Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Meeting adjourned.”  

With the shuffling of shifting armour and boots straightening themselves in their seats, the assorted heroes of the Justice League sat up, acknowledging the completion of another dry Batman briefing.  

“Oh wait, where was I posted?” Hal chimed in.  

The Bat turned to focus on the lantern, completely still. He did not like extra questions after ‘meeting adjourned’. This was known. What was the purpose of Saying ‘meeting adjourned’ if he had to continue to speak.  

The man didn’t grimace in annoyance or twitch his eye, too professional for that, but Hal could feel his disapproval. Radiating off of him in an aura, like standing too close to the sun. Something Hal had actually done many times! So why was this much scarier-  

With a swift point, the Bat referred to the board he was standing next to, where the Lantern’s symbol had clearly been positioned on their map.  

“Ah right thanks-”  

Before finishing the leather clad man was already exiting the room, the swish of his cape slightly more passive aggressive then Hal thought was necessary.  

“So I guess no drINKS AFTER WORK!-” Hal called after him.  

“Is it fun to provoke him?” Diana, princess of Themyscira asked at his shoulder.  

“GOD, when did you get there- And I am not provoking him! I’m trying to be friends.”  

“Same thing”  

“Ha ha.”  

“Maybe Hal is right,” Superman chimed in, in a sentence that maybe no one else in the justice league has ever said “Bruce is never going to be the one to open up first, and everyone needs friends. We should make an effort. So that when he does need support, he has real comrades at his side.”  

Black Canary set her feet on the ground from where she had been leaning back in her chair. The click of heels hitting the metallic floor of the space station had the eyes of the room turn to her quickly.  

“The day Batman needs help is the day hell freezes over.”  

…  

Hell was freezing over.  

Mr. Freeze was roaring in laughter, deep in some mad fit as he blasted Batman with another round of his ice ray, shoving the man back into some exposed piping as metal tore its way through him.  

Bruce analyzed the situation.  

Exits: Zero. Ground level ones frozen over, roof impossible to access with the walls laden in ice. Robins: scattered across the city fighting Freeze’s goons. Stomach: Open. Not good. Although the ice seems to be sealing the wound so that’s maybe... fine? Basically completely fine, let’s check that one off.  

Giant swirling portal in the middle of this villain liar: Also open. Also not good.  

“You see Batman,” Freeze cackled “I have finally realized the issue. I can freeze this wretched city and my beautiful Nora as much as I wish, but it would not solve the issue. The real enemy, the real thing I need to Freeze... is TIME ITSELF!”  

Bruce nodded dumbly, blood rushing through his ears as he held his stomach in his hands.  

Freeze stared.  

Oh right Bruce, you speak now .  

“I’ll stop you freeze- ”  

Another blast of ice, knocking him right to the edge of the portal.  

Screw this, I’m too old for talking anyway.  

The Bat took a breath.  

Exits: One.  

Bruce got to his feet, dripping in blood that was already beginning to freeze as it hit the air.  

And stepped back.  

“Wait-”  

He could hear the whirring of the machine, crackling with energy at his ears.  

“THAT IS FOR NORA, HOW DARE YOU, STEP AWAY FROM THERE-”  

Bruce fell back.  

Into time and into space.  

This should be good.  

...  

“Gordan needs you down at Gotham. Warehouse district.”  

Superman brought his communicator up to respond.  

“Gordan needs me  in Gotham city?”  

“Said he has a situation.” Wonder Woman answered over the line.  

“A world ending situation, or a Barb was mean to me and I want to talk it through with strangers situation.”  

“Didn’t say. Kind of sounded more like the first one.”  

“Thank God.”  

Superman rose above the skyscrapers, angling himself towards the cloudy storm of Gotham City.  

“Oh one more thing.”  

Superman paused, the air that was building around him mid-flight, suspended.  

“He said go as Clark.”  

…  

“Jim let me IN.”  

Commissioner Gordan grabbed the red robin by the waist to stop him from going past, but Tim just grabbed him back, locking his own tiny arms around his back, ready to suplex the older man.  

“Ah, ah OFF.” Dick Grayson, clad in his Nightwing gear chided, pulling the boy back.  

“Although really Jim? We can’t go in? How about just me and Jason.”  

The rest of the bat family looked up at the commissioner, who was blocking off the entire warehouse with his squad. From the inside they could see the windows of the base iced over... and splattered with red.  

“As a favour to Me can you please just wait another ten minutes.”  

Jason went to move past him.  

“Ah- as a favour to Barbara can you please wait!”  

Jason sighed deeply.  

But did stop.  

“Commissioner! Commissioner!”  

A notepad waved in the air in the sea of press. Jim turned to see the bespeckled man he’d been waiting for.  

“He’s good, let him through.”  

Clark Kent elbowed his way through the Gotham paparazzi, escorted by a patrol offer.  

“Hi Jim.” Clark said, straightening his tie and glasses that had been almost torn off in the jostling.  

“Yeah, Gotham press are basically wild hyenas. Anyways thanks for coming.”  

Clark gave a funny kind of flat smile, anxious but grateful.  

“Still not sure why I came, what’s wrong?”  

“He won’t tell us either.” Damian Wayne interjected.  

Clark looked down, and acknowledged the rest of the family.  

They seemed worried. Well annoyed, but mostly worried.  

“Yeah, best if you come with me.”  

…  

Gordon led Clark and Clark alone to the back entrance of the warehouse. For the first time Clark noticed he looked shaken. Pale. As politely as he could... Clark scanned his internal temperature and heart rate. The man was acting like he’d seen a ghost.  

“Jim, where’s Bruce?”  

“That’s why you’re here. He’s fine. Not dead! Honestly the opposite of dead- The furthest from dead one can be! My squad moved in after Freeze, god that mad man. He must have taken Grod’s tech, that Gorilla has been doing Insane things with portals- Although is it really a portal if, if it did what it Did! I mean- I'm explaining it poorly-”  

“Jim.” Clark grabbed the commissioner by the arms.  

Jim stopped his flustering and sighed.  

“I found him like this. He recognized me but I think being someone he knows that is older just confused him more. He also.. The blood... You’re his friend. And you’re friendly. And Indestructible. That’s what he needs right now.”  

Clark raised an eyebrow.  

“An indestructible friend?”  

Gordan gave Clark back his same funny smile from before.  

“Yeah.”  

…  

“Anyone in here? I’m approaching.”  

Clark entered the dilapidated warehouse.  

Well, his bat had definitely been here.  

Batarangs sticking out of the wall, shattered glass and broken beams. The wreckage of another over-the-top Rogue's Gallery battle. Clark followed the cables scattered around the floor into the main room. Freeze has clearly been building something, with the amount of power it needed he's lucky whatever it was didn't swallow up the city. Clark took another step towards the device, his eyes on the ground, following... Blood. Bruce's blood. Did he, go into this device?  

SHHNG-  

Clark whipped around, seconds away from catching whatever was flying at him before remembering he was currently Clark Kent.  

He stumbled, allowing the projectile, a sharpened piece of metal from the warehouse, to just barely brush past him.  

"Are you aware your prescription is fake?"  

A hunched figure dropped down from the scaffolding. Lithe and quiet, his eyes down and stance alert like a wild animal.  

"I'm sorry?"  

The man stepped forward.  

The boy?  

The young man  

"They're fake.” The young man repeated, “Is it a fashion choice or are you just a liar?"  

The hum of a swat helicopter moving over the broken warehouse roof. Spotlights shine in for a moment, highlighting the face of the young man.  

Black hair, blue eyes, that signature square jaw. He wore a singlet, bloodied and wrapped around his hand, some kind of bandage. The kind you use for fighting, boxing. He stands like a boxer, Clark notes.  

Scrappy. Feral.  

Beautiful.  

No Clark, bad.  

 He knows why Jim called him now.  

 He can only imagine how he reacted to meeting a younger Bruce Wayne once again in the flesh.  

 Jim probably wanted him here to make sure it wasn’t Clayface or some kind of hologram. Clark scans him, a few less broken bones but that same heartbeat.  

But he doesn't really have to do that. Doesn’t have to use powers to know this man. He can feel it. Can see it in his eyes, same as ever, albeit a bit less tortured.  

"Fashion." Clark answers calmly.  

Bruce smiles, a mean one but still obviously pleased that someone is engaging with him.  

"Well, that's what a liar would say." Bruce laughs, beginning to circle Clark, who remains where he is.  

God, Batman's smiling. God, Batman's LAUGHING. God, he has DIMPLES.  

"You caught me." Clark answers simply.  

Bruce halts his circling once again in front of Clark. His answers seem to amuse him.  

"I suppose you're here to explain? That's what old Jim said. ‘Let me find someone to explain!’ as he bolted out Terrified."  

Clark glanced at Bruce's knuckles. He'd seen no sign of Freeze since he arrived but judging by the frost stuck to him and the pools of red on the ground, this Bruce had taken care  of him.  

Clark wondered what it would have been like, to see this young man appear. Angry, unbruised, full of life, appearing out of the blood and snow like an avenging angel.  

"Is there a reason to be terrified of you Bruce?"  

The young man grins wider, sharp canines glinting.  

"So we do know each other then."  

 Ah, he said his name.  

You're doing a bad job explaining Clark.  

 “We do. I have something to tell you. Something you might find hard to hear. You're in-”  

“The future right?”  

Clark blinked.  

Bruce held up a smartphone with that same grin.  

How-  

“Swiped it off one of the cops when they found me. Password was easy, cops always do their badge number.”  

Young Bruce is a thief.  

“Says here my net worth is much lower than I projected it to be by now. I must be a big spender, what’d I buy?”  

Clark sighed.  

Well, what’s the point taking things slow with the World’s Greatest Detective.  

“A space station.”  

Bruce raised an eyebrow.  

“And is owning a space station a future thing, or a Me thing.”  

“It’s most definitely a You thing, Bruce.”  

Bruce approached, quickly, dangerously. He stood almost nose to nose with Clark. He smelt like spice, like mountain air.  

Where were you Bruce?  

His mind raced trying to build a timeline of where this Bruce had been pulled from. Batman had always been... stingy, about answering questions. This man in front of him could be no more than 22, 25. Fighting for his life in the league of assassins. Travelling through France, Korea, Tibet.  

“We know each other well, don’t we?” Bruce stated. It was a question, but almost didn’t sound like one when he said it.  

Clark sighed.  

“We’re friends.”  

Chapter Text

“So are we keeping him prisoner?”  

Hal watched Bruce pick through the things in his bunk as Clark and Hal stood on the other side of the airplane hangar. The younger man was swamped in one of Hal’s old pilot jackets, still in the bloody garbs he’d appeared in.  

Clark didn’t think an introduction to his ten plus kids is what the man needed right now, and flying him out of orbit back to HQ seemed like that might also be a bit too much.   

So one hurried phone call to Hal for a nearby airplane hangar (that he claimed to own but was Definitely property of the Ferris family) later, and here they were.  

“No! I just think we should let someone look over him, I’ve sent Diana and Oliver to clear out Freeze’s research, they can start there. And in the meantime, Manhunter is going to meet us here.”  

Hal nodded, still watching a young Bruce furtively reading the schematics of the newest Ferris models.  

“You like aircrafts huh?”  

Bruce’s eyes snapped up, predatory.  

Hal walked over.  

Clark rolled his eyes, the man was basically sauntering.  

Well, probably his only chance to make the Batman think he’s cool.  

Hal saddled up next to Bruce, leaning against the table as Bruce remained, watching him.  

“Designed that one myself.”   

“The technology of this era is advanced. We’ve progressed well, this plane would be quiet, sleek.”  

Hal nodded, a grin on his face.  

“Although I’m sure Lucius Fox would have designed it better. Your handwriting is chicken scratch.”  

Crestfallen. The grin sliding off Hal’s face like he’d been slapped.  

He is never going to think you’re cool Hal, Clark chuckled to himself.   

Bruce looked at him after he made a sound, head cocked.   

“Can we see him, Lucius? Or Alfred?”  

Permission. The Batman is asking you for Permission.  

“We will. I promise. Just want to make sure you’re okay first.”  

This seemed to frustrate the younger man, his nose wrinkling in distaste.  

Cute.  

“Clark?”  

Clark jumped like he’d been caught doing something wrong, as J’onn the Martian Manhunter entered through the hangar doors.   

Bruce stared at his green form, but to his credit Clark thought, did not flinch.  

“J’onn! Great uh, hey Bruce? This is our friend J’onn, do you mind if he examines you for moment?”  

Bruce lowered the aircraft schematics he was still holding cautiously and approached the two.  

“You are not human.” Bruce stated. Clark, as a non-human himself felt like the question was brash but not necessarily impolite.   

“I am not.” Responded J’onn.  

“Do you sleep with humans?”  

Well Clark felt maybe that question was possibly, probably very Impolite.  

“WHY IS THAT WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW FIRST!” An incredulous Hal yelped, his voice echoing in the hangar.  

Young Bruce shrugged unphased.  

J’onn seemed bemused.  

“May I have your hands? I have several skills mostly based in telepathy. I’d like to try and establish how you came to be here.”  

Bruce offered his hands freely, obviously curious to gather new information.  

J’onn closed his eyes in concentration as the younger man fidgeted.  

Hal sat and had a drink of water to settle down after this unfolding morning of insanity.  

J’onn opened his eyes.  

“Oh, yes by the way.”  

Hal spat his water as Bruce barked with laughter.  

…  

“So, it is him? Our Bruce?”  

“Yes, but no.” J’onn responded.  

Hal rolled his eyes and scoffed loudly.  

“Could you just for ONCE stop speaking in riddles!-”  

“Hal!” Clark cut him off, “J’onn, just... tell us what’s going on.”  

J’onn stepped back, like he was reviewing all the information in his mind.  

“Freeze was attempting to restore his wife, Nora Fries, to her physical and I suppose mental state when she was healthy. Although it wasn’t just a biological change, from the information Diana has sent me about the machine built by the primate Gorilla Grod, he has cracked some kind of element related to-”  

“Time travel.” Hal interrupted.  

J’onn nodded.  

“It reached through time you could say. Took a version of that Bruce where he was in that period of time and... restored him here? Some form of regression, where I assume that past Bruce and our timeline isn’t being affected but to him, through his experiences, he would feel like a younger self who suddenly and instantaneously travelled to this moment.”  

“Pulled out of the moment he was in.” Clark nodded, glad Lois wasn’t around to call his bluff on how much he was pretending to understand.  

“What moment was he in?” Hal asked curiously.  

J’onn paused, as if deciding how much he could share while respecting the privacy of his friend.  

“He was fighting. Some kind of ring, I’m unsure of the country. There was betting, jeering. I feel that’s all I can say.”  

Hal nodded dumbly, coming to terms with the fact that Bruce Wayne apparently had a phase where he was a street fighter for money.  

“Is he going to be alright? Is there a way of restoring him?” Clark asked.  

“For now, I’m uncertain. I have to assume the method lies in rebuilding the machine, but doing that safely unlike Freeze’s method will take, ironically, time.”  

Clark sighed and went to turn to Bruce.  

And turned again.  

And did not see Bruce.  

“Hal. Where is the Batman.”  

Hal scanned the room, and jerked up suddenly.  

“WHERE’S MY BIKE!”  

…  

Jason Todd was having a bad day.  

It was about to get worse.  

Settling the rest of the family was troublesome, they seemed shaken more than usual at Batman’s disappearance. It wasn’t rare for Bruce Wayne to get himself caught up in trouble.   

Honestly, it’s his natural state.  

But Gordon’s expression as he pleaded with them to stay back, that was not normal. Something was UP. Of that, Jason was sure.  

He’d sent the rest of the team back to the mansion. Well he’d tried to, they did not follow his orders but once Clark exited the warehouse in a hurry, asking them to go and promising explanations later, they obeyed. So basically they all followed Jason’s orders.  

Now he was hunting alone. Black Mask had chosen this exact time to stir his goons up too, so Jason had peeled off from the rest of the group to take care of it. They trusted him to deal with it alone while Batman was out. Mostly because he did not tell them about the threat and said he was just going on patrol.   

Unleashing hell on that rich jerk Roman Sionus will make him feel better. Fighting rich jerks makes everyone feel better.  

CRASH!  

Jason turned sharply. Vaulting over a dumpster onto a rooftop to survey what was happening on the street over.  

Someone’s fighting my rich jerk!  

Black Mask was leaning out the top of his armoured car with his masked henchman around him, frozen with weapons in hand, uncertain what course of action to take.  

“You-you threw a rock at me?” Black Mask said dumbly.  

“I threw a rock at the car Roman, you’re always so goddamn dramatic.”  

Jason zeroed in on the black haired man standing in front of the convoy, analyzing the threat. He’d blocked the car with a motorcycle, or more accurately Crashed his motorcycle into it. Dark blood stained him but he seemed uninjured. By the way that leather jacket hung off of him, Jason guessed he was skinny but a fighter’s build.   

Assassin. The word came to Jason. He couldn’t place it, but he’d seen enough of Al Ghul’s hunters to know at least a disciple.  

“BRUCE?” Black Mask squeaked, in a pitch Jason had never heard from the man.  

He sharply turned in shock, stepping into the light to see the man’s face.   

The face of his father , mentor , benefactor.   

Jesus Christ I think I’m OLDER than him-  

“WHY DO YOU LOOK LIKE THAT!” Roman screeched, climbing over and out of the car frantically, echoing Jason’s own sentiments.  

“Why do you look like that.” Bruce answered mercilessly, cocking an eyebrow at the villain’s mask.  

Frantic and off kilter like Jason had never seen, Roman ripped the mask off, hurriedly flattening and straightening his hair with a shaking hand.  

“You’re young.” Roman answered, if that could be considered an answer.  

“You’re old .” Bruce responded.  

Roman laughed like it was the funniest thing in the world.  

“You’re the one who crashed into my convoy, perhaps you should get your eyes checked for being old, aha!” Roman babbled, a beat too loud.  

Is this him flirting? Good God. Jason thought, filled with honest pity.  

Bruce pulled out a phone and begin typing, as the man fidgeted in front of him.  

“Yeah sorry,” Bruce said in a tone that did Not sound sorry, “I was looking for Harvey. These things are hard to use while driving.”  

Roman nodded as if ‘I was texting’ was a perfectly acceptable explanation for slamming into his car.  

Bruce glanced up.  

“And I threw the rock mostly because I was annoyed and all of your people look like criminals so, yeah.” Bruce finished lamely.  

“I’ve missed you.” Roman whispered.  

“What?”  

Jason decided that was enough.  

“HEY!”  

The two men looked up at him on the roof.  

“Get away from my... civilian, Roman.”  

Nice one Jason, almost scream out that Bruce Wayne is Batman, why don’t you.  

Roman sneers, an arm snakes out and pulls Bruce close.  

Bruce seems unphased, and continues typing on the smartphone that he is becoming Very adept at using.  

"Ah, little red riding hood!" Black Mask calls out.  

Jason bristled at the nickname.  

"Me and an old school chum were just catching up, nothing for you vigilantes to be concerned about."  

"Stop lying Roman, just hand him over-"  

"He isn't lying." Bruce replied, stopping Jason in his tracks.  

"What?"  

"I went to school with this man. He used to leave these weird little love notes in my desk."  

Black Mask looked like he might crumble where he stood.  

Jason pinched his brow. He had survived this long by learning how to prioritize, especially with information.  

Black Mask and Bruce being friends at their rich boy academy, not pertinent. The fact that there was a Young Bruce Wayne loose in the streets. Not pertinent. He was erasing all that insanity from his brain now and focusing on the priority.  

Get Bruce safe.  

“Bruce, I need you to come over here Now. I will take you to Alfred.”  

Now That got his attention. Eyes wide, back straightened.  

"Just let me fight these IDIOTS first-"  

BANG!  

A crashing, twisting metal sound, sparks rattling down the street as Roman's armoured car exploded in roaring fire.  

Jason stumbled for a moment, as Black Mask's forces dived to the ground, scorched in flame.  

The phone.  

Jason glanced down to see it in his hands, what Bruce had been typing with. It was NOT the smartphone he was texting with before, at some point he had slipped into Roman's pockets and was holding his main detonator.  

"AGH!-" Roman gurgled as Bruce kneed the man in the stomach, "oh God this is just like boarding school again."  

Bruce shoved him to the ground and cocked his head at Jason, sizing him up with an exacting stare.  

"Okay little red riding hood. Let's go see Alfred."  

Chapter Text

"Get your feet off my dash." 

Bruce gave the Red Hood an absolutely withering glare, but slowly lowered his feet from the dashboard of his car. 

"Don't glare at me like that. You're lucky I found you." 

Young Bruce rolled his eyes. 

"I can handle myself in Gotham City, I grew up here." 

"You grew up in a mansion you little brat. And this isn't the Gotham you know. We don't just have 1940's old timey thugs. We have dinosaurs, murder robots." Jason shudders for a moment "...clowns." 

Bruce pursed his lips in annoyance, most likely vexed that this boy thought he grew up in the 40's, but didn't respond to the lecture. 

"Is that where we're going?" 

"What?" 

"The mansion. Is that where you're taking me?" 

Jason glanced at his phone to see a thumbs up notification from 'Superguy (Old man not the boy)' appear on the lockscreen. 

"I know I said I’d take you to Alfred, but not right away. Let’s go see Clark first and figure some things out." Jason said authoritatively. 

Bruce nodded. 

"I see." 

Calmly and without fuss, Bruce opened the door of the speeding car and rolled out. 

"HOLY SH-" 

Jason slammed on the brakes, the car screeching forward still as the smell of rubber and smoking tires filled the arid air. 

“WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU!” Jason roared, fumbling with the handle of his door, fruitlessly clicking back and forth and pawing at the device. 

“Oh mother fucker hit the fucking child-lock, son of BITCH!” Jason muttered through clenched teeth, before abandoning his own door and army crawling out of the passenger side. 

“Bruce! Get back here!” 

Jason stood in the middle of the road, stained with black tire marks and fresh spots of blood.  

The blood stopped abruptly at the edge of the road, like the man had the sense to immediately cover his tracks. 

Jason looked up and down the deserted street with a deep and weary sigh. 

Well at least I know where he’s going.  

… 

At the gates of Wayne Manor, Bruce felt... nervous. 

This seemed like a good idea a moment ago . 

The bars were more rusted than he remembered, the foliage a bit more overgrown. 

He stared at the intercom a moment before continuing to walk along the gates. Swiftly he crouched, sliding beneath a hedge that had grown thicker since he was last here. He still managed to squeeze through, to spy it . A gap in the fence, where many a time he had snuck in and out.  

He slipped under, not even bothering to dust himself off before moving quickly through the estate. He stayed off the paths, cutting through the West courtyard. He froze as he passed the gated stone area. The Wayne cemetery plots. 

He could see them there. Two graves. They’d been maintained, looking almost just the same as when he left.  

You ran halfway across the world to get away from those graves, Bruce. And here you are.  

A rustle of leaves behind him. 

He whipped around quickly, his hands sliding to the dagger that he’d stolen from that Red Hood boy’s glove box while he was distracted yelling about feet on the dash. 

A girl stood slowly, rising out of the shrubbery. She was petite, yet had obvious muscle. Asian, dark hair and dark eyes. She watched him silently, cocking her head in curiosity.  

Bruce mimicked her, face void of expression but holding himself ready to run if the girl decided to yell. 

She did not yell. She moved forward, slowly and purposely. 

Bruce followed her in reverse as if in a dance, the two like cautious animals meeting in a clearing. 

She stopped when he stepped back, and Bruce froze too. 

She seemed to be thinking for a moment before raising her hands. Bruce bristled but confirmed she had no weapon. 

She began to move her hands.  

Oh. Sign language.  

Bruce furrowed his brow trying to track the fast movements. The girl blinked before stopping. She seemed to realize he wasn’t following. 

“I- I know a bit.” Bruce told her before realizing he should raise his head so she can read his lips, but she nodded anyway. 

Well, seems like she can hear.   

She gave a small smile and gestured for him to watch as she made four simple movements. 

C

A

S

S

Bruce had learnt the alphabet at least in his travels. 

“Hello Cass. I’m Bruce.” 

The girl smiled knowingly and held out her hand. 

Bruce took it and together they walked to the mansion. 

… 

“How worried should I be Commissioner?” Alfred asked on the phone.  

He had been pacing the entrance hall waiting for the man to call him for 20 minutes about the Freeze situation before deciding to just call him himself. 

“As Police Commissioner I can say the threat has been uh, neutralized. We’ve got Freeze down in lock up here and I can promise he’s not going to be causing trouble again any time soon. So, for the most part, there’s no active need to worry.”  

Alfred narrowed his eyes. 

“Well if that’s what the Commissioner says, then, how worried should I be Jim.”  

Jim sighed on the phone like a heavy weight was on his chest. 

“Look-” 

DING!  

The doorbell chattered through the large hall. 

Alfred sighed. 

“Just send me the reports. Please. I have to go.” 

Alfred hung up the phone and straightened his waistcoat to center himself.  

He moved to the door and took a beat before opening. 

Cassandra stood at the bell, and if he wasn’t mistaken she looked pleased . Almost thrilled. He had always done his best to provide a safe and judgement free home for the girl and that started with never letting her see him scared of her, but for a brief moment, his resolve almost broke at how threatening her happy face was. 

The next thing he noted was she was holding the hand of a man. His first instinct was to knock it away, the hand was filthy, covered in dark soil and darker blood. 

Alfred looked up and felt like there was ice running down his spine. Frozen, shocked, dizzy. 

Those big sad eyes. He was covered in dirt, fresh blood, old blood and bruises. Bare feet standing in ripped rags underneath his jacket. 

And he was young. He was a boy.  

He was his Bruce. 

“Hello Master Wayne.” Alfred said, voice quiet but clear. 

Bruce flinched, shadows of his father washing over his eyes. 

Ah. We weren’t using that yet were we.  

“Master Bruce.” Alfred corrected. 

Bruce gave a wobbly smile, eyes obviously glassy. 

“Welcome Home.” 

… 

“He’s fine.” Alfred said, once again back on the phone. 

“J’onn said that to,” Clark’s voice responded “But we should watch him right? We don’t know what kind of side effects-” 

“I will watch him. He’s safest here, it’s somewhere he’s familiar. I’ve treated his wounds and you and the rest of the league can come by tomorrow morning to discuss next steps.” 

Clark sighed over the phone. 

“It’s a lot to process, for him and for us. Let’s let him rest, and the children deserve some kind of explanation.” 

A chuckle from over the phone. 

“A better one then what Jason got, huh?” Clark laughed. 

Alfred gave a wry smile remembering Jason bursting in soon after Bruce’s arrival demanding to know where ‘the little brat’ was. 

“Does he know?” Clark asked, “that all the kids are.. Well, his kids.” 

Alfred sighed. 

“He’s only met Jason and Cassandra so far. Those two don’t hand over information easily. Another thing to explain tomorrow.” 

A pause over the phone, if Alfred had to guess, Clark was nodding. 

“Alfred?” A voice asked behind him. 

“Ah.” Alfred said, turning. He muttered a quick goodbye to Clark who he could faintly hear doing the same as he placed the phone down. 

Bruce stood with wet hair, bandaged and clean. 

“Feeling better?” 

Bruce nodded. 

“Did you find your way around the house alright? I know there’s been some remodeling. Rooms repurposed.”  

Bruce nodded again, eyes narrowing slightly at that. 

Alfred gave a half smile, guessing his internal questions. 

“You and I are not the only occupants of the Manor anymore, as you would have guessed.” 

Bruce looked out the window, at the varied assortment of cars, bikes and vehicles below in the courtyard, piecing things together. 

“The girl. Is she my daughter?” 

Alfred blinked. 

“Yes. I would say so.” 

This didn’t seem to shock the man. 

“I can give a more detailed explanation over dinner?” Alfred suggested. 

Bruce seemed to think it over. 

“I might have dinner in my room tonight. If that’s okay?” Bruce asked, sounding genuine as he asked if Alfred would allow it. 

The butler gave an understanding smile. 

“Of course. You must be tired.” 

Alfred walked the man to his room. He almost had the younger man go first so he could Stare at him. It felt like a dream, a memory. 

Well. He is a memory.  

His Bruce, back in the manor again. Although, Alfred could not forget, that this Bruce never really did belong in the manor. At this point in his life he had rejected it, all of it.  

Alfred had understood why. But it was still a gift. To see this Bruce once again in his reach. And at a time that Alfred knew held so much pain for him. 

Alfred stopped at his door. 

“Goodnight Master Bruce.” 

The young man reached for the door. Before he could open it, Alfred’s hand struck out, stopping him. 

“And no running away in the night.” 

Bruce blinked, then nodded. 

“Yes, Alfred.” 

… 

Bruce stood at the edge of his room and opened the window.  

He examined the drainpipe he used to vault to, the scaffolding he would shimmy down to reach the garage. 

Bruce did not vault out the window tonight. 

Instead, he stepped back and stepped back again, sitting on the bed. 

Waiting. 

… 

A rustle of dress shoes scraping stone. A hand on the window banister.  

A burnt hand. 

Two-face pulled himself over the barrier and climbed into the bedroom. 

When he noted the man watching him, he went stiff. The half of him that could still pale went white. 

He was looking at a ghost. 

Bruce looked small in his robe. Pitiful with his bandages. Eyes bright and filled with an unknowable emotion. 

Two-face tensed. He felt sick to his stomach that this specter could return to him. His friend Bruce, without any of that crushing weight of all that history on his shoulders.  

And here I am. Gnarled. Deformed.  

He almost wanted to raise his hands up, hide as much of his burnt half as he could. 

Bruce stood quickly, immediately.  

Two-face watched him, ready for an attack. Quickly, he cleared his throat. 

“I got your texts. I don’t know how you got my number, I don’t know what I expected to find. I just had to see-” 

“ Harvey.” Bruce said, making anything the other man was saying shrivel up in his throat. 

“Wh-” 

In a rush of fabric, Bruce tackled him in a crushing hug, head burrowing into his chest. The young man seemed to be almost shaking in relief, pressing all his weight into the hug. 

Harvey stood frozen for a moment, eyes flicking to the door and around the room for traps. 

Bruce squeezed him tighter. 

And slowly, Harvey lowered his hands, returning the hug with trembling arms. 

Chapter Text

7AM – WAYNE MANOR  

Clark floated down, shrugging a white shirt and slacks over his Superman attire as he did. He wasn’t hiding Superman from this Bruce necessarily, but he didn’t want to overwhelm him.  

The boy had obviously been through a lot, best to take it slow.  

With barely a whisper he came to a stop on Bruce’s balcony.  

It was early, but he had never known his Bruce to be a light sleeper.  

They could talk, Clark could ask him why he ran, then he’d deal with Alfred’s judgement for never using the front door. He’d been patient all night.  

I really do just want to make sure he’s safe.  

Clark entered the bedroom.  

To see the villain Two-face and his Bruce sleeping peacefully in each other’s arms.  

…  

EARLIER THAT NIGHT – SAME LOCATION  

“For someone who has been trying to kill the Batman, you have certainly missed a lot of opportunities to do so.”  

Harvey flinched hearing Bruce put it so frankly. The two sat on the bed, the Rogue still in one of his multicoloured pinstripe suits but stripped down to rolled up sleeves and a loosened tie.  

At some point he’d had covers put over them both, Bruce claiming to be cold but Harvey suspected it was one more barrier to stop him from bolting out the window.  

They’d talked all night, the subject: The exploits of the Dark Knight. Bruce had been friendly, indirect... and mercilessly persistent in extracting information Harvey wasn’t sure if he should share.  

The Rogue could concede though, that he did find it interesting to watch this method of interrogation from the hero. It’d been a long time since the Bat had used honey and not his fists.  

He forgot how dangerous a conversational Batman could be.  

“I mean if you know he’s... me? Bruce Wayne. Why didn’t you just attack him when he’s a civilian?” Bruce asked, gently pushing the man’s attention back on topic.  

The Rogue swallowed, considering his answer.  

“Harvey knows. That Bruce and Batman are the same. Two-face is... not as aware? Hasn’t quite reconciled the fact.”  

Bruce looked down at that, head resting on the man’s shoulder. Harvey tried not to shake at the fact that it was his burnt side, which didn’t seem to bother the young man.  

He stiffened as Bruce took his scarred hand in his, examining it closely while locking their fingers together.  

“Has it been hard?”  

Harvey blinked, and blinked again, desperate for his eyes to not well up.  

“It’s been... better. I go to Arkham now. I mean, it sucks there. But the nurses know me. Food’s not bad. You visit me.”  

Bruce looked up at that, chin on Harvey’s shoulder.  

Harvey was swimming now, through a déjà vu so tangible he could touch it. Of him and Bruce hiding out at sponsored galas, both too tired to talk to rich people with fake pleasant smiles who’d tell Harvey how ‘lucky’ he was to be there or Bruce how he was just the picture of his father then try to ask for investments. Bruce forcing him to try the wine he’d swiped from an unattended table, how Harvey would refuse and refuse until finally giving in. He could taste the acrid liquor on his tongue as Bruce cackled at his cringing face.  

“Stay for breakfast.”  

Harvey winced, slowly extracting his arm.  

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”  

Bruce grabbed him as he tried to sit up, eyes suddenly cold and urgent.  

Harvey froze.  

Just because this Bruce wasn’t using his fists... doesn’t mean he couldn’t. Harvey’s eyes flicked down to the scars on the young man’s hands. They were smaller, but unmistakably held the strength he’d one day need to be the Bat.  

“Then just stay... for now.” Bruce asked in exhale, lowering himself to look up at Harvey.  

Puppy dog eyes again.  

Harvey sighed.  

“Alright Bruce.” He groaned, laying down.  

Bruce smiled, whatever chill had overcome him melting away as if it had never been.  

The young man laid down on his own pillow, still staring at Harvey.  

“And then stay for breakfast also.”  

“Just go the fuck to sleep Bruce.”  

…  

Clark had lived a large portion of his life with eyes that saw through walls.  

So he was actually quite practiced at seeing things he was not meant to  and deciding to leave it alone.  

Despite this lifetime of practice... this was still a very difficult predicament to ignore.  

Clark scanned around the room to see no sign of struggle, a blazer jacket hung on a chair, mismatched shoes placed carefully by the bed.  

Bruce’s dark hair sunk into white pillows, no signature furrow in his brow as he slept deeply.  

Clark inhaled before giving a small nod, seemingly to himself.  

Fidgety and suddenly shy, he stepped out of the room and turned to leave. At least Alfred might be appreciative of his manners when he goes and tries the front door for once.  

CRRRACK!  

Clark bared his teeth, twisting quickly, hands on a wrist and wrapping around a throat. His defense training falling through to base strength as he defended himself from an attacker. His head hit the tiled ground in a sickening crunch as he was slammed into the ground.  

The young Bruce hunched over him, knee on his chest and devastatingly fast punch just barely caught in Clark’s hand.  

Bruce grinned at him with wild eyes, Clark could hear the man’s erratic heartbeat in his ears like a rushing drum. Could almost smell the adrenaline pumping through him.  

“Hi Clark.”  

Clark unclenched the fingers around Bruce’s throat quickly, suddenly scared that he could actually harm the boy.  

“Hi Bruce.”  

Bruce looked at him, demeanor completely calm even though Clark could hear his blood still rushing from the strain of forcing the man of steel down. He leant down to Clark’s ear as if in slow motion.  

“I’ve been meaning to ask, you’re not human either are you? Did this even hurt?”  

Clark decided he had had enough, pushing himself up. Bruce fell back as he stood, looking thrilled at the show of strength.  

Detectives love being right I suppose.  

“I see I’m not your only guest. Good morning Mr. Dent.”  

Harvey looked at him, instincts not quite as fast as Bruce’s at switching to wakefulness.  

“Last I checked, you were incarcerated.”  

Harvey rubbed his eyes in annoyance, eyes flicking to his blazer where his weapons were most likely nestled away.  

“Out on good behavior.” He grumbled.  

“Well then, I might have to ask you for a lesson on manners. I’ve certainly never been so  good that they let me walk out of prison two weeks after I robbed half the banks in the city and blew up a precinct.” Clark replied in an even voice.  

Two-face's mouth twitched slightly.  

“Perhaps it would be best if I kept a close eye on you until we can get all that sorted out, hmm?” Clark declared, eyes already trained on the Rogue, ready to stop him from moving for the blazer if he decided to try.  

“Great!” Bruce agreed, hopping up off the ground.  

“Are we still on for today?” He asked Clark.  

The man of steel blinked at him, taken aback at his friendly attitude after just being tackled by the boy.  

“Uh, yes?”  

Bruce turned back to the man on the bed with a wide grin.  

“Well then it sounds like you’ll have to stay for breakfast Harv.”  

Bruce continued smiling through the murderous stare he got in answer.  

Chapter Text

“Oh my GOD he looks like DICK!” Tim whispered, leaning into the dining room.  

Bruce was hunched over Alfred’s english breakfast, eating like a feral animal, but then quickly straightening up and using the utensils whenever the Butler darted into the room to refill his coffee or orange juice.  

With his hair no longer wet from the shower or covered in dried blood, it was fluffed up, dark and shaggy hanging over his eyes.  

Dick stared in, eyes filled with confusion and slight horror as he touched his own shaggy mullet.  

“ Does he look like me?” Dick glanced in the hallway mirror, looking at his square jaw and gymnasts build, then back at Bruce. “Cass, he doesn’t right?”  

Cassandra and Tim met each other’s eyes then fell into a fit of giggles, Tim out loud and Cass into her hands with quiet, shoulder shaking titters.  

“He looks weak.” Damian barked, voice carrying.  

Bruce’s eyes shot up, focusing on the children at the end of the room. He stared at Damian observing closely (a territorial hand still around his food like a feeding predator defending its meal.)  

Damian stared back at him, looking almost furious.  

“Undisciplined. Sloppy.” With a humph of irritation the boy turned and stomped out, shoving past Duke who had just entered the hall, dressed for the day.  

“Whoa, hello everyone. You’re all awake, what’s up, you joining me on dayshift?” He joked.  

Without a word, Tim pointed to the end of the table.  

“Grayson has a twin?” Duke asked.  

Dick groaned, putting his face in his hands.  

…  

Clark and Harvey sat either side of Bruce as the man ate his breakfast.  

A bowl of porridge sat in front of the reporter and Harvey had two servings of eggs on a plate, one sunny side up, one scrambled (his usual.)  

Yet the food sat untouched as they glared each other down.  

“Are you good now?” Duke asked, reaching over his siblings to grab a piece of toast.  

Harvey blinked and looked at him.  

“That happens sometimes. Villains just get redeemed and then they just join the family, no big deal.” He said, spreading strawberry jam nonchalantly.  

Two-face looked down, nose scrunched as he seemed to be thinking hard.  

With a sigh, he shrugged.  

“Hmm.” Duke nodded in answer.  

Clark’s eyes narrowed.  

“What was his deal?” Bruce asked.  

Every head at the table swiveled to turn to Bruce, who had finally spoken for the first time since food had been placed in front of him.  

His face was still covered in crumbs, which he brushed off inefficiently with the back of his hand.  

Clark’s own hand twitched to brush off the crumbs he missed. He clenched his fist and placed it under the table to resist the temptation.  

“Are you talking about Damian?” Tim asked, his voice strangely polite as he addressed this Bruce.  

Bruce glanced to where Damian had left then back to Tim, before giving a nod.  

“He didn’t mean anything by it, it’s just the way he was trained.” Dick said.  

“Yeah, trained to be a little brat- Ow?!” Jason howled, moving his legs away from Dick’s under the table.  

“He was trained by the League.” Bruce said, or more accurately stated.  

A beat of silence at the table, unsure how to respond.  

“Yes.” Tim said simply.  

“Would you like to know his last name?” A voice behind them.  

Alfred stood, a patient look in his eyes.  

Bruce blinked, looking down. He was quiet for a long moment.  

“I already do.” He answered.  

Clark wanted to do something. Hold him? That seemed drastic.  

Before he could move, Harvey reached out and brushed the crumbs off Bruce’s face.  

Clark blinked.  

“I should go to work now.” He said, voice stiff, still staring.  

Bruce started at his abrupt announcement, teacups shaking slightly as Clark’s thick build slowly extracted itself from the dining table.  

“I’m not meeting your, justice league?” He asked, a beat as he had to recall the name.  

Clark pushed his glasses up.  

“It’s really more your, I mean our- The Justice League is still working on solutions. I’ve decided it’s best you stay in your family's custody until we have something more useful to give you.”  

Bruce seemed confused at his blustering but nodded.  

“I’ll walk you out.”  

Clark looked like he might protest for a moment, but conceded quickly.  

“Okay then. And you, come on.”  

Harvey looked up.  

“What? Seriously?”  

“Seriously. Unless you want to stay here.”  

Harvey glanced down to the myriad of sidekicks who had more than once thrown him in Arkham, now looking eagerly, filled with questions about him and Bruce’s relationship.  

He sighed.  

“Okay.”  

…  

With a wave, Bruce watched the two men rise into the air, flying from the front steps as if being pulled up by strings. Harvey seemed extremely unhappy being carried but Clark shrugged saying he didn’t bring his car.  

Bruce had conveniently forgotten to offer one of his many spares, laughing at Harvey’s kicking legs.  

He stared up for a while, watching the clouds move.  

There was more smog in the sky. Clouds greyer.  

Or maybe that was just because he had spent the last few months at the temple.  

Maybe Gotham was always this grey.  

A flash of blue in the corner of his eye.  

Bruce snapped his head towards it, scanning the courtyard. Slowly he stepped forward, glancing back to see if Alfred was watching before fully closing the front door and heading into the garden.  

He followed the stone path to a bed of flowers. They were a patch of Lilies, all white except for one.  

A Bhutan Blue Poppy. Known for growing in the Himalayas. It wasn’t planted in the soil, clearly snipped and placed here standing up.  

“What are you doing out here?”  

Bruce turned, body quickly stepping to cover the flower bed.  

Damian stood, arms crossed.  

Bruce began to walk, leading Damian back towards the house.  

“Inspecting what you kids have done to my property. You know the driveway is filled with donut marks, which one of you drives a bike like a maniac?”  

Damian trotted along behind him, rolling his eyes.  

“That would be Jason. The angry one.”  

Bruce glanced back.  

“Oh? I feel like he was saying you were the one with a temper.”  

He smiled as Damian slowly turned more red.  

“Can you show me the cave?” He asked, before the boy got angrier.  

Damian blinked.  

Then nodded.  

…  

"Oh. I like dinosaurs." Bruce said, staring up.  

Damian rolled his eyes at the life-sized tyrannosaurus rex taking up space in the middle of the lair.  

"Yeah Bruce, we're all really goddamn aware how much you like dinosaurs."  

Bruce gave him a mean look and continued on.  

"Is this... a computer?"  

"It is!" Tim yelled, sliding down the pole.  

Damian gave another eye roll at his enthusiasm and left them to the screen, moving over to the sparring area and starting on a punching bag.  

"Are computers weird and slow in your time?" Tim asked, sliding into the desk chair.  

"It depends," Bruce said, already mentally taking the new machine apart in his mind. "How fast are they now?"  

Tim smiled, tapping a few buttons. A grid of Gotham popped up along with live feed of key areas all over the city. The computer dinged with several notifications, the profiles of a few current targets popping up on screen.  

“Is that... a giant bat?”  

“Hmm? Oh Dr Langstrom. That’s Man-Bat. He’s- well yeah. A giant bat.”  

Bruce cringed his nose in disgust.  

“Something wrong?”  

Bruce clicked his tongue.  

“I hate bats.”  

Tim blinked.  

“You may... not like to stay down here then.”  

Bruce cocked his head, and Tim nodded up.  

A slight shift in the ceiling, the entire wall rippled like a wave. What looked like the shine of moisture, revealed itself to be a thousand nocturnal eyes blinking at the lights below. The many bats of the Batcave stared silently, roosting in their wings.  

Bruce stared back.  

“I’d like to go back upstairs now.”  

…  

Bruce continued on the rest of the day, thoroughly examining everything that had changed in his home.  

New pictures on the wall, new portraits. The sitting rooms actually looked used, furniture that had been in storage now back in circulation to accommodate the many patrons of the home.  

What Bruce seemed most interested in were photos of himself, staring deeply at depictions of a larger him. One or two greys in the hair, a crinkle at the eyes.  

The team had to leave him to his observations, forced to go back on patrol. They were fighting without a Batman, something they could handle but if the criminals of Gotham caught on that he may be permanently... occupied, things would get difficult.  

“Do you want me to just do it? I’m sure the costume will fit.” Bruce asked as they packed up to leave.  

They all froze, turning to Dick who seemed surprised to be the one elected to speak.  

“Oh! Um. That’s a very uh, thoughtful offer but, best not for now. Gotham isn’t what you’re used to- not that we don’t think you could-”  

“No.” Jason said firmly.  

Dick gave a nervous smile and mouthed a sorry, all of them heading out.  

“Just stay in! Relax.”  

…  

Bruce did not relax.  

Bag on his back, he input the password shown to him earlier and slipped into the cave.  

Quickly, he began to assemble a collection of weapons. His eyes widened at some of the devices, confused but eager to try the strange assortment of future technology.  

He looked up at the armour. Despite his confident statement to the team earlier, he was actually... not certain that it would fit.  

With a tch of annoyance at the imposing build of such a suit he reached out towards the gauntlets, thinking he could at least take some outer padding.  

A dagger flung forwards, stabbing right into the heart of the suit. Bruce wrenched his hand back turning to see his attacker.  

Damian stood balanced on a railing, robin mask over his face and sword in hand.  

He reached into his pocket with his free hand and pulled out a scrunched blue flower.  

“These used to grow outside the temple.”  

Bruce remained still, analyzing the boy’s weapon.  

“They did.”  

Damian began to shake, Bruce assumed in anger.  

Damian dropped the flower, blue petals drifting to the floor and lifted the mask.  

Oh.  

He’s crying.  

“Are you going back to them?”  

Bruce breathed in.  

“I am. I assume it was a message from the League. A summoning.”  

Damian drew his sword.  

“WHY? WHY WOULD YOU GO BACK?”  

Bruce did not flinch at his raised voice.  

“I am not finished my training.”  

Damian jumped down from the railing, grief in his eyes.  

“Listen-”  

“You are a CHILD. You listen.” Damian yelled, head barely meeting the other man’s chest but holding himself as tall as he could. “Ra's Al Ghul is not a good man. He is not an honourable one. Whatever you think this training is, it won’t lead where you think it will.”  

“He is my master.” Bruce said simply.  

“So pick a new one.”  

Bruce blinked.  

“Who do you suggest?”  

Damian paused, not really thinking Bruce would reason with him.  

God knows he didn’t when Bruce gave him this exact speech.  

He thought quickly and then seemed to make an internal decision.  

“I’ll pack the rest of the weapons. You go back upstairs, we’ll need civilian clothes too. And... money? I’ll prep the jet.”  

Bruce smiled.  

“The jet huh?” He moved to the stairs. “You know... for a moment there I thought you were going to say yourself.”  

Damian scoffed.  

“I wouldn’t take a fool like you as my student.”  

Bruce’s laughter echoed through the cave.  

…  

Oliver Queen was late.  

He hated this part. The being Oliver part.  

He’d spent all night doing his own patrol as well as lugging around ridiculously heavy, frozen in ice machinery so they could decode whatever happened to Bruce, and HE is still very uncertain what happened to Bruce, NOBODY is explaining it. Or at least when they did it sounded absolutely like a lie.  

And now he was here, in this uncomfortable suit that was honestly more difficult to wear than bulletproof armour.  

He sighed as he checked into Queen Industries, the security guard straightening up and nodding as he approached. He shooed off any assistants trying to escort him to the elevator, except the one holding out a steaming coffee that he accepted with a God Bless You .  

He checked his teeth in the reflective surface of the elevator and flattened his hair (to no avail, as the blonde tufts rose back up stubbornly).  

The door opened with a pleasant ding.  

“I’m late, I know, I’m sorry.” He said to his secretary before she could speak, rushing into his office.  

“Oh it’s fine! They cancelled-” She called out after him, as the door clicked shut.  

Oliver paused in his office, clutching his coffee.  

I am wearing this uncomfortable suit for no reason.  

He took a deep breath, moving around to his desk.  

He sat down in his office chair, resigning himself to try and complete one Oliver Queen related thing before he went back to being Green Arrow.  

A wire wrapped around his chest, lurching him back in the chair.  

Oliver’s feet scrambled as he tipped backwards, hand reacting quicker than his brain he reached back to grab the attacker, getting a hand on a leg.  

That is a strong thigh.  

Weird first thought Oliver. Weird. Stop messing around and KO the bastard.  

Oliver looked up to see the face above him, the chair still suspended on two legs but balanced against a muscled chest.  

He could have a blade in his hand in 0.2 seconds, he was sure of that, the only reason he paused was...  

Wow.  

That is a beautiful face.  

Oh God I know that stupid beautiful face  

“Are you sure he’s the guy? I don’t want to be trained by someone who can be ambushed this easy.”  

Bright eyes and dark hair looked down at him, unimpressed.  

Damian Wayne jumped onto the desk, catlike and nimble.  

“It’s not about who he is, it’s about who he was trained by. Ra’s had him, like you. And Yeo Fei. Possibly Kirigi.” Damian’s nose scrunched up. “Talia.”  

The two intruders made brief eye contact, communicating in silence, the twitch of an eye, snarl of a canine. Oliver couldn’t help but think they seemed like wolves, speaking almost telepathically. Or maybe cats.  

There is a feral man at your throat Oliver.  

Right. Escape.  

Oliver tensed slightly, readying himself for a forceful kick back to at least throw one of them off balance.  

The office door began to open.  

Damian rolled immediately, not an item on the desk shaking as he leapt to the top of a cabinet.  

Bruce released one hand on the wire, pulling it around with a metallic shlick like a tape measurer being pulled in. Oliver startled as the chair fell forward, and Bruce moved with it. Like a dance, he swung around with the momentum and pulled himself onto Oliver’s lap, hands around his neck.  

“Mr Queen- Oh!”  

Oliver blinked owlishly at his secretary who was holding a file.  

“Sorry I didn’t know you were, wait are you-?” She stuttered, looking at Bruce curiously.  

Bruce gave her his biggest movie star smile.  

He laughed easily, light and airy... while one of his powerful hands pressed into Oliver’s neck, forcing him to stay still.  

“I’m one of the Wayne children, yes.”  

“Oh! Yes, I think I’ve seen you in a paper maybe? I hope you don’t mind me saying, you look just like your father!”  

Bruce smiled warmly.  

“Thank you! Me and Mr. Queen were just catching up. He promised me lunch.”  

“Really, oh yes! Well- I will leave you to it.” She replied, closing the door quickly.  

“Well thanks, SO much for that.” Oliver groaned. “So excited for it to hit the press cycle that I took lunch with a freaking 20 something Wayne love child, that’s gonna look great!”  

Damian swung down.  

“I’ve seen your gossip articles. This would help your reputation.”  

“Ha ha.” Oliver rolled his eyes. “So what do you need? And I’m asking that! Because you might not know it but we are friends! Who are more than happy to help each other without office breaking, rumour making kidnapping!”  

“Does he always talk that much?”  

Damian grunted in agreement.  

“We’re on the same team.” Oliver yelled.  

“I don’t want a team.” Bruce said. “I was training, I intend to finish it. You will help. No justice league, no distractions until I say.”  

“Oh until you say. I think Superman will have something different to say about that, I thought you liked Clark!”  

Bruce cocked his head.  

“I do like Clark. Do him and Superman have to be the same?”  

Oliver blinked at the many layers to that question.  

“In my experience, uh, usually.”  

“Oliver.” Damian interrupted, breaking the arguing. “Either we help him, or they take him back. They already know he... exists?”  

Damian leaned in, his voice whispering. Bruce looked at them but didn’t attempt to stop Damian from talking.  

“It’s a Bruce who hasn’t rebelled against Ra’s yet. You know how valuable that is to them. It’s us or the league.”  

Oliver swallowed, staring at Bruce. He could practically hear the bounty racking up. Batman without any of those tricky ideals in his head. It wasn’t even footing. That old bastard could do some real damage to him with the knowledge he had now.  

Bruce Wayne escaped the league of shadows once. Like hell they would ever let him leave again.  

Guess I’m babysitting.  

… and I can always just fill the justice league in secretly.  

“Alright then. Let’s train you up Bruce.”  

…  

“He refused the summons?” A voice crackled through an earpiece.  

Slade Wilson watched the top floor of Queen Industries through a scope.  

“I left the flower, just like you said. Didn’t take it.” He replied. “Did something much more interesting instead.”  

Ra’s Al Ghul sighed over the phone.  

“How interesting?”  

Chapter Text

“Please stop laughing.” 

Clark whispered into the phone, a haggard look on the man of steel’s face. 

A British voice rung through the speaker, filled with amusement. 

“So, you’re telling me Mr Kent, that you only wanted what’s best for a young Bruce Wayne and are certain you can protect him, but despite that he has run off to God knows where to become ‘stronger’ and all you can do is watch helplessly because you know pursuing him would be against his wishes, which you are trying to respect?” 

“Yes!” 

Cackling laughter before the sound of a phone hanging up. 

“Alfred!!” Clark cried into the phone, clicking roughly at the call back button and wincing as the screen splintered into pieces at the strength of his finger. 

“Hey uh, Clark Kent was it?” 

Clark spun around to see the man who just entered the room, hiding his shattered phone behind his back. 

“Ah yes, hi!” 

“Yeah um, your guy Jimmy Olsen said on the phone that you wanted our offices to just not run a story, which I’m not sure how things go down at the planet but at the Gotham Gazette, we don’t just throw away scoops.” 

Clark gave his best smile, obvious anxiety still in his eyes. 

“Yes, I understand that, really I do, but you can’t run these two at the same time.” 

Clark nodded to the proofs in the man’s hands with two headlines on the cover: DARK KNIGHT MISSING? And BRUCE WAYNE LEAVES CITY. 

The Gotham journalist looked down at the cover. 

“...Why?” 

Clark wished caffeine worked more effectively on his alien body because he felt he really could have done with a coffee today. 

“...Because... please don’t?” 

The man narrowed his eyes for a moment, staring at the blurry depiction of the Batman on a rooftop, and the crisp variety photoshoot profile of Bruce Wayne. 

“Oh!” 

Clark blinked. 

“What oh? There’s no Oh. No need to Oh here.” 

“Oh! I get it!” 

Clark glanced around the room, thinking how fast he could get someone from the league down here to take care of this man if he had actually blown Bruce’s identity... 

“They ran away together!” 

“No he isn’t- Wait- Oh.” Clark was blinking rapidly now. “Okay- Wait still no-” 

“So they do play dirty down at the planet! You’re trying to make sure the Gazette doesn’t undermine your intel. Wow. Everyone said Clark Kent over in metropolis was a pushover, but that was a good gambit.” 

“Wait- please. Please don’t run the story.” 

“You know what, I’ll think about it.” 

“Really?” Clark said astounded. 

The man looked at him silently. 

“You’re still going to run-” 

“-Run the Batman and Bruce Wayne are secret lovers story? Yeah, yeah I am.” 

Clark sighed. 

“Yeah that adds up.” 

… 

Oliver Queen felt goddamn VINDICATED.  

And he also felt extremely embarrassed about that vindication. 

Six years. Six years he had known the man, and every morning when he encountered Batman he would say Good Morning . Not once, not once! Had he ever said it back. 

Ollie had been training Bruce for a few weeks now. In a safehouse, one of his larger properties closer to Gotham. And every morning he’d said Good Morning to Bruce, the Dark Knight. And what had he said back?? 

Mornin.  

Usually in a sleepy grumble and with no eye contact, but it counted. He even nodded once. 

Oliver even made his famous blueberry scones, and by made he meant picked them up from the store he goes to, but Bruce had tried one! And when Oliver had pressed (very normally and not obsessively over and over) Bruce had said! It was fine! Fine! That basically meant good. And good basically meant great. 

The last time Oliver had offered Batman food he said he didn’t eat blueberries. Ollie knew that f*cker was lying. 

“Queen!” A voice barked. 

“Ye-Yeah! Yes. What is it?” 

“The way you showed me to do this punch, it’s weaker than my usual way. There’s no stance.” 

Oliver tried not to smile. When Talia taught him this, it had also taken days for him to understand the concept. She had made some kind of comment about him not being the first ‘difficult’ student she’d seen. Guess now he knew what she meant. 

“It’s because you are weaker.” 

Okay wow. That is an angry Bruce face.  

“Don’t give me that look, you are. You are weaker than half the enemies you’ll meet in Gotham. You’re not going to be able to brute force, out punch them. The stance isn’t about being still, it’s about redirection. Like water.” 

“Like water.” Bruce repeated. 

“Yeah. Then it’s a good thing when your enemies are stronger than you. Their momentum becomes yours.” 

Bruce seemed lost in thought for a moment before attacking the dummy again. Even still just getting a grasp of the concept, his blows were devastatingly brutal. With a viciousness and ferocity that came from meaning every hit. 

With the dummy almost cleaved in two in a forceful thwack , the long isolated warehouse shed dust down on the both of them. Bruce crinkled his nose and sneezed. 

Oliver leaned into his hand to hide his grin. 

Yeah. This Bruce is a teddy bear.  

… 

“Goin’ for a walk.” 

Damian and Oliver snapped up from where they were sitting in the base's kitchen, Oliver watching over a bone broth that’s good for muscle growth and Damian perched cross-legged on a chair reading A Wrinkle in Time.  

“What’s that mate?” Oliver asked, nervous chuckle in his voice. 

Bruce shrugged on a jacket, pulling his dark hair (that had only gotten longer over these few weeks) out of the coat’s collar. 

“Feel like walking.” 

Damian and Oliver met each other’s eyes, communicating a slew of common fears silently. 

“And... you think that’s a good idea?” 

Bruce looked at the both of them, noting their anxiety. 

“God, will you calm down. I’ll be fine. As I keep saying, I grew up in Gotham!” 

Oliver tried to smile amicably.  

“You’re going into the city?” 

“I am.” 

Damian gave Ollie a look.  

Oliver sighed, before going over to the entrance and handing over his keys. 

“Take the car.” 

Bruce seemed surprised, and then nodded. With a glance to Damian he headed out. 

The two watched as he drove off, first snow just starting to fall. 

“That the car with a tracker-” 

“Yes it is.” 

“And am I following-” 

“Yes you are.” 

Damian nodded, grabbing a dagger from under the table and leaping up. 

… 

“You sure about six sugars?” 

Bruce blinked at the guy in the stand, not responding. 

“...Alright then kid, here you go.”  

Bruce nodded, tipping the man $20 for a $3 coffee and wandering off. 

He clutched the hot drink close in the cold night air, snow really beginning to fall now. He walked for a long time, looking at Gotham curiously.  

The architecture really hadn’t changed much, still just as gothic and impractical, but with more blaring screens and stores retro fitted into them 

Stores open at night, Bruce noted. Something that he’d never seen growing up. 

Like the owners knew they were... protected.  

There was a different air about the citizens. Instead of furtive looks and hurried walks home, they seemed tough. Resilient. Unafraid. 

He’d never seen it like this.  

Maybe it was like this before his time. Before his parents. 

Bruce turned the corner to a bridge, walking to a bench and sitting. He looked out at the city.  

"Your mother and I fell in love here Bruce."  

"My mother fell in love with you on a filthy public bench?"  

"Women fall in love with me everywhere Bruce."  

A shove, a scuffle in the snow.  

"Ah ah gosh okay stop! My son is so bony! Alright okay, we had our first date at the restaurant down the street."  

"She didn't fall in love with you at the restaurant?"  

"Ah. No. Maybe! Probably not. She seemed very unimpressed with-"  

"You?"  

"No! Not me specifically-"  

"Just the things you said and way you looked and everything you did."  

"Okay. Well sure. But AFTER the restaurant I thought she'd never call me again but then we... Walked. Walked and talked. And ended up here. And kept talking, until it was too cold to stand."  

"And fell in love.”  

"And fell in love."  

"Gross."  

Sharp laughter from the man eventually joined by teetering giggles from the boy.  

"Happy birthday pops." Bruce grumbled, raising his drink up. 

He sat for a while, in the snow. Thinking.  

The sky seemed to whiten as the night went on. The smog of Gotham growing heavy, creeping along the water. 

As Bruce was throwing his coffee cup away (he may be a delinquent, but he would NEVER litter) a trilling noise echoed across the bridge. 

Some kind of siren, one he didn’t recognise. 

Bruce looked to each end of the bridge, trying to identify which side of the island the siren was coming from.  

Bruce rubbed his eyes, the snow catching in his lashes.  

Snow and Blood.  

Stepping out of that portal, trembling. A man in blue there, yelling for someone called Batman.  

He shot first. I’m sure he did. I think he did.  

He was already fighting before he came here, his blood was soaring. Adrenaline flooding through him. He can’t remember what that frozen man did. Maybe he didn’t fire first.  

Bruce hit him and hit him. Crushing him into the ground.  

“What are you doing out here?” A man in a gas mask asked. 

Bruce stumbled back, reaching quickly for his knife. 

The man reached out to stop him falling and Bruce put the knife at his throat. 

My hands are shaking. Why are they shaking?  

“You’re having a reaction to the gas.” 

Did I say that out loud?  

“Ah, yes. You did. That too. Have you ever been exposed to scarecrow gas before? You’re having quite an extreme reaction, I’ve never seen someone drop this quick.” 

Bruce felt his legs going from under him, the man basically holding him up now. 

“What the hell is scarecrow gas.” He growled, valiantly trying to keep the grit in his voice as his head began to swim. 

“Wow. That’s- alright. Here.”  

The man began to lift the mask off.  

Bruce dropped the knife, grabbing his hand quickly to stop him.  

I don’t let other people die for me.  

“Oh, it’s fine. I’m a local, I’ve got quite a tolerance. Think you’ll need this more than me.”  

Bruce was in no state to stop him as the man fitted his gas mask over the younger man’s face. 

Now getting a view of the man, Bruce analysed him closely. He was a little bit older than Bruce, but lankier. Tall and thin like a stiff breeze would blow him over. A mop of brown hair and brown eyes, looking at him with kindness and curiosity.  

“I best get back inside though. Do... you think you could escort me? In case the gas does get worse. You’re welcome to wait at my place for a little while until it clears up. It really isn’t safe to be out if you’ve never been dosed before.” 

Bruce narrowed his eyes and scanned the man. He seemed genuinely concerned for Bruce’s wellbeing. Didn’t look like a fighter, Bruce was certain he could snap the man in two with one hand if it came to it. 

And the siren was still ringing. 

“Alright. To give you your mask back.” 

The man smiled, offering his arm. 

Bruce didn’t take it, but allowed their shoulders to touch as they walked. 

… 

As they cornered the man’s apartment building, Bruce did note that every other Gothamite had on their own personal gas mask. It seemed commonplace to them, continuing to shop and head home from work during this smog. 

The man seemed amused at his curiosity, no gas mask to hide his smile as he watched Bruce. 

“You’re staring.” 

The man flushed red. 

“Ah apologies. Um, oh this is me here.” He pulled Bruce by the elbow into a foyer, clicking a button on an elevator. 

The building was older, paint chipping the walls, but nice. Plants in the window, surprisingly flourishing. Peacefully quiet with the sound of traffic muffled from inside. 

Bruce stepped into the elevator with the man and realised something. 

“Name.” 

The man blinked. 

“Oh? Right! I’m John, sorry, all introductions went out the window when you were falling all over me- Wait sorry that sounds wrong, when you were- I mean.” 

Bruce cocked his head, face impassive behind the mask. 

“And uh, your name?” 

Bruce thought for a moment. 

“Wayne.” 

“Like the billionaire?” 

No response from the younger man. 

“Oh, you’re not local, right, he’s this famous guy around here. Although Wayne’s his last name. Hey! If I’m John and your Wayne, guess together that makes us a couple of cowboys.”  

‘Wayne’ blinked. 

“John Wayne? Oh no, should I feel old? Before your time huh?” 

Bruce sighed, taking off the mask as the elevator dinged. 

“I’m actually older than I look.” 

… 

John’s place was filled wall to wall with books. More exotic plants in the window, leading Bruce to believe John was the one tending to the pots downstairs. 

A red velvet couch in the middle of the lounge, with other eclectic pieces of furniture scattered around the room.  

Bruce examined the odd, central placement of the couch, it was one with only one side for lying down. 

“I’m a therapist.” John said, entering the room with two hot drinks in hand. 

Bruce nodded, accepting the explanation.  

“So, picking up strays off bridges is common for you then?”  

John laughed, delighted to have unlocked Bruce’s bantering side. 

“Ah I wasn’t worried. You don’t seem the jumping type.” He said, setting down the drinks. 

He turned to Bruce, giving him an examining look. Bruce recognised it as a concerned therapist look, something he’d been down the barrel of many times. 

“Should I have been though?” 

Bruce rolled his eyes, moving about the room and picking through the sea of textbooks and newspaper clippings. 

“It was my dad’s birthday, my parents liked that spot. Thought I’d visit.” 

John gave a sad smile. 

“Did they die when you were young?”  

Bruce’s eyes snapped to him, suspicious.  

“Sorry! Wasn’t therapizing you. Just uh- my parents also um, passed. When I was a kid. It stays with you.” 

John seemed suddenly shy now. Flustered for overstepping.  

Bruce fidgeted. 

“It does.” He replied. 

It seemed enough of a reply to settle John, who looked at him warmly. 

“Come, sit, let me check you over if that’s okay? If you really have no immunity to fear gas you should be more careful.” 

Bruce circled the man, but came and sit with him on the red couch.  

John studied him carefully, taking out a small light and checking his pupils. He reached up for Bruce’s chin and the younger man allowed it with a nod, letting his hand rest on his jaw and turn Bruce’s head left then right. He stared at him, fascination in his eye. 

“Fit as a fiddle Wayne.”  

Bruce stared back at him, noting how close they were on the couch.  

“So... I assumed you weren’t local. But that bridge was your father’s favourite spot.” 

Bruce didn’t reply. 

“Can I ask how someone who grew up here hasn’t heard of the Scarecrow?” 

Bruce leant back. John almost looked like he wanted to follow as Bruce slumped into the cushions. He smiled at how comfortable he looked. 

“I’ve been away for a while.” 

John nodded. 

“What brought you back?" 

Bruce sighed, sinking deeper into the velvet. 

"Let's call it fate." 

John reached out very slowly and brushed a hand through Bruce's hair. 

"I like that. I suppose that's how we met." 

Bruce shrugged, head still heavy from the aftereffects of the gas. It was nice in this position. 

John is nice.  

"You don't know how rare it is in this city to find someone so... Untouched." 

Bruce stilled. 

Oh nooo. John is weird.  

The hand in Bruce’s hair got tighter, the older man pushing Bruce down by the chest.  

“Absolutely no immunity?! At all! I mean it’s a statistical improbability! Do you know how much everyone else around here with their dulled senses needs to be dosed to get any kind of reaction? And here you are walking around with blood so pure I could drink it. You’re truly a gem in the rough Wayne.” 

Bruce wrapped his thighs around John, ready to snap his spine, arms reaching up to snatch the hands pushing him down. 

“Uh uh uh!” John tutted, stomping down on some type of button with his foot. 

The couch unfolded, ugly, brutalist looking restraints shot out, wrapping around the younger man, pinning him down. 

“You’ll have to forgive me for this, I can’t work with a patient that’s being difficult.” 

“John, when I get out of this goddamned chair-” 

“Ah, no I can’t have a patient using my nickname.” John sat up, still straddling Bruce and pulled out a long green needle. He flicked it with his fingers and pushed up his glasses. “Dr Jonathan Crane, at your service.” 

Bruce blinked. 

“... That name still means nothing to you. Gosh what a puzzle you are Wayne! I can’t wait to study you.” 

The needle moved up, right to curve of his Adam's apple, throat swallowing nervously. 

“Can you tell me? On the bridge, what was your fear-” 

WHOOSH!  

Psychology papers and diagrams of poisonous plants spun through the room. The thick walls so no-one could hear John’s ‘patients’ standing no chance against the impending force. 

The man of steel had a scrambling Scarecrow by the throat, the bespectacled man coughing at the dust of broken plywood walls, straining to reach his needle. 

With the blink of a laser, Superman obliterated it into melting goo.  

Clark’s eyes widened when he saw Bruce’s position and tightened his grip on Scarecrow’s neck. 

A shadow darting through the giant hole in the wall, a small figure perching in the middle of the shattered room. 

Damian Wayne nodded to Superman, turning to examine Bruce. 

A sigh from the restrained man. 

“If you say I told you so, I’m cutting you out of the will.” 

Chapter Text

“WAIT LET ME GET A LOCK OF HIS HAIR BEFORE I GO-”  

Two social workers from Arkham pushed Jonathan into the car. 

“Thank you gentlemen.” Superman said, waving them off. 

“ Thank you gentlemen.” A voice grumbled behind him. 

Clark sighed, turning around. 

“Heard that.” 

“Yeah, with your super hearing.” 

“Yes Bruce with my super hearing.” 

The car rolled by, Jonathan staring out the window with wide eyes.  

Bruce watched silently, then lifted a hand to wave on instinct. Jonathan perked up, waving back furiously as the car rolled past. 

“Damian, can you ensure the GCPD gets a catalogue of everything upstairs?” Superman asked. 

Damian nodded, but before heading up, grabbed Clark and pulled him down to talk. The two discussed something out of Bruce’s non-super hearing reach, glancing at the man back and forth the whole time. 

The boy then nodded to Bruce, with a long stare that looked almost chiding, and going in. 

“Okay.” Clark sighed. 

Bruce crossed his arms. 

“Okay?” 

Clark took inventory of the man. He looked wrecked. Pale, reddened fingertips like he’d been sitting out in the snow. A tapestry of new cuts and scrapes from training. Pupils a bit wider than they should be, sunken dark pools.  

After effects of Scarecrow drugs.  

Clark clicked his tongue. He definitely had to have been drugged. This Bruce may not be the Batman yet but he was still himself . Crane wouldn’t have gotten him into such a vulnerable position if he had his full faculties about him. 

Clark noted the bruised wrists. And the hair. Ruffled, like it’d been grabbed. 

Annoying.  

“ Did he know who you were?” Clark asked. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes then sighed, uncrossing his arms. 

“No. I mean, I don’t think so. He might figure out I’m a Wayne at some point, but didn’t make any other connections. Just took a liking to me I guess.” 

“Hm.” 

Very annoying.  

“ Okay, yep. It is decided. We’re going to the league.” 

Bruce clenched his fists. 

“Oh and that’s something you decide, is it?” 

“Bruce. Please.” Superman took out his communicator, typing in coordinates. “Will it really be that painful to just go along with something for once? And not steal a vehicle or run away or blow up a convoy or throw a knife at me or run into the embrace of someone on a most wanted list?” 

Bruce had a frustrated look on his face, searching for a response. 

“Embrace is an exaggeration.” He settled on, somewhat lamely. 

“I’ve been giving you the respect you’ve earnt Bruce, but I’m beginning to accept that it wasn’t you who earnt that, it was your predecessor.” 

“Right, this perfect guy who you think I will become which is the only reason you’re pretending to give a sh*t about me. Well sorry your friends not here and I f*cking am, that’s my fault, my bad.” 

Clark let him rant, slight crease in his brow. 

“You’re right. You’re not the friend I know.” 

Bruce stared at him.  

Hurt. He looks hurt.  

“ But you could be a new one. Despite it all, I’ve enjoyed knowing you so far Bruce. I’d like to get to know whoever this person is. And building some god damn good faith with him .” 

Bruce couldn’t seem to meet his eyes anymore. 

“And I like to keep my friends, even new ones, alive. So, with your penchant for trouble, I have decided that you can come to HQ and we can take some real steps.” 

A slight grin now breaking through the younger man’s stormy expression. 

“What’s to say I won’t just run away again?” 

Superman stared back, unperturbed. 

“I’d like to see you try.” 

A furious sparkle of competition in the eye and Bruce didn’t hesitate. With a duck and roll he was already under a truck speeding past and racing into the alley across the street. 

Beep.  

Clark clicked confirm on his transporter. 

In buzzing yellow light, the League’s teleporter began to surround the two men. Their silhouettes freezing them in the space where they stood, slowly dissolving into rising particles. 

Oh fucking future shit. Bruce thought, before being pulled from the streets of Gotham, and into the stars. 

… 

“Hey Clark! Teleporting huh? You usually fly up!” 

“Yes well, bringing a guest this time.” 

A shaken Bruce stumbles from behind him, desperately trying to get a handle on his vertigo and not show the two men how completely disorientated he is. 

“Ah the bike thief!” Hal smiled, amused. 

“I’ll- buy you- a new one.” Bruce gritted out, holding back nausea.  

Hal laughed. 

“Well, I know you’re good for it.” He chuckled, clapping a hand on his back with a firm pat. This seemed to disorientate the man more and Bruce closed his eyes to stop from throwing up. 

“Okay okay, thank you Hal. Are you alright?” Clark said, turning to Bruce. 

“F-fine. I am Fine.” 

Do not laugh at him Clark. He genuinely may bite you.  

Bruce narrowed his eyes like he could hear Clark’s thoughts. 

“Come on, let’s you get you walkin’ around, that’ll straighten you out. Show you the watchtower.” 

“Watchtower? What are we watching?” 

A futuristic swish of the doors sliding open and Clark led Bruce over to a room with wide viewing windows. 

He gestured out and Bruce approached slowly. 

The glittering expanse of stars and endless night stretched across the horizon. Below where Clark was motioning to, the cloudy mass of earth in a swirl of blue. The planet reflecting itself in Bruce’s dark eyes. 

“We watch over that.” 

Stillness as the younger man took in the gravity of the statement and stared down at the world beneath them. 

“Well at least I do, you usually cover pretty much just that tiny square down there-” 

A scuffling, squeak sound on glassy floors as Bruce went to shove the older man, who dodged with a laugh. 

… 

“So private areas are up on E Deck, labs across from the meeting room, training area through there but I wouldn’t wander in if you don’t want to get an impromptu beat down/sparring session from Black Canary-” 

“I think I’d like to meet this Black Canary.” 

“Yeah. You would. Anyways-” 

SHHK-  

The doors to the teleporter room reopening as a figure in red stumbled out. 

Barry Allen, the Flash, frantically patting down flames as his outfit burnt away into scraps.  

“Trouble with re-entry?” Superman quipped, before passing him a nearby jug of water. 

Steam as Barry poured it over himself, dousing the flames. 

“Ha ha. Firefly stirring up trouble in my territory! All of Gotham’s big bads seem to have gone off the rails cause there’s no-” 

Batman was left unsaid as Barry stared forward at a Bruce Wayne the same age as him or younger. 

“Oh! Hi. We haven’t met yet- or well we have- but uh we, this you- Hi. Hi I’m Barry.” 

Bruce glanced down at Flash who was half naked and dripping wet. 

A blush. 

“Hi.” 

“Okay, well I need to get back down to the precinct before I’m called in to do forensics for the crime scene I was literally just at.” 

Bruce’s eyes lit up. 

“I like forensics.” 

Barry grinned. 

“I know! I mean- yeah! And you’re from like the past right? I should show you my labs sometime, you can catch up on how far DNA science has come in the last few decades.” 

“It’s a date.” 

This seemed to shock Barry who blinked in surprise. 

Clark looked back and forth between the two of them. 

That feels wrong. That feels weird. Batman should not be looking at Barry Allen of all people like that, that’s disturbing.  

“ Alright, I should change.” 

Bruce gave a look of disappointment. 

Weird, weird, weird.  

In a spin of speed force Barry was standing there again in his sweater vest and glasses, shrugging his lab coat on.  

Bruce stepped forward curiously. 

“Now that’s very interesting. How does it work?” 

He stepped closer to examine Barry who seemed happy enough to let himself be checked over. Just as Bruce reached out a hand, Clark grabbed his wrist and moved his back. 

“Okay well Barry has to go to work now, bye Barry.” 

Flash gave them a nod gingerly and stepped back. 

“Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you, uh again.” He said to Bruce before going back to the teleporter. 

Clark released Bruce who was watching Barry leave. 

“What?” 

“You’re incorrigible.” 

… 

“I want to put you in a box and send you to my mother, she would eat you up!” A gleeful Diana said, hugging Bruce with ever tightening Amazonian arms. 

Bruce struggled to breathe, wriggling away. 

“If your mother is half as strong as you, I believe you.” He mumbled. 

A roaring laugh as the armoured woman reached out to pinch his cheeks. 

“Di, could we focus?” Clark asked, guiding her back to the machine. 

“Right yes sorry. He’s just too cute-” She repeated, reaching out for Bruce who scrambled away like a small dog refusing a pat. 

“Okay, okay yes. So, I’ve rebuilt everything from that night, as destroyed as it was-” She said with a glance to Bruce, who was already examining the wiring. 

“That Barbara Gordan gave us all the files she had on Freeze’s coding, so theoretically it is a machine that works.” 

“But?” Clark asked. 

“Well, what is the point of a compass without coordinates. Intention. It can lead you to anywhere, and that’s exactly the problem. We’ve got no target.” 

Clark furrowed his brow. 

“So, how do we resolve that?” 

“We talk to Freeze is how. Will save a lot of guesswork. Just find whatever frequency he locked onto the first time and re-input it.” 

“So you can put me back?” A voice interrupted them. 

The two looked towards Bruce who was standing beneath the portal gates. 

“No one would force you to do anything Bruce.” Clark said. 

“You forced me to come here.” 

“But this is a choice that we wouldn’t make for you.” Diana interrupted, a hand between Clark who immediately looked crestfallen at Bruce’s accusatory tone. 

“It should only be your choice. We just wanted to make sure it was one you actually had . We’re providing you the option, and the option alone.” 

Bruce turned back to Freeze’s machine, rebuilt here. 

“Alright. I trust you.” 

Clark dropped his shoulders in relief. 

“On one condition.” 

Tense stares from the both of them. 

“I’ll talk to Freeze.” 

… 

“No offence to Bat- uh, Bruce, but truly just an all round terrible idea.” Green Lantern said. 

Bruce stared down at all of them in the meeting room, arms crossed in his chair. 

Half the league seemed extremely anxious, as if this was a ploy by their leader to catch them slipping up, and half seemed transfixed by the bizarre sight of a baby faced Bruce. 

“It’s just Freeze, I don’t see why we need to make this a whole mission. Let’s just have him transferred out of Arkham, interrogate him and leave it at that.” Canary chimed in. 

“He’s a patient there. He’s fragile.” Clark said. “At most we’ll spook him and ruin his therapy. At worst we make him think we’re going to meddle with a machine he thinks will bring back his wife, and he’ll go catatonic.” 

Diana nodded. 

“Our Batman told us he’s an extremely paranoid man. I trust this league’s ability to stop him from doing harm... to extract information from him that’s actually helpful is a different task. He won’t be acting logically or predictably. We need a delicate touch.” 

“Oh yeah? And that’s what you’re bringing huh? A delicate touch?” Hal jeered at Bruce playfully. 

A thump under the table as Bruce lashed out to kick him. 

“Stop, HEY- little Brat-” The lantern whispered, kicking him back. 

“I agree.” Oliver Queen said, stopping the petty argument. 

Bruce swiveled to glare at him, murderous look in his eye. 

“It’s just! Arkham is arkham. And he’s him . You’re going to get hurt if we send you in there. I agree that this is the right way to go about questioning Freeze, but why would it need to be him.” 

Clark noted that Arrow sounded unmistakably paternal . Oliver must have grown close with him these past few weeks. Staring at the archer and the angry younger man, who hissed as Oliver tried to slide him over a bagel. It did strike him how similar he seemed to a certain Roy Harper. 

Better not let them meet. They might kill each other.  

“ It’s Bruce’s mission because 1. He’s a relevant unknown. Checking him in as just a nurse or patient is going to be a lot simpler than explaining why any of our civilian identities have currently been shipped to a mental institution.” 

“Alright, but Freeze saw him the night he... appeared. He’ll remember him.” 

“He didn’t actually.” Bruce said, speaking up properly for the first time in the meeting. “I was undergoing a trial at the time, wearing an assassin’s cowl. And things got... frantic when I didn’t know where I was. I had him bleedin’ and unconscious pretty quick.” 

“Well... that somewhat terrifying addition aside, what’s 2?” Asked Hal, a wary look at Bruce before turning to Clark.

“2?” 

“You started listing, what’s reason number 2?” 

“Oh. Yes.” Clark inhaled. “2. He asked.” 

“He asked?” Canary repeated incredulously, a glance to Oliver. 

“He asked to be the one to do it. And until we formally decide that Bruce Wayne is no longer a member of this league, I feel we’re bound to respect that. Will anyone here pledge towards the removal of Batman from a seat on this council?” 

Silence across the room. And a growing acknowledgement. Shock turning to respect that Clark brought up the issue.  

Leaning back in acceptance, each member seemed to concede that if Bruce wished to help, that was his right as a founder. 

“Very well. I’ll contact Gordon about getting some paperwork sorted, and get in contact with the Wayne family. Diana, you start establishing a list of what intel exactly Bruce needs to be extracting.” 

As members of the league began to divvy up more roles of who is going to take on shifts for Gotham’s territory and work out the details to support this operation, Bruce was quiet. 

Struck with a realisation of what this place was. What his future self had somehow managed to build. 

Everyone of these people trusted him. Made a fuss over his wellbeing! Cared, but acknowledged his capabilities. Acknowledged that he is someone who can do good, and they should just step aside and allow him to do that. 

Bruce blinked, refusing to shed a tear in this place. 

Clark caught his staring, giving a smile. 

Stupid.  

He tried to communicate back mentally. Clark rolled his eyes. 

Oliver nudged his arm again. With a sigh, Bruce snatched the bagel, tearing it into smaller pieces and nibbling at it, ignoring the archer beaming at him. 

... 

Harvey sat with Killer Croc in the Arkham commissary hall, picking at peas despite Two-face in his head screaming I HATE PEAS.  

Screw him. Harvey liked peas. 

Croc tore into a giant raw piece of meat, blood spraying across the table. Harvey ignored it. Messy eating was a small price to pay for no one else being game enough to get too close to where they sat. 

He pushed the peas around on the plate, into a face. 

Looks like Bruce.  

God dammit. He pushed the plate away, messing up the image as Two-face mentally cheered in victory. 

He’d been seeing him everywhere. The mirror, the shadows of his cell. Getting walked through in cuffs on the other side of the room. 

“Well, hello pretty boy.” Victor Zsasz whistled as the guards escorted Bruce down to the cells. 

“You see him?!” Harvey growled, turning to Victor at the table next to him. 

“I’m seeing.” Victor said, leaning back in his chair to watch Bruce. 

“Looks edible.” Croc nodded in agreement.  

Harvey stood, moving quickly and rushing to the gated border to watch Bruce enter Arkham through the wired mesh separating the two areas. 

“Think he’s one of those Wayne boys that went off the deep end again. You know half of them have been cycled through here.” Clayface gossiped, itching at the collar around his neck interfering with his powers. 

Harvey watched with white knuckles as Bruce was shoved along, loose dark hair hiding the boy's expression. 

… 

“You’re sure you want to be a patient? We could get you in even as a Doctor if you wanted?”  

“Freeze isn’t going to talk to a Doctor. I want to catch him off guard. A fellow prisoner.”  

Bruce sighed as the guard in front of him fiddled with the cell’s lock. He glanced to the cell next to him. Condensation along the edges, and the window inside was frosted over with a sheen of blue. 

Good. Gordon got me next to him.  

“ I’m a fan you know.” 

Bruce’s attention snapped to the other guard who wasn’t at the door, but watching Bruce with hungry eyes. 

He didn’t answer, just analysed him carefully. Stubble, silver hair. Long sleeves covering the arms, but obvious scars peeking out from what could be seen. 

“Of the Waynes. You adopted? Or one of his...” 

“Bastards?” Bruce supplied, no emotion in the suggestion. 

“It’s Gotham, we’re all bastards.” The guard grinned, waving the second one off and escorting Bruce into the cell. 

Bruce didn’t laugh with him, giving a glare at the hand on his shoulder. 

The guard leaned in. 

“Look, I just wanted to let you know that I can be very useful in here. Cigarettes, junk food. I’m a useful guy.” 

Bruce raised an eyebrow. 

“I see. It’s a payout you’re looking for?” 

The guard put a hand to his chest, affronted. 

“Not charity, a trade. Good money for good services. Daddy’s cash won’t get you far in here unless you turn it into things you can actually exchange. Consider me a man for hire.” 

He leaned in, taking off Bruce’s cuffs with a synchronised click . 

“No need to get huffy about it rich boy. Just wanted to make a formal introduction. I’ll leave you to your brooding then. Looks like I’m not your first courter anyways.” He said, nodding to the bed. 

Bruce turned, not fully, keeping the suspicious guard still in his sight line. 

On top of the sparse bed, standing out against the grey sheets. A Bhutan Blue poppy.  

“What did you say your name was again?” Bruce asked, as the guard locked the door. 

A grin through the window. 

“Slade. You can call me Slade. Night little Wayne.” 

He whistled as he walked away, the click of his shoes slowly drowning out to the chatter and frenzied murmuring of Arkham's inhabitants.

Of which I am now one. Bruce thought.

He sat on the bed and picked up the poppy, staring at it.

If I did this right, I could get Freeze, R'as and whoever else has been watching me.

The thought appealed to him. The challenge of being both the bait and the trap. The adrenaline of being trusted by his team to accomplish something.

Forgot how nice it feels. To have a goal.

Bruce sighed, laying down on the bed.

And crushing the flower in his hand with a smile.

Chapter Text

Snow. Falling light and persistently, clouding the mountain in thick all-encompassing beds.  

Frigid hands in the cold air, resetting a wire. Bruce looking down with intense focus as he carefully balanced his trap.  

“How come yours always catch something? You bribing them rich boy?” Khoa asks, holding up Bruce’s white rabbit, limp in his hands.  

“Aren’t you the one who’s supposedly richer than me? Or was that you exaggerating again.” Bruce replies, voice even and eyes not looking up as he works on setting up the trap after his catch.  

“I’ve never exaggerated a thing in my life.”  

“I mean, I can think of one thing-”  

Bruce darting quickly as Khoa went to grab his ribs, attempting to poke the boy and make him lose focus.  

Bruce laughs, catching the rock rigged to the wire before it falls off balance and finishing the trap.  

“And that’s why my traps work and yours don’t. Precision and speed, Khoa. Light fingers.” Bruce teased, showing off his hands.  

Khoa rolled his eyes.  

“Well, you still can’t kill em can you? Only catch the little rodents. Guess you still need me.”  

Bruce glanced down at the bleeding rabbit with a wince.  

The blood falling on the snow.  

Need me?  

Need? 

Khoa?- 

... 

“NORA!” 

Bruce shot up.  

“I NEED NORA, YOU NEED TO-” Muffled shouts, a trailing off voice of someone under sedation. The mumbling turning to unintelligible words, pleas for Nora. 

The mountain. Snow. The two of us-  

Bruce’s dream played back through his brain as he lay in his bunk. He shivered, not from the mountain snow, but from the wall he had chosen to lay against. The stone of the cell wall frozen over, the habitat of his frozen neighbour chilling the surrounding cement. 

Bruce clicked his tongue and moved away from Freeze’s side of the wall, feeling warmer as he distanced himself from Freeze’s muttering. 

Well, Good Morning Victor. Bruce thought to himself, looking at his blankets that had iced over in the night. 

Guess I know why this cell was so easy to get.  

Two metallic BANG BANGS on the door. 

“Rise and shine newbie! Bed made and get to breakfast hall now.” A guard ordered. A heavy internal shift in the door as it unlocked for the day. 

Bruce tentatively peeked his head out to examine the inmates who were yawning, and shuffling into line as the guards watched.  

Freeze’s door remained untouched, the deadbolt in place. Bruce noted a slot underneath where a tray of food could be deposited. 

Looks like Victor won’t be joining us for breakfast.  

BANG!  

“NOW NEWBIE!” 

Bruce whipped around to look at the guard who was yelling at him. Mean eyes, thick shoulders and frankly ugly shoes.  

Giving him a withering stare Bruce headed down the hall, to meet the rest of Arkham’s inhabitants. 

… 

“Now he’s gonna be popular.” Captain Boomerang goaded, watching a wide eyed Bruce enter the canteen hall and line up for a tray of mushy, colourless eggs. 

“I have no opinion on the matter.” His associate Floyd, A.K.A Deadshot responded.  

He seemed to be one of the few with a lack of interest, as many of the inmates shot up to stare at the dark-haired man. 

“You know I heard he actually killed his parents to get sent here.” Clayface told them in a rush, the words blurring together as he rushed through the sentence. 

“We told you, you can’t sit here-” 

“GO AWAY CLAYFACE-” 

“Get OUTTA HERE-” 

Everyone else at the table yelled at the gossip who seemed immune to their dismissal.  

“Also didn’t you say he’s one of those Wayne kids? I think we woulda heard if Bruce Wayne was dead.” Calendar man said. 

“Have you SEEN Bruce Wayne at all over the last few months!!?” Clayface said, on the edge of his seat as he unveiled his conspiracy.  

“Have you seen the fuckin richest guy in Gotham literally ever? You’re in fuckin prison mate, that’s why you haven’t seen Playboy’s favourite Bachelor, you knob.” 

Clayface blinked at Boomerang before deciding this table isn’t the most receptive audience and throwing himself over to the next one. 

“You know I heard he killed all of Black Mask’s goons and took over his territory-” 

His busy bodying trailing out of their ear range, Boomerang nudged Deadshot to look up. 

Anarky, the self-proclaimed anti-hero was making a bee line for the new inmate. 

“This should be good.” 

... 

“They only do bacon on Fridays.”  

Bruce glanced up. 

“What?” 

A boy, Bruce’s age with swoopy hair, shaved on the sides and ripped sleeves in his uniform stood in the line. He was giving his best smile, still looking nervous, and pushed his hair back. 

“Bacon. They only have it on Fridays. I can help you out then, you have to get in line before Professor Pyg, he gets so intense about it.” He said, still grinning and leaning closer as he offered to help . 

“I don’t plan to be here that long.” Bruce replied, attempting to sidestep the young man. 

He laughed. Loud. It honestly made Bruce jump. 

“That’s SO funny, hell yeah man, fight the establishment.”  

Bruce nodded, moving away from the boy who followed him eagerly. 

“Yeah no, totally I’m going to escape too, I mean my followers are waiting for me.”  

Bruce glanced at the boy who seemed to be waiting for Bruce to respond to that statement.  

“Oh?” 

“Yeah, cause like I’m the Anarky so, the people of Gotham are waiting on me to free them.” 

“How noble.” Bruce replied, giving no reaction at the name which seemed to deflate the boy a little bit. 

“So why are you in?” Anarky asked, desperate to keep the conversation going. 

Bruce placed down the tray and sharply turned to look at the other man. Dark eyes held him and Anarky flushed, beginning to sweat. 

“Why are you?” Bruce shot back. 

Anarky stuttered, taken aback at his direct attention. 

“Well, I’m in cause I fought the Batman.” 

Bruce blinked at that. This seemed to encourage the revolutionary.  

“Yeah, it was insane. I really had him, almost beat him.” 

Bruce turned back to his eggs and no bacon. 

“Almost.” 

Anarky swallowed. 

“Ha. Right. Anyways. I just wanted to say, if you needed a friend or something, like on the inside-” His words trailed off as he watched Bruce lean over the counter to get a milk. 

“Oh here, let me help-” 

A scarred hand reaching over Bruce to grab the milk before Anarky could move, the notorious crime boss Two-face looming over him and holding out the drink. 

Bruce turned, and then grinned as he looked up. Quickly he abandoned the tray and threw his arms around his friend. 

“Harv!” He said, most of the cafeteria staring at the clean-cut boy gripping the scarred man with enthusiasm. 

“Come on, don’t eat that, we’ll get you some contraband like a real criminal.” Harvey sighed, almost chiding. 

“That’s me.” Chuckled Bruce. 

“Ack.” A strange, half gurgle sound from Anarky as he stared at Two-face with his hands around Bruce. 

“Can we help you?” Two-face (and Harvey) asked. 

“Um-” 

“Rhetorical question, fuck off.” 

Anarky swallowed and turned, walking away stiffly. 

“You’re mean in prison Harvey.” Bruce said, being led by the hand through the cafeteria, past a Captain Boomerang with tears in his eyes from laughing at Anarky. 

“I’ve literally always been mean. People just let you get away with it more when you’re blonde.” Harvey replied. 

“Huh.” 

… 

“You need to talk to Freeze?” 

“Uh huh. I was thinking, very soon while everyone’s out of their cells. He just needs to hear me, I can question him through the slot in his door.” 

“Okay, well yeah all the prisoners are out of their cells. I can guarantee they still have guards.” 

“Right.” Bruce responded leaning forward. He looked up at Harvey with big round eyes. 

“The hell is this? Is this your begging face? It’s terrifying.”  

Bruce leaned back. 

“Damian taught it to me.” 

“Okay well not to speak bad of your family, but do not take advice from Damian. His best friend is a cow so.” 

“I have a pet cow?” Bruce asked loudly, the snacks in his hand spilling. 

“ Shh for God sakes.” Harvey hushed, eyeing the guards around them and shoving the contraband under the table. 

Bruce continued staring at him, eyes still pleading. 

“Fine, Jesus. I’ll help you out, what’s the plan?” 

The younger man sighed and leant back, examining the room.  

“Don’t have one. Was just gonna feel it out.” 

“You’re going to what ?” Harvey asked. 

“Yeah, that should work.” Bruce murmured, looking over at King Shark who was miserably stabbing at his tray of powdered food. 

“Alright, watch for my signal.” He said, hopping up. 

“What- what signal?” Harvey yell-whispered at Bruce who was already darting off, one of Harvey’s snack wrappers in hand. 

Bruce sidestepped behind two guards roaming the perimeter of the hall, keeping pace with them as they barrelled through a cluster of inmates, disappearing from Harvey’s eyeline completely. 

Footsteps quick and masked by the sound of conversations, Bruce moved silently. As he walked, he flattened the foil against his palm and folded it neatly into crisp edges. He tore the aluminum wrapper and pressed it down, examining the sharp sides it now had. He looked at the pointed triangle for a moment, before flipping up two ears.  

Like a bat.  

Bruce gave a flat smile looking at the thing. His nose crinkled a bit.  

Mm. They still do creep me out.  

The guards stopped abruptly and Bruce halted, flicking his wrist to hide the paper in the back of his hand. He smiled at the patrolmen who squinted their eyes at him... before moving on. 

Bruce turned to the giant humanoid shark who was now gnawing at his metal tray miserably. 

A staticky voice fizzing through the radio as the nearest guard answered a call on his walkie. Bruce glanced down. 

Ugly shoes.  

A grin. 

A kick, and the trays piled up next to him clattered. All heads turned to watch as the forks scattered across the concrete floor. 

Noone saw Bruce moving behind the guard, slipping a hand into his pocket as everyone else watched the commotion. 

“Oi! Don’t just stare! Pick it up!” The mean eyed guard yelled. 

Bruce opened a phone in his hand, switching it off silent and then setting a timer. He rounded where the shark was sitting and kneeled to tie his shoes before sliding the phone under the table. 

Satisfied, Bruce started to make his way towards the door. 

“Hiya, Barbie!”  

“Hi Ken!”  

“You wanna go for a ride?”  

“Sure Ken!”  

“Jump in!”  

The cheery ringtone of the phone began to play, making the guard stand up stiffly, searching for his cell. He reached into his pocket and then winced in pain. He pulled a bleeding hand out of his pocket, along with the candy wrapper shiv that had cut him. He gritted his teeth and threw the thing on the ground, looking around the room. 

He noted the direction of the sound coming from the shark. With clenched fists he marched over to the table. 

“HEY! INMATE! WHERE’S MY GODDAMN PHONE?” 

Nanaue the shark looked at the man yelling in his face. His stomach grumbled from hunger after his unsatisfactory breakfast. 

“ARE YOU STUPID! HAND IT OVER!” The guard pointed at him. 

King Shark sniffed the air and focused on the hand in front of him. Red, blood dripping from the cut fingers. 

Slowly the Sharks eyes filled to two glassy black coins, the pupils widening. Nanaue opened his mouth panting. 

The guards own eyes widened looking at rows and rows of sharpened teeth.  

“Um. Hold on a moment-” 

“Imagination, life is your creation!” The ringtone kept playing. 

A loud CHOMP echoing through the room followed by a blood curdling, high pitched scream. 

“Holy-” Another guard swore, racing forward to stare in horror at the scene. 

Bruce caught Harvey’s eyes in the chaos. 

Two-face stood frozen during the unmistakable sounds of a shark biting down. 

Bruce cocked his head and Harvey sighed. 

“Ah fuck it.” 

The crime boss picked up a chair and swung it into the nearest patroller at full force.  

“ Come on Barbie, let’s go party!”  

Realising that their boss was fighting, several Two-face goons picked up their own chairs and wildly swung them at whoever was closest.  

As blood hit the floor, the hulking mass of Killer Croc stood too, sniffing the air. As guards fumbled with their batons, Croc bit into a leg that kicked out at him. 

“RIOT!” 

The hall delved into violent chaos, inmates crawling over each other to get a hit in, smashing through the kitchen barrier and grabbing armfuls of bacon, climbing on tables only to jump off them in dramatic wrestling tackles. 

Bruce slipped past the wall of guards who rushed in, blending back into the shadows. 

“DIE PIGS!” Anarky screamed, his voice breaking slightly as he began to knock down over armoured patrolmen. 

“Oh sorry Pyg.” He said sheepishly to Professor Pyg who was watching with an affronted hand on his chest. 

With a wrapperless candy in his hand and skip in his step, Bruce darted out of the hall and deeper into the asylum. 

Light fingers. Echoed in his head. 

… 

“All units! Suit up and get to mess hall now ! Get this under control quick or Strange will have our heads!” 

The rush of boots moving down the hallway in synchronised step.  

Bruce waited a moment before darting around. He followed the route back to his cell as stealthily as possible. Not that he cared about Oliver Queen’s opinion at all but he thinks he’d be proud of how ghostlike he moved through the halls after their training. 

Finally he arrived at Freeze’s cell. 

To find the door wide open, empty. 

It was still tinged blue, sending chills up Bruce’s arm from the cold. 

He stepped forward, pulling down his sleeves. 

It was empty, the walls covered in a thick layer of frost like a freezer wall. It was slowly melting into clear sheets as the warm outer air made its way in. 

Where the hell is he?  

Scrawled on the wall, someone had been carving words and pictures into the frost. 

NORA. NORA. 

Haphazardly written everywhere. An outline of a woman, that Bruce had to deduce was the subject in question. 

Numbers and calculations on the wall. Bruce went to step closer but then halted, realising his breath might speed up the melting process. 

Quickly he compared the numbers to what Diana was looking for, using his photographic memory to picture the formulas. 

He clicked his tongue. They weren’t relevant to the portal. Judging from the symbols for temperature, they were most likely another freeze weapon idea. 

Bruce turned and blinked. 

A depiction of a man was etched into the ice. Angry eyes, square jaw. The crude image had a fist coming at the viewer. 

“Alright, but Freeze saw him the night he... appeared. He’ll remember him.”  

“He didn’t actually... I had him bleedin’ and unconscious pretty quick.”  

Bruce thought that was true when he said it to the league. He was 99% sure. 80% at least. 

He remembered wanting to do the mission, at any cost. Remembering saying what he could to convince them. 

But that stumbling into the new Gotham... it had been a blur.  

Before it, he was in that goddamned ring. Ra’s had been testing the dojang, saying they were weak to lose to someone like Bruce. Again and again, he was throwing down disciples. Fighting like a dog in the street. 

Bruce had told the league he had been wearing his mask? Maybe he hadn’t been. He barely remembered. Maybe someone had ripped it off him in the first round. 

Maybe he had come into this world, blood drunk and feral. And maybe he hit Freeze first. And maybe the man saw him. 

Bruce looked at the depiction on the wall. The drawing of him. 

I think he saw you . 

“Mr Wayne!” 

Bruce turned around to see a swarm of guards, and a man in a lab coat leading them. 

“Well now. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.” Dr Hugo Strange, the warden of Arkham crooned. 

… 

“Your father and I are great friends you know.” Dr Strange said, pouring two cups of tea.  

He pointed to a picture of Bruce Wayne handing over a cheque to the Asylum, looking visibly uncomfortable with Hugo’s hand on his shoulder.  

The current Bruce raised an eyebrow as he sat in the warden’s ornate office. Compared to the sparse and haunted halls of the rest of the asylum, the room was extravagant. An imposing desk with carved accents, walls filled with various trophies and degrees.  

Tokens that Bruce didn’t recognise, but could tell were some kind of collection. A green question mark cane, a Mad Hatter top hat, a plant seed with a twisting vine that seemed to be moving . 

With a delicate clink the tea was set in front of him. 

Bruce looked at the cup, thinking of John and his apartment. He tentatively pushed the drink away. 

“I know your father so well, that I know that you are not who you say you are.” 

Bruce raised his head, eyes glinting like a predator caught in a trap. 

Hugo flicked through a file apprehensively. 

“Don’t get me wrong. You look an awful lot like a Wayne. But that’s easily replicable. Why I’ve a man in lockup that can turn his clay body into Bruce Wayne anytime he wants. And don’t get me started on Tommy in the secure ward.” 

“Secure ward?” Bruce asked, sitting up. 

“Where we keep our more enthusiastic patients.” Hugo said with a smile. 

“Is that where you moved Freeze to?” 

Hugo hummed. 

“Ah. Freeze. You bring me to my second point. I bet I can guess why you riled up our breakfast routine to go see him.” 

Bruce froze. 

“I know there’s an agent for R’as Al Ghul in this facility.” 

The younger man blinked. 

“And I know it’s you.”  

Bruce’s mouth opened to respond and then closed, as Hugo looked at him smugly, relishing in his impeccable detective skills. 

“I’m no fool! He’s jealous of what I’ve amassed here! You know this is the only mental health facility in the state that has an onsite militia!” 

“I... didn’t know that.” Bruce answered honestly. 

“I have more guns in this building then doctors!” 

“That doesn’t seem great.” Murmured Bruce, looking around to see if he could maybe just leave as Hugo ranted. 

“Well working doctors. I’ve got quite a lot of ex- psychiatrists in here who have graduated to full blown patients now. That’s actually how I caught you! Dr Crane was more than happy to go on and on about some Wayne he met, and when you transferred I knew it was you.” 

Hugo was standing now, moving to his dramatic circular window to overlook his territory. 

“Scarecrow. Freeze. And I saw you cosying up to Two-face on our cameras-” 

With his attention turned, Bruce didn’t see the harm in taking a quick look around the office. Pocketing a couple trophies, slipping a flask and the odd cigar into his uniform. 

Hugo whipped around and Bruce nodded, the picture of innocence. 

“R’as is recruiting! He’s poaching! And you’re his spy sent to do it!” 

Bruce looked at himself, reflected in the dark glasses of Dr Strange. 

He inhaled, blinking quickly. Tears welled up in his eyes, shiny and rolling down his pale cheeks in fat droplets. 

“It’s true. You’ve caught me, God they said I had to be careful, but I didn’t think you’d be this brilliant.” He gasped leaning back against a bookshelf (and helping himself to one more knickknack while he was there with his spare hand.) 

“R-really? I mean yes. Of course. You can tell R’as his schemes are for naught.” Hugo said haughtily. 

“But... would that be smart?” Bruce said, moving around the desk and into Strange’s space. 

“I- what?” 

“You got me, we established that. I’m burnt, that’s it, but what about you? R’as will just send someone after me. And even if you with all your... wisdom, catches him, he’ll just send another!” 

“Oh.” Said Hugo, watching Bruce who was now sitting on the desk. 

“ Or you could out scheme the schemer. Use me for your own purposes.” 

“Use you?” Hugo said with some apprehension. 

“Make me your spy. I’d be flattered to do it.” Bruce blinked up at him. 

“Huh.” Hugo said, apparently only capable of one syllable words at this time. 

Screw you Harvey, I’m nailing the puppy dog face.  

“ How exactly would that... work?” Hugo asked, brows creased. 

“I mean you’re the man with a plan Hugo! We’ll do as you said! I recruit Freeze, hand him over as a gift to earn their trust, but instead I feed you the info.” 

“I- I said that?” 

Bruce nodded, reaching out a hand to rest on Hugo’s arm. 

“You know I’d rather work for you then him. He’s a mad man.” 

See, I’m not even completely lying. Bruce thought. 

“I- I can’t trust you!” Hugo suddenly yelled, pulling himself back from Bruce’s starry eyes. 

“Of course, you can’t Hugo.” Bruce said, standing. 

Hugo looked surprised at his candor. 

“But what option do I have if not to align with you?” Bruce continued. “I mean at the end of the day, do you really believe someone like me, a humble foot soldier, would be capable of outfoxing you?” 

Hugo seemed deep in thought. 

Bruce smiled as empathetically as he could. 

“I suppose the question is, do you really think I’m capable of tricking you?” 

… 

Bruce walked freely down the halls of Arkham, pockets full of stolen toys and a heavy set of keys at his waist. Generously donated by the warden. 

He paused at the door to the secure ward, only stopping briefly to input the code that Hugo had almost eagerly given him. 

“Freeze was acting more and more unstable. We had to move him back to one of our original chambers to isolate him from whatever set him off... And after you get what you need to Al Ghul, you’ll be in a position to access all his inside plans?”  

“Of course Hugo.”  

He entered a corridor of imposing glass walls. These cells were wider, the sides thicker. Some were filled with interesting restraints for specialised inmates with powers. 

Most were actually empty, the upkeep apparently too difficult to send regular prisoners to. 

“Well, you seem far from home little lamb.” 

Bruce sighed. 

“Why is everyone so insistent on sneaking up behind me today.”  

A long, thin sword at Bruce’s shoulder. He turned slowly, the blade at his neck. 

The ‘guard’ from yesterday with the missing eye stood.  

“I’m hurt. You never asked for help.” Slade Wilson said. 

“Didn’t need it.” Bruce replied, gesturing to where he was, and the keys at his waist. 

Bruce noted the many other swords on Slade’s back, and the armour he now had strapped to him. 

“I suppose Hugo was right. There really was an agent of R’as in his facility.” 

Slade smiled meanly. 

“ Top agent. Ever since you and your little boyfriend ran away.” 

Bruce paused at that.  

I didn’t finish the training in any time, huh?  

“ Khoa wouldn’t have run.” Bruce replied. 

Now that put a spark in Slade’s eye.  

“You really don’t remember do you? You still think the Ghostmaker is your bestest friend?” He mocked 

Ghostmaker?  

The sword at his shoulder slowly drifted down to target Bruce’s stomach. 

“Right here. Here is where he shot you. And you left you in the f*cking snow. To die.” 

Bruce considered that. And memories of his old training mate. Khoa and him in the dojang together. Collecting wood in the forest. Talking and talking about what they would be. 

The best. Khoa would say. 

And what if he couldn’t be the best? What if that was always Bruce’s burden to bear. 

What would Khoa have done then? 

Bruce looked down at the sword. 

“Well. I didn’t die though? Did I?” 

Slade narrowed his eye, gripping the sword handle to add more pressure. 

“I think you’ll find I’m rather difficult to kill.” Bruce affirmed. 

He moved into the sword, rather than away, a move that surprised Slade just for a moment. The sword pushed through Bruce’s uniform and pierced the curious seed he had swiped from Strange’s bookcase. 

In a reactionary hiss the seed wrapped spiked tendrils around the sword, climbing up Slade’s arm. Poison Ivy’s botanic gas began to bleed from it in thick green smoke.  

Slade grit his teeth, and threw the nearest thing to his free hand, his belt filled with bombs. 

As the hallway truly began to fill with steam and smoke, Bruce was finishing the combination on a random cell, slipping inside and into safety. 

Or as safe as he could be, with the cell’s other inhabitant. 

Chapter Text

“Bruce, aren’t you going to say hello?”  

A six-year-old Bruce did not answer, pushing his face closer into his mother’s skirt.  

She was one of the only mothers here at the school drop off. Most of the other academy students being escorted by Au Pairs or chauffers.  

Bruce mumbled something into the fabric.  

“What was that Brucie?”  

Bruce looked up at her with wide eyes, almost too knowing for someone his age.  

“None of them like me.”  

Martha opened her mouth to answer but before she could, a small boy approached the pair. He had dark hair just like Bruce, but his frame was a little thinner.  

Martha’s eagle eyes couldn’t help but notice his school shoes a little more worn, his uniform slightly frayed, but she would never say such a thing aloud.  

“Hello there! Anything we can help with?” She asked, voice as friendly as possible.  

Bruce pushed closer to her, hiding from the other boy.  

“My... my tie... I don’t have- I mean I forgot. And I don’t want to get in trouble. Is there any chance you have- do you have-” The boy stuttered.  

Martha smiled warmly at the boy.  

“My Bruce always has a spare. Bruce?”  

Bruce slowly peaked out from behind the skirt. With great suspicion, he pulled his bag out and extracted a tie.  

Looking to his mother, who nodded eagerly and pushed him forward, he approached the other boy.  

“Introduce yourself.” She reminded him in a whispered tone.  

“I’m Bruce.”  

The other boy stared with big round eyes, slowly taking the tie.  

“I’m Elliot- No- Thomas. I’m Thomas Elliot.” He responded.  

“Ask him to be your friend!” Martha whispered again, voice very obviously carrying.  

“Will you be my friend?” Bruce asked.  

Thomas held the tie Bruce had handed him, clutched in his hands, looking like he might cry.  

In a rush he threw his hands around Bruce.  

Martha smiled, on the edge of tears, as Bruce stiffly hugged Tommy back.  

“Okay sure.”  

Bruce smiled.  

…  

Bruce coughed, smoke and poison clouding his airways.  

He gulped in clean air, leaning back against the glass cell door.  

His ears rung from the shaking explosions that had rattled through the hallways. Behind him, he could only see a building cloud of dust and electrical sparks.  

Bruce breathed in, forcing his heart rate to settle and mind to focus.  

Don’t get emotional. The voice of Ra’s Al Ghul rattled through his mind.  

He grimaced, staring forward into the darkened cell.  

And saw a glimpse of light. Two shining pupils.  

He stiffened, hand sliding down to grab a weapon, and wincing as he realised he had none.  

The pupils moved closer, slow and deliberate like an animal.  

Brighter sparks flickering behind him, light flames from the explosion growing tall for a moment. With the cell slightly lit, Bruce saw the face of the prisoner.  

His own face.  

“What in the hell-”  

“You finally came.” The voice grumbled, tenor low.  

It was a voice Bruce recognised.  

The man stepped closer and Bruce realised it wasn’t quite his own reflection.  

He definitely looked similar to an older Bruce Wayne. The same jaw, the same hair. But that nose, a little more broken, a few extra scars.  

And those eyes. He’d seen those eyes.  

“I knew you’d come back. I knew.”  

The man lunged at Bruce, slamming him back against the wall, hands against the glass.  

Bruce stood still, staring up at him.  

“Tommy?”  

Thomas Elliot looked down at him, eyes distant and full of madness.  

“What happened to you?”  

The man pushed his forehead against Bruce’s, staring into him. Bruce tried not to recoil, spine shivering at the uncanniness of it.  

“You were the only thing that mattered Bruce. My only friend. And then you left me behind?”  

Bruce stayed as still as possible as a hand reached up to caress his chin.  

Long fingers, calloused like his father’s hands. Hands of a surgeon.  

Some of these scars made sense now. Surgical, cosmetic.  

“Did you do this to yourself Tommy?”  

“Just wanted to be like you.” Thomas whispered, hand on Bruce’s throat, not quite gripping it yet but the threat was definitely there.  

I think it is probably time to leave.  

Bruce glanced to the cell door. It was still unlocked, the code still active.  

“Sorry Tommy.” Bruce whispered, hand moving up behind Thomas’ back.  

“What-”  

Bruce grabbed the back of Thomas’ uniform and wrenched him back with all his strength. Tommy stumbled down with the momentum and in the scuffle Bruce pushed him off and rushed out the door.  

He coughed at the smoke still clearing, blinking as the hallway came into focus.  

At the end of the ward, another cell door was open, surrounded by shattered cold metal shards.  

Freeze’s cell. The brittle, iced over joints apparently unable to take the pressure of the explosion.  

TAP, TAP, TAP-  

Bruce swivelled around quickly. The sound of bare feet, moving fast over the panelled floors, someone getting closer.  

The door he’d just left, swung open-  

CRASH!  

Pain stung the back of his head as the room spun.  

He was on the ground, a heavy weight on his chest.  

The mad eyes of an abandoned Thomas Elliot looked down on him.  

“Christ, if it ain’t Hush. You know Ra’s is looking for you too Tommy, never paid for your dip in our Lazarus pit.”  

Slade limped out of the smoke, bleeding but gritting his teeth through the pain. He was moving fast, a weapon in each hand.  

Thomas ignored him, hands still around Bruce who lay on the ground.  

“I know you ain’t rich like our Brucie boy, but that’s alright. You can pay in blood.”  

Slade pointed his sword.  

“Blood?” Thomas repeated, still staring down at Bruce dumbly.  

Red leaked out of the younger boy, staining Thomas’s fingers.  

“God you’ve really lost it haven’t you. The great Hush, reduced to this. Come on now, if you get out the way quick, I’ll let ya live.”  

Thomas stared at Bruce’s blood on his hands.  

“You’re real? You’re really here.” Tommy asked.  

A young Bruce Wayne looked up at him, disorientated but fighting to shake it off.  

Thomas reached out and ran his hand over Bruce’s face, leaving a red mark from his eye and over his lips.  

“Thomas?” Bruce asked, looking up at him.  

He was regarding him, young and undamaged. A Bruce Wayne he had not betrayed.  

Something changed in Thomas’ eyes. Recognition, awareness. Just a spark, but there was a clarity in there, like a fog clearing.  

A blade hovered between them now, glinting in the light.  

Deathstroke stood above, unimpressed with the interaction.  

“I’ll be taking the boy.”  

Thomas began to tremble, shaking as he looked at the sword on Bruce’s throat.  

“Didn’t you hear me frea-”  

A violent, guttural roar as Thomas tackled Slade. He snared like a wild animal as he clawed and scratched at the mercenary.  

Slade cried out in pain as Thomas ripped the eyepatch from him and attacked his missing eye.  

Bruce didn’t know if he was doing it for him or was just in some crazed fit but he scrambled backwards to safety.  

He ran into the smoke, the sight of the two men biting and grappling each other disappearing in black fog and electrical sparks.  

Bruce grabbed the broken door and hauled it up to block Freeze’s cell as he stepped inside.  

This time, he didn’t take a moment of calm and vulnerability while in an Arkham Prisoner’s cell. He turned quickly with fists raised, to examine the room.  

The back wall was completely crumbled, a hole blown into the back of the fracturing old building by the bombs.  

Bruce panicked, thinking Freeze surely would have escaped until he felt a chill at his side.  

Hunched in a corner, under one of the still working vents, a huddled Freeze sat in the cold.  

Outside of his suit he looked tiny. Thin and frail, as he leaned against the cone of blue air cooling his weakened body.  

Bruce looked down at his raised fists and felt suddenly guilty, lowering them slowly.  

“Are you... alright?”  

The pale man opened his eyes, turning his head towards Bruce in what seemed to be a great amount of effort.  

“Mm. I’m sure they’ll rig me up some new fancy ice machine soon. That’s if I don’t escape first.” The man said, with an exaggerated wink, slow and purposeful.  

Bruce couldn’t help a bark of laughter.  

“I-”  

“I know why you’re here.” Freeze responded. “Knew you’d come around eventually.”  

Bruce swallowed.  

“So you do remember me?”  

Freeze stared him down.  

“You stole my Nora’s spot. I wouldn’t forget that.”  

Despite the sight of this shrivelled older man looking harmless... Bruce couldn’t help but catch the steel in his tone. The underlying promise of danger, if this man was to be in any other state.  

Freeze sighed.  

“Oh settle. Not much I can do against you without my suit. Can’t get far out of this prison without it either.”  

Bruce straightened.  

“Then I need you to tell me-”  

“The calculation yes. So you can fix my machine.”  

The younger man blinked.  

Freeze crooked a finger, drawing Bruce near.  

Bruce was hesitant to move, letting one foot step forward at a snail’s pace, ready to be attacked.  

“Oh, hurry up! Do you want to hear it or not?”  

Bruce raised an eyebrow.  

“Why would you just tell me.”  

Freeze looked up at him.  

“Because once you have the programming, you will complete my machine. Use it again for all I care. And when I eventually escape from this place, I am going to find it and I am going to steal it .”  

Bruce cocked his head, an incredulous expression on his face as he examined the weak man before him.  

“You’re very confident.”  

“I am. This is not my first stay in Arkham. A way out always appears.”  

Bruce glanced back at the convenient hole to the outside that truly did appear by chance and Bruce’s own chaotic actions.  

“I suppose so-”  

A hand snatching him down to Freeze’s eye level.  

Bruce’s own hand almost reacted in defence to strike the man, but he halted. He listened as Freeze rasped into his ear.  

Coordinates, binary, the final programming line of code.  

Freeze’s voice was quiet, but clear as he repeated the numbers that Bruce’s encyclopedic mind immediately committed to memory.  

Slowly, blue fingers unraveled themselves from Bruce’s shirt.  

“Well? What are you waiting for? Go finish my machine.”  

Bruce stood stiffly, ice in his hair from leaning beneath the vent.  

He looked to the haphazardly blocked door, Thomas and Slade’s fight now quiet.  

The boy stumbled back to broken wall, the sound of rustling trees and electric wire behind him.  

“Go on! Get!”  

Bruce nodded and ran out into the night.  

And kept running.  

He leapt over fences, darted through some kind of therapeutic garden behind the building that was filled with NO POISON IVY signs, and rounded a long gate on the outer perimeter.  

Alarm bells were ringing from the facility, and the steady pulse of red and blue lights was getting closer.  

Bruce touched the gate and felt a warm tingle through his body. Electrified.  

Bruce tested it again, gritting his teeth to push through the feeling.  

Yeah, I can handle that.  

He took a step back to build momentum before leaping onto the fence. He ignored the sensation telling his body to stop and kept climbing.  

The back of his head ached. Cold and wet liquid, blood, still on his neck, but he pushed through.  

Panting with effort, he let himself fall to the other side with a heavy slump.  

He could feel the rocky tar of a road at his side, an exit to the highway.  

Flashes of red and blue now enveloping him.  

Get up, get up, Get! Up!  

Bruce groaned and rolled onto his stomach, his vision filling with dark spots.  

He army crawled forward as he heard the screech of tires behind him, a door being opened.  

A voice called out.  

Bruce paused. And looked back.  

A bespeckled man scrambled out of his squad car, looking around furtively before throwing his coat over Bruce.  

“Come on you little monster.” The man said in a gruff voice, the nickname sounding more like a genuine title then a playful moniker.  

“...Not... little.” Bruce murmured.  

Commissioner Gordon sighed and lifted him into the car.  

…  

The smell of coffee, the shifting of papers and the scratch of an old couch pillow against his face.  

Bruce burrowed further into his cushion, groaning as he drifted into consciousness.  

“Commissioner! I have the Gala security layout-”  

An officer holding a file and a coffee burst into Gordon’s office. The intruder stood in the doorway, staring at the stranger napping on his commissioner’s couch.  

Bruce sat up, head groggy and vision adjusting to the light.  

“Good, fine, out!” Gordon responded, taking the file and pushing the officer out the door who was staring at a ruffled Bruce.  

As he did, he glanced down at the cup in the man’s hand and snatched it out of his grasp too.  

“Oh, wait that’s actually-”  

Gordon slammed the door and passed the cup to Bruce.  

Bruce took it with both hands, the aroma already giving him some alertness.  

“T-hanks.” He mumbled, voice breaking, raspy and slightly high pitched as he used it for the first time since waking up  

Gordon tried not to laugh as he examined a slowly reddening Bruce who chugged his coffee in embarrassment.  

“That’s the first time I’ve seen you sleep.” Gordon said, moving around his office to sit in a desk chair and face Bruce.  

“I think that’s the first time I’ve slept, ever.” Bruce responded.  

Gordon grunted, in what Bruce had to interpret as some kind of old man laugh.  

“You look old.” 

Gordon stared at him.  

“Sorry. I’ve really never slept that long. Don’t think I have a filter right now.”  

The commissioner rolled his eyes.  

“You’ve never had a filter. And I do look old.” He groaned, pulling off his glasses to clean them.  

Bruce fidgeted, looking around the room. On the walls were clippings of cases solved, pictures of handshakes with the Mayor, thank you notes from people helped.  

“Most of that was you, you know. But Batman doesn’t stick around to take the credit... just forces me to get all the attention and a bunch of promotions I did NOT ask for...” Gordon said, grumbling through the latter half.  

“I noticed, Commissioner. You’ve been busy.”  

As if on cue, the phone rang. Gordon answered it only to quickly yell at the caller then hang up.  

“Looks like you’re still busy.”  

Gordon groaned, typing something into his computer and sending it off, before picking up the phone again to decline a call.  

“Well I have the Gala tonight, the city in chaos because we are missing a Batman, and last night there seems to have been an impromptu explosion in the secure ward of Arkham.”  

Bruce swallowed.  

“Is that so?”  

“Luckily, it did not lead to a breakout.”  

“Oh?” Bruce asked, setting his cup down.  

“The prisoner count remains exactly the same as it was at the start of the day. And inmate Slade Wilson has been escorted back to his cell.” Gordon said, emphasising his words so that Bruce would understand the implications.  

“Ah. Um, thank you then I suppose.”  

“If you’re thanking me for helping you, my nephew, who got hurt while jogging late at night, then you’re welcome.”  

Bruce crinkled his nose.  

“Nephew?”  

“I was dragging a bleeding kid through a police station, there were questions.”  

“Who’s going to believe we’re related.” Bruce said, examining the Commissioner. “I mean look at the hairlines-”  

The sound of a man yelling 'Okay!- OUT OF MY OFFICE!- SASSING ME IN MY STATION!-' echoed through the bullpen, along with a younger man’s cackling laughter.  

...  

“So where do you guys think the Batman is?”  

A group in lab-coats sat in the breakroom, the underfunded GCPD forensics team taking their lunch.  

“I think they’re just faking him being gone. I mean the petty crimes are still being dealt with, surely he’s out there.”  

“Yeah that’s gotta be the kids though.”  

“The kids?”  

“Yeah!” One chimed in. “You know the theory? That there’s more than one robin? Apparently there’s a bunch of them, and they’re all Batman’s kids. And they’re the ones fighting while he’s missing.”  

“I don’t think Batman has kids. He doesn’t really read as paternal to me. More demon-pushed-out-of-hell energy.”  

“Some Dads are like that.”  

“Excuse me?” Bruce asked. “Have you guys got sugar?”  

The scientists turned to see the young man standing in their doorway, sporting an oversized GCPD shirt from their lost and found and a bruised neck, like he’d been recently strangled.  

“ Oh! Of course! Are you here reporting a crime?”  

“Oh no, I’m... Gordon’s... Neph-? No actually no, let’s go with that, what you said.”  

“Wait no, you’re the Commissioner’s nephew right? The one that got mugged last night.”  

Bruce sighed, moving over to the counter in the breakroom and beginning to pour sachets of sugar into his cup.  

“...That’s me.”  

“Don’t you know not to run around at night in Gotham? Especially without a Batman around.”  

Bruce kept his eyes trained on his fifth packet of sugar.  

“He’s a pretty big deal to everyone huh? Batman.”  

“Oh yes absolutely.” The nearest lab-tech said, pulling out the chair next to him and encouraging Bruce to sit. “I mean when you’re on the force you’re not really supposed to say this, but he’s incredible.”  

“Incredible?”  

“Saved my life.” One said, a gaunt look in his eyes. “I was in my apartment when Firefly... the whole building went up. He pulled me out.”  

“Who knows how many times he saved all of us. Do you remember Bane almost blowing up the whole city-”  

“Or Ivy almost poisoning everyone-”  

“Or Scarecrow almost poisoning everyone!”  

Bruce sat still, gripping his cup and turning slightly pink as these strangers heaped praise on Batman’s exploits.  

“-So Batman, he pulls the guy from the bridge-”  

“Tell him about the school bus full of bombs!”  

“I am! Oh and then he has Bane pinned down-”  

“-And then he finds Penguin, drags him through his nightclub by the scruff of his neck-”  

“God he’s basically the terminator.”  

“He’s a machine .”  

“He’s a beast-”  

“You’re telling me-”  

“ Hey! No innuendo in front of the kid!” One of the scientists yelled, covering Bruce’s ears after he started choking on his drink.  

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Bruce replied, voice breaking again as the rest of the room laughed and continued their anecdotes of the indomitable Batman.  

…  

“Alright, your chaperone is almost here to take you home.”  

“You’re taking this uncle thing seriously.”  

Gordon levelled him with a glare.  

“I really don’t think I need a chaperone Jim, I mean I just blew up and broke out of a maximum security prison.”  

“That is exactly the reason you need a chaperone.”  

“Really-”  

“BRUCE!”  

Bruce turned his head to see Clark storming into the GCPD, press pass around his neck and a man in a green shirt trailing behind him  

“Bru- I mean B- Br- Bro. Bro! Here you are! My... Bro.” Clark stumbled, remembering he did not want people making connections to why this young man was this spitting image of billionaire Bruce Wayne.  

“Clark? What brings you to Gotham.” Bruce asked cool and composed, like he wasn’t standing in a police station with wild, ruffled sleep hair and hand marks around his neck.  

Clark looked over his injuries with vague panic in his eyes.  

“Me and Mr Olsen here are covering the-”  

“The Gotham Gala tonight.” Jimmy Olsen interrupted, giving Bruce a wave.  

“It’s not the Gotham Gala.” Clark corrected. “It’s a Committee Fundraiser for the Arts and Museum Services, supported by city tastemakers-”  

“No-one calls it that, it’s a Gala. It’s in Gotham. Everyone goes to drink and trick rich people into giving them money, the Gotham Gala.”  

Clark huffed, but Jimmy looked to Commissioner Gordon who just sighed.  

“I mean, he’s not wrong.”  

“Well it doesn’t matter.” Clark interrupted. “Are you alright? I was telling Jimmy how worried I was when my old college friend got into an accident last night and I had to come straight over to take him home.”  

Bruce glanced to Jimmy, nodding along with the story.  

“I’m actually wonderful Clark, ready to get back out there.”  

Clark looked at the wound at the back of his head.  

“Well that’s great to hear, but I think it’s best you take it easy now... Especially since you... have been so busy? Getting that story you wanted?”  

Bruce thought about Freeze’s hand on his collar, whispering the calculation into his ear.  

“Yeah I got the story.”  

Clark sighed in relief.  

“Great I’ll tell Diana about it tonight, she’ll be glad to hear your intel.”  

“Tonight?” Bruce asked. “She’s going to be at the Gala too?”  

Clark cleared his throat.  

“Miss Prince is a pillar in the Museum community, she’s never missed an event.”  

Except when she’s fighting crime. Clark did not say out loud.  

“Well if she’s in town and you’re just going to see her soon, isn’t it easier if I come along?”  

“Why would that be easier.” Clark responded, quite a bit more sass in his tone then he intended. “Gordon told me you were concussed. You’ve done your job well Bruce, it’s time to rest.”  

“People who are concussed need supervision, you can’t just leave me unattended.”  

Clark sighed.  

“Okay well then maybe it’s best if you stay with Gordon until I’m done-”  

“Gordon’s running security for the Gala.” Bruce replied, a toothy grin on his face, canines showing.  

Clark sighed, deep and exhausted.  

“I could get you a press pass if you like?” Jimmy chimed in helpfully.  

“Might want to pick up a suit too.” Gordon said, looking over Bruce and then examining his reddened neck. “Maybe one with a scarf.”  

Clark shook his head as Bruce smiled.  

Chapter Text

“I’ve never been on this side before.”  

“It’s usually... not like this.” Clark said.  

The two were standing behind a press line, Clark taking some entrance photos of the guests before they could go in. And in what was usually an all-out shoving match to obtain a good angle, was now dampened by Bruce’s presence.  

The other press hounds seemed unwilling or disinclined to push the boy back with the same aggression that they were usually more than happy to unleash upon Daily Planet reporters.  

Bruce pushed his long hair out of his face, smiling at the journalist next to him who shakily lifted their camera to take a photo.  

“Okay, let’s call it, come on.” Clark said, pulling Bruce by the arm away from the reporters. “And at least try to hide some of these injuries.”  

Bruce stood still as Clark fussed over the other man’s suit, pulling the sleeves down and straightening the collar of the tight black turtleneck he’d chosen, to hide the hand marks on his throat.  

“It’s itchy.”  

“It’s not itchy, you’re just being a brat.”  

He was. And the sleek suit, sent by Alfred in an intimidating manner of time with such short notice, fit him like a glove.  

“I’m cold.”    

Clark sighed deeply, looking at the man who he knew had survived in isolated mountains for years, who had spent uninterrupted weeks fighting in the Gotham snow.  

Clark pushed up his glasses and breathed out.  

“Alright, let’s get you inside.”  

Bruce smiled, bright blue eyes sparkling.  

Another camera flash from an onlooking reporter, still transfixed with Bruce.  

Clark groaned.  

…  

“I don’t want to talk to any of the people.” Hal Jordan said.  

“I know dear.” Carol Ferris, billionaire and heir to the Ferris aircraft company responded.  

“They never want to talk about planes. They’re aircraft investors, why wouldn’t they talk about planes.”  

“I know Hal.”  

“And they ignore you Carol. They ignore you and ask ME questions. You’re the Vice President Carol, why are they talking to me.”  

“So noble of you to be offended on my behalf Hal.”  

“God I know. I’m such a feminist.” He sighed.  

Carol rolled her eyes, placing him by a table filled with appetisers and brushing his spiked hair down (to no avail).  

“Why don’t you wait right here, and think about how noble and brave you are, and I go make the rounds.”  

Hal looked around, to see many other CEO’s placing a date here for the moment to go discuss business in another room.  

He gasped.  

“Are you putting me at the eye-candy table?!”  

“ What role did you think you had in this relationship?” She said jokingly. “Look, you even have a friend.”  

“What-”  

“Okay bye!” Carol said, walking off, already waving down an investor.  

Hal turned to see who she’d been referring to see a black-haired menace crawling over the table to get a snack.  

A young Bruce Wayne, in a sleek suit. Hal turned to see Clark hovering nearby, apparently having dumped Bruce here so he could also do some work tonight; the bespeckled man engaged in fast paced interviews with Gotham’s elite.  

Hal opened his mouth to say ‘Hi’ before remembering Batman’s rules.  

We do not talk to each other in civilian life, we do not look at each other, for your safety and mine we are strangers do you understand?  

Hal sighed, remembering the words of his gruff leader, resigning himself to an awkward and lonely wait.  

“Oh it’s you! Plane guy!”  

The Lantern blinked, looking up and checking behind him to see if that’s who Bruce was talking to.  

“Uh? Are you saying Plain guy or Plane guy?”  

“It is you, hey, do you know where I can find a drink around here? All the bartenders keep asking for ID, and the date on mine is definitely a lot longer then like 20-ish years ago, so I think they’re gonna have some questions.”  

Hal didn’t respond, still surprised at how friendly this Bruce was acting despite them being in a crowded place. As he was frozen, Bruce reached over nonchalantly and plucked the drink out of Hal’s hands, throwing it back.  

“’What in the- Is this iced tea?”  

“Oh, yeah, we try not to drink. Protocol.”  

“Protocol? Sounds like a dumb protocol, who came up with those rules.”  

You. Hal yelled mentally. You are the reason.  

“ Come on.” Bruce said, grabbing the other man by the hand and dragging him away. Hal looked back at Clark worryingly but allowed himself to be pulled along.  

"Where-”  

“Shh.” Bruce murmured, shoving Hal behind a pillar as a waiter passed them. Bruce looked at the door where he came from, Hal staying still as Bruce kept one hand on his mouth.  

“Okay!” The younger man said, darting behind the door with Hal following. Bruce moved quickly, bypassing more workers preparing trays of food, and into an empty room.  

It was clearly a storage area, with table and chairs stacked at the walls. Bruce moved to the boxes, tapping at the lids and examining the crates.  

“What are we doing here?”  

Bruce did not respond, squinting at one box. With a swift kick he popped the lid to reveal a cache of chilled champagne bottles.  

The boy grinned at Hal, grabbing a bottle and offering it to him.  

“I’m not going to... oh that’s actually very expensive.”  

Bruce gave him a look like Obviously, I know what top shelf alcohol looks like.  

Hal raised an eyebrow reading the label.  

“Okay yeah, fuck it.”  

…  

Hal nestled under a table as Bruce climbed the tallest stack of chairs, the both of them giggling like hyenas.  

Hal held an empty champagne bottle to his chest like he was clutching a teddy as Bruce popped another one from atop his chair tower, bubbles dripping down his hand.  

“-and you know what, this Batman guy sounds BORING!” Bruce yelled. “Who would even wanna be him.”  

“I- I know I wouldn’t!” Hal slurred from the ground. “Hal pick up your boots in the tower! Hal stay on your patrol routes! Hal don’t fight space Gods without giving us a heads up! Like is this 1984?!? Get off my case Batman!”  

“You should be able to fight ANY Gods you want.” Bruce said seriously, his chair beginning to lean to the side.  

Hal nodded enthusiastically, wiggling out from beneath the table to look at Bruce.  

“Oh hey are you- you gonna fall?-”  

“EEP!” Bruce squeaked out, toppling over the side.  

The younger man’s instincts kicked in quickly and he landed unharmed, on all fours like a cat.  

“Whoa.” Hal said, the two of them now on the floor. “You almost died.”  

Bruce nodded, staring at Hal. Slowly he crawled forward, grabbing the man by the scruff of his collar.  

Hal swallowed waiting to see what the boy had to say.  

“I am hungry.” Bruce stated, dropping Hal and scrambling towards the door.  

“Oh.” Hal said watching him go. “Oh wait, wait, running around seems dangerous maybe we should-”  

Bruce ignored him, balancing himself on wobbly legs and disappearing from Hal’s sight.  

“Okay well I’m just gonna, I’m just gonna have a quick sleep-” Hal mumbled, grabbing the champagne bottle again to hug and laying his head back against the carpet.  

…  

Bruce ran his hand against the wall, using touch to guide himself down the hallway as his vision blurred slightly.  

He caught the glimpse of someone passing with a plate of food, and quickly swiped a pastry off the edge.  

He hummed as he snacked on it and felt his forehead, flushed hot from the alcohol. He furrowed his brow, looking around as he climbed the stairs.  

A cool breeze, from above. The second floor lined with windows and balconies, apparently clear of party guests.  

Bruce’s eyes sparkled as he moved quickly upwards towards the breeze.  

“Hello? Are you lost?”  

A gentle voice asked, with an accent Bruce couldn’t place. A tan man with glasses entered Bruce’s admittedly low area of vision, a worried look on his face.  

“Hi, sorry to do this but this area is off limited to guests. But are you alright? Do you need something?”  

Bruce swayed and the man grabbed his shoulder, stopping him from falling.  

“You work here?” Bruce asked, sizing the man up.  

“I’m one of the museum staff, do you want to go sit down?”  

Bruce grinned, wrapping his arms around the man’s neck.  

“I want fresh air.”  

A sparkle in the man’s eye.  

“Oh. Well. Um my car is downstairs? If you want to go down there-”  

A red leather glove on the man’s head.  

“Wh-”  

The hands tightened on the hair and with a sweeping movement the man was thrown to the ground.  

A formally dressed Jason Todd, with his sunglasses on and a pissed off look on his face knelt over him.  

“Boy can barely fucking stand and you want to take him to a secondary location? Guess you woke up wanting to die huh?”  

Dick Grayson loosened his own tie behind Jason, giving the man a heavy glare before turning to Bruce.  

At some point, most likely in his tumble off the chairs, Bruce’s collar had folded down and his throat marks were visible.  

Dick gave a strange kind of smile, one brimming with rage. He straightened his suit and looked at the man, nodding to Jason. Jason growled and pulled the man’s glasses off his face. Impassively, he crushed them into twisted metal and glass.  

The man trembled beneath the intimidating presence of the two young men, standing between him and Bruce like guard dogs.  

“S-sorry.” He said, crawling back and then bolting down the stairs.  

Jason made a move to follow him but at that moment Bruce stumbled and the two boys focused on him.  

“You alright?” Dick asked holding him up.  

“I was talking to that guy.”  

Jason huffed annoyed.  

“You often let random creeps at events talk you into getting into their cars?”  

Bruce looked up, thinking for a moment.  

“I mean... yes? People like talking to me. Especially at parties”  

Dick and Jason paused, grappling with the reality that their guardian was apparently very popular in his day.  

It was Dick who sighed and pulled Bruce to the balcony.  

“Come on, let’s get you some water.”  

…  

Forty minutes.  

Clark had not seen Bruce at this party for forty minutes.  

How much trouble could he really get into though?  

Clark swallowed.  

Okay yeah let’s find him.  

He excused himself from a conversation and found a quiet corner. Pushing his glasses up out of habit, he closed his eyes and listened.  

The rain falling outside, the calls of radio waves bouncing all over the globe. The party, the people, the congestion of crowds in the city.  

Upstairs, outside, second balcony.  

Ba Dum. Ba Dum.  

The heartbeat he knew better than his own. Constant, steady, calm in the face of any adversity.  

Although this one was a bit faster, a bit younger.  

Clark sighed, looking for a stairwell and making his way up. He could hear the others now too. Clark felt relieved that he was at least in safe hands, Bruce’s kids forcing him to hydrate and asking him a thousand questions about what he’d been up to.  

Cass, Tim, Damian, Duke and Steph all fussing over him while Dick and Jason hovered over silently.  

Clark could also hear the strain in their voices. The stretch of their muscles. Fractures in bones.  

The robins had been defending Gotham during the absence of Batman, and they’d assured him over and over that they could handle it.  

But he couldn’t ignore the stories he’d been hearing out of Gotham. The villains getting bolder, the plots more elaborate and grand. The fact of the matter was everyone knew Batman was gone. It made them confident, stupidly reckless, yet confident.  

Clark paused at a window and looked out at Gotham. Buildings that had obviously been on fire recently, only just put out. Bridges on the verge of crumbling after an attack. Cars speeding down empty roads, most likely filled with goons.  

This city needed its defender. He trusted the kids, but being the Batman is a terrible burden. A burden they shouldn’t have to shoulder yet.  

But you’d let him shoulder it?  

Clark winced, thinking about the Bruce he’d come to know. Naïve, feral, terrifyingly smart. Not as broken yet.  

Is it wrong to ask him to turn back?  

“ Wait, wait tell us about young Alfred! What was he like?” The voice of a robin asked from around the corner.  

“Honestly, still not young. He’s always been old I think.” Bruce said.  

“Our Dad has a wrinkle right here, when do you think you’re going to get it?”  

“I- I don’t know.” Bruce replied.  

“Why’s your hair so weird?”  

“I’m starting to figure out where the wrinkle comes from.”  

“How strong are you now? Can you still fight? Cass, let me borrow your sword-”  

“Okay, I think I might- it's a party, I hear music, I’m gonna go dancing-”  

Bruce rounded the corner, slamming right into Clark’s chest.  

Clark panicked, holding him up by the shoulders, checking to see if the younger man was alright.  

Bruce blinked, steadying himself.  

“Oh Clark! How ‘bout a dance?”  

…  

“Oh no... you cannot dance.”  

Bruce scrunched his nose, taking his foot off Clarks, aware he would have crushed it if his dance partner was anyone but a Kryptonian Superhero.  

“Shut up, I’m Gotham’s Darling, I can dance.”  

“No... you really can’t.” Clark laughed as Bruce attempted a spin and collided into Jimmy Olsen, almost breaking his camera. “Like this is bizarre, you’re so coordinated, how are you so bad at this.”  

“I’ve got it, I’ve got it.” Bruce said, voice gruff, the expression on his face holding the same focus as when he’s fighting for his life in a battle.  

Clark allowed Bruce to clutch onto him tightly, his strategy apparently being forcing Clark to lead and mimicking as best he could.  

“So-”  

“Don’t speak, you’ll make me lose count.”  

Clark huffed a laugh.  

“Right.”  

The two swayed together, Clark discreetly using his superstrength to guide Bruce’s wild momentum into a smooth waltz.  

He examined Bruce, deep in concentration staring at their feet, nose still scrunched. It was... nice. And strange. To see Bruce Wayne actually in the moment, not checking every exit for when he could leave and be back on the streets. Not running the scenarios of all the threats he has to get back to, not thinking of a moment with his friend as a wasted moment.  

Clark’s Kryptonian heart-strings tugged for a moment.  

Guilt?  

The Batman who was gone, was the Batman who’d kept him alive. That Bruce Wayne, as grumpy and closed off as he was, was his dearest friend.  

And Clark could not escape the feeling that if he was here right now, maybe he’d be yelling at Clark to stop dancing and save his damn city.  

Clark glanced up. Diana, waiting across the room.  

The man of steel stopped dancing when they made eye-contact, a lull in the music as Diana met his gaze.  

A tight grip on his hand, almost bending his finger back with intimidating strength. Bruce growled, holding it and forcing Clark into the next part of the song.  

“Bruce-”  

“I’m not ready yet. To talk to her.”  

Clark went to step away.  

“Look-”  

Bruce grabbed the back of Clark’s head, forcing him to put his chin against Bruce’s shoulder in a tight embrace. It struck Clark for a moment that with his unwillingness to hurt the other man, and Bruce’s considerable skills even for a young version of him... he could be in quite a bit of danger if they ever were to fight.  

Clark kept dancing. The orchestral music building as they waltzed.  

“Did he even want to be Batman?” Bruce whispered, a voice so quiet that Clark assumed he only picked it up because of super-hearing.  

Clark rubbed Bruce’s back sympathetically.  

“I don’t know if he wanted to be Batman specifically. But I know he wanted to keep us all safe. And that was his way of doing that.”  

Bruce nodded but Clark could hear his heart. It was still tense. Almost... scared?  

“I said I wasn’t going to force you, and I won’t-”  

“Just! Give me a minute.” Bruce said, releasing Clark from the hug and pushing away. “Just need a second.”  

Clark nodded as Bruce moved towards a service door and headed upstairs again.  

…  

"God what’s wrong with this screwdriver?”  

Dick looked over at Jason’s drink, taking it from his hands and giving it a sip.  

“Think it’s just orange juice?”  

Jason cocked his head in confusion.  

“What do you mean?”  

“Like there’s no vodka in it, this is just juice.”  

“Who in their right fucking mind would make a screwdriver with no alcohol in it.”  

Dick blinked.  

“Jason, do you understand that the beverage of orange juice is just a thing that can exist?”  

Jason cocked his head again.  

“What do you mean?”  

“ARE YOU-”  

Jason turned sharply from the conversation, watching the upper floor. The man with glasses from earlier, crossing onto the other side of the grand building.  

“There’s the rat who was talking to Da- to Bruce.”  

Damian turned as well.  

“Oh where, should we kill him?”  

“Maybe-”  

“No.” Dick said.  

“He’s up there.”  

Damian looked up, his eyes tracking the area before widening. He swallowed, hand going to his hidden dagger instinctively.  

“I- I know him.”  

“What?”  

“I know him he-” Damian grabbed Jason’s arm. “He works for Ra’s. He’s in the league.”  

…  

Bruce sighed, in some type of study or library with a great circular window that looked down upon the city. He stood by the stained glass structure, hand gripping the nearest thing to him furiously. He glanced down to realise he had been squeezing a pen to the point that it almost snapped in half.  

Bruce swallowed and calmed down.  

He recalled the warmth of Clark’s hand in his. The kindness in his eyes.  

But he saw it. For a moment. Clark wasn’t looking at him... he was looking through him. He was thinking about the other Bruce. The older Bruce.  

For some reason that made him angry.  

He laughed to himself, quiet and sharp.  

Jealous of yourself? A bit pathetic, eh?  

Bruce exhaled and straightened his back.  

They only keep treating you like a child because you’re acting like one. Do something about it.  

Bruce turned to see ‘A Study in Scarlet – Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’ sitting on a shelf.  

Curious. Bruce thought. You’re a detective, you should be curious.  

Curious to see what kind of man he could be. To push himself, not mope around.  

So stop moping. Get to work.  

Bruce took the book off the shelf and clicked the pen. He tried not to think about how much Alfred would scold him if he found out about him writing in a book and turned to the first blank page.  

He recalled Freeze’s words, scribbling out the formula in scrawled handwriting.  

He nodded, snapping the book shut and heading to the door.  

“...sure he’s in there?”  

“Positive.”  

“Aren’t his little family just going to come for him?”  

“That’s why we picked tonight. Look, countdown’s nearly done, our intel says the clown’s been brewing something big. Those little birds are about to be very busy .”  

“3... 2...”  

Bruce backed away from the exit, steps quiet as he put some distance between him and whoever was waiting behind that wall.  

BOOM!  

Bruce swiveled around, feeling earthquake like tremors in the floor. Across the city, some kind of explosion. He could see... confetti? Streamers and balloons rising into the sky along with the sparks of tall flames.  

Is that the clown guy they were talking about?  

Bruce heard the rattle of the doorknob turning. He hissed and placed the book back on the shelf, spine just a bit farther out then the rest.  

He balanced his heartrate and considered the most reasonable thing to do in this scenario.  

CRASH! Bruce threw a side table out the ornate window and prepared himself to jump.  

“Where do you think you’re running to? Still lost?”  

Bruce turned to see the man from earlier, without his broken glasses, weapon in hand. Behind him, several other masked figures, all armed.  

He smiled.  

“I said I wanted some fresh air.”  

With that he bolted out to the edge and leapt, into the cold night. He waited for the sensation of falling, but it did not come.  

A calloused hand snatching him by the collar, the heavy THWIP THWIP THWIP of helicopter blades.  

Bruce looked skyward to see Slade Wilson, suspended on a wire, holding him in mid air. A new nasty-looking scar over his ‘good eye’, a gift from Thomas.  

“Well I’d say it’s good to see you, but that might be insensitive.” Bruce yelled over the sound of the aircraft.  

Even after being gassed and pulled up into captivity by rough hands, Bruce took pleasure in the last sight he saw being a furious Slade.  

...  

Clark patted Hal’s head in the bathroom, as the lantern kept his head in the sink, groaning.  

“That’s alright, you’re good, you’re okay.”  

“Please don’t tell Carol I let a 20 year old get me drunk.” A miserable sounding Hal whimpered.  

“Baby, I was the one who found you.” Carol Ferris replied, standing at his other side.  

“Carol, please don’t tell Clark that I let a 20 year old get me drunk.”  

A sigh.  

“Sure Hal.”  

Clark snorted and checked his phone.  

Urgent messages from Gordon, danger across town. City wide alert.

“Is something wrong?” Carol asked, seeing his face drop.  

Clark closed his eyes, isolating every sense.  

“Clark, what's wrong, just tell us.”  

“I can’t- I can’t hear him.” He replied, voice shaking. “I can’t hear Bruce’s heart.”  

…  

Bruce groaned, coming to consciousness. The steady vibration of propellers and wind. The hum of metal. Another aircraft, a big one, probably a cargo plane.  

He tried to sit up and was pulled down by an inexplicable weight. Yes, his limbs were weak, but this was something else.  

Chains, a collar. Some kind of armour... plating? Around his chest? Thick lead.  

Bruce grunted and pulled at it, to no avail. Giving up on that strategy, he examined his surroundings.  

At his side, a window.  

Clouds and stormy white, slowly clearing. Mountains. Mountains he knew.  

There, on the horizon. Al Ghul’s temple.  

“You’re lucky. The Master invites you back to his home.” The man from the party spoke, sitting across from him. He was dressed like a League of Assassins soldier now, haughty expression on his face.  

Bruce cocked his head.  

Without hesitating he spat out a piece of glass from the broken window that he’d nestled under his tongue when he was captured mid-air.  

The coloured glass made contact with the man’s face, and he keeled over, yelling in pain.  

Bruce’s collar rattled as he leant down calmly.  

“I accept the invitation.”