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1. Dick
It was Robin’s first night out on patrol in Gotham, and Batman had instructed him to stay out of the way and just watch for tonight. Dick desperately wanted to leap into the fray and help, but he knew it was a bad idea — Bruce had spent nearly three hours before patrol drilling into him that tonight was just for him to watch. He needed to see how it was done, get used to what it was to be running around Gotham all night, before he could ever fight himself. So here he was, watching from a rooftop as Batman took down a whole gang, cape flying behind him. It snapped dramatically with Batman’s every turn, flaring out like wings when he found a high spot and jumped down. Dick’s Robin cape didn’t do that. It was too short. He liked his cape a lot, it was bright yellow, which was one of his favourite colours, but Batman’s cape was so dynamic. If Robin had a cape like that — in yellow of course, not black, that was so boring — he would look so cool, he was sure.
When they got back to the cave for a post-patrol debrief, Dick asked, “Can I have a cape like yours?”
Bruce looked at him like he’d asked for the moon. “No,” he answered gruffly.
Dick pouted, then shrugged to himself and sprung into a back handspring. A big cape like Batman’s would probably get in the way, anyway. His little cape was good.
2. Jason
Jason was most of the way through stealing the tires from the Batmobile when there was a sound somewhere between a growl and an “ahem” behind him. He jumped, nearly dropping the tire iron in his hand, then, heart still racing, turned around.
A massive, dark figure loomed over him. He could see the bottom half of a human face, but beyond that was darkness. Pointed ears cut through the grey sky, wide, black wings blocking out the light of the streetlamp behind. Considering he had a car, Jason had always assumed that Batman had to be human, but the figure staring down at him looked anything but. He gripped the tire iron tighter. What if Batman really wasn’t human? What if —
But as quickly and menacingly as he had appeared, something seemed to soften in Batman’s expression, the wings falling to reveal they were simply a cape, a human body appearing through the shadows, Batman’s symbol splayed over the chest.
“Trying to steal my tires?” Batman said, and it sounded like he was trying not to laugh. His mouth twitched with a badly suppressed smile.
Jason glanced around the alley, looking for where he could run. This was stupid, it had been stupid from the start, he was bound to be caught, and what would Batman do to him now? He could try to run, but this was Batman .
He didn’t know why he did it. Fear, adrenaline, deep-seated fighting instincts? He leapt forward, aiming to hit Batman with the tire iron and then run, but Batman caught the tire iron easily in one hand and grabbed Jason by the collar when he tried to run. Jason squirmed and kicked, but somehow got tangled in Batman’s cape before he could hit anything. Thankfully, it was about then that Batman released him. He stumbled to right himself on the pavement, and was already moving away when Batman spoke again.
“Are you hungry?”
Against all his better instincts, Jason whipped around. “What?” He said sharply.
Batman looked at him. He was like a statue, blank and solid and still as granite. “You look like you could use a hot meal.” The words finally came in a gravelly voice.
Instinct and knowledge and experience and desire warred within Jason. He knew better than to accept anything from strangers, especially for free. He knew that Batman could be extremely dangerous, and that if there was any time he would be able to get away, it was probably now. But he was also hungry. Starving. And Batman was supposed to be a hero, he reasoned. As much as he’d heard of the Batman’s violence, he had never heard of him hurting kids — on the contrary, he’d heard that Batman protected people. Maybe just one meal could be okay, surely?
Hunger won out, and Jason slowly nodded.
As he came closer, he could have sworn Batman’s cape retreated so it hung down his back but not around his shoulders. He paused.
He hoped he was imagining it.
3. Tim
In his years of stalking Batman and Robin, Tim had seen a lot. Fights and shootouts and games of rooftop tag between Robin and Nightwing, and, as a consequence, he had a lot of questions.
In the cave, faced with Batman himself, there were about a billion questions he wanted to ask. The problem was, it really didn’t seem like the right time. Batman had been mostly ignoring him since, only minutes ago, he had begrudgingly agreed to let Tim be Robin, and was also just generally seeming very broody and unapproachable. Nightwing, a potential mediator, was off changing and showering.
Leaving Tim to stare around the cave. He had been surprised to learn that there were, in fact, real bats in the cave, which fluttered and screeched, but mostly kept their distance. He watched them for a little while, but they weren’t nearly as interesting as their human counterpart. Tim looked back over to Bruce, who was now seated in front of the batcomputer, still in full suit and cowl, his cape pooling on the floor around him, tendrils of black slithering over the grey stone floor. Bruce rolled the chair slightly to the side. For a heartbeat, Tim was sure the cape was going to get caught in the chair’s wheels, but the fabric twitched out of the way and resettled in such a way it looked as if nothing had moved. Tim blinked. That was the other thing he had seen in all his years watching Batman: a million blink-and-you-miss-it moments where the cape seemed to move of its own accord, times when it seemed to find a breeze that wasn’t there.
He couldn’t hold it in any longer, his curiosity was too strong.
“Batman? I know now’s maybe not a good time and I want to be a good Robin but I have some questions and I just really wanna know how you make you cape do that?” He spoke all in a rush as if somehow that would make it less annoying. For a moment, Batman didn’t move, and Tim wondered if he had heard. Slowly, the batchair turned. Tim would have expected the cape to twist with the movement, the way it looked so heavy where it was clumped on the ground, but it soundlessly drifted around. Beneath the cowl, Bruce’s face was impassive. Tim’s heart pounded. Maybe he shouldn’t have said anything, should just have kept quiet —
Bruce reached up and pulled back the cowl. He ran a hand through his sweaty curls. He didn’t look at Tim, who was working very hard to stay perfectly still despite the strong urge to fidget to dispel his discomfort. Bruce let out a long sigh and stood up, unclasping the cape, then moving to gather the material in his hands. He held it out in front of him for Tim to look at, and a small smile curled his lips as he told Tim, “I don’t make the cape do anything. It…it does strange things on its own. It’s best not to question it.”
Tim looked at the cape, the dark fabric gathered in Bruce’s arms, held out as if offering for Tim to take it, then up at Bruce’s face. He looked back down at the cape and tentatively reached out to touch it. The fabric wasn’t soft, but wasn’t coarse either. It was cool and relatively smooth; by the drape, he imagined it would be heavy. He frowned as he thought about the things he’d seen in the past, about Bruce’s answer to his question. His brow furrowed. “But…there has to be a reason. Have you checked if it’s magic? Or—” He couldn’t actually think of any other way to explain all the things he’d seen the cape do— “there must be an explanation. Have you tried—”
Bruce held up a hand, and Tim snapped his mouth shut. “I’ve run all sorts of tests,” Bruce explained calmly. “I can show you if you like, but all have been inconclusive. The cape…is the way it is, but I don’t think there’s anything to worry about. I know that sounds like a non-answer — believe me, it frustrated me for a long time, too — but you just have to accept that it’s something no one understands.”
That answer made Tim frown even more. There had to be an explanation, had to be something. Everything, even the craziest things, even magic, followed a kind of order and science. But according to Bruce, this cape didn’t.
“Here.” Bruce handed the cape over to Tim, who held it draped over both his arms. It was heavy; shocking so, considering how lightly it often moved. “You can see for yourself, and I’ll see if I can find the footage from all of my experiments.”
Tim stood still for a moment, a little stunned. He was holding Batman’s cape. He was holding Batman’s cape and he was going to be Robin, and Batman was being nice to him and—
He snapped back to himself, and, adjusting the cape in his arms so it wasn’t dragging so much on the floor, hurried after Batman.
4. Cass
Bruce dropped down into the alley, cape flaring around him, assessing the situation as he plummeted. By the time his boots hit the ground, he had oriented himself: this was a mugging, that was the victim sprinting for the alley’s mouth, the attacker was —
The attacker was on the ground, with another person, unknown, standing over them. The attacker had been on their feet and fighting just a blink ago, which meant this new person was almost definitely dangerous. Bruce readied himself for a fight as the person turned around and spotted him.
Their eyes widened, and something in them seemed to shrink back a little, wary. Bruce could see, though, that they were perfectly poised to run or fight if needed. He tried to take in as much as he could as quickly as he could. Now they were facing him, it was a little easier, though between the darkness of the alley at night time and the covering over the lower half of their face, there was a lot he still couldn’t see. The main thing that struck him now that he paid attention was how small they were — how small she was, he assumed from the body type. She was extremely petite, though corded with muscle, dark hair chopped to chin length. She was clearly of Asian descent, and knew how to fight. But what he could make out of her features combined with her size made him think that she was young, possibly still a kid. If this was a child —
He deliberately tried to relax, to project as non-threatening body language as possible while still being at least somewhat prepared for potential attack. The girl seemed to relax a bit, though she was definitely still wary. For a moment, they just watched each other. Then the girl pulled down the scarf covering her lower face. She was definitely a kid. Maybe only slightly older than Tim. A kid fighting crime all alone in this city, probably living on the streets — Bruce hardly knew this girl, and already his heart was aching. There had to be a way he could help her.
He asked the first question he could think of. “Are you hungry?” Both Alfred and Jason, in their own ways, had taught him that food was a very good way to connect with people. Especially kids who looked like they were consistently short on meals.
The girl hesitated, then nodded, the movement smooth and quick.
Bruce offered what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Good. Do you like burgers?”
The girl didn’t answer.
After a long wait, Bruce decided to try again, something different. “What’s your name? Is there something I can call you?”
The girl hesitated again, then pointed to herself. “Cass.” Her voice was soft, the name clear, though her mouth moved as if the shape of speech was unfamiliar.
“Would you like to come with me, Cass?” He asked. “I can get you food. And somewhere safe to stay, if you need it.”
There was no hesitation this time as she nodded, already moving towards him. A few feet away, she suddenly stopped, spooked. Bruce followed her wide-eyed gaze. His cape was flicking around him, though there was no breeze here. With a small smile, he slowly reached out and ran a hand over the dark material. It immediately went still. Cass watched, head tilted to the side in curiosity. She looked at him, and somehow he could tell she was asking for permission. He nodded.
Tentatively, slowly, as if afraid it would lash out and bite, Cass reached out a hand to Bruce’s cape. When she touched it and nothing happened, she gathered more of the material in her hand, and leaned closer to examine it. Bruce stood still and let her, watching as she released the fabric, and it swished gently, again in spite of the lack of breeze. Cass watched it, mesmerized, then poked it again. The cape flared up, high and dramatic around Bruce’s head like wings, and Cass jumped backwards. A moment later, the cape dropped back down and fell still. Cass stared at it suspiciously for a moment, then rushed forward and ducked under it, pulling it over her head in a hood and gathering it under her chin so that only her round young face was showing. She looked up at Bruce with a blazing self-satisfied smile.
He couldn’t help but smile back.
5. Damian
“Father?”
Bruce was sitting in front of the batcomputer in his Batman suit, sans cowl. “Yes, Damian?”
“How do you make your cape float like that? Why did you not make my cape do the same?”
There was a snort from behind him.
Damian whirled to glare at Timothy. It was a perfectly reasonable query, he thought. As Robin, he should be able to move and fight and hide just like Batman, should have the same weapons — and defences — at his disposal. “What?” He snapped.
Tim bent over laughing for a moment, then straightened up. “Yeah, Bruce has no idea how the cape floats like that. Or does any of the weird stuff it does. Even if he did know how to replicate it, what makes you think he’d do it for you and not the rest of us?”
“I am the blood son—” Damian began.
“The true, destined Robin, blah blah blah,” Tim deadpanned. “No one cares.”
Damian reached for his sword, but his fingers had barely wound around the gip before Father cleared his throat.
“ Boys. ” They both glanced around guiltily. Bruce stood up and first addressed Timothy. “Tim, either do your case work or go to bed, please stop antagonizing your brother.” Tim ducked his head and focused back on his computer, and Bruce turned to Damian. “Your brother is right on two counts,” he said. “Firstly, I don’t know why or how my cape is the way it is, and secondly, even if I did, you children are enough to handle without borderline superpowers.”
Damian glowered. The others were so badly behaved their reputation had rubbed off on him? It was not fair.
“But I-”
Bruce laid a hand on his shoulder, cutting him off. “Damian,” he said, gently but firmly, “you don’t need to prove yourself. You and all your siblings are all brilliant, and I love and value you all, you no differently. Do you understand?” His blue gaze pinned Damian in place. He considered it.
“Yes,” he mumbled.
“I love you,” Bruce said, pulling him close in a hug. His cape draped around them both, closing Damian in warmth and darkness like a blanket.
+1
Dick, in full Nightwing regalia, perched on the corner of a building on the border of Crime Alley, scanning the street below. Damian, Robin, was at his side. On the ground, he saw a shadow move. Batman. Then there was a flash of red, what he could just make out as Jason’s brown leather jacket, and then he watched as the Red Hood grabbed himself a fistful of Batman’s cape and yanked. Both figures disappeared, while Dick laughed at the flash of surprise he’d seen on Batman’s face. Only his kids could ever grab his cape, and all of them used this fact to their full advantage.
Though, watching, Dick had to admit it was perhaps funniest when Jason did it, since, as the strongest, and the only one whose bulk was really comparable to Bruce’s, he could actually pull Bruce off balance.
Beside him, Damian was looking at him with disdain. “What is so hilarious, Grayson?”
Dick gathered himself, but was still grinning as he answered. “Just the look on B’s face,” he gasped, spurred into another round of giggles as he replayed in his mind the way Batman had tilted backwards, perfectly rigid, but with an expression of extreme startlement.
Damian did not seem impressed by this answer. “Father is not to be laughed at. Besides, Hood had no reason to —”
“Do you really think he needs a reason? Dragging B is Hood’s favourite pastime, and, honestly, B needs to be dragged around sometimes. It keeps him on his toes.”
Damian looked dubious.
Dick frowned at him. “You’re seriously telling me you’ve never even tried to pull B around by his cape? I thought it was basically a right of passage for Robins.”
“No,” Damian snapped. “Why would I want to sabotage Father?”
“It’s not—” Dick realised that probably wasn’t a helpful line of argument. “Just try it sometime. Not in any high-stakes situation, but maybe when he’s being stupid, or when you want something.” Damian still looked incredibly dubious. A minute ago, Dick would have said it was impossible for anyone to look so dubious, especially one so young. “Just try it sometime, okay?”
There was a pause in which he watched Damian’s expression slowly soften. Then he received a quick nod. “Perhaps.”
Dick whooped. “In the meantime, wanna go fight some bad guys?”
Dick was pretty sure Damian rolled his eyes under his mask.
“If it will save me from this asinine conversation.”