Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bruce had put this off for years.

It was ridiculous for him to attend the gathering, anyway.

He didn’t own the company, nor did he really speak to any of them. And vice versa, obviously.

He had put them out of his mind years ago, but it seems as though they hadn’t forgotten about him.

How unfortunate.

Alfred had brought the letter to his desk not too long ago. The thick envelope was the color of bone and was sealed with a dark silver wax. The “W”, engraved in Old English font, was foreboding.

It was a nice envelope. But his father’s family was known for their impeccable taste, anyway. In everything. Except men. And business. And making good choices in general, honestly.

Bruce didn’t want to open the letter. Maybe if he ignored it it would go away.

But that wasn’t realistic. He knew they would come on their own. He couldn’t have that; he couldn’t have intruders invading his one place of peace.

“Your brain is going. I can feel it. What’s wrong?”

Bruce set the letter down on his desk and sighed.

“They sent me a letter. It means I have to go.”

“You don’t have to.”

Bruce wrapped his arms around himself and nodded his head.

“I do. They don’t just send letters, Clark.”

“Burn it. Pretend you didn’t get it.”

Bruce let out a chuckle and shook his head.

“I can’t do that. It’s rude.”

Clark closed his book and got up to meet Bruce by his desk.

“It’s rude? If you’re rude then what on Earth does that make them?”

Clark unfolded Bruce’s arms and brought him close.

“Absolutely horrible.” Bruce responded.

The two of them swayed side to side. It was comforting and warm, yet still Bruce didn’t drop his heavy pout.

“Exactly. So why go?”

Bruce hugged Clark tighter, pressing his face into Clark’s chest.

“If I don’t they’ll just come here.”

“What was that?”

Bruce lifted his head and sniffled.

“I said they’ll just come here. I don’t want them around the kids. I really don’t.”

Clark kissed Bruce and raised his eyebrow once he pulled back.

“So you, my brave knight, will sacrifice yourself for the greater good. You’ll trek this journey alone-”

“I get it, Clark. But it’s a necessary evil.” Clark rested his head on top of Bruce’s.

“How long are you gonna be gone?”

“Three days. I don’t know. I pumped enough breast milk for the twins. It’s in the freezer.”

“Are you sure you wanna be away from them so soon?”

“I can’t bring them with me.”

“Then we can all go. Make it family trip.”

Bruce pulled back and Clark and put his hands on Clark’s cheeks.

“Clark, please. I don’t want you around them, get me? I won’t do that to you.”

Clark opened his mouth to speak but Bruce shook his head.

“No, Kansas. This isn’t a debate. I love that you care and that you want to protect me, but I can’t do what I need to do if I don’t know that you and the kids are alright here. Yes?”

Bruce could see the frustration and restlessness in Clark’s eyes. But Bruce knew what his husband and their children would be met with; subliminal racism, slick comments directed towards their child rearing, isolation, the calculated pushing of buttons that Bruce knew Clark didn’t have patience for, and the passive aggressive aire that would turn into arguing in the many cold, dark rooms.

“Just...please be careful.”

“I will be.”

“Wait, Mommy! What do you mean you’re leaving?!”

Jason hadn’t stopped following Bruce around the bedroom since he told him he would be going away.

“It’s only for a few days, Honeybee. I’ll be back soon.”

Bruce folded up a sweater and put it in his suitcase.

“You can’t go!”

“Why can’t I?”

Jason grabbed onto Bruce’s pant leg and tugged it.

“I don’t know, you just can’t! What about Christmas?!”

Bruce sighed and sat down on the bed. Jason scrambled onto Bruce’s lap and wrapped his arms around his neck.

“Christmas isn’t for another week. I’ll be back before then.”

Bruce started to rub Jason’s back. Jason shook his head and squeezed Bruce tighter.

“Please don’t go. You can’t!”

Bruce sighed again and closed his eyes as he engulfed Jason in a hug.
  
“I have to go. I know you don’t want me to, but I have to.”

“Then just stay with me. Please. Don’t leave.”

Jason had developed severe separation anxiety since he came from the hospital a while back. Leslie said that it was normal, an expected response to his trauma. He had only gone back to school recently.

Bruce and Clark didn’t want to give him medication, though. The therapy meetings and separation schedules were working so far, so would stick with that unless Jason’s anxiety became unbearable for him.

“Daddy’s going to be here. You’ll be fine.”

“I want you. Just you. You’re not going.”

“Jason. It’s only three days. You can count them down on your calendar. We can mark it together.”

“No!”

“You can call me every night.”

“No!”

The boy was shaking. He was going to give himself a panic attack if Bruce didn’t act fast.

“Okay, okay. Stop, it’s okay. Shh, Jason.” Bruce whispered hastily. 

Jason sniffled and gripped Bruce’s shirt in his fists.

“You can’t leave me.”

Bruce pulled back from their embrace, though his hands never left Jason’s body.

“I need you to listen to me. Really listen, okay? I’m not leaving you and would never leave you if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. My heart is practically exploding at the thought of leaving you, Jojo. Trust me.”

“But-”

“Let me finish. It’s only for three days and I’ll be back home with you before Christmas gets here. I promise.”

Jason looked up at Bruce with a pout.

“You can’t break a promise.”

Bruce kissed Jason’s forehead and pulled him into another hug.

“I won’t.”

“Wait, so why are you going again?”

The boys were like a revolving door. Jason left the room and Dick came right after him.

“Your great grandfather’s dead and your great grandmother Miriam arranged for a family meeting.”

Dick scoffed and folded his legs Criss cross in front of Bruce’s suitcase.

“Some family. I didn’t even know I had great grandparents.”

Bruce zipped up his suitcase and plopped down beside Dick, suddenly feeling very exhausted.

“You do. Did. Now you only have one.”

“Can I meet her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Because what?”

Bruce sighed.

“Miriam would adore you. But the rest of them not so much.”

Dick nodded knowingly.

“Because of Dad?”

“Mhmm.” 

“You know— I still can’t believe people are just blatantly racist.”

“Oh they’re not blatant. They’re slick and say things under their breaths which is much worse. I’d rather you guys be as far away from that as possible.”

“Dad said when he first met them, some of them refused to shake his hand.”

Bruce didn’t want to remember that disaster, but he couldn’t possibly forget it. Clark cried all the way home that day. He was heartbroken.

And still, even though Bruce couldn’t wrap his around it, Clark forgave them.

“That’s why I think it’s best if you stay here.”

“It’s only three days, right?” Dick asked.

“Mhmm.”

“Mommy, Dickie says you’re leaving.”

Tim followed Bruce around as he put on his coat.

“Yes I am. I’ll be back in a few days.”
  
Once Bruce was still, Tim wrapped his arms and legs around Bruce’s left leg and looked up at him.

“Is it gonna be fun?” Tim asked.

“Probably not.”

“That’s boring.”

Bruce chuckled and walked (or dragged) himself and Tim over to the shoe rack.

“That’s the opposite of fun, yes.”

“Where are you going?”

Bruce bent down and picked up his black dress shoes. He never wore them, but it would be the talk of the town if he didn’t look at least somewhat presentable.

“To Austria”.

“Australia? Where the Roos live?”

Bruce unfolded Tim from his leg and picked him up.

“Austria. It’s a country in Europe.”

Tim bit his bottom lip and furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“You’re from Austria, Mommy?”

Bruce, with Tim settled on his hip, wiggled his feet into his shoes.

“I’m not. But my dad’s family is. They moved back and forth between England and Austria for a long time.”

“Pop Pop’s from English.”

Tim put his hand on Bruce’s face and kissed him on the cheeks.

“England. And yes, he is.”

“Is Pop Pop going with you?”

Alfred was required to go with Bruce. Butlers, according to the “law of aristocrats” (an elitist, informal courtesy that the Wayne family swore by), were mandated to attend every gathering (domestic or foreign) with their masters.

“Yes, he is.”

“Can I go?”

“No, you can’t.”

Tim gently bit Bruce’s cheek. Bruce smiled and bit him back. They did that sometimes.

“Why?”

“Because it’s for adults only.”

“Then why isn’t Daddy going?”

“Because Daddy doesn’t want to go.”

Alfred appeared (as he does) next to Bruce. In his hands were suitcases and on his body was his formal uniform. He hadn’t worn it in years, so it was odd seeing him dressed that way.

“Timothy, I believe it’s past your bedtime. Why don’t I put you to bed?”

Tim looked at Alfred and scanned him up and down.

“Pop Pop, why you dressded like that?”

“Formal event calls for formal attire, Timothy.”

“I want Mommy to put me to bed.”

Alfred looked at Bruce, who nodded.

“I’ll wait for you in the car, Bruce. Timothy, I’ll see you in three days. I love you very much.”

“See you, Pop Pop.”

Bruce walked over to the steps, but turned around to speak to Alfred.

“I can carry my suit cases, Al. Just wait in the car.”

Alfred shook his head and held the handles of the suitcase tighter.

“I’m still a butler, Master Bruce.”

Hearing that, that all too practiced and cold “Master Bruce”, made Bruce’s skin crawl.

But he knew Alfred was getting himself accustomed to saying it. The last thing they both wanted was a slip up.

“Alfred...never mind, I’ll meet you in the car.”

Tim was half asleep by time Bruce settled him into bed.

“You’re leaving now?” Tim mumbled, his tired eyes fighting sleep.

“Yes, I am. I love you so much. Be good, Mouse.”

Bruce kissed Tim’s forehead before he pulled the covers over Tim’s chest.

“I love you, too.”

It was even harder to leave now. Maybe Bruce should have let Alfred put Tim to bed.

“Take your Tilly.” Bruce whispered as he tucked Tim’s stuffed sloth “Matilda” under the covers.

“Hmm. Bye.”

Bruce got up and sighed.
  
“Good night.”

Bruce made sure to leave the nightlight on in Tim’s room, and the hallway light dimmed before he left.

He still needed to say bye to Jason, Dick and the twins.

“But what if he doesn’t come back?”

“He’s not gonna leave us, Jason. He won’t.”

Bruce gently pushed open Jason’s door and popped his head in.

“Jason?”

On the bed, Jason was curled up next to Clark and the twins were laying between them.

“Mommy. Are you leaving now?”

Bruce walked over to Jason and knelt down at the side of the bed.

“Yes. I just wanted to say bye.”

Jason’s eyes started to fill with tears and his mouth turned down into a pout.

“Okay,” Jason’s voice shook, “I’ll see you soon.”

Bruce’s heart squeezed and he looked over at Clark, who had a deep furrow of pity in his eyebrows.

“You’re making it so hard to leave you, Honeybee.”

“No. Don’t be sad. I’m just gonna miss you so much.” Jason said.

Bruce sighed and hugged Jason tight and as best he could.

“I’m going to miss you everyday.”

“Are you gonna beat Santa?”

Bruce chuckled and squeezed Jason one last time.

“I’ll be here before he leaves the North Pole. I’ll beat him absolutely.”

Bruce wiped Jason’s tears and kissed his warm cheeks.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Bruce looks down at the twins and ran his hands over their stomachs one at a time.

“I love you two so much.” He said.

The twins reacted to their mother’s voice; Jonathan waved his tiny fists in the air and Damian let out a delightful squeak.

“So cute. Clark, don’t drop my children please.”

Before Bruce got up, he pressed his cheek onto the babies’ heads and rubbed his scent on them.

“I promise I won’t. Can I get a kiss, too?”

Bruce smiled simply and walked over to Clark. He opened his arms and trapped Clark in a tight hug.

“We’re gonna be fine, Bruce. I’ll call you everyday.” Clark whispered in Bruce’s ear.

Bruce inhaled the earthy scent in Clark’s neck, savoring it and committing it to his memory.

“I’m not worried. But promise to call.”

Clark pulled back.

“I told you I would. Have a safe flight.”

Bruce looked into Clark’s eyes for a few seconds before he kissed him sweetly.

“Are you going to miss me?” Bruce asked.

“Absolutely. But it’s only three days, I think I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. Well, I’m gonna go. I love you, Kansas.

“Yeah, I love you too.”

Bruce’s stomach was betraying him. He had thought that he would be fine, but he was in knots and he couldn’t stop twisting his fingers.

The jet turbulence certainly didn’t help.
“Alfred?”

“Yes, Master Bruce?” Alfred looked up from his newspaper.

Bruce wanted to gag. He would never get used to being called that.

“Are you nervous?”

“A bit.”

“Really?”

“Yes. The stakes are high. But I have faith in you. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

Bruce felt the furthest from fine. He wanted to turn back. He wanted to hide.

“We’re not tuning back, Master Bruce.”

“Don’t call me that. Just, not right now. Please just treat me like you normally would. Just until we get off the plane.”

Alfred gave Bruce a look of sympathy. He would comply.
  
“I will admit. Calling you that does feel foreign. Quite frankly, it puts a bad taste in my mouth.”

Bruce nodded a “thank you” and turned to look out the window.

Only seven more hours.

The only thing that played in Bruce’s head was “God help me”.

 

Chapter Text

The limestone steps were a nuisance. They were tacky, for one. For two, they made his presence known with every “click, click, click” of his shoes. 

Is this what Wayne Manor looked like to people? So dark and scary? Bruce wondered. 

He hadn’t lived there for years, but, he was curious. 

Once Bruce reached the top step, he turned back and look at Alfred. His face was stoic, but Bruce could see in his adopted father’s eyes that he too was very nervous. 

“Alfred, it’s not too late to turn back.” 

The old man looked at Bruce as if to say “calm yourself”. 

“Right. Sorry.” Bruce mumbled and turned back around. 

He stuck his hands in his coat pocket and squared his shoulder, mentally preparing himself to knock on the large (ginormous, actually) front door. 

“Alright, old sport. You can do this.” Bruce whispered to himself. 

Bruce, in those few moments, closed his eyes and pushed forward his mask. The one that could fake a smile and tolerate all of it. The mask that wouldn’t make him feel guilty for being in that place. 

Just as Bruce lifted his hand to knock on the door, it opened (and creaked) to reveal Augustine, his grandmother’s butler. 

They grew up together, in this very house. From what Bruce observed, they had been best friends. 

“Augustine. How are you?” Bruce asked with a small smile. 

Augustine looked Bruce over before he stepped to the side and put his arm out. 

“Master Bruce. Please, come in.” 

Augustine was a man of little words. Very little, actually. 

“Augustine.” 

“Alfred.” 

They were cold to save face, but Bruce knew in a few hours, when everyone was asleep, they’d chat it up in the butler’s quarters and play cards with a nice glass of beer in hand. 

“I’ll take your bags. Your family is in the painting room.” 

Bruce looked back at Alfred. He wouldn’t be following him in, so Bruce assumed that this was their goodbye until later on. 

“Alfred. I’ll be seeing you.” 

It was more a question for reassurance than it was a statement. Alfred knew that, so he nodded firmly. Alfred was always firm  when he meant something. 

“Master Bruce.” Augustine and Alfred said at the same time, dismissing themselves. 

It made Bruce smile. They’d be geeking about that later on, he was sure. 

Once the butlers went upstairs, Bruce shoved his hands in his pockets, squared his back and walked down the hallway. 

On his way, he looked at paintings of his ancestors. One of them was of an Austrian king from few hundred years ago. If Bruce remembered his history correctly, that man abdicated and moved to England for his wife and their sons. 

A very sad story. The wife and sons were murdered by someone who held a deep grudge with the former king. The details are more than gory. 

The king came back from the bakery in their town and found them covered in dirt. The assailant tried to bury them, or parts of them. The children were very young and should’ve been spared. 

But Bruce understood first hand that witnessing a trauma like that would’ve damaged them beyond repair anyway. 

It was bittersweet. 

The next painting was of his great aunt, Clara. Bitter, very bitter, was she. 

Bruce stopped in front of one painting. It was of his father. It was favorite painting. 

His father looked so handsome and his eyes penetrated Bruce’s soul. Bruce remembered when this painting had been done. He was about four or five, and he thought it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. The man looked so happy, even though he didn’t smile. 

It was all too real. Like if Bruce put his hand out to touch it, Thomas would come right out of the portrait and kiss him on the cheeks. 

His heart ached at the thought of it. He often found himself wondering what it could have been like is he survived. If both of them survived. 

With a sigh, Bruce turned away from the painting and kept walking. 

He walked and walked until he heard chatter. He had reached the painting room. 

“Oh, god. Alright, Bruce you’re being ridiculous. It’ll be fine. It’ll be just fine.” Bruce mumbled to himself. 

He placed his hand on the doorknob and turned it. He hoped it would’ve been locked, but because Bruce never got he wanted, it made that clicking noise. That “open me” clicking noise. 

Those inside probably heard it, so he pushed the door open and stood at the door frame. 

There were a little over twenty people in the room. And all of them had eyes on Bruce. Some faces he recognized, others he didn’t. But nonetheless, it felt like they were all judging him. 

“Hello.” Bruce said. 

“Bruce! It’s nice to see you. Come join us.” Uncle Edgar, Bruce’s favorite uncle, said as he waved him over. 

As he walked over to them, he heard people whispering about if it was really him and why they had never seen him before. 

Edgar, with a glass in hand, stood up and got everyone’s attention. 

“Everyone! This is my nephew, Bruce. Very beautiful, isn’t he?” 

Bruce chuckled and so did the rest of the room. 

“He is our guest, so make him feel welcome. Enjoy.” 

Edgar sat back down and Bruce sat on a lounge chair a little across from him. 

“How’ve you been, Bruce? You’ve grown so much.” 

“I’m fine, Uncle Edgar. How are you?” 

A butler passed by with tray of champagne, to which Edgar put his hand out for him to stop. 

“A drink, Bruce?” Edgar asked. 

“No thank you. The babies.” 

Edgar took a glass for himself and sat back in his chair. 

“Ah, yes. The babies. How are they?” 

“They’re very healthy. I have pictures.” 

Just as Bruce pulled out his phone, he heard whispers behind him. 

“I mean, I’m glad he’s happy. But a Korean?” 

“He’s Korean? I thought he was Chinese or something?” 

“It’s all the same thing. I would never. I remember Erik had to fight those people in Vietnam. Never came back the same.” 

Bruce clenched his jaw and tried to take deep breaths. 

“I’m disappointed. A Korean, Jesus Christ. I wonder what those children look like.”  

Bruce got up and turned towards the two old crows. He didn’t know them, but he was dripping with an anger that would ensure they knew him once he was done with them. 

“Who the f-” 

Edgar shot up. 

“Bruce. Take a walk with me.” 

Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder and a light jostle that made him turn around. 

“A walk?” Bruce whispered. 

Edgar nodded and gripped Bruce’s shoulder tighter. 

“Please.” 

Bruce looked at the old women with venom in his eyes. He had no qualms with fighting a woman. 

“Bruce.” 

“Fine.” 

Edgar, with a firm grip, escorted Bruce out of the painting room. 

“Who the fuck do they think they are?” Bruce spat once the door was shut. 

“I know. I found myself upset, too.” 

Bruce paced and shook his hands in an attempt to calm himself. 

“This is why, Edgar. This is why I stayed away. They will not disrespect Clark like that. I won’t let them.” 

“I’m on your side, Bruce. I understand. Wendy and I went through the same thing. I am on your side. They’ll never accept him. They won’t.” 

Bruce turned away from Edgar and bit his lip. 

“He’s never done anything to them. My children have never done anything to them. I don’t even know them!” 

“That’s how it works, isn’t it? They have the pleasure of being ignorant and living in a bubble. I’ve learned that there is no point trying to change people’s mindsets. Especially not theirs.” 

Bruce sighed and pressed his forehead against the wall. 

“They have no idea what my family has been through. Dick and Tim have been lucky. Especially Tim. But Jason. Jesus, you have no idea. I don’t tolerate that shit. From anybody.” 

“…I don’t know how to comfort you. Wendy and I never had children. It was hard enough just being together. I understand how hard it is to hear what you heard, especially now. I know how much the comments got under my skin. You should accept that they are never going to change.” 

Bruce sighed away tears. 

“I know. But it still hurts.” 

Just before Edgar could offer some more advice, footsteps echoed from the staircase. Bruce looked up and his heart dropped into the floor. 

“Uncle Edgar, Grandma asked if…oh my god. Bruce?” 

Bruce swallowed and smiled anxiously. 

“Hey, Tommy.” 

Chapter Text

Bruce could see Edgar step back from his peripheral vision. 

Don’t leave me. Don’t walk away. Bruce thought. 

“Bruce?” 

The man squared his shoulders and looked firmly at his older brother. 

“Tommy. It’s nice to see you.” 

Thomas Jr. walked down the steps and rushed at Bruce, his arms open wide. 

“Bruce!” 

Bruce’s heart skipped a beat as Thomas pulled him into a hug and lifted him off the ground. 

“Okay, Thomas. I missed you, too.” 

Bruce allowed himself a small smile for his brother once he put him down. 

“How long has it been? How are you? How are the boys?” 

Thomas was searching Bruce’s eyes for answers. He was like a hyper, unstable dog. 

“Everyone’s fine, Thomas. I’m fine. How are you?” 

“I’m happy to see you. It’s been so long.” 

Bruce looked into Thomas’s eyes and sighed heavily. His pupils were dilated and had a sort of…empty look. His eye bags were dark and deep and reminded Bruce of the sad, manic soul that was synonymous with Thomas Wayne Junior. 

“Thomas?” 

His older brother’s eyes flickered back and forth and twitched, even though his wide smile remained on his face. 

“Yeah? Are you okay?” 

That flinch in Thomas’ face told Bruce everything he needed to know. 

“I’m great! I’ve never felt better! Why?” 

Bruce put his hand on the side of Thomas’ neck and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“I’m worried about you. Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“Bruce, don’t worry about me! I’m fine!” Thomas chuckled nervously. 

Thomas wrapped his hands around Bruce’s arm and tried to pull him upstairs. 

“Thomas.” Edgar warned. 

“Miriam wants to see him! She wants to see you, Bruce!” 

Bruce looked back at Edgar and raised his eyebrows, telling his uncle that he could handle it. 

“Okay. Calm down. I’m going.” 

“Bruce-”

“What time is dinner, Uncle Edgar?” Bruce cut him off. 

Edgar looked between the two brothers and then gazed at Bruce. 

“I’ll ask. You two go upstairs.” 

With one last glance, Bruce turned away from Edgar and allowed himself to be led upstairs by Thomas. 

“She’s been talking about you all day. Bruce this, Bruce that, blah, blah, blah.” Thomas chuckled as they walked down the hallway. 

“Thomas slow down. You’re gonna take my leg off.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry.” 

The two stopped in front of their grandmother’s bedroom. The outside was just as Bruce remembered it; the big mahogany door and impeccably polished gold door knob where little Bruce and Thomas would wait to bombard Miriam with hugs and kisses. 

“It’s okay. Just…Thomas. Remember to breathe and slow down, okay?” 

Thomas face dawned that hollow look for a few seconds. But then, he nodded his head and smiled. 

“Of course. I’m sorry.” 

“Stop apologizing.” 

“Okay. Sorry.” 

Bruce sighed and had to remind himself that Thomas was hurting inside and had been for years. He didn’t have the best luck mentally, neither did Bruce. But Thomas was exponentially worse.

And it wasn’t his fault. 

Thomas opened the door and lightly pushed Bruce in. 

“Grandma! Bruce is here!” 

She looked terrible. She was grieving, so it was to be expected. But, she was dull and not the Miriam Bruce remembered. 

Her hair was down and uncared for, which Bruce had never seen before. She had always been on the smaller side, but now, it looked as if the room had swallowed her up. 

Miriam had on a blue robe which was entirely out of character for her. No one had ever seen her in pajamas much less a robe. 

She could still smile, though. Her teeth were still white. Her face was still beautiful and identical to his father’s. 

“Bruce. My darling. Let me see you.” 

Bruce took careful steps towards her bed, and when he reached her— he got down on his knees and took her hand in his. 

“Hi, Grandma.” 

Miriam ran her fingers over Bruce’s forehead, down his nose and past his lips. 

“My god, you look just like her.” 

Bruce out his head down and closed his eyes. This was getting too overwhelming already. 

“Martha. You look just like your mother. And Thomas looks like your father.” 

Thomas sat down next to Miriam and put his hand on her shoulder. 

“You know you’re grandfather and I hoped that you wouldn't be ugly children.” 

Bruce and Thomas chuckled. 

“And did we fulfill your hope?” 

Miriam put her hands on both their heads and shook them lightly. 

“The opposite. We were blessed with you two. Your grandfather loved you both very much and he talked and talked about you until he took his last breath.” 

Bruce started tear up. He didn’t have the best relationship with his grandfather. His father wouldn’t let him and Thomas see him unless it was necessary. 

“He made so many mistakes raising your father and your aunt and uncles. We lost two of our children and he still didn’t change. But he loved me and he loved you two. He was unforgiving sometimes, but he was a good man.” 

Thomas and Bruce looked at each other. They knew it was her grieving mind that made her ramble. She was in denial of the things their grandfather had done to his children. 

“It was the war. He used to be the sweetest and gentlest man I’ve ever known. But after the war he changed. You can’t blame him.” 

Their grandfather fought some war in the sixties. He came back different, from what Bruce was told.

“Different”, which was just another way of saying he was unhinged. He abused his children, in many ways. 

Their father, the middle child, got the worst of it. Grandfather required perfection across the board: schools, extracurriculars, and at home. 

He was barbaric; he would make their father play piano for hours without breaks, until his fingers cramped and his eyes were desperate for sleep.

Had he missed one note, their grandfather would make him strip down to his underwear and force him to take lashings with a ruler on both wrists until he bled. 

If their father cried, or any other member of the family tried to help, he would be forced against the wall and be hit across the back. 

“You can’t blame him, Bruce. Thomas. He was a good man, boys.” 

Bruce wiped his eyes and tried to force back the oncoming tears. Thomas did the same. 

She had no idea what that had done to their dad. Sometimes, he would shut down and it was the scariest thing Bruce had ever experienced. In those moments, he could almost see the trauma and hurt seeping out of his father’s pores. 

He hurt Thomas once. When Bruce was six and he was eight.

They were at breakfast. Bruce was eating breakfast potatoes at the dining table, his mother was putting together a fruit bowl and humming a soft Italian tune, Alfred was making turkey bacon in the kitchen, and his father was drinking tea at the window. 

It was Thomas’s first day of real school and he came running into the dining room with his uniform askew. He had been too excited to tie his tie properly. 

Their father got upset and grabbed Thomas by his arm and squeezed it too tight. 

His remembered all too well his mother yelling in Italian to let Thomas go. And suddenly, his father seemed to snap out of whatever force had possessed him and he started crying. 

Bruce remembered how he scooped Thomas into his arms and rocked him back and forth, pleading and whispering for forgiveness and how sorry he was. 

Thomas didn’t go to school for another two days after that. 

That’s why Bruce didn’t like hitting. It would inevitably lead to a damaging cycle that could turn the kindest people into the worst kind of people. And not everyone had the self control and self awareness that his father had. Not everyone could break the cycle once it started, as he did. 

“Okay, Grandma. We believe you.” Thomas said, his voice raspy. 

They didn’t believe her, but they wanted her to stop the conversation before it got worse. 

“Yes. Thank you. My sweet boys. He was proud of you. He was proud of your father.” 

No, he wasn’t. And you know that. Bruce thought. 

Before Miriam could go any further, there was a firm knock at the door. 

Bruce cleared his throat and stood on his feet, straightening out his suit. 

“Come in.” 

Augustine stepped up to the doorframe and tipped his head.

“Madame. Masters. Dinner will be served soon. Please wash up and change your clothes.” 

Augustine looked at Miriam and for a moment, he showed the concern of a friend. 

“Madame?” 

“I’m fine. Show the boys to their rooms, please.” 

Augustine stepped aside and put his hand out towards the hallway. 

“Follow me, please.” 

Bruce needed to call Clark. It was 11:00 a.m. in Gotham, so he should be working. 

Bruce walked out of the bathroom, fully washed and dried, and to his bed where his evening attire was laid out: dark grey slacks, a matching blazer and a black turtleneck. 

After moisturizing his skin and spraying some light, sweet smelling cologne, he put his robe back on and plopped back on the bed. 

He was in no mood for dinner with those people. Maybe if he cut all the lights off and locked his door they’d leave him be. 

But that was rude. He couldn’t do that. Also, it would give them more things to gossip about. 

Bruce didn’t go to dinner. He has no manners. 

Or.  

Is that how he does things in his household? No wonder. 

Bruce groaned and curled up on the bed. He reached for his phone and called Clark. 

It rung three times before Clark picked up. 

“Hello?” 

“You normally pick up on ring two. Are you cheating on me?” 

“Haha. Never that, baby. Are you there?” 

Bruce closed his eyes and sighed. He wanted to block out everything else so it could just be him and Clark. 

“Yes. I got here about two hours ago.” 

“Why didn’t you call me?” 

“Because you would have been sleeping.” 

“I would’ve picked up.” 

“It’s okay. You need to sleep.” 

“You sound like you do, too. You okay?” 

Bruce sighed and brought the phone closer. He tried to imagine that Clark was there with him. 

“I’m just not feeling my best. I needed to hear your voice.” 

There was shuffling in the background, and then two squeaks that came from the twins. 

“I needed to hear your voice, too. It’s been a little stressful. The twins have colic and they miss you so much.” 

“Did you fart them?” 

“Yes, I farted them twice. Damian’s isn’t too bad anymore, but John is just…John.” 

“Can I speak to them?” 

“Sure.” 

After some more shuffling, Bruce heard the babies loud and clear. 

“You’re on speaker.”

“Boys? It’s Mommy. Hi.” 

A chorus of happy shrieks and gurgles filled Bruce’s ears and his heart. 

“Yes. I miss you so much. How are you?” 

One loud, deep grunt was his answer. 

“Shit. John pooped. Gimme a second.” 

Bruce chuckled and shook his head. 

“No, no. Go take care of them. I’ll call you back.” 

“No, it’s fine. I can multitask.” 

Another grunt. 

“They both pooped. Fuck.” 

“Calm down. You’ve done this three times before. I’ll call you back. I love you.” 

“Alright. I love you, too. Bye.” 

The phone hung up and Bruce tossed his phone onto a pillow. 

As he dragged his hands over his face he realized he would much prefer poop diapers over awkward, awful Austrian family dinners. 

“Bruce?”, there was a knock at the door, “Are you dressed?” 

“No, Thomas.” 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t want to go.” 

Thomas came in and stood at the doorframe. 

“What do you mean?” 

Bruce sat up and turned his body to face his older brother. 

“I mean I don’t want to go. I don’t want to be around them.” 

“Hard to do. What happened?” 

Bruce remembered those two old crows. 

“People make comments about me and Clark. About our children. I can’t stand it.” 

“Who said it?” 

Tom was getting agitated. Bruce could see it in how he clenched his fists. 

“Doesn’t matter. Forget it.” 

Bruce got up and started to get dressed. 

“We’ll if anyone says anything to you, I’ll hurt them. I promise.” 

“It’s fine, Tommy.” 

Bruce slipped on his pants. 

“No it’s not! It’s fucking not!” 

“Thomas!” Bruce said firmly, “Calm down. It’s okay. Don’t get angry.” His voice went soft. 

“You can’t tell me people are bothering you and then expect me not to say anything.” 

Bruce put on his turtleneck. 

“You’re right. Thank you for trying to defend me, but I’m fine. I can handle it.” 

Bruce finished getting dressed and slipped on his dress shoes. 

“I’m sitting next to you, so if they say anything to you I’ll hear it, alright?” 

Bruce walked over to Thomas and motioned for him to exit. 

“You cut your hair.” Thomas pointed out. 

Bruce nodded and closed the door behind him. 

“Do you like it?” 

“I love it, but why would you cut it?” 

They would judge me if it wasn’t. Bruce thought. 

“I needed something new. It’ll grow back in a few weeks.” 

The two of them made their way to the staircase. Bruce had his head down, but Thomas couldn’t stop staring at his brother’s new hairstyle. 

“I didn’t know your ears were that small.” 

“It’s really not that much of a difference, is it?” Bruce asked. 

He really just cleaned up the back and cut the curls so they weren’t covering his face like usual. It looked cleaner. 

More perfect. 

Because that’s what being a Wayne was all about. 

Hideous perfection. 

Chapter Text

Thomas and Bruce were the first to arrive to the dining table. 

“You would think old people have a good concept of time.” Thomas said as they sat down. 

“Thomas.” Bruce chided, “Fix your tie.” 

Bruce shifted the name card in front of his plate so that it was exactly centered. 

“I saw a liquor store on my way here. Do you wanna get some vodka and take a walk? I can come up with an excuse.” 

Bruce didn’t spare Thomas a glance. 

“Breastfeeding.” Bruce said bluntly. 

“Oh yeah. How’s that?” 

“Don’t you have a wife and a child? You don’t know what breastfeeding is?” 

Bruce hadn’t seen Silver or his nephew in quite some time. He made a note to give them a call when he got back to Gotham. 

“I know what it is, but…never mind.” 

Bruce chuckled and started to twiddle his fingers. 

“How are they?” 

“They’re fine. I took Michael to that speech therapist you recommended. It’s really working, I think. He’s talking so much better now.” 

Michael, who was a little younger than Jason, didn’t speak for a good portion of his early years. Everyone kept saying there was nothing wrong with him, but Bruce thought differently. 

He told Thomas and Silver to send Michael to Dick’s old speech pathologist, whom he needed to help him with a stutter. 

“Silver told me he liked trains the last time we spoke.” 

“He does. But now it’s superheroes and dinosaurs he’s obsessed with. He won’t shut up about them.” 

Bruce’s mouth twitched up into a small smile. 

“Don’t say that. You’ll miss it when he gets older. When Dick was little he would tell me everything I needed to know about forest animals. Jason talks on and on about words and where they come from. Tim likes fish. They do talk a lot, but it’s worth it to me. The conversations change once they’re teenagers, trust me.” 

Sometimes, even though he understood that Dick didn’t mean any harm at all, he wished Dick would tell him everything that was going on. 

They trusted each other completely, but Dick was in his own world and Bruce just had to accept that. 

“I don’t know how you do it. Five kids. Silver and I made the decision to stop at Michael. We’ll get him a dog if he’s lonely.” 

“They want a dog. A big one like Nonna’s. You should visit her, by the way.” 

“We talk.” 

Just as Bruce opened his mouth to reply, people started shuffling in. Some were laughing, others were just trying to get to their seat. 

The table was large enough to fit them all, surprisingly. 

As everyone got settled, Bruce remembered how much he hated these things. Everyone sounded, acted, and dressed so pretentiously. It always put a bad taste in his mouth. 

“You’re the actor I hear so much about.” 

Bruce looked to his left and nodded at the man sitting next to him. He had a round belly and a sharp nose. He had to be in his fifties, maybe older. 

Bruce wasn’t entirely sure if he was an alpha or a beta. His scent was very confusing. 

“Yes I am. I’m Bruce.” 

“I know. I must say, you’re even more beautiful in person.” 

Oh god. Please don’t be one of those. Bruce thought. 

“Thank you. What’s your name?” 

“George. I’m a friend of the family.” 

Ah. That’s why he smelled so different. 

“Oh. Well it’s nice to meet you, George.”

Before Bruce could turn forward, George opened his mouth again. 

“Would you like to take a walk with me once this is over? I know Felix Ghunter, the producer. I can put in a good word for you.” 

“Thank you, but I don’t need any help with my career.” 

George chuckled and leaned in closer. 

“No need to get snappy. I’m just trying to be your friend.” 

“I don’t want friends, sir.” 

“Hey-”

“Bruce, you want to switch with me?” 

Bruce looked at Thomas and nodded. They quickly switched. 

“Hmm. This seat’s more comfortable. Now I can sit right next to…George, right?” 

Bruce couldn’t help the smirk that spread on his face when George recoiled and looses the collar of his shirt nervously. 

“Yes. George. Nice to meet you.” 

“Hmm. I think I’ll sit right here.” 

Thomas put his hand on Bruce’s arm and squeezed it comfortingly. 

“I could handle him.” Bruce whispered so only Thomas would hear. 

“I know. That’s why I asked you to switch with me. You can’t stab him if I’m sitting between you two.” Thomas whispered back. 

“Ha, good looking out. It’s-”

The dining room door opened and everyone arose from their seats. Miriam, dressed impeccably somehow, acknowledged everyone with a nod. 

“Please, sit. You’re my guests.” 

That wasn’t the same woman that was breaking down upstairs. 

Miriam took her seat at the head of the table and sat up straight. 

Bruce could feel the silence. He looked around at everyone and in their eyes he saw a deep hesitation to continue their conversations. Out of respect, maybe? Out of fear that Miriam might explode? 

“You don’t have to stop talking on my account.” Miriam chuckled shakily. 

There was reluctance. A few heads turned towards each other and then back to Miriam. 

She was holding back tears. Bruce could see her cheeks turn red. 

“Please speak. We should enjoy ourselves. Talk to each other, I prefer it.” Miriam said as she dabbed her eyes with her dinner cloth. 

Uncle Edgar put his hand on his mother’s shoulder and lifted his glass of champagne. 

“Please, everyone. Life is for the living! Cheers!” 

Edgar was the glue. He knew how to keep people together and make them enjoy themselves. He was very good at easing tension. 

“Cheers!” People repeated, their glasses raised. 

Suddenly, the table was consumed with chatter again. 

Bruce swore the room got lighter. 

“I feel bad for him sometimes.” 

Bruce looked at Thomas and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“He’s the only sibling left. He’s literally lost everyone.” 

That was true. Their uncle lost his wife, his brothers and sister, his father, and some of his friends. Edgar always had a smile on his face, so no one could tell how lonely he was. 

“I know. It’s sad.” 

The ringing of the dinner bell made Bruce flinch a little. He wasn’t used to it. 

“I thought we could have a hazelnut soup to start.” Miriam announced to the table. But she looked at Thomas and Bruce with a knowing smile. 

Hazelnut soup was Bruce’s favorite kind of soup. Alfred would make it all the time, but he tweaked it and added pieces of pumpkin.  

Him and Thomas would have it for lunch as a treat growing up. 

A line of butlers entered the room and started to place everyone’s soup plates in front of them. 

“Thank you.” Bruce said with a smile when his plate was out down. 

The young butler flinched a little bit. It was as if no one had ever thanked for anything before. 

“Excuse me,” Bruce stopped the young man before he walked away, “what’s your name?” 

From the corner of his eye his saw the women from before gawking at him, as if he had done something wrong. 

“Vincent, sir.” 

Bruce nodded. 

“Vincent. Nice to meet you.” 

“Nice to meet you too, sir.” 

The young man blushed a bit, but quickly turned around and walked away. 

“Little Vince is kind of cute.” Thomas said. 

“You’re married, Thomas.” Bruce laughed. 

“We’re discussing an open relationship.” 

Bruce rolled his eyes playfully and started to eat his soup. 

It was good. But Alfred’s was better. Alfred’s had love in it, this soup was procedural. 

“Alfred’s is better.” Thomas whispered after  he swallowed his spoonful. 

“Exactly.” Bruce whispered back. 

“So, Bruce? What’s kept you away for so long?” 

Bruce looked up from his plate and raised his eyebrows. It was one of the old crows speaking to him. 

“Pardon?” 

The old woman raised her eyebrow back as she wiped her mouth. Surprisingly, her awful red lipstick didn’t wipe off of those crusty, wrinkly lips. 

“What’s kept you away for so long? I don’t recall you ever being at any of the family gatherings before. What’s been keeping you?” 

Bruce felt a tickle of annoyance and rage in his chest. He cleared his throat. 

“Responsibilities.” He responded shortly. 

“Like what? I’m interested.” 

Stop talking. Bruce thought. 

“My family. Work. Those sort of things.” 

Bruce’s soup was getting cold. Or maybe it was him. 

“Your family. You have how many children, exactly?” 

“Five.” 

“Five, already? You’re so young.” 

Bruce knew where she was going, and he wasn’t particularly keen on participating in it. 

“Thank you.” 

“Your eldest son. How old?” 

Bruce swallowed. 

“Seventeen.” 

“So you were a child when you had him? You’re…thirty six if I remember correctly.” 

“I don’t see why that’s important.” Thomas chimed in. 

A few eyes were on them. 

“Thomas. I got it.” Bruce whispered. 

“I got it, too.” Thomas whispered back. 

“I’m just curious. A child taking care of a child with no help.” The old crow said. 

“I had help.” Bruce replied. 

“Oh yes. Your husband.” 

How she said husband made Bruce’s skin crawl. It was spiteful and incredulous. She wanted trouble, that was clear. 

“Yes. My husband.” 

“Miriam?” The old woman called. 

The whole table went silent. 

“Yes, Clara?” 

Clara—the snake bitch—turned in her seat to face Miriam. 

“Did you know Bruce was married?” 

Miriam placed her spoon down and looked at Bruce. He couldn’t read her expression. 

“Yes, I did. Why?” 

“Do you happen to know who he is?”

Bruce wanted to dig a hole and stay there. 

“He’s a fine young man. A writer and a good one at that. He’s won many awards.” 

“A writer? Hmm.” 

Thomas put his hand on top of Bruce’s. He was trying to tell him that their grandmother could handle it from here. 

“Why do you ask?” Miriam questioned. 

“I just think it’s interesting we’ve never met him.” 

“Oh, you have. Many years ago.” 

“I don’t recall.” 

Miriam sat back and folded her hands.

“Of course you don’t. You refused to shake his hand or ask his name. That’s why you don’t recall.” 

Bruce’s heart started racing. Maybe it was from the adrenaline he felt at watching Clara’s face turn red from embarrassment. 

“What?” She sputtered. 

“His name is Clark Kent. Or “The Korean” as you so ignorantly called him. My son told me what you said.” 

Clara started to get flustered. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

“So easy to forget when no one holds you accountable, hmm? If you weren’t my husband’s sister I would’ve sent you on your way by now.” 

Oh. Bruce thought in surprise. She’s my aunt. 

“I didn’t mean any harm. Honestly.” 

“Whether you did or you didn’t. I’ve had enough. I’ve gone through too much and so have those children.”

Miriam gestured to Bruce and Thomas. 

“You have no right to speak on anyone’s marriage or their family. Would you like me to explain why for everyone to hear? Because I can.” 

Clara was at a loss for words. 

“Alright. I’ll keep it simple. You get older but your husband’s lovers get younger and younger. Shall I go on?” 

The whole table gasped.

This was going better than Bruce thought it would. 

“How dare-”

“How dare I? How dare you? This is the last time I’m going to say this to you, as I hate repeating myself. If you don’t have anything important to say, keep your mouth shut. It’ll spare you embarrassment and spare us the suffering of a fool’s antics.” 

“Go, Grandma.” Bruce and Thomas said at the same time. 

“Boys, please.” Miriam stand sternly, even though she spared them a small smirk. 

“Yes, Grandma.” Thomas said. 

“Madame. The second course.” Augustine announced. 

“What perfect timing.” Miriam said as she side eyed Clara. 

The remainder of dinner was quiet. They served Cornish hen, mixed vegetables and potatoes, then a fruit tart for dessert. 

The rest of the family disappeared into their rooms for the remainder of the night, but Bruce, Thomas and Miriam found themselves in the small garden on the side of the house. 

Thomas was smoking a cigarillo dipped in whiskey (an interesting choice, but Bruce didn’t judge), Miriam was reading a book, and Bruce was mindlessly playing with some narcissus bulbs. 

“I didn’t know narcissus bulbs grew here.” 

“They don’t. I pay my gardener handsomely for his fertilizer. Can make anything grow here, he told me.” 

“Hmm. Grandma?” 

“Yes?” 

Bruce sat up and turned towards Miriam. 

“Thank you. For what you did at dinner. It…meant a lot to me.” 

Miriam put her book down. 

“Bruce. I’ve had…so many regrets. So many. There were moments in my life where I wish I would’ve had the gall to say something. Lord knows what I could prevented if I did. I have been complacent for far too long. Eighty five years I’ve been Earth, and only in the past ten years have I spoken up. I’m ashamed and I live with that shame every day.” 

“Grandma-”

“No. I should’ve defended Clark all those years ago. I should’ve defended you. And I don’t want you to forgive me because what I did was unforgivable. I was just as bad as all the others.” 

Bruce didn’t believe that she was bad. She didn’t make the right choices, but she wasn’t bad. 

“I had enough of my own complacency and of everyone’s else’s entitlement. It’s a bad recipe. That’s why I did what I did. And, God forgive me, it felt good. So don’t thank me. I’m your grandmother, it’s what I’m supposed to do. I know that now.” 

Thomas put out his cigarillo. 

“To you truly believe that? Do you feel regret about what Grandfather did to Dad?” 

Miriam shuddered. 

“You know. Upstairs. I think in the moment I was grieving the old him. I grieved the old him when he was alive. I was watcher, which is my opinion, was so much worse than being an abuser.” 

She said it. She actually said it. She wasn’t completely delusional, after all. 

“It damaged him, Grandma. It really did.” Thomas said. 

“I didn’t know how badly it would.” 

Bruce thought of Lex. He thought about how little everyone knew and how much it had killed Bruce inside. 

“When I was with Alexander, I wasn’t a watcher. But I did let it happen. And keep happening.” 

“And we pushed you two being together for so long. I was foolish.” Miriam whispered. 

“You didn’t know what was happening years later. It wasn’t your fault.” 

“I should’ve known. That’s my problem, I never paid attention.” 

Bruce was exhausted; this conversation took a lot out of him. 

“But now you can. You can.” Thomas said. 

Miriam took a breath. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask. If you’ll have me, eventually, may I come and meet my grandchildren? Both of you, may I?” 

Thomas and Bruce looked at each other. They nodded in agreement. 

“Eventually. Yes, I think you can.” Bruce said. 

Miriam smiled. 

“I’ll have Alfred make me some hazelnut soup. I heard you two whispering. You like his better.” 

The boys blushed. 

“I think he’ll like that. Maybe you can bring Augustine and have a competition or something. I think we’d all enjoy that.” Bruce said. 

Miriam looked up at the sky, then she hummed contently. 

“Maybe.” 

Chapter Text

Before Clark and the kids, Bruce was delighted by darkness. 

It offered so many possibilities. But, the best one of all was the silence. It would be right at the peak of midnight that the old manor would go still, every breath would level, and the house would carefully come alive. 

In the smooth, silent darkness, Bruce was on top of the world and walked on air. 

He was the most jovial when he could waltz down the long hallway with music in his ears as he attempted to dance his melancholy away. 

It was his world in the midnight hours. He could laugh and play pretend, and reclaim the childhood that was taken from him. 

Sometimes he missed it. Most of the time he missed it. Reclaiming that dark happiness was always itching in the back of his brain. 

Bruce didn’t know when the shift happened.

Maybe it was when Tim would cry for hours at a time because he hated being alone. 

Possibly, maybe, the boys ruined the darkness for him. 

Bruce sighed and ran his hand down his face. He hated himself for thinking that. 

He blamed Clark a little, too. 

Now, Bruce couldn’t fathom going to sleep without Clark’s sleepy, tender kisses and his hands over his stomach. 

For the past few days, he tried to imitate that feeling. He couldn’t, of course. 

You can’t imitate someone’s touch. 

Bruce touched himself. He finished, but, it was simply mechanical. He needed Clark to make him feel satisfied. 

In the navy lit room, Bruce groaned and rolled over to grab his phone. He winced as the bright light stung his eyes. 

5:00 a.m. his phone read. 

With his phone on his chest, he counted back seven hours in his head. 

Clark should be sleeping. Odds were that he probably wasn’t. He had been working on his new novel non stop for the past six months. 

Bruce flipped through Clark’s notebook while he was cleaning their room a few weeks ago, and the idea his husband had was great. It was something Clark should have been proud of. 

Bruce out the phone to his ear and waited for Clark to pick up. 

After the second ring, he answered. 

“Hello?” His voice was raspy and heavy with weariness. 

“Hey. Did I wake you up?” 

“No.” 

Bruce sat up and pulled the covers over his shoulders. 

“Yes, I did. Go back to sleep.” 

“No, no. I wasn’t sleeping, I promise. I’m working.” 

“It’s late, baby. What are you doing?” 

“I had an idea and I needed to write it down. I ended up sitting here for three hours, though.” 

“Clark…” 

“I know. If I didn’t write it down I was gonna forget it.” 

“What do you have so far?” 

“Nothing, really. A few sketches, some dialogue.” 

Bruce rolled over onto his stomach, the phone still pressed against his ear. 

“Hmm. Are the boys sleeping?” 

“Yeah. We got the colic handled. Tim’s down. Jason’s sleeping right next to me and Dick’s at Wally’s.” 

“How’s Jason feeling?” 

“He’s okay. A few bumps, but he’s fine.”

“Bumps?” 

Bruce, propped up on his elbow, stuck his fingers into his hair. 

“Some anxiety. I put some lavender in the tub to calm him down. He was okay after we ate.” 

“Hmm. Anything else?” 

“No. We’re getting along fine.” 

“And how are you? Honestly.” 

“…I really miss you. It’s making my heart hurt.” 

Bruce turned into his side and curled up in the sheets. 

“Hmm.” 

“I can’t sleep without you. I don’t sleep as well as I could.” 

“Yeah, I’m lucky if I get two to three hours at a time. I’m miserable.” 

“I know, baby.” Clark reassured.

“I miss all of you, Clark.” 

“Well, you can have as much of me as you want when you get back.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yes, I do.” 

They transitioned into a comfortable silence. Bruce listened intently to Clark’s soft breathing and his tiny grunts of frustration as he scribbled with his pen and ripped out pages of his notebook. 

“What’s that saying, ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’? Something like that?” Bruce wondered absentmindedly. 

“It’s ‘absence’. ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder’.” Clark corrected. 

“Hmm.” 

“Why?” 

“Nothing. Just curious.” Bruce sighed. 

Another silence. 

“…Bruce, I have a question.” 

“I might have an answer.” 

Bruce’s ears picked up the soft clack of Clark’s glasses being set on the desk. 

“Did I ever mark you?” 

“What?” 

“Did I ever mark you?” 

Bruce sat up and furrowed his eyebrows. 

“Where did that come from?” 

“I’m just curious.” 

Bruce rubbed the back of his neck and his fingers grazed against the smooth nape. 

“No, you haven’t. Why?” 

“I think I should. It’s been long enough.” 

“You said you didn’t want to do that just in case we separated, or one of us died. We wouldn’t be able to be with other people.” 

“You wanna be with other people?” Clark inquired, his voice suddenly deeper. 

“No. I’m just repeating what you told me.” 

“Did I…hurt your feelings when I told you that?” 

“No. Maybe. Yes, you did. I don’t know—it was so long ago.” 

“I did. I only said it because we weren’t together together at the time.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself. It was a long time ago.” Bruce said softly. 

“Can I be honest?” 

“Yes?” 

“We were off and on so much in the beginning that I really didn’t think we would make it. I didn’t want to do that to you when I wasn’t sure.” 

In the early stages of their relationship, it wasn’t much a relationship at all. Even when Dick was born. They were in love one moment and with other people the next. 

Clark was with other people. 

“You were with other people.” 

“Yeah…yeah, I was.” 

“If I recall, it was red head guy, the brown haired guy, the ugly blond guy, that brown haired girl that I actually liked, and Lois.” 

“Yes. All short lived.” 

“I honestly thought you were going to stay with Lois.” 

“Now why would I stay with Lois?” 

“Why not? She was beautiful, passionate, head strong. Everything anyone could want in a partner.” 

“Everything you are.” 

“I was in love with you the whole time, Kansas.” 

“I was in love with you. I always was. I just didn’t realize it.” 

“What changed?” 

“A very specific moment, actually.” 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. It was after our…third? No. Yeah, our third break from each other. Dick was turning two. He was still so little. I heard you singing to him in the nursery. That little tune you sing when you think no one’s listening. The Italian one.” 

“Yeah. Go on.” 

“I walked in and you were just rocking him, his head was over your shoulder. You were standing in front of the window, and you rubbed your cheek on his head. You looked so peaceful. It kinda felt like I had an epiphany and that’s when I told you I wanted to make it work.” 

Bruce remembered that day exactly. He had put Dick down for a nap and when he turned around, he saw Clark crying in the doorway. 

“You basically begged me to be with you.” Bruce boasted teasingly.

“And I’m grateful everyday that you said yes.” 

“But that’s the story of how we stopped the back and forth thing. What about marking me?” 

“Can we stop using that word? I know I started it, but it sounds so aggressive. It makes me feel like you’re my property or something. That’s not what I want.” 

“What do you want to use instead?” 

“I don’t know. Marrying?” 

Bruce laughed lightly. 

“We’re already married.” 

“Fuck, I don’t know. Just not ‘marking’.” 

“How about we just not call it anything? We’ll still make it special. We can go away for the weekend or something.” 

“I still haven’t gone to Bhutan. I’ve heard it’s very peaceful and the people are nice.” 

“Bhutan. Now that I think about it, I don’t think I’ve been there, either.” 

“But you know what that means, right? If I…do the thing, I can find new partners, but you won’t be able to.” 

Bruce’s heart jumped. That was true. And damn the fact that it was true. 

“I know. It’s not fair.” 

“It’s not. But, you can bite me back if you want to.” 

“It won’t have any effect. It’ll fade away eventually.” 

“That’s true. But it’ll mean something to me. Are you afraid I’m gonna leave you?” 

“Sometimes.” 

“Why?” 

Bruce took a deep breath. 

“I think you’ll get sick of me. I mean, there’s all that world out there. All those people in the world.”  

“And I chose you. So what now?” 

Bruce knew that, of course. And, consciously, he trusted Clark. He just had moments of insecurity, and of weakness. 

“I know-”

“Then stop, baby. I love you and I am committed. I have been for almost fourteen years. I promise you. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“But what if-”

“I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you. I’m sorry, but I’m not letting you go.” 

Bruce huffed a laugh. He felt fuzzy and tingly inside. 

“I feel so insecure sometimes.” Bruce admitted. 

“It’s okay. It happens to the best of us. But I’m here for you. You can’t get rid of me even if you tried.” 

“I can’t believe that I still feel this way.” 

“Insecurity doesn’t go away. It’s normal. It means you care.” 

“I do care. A lot.” 

“Something else is going on that you’re not telling me. What’s wrong?” 

Bruce leaned his head back against the headboard. His stomach started to hurt, like something sticky and warm was working its way up to his throat. 

It felt like getting in the shower on a two day empty stomach. 

“Bruce?” 

“They’re horrible, Clark. These people. I can’t stand it. They make me feel bad.” 

“Baby?” 

Bruce’s breathe started to pick up and his nails dug into the sheets. 

“I just want this to be over. George is sick, those old women-”

“Wait, wait, slow down. Slow down, Bruce. Who’s George?” 

Bruce looked up at the ceiling as tears burned in his eyes. 

“He wouldn’t stop bugging me at dinner. Thomas had to switch seats with me. He wanted to have sex with me, I know he did.” 

“What?” Clark’s voice went deep. 

Bruce didn’t continue. It would make Clark upset if he knew that after dinner George pressed himself against Bruce (deliberately) in passing. 

He let it go because there was no need to make trouble. He had two more days and then he would leave and never have to see George again. It worked out. 

“It’s fine. It’s fine.” 

Bruce was reassuring Clark and himself. 

“But you’re not fine.” 

“I will be fine. It’s two more days.” 

“I can come get you.” 

“I don’t need everybody coming to my fucking aid! I said I’m fine!” 

Where did that come from? Bruce asked himself. 

Clark’s breath hitched over the phone. Bruce automatically felt that pang of guilt in his chest. 

“I’m sorry. I misspoke, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gotten upset at you. Clark?” 

“I’m here.” Clark said comfortingly, “You need to let it out.” 

“There’s nothing to let out. It’s a moment of weakness, that’s all.” 

“You always tell me and the boys that we shouldn’t hold shit in. That we don’t have to be strong all the time, remember? Take your own advice.” 

Take my own advice? When has he ever known me to take my own advice? Bruce thought. 

“Hmm.” 

“Do you want me to come get you?” 

“No. No. I’ll be okay. Don’t worry.” 

“I do worry. I love you.” 

“Don’t be corny.” 

Clark’s laughter made Bruce smile. 

“Me saying ‘I love you’ is corny?” 

“When you say it like that, like you just crawled out of a sad romance movie, then it’s very corny.” 

Bruce looked out of his window. The sun was coming up, which meant that rest of the house would start to rise, too. 

“I won’t say it anymore. Just for you.” 

“Why am I blushing? You’re making me blush.” 

“Because you love me.” 

“Oh god, I’m hanging up.” 

“Okay. I love you, though.” 

“Stop.” 

“Say it back.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“You’re killing me.” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Baby, please.” 

Bruce got up and stretched before the morning sun. 

“Fine. I love you. I love you so much. Goodbye.” 

Even when facing the most uncomfortable darkness, Bruce could bear it because of the guarantee that there was light and love once it was over. 

Chapter Text

Bruce never liked dressing up for breakfast. He thought it was ridiculous. Even when he was a boy he would always question why he had to wear his good sweaters and a tie to eat. His questions were never answered, only met with a pat on the head and a plate of pancakes. 

“Good morning.” 

Bruce scooped some breakfast potatoes onto his plate before he offered a simple smile to his brother. 

“Morning. How did you sleep?” 

Thomas put two pieces of buttered toast on Bruce’s plate, and then on his. 

“Fine. Jam?” 

“Yeah, um-”

“Strawberry. I know.” Thomas said as he spooned the jam on Bruce’s plate. 

“Have you spoken to Silver?” 

Bruce added two salmon cakes to his plate before he picked up his tea and walked over to the dining table. Thomas followed after him with a cup of coffee. 

“No. We’re not speaking.” 

“Why?” 

They sat down. 

“I’m not entirely sure. I think she wants a divorce.” 

Bruce reached over the table and grabbed the small bottle of hot sauce. 

He tapped some over his potatoes and the salmon cakes. 

“Oh?” 

“Yeah. Not too sad about it, though.” 

“Why?” 

The salmon cakes were okay. They could’ve used some salt. 

“I love her, but, we’re on two different wavelengths. She wants to do all of these bizarre things and it’s like she doesn’t care about Michael.” 

“Well, and I know this may not have any impact, but I don’t want you to divorce. None of your friends do either, I bet.” 

Thomas sipped his coffee and rolled his eyes. Not at Bruce, but at the situation.

“Of course they don’t. They don’t know what happens once they leave.”

“Explain.” 

“She just nags about shit all day. That’s what I can’t take. The nagging.” 

Bruce put his hand on Thomas’s shoulder, as the man had started to shake. 

“I understand. Don’t work yourself up.” 

“She’s like a pest in my ear. And I don’t ask her for much either. Asking her to do things with Michael always ends up in a fight.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Thomas shoved a forkful of potatoes into his mouth. 

“She doesn’t want to be with her own son! The son she begged me for, mind you!” 

Bruce did remembered Thomas talking to him about that when Silver was pregnant with Michael. 

Back when Thomas smoked cigarettes non stop. 

“Right.” 

“Now she ignores him. Or I have to force her to be with him. He doesn’t know any better so he loves her regardless.” 

“He’s five.” 

“I know. These are his formative years, Bruce! He needs his mother and she’s just not…she’s not doing anything!” 

Bruce sat back in his chair and folded his hands. 

“Have you tried therapy?” 

“No.” 

“Maybe you should. Works wonders for me and Clark.” 

Thomas scoffed. 

“What do you need to go to therapy for? You guys are perfect.” 

Bruce shook his head and let out a dry laugh. 

“No we’re not.” 

“Yes, you are. You’re Bruce and Clark.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Thomas put down his fork and copied Bruce’s position. 

“You guys are actually in love. Like genuinely. And you’re good people who were lucky enough to have each other. If you guys ended up not working out then the rest of us had no hope. I mean that.” 

That was true. Bruce and Clark were in love, but it took time to create something from it and even more time to understand it and each other. 

“Clark and I went through a rough patch. It happens. It took time for us to get where we are. We had different circumstances than you and Silver do.” 

Thomas sighed. 

“I just don’t think she’s my soulmate.” 

“Hmm.” Bruce hummed in understanding. 

“I say you’re lucky because you got to marry for love. I love Silver, but I think it’s only because of Michael.” 

Bruce hadn’t thought about Thomas’s situation in that way. 

Having love for someone because they gave you a child and actually loving someone regardless were two totally different things. 

Bruce was lucky to have both. 

“I didn’t realize how much that must have affected you.” Bruce admitted. 

“Yeah. You had other things to worry about.” 

“I’m still your brother.” 

Thomas took a long sip of his coffee as Bruce watched. He looked down and saw Thomas’s left hand clenched tightly over his fork. The skin around the piece of metal  was ghost white, but his palm (at least from what Bruce could see) was red. 

His hand shook and the blue veins under Thomas’s hand could have torn through the skin if he squeezed any tighter. 

“I just don’t know what I’m doing.”  

Bruce furrowed his eyebrows in concern and put a hand on Thomas’s arm. 

“You do know. You just need help.” 

“I stopped taking my medication.” Thomas blurted out. 

Bruce sighed and moved his hand to cover Thomas’s. 

“Why?” 

Upon feeling Bruce’s touch, Thomas stopped shaking and his hand released the fork, letting it clatter on the table. 

“I haven’t taken them for months, actually. I felt better and I didn’t need therapy anymore. Might have been a bad idea.” 

Bruce had gone through that, too. In his teens when a deep depression had gotten the better of him. He would feel great, great enough to flush the pills down the toilet and move on with a wide smile. 

But then, he would wake up and not be able to move. He would be trapped inside of his mind. 

He understood what Thomas was going through, which is why it was so hard to watch it happen. 

“Well how do you feel? Right now?” 

“I feel like crying. I feel trapped a little bit.” 

Bruce nodded and released Thomas’s hand. 

“I get it. I do.” 

It wasn’t Thomas’s fault. Bruce could never blame him. 

He took on so much when their parents died so that Bruce wouldn’t have to. 

“Cut yourself some slack.” Bruce advised. 

“Some slack?” 

“Yes.” 

Thomas chuckled dryly and shook his head. 

“I don’t know how to do that. I don’t…” 

“Young masters.” 

Bruce and Thomas looked at the doorway. 

Alfred stood there stiff with his eyes forward. They were different than the warm, inviting and loving eyes Bruce was so used to. 

The eyes he stared into today made chills go down his spine. 

“Good morning, Alfred.” Bruce said. 

Alfred gave a short nod. 

Bruce didn’t take it personally. 

“Your family is waiting for you in the painting room.” 

“Do you think this is about the will?” 

“Probably.” 

“This couldn’t be an email?” 

“I guess not. I feel like it’s a trap.”

“Boys. Please.” Miriam demanded. 

Thomas and Bruce looked at the head of the table and nodded in sync. 

“Thank you. Mr. Mead, please continue.” 

Mr. Mead, Grandfather’s attorney, cleared his throat and continued to read. 

“Edgar, you receive a quarter of this estate, your mother has the rest. Mrs. Wayne you get all of the shares from Wayne Enterprises’s European division. Edgar, you receive shares from Asia, specifically Japan, China and the Phillipines.” 

Mr. Mead wiped his sweaty face with a cloth, then adjusted his circular glasses. 

“Bruce.” 

Bruce looked up from his lap, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

He wasn’t expecting to get anything. 

“Yes, sir?” 

“You will assume ownership of Wayne Enterprises’s US division and will split the shares with Thomas, who now runs Wayne Tech in Argentina.” 

Thomas and Bruce looked at each in shock and disbelief, and then back to Mr. Mead. 

“What?!” They said simultaneously. Although Thomas sounded more defensive and angry. 

“Boys.” Miriam warned. 

“No, that’s doesn’t make any sense. Why would he give it to me?” Bruce asked. 

“Bruce, we’ll talk about this later.” Miriam said, trying to get them to move on. 

“No, that’s not fair! I run the US division, don’t put me in Argentina!” Thomas complained. 

“Thomas, enough.” Miriam said sternly, her fist clenched on the table. 

“I don’t want it! Give it back to Thomas!” Bruce exclaimed. 

The brothers jumped when Miriam slammed her fist down on the table. 

“I said that’s enough!” She scolded, “Both of you, stay quiet until you’re spoken to!” 

Bruce and Thomas knew better than to debate with her after an order, so they closed their mouths and looked away. 

Bruce’s heart raced. He felt like he was sitting in a tingling, heavy, bubble of annoyance and anxiety that couldn’t be expelled. 

Mr. Mead cleared his throat again. 

“As I said, Bruce will take ownership of and run the US division, Thomas is in Argentina. That’s all. You each have your copy, so I will take my leave. You can now discuss this amongst yourselves. Have a good morning.” 

The room was uncomfortably silent. Only the shuffles of Mead’s paper and the clicking of his briefcase cut through the thick air. 

“Good day.” Mead nodded before he left the room. 

“I don’t want to argue with you. I’ll say that now.” Miriam said as she raised her hand up, “Your grandfather came to this decision carefully.” 

“I have five kids and a husband, Grandma! I don’t have time to run a company! Having the foundation is hard enough! Thomas is more than capable of doing this!” Bruce exclaimed. 

“And Edgar’s been running Argentina for years! Why stop now?” Thomas added. 

“Bruce, your grandfather thought it was time for you to take your place in this family. I agree.” 

“I have a place! And I’m fine with it! I can’t afford a change like this right now!” 

Miriam sighed and fixed her posture, placing her hands on her lap. 

“Quite frankly, your grandfather, nor does anyone else trust Thomas enough to continue to run the US division.” 

Bruce looked at Thomas, who was pale in the face and sweating. 

“What are you…talking about? You don’t trust me?” 

He sounded hurt, like a child that just got yelled at by their parent. 

“Your mental health, Thomas. We don’t trust your mental health.” 

Bruce shook his head. 

“That’s not fair.” He whispered. 

“My mental health? I’m fine! I’ve been fine and Wayne Enterprises is fine!” 

Miriam looked away from Thomas and shook her head. 

“There have been complaints. Across the board about your out bursts. You’re yelling at secretaries, threatening your staff. We can’t have that.” 

“That’s not true. Whoever said that is lying. I never…” 

Bruce felt a pain flare up in his heart. It felt like pity, like embarrassment. 

“A quarter of your staff are lying? Silver’s lying?” 

“I yelled a few times, nothing serious. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle it!” 

Miriam turned her head sharply to Thomas. 

“You are not well. You go up and down and you’re inconsistent! It doesn’t look good for the family.” 

The family. Interesting. Bruce thought. 

“The family? What about the family?” Thomas questioned. 

“Your grandfather is dead.” Miriam’s voice shook a bit, “He’s dead. That means we have to do everything in our power to make sure those people out there don’t question us. So they don’t question our strength.” 

“What do you mean?” Bruce asked. 

“There are people that won’t wait two seconds before tearing us apart and taking the company for themselves. We have to show them that we cannot be, ever. And if that means taking you out of power then so be it. Bruce is more stable, he’ll be good. People like him.” 

Bruce couldn’t look at Thomas. But he felt Thomas’s eyes burning a hole into the size of his head. 

“Grandmother. I do not have the capacity to do this right now. My family needs me and I will not take away more time from them. I can’t.” 

“Your mother’s influence.” 

“What?” Bruce’s voice dropped. 

“She wanted to be hands on, too. Put that idea in your father’s head. He shirked responsibilities to this family as well. We paid the price.” 

Bruce’s fist clenched and he jaw shifted. 

“I’m not shirking anything. My family comes first and I will raise my children how I always have. This wasn’t my responsibility. I didn’t ask-”

“This isn’t about what you want.” Edgar said, finally speaking up. 

“Edgar?” Thomas asked in disbelief. 

“There is something called duty. You boys, while you have a made a way for yourselves, have no idea what that entails. Now you will. I know it’s not fair, but in order to keep this family together, you must do as you are told and respect your grandfather’s wishes. That’s the end of it.” 

Thomas shot up in his chair. 

“This is bullshit! This family is bullshit! I have tried so hard to do what you ask of me. I am married to someone you chose because it was good for the ‘family’. Now we’re both miserable.” 

“Misery doesn’t last. I know that better than anyone. Bruce knows that better than anyone.” Miriam explained. 

“If you’re trying to use what happened between Lex and I to justify this…” Bruce warned. 

“I’m not. But if marrying someone is the worst of your problems, Thomas, then I think that Bruce taking over was the best decision your grandfather has ever made.” 

Thomas scoffed and stormed out the room. Bruce flinched when the door slammed. 

“Bruce. You understand. You must.” Miriam pleaded. 

“I don’t. Thomas can do this. He has done it for-”

“Your brother is a fool!” 

Edgar’s voice startled both Bruce and Miriam. He was never one for yelling, so it shook the room once he did it. 

“We can’t keep track of him! He’s erratic and you know it!” 

“He just needs help!” Bruce cried back. 

“How much more help are we going to give him?! Huh?!” 

“You didn’t help him. You tossed him aside the moment he got out of line! He has tried so hard to win you over! I’ll admit, he hasn’t always done the right things, but neither have you. You don’t care about how he feels! About how any of us feel! We have no family! You did that! You did!” 

Bruce’s heavy breaths mixed with Edgar’s. Miriam looked wide eyed between the two of them. 

“Our parents died in front of us! Thomas had to keep it together because you told him to! It’s your fault he’s like this! Grandmother! All of this was your doing! Why do you think I left?! Why do you think my father left?! You and Grandfather have torn us apart and Thomas and I have tried to forgive you! It’s a good thing he’s dead! Now he can’t fuck anybody else up!” 

Suddenly, there was a blistering sting on Bruce’s cheek. His back teeth trembled and skin twitched. 

His hand moved up to touch the spot and he hissed softly as it stung. 

Bruce’s heart was beating out of his chest and he didn’t know why he had started crying. 

“You forced my hand, Bruce. Don’t you ever speak of this family that way. I have been good to you and your family, even if it went against my own beliefs. I let you choose your own path, even if I thought it was wrong. I have defended you. So you will not betray me or your grandfather by speaking this way. Now get out of my sight.” Miriam said eeringly calm. 

A tear slipped down Bruce’s cheek as he turned to look at Miriam. 

“You…” 

“Don’t look me in my eye. You should be ashamed of yourself. Go.” 

Bruce looked at Edgar, who looked away. 

“Yes, Grandmother.” Bruce submitted quietly. 

His eyes stayed glued to the floor as he left the room and walked up stairs. 

Bruce hadn’t gotten up from his bed since he got there. It was half past five at that point. 

He wanted to call Clark. But his body couldn’t move. 

She had actually slapped him. It felt like a dream, but the red bruise on his face proved otherwise. 

And Edgar. He just sat there and let her do it. 

Bruce felt so embarrassed, so ill. 

He pulled the covers closer and curled his legs up to his chest. 

On his way up, he had passed Thomas. They argued. Well, Thomas argued. Bruce tried to get away but Thomas pushed him against the wall and yelled at him some more. 

He told him he hated him and that Bruce took everything from him. 

Thomas probably would have thrown Bruce down the stairs if Augustine hadn’t walked by. 

Bruce made a decision on that step. He was going to leave and never come back. He was going to cut all ties from them. 

He would only keep his last name for his father. 

“Master Bruce?” 

“No.” 

He forgot Alfred was there. 

“…Bruce.” 

“Yes.” 

It was just them, so Alfred could be a father now. 

“Let me see your face.” 

“No.” 

Footsteps came from behind and circled around the bed. 

“I need to know if it needs ice.”

Bruce only covered his face. 

The bed dipped and through the covers, Bruce felt a hand on his shoulder. 

“It doesn’t. I just want to sleep.” 

“No. Don’t do that to me. Let me see, son.” 

That made Bruce cry. ‘Son’. The only ounce of comfort heard for the time he was here. 

“Alfred.” Bruce sobbed as he got up and fell into Alfred’s arms. 

“Shh. I know.” Alfred soothed as he rubbed his son’s back. 

“I wanna go home! I can’t stay here!” 

“We’re going home. We are, my son.” 

Bruce clutched Alfred as tight he could and cried into his shoulder. 

“I wanna go now!” 

“I knew this would happen. I’ve packed your bag. You just need to get dressed. A car is coming to take us.” 

“I just wanna leave! I don’t want to speak to any of them!” 

“Shh. I’ve got you. I’m here.” 

Bruce meant what he said. 

No good byes. 

They got on the plane and Alfred nursed Bruce’s cheek with ice and ointment he carried around. 

The butler held Bruce’s hand as he slept and kept his head on his lap the whole time. 

Whenever Bruce stirred, Alfred would shush him and run his fingers through his hair until he settled. 

Alfred wasn’t a father this weekend. At least not anything up to his standard. 

He would repent to God. He would make it up to Bruce. 

Alfred would spoil and heal the child, rod be damned.