Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

The Justice League was fighting, all hands on deck. The skies above Earth burned as an alien armada launched a full-scale invasion, threatening the planet’s survival. The Justice League, Earth’s last defense, assembled at the front lines. Superman soared into orbit to confront the enemy flagship, while Green Lantern erected barriers to protect major buildings. On the ground, Wonder Woman led the charge, battling the alien general in a ferocious clash of strength and will. 

Superman and Wonder Woman were attacking in sync, their punches landing and having each other's backs, Green Arrow was perched on a rooftop, assisting from afar, shooting arrows with deadly precision, Green Lantern was punching his way through the crowd, occasionally stopping due to providing some support as the others tried to fight everyone off whilst reaching the power source. The Flash was quickly making his way to the airship, throwing quick punches and kicks along the way, Martian Manhunter was going through as Black Canary fought an open path, Batman going through and going inside the airship.

As he was fighting his way to the power source, he got hit with a ray of light beaming out of one of the alien’s guns, hitting him before he had time to react. Batman got up and immediately disarmed the alien and knocked them out, going back to crash the power source that seemed to give them strength and other boosts. A few minutes had passed and he had done it, he grappled out the exit before it turned packed with weakened, retreating aliens, an explosion happening as he exited.

He did a somersault as he landed near the JL, watching the aircraft rush back into space before anything worse happened

“Well done team. We did good.” Batman said in his usual stoic voice. Batman felt off though, he brushed it off as a small side effect from the gun he was hit with, but it didn’t hurt to look in. Bruce just sighed and turned to the team.

“Something wrong Spooky?” Hal asked, concern evident in his voice. Bruce shook his head, “I’m fine. Let's go to the Watchtower and tidy up.” Everyone just nodded and went, going to the zeta tubes and going in the medical bay to patch up on open wounds and check up on any fractured bones. Once all was good and minimal injuries handled, they went home to have their well deserved rest.

As Bruce went to bed, he couldn’t shake off the feeling of something off. He couldn’t sleep. For a while he stared at the ceiling above him, wondering about the endless possibilities that could be the feeling or the root cause of it. He wondered about the endless side effects caused by the gun being shot at a human and decided it would be a worry for another day and he should ask Clark or Hal, mostly Hal due to his experience with other extraterrestrials being better than Clarks, but it couldn’t hurt to ask both. Bruce sighed and fell asleep. Waiting for the next day to come.

As he woke up the next day, he got ready and went to the Watchtower, full uniform, the black cape flowing behind him like water. As he reached the meeting room, he was met with the faces of all the League members, early to the meeting. Batman stood there, stunned a little how every member decided to be early, but maybe they had questions of their own too. After a few seconds, he went to his seat and started the meeting. He talked about the aliens and what their problems were along with his own and the team’s. After a little debriefing, Bruce decided to train with the League. 

“Oh! Nice of you to join us Bruce.” Dinah says, her voice filled with a little surprise. Bruce didn’t come to the group training missions often, being very rarely, but even so, it still surprised her. Hal and Barry paused their fight, staring at Bruce, whilst J’onn and Oliver stopped their actions to also stare. Bruce was feeling a little uncomfortable in everyone’s gaze, but he hid it, taking in the familiar surroundings of the training grounds, the exact same one in Mount Justice, taking in the slight nostalgia before nodding and taking a seat on one of the benches, watching the fights resume, studying them intensely. He watched every block, every counter, every attack, every habit and small thing, he noted in his brain. He then snapped out of his thoughts when Dinah asked to spar, he took a moment to process and nodded, getting up and going to the ring.

Bruce still felt off but decided that maybe a spar could help blow off a little steam. He went into a fighting stance just as Dinah did, and they circled each other for a while, calculating. Then Bruce and Dinah went in, blocking, countering, attacking. They kept going for a few minutes, throwing punches and kicks whilst the other blocked and dodged. Bruce was waiting for the right moment, then as Dinah attempted to double kick him mid-air with a spin, he did a jiu jitsu move and hit the back of her feet with precision and she felt her body go limp as she landed on the ground, temporarily paralysed. Bruce stood from his fighting stance to a normal stance as stares began to form on his back, Ollie’s being a dagger. Bruce’s eyes widened in realization of what he had just done and stared at his shaky hands as a wave of memories hit, his breath hitching just a little as he remembered a piece of training when he was in the LOA. 

What the fuck. Bruce thought, he was stunned at what was going on and he swore he’d gotten rid of those memories and things he did back then. He spiraled a little until Ollie snapped him out of his thoughts. 

[Link to the vid of the move he used to get a little visual on how the move performed looks like: https://www.tiktok.com/@itsreallifefam/video/7374356366766525738 ]

“BRUCE! WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO MY WIFE!” Ollie yelled, he was by Dinah’s side as she laid on the ground. He was scared, worried and angry at whatever happened.

Bruce gulped and took a small deep breath as he composed himself for the drama. He turned round, seeing all the shocked and disappointed stares of the team, awaiting his response.

“I.. Uhm. Paralysed her. Temporarily.” His voice was softer and perhaps scared if one put it that way, but it was enough to surprise the entire room. Bruce was lying if he didn’t admit he was surprised himself, but he was also anxious. No one has ever heard him like this at all, and that made them all worried. “It will only last around an hour, it’s nothing too dangerous. I think I need to rest for a bit. I’ll be in the manor if you need anything…” Bruce was stunned, and knew that was the off feeling he had. He went to the zeta tubes and went to the manor. As he passed by the empty hallways of the empty mausoleum of memories, he went to his bedroom and opened the bathroom door. 

He looked through the mirror and a stranger looked back. Somehow, Bruce looked around his 30’s, a few years younger than he originally was. Bruce was confused, and then realisation dawned on him. ‘THAT DAMN GUN THAT HIT ME! THAT WAS THE CAUSE OF MY SUDDEN… Incident.’ Bruce just splashed cold water on his face and hoped he could solve all this tomorrow. He went on his way and just stayed cooped up in his room, not going out for the rest of the day. He didn’t want anyone to see him, or they’d probably baby him. He didn’t know what age he would be when the conversion had finished, or even how long it would be before they’d find a cure or when it would wear off. But judging from the memories and what he just did to Dinah, he was sure he didn’t want anyone seeing him in this state.

Back at the Watchtower, the league felt deep concern for Batman. They didn’t know what happened, but the way he seemed so shook was deeply surprising for someone like him. Oliver stayed by Dinah’s side the entire time she was paralysed, staying in the medical bay for an hour, just as Batman had said it would wear off. The league was silent, doing normal daily things, except it wasn’t. Not without Batman. Batman was a presence that held everyone together, and without him in their daily life of patrolling in the watchtower or drinking coffee during a break, it just felt off.

Dinah noticed her husband’s concern and softly spoke, “Ollie, are you okay?” She too was worried for Bruce but it seemed like giving the bat solitude to think things through would help him. Oliver sighed and looked at her, gently holding her hand.

“I’m worried for Bruce, Dinah. It’s unusual for him to be like that, but to be honest, I’ve never seen him like that.” He said, worry evident in his voice. Oliver sighed and ran his free hand through his hair. Dinah silently put a comforting hand on his arm, a small gesture to tell him that Bruce would be fine. Ollie nodded in return, thankful for the gesture, but still worried anyway. But the only way they would know is if Bruce told them, so he waited.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

As the day passed by, Bruce lay on his bed whilst wondering how to get a cure or when this would wear off in the solitude of his room, but it had already become late and exhaustion crept up on him. Bruce sighed and put his tablet on the side table and went under the soft sheets. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed, hoping he could solve all this tomorrow. After all, he was the greatest detective in the world. Bruce felt the exhaustion settling in his bones and closed his eyes, falling into a deep sleep, supported by the effect of the gun.

As he was asleep, flashes of his memories from the past that had long since been buried crept up to his head in his dreams, reliving every moment. He squirmed in his bed, feeling every injury as if it were there, as if he were present. As he squirmed and flinched around, his bulky body had been shrinking, into the size of a short teen. Bruce’s breath was short and rough, he was hyperventilating. The scenes playing in his mind reminded him of the many incidents of abuse he suffered whilst staying in the LOA, his uncle Philip's house and… His parents. Bruce never really remembered his parents were distant, much like Drake’s, so Alfred was really all the family he had. When they died in front of him, all the bad memories had just vanished and left him thinking they were saints , when really, it was Alfred who was there for him. Not his parents, not uncle Philip, not the LOA, but Alfred. The one who looked after him, who really cared for him.

As dawn crept through the curtains, he immediately got up. He wasn’t in his pyjamas, he was in the LOA uniforms. As Bruce opened his eyes, a wave of nostalgia and slight discomfort washed over him. 

Where… Wait. Why am I here? Maybe it’s just a trick.. A test to see if I’d let my guard down from familiarity with my surroundings.. I have to find somewhere safe to dodge the upcoming ambush. 

Bruce looked around his childhood room, all the same but not at the same time. Old posters replaced by new ones, a much bigger bed than before, and… Alfred. Oh god. How Bruce missed Alfred. Bruce missed Alfred ever since he ran away. Bruce had always loved Alfred. More than words can ever describe. Alas, feelings cannot get in the way, so Bruce sat up and scanned the room, finding a place to be perched upon to be safe, attack and defend as the assumed ambush would go on. He climbed onto the shelf, perched on it like a gargoyle, ready to strike. As he saw the doorknob rattle, his grip on the closet and on the kunai he held tightened, and as it opened, he saw a boy. 

He was 5’5ft tall and had black hair, blue eyes and a red suit, holding a computer. “Hey, B-” Before the guy said anything, Bruce jumped down, knocking his computer away and disarming him as quickly as possible, holding the kunai dangerously close to his neck.

“Where. Am. I?” Bruce asked, his voice cold and his eyes piercing through his own. The floor was littered with the victim’s computer, their utility belt, their other items and the male on the floor, Bruce on top and towering over him, despite his short stature. Bruce’s position over him was strategically powerful, Bruce’s left arm held him down tightly, his right leg pressed down tightly on his other, his left leg pressing down on his chest as his right arm held the kunai close to his neck.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing here!? Jason!!” The person said as he attempted to get up.

Jason heard this from across the kitchen, it was unusual for Tim to be calling him like that, especially when Dick wasn’t here. Tim knew the others were better suited to call in the situation, but he also knew how to deal with armed kids, better than most due to handling them in Crime Alley, a place not many like to go patrolling around, since it was his territory. So as quickly as possible, he went to the source of the sound, seeing Tim pinned down and an armed kid on top of him. Jason sighed and just looked out of it. 

“Of course, he brought another kid.” Jason rolled his eyes and just pointed one of his guns at him, just to let him off, Tim. 

He looked up and saw a gun pointed and aimed right at him. Bruce froze. He quickly backed away and stayed in the gap next to the shelf and the bedside table, trembling slightly, a wave of fear flowing through his veins. The memory of his parents’ death, the taste of blood burning his tongue. He let out small, short, but quiet breaths. Jason saw this reaction and lowered his gun, seeing the fear in the boy’s eyes. His eyes widened slightly at the resemblance. He looked just like Damian, only that he.. Wasn’t.

“Hey. It’s okay kid. We won’t hurt you.” Jason carefully said, not trying to provoke the kid, but pissed that Bruce found another kid to be his Robin.

Tim rolled his eyes, “Jason. He just attempted to attack me. And broke into our house.” Bruce’s eyes widened at that.

“ Your house? This is MY house!” Bruce yelled. He was confused and angry, but mostly scared. Who were these people? Why were they in his house? Where is Alfred?  

Wait. Alfred.. If this is really my home, he would be here, wouldn’t he.?

“A-Alfred!” Bruce yelled, just a test. After a while, seeing nothing happen for a while, more people started to pile around the door.

Bruce made no move to get out of his position, but the widened eyes of the others as they piled around made it hard for him to escape. He scanned the crowd, seeing that they all had weapons of their own, and he firmly held his in his hands. One of the people stepped forward, analysing the new kid in their father’s room. The boy’s eyes narrowed, looking at Bruce, studying intently. 

“That looked like one of the League’s past uniforms… But the only one who has one is Mother.. And Todd was not present at the time of these uniforms.. But who else would-” The boy’s eyes widened. “Mother and Grandfather had told me stories about Father during his stay there and how Mother met Father through the League.. And since he was present at the time.. That is Father.”

Bruce flinched ever so slightly at the mention of the League, but also raised a questioning eyebrow at the use of the word ‘Father’. The Bat Family was shocked and confused, but if it wasn’t him then how did he know Alfred? Another sighed, looking to be the eldest of the bunch, “Hey, kid. What’s your name? We aren’t going to hurt you, we just need answers.” The guy said calmly, trying to break the tension in the room.

Bruce didn’t let his guard down, but just spoke. “I’m Bruce Wayne..” His voice was cold and stern, much more than the bat they were used to. The people’s eyes widened as they heard confirmation that he is their father.

“Okay.. Surprising reveal. Uhm.. B, do you mind going into the living room so we can discuss what to do.?” The guy calmly stated, Bruce knew he couldn’t take them on if he tried to escape, but knew he had to. So for now he would just play along till the time was right.

Bruce Wayne was in the living room, listening intently as Jason revealed the sudden situation from nearby as Tim came into the living room he had finished talking with the league. “So the League said that they’d go and call Zatanna to check up on you. We don’t know how this happened so I’m guessing we just wait it out as you are, well. A child.” Bruce slightly tensed at the mention of ‘The League’, but Tim noticed and stated that it isn’t the LOA, otherwise the LOS in his situation probably, but the JLA. A group of superheroes that protect Earth from harm.

20 minutes had passed and the Bat Family came into the living room. “Why don’t we all introduce ourselves?” Dick softly said, easing the tension. Bruce was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed tightly against his chest, eyes downcast. 

“I’ll go first I guess. I’m Bruce Wayne, as you already know. I’m 16, and I like cooking.” Bruce said coldly, but there was a softness underneath the hardness of his exterior. The group of people’s eyes widened, they thought he was Dami’s age at best, but 16 was kind of crazy.

He glanced around the room, his eyes landing on one person, a boy his height. He looked like him, it felt like staring at a reflection. Bruce stared at the kid for a while, the boy staring right back. Once again, the tension filled the air.

 “Hn. Why don’t you go next, weather boy?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at the other nonchalantly, his British accent with hints of Russian and Jersey in it. Jason choked on air, trying to hide his laughter creeping up his throat.

 “Oh my god.. Damian just got called weather boy! ” Tears welled in his eyes, barely holding himself together. Bruce rolled his eyes, not caring for judgment. Damian’s face flashed red for one second as he scoffed and turned away, “I’m Damian Wayne. The Blood Son. I’m 14 and I like art.” Bruce’s eyes widened subtly as he heard that he liked art, sharing the same passion as him but he immediately tensed and just nodded in return. Damian turned to Jason and spoke, “Why don’t you go next then?” Jason rolled his eyes and smirked. Bruce was still uncomfortable in his presence, but he made sure to keep his distance.

“Sure, sure. I’ll go next, Weather Boy .” Jason chuckled a little more before continuing. “I’m Jason Todd, 21. I like literature.” Bruce nods, mentally noting everything down, analysing the crowd. 

Bruce was listening to more introductions, putting names to the faces. Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Duke Thomas, Stephanie Brown, Barbra Gordon and Dick Grayson. Like the flying graysons. Bruce didn’t pay much attention to that part, after all, it could just be a coincidence. After everyone had gone off to do their own things in the manor, he found himself staring at Damian for a long time, analysing, calculating. He looks so much like.. Her. Bruce shook it off, but he let the thought linger in his mind. 

He wandered around the manor, reliving the old memories of home, deeply buried in the mental walls of his trauma and rage. He found his way to the library, belonging to his late mother. He quietly stepped in like a ghost, spotting Jason on one of the couches. Bruce walked to the shelves, making no noise so he wouldn’t disturb his reading time. He looked over to the fireplace that hung the portraits of Thomas and Martha Wayne, seeing a little 7-year-old Bruce in the middle. Bruce got annoyed and scowled, averting his eyes before slightly turning his head away from the portrait. Jason glanced up from his book and saw, a bit worried and confused about why he did that, but didn’t pay much attention to it. 

Bruce must’ve felt his gaze and turned to look at Jason, slightly tilting his head. Jason patted a spot beside him and without a word, Bruce came over. As he sat down, he looked over to Jason’s book cover, ‘Bleak House by Charles Dickens.’ Bruce leaned over to read some part of the chapter Jason was on, occasionally glancing up to his face, taking in his features.

Hm.. That's a nasty scar. I wonder what caused that… A crowbar perhaps? Looks about right. His eyes are green, but they don’t look green. I think there is a bit of a blue undertone.. Heterochromatic? Maybe.

Bruce found himself staring for a long time again, just analysing. Jason felt a bit awkward under the staring, so he looked towards Bruce and made eye contact with his ice-blue eyes with hints of grey, just dark and staring. Jason analysed his own face, seeing the baby fat that would soon fade into a sharp jawline, his pale, untouched skin soon to be scarred and bruised. It made something twist in Jason's stomach to see someone so beautiful become something so cold and what seems like emotionless. Jason ignored the feeling and just kept reading, Bruce following the situation.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

After reading with Jason, Bruce went to the Art room, stumbling upon Damian. Damian had been drawing something, a sketch of what seemed to be a fictional character. Bruce paid no mind and went to get a canvas to sketch something out before grabbing paints and painting something in return. He was positioned near another portrait of his parents and him, and he was making a picture of his late mother. It felt sad to be here, knowing her passions were wasting away, locked up in a room that never felt the same again. Bruce sighed through his nose, glancing at his mother’s portrait with longing eyes. He admitted he had missed her, but the things she did to him were never redeemable. It just felt better to have her around than for her to be gone. He admits that she was neglective, one could argue abusive, but she was also nice and caring. Though thinking back, it was hard to vouch for her when all she did was have arguments with him. It was no surprise, really, though he might have mixed some situations with Uncle Philip, too.

Damian noticed his internal struggle and raised an eyebrow, a small gesture to ask what was wrong. Bruce noticed and tensed, just slightly shaking his head to let him know that he was okay. Damian didn’t buy it and stopped drawing and stood up to place a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. Bruce mentally flinched, but his body remained still. The league trained it out of him, but it never entirely went away. Bruce turned sideways to face Damian, sensing his worry, and just sighed, knowing he wouldn’t stop pestering till he got a truthful and proper answer. He put his supplies down on the table and faced him fully, his eyes cast down. Damian’s hand didn’t move, but just squeezed tighter, tilting his head. 

“I-It's nothing serious, Damian.” Bruce calmly said, but he wasn’t buying it.

“It clearly isn’t fa- Bruce.” Damian tried to cover his stutter with a cough, but it didn’t work. Bruce raised an eyebrow at the stutter but didn’t pay much attention to it, having a hunch that he wouldn’t like it if he found out.

“Well, what do you want to know? It really isn’t that serious.” Bruce stated, hands behind his back, a blank expression crossing his face.

Damian’s eyebrows furrowed, but he sighed and spoke, “Never mind.” Damian took his hand off his shoulder and went back to drawing. Bruce stood, watching and turned to finish his own work.

Bruce stilled, slightly frowning as he painted.

I shouldn’t have done that.. But it really isn’t for them to know.  

Bruce sighed and continued, the tension settling in the air. They silently spent their time in the art room, occasionally stealing glances at one another’s work. Bruce and Damian just kept going, but after a few hours, they were interrupted by a presence near the door: Alfred. The two boys turned to see him, and upon seeing Alfred, Bruce’s eyes widened, and he almost dropped his paint palette and brush. He quickly set his equipment down and froze, tears in his eyes.

“ Alfred..? ” Bruce hesitantly asked. He looked so much older, though it was expected; he had de-aged anyway, but it still shocked him. Seeing his dear father butler in front of him, it just.. Hurt .

Alfred looked back at his son ward, seeing the shock in his eyes that reflected his own. He had gone out to go grocery shopping, just restocking on simple things, but once he had heard what happened from his grandchildren ward’s children, he had to see for himself. However, the groceries didn’t stock themselves, so he had to wait until evening for his visit. 

When he saw the hurt boy, he was, no, is , it just hurt. His heart clenched from within, bringing back old memories of the past that were long forgiven, and now stood in front of him. A 16-year-old boy, who was once the brightest child in his arms, turned into a hardened, cold young boy, his feelings locked and buried away with trauma and never-ending guilt. This could give him a chance to treat him better than he had been treated and give him the childhood he deserved. Alas, no trauma could just go away, but it could heal . And that gave him a new goal, one to help him in his early stages, and maybe have something , anything to have some normalcy in his everlasting grief-filled life.

“Yes, Young Master.?” Alfred spoke with proper diction, slight shock in his tone. Bruce’s eyes only seemed to widen more, his lip trembling as he realised he was right there. 

“I-” I’m sorry, Alfred. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have run away. That's what Bruce should have said, but he ended up just staring at him, short breaths through his nose, trying so desperately to compose himself. 

Alfred saw this and his gaze softened, walking over to him, arms outstretched. Bruce took this opportunity to rush towards him, landing in his warm embrace, crying hard, tears spilling, and his body shaking. Gods, he missed Alfred so much. Damian stood there, frozen and watching everything. He was confused. He didn’t think that his Father Bruce, was like that. The entire Batfamily had no idea what Bruce’s past was like; Bruce never talked about it, and there were barely any pieces of media hinting at what he was like before the Bat. All there was on the vast internet was the same old pictures and headlines. “Bruce Wayne experiences a mugging in Crime Alley!” “The Waynes’ tragic death in Crime Alley!” All aimed at one Bruce Thomas Wayne. Even that didn’t show any information! The things you could only get from Bruce were the present and past of his modelling days, the magazine covers showing only a mask , nothing more. It was weird, really, seeing his teenage years, the form of Brucie Wayne, billionaire brat, coming into place. But now, the mask wasn’t there, just a sad boy in the arms of his butler. Damian didn’t feel like it was in his place to be here, so he left to go find the others.

Damian walked out the door to find the source of the newfound noise, yelling from Tim and Todd. Sighing, Damian walked over just to see the situation. Jason was holding Tim’s coffee mug and drinking from it whilst Tim was complaining and trying to get it back, Steph was across the room with Babs, talking and laughing at how the two looked stupid. Damian walked into the room, greeted by Dick, who smothered him in a hug before asking where B was. 

“He’s with Alfred. I supposed the two needed space, so I excused myself.” Damian said, dodging thrown objects, missing its target (Jason), and went to the fridge to get a piece of fruit.

“Ah. I see. How’s B holding up?” Dick questioned, wanting to know the well-being of his de-aged father.

Damian hesitated a bit before answering, “He’s.. He.. He broke when Alfred came into the room..” Dick’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowed. He was concerned for him, but what happened just for him to do that concerned him more. He, as much as anyone else, knew little to nothing about his past, just the incident. He sighed and nodded, not wanting to pry further, but curious to see how this plays out.

Steph and Babs were seen with a mischievous grin in their eyes, arming themselves with pillows, turning the living room into an all-out pillow fight. You see, when it comes to pillows, fighting, and a family full of vigilantes, it looked like the next world war was happening in their living room. People were ‘dying’, attacking and defending from all angles. It was pure chaos .

In the art room, Bruce had finally calmed down and apologised for leaving Alfred, which in turn he had already forgiven him, but he just didn’t seem like it. Once they heard a crash, they both ran out, Bruce’s future instincts that lingered kicking in, checking on them, stumbling upon a war zone. Bruce stood there, shocked, though he didn’t look like it. His cheeks had faint tear marks rolling down, his eyes a little red. Alfred was hiding an amused look as Bruce looked up at him for some sort of explanation for what was happening. He read Alfred like a book and saw his amused look. He decided to observe the situation more thoroughly and found that it was the aftermath of a pillow fight, people’s bodies red from being out of breath, and it did look amusing.

Alfred saw the way Bruce’s eyes seemed to light up just a bit, and it made his heart clench. He wanted what was best for the boy, but it didn’t work out well during his teenage years. He was becoming unresponsive again, just as they were making progress. It saddened Alfred just how much the boy had become a weapon, a forced heir for that damned fool! It angered Alfred that he had been cheated out of his childhood, first from Gotham’s clawed hands, then his own grief and as of now, Ra’s Al Ghul . He didn’t deserve that; no one did. Which is why he was so supportive anyway of the boy’s calling to be the protector. He knew just as much as Bruce that it wasn’t an easy task, but rather it was an easier one with help. Help . Such a word was foreign to Bruce, due to being treated for so long that help was weakness . But help was so much more than that. It proved useful to Bruce so many times, Alfred could never thank them enough. Barbara, Dick, Jason, Tim, Stephanie, Damian, Cassandra, and Duke. They all helped Bruce in a way Alfred could never have done, and he was so thankful . It was truly a blessing, this family. He knew how much Bruce would have loved him at his age, and how they’d love him back. He knew this would work.

Bruce was hiding his own amusement from the sight, Dick paused mid-throw at Barbara as she still held her defence up, though looking in the direction of the noise. Jason peeked up from his hiding place, looking in the same direction as the others. Tim was face down on the floor, hand reaching for his thermos, a last resort before death it seemed. Damian and Duke were facing each other, Duke near the other end of the couch whilst Damian was on the opposite. They both had pillows in their hands, ready to throw at each other but something had crashed. It was an antique vase, one of Martha’s from a bidding auction.

“Oh dear,” Alfred mused. He knew that vase, it was one of Martha’s favourites, and it had broken. He went over to tell the kids to go away from the area as he cleaned up, making them tidy up and end their war. They all groaned, except Bruce. He stilled when he heard the shatter, but his new instincts made him move on his own. He tensed, his hands turning into fists, carving red crescents in his palms to suppress the way his hands trembled.

Bruce’s tiny hands shook as he went over to Uncle Philip, giving him a sandwich on a plate. He had accidentally dropped it and his uncle wasn’t very happy about that. He didn’t let Bruce eat for a week until he saw the punishment was good enough for him to learn. Bruce was 9. He wasn’t here.

Jason saw from where he was and raised a questioning eyebrow, standing up to put a hand on his shoulder. Bruce suppressed the urge to violently flinch as he snapped out of his thoughts, looking up to see a concerned look on Jason’s face. Bruce shook his head, saying it was nothing and he was okay. But to be honest, it was far from that. He wouldn’t admit that though, especially not to someone he just met only hours ago. Though it wouldn’t hurt… Would it?

It was evening already. Alfred had prepared him some new clothes (Old clothing from the attic, it was still in perfect shape, so it was fine to use.) and Bruce was glad he still stayed in his could you even call it a childhood? room. He went to the bathroom and ran a bath, the air filling with steam and the scent of vanilla. It was nice.

Bruce settled in the bath, sighing as the warmth seeped into his cold skin. The warmth was a balm to his ragged soul, comforting in ways he never knew were there. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, just for this moment. He rapidly woke himself up as he felt he was going to sleep. So he quickly showered and changed, stepping into bed. The silk sheets covered him on the queen sized bed, just comforting. Bruce looked at the ceiling for a few moments, slowly drifting to sleep.

Bruce woke up to his door being opened, he blinked his eyes rapidly for a few moments, then looked at the clock. 3AM , he thought. He looked back to the door only to see the one and only, Ra’s Al Ghul , towering over him, hands on his neck, squeezing. Bruce couldn’t breathe, he tried to get his hands off him but he was rendered useless. All he could hear were the sounds of his voice, like a fork dragging on a plate.

“BRUCE! WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT DISOBEYING ME?! YOU ARE GOING TO COME BACK. YOU HEAR ME?! I’M ALWAYS THERE, WATCHING, SEEING. NO MATTER WHERE YOU ARE, WHENEVER YOU FEEL SAFE, WHEN YOU THINK NO ONE’S THERE… I’m always watching you.”

Bruce woke up with a gasp, going into a coughing fit before taking a deep breath.

Relax.. He’s not here.. You can breathe.. It’s going to be okay..

He took more breaths until his breathing fully evened, cold sweat running down his face. He had a hand on his chest, the other tugging on his hair, holding it in a bunch. Once he fully calmed down, he let go and put his back against the headboard. He put his knees up to his chest and held them there, his head lowered. He felt water collecting in his eyes, his body trembling. He watched as his tears fell on his pajamas, watching as more and more came. He let them fall, what could he do anyway? So he sat there and silently cried, till the morning sun crept through the room.

Chapter Text

Chapter 4

The sun crept through the curtains, illuminating parts of his room. Bruce felt the light hit his head and looked around. He looked at the clock, 7:30 AM. He sighed, rubbing his puffy eyes. He got up and went to the bathroom, washing the remnants of tears off his face. He looked in the mirror, seeing the scarred cheek, one of the first scars he’d gotten from Ra’s. Bruce remembered how he’d referred to him as Weapon, objectifying him for his own use. He worked hard to get to the position he was in, and he wasn’t planning to stay anyway. 

He touched his cheek, feeling the scarred skin. He knew those weren’t the only ones there. Bruce took a deep breath, calming himself down, and turned to the exit, until he stilled. There was a boy in front of him, wearing a suit with red, green and yellow. He was.. broken. He had so much blood over him, and the wounds were disgusting. Bruce was confused, he hadn’t seen this boy at all in his life, though, there was a sense of familiarity. It was sickening. He knew he had hallucinations of his parents now and then, along with his friends he saw dying in front of him back at the League. But.. He really didn’t know what was going on. He knew that whatever he had been in this future had gotten de-aged back into himself, a 16-year-old boy, but something had been a bit off.

What the hell… Who is this kid.? I don’t think I’ve seen him before but, he’s so familiar.. He.. He kind of looks like that Jason guy.. But younger. Wait, I’m getting off track- Not the time for the others. I know I’ve hallucinated before but.. Why am I seeing this kid? I don’t remember him. But there was something off back when I heard that crash. I should’ve let Alfred handle it but for some reason my body moved on its own and I ran.. I know I’ve been de-aged, so maybe there were some side effects? I feel memories lingering back when I was spending time with Damian and Jason, so maybe my future mindset is finding its way back. Okay..

Bruce snapped out of his spiralling when he heard the door open. Bruce snapped his eyes to the door and back to the kid, but he disappeared. 

What the fuck. Since when could they do that!? My life would be so much easier.

Bruce looked back at his bedroom door and saw Richard, standing and he met his eyes. Bruce wiped the remnants of water off his face and turned the tap off. He felt so tired. He hadn’t had an actual good rest in 81 days. The League made sure of that. He’d rarely had a good night’s rest, and he knew that it would be evident on his face. Yes he had slept, but it was only 2-3 hours and nothing more. 

He just got out of the bathroom and walked over to Dick. 

“Morning,” Bruce said, cringing internally at his hoarse throat. It was dry from crying all night, and even though silent, it choked him hard.

”Morning B. Breakfast is ready, we’re waiting for you.” Dick said softly. He was concerned for his father being, well, 16 again, but knew that he wouldn’t have too much of a problem fitting in the manor again now that it isn’t as empty as it was before. 

Oh. They were waiting for me? Bruce thought the idea of people waiting for him was foreign now that he was mostly alone, but he had to get used to it, so he nodded and followed Dick to the dining room.

Dick was sitting at the dining table with the others, checking the time now and then. He’d come down at 6:50, having work whilst the others had school and other jobs. They were waiting for Bruce to come down, but it was getting long and the others started questioning. 

“Dickface, when’s B going to come down?” Jason questioned.

“Yeah, you sure he’s going to willingly come down to a room full of his future kids who just happened to explain some weird situation that we guess had happened?” Tim said, sipping his coffee.

“I don’t know? I was just hoping he’d come down and have some breakfast.. It’s been.. Long since we had one.” Dick said, swatting the questions off.

They knew that he probably didn’t have any proper sleep due to his eye bags, but they did expect him to at least come around for breakfast. When 30 minutes passed, Dick gave up waiting and went to his room. He knocked twice, letting a few seconds pass for a reply. When none came, he went in. Bruce wasn’t in his bed, so he looked in the bathroom. His eyes slightly widened, he knew that look in his eyes when they met him, but didn’t ponder on it. They exchanged good mornings and went down to the dining room where everyone waited.

Huh. I didn’t expect him to come so easily. Maybe it’s just me. I don’t know. I should ask him something.. How was his life as a teen? What did he do? It’s just so.. invading. Maybe he’ll drop some random dad lore we never knew about. That would be funny.

Dick snapped out of his thoughts when he was in the dining room. He went to his seat and gestured for Bruce to do so as well. Bruce sat down at the head of the table, where he always did and they sat as the others started talking, some bickering here and there, along with a thrown-in death threat that Dick had to break up. But out of that, Bruce was silent, posture straight and proper. He didn’t speak unless spoken to, and it was kind of weird.

Bruce sat silently, just watching. Bruce saw how Jason and Damian bickered, how Dick tried to break up their fighting. How the others talked to each other in general. They were.. Happy. He waited until the plates were in front of everyone, full of food and ate first before he did. He thanked Alfred for the food with a subtle nod and used his utensils properly. He looked calculated and mechanical, Bruce didn’t talk, and to be fair he didn’t want to, but he felt Dick staring and it was uncomfortable, but he didn’t make that known. He just kept eating, just like he always did. Cut, chew, swallow, cut, chew, swallow, over and over again. Bruce felt Dick’s glances as he ate, but he never talked to him. Bruce preferred that he didn’t want to talk to anyone anyway. All he wanted was to eat as fast as he could and get out of there. He didn’t want to be an inconvenience for them, after all it must be hard living with your de-aged father. He did have some questions, but he didn’t pry on them anyway, it’s not like he wanted to know, it’s just that he would figure it out eventually. Weapon always made sure of that. Bruce finished his food and got up, silently making his way over to the sink. He carefully washed the dishes and his hands did not tremble, and once he had finished, he exited without a word and thankful bow.

Jason watched from afar, no longer bickering with Damian but stuffing his face with pancakes. He knew he shouldn’t have gone to the manor that day, feeling something off, and when he saw him, he knew he was part of whatever mess that came up. Jason knew better than to ignore his instincts, but he did it anyway. He watched Bruce, and he was so different, so… angry. Like he was. When he came back. He was so angry, and he could tell that Bruce was angry. Jason didn’t know why he was, and it made him question. Jason saw the way Bruce didn’t talk at dinner, how he observed the way they were, how he seemed like he wasn’t there. He would never openly admit it, but he loved his dad  Bruce and cared for him. And when he was a younger version who no one fully knew about, he was unpredictable. They heard old Gothamites reminiscing about Bruce’s teenage years, about what he did, though they never talked about it. Jason wondered what Bruce would do now, certainly, he would do something right? Or maybe brood and do nothing, probably isolate himself. Seems like a teenage Bruce thing to do. 

Jason watched Bruce go clean up, his gaze following Bruce’s precise movements. He noticed how he carried calculated care, as if he had been doing this for years, which Jason never saw if his memory was playing right. He noticed the slight tremble as Bruce held the dishes, as if he was scared of something. Jason wondered why Bruce was scared in the first place. It’s not like they were that intimidating. Right? No, they definitely were. But the others weren’t. I don’t know… Jason thought, He sighed and poked at his duck fried rice, thinking. 

Dick saw this and paused his conversation with Damian, tapping Jason’s shoulder breaking him out of his trance.

“Little Wing, you okay?” Dick questioned. Jason blinked a few times, letting his surroundings sit in his mind. 

“O-Oh. Yeah I’m okay Dickface.” Jason stammered, he regained awareness of his surroundings more fully and registered what had been said to him. Dick raised an eyebrow, he knew Jason was zoned out, but why?

”You sure Little Wing? Don’t lie, what’s bothering you?” Dick solemnly asked. He knew something was wrong most of the time Jason zoned out, but just to be sure, he’d asked. Jason sighed, he knew better than to lie to his big bro, so he told him.

”It's about B. He’s been… weird.. Like, I get it, he’s de-aged to a sixteen year old boy, but he isn’t acting like how any of us had expected, hell, he attacked Tim! And, I get that too, but the fact he was wearing League uniform. Something isn’t adding up.” Jason explained, making hand gestures animatedly.

Dick nodded as he listened to Jason’s explanation to what’s been bothering him, he also had a weird feeling too, but who could blame him, it’s his past. “Well maybe he was in the League to become the big bad bat in the first place. But how would he have even gone there? Or found the league?”

Jason shook his head at that, “You don’t find the League, the League finds you. But that’s the point! How was he even selected to be one of them in the first place!?” Jason exclaimed, he knew he was on to something. He wasn’t an ex-robin for nothing anyway. Dick felt the puzzle pieces click in his head and nodded. He now saw what Jason was going on about, and maybe with a little help, they could find out about Bruce’s complicated past.

Bruce went into the living room after cleaning up and saw Cass on the couch, reading a book. He stilled and stared in horror. Cass was bloody, her chest had a hole in it and her nose was running. She looked at Bruce and he flinched, violently. His breath trembled each time he inhaled. He.. He couldn’t breathe. No mater how hard he tried, air couldn’t just fucking get in his lungs. He shakily took a deep inhale, calming himself and repeating this mantra in his head. Not real-Not real-Not real. He looked down and clenched his hands tight, his nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want to panic, nor see these hallucinations. He knew this would be futile. He was helpless. A pathetic, whining, helpless little bitch. Bruce hated that. He hated how he couldn’t just go back to being normal. He hated seeing people he failed. He didn’t want that anymore, but no. He just had to keep failing. Again and again and again. 

He hated himself for that.

Cass looked at Bruce with concern, not knowing what caused the thing in the first place. She analysed his actions and summed it up as a panic attack. She immediately dropped her book and went over to Bruce, kneeling down and gently taking his hands in her own. She unravelled the trembling fists and put them in her palms reassuringly.

“Hey, B? B? It’s okay, I’m here.” Cass gently spoke, trying to help Bruce calm down. “You’re safe. Anything you see is not real.” She tightened her grip on his hands, as an anchor for him. Just as Bruce did for her. She noticed as Bruce tightened his grip on her hands, still trembling. She looked at him and asked if he could look at her, he nodded and looked her in the eyes. She saw how Bruce was looking at her, but he wasn’t seeing her. She didn’t know what was going on, but she wanted to help him. To help Bruce. Her Father, her 父親.* She looked at him, and she tried. Cass did what she could to help, she stayed there, silently. Reassuring that she’s here. That she’ll always be there.

Bruce flinched as she held his hand, feeling her grip made him aware. She was alive, and that was what mattered most. He tightened his own grip, relishing the feeling of her hand, a constant reminder that she wasn’t what he saw. He took a deep breath, trying and desperately steadying himself. He didn’t want the others to see him in such a state. He loathes it. He just focused on the feeling of Cassandra’s warm hand, not the cold, bloody hands he held 8 years ago. He was going to be fine, she was going to be fine. That's all he needs. That he didn’t fail another person. He took a deep breath and counted to seven.

Inhale. One,

Cassandra wasn’t dead.

Two,

I didn’t fail another person.

Three, 

I am going to be fine.

Four,

This isn’t Mother or Father.

Five,

It will all be alright.

Six,

I’ll be fine.

Seven. Exhale.

It was going to be alright.

Chapter Text

GONNA EDIT THIS CHAPTER LATEER, JS NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT SO MY FELLOW BLUEBERRIES KNOW WHERE TO SEE MY UPDATES AHHHH!!!