Chapter 1: The One with The Portal
Summary:
It's a normal day at the Cave until a portal appears and five children emerge from it. Good thing Bruce is Batman. He can definitely handle this... Whatever this is.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce is working on the latest Justice League case when he hears a crackling sound behind him. At first, he pays it no mind, used to the antics of some of the bats that always give him company…but then, he hears it again.
< Tzh >
And again.
< Tzh >
He sighs.
"Alfred, I told you I'm not hungry."
No one answers.
< Tzh Tzzh Tzzzzzh Tzzzzzzzhhhhhh >
At the constant sound, Bruce grumbles.
He turns off the screen of the computer and swivels in his chair. For lack of a better explanation, there's a…there's a portal in his Cave.
His mind starts to race. A time-traveling villain? Aliens? Darkseid? Another prank from Flash and Booster? Maybe they involved Kal this time, if not then how did they manage to recreate a perfect incarnation of his laser vision in the form of a circle?
Bruce quickly discards his thoughts, reaches for his utility belt, and stands in a fighting position. He needs to collect data from what he can actually see. This clearly isn't a JL’s prank —Flash would’ve already given himself up—, which means the worst: his whole crusade is compromised. He needs to declare code Blackout and get in contact with Alfred so he can start preparing everything for their flight to Kake, Alaska. Getting used to the climate would be hard but it will be useful thanks to its small population. If not, they can always go to his cabin in Norway while he creates new identities for both of them.
Even if Bruce doesn’t want it to, his heart is succumbing inside his chest. He knew the moment someone learned everything would come but it still feels wrong. It feels too soon, and it hurts.
His parent’s legacy is in peril; he needs to act, now.
“Agent A,” he growls in comms, feeling pissed at himself for whatever slip-up led to this (for a minute he thought of just calling Alfred by his name but he still isn’t sure if the intruder knows their identities and, at this point, it is just wishful thinking; how could the intruder not know when he’s already in Wayne Manor?), “Code Blackout, I repeat, code Blackout. Get somewhere safe while I deal with this.”
The please doesn’t leave his mouth but it's implied. Bruce hears Alfred shuddering breath before he responds, “Very well, Sir,” and the line disconnects.
If their location and identities are compromised, all sorts of tech must go. Bruce reaches for the computer and clicks on a simple grey button while thinking that he must have seen this coming. He should have had a protocol for this. At the same time, Bruce knows he can’t totally blame himself. Aliens and time travel are still a new thing—not so new that Flash and Booster hadn’t pulled off a prank or two using both, though.
He needs to focus on the facts. The guilt is wearing him down. The portal is getting bigger. The reddish outline of the circle is becoming more and more orange. Then, yellow. It looks like someone is going to appear in front of him at any moment.
His comm crackles once, “Everything is set, Sir. I’ll be waiting at the front door.”
“No,” he replies, “I’ll see you in the city limits.”
“You won’t. I’ll be waiting here for you.”
“Alfr–,” Bruce interrupts himself, “All tech should be down by now.”
“Indeed, Sir.”
Comms are hopefully totally offline now. Bruce reaches for his comm, throws it on the floor, and crushes it with his boot. By now the portal is nearly his size, totally yellow in its outline. He braces himself once again but can’t keep up with the physics. The portal changes its sound, making a boom, once, twice, and then a flashing light overwhelms his senses. Bruce closes his eyes tightly and covers his cowled face, taking a step away. He would be of no use if he's killed.
He can see bodies being formed, sizzling and stepping out of the portal, when the computer behind him chimes once, letting him know that all his files are now secure on Alfred’s encrypted phone. It’s hard to properly see with the blinding light, but Bruce endures and catches sight of five humans finally touching the floor of the Cave.
He hears the crackling sound one last time,
< Tzh >
and the light is gone.
His temple is throbbing, and his eyes are watery, but Bruce opens them quickly and straightens his spine. He can feel the sweat pooling on his forehead; he blinks once, and then…
And then…?
Bruce blinks again but the five children standing in front of him don’t disappear. Five children. The youngest must be seven and the oldest at least twelve.
He doesn’t know what is happening. Or how. Or why. Or who. His fight instincts slow down rapidly, leaving only the adrenaline and shock flooding through his blood.
Bruce opens his mouth, but before he can speak one of the children take a step forward and lifts his chin.
“Who are you!”
The child isn’t asking, he is demanding an answer. He has his jet-black hair pulled backward and eerily blue eyes. He looks like me, Bruce contemplates but quickly discards the thought.
Before his brain can reboot, another child copies the first one and takes a step forward too, “Answer, Old Man! Where are we!”
They must be brothers. This one has black hair and blue eyes too, only his hair is styled differently and the blue in his eyes is darker. There’s another one with the same physical traits just behind the latter, shorter in size with long hair and eyes a paler shade of blue.
The only difference between the three is the color of their skin. From tallest to shortest, the skin becomes lighter.
Triplets, maybe?
The other two kids are totally different. The girl is white with fluffy blonde hair and the youngest boy has brown skin and green eyes. Despite the differences, the youngest child is the one who looks the most like him.
But how?
At Bruce’s lack of response and utter shock, the kids start talking all at once. It's when Bruce realizes they all have the same colorful outfit. It only varies in style, but the colors repeat: red, green, yellow. Only three of them include black. Maybe a uniform? A team of super kids? All of them have a yellow R on the left side of their chest.
“Answer us, coward!”
“How did you get us here!”
“We need to get back!”
“Where’s the thing? Tim! Where’s the thing!”
“I don’t know! Don’t look at me like that! Dami took it!”
“I did not!”
“Yes, you did!”
“Stop fighting!”
“They’re not fighting! Dami just give him the thing!”
“But Steph! I don’t have it!”
“Then who has it! Steph!”
“No-uh! Don’t get me involved in this!”
“We’re all involved!”
“We’re all fucked!”
“No bad words!”
“We’re fucked!”
“No bad words in front of Dami and Tim!”
“Tim’s nine, Dick! Let it go! We’re fucked!”
Bruce’s brain starts working again.
“Kids,” he tries.
“We are not screwed!”
“This is Timothy’s fault!”
“Hey!”
Bruce sighs, “Kids!”
“What did we say about blaming others, Dami!”
“But it’s his fault!”
“But it worked!”
“Well, it clearly did, genius!”
“Jay!”
“Whatever!”
“Stop!” He is Batman. Bruce can deal with this. Whatever this is. “Stop shouting, everyone! Please.”
The kids turn slowly to look at him, one frightened, two squinting their eyes, and the remaining two frowning at him as if he is the devil incarnate.
"I'm Batman," he starts.
One of the triplets giggles. From what he heard, is Jay.
Bruce shifts uncomfortably and clears his throat, "This is my home. It’s a Cave.” Another giggle. “I assume you are time travelers."
The majority of them shrug their heads but one of the triplets raises his hand.
"Not exactly, Mr. Batman," the kid, Tim, bites his lip nervously, "I was experimenting on time traveling but it was my first attempt," he pauses, "Our whole-world first attempt, actually."
Bruce hums. The world they're from must be primitive in time traveling, just like this one. The kids are likely family or at least friends. To have that amount of resources, also, means that they must be in some sort of elite team. And that organization must be full of incompetent adults if they'd failed in supervising their children. Even if the kids have superpowers, they must have had a caretaker or at least someone who said ‘no’ when they asked about experimenting with time travel.
"I see," and Bruce takes a few seconds to think about what to say next, "My world is limited in the knowledge of time traveling too but we have superheroes. I am… a vigilante."
The kids blink at him.
"I'm also part of a team called Justice League of America," he mumbles.
"Only of America?" Dick, the oldest and tallest, huffs. "We are the Worldwide Robins."
It takes Bruce great effort to not gape, "Excuse me?"
"We are the protectors of the Parliament!" Steph replies with excitement, her hair bouncing, "We endure, maintain, and protect the citizens of Avem!"
Birds.
Robins, Parliament, Avem… Birds.
"The 'thing' you were arguing about, is that your way home?" Bruce tries not to cross his arms. He must be open, not menacing.
Dick grimaces, "Yes."
"Our only way home," Jay adds with irritation, "We don't know what Timmy did to it."
At his mention, the kid scowls, "I already told you I gave it to Dami!"
The youngling crosses his arms and pouts, "You did not!"
"Maybe you dropped it, little bird," Dick crouches to be at Dami's length, softening his voice, "It's alright if you did. We were going too fast."
There is no doubt in Bruce's mind that they are family.
"But I didn't," Dami mumbles with red cheeks, "And stop treating me like a baby, there are people here."
The youngest looks at him for a few seconds before retreating.
"Alright," Bruce nods to himself, trying to process all the new information, "We could do a replica of the…?"
"Ro-Beam," Dick grins proudly while Tim does with embarrassment.
Bruce smiles in return with his lips. The kind of smile he gives in Crime Alley to children in danger.
"We can replicate the Robeam so you all can get home soon," Bruce promises. "Are any of you injured?"
The kids shake their heads, except Dick.
"I somehow sprained my ankle," he admits.
Bruce nods, "We’ll go to the infirmary in a minute. Anyone else?"
"I'm just hungry," Steph says with zero shyness.
"Me too," Jay touches his belly. "I'm hangry."
"Jeez," Steph rolls her eyes, "We have enough with Dick."
Bruce is still lost in the current situation. "I'll make a call. You kids stay here."
He turns around, walking a few meters away from them. He can hear them muttering while he searches for another comm in his utility belt.
"Why should we trust him?"
"Did you see his smile? I think we're Mr. Batman’s only friends."
"Exactly, what if he's a psycho?"
Bruce is not going to laugh. This is too awkward for him to handle alone.
"Master Bruce?"
The relief of hearing Alfred’s voice should concern him; instead, Bruce basks in it.
"False alarm, old friend. I need you to come downstairs."
"Is everything alright, Sir?"
Bruce looks back at the five children, now laughing at the T-Rex and the Giant Penny, and sighs, "I believe we have a problem.” Dick and Dami are now trying to climb the dinosaur while Steph and Jay cheer them up and Tim bites his nails nervously. “Five problems, to be accurate."
Notes:
thoughts?
Chapter 2: The One with The Robins
Summary:
Bruce knows nothing about kids. He has never even considered the idea of having a family of his own. Why is he considering it now? Why are the kids making him smile? Why is Alfred giving him those amused, piercing looks? Bruce doesn't know and he's sure as hell he doesn't want to find out.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Once Alfred lets him know that he's on his way, Bruce turns around to face the kids once again. Dick and Dami are already over the T-Rex, pretending to be cowboys.
"My turn!"
Before Steph can start climbing her way up to her teammates, Bruce sprints towards them and stops beside Jay, crossing his arms.
"This trophy isn't an attraction," he grumbles in his Batman's voice, making Jay and Tim blink his way.
It doesn't work.
Jay stands on his toes and imitates his posture, crossing his little arms, "Why do you even have a dino in your headquarters? Not even we are allowed to bring toys to our training room."
Bruce is going to have a headache.
"The dinosaur is a memento of one of my first missions as Batman," he clarifies patiently.
"Is it real?" Tim is looking curiously at him now, "When was that mission? Why a T-Rex? Were you fighting against it? How did you win? What was a dinosaur doing in the modern era?"
Are kids this talkative and… extroverted? Bruce was never talkative and extroverted. Is it normal for kids to be like this? He needs Alfred here. Why is he taking so long? Surely he isn't unpacking the luggage he probably packed when Bruce declared code Blackout.
Unpacking isn't a priority right now. Kid duty is.
"How old are you?" Bruce asks instead, locking his blue eyes on Tim's.
Tim smiles shyly and opens his mouth to answer when Jay interrupts them both by placing himself in between. The kid still has his arms crossed and two locks of curly hair are falling over his forehead. It reminds him of Kal.
Jay lifts his chin, "Why the question?"
Bruce takes a deep breath. He can do this. He can talk with kids.
"I'm 27 years old," he replies and decides to crouch, leveling at their size, "And I've been a vigilante for nearly two years," he concedes.
Jay nods with satisfaction, "Timmy's 9," he replies, letting his arms fall by his sides, "I'm gonna be 12 this August."
Bruce nods slowly, suddenly considering taking off his cowl. He discards the thought just as fast. He knew Tim's age, he just wanted to hear the other ones. And it seems like the flow of space-time is the same as the one from the world they're coming from. August starts in less than two weeks.
"I'm 9 like Tim but my birthday is in August too," Steph says next, grinning from the spine of the T-Rex and taking a seat beside the other two kids. Bruce didn't even see her climbing. "Damian is 7 and Dick is ancient."
"Hey!" Dick softly punches her on the shoulder. "I'm gonna be 14 in December."
Not twelve then. Bruce stands up and smiles tightly with his lips. The older ones seem to have a habit of saying their future age instead of their actual age. Probably as a protective mechanism towards the youngest ones. And the Jay lad seems more protective of Tim than the others. There must be some history there.
Bruce fills the new information on his mental files and remembers Dick's sprained ankle, but before he can tell the kid to come back down so they can head to the infirmary, Tim says:
"You don't do it much, do you?"
He chooses to frown, knowing that the cowl would bend to the movement; showing a poker face to kids wouldn't be too nice of him, even if they can only truly see the lower half of his face, "Sorry?"
Tim looks down for a second, "Your smile, Mr. Batman" the kid mutters, once again being shy, "It seems weird. Maybe you don't smile a lot?"
Oh.
Bruce presses his lips together. He knows he should say something but suddenly his mind is completely blank.
"Tim!" Jay looks at his brother with wide eyes before looking back at him, "We're sorry, Mr. Batman. Timbo didn't mean it like that."
The pale kid suddenly looks paler and nods effusively, "Sorry, Sir."
Bruce is ashamed to admit that he gapes for a few seconds before clearing his throat.
“It’s okay, chum.” Well, that nickname is certainly new. “You have good observational skills.”
At the unspoken admission (yes, I don’t smile a lot) the children's faces fall and Bruce doesn’t know how to fix it. He’s on the verge of asking if they want to spar (what do kids do for fun?) when someone behind him clears his throat.
“Sir, I was not aware we had guests.”
His shoulders sag. Bruce didn’t even know he was tensing his back that much. He turns to look at Alfred, who must think he’s gone insane because why would five kids be in the Cave?
“Agent A,” Bruce breathes, “These are the Worldwide Robins.”
Alfred raises an eyebrow at his lack of explanation but nods as if it is a totally normal situation. He knows Bruce is going to explain everything once he has the chance.
“I see,” he bows at them, and the look of utter shock on Jay’s face nearly makes Bruce laugh, “Welcome to the Manor. I’m Agent A, Batman’s legal guardian. Is anyone hungry? I have already prepared this afternoon’s fine meal.”
Dami mutters “Legal guardian?” to Dick, who shushes him, and Bruce pretends he didn’t hear.
“Me!” Jay and Steph raise their hands excitedly, and the latter begins to quickly descend from the T-Rex.
Bruce’s heart starts to race without his permission.
“Steph, be careful! Dick, Dami, don’t rush, please. You could fall.”
Alfred’s piercing gaze washes over him but Bruce clearly ignores it.
"Don't call me Dami!"
He sighs.
“Younglings,” Alfred nods at each of them when they're all finally standing together, “If you’ll so kindly follow me.”
“Dick, wait,” Bruce forces himself to speak, “Your ankle.”
The kid’s face blushes, “Oh, right. I just heard the word meal and forgot about it.”
“It’s fine.” Bruce looks at Alfred, “I’ll take Dick to the medical wing. We’ll be with you in a few.”
He quickly turns away from Alfred’s clear eyes. Bruce doesn’t know why his surrogate father is giving him that look and he doesn’t want to find out. He motions Dick to follow him while the kids make a beeline behind Alfred to go upstairs. Bruce doesn’t look back to make sure Dick is following; he can hear the kid’s footsteps behind him.
They enter the infirmary and Dick immediately sits down on the cot, looking around while Bruce starts to take out a cold spray and some bandages.
“I don’t think I need those,” Dick points at the bandages.
Bruce grimaces and crouches down, “Your foot.”
The kid scowls but obeys him, slightly raising his foot. Bruce grabs him and starts spraying it, making Dick hiss.
“You shouldn’t have climbed the T-Rex,” Bruce scolds, mumbling, “You could’ve worsened the injury.”
Dick pouts, “It was Damian’s idea.”
Bruce doesn’t chuckle.
“You’re telling me your youngest brother pressed you, the oldest, to climb?”
The kid laughs silently until he’s just smiling. He doesn't correct Bruce's choice of words. They're brothers, then. Bruce starts to bandage the ankle, being careful not to move him too harshly. He doesn’t want the kid to hurt more.
“Why Batman?”
Bruce continues bandaging.
“Are bats your favorite animals? Is that it?”
He starts to hook the bandage.
“Do you use the Bat prefix for everything? Is this the Bat-Cave? Do you have a Bat-Phone?”
Bruce stands up, “Ready to go, chum.”
Again. That nickname. He needs to take five and objectively think this through.
“Why did you become a vigilante?”
That… that makes him stop. Bruce looks at Dick’s wide blue eyes. The kid can easily pass as his own son. He’s never allowed himself to think about having a family. Alfred is his family; the two of them are family. Having kids? Bruce never entertained the idea because he knows that’s impossible for him.
He isn't father material. He puts his life at risk every single night.
And it says a lot about him that he’s thinking about it now, with kids that aren’t even from this world; with kids that probably have their own parents worried sick back there, waiting for them to return.
Bruce can't deny Dick an answer with that curious look shadowing his eyes.
“I took an oath when I was eight years old,” he says breezily as if the memory doesn’t make his throat contract even nearly twenty years later.
Dick is surprised, “Eight? I became Robin at eight!”
Bruce frowns. Dick started too young; but then there’s Damian, who’s 7 and already on a battle suit.
“Well,” he says, “I wasn’t immediately Batman. I spent some good years training myself, and as I said before, I donned the cowl two years ago. That’s when I started being a vigilante.”
“So I’m far more experienced than you!” Dick beams.
The kid’s happiness is surprisingly contagious. Bruce smiles self-consciously, remembering Tim's words.
Dick isn’t done yet, “What was the oath about?”
For a moment, Bruce is back there. He can still smell the humidity of the dark alley; the intense odor of garbage, sweat, and rain. Bruce can remember vividly the background sounds of people walking nearby, laughing as they leave the theater. He still hears his mother’s beautiful voice, her laugh, the way she smiled down at him; his father’s jokes and assurance that it was a shortcut, totally oblivious of the cruel destiny awaiting them.
The bitterness takes hold of his heart for a moment and Bruce welcomes it, before inhaling deeply and focusing on the kid’s blue eyes.
Of course, said bitterness stays. It never really leaves.
“I pledged to avenge my parents' deaths by spending the rest of my life warring on all criminals,” Bruce lets the words leave his mouth slowly.
A silence follows while Dick seems to process his words, suddenly lost in his own world.
"I don't kill," Bruce quickly clarifies, not knowing since when did he start to care about the kid's opinion of him, "That's my number one rule. I simply help in the battle against crime and corruption."
Dick nods slowly and looks down at his hands.
"You don't seem like the type to kill," the kid mumbles.
"I'm aware my demeanor doesn't give that first impression."
"You want them to fear you," Dick shrugs, "It's clever."
Bruce hums. These kids are far more clever than he'd thought.
He offers his hand to Dick, "We should get going. Agent A's probably refusing to serve your siblings until we get there too."
That brings back the beaming smile on the kid's face, who starts raising his hand. But just when he is about to support himself on Bruce's hand, the kid stops and lingers.
"My parents died when I was eight too," Dick abruptly says, unexpectedly serious and distant, "They were murdered," and the kid makes eye contact with him, "Yours too. That's why you want to avenge them. You're honoring them."
For a moment, the only thing Bruce hears is his mother's pearl necklace snapping. On loop. Mocking him. Making his breath hitch.
This time, though, the usual bitterness is accompanied by complete sadness, the latter born thanks to Dick's obvious hurt.
Bruce has always been resentful towards life, often self-absorbed in his own trauma, not even thinking about the possibility of other people going through his same situation; even now that he is a vigilante, now that he sees all kinds of horrors every night, all kinds of sufferings… But this kid, this kid right here, hunching his shoulders and turning into a vacant shell of himself, recalling his own torn memory…
It's the only tell-tale Bruce needed to realize that Dick was there too. That he, like Bruce, saw his parents die in front of him; that he too had been incapable of changing the ending, unable to intervene with fate's twisted plans.
Bruce nods steadier than he feels himself and doesn't retreat, "Yes," he breathes, "That's why."
Dick takes a few seconds to recompose himself but soon enough the kid accepts his hand, slowly touching the floor with his feet.
"I trust you, Batman," Dick smiles sadly at him, "Do you?"
Bruce carefully grabs the kid's shoulder and tenderly grips it before replying;
"I do, chum. I trust you too."
When they arrive upstairs, Alfred is happily watching the children eat. The four Robins are occupying nearly all of the kitchen island.
A strange feeling takes hold of Bruce's chest. Perhaps it's the weirdness of seeing a place often empty being so vibrant with life.
"You didn't wait for us, Mr. Agent A," Dick says, faking sadness and taking a seat beside Tim, cramping them even more, "Mr. Batman said you'll wait."
"I tried, young lad," his guardian looks at Dick with amused eyes. "But your teammates are quite stubborn, just like someone I know," and Alfred turns to look at him.
The kids giggle from their places and he shrugs his head at Alfred.
No, Batman is not chuckling.
And Bruce definitely isn't considering having kids.
Notes:
What do yall think?
(This Batman's cowl doesn't have the white filters, remember! The Robin's masks neither! That's why Bruce and the kiddos can see each other in the eye.)
Chapter 3: The One with The Realization
Summary:
Bruce remembers he is a detective and realizes something.
Notes:
Bruce is definitely an overthinker. How could he not be one if he’s the greatest detective in the world? Although he isn’t the greatest here (yet). Remember, he's a young Batman!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The children spend a few minutes eating, sometimes in silence and other times between quiet giggles. They are surprisingly well-mannered for a group of kids that not so long ago were climbing a dinosaur and challenging Batman’s attitude.
Correction: They’re surprisingly well-mannered for a group of kids.
Bruce sips in his black tea, thinking that Alfred must be having the time of his life seeing the little birds (it seems like his mind is going to come up with all kinds of nicknames and Bruce is not going to waste his time trying to fight it) behaving oh-so-good in the table, a thing that his surrogate father had a hard time getting him to do.
When Bruce looks at him, though, Alfred has his lips pressed in a thin line.
“How is the meal, younglings?” his old friend asks, and thank whatever-God Bruce knows him so well because otherwise, he wouldn’t have noticed the faux casual attitude.
The kids are caught off-guard, and Bruce frowns, until Damian snaps out of it, blinks, and replies:
“It is indeed good, Mr. Agent A. I am confident I speak for all of us.”
Damian (not Dami, the kid didn’t want Bruce to call him that) even straightens his back to answer, as well as the others. Steph and Dick are the ones who seem to struggle the most to appear relaxed.
Alfred nods once and smiles, “I am glad, dear. If any of you have suggestions, or if you do not eat certain ingredients, I will happily remove them from the cuisiné.”
The tense moment passes just for it to revive again:
“We haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months!” Tim chirps, flexing and dropping his shoulders as if he’s now safe to do so. “I don’t know what we did to receive this honor,” and he opens his eyes widely, “But I’m not questioning it! We’re thankful, Mr. Agent, Mr. Batman.”
Bruce catches Jay giving Tim and them a worried look before the older kid realizes something and continues to eat normally.
Detective work is a task that Bruce is still struggling with, even after the experiences he’s had to endure to become Batman; even after spending nights being a looming and threatening shadow, or after seeing the sickening and preoccupying rates of child abuse ascending each month.
Bruce knows he’s been arrogant and admits that he still is to these days, believing that he knows everything, certain that nobody thinks, sees, and analyzes like him. But Alfred has been a great mentor for him, a great father figure, a beaming light in the middle of the ocean, and most important of all, an experienced and knowing man.
He doesn’t need to tell Alfred anything. Bruce just clears his throat, puts down the mug, and starts doing the work he was supposed to do in the first place: collect data.
“So, kids,” they all turn to look at him like birds, “I assume you’re siblings.”
He doesn’t want to bomb them with questions; it would look too much like an interrogation. Bruce needs them to be open and cooperative, not scared and defensive like Jay had gotten when he’d asked about Tim’s age.
Assuming and reverting the questions to affirmations is a better approach, especially with doubtful-background kids. It gives them a sense of control and direction. It makes Bruce look trustful, which he is.
“I’d already answered that in the infirmary,” Dick replies, eyes wide and innocent.
Bruce wants to reply that he hadn’t, not directly at least, but, suddenly, he sees something he'd missed before… Dick’s disconcerted eyes. Disconcerted? The kid has been through a lot; his parents were murdered and he is part of a “Worldwide” team. Nothing should disconcert him, or at least not something this insignificant…
There’s something wrong, something he dismissed. Bruce has been distracted. He needs to leave aside his biases… He needs to think, retrace the past minutes in his mind and catalog his interactions with the children…
Before he could speak, Dick had taken a step forward, lifting his chin.
“Who are you!”
For Bruce, it is now clear that Dick is the leader. He had been clever, reacting before the “stranger equal menace” could speak, literally taking a step forward and encouraging his team to take action too. Bruce has to admit that he’s been letting down his guard; being kids, it has been easy for them to delight him.
Because he can now see that that was what their first interaction was, an utter distraction.
At his lack of answer, the kids started to talk all at once.
They had been distracting him. Why? What did he miss? Bruce tries to recall their movements but all he can remember is Tim crossing his arms at Damian and Steph putting herself between them; Jay had been by Damian’s side, clearly blaming Tim, and Dick had been… He’d been watching.
Observing, outside of their circle, and intervening only when it'd been strictly necessary.
“Stop fighting!”
“No bad words in front of Dami and Tim!”
“We are not screwed!”
“What did we say about blaming others, Dami!”
“Jay!”
Jay. Jay had been the one to continue the distraction after Dick first talked.
“Answer us, coward!”
Then,
“Where’s the thing? Tim! Where’s the thing!”
Jay had stirred the “fight” between Damian and Tim.
And Steph? Steph had taken sides too, flawlessly, without thinking twice.
“They’re not fighting! Dami just give Tim the thing!”
The one who had maintained the fire was Jay; he’d spoken twice than Steph. The next one who had talked the most was Tim, defending himself, and…
It had been an act.
It had been an act because Jay and Tim were close, it made no sense that Jay would blame his brother so easily. It wasn’t a coincidence that the older ones were actively participating; Dick had started the distraction, his only goal being to assess his surroundings in case a fight was necessary, Jay had incited the discussion and Steph had followed through while Tim and Damian had participated passively, embracing their roles as the younger, immature ones.
They had executed the conflict naturally as if they hadn’t practiced that kind of scheme possibly countless times with countless different scenarios… After all, Bruce knew nothing about them. And he had let them into his home —had put Alfred in danger— hypnotized by their secure, friendly, and curious attitude.
They are kids, his mind chants, trying to make sense of it all, They’re not the Joker. Just talk with them.
Bruce can’t. He won’t.
“Sit tight,” he speaks suddenly, “Al--Agent A will make dessert. His trifle is delicious. I’ll be right back.”
Dick frowns at him for a beat before nodding enthusiastically. The other kids look baffled but, this time, Bruce catches their gazes briefly turning to see what their oldest teammate does… and they nod enthusiastically too.
Predictable. How did he miss it?
Bruce feels angry with himself. He needs to think everything through. Analyze. Interpret. Compare. Verify. He doesn’t need to talk; talking would only give them an opportunity to fool him once again, to give them control.
“My sweet dish has been indeed acclaimed by the Gotham Gazette critiques. It will be done even more shortly if you, little ones, help me through it.”
Alfred obviously doesn’t approve of his course of action, his calm demeanor still off and artificial… But that is one thing the Robins fail to see and a disagreement Bruce can’t handle right now.
He leaves the kitchen slowly just to jog to the Cave when he’s out of sight. When he’s safely sitting in front of the computer, he turns the screen on and reroutes the files he’d sent to Alfred’s phone to the mainframe once again. If the Robins sneak back to see what’s he doing it will make him look non-suspicious, and while the files end processing he has the opportunity to think.
Inevitably, the interactions with the kids keep coming to the front of his mind.
“Only of America?” Dick had sneered, “We’re the Worldwide Robins.”
“We are the protectors of the Parliament!" Steph replied, "We endure, maintain, and protect the residents of Avem!"
It’s the first moment Bruce’s mind keeps repeating and repeating. Why? What is wrong with their words?
“Only of…? We’re the Worldwide Robins.”
“We are the protectors…! Endure, maintain, and protect…!”
What other thing is he missing?
“Only of…”
“... protectors…!”
Steph had looked so proud saying that.
“Endure, maintain, and protect!”
Her blonde hair had been bouncing, electrified. She had been genuine. Not an act.
“America? ...the Worldwide Robins.”
Dick had been… insulting and indifferent. Why would he, a proud leader, a proactive member of the Robins, focus on taunting Batman’s team and be unenthusiastic about his own? About his duty as a Worldwide Robin?
Was Bruce seeing too much in nothing?
No. He recalled that moment for a reason. He needed to trust his gut, his brain, and the data.
Dick’s attitude didn’t match with what the kid had asked him in the infirmary.
“What was the oath about?”
Why would he not be proud of his job as a Robin? Why would Dick not jump at the first opportunity to quote his team’s oath? Why would he not let the “stranger equal menace” know what his team of Robins are used to dealing with every day?
"My parents died when I was eight too. They were murdered. Yours too. That's why you want to avenge them. You’re honoring them."
Why?
“You’re honoring them.”
Why did the kid imply that only Bruce is honoring someone? Why not “you're honoring them too”? Dick was already making a comparison with their parents’ murders, why not continue with the bittersweet meaning of their duties?
Was he interpreting the kid’s words from a too-personal perspective? Bruce groans. He is going to have a headache soon, he can feel it. However, Bruce can’t stop; he already messed up. He needs to think objectively. This is a case now —it always should’ve been— and emotions don’t coexist with a case.
That’s a basic rule for him; it should be easy to follow it, especially now.
"The 'thing' you were arguing about, is that your way home?"
“Yes,” Dick had grimaced.
"Our only way back," Jay had said with irritation, "We don't know what Timmy did to it."
Tim frowned, "I told you I gave it to Dami!"
"You did not!"
The problem between Tim and Damian they had argued about in the initial distraction seems to be real, not manufactured in the heat of the moment. It means that the Robins work with tools they already have.
"Our only way back. We don't know what Timmy did to it."
While it seemed like Jay had continued with the “Blaming Tim” charade, his preoccupation in the form of irritation had been real; real enough to doubt Tim’s actions, to not know if his little brother had been improvising a dispute for the sake of distracting, or if Tim’s statements were true.
“I told you I gave it to Dami!”
But Tim, who had scowled, genuinely believed that he had given the Robeam to Dami.
"You did not!"
Nevertheless, the youngest child had looked certain when refusing it had happened, he’d even pouted… It was the only time Damian had pouted.
And Tim, the frightened, shy, nervous, friendly, and rambling kid? It was the only time he’d frowned since they appeared in the Cave. His annoyance was genuine.
Who’s annoyance wasn’t genuine, then?
Jay had been irritated, rushing to conclusions; Tim had been truly upset, dropping his shy-kid act (Bruce is starting to think that’s an act too), and Damian had been transparent and self-assured. Even Steph, who didn’t say a thing, had looked unsettled and distant.
Dick had only grimaced… He’d only said “yes”, retreating from being proactive.
"Maybe you dropped it, little bird," Dick had crouched to be at Damian’s length, voice caring and careful, "It's fine if you did. We were going too quickly."
Robins were all about distrust, strategy, distraction, deception… Why would the leader show vulnerability? Why would Dick put his affection for Damian in the spotlight, in front of a complete stranger, in a world they know nothing about? If the older kid had wanted to stir some sympathy in Bruce’s heart, it had been the wrong move, and now Bruce knows that Robins simply don’t make wrong moves.
But the kids behind the Robin masks? Those kids can miscalculate, those kids can make the mistake of not shutting off their emotions, of becoming desperate to seem genuine, of second-guessing their moves, of feeling guilty about a thing they did…
Why would Dick soothe Damian, when the latter hadn’t shown a sign of weakness or fear of being scolded? As the team leader, he should have known better, which only leads to the conclusion that he’d made a mistake, or that he’d felt troubled about something.
And the youngest Robin couldn’t even keep up with whatever act his oldest brother and teammate had pulled off…
“I didn't. Stop treating me like a baby, there are people here,” and Damian’s cheeks had been red.
Bruce knows it couldn’t have been a distraction, a search for sympathy, or a strategy, because Damian hadn’t followed through with it; he hadn’t started crying or looking sorry for himself. The kid had undoubtedly called Dick out, his teammate, right there, in front of a cowled stranger, and had blushed.
“There are people here.”
Damian had even implied that Dick doesn’t treat him like "a baby" often, or at least not in front of other people.
That means that Dick had acted on impulse. His actions had been directed solely by his emotions, by his concern.
Dick felt —feels?— guilty about the Robeam's whereabouts.
And now Bruce can’t stop his train of thought. It’s like solving a puzzle, once he starts organizing the pieces, he can’t make himself stop from connecting them, especially with those that are so crystal clear, just begging to be solved.
It all is so obvious now.
The kids had turned slowly to look at him; one fearful, two squinting their eyes, and the remaining two frowning at him.
The Robins had deceived him. They had let Bruce think of them as only that: kids in uniforms fulfilling a specific role. They had prompted Bruce to stereotype them; Tim the frightened one, Damian and Steph the suspicious ones, and Jay and Dick the unruly.
“I somehow sprained my ankle.”
Dick, the only one injured, who’s so smart and trained; how doesn’t the kid knows what or who injured him?
"Why should we trust him?" Steph had asked.
And Tim had replied: "Did you see his smile? I believe we're Mr. Batman’s only friends."
Tim, being so insightful, and so friendly... So curious-driven.
"Is it real? When was the mission? Why a T-Rex? Were you battling against it? How did you win? What was a dinosaur doing in the modern age?"
How can Bruce know when Tim’s acting or not? The kid is a natural at lying. Even now Bruce is doubting the data. Even now he can’t believe it…
“How old are you?" he had asked Tim.
The kid had smiled shyly, but Jay had interrupted, lifting his chin, "Why the question?"
Jay had only given Bruce an answer thanks to the exchange of information and that meant the Robins had intense training in handling an interrogation under pressure. The kid had gotten Bruce spilling his age and his longevity as a vigilante without breaking a sweat; they all had turned Batman into a desperate, stressed-out mess looking for crumbles of context.
"Your smile, Mr. Batman. It seems strange. Maybe you don't smile a lot?"
"Tim!" Jay looked at his brother with wide eyes, "We're sorry, Mr. Batman. Timbo didn't mean that."
The kid had been embarrassed, nodding fast, "Sorry."
Bruce feels stupid. Were they trying to wear him down? Were they searching for a weakness? A breaking point? Or were they trying to seem exasperatingly innocent for Batman?
Was Tim acting like a no-filter-oops-I’m-shy kid so Bruce could see him as the weakest link, just so Tim could use the information he gathered against him?
“Why Batman?”
“Are bats your favorite animals?”
“Do you always use the Bat prefix? Is this the Bat-Cave? You have a Bat-Phone?”
Just as Dick had done, it wouldn’t be above the Robins to gather information through a faux-friendly attitude.
But can Bruce blame them? They are kids stranded on a completely unknown planet with a complete, all-cowled-up stranger and his older butler, with no point or time of return, with no known ally to help them.
They are kids; smart, deceiving kids. The Robins know too much and are too small. It isn’t normal for kids to know how to lie, to master how to coax an adult and make them respond however they want, or to have this level of training. Bruce even feels obligated to congratulate them because the little birds hadn’t gone into fight or flight mode; they had stayed, assessed the situation and the unknowns, and strategized, all without needing to talk or regroup.
They trust each other. They trust Dick with closed eyes.
And they are surprisingly well-behaved depending on the context.
What Bruce takes long to realize, Alfred recognizes immediately; the fact that they were silent while eating raises red alarms all over his head, and what Tim had said…
“We haven’t had a home-cooked meal in months!” The kid had finally relaxed his shoulders. “I don’t know what we did to earn this honor. But I’m not questioning it! We’re thankful!”
And then Bruce remembers the brief blinks they gave him whenever he’d raised his tone slightly, when he had used his Batman’s voice, or when he’d shared personal information with them willingly, without expecting or forcing information out of them in return.
"This is my home. It’s a Cave. I assume you are time travelers."
The majority of them had shrugged their heads.
"My world is limited in the knowledge of time traveling too but we have superheroes. I am a… vigilante."
The kids had blinked at him.
Or when he’d asked if any of them were injured and they had become these silent, parade-resting kids, only shaking their heads… Dick had even forgotten about his damaged ankle.
“Endure, maintain, and protect the citizens of Avem!”
Back in their home, were they obligated to endure their injuries too? Were they even allowed to be kids back there? To act recklessly and not listen to adults? To make a fuss because they weren’t being listened to?
“I don’t think I need those,” Dick had pointed at the bandages.
“Your foot.”
The kid had frowned but obeyed him.
Kids like them, being Robins, should have a track record of not obeying. And they had acted that way with Bruce, like when they’d climbed the dinosaur or when they had challenged his attitude. But could it be because he was seen as an enemy? Because they were in their Robin-mode, on a mission, and with someone non-familiar?
With someone they weren’t afraid of?
Dick had looked down at his hands, “You don't seem like the type to kill.”
It’s idiotic to think they weren’t in danger back home and for Bruce, it would not only be idiotic, but irresponsible and twisted to ignore the clear signs and move on.
He urgently needs to talk with them. Bruce needs to show them they can trust him, that they can confide in him, and let him know who and what they are. Learning about them would only be the beginning, and truly helping them would be the hopeful outcome.
To do that, he needs Dick’s cooperation; the kid surely knows something the others don’t, and, yes, Bruce was angry at himself for not seeing how they’d fooled him and for not noticing their trauma-induced reactions. He admits he was angry because, even for a moment, he thought that Dick’s lies were a danger to him and Alfred…
But now…
Now Bruce is certain that Dick lied to protect his siblings.
"I trust you, Batman. Do you?"
The kid had smiled with sadness when he’d said that. This means that he doesn’t trust Batman enough to tell him the truth. Dick is the leader, and leaders always hide things from everyone, especially from their enemies.
It’s time for Bruce to demonstrate he’s a good man and that Dick can rely on him; it doesn’t matter if he has to fight monsters, Bruce would do anything to protect these kids.
Notes:
This was NOT how the chapter was supposed to go! Bruce and Alfred were supposed to talk with the kiddos about their backgrounds and everything but life works in mysterious ways.
This was so fun to write!!! Even tho I definitely ruined my circadian rhythm but whatever. If you read closely, you can notice that Bruce doesn’t remember some dialogues exactly as the kiddos said them. He’s not perfect!
Anyway. What do yall think Dick’s hiding? I love reading your comments! <3
Chapter 4: The One with The Talk
Summary:
Bruce just wants to know the kids a little better but, not surprisingly, something way more unexpected happens.
Well, not exactly unexpected; there were obvious signals from the very beginning.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Bruce’s attention snaps out of his thoughts when the computer dings, indicating that all of his files are back in its mainframe. He quickly stands up, and by the time he enters once again in the kitchen, there’s flour thrown all over the kitchen island and lots of bowls surrounding it.
The Robins are efficiently helping Alfred out. His guardian gives him a pointed look. Bruce nods at him, in what he hopes is an: I understand now.
“Mr. Batman!” Steph quickly grabs him by the arm, staining his gauntlet with flour. Bruce restrains himself from cringing. “Help us out! We’re nearly done!”
He lets himself be guided by Steph’s tiny but surprisingly strong hand until he’s beside Damian, who’s attentively sprinkling walnuts over the meringue, frowning in concentration. Jay, Dick, and Steph are now placing the trifle inside the oven with Alfred’s help. Silently, Tim pops up beside Bruce too, giving him a bag of strawberries.
“Can you help me cut them, Mr. Batman?”
Bruce debates between agreeing or letting the kid down gently so he can talk with Alfred in another room. Tim's baby-blue eyes are glinting in hopefulness, though, and that makes Bruce's brain rewind. Of all of the birds, Tim's the one that makes it harder for him to read. He’s also the most convincing.
"Of course, chum." The words leave his mouth of their own volition, and once again Bruce can feel Alfred's eyes on him. He ignores it.
It ends up being more awkward than he anticipated. Chopping up the strawberries with gauntleted hands while standing in a room full of proactive and suspiciously quiet kids with his whole Batman suit on makes Bruce's throat contract. Although the silence is nice, he can’t help but wonder how they ended up being this eerily disciplined. The probable answer to that makes him chop a bit more aggressively. Tim sends him a wary look. Bruce goes back to chopping amicably.
In mere minutes, the sweet smell of baking invades the kitchen. Bruce can’t remember the last time he’d done this alongside Alfred. Probably when he was ten or eleven.
“We have no idea what we're baking but, darn, it smells so good,” Jay breaks the silence, and all of his siblings stop for a second to look his way, then at Bruce. It’s like they’re waiting for him to make the next move, so they can adapt.
He clears his throat. Before speaking though, Bruce turns a little to seek Alfred’s aid, but his guardian is nowhere to be seen. Bruce hadn't noticed his absence. Jay is currently touching his stomach, making circles over it, as if he can’t wait to eat the dessert. He wonders when was the last time these kids ate something sweet.
“And it tastes delicious,” Bruce agrees with the kid, getting rid of his troubling thoughts, and goes back to his chopping task. “Agent A makes all kinds of desserts but this is my favorite.”
He can feel Dick’s leveled gaze over him.
“Does he know how to make chocolate chip cookies?” Steph asks almost shyly from her spot.
Bruce hums. “His cookies are just unique.”
“What about cheesecake?” Tim asks this time, stopping in his task.
“He complaints a lot when making it but it’s also one of his bests.”
“Can Mr. Agent A make Luqaimat?”
Bruce blinks at Damian. “The Arabic dessert?” The pronunciation was perfect.
“Yes,” and Damian proudly puffs his chest.
“Well, I’m sure A would love to try a new dessert. You can write it down on his board, right there,” and he points out a whiteboard pinned over the refrigerator, which has a To-Do List with Alfred's perfectly cursive handwriting.
Bruce also smiles tentatively at the littlest Robin. After that, he can feel all of the kid’s eyes over him but he pretends to not notice and turns to continue chopping.
“Sir, Commissioner Gordon is waiting on the phone at your office.”
Bruce leaves aside the knife and the strawberries, stepping out of the little bubble he’s physically and mentally gotten on, relieved to hear Alfred’s voice. “Understood. Can you join me there for a second, please?”
“Indeed, Sir.”
Alfred clicks his feet and turns, leaving the kitchen just as quietly.
Bruce turns to the kids. All of them are now surrounding Tim, who’s still chopping. Steph joins him in the task, grabbing the knife Bruce had been using. Dick’s still eyeing him warily and Jay and Damian are pretending to be absorbed by Tim’s and Steph’s movements.
“Agent A will be back with you in a second. I’m sure my call won’t take long.” Bruce doesn't say: Please, stay still. I promise this isn’t an excuse to plot against you.
When Bruce leaves the kitchen, after the birds nodded at him, the door closes softly behind him and he isn’t surprised to find Alfred standing still just beside it. His guardian raises a hand, eyebrows quirked, and Bruce obeys his signal, quietly walking to stand beside him.
For the first three minutes, there’s absolutely no sound coming from the kitchen. Bruce can tell that that makes Alfred’s worry for the kids increase by a hundred. They only can hear the chop, chop, chop sounds from the knives until Jay’s softly muttered voice says:
“How do we know they’re for real?”
There’s a beat of silence. Bruce finds himself holding his breath, scared that they’ll find out that they’re eavesdropping, and feeling slightly guilty of doing it.
“I checked,” Dick replies just as low.
“How?” This time, Steph insists, worry lacing her tone. “Dick, this is serious. We have no idea where we are and no way to go back. Testing the Robeam ourselves was a mistake, just like I told you.”
Bruce can imagine Dick shaking his head, trying to relieve his siblings’ stress, looking out for them just like the leader he is.
“It wasn’t. The Parliament was already pressing Tim too much. I couldn’t let it go on.”
A huff. “Just admit it,” Jay sounds irritated. “Your idea was a mistake.”
“Shush, Jason. Mind your tone.” Tim interjects quietly. “Also, rude, I was handling the Parliament just fine without anyone else's help. Thank you.”
Tim's offended and sarcastic tone makes its appearance, and Bruce has the suspicion that this is the kid's real personality showing off.
"Tim," Dick sounds upset. "They were all over you. I couldn't sit back and do nothing."
“I trust Grayson,” Damian speaks this time, going back to the main issue. “If he’s saying that he checked, then we shouldn’t be worried.”
Since they arrived, Damian has often behaved like anything except like a seven-year-old. Bruce doesn’t know if he should be impressed or worried sick. Alfred looks like he has the same doubt.
“Still, remember what Dea—”
“What he said doesn’t matter,” Dick interrupts Steph a bit harshly. “It’s alright. Have some faith, please. We can trust them,” he insists.
"Fine," Steph bites back, quietly but fiercely. "But if all of this goes to hell, you're the one that will answer Master Cain."
"I won't have to, but if it comes to that, I will," Dick sounds firm and reassuring.
"Shouldn't we shut up?" Jay inquiries.
There's a beat of silence, then, "No mics or cameras nearby. We can talk," Tim replies.
Bruce’s still enthralled in the conversation, wondering if the kids' suits have the kind of technology to scan buildings and data, when Alfred grabs his arm gently and starts leading him toward his office. The walk isn’t that long, given how in this wing of the mansion are most of the rooms they usually occupy.
“Bruce, son,” Alfred closes the door of the office slowly. “May I ask what is going on, exactly?”
He exhales through his nose. He’s starting to feel claustrophobic behind the mask. “I…” Bruce pauses. “They come from a different universe.”
“Go on,” Alfred looks unimpressed. Bruce doesn't know how his guardian has managed to deal with the rare situations that have bloomed since he'd donned the cowl. By far, this is the rarest.
“They told me they're a team of…” Bruce searches for the correct word, “Vigilantes,” and he doesn't add: Like me, like us. “Some sort of protector team from their planet.” Alfred raises both eyebrows at that. “They were experimenting with time-traveling for the first time and ended up here.”
Right here, in their home. What were the odds? Bruce stops that train of thought.
“And you confirmed if their reasons are genuine?”
The question is right there: Did you search their names on the database? Did you do blood tests? Did you interrogate them further?
“I didn’t,” Bruce lamely replies, feeling ashamed. “I was…too surprised.”
“Even the most prepared man experiments that emotion at times,” Alfred gently reassures him.
Bruce gulps and moves on. “I told them that we could try to replicate the artifact that helped them travel here for the first time. Then some facts about myself to do rapport, and when you went upstairs with them, I talked a bit with Dick, the older one.”
Alfred hums.
“He…” Bruce doesn’t know how to say it out loud. He grips the outline of his Father’s wooden desk, surely staining it with flour. The aching from their loss still pounding inside his chest. “I told him about my oath; about my rule.”
Bruce has been looking at some distant point by his left side, that’s why he didn’t notice when Alfred walked a few steps until he could ever so gently touch the hand that was gripping the desk and untangle it. Bruce let him.
“Dick’s parents…” he turns to look at Alfred’s now saddened eyes. “His parents were murdered. Right in front of him. Age eight.”
Bruce doesn’t feel anything when saying the words. He only feels a numbness that freezes him; a kind of sentiment that transforms his whole point of view to one of a third person. His words are vacant, lacking emotion. Bruce refuses to let himself drown in the awfully relatable fact. He ignores the way his gauntlets are slightly trembling.
Alfred’s still touching one of his hands, when he says, “They are excessively intelligent and well-mannered.”
His guardian's voice helps him get out of the abrupt black hole he was sinking into.
Bruce wills his voice to come out, “They are,” and he holds on to the topic. “Since the moment they arrived, they’ve been strategizing. They know each other too well; I’m certain they’ve trained together for months or even years .” He doesn’t hide his wonder. “I had to take a moment to analyze the situation before I become too compromised. That’s why I had to leave earlier—to think.”
He knows that he doesn’t have to explain himself to Alfred, especially now, but he does nevertheless. He owes his guardian everything, explaining himself is the least he can do.
“It’s inevitable to be delighted with such unique kids. God knows I am.”
Bruce doesn’t agree out loud with him. “From what I gathered, their background and upbringing aren’t exactly ideal.”
Alfred’s lips form a thin line. “I assumed the worst when I saw their restrained behaviors.”
The heavy silence falls over their shoulders after that.
Bruce lets the earlier conversation reply inside his head once again. By now, he knows that Dick's trust is still being gained, no matter how much reassurance the kid's giving to his youngest siblings. And he also knows now that testing the Robeam was Dick's whole idea. Bruce wouldn't have been surprised if it had been Tim's, given how he designed the artifact…
Bruce wonders if the way the Parliament was treating Tim had exceeded the norm, to the point that Dick had to propose to his siblings to risk their lives on a dangerous trip to an unknown destiny. But if that had been the case; if the so-called Parliament had been treating Tim too harshly, wouldn't the other kids be on board with Dick's idea too?
They wouldn't have fought about it. Steph and Jason would've backed Dick up without thinking twice, for Tim’s sake. The only one who seems to trust Dick blindly is the littlest of them all; Bruce isn't surprised.
And what about the other unknown person Steph didn't get the chance to name?
“Remember what Dea—”
“What he said doesn’t matter.”
Who was he? The Unknown must outrank them all. Could it be their boss? Their trainer? Why does Dick doesn’t respect the man?
"If all of this goes to hell, you will answer to Master Cain."
Master Cain must be another man. The Unknown must be their trainer, then, and Master Cain the one they answer to; their boss? Either way, both men surely are part of the Parliament.
"You must be getting back, son," Alfred breaks the silence, bringing him out of his thoughts. "I will prepare the DNA machine while you talk with them."
Bruce nods, realizing that he'd technically lied to the kids. He had told them that Alfred would be back with them sooner than him, but instead, he's the one that will come back just to interrogate them. Batman doesn't do nervous, and yet Bruce finds himself fighting a sinking feeling inside his stomach. He ignores it and starts marching toward the hall.
"Be gentle," Alfred reminds him before disappearing toward the Cave.
When he's in front of the kitchen door, he can still hear voices in hushed tones. He clears his throat and knocks. The kids quiet down completely.
"I'm back," Bruce says, entering.
Damian crosses his arms. "Where's Mr. A?"
"He had to take care of the DNA machine at the Cave," Bruce answers honestly. "I'm going to run some tests on you."
The kids' faces are hard to describe. Dick steps forward, "Sorry?"
"I will be transparent with you," Bruce starts, looking longly at Dick before turning to each of them, "Given how you hadn't given me and A much trouble."
Even if they had given them trouble, Bruce would’ve given nothing but transparency, but they don’t have to know that.
"What does that even mean," Tim murmurs, frowning.
"It means that I want to know you better so I can help you," and Bruce sits down, albeit awkwardly, in one of the chairs from the diner. He gestures for them to sit down too.
Steph huffs, "You're not our caretaker. You can't give us orders," and she crosses her arms just like Damian.
"Please," Bruce says kindly, "Sit down."
The five of them remain unfazed until Damian, to everyone's surprise, steps forward to grab a chair, and sits. The kid immediately straightens his back, putting both hands over the table. Soon enough, Dick follows his littlest brother's movements. Then, Tim and Jason.
"Ugh, fine!" Steph's the last one to sit down, already feigning boredom with a hand over her face.
From the window, he can tell it's windy outside. "I don't have to talk with each one of you," Bruce clarifies. "If any of you feels tired, I can have A take you to a guest room. I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
"Thanks," Dick replies before looking at his siblings. "Any of you want to accept the request?"
Jason seems to disapprove Dick's acknowledgment of Bruce's offer but says nothing. The rest of them shake their heads.
Dick turns back to Bruce, expectant.
"Good. If any of you change your mind, just say so." Having that cleared up, Bruce continues, "I noted that all of you gave me your, what I assume, real names —even if indirectly— and that I haven't." Silence. Bruce restrains himself from sighing. "My name is Bruce Wayne. I keep my identity hidden for safety reasons. I have loved ones, like Agent A, that I need to protect from the criminals I've stopped. It's important to me that you understand that."
He looks at each of their faces. They remain impassive until Tim raises his hand. Bruce nods at him.
"This is the first time we're hearing your name. I have no recollection of a Bruce Wayne existing in our universe."
"I appreciate your disposition to share, Tim."
"Yeah," Jason says softly, "You’re the first Bruce Wayne we know. And we understand—the safety part… We get it."
Bruce feels his shoulders sag in relief.
"What? Just because you gave us your name now you expect full honesty from us?" Steph snarks, giving Dick a side-eye as if trying to tell him to do something.
"No," Bruce looks firmly at her. "I haven't just given you my name. I've put my whole life, my entire crusade, in your hands. And yet I expect nothing back from you. At least not from pure obligation."
He doesn't give himself much time to think his next actions through when his hands are disengaging the locks of the cowl. Slowly, Bruce gets rid of Batman's facade, and the slight breeze that's coming from the dark window caresses his bare face. Bruce opens his eyes, he didn’t notice he’d closed them, just to see the kids staring in awe at him.
"Why would you do that!" Dick hisses. "Put it back!"
"Why?" Bruce stays calm, if a bit alarmed at Dick's outburst.
"Masks are vital for people like us," Dick clarifies quickly, looking at him as if he's gone insane. "They give us secrecy and offer us chances to do what we have to do without compromising."
Do what we have to do.
"You didn't mind it?" Bruce frowns. "The mask?"
"No," Steph looks taken aback. "We're used to them. They always wear masks too."
They?
"Plus, your face is similar to Damian's," Jason says slowly. "That's weird, isn't it?" He looks around at his siblings, "Isn't it?"
Damian looks at him curiously.
Bruce ignores Jay’s comment, and inhales and exhales deeply, trying to gain control over the situation. "In this universe, it isn't usual to see kids fighting crime. You must know how confusing this is for me and Agent A. I need to understand where you come from."
"Deal with it," Steph shrugs. "It's who we are."
Rather, Tim replies, "We're orphans. The Parliament saved us from ending up with the Bad Guys."
Bruce nods slowly.
"Bad Guys AKA The Resistance," Jason continues. "The Parliament has always ruled Avem peacefully, even before we were born. The Resistance is an incognito group that’s always tried to conquer and destroy Avem. They want us to be a divided planet. The Parliament makes sure that doesn't happen. We make sure of it."
All of the kids nod, except for Dick, who adds dryly, "The Parliament is conformed by Judges. They call themselves Owls. There's a Master, the one that directs every single action they —we— take, his name is David Cain. We report to him. Then there's Deathstroke, Slade Wilson, our trainer, and caretaker. He's our first line of contact. We’re not sure who the other Owls are. They always wear masks. Master Cain and Deathstroke too, but we know them."
There they are, the boss and the trainer.
What kind of alias is Deathstroke?
Bruce frowns, "Is Slade Wilson your legal guardian?" Is that man their adoptive father? Is that man the one that couldn’t supervise his children properly?
At that Damian looks confused, "That...term doesn't exist in our world."
"You were all adopted by him then?"
The kids look almost perplexed at the assumption.
"No. We were put in Nests from the moment we were orphaned," Tim explains with a frown. "The Nests are shelters that the Parliament offers for kids like us, all around the world. They take care of us there; they give us a home, an education… The basics."
"The Book of Owls states that adoption isn't an adequate procedure or dignified form of life," Dick talks this time, still looking off. "Instead, the Parliament takes care of us, as Tim said, then forms groups and assigns us to a caretaker and, in our case, a trainer too. Deathstroke happens to be both."
Bruce is taken aback, "How many Robins are there?"
If Avem is a whole world, a united nation in its entirety, how many orphaned kids does it have? How many kids are the Parliament "taking care of"?
"At the moment, just us five, plus Duke," Steph answers sadly. "He stayed behind though."
Tim turns at Steph, upset, "Don't forget about Cass."
The blonde kiddo huffs, "That traitor doesn't count. Get over it, Timmy. She left us."
"Enough," Dick says gravelly, looking at both of them. His siblings look defiantly at him but don’t snark back. "We consider each other family. We grew up together, maybe not from the very beginning, but from where it mattered the most."
"Were you selected?" Bruce leans forward curiously. He almost forgot he doesn't have the mask on anymore. He tries to school his open expression into one of seriousness. "How come you ended up being Robins? From millions of kids?"
"Uh, not millions," Jason replies. "We aren't that many, back in Avem. But, answering to your question, we don't know," and the kid grins, "We're just that amazing, I guess."
"And grateful," Damian says solemnly, "If it wasn't for the Parliament, we wouldn't have had a chance to do this honorable work."
Honorable work? Damian should be out there, having a normal childhood. He contains himself from smiling sadly at the kid.
"What about you, individually?" Bruce doesn't ask: What about your parents? Didn't each one of you have a family? What happened to them?
He already knows Dick's tragic backstory. He imagines the other kids’ origins aren't that different. Dumbly, Bruce hopes it isn’t the case.
"I think we all have that in common, funnily enough," Steph tries to sound casual, just to end up clearing her throat awkwardly at her own words.
Bruce looks at them with a poker face.
"The Parliament saved us," Steph talks once again. "Our…loved ones were killed by The Resistance. We trauma bonded or something, man," once again, her lighthearted tone doesn’t land.
At that, Bruce's breath hitches. He hopes that the kids didn't catch his reaction.
"Yeah," Dick looks down at his hands for a moment. "Our parents were killed..."
Bruce waits, thinking that Dick's going to say more, but the kid closes his mouth and leans back on the chair. He looks done with the talk.
"Damian's sort of the only exception," Tim adds, trying to fill the awkward silence. "He grew up with the League, allies of the Resistance."
The littlest Robin looks a bit bothered by Tim's oversharing but ends up nodding. "I have almost no recollection of those days though. I was too little. Deathstroke and Master Cain explained to me that I was kidnapped by the League," he says angrily. "They killed my mother and grandfather and took me with them until the Parliament saved me."
Dick's surprisingly quiet and still. Bruce gives him a look. The oldest kid turns his head.
"How did you end up here?"
This is it. If they lie, Bruce will know he wasn't successful in his rapport.
"I—," Tim frowns. The kid turns to look at Dick, who shrugs. He continues, "I successfully created the first time-traveling artifact. The Parliament was…pushy. So I worked like crazy for three entire weeks until I had the specs. When I finally assembled the Robeam, Dick proposed we use it."
"That way the Parliament would leave you alone," Dick says to Tim. "It was supposed to be a quick travel to prove to them that the thing worked," he turns to look at Bruce, "But here we are."
"It was stupid," Steph interjects. "It wasn't safe. It wasn't something that we prepared for," she enlists, once again upset at the matter. "We endangered our lives just because Dick didn't want Tim to feel a little pressure. As if we weren't used to it."
"I already told you my reasons," Dick snaps back at her. Bruce was right, the kid has had enough. "I was protecting Tim."
"Yeah, right," Steph laughs, bitter. "I love how you protected me when Deathstroke didn't let me leave the Silence Room for three days. Or when he made Damian drink water only. Or when he told Jay—"
"Steph," Jason gestures at her, "That's enough, blondie. That's enough."
Steph exhales angrily. She seems to be containing a lot of words. "Can I go? I need to sleep now. You already know everything," and she looks coldly at Bruce.
Dick is gazing at the wall, actively ignoring his sister. Damian and Tim look uncomfortable.
Bruce is about to do damage control when Alfred opens the door abruptly, respectfully entering the kitchen. That’s exactly when the smell of baking bread makes its way back into his senses.
"I am very sorry to interrupt, Sir, but the machine is ready."
"Thank you, A," and then Bruce turns to Steph, giving her a delicate look, "The tests will be fast and non-invasive. I can start with you. That way you can go to sleep earlier," he negotiates.
The bird looks lost for a moment. She seems to be frozen at being given a choice, but soon enough finds her voice, "Okay." Her admission is surprisingly peaceful, given how angry she'd gotten just seconds ago.
Alfred takes the lead, and the birds do a beeline just behind him. Bruce stays behind, noting how Dick's shoulders stay tense. There's something that the kid hasn't said. Bruce suspects it's something that not even his siblings know. He sighs quietly, shutting his mental analyses off, and asks the kids to follow him until they're all in front of the machine that's connected to the main screen.
Bruce explains the procedure slowly, making sure they're all on board, and asks Steph to take a step forward. When it's done, he puts the blood sample in the container.
After that, Steph nods at Bruce, "I'll see you in a few."
"Thank you," he nods back, and restricts himself from saying: Sleep well. Let me know if you need anything.
Steph hugs Damian, then asks Alfred if he can lead her to the guest room. Soon after, Alfred and she leave the Cave quietly. Bruce takes the blood samples from the rest of the kids, and when it’s done, Jason and Tim sit on the floor. Dick stays inclined over the computer's desk while Damian takes the chair.
"If any of you want to go to sleep now, it's okay," Bruce mutters, sending the blood samples’ data to the computer. "We're done here. We’ll eat the trifle when you wake."
Not even a second passes when the main screen beeps. All of the samples have an interrogation sign where their names and relatives should've been, indicating that the kids, in fact, don’t exist. At all.
BLOOD SAMPLE #12902 - ALIAS: S
NAME: [?]
RELATIVES: No records.
BLOOD SAMPLE #12903 - ALIAS: T
NAME: [?]
RELATIVES: No records.
BLOOD SAMPLE #12904 - ALIAS: J
NAME: [?]
RELATIVES: No records.
BLOOD SAMPLE #12905 - ALIAS: D
NAME: [?]
RELATIVES: No records.
Except for…
Bruce blinks once, twice, yet the screen remains the same.
BLOOD SAMPLE #12906 - ALIAS: d
NAME: [?]
RELATIVES:
- BRUCE WAYNE [FATHER]
- TALIA AL GHUL [MOTHER]
[Expand list]
CURRENT LOCATIONS OF RELATIVES:
- BRUCE WAYNE [FATHER]: Gotham City, USA
- TALIA AL GHUL [MOTHER]: Exact location unknown
Bruce takes a step back, terrified. He then remembers the kids and turns to look at them. They are gaping at the screen, just as speechless as him. Damian seems frozen in his spot. His green eyes are wide open.
It seems that Damian is his biological son. No, it's confirmed.
Bruce looks at the screen once again. Damian is his son. Or another Bruce's biological son. It doesn't matter.
Damian is his son.
How? Why?
"This is the first time we're hearing your name."
"You're the first Bruce Wayne we know."
Did they lie? Bruce looks at the kids once again. No. It couldn't be; they look genuinely astonished.
What is going on then? Why? What does this mean? Was Damian supposed to be part of his life in the future? Was he going to have a son with Talia al Ghul? Who is she? What about the other kids? Why is there no data about them? How come Damian's supposed to exist here, in his universe, and not the others?
He's getting a headache. He needs to sit down. He needs to do a recap. He needs…
Bruce doesn't know what he needs.
This was supposed to be a way to end his doubts once and for all, not to create new ones.
Notes:
I'm backkkkk!
I'm so excited! (I think that's why the chapter was so long!)
Here we have more context about the kiddos! I know, they are surprisingly clever. One might call them "genuises". Remember, they've trained for quite a few, that's why they seem more mature. But they're just kids.
Bruce is gonna have the time of his life solving the "Am I a Father Now?" puzzle. Ha.Tell me what yall think! <3
Chapter 5: The One with The Truth
Summary:
Bruce isn't fit to be a father.
Or is he?
Notes:
Conversations and honesty are at an all-time high! (Emotional crises too.)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Taking on clues is what Batman does. Bruce has always been observant and conscious of his environment. It’s his job now, to pay attention to the little details that perhaps most people don’t see, don’t care to see, or don’t want to see.
Since his first interaction with the kids, he noticed Damian’s familiar face; his gestures and expressions, the way he arched an eyebrow, the form of his nose, how he squinted only one eye… The list goes on, and at this point, it could be endless the more time Bruce spent with the kid.
So, there were clues, things he saw, that he didn’t want to see.
Sometimes, Bruce is only human. And, usually, he ignores clear signs out of pure apprehension.
The kids are still speechless. Batman himself is having a little crisis inside his brain. But Bruce grits his teeth, cracks some fingers from his left hand, and turns around.
He doesn’t run from his responsibilities. He doesn’t leave kids to their own luck. Bruce simply doesn’t ignore family.
He opens his mouth to say something…
But Tim beats him to it.
“Jeez,” the kid breathes out, looking bewilderedly at him, “Are we even surprised?” Tim doesn’t wait for anyone’s answer. “Everything makes sense now!”
Bruce sighs, not knowing what to say, and impulsively glances at Damian. His…his son has a glossy look in his eyes. That’s his son right there. Bruce has a son. He is a father now, doesn’t matter what’s coming next, he’s Damian’s father.
The realization hits him to the core, silently knocking the air out of him, and Bruce fights the urge to close the distance and hug the kid. His kid. He hates himself for not doing it, for not cradling the child in his arms and telling him that everything’s going to be alright, that he’ll take care of everything from now on, but his brain and body seem to be in conflict on what course of action should he take next.
Thus Bruce remains at his spot, unmoved and stunned, until Dick’s movements snap him out of his haze once again.
The oldest is telling Damian to stand up.
“Are you leaving?” Bruce blurts out, and it sounds foreign; the doubt that lazes his words sounds foreign.
Dick looks drained. He nods. “Today was too much,” and his eyes seem to move of their own volition to the screen, “We need to rest... All of us.”
Damian remains with his head down, letting himself be moved by his older brother like a marionette. The sheer disposition of Dami to be manhandled to the stairs raises red alarms all over Bruce’s head, but he only closes his lips and stays where he is. He doesn’t want to bother the kids more.
Tim winces at him, as if saying sorry, and Bruce only blinks his way, watching him trail behind Dick and Damian.
Jay stands up too. “So,” he drags the O’s. “We’ll eat the dessert for breakfast, right?”
Batman is having a crisis and Bruce…
“Sleep tight,” he replies instead, hating himself for it. “I’ll be out, but if something happens, let A know. Please, Jay.”
Bruce is closing himself off.
Unsurprisingly, Jason seems unsatisfied with his response, his gaze turning harder, but ends up nodding.
“Aye aye, Sir,” the kid salutes him, and Bruce ignores the pit inside his stomach, seeing Jason go too.
Batman leaves the Cave. He patrols quietly. The streets are surprisingly tranquil, almost empty. It’s like his city knows that his world has turned upside down since dusk, deciding to be merciful for only this night. Bruce sits beside a gargoyle and breathes in the polluted air.
He should've reacted differently. He should've at least smiled at Damian. He should've hugged him just like he’d wanted until Damian relaxed his hunched shoulders and exhaled. Bruce should've acted more human. More…affectionate.
But how? How can he do that when fear grips his heart and squeezes, and squeezes until only his void-consuming carcass remains?
How can Bruce pretend to be normal when he isn’t? When he’s scared everything’s going to crumble in mere seconds? When he doesn’t even know how to take care of himself?
He feels a knot forming inside his throat and his eyes are prickly, but Bruce refuses to cry; he isn’t even sure if he can.
His comm crackles, making him jump.
“Sir?” Alfred’s soothing voice isn’t enough to calm him down.
Bruce’s breathing is harsh. “Old friend,” he manages to say. “The kids?”
“Fast asleep,” Alfred responds. “Do you need me to stay for the night?”
“No,” Bruce blinks the tears away. He clears his throat, “No, A. It’s a quiet night.”
He doesn’t say: Yes, please? Stay in comms. I’m going crazy over here. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to think. What should I do? Please, tell me what I should do.
“Understood,” his guardian sighs. “Goodnight, Sir.”
He doesn’t respond. The comm goes offline.
It’s still quiet.
Bruce remembers when his father used to talk with him. He always talked in such a smooth voice, using his rich vocabulary even with him. Bruce never once thought that his parents would be ripped away from his side. He can smell his mother’s perfume even now. Sometimes, the memories become too much and Bruce’s left hanging with sweet ghosts; a smell, a word, a sound…
His father always had his back. His mother too. Bruce used to not worry about anything; he only went to school, played in the garden, and spent time in extracurricular activities, making Alfred go crazy with his antics. Bruce lived a happy childhood until he was eight simply because his father had him and his mother was there.
And now that they aren’t here, Bruce feels trapped between the things he wants to do versus the things he does. It isn’t strange for him to feel regret. Bruce often regrets not doing things differently. He thinks maybe that’s his curse for thinking too much.
What would his father say if he’d seen the way he didn’t react at all to the news of being Damian’s dad? What would his mother say? What’s Alfred going to tell him once he comes back?
By now, his guardian must know.
Bruce swallows thickly.
And the other kids? How must they feel knowing they don’t have a place to belong here? What were they thinking about Bruce when he stood there, speechless, while his littlest sibling seemed shaken? Were they thinking about how a coward he is? Were they thinking less of him?
He isn’t father material. He’s always known that.
How can he help these kids when he’s right here, unable to accept a simple thing? How can he be worth something when he just shuts down and refuses to let anyone enter?
He should take some time. He should...
Footsteps. Quick footsteps.
Without thinking, Bruce turns, sweeps up his feet, and blows a fist, just for it to be stopped by another tinier hand.
“Hah,” Dick’s smiling tightly, his golden skin shining over the moonlight, “I was right. I’m more experienced.”
Bruce blinks at him, before retreating his hand slowly.
Then, he snaps out of his thoughts. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?” Dick shakes his head. “You shouldn’t have hidden from me like that, I could’ve hurt you.” He scowls. “Why aren’t you at the manor? Is everything alright?”
Bruce doesn’t know how he managed to spill that many words in such a short time, given how he was having a crisis mere seconds ago. Maybe his brain is trying to redeem him from his failures.
Dick raises both hands, “Everything’s fine. The little birds were asleep and A was entering the Cave when I sneaked out.”
That makes Bruce exhale. “You shouldn’t be out this late. Someone could hurt you.”
“Yeah, right,” Dick snorts. He silently walks toward the gargoyle Bruce had been sitting next to. “Your city is eerily quiet. Is it always like this?”
Bruce watches Dick sit down. He shuts off his brain and sits down beside the bird. Having a conversation was the least of his priorities right now, but Bruce can’t tell the kid to leave. He’ll never forgive himself if he did.
“Not at all,” he replies. “There’s always chaos to handle, criminals to incarcerate, goons to stop…”
“Goons,” Dick sounds like he’s about to laugh.
Bruce nods, impassive.
“Why did you leave home?” The word rolls out of his lips naturally.
Dick looks down for a minute, before returning the gaze. “I couldn’t stop thinking about everything, so I followed you.”
Bruce is impressed.
“Hm.”
“You and Damian share the same DNA.”
Bruce pretends that his heart isn’t racing. He’s also thankful for the cowl covering his nervous face.
“Back home, Damian’s mother and grandfather were ruthless assassins,” Dick continues. “He doesn’t know that.”
Assassins. Given his line of work, he isn’t surprised that his future is going to be full of assassins. But a baby? A son?
He goes back to the matter at hand, “There are a lot of things your siblings don’t know about, aren’t there?”
The question and slight change of topic seem to perplex Dick for a second.
“I noticed,” Bruce keeps talking. “It’s my job to notice.”
“This isn’t a job,” the kid deflects. “It’s a lifestyle.”
“Perhaps.”
“I can’t tell them the truth,” Dick mutters, saddened. “They could get hurt.”
“Can you tell me?”
The gentleness of his tone surprises even him. Dick looks up at his eyes, and Bruce suppresses a grimace at the open expression of fear and self-loathing dancing in the kid’s blue eyes.
“You shouldn’t be carrying too many rocks over your shoulders,” Bruce says slowly, “It’s not healthy. You’re a kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Dick bites back, upset. “You have no idea what I’ve gone through. The things I’ve done. What I had to see…” He turns his head away from Bruce. “Calling me a kid lessens the burdens of my mistakes. So don’t say that.”
It’s almost depressing how much alike the kid is to him.
“You want me to treat you like an adult?” Dick says nothing. His jaw is clenched. “Then tell me the truth,” Bruce speaks firmly. “Be honest with me. It’s the least you can do.”
Seconds go by without Dick replying. Then, minutes. Bruce waits patiently, focusing on the kid in front of him and refusing to spiral into his anxious thoughts about the DNA situation.
Was he too rude? Too insensitive? Bruce side-eyes Dick, who’s doing circles over the concrete with his right hand. Maybe he was too abrasive.
He’s about to say sorry to the kid when the latter finally speaks again.
“You have a lot of trophies in your Cave.” Dick looks expectantly at him.
The change of topic is strange but Bruce keeps it going. “I like to remember my past experiences. It helps me learn.”
“That’s nice,” Dick exhales through his nose, “If only Slade were like you.”
He doesn’t reply.
“He isn’t the emotional type,” the kid smiles sadly, “It’s a noble trait to have. Must be awesome.”
Bruce blinks, “I’ll hardly call myself emotional.”
“Please,” Dick huffs, “You keep trophies, Batman. You gather clues through your knowledge of human emotion. You are in that suit because of your oath. You are an emotionally driven man.”
Bruce is fondly surprised. “I could say the same about you.”
“I don’t think so,” Dick shakes his head. He doesn’t pressure him on the topic.
“Slade,” Bruce says instead, a hint of disgust lacing the word, “Is he that different from me?”
“If we were living with you,” Dick starts, “Would you let us have personal items?”
That makes him frown, “Elaborate.”
“We have a…limit…of personal objects. Things we can have in our room and stuff. Slade got rid of a photograph of Steph and her mother once because she’d reached her limit already.”
That’s…
“Fucked up, I know,” Dick laughs bitterly, “Are you sure the cowl works for you? ‘Cause I can see your expressions too clearly.”
“Has he hurt you?” Bruce blurts. He feels the necessity to ask.
Dick tilts his head. “I don’t know if it fits the definition, to be honest. He trains us. Slade likes to push us to our limits— to make us better, he says. But there’s only so much I can let pass. This last year we've been having a difficult time…”
“I just can’t let him get away with everything, you know?” the kid continues, “I will always choose my siblings first. They, and their protection. We think that’s why they started to recruit younger Robins, like Tim and Dami.”
“They?”
“The Parliament,” Dick mutters matter-of-factly. “I was the first one they recruited, age 8. I was under Slade’s care and training until I was 10 when they recruited Jason. He’d been 8 at the time. After him, they started to recruit younger and younger kids. Duke and Cass both at 8, then Steph at 7, Tim at 6, and, finally Damian, at 5.”
Bruce can’t stop his hands from turning into fists. He wants to punch something. A part of him even wishes for some rogue to appear, just to have an excuse. At this point in Dick’s narrative, there’s no way he and his siblings aren’t in danger. What kind of useless, poor excuse of a man treats children like that? What kind of human beings decide to enlist kids as if they’re simple combatants?
“You aren’t alone in this,” Bruce states instead. “Someone knows whatever it is you know.”
Dick nods. “My other siblings, Cass and Duke.”
“She’s the one Steph referred to as a traitor.”
“Yep,” the kid sighs. “She left the team when her biological mother contacted her and told her the truth.”
“That the Parliament is bad news.”
Dick nods. “Cass’ mother is known as Lady Shiva. She used to be part of the Court until she betrayed them and left. The Parliament started to look for her after that,” the kid pauses, “She’s part of the Knights, the Resistance that is. She’s the one who told Cass about how the Parliament started to seek younger Robins to have more control over them. I guess I wasn’t a great first test subject.”
“And Cass is now with the Resistance.”
“Yes. She goes by Orphan now. Not Robin anymore.”
“Everything Jay said,” Bruce wonders, “About the Parliament ruling Avem peacefully and the Resistance trying to destroy it…”
“Complete crap,” Dick shrugs. “Jason, they… They have no idea.”
“What about this other buddy, Duke? Why isn’t he here?”
“He's acting undercover with me," Dick says honestly. "When Cass left, she came back a year later to tell me everything. After that, we decided to only tell Duke."
"Why?" Bruce is genuinely curious.
"He is good at keeping secrets and being patient. Jason would've wanted to solve everything in a second. Dami would've felt too betrayed to think right. Tim and Steph wouldn't have been able to keep up with the role… I had to think objectively."
"Is he safe, then?" Bruce glances at Dick. "Is Duke safe?"
"Right now, I can only hope he is."
The silence falls once again. Bruce slowly retreats to stand up, suddenly too anxious to keep sitting. He starts to walk back and forth over the roof. Dick stays in his perch, only half turning to look at him.
Bruce breaks the silence, still walking back and forth, "I have questions."
"Shoot."
"How did the Parliament start to rule?"
"Don't know. That happened back before we were born," Dick pauses to think. "But Cass told me that they manipulate history at their convenience. Like, in history books and stuff. That's how they managed to attack the Resistance's image, through false propaganda."
Bruce nods curtly. "Who founded the Resistance? Are they heroes? Vigilantes?"
Dick purses his lips, "Don't know, and yes, sort of. I've only met a few. The Court calls them Metas, or Metahumans. The ones I've known are imprisoned in cages that weaken their powers," he grimaces, blushing out of what Bruce thinks is pure guilt, "Although not every Knight has powers."
"Hm."
"Maybe Cass can clear your doubts a lot better," the kid looks ashamed, "She'll probably arrive soon. Duke too."
More kids in their way... Bruce ignores the way his shoulders tense at the news, focusing on Dick instead.
"It's okay," he quickly reassures. "You have been great. I know how difficult it is to trust a stranger."
He doesn't say: You're a kid. You don't have to be perfect, buddy. You don't have to know everything.
Dick only nods, blinking a bit fast.
"Back home, Tim said it was your idea to time-travel," Bruce goes back to the questioning, "Is it really because they were pressuring him too much?"
The kid shakes his head, "I saw it as an opportunity to reach for another planet's help to end the Court once and for all. Cass and Duke agreed."
"That was bold of you," Bruce says.
"I…" Dick shrugs, "I just had this hunch that it was the right thing to do. I don't know."
"What if you had ended up in a dangerous place?"
"I was already in one," Dick replies, "It couldn't get worse than that," he says, "It just wasn't a possibility."
The kid’s right.
"What about the sprained ankle?" Bruce frowns. "Why were you the only one injured from the trip?"
"I fought a Talon," the kid grimaces, "I was the last one to enter through the portal, no one saw when the Talon grabbed me by my leg. He tried to steal the Robeam from me, which I stole from Tim's pockets without him realizing. I won. The Talon disappeared."
"Of course you did," Bruce doesn't know where that comes from.
Dick smiles.
"You threw it away? The Robeam."
"Yep."
"What if it fell on the Talon's hands anyway?"
"Nah," Dick frowns, a bit alarmed, "I don't think so."
"You don't think so."
"Try fighting with a man with claws and knives while you float in between colors and shades and shapes you've never seen and then you can judge me."
That makes Bruce chuckle, "I'm sure you did your best."
"Hell yeah, I did," Dick laughs softly. Then, he looks earnestly at Bruce, "I'm glad we ended up with you. In your home, I mean,” he sighs, “I followed my gut, traveling here, but I wasn't a hundred percent at peace with my decision. So. Thank you, Bruce. I don't know how I'll pay you when everything's said and done."
Bruce exhales shakily. He has no idea how to respond.
"I assure you that I will do whatever's possible for me to help you," he tries, "I promise you, Dick."
"You really are Dami's father, huh?" Dick's eyes are glossy. "He's lucky."
Bruce clears his throat, uncomfortable at Dick's choice of words.
Then, his brain wakes up again.
"The Parliament saved us. Our loved ones were killed by The Resistance,” Steph had said.
"Forgive me if this sounds too harsh." The kid raises an eyebrow. "But, if the Resistance is good," Bruce starts, "And the Parliament is the real enemy, who murdered your parents?” A pause. “Who murdered anyone else's?"
Dick rubs his eyes, chuckling dryly, “You already know the answer to that, detective.”
Bruce’s heart races out of pure anger. He stops in his tracks, just to continue walking toward Dick, putting a hand on the kid’s shoulder and gripping it.
“You need to tell them.”
The kid starts to shake his head, “No, no. I can’t, Batman. I can’t.”
“It’s not about whether you can or not,” he insists, “You need to tell them the truth. They deserve to know.”
“They’ll hate me,” Dick babbles, his gaze unfocused, “They won’t forgive me for keeping this from them. I know, I know. I know them, Batman. I know .”
Bruce presses his lips together. “They love you,” he says softly, “They love you, Dick. They will be upset, and furious, but they’ll come to their senses. You are everything they have.” Dick keeps gazing at an unknown point. “Are you listening to me, sport? They’ll forgive you.”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so,” Dick sounds so young and lost, and Bruce has to breathe deeply before talking again.
“They’ll know. Eventually,” he mutters, retreating his hand from Dick’s shoulder, “What are you going to tell them when Cass and Duke arrive too? What’s your plan?”
Dick frowns and finally turns to look at him, “I…”
“The sooner you tell them, the better,” Bruce exhales, “But whatever you choose to do, I will support you.” I have your back, you don't have to worry, he doesn't say.
At his words, Dick seems unable to keep containing the tears. They fall from his lost blue eyes, making their way along his cheeks. Bruce stays frozen in place, once again wishing he could close the distance and hug the distressed child.
At his lack of movement, Dick starts to clean his face harshly.
“Thank you, by the way,” Dick mutters, voice low and nasal.
“For what?” Bruce sounds sad. He feels sad.
“The dessert,” the kid sighs as if a weight has been lifted from his shoulder, “It was fun to make one for once. I can’t wait to taste it, though.”
Bruce offers him a tiny smile, his chest feeling heavy, “We should be getting back.”
“You won’t stay?” Dick sounds confused.
Bruce looks at the horizon, basking in the weird quietness of his city, “A night without Batman won’t kill Gotham. She survived for far too long without me. Let’s go.”
Returning home, Bruce tries to walk slowly, keeping Dick in front of him at all times so he doesn’t get lost. The kid seems lighter, jumping in his steps and making flips suddenly every few meters. Bruce restrains himself from using the zip line, not sure if the kid would be a fan of flying through buildings.
When they arrive at the Cave, they silently go up the stairs to the Manor, and Bruce gets his cowl off on the way. He follows Dick to the guest room, and when the latter opens up the door of the room, he sees all of the kids sleeping in the only bed, relaxed and far away in their dreams. Bruce can’t help but look at Damian, who’s showing no traces of worry, disdain, or suspicion on his childish face.
His son.
They all look younger.
“G’night, B,” Dick mumbles, still with a hand on the door. “Thank you for everything,” and the kid stifles a yawn.
Bruce mutters quietly, “Night, buddy.”
The kid closes the door, offering him a last smile, and Bruce is left in the quiet and dark hallway with only the white door facing him.
"You really are Dami's father, huh? He's lucky."
He is lucky.
Dazed, Bruce makes his way back to the Cave, with only one thought in his mind:
If Dick is Damian’s older sibling, and the other birds are also his siblings, plus the other two that are coming, does that mean that he is now a father of seven and not of one like he originally thought?
Bruce ignores the fear that tries to cripple him and welcomes the strange contentment taking home inside his heart.
Tomorrow will be a new day. It’ll be a new chance to be better.
To do better.
Notes:
The secrets are now out in the open!
I'm so, so excited! I wanted to publish this chapter as soon as possible because I'm going to be busy for the next two weeks so! Here I am, so happy!Here we have Bruce panicking and regretting not doing more. He's such a nice man, though, because he tries. We'll see how he evolves...
I can only say (like the meme):
I have plans I cannot share with you right now because the haters would sabotage 'em. i HAVE PLANS I CANNOT SHARE WITH YOU RIGHT NOW CAUSE THE HATERS WOULD SABOTAGE EM, I HAVE PLANS--Let me know what you think!!! I love your comments!
Also, I don't wanna update the Tags to avoid spoilers, but if I should tag something important, let me know!
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