Chapter Text
“Bruce, Bossman, B,” Stephanie starts, voice stern and unyielding just like how the bat himself taught her. She hates doing this when Bruce is so clearly uncomfortable, shifting around on his feet and picking at his nails, but they’ll be here until tomorrow if he won’t stop moving. Stephanie needs to get this right . “I love you, I really do,” and she does - they both worked so hard to get to this stage where it doesn’t take a near-death experience for them to admit that they give a shit about each other. “But if you move one more time, I’m gonna lose it”.
From her back, Jason – who is busy shifting through the various luxurious fabrics that could buy a few apartment buildings in Gotham – snorts. Bruce stiffens as straight as a board, before hunching over, letting those unruly bangs of his fall over his face. “Sorry, Stephanie..” he apologises, unintentionally batting those pretty eyelashes at her, completing his patented accidental wet-sopping cat look that screams forgive me, protect me. Undoubtedly, she’s charmed (she’s as weak as half of Gotham), softly patting him on the arm before going back to her measuring tape. Bruce is now as still as those gargoyles he likes to imitate during his long, boring stakeouts. He is always a little silly, either disobeying orders just to be contrary or following them to a T. It’s making her job of taking his measurements a breeze, though, so she isn’t complaining. He has grown these past few months, but never would he out-bulk Jason, though she knows Alfred will appreciate it since he always said that Bruce was a little twig back then.
(Dick unironically describes him as a twink and she shudders from the goosebumps. She does not want to associate her bother(father) figure/mentor with that word.)
Jason shoves a pile of fabric across the room to a dark corner. From the corner of her eye, she sees the colour and types of fabric materials thrown aside and approves. Jason always had good taste in fashion and a keen intuition on what fabrics would set Bruce off. He rises from the floor languidly with hands shoved in his pockets. “B, you can breathe. Relax, man”, he says with an amused drawl. Bruce exhales as Stephanie snickers, her giggling intensifies at Bruce’s sullen pout. She calls Jason to help hold the tape at B’s head as she measures his height and focuses. Her stance becomes rigid as she goes over the measurements again, occasionally adding and erasing details from her sketch of the man in her sketchbook. Bruce starts shifting again, doing little hops in his place, and Stephanie grips his hand tightly, burying her nails into his skin as she hisses. “Stop that!”. She can’t have any errors, the outfit needs to be perfect .
Bruce is still looking at her with those ever-unyielding eyes of his and a softness that reflects the gentleness of the pitter-patter of the rain gracing Gotham. He never flinches, standing firm in the face of anything, even as her fingers dig deeper. Jason, however, growls like the beaten war dog he is, always the first to drag Bruce’s name down through the dirt yet always the first to come to his defense. “Back off, blondie”, he snarls, stomping over to viciously pull her arm away from Bruce. They glare at each other, baring their teeth like the broken feral kids they are, before a gentle tap of fingers against their biceps calms them both. Steph and Jason still narrow their eyes at each other even as Bruce’s timid affection settles over them like waves brushing against the shores.
“Jason,” he says, and Jason backs off, letting go of her arms, grumbling. He turns to her, letting his hands hover over her arms until she gives him a reluctant nod before finally settling them on her. Bruce pats her arm tenderly. “You are tense”. He’s as blunt as ever.
She huffs. No shit.
“What’s on your mind? You’re not usually this…” he trails off, his brows furrowing as he searches for the right words. Alfred’s words echo in her mind - there was a time when the manor was silent, and the only reason I knew he was alive was that I could still hear him breathe. “...invested in my fashion choices.”
“If you could call it that”, Stephanie quips.
Jason stops glaring at the corner and watches her with thinly veiled concern. (And very thinly veiled because worried Jason looks almost the same as I-will-rip-your-intestines-apart Jason). Stephanie hated it because it wasn’t that big of a deal.
It was. It was that big of a deal because how dare they - Bruce is not fucking dirty.
She kicks the imaginary dust off the floor petulantly. “It’s fucking stupid–”.
Bruce shakes his head. “Language”.
“-It’s freakin’ stupid”, she amends. And Bruce quirks his lips into those amused half-smiles he does. She headbutts his chest, resting her forehead against his sternum, comforted by the steady, slow rise of his breathing. She could understand what Superman was getting at. “Is this because of what those people said at the gala we went to together?” he asks, and really, there’s no point hiding anything from him.
“The things they said about you–”.
“You know I don’t care about that”.
“Wait”, Jason interjects, there’s a green sheen on his deep blue eyes where the sunlight hits. “You told me nothing big happened”.
Bruce turns to look at him, his pale blue eyes the colour of the first snowfall, all gentle and kind. “And nothing happened. You know how people are, Jaylad—they were just talking.”
Stephanie stomps her feet on the ground, something desperate and angry clawing from out of her chest. She rips herself away from Bruce, pointing a finger at him and growling. “How can you say that?! Those smelly old rich guys called you a common whore that would spread his legs for anyone”.
“Steph–”.
“No! You’re such a fucking martyr, Bruce”. There is lava inside of her, bubbling with rage as she remembers the audacity of those people when they laughed as Bruce made eye contact with them. Like they are sharing a silly joke and not degrading a man who bled, cried, and destroyed himself for Gotham. Who does more good than they ever hope to achieve?
She remembers Bruce’s face - haunted and resigned with steel in his eyes. A flicker of Batman in the mild posture of Bruce Wayne. And how Stephanie wanted to give those old bags the verbal beatdown of a lifetime, but Bruce put a hand on her back and steered them away from the crowd. “It’s not worth it,” he said. He barreled on when he saw Stephanie open her mouth, a retort already shaping on the tip of her tongue. “I’m used to it. I don’t want them to drag you into this”. As if they already don’t - Bruce Wayne and all of his charity cases.
“You’re so pretty, you know?” she suddenly starts. Bruce slowly blinks, the way he does at the rare instance that something is confusing him and his brain can’t catch up fast enough to come up with a solution. “Come on, Jason. Back me up here”.
Jason sighs. “Your so fucking pretty it makes me wanna vomit”. He turns away, hiding his face behind his hand, but she can still spot the hint of redness on the tip of his ears.
“Steph, Jaylad, I’m in my late thirties”.
She pats him on the back, gently, of course, since Bane broke him in two like a glowstick once upon a time ago. “Chill out, B. You can be both a silver fox and a babygirl single mother of 8”.
She giggles at the disgusted face he pulled and laughs maniacally when Bruce deadpans. “Barbara has a father”.
Jason scoffs. “That’s why she said single mother, Bruce”.
Steph claps. “We’re getting sidetracked. Anyways, Bruce, you’re pretty. The prettiest man in all of Gotham - maybe even the whole universe, even since you keep getting kidnapped by aliens who want to marry you”. The man grimaces at the reminder. She grabs her sketchbook and shoves it into Bruce’s face. “The world knows you as ‘The Prince of Gotham’ - we’re gonna prove them right. So right in fact that they’ll be on their goddamn knees”.
Bruce’s eyes grow wide, and he gingerly takes the sketchbook from Stephanie. “This is supposed to be me?”. Jason whistles behind Bruce, laying his chin on his father’s shoulder.
(Bruce stiffens at the contact. They don’t mention it and try not to take it to heart. It’s hard after all, when almost all of the touches you receive daily are beatings. It’s also harder to reconcile with the fact that the son you let be violently murdered is still willing to show affection to you in gentle ways.
“This is gonna be you. The Wayne Charity Gala is coming up for your birthday, and Alfie has given me the green light to design your outfit. You’ll be an actual prince - a king even!”. Like the childish man he is, Bruce frowns (pouts) at the reminder of the gala. “I don’t want to go,” he almost whines, a hint of fragile Brucie in his voice. She claps Bruce on the shoulder, dragging Jason into a headlock for a hug. “Chillax, all of your 8 million kids are gonna be there so you just got lucky. We’re gonna suffer with you, big man”.
“Unfortunately”, Jason drawls, always needing to get the last word.
Bruce pulls both of them into a more solid hug. “Everyone?” he whispers.
“Everyone”, they both respond in tandem.
And Bruce's mouth slips into his rare smiles, all soft and gooey where his dull, dead eyes go bright for just a moment. Something settles in her stomach, calm and content.
“I promise, B ”. And if she emphasises the B a little harder, maybe the meaning will just be as powerful as ‘dad’. “I’ll make you a masterpiece”.
“Of course you will”, he readily agrees. “I trust you”.
And fuck, isn’t that something?
/|\ ^._.^ /|\
Even with his super hearing out of focus, the clicks and flashes of the cameras and the excited murmurs of the crowd gathering around are enough to give Clark a mild headache at best. Lois, beside him, is within her element, back arched and eyes wide and hungry for the next biggest scoop. And this next one, regardless of which publication company posts the story, will be an instant hit. The Wayne Family - America’s own royal family, with all its members, honourary or not, all in place attending the biggest, well-known galas in all of the world. The enthusiasm is infectious, and Clark can feel himself buzzing in his place. Lois knows he has some insider knowledge and has been hounding him for information these past months, but Clark knows better than to spill the secrets of the batfamily. If the words come out that he spoiled the big surprise, he’ll have 8 righteous bats and birds at his doorsteps engaging in an all-out prank war.
“Bossman!” Spoiler yelled as she came crashing down from the vents into Batman’s waiting arms. The bats and birds had always had an uncanny ability to disappear and appear whenever and wherever they pleased, even through all the forced exposure; some of the league members couldn’t hide their flinch and surprise at Spoiler’s sudden appearance. Judging by Batman’s deadpanned, disappointed expression, it seems they are due at least one hour of the famous Bat lecture.
Batman lowered the wayward vigilante gently to the ground, huffing as she gave him a clap on the shoulders for his efforts. “Spoiler,” his gruff voice somehow softened as it always does wherever he speaks to his children.
(And Clark can’t stop the pitter patter of his heart from the gentleness of it as he imagines what it’s like to have that voice whispered in his ear within the comfort of a well-loved blanket accompanied by the lullabies of crickets in the night….. From the slight nudge from Diana and the amusement radiating from J'onn within his mind, he was obvious, at least to the more observant fellows of their team)
“Batman,” the girl crooned.
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. “We were in a meeting”. Spoiler gave him a look, scanning the tired eyes of the Justice League members and smirking. “You mean you were forcing them to sit through your long and boring PowerPoint lectures”.
“At least someone gets it,” he heard a disgruntled Green Lantern mutter. Superman hid a snicker from behind his palm when Hal yelped as Spoiler threw a well-aimed Batarang that whizzed past dangerously close to his head, burying itself deep within the watchtower walls. “Watch it, greenie. Insulting the big bat is a privilege”. The ‘that you don’t have’ went loudly unsaid but easily understood.
“Spoiler, I hope you didn’t come here just to cause a scene with all your siblings”.
She crossed her arms. “Pseudo-siblings”, Spoiler insisted. At Batman’s raised brow, she added. “I dated Tim. Do you want there to be incest within this family, B?”.
“Codenames”, Batman said in the tired tone of someone who had repeated the same words with no hope of it going anywhere.
Flash vibrated out of his chair. “Wait, the rest of you are here?!”.
As if Flash had uttered the magic word, the rest of Batman’s children appeared from all angles of the meeting room, scaring everyone as usual. Barbara isn’t here, but Clark has no doubts that Oracle was watching.
Wonder Woman, as always, was pleased, waving her hands at a shy Red Hood. “Children! It is wondrous to see all of you”. They moved like fluid, greeting the Justice League members and ruffling Shazam’s hair before settling in a half circle around Batman. He looked at ease, surrounded by all of his deadly children. “Is there a special occasion I’m missing?”.
Spoiler pulled down her mask, a bright smile plastered on her face, becoming Stephanie Brown. There was a wild glint in her eyes, happy and wild. “We found it, B! The missing piece”.
“Hngh?”.
The rest of the family had taken off their dominos, masks, and hood. The league swiftly followed suit, shedding their identities out of respect and feeling something shift in the air. Clark himself had taken out his glasses. Dick had reappeared (though nobody had seen him disappear in the first place), wheeling Barbara Gordon into the room. “Little D has a surprise for you, B”, he said, moving to place a hand on Damian’s back, gently pushing him forward as the rest parted to let their baby brother walk to Batman. Damian, for one, is uncharacteristically hesitant, shuffling slowly towards his father while wringing his hands hidden under his cape.
Finally, Batman pulled off his cowl, shedding the hard exterior of the Dark Knight, and morphed into the soft-hearted Bruce Wayne. It’s amazing how much his demeanor changed, his head usually held straight, tall and proud, now lowered, gaze trailing towards the ground with his shoulders slightly hunched, completing the meek, soft cat look of Brucie. He kneeled, meeting Damian’s gaze. (The reporter in Clark can’t help but preen - the only eye contact that Bruce Wayne would make is with his children!). “Damian, what do you have for me?”, he pressed gently. Bruce’s youngest took a deep breath, pulling an intricately patterned velvet box from his cape. “For you, Baba,” he whispered earnestly, making Bruce draw in a sharp breath, eyes glistening with gratitude and surprise at the simple fact that he was loved.
Bruce took the box from his son reverently, caressing it before carefully opening it. Some of the Justice League members shuffled closer to see, but a single unsettling glance from Black Bat made them stay put. Bruce’s breathing hitched, and his mouth thinned, becoming a bit wobbly. Clark rose from his seat, very much alarmed. “This is…” Bruce whispers. Clark can hear his heart thumping wildly inside his chest as if it’s grieving.
(After Clark had accidentally confessed that he listens to Bruce’s heartbeat daily for comfort, Bruce had informed him with averting eyes that he had made an opening in his lead and Kevlar-weaved suit that let Clark in on his heartbeat only if he promised that this wouldn’t distract him in battle)
Damian moved forward, wrapping his small arms around Bruce’s neck and pulling him closer so he could rub his head gently against his father like a particularly affectionate cat. Bruce's hands were trembling, yet even in his son’s protective hold, he held his gaze steadfast on the box's contents. “Is that where you’ve been going these past few weeks, sweetheart?”.
Damian nods in the hug. Bruce shuddered. “How did you even find this?”.
The little boy pulled away from the hug, gesturing towards his entourage of older siblings. “We all played a part. After witnessing Brown pull her hair trying to figure out what’s missing, I concluded that you needed something beautiful and personal. Gordon and Drake traced the general location of where grandmother’s pearls had fallen, and we searched and searched. Though I am not very happy at still being vertically challenged, my small stature became useful as I needed to crawl into a tight space to procure the coveted pearl.”
Damian fiddled with his fingers, biting his lips. “I’m sorry we could only find two”.
“No, no”, Bruce shook his head, wrapping his large arms around his son. “This is…I never thought– Just thank you, all of you”.
Though most of Bruce’s brood was adopted, it was clear that they picked up his habit of not being able to accept genuine compliments as all of his children shifted and shuffled in place, trying to stave off the embarrassment. Jason had his ears covered with his hands.
“Wear,” Cassandra piped up, suddenly emerging from Bruce’s side amongst the shadows, scaring all but her family. Bruce rose from the floor, cheeks flush with a healthy red as he gingerly attached a pearl earring on each of his ears with the most sincere of grins Clark had ever seen him wear. He looked younger with that sweet, sweet smile, more alive. Like Damian did, Bruce fiddled with his fingers, shy under the intense silence of all of their gawking. He tucked a stray lock of hair behind his ears, fluttering those pretty long eyelashes of his. Clark gulped, swallowing his drool at Diana’s prodding. “How do I look?”, he mumbled.
Absolutely beautiful.
The pearls shimmered under the lights of the room, seeming to have a blue sheen on them in the right direction. Those pearls looked like they’d cost the entire Kent farm and more, and they fit beautifully with Bruce. Bruce Wayne had always had both a masculine and feminine appeal to him, and the earring only exacerbated that. He distinctly heard both Barry and Hal mutter under their breaths in shock. Arthur, however, seemed more keen on the pearls.
All of them must have spent too long just staring at him in awe because Bruce’s smile dropped, and he shifted, becoming increasingly uncomfortable. Snapping from their trance, his children began crowding him, showering him with praises and pulling him in a group hug.
“Baba, you are gorgeous, if those plebeians cannot see that then they must have their eyes removed for their deficiencies”.
Duke hummed, smiling contentedly as Bruce lowered his head, brushing his hair aside to allow his foster son to inspect his ears closer, and no, Clark was not jealous. “You have the prettiest ears, B,” he glowed.
In a rare show of affection, Tim tugged on Bruce’s cape to get his attention. “Bruce, with Steph’s outfit and Grandma Martha’s pearls, you’ll be the best-looking one at the gala!”.
Barbara wheeled herself closer to him as Bruce lowered his body closer to her. She looked at him with such fond eyes, patting his cheeks affectionately. “Knock 'em’ dead,” she said with pride.
“As he rightfully should! We’ll show those asswipes,” Stephanie huffed. All of them cheer, and Clark’s heart hurts just a bit seeing them all happy and united.
“Wait,” Oliver exclaimed. “This is for the charity gala?”. All of Bruce’s children swivel their heads in sync, once again scaring the shit out of all of them, they wear matching expressions of ‘Well, duh’ that made all of the JL feel dumb. The children all suddenly scatter, somehow dropping a sealed envelope in each of their hands.
“Come on, Dad. We need to show Alfie!” he heard Dick shout amidst the chaos, crashing onto his father in a bear hug. In the blink of an eye, they all disappear in a puff of smoke.
Holy cow.
Barry tore open the envelope, reading the letter inside before freaking out. “Wait, I don’t have anything this nice to wear for this kind of event!”. The contents of the meeting were left forgotten as the room was filled with the excited chatter of the remaining league members. Stephanie had mentioned a custom outfit. Clark breathed, patting the symbol of hope on his chest, trying to steady his beating heart.
He couldn’t wait to see Bruce.
Speaking of Bruce…
A long, sleek black limousine arrives, parking in front of the laid-out red carpet. The crowd around them goes wild as Clark drags Lois further to the front, shielding her with his body to protect her from the people surrounding them, pushing each other to get the front-row view. Alfred exits from the front seat, his suit is looking extra fancy today, decorated with shimmering golden trims and extra ruffles. A long, sleek cape rests on his shoulder, black with a blood-red lining on the inside. The Wayne family crest is pinned on his shoulder. Clark blinks, that outfit reminds him of those royal fantasies – manhwa…manhua? Comics. Of those online comics Jon has recently enjoyed reading.
He strides elegantly to the back door, bowing theatrically to the crowd before slowly opening the door. Clark has been holding his breath since the limousine appeared, excited with jitters. Lois poked his side with her elbow, snickering, so Clark took in a deep breath, pretending to breathe once more.
Instead of the usual chaos, all of the children sans Barbara step out of the vehicle with a surprising amount of grace, all decked in royalty-esque fashion with extra soft ruffles, jewels, and pearls. All of them held their chin up high, basking in the glory of sharp white flashes and crazed screams, bearing the weapons of perfectly curated smiles and disdainful frowns just as effectively as scarred fists in the dead of the night.
Stephanie put her hand on her hips as she suddenly yelled, all of the grace she displayed gone without a trace. “Hey Gotham! Do you wanna see your prince??!”. The crowd’s screams could rival that of Black Canary’s. Lois turns to look at him with a downright annoying smirk.” Your boyfriend’s coming up, Smallville”. Clark looks at her, aghast. “Lois, not so loud!!”, he whispers.
“Relax, Clark”. Lois readies her camera, aiming it at the limousine door. “People won’t be surprised if they heard. Everybody wants to get in his pants”.
“Even you?”, he frowns. She snickers, shrugging her shoulders. “He’s cute, I can see what Selina was talking about, but don’t worry–”.
The movement comes from inside the limousine as an anticipated figure slips outside with the grace of an expensive cat. Clark’s world quiets, eyes focused on the man in the center of the world’s attention. Distantly, he hears Lois laugh, the sunny kind with amusement rolling off in waves. There’s a loud click of the camera. “-he’s yours”. Lois takes his arms and pulls him to the front, switching their places as Clark yelps, but even so, he’s entranced.
Bruce’s hair is styled back, reminiscent of old aristocrats, with a long, lonely curl at the front of his head, brushing the tip of his pretty eyelashes. Stephanie has dressed him in a fine white blouse with elegant bishop sleeves decorated with ruffles on the top near his shoulders and at the end where his hand is buried in them. There’s an intricately beautiful pattern of black, blue, and gold stitched at the front as more jewels and small beads adorn the lining. The lower part of the blouse is hidden behind a corset, and oh Rao, that corset.
For as bulky as Bruce has gotten over the years (and he had trained endlessly when he found out at the first official Justice League meeting that he was built more slender than the rest of the members, yes even Diana), he has never been able to disguise the fact that Bruce Wayne was born with a tiny waist, small enough that Clark’s whole hand is enough to encompass it. The corset is embellished with delicately figured dragons, and it hugs his waist so sinfully. Clark gulped, turning redder as he made contact with Stephanie, who wriggles her eyebrows at him, the fiend.
Jason flanks Bruce’s right, always the bodyguard, and lets Bruce slip his arms into his. Cass and Stephanie move to his left as Damian guards his front, trudging like a soldier. Bruce smiles demurely as he lowers his head, letting his girls fuss over him, and tucks his stray hairs behind his ears. The crowd screams in excitement and awe at the glimmer of Bruce’s pearl earrings. They move forward gracefully, as Bruce Wayne is surrounded by his children, protected from all sides. There’s a long layered cape attached to his back, and it flows, following Bruce like ripples on the water. Bruce flutters his eyes, which are lined with sharp-winged eyeliner and gentle eyeshadow. His boots are high-heeled and he walks in them with ease.
Bruce Wayne is meek and beautiful, he keeps his head lowered, raising it only to let the cameras take a dozen photos of him at the shout of his name and to give his children his attention when they call for it.
There’s a healthy blush on his face that looks too prominent to be made up, and Clark can hear his heart racing as if chased by shadows. His hold on Jason is tight, and Clark can see Jason pat his hand consolingly. “You’re doing great, B”, he hears Steph whisper, a tremble evident in her voice. Duke, the more recent addition to the family seems spooked by all the fanfare but Dick has a firm hold on his back, gentle and kind. Tim is at his side, trying to protect him from all the flashes, even with his shorter and slimmer stature.
Clark loves this family. With their care and protectiveness of each other.
“Bruce,” he calls out with his heart, wanting to steady that heartbeat fluttering like the winds of a hummingbird. He didn’t expect his call to be reciprocated with all the noise of the world around them, but Bruce stills, as does his heart. Bruce then looks at him with wide eyes, eyes gentle yet piercing like burying your face into the soft yet cold bed of snow. He feels like those peasants in tales of olden times, kneeling at the throne of a benevolent king who’s staring at you as you feel your whole world shift at its axis.
“Clark,” he mouths with curving blossom-pink lips, and Clark’s body shivers. Bruce is pulled away by a disgruntled Damian with a ‘tt’ as the little boy glares at him. The Waynes and Wayne adjacent are professional, making it look like Bruce and the rest of them are simply posing for a glamorous shot instead of him stopping on the red carpet just for him. They disappear behind the large Gothic doors of the mayor’s mansion.
The rest of the reporters are already rushing inside, desperate for a scoop of Gotham’s royalty, but Clark is slightly swaying where he stands, staring at the door, then turning to the spot where their eyes met and sparks had fizzled in Clark’s vision.
“Wow, you got it bad,” Lois remarks with a sassy hand on her waist and a devilish grin. She tugs at him until he stumbles, and he follows her to the entrance like a lost puppy. “We better get in, farmer boy. I didn’t go through a messy divorce just for you to not chase after your man!”.
“Lois!” Clark shrieks as Lois Lane pulls at his arm, laughing that rare gremlin laugh of hers as they hurry inside, dragging him around just like she always did - his best friend, pulling him where he should be.
/|\ ^._.^ /|\
The good thing about having an army full of siblings and pseudo-siblings is that with enough teamwork and threats, every task can be done in the nick of time. In addition to designing Bruce’s outfit, Steph had taken the liberty also to draw out the designs for the rest of her insane family because she had a theme, goddammit. If she hadn’t stepped her foot down for this, the family would have shown up in clothing ranging from mafia boss, and cowboy aesthetics to goth. Just the designing part had almost made her want to pull her hair out because some people’s tastes cannot be trusted (No Dick, The Discowing was NOT the peak of fashion) and she had to fight tooth and nail to reject some of these suggestions (Damian, I promised Bruce I wouldn’t add anything to will let you carry more weapons) but god, did that hard work pay off.
Stephanie had let actual designers (Selina and all her ‘acquaintances’) handle her and the rest of the fam’s outfit because she would still like to keep her brain cells at the end of the day for this - her baby, her masterpiece.
The few hours before their late arrival are hectic. Alfred is beside himself, trying to wrangle all the boys down so he can comb all of their curls into submission. All the girls are already prim and proper courtesy of help from the Gotham Sirens, whom they called on this day for the most important task - dressing and styling Bruce. Stephanie paces the floor, staring intently at Alfred’s prized carpets, and Cassandra watches nearby. Steph wishes that Barbara was here but she had to go first, being an esteemed guest alongside Commissioner Gordon and not part of the actual Wayne family which Steph says is bullshit.
Sweet Cassie is by her side when she starts itching to run her fingers in her intricately braided hair, lovingly done by Bruce himself. Cassandra locks their hands together and Steph lets her swing them, before pulling her in for a surprise twirl that elicits a giggle out of her. “Don’t ruin it. Dad worked hard”.
Stephanie sighs, holding both of Cass’s hands tightly. “Fuck, you’re right. I don’t wanna make him more stressed”. Cass looks at her intently. “And sadder,” Steph added.
The blonde has been hoping that the sirens had managed to cajole Bruce enough during their bonding session in his room to lower his stress levels enough since Duke has the bright idea to play a prank on his trigger-happy brothers - covering their suits and with intensified glow-in-the-dark liquid just to fuck with them - and it delves into a full-blown wrestle that somehow got Cass and Stephanie involved and wasted a good hour or two. Alfred is occupied with ironing their clothes to perfection, so the chaos was left unchecked for awhile.
Their fighting only stops when Bruce walks in from the cave with Alfred by his side. Alfred actually clicks his tongue, and they all scurry to stand in a line with their head bowed.
“Thomas started it, Father, Pennyworth!!”, Damian, as always, is the first to defend himself.
“You ruined my street cred, you maniacs! Do you know how hard it is to be menacing in the daylight?!!”, Duke yelled, flailing his arms around in anger.
It devolves into a screaming match from there, and Alfred utters a single word. “Children, that’s enough”.
They stop. It’s the angriest tone they heard from Alfred.
Cassandra steps forward, arms open for a hug. “Dad?”
They all turn to look at him, and Bruce’s eyes are blown wide, eyes darting across the room. His jaw is clenched shut, and his entire posture is tense. They don’t need to be an empath like Cass to note that Bruce was overwhelmed. He has been on edge since the Gala was announced.
"Hngh," Bruce nods robotically and lets Cass wrap him in her arms, his hands are twitching as he reciprocates the hug, burying his face in his daughter’s hair. “Enough of this tomfoolery, you will return to your rooms and get dressed for the Gala. I expect all of you this be here in the living room on time”.
“Yes, Alfred”, they mutter sullenly. From behind the shadows, someone snorts with glee. They see the sirens enter the room, amusement clear on their faces, but their expressions soften when they greet Bruce. Selina taps Bruce on the shoulders, greeting him with a fond smile as he pulls away from Cass. “Hey baby”, she croons. “Ready to get ready for the Gala?”.
Bruce shakes his head minutely. Harley cackles and envelops her arm around Bruce’s back in a half-hug, pushing him forward towards the stairs. “Come on, Brucie. We’ll be nice. Won’t we, Pam?”.
Pamela huffs. “It’ll be just like girls' night”.
It’s been hours since then. The boys and Alfred have already joined them in the waiting game. Steph didn’t even get to see Bruce’s reaction to the outfit since Alfred had taken it for the ironing first. Her stomach feels like it’s doing Dick’s entire acrobat routine and if it weren’t for Damian and Cass holding her hand, she would have pulled her hair.
They hear a shout from upstairs, and they all perk up. Harley rushes to the top of the stairs, already dressed in a bright hot pink layered dress. “The prince is done!”.
Stephanie's jaw drops. She knew Bruce Wayne was beautiful; everyone in Gotham knew, of course - it was in their wiki, but even so, this was beyond her expectations. While Harley skipped down the stairs, both Pamela and Selina had their arms around him, carefully guiding him down the stairs. Bruce's eyes are a bit red on the corners, he must have cried at least a little bit, but even so, that glittery eyeshadow is doing him wonders. By Gotham, women are geniuses.
He stands in front of them solemnly like a convicted man walking to his death penalty. Mildly, Stephanie is amused - Bruce, although he tried to hide it, was a total drama queen. Though then again, he was raised by Alfred, whose love for theater knows no bounds. Speaking of Alfred, she can hear his measured steps as he makes his way towards his charge (his son). The rest of her family is vibrating with energy, desperate to yell their positive opinions to Bruce and make him smile that rare wobbly smile that is usually accompanied by a deadly blush.
As Alfred steps closer, Bruce grows more alarmed, taking a step back before the sirens hold him in place. Stephanie can’t see Alfred's expression, but she can guess it’s tight, judging from the tremble visible on his glove-covered fists. To her shock and the rest, since she heard Jason swear under his breath, Alfred pulls his glove from his hands, revealing old, scarred, and wrinkled fingers. She would never associate the word frail with Alfred, but his hands had seen better days; no wonder he keeps it hidden.
The family butler (their grandfather in all the ways that matter) raises his trembling hands, gently cradling Bruce’s face as if he is holding a delicate flower. “Oh, love”, he mutters. “Look at me, please”.
Bruce’s eyes dart to him, eyes glassy and bright under the lights of their chandelier. “You look so wonderful, my dear. So handsome, so beautiful”. And by Gotham, Stephanie can feel her eyes watering from the sheer warmth dripping from Alfred’s voice. From the corner of her eye, she can see Dick sniffling as Damian hands him a hankercheif with a distinct ‘tt’. She watches as Alfred pulls Bruce closer until their foreheads rest against each other. She had never seen Bruce look so young and vulnerable.
“Your parents would be so proud to see you right now”, Alfred continues.
Bruce blinks away the wetness in his eyes, slowly enveloping Alfred in a hug. “Even after–”.
“They would not care, they love you so”.
Alfred pats his son’s back before releasing him, smiling as Bruce shifts in his place, trying to ward off ‘feelings’. “I must go meet with the driver. I expect all of you to be at the front door in 10 minutes sharp”. Alfred gives a pointed look to her and the rest of her family. “There had better be no changes to your appearances, young sirs and madams. They all give the actual head of the family a mock salute, breathing in relief when Alfred walks away. The Sirens join him as he leaves, agreeing to meet them when the gala finally starts.
Instantly, the boys begin surrounding Bruce, who looks immensely delighted to see his baby boys decked in formal attire. “My Princes”, He sighs with a sentimental smile, taking the time to caress their cheeks before giving them a soft kiss on the cheeks.
“Chum”, Bruce beckons to Dick”. Dick crashes into Bruce in a hug. “You look wonderful, Bruce”, Dick smiles as he leans into the kiss.
Jason looks in the other direction when Bruce stands on his tip toes to lay a gentle peck on his scarred cheek. “You’re getting sentimental in your old age, pops”. Bruce hums. “Then you should stop getting so big”.
Tim has a wobbly smile on his face as Bruce kisses his cheek. “Bernard and Conner better keep their hands to themselves tonight”. Tim’s goofy expressions fades, shooting Bruce a deadly glare as he squawks. “Like you’re one to talk, everyone would want to sweep you off your feet”. Bruce lets out a low chuckle. “I’m just worried, you look so handsome”. Tim huffs, pleased, kicking Damian lightly when he scoffs.
Bruce nuzzles Damian after the kiss, smiling even as his youngest growls. “And you, my little royal, look so lovely”. Damian puffs out his chest, and he brags, making Bruce feel all gooey inside. “Of course, I do take after you”.
Duke pushes his little brother away after gets his turn, earning him a scowl and a muttered 'you'll pay for this' from Damian. Duke, the secret menace, only shoot him a smug grin. Bruce shakes his head at this, cradling Duke's head in both hands. "Is this okay?" he asks, always unsure of where he stands with his children - especially Duke, who still has his own parents. "B, if you don't kiss my cheek while I'm dressed like a duke from the east or something, my mom will actually kill you when she gets better". Duke laughs, it sounded a bit wet. Bruce hums, kissing Duke's cheek and treading his fingers lightly across Duke's braided hair. His long hair suits him so well. "She might kill me for letting you beat up people at sunrise, though". Duke snorts at that, letting Bruce pull him in for a hug. "You and me both, Bruce".
They pull away from the hug, and Jason then corners Duke, making grabby hands at him. "Let big bro Jason give you a kiss you". Duke screams, emitting a flashing light from his body. blinding him, causing Jason to also bellow out a shrill scream. It devolves into mild chaos from there but Bruce lets them be, at least there are no traces of tears in Duke's eyes anymore.
Tim then puts a hand on Bruce’s shoulder, gaze focused with a slight manic undertone. “If anyone gives you a hard time, you’ll tell me or the others, right? Even if you don’t, I’ll find out and make them regret it”.
Cass pats Tim’s back. “No supervillian mode”. She kisses Bruce on the cheek and Bruce returns the favour. He looks at Cass fondly and turns to Stephanie with the same soft expression. “My princesses”, he says, resting an arm around Cassie’s shoulders and reaching out to Steph. Stephanie hesitates, feeling out of place, but soon joins Bruce for the hug, seeing the imploring look on the rest of the family.
“Do you like the dress?”, Stephanie asks, afraid and uncertain. Bruce tucks her hair behind her ears. “Hngh”, he grunts - that’s his contented grunt - she recalls Dick saying to her once. She pokes him on the chest, annoyed. “Bruce, I’m gonna need more than that, big guy”.
Bruce’s eyes flicker with alarm. Surprisingly, he then asks. “...Can I give you a kiss on the cheek?”.
There’s a beat of silence as Stephanie processes this with wide eyes. Bruce’s eyes are furrowed, nervous. Stunned, she nods as something bright began burning in her chest, swirling and pooling in her sternum as she feels Bruce’s soft lips touch her cheek. Her eyes burn, and something rages inside of her, screaming wrong wrong this is wrong I’m not actually yours . Bruce lets out a trembling breath. “I don’t deserve you, any of you”, he starts. “But you, Stephanie, I hurt a lot. You’re just a girl that got caught up in my grieving”.
And Stephanie remembers being Robin, feeling like she was at the stop of the world when she beat crooks up and Batman rewarded her with post-patrol ice cream, yet she also remembers feeling less than a dirty stain on the sidewalk when Batman glares at her with distain as she ignores his orders once more.
“Cass has told me you sometimes think that you’re not part of the family”. Stephanie shoots Cass a glare at that, and Cass responds by sticking out her tongue at her. “But I… I want you to know that I think of you as mine”. Steph crosses her arms, reluctantly happy and touched cause Bruce bothered to say it out loud. Unfortunately, she knows, despite her trying to deny it. “Yeah, you’re not subtle B”. Bruce nods, relieved. “You didn’t have to, but you spent months planning and designing this outfit for me. I-you made me feel special, like I was beautiful”.
“And do you? Do you feel beautiful?”, Steph presses. She thinks of greasy old men and shallow women leering at Bruce, eyes trailing without a single concern across his body with horribly lascivious expressions. She remembers learning from a sombre Tim that this has happened to Bruce ever since he was young - that even though the prince has mostly locked himself inside his ivory tower, there had been a countdown for him, of people wanting to prey upon his body. She remembers thinking, how could anyone feel beautiful with that kind of attention?
Bruce's eyes crinkle with glee. “I think I do…”, he confesses shyly. Stephanie whoops, feeling her heart burst as she pulls the big lug into a hug. Dick whallops and drags the rest of them into a Bat Hug, probably wrinkling all their clothes - hopefully Alfred wouldn’t mind much. After much chaos of untangling themselves together, they all rush towards the door to please Alfred, all the while laughing and pushing at each other as if they were all little children.
As they get into the car with an exasperated Alfred, Stephanie feels Tim slip his hand into hers, squeezing, he says earnestly. “Thank you, he looks happy.”. Tim is staring at Bruce with wonder, and not for the first time, Stephanie wonders what it was like being twelve and trying your best to pull a man who was supposed to be a symbol of strength and desperate hope from willingly drowning himself in his grief all on your own. Dick leans over Cass to pat her shoulder. “You did good”.
She looks at Bruce, who is being fussed over by Damian and Jason. Both are demanding that he give them the names of whoever tries to ruin his night later on, while Bruce tries and will most definitely fail to placate them - he’s weak for his children after all. He seems lighter and his first-snowfall coloured eyes twinkle with mirth. Bruce looks like he’s looking forward to going to the gala. He fiddles with the jewels and runs his fingers across the patterns Steph had meticulously stitched onto the fabric.
He lets his finger serenely caress the pearl earring attached to his ears, a pained but beautiful look on his face, awfully bittersweet, but yes, he looks quite happy. As happy as someone who parades as a bat in the night could be.
“Yeah, I did that”. Stephanie leans back against the sinfully comfy leather seat of the limousine, letting herself bask in the sounds of family. “I did good”.
/|\ ^._.^ /|\