Archive of Our Own

No amount of blame could be placed on Bruce for this.

Fine, he could accept that he was partial to the absolute disaster that was the Among Us game the Justice League played last week. He hadn’t been in his right mind. Constant sleep deprivation and sudden drops from high-stress, high-adrenaline environments can do that to a man. He can accept that.

But when his children learned of what had transpired on that dreaded day, they all came to hound him at the manor. Even if Tim had been living at the Titans tower; even if Jason had been avoiding him the past three weeks; even if Damian had gone to Dick’s place, the two of them decidedly ignoring him in Bludhaven.

No, no matter what they had currently been doing, no matter where they were, it didn’t matter: his children cornered him in his room and demanded they be allowed to play Among Us in the Watchtower like the Justice League did.

Jason even pulled the dead-child card.

Bruce dared anyone to try and say no to the faces of his children, pleading to please, B, we haven’t had time to relax in a while? And please, dad, for once? And–

Okay, Bruce would like to make this clear: he is not weak to his kids. He knew how to parent. He’d done this like– fifteen times.

But the moment the word dad left their lips, Bruce completely blanked out.

One moment, he had been facing the onslaught of four different children’s puppy-dog eyes, the next moment, he was standing in the Watchtower as League members and batkids alike put on their space suits and chose from a newly-made array of accessories.

He could not, for the life of him, recall anything that had transpired in the time in between. He certainly did not remember making Dick a blue holographic space suit. He couldn’t recall if Tim’s bi-flag-colored party hat had been his doing or Tim’s. And he certainly had not endorsed a real steel katana cosmetic.

“Damian, put that down.”

“But Father—“

“No.”

Bruce massaged his forehead. Regardless of the circumstances that led him here, he was surely, steadfastly, assuredly sure that he must be standing in the ninth circle of hell.

When had he even called the Justice League for this?

Diana and Dinah were by the cosmetics box, trying out the various accessories Bruce had painstakingly copied, piece by piece, from the original.

Oliver was looking at Jason’s airsoft guns – which Bruce knew he didn’t endorse, he was going to confiscate that as soon as possible – seemingly miffed that a bow and quiver hadn’t been added to the cosmetics.

J’onn was talking with Tim, but they were too far away for Bruce to hear– and he did not want to find out. And Clark…

“Hey, B,” Clark greeted, beaming brightly like he’d just seen the light of his life, or something as ridiculously sappy as something like that. Bruce fought the urge to shield his eyes from the brightness.

Fine, maybe this wasn’t hell. Purgatory, at least.

“Clark,” he acknowledged stiffly. Bruce still wasn’t entirely sure how to act– they were in the Watchtower, but they weren’t in for duty. The code name rule sat silently inside Schrodinger's box.

Clark had no such qualms. “I’m really glad you decided to allow this to happen again, Bruce. Even if it’s only for your kids. It was a really helpful de-stressor last time– everyone’s been talking about how much more relaxed they’ve felt since the game.”

Bruce grunted. He most certainly was not any less stressed since the game. In fact, he could confidently declare that his stress had instead compounded since last time.

“I think everyone’s working a little better together, too,” Clark continued. “It’s a shame Shayera and the others can’t join us this time, so we’ll have to enjoy it two-fold for them.”

Bruce grunted again. It was certainly not a shame, and he was thankful that, for once, not everyone in the League would be able to see him with his children. Not because he was scared of being soft or anything like that, of course. It was for their own safety. Game night with the kids was a life-or-death situation he was certain the League would not be able to handle.

Someone end this misery, he thought, miserably.

He sighed and slid his helmet on.

“Let’s just get this over with,” he growled, and the rest of the players gathered around the League table.

Game 1

“Wait.” Bruce held up a hand and turned to look at Jason. “You know what I’m going to say, Jay.”

Jason rolled his eyes and twirled the airsoft pistols around. “Relax, old man. They’re fake. And even if they were loaded– which they’re not,” he added quickly, upon realizing that Bruce may actually revoke his game-playing privileges, “They’d be the foam ones that came with the pack.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes.

“... Fine.”

Game 1 (for real)

The moment roles were out, a loud beep emitted from Bruce’s comm. He looked down at the blue figure flashing through the screen: Dick had used his button to call a meeting.

In the most egregious use of the Watchtower’s teleporter technology yet, everyone was automatically transported into the meeting room. Like everything else about his kids leading up to this horrid, horrid situation, Bruce could not remember when, exactly, he had made that upgrade.

Dick raised his hand to silence the quiet murmurs of amazement. “I have something very important to say, so you should all listen to me carefully.”

He paused, looking towards each player with a grave expression on his face. (Ever the showman, Bruce thought, and even this terrible game could do nothing to dampen his pride.)

“It is necessary that we all do as I say, understand?” Dick raised his voting console and laid it on the table before them.

“Vote Bruce out,” he said calmly. “If he’s a crewmate, he’s the most likely to catch the imposters. And if he’s an imposter, he’ll con all of us. It benefits everyone to vote him out first.”

Jason slammed his vote button without another word. Dinah, apparently still carrying a grudge from the first – and should have been last – game they played, immediately followed it up.

Bruce looked down at his console. Then up at the members around the table.

Jason, wearing a bright red spacesuit, one hand on his airsoft gun. Dinah in glitter-bombed purple. Dick in his shiny holographic blue.

What is my life? He wondered, and pressed vote.

To the surprise of absolutely no one, except maybe Clark, Bruce spent the rest of the game in the breakroom-turned-dead players’ room. Bruce wasn’t sure whether to feel flattered or irritated that everyone, sans the boy scout, had voted for him.

Although he would really rather not have to play this ridiculous game, Bruce also disliked losing– it was probably a trait necessary for superheroes, he thought, as he watched the group scramble to restrain Jason and Oliver from physically assaulting each other after the latter had been outed as an imposter. For venting in broad daylight, of all things. Really, Ollie.

Damian made a good attempt at a 1v6, but in the end, was caught as well. He very subtly (read: loudly) blamed Oliver for the loss, and Dick quickly pressed the New Game button, narrowly avoiding another altercation.

Game 2

Apparently deciding that Bruce hadn’t had enough misery yet, Dick changed his approach and didn’t call another meeting at the start of the game to have Bruce voted out. Bruce wasn’t sure if it was because his eldest felt sorry for the last game, or if he’d just wanted to try a different playstyle. Probably both.

It didn’t matter, though, because immediately after two bodies were found, Diana and Oliver sussed him out for absolutely no coherent reason besides ‘He wasn’t seen all round!’ and ‘He was moving weirdly!’ and seriously, was he going to have to open the basic investigation course again, Oliver you fu–

Bruce felt no pity when Tim and J’onn won in a complete imposter sweep.

Game 3

As soon as he went to do his first task, Jason popped out of a vent and killed him.

Bruce sighed, and settled back into his couch. It was practically his second home now.

Game 4

“Alright, alright, it was funny the first few times, but let’s all agree to keep Bruce alive until at least the final five this game, okay?” Dick looked over at his dad pityingly. He had used his emergency button once more to call a meeting.

Jason looked mildly aggrieved at this prospect, but Damian nodded sagely, crossing his arms with a grin. “Worry not, Father! Although you have been taken advantage of these last three games, as long as I am here to protect you, you will definitely live to the end!”

Clark gave Bruce a small smile from across the table. “That’s right, B. I hope you'll have fun and play the game to the end, this time.”

“I’m the one who’ll protect Father, don’t be mistaken, Kent!” Damian glared at the alien.

Clark raised his arms in surrender. “Of course, Dami. You’re the one best suited for the job!”

Damian narrowed his eyes and considered Clark carefully. Finally, he turned away with a hmph. “Don’t patronize me, I knew that already!”

Bruce wondered whether he should interrupt the little comedy skit playing out in front of him. Despite his insistence, or perhaps because of it, absolutely no one bothered with the code name rule anymore. Not even Clark.

Bruce massaged his forehead and sighed.

“There’s no need for protection, but thank you, Damian. Just let things play out as they will. What will happen, will happen, alright?”

Oliver snickered into his hand. “Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t give the imposters a green light like that, Spooky.”

Bruce shot him a glare. “And maybe you should learn how to spend your time better than with Jordan.”

Oliver spluttered and Bruce turned back to the meeting table. “If that’s all, let’s end this meeting and get back to the game.”

Everyone pressed their skip buttons, and the meeting ended comfortably for the first time in three games.

Bruce blinked.

“Clark.”

“Bruce.”

Clark smiled his hundred-watt smile and Bruce wondered idly if the Watchtower windows were facing the sun.

“I didn’t expect to see you in Medbay.”

Clark shrugged sheepishly. “I’m surprised to see you here, too. I thought you’d be with Dami– ah, Green.”

Bruce sighed. “It’s fine, just call use their names. And he went with Dick. I want him to enjoy the game, and he might not be able to focus on that if he’s with me.”

Clark smiled again, and really, why did this boy scout have to keep smiling in his vicinity?

Bruce narrowed his eyes. “You didn’t use your powers to see where I was, did you?”

“B! Of course not!” Clark gasped, scandalized. “You already know I wouldn’t do that… Is meeting me here that terrible?”

The despondent expression on Clark’s face reminded Bruce of a sulking golden retriever, with drooping ears and a tucked-in tail.

What the hell am I thinking about? Bruce shook his head and pointed to the scanner.

“Since we’re both here, we might as well scan each other.”

Just like that, Clark brightened up again.

He really does remind me of a puppy– Stop it, Bruce, focus.

Once they were both done, they walked out to the hallway, Clark at Bruce’s side, a smile still on his lips.

They had barely reached the second room when Bruce finally sighed and turned. “Why are you following me, Kent.”

Bruce crossed his arms at Clark’s guilty expression.

“Clark,” Bruce started.

“Yes, B?”

“Are you following me around because you feel sorry that I haven’t got to play yet?”

Clark let out a small laugh. “This whole thing– it's supposed to be for fun, you know? You can finally play with your kids, but you keep getting voted out or killed before you can play the game together. Don’t give me that look, B,” he narrowed his eyes playfully at Bruce’s scowl.

“I know you claim to hate this game, but you had lots of fun last time, don’t you deny it!”

Bruce closed his mouth.

“Even if it was only because you won, well. It was nice to see you finally be able to relax. You liked being able to hang out with everyone, without the threat of a world-ending disaster for once. You’re a solitary little bat, but even you enjoy company.”

Bruce fell quiet.

Quietly, he picked up the pace so Clark couldn’t see his face. He wasn't blushing. Never. Even if it did feel nice to be understood. A little bit.

Clark fell into step with him, smiling quietly.

(That was another thing about Clark. Being comfortable with silence.)

Bruce spotted a flash of color at the edge of his periphery, and an idea popped into his head.

“You really want me to survive the game this time?”

Clark beamed. “Yep!”

Bruce smiled, and popped into a vent.

“Oh my god,” Clark said.

Bruce popped back out.

“Oh my god,” Clark said again.

Oliver was completely focused on the task before him. Filling out a gasoline task. Amazing. Well, technically it was the second part of his Gas task, or whatever it was called. He was almost done with everything– just this one, and one more, and then–

Bruce entered at a leisurely pace, Clark walking in a daze behind him.

“He’s only entered a vent,” Clark muttered to himself. “He hasn’t killed anyone! He’s innocent! What can I do about that?”

Bruce spotted Oliver, and he twirled the toy knife in his hand.

Oliver let out a screech as he realized what was happening, but his body dissolved in a sparkle of death particles – er, teleportation light – before the sound could leave his throat. Only the corpse of his body remained.

…

Of course, the moment Oliver reappeared in the breakroom, his cut-off screech continued, and he turned to the monitor, shaking in anger. “Big mistake, Bruce! The boy scout will avenge me!”

Clark stared, pale-faced, as Bruce wiped the blood off his hands.

(It was surprisingly far more pleasant to stick a knife into the soft tissue of the game suit, if he had to say so himself. He won’t go into the boring details, but the technology was another genius invention of his, if Bruce had to say so himself.)

Bruce smiled brightly. “Well, Mister Kent? Aren’t I enjoying the game so much this time?”

He trailed a hand down Clark’s suit, like he had so many times before as Brucie Wayne with Reporter Kent. (Though this was, admittedly, a space suit, and such jokes wouldn’t be as effective.) “What will you do now?”

Clark, red-faced, grit his teeth. (Apparently, still effective.) “You’re really terrible when you’re like this, you know that, Bruce?”

And Bruce laughed.

Somewhere far away (read: downstairs), someone (read: Oliver) was screaming bloody murder.

”Are you kidding me?!”

“Three people! Three! Dead! How did no one find their bodies until just now?” Diana slammed her fist on the table.

Dick looked stricken as he slumped into his seat. “I just saw Damian. We parted at Reactor just a moment ago.”

“Yeah, well, Lime Arrow and Timmy’s dead too,” Jason observed, kicking his feet up on the meeting table. Bruce swatted his feet down and gave him a look.

“Oh yeah, it was so much more fun when you weren't around,” Jason muttered under his breath, and kicked his feet up again.

Bruce sighed. “Firstly, who reported the body, and where was it?”

J’onn raised his hand. “I, Cyan, found Green’s body in the Reactor. I passed Blue and Green on my way to Communications, where I met Red.”

Jason gave a small salute.

J’onn continued, “I had finished all my tasks, so I decided to go to the Security room. As I passed the Reactor, The Report button showed up. That is all.”

Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “Alright. Everyone, give your clears. State if you were with or saw any two people roaming together. This may have been a double kill. As it was a very long round, I’m sure there was enough time to meet at least one person.”

“Me and Dami were with Auntie Di most of the round before we parted to go to Reactor. She can vouch for me,” Dick said, looking over to Diana.

Diana crossed her arms. “For the first two kills, indeed. I cannot be sure of what happened with Damian afterwards, however.”

“Me and Bruce were together the whole round,” Clark coughed. “We mostly stayed in Medbay, though.”

“Dick came by around the end of the round. He was coming from the left, so I’m inclined to believe his story of having left Damian at Reactor.”

Dinah watched them quietly, before speaking up. “It was a very long round. It might not have been a double kill– it could have been one imposter killing everyone, while their partner stuck with someone to get a clear.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“I say we vote Bruce.”

Jason tapped his console, ready to vote.

“Whoah, whoah, whoah!” Dick held out a hand. “I thought we agreed, people! Let him get to the final five, at least! It’s only been one round, and even then, we don’t vote at seven, remember?” He shot a glare at Jason.

“Why do we not vote at seven?” J’onn asked, frowning

“Because then the imposters would only need a double kill to win!”

“Dick is right,” Bruce cut in. “For now, let’s just give everyone our most suspicious points of information. Besides seeing Dick at the end of the round, Clark and I saw Diana pass by the Cafeteria.”

Diana blinked. “You did?”

“Yes, some time back.”

Diana frowned. “I suppose I did pass by that area.” She then gave her points of information in a neat and orderly manner, having seen Tim, Dinah, Dick, and Damian.

Dick corroborated her story, while Jason mentioned having seen Oliver by the Upper Engine room. In the end, while accusations were thrown around, Dinah pushing hard on Bruce, the meeting ended without any conclusive result.

“Oh my god,” Clark groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “If J’onn had gone up just a little further, he would have seen Tim and Ollie’s bodies!”

Bruce smirked. “That’s why the door-locking sabotage exists, boy scout.”

A flash of color caught his vision, and he perked up. “Oh, look. Here comes another one.”

“Where is everyone?” J’onn wondered to himself, as he walked through the Cafeteria and past the Medbay on his way to the Security room. He waited for the doors to open, before entering.

“Ah,” was the last thing he could say, then he died.

“Please, Bruce. I’m begging you. Just end my misery right now.”

Bruce flashed him his Wayne-patented smile as he stood atop J’onn’s bloody corpse.

“No.”

“I! Saved! The! Game!” Dick yelled at the top of his lungs, chest still heaving from the marathon run he had done to reach the button just a moment before.

“You mean we saved the game,” Diana reminded him kindly. Dick had met her in the hallway above Medbay to alert her to call the button, as he had just seen J’onn’s vitals drop. He had used his button earlier in the game, and so could not do it himself.

“I mean, it's obvious who it is, isn’t it?” Jason stood up and pointed his gun. “It’s obviously Bruce and Clark! They’ve been together this whole game, and Clark’s been clearing him for no reason like crazy!”

“Bruce is clear,” Clark said.

“Uncle Clark, we’re at six,” Dick emphasized.

“Bruce is clear,” Clark repeated.

“Then it’s you?” Jason trained his gun at Clark.

“It’s not me, but it’s not Bruce either!” Clark refuted.

Dinah slammed her hands on the table. “Then give us your evidence!”

“It’s not either of us!”

The four remaining players turned to look at Bruce.

He shrugged. “It’s not Clark.”

“Oh my god,” Dick groaned. “You’re the one who always lectures us about keeping personal and professional lives separate! Really, B?”

“This isn’t a professional en–”

“Is that what’s going on?” Dinah turned to glare at Clark.

“Really, you two?” Diana raised an eyebrow.

Clark shook his head. “It’s not like that, and even if it was, we aren’t the imposters!”

Jason drew another gun and waved them both around to gesticulate wildly. “Are you serious? It’s both of them! Why are we even arguing? Vote them out!”

“You have to give evidence, Clark!”

“Uncle Clark, are you really making Bruce cover for you?”

“Aren’t you all about truth and justice? Where’s Superman now?”

“Give us a reason to believe in you!”

“I trusted you, Uncle Clark!”

“Clark!”

”Clark!”

”Clark!”

“Uncle Clark!”

“It’s not me, but it’s really not Bruce either!” Clark repeated, sounding on the verge of tears.

Dick stood, his voice trembling. “It’s either him or you, Uncle Clark, you have to choose!”

Clark’s lip trembled, and finally, he bowed his head.

“Just vote for me. I deserve it.”

Bruce turned so quickly he almost got whiplash.

“No.”

Everyone turned to look at him.

“Vote me. Clark’s innocent. He’s just an accessory to murder.”

Clark looked up, his eyes shining. “Am I just an accessory to you, B?”

Bruce’s mouth dropped. “I– That’s not– You–”

Clark opened his console.

White has voted.

He looked each player in the eye, a small smile on his face.

“Final five, remember?”

Blue has voted.

“Clark, no.”

Purple has voted.

Yellow has voted.

“Clark.”

Red has voted.

Clark smiled. “I’m sorry, B.”

“Clark!”

The table was silent in the wake of Superman’s passing.

Jason opened the emergency button, and the five of them waited for the cool down to end in somber silence.

“I’m sorry, Bruce,” Diana said, patting his arm.

Blue has voted.

Red has voted.

Purple has voted.

Yellow has voted.
.
.
.
.

Black has voted.

Dick took a deep breath. “We’re still alive.” He took another breath. “Which means one of them really was the imposter. We were right.”

Jason snorted, and tucked his pistols back into their holsters. “Of course we were. How obvious can they get?”

“Well,” Dick sighed, “We might as well finish our tasks. Let’s go, people.”

“We should stay in a group, so the imposter can’t kill us,” Dinah suggested.

Dick nodded. “Good idea. Does anyone else have tasks in Storage?”

Diana nodded, so the group left to travel Southwards together.

It was right as Diana went to fill her gas tank that the lights went out.

“Oh dear,” she said, as Jason’s body was reported.

“Hello, ladies,” Dick said, his tone somber and his expression grave.

“Dick,” Diana began, before Dick raised a hand.

“The doors closed when the lights went out,” he said quietly. “I was outside of storage. But the report button showed up when I pressed against the doors.”

Diana and Dinah turned to look at each other, their expressions dark.

“I was doing gas,” Diana started, “It’s Dinah.”

“She’s a liar!” Dinah snapped back. “It’s obviously not me, I rallied hard to get Bruce voted out, remember? Why would I try to out my imposter partner?”

“It could have been Clark, too!” Diana refuted. “In fact, isn’t it far more suspicious to rally that hard for Bruce to go? What else could it be but you trying to protect your imposter partner, Clark!”

“Well, then, where were you the past three rounds? Whenever someone died, you couldn’t be fully accounted for!”

“I was cleared by Dick in the first round!” Diana yelled.

“Yeah, but it was a long round! All three of those kills could have been done by one person!”

“You’re looking for excuses!” Diana stood. “I wouldn’t have pressed the emergency button if I was the imposter!”

“You could be playing the long con!” Dinah’s face was flushed an angry red as she leapt out of her chair and pointed an accusing finger at Diana.

Diana slapped her hand away and turned to Dick. “Don’t make the wrong choice, you must vote for Dinah!”

Dinah glared at her. “Don’t listen to her, Dick. If you don’t want to lose, then you have to vote Diana!”

Yellow has voted.

Purple has voted.

Dick turned to each of them, his eyes wide.

“I… I don’t know…”

The countdown timer was down to five.

“Dick!”

“Richard!”

Dick quickly took out his console.

“I’m sorry, ladies.”

Blue has voted.

The three of them watched in rapt attention as the death animation slowly played on screen.

“No…” Diana whispered.

“How!” Diana slammed her fists against the table.

Dick shrugged, a wide grin on his face.

“No one was suspicious of me! It also helps that I didn't get imposter once in the last three games.”

“I was completely convinced,” Oliver shook his head with a sigh. “And I had a full view of the game!”

“As was I,” J’onn mourned into his tub of cookies-and-cream ice cream. “You are a remarkably friendly person, Dick Grayson.”

Dick laughed. “Aww, thanks!”

Damian crossed his arms angrily. “I cannot believe you killed me, Richard! I will have my revenge for this!”

Jason, having already shot Dick with his nerf gun earlier, looked up and scowled. “You could’ve ended the game in round two if you’d done a double kill, and then again before Bruce got voted if you’d sabotaged the lights or comms or something! You’re a showoff so you made it a 1v3. Which you knew you’d win. Showoff.”

Dick shrugged, still smiling. “Isn’t it more fun that way?”

Jason rolled his eyes and turned back to his work laid out on the table. Damian settled beside Jason, the two of them discussing something quietly, and the words “revenge plan” and “murder” could be heard.

“You told me you saw J’onn’s vitals drop!” Diana exclaimed.

Dick grinned. “Yeah, in person.”

Diana simply shook her head and walked to the couch to sit by Dinah.

“Don’t worry Di, he had us both fooled,” Dinah consoled her, handing her a bag of chips.

Diana sighed and took one.

“Really, the win wouldn't have been possible without Uncle Clark. Or rather, Bruce and Clark,” Dick said.

They group turned to look at Bruce and Clark. Bruce, who was sitting on the second couch, carding his fingers through Tim’s hair as he lay on his lap, and Clark, who sat awkwardly in the armchair opposite of them, a smile on his face.

“Untrue,” Bruce refuted, his voice much quieter due to the sleeping boy in his lap. “You would have done just fine on your own.”

Dick rolled his eyes. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your subtle misdirection in the first round, B. Really, you have way too much fun when everything goes according to plan, you know that?”

“Not everything,” Bruce replied, looking at Clark.

Dinah glared at the two of them. “Speaking of– I can’t believe you, Clark. You were protecting an imposter, knowing he was the imposter the whole time!”

Clark turned towards her with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry, Dinah.”

“We’re banning this strategy next time, understood?”

Bruce rolled his eyes. There wasn’t going to be a next time.

“What I can’t believe is that Bruce killed his own son,” Oliver muttered.

“Oh, you can’t?” Jason snarked, and Dick bopped him on the head.

Jason rubbed his head. “How did you do it, old man? Thought your guilt complex would be too strong to let you do anything like that.”

Bruce pursed his lips. “Tim hasn’t been sleeping well. I told him to take a break, since he did so well in the last game. It isn’t often he has enough time to relax these days, so he took my advice to sleep this game out.”

“Yeah, kid conked out the moment he showed up in the break room,” Oliver huffed. “I had to carry him to the couch.”

Bruce shrugged. “I had him rest for a while before sending him off. He might not have listened, otherwise.”

Damian jumped up, sheathing his katanas behind his back (and when did he get those back, anyway? And did they multiply? Bruce sighed.)

“Enough chit chat, let us play the next game! I shall get imposter and take revenge on all of you!”

Dinah giggled into her wine. “It’s not a hidden role if you declare it in front of everyone, kiddo.”

Damian unsheathed his swords. “Who’s a kiddo!”

“No, no more games,” Bruce cut in before it could devolve into another fight.

“But Bruce!”

“Bruce!”

“B!”

Everyone let out exclamations of protest.

Bruce shook his head. “I have nothing to say to you grown ups in the Justice League, besides act your age, but kids, Alfred wants us all back down for dinner.”

All the batkids groaned simultaneously.

“Can’t you ask him to extend? Just this once, B?” Dick begged.

“Daaaad,” Jason complained, and Bruce nearly said yes right there. Then he saw the message from Alfred on his phone, and shook himself out of his stupor.

“No,” he said, with great difficulty, and the batkids all flopped to the floor sadly.

“Come on, get up, all of you. Dick,” he turned to his eldest, “Help them get ready to leave.”

Dick groaned again, but he pulled himself off the floor and picked Damian up with one hand. Damian struggled for a moment, before climbing onto his back and sitting on his shoulders.

“C’mon, up, Jay.” Dick tried to get Jason off the floor, but he let himself go completely limp, pulling his entire weight to the floor.

“Alfred’s asking you to help with the Lasagna, Jay,” Bruce called out, and finally, Jason dragged himself off the floor.

“Y’all are so dead next time,” Jason proclaimed, giving everyone the stink-eye, before waltzing out of the room. Damian scrambled off Dick’s shoulders and followed after him, though not before glaring at every person in the room.

The rest of the adults cleaned up the room and prepared to leave, each one giving Bruce a pat on the back (or in Diana’s case, a hearty slap) and words of “Let’s do this again next time!” or some variation of it.

Clark gave Bruce a small smile again, before herding the rest of the members out and helping them out of the Watchtower.

Only Bruce, Dick, and Tim remained in the break room.

Bruce patted the empty space next to him, and Dick flopped down on the couch.

“I’m proud of you, chum,” Bruce said.

Dick grinned. “Because I won the game?”

Bruce ruffled his hair and struggled not to smile. “With everything you do,” he replied. Maybe this cursed game from hell wasn’t so bad, after all.

Dick smiled, and let comfortable silence between them settle.

After some time had passed, Dick broke the silence. “We should do this again, but with Mods next time!” He suggested cheerfully.

“Mods?” Bruce asked.

“Yeah, roles. Like, someone’s a sheriff, another person a janitor, another person a jester–”

“No.”

It was at this moment, Bruce knew: he had to destroy everything he had created for this game idea from hell.

He sighed and looked down at the son on his lap.

“Help your brother, will you?”

Dick stood up and gently shook his brother awake. “Wake up, Tim, it’s time to go.”

Tim opened his eyes, still groggy from sleep. “Hey, B,” he mumbled. “Have I told you Uncle Clark’s hella whipped for you?” He paused to yawn, then snuggled back into Bruce’s lap. “Or should I call him dad next time?”

Both Bruce and Dick froze.

Then Dick burst out laughing, sliding to the floor as he clutched his stomach. “Ha–ahahaha! That’s right, B, when’s the wedding day?” He wheezed

Bruce flushed.

“Out! Both of you!”

The Watchtower was now completely empty, save for himself. Bruce walked over to the main computer and cracked his knuckles. Now, he looked at each piece of offending technology. Time to destroy everything.

He organized each suit, every single accessory and console into neat little boxes to take to the incinerator. Then he opened the code he’d written to program every teleporter, every vote and kill and animation.

Like hell, he thought savagely, even as he remembered his children’s laughing faces, we’re ever going to play this again. Never, never, ever, he thought, as he inserted a USB stick and made a backup of the Among Us Watchtower system.

He glared at the offending piece of technology in his hands. Well, maybe it can be used as an incentive sometimes. Or a prize. He sighed and tucked it into his pocket.

“B?”

Bruce turned to see Clark’s sheepish face smiling back at him. “Clark.”

“You destroyed everything for the game?”

Bruce snorted. “Don’t you remember the last time the family played Monopoly?”

“You’re right," Clark chuckled. "They’d destroy the whole Watchtower if we let them keep playing. They’ll be pretty disappointed, though.”

“Better disappointed than causing the end of the world.”

Clark laughed. “It wasn’t that bad!”

He smiled and picked up the boxes Bruce had filled. “Wait here,” he said, before zooming out of the Watchtower.

It was barely a minute later when he returned, still smiling.

“I took them to my Fortress, if you ever want to play again,” he said, looking at the USB in Bruce’s hand.

Bruce pocketed it and shrugged. “We’ll see.”

Clark elbowed him. “Come on, you enjoyed it!”

Bruce grunted. “Don’t tell me ‘I told you so.’”

Clark grinned. “I told you so.”

Bruce had to slap him back for that.

Wayne Manor

“You didn’t invite us? Bruce!” Steph screeched and pounced over the couch to jump on him. Bruce caught her before she slammed headfirst into the coffee table.

“How could you. I thought we were family,” Cass signed, making no move at all to help Bruce as Steph continued to assault him.

“I needed to leave Gotham in capable hands while we were gone,” Bruce tried to say over Steph’s insistent pulling and squeezing of his cheeks.

Barbara rolled her wheelchair over to watch Bruce get mauled by the Stephbeast. “Capable hands, my ass. You just didn’t want to deal with more of us after the Monopoly fiasco,”

Duke stepped into the living room, one hand holding a sandwich and the other holding out his phone. “And here we see a Steph in her natural habitat. Let’s observe her natural behavior of beating up a Bruce Wayne.”

Bruce extricated himself carefully from Steph’s koala-grip. “Children,” he began in his so-called dad-voice, “I understand I have made a grievous error, so I decided to try and make it up to you.”

“You’ll let us play in the Watchtower?” Steph perked up immediately.

“No.”

She went back to slapping his cheeks.

“I bought Among Us.”

She stopped.

She blinked. “The game?”

Bruce blinked. “That, too.”

His kids groaned simultaneously.

””“Bruce!”””

“So? Did you get it?” Dick asked, a hand on his hip.

Tim rolled his eyes. “I’m sleep deprived, not an idiot.” He held out the USB stick, before tossing it to Dick, who caught it in one hand.

“Of course I copied his code.”

Dick grinned.

“Now we can play it anywhere!”