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Tim sighed as Bruce brought another pile of boxes down from the attic. The boxes truly felt never ending; they’d already been at it for hours and it felt like instead of shrinking, the piles of boxes and miscellaneous junk had only grown exponentially. At least he wasn’t alone in his misery. Watching Damian’s eye start twitching as he refrained from any ‘undignified’ displays of irritation almost made it all worth it.
Dick had no such qualms as he groaned loudly and threw himself down on the nearest sofa like a Victorian era damsel.
“We’re never going to finish!” Dick exclaimed, throwing his arm over his eyes.
“Perhaps you would have made more progress by now if you did not all get distracted at every shiny trinket you happened across, Master Dick.” Alfred pointed out dryly, raising an eyebrow.
“This is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell them, Pennyworth.” Damian sniffed imperiously. “Easily distracted, the lot of them.”
“Come on Damian,” Duke called from where he was sitting cross legged in between multiple piles of boxes. “Even you have to admit some of this stuff is cool. It’s your family history.”
“This is not my family history. This is piles of junk kept for largely inane reasons, thrown in the attic by generations previous to rot until some unfortunate descendant-namely, me-got stuck with the job of clearing it all out.” Damian declared, glaring at the ridiculously large ‘toss’ pile, next to the laughably sized ‘keep’ pile.
Tim refused to agree with Damian anywhere but the comfort of his own mind on principle, so he ignored the conversation to keep digging through boxes. Some of them were filled with knickknacks from bygone eras, which could be cool to dig through, but would end up in the toss or donate pile due to a lack of places to put them. Some of them were filled with miscellaneous papers that were too water damaged and faded to be legible. What was legible seemed to be mostly old bookkeeping records from back before the wonders of the digital age opened new worlds of record keeping and saved countless trees from being turned into more useless forms to be eventually trashed by future generations.
Tim opened the next box in the pile he was systematically sorting through, expecting more of the same, but stopped short when he came upon a pile of sealed envelopes. Envelopes in far better condition than any of the other papers he had sorted through thus far.
Lifting the envelopes out of the box, and sifting through them, he was only moderately surprised to see that they were all addressed to Bruce from various names and addresses.
“Hey Bruce,” he cut off whatever Damian was whining about now. “What are these?”
Bruce examined the pile with confusion for a moment before carefully blanking his face, while Alfred marched over to take the pile from Tim with narrowed eyes.
“I do hope this is not the correspondence that built up while you were away on your little world tour, Master Bruce. The correspondence that I vividly remember asking you to go through.”
“It’s not,” Bruce stated, until Alfred’s stern gaze made him continue. “Not all of it. I did start to go through it, but most of them were invitations to events from before I ever got home, so I opened the ones that looked important and…misplaced the rest.”
“Of course,” Alfred sighed, handing the pile of letters back to Tim. “I suppose there is really no point going through them now. They’re nearly three decades old at this point.”
Alfred stepped back to where he had been overseeing everyone’s progress and sifting through anything that they weren’t sure whether to toss or keep. Tim frowned as he began flipping through the letters again, fascinated despite himself. Most of the names were familiar, belonging to prominent families from Gotham and the larger eastern seaboard. They were all made from the usual thick cardstock that such families favored for their invitations, with one glaring exception.
There was one envelope, made from plain white paper. The kind of mass produced envelope you could find at any store, with an unfamiliar name written in plain print, rather than the neat calligraphy on the majority of the other letters.
‘Yuna Hollander’
Tim stared at the name, racking his brain for any memory of such a person in Gotham, but came up blank.
“Hey Bruce,” Tim called out. “Do you care if I go through these?”
“Is that not why we’re here?” Damian muttered.
“I don’t know that there’s much point to it,” Bruce ignored his youngest. “But feel free.”
Permission granted, Tim grabbed the letter opener he had been using throughout the sorting process and opened the letter that had piqued his interest. He started skimming the letter, until he reached a particular point. He froze, before going back to the beginning of the letter, and started to read again, expecting the words to somehow change, be different from what he had just read.
Dear Bruce,
I have written and rewritten this letter so many times it’s almost ridiculous. I have spent hours trying to find a way to phrase this that would make it more easily digestible, or less of a shock but I suppose that there is no other way than to come out and say it.
My name is Yuna Hollander. You may remember myself and my husband David. The point is, the three of us met in Belarus and spent quite a few nights together before myself and my husband returned home.
Shortly thereafter, we found out I was pregnant. David and I have been struggling to get pregnant, and obviously we wondered if he might not be the biological son. A paternity test after our son was born confirmed that he was not, and the only other option would be you. I’m sorry, I know this must be an incredible shock.
I am not writing to you because I expect anything from you. If I’m being honest, we considered not telling you at all and simply moving on with our lives, but we simply couldn’t do it. You deserve the chance to know that you have a biological child out there. Even if you choose not to have anything to do with us, that is your choice to make, we can’t take it away from you.
You can choose to burn this letter if you want. David and I are more than happy to raise him as our son, and we already love him more than anything. His name is Shane and he’s beautiful.
If you do want to be involved in any capacity, feel free to write us back at our return address or give us a call at 000-000-0000. If you don’t, simply don’t respond. We will understand.
Sincerely,
Yuna Hollander
Tim read the letter again, and again, his mind working in overdrive. Could it be true? Could Bruce really have another biological son out there?
If it was true, what did that mean for the family? The letter was from before Bruce was even Batman. The ‘kid’ had to be an adult by now! How would Bruce react to another child? How would Damian? Damian had calmed down a lot on the whole ‘blood son’ thing, but he still took a lot of pride in being ‘the son of the bat.’ The only biological son.
The last time Damian had felt like his position was threatened he had tried to kill Tim multiple times over. What if the introduction of another son caused a backslide in all of Damian’s progress?
And honestly, Tim did not have a very good track record when it came to new brothers either. Jason and Damian had both tried to kill him for their various reasons, and while Duke had broken the streak, what if this new kid started it back up again? They didn’t know anything about this guy!
The return address had been in Canada. Bruce had a Canadian son? Or maybe the address was fake-a cover for something. Bruce had a horrible track record when it came to romantic partners, for all they knew this lady could be a supervillain!
And the family had just begun to find their equilibrium. After years of seemingly back to back upheavals, things had actually seemed to be on an upswing. Bruce was back as Batman. Dick was Nightwing. While Damian and Tim had struggled at first cooperating as Robin and Red Robin, they had made progress. Jason didn’t necessarily work with the bats, but he at least wasn’t openly antagonistic. Duke was finding his footing as Signal and Cass and Steph were always great to work with.
Everything was at the best it had been in years, so of course something had to come along and-
“Tim?”
Tim’s head snapped up, finding everyone else in the room staring at him in varying levels of concerts. Even Damian, who was trying his best to look irritated, couldn’t completely hide it.
Tim wondered how long he had been standing frozen to garner such a reaction.
“Tim, buddy,” that was Dick. “Are you alright?”
Tim opened his mouth, tried to be reassuring-and all that came out was a wheeze. Tim closed his mouth. Swallowed, tried again. Still nothing.
Alfred walked over briskly, taking the letter from Tim’s limp hands and began reading.
“Oh dear.” The usually stoic butler’s entire face displayed his shock for just a moment before he cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders, and turned to Bruce. “Master Bruce, it’s for you.”
Alfred held out the envelope, and Bruce stepped forward hesitantly, taking it and beginning to read. Only a few moments passed before Bruce’s entire frame seemed to go still.
“Father?” Damian said. “What is it?”
Damian stepped forward, and reached out as if to take the letter. As soon as his fingers brushed it however, Bruce snapped back into action, spinning on his heel and marching out of the room with Alfred right behind him.
Every head swung to look at Tim.
“What’s going on?” Duke summarized the overall feel of the room.
Tim opened his mouth, still couldn’t speak, and rushed after Bruce. Multiple pairs of pounding feet followed in his wake.
Bruce was, of course, at the batcomputer, with Alfred at his side. Cass and Steph, who had managed to weasel their way out of decluttering the attic by saying they needed extra sparring time, were nearby, looking thoroughly confused.
“Drake!” Damian called. “I demand you explain yourself at once!” Because of course he could make no such demands of Bruce or Alfred.
“Bruce, what’s going on?” Dick did not feel the same way, marching up to Bruce’s chair.
Bruce didn’t respond, but they all stared at the screen as Bruce searched up one Shane Hollander.
“Shane Hollander?” Duke sounded confused. “What does this have to do with him?”
“You know who he is?” Bruce finally spoke, spinning around in his chair swiftly, pinning Duke with his intense gaze.
“I-I mean kind of? He’s a hockey player or something, right? Some team in Canada, I think. Mostly I just know him because he’s dating Rose Landry.” Duke mumbled, shifting his feet.
A hockey player? Tim thought almost hysterically. Bruce’s son, the son of the bat, was a hockey player?
Bruce stared at Duke for another moment before spinning back around and continuing his research.
“Ok, that’s it.” Dick stepped forward and swiped the letter up from where it lay in front of Bruce, who twitched but didn’t move to stop him.
One moment passed as he read, then two. “You have another kid?” Dick gasped, to the shocked exclamations of everyone else around him.
The cave seemed to explode into a flurry of confused conversation, but Damian’s voice rose above the rest for sheer outrage.
“What? What does he mean by that father? Father!”
“That is quite enough!” Alfred cut through the hubbub swiftly, silencing everyone else and taking the letter from Dick’s hands. “It would seem,” he continued much more calmly.
“That there may be a possibility that Master Bruce could have another child out in the world. But-” he raised his voice over the new mutterings. “The claim is as of yet unsubstantiated, and therefore, we must continue with caution.”
“But what does the letter say?” Damian demanded, eyeing the letter like he was seriously considering snatching it out of Alfred’s hands.
Alfred paused, glancing back at Bruce as if waiting for him to say something. When nothing was forthcoming he sighed through his nose.
“The letter claims to be from a past…paramour of your fathers. A married paramour,” he shot Bruce a look that he did not see. “The letter goes on to claim that this tryst resulted in a baby. That a paternity test revealed that the father was not this young woman’s husband, and that the only other possible candidate would be Master Bruce himself.”
“That’s ridiculous! An obvious lie to attempt to swindle the Wayne fortune, right father?” Damian was as puffed up as a peacock, red in the face and looked like he was about to start hissing.
Tim….felt a little bad for the kid. Tim had a better understanding of Damian now than he did when he first joined the family. He understood that he clung so tightly to the blood son title because he felt like it gave him a right to be there. A place in the family. Damian was honestly deeply insecure deep down, much like pretty much all of them. His insecurity just manifested itself as lashing out at everyone, but that’s how Damian was raised to deal with his feelings.
Dick stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Damian’s shoulder. Tim could tell Damian was rattled when he didn’t immediately shake it off.
“We don’t know anything for sure right now Dami,” Dick murmured. “Maybe this lady is lying, or maybe she’s telling the truth, and we have another brother out there somewhere!”
Dick was obviously trying to make this out to be a positive thing, but Damian just looked like he’d swallowed a lemon.
Before anyone could say anything else, Bruce entered something into the batcomputer, and suddenly pictures started flooding the screen. They all stared.
Bruce didn’t know what to think. That wasn’t true. He just hated when what he wanted and what he knew were at odds. He wanted this to not be true, to be some kind of cruel trick, or an attempt to extort money.
He knew that this was not likely. In either scenario Yuna would not have let sleeping dogs lie after one letter. What would be the point? Hold out hope that 20 years down the line someone would stumble upon the letter by pure chance?
The woman Bruce remembered was too intelligent for that. And he did remember her faintly, she had been strikingly beautiful and an engaging personality. Her husband had not been quite as striking but still handsome with a sense of humor that complimented Bruce’s. Bruce hadn’t had much reason to laugh in those days.
Their acquaintance had only lasted about a week, but Bruce did remember them fondly. And then, almost 3 years later, he had come home to a letter addressed to him from one Yuna Hollander. He had stared at it, considered opening it, wondering what she could possibly have to say, before deciding to leave it unopened with the rest.
He had assumed she-and most likely her husband-were reaching out in an attempt to rekindle their connection. But Bruce was a changed man. Those three years had truly turned him into the Batman. He decided to close the door on everything he was before that.
He was a fool. He should have at least opened it, seen what she had to say. He should have looked in on her and her husband, maybe then he would not be sitting here, once again mourning the loss of his son’s childhood.
Damian had only been 12 when he came to Bruce. He had still had a chance to watch his son grow up. Has watched him grow so much already in the two years he’s been a part of his life. His tryst with Yuna and David had been in 1989. If their child really was his son, he would be 26 years old.
A grown man with a life of his own, older than Bruce when he became Batman. Almost as old as he was when he adopted Dick.
Bruce stared as the batcomputer screen was flooded with pictures of hi- Yuna’s son.
He looked like Damian.
There were plenty of differences, but the similarities, the similarities were all Bruce. They both had Bruce’s nose and chin. Shane seemed to have a seriousness about him that reminded Bruce of himself when he wasn’t leaning heavily into his Brucie persona. Or maybe he was reading too much into things, pictures could only tell you so much after all.
“He looks so much like you.” Alfred murmured from behind him, knocking him out of his melancholy ponderings.
“Artifice!” Damian declared loudly, glowering at the screen.
“Holy shit!” Stephanie piped up. “He’s pretty.”
“Of course he’s pretty, he’s dating Rose Landry.” Duke nudged her.
“Bruce’s son is dating Rose Landry?”
“He’s not his son!” Damian snapped.
“Robin.” Damian’s mouth shut with an audible click. “You’re allowing your personal feelings to distract from the evidence.”
“This isn’t a case, Bruce.” Dick stepped in.
“It kind of is.” Tim spoke up for the first time since the letter was discovered. “We know that his mother claims he’s Bruce’s son but we don’t know that’s true for sure. If he is, ok. If he’s not, she could have any number of reasons for claiming he is, none of them good. Of course, current evidence points to it being true-“
“What evidence?” Damian snapped mulishly.
“The fact that she never tried to reach out after the first letter for one thing. If she wanted money, or fame, or whatever else she wouldn’t have stopped at one unanswered letter. And I know it’s not hard evidence but he does objectively look like Bruce. Of course, we won’t know anything for sure without a DNA test.” Tim summed it all up nicely.
“So what, Bruce just approaches this guy's mom, says sorry, didn’t get your letter till just now, can I get a paternity test?” Stephanie muttered.
"Or we could get a sample of his DNA and test it ourselves first.” Tim stated. “That way we already know for sure and don’t have to go through all the awkward parts for nothing.”
“Hockey game.” Cass pointed to the part of the screen showing the upcoming games for the Montreal Metros. “I sneak into locker room and steal sample.”
The next game was against the Boston Raiders. Bruce was unfamiliar with the world of hockey. He didn’t know if his-potential-sons team was good or bad. If these Boston Raiders were any good, what the chances were that his-potential-son would win or lose. He knew virtually nothing about his-potential-son.
The Waynes were not known to frequent hockey matches, or any sports matches if he was being blunt. He did know that whenever celebrities were in the crowd at sporting events, commentators liked to draw attention to that fact. The entire Wayne clan suddenly going to a hockey game-because he had no doubt his children would insist on joining him and find their own way there if he refused-would certainly garner a lot of attention. They would need to go in disguise.
Bruce examined the ice as the players did their warm ups. Getting five tickets to the hockey game next to each other had not been easy. Apparently the Montreal Metros and the Boston Raiders had some kind of long standing rivalry that meant their games against each other were more attended than standard.
He tried not to let his eyes stray to number twenty-four too often as he reflected on all the information he had been able to gather about Shane Hollander. Born and raised in Ottawa to Yuna and David Hollander, he had been playing hockey most of his life. Bruce remembered David telling him about playing hockey in college. Shane must have loved being able to bond with his father over a shared passion. He wondered if Yuna and David had ever told Shane that David wasn’t his biological father. If so, had they told him who was? Did Shane wonder why his biological father had, in his mind, never wanted to be part of his life?
Shane had been drafted in 2009, had since had seven years of an incredible career. Winning rookie of the year in his first year, two Stanley cups in a row. Countless endorsements and modeling experience. News coverage about his relationship with the movie star Rose Landry was all positive.
Shane seemed to have had a near picture perfect childhood. Bruce’s chest ached as he examined the childhood photos he had stumbled upon online. He knew they were his features he was seeing, but he couldn’t help being reminded of Damian as he stared at the innocent features of a young Shane Hollander.
Damian had come to Bruce already thoroughly disenchanted with the world, having seen and done things no child should ever have to endure. All of his children had come to him with their own scars and hurts already deeply ingrained in their hearts and minds, and had only gained more despite his best efforts.
Staring down at Shane, older than any of his other children when he found them yet so much more innocent in a way, he hoped he wasn’t his father. Shane had grown up with two loving parents, had a career that he seemed to love. A bright future ahead of him.
Staring out at the crowd of adoring fans, catching sight of more than one sign showing their support for Shane, Bruce wondered what he could possibly give his son. All he ever seemed to give his children was more hurts, more trauma, more pressure as if they didn’t all already have the weight of the world on their shoulders.
Cass pressing into his side broke him from his thoughts. He looked over, finding her already staring up at him in concern.
“Bad thoughts. Stop it.” She poked his forehead that he had no doubt was crinkled beyond belief.
“I’m alright.” He murmured with a sigh, knowing there was no point in lying to her but trying anyway.
They turned back to the ice as the game seemed to actually be starting. Bruce glanced over to Damian, pouting with his arms crossed next to him, to Dick and Tim next to Damian, murmuring to each other as they examined the ice.
Bruce didn’t think any of them had ever actually watched a hockey game. It was interesting enough, he supposed, but his eyes couldn’t leave Shane Hollander once he hit the ice.
Bruce knew how to ice skate, and he made sure all his children did too. It was a necessity when dealing with Mr.Freeze. Shane Hollander (his son?) moved as if he was born with skates on his feet.
From what the commentators were saying, and the clips of past games Bruce had watched online, Shane was not at the top of his game tonight. He seemed distracted. So did his supposed rival Ilya Rozanov. Watching the two of them was…interesting.
Shane seemed to spend his time not actively playing staring at Rozanov whenever he thought he could get away with it. Rozanov tried to be more subtle, but Bruce could still see him glancing at Shane out of the corner of his eyes constantly, or watching him play with a kind of intensity that was reserved only for Shane.
At one point Rozanov slammed Shane into the wall of the rink. For a moment after they both seemed to stare at each other with the kind of intensity that most would probably call hate, but Bruce could tell was something else.
“Not rivals,” Cass told him with an amused quirk of her lips.
Bruce glanced at her, looked back at the rink, and turned back to find her gone. He huffed a laugh even as he felt his stomach stir in anxiety. He knew there was nothing to worry about. Cass was the best of them, and had snuck into places far more secure than a locker room, even if she was somehow caught, Bruce doubted she was the first young woman caught trying to sneak into the players locker room.
And yet, no matter how skilled they were, or how simple the missions they went on, Bruce always had a nervousness when his children were out of sight. He wondered if he would develop the same constant worry for Shane if the test confirmed paternity. He was objectively far safer than any of Bruce’s other children at any point in time, but hockey was not without its risks. Bruce could already feel his mind trying to work out the likelihood of lifelong injury, not to mention how quickly a head injury could turn deadly.
Cass appeared back at his side before his mind could spiral any further. Bruce shot her a look and got a nod of confirmation in return. Her mission was complete.
“Good, we retrieved what we needed, can we leave now?” Damian muttered.
“We could.” Bruce replied.
They stayed for the rest of the game.
Bruce stared at the batcomputer as it displayed the results of the paternity test. A match. Shane Hollander was his son. His twenty six year old son who had a life and a family that he wasn’t a part of. Who had grown up either not knowing that Bruce existed or thinking he had chosen to never be a part of his life.
A son who had grown up without him and flourished into a seemingly incredible young man. A son with no connections to the caped community, who didn’t spend his nights throwing himself into life threatening fights with the worst that humanity had to offer.
“Shall I contact the lawyers, Master Bruce?” Alfred was the only one in the batcave with him.
He had sent all the children upstairs while he ran the analysis. Soon he would have to go upstairs and break the news. About the results, and his decision.
“That won’t be necessary, Alfred.” He responded after a moment of hesitation.
“Will you reach out to young Master Shane directly, or perhaps his mother?”
“No.” Bruce spun slowly in his chair to face Alfred, who raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t think we should reach out at all.”
“I beg your pardon, Master Bruce?”
“He has a life, Alfred. A great life.” A life not without its complications. It hadn’t taken Barbara long to hack Shane’s phone and find out about his past relationship with ‘Lily’ who was really Ilya Rozanov. But still. “Any attempts to reach out from me would only complicate his life, put him in unnecessary danger. I can’t do that to him. I won’t.”
Bruce set his jaw, waiting for Alfred to attempt to argue with him.
“Very well, Master Bruce.” Bruce couldn’t hide his surprise at Alfred’s reply. “I have known you for your entire life. I know when you are beyond changing your mind.”
“Thank you, Alfred.” Bruce murmured, turning back to the computer.
“But you will have to explain to the children.” With that, Alfred turned and left the cave.
Bruce sighed, continuing to stare at his son. His firstborn. His child who he had never got to know, and now never would. His heart wrenched at the thought of going the rest of his life never even speaking to his son. But the alternative was so much worse.
Bruce had placed enough children in danger for his own selfishness. Had put his children on a path that they could no longer turn back from. This child he could protect. Even if that protection meant never getting to be a part of his life.
He would monitor Shane from afar, doing everything he could to help him anonymously from a distance. It was the least he could do for his son.