Chapter Text

Rodney looks up from his phone as he hears the door open. “Welcome to Batburger, can I take your bat ord--” then he sees who he’s talking to: black hair, bright blue eyes, and a carefree smirk that can only be worn by somebody not from the shitty side of town… is that a Wayne?

Now, Rodney isn’t a fan of the Waynes -- he’s not a fan of any billionaire, thank you very much -- but, unlike most of his friends, he doesn't make an exception for Gotham’s prince either. He doesn’t follow the news about the latest Wayne products, scandals, or kids. But, try as he might, he is still very much aware of all three. Including the man’s habit of adopting any child that looks even vaguely like him.

Of course, that doesn’t mean that every black haired, blue eyed boy in the city is adopted by Bruce Wayne… just most of them. Possibly this one. You never know.

Pending evidence that this is a Wayne child: the Waynes are well-known for taking trips to BatBurger -- it’s their borderline endorsement of the place that really cemented it's legitimacy in the city. The BatBurger employee handbook has a whole section on how to be extra-welcoming to that family in particular… and also, to disregard any attempts they make at convincing you that Bruce Wayne is Batman’s sugar daddy.

“... My bat order? Do they really make you say that?” The possibly new Wayne kid says in a midwestern accent. “Man, that’s gotta suck, I’m so sorry.”

Rodney stifles a sigh and adjusts the cheap cloak he’s wearing. “We at BatBurger are happy to create a fun and family-friendly atmosphere for all bat occasions.” He recites in the most energetic voice he can manage. It comes out a half-step above completely monotone.

“Ancients, man, I had no idea it was so bad.” Then the kid dropped a $20 bill in the tip jar. Before he even ordered anything. Definitely a Wayne. “Can I have the Signal Special?”

“Sure thing, dude. Sir.” He quickly corrects himself. Gotta follow the handbook.

Teen Wayne gives him an odd look, but doesn’t say anything more as he goes to wait for his order to be ready.

Rodney kicks that order up to the front of the queue, as per the handbook.

-o0o-

“I’m so sorry for the inconvenience!” Josephine watches as her manager damn-near bowed in half while apologizing to whoever is in room 507.

“It’s fine, it’s fine! My fault for having weird tech.” A young voice apologizes back. Josephine watches as the guest reaches out of their room and attempts to lift Mr. Thompkins out of his bow.

“Not at all, sir! We will find a way to connect you to our WiFi immediately, and refund your bill for it.”

Josephine rolls her cart past the room, and glances inside, curious about what the problem is. What she sees is some kid wearing a comfortable-looking hoodie and jeans in one of their biggest rooms. She wonders how he was even allowed to walk into the building in that outfit, and what Mr. Thompkins was freaking out over. He only ever comes out to address big-name guests.

“I, I don’t think you’ll be able to. I’ve tried all morning to hook my phone up, just having the WiFi knocked off the bill is good enough. I can go without it for the weekend.”

Josephine felt her eyebrows raise. Somebody wanting to “go without” in the Kane Hotel was an insult to the brand. Mr. Thompkins nearly gave himself whiplash from how quickly he straightened.

“Not at all! We will remedy this problem immediately!” He declared, much to the guest’s dismay. “What model is your phone?”

The teen shifts awkwardly, and Josephine idly thinks that he must be new to his money. Nobody that’s used to being rich has that sort of body language. Maybe he won some sort of sweepstake to get a room here?

“It’s not on the market. Really, nevermind about connecting to it, I should’ve brought a different phone, I’m just used to having it at home. Don’t worry about it, really.” He rambles.

Well, forget about the sweepstake idea. If he’s got tech that’s new enough to still be off the market, then he’s a rich kid through-and-through. Maybe just one that was kept out of the spotlight?

In her musings, Josephine had completely zoned out of their conversation. She snaps back into it as the door to room 507 closes, and Mr. Thompkins catches her by the elbow.

“Josephine, have the wait staff send an apology basket to the young sir in room 507. Do not have it addressed to anyone, he is staying anonymously.” Then he was off, muttering something about “Bruce Wayne littering his kids everywhere,” and probably preparing to address another VIP somewhere.

Who was that kid?

-o0o-

“And to your right you’ll see Gotham City Bank, which has not been robbed for 47 days.” Rebecca says with faux pride into her mic. She’s giving yet another guided bus tour of the city, and despite her best efforts, her attention is again being pulled away from her script.

In the front row sits a cute boy. Granted, Rebecca has seen many cute boys doing these sorts of gigs, but this boy in particular was entirely her type. Who doesn’t like blue eyes, after all?

He looked so smart, too: most tourists only paid half-attention during these things (which begs the question of why they would spend money on it in the first place) but Mr. Blue Eyes was paying rapt attention to the spots that Rebecca pointed out. He sometimes asked questions, and never once was it about something that she had already explained to the group. Ah, the wonders of paying attention!

There was one noticeable occasion where she mentioned the new evacuation routes for Gotham University -- as created after funding from a special charity gala -- when the boy had muttered something about how he “would’ve done it differently.” 

Done what differently? The evacuation routes? The charity gala? Is he rich??

As she rattles off a few more statistics, she once again finds herself glancing at Cute Boy, and stutters over her words when he smiles at her. God, he could just about compare to the Wayne boys with that face. Almost enough to make her forget about her celebrity crush on Tim Drake-Wayne.

Wait… what were the chances that this boy could be in Gotham and not be connected to the Waynes in some way? She heard a theory that Mr. Wayne has some sort of agreement set up with the city that notifies him whenever there’s a new kid up for adoption, so it’s entirely possible.

More importantly than any of that… What are the rules on asking for phone numbers during work hours again??

-o0o-

Vicki Vale, after three days of hearing rumors around town about a new Wayne boy, finally finds him. He’s just exiting the Kane Hotel (as she already knew he was staying there) when she catches up to him.

Idly, she notices that he did have the look of a Wayne -- blue eyes, black hair, clear skin and an easy smile would fit right in with all but the youngest one. The only thing out of order was the cheap clothes and the taxi that he was loading his bags into. Everything was just as Vicki had been led to believe: either a rich kid trying to fly under the radar, or a middle class kid who was friends with someone rich enough to set him up at Kane Hotel. Either way, there was a small chance he had something to do with the Waynes, and a small chance is all Vickie needed to start her article. 

“Excuse me!” Vicki shouts, before he could climb into the back seat. She hurries up to him. “Excuse me, could I get a word before you go?” She asks breathlessly.

The boy points at himself, a dopey look on his face. Oh boy, he’ll be eaten alive. “Me?” he asks, as if he weren’t the only one around right now.

“Yes, you. My name is Vicki Vale, photojournalist for Gotham Gazette, do you have a minute, Mr…?”

“Danny,”  he supplies, automatically. She watches as the boy turns to check on the driver, clearly trying to decide if he did, in fact, have a minute. Clearly, he’s never been interviewed before.

“Great,” she says before he could come to a decision. Never show weakness in this field, kid . “How has your visit to Gotham been so far?”

“Uh, fine? Everyone’s been surprisingly nice, despite it being… Gotham. Sorry, why are you interviewing me?”

Vicki pastes a sly smile onto her face; time to see if she can turn this conversation towards his very expensive accommodations during his stay, and how they might be connected to Bruce. “Oh, well, it’s not everyday somebody can rent a room in the Kane Hotel… anonymously at that, too! It’s caused quite the stir…”

The kid took on an aggrieved expression, clearly not liking the idea of any attention coming to his living arrangements. Fantastic.  

“Tell me, how has your stay been? Everybody always wants to know how the rich live, do the luxuries live up to the brand’s reputation?”

“Wait, hold on, I’m not rich.” The boy waves his hands around frantically. “The room was paid for by a family friend, I swear.”

Oh, she could spin that into an admission of knowing Bruce Wayne, she was sure. Just ask a few hypothetical questions about who this mysterious contact could be, and let the public draw their own conclusions. All without running the risk of libel, too!

“And, I guess,” Danny continues, “the luxuries are kind of… overwhelming? I’ve been here for a week, and I don’t think I was able to get through even half of the hotel’s amenities.”

Right then, Vicki decides on her angle. The boy is another stray; a new Cinderella Story in the making. Doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not, everybody loves that sort of wish fulfillment story.

She smiles warmly at him, and nods her head in understanding. “Not used to having it all at your fingertips yet?”

“No,” he laughs, “and I’m not going to get used to it. Next time I come here, I’ll stay somewhere a bit more lowkey.”

“Planning on coming back to Gotham then? Did the city charm you that much?” 

Just then, the taxi driver honked their horn, and Danny jumped. 

“Aw man, hold on, sorry,” his midwestern accent coming in stronger as he apologizes. Vicki would certainly be playing up his small-town vibes in her article. It’s a refreshing diversion from Bruce’s usual habit of picking up Gothamites.

He quickly looks back up at her as he climbs into the backseat and situates himself to go. “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely be back. This has been the most relaxing week I've had in years!” And then he was off.

Most relaxing week, Vicki thought to herself grimly as the smile fell from her lips. Really, the rich live in a separate world.

-o0o-

like, y’know, nyavi @wanderNavi

Anyone read that article by @VickiVale about the new Wayne kid, Danny? Seems like a stretch to me, but what else is new with her? #clickbait

80 replies | 21 retweets | 112 likes

TriFox @foxears

Replying to @wanderNavi

I saw him at a starbucks the other day, so I want it to be real. Probably the closest I’ll get to a celebrity sighting out in the wild 😭 #LetDannyBeReal2020

16 replies | 11 retweets | 164 likes

Pineapple Time @pineaples26

Replying to @foxears

@foxears it’s not 2020 why are you like this

1 reply | 3 retweets | 6 likes

TriFox @foxears

Replying to @pineaples26

It’s the vibe.

0 replies | 2 retweets | 7 likes

-o0o-

Ghostbusters 👻

[Punching Bag] Sam, don’t ever let me let you pick my hotel room again.

[Ivy Jr.] lmao 

[Too Fine] What’d she do?

[Punching Bag] Set me up at the flippin Ritz Carlton or something

[Punching Bag] I was accosted on the street!

[Too Fine] lmao

Chapter Text

Bruce Wayne is having a bad day. He’s been having a bad week, all things considered, but it doesn’t come to a head until the Friday evening gala.

Let’s start at the beginning.

Monday:

“B, there’s a new shipment of fear gas coming into the city.”

Bruce looks up from his morning newspaper as Tim collapses into the chair next to him. Alfred sets down a mug of coffee in front of Tim.

“Did you sleep last night?” Bruce asks him.

Tim makes an unintelligible noise into the hardwood of the table.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Duke gives him a pitying smile from where he’s sitting on the other side of Damian. “Tim, don’t you have a meeting with the board today?”

Tim lifts his head to stare at Duke with a wide-eyed gaze. “... that’s not until Monday…”

“Today is Monday, Drake.” Damian snaps. Then he turns to Bruce without giving Tim’s breakdown any further attention. “Father, I will be receiving a package from Mother soon. We should have the necessary precautions set up ahead of time.”

Bruce sighs. “Why is she sending you things?”

“Last semester I earned the highest grades out of everyone in my year.”

“You did? Why didn’t you say anything, Damian? We can celebrate.” Bruce says while Duke nods along.

“Tt. It was expected.” Damian tries to brush the conversation off, but Bruce can see the pleased tilt to his lips.

“Oh, Bruce, speaking of school, I ehm,” Duke cleared his throat, suddenly looking sheepish. Bruce stays silent: always a good tactic for getting people to talk. Duke continues: “I might… need you for a parent-teacher meeting this Thursday…”

Damian sniffs, but doesn’t say anything about being the superior child. Progress.

“What for?”

“Apparently my chemistry teacher took it personally when I left school early that one time to deal with the sudden block fire downtown.”

“Your teacher wants to call me in because you missed part of a school day one time?” Bruce frowns. Honestly, this could be an email instead. “Didn’t we call you in sick, after the fact?”

Duke shrugs. “He says I wasn’t acting sick right before I left, and wants to ‘talk to you or another adult about it.’” Duke quotes.

Bruce sighs, but doesn’t bother arguing: Duke isn’t the one that’s being a problem here, after all. Besides, Bruce can already see a way out of this.

“I can ask Dick if he has the time.” Bruce says. Then he turns to Tim: “I’ll tell Lucius to head the board meeting if you get a full eight hours of sleep tonight.”

“Six.”

“Deal.”

“And you have to look into the fear gas tonight, scarecrow likes to move it around often to throw us off his trail.”

“There is a ‘no talking about vigilante work at mealtimes’ rule, master Bruce and master Tim.” Alfred reminds them.

“Oh god, I’m going to be late!” Stephanie shouts as she runs through the dining room and into the front entryway.

“Stephanie stayed over last night?” Bruce asks while sipping his coffee.

“Something about the manor being closer to her off-campus seminar on Mondays.” Duke replies.

“Hm.”

Monday Night:

“Oracle, update” Bruce says into the Batmobile’s intercom.

“Fastest route is down Elm street until you hit Josephine Boyd.” She replies.

“Traffic?” He asks, while following closely on the Toyota’s bumper.

“All green lights lead to the docks.”

Perfect, that’s exactly where he wants them.

“I thought Red Robin was on the fear gas case?” Barbara asks him when there’s a moment of radio silence.

“He’s sleeping.”

“No way! Really?” Dick interjects from Bludhaven.

“No chatter on the comms.” Bruce reminds them, for all the good it’ll do. Then he takes a sharp left onto Josephine Boyd St.

He’s tempted to ask Dick about Duke’s parent-teacher meeting on Thursday… but after all the grief he gives them about keeping the commlines professional, his kids would never let him live it down if he brought up civilian life now. Better to wait until tomorrow.

“Speaking of which, B, I need Spoiler for an extra pair of feet on patrol tomorrow night.”

“Ask me directly, you coward!” Stephanie interjects before Bruce can say anything. He switches to a private channel as the docks come into view.

Tonight, he’s following the men that Tim overheard talking about the shipment. If their intel is correct, then the inhabitants of the Toyota Corolla ahead of him are the owners of a warehouse on the docks that may be storing the fear gas. Actual presence of said fear gas is being confirmed by Cassandra currently.

And Bruce is corralling them into a corner. 

The Toyota guns it right until the edge of the wharf, and then screeches to a halt. Bruce pulls the Batmobile around in a tight circle around them, and gets out as the two men are fumbling their way out of their seats.

One pulls out an automatic rifle and unloads a clip of bullets into the side of the Batmobile. His aim is all over the place due to panic, and none even come close to hitting Bruce. The other runs.

Bruce has the gunman knocked out before he can process that he’s been abandoned, then moves on to stalking the other. No, he does not do it in an “unnecessarily dramatic way,” regardless of what his kids claim.

“Batman, Orphan has finished investigating the warehouse, and is waiting in ambush by the doors.”

Bruce grunts in acknowledgement, and continues his chase. The man runs while glancing often over his shoulder, nearly dripping over the miscellaneous objects littering the alleyways. He runs up to warehouse number 19, and bangs open the door only to be immediately dropped to the ground by Cassandra. She doesn’t make a sound as she lands on him.

“The gas?” he asks, when he approaches her.

She shakes her head. A dead end, then. Good thing they have two unconscious men to question.

Tuesday:

“Master Bruce, you have a call from Mr. Fox.”

Bruce looks up from his paperwork -- reading over the transcripts from the warehouse owners’ confessions from last night. They swore they had never heard anything about any fear gas, of course -- and turns to Alfred.

“Lucius?” he asks, while reaching for the phone that Alfred was holding. He doesn’t get unexpected calls from Lucius, now that Tim had taken over most of his company duties.

“Bruce,” Lucius says, by way of greeting. “We need to talk about Tim.”

Bruce wants to sigh, but holds it in. It wouldn’t be helpful in this conversation, not with Lucius.

“What’s happened?”

“Getting that board meeting dropped on me, last second. That can’t happen, Bruce.”

“Did it go poorly?” Bruce asked, sitting up. If the board is having second thoughts (again) about Tim and his age, then he could step in (again) and smooth things over, remind them that Wayne Enterprises runs smoothly…

“It went fine, I can handle the board, you know that,” Lucius cut into Bruce’s thoughts. “That’s not the problem.”

“What is the problem, then? You aren’t one to talk around things like this, Lucius.”

“Because I usually don’t have any reason to talk about your family. Or your parenting.”

Oh. Yes, this would be a first, wouldn’t it?

Lucius continueds: “I know that you have… other things that you do in your spare time, Bruce. I don’t ask about that.” Ah, this. Bruce had almost managed to ignore that Lucius knew about his alter ego. Almost. 

Just another civilian now in more danger than he would have been otherwise. For all the good that Batman does, there will always be those that suffer because of his decisions.

“And I know that you involve your kids in it,”

It wasn’t a surprise, that Lucius could put two and two together. That’s why Bruce hired him, after all. Nonetheless, it makes Bruce’s breath catch in his throat, to have it pointed out so directly like this. Usually, Lucius turned a blind eye to the whole ordeal, and Bruce let him.

“I’m not going to get involved in that, if I don’t have to. But Tim is my co-CEO now, and I can’t ignore his health, even if I wanted to. Now, look, he’s a genius. Great at this work, wouldn’t trade him away for the world. But if he can’t do both jobs without losing sleep, then he needs to pick one .”

Bruce doesn’t respond, too caught up in the feeling of mounting ineptitude: the inability to handle his problems on his own, to raise his kids to the best of his ability, to pay back Lucius all that he owes him. Lucius is being kind, Bruce knows that. But it still feels like every sentence is another condemnation stabbing right through his chest. And it wasn’t going to stop anytime soon, because Lucius still had more to say:

“Tim has a bright future ahead of him” -- Bruce knows that-- “and I don’t say that lightly.” -- of course not -- “I don’t want to be the one that takes that away from him” -- no, Bruce would be the one to do that, most likely-- “so, just… work out a better schedule, would you? Find a way to balance it.”

And isn’t that the hardest part of this all? Bruce never figured out how to do that.

It was only after a moment of silence, in which Bruce realized that Lucius had said his piece and was waiting for a reply, that he finally finds his voice again, “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thank you Lucius. I can always count on you to be honest with me.”

“Of course, Bruce. That’s what I’m here for.”

Bruce hangs up, and sighs. This isn’t the first time he’s felt this existential dread about his kids, of course not; he regrets every decision he’s ever made in his life every time one of them gets hurt, goes missing, dies … it’s a well-worn track in Bruce’s mind. Not any more welcoming for it, though.

Bruce resigns himself to this melancholic feeling for the rest of the day. It would likely be a long time before he could focus on work again.

Tuesday Night:

“What do you mean I can only stay up until 1am??”

Cassandra, warming up for patrol in a corner of the Batcave, tilts her head at the conversation, when Bruce and Tim enter.

‘Grounded?’ she signs.

Bruce shakes his head. “You’re CEO of a fortune-500 company. No more all-nighters.”

“What the hell! Nobody else has a curfew!”

“Language. Nobody else is stretched as thin as you are.”

“I can handle it, Jesus! It was one missed meeting… like you haven’t done the same, anyway!”

“You can do better .” Bruce states, wanting the conversation to end so that they can get out to patrol already.

Tim gives him a constipated look, like he’s trying to decide if Bruce is really complimenting him or not. Bruce thinks that he doesn’t deserve such skepticism.

“... For how long?”

“Indefinitely.”

“Hell no!”

Bruce looks at Cassandra, for some support. She is just staring with raised eyebrows, like she also can’t believe that Bruce is arguing in favor of work-life balance.

“Sleep isn’t the end of the world, Tim. And all your siblings get more of it than you, without needing a curfew.”

Tim grumbles something about being treated like a child, but doesn’t have a counterargument to that.

The Cave goes silent as the three change into their gear, and it’s during this pause that the comms on the Batcomputer blink to life: 

“So… is now a good time to bring up the fear gas case?” Dick asks.

It’s only now, when he hears Dick’s voice on the comms again that he realizes that he forgot to ask about going to Duke’s parent-teacher meeting. He’ll ask tomorrow.

“There were no signs of any new shipments in that warehouse, and neither of the owners confessed to anything.” Bruce reports. 

“You want me to take half the night off when you can’t even follow up on my leads?” Tim demands, still mad about that subject.

“Yes. Nightwing, do you have anything to report on the matter, or were you just asking for an update?”

“Hmmm, nothing really.” Dick hedges. “Gonna check out a few things with Spoiler tonight.” Bruce tries not to sigh: he hates it when people hold out information, but he also knows his kids too well to think that he can rush them. One thing that they all inherited from him is his stubbornness. 

“I expect a report on that by tomorrow at the latest.” He says, and hopes Dick takes it as the compromise that it is. “Red Robin, will you be covering the south side tonight?”

“ Apparently , because I only have four hours left before my bedtime , I’ll be staying right here and researching!” Tim says, throwing himself down into the Batcomputer’s chair. “ Somebody’s got to find that shipment, and I’m going to have to be efficient with my time from now on.”

Cassandra signs, ‘baby tantrum,’ at Tim, and then quickly ducks behind Bruce when Tim throws a birdarang at her. ‘I can patrol the south side,’ she signs to Bruce.

God bless at least one of his children.

Wednesday:

Bruce checks his cell for a response from Dick. He had remembered to ask him about Duke’s meeting this morning, and now all he needed was confirmation. Then he has to look over whatever Dick and Stephanie found in Bludhaven, decipher Tim’s intentionally convoluted findings from last night, and check over the final preparations for the gala on Friday…

Wait.

Did he remember to see which of his kids were coming this time?

He checks his notes.

No, he did not.

Before he can even let out a tired sigh at the last-minute arrangements, Alfred is knocking at the door.

“Master Bruce, an unmarked wooden crate has appeared in the kitchen.”

“Have you checked for wires?”

“And noxious fumes. Both negative.”

“Alright, tell Damian that Talia’s present has arrived, will you?”

Bruce will have to think of a way to celebrate Damian’s achievements too. Maybe sometime this weekend?

By the time he gets to the kitchen, Duke and Damian are both already there, Damian stalking around the crate while Duke keeps his distance.

“I swear I heard something.” Duke says, eyeing it suspiciously.

“I heard nothing.” Damian declares.

“We can x-ray it, if you would like, master Duke.” 

It would be the prudent thing to do, but Bruce can see the impatient look in Damian’s eye. Besides, it’s been a few years since Talia’s last “test,” and their relationship has improved greatly. 

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Bruce says. “Just… be quick on your feet.” He finishes lamely.

Just because he wants Damian to enjoy his present doesn’t mean he’s going to throw all caution to the wind.

There’s a tense, silent moment as Damian carefully opens the crate. He peers inside for a moment before breaking out into an honest-to-god grin and reaching inside with both hands. Then he pulls out--

“WHAT THE FUCK!” Duke shouts, jumping back as Damian holds up a rather large black snake.

“Father, can I keep it?”

Bruce just. Stands there for a moment.

“She sent you a snake in a box.” She sent him a snake. In a box.

Damian drapes the snake across his shoulders -- “DON’T DO THAT,” Duke shouts -- and then reaches into the crate again to pull out a card. He reads it aloud:

“‘I heard that you started keeping pets. Here is a useful one. I trained Azrah to only attack on command, use her wisely.’” Damian looks at the snake -- Azrah -- and murmurs “She personally trained her?”

“Damian, that’s a Black Mamba.” Duke says, holding his phone up for, presumably, a visual comparison between Azrah and your average Black Mamba.

“Damian, take the snake off your shoulders.” Bruce says, doing a good job of remaining calm.

“Master Damian, perhaps that is not the best way to hold Azrah.” Alfred chimes in, also doing a good job of remaining calm.

The snake starts to coil around Damian.

“ He’s going to die. ” Duke whispers.

“Damian--” 

“Father, I wish to keep her.”

“Damian, we can talk about it when the snake--”

“Azrah.”

“When Azrah is back in the crate.”

“Tt.” Damian protests, but does begin gathering the snake in his arms. There’s a lot of snake.

“Did mistress Talia include the commands she trained Azrah with?” Alfred asks Damian.

There’s a moment of silence as everyone stares at one another, already knowing the answer in their bones.

“I’m not sleeping in the same house as that thing.” Duke declares.

“Then stay in the barn.” Damian hisses.

Bruce sighs. He’ll have to reach out to Talia.

Wednesday Night:

“Um, Bruce? Did Dick ever get back to you about my teacher-parent meeting tomorrow?” Duke asks as they’re finishing with dinner and leaving the dining room.

Right, that.

Tim looks at Duke in interest. “You have a teacher-parent meeting?”

“... Man, you were there for that conversation.”

Based on Tim’s expression, it clearly doesn’t ring a bell with him. It was before his coffee.

“This is why you have a bedtime, Drake.” Damian teased, clearly enjoying the situation.

Tim immediately scowled at Bruce, and stalked towards the Cave.

Bruce sighs. It’s going to be another night of needlessly coded reports from Red Robin.

“No, I haven’t heard back.” He answers Duke. Then he frowns: after the surprise snake unboxing, he didn’t have time to finish looking into Dick and Stephanie’s report either. He’s leaving himself an uncomfortable number of loose-ends to tie up the day before a gala, but he’s managed through this situation before. He’ll just spend tonight catching up on paperwork, and send out the kids in his stead.

…

“What do you mean Nightwing and Spoiler aren’t patrolling tonight?”

“Didn’t you hear them on the comms Monday night?” No, he hadn’t. “In exchange for patrolling Bludhaven, Steph asked Dick to go to a concert of her choosing.” Bruce could almost hear Barbara shudder. “They’ve been out since 3pm, I think.”

“Hm. That would explain why I haven’t heard anything back from Dick.”

“Wait, did you only ask him today?” Tim looks away from the Batcomputer’s screen to gape at Bruce. “You asked him today if he’d be free tomorrow for something you knew about since Monday?”

“Oh, are you talking to me again?” Bruce asks him. 

Tim snaps his mouth closed and turns back to his files.

Okay, Dick and Stephanie are off-duty. Duke is a daylight hero, and Damian has school tomorrow. That leaves Bruce, Tim, and Cassandra. Or just Tim and Cassandra, if Bruce wants to finish going through all his reports tonight.

There was also something else he had to do before Friday, wasn’t there?

“Tim--”

“I’m on the Batcomputer tonight.” He says in a tone that brooked no arguments.

Bruce rolled his eyes. Right, on the Batcomputer, being the opposite of helpful.

“Tim--”

“Sorry, I don’t have time to head out. Besides, you don’t want to leave Cass out there alone at 1am do you?”

Cassandra raises an unimpressed eyebrow at being used in their argument. She leans over the back of his chair and presses a pressure point on the side of his neck that has him lurching forward to escape her, then she retreats back into the changing rooms before he can turn around.

“She’ll be fine, you know that.” Bruce says, ignoring their antics. “But she can’t be everywhere at once. Suit up.”

“Or what? Are you gonna limit my patrol hours as a punishment? Oh, wait a minute,”

Bruce sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn’t have time to deal with this tonight.

“Oracle, is Red Hood patrolling?”

His question is met with a deafening silence. Bruce glances at Tim, who is staring at him with his eyebrows raised. Barbara eventually clears her throat, and says, “he is, but…”

“No.” Jason’s voice comes in, clipped, short. Angry. Then there’s the audible sound of his comm being clicked off.

“Forgot he was mad at you for the Killer Croc thing last month, huh?” Barbara asks him.

The Killer Croc thing, god. 

Fine, all of his kids are mad at him. What else is new.

He’ll just go over the case tomorrow then. Time to go patrolling with Orphan.

Thursday:

He does not have time to go over the case on Thursday. What he does have time to do is to go to Duke’s parent-teacher meeting.

Did school always start at 7:25 in the morning? That’s too early.

Traffic is terrible, Duke is half-asleep, Bruce is irritated, and Alfred is spotlessly professional, as usual.

West Robinson High is just as Bruce remembers it from a ribbon-cutting ceremony two years ago: old brick buildings, winding paths, and wrought-iron fencing give the campus that classic dark academia aesthetic that the richer parts of Gotham are famous for. 

Getting out of the car at the front gates garners less attention than one would think, considering Bruce Wayne is the undisputed “Prince of Gotham.” Ah, the wonders of tired teenagers: this is exactly why he insists on spatial awareness training.

The front office is another story. Duke’s chemistry teacher, Dr. Clancy, is there and waiting for them, along with the vice principal herself. They are ushered into a private conference room upon arrival, and the entire way there, the vice principal simpers over how beautiful last season’s Wayne gala was, and how amazing tomorrow’s surely will be.

Bruce gives her his best ‘Brucie Smile’ and lets her lead the conversation.

Dr. Clancy, on the other hand, is decidedly colder towards him. Bruce hopes that means that the man will be more on-topic for this meeting. He wants to finish this and go home. 

That is not what happens. 

Instead, Dr. Clancy, a middle-aged, accredited, well-respected man, spends his time during the meeting picking shallow, vapid fights with Duke. A teenager.

Bruce sighs as, yet again, Dr. Clancy tries to insist that Duke doesn’t respect him or his class (chemistry is one of Duke’s favorite subjects), is targeting his class for absences (he’s missed one), and must have a habit of lying at home if Bruce hasn’t noticed this yet (Bruce notices everything).

Duke argues right back, the vice principal tries to play the mediator by cutting everyone off, and Bruce texts Alfred to bring the car back. He’s leaving. He’s taking Duke back with him: get those absences up to a new record of two.

Leaving West Robinson High is just as he remembers it from that ribbon-cutting ceremony two years ago: self-absorbed adults more concerned with networking and protecting their ego than raising the kids that they’ve been entrusted with.

“Well, that was a waste of a morning.” Bruce sighs, as the two of them climb back into Alfred’s Rolls Royce.

“I can’t believe he called me a liar!” Duke rages. “I mean, I was lying that day, but still! I’m not a pathological liar, or anything…”

“Master Duke, you have a secret alter ego.” Alfred chimes in with his own brand of quiet humor.

“...Not helpful, Alfred.” 

The two of them go back and forth a bit, but Bruce tunes them out, preoccupied with thoughts of everything he has to do today: Dick’s report, figuring out what to do with Azrah, finding the fear gas, working around Tim and Jason while they stay angry at him … was there something else?

“Alfred, am I forgetting anything?”

“You have forgotten to invite your children to tomorrow’s gala, master Bruce.”

Damnit.

Bruce turns to Duke, but before he can say anything, Duke shakes his head. “Nuh uh. I patrol during early evenings. No galas for me.”

“You always use that excuse.”

“It’s always true.” Duke says with a smile.

Bruce sighs again. Duke, the newest to the family, was really the only normal enough one left to bring to galas: all of his other children had a running bet over who could cause the most scenes, and it's been getting out of hand lately. 

Last year, Tim, Cassandra, and Damian had a seven-round paintball fight in the hallways surrounding the main ballroom with a contest over how many times they could change into non-stained clothes before anyone noticed the outfit swaps.

Bruce sighs again. He’s been doing that a lot lately. It’s been one of those weeks where no individual thing is overwhelming or terrible, but everyday is a new minor headache to add to the pile.

He can just go alone. That’s probably a good idea, actually -- he can't deal with another curveball tomorrow.

Thursday Night:

That night he manages to get to the Batcomputer before Tim by bribing Stephanie. He can hear them from here: Tim yelling in terror as Stephanie tackles him to the ground. Stephanie’s reassurances that this will only hurt a little bit, she promises. Alfred’s quiet admonishments of disappointment that somehow seem more directed at Bruce than the kids.

Bruce told Stephanie that he would finance the creation of a new Red Robin suit (minus the cowl that she hates) if she got him the proper measurements. She didn’t even wait until the end of his sentence to go find Tim.

Sifting through the Batcomputer’s (brand new, thanks Tim) filing systems, Bruce eventually finds Dick and Stephanie’s latest report from Bludhaven. 

Artifacts? They found evidence of Scarecrow smuggling, not fear gas into Gotham, but stolen museum artifacts into Bludhaven? This information didn’t match what Tim had heard at all.

Bruce checks Tim’s initial report about the fear gas rumors from Monday to look for discrepancies. He finds the file has been translated into pig-latin. He sighs.

The report states that Red Robin overheard two barbacks from the Iceberg Lounge having a conversation about how “Scarecrow’s newest scheme is gonna tank Jimmy’s business,” and “do you think that we’re gonna get a heads-up from the boss before? I could use a new breathalyzer.” Listening to these recordings again, there was nothing to hint that Scarecrow was branching out of chemical warfare and into Britain’s favorite pastime of taking ancient relics. It does, in hindsight, explain why those two warehouse owners (one of them being Jimmy) were able to stick to their story so well: they swore there was never a shipment of fear gas in that warehouse because there wasn’t . There was a shipment of artifacts, that were moved to Bludhaven in broad daylight, before Batman had an opportunity to intercept.

Bruce briefly considers asking Tim for more details on what he overheard before turning his mask’s audio-recording on, but then he reconsiders: talking to Tim this week would be the opposite of helpful.

That’s fine, Bruce can just do tonight’s detective work the old-fashioned way: hunting down whoever transferred the artifacts to Bludhaven and beating some information out of them.

In the back of his mind, a small part of Bruce worries that the move was intentional: that Scarecrow’s plan involves slipping through the Bats’ familial cracks, hinging on their lack of communication, pitting them and their separate territories against each other. Should he start overseeing Dick’s patrol routes? Should he drop in on Jason? 

They would both hate that. As much as Tim hates his reduced hours. Not worth tearing his family apart over an unconfirmed fear. Not yet.

Interrupting his brooding, a disheveled Tim claws his way into The Cave, a haunted look in his eyes as he bars the door behind him. As if that would stop Stephanie.

“You’re on the computer tonight,” Bruce tells Tim. “I’m going out.”

Tim immediately straightens up, that same frustrated and defiant look on his face that had become permanent over the past week. 

“I’m patrolling tonight, actually.” Tim says in a peevish tone. “Got to get started now before the entire night slips past me, you know. I barely have two hours left now.”

Bruce sighs again. “Tim, I need you to cooperate with me. This tantrum is going to affect the safety of Gotham’s citizens.”

“Cutting my hours will also do that. But you’re more worried about your company’s bottom line for some reason.”

Bruce sees a flash of purple out of the corner of his eye, and decides to push this conversation off to tomorrow, when he’ll have time for it.

“Fine. Good luck patrolling without your suit, though.”

Tim’s eyes widen comically as he whirls around to confront Stephanie stealing the cowl from Red Robin’s display case.

“Steph!” He shouts as he chases after her.

As Bruce leaves The Cave, he hears Barbara sigh over the comms. She had probably been listening to their argument earlier, but doesn’t say anything about it. It’s not the time for that right now. Batman has some shipments to track down.

Friday:

Friday morning takes Bruce by surprise, as he’s still very much out and about when it comes. The first rays of morning reach him in some dingy alleyway somewhere, surprisingly visible through Gotham’s usual smog. The comms had been quiet last night: mostly business between him, Oracle, and Nightwing, and not a peep from Red Robin. 

At some point in his search, Bruce had come across Harper walking a few young women home. She was out of costume, so they simply nodded at each other and went on their ways.

Now that the night had run out, Bruce was regretting not asking for help from at least one of the many vigilantes available in the city: it had been surprisingly difficult to find anyone who even knew that Scarecrow was back in Gotham, let alone who knew anything about a Monday shipment.

The barbacks from the Iceberg Lounge had been his first lead. Unfortunately, Oswald wasn’t the type to overwork his employees, and the two that Tim had recorded on Sunday night weren’t working Thursday night. 

No matter, they had coworkers. And, failing that, home addresses.

Bruce makes his way back to The Cave in the awkward light of early morning traffic, with very little new information. Had he been chasing down somebody else’s minions, then he would suspect a conspiracy to cover up any knowledge on principle. But, them being Penguin’s followers, Bruce could at least somewhat trust that they were more willing to work with the Bats than another rogue.

But none of them had any information for him. Only rumors that Scarecrow was doing… something. Everyone just assumed it was fear gas again.

Barbara decides to break the silence, just as Bruce pulls the Batmobile into The Cave: “you probably could have gotten through that quicker if you and Red Robin would just talk things out.”

Bruce grunts. ‘Talking things out’ is not a skill that their family possesses. Probably Bruce’s fault, but it’s not like he knew how to fix it. Best to just leave it alone and wait for Tim to get tired of being mad at him. That’s what works with Jason. And Dick, and Damian, and--

Bruce mounts the stairs up from The Cave to the manor, and through the concealed door ahead of him he can already hear his two youngest yelling. They must be up for school, then.

Bruce sighs. He had been planning on getting a nap before getting dressed for the gala later. Hopefully this would be a quick problem. Something like Damian attempting to kill Duke. It’s been a while since he’s tried to kill anybody, they might be due.

When he finally enters the parlor -- where all the yelling is originating from -- he is greeted with what he hopes is the epicenter of chaos: upturned sofa cushions, emptied backpacks, and discarded throw blankets litter the ground. Duke is pacing around frantically while Damian scowls from the corner of the room. Alfred looks visibly torn between cleaning up and leaving things as they were. That was definitely the most worrying part of the whole scene.

“What’s happened?”

Duke whirls around to look at Bruce, but before he can answer, Damian interjects.

“Thomas is displaying his general lack of composure in even the slightest of stressful situations.”

“HE LOST THE SNAKE.”

Fuck.

Friday Night:

Bruce tries not to rub his eyes as he waits to make his entrance. Finding Azrah had taken all morning, and then the afternoon was dominated by Alfred’s attempts to make him look presentable while he multitasked between memorizing the guest list and assigning tasks for the night so that the others could look into Scarecrow’s odd behavior. He briefly wondered if he should just fold and let Tim stay up however late he wants -- No. No, he can’t show weakness to his kids. They would run free. Gotham wouldn’t survive. He’d have to call in the Justice League.

He’ll get Dick to talk some sense into Tim. And maybe help him trick Duke into coming to one of these galas. 

He takes a deep breath as he hears the band begin to wind down their song. That’s his cue to enter and give a speech: thank everyone for attending, pitch the foundation he wants them to donate to, make a few jokes, and just generally pretend that he hasn’t had a long day. Week. Whatever.

He’s done this before, and on less sleep too. It’s fine.

The doors open, and the lights glare as Bruce walks out to the landing at the top of the stairs. Below him, the congregated party-goers clap politely, and he gives them his best Brucie smile. Less than half of them are here: the rest, no doubt, will be arriving fashionably late, as is custom. It's fine, this is only his greeting speech, not the full one that he’ll give when they sit down for dinner proper.

“Good evening, friends and enemies -- you know who you are,” he says with a wink. A tittering of laughter goes through the crowd. “I’m so glad that you all could gather here with me tonight to celebrate the Wayne’s Foundation's recent donation which helped to reopen the Brenner’s children hospital on Mitchell street. I hope you’re also glad to be here… so much so that you’ll replenish the foundation’s ledgers by the end of the night!” Again, the crowd laughs. 

A waitress hands him a champagne flute.

“To tonight, to having fun.” He raises his glass, and everyone cheers with him.

As he makes his way down the stairs towards the crowd, he feels his phone vibrate. He sighs: nobody would be reaching out to him right now unless there was a problem. Between his all-nighter, the unresolved case, and the gala, he’s already juggling all he wants to focus on at the moment. And he’s been trying not to think about that second one.

He checks the notification anyway.

[Tim] im inviting conner cassie and bart over.

Bruce frowns. That means that Tim’s not going out at Red Robin tonight. 

“Brucie!” Someone claps him on the shoulder in greeting. He’s reached the bottom of the steps, and the guests are looking to mingle. Bruce smiles.

“Evening…” He wracks his brain. “Mr. Clemper. How’s the wife?”

Mr. Clemper smiles, and starts chatting. Bruce tries to passively commit the conversation to memory, while also thinking about what sort of damage an angry Tim and his superpowered friends can achieve in one unsupervised night in the manor.

Next, Bruce is greeted by Leah Baldovino and her daughter, Eliza, Dr. Gertrude Sonal and her husband, Oscar Sonal, one of Wayne Enterprises’ biggest donors, Richard Delroy, his escort and last minute plus-one, Kassy Silvester, a new shareholder of WGBS, Lilian Simone, receives another text message, is pulled aside by the event coordinator (Aspen Shantelle), is pulled back into the conversation by Stephen Thornton, pretends to pay rapt attention to Sylvia Shiri’s latest gossip about a disagreement had between the Tameka family and the Manson couple, overhears something about about the Jones’ son (Wilbur) having an indiscretion at school that needed to be hushed up, catches up with Paula Shaune about her mother’s health, learns of the Emanual couple’s nasty divorce, receives another text, and excuses himself to go refill his drink.

Finally catching a moment to himself, he checks his phone:

[Damian] Sandsmark has brought snacks to the basement.

“The basement” is their way of referring to the Bat Cave on civilian phones.

Sandsmark is… Cassie. Wondergirl. If they’re in The Cave, then does that mean Tim is working tonight? Bruce thought that he had invited his friends over to goof off in protest.

Wait. Food in the Bat Cave?

[You] No eating near the computer

Tim doesn’t respond.

[You] I’ll call Alfred

[Tim] im not eating near the computer!

[Tim] jesus

Bruce refrains from rolling his eyes. God, the week really has been a frustrating one.

He’s just about to check the other message (from Damian again) when an older gentleman approaches him.

“Bruce Wayne,” The man says, in a quiet voice. “Nice to meet you, I’m Abraham Gudmund.” he holds out his hand for a handshake.

Bruce carefully takes it: the man is frail-looking, with a slight tremor to his arm. “Likewise, Mr. Gudmund. What brings you out tonight?”

That was apparently the wrong question to ask, because what follows is probably one of the most frustrating conversations of Bruce’s life: Abraham speaks slowly, and often repeats himself, topics of conversation floating in and out of focus, sentences trailing off into non sequiturs. Bruce has to cut him off at some point when he brings up a recent gossip article by Vicki. He really doesn’t have time for such things.

Shuffling off to the other side of the ballroom, Bruce pulls his phone out yet again.

[Damian] Todd wants to know the last time you heard from Harper

[You] Last night, why?

“Mr. Wayne!” Aspen calls out to him. “The Brooke couple are here, and they’re throwing a fit in the lobby. They want to speak to you.”

Bruce heads towards the elevator, and on the way is stopped by Mr. Thornton ( again ) wanting to talk about Richard Delroy’s date for the last gala he went to, which was apparently also an escort -- but a different one from this time -- and she had an exotic name, Azrah--

“Oh, my son has a snake named Azrah.” Bruce interjects, while his phone buzzes again.

“ What? Why does your son have a--” 

Bruce checks his phone, and sees that Jason is calling. “Sorry, I have to take this,” Bruce cuts him off, then enters the elevator. 

“Evening, how can I help you?” He asks, after picking up.

“Gross,” Jason’s voice rings loud in the relative silence of the elevator, “Doing the ‘Brucie’ shtick again? You hate to see it.”

“Good to hear from you too, Jason,” Bruce says. And he means it: for a moment, he even thinks that this call will go well -- Jason cracking a joke, even at Bruce’s expense, is still a good sign.

“The demon brat said you’ve talked to Roy lately?”

Bruce frowns. “Roy? No,” Bruce plays the conversation from earlier in his head, and realizes what happened. “I saw Harper last night.”

There's a moment of silence on the other end, and then Jason sighs, also seeing what went wrong. “We’ve really gotta break him out of that habit.”

The elevator doors ding open, and the ambient volume immediately rises again. The lobby is full. Bruce raises his voice, “We can work on it,” he says, trying not to get hung up on the ‘we’ in that statement. “... You know, if you had reached out to me directly, this wouldn’t have been a probl--”

“Mr. Wayne!” Dylan Brooke waves him over, already red in the face from whatever argument he started.

“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full on that end, Brucie ,” Jason interrupts. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Then he hangs up.

Bruce sighs.

Pull it together.

“Dylan! How’re you doing, old friend?”

The night continues like that, Bruce rushing from conversation to conversation, receiving updates about the latest gossip in town, the latest grievances over the rogue attacks, Damian complains about the noise being caused by Tim’s friends (he only invited three, right? The Cave is soundproofed, how can they make that much noise?), Duke checks in to tell everyone that he made it home from patrol, Cassandra, Stephanie, and Dick start reporting from the field, Stephen still has questions about Bruce’s new snake .

At the height of it, he feels burnt out in a way he rarely does at galas anymore. He should be functioning better than this, even after an all-nighter.

But his mind is still on Tim’s anger, and the fact that he didn’t know Damian had been doing so well at school, and the continued distance between him and Jason… will Duke’s fear of Azrah turn into a big problem down the line? Will Bruce have to choose to upset either him or Damian? He doesn’t know when his kids are out at concerts or staying over at the manor to catch classes, or which friends they’re worried about.

Bruce sighs into another glass, and thinks that he ought to take it easy on the refills, maybe.

“Brucie!”

Bruce looks up and sees Jasper Garcia, an associate of the Gotham Gazette. One of their fluff-piece writers, if he remembers correctly. 

“Mr. Garcia, can I help you? Have you been finding everything to your satisfaction tonight?”

“Oh? Yes, yes, of course.” Jasper nods. “Everything’s stunning. Love the decor. And the drinks.”

“Yes! The drinks make the party, I always say.” Bruce laughs, fully in the persona for this conversation. Not that it would be hard to trick the man, but always better to be on guard near a journalist, no matter how incompetent.

Jasper was the type of journalist that Bruce loved and hated all at the same time; Batman the illegal vigilante loved how uninquisitive he was, and Bruce the philanthropist hated how uncritical his opinions were. 

Nonetheless, he was here now, and ostensibly wanted to talk about the drinks or something. 

His phone beeps again. Blessedly.

“So sorry, Mr. Garcia, I have to answer this. I have to keep track of my kids at home while I’m out. You know how it is, I’m sure,” Bruce says, expecting that to be the end of the conversation.

“Oh yes, of course! So, is that where they are, then? I was wondering why you were here alone.” Jasper responds, clearly not understanding the dismissal for what it was.

“Yes.” Then he very pointedly turns to his phone.

[Duke] Damian and Tim are fighting in the basement

Of course they are. Please let it be a sparring match, at least.

[Duke] Tim’s friends are throwing money. Somebody said something about a cage

[Duke] I don’t think I can stop them if they want to start cage fighting Bruce

Why is it that Bruce must always have the most feral children? Is it something that he’s doing? Does he naturally attract the human equivalent of stray cats? It would certainly explain Selina… No, no, it’s not his fault. The children are wrong.

“--Which is, of course, ridiculous, because if that were the case then there would be no reason for him to stay in a hotel while in Gotham.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bruce asks, becoming aware for the first time that Jasper is still talking to him. 

“The recent schlock that Vicki published. Honestly, I have no idea how she managed to rise so high in our ranks with stories like that--”

“Doesn’t she have seniority over you?” Bruce suddenly snaps. The Gazette’s most incompetent writer wants to take shots at his boss while failing to pick up on social cues from the person he’s talking to? What a joke. 

[You] Stop them if they damage any property or if either one starts bleeding

“Well, but still!” Jasper splutters, “That doesn’t automatically make her… are you saying she’s right? Have you picked up another one?”

[Duke] I think you overestimate my willingness to get bit by Damian. Or Tim. Or Bart.

“Bruce,”

[You] I know you’ve been bitten before. It comes with our line of work, you’ll survive

“Bruce!”

“What!”

Jasper gives him a strange look, and Bruce belatedly remembers that he’s not supposed to be a stressed out, sleep deprived, deeply frustrated man right now. He also remembers that he’s standing in a rather crowded room, with a good handful of people watching their conversation with interest now.

Bruce takes a deep breath, and resolves himself to finishing the night without any more distractions or breaks of character.

“Terribly sorry about that, Mr. Garcia.” Bruce smiles apologetically at him. “The boys aren’t getting along. Tim's a bit mad at me, Damian doesn't like noise, and Duke is taking a bit of time to adjust to..." He spots Stephen nearby and makes the executive decision that he will not be engaging in another conversation about snakes tonight. "--a new addition to the family. You know how it is with a full house, everyone's got a million things going on. I think I’ll leave to go call them now, if you don’t mind.”

Jasper's eyes bulge wide. Suspicious. He clears his throat and says, “yes of course…. And how full is that house, again?” in a strangled tone of voice.

Bruce’s eyebrow twitches while he turns to leave. “Six right now, I think.” If none of Tim's friends have killed each other, Lord of the Flies style. “Have a good night, then.”

Then he makes his way towards a private room on the side of the main ballroom. Time to cool down, and get some caffeine. 

As he’s leaving, he hears someone whisper, “I thought he had five kids?”

Fifteen minutes of silence and two shots of espresso has Bruce feeling like… well, not like a fresh man, but maybe like Tim on a good day. 

He takes the time to catch up on the texts that have been coming through the group chat: Cassandra and Jason busted a human trafficking ring, Stephanie and Barbara are currently doing reconnaissance on the Iceberg Lounge, and Dick has been scouring Bludhaven for any more caches of artifacts since sundown.

He resolutely ignores any texts coming in from the other group chat. Alfred can handle that.

He heads back out to the main room, smile firmly in place, and throws himself back into the chatter.

“Brucie, did you hear about that nasty business with Calvin Reeves?”

The “nasty business” was that he was in debt to the mob, something that Batman had a hand in revealing to commissioner Gordon.

“Afraid not, what happened to him?” is what he said instead.

“Bruce, any news about Queen Industries?”

Oliver is subverting funds to rebuild his hideout after Deathstroke discovered the location of the last one.

“I heard he trimmed his beard!”

“Bruce, how’s Tim? I heard he’s been doing well at WE.”

He’s throwing a fit over vigilante business.

“I’m making him get more rest. You love to have a workaholic as an employee, but not so much as a father.”

“Mr. Wayne, good evening!”

“Brucie~ you’ve been ignoring me~”

“Where’re the kids, Bruce?”

Everybody wants to share a story about somebody else’s embarrassment, somebody’s wife who was caught cheating, someone’s VP embezzling. And everybody wants to hear a story about Bruce, when was the last party he went to, what direction Wayne Enterprises is heading in, what’s been going on in his love life.

It’s only after the third question about one of his kids that he remembers they’re all supposed to have the same excuse tonight: they’re at home. Doesn’t matter if they’re out on patrol, away in Bludhaven, legally dead, or currently cage fighting in his basement. He doesn’t have to think about it because the answer is always “they’re at home.”

Which is why he doesn’t hesitate when someone asks, “Brucie, decided not to bring Danny tonight?”

“No, he’s at home.”

…

Wait.

Who’s Danny?

Chapter Text

The Gotham Gazette @TheGothamGazette

Shocking! #BruceWayne admits during gala that recent speculative article written by @VickiVale is true: The Wayne family brood grows again? Read original article here for more information on the newest addition to the family.

8.7k replies | 981 retweets | 12.5k likes

The Kardashians Deserve MORE Attention, Actually @TransEgg

Replying to @TheGothamGazette

I swear he timed it up for gala season on purpose. Gotta draw more attention to his charity

40 replies | 21 retweets | 87 likes

Ivy’s Thorny Whip @lesbianlovers

Replying to @TransEgg

Hot take everyone: it’s a BAD THING to get attention for charity now

106 replies | 57 retweets | 29 likes

like, y’know, nyavi @wanderNavi

Replying to @lesbianlovers

BY ACQUIRING A CHILD?? 

39 replies | 94 retweets | 124 likes

-o0o-

Brooding Idiots

[Steph] LMAO Bruce WHAT did you do??

[Dad-Man] Alfred, have any of my kids started going by Danny lately?

[Dickie] what

[Grandpa ♥️] No, Master Bruce

[Duke T.] Some of us are trying to sleep

[Timbo] some of us AREN’T what happened?

[Cass] Twitter drama

[Dickie] okay but you understand how that explains nothing right?

[Steph] asdfghjkl Bruce FORGOT HOW MANY KIDS HE HAD

[Jaylad] What else is new. He forgot I was still legally dead last year, I think he should just have his gala privileges revoked

[Duke T.] Did he really come here to ask Alfred who his kids are and then leave?

[Steph] WOAH if he can’t go to galas anymore, then we'll have to. Is that what you want??

[Dickie] no

[Duke T.] No

[Babs] No

[Cass] No

[Cass] Hi Babs

[Jaybird] I maintain that he’s going senile in his old age

[Damian] Go to bed.

-o0o-

Google

How to take back an announcement about a child                             x

Images | Videos | On social media | Examples | News | Shopping | Books

About 285,000,000 results (0.55 seconds) 

Baby Announcement Wording and Etiquette for New Parents

https://www.parents.com › ... › Birth Announcements

Apr 9, 2014 — Traditional birth announcements are usually written in the third person and reference the parents first, followed by the baby's name. But ...

People also ask:

How do you respond to a baby announcement? 

How do you break the news of a new baby? 

What do you write on the back of a baby announcement card? 

What are the rules for announcing a baby?  

-o0o-

[Barbara Gordon] Bruce

[Barbara Gordon] Why have you not yet corrected the announcement about “Danny”?

[Bruce Wayne] It will blow over on its own. The more you feed these tabloid stories, the longer they take to fade. Trust me, there’s no need to address it.

[Barbara Gordon] …You don’t know how to, do you?

[Barbara Gordon] Bruce, answer me

-o0o-

Brooding Idiots

[WALLET] Okay, who broke the vase?

[WALLET] I’m not mad, I just want to know

[Dickie] danny did it

[WALLET] Not funny, Dick

…

[Not funny, Dick] Whoever is yelling downstairs, can you please keep it down? I’m on a call

[Steph] danny started it!!

[Jaylad] It’s incredible how you can sense him sighing from across town

-o0o-

Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2010)

[Bright Bird] Someone pinch me, I’m dreaming 

[Quiet Bird] ?

[Pun Bird] what?

[Bright Bird] Damian’s gotten in on it

[Purple Bird] in on… the danny joke? are we sure that’s damian?

[Stabby Bird] If you could not tell the difference between me and one of my clones, then that only reflects poorly on your own observational skills

[Pun Bird] OOOH BUURRNN!!

[ORIGINAL Nerd Bird] Dick, no

[Stabby Bird] Besides, if father wants to continue with the farce that he has another child, then he should be prepared to make a believable cover story about it.

[Bright Bird] That is NOT what happened and you know it!

[Quiet Bird] What DID happen?

[Bright Bird] You were totally having fun causing chaos for B, don’t deny it. It was inevitable, with how much you hang out with Dick

[Pun Bird] what did I do?

[ORIGINAL Nerd Bird] This is a mess. Tell the story

[Bright Bird] Right, so, there was a PTA meeting this afternoon and Damian, Tim, and I are waiting around to go home, right? B is walking up to us with two other moms that he really hates

[ORIGINAL Nerd Bird] Bruce has PTA enemies?

[Pun Bird] its really funny

[Purple Bird] ah, the fun of high school. it was so long ago for me though

[Quiet Bird] Literally one year

[Bright Bird] And then Dami suddenly hisses at us “laugh!” which we do without question. When B and the moms get within earshot, Dami says to him “Father, tell that joke Danny told you that had us all laughing, will you? I have to go get my bag.” AND THEN LEAVES

[Purple Bird] okay 1 he’s got you trained, and 2 that is objectively funny, good job baby bat

[Pun Bird] I am shedding one single tear for my student

[Stabby Bird] You’re all acting like I’ve never shown a sense of humor before. I’m not Duke

[Bright Bird] HEY! Unnecessary. I’ve pulled plenty of pranks before.

[Birds-Eye View] If that were the case, Bruce wouldn’t be trying so hard to take you to the next gala

[Purple Bird] its like she has some sort of formula that tells her the exact perfect time to chime in

…

[Stabby Bird] [image.jpeg]

[Stabby Bird] Alfred has set out a dinner plate for our brother Danny

[Pun Bird] B doesn’t look happy about it

[Quiet Bird] He knows it’s the beginning of the end for him

-o0o-

Brooding Idiots

[Steph] anyone else find it odd that so many of Bs kids names start with d

[Steph] first dick, then damian, then duke

[Gotham’s #1 Himbo] What brought this on? Also, you know I didn’t name any of them, right?

[Steph] and now danny!

[Gotham’s #1 Himbo] Goddamnit

[Duke T.] Woah, touchy

[Damian] Alfred does a much better job of pestering him than any of us ever managed to

[Jaylad] All named after Dick, I’m sure

[Gotham’s #1 Himbo] I didn’t name any of you

[Duke T.] Figures, Alfred is professional at everything

[Dickie] maybe we were all named after Danny…?

[Gotham’s #1 Himbo] I didn’t name any of you

[Cass] Danny is the favorite

[Jaylad] He’s certainly my favorite

[Dickie] you know, that hurts coming from you. I’m pretty sure you mean it

[Jaylad] I do

-o0o-

Google

Best way to save face while taking back an announcement       x

News | Videos | Images | Shopping | Books | Maps | Flights | Finance

About 1,010,000,000 results (0.56 seconds) 

How To Save Face After A Major Screw-Up

https://www.fastcompany.com › how-to-save-face-afte...

May 29, 2014 — Be solution-oriented. After you have apologized (once), discuss your action plan to resolve the problem. Demonstrate that you have learned from ...

A Four-Step Process To Save Face After You've Lost It At ...

https://www.fastcompany.com › a-four-step-process-to...

Sep 22, 2015 — Let it go as best you can and move on, with a focus on avoiding such outbursts in the future. Step Four: Ride Out The Aftermath. Even though you ...

-o0o-

[Bruce Wayne] Alfred, what’s this meeting you’ve got me scheduled for next?

[Alfred Pennyworth] Master Danny’s doctor’s appointment

[Bruce Wayne] You’re kidding me, right?

[Alfred Pennyworth] I would never

[Bruce Wayne] Alfred please tell me I am not wasting my time driving right now, what is this appointment ACTUALLY about

[Alfred Pennyworth] Please calm yourself Master Bruce, young Danny's health is no waste of time

[Bruce Wayne] ALFRED! I canceled an ACTUAL meeting for this!

[Alfred Pennyworth] Well I'm sure Danny appreciates you putting him and his health before business

-o0o-

All Hail The Triangle (Ears) @foxears

Anyone else think it’s strange that we haven't heard literally anything about #Danny Wayne after that one gala?

91 replies | 41 retweets | 232 likes

Superman that ho @Lampalot7

Replying to @foxears

What, are we supposed to get a daily agenda about him?

14 replies | 4 retweets | 12 likes

Tactopus @ChuLian

Replying to @Lampalot7

Well, Bruce did parade around all of his other ones quite a bit after getting them. OP is just worried that he plays favoritism at home

13 replies | 9 retweets | 19 likes

All Hail The Triangle (Ears) @foxears

Replying to @ChuLian

I am NOT worried about that. I think Danny doesn’t exist

52 replies | 10 retweets | 9 likes

The Real Flying Grayson @DickGraysonWayne

Replying to @foxears

How dare you doubt the existence of our dear brother Danny

506 replies | 72 retweets | 907 likes

-o0o-

Brooding Idiots

[Furry] Dick why would you tweet that

[Dickie] would you rather that they think that we hate our new brother?

[Furry] There is no Danny, please stop throwing gas onto the fire

[Jaylad] I for one love our brother Danny. He sends the best Wonder Woman memes

[Steph] oh are we making new danny lore?? i loved when he yelled YEET and jumped off that building last night

[Duke T.] He’s a part of the night patrol now?

[Dickie] woah wait who let him near a rooftop?

[Dickie] somebody protect our dear brother Danny, he’s the only normal one we have 

[Damian] Except for Duke

[Duke T.] I JUMPED OUT OF A MOVING COP CAR AND OFF OF A BRIDGE BEFORE I EVER MET YOU PEOPLE

[Steph] yeah but have you done that LATELY?

[Jaylad] You just don’t cause enough trouble Duke. Unlike our dear brother Danny, who helped me steal all of the remote controls from the manor today

[Duke T.] You know, Cass doesn’t get this sort of treatment for being quiet

[Cass] I have selective mutism

[Duke T.] Well don’t make me feel bad about it

[Grandpa ♥️] Master Jason please return the remote controls to the manor

[Dickie] WAIT HE ACTUALLY DID IT??

[Steph] this is why we call you a goodie two shoes duke

[Duke T.] Because I don’t steal all the remotes from the manor?

[Jaylad] Because, unlike our dear brother Danny, you did not offer to help me do it

[Steph] our dear brother danny helped me get to class on time

[Cass] Brother Danny helped me clean dishes

[Damian] Danny walks Titus with me every morning

[Duke T.] WOah, a nickname. I think Danny just replaced Dick as the favorite older brother

[Dickie] ouch

[Dickie] wait IS he an older brother? B how old is Danny?

[Furry] Danny does not exist.

-o0o-

like, y’know, nyavi @wanderNavi

@DickGraysonWayne Anymore news about Danny?

32 replies | 24 retweets | 56 likes

The Duke of Gotham @DukeMThomas

Replying to @wanderNavi

Bruce hasn’t said anything yet because he’s actually planning a big event to introduce Danny to high society. Don’t worry though, news incoming soon!

6.7k replies | 681 retweets | 10.5k likes

-o0o-

Trending in The U.S. right now:

1. #TwitterBuyOut
2. #BruceWayne
3. #Goncharov
4. #DannyWayne 
5. #DukeThomas 

-o0o-

Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2010)

[Bright Bird] See, I can cause problems too

[Purple Bird] [WHEEZE.jpeg]

Chapter Text

Danny wakes to the sound of Jazz stomping her way down the stairs. He can’t see any clock from his current position -- halfway falling off the couch -- but he knows in his heart of hearts that it’s Too Damn Early.

He’s sure that’s why she’s being so loud.

She walks past the living room and into the kitchen, where Danny can hear her rustling around for food and starting a pot of coffee.

As the smell of fresh brewed coffee starts to waft through the living room, Tucker and Sam, each laying in a pile on the ground, also begin to stir.

Last night they had come over to play DOOMED, and ended up staying the whole night in what could possibly be considered a “too-clingy cuddle puddle.” It’s an occurrence that’s been happening more and more often as they got closer to the end of their last summer together. 

Sue him, they’re going to miss each other.

As Jazz enters the living room with her coffee and a slice of cold pizza, Danny rolls over and sticks his head under a pillow. Too early.

“Danny,” She says.

“No.”

“Danny.”

“I can take a message for you” Danny says, voice muffled as he smushes his face further into the cushion.

Tucker struggles to extract himself from the cocoon he’s built for himself, while Sam kicks him for wiggling too much.

“Did you get adopted in Gotham?”

Danny, Sam, and Tucker immediately sit up and stare at her, all making various sounds of “huh??”

“No, I didn’t get adopted, what are you talking about??”

Jazz -- already dressed for the day despite it being early morning. Who does that on a Sunday?? -- raises an eyebrow and reads from her phone, “‘Billionaire philanthropist Bruce Wayne to adopt another stray, this time from outside of Gotham? Gotham Gazette’s photojournalist Vicki Vale this week spoke to anonymous resident of the Kane Hotel, “Danny,” who has every hallmark of a Wayne adoptee. According to Vale--’”

Jazz gets interrupted in her reading by Tucker’s raucous laughter. Danny, meanwhile, is just blue-screening.

“The Waynes, Danny? Really?” Sam turns to him with a look of faux betrayal. “Class traitor,” she says before standing up and heading towards the kitchen, presumably for a cup of coffee.

“Danny, how could you get adopted by the Waynes and not tell me? You know that I love modding Wayne tech. I thought we were friends!” Tucker complains. It would have had more impact if he wasn’t still wiping a tear of laughter from his eye while he said it.

Danny ignores both of them. “Are you telling me that there’s another rich, middle-aged millionaire--”

“Billionaire!” Sam shouts from the kitchen.

“--middle-aged billionaire with an interest in me? Two of them? It happened twice? Why? ”

“It’s weird that it happened twice,” Tucker whispers.

“How would I know that? You were the one that went to Gotham.” Jazz responds

Danny throws his hands up in the air before collapsing back into the couch. “I didn’t even meet any Waynes, as far as I’m aware.”

“How could you be unsure if you met any?” Tucker asks, while sitting on the couch. And, coincidentally, on Danny’s legs. 

“I dunno man, I don’t know what celebrities look like.”

“Guys, back on topic?” Jazz says, finishing her pizza. 

“Technically, they stayed on topic.” Sam says while entering the room again with her own slice of pizza and a mug. She walks up to the couch, looks at it for a moment, and then hands her mug to Tucker.

“Oh, really? For me?” he murmurs as he takes it.

Then Sam sits on Danny’s back. Hard.

“Ack!” he yells and bucks at the same time that he hears Tucker curse. 

“Hot, hot, hot, napkin, help.” 

“Don’t stain the couch, guys.” Jazz scolds, but doesn’t make any effort to stop them.

Then Sam takes the coffee back from him, and sips it. “So if we show you a gallery of the Waynes’ faces, would you be able to recognize which one you met?”

“I didn’t meet any of them!”

“Sam, I can’t believe you did that to me--”

“I can’t believe you fell for it.”

“--and Danny, I thought you said that you didn’t know if you met any? Now you know for sure that you haven't? Sounds like you’re trying to hide your new tech inheritance…”

Danny tries to kick Tucker. It doesn’t work so well when his legs are trapped like that.

Jazz is smiling at their antics, but still tries to keep a serious tone when she says, “we should try to figure out what Bruce Wayne wants. This behavior doesn’t make sense and he probably has ulterior motives for it.”

“Jazz, and I mean this in the kindest possible way, but what could billionaires possibly even want to take from us? Do we have things? Besides the portal to hell, I mean.”

“Danny, defending the innocence of a suspicious rich man? I never thought I’d see the day.” Tucker says. He has since flopped backwards into the pit between couch cushions, well and truly sprawling out over Danny.

“Hey, I’m not saying he’s innocent! I’m saying we don't have anything to lose. Might as well relax then, right?”

“Is that, like, your life motto or something?” Sam asks.

“After-life motto, at least.” Danny holds up his hand for a fist bump. He does not receive one.

“We have no idea what they could want from us.” Jazz continues, “That’s the problem. Maybe they want Fenton tech--”

Tucker barks out a laugh.

“Maybe they’re interested in you and want to sell you out to the government,”

“How much do you think I’d be worth?”

“Two pennies and an old corn dog.” Sam says.

“I’ll take that.”

“Technically, Bruce Wayne is the one who’d get it, not you.”

“Can’t have any nice things around here.”

“Guys!” Jazz interrupts. About time too, Danny’s legs are going numb, so he starts to squirm until they let him up.

“How do you suggest we look into it, Jazz? Ask the Mansons what they think of the Waynes?”

“I can tell you what the Mansons think of the Waynes, and it’s that they’d like to spend the rest of their lives licking the ground that the Waynes walk on.” Sam snorts and rolls her eyes.

“Well that’s not helpful.”

“Can’t you just, like,” she waves her hand around, “call in a favor with someone in the Zone?”

Danny raises his eyebrows. “To beat the shit out of Bruce Wayne? Jazz, you know that ghosts only have one way of doing things.”

“That’s not true, you’re smart when you want to be. Can’t you ask Clockwork? He’s literally omniscient.”

“And also deliberately unhelpful.” Danny adds, sitting up and trying to grab Sam’s coffee from her. She tries to hold it away from him, but he had hit a growth spurt in his senior year, and could easily reach over her.

Tucker makes a noise akin to hissing when they come close to spilling on him again.

“So the article says that they think Danny’s an adoptee because… the hotel he stayed in?” Sam asks. “That sounds like normal tabloid nonsense, are the Waynes even involved?”

“Well, Bruce did confirm it at a gala three days ago.”

“What? Why?”

“That’s what I’d like to know.” Vlad says as he throws open their front door.

“What the fuck?”

“Why are you here??”

“That door was locked.”

“Daniel, I never thought that your problem with me was that I didn’t have enough money!”

“That is not the problem, what are you talking about? Get out!” Danny shouts. 

“The reason why you didn’t want to be my successor, of course.” Vlad says, making himself at home in the armchair in the corner. He crosses one ankle over a knee, and steeples his fingers under his chin, because he just has to sit like an evil bastard too.

“Vlad, you’re not welcome here.” Jazz says, a calm, steely tone entering her voice for the first time all morning.

“Oh, come now, Jasmine. It’s not like I’m here to start a fistfight. I just thought that the little badger would like to know what I’m about to do.”

Danny’s mood immediately sours: Vlad only ever allows Danny to know about his plans if doing so would make Danny play right into his hand. On the other hand, trying not to know would also screw him over.

We really should just shoot him off into space or something…

“What, Vlad?” Danny says, heaving a sigh like he’s doing the man a huge favor by listening to his evil plans.

“Daniel, manners.” Danny grits his teeth and reminds himself why it’s a bad idea to throw grown men through the living room walls. “I just figured you would want to be informed about the new blood feud that I have with Bruce Wayne.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Sam bursts out laughing.

“YES! They’re eating each other! Oh, the world is healing!”

“... why? ” Tucker asks, genuinely confused.

“And why do you think I’d care about that?” Danny continues.

“Because, he had the audacity to try to adopt you right out from under my nose!”

“‘ Out from under your nose ’?” Danny repeats, incredulously. Is he serious? “Don’t make me puke, fruitloop. I’d rather wander the world homeless than ever be taken into your custody. You should have some familiarity with that sort of rejection.” Danny growls at him.

Vlad’s smirk drops off of his face as he fixes Danny with one of his usual calculating glares. Around them, the rest of Team Phantom shifts in their seats, ready to jump to their feet, if need be. Danny notices Jazz take off one of her flip flops.

“I’m surprised you can so shamelessly deny trying to get my attention after that media circus you put on in Gotham, little badger. You should know by now that if you want to include other people in our contest of wills, then you have to be prepared for innocent bystanders to get hurt.”

The blood rushes to Danny's head in anger. He jumps off the couch, a thousand insults on the tip of his tongue, but Jazz beats him to it.

“Don’t you dare insinuate that he is responsible for your actions, Vladimir Franklin Masters! If you ever do that again, so help me god, the government will have something scarier than ghosts to worry about in this town!

Now get out !”

Vlad puts his hands up in surrender, though the arrogant smirk is back on his face. “Very well, very well. Far be it from me to overstay my welcome.” He walks back to the front door, and twists the doorknob. Then he turns to smirk at Danny over his shoulder. “If you need me, I’ll be in Gotham.”

Then he’s gone, just as Jazz’s flip flop slaps against the door.

Danny, meanwhile, is shaking with anger.

“Argh, I hate it when he does that! I hate it! I hate being called ‘little badger’ and how he acts like I’m always playing along with him! Pathetic, lonely little man! I’m eighteen, leave me alone!”

Sam and Tucker nod along with him and insult Vlad at all the right moments. It still takes a few more minutes of animated ranting before Danny runs out of steam.

“... Don’t go to Gotham.” Jazz eventually says in the silence that follows.

“Weren’t you the one telling me to go investigate the Waynes?” Danny retorts. “It doesn’t matter if I go to Gotham or not, he’s gonna pull some bullshit either way. I can’t just ignore it.”

“Sure you can,” Sam says. “The Waynes can take care of themselves. They live in Gotham, after all. Vlad is small potatoes compared to that.”

“No, I’m with Danny on this one,” Tucker says. “We’ve knowingly walked into traps before, and Danny always comes out on top at the end anyway. It should be fine if he goes to Gotham to keep an eye out.”

“Keep an eye out for what, though?” Jazz asks, at the same time that Sam says, “You just want Wayne Tech.”

“Hey!” Tucker exclaims. “Just because that’s totally true--” Danny snorts, “--doesn’t mean this isn’t the best course of action for Danny, too. Do you guys remember that time that Vlad blackmailed Val’s dad?”

“We agreed never to speak of that!” Danny shouts.

“He moped around for a week and refused to shower until we helped him walk face-first into that ecto-cannonball!”

“Why am I friends with you people, again?”

“Keep an eye out for what , though?” Jazz stresses.

“If we don’t let him do this, then he’s not going to sleep and he’ll keep listening to sad music--”

“I don’t do that !”

“ What would he even do in Gotham? ” Jazz shouts. “Walk up to Bruce Wayne and say, ‘Hi, you announced that you adopted me at a gala last Friday, I need to babysit your family until I figure out what my evil godfather is planning’?”

There’s a moment of silence as they contemplate that.

Then, Sam broke it: “We can actually tell them some version of that. Rich people take inheritance seriously, if Danny was actually allowing Vlad to mentor him--” Danny pulls a face. “--then Bruce making that announcement could hypothetically mess with Dalv Co. and its stock. You can just go tell them that they’ve created family drama for you. Which they have.”

“Okay, one, please don’t ever refer to Vlad as ‘family,’ I will die again. Two, how does that allow me to stay near them indefinitely until Vlad pulls the trigger on whatever he’s planning?”

There’s another moment of silence.

“Just go there and figure it out on the fly?” Tucker suggests.

Well, that’s their usual way of doing things.

-o0o-

Despite what Vlad said about going to Gotham immediately, he is still the mayor of a small town. He doesn’t do much in that role -- aside from throwing his personal money at public road projects -- but regardless, he still can’t just up and leave at the drop of a hat. 

Which is why Tucker and Sam decide to follow him shortly after he leaves Fenton Works. Not in person, of course; he would notice them right away, they’ve tried it before. But through traffic cams and storefront window video feed, Tucker would be able to watch his every step between here and town hall. So they head up to the Ops Center to track him remotely while Sam calls her parents to ask for a favor.

“Yeah… yeah, I just-- I’m interested in learning about local government-- no, I’m not attempting a coup in the name of environmental protest. Yes, I know I said that last time.”

Tucker, from his spot in the spinny chair, snorts.

“Look, you guys are going to be there! Do I ever try anything like that when you’re around to embarrass me? No. I just want to learn a bit about town hall… yes, I know that civil servants don’t make a lot of money, I don’t care about that sort of thing.”

“Woah there, don’t get too into the role, Sam.” Tucker whispers to her. She glances at him. “This world wouldn’t survive Mayor Samantha Manson.”

He snickers as she flips him off.

“Can you help me, or am I going to have to go by myself to have an unsupervised chat with Mayor Masters about my honest opinions ? …No, it has to be sooner than next week. I don’t know, every day starting today? Well, what else are you doing with your time? It’s not like you work.”

She pulls the phone away from her ear and looks down at it.

“I think they hung up on me.”

“Iconic. Also, Vlad just tripped a little bit over a crack in the sidewalk.”

“Ooh, did he fall?” She asks, coming over to stand behind him.

“Nah, he caught himself. But it’ll still be funny if I edit it to ‘Hollaback Girl.’”

They watch the feed for a moment longer before Tucker says:

“We’re going to have to find another way to spy on him in his office, aren’t we?”

“I’ll think of something. We have a few days, at least.”

-o0o-

Later that week finds Danny, fully crouched in the space between his bed and wall, when Jazz knocks on his door. No, he does not bang his knee against the wall when he jumps at the sound.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” She asks.

Danny looks at the mess on his floor: clothes strewn about, half-disassembled gadgets laying in piles, he thinks there’s a toothbrush somewhere under there. Not a single thing is actually inside the open duffle bag that he has open in the corner.

“Sure, I’m in no rush. What’s up?”

Jazz walks into his room and sits on his bed. She takes a moment to gather her thoughts, which is how Danny knows that he should dread this conversation.

“Why are you going to Gotham?”

“Why? We already talked about this; to stop Vlad.”

“No, the real reason. You don’t care about what Bruce Wayne might be doing, and you don’t care what Vlad is going to do to him either. We both know that the worst he’s brave enough to do is sign an unfair partnership contract with him. So why are you rushing off to a fight you don’t want to have?”

Danny folds his arms in front of him and says, “I don’t think assuming someone’s motivations and emotions is a very good habit for a psychologist.”

She gives him a flat, unimpressed look. “Good thing you’re not my patient then.”

He sighs. “Fine. I just.” He sighs again, and runs a hand through his hair. “He’s messing around in Gotham, where I’m going to school next, and I’ve spent the last four years dealing with ghost shit, making it the center of my life… going away to college, while Valerie stays here and gets her dad involved in the ghost hunting business… it’s, it was supposed to be--” he trails off, at a loss for words.

“This is supposed to be a fresh start for you, and if Vlad gets comfortable starting fights in Gotham, then he’ll never leave you alone there.”

“YES. And it’s bad enough that he’s interrupting my last summer with Tuck and Sam, and you know leaving all the hero stuff behind was a hard choice for me…”

“I remember. You’re still thinking of coming back here after college, right?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know, maybe?”

By this point he has sat down on the bed next to Jazz, all pretenses of this being a short conversation forgotten.

There’s a lull as Jazz thinks of her next words, before she finally breaks the silence.

“You know that he’s hoping to get a reaction out of you, right? You’re encouraging him.”

“I know! Because he’s an emotionally stunted vampire with no chill and even less shame. I know! …But what else am I supposed to do here? Ignore it? That never works with him.”

“How about you ask for help, for once?”

Danny snorts. “From who? Our paren--”

“Not mom and dad, obviously. But there are other adults in the world. Some of the things he’s done to you constitute abuse--” Danny cringes at the word, “--and while you may not be able to take him to court over it with no evidence, you can still get a restraining order.”

“He doesn’t care about--”

“It’s not about what he cares about. When he breaks the restraining order, then you have a criminal charge on your hands. That’ll make things easier.”

Danny thinks about it for a moment. “... He’d be smart about it. Won’t get caught in violation of anything.”

“Will he? He doesn’t see you as a legal threat. You’ve never tried to use that type of force against him. It’s always fists or family blackmail with you two. If you get a restraining order but convince him you just did it out of short-sighted anger or something, I really think there’s a chance he’ll ignore it. He won’t think you’d pull that trigger.”

“Jazz, he brainwashes people for a living. Stepping into the legal ring with Vlad ‘business-contracts-are-fun’ Masters just seems like a quick way to embarrass myself.”

“... I don’t know. I don’t know, Danny. But, everything else you’ve tried hasn’t worked. Not in the long run. And I can’t help but notice that you’re going into this whole Bruce Wayne thing without a long term plan too.”

-o0o-

While Danny prepares for his trip, Team Phantom’s stealthiest undercover spy keeps an eye on Mayor Vlad Masters. Who could possibly be this last-ditch trump card? This diamond-in-the-rough intelligence officer? This oft-looked-over purveyor of odd skills??

Wes Weston!

Nobody would ever suspect that the one person who was most dedicated to undermining the Freaky Trio in freshman year would one day become an integral part of their most daring escapades. And nobody ever will, on account of the fact that he still publicly bashes them and Phantom, all these years later.

He still remembers the day that Danny came and confirmed to him what he already knew: he is the town menace, Phantom.

Wait, no. He is the Phantom Menace .

That’s a little too on the nose.

Anyway, Danny Phantom -- what a flimsy secret identity, that’s just his name -- humbled himself before Wes and admitted defeat in the face of his relentless exposés on their criminal activities. Oh, it was glorious.

Even better, Danny recognized that investigative skills like Wes’ ought not go to waste: he told him that the mayor, Vlad Masters, was none other than the dreaded Wisconsin Ghost, and that he would be unable to keep Amity safe without Wes acting as the brains behind the operation.

And, while Wes might’ve once upon a time hated Danny for escaping the consequences of his extremely obvious actions … well, everybody fucking hates the Wisconsin Ghost. That’s a no-brainer.

For years now, he’s been running interference with Jazz for Team Phantom, all the while publicly insisting that he would never get along with Danny. It’s only a matter of time before Vlad himself gets caught in their ingenious web of lies and offers him ghost hunting gear like he apparently did for The Red Huntress.

Yes, only a matter of time before he’s playing both sides in this blood-feud of the century, eventually striking the deciding blow for the side of goodness.

Wes Weston, Amity Park’s secret hero behind the secret hero.

-o0o-

“Oh, Wes sent a text.”

“Vlad on the move?”

“He doesn’t know, he can't get into the building.”

“God, he’s so lucky he’s funny.”

-o0o-

“Wallet?”

“Check.”

“Thermos?”

“Check.”

“Clothes?”

“ Check .”

“Phone?”

“Check! C’mon Sam, I’m going to New Jersey, not the Amazon!”

“Call Ellie first, if you decide to go to the Amazon.” Tucker interjects.

“When did she become my older sister?”

“Danny,” Jazz steps forward and hugs him. “Don’t make everything worse.”

“Such kind words of encouragement.” He grumbles. But he does also hug her back.

“Don’t be late for movie night. We’re watching ‘Regan vs Annabelle vs Carrie’ this Sunday.” Sam says.

“I know, I know.”

“And we’re gonna set up WiFi to the Realms next week. Don’t let this drag out.” Tucker says.

“That’s still a terrible idea, but I won’t.”

“You have your hotel tickets on your phone ready?” Sam asks. She had set him up at the Kane hotel yet again to really sell his rich boy persona. She was also planning on releasing a few strategically timed tweets from her official Manson account to further establish Danny’s ties in the world of the 1%.

He pulls them up. “Yup.”

“And Wulf is going to drop you off somewhere out of sight, not in the middle of everything where everyone can see you, right?” Jazz asks.

“I have had this secret identity for years, and also the power of invisibility. We’ll be fine. Can I go now?”

“Kick fruitloop ass, man.” Tucker says while giving him a fist bump.

“Don’t I always?”

-o0o-

Moon's Haunted @DannyFenton

Heading back to Gotham! Two trips in two weeks, lets goooooo

2 replies | 0 retweets | 4 likes

Flashmob @NumberOneFlashStan

Replying to @DannyFenton

People can be excited to go back to Gotham?

1 replies | 0 retweets | 1 likes

Moon's Haunted @DannyFenton

LMAO I got arrested immediately.

10 replies | 3 retweets | 23 likes

It’s Been 0 Days Since Our Last BS @whatamidoinghere

Replying to @DannyFenton

Whoop there it is

3 replies | 2 retweets | 6 likes

Beekeepers Anonymous @bzzzzz

Replying to @DannyFenton

What’d you do king?

2 replies | 1 retweets | 9 likes

Moon's Haunted @DannyFenton

Replying to @bzzzzz

Witnessed clown on clown violence in the streets 😔 I am now en route to the police station. This trip is significantly less Gucci than the last

53 replies | 25 retweets | 103 likes

SmallMight @DekusThighs

Replying to @DannyFenton

WAIT! Danny name, here two weeks ago, black hair in the profile pic… is this Danny Wayne???!

72 replies | 46 retweets | 135 likes

Chronic Insomnia @ThinkingAboutRedRobin

Replying to @DannyFenton

@BruceWayne Come get yo kid

68 replies | 26 retweets | 83 likes

Chapter Text

Alfred Pennyworth wakes up at 6:45am, on the dot. He turns off his alarm, gets out of bed, and begins his morning rituals: dressing, brushing teeth, gathering the day’s schedule. Before leaving his room, he makes his bed, straightens his sleeves, and turns out the light.

The servant’s quarters are as neat as they always are under his purview: lacking the general wear-and-tear the young masters often leave in their wake, despite Alfred’s best efforts. Here, corridors are calmly walked down and everything smells faintly of lemon pledge.

He reaches the main kitchen an hour before anyone else in the house will wake, and begins cooking. Bacon first, so that the eggs can be cooked in the leftover fat, just the way that most everyone in the family prefers it. For himself, he will stick to cereal, yoghurt, and mixed fruits, not because he dislikes a hearty breakfast, but because he was told in his latest checkup to watch his cholesterol.

He goes to fetch the morning paper while the bacon cooks, and on his way to the front door, checks Master Bruce’s study for activity. If he or anyone else has pulled an all-nighter, then that will affect when he puts the coffee on.

For the past week or so, Master Bruce and Master Tim have been in a contest of wills over Master Tim’s sleeping habits. Originally, Master Bruce was holding strong against Master Tim’s juvenile antics, but recently, Master Tim has been staying up later and later in Bruce’s study, seemingly with permission. 

While Alfred wishes that they would both get more rest, he knows for certain that Master Bruce will fully acquiesce soon, and Master Tim will be allowed out at whichever hours his workaholic heart desires.

The morning news has an article of Master Richard’s latest exploits in Bludhaven -- Nightwing stopped a bank robbery two nights ago -- and Alfred is careful to leave the paper open to that page as he lays it out at the head of the table.

The Bacon is done, and a second skillet is brought out for Master Damian’s eggs. Alfred won’t start on the toast until he hears movement upstairs, to be sure that it remains warm when it’s time to eat. In the meantime, he takes to watering the plants in the dining room and front corridor.

Miss Stephanie is the first to descend the stairs for breakfast. She had taken to staying in the manor Sunday nights, but this was the first time all month that she had woken up in time for a proper sit-down meal. Naturally, Alfred had been making her breakfast every week in case she joined them, as well as a bag of to-go items for when she didn’t.

As she sits down at the table, Alfred places her meal in front of her with a quiet, “Good morning.”

“Alfie,” she smiles sleepily at him. “I swear you’re magic.”

“Not at all, Miss. Just prudent.”

The other three children trickle into the dining hall just as quietly, all too bleary from sleep to cause a ruckus just yet. Alfred knows that they’re saving what little morning energy they have for when Master Bruce wakes. Sometimes that man complains that they don’t act like a family enough. Nonsense, Alfred has never seen someone embody the concept of “single parenthood” quite like Master Bruce has with his eight wayward charges.

Master Bruce enters the dining room at 8:03am, and it's as if a flip has been switched in the kids: Master Tim wakes up somewhat and sends a baleful look towards the man, Miss Stephanie starts trying to annoy Master Damian by invading his space, and Master Duke straightens his posture and starts eating more diligently.

Master Bruce tries not to acknowledge any of it. That only ever encourages them.

Alfred serves Master Bruce his breakfast and retreats to the kitchen proper. Breakfasts and lunches are less of an ordeal than dinners, and Alfred often doesn't need to stay for the whole event. Today will be busy anyway, so it’s better to get a jumpstart on chores rather than stand around watching the Wayne Family Comedy Hour.

At 8:10am, he dusts the front parlour. At 8:25am, he checks the dining room for empty plates, which he takes to the kitchen. Master Duke and Master Damian have left for school already. Miss Stephanie is happily watching the tense atmosphere between Master Bruce and Master Tim. Alfred leaves to begin vacuuming the corridor.

By 10:30am, Master Bruce has settled into his study to do work, and Master Tim and Miss Stephanie have left the house for the day. Alfred has turned over the bedding in the guest rooms, organised the dining implements, and redecorated the entryway with paintings that were put into storage the previous winter.

Next will be sharpening the weapons in the cave, dating and sorting the new blackmail material for Wayne Enterprises’ competitors, researching snake handling equipment, and restocking the first aid kits.

It’s a normal day at the Wayne Manor. That is, until just after noon when Alfred is alerted to a rather strange development taking place on social media.

“Master Bruce,” he says, knocking on the study door.

“Come in.”

Alfred enters, and waits a moment for Master Bruce to finish notating something. 

“What is it, Alfred?”

“Red Robin has been spotted patrolling around town with The Signal.” Alfred says, holding out his mobile to the man. Master Bruce’s eyebrows raise as he takes the phone and flips through the images.

“... Just what is he thinking..!” Bruce mumbles as he stands from his chair.

“Based on the locations shared in the posts, it seems that they are travelling in a rather straight line, possibly towards a specific destination.”

“They’re seeking out a confrontation?” Master Bruce asks, in a tone of voice that sounds rather more like a statement than a question.

“It appears so.”

Master Bruce lets out a short but creative swear and heads for the grandfather clock in the corner.

Honestly, Alfred thinks it’s about time that Master Tim tried something like this… though he hadn’t been expecting daytime activities. A creative loophole to get around an early curfew is one thing, but it's a different thing entirely to ensure a fight during the day, when he would be at a disadvantage for the lack of shadows that he was accustomed to. 

It warrants a long scolding about recklessness from Alfred, but at the moment it’s Master Bruce that leaves to confront the two. As he’s going out as Batman, not Bruce, Alfred does not accompany him as his driver.

Instead, he stays in the manor and handles the phone calls coming into Master Bruce’s study, redirecting them to Wayne Enterprises with the excuse of Master Bruce being in a meeting. Technically not untrue.

Not even fifteen minutes have passed when the caller ID shows Commissioner Gordon’s work phone is calling. It’s unfortunate timing, but Alfred takes a moment to remind himself that this cannot be not Batman-related business; the Commissioner is too professional to make such a basic mistake.

He picks up the phone.

“Bruce Wayne’s phone, Alfred Pennyworth speaking.”

“Alfred, perfect. Is Bruce available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir. He’s in a meeting with two of his kids at the moment.”

“Yeah, I saw about that. Listen, I’ve got a bit of a situation here at the precinct. There’s a kid here that really wants to talk to Bruce. He got picked up at the scene of a fight between Harley and the Joker,” Alfred blanches at the prospect of a civilian being anywhere near the Joker. “And I’m concerned about why Bruce’s name would come up in this situation.” Commissioner Gordon continues.

“Yes, that would be a problem.” Alfred murmurs to himself while writing a note. “If it’s just about getting information from him, then I will be able to handle that much by myself. I’ll send a message along to Master Bruce to alert him of the situation as well.”

The Commissioner hesitates for a moment before grunting. “See you soon, then.”

-o0o-

Alfred’s Rolls-Royce is, as far as he knows, the only car in Gotham with the driving wheel on the right side of the cabin. After so many years driving in America, he has learned how to drive on the right side of the road from the right side of the car, but nonetheless, he pays careful attention to his surroundings as he pulls into the Gotham City Police Department’s car park.

Nobody is waiting for him outside, but that’s fine because he knows the path from the front door to Commissioner Gordon’s office by heart.

The receptionist is a new face, but the police, sadly, are not. Past the bullpen, up the stairs, and to the office with a window-ledge wide enough to land on. The waist-high windows are fogged out, framed by solid, dark wood. The broken blinds are halfway pulled down, and the door reads, 

JAMES W 

GORDON

Commissioner 

of Police

Everything is in its normal place, and Alfred can just barely hear a calm conversation happening inside. With that, he knocks on the door.

The voices quiet, and are replaced by approaching footsteps. The door opens and Commissioner Gordon steps out, quickly shutting the door behind him. In the brief moments that it was open, Alfred caught a glimpse of the room: one of the comfortable chairs in front of the Commissioner’s desk was occupied by a teenage boy with a duffle. Black hair, white skin, wide blue eyes, and a skinny frame were all Alfred had time to notice before the door clicked shut in his face.

“Was that the boy?”

“Danny Fenton, yeah.” Alfred does not miss the fact that ‘Danny’ is the name of the meme that has recently taken Gotham and the Wayne family by storm. Still, best not to speculate about the significance of that until he knows more. “As far as his run-in with the rogues goes, he’s not hurt, and says that he just happened to stumble across their little lover’s spat by accident when he arrived in Gotham today. It’s consistent with what we found on CCTV footage.”

Alfred will have to get a copy of that later. 

“That’s quite the bad luck on his part.” he says.

“Well, who in this city hasn’t had worse, huh?” The Commissioner pauses for a moment to sip from his travel mug. Cold by now, no doubt. “We've been making small talk while waiting for you, and apparently his last visit to Gotham was just peachy. So I suppose he was due, y’know?”

“Indeed… What's your impression of him?”

Commissioner Gordon takes a moment to gather his thoughts. Alfred doesn’t begrudge him that -- he knows the man’s analysis is well worth the wait. Eventually, he says,

“He’s friendly. And not interested in talking about his first encounter with Gotham Rogues, which isn’t normal at all.”

“Is it abnormal in a suspicious way?” Alfred would assume that it is, but he’s not here to hear his own assumptions.

“Well, not necessarily. It could be that he’s in mild shock, though he’s not acting like it. Or that he’s such a natural people-pleaser that he won’t act upset in front of others, no matter what. It’s impossible to know for sure at this point.”

Alfred nods. He’s seen both types before in the SAS. Arguably, Master Richard fulfils the second type; there are many times that he’s watched the young man hide behind a smiling mask when in the presence of others. His ability to do so at the drop of a hat and with such frequency was equal parts impressive and concerning. But they’re not talking about Master Richard right now, they're talking about ‘Danny.’

“For what reason does he wish to speak with Master Bruce?” Alfred asks, glancing at the clock on the wall. They will need to head back into the room soon.

Commissioner Gordon gives him a smug smile, one that is entirely too amused for Alfred’s comfort. 

“He said that he needs to talk about the adoption.”

-o0o-

“Hello. Danny, right?” Alfred says to the teen sitting across from him. The boy has a guileless face that’s been broadcasting his every emotion since Alfred entered the room. Or, at least, it looks like he’s been expressive. The wide and curious eyes could very well be an act, only time will tell.

“Yup! Who’re you?” He asks. He has a midwestern accent.

“Alfred Pennyworth,” Alfred holds out his hand for a handshake, and Danny takes it. Strong grip. “I’m the butler of the Wayne family. And I’m curious as to why you would call on Master Bruce in this situation instead of your own family.”

“Ah, well,” He seems caught off-guard by Alfred’s forward question. “I actually came to Gotham hoping to talk to Mr. Wayne, and Mr. Gordon mentioned him, so I thought I’d ask.”

Alfred raises an eyebrow at the Commissioner, but doesn’t say anything.

“And did anyone come to Gotham with you, Danny?”

Danny sits up straighter in his seat and raises his chin. It’s a move reminiscent of Master Damian, minus the anger. “I’m old enough to go on trips alone. I’ll be going to college in a month.” He says, proudly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the Commissioner trying not to smile at the display.

“Be that as it may, I must reprimand you for prioritising your mission over making sure your family is aware that you’re alright.” Now it’s Commissioner Gordon’s turn to raise an eyebrow at Alfred. “I don’t know the exact details of your run-in with those horrid criminals,” This time the Commissioner grins at Alfred and his ‘harmless butler’ act. “But I would feel much more at ease if you called someone before I listened to your message.”

Over the course of Alfred’s admonishment, Danny began to look more and more cowed. A good sign: if he continued to stay nonchalant, Alfred would worry that the boy was accustomed to shouldering danger alone. This reaction, on the other hand, speaks to someone at home telling him many of the same things Alfred has just said.

Consequently, it doesn’t take much convincing for Danny to make a call out in the corridor. As he does, Alfred motions for Commissioner Gordon to turn on the recording equipment he had installed outside his door when he was given this office. Never let it be said that James Gordon is not a prudent man.

The two men stand behind the Commissioner’s desk as they listen to the tinny audio of Danny Fenton’s phone call, filtered through earbuds to make sure that the noise of it would not be heard through the door and by the one being eavesdropped upon.

“Hey, Jazz.” He did not call his parents.

“I ran into some rogues on the way to the hotel. I’m fine though! They just want me to call someone.” He does not feel the need to lie to whoever ‘Jazz’ is.

“No, no, really. I’m perfectly unharmed. I was just a witness, I’m not even in trouble.” Jazz is someone who feels concern for Danny’s well-being.

“No, you don’t need to come here, I’ve got everything handled.” Jazz thinks herself capable of keeping Danny out of trouble. An authority figure?

“Everything will be fine , really, it’s nothing! There’s even a silver-lining, I got someone at the police station to call Bruce Wayne.” Jazz is aware of Danny’s intentions with Master Bruce. 

“I’ll call you later, I want to go back in there and talk to his butler.”  

With that, Alfred and Commissioner Gordon put away their transmitters and go back to their original seats. Alfred tries to order the new information in his head without jumping to conclusions.

Danny has either been telling the truth so far in this conversation, or he is lying with consistency, even when he has reason to believe he is alone. 

In all, what he doesn’t know dwarfs what he does to such a degree that trying to contextualise anything he’s just heard would be next to useless. But recording it for later, on the other hand, is always a worthwhile endeavour. 

Danny comes back into the room and gives a small smile to Alfred and the Commissioner. 

“So… Can I talk to you about talking to Mr. Wayne now?” He asks. Then he glances at Commissioner Gordon. “Sorry, this is your office. Do I need to leave now that my family knows I’m alright?”

“You’re not being held here, you can leave any time.” he answers gruffly. It’s true: if the boy were considered a suspect in any way, he would’ve been held in the bullpen, not an upstairs office making calls to billionaires.

“I’m sure we can use another room, if you would prefer not to speak in front of the Commissioner.” Alfred says, and Commissioner Gordon shoots him an aggrieved look. As if Alfred would keep in the dark about information that he needs to know, should any come to light.

“... Sure.”

The walk to the spare meeting room is quiet, and the whole while Alfred ponders on Danny’s willingness to go to a secondary location with a stranger mere hours after meeting some of Gotham's most dangerous rogues.

Commissioner Gordon had said that Danny didn’t want to talk about that though, so Alfred won’t put him off by asking. He’ll just receive copies of the official investigation report and review that instead. 

“So,” Danny says abruptly. Evidently, he’s not a fan of the silence. “How long have you worked for Bruce Wayne?”

“For nearly his whole life. The late Masters Thomas and Martha hired me away from the Royal Family when Master Bruce was a young lad.”

Danny’s eyes widen at that, and he nearly stops in his tracks. Alfred watches with some small amount of amusement as Danny silently mouths the words ‘Royal Family’ before shaking his head and entering the meeting room.

“And here I thought I was prepared for the difference between billionaires and millionaires…”

“Oh? What experience do you have with millionaires? If you don’t mind me asking.” Alfred asks as they both take their seats (in chairs that are significantly less comfortable than the ones in Commissioner Gordon’s office).

“Ah,” at this point, the smile falls off of Danny’s face. “My godfather, Vlad Masters, is a millionaire. That’s actually why I need to talk to Mr. Wayne.” Alfred notes that Danny has twined his fingers together in a nervous fashion. Unfortunately, Alfred isn’t familiar enough with the boy’s usual behaviour to know if it’s caused by lying or stress.

“Has he asked you to reach out on his behalf?” Alfred asks. Unfortunately, it’s become a rather common occurrence since Master Bruce adopted his second child: desperate small-time CEOs hoping to make connections to Wayne Enterprises have sent their children to tug on the heartstrings of “hapless family man ‘Brucie’ Wayne.” 

Failing that, many have tried to marry one of their kids to his.

Oftentimes, the parents are quite pushy about it too; there has been more than one occasion in which Master Bruce has felt the need to investigate into their homelife after concerning behaviour from the child in question.

As Alfred watches Danny’s behaviour, he hopes that this is not the case. Especially considering what the boy’s already gone through on his way to get here.

“Not exactly,” Danny responds, and Alfred has to take a moment to remember what the question was. “He’s actually pretty annoyed about the adoption jokes, and I came here hoping to kind of defuse the situation before he gets involved, I guess?”

That is… troubling phrasing. A child should not feel the need to mediate their guardian’s conflicts.

“And how annoyed is he, exactly?”

“I don’t know. It's a sensitive topic for him, since he’s not actually able to adopt me.” Interesting. “Being my godfather and naming me heir to his company is as close as he can get, so what with Mr. Wayne playing into the joke at that gala…” Danny shrugs. “Well, it’s caused some problems for us.”

Provided the story is true, Alfred will have to arrange for some sort of apology from Master Bruce. No, first he should apologise to the boy right in front of him. Regardless of if he’s lying or not, it’s what one would expect Alfred to do in this situation. And Alfred can’t help but worry that Danny isn’t lying to him.

“I’m terribly sorry to hear that Master Bruce’s jokes have caused such grievances for your family.” Alfred says while taking a business card out of his pocket and handing it to Danny. “I hope that we can work on a way to rectify the situation.” He carefully does not imply that he will provide whatever reparations Danny and his godfather come up with on their own. “I will also reach out to Mister Masters to speak with him as well, so please don’t feel burdened to handle this by yourself.”

Danny’s reaction to that is… interesting. He doesn’t look relieved in the slightest to hear that Vlad Masters will be involved. It’s the reaction of someone that doesn’t trust the other party, and whether that distrust comes from Mister Master’s poor character or Danny’s, Alfred doesn’t know. Either way, opening a file on Danny Fenton has jumped to the very top of Alfred’s to-do list for the day.

“... Alright.” He eventually says, seemingly because there’s nothing else he can say that wouldn’t be incredibly suspicious. “Uh, okay. Can I ask you a favour?”

He looks incredibly serious as he says that, and Alfred suspects that this request will be one of the more telling things that Danny will say. Alfred raises an eyebrow and says, “you may.”

“If you ever meet up with Vlad, can you please invite me too?” 

Alfred feels his other eyebrow raise at that. It’s not at all what he was expecting; if Danny were lying about his identity and trying to use the Masters name to scam Master Bruce, then he would be asking for the opposite. He would want to stay away from Vlad Masters at all costs for fear that the man would reveal him as a random stranger with no relation to him.

But when had Alfred started thinking that Danny was lying about his relation to Vlad Masters? He has equal reason to assume that Danny is telling the truth as he does to believe that Danny is lying. No, based on his behaviour so far in this conversation, what Alfred has the most reason to believe is that Danny Fenton is scared of Vlad Masters. 

Alfred pauses for a moment as he thinks about what to say next. This part of the conversation is always the hardest to broach, even when one has extensive experience and training on the subject.

“Danny, what would Mister Masters do if we were to meet with him without you?”

Danny hesitates to answer, staring at Alfred, seemingly at a loss for words. If the boy has an answer for that question, then it's not one he’s willing to share. Alfred decides right then that he will be looking into Danny specifically for the purposes of deciding if his homelife is safe.

Alfred nods and then, without waiting for an answer to his previous question, says, “I’ll be sure to keep you in the loop, then. Would you like to meet with Master Bruce directly? You might have an easier time talking with him than with me.” Most people do; idiot philanthropist ‘Brucie’ Wayne is an easy person to spill secrets to.

Danny’s face lights up with relief; “Sure! I don’t have to check into my room until 8pm tonight anyway.” 

He is staying in a hotel? Most of them aren’t safe. That’s not true: most of them are built to be extremely secure, on account of the fact that they are often targets of terrorist attacks. Their extravagant safety measures are never enough though. Alfred tries not to sigh, though whether it’s due to Gotham’s Gothamness or because of rich people’s seeming inability to travel smartly, he does not know. Danny should, at the very least, have rented a house instead of booking a hotel room. 

“Master Bruce is out of the house on an errand at the moment, but I can escort you to the Manor where we can wait for him. I will be sure to have you back to your hotel before 8pm.”

“Yeah, that works.” Danny says, seemingly with no instinct for self-preservation. Well, Alfred can give him the benefit of the doubt; they were introduced to each other through the Commissioner. If Alfred can’t be trusted in this situation, then nobody can.

“Very well, Mister Danny. I have a car parked in the front.”

The boy wrinkles his nose at the title and says, “You don’t have to call me that. Just ‘Danny’ is fine.”

“As a guest of our family, no matter how temporary, I must insist.” Alfred says, getting up from his seat and pushing the chair in. “Are you ready?”

Danny, still visibly unsatisfied with that answer, eventually stands as well. “Let’s go.”