Chapter Text
Three things were currently causing a throbbing pain between the Dark Knight’s eyebrows.
One: Alfred was away on a much-needed vacation, which consisted of going to see a friend in England. Of course, the butler hadn’t wanted to leave the Wayne manor (he knew how bad leaving Master Bruce in charge of chore delegation could be) and had had to be practically pushed onto the plane by said Master, protests be damned.
Two: Dick had been left in charge of the household whilst Bruce was on a mission with the Justice League. And although that in itself wasn’t too much of an issue, the fact that Bruce was off-world and all four boys had been left at home without Agent A to keep an eye on them was a recipe for chaos. Not only would they no doubt argue (which usually led to physical violence, especially in Jason or Damian’s case) they would most likely get into other trouble just by being ‘grounded’ for the few days Bruce was away. He had toyed with the idea of letting them patrol as usual but had decided to allow only Nightwing to continue his nightly duties – in the Batman uniform so that the villains of Gotham didn’t know about his temporary absence – for fear of the others doing more harm than good without a complete support system in place. Damian especially was still a little too wayward and ‘trigger happy’ for Batman’s liking.
Three: The Justice League were currently battling with a race of brawny, ten-foot aliens that were not only super strong but extremely fast and agile, too. And unfortunately for Gotham’s black bat, he had been well and truly battered by a pair of the tall purple creatures whilst distracted with pulling Green Lantern to his feet. The beings had managed to break, or at least crack, a couple of ribs and Bruce could feel his left eye socket swelling beneath his cowl, pushing at the fabric uncomfortably.
“You alright, Batman?!” Superman yelled from above as he threw a couple of the attacking aliens aside like rag dolls.
His reply was a low grunt, which was about as eloquent as Bruce got in ‘work-mode’, and so he zoomed off to give Flash a helping hand. It took around seven more minutes for the majority of the aliens to be either disarmed and contained or pummelled so badly that they no longer posed a threat, leaving only a couple of stragglers on the ground for Batman to deal with. A batarang was thrown directly at one of their heads, knocking them unconscious easily but the second being was proving a little more tricky.
It was wielding a large iron pole, most likely from a part of its broken space craft, and because it was so tall, the parameter in which it could swing it was a lot wider than Bruce’s reach. He couldn’t get close enough to land a blow and he was out of projectiles, the majority of which were currently lodged between alien eyes or machinery. A plan was already forming in Bruce’s mind; he would lure the alien into a false sense of safety so that it would lower its guard and only then would he pounce, agile as he was despite Dick’s contrary beliefs, and use his cape to disorient the creature and ultimately knock it down. It was a solid plan. Or would have been if the alien had any sort of rational thinking brain.
It did not.
Instead, Batman was knocked off of his feet by the heavy pole and unceremoniously stomped in the head by a large, purple foot. Black spots filled his vision before he saw a blur of red and blue and the alien was no longer in his line of sight.
“Batman?” Diana knelt at his side, touching his shoulder gently, “Can you hear me?”
“His heart rate is normal,” Clark was squinting a little, a tick he subconsciously showed whenever he was using his x-ray vision, “But he’s got a few cracked ribs and a fractured finger.”
A blur of red appeared beside them and Barry spoke through a mouthful of granola bar, “He okay?”
Superman nodded and scooped Batman up in a princess hold – he was never to be told about this – before hovering a little,
“He’ll be fine but we should get him back to Earth to see his doctor.”
Barry’s eyebrows rose, “He has his own doctor? Who is this guy, really?”
Clark smirked, “I’d tell you but he’d have to kill you.”
On a damp rooftop in one of the seedier parts of Gotham City, Dick Grayson stood watch over a small group of masked men who had decided to rob a convenience store. They obviously weren’t a highly-trained group of individuals (their plastic Halloween masks proved that much) but they had still managed to grab a few things from the store and even smashed one of the windows in the process. They could do with learning a lesson or two.
The rain bounced off of ‘Batman’s’ caped shoulders as he watched from the shadows and he sighed silently, rolling his eyes behind the cowl as one of the men cracked open a stolen beer, their ugly laughter echoing down the alleyway.
“All of that for some beer?” Dick whispered to himself.
Or so he’d thought.
Behind him another voice chimed in, “Alcohol is so disgusting.”
Although he wanted to spin around dramatically and slap the tiny Robin upside his head for following him there, Dick took a deep breath and feigned serenity. There was no point in lashing out now, he didn’t want to alert the men in the street below of their presence.
“When have you ever tasted alcohol, huh?”
Damian clicked his tongue and took a step to stand beside his eldest sibling, not taking his eyes off of the petty criminals below as he spoke, “Never. But from what I know of the ingredients and how it effects its consumers, I believe it to be repulsive in many ways.”
Dick shrugged, “It has its benefits,” he glanced down at Damian and poked his shoulder gently, “You’re supposed to be doing homework.”
“I finished it hours ago.”
“Then you’re supposed to be in bed.”
Damian clicked his tongue again, “I couldn’t sleep.”
Dick raised a brow, “Because B is out of town?”
No reply. That meant that he’d hit the nail on the head but Damian didn’t want to admit it or at least didn’t want to talk about it. Dick wouldn’t force it. In the few months the ‘Demon Brat’ had been living with them, he had started to understand where his boundaries lay and when he should try and push them. Emotions were not something Damian easily expressed and, if forced, he would shut down completely and pull away from anyone trying to help. It was much better to take smaller, baby steps when it came to trying to converse with the youngest bat and Dick had started to notice that whenever he did that, Damian would often broach the subjects himself without prompt. Not always, however.
“They’re escaping,” Robin pointed down towards the group of masked men who had started stumbling away down the alley, bottles clinking as they drunkenly wobbled.
“Then we should probably stop them,” Dick smiled despite himself, oh how he loved this part.
It was almost 3am and the rain was still heavy when Clark landed on the grounds of the Wayne Manor, but he’d managed to fly fast enough to dodge most of it and keep Bruce pretty dry during their journey back from the Watchtower. The Batman was just starting to rouse back to consciousness when Alfred opened the door and beckoned them inside. He would have usually taken the ‘back’ entrance but with Bruce not quite conscious yet, Clark wasn’t sure that the security system would allow them entry. He knew that Batman had all sorts of contingency plans and fail-safes in place in case a villain tried to gain access to the Batcave and didn’t want to risk setting off any of the alarms or booby-traps (some of which he was sure would be prepared in case he went rogue; he didn’t fancy being shot with a Kryptonite bullet any time soon).
The warm glow of the large house was a welcome respite from the gloom of the Gotham streets and Clark regularly thanked his lucky stars that he was responsible for the bright lights of Metropolis and not the back alleys of Bruce’s terrain.
“I heard you had quite the weekend,” Alfred cocked a brow as Clark lowered Bruce gently to his own feet.
“Hnn,” he grumbled and then his eyes widened, "Weren't you in England?" He allowed the butler to steady him with an offered arm.
Alfred made an exasperated expression, "I was until Mr Kent called me and told me what had happened."
Clark shrugged, "He used one of the zeta tubes we have set up over there."
Bruce grunted an apology to his butler and turned to Clark, “Thanks for bringing me back.”
Superman was the only member of the League that knew Batman’s true identity and home address and, whether Bruce agreed or not, he considered him a good friend.
“You should get your ribs seen to, two of them are cracked,” Clark used his best ‘Superman’ voice to try and be a little more persuasive, “Dr Thompkins should-”
“Leslie is on vacation,” Bruce butt in as he made his way to the kitchen and pulled down his cowl, his black eye now very evident, “She deserved a break,” he looked down at his finger, which looked swollen and a little lopsided, “And I’ve had worse.”
He took a seat at the breakfast bar and poured himself some coffee as Alfred pulled out an extremely equipped first aid kit and began working on wrapping his ribs tightly.
“Was there something else?” Bruce asked as Clark seemed to be hovering – not literally – a little too long for his liking.
“Um…” fingers intertwined with red cape, “No, I don’t think so. As long as you’re alright.”
“I’m fin-”
“He will be,” Alfred interjected, “After he rests for a week.”
The master of the house looked like he was about to protest but his jaw clenched and he remained quiet at Alfred’s pointed look. He never could go against that particular silent threat. After all, everyone in the manor knew who was really in charge.
Superman turned to leave, reassured that Alfred would take good care of Bruce (whether he wanted him to or not) and then sighed, a little defeated.
“What is it?” Bruce asked.
“I was hoping to leave without disturbing anyone.”
Clark turned to the door as a messy-haired teenager shuffled into the kitchen, eyes bleary as he made his way, almost blindly, to the coffee machine. It was only when he was halfway through pouring himself a large mug of it that Tim finally noticed the room full of adults and startled a little, survival instincts suddenly kicking in as he knew he was banned from drinking coffee during the wee hours of the morning. His mouth made an ‘O’ shape as he gave his best innocent smile.
“And you’re up because…?” Bruce’s voice was no longer in gruff Batman mode, instead he just sounded exhausted.
“I was thirsty?”
Tim attempted an excuse but knew that it didn’t take the world’s greatest detective to decipher what he was up to. Instead, he tried distraction from the matter at hand in the hope that his dad would let it slide.
“Hi, Uncle Clark!” his smile was genuine, always pleased to see his coolest uncle, "Oh, hi Alfred!"
Of course, Superman returned the dazzling expression, “Hey Timmy. Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
Tim’s lip curled, his plan having failed, “I was technically in bed… Using my laptop to type up some cases from this week.”
At the counter, Bruce huffed tiredly. He knew Tim’s sleeping habits were shot to shit but he had hoped that he would at least try to stick to his sleeping schedule. Without a spleen his immune system was already compromised and Leslie had prescribed ‘good rest’ not ‘caffeine-fuelled all-nighters.’
“Go,” Bruce all but sighed, “Sleep. Now.”
“But-”
“Now.”
Tim clicked his tongue - a habit he’d picked up from Damian – and turned to his father figure before leaving, “Nice shiner, B.”
Clark bit his cheeks to suppress his smirk and Alfred cleared his throat a little too purposefully.
The three men watched the teenager trudge out of the kitchen without his beverage and Clark tilted his head to one side, listening to his retreating footsteps. His dark brows knitted together as he did so and Bruce noticed the change in expression immediately, he’d picked up on Superman’s various ticks when using certain powers over the years and even had them written down in a manual, ‘just in case’.
“Clark?” Bruce asked, eyes alert despite the throbbing ache of his ribs that was yelling at him to GO TO BED.
Clark shook his head slightly as though bringing himself out of a daze, “Sorry,” his eyes seemed to focus a little more, “I thought Dick was the only one patrolling tonight?”
Something not unlike lead settled in Bruce’s bruised stomach, “He is,” he turned to Alfred, “He is, right?”
Alfred nodded, “Yes. I checked on the other boys as soon as I got back."
“Well,” Clark continued, “I can only hear Jason breathing and-” another head tilt, “Tim is back on his laptop.” He squinted up at the ceiling, “Yep, no Dick or Damian to be seen.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and flinched slightly when it hurt, “That kid will be the death of me, I swear to god.”
“Master Bruce, I’m sorry-”
Bruce waved a dismissive hand at Alfred, “Don’t be. He would have gotten out even if I’d tied him to the bed,” his mouth twitched into an almost-smile, “He’s like me in that way.”
Damian’s foot connected with the grimacing plastic face of Freddy Krueger with a satisfying crunch and the man behind the mask tumbled to the ground in a heap atop of his friends. ‘Batman’ and Robin had easily taken the robbers down in less than five minutes and the GCPD were already on their way to arrest them. It was an easy night’s work.
“Time to hit the sack,” Dick yawned and stretched his stiff neck as they left the pile of idiots back in the alley, hands and feet bound with cable ties.
“I’m sure there are others we could prevent-”
Dick turned to Damian, arms folded across the bat on his chest, “And I’m sure you should be back in bed. B is probably home by now anyway.”
The smaller boy opened his mouth to protest but a tall, skinny man suddenly stumbled out into the street in front of them, long arms flailing as if to stop them shooting him. He looked panicked, eyes wide and mouth agape as he realised who he was looking at.
“AH!” he pointed to Dick, “Batman! Thank god! You need to help me!”
A brief glance was exchanged with Robin and then Dick spoke, his voice gentle yet gruff as he tried to emulate Bruce’s tone,
“It’s alright. What’s wrong, sir?”
The man stepped forwards, “There’s a man! He’s gone mad! I think he wants to hurt someone!”
Damian curled his lip, aggravated by the man’s useless explanation, “What man? What does he look like?”
The panicked man suddenly stopped flailing and a long, thin smile stretched across his face showing his small yellow teeth.
“Me,” he said, “He looks like me.”
Before either of them could react, the man threw a small metal cannister between them and fled. The cannister spun through the air and exploded into red mist between Dick and Damian, covering them in scarlet-coloured powder. They coughed and spluttered, careful not to inhale too much in case it was some sort of toxin, and then Dick looked to Damian, concerned.
“Are you okay?” he coughed again.
Damian nodded, “Fine,” he brushed himself down and picked up the cannister carefully, “I think it’s just paint powder.”
Dick’s expression turned deadpan beneath the cowl, “Great. Another prankster in Gotham, that’s all we need.”
"I'll make sure he pays for this!" Damian started to move into a sprint to try and catch the crazed man but Dick grabbed his wrist, stopping him.
"Don't bother, it was harmless."
Damian clicked his tongue but stayed put and pulled out a plastic evidence bag from his utility belt and shoved the cannister into it before sealing it away.
“Ill take it back for testing, just in case.”
“Yeah,” Dick yawned again, “My bed is calling my name.”