Chapter Text
It starts like this:
On the evening of May 31st, Bruce sends out the same text to exactly five people on his contacts list. The message is not very long, and consists of the following four words:
Batcave. Now. Code Rainbow.
When his phone begins to chime with affirmations, he settles into his chair, makes sure the stack of flags beside him have remained in a neat pile, and waits for everyone to arrive.
(It should be known that Tim Drake is not one of these five people.)
If you were to ask Dick who was to blame for the following events escalating, he would without a doubt point a finger towards Jason. And Jason's rocket launcher.
If you were to ask Jason, he’d most likely blame Bruce. Though, considering blaming Bruce for anything is one of the few things that bring him joy, meaning he does it always, that probably doesn’t mean much.
If you were to ask Cass, she’d look up from where she’d been mournfully gazing at her favorite t-shirt, now dyed a truly hideous shade of vomit green with neon orange polka dots, and gesture sharply towards the unconscious figure of one Damian Wayne.
If you were to ask Stephanie, she’d blame Bruce, too. But not because she liked to blame Bruce for everything (though she did, in fact, like to blame Bruce for some things). Her accusation had more to do with the fact that Bruce had shot down her suggestion of getting assistance from Alfred way before everything started, which she thought would’ve saved them all a lot of trouble.
If you asked Damian, well, he wouldn’t really be able to say anything, being unconscious and all. But once he woke up, he’d...vocally place the blame solely on Stephanie’s shoulders. Which, considering she had the most reason to figure things out, was fair. Like recognizes like, after all. Or, it’s supposed to, at least.
And Tim? Well, if you were to ask Tim anything, he'd declare himself completely innocent of everything that occurred in the Manor over the course of the following month, in a home full of detectives no less, and insist he deserved none of Alfred's wrath.
And you know what? He'd be right.
Jason is the first to arrive, the rumble of his motorcycle bouncing off the Batcave’s walls before he comes to a stop. Bruce carefully scans his pile of flags, selecting one as he hears heavy footsteps approach him.
“So what’s the deal this time, B?” Jason snags a handful of skittles from the small bowl beside Bruce, popping a few into his mouth at a time as he eyes the five seats arranged in a semicircle. He accepts the pink, yellow, and blue striped flag silently, tucking it into a front pocket on his leather jacket where the bright colors can still be visible. “Who’s Code Rainbow for?”
Bruce shoots him an unimpressed look, mindlessly straightening the flags to accommodate for the empty spot.
“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Jason sighs, stealing another handful of skittles before he picks a chair to sit in. “Doesn’t hurt to try, though.” He slumps into his seat, eyeing Bruce. “No flag for you?” He asks, faux casually.
“I prefer not to label myself,” Bruce says simply. Jason gives a nod of acknowledgement.
The two sit in companionable silence, Jason occasionally getting up for another handful of skittles, for all of two minutes before Stephanie and Cass arrive in a whirlwind of post-patrol adrenaline.
“He totally counts as two points!” Stephanie argues as they make their way over, tugging her hood off and smoothing down flyaway hairs. “It’s not my fault he didn’t stay down. Should I have asked him to stay unconscious? Is that what you want me to do from now on?”
“One man. One point,” Cass retorts, shooting Bruce a small smile that he returns. Snagging two flags from the pile, he hands Cass the pink, orange, white, and red striped flag while Stephanie is given the one with a pink, purple and blue stripe. While Cass heads over to the seat right beside Jason, Stephanie lingers over the skittle bowl, carefully picking out only the purple ones. From her chair, Cass sends Stephanie a smug smile. “Don’t be a sore loser.”
“Oh, burn,” Jason says with a short bark of laughter, tossing the last couple of skittles into his mouth. Rising, he makes his way over, brushing Stephanie aside once he sees she’s gathered a decent handful of purple skittles. “Move, I’m gay.”
“Bitch, I see the pansexual flag you’ve got tucked in your jacket.”
“Please,” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose and summons the dwindling remains of his patience, “please don’t fight. Jason, wait your turn. No more shoving, or you’ll lose your candy privileges.” When Stephanie sticks her tongue out at the older boy, Bruce frowns and sternly says, “Stephanie, I think you’ve found more than enough purple skittles, please take a seat. You can get more when you're done.”
Jason is victoriously sticking his own tongue out at the grumbling blonde when, coming from the stairway that leads to the grandfather clock entrance, a bright voice declares, “If Steph’s allowed to have all the purples, I reserve the right to all the yellow skittles.”
Bruce turned his head to see Damian and Dick walking down the stairs, the first looking around with confused curiosity while the latter scans over everyone.
“I gave Damian a brief rundown on what Code Rainbow is,” Dick says, eyes flickering around the cave. “Now if I didn’t miss anyone, I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this is about Tim?”
Bruce grunts, waving them towards himself. “Come get your flags and then pick a chair.”
“If I didn’t already know you were inferior to me, Brown, this would prove it,” Damian calls out, snatching both the rainbow flag and pink, blue, and white striped flag Bruce holds his way. “Everyone knows the green skittles are the best.”
“Not only are you wrong, but you’re stupid as well. Are you even hearing the words coming out of your mouth? In what universe—”
Bruce wonders, not for the first time, if he’d be able to get away with vanishing off to a remote island to live the rest of his days on.
Beside him, Dick is watching the ensuing argument with the same rapt attention one would give a ping pong match. Leaning towards his oldest child, he whispers, “Aren’t they all the same flavor?”
“It’s the principle of the matter,” Dick whispers back, a hint of a smile curling at his lips. He accepts the black, grey, white, and purple striped flag Bruce hands him and tucks it behind his ear, seemingly unbothered by the fabric that brushes against his ear and cheek. Edging
“Alright,” Bruce says sharply, his tone causing Damian and Stephanie to fall silent. “That’s enough out of you two. Argue about it on your own time, I don’t care. We’ve only got an hour to discuss things. Damian, please take a seat.”
Damian scowls but listens, drawing his thumb across his throat and staring Stephanie down as he walks to his chair, dropping down with a huff. Dick eyes the rainbow flag clenched in his fist with surprise. “When did that happen?”
Damian shrugs. “Jon.”
“Awwwww— stop trying to stab me I’m sorry.”
Jason squints at the pink, blue and white striped flag in Damian’s other hand. “When did that happen? I know I’ve been out of the loop for a few years, but I’m pretty sure I would’ve heard about you deciding to transition.”
“It was years ago, while I was still with the League,” Damian explains, stashing his knife after sending Dick a final warning glare.
Jason raises an eyebrow. “And they were cool with it?”
“They’re the League of Assassins, Todd, not the League of Transphobes. As long as it did not hinder my ability in combat, Grandfather and Mother saw no reason to reject my decision.”
“Weird standards, but okay.”
“What kind of world do we live in, if assassins are better people than bigots?” Stephanie says despairingly, dramatically flinging herself onto Cass’s shoulder.
“Hey, wait, Jason shouldn’t you already know this? You were with them for a while, too,” Dick asks.
Jason stares at him like he’s wondering where his brain cells have gone. “That’s the stupidest question I have ever heard,” Jason says deadpan. “I was training, not looking for a good fu—”
“And that is more than I have ever wanted to hear about my children’s trials with romance, thank you,” Bruce says loudly, clapping his hands and ignoring the snickering from Cass and Dick with years of practice. “Now that everyone is here, we can finally get started.”
Reaching underneath his chair, he reveals a white poster board covered in words. At the top are the words “Code Rainbow” in beautiful, glittery print. Directly beneath it, in smaller letters, reads “Subject: Tim Drake-Wayne”.
“In exactly—” Bruce eyes flick over to the clock, “—forty-four minutes, the clock will strike midnight, and pride month will begin. And, if I’m not mistaken, everyone in this family is out except for Tim.”
“What?” Jason leans forward and glances around. “What does that mean?”
“Tim is...unknown,” Cass says carefully.
“That pretty much covers it,” Dick agrees, shooting her a thumbs up. “We know he’s some flavor of queer because he’s pinging on all our gaydars, but he’s never said anything.”
“Well why should he have to say anything?” Jason argues, brows furrowing. “Timbit hardly likes to draw attention to himself.”
“We’re not trying to make him come out to us,” Bruce cuts in, holding his hands up peacefully when vivid green eyes snap his way. “I want us to create a safe environment and give out subtle reminders that we’d accept him no matter what. So should he choose to come out, he’ll do it knowing we still love him.”
“Love is a strong word. Can you change that to ‘tolerate’?” A soft yelp escapes Damian when Dick slaps him upside the head. “It was merely a joke!”
“Zero stars, get some better material.”
“Tim’s dad was one of those ‘I accept you as long as I don’t have to see it up close and we never talk about it’ homophobes, so I can see the appeal of this plan,” Stephanie chimes in, tossing a couple of purple skittles into her mouth. “God knows I don’t want to be anything like him. Or have Timmy think we’re like him.”
A chorus of “here, here” and “amen to that” fills the cave. Even Damian gives a short nod.
“Where’s Aflred though? Did you already fill him in?”
“Alfred has gone to see some old war buddies,” Bruce informs her, fidgeting with the poster board before he forces himself to stop, “but no, I haven’t informed him of the plan.”
Damian arches a sharp eyebrow at brow, reminiscent of their beloved butler. “Why not?”
“Any plan that doesn’t involve Alfie is a dumb plan,” Jason adds, because he’s a hellion that loves to see his younger siblings gang up on Bruce.
“He doesn’t need to be bothered with this,” Bruce insists stubbornly. “He should be able to relax with his friends without worrying that we’re helpless without him. We can do this.”
His beautiful, incredible, horrible children exchange doubtful looks, but they settle into an uneasy compliance.
“I still think you should send Alfred a short message,” Stephanie declares, just as, if not more, stubborn as him.
“Duly noted. Moving on,” Bruce reaches into his coat pocket and removes the marker he had stashed there earlier, “I have some ideas, but if this is going to be a group effort, then I’m going to need more input than just myself.” Uncapping the marker, he sends out a small, determined grin at everyone. “Let’s make this June one for the history books."