed feelings on finding out he has a blood brother. It’s fantastic of course but it also riles up some old feelings about being the “blood son”. He’s curious about his brother, his twin brother, but he can’t help but feel threatened as his place as “blood son” This would’ve take place when they’re like 17 so it’s been at least 7 years since Damians been with Bruce so some of the league and inflated ego is gone but even if you unlearn somthing you can still find yourself falling back into bad habits.
Omg I love this!!
just imagining the dinner going! Trying not to be so awkward but how can it not when you have the eccentric Fentons and the Waynes.
Also like not only is Damian going through his own mixed feelings about having a twin but Danny is still wrapping his mind around that he is adopted and is son to THE Bruce Wayne! AND HE IS A FUCKING TWIN! Its a lot to take in. He feels like some zoo animal on display having so many eyes on him and yes they are definetly analyzing him. Hes squirming, uncomfortable and wants this evening to just end. Go back to what was his normal but nope! No can do! I can just see him excusing himself being done with dealing with Damian’s hostility. Also waaaaay to many questions he needs a breather.
as much as the concept of Jesus being a fairly normal lad has its charms, im personally very intrigued by the idea of him being just… extremely weird. not even in a mystical sense, just…….staggeringly BIZZARRE.
you go to the well to get some water, and here’s Miriam’s boy, staring at the sky, completely still. his expression is unreadable. you hazard a hello and ask how he’s doing, and he slowly, unblinkingly, lowers his gaze on you (he’s 8 and is missing his frontal teeth, not that this is making you any less uncomfortable) and says “I cannot speak of the state of my being, Nathan son of Saul, my brother, but rejoice for the water you shall take today will be as pure as the soul of the children of Heaven”
even funnier, the only person 100% on board with his Prophetic Kid Talk is his mother Miriam, an otherwise placid, absolutely normal woman around 25 or so
kid JC, coming home at twilight, a single white dove following him and chirping with weirdly human-like precision:
moth̫́er,̦͌ ̮̉i h͙̉av͔̽e ͓͗b̘̃r̞̓o̮͘u̲̒gh̟͒t̺́ you a do̗͐ṽ͙e̢͘ ͈̾m͒͢a͈̽dē̝ ỏ̘f ͈̓c̆͜l͔̂aỷ͇ aṋ̑d̳̿ g͢͞i̹̾fted̖͡ ̻͐it ͓͂w̖̿it̎͜h t̥̃h͙͒e ̨̒m̧̂i̡̍ŗ͒â̫cḷ̔è̤ ̛̻of̞̅ l̘̈i̛̦fè̳
Miriam: ! that’s my little boy :) now let’s go get ready for dinner :)
her husband Yosef, a carpenter who only marginally got signed up for this:
God I know you have a sense of humor because otherwise there’s no explanation for the platypus and I hope it extends to comics about baby cryptid Jesus
@bibooby Thank you so much for a Bowser request, I forgot how much I loved this big scaly brute. I hope this will suffice to scratch your Bowser itch. :]
Request: Anything with bowser/reader PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE okay more seriously maybe some situation where bowser gets in trouble/injured/sick and a reader had to deal with the aftermath of it... (bowser really really likes the reader who is somehow oblivious to it
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For all of a second, the world outside your kitchen window brightens as a blinding flash of lightening streaks across the ebony sky, casting its portentous glow over your garden and the rain-slicked cobblestones that wind their way up to your front door.
It’s the briefest snippet of time, where everything is lit up in an instance of monochrome, all black and white and grey like an old photograph, a vivid disparity to the glow that keeps you wrapped up inside your home, golden and warm and safe.
The dish you’ve been scrubbing slips from your fingers and lands in the sink with a cacophonous din, splashing warm, sudsy water all over the front of your apron, though you hardly pay any mind to the noise, or the water, too preoccupied with gaping out through the storm that rages beyond the window’s glass.
Because slumping up the stony path, towering over shrubs and dead-headed roses, is a monstrous figure, a silhouette of grey standing tall against the inky darkness of a tempest.
It moves like it’s hurt - slowly, drunkenly, stumbling forwards a pace or two before it manages to bring itself to a clumsy halt, then teeters sideways and starts the whole process over again on its sluggish journey towards your house.
In the next second, the shock leaks from your chest and you’re on the move, scrambling away from the sink and tossing the sponge aside as you go, hearing a wet thwap as it lands somewhere nearby. You make a mad dash for the hallway adjoining your kitchen, slippered feet skidding across the tiles as you charge around the corner and beeline straight for the front door.
Because you recognise that figure, even if only by the size alone.
You don’t know a great many people who are quite as large as him after all. Though what he’d be doing out in a squall like this at quarter to eleven at night is far beyond the scope of your imagination.
Already, you’re planning a lecture. One that’ll have to come after you’ve discovered why your impromptu visitor is moving like a lame dog.
Red flag number one.
Hardly pausing long enough to get a proper grip on the doorhandle, you twist it clumsily aside and shove.
It’s hardly opened wider than a hairline crack before the howling wind sneaks in behind the wood and nearly yanks the door from your grasp, and you have little choice but to go with it, letting the weather snatch it open and tug you out onto the porch step beyond.
All at once, you’re being pelted by ice-cold lashes of rain that sting at your cheeks and whip into your eyes before you can raise an arm, attempting to shield your face as you holler above the howling maelstrom, “Bowser!?”
The eerie mirror-shine of eyes appear in the darkness, catching the light that spills from your hallway and reflecting it back at you.
Then, your visitor takes another step forwards, bringing himself just within reach of the dim glow.
Suspicions confirmed, you release a sharp huff of air, and without considering your slippers or the puddles pooling steadily along your path, you hop right off the porch step and march towards the gargantuan koopa, driven more by worry than anything even close to irritation.
At the approach of your splashing footfalls, a massive, horned head lifts away from where he’d tucked it against his chest, and you don’t miss how that small movement looks to have taken far more effort than it should have.
In the middle of a stride, you flick your gaze rapidly up and down, cataloguing everything from the way his meaty hands clutch at his elbows with a fervour, to how the tail poking out from beneath his shell curls inwards around his leg.
Then the rain is taking over your lashes again, and you have to shake your head to clear them as you reach your friend’s side and let out a shout that blasts droplets of water off your lips. “What the Hell are you doing here!?”
In hindsight, you suppose you could have worded it more gently.
Bowser’s almighty chest wheezes out a thin, rattling breath as he instinctively pushes his nose towards you, eyelids thick and heavy. Yet even still, his muzzle manages to lift into a weary smile just at the sight of you.
“S’rry,” he wobbles out in a voice like churning gravel, blinking unevenly at the ground when you duck beneath one of his arms and hoist it across your shoulders, buckling under a metric ton of muscle, “Di’n’t… know wh’re else t’go….”
Red flag number two.
Far from the scaley power-house you’ve known for half a decade, now he’s trembling like a sapling in a hurricane.
It frightens you.
What happened to him?
Grunting with effort, you hold your tongue until you’ve cajoled him over the threshold and into the warmth of your home, stretching your leg backwards to kick the door shut behind you, at once muffling the noise of the storm that still rages on outside.
Then, and only then, do you finally offer your exasperated response. “Home!” you wheeze, manoeuvring the Koopa under the cramped doorframe into your living room and trying not to wince as chips of wood are scraped off by the spikes protruding from his shell, “You could have gone home. To your castle! To Kamek!? Instead of traipsing your sorry hide all the way here in the middle of the night, in a thunderstorm, no less!”
If you knew how little attention he’s paying to your apparent anger, and how much attention he’s paying to the softness of your body pressing up against his solid, leathery side, you’d probably be even more miffed. And rightly so.
Still, he at least catches the gist of what you’d said. He’d be a fool not to listen to your voice when you speak, even with a fever running rampant beneath his shell. It would be like plugging his ears to a beautiful aria.
“Can’t,” he mumbles through rubbery lips, vaguely aware of the fireplace you’ve stopped at, “S’con-… contay-jus…”
And there’s red flag number three.
Well, less of a red flag and more a blaring claxon.
“Contagious?” you parrot, extracting yourself from under Bowser’s arm and moving to stand below his chin, earning a reedy whine of protest from the King, “You’re sick?” And without waiting for permission, you reach up and press the back of your hand first to his leathery cheek, then to his forehead, pursing your lips at the heat radiating off his scales and missing the flutter of his eyelids as he nudges forwards into the touch.
“Stars…” you hiss, “You’re hot.”
When his drooping features struggle to lift into a very self-satisfied grin, you cluck your tongue and amend, “You’re running a fever, Shell-for-brains… And you say it’s infectious?”
Even in his addled state, he must have caught the frown that troubles your brows because he’s suddenly dipping his snout down to you and trying to whuff softly through fluttering nostrils.
“Koopas,” he croaks raggedly, halfway drunk on the bliss of your skin easing the heat out of his blistering face, “Only f’r Koopas… Wouldn’t… do that… t’you…”
As if you give half a damn about that, but his voice seems to wane with the last of his strength, and you barely have time to dart forwards, splaying your hands against the soft underside of his chest and giving him a solid shove until he sways upright again.
He blinks, flaming eyebrows crawling apart in something like surprise when he drops his nose and peers blearily down at the spot where your palms connect with his sternum, as if he’s mystified by the simple, steadying touch.
You, in the meantime, are a little distracted by the rainwater dripping steadily off his scutes, hair, and chin to form a slowly-growing puddle on your hearth.
“For goodness’ sake, you’re soaked right through…” Biting on your lip, you frown up at the very damp koopa shivering in front of you, and begin cobbling together the vaguest structure of a plan.
Right. You have a friend who’s… undeniably ill in your home. With something that only affects koopas, apparently. He’s quaking from the horns on his head to the tip of his tail. He’s far hotter to the touch than is typical for him, this in spite of being outside in the icy rain for an indeterminable amount of time… You don’t know all the ins and outs of koopa biology. But having one for a best friend has given you at least a little insight into the species.
And you don’t need to be an expert to recognise the signs of a fever when you see them.
“Okay, stay put. I’ll be back in a second,” you tell him urgently, giving him another once-over to make sure he’s adequately stable before you draw your hands away and turn to make a dash for the staircase at the opposite end of the room, leaving Bowser to peer after you in a daze.
Wait… His expression crumples as you disappear around the corner.
Where are you going?
Of its own accord, one of the King’s legs carries him forwards, and he stumbles heavily onto it, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut until the room around him stabilises once more. When he wrests his eyelids apart again, he’s standing at the foot of the staircase, his clawed hand crushing a finial that cracks and splinters under his grasp as he tries using it to haul his entire bodyweight up onto the first step, intent on following you.
Beneath the sluggish muddle of thoughts clomping around inside his skull, there’s a tiny inkling of coherency that’s berating him for showing weakness, for getting sick in the first place, for coming here – to your home – and letting you see him vulnerable and clumsy and as far from dignified as a king could possibly get. But that inkling is small, and lost easily under the tides of instinct and impulse, both of which were what led him here in the first place, seeking comfort in a familiar space with familiar smells and his most treasured friend who he knew would always open the door to let him in.
And now, you’re gone again, taking the majority of that comforting scent with you, and Bowser’s body is desperately attempting to track you down once more.
He slumps in palpable relief when you suddenly reappear at the top of the stairs like a vision descending from the heavens, with your arms engulfing a tower of blankets and towels that are stacked high to your chin.
“Thought I told you to stay put,” you say without a lick of heat behind your words as you navigate the steps, peering around your stack at the Koopa gazing up at you from below.
He simply rumbles a hum in the affirmative, giving you an adoring look that you easily chalk up to the fever running its course and leaving his head in a daze.
As you meet him at the foot of the stairs, you spare the briefest grimace at your ruined finial before squeezing past Bowser’s immense bulk and bumping your shoulder against his elbow, guiding him to turn with you, back towards the inviting hearth.
It’s easy enough to coax him after you, and you almost wish he was this biddable when he’s not running a fever. He seems inclined to follow you, at least, hovering a little too close as you dump your armful of blankets onto the floor and begin spreading them around, bunching some up and smoothing others out until you’ve made a decent enough little bed for him in front of the hearth.
Evidently, he finds it more than suitable, trying to step into it with an approving thrum from deep in his chest.
“Hold on, hold on!” you admonish him lightly, grabbing a towel from the mess and pushing yourself back to your feet, “Let’s dry you off a bit first. Then you can lay down.”
The Koopa’s shoulders sink as he snorts out a petulant huff, but all the same, he wavers obediently in place for you to start towelling him off, starting with what you can reach.
Your hands, comparatively tiny in just one of his own, scoop his palm up as you begin to gently glide the towel up and down the length of his hefty arm.
Something solid thuds on the ground behind him, a sound that you simply ignore… until it happens for a second time. And then a third.
You bring your ministrations to a brief pause, leaning sideways and glancing at the floor near Bowser’s feet, only for your brows to gradually creep back up your forehead when you make an… unexpected discovery.
In slow, sleepy motions, the Koopa’s yellow tail is lifting itself from the ground before slumping back down again, repetitively thumping at the carpet beneath him.
It seems you’ve found the source of the strange noise.
“Wow,” you observe, hesitantly returning to your task and sweeping the already-damp towel up the inside of his forearm, careful to brush lightly over his spiked wrist band, “You really must be out of it.”
You don’t think it needs to be said that he’s usually very controlled about wagging his tail.
Bowser just hums a distracted note in response and exhales hot air over the top of your head.
Worriedly, your chest bobs with a sigh as you hurry on to his next arm, stretching the towel up towards his shoulder before drawing it back down to his wrist and gathering water from the too-pale scales.
There’s a sudden, soft pressure on the crown of your head, and you flick your eyes up to find Bowser has pushed his snout into your hair, snuffling gently through his nose.
“Feel’s’nice,” he slurs, as if that’s explanation enough.
With a well-meaning roll of your eyes, you flip the towel over to its drier side and step back, stifling a tiny smile at how his head suddenly dips at the unexpected loss of his chin-rest.
“All right, plop yourself down here,” you tell him, gesturing at the pile of blankets that are slowly gathering warmth by the fireside, “And I’ll dry your-“
A heavy ‘whumph!’ shakes the paintings hung on your walls as the King drops like a two-ton boulder onto his front, shoving a colossal lungful of air through his parted lips.
“… - hair,” you finish flatly.
Dull, doleful eyes turn up to peer at you, and one of Bowser’s hands untucks from his chest, creeping towards you and delicately curling around the back of your ankle, giving it a light tug.
It’s a silent, entirely unsubtle request. One you oblige without much hesitation.
“Okay, okay,” you tell the impatient Koopa when he begins to paw at you in earnest, lowering yourself down in front of him on crossed legs and bending forwards to take one of his horns in each hand, “C’mon. Up here.”
Churring out a lazy rumble, Bowser allows you to guide his head into your lap with only a little effort on his part. He settles contentedly, his nose pressed to the soft roll of your belly, and his eyes slipping shut as he exhales a warm breath over the hem of your shirt.
Placing the towel between his horns, you begin to gently rub at his sopping-wet mane.
“So,” you huff by way of conversation, “Can I ask you something?”
Bowser’s voice is low and rich, buzzing through you when he responds with a blissful, “Anythin’…”
For just a moment, the word gives you pause, but you eventually purse your lips and dismiss his excess sappiness as a symptom of his affliction. “Want to tell me why you thought it was a good idea – if you’re already sick – to walk all the way through a storm to get here? You’ll give yourself pneumonia if you aren’t careful…”
As soon as you voice the possibility into existence, you bite down on the inside of your cheek and try to envision the contents of your medical cabinet…
Bowser only grumbles a noise into your stomach whilst you card your fingers through his tousled strands, working water to their tips so they can be soaked up by the towel.
“Honestly,” you admonish after a minute of oppressive silence, unaccustomed to your larger-than-life friend being so still and quiet, “Why you didn’t just hole up in your room ‘til the infection passes… or y'know, go to an actual healer, is beyond me.” Distractedly, you use your free hand to thumb at the furrow between his brows until the line softens. “Not that it isn’t great to see you. And you know you're always welcome here-"
The Koopa’s mouth tilts up into a wan smile at that, at least until you add, “-but this wasn’t one of your better ideas.” Not to mention that seeing him in this state has effectively frightened the life out of you…
But saying as much out loud might be a little too familiar, even among friends, so you keep the admission tucked away behind your tongue, in safer waters.
Heaving out a very unapologetic grunt, Bowser burrows his snout even more firmly into your stomach and mutters, “W’s missin’ you…”
Ah, well... So much for too familiar.
You resist the urge to blurt out a fond laugh, privately flattered that the great King of Koopas would admit to something so sentimental, feverish or not.
“It’s only been a few weeks since karaoke night,” you point out.
“Long enough,” he grumbles, rolling his weight forwards slightly and purring out, “N’you’re safe…”
You blink. It takes you a moment to realise he’s offering another excuse for his being here.
“Safe?” you echo, leaning over to reach down the back of his thick, muscular neck and drying the scales just beneath the lip of his cumbersome shell, “Of course I’m safe. This isn’t exactly a dangerous place to live.”
Due in no small part to Bowser making sure of the fact before he even allowed you to step foot on the island, let alone build yourself a home out here. It took you months to reassure the nearby village of Toads that, no, Bowser would not be burning their homes to ash if they so much as looked at you the wrong way. Took even longer to get the Koopa himself to promise you he wouldn’t.
Did he really drag himself out here in a thunderstorm to check that you’re safe? When a simple letter would have sufficed?
Idiot…
An idiot who’s loyal to his friends though, you’ll give him that.
But in your lap, Bowser is quick to roll his head gingerly from side to side and lets out a contradicting huff in response.
Apparently, you’ve misunderstood something.
“…Trust ya,” he presses insistently, peeling apart his crust-coated eyelids to gaze up at your downturned face, “Yer safe…. Kamek knows… J’nr knows…. Y’r safe… One of’us…”
One of-….
And suddenly, it clicks.
The hand you’d been smoothing over the top of his skull goes very still.
… Oh.
Swallowing thickly, you meet his eye, and though the fire is dimmed by fever, his typical sincerity is still there, blazing away behind a glassy sheen.
It makes… sense? You suppose.
He’s sick. And although he’d rather die than admit it, he’s vulnerable. He left the fortress to protect his fellow koopas, and came to the only place he could think of where he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d be safe…
He came to you…
You're safe...
It’s a humbling thing to realise.
Absently, you sweep a thumb up and down his temple, pulled from your thoughts when you register the heat pulsing there.
Right… Not out of the woods just yet.
Heaving a sigh, you drop the towel and scoot backwards, sliding Bowser’s chin from your legs, much to his chagrin.
“All right, stay here,” you tell him, rising to your feet and stepping deftly over the paw that tries to recapture your ankle, “I’ll be in kitchen. If I have it my way, you’ll be sweating this fever out tonight. And you’re gonna need to keep your fluids up when you do… And try to stay put this time!”
Bowser tries to say something, but his eyelids fall shut, and when he finds the strength to pry them open again, you’re sliding down in front of him once more, setting a glass of water on the floor behind you and pressing something under his nose that immediately overwhelms his nostrils with the potent scent of boiled ginger.
Tea… he registers dimly, inhaling an enormous swathe of gingery steam into his train-carriage chest. You’ve made him tea…
Not for the first time, he wonders if now would be the right moment to finally ask for your hand in marriage…. Oh, but he left the ring in his bedroom… Damn.
“Hhh. Love you,” he urgently rasps instead, the words getting lost around the rim of the cup as you tip it forwards, letting him take a tiny sip that immediately tingles in his throat, “Love you… s’much…”
“Yeah, I love you too, Big guy,” you tell him innocently, drawing the cup away and laying a cold, damp cloth across his forehead to draw the fever out. He shudders at its presence, but then he settles, blinking with a scrunch of his eyes for a few seconds before drowsily gaping up at you, his pupils blown wide in apparent wonder.
“Y’mean it?” he whispers hoarsely.
Quirking your lips at him, you hedge, “Of course?”
You don’t expect the vast Koopa to so suddenly peel his head from the blankets, shove himself forwards and drop his chin heavily into your lap once more, grunting like it had taken all of his remaining strength to do so. His eyes are squeezed shut, and the blankets behind him rustle as his tail swishes from side to side across the fabric. “Oh, tha’s… good,” he gushes reverently through an exhale, like you’ve just told him the greatest news of his life, a trembling smile pushing at his pallid cheeks, “Been so worried… ‘bout tellin’ ya…”
Bemused - and confused - you angle your head to one side and squint down at him, a small, awkward smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “I’m… sorry?”
“Not’ch’yer fault,” comes his weary reply. He sounds seconds away from falling into a dead sleep. “Di’n’t wanna scare ya…”
“Bowser? I think you’re delirious, you’re not making any-“
“Y’re best thing’s’ever happun’d t’me…”
“… Now I’m sure that’s not true,” you try to dismiss, reapplying the cold cloth and daubing gently at his temples.
“Love you,” he repeats stubbornly, with startling resolve. And as if it wasn’t getting hard enough to refute his conviction… “Loved you s’nce th’day I saw ya…”
… Ah…
“Is… is that right?” you swallow a little breathlessly, staring into the flames dancing and twisting behind his shell as if you’re trapped in a mystified daze.
You feel him give a pathetic nod, then the resonance of his hum pitches through your stomach like a roll of thunder. “Mhm…”
Oh, Bowser…
He starts to say something else, but you hush him softly, pressing the cloth over each of his eyes and wiping the crust away with gentle motions. "You need to sleep," you whisper through a tight throat, "You'll feel more like yourself in the morning..."
You're curious to know if he'll remember what he's just said to you... If he'll think it bears repeating....
In your heart of hearts, you really hope he does.
"I... c'n stay?"
Like he even needs to ask...
Heart wedged uncomfortably in your neck, you lean down, and after settling the flutter of nerves that pulses against your sternum, you finally lay the ghost of a kiss to the very tip of his snout.
At the feather-light touch, his entire body jolts from the force of a sudden rumbling purr that’s kicked out of his chest.
You’re… not so certain that this is all just the fever talking anymore.
Danny is in Gotham (yes, that Gotham, different universe, long story) to finish his education before moving on with his life—or afterlife—and eventually ascending to High King status. It’s a good reveal AU. He still has his parents. He still has his friends. Clockwork just strongly suggested that if he wanted to rule the Infinite Realms one day, maybe he should get some cross-dimensional academic experience first.
So now he’s here.
The problem? Everyone is rich. Not “my dad owns a company” rich. More like “we have generational trauma and private islands” rich. Danny tries being friendly. Smiles. Makes conversation. Offers help with homework. It does absolutely nothing. These people only care about connections.
Which would be funny—if it weren’t so isolating—because they have no idea he is, objectively, the single most powerful networking opportunity in the multiverse.
So yeah. He’s a little lonely.
Enter Damian.
One of Damian’s brothers (who will not be named but absolutely thinks he’s hilarious) jokes that Damian has never had a normal civilian friendship in his life. That if he had to, he wouldn’t even know where to start. He offhandedly gestures at Danny like, there, that one looks harmless.
It’s a joke.
Unfortunately, Damian takes it as a challenge.
Not because Danny is a “target.” He isn’t. Damian just fully decides he will prove he can form a normal, healthy, civilian friendship. Out of spite.
There are misunderstandings, but somehow, despite everything, they start… getting along.
And Damian, internally victorious, decides to present Danny to his family as evidence that he can, in fact, maintain a normal friendship.
Danny is delightful.
He charms Alfred. He debates with Tim. He listens to Bruce. He somehow gets Jason to laugh. He and Dick vibe immediately. He treats Damian like an equal without even trying.
I was laughing at this so hard but now I’m crying reading the end! 😭
Thank you so much! This is exactly what I needed. The art is fantastic and hilarious! Aizawa holding Danny as he claws him is definitely my favorite! (That’s legit what happened!! 😂)! They’re all so funny!
Hold my appointments, I will be staring at this for the next several days, thank you. And truly thank you so much for the message at the end. I feel so sappy for saying this cause I don’t know you, but I feel like I do. With every comment I learn about you and now this.
You have gone above and beyond for me with the only intention of making me feel better. Thank you 🥹💚
Edit: I JUST NOTICED THE COOKIES ARE ON THE TABLE!!!!
Bruce has been pressured by Dick and Tim to try and put himself out there romantically. After multiple failed attempts, he wants to give up, but he meets a certain forensic investigator who changes his mind.
W/C: 6.8k
Tags/Warnings: reader doesn't show up til well into the story so sorry about that! slight ooc but I tried to not let it be too much, fluff!, slow burn ish, insecurities about dating (bruce), incorrect forensic science info, bruce is also like early 40s in this and reader is late 30s (trust that's important to note), lmk if I forgot anything!
Notes: finally finished this!!!! I got back into my sims 4 phase + my dance practice schedule started to ramp up so ive been neglecting my writing </3 dividers by @cafekitsune
“Honestly, I get kind of sad looking at you,” Dick mentions offhandedly during one of the rare shared rides in the Batmobile. Through the car’s intensely tinted windows, the Gotham night lights faintly illuminating Dick’s face.
Bruce simply scoffs, his eyes stay put on the road. Dick begins to hum to himself, ignoring Bruce’s silence.
He taps his fingers on the car door to the tune of whatever generic pop song is stuck in his head, which begins to annoy Bruce.
He states his name in a warning tone, “Dick. Stop.” Dick heaves out a heavy, dramatic sigh.
“I don’t mean it in a bad way. You’re you! That’s great! We all need to be ourselves!” Dick turns towards Bruce, who, despite only the bottom half of his face showing, looks visibly annoyed.
He continues speaking, ignoring Bruce’s annoyance, “But…maybe…you should be putting yourself out there more…” His voice drifts off at the end as he looks off into the distance.
Bruce just sighs as he continues focusing on the road.
Dick looks back over at him, but only for a quick second before snapping his head back towards the car window.
He opens his mouth to add on, but Bruce stops him, “I’m fine. You shouldn’t worry about me. That won’t help you.”
Dick sighs but ultimately lets go of it.
At least openly.
Dick: Bruce is sad and I can’t take it so we need to find him at the very least, a hook up
bbldrizzy: ew
Dick: Tim please, you’ve seen him
I didn’t know it was possible to be that lonely
bbldrizzy: he has us
kind of
Dick: Yeah, okay…….
Dick looks back over at Bruce, trying to gauge anything out of him. He knows Bruce isn’t good at relationships, but that’s never stopped anyone.
Dick and Tim sit side by side in Bruce’s main office. Damian sits in the corner— there solely to make fun of the two of them. Tim stares intently at the laptop screen as Dick flips through miscellaneous newspaper articles.
From his lax position on a chair in the corner, Damian quips, “You two are worrying too much over this. Father will be fine. He’s not a good boyfriend, oh well.”
Dick rolls his eyes and speaks to Damian from over his shoulder, “He could be, he’s just like scared or something. We just need the right person.” Damian nods slowly and just resorts to his book.
Tim perks up, “What about her? She owns some huge law firm thing, he would like that, right?” Dick scoots over to him and inspects the screen in front of him.
A page about a woman, Julianne Watts, is pulled up on the screen. She’s well accomplished and has her own non-profit organization; Bruce would definitely have at least a good conversation.
Dick slowly nods his head, and a smirk begins to appear on his face. He turns to Tim, who has a similar look on his face.
“Good job, Drake. Good work… but I dunno, I think my candidate is better.”
Tim scoffs at this and shoves his shoulder, “You asshole, who’d you find?”
Dick leans over to grab a news article he found. Tim grabs it out of his hand and holds it out in front of him. He reads it out loud:
“Naomi Evergreen,” Tim interrupts himself, “another lawyer, real original.” Dick rolls his eyes, and Tim continues, “She works with troubled youth in Bludhaven.”
Tim looks over at Dick with an annoyed look, “Dick, that’s boring.”
Dick lets out an offended noise, “It’s similar to yours! Okay, here.” He turns towards Damian.
Damian immediately responds, “Nope.”
“Okay, no. You need to choose. For a first date, which one should he go with?” Dick motions to the two articles.
Damian rolls his eyes, “You’re talking about them like they’re objects.”
Dick and Tim go silent at this.
They look at each other, then towards Damian.
Dick speaks up, “If you choose mine, then I’ll take you to the animal shelter.”
Bruce stands in front of a full-length mirror with Dick by his side. “This is stupid. How does she even know me?” He turns towards Dick, who is pretending to help him freshen up.
“She runs some like a non-profit and wants your approval on it ‘cause that’ll boost it! You love doing good things like that!” He brushes the imaginary specks of dust off of Bruce’s shoulders, “Plus, it’ll make you look good!”
Bruce raises his brow, “So I’m doing this for publicity? I don’t know, Dick…”
Dick panics for a second, “No! It’s fine! You’ll be fine! It’ll be fun, I promise.” He stands next to Bruce and clasps his hands together, a big (forced) smile on his face, “Batman can do anything! Right?”
It’s hard to have a good date when your young adult sons are pretending to be bartenders and keep awkwardly staring at you.
It’s also hard to have a good date when you didn’t even know it was a date to begin with.
Bruce liked Naomi; he liked her smile, the way her passion bled through her words, and how she genuinely seemed like someone who wanted better for Bludhaven.
The only problem neither Dick nor Tim realized: She was nearly 20 years younger than him.
Dick must have skipped the part that mentioned she had graduated from high school early and was one of the youngest students in Gotham to be admitted into their law school.
Not his fault!
You can’t be a great detective all the time!
Bruce didn’t seem to mind; to be fair, he wasn’t even aware this was supposed to be a date.
His voice comes out in a practiced smoothness when he compliments her, “I admire your ambition. My son is similar to you; you’ve probably seen. I could set you up with him for a meeting. I’m sure he’d love to discuss these topics.”
Naomi blushed slightly before letting out an embarrassed laugh, “Oh, I’m not sure. He’s the one who put me on this date with you. I feel it would be awkward to go to him now.”
Bruce’s eyebrow shoots up, “He what?”
He looks over and spots a bartender who looks eerily similar to Dick standing next to another bartender who, frankly, looks too young to even be behind that counter.
Bruce exhales a small laugh and shakes his head, “My son is definitely someone to do that. You said he set this up as a date?”
Naomi’s embarrassment skyrockets, “I’m sorry! I thought you knew! He had reached out to me, stating Bruce Wayne wanted to meet and discuss my plans over dinner! Then he added that you–or he–said it was a date!”
Bruce nods slowly and turns his head back towards the counter where, mysteriously, the two men (boys) had disappeared.
He apologizes to Naomi and reiterates that he does genuinely see potential in her, and he would love to have a real meeting about her plans.
She leaves, but not before nearly fangirling over Bruce giving her a small peck on the back of her hand.
“Y’know, I told her that she should probably try to get a date with you. She’s closer to your age anyway.” Bruce states in a teasing tone.
Dick and Tim are sitting on the couch in the library, both are overly embarrassed about what happened. Dick sits with his hands covering his eyes, and Tim’s face is fully planted into one of the throw pillows.
“So why’d you do that?” He grabs a chair and drags it over to be seated in front of them. It almost looks as if he’s interrogating him, which isn’t far from reality.
“I’m honestly asking; why did you set me up on a date with a girl who’s younger than you?” He points at Dick, who is now slowly dragging his hands down his face.
The two boys look up at him, their faces a mixture of fear and curiosity.
Bruce takes a deep breath before laughing, “You two are something else, you know that?” The two boys smile at his positive reaction, but they’re quickly cut off by his next sentence.
“You’re both grounded for two weeks.” He looks at Tim, “No video games,” then at both of them, “and only supervised patrols.”
They both shoot up, but Bruce has already begun to make his way towards the door to the library.
They both protest over one another.
“Supervised patrols?! I don’t even live here!”
“You can’t take away my video games, you tried, and last time it didn’t work!”
Bruce simply tunes them out as he leaves.
They both stand there in shock, but Dick quickly composes himself and thinks of a plan.
“Okay, okay, fine.” He begins to pace back and forth. “Sure, we’re grounded. You more than me.”
“Hey!” Tim lets out in offense.
“But I’m not giving up.” He stands in front of Tim, “What if we gave him an ultimatum?”
Dick and Tim stand behind Bruce’s monitor with their hands outstretched, literally.
Tim sighs dramatically, “Bruce, you literally don’t get it.”
Without looking away from the screen, Bruce answers, “You’re right, I don’t, because it’s not a big deal.”
He pushes away from the desk to look them both in the eyes, “I understand why you boys are doing this, I really do, but I’m fine. I told you, worrying about me won’t make you better.”
Dick groans, “If not for you, then for us! We need entertainment! When I come and visit, I want to hear exciting things, not that Tim failed a math test that he cheated on.”
Tim’s face appears offended, but he quickly changes topics, “Just hear us out. We’re grounded for the next two weeks, cool, whatever. How about, during that time, if we can find you a true date that you at least go on a second date with, you can’t ground us for the next three months.”
Bruce’s eyes retreat to his monitor, and the room is silent for a moment besides the tapping on his keyboard.
“What’s in it for me?”
Dick smirks, “A date, duh! And…”
He looks at Tim, who has no clue what he’s thinking.
“I’ll get Jay to come over for dinner. Willingly.”
Jayemi Crawford was among the many socialites that Bruce had been surrounded by his entire life. He never liked her and her family’s gouache displays of wealth (and that’s coming from him).
The Crawford family had an unconventional rise to fame, but once they got a taste, they never looked back. Her mother was a world-renowned supermodel, and her father was a highly respectable journalist.
Bruce wonders where it all went wrong with her.
They sit across from each other over a meal that costs triple the waiters’ salaries combined and then some. Jayemi had been non-stop talking about…something. Bruce wasn’t too sure.
“Okay, so, yeah, so okay. It’s not my fault that Dad basically told everyone that he was going bankrupt! Just because I’m 32 years old does not mean that I have to stop interacting with gossip articles!”
Bruce just hums, disengaged.
Completely oblivious to this, she continues.
He doesn’t mean to be rude; he really doesn’t. But he couldn't care less about the drama that goes on around Gotham. He sees enough of the bad side; he doesn’t need to know about the annoying side.
For the first date, he let Dick and Tim send him on a wild card.
Looking at it now, he’d prefer going on a date with Clark.
When his brain comes back to Earth, he realizes she’s still on the same topic. Something about her family going bankrupt, but she’s not?
“That sounds like a difficult situation, Jayemi.” He delivers in a monotonous tone.
“I know, right? Those assholes! Anyways, I’m probably boring you, aren’t I?” She looks up at him through her lashes.
He hides his grimace and offers a small, simple (fake) smile, “Not at all. How’s your meal?”
She smiles brightly, “Sooo good.” She bites her lip before speaking; her eyes now have a certain sparkle in them.
“Do you know another meal that would taste so good?”
Dick and Tim scream-laugh at Bruce’s retelling of the date. Bruce sits in the chair, visibly embarrassed, but also slightly amused by their reactions.
Bruce grumbles out, “It’s not that funny.”
Dick wipes the tears from his eyes, “Oh, trust me, big guy, it’s funny.” He continues giggling through his next sentence, “At least you have the wild card out of the way!”
Bruce rolls his eyes, “Yeah, and now I have James Crawford calling me and asking me if I’m going to marry his daughter.”
The two laugh harder at this, and Tim nearly falls off the couch.
Bruce shakes his head, and if you look close enough, you can see the faintest smile.
He sighs heavily, “So, what now? I have tabloids talking about the date, and I really don’t want to be known for that for the next two weeks.”
Tim and Dick take deep breaths to calm their breathing and look at each other for guidance.
Without saying a word, Dick crosses the room to the computer and pulls up a local politician’s portfolio.
Bruce hovers over his shoulder and reads the profile carefully.
“She sounds intelligent.” His sentence drifts off.
Before any of them can confirm a date, Alfred enters the room with news for Bruce.
“Master Bruce, you are needed at Gotham’s Forensic Center. A case came in that they’re unsure of.”
Tim perks up, “Is Robin needed?”
Bruce begins to answer, but is cut off by Alfred, “They need all the help they can get. Bring Master Dick along as well.”
Dick and Tim smile at each other, while Bruce groans.
Bruce shows up with Tim and Dick, who are overly excited just to see gory body parts.
Secretly, they knew why Alfred had made them come with him: to meet the new forensic investigator. Someone Bruce hadn’t met yet, but trust, she was on the boy’s radar.
The head investigator walks up to the three of them, “Batman,” he turns to Dick and Tim, “Nightwing, Robin.” They all nod back at him.
“I asked for your assistance on this because I’m not sure this is even human.”
Bruce looks at Dick and Tim with a questioning look, which they reciprocate. Bruce steps up in front of the two, “Show it to me.”
The investigator leads him through the halls to a lab, occupied by only one other investigator.
When Bruce steps into the room, his eyes immediately lock on her figure.
She sits at a desk with her tongue slightly poking out due to intense concentration. She goes back and forth between staring at the specimen and typing on the computer.
The multitasking…
The concentration…
Her eyes…
“Hello? Batman?”
She snaps her fingers in front of his face, which causes Dick and Tim to try to suppress their snickers.
Bruce clears his throat, but she introduces herself before he can answer, “I’ve been told that you would have some intel on what this…thing could possibly be.”
She guides the three of them over to her desk and directs Bruce to look through the microscope. The room falls into a comfortable silence as Bruce takes his time.
In the midst of Bruce’s short investigation, Tim sparks up a conversation, “So, how old are you?”
Her eyebrows crease in confusion, and Dick snaps his head towards him.
Dick speaks before Tim can explain himself, “I’m sorry.” He grips Tim’s shoulder, tightening his hand with every word, “What he meant to ask was how long have you been in this for?”
Tim pushes Dick’s hand off of his shoulder, mouthing: “Ow, asshole.”
She breathes a laugh out of her nose, “It’s fine, it’s been about 15 years now. I was a PI at first, but I was always interested in the hands-on side, one could say.”
She leans over Bruce’s shoulder, “I guess I’m not the only one who finds it interesting.”
Bruce backs off from the microscope and looks at her, “Comes with the job; You’re right, this is weird.” He picks up the petri dish and slowly turns it, “Would you mind if I took a sample to do my own prodding?”
She smirks, “You think I can’t do it on my own?”
Bruce tries to answer quickly, but she just laughs.
She says through light laughter, “I’m kidding, Bats. Let me see if I can get you clearance.”
She reaches into her bag and pulls out a card. She holds it in between her fingers, and Bruce reaches out for it. He inspects it closely and realizes it’s her business card.
He appreciates the details of the card. The paper was nice and sturdy, with gold lettering adorning the cream color. Only someone serious about their profession would have a business card this nice.
Or at least, that’s what Bruce told himself.
Because it’s not weird to get lost in how detailed someone’s business card is.
“It has my number if you want to meet to discuss the contents of the subject. Is that okay?”
He looks up at her and clears his throat, “Yes, thank you. I’ll be keeping in contact.”
He reaches his hand out for a handshake, although it’s more awkward than he meant. She just laughs at his sudden awkwardness and shakes his hand.
She speaks, still holding onto his hand, “Thank you. It’s honestly an honor to work with a detective as great as you.”
Dick and Tim’s eyebrows shoot up, and they look at each other, then back at the interaction.
Bruce continues slowly shaking her hand and simply nods at her words.
He lets go and lets out a low “Let’s go” towards Dick and Tim.
As they enter the Batmobile, Bruce’s phone rings, and he reads the contact name:
Tory Banks
He says quietly to himself, “Shit, I forgot about that.”
Bruce sits at a table by himself, the candlelight offering a soft glow to his face. He thought he was going to be late, so he got there a little too early.
Tory didn’t seem to mind when she arrived. Her voice comes out low yet still bright, “I should’ve expected Mr. Bruce Wayne to be early to our date.”
He breathes out a laugh and goes to give her a modest hug, “I wouldn’t miss this for the world. Please, sit.”
He pulls out her seat and guides her. He sits across from her, and a faint smile naturally appears on his face. He has hope for this date.
The night starts incredibly; she genuinely amuses Bruce, and he’s relieved he can actually relate to her problems. His smile grows slightly, and he lets out modest laughs now and then.
She leans closer to him over the table, “So, tell me. Why is Bruce Wayne on a date with me? I admire your work, but why me?” This causes Bruce to sit up straight, and his face shifts into a contemplative expression
He slowly speaks, “I…My sons want me to put myself out there. I begrudgingly agreed with them.” She laughs.
“I know how it is, my sons will try to convince me to do anything. My youngest convinced me to unground them, and I didn’t even realize it!” Bruce earnestly laughs as she throws her hands up in defeat.
Bruce adds, “I just grounded them for something stupid, and the younger one already found where I put his game console thing.” He sighs heavily, “To be fair, he did warn me.”
They both laugh together, and Tory sighs, “It’s nice to go on a date with someone who can relate to what I’m going through.”
Bruce nods slowly, and his mind begins to work faster than his emotions can keep up with.
“Relate to what I’m going through.”
It’s in that moment when Bruce remembers that a big aspect of her mayoral campaign is to reveal Batman and his intentions.
She’s a wonderful woman, and he hasn’t had a conversation like this in who knows how long. But he can’t date someone like her.
She can’t relate to him, and if she found out, she would hate him. She can’t run for mayor while also knowing he’s Batman. He doubts she would change her mind for him.
Though he knows deep down that isn’t the only reason.
He can’t help but think of the investigator he met earlier that day.
There was something about her.
“Bruce?”
He’s knocked out of his thoughts when her hand reaches for his. He looks down to see her soft hand lying on top of his calloused one.
He states softly, “I’m sorry, my mind wandered.”
She just smiles softly, “It’s alright.”
She thinks for a moment, “Can I ask you something?”
Bruce nods, and she sits up, “If we go further with this,” She motions in between the two of them, “do you think you could help me figure out who Batman is?” Bruce is caught off guard by her question.
She continues, “I know there’s been rumors of you knowing who he is or even being him.” She laughs at that, “But, I mean, with your resources, I think we really could track him down.”
Her smile remains on her face as Bruce’s slowly fades from his face. Bruce thinks for a moment before answering. He tries to think of an appropriate response.
He lowly states, “I think that should be the least of your worries. Batman helps with the crime in Gotham and remains an inspiration for those who feel alone. I feel to try and get rid of him would be you announcing how you view those ‘lesser than’ in Gotham.”
It’s her turn to be caught off guard. Her eyebrows rise, and her tone rises, “Oh, well… That’s not what I expected.” She laughs in disbelief.
Bruce clears his throat and raises his hand to call over the waiter. He turns back to her, “I appreciate this date, but I don’t think this is going to work out.”
Tim stands with his arms crossed behind Bruce, who’s sulking at the computer. Bruce won’t show it openly, but he is disappointed the date went south so quickly.
Dick stands next to Bruce; he notices his solemn attitude, but doesn’t mention it. Tim leans on Bruce’s chair, “I mean, it’s okay, big guy. You can’t win everyone over.”
Bruce huffs.
Footsteps echo through the cave, and Dick and Tim turn to see Alfred approaching them. He nods at the two boys and goes to stand next to Bruce, “Master Bruce, I know you’re busy sulking, but there’s a call for you. I don’t know how you didn’t notice it.”
Bruce turns his head and notices his phone buzzing. He looks at Alfred, who’s smirking, then reaches for the phone.
Alfred looks over at the boys who are looking at each other, smiling. Dick turns to look at Alfred and mouths, “Is it that girl?”
Alfred simply nods.
Bruce answers the call in a gruff tone, “Hello?”
A bright, recognizable voice speaks, “Hey, Mr. Wayne! I’m Y/N, a Forensic Investigator down at Gotham’s Forensic Center.” She laughs lightly, “I know this is so random, but I received an anonymous tip that you had found out what the subject is?” He can hear her clicking her pen in the background.
Bruce straightens his back, “Yes, I-”
His hand snaps to Alfred and glares at him.
Alfred simply shrugs and leaves.
Dick and Tim smirk at this, and Bruce snaps his head towards them. They take the hint and follow Alfred out.
He gets up from his chair and begins to pace. He speaks while walking across the platform, “No, you’re fine. I had a friend of mine look at it, and it’s definitely not from our world. Its chemical structure is nothing like what we’ve seen on Earth, but the good news is that it doesn’t look harmful.”
He hears her sigh from over the phone, “That’s good. I was worried about how I was going to explain to my boss that we have a violent alien bug thing on our hands.”
He breathes out a laugh, “Well, you don’t need to worry now. If you’d like, you can come by this evening so I can show you the file I’ve created for it.”
She giggles lightly, “You’re so much more organized than me. That’s probably why you’re a CEO billionaire, and I’m a rookie Forensic Scientist Detective thing.”
She can hear his faint smile through his words, “Trust me, you do more than you realize.”
She stands outside Wayne Manor, the strong wooden doors looming over her. She goes to knock on the door, but they open before her fist meets the wood.
Alfred stands in the doorway and angles his body to invite her in, “Welcome. Master Bruce should be with you shortly.” She thanks him, and he speaks lowly to her, a smirk present on his face, “I must warn you, for whatever reason, he’s a nervous wreck.”
She laughs as Alfred smiles at her, then walks off.
Bruce appears shortly after. He’s dressed in a casual long-sleeve button-up and slacks. There’s not a hair out of place, but his sweaty hands betray him by revealing his nervousness.
He extends his hand to her, and she takes it (without mentioning his sweaty palms).
Her sweet voice is a contrast to the dark interior of the manor. “It’s incredible to meet you, Mr. Wayne. I didn’t know you worked with Batman, so this’ll probably make this easier. It’s hard to work with someone who only works past 6 p.m.”
She laughs, and he shakes his head, “It definitely must be a little annoying.”
He motions for her to follow him, and he continues speaking. “I mentioned on the phone, but the subject appears to be bacteria from a foreign planet. The best comparison my colleague could make was that it’s similar to a cold virus here.”
Her eyes grow wide, “But I thought you said it wasn’t harmless? I don’t want to start an alien pandemic!”
He shakes his head and pushes a door open, “Don’t worry, he tested it and found that it dies almost immediately when met with our immune system.”
They walk into his office, and there’s a file pulled up on his monitor. She stares at it in awe, “Wow, you really went all in on this.”
He smirks, “I wasn’t gonna let you do this on your own. You have to make a good first impression, right?”
She looks at him and nods slowly, “Yeah, totally.”
Her gaze turns to admire the room she’s in; it’s way nicer than her home office. She admires the intricate wood designs and the bookshelves that have to be as old as the manor.
“It’s so beautiful in here, and this is just the office.”
He turns around and smiles at her admiration.
He moves to stand next to her. He reaches out and grabs a book covered in dust, “It was my father’s office. I use it for my big cases and such.”
She giggles, “So you have other offices you use for your other Wayne duties?”
He smiles softly, “I’m organized.”
She laughs and looks at the book in his hands. In white lettering, it reads: A Farewell to Arms.
She lets out a soft gasp, “Oh wow…”
She reaches out, “May I?”
He nods and hands it to her, their hands brushing.
She holds it as if it’s a newborn, “This is my favorite book…” She speaks in a hushed tone, “I remember reading it in high school, and I was pleasantly shocked when I truly enjoyed it.”
He smiles tenderly at her reaction.
She gently flips through the pages and provides Bruce with her commentary.
Bruce falls into a comfortable silence, occasionally offering a short hum to her commentary.
He could live like this.
He wouldn’t mind going on a-
“Okay! We found a date that you will not be disappointed with!”
They both snap their heads to Dick and Tim, suddenly barging in as if they own the place.
The boys stop when they notice the moment they just walked into. Dick apologetically looks at the two of them, “Sorry, B. Didn’t mean to uh…interrupt.”
Bruce rolls his eyes, “It’s fine, we were just wrapping up.”
Tim snickers and says to himself, “Heh, wrapping up.”
Dick looks at him unimpressed, but continues speaking, “Well, if you’re curious, we just got another date for you. What! Isn’t that like awesome?”
He walks over to Bruce and wraps his arm around his shoulder, “Aren’t we the best sons you could’ve asked for?” Bruce grumbles, but from his other side, he hears his newfound crush giggling at Dick’s antics.
She hands the book back to Bruce, a teasing smirk evident on her face, “Well, you better get ready for your big date, Mr. Wayne.”
She turns to leave, but then turns back towards Bruce, “Thank you for your help, genuinely. I thought I was a lost cause with this.”
Dick and Tim told him this one was going to be good.
He doesn’t know why this is when he finally listens to them.
It’s been about 15 minutes, and neither has said a word. She sits across from him with her nose to her phone. Bruce doesn’t know if she’s avoiding him or just doing work.
He clears his throat, “Uhm…So, I saw your organization is in the south helping families recover from hurricane season. That’s admirable.”
Without looking up, she offers a curt, “Thank you.”
He nods slowly and surveys the surrounding area. He notices other couples laughing and talking.
He watches one specific table; there’s a lady who looks somewhat like his new infatuation, and the man looks like a (mentally) healthier version of him.
A faint smile forms on his lips as he continues to gaze at them.
He doesn’t mean to, but he imagines what life would be like with her. It’s rude to fantasize about another woman while he’s on a date, but he’s not even sure this woman has looked him in the eye yet.
The woman’s head falls back slightly at the man's joke. Bruce wonders if she would laugh that hard at his jokes. He has an unorthodox sense of humor, but he doesn’t think she’d mind.
He hasn’t seen her long enough to gauge her sense of humor, but he feels she would at least brighten his mood. That’s all he could ask for.
“Excuse me, Mr. Wayne?”
His head snaps back to see her, an unimpressed look on her face. “Look, Bruce, I also didn’t want to be here, but at least tell me instead of oggling at other women.”
His eyes widen, and he clears his throat, “I’m sorry, Dr. Cameron. I didn’t mean for it to come off like that at all. But, if we both don’t want to be here, then…”
His sentence trails off as she rolls her eyes, “Is there someone else on your mind?”
He sighs, and she takes that as her answer.
She gets up from her seat, and he follows suit.
She looks him in the eyes when she speaks, “I feel no malice towards you for tonight.” She faintly smiles, “I hope all goes well for you.”
The batcomputer is the only thing illuminating the otherwise dingy cave. The light blue light cascades over Bruce’s hardened face.
There’s nothing new on the computer, only the case he’s recently been working on. He stares at it as if that’ll clear his mind.
Nothing has changed with the case recently; the subject has been neutralized, but a small part of him wishes something would happen.
If something happened, then he would at least be able to hear her voice for a moment.
It’s been a few days since he last saw her and since that last date. It’s not a long time, but to have a crush on someone, one hour feels like too long to be away.
His eyes dart back and forth between the computer and his phone. He could call and see if she has had any revelations on her part, but he bets against it.
He sighs heavily and sinks into his chair. He drags his hands over his eyes, and a low groan comes out of him.
He gets up and begrudgingly makes his way back to the manor, but he doesn’t notice that he left his phone.
He also doesn’t hear the quiet ding! that rings out from his phone.
Hey, Bruce! It’s me, sorry if this is too random, but I was wondering if I’d be able to come over and discuss this new case I’ve taken on?
Damian stands over Bruce, who’s lying out on the couch. He stares at Bruce as if he’s an alien creature.
“Father.”
He pokes his head.
“Father.”
He pokes his head again, no response.
He waits for a moment…
“Father.”
This continues for at least another thirty seconds before Bruce slowly opens his eyes. There’s a frown on his face as he looks at his son’s face.
He doesn’t get a chance to question anything because Damian immediately begins speaking, “Your friend is here.”
Bruce’s eyes widen, and he sits up, “How long has she been here?”
Damian answers in a nonchalant tone, “An hour.”
Bruce’s face shifts deeper into worry as he gets up from the couch and attempts to find something to cover up his makeshift pajamas.
He finds a robe thrown on a chair and quickly puts it on as he makes a beeline for the family dining room.
His nerves shoot through the roof as he ups his pace, but he slows down slightly when he hears voices coming from down the hall.
He can make out Dick’s voice clearly; he’s attempting to shut Damian up from saying something slightly offensive.
Under their brash voices, he can also hear a softer, more jovial voice through the cracks. He can hear her laughing at their antics and possibly even egging on Tim’s teasing.
He slowly enters the room, and all eyes turn to him. Tim’s the first one to speak up, “Wow, finally. We’ve already eaten breakfast!”
She giggles quietly at this, then in a teasing tone states, “You got real dressed up for us.”
Dick covers up his laugh with a cough, and Tim snorts, “At least it’s your good robe.” He turns towards her, “You should see, he has one that has a bunch of Batman logos on it.”
She laughs at that, not knowing the full reason as to why that’s so embarrassing.
Bruce grumbles as he sits down next to her, “Sorry, I was up late in the ba-” He clears his throat, “My office.”
Damian rolls his eyes far into the back of his head. He takes this as an opportunity to state what’s been annoying them all, “So, Father, are you going to ask her on a date as well?”
Tim’s eyes grow wide as Dick covers his face, but Damian continues, “It’s been really pissing me off to see you act like a nervous boy whenever you’re around her.”
From beside him, she lets out an earnest, hearty laugh at Damian’s swearing and bluntness. Bruce places his face in his hands and refuses to look any of them in the eyes.
Even though it’s muffled by his hands, everyone understands him perfectly: “Get out now.”
The three boys immediately get up to leave, and she follows suit, but Bruce stops her before she can leave.
His voice comes out slightly more desperate than he intends, “Stay, please. I can explain…them.”
She lightly smiles, “It’s okay, Bruce.”
He looks at her straight in her eyes, and she continues speaking. Her voice is softer than before, “You don’t have to say anything else, but,” she pauses and thinks for a second, “I’d like to go on a date with you.”
His eyebrows crease together, but she stops him before he can speak, “The boys told me about your whole…situation. To say the least.”
He breathes out a laugh as she smiles brightly. He turns his head away before turning back to her, his smile reaching his eyes.
“They really went that far?”
She laughs and nods, “They told me every detail. Can’t believe you went on a date with Jayemi Crawford.”
He smiles, “Yeah, me neither.”
They laugh together; this is the calmness Bruce needed. He needed someone whose laugh could wake him up from an awful night of sleeping on the couch.
What he didn’t realize, or more so, what he wouldn’t let himself realize, is that she needed the same thing. She needed someone who could at least keep a calm exterior to her hectic, unscheduled life.
He reaches for her hand and holds it as if she could break. His voice comes out soft, something not everyone has the chance to hear.
He takes a deep breath, “Would you like to go on a date with me?
She giggles, “Of course, Mr. Wayne. I’d love to go on a date with you.”
They smile together, and he takes a leap of faith and brings her hand to his lips. He presses a gentle kiss to the backside of her hand.
His voice maintains the soft tone, “We’re having our family dinner tomorrow, if you’re comfortable, you’re more than welcome to join us.”
Bruce appears more nervous than she. His hands sweat, and his knee bounces against his will.
She reaches a hand out to calm him, and he smiles appreciatively at her, but it does little to quell his worries. He grips her hand harsher than he intends, but she doesn’t mention it.
Alfred enters the room and announces, “The boys are here,” he takes a breath, “and Jason has decided to come.”
Bruce sits up straight at that. He looks over to her for reassurance, but quickly looks back towards the dining room doors.
Dick comes in first, hooting and hollering over winning this bet.
Next is Damian, who’s looking behind him while he runs quickly into the room and slams into his seat.
Tim comes in right after him; he’s out of breath for whatever reason.
Two of the boys are out of breath, and Bruce stares at them quizically.
He gets his answer when he hears heavy footsteps in the hallway, quickly running into the dining room.
“You fucking idiots! I know you stole my keys!”
He slides into the dining room and immediately skids to a stop when he notices Bruce.
The two stare at each other, neither knowing who should speak first.
Bruce speaks, “Jason…”
Jason clears his throat and looks to Bruce’s side, “Who are you? No offense.”
Everyone’s eyes widen (some in worry, some in amusement), and look towards Bruce’s right side.
She just laughs.
Her laugh turns into giggles as she states, “Don’t worry, your brothers have asked me worse.”
After that, the tension in the room fizzles out as Jason takes a spot next to Tim. She engages in conversation with the boys as Bruce quietly sits back and watches.
She speaks to all of them as equals. She doesn’t judge any of them for their overly violent stories they tell, and she doesn’t judge when they bluntly ask questions.
He could live like this.
He didn’t know this was what he needed.
Notes: I wanted this to be 6.7k words cause I have the humor of a 12 yr old boy
I propose a neglected reader who is taken in by the old ladies of high society.
At first, the poor thing looks quite lost at the galas, and they keep their distance. However, over time, they notice that dear 'Brucie' Wayne doesn't treat her like the rest of his children. In a way, she is like them—faking a bright smile while concealing the weight of a broken family behind it.
So, they decide to train her to be not just a lady, but a true socialite, a shining star who will one day find her freedom.
They may be trapped in their marriages, but Martha’s granddaughter will not be.
A/N: Have a psych exam, so I can't put out a full chapter until later this week. Decided to post a deleted scene in the meantime
Part 8/Currently Reading/Part 9 (Coming Soon)
“BRUCE FUCKING WAYNE EVERYBODY.” You swing the wine bottle wildly, gesturing to the crowd of three you have all huddled in your living room.
Pamela Isley, Harleen Quinzel, and Selina Kyle, all recent additions to your friend circle, sit with wine glasses and face masks around you. Each of them varying degrees of drunk.
“Leave it to the ‘Playboy Billionaire Philanthropist’ to rip out your heart and stomp on your self confidence, before fucking off to GOD KNOWS WHERE”
A golden portal opens up beside you and a single paper drops at your feet.
“What is it?” Pamela asks lazily, taking another large swig of wine.
You pick up the paper and inspect it.
“It’s a cease and desist? Issues by Stark Industries llc?”
“Fuck that! We got bigger problems to talk about!” Harley yells before throwing her empty glass at the wall. “Let’s find Brucie and cut his-“
“Harley, sit down. We’re not cutting his dick off. That’s not the solution to everything.” Pamela places her hand on Harley’s arm and pulls her back down to the couch, removing the knife she pulled out of god knows where.
“I don’t know, Ivy. I feel like Harley’s got a point.” Selina plucked the wine bottle out of your hand and replaced it with a cup of water, you didn’t see her leave to get. “Maybe cut off his balls though. That excess testosterone isn’t helping anyone.”
That sent everyone into a fit of laughter.
In all honesty, you really needed this.
That whole situation made you feel… hollow. He ran out on your date, and didn’t have the courtesy to even let you down easily. The only reason you knew he was alive was due to the kids’ updates.
It had been an entire month.
An entire month of radio silence from a man who you shouldn’t have fallen for so hard. You barely knew him, he was awkward, and blunt, and flip flopped like there was no tomorrow.
Were you just starved for affection? Willing to give your heart to anyone who even showed you a crumb of attention?
“God, I’m pathetic.” You sighed and sunk into your armchair. “I don’t even know why I’m so hooked on him. Maybe… Maybe I should try dating again?”
Selina smiled a wide and devious smile, glancing at the other two girls in a silent conversation that you missed in your drunken state.
“You know, darling, a man can never really decide what he wants. There’s no reason to put effort in for a man who can’t communicate.”
“Yeah, doll. If he wants ya, he’s gotta grovel! You deserve betta”
“What do you think Ivy? Shouldn’t our kitten put herself back on the prowl?”
Ivy sighed and glanced into her empty wine glass, as if she were trying to summon more wine with just her mind.
“Men are exhausting. Don’t put in more effort than they put out… I say go for it.”
Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the need to stop giving Bruce power over you, but either way you felt invigorated.
“I’ll think about it! NO PROMISES.”
Selina seemed satisfied with that answer and raised her glass in solidarity.
“Purrfect”
Everyone groaned except Harley, who seemed to think it was hilarious.
“Boooo”
“Someone take the wine from Selina, if she gets any drunker she’ll never stop.”
“Careful, this kitty’s got claws.”
“That’s hilarious!.”
“Harley, you dated a clown. Your opinions are invalid.”
Elsewhere...
Hal Jordan’s phone pinged in the middle of peace negotiations, and being the professional that he was… he pulled it out and started texting immediately.
“Hey Spooky, when did you give Catwoman my phone number?”
Batman barely spared the man a glance, “Lantern. This is not the time. Need I remind you that we’re in this position because of your negligence?”
“Geez, no need to be so testy.” Slumping down in his chair, Hal glanced at his phone again.
“It is kind of weird that she’s trying to set me up on a blind date, though.”
Summary: Selina owes you a spa day and compensation for the psychic damage this date inflicted.
WARNINGS: (Slightly ooc)Hal Jordan, Threats, Dick Grayson's reputation(very briefly mentioned)
A/N: You're lucky I changed the way this chapter was gonna end. I was about to ruin everyone's night.
Expect fluff for the next chapter. The kids have been gone for far too long
Part 7/Currently Reading/Part 9 (Coming Soon)
Blind dates sounded like hell, and the one you were currently on didn’t give you much reason to waver in your position.
Selina had seemed to set you up on a date with one Hal Jordan, a very “self-interested” man whose confidence was just one more compliment away from being classified as narcissism.
He, at least, took you to a decent, nice restaurant. One of those soulless fancy places with a dress code and small proportions. It was the exact type of environment you couldn’t stand. Then he decides to order for you, and you honestly should have left then. Instead, you sat there, poking at the bundle of leaves they called a salad.
“With light dressing. I know how you ladies are with your figures.”
He was an attractive man, you won’t deny that (You did have to overlook the practically toxic-looking green of his button-up)but the date had been going on for almost two hours at this point, and you’ve gotten maybe one word in this entire time.
“So I tell Spooky, ‘Looks like someone needs to get laid,’ and he throws a knife at me!” Hal’s lighthearted story held just a little hint of resentment if the way he was flapping his hands around was anything.
“Wait… I thought you were a pilot?”
Hal’s face turned pale, as he stuttered out an explanation that would’ve been believable if he weren’t so humble(ironically), “Well, yes and no. I was a pilot. Now I’m more of a… government agent? Nothing too special or anything, just classified work since I go to a lot of black sites and all.”
Well, that wasn’t weird at all.
“Anyway, contrary to what he says, Spooky really isn’t the leader, ya know? Most of my team looks to me for guidance or direction.”
You knew you shouldn’t have gone on this date.
You regretted saying yes the moment you hung up with Selina, but then Bruce messaged you.
Bruce: [Could we please talk? I can explain]
You: [Hello there to you, too, Mr. Wayne. Unfortunately, my schedule is completely booked for the foreseeable future.]
Bruce: [I’m sorry about how I left things. I didn’t want to leave, but things came up.]
You: [“Things came up??? I’d rather you just be honest and say you weren’t interested. I wouldn’t have been offended.]
Bruce:[I promise I’m interested. It was an emergency. I still want to keep seeing you]
You: [A month of radio silence doesn’t exactly scream “Interested” Bruce.
Whatever. I can’t do this right now.
I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m sure as hell not your pet broke brokey. I’m not gonna just sit and wait for you to come back into my life. ]
With that, you didn’t block his number, but you did mute his contact.
You refused to let a man play with your feelings.
If he had to deal with a work issue, he could have just said that, like how Hal-
Oh shit
What the hell was Hal even talking about right now?
“-eally creepy child! Takes after Spooky to a ridiculous degree.”
“You know, you really do talk about this ‘Spooky’ guy a lot. You sure you don’t wanna be on a date with him right now?”
You really hadn’t meant to say that. That was an inside thought that should’ve stayed an inside thought.
Judging by the various shades of red Hal’s face was turning, however, you might have just given him a gay awakening as opposed to offending him?
“I- no. No, no, no. I can not be attracted to that man! I- That’s a crime against everything I stand for!”
“Gay people?”
“What? Haven’t you been listening to anything I’ve been saying?” No. “I don’t have a problem with dating men. I have a problem with being attracted to that emo, My Chemical Romance wannabe, garbage disposal sounding, Dorito built, toned as hell, tall, fat ass having, man!”
Well, that certainly didn’t go off the rails there for a second.
“Not to mention how many kids he has! The youngest one takes after his dad a little too much! There I was, trying to get home to relax after a month-long work trip, and who do I see but that demon child, and the kid throws a knife at me too!”
Wait… this sounded a little too familiar…
“I’m telling you! Rich kids are fucking weird. The only thing he said to me was that I ‘interferred in his plans’ and to ‘keep my near constant stream of failures to myself.’”
You couldn’t stop the giggle that forced its way out of your mouth. That was definitely Damian. So, did Bruce work for the military? That would explain the month of radio silence. Still didn’t justify him just leaving you halfway across Gotham without so much as an explanation. But against your better judgment, it made you feel a little better.
“Yeah, laugh it up over there, but someone needs to keep that feral creature on a leash.”
You froze.
“Excuse me?”
The man just rolled his eyes at you and kept talking. Not catching the chilly tone of your voice.
“I’m serious! You don’t know the kid, so I can understand, but that child is a danger to everyone around him. A kid with his type of training, combined with that horrible temper of his, is bound to snap and kill someone eventually. It’s just a matter of whAUGHH”
Your hands moved faster than your brain.
One minute, you were frozen and seething internally at the bullshit this man was spewing about your child, and the next minute, a steak knife was flying out of your hand and embedding itself in the wall above Hal’s head.
“Watch your god damn mouth, Harold.”
His mouth twisted up in irritation at the use of his birth name, almost looking more offended by that than the knife.
“Listen, Lady, I don’t know what your problem is, but first of all, don’t call me Harold. Second of all, you’re nowhere near hot enough to be this crazy.” Hal leaned one elbow on the table and pointed a finger in your face, his god awful ring on full display. “You’re probably a 5.5 on a good day. I was gonna bump you up a few points for the lovely green dress that shows off the assets, but honestly, you’re boring as hell.”
“Boring? Says the man who spent almost three hours talking about either yourself or the guy you have wet dreams about!”
A waiter came up to your table, and suddenly you remembered that you were in a very nice and very public restaurant.
“Excuse me, sir?” That was about as much effort a minimum wage worker was going to put in. So when Hal's hands went up to shoo him off, the waiter promptly turned around and mumbled something that sounded like "I don't get paid enough for this."
Honestly? You can't even blame him.
“How do you know about my dreams?!”
“OH, like it wasn’t obvious, Harold.”
Whether his face was red from anger or embarrassment, you already knew you had gone too far. You were purely speaking out of anger, not having enough foresight to realize that just because you were in a public place, it didn’t mean he couldn’t do anything to you.
You knew nothing about this man despite having listened to him talk about himself for so long.
“You fucking bit-”
He reached out towards you, aiming to grab your wrist. You barely had time to blind before your world tilted on its axis, and suddenly you were standing there, in the arms of Bruce Wayne.
“Finish that sentence, Jordan, and I’ll break fucking your legs.”
For a moment, the entire restaurant was bathed in a silent tension. It wasn’t uncommon for Brucie Wayne to appear at random restaurants unannounced, especially if he didn’t have a reservation and just wanted to pay a table to give theirs up.
But what wasn’t common was Brucie Wayne angry.
Brucie Wayne was the fun-loving playboy who got drunk and threw up on foreign politicians. The laid back trust fund kind that stumbled his way to success with models hanging off of him at every turn.
This wasn’t that Brucie Wayne.
This was Bruce Wayne.
This man somehow stood taller and more menacing. He held himself with the confidence, not of a fool, but of a man who knows exactly how much damage he could do. His expression was like a storm,and his voice was like the thunder. The coldness in his tone made everyone but you flinch.
Because for all his rage and venom…
He still held you like glass.
He was so tense that he was almost shaking, yet the hand in yours was caressing your knuckles with a comforting gentleness that didn’t match this scene in front of you.
“Ba-er-Bruce? Hey Spooky, when did you get here? You mind letting go of my collar?” Hal had the de-escalation skills of an unattended nuke, and they were doing nothing to ease Bruce’s temper.
“I will give you one opportunity. For the sake of all of those dining at this restaurant.”
Hal’s eyes widened in fear as he continued his pointless attempts to regain his footing. Only succeeded in causing his button-up to strain against the force of Bruce’s hold.
“Whoa there big guy! I’m sure we can work out an understanding here! What did I do this time? Eat your leftovers? Break something in the supply room? Accidentally flirt with one of your kids again? I swear I didn’t know he was 17 at the time. In my defense, he’s built like a tank and I couldn’t exactly get a good look at his face.”
The fist holding Hal’s shirt only got tighter as the man rambled.
“Shut up!” Everyone around you flinched again as he yelled. “You are well aware of who I am and what I am capable of. Yet, you still think you can come to my city, insult my son, and threaten one of my people, and I wouldn’t find out?”
Hal’s eyes flickered to you in a brief understanding of the situation he was in.
An understanding that you were also just realizing.
He called you one of his people, but you didn’t feel like that was what he wanted to say. The words suggested a business partner or close friend, but the way he growled it out suggested so much more.
He said “my people,” but what he meant was “my woman,” and that made your heart race in a way it definitely shouldn’t have.”
“Don’t look at her, look at me.” Bruce shakes Hal again, bringing back his attention as well as yours. “I expect you to be ready bright and early for some… “sensitivity” training. Do. you. understand?”
The green-clad man looked one second away from pissing himself as he nodded. “Y-yes, sir.”
Then finally, after what had felt like an eternity, Bruce threw Hal Jordan onto the floor with a simple “Go.”
Hal recovered relatively quickly and made a beeline for the door, only stopping when Bruce called out to him right before he made it past the threshold.
“Harold.”
Hal gave a glare that morphed into a pretty satisfying fearful smile.
“Y-yes?”
“Dick and Damian wanted to have a few words. Don’t worry about giving them your number… They’ll find you.”
“Dick is… oh god help me.”
You weren’t sure if Hal could look any paler, but at the mention of Dick’s name, he looked like he was seconds away from passing out.
After this whole day, you were pretty sure you were, too.
“Hey…” Bruce’s voice sounded nothing like how it did a moment ago. It held a softness you hadn’t heard from him before. He gently caressed your face as his thumb rubbed your cheek, the other hand still holding yours.
“I’m sorry.”
You shook your head, “You don’t need to apologize for Hal’s behavior. He’s a grade A dumbass with zero filter, and that’s my impression after only knowing him for a couple hours. I couldn’t imagine it getting any better with time.”
Bruce’s laugh lit up his entire face as he shook his head at the thought.
“No, it does not. If anything, he creates more problems than he fixes. He’s only still employed so I can keep an eye on him. Wouldn’t want that out in the wild… but no. That’s not what I was apologizing about.”
Your head tilted in confusion as Bruce threw a couple of hundred-dollar bills onto the table and led you out of the restaurant.
“I’m sorry for not communicating with you. For leaving you in the middle of our date and for being indecisive about what I want.”
Bruce led you to his car, but didn’t get inside. Not yet.
Instead, he looked into your eyes and waited.
“What do you want, Bruce?” Your voice was barely a whisper, but he heard you loud and clear.
“You. I want you.”
You both were lost in each other's eyes. The tense atmosphere dropped as the air thickened with something else. It would be easy to lean in, give up your mind in pursuit of this relationship, but something was tickling the back of your mind, and you just needed to ask.
"How did you know I was here?"
Bruce froze, glancing to the side in an attempt to avoid your eyes. He wasn't telling you something; that was obvious.
"Well, you see-" ACHOO!
He was cut off by a... sneezing bush?
"Oh my god. Timothy Jackson Drake, I swear to god."
"How'd you know it was me?! It could've been any of us!" Tim stepped out of the bush, covered in branches and leaves.
You only returned his question with a blank stare, the one you did every time he misbehaved.
"Okay, fine! We were planning on sabotaging your date."
"TIM!"
"BUT. It was so bad we honestly didn't think we needed to do anything."
Bruce brought his hand up to your cheek again, "Ignore the children, they had good intentions, even if they were a bit misguided."
"I can definitely see where they get that from."
"Now that was just uncalled for."
...
...
...
...
Click...
An explosion can be heard all throughout the building.
WEE-OO WEE-OO WE-OO
They scramble like roaches, away from the blast, through the walls.
They run like the vermin they are.
It was all a joke...
The man turned, hearing the sounds of a radio echo through the debris.
There was someone left...
Someone to hear the punchline.
[Do you wanna hear a joke? I promise it'll be funny...]
The footsteps moved closer at a calm pace. Laughter grew as he got closer.
[-come in! Can anyone hear me? DAMNIT. PLEASE. I need backup! He's-]
A gunshot.
The soft trickle of blood.
Laughter. So much laughter.
Summary: Where was Bruce? Why did he leave in such a hurry?
Oh, of course it's his fault.
WARNINGS: Wallowing, talks of war, Hal Jordan
A/N: Classes have started, so chapters may be a little slow, but only by a day or two.
If Hal Jordan is out of character, I apologize. I don't care enough about any of the Laterns besides Kyle Raynar LMAO
Part 6/Currently Reading/Part 8
Hal Jordan was by no means a perfect man.
Some would call him an incompetent man.
He would call himself “efficient.”
So what if the Brallyxak’s are declaring war on Earth because he offended the queen in peace negotiations?
They were gonna attack eventually… probably.
They were a pretty violent race anyway. Sacrifices to ancient gods, slavery, consistent threats to anyone who will listen; the whole shebang. It was an inevitability; they’d just sped up the timeline a little bit. Not like anyone had anything important going on.
The whole league (Minus Captain Marvel, because who knows what that guy’s up to on a daily basis) is a bunch of workaholics with basically 0 lives outside of hero work.
“So, you gonna tell us what this is all about, Hal? I was kind of in the middle of an important meeting before you called a ‘code red,’ and you’re way too calm right now for it to be that bad.” Flash's tone was lighthearted, but the near-constant bouncing of his leg gave away his anxiety. Code Reds aren’t common.
Reserved for only world-ending threats, they are an All Hands on Deck alarm. All league members are required to stop everything and get to the Watchtower immediately. Very inconvenient, abuse of the alarm can result in severe consequences to outright termination from the league.
“Yeah yeah, I’m getting to the problem. Don’t get your Green Lantern-themed panties in a twist.”
“Hey! Those were a Secret Santa gift from you.”
“And you decided to wear them.”
“I-“
“ENOUGH.” Batman’s voice echoed across the meeting room. The force of his fist hitting the table caused the metal to bend just enough for everyone to take a mental step back.
“Damn, someone needs to get laid.”
It was one thing for a joke to fall flat; Hal was used to that. It was another to have a batarang thrown at you at 100mph and embed itself in the wall, inches away from your forehead.
“W-wow! Let’s get on with that presentation, shall we?”
~~~
To say that the situation was a fragile one would be to diminish it entirely. The Brallyxak’s were not just a simple alien race on an unknown planet. They were part of a building alliance of planets. An alliance that formed to colonize their corner of the galaxy.
The first meeting with their governing body yielded little to no real results. As did all the meetings of the first week.
It was obvious that their demands were purposefully outlandish. Requesting too much, too rare, or too morally bankrupt concessions in order not to attack Earth.
Bruce was handling it all the best he could, despite his mind constantly supplying him with the look on your face as he ran off.
The image of pure pain had been seared into his retinas and haunted his dreams. The shame of his exit ate at him on the inside, as well as the guilt at his cowardly actions.
He ran.
Plain and simple.
He wouldn’t go as far as to say that the meeting wasn’t important. This was a potential world-ending threat and needed to be addressed as such.
It was his escape that was cowardly.
It would have been just as easy to pretend to get a call, claim an emergency, or even say he had some private business to take care of.
But he didn’t.
Bruce sighed deeply and ran his fingers through his hair. His cowl had long since been discarded, in an act very unlike himself. He was beyond stressed and couldn’t bother to hold up appearances at that point. He was at a loss.
How was he going to fix this?
He was unable to communicate with anyone on Earth at this point. The alien tech blocked their normal communication devices, and he could only use his league communicators.
Could he have asked one of the children to pass along a message to you? Yes.
However, Bruce at least had enough common sense to realize that it could only make things worse in the long run without the additional context of him being Batman.
It would be easier to claim that it was a family emergency and he was too busy to contact anyone. It would be a lie, but a necessary one.
Now all he had to do was settle these negotiations.
“You must think of ass fools Terran.” Despite them using a universal translating device, the Brallyxak Prime Minister’s voice was still grating to the ears. “If any other had committed such an offense, they would have been executed. Yet, you still sit here and claim that our requests are unreasonable.”
“You cannot expect us to just freely hand over half of our galaxy’s resources for a first-time offense. It’s unreasonable.” Superman argued. Everyone’s patience was wearing thin, and the conversations were getting hostile.
“No!” The Prime Minister’s tentacles slammed aggressively onto the table. “What is unreasonable is to be invited onto our planet and disgustingly debase our ruler! We are owed our due reparations!”
The conversation devolved from there.
They were being goaded into a fight. With each angry outburst, the Minister’s smirk grew wider.
The second week was spent mostly going over mood regulations, tactics, and the best way to respond to their provocations.
By the middle of the third week, The League realized they were gaining ground in the negotiations.
“My word, Prime Minister Balka, are you saying that you plan on invading our galaxy?”
Balka froze.
They had gotten him hook, line, and sinker.
All in all, by the time they had finished, an entire month had passed, and Bruce knew he was utterly fucked.
As Bruce entered the Batcave, he was perplexed to see no one there. Usually, at least one child was there changing, obsessing over a case, or training.
An empty Batcave meant they were all together, and that was never a good sign.
“Welcome home, Master Bruce. May I suggest you take this time to shower, change, and enjoy the little peace you have left?” Alfred had materialized by his side, holding out a tray of tea and a towel.
Entirely too calm for the words he just uttered.
It was hard to enjoy a shower when you were internally wracked with anxiety and dread, so he cut his short.
God help him, his life was a disaster.
The walk down to the sitting room was nerve-racking. Bruce didn’t hear shouting or screaming like he would expect when his children got together. He heard whispers and stern voices that mentioned his name all too frequently for his liking.
He still soldiered on, not willing to run away from whatever den of chaos he was walking into. Maybe it wasn’t as bad as he was thinking. Maybe they were just behaving for once…
Very unlikely.
As he reached the door, Alfred put a hand on his shoulder.
“God Speed, sir. Just be glad it was them instead of me.”
That was not comforting in the slightest.
Entering the room, all heads simultaneously turned to look at him, halting all conversation.
“Well, that was unsettling.”
Jason narrowed his eyes at him.
“Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Wayne.”
Oh… Bruce was fucked.
“You made Imee cry, Father. That is unacceptable.”
“You'd better have a plan to fix this, Bruce.” Tim had his laptop in front of him, not bothering to look up from it as he spoke. “This month gave her a lot of time to think.”
“Last night was girls’ night. Where she spent all her time with Ivy, Harley, and Selina.” Dick showed him a photo of all the women holding wine glasses in your living room. Judging by Selina’s smile, the conversation did not bode well for him.
“Shit.”
Shit indeed.
Because, unbeknownst to Bruce, a certain kitty had just texted you a phone number that could shatter everything they’ve built.
“I’m not sure about this, Selina. I’ve never been on a blind date before…”
“It’s a singular date, kitten. You don’t have to marry the man. If you don’t like him, you just don’t see him again. It’s the beauty of a blind date!”
“Well… fine. I guess I've got nothing to lose. Maybe this’ll help me get over Bruce. Plus, I’ve always had a thing for pilots.”
“Perfect! Now, just do me a favor... Make sure you wear green.”
what about girl-dad!bruce reacting to one of his "flings" treating his daughters badly behind his back?? 👀 like maybe they kept quiet about it because they didn't want to seem spoiled or make him upset, but eventually he sees how things really are.
please keep feeding us good dad Bruce content 😞🙏
Congratulations! You submitted this when I really needed a good cry. But writing fics are supposed to "relieve my stress" and "make me happy" (sarcasm, I love doing this!) so I couldn't get too sad.
Anywho here's more girl dad Bruce...
The Promise and the Cost
Two daughters, one empty seat, and a father who can’t stop saving the world. When the mask starts to crack, the Wayne family learns that even heroes have to grow old, and they need to learn to let go.
The performance hall had already emptied, leaving only the soft echo of footsteps and the faint scent of lilies from the bouquets scattered backstage. Laughter still floated from the far end of the corridor where parents congratulated their dancers, but it didn’t quite reach your dressing room.
You sat at the long mirror, motionless except for your hands unpinning your bun. The bobby pins made a faint metallic plink each time one hit the counter. Behind you, Cassandra sat cross-legged on the floor, her posture perfect even in exhaustion, hair still slicked from gel. The two of you had performed beautifully — the kind of grace that made critics quiet and audiences lean forward.
Even when Bruce had to duck out halfway for a call from Lucius or step into the wings for some “urgent matter,” he showed up. You could spot him instantly, hands folded neatly, eyes never leaving the stage.
And still, all you could see in your mind was the empty seat. Front row, center, with a white card that said Mr. Wayne.
He always sat there. Always.
Tonight, though, he didn’t come.
A rough night out as Batman. You were barely listening when Alfred explained what happened. You were just starring at Bruce as he slept on the medical bed in the Batcave.
Tightly wrapped bandages. Fresh stitches. Dark bruises. Heart monitors. Dripping liquids that flowed through tubes into his veins. He's gotten hurt before, but that fact didn't make the situation any easier.
Now, the adrenaline was fading, and the ache in your calves had settled into something else entirely.
Cass finally spoke. “He would’ve come if he could.”
You nodded, rubbing the sore spot on your ankle. “Yeah. I know.”
Your phone lit up with a notification from Dick, but you couldn't bring yourself to open it. The photo on your lock screen held your attention instead — you and Cass’s twenty-eighth birthday trip, a few months back. The whole family had gone. A joint request from you and Cass, and, as always, Bruce made sure it happened.
In the photo, he stood between you both, arms around your shoulders, his smile soft and unguarded. You remembered how warm he’d felt that day — how rare it was to see him that relaxed.
Your small smile turned into a deep frown when you zeroed in on the grey threading through his hair. Just a few dozen strands, but enough to remind you what time was doing to him.
Cass tilted her head. You saw her staring at you through the mirrors reflection.
You sighed. “He’s getting older. Our dad is getting older Cass. He can’t just—” you stopped yourself before the word fight slipped out, replacing it with a strained, “—keep running himself into the ground.”
Cass pulled her legs to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. “I know that. But he doesn’t see it.”
You scoffed. “He never does. I don't even know if he ever will.”
Silence again. The kind that fills up the corners of a room and presses against the walls. You both sat in it — two grown women, still his daughters, still tethered to the man who refused to slow down.
Cass untied her ribbons slowly, gently laying them beside her like they might break. You slowly stood up and sat so close your shoulders were touching.
“Wanna know a secret?” you whispered. The heaviness in your tone made Cass glance up instantly — your twin in all but blood, tuned to every shift in your voice. She nodded.
"I hate that he's Batman," you confessed. “I know it’s one of the best things he’s done — for Gotham, for the world, for everyone. And I know he was Batman long before we came along.” Your throat tightened. “But he’s dad first.”
You throat tightened and your eyes burned as they filled with tears. "I honestly forget that he's Batman until he puts the suit on. Sometimes, when he's on patrol, I can't sleep until he's home. When he's out longer than he should be, I get so worried. I start to panic. Like something bad happened to him, and the last time I see him is when he's wearing that stupid cape and cowl."
Cass reached over and pulled your head against her shoulder. You didn’t see her start to cry too, but you felt the shudder in her chest.
“It doesn’t help that he’s in his fifties now,” she murmured. “I want to tell him to hang it up. Let someone else take the mantle. But we both know he won’t. He’s too stubborn.”
You wiped away a tear, but two more slipped free before you could stop them. "I know parents getting older is something all children have to prepare for. But seeing it happen to our dad…it makes the whole vigilante thing that much worse."
You stared at your reflection — eyes red, makeup smudged — and tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out small and bitter. “Just thinking about Bruce Wayne getting older is awful. How long before he can’t pick us up anymore?”
Cass eyes fixed on the floor. "How long before his vision gets bad?"
You whispered. “Before he starts complaining about arthritis?”
Cass’s eyes lifted then — sharp, wet, breaking right along with yours. "Or when he starts to forget everything?"
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of everything you couldn't help but imagine.
Then came the sound of heels.
A crisp click, click, click against the dressing room tile — jarringly bright against the hush you’d built. Perfume followed next, sharp and expensive, cutting through the air like a new mask slipping into place.
“Well,” a voice said from the doorway, smooth and amused, “this is cozy.”
You and Cass both turned.
Katherine stood framed in the light of the hall, one manicured hand resting on the doorframe, the other holding a champagne flute she had no business bringing backstage. Though this wasn’t new, she was always crossing boundaries and breaking rules just so she can do whatever she wanted.
Your siblings didn't like her, they dismissed her as a shallow attention seeker looking for a free dinner and a good fuck. But you and Cass have seen her enough to know she's a spineless little gold-digging leech that latched onto Bruce. She wanted to stay and insert herself into a world that had no place for her.
But Bruce kept her around. He seemed happy when she was around. Katherine is pretty. She was only thirty, two years older than you and Cass, a pretty young thing to hang off Bruce's arm.
But she acted like a sixteen year old mean girl in every coming-of-age teen movie written by middle aged men. Especially to you and Cass. Fake smiles. Back-handed compliments. Rolling her eyes when she thought no one was looking. Talking shit to her friends when she thought no one was listening.
A Grade-A, High Definition Bitch.
But again, Bruce seemed happy and liked having her around. So you both kept quiet.
Katherine's polite smile dropped the moment she looked at you and Cass.
"Oh come on now," her voice was condescending. "Your daddy doesn't show up to one show, and you two are hiding backstage, crying."
Cass’s eyes flicked to yours, but you didn’t move.
“He was hurt,” Cass hissed. "You wouldn't get it."
Katherine gave a soft laugh, swirling her drink. “Oh, I’m sure. But you know, maybe he just needed a night off from all this.”
“All this?” you echoed.
Her gaze flicked between the two of you — makeup smudged, eyes red, still in costume, sitting on the floor — and she smiled like she’d found proof of something.
“You know what I mean. The constant need for attention. He’s done so much for you, and you still act like spoiled kids every time he can’t drop everything to watch you twirl around on stage in your little sparkly tutu's.”
The word spoiled cracked something open in your chest. Cass’s shoulders went still.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cass said softly, trying hard to keep calm.
Katherine tilted her head, voice light as glass. “Oh, I think I do. You’ve both had him wrapped around your fingers since day one. Maybe it’s time you learned the world doesn’t revolve around you. Grow up and act like adults finally."
You rose to your feet. Slow and controlled. Like gravity itself was holding its breath.
“I don’t know who you think you are,” you began, voice low and steady, “but you’re not someone special. You’re not someone important.”
Katherine blinked, startled by how calm you sounded.
“What you are,” you continued, taking a single step forward, “is someone who’s learned to wear the mask of a person who is likeable. You’ve practiced being interesting. You’ve practiced being kind. Because underneath that mask is a sad, weak, pathetic woman. One who's constantly competing with women younger than her, because she's desperate for the attention of men older than her."
The words cut clean and deliberate, each one finding its mark. "I genuinely don't know what dad sees in you, because the only thing I see that's worth anything, are your trashy lash extensions."
Katherine’s painted smile morphed into one that was so forced it looked painful. She didn't want to look defeated, but it was clear she was having a hard time.
Cass stood beside you, expression unreadable. She didn’t raise her voice — she didn’t have to. “You should leave now,” she said quietly.
It was a simple statement of reality, the kind that came from someone who’d seen what happened when people didn’t listen.
Katherine tried to laugh it off, but it came out wrong. “You think you—”
Cass tilted her head, the faintest smile ghosting her lips. “I think I can slap the color out of your hair.”
Katherine blinked, suddenly unsure of herself, like she was realizing just how small the room had become.
You didn’t look away from her. "That was a promise, not a threat.”
For a second, Katherine hesitated, but the look in Cass’s eyes made the decision for her. She turned on her heel and left the room, muttering something under her breath that neither of you cared to catch.
Cass clenched and unclenched her fists, trying to squeeze the tension out through her hands. Her jaw worked silently, shoulders tight enough to snap.
"Unbelievable," you groaned.
"That's a drastic understatement." the sound of footsteps approached — calm, measured, the kind that never rushed unless something was truly on fire. They carried two enormous bouquets of flowers that completely obscured the person holding them from the chest up.
Cass narrowed her eyes. "Hello?"
The bouquets shifted, parting just enough to reveal a familiar face between the petals.
“Hello,” Alfred said pleasantly, as if he hadn’t just walked into the aftermath of a verbal beatdown. "Are you girls ready to head home?"
You read the time on the clock on the wall. “You’re early.”
“On the contrary, Miss,” he replied, setting the bouquets carefully in your arms. “I appear to have arrived precisely at the moment when restraint was most needed.”
Cass let out a quiet snort. You rubbed your eyes, a laugh slipping through despite the sting of leftover tears.
“You heard all that?” you asked.
Alfred arched a brow. “Every word. Including the beginning."
Cass hummed. “Oh.”
You dropped your gaze to the floor, half-laughing through what was left of your composure. “Come on, Alfred, don’t make me cry again…”
He sighed softly — the kind of sound that somehow managed to carry fondness, pity, and exasperation all at once. He crossed the room, slow and unhurried, and took one of your hands in both of his. His gloves were still cool from the night air.
“My dear girls,” he said, his tone gentle but firm, “you have every right to worry about him. But you mustn’t carry the weight of his choices as if they were your own.”
You tried to smile, but couldn't force your face to cooperate. Cass’s head dipped, her voice quiet. “He won’t stop.”
Alfred’s gaze softened. “No,” he agreed. “He won’t. Not until the world stops needing him… or until someone reminds him of where he’s needed most.”
He looked between you both — the mirrored exhaustion, the way you leaned unconsciously toward each other. Then, with that particular care he’d always reserved for the family’s broken edges, he reached out and brushed a stray hair from your face.
You’ve done well tonight,” he murmured. “And you’ve nothing to be ashamed of.”
Cass blinked hard, then leaned into his side without a word. You followed suit, and for a long moment, Alfred simply held you both there — quiet warmth in the middle of the wreckage.
When he finally spoke again, his voice had that low steadiness that always felt like home.
“Now then,” he said, straightening his cuffs, “I shall wait for you both in the car.”
He paused at the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder.
“And if Miss Katherine happens to return,” he added lightly, “please see to it she leaves here with her hair color intact.”
For the first time that night, you and Cass let out a genuine laugh — real and unguarded, cutting through the heavy air like sunlight through a curtain.
The ride back to the manor was quiet, the kind of silence that didn’t need filling. Cass leaned against the window, watching the lights of Gotham smear past in colorful streaks. You sat beside her, bouquet in your lap, the faint scent the flowers clinging to your clothes. Alfred drove in steady silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between you.
When the gates of Wayne Manor opened, the floodlights swept over the front steps—where a scene was already unfolding.
Katherine was on her way out.
She stomped across the marble, heels clicking in furious rhythm, a small box filled with her things clutched in her arms. Every movement was sharp and graceless, punctuated by a string of muttered curses that made even Alfred’s eyebrows twitch.
“Unbelievable! Self-righteous, emotionally stunted, son of a bitch—” she shouted, kicking at the gravel as she went. “—all of them!”
Cass stepped out of the car first, adjusting her jacket like she was walking into a performance she hadn’t auditioned for. You followed, clutching the bouquet to your chest like the word from her mouth might wilt them.
Katherine’s eyes darted toward you both, a flush of rage rising under her makeup. “Oh, look,” she sneered, voice high with humiliation, “the little ballerinas. Come to watch Daddy’s girlfriend get thrown out?”
Cass said nothing. Her expression was neutral, calm in that eerie, Bat-family way that always unnerved people who didn’t know her.
You, on the other hand, smiled — small, polite, devastating. “Didn’t realize we’d need tickets for that.”
Katherine’s jaw dropped. She let out an incredulous laugh, muttered something under her breath about “spoiled brats.”
In her fury, she shouldered straight into Alfred — or tried to.
He didn’t move. Not an inch. Hands clasped neatly behind his back, posture impeccable, he stood as unmoving and dignified as the marble columns flanking the porch.
Katherine bounced off him with a startled stumble, nearly losing her grip on the box in her arms. The sound it made — that sharp thud of cardboard and perfume bottles — echoed in the yard.
Then Alfred, calm as ever, tilted his head slightly. “Do watch your step, Miss Katherine. The gravel driveway is quite unforgiving.”
Her face flushed scarlet. She adjusted her grip on the box and stormed off without another word.
Cass smiled, “That was beautiful.”
You grinned, trying not to laugh. “You deserve a medal.”
Alfred only replied a shameless smirk on his face, “I already have several, but one more wouldn't hurt,” before continuing inside.
Cass was still grinning when Alfred turned toward the both of you, expression smoothing back into polite neutrality — which somehow made him look even more intimidating.
“Now then,” he said, brushing an invisible speck of dust from his sleeve, “while that particular storm has passed, I’m afraid there’s another brewing upstairs.”
You stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Master Bruce has requested your presence in his bedroom.”
Cass’s amusement vanished. “Oh.”
“He’s been informed of this evening’s events,” he said evenly. “And while I’ve assured him both of you handled yourselves with commendable restraint , he nevertheless wishes to speak with you. I recommend you go before he decides to come down here instead. Given his injuries, his… gait, is not what it used to be."
You exchanged a look with Cass — part guilt, part dread, part the unspoken realization that facing Bruce Wayne in Dad Mode was somehow scarier than Batman in a fight. No matter how old you got.
Alfred stepped aside, gesturing toward the grand staircase.
The echo of your footsteps followed you up the stairs, and as you reached the top landing, the heavy oak door to Bruce’s room was slightly ajar. Warm lamplight spilled into the hallway, and beyond it, the sound of pages turning — slow, deliberate.
You shared one last look with Cass before you knocked gently.
A familiar voice, low and steady, answered. “Come in.”
The door creaked open under your hand, revealing the familiar sprawl of Bruce’s room — dimly lit by the lamps near his desk, papers in careful stacks, a plush couch sat close to the lit fireplace. He wasn’t in bed, though Alfred had clearly tried to insist; instead, he sat by the fire on the couch in a dark robe, a book open in one hand, glasses balanced low on his nose.
He looked up the moment you and Cass stepped in. “Close the door, please.”
You did. Cass lingered near the dresser, her posture betraying none of her nerves, but her eyes flicked toward him, gauging. You stood beside her, trying to keep your heartbeat steady.
For a long moment, Bruce didn’t speak. He just studied you both — quietly, the way he used to when you came home late as teenagers and thought you’d hidden it well. The air hummed with that quiet authority only he could manage.
Finally, he set the book aside and took off his glasses. “Alfred told me what happened. All of it,” he added, voice steady, calm as the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner.
You swallowed. “We didn’t… we didn’t want to make things worse.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed slightly. “By being honest?”
Cass spoke next, her tone quiet but sure. “She made you happy. Or we thought she did.”
That softened him — the smallest shift in his shoulders, the faintest exhale. He nodded once, slow. "She didn’t mean anything to me," Bruce confessed.
You and Cass both looked up, the words catching you off guard. “What?”
“She was a fling who decided she wanted to be something more. Most of the women I’ve… seen, understand what it is from the start. One dinner, maybe two, a night of passion, then we go our separate ways.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking toward the fire.
“Katherine wanted a ring. And my fortune. And when she realized she wasn’t getting either, she tried to make herself indispensable by inserting herself into my family.”
Cass frowned. “And you let her?”
“For a while,” he admitted. "Only because I knew my family wouldn't give her the time of day. But I will say, she was stubborn. It was scary."
You raised an eyebrow, tightly crossing your arms over your chest. “That’s rich coming from you. Calling someone else stubborn when you're on medical leave for being Batman at your big age."
Cass snorted before she could stop herself, trying—and failing—to cover it with a cough.
Bruce looked at you, deadpan. “You done?”
You glared at him. “No. I haven’t even started.”
That earned a soft chuckle from him, but the sound faded quickly when he saw the look on your face — not angry, just tired. The kind of tired that comes from loving someone who keeps stepping into danger.
You folded your arms tighter. “You think we don’t notice, but we do. You move slower than you used to. You wince when you think no one’s looking. You’re getting older, Bruce.”
Cass nodded, eyes locked on him. “You act like that suit makes you immortal. It doesn’t. And watching you pretend it does is…” she trailed off. “It’s hard. It's so damn hard…”
You stepped closer to him, letting the fire reflect off the tears you tried to hold back. “We don’t care if you can still fight. We care that you come home. I can’t even sleep sometimes, thinking about—” You stopped, pressing your lips together, shaking your head. “You’re not invincible. And one day that’s going to catch up to you.”
Cass’s voice came softer but firmer. “You’ve given everything to Gotham. Maybe it’s time you stop giving it all.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. The firelight flickered across his face, painting deep shadows beneath his eyes. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than theirs — almost apologetic.
"I know,” he said. “And you’re both right. But if I stop completely… I don’t know who I’d be.”
Cass’s expression softened, but she didn’t let him off the hook. “You’d still be Dad.”
You nodded. “And that’s supposed to be enough.”
Bruce drew in a slow breath, the kind that seemed to travel through every ache in his body before leaving again. His gaze dropped to the fire, and for a moment, he looked more like a man than a legend.
“I’ve tried,” he said quietly. “You think I haven’t, but I have. I think about it often. Every year, I tell myself it’s time to stop. To hand it over, let the others take it from here.”
He leaned back in the chair, eyes distant. “But then I see another name in the obituaries. Another family like ours—another kid who doesn’t get to come home. And I remember why I started in the first place.”
His hand flexed slightly, a reflex he didn’t seem to notice. “To make sure no one ever felt what I did that night. It isn’t about Gotham anymore. It’s about the promise. And every time I think about letting go…”
He trailed off, the words stuck in his throat. Cass stepped closer, her voice soft. “You feel like you’re breaking that promise.”
Bruce looked up at you both then — tired eyes, glassy at the edges but unflinching. "A broken promise that can cost me everything."
The words landed heavy. The firelight flickered across his face, catching the faint tremor in his jaw.
“Every time I even think about stopping,” he went on, voice low and rough, “it feels like I’m turning my back on them — on my parents, on the people I couldn’t save.”
You swallowed hard. “But what about us?”
He blinked, looking between you and Cass. Two grown women standing there in the light of the fire, but in between the fires flickering he saw the same girls he adopted when they were still young, and needed a loving home. The proof that his promise hadn’t been all loss.
“You are what keeps me going,” he said simply. “You, all of you. You’re the reason I can still come home after seeing what I see out there. If I stop completely…”
Cass’s voice broke in, gentle but firm. “You won’t lose them by resting, Bruce. You’ll lose us if you don’t.”
“I know,” he murmured. “And I don’t want to.”
You could see the stiffness in the way he rose, the hidden wince he tried to bury — years of impact, of armor and asphalt catching up. Cass moved as if to steady him, but he waved her off gently and closed the distance himself.
Without a word, he pulled you both in.
It wasn’t one of his usual, brief hugs — the kind meant to reassure without lingering. This one was different. He held on tight, chin resting on your head, one arm looped around you both like he was afraid the moment would vanish if he loosened his grip.
“I can’t promise I’ll stop,” he said finally, voice muffled but steady. “But I can promise I’ll step back.”
Cass pulled back just enough to look at him. “Step back how?”
Bruce met her eyes. “I’ll pass the mantle. Let someone younger take the field.”
You blinked, unsure if you’d heard him right. “You mean it?”
He nodded once. “I’ll still help. I can do more from here — strategy, tech, training. It’s time I start building something that lasts beyond me.”
Cass’s mouth twitched into a small smile. “Behind the scenes, huh?”
“Behind the scenes,” he confirmed, a hint of warmth breaking through his usual gravel. “You two have been waiting for it long enough.”
You gave a teasing laugh. “We’ll believe it when we see it.”
Bruce smiled — tired, but real. “Fair enough.”
The three of you stood there in the glow of the fire for a long time, letting the silence settle into something gentle. No masks. No codenames. Just family — bruised, aging, but still standing.
And for once, the night didn’t feel like something to survive. It felt like a new beginning.
The fire had burned low by the time the house finally fell silent. Bruce softly snored where he sat, leaning against the couch, his daughters tucked into either side of him. The promise he’d made still echoed faintly in the air, but for once, there was no weight in it — in fact, a massive weight have been lifted.
Cass had dozed off first, head resting against his shoulder. You followed not long after, one hand still holding the edge of his robe like you were afraid he’d disappear if you let go.
Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t even try. He just watched the flames fade to embers and let the sound of your soft breathing fill the room. For the first time in years, Gotham could wait.
The door opened quietly a while later.
Alfred stepped in, carrying a folded blanket over one arm. His eyes took in the sight — the firelight flickering across Bruce’s face, his two little girls asleep beside him, the rare peace that had settled over all three.
He didn’t speak. Just smiled. He moved with his usual, careful grace, draping it over the three of you. Then he adjusted the lamp, dimming it until the room was awash in soft gold.
With that, Alfred turned and slipped from the room, closing the door with a gentle click.
The fire crackled one final time, then settled into silence.
Gotham’s protector. The world’s greatest detective. The only man to face gods and monsters without fear…just can’t say “no” to his daughters.
Duke had seen many strange things since joining the family — rooftop sword fights over snacks, Tim mixing energy drinks like a mad scientist, Dick swinging from chandeliers, Jason hiding stolen contraband in the Manor — but nothing, compared to the current conversation in at Wayne Manor.
“So,” Duke said, eyes narrowing, “you’re all trying to convince Bruce to let you take the Batjet to Tokyo.”
“Correct,” Tim said from his spot on the couch. “For mission purposes.”
Jason leaned back in his chair. “Translation: vacation.”
“And Bruce said no,” Duke confirmed.
“In about four different languages,” Dick sighed from his spot on the rug. “He’s in a mood.”
“Then why,” Duke asked, “are you all sitting here like you still have a plan?”
Jason smirked. “Because we do.”
Damian nodded solemnly. “A manipulative one. We don't like resorting to such measures, but Father is being difficult. We have no choice.”
Duke looked at the boys, feeling fear rise within him. "I don't like this.
"Don't be. It's harmless." Tim reassured. “We call it Sister Power.”
Duke's fear deflated. “Sister… power? What does that even mean?”
Damain crossed his arms. "You haven't been here long Thomas, but surely you've noticed that Father has a clear favoritism towards Cassandra and [Name]."
Duke frowned, thinking it over. “I… can’t say that I have.”
Jason shook his head, an amused smirk on his face. "Bruce is a total girl dad. He loves his sons we know that. But the way he treats his girls is on a whole different level."
"It's either hilarious or ridiculous," Tim added. "There is no in between."
Duke looked between them, pure disbelief painted on his face. “Oh come on!”
Dick got up from his spot on the floor and took a seat next to Duke on the couch. “Trust us on this. Before Bruce, we were all only children. We didn’t know what favoritism looked like. But when it came to [Name], it was obvious. She’s his favorite. And when Cass came along?” Dick grinned. “We realized Bruce Wayne is Gotham’s Ultimate Girl Dad.”
Duke still looked unconvinced. "I still think you guys are being dramatic."
"Okay," Dick got comfortable in his seat. "Here's a story for you."
The look in his eyes shifted — that particular mix of nostalgia and disbelief that only came from living in Wayne Manor too long…
…Bruce had been on an important Wayne Enterprises video call — one of those tense board meetings where everyone looked like they’d rather be filing their taxes in a hurricane. Ten people on-screen, all stiff suits and monotone voices.
He sat at his mahogany desk in his home office, posture perfect, expression unreadable. The laptop camera framed him neatly: Gotham’s most stoic CEO, unbothered and intimidating.
Then the office door creaked open.
You stepped inside first, dressed in your pajamas and holding your phone like it was a sacred artifact. “Dad, what color should I paint my nails?”
The question dropped into the silence like a bomb.
Every executive froze. Someone coughed. Another adjusted their tie.
Bruce didn’t even flinch. “Hmm,” he murmured, eyes still on the screen. “Let me see.”
You walked around the desk, showing him your phone. “Jade green, sage green, or emerald green?”
“Sage,” Bruce said simply, then unmuted himself. “Apologies, Lucius, continue.”
Lucius barely managed to keep a straight face.
And then Cassandra appeared, also in her pajamas and a blanket over her shoulders. She pulling up a chair and sitting on Bruce’s right side. She didn’t say a word, just took a seat and started sketching little doodles on the corner of his notepad.
Bruce let her. Of course he did.
Half the board looked shocked. The other half looked terrified.
At one point, you pulled up another chair and sat on his left. You leaned against Bruce’s arm, scrolling through your phone while he calmly discussed profit margins like this was the most normal thing in the world.
When the call finally ended, Bruce closed his laptop and looked between you two.
Cass showed him the picture she drew. A series of Batman doodles but they were vague black blobs with pointy ears and eyes.
“Very nice,” he said simply.
Cass smiled. You nodded, satisfied.
And just like that, Gotham’s most powerful businessman spent the rest of the afternoon sitting in a posh nail salon while his daughters got their matching sets…
…Back in the present, Dick spread his hands like he’d just presented irrefutable evidence.
“So yeah,” he said with a grin. “Bruce Wayne. Billionaire. Dark Knight. Total pushover.”
Jason leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, that confident grin already forming.
“Oh,” he said, voice low and dramatic. “You think that’s bad? Lemme tell you about the time your sweet sisters nearly totaled the Batmobile.”
Duke blinked. “What—”
But Jason was already lost to memory, the glint in his eye shifting from smug amusement to pure disbelief…
…It had started as “training.”
You decided it was time for you to learn how to handle the Batmobile. Cass had already mastered evasive maneuvers and parking. You? You were still stuck on the fun part — the speed. And Cass decided to give you a hand since Bruce was busy upstairs.
“Slow and steady,” Cass said calmly from the passenger seat, hands clasped in her lap. “You need to respect the vehicle.”
You grinned, revving the engine. “Respect, got it.”
She gave you a look. “That’s not what I—”
Before Cass could finish, the Batmobile shot forward. The roar of the engine echoed through the cave like thunder. You swerved—way too fast—and slammed the brakes so suddenly that the entire car jolted forward and crashed into the rock wall with a teeth-rattling BANG!
Then a faint plop as a stalactite somewhere dislodged and fell into the water.
Cass exhaled through her nose. “You okay?”
You nodded, dazed. “I think I saw my life flash before my eyes.”
The noise had echoed through the cave like an explosion. Within seconds, the cavalry arrived. Jason appeared first, half in his gear, looking way too delighted for someone who just heard a crash.
“Oh my god—” he wheezed, doubled over laughing. “You—you wrecked the Batmobile!”
You groaned, pressing your forehead against the steering wheel. Cass, to her credit, sat perfectly still, expression unreadable except for the tiniest twitch of amusement at the corner of her mouth.
A few seconds later, heavy footsteps approached — Bruce’s.
The laughter died instantly.
He stopped in front of the Batmobile, arms crossed, jaw tight. His eyes scanned the damage — smoke, dented metal, a tire barely hanging on.
Jason braced himself for the explosion. This was it. The Bat-yell. The lecture. The grounding for life.
But Bruce didn’t yell. He just opened the driver’s door and crouched down beside you. “Are you okay?”
You blinked. “Yeah… I think so.”
He nodded once, standing back up. “Good. That’s what matters.”
Jason stared at him, stunned. “That’s what matters?”
Bruce ignored him, inspecting the front bumper. “I should’ve explained the braking system better.”
Jason’s mouth fell open. “You’re apologizing?”
Bruce stood, calm as ever. “The car can be repaired. Though next time, I’ll supervise your training.” He shot a not-at-all serious glare at Cass.
Cass smiled back at him. “She learns fast.”
Bruce actually smiled back. “I know.”
Two days later, two new cars showed up in the cave. Smaller. Sleeker. Modified for “practice.”
Cass got to pick the color. Midnight blue. “Stealthy,” she’d said. "And there are two so we can match!"
Jason had never been so personally offended…
…Back in the living room, Jason leaned back in his chair, smirk broad and satisfied.
“And that,” he said, “is how the twins of chaos crashed a billion-dollar car and somehow got rewarded for it.”
Duke blinked. “Matching luxury cars is crazy!”
Dick crossed his arms. “He didn’t talk to me for a week when I popped a tire.”
Damian was fuming in his chair. "I've known how to drive since I was eight! And he won't let me drive!"
Tim sighed, leaning back against the couch. “You’ve heard Dick’s corporate chaos and Jason’s vehicular tragedy. Now let me tell you about the time Bruce tried to be a responsible parent… for less than two hours…"
…It started with an argument.
You had snuck out of the Manor one night — nothing reckless, just a spur-of-the-moment visit to your friend’s house party. Cass had gone with you, not wanting to miss any fun. All Bruce saw were empty rooms, the silent tracker, and the security footage of the two of you hopping a fence in Gotham at 11:47 p.m.
The next morning, Bruce called both of you into the living room.
He stood there, arms crossed, voice firm. “You both know better,” he said. “You’re grounded. No missions, no patrol, no going out for a week.”
Cass accepted her fate, but she didn't look happy about it.
You tried to argue. “But Dad, it was a small party! Only like, thirty people were there!”
Bruce’s eyebrow twitched. “You broke curfew.”
“We were expanding our cultural awareness by interreacting with the unique Gotham youth!”
He didn’t budge. Cass put a hand on your arm — the unspoken don’t push it gesture — and the two of you retreated upstairs.
Tim had been in the corner the entire time, pretending to look at his phone, but watching everything. He nodded approvingly.
Finally! Consistency. Discipline. A real rule enforced and punishment given when rules were broken.
That lasted exactly one hundred and ten minutes and thirty-nine seconds.
Around noon, Tim heard footsteps on the stairs. You appeared first, dressed casually, hair done, purse over your shoulder. Cass followed, calm as ever, keys in one hand, and a homemade latte in the other.
Bruce looked up from his seat as you both approached.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Out,” you said simply. “We’re meeting our friends for lunch.
"Don’t wait up,” Cass shouted cheerfully.
Bruce blinked once. “Alright. Be safe.”
Tim nearly dropped his coffee, but did drop his jaw.
You leaned down, kissed Bruce on the cheek, and walked out the door like nothing was wrong.
Bruce went back to reading the Gotham Gazette as if he hadn’t just undone his own punishment.
Tim sat frozen in the his seat for a solid thirty seconds before finally blurting, “Bruce! They're grounded!”
Bruce didn’t even look up. “Oh. Right.”
A beat of silence.
“And are they still grounded?” Tim pressed.
Bruce turned a page. “I’ll revisit it later.”
He didn’t…
…Back in the living room, Tim pinched the bridge of his nose.
“So, yeah,” he muttered. “Grounded for a week. Gone in less than two hours. When they came back they told Bruce all about it.”
Jason was already grinning. “I still can’t believe you thought he’d enforce it.”
“Can you blame me for hoping?” Tim asked flatly. “He grounded me once for forgetting to eat dinner. He said it was ‘self-neglect.’ ”
Dick laughed. “Bruce’s logic when it comes to his daughters exists in another dimension.”
Duke just stared at them, slack-jawed. “He really just… let them go? Unbelievable.”
Damian straightened, expression carved from pure suffering. “My father’s hypocrisy knows no bounds,” he began solemnly. “Observe."…
…It began, as these tragedies often did, with good intentions — his, specifically.
Damian had always adored animals. He rescued them, rehabilitated them, even smuggled a few injured strays back to the Manor. Each time, Bruce had said the same thing: “No more animals in the house, Damian.”
A reasonable rule, perhaps. Until they got involved.
It was a quiet Sunday when it happened. Damian had just finished training when he heard you and Cassandra’s laughter echoing through the main hall.
“What the…” he muttered. He turned the corner and froze when he saw the animal. "What is the meaning of this!"
You and Cass turned to look at the boy. You immediately went into defensive mode.
"Damian you don’t get it," you began.
Damian grinned like he had a checkmate in chess. "Father is going to be livid when he sees this."
You clasped your hands together, pleading for sympathy from your younger brother. "She was all alone Damian! Scared and defenseless! Stuck in a tree and in need of help!'
"Stop! Stop! Stop!" Damian urged. "You did not find a ZEBRA stuck in a tree."
Cass hugged the Zebra like Damian would take her away any moment. “We named her Wonder Zebra! Diana has to know we named this majestic creature after her.”
Damian blinked. “You cannot be serious.”
Cass smiled at their new companion. “She’s calm and has good energy.”
“Good energy?!” Damian gestured wildly. “She’s a zebra, not a therapy dog!”
The zebra snorted and began nibbling at one of Bruce’s antique rugs.
You gently patted her neck. “She’s just hungry. Poor thing’s been through enough.”
At that exact moment, Bruce came down the stairs. Damian folded his arms, relief flooding him — finally, someone rational.
“Father,” he announced, “they’ve brought home a wild animal. I assume you’ll handle this.”
Bruce stopped halfway down, taking in the scene: his daughters, his ruined carpet, and a striped fugitive from the Gotham Zoo. A long silence followed.
“Girls,” he said finally, “where did you find it?”
“We were just walking down the street and she was stranded Dad!” you answered innocently. “All alone stuck on the unforgiving streets that would corrupt her! We had to save her and give her a loving home!"
Bruce nodded once, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “And you want to keep her?”
Cass nodded. "She can't go back out there. She's clearly been raised in captivity. She won't survive on her own. And I've seen the neighbor's lawn, the grass is fake!"
Damian smirked. “He’ll say no.”
But Bruce didn’t say no. He pulled out his phone.
“Father?” Damian asked, horrified. “What are you doing?”
“Calling the zoo,” Bruce said simply. “We’ll make the proper arrangements.”
Ten minutes later, Bruce Wayne owned a zebra.
Later that day, a new enclosure was being built on the property. Alfred was giving instructions to the contractors as Cass brushed the Wonder Zebra's mane. You gave Bruce's large body the tightest hug you could manage.
Damian stood at the fence, glaring at Bruce. “You said no more animals.”
Bruce just sipped his coffee. “I said no more unapproved animals.”
Damian gestured wildly toward the zebra. “How is this approved?!”
Bruce shrugged. “It’s domesticated now.”
You handed him an apple slice. “Want to feed her, Dad?”
Bruce smiled. “Sure.”
Damian groaned. “This is absurd!”…
…Back in the living room, Damian crossed his arms with righteous indignation.
“So yes, Thomas, Father not only allowed them to keep a zebra, he bought it. Within the hour.”
Duke blinked. “...A real zebra?”
“It took six months for Alfred to convince Bruce to give Wonder Zebra back to the zoo,” Jason said. "He still owns her but Alfred got sick of her eating his roses."
Tim leaned forward, smirking. “So now you get it, right? The favoritism?”
Duke ran a hand down his face. “I’m starting to think Bruce doesn’t parent them—he just funds their adventures.”
Dick laughed. “Welcome to the Wayne family.”
Night had settled over Wayne Manor, the kind of quiet stillness that felt almost suspicious after years of living with vigilantes. The boys had spent hours brainstorming ways to convince Bruce. They needed a backup plan in case you and Cass decided to not help them.
Duke shook his head. “There’s gotta be some situation where Bruce says no to them.”
Tim raised a brow. “If there is a limit, we haven't reached it yet.”
Damian, ever the realist, folded his arms. “Perhaps tonight will be the exception. Father returned home not long ago from his date with Selina. He is… preoccupied.”
Dick looked at him. "How do you know?"
"I saw them while I was in the kitchen getting a drink. Father grabbed some wine and two glasses and left with her," Damian clarified.
Jason grinned. “Oh, so the Bat and the Cat are having their little romantic rooftop debrief, huh?”
“Not on the rooftop,” Damian said flatly. “They went in the direction of his bedroom.”
That earned a collective grimace.
Dick coughed. “Okay, boundaries. Ew. But fine — if there’s ever a time he’s gonna draw the line, it’s now.”
“Exactly,” Tim said. “He won't let anyone interrupt his…"adult time"… with Selena. ”
Jason leaned back, smug. “Yeah, no way he’s getting out of bed for anyone right now.”
The universe heard them — and laughed. Because just then, the sound of the front door opening echoed through the hall.
Cass’s quiet footsteps were unmistakable. Yours weren’t — you were humming, the sound bright and careless. Both of you held dozens of shopping bags in your arms. The glossy bags cutting into your arms didn't dampen your moods one bit.
"Hi guys," Cass said casually.
"Have you seen Dad," you asked. "We want to show him our haul."
The brothers exchanged nervous looks.
“Relax,” Tim whispered. “Even Bruce has limits.”
Jason looked at the both of you, a confident smirk etched on his face. "Bruce and Selena are in his bedroom. If you catch my drift…?"
You and Cass looked at each other. The boys couldn’t read your expressions, but you two shared that silent understanding only sisters could. You both dropped your shopping bags with synchronized thuds, expensive logos scattering across the floor.
Jason blinked. “Oh, no. No way. You two aren’t actually—”
But you two were already marching down the hall.
Tim groaned into his hands. “They’re doing it.”
Duke whispered, “He's going to say no to them. This has to be the night.”
Dick felt himself flinch. "They're going to be devastated. Their first 'no' ever."
Damian sighed, defeated. “They're going to need comforting. Let's have snacks and movies ready for them.”
The boys moved to the kitchen like they were preparing someone's final meal.
Somewhere upstairs, faint music played — soft jazz, far too romantic for Wayne Manor’s usual gloom. You and Cass walked in perfect step, as if you were on a mission of personal vengeance.
By the time you reached Bruce’s door, the muffled sound of laughter and low voices confirmed your suspicion.
You knocked firmly. “Daaaad?”
Silence. Then a shuffle. Then hushed voices.
You frowned. “Dad?”
Cass added, “We need to show you something.”
More frantic movement followed. Then, Selina’s voice — unmistakably irritated — came through the door. “Bruce, don’t you dare—”
Too late. The door opened.
Bruce stood there in a black silk robe, hair a little disheveled, a light layer of sweat clinging to his skin, trying very hard to look like a man who hadn’t just been interrupted.
“Hi, girls,” he said evenly, the faintest edge of guilt in his voice.
You beamed. “Hi, Dad! We're done shopping!”
Cass excitedly bounced on her toes. “We bought a lot things.”
Behind him, Selina groaned. “Of course you did.”
You stepped forward, undeterred. “They had a sale at Cartier. And Cass found perfume that smells like Gotham rain.”
Cass nodded seriously. “It does not. It smells like Gotham in the summer.”
Bruce managed a smile. “That’s great girls.”
You peeked past him. “Hi, Selina!”
Selina sat up, the sheets pulled strategically high, and a forced smile on her face. "Hello girls. I'd come up to greet you but your Dad and I are very busy right now."
Cass tilted her head. “Busy?”
You blinked innocently. “Busy with what?”
Selina groaned again. “Unbelievable.”
You tugged one Bruce's sleeve. “Anyway, we wanted to show you what we got!”
Cass tugged Bruce's other sleeve. "And you have to smell the perfume and tell [Name] I'm right."
Bruce hesitated, eyes darting to Selina’s glare, then back to your hopeful expression and Cass' pleading look.
He sighed. “Alright. Let me make myself decent.”
Selina buried her face in her hands. “You. Are. Hopeless.”
You leaned up to kiss Bruce’s cheek. “Love you, Dad! You’re the best.”
Cass gave a small nod. “We'll wait for you in the living room.”
You both turned and padded down the hall.
Behind the closed door, Selina glared, “What about me?”
Bruce raised a brow. “What about you?”
Selina stared like he’d just committed a crime against humanity, but Bruce only walked to his closet and pulled out some clothes.
The boys had set up the living room to perfection. Popcorn bowls with 5 different flavors. Ice cream tubs with dozens of toppings. Blankets. A carefully queued movie.
Jason stared at the spread and sighed. “Feels like we’re prepping for heartbreak.”
Duke took a sip of one of the soda cans, letting the fizz calm his nerves. "Because we are."
Tim checked his phone. “It’s been ten minutes. No screaming, no crying, no door slamming.”
Dick frowned. “It’s the quiet before the storm.”
Damian poured a glass of water with grim solemnity. “Father may require this after the confrontation.”
Jason snorted. “It's a bittersweet night boys.”
Then they heard it. Two sets of footsteps heading their way, quick and heavy.
The boys turned toward the sound just in time to see you and Cass descend the stairs — all smiles and laughter — followed by Bruce Wayne himself, now in gray pajama set and matching slippers.
Dick blinked. “Oh my god. He actually came downstairs.”
Jason squinted. “In his pajamas and matching slippers!”
Bruce looked utterly unfazed. “You said you had something to show me?”
You and Cass nodded enthusiastically and began unloading your shopping bags onto the every available surface like a luxury-themed magic trick.
Perfume. Jewelry boxes. Clothes. Shoes. Half of Gotham’s economy.
Cass held up the perfume bottle. “Smell this. Tell her I’m right.”
Bruce leaned down obediently, smelling the sample strip you held out. “Cass is right. It smells like Gotham in summer.”
You gasped, offended. “What? No way! It’s totally Gotham rain!”
He smiled faintly. “Sorry honey.”
Jason muttered under his breath, “He’s so whipped.”
Tim, deadpan, “This isn’t even parenting anymore. It’s diplomacy.”
Cass handed Bruce another bag. “Look inside.”
He peered in. “A suede jacket?”
You nodded proudly. “For you! We saw it and immediately thought of you.”
You smiled, satisfied, then added casually, “Oh! And we’re borrowing the Batjet next week. Tokyo trip.”
Jason choked on his drink. “You’re what!?”
Bruce didn’t even flinch. “File the flight plan first.”
Tim slammed his hand on the counter. “Are you serious?!”
Bruce looked at him calmly. “Always.”
The boys went dead silent. The sound of you and Cass giggling and rummaging through your bags filling the air.
Then Dick groaned, throwing his hands up. “I give up.”
Jason dragged a hand down his face. “He was in bed with Catwoman and still said yes.”
Duke muttered weakly, “We did this whole set up for nothing.”
Damian glared at his father. “Father, you are an embarrassment to the concept of discipline.”
Bruce looked around the room, expression neutral. “You all finished?”
The boys collectively mumbled variations of yeah, whatever, as you and Cass started showing your things again, talking happily. The boys abandoned the movie and started eating the food they prepared, drowning their defeat in calories.
The haul went on for three hours before the sisters disappeared down the hall with their things. Bruce watched them go, an unmistakable fondness softening his features.
Jason folded his arms. “You do realize they’ve got you completely wrapped around their fingers, right?”
Bruce’s lips quirked. “I know.”
Selina appeared at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed, still in silk and absolute disbelief. “You’re impossible.”
Bruce gave her a small, unapologetic smile. “I’m a father.”
Selina sighed, rolling her eyes — but the corner of her mouth twitched. “A hopeless one.”
Bruce took her hand and lead her back upstairs, slippers soft against the wood floor. “Goodnight, boys.”
The room fell silent for a moment before Duke exhaled. “I can’t believe he’s the same guy who terrifies the Justice League.”
Dick laughed softly, looking toward the staircase. “That’s our dad.”
The batfam is sick! Good thing the best doctor in Gotham is on the case!
"Oh my poor babies," you muttered as you marched into the manor's large kitchen.
Your six year old daughter Martha sat at the counter nibbling an apple you cut for her earlier.
"Everyone is sick Mama?" she rubbed her temples, an action she got from watching you. "That really sucks."
You almost laughed at your little girls honesty and obliviousness. The culprit of this whole snotty infestation couldn’t stop clinging to her big brother Dick when he was leaving with his siblings for an extensive group mission. Dick caught her flu, and passed it along to everyone. The harsh winter weather and everyone insisting they were fine, resulted in a lot of sick vigilantes.
You, Bruce, and Alfred were spared since you three were at home helping Martha feel better and disinfecting every inch of the Manor. But now you three needed to take care of more flu victims that were quarantining at the Manor. Sending them back to their teams bases would just spread the flu to more people.
Your body moved on auto pilot as you quickly thought of your game plan. Little Martha watched you put on your apron and pull out a pen and notepad. You rapidly scribbled meals and ingredients, leaving the notepad every so often to look through the fridge and cabinets. A focused scowl plastered on your face as you moved.
Martha sniffled, her voice cracking as she spoke. “We have to help them, Mama. They need a doctor! They need you!”
You looked at her teary eyed face and rushed over to her. You bent down to her eye level and gently took her tiny hands in yours.
"I can't help them like a doctor does honey. I'm a pharmacist. So I work with medicine. You know the nasty stuff daddy and I gave you when you were sick," Martha nodded. "That's what I work with. Doctors tell you that your sick, and they talk to me, so I can give their patients the medicine they need to feel better. Does that make sense?"
Martha gave a firm nod. "So…we need to get a doctor to say they're sick…and the doctor makes you make them feel better."
"Something like that, yeah."
Suddenly Martha's face lit up. “I’ll get my kit!” She hopped off the stool and ran off, leaving you a little confused.
But when she came back a few minutes later, all of your questions were answered. Martha walked in with her doctor play set. The kit came in a large plastic suitcase on wheels, and came with a children's doctor coat, a mask, and 30 play pieces.
She stopped in front of you, a large triumphant smile on her face. "Doctor Martha is here!"
Just then, Bruce shuffled in — sweats, hoodie, hair slightly mussed, empty mug in his hand. The world’s greatest detective looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a century.
"And daddy can be my nurse," Martha declared.
Bruce turned around, "Huh?"
Bruce knocked on Dick’s door with the practiced patience of a man who hadn't already received twenty-seven texts from Dick that morning. He wore his fluffy white robe as his doctors coat, and a black surgical mask on his face. Martha stood beside him, doctor kit rolling behind her, doctors coat buttoned to the top, mask slightly askew, and play clipboard clutched with Hello Kitty paper close to her chest.
“Come in,” Dick croaked, voice rasping like he’d swallowed gravel.
He was a mess. Hair everywhere, wrapped in two blankets, a cold pack sliding down his forehead. One arm hung dramatically over the side of the bed.
Martha gasped. “Oh no! He’s very sick, Daddy.”
Bruce nodded gravely. “Critical condition.”
Dick peeked an eye open. “Is that my favorite doctor?”
Martha marched forward. “Yes! Doctor Martha Wayne. And this is Nurse Bruce Daddy.”
Dick grinned weakly. “You brought backup. Good. I wasn’t sure I’d make it.”
Bruce took out his phone and dialed your number. He put it on speaker.
“Hey, Doctor Wayne,” your voice came through the line, cheerful and steady. “How’s the patient?”
“Hi, Mama!” Martha chirped. “He’s very hot and sweaty,” Martha reported, pressing her toy thermometer to Dick’s forehead. “And his hair’s going crazy. That means fever.”
Bruce added, deadpan: “Fever of one hundred and… dramatic.”
Dick stuck his tongue out at Bruce and readjusted his ice pack.
You chuckled. “Understood. Doctor Martha, what do you think he needs?”
“Soup, juice, and snuggles,” she said decisively.
“Prescription approved,” you said. “Pharmacy will prepare chicken noodle and vegetable juice. Nurse Bruce Daddy, make sure he doesn’t leave bed.”
“Copy that,” Bruce said.
Dick pouted. "I don't like vegetable juice!"
You said a firm "Too bad." and hung up the phone.
"Who made her the boss?”
Bruce tucked one of the blanket around him, “Her doctorate.”
Martha peeled a sparkly unicorn sticker from her kit and stuck it carefully on Dick’s hand.
“There. That’ll make you brave. Because uniforms are brave."
Dick smiled, small and soft. “Already working, Doc.”
As they stepped out, Bruce texted you:
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Dick is stable. Diagnosis: severe silliness, light fever, 80% improvement after sticker treatment.
Your reply came quick.
From : "My Home ❤️": Pharmacy delivery driver (Alfred) will deliver chicken noodle soup in 20 minutes. Next patient.
Bruce glanced down the hall where the rest of the manor waited in various stages of misery. He sighed, adjusting the toy stethoscope hanging from his neck.
“Come on, Doctor. We’ve got a long day ahead.”
Martha grinned, tugging his hand. “Let’s save more people, Nurse Bruce Daddy.”
The next door was half-closed, a low voice grumbling from inside.
“Come in if you dare,” Jason muttered, muffled by a pillow.
Martha didn’t hesitate. She pushed the door open, tiny doctor coat flapping dramatically. “Doctor Martha Wayne, reporting for duty!”
Jason groaned. “Oh no, they sent the tiny one.”
Bruce followed her in, phone in hand, expression neutral. “Nurse Bruce Daddy assisting.”
Jason peered up from his blanket cocoon. “You’re kidding me.”
Bruce started typing, voice flat. “No, but I will be documenting your symptoms for [Name].”
Marta climbed onto the edge of the bed, stethoscope around her neck, eyes sharp with professional focus. “How are you feeling, big brother Jay?”
He coughed once, wet, deep, and chesty. “Fine.”
She gasped. “Ew! That cough is not fine!” She pressed the plastic stethoscope against his chest, listening intently to absolutely nothing. “Hmm. Your heartbeat sounds… spicy.”
Jason squinted. “Spicy?”
“That means you’ve been eating too many chili dogs,” she said with great authority.
Jason's eyes narrowed at his sister. "Who told you!?"
Bruce called your phone immediately.
"Status report," you asked with a tone too playful to be completely stern.
"Doctor reports patient has "spicy heartbeat.” Likely due to diet of street food and vengeance," Bruce reported.
"Incorrect," Jason weakly pointed at a shaky finger at Bruce. "Street food and spite. Vengeance is your thing."
You let out an amused huff on the other line. "Understood. Prescription: extra-large super green smoothie and no chili dogs until he gets better."
Jason sat up. “Wait, no chili dogs? Don't I need, like, protein or something?"
Unfortunately for Jason, you already hung up before you could listen to his objections.
Martha scribbled on her clipboard, tongue poking out as she wrote. “What Mama says goes.”
Jason sighed, slumping back. “You're brutal like mama.”
Martha patted his arm. “That’s because I care.” She reached into her kit and produced a bright red sticker shaped like a lightning bolt. “You’re strong like Flash. You’ll feel better soon.”
Jason looked at it for a long moment before peeling it carefully off and sticking it on his bedside table lamp. “Thanks sis.”
As they left, Bruce sent one last text:
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient grumpy but compliant. Sticker therapy successful. Moral high.
From: "My Home ❤️": Sounds like you . Next.
Martha tugged Bruce’s hand toward the next hallway. “Come on, Nurse Bruce Daddy! We still have a lot of sickies to fix!”
Bruce smirked faintly. “Lead the way, Doctor.”
The door to Tim’s room was cracked open, the faint glow of a laptop screen flickering inside. Bruce sighed before even knocking. “He’s working,” he muttered.
Martha frowned. “He’s supposed to be resting!”
She pushed the door open and marched straight in, the toy stethoscope bouncing against her chest. “Patient Timmy!” she announced. “You are not allowed to do science when you’re sick!”
Tim turned in his desk chair, coffee mug in his hand, dark circles practically engraved under his eyes. “It’s not science, it’s—”
“Work,” Bruce finished sternly. “Is that coffee!?”
Martha let out a high pitched gasp. "I'm telling Mommy!"
Tim slumped. “Traitor!”
"Get him to bed Nurse Bruce Daddy!"
Bruce didn't hesitate. He rushed towards Tim, but Tim was stubborn. He jumped out of his chair and used it as a shield. "Cut it out Bruce! I'm fine!"
"Don't make this harder than it needs to be," Bruce pulled the chair away from Tim and tossed it to the side.
Tim lunged towards his bed and clumsily wrapped his duvet around his shoulders. "I'm in bed! I'm in bed! Layoff Nurse Terminator!"
Bruce gave a stern nod and went to pick up Tim's chair. Meanwhile Martha climbed into Tim's bed, wooden tongue depressor in her hand. "Say ahh Timmy."
"Okay, just not too far Martha. I almost threw up last time."
"Okay."
Tim opened his mouth, letting Martha slowly and carefully press his tongue down with the depressor. Tim was patient as she examined the inside of his mouth for…something.
Martha nodded like she suddenly got all the answers she needed. She dropped the depressor on Tim's bed and started scribbling on her clipboard.
Tim leaned over to see what she was writing. "Is it serious doctor?"
Martha didn’t look up from her clipboard. “Yes. Yucky breath and tired eyes.”
Tim groaned into his blanket. “Ruthless.”
Bruce thumbed his phone.
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Timmy diagnosed with ‘yucky breath and tired eyes.’
The reply came fast.
From: "My Home ❤️": Italian meatball soup, lots of water, and mint mouthwash before anyone else suffers.
Tim pulled the duvet higher over his head. “Tell Mom I’m not talking to her anymore.”
Martha smiled proudly, setting a panda sticker on his nightstand. “He’s getting better already.”
Cass’s door was closed, soft music humming from a speaker on the other side. She sat cross-legged on her bed, blanket wrapped around her shoulders, eyes closed as she breathed slowly through a sore throat because her stuffed up nose wouldn't allow something as silly as breathing.
Martha peeked in, whispering, “We have to be quiet, Nurse Bruce Daddy. She’s sleeping sitting up.”
Cass’s lips curved into a small smile. “Not sleeping,” she rasped gently.
Martha crept closer. “Hi, Cass. I’m Doctor Martha. You don’t feel good?”
Cass shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. “No I don't Doctor Martha. Can you help me?”
Martha pulled out her trusty clip board. "What are your symptoms?"
"Sore throat. Stuffy nose. And I'm really tired."
Bruce stayed by the doorway, pulling out his phone.
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Cassandra reports fatigue, sinus congestion, and sore throat. Calm and cooperative.
The reply came a moment later.
From: "My Home ❤️": Apple cinnamon oatmeal with honey. Tell Doctor Martha to be extra gentle with her big sister.
Martha reached into her kit, placing a toy thermometer against Cass’s cheek. “Hmm,” she murmured. “You’ve got the sleepies. But don’t worry, I’ll fix it.”
Cass watched her little sister with patient amusement. “Sleepies, huh?”
“Yup. Doctor’s orders — oatmeal, snuggles, and a nap.” Martha opened her case and pulled out a small stuffed axolotl and gave it to Cass. Next she peeled a gold star sticker from her clipboard and pressed it gently to Cass’s shoulder. “For being the quietest patient ever.”
Cass signed thank you, her movement small and soft. Martha brightened and awkwardly mirrored the sign back, making Cass’s eyes glimmer with pure affection.
Bruce sent one last text before pocketing his phone.
To: "My Home ❤️": Stuffy deployed. Sticker therapy successful. Patient Cass resting.
From: "My Home ❤️": Good job! Previous patients received food and medicine. I eagerly await another update.
Cass reached over to squeeze Martha’s tiny hand. “Good doctor,” she whispered.
Bruce knelt beside her and whispered, “You’re four for four, Doctor. Who’s next?”
Martha’s eyes lit up. “Steph! She’s a silly patient. We have to hurry!”
Martha knocked three times before kicking open the door. “Doctor Martha Wayne!” she announced grandly. “House call!”
Steph, bundled up in a mountain of purple blankets, peeked over the top with mock fear. “Oh no, the doctor’s here! Everyone hide the candy!”
Bruce followed her in, phone already out with you on the other line. “Patient appears conscious and sarcastic.”
“Symptom confirmed,” you said seriously, the sound of a knife cutting something on the other line.
Steph laughed, voice hoarse but light. “You’re getting good at this, kiddo.” She patted the bed beside her. “Come on, Doc. You better check my vitals before I die of boredom.”
Martha climbed up, pulling out her toy stethoscope and placing it on Stephs back. “Okay. Deep breaths.”
Steph exaggerated it, huffing like she was blowing up a balloon. Martha nodded gravely and tapped her pen. “Diagnosis: funny lungs.”
You paused your food cutting. "So patient Stephanie exhibits excessive humor and mild congestion. Got it. Prescription: chicken and dumplings, orange juice."
Bruce dipped his chin once in acknowledgment. "Better add one less joke per minute to her prescription."
Steph blew a raspberry at Bruce. “You and [Name] are no fun.”
Martha gasped. “You can’t talk back to the pharmacy!”
Bruce added, “That’s an automatic fine.”
Steph chuckled, her laugh turning into a cough. Martha instantly reached for her toy thermometer and pressed it to Steph’s forehead. “You’re hot!” she blurted, eyes wide.
Steph smirked. “Thanks, I know.”
Martha blinked, confused. “No, I mean your head! You have a fever!”
Steph’s laughter broke into another cough, and Martha’s little hand flew to her back, rubbing in small circles. “Careful! You’re gonna choke on your funny!”
Bruce spoke into his phone. "Patient laughing through cough. Doctor applied small-hand comfort technique."
A kitchen timer rings mid-call. "Ah, the next round of food is done. Tell Doctor Martha she’s doing wonderfully. And remind Steph to drink her water."
Steph retreated back into her cocoon, only her sweaty forehead visible. "Yes ma'am."
Martha tore off a shiny purple cat sticker and stuck it right on Steph’s forehead. “For bravery and too many jokes.”
Steph gave her a weak salute through her blankets. “Best doctor I’ve ever had.”
Martha giggled and hopped off the bed. “Next patient, Nurse Bruce Daddy!”
"Yes Doctor Martha."
Martha didn’t even knock this time. She flung Duke’s door open like a superhero making an entrance. “Doctor Martha Wayne! And Nurse Bruce Daddy!”
Duke sat in the middle of his bed, oversized hoodie on, and a box of tissues balanced on his lap. “Wow, I got the A-team,” he said, voice stuffy but amused.
“You sure did,” Bruce replied, tone flat but eyes warm. “Let's get to work doctor.”
Martha squinted, studying Duke like a detective at a crime scene. “You sound funny.”
“Because my nose is broken,” Duke said with a sniff.
Martha gasped. “You broke your nose!?”
Duke chuckled. “I mean it’s stuffy.”
“Ohhh.” Martha nodded sagely and pulled a toy otoscope from her kit. “Hold still. Doctor Martha will fix it.”
Duke leaned forward obediently while she shined her little plastic light up his nose. “Hmm,” she hummed, dead serious. “Too much nastiness in there.”
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Duke experiencing nasal congestion. Doctor’s official diagnosis: ‘too much nastiness.’
Duke waved to Bruce to catch his attention. "Tell [Name] my head is pounding from the congestion."
Bruce did what he was asked, and got a text from you minutes later.
To: "My Home ❤️": Administer Pedialyte with emergency congestion and headache medicine set for immediate Alfred delivery. And tell our doctor she’s brilliant.
Martha beamed as Bruce read the text aloud. “See? Mommy thinks I’m smart!”
Duke gently pat Martha's head. “I’d trust you with my life, Doc.”
She reached into her kit and handed him a bright yellow sticker shaped like the sun. “For being the sunshine brother.”
He smiled, pressing it to his hoodie. “Best sticker ever.”
Bruce typed one more note.
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Duke stable, morale high. Sunshine sticker issued.
Duke raised an eyebrow. “You’re really into this, huh?”
Bruce smiled and shrugged. “Doctor’s orders. And I wanted to make sure everyone's okay.”
Duke looked down at his hands, trying to use his hood to hide his bashful smile. "Thanks Bruce. I appreciate that."
Martha clapped her hands together. “Only one left!”
Bruce glanced down the hall toward the last closed door. “Damian.”
Martha nodded with determination. “He’s the grumpiest patient of all. We have to be brave, Nurse Bruce Daddy.”
Bruce sighed, resigned. “Lead on, Doctor.”
The door to Damian’s room was shut tight, a hand-written note taped to it: DO NOT ENTER.
Martha squinted at it. “He’s scared,” she said defiantly.
Bruce deadpanned, “That’s one interpretation.”
She knocked anyway. “Doctor Martha Wayne! Open up! I have to tell mommy you're sick and give you medicine!”
A muffled voice shot back, sharp as a blade: “Leave the cure by the door. I require no assistance.”
Martha stomped her foot. “He’s refusing treatment!”
Bruce sighed. “He’s refusing everything.”
She turned the handle and pushed the door open before he could stop her.
Damian stood near his desk, arms crossed, sword propped within reach—because of course it was. Titus lay nearby, ears back like he’d already accepted defeat. Damian’s voice was hoarse, his nose red, but his posture screamed battle-ready.
“I’m fine,” he said curtly.
“You’re sniffly,” Martha countered, marching right up to him with her toy thermometer in her right hand, and her toy otoscope in her left.
“That’s not a medical term.”
“You're not a doctor! You don't know!”
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Damian still in denial. Sword present. Proceeding with caution.
A second later:
From: "My Home ❤️": Be careful. Apply stubbornness-countermeasures. Preparing emergency grilled cheese and tomato soup. Administer stealth affection STAT!
“Sit,” Martha ordered, pointing at his bed.
Damian scoffed. “You are not qualified to give orders.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow. “She has more medical experience than you do, son.”
“Because I trained with assassins, not—” Damian let out a hard sneeze, knocking the wind out of him so hard that he went into a coughing fit.
Martha pointed a finger at her brother dramatically. “Evidence! You are sick!”
He scowled. “That was dust.”
“There’s no dust in my patient rooms,” she said firmly, stepping closer to him and holding out her plastic thermometer. “Hold still!”
Damian dodged left. “I will not.”
She huffed, trying again. “Hold still or I’ll tell Mommy!”
Bruce said slowly, “That’s an effective strategy.”
Damian froze mid-step. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Martha tightened her grip on her thermometer. "Yes. I. Would."
Bruce jumped towards Damian, embracing the boy in a tight bear hug. "Gotcha."
Damian wiggled is shoulders and kicked his feet, but his congestion left him weak and breathless. He gave up his fight almost as soon as he started. He dangled helplessly as Martha stared up at her helpless brother.
Damian looked back at her, his expression somewhere between disbelief and betrayal. "This isn't care! This is tyranny!”
She scribbled on her clipboard. “Diagnosis: very dramatic. Needs puppy snuggles.”
Damian sighed heavily. “Fine. Administer whatever treatment you deem necessary. Quickly.”
Bruce released his hold. When Damian silently climbed into bed, Bruce typed one last note:
To: "My Home ❤️": Patient Damian finally compliant. Diagnosis: dramatic fever and acute denial.
From: "My Home ❤️": Good work. I knew I could count on you.
Martha beamed, placing a tiny dinosaur sticker on his wrist. “For being brave and only a little grumpy.”
Damian studied it like it was radioactive, then muttered, “Tch. It’s acceptable.”
Titus barked once, tail thumping on the wood floor.
Bruce crouched beside his daughter. “That’s all the patients, Doctor.”
Martha jumped, proud smile still in place. “We did it.”
“You did,” Bruce said softly, kissing the top of her head. “Now let’s report back to the pharmacy. And tell mommy the good news."
For the first time all day, you weren’t juggling medicine bottles, boiling pots, or a buzzing phone. You sat curled up on the living room couch, a thick blanket on your lap, tea steaming between your hands, firelight flickering against the walls.
Alfred had taken care of the final deliveries himself — insisting that Doctor Martha’s patients deserved proper presentation. He’d left the soup trays and medicine bottles neatly arranged on a rolling cart and disappeared down the hall like the guardian of a very tired hospital ward.
A few minutes later, the familiar tread of heavy steps echoed across the floor. You looked up as Bruce appeared in the doorway — hoodie rumpled, hair even more of a mess, and your daughter fast asleep on his shoulder. Her tiny doctor’s coat was crooked, her mask off, and her stethoscope and clipboard securely in Bruce's free hand.
“She insisted on checking Alfred one more time, even though he wasn't sick,” Bruce murmured, voice low so she wouldn’t wake. “Declared him fully cured.”
You smiled. “And what about you, Nurse Bruce Daddy?”
His mouth curved faintly. “Completely healthy.”
“Good,” you said softly, patting the couch beside you. “Because I’m prescribing rest, cuddles, and cookies.”
He set Martha gently in your lap, her tiny hands instantly finding you. “Mission complete,” she mumbled into your shoulder, half-dreaming. “All better.”
You gently kissed her head, your heart full of love and content. “Best doctor in Gotham.”
Bruce’s gaze softened. “No arguments here.” He carefully sat close to you. Allowing you to smoothly cuddle into his side.
You leaned into him as the fire cracked softly, the manor finally still — every tick of the clock a small, steady heartbeat of peace.
