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Chapter Text

Sometimes She Might Wonder Why Your Love Is So (Hurt) Heartful

                                -Excerpt from ‘Elegy for a Dream’, Dreaming Mary

It had been a running joke amongst the bat kids - the fact that Bruce didn’t do house chores. 

Stephanie, Jason, and, unsurprisingly, Duke enjoyed feeding into these jokes. It’s a classic, of course, the super-rich white man relying on his butler to do house chores? Hilarious. They seemed to have so much fun with it, so usually Dick left them be. It usually devolved into a full-on pillow fight when Damian slammed Jason’s head with a heavy pillow in defence of his father’s honour. Pillows and lush feathers decorated the room, and it always ended up with all of them on the ground - yes, even Barbara, we do not discriminate - with laughs and giggles, which is nice, so nice. Bruce would come in a moment later to check on the commotion, only to be assaulted with dozens of pillows thrown to his face. His children would drag his body down and bury his beaten body with pillows until Bruce wheezed with silent laughter. Alfred would suddenly appear at their side then, gazing at the laughing Bruce with a watery sheen in his eyes and an utterly fond smile.

Dick loved his family.

But they never joked about it in front of Alfred, and especially not in front of Bruce.

Alfred was always weirdly offended when one of them brought it up, which was inevitable since Alfred lets them help around, but never Bruce. When asked, he would raise a sassy eyebrow and say, “Well, young master, we don’t want me to run out of a job now, would we?”. One time, Dick and his siblings had cajoled Alfred for the entire day and Alfred in a rare show of restrained anger, placed his cup of tea on the coaster with a distinct ‘clink!’, effectively shutting them down. 

Alfred rose slowly from his plush chair, movement tight and precise, similar to a panther sneaking up on its prey. It was no secret that Alfred was a spy, but it was rare that he would deliberately draw out his hidden claws for his family to see. Dick and his siblings stood tall with their heads slightly bowed as Alfred’s eyes roamed over all of them, the warmth in them was muted - replaced with steel that could only be born from hardship and loss. Dick and his siblings would know.

They were all products of such hardships after all. 

“I understand, children, that it may seem unfair to you that your father seems negligent of his household chores in his own manor but your father has done his own share when he was younger and he has done enough.” Alfred sighed, turning his eyes to Dick, making him shuffle and then to Barbara, meeting her stubborn gaze.. “Master Dick, Miss Barbara, you of all people should know why I banned such mentions of this to Master Bruce and why we mostly finish our mundane task without his presence”.

Jason eyed him and Barbara suspiciously. “You know why he’s so weird about it?”

“Not much, little wing. You know how he is,” Dick admitted, shaking his head. Alfred gave him a look, and he folded, pushing parts of his hair backwards nervously. “Okay, B gets distant when I used to ask him about it but he would always smile when I make fun of him about it!”.

Alfred crossed his arms. 

“Sorry, Alfred. It didn’t seem like that big of a deal,” Dick apologised. “Jay used to needle him about it all the time, remember? And he would laugh so loud” .

Jason scoffed at this but Dick could see the way his sharp Lazarus-tainted blue eyes soften at the reminder while the rest of them bristled slightly. Damien and Cass were especially obvious in their jealousy, Damien with his shoulders rising to his neck, fist clenched in anger, and Cass, staring down at Jason with a very loud huff. Although Dick himself had been the first, the light to Batman’s darkness, the first child - the one that truly taught Bruce about love. Dick was also a horribly angry child. Even he could never reach the coveted legacy that Jason had craved with his bruised, brittle hands at the time - making Batman, Bruce laugh . Not the measly small curve of the mouth that most of them managed, not that it was that high of a bar to reach. Bruce seeing them alive was enough to make him smile but a loud full-belly laugh?

Almost unheard of.

Dick had walked in on their cleaning sessions once before. Back then, he had grown from an angry, traumatised child to an even angrier, angsty teenager, walking into Jason giddily teaching Bruce how to properly use a broom of all things. Bruce was awkward with it, hands shaking for a reason that Dick couldn’t parse even to this day. But little spitfire Jason had adjusted his stance with kind hands and an oddly vulgar mouth and Bruce had laughed. 

Dick, angry yet wanting, had blown up at them at the time. 

When Jason had died, Bruce never tried again until Jason came back, bigger than their Father and had wrangled Bruce into washing his Batmobile. Bruce let out little puffs of laughter and although it was never the same calibre as before - it didn’t change the fact that Jason was still the one who could easily draw it out of his stubborn ass when they finally made up somewhat.

It stung a bit to this day.

“And Miss Barbara?” Alfred’s voice brought him out of his musings.

Barbara narrowed her eyes at Alfred, the only one who would dare to. “Bruce would want us to move on and joke about it,” She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose from under her glasses in a move so very similar to Bruce. “He would want you to move past it, too, Alfred”. 

He could see traces of Bruce in the way Alfred moved. Squaring up his shoulder as he stood tall and firm, raising his head up high in defiance to the world, but one look in his eyes and they could all see the heartache that resided in it, swirling like a deadly whirlpool. Alfred picked up his empty cup of tea with a stance as rigid as a war-bound soldier. 

His gaze is locked on the wall, far and distant, away from all of them. “Never,” he said. Voice coloured in such blatant contempt that Dick could feel Damian shudder next to him. “I’ll never forgive that dog , and I’ll never forgive myself”. Alfred took a deep, trembling breath before daring to look at all of them. He managed a smile, somehow ridding himself of all of the shadows on his face. “I’ll pray the rest of you’ll never find out what had occured before and please, don’t let your father know we had this conversation”.

He disappears into the hallway, enveloped by shadows.

The room is swept in silence as they all look at each other in confusion, except for Barbara, whose long, red hair shadowed her face, making her look particularly menacing, and Tim, stare at her with burning intent. “You actually managed to hack into Bruce’s red files?”.

Barbara snapped her head towards Tim. “You tried?”, she asked, aghast. A look of guilt flashed on Tim’s face before it vanished, instead replaced by steely eyes and a face of cold assurance. “I had no choice”, Tim defended. “He was spiralling back when Jason–”.

“Tim”, Dick warned.

Tim ignored him, locking eyes with Jason resolutely, eyes wide opened with determination. “When Jason died, Bruce wanted to join as well”, he barreled through, delivering the truth all of them wanted to ignore so badly. Jason flinched, a string of expletives falling from his mouth as he trudged forward, stomping over to Tim and pulling him by the front of his hoodie. Jason snarled at his face. “Shut up! Shut up! You little–”.

“ None of you were there!”, yelled Tim, clawing at Jason’s hand, trying to get him off. “Dick didn’t want to come home and Barbara was still recovering. Alfred already had so much on his plate. I needed to know what else could set him off, how I could help! But I couldn’t decode that fucking encryption no matter how hard I tried!!”.

Tim, the feral, unhinged lunatic that he was, bit Jason’s hand. Jason cursed, shoving Tim off him. Little Wing cradled his hand, there was blood trailing from the bite marks. “You insane motherfucker. You fucking bit me!”.

“Dude…”, Duke gasped, mildly horrified. “I thought only Damian bites”.

“I will tear your skin apart, Thomas”.

Cass stomped her foot, covering her ears with her hands while shaking her head. “Enough, no fighting!”. Stephanie crossed her arms, glaring at them. “Yeah, listen to Cassie!”.

As unfortunately the eldest sibling, Dick stepped in, putting himself in between Damian and Duke while keeping an eye on a snarling Jason. “Enough, everyone. Bruce is coming home soon. He’ll know something is off if we don’t pull our shit together”. Offering a hand to Tim, Dick gave him a wry grin but Tim brushed him off, resolutely staring at the ground. “You’re the reason I couldn’t get past the encryption. You were the one who rebuilt it”.

“I made a mistake, Tim", Barbara sighed. “And I made it right. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have tried to. It was his privacy - his right ”.

Tim lifted his head up, with his hair in disarray after fighting to get out of Jason’s grasp, he looked younger - he looked lost. “He kept reading those files back then…He’d closed it the moment I stepped inside of the cave but h-he had this look, like he was contemplating something, something dark”.

Tim’s eyes were wide, irises glassy and unfocused as he lifted his hand up to his face. He kept staring at his hands, like he’s seeing something unfold in the wrinkles of his open palm. 

“I was scared”, he breathed. 

Tim’s sombre voice melted the tension in the air and thawed out the feral anger in most of his siblings. Dick inched closer, slowly pulling Tim into a hug. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I was angry but that didn’t excuse me leaving Bruce to you but Tim, you saved him”. His little brother buried his face into Dick’s collarbone, shaking slightly in his hold. Barbara wheeled her closer, gently placing a hand on Tim’s head, patting him like one would do to a scared child. “I wish I was there too”, she whispered. Tim shook his head, pulling away from Dick as he gave Barbara an imploring look. “Can’t you tell me, Babs? It must be important to still bother him to this day”.

Cass materialises at Barbara’s side, nodding her head enthusiastically. “You are guilty, scared but it’s okay. Family wants to help you and help B. Dad will understand and forgive us in the end”. And then Cass signed, one of the first phrases Bruce had taught her, moving her hands and bending her fingers gracefully. ‘Family stays together’. She put emphasis on the ‘together’ part, making eye contact with everyone as she formed two fists with thumbs pointing upwards, bringing them close together and then, rotating them in small circles as if she was stirring a bowl with immense confidence. Damian copied her perfectly, sharing a small smile with Cassandra. 

Babs took a glance at all of them and lastly, her eyes fell upon Dick’s beseeching eyes. The two of them, comrades-in-arm, the first of Batman’s partners but Dick’s eyes turn grave but Barbara shook her head, wheeling away from all of them. 

“I can’t”, said Barbara. “He begged me not to…I just can’t. You didn’t see him on that day”.

She heads to the door, never turning back to look at them. “I need to go. I have a meeting at the library today”.

Dick sighed, shaking his head at his siblings, a silent command to not push. He followed Barbara, helping her with the door and offering to send her to the library. He trusted that his siblings would keep Bruce unaware of what occurred. Secrets and pains of the past were usually left to rot and wither away in darkness in the Wayne Family and this, would be one of many. 

So Dick played his part, acting a jester to Barbara, lifting her spirits up with horrible jokes and even more horrible puns until the stormy clouds on her face lessened and her smile matched the fervour colour of her hair. He’d greet Jim Gordon with a bright smile, saying goodbye to Barbara with joy and she would reciprocate, no trace of that spat in the manor ever seen on both of their faces. He’d returned home, greeted by a loving hug from Bruce as his dad nuzzled his face, Dick effortlessly pushed away his concern and just accepted this as another unaddressed hurt of Bruce Wayne. Another damage to be buried like the bodies of Thomas and Martha Wayne in the earth over the hill in yonder.

Another part of Bruce Wayne left hidden from view, to be forgotten in the grand scheme of things, in a world where there are at least 20 things that want to destroy earth into smithereens, what’s one more crack in the heart to worry about?

Dick wished he’d worry, that he’d pushed harder against Barbara, against Alfred, against Bruce’s stubborn ass so that at least, at least that he’d be prepared to handle this .

There was a small child sitting on the floor with his legs bent in a W shape in the shadows of the living room. From the back, his body looked like he never outgrew the tragic age of eight but Dick knew that he was supposed to be about eleven around this time. He was still dressed in that dreary, thin hospital gown so with his hunched position, Dick could see every ridge of his spine, every dip in his bones. From below the knee, a cast was set around the kid’s left leg. There was a bucket next to him, filled with soap and water. 

It wasn’t there before.

For a child of that size, lugging that bucket with water around would be heavy and walking with that cast without even a cane to hold him up, it was a miracle that he didn’t trip and fall. The little boy stopped to wipe his face and Dick could see the cast on his right hand that Leslie had set. With his bruised left hand, he dipped a dirty rug into the bucket. Using both of his hands to wring the rug dry as he proceeded to scrub the kitchen floor covered in flour - the forgotten remnants from the chaos this morning. His whole body was beaten and bruised and with a broken leg and a broken hand, the first thing he did when he woke up was to haul his abused body up to clean .

The air was fraught and tense. The halls of the manor never looked more haunting.

“Fuck”, Barbara cursed, knowing, trembling eyes locked straight to the boy a few ways in front of them. “Fuck”.

As if compelled by a spell, Dick moved, making sure that each step was deliberate, not too loud and not too faint. 

“Why do you always walk like that whenever we see a scared kid or animal? You look kinda stupid”, Dick had asked at the time, young and curious. 

Bruce, Batman at the time was sitting under the streetlamp, engulfed in light, Dick remembered thinking that Batman truly looked ethereal, a true myth. In his lap, sat a cat with a broken leg being fed a Bat Treat ™ . When the little guy was feeling better, they’d bring him to Selina.

“So we don’t scare them, Robin”, he answered patiently. “To show that we are not a threat and to let them know that we are here but not to hurt”.

Despite how close Dick was getting to the boy, the kid still kept his head low, trained to the ground as his little arms scrub and scrub. Slowly, he kneeled beside him. From this angle, even with those unruly bangs shadowing his face, Dick could see the haziness of those snow-blue eyes, stuck in an old time. 

“Bruce?”, Dick called, settling a tender hand on his shoulder,

Abruptly, Bruce gasped, woken from a nightmare with him wrenching his body away from Dick, accidentally kicking the bucket in the process, sending a gush of water spilling all over the floor. Little Bruce kept his mostly injured arm hovering in front of his face as a horribly weak defense against whatever monster he thought Dick was. His young father was as silent as the night, the only clue to his fear was his harsh breathing, staring at Dick with wide, glassy eyes. 

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

God, how did Bruce do this? How did Alfred do this?

Alfred was on (forced) vacation. Those 4 words were enough to send any hardened warrior to tears and Dick was quite close to tearing his beautiful hair from his pounding head. Usually, Dick would join them front and centre in the eye of the chaos but unfortunately, Bruce had been called on an emergency Justice League mission and as unfortunately the oldest one, he had been left in charge. Technically Barbara should be left in charge but Dick had crossed her the other day and now she refused to help him wrangle the lunatics he called sibling and even added to the chaos.

He hoped that Bruce would return fast and most importantly, would return home safe . The only reason they managed to convince Alfred to take a break was because Bruce promised to behave and not find any trouble. 

Dick and Barbara tried to lock him inside when they got the JL signal because Bruce Wayne was a trouble magnet for weird shit happening but like a true bat, Bruce had somehow slipped away. Dick was pretty sure he bribed someone with his unknown but lethal kitty-cat eyes. He doesn’t know who yet but he’s pretty sure it was Jason or Damian who let him free. 

Ugh. Daddy’s boy.

The fire alarm suddenly blared, casting the rooms in the manor in a bright red light and Dick rushed to the kitchen where a fire was burning on the stove, its flame reaching up high and even lightly scorching the ceiling. 

“Alfred’s gonna kill us when he gets back. Do you want to DIE?!!”, Dick yelled, pushing past his siblings to get to the fire extinguisher. “Wait, don’t! You’re going to ruin the taste!!”, Stephanie exclaimed. Dick ignored her, pulling the pin and firing the foam at the stove, putting the fire away in an instant. Placing the fire extinguisher away, Dick turned to Stephanie, guiltily holding a pan with a runny white mixture swirling in it. 

“What the fuck was that?”.

“I was trying to make a Flambé...”.

This was it. This was karma for all the grey hairs he had given Bruce when he was younger. “You were making waffles with Jason”.

Stephanie sheepishly ran her fingers through her hair. “You know how it is, Dickie. I just wanted to add more pizzazz, ya know?”. Dick was going to wring her neck, dragging his hand across his face, Dick prayed to whatever benevolent god out there (No, not Gotham like the rest of his family liked to do because Lady Gotham was a little shit) to give him strength and the almost saintly patience that Bruce had. Maybe Dick could get Bruce to teach him how to reach nirvana.

He surveyed the area that was once Alfred’s beloved pristine kitchen. Every spotless counter and floor were now covered in flour and some remnants of the waffle mixture. Damian, Duke and Cass were off to the side, head to toe caked in the same white powder. “Do I want to know how and why?”. And god, Dick sounded so much like his father that it almost hurt. 

Cassie, the angel in disguise that she was, shook her head with a deceptively loving smile as she batted her pretty eyelashes at him in a very pathetic Brucie manner. Damian scoffed, turning his head to the side. “Tt, we were engaged in mortal combat the likes of you will never understand, Grayson”. Dick looked at Duke, his last hope.

“Dude, you should have seen me throw that bag of flour at Damian’s face!”. And just like that, Dick’s hopes were cruelly shattered. Duke must have seen the devastation written on his face because he hastily added. “In my defense, Dami started it?”.

“Sleep with one eye open, Thomas”, Damian threatened, pulling a knife from his pocket. 

Dick facepalmed, loudly, burying his face within his palms. Maybe if he pressed hard enough, he could drown himself. “God, Bruce is going to cry when he sees this”.

Stephanie threw an arm around his shoulder, grinning like a menace. “Don’t worry, Dick. We’ll clean it up lickety-split. Alfie and B won’t know a thing”. 

“Bold of you to assume that you can get past Alfred”, Barbara snickered, wheeling herself into the chaos. Stephanie gasped at her words, walking towards Bab and dramatically flopping herself on her lap, Steph cried. “Oh, great and benevolent Oracle of Gotham. Won’t you save our poor souls from the deadly tears of the prettiest single parent in all of Gotham and the wrath of an ancient and powerful British gentleman”.

Barbara hummed, the reflection in her glasses glinting with evil intent. “You need to pay up”.

Elegantly, Stephanie magically procured a brown file, handing it to Barbara with a smirk matching the evil in Barbara’s eyes. “The 100k self-insert fanfic that Tim wrote after he discovered Batman’s identity”.

“Acceptable”.

Dick gaped at the two girls, feeling a cold shudder run through his spine. Evil, absolutely evil and vile. Dick prayed for Tim and reminded himself to never cross women. 

“Evil”, Cass agreed out loud, reading his mind but she said it so gleefully that Dick was concerned for his future safety. 

A loud thump came from the archway, Jason stood gobsmacked, frantically looking around the kitchen with a gaping mouth and wide eyes. The groceries he just bought are strewn all over the flour-filled floor, spilling from the brown paper bag. “What in fucking tarnation?! I left you gremlins for only 20 minutes and the kitchen is in disarray!”.

Duke snorted. “Disarray? Who says disarray?”.

Jason pulled out a gun, clicking the safety off. “Watch your fucking mouth, Narrows”. 

Sighing, Dick pulled at Jason’s arm, lowering the gun. “Please, Little Wing. We don’t need to add bullet holes to the kitchen walls”. Tim joined them shortly after, carrying more groceries, blinking slowly, confused when everyone except for Jason either giggled or bit down a smile as they looked at him. “Uh, what happened?”.

“Nothing”, Stephanie smiled innocently, accidentally slipping out the iconic unhinged Robin cackle in the end when Tim narrowed his eyes at her. 

“What did you do?”.

Stephanie laughed maniacally. 

Seeing another fight about to break out in an already tarnished kitchen, Dick stepped forward to try and curb the madness when static suddenly crackled in the air as the speakers around them roared to life. 

“K-kids”. Superma–Clark, Uncle Clark’s teary voice, echoed in the hallowed halls of the manor. “Please call Dr. Thompkins, ask her to come to the manor”.

Ice crawled its way across Dick’s veins, casting his body in a sudden chill as he felt his stomach drop. “Uncle Clark, what happened? Is B…?”.

“You were supposed to protect Father!”, Damian growled, stomping his foot on the ground.

“I’m s-sorry. I tried but–”.

“Children”. Wonder Woman’s solemn voice cut through Clark’s weeping. “Your father is not on the brink of death but he is heavily injured. We usually will proceed with treating him at the Watchtower but the situation is…delicate”. They heard her sighed heavily, a bone-deep tiredness that they could all feel in their bones. “We all believed that it’d be best if he recovers somewhere he’s familiar with”.

“Aunt Di…what happened?”, Jason asked tentatively.

“Your father has been de-aged”.

A swift jolt of excitement rushed through Dick’s veins at the chance to see larger-than-life Bruce as a cute little kid but that joy was wiped out just quickly as he heard Barbara inhale sharply as colour all but disappeared from her face. “How old is he?”, she urged, mania present in her wide eyes.

“His bone and dental age shows he’s supposed to be around ten but oh Rao, he’s so small ”. 

Barbara looked absolutely heartbroken. “...Bring him here and please, be gentle” , she pleaded through bated breaths and gritted teeth.

“Of course”, Clark’s voice broke. 

The speakers beeped to a halt. Dick could see Tim talk with Leslie on the phone, hearing hitched voices and rare muttered curses fall from the doctor’s mouth as Tim told her the estimate of Bruce’s age.

The phone call ended and Tim stared at them with a defeated look on his face. “Was it true then…the rumours?”.

“What rumours?”, Duke pressed. “Isn’t B like a kid now? How can he be so hurt that it made Superman cry? Alfred would never do that!”.

“Of course, he wouldn’t! Pennyworth is far more honourable than that”. 

Stephanie’s eyes looked haunted, rubbing her arm insistently as if she was trying to stave off the pulsing hurt of a rotten father’s swing. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know that he understood”. Cass gently took Steph’s hands in hers, a similar pained look in her teary eyes. It must be hard for her, to see their family’s distress so plainly.

Dick’s heart ached at the admission because for a child that young, there was barely any other way for him to be hurt that badly without receiving any treatment, especially under Alfred’s strict care. 

Somehow, in a time where Bruce was forcibly kept away from Alfred because that’s the only way something this horrid would happen– 

Little Bruce had been abused.

“Babs”. Jason’s voice was deep and deadly. Blood dripped from his clenched fist as he gazed at Barbara like an angry dog waiting to pounce. “Who did this?”.

Babs meet Jason’s eyes, the calculated, frigid eyes of Oracle took over. “Philip Kane”. She spat the name like the rotten words burned her tongue.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Like young soldiers being sent to fight a losing war, they trudged to the batcave with heads bowed and a heart heavy with hurt, methodically cleaning the medbay and child-proofing he are as best as they could in the short time that they have. Dick breathed, trying to remember and practiced all the calming breathing techniques Bruce drilled in his head during his time under Bruce’s wing. He couldn’t break now. 

One of the many entrances to the batcave opened and Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana flew in. In Clark’s arms, a small bundle was wrapped in Superman’s cape. Little Bruce seemed to be in deep sleep, unbothered even as Clark’s tears trickled down his chubby cheeks. 

“Lay him down here”, Barbara said, patting the bed covers. 

Gently, like placing down a feather, Clark set Bruce down on the bed. Cass wrapped her arm around him, hugging Uncle Clark from the back. He let out a low chuckle at the show of affection but it sounded miserable. “Sorry, I can’t turn it off”. Clark’s eyes have never left Bruce's body. “He’s so hurt”.

They were going to have to strip Bruce off to see how bad it was and quite childishly, Dick didn’t want to. He wished Bruce had stayed, wished that he still stayed believing that Bruce has spent the rest of his childhood under Alfred’s gentle care.

Under Aunt Di’s gentle ministrations, she coaxed Clark away from Bruce. Nodding at them before flying away with Clark. No words were shared.

What could you say in the face of such tragedy?

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

His frail body was decorated with bruises.

Distantly, Dick could hear Jason cursing before stomping off somewhere, the sound of crashing metal accompanying him in his wrath. Cass, on the other side of the bed, let out an inhumane keen, so broken in its nature, the sound grating on Dick’s ears and tearing at his heart. 

Bruce’s body had always been unnaturally pale, and he would spend hours expertly applying concealer over concealer to cover every bruise he’d received when he was out gallivanting in the darkness of the night. Dick, as a young child would sit by his side and watch him for hours, entranced by the pretty flutter of Bruce’s eyelashes when his brush would slide across his eyes. He had always looked so beautiful, and Bruce would smile at him, beckoning him close as he applied some blush to Dick’s cheek. Dick remembered laughing, feeling the tingle of the brush against his skin. 

How young was Bruce when he first started to learn that skill?

They had left him in only his boxers as per Dr. Thompkins’ command, with an extra white sheet covering his groin area. Black and blue contusions blossomed across his body like a macabre garden, stretched thin over his clammy skin that hugged his bones so tightly that you could see the ridges of his collarbone. The back of his right hand was horribly swollen, evidence of broken bones not healing properly. There were angry marks in the shape of hand wrapping around his throat like a sick imitation of a choker, purple and cruel. Not a single part of his body was left unscathed, save for his face - a porcelain beauty even at this age. With his face slack in unconsciousness, he truly looks like a real-life doll with his cute button nose, pink, plump lips, long, curling eyelashes and like adding cherry to an already beautifully-decorated cake, a faint trail of freckles dusted the tip of his red nose.  

It felt deliberate, on that monster’s part, to mar every part of Bruce except for his face.

Most damningly, there were angry, red lines slashed across little Bruce’s upper thigh area, near his groin. Some have formed into white scars, some have bumps lined with the marks and some, god, some were recent, deep red gashes with pus at the entrance of the wound. All of them are too precise, too methodical to be an accident. 

Feeling rather unhinged, a gruesome thought came to Dick’s mind, unbidden. What would be worse? To have to cuts be done to Bruce or learning that this small, fragile Bruce (baby, just a fucking baby who would even–) had done this to himself, mutilating his body like his skin and blood were worth nothing. 

It wouldn’t be too surprising, it was common knowledge in this family that some of the scars on Bruce’s body were too precise to be scars born from his nights as gallivanting as Batman.

It shouldn’t have started this early though, this young.

Stephanie scurried away to the edge of the platform, and Dick heard her retching, vomiting out the breakfast Jason had cooked up for them last night into the abyssal cavern below them. Tim, who had stood beside Cass, stumbled onto the cot Bruce was laid on, bracing his trembling body with his arm, hand gripping the rails at the side of the medical bed so tightly that his fingers were turning white. Duke wobbled by his side, unseeing eyes locked onto Bruce’s beaten body. His little brother slowly backs away, shaking his head as if he could shake this moment away like it’s a bad dream. 

Dick should reach out to Duke, to any of his little siblings but it was as if his feet were bolted onto the platform and his head, held in place by a force far greater than him, imposed to stare at the broken body of his de-aged Father and comprehend the horrors he shouldn’t have had to endure at this age where he was already grieving.

Like a charm being unbound, the sound of dripping water broke his trance, Dick craned his stiff neck with great difficulty to his other side. Damian’s face was blank and unlike the rest of siblings, he stood tall and firm. There would have been no traces of despair in Damian’s body if it weren’t for the big, fat tears trickling down his cheeks and dripping onto the metal ground. 

“It’s not fair…”, Damian whispered. He moved forward, taking deliberately loud steps to the cot, gaining everyone’s attention. “It’s not fair”, he repeated, louder this time. Damian reached his hand out to Bruce.

“Damian–”. Dick’s hand was held by Barbara, who somehow had wheeled to his side without his noticing. Her eyes were swollen and red, almost the same shade as her hair as tears fell onto her lap. Dick could barely remember the last time he saw her cry, back when the Joker had shot at her spine when she saved Bruce. She shook her head and Dick lowered his hand and watched.

Damian, with softness he’d only seen his little brother wield for animals, tentatively touched Bruce’s left hand. Though still deep within the trenches of unconsciousness, little Bruce flinched violently, his arm spasming in place as his hand gripped the white sheets tightly. No sound came out of him but his eyebrows were furrowed, looking so similar to their Bruce when one of them was hurt. It feels different now when Bruce is the one that’s hurt - when a slight brush of skin was enough to send his instinct to fight-or-flight mode. 

Dick clamped his mouth shut, forcing himself to keep quiet as Damian’s hand moved again. Gently, Damian placed his fingers on Bruce’s hand. Once again, he jolted but it’s less violent this time. Slowly, Damian began stroking the back of Bruce’s hand with his thumb. Bruce’s face relaxed as he finally let go of the sheets. Emboldened by this, Damian gingerly slips his hand in Bruce’s in a move so familiar that it must have come from their Father. Little D was only 13 but even his single hand was enough to completely encompass Bruce’s.

By Gotham, he was tiny.

With Bruce’s hand in his, Damian hunched forward, towering over Bruce as his calm disposition finally broke, tense shoulders trembling as more and more tears ran down his face, trailing down from his chin and falling onto Bruce’s arms.

Tim called out Damian’s name, the forlorn sound echoing in the cave and ricocheting like a bullet in Dick’s mind. “It’s not fair”, Damian cried earnestly, even in his grief, there’s an undercurrent of anger intertwined with his words. And it was truly not fair. Precious baby brothers were not supposed to cry and drowned in sorrow.

Your father’s child's body should not have been covered in bruises and broken bones.

His youngest brother brought Bruce’s hand up, resting his forehead against the back of B’s hands. “You were supposed to be safe ”, he growled into Bruce’s hand. He emphasised the word safe, spat the word out with so much offense that as if with enough strength, Damian could will his wish into existence and rewrite this cruel moment of Bruce’s past and morph it into something kinder, a childhood more befitting for a man who will spend the rest of his adulthood covered in the same kind of bruises and walk the earth with bones broken ten, twenty times over from protecting a city that bites the hands that try to hold it with even the slightest hint of kindness and later, from protecting the whole world with the strength of his heart and the wit of his mind as his greatest weapons.

“You were supposed to be l—" Damian’s breath hitched, and it was a terrible sound. 

Loved. Dick finished in his heart. You were supposed to be loved. 

The lift in the batcave opened with a beep and Dr. Thompkins rushed in, hair and glasses all askew. She took a quick glance at all of them, ran her hand through her hair and sighed. She went to Damian's side, gently pulling his hand away from Bruce’s. “Damian, I need to treat him”.

“He’s hurt. He’s small and he’s so hurt”.

Leslie rubbed Damian’s hand consolingly. “I know. I know it’s horrible but that’s why I need you to let go”.

Hesitantly, Damian nodded. “I want to stay and help”.

Leslie’s eyes softened as did Dick’s heart. It wasn’t secret that Damian has recently been interested in the medical field after seeing each scare that their family had to endure. “Of course, come, you’ll be my assistant”.

Before starting however, Leslie gently cupped Bruce’s youthful face, pressing a feather-light kiss on his forehead that Bruce seemed to chase in his sleep, eyes fluttering and head angling towards Leslie. “You poor boy”, she whispered with heartbreak and love laced in every word.

“Guys, let’s go. Let’s give them space”. Dick tapped Barbara’s wheelchair handle, waiting for her nod before wheeling her away to the back. Slowly, all of his little siblings except for Damian come huddling by his side, all with tear tracks peeling on their cheeks. 

Dick thanked Tim as he passed him the extra medkit they had lying around. “Come, Little Wing”, he beckoned. “Let’s get your hand checked”.

“Fuck off, will you Dickhead?! It’s not even that bad”.

Tim eyed his hand with sass. “You punched the wall Jason. That has to be at least fractured”.

“Yeah”, Duke agreed. “It’s swelling, man”.

Jason, like the mature young adult that he was, gave them the middle finger. Cass pointed at him, enunciating her words carefully. “Ass”.

“You wanna go, daddy’s girl?”. Inwardly, Dick snorted. How ironic. They’re both just as bad as each other.

Cass held her head up, not even bothering to refute Jason’s statement. “Will win”, was all she said and yet, it was enough to make Jason growl. “Get hand bandaged by Dick, little brother”.

“Who are you calling–”. Barbara pulled him by the ear. “Listen to your big sister”, she threatened and Jason wisely listened to their family’s glee. The good mood quickly died down however, as little grunts and gasps of pain could be heard from the medical bed, sobering them instantly. In stilted silence, Dick bandaged his brother’s hand, playfully placing a kiss on it when he was done but Jason’s eyes were trained over where their little father resides. 

Heart aching again and again, Dick pulled Jason in for a hug, dragging the rest in and holding Barbara’s hand. They laid in wait in their hurt. 

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

“We have the alien that turned Bruce into a kid in our custody”.

Tim eyed the on-screen Superman warily. “I’m surprised they went without a fight”.

Martian Manhunter’s red eyes glowed and a projection of an unrecognisable humanoid being with eight eyes and long twisting horns that held a shiny orb in the middle hovered on his hands. “Their leader meant it as a gift for Batman for saving his child, once he recognized our ire, he volunteered himself to stay at the watchtower for questioning”. The martian closed his hands, the image of the alien disappearing as his eyes turned to normal. “With their eight eyes, they could see the moments littered in the past. He sensed great pain in Batman’s heart and casted a spell on him and changed him back to when his soul and body ached the most”.

“How was that meant to be a gift?”, Stephanie asked.

Green Lantern scratched his head. “Yeah, so you see. Their kind are kinda known for exceptional mental health and providing treatment for war veterans and trauma survivors in their cluster of the galaxy. He said something along the lines of  ‘All your hurt and your pains, you bury them so deeply. It must be hell for you to even breathe. I shall help you open your heart to the ones you love’ and bam! Light flashed from his orb. Basically, gave Spooky a chance to reconnect with his wounded inner child or something like that”.

Jason smirked but his eyes were dull. “B is gonna be pissed when he turns back”.

“I understand where they’re coming from”, Black Canary started. “What I wouldn’t give to get a session with Batman but consent is important. An unwilling participant is gonna cause more harm than good”.

Dick sighed, staring at the sleeping Bruce intently, tucked with a blanket under his chin. Damian sat next to him, sleeping with his head pillowed on his arms, his hand where Bruce’s hand would be under the blanket.  “So our Bruce is still in there somewhere?”.

“Yes, locked somewhere within the deep recesses of his mind”, Wonder Woman answered. “Zatanna is currently interrogating the leader with Constantine, trying to figure out if there’s a magic spell that could undo it quickly”.

Green Arrow huffed. “God knows we need it. With Bruce’s stubborn ass, he’s gonna be stuck like that for the whole year”.

Flash vibrated nervously on the screen. “How is he?”.

Leslie, with a heavy voice, rattled off the extensive list of Bruce’s injuries from the smallest of fractures to the most gnarly bruises, leaving out the part where they were intended lacerations on his thighs. The JL member’s face darkened, even from the multiple screens of the batcomputer, Dick could feel the bloodlust emanating from the heroes and honestly, he couldn’t blame them. 

Hawkgirl brought her mace up to the screen menacingly. “Where’s the bastard that hurt him?! Let me bash all his bones to pieces!”. The rest of the league voiced their assent. Dick noted that Superman’s irises were bright red.

“He’s already dead”. Barbara’s revelation quieted the league but the look on their faces showed discontentment. “Alfred killed him to get custody of Bruce back by force”.

Superman’s eyebrows furrowed. “How come the public has never heard of Bruce being under Philip Kane’s custody?”.

“He paid off every powerful person involved that you could think of, made it a living hell for Alfred to try and get Bruce back. The bastard had more sway in court after falsifying Martha and Thomas Wayne’s will since he was of blood relation to Bruce. Alfred didn’t want to resort to violence because Bruce was more the pacifist that he was when he was young but then Alfred found out Phillip had been hurting him and well...”. Barbara made a slicing motion across her throat.

“I hope Alfred tortured him when he died”, Duke muttered darkly. It’s quite telling, that in a room full of heroes, none of them bothered to tell him off. 

Little Bruce made a small sound, a cute squeak at the mention of Alfred’s name. His eyes fluttered slightly and Leslie carefully combed her fingers through his shiny hair, still silky soft despite the maltreatment done towards his body. “Alfie..”, he whispered.

Aquaman crossed his arms. “Are you sure that you shouldn’t contact Alfred? As his Father, I believe he, out of all of us, has the right to be here.”.

Cass nodded, looking pointedly at her eldest brother. “Agreed”.

Dick messed with his hair. “He’s never gonna take a break again if we call him now. We’ll try to solve it on our own first. It’s not like B hasn’t given us a rundown on how to handle abused children”.

Clark’s eyes started to water. “It’s different…when he’s one of your own. When he's so young”.

Dick’s mouth clamped shut. None of them could refute that, dried tear tracks still visible on their faces. Leslie’s hands were still shaking even now. 

Tim’s eyes hovered on Black Canary, hands fidgeting anxiously. “Aunt Dinah…how should we proceed? I know how to handle an adult Bruce but…”.

Dinah gave him a bittersweet smile. “Tell him about you, about his family and how Philip Kane is dead. Zatanna gave the greenlight to him having knowledge of the future. I won’t bore you about all the details that Bruce had undoubtedly drilled in you but quite simply, shower him with love. Be consistent as children requires stability to thrive. Do remember that you are human and most of you are barely an adult so your emotions might get the better of you. If he asks, be honest. Tell him that him hurting, hurts you too”.

She clasped her hands together. “And when he’s a bit better. Bring him to meet us, his friends– he deserves to know that he grows up to be so sincerely loved”. 

Staring at them with knowing, glassy eyes, she ended with. “And care for him, as your Father cared for all of you”.

Dick sucked in his breath. Flashes of memories came to mind, of being young and suddenly alone with destructive anger that burned everything and everyone around him and the scarred hand of a brooding man, about the same age as Dick was now reaching out for him, keeping his hands open even as little Dick bit and clawed. 

Dick shared a glance with his siblings, feeling a bit breathless. Because in the end, for all of Bruce’s mistakes and mishaps, he stayed and tried and loved.

Because in the end, he had always tried to be kind in his own reticent, dark ways.

With a shaking, gentle hand, Dick gently caressed Bruce’s velvety soft cheek with the back of his hand. Even through his flinches, little B snuffled further, reaching out even through the pain.

“Yeah…”, Dick breathed, looking back at the Justice League staring at him, at all of them with a fond smile. “Yeah, we’ll be kind”.

As kind as the man who bleeds for a city that could never return the magnitude of his love, who took in lonely children forgotten by the world and gave them a family.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Abruptly, Bruce gasped, woken from a nightmare with him wrenching his body away from Dick, accidentally kicking the bucket in the process, sending a gush of water spilling all over the floor. Little Bruce kept his mostly injured arm hovering in front of his face as a horribly weak defense against whatever monster he thought Dick was. His young father was as silent as the night, the only clue to his fear was his harsh breathing, staring at Dick with wide, glassy eyes.

Obviously, things were easier said than done.

Quickly, Dick pulled his hand, tucking them on his lap as he made himself smaller. “Hey, little B. I’m really sorry I scared you.”, Dick smiled gently. Bruce dropped his arm, confused out of his fear, staring at Dick like he’s the one who has gone mad. The little boy looked over his shoulder, as if Dick could possibly be apologising to someone other than him before staring back at Dick, shaking his head warily but with the classic Wayne stubbornness in his gait. 

It’s easy to read him when his walls haven’t even been perfected.

Be firm, shower him with kindness and love . “Of course I need to say sorry, Bruce. I scared you, I hurt you.” . Be honest about how you feel and why you do things. “And you’ve been working so hard, cleaning for us. Thank you”.

Baby Bruce’s hands formed a fist. His face was scrunched up in that constipated look Bruce has when he’s both stressed and confused. It would have been quite endearing and funny if it were for his eyes, blown wide from fear.

‘I think I'm going to have a mental breakdown after this’, Dick thought surly. His face showed none of his distress, an impassive, deliberately gentle look he had adopted from his Uncle Clark. “Things are a bit confusing but do you feel familiar with us Bruce?”. Dick gestured towards his family, slowly stepping out of the shadows and into Bruce’s vision.

Bruce, upon seeing them, didn’t back away like most scared children would but his body started shaking violently. Dick gave Jason and Damian a look when he saw them shuffle forward. Patience. They need patience in this delicate situation. Little Bruce scanned them keenly and some of Dick’s siblings wave or nod as Bruce’s eyes trail over them. 

In the silence of the night, Bruce’s astonished gasp of air boomed in Dick’s ears like lightning. His little father pats his chest, stunned by the warmth of enveloping him as he took them in. His eyes gazed back at Dick accusingly, startling a brief chuckle out of him. Dick couldn’t help it, he looked so much like Damian. 

“I know, I know. It’s not my fault though, honest! You’re very smart, Bruce. You must be wondering why you’re in the Manor now right and why everything looks so different?” Dick waited for Bruce’s hesitant nod. “You might not believe me but Bruce–”.

Dick smiled and smiled, pouring love into his next words through his breaking heart, hoping it would be enough for Bruce to see.

“–You’re in the future now Bruce and we’re your family”.

Bruce’s entire body went still, he looked horrified like Dick had just told him that they were his parent’s murderer. Porcelain white face somehow became paler as he started to violently shake his head. 

“Bruce?”, Dick tried, close to tears. Was he too abrupt? “Bruce, please, what’s wrong?”.

“Wrong! Wrong!”, Bruce whispered harshly, the first thing he had said in his small body. Dick heard someone choke on a sob and turned behind to see Cassandra in tears, clawing at her eyes with Steph and Damian trying to stop here. What did she see? Pulling away from his little sister in obvious distress was a herculean task but Dick had to help Bruce, had to salvage this somehow. He tried to get closer. “Bruce. Bruce, please. I know things don't make sense–”.

“WRONG!”, Bruce yelled with all his might, voice hoarse from disuse, pushing Dick away and dragging his body further behind, hitting the kitchen counter, curling into a scared, trembling ball. “U-Uncle Philip, sir, sorry! Sorry!”. Burying his face in his arm, Bruce kept going, kept apologising. “Sorry! Sorry! I-I won’t believe, didn’t believe.”.

“Bruce, he’s dead. The fuc–Philip Kane is dead!.”, Jason yelled through Bruce’s ramblings, earning a slap at the back head from Stephanie for his lack of tact.

Bruce pulled at his hair harshly, still shaking his head.

With tears flooding his eyes, Dick asked, his voice breaking. “Bruce, why am I wrong?”.

“Wrong…bad child, horrible child”. Gradually, Bruce got up, some strands of hair falling from his head, sticking on his sweaty palms. His face was suddenly void of any emotion, any trace of his breakdown earlier had vanished. His dead eyes stared at the ground, the tired, defeated look so similar to adult Bruce. Listlessly, he once again shook his head. “I’m a curse”, he pledged with grim conviction. “Shouldn’t love me. Nobody should love me”.

With his tiny, fragile hands, Bruce gripped his gown, at the place where his heart should be. His dull, lifeless eyes bore into Dick’s very soul, ripping it into shreds and destroying the foundation of Dick’s understanding of Bruce Wayne. His behaviour, his reaction told him everything and nothing about the way his father acted all throughout Dick knowing him.

Without any light in those young eyes, he truly looked like a tragic porcelain doll, an empty husk left behind from the horrific murder of the Waynes and the abuse of whatever Philip Kane had done to break this kid so thoroughly that any love for him seemed impossible to comprehend. 

“Wrong…”, Bruce echoed helplessly, desperately holding onto his version of the truth despite how it must have torn into him. 

Children require stability to thrive. 

Closing his eyes, Bruce whispered with crippling finality. “Don’t deserve a family”.

Chapter Text

Jason’s big brother had always been a paragon, the impossible ideal of how to properly act as Robin, as Batman, as Bruce’s son and Dick was careful enough to only show their younger siblings the best parts of him - of the first son, the one who saved Batman from being fully enveloped in the darkness of Gotham’s underbelly. 

But Jason, Jason had always known that buried deep, hidden behind layers of golden smiles and pearly white teeth was a boy with an anger so rife that it burned Batman’s resolve and morals enough to allow a child to beat up the worst that society has to offer as a coping mechanism. Though in retrospect, he wouldn’t have known if it weren’t for the fact that Bruce had taken him in at a time where Dick’s anger was the most lethal.

When Dick Grayson-Wayne broke down, it was usually an ugly thing to witness. 

Cuddled in a shadowed nook at the deeper sides of the Wayne Manor Library, Jason stretched, popping all the air bubbles in his bones accumulated from being huddled up reading books all day. Even if it weren’t for the books, Jason would just spend all his day here lounged on the fluffy ass bean bag Bruce had bought him.

Speaking about Bruce…

A dad. Jason now had a proper dad again! The kind who told cringey dad jokes and tucked him in with a kiss and a bedtime story. With a sudden burst of energy, Jason jumped with glee from his sitting position, quickly snagging ‘A Little Princess’ for Bruce so he could read to with his deep, comforting voices. It may still be midday but B had always said that Jason was entitled to his time. 

Walking down the long-winded halls of the manor, Jason kept his gaze on the book’s first chapter, drowning in the words with reverence for Frances’ mundanely magical writing when raised voices echoed from Bruce’s study in the manor. 

Jason stilled, his stomach curling with a dreadful sense of déjà vu. Angry, those voices sounded angry.

With shaky hands, Jason cracked the door open silently. Dick was in one of his moods again, flailing, irate arms getting uncomfortably close to Bruce’s face. “You just never listen! You’re always right. Of course you are! Batman is never wrong!”.

Bruce’s normally gentle face was replaced with an impassive one, emboldened by steel. With his arms crossed and normally bowed head held up high, he was now stanced as Batman. 

And personally, Jason preferred Bruce over Batman.

“Dick”, he said sternly, the deep gravel of the Dark Knight’s voice underlying Bruce's. “You know that’s not what I meant.”. The first Robin suddenly cackled, the iconic cherry laugh that sounded hysterical with madness. Dick buried his face within his hands, leaving only one wide eye visible. Jason gulped, he looked so unhinged. How could he have ever thought that Robin was sane, the perfect idol?

“It’s about Jason, isn’t it? All of this?”, Dick asked, jabbing his index fingers accusingly on Bruce’s sternum.

Honestly, fuck him. What was that Dickhead's problem with him? 

The sudden rush of rage courses through him like jolts of electricity, sending a loud ringing to his ears, cutting off the fight that Jason was listening in. By the time his anger subsided, Dick had struck Bruce, swinging his arm to the side and aiming a mean hook at Bruce’s cheek. 

“Bruce!”. Jason rushed to him. For a moment, Bruce kept his head angled to the side, gingerly raising his hands and pressing against the purple bruise marring his pretty face. Glaring at Dick, Jason screamed, heart thumping wildly like it was threatening to burst right out of his chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”.

“Jaylad…mind your language”, Bruce said, voice somewhat dazed. “It’s okay, son”. He slowly moved his head forwards, looking straight at the asshole who hit him as he buried his fingers within Jason’s stubborn curls. 

This stupid, dull-witted man. “The hell it’s okay?! He hit you!”.

“Chum”, Bruce called, but he’s not looking at Jason. Looking back at Dick, his tanned face was ashen pale, eyes darting around like a loose pinball, looking everywhere before focusing at the prominent blemish on Bruce’s cheek. Bruce, the madman stepped closer to Dick with Jason clinging onto his legs, desperately wanting him to stay away. 

Dick stepped back, shaking his head violently. His hair tossing around like someone was swirling spaghetti around with a mission. “No… I didn’t mean– No, I-”.

“Chum, Dick, please, it’s alright. Come here”.

“No, I–”. Dick stared at his hands, horrified, as if finally comprehending something terrible about himself. “I hurt you”.

“Chum, please”.

Muttering ‘no’ one more time, like the coward he was, Dick bolted out of the room. 

Alfred came in shortly after, face grim, bringing a first aid kit with him. Jason had gotten Bruce to sit, letting Bruce whisper sweet-nothings into the crown of his head until Jason’s heart had steadied, understanding easily that a fight like that would have brought back terrible memories for Jason. It was so Bruce, focusing on other’s pain instead of his own but Jason couldn’t help himself. He thought his dad of all people (strong, unfailable dad) would have been saved from that kind of violence.

“I should give him a stern whopping, or at least send him for time out. Maybe even banned all of those unhealthy abominations of cereals that he liked to consume. What uncouth behaviour”, Alfred tutted disapprovingly. Jason kept his mouth shut, he had never seen Alfred openly bash someone before and certainly not Dick. Bruce calmly placed his hand, overlapping Alfred’s as the older man dapped some ointment onto his bruise. “Alfred, enough of that. It’s just a bruise and Dick’s still just a kid”.

Alfred huffed. “You and your excuses. I could accept these hostile outbursts when he was still a grieving young child but he is growing up to be a proper man now”.

“Alfred”, Bruce countered, voice all soft and sincere. “That kind of grief never really ends, you must know that and besides, I can take a hit, Alfred. I’m used to it”. Jason’s hand twitched at Bruce’s careless words, feeling his eyes stung with burning tears. Alfred’s hands cupped Bruce’s face, a resigned, almost dark expression on his face. Angling his head further, Alfred pressed his forehead against Bruce, breathing in deeply. “I know you can take a hit, Master Bruce. Good heavens, I know but never again will I allow anyone that you call family to raise a hand against you ever again, not on my watch”. 

Bruce’s eyes fluttered, cheeks becoming rosy under Alfred’s blatant show of care. “This is different”. Even to the end, Bruce will defend that Dickhead to the ground. Jason gnashed his teeth together, burying his face in his dad’s muscled arm, trying to breathe through this rust in his lungs.

…

Jason found the coward later, curling into himself like a sad excuse for a ball in one of the more forgotten rooms of the manor. He stood in front of him, arms crossed, head held up high, finally feeling taller than his supposed ‘big brother’. “...How is he?”, he heard Dick mutter.

Jason scoffed, feeling rather offended on Bruce’s behalf. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”.

The teen in front of him raised his head, swollen, red eyes staring back at him pleadingly. “Jason, please”.

Balling his fist, Jason growled. “You hit him! What did you think would happened?!”.

“I-It was an accident–”

Dick’s face swerved to the side at the sudden force of the hit. He palmed his cheek, pulsing with pain,  looking at Jason in shock. “Whoops.”, Jason said, a sardonic grin forming from his mouth. “It was an accident”. 

“You little shit”, Dick cursed before pouncing at Jason like a rabid dog. Without Alfred's stern gaze and Bruce’s gentle love to stop them, both of them wrestled on the floor, exchanging blows and biting each other like feral animals. Fighting dirty like what was expected of them, instead of the propers ways their father had taught them, pulling hair, using their nails and slashing with them like claws, aiming at sensitive spots. Before long, tears were streaming from the both of them, trailing down their chins and dripping onto each other - a physical mark of their grief and hurt. Grieving, broken strangers brought together under the same house with the love of a man and his caretaker who refused to give up on them like the rest of the world did. 

Clawing at Dick’s face, Jason screamed. “Fuck you, you asshole! I was supposed to be safe. Bruce promised me that I would be safe but I don’t feel like it cause of fuckers like you who can’t control their anger”. Jason  turned them over, pining Dick on the ground with an iron grip around his neck, pressing hard enough not to incapacitate but to send a message. “Why did you hurt him?! How could you?! Don’t you care about him?!”.

Dick grasped his arms, gripping tight enough to hurt. “You know nothing about Bruce and I. I fucking love him!”. 

Feeling his heart ripped apart, Jason yelled as loud as he could, the words bursting forth from his heart like water overflowing from a dam. “Then why did you hit him?!”. 

(Once upon a time there was a man who loved his wife and his son, his little Gotham Prince and then, tragedy struck as his beloved wife fell terribly ill. Unable to provide the money needed for her treatment, the man turned to alcohol and booze to soothe the ache but the longer he drank the more that helplessness morphed into anger. When love turned sour and rotten and even his once beloved family became victim to his own hardened fists).

“Then why–”. Voice cracking, Jason choked on his sobs. “...Why did you hit me, dad?”

The grip from his arms fell as Dick’s murderous eyes softened. The older boy blinked, staring at Jason with something like clarity as Jason failed to stop the ugly hitches of his breaths from his sobs, now crying in earnest. Dick slowly rose up, slightly bruised knuckles wiping the tears leaking from Jason’s eyes with sudden gentleness. “S-sorry. I’m sorry”.

“No, I’m sorry Little Wing. God,  I’m so so sorry”. Repeating himself like a broken record, Dick continued apologising. Bestowing Jason with a new nickname as arms began to wrap around him, not coiling but cradling. Finally feeling like he has an older brother, Jason had cried on Dick’s shoulder, feeling something wet and earnest fall upon his hair. Alongside his newfound, tentative brother, Jason wept with him. 

Bruce would arrive shortly with haggard breaths and worried eyes to pull them in a more solid, warmer embrace. They would be forced to talk about it later by Alfred and laugh with each other as Bruce’s eyes turn glossy at their admission of hurt, the emo softie. Things would be alright for a while and then it wouldn’t be for a long, long time. 

Baby B was curled in Dick’s arms, having fainted after his gut-wrenching outburst. His big brother was hunched over the little guy, as if he could use his fragile, human body to shield their de-aged Father from all the horrors and hurt the world has to offer. Dick’s eyes were on the ground, hazy and red with tears and body unnaturally still, like a panther waiting to pounce.

Slowly, like broken machinery coming to life, Dick’s body began buzzing, trembling as his grip on Bruce tightened. A mournful whimper slipped past Dick’s teeth, barrelling past his defenses for his siblings to see. 

“Richard?”, Little D questioned, his usually tight face had softened, eyebrows furrowed with worry. He had stepped forward, arm outstretched to Dick but Steph’s hand, clasped on his shoulders, held him in place. He turned to her, offended but Steph shook her head. 

Jason breathed, feeling his lungs tremble as he dragged his scarred hands across his face, composing himself. “Cass, take them away”.

And because all of them had inherited Bruce’s stubborn ass, instantly all of Jason’s little brothers began to protest. 

Damian tried to wrestle his way out of Steph’s grasp but she held firm. “How dare you? You can not ask me to leave?!”.

“Y-yeah, we can help too!”, Duke added, hastily wiping his teary eyes.

Tim nodded at Duke, pleading at Jason. “I can handle this, Jason! I’ve been with Bruce at his worst!”. Jason clicked his tongue, little Timmy, always wanting to take on everything himself.

Jason shifted in place, widening his stance. “I said no”, he said, unyielding, letting the Batman growl seeped into his words to prove his authority. He huddled in front of Dick, wrapping an arm around his back and shielding him from view. “I don’t care if all of you can handle it, Dick wouldn’t want you to see him like this”.

Cass moved in front of their little siblings, trying to herd them away. “Big brother need eyes away from him”. 

Staring down at all of them, Barbara spoke, voice as severe as her father’s. “Go to Bruce’s childhood room, there’s a large closet in it. Line it with pillows and blankets, Bruce used to sleep in closets back in that bastard’s house since it was the only place he felt safe. He’d probably do the same here. Turn off all the traps and find all of our hidden weapons too. We don’t want him to accidentally find them”.

Order given, Babs met their obstinate gazes, never breaking eye contact until Damian huffed, clicking his tongue with a distinctive ‘tt’ and stomping away, muttering curses in Arabic that even made Jason raise an eyebrow. Arabic curses were a different breed. The rest followed swiftly, occasionally looking back at them, worry so evidently written on their faces that even someone as psychopathic as the fucking Joker could see it as plain as day. 

Babs wheeled herself closer to Dick, bowing down low so that her hand could reach Dick’s shoulders. “Dick, they’re gone now”. 

Without the penetrating eyes of their younger siblings, Jason’s big brother finally broke. Embedding his face in Bruce’s hair, Dick bawled, body shaking and heaving with every force of his sobs. It was ugly and it was real. Jason’s big sister in all but blood lifted her other hand, placing it on her mouth to muffle her own sobs threatening to leak out. Jason's eyes stayed dry despite it feeling like his lungs were threatening to collapse on itself with every breath he took. Gingerly, he placed his hands under little B’s uncasted hand. Jason knew he was a massive man, even surpassing his father’s bulk and having almost the same silhouette as Superman but it was still jarring to see that this smaller, somehow still ruined version of Bruce whose fingers was only big enough to wrap around his one whole finger. 

Dick’s mournful cries and the painful sound of Barbara failing to hold back her breath rung deep within the canals of his ears, reminding him of the crackling sound of bumbling, green water. Ever since he came back, there was always something wrong with him. Like now, when he couldn’t shed a tear no wonder how much his lungs and eyes burned.

Jason closed his eyes, feeling his body sway slightly from the sudden lightheadedness. With the ringing still present in his ears, he felt far, far away. Away from everything that’s happening at this very moment. Maybe it was alright, to slip away for just a moment. 

Dick and Barbara with their golden hearts could mourn enough for him.

If only he had stopped Bruce earlier.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Once everyone had calmed down and with the messy kitchen all cleaned up to the best of their abilities, they had all reconvened at the dining table. The sun had begun to set, casting the room in a vibrant hues of auspicious red and glimmering golden, almost blinding Jason in its glamour as he poured the remaining porridge in a small bowl meant for Baby Bruce - not that the portion of the bowl was that different from what adult Bruce ate in a day. Jason had settled on making a light chicken porridge for Bruce’s starved stomach.

Jason headed to the dining room where Dick was kneeling in front of a stubborn Bruce, trying to persuade him to sit on a chair. “Come on, Bruce. The floor must be so uncomfy. Won’t you sit on the chair with us? At least for me?”.  They had banned him from helping, insisting that he should rest and when Baby Bruce had finally relented, he sat on the floor like a puppet cut off from its strings, intent on watching them work.

Bruce shook his head. “I shouldn’t. Not allowed too. Don’t deserve too. I’m….bad child”. 

Dick looked close to tears at that fucking horrifying statement as the rest of Jason’s family stilled in their movement, looking at Bruce with varying degrees of disturbed expression. What kind of sick fuck tells a kid he doesn’t deserve to sit on a chair? “Dad”, Dick murmured and Bruce’s frankly impressive poker face for a kid tightened.

When Bruce had woken up after that shit show, he didn't cry nor did he screamed but with a solemn voice more befitting of a corpse had apologised and said that he was ready for punishment. When they refused, Bruce calmly stated, like he was educating them for not knowing how to deal with him. “Bad children get hit”, he had said, voice steady like he was talking about the weather and not freaking child abuse.

Damian had snapped, hands trembling violently as he yelled out, desperation and something close to fear evident in his voice. “Then, when I cry, should I be hit?! When I make even the slightest of mistakes, should I have my bones broken?!”. Dick took Damian’s hands, treading their fingers together when their baby brother’s lips started to tremble. The league was ruthless with their punishments, Jason still had the scars to show for it and Damian, even more. Bruce’s calm countenance started to crack, remorse showing on his face. “N-no..”.

“Then why must you be punished, Father?”,

Hazy eyes snapped to alertness. “Father?”, he echoed, disbelief thick in his voice but the longer he stared at Damian, the more his eyes widened, recognising his face coloured in rich brown and decorated with vivid green eyes instead of light blue, closer to silver.  Count on Bruce to focus on that instead of his own wellbeing. Damian had raised his head, declaring with arrogant eyes and a proud, almost haughty voice. “Yes, Father . I am your son, Damian Thomas Wayne and these are my siblings. We are your children”. 

Jason saw Cass pull at Stephanie’s arm when her mouth opened to protest. Babs didn’t bother correcting Damian, crossing her arm - she looked proud.

They all fell silent, waiting for Bruce to tick, another bomb to explode but moments passed and no movement came from Bruce. Slowly, starting from Dick, they all had taken the turn to introduce themselves and how they came to Bruce. The kid’s eyes were sharp, back straightened, the beginnings of Batman present in his gait, looking far from the fragile abused boy they had just met. Jason met eyes with the rest of his siblings, returning Cass’s determined nod. There were only two explanations - either Bruce, their Bruce was slowly coming back or alternatively, Philip motherfucking Kane never managed to truly break Bruce because for all he acted so pitifully, at his core was a smartass kid with one of the sharpest minds in the universe and a head stubborn enough to hold it.

“This must be a dream”, Bruce tiredly stated with a confidence that Jason was almost jealous of. “Or purgatory”.

This emo ass kid. “Purgatory? You’re barely even fuc–freaking eleven, Bruce”.

Tim’s head was bowed, bangs shadowing his face but the tightness of his hands spelled out his heartache in bold, bright letters. “Is the thought of having us that bad?”, voice bitter, leaning on a bit too desperate. Tim’s obsession over Robin, over Batman was always borderline unhealthy and when Bruce finally got his head out of his ass and accepted Tim, the obsession grew into love - the dangerous kind, the kind where you sink your teeth deep into flesh if it meant they stayed. Out of all of them, Tim was always a bit too ruthless when it comes to Bruce’s defense, to any of their family’s defense. Steph rested a hand on Tim’s back, grounding him.

Bruce's body recoiled upon hearing Tim’s desolate words. “N-no, it’s not you! Never you! It’s just…not real”. Little B stared at all of them, eyes wide with mania as he begged them to understand. “I don’t deserve it”. And when stilted, furious silence was the answer they gave him Bruce barrelled on like they would give him the fucked up answer he so desperately wanted. “I don’t”. 

“Dad”, Dick tried again when Bruce’s gaze remained at the ground, body jolting. Slowly moving forwards, keeping his movements soft and open, Jason pushed the bowl into baby Bruce’s hands - not even big enough to fully wrap around the bowl. “Don’t push him, Dick”.

His big brother’s eyes were sad as they looked at him. “But B doesn’t deserve to eat alone on the floor”. 

Grabbing her bowl, Cassie plopped next to Bruce, already digging into her portion, porridge red from all the spices that she, Damian, Duke and Barbara liked to share. ‘Then, we join. Eat together’ , she signed between scoops of porridge. Easily, like giving water to a sunflower to make them bloom, Dick smiled, bright and hopeful, grabbing his bowl and joining them on the floor in an instant. “Of course! You know, Bruce. You might not remember but we used to eat on the floor all the time back when you first got me since I wasn’t used to eating on a stuffy dining table. Gosh, you looked so awkward–”. Like a particularly annoying bee, Dick kept filling the silence with noise and the rest of them gathered around in a circle. Duke was the most excited, giving everyone an unneeded dose of light as he glowed, literally, talking about ‘the good old middle class days’. The kid’s eyes snapped to Duke, quick as lightning as his display of powers, eye wide as a bunny and even Jason could admit that was cute. Babs took a lot of pictures in secret as Stephanie bit her fingers to stop herself from squealing. Duke offered to do some tricks but he looked away which dimmed Duke’s light a bit.

At first, the kid didn’t eat, only staring at all of them with apprehension but a nudge from Damian and a whine from all of Damian’s housepets eating close by made him take a bite and another and another. When he was halfway through the bowl, Bruce hugged the bowl close to his chest like a child would hug a stuffed animal, gazing into the mushy mixture with a longing gaze far more suited for a soldier far from home and missing home cooked meals. It was fucking depressing and Jason hated it. 

It was when they were cleaning up that it happened. They had let him helped this one because Bruce was close to regurgitating whatever measly amount that he ate because he quote on quote ‘didn’t earned the food’ which holy shit, Jason had so much torture to do Philip motherfucking Kane when they see each other in the deepest depths of hell. Dick continued prattling on as was his speciality. “And oh holy British rage, you should have seen Alfred’s face–”.

A sharp, ear-splitting sound of glass breaking.

Being the closest, Jason rushed to Bruce whose eyes were visibly shaking, kneeling in front of the shattered pieces of the bowl. “Shi–sheet, B. You alright? I told you those were heavy".

“He’s not here”.

Jason traded looks with Dick. 

“He’s not here. Alfred’s not here”. 

Big brother Dick joined them on the floor. “Alfred’s on vacation right now but we can call him back—”.

“This is my dream! Why is Alfred here?!”. Bruce slapped Dick's hand away when he tried to reach out and comfort him. Deep eyes as blue as the deep ocean turned stormy as Dick held his hand against his chest. “Bruce, why wouldn't he be here? He's Alfred .”

“Wrong!”. Bruce slammed his hand on the floor, thankfully not the casted one but the loud ‘thump!’ still left his other hand spasming with pain. “He won’t! He won’t !”.

With those cryptic words, Bruce ran, fast on his feet for someone stuck in a cast, scampering out of the dining room despite their yelling. Dick rose quickly to follow him but a firm hand grasped his arm. He looked back back to see Cass, deep dark eyes definitely staring into his soul. “Cass, we need to follow him! What if he hurts himself?”.

Calm like a hibernating bat, Cass shook her head. “Needs space”. Letting go of Dick, she crossed her arms against her chest, scrutinizing him. “Call Alfred. Call Grandpa”. 

“Cassie, you saw his reaction! You said it yourself, he needs space and Alfred needs that holiday. Zatanna is working on the spell. If she managed to turn Bruce back, imagine how guilty Bruce would feel knowing he interrupted Alfred’s time in London with Aunt Julia if we did call him”.

Dick clasped her shoulders, wearing his perfected ‘everything-will-work-out’ big brother smile that all of them couldn’t help but fall for. Judging by Cass’s head lowering, despite all the things she could see, she wanted to believe it too. “He just needs a huge dose of TLC and who better to show it than us! His bats and birds”. Lifting up one hand, palm facing forward, with his thumb holding down the little finger, and three middle fingers extended upwards, pointing towards the sky, Dick made the scout sign like the nerd that he was. “I promise, if Bruce doesn’t improve, I will be the first to call Alfred”.

Cass held eye contact with Dick but soon, let out a deep, loud sigh before nodding, resignation evident in her pinched face. Clearly some part of her trusted Dick’s judgement. If Cass wanted to do something, not even Babs could stop her. 

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Bruce's childhood room was hidden in the corners and protected by shadows. As a child, Jason remembered Alfred mentioning that Bruce got easily overwhelmed by light, by sound and everything in between, a shy child, solemn even at a young age. It was as if Batman was always meant to be Bruce’s destiny - a child who had preferred the darkness even when he was young. Jason stared down the door, a grim expression on his face. The dim light of the stubborn reading glow-in-dark stickers plastered on the door met his gaze, almost a sick and twisted reflection of Bruce’s innocence. Ace and Titus sat side by side, guarding the door. 

None of them had even dared to set foot in this room, not even Alfred from what Jason could tell, becoming a locked remnant of the past, just like Jason’s room did when he had been brutally murdered. It felt sacrilegious to even stand in front of this room, to view the live proof of what person his father had been, the life he used to live before Joe Chill, before Philip fucking Kane. Before his parents were gunned down right in front of his very eyes when he hadn’t even reached two digits of age. Sighing heavily, Jason dragged his nails across his face, lightly, because honestly he’s not in the mood for Dick and Babs’ nagging. Feeling like he was committing a great sin (and he had mutilated a rapist’s dick before), Jason pet Ace and Titus on the head and entered, holding his breath in.

The room was shrouded in the ever familiar darkness and Jason didn’t want to fuck around and find out by turning on the lights. He was half convinced that he would be struck by lightning as soon as he entered the room. His Lazarus-tainted eyes could see just fine.  

The first thing Jason had noticed was the king sized bed definitely too big for a child as petite as baby B to sleep alone. Judging the even more massive bed in adult Bruce’s room, he always had a fondness for soft, large ass beds. There were remnants of joy scattered around the room, a physical imprint, a museum of the long, dead past, of doodles and scrawls made from crayon and markers littered across the lower parts of the walls, of more glow-in-the-dark stars stuck all over, fighting for life with its dim glow, of drawings of recognizable looking stick figures. Grief was prominent in the air, having a place alongside the dust visible on every wooden surface. 

At his side was a closet, closed shut and the stilted breathing of a child, lost, so close yet so far away from home and sacred out of his mind. 

Mind made up, Jason made his way towards the small shelves housing a few books covered in layers upon layers of dust, keeping his footsteps as light as possible. ‘This must have been Bruce’s personal collection’, Jason thought. There’s a single book separated from the rest, propped alongside a derpy, grime-covered stuffed animal of a robin. Picking it up, Jason brushed the dust off, revealing a very familiar classic with its title printed in golden ‘The Secret Garden’. There’s a tugging in his heart, persistent like the pull of the tides. This was the book that he had picked up, that he had Bruce read before he decided for certain to take flight as Robin. Bruce had bought a special hardcover copy just for him. This book was different though, he could feel the ridges of acrylic paint underneath his fingertips, three familiar figures stood nearby a small boy, cradling the roses softly in their own secret garden - a custom painted cover signed with Martha Wayne’s initials.

He ambled towards the closet, sitting down with his back resting on one of the doors. Reverently, Jason let his fingers trail across the spine before flipping it open at the title page where written in pretty cursive was a message of love from a mother lost too soon. It read; ‘To my beloved, sweet boy Bruce, remember that there is magic everywhere.’

Jason snorted. If only Grandmother Martha knew how literal that statement was. Though then again, they did know Zatanna’s father.

“When Mary Lennox was sent to Misselthwaite Manor to live with her uncle, everybody said she was the most disagreeable-looking child ever seen. It was true, too. She had a little thin face and a little thin body, thin light hair and a sour expression”. 

Jason snickered into Bruce’s arms, snuggling into the softest blankets in existence. His new room was nice and so big, bigger than his old house but Bruce’s bed was always the best. “Sour expression!”, he laughed, bright and bold with innocence - once upon a time ago. “Sounds just like you, B!”. 

Bruce had run his fingers, threading them lightly in Jason’s curls, once rough strands of hair now softened with love and copious amounts of conditioner. “Hmm. My parents used to say that Mary reminded them of me”.

Swallowing down the memories seeping through the haze of his mind like traces of sunlight pushing through tiny slits of windows, Jason continued reading, reading and reading until his voice became hoarse. Briefly, he wondered how Bruce had done it - reading out loud for hours on end for his children without losing his voice. At chapter 23, Jason started coughing into his fist, a scratchy uncomfortable feeling at the back of his throat. His sharp ears picked up the shrill sound of a rusted closet door opening and saw from the corner of his eyes, pale blue eyes as soft as snow, staring at him. 

Jason kept his gaze down, swallowing down the parchedness of his throat. “Dr. Craven had been waiting for some time at the house when they returned to it. He had indeed begun to wonder if it might not be wise to send someone out to explore the garden paths. When Colin was brought to his room, the poor man looked him over seriously”. There’s movement coming from his side, timid and hesitant. Steadfastly, Jason continued reading, ignoring the little hands and knees crawling to his side, not wanting to give Bruce more reason to be spooked. “It was the first time Mary had heard of them, either but even at this–”. A half full water bottle was nudged to his arm, Jason snuck a glance to see a boy, swaddled in a large, fuzzy,  purple blanket (Stephs’) with his head down, hands shaking terribly as he pushed the bottle to him like an offering. There was a long, black cat plushie tucked with him (Cass’s) . There were probably more plushies huddled in the closet. 

Even though you are scared of me, you still chose to be kind.

“Thanks Bruce”. Jason nodded at Little B, tentatively taking the water bottle of Bruce’s trembling hands. He took a large gulp of water, taking note of Bruce flinching as if hit by the thanks that came out of mouth like it was blasphemy. Bruce’s eyes narrowed and mouth pursed, the look he got when he was determined to do something. The boy moved closer to Jason, each step heavy as if he was defying god before finally settling next to Jason, back against the closet, looking at him like he was expecting something cruel. In return, Jason only gave him a small smile, heartful and understanding before turning back to the pages. Bruce’s body jolted as if zapped by his kindness but he kept quiet, wrapping the blanket around him tighter.

Moments passed and the room was bathed in a more prominent darkness as night began to settle itself on the skies, imprinting its stars, a beacon of light, outer space’s lighthouse that Jason finally reached his favourite part of the novel. The part where the most powerful type of magic was found - mundane Magic. “No one smiled. They were all too much in earnest. Colin’s face was not even crossed by a shadow. He was thinking only of the Magic. 

‘Then I will chant,’ he said. And he began, looking like a strange boy spirit. ‘The sun is shining–the sun is shining. That is the Magic. The flowers are growing–the roots are stirring. That is the Magic. Being alive is the Magic–being strong is the Magic. The Magic is in me–the Magic is in me. It is in me–it is in me. It’s in every one of us. It’s in Ben Weatherstaff’s back. Magic! Magic! Come and help!”.

Jason flared his cape before somersaulting from the upper platform of the Batcave and into Bruce’s awaiting arms. “Look, Bruce. I did it! All I needed was a little Magic. Colin was right!”. Jason butted his head against Bruce’s affectionately, like a little tiger cub rubbing itself against its mother. “The Magic is everywhere! Robin gives me Magic so I can do anything !”.

Bruce had laughed, and laughed – the deep kind where Jason could feel the trembles of his expanding and deflating chest. Bruce nuzzled Jason closer, smiling into his unruly curls. “Of course you can. You’re a miracle, Jason”.

The cat’s ears poked at his sides.

Jason blinked out of his stupor. Slowly as if waking from a dream, he turned his gaze towards his side, where a little boy sat instead of a man whose hands could hold the entire world. “Yeah…Yeah, I’m fine”. His body felt tight, woven together by memories long forgotten. There was a heaviness taking root in his mind, making the words of the novel swirl and merge together accompanied by the laughter of an innocent boy who believed in magic and a Father who wouldn’t arrive too late echoing in his ears. Jason rubbed his eyes, feeling like he had aged considerably. He looked at the boy next to him, covered in man-made bruises that came from the hands of a family member.

“Do you believe in magic, Bruce?”, he asked, feeling rather cynical. It was quite cruel, asking an abused boy if he still believed in the good, simpler things in life. 

Then again, hasn’t Jason been the same before everything? 

Little B fiddled with his fingers, scratching at his already bleeding cuticles. Jason winced, he looked so uncomfortable. “Hey, sorry B. That was mean. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to. I ain’t Philip Kane - the motherfucker”. 

Bruce opened his mouth, but closed it again after blinking his eyes rapidly, thinking it through. “H-He’s not that…bad”. 

Jason gestured towards his body pointedly. A flicker of that Wayne/Bat stubbornness flashed across his face for a second before Bruce visibly deflated. “I…I deserved it”.

“You don’t, Bruce. You really, honest to god, don’t. You could have been born as the anti-christ himself and still don’t deserve what happened to you.”.

Bruce to his credit, seemed to mull the words over. Jason let him be, opting to stare at the mobile of the solar system hanging from the ceiling. He wondered how Bruce would react, knowing that he built a space station right beside earth when he got older. 

“I’m Jewish”, was what Bruce finally said, making Jason snort. “Trust me, Bruce. Besides, you don’t believe in god anyway”.

Bruce nodded to Jason’s words, seemingly not that bothered or surprised that his future self turned out to be an atheist. “....I believe in it”.

“What?”. Because of course, Bruce had always assumed that people would just know what he was talking about. 

Bruce started resolutely at the floor. “Magic. I believe in it”. 

“But you hate magic?”.

“I do…?”. Bruce for a second, looked heartbroken, shaking his head, he continued. “I..I get to meet you and the rest and everyone’s being nice to me even though I don’t understand it”. Bruce took a deep trembling breath. “It doesn’t hurt as much being here and that’s–that’s magic. It must be! Something this good…”.

“Bruce..”.

Bruce’s eyes started watering and his lips wavered but stubborn, Bruce still didn’t cry. “T-This is such a nice dream, I don’t ever wanna wake up. That when I wake up, U-Uncle Philip will–”.

“I won’t let him! Bruce, look at me!”, Jason clapped his chest as young Bruce stared up at him with hesitant eyes. “I’m big and strong. Nothing can touch you. I won’t let anyone touch you, Dad!”. The term of endearment slipped from his mouth.

Did you know? That before I got so angry at you for not breaking your rule, for trying to be a better person in my memory that I trained so hard in the league to come back to you, stronger and better so that I could shield you just like how you shielded me? So I would be strong enough to protect myself and never have you worry again?

Little B’s were severe, looking at him as if he was swallowing something painful. “Everytime I look at any of you longer, I feel like I made you cry so hard. But when I look at you , I feel like you should strangle me”. Bruce shoved his hands on his face, pushing the bottom part of his palm against his eye sockets. “I don’t get it. I don’t ”.

You only truly failed me once. I’m sorry that somehow that killed me but that wasn’t your fault. Not for that.  

“Bruce, that’s not–”.

“Leave!”. Bruce burrowed himself in the blanket, curling on the floor and shivering, not from the cold, but something more biting. 

Perhaps if this was someone else, Jason would have listened, respected their right to privacy and all that jazz but this was Bruce. And for all that Bruce put up that front, whether bite-sized or big, for all that he acted like a loner asshole, all he ever wanted was for someone to be there.

To not ever be alone. For someone to reach out in that darkness he loved so much and show him some light, some joy, some Magic . Jason might not have been a good Robin. Too violent or too kind at the wrong times but this, he could do. 

After all, pulling Bruce’s head out of his stubborn ass was a Robin speciality. 

“First of all, whatever you’re thinking–it wasn’t your fault. Second of all, I won’t fucking leave.”, Jason announced to the lump in the blanket, something fiery and strong bumbling in the arteries of his undead heart. Bruce may have made a lot of mistakes, some more costly than others but he had never left, not once even in the face of everything and anything. “You don’t deserve to rot alone.”.

In the silence of the night, Jason heard it, though mild as it was. A click of a tongue. Hiding his smile behind his mouth, Jason stifled a giggle. Bruce was still his moody stubborn self, broken as he was.

Jason laid beside the Batlump, flipping the book open once more. Good thing that being dunked in the Lazarus pit came with the perks of having built-in night-vision in his eyes. “He said it a great many times–not a thousand times but quite a goodly number…”

…

When Jason had come to, feeling the warm haze of morning sunlight, a small figure was curled beside him. He feigned sleep until Little B woke up, covered him with the blanket and skittered away with two extra sets of legs following him - probably Ace, leaving Jason feeling a warmth not from sunlight. Titus was by his side, licking him on his face as if saying good job.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Cassandra practiced her routine, relishing in flexes and stretching of her muscles as she gracefully danced across the empty ballroom accompanied by the piano played by little brother Duke. Back before Black Bat, before Dad, before Barbara and before anything good in her life, David Cain was rigorous, downright authoritarian with his training, stretching Cassanadra over her limit and expecting even more. Dancing was different though, it came with strict limits to adhere to if you don’t want to push yourself too hard and render your legs useless. And unlike killing, dancing was pretty . It made her look and feel pretty and it always made everyone around her smile. The first time she waltzed with Dad, he lifted her arm in his arms and hugged her with the ‘Dad’ hug, warm and kind and so full of love. Cass cried that day because every part of B’s body, from the crown of his head to the end of his soles echoed with love so profound that it could bring the world to its knees. Even the memory of it brought good tingles fluttering across Cass’s sternum with warmth that she had wanted to share.

There’s a flurry of steps coming by, deceptively light and mousey. It made Cassie sad that Bruce felt like he needed to make himself small in a house that he had built with love, as awkward and silly as his attempts were but it’s okay.

Cassandra Wayne could help too. She nodded at Duke and he smiled back with a wink, cheeky. Her little brother changed the song, tapping the keys to ‘Somewhere, Over The Rainbow’ from their B’s favourite show. Little fingers emerged from the darkness, gripping the arch pillar tightly before a mop of unruly hair and striking pale blue eyes shot true her soul, enlightening it on fire. Cass began, spreading her arms wide like a swan, getting on her tiptoes and crossed her legs, right over left. The memories were returning to her, gushing into her mind like a waterfall - her first ever performance. Funnily enough, her Dad had missed it since there was an Arkham breakout and plenty of bad people wanting to target Bruce’s Wayne daughter.  He was more angry with himself than her but he tried , and made it up by renting a theatre for her team and they performed and performed and how her Dad wept. Emblazoned by the memory and the beat change in Duke’s playing reaching its climax, she performed a Fouetté, executing it elegantly before bowing down to baby B, who in the middle of her performance, started inching away from shadows and now standing awkwardly in the middle of the archway, a healthy blush on cheek finally making him look like the little baby that he was and arms lightly clapping, mouth slightly parted open in awe. Ace is by his side, ever the loyal companion.

The plan worked and as the saying goes, Cass and Duke had hit the jackpot. Jason ( first little brother, hurt, so hurt but he’s trying. At first, she hated him for all the sadness he was making Bruce’s body go through but he’s trying and Cassandra Cain, ex-weapon could respect that. ) had paved the way, picking a piece of Baby B’s broken heart and putting it back together. The rest of them will do the same.  

Gracefully, she performed a jeté, leaping to standing in front of her little Dad. He jolted slightly in surprise but Baby B’s eyes never started away from her, staring at her like she’s the most wondrous person he had ever laid his eyes on, just like his older self would. She kneeled down, offering her hand. Fear, fear, too good to be true bled from the tenseness of his body like a warning sign but Cass stayed firm in the face of fear, just like how the daughter of Batman (of love) should. Baby Bruce’s eyes locked onto hers and she returned it, ever kind before he finally put his small hand on hers, soft like Titus and Ace’s snout. His gaze lowered, eyelashes fluttering demurely before he murmured shyly, softly like a secret. “You’re very pretty”.

“Thank you”. Cassandra smiled, lifting her other hand, letting it hover near his head. “Want to brush your hair back. May I?”.

Bruce bit his lips. “...You don’t have to ask”. At that bad answer, surely taught by that bad, bad man, she shook her head firmly. “No. Body belongs to you. Need permission to touch so you won’t feel bad after touch”.

“Oh”. Her mini Dad looked around, catching Duke’s eyes as if expecting him to disagree but when her little brother only nodded encouragingly. Little B deflated, giving up on finding reason when even Ace barked at him, pushing him closer to Cass with his snout. Cute. “O-okay, you can”.

With a gentle hand, she brushed the bangs of B’s hair back, the strands stubborn even at this age. So desperately, Cassandra wanted to pepper him with featherlight kisses but she must wait.

Duke came by, kneeling beside them as their Dad watched with wary eyes. “Hey, Bruce”, Duke smiled, brighter than sunlight. Cass loved his smiles. Baby B blinked, slightly hiding his face behind Ace’s fur as the dog moved in front of him to greet Duke. “You played really nice”.

“Awww, thanks B. You were the one who taught me how to play”.

At that, Bruce straightened his shoulders. “I-I still play?”.

“Sometimes”. Duke scratched the back of his neck. “You only play when it’s to teach someone though”. 

Baby B’s eyes turned downcast. “Papa played”. 

Cass could read so much despair on Bruce’s body that made her chest heavy. “Want to hold you”. And when he nodded, Cass easily picked him up, Baby B really shouldn’t be walking on that cast anyways. She signed something to Duke, wanting to keep the surprise from Bruce and her sweet little brother smiled, eyes slightly glowing the way it does when he’s excited about something. Little brother was so cute! He rushed back to the grand piano, pressing a button to play a recorded piano arrangement of the song ‘Fireworks’ from Katy Perry before sliding across the spotless, slippery marbled floor to goofily attempt to kneel in front of Bruce. Cass's little brother missed the landing, falling face first on the floor. She was already snickering, coming over to help Duke up when they heard it - a small puff of breath, fragile and innocent and fleeting like holding a snowflake in your palm before it melted.

When they looked at Little Dad, he already had both of his tiny, tiny hands pressed against his mouth, face pinched like he was caught doing something bad and eyes closed tightly as he braced for impact. Impact that Cass would never let happen to him as long as her heart still beat. Slowly, she pried her Dad’s fingers off his face, patient through every flinch and twitch. Holding that precious hand with her fingers, Cass pressed her forehead against Bruce’s, breathing through the lump in her throat as Bruce shuddered in relief from the warmth of good skin-to-skin contact, body trembling. “No hurt here”. Cass waited until Dad finally opened his pretty blue eyes to sign ‘Happiness is a right so don’t hide. Not with family’. 

“Yeah! You have a really nice laugh Bruce and we love to hear it. To make you happy”. It was clear he didn’t believe Duke from the increasing frown forming on his face. Remaining undeterred, Duke conjured a ball of light in his hands, bringing it closer to their Dad who audibly gasped, unabashedly loud and Cass had to stop herself from jumping. Was this how Dad felt when she first spoke? No wonder he had to step away to another room just to cry.

Without waiting for any approval, Bruce reached forward, letting his hand hover around the orb, unhealthy cheeks flushed red, the way Cass remembered happened whenever he got too excited. It was the first time she had seen him act like an actual child, to see a glimpse of what he was like before everything tried to ruin him. “You’re really Magic?”, the baby asked, usual monotone voice sounding light and airy like the nice breeze flowing through Grandma Martha’s garden. 

Duke's eyes crinkled, the light in his hands making the brown of his eyes shine even more. “I am, B”. He raised his arm higher, aiming the ball of light to the ceiling. “Wanna see more magic?”.

Bruce’s tense body relaxed, resting against Cass's chest. His nodded, eyelashes fluttering as he cranked his head up and up to the roof. With bright and mischievous laughter ringing like a symphony, a laughter that screamed of Robin, of light, Duke unleashed the ball up high and bursted. Baby Bruce hurriedly covered his ears but it exploded into hundreds of little patches of sunlight without a sound before each individual kernel bloomed into mini fireworks zapping across the air, dancing with light breeze filtering through the windows. The world was filled with colour, soundless and painless. The sight was pretty but Cassandra could only focused on Bruce, entranced on how the colour bounces of from the blue in his eyes and the way the corner of his mouth curl ever so slightly, mouth opened wide in awe in the way Cass observed young children tended to do when seeing something wonderful for the first time.  

Cass's trailed to Duke whose gaze remained entranced on Bruce, staring at the lights he created like they're the most amazing thing he has ever seen.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

After some begging and an oath sworn to Jason, Steph was allo wed back in the kitchen with ‘strict’ supervision, i.e, Tim who was the only available right now. Honestly, Tim was still rather miffed with the gremlin because she broke a cardinal sin - the bro code and leaked his prized self-insert fic with Batman.

Okay listen, Tim had a phase okay. It was not like his was the only self inset fic of Batman in existence - just go look up Batman & Reader or Batman & OC tag in ao3. There were a lot of people that wanted to call Batman ‘Dad’ or depending on their preferences, god forbid ‘ Daddy ’. Ugh. At least Tim had a standard okay?! He may have been nine but all his grammar was correct and he didn’t spell definitely as ‘defiantly’ like a noob. And his characterisation of Batman? Immaculate. And how did Tim achieve this? By portraying him as a human with an insane amount of love and compassion instead of that hunking, brooding, stoic man that only alpha males who were clearly projecting themselves preferred. Those same smartasses also had the fucking audacity to come to his comment section to say that his portrayal of Batman was OOC. OOC?! Tim?? Gothamites loved his fics, especially the more recent ones where he had collaborated with Jason. Oh, Tim will show them OOC–

“Ow!”. Tim rubbed the place on his forehead where Steph had flicked him.

His best friend eyed him, face unamused and definitely calling him a loser in all the new slangs she picked on the internet. “You were muttering like a supervillain again, Tim Tam. Stop with your autism this once”. She gestured at Bruce, who was watching them closely. “You’re scaring the baby”. Bruce’s face twitched at the mention of him being a baby. Well, at least some things never changed. Tim scratched his arm, giving Bruce a sheepish smile. “Sorry about that, Bruce”.

Bruce hummed, staring at the carpeted floor. He then turned to the kitchen, lidded eyes widening a bit. Tim breathed in the air. Ah.

“Steph, the waffles are burning”.

“How dare you?! My waffles making skills are–”. Steph took a whiff of the burning, charcoal flavored air, finally looking alarmed. “Oh shit! Be right back with your waffles, Baby B!”. Giving Bruce the finger guns, Stephanie had rushed back to the kitchen with a speed that could put the Flashes to shame. Honestly, Tim really should be by her side and monitoring but he had some WE work to settle. Serves them right for laughing at his fanfics. Besides, Bruce already had enough mental breakdowns in the kitchen and he’s not even been here that long. 

Resting his back against the cushion, Tim resumed typing, occasionally sneaking glances to Bruce, sitting beside him, still as a doll as he stared off into the distance, thousand-yard gaze looking uncanny on his chubby face. A rubik’s cube and a few fidget toys, some of adult Bruce's and some were Tim’s, were laid around him, untouched. Even Tim, nearly forgotten and self-sufficient as he was, knew technically speaking how to play, how to act like a child even if he did initially believe in the whole ‘children should be seen not heard’ proverb that made even Batman, deep in depression as he was, looked at him like he had lost his mind. 

 Tim noticed Bruce’s hand moved and saw him pointing at his computer, cocking his head to the side. The young adult’s hand twitched, inching for a camera. “Oh this? Just some Wayne Enterprises stuff that I needed to settle”.

Bruce pointed his chubby little fingers back to himself and holy shit, Tim needed his camera. “Yeah, you passed the company to me a while back but you still come every once in a while”. Scooting closer, he waited for Bruce’s hesitant nod, Tim angled the computer to Bruce, watching with bated breaths as blue eyes, far lighter than Tim’s skimmed through the words. There were various terminologies far more advanced than what the average adult could understand but Tim has no doubt that his dad, though de-aged, could make out what most of it meant. Bruce’s mouth thinned and eyes narrowed in a disgust that betrays his age though if you ask Tim, he looked like a disgruntled bunny. “Wayne Enterprises has become a billion dollar company?”.

“What’s wrong with that?”, Tim asked, amused. Bruce’s expression turned wary, almost fearful and Tim stumbled over his words. “Hey, Bruce. It’s alright. I’m not mad. I just wanna know”. He moved away from Bruce, no matter how much it broke his heart to do so. “I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you”. 

A few moments passed, long enough that Tim was able to write a few more paragraphs when Bruce finally muttered. “Papa said there’s no ethical billionaires”. 

“You said the same thing to me. It was quite the ride, watching you try to make the company lose money but now Wayne Enterprises is a self making money machine”. Bruce’s face dropped at that, face all scrunched up and openly devastated. “I’m a capitalist?”, he questioned, voice as sullen as when he said he didn’t deserve to have a family. Holy shit, this kid. 

Steph came back at the right time, placing the plates of waffles on the coffee table, taking one good look at Bruce and instantly giving Tim the stink eye. “What did you do?”. She crossed her arms. 

Bruce shook his head sadly. “This is purgatory. I became a billionaire ”. 

Blinking, Steph processed the statement before quickly slapping a hand against her mouth before she started cackling like the maniac that she was and scaring Bruce. As Tim’s menace of a family member took the time to compose herself, he leaned forward to a sullen Bruce, hanging his head. “B”, he called sweetly, fondness leaking through his voice like a bursted dam that could not be stopped. Droopy eyes and a pouting face cute as a button turned to him.

“Don’t be so sad. You’re not bad”.

Steph finally calmed herself enough to plop herself on the chair, a considerable distance from Bruce. “Yeah, Timmy’s right B. For one, you would rather kiss Lexi’s shoes than become a corrupt billionaire”. Little Bruce’s eyes narrowed at Luthor’s name, despite not recognising Connor’s DNA donor. “And Wayne Enterprises isn’t just a business anymore”. Steph beamed, stretching her hands out wide.  “It’s a philanthropists’ heaven!”. 

Tim nodded, opening out a few articles written by Clark and Lois. “See this, Bruce? Wayne Enterprises is ranked number one for ‘Most Worker-Friendly’ corporation. Not only that, the Wayne Foundation has helped so many people”.

Bruce warily inched closer, taking in the words projected on the screen. 

“You invest in people and the people invest in their work. You do a lot of good, Bruce and you taught us to do good too’.

Tim’s little Dad’s eyes grew exponentially larger at that. Little Bruce pointed at himself, at where his heart lay beating still. “I do….good?”, he asked, like it was an unfathomable thing to even consider. As if that for the rest of his remaining years, he wouldn’t spend it just trying to do good no matter how angry he was when he first started. 

Humming, Steph stabbed a piece of the waffles with a fork and brought it up to Bruce’s mouth. She shared a look of excitement with Tim when Bruce absent-mindedly ate the piece, still pondering through Tim’s words while Steph tried to hold herself back from hugging him to death. One more time, she tried to feed him once more but this time Bruce angled his head away, body curling into himself.

“Not true…that can't be true”.

Stephanie put the fork aside. “But it’s true, Bruce. You do so much it’s actually insane”.

“N-not true”. Bruce shook his head, unwrapping his arms and staring at his hands as if he was comprehending something in those small palms, already so full of calluses and cuts. “A murderer…I’m a m-murderer”.

Both Tim and Steph stilled, taking a glance with each other, eyes heavy with worry. Nodding at Tim, she grasped Bruce’s hands, jolting Bruce out of his trance. He flinched hard enough to almost fall out of the couch but Tim’s hands laid on his back, steadying him. Swiftly, Tim let go but Steph still held Bruce’s hands, loose enough that he could pull away if he wanted too. 

“Bruce”, Steph started, voice deep and earnest. “You didn’t kill them. You didn’t kill your parents”.

Bruce only shook his head at that, irrationally obstinate about this one thing. He was shutting down, mouth clenched and eyes closed tightly as he kept shaking his head. His hands though, were still held by Steph’s even through his shaking. There was still hope, he was still reachable. Tim just need to drag him out, just like how 

“Wanna know a secret, Bruce?”, Tim asked aloud. Bruce’s fingers twitched and just like that, Tim had won. “I had killed someone before too”. The boy’s head swerved to Tim’s, eyes blown wide in disbelief as he took in Tim’s rather slim structure. It was true that compared to the rest of his brothers and even the girls, Tim was built rather lean and slender but brawn was never the only requirement in taking a life. “It was an accident though”. Steph’s eyes locked onto his, something dangerous pooling in her irises - the madness and almost insatiable rage that seemed hereditary for all Robins. It really wasn’t. “That means I must be a bad person and I should go get punished”.

With a speed that little Bruce rarely showed and a desperation just as heartbreaking as the first time he had seen it, Tim’s petite Dad grasped the sleeves of his shirt firmly. “Don’t go…”, he whispered, voice breaking. Testing the waters, Tim angled his body slightly and Bruce scrambled to get on his lap, almost knocking off the laptop if it weren’t for Tim’s bat reflexes. “No”. Pushing his head against Tim’s stomach, it almost was like Bruce was trying to bury himself in Tim. “No..”. With a love greater than him, Tim looped his arms around Bruce’s trembling body, swallowing down his bile and putrid anger as  he felt the impression of pointy bones against his skin. “Hurt me…but don’t go”. Huddling closer, Tim gently laid his cheekbone against the top of Bruce’s head, feeling the stray strands of hair caressed and tickle his cheek and nose. 

“An accident...It’s an accident. Good. You’re good”. At least that hadn’t changed, Bruce’s unbreaking relief that his children could be anything but good . He was always too kind. That’s why sometimes, Tim and the rest had to get their hands a bit bloody.

Tim nodded. “It was. That means yours was an accident too and you’re good too”. This won’t change much, won’t undue all he nights Bruce had spent wallowing in hatred ever since those two gunshot rang especially with Bruce’s particular brand of headstrong stubbornness but as Steph joined in their hug and feeling their small version of the man they loved so much relax and settle into the hug despite still shaking his head like a broken bobble head toy, Tim believed their chances were good. They fought against more than less favorable odds before.

“Bruce, y-you’re so s-silly”, Steph started to cry. “We would never hurt you”. Pressing herself closer, she insisted. “We would never”.

For a long while, they nestled against each other’s bodies like the broken children that they are.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Looking at him, this delicate flower of a boy who somehow, will grow up to be Damian’s strong and kind Father, Damian felt unnerved. He sat next to him, all listless and doll-like, doing nothing as Damian went through the various channels that the large TV had to offer. He would have stuck with Bluey , the lessons that show promoted has even thawed through Damian’s icy heart after all but his de-aged father’s hazy eyes saw through the screen, taking in nothing. Switching the TV off, Damian breathed down an impatient sigh. They were getting nowhere. The only reason that Damian knew that child was not an illusion he had conjured off but because off the small twitches of father’s hand (smaller than his, so breakable–) as for some god-forbid reason, he tried to hold himself off from patting Alfred, who laid languidly on his lap, purring incessantly for the past few minutes. 

Fine then, Damian must simply change his strategy. 

“Little Baba”, Damian called, as gently as he could. Father’s dull eyes zapped to his, body stiff like a soldier awaiting command. How dreadful. No wonder his family looked so pained when Damian first set foot here. “Come, let us head to the drawing room. I’ve been feeling an itch to draw”. He turned around, waiting for Father to trail behind like a lost little shadow but no accompanying footsteps were heard. Looking back, Father was still sitting on the couch, dead eyes finally showing a hint of emotion. “...The drawing room”, he whispered, voice as soft as a newborn kitten’s first mewl in the world. “It was mama’s”.

“This was my mama’s favourite room”, Father had whispered as he bestowed upon Damian a heavenly kiss upon his temple. Truly, mother and grandfather were right. Father’s soft heart would be his undoing. At this angle, even with his father’s height, Damian could easily slit his throat. 

Unaware of Damian’s gruesome thoughts, Father continued looking at him with soft, pitiful eyes unbefitting of a man as great as the supposed Batman. Feeling something crawl along his throat, Damian looked away, surveying the room instead, filled with painted canvases upon canvases of his paternal grandfather, grandmother, the butler and a younger version of his father, who smiles with eyes still bright, looking so breakably innocent that it almost made Damian hurl. “And you are giving this room to me, Father? I did not recall doing anything so worthy of such a gift”.

Father had smoothed his hair, settling a warm hand at the back of his head. “You didn’t need to do anything, Damian. You are my son. You…you deserve everything good in the world”.

And Father had held his hands, hands that had more blood staining his palm and seeping into the crevices of his nails more than his Father (Kind, wonderful, Was this why you left the league–?) ever would. 

Damian clenched his fist, oddly feeling like he needed to prove himself. “You gave it to me, when you’re older”. His little Father blinked, nodding slightly, easily accepting Damian’s ownership of his mother’s sacred room but made no room to move. Being the good son that he was, Damian stepped closer, spreading his hands wide, non-threateningly when the little boy’s eyes widened in alarm. 

“Do you not want to come?”. Surely, after being held captive by that wretched man, he would want to see his beloved mother’s favourite room? 

“I….I shouldn’t”. The boy was wringing his hands nervously in a move so similar to Father that it made Damian blinked, chest suddenly heavy. 

I miss you.

Impulsively, Damian scooped the boy up in his arms, scaring Alfred away. He was ridiculously light in his arms. Damian had lifted up weights far more heavier than this feather of a boy back when he was even younger. Little Baba stiffened in his arms, looking quite uncomfortable but he didn't look that scared. Perhaps it was due to Damian being an ugh child himself. It seemed there were still good uses that his age could offer. 

“You are her son”. 

Damian missed his father dearly but there was still a part of him here, as fractured as that boy was. And just like how Father and the rest had extended their hands and gave him love - he will endeavour to do the same. 

“It does not matter if you shouldn’t. Her room belongs to you too. I do not know much about grandmother but I believe that she would be sad if her son does not want to enter her favourite room”.  

Slowly, Little Baba nodded. Damian headed towards the drawing room, his father in his arms. Opening the door, he heard Little Baba’s tiny gasp as they entered. Schooling his face into a more prominent frown, Damian tried to stave off the heat on his face. The drawing room was Damian’s sanctuary and it was rare for anyone to come in without his explicit permission so out in the open, laid bare, was Damian’s affection for his family in the form of dried paint and glossy acrylics. 

Damian brought his Father towards the painting he was looking at the most - a family portrait of the Wayne Family with the older version of him in the center, a small, shy smile framed by rosy cheeks and eyes crinkled from joy. At his nod, Bruce's hesitant fingers traced the corners of his elder self’s curving lips, eyes blown wide with awe instead of the ever present fear. “Happy….I look happy”, he mumbled. Then, Damian saw something shift in those tired eyes, burning out the light finally flickering in them as Father drew his hands back, jerking like he had touched something searing. It was only because his Little Baba’s pudgy face was so close to his ear that Damian heard the quiet whisper of. “No..this is just a dream. It’s not real”.

Clamping his mouth shut, Damian forced the anger and pain accumulating in his throat like putrid bile down. 

Patience . Just as Grayson said. Patience

It would do no good to scare him now. If Damian were to open his mouth to refute that horrible mindset, he would go too far.  Settling Father down on the floor, Damian grabbed his sketchbook and a few papers for Bruce alongside his art supplies. Gently placing a pencil in Bruce’s good hand, Damian said, trying to emulate Grayson’s inviting timber and Brown’s exuberance in his voice. “Come, let us draw”.

Picking up his own pencil, Damian began to sketch. Father has a rather strong obsession with dinosaurs and he was certain that it started from a young age. Fido The T-rex would do nicely. As he began blocking the shapes, Damian glanced at his father when he heard the sound of a pencil tumbling on the ground. Immediately dropping his sketchbook, he scooched closer to the boy, whose hands were shaking violently. 

“Little Baba, what’s wrong?”. 

Bruce stared at the cast on his hand. “I..I shouldn’t draw”. 

Damian pressed his fingers against the meat of his thighs, burying it deep. Even through the luxurious fabric  of the pants, Damian could feel the curve of his fingernails. “He’s dead, Father. Philip Kane would bring harm to you no more. And have you not said it yourself that this is a dream so in theory, you should be able to do anything that you want”.

Stubbornly, his father still shook his head. 

Deep down, hidden beneath the calm, impassive face Damian had taken on to hide his bloodlust from this small lamb of his father, he briefly entertained the idea of finding that monstrous Kane’s body and dumping him into a Lazarus pit. Damian will tear out every single tendon in his body as he asks ‘Why did you do it?’ because for the life of him, Damian could not understand. Grandfather stifled so called ‘lesser’ hobbies in the league since Damian, as the league's heir should only allocate his time into becoming a perfect weapon. Now, sheltered with love, Damian understood that it was unnecessary and cruel but what reason could Philip Kane have?

Damian would have torn it out of him if he wasn’t certain that his paternal grandfather would have disposed of the body somewhere not even the shadows could reach. Pennyworth was efficient like that. 

Breathing deeply through his nose, Damian calmed himself. “Alright, I understand”. Flipping over to a new page, Damian asked. “Since you won’t allow yourself to draw, is there anything that you would like me to create?”.

Once again, Little Baba fell silent but this time, he didn’t seem to be openly opposing the idea. In fact, this is the most interested Damian had seen him. His eyebrows were furrowed, gaze as steady as mountains back in Nanda Parbat - the intensity of his gaze reminiscent of his Father’s thinking face. 

“...Bat man”.

Damian startled, green eyes sharpening. “Batman?”. Have his siblings informed him of his future title already?

Little Baba shook his head. “A bat man. It’s…it’s a scary monster but it only hurts bad people and protects kids”. Like me. Damian heard the unspoken words. Dinah Lance once said that Batman was a broken child’s fantasy brought to life - that was why she wasn’t as afraid of Father when she first saw him. It made sense for his Father to have dreamt of Batman at this age but there’s something gnawing at Damian’s mind.

“Alright, I shall draw this ‘bat man’, little Baba but you must properly address it as a he”.

The little boy wrinkled his nose slightly, the same subtle face Father made whenever someone disagreed with him. “....But, why?”, he questioned, getting bolder, making Damian preen on the inside. “He’s a monster”.

“He still has a heart and he still bleeds when hurt so that makes him human”, Damian said, repeating the words Father had said to him when he asked about Waylon Jones. The boy didn’t seem like he agreed much but still he amended.  “...Please draw him for me”.

Damian grabbed the charcoal from the bag, blotting out dark shapes on the paper. There’s a thrill rising inside of his chest as his heart began to beat, thump, thump, thump as Damian added one more stroke to the fine paper. It was a thrill different from fighting and it was always so wonderful to see the life Damian had created, forever immortalised on paper when he had been raised to kill, to ruin even before he learned how to speak. Batman, Father, how could Damian show his de-aged Father of what Batman became, the legends he had created and all the lives Batman’s scarred hands had touched? 

There was a scene Damian had in mind, a clip he once saw on television during the frist few weeks of his stay that made him reconsider what Batman had been created for. 

There was a flutter in Damian’s stomach, making him feel quite nauseous - something that Damian interpreted as nervousness as he handed the drawing into Baba’s small little hands. He watched as the boy gasped, bringing the paper closer to his chest, almost hugging it. “T-this is”. He clamped his mouth shut, eyes darting, trying to find the words.

“What’s wrong?”.

Baba shook his head frantically, eyes wet with stubborn tears refusing to fall. “There’s nothing wrong! It l-looks good but–”. Damian’s small father flipped the drawing over where the image of Batman carrying what looked to be a teenage girl in his arms through a sea of scared people. “It..He doesn’t look like much of a monster…”

Damian placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, hating how even his hands, the size of a healthy tween could fully encompass his shoulder. “Sometimes, monsters seem more humane than most humans, Little Baba”. 

Damian resumed drawing, flipping to a new page, feeling the boy’s contemplative, unwavering stare throughout the whole time they spent there.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Barbara watched as Dick threw all the pillows he had collected cheerfully into the pile with a wide-eyed Bruce watching as if Boy Blunder was trying to summon a demon instead of trying to make a pillow fort. Zitka was held gingerly in his hands, Bruce cradling the plush like how one would hold a precious diamond with such a serious expression on his face that Babs knew made Dick squeal on the inside like a loser.

Though she had to admit, he was really really cute. She could make bucks selling his pictures to the JL and all of Bruce’s ex-situationships. 

Dick hobbled closer, walking goofily in order to lower Baby B’s defenses. It worked with Damian, after all for the most part before the little demon would inevitably try to stab him. He kneeled down to be at the same level as baby Bruce. “B, are you excited for the best pillow fort of your life?!”, Dick smiled with the full force of the blaring sunset.

Alarmed by Dick’s enthusiasm, his eyes darted to Barbara, inching closer to her. “Don’t worry. Unfortunately, he was born like that”. She smiled, offering a hand that Bruce hesitantly took. Out of everyone, Bruce was the least wary of her, probably due to the fact that to him, she had the least means to harm him - being in a wheelchair does have its perks. 

“Hmph”, Bruce grunted, a small, cuter version of his adult self’s. 

Falling to the ground like a pathetic soldier, Dick clutched at his chest, a high-pitched squeak coming through a mouth trying to stay shut. 

“Is…is he okay?”.

A distinct ‘tt’ was heard from behind a tower of blankets, walking into the living room. Damian shoved all the blankets on top of Dick, burying him with a cool look of disdain plastered on his face. “Ignore him, little Baba”. 

“Yeah, Dickhead’s got a screw loose”, Jason chimed in, index finger doing a spinning motion near his head as the rest of them giggled. Muffled screams could be heard from the now moving mount of blankets and pillows.

“CANONBALL!”, Steph hollered, jumping up high and crushing Dick, who let out a painful wheeze. Duke was the first to join before the rest of them followed and made it their current mission to suffocate Dick to death. Barbara watched on fondly, resting her chin on her hand at them wrestling with each other. Feeling worried about Bruce’s reaction, she turned to him and saw the barest hint of a smile threatening to peek through stiff lips. 

Grabbing a few locks of her hair, Barbara brought it to her lips, hiding her own growing, goofy smile. He really was cute. 

That smile quickly disappeared when hands emerged from the abyss of softness and plush to pull her in. 

After what feels like 5 minutes of definitely not handicapped approved wrestling, Zitka bounced off their tangled bodies and onto the ground with a loud squeak. Bruce stood over them, a cushion as large as he was hugged tightly in his arms, leg tremblings like a newborn fawn. 

“I-I won”.

Stunned silence. Bruce fidgeted, an apology forming at his mouth and knees bending like he was ready to kneel when Steph grabbed a stray pillow, fluffing it like she was chambering a gun, yelling “Ambush him!!”. As soft as possible, they threw the pillow over pillow at Bruce until a small mountain formed around him. Seconds passed by yet the small mount of fluff remained still. Dick stepped forward, face pinched with worry and he reached out a hand to help.

A pillow flew straight to Dick’s face as a small face popped out of the mount. Dick laughed, cherry as a Robin and drew Bruce into a loose hug, protecting him as an onslaught of plushies this time bounced off his body. Fast forward one or two more rounds of roughhousing (more mild since Bruce was here), the blanket fort building was going as well as capturing all of the rogues back in custody after an Arkham breakout. 

Which is to say, not so much.

“A proper pillow fort should be square-shaped! The shape must be secure. Those days of solitude in that old house of yours have warped your judgement, Drake”.

Tim scoffed. “And you, Mr ex-assassin knows best about building a pillow fort?”. He popped his hip out sassily to Damian- the move that funnily enough outed Tim to Bruce. “If we’re talking about a ‘secure structure’ then obviously triangles are the best solution”. 

“All of you are sleeping on table forts”.

“A table fort, Jason? A table?”.

Jason got up and close to Duke’s face, trademark condescending sneer on his face. “Got a problem with that, Narrows?”.

Duke smirked. “It’s kinda basic, Jason”. 

Jason raised his head higher, letting his bangs shadow his eyes in an attempt to appear menacing. “Basic?”, he drawled, enunciating the word with not really contained violence. 

Steph sauntered near them, wrapping an arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Yeah, Jace. It’s giving…”. She hummed, pretending to think as she checked her nails. “...poor”.

“You fuckers, you were poor too!”. Jason trapped them in a headlock as Duke screamed.  “I’’m a proud middle class child!”. 

Dick let out a dramatic gasp, holding a blanket in front of Bruce, blocking him from view. “Jason, there’s a baby here! Mind your language”.

“I bet 100 dollars that the pipsqueak already knows bad words”.

A small and soft ‘fuck’ was whispered from behind the blanket and because everyone here was bat-trained, nobody missed it. Dick dropped the blanket, gaping at Bruce as the rest of them laughed or hid their laugh (Damian). Barbara herself hid her smirk. While Dick dramatically cried about lost innocence while playfully tackling Jason, Barbara wheeled herself closer. “What kind of pillow fort do you want, Bruce?”.

“...I’m okay with anything”.

And Barbara knew. God, Barbara knew that Bruce would accept anything, with those dazed eyes staring at all of them like a dream bound to fall apart. “I know but what I want to know what you want”.

“I-I…”. Bruce fiddled with the blanket laid on his lap. “It doesn't matter”.

Gently, Barbara placed hand on his head, caressing it. “It does to me”. She glanced at the rest of the family, trying to settle the score with rock-paper-scissors, feeling her hand moved as Bruce followed her gaze. “To them”.

“...Tunnel fort”. He brought the blanket closer to his face. “...I like tunnel forts”, he mumbled. Patting his head, Barbara smiled, fighting the urge to give him a kiss on the forehead. She grabbed a nearby pillow, the biggest one around and flung it to her squabbling siblings with Cassie and Damian being the only ones to dodge. “Bruce wants a tunnel fort!”. As she yelled that, Bruce shoved his entire face in the blankets like he was trying to drown himself in felt. Inside, Barbara snorted. Good to know that Bruce had always been rather dramatic.

They let Bruce be, giving him time to recover while they built the pillow fort of his dreams. Barbara was given the role of ‘the bridge’ which basically meant that she had to pass around the pillows and blankets and when Bruce finally felt comfortable enough to show his face, they made him her helper and she gave him the most important task yet.

There was a large basket on her lap, where pieces of her and her family were arranged, memories of brighter days forever embedded in the beaded eyes of each stuffed animal. Bruce stood next to her on his tip toes, holding onto the arm of her wheelchair as eyes dead as his was, softened at the sight of well loved animal friends. “The pillow fort is almost done, B. We want you to help find a place for all of them”. 

Zitka was brought closer to the basket. Bruce wiggled her as if she was saying high to the rest of her stuffed family.  Smiling and feeling endeared, Barbara picked up a tiger covered in patches,missing an eye and only having half a tail left. Its furry skin was almost filled with stitches, as if the owner kept mending and mending it every time it ripped. “This is Mr Darcy - Jason’s friend”. Putting Stripes back, she pointed to a long cat with even rounder eyes. “You’ve met Night-night”. 

Bruce’s free hand reached forward and once Barbara nodded at him, he grabbed a fluffy teddy bear wearing a Dick’s Robin uniform. “Robin”. Once Bruce learnt that Tim’s parents didn’t once allow him to have soft toys, he brought him to Build-A-Bear with Dick and her tagging along. That was the first time he truly smiled after Jason’s death. Little Bruce squeezed the bear’s chest and a familiar voice echoed from its chest. ‘Never fear, the boy wonder is here!’.

Tim squeaked, face red as he turned to them. Jason, Steph and Damian share the same shit-eating grin while Dick trapped Tim in a hug. “Oh, my sweet little Timmy! You still have it? I’m so honoured!". Like a touch starved cat, he nuzzled Tim’s chest as the boy inevitably failed to push Dick away. That boy has the hug of a kraken, honestly. 

“Go away, Dick!”.

“But Tim-Tim!”.

Duke laughed, putting on the night lights. “I think it’s sweet”. 

Absently, B nodded. It continued like that, with Barbara introducing each individual soft toy. Stephanie’s purple star, Duke’s worn-down Bulbasaur, Damian’s cute bat plush (courtesy of adult Bruce) and Barbara’s plush of a fossilised dinosaur skull called Albert. Good god, she was a weird kid. No wonder she got along well with Bruce and his entourage of children all things considered. 

At the last plush though, Bruce hesitated. The only one left in the basket was a velociraptor, looking mostly fine, only the colour slightly faded, a slave of time. Barbara pushed the basket forward to Bruce, who, like cradling glass, carefully picked up the dinosaur plush, peering into its beaded eyes as if it held all the answers in the world. And to a little boy away from everything he has ever known, it might. 

Bruce snapped out of it, tucking Raptor into his arms. “I’m sorry”.

“Never apologise for needing time”. She patted his cheeks.

In a single scoop, Bruce brought all the animals into his arms, looking like the sweetest, little angel. And though little Bruce couldn’t see it, all his other children currently have their phone out, snapping pictures like Earth’s safety depended on it. 

“Do you know where to put them?’.

The boy’s eyes fluttered, charming even at this young age. He brought the little bundle of stuffed toys closer to his face, leaving only droopy, sad eyes visible. “...Stay together… Can they all s-stay together with us?”.

Of course.

“Yes, they are a family after all”.

Bruce nodded. The one thing he seemed sure of. 

Soon they all huddled in the fort. By their side is the only place Barbara felt comfortable enough to sleep with her wheelchair far from view. They each took turns telling Bruce mostly spoiler-free stories about his future, the life he will live, trying to paint it into a wonderful thing to look forward to. He was mostly silent but not once did he flinch when he accidentally brushed skin with all of them, not even Jason who arguably looked the most threatening. With the murmurs of his future children’s voices as a lullaby, he fell asleep and the rest of them, drained from punch after punch of emotional hurt, joined him shortly.

Barbara though was suddenly awakened by shuffling, opening her bleary eyes to see Bruce, insanely stealthy at this age, slipped through the blankets and into the tunnel opening. She shook him away, sleepy eyes instantly sharpening as he went out another way, an opening big enough for Dick to carry her through. They made it out to the living room, seeing Bruce disappear around the corners. Dick helped her onto her wheelchair and they followed

It took a while, Bruce was fast on his feet but they soon found him, nestled in the shadows of a long corridor. 

“Bruce, is everything okay buddy–”. Dick stopped, breath inhaled sharply.

The smell of blood wafted in the air with its distinctive coppery tang. Red ran from the little boy's thighs like a twisted river, pooling in small puddles as Dick picked him up, another pool trickling from Dick’s own eyes. Body limp and weak, the small razor blade that was somehow hidden from all of them dropped from Bruce’s hand, clattering into the floor smeared with horrid red. Barbara quickly procured a towel, placing it on her lap just in time for Dick to sit a swaying Bruce on her lap, all the while muttering all kinds of Romanian curses. As Dick searched around for a med kit, Barbara pressed on the wounds with another towel, breathing harshly through her nose as rapidly the red seeped into white, spreading like a bad omen. 

“Bruce, why did you do this?’, Barbara pressed through a hammering heart. How in the fucking world did they missed this? How could she, of all people, let this happened when she knew, she god-fucking-dammit knew? Without fear, Bruce laid his body against her front, face turning up to face her slightly. Lidded eyes gave way to a smile, small but full of haunting relief. “Not a dream…”. 

Stomach sinking and hurling, Barbara accidentally pressed harder against the cuts but the listless boy in her lap didn’t react. Bruce was barely eleven, he shouldn’t be this tolerant to pain but but–

Dick rushed back in, kneeling in front of them as he went through the med kit. Grabbing a can of topical anesthetic spray, he spritzed a few times on the wound area, mouth thinning more and making eye contact with her as again, Bruce barely reacted. “I-I’m gonna need to stitch some of these, Bruce”. The boy hummed, not a care in the world.

In tense, heavy silence, heavy enough to crush your larynx, Dick tended to Little B’s wounds. As Dick was wrapping bandages around the body’s thigh, Bruce laid his hand on Dick’s cheek where tears were leaking from Boy Wonder’s eyes - a constant stream of misery. “Don’t cry”, the little boy murmured, voice soft and soothing. Dick’s breath hitched and he rested his forehead on Bruce’s knees, letting out a faint, mournful keen when small hands fiddled with his hair. “Why? Why did you hurt yourself like this? This-This isn’t a dream, Bruce. You’re hurting and you’re bleeding”.

“Yes”, he readily agreed as if he and Dick weren’t discussing his self-inflicted cuts, deep enough to tear through layers of skin. “Bleeding. I’m bleeding”. 

Barbara clasped Bruce’s shoulders. “Bruce, you do know what this means right?”.

B nodded and said with a dreamy, trembling voice, almost borderline content. “I’m dead”.

In shock, Dick raised his head. “What? Why would you think that?”.

“Hurt”. Little Bruce wiggled his thighs. “Shouldn’t hurt in dreams so I’m dead. Like Mama and Papa”.

“But…B, if you’re dead–”. Dick’s voice broke at that. “–then why are you here and not with your parents?”.

“Mama and Papa are mad…I killed them so I need to wait until they love me again”.

The answer left Barbara utterly speechless. Dick himself isn’t faring better, clenched jaw and trembling eyes, looking at Bruce like he’s seeing a tragedy unfold in real time, a trainwreck that they both couldn’t look away from. 

“And Bruce, what if they never?”, she blurted out to Dick’s growing horror.

He grunted. “It’s okay…I can wait forever”. He ended that sentence with a yawn, no longer trying to hide his needs from them. It should be celebrated, all the hard work it took them just to get there but it felt hollow, empty. “...Go rest, Bruce”. She motioned to Dick, who had lost all his speech, wide eyes trained onto Bruce. “Dick will bring you back”.

Bruce nodded sleepily at that, easily leaning forward into Dick as he scooped him up bridal style. He easily fell asleep as Dick bounced him slightly, little droplets of tears staining Bruce’s pajamas and caressing his face as it fell like a light rain.

“Dick. We need to call Alfred”. 

He nodded shakily, no protests said, cradling Bruce closer to his chest.

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

The sun was probably still rising in London when Dick called him in the dead hours of the night. With one ring, Alfred picked up. “Master Dick”, he greeted, voice already subdued, no British sass adding spice to his every word. “What happened?”.

His shoulders were not as broad as Bruce’s but the weight laid upon his breakable shoulders blades remained just the same.With his head bowed in shame and remnants of blood stuck in the corners of his nails that won’t come off despite how many times he scrubbed his hands raw, stubborn like its owner, Dick told Alfred everything, feeling oddly like a sinner confessing his sins to a Father in a church. Dick’s grandfather took in everything in silence, never once interrupting him despite all the outlandish excuses Dick must be sputtering out of his mouth for not instantly calling Alfred that his son in all but blood was currently de-aged to the time where a monster locked him far, far away right under Alfred’s nose. “I’m sorry”, Dick said, as if those measly words could convey how guilty he felt, how wrong he went about going with this impossible situation and how he went on, despite a few people telling him the other way. 

“Master Dick”.

“I’m sorry”.

Alfred sighed and Dick’s heart stopped. “I’m so sorry, Alfred. I was way over my head–”.

“Richard”, he interjected. “Though I am quite cross that you didn’t inform me right away, I can understand your reasons. I will be back this evening”. There was an obvious pause in his sentence. “I believe it will be for the best if you do not inform Young Master Bruce of my arrival”.

Dick’s silence was pointed, his disapproval coming off in waves. Alfred doesn’t deserve his vexation but Dick was just so fucking tired of secrets. “Alfred. Bruce thinks you left him to that monster”.

“I know”. He heard Alfred take in a deep, trembling breath. “I know. I will be back”.

The line ended, leaving Dick alone to ponder in silence. 

The rest of the day passed by swiftly with Bruce blooming with quiet joy, a serenity unseen before by them and so utterly convinced that all the hurt he had suffered with his pathetic excuse of an uncle has ended. As the sun began to lower, Dick grew more concerned, dread filling up his stomach and rendering him unable to consume any more food than necessary. His siblings share his apprehension, occasionally eyeing the door with shared looks of anxiety. 

Finally as the sun began to set on a cloudy day, bathing the already gothic Wayne manor in more shadows, the doorbell rang. Bruce, who was finally participating in playing blocks with all of them, recoiled, whole body quaking as he knocked over the towers he had so meticulously built. “No. No. No. No. No”. Bruce began breathing heavenly and erratically, high-pitched wheezing  gasping out of his lungs. As Babs’ hand moved to comfort him, Bruce lunged, climbing on top of her lap and huddling next to her. Like it was second nature, Dick’s closest confidant pulled Bruce closer into a hug, tucking his head under her chin like a mother would a child. Damian went ahead, checking on the door while Babs began rocking him. “It’s not him, Bruce. He’s not coming to take you away”.

“We’ll protect you”, Jason stated with confidence, like it was a fact. The sky was blue, the sun rose from the rest and they would protect Bruce from the monsters that haunt him, whether tangible or not. 

“Please”, Bruce begged. “Will do anything… please”. Even through all that begging, never once did Dick see him shed a tear. “Please…don’t wanna go back”. Somehow, Bruce made himself even smaller. “Can’t go back”.

There was shuffling and Damian’s head popped from behind the corner. He nodded, face as severed as when he first got here. Dick steadied his breathing, feeling like something was about to blow. “Bruce”, he called softly and a fairy in his heart sang as Bruce unfurled himself slightly to look at him with all the trust in the world. 

Trust that he was going to break and spit on, seeing his baby brother’s face. 

“We all go together, alright?”. Bruce didn’t react but he didn't protest either when Dick began wheeling Barbara to the front door. 

Bruce kept his head low since they stopped but soon, burning curiosity must have gotten the best of him because slowly, he lifted his head up, abruptly stopping himself when he took in polished oxford shoes in his view. Eyes as foggy as Gotham’s weather crystallised, small body straightening with alarm. The light started flickering faintly and Damian slipped his hand in Duke’s, trying to ground their anxious brother.  

“No”, Bruce whispered sharply. “Won’t come back. He won’t”. He climbed down from Barbara’s lap, landing on his feet harshly. They all winced, it was a miracle the cast hadn’t cracked yet. “He won’t. He won’t”. Bruce kept muttering, like a sick mantra, head bowed to the ground and body shuddering, unable to take the last step. 

“My boy”. Alfred got on his knees, sad eyes boring into Bruce’s as they made eye contact. 

A sharp inhale of breath and Bruce began backing away with quivering legs. “You’re old”. And of course, of course, he noticed. Dick’s grip on the handles of Babs' wheelchair tightened, feeling it imprint on his palms. “My boy”, Alfred tried, inching closer. “My boy, I know that you must be–”.

“I’m dead. Was supposed to be dead. Was supposed to die! Why the hell did you come back for me?!!”. Bruce fell onto his knees, panting through lungs that begged for an end. Dick could see the moment Bruce’s stomach lurched and he vomited on the floor, more stomach acid than food. “...W-why”. He wheezed painfully, arms beginning to buckle but his haunted, betrayed gaze never strayed from Alfred. “...Why are you here?”

Before Alfred or any of them could answer, Bruce’s body finally gave up, face almost planting in his own vomit if it weren’t for Alfred’s deft hands catching him. 

/|\ ^._.^ /|\

Jason hid his growl as Bruce shoved his bowl to the side, sending it careening to the ground, spilling all of Alfred’s heavenly, hard work onto the floor, wasting it. Holding his breath in, he tried to reign it in his anger despite the poor, orphaned boy inside of him was itching to scoop all the rich, broth back in and shove it into the little kid’s mouth. From the corner of his eyes, Jason could see how his siblings felt the same from the body wounded tight and tense, face stuck in a grimace from swallowing a bad memory.

At some point in their life, they had all been punished by a lack of food. 

Jason would have done it, probably,  if it wasn’t so obvious what Bruce had been trying to do ever since Alfred got back. 

His grandfather picked up the bowl (as soon as he got home, Alfred had replaced all of the tableware with plastic), refilled it again with the same broth and placed it gently in front of Bruce. His movements were honest and painfully sincere, love bleeding through every touch of his fingertips. Little B’s face scrunched up in indignation, face turning a little red like he couldn’t accept Alfred’s gentleness in the face of his blatant misbehaviour. “You are already more bones than meat, my dear. You must eat”, Alfred said, no trace of his signature sass present. There was wetness forming on Bruce’s eyes that he blinked furiously to stave it off. “I wasted food”, he growled, eyes locked at his fisted hands. 

Without missing a beat , Alfred replied with a dry. “I’m well aware of that, young sir”. Their grandfather eyed him with consideration. “However, it seems to me that you are far more angry at yourself than I ever could be”.

Struck by Alfred’s words, Bruce flinched, accidentally pushing his legs against the table and sending him crashing down on the floor alongside the chair. Jason and the rest had stood to help but Bruce dashed from the kitchen, Ace quickly following behind him. Alfred sighed, balling his hands into tight fists, staring at the forlornly at the archway.

“I never knew Father to be the type to behave so irrationally”, Damian commented, eyes narrowed in his constipated ‘confused as shit’ face.

“Scared, don’t understand. Can’t accept kindness without a price”, Cass explained, dark eyes all knowing.

A sharp inhale of breath was heard, capturing all their attention. They all turned to Dick, who had one eye obscured, resting against his palm. Jason, the closest to him, could see sweat gathering on his forehead. Alfred came close, resting a gloved hand on Dick’s back. “God, I just remembered. I acted exactly like Bruce when I first came here”. 

“Really? You, Dick?”, Duke eyed him in disbelief. Dick laughed, angry and bitter. “Yeah..I used to bite him, hard enough to bruise whenever he got close. God, I was so angry”.

Stepping back, looking horrified, Duke muttered something along the lines of  “By Gotham, it’s genetic…”.

Alfred passed by, taking his bowl and resting a hand on his back, drawing a smile from Dick. “And with patience, you grew and blossomed, taking down all the chandeliers with you in the process”. He sighed, looking distant. “All we need to do now is wait for the tides to settle and give him time”. 

All of them turned to Alfred, unsure. It has been almost a week since Alfred had come back and Bruce was as fleeting as a ghost - hiding in the and scurrying through hidden passages of the manor, watching them in the shadow like a bat. Whenever they did interact, he was hostile, oftentimes egging them to anger. It was like whatever progress Jason and his siblings had made in those brief days were gone.

And all Bruce could think about was the hurt they could cause to him.

…

It was barely daylight when Jason was awoken by the clanking sound of metal crashing against one another. Heart hammering out of his chest, Jason bolted out of his bed, slicked with sweat. Slamming the door opened, he cradled his head, digging his fingers into his skin, breathing harsh and harried, like he was being chased.

Like he was stuck in a dingy warehouse, far away from civilization with a woman who sold out her own womb and bomb ticking down to the seconds.

Tick, tick , tick

Dad won’t make it in time–

He gasped, feeling lightheaded as blood rushed back into his veins, flooding his mind and bringing him away from the memories when a warm, slender hand slipped its way into his. Tim was looking at him with wide, imploring eyes - the same look he had when Jason rained fire and blood at the Titan tower. A kid dressed in the bright colours of Robin, of Jason’s magic, the same age he was when Jason’s life was cut short, looking at Jason, not with fear but something more reverent. 

You were my robin.

“Jason”, Tim called, a question in itself. Are you okay?

Swallowing the nausea accumulating at his throat, Jason nodded. “Yeah”, he breathed. Not really, but I’ll live. I lived through death once before .

The high pitched sound of shattering glass cut through the air. Jason could see the rest of his siblings sprinting downstairs. Sharing a look with Tim, they quickly followed them, heading to the kitchen where the sounds seemed to be coming from.

Duke was already there, blocking most of the view as he stood at the archway still in his Signal suit, having just finished his shift. “Duke, what happened?”, Dick asked, hair still messy from the bedhead he had woken up in. 

Duke turned his head to them, his rich brown skin taking on a nervous pallor. “Alfred’s gonna freak out, man”.

Pushing his siblings aside, Jason saw what made Duke look like the Joker had crawled back from the dead and came back to hit his parents with an extra dose of laughing gas. 

The kitchen was a mess, in a far, far  worse state than what Jason’s siblings did the other day. 

Various types of pots and pan were scattered around the kitchen, some of it even bent and bruised. Alfred’s prized wok had its handles broken off, leaving it in a sad state, looking more like a large, ugly bowl than a wok. Somehow, all of the glassware Alfred had kept hidden had been ransacked, the floor glittering under the golden light of the rising sun filtering through the windows with the fragmented parts of various broken glass cups and plates. Spattered across the floor was also various spices and bags of flour strewn in such a horrid manner that Jason felt the little chef inside of him that Alfred had raised to die and shed a tear. Most damningly, Jason could see the pieces from the beautifully painted pieces of the fine china tea set that Alfred had cherished with his life. Jason had never seen Alfred even use it and now it lay broken on the ground.

In the centre of the wreckage, Bruce stood back towards them, his small form, fragile and weak, looking like even a small sudden gush of wind could break him apart. He was still clad in that worn out Gray Ghost pajamas that Alfred had procured from an airtight bag, the edge of the leg opening tainted with blood as Bruce’s barefoot bleed through the sharp pieces of glass embedded into the sole of his feet. His other foot was relatively safe due to being put in a cast that he insisted on walking on without the cane. 

“Holy shit”, Stephanie gasped, eyeing the mess Bruce had made with both awe and horror mixing in the glint of her eyes. Bruce spun towards them, a hammer in hand, the iconic Bat Glare still looking deadly, plastered on his youthful face. 

He snuck a glance at Cass, eyes as deep as the black hole set on Bruce with understanding. Unlike the rest of them, Cassandra’s form was relaxed despite the worry etched on her face. She was waiting for something. That was probably the only reason why none of them tried to make it past the archway to get to Bruce, following the empath’s cues. Still, Jason was flabbergasted. At least, little B had balls he’d suppose because even he, when he was deep within the trenches of his self-fulfilled rebellion, never dared to cross the line of messing with Alfred’s territory. 

“Bruce”. Jason shook his head in disbelief, trying to wrap his head around this, feeling horribly off-kilter. “What the fuck are you doing?”.

For a moment, the defiant look on Bruce’s face faltered, revealing terrified eyes and harsh breathing but the moment the sound of the crisp heels coming from a set of oxford shoes pattered across the halls, the glare was back as Bruce put up a strong front which would have been convincing if it weren’t for telltale trembles that wrecked his small frame and the glassy, wet sheen colouring those mudded blue snowfall eyes.  

“What on earth is all this ruckus so early in the morning?”, Alfred asked, sounding a bit off-putted which in polite British butler language translates to very pissed off. Bruce must have known too because the already strong grip he has on that hammer tightened, making his knuckles look paler than he already was. Unlike the rest of them, who had clearly just woken up or back from patrolling like Duke, Alfred still looked put together in his crisp, ironed suit, a feather duster in hand. Dick, ever the protector, jumped in front of Alfred, blocking their grandfather’s view of the entrance, giving him a gala-winning placating smile. “Really sorry, Alfie. You know how it is with these rowdy kids. We’ll clean it up!”. 

Damian perked up, staring up at Alfred with sad puppy-dog eyes that he had no doubt learned from Dickie, jumping at the chance to defend his father. Jason silently felt bad for the kid, anytime Alfred got truly crossed, Damian was the one who reacted the worst, probably being remind of Ra’s Al Ghul, the fucker. “Indeed, Pennyworth. This was our fault”. 

Several heads whirled towards Damian at the admission of fault from their proud baby brother. Jason snorted as even Alfred raised his eyebrow with suspicion. The unnatural soft look on Damian faded, quickly replaced with the more familiar scowl that he had inherited from Bruce and the disdainful eyes from Talia. “I too am capable of humility, you judgemental cretins”.

They all shared a look with each other. Stephanie shrugged in the end, ruffling Damian’s hair. “Of course you can, baby bro”. Damian’s face turned red, looking like fumes could come out of his ears. When Babs got here, Jason was going to ask her to retrieve the security footage of this exact moment. 

“Bruce hurting.”, Cass cut in before a fight could break out, voice clear and stern. Dick inhaled sharply, sending her a deadly glare that clearly Cass couldn’t give a shit for. Alfred’s wrinkled face tightened, setting the feather duster down with a stony look. Tim stepped forward, wringing his hand nervously. “Alfred, please. I know what you’ll see looks bad but I promise you that I–”. Duke and Steph nudged him. “– we ”. Tim amended pointedly. “can fix this. We can replace everything that's broken. Some of it may be hard to find but I’m sure that somewhere in the world that–”.

“My boy”, Alfred interjected, placing a calming hand on Tim's shoulders just as loud clang resounded from the kitchen. The rest of them winced but Alfred stood firm. “Thank you for trying to protect him, even from my wrath but I must see him”. Their grandfather pushed forward gently moving each of them aside before stopping in front of Cass, the last obstacle in his tracks. Jason’s little big sister (he would rather die again than admit that, thank you) stared Alfred straight, dark eyes unblinking as she took him in, searching for a single weakness, a flaw that deemed him unworthy in Cass’ view. His sister deflated, finding nothing. Nodding, she moved away, finally letting Alfred see the damage Bruce had caused. 

The moment Alfred came to view, Bruce tensed, body battle-ready, preparing for war. The trembles of his frail bones have not subsided, buzzing incessantly like the wings of a hummingbird. Bruce’s eyes were fluttering now, the shaking now may be due to blood loss if anything. There was a look of trepidation on Bruce’s sickly face and Jason nearly gagged at the blatant excitement showing in Bruce's eyes, almost manic on its glee. He was excited to be proven right of his assessment of the situation, no matter how much harm that will cause to his body - the little detective that he was. 

“Bruce.”, Alfred started, dropping the honorifics he so stubbornly held onto. Little B’s eyes widened, startled enough from his stupor that he dropped the hammer, falling on the ground with a loud ‘clang’ and shattering some of the glass on the floor into finer pieces. He looked at Alfred no longer like a puzzle that he needed to solve but like Alfie here was the one who lost his mind. Their grandfather took a few steps forward and thankfully, Bruce stayed still on his increasingly growing puddle of blood. 

Calmed by the lack of reaction, Alfred kept moving, until he stood in front of Bruce, towering over him. He moved his hand and Bruce closed his eyes shut, shoulders rising to his neck as he bowed his head in fear, expecting the worst but Alfred’s hand laid gently on Bruce’s head, gently ruffling his hair. “My boy”. Alfred’s voice rumbled, a kind timbre. “My sweet boy, you’re bleeding”.

In an instant, Bruce’s scared countenance morphed into one of anger. He ripped Alfred’s hand from his head, wide eyes glaring at Alfred as if the older man had betrayed his trust, taking his heart and throwing it to the ground before crushing it like one would do to a lowly bug. “What is wrong with you?!”, Bruce screamed, the loudest and liveliest he has been ever since Alfred had returned, a hint of that insatiable rage showing that had made him the embodiment of the unforgiving night. Jason's little dad was growling now, baring his teeth like a newborn lion cub incensed by its mother’s death, breathing laboured and rough. 

Distantly, Jason felt Cass’s arm wrap around him as she laid her head against his bulky shoulders. Tears trailed down the length of Jason’s arm but Cass’s eyes never strayed from Bruce. Everyone else huddled closer to each other, seeking comfort, similar to the emperor penguins Jason had read about, huddling close in events of extreme cold weather.  It truly was a tragic sight, sending chills down the back of his spine, the little kid looked more sad than angry. 

Bruce was grieving.

“Bruce”.

Alfred called out Bruce’s name again, a lost echo. Bruce shook his head, flailing his little arms around, gesturing to the mess around this. “Look at this! Look at what I did”. Desperately, Bruce gripped the fabric of Alfred’s pants, pulling at it with teary eyes. “Wrong! You’re acting wrong!”. Pushing Alfred away, Bruce took the hammer, swinging it to a nearby cabinet, smashing the door into pieces. Jason and his siblings winced but Alfred remained impassive, standing firm in the face of Bruce’s heartache as he always did. Bruce dropped the hammer, turning to look at Alfred with the barest hint of a smile, hurtful and mad but it quickly disappeared. 

“Stop looking at me like that!”. 

“Bruce”. Alfred tried again. 

“You’re acting wrong !”, Bruce insisted once more. “You’re supposed to hit me, to hurt me!”. Bruce choked on his next words. He shoved buried his face into his petite fingers, hunching over himself as he let a whimpering keen, resigned and mournful. Jason bit the insides of his mouth, tasting the coppery tang as it flowed down the back of his throat. Removing his hands from his face, little B rubbed his eyes, trying to stave away the shiny beads of tears already leaking through his distress, the first time Jason or any of them saw his cry. 

Upon seeing Bruce’s tears, Alfred fell to his knees, uncaring of the shards of glass that cut through his knees. “Why on earth would I hurt you, Bruce?”, Alfred asked, voice cracking and sounding madly desperate. “I ruined it.”, the little boy cried helplessly. “You loved this kitchen the most and I ruined it, just like I ruined everything.”. Alfred’s hands slowly rested on Bruce’s shoulders, enveloping them completely, holding him in place even as Little B weakly shook his head. “You weren’t supposed to come back for me. We’re not even family”. 

“My boy, how could you even say such a thing? I bloody well diapered your bottom –”.

“Y-you didn’t want me!”. Bruce’s wet eyes, so full of hurt and despair bore into Alfred, accusing. “You were going to leave after I was born and you were planning to leave after my birthday! I heard you talk with Mama and Papa. Then I was stupid enough to walk into that alleyway because I was trying to be brave and I got them k-killed and because I was stupid, you had to stay with me”. 

Bruce swayed slightly and Alfred held him closer, trying to steady him. “Then I ruined everything by calling you ‘Father’ one day since you didn’t even want me and I forced you to stay when you should be happy ”.

At this point, Baby B had long given up on wiping his tears away. Instead, he clung to the front of his shirt with such ferociousness that it was almost like he wanted to tear his heart apart from his chest. “At least Uncle Philip wanted me”.

The air was wrought with tension and anguish so thick that it burned their lungs, tasting like gasoline. There was a saying that Jason had heard off, flickering inside his end like a burned fuse. When you are not fed love on a silver spoon, you learn to lick it off knives.

“Bruce”, Alfred's voice rang loud and clear.  “There is something I must confess to you”.

The boy nodded, head low and resigned, a prisoner waiting for his death sentence. 

Alfred pecked Bruce on his face, at the bridge of his nose where Jason found out was his favourite place to receive a kiss. Baby B’s eyes grew wider, wider than Jason had ever seen, body going completely still, weak under the full weight of Alfred’s love. Bruce disappeared from Jason’s view as Alfred reached out and cradled him. From this angle, only Bruce’s messy hair was visible as Alfred hunched over to press their forehead together. 

“Please listen well, my dearest boy. It was true that I had planned to leave after you were born but then Martha bestowed me the honour of holding you in my arms that I fell in love – a love so intense that I didn't know I was capable of it. The war stripped me of everything that even your parents' kindness couldn’t completely heal me but Bruce. You were my light”. Jason heard Alfred sniffle. “You were born premature and were so small that you had to spend so many days in the hospital but Bruce, those days brought your parents and I closer. I didn’t stay because I was forced to Bruce. Good heavens no. I stayed because I love you”.

“B-But, I heard you–”.

“I had received news from my old belle that I had a daughter. She had wanted nothing to do with me but her child kept asking for me. I wanted to bring you and your parents to come see her. That was the reason why I wanted to leave”.

Hearing that, Jason remembered that they haven’t sent a letter to Aunt Julia in a while. She would flip when she finally heard the full story from them. Alfred , like Bruce, was often quite reticent about giving away information. 

Bruce fell silent. 

Alfred straightened his back and spoke, voice severe and full of regret. “When Philip Kane took you, I wanted nothing more than to bring you back. I had heard so many unsavory things about his character from your late mother that I could never trust someone as precious as you to him. I tried to do it the right way but every court rejected me, every opened door closed by that monster of a man and his lackeys. Some even have tried to murder me. When I heard that you didn’t want to see me, doubt grew in my mind that I was suited to be your caretaker. Oftentimes, it felt like I was stealing Thomas’s role and doing a horrible job at that ”.

“I-I thought you didn’t want me. I didn’t want to burden you when you’re finally free”.

Alfred let out a heavy sigh. “And I am at fault for putting such notions in your brain. It wasn’t until Miss Kate came by accusing me of abandoning you that I finally realised what a fool I’ve been”. 

“Kathy told you?”

Alfred nodded. “Yes, and I’m so glad she did. My boy, I’m so sorry. Because of this old fool’s constipated self, I let you suffer under that monster's hand. All the while letting you believe that you weren’t wanted when Bruce–”. Alfred stood up, bones creaking and all with Bruce in his arms to turn around and look at them. And what a sight Jason and his siblings must make, faces streaked with tears, huddling into each other with shivering bodies. “–you were always and are always wanted”.

For a moment, Bruce said nothing, staring at them with dawning eyes, looking at them and Alfred like something was clicking in his mind as little by little Jason witnessed the light returning to those eyes, dull, muted blue finally morphing into the colour of first snowfall. A few heartbeats passed and the boy finally, properly broke, breathing hitching before letting out a sorrowful cry. Baby Bruce wailed, turning back to Alfred and smushing his face against father’s shoulder and wrapping him around tightly with a desperation that bleeds through every howl.

“Alfieee, F-father”.

Alfred returned the embrace with fervour, pulling Bruce impossibly closer as tears fell upon Bruce’s hair, adorning it like crystals. “Please forgive me, my boy. I’m so sorry”. It was the most childlike Jason had witnessed his de-aged Dad act, with shrieking cries that pierced the ears and face wet with big, dripping tears. 

“I-I waited–”. A choked sob, followed by coughing that made Alfred pat Bruce on the back. “–for you”. 

“I know. I know I’m so sorry”.

“I wanted to go home so badly it hurt”.

Alfred kissed him on the head. “I’m here now, my dear. We’re all here”. Their grandfather looked at them, beckoning and they tripped over themselves trying to get to their guardians and join them. There, in the middle of the wreckage, they wrapped each other in a hug that bleeded in desperation and love because even if they let go for only a second, the world will try to tear them apart and take away what they all hold dear like it always happened time and time again. 

Caught in the middle of the hug, Bruce cried, loud and bold for everyone to hear. “I love you! I love you!’. To which they all scrambled to return the words, no matter how foreign the words felt dropping from the tip of their tongues because the Wayne by habit showed their love by bleeding cuts and bruises trying to defend the ones they love. 

“How could you ever ruin us, Bruce?”, Alfred had asked through trembling lips. “When you make us whole ”.

The crying continued once more and distantly, through the haze and tears, Jason thought ‘Babs is gonna be pissed that she missed this’.