Chapter Text
When Bruce became Batman, it was a decision powered by anger and grief. As the years rolled on, he liked to think his motivations were a bit more pure. Less emotional. He wasn’t that lost kid anymore, raging at the world and thinking he could force it to change, if only he were strong enough.
Sometimes he could still hear the O-Sensei’s words echoing in his head. A warning to know his limits, to recognize an impossible or endless task. Sisyphus, pushing a boulder up the mountain forever.
Or just Bruce, seventeen and punching a hot stone until dawn.
"No matter what you do, evil remains."
Maybe he couldn’t save the world, maybe he couldn’t even save Gotham. But he would keep saving each person in it that he could, until the distant day came that he couldn’t.
Of course, when he resigned himself to that mission… this was not necessarily what he’d had in mind.
The children were only ten years old. With reddened knuckles and scuffed shoes they dealt blow after blow to the grown men surrounding them. A few bodies littered the asphalt, clutching their bruised ribs or dislocated wrists.
Batman had rescued kids from gangs before. He’d rarely had to rescue a gang from kids.
He swept down from the rooftop, cape catching on the autumn air and carrying him down into the alleyway. He caught the arm of a man about to strike with a broken beer bottle, pushing him back into his peers.
“They started it!” The man gestured at the children with the bottle. “We weren’t doing nothing, the brats came and asked for a fight!”
“I know.” Batman stood up to his full height and watched the men shrink back. “Leave.”
No one needed to be told twice.
Bruce watched them leave before taking a bracing breath, and turning around. Two rugged youths in ripped jeans and silk bomber jackets glowered up at him. The boy’s was red and embroidered with a golden dragon; the girl’s yellow and bearing a crimson phoenix.
“Now why’d you gotta do that, Uncle B?” Jason swiped grime from his jaw with the back of his hand. “We had ‘em.”
It often bore remembering that there were, in essence, two Jasons. There was quiet, bookish Jason, who loved classic plays and period dramas and would very politely ask Bruce to explain how different parts of an engine worked. Then there was smart-mouthed Gothamite Jason, with his hot temper and quicker fists, who could out-curse a sailor and only ever yielded to his sister and mother.
Cassandra spat a wad of blood onto the pavement. “Now we gotta find them again.”
Cass was less emotional than her brother, but even harder to control. While Jason wore his heart on his sleeve, Cassandra was inscrutable, unpredictable and aloof. More stubborn than a mule with a rebellious streak a mile wide, she was even known to disobey her mother. Her stare alone was known unnerve grown adults, and she didn't seem to blink enough for human comfort.
“You will not. We’ve talked about this. You can’t keep picking fights.”
“Says you, you big fat hypocrite,” Jason said. “Those guys are scum. They’ve been harassin’ the working girls and shaking down anyone who passes through.”
The Phoenix-Dragon Twins — who were not twins at all, but born so close together it was easy to regard them as such — never wore masks, never tried to hide their identities. Why would they? Their mother was Lady Shiva, queenpin of Chinatown, and she certainly never bothered with such things.
“Then that is a matter for the authorities.”
“Cops are scum, too,” Cassandra said, arms folded over her chest. “They tried to get mama to pay ‘em off, like the old bosses used to.”
“Gang is a gang,” Jason said. “Some gangs just have badges.”
Bruce sighed. “Then it’s a matter for me to deal with. You should be home.”
“Mama doesn’t care,” Cassandra said. “We’re getting strong, like she told us to.”
“Yeah, so what’re you gonna to do about it? Mama says you couldn’t beat her in a fight if you had a billion, trillion years.”
As if Bruce needed reminding.
“Ah,” he said. “But your mother isn’t here now, is she?”
Such was how Batman wound up with two errant, screeching children slung over his shoulder and under his arm, kicking and flailing as he carried them to the Batmobile.
Robin was perched on the hood, arms folded and brow raised at the display.
“Adventures in babysitting?”
Bruce grunted in response as the car door slid open, allowing him to deposit the struggling Wusan children inside.
“You continue with patrol. I need to stop by Chinatown.”
“Yeah, because criticizing Lady Shiva’s parenting is sure to go well,” Dick said wryly. “Not as if you have a leg to stand on.”
“This is the third time this month I’ve had to intervene. What happens when the next group they pick a fight with has guns? Shiva’s reputation will only protect them to a certain extent. They are ten years old. It’s unacceptable.”
“I know that. But maybe don’t be so hard on them?” Dick shrugged. “They’re young and think they’re invincible, and they just want to help. I wasn’t much older than them when I got started.”
You’re still not much older than them, was exactly what Bruce shouldn’t say. Dick was only sixteen, but lately he’d gotten more and more defensive about his independence. Bruce kept telling himself it was only a rebellious phase, but it was getting worse by the day.
“Their actions are less motivated by heroism, and more by Shiva encouraging them to hone their skills on every available challenger. We should be grateful they’re more discerning in their targets than she is.” At least the kids limited themselves to ‘deserving’ victims, a constraint their mother never had. “But sooner rather than later, they’re going to bite off more than they can chew.”
“Fine.” Dick stood up, grappler in hand. “Say hi to Auntie Sandra for me. Hopefully she’ll send you home in one piece.”
There had been something of an awkward chapter when Sandra Wusan first came to Gotham. Bruce had received her as an old friend, because that was what they were. He’d heard rumors about Lady Shiva: the merciless wanderer who scoured the earth for worthy teachers and opponents, often leaving a trail of bodies in her wake.
It was difficult to reconcile that image with the stoic, but amicable girl he’d roomed with at the temple. In a time when Bruce had thought himself alone in the world, the O-Sensei had provided safe harbor; given him a place amongst the other lost and troubled teens under his tutelage. A strange pseudofamily had taken shape there, and that would always mean something.
Shiva must have agreed. She chose Gotham because Bruce was there, and because the city embodied the exact sort of lawless chaos that she thrived in. She quickly established a home and a foundation of power in Chinatown, subjugating the local gangs and bringing them under her rule. She hadn’t known Bruce was Batman then, and he told himself that someday he’d work up to defeating her — a frankly distant dream. Complicating matters was the fact that she had been pregnant at the time.
Over a decade later, Bruce had indefinitely shelved (albeit not officially relinquished) the endeavor. Shiva now knew he was Batman, and they both knew he still couldn’t beat her. Her fearsome reputation had also given her absolute control over the district, which ironically rendered it safer than it had been in years.
“You don’t fight fair, Uncle,” Cass complained from the backseat.
“Neither do you.”
“Yeah, but we’re tiny. Mama says that you need to use people’s expectations against them,” Jason said. “And no one expects it when I dropkick into their larynx.”
“He didn’t stick the landing,” Cass said. “But it still looked cool.”
Bruce grumbled in response. He could hardly hold the twins accountable for how they’d turned out.
Cassandra had been born in some den of the Assassin’s League, her father none other than David Cain. Her intended fate was to be some inhumane experiment, deprived of language or literacy or social contact. Nothing more than a gun for Ra’s al Ghul to point at his enemies. Whatever deal Shiva and Cain had made, she’d gone back on it soon after Jason’s birth. It didn’t stop Cain from showing up intermittently over the years, an event that was never welcome.
Meanwhile, Jason was a meager eight months Cassandra’s junior. His initial prognosis hadn’t been promising, as two pregnancies so close together guaranteed complications. At the time, Shiva had been flippant about the ordeal, describing her plans to give birth in a back-alley clinic near Park Row. It was run by a woman who was, for lack of a better term, the criminal counterpart to Leslie Thompkins. Sheila Haywood was the on-call doctor for half of the city’s underworld. Her clinic was managed by her boyfriend, an honest-to-god henchman for Two Face.
Bruce had nearly had an aneurysm at the idea, promptly throwing as much money and connections at the pregnancy as he could (in hindsight, that had probably been Shiva’s intended outcome). To the rotation of doctors and nurses, Shiva would ever only ask one question.
“Will he always be weak?”
Bruce knew her well enough to hear the fearful message beneath her callous words: Will caring for this child break my heart? After Carolyn, Shiva proclaimed a strict policy against loving things weaker than herself. Which was to say, pretty much everything.
Months of appointments, careful observation and innumerable tests later, Jason was born prematurely, underweight and frail — but alive. Once it was clear he’d survive infancy and Shiva decided to commit to motherhood after all, she doubled down on it by retrieving Cassandra. By that point, Bruce was already too invested.
He had watched the children grow up, and for as much as he didn’t approve of their lifestyle or their mother’s philosophy, he couldn’t help but care for them. Even Shiva, who should by all rights be his foe, would never be only that. Bruce was emotionally compromised, and there was no easy solution for it.
Shiva’s fight club was located in the heart of Chinatown, in a secret lower level beneath its most high-end restaurant. They went in through the back entrance, sparing Bruce the indignity of walking through the lobby in full Batman kit. A certain quality of the suit got lost when it was seen in a brightly lit public space.
They managed to arrive between fights, just as the assembled crowd was refilling their drinks. Shiva sat atop her unfairly imposing throne, looking faintly bored. Upon their entry, an immediate hush fell across the room.
“Mama!” Jason and Cassandra ran across the arena, heedless of the fresh bloodstains decorating the floor. They clambered up the steps to curl at the base of her golden seat. “We got to ride in the Batmobile!”
“I can see that,” Shiva said, her aloof gaze passing over him. “Have my children been causing you trouble, Batman?”
He glowered in response. “We need to talk, Shiva.”
Her lip twitched in amusement. “That tone might work on the rabble you usually deal with. You know better than to throw your weight around with me, don’t you?”
Bruce stood his ground. “This is the third time I’ve had to pull your kids out of a street fight with grown adults. Something’s going to give.”
“They’re learning their limits,” Shiva said dismissively. “It’s important for them to fight a diversity of opponents. To gain firsthand experience without a safety net.”
“What is fighting street thugs going to prove?” Bruce asked. “What will it prove if Jason or Cassandra gets shot one night?”
Shiva fixed him with an inscrutable look. “If their training is of such interest to you, be my guest.”
Bruce stiffened. “I don’t have time to babysit your children, Shiva.”
“Apparently you do.” Shiva shrugged before turning away from him in dismissal. “It makes no difference to me. You only seem so concerned.”
Bruce’s gaze flitted over to the kids, who were watching with keen interest.
“... Just keep them off the streets.”
With that, he swept from the room.
Richard had never been much of a city person. The crowds and the noise had a way of setting his nerves perpetually on edge. It was enough to make him yearn for the wild mountains of the Himalayas all over again.
And Gotham was… well, it was a special kind of city.
The Wayne name was emblazoned on every other building, on glowing billboards and on errant newspapers that fluttered past on the street. It was always something to see — Bruce, the sullen kid who once stayed up ’til sunrise punching stone, who always ate the mat when it came time to spar, was king of the mountain out in the “real” world.
It’d been a few years since Richard found himself in this part of the world, but Gotham was a city permanently fixed in a strange, anachronistic place in time.
The cab’s exhaust backfired loudly when it pulled in, the beat-up vehicle thoroughly out of place in the driveway of the Wayne estate. Richard cast a bemused eye over the stone sculptures that marked the front garden, leading the way to a house that itself seemed to be half mansion, half castle.
It made one wonder if Bruce’s flair for the dramatic was an inherited trait.
The front door was opening before Richard even got the chance to ring the bell. Light spilled from the entrance hall and out onto the front steps.
“Mr. Drakunovski. What a pleasant surprise.”
Alfred also seemed to be suspended in time; the man looked a little older and a little more tired around the eyes, but his manner was exactly as Richard remembered from his last visit.
“You’ve gotta be the only one alive who calls me that,” Richard said, stepping in and out of the chill. “How’ve you been, Alfred?”
“Busy as ever, sir.”
“I’ll bet. Never a dull moment out here, is there?”
There was a heavy thud from somewhere deeper in the manor.
“I can’t believe you!” Echoed down the stairs.
“Alas, no.” Alfred’s expression was unchanging.
Richard frowned in the direction of the muffled argument. “Did I come at a bad time?”
“As you said sir, there is never a dull moment. These days, any time is much the same as the next. Coat?”
“Uh, sure.” Richard handed off his jacket, mostly because he felt like he’d be breaching some sort of Alfred Etiquette if he didn’t. His upbringing under the O-Sensei meant it was his impulse to remove his shoes as well, but American houses weren’t always clear about that one. “I brought you tea.”
His upbringing had also taught him to always visit bearing gifts.
“That’s very kind of you,” Alfred said, eyes crinkling at the corners in the way that usually meant pleasure. “I’ll prepare a pot at once. Have you already had dinner?”
“I ate on the way over, it’s fine.”
Alfred leveled him with a skeptical look. “As you say, sir.”
Richard loitered in the entrance hall, gaze passing over the various portraits lining the walls. The day Bruce arrived at the temple, Richard hadn’t even known who the Wayne family was. Ben had, and never fully understood why a boy who had everything would leave it all behind. It wasn’t like Bruce was especially inclined for heart to hearts about it, either.
Richard’s deliberation was interrupted by a teenage boy storming down the grand staircase with a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
“I’m going to the penthouse,” the boy announced, angrily fumbling his keys. “I’m not dealing with him. He can call me when he’s ready to stop being an—”
He stopped in his tracks, taking notice of Richard standing awkwardly in the threshold.
“Uncle Richard?”
When Richard last visited, Dick had been a plucky eleven year old boy bursting with energy. Bruce had just started teaching him martial arts as an outlet, and the kid was a natural (Richard hadn’t said so, but Dick actually had a stronger affinity for it than Bruce had back in the day).
“Dick? I almost didn’t recognize you,” Richard said. “Last time I was here, you barely came up to my hip.”
Dick’s dour mood appeared to instantly lift, a wide smile overtaking his face as he pulled Richard into a hug.
“Yeah, it’s been a while. Man, so much has happened since you were here,” he said. “I’ve got my own team now! I’ve been all over the world, helping so many more people – but you probably know what that’s like. How’s the whole Man of Mystery thing going?”
“I’m on a break, actually,” Richard said. “Love to tell you all about it. Are you going somewhere?”
Dick looked at the bag in his hand with a scowl. “I… yeah, I was gonna step out for a bit. Bruce has been a big pain lately. And a hypocrite! He was basically my age when he left his whole life behind to live in a monastery, and now he wants to crawl up my ass about college? I mean, did you go to college?”
“Ah…” Richard could feel Bruce’s disapproval already, and the man didn’t even know he was here yet. “Well, no –”
“Right! And look how you turned out! Look at all the people you’ve helped!” Richard had never seen Dick this worked up. “I don’t need to go to college to live the life I want.”
“I’m sure he just wants what’s best for you,” Richard said nervously.
“I know what’s best for me! He’s just a control freak who can’t trust me or accept that it’s my life!”
Richard didn’t know what to say. When Dick was a child, he’d looked at Bruce like the man hung the moon and the stars. He’d been glued to Bruce’s side like a cheerful little lampet.
“Dick, I don’t know what’s going on with Bruce,” Richard said. “But if there’s one thing I do know, it’s that he absolutely trusts you. More than he’s ever trusted anyone.”
Dick’s expression remained skeptical. Richard sighed.
“Look, you’re right about him being a control freak. I had to pull Ben off of him more than once when we were working together. He’s overbearing and the worst communicator I’ve ever known,” Richard said, relieved to see Dick crack a smile. “But it wasn’t because he didn’t trust us, you know? It’s because he cares. And when Bruce cares about something, he gets paranoid about losing it. About all the things that could go wrong.”
“I guess…” Dick huffed. “But he’s still an ass.”
“Yes, he is.” Richard clapped Dick on the shoulder. “I’d love to catch up, if you’re sticking around.”
Dick frowned, fingers fussing with the strap of his bag. “One more day wouldn’t hurt. I’d never miss the chance to spar with you. I’ve come a long way since I was a kid, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it. Bruce in his study?”
“Yeah, he’s all yours.” Dick motioned up the stairs. “Good luck.”
Bruce was not, in fact, in his study by the time Richard got there. Fortunately, Richard still remembered how to open the secret passageway behind the clock.
The temperature dropped as he descended the long, curving staircase down into the caverns beneath Wayne Manor. While the house had stayed frozen in time for the past five years, the cave was almost completely transformed. It featured innumerable vehicles and advanced equipment, along with a much wider collection of absurd trophies. Amidst it all, Bruce was sitting at a massive console, still dressed in casual clothes.
“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”
Bruce barely spared him a look over his shoulder. “Richard.”
“You don’t seem surprised to see me.”
“I saw you on the security cameras.”
“Ah,” Richard pulled himself up a chair, lounging back against the terminal.
“Is there an emergency? Something you need?”
“There doesn’t have to be a reason to visit, does there? I’m between missions at the moment, and it’s been a while. I stopped by to see Ben in Detroit last week.”
“How is he?”
“Good. You should see him, surrounded by all those kids at his dojo. It’s adorable.”
Bruce hummed in response, still fixated on the screen in front of him. He was shuffling through traffic cameras and other city surveillance.
“Speaking of kids, I saw Dick on the way here. He seemed pretty upset.”
Bruce glanced at Richard from the corner of his eye. “We had a misunderstanding.”
“I’m sure. Growing up is never easy for anybody. You would know.”
Bruce sighed heavily. “It is good to see you, Richard. Now just isn’t the best time. Between Dick acting out, and Harvey out of Arkham again, plus Sandra’s kids distracting me at every turn–”
“Sorry, what?” Richard nearly slid right off his chair. “Sandra, she… what?”
Had he misheard? Did they know another Sandra?
Bruce fully looked at him. “You didn’t know.”
“No! I mean, I… I’ve bumped into her a few times over the years. At tournaments or dojos… and she never mentioned kids.”
“Well, I suppose it’s not too surprising. When has Shiva ever talked about her personal life unprompted?”
“Right…” Richard cleared his throat. “So, um… is the father…?”
“Neither of them are in the picture.”
“Ah.”
Richard was ashamed by the rush of relief he felt. Of course it wasn’t a good thing for children to grow up without a father. He was still reeling from the idea of Shiva being a mother at all. She’d just never seemed the type to want a family, and she certainly wasn’t the type to do something she didn’t want to do.
“And her kids are hassling you?”
“By proxy, yes.” Bruce paused. “Actually, maybe you could be of some help while you’re here. Shiva’s trying to ‘diversify’ their training. I don’t have the time to commit, but perhaps…?”
“Oh. Well, if you think Sandra would be alright with it.”
“I don’t see why not. The two of you were always close.”
Richard felt heat rising up his neck. “You think so?”
“When we were kids, you were the only one she’d admit to respecting. She’ll be thrilled to have you training them. But Richard,” Bruce turned to him, face grim. “Shiva’s not that girl anymore. You know that, don’t you?”
“Of course. She’s never been the same since Carolyn died.” Through their sporadic encounters over the years, Richard knew that Shiva had thrown herself into her craft. Traveling, training, fighting for sport. She’d always been brutal, but loss had made her almost nihilistic.
“The O-Sensei’s passing didn’t help matters. Shiva’s settled into Gotham, and is a bit more stable these days,” Bruce said. “But she hasn’t exactly turned over a new leaf. She’s completely dominated crime in Chinatown. Those kids are more likely than not to follow her down a life of crime, themselves.”
“So the Batman’s between a rock and a hard place, huh?”
“I can’t defeat her as an adversary, and I don’t want to. But I might still be able to help her, and those kids, as a friend.” Bruce sighed. “You always saw the best in her. I just don’t want you to have unrealistic expectations when you meet her again.”
Sometimes Richard had to wonder if Bruce really never knew. At the time, he thought that he and Shiva had been subtle, but according to Ben the opposite had been true. Could it have really slipped the notice of the World’s Greatest Detective?
Richard fixed a smile on his face. “Don’t worry, Bruce. I know better than to set expectations on Sandra.”
When the kids arrived the next morning, Richard found himself anxious for reasons he couldn’t explain.
He had seen Shiva about a year prior, spectating a tournament in Bristol. There had never been any pressure in their encounters, nor mourning when they parted ways. Richard believed, deep down, that he and Shiva would always drift back into each other’s orbit. Time and time again, they would find each other without even trying.
Now, apparently Shiva had planted roots. She had a family. Something Richard had never even dared fantasize about for some distant, idyllic future. Why hadn’t she told him? Did she think he would lose interest? Did she think his life was too unstable to account for children? As a queenpin she didn’t have much room to talk… she should have known that if she wanted a family, he’d give up the agency and the missions in a heartbeat to make one with her.
At the sound of the doorbell, Richard practically flew down the stairs. Alfred gave him a very pointed look on his way to answer the door.
Sandra Wusan looked much the same as she did a year ago, but everytime Richard saw her felt like the first.
She was wearing a black trench coat with red lining, hair loose at her shoulders. She had a hand on each child at her side: a girl with the same pin-straight hair and jawline as her mother, but a button nose and softer features; and a boy with dark curls and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He had much the same coloring as Shiva, with the notable exception of sea-blue eyes.
“Ah, Richard. You’re already here,” Shiva squeezed her children’s shoulders. “Cassandra, Jason. This is Richard Dragon. He is an old friend.”
“Hello Mr. Dragon,” the kids recited, the picture of youthful innocence.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Richard said, feeling unmoored.
“Will you be staying as well, Ms. Wusan?” Alfred asked, holding the door open for the children.
“Not today. I have other matters to attend to.” She set her gaze on the kids. “I trust you will honor me in my absence.”
“Yes, mama.”
Shiva straightened and looked back at Richard. “I’m sure we’ll have our chance to catch up, Richard. We often do.”
He nodded mutely, watching as she turned and departed without further ceremony. The instant the door was shut behind her, the children’s body language shifted drastically.
“Can we have snacks?” Cassandra asked, tugging at Alfred’s sleeve. “French toast.”
“French toast is not a snack, Miss Cassandra.”
“But I want it.”
“I want to go down into the cave,” Jason said, rocking on the balls of his feet. “Are we gonna spar? Mama says you’re almost as good as her.”
“Did she?” Richard felt his brow rise. “You know, I’ve gotten the better of your mom more than once.”
“Yeah, but she says you’re soft. You hold yourself back.”
“A true warrior should know when to strike, and when to exercise restraint,” Richard said, finding himself distracted by the particular shade of blue in the boy’s eyes.
Jason snorted. “You sound like Uncle Bruce. He’s always saying stuff like that.”
“Have you ever killed a man, Alfred?” Cassandra asked, practically hanging off the man’s arm.
“Is that a story you want to hear, or would you rather I fetch you your snacks?”
“Snacks!”
“Very well. In the meantime, Master Bruce is waiting for you downstairs, when you’re ready.” Alfred extracted himself from the young girl’s grip with a nod.
“Let’s go, let’s go!” Jason impatiently pulled Richard in the direction of one of the cave’s many secret entrances. “I wanna fight someone that isn’t Cass. She bit me last time.”
“You let your guard down.”
The kids were wearing matching sukajan jackets, one bearing a phoenix and the other a dragon.
“Are you twins?” Richard asked. Phoenix-Dragon twins were a good omen in Chinese culture, but Bruce had mentioned they had different fathers.
“Nah, but we’re basically the same age so–”
“I’m older,” Cassandra cut in. “Eight months.”
Jason swatted her. “Yeah, yeah, give it a rest.”
“I wanted to trade, but mama said no,” Cassandra continued. “She says the girl is the phoenix and the boy is the dragon, and Jason is a dragon’s son anyway. But that’s dumb. I’m the eldest and I should be the dragon if I want.”
“I don’t mind swapping.” Jason shrugged. “Birds are cooler than snakes, anyway.”
“Are not!”
The children continued to banter all the way down into the cave, but Richard barely heard it. White noise was suddenly deafening in his ears.
“Uncle Bruuuuce!”
Bruce liked Shiva’s kids. He really did. The fact that his blood pressure rose at the sound of their voices didn’t detract from that.
“Uncle Bruce!”
Two thumps against his chair, and suddenly he was swimming in nosy ten year olds.
“What are you doing? Are you solving a crime?”
“I want to see!”
It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kids, or even love them. It was the fact that not only did their presence make it impossible to get work done, but their lack of presence was just as concerning. Whenever Jason and Cassandra were out of sight, trouble was soon to follow.
“Hello, children.” Bruce plucked Jason out of his lap, and detached Cassandra from her perch atop the back of his chair.
Richard was crossing the cave, clearly having been left behind.
“Sorry about that. They got away from me.”
“Arkham itself couldn’t hold them on a good day,” Bruce said.
In the corner of his eye, he could see Dick hovering at the fringes. Bruce noted with both relief, and some bitterness that Richard’s presence could draw the sulking teen from his room.
Jason was still trying to get his paws on the Batcomputer. To do what, Bruce had no idea.
“Is it like Sherlock Holmes? I wanna learn.”
“When you’re older.”
“Whaaat, that’s no fair!”
“Come on, Jason.” Dick took the opportunity to step in and grasp the boy’s hand. “Why don’t you come spar with us?”
Jason immediately brightened. “I’m gonna knock you into next week.”
While Dick led the children to the sparring mats, Richard lingered behind.
“Hey, Bruce?” He shifted awkwardly, hands fluttering at his sides. “Um… how old are the kids, exactly?”
“Cassandra will be eleven in January, Jason in August,” Bruce said automatically.
“Ah. Okay. And, uh, do you know who the fathers are?”
“Cassandra’s father is David Cain. He sired her as part of some experiment for the League of Shadows,” Bruce said. “He’s tried to take her back on and off over the years, but Shiva won’t have it.”
“And Jason?”
Bruce took a thoughtful sip of his coffee. “I don’t actually know who Jason’s father is. It’s almost definitely not Cain, but after the situation with him I was frankly afraid to ask.”
Given Shiva’s inclinations, it could well be another assassin. Or worse.
“Mr. Dragon, are you coming?” Jason called.
“Maybe he’s scared,” Cassandra said in a stage whisper.
The pair of them had teamed up on poor Dick, but he weathered the double tackling with ironclad patience. Meanwhile, Richard seemed to be actively sweating despite the cool air of the cave.
“Are you alright?”
“Sure. That is… well…” Richard glanced back at the kids. “Bruce, there are some things that I never actually told you. I mean, not that there was much to tell. See, Sandra and I –”
“Mister Draaaagon,” The twins were shouting in unison now, each of them swinging from one of Dick’s arms.
“If you don’t hurry up, we’re just gonna have to kill Dick.”
Dick choked. “I’m sorry?”
“To prove that we’re serious,” Cassandra said with a nod.
“I should… we can talk later.” Richard visibly collected his wits, a placid mask slipping into place.
Bruce watched him go, mug still in hand. He took another drink. After a moment’s thought, he pulled out his phone and dialed Ben’s number.
It rang twice before picking up.
“What’s the problem, White Rice? City on fire?”
Bruce frowned. “That’s a rather unkind assumption.”
“Yeah, yeah. Because you’re known for making social calls,” Ben said. “Is Richard okay? I know he was on his way to you.”
“Richard’s fine. Actually, I have a question. You’d known Shiva and Richard for a while before I showed up, right?”
“Sure. Sandra and Carolyn were the O-Sensei’s goddaughters, and Richard turned up on our doorstep a few years before you did.”
“So you would know if Shiva and Richard were ever… involved?” Bruce asked. “Intimately?”
A long pause.
“You being serious right now?”
Bruce’s frown deepened. “I’m always serious.”
The burst of laughter was so loud and so sudden that Bruce actually had to hold his phone at arm’s length.
“Ben…”
“That’s– ha, oh I can’t believe—” Ben seemed to be actively fighting for air. Bruce could hear the telltale thud of a heavy hand slapping a table. “World’s Greatest Detective, Christ on a cracker–”
Bruce started counting the seconds, but the duration of Ben’s breakdown rivaled any case of Joker’s laughing gas he’d ever seen.
“Thank you for the information.” He ended the call.
Bruce looked back at the mats, where Richard was walking Dick through the usage of escrima sticks as the twins watched. He took a long drag of his coffee, savoring the calm before the storm.
This complicated things.