Chapter Text
The Watchtower was too quiet. Suspiciously, unnaturally, apocalyptically quiet. The kind of quiet that usually preceded either a massive alien invasion or someone saying something incredibly stupid. Bruce didn't like it. He especially didn't like the way Superman was looking at him—like a golden retriever who'd been working up the courage for three hours to ask for an extra treat, except the treat in question was Batman's deepest, darkest, most humiliating secrets.
He just had that feeling, okay? Paranoia gets you everywhere.
Clark kept opening his mouth, then closing it, then fidgeting with his cape. It was painful to watch. Like a car crash in slow motion, that was…if car crashes involved unnaturally cheerful alien farm boys and impending social disasters.
"I think it's time we all shared our identities," Clark finally spoke up, unleashing that very farm boy smile that could probably end wars and definitely made everyone within a fifty-foot radius feel all gooey and giddy, and like they should probably bake him a pie or something.
That guy just had that effect. He should ban him from smiling because Bruce was not about to bake anyone anything. Alfred won’t even let him six feet within the (his) kitchen's threshold.
And what did he say again? Share? Identities?? Hahaha..haha..ha… Something was leaving him. His soul. And it didn't just leave his body—it packed its bags, called a cab, and moved to another dimension entirely. Because that was the best course of action of course.
No. Absolutely not. Never. Not in a million years. Not if the fate of the multiverse depended on it. Or not. A teeny tiny voice that sounded suspiciously like one Timothy Drake snarked that he would give up more for less—yeahhhh let’s shut up about that already.
He knows most of the JL member’s identities, so it wasn’t even a mutual gain if he revealed himself to them. There was nothing to gain by letting them know he was the notorious Brucie Wayne.
"I've come to consider you all as close friends," Superman continued, apparently oblivious to the way Bruce’s eye was twitching and getting his lashes stuck to the copious amount of eye make up he had painted behind his cowl for the very reason of showing even less of the man behind Batman. Definitely not because he was emo or anything.
"I think it's only right that we take this step forward together, for the sake of trust and transparency.” Might as well add ‘and all the other wonderful things that makes a team stronger’ to the speech big guy. It wouldn’t be out of place, really.
Around the table, heads bobbed in agreement like a collection of enthusiastic bobbleheads. They look stupid. They act stupid. That talk stupid. THEYARESTUPID — hmm why was he friends with them again? Batman hardly needed friends.
Diana, regal and radiant as always, placed a hand over her heart in that graceful way that made everything she did look like classical art. "I would be honored to share that trust with all of you. We are not just comrades in battle—we are family. Warriors grow stronger when they stand in truth together." Oh please, don’t put the lasso of truth on the table dear Diana. And he was fine with one family. Thank you very much.
"Yeah, man!" Barry grinned, practically vibrating with excitement—though to be fair, Barry was always practically vibrating so what’s freaking new. "I mean, I already trust you guys with my life on a daily basis. What's sharing a name compared to that? No biggie!"
Batman was going to throw up. Right there, in front of everyone, all over the pristine Watchtower conference table. And that won’t be the end of it because he will turn on his chair and spray his vomit on them. All of them, if he aims well. The speedster will then learn who he should not trust with his life.
And you know what else wasn't a biggie, Barry?
The time Bruce Wayne, very shirtless and very, very drunk on expensive champagne and bad life choices, had twerked enthusiastically on top of a Steinway grand piano during the annual Wayne Foundation Gala to raise money for Gotham's underprivileged children. The piano was worth more than most people's houses. Bruce's dignity had been worth considerably less.
Alfred, bless his eternally patient soul, had later told the press that Master Bruce had been "method acting for an upcoming charity theater production." How did that help his dignity? How was doing that gonna help the children? That remained a mystery. Bruce had seriously considered faking his own death right then and there. The only thing that had stopped him was the realization that even death wouldn't erase the internet. Oracle won’t even help. That girl...his kids always find away to shame him for eternity.
But the twerking on a piano wasn't even the worst of it. Oh no. That was just the tip of the iceberg of public humiliation that was Bruce Wayne's existence.
There were videos. Hundreds of them. Entire YouTube compilations with titles like "Brucie Wayne Being An Absolute Disaster For 47 Minutes Straight" and "Wayne Heir Moments That Make Me Question Capitalism 🤪" yes, with the emoji and everything. The comments sections were nightmares of secondhand embarrassment and thirsty SMS dwellers. WHO WAS WATCHING THESE?! AND WHY!?
Brucie Wayne's Greatest Hits included, but were not limited to:
- That time he'd called caviar "fancy tiny sea raisins" at a five-star restaurant and then asked the waiter if they had any "regular tiny land raisins" instead.
- The now-infamous quote that had been turned into memes across seventeen different social media platforms: "Wait, wait, wait. You're telling me chocolate milk doesn't come from brown cows? That can’t be true. Then where does strawberry milk come from? Pink cows? Are there pink cows? Why has no one told me about the pink cows?"
- That one disastrous TV interview where he'd earnestly declared, with the widest, innocent eyes, "I just think penguins are like... you know... little guys in tuxedos trying their best. That's so relatable. I feel a deep spiritual connection to penguins. We're both just waddling through life, you know?"
- The time he'd gotten lost in his own house during a house tour show and had been found twenty minutes later in a supply closet, somehow wearing a maid's uniform and holding a feather duster, claiming he'd been "exploring the authentic Wayne Manor experience" and that “someone had to be the maid to their manor”.
And let's absolutely not forget the legendary strip-tease at the 2017 Christmas Gala.
Bruce hadn't even been that drunk that night. He'd just... committed to the bit. Really, truly, terribly committed. What had started as a joke about "unwrapping Christmas presents early" had escalated into Bruce Wayne Gotham's billionaire doing a full burlesque routine to "Santa Baby" while wearing nothing but strategically placed ribbon and the kind of confidence that only came from knowing you had enough money to make everyone's mortgages disappear. Not that he did anything like that...but its been up for consideration
The video had gone viral in six languages. There have been memes, remixes, and parodies. History had been made and it was included on YouTube rewind three times.
So yeah, that really wasn’t a bloody biggie, Barry.
His brain was actively short-circuiting as the League continued to speak with rising optimism and enthusiasm. The positivity in the air was sickening. And shut up he wasn’t being dramatic (Jason 100% rubbed off on him). They were talking about community and unity and trust and all sorts of incredibly beautiful, meaningful bullshit that made Bruce want to crawl into the Batcave and never emerge. He might as well stay true to that idea and hang himself with a noose next to the bats sitting there. They will have something new to eat for once.
And the members continued talking and some about it because they were all chatterboxes. Great.
Meanwhile, his thoughts shifted to the tabloid headline from last summer that still haunted his nightmares: "BRUCE WAYNE LICKS ICE CREAM OFF DIAMOND STILETTOS AT THE HIGH SOCIETY BALL—'IT TASTES LIKE EXPENSIVE REGRET,' SAYS BILLIONAIRE"
For the record, the ice cream had been his. The diamond stilettos had positively not been. They'd belonged to Gotham's mayor, who had not been wearing them at the time for some reason (she was a freak too, going bare feet to some place or another...like bro), and the whole situation had been the result of a very complicated dare involving the city's most prominent socialites and entirely too much tequila and considerably less functioning brain cells. But to the public all this will just be an excuse so of course he threw a random reason at a random reporter. Who thankfully wasn't Clark Kent from Daily Planet. Bruce had found the smallest of joys then because Clark always showed up so this was a one comforting thought regarding that incident.
And—Oh. My. God.
Wonder Woman was looking at him now, those ancient, wise eyes full of determination and expectation. "What do you say, Batman? Will you join us in this gesture of trust and fellowship?"
He stared back at her. Grim. Brooding. Very much wishing he were literally anywhere else in the universe. "...I prefer to keep my identity secret," he managed, his voice coming out as gruff as usual. But in reality he had to strangle that out of himself.
Superman tilted his head, seemingly picking up some of his distress. "But why? We trust you completely. We're all prepared to share our most closely guarded secrets—"
(The hell you mean closely guarded secrets?? You put on glasses and deem it a disguise! You put your hair down and call it a day, a tie and boom that is a job well-done to you!!)
Batman interrupted, voice dropping to that low, threatening register that usually made criminals wet themselves in fear. "You can't handle the truth." But these were the JL so no bladder accidents. Aww it would've been a great distraction from this terrible topic being discussed.
Flash blinked rapidly, looking genuinely confused like the dumbass he was. "Dude, what? What truth? How bad could it possibly be?"
Oh, Barry, Bruce thought desperately. Sweet, innocent Barry. You have no idea.
"I said no," He repeated, voice tight with concealed panic.
"Come onnnn, man" Barry whined, actually whining like a disappointed child who was denied his toy. "What's the worst that could happen? Are you secretly Lex Luthor in disguise or something?" He added with a pout. This man child…and what? Lex Luthor?
I wish, Bruce thought with genuine desperation. Lex Luthor has never been caught drunk-calling Commissioner Gordon at 3 AM asking if he'd arrest him "just a little bit" because "prison seems peaceful and I'm having an existential crisis about my life choices."
Lex Luthor had also never been photographed doing the Macarena at a children's birthday party while wearing a StarFire costume, but that was a different trauma for a different day.
"...I'm not sharing," he repeated. The deep timber that he was forcing into his voice sounded like he ate gravel for breakfast this morning (that type of tone was kind of over-the-top even for him). Or it was like he was reaching the end of his nerves which was very much true.
There was a long, awkward pause that seemed to stretch into eternity.
Superman's face fell, the corners of lips visibility curl downwards. "Well, we can't force you, of course, but I have to admit it's a little disappointing. I thought we'd moved past the need for secrets between us. It will be a little strange if we all do it sans you"
Bruce nodded solemnly, trying to project an air of mysterious dignity while internally screaming, crying and throwing up in a distinctively Not-Batman-Fashion. See? He can't do that in front of them! He had a reputation to keep. "I understand your disappointment, and I appreciate the sentiment, but some secrets are better left buried." That shit was going 6 feet under with him.
What he didn't say was that if any of them ever discovered the existence of the YouTube video titled "Bruce Wayne Pole-Dances to Ariana Grande's '7 Rings' While Wearing Gucci Sunglasses and Crying: A Masterpiece of Modern Performance Art" , he would have to fake his death again, assume a new identity, and possibly relocate to a different planet entirely. Or he can die for real. Many people would be happy with that outcome. First on the list would be him of course.
That video though? It had been viewed 47 million times. There were commentary tracks. There were reaction videos. Someone had auto-tuned his sobs and turned it into a remix that had hit number three on the Billboard charts. Why did it hit Billboard?? The USA didn’t even like Gotham to include them in anything "American-like-influence" on the world material.
Green Lantern leaned back in his chair, shrugging. "Hey, if spooky wants to keep his secrets, that's his choice. We've all got our reasons."
Thank you, Hal, Bruce thought gratefully. You beautiful, space-cop bastard I hate but you’re the best at this very moment. This moment exclusively. Other times he was just a classic little shit.
"I suppose that's true," Wonder Woman conceded gracefully. Did she ever do something not gracefully? "Though the offer remains open, should you ever change your mind."
Never, Bruce thought. Not in a thousand years. Not if you tortured me. Not if you threatened to destroy Gotham. My secret dies with me. Maybe it was irrational to think like this but who gave a rat’s ass. Batman certainly didn’t if it concerned his precious identity. Or maybe this was Bruce talking— shhh.
The League slowly began to disperse, murmuring among themselves about what they'd share at the next meeting, making plans for this new era of trust and benevolence. Batman remained seated in brooding silence, watching them go and trying not to think about the fact that somewhere in the digital world, there existed a fan-made compilation video of every single time Bruce Wayne had publicly embarrassed himself, set to the tune of "My Heart Will Go On."
It was a few hours long with a ridiculous amount of monthly— daily —viewers. There were probably other parts too.
And speaking of Brucie Wayne...
Somewhere far below, in the penthouse office of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce's phone was automatically posting to his social media accounts—a carefully picture of Bruce Wayne hugging a baby goat while wearing a glittering pink fur coat that probably cost more than most people's cars. Why did he have that in his closet? Don’t ask what you’re not ready to hear.
The caption, written by an AI trained specifically to sound like an over privileged disaster of a human being, read: "me when I lie to the UN about my offshore tax havens 💅🐐 #GoatVibesOnly #BillionaireProblems #OopsieWhoopsie"
The post would get 2.3 million likes within the hour.
Batman put his head in his hands and contemplated the sweet release of retirement.
Maybe he could fake his death after all. It worked for Jason. Temporarily at the very least.