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0: Therapy
Therapy is a joke. That's what he wanted to say when Harley Quinn told him that he was emotionally constipated because of underlying issues with his… past.
Childhood trauma, were her exact words. Bruce isn't denying watching his parents die wasn't traumatizing, but compared to his children, he feels sickeningly lucky. He didn't say it, though, Harley would've given him a look.
So he decided to take a few days off from patrol to complete the “assignment” Harley had given him. Which was… incredibly difficult to comprehend, even for the world's greatest detective…
See, Bruce is in his 40s. He's a grown man, he owns the richest company in the world. He bought out Amazon and he owns at least six different social media platforms that he's lost track of, at the whims of his children. He drinks coffee and gets 6 hours of sleep routinely (collectively, not in one sitting) and he knows what taxes are. He goes out 6 nights a week and crushes rising crime under his iron fist and comes home to his colony of kids and stands in their doorway to make sure they're okay while they sleep. The point is, he's an adult.
However.
Harley Quinn is one of the brightest minds he's ever encountered, and one of the oldest friends he's ever had; even when she was less than sane.. far less. She still isn't all there, but she knows what she's doing and so Bruce listens when she gives him advice. So when she gave him an assignment during their therapy session that neither of them have acknowledged are weekly things or therapy-related at all, he put his full capability into it.
So he told Barbara that he was taking the next few days off, at least a week's worth of time, to handle a personal matter. There were questions, but he didn't feel the need to answer. Tim had given him a concerned look, like he might be compromised, and Bruce smiled to reassure him.
It did not reassure him, Bruce is pretty sure Tim is stalking him, but he can't prove it.
The point that Bruce is trying to get to, is that he was trying something that Harley recommended, and it was freaking his family out.
“Bruce, when's the last time you did something that you really wanted to do?”
“I wanted to stop a gang. So I did.”
A sigh.
“Not like that. When's the last time you did something that made your inner child happy? Something redundant with no end goal that was just for you? Not for the mission or your kids, just for you.”
“I… don't know.”
“Hm. Tell ya what, Bub, how about you listen to your inner child and do stuff for him. I think it'll help. Consider it a task I'm assigning you. A personal goal.”
1: Entomology for Dummies
A task. Bruce can do tasks… he just wishes it required less introspection and more logic. Which is why he's crouched in the driveway, watching some bugs eat the raisins he brought outside. He’d spotted the little black garden ants when he got back from a meeting in W.E. and had the passing thought about something he used to do as a child.
When he was younger, less than 8 years old to be sure, he could vaguely remember crouching on the driveway pavement and watching little bugs eat whatever food he brought out for them. It was a lesser curiosity for him, not because he deemed it juvenile (he was a child, after all) but because he didn't think too intensely about them.
It was odd, considering he thought deeply about a lot of things, but watched various aspects of nature, he found he wasn't thinking too hard. He was just existing.
The best part about these memories is when his mother would kneel beside him in her sundress, having just gotten done with some gardening nearby. She wouldn't care at all about the way the rocks of the driveway pressed into the skin of her knees. She wouldn't even speak much; she would just watch with him, as the insects ate his snacks. Just existing.
It was a lesser curiosity, not because it was unworthy of time, but because it was something that required mundane, yet acute focus. He couldn't look away and he didn't want to. He didn't think about anything else but the routes the ants were walking and the detour they were taking to tear pieces of the raisin apart and go back to the line. It was peaceful and his heart felt… kinder than it had in months.
Not warm, not proud, just kind. A neutral feeling of no intensity.
There were footsteps behind him that he didn't feel the need to pay attention to; he'd noticed Alfred watching for ages now, hesitating. Remembering. Alfred kneeled next to him, just as Martha Wayne once had, and smiled. Neither of them said a word, just existing.
He'd have to ask Ivy if he could passively observe the bugs in her gardens. She might be inclined to allow him, and she might have more bugs than they would have here in the manor gardens. Alfred runs a tight ship, after all. He wondered if there were snails in her gardens.
He'd definitely have to ask.
2: Cavities for Me and You
For all of his success, Bruce's eldest still had one persisting flaw; Dick could never turn down something sweet.
He took very good care of his teeth, a habit Alfred and Bruce worked tirelessly to achieve, but at the end of the day, he still ate more sugar than was good for him. From cereal and pastries to desserts and soda, Dick consumed it all. There was more reckless abandon in his eating habits than in his patrol maneuvers, which was a feat given his second nature for acrobatics.
Bruce had stopped that crusade a long time ago, however. Dick was grown now and ate properly any of the time, just not when it comes to his snacks or his breakfast. Bruce determined that as long as Dick took care of his health and dental, never lacking nutrients, then Bruce didn't need to interfere.
Bruce, however, held his restraint with the same iron fist he used to protect Gotham, and avoided excess sugar at all times. He wasn't sure how his children kept such a good balance between their sugar intake and their fitness, but he wasn't sure he could keep the same balance. Bruce was many things, but able to uphold a balance once he goes over the edge, he could not.
It was something he's been unwilling to compromise on before, something that tied to his inability to commit to extreme measures, because he wasn't sure he could slide back to neutral once the scale tipped. There was too much weight to his actions.
And yet…
Dick sat in the kitchen with Alfred and Stephanie, munching on some of his signature sugary cereal. Bruce was fairly sure Dick had convinced Tim to sponsor a brand in particular with the W.E. name, which would explain why they had so much of it, despite Alfred's protests.
Speaking of the man, he slid a bowl of cut fruit beside Dick's cereal bowl as well, and Bruce watched as his son tipped the pieces into his sugary milk, which was now clear of grain and marshmallows, scooping the pears and grapes up with his spoon.
No one batted an eye, and normally Bruce wouldn't either, but the thought of sweet milk and fruit stole whatever thoughts he did have and he furrowed his brow, and walked to the fridge to grab some milk. Dick and Stephanie were talking about a new singer who had to cancel their concert in Gotham because of the latest Joker bombing.
“I was so excited too, I actually had tickets to go! She said she didn't want to endanger anyone because the sight of the show is now just debris. She's right, but it still sucks!” Stephanie groaned, shoving a waffle into her mouth as Dick sighed, shaking his head.
“Maybe W.E. can sponsor a show for her; she's got a lot of fans here who can't make it out of Gotham. I can talk to Tim about it. Morning, B!”
Stephanie waved at him as Bruce nodded. “Good morning, Dick. W.E. can absolutely sponsor this singer, what's her name?”
Dick and Stephanie began to talk over each other as Alfred eyed him carefully before carefully taking the bowl from Bruce and adding a little bit of sugar to the milk, as well as some cut fruit. There was a knowing look in his eyes as Bruce sheepishly took the bowl and sat next to Dick, carefully spooning fruit into his mouth as the two tried to stop talking over each other about the artist.
“She's just released a new song too. Her songs are meant to make people uncomfortable, y'know, and they point out serious issues that most music doesn't really talk about. It’s… pretty cool… B, what are you doing?”
Stephanie peered around Dick to eye at the bowl of fruit sceptically. Dick was staring at Bruce with confusion and a little bit of curiosity. If Bruce wasn't seeing things, which he wasn't because he knows his son, Dick looked quietly excited too.
Bruce glanced down at the fruit and his spoon, before shrugging. “It looked good.”
Stephanie slowly grinned before lifting her phone and taking a very obvious flash photo of Bruce chewing some apple. “No one is going to believe this, holy shit.”
Dick, however, looked kind of like he wanted to cry. His smile was wide and beaming and his eyes were kind of watery. Bruce was also concerned he would start vibrating out of joy.
“Do you like it? Is the milk sugary? I don't see marshmallows in there but you don't usually eat sugary things for breakfast, actually I don't think you usually eat sugar at all, which can't be good for you, when do you have sugar?”
“Usually in ketchup or granola bars. Yes, I like it, son. I see why you eat this every morning.”
“Careful, Master Bruce, that's a slippery slope you're admitting to,” Alfred smiled as Stephanie cackled.
“The Batman eating fruit out of sweet milk— ARE YOU A FRUIT BAT NOW?” She teased, holding her sides as she laughed.
Dick didn't say anything else, just smiling like Bruce had made his entire year, eating fruit with him. Bruce thinks he might actually have, given that no one in the family eats as much sugar as Dick or said they liked his odd tendencies. The last time someone tried one of Dick's odd sugar snacks, Tim had been sleep deprived and tried a soda that had jolly ranchers and marshmallows in it and thrown up. His eldest really likes marshmallows; he eats the entire pan of sweet potatoes during Thanksgiving.
Considering the things Dick eats and drinks, this is pretty mundane, but liking it was enough to make his son happy. Bruce might have to have this every once in a while… that slippery slope Alfred was joking about was, unfortunately, very real.
3: You Got Games On Your Phone?
Video games are something Bruce didn't typically enjoy because they took up time he always felt he didn't have. Taking time off from patrol for a week left him a lot of free time that he just didn't know what to do with, so he searched for something that spoke to his inner child.
It was a futile search considering he tried reading but he couldn't focus on the words, thoughts trailing off to that case he stepped back from for this little break from his normal. So reading wouldn't cut it.
So he did the next thing he could think of, he put a message into the family group chat, the one with everyone in it, asking what they do to relax.
He still regrets that.
Jason laughed at him. Damian simply said, “Relaxation is a useless pastime, why bother?" Dick recommended he try gymnastics. Barbara said she routinely hacks into secure federal facilities to see if she still could. Bruce hoped that was a joke.
Duke sleeps, Tim plays Stardew, Cullen and Harper commit misdemeanors and run from cops— Tim does what?
Stardew? Bruce went up to the room Tim was resting in after he twisted his ankle on patrol the night before. He knocked on the door and entered when given permission, peeking at his third son. Tim sat on his bed, a laptop on a little bed-tray, mouse clicking as he looked up briefly.
“Hey B, what's up?” Tim seemed focused, but most importantly, he seemed relaxed. At peace, even if he looked tired and should probably be sleeping.
“Hey, chum. What's Stardew?”
Tim's eyes snapped up with glee as he grinned. “It's a pixel-art RPG. You play as a farmer and manage a farm, talk to NPCs, and you can marry some and build friendships and raise cattle and stuff.”
Bruce nodded, pondering quietly, before leaving the room. Tim deflated slowly as confusion etched itself into his face. He cracked a yawn and loaded a new day before closing the game and his laptop. If he didn't try and rest soon, Alfred would smell it like a shark smelling blood in the water. Best not to test his luck.
As he rolled his head against the headboard of the too-large bed, he heard footsteps coming towards his room. Bruce's familiar cadence. He perked up as Bruce nudged his way in, holding his own laptop in his hand, smiling. He seemed nervous and kind of unsure.
“Care to teach me how to play?”
Tim felt the tired droop of his eyes melt away instantly as he perked up and nodded. Bruce carefully sat beside him on the bed, setting the laptop on the tray and Tim scooched closer to watch as Bruce bought the game.
Getting to teach Bruce how to run the game was probably one of the single greatest moments of his life as he directed Bruce on how to customize his farmer. Bruce named his farm “Wayne Farm”, because of course he did, and they got to work.
Hours passed by in a blur, and Tim felt his eyes drag down as Bruce skillfully operated the farm with efficiency you'd expect from Batman. There was a gleam in his eye as he brought gifts to people and learned new things about the game.
One in-game year in, 10 real-life hours later, Tim was asleep, leaning his head on Bruce's shoulder as Cass poked her head in, no doubt looking for her missing family members. She took in the view of Tim, pressed against Bruce's side as Bruce smiled softly and softly clicked through whatever he was doing.
Cass smiled and left, going to grab her brothers to show them. She snuck a picture before she went, of course.
Dick and Damian poked their heads in with polarizing looks in their eyes, one of joy and the other confusion. Bruce beckoned them in and Dick curled up around Tim, sandwiching him between them. Damian perched on Bruce's left, eyeing the screen with distaste.
“What is this?” He muttered, wary of his volume.
“Stardew Valley,” Bruce explained. “You run a farm on your own. You can raise animals, too.”
Damian widened his eyes, looking at the game before taking out his phone and looking it up. Dick hummed happily.
“Have you married anyone yet?”
Bruce shook his head. “I have a few good relations with the villagers. Unsure who I'll pick yet, if I do.”
“I chose Leah,” Dick smiled. “She's pretty cool. I thought about Shane or Haley but I like Leah best.”
Bruce smiled. “It's probably because of your better nature, son.”
“Harley would say it's my savior complex, which I've been working on. We'll go with your answer, though. Tim chose Sebastian.”
Bruce hummed his approval. Sebastian was intelligent and had ambition. “Has anyone else played this?”
“Yeah, Jason tried it. He said it's nice but too routine for him. It, I quote, 'made him itchy',” Dick rolled his eyes, fondly. “I think he chose Elliot, though.”
“The author?”
“Yeah.”
Bruce nodded, glancing over at Damian, who was reading some articles about the game with intense concentration. “What are you looking at, Damian?” He asked, keeping his tone soft and inquiring.
“I'm figuring out how to raise the best animals in this ridiculous game.”
Dick laughed behind his hand, a twinkle in his eye. Cass came back in with some food on a plate and pushed it on the tray with a stern but happy look in her eye. “Eat.”
Bruce nodded, loading a new day and saving his progress, before closing the computer. Damian was still reading as Cass looked over his shoulder. Damian didn't flinch at her presence, simply moving his phone to the side so she could see. Cass pointed to something and Damian nodded, rubbing his thumb over the side of his index finger. Bruce looked down at where Tim was sleeping soundly against his shoulder. Bruce listened to the urge in his heart that compelled him to press a soft kiss to the top of his son's head.
Dick grinned at him when Bruce looked up, and Bruce could see whatever he was doing lately had started making Dick's day. He kept smiling whenever Bruce did something he usually would ignore. The impulse to show affection to his family and ask about this he would usually ignore because he assumed they weren't for him.
Like video games. The last video game he played was a 5D chess game Tim had coded. He'd beaten it in 6 tries. He didn't necessarily dislike it, either; he just didn't desire to play it continuously. It felt like a requirement, instead of a simple pleasure.
Stardew Valley was another mundane, mindless activity. One with more complexity than watching ants break formation, but far less than the mental challenge that was 5D chess.
He wondered if Clark would enjoy the game or if the inaccuracies to actual farm life would put him off. It might be worth a try.
Damian stood up, leaving the room suddenly. Dick quietly called after him, “Dames, where are you going?”
“Cain and I are going to create a farm together, Richard. Father's fascination with this simulator requires investigation.”
Dick reluctantly pulled himself out of the bed and jogged after him, practically already begging to be part of it so he could help teach him. Cass smiled from the doorway as the voices faded all the way to Damian's room down the hall. Bruce smiled at her and moved to get up.
She shook her head and held up a hand to stop him. “Stay. Needs you.” She gestured to where Tim was sleeping, head rolling down towards his chest. Bruce looked at his middle child and toward his daughter before nodding. She tilted her head as her smile grew.
“Need us too.”
With that, she was gone. Bruce stared after her before sighing and moving the tray onto the nightstand, shifting Tim to lie down properly as he rested against a pillow, not quite lying down. One hand on Tim's back as the boy curled closer to him, he let himself drift off. The cucumber sandwiches Cass brought up went untouched and collected when Alfred checked on them an hour later.
4: A Constellation of Paper Frogs
The manor was quiet that Friday. Usually, it was louder; most of the family would burrow into the den for a movie night to start the weekend and try to relax while lobbing popcorn at each other. Tonight was different; almost everyone had alternative plans in their personal lives, and Bruce could feel the tension in the manor walls.
The coiled silence as the only people in their house were himself, Alfred (as always), Damian, and Jason. He wasn't supposed to be here originally, but Bruce had asked if he would stay the night, and Jason.. agreed. Bruce hadn't known why; maybe something was different about the way he asked.
“Will you stay tonight?” Hopeful, instead of nervous.
“... Sure, old man. Only so Alfred's cooking doesn't go to waste.”
Bruce didn't believe the excuse he'd been given, but he would take it nonetheless. He'd rather appreciate the rose than worry about the thorns carving into his hands.
A week ago, he would've gripped the thorns too harshly and snapped the stem in half, losing the rose in the process.
The manor squeezed the air around him as he went into the library and found Jason there. He was sitting at a low table, folding a paper over and over, twisting it and flipping it, before inspecting what he'd made and adding it to a large bowl on the table, before pulling a new page and folding it again and again.
Origami, Bruce thought, a mundane, mindless activity, calming and mentally stimulating. I wonder…
Bruce knocked softly on the doorframe, causing Jason to jump slightly and tear the page a little. He glared at the sheet of paper, or maybe his hand, before pushing the paper off to the side and grabbing a new one. Bruce approached quietly and sat on the floor because he wanted to, and watched Jason fold the paper over and under and around and again. Jason didn't squirm under his gaze, but he seemed irritated.
“What?” He finally asked, dropping the shape into the bowl. Bruce hmmed quietly, unassuming.
“Could you teach me how to do that?”
Jason narrowed his eyes in confusion and suspicion. Bruce didn't say anything, just tried to look as earnest as he felt and let Jason make his own conclusions. Jason folded the paper, creasing it, and then created a smaller part of it a different way. He seemed to be fighting with himself mentally, and Bruce wasn't sure if he was winning or losing, or which result he wanted.
Jason eventually sighed and slid a piece of paper over to him, a perfect square and dark green. Jason grabbed his own and carefully instructed him on where to fold. Bruce matched his instructions exactly, watching Jason's hands, and eventually he had a matching shape, though it was slightly too sloppy. Not bad for a first attempt.
“What is it?” Bruce asked, grabbing another piece of paper and putting the object to the side, instead of in the bowl with Jason's. It was too sloppy to join his son's better creations. He'd need to get it right first.
“Frog. I know how to make cranes, too.”
“Do you do this a lot? Origami?”
Jason glanced at him, skeptical and tired. “Yeah. Sometimes. Helps me focus when I need to think and unfocus when my head gets too loud.”
“It's nice to do something with your hands, right?” Bruce related, producing a better frog and put it next to the bowl, but not in it. The bowl was for Jason's frogs first; Bruce wasn't going to invade the bowl with his second-rate frogs.
“Yeah.”
“I used to make paper stars when I was working on a hard case.”
Jason stared at him as he tossed another frog into the bowl. He stared at the frog beside the bowl before putting it in the dish too. He grabbed the sloppy frog and put it on the other side of the vessel, as if hiding it from sight.
Fair enough, Bruce thought, it's pretty messy.
“How do you make paper stars?” Jason asked, folding a pink paper into the faux amphibian.
Bruce looked delighted as he grabbed a new piece of paper and cut it into strips, handing Jason a piece. “They're very small and very easy, so you cross it so there's an arch, kind of like an awareness ribbon.”
Jason followed each step carefully, and the two of them held up small paper stars, both made from the same sheet of paper. “I was wondering why they sold strips, too,” Jason muttered, putting his star next to where Bruce assumed the frog was, and snatching Bruce's star, dropping it into the basin.
The library door creaked open as Damian walked in, holding art supplies, and narrowed his eyes at the two of them: Jason on the couch, and Bruce on the floor, his legs stretched out under the low table like a child.
“What are you doing?” Damian asked, peering into the bowl and at the large stack of paper.
“Origami, would you like to try?” Bruce prompted, glancing over at Jason. Seeing no sign of irritation at the offer, he looked back to Damian, urging him forward.
Damian sat on the floor with him, kneeling and looking. “I came in here to sketch, Father, not fold paper.”
Bruce hummed quietly, folding a frog and handing it to Damian. Jason was folding more stars, not paying them any mind. “Would you like to draw on this? It's a frog, Jason taught me how to make one.”
Damian raised an eyebrow, so alike Talia, but Bruce thought it would be better compared to Alfred's signature look than hers. Especially in this context. “I suppose I could.”
Damian uncapped some markers, muttering about color theory and how he was possibly supposed to draw on a dark purple frog. Jason was still making stars.
Bruce cut more strips out of several different colors, making sure to stick to lighter colors for Damian's sake, and folded a white frog while Jason breezed through stars. Bruce expected him to switch to frogs again, to grow bored with the same small shape, but he didn't. Jason seemed content to wipe out constellations with ease. Damian looked up from his coloring of a blue frog that Bruce had handed him and watched Jason make stars.
“Todd, may I use those stars for a science project I have for class when you're done?”
Jason eyed Damian quickly before nodding. It seemed his son wasn't in a talking mood at the moment, which was alright with Bruce. He didn't have to speak. The three of them worked in silence as time passed by, not even bothering to say hello on its way out.
Eventually, Alfred entered the library with Duke in tow and told them it was time for dinner. Bruce cracked a grin as he got up, groaning lowly as he moved his sleeping legs and stretched his sore back. Damian only rolled his eyes at the display and said, “You're very dramatic for someone who chose to sit on the floor, Father.”
Bruce just laughed, running his hand through Damian's hair affectionately, not to ruin it, but just to express his fondness.
“B, why did you sit on the floor?” Jason asked, a frown on his face.
As he left the library, he looked over his shoulder at his son and smiled. “I wanted to.”
5: The Fox, The Hound, The Tears
The previously rescheduled movie night was that Saturday, and everyone who could make it piled into the movie room, taking up as much space as they could, resulting in overlapping piles of warmth. Bruce usually sat in an armchair in the corner of the room where he could see everyone, but when he entered, Barbara was in his usual spot. She smiled knowingly and gestured over to the main couch, where there was a spot waiting for him.
Bruce felt his heart grow warmer as he made his way over and sat down, not interrupting the conversation happening on either side of the spot. Cass poked his shoulder and handed him a slip of paper for him to write down his movie choice on, moving on to the next person.
On his right, Dick and Jason were arguing about, apparently, the mortality risks of using a rocket launcher to jump from rooftop to rooftop. Jason was not winning.
On his left, Tim was dropping his opinion in on that argument while also trying to get his phone back from Duke. Tim was not winning in either case.
Kate stood up, grabbed the hat, and whistled to grab everyone's attention as eyes snapped up to her. She didn't attend Movie night often, usually too busy, but Bruce loved to see his cousin here whenever she could make it.
“Alright, did anyone forget to submit their choice? Good, okay, drum roll please, Boys and Girl Wonder,” She smirked as 5 different people began to drum on their laps, even Jason. With a dramatic flourish, she lifted a strip of paper and… groaned with pseudo-annoyance.
“Not again, Bruce!”
Heads turned to look at Bruce, who had the gall to look caught out. “I'm sorry?”
“This is the upteenth time you've submitted The Gray Ghost!”
“It's a good series!”
Dick whined in agony as he slid off the couch and onto the floor. “Bruuuuuce, stop punishing us with this boomer shiiiiit.”
Tim snorted. “It's not that bad. Thanks to W.E. funding new releases, they're kind of an annual thing now.”
Jason rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Annual doesn't mean ‘for everyone'. It's also not our fault that B decides not to watch them until movie night and then solves the mystery 10 minutes in.”
Bruce grinned cheekily at his son. “I still have to beat Tim’s record of 3 minutes and 47 seconds.”
Jason groaned and let himself slide off the couch and landed on Dick, who let out a pained noise at the sudden drop.
Barbara cleared her throat. “How about we put it to a vote: raise your hands if you want to watch anything else?”
Everyone in the room raised their hand except Bruce, Tim, and Alfred. So they were not the majority, given there were 12 people in the room. Kate nodded her thanks to Barbara before tossing the strip behind her to flutter gently to the floor.
“Can I get a second drumroll, please?”
Jason proceeded to do his drumroll on Dick's head, who voiced his complaints physically as he twisted on the floor and pulled Jason into a headlock, violently rubbing his knuckles on his head.
“YOU'RE GONNA GIVE ME A BALD SPOT, DICKWAD!”
“TOO LATE, I SEE ONE FROM WHEN THEY TOOK YOUR BRAIN OUT AT BIRTH!”
“GET OFF!”
“Boys,” Bruce laughed, nudging Dick's leg with his socked foot. “Kate has a new choice.”
All eyes turned back to Kate, who held up the new strip of paper and… sighed in defeat. “Okay, Tim, you're not funny.”
Heads turned to look at Tim, who sat next to Bruce with a matching look of guilt. “I really like the series.”
—
They eventually got to a new result, apparently Cullen’s choice, a favorite from childhood: The Fox and the Hound.
Those who had seen it agreed, and those who hadn't were just happy it wasn't The Gray Ghost again. The movie started sweetly, and Bruce liked it well enough. It seemed like the type of movie that would be a good influence on Damian. The boy sat on a bean bag in front of Tim. Cass and Stephanie were intertwined on an armchair, and Barbara was in Bruce's usual spot. Alfred was in a recliner set up especially for him, so his back wouldn't hurt. Kate was sprawled across a loveseat, Harper and Cullen were lying on the floor in front of her. Dick and Jason had eventually gotten off the floor and back into the couch. Duke was on another beanbag in front of Cass and Stephanie.
To Bruce's left, Tim had gotten his phone back from Duke before the boy secured the beanbag, but he was too focused on the movie to look down at it. Jason was using Dick as a barrier between him and Bruce at the cost of Dick leaning his entire upper body on Jason. Bruce had Dick's socked feet on his lap as a result. Blue socks with white toes and rubber ducks all over them.
He's pretty sure Stephanie gave them to Dick for his birthday last year.
The movie was moving towards a darker message as the fox, Tod, caused the older dog, Chief, to get hurt and break his leg. There's sadness in the room when Copper renounces their friendship and Widow Tweed takes Tod into the wild to be released.
Damian mutters about improper release, and Tim quietly agrees that Tod has no survival skills because he's too friendly with people, which is bad for wild animals.
Tod meets Vixie, and Stephanie cheers for strong, badass women. The mood seems to get lighter as Tod grows up.
They watch as the hunter and Copper enter the picture again, hunting down the foxes. When they happen across a grizzly instead, people start to sit up. Bruce leans forward, elbows on his knees, as the conflict happens, and there's shouting when Tod jumps in to save Copper.
When the big fight comes to an end, Copper stands over Tod to protect him from the hunter. Bruce watches with bated breath, and the tension in the room coils so tight that you could cut through it with a knife. When the hunter lets Tod live, and Copper looks back one last time, Bruce lets out a shuddering breath, tension leaking from his shoulders as his eyes gloss over. He feels sad, and he knows that, but he's still confused by the tears that fall.
Not many, he's not sobbing or really crying, but he's… feeling. He's sad, upset. He would've burst into tears when he was younger, abrupt and unexplained. Dick's sniffling off to his right, and Tim's clearing his throat like he's struggling, and Bruce finds himself looking down at Damian, who sat still and didn't even move.
“Damian,” he whispers. His youngest turned around to look at him, his face frozen, but his eyes were still a little watery, and the sight of his father crying seemed to startle Damian. He stares, wide-eyed, as Bruce tries for a smile, but the effect seems to be ruined by the tears running down his face. Damian seems horrified, and Bruce can't help but wonder what he could be doing wrong.
Then it occurred to him that Damian might never have seen Bruce cry before. Ever. Bruce cries occasionally if he can't keep it all in. Sometimes he keeps it in for too long, and it builds up; those are the times when he wails into his pillow, thankful his room is mostly soundproof. The point is, Damian had never seen it before, his father in tears.
Bruce sighed softly and tried to convey everything he wanted to say in two simple words. Opening his arms up, carefully, ignoring the movie still playing as the credits began to roll, he smiled at his youngest son, imagining that he was speaking to a young Bruce Wayne. In some way, he was. “It's okay.”
Damian flinches, a small thing, contained to his fingertips, but it's there nonetheless. He waits, letting Damian process however he needs to. If they weren't in a room full of so many people, Bruce thinks Damian would've come to his conclusion a lot faster. As it is, he struggles. He fights it, too. However, Bruce is steadfast and unwavering, his arms open against his knees as Damian sits less than 5 feet away, fighting himself, fighting how he was trained.
So Bruce waits. He hears people moving around, looking at him, leaving the room, and comforting people. Jason is awkwardly patting Dick's back in Bruce's peripheral vision. Tim is talking quietly with Barbara and Alfred, barely audible. Bruce waits for his son.
Damian moves slowly, adjusting, except that what he hadn't accounted for is that once he moved and was no longer frozen, everything else was instinct. Damian shifted minutely, and then he was throwing himself into Bruce's arms the next. They sat there, holding onto each other as people started to head home, passing by the kitchen to grab some snacks for the way. Dick was lifted into the air as Jason left, taking his sleeping brother with him.
Bruce didn't have anywhere to be; he was content to stay there while his son cried over that doomed friendship. He'd have to make sure similar movies were banned. Like when they preemptively banned Old Yeller and The Neverending Story.
He should've known this movie would be a terrible idea when Tod’s mother died at the beginning.
6: His Shirt Isn't …
Superman watched the footage with Batman as the newest criminal broke into a military base and stole almost a million dollars in equipment: bombs, rifles, tactical vests, you name it, he probably took it. Batman grunted softly as the CCTV footage ended, going back until they had a clear view of what the man was wearing. With a clear image, Red Robin or Oracle could find the hell-raiser.
Clark shook his head, fists on his hips as he scoffed. “Really, where does he get off? It's one thing to break into a high-tech base, it's another to do it in a red shirt.”
He was clearly attempting a joke of some kind, but Batman stared at him in response.
“... Not funny?”
“It would be, if his shirt were red..”
…
“What?”
Batman sighed and pulled up a separate image of the shirt and color-matched it, showing the shirt color on its own, in all its red glory… unless Clark was somehow sun-deprived again.
“Orange.”
“... No, that's definitely red.”
Bruce's hand twitched as he pulled up an entire color wheel and used a dropper tool to get the exact color on the color wheel. Pointing up at the screen, Bruce grit out “Orange.”
Clark crossed his arms, smirking slightly. “Bruce, I don't know what to tell you, that's red.”
“Are you missing cones in your eyes? That's orange.”
“Cones in my—... What?”
“Humans have three cones in their eyes that allow us to see colors; those who are colorblind only have two. Do kryptonians have these cones?”
“I assume so, I can see colors just fine.”
“And yet you can't see that that's orange.”
“I highly doubt it is, you're wearing a cowl after all.”
“My cowl allows for far more enhanced sight than out of it, Clark.”
“And yet you can't see that that's red,” Clark sounded smug as Bruce opened yet another window on the monitor, opened Google, and searched for a hex code naming site. The first one, he found, he put the hex code in from the other window.
Hexcode #C93509 was proclaimed to be called “Strong Red.”
Clark has never laughed so hard in his life.
Bruce scowled. “That's not correct.”
“Even the hex code is called red, Bruce.”
“That's not red.”
“Uh huh… Diana, can you come over here?”
Diana wandered over, gazing between the color on the monitor, Bruce's irritated jawline, and Clark's playful smile. “Yes?”
“What color would you say this is?” Clark asked, gesturing to the screen. She stared at it for a moment.
“Orange.”
Bruce slammed a hand on the desk and pointed at Clark with an “AHA!”
Clark shook his head at that and called the next passerby over. “Oliver, c'mere.”
The archer stared at the screen, puzzled, before looking at Clark. “Yeah?”
“What color’s this?”
“Lex Luthor.”
Bruce stared at the screen for a moment before snorting. “Holy crap, it is.”
“Yeah, I don't know what that means,” Clark practically pouted. Diana was no help; she simply laughed at him.
Oliver waved it off. “Lex wore this horrific suit to a gala a month ago. The color looked exactly like it.”
Bruce shook his head. “It had some class to it; he's just a little late to the trend.”
“Of what, burnt sweet potatoes?”
Bruce sighed as Clark narrowed his eyes at the screen. “I still think it's red.”
Diana and Oliver stared at the screen a little longer before making soft “ah” sounds. “No, I can see that,” Diana smiled. “Still orange, though, Kal-el.”
“Sorry, Supes, it's definitely orange.”
Bruce stood victorious before something clicked, and he pulled his phone out, sending a message to the family group chat.
“What are ya doin’, Bruce?” Oliver asked, peering over his shoulder.
“Asking my children what they think.”
Oliver laughed so hard, he had to lean on Bruce for support. Bruce didn't even budge at the weight.
“Let me know if I start winning,” Clark muttered, pouting.
Bruce smiled at him. “I think some of them who don't pay too much attention to color or fashion will notice one way over the other. I'm looking for one opinion in particular.”
“Boy Wonder?” Diana smiled. “The One Who Paints?”
“Yes. Robin will provide the best answer for this; he's experienced.”
“The same Robin who told me he'd lace thread with kryptonite and use it to close up my wounds and when I asked what wounds, he didn't answer me?”
Bruce didn't look up, but he smiled in a very telling manner as he watched the chat. Oliver looked over his shoulder and laughed hard enough to end up on the floor. Clark did not have high hopes for red after that.
Clark simply sighed and took in the smiles and the laughter. Usually, Bruce would just walk away instead of indulging in a pointless disagreement like this. He certainly didn't ask his family for their opinions. Or slam things and shout victory. It was nice, he seemed lighter these days.
Whatever he'd done in that week off made a world of difference, and Clark hoped he kept it up.
“So what'd we learn, Brucie~.”
“You're always right. My children still see me as a role model, even in their late 20s, so I should improve my EQ to better show them I love them and stop being so resistant to change?”
“... Well, those are great points, but I was poking for somethin’ less… emotionally driven.”
“....”
“...”
“Therapy is not a joke.”
“YES YES YES! THAT’S WHAT I'M TALKIN’ ABOUT BAABBBYYYY!!!”