i just wanted to expand on this world a bit (and also cos im tired and need an excuse to procrastinate both my schoolwork AND my other fics 😙)
Also, if enough ppl show interest, I’ll probably continue this au/world/verse/thing
Bruce never wanted kids- never. It's not because he hated kids or something like that- it was the complete opposite, he loved kids. Every time he goes out on the street, every time he dons that cowl and cape, every time he streaks through the air with vengeance screeching in his soul, Bruce does it for the children.
He loves children, and he wants ones of his own. He wants to hear their gleeful smiles, their bubbly laughter as little feet pitter down the halls of the open manor. He was to see their bright round eyes blink up at him with soul-searing love that he'd return without a single beat of hesitation. He wants to cradle their little face in his palms, sing them gentle lullabies and read them little story books to help them sleep.
But... He can't have that. Batman can't have that- Bruce can't have that.
This crusade- his crusade- against crime... he can't involve a child. Even if it shreds his heart apart and leaves this ever-growing monster of loneliness and isolation clawing and tearing at his chest... he won't ever involve a child in his messy coping mechanism.
So, rather than settling down like the board members (and Alfred) wish for him to do and make heirs to Wayne Enterprises, Bruce continues to go out every night, waging his war on crime. He was content to do so too, but… But it seems like the universe had other plans for him.
Bruce watched in quiet horror, Alfred tensing beside him as the Flying Grasons fell. Their son freezes, watching as dark crimson spills across the ground, the sound of bones snapping was lost in the cacophony of screams, the piercing and wailing faded to the background as Bruce shoved to his feet, hiis limbs moving without Bruce’s prompting as he surged forward, shrugging off his coat and draped it across the boy’s- Richard’s- shoulders as Alfred hurriedly called the police.
The boy jolted, turning his bright, watery, sapphire eyes onto Bruce- filled with uncertainty and anguish… Bruce was reminded of his that fateful night on their way to the theater, the sound of pearls clacking against the concrete pavement, echoed by the sound of gunshots, screaming, and red-red-red.
Sympathy seized Bruce’s throat like a vicious creature, and Bruce could barely shove away the need to gather Richard into his arms and sweep him away.
But, after Alfred’s pointed glare, Bruce reluctantly tries to hand the boy over… only for him to wail, clinging to Bruce’s shirt with fearful and wild eyes.
“Don’t- PLEASE!” Richard screams, writhing in the cop’s hold, “LET GO OF ME!”
Bruce was instantly at his son the boy’s side, prying the man’s hands from Richard’s shoulder with a narrowed eye glare so uncharacteristic of “Brucie” Wayne.
“We have to question the kid,” the cop tried to reach for the boy once again, but Bruce neatly twists away to keep Richard away from the man.
Bruce huffs, glaring at the man from the corner of his eyes, “You can do that later! He is very clearly distressed, young man, and I will not have you upsetting him any further!”
Without another word, Bruce turns away and headed toward Gordan with the eight-year-old balanced against his hips.
Bruce welcomes Richard- Dick- into the manor after a few weeks of battling with Gotham’s horrid foster system. The boy had a pale pelt clutched between his hands alongside the heavy coat Bruce had given him on that dreadful night.
“Do- do you want it back?” Dick had asked, his hands tightened around the coat before brandishing the garment with shaking, trembling hands.
He falters, swallowing thickly before gently pushing the coat back into the kid’s arms, “It’s okay, chum. I was just curious. You can keep it, okay? I don’t mind.”
“Are you sure?” the boy had asked.
Bruce smiles, slowly and gently stroking a hand through the boy’s thick hair.
Maybe… maybe having children wasn’t a bad idea?
