Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adopting a kid couldn’t be an easy fit. The decision had been made in haste, and Bruce really wasn’t ready for that responsibility. He had made the choice without thinking it through, but when he witnessed that sweet, happy child shattered by the death of his parents, he felt he had no other option. He saw too much of himself in the boy.

He glanced down at the toddler squeezing his hand—at the wide smile that seemed to brighten every place he entered, at his blue eyes sparkling with mischief, scanning the room as if trying to uncover all its secrets. Bruce was absolutely not ready to raise a child, but he would have to—for the sake of that little sunshine’s smile.

Taking Dick in wasn’t something he regretted, but as a public figure, Bruce had no choice but to officially introduce him to the world. Requests for interviews flooded his mailbox. Paparazzi lurked around the manor, hoping to catch even a glimpse of the ward of the richest man alive.

In an effort to be left alone, Bruce tried everything: contacting the GCPD, filing official requests for his son’s privacy to be respected—but nothing seemed to soothe the public's eagerness to learn more about the young boy.

Following a long conversation with Dick and Alfred’s advice, Bruce decided to grant a single interview in a controlled environment.

That decision led him to Metropolis on a sunny Saturday afternoon, accompanied by an overexcited Dick. For this long-awaited interview, Bruce personally chose the journalist—a righteous and respectful man he had crossed paths with a few times. This man, Bruce believed, could satisfy the public's curiosity while respecting the boundaries of an eight-year-old child.

Dick was ecstatic—both about the interview and the chance to spend an afternoon in Metropolis. To Bruce’s dismay, the entire trip was filled with the most enthusiastic praise an eight-year-old could offer about Metropolis’ “bestest” hero (Dick’s words, not Bruce’s). Upon arriving in the city, the boy tried eagerly to spot his favorite superhero. At home, he had no fewer than three Superman mugs and two themed pajamas.
More than disappointed, Dick followed his adoptive father into the building where the interview would take place. They were shown into a comfortable room, mostly furnished in dark wood. A library lined one of the walls, while a navy-blue sofa and an olive armchair sat atop a beige carpet with intricate patterns. Father and son made their way to the sofa and waited for the journalist—seated (or rather, sprawled, in Dick’s case) across the furniture.

Bruce finally heard the door open as he tried to catch up on late work for Wayne Enterprises. He attempted to finish what he had started, but a small voice drew his attention:

“Superman...”

Bruce looked toward the door, where a very nervous Clark Kent had just entered. He glanced outside, seeing no sign of the Boy Scout. With a sigh, he put his work aside.

“Dick, I’m sorry, but Superman is probably busy. I told you there was very little chance we’d see him. I swear we’ll come back another time to get his autograph.”

Dick froze and tore his gaze away from Clark to frown at Bruce.

“What are you talking about, B? Superman is right here!” He pointed at the poor reporter, who now looked like he wished the floor would swallow him whole. “Same eyes, same height. The hair is basically the same—except for the hairstyle. Seriously, just take off the glasses in your mind—it’s the same person!” He turned to Clark. “How do people not recognize you? You’re not even wearing a mask! Is it the attitude? Or the hairstyle? You have curly hair—I like it! Why don’t you keep it like that when you’re Superman? Who else knows you’re the most fantastic superhero in the world? Can I get an autograph?”

As Dick continued firing off questions at a speed even the Flash might struggle to follow, and Clark sputtered denials the best he could, Bruce glanced at the man and really looked at him. This man he’d known for years. The same man he’d run into at countless galas. And the other man—the superhero, his teammate in the Justice League, the Kryptonian, the Man of Steel—the one whose identity he had spent years trying to uncover.

How could he call himself the world’s greatest detective when his eight-year-old son had just figured it out before him?

Once the shock passed, Bruce began to find amusement in the never-ending stream of questions from his son and in poor, pale Clark’s attempts to defend himself. Settling deeper into the sofa as Dick continued his interrogation, Bruce allowed himself to think that maybe—just maybe—taking in a child had been the best decision he’d ever made.

Chapter Text

Bruce glared at the back of his now-youngest son's head. He had gone upstairs to get a coffee—he had been gone for a grand total of eight minutes—and when he came back, he found Jason poking around in the files on the Batcomputer. He cursed himself for not logging out, but seriously, he had only been gone eight minutes!

With a sigh, he tried to remember what sensitive information his son might have stumbled upon, when a soft gasp interrupted his thoughts.

"Oliver Queen is Green Arrow?!" the boy exclaimed, turning to face his father with a look of disbelief. "How many of you crazy rich people are running around in cosplay?"

Bruce set his coffee aside. He’d been running on 32 hours without sleep—he needed something stronger for this conversation. He marched over, closed the Batcomputer without answering, and then picked Jason up and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, ignoring the boy’s indignant noises.

"You don’t need to know that. You shouldn’t even be here. It’s two in the morning, and little bookworms are supposed to be asleep so they can read more books at school in the morning," he declared, heading upstairs.

"You’re no fun, old man! Answer my question and put me doooooowwwn!"

His complaints were, of course, ignored, and he was unceremoniously tucked into bed. Bruce thought that would be the end of the incident.

XxxxxxxxxX

Two weeks later, Jason was stuffed into a suit and dragged to the annual Wayne Gala for the city's wealthiest and most obnoxious. He tugged at his tie, trying to breathe. He hated it here. Doing nothing was boring, and talking to airheaded guests was even worse. Nothing about the night seemed able to save him from the crushing boredom.

He was close to throwing a chair out the window—just to make something interesting happen—when he spotted a familiar man talking to Bruce. Oliver Queen. The Green Arrow. A grin spread across Jason’s face, and he made a beeline for the man.

He waited patiently for Oliver to finish his conversation, all while practicing his best angelic smile.
"Hi, Mr. Queen. I’m Jason Todd," he said, extending his hand.

"Oh, yes, I’ve heard about you from—" Oliver turned to bring Bruce back into the conversation, but the billionaire had already vanished. "—your father over there. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you." He shook Jason’s hand, unaware of the trap he’d just stepped into. "So, how’s life with Brucie?"

"Oh, it’s fine. He’s not that bad, and he has the biggest library I’ve ever seen. But say, now that I see you in person, I can’t unsee how much you look like Green Arrow. You’ve got, like, the same beard. Do you also know how to use a bow?"

Oliver’s smile faltered for a second—Jason’s grin only grew wider—and he answered with a noticeably more hesitant voice.
"You’d be surprised how often I hear that. Unfortunately, my archery skills aren’t nearly good enough for me to actually be him."

Jason raised an eyebrow, glanced around, and whispered:
"It doesn’t take a genius to recognize you as Green Arrow. I won’t tell, I promise. Just know that even Bruce figured it out."

Taking full advantage of the stunned silence, Jason slipped into the crowd, careful to stay in Oliver’s blind spot while watching him quietly panic.

XxxxxxxxxX

Bruce was enjoying his evening—as much as he could, considering the company. Everything seemed fine. He had been a little worried about Jason, but the eleven-year-old was smiling, so he must have found a way to entertain himself.
The only thing bothering him was that Ollie had been shadowing him since his conversation with Jason. He kept making subtle comments about his identity as Green Arrow. Wait… he started doing that right after talking to Jason. Jason, who knew Ollie’s identity. Jason, who was now staying out of his line of sight.

Bruce glanced at his son, who responded with a smug little smirk.

He let the mask of "Brucie" slip just enough to sigh. Why did his children have to be such gremlins, completely incapable of respecting other superheroes' secrets? He reminded himself that he’d found his first son in a circus, and the second on the streets—trying to steal the tires off the Batmobile. Maybe this was his own fault. Next time, he should adopt a kid from a rich family. Maybe that one would be respectful.

Chapter Text

Bruce was so sure he could never adopt another child after what happened to Jason. Then Tim came around. A little stalker, running on blackmail and coffee, who somehow made his way into Bruce’s heart. Before he knew it, he had a new son.

Or well, not really, since the kid still had parents — very much alive, although neglectful. They were never around for more than two weeks at a time and left the young boy on his own in an empty manor. Except for this time, apparently.

The night was just starting, and both Batman and Robin were getting ready when Tim spoke up:

"My parents come home tomorrow, and they want to take me on a trip with them."

Bruce looked up, surprised.

"They’re taking you with them on a dig?"

"Oh no, they’re going to Central City, and they think it's very important for me to get used to business trips in order to follow in their footsteps in the near future."
He was trying to sound casual, but Bruce could see the hope in his eyes at the idea of spending more time with his parents.
"Anyway, I'm sorry, but I won’t be able to go out as Robin for the next week."

"Of course. Thank you for letting me know. We should go now."

Tim immediately snapped back into full Robin mode, and they left for patrol.

XxxxxxxxxX

It was a quiet evening in Central City. Wally was walking toward his aunt's house after spending the afternoon at a friend's place. No superheroing for him tonight — just dinner and sleep. What better way to spend the holidays?

A flash interrupted his train of thought. Startled, he turned warily toward the source of the light, only to find a kid — a small kid, no older than twelve — glaring at a camera in his hand like it had betrayed him. The boy then looked Wally’s way and said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes:

"Sorry, I thought I had turned off the flash."

Like that explained everything?! Why was a kid alone at night? Taking pictures of him? Wally needed answers.

Despite the weirdness, Wally tried to stay calm. Yelling at a kid probably wouldn’t help.

"Why were you taking pictures of me?" he asked, voice slightly shaky.

"It’s for my file on Central City. You don’t need to know more. Please continue on your way and don’t mind me."

All Wally could do was blink. What?

Noticing the speedster wasn’t moving, the boy sighed in annoyance and added, impatiently:

"Come on! Just go two streets that way toward your house, and you’ll find Captain Cold — or whatever your local Mr. Freeze is called. I need footage of a speedster in action for my files!"

At those words, Wally’s blood ran cold. He glanced around — no one else in sight. In a flash, he grabbed the kid and zipped up to a rooftop.

"How do you know that? Who sent you? Who are you?" he demanded.

"Well, I wasn’t sure until now, thanks for confirming my theory. Nobody sent me, I’m here on my own. And my name wouldn’t add anything to this conversation."

The kid’s tone was almost bored, like he was discussing the weather and not, you know, the biggest secret in the superhero's life.

Even in his panic, Wally could tell the kid was lying. No way someone his age pulled this off alone. He shifted tactics — like Batman had trained them to in cases like this. Bat-paranoia had never felt so justified.

"Am I the only one whose identity you know?"

The kid gave him a bored look, then examined his nails, as if deciding whether he would comply.

"I have theories for all the core members of the Justice League. Want to validate them?"

"All of them? Even Batman?"

"No, I don’t have a theory about Batman’s identity." Wally didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed — maybe a bit more relieved, because explaining this to Batman would’ve been... problematic. "I know it for sure. And I have proof."

This kid was going to be the death of him. Wally discreetly pressed the emergency button on his League communicator.

"Okaaay… where are your parents?"

"Out of the country."

Not great. The kid had a clear Gotham accent — he definitely wasn’t local.

"Who’s here with you?"

The boy looked offended. "I’m old enough to be here on my own."

That was the last straw. A young kid, alone in a city that wasn’t his, who knew Wally’s identity — and maybe others too — and wasn’t sent by anyone? Or claimed not to be? Too risky. Wally had to bring him to the Watchtower.

He picked up the boy — who yelped — and ran to the zeta tube.

"Are you kidnapping me?" the boy asked, sounding more curious than scared.

"I’m taking you to the Justice League. That way, you can confirm your hypotheses," Wally lied. He couldn’t let this kid walk away with his and Batman’s identities. J’onn would wipe his memory. Wally would sleep for three days. And never have kids.

The kid deadpanned: "You should learn to lie better. I’m sure it’s a useful skill for a superhero. Either way, I’m leaving now."

Before Wally could blink, he got a face full of sand. When he cleared his eyes, the kid was gone. Wally frantically scanned the area, but there was no trace of him. With no other choice, he sped to the Watchtower to explain everything to his teammates.

XxxxxxxxxX

Two days later, Bruce watched as Tim walked into the Batcave, coffee in hand.

"How was your trip?"

Tim froze for a second before answering with a shrug:

"My parents dropped me off, then left — caught an earlier flight. So I did a bit of sightseeing."

"Does 'sightseeing' usually include creating a Justice League emergency?"

"Probably not. But you have to admit, part of it’s Flash 2.0’s fault — he didn’t notice someone tailing him all day or knew of to take care of a potential threat to his civilian life."

Bruce let out a non-committal grunt and finished suiting up as Batman, dropping the conversation entirely. Once again, Tim had entered his life by blackmail. He shouldn’t have expected a different pattern.

Maybe boys were the problem. If he ever had to adopt again, he’d make sure it was a girl.

Chapter Text

Cassandra Cain walked into the manor one day and never left. She just hung around until her presence became a normal occurrence. One week, Bruce didn’t have a daughter — then he did. No transition.

She gracefully accepted Dick’s trademark octopus hugs. She and Tim were learning ASL. Stephanie claimed her as her best friend. She developed a kind of mother-daughter relationship with Barbara, and even got along with Jason — despite the boy not wanting anything to do with the family. So when Bruce signed the adoption papers, it was only a formality.

Cass was a very talented young woman, but she had trouble seeing herself as more than a weapon. She never learned to speak in a traditional way. Her first language was that of the body — movement came easier than words. So Barbara had gently nudged her toward ballet classes — a way to channel her skill into something beautiful, expressive, and entirely hers.

It became her refuge. On stage, she didn’t need to speak. She just was. Every motion told a story, every gesture conveyed everything she couldn't say.

So when the Gotham City Arts Fund invited her to perform at their annual gala — an event benefiting youth programs and hosted at Wayne Enterprises — Bruce immediately said yes on her behalf, and even managed to act like it wasn’t out of paternal pride. (It definitely was — he was bragging.)

Cass hadn’t wanted the spotlight. But Alfred had convinced her, softly, that sometimes showing others your art could be its own kind of gift. So she danced.

The crowd went quiet from the very first step, marveling at the grace and emotion she carried through her dance. Cass was smiling, shining like she never had before. She felt understood by someone other than her family.

Halfway through her performance, all hell broke loose. The glass ceiling shattered, and dozens of masked individuals entered the hall, releasing smoke bombs.

In the chaos that followed, nobody heard the sounds of the fighting coming from stage.

No one managed to get out, as all the exits had been sealed from the outside. So, five minutes later, when the smoke cleared, all of the guests saw the assailants knocked out on the stage — lying between an innocent-looking Cass and a very, very confused Wonder Woman.

XxxxxxxxxX

The Justice League had received an official invitation to the gala from Bruce Wayne himself. Since he was their primary investor, the League decided to send a representative. Batman grunted to show approval and growled to show disapproval when they picked him — so the choice landed on Diana, and she went.

At first, it wasn’t much different from any other gala she'd attended — until it wasn’t. Miss Cain’s performance deeply impressed the princess; Diana could see the control in every movement, and she couldn't help but wonder if the girl would make a great warrior with the right training.

She was seriously considering asking Mr. Wayne if she could train his daughter — when the attack began.

She immediately grabbed her weapon and headed toward the last known position where she'd seen an enemy.

The smoke was thick, and she couldn’t see a thing. Before she could find anyone to fight, someone grabbed her forearm, pulled her briefly, then let go and ran — loudly — toward the stage.

By the time she reached the stage, the smoke was clearing. She used the regained visibility to search for enemies — only to find all the opponents already knocked out on the floor. Shocked, she looked around to find who — or what — had defeated them so quickly.

The only person her gaze landed on was the girl — Wayne’s girl. She was smiling at Diana and moving her hands. She was thanking her in ASL, the princess realized. The girl was the only one there besides her. She was clearly a great dancer, and Diana had guessed she might make a great fighter… but there was no way this young woman had knocked out all those grown men by herself, right?

Suddenly, all the guests were thanking her and praising her for saving them. Mr. Wayne himself came to thank her, then took his daughter with him before Diana could ask any questions. She couldn’t follow them through the crowd, but made one last eye contact with the young girl — who was smirking and wishing her good luck in ASL.

Maybe she was the one who did it. Diana would never know.

XxxxxxxxxX

"Diana asked me — as Bruce Wayne — if she could train you."

Cass turned to her father with an angelic expression.

"He said no and gave a very convincing speech about his children being too delicate to learn how to fight — and how he didn’t want you to get hurt. It was adorable," supplied Tim from behind his phone.

Bruce growled while Cass let out a small laugh. It wasn’t ideal that Diana suspected Cassandra could fight, but when he saw the anger in the girl’s eyes as her performance was interrupted, he knew very well he couldn’t hold her back. At least she created a distraction for the audience, and Diana wasn’t one to push too hard — so overall, everything turned out fine.

Bruce couldn’t believe how much gray hair parenting was giving him. Maybe he should just stop adopting altogether.

Chapter Text

When Talia had rung his doorbell claiming to have a gift, Bruce hadn't expected it to be a whole living child—his child. He had taken him in all the same. The kid—Damian, that was his name—was rash, always keen on using violence first. Bruce hadn’t known how to reach his son or how to communicate with him. Before he could even try, he was dead. Or, more precisely, lost in time—but everyone had thought he was dead.

When Tim finally found him, an entire year had passed. Dick had taken up the cowl. Jason was more open about spending time with the family. Tim had become Red Robin—and was apparently missing his spleen?! And Damian had taken on the mantle of Robin.

His youngest had changed. He resorted to violence less often, though he was still a bit vindictive around the edges. He still called Bruce “Father” but seemed more inclined to trust Dick with the paternal role. His eldest always seemed to handle everything concerning Damian—from school to nightmares. It made Bruce a little jealous, but there wasn’t much he could do besides wait for his youngest to trust him in civilian life the same way he did on patrol.

That waiting was rewarded roughly a month after Bruce’s reappearance, when the kid came straight to him after he got home from work.

“Father, I require a talk with you.”
Bruce gestured for him to proceed.

“You may have heard from Richard that I went on a field trip today, and I wish to inform you of what ensued.”

Bruce hadn’t heard from Dick—he had hacked the school system to make sure he didn’t miss anything. He led Damian to the blue living room—which he knew was likely empty at this hour—and Alfred brought them tea and cookies to go with the story. Then, his son began his narrative.

XxxxxxxxxX

Middle school had decided it was an excellent idea to organize field trips for their students. Damian thought it was a perfect recipe for disaster to expect so many students to behave themselves outside of school grounds—not that they did any better inside them. He let Richard sign the permission slip anyway—or more accurately, Dick found it and signed it without Damian’s blessing.

They were going to visit a military airbase, and Damian, of course, did his research on the location and the people who would lead the tour. Imagine his surprise when he stumbled upon a familiar name—Hal Jordan. The most useless member of his father's team. To be fair, Damian was fairly certain he could defeat him without his katana, provided he could steal his ring. The boy became even more reluctant to go. It was going to be a massive waste of time.

The day of doom finally came, disguised as a Friday that was unnaturally sunny for Gotham. Damian stared out the window next to his seat, reconsidering every life choice that had led him there. Most of his classmates were singing—very loudly—a song he didn’t know. He didn’t have time to catch up on new music releases; he was a busy man.

When the bus finally pulled over and spilled out the students, Damian’s patience was already worn thin. He let himself slip to the back of the group and followed through a particularly lax security check—none of the titanium blades he was carrying were detected.

He already knew most of the information given by the tour guide, so he let his mind wander to more important matters—like his latest homicide case—while keeping one eye out for Hal Jordan, who had yet to appear. Hopefully, he’d been called away on a mission. Damian didn’t need another source of irritation.

The group came to a halt in a hangar, in front of a small aircraft—an ultralight plane (ULM). The students were allowed to go inside and look around. Naturally, chaos ensued, and everyone started pushing to get in first—except Damian.

Despite the mess and the noise, he noticed a newcomer entering through the hangar doors. The man glanced toward the kids, looked like he might turn around and leave, then sighed and made his way toward a small plane not far from the crowd.

Damian followed his movement, vaguely considering bothering him, but was distracted when a group of classmates bumped into him trying to form a line. He stepped out of the way and removed himself from the savage beasts that constituted his class.

“You don’t want to go in the plane?” a voice asked. He turned to see Hal Jordan watching him with curiosity. “I would’ve sworn all kids your age would want to check it out.”

Damian frowned. Was that meant to be an insult? “It is a wonder that I resemble them in no way, then, Jordan.”

Hal looked taken aback. “How do you know my name?”

Damian resisted the urge to roll his eyes and pointed at the badge the imbecile wore on his chest.

“Oh... yeah, I guess that’s a giveaway. Well, I guess we’re even then, ‘cause I definitely recognized you as the younger Wayne.”

“How dare you consider yourself my equal?! I will have you know I am superior to you in many ways, especially when the only interesting thing about you is a piece of jewelry.” Damian was fuming. If this man dared to insult him—especially after already being known disrespecting his father while masked—he deserved a little scare.

Sure enough, Hal blanched at the mention of his ring. He reflexively reached for it—only to freeze when he realized it was gone.

Damian noticed his classmates departing. He had to cut short his amusement—the only bit of it he'd had that day—and made his way toward the others, not forgetting to yeet the ring back to a still-petrified Hal just before the man was out of reach.

He boarded the bus, half-expecting the Green Lantern to chase after him before departure, but the incompetence must’ve gone deeper than he’d thought, because the bus started up without interruption.

The ride back was uneventful. Damian became lost in thought, still trying to piece together his homicide case when he remembered why he hadn’t finished it the day before.

His father had been in an especially foul mood, thanks to Green Lantern dismissing everything he’d said during a Justice League meeting earlier. As a result, he had sent Damian to bed early so he could sulk in the Batcave undisturbed.

Damian still struggled to have conversations with his father. After believing he was dead for so long, he’d come to see Richard as more of a father figure. Still, he noticed the many efforts the man made to grow closer to him. Damian decided that today’s events would make for a fantastic father-son bonding experience.

XxxxxxxxxX

By the end of the story, Bruce wasn’t sure whether he needed to scold his son for bothering someone and stealing their property—or congratulate him for bothering Hal and stealing his ring. He settled on chuckling and offering to buy him an ice cream for his trouble. His son was reaching out to him, and that deserved to be celebrated.

Damian declined the treat, so they ended up in the Batcave, with Damian showing off the extent of his skills—it was his idea of bonding time. Who was Bruce to argue?

Bruce looked fondly at his son. He loved all his children dearly, even when he struggled to show it. He still questioned the strange luck that had allowed all his kids to meet and startle/scare/traumatize/confuse multiple Justice League members.

Well, since he was hopefully not going to have any more children—adopted or secret—this was probably the end of that bizarre coincidence.

Chapter Text

The bi-monthly meeting of the Justice League was going smoothly. They were about to close the meeting when Green Lantern sighed and spoke up.

Batman had been waiting to see if Hal would mention his encounter with Damian—if he hadn't, Bruce would've had a serious talk with him about security.

"I have something to add." He waited a few seconds—either to gain attention or for dramatic effect, who knows. "You all remember that meeting a few years ago, when Flash met a boy who knew our identities?"

The heroes nodded. Some of them made a face at the memory. That meeting had been... messy. They had recognized the boy as Tim Drake—neighbor to Bruce Wayne and, now, his adopted son.

The proximity to the billionaire who sponsored the League had led Green Arrow to mention his own encounter with Jason a few years prior. The whole discussion had been painful, especially when Bruce had to convince them that the League’s sponsor—himself—was not a supervillain (not a lie) keeping tabs on the Justice League (definitely a lie). He was afraid the current situation was starting to resemble that mess, but he let Green Lantern continue all the same.

"A week ago... I met his youngest son." He paused, clearly trying to find a way to tell the story without losing what little remained of his pride. "He knew my identity and... he was skilled enough to almost steal my ring. Fortunately, I managed to get it back."

A heavy silence followed his words. Then everyone started talking at once.

"Another one knows our iden—"

"You let a 10-year-old steal your—"

"This is becoming a pattern, what are we gonna—"

"He's not 10, he's 11—"

"Like that's any bett—"

Batman sighed and gave Superman a long, exhausted look. Superman looked just as pained. Wonder Woman slapped her hand on the table, silencing the room.

"We should head to Gotham and interrogate Mr. Wayne ourselves to ensure there's no threat."

Most of the Leaguers nodded in agreement.

"No."

Diana turned to face Batman, clearly irritated.

"I know your ‘no metas in Gotham’ rule, but we cannot overlook this possible threat anymore. You already convinced us last time not to act. Still, you had no proof when you claimed there was nothing to worry about. This is very out of character for someone so concerned with keeping his identity secret. I’m starting to believe you’re hiding something important from us."

She continued to glare at him, clearly waiting for a response. The rest of the League looked just as tense, waiting for his next words.

Diana wasn’t stupid. He had managed to fool her once—by pretending he had been the one to save the day a few years prior when thugs had interrupted his daughter’s performance—but he knew he had no chance of lying his way out of this.

He looked her in the eyes, took off his cowl, and said with a deadpan expression:

"I am Bruce Wayne."

Then he stood up and left, while everyone else remained in stunned silence.

XxxxxxxxxX

Flash was the first to react.

"Did... did he just reveal his identity? As in, Bruce Wayne? The playboy who ends up drunk and does dumb stuff all the time?"

Green Lantern looked like he was going through all five stages of grief. Wonder Woman looked as though her entire worldview had just been shattered.

"I saw him put 80 marshmallows in his mouth once for a challenge."

Green Lantern buried his face in his hands.

"We went to boarding school together... He flirted with a streetlamp once..."

Black Canary turned to Superman.

"Doesn’t he try to hit on you every time he sees you?"

Everyone turned to face Superman, suddenly realizing how uncharacteristically quiet he had been. The Man of Steel startled slightly.

"...He did."

Wonder Woman squinted at him.

"You seem way too calm about this."

Avoiding eye contact, the Kryptonian evaluated his chances of dodging the conversation—and found them to be zero. He sighed.

"I already knew."

Everybody started yelling at once.

XxxxxxxxxX

Bruce watched the Justice League argue on the Batcomputer. It had been going on for almost two hours. Jason had gone to grab popcorn about twenty minutes in. Dick was providing live commentary. Stephanie acted as his co-reporter while Cass braided her hair. Damian was writing down every mistake committed by the Leaguers. Tim was also scribbling something while muttering god knows what. Barbara sat in her wheelchair, watching everything and occasionally stealing popcorn from Jason.

Bruce had come home to find Barbara and Damian already watching the Justice League camera feed. Damian had seemed upset at first about the identity reveal, but the moment Superman admitted on-screen that he had already known Batman’s identity, everyone’s attention had returned to the screen.

Poor Clark was overwhelmed by questions. Bruce had revealed his identity to him during a mission gone wrong not long after Dick had recognized Superman. It had turned out to be a great decision. Clark was a great coworker—well, friend—and their families had grown close: Ma Kent and Alfred took tea together every other week, Tim and Kon were practically inseparable, Kara and Barbara hung out often, and Jon still seemed to be the only person Damian tolerated (even if he’d never admit it).

So when Bruce saw Superman being bombarded by questions, he considered going back to help. But once all his children had joined him to watch the show, he realized he couldn’t leave.

That’s how he ended up, surrounded by his precious kids—adopted, biological, and not-quite-adopted. He loved each and every one of them with the same tenderness.

He couldn’t be more proud.

They were his life.