Chapter Text
Batman had spent four days going over every piece of evidence, or lake there of, before a distraught Bruce Wayne made his return to Gotham. They hadn’t found anything. As soon as Percy got into that taxi, he was lost. They never recovered the taxi either, and the driver was reported missing by his wife. They looked into the driver, his family, overturned his whole life, and found nothing.
With no new leads, and no ransom demand, Bruce held a press conference, offering a large reward for any information that lead to fining his son. By day seven Bruce had put up offers in less reputable circles, effectively placing a bounty on his son’s head.
Nothing came of it.
Worse, somehow, they had no more luck trying to track the friend Percy was with. No other kids from Yancy had gone missing, not even children of staff members, ones that didn’t attend the school. According to the school there were no students names Grover, and Percy was in a single dorm, no roommate.
Of course maybe Dick had misremembered the name, and ‘Grover’ wasn’t his name, maybe not a roommate, but a friend that would spend the night in Percy’s room. Although why that would be happening, and the implication that there were no children named Grover at the school, well each possible scenario was worse than the last.
Dick also mentioned a latin teacher, and Alfred did say that Percy had gone on a field trip for his latin class. According to records the latin teacher didn’t exist. Well he did, but insists Percy wasn’t in his class, something witnesses corroborate. And the administration once again contradict what his son had told the family. They said Percy wasn’t taking a language. That he was given a study hall, as per his accommodations.
Batman of course took none of at their word. So they looked into every aspect of the school. Tore it down, metaphorically, brick by brick. They broke into homes, they even brought Clark in, but even Superman couldn’t find anything.
Alfred tried to get them to slow down, just a little, take a break, sleep more than an hour at a time, but Bruce can’t ever forget what happened last time. Every night he holds Jason’s broken body, wakes with the feel of his son’s blood oh his hands, the smell of his hair in his nose.
Time dragged on. One week became one month, and then two, and Bruce still had no idea where his son was. If he was safe, if he was scared. Nothing was found. Until something was. It was Jason’s birthday. He was supposed to be seventeen today, not dead. Percy was two days away from turning thirteen, when the taxi was found.
Bruce had no idea how they had missed it. It was in a ditch, covered by a fallen tree branch, but they should have found it.
It was Bruce Wayne, not Batman, that went to Long Island to see it, and there was nothing fake about his reaction.
The officer came, stopped him from seeing the bodies, but he still had to hear the words. The taxi driver had been tentatively identified, maybe. There were two adolescent bodies in the back seat. Unidentifiable. Better Bruce not see it at all.
Bruce pushed past the man. Bodies can be faked. Lies are easy. He knows what burn victims look like. He knows how to tell what their approximate height and weight might have been. He needs to know.
And in a few more steps, he knows. Almost three months of constant searching, and Percy was here the whole time, never coming home.
Now…
Bruce had never considered himself a lucky man. He actively tried not to believe in luck, instead in logic and facts. there was no such thing as good luck or bad luck, just chance. If he did believe in luck (which he doesn’t) he would say his luck was bad.
Arguably anyone who lost their parents before they reached double digits would grow up assuming they had rotten luck. He was in the audience when Dick’s parents died (although adopting the beautiful and brilliant boy would never be a bad thing). The final straw though, where two of his sons dying less than a year apart.
That wasn’t bad luck, Bruce knew. That was his fault. Bad parenting. He couldn’t be the kind of father either of them needed and it got them killed.
When Jason came back, and for no reason, at least none Bruce could find, he began to see the world a shade differently. If he did believe in luck, well just maybe it was beginning to get a little better.
It wasn’t just Jason’s return. Tim had come into his life, and stayed, lighting it once again. Then Stephanie and Cassandra. He would never admit this to his sons, and he loved all his children equally, but the feeling of having daughter healed something in Bruce (He’s girl dad shaped, your honor) He finally found out about Damian, got him home, safe. Lastly, most recently came Duke.
Bruce is being extra cautions with his two youngest these days. He knows that he messed up with Dick and Jason. He knows that Tim still doubts his place in this family, in Bruce’s heart. Stephanie still has a mother and didn’t want a new dad. Cassandra, well it was hard to mess up with Cassandra. She knew all the things he had trouble saying, and her bar for good parents was on the floor. He still could be better.
So Bruce was extra cautious with Duke. He was older than most of the other kids were when they came into Bruce’s care, and his very loving parents were still alive. He didn’t want to overstep, but he didn’t want to be too distant either. It was a precarious balance, one that we wasn’t sure he was any good at keeping. Despite this, Duke was his kid just as much as any of the others, even if Bruce didn’t want to put that kind of pressure on the kid. The brightness, the absolute sunshine that Duke brought into their lives was worth any distance Bruce might have to keep.
Then, exactly five years after he learned the fate of his only child not with them today, the final piece finally slotted into place, and Bruce wondered if there was such a thing as good luck.
His son, his baby, walked back into the manor, whole and healthy, He walked in with smiles and jokes. It was like seeing him at eight, splashing in every puddle outside. At nine, playing pirates with Jason. At ten, with gaps in his teeth, and Vaseline on every door knob. At eleven, celebrating his birthday with his brother.
Stephanie, a bright light in his life, one he will forever be grateful for, breaks the awkward silence that fills the patio. She drags Tim, Cassandra, and Barbara inside, with a promise to cover patrol for the night. Bruce’s attention is entirely on his kid. On Percy. (His Baby!!)
Obviously he grew, got older, somewhere Bruce couldn’t find him. He was tall, taller than Dick, shorter than Jason. Broad shoulders, and hard lines of muscle, although it was hard to tell with the loose fitting blue hoodie and jeans.
Everything else was concerning. Although he was clearly muscular, he also seemed to be suffering from malnutrition. Scars, some very old, some obviously newer, on his face, his neck, and on his calloused hands. Bruce would bet money those callouses were almost identical to the ones on Damian’s small hands.
Percy’s eyes, those were the same sea-green. The most convincing clue that this was really him. But they were hard, sharp, old, but still full of love, if not the same light they once held. They were the life line Bruce was currently gripping, that this was really his son.
Looking at him, this teenager, Bruce was full of despair and anger. It filled him, and it was an, now long practiced, effort to keep those emotions from showing.
He wanted to know who had given his child those scars. Scars that looked like they had been with Percy since he disappeared all those years ago. He needed to know where Percy had been. Why hadn’t he come home? What brought him back now? Who was his friend? Why would that child have the same kind of scars? Could Bruce wrap them both in blankets and never let them leave?
Despite what his many kid may say, Bruce was slightly (very slightly) better about interrogations these days. Percy didn’t want to talk about it yet. Maybe just in front of people he didn’t know, but Bruce wasn’t going to ask again. Not yet. But Percy’s friend, Nico, that could be safer territory. (Read: fair game)
“Why does your friend have medically prescribed naps?”
All three of his children, (present) gave him varying looks of incredulity.
“Seriously, B. Is that important right now?” Dick asked.
So Dick did not appreciate his restraint in asking about Percy.
“No, no, this is good stuff Dickface. Look at him. Already drafting adoption papers.”
“I’m not sure Nico has a legal identity, so that might be a good idea.” Percy added.
Bruce blinks a couple of times. How does a teenager not have a legal identity? (Bruce actually knows many reasons and none of them are good. That does not make him feel better.) Why does Percy know a teenager with no legal identity may be a better (more concerning) question.
“We can figure it out.”
“I’m not sure I have a legal identity anymore, come to think of it.”
True. Percy’s legal identity is legally dead.
“I don’t know how they are going to send my transcripts then. I’d have to ask.”
“Ask who?” Jason asked.
It was good it wasn’t Bruce asking the questions. Percy always had a problem with authority. Questions from Jason might be better received. The only authority Jason ever had over Percy was older brother privileges, like sitting in the front seat and player 1 on the Wii.
“I do actually have at least an eleventh grade education. Just Probably not a very good one.”
“And who gave it to you?”
Percy shrugs.
“People. It’s hard to explain, without explaining everything. And everything is a little much for me right now.”
Jason looks like he wants to press for more information, and Bruce certainly isn’t planning on stopping him. Unfortunate for both of them, Dick does.
“We don’t have to talk about it. We’ll have plenty of time. Right?”
Bruce doesn’t know what he would have done if Percy had said no. If he revealed he was just here for a few days, that he was leaving again. Probably something drastic that would make all of his children mad at him. Luckily it seems it won’t come to that. Percy agrees.
“Right. I’m not going anywhere. Not any time soon.”
They decide to move to one of the big comfy living rooms. One that Bruce never found himself lingering in too long. One with two many memories. Bruce hasn’t felt this disconnected from his body in years. His mind working overdrive, part of him trying not to say the wrong thing, trying not to ask too many questions. The other half catastrophizing, thinking of all the horrible things his baby might have been through while he was missing.
Percy settles in between Jason and Dick on the couch, head resting on Jason’s heart. Bruce settles in the big recliner, so he has a better eye line. One that has his long dead son in them at all times.
“Do you think he’s going to say something, or just stare the whole time?” Percy murmurs. Dick looks between Bruce and Percy, then at Jason.
“Probably. I think if he starts asking questions he won’t stop. Jason?”
“I don’t know. He had a lot more to say when I came back.”
Bruce winces. No one here would say he handled Jason’s return gracefully.
Dick hits Jason lightly.
“Yeah but you were a menace.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came back.” Percy says.
Percy’s eyes are closed.
“It’s okay Perce. You didn’t know.”
He makes a sound that Bruce doesn’t really understand, almost like disagreement.
“I should have come home.”
He looks at Dick now.
“I’m sorry I didn’t.”
It’s like a knife to the heart. The first real acknowledgement of his disappearance. He chose to stay away. Not that any twelve year old has the means to hid themselves from Batman. There were others involved. Someone who hurt and exploited his child. But Percy views it as a choice. A choice to stay away. Probably a choice to run.
There were always pieces of the story that never fit. It was why never officially closed the case, even if Bruce thought he knew how it ended. Bruce never touched it though. Once he saw the bodies, the only thing he did was try to identify them, find out who the other boy was. Once the resources to do so were exhausted, he stopped.
He forced himself to stop. Tim had left, left to train with others, and Stephanie had come into his life. He forced himself to focus on the alive kids that kept worming their way into his life, and leave the dead ones in the past.
Someone helped him disappear. Someone staged that crash. There was probably someone at that school, some kind of recruitment that Bruce had missed. Someone who made it all happen. And Bruce had stopped looking. He had failed his kid, and who knows how many other children
Nico was clearly from the same place as Percy. Probably no living family, if Percy’s words about adoption and identities were anything to go by. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen or fourteen. There are likely more children in danger, more children that Bruce needs to find, to make up for this failing.
There was another possibility bouncing around in his head. Another possibility that Bruce really, really didn’t want to consider, but had too. Nico and Percy probably could pass as siblings. Had…had Percy gotten too old for someone, and he managed to take Nico with him? Managed to get away.
Suddenly there is someone in his curled next to him, half in his lap, cuddling him. The three boys are still on the couch, and quietly laughing, probably at him. He looks down at Cassandra, looking at him expectantly.
“Stop thinking the worst.” She signs at to him when he looks at her.
“That’s why I interrogate.” He says in a low tone, just to her.
“No interrogating. He’s here. Home and safe.”
“I thought you were hanging out with Steph.”
She smiles at him again.
“I am, but you were thinking very loud. I could feel it.”
“Thank you, sweet girl.” He looks back at his boys. “What do think?”
Percy looks up a that, and Cassandra makes a shooing motion.
“Close your eyes baby brother. I’m gossiping.” Percy huffs a laugh, and makes a point of looking away.
“Fighter. Solider. Weary, but happy, not running. Anxious, but not scared. Not of us. He feels safe.”
The first few things didn’t make Bruce feel better, but he wasn’t scared, and that was worth a lot. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been, but if he felt safe here, then maybe soon he would feel safe enough to answer questions.
He smiles down at his daughter again, and kisses her forehead gently.
“Okay. Thank you. I’m done catastrophizing. Go have fun.”
She hugs him tightly, and then stands, walking toward the couch. She leans down, giving Dick a kiss on the cheek, then Jason. Then she signs something that Bruce can’t see, and then kisses her fingertips, and rests them on Percy’s head, before leaving the room.