Protective Bruce Wayne - Tumblr Posts

TW: Major Character death (not shown), contemplation of murder and suicide, torture (not shown but aftermath shown), dissociation

His code as Batman meant something. It prevented him from crossing the line that he couldn't come back from. Bruce Wayne, as a born and bred Gothamite, knew that no one, not even the best of them, were uncorruptible. (His best friend had at one point been the White Knight of Gotham, one of the best out there, and now he sat, rotting in a jail cell on two hundred twenty-two counts of assault and murder). The point of the code was to prevent Batman from becoming corrupt and, even then, all of his allies where given contingencies to defeat him.

Bruce knew that his code was necessary but, holding Jason, his baby, his son, made him regret that code ever so badly. Jason's body was still warm, the blood trickling from an unseeing eye still wet.

Jason had always puffed himself up to be larger than he was, like a Robin fluffing up its wings and plumage when startled. But now, without his confidence bolstering him and his excitable chatter, Jason looked so small. So damn small. He fit so well into Bruce's arms and it made him want to scream because, just last week, he had held Jason in his arms just like this. They had been rough housing, not training, when Jason had started a tickling war that was ended when Bruce picked him up (just like this, God just last week he had held his boy just like this) and hugging him to his chest.

Now, all that personality was gone, leaving behind a small, broken body. Bruce had always been an atheist, no God could be so cruel, but, in this moment, he prayed that the God of his mother existed. He hoped her ideas of an afterlife for all was real. His boy deserved peace. Peace that Bruce should have provided. God, he should never have let either of his boys become Robin. Jason had said that Robin was magic but what type of magic allowed this to happen.

Bruce clutched his Jaybird to his chest. There was a broken, keening sound coming from somewhere, it sounded almost animalistic. He needed to protect his boy from whatever that was. Jason told him that he loved being under his cape, that it made him feel safe. Bruce covered his baby (oh God, he was so small, so fragile) with his cape.

The sound continued, it sounded breathless and pained. It was... It was coming from him. Why was he making noises like that?...everything was fine. He needed to get to Jay and protect him. He needed to get to... He was holding Jay. That's why he had that cape pulled in front of him. He needed to...he needed to.

Oh God, his baby was dead. He needed to... "Superman!" he shrieked and then, like something had come undone in his throat, he started screaming. (At least the strange noise had stopped. His baby was safe. His baby was dead. Oh God)

He needed to... He... He

Bruce heard the sound of someone landing and then concerned shouting. "Bru....are you?....breathing too hard....Jason?"

Breathing. That's something that Jason wasn't doing (because his baby was dead). Bruce needed to do this for him. Breathe for the both of them while Jason couldn't . "... hyperventilating!" Yes, that was the word for that.

Bruce lost consciousness and he didn't truly regain it until he stood in front of Jason Wayne's grave.

The first thing Bruce noticed was how fresh the dirt was. The second was that he was covered in it. "Wha- what...?" he croaked.

He hadn't realized someone was there with him until his unspoken questions where answered. "It's been eight days since the warehouse. The funeral happened two days ago. You've been sleeping here. I took care of telling everyone." Clark, a Midwesterner through and through, normally spoke in pleasantries or veiled language. He flew around his ruder opinions as skillfully as he flew around missiles. Today, he spoke Bruce's language. Factual, straight to the point, and without feelings.

Bruce nodded, "I didn't do anything?" he asked. At the moment, his secret identity was that least important thing to him. His son was dead. But, he had another son. He had other people that would be targeted if his secret identity was compromised. He needed to... He needed some control.

Clark looked at him sympathetically, "You've been catatonic. You haven't spoken or gone out since..." he paused, trying to keep his voice from emoting too strongly "since the warehouse. You've been sleeping here since the burial." Clark looked every bit his part of a bumbling, well-meaning man from the Midwest. He opened and closed his mouth several times, looking for something to say to make it better.

Bruce knew no such words existed. The last time he had lost someone this close to him, Bruce had become the Batman. This time it was his son and not his parents. This time it was directly his fault. Bruce didn't know what this would make him but decided to save Clark from having to say something, "Is Dick... Does Dick know?" he managed to ask, his voice dampened with emotion.

His sons were as thick as the thieves they stopped. Dick made it a point to visit the manor at least once a week, making the nearly hour-long commute from Blüdhaven often enough that his co-workers at the precinct teased him for still living at home. Dick had understood Jason in ways Bruce couldn't. He had known the anger Jason felt (although Dick had been much more vocal and obvious in that anger) and had been able to settle Jason's doubts. Beyond that, Jason had looked up to Dick. Dick was everything Jason wanted to be ( even though Bruce had regularly assured him that he was enough by himself). Dick and Jason had been brothers and having to relive his greatest sadness again to another person who would feel it just as keenly would surely break Bruce.

Clark took a shaky breath, "I told him. He's still off planet for his mission. He'll be..." Clark continued talking but Bruce wasn't listening. A mission. That's what he needed (maybe it could fill the aching pit in his chest). He knew what he needed to do. He would-

His train of thought was cut off by Clark grasping his shoulders desperately, "Bruce. I need you to stay with me. What can I do for you?" he said in a carefully measured tone. With Dick gone and Alfred still recovering from pneumonia and dealing with grief himself, Clark was the only person standing in his way. Bruce needed him gone.

He drew in a shaky breath. He was not a good person. "Clark," he said, "I appreciate you for staying but I need some time to grieve. I'll call you when to come over?" He needed to phrase it like a question, as if he wasn't already sure that this was what was going to happen.

Clark gave him a small, sad smile, "I'll be listening. I'm here for you, Bruce," and he hovered for a moment, examining his friend's face, before flying away in a streak of primary colors.

Bruce looked after his friend with a grim expression set on his face before turning to his kid's grave. Jason was from the Narrows. In the Narrows, there were only two rules; look out for your own and never forget. Bruce intended to grieve his baby in a way he would have appreciated.

-

As Batman, it should be concerning how easy it is to break into Arkham. Through minimal surveillance and the use of the shadows, he had slipped through the high-barbed walls and into the holding area. From there, it was child's play to strangle the Joker into unconsciousness and lug him out of this sick joke of an institution.

-

Bruce chose a warehouse by the docks. Perhaps Jason's sense of drama had rubbed off on him or maybe he just knew it would be easier to get rid of bodies at Gotham's favorite dumping site. Either way, Bruce was a little apprehensive about starting the grieving process. There was a reason he had the no-kil policy, after all, he wasn't sure if he could ever come back from that. Luckily, he planned on punishing everyone involved in Jason's death so he wouldn't have to worry about whether he would snap of not after he took the Joker's life.

As Bruce waited for Joker to wake up, he found himself grateful that Dick wasn't on earth to see his mentor and father figure become a complete hypocrite. He thought Dick might be angry at him, not for killing the Joker but for being selfish. When Dick's parents had died, Bruce hadn't allowed him his revenge. The entire point of making Dick Robin had been to keep an eye with him, to prevent him from doing something he would regret. And now, without Bruce's Robin? Bruce was doing the one thing that he always swore he wouldn't do. It was a bit ironic.

"Ha Ha HA HAHAHAHAHAHA!" the Joker had remained slumped as he started cackling. He wasn't wearing any of his customary makeup so his bleached skin was splotchy and the ring of bruises around his neck was obvious. And Bruce was enraged. The Joker, the goddamn Joker, got to sit there and put on his fake little insanity act while his little boy lay, rotting, underground.

"Batsy, Batsy, Batsy, where is that little bird of yours? I want to pluck his little wings!" the Joker's macabre grin was highlighted by his malicious eyes. Joker kept rambling, cracking jokes about Bruce's dead son. It was thoughtful of him, really, making Bruce's decision so much easier like that. The Joker always thought he had the upper hand, he leaned heavily on the fact that Batman didn't kill. Maybe if Bruce hadn't been so damn soft before, his son would still be living. Maybe his sons had had a point when they said that stopping crime wasn't enough. Bruce needed to end it. And he would start and stop by ending the Joker, the man who killed his Jaylad.

Bruce smiled. Joker claimed to be the king of jest but he had never truly gotten a taste for dramatic irony. The Joker stopped his tirade, "Hahahaha! Finally crack a smile, did we, my darling Knight" Bruce pulled out the weapon he had been hiding behind his back. A crowbar.

Joker, for all he claimed to be insane was very much a normal man. Yes, he was a clinically diagnosed sociopath. Yes, he dressed in brightly clashing colors to commit comical crime. But, he was not insane. He, like everyone else, did not enjoy pain. He was very much not looking forward to being beaten with a crowbar.

Bruce does not know what sort of things the Joker had said to his Jason as he beat him to death. Knowing Joker, it wasn't anything good. Bruce, however, was not trying to emulate the monster. He was trying to get justice (Vengeance). Besides, he could put so much more strength in his hits when he stayed silent.

The Joker had tried to laugh. He did, when Batman first started swinging. It was just so damn funny that the Bat had decided to go for revenge. It was just so unlike him. Now, however? After seconds or minutes or hours of being beat by a viciously angry man stronger than some meta humans? Laughing was starting to hurt. "Ha ha hghhhh," he gurgles. Oh dear, there was blood. At least he knew that Batman wouldn't kill him. At least... and then Batman took of his cowl. He was going to die. He stopped laughing.

Bruce wanted the Joker to know he was about to die, like his Jason had known in his last moments. He looked at the Joker, not as Batman but as Bruce Wayne, and smiled. The part of his face not normally protected by his cowl was splattered with blood and the crowbar in his hands was dripping in a steady pattern. The monster in front of him was deformed. His nose broke in multiple places and his mouth missing teeth. One of his femurs was broken in two and some of the bone was sticking out in a grotesque mockery of the human form. Good. The Joker wasn't human enough and didn't deserve to look like one.

"I've wanted to do this for years," he growled and he took sick satisfaction to see the fear on Joker's widened, yellow eyes as he swung back. Good. Jason was scared in his last moments. He was just about to take his final swing down on Joker's head when his elbow was grabbed. Clark.

"Let me go." he grounded out. "Let me kill him."

He looked back at Clark, glaring, and Clark just looked impossibly sad. Then, quicker than his eyes could truly process, Joker was knocked out and Bruce's crowbar was no longer in his hands. "I can't let you do this. You won't be able to live with yourself."

Bruce scoffed. He was Batman. He thought of everything, "Obviously. I plan on killing everyone responsible for Jason's death. You don't have to worry about me 'snapping' or something once I kill this son of a bitch." Seriously, Clark. His contingencies had contingencies, of course he hasn't over looked the fact that, in murdering someone, he would become a villain in need of stopping.

Clark looked stricken, his eyes so damn sad. "Bruce..." he said, a whisper of a prayer. "Bruce, what about Dick?"

Bruce didn't understand. He had thought about Dick, that's why he was doing it while his boy was off planet helping people (he was so proud of him) "Yes? He's not here so he won't have to deal with me becoming a horrible criminal."

Clark let out a choked sound, "That is not what I meant. Bruce, Dick loves you. It would break him to lose his brother and his dad back to back. " Clark took a breath, as if gathering himself and stepped closer to him. "Bruce, the only reason I'm stopping you from killing Joker is because I know you can't kill someone. Bruce, Jason's death wasn't your fault."

That's what broke the grief out again. Bruce crumpled into himself and hit the floor, sobbing. Didn't Clark understand? It was Bruce's fault that Jason had become Robin. It was Bruce's fault the Joker had targeted him. It was Bruce's fault for not finding out where Jason left to. It was Bruce's fault for not getting to the warehouse in time. It was Bruce's fault for not thinking to call Superman until after everything was ruined. It was all Bruce's fault, couldn't he see it?

Clark was crouched down next to him, hugging him against his chest. Bruce, through sobs, asked "What do I do? It hurts...God is hurts so much. Joker'll just escape again...what if...what if Dick... I can't" and he sobbed into Clark's chest.

Clark was running his hand soothingly on his back, "Why don't you take him. Put him in one of the containment cells in the Bat cave, he won't hurt anyone and then you don't need to...hurt yourself." Bruce latched on to those words like a lifeline. He still needed to find a way to bring himself to justice for his involvement in Jason's death but maybe then he wouldn't hurt Dick too (he had never considered that dying would cause Dick to mourn)

"Bruce," Clark said as he lifted his still crying friend, "I need to take you home so you can get Joker's cell ready. He isn't going to be able to move. No one knows where he is." Bruce nodded, thankful Clark has given him something to do. He knew exactly what cell to use.

It was one of his more brutal inventions, used only once and only for intimidation. If someone tried to hack into it or open the doors with the wrong code, the cell would fill with a poisonous gas. Bruce normally would just use it to threaten someone, would have the antidote on hand. He wouldn't be doing that this time. The cell itself only had one, long lasting light bulb over the toilet and singular faucet. A food slop was deposited through piping that went through three walls and was filtered for any solid objects. Other than the crude appliances and a singular, high definition camera for surveillance, there was nothing in the cell. It was inhumane and Bruce had vowed to only ever use if for a truly non-human beast.

What better fit that description than the Joker? Bruce wasn't going to kill the Joker. He had his line for a reason and was thankful that Clark pulled him back. Dick was going to need him and it would be selfish to leave him alone. He would pay his penance by working even harder to make sure that what Jason stood for, that helping the little guy, wouldn't die with him. But he would also make sure that his baby got what he deserved. He deserved to have his code, that he had gotten on the rough streets of Gotham, followed.

So Bruce would protect his own, his living son and all of goddamn Gotham from the Joker. And he would never forget what that bastard had done to his precious Robin.

Batman didn't kill but Bruce was going to make the Joker wish he was dead.

Inspired by this post here!

TW: Threats of violence (literally like one kicky boi happens)

Little Dick Grayson, his new ward, was staring at Bruce as he exited the clock in his study. The little boy sat in his large, black swivel chair and stared at him as he awkwardly shuffled out of the secret entrance. Bruce was pretty sure that 3 am was much too late??? early??? for little boys to be awake. (But how would he know, it's not like he slept much at Dick's age).

Bruce froze, wide-eyed and blinking at his ward. Dick continued to stare at him. After a moment of tense silence, Dick spoke, accusingly, "I know your secret."

The way Dick said it, so accusingly, made Bruce panic. Oh God, he knew it was a bad idea to take in a human ward. He didn't know jackshit about humans!

The only human he regularly saw on a day to day basis was Alfred, who was hired specifically for his discretion on other worldly matters. Alfred had known Bruce for the last forty-five years and was used to his nature but Dick? Dick was a normal ten-year-old human boy. All he knew about vampires probably came from media. Dick was probably afraid of Bruce!

Bruce should have been more careful. He knew that his ward was aware that he didn't sleep most nights but he also thought Dick had assumed he was sleeping during the day! In hindsight, not knowing what human children ate was probably obvious (how was Bruce supposed to know that ten-year-old humans were beyond infant food?) But still! Bruce even ate in front of Dick once to keep up the ruse (Sure, Alfred informed him that eating a whole, raw potato in three bites was strange but the thought count!)

Bruce winced at the tiny human's accusation. Maybe if he said it before Dick could say it, Dick would be less mad?

"I'm a vampire!""You're Batman!"

Bruce and Dick blinked owlishly at each other. Mentally, Bruce was relieved. His ward, who was so very smart, had obviously known about his demonic nature (it was very obvious in hindsight) but had been inquiring of his alternate identity. Bruce could have laughed of relief. His boy wasn't vampphobic, he simply was peeved that Bruce left the house at odd times of night to fight crime without telling him.

Bruce smiled brightly at his little boy (who looked mildly perturbed about the smile), "You're a smart one, chum! I'm Batman!"

Bruce was happy. His ward, who he was beginning to care for very deeply, now knew every side of him. Everything was going perfectly.

-

Everything was not going perfectly.

In the twelve years following his acquisition of Dick, Bruce had acquired seven more children (five legally, one biologically (with some overlap), and two only emotionally).

Bruce was proud of each and every one of his children. He was thrilled to get to watch them grow into caring, respectful people with their own individual goals and ambitions. He was proud of how they handled themselves but, in the moment, Bruce was not proud of how they were acting.

"C'mon, Demon Spawn, get it back!" taunted Jason as he held Damian's prized katana over his head.

Damian and Tim had gotten into another one of their brawls, with Tim making a snide remark or two and Damian rising to the bait as always. Damian had ended up pulling his sword on Tim, hellbent on making his brother see his point. The two ended up trading blows, Tim with his staff and Damian with his sword, until Jason had come over and plucked Damian's katana out of his grasp with his thick gloves.

Now, Jason and Steph, who was Tim's self-declared best friend and therefore also on his side, were playing a dangerous game of keep away with Damian. They continued to taunt and tease an increasingly frustrated Damian while Tim stood laughing in the background.

Bruce knew his youngest son and could tell that he was seconds away crying, if the reddening of his cheeks and wobbling of his jaw wasn't enough, Damian was also wiping at his eyes when he thought his siblings couldn't see.

Bruce felt frustrated with his kids. Yes, he knew that Damian could be abrasive sometimes but he was just a baby. Everybody knew that vampires didn't reach adulthood until about forty and, as a ten-year-old, Damian was especially immature. While he may look like a human child of that age, he still was much worse at self-regulating and needed much more affection than his human counterpart. He knew that his human children sometimes forgot that fact and other facts about vampires (like the fact that vampire children play fight like puppies and that they really shouldn't be making Damian's games so heated and personal with slurs).

Bruce normally tried to let his children stop fighting by themselves but another sing-songy shout of "I got your swooord, Demon Brat!" pushed Bruce to his limit. He stood up and slammed down his case file, ready to yell at his kids when Dick and Barbara burst in.

"We figured out what that new gang is doing!" shouted Dick, in full Nightwing regalia, as he pushed Barbara into the cave at frightening speeds.

The sudden entrance of the two with information on a case prompted the fight to end (which, while Bruce appreciated, he knew he still needed to talk to his kid's again about not using language like that).

Jason, who had ended with the katana, dropped the weapon on the couch before sauntering over to join Dick and Barbara. "What'chu got?" he asked the two of them.

The rest of the Bats moved closer, trying to listen to the intel. Barbara pushed her glasses up, like she did when she had a particularly interesting fact to tell someone about blood spatter. "These guys are kind of crazy but apparently they're legit, I double checked what they do with John Constantine."

Bruce was intrigued. A gang involved in magic that John said was legit could be dangerous for Gotham. "What are they doing?" he asked, prompting Barbara to continue.

Barbara smiled and cleared her throat and continued to read the report, "They all wear high-neck guards and silver crosses on their person," Bruce didn't love that sound of that. It sounded almost like- "And they carry around the cloves and flowers of garlic and holy water!" Bruce felt something inside himself go cold. Damian, who standing beside him, scooched himself under his father's clock and Bruce squeezed him tight. "Most notably, they all carry around wooden stakes and enough lighter fluid and lighters for a Fourth of July party!" Bruce's horrible suspicion was confirmed. Vampire hunters.

The practice was archaic but there were still people who thought that vampires were dangers to society and decided to hunt them down like animals. Bruce knew that Gotham had, at one point, been the home to the largest coven of vampires in the world. Vampire hunters where the reason that that coven no longer existed. They were the reason that Bruce's parents had died when he was still a child. Bruce hated vampire hunters and now they were actively trying to gain footing in his city.

Bruce's mouth felt drier than it had felt during the two years he had spent without drinking. In his arms, Damian was shaking; terrified. Bruce squeezed his son closer and nuzzled his hair before looking up and clarifying, "John said they were legit?" His voice sounded gravely even to his ear and he prayed that maybe he had somehow misunderstood what Barbara had said. He hoped that they weren't actually vampire hunters.

Barbara looked puzzled, "Yeah, that's what I said. Bruce, what's wrong?" 'What's wrong?' she asked, as if Bruce's city wasn't being invaded by the only force he couldn't stop. The only force he couldn't protect his family from.

Jason snorted, "Ain't this a good thing? These guys can take care of vamps for us so they ain't our problem." Bruce's other human children made noises of agreement and Bruce, who had foolishly thought he was scared a few seconds before, was terrified.

Bruce clutched Damian to his chest and stumbled a few steps back, folding himself over Damian and turn his back to the threat, away from the children he loved who would see him destroyed. He saw, from his inhumanely large peripheral, Dick, who he had stupidly assumed would never begrudge him for his nature, take a step forward and hesitantly reached out his hand. Bruce narrowed his eyes and turned his face toward him to hiss and extend his fangs out in a clear threat.

"Bruce," Dick said, stepping closer, "We didn't realize vampires had gotten to you. We can fix this, we didn't mean you. Just give us Damian and we can help you." Bruce, who had started to calm himself at his son's soothing tone, panicked again when he heard the rest of his son's offer. They wanted Damian.

Bruce had known that Damian and his other children didn't always get along. He had seen the angry looks and heard the biting words (he had, after all, lectured them time and time again about not using vampire slurs against their brother). But most of the remarks had been calling him 'Demon Spawn' or 'Hell Child', so Bruce thought they were mostly focusing some of their vampire fear on him. He had thought the angry looks were jealousy at the attention that Damian received; he thought they were jealous the way kids with new baby siblings were always jealous, mad they got less attention but also understanding it was needed by the baby.

Bruce hadn't realized how deep this vitriol and hate ran. He didn't expect them to take the first vampire hunters to come around as an opportunity to get rid of their baby brother. Bruce loved his human children and could never hurt them but Damian was a baby. Bruce would not let them hurt him due to misguided anger.

Bruce stood up and shoved Damian behind him. He spread his cape wide to hide Damian from their sight and make himself appear bigger. Bruce bared his fangs at his children and screeched like the bat he was named for.

His human children (his little babies) pulled out their weapons. They were his children and they were always prepared (if they were his children, why hadn't he noticed their bigotry?). Dick's escrima sticks crackled ominously, Jason cocked one of his guns, Tim and Steph readied their bo staffs, back-to-back, and Barbara whipped out a Glock.

Bruce wasn't immortal. No being could be. Sure, he had a longer life span and sure, without wooden stakes, it was harder to kill him than the average person. But Bruce was very much not immortal. Normally, when Bruce fought against an ally there was some button to destroy or some foe to subdue for the fight to stop. His children right now where clear-headed. This is what they thought was best. He had been unknowingly allowing this anti-vampire sentiment to fester in his home and now he was paying the price.

He looked back at his little boy, his Damian. When his son met his gaze, his green eyes where filled with tears and his face was red and blotchy. His son looked scared. Bruce knew, in that moment, that allowing his other children to kill him so that Damian could escape was the right choice. He understood what his parents had done that day decades ago.

He smiled at Damian and his brave little boy gave him a wobbly smile back. 'Go' he mouthed at Damian and Damian's face fell. Damian lunged forward, into Bruce's back, and gave him a crushing hug. Then Damian rocked back, his face determined and nodded. Bruce smiled at his son one last time before launching himself forward at his waiting and deadly children.

Bruce was immediately met with force. He tried to keep himself and the cape big to cover Damian's escape. Right away, he was dodging the crackling electricity of Dick's escrima sticks but, as he dodged a hit to his right shoulder, he was immediately met with a bo staff inches from his face. He grabbed the staff and forced it down, throwing Stephanie over his left shoulder and into the couch.

The time it took to launch Stephanie at the furniture, allowed Dick to get a good and painful jab onto his leg. His leg seized and, as he arched away from the pain, he saw Jason, who he had assumed was staying out of the fight due to the dangers of a gun in such small quarters, chasing after Damian.

Bruce felt his eyes widen and, in his distraction, Dick and Tim wrestled both of his arms behind his back. Bruce lunged forward and screamed, falling to his knees in his desperation. "Leave him alone!" he all but shrieked, "Don't hurt him! Please, Jason! Jason, I know you don't like our kind just-" Bruce's voice broke. This was so fucked up. He was begging his one son for the life of his other, "Please." he begged.

The hands restraining him let him go and Bruce slumped forward and watched as Jason dragged Damian, kicking and screaming forward. When Damian saw Bruce, his eyes lit up and, though he still looked scared, he tugged even more forcefully toward Bruce. Jason let him go and Damian hurled himself into Bruce's waiting arms.

Bruce squeezed his boy tight, enveloping them in his cloak and crying into Damian's hair. He had failed. He had failed and now they would both die. At least Damian was going to be awarded this one last comfort.

"Hey, Bruce?" said Jason in a soft and kind (?) voice a few steps away. Bruce looked up, pressing Damian's face into his chest. "I feel like we're missing something," continued Jason.

Dick and Tim had, at some point, moved from behind Bruce to next to their brother, a few feet in front of Bruce. Dick nodded empathetically, "We thought, when you grabbed Damian, that you were trying to hurt him or hold him hostage or something? Because you got turned into a vampire? But then you tried to act as a diversion for his escape and Damian looked terrified just now when Jason had him so... What's going on?"

Bruce, who's brain still felt foggy from the whole my-children-want-to-kill-me-and-their-brother thing and even more so now that they had done a complete one eighty, just blinked up at Dick and the rest of his present children, who had all crowded around him as he talked. Dick blinked at him. Bruce blinked again before shaking his head, "I'm a vampire?" he said, phrasing it like a question.

Jason, who had looked guilty the entire time, let out a barked, slightly hysterical laugh, "We gathered that. But you seemed so normal, since when?"

Bruce was feeling that floating, dissociat-y feeling again and blinked rapidly before answering, "Uh, since I was-" his tongue felt too big for his mouth "born, so like the last fifty-seven years."

The cave was silent for a brief moment. The bats were screeching and Bruce could here the muffled, hiccuping cries of Damian into his chest. All of his kids were staring at him and then it became pandemonium. "The whole-""-didn't tell me!""-never would have-""-in retrospect-""-mean, holy secrets, Batman!"

Damian, who has picked up on the fact that he was no longer going to be actively murdered, also poked his head out of the cape to whisper in a cupped hand next to Bruce's ear, "They are rather slow, aren't they Father?"

That did it for Bruce. The combination of stress from the vampire hunters, betrayel from what he thought his kids wanted, and whiplash from the fact that his kids didn't know made Bruce cackle. He started laughing, somewhat hysterically, at the fact that somehow, for the last twelve or so years, none of his kids, some of best detectives in the world, had realized he was a vampire.

His kids, who had still been throwing questions at him and each other, quieted. Bruce laughed and forced himself to calm down to address his concerned looking kids and the little one poking his cheek in worry. "Sorry, sorry" he gasped for air "But how?" he asked.

Tim, who still looked concerned for his father's sanity, ventured forward to ask, "What do you mean?"

Bruce gasped again before asking, "How did none of you figure out I was a vampire, my whole bat thing? My entire aesthetic? How did none of that tip you off?" Bruce rose to his feet, his chest still hitching, and he slung Damian to his hip as he asked.

His kids ventured to look at each other before Barbara answered, "I met you like elevenish years ago, back then you were super mopey. I thought-" she interrupted herself, clearly embarrassed to continue before whispering, "you were emo??"

Dick nodded along, "Yeah, on the same vein of what Babs is saying. I mean, back then I just figured you were weird. I mean you ate a whole, raw potato once. So I just figured the whole dark aesthetic and light-aversion thing you had going on was just another quirk or maybe you didn't know what sun screen was," Bruce herded his children to the couch as Dick talked. "I got used to it eventually so I figured stuff like that was just Bruce™ things."

All of the kids collapsed on the couch and Bruce followed, with a clingy Damian still on his chest. They were all emotionally exhausted from what had just happened but they needed to have that talk. Dick mentioning the potato thing reminded Bruce, "Did none of you notice the fact that I don't eat food?" he asked, quirking a brow.

All of his children seemed to think, trying to remember a time when Bruce had eaten and apparently coming up blank. Jason shrugged, "I guess I assumed it was a workhokic rich boy thing, Timmy here don't eat either."

He leaned over to give Tim a half-hearted noogie and Tim shoved him off before adding, "No, I have seen you drink before. I-" Tim looked like he really didn't want to ask.

Bruce, good father that he is, spared his son from asking, "Those were blood packs," he says.

That gets a bit of reaction from his kids, several noises of disgust and Steph loudly complaining "I thought the Capri-Suns had gone bad! Noooo, it was blood!" However, they see Damian tense on Bruce's lap and quickly go quiet again.

Babs breaks the silence. "You were trying to protect Damian from us. Is he..?" She tried to ask it delicately but her curiosity for the unknown showed through.

Bruce nods, "Damian is a full blooded vampire, the League of Assassins is one of the most infamous vampire covens on the globe." Babs nods thoughtfully, absorbing the new information. Bruce knows that tomorrow, when the news is less fresh and Bruce is less tense, Babs will be asking all about vampire development and Bruce will be happy to indulge her, just not now.

Damian had started scanning his siblings' faces when he had become the subject of the conversation. For the first time since his siblings had started playing keep-away, Damian started to relax. He doesn't seem totally satisfied with the conversation wrapping up and he puffs out his cheeks a bit before asking, "Were you not calling me 'Demon Brat' and other slurs due to my vampire nature?" He looks geniuenly perplexed, like he couldn't picture any other reason for such mean spirited names. Now that Bruce can see that the nicknames were affectionate sibling ribbing, Bruce is heartbroken for his youngest son.

Based on the looks on everyone else's face, they feel the same. He can see that Dick is itching to go over to Damian and pepper his face with kisses to make his frown go away but this isn't Dick's apology.

Surprisingly, it's Tim who gets off the couch and kneels in front of Damian, who's perched on Bruce's knee. Damian had always antagonized Tim because, as the brother closest to his age, he was his most viable playmate for roughhousing. Often, the two went too far and Bruce knew that, while Tim loved Damian, he didn't always like him. Tim looked Damian right in the eye and said, "I am sorry. If anyone ever calls you something like that again, including me, you have every right to hit them with your katana." Maybe that wasn't the best message to tell a ten-year-old raised by assassins but it was what Damian needed to hear.

Jason, who loves to use insults as endearments and had therefore been one of the greatest offenders, slid of the couch and said, "I'm sorry for ever sayin' that shit" Damian gasped in delight, at the bad word more than the apology, "and if anyone talks shit again to you, tell 'em Red Hood'll get 'em." Bruce could see the remorse written clearly in the faces of Tim, Jason, and Steph as they hugged Damian and Bruce was proud. Maybe he hadn't failed as badly as he thought.

After talking for a bit longer, Bruce carried a sleeping Damian out of the cave and decided he would join his son and take a short hibernation in his nest in his room (seriously, he had a nest, how had his kids not suspected anything) Tomorrow, Bruce would be calling Cassandra to make sure she knew that she was a vampire and talking to Duke to make sure he knew that only vampires started to turn to ash in sunlight. Tomorrow, Bruce would be making a one hundred-twelve slide power point on the finer parts of vampire culture to show his children and ensure they were well educated. Tonight, Bruce was going to cuddle his son and calm himself down in his comfy nest

(Tonight, the bats and birds would fly and take care of the threat to their family and, tomorrow, if there were a few more bags of blood for Bruce, who could say?)