Archive of Our Own ^beta

Jan 1

The clock struck midnight, and the T.V screen exploded into a million colours. Cheers went up around the room, mostly from Dick, who hugged the two people closest to him (Tim and Damian, both of whom pretended to struggle). Barbara took hold of Cass and Stephanie, while Duke and Jason stood to the side. Bruce went over to them.

"Happy New Year," he said, reaching out his arms.

Duke lit up, folding into Bruce's side. Jason didn't move, but he nodded at Bruce, sipping his punch. That was as good as he was going to get tonight.

The room was so full, so vibrant. It had been a while since all his kids were under one roof, even longer since they'd all been in the same room. Dick was always off in Bludhaven, Jason was, well, Jason, and Tim and Stephanie spent more and more time away from the manor. Bruce's heart squeezed as he thought about how long it would be until the next time they gathered like this.

"I'd like to make a toast," Dick said.

"Oh boy," Jason muttered, and Duke stifled a laugh.

"To family." Dick raised his glass. "I love you all to death, and beyond that, since most of us have died."

"Dick," Bruce said.

"Am I wrong? As I was saying, this toast goes out to all of you. We may have our differences, but I know you all have my back, and I've got yours. If you ever need to win an argument against Bruce, I'll be right there with you."

"Same goes for you."

"Thank you, Steph. Now, time for everyone's New Year's resolution! And I'm not letting anyone skip this time."

"Want to learn new style of dance," Cass said. "Jazz, maybe."

"Ooh, if we're talking hobbies, I want to join an a capella group. You all have to watch my performances," Stephanie said.

Damian scowled. "New Year's resolutions are childish. You should be setting goals throughout the year."

"C'mon, Dami," Dick said, "it's fun."

He smiled down at Damian, and as usual Damian melted. "Fine. I wish to hone my art skills. Perhaps display my work at a gallery somewhere."

"Aw, that's so cute!" Stephanie said.

"You are not invited, Fatgirl."

"Love you too, Damian."

"What about you?" Dick asked Tim.

"I want to launch at least two new initiatives under the Wayne Charity fund, and fundraise at least—do you have a problem, Jason?"

Jason was snickering into his hand. He smirked at Tim and said, "Nerd."

"Let's hear yours, then." Tim smirked back. "Let me guess—you want to read at least 50 books by the end of this year."

"Actually, my resolution is to try not to kill any of you."

"No, little wing," Dick said, eyes growing impossibly large.

Jason flushed. "Alright, Jesus. I want to get into non-fiction."

"Nerd," Tim said, ignoring Jason's glare.

Bruce smiled. There was a time when Tim and Jason couldn't be in the same room, let alone talk to each other. They'd come so far, all of them. He tightened his arm around Duke.

"My resolution's to work on controlling my powers. And to win the May prank war," Duke said.

Stephanie stuck out her tongue. "In your dreams, Sparkles."

" I want to win," Dick said, pouting.

Barbara patted his shoulder. "Mine's to convince my dad to retire. Also to attend as many of Steph and Cass' events as possible."

Stephanie and Cass both beamed at her.

"Bruce? You're the only one left," Dick said.

Bruce cleared his throat. "I would like to be a better parent to you all," he said, hoping the sincerity in his voice matched the sincerity that he felt. "My goal is to keep us like this—under one roof, together."

"That's corny as shit," Jason said, staring at the floor.

"I think it's sweet." Dick met Bruce's eyes and smiled. "Here's to a year of togetherness, then. And to Bruce keeping his word."

Everyone raised their glass and cheered.

Jan 2

Bruce was nothing if not a man of action.

Jason had left the moment the party was over, waving goodbye as he sped off on his motorbike. Barbara had gone to her dad's place, Stephanie to her mom's. At least Dick and Tim had stayed, Tim for at least a week, Dick for a few days. Already the manor was emptying itself out.

Bruce switched on the lamp and dug through his desk. The notebook, with muddy green leather cracked in multiple places, was shoved into the far corner. He pulled it out and undid the knot holding the covers closed.

New Year's Resolutions, he wrote at the top of a blank page.

Objective: Be a better parent to my children.

Goals:

Bruce paused, tapping the pencil against his chin. Should he use SMART goals, or SMARTIE goals? Should he use DUMB goals, because of how personal this was? Maybe PACT or BHAG would be a better fit.

You're overthinking, Master Bruce , said his inner Alfred. Bruce sighed. Inner Alfred was always right.

He returned to the page.

Goals:

Everyone — more control over missions; less oversight (reports once per/week instead of daily); stop prying

Duke — power training sessions once per/week; solo outings twice per/mo.; learn Gen Z lingo; offer adoption?

Damian — training sessions once per/week; solo outings twice per/mo.; new pet once per/mo. ( NO MORE THAN THAT ); daily one-on-one conversations

Stephanie — solo outings twice per/mo.; attend any college sessions/events; frequent texting (she likes memes, ask Dick for help?)

Cass — sparring sessions biweekly; solo outings twice per/mo.; sign up for dance academy; ASL lessons

Tim — solo outings twice per/mo.; phone check-ins when not home for over one week; support w/ W.E. work; embarrass in front of boyfriend?

Jason —

Dick —

Bruce stared at the two blank spaces. Dick and Jason were adults, now, with lives outside of him. He chewed on his pencil before writing next to Jason's name , solo outing once per/mo., then crossing it out and writing, ask for solo outing?. He needed to give Jason a choice.

As for Dick, Bruce found himself at a loss. Dick hated Bruce's interference more than any of the others, and if Bruce just barged into his life, Dick would end up withdrawing. Again. He couldn't risk it.

Laughter sounded outside his door—the kids were up. Bruce closed the notebook, put it back in his desk, and went downstairs to join them.

Jan 4

"Are you sure you don't want to stay?"

Dick shaded his eyes with his hand, squinting up at Bruce. "I gotta lot of work to do in Blud. Besides, you have your hands full already. Don't wanna add to it."

The sunlight was bright and frigid on the front steps of Wayne Manor. Bruce stood in the shadow of the entrance while Dick straddled his bike, fiddling with his helmet. The others had already said their goodbyes.

"There's a gala in three weeks," Bruce said. "You haven't been to one in ages. You should probably go."

"You could just ask me to come over, you know."

"Would you come if I asked?"

Dick's smile faltered. "Are you really asking me that?"

"Sorry." Bruce sucked in a breath. "Will you come over? Because of the gala, and because—I want you to."

Dick shoved his helmet on, face disappearing under the visor. "As long as I'm not the only one, I'm down. You really are serious about what you said, aren't you? About being a better parent?"

"I am."

"I'll hold you to it."

"I know." Bruce tried to meet Dick's eyes through the helmet. "I'm counting on it."

Dick nodded. "I'll see you in three weeks, then."

"See you," Bruce said, as Dick disappeared into the horizon.

Jan 6

Bruce grunted, lifting the box onto the living room table. He threw a glare over his shoulder.

"A little help?"

Tim tapped away on his phone, not looking up. He was lying on the couch, head on a stack of pillows and legs thrown over Duke's lap. At least Duke had the grace to look sheepish.

"You're Batman," Tim said. "Figure it out."

"And you're Robin, which means you're supposed to help me."

"That's not what Robin means."

Duke pushed Tim's legs off and stood. "I'll help, Bruce."

His (nicest, sweetest, kindest) child sliced open the box and peered inside. A mass of assorted objects greeted him, ranging from water bottles and coat hangers to a custom ballgown. It was the third and final box Bruce had brought down from the attic, all on his own, because his kids could carry a civilian from a burning building but they couldn't pick up a cardboard box.

"Why are we spring cleaning, anyway?" Duke asked.

"It's a tradition. Every New Year, we clear out the attic. Usually it's done on January 1st, but this time, without—this time I didn't get around to it."

Tim looked up. "Bruce—"

"I'm alright," he said. "Don't worry, Tim."

Tim gave him a look. Out of all his children (besides Dick, possibly), Tim had always been the best at reading him. Bruce turned towards the box.

"You want an early birthday gift, Duke?"

Duke scrunched up his nose at the rag doll in Bruce's hands. "That looks like it would kill me in my sleep."

"What else is in there?" Tim craned his neck over Duke's shoulder.

"No electronics, so nothing that would interest you," Bruce said.

"God, B, you're such a dad. "

Bruce dropped the rag doll. Tim and Duke sifted through the rest of the objects, chatting away as Bruce tried to restart his brain.

Tim lifted the ballgown. "You think we could fit Damian into this?"

"Uh, yes, if you want to die."

"He hasn't tried to kill me in ages. Maybe it's time to start that up again."

Tim's terrible self-preservation instincts finally rebooted Bruce's mind. "Absolutely not."

"It'd be fun!"

"Absolutely not ."

"Bruce is right," Duke said (Bruce was definitely buying him ice cream later). "We should put him in this instead."

He held up a pink tutu. Tim clapped in delight, and Bruce recanted his ice cream plans.

"Hey, what's this?" Tim fished out a worn, leather-bound book. "Do you recognise this?"

Bruce shook his head.

"It looks like a diary." Tim prised the pages apart, eyes widening as he scanned the paper. "This is Alfred's handwriting."

"What?"

Bruce grabbed the book, flipping through the pages. The small, cramped script, the curled W s and M s, the looped I s—Tim was right. This was Alfred's.

"Bruce?" Duke asked, touching his arm.

Bruce closed the book. "Yes. Sorry. I, um, have to put this away."

"We can give you a little space," Tim said quietly.

"I—"

"Father!" Damian materialised in the doorway. "Tell Cain she cannot keep cheating at Monopoly."

Cass popped up behind him. "I do not cheat. Little brother is just bad."

"I am the blood son of a billionaire, heir to Wayne Enterprises. I am not bad at Monopoly!"

Bruce chuckled. He went over and ruffled Damian's hair.

"I'll let you in on a secret, Damian—I'm also bad at Monopoly."

Damian's eyes widened. "You are?"

"I've never beat anyone in this household, ever."

His youngest puffed out his chest. "Did you hear that, Cain? Losing only makes me more like Father."

"So jealous," Cass said, smiling.

"How about we switch Monopoly for a game of Uno? All five of us," Bruce said.

Tim and Damian looked at each other and grinned.

"You're on, demon," Tim said.

"In your dreams, Drake."

"Should I be scared?" Duke asked.

Cass cracked her knuckles, smiling evilly. "Yes. Yes you should."

Jan 9

The sunset was almost too pretty for Gotham, swirls of orange and yellow streaking across a purple sky. When Dick had been ten, he'd gone through a Barbie movie phase, watching The Magic of Pegasus on loop for hours on end. One scene had three little girls flying around on pegasi, painting the sunset with their brushes.

"And the point of this story is?"

"There's no point," Batman said. "The sunset reminded me, that's all."

Selina laughed. Her mask was off, her hand a few centimetres away from his. "Nobody would believe me if I said Batman's watched a Barbie movie."

"I've watched all of them, actually. Spoiler had a phase too."

"The big bad Bat, an adoring dad." She sighed. "And Pam wonders what I see in you."

A helicopter whirred overhead, followed by the winking light of a far-off plane. He shifted closer to Selina, their fingers brushing, slightly. Just a little.

"It's strange," he said, "but I still don't think of myself as a dad. As their dad. Even with Robin, it feels like they don't belong to me, somehow."

"That's because they don't. Nobody belongs to anyone, Bat. Especially not kids."

"But I belong to them, don't I?"

She tilted her head. "I don't know. I never thought about it that way."

"I just want to do right by them. Like Agent A did by me."

Selina lifted his hand, threading her fingers through his. "What's brought on all this brooding? Besides the usual things, of course."

"I found—" Bruce coughed. "I found his diary. I didn't even know he kept one."

"Have you read it?"

"Not yet," he said.

Her gaze lingered on his face. "If you have it, we could read it now. Together."

Bruce drew the book from one of his suit's many hidden pockets. Perhaps he'd known he'd meet her here, today, that she'd offer to read it with him. More likely she was the one who'd seen right through him.

"Will you read it to me?" he asked.

She took the diary, holding the book open with one hand. The other she kept on his.

"January 9th, Wayne Manor. It has been a week since I started my position as the Wayne family butler. I—sorry, Bat, do you want me to read this in a British accent?"

"Your British accent is terrible, Selina."

"That's a no, then?" Bruce chuckled and she smiled. "Your loss. Anyway: I find the Waynes to be quite unexpected. Master Thomas is very intelligent, yet he also has a humorous side. He showed it the other day when he hung all of Master Martha's ballgowns on the chandelier." Selina raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know your dad was a prankster."

"Neither did I," Bruce said. His father was so large, so dignified, in his memory; he barely remembered the sound of his laugh.

"Master Martha repaid him in kind by filling his shampoo with orange hair dye," she continued. "Little Master Bruce loved it; he was so happy, in fact, that Master Thomas ordered an orange wig just to amuse his son. I have no doubt Master Bruce will be spoiled rotten, and I shall be of no help, because I adore him so. Watching him grow up will be one of the greatest pleasures of my life."

Bruce held his breath, squeezing his eyes shut. When his chest loosened, he opened his eyes again and took the book in his hands.

"You alright?" Selina asked, looping her arm around his.

"Yes." He tucked the diary into his pocket. "But maybe we should save the rest for another day."

"I'll work on my British accent until then."

"Selina," he said exasperatedly.

She smiled and gave him a kiss.

Jan 12

Dogs raced across the park, chasing each other through the melting snow. A brisk wind swept past the tree, shaking its branches—Bruce shivered in his fur coat. Stephanie didn't seem to mind the cold, munching on her third sandwich as she snapped pictures of a golden retriever.

"I want a dog," she said.

"I'll get you one."

She grinned, saying around a mouthful of food, "millionaire friends are the best."

"Friends?"

"Yeah," she said. "What else would we be?"

Bruce bit his own sandwich, a pale imitation of Alfred's cucumber delicacies. Contrary to popular belief, Bruce wasn't a disaster in the kitchen—he'd raised teenagers, after all, and Alfred had taken vacations over the years. He knew his way around pasta and stir-fries. Yet, still, he wasn't Alfred. He followed the recipe exactly, and there was still something missing.

"Stephanie," he began.

She stiffened. "Uh, no, nope. Whatever you're going to say, don't say it."

"I haven't said anything yet."

"Yeah, but that's your serious voice. Nothing good happens when you say my name in your serious voice."

"It's nothing bad."

She looked at him. "You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay," she said, her body taut as a bowstring. "Shoot."

"I was thinking we could make this a regular occurrence. Not picnicking, but hanging out. Just the two of us. Only if you want to, of course."

"You want to hang out? With me?"

"Yes."

"Just me?"

"Just you."

Stephanie blushed, a smile tugging at her lips. "Oh, wow. Yeah. I want that. I mean, I'd like to. If you want."

"I was the one who offered," Bruce said, amused.

She turned a deeper shade of red. "Right. Well, uh, I guess that's a plan, then. And you're sure? Just me?"

"I'm sure." He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "I love you, Stephanie. You're family."

"Oh, wow," she repeated. She ducked her head, mumbling, "love you, too."

Jan 14

"Father?"

Bruce looked up from his paperwork. Damian stood in the doorway, hair sticking up in a way that meant one of his siblings had ruffled it. Probably Tim, judging by the ferocity of the ruffling.

"Damian," he said, shoving aside his papers. "Come in."

The boy walked to the middle of the room, hands clutching his shirt. "Whatever you think I did, it was Drake's fault."

"I don't think you did anything, Damian."

"Oh." Damian blinked. "Then why did you call me in here?"

"I wanted to talk to you. How has school been?"

"I haven't gotten in any fights, and I have an A in all my classes. Except for home economics, but that is a subject made up by those too imbecilic for real content."

"I didn't mean grades," Bruce said. "Are you enjoying school?"

"No. But Richard tells me that is normal, is it not?"

"Very normal," Bruce said, smiling.

"If that is all, I must return to my Mario Kart game. Thomas is beating me by one point, but I shall have my revenge."

"I was actually wondering if you wanted to go to the Gotham Museum of Arts tomorrow. You haven't been, have you?"

"I went a year ago. With Richard."

"Oh."

"But I wouldn't mind going again," he said quietly.

Bruce's shoulders relaxed. "I won't be as much fun as Dick, but I'll try. And we can go for ice cream afterwards?"

"Very well," Damian said, his voice warm and happy.

Jan 25

The gala was in full swing, the band playing a jazzy tune as guests swept across the ballroom. Bruce sipped his diluted wine, laughing at some comment Ms. Evergreen had made. He had honed the art of pretend-active-listening for decades. Next to him, Duke was making an admirable attempt, but his eyes glazed over every time Ms. Evergreen opened her mouth.

"You remind me of the housekeeper I once had," she was saying.

Duke tugged on Bruce's sleeve and whispered, "please kill me."

"Sorry to cut you off, Ms. Evergreen, but it's past Duke's bedtime. Would you mind grabbing Damian and heading upstairs?"

"Of course," Duke said, radiating relief. "It was nice to meet you, Ms. Evergreen."

He was off like a rocket. Ms. Evergreen (who'd mostly been interested in sussing out Bruce's newest charge) drifted away, citing the punch table as her destination. Bruce tipped back more of the wine and leaned against the wall.

"Nice save," said a voice to his right.

Dick was wearing a light blue tuxedo, his tie hanging sloppily from his neck. Bruce resisted the urge to fix it.

"Duke hasn't been to many galas yet," Bruce said. "He's still not used to this."

"Who is? I've been to hundreds of these, and I still hate them."

He turned his back on Bruce and surveyed the crowd. Bruce followed his gaze, to where Tim was fending off two reporters and an over-eager millionaire couple. Nearby, Cass was playing with a group of kids, lifting them onto her shoulders and spinning.

"Damian told me you guys went to the GMA," Dick said, still facing away from him.

"We did. He loved the impressionism exhibit."

"Oh, yeah, he's a huge fan of Renoir. Steph also said you've been doing picnics with her, and Cass mentioned going to the ballet. Who's next? Tim?"

"We went to the arcade last week," Bruce said.

Dick hummed. "Keep this up, and you might get a World's Best Dad mug for Father's Day."

"Looking forward to it," Bruce said. Gathering up his courage, he continued, "I know you're busy, but I was wondering—"

Dick went rigid. He was staring at Tim, who had escaped the two reporters but not the couple. The woman put her hand on his arm and Tim shook it off, taking a step backwards. She advanced and touched him again.

Before Bruce could process what was happening, Dick had sprinted across the floor, punching the woman in the face. She crumpled, screams ringing out as the surrounding guests scattered. Bruce rushed towards the scene, towards Dick, who was standing over the woman. His tie had flipped over his shoulder. He was trembling.

"Dick," Bruce said, reaching out his hand.

Tim got there first. He threw his arms around his brother, saying something in his ear. The trembles stopped. Dick blinked slowly, staring down at the woman with dawning horror.

"Oh god," he said. "I'm so, so sorry."

The woman's husband strode up to him. "You have a lot of nerve! I'm calling my lawyer, you—"

"No need for that, Alastair." Bruce stepped between him and Dick. "Let's settle this in private, shall we? We could come to a mutually beneficial agreement."

A calculating look passed through Alastair's eyes. His wife, picking herself up, looked similarly thoughtful.

"Alright, Wayne," Alastair said. "But this will be a big scandal either way. I hope those kids of yours are worth it."

Tim, Dick, and Cass had disappeared. Bruce gave Alastair a brittle smile.

"This way," he said, gesturing towards the stairs.

Jan 26

The negotiation had lasted two hours, with Alastair and Pegatha (yes, that was her name—Jason had made fun of it as a kid) testing the limits of Bruce's patience. After concluding that business, Bruce had herded the guests away, pacified the reporters, and overseen the ballroom clean-up. By the time he'd sorted everything out, it was already 3 a.m.

"Dick?" He knocked softly on the door. "Dick, it's me. I just want to talk."

Nothing. Bruce wrung his hands, combing over every detail. Pegatha had certainly been bothersome, but his kids were good about handling themselves at galas, Dick especially. He'd never done anything like this before.  

"Bruce?"

Bruce whipped around. Dick was in his pyjamas, holding a donut.

"You're awake," he said, running his gaze over Dick's face.

"I was hungry." He held up the donut and grinned. "What would Alfie think of us keeping store-bought donuts in the kitchen?"

"Are you alright?"

Dick's expression smoothed to a familiar blankness. "I'm fine. Look, Bruce, what just happened—I didn't mean to. I've been having a hard time, that's all."

"A hard time?"

"I've been working a case in Bludhaven. A—a sexual trafficking ring. When I saw someone put their hands on Tim, it just triggered something, I guess. That's all."

Bruce put a hand on Dick's shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really. Once the case is over, everything will go back to normal. You don't have to worry about me."

"I'll always worry about you," he said, giving Dick's shoulder a squeeze.

Dick's smile returned. "Look, I don't want to talk, but if you're hungry—midnight snack break on the roof?"

"I'll get the rest of the donuts," Bruce said.

Jan 29

Cass had been hugging Tim for an impressively long time. So long, in fact, that Damian had pulled out a book and was now on chapter three.

"Come visit," Cass said, finally letting go.

"I visit all the time," Tim said. "You can visit me too, you know."

"Yes. And meet your boyfriend."

Tim went scarlet, as he always did when someone brought up Bernard. "I'll think about it."

"Can you go already? We've been standing in the foyer for twenty minutes," Damian grumbled.

Tim rolled his eyes. "You know you'll miss me, demon."

"I will not!"

"You can visit me too," Tim said, turning to Duke. "Just don't bring Damian and you're golden."

"As if I would ever visit your rat-infested, crumbling, fungus-covered wreck of an abode—"

"Hey, B," Tim said. "Can I talk to you?"

They drew aside, letting Cass and Duke deal with Damian. Bruce itched to hug Tim and never let go, but Tim's face was serious, so he kept his hands at his sides.

"Is something wrong?"

Tim's hesitation felt like a jab to the gut. "I'm not sure. It's probably nothing, but you'll keep on eye on Dick, won't you?"

"Dick?"

"Yeah. After the gala, I just—I want to make sure he's alright."

Bruce did hug Tim then, pressing him to his chest. "We talked it over, Tim. He was just having a rough patch. He'll be fine."

"Promise?" Tim asked, sounding painfully young.

Bruce kissed him on the forehead. "Promise."

February 2nd, Wayne Manor

Little Master Bruce is not so little anymore. I have placed the cookie jar on a higher shelf, yet he still finds a way! Master Thomas and Master Martha joke about martial arts classes, given his propensity for climbing, jumping, and tumbling. Perhaps it is a good idea — this past year, crime in Gotham has only gotten worse.

I hope all of the masters' initiatives take seed. They are trying to make this city a better place, despite everyone and everything working against them. I have seen Master Bruce study his parents, some nights, watching as they worked for a brighter future.

I think he might grow up to be a good man as well. I hope he will.

Feb 5

The moment Red Hood saw Batman, he turned tail and leapt onto another roof. Batman gave chase, and they covered half of Gotham before Jason stopped on the roof of a warehouse, whirling around with his hands on his hips.

"Whatever this is, I'm not interested," he said.

Bruce put his hands up. "I'm only here to talk."

"Yeah, right. And Joker's turning over a new leaf."

"It's been a while," Bruce said, dropping the Batman growl. "I've—missed you. I want to spend some time with you, without masks."

"What the fuck."

"Language," Bruce said automatically.

"I'll swear if I fucking want to. And what do you mean, spend some time with me? Is this some sort of test? 'Cause if you haven't noticed, I'm busy, old man."

"It's not a test," Bruce said. He wanted to ask why Jason would ever think that, but he didn't want to hear the answer. "I just want to spend some time with you, Hood. Jason."

"No names in the field," Jason said. Then, "holy shit. You're serious."

"I am."

Jason began pacing. "Did 'Wing put you up to this? Or baby bird?"

"Nobody did. It's—well, it's part of my resolution."

That stopped him in his tracks. "Oh my god, B. You might be the only person on Earth who takes their New Year's resolution seriously."

"I don't always. But this one is important to me."

"Well, then." Jason kicked a rock off the roof. "I don't—not one-on-one, okay? A group is fine. With, um, Nightwing, preferably."

"I can arrange that," Bruce said, feeling almost giddy. Up until now, they'd only hung out as civilians with the whole family, in groups of five, minimum. Reducing that number was a step Bruce had thought would never happen.

Oracle's voice crackled through his earpiece: Riddler was defacing the South Side. Jason heard it too, tilting his head.

"Guess you gotta go," he said.

Bruce brought out his grappling hook. "I'll see you later."

"Yeah," Jason said. "And B? I hope you keep it. Your resolution, I mean. I hope it comes true."

Feb 10

Cass' motions were beautiful, arms arcing above her head, and Bruce dried his eyes before Stephanie or Barbara could notice. Not that they were noticing much, eyes transfixed as Cass leapt in the air, hanging for a full second. She came down to raucous applause.

"Thank you," Cass said, bowing low.

"That was amazing!" Stephanie yelled, running to Cass and hugging her tight. "You are a star."

Cass blushed. "Good enough for the theatre?"

"Too good for the theatre," Barbara said. "You need your own stadium."

"I can make it happen," Bruce said.

Cass met his eyes. She smiled wide, wriggling out of Stephanie's grasp to launch herself at him. He wrapped his arms around her.

"You're perfect," he said into her hair.

"I know," she giggled.

Stephanie cleared her throat. "I've gotta go. Got studying to do, and all that."

"You haven't told Bruce about the show yet," Barbara said.

"The show?"

"It's an a capella show." Stephanie looked at the floor. "I, uh, got into an a capella group. It's kinda the worst one on campus, but it's fun. We have a show in May. Babs thought I should ask if you wanted to go."

"I'd love to," Bruce said. "We'll all go—won't we, Cass?"

Cass beamed and nodded, still wrapped in Bruce's embrace.

"That's great," Stephanie said. "Just don't expect anything, okay? It might not be that good."

"I'll love it anyway," Bruce said.

For some reason Stephanie bristled. She turned, repeated that she needed to study, and left the room.

Feb 14

He had to call twice before Dick picked up.

"Unless this is an emergency," Dick said, "I don't really have time to chat right now."

"Are you doing something?"

"Hello, Bruce," said another voice. Barbara's. Bruce looked at the date on his computer and blanched.

"Sorry," he said hastily, "I didn't realise it was Valentine's Day."

"Yikes. That's not fun for Selina."

"Dick," Barbara said, fond and exasperated in equal measure.

"Well, now that our date's been officially interrupted, what's up? Is it a case?"

"No. It's about Jason."

"Jason?" Dick's voice was sharp with panic.

"Not something bad," Bruce said, wondering how he'd messed up a phone conversation this badly. "He agreed to—to spend time with me, outside of the costume. But only if you were there."

"That's great, B," Dick said warmly.

"I thought we could go to a restaurant next week. Maybe Martino's?"

"Their food's not great."

"I think Jason likes it," Bruce said.

"Right. And this is for Jason."

"So, are you free? Thursday or Friday night?"

There was hushed conversation on the other side, and then Dick was saying, "Sure. Friday night."

The line went dead.

Feb 18

Bruce put his hand on Duke's back as they walked through Gotham Central Rehabilitation Center. Elevator music played from the overhead speakers, and nurses rushed across the spotless corridor. Duke kept walking faster, until Bruce's hand lost contact.

"Duke," Bruce called.

Duke halted. Bruce had accidentally used his Batman voice.

"Duke," Bruce said, gentler this time. "Are you okay?"

"I just visited my parents. Do you think I'm okay?"

He went up to Duke, hand hovering around his shoulder. The boy kept his face towards the wall.

"Sorry," Duke said. "I didn't mean to snap. It's just—they're not better. They haven't gotten better, not even a little bit."

Bruce touched his shoulder, feeling the slight pressure as Duke leaned into him.

"I thought hoping would be enough. That if I thought about it everyday, if I wished it with all my heart, it would do something. But it hasn't. Nothing's going to change, Bruce. Nothing ever does."

In college, Bruce had relentlessly studied the concept of magical thinking, the belief that a person's thoughts could directly affect the world. Batman had just been a sketchy vision, then, a blotch of darkness in his mind. He'd asked himself, can I really change the world? Can I get what I want, just by wanting it hard enough?

"Things don't work that way," Bruce said. "But the world does change, Duke. You're changing it. The work you do in the daytime, the light you bring into Gotham—that is change."

"Not for my parents," Duke said.

"Change takes time. I promise you, I won't give up on them. Neither should you."

Duke swung around, lips pressed together. Bruce opened his arms and swallowed him in a hug.

"I love you," Bruce said.

Duke started to cry.

Feb 21

The car rolled to a stop in front of the restaurant. Bruce got out, ramming on his shades and baseball cap. He wasn't going to let the paparazzi ruin today. Nothing would ruin today, if he could help it.

"Bruce!"

Dick waved as he rounded the corner. He was also wearing shades and a hat, but his shades were heart-shaped, his hat a yellow fedora. They met by the entrance and looked around for Jason.

"He's probably styling his hair or something," Dick said. "Both of you have serious helmet hair."

Bruce checked his watch, his stomach churning with each second that ticked by. "Did you text him this morning? Did he say he was going to come?"

"Relax, B. He said he was buying alcohol this morning, which pretty much guarantees he's planning to show."

"He's too young for that," Bruce said, frowning.

"You talking legally, physically, or mentally? 'Cause none of those really apply to him."

"You're damn right they don't."

The doors opened and there stood Jason Todd, hair a little dishevelled (was Dick right? Did Bruce also have helmet hair?) and pocket bulging with what was probably a gun. His eyes were trained on Dick and Dick alone.

"I got us a table," he said. "Come on. You're a minute late."

The restaurant lighting was low, the chatter of a few dozen guests blending with the live classical music. Their table was tucked into a corner, far from the other patrons. Jason slid into the back seat and glared when Bruce tried to sit next to him.

"Diagonal," he said, pointing to the other chair.

Bruce sat. Dick, who'd been too far behind to hear the exchange, took the seat next to Jason.

For ten minutes, they perused their menus in silence. Jason was intently focused on the pasta section, while Dick kept glancing at Bruce, mouthing for him to say something. Bruce's stomach flipped as he turned the menu pages. Eventually, the waiter took their order of a lasagna (Dick), a spaghetti carbonara (Bruce), and a tagliolini with lobster and truffles (Jason).

"That's literally the most expensive thing on the menu," Dick said, laughing.

"You both can order whatever you want," Bruce cut in.

Jason and Dick stared at him. Jason turned to Dick and said, "you were right. He is being weird."

"I'm not being weird."

"You kind of are," Dick said. "But it's not a bad weird, is it, Jason?"

Jason shrugged. "Not particularly, I guess."

"Why don't you tell B about the book you've been reading?"

Jason's eyes lit up, and Bruce, as usual, thanked god for Dick Grayson. "It's called Between the World and Me. It's non-fiction, and it's about—um, I'm about to go on a really long rant here."

"Go on," Bruce said, leaning forward. "I don't mind."

Jason's eyes brightened even more.

Feb 29

"Happy Leap Year Day," Tim said, throwing confetti onto Damian's head.

Bruce was too comfortable to stop the ensuing shrieking, leaving the kid-wrangling to Dick. He adjusted Cass' head in his lap, stroking her hair with long, gentle movements.

"Brothers are a handful," she said, grinning up at him.

"You were a handful too," he said. "Don't think I forgot your early Batgirl days."

She pouted. "You still loved me, though."

"Yes. I did."

"Watch your back, Drake, because every corner you turn, every bed you sleep in, I will be right there, in the windows, under the mattress—"

"Damian," Dick reproached, "what did I tell you about ominous threats?"

"Don't make them if you won't follow through," Damian grumbled.

Tim snickered, hiding behind Dick as Damian lunged forward. He ended up caught in Dick's arms, resisting only a little before letting Dick lift him like he was five, not fourteen. Cass made a cooing sound.

"Baby," she said.

Damian glared daggers at her. He threw a real dagger, too, but it missed by a mile.

"Not to quote the baby demon, but are we going to hang around for twenty minutes or are we going to get this show on the road? I've got a Pac-Man high score to beat," Tim said, gesturing towards the door.

Cass got up and stretched. "Not if I beat it first."

"I will be the one beating it," Damian declared.

Dick laughed and bounced him, eliciting a high-pitched squawk and a string of Arabic curses. But as Damian put his head on Dick's shoulder, his face obscured from everyone except Bruce, a look of contentment softened his features.

Bruce had never seen him look like that before.

"Bruce?" Cass was watching him, something unreadable in her eyes.

"Coming," he said. He put on a smile. "And I bet on Cass winning the high score."

"Of course you do," Tim said, as they passed into the sunshine.

March 1st, Wayne Manor.

Both masters have been travelling across Europe this week, leaving me with their young charge. Master Bruce cried the entire first day, and I could do nothing but wipe his tears and make him chicken noodle soup, his favourite. I have not been trained to take care of children. Sometimes I fear I am failing him.

But he cheered up the next day, and we played a game of cricket on the lawn. Master Bruce got his clothes quite muddy! See the picture below.

"Oh my goodness," Selina said, holding a hand over her mouth. "You were adorable ."

"Just keep reading," Bruce muttered.

We have had lots of fun, the young master and I. Still, I cannot wait until his parents return. He watches for them everyday, sitting by the window for the shine of their headlights. I miss them too. Only a few days left, however; tomorrow, I think I shall introduce Master Bruce to croquet.

Mar 4

Batman gunned the engine, heart thudding in his chest. Oracle's voice rang in his ears: Spoiler down, 5th Avenue on Brixton. Immediate back-up required. Rounding on 5th Avenue, he burst out of the car and landed in the midst of the fight.

A group of goons in ski masks stood over the crumpled form of Spoiler. They were holding weapons Batman had never seen before, metallic cylinders with blue and red stripes criss-crossing the silver. Someone had been dealing alien tech to all the gangs in Gotham. Spoiler had taken the lead on the case, insisting she could work alone.

"Well, well, well, look who showed up," said the biggest goon. He kicked Spoiler. "Wake up, honey-bunch—daddy's here."

Batman lunged. The fight was quick and vicious, anger driving his fists into their throats, stomachs, and faces. One by one they fell, until Batman was the only one standing. He knelt by Spoiler.

"I'm fine," she said, consonants slurring slightly.

Batman scooped her up and headed for the Batmobile.

"No," she protested, twisting back and forth. "I need to finish this."

"You're hurt."

"I'm fine ."

"We are going to the Batcave and that's final."

His tone brooked no argument. Spoiler fell silent, and stayed that way for the rest of the ride.

Mar 5

When Bruce came down to the med bay, Tim and Stephanie were talking quietly, eating two bowls of cereal. He frowned.

"You should be eating healthy, Stephanie."

Stephanie slammed her bowl down. "Great, thanks. Got any more lectures for me?"

"I was the one who brought it down," Tim put in. "She didn't ask for it."

They were sitting cross-legged on the bed. Bruce sat on the chair, facing them.

"Are you feeling alright?"

"Just peachy," she said.

"You shouldn't have gone in alone."

"I should go," Tim said, rising.

Stephanie grabbed his wrist. "No. Stay. And we were all alone last night, Bruce. I just happened to be the one who got hurt."

"That's my point." Seeing her lying there, face bruised and bloody, for a second it had been like—he'd been reminded of—Bruce shoved the memory away. "You were handling a big operation. You should've called for back-up."

"Like Cass?"

"Yes," Bruce said. "Or Tim. Anyone."

"I'm sorry. I'll do better next time."

She was shaking, whether from exhaustion or pain, Bruce wasn't sure. Tim looked between the two of them, worrying his lip.

"Maybe Tim should help you on the case," Bruce said.

Stephanie froze. "No. No, it was just one mistake, Bruce. Please."

"It's not about making a mistake." Bruce placed a hand on her knee. "Steph, you are more than capable as a vigilante, and I am so proud of you. But none of us are perfect. You'll still be the lead, but Tim will work with you, alright?"

She looked down at his hand, her hair falling over her face. "Yes, Batman. Alright."

Mar 8

A rush of wind passed Bruce's face. Wally West materialised in front of the microwave, sticking a hot pocket inside and pressing the buttons at lightning speed. Of course this didn't work, so Wally had to try again, this time going excruciatingly slow.

"Man," he said to Batman, the only other person in the Watchtower lounge, "can you believe we don't have speedster-friendly microwaves?"

"Yes," Batman said.

Wally punched the start button. "I think you should invest in it. Dick and I made some blueprints, if you wanna see."

Bruce grunted. He didn't hate Wally (couldn't, really; he was both Dick's best friend and Barry's nephew), but his constant chatter grated on his nerves. Plus, if Bruce was being honest, he'd never fully forgiven the Titans for taking Dick away from him. If the group had never formed, who knows if things would have turned out differently?

The microwave dinged and Wally extracted the hot pocket, folding the sleeve expertly and crunching down. He sat on the couch right next to Batman, despite Bruce's obvious displeasure.

"So, how's the fam?"

Bruce wrinkled his nose. "Could you please swallow before you start talking?"

"Sorry," he said, still chewing.

"They are alright. And you must know about Nightwing."

"Yeah." Wally shoved the rest of the hot pocket in his mouth. "I actually wanted to ask about him. Is he, uh, alright?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's been kind of—off, lately. I don't know how to explain it."

Bruce furrowed his brow. "He seems fine to me."

"Well, you're not exactly—" Wally cut himself off, reddening. "Uh, nevermind."

"What were you going to say?"

"Nothing." He began to tear up the sleeve, scattering thin strips of cardboard on his lap.

"What were you going to say?" Bruce growled.

"I just—don't fire me, okay? It's just that you're not the best at noticing Dick's moods. Or understanding him in general. I mean, it's not your fault, maybe it's a generational thing?"

Bruce clenched his fists. "You think I don't understand my own son?"

"It's not that you don't understand. Just that you're not, um, good at it?"

Something in Bruce's face made Wally pale, scooting to the other side of the couch. Bruce took a deep breath, in, out, in, out. His fists relaxed.

"I think I know him better than you do," he said, keeping his voice even. "And I think you should mind your own business."

"I'm his best friend, he is my business."

"And I am his—" Bruce stopped. He didn't need to explain anything to West. He could picture that day in the arcade, Dick's face bright and happy, playing Dance Dance Revolution against Cass. Bruce would know if something was up with Dick. He would .

Batman got up and stalked out of the room.

Mar 11

Damian peered into the tank, watching the clownfish swim along without a care in the world. The pet store was empty except for them, despite a few reporters crowding the entrance. They would need to switch stores soon—word had already spread about Damian Wayne's frequent appearances here.

"This one," Damian said, pointing to the fish.

Bruce shook his head. "I said one, Damian."

"But fish are small. Surely one large animal, such as a dog, is equivalent to three small ones?"

"One pet per month," Bruce said firmly.

Damian crossed his arms, looking from the clownfish to his other favourite, a rainbowfish. The cashier sighed loudly, a sign they'd been here for forty minutes already. Bruce checked his phone. Stephanie still hadn't answered his last text, a meme of a dog surrounded by fire that Dick had said was hip. Maybe Dick was out of the times, too? Should he have asked Tim?

"I'll take Darla," Damian said, pointing to the rainbowfish.

They bagged the fish and left the store. As they strolled down the pavement, Bruce kept checking his phone, waiting for Stephanie's icon to appear. She hadn't texted since her injury. Tim said she was doing alright, but she'd never ignored Bruce's texts for so long before.

"I want to go home."

Bruce startled, looking up from his phone. "I thought you wanted dessert. Is something wrong?"

"You tell me, Father."

"What do you mean by that?"

"You clearly don't want to be here," Damian snapped.

Bruce stopped walking, turning to meet Damian face-to-face. "What are you talking about? Of course I want to be here, Damian. I love spending time with you."

"Sure," Damian said, and he started walking ahead.

"Damian!"

Bruce caught up with him, grabbing him by the shoulder. Damian whirled around, eyes lit with fury.

"You don't have to pretend to like my company, Father. I know this is all part of your stupid resolution."

"I'm not pretending," Bruce said, scanning Damian's face. "Just tell me what's bothering you. I'll fix it."

"I shouldn't have to tell you."

"Then how am I supposed to know—"

" Grayson would know!"

A pigeon scattered into the sky. Bruce reeled back, hands dropping to his sides. Everything went cold and distant.

"I'm going to the penthouse," Damian said.

He walked away. Bruce didn't follow.

Mar 12

"Let me get this straight," Tim said, inhaling through his nose. "You and Damian had a fight, Damian said he was going to the abandoned penthouse, and you came back to the manor and slept?"

"I didn't know what else to do."

He stared at the picture on his desk. It was a family shot, a candid, because Jason would've never agreed otherwise. Everyone was covered in three different shades of paint, Cass' hair was sticking up every which way, and Stephanie had a target drawn on her forehead. Tim had won the prank war last year, standing in the middle of the frame, raising his three-dollar trophy high.

"Did you call Dick?" Duke asked. "Damian would probably talk to him."

Damian would. Bruce couldn't explain, however, why that fact made him sick.

Tim pinched his nose. "It's not Dick's problem, though. It yours. You need to fix this. And you can start by getting out of this study and talking to him."

"I don't know why he's mad at me," Bruce said.

He didn't even know why he'd returned to the manor. It was instinct, probably. Whenever he'd been stupid, or gotten hurt, or hurt somebody else, he'd always returned to the manor. To Alfred, waiting with the medical supplies, quietly mending his wounds.

"We're detectives," Duke said. "Why don't you tell us what happened, and we can figure it out?"

"We were at the pet shop, picking out his pet for the month. He wanted two fish, but I told him he could only have one. Do you think—?"

Tim shook his head. "Damian's not that kind of childish."

"He got a rainbowfish, and we went out the back door to avoid the reporters. Then he said he wanted to go home, and he said I didn't want to be here, that I didn't enjoy his company, and—that's about it."

"That's weird," Duke said, frowning. "Did you say something to him? Like, after exiting the store?"

"No. I was checking my texts, so we didn't talk much."

Tim and Duke exchanged a look. "So you were on your phone?" Tim asked.

"Yes, I was just checking my messages."

Tim sucked in another breath. "Please don't tell me you were checking the whole time you were with Damian."

"Not the whole time," Bruce said, but it came out weak.

"You're impossible," Tim said. "Of course he's gonna think you don't want to be there, if you're not paying attention to him! Go fix this, B. Now."

So Bruce ended up at the penthouse, Duke and Tim behind him. Tim kept poking his back, as if he were some stubborn sheep being herded home.  

"Go away," Damian yelled, before Bruce could even knock.

"Please," Bruce said. "I want to apologise."

"I don't want to talk to you!"

Tim came forward. "Damian, it's me. You can open up. He really means it."

They heard the sound of the bolt sliding back, and the door opened a crack.

"What are you doing here, Drake?" he said sullenly.

"I'm here too," Duke said, waving.

Damian scowled. "So the idiocy has doubled."

"Damian," Tim said, voice unusually sincere. "Can you let Bruce explain? He knows he messed up, now."

"He didn't mess up. He just revealed his true feelings," Damian said.

"Oh, Damian." Bruce knelt so he was eye level with his son. "I'm so sorry about yesterday. I never meant to make you feel ignored or unwanted. I was—I was caught up in my own business, as usual. But I do enjoy spending time with you. I love going to museums with you, and rescuing animals with you, and watching you draw your amazing pictures. Everyday, I feel so proud to be your father. And I promise I'll be better for you from now on."

The door opened a crack further. "You don't have to do those things if they bore you."

"Spending time with you is never boring," Bruce said.

Damian sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I'm sorry about what I said too. I—I should have explained how I felt. But sometimes my words come out wrong."

"You probably got that from me," Bruce said, smiling faintly. "Words were never my strong suit."

Damian slipped through the crack and flung himself at Bruce. They hugged each other tightly, as if the slightest yield in pressure would separate them forever. Bruce looked over Damian's shoulder and smiled at Tim and Duke, mouthing a silent thank you. They smiled back.

Mar 15

Lois ladled the cookie batter onto the tray, slapping away Jon's hand. He pouted, retreating to the living room where Kon was playing with Krypto. Barks and shouted laughter echoed through the door.

"It'll be done in 20 minutes," Lois said, sliding the tray into the oven. "You'll keep watch for me, won't you?"

"Anything for you," Clark said, kissing her on the cheek.

Bruce licked a bit of batter off his finger. Delicious, but not as delicious as Alfred's. That wasn't quite fair—nothing was as delicious as Alfred's cookies.

As Lois checked on the kids, Clark turned to Bruce.

"So," he said. "You've got the League in an uproar."

"I didn't do anything."

"You always say that, and yet the League is always in an uproar."

"That's because our standards are much, much lower than they used to be."

Clark laughed. "You say that about Green Lantern, yet he was a founding member."

"He shouldn't have been." Bruce leaned against the counter. "I really don't know what I did this time, Clark."

"Really? So you didn't switch the Flash to the worst rotation?"

Through the window, clouds scudded across a brilliant blue sky. Golden wheat waved high in the fields. Bruce made a face. "I don't see what that has to do with anything."

"Last time you did that to a hero, they got fired a week later."

"I'm not going to fire West."

"I know. But he made you mad, didn't he?"

Sometimes it felt like Clark saw through more than just walls. "He didn't do anything," Bruce admitted. "He just—talks too much."

"Maybe because you talk too little," Clark said.

"Don't start." Jon's voice floated in from the living room, talking animatedly about his recent dates. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Do you feel like you understand Jon?"

Clark's eyebrows went up. "Understand him? He's an aged-up teenage boy, Bruce. I don't understand half the things that come out of his mouth."

"But you two are so close," Bruce said. "You must understand each other."

"I'm not sure those things are as related as you think. I love him with my whole heart, but I don't understand everything about him. I didn't even catch that he liked boys until far, far later than I should've." Clark smiled. "I don't understand all of it, even now. But I don't have to. It's part of him, and I love him. That's all I need to know."

"You're leaving so much to chance," Bruce said.

Clark stooped to the oven, watching the cookies rise. "Maybe. I think of it more as relying on luck. Anyone with kids is, I reckon, pretty lucky."

Mar 20

Light flooded the manor foyer as everyone yelled, "Surprise!". Dick gasped, holding a hand to his chest. He'd never quite outgrown his flair for the dramatic.

"A surprise party? For me? Who would've guessed!"

"Don't even, Dickhead," Jason said.

They crowded around the birthday boy, showering him with greetings and, in Tim's case, confetti (Bruce really needed to revoke his confetti privileges). The foyer was decked out in red, yellow, and green streamers, as well as black-and-blue balloons. The kids had gone a little overboard with the planning, so there was even a Discowing piñata and inappropriately-shaped cookies (Jason's idea, no doubt).

"I got you the best present," Damian declared.

"Is it a sleeping mask? 'Cause he sure looks like he needs one," Jason said, jabbing his thumb at Dick.

Dick pouted. "Are you calling me ugly?"

"I can give you make-up tips," Stephanie chimed in. "Get rid of those eye-bags."

"You guys are the worst."

Bruce sipped his hot chocolate. Only Barbara and Cass weren't here, owing to a last-minute emergency with the Birds of Prey. Dick was planning on seeing them later, anyway, and he'd waved away their apologies with a laugh.

"Thinking too hard, old man?"

Bruce's chest twinged, as it always did when Stephanie said something so like Jason. The others didn't notice, or at least they'd never said anything—but even before Jason had come back, even before Stephanie had resembled him in the worst possible way, her energy, her words, had made Bruce's heart ache.

"He's brooding," Dick said, sidling up to her. The others had surrounded the piñata, chanting for the destruction of Discowing.

"I'm not brooding."

"You always brood during birthdays. It's your thing," Dick said.

Stephanie quirked an eyebrow. "Worried you're getting ancient?"

"Not worried," Bruce said. He looked at Dick. "Nostalgic, I guess."

Dick glanced away. Bruce's chest twinged again.

"You should go before they eat all the Toblerones," Stephanie said, as Duke stepped up to bat.

"Right. Come with?"

"In a minute," she said.

Dick joined his siblings, slinging an arm around Tim as Duke sent the piñata flying. Bruce gripped his mug.

"Stephanie," he said.

"I'll stop you right there. This is too good a party to waste being serious."

"But—"

"It doesn't matter," she said. She twisted her fingers in her hair. "We're good, alright? Working with Tim makes things easier. You made the right call."

Bruce let out a sigh. "I'm glad."

"That was a crappy meme, though," she said. "So last year."

"You'll have to send me a newer one."

"Maybe I will," she said, smiling.

There was a tearing sound, and chocolate rained down around them.

Mar 23

Cass had her head out the car window, eyes closed against the wind. The speakers blasted her favourite song, "The Greatest," as Bruce pulled into the studio parking lot.  

"Ready?"

She pulled her head back inside and grinned. "Ready."

The building was unassuming, a slab of grey stone with the words GOTHAM DANCE ACADEMY printed over the entrance. Cass skipped through the doors, vibrating with excitement.

"Ah, Mr. Wayne!"

A serious-looking woman came up to him, holding out her hand. He shook it, giving her his best Brucie smile.

"Please, call me Bruce."

"I'm Mrs. Aldicott, the contemporary dance teacher. I take it this is Cassandra?"

"Hello," Cass said, beaming.

"Cass is a born dancer," Bruce said. "She's the most talented person I know."

Mrs. Aldicott smiled. "Then we're going to have a great time. Follow me, won't you?"

She trotted down the hall. Cass rushed after her, looking back to give Bruce a wave, then disappearing around the corner.

Mar 28

As Bruce left the kitchen, protein bar in hand, he heard voices from the sitting room. Edging closer, he made out the distinct, League-tinged tones of Damian.

"—That's it. Non-lethal, of course."

"You're sure there's no chance of lethality?" That was Duke.

"Who do you take me for, a simpleton?"

"Now that you mention it—"

"Tt. Drake has rubbed off on you."

"Yeah, sorry."

There was a heavy inhale, and then Duke was saying, "you think Bruce will hate me?"

"I don't see why he should. You're not doing anything wrong."

"I don't want to make trouble for him."

"They are the ones making trouble. Trust me, Thomas; as long as you have not killed, he will always love you."

A pause. "He loves you too, Damian."

"He has told me so, yes."

"Damian..."

"It's fine. I know there are people in this family who love me unconditionally."

"You better include me in that, little dude."

Damian made a flustered noise. "Don't be asinine, Thomas."

Bruce crept backwards. He returned to the kitchen, putting the protein bar in the cupboard. He wasn't hungry anymore.

April 1st, Wayne Manor.

The house has been in an uproar since the crack of dawn. Master Bruce had gone missing! Words cannot describe how I felt as I opened his door, discovering the empty bed and open window. All the servants were roused, and poor Master Martha looked deathly pale. Luckily, Master Thomas found him in the woods by the Drake estate, hiding in a hollow log.

Ever since Master Bruce turned seven, he's been prone to temper tantrums. Last night the masters put their foot down, revoking their permission for a sleepover with Tommy and sending him to bed. As he climbed the stairs, he said that he hated them, and he wished he wasn't their son. The looks on their faces — Master Bruce is not cruel, of course, because children can't truly be cruel. But they can be careless.

"You can stop."

Selina put the book down. "Want to talk about it?"

"I don't even remember it happening," Bruce said.

"Not the diary entry. I mean whatever's bothering you. And don't say nothing, because I know you better than that."

Gotham was unusually quiet tonight, the sky dark with unlit signals. Bruce leaned back on his hands, facing the starless expanse of black stretching over their heads.

"Have you ever wanted to be a parent, Selina?"

She snorted. "Given my role models? No, not at all."

"Me neither," he said.

"You're kidding."

"I'm not." He shifted, the cape rustling around him. "I never thought it would happen to me. Kids didn't fit into my life plan, not before my parents died, certainly not after. When I took Nightwing in, I only wanted to protect him. I never planned on loving him, too."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

Bruce put his head in his hands. "I wasn't prepared. Not then, not now. I don't think I'm good at this."

"Who is?" Her weight pressed against him, a breath tickling the sliver of neck exposed by his suit. "Everyone hates their parents at some point. It's part of growing up."

"I didn't."

"The diary says otherwise."

"I meant Alfred," he said. "I never hated Alfred."

"He's an exception. You can be an exception too."

"How?"

"You've always done whatever you put your mind to," she said. "If you put your mind to it, I'm sure things will work out."

Apr 4

There was a knock on his study door. Bruce closed his laptop, calling for whoever was outside to come in.

"You're not busy, are you?" Dick asked as he entered.

"Not at all."

Dick's hair had grown long. Would he get mad if Bruce suggested a haircut?

"I'm just stopping by." Dick idly browsed the bookshelves. "I heard something happened with Damian?"

"I handled it," Bruce said, gut clenching.

"Good. You mean a lot to him, you know. Your opinion means a lot."

"So does yours."

Dick grinned. "It can't mean much, since he never wears that shirt I gave him."

The pineapple-covered monstrosity flashed before Bruce's eyes. "I think I would forgive him for that one."

They lapsed into silence. Dick pulled out a book, flipped through its pages, and put it back on the shelf. He did this three more times before Bruce couldn't take it anymore.

"Did you want something?"

Dick reached for another book. "Not really. I was just thinking about stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Life stuff. Future stuff. Stuff like marriage, I guess."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Marriage? You and Barbara?"

"Maybe," Dick said, running his hand down the book's spine.

"I'm so happy for you."

"I haven't decided yet," he said quickly.

"Do you—want my opinion?"

"Sort of." Dick returned the book to the shelf, his back to Bruce. "Could you—do you think you could marry someone who wasn't totally honest with you? Not about small stuff, but something big. Something that changes them as a person."

"Like a secret identity?"

"Something like that."

"But you and Barbara know each other's identities."

"This is hypothetical," Dick said, waving a hand. "None of it's real. Just imagine, won't you? Imagine your wife—kills someone. She lies about it, and three years into the marriage you find out she's tainted. Could you still love her, then?"

Bruce frowned. "It depends on the circumstances. If she—"

"It was her fault. It was all her fault."

"Okay," Bruce said slowly. "I guess, if I married her, I loved her a lot. I think I could love her still, after that. But I don't think I could trust her. Not if she kept something that big from me for so long."

"And it would hurt you?"

"Yes. Of course."

"Gotcha." Dick turned to Bruce and smiled sunnily. "This was all hypothetical, alright? Me and Babs are a-okay. Don't overanalyse anything, I'm just playing a stupid game."

"I won't," Bruce said, amused. And immensely relieved, because Dick was spot-on about the overanalysing. "Why don't you stay for lunch? You can ask the others about their opinions."

"Can't. Got stuff in Blud."

"The case?"

"Among other things," Dick said. He gave Bruce one final smile and slipped out the door.

Apr 7

The first to come in was Tim, bearing a tray with scrambled eggs, bacon, and steaming coffee on top. He set the tray on the dresser, donning a party hat and throwing confetti onto Bruce's blanket.

"Happy birthday," he said, throwing more confetti onto the bedsheets.

Bruce's eyelid twitched. "Tim, honey, I love you, but one more confetti throw and you'll be cleaning the Batmobile for a week."

"Idle threat, Bruce," Tim said. "All I have to do is pout and you'll let up."

"Will not."

"Will too."

"Will not ."

"Do you lower the IQ of everyone you talk to, Drake?" Damian popped inside, Ace bounding after him. "Father, Ace wishes you a happy birthday. I do as well."

"Good boy," Bruce said warmly.

"You talking to Ace or Damian?"

"You imbecile! Father would never talk to me like a dog!"

"Heel, boy," Tim said, before being tackled to the ground by a shrieking mass of limbs.

"Yep, only thirty seconds before a fight," said Duke. He entered the room with Stephanie and Cass in tow. "You owe me twenty bucks."

Stephanie glanced disdainfully at her ex. "You couldn't hold out for ten more seconds?"

"Boys," Bruce called, bringing the fight to a stop. He surveyed the children— his children—standing before him, joking and bickering and laughing. Cass straightened Tim's jacket, patting him on the head as he rubbed his side. Damian had gotten a good elbow in.

"Happy birthday, B," Duke said.

"You're even more ancient than you were yesterday," Stephanie added.

Cass crawled into the bed, snuggling up to him. "Never old to me."

"Make some room!"

The others piled in, curling around each part of Bruce's body. Ace leapt onto his legs, panting happily. The bed creaked under their weight.

"Thank god Dick isn't here, or we'd be on the floor," Tim said.

Bruce wrapped an arm around Cass. "Where is Dick?"

"Running late. Overslept."

"Probably forgot to buy your gift," Stephanie said.

"You all being here is gift enough to me."

A chorus of groans and "shut up, Bruce"s rang across the room. Bruce smiled, sinking into the pillows, surrounded by warmth.

Apr 10

Batman slowed by the docks, letting his pursuer catch up to him. Moonlight glinted off the red helmet, the spark of light bobbing closer and closer until it reached his roof.

"Hey, old man. You're even older than usual, aren't you?"

Bruce grunted. "Very original."

"That's what I'm known for," Jason said.

His stance was loose, relaxed. One of his sleeves was rolled up, revealing a bandage circling his wrist. Do not ask about it, said inner Alfred. Keep this casual. Say something nice.

"Cool jacket," Bruce blurted out.

"Uh, thanks? This is my usual jacket."

"I know," Bruce said, flushing. "I've always thought it was cool."

"Ah. Um. Thanks."

Bruce took a deep breath. "Spoiler is having her a capella concert next month. May 26th. I was wondering if you, maybe—if you wanted to come?"

"Oh," Jason said, looking down. "Can I decide later?"

"Take as much time as you need," Bruce said.

Jason nodded. He lifted his hands, as if he were about to remove his helmet. He didn't. Instead, he dug in his breast pocket, extracting a small envelope.

"Happy birthday." He dropped the envelope and leapt off the roof.

The flap opened without resistance. Inside was a slip of paper, wrinkled and yellowed with age. A drawing: four figures, three holding hands and one in the background, rendered in colour pencil. The words MY FAMILY - JASON TODD, AGE 12 floated above them.

Bruce tucked the picture into his pocket, right next to Alfred's diary.

Apr 15

Bruce stormed through the doors of Gotham Academy, summoning his rich-man-persona to march past the secretary into the principal's office. Principal Hillman, a pale man in his sixties, stood hurriedly at his entrance.

"Mr. Wayne! I'm—"

"Where's Duke?" Bruce demanded.

"Here."

Duke was sunk into one of the armchairs, hands twisted together in his lap. In the other chair, a freckled boy sneered at Bruce, the effect marred by his shiny black eye. Behind him stood a tall blonde woman, her hand clutching his shoulder.

"Finally," the woman huffed. "Do you not prioritise your children, Mr. Wayne?"

"I'm not his kid," Duke snapped.

The woman and her (probably) son both flinched. "You better fix your attitude, young man," she seethed, "or the next room you'll be in will have bars in it."

"Don't you dare talk to Duke that way." Bruce clenched his fists, using every ounce of his willpower to stop himself from jump-kicking the woman out the window.

"Now, now, there's no need for all this." Principal Hillman adjusted his tie. "I brought you both in here to discuss what happened at recess today. Students reported seeing Duke and Marshall fighting on the basketball court, and most of them said Duke threw the first punch."

"Is this true?" Bruce asked, approaching the armchair.

Duke sunk further down. "Yes."

"So why are we standing here, talking?" Marshall's mother flung a finger at Duke. "He should be expelled!"

"If he did punch your son, he probably had a good reason," Bruce said.

"How dare—"

"Please, Mr. Wayne, Mrs. Goodman. Let's be adults here." Principal Hillman tapped a sheet of paper on his desk. "Our school has a zero-tolerance policy for violence. However, since this is Duke's first offense, he'll only be suspended for three days."

"He flipped me over his shoulder!" Marshall said. "He's not normal, Principal Hillman. He's violent —"

"I'll show you violent," Duke said, jumping to his feet.

"Duke!" Principal Hillman pressed his lips together. "The threat of repeated violence pushes your suspension to a week. Please apologise to Marshall, and say nothing more."

Duke glowered at the boy, at the principal, at the whole room. He muttered something under his breath (an apology? Bruce couldn't make it out) and stomped out of the room.

"Another crazy Wayne kid," Bruce heard as he rushed outside.

He caught up to Duke on the front steps, grasping his shoulder. Duke tore himself away, nearly tripping at the force of his movement.

"It's not my fault," Duke said.

"I know. You wouldn't hurt someone without a good reason. I just want to hear what that reason is."

"You wouldn't understand."

Duke was hugging himself, nails digging into his elbows. If Bruce had a nickel for every time his kids said you wouldn't understand for something he very much did understand, he'd be as rich as—well, as Bruce Wayne.

"I do," Bruce said gently. "I had my fair share of bullies in high school. I know what you're going through."

"No, you don't."

"Try me."

"Fine." Duke stepped forward, eyes burning. "They emptied my bag. Said they were looking for drugs. Then they asked if I'd ever been in prison before. They asked if my dad, my real dad, had run away ."

Bruce's breath caught. All the words died on his tongue. "I—Duke—"

"I told you," he said, turning around. "I'm going to visit my parents. I'll be back tonight."

"I can drive—"

"I'll walk."

He rounded the corner and disappeared from Bruce's sight.

Apr 17

Nobody really knew where Alfred's bedroom was. Jason had searched far and wide as a kid, shouting down empty hallways to find his favourite grown-up amongst the dusty bedsheets, the faded curtains. None of the others had ever tried, accepting Alfred's presence as some kind of given. Bruce had always known, though. He'd crept into that room on bad nights—after his parents' death, most nights.

The bedroom was small and tidy. Two pictures hung on the wall opposite the door, one of Alfred's daughter, Julia, and one of a chubby-faced Bruce. The only other personal item was a green quilt on the bed, frayed with time and use.

The fabric was soft between his fingers. He wrapped the quilt around his shoulders, like he'd done as a kid. He could almost feel Alfred's fingers in his hair, combing out the bad dreams, the bad memories.

It's alright , Alfred would say, combing slowly, slowly. I'm here. It's alright.

Apr 20

Tim dropped a stack of papers onto Bruce's desk. The floor-to-ceiling windows of his office showed an overcast sky, the rainy season descending upon Gotham. Bruce lifted his head.

"Thank you," he said. "I'll sign them. You can go."

"Nah." Tim plopped onto a yoga ball (a gift from Dick, years and years ago), bouncing as he said, "you're in a mood."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"And how would you know?"

"I'm Robin. I know all your moods."

Bruce sighed. "Is this what Robin means, then? Arguing with Batman at every opportunity?"

"Nope. But it's a big part of the job description."

Tim was wearing his work tux, an adorable facsimile of Bruce's own outfit. When he'd first shown Bruce, blushing and hesitant, Bruce had almost passed out from joy.

"I'm fine," Bruce said, putting on a reassuring smile.

Tim rolled his eyes. "When has that ever worked on us? Not even Duke falls for it, and he thought The Da Vinci Code was non-fiction."

Bruce couldn't help his flinch at Duke's name. They hadn't talked much since the suspension. The times he'd seen Duke, the boy had mumbled an excuse and left the room.

"Oh," Tim said. "Duke."

"Has he—has he said anything to you?"

"I haven't been by the manor the last few days. You'd better talk to Damian."

Nausea swept over him. "That's okay, I can figure things out by myself."

"I could help you, you know." Tim rolled the yoga ball forward. "Whatever you're dealing with, I could help you through it."

Tim was probably right. He understood people better than Bruce did, and was infinitely more patient, too. But he'd sworn on his parents, on Alfred , that he'd never do that to Tim. Letting him fix Bruce's problems, letting him carry a broken Batman on his shoulders—no. Never again.

"I've got it, Tim. I swear."

Tim made a face, standing up. The yoga ball rolled back to its corner. "Fine. I'll believe you. But you better keep your word."

Apr 25

It was rare to see Barbara by herself. Since Bruce had first met her, she'd always been closer to someone else: first her father, then Dick, then Cass and Stephanie. To say he was surprised when she appeared at his study alone was an understatement.

"Is something wrong?" were the first words out of his mouth.

She regarded him coolly. "Nothing bad has happened, if that's what you mean."

"Oh." Bruce sat back down. "Take a seat, then."

"I'm only stopping by." She went to the bookshelf, pulling out an old volume. "I heard Duke got suspended?"

"It wasn't his fault. He's back now, anyway."

"Do you remember Dick's first suspension?"

Bruce snorted. "How could I forget? He'd refused to come off the roof, and when he did, he leapt off the railing and gave his teachers a heart attack."

"It's hilarious in hindsight," Barbara said, smiling.

"It was hilarious then. I barely had the heart to ground him."

"He was something, wasn't he? As a kid. My dad used to tell me about Robin, about how bright he was, how different from the rest of Gotham."

"He's still like that," Bruce said.

Barbara closed her book. "You haven't seen him lately?"

"Not since my birthday. He's been busy with his case."

"What case?"

"The case in Bludhaven." Bruce frowned. "The sexual trafficking ring?"

She sucked in a breath, and for a split-second her face looked devastated. Then it was gone, her expression placid, almost serene. "Yes. I forgot."

"You're going already?" he asked, as she swung towards the door.

"I need to help him," she said. "With his case."

"Let me know if you need my support."

Bruce couldn't make heads or tails of the look she gave him. "I'll keep you updated," she said, the door clicking shut behind her.

Apr 30

Sunlight made the grass blades glitter, morning dew still heavy in the air. Stephanie closed her eyes, sucking on a ring pop. A bird twittered in the branches above.

"This is the life," she said. "I wish we could do picnics everyday."

"We can," Bruce said, smiling.

She cracked open an eye. "You think you mean that, don't you?"

"I do mean it."

Bruce squeezed go-gurt into his mouth, berry-flavoured, his favourite. Stephanie grabbed three more ring pops and slid them onto her fingers.

"You're coming to my concert, right?"

"Of course."

She twisted her green ring pop back and forth. "It's turning out pretty good, actually. Better than I expected."

"You've always been capable of more than you realise."

"There you go again," she said. "Saying all this sappy stuff. You never used to do that."

"I'm trying to be better."

Stephanie leaned her head against the tree bark. "Sure, Bruce. I'm sure you are."

May 1st, Wayne Manor

Apologies for not writing in so long, things have been rather hectic. Last month our left wing burned down, the maid ran off with the gardener, and Wayne Enterprises had three attempted break-ins. Gotham has become quite a frightening place. However, we also celebrated Master Bruce's eighth birthday. The masters teared up as he blew out his candles, spending the night looking through his baby pictures, digging out his old rag doll. Raising a child is, I suppose, the most painful thing in the world.

Tomorrow they are going out to eat, and I shall have the manor for the night. Perhaps I shall check on Julia. He reminds me of her, sometimes. I wonder how she is doing.

May 5

A torrent of water crashed over Bruce's head. He sputtered, wiping his eyes as someone pushed him from behind. He met the ground with an (embarrassingly loud) oof .

"Bruce is out!" called Dick's voice. "Duke is the official winner of the Wayne Family Prank War!"

Cheers burst around the room. Bruce rolled over, grabbing the outstretched hand in front of him. Duke smiled sheepishly.

"Hey, B, you good?"

Bruce squeezed Duke's hand. "I'm good. And—are you good?"

"Better," he said, glancing down. "Look, about the—"

"There's our new champion!" Dick came up to Duke, patting him on the head.

Damian tutted. "Using Titus against me was ignoble, Thomas."

"Sore loser," Duke said, sticking out his tongue.

"He's not the sore loser of the family," Jason said. He lurked near the entrance, as if ready to run at a moment's notice. "It's Thing 1 and 2 over there."

He jabbed his thumb at Tim and Stephanie, whispering furiously by the fireplace. Stephanie made a slitting motion across her throat and Tim nodded eagerly.

"Those two scare me," Duke said. Everyone murmured assent.

Cass, who'd surprisingly been the first one out, hugged Bruce's arm. "Sorry. Could've won, but fell for Dick's cookie trap."

"It's alright, Cass." He patted her head. "You're still perfect to me."

She brightened and laid her head on his shoulder.

"Well, that was fun. I'll start brainstorming for next year," Dick said, saluting a goodbye.

Damian scrunched his eyebrows. "You're leaving? You usually stay for a few days."

"Got lots of work to do, little D. I'm sorry."

"But you haven't come by in so long."

"I know," Dick said. He ruffled Damian's hair. "I'm just working on a case, okay? I'll be free afterwards. Promise."

"Okay."

Dick left, Jason, Tim, and Stephanie following soon after. Bruce began to search for the housekeeper.

May 13

Jason was standing under the entrance awning, hands in his pockets. Dick wasn't there.

Bruce stopped. Should he wait for Dick before going over? Should he talk to Jason by himself? What if Jason saw him hesitating here, and thought he didn't want to meet anymore?  

He tightened his grip on his umbrella and strode forward, avoiding the deeper puddles.

"Jason," he said, for lack of a better greeting.

Jason looked around. "Where's Dickhead?"

"I don't know. He hasn't texted me back yet."

Thunder rumbled as Jason's face darkened. "This wasn't the deal. I am not having dinner with you alone."

"He'll come," Bruce said, heart beating hard and fast. "Let's wait inside. I'm sure he'll come."

Their usual table was taken, so they sat by the front window. Rain slashed across the glass as Jason buried his head in a menu.

"Stupid fucking brothers," he said under his breath.

This is your chance , said inner Alfred. Show him you can handle a one-on-one interaction.

"How's life?"

"Shitty."

Bruce chuckled nervously. "That's a nice way to put things."

"What, you want me to lie? Want me to say everything's fine and dandy?"

"No, of course not. You can be as honest as you want."

Jason slammed the menu down. "Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Say things you don't mean."

"I do mean them," Bruce said.

"You think you mean them, but you don't. You don't want people to be honest. If you did, the family wouldn't be falling apart all the fucking time."

Bruce clutched his menu. "I'm trying, Jason. I'm trying so hard."

"Are you?" Jason laughed, a bitter, scornful sound. "You give yourself too much credit. You're not trying hard, old man. You're not trying at all ."

The rain had stopped sometime between Jason's insults. Bruce read the description for lasagna: a delectable dish filled with layers of onion, garlic, and fresh ground beef, served with garlic bread and the soup of the day. The words began to blur.

"Sorry I'm late!" Dick ran through the restaurant, panting. "I took a nap and lost track of time. Anyway, what are we getting?"

Jason rose. "Nope. I'm out of here."

"Jason!" Bruce rushed after him, Dick following close behind. They caught up as Jason was about to cross the road.

"Leave me alone," Jason snapped, punching the crosswalk button.

Dick (his hair was getting really long now) stepped between him and Bruce. "What's wrong, Jason? What happened?"

"What always happens when I'm alone with Bruce. A fucking explosion."

"You were with him for like, ten minutes—"

"That wasn't the deal."

Bruce fought back a sob. "Jason, please, I'm sorry."

"No, you know what?" Dick straightened, meeting Jason's gaze head-on. "I'm sick of you acting as if being alone with Bruce will kill you. If you stopped acting like a kid, you wouldn't need a chaperone."

"You think this is my fault?"

"I think it's both your faults. I'm sick of playing owl for you two. I'm sick of Bruce putting all the pressure on me to make sure you get along, and I'm sick of you blaming me when things go wrong!"

"I'm blaming you? You blame me all the time! You always take Bruce's side. You never consider that I could be in the right, because you think I'm childish, or—"

"I don't think you're childish," Dick said. "I think you're a selfish fucking asshole."

The walk signal flashed white. Jason blinked, expression completely blank. He turned and walked across the street.

"Oh god," Dick said. He ran a hand down his face. "Oh god, Bruce. I didn't—I don't know why I said that."

"It's okay," Bruce said numbly.

Dick stared at Jason's retreating back. "Could you talk to him? Make sure I didn't hurt him too bad?"

"You're not going after him?"

"I have to return to Blud."

"The case?"

Dick didn't seem to hear him. He pressed the crosswalk button and waited for the lights to change.

May 16

It took three nights for Batman to catch sight of Red Hood. He was leaning on a gargoyle (his favourite gargoyle, his Robin gargoyle), watching the empty alley below. Moths crowded the singular street-lamp.

"I don't wanna talk," he said, as Batman landed on the roof.

"Then just listen." He would not lose Jason again. Whatever else was going to happen this year, he would not lose Jason again. "I'm sorry. About everything. I know I've never been good to you, and you're right, I haven't been trying hard enough—"

"Hold up." Jason pointed to himself. "You're apologising to me ?"

"Uh, yes? Do you not want me to?"

Red Hood pushed off the gargoyle, stepping towards the edge. "You saw that fight between me and 'Wing, and decided I was the one you'd check up on?"

"Nightwing asked me to. He didn't mean it, Hood; I swear, he'd never—"

"I know."

Bruce opened his mouth, then closed it. "You know?"

"We may have had our differences over the years, but I know him. I know he'd never hurt me on purpose. And I know he's probably kicking himself for it now, more fuel for his guilt-complex fire."

"Oh," Bruce said. "Then. We're good?"

Jason stomped his foot, and the memory of Robin, doing the exact same thing as Batman told him to stay put, made Bruce's eyes sting. "You're a fucking idiot. I'm good, and maybe you're good, but Nightwing isn't . "

He's been kind of—off. "What do you mean?"

"Well, let's go through the list." Jason ticked the items off on his fingers. "He's constantly late for things he never used to be late for, always looks tired as hell, hasn't hung out with any of us in ages, and blew up on me. Is that enough evidence, world's greatest detective?"

"He's just been working hard," Bruce said. Dick was fine. If he wasn't, then—then—

Jason stomped his foot again, bringing the world back into focus. He's angry at you , said inner Alfred. It was so familiar.

"I told you you weren't trying," Jason said. "You know, I clocked Dickface's weird behaviour weeks ago. I should've said something then. But you know what stopped me, Batman? I thought, if something did happen to Nightwing, there's no way Batman wouldn't notice. There's no way he'd ignore what's happening to his own son. I guess I overestimated you."

The ground was feeling less and less real under his feet. Bruce stumbled forward, clutching at Jason's sleeve. "I don't—tell me what to do."

"Talk to him, for god's sake." He grabbed Bruce's hand. "Make sure he's alright, or I'll fucking kill you."

He shoved the hand away and leapt off the edge.

May 17

The drive to Bludhaven had been painfully slow. He'd crawled up the highway, pressing his horn more than was probably polite. He didn't care. The world was off-kilter, as if the Earth had been knocked off its axis.

He would know if something was wrong with Dick. He would. Wouldn't he?

The elevator ride was smooth and silent. The doors slid open, depositing Bruce at Dick's apartment. He shook the raindrops off his hair and knocked four times.

"Bruce?" Dick said through the closed door. "What are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you. Could you let me in?"

The door swung inwards and Dick, half-swallowed by a fluffy sweater, led him to the living room couch. The curtains were drawn on every window, leaving the apartment in a peculiar darkness.  

"Is this a new trend I don't know about?" Bruce asked, gesturing towards the curtains.

Dick shrugged. "It's raining."

He popped into the kitchen and returned with two mugs of hot chocolate. Placing them on the coffee table, he sat on the armchair, curling his legs underneath him. He did look tired. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes, and his hands shook as he lifted the mug.

"Have you been getting enough sleep?"

"Going all mom on me, are you?" Dick grinned. "I'm a vigilante, Bruce. Sleep isn't something we usually get."

"You have to take care of yourself."

"I have to," Dick repeated mockingly.

Bruce sighed. "You know what I mean. You should take care of yourself."

"Did you come all the way here just to lecture me?"

"I came to check if you were alright," Bruce said. He traced the handle of his mug, covered in little Snoopys.

"I'm fine."

"Your friend Wally says otherwise. And Jason." Bruce touched Dick's knee. "You can talk to me, chum."

Dick slapped his hand away, making Bruce jerk back. "They have no clue what they're talking about. You all love making assumptions, and you don't care how wrong you are."

"If something's bothering you—"

" Nothing's bothering me." Dick suddenly reached forward, grasping Bruce's jacket. His tone turned soft and sweet. "You know why I love you, Bruce? You listen to me. Wally, Jason, Babs, they don't listen. But you'll be different, won't you? You'll trust me?"

"I—" Dick's eyes were wide, pleading. "Of course. I trust you more than anything."

He let go, smiling. "I knew you'd understand. You always understand me, Bruce."

"You sure you're alright? You haven't come to the manor in a while. We—I miss you."

"I'll be by soon," Dick said. "When the rain's over. I promise."

May 21

The problem was that Bruce wasn't stupid. The problem was that the world was still off its axis. The problem was that Cass walked into his study, looking bewildered, and said, "Dick broke up with Barbara."

Bruce dropped his pen. "What?"

"She texted me. Wouldn't meet face-to-face." Cass dropped into a chair. "I don't understand."

"No," Bruce said, shaking his head. "He wouldn't. He loves her."

"I know. But that's what she told me."

He stared at the picture on his desk, the one next to the prank war photo. A young Dick, nine or ten years old, clung to Alfred's shoulders in the kitchen. They were covered in flour, Dick's nose bearing a spot of whipped cream. They were both beaming.

"The prank war," Bruce said. "Do you remember how Dick was, then?"

"Didn't pay much attention. Was busy." Cass bit her nails. "Are you—Did I miss something?"

"I think so," Bruce said. He touched the glass over Dick's face, so young, so happy.

"I'm sorry. I—"

"I'm heading to the cave," Bruce said, rising. "I'll see you later, Cass. Tell the others not to disturb me for a while."

He had work to do.

May 24

Follow the trail. Follow the evidence. That was what he'd been trained to do, yet he'd been letting things go, trusting in his luck. He should've known better. He should've never left things up to chance.

For the past three days he'd been poring over Dick's case reports, trying to pinpoint when, if ever, things had started to go wrong. There was nothing unusual about the May, April, or March reports, but when he got to February he paused. The reports were correctly filed, impeccably written—but they were short. Very short.

How had he missed this? What had he been doing?

Pulling up the Bludhaven Times, he located the week with Dick's shortest reports and clicked on the top news story. A threat on the mayor's life, a museum re-opening, Roland Desmond spotted at—

Bruce sucked in a breath. Roland Desmond, otherwise known as Blockbuster. A villain who'd made Dick's life a living hell. Whose death was—Bruce still wasn't sure what had happened. At some point, he'd stopped asking.

You're not trying hard, old man. You're not trying at all.

Bruce scanned the rest of the news reports, discovering that Roland had apparently died a second time. No doubt that had been unpleasant for Dick. Bruce knew Dick had seen Blockbuster die, and though they'd never talked about it, it must've been—

They'd never talked about it. Bruce pressed his palms to his eyes and took a deep breath. He needed to go out, punch some bad guys, and rest up. Tomorrow he'd fix things. Tomorrow, everything would go back to normal.

May 25

He knocked five times, today, instead of four. It was more like pounding than knocking. Since he'd opened his eyes, he hadn't even stopped to check his phone. He'd gunned down the highway and arrived at Bludhaven in three hours flat.

Dick yawned as he opened the door. "What the hell, Bruce? It's, like, 9 a.m."

"Can I come in?"

"I can't say no, can I?" He rubbed his eyes, wandering to the couch. Bruce followed. "Go make me breakfast or something, in exchange for waking me up so early."

"I need to talk to you."

Dick went rigid. "What happened?"

"Nothing. I mean, not with me." Bruce breathed in, trying to find the right words. "Why didn't you tell me Blockbuster was back?"

Too accusatory, Master Bruce , said inner Alfred. But it was too late. Dick blanched, then got up, clenching his hands. "You said you'd trust me."

"I do. But this was someone who hurt you, and you didn't put him in your reports. I'm worried."

"If it's Blockbuster you're worried about, don't be. He's dead. Again. He can't hurt me anymore."

Bruce stood as well. "Even so, I think you should talk to someone. Seeing someone die can be intensely traumatising, and—"

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm not a fucking victim. I'm not."

He was deathly still, arms stiff at his sides. Bruce tentatively took a step forward. "There's nothing to be ashamed of, chum."

"You don't understand."

"I understand you're hurting." Bruce reached for Dick's hand. "I just want—"

" Don't ." Dick began to shake, backing up until he hit the wall. "Fuck. Look what you fucking did, Bruce. You couldn't leave well enough alone."

"Dick?" The world was spinning too fast. Dick was pressing himself against the wall, as if afraid of something. Of Bruce.

"I was fine," he said, and he was starting to cry. "I hadn't thought about it in so long. I was fine, Bruce, I really was . It's not fair. It's been so long, it's not fair. "

"Dick, chum—"

"Nothing happened, it didn't, it wasn't—" Dick was hyperventilating.

"Okay," Bruce said. "It's okay, Dick. I'm going to open a window, alright?"

He drew aside a curtain and undid the latch. Before he could push it open, a weight slammed into him. The air left his lungs as he hit the ground.

"Dick," he wheezed. Dick was on top of him, pinning his arms. His gaze was unsteady, hovering somewhere above Bruce's shoulders.

"Leave it alone," he said listlessly. He took his hands off Bruce and sat up. "You're going to let the rain in."

Bruce didn't move, unsure what would scare Dick and what wouldn't. "You have to talk to someone," Bruce said softly.

"I have to." Dick stood, and when he looked down, the anger was back. Familiar. So familiar. "I told you I didn't want to talk, Bruce. I was fine. I'm always fine until you fuck things up. You never get tired of hurting me, do you?"

Bruce couldn't answer. Dick was already gone.

May 26

Dick had turned off his trackers. Bruce typed out his thirtieth message: you don't have to tell me where you are, just let me know you're alright. He went to sleep.

May 28

The pounding in his head turned out to be a real noise. Bruce shuffled to the door, wincing as light streamed in from the corridor.

"Whoa," Tim said, hand raised in mid-knock. "You look terrible."

"Thanks," Bruce said gruffly.

"Steph'll be happy you're this guilty, I guess."

"Steph?" Bruce furrowed his brow. "Why would she be happy?"

"You—oh god, Bruce. You seriously didn't read any of our messages?"

"I've been busy."

"The concert. The a capella concert you promised Steph you'd go to. It was two days ago, and guess who wasn't there?"

Bruce's heart sank (surprising, because it was already at rock bottom). "It slipped my mind. I swear, Tim, I didn't mean to forget."

"Of course you didn't mean to," Tim said. "Doesn't change the fact that you did."

Bruce closed his eyes. Dick was in the wind. Clark had said his heartbeat was steady, so he was alright, at least physically. If he didn't want to be found, then Bruce wouldn't find him. He owed Dick that much. Now he had to pull himself together, focus on his other kids, and try not to screw anything else up.

"I have to apologise to Stephanie," Bruce said, pushing Tim aside.

"Okay, first of all, that was rude, and second of all, she's out of state with her mom. Which you should know, because I put it in your Google Calendar."

"I haven't—" Bruce ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry, Tim. It's been a hard week."

"No kidding. What's got you like this, anyway?"

Bruce swallowed. He'd promised Tim that Dick would be alright. The inevitable disappointment in Tim's eyes—he couldn't.

"A hard case," he said, ruffling Tim's hair. "Nothing for you to worry about. Now, why don't we head downstairs for brunch?"

June 1st, Wayne Manor

Something terrible has happened.

Jun 3

None of them had asked about Dick. They suspected, most likely; Duke kept shooting glances at him, and Damian was in a fouler mood than usual. Cass wasn't around much, busy practising for her recital. Did they think it was a run-of-the-mill fight? He hadn't heard from Jason, either.

But Stephanie was back. He could fix things, starting with her.

She had brought him a key-chain from Colorado. It was a smiling bat, wings unfurled in flight.

"I love it," Bruce said, tucking the souvenir into his pocket.

Stephanie smiled. "Mom said it was tacky, and that's how I knew you'd like it."

The bench was warm underneath them. A couple of kids hollered across the park, and two squirrels raced up a tree.

"Listen," Bruce said, smoothing out his pants. "About the concert—"

"It's fine. You're a busy man, I understand."

"But I need to apologise. I made a promise to you, and I didn't keep it."

"What else is new," she muttered.

Bruce paused. "What?"

"I said, what else is new? You don't really mean the things you say. That's just how you are."

"That's not true," he said, frowning.

"Really? 'Cause almost everything you've ever said to me has never come true."

"Steph—"

"I'm tired. I should go."

"Wait," he said. "I know I've not been the best to you, but I swear, I'm trying to be better."

Stephanie threw up her hands. "So what? You've been trying for years. I thought you'd respect me as Spoiler, but you didn't. I thought you'd respect me as Robin, but you didn't. Do you remember what you said, when you fired me? You told me I didn't measure up. That is the one thing you've said to me that's been true."

She looked down at her lap. "I miss being Batgirl. I felt good—great, even. But maybe it wasn't because I was Batgirl. Maybe it was because you weren't there."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said, eyes stinging. "I'm so sorry."

"It's okay." She stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "It's my fault, too. We both lied to ourselves. Let's be honest for once, alright? We're never going to be equals. I'm never going to be your kid, not in the way Cass and Tim are. The sooner we accept that, the better."

She gave him a half-hearted smile and walked away.

Jun 5

Bruce woke to a text from Dick. His chest tightened, fingers trembling as he pressed the notification. The clock on his bedside table read 4:30 am.

i'm fine. Bruce collapsed into the pillows, floored by relief. The feeling passed as he read on. i need space. please dont find me. tell everyone to stop messaging me too

Dick always signed his messages with a heart: red for Jason, blue for Tim, yellow for Duke, black-and-yellow for Cass, purple for Stephanie, two reds for Barbara, and red-yellow-green for Damian. Bruce didn't get a heart. His messages ended with a flying bat.

This time there was nothing. Bruce replied, I will . An hour later, he added, I'm so glad you're okay. Two hours later, he added, I love you. No reply.

Jun 6

It took all night to work up the courage. Not enough to do it in person, but enough to type on the group chat that Dick was going away for a while, and no one was to contact him. Bruce muted the chat and went to find Damian.

He turned out to be in the library, stroking Alfred (the cat) on the rug. Duke was reading in the window nook, eyes darting to Bruce as soon as he stepped through the threshold. His phone lay open on his lap.

"What happened?" Duke asked, sitting up. "Is Dick alright?"

Damian's head snapped towards Duke. "What about Grayson?"

"Bruce just texted that he's gone."

" What? " Damian shot to his feet, jostling Alfred. The cat hissed and scampered away. "What do you mean, he's gone?"

"He's taking a break," Bruce said, the words sounding hollow.

"Taking a break ?"

"What is the meaning of this?" Damian demanded. He folded his arms. "Where is Grayson?"

"He's—he's taking some time to himself, and he wants to be alone. So if you could leave him be, please. Both of you."

Duke's expression was inscrutable. Damian's was not—his face was flushed with a deep, deep rage. "You're lying. He never wants to be alone."

"He does this time," Bruce said.

"You do not speak for him," Damian snapped, marching past Bruce into the corridor. His footsteps faded as he climbed the stairs.

"Something happened, didn't it?" Duke gripped his book. "Something bad."

Dick, with his curtains drawn. Dick, pressed against the wall, shaking with fear. Dick, slapping his hand away. Saying don't . Saying I'm not a fucking victim. I'm not.

"Don't think about it," said Bruce.

"But—"

"I'm going to take a nap. I'll see you at dinner."

Duke's gaze dropped. "Okay. See you."

Jun 8

Dick finally messaged back. No hearts or bats, just words. please tell damian to stop texting me. Bruce replied, okay. I love you . No reply.

Jun 9

Bruce found Damian in Dick's room. Not his childhood room, the room Bruce had agonised over for weeks, debating which bedsheets an eight-year-old child from the circus would like most. No, this was his other room, the one he'd used when Bruce had been lost in time. His adult room, Dick called it.

"Leave me alone," Damian said, scowling at Bruce from a tattered bean bag.

"You can't hide in here forever," Bruce said. "You have to eat."

"Thomas and Cain can bring up my food."

"They're not your servants, Damian."

"No, but they're my siblings." Damian glared at the floor. "You wouldn't understand."

Bruce sighed, sinking into the mattress. He just wanted to sleep. "I know this is hard on you, and I know you love Dick very much. But constantly messaging him won't bring him back. It'll only make things worse."

"I'm supposed to trust your word on this?" Damian scoffed. "You have never understood Richard."

Something ugly sparked in Bruce's stomach. "He wants you to stop. He told me he wants you to stop."

"I don't believe you."

"He's not responding to anyone, why would he—"

"Because it's me! " Damian reddened, turning his face away. "He may not talk to any of you, but he'd talk to me. I'm his Robin."

"You're Batman's Robin."

"He's my Batman," Damian said.

Bruce grasped the bedsheets, the fabric cool under his skin. He concentrated on that coolness, rubbing it between his fingers. "I am Batman. And I am ordering you to stop."

"You can't make me."

"I'll bench you," he said.

Damian's face crumpled. Then he sprang up, balling his fists. "I knew it. This whole thing is just to punish me, isn't it? To keep me from Grayson. Grandfather used such tactics."

"I am nothing like Ra's," Bruce ground out.

"No, because Grandfather was honest. You tell me you love me, that you'll always accept me, and then you—and then you threaten to bench me. And then you look at me like this. You are a liar." His voice was climbing in volume, reaching a fever pitch as he yelled, "you're jealous because I love Richard more than I love you! You're mad that we don't need you anymore! Things were better when it was just me and him. When you were—"

" Stop ." Bruce counted to five, to ten, to twenty. "This isn't about us. It's about Dick. Right now, you are hurting him."

"No, he—I—" Damian's eyes welled up. "Liar. You're the one hurting him. You're always the one hurting him."

His adult room, Dick called it. One time he'd stopped Bruce at the door, shaking his head. No Bruces allowed. Not in my adult room .

"I'm taking your phone," Bruce said. He let go of the bedsheets, smoothing over his handprints. "You're benched for the month."

"Pennyworth told you to stop doing that," Damian said.

"He isn't here anymore."

"Well, if he were, he'd be disappointed in you."

Bruce's vision whited out. Suddenly he was towering over Damian, hand seizing his arm. "Don't you dare. Don't you dare, Damian. You didn't know him. You didn't love him. If you did, then you would've listened to me, and you wouldn't have let him die."

His hand slackened, flying to his mouth. "I didn't mean that. Damian, it wasn't your fault. It's not your fault."

Damian went pale. They stared at each other, Bruce wracking his brains for the right words, any words at all. Then he was being pushed aside, Damian walking past him, quiet hiccups the only sign he was crying.

Jun 9

Tim was in the foyer, zipping up a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles suitcase. Damian never would've bought that for himself, so it must've been a gift. From Dick, most likely. Bruce halted at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hey, Bruce," Tim said. He didn't sound angry, but he wasn't warm, either. More like a bone-deep tired.

"Tim," Bruce said. He clutched the staircase banister. "Where's Damian?"

Tim nodded towards the kitchen. "Grabbing a couple of snacks. Leaving a note for Cass and Duke, too. Since you took his phone."

"He told you what happened."

"Yeah." Locking the suitcase, Tim stood up. "Did you seriously blame him for Alfred's death?"

"It just slipped out, I didn't mean—"

"Of course you didn't mean to." There was the anger, foreign in Tim's normally calm voice. "God help us the day you mean to hurt someone, since you're so good at doing it by accident."

"Is there a pet shop near your apartment, Drake?" Damian exited the kitchen, Alfred asleep in his arms. "I need to—" He froze, eyes widening at the sight of Bruce.

"I'm sorry," Bruce said. What else could he say? Nothing seemed adequate. It wasn't adequate to Damian, either, as he darted past Bruce to his brother's side. He tried not to watch as Damian hid behind Tim, clutching at his jacket like a drowning man to a lifesaver.

"Damian's staying with me for a while," Tim said, putting a hand on Damian's head. "What do you think, buddy? Fancy a sleepover?"

"I will kill you in your sleep," Damian mumbled. The effect was considerably dampened by the way he burrowed into Tim's side.

Bruce swallowed. "Okay. Maybe—yes, maybe that's a good idea."

"I will wait for you outside," Damian said, slipping out without a goodbye.

Tim dragged the suitcase over the carpet, stalling by the front entrance. He looked at Bruce. "Dick," Tim said, and Bruce's stomach dropped. "You promised he'd be okay. You promised."

"I'm sorry," Bruce said again.

The door slammed in his face.

Jun 12

The night was hot and heavy. Batman crashed into the thief, bowling them over. He smashed his fist into their face and left them writhing in the alley.

"Bit brutal, don't you think?" A metallic voice echoed through the street. "Then again, for you, that's par for the course."

Batman climbed onto the fire escape, finding Red Hood leaning by a shuttered window. He grumbled at the cigarette hanging from Red Hood's fingers.

"Relax, old man, it's just for the aesthetic."

"It's a bad example for civilians."

"Because seeing a crime lord smoke is what's gonna get them into cigarettes. You're a self-righteous asshole, you know that?"

Batman placed his elbows on the railing, looking out over Gotham. "What do you want, Hood?"

"What do I want? You've got to be kidding. I told you to make sure Nightwing was alright."

"I tried."

"He's gone dark ," Jason said, and the filter couldn't mask the bewilderment, the hurt. "I thought he wouldn't—he loves the demon brat so much. And Oracle, and the replacement, and, hell, you . He's the last person to do this. What did you do? "

"Why do you always blame me?" The cowl itched around Bruce's eyes, and he longed to take it off.

"Because it's usually your fault."

The smell of burning rubber filled his nose. An accident on Fourth Street earlier that day. He'd pulled the girl from the wreckage, blood leaking from the side of her head. She had just turned 16. She had just learned to drive.

"You don't understand anything, Hood. You never have. You only see what you want to see."

He didn't do house calls anymore. He left that to the police, to Commissioner Gordon, growing greyer by the day. The girl had a picture of her parents in her wallet. Bruce hoped to god they were dead.

"I'm not the one who doesn't understand," Jason said. "You didn't notice what was happening to Nightwing until it was too late. You did the same thing to me, driving me to Ethiopia. You make it seem like it was all my fault. But I was a kid, B. I was your kid. And you made me feel like I wasn't."

"I've already apologised. What more do you want me to say?"

"Jesus Christ." The whip of a grappling hook broke the night silence. "I can't deal with you right now. You need to get your act together. Until then, I think you should stay out of my territory, for both our sakes."

Then Jason was gone.

Jun 16

The only person at the dining table was Duke. Cass was practising; lately, she was always practising. Bruce should go get her. He sank into his chair and downed a cup of coffee.

"Bad night?" Duke said, buttering a piece of toast.

"The usual."

Duke pushed a plate towards him. The eggs were clumped into two eyes, the bacon strips arranged in a smile. "Here. Your favourite."

"It's not my birthday," Bruce said, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not allowed to do nice things for you on a normal day?"

The eggs were fluffed to perfection, the bacon on the burnt side, just the way he liked it. "Thank you, Duke. You didn't have to."

"I wanted to." Duke stood, rolling his shoulders. "I'm going down to train for a bit. You could join me? After you finish, of course."

"I'll be there," Bruce said. The food warmed him to his toes.

Jun 19

He finally checked his Google Calendar. At least his ditzy persona let him off the hook for all those skipped W.E. meetings, though Lucius had left a cross email in his inbox. He marked it as read and continued scrolling.

Tim had included everything: birthdays, holidays, official meetings, non-official meetings, Damian's dentist appointments, Cass' dance recitals, school exams, even the prank war. For June 16th, a red box displayed the words FATHER'S DAY!!.

Father's Day. June 16th had been Father's Day.

On Dick's tenth birthday, as the boy had screwed up his eyes to make a wish, a thought flitted through Bruce's head. My son is adorable. A week-long spiral had ensued, culminating in a frustrated Alfred locking the two of them in a room together. Bruce had apologised for his behaviour, Dick had forgiven him, and they'd gone back to being the dynamic duo. Yet he'd failed to ask the real question, the question that would burn on his tongue for years and years and years.

Bruce opened his desk drawer. He brushed his fingers over the paper, over the name section, still blank. He grabbed a pen.

Jun 22

Another three days to gather courage, and he called Duke into his study.

"Am I in trouble?"

Bruce shook his head. "I just want to talk."

Duke sat, peering at the pictures on the desk. "Is that Steph?"

"Yes, while she was dating Tim. They were learning ballroom dancing."

"Great to know," Duke said, grinning. "Adding that to my blackmail book."

Bruce grasped the handle of the drawer. Should he say it outright, or should he build up to it? He'd been too late, with Dick—too early, in some ways, with Jason. He wanted this time to be perfect.

Honesty, Master Bruce . Tell him how you feel.

"I like your sweater. Very, uh, yellow."

Duke tilted his head. "Thanks?"

"What I mean is," Bruce said, stumbling over the words, "you're very bright. Presence-wise, I mean. And intelligence-wise, of course. You make the manor a better place. I'm glad, so glad, you came into my life."

"Oh," Duke said, ducking his head. "Thanks."

"I'd be honoured if you—if you, well." He laid the adoption papers on the desk, and Duke gave a startled gasp.

"Is that—?"

"I love you, Duke. I would be honoured to have you as a son."

The clock ticked loudly in the ensuing silence. A gentle rain pattered outside, covering the window with small droplets. Duke's face was turned to the floor.

"No."

"What?"

"I said no. I'm not your son. I don't want to be your son."

"Oh," Bruce said, as if his heart wasn't crumbling to pieces. "Okay."

Duke pushed off the chair, pacing towards the door. He stopped and rounded on Bruce. "You know, I thought you understood. I told you, when I first came to the manor. I told you I didn't need a Batman. I certainly don't need a dad."

"I didn't mean to offend you, I just—"

"You think I'm offended? You—you said you wouldn't give up on them. You told me not to give up on them. And then you pull this." Duke snatched up the adoption papers. "Did you ever want to help my parents, or did you just want another soldier for your arsenal?"

"That's not fair," Bruce said, an ache beginning to pulse between his eyes.

"You think I'm stupid? Damian leaves, and the first thing you do is try to adopt me. It's the same shit you pulled with Jason when Dick left. You need a Robin, and you don't care how much we don't need you."

Duke ripped the papers in two. The strips fell, swaying like feathers. "You never believed my parents could get better, did you?" His voice was dull. "Everyone else thought it was hopeless, but it didn't matter. I thought you believed. If you believed, I could, too."

"I do believe," Bruce said.

"Just stop." Duke stepped over the scraps, reaching for the door. "Even if my parents—even if I was really an orphan, I would've said no. You screw up every kid you get. Do everyone a favour and just stop."

He stepped outside and closed the door.

Jun 25

"He's with his cousin," Tim said. His voice sounded tinny over the phone. "His cousin's a nice guy. Duke will be fine."

"Thank you," Bruce said.

"So, are you going to tell me what happened, or am I gonna have to hack the manor's security cameras?"

"I—I tried to adopt him."

"Jeez." A long exhale. "Yeah, I can see how you thought that was a good idea. And I can see how he didn't."

"I have to go."

"Already? But—"

"Talk to you later," Bruce said, hanging up.

He rolled over and went to sleep.

Jun 30

Cass was in the dance studio. Bruce had converted an old guest room into a place for her to practice, installing a mirror wall, ballet barres, coloured lights, and a state-of-the-art sound system. Her feet glided noiselessly on the hardwood floor.

"Hello, Batman," she signed. She liked to hold conversations while she danced, incorporating the signs into her routine.

"Very nice," Bruce said as she dropped into a split.

She went into a handstand, then into a tumble. "Timing is off," she said, shaking her head.

"It looks perfect to me."

"You're my dad," she said, hand arcing down from her forehead to emphasise dad .

Bruce leaned against the mirror. "Technically, I'm not."

She stopped dancing. Her gaze bore into his face. "No," she agreed. "You're not."

"Duke has gone to his cousin's place, if you're wondering where he is."

"Damian away too. Just me, now?"

"Just you," he said. His head ached.

Cass wiped the sweat from her forehead. "Stephanie is mad at you. Dick is gone."

"Yes."

"And I—" Her hands froze. She took a step back. "I don't understand. You want—no. You want me to leave."

He hesitated, and Cass' lip wobbled. "I'm sorry about Dick," she said, switching to speaking. "I wasn't paying attention. I should have done something. But I'm still good, Bruce."

"It's not about you," Bruce said gently. "It's about me. I'm not—I don't think I'm a good person to be around."

"I can be better," Cass said, eyes brimming with tears. "I can still be perfect. Please. Don't make me go."

"This is for you. You deserve someone better than me."

"I don't want someone better," she said.

Bruce took her hands in his. They were covered in scars, criss-crossing the entirety of both palms. He dropped them. "This is better," he repeated. "You can pick out your apartment. I'll get you any place you want."

"I want home."

He gripped his elbows, stopping himself from reaching for her. "You'll find one. Out there, though. Not with me. I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry," she said. She swiped at her eyes. "Fine. I'll go. I hope you're happy."

July 3rd, Wayne Manor

Master Bruce moves like a ghost through these halls. He never cries. He hasn't cried since the funeral, and even that may have just been the rain. He is sleeping now, I think. He is always sleeping.

I don't know how to help him. I don't know if I can.

"I can stop," Selina said. "We don't need to keep reading."

"No. Continue."

I will be strong. What he needs is a steady presence. Sometimes I want to hold him, press him close to my heart. But I am not Thomas Wayne, nor do I deserve to be. The best thing I can do is give him space.

"Bruce."

Bruce scrubbed his eyes. The sky tonight was starless. "I knew it," he said. "He never wanted to take care of me. He never wanted to be my dad."

"That's not what he's saying."

"And how would you know? If he truly loved me, he would've stopped me from becoming Batman. He would've stopped me from taking Dick in. All he's ever done is stand by and watch me hurt people."

"What are you saying? You know him better than that. You know yourself better than that."

"He rarely hugged me," Bruce said. "A hand around my shoulders, sure. A hand on my head. But hugs were rare. It made me feel like I had to earn them."

"I'm sorry," she said, placing a hand on his arm.

He shrugged her off. "I have to go. I'll see you." He grappled away before she could reply.

Jul 8

He woke up. Lucius had texted him, asking if he was alright. He shut off his phone and went back to sleep.

Jul 13

It was weird being alone in the manor. This was the first time he'd been alone here, in the endless corridors, the dusty unused rooms. The first eight years of his life he'd had his parents. After his parents, he'd had Alfred. After Alfred, he'd still had his kids.

But now—alone.

He used to think the house was haunted. Now he wished it was.

Jul 17

The air in Alfred's room was stale. Bruce sat on the bed, picking up the quilt. His nail snagged on one of the threads, and as he pulled the quilt around his shoulders, the thread came loose.

He put the quilt down. The hole was barely visible. He dug his fingers in and pushed, widening the gap. Then he started ripping the threads out, tearing the fabric, shredding it to pieces. Tufts of green fell around him like rain.

Jul 20

The zeta beams announced a new arrival. Bruce looked up from the monitors, greeting Diana with a nod.

"Working on a case?" she asked, leaning against the table.

"Cleaning up paperwork. Shazam's reports are sloppy."

"He's a kid," Diana said, amused.

"If you were a kid, you would still produce perfect reports."

"I think of myself as quite outside the norm. You are, too, before you say your eight-year-old self would've done better than him."

"I wouldn't have," Bruce said. "Not then."

She sat in the chair next to him, the screens bathing her face in blue light. "Superman will be back from space in two weeks. We should hang out sometime."

"I'm busy."

"Ah, yes," she said. "You're very busy these days."

Bruce clicked on another file. His head pounded. "The others are in the training room, if you want to join them."

"I will," she said. "Later."

"I'm not in the mood to talk."

"Good thing I don't hang out with you for the conversation." Diana wheeled her chair closer. "I haven't seen Nightwing around, and you took him off the rosters. Any reason why?"

"I said I don't want to talk," he bit out.

"My apologies. I just miss him, that's all." She leaned back, humming a pop song (who she'd heard it from was anyone's guess. Probably Cassie). "I was fighting a villain the other day, over in Boulder. Her name was Seamstress. She targeted couples, particularly newly-weds."

"I know. I read your report."

She smiled. "Your thoroughness never ceases to impress me. Though that's not why I hang out with you, either." The chair creaked as she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. "You must've read the part where I said she wasn't a bad person."

"Yes. Unnecessary in a report," Bruce said.

"A report is a record of the mission, Batman. My thoughts on the mission are included in that. Anyhow, her husband was mistreating her. She'd been deserted by her family, and her best friend, the one person who'd truly loved her, had passed away. Then she started hurting people." Diana paused. Her expression was contemplative, if a little sad. "What do you think? Do you think she was a bad person?"

"I think her pain doesn't excuse the pain she inflicted on others," Bruce said.

"Of course not. But that doesn't answer my question, does it?"

He massaged his temples. "I guess it depends on how she felt afterwards. If she was sorry."

"She cried," Diana said. "The whole fight. When I defeated her, I think she was relieved."

"Is there a point to this?"

"No." She smiled. "I just like talking to you. You don't seem like it, but you're a very good listener." Standing, she stretched her arms. "I think Seamstress was terribly lonely. Loneliness makes people do things they wouldn't normally do. Luckily for us, we're not alone, are we?"

Diana rested a hand on his shoulder. "You once told me I was your rock. You're mine, too. If you need anything—a place to sleep, a conversation, a sword, I truly mean anything—I will be there."

"Why?" Bruce's vision blurred. "Why do that for me?"

"Because you're a good person," she said. "And because I love you."

She patted him on the head and headed for the training room.

Jul 25

Scrunched up in the drawer, the rag doll was right where he'd left it. The hat was coming off, the right eye missing. Mr. Cuddles, if he remembered correctly. Six-year-old Bruce's favourite toy.

After the funeral, Alfred had dug the doll up again. Bruce had refused to take it. He'd told Alfred to throw the toy away.

You never know, Master Bruce . One day you might need it.

The doll was small in his hands. Below the remaining button-eye, black threads were stitched into a smile. Most of the doll was broken, half of it missing. But the smile was still intact.

Jul 31

Bruce pulled out the notebook and flipped to the resolution page. He crossed out the things he'd done, the things that hadn't worked out. Wrote I think I'm failing at the top. Crossed it out. Wrote five months left . I can do this.

Next to Dick's name, he wrote, speak to Leslie. Find resources . He couldn't write what kind of resources. He couldn't even think about it.

His head hurt. He wanted to sleep.

He kept writing instead.

Aug 2

"Selina?"

She stood in his doorway, wearing a flowing red dress. "Put on your tux, Bruce. We're going on a date tonight."

"I'm busy," Bruce said.

"No, you're not. I checked your Google Calendar."

"You have access to that?"

"Tim and I have gotten quite close recently," she said, lips curving into a malicious smile.

Bruce gulped, imagining the chaos Tim and Selina could wreak together. "Okay, I'm not busy. But I'm tired. It's too late to go out."

"Who said anything about going out?" She breezed past him, beckoning him to follow her into the manor. They ended up in the kitchen, Selina opening several cupboards and humming.

"What are you making?"

"I told you to change," she said. "Your best tux, please. You know the one."

He went to his room. It took him a while to find the ivory paisley coat. On his way out, he stopped by the bathroom. The face in the mirror was haggard, the stubble growing out. What did Selina see in him?

When he returned, she was tasting something out of a pot. She eyed him appreciatively. "That's more like it."

"I really am tired, Selina." He sat at the kitchen island, resting his head on his palm.

"I know." She turned back to the pot. "I won't stay long, then. But just humour me and eat this, won't you?"

She poured the liquid into two bowls. The smell of chicken noodle soup filled the air, and Bruce's stomach growled. Had he eaten today? He couldn't remember.

"What's the occasion?" Bruce asked, as Selina placed a bowl in front of him.

She sat across from him. "Does there have to be an occasion?"

"That's usually why people drop by."

"That is such a you thing to say," she said, shovelling noodles into her mouth. "People like spending time with you, Bruce. Is that so hard to believe?"

He stared into his soup. "My kids are gone, Selina. All of them."

"Then what are you going to do about it?" She pointed her fork at him. "You are a man of action, Bat. You can mope around as long as you like, if that's what you want. But if you want them back? Go get them."

"I don't want to hurt them anymore."

Selina tapped her nails against the counter-top. "I'm not going to pretend I know all the intricacies of your relationships. What I do know is that for all the things my dad did wrong, the worst thing he ever did was give up on me. That is the one thing I cannot forgive. I think," she said, sliding over a leather-bound book, "you would understand."

He picked up Alfred's diary. "I didn't realise I'd left this."

"I figured." She drank the rest of her soup and stood. "I'll let you get back to resting, then. Just know that you do have my number. And even though you're a stubborn idiot, I do, for some reason, enjoy your company."

"Selina?" Bruce said, as she was halfway out the door. "Thank you."

He caught the edge of her smile. "Anytime."

August 6th, Wayne Manor

Today Master Bruce and I played croquet. It is the first game I've gotten him to play since the funeral. When he scored his first point, I saw the slightest smile cross his face. That is when I knew I'd do anything to make him smile again. I'd do anything to keep him smiling.

I cannot be his father, I know that. I know I will fail him, time and time again. But I love him. I will stand by him. I hope that will be enough.

The day had been dazzlingly sunny, smack in the middle of an August heat wave. Bruce had sweat through his Beatles T-shirt. Alfred hadn't seemed bothered, as prim and poised as ever. Except when Bruce made the shot, and the ball rolled clean through the hoop—then, Alfred's demeanour had cracked. He'd smiled, wide and free, in a way Bruce had rarely ever seen.

He placed a bookmark on the page and closed the diary.

Aug 10

Bruce hovered outside the door. He'd triple-checked Tim's schedule, certain there wasn't a meeting in there. Still, sweat trickled down his neck, and his palms were clammy.

"Bruce?"

Bruce whirled around. "Tim," he said breathlessly.

Tim stood behind him, holding a takeout box. He raised an eyebrow. "You gonna open it or what?"

Bruce turned the knob and pushed. They entered, Bruce standing awkwardly by the potted plant as Tim collapsed into his chair. He snapped a pair of wooden chopsticks and began to eat his fried rice.

"You can sit," Tim said.

"I'm fine." Bruce coughed. "How are you?"

"Pretty good, all things considered. And how are you?"

"Good as well."

Tim levelled him a look.

"A bit tired," Bruce amended.

"A bit." Tim put down his chopsticks. "You look horrible. Like a zombie."

"Thanks," Bruce said dryly.

"Kind of like when we first met. After Jason's death."

The words almost bowled Bruce over. "That—you can't just say that."

"Why not? Jason prefers when you say it straight out, you know. That's why he gets so mad at you. He hates when you beat around the bush."

"I don't—" Bruce sucked in a breath. "I can't help it, Tim. Some things are just—some things I just can't say."

Tim nodded. "I know. I didn't say he was right to be mad."

"Do you also get mad at me?" Bruce asked. "When I don't say the right things?"

"Of course, Bruce. I'm only human." He looked down. "I'm trying to be better about it, though. Sometimes I'm not very open-minded. It's why me and Damian had such a hard time. But I want to give people the benefit of the doubt, you know? Most of us aren't hurting each other on purpose."

"Yeah," Bruce said. His shoulders sagged. "I'm sorry, Tim. I didn't keep my promise. I didn't try hard enough."

Tim rose, coming around the desk to stand in front of Bruce. "You screwed up," he said. He dropped his gaze. "So did I. So did all of us. Dick was—he was hurting, and not a single one of us knew what to do. I kinda dumped the responsibility on you, and yeah, you're the adult, but I let myself forget. I got mad when you couldn't fix the problem I didn't even want to think about."

"It wasn't your fault," Bruce said firmly.

"I could've done more, though." Tim ran a hand through his hair. "What I'm trying to say is, it wasn't all on you, Bruce. Some problems even the Batman can't solve alone."

"So you're not mad at me? You don't hate me?"

"I'm always a little mad at you," Tim said. "But hate you? No. Never."

Bruce blinked back tears. "I don't deserve you."

"Guess you got lucky," he said, grinning. "But down to brass tacks. How are we going to piece everyone together this time?"

"You don't have to—"

"I want to," Tim said. "I know you think you're shielding me by taking everything on yourself. But all you're doing is making yourself miserable, which in turn makes everyone miserable. You were doing it back then, too, when I first met you. You know on planes, when they tell you to put your oxygen mask on first? It's like that. You won't stop hurting other people if you don't stop hurting yourself first."

"When did you get so wise?" Bruce asked, through the lump in his throat.

"I'm not. Everyone else is just stupid." Tim stuck out his hand. "This is my family, too. I want to help. So what do you say, B? Partners?"

Bruce took his hand, but instead of a handshake, he pulled Tim into a hug. "If you're willing to try," he whispered, " we'll try."

Tim laughed. "Is that what you said when I became Robin? I swear that's the exact wording and everything."

"Just enjoy it," Bruce said, pressing his son to his chest.

Aug 12

A breeze blew through the study, ruffling the papers on Bruce's desk. Tim took a deep breath and settled back in his chair.

"God, that's a lot better. When was the last time you opened that window?"

"I don't remember," Bruce said. He placed his notebook on the desk. "I wrote down my plans here. A lot of them didn't, um, work out."

Tim flipped to the resolutions page, scanning the list. "Not bad," he said. "Very Batman of you, though, to have a list like this. What is this ?"

He pointed accusingly at the embarrass in front of boyfriend? item. Bruce chuckled. "I'm still planning that one. Haven't gotten around to it, though."

"You're not going anywhere near Bernard," Tim muttered. He dragged his finger down the page. "See, this is your problem. This is just a list of stuff to do. You can't fix a lifetime of issues with a checklist."

"Yeah," Bruce said, scratching his neck. "I might've been a little optimistic with this resolution."

Tim tapped Stephanie's name. "Have you apologised to her?"

"I did, but she—she said we should stop pretending. She said we'd never be equals."

"I don't blame her, I guess." He exhaled. "Did you apologise only about the concert, or about all the other crap you put her through?"

"I didn't want to bring all that up again," Bruce said.

"Do you realise how much space that stuff takes up in Steph's mind? You may not want to bring it up again, but for her, it's not a question of dredging up the past. It's not the past for Steph. I don't think it's even the past for you."

"I don't know where to begin."

"She has a concert in three days," he said. "Steph needs more than your promises. You can start by showing up, for once."

Aug 15

Bruce drew the strings of his hoodie and slipped into the auditorium. Tim, Cass, and Barbara were somewhere in the crowd. The thought of seeing Cass made his chest tighten, so he decided not to sit with them. He snagged a seat in the front row.

The curtains parted to reveal a group of college students decked in red and white. Bruce flashed back to the one Glee episode Stephanie had convinced him to watch (he had understood absolutely nothing, least of all what Nationals were). One of the students started beatboxing, and the rest joined in with their harmonies.

Stephanie was on the far left. Her hair was pinned up, her body swaying to the rhythm. She was smiling. The harmonies layered on top of each other, until the auditorium rang with a vibrant, joyous sound. It was surprisingly beautiful.

They sang three songs before another group replaced them. Maybe Bruce was biased, but they weren't nearly as good. He slipped out of his seat and headed for the backstage area.

"Hey, man," said a kid in a golden suit, "you can't be back here."

"I'm family," Bruce said, and shoved his way in.

Stephanie was chatting with two other girls, throwing her head back to laugh. Then she glanced in his direction and froze. She said something to the girls and scurried over.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed.

"I watched the show," he said, taking her hands. "It was amazing. You were amazing."

"That doesn't answer my question," she said, snatching her hands away. "Crud, they're staring at us. Follow me."

She marched down a corridor, Bruce following blindly behind. They turned twice before entering a storage closet, reeking of antiseptic and bleach.

"I told you to stop doing whatever this is." She kept her distance, as much as the closet allowed. "What do you want from me?"

"I want to talk, Stephanie. You said some things the last time we saw each other, and I need you to know how untrue they are."

"I only said things you said first."

"I was wrong," Bruce said. "I've been wrong about so many things, but the way I treated you—that is one of my biggest mistakes, and one of my biggest regrets."

"I'm not doing this," Stephanie said, opening the door. "You can't just come to one concert and think that makes things okay. I've wasted years of my life trying to get you to love me. I won't waste any more."

"I do love you. I have always loved you."

"Promise?" she said sarcastically.

"Stephanie—"

"Bye, Bruce."

She went out the door. Bruce followed a second later, turning twice and ending up back in the wings. The host was announcing an open mic, where anyone could come on stage and sing a song of their choice.

"Stephanie," Bruce said, catching her on the shoulder.

"What?" Her voice was sharp. "What more do you want from me?"

"I don't—" Stephanie's eyes were wide, nervous. Bruce took a deep breath. "What can I do to get a conversation with you? I'll do anything."

"Anything?" Her gaze flicked to the stage, where the host was asking for volunteers. "You mean that?"

"With my whole heart," Bruce said.

"Perform a song, then. My favourite song. From the Barbie movies." There was a challenge in her voice.

He squared his shoulders. "That's all? You've gone soft."

"Wait, are you actually—"

Bruce marched on stage, taking the mic from the host. The host stared in astonishment as Bruce removed his hood.

"Hello. My name is Bruce Wayne, and I'd like to perform "Right Here In My Arms" from The Island Princess . Hit it."

There was a terribly awkward 30 seconds where nothing happened. Then the opening chord began to play, and Bruce put his off-key singing to the test.

"My love is always with you, whether near or far. How sweet to hold you, right here in my arms..."

His finishing notes were drowned in thunderous applause.

Aug 16

Just kidding. Some people did clap, but most were either laughing or sitting in shock. He was still Bruce Wayne, though; as he walked off stage, a bunch of kids swamped him and asked him to join their party. Stephanie had vanished. Bruce, with a sinking heart, agreed to waste the night away.

Partying with college kids was not fun. Besides them treating him like some sort of cryptid, the drinks were bad, the conversation stifling, and the music atrocious. He escaped just after midnight, wandering through the campus in search of his car.

"You lost?"

His heart thudded. "A little, to be honest."

Stephanie was still in her concert outfit. Her hair was down, and she was carrying a bouquet. "These are from Cass," she said. "Don't know why she bothered. Her performances are always better than mine."

"That's not true. Your performance tonight was incredible."

"You're just saying that," she said, blushing.

"I'm not. You were so much better than the group after you."

"The Falsettos? Oh yeah, they're terrible. The dean's daughter is in it, though."

They gravitated towards a bench on the side of the path. Stephanie sat first, and Bruce, after a moment, sat a bit away from her.

"I can't believe you actually did that," she said. "It's going to go viral, you know."

Bruce sighed. "I'm already dreading the interview questions."

"Yeah. But I guess you earned your conversation, so. Talk away."

"Stephanie," he started, and then stopped. He dug his shoe into the dirt. "You were always—you remind me of Jason," he blurted out.

"I do?" She sounded surprised.

"Yes. You and him, you're both—bright. Unstoppable. Full of kindness, despite everything. You are both so brave. When you were Robin, when you disobeyed my orders, it made me think of him. It wasn't fair to you, though. I was never fair to you."

He dug his thumbs into his legs. "The truth is, I never knew what to do with you. You were so similar to the others, and yet, at the same time, so different. You forged your own identity long before you met me. I was in awe of you. I still am."

"You told me I wasn't good enough," she said quietly.

"I was an idiot," he said. "You were good enough. You were more than good enough, Stephanie. It was me who wasn't good enough for you. I'm sorry for everything I did to you. I'm sorry it took this long to apologise."

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Tell me the truth," she said. "Was I a good Robin?"

"You were brash, and reckless, and you never listened to me." Bruce let out a breath. "Yes. You were perfect."

"Then why don't you—?" Stephanie clenched her fists. "You don't trust me. I slipped up once, and you gave my mission away. You'd never do that to the others."

"The alien tech mission? I didn't realise that bothered you."

"Of course you didn't," she said, turning away.

Bruce's mouth went dry. "It's not that I don't trust you," he said, forcing the words out. "It's just that, seeing you on the street, I thought—it was like—like the clinic again. It scared me."

"The clinic?" She turned back to him, eyes wide. "You mean when I—?"

"I know it wasn't real. But I thought—it was real, to me."

Stephanie's mouth fell open. "You—I thought you didn't care. You didn't put up a memorial or anything, so I thought it didn't matter."

"No," Bruce said, leaning forward. "Jason's memorial—Dick gave me so much grief for it. I knew Jason better at the time, so I ignored him. But Tim loved you. Your mother loved you. I couldn't put you in a glass case like you were—like you were mine. I did care, though. I do care."

"Oh," Stephanie said. She sniffled. "Oh."

He took her hands in his, loose enough for her to pull back. She didn't. So he said, "I'm sorry I made you feel like I didn't care. I'm sorry I never said how much I missed you. I missed you, Steph. I am so glad you're alive."

Stephanie crashed into him, burying her head in his chest. He held her tight, running his fingers through her hair, humming her favourite song under his breath.

Aug 20

Bruce rang the doorbell again, shifting from foot to foot. For a speedster, Wally West wasn't very quick at answering his door.

He didn't end up answering at all. Instead, an Asian woman—West's wife, if he recalled correctly—stood in the doorway, blinking up at him.

"Hello," he said. "Is Wally home?"

Her jaw dropped. "You're Bruce Wayne."

"Yes."

"Honey?" she called over her shoulder. "Bruce Wayne is at our door."

The pounding of feet, and then Wally's red hair came into view. "You're joking, right? It's just some impersonator?"

"It is not," Bruce deadpanned.

Wally stared at him. "Oh, wow, it is you. Um. Well."

"I'll go take care of the kids," the woman said.

"Wait, don't—" She'd already disappeared. Wally gulped. "Uh, come in, Bruce. Can I call you Bruce?"

"No," Bruce said, as he stepped over the welcome mat.

The house was cramped, toys and drawings scattered across the carpeted floor. Every inch of the walls was covered in pictures, mostly of Wally's wife and kids, but a few of Barry, Wally's parents, his wife's family, and assorted friends. There was a picture of Dick, maybe 17 or 18, somersaulting into a lake. Bruce looked away.

"Do you want some tea? No, you prefer coffee, right? I have alcohol too. You're not, uh, anti-alcohol, are you?"

"Water is fine," Bruce said. A cup appeared instantly in his hands.

"Well." Wally fidgeted with his shirt. "What brings you here?"

"You're Dick's best friend," Bruce said. "Do you know where he is?"

Wally tensed. "He doesn't want to see you."

"I'm not going after him. I just need to know he's okay. If you know where he is, then I know he's in safe hands."

"Oh," Wally said, blinking. "That's—nice. I, uh, do know where he is."

"Great." Bruce turned to leave.

"You're not going to interrogate me?"

Bruce shook his head. "I've hurt Dick enough. I won't hurt him anymore."

"Wow. Uh, wait!" Wally zipped in front of him. "While you're here, I just—I wanted to apologise. Last time we talked, I may not have explained myself properly."

"You explained yourself fine. I was the one too stubborn to listen."

"Well, yes. But there's more to it." Wally's gaze slid to the picture, to Dick in mid-air, face lit with glee. "When I said you didn't understand him, I didn't mean it in a bad way. I just think no parent really understands their kids. On one level it's generational, but on another, it's like—that's your kid. You want them to be happy more than anything. That desire can blind you, and the more you love them, the more blind you get."

"Speaking from experience?"

"Maybe," Wally said, smiling. "Dick loves you a lot. I think, even after everything, he still worships you a little. He wants you to be proud of him. So when it comes to bad stuff," and his smile faded, "he tries his hardest to keep it from you."

"Bad stuff," Bruce repeated. His chest tightened. "Do you know the—bad stuff?"

"He didn't tell me," Wally said quietly.

Bruce closed his eyes. "Okay," he said. "Okay. As long as he's safe." He opened his eyes again, taking in the worry in Wally's eyes, the pictures of Dick on the wall. "I—I never got to thank you. You've always been there for him, even when I couldn't be. Especially when I couldn't be. Thank you for being his friend."

Wally's mouth opened and closed like a fish. Bruce moved stiffly towards the door, because that was as emotional as he would ever get with The Flash. He couldn't have the League thinking he felt things.

"I, um." Wally scratched his neck. "Dick never would've entered my life without you. So I should thank you too, I guess. Thank you for being his dad."

Two excited shrieks came from the kitchen. Wally and Bruce exchanged a smile.

Aug 25

"It's been a while."

Batman grunted. "I've been busy."

"Wonder Woman filled me in," Superman said. He floated over the edge of the roof, cape fluttering in the autumn breeze. "She says you've been very busy."

"And you've been in space," Bruce said.

"I didn't mean to be away for so long." Clark descended, touching down on the rooftop. "I'm sorry about Dick. I'm sorry I wasn't there for him, or for you."

"Don't apologise. I was the one who messed up, anyway. I'm always the one."

"Not quite." Clark's eyes crinkled. "He's a lot like you, you know."

"Dick? Like me ?"

"Big temper, well hidden. Holds a grudge like you wouldn't believe. A realist, yet also, somehow, deeply optimistic. And you both blame yourselves for things that are nowhere near your fault."

"This time it really was."

"You're also both stubborn," Clark said.

The sky started to drizzle. Clark shielded his hair with his hands. "This city rains too much," he complained.

"I don't mind. Keeps boy scouts out."

"Very funny." Superman gave up, letting the drops fall on his perfect curls. "Dick loves the rain, doesn't he? He used to ask me to fly him around when it rained."

"He—used to." Raindrops pinged off his cowl. "Has he contacted you at all?"

"A couple texts, really low-key stuff."

"Ah."

Clark gave him a knowing look. "He loves you more than anyone, Batman. I'm his fun uncle. Easier to talk to sometimes, but that doesn't mean anything."

"Not just sometimes." Bruce twisted his mouth. "Whenever I screw up with him, he runs straight to you. He even named himself after you. Maybe he would've been better off, with you instead of me."

"Maybe," Clark said. "Probably not. As I said, he's a lot like you. And he needed you, back then."

"He doesn't need me anymore."

"Exactly." Clark tilted his face up to the sky. "That's the thing I wish for Jon, more than anything. That one day he won't need me anymore. Then, I'll know I didn't fail him."

"But I still need him, Clark." A raindrop splattered down his cheek. "I think I'll always need him."

Clark floated closer, wrapping an arm around Bruce's shoulders. "I know. I'm sorry. I know."

Aug 27

Bruce unlocked his phone. Dick had disabled read receipts, so he had no way of knowing if the texts were reaching him or not. Bruce's last message, from the beginning of August— make sure you're taking care of yourself —sat at the bottom of the screen.

He typed out another message: I miss you. Then he backspaced, typing out three more drafts until he settled on, I had a civil conversation with West for once. His children are adorable, as you said.

An hour later, he added, I'm sorry for everything. I hope you know I love you no matter what. Nothing in the entire multiverse could ever change that.

Aug 31

The T.V. was set to full volume. More than full volume, even; Tim had adjusted the settings to blow their ears out. Stephanie stuffed her face with popcorn, eyes bright with excitement.

"It's starting!" she yelled, spraying kernels everywhere.

Tim wiped his cheek. "Gross. I can't believe I dated you."

"Me neither," she said. "My standards were so low. I should warn Bernard."

"You two are never meeting," Tim said solemnly.

They fell silent as the news broadcast began. A stern-looking man rattled off traffic reports, then his co-anchor covered the take-down of Alphaites, a Gotham gang specialising in alien tech.

"Nice work," Bruce said to the two teens on the floor.

They turned a matching shade of red. "Sap," Stephanie said, ducking her head.

"Shush, this is it!" Tim grabbed Stephanie's arm.

"In lighter news, billionaire Bruce Wayne was spotted on the Gotham University campus earlier this month. What was he doing, you ask? Well—really, you'll have to see for yourself."

The broadcast cut to a video of Bruce on stage, crooning into the (much too short) mic. At one point the camera began to shake violently, the videographer dissolving into a fit of laughter.

"Oh my god," Tim wheezed, slapping his leg. "When I tell you Babs started choking."

Stephanie snorted. "And Cass?"

"The only time I've ever seen her look genuinely terrified."

"This is your best moment," Stephanie said, turning to Bruce. "Like, seriously. You're never topping this."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You think you can do something more embarrassing?" Tim asked in disbelief.

"No promises," Bruce said, locking eyes with Stephanie. "But I think I can."

A smile grew on her lips as she said, "I think you can, too."

September 2nd, Wayne Manor

Summer is coming to a close. Master Bruce shall have to return to school, soon; his first year without his parents. It will be hard. I am trying to be there for him, but that is also hard.

I came across a pair of Master Martha's shoes yesterday. I thought I had packed everything away, but I must have missed this. It is silly to cry over a pair of shoes, isn't it? I do so many silly things nowadays.

For example, the shoes. They are now tucked in the back of my closet for no conceivable reason. I cannot wear them, and neither can Master Bruce. For what am I saving them? For whom?

Master Bruce is calling me. I must go to him.

Sep 5

The pet store was crowded. Bruce kept a tight grip on Tim's elbow, steering him through the aisles. They were wearing matching sunglasses and baseball caps (god, he would never get tired of matching with Tim. Never).

"This one," Bruce said, pointing. "This is the one he wanted."

Tim raised an eyebrow. "The clownfish? He said he hated Finding Nemo . That liar."

They bought the fish and went outside, the wind cool and gentle on their faces. Bruce tried not to think about the last time he'd walked down this street.

"You can't bribe him to forgive you, you know," Tim said. Cars whizzed through the intersection.

"I'm not trying to bribe him," Bruce said. "I just want to make things better."

"You don't actually blame him for what happened to Alfred, do you? Damian loved him. He has nightmares, sometimes. I think he blames himself."

Bruce dragged a hand down his face. "I can't believe I said that to him. I hurt him so badly."

"Yeah, you did." The light changed and they crossed the street. "But neither of you were in the best place right then. Damian's mature enough to see you weren't thinking straight, I think. And it's not just you that's upsetting him."

"Dick," Bruce said, almost in a whisper.

Tim's shoulders raised. "Yeah. Damian doesn't—he knows you mess up, in a way. You weren't super great to him at first. But Dick's different. He saw Dick as invincible, and learning that he's not, it—well, it hurts."

Something in Tim's tone made Bruce look up. "Is that how you feel, too?"

"It's complicated," Tim said slowly. His eyes were on the pavement in front of him. "I saw too much of Dick at his worst to think he was invincible. But I get how Damian feels, because, I guess, that's how I feel about you."

Bruce stopped. "Me?"

"I know it's stupid," Tim said, suddenly shy. "When I became Robin, you were literally self-destructing. But some part of me will always believe you're indestructible, 'cause you're Batman. And," he said, flushing, "'cause you're my dad."

He sped up, clearing his throat. "Anyway," he said, "you can swing by on Saturday. Me and Damian are going to a museum in the morning, so hopefully he'll be in a good mood. Try not to put your foot in your mouth, please?"

"I'll try," Bruce said. Tim's words echoed in his head for the rest of the day.

Sep 8

Bruce squeezed the handle of his mug, jiggling his leg. The elevator had sounded a few seconds ago. Anytime now, the door would open, and Damian would be standing on the other side.

Damian had always been different. The others Bruce had found, or they'd found him; they'd worked to belong to each other. But Damian had always belonged to him, more or less. And he'd always belonged to Damian.

The knob began to turn.

"—an alright Turner, though the one in Boston is far superior."

"We should go next time," Tim said, stepping into the apartment.

"Invite Thomas, then. He has been to—"

Damian clapped his eyes on Bruce and stiffened. He grabbed Tim's shirt, tugging hard. "Make him go away," he demanded.

"Is that what you want?" Tim asked.

"I—" Damian wavered. He shot a glare at Bruce. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologise," Bruce said. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I didn't mean anything I said."

"I don't care."

The words hit Bruce's heart like a sledgehammer. "Please," he said. "Just hear me out."

Damian's lip trembled. He looked up at Tim, and Tim whispered something in his ear. Damian loosened his grip.

"Fine," he said curtly. "You have five minutes."

He planted his feet and crossed his arms. Tim flashed Bruce a thumbs up, disappearing down the corridor. Bruce put his mug on the coffee table and stood.

"Alfred's death is not your fault," he said. "It was never your fault. I was wrong to even suggest it."

Damian gazed at the floor. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Do you believe me?"

"I don't know. You are a liar."

"I'm not lying about this, Damian. Don't blame yourself. It was—it was my fault."

"Your fault?" Damian scowled. "You are not the one who triggered Bane's plan. You are not the one with blood on your hands."

"You don't—"

"Stop lying. I know you will never love me. I don't care."

Bruce stumbled forward. "No, you can't believe that. I do love you. I do."

"I'm a murderer," Damian said blankly. "Not like Cain or Todd, either. They are good people. I am not. I am not meant to be loved."

"But we all love you. So many people love you."

"Because I'm your son," Damian snapped. "They love you . Even Richard. I thought he was different, but he doesn't—he doesn't—" His voice grew small. "He left. He left me."

"Oh, Damian. Son."

"It doesn't matter. I don't care."

Bruce reached a hand forward, gingerly placing it on Damian's shoulder. He bristled, but didn't shake the hand off. "Dick didn't leave you," Bruce said. "Not you ."

"So it was you?" His tone verged on desperation. "It was your fault, then?"

"Some things," Bruce said, "aren't anyone's fault."

Damian's shoulders slumped. "So you can't fix it."

"I—I don't know."

He stamped his foot, a move that was so like Jason it took Bruce's breath away. His kids were so much closer than he'd realised. So much of them were in each other. "You're not even trying," Damian said, stepping back. "Richard's been gone for months, and you haven't done a single thing."

"I'm giving him space."

"Is that your excuse?" Damian glared at his shoes. "You're not even sad. You haven't talked about him once, not properly, and you've never cried. Just like with Pennyworth. You don't care ."

Bruce fought to keep his voice even as he said, "I do care. Just because I don't—if I don't show it, it doesn't mean it's not there." Be honest, B, said his inner voice. Not Alfred, this time. Dick. "The truth is I don't know how to deal with these things. I'm not good with feelings, or with words. Alfred and Dick always covered for me, but without them, I don't know what to do. So I shut down. I hurt people. I don't know how to stop."

Damian's eyes widened. "You feel like that too?"

"Of course." Bruce knelt, looking into his son's face. "You think people love you because you're my son? It's the opposite, Damian. They love you in spite of me. Because you're a better person than I ever was. Because you have proved you can change."

"I don't feel changed," Damian said. His gaze flicked to the corridor. "I have hurt people I now love. If they were a little less kind, they would never have forgiven me."

"Lucky they are kind, then." Bruce grasped Damian's shoulders. "I don't know if Dick ever told you, but it took me ages to adopt him. It wasn't because I didn't love him, but because I was afraid. I thought I didn't deserve to be his father. You know what he said, when I finally told him how I felt? He said that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard , and he scolded me for wasting all that time." Bruce smiled at the memory. "Don't waste time, Damian. Let people love you. Let them love you like you deserve."

Damian stared at Bruce. Then he glanced at the clock, stepping away for the second time. "That's five minutes. You can go."

Bruce straightened, brushing off his pants. He concentrated on the swirling dust. "Okay. If that's what you want, then—oh. I forgot." He reached into his case, pulling out the bagged clownfish. "Is this the one you wanted?"

Damian snatched at the bag. His eyes were bright.

"I can ship your fish tank here, if you want."

The fish swam around contentedly. Damian kept his eyes on the water as he said, "no need. She will come to the manor soon."

"Oh," Bruce said. Warmth spread in his chest. "Good."

Sep 12

Bruce read the notification and bolted upright. He rubbed his eyes, wiping off the sleep dust. The name stayed the same: Dick Grayson. A text from Dick Grayson.

It was a TikTok video. A very familiar TikTok video, Bruce singing his heart out into the mic. Dick had written, is this real?

Bruce replied, yes. It was mortifying. I was terrible, wasn't I?

An hour later, another text: yea, u were pretty bad. but not the worst.

Sep 16

Bruce peeked his head into Damian's room.

His suitcase was still half-full, a pair of trousers trailing onto the floor. Damian was in front of the fish tank, watching Darla and the clownfish eat their breakfast. Bruce rapped his knuckles against the door frame.

Damian glanced up. "Drake and Brown have arrived?"

"Not yet," Bruce said. "Tim's on his way, and Stephanie's apparently been detained by a cute dog."

"I suppose I will let that slide," Damian said imperiously.

"Are you busy?"

"Not particularly." He put the fish food away. "Why?"

There was a green book in the corner of Damian's suitcase. Alfred's all-vegan recipe book, judging by the vegetables on the cover.

"I was wondering if you'd like to come with me," Bruce said. "To visit Alfred."

Damian stared. "You want to visit Pennyworth's grave? With me?"

"Only if you want to."

He looked back at the fish. "Okay," he said. "Let's go."

They walked down the winding path and through the gardens, goldenrods dotting the grass with yellow. The ground sloped gently until they arrived at the Wayne family cemetery, marked by a willow tree and a low curlicued fence.

Bruce pushed the gate open. They wove through the various gravestones, passing by the flowers left on his parents' graves. He'd have to replace those soon. A few feet ahead, the newest stone gleamed in the sunlight.

"It's smaller than I remember," Damian murmured.

"It's the normal size."

"Pennyworth was much more than normal."

"You've got a point," Bruce said, kneeling in the grass. He lay down a bouquet of asters. "Have you been here since the funeral?"

"No. Have you?"

"No."

Dew clung to the grass, soaking Bruce's trousers. He plucked a blade and twisted it into a coil.

"Father?" Damian knelt beside him, bowing his head. "I'm sorry for what I said, about Pennyworth being disappointed in you."

"It's okay," Bruce said, tearing the blade in two.

"It's just that you never talk about him. When you said he wasn't here anymore, it sounded like you didn't care. So I said what I hoped would hurt you most. But I was wrong." Damian reached for the asters, the petals bending under his touch. "You do care. You've cared all this time."

"I owe him everything," Bruce said.

"I wanted to—" Damian hesitated. "I was going to ask if I could call him Grandfather."

The blade fell from Bruce's fingers. "Grandfather?"

"I guess I don't deserve to," Damian said, slumping.

Bruce's phone pinged. Tim and Stephanie were a few minutes away. "He would want you to," Bruce said, standing up. He held out a hand. "So do I."

Damian took the hand, and together they headed for the manor.

Sep 19

The receptionist straightened as soon as she saw Bruce Wayne, flashing him a smile. "Are you here to see Dr. Thompkins?"

"Yes," Bruce said, though every nerve in his body told him to run.

She led him through a pristine hallway into the waiting room. A T.V. played the morning news, the anchor breaking down recent death statistics. An uptick in car accidents, a downward trend in violent crime. So, for Gotham, progress.

The plastic seat was hard and unyielding. Three minutes ticked by before the door opened, and Leslie Thompkins came in.

She looked old. It shouldn't have surprised Bruce, but it did.

"Bruce Wayne," she said. "It's been a while."

Bruce's gaze dropped. "How are you?"

"Surviving. But I assume you're not here to catch up."

"No," he said. He hadn't properly spoken to her since what happened to Stephanie. The memory made him want to scream. "I came to ask for your help."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "You're asking a murderer for help?"

"I thought you'd killed her," Bruce growled, the tether on his anger fraying. "Can you blame me for what I said?"

"I'm just surprised you changed your mind."

"I didn't. I still—" Bruce cut himself off. This wasn't about him, or how Leslie, whom he'd trusted, whom he'd loved , had betrayed him. This was about Dick. He squashed down every feeling inside him and said, "what's done is done. I need your help, Leslie."

"What for?"

There was a pain assessment scale on the wall. At the right end, a red crying emoji marked Number 10: Worst Possible Pain. "Do you have any resources for sexual assault survivors?"

The world ground to a halt. Everything was deathly still, including Leslie, whose face was like stone.

"You need—" She took a half-step forward.

"Not for me," Bruce said, his voice hoarse. "But, please. Anything. Anything that can help."

She nodded, fishing a notebook out of her pocket. "I'll send a list to you by the end of the week. I'll include resources for both male and female victims."

"Thank you."

"Is it—" The notebook shook in Leslie's hands. "I didn't mean to hurt you, with Stephanie. Well, maybe a little. But I thought I was doing what was best for everyone."

Bruce scowled. "You thought I was hurting her. Hurting them. Maybe you were right. But you shouldn't have taken her life away, Leslie. That should've been her choice, not yours."

"I see that now," Leslie said. "I tried so hard to save her. But she came back, in the end. Back to you."

Bruce checked his watch and stood. "I should go. I'm—meeting up with her."

"She loves you, doesn't she? Despite what you put her through."

"I don't deserve her," he said brusquely, "but who are you to judge? You've hurt me too, and I still—" He wrenched the door open. "Whatever. Send me the list as soon as possible."

"Bruce," she called, but he was already walking away.

Sep 21

Batman dangled his legs off the roof. At the beginning of his career, he'd avoided Crime Alley like the plague. Time and a Robin had softened those edges, making him patrol the area once or twice, but never frequently. Then he'd returned to a tireless Batmobile. Now, as the bobbing red helmet came into view, Crime Alley filled him with fondness.

"Your singing is whack," Jason said, as soon as he landed.

Bruce quirked his lips. "You've seen the video?"

"Who hasn't? I'm pretty sure Two-Face was humming the song last night."

"Harvey always loved his Barbie movies," Bruce said.

Jason sat next to him. His leather jacket was ripped along one sleeve, exposing his scarred bicep. "Rough night?" Bruce asked.

"Eh. About average."

"Mine too."

He glanced at Bruce. "You're in the Alley. I guess that means you've got your act together?"

"I don't know," Bruce said, "but I'm getting there."

"That's about what I expected." Jason peered at the street below. "I, uh, got a text from 'Wing the other day. Just some bullshit about taking care of myself."

"You should take care of yourself," Bruce said, smiling. "And he texted me too. About the singing."

Jason snorted. "Typical Dickhead. Talks about everything and anything except the important stuff. God, you two are so alike."

"I guess we are," Bruce said, folding his hands together.

"Do you think this means he's alright?" The mask made it hard to tell where Jason was looking. "I mean, he's still not here, so I guess not. But do you think he'll be back soon?"

"I don't know."

"God," Jason said. He struck the concrete with a fist. "I feel so useless. I hate that he won't talk to me, not for real. I wish he'd just tell me what's going on."

"Maybe it's best you don't know."

Jason's head whipped towards him. "You know," he said. "You know what it is."

"Not for sure." Bruce pressed his palms against each other. "It's none of our business. Nightwing will tell us when he's ready."

"Shit," Jason whispered. "It's really bad, isn't it?"

"I don't—"

"For god's sake, B. Just give it to me straight."

Bruce squeezed his eyes shut. The red crying emoji, Number 10, flashed through his mind. "Yes," he said. "It's really bad."

Jason took a long, slow breath. "It isn't fair." His leg jittered. "Why is our luck so fucking awful?"

"I don't know," Bruce repeated. He turned to face Jason, placing a hand between them. "I'm sorry for snapping at you before. I know I still have so much to do, to make things right with you. But I want you to know I will never stop trying. Not with you, not with Dick, not with anyone. I will never give up on this family."

"Huh," Jason said. "You really have changed."

Almost unconsciously, he placed his hand next to Bruce's.

"We should go. Patrol and all that," Jason said.

Bruce hummed in agreement.

Neither of them moved.

Sep 22

At dawn he received another video from Dick. It was a YouTube clip of "September" by Earth, Wind & Fire.

just fyi its still sep 21st where i am. also u shld make a tiktok vid covering this

Thus, Bruce Wayne's TikTok account was born.

Sep 25

"I've just sent the list," Leslie said over the phone.

Bruce clicked on the email. A string of links and organisations appeared.

"Thank you."

"Wait," Leslie said sharply, as if she'd known he'd been about to hang up. "I know you want nothing to do with me, and maybe I deserve it. But you should know I'm sorry. Not just for Stephanie, but for everything. For not raising you properly. For giving up on you. I'm sorry."

"You were all I had," Bruce said. "You and Alfred. And now just you."

"I know. I wish—I bet you wish it was me that died, instead of him."

"I wish no one had to die."

Leslie made a pained noise. "Your father said that once. You—you're very much alike."

"My father," Bruce echoed. He tried to picture Thomas Wayne's face, but he could only come up with the paintings.

"He'd be so proud of you," Leslie said. "Him and your mother. And while I disapprove of some of your methods, I'm proud of what you've accomplished. You've changed things, Bruce. Whether I like to admit it or not."

"And Alfred?" Bruce asked. "Would he be proud?"

Leslie let out an amused huff. "Do you even need to ask?"

October 2nd, Wayne Manor

While I was in the attic, I stumbled across one of Master Bruce's old blankets. It's a musty thing, a green quilt of peculiar design. I thought someone had thrown it out years ago. How unexpected, the way the things you lose make their way back to you.

I think I shall keep it in my room. Master Bruce has no need for it, given how much bigger he grows each passing day. He is so different from the boy I once knew. I sometimes miss that happy, freewheeling child. But today I looked in on him in the library, reading his father's anatomy books with such focus, and I found him absolutely perfect.

Oct 6

When he came down, Damian and Tim were already eating, side by side. Bruce smiled, thinking of the times they couldn't even be at the same table.

"Father, finally," Damian said around a mouthful of tofu scramble. "I was just about to murder Drake."

"As if you could, brat," Tim said, flicking his brother on the forehead.

"No fighting at the dining table," Bruce reprimanded.

He pilfered the fridge for two eggs, cracking them into a pan. Tim and Damian were whispering to each other, but it didn't seem like insults, so Bruce let them be. He plated his eggs and took a seat at the head of the table.

"I didn't realise you were coming over," he said to Tim.  

Tim and Damian exchanged a look, raising Bruce's hackles. The only thing more dangerous than one plotting child was two of them.

"He was helping me," Damian said. "We're planning a way to get Thomas back into the manor."

Bruce's fork clanged against his plate. "Duke? Are you—you're in contact with him?"

"Of course," Tim said. "He's not mad at us ."

"It was an understandable blunder, Father, but you should've known better than to offer adoption so early."

"I thought that's what he wanted," Bruce said.

"Has he ever said that?"

"No, but I thought—I was so late, with Dick. I didn't want to make the same mistake."

Tim pinched the bridge of his nose, a habit he'd developed in Bruce's presence. "You've gotta stop treating us as interchangeable, B. That's what lands you in hot water half the time. Duke isn't Dick, and you can't treat them the same way."

"Not to mention Cain," Damian said.

"Cass?" Bruce blinked. "What about her?"

They shot him two equally aggravated looks. "Hopeless," Tim said, sighing.

"We'll focus on Thomas for now," Damian said. "It is boring in the manor without him. Bring him back, Father, or you shall have to play Mario Kart with me again."

They all shuddered at the thought. The last time they'd played together, the T.V. screen had smashed to pieces.

"I'll talk to him," Bruce said, picking up his fork. "But I can't guarantee he'll come back. If he doesn't want to live with me, I won't force him."

Damian scoffed. "You really have no idea how Thomas feels about you?"

"He hates me."

"Hopeless," Tim repeated, and Damian nodded emphatically.

Oct 8

Duke's cousin lived in an apartment complex in the Narrows. The stairs creaked as Bruce climbed to the second floor, clutching the gift to his chest. He arrived at a plain wooden door and knocked twice.

The door opened to reveal a man in a hoodie. "Mr. Wayne," he said, eyebrows shooting up. "You must be here for Duke."

"Is he here?"

"Duke," he called over his shoulder, "someone's here for you."

"Who?" Duke's head peeked over his cousin's shoulder. "Oh. You."

"You two good?"

Duke's expression was blank. "Yeah, we're good, man. You can go."

His cousin patted Duke on the shoulder and went down the corridor.

"Hi," Bruce said.

Duke blocked the doorway with his arm. "What are you doing here?"

Bruce winced at the amount of times his kids had asked him that question. "I wanted to apologise."

"For what? For saying my parents will never get better?"

"I never said—" Bruce shook his head. "Yes, Duke. I'm sorry for going back on my word. I'm sorry for trying to adopt you."

"Thanks," Duke said, pushing the door closed.

Bruce stuck a foot in the doorway. The wood slammed against his toes, and he stifled a groan.

"What did you do that for?" Duke asked, alarmed.

"I didn't just come here to apologise," Bruce said through the pain. "I wanted to ask—you don't have to say yes, by the way—I wanted to ask if you'd like to come back with me."

"I don't want to be adopted."

"You don't have to be. But Damian misses you. And I miss you, too."

Duke steadied himself against the door frame. "You still want me? Even after what I said?"

"Of course. I love you. And I've taken much worse from my other kids, trust me."

Duke bit his lip. "I may have—overreacted, a little. I know you were trying to do something nice. It just felt so—it didn't feel real, y'know? It felt like you were making up for your mistakes with the others. Like I was some sort of rebound kid."

"Duke," Bruce said, horrified, "you were never a rebound. I wasn't—I really didn't think I'd take anyone in, after Damian. That was the plan. But I thought the same thing after Dick, and look where I ended up." Bruce sighed. "The moment I saw you, I couldn't help it. I was in deep. If you want to stay here, of course, that's your choice. But never doubt that I want you in my life. I always will."

"But I'm messed up." Duke gripped the frame. "I keep lashing out at people. You, Jay, even Izzy. I didn't used to be so angry all the time. I don't know how to go back to being normal."

Bruce placed his hand over Duke's. "I may not understand everything you're going through, but I do understand that feeling. Our family is not—we're not easy people to love. All of us have been hurt in ways most people will never experience. That doesn't mean we're allowed to hurt people, or that we're not responsible for our actions. But that also doesn't mean we shouldn't be loved. You are a good person, Duke, and a hero. I love you, despite everything. Because of everything."

"Even if I yell at you again? Even if I hurt you?"

"There is nothing you could do," Bruce said, squeezing Duke's fingers, "that would ever change how I feel."

Duke sniffed, pulling his hand away and cradling it against his chest. "I didn't mean it. You don't mess everyone up, not really. I know you're trying your best. But don't you ever get tired? Don't you ever feel like it's hopeless, loving people like us?"

"I do get tired," Bruce said. "But I'm difficult, too, more than anyone. Yet you all haven't given up on me. I'm only returning the favour."

He passed the gift into Duke's hands. Duke lifted the lid, taking out a worn rag doll. "Is this from the attic?"

"Yes. It was one of my favourites," Bruce said, touching the doll's button-eye. "My dad gave it to me for my fourth birthday. He was a doctor. I used to be paranoid about diseases, so he told me this doll could heal anything. It's silly," Bruce admitted, "but it did make me feel better. I think—I want you to have it."

Duke stared at the doll, turning it over once, twice.

"Duke? The game's about to start," Jay called from deeper in the apartment.

"Coming." Duke put the doll back inside and returned the box to Bruce.

"Oh," Bruce said, forcing a smile. "I'll, um, leave you—"

He staggered backwards as Duke flung his arms around his waist. "Keep it for me," he said into Bruce's chest. "Just give me a few days, okay?"

"As much time as you need," Bruce said, hugging Duke back. "I'll wait for you."

Oct 12

Stephanie sat at the computer, feet up on the desk. At Bruce's approach, she put her feet down and straightened her spine.

"No need for that," Bruce said, amused. "This isn't the Cave."

"Yeah, but it's the Clock Tower, and Babs would kill me if you told her I was disrespecting her property."

She swivelled towards him, peering curiously at the folder in his hands. "What's that?"

"Case reports. A string of robberies downtown, with nothing but a scorch mark as a clue."

"Titillating," Stephanie said, waggling her eyebrows.

Bruce dumped the file in her lap. "Here."

"I'm not filing your paperwork."

" Your paperwork," Bruce corrected. "I'm putting you in charge of the case."

Stephanie gaped. "Me? Isn't this sort of mystery right up Tim's alley?"

"He has his hands full right now. Besides, you can handle it. You always do."

"Well," she said, brushing her fingers over the cover. "I am pretty awesome, aren't I?"

"The best," Bruce said.

Stephanie blushed.

Oct 14

Bruce entered the living room to absolute chaos.

Tim was lying on the floor, covering his head as Damian beat him viciously with a pillow. Stephanie was screaming incoherently, spraying the fire extinguisher at a set of flaming curtains. On the couch, Duke was jumping up and down, wearing a papier-mâché crown and singing "Bohemian Rhapsody" at the top of his lungs.

"What is going on here?"   

They stopped in complete unison, turning their heads towards him. It was one of the creepiest things Bruce had ever seen.

"We're playing Monopoly," Stephanie said cheerfully, as the curtains blazed behind her.

Bruce massaged his temples. "I don't think any of you know what Monopoly is."

"Of course we know, Father," Damian said. "This is our version of Monopoly."

Duke leapt off the couch, landing in front of Bruce. The crown tilted to one side.

"We'll clean up the mess," he said.

Bruce reached forward and adjusted the crown. "I'm sure you will."

"Hey!" Tim said from the floor. "How does Duke get the good child rep? He's the reason our Monopoly is like this."

"This is absolutely how my parents played it," Duke said, widening his eyes innocently.

"Get outta here, B," Stephanie yelled, "you're cramping our style!"

"I'm going, I'm going. Try not to destroy anything."

"We won't," Duke said. "This is our home."

He smiled at Bruce before launching into a rousing rendition of "Love On Top".

Oct 19

Stephanie wasn't in the Clock Tower tonight. Instead, sitting straight in her seat, Barbara Gordon tapped away at the keyboard.

"Sorry," Bruce said. "I thought Stephanie was here."

"She's hanging out with Cass," Barbara said, her gaze locked on the screen.

"Ah. I'll see you, then."

He reached the door before stopping. Barbara looked, nicely put, tired. Not-so-nicely put, she looked like a wreck.

Before Dick had left, he'd broken up with her. That had been months ago. Bruce hadn't checked on her, not once.

He turned and marched to the computer. She looked up, arching an eyebrow. "Do you need something?"

"No," he said. "I, um. Are you alright?"

"You're seriously asking me that question?"

"Yes. Um. I'm sorry, Barbara. It must be tough, with Dick—with everything."

She smiled thinly. "He's been texting you, right? I know he's texted Jason."

"Just a few messages, mostly TikTok videos."

"More than what I've been getting."

"He hasn't contacted you at all?"

"No."

Barbara jammed the enter key with more force than necessary. Bruce swallowed. She wasn't his, not like the rest of them. He didn't know what to do.

"I'm sure he has his reasons," Bruce said. "He loves you, though. He always has."

"It's not about that. It's just—I don't—" To Bruce's horror, Barbara began to cry. Drops rolled down her cheek and splashed into her lap. "I just wanted to help, and I ruined everything."

I need to help him. With his case . "Did you know?" Bruce asked quietly.

Barbara nodded. "I looked into it," she said. "Then I confronted him. He got mad, and he broke up with me on the spot. Then he left. It's all my fault."

"I confronted him too," Bruce said. "I didn't know everything, but it was also on me. He must've felt—cornered. By everyone, not just you."

"We're supposed to be good at this. We know what to say, how to deal with—with victims." Her voice shook. "But I couldn't—it's Dick. Things like that don't happen to Dick. They shouldn't. It's not fair ."

"It shouldn't happen to anyone," Bruce said. "But it does. And people survive. Dick will, too. We just have to be there for him."

"He wants nothing to do with me."

"I don't think that's true." He laid a hand on Barbara's shoulder, steadying them both. "He came to me, once. Asked if I thought I could marry someone who'd lied to me. I think he was talking about you, Barbara. I think—I think he thinks he hurt you."

"He thinks he hurt me ?" She swiped at her cheeks. "Of course he would. He's such an idiot."

"But we still love him."

"Yeah," she said. "Of course."

"He'll come around," Bruce said, squeezing her shoulder. "But in the meantime, if you ever need to talk, you can talk to me. You're allowed to hurt, Barbara. You don't have to do this alone."

"Neither do you," she said. She laid her hand over his.

Oct 23

Bruce's TikTok account now had 25,000 followers. Stephanie had laughed her head off when she'd seen the number, which didn't help Bruce decide if it was a good thing or not. His cover of "September" had reached a million views.

The things he did for his kids, honestly. He should get paid for this.

He closed the laptop and opened his drawer. The notebook lay in the corner, half-buried by assorted papers. Before he could grasp the book, the window slid open.

A cool rush of air blew into the room. Bruce glanced up, expecting Cass (she loved to go through the window, despite his perfectly functional door). He froze when he saw who it really was.

"Hey," Dick said. He gave Bruce a faint smile.

"Dick!" Bruce stood, then sat back down, his legs trembling too much to keep him upright. Dick was wearing an oversized hoodie and jeans, not anything Bruce recognised, so they must've been new. He'd cut his hair. "Take a seat, please."

Dick sat on the edge of the bed. There weren't any visible injuries, but he looked exhausted. "What's it like, being an internet celebrity?"

"The same as being a normal celebrity," Bruce said.

"Lame."

They were only a few feet apart. Bruce wanted to grab him, hold him tight to his chest, pepper him with kisses and never let anyone touch him again. Bruce wanted to shake him, find out who'd hurt him, hunt them down to the ends of the earth. Bruce wanted to cry.

He did none of those things.

He waited.

"I guess I owe you an explanation," Dick said, finally. He kept his eyes on the window. "I didn't mean to be gone so long."

"It's alright," Bruce said quickly.

"No. It was shitty of me." He began to knead his legs, pressing his hands into his thighs. "I must've scared you. I must've scared everyone."

"It doesn't matter. All that matters is you're alright."

Dick made a noise halfway between a laugh and a sob. "I don't even know, Bruce. I don't know anything anymore."

"Dick," Bruce said softly.

"It wasn't Blockbuster's death," Dick said, his words coming out in a rush. "It was—something else. In the rain, it was dark—I was so—I didn't want to—goddamnit. Goddamnit, I can't—" He dug his nails into his flesh. "I can't say it. I can't."

"You don't have to."

"But I need to explain. Or else you won't understand, and I just want someone to—to—"

Bruce rushed out of his chair, kneeling on the floor. He placed a hand next to Dick's leg, careful not to touch. "You don't have to say anything. I'll ask a question, and you can just nod or shake your head, alright?"

"Alright," Dick said.

And then Bruce's throat closed up. They stared at each other, Dick's eyes wide and frightened, Bruce's—he didn't even know. He'd felt fear before, had been poisoned with it, had it injected into his veins. This was worse.

"Were you sexually assaulted?"

Dick nodded.

Bruce counted to ten. He gripped the bedsheets. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Do you want to tell me what happened?"

Dick shook his head.

"Okay," Bruce said, as if saying the word enough times would make it come true. "Do you want to tell me anything else?"

"I said no," Dick said, "I did. You have to believe me."

"Oh, I do, I do believe you. I know it wasn't your fault. None of it was your fault."

"I don't want to be like this," Dick said, and he was starting to shake. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Nothing's wrong with you, nothing."

"But I don't feel like myself anymore. I feel so different."

Bruce raised his hands, cupping the air around Dick's cheeks. "I don't see different," he said gently. "All I see is my son."

Tears welled up in Dick's eyes. "I don't deserve to be your son."

"Of course not," Bruce said, "because you've always been too good for me. You think that will ever change? You're still good. You're so good. You're my baby, chum. My little Robin."

Dick scrambled off the bed, crushing himself into Bruce's arms. He was sobbing, wildly, grabbing fistfuls of Bruce's shirt.

"Shh, it's alright, it's alright," Bruce said. He combed his fingers through Dick's hair. "I'm here, now. You're not alone. I'm here."

"Don't leave me," Dick whispered.

"No," Bruce said, holding him close. "Never."

Oct 24

Bruce opened his eyes. Sunlight squeezed through the slats, falling to pieces on the floor. A sunbeam illuminated Dick's face, playing along his closed eyelids. Bruce lightly kissed the top of his forehead.

Another day, Bruce would think about what he'd just learned. He'd think about what it meant, and it would probably kill him. But not today. Today, Dick was stirring, eyes blinking open as he yawned.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Eleven," Bruce said, checking his watch.

"Damn." Dick stretched his neck. "Remind me to never sleep sitting up again."

"At least you're young," Bruce grumbled, his own neck aching.

Dick leaned back. "Sorry."

"No," Bruce said, "you have nothing to be sorry for. I've heard it's good to sleep like this, anyway. Builds resilience."

"Liar," Dick said, but there was no heat behind the word.

Bruce rested his head against the bed frame. A long time ago, longer than he'd like to admit, an eight-year-old Dick had stood right here, cheeks stained from a nightmare.

Even longer ago, an eight-year-old Bruce had woken up after the worst night of his life.

"Hey," he said, "do you have anywhere to be today?"

"I spent the last few months working full-time at burning bridges. Do you think I have somewhere to be?"

"You're popular," Bruce said. "And you're hard to give up on."

"Oh." Dick hid his face in Bruce's shirt. "No. Nowhere to be."

"Want to do a shut-in day?"

Dick's head shot up. "A shut-in day? We haven't done one since I was twelve."

"Thirteen," Bruce said. "It was the day after your birthday."

"You remember that?"

"Of course. You were obsessed with space that year, and Alfred spent six hours on your Saturn cake."

"It was awesome," Dick said, smiling. "The shut-in day was awesome too. We played Monopoly for four hours straight, didn't we?"

"You won."

"You let me win." Dick laughed at Bruce's shock. "You think I never caught on? You let me win all the games, Bruce. You always have."

"I thought you didn't know," Bruce groused.

Dick laughed again. He got up, doing a backwards roll onto the bed. "A shut-in day. You do those with Damian?"

"No," Bruce said. "I did a few with Jason, but after—no. Not even with Tim."

"You should do one. With everyone."

"Later," Bruce said. He propped his chin on the edge of the bed. "Today's just you and me."

Dick lay down, face disappearing from Bruce's line of sight. "You don't have any questions, then? About yesterday?"

"No question is more important than you."

Dick's chest moved up and down. "Is this the hardest part?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"It can't get harder than this. I don't know what to do if it does."

"I can't say it'll get easier," Bruce said. "But I'll be with you, chum. All the way."

Dick raised his head, meeting Bruce's eyes. Then he tugged on a cord, lifting the slats, letting the sunshine in.

Oct 26

The Wayne family group chat, titled A Series of Unfortunate Events (courtesy of Jason), had been Dick's idea. Damian had designed the theme, Stephanie had chosen the nicknames, Cass had picked out the icons, Duke had selected the font, and Tim had programmed everything. Bruce opened the chat for the first time in months.

Dick had written, hey yall did ya miss me lol.

Bruce rubbed his temples. He would never understand texting.

YES WE DID , Stephanie replied, at the same time Jason texted, no ofc not.

Dick sent a flood of hearts in response.

Oct 28

Robin balanced on the ledge, walking on his hands towards Batman. The rain from yesterday had completely dried up, leaving the rooftop glossy but safe. Robin did a cartwheel, a front flip, and then a move that could only be described as Dick-Grayson-approved.

"Practising for something?"

"Just showing off," Tim said, "in case there's any amateur photographers around."

"You're the only one crazy enough to do that," Bruce said, shaking his head fondly.

Robin jumped into a handspring. "I loved taking pictures of 'Wing," he said. "No offense, B, but he was always my main focus."

"I'm flattered," said a voice behind them.

Robin tumbled to a stop. "Nightwing!"

"Hey, baby bird."

"You should've said you were stopping by," Robin said.

"That'd ruin the surprise." Dick shifted from foot to foot. "I wanted to apologise, Robin. For going away."

Tim ran up to him. "You're such an idiot, you know that?"

"I said I wouldn't push you away anymore," Nightwing said, and Bruce suddenly felt like an intruder. "I promised to be honest."

"And you'd never go back on your promises, which is how I know this isn't your fault."

"But I—I let you down. Again."

"Nightwing," Tim said, "all I've ever wanted is for you to be happy. That's why I became Robin. Because of you . The only way you could let me down is by not taking care of yourself, so I'm glad you took some time away. I'm only upset that you think you need to apologise for it."

"Tim," Nightwing said, opening his arms.

Robin flew into his brother's embrace. Batman leapt into the night, leaving them to themselves.

Oct 31

Stephanie and Duke's voices carried through the open doorway. Dick gripped Bruce's arm, pulling him to a stop.

"I don't think I'm ready," Dick said.

Bruce closed his hand over Dick's. "Alright, chum. We can do this another time."

"I—" Dick straightened. "No. Damian's never been trick-or-treating before. I want to—let's go."

They plunged into the living room. Stephanie and Duke were singing into glittery mics while Damian sat off in the corner, building a puzzle. He looked up from the floor and stiffened.

"Hey, guys," Dick said, waving.

Stephanie dropped her mic. "You're here!"

"Yeah. I, uh." Dick rubbed his arm. "I'm sorry for leaving. It was something personal. Sorry, I—I can't say more than that."

"Nah, man." Duke spoke into the mic, his voice echoing around the room. "It doesn't matter. I'm just glad you're back."

"Ditto," Stephanie said, grinning.

Dick smiled. "Thanks, guys. You have no idea what that means to me."

Damian got to his feet. Dick turned towards him, shoulders tense. "Hi, Dami."

Duke and Stephanie exchanged a glance.

"Richard," Damian said stiffly.

Dick's expression broke. "I'm so sorry, Damian. I'm so—"

Damian leapt forward, tackling Dick to the floor. They fell in a heap, Damian curling into Dick's body, tucking his head under Dick's chin. "You imbecile," he said, voice breaking. "You utter imbecile. Why didn't you say anything? I could've helped you. You should've let me."

"I'm sorry," Dick breathed, raising a hand to stroke Damian's cheek.

"Stop apologising. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm your Robin, and I failed you."

"You could never fail me, Damian."

"And you could never fail me, Richard. You never have."

"This is so sweet," Stephanie said, clasping her hands together. "The demon actually has feelings."

"I will end you, Fatgirl."

Dick grinned over Damian's head. "Group hug?"

Stephanie and Duke joined the heap, Stephanie stuffing herself into Dick's right arm, Duke hugging his left. "I love you," Dick said, squeezing them both. He kissed Damian's forehead.

"We love you too," Damian said quietly.

"Always," Stephanie added.

"And nothing," Duke said, glancing up at Bruce, "will ever change that."

November 3rd, Wayne Manor

Yesterday, I took Master Bruce to the ice skating rink. He is nearly too old for such frivolities, but he pretends to enjoy them, for my sake. I fell quite a few times! Master Bruce, however, is a natural. He has taken quite an interest in acrobatics and such things lately. Perhaps I shall see him on the Olympic stage, in the future?

"Bruce Wayne, Olympian." Selina chortled. "I can see it."

"Shut up," Bruce said. He drew her closer, the couch sagging beneath them. The sky outside his study window was cloudless and blue.

I wonder if Julia likes ice skating. I suppose I will never know. That was my choice, after all , and I shall have to live with it.

Will Master Bruce ever become a father? I hope so. That boy has such a fierce instinct for protection, such a deep capacity for love. He will make a far better father than I.

Selina leaned her head against Bruce's shoulder. "Alfred was a smart man," she said.

"Yeah," he said, closing the book. "He is."

Nov 5

Bruce rang the doorbell, the sweet tones of "Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da" sounding inside. Cass had probably heard the song from Stephanie, the family's resident Beatlemaniac. The chorus ended and the door swung open.

"Bruce," Cass said, panting. Sweat dripped down her cheeks.

"Are you busy?"

"Just practising." She scanned his face. "You want me to come back."

"We're always on the same page," Bruce said. He clasped her arm. "I wasn't trying to kick you out before, Cass. The others were gone, and I didn't want you to be alone. With me. I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Alright. Back tomorrow."

Bruce blinked. "Just like that?"

"I never wanted to leave," she said, her tone sharp. "Manor is my home."

"I know," Bruce said. "I'm sorry."

"I forgive you."

"If you're free today, maybe we could do something? Go to the new ballet in town?

"I have to practise," Cass said. She shut the door.

Nov 8

Bruce parked the car, turning off the radio. Dick hadn't said a single word the whole way here.

"You okay?"

Dick was staring out the window. "Fine."

"Leslie vouched for this place, you know."

"I thought you hated Leslie."

"I've never hated her," Bruce said. "And don't deflect. She says this place has helped a lot of people."

"I'm sure it has."

"Dick."

He exhaled, thunking his head against the glass. "I know. I've recommended this centre to people too. But, fuck. I don't want to be one of those people."

"I don't want you to be, either." Bruce gripped the steering wheel. "But I want you to be okay, and this might help you."

"What if it doesn't?"

"Then we'll try somewhere else."

"And if nothing works? If I'm like this forever?"

"Then we'll deal with it," Bruce said. He reached over and took Dick's hand, lacing their fingers together. "And you'll still be perfect."

"Sap," Dick muttered. He grasped the door handle and pushed.

Nov 10

Bruce entered the kitchen and stopped dead.

"Jason," he gasped.

Jason tied his apron strings, not looking up. "Hey, old man."

"You're here. In the manor."

"Is that illegal?" Jason asked.

"No. No, of course not. I'm—glad."

Bruce moved to the fridge. He was extremely aware of Jason opening a cupboard, pulling out baking sheets and a metal tray. The chill of the fridge soothed his nerves a little.

"What are you making?"

"Cookies," Jason said. "Alf's recipe."

Bruce jolted. "You have Alfred's cookie recipe?" He'd searched for days after the funeral, but it had never turned up.

"He taught it to me." Then, almost as an afterthought, "your kitchen has better equipment, which is why I'm here."

"I didn't realise he taught it to you."

"Yeah, well, you don't know everything about me. Or him. Pass the eggs and milk, please?"

Bruce handed the ingredients over and Jason poured them into a glass bowl. He whisked them expertly, adding flour, butter, and sugar.

"Did he teach you any other recipes?"

"A few," Jason said, mixing in the chocolate chips.

"What about his cucumber sandwiches?"

"I don't know that one."

"Oh," Bruce said. He shut the fridge. The entire surface was covered in drawings, some from Bruce's childhood, most of the others from Dick, Damian, or Cass, with Stephanie and Duke having one or two. On the freezer, right in the corner, was 12-year-old Jason's crayon family.

"Bruce?"

Bruce started, both at Jason's tone and at the tear tracing down his own cheek. "Yes, sorry. Did you need something?"

Jason stared at him. Then he turned back to the bowl, pounding the batter. "That drawing's shit. You didn't need to put it up."

"I think it's wonderful," Bruce said. "Though I wish Dick wasn't in the background."

"It felt like that at the time," Jason said. "Like he was a shadow."

Bruce swallowed. "It was my fault. He was so hurt by what I did, he—"

"I know. He explained it to me." Jason shoved the bowl into Bruce's arms. "Here, whisk this."

"You're trusting me in the kitchen?"

"We all know you're a better cook than you pretend to be," Jason said. "You ain't slick."

Bruce stirred the batter. "I really can't get anything past you all, can I?"

"Nope," Jason said, popping the p.

He finished mixing and Jason poured the batter onto the tray. They slid the cookies into the oven.

"I could teach you some of the recipes," Jason said. "If you want."

"You'd do that for me?"

"Alfred would want me to." Jason turned on the tap, running his hands underneath the water. "He used to say he was lucky, to have someone to pass on his recipes to. Lord knows you and Dick were hopeless."

"He was lucky," Bruce said. "So am I."

The ends of Jason's mouth flicked upwards. He knelt to watch the oven and said, "I guess I'm lucky, too."

Nov 12

Bruce nearly collided with Tim in the hallway.

"Bruce," Tim said. "Just the man I'm looking for."

Bruce frowned. Being sought after by Tim was never a good sign. "What's wrong?"

"Cass," Tim said, and Bruce's heart stopped.

"What happened? Is she hurt? Where is she? I—"

"Relax, it's not that kind of emergency. I just mean she's been practising her dance for, like, four hours straight. Even she's not usually that dedicated."

Bruce evened out his breathing. "You should've led with that," he said.

"It's still bad, though." Tim put his hands on his hips. "I know you've got a lot going on, but you should check on her. She hasn't been talking to me or Steph that much, and Babs is—well, not in the headspace to comfort anyone."

"Cass didn't seem upset, last time I saw her."

Tim levelled him a look.

"Yeah," Bruce said, gulping. "I'll check on her."

Cass was in the dance studio, practising her routines from the academy. The academy—when was the last time Bruce had asked about the academy? When was the last time they'd had a full conversation?

"Do you have a second?" Bruce called.

Cass paused the music, jogging over. "What's up?'

"Tim told me you've been practising for four hours," Bruce said. "You should take a break."

"Just a little more. I have to get this," she said.

"You'll do better with a little rest. What about a game of Twister, you and me?"

"I have to get this," she repeated.

"Cass, honey, it doesn't have to be perfect."

"Yes, it does."

"Going at it like this won't work." Bruce racked his brain for something that would make her understand. "I remember one time, when Dick was—"

" Dick. " Cass' voice was full of loathing. Then she slapped her hands over her mouth, eyes widening in horror. "Sorry. Didn't mean that. So sorry."

She scrambled backwards, and Bruce caught her wrist. "Wait, Cass—"

"I didn't mean it," Cass said, wrenching away from him. "I'm sorry. Not Dick's fault. Such a bad sister."

"Cass, please, slow down."

"Hate me," she said, covering her face with her hands. "You'll hate me, please. Don't."

She sat on the floor and began to cry. Bruce was so awfully, dreadfully, tired of seeing his children cry.

He knelt by her, placing a hand on her head. "Cass, darling. I don't know what this is about, but I would never hate you. I can't even imagine hating you. So, please, tell me what's wrong."

"Dick," she said through her hands. "You hate me because of Dick."

Bruce knitted his brows. "Can you explain more for me, Cass?"

"You—you need me to be perfect. But I keep messing up," Cass said. "I didn't help Dick. I missed it. Now you don't love me anymore."

Bruce's blood ran cold. "No, honey, I love you. Nothing could ever stop me from loving you."

"But not like the others. You love Dick and Tim and Steph, even if they make mistakes. When I make a mistake, you—you ask me to go."

"No," Bruce said. "Oh, darling, no . I thought—I'm sorry. I keep thinking you can read my mind, when you can't. Listen to me, Cassandra. My love is not conditional. You can make as many mistakes as you like, and I would not love you any less. When I say you're perfect, I mean you are perfect. As you are. Mistakes and all."

Cass hiccuped. "I let the family fall apart."

"You didn't do anything," Bruce said firmly. "We—we're all going to make mistakes, Cass. Me included. But I think our love is stronger than that." He cupped her face with both hands, swiping at her tears. "You don't have to try, Cass. You don't have to try at all."

She leaned into his touch. "I'm so stupid," she said.

"So am I," Bruce said, chuckling. "So is Dick. So is everyone in our family, really. That's probably why we work so well together."

"And why we fall apart so much," she said.

Bruce drew her into a hug, nestling her head against his chest. She let out a contented sigh. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said.

Nov 14

"Did you say something to Cass?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow, dragging the phone closer to him. "What do you mean?"

"She came over yesterday," Dick said. "Kept apologising to me for god knows what, and then spent the entire day with me. I'm not usually her first pick for company."

"Did—did you want to be alone?"

"Oh, no, I didn't mind. It was kind of nice, actually. She—she knows my boundaries, without me having to say anything."

Bruce relaxed. "I didn't say much. I just told her you were stupid."

"Excuse me?"

"I said I was stupid too, if that makes you feel better."

On the other end of the line, Dick snorted. "I will never understand this family."

"Me neither," Bruce said, smiling.

Nov 17

Bruce smoothed down his tie and checked his watch. This was the worst kind of gala, with inedible food, a live band paid less than minimum wage, miserable-looking children, and paparazzi everywhere. Duke was by the buffet, trying to eat what looked like a burnt piece of slipper, while Tim stuck close to Bruce's side.

"Is it time to go yet?"

"Half an hour more," Bruce said, patting Tim's back. "We can do this."

"If it isn't Bruce Wayne!"

The high-pitched voice belonged to Alastair, striding towards Bruce with his wife in tow. Pegatha rushed to Tim, pinching his cheek. "Hello, darling! So good to see you again."

"Likewise," Tim said, with the brittlest smile Bruce had ever seen.

"I heard this little genius of yours has launched another initiative," Alastair said, pinching Tim's other cheek. "How wonderful."

"He certainly is," Bruce said. He shoved Tim slightly behind him.

"Well, he does come from our circles," said Pegatha. "Not like some of your other children."

Tim's smile grew sharp. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, nothing! I adore Dick, and the girl, Carrie? Very polite, that one. And your littlest is—interesting. Some of your children are just, ah, unconventional." Her gaze flitted to the buffet, where Duke was attempting to stuff three devilled eggs in his mouth at once.

Tim's eyes flashed. "Well, you—"

"I would advise," Bruce put in, "that you stop talking about my children."

Alastair slung an arm around him. "Come now, Bruce, that one's not your kid. It's nice of you to take him in, but he's not the Wayne type, is he? After all, he's—"

Bruce grabbed Alastair's arm and twisted. As the man howled in pain, Bruce socked him in the face. He reeled backwards and collapsed.

"C'mon," Bruce said, grabbing Tim's arm. They made their way to Duke, who was choking on too many devilled eggs.

"Duke," Tim said exasperatedly, hitting Duke's back. "We talked about this."

"But they're so good ." Duke blinked at the crowd growing in front of them. "Uh, did I miss something?"

"Nothing important," Bruce said, ignoring the flashing camera lights. "Now, what do you say we ditch this place and get some ice cream?"

Duke lit up like a candle.

Nov 20

The elevator doors slid open and Bruce stepped out. Dick followed a second behind, eyes darting around the Clock Tower.

"She probably doesn't want to see me," Dick said. "I should go."

"What did the counsellor tell you?"

"Stop assuming things," Dick said, sighing. "Alright. But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming you."

Barbara was at the computer. She was sitting stock still, eyes glued to the security feed. At the sound of their footsteps, she swivelled around, gaze landing on Dick.

"Babs," Dick said.

Barbara stood. "Boy Wonder," she said, reaching out her arms.

As they moved towards each other, Bruce turned and pressed the elevator button. They didn't need him, after all. They never had.

Nov 25

A breeze rushed in from his bedroom window. Bruce closed his laptop, heaving an exaggerated sigh.

"Too bad my door is broken," he said. "That must be why you never use it."

"No fun," Cass said, hopping off the window ledge.

She wore a new sparkly leotard and a tutu—a familiar tutu. "Is that from the attic?" Bruce asked.

Cass nodded, twirling. "Mine now."

"It's beautiful. And the leotard?"

She grinned. The window creaked as another person crawled through, wearing an equally glittery leotard.

"What do you think, B?" Dick struck a pose. "Is this my colour?"

"What is this," Bruce deadpanned.

Cass and Dick locked arms, and Bruce realised what a terrible mistake it was, letting them grow close. "TikTok," Cass said, pointing at his phone.

"You want me to post you guys on my TikTok?"

"Yep," Dick said. "Not just us, though. You're part of the performance."

"Who's gonna film, then?"

Dick and Cass both grinned. The window creaked as yet another person came in, wearing normal clothes but carrying a leotard and tutu.

"Hi, Bruce," Barbara said. She hurled the clothes at his face.

He caught them, the glitter coming off on his sleeves. "You're kidding."

"Nope." Barbara looped her arm around Dick's, and they smiled at each other. "I'll film, Dick will do some acrobatics, and you and Cass will do the TikTok dance."

"I can't dance," Bruce stressed. "It's going to be terrible."

"No," Cass said. She came over and kissed him on the cheek. "It will be perfect."

Well. He couldn't say no to that.

Nov 28

Duke came into his study and hovered by the bookshelves. Bruce pushed aside his papers, devoting his full attention to his—ward.

"Something wrong, Duke?"

"No." Duke coughed. "It's not, uh, something bad."

"What is it?"

He took a few steps forward. "Tim told me what you did at the gala. I, uh, wanted to say thank you. For sticking up for me."

"That man deserved far worse than what I did to him," Bruce said.

"Still, it was—nice. I don't have a lot of people in my corner. It means a lot to know you care."

"Of course I care," Bruce said. "It's you."

Duke turned his face away. His hands tugged at the hem of his shirt. "Last time I said—I said I didn't want to be adopted. And I still don't want to replace my dad. But I've been thinking, and maybe it's not one or the other, y'know? Maybe there's space. Not now, but—someday, I might be ready. For you. Us."

Tears pricked at Bruce's eyes. "However long you need, Duke. I'll wait."

"I know you will." Duke smiled, then, bright and happy. "I'm glad we met, Bruce. I'm glad you found me."

"You found me," Bruce said. "And I'm glad, too."

Dec 1

Snow fell from the sky in soft, silvery flakes. Selina caught one on her tongue.

"There's chemicals in that," Bruce said.

"You cannot lecture me about health, Mr. Dresses-Like-A-Bat-To-Fight-Crime."

"What about you, Mrs. Dresses-Like-A-Cat-To-Rob-People?"

"I'm a missus now? Who's the lucky guy?" Bruce blushed, and Selina laughed. "You are too cute. Couldn't you be cute around Pam, so she stops ragging on my taste in men?"

"I'll be cute around her when she stops killing people."

"And that's why she doesn't like you," Selina said, nudging him with her shoulder. "So, should we get reading?"

"There's no more entries."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Bruce tilted his head towards the sky. White flurried down, like the sweetest kind of rain. "It's alright," he said. "He wrote more than enough."

"What should we do, then? Steal from the rich? That couple from the gala, Alastair and Pegatha?"

"Tim told you about that?" Bruce asked.

"Maybe."

"So that's why they've been quiet." He shook his head. "Stealing's a crime, Cat, no matter who the victim is."

"You gonna arrest me?" Her voice was teasing, laced with the hint of a dare. "You'll have to catch me first."

She sprang to her feet and took off. Batman grinned, rolling his shoulders as he leapt from the ledge, giving chase.

Dec 3

As Stephanie entered the Batcave, confetti exploded from the ceiling. Bits of brightly-coloured paper fluttered onto her head.

She removed her hood, eyes wide. "What is this?"

"A celebration." A spotlight (where on Earth had his kids gotten that spotlight?) zeroed in on Tim, lounging on the dinosaur head. "You got the best bust of December."

"It's literally December third," Stephanie said, her face cherry-red.

"Still counts." Cass ran up to her, placing a crown on her head. "You are Hero of the Month."

Damian tutted. "Enjoy it while it lasts, Fatgirl. I shall have that title next month."

Jason, who was only here because of an injury, stared from the med-bay. "I hate this place," he declared.

"The dead don't get an opinion," Tim said.

"What the fuck ?"

"You guys." Stephanie pressed a hand to her heart. "This is, like, the biggest honour of my life."

"Bruce's idea," Cass said.

Stephanie whirled on Bruce. "Really?"

"Really." He came towards her, brushing the confetti off her shoulders. "You deserve it, Stephanie. This and so much more."

She beamed. Behind them, Jason said, "this is so corny."

"Just like your death."

"What the fuck, Tim!"

Dec 5

Bruce raced down the stairs, skidding across the hallway to the library. Shrieking emanated from within.

"Damian!" he yelled, barging inside.

Damian was curled up on the couch, shrieking at the top of his lungs. Above him, Dick was cackling, tickling his side mercilessly.

"Father, help!" Damian cried, dissolving into another fit of laughter.

"Dick," Bruce said, chest heaving. "You nearly gave me a heart attack."

Dick lifted his hands, grinning. "My work here is done. What did you think, baby bat?"

"That was torture." Damian wiped away his tears. "Your parents did this to you every night?"

"Only before a big performance. It was our tradition," Dick said. "Bruce did it to me too, when I was little. So, yeah. All my parents did it."

As Bruce spluttered, Dick bounded up to him. "I'm taking Dami out to lunch. Wanna join us?"

"Of—" He caught Damian's expression. "I'm, uh, busy. I'll join you some other time."

"Cool," Dick said. "I'm going to the bathroom, meet me at the door, little D?"

"Okay," Damian said.

Then they were alone. Damian grabbed a couch cushion, playing with the tassels. "Sorry," he said.

"For what?"

"You said no because of me." Damian's mouth twisted. "I don't—it's not that I don't want you there, Father. I just haven't spent much time alone with Richard, not since he came back."

Bruce's heart hurt. Not enough to outweigh the longing in Damian's voice, though; not enough to erase the joy on both his sons' faces.

He walked over to Damian, sitting by his side. "It's okay. He's your Batman, after all."

"Father—"

"I think," Bruce said, caressing Damian's cheek, "we're capable of a lot more than we realise. When I lost my parents, I thought I'd never feel that kind of love again. But I had Alfred. It took a while to learn that loving Alfred didn't mean loving my parents any less. And missing my parents didn't mean loving Alfred any less, either. So don't feel like you have to choose, Damian. There's space. There's always space."

Damian leaned into Bruce's side. "You'll always be my father," he said softly.

"And you'll always be my son. My love."

"I'm back!" Dick skipped into the room. "You ready?"

Damian ran to Dick's side, grasping his hand. "Ready."

"Have fun," Bruce said. He waved them off with a smile.

Dec 8

"Well, if it isn't Bruce Wayne."

Bruce sipped his watered-down apple cider. "Hello, Commissioner Gordon. Or just Gordon, now?"

"Jim is fine," ex-Commissioner Jim Gordon said.

"Bruce is fine, too."

"Alright, Bruce." Jim munched on his pizza. "You'd think they'd have gotten nicer food, given how long I've worked for them."

"I'll throw a better retirement party next week," Bruce said.

"We barely know each other," Jim said.

That cracked them both up.

"You know, I'm no longer a police officer. We don't have to pretend anymore."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Bruce said.

Jim huffed. "Ass."

Across the room, a few party-goers were drunkenly singing karaoke. Dick and Barbara were next in line, talking animatedly to one another.

"You've got an amazing daughter," Bruce said.

Jim followed his gaze. "You've got an amazing son. Who might be my son-in-law one day, I hope?"

"Then we'll be in-laws," Bruce said.

"Well," Jim said, "I've always wanted a big family. Can't go wrong with the Waynes, can I?"

"No," Bruce said, as Barbara whispered something into Dick's ear. Dick burst into laughter. "You can't."

Dec 10

Dick had looped "get well soon" four times, which was how Bruce knew something was wrong. He pulled off the road.

"What are you doing?" Dick asked.

Bruce shut off the engine. "What's wrong?"

"We're already late for my appointment."

"What's wrong, Dick?"

Dick huffed. "Nothing gets past you, does it?"

"You only listen to Ariana Grander when you're upset."

"Oh my god, it's Grand e . I swear you're doing it on purpose."

"That's beside the point." Bruce tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's fine. But don't keep it to yourself, alright?"

Dick slouched in his seat. "It's not like that this time. Well, sort of. It's—related." He sucked in a breath. "I think I want to tell Jason. About the whole thing."

"Okay," Bruce said. "If that's what you want."

"You don't think that's selfish?" Dick sunk further down. "He's my little brother. I shouldn't burden him with that, but I just—I love you, Bruce. And Wally, Donna, Babs, whoever else has guessed. But I can't even talk about it properly to my counsellor. I just want it out ."

"And you think you could do it, with Jason?"

Dick nodded. "He's not as—I don't know. Judgy."

"I would never—"

"I know," Dick said. "That's just how I feel."

The car went silent.

"You think it's horrible," Dick said, groaning. "I knew it. I'll—"

"You should do it," Bruce said.

Dick blinked. "Really? But—what about Jason? I can't hurt him. Not again."

"You won't be hurting him." Bruce grasped Dick's shoulder. "He loves you, Dick. All he wants is for you to feel better. And if he does get hurt, I'll be there for him. You don't have to worry about a thing."

"You'd do that for me?"

"For you," Bruce said, "I'd do anything."

Dec 12

The scrape of a boot alerted Batman to company. He turned, the docks sprawling below him.

"Hood," Bruce said.

Jason didn't greet him with any snark. He yanked off his helmet, gasping for breath.

"Shit," he said. "God, Batman. Shit ."

"Hood," Bruce said, rushing forward. "Hood, breathe, please."

Jason's hands were trembling. "I'm going to kill someone. I'm going to fucking kill someone, I don't care what you say. Someone deserves to pay. Someone has to pay."

"I know, Hood, I know."

"Yes, you do!" Jason shoved him, hard. "You know. You knew . And you didn't do a thing." He jabbed a finger at Bruce. "I used to think it was me, that it was my fault you didn't avenge me. But Dick is your golden boy, your favourite, and you still—what kind of monster does that? You should be tearing this city apart. You should be crying your eyes out, you asshole!"

He burst into tears. The helmet clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop at Bruce's feet. Batman bent and picked it up.

"Jason."

"Don't start," Jason spat out. "I don't want to hear your excuses."

Bruce removed his cowl. "I do want to," he said, slowly. "I do want to kill them. I want to hunt them down, put my hands around their throat, and just—I dream about it. You have no idea how much I dream about it."

"That doesn't mean anything," Jason said, voice hitching. "That doesn't change anything."

"No, it doesn't. But neither does killing them." Bruce dug his fingers into his palm. "I thought about it with the Joker, too. I thought about it so much. But you would still have been gone, Jason. Nothing would have changed. And now, with Nightwing—whatever I do, the worst part has already happened. I can't save him from it anymore. I can only be there for him, and that means staying with him , not chasing whoever did this to him."

"I don't know what else to do," Jason said. Tears streamed down his cheeks. "He told me for a reason, but I don't know what to do ."

Bruce moved forward, raising a hand. When Jason didn't back away, he ran his fingers through his son's hair. "You listened, Jaylad. That's all he wanted."

"But what now?" Jason looked up at Bruce. "What now, Dad?"

"Now, we support him. And we love him. You can do that, can't you?"

Jason kept crying, even as Bruce hugged him, even as he hugged Bruce back. "That idiot," he said. "I love him so fucking much."

Dec 15

The receptionist pointed him to the waiting room, trusting him to make his own way there. Bruce placed his tote bag (a gift from Duke, featuring a bat silhouetted by the sun) on the chair next to him.

This time he only waited a minute.

"I didn't think you'd return," Leslie said, before she'd even closed the door.

"I have another favour to ask you."

"Careful," she said. "Too many favours and we'll be working together again."

He handed her the tote bag. She looked inside, eyebrows raising at the sight.

"What is this?" she asked, extracting a handful of green fabric.

"You used to quilt, didn't you? I remember you made my mother some blankets."

"I did," Leslie said. "You want me to make this into a quilt?"

"Yes, if you can."

She eyed him for a moment. "This material is old. It won't be easy."

"You don't have to."

"No," she said. "I'll do it. Give me a few weeks."

Leslie shouldered the tote bag. "Don't lose the bag," Bruce said. "It's my favourite."

She nodded. "I'll let you know when I'm finished. You can pick it up here."

"If it's not too inconvenient," Bruce said, "I thought you could drop it off at the manor."

Surprise crossed her face, followed by the flicker of a smile. "I can do that," Leslie said, before slipping out the door.

Dec 18

Superman and Wonder Woman descended from the sky. For a moment, they blotted out the moon, plunging the roof into darkness. Then they landed, and the moonlight came spilling back.

"When I said we should hang out," Diana said, "I meant go to a bar, or another trivia night. Not all of us spend our time on rooftops."

"Sorry."

"What's up?" Clark asked.

Bruce swallowed. He opened his mouth, but his tongue was numb, non-responsive. The silence stretched thinner and thinner until there was no more room to breathe.

"Batman," Diana said, alarmed. She stepped forward.

"It's okay." Batman rocked back on his heels. "I'm fine. It's all okay."

"You don't sound okay," Clark said.

"It's not about me. I have to—it's not about me."

Why did he call them here? Their gazes, their obvious concern, was only pushing him to—he was going to—

"Let it out," Clark said. "You're allowed to, Bruce. Just let it out."

Diana clasped Bruce's hands, and the entire year collapsed onto him like a flood. He bent his head and wept.

"Alfred. My children," he said, sobbing. "My baby. It isn't fair. It isn't fair."

Clark wrapped an arm around his shoulders. Diana kept gripping his hands, and neither of them said a thing, no questions, no promises. Just pressure. Just touch.

Bruce let himself fall apart.

Dec 21

Shouts came from outside. Bruce poked his head out the window, where Cass and Duke were hollering to each other across the lawn.

"Like this?" Cass hefted a mallet and smashed a ball in Duke's direction.

He dove to the floor. "This isn't dodge-ball, Cass!"

"Whoops."

"What are you two doing?" Bruce yelled.

Duke squinted up at him. "We found this old croquet kit in the attic, and we're trying to figure out how to play."

"Makes no sense," Cass said. "WikiHow was not helpful."

Bruce chuckled. "It's a complicated game. Wait, I'll come down and teach you."

"Bring phone!"

"Cass," Bruce said, "you've got to stop making TikToks."

"She's starting a new series with Steph," Duke said. "Steph and Cass' Fabulous Fails."

"We will become famous. Richer than Bruce."

"You won't need me anymore," Bruce said, grinning.

Cass rolled her eyes. "Will always need you. Come down, and bring your phone!"

"Alright, alright." Bruce closed the window and went to join his kids.

Dec 25

Damian brandished his knife. "This is the best present ever," he declared.

Tim winced as Bernard giggled nervously. "That's a fake knife, right, Tim? Tim?"

It had been a surprise to everyone when Tim had announced, after a long patrol, that he wanted to bring Bernard over for Christmas. Bruce had immediately said yes—Bernard already knew their identities, so there seemed no reason to keep him from the manor.

He was always forgetting, of course, the insanity of his kids.

"This is one of the sharpest knives in the world," Damian said solemnly. He was clearly enjoying freaking Bernard out. "Thank you, Stephanie, for your contribution to my collection."

"No problem," Stephanie said, cackling.

"I promise you, he's not always like this," Tim said. "His bloodlust is usually more subtle."

Bernard turned three shades paler. "Bloodlust?"

"He tried to kill your boyfriend," Jason said, coming in with a tray of cookies. "Hi, by the way. Name's Jason. I also tried to kill your boyfriend."

"Ah. Neat."

Stephanie tossed her hair. "I never tried to kill your boyfriend, but I did try to date him. Successfully. I'm his ex."

"Oh lord," Tim groaned.

"Don't mind them," Bruce said, patting Bernard on the shoulder. "They joke around a lot, but they all love Tim very much."

"Tt," Damian said, as Jason went, "miss me with that corny shit."

"I did love Tim," Stephanie said. She coughed "homewrecker" into her palm.

Bernard looked ill. "Oh, gosh, I didn't mean—"

"Steph," Bruce reproached.

"Sorry." She didn't sound a bit remorseful.

Duke and Cass barged in, carrying the Monopoly board. "Don't worry, we'll play it the normal way," Duke said, winking at Bernard.

"What does that mean?"

"You don't wanna know," Tim said.

The rest of the evening was filled with heated arguments and declarations of war, in which Bernard (being the only one good at normal Monopoly) got the worst of it. Even Bruce couldn't help but scowl as Bernard won, his enormous stacks of money dwarfing everyone else's.

"I hate this version," Stephanie said, throwing her cards in the air. "We're only playing Duke's version from now on."

"I agree," Duke said sulkily, holding his two pitiful dollar bills.

Cass clapped Bernard on the back. "Visit again soon," she said, smiling.

Bruce escorted Tim and Bernard to the door. Tim, still sore about losing, was giving his boyfriend the cold shoulder.

"Tim," Bruce said, pinching his nose.

"It's okay, Mr. Wayne." Bernard gazed fondly at Tim. "I'm used to this. I always beat him at games."

"Not always," Tim muttered.

"Yeah, 'cause sometimes I let you win." He dodged Tim's swipe and glanced at Bruce. "Um, if you don't mind me asking, is Dick Grayson here? I thought I'd meet him today. You hyped him up a lot," he said, turning to Tim.

Tim bit his lip. "I thought he'd be here, too."

"He's just feeling under the weather." The text Bruce had received a few hours ago flashed through his mind: bad day. spending it with babs. srry. "He'll be alright, though."

"Oh, good." Bernard grabbed Tim's hand. "You have a pretty cool family, you know. Insane, but cool."

Tim grinned. "I know."

"Feel free to swing by anytime," Bruce said. "I have lots of stories to tell. Has Tim ever told you about the time he went cliff-diving?"

"Bruce!" Tim went scarlet. "You said you'd never talk about it."

"Did I?"

Tim's protests were drowned out by the sound of Bernard's laughter.

Dec 31

The T.V. displayed Times Square, where a large crowd had gathered to see the ball drop. No one in the room was paying attention, though; Stephanie and Cass were filming a TikTok reel, Duke was stuffing his face with devilled eggs, Tim was constructing confetti bombs (Bruce should really put a stop to that), and Barbara and Jason were discussing some non-fiction book they'd read. Damian came in from the kitchen, veering off to save Duke from another choking fit.

"He's got to stop doing that," Dick said, sipping his eggnog beside Bruce.

"I've tried telling him," Bruce said. "He's too stubborn."

"Runs in the family, I guess."

Bruce glanced to his right. There were still bags under Dick's eyes, but they were smaller now, lighter. His hands around the mug were steady.

"Sorry about Christmas," Dick said. "That day was just—hard. I don't know why."

"You don't have to explain anything, Dick."

"Still. I missed things."

"Not much," Bruce said, leaning against the wall. "Bernard is visiting again next week. And it's still Hanukkah, you know."

"Oh, right! Give me a second." Dick darted out of the room, returning a minute later with a gift box. "Happy Hanukkah, Bruce."

Bruce lifted the lid and took out a blue mug. White letters on the side spelled out World's Okayest Father .

"Damian helped me make it," Dick said. He rubbed his neck. "I was gonna write World's Best Dad, but—"

"But we both know that's not true," Bruce said.

Dick shifted closer to him. "I'm not the world's best son, either. Not even sure I'm okay. But I'm yours, so, I guess you have to deal with me."

"Aren't I lucky," Bruce said, smiling.

Damian had managed to save Duke, and they were now both wresting confetti bombs out of Tim's hands. At the other end of the room, Cass had skateboarded straight into Jason's lap, eliciting a string of colourful curses.

"I don't want things to change." Dick's eyes were misty. "I wish we could just stay here, forever."

Bruce reached over and ran his thumb over Dick's hand. "I used to wish that all the time. When you first came, I wished you would never grow up. When I adopted Jason, I wished my life would stop there. But it didn't. And everyday I'm grateful my wishes didn't come true. Not all change is bad, chum. Good things go, but bad things pass, too. They always do."

Dick grasped Bruce's fingers, intertwining them with his. The room settled into silence as the ball began to drop, counting down together to a new year.