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Sometimes human places, create inhuman monsters.
Stephen King, The Shining
Between October 31 and November 1, the boundary between the human and supernatural worlds thinned, allowing them to cross.
Centuries ago, the Celts called this recurrence Samhain, and like many Celtic holidays, it was celebrated on several levels: materially it was the time of gathering and storing food for the long winter months.
Spiritually speaking, the party was a time of danger. It was the day that didn't exist.
During the night the great shield of Scáthach was lowered, removing the barriers between worlds and allowing the forces of chaos to invade the realms of order and the world of the dead to make contact with that of the living.
The dead could have returned to the places they frequented while they were alive, and joyful celebrations were held in their honor.
If you were lucky. Not all spirits or creatures came into the human world with benevolent intent. Many wanted to torment humans for the sake of seeing them suffer.
That's why Bruce existed, to keep things in order, and to prevent the supernatural from disrupting the mortal world.
He had been doing his job for centuries, helped also by his children, and sometimes by others like him.
It wasn't easy, but major crises had always been dealt with with the least amount of damage and casualties.
His children knew how important balance between worlds was, and he trusted that they could do their job even without him.
(Checking every now and then didn't hurt, though.)
He had taught them well.
Because of this, he went a long time without speaking when he found Jason with a child.
A human child.
"Jason?"
"Hey there, old man. I have a surprise for you," the werewolf greeted him cheerfully, his eyes glowing yellow.
The kid gripped the fabric of Jason's pants, and looked at Bruce curiously.
It was interesting. Grown men ran away crying at the mere sight of Bruce.
This child, on the other hand, showed no signs of fear.
Bruce also noticed several scratches on his arms, and a bruise on his neck that he was trying hard to hide.
He didn't like to think about the implication of those bruises.
"Jason, son, why is there a human child with you?" he asked, trying to keep his nerve. The vampire had lost count of his years, but Jason and Dick somehow managed to make him feel them all.
"Duh, isn't it obvious? I'm kidnapping him."
"What?!"
"Hey, it's for a good purpose!" Jason tried to defend himself, as if it were enough to justify a blatant violation of the laws of their world.
"Jason, it's against our rules!" Bruce reminded him.
"It's also against the rules for a vampire to adopt a werewolf, but here we are."
"It was different. You didn't have a pack."
"I chose my pack," the teenager retorted.
"Unfortunately, for reasons I still don't understand, I chose you and Dickhead."
Bruce felt his cold undead heart warm. It always felt like this to him to hear Jason talk like that.
They had their differences - they were literally two different species, which by nature should not have coexisted, let alone live as a family.- but Jason remained his son.
Son who wanted to take a human child with him into their world. Bruce had to try to make him reason.
"Jason, it's different. The human mind doesn't react well to our world."
Unfortunately, there had been cases in which humans had had contact with the supernatural.
They almost always went mad, unable to cope with what they had seen. If this happened to an adult, what could have happened to a child's mind?
The werewolf made an amused sound, "Exactly, the human mind doesn't react well."
Horror crossed the vampire's face, "Did you bite him?!"
Transforming someone was a very serious act, a return to ancient barbarism.
Only the wildest creature ignored all decency and did what they wanted. The consequences for Jason would be severe.
(Bruce had no doubt he would protect him at any cost.)
Fortunately, Jason denied, "Relax, old man. I didn't bite him. Tim here is special."
"What do you mean?"
He teased, "Didn't you notice? A vampire's sense of smell isn't as good as a wolf's, is it?"
"Jason..."
The teen finally replied, "He is a half demon, old man."
If he were a weaker man, Bruce would pass out. But since he was used to everything Jason and Dick (and sometimes Barbara) threw at him, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Half blood kids weren't uncommon, the demon race was naturally prone to lust and to tempt anything that walked on two legs.
He knew very well, Talia was a demon after all. Their relationship had been wild, at best. He still was surprised that he survived with all limbs attached.
He looked more closely at Tim, looking for signs. He found none. It wasn't a real surprise: those might never appear, considering his human blood.
Bruce had noticed that the kid had barely jumped when Jason revealed it, a sign that he already knew or had just found out.
He didn't know what was preferable.
"Where did you find a half demon?"
Jason clenched his jaw, " I was scouting the area near his home, as there had been many pixie sightings, and I saved him."
"Who attacked him?"
"The sack of shit that calls himself his father."
He closed his eyes. Not one of the monsters he was used to.
Bruce reopened them, and felt an anger equal to that of Jason, "His own father?"
"Yeah, the asshole is lucky I left him alive," the yellow in Jason's eyes deepened. He had always hated those who hurt children.
"He can't keep it in his pants and takes it out on his son."
Jason put a hand on the child's shoulder, "He is ours now. Deal with it."
Werewolf instincts were something of the dark to many. Something deep inside Jason had seen a battered child and decided that yes, that would be his puppy.
It didn't matter that Jason barely knew him. The kid belonged to him, the wolf knew.
Well, who was Bruce to counter his son instinct?