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"You really think this is going to work?"
"I am certain of it."
Bruce looked at his butler once before turning his doubtful gaze towards the glass jar on top of the kitchen counter in front of them. It was completely empty and without a lid, with only a blue square post-it glued to it, with the words 'Swear Jar' neatly written in Alfred's cursive handwriting.
"Then we shall see how this will go."
- - -
It was one of the few occasions where everyone was present for dinner without it being a holiday or someone's birthday. It just happened that after last nights patrol they all had been too tired to leave, instead staying over at the manor, and when they woke up and Alfred was the one to make the simple request that they'd stay for dinner, who could say no?
Despite enjoying the silence, Bruce absolutely adored having the dining room so full of life, seeing his kids bickering with one another, sometimes shouting, sometimes running around. It made the place lively, unlike it had been during most of his life.
"—and it wasn't even my fault this time!" Jason, his son who spoke a little too loud, was in the middle of telling a story, gesturing with the hand that still held his fork. "Like, the fucker shot at me first, so it was honestly just self defense. And really—"
He stopped mid sentence to stare at the butler, who crept up from behind him, holding the jar.
Jason eyed the jar for a moment, then looked back up at Alfred. "Alfie, the fuck is this?" he, once again, pointed with his fork. Had Bruce not taught him any manners?
"This is a swear jar, master Jason." he paused for a moment while the young man stared at him as if he'd grown a second head. "And now you have to pay for your two swears."
"I'm not paying shit."
"Three."
There was silence at the table, one that was quickly broken by Tim once he couldn't hold back his chuckle anymore. Some paper towels were thrown around, more shouting that resulted in more bills for the jar.
Alfred was right. This was going to work.
- - -
Tim sat at the bat-computer, still wearing his pajamas and drinking his third coffee—that is, if he hadn't lost count already.
It was rare for Oracle to ask for a night off, and they all knew she more than deserved it, so here he was covering for her. It was a quieter night, which was always good, but it also meant sleepiness was hitting him harder. He drank the rest of his coffee, trying to will his tiredness away, and looked back at the monitor where he could see everyone's locations.
He must have jinxed himself with his thinking, as just then someone triggered an alarm at the bank. He looked at the map again, seeing who was nearer and calculating the best route.
"Someone is breaking into the bank. Red Hood, Nightwing, you two are the closest, I'll give you the directions."
He had learned from experience that if not given clear directions, they'd end up by the wrong bank.
"Okay, now just turn left."
He watched, as if in slow motion, as the two red dots turned on what was clearly a right.
"You have to be kidding me." he took a deep breath and pinched his nose bridge. "Hood, Nightwing, are you two stupid?" he heard them complaining on the comms, but ultimately ignored them. "I said left, does this look like a fucking left to you?!"
Great, he was now screaming. He turned to grab his mug, wanting to have more coffee, only to find it empty and Alfred standing right next to him, holding a glass jar with some $100 bills covering the bottom of it.
"Fuck, agent A!" he clutched his shirt above his heart, trying to recover from the jump scare Alfred gave him. "I almost got a heart attack."
"I apologize, Red Robin," it was always a bit weird to have Alfred refer to them by their vigilant names, but seeing as he also had his comm on, there wasn't much else he could refer to Tim as of now. "But I supposed you now have to add to the jar. Twice."
It took all of his strength not to curse again as he took two bills from his wallet.
Alfred walked away contently, but Tim kept thinking about just how much money there was already at the jar.
"Hey, Red Hood, are you going bankrupt because of the jar?"
He heard Nightwing cackling through the comms and Red Hood's very defeated sigh.
"Not yet, but soon enough if Agent A keeps up with it."
- - -
Dick sat at the dinner table, staring at his brother in complete disbelief. Both him and Tim had their brownies still untouched on their plates, gazes completely locked on Jason, who ignored them as he ate his own brownie.
"Really, you two. If looks could kill I'd be dead again by now."
"Good." Tim was the first to speak up as Dick was still frozen in both fear and disgust. "You deserve it after what you've done, you monster."
"Look, if I baked it," Jason pointed between himself and his brownie covered in ketchup. "That means I can do whatever I want with it."
Dick finally raised his eyes from the aberration to the face of the man he once called brother, voice wavering as he spoke.
"You're a threat to society."
Jason sighed and muttered what sounded like 'and I'm the dramatic one'. He held eye contact with Dick. "And a coward, it seems."
Before either him or Tim could ask what that even meant, they saw Jason getting up from his chair and making his way to the fridge. They held their breaths, too afraid of what might come next.
Their fears came to life as that unearthly ugly being turned around, holding the mustard bottle.
"Jason Peter Todd, don't you fucking dare!" Tim shouted, not caring anymore if he would be waking anyone up as it was still five in the morning and most of the household had just gone to sleep.
Jason took a small detour as he made his way back, holding out the swear jar to Tim once he reached the table.
Tim begrudgingly added another bill to it and Dick chuckled, the kind of chuckle that involuntarily escapes from your lips when you're too stunned or afraid of something.
"You little shit." he added his own money to it once the jar was facing him.
"C’mon guys, I thought you two liked mustard."
"If you even try to do that," Tim was really trying to be intimidating, Dick could tell that, but his voice was shaking and he looked like he was on the blink of having a mental breakdown. "I'll grab this mustard and shove it so far up your—"
He was cut off by the sound of mustard falling on the poor, ketchup covered brownie. Dick felt like he might faint at any given moment, Tim looked like only death could relieve him from his suffering now, all of this while that figure, too horrible for human eyes to behold, simply smiled.
Dick rose from his chair, scrapping it against the floor.
"That's it." he slammed his fists against the table. "I have had enough!" he started to walk away but stopped and took a sharp turn back, now pointing his finger at the fiend. "And I hope you will forever be haunted by the knowledge of what you've just done."
He finally walked away, completely forgetting about his own non-condimented brownie. As he makes his way out he hears the faint sound of Tim's voice.
"See, you're tearing this family apart. I hope you're happy."
- - -
He had seen his siblings paying that stupid jar countless times in the last month, but he wouldn't let that happen to him, he wouldn't step so low.
Sure, even for Damian it was difficult not to let any swearing slip, but he was stronger than this. He would stand his ground, and soon enough this thing would be over and he'd be able to boost about how much better he was, how he'd be the only one not to pay it.
He sat on the floor of the living room. He appreciated his own bedroom, but sometimes it was too big and too empty, and yes, that might have been the state of the whole manor, but the living room was more open, less closed off on him. So he stayed there.
He sharpened his sword again. The blade was already perfect, the action unneeded, but it gave him something to do with his hands.
Alfred the cat was asleep on the couch behind him. Damian took a breath in, closing his eyes and enjoying the peace for once. Peace that didn't last much longer as he heard footsteps coming in his direction. He grumbled before opening his eyes again and staring daggers at whoever dared to disturb him.
And them he saw her, Stephanie Brown, making her way and sitting on the armchair in front of him. In her hands a glass of something pink and glittery with a colorful straw. She took one sip of it and Damian could almost feel the second-hand damage.
"Brown, what the—" she almost got him, but he was smarter than that and wouldn't go down so easily. "What is this abomination?"
"Just strawberry juice." her smile betrayed the nonchalance of her voice. She knew what she was doing and knew how close she had gotten to defeating him. She was a dangerous enemy.
"Then why is it sparkling?"
"Edible glitter. Best humankind invention since unicorns."
"Unicorns aren't real." he raised an eyebrow at her. Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if she really believed it. He had long found out that, despite what their abilities might lead you to believe, most people in this family were extremely dumb.
"Obviously." she rolled her eyes. "Which means someone made them up, invented them, whatever, so my point still stands."
She took another sip of that disturbing drink and Damian set his sword aside, lest he do something he might regret later. He would hate it if he'd have to clean up spilled liquid glitter from the rug.
For a moment he felt relief at hearing another pair of footsteps. It meant that he wouldn't be alone with Brown for much longer. But that was all it lasted, a single moment, as he saw who the other person was.
Dick Grayson had just walked into the room, at first too distracted by something on his phone, but fully stopped once he saw the other two.
"Sup." he could have sat at the couch next to Brown's armchair like a normal person, but that was Grayson, he had to throw himself at it; not without doing some acrobatic show off. "What's going on."
"Nothing," Steph waved her hand and Damian all but glared at her again. "Just talking about glitter and unicorns."
"Okay?" Dick looked between them, eyes fixating on Damian's as he waited for a proper clarification.
"Brown should be arrested for adding that shit to the juice."
He froze as soon as the words left his mouth. Steph's smile stretched across her whole face and even Dick was trying to hold back his laugh. Without thinking he rose from the floor.
"You did this on purpose!"
He pointed an accusatory finger at Brown. She was lucky he left his sword on the floor. Once he heard her laugh it was over. He darted in her direction, being held back by Grayson, who had been quicker than him.
"I'm gonna kill you, Brown!" she only laughed harder at his threats and Dick held him higher, making his feet dangle just above the floor. "Grayson, you put me down this fucking instant!"
"Dick, you keep holding him." She slowly got up, smile still on her face, and turned her back to them as she walked towards the kitchen. "I'm grabbing the jar."
As she left he started to curse her, listing the worst words he could think of. There was no point holding back now. It was over. He had failed. Worst of all, he had lost to Stephanie fucking Brown.
It was a blow he'd never recover from.
- - -
He hadn't been living at the manor for long, but he'd already found that this family was quite… eccentric.
It had been barely more than a month since Alfred made the swear jar and it was already almost full. He was sure all of them had to pay it at one point. Even Cass, once it was decided any swear word counted, no matter if spoken or signed.
The worst part of it? It seemed like that thing was always following them around.
Its designated space was on the kitchen counter, but every night before patrols someone would take it to the cave. If they were hanging out in the living room? It would be there next to the TV. Having movie night at the theater room? Doesn't matter if you swear under your breath while sure no one will hear, the person siting at your side would hold it out to you.
It was a fate none could escape.
But the weirdest part? It surprisingly became a simple part of their routine.
He had seen Jason telling stories at the dinner table, crumpling his bills and tossing them to the other side of the room, straight to the jar, without even bating an eye. He'd seen Dick grabbing his money mid sentence even before any cussing left his mouth.
How Tim would sometimes stop for a few seconds, count many bills and add them to the jar before saying anything, and somehow having paid the exact amount. How Steph would do her best to make the others pay more, while claiming that she didn't have to pay herself as she didn't even live there. He'd seen Cass sighing each time, and Damian not even trying to restrain himself anymore.
But there was still one person who they hadn't seen lose to the jar.
"Okay, first meeting for the operation 'make B lose his whole wallet' starts now." Dick slammed his hands on the table and looked at each and every one of them.
Duke found it hilarious how they were using Bruce's own office to hold the meeting.
"I don't know how he's doing this." Steph rested a hand on her chin, looking around as if deep in thought. "I'm sure he used to swear like every day, but as soon as the jar was involved he just… stopped? That's absolutely impossible."
"For once I agree with Brown." he almost felt bad at Damian's pained expression. "As I have given my best efforts into this and even I couldn't win against it."
"To me it seems that we have been fighting among ourselves and forgotten who the real enemy is." Tim grabbed a notebook and a pen, already writing down some ideas. "I'm sure I can make a plan, but we'll need someone to piss him off."
Jason, who had been sitting at the armchair across the table, leaned forward as he rested his face on his hands, his smile only grew. "Now we're talking."
"Okay, so everyone in favor?" Dick asked and one at a time they nodded, confirming that indeed they were on board. At last they all looked at Cass, who wore a stoic expression. Very slowly she nodded.
"Let's make him pay."
- - -
His kids had arranged a family dinner.
That ringed the first alarm.
Obviously he had been happy, but it was extremely rare for all of them to have dinner together without the idea coming from himself or Alfred, so he had his reasons to suspect there was something behind this.
The second alarm was when they set at the table and the kids were quiet. No shouts, no threats, no acrobatics or running around. They all sat at their places and spoke to each other like civilized adults. It was unnerving.
Though there was still someone missing, so maybe this wasn't some overcomplicated scheme against him.
Just as Alfred began to set the table, the front door of the manor opened. He heard footsteps flushing around and soon his second eldest entered the dinning room. From the corner of his eyes he saw Steph taking out her phone and starting to film while Jason apologized for being late and took off his jacket as he set down, revealing a black t-shirt with 'Dead Boy Walking' written in white bold letters. Bruce did his best to ignore it. He held two paper bags on his hand and extended one towards him.
"Hey B, I got something for you." he took it and opened the bag. Inside there was a black t-shirt with some text on it. He couldn't read it yet as it was folded. "Have you ever seen Heathers?" Jason asked and he shook his head, too focused on unfolding it. It was also hard not to show just how happy he'd been that his son had gifted him something. "Well, I've been listening to the songs non-stop recently, and when I saw these shirts I thought we could match."
His face fell as soon as he saw what the text was. There was a beat of silence before Dick spoke up.
"So, are you not gonna show us, B?"
He took one deep breath and turned the shirt around so that it faced the others. Laugher started once they could finally read the 'I Love My Dead Gay Son' white text.
Bruce waited for the laugher to stop before he spoke again.
"Jason, are you serious right now?"
"Of course I'm serious. What, can't I just give a gift to my dad anymore?" Bruce would have folded right there at his son calling him dad and being upset at him, that is, if Jason wasn't so blatantly scheming something. "Well, good thing I brought two things, since you clearly didn't appreciate this one."
He tossed the other bag to Bruce, who held it as if expecting it to explode at any moment. Knowing his kids, he wouldn't be surprised if this was really a glitter bomb. At least it wouldn't be the first time.
Inside of it there was a plush toy of Batman, wearing his rainbow costume, and it was completely crooked, one of the ugliest Batman merch Bruce had ever seen. He was unsure whether he should be impressed or worried about how Jason had found it.
The table was filled with giggles and shoulders trembling at suppressed laughs.
"Aren't you gonna see what the little guy has to say?"
Bruce sighed before finally squeezing the toy. He had to resist against the urge to burn it or throw it away once the recording started. In a low, growly voice that sounded nothing like Batman it said "I am the night".
The table erupted in unrestrained laughter as he simply stared at his second oldest, questioning what life choices had led him to this moment.
"What are you trying to do, Jason?"
"Why do you think I'm trying to do anything?!" he crossed his arms over his chest, but would look at anything and everything except at Bruce's eyes. That was more than enough proof he was indeed plotting something. "Honestly, you have so little faith in me. You're probably thinking that I'm only giving you gifts to try and make you happy before saying something you're definitely not going to like.
Like if I was planning on using the sandwich theory, you know? Shirt to make you happy, bad news, and then the Batman toy so you're happy again and not as mad as you'd be otherwise. But that'd be dumb, something I certainly would never do. And something that wouldn't even work because apparently you hated the gifts."
He closed his eyes and took one deep breath. He should have expected something like this. Why else would his kids plan a family dinner on their own? They were probably all in on this, having only chosen Jason to be the one to give the news. He opened his eyes as he finally exhaled.
"What the fuck, Jason."
There was silence as his kids stared at him in pure shock, eyes wide and mouths agape, while Jason opened one of the biggest grins Bruce had ever seen on his son's face.
"Told ya I could do this." he was clearly speaking to the others despite the fact he kept his eyes on the confused Bruce, who was making a bad job at being one of the greatest detectives.
At Jason's words the silence broke and all hell raised again. There was shouting, people raising from their chairs and he distantly heard a 'can't believe this really worked'. He just accepted the chaos as it came, and if he was lucky someone would explain it to him later.
There were quiet footsteps behind him, ones he learned to recognize since childhood. He turned and there he was, Alfred. His butler, the man who raised him when his parents no longer could. And in his hands was a jar filled to the brim with money.
Oh.
Alfred cleared his throat. He had that sly smile on his face. "I believe you should pay the jar, master Bruce."
With a sigh Bruce grabbed his wallet but paused as he pulled a bill, taking a moment to think before pulling another one. "Shit."
His kids were grinning at that interaction, a sight that warmed his heart and suddenly he didn't mind the scene they had made to get him to swear anymore.
"Okay, but genuine question." Duke raised his hand as he spoke, getting everyone's attention. "What even is all this money for?"
They'd be able to hear even a needle dropping to the ground with the silence that fell upon the dinning room. No one really knew what it was for, not even Bruce as he only went along with Alfred's idea.
"This." Alfred motioned to the jar still on his hands. Every pair of eyes turned to him as he smiled. "Is for my well deserved vacation."