Chapter Text
Bruce looked up from the paperwork on his desk to his ringing cell phone. His personal cell phone. Precious few people had that number. He checked the caller ID before answering.
"Dr. Thompkins, this is a surprise, is there a problem?" He didn't think so. The last donation to her clinic had cleared days ago, maybe something was wrong with one of his kids.
"Bruce, nothing is wrong, or… well." She paused. He never knew Leslie to be anything other than straightforward, so this was unusual. "You know most of the fosters and group homes in the city use my clinic for the kids, right?"
"Yes." He should, it was because of the Thomas Wayne foundation that they were able to afford medical care for the foster kids in the city.
"Well, I'm worried about one of the kids. He's been in my clinic twice since the start of the month. Apparently, he's been getting into fights."
It was only two weeks into the month, which was concerning, but… "I'm not seeing where I come in." He said, flipping through a financial report.
"He's in a group home, and they have a 'three strike' policy. If he gets into another fight, he's going to be sent to a detention facility."
"Hmm. Sounds like he needs to stop getting into fights."
"That's what I told him the first time, but there he was the next week, nose broken again. He's a smart kid, Bruce, he's in Gotham Academy on an academic scholarship. He doesn't deserve to go to juvy, and you are still an active foster parent."
"Leslie, I'm not looking to take in another child right now. I have my hands full with Damian, and Tim is staying here full time again."
"That's why you're the best choice. He needs a placement, someone with a firm hand, and you have experience raising headstrong children."
"I don't know."
"Could you at least meet him before you decide?"
"Alright." He said with a sigh "I'll meet him."
"Thanks, Bruce, I'll have his social worker contact you."
"I don't understand why I had to miss school for this," Danny said, slumping down in the plastic chair. They were supposed to be taking a test in Physics today, and now he was going to have to make it up to meet with a potential foster.
"Sit up straight, Danny. Your potential foster father is a busy man, so we had to work with his schedule." Danny rolled his eyes. A busy foster, great. That usually meant their foster kids took care of the house while they were out 'working'.
"I don't need a foster, Shannon." He'd rather go to juvy than another foster placement.
"Just meet him, please, and keep an open mind." Shannon checked her watch. He wasn't sure if the man was running late, or if she was just nervous. Probably nervous, though, if the incessant clicking of her pen was any indication.
At exactly half past noon the door to the day room opened and a tall, well-built man walked in, being led by a worker. "Shannon, Mr. Wayne is here." Mr. Wayne gave the worker a brilliant smile and thanked her for showing him in before turning that smile onto Shannon. Danny slumped further into the chair, glaring at Mr. Wayne.
He knew who the man was. Of course, he did, how could he not? Everything he had came from the man. The group home he was living in was funded by a Wayne charity, his scholarship, his doctor visits, and even his school lunches were paid for by the Wayne foundation. The man had infinitely deep pockets, and he gave to so many charities, and he was huge. Not just tall, standing a head and a half taller than Shannon and her impractical heels but built like he spends half his time in a gym. The man was bigger than a billionaire had any reason to be.
"You must be Danny." He said, turning that smile onto the teen, ignoring his surly look, and holding out his hand. Danny took it, and couldn't help but notice the calluses on the man's knuckles and palms. Similar to his own, like a fighter. "I'm Bruce Wayne."
"I know who you are." He said, dropping the man's hand and turning back to Shannon. "Can I go back to my room?"
"Danny! You're being rude." Shannon said, dropping her pen in shock. Danny caught it before it hit the ground and handed it back to her.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wayne, thank you for coming all the way down here to meet me. Sorry, you wasted a trip, though. I'm not looking for a foster at this time." He said, giving his own blinding fake smile.
"That's not really your decision, is it?" Mr. Wayne asked, catching Danny off guard.
"What?" Danny asked, sitting up straight for the first time.
"You're fifteen, sixteen maybe? You don't need to give permission to be moved to a new home."
"You can't do that. He can't do that, Shannon."
"He's right, Danny. You're still underaged, so you have to go where the state tells you to go. If Mr. Wayne agrees to foster you, you'll have to go with him."
Danny glanced incredulously between the two adults, everything in him wanting to whine about how unfair that was, but that wouldn’t get him anything. Instead, he settled for a scowl.
"How about a trial period? We'll do a thirty-day placement, and if you would rather be here after, I'll drop you off myself. Does that sound fair?" Mr. Wayne said as if he were some diplomat trying to find a compromise.
Anger flared in Danny's chest. "Whether or not it sounds fair is irrelevant, isn't it? You've already made it clear where you stand on my permission."
Pink colored Mr. Wayne's cheeks, but his face stayed irritatingly passive. "Why don't you go pack, then."
"You'll take him? That's wonderful, I'll get the paperwork started." Danny held Mr. Wayne's eyes for a few more seconds before the man broke eye contact to speak to Shannon. Only then did Danny stand up, being sure to make as much noise as possible just to be annoying. Thirty days? Does he think he's going to last for thirty days? His longest placement was two weeks. Mr. Wayne would be no different.
The first thing he did when he got to his room, or the room where he stayed with three other boys, was take his knives out of the wall. One good thing about being able to turn intangible is how easy it is to hide things. No one thinks to check inside the walls. He stuck one in his front pocket, one in his back pocket, and one in the hidden pocket he had sewn into the inside of his hoodie. Then he set about packing his things. He didn't have that much stuff, in fact, all of his belongings fit into his backpack along with his school books. The last thing he did was fish his sketchbook out from where he had stashed it under the floorboards under his bed.
Once everything he owned was safely tucked away in the bag on his back he headed back down to the day room. Mr. Wayne was signing paperwork at the table when he stomped back in. He glanced up and his eyes landed on the backpack hanging off his shoulder.
"Do you have everything?" He asked. Danny shrugged, he had everything important. "Alright, I’ll finish this paperwork, then we can get going."
Danny nodded and sat back down in his chair across from Mr. Wayne. The only sound was the steady ticking of the clock on the wall and Mr. Wayne's pen scratching his signature every now and again as he read through the paperwork. Once he had signed everything he needed to sign and handed the paperwork back to Shannon they headed out to the parking lot.
"I'm parked this way." He said, gesturing toward a black Tesla in the parking lot. "Would you like to put your bag in the trunk?"
"I'll keep it with me if it's all the same to you." You only have to make the mistake of getting separated from your belongings once.
"Alright, if that's what you want." Danny could feel his anger rising again. Since when did anyone care what he wanted? Mr. Wayne opened the passenger side door for him, and Danny waited until he stepped away to get in, shutting the door behind him. Mr. Wayne climbed into the driver's side and Danny was struck again by just how big the man was. Was he a bodybuilder, or something? Seriously.
Mr. Wayne waited until they were out on the road before speaking again. "Have you eaten lunch yet, are you hungry?" He asked, drumming on the steering wheel as he waited for a light to change.
"No."
"No, you haven't eaten lunch, or no, you aren't hungry?"
"No to both. I haven't eaten lunch, and I'm not hungry."
"Did you have a big breakfast?"
"I skipped breakfast."
"So you haven't eaten anything all day." Danny could hear the displeasure in the man's voice, but he just shrugged in indifference. Mr. Wayne reached over and Danny tracked his hand warily, but the man only hit a few buttons on his car's display, calling a number labeled "Alfred." The sound of a call ringing out filled the cab before a man with a British accent picked up.
"Pennyworth speaking, how may I help you." Danny wrinkled his nose at the man's formality.
"Alfred, I'm bringing home a guest. Could you fix something substantial for lunch? And prepare a room in the family wing, please."
"Of course, Master Bruce. Are there any requests or restrictions I should be aware of?"
"Danny?" Mr. Wayne asked, obviously waiting for him to answer the question.
"No."
Mr. Wayne's eyebrows furrowed just a bit before smoothing back out. "Danny has a peanut allergy." Danny scowled out the window as Mr. Wayne finished his conversation. Silence fell as they made their way out of the city.
“How’d you know about my allergy?” Danny asked after a while.
“Shannon told me.” Mr. Wayne said.
“So why’d you ask if you already knew the answer?”
“Why did you lie?”
Danny scowled at that and turned back to the window without answering. Mr. Wayne sighed.
"I wanted to give you an opportunity to speak for yourself." He said after a few minutes of silent driving. “And to see what you said.”
"So it was a test?" He asked. Mr. Wayne nodded slightly, not taking his eyes off the road. "Guess I failed, then."
"No, it's not a pass/fail. I just want to know what happened in your past that made you feel the need to lie about something as serious as an allergy."
Danny didn't say anything to that, the man was starting to sound like Jazz. Thankfully he didn't say anything else for the rest of the ride. It wasn't until they were parked in the garage of the (frankly ridiculously sized mansion) that Mr. Wayne said anything.
"I'm going to need you to give me your knives."
Danny blinked. "I don't know what you're talking about." He pulled on the door handle, but it wouldn't budge. Locked. Of course, it was, and stupid expensive cars apparently don’t have lock buttons on the passenger side. He swallowed down his apprehension and turned toward Mr. Wayne.
"I know you have at least three on your person. You will have no need for weapons in my home, so I need you to give them to me."
He's heard that before, but what choice did he have at this point? He was stuck in the car with a man who was twice his size and built like an MMA fighter. Unless he wanted to use his powers there was only one way out. Danny sighed and handed over the knives in his pants pockets.
"And the one in your jacket." He scowled but handed it over too. "And any you may have in your backpack." There was only one in his backpack, and it had saved his life more than once. He really didn't want to give it up.
"I don't have any in my backpack."
"Don't lie to me about this, I don't want to go through your things, but I will if I have to," Danny grumbled, but dug into his bag for the Swiss Army Knife and handed it over to Mr. Wayne. "Is that all?"
"Yes, sir."
"You don't have to call me sir, you can call me Bruce."
“Is that an order?” Danny really didn’t want to get too familiar with a man who was a practical stranger.
“No, of course not.”
“Then I’ll call you sir, Mr. Wayne.”
Mr. Wayne sighed but finally unlocked the car door. Danny pushed the door open a little faster than was strictly necessary, stumbling a little in his haste to get out of the enclosed space. Mr. Wayne gave him a funny look but didn't mention it, instead, he led him across the garage, past more fancy cars than a car show, and up into the house. He was led down a short corridor and into a kitchen, where a plate of chicken salad sandwiches was set on the counter.
"Alfred, we're home," Bruce called when he didn't immediately see the man in the kitchen.
"Welcome home, Master Bruce, Master Daniel." The man said, stepping out of what must be a pantry. "I'm afraid we only have plain crisps, I hope that's alright." He said, setting the bag on the counter. It took Danny a second longer than he would have liked to realize that Alfred was asking him.
"Yes, sir. Plain chips are fine."
"You don't have to call me sir." He said, giving Danny a warm smile, which Danny didn't return.
"Alfred, I'll take lunch in my study, if you don't mind." Mr. Wayne said, before turning to Danny. "Alfred will help get you settled in after lunch."
"Right."
Mr. Wayne hesitated, like he wanted to say something, instead he parroted Danny's "right." And headed out of the kitchen.
Once he was gone Danny felt some tension leave his shoulders.
"Are you quite alright, Master Daniel?"
"Danny." He said quietly.
"I'm sorry?"
"It's just Danny, not Daniel."
"I apologize, Master Danny, thank you for telling me. Would you like to have lunch here in the kitchen, or the dining room?"
"Here is fine, sir," Danny said, popping up onto a barstool.
"Just Alfred will do, thank you." The man said, setting a plate with two chicken salad sandwiches, some fruit salad, and a good amount of chips in front of him. "Feel free to tuck in, I'm just going to bring this up to Master Bruce." He said, loading down a tray with an identical meal.
Danny didn't need to be told twice, taking a bite of his sandwich. It was the best sandwich he'd had in a long time, years maybe. Bruce Wayne may be an ass, but if Alfred cooks like this all the time, this placement may not be the worst he'd ever had.