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Bruce Wayne woke on his birthday to the unmistakable sound of something shattering downstairs. It was followed by a thud, a yelp, and Damian’s voice rising in righteous fury. Bruce shut his eyes for one more second, reminding himself that Alfred was still on holiday and he had to fill that space or risk the house burning around them all.
He dressed quickly, knotting his tie as he walked down the hall. The smell of burnt toast drifted up the staircase. The smoke alarm chirped in protest. He took a breath, bracing himself, and shouldered his way into the kitchen.
Tim was already there, slumped over the counter. He wore pyjama pants and a vest, and was already sipping something from a cup. He hissed when Bruce worked the mug from his hands and practically wailed when Bruce dumped it.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Stop putting Red Bull into the coffee percolator.”
Tim just made a noise in the back of his throat and moved off to tend to his burning toast, muttering a string of curses.
Bruce stepped up to the plate, tying an apron around him. Alfred had left instructions and even made-up pancake mix. The kitchen was a flutter with sticky notes, all filling in details that Bruce needed to know. He had bacon crisping in the pan, fresh toast on, replacement coffee brewing and was flipping a pancake when the rest of the kids began to trickle down the stairs.
Cassandra slipped past him like a shadow, silent and graceful. She plucked a pancake straight from the pan, studied it and frowned at him. “They’re crispy.”
“They have texture.”
“He burned them,” Tim rang in, rooting through the cabinet behind Bruce for a granola he swore he stashed in there two weeks ago.
Cass shrugged, dragged a second pancake onto her plate and sat at the counter, filling herself a juice.
Duke stumbled in next, tripping over Damian’s bo staff, which lay abandoned in the middle of the floor like a trap. “Has anyone seen my backpack? The one that doesn’t smell like Todd’s rank cologne?”
Bruce had an idea but in that instant, a splash of oil kissed his skin and he grimaced. He heard Duke groan and head to the doorway, yelling for Damian to check the upstairs corridor for his second backpack.
“Baba, someone has stolen my left sock.” Came the very helpful answer.
“Left sock?” Tim muttered up at the ceiling. “Surely, its both-”
A thud on the ceiling preceded a sharp, “Silence, Drake.”
Tim made two rude gestures to the ceiling that would have had Alfred spitting blood and threatening to tan both boys on the backside.
The back door opened in a burst of cold air. Steph swung in, snow on her the shoulders of her purple hoodie, kicking the door shut behind her. She tossed her bag onto a chair, peering into the pan in Bruce’s hand. She wrinkled her nose and made a beeline for the fridge, grabbed something in a container.
“Good morning, Stephanie,” Bruce said loudly.
Steph just gestured to her ear where her AirPod was lodged. She stepped over Damian’s bo staff, ignored the smoke alarm, and joined Cass at the counter who she pulled out her AirPod to speak with.
Bruce’s phone buzzed. He used voice recognition to answer, his hands busy with saving the bacon which was blackening at a rapid pace.
“Hey, B!” Dick’s voice came through the screen, bright and cheerful. “Quick question, did you approve a new grapple point on 12th and Kane? Because it’s definitely not up to code.”
Bruce explained that he had, explaining-
“Also, my car’s making that weird noise. Not the usual weird noise, a new one. Kind of like a duck choking on a kazoo and Babs said that-”
Duke was shouting up the stairs again for Damian to come down. When Bruce turned his head to tell both of them knock it off, he caught Tim attempting to open a Zesti Cola to which he stopped at once. He barely managed the chaos, aware of Dick still ranting about something and Steph clearly plotting. The bacon was burnt, his toast had gone cold and Damian was threatening to hired a personal chef for the next day if Bruce did not clean up his act. It was a shameful relief when all the kids were gone. Tim had emerged dressed, banana in hand saying he was heading into the city to meet Kon and Jaime for lunch. Duke hurried in to tell them that he found his bag on the roof. Cass and Steph offered to drive Damian to school, with Steph taunting him about his mismatched socks and Damian vowing vengeance.
Bruce finally stood alone in the kitchen, the silence settled around him like dust. He basked in it for a heartbeat and then paused, opening his eyes and glancing around at the mess. It hit him slowly. Nobody had wished him a Happy Birthday or mentioned it at all. He wasn’t angry, just merely stunned. His phone buzzed again and he grabbed it up, thinking that it had all been a joke and-
Be prepared for Carolyn, Lucius Fox had texted him. She is on one today and she’s gunning for you over that New York deal.
***
Bruce’s day did not in improve as the hours passed. He moved through meetings and paperwork and the dressing down from Carolyn in Acquisitions, feeling rather strange. He always worked on his birthday, knowing that when he got home, Alfred would be ready with a dinner and the kids would all be there, dipping in and out until patrol. It was always too much, too much attention and noise but the idea that nothing was going to happen and none of the kids had even remembered this morning, left him feeling disarmed. Lucius had remembered, wishing him Happy Birthday right before he had to send him into Carolyn to be devoured. Employees knew, sending him best wishes and there was even a fruit basket from Diana that was lavish. He received a card from Clark that looked handmade and Bruce was kind enough to believe it was Jon who had glued the glitter and added the stickers.
At noon, his phone buzzed.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said warmly, “a very happy birthday to you.”
Bruce nearly sagged into his chair. “Thank you, Alfred.”
“I am sorry not to have been there. I know you bought me the flight months ago, it is only Julia was free this week and,” Alfred sighed. “What have the children planned?”
Bruce knew it had taken immense pressure from everybody to get Alfred to return to England for two weeks, to visit his daughter and actually relax on vacation so he did not intend to burden him further. “Oh, you know. The usual. They’re… very excited.”
“I am sure. Just promise me they will remain out of the kitchen, I believe I only managed to remove the last shred of confetti from the air conditioning before I left.”
Bruce swore to arrange it and gently told Alfred to head off and enjoy his holiday. When he set the phone down, Bruce sank into his chair again with a breath.
A scream echoed from the hallway outside his office. The door burst open before he could get to his feet.
Oswald Cobblepot, the Penguin, waddled in in his usual tails and top hat, swirling his umbrella in his gloved hand. He grinned, lips curling as he beheld the sight of Bruce had his desk.
Bruce had batarangs in his desk drawer but also a floor full of staff that he dared not risk. He channelled his civilian self in a matter of seconds, widening his eyes and frowning. “Ozzy? What are you doing here? If you needed something, you could have called. You didn’t have to…” Bruce gestured to the goons outside the door.
“Oh, but I did,” Penguin said, tapping his umbrella against the floor. “Because you, my dear boy, are being kidnapped.”
“By who?”
“You, Brucie. I’m kidnapping you. For ransom,” Penguin clarified, slowly as if speaking to an idiot.
“Oh,” Bruce said. “Well, I’m sure you have a reason.”
Penguin gave a pleased grunt.
“But why? We’ve always gotten along, haven’t we? Did I do something wrong?”
Penguin had the nerve to look empathetic. “This isn’t personal, baby”
“Well, it feels personal,” Bruce made himself pout. “This is just rude. I invited you to that gala with the peacocks.”
“They were a classy touch,” Penguin agreed.
“They attacked the mayor though.”
“Well, he deserved it.”
“But why are you kidnapping me?”
“For the publicity,” Penguin assured him. “You know how famous you are. How important, how rich. Our very own Gotham Princess Di. And it’s your birthday, Brucie. The papers will eat it up. Very dramatic. Very profitable.”
“My… birthday?”
“Yes. I have a card in the car. But Bruce, we really should get going. I don’t want the cops to crash this shindig yet. So, be a good boy and hurry along, yes?”
Bruce opened his mouth. Closed it. Then, before he could stop himself, the words tumbled out, raw and unfiltered, “My kids didn’t even remember.”
Penguin just stared at him, the flesh around his eye threatening to crush his monocle.
Bruce felt heat rise to his cheeks. He hadn’t meant to admit that out loud He was supposed to be playing the oblivious billionaire, not the emotionally compromised father of too many children to had busy lives and had clearly just forgotten. It wasn’t malicious, the kids weren’t like that. But Oswald Cobblepot remembered. “They’re just busy. They have lives. I’m sure they meant to-”
“Brucie,” Penguin said, voice unexpectedly gentle, “did your little flock truly forget?”
Bruce swallowed. “Well, they were all rushing around this morning. You know what it can be like with kids.”
Penguin scowled, his empathy vanishing behind a stormy cloud of disapproval. “Well, that’s just criminal.”
Bruce blinked at him. “But you’re just about to kidnap me, doesn’t that-?”
“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, Brucie Baby. Now, come on. Yes. We’ll… we’ll take good care of you, lad.”
Bruce had sort of hoped that the pity would get him off the hook. But it looked as if he was going to have to let himself be kidnapped. He wasn’t about to get his staff banged up in a struggle. He made himself smile but said, “You’re sure this is necessary?”
“Yes, darling boy,” Penguin sat a hand on his elbow, patting it. “Now, my guys are going to tie you up, OK? Don’t be scared. It won’t be for two ticks. Just for the cameras, alright?”
“Just… I bruise easily, so-“
“Oh, my boys will use the gentlest ropes. The softest ropes. If you have any complaint, I will have them loosened even further.”
Bruce knew that if he dug in his heels anymore, the good will would eventually wane. He just offered his wrists, palms up. “If we must.”
Penguin’s guys tied them loosely. Bruce could have slipped free with a flick of his fingers. As Penguin’s goons guided him toward the door, Bruce glanced back at his staff, smiling through gritted teeth, assuring them that it will all be well.
Penguin puffed up again, proud as punch that Bruce was playing his part so bravely.
Bruce sighed softly as they stepped into the elevator. Once they were out of the building and far enough away, he could create some distraction and escape. If he managed his escape right, Batman could get to come out early. He could have kissed the top of Penguin’s top hat for that present but instead he just said, “You have no idea how much I needed a distraction today.”
“Don’t thank me yet, Bruce. Just let me do my work. Now, let’s get a blindfold around those eyes of yours. Yes, use his tie.”
Bruce didn’t resist. He could fight with his eyes bound. He almost preferred it in a way.
“I wouldn’t want to spoil your little surprise.”
***
The blindfold settled over his eyes with a softness that surprised him. Penguin’s fingers were careful as they tied the knot, not tight but snug enough to ensure Bruce wouldn’t peak.
“Mind the step, lad,” Penguin murmured, keeping a hand on Bruce’s elbow.
Bruce made himself smile. “I know where we are.”
Penguin chuckled as if he enjoyed Bruce’s teasing, “You do not.”
Bruce heard the familiar hum of refrigeration units, the faint echo of polished tile beneath his shoes, the cool breath of air that always clung to the Iceberg Lounge. “Ozzy, I’ve been here more times than I can count.”
“Well,” Penguin poked him in the ribs conspiratorially. “pretend you haven’t.”
The walk through the Lounge’s back corridors was short, but Bruce tracked their progress with every subtle change in temperature. Someone else was arranging glassware. The faint scent of perfume and cologne, mingled with the lightest touch of booze and burnt sugar.
Penguin stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Stand still.”
Bruce obeyed, though he slightly bended forward so Penguin could untie the knot of his blindfold. The blindfold slipped away. Light flooded into Bruce’s eyes, far more than he expected. He blinked, forcing the room come into focus.
The Iceberg Lounge had been transformed with blue and silver streamers, swinging from the chandeliers. There were silver balloons everywhere and even a massive banner stretched across the far wall in bold, uneven letters like a cartoon ransom note: HAPPY BIRTHDAY BRUCIE
A cake sat proudly on a table surrounded by trays of food, a raw bar with shrimp platters, oysters. There were sandwiches, chocolate truffles, even a fondue fountain bubbling gently. The lighting was soft and warm, casting a flattering glow on the guests gathered around.
Bruce suddenly wondered if he had woken up this morning and what had followed that waking was all a dream but he blinked and they did not vanish.
The Riddler was in a shiny green suit, arms held aloft to greet him as if to say ‘ta-da’ and beaming with the biggest grin. Harley Quinn was clapping excitedly, leaping up and down and waving like this was all a surprise and she had finally caught an old friend out. Poison Ivy offered a nod. Harvey Dent was here, dashing in his two-toned suit, a martini in one hand, his coin dancing over the fingers of his other hand. Killer Croc was there in the corner, looking pleased to have been invited. Victor Zsasz was sat in a booth, lifting his glass in salute. Selina was here too, dressed in a black sheath that hugged her curves with a masquerade mask over her features that did not hide her devilish grin.
“Ozzy,” Bruce heard himself say, suddenly aware of everybody staring and the weight of what was going on. “Did you-?”
Penguin just pinched Bruce’s cheek, smiling fondly at him. “Never mind all that business. This is just for you. You don’t worry yourself. Happy Birthday.”
A drink appeared in his hand before he could think to refuse it, something neon, garnished with a slice of citrus and far more alcohol than he usually allowed himself. But he took a sip. It was good. Really, fucking good.
Bruce suddenly had the insane thought that maybe he did not need an escape so quickly or to flag his location. I mean, nobody is hurt, they’re all here so they aren’t causing trouble and they remembered. Bruce took a second drink.
Selina somehow managed to sneak up on him, hooking an arm into his, drawing close to kiss him just below his head. “Come on,” she said, looping her arm through his. “You’re not allowed to stand around looking tragic at your own party.”
Bruce let himself be guided. He moved from one small cluster of rogues to another, each greeting him with a strange mixture of mischief and warmth. They were always rather nice to him when he wasn’t in the cowl or trying to foil their plans. He was just some not-too-bright billionaire to them.
Clayface performed an overly dramatic birthday ode in the guise of Lex Luthor that made Bruce laugh harder than he meant to. Firefly talked about getting fireworks and sparklers, to which Ivy immediately shut down. Mr Freeze was icing drinks left, right and centre. Harley was offering shot after shot and Selina was encouraging him every round. Penguin was the same, having his waiters and bartenders deliver Bruce champagne, cocktails, anything that sweet and dangerously smooth.
Bruce didn’t usually drink this much, but it was easier to drink than find excuses to digress and for once, Bruce wanted to indulge. It softened the frayed edges of his nerves, made the room glow a little brighter, made the laughter around him feel like something he could lean into rather than judge.
Food was offered at evert turn. He found himself being fed bits of shrimp and lobster, plied with chocolates and he ate it all, recalling his disastrous breakfast.
Bruce tried to keep count of the drinks that passed his lips but he lost count. He was only aware of the warmth spreading through him like sunlight, loosening the knot in his chest that had been there since this morning. He felt somebody pull him onto the dance floor. He didn’t know who or what song was playing, all he knew was the that the lights dimmed to a flattering blue glow, the chandeliers glittered like ice and he was drunk.
The kind of drunk he hadn’t allowed himself to be in years. The kind of drunk that made him laugh easily and lean into people without thinking, let his defences down enough to feel human rather than Bat. Not incoherent, but pleasantly warm, loose, pleasantly willing.
“You’re lighter on your feet than I remember,” Selina was saying when she ended up in his arms, dancing across the floor.
Bruce laughed, letting her guide him. His legs weren’t working properly and he did not care. He liked when she held him up.
Selina was right against him, all of them were close but she was close enough for him to feel a shiver run through his spine and feel it through her skin. Bruce felt heat rise to his face, but he didn’t pull away. Her mouth was on his, drinking him in like the last drop of water in the desert, her hand reaching back to draw his face to hers.
Then she was gone in a flicker and Bruce was stumbling a little, right into Harvey Dent who caught him by the waist and steadied him. “Careful there, doll. You’re wobbling.”
“I’m not,” Bruce said, though his legs were undeniably wobbly.
Harvey chuckled, pulling him closer to keep him upright. “You always were a terrible liar.”
Bruce leaned into him, head tipping toward Harvey’s shoulder. This was nice, to rest his head against Harvey’s lapel and let him sway the two of them, “You smell nice.”
Harvey’s good cheek flushed. He guided Bruce through a slow song, one hand firm at Bruce’s back to keep him upright and the other in his hand. At one point, Harvey dipped him and Bruce let out a startled laugh that made several rogues turn and grin at the sight. When Harvey lifted him upright again, Bruce pressed a grateful kiss to his scarred cheek.
Harvey chuckled, wrapped an arm around Bruce and told him he was gorgeous as always even a year older.
Bruce ended up being passed off a few times before stumbling off to sit next to Penguin who had been watching the proceedings from his booth. “I’m very drunk,” Bruce observed.
“Brucie,” Penguin touched his cheek, “you’re flushed.”
“I’ve been dancing,” Bruce said, breathless.
“And drinking.”
“You gave me the drinks.” Bruce leaned into him, resting a hand on Oswald’s arm. “You’re very good to me.”
Penguin rested a hand on his arm. “Someone has to be.”
Time blurred into a whirl of music and laughter, of hands on him as he danced, of cheek kisses and warm embraces, of people he’d once fought treating him like a treasure. Scarecrow offered him a plate of shrimp, telling him that he was going to stuff his pockets when Penguin wasn’t watching . Mad Hatter insisted on giving a toast, which made no sense but was heartfelt. Even Victor Zsasz got in for a dance, a littler closer than Bruce would have usually allowed but it was that or have to fend off another tray of shots from Harley that smelled like gasoline.
At some point, he ended up back in Penguin’s booth, head spinning pleasantly where it rested on the smaller man’s lap. “Are you enjoying yourself?”
Bruce nodded, eyes half‑closed. God he was dizzy. “I really am This is the best birthday I’ve had in years.”
“Then it was worth every bit of trouble, wouldn’t you say? Even if the Big Bat shows up-”
“Batman can fuck off today actually,” Bruce vowed to Penguin’s mirth.
And Bruce meant it.
Bruce had just begun to melt into the velvet chair, pleasantly warm and drifting, when the atmosphere of the Iceberg Lounge shifted. “What’s happening?” Bruce murmured, trying to sit up straighter and succeeding only in listing slightly to the left.
Penguin kept a hand on his shoulder. “You just stay there.”
Before Bruce could argue, the doors swung open and five figures stepped inside, capes fluttering, posture tense.
Nightwing. Red Robin. The Signal. Spoiler. Batgirl. Robin. All in costume. All standing in a formation that was intended to strike fear but they faltered moment they saw clapped eyes on Bruce.
“Hiiii.”
Nightwing stepped forward first, brow furrowed over his mask. He studied Bruce then looked to Red Robin and then looked around. “We, uh… received an alert.”
Spoiler scanned the room, trying to look tactical while clearly confused. “Is that Jumbo Shrimp?”
“You cannot have the large shrimp. You kicked me,” said Killer Croc. “You kicked me in the nose and it hurt.”
Bruce beamed at the kids. “I’m having fun.”
Damian stepped forward, a professional always. “We’re here to save you Mr Wayne.”
Bruce hummed and then said, “No, thank you.”
“Bruce-?”
“It’s my birthday,” Bruce insisted.
The kids exchanged frantic glances. He could not see their eyes because of the lenses, helmets and masks but it rolled off of them all.
“We were having a little party,” said Selina somewhere behind him. She was stood behind the booth, leaning down to smile down at him. “Could you believe that his kids forgot?”
“Not even a damn card, not even a kiss,” Clayface shook his head. “Now, that was criminal.”
Damian stepped forward and pointed at the rogues, with all expression of his that was all his mother. “The only crime here is your kidnap of Bruce Wayne. You will hand him over unharmed or feel the edge of my-”
“Honestly, doesn’t Batman make you clean out your ears?” Penguin tutted. “We didn’t kidnap him. He was coming to his party.”
“I wasn’t kidnapped.” Bruce piped up, gesturing toward Harley. “Turn that music back on, Harls. We’re doing the-”
“No, Brucie,” Penguin said gently, settling a hand on Bruce’s head. “Time you went home. Got some shut eye, OK? These weirdos are going to take you home. On one condition.”
Nightwing scowled. “What condition?”
“That you give the Wayne brats a stern talking‑to,” Scarecrow declared. “Ungrateful little shits. Who forgets their dad’s birthday?”
Duke was the only one who managed to speak, “Yeah, sure… we will pass that along.”
“You know what? If Jason Todd, God rest his soul, were alive today, he would have remembered his father’s birthday.”
Bruce lifted his head, seeing Red Hood over by the refreshments table, his pockets full, shaking his head at the other kids. “You’re a good boy. I love you, the Red Hood.”
Nightwing cleared his throat. “Sir. We need to go.”
“No,” Bruce decided. “I like it here. They have sparkly lights.”
“You can come back tomorrow,” Ivy said gently.
Bruce beamed.
Nightwing and Red Robin came for Bruce and Bruce let himself be lifted, only to suddenly go still, face scrunching. Nightwing swore and shoved Red Robin in front of him.
Bruce made a small, distressed sound and then lurched over, vomiting right onto the lap of an unsuspecting Penguin who just nodded almost to himself like this was to be expected. Bruce retched, apologising to Penguin over and over again, while Penguin told him that he was alright, to not to worry.
The next thing Bruce remembered, he was walking between Nightwing and Red Hood’s shoulders. They reached the alley behind the Iceberg Lounge, the cold air hitting him like a soft slap. He blinked, confused.
Red Robin jogged ahead to pull open the back door of the unmarked car they’d brought. Bruce took a second to thank god it wasn’t the Batmobile, “Okay, let’s get him in before he decides to hump a lamppost or something.”
“I heard that,” Bruce mumbled.
Nightwing lowered him carefully toward the seat, but Bruce suddenly stiffened, arms flinging out like a startled cat. “Wait, wait, wait,” Bruce pointed dramatically back toward the glowing entrance of the Lounge. “I didn’t say goodbye.”
“You did,” Spoiler said gently. “Like… four times.”
“Not properly.”
Nightwing sighed. “Okay. Quick wave. Then we go.”
Bruce twisted in his arms, lifting one hand toward the doorway where the rogues were clustered to watch him head away safely. “BYE, THANK YOU FOR THE PARTY!”
They wished him safe home, advised him to sleep in tomorrow morning and ground all his brats and write them out of his will.
Inside the car, Bruce’s crumpled again. “They’re so nice. They made sparklers for me. And there fondue. And the fish man did a speech. This was… this was the best birthday ever.”
Dick’s expression softened despite himself as he clipped Bruce’s belt in place. “Yeah? You had a good time?”
“The best.”
Damian climbed in beside him to keep him upright but he needn’t have. His dad was snoring as soon as they pulled away from the kerb.
For the longest seven blocks in history, nobody spoke. Then “Man,” Jason murmured, “he’s gonna be so embarrassed tomorrow. Almost makes you want to not take a photo, hmmm, Steph.”
“No photographs,” Dick snapped.
Steph lowered her phone with a grumble.
“We’re terrible kids, aren’t we?” asked Duke.
“Yup.” Cass agreed.
“We will never speak of his night.” Damian ruled.
“Yup.” added Tim with an air of finality.