"Diplomacy for the Feral and the Damned"
Bruce had just sat down in the Batcave with his second cup of post-patrol coffee—black as his mood, strong enough to keep a Kryptonian awake—when his private line buzzed. Not the Batline. Not the board line. The one buried so deep in encryption and passive-aggressive threats that even Oracle called it “Extra-Paranoid Mode.”
He stared.
[Incoming Call: Vladimir Masters]
Bruce blinked. “…Oh, this is going to be a day.”
He answered with the flat monotone that had driven Gotham’s underworld into therapy. “Vlad.”
The holographic screen flickered to life—and there he was. Vladimir Masters, looking every inch the eccentric billionaire and possibly more ghost than man now. Silver-haired, in a robe that screamed “I paid three million for this and regret nothing,” surrounded by classical art, levitating books, and the faint crackle of ectoplasmic interference. The whole aesthetic screamed “If Lex Luthor was haunted by a Victorian novelist.”
Bruce’s eye twitched. “Don’t call me that.”
“It’s lovely to hear your voice, dear cousin. It’s been too long.”
Jason, eavesdropping from the shadows with popcorn, whispered, “Wait. Cousin? Since when do we have that brand of family drama?”
“Shh,” Tim muttered, scribbling something labeled Possible Interdimensional Ghost Cousins Conspiracy.
“I need your advice,” Vlad continued. “Something very personal. Deeply serious.”
Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What now, Vlad?”
Vlad leaned forward, the screen staticking briefly. “How do you get your children to be civil with you?”
There was silence. Real, echoing, existential silence.
“…I wasn’t aware you had adopted children, Vlad,” Bruce said slowly, like trying not to scare off a rabid raccoon.
“I haven’t. Not technically,” Vlad said breezily. “But my godson is staying with me. Lovely boy. Has the appetite of a black hole and the sense of self-preservation of a rabid badger.”
“...Oh god,” whispered Dick, “he sounds like all of us.”
“Cute that Masters thinks we’re civil,” Damian sniffed. “How charmingly misinformed.”
“Wait. He said godson?” Tim asked, eyes lighting up. “Do you think—could it be—Phantom?”
Vlad didn’t notice the peanut gallery commentary. “The boy has caused four minor diplomatic incidents, bitten a baron, vanished into the ceiling during a formal gala, and accused a senator of being a reptilian. Which turned out to be accurate, but the delivery was unkind.”
Bruce squinted. “That sounds like… Dick, Damian, and Tim at the Wayne Foundation Spring Gala ‘19.”
“I know!” Vlad pointed at him like a man discovering fire. “That’s exactly what I said! He’s like your sons! In one small, glowing, vaguely feral body!”
“Glowing?” Steph mouthed. “Definitely Phantom.”
“So, cousin dearest,” Vlad purred. “How do you get them to listen? How do you parent the chaos incarnate?”
Bruce took a long, tired sip of his coffee and simply said, “I don’t.”
“Bold of him to call this survival,” muttered Cass as Jason started texting Alfred for cookies and emotional support.
“Each one is an unpredictable event wrapped in trauma and tactical gear,” Bruce continued flatly. “They will not listen. They may occasionally pretend to. But only after chaos. Much, much chaos.”
Vlad sighed, running a hand through his hair. “So there’s no secret Wayne method? No clever strategy?”
“...Cookies?” Bruce offered.
From beneath the desk, something gnawed at Vlad’s ankle.
He glanced down and hissed, “Danny, stop that, I told you we don’t bite family!”
“He said that senator looked like a snake,” came the muffled voice. “And I was right.”
Vlad groaned. “Why couldn’t he just be one kind of disaster? Why all of them?”
Jason grinned. “I like this kid.”
“New cousin,” Steph agreed. “Absolutely chaotic. Ten outta ten.”
Vlad looked back up at Bruce. “So. No help?”
Bruce looked thoughtful. “Keep fire extinguishers on hand. Avoid hosting events near chandeliers. Always assume they have at least two hidden weapons. And get used to being called ‘Dad’ at the most inconvenient political moments.”
“Also,” he added, “tell him you’re proud. Even when he’s a disaster. Especially then.”
Vlad blinked. “...That worked for you?”
Bruce glanced around the cave. Steph had stolen Tim’s notes and was writing “FERAL COUSIN CLUB” across the top. Jason was already planning a trip to Amity Park. Damian was silently judging the snack selection of this new relative. And Dick was on his phone already texting Danny memes.
“…Eventually,” Bruce muttered.
From under the desk: crunch.
“Danny! Stop chewing my furniture!”
Danny peeked out, sharp-toothed grin gleaming, eyes flickering green. “Tell B-man I wanna go to one of those galas next time. I wanna meet chandelier boy.”
Jason fist-pumped. “YES.”
Bruce just sighed. “...I’ll warn the staff.”