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Bruce had been watching Clark's presentation for nearly two hours and trying to fight the headache the man was giving him. He cared about him, really. In the special fucked up kind of way that Bruce could care about someone, and Clark was a genuine friend despite what people might think even if they didn't always get along. But these goddamn meetings of his were downright unbearable, nearly torturous. Bruce honestly had more fun getting tortured by criminals. Someone could only sit and listen about city clean up for so long before feeling like their head might explode because who the fuck cares about pouring concrete? Bruce had enough money to pay people to pour concrete.
Maybe that wasn't the right attitude but could he be blamed? Listening to Clark drone on and on was like watching paint dry, and Bruce could feel the vein in his neck start to pop.
The meeting was only supposed to last an hour but Clark's unexpected ranting about Lex Luthor (he really needed therapy or something) and Barry's never ending stream of jokes (neither of which were on the agenda) had the whole team an hour behind schedule. And they weren't even close to wrapping up. Bruce didn't understand why no one seemed as annoyed as he felt, and it was starting to make him question all those asshole accusations. Bruce liked to think he was a nice guy, but that could only extend so far, you know?
He was fucking tired. Running on four hours of sleep from the night before. Patrol had run late and his poor baby had a nightmare he had to deal with, not that Bruce would ever complain about that. He could never be upset about having a sleepover with one of his boys. Still, he was already three cups of coffee into the day and it was only noon, so Clark's voice was like nails on a chalkboard at this point.
Bruce checked the time and sighed. It was almost lunch time, and Clark (with his stupid Kryptonian DNA) didn't always realize that regular humans needed to eat. He wondered if reminding the man would be a worthy endeavor, knowing that he would definitely have support from Barry, who was always hungry. And probably Hal too. The man knew better than to get on Bruce's bad side and he was pretty sure Hal was terrified of him, so that was an advantage.
Honestly, with the situation at hand, Bruce was thinking it was going to be a necessity to remind Clark of their human needs when they heard a creaking noise above them.
Everyone paused, as if they had all imagined the noise, but then they looked up and saw what could only be described as a little boy in a brightly colored costume that was more like a leotard than anything else. It was red and yellow with a black billowing cape and a hood. He was standing on a far too small ledge, holding some kind of roping that they didn't recognize and was not there twenty minutes ago. Everyone was in shock while wondering who the hell this kid was and where the fuck did he come from? Everyone except Bruce.
Bruce sighed from his spot at the table, standing up and shouting,
"What are you doing?"
The boy didn't respond.
Everyone watched in shock as Bruce walked over to the ledge and held his arms out. "Dick Grayson-Wayne, get down from there. Now!"
The boy jumped, the team gasping until he landed safely in Bruce's arms. He couldn't have been older than eight as he laid his head on the man's shoulder and said,
"I'm hungry. You're 'posed to feed me."
Bruce rolled his eyes. "Pretty sure I left food for you in my room."
"Already ate it," he giggled, wiggling down and tugging on Bruce's hand. "Come on, old man! I'm hungry! I want mac and cheese! So do Jay and Timmy. Please, please, please, Daddy!"
"Who's this?" Clark asked, Bruce glancing over as he stood unmoving despite the little boy trying desperately to tug him out of the room.
He seemed annoyed, like he hadn't wanted this to happen as he huffed. Bruce had wanted to keep his boys a secret from the League for about a million reasons, most of which being that he didn't want his kids in danger from his colleagues. How many times had they been mind controlled? Bruce didn't want them to have information that could be used against him, but it seemed there was no getting out of this.
Why had he let those boys convince him that it was a good idea for them to come up to the Watchtower?
With a deep breath, Bruce said in defeat, "My son, Dick. Dick, this is… Well, you know who everyone is."
Dick rolled his eyes, holding onto Bruce's hand and walking his feet up the man's legs until he was perpendicular to the ground. "I don't care!"
"Did you leave Jason and Tim alone?"
"Duh! They're not stupid babies! Jason was fine! And we want mac and cheese!" He was shouting at this point, glaring up at Bruce with all the anger an eight year old can muster, and in his defense, he looked pretty menacing.
"What is he wearing?" Diana asked.
The boy whipped his head over to her, hands on his hips as he proudly presented himself, "I'm Robin! I fight bad guys by flipping on top of them and punching their faces."
Dick did a backflip and then an aerial.
"See?!"
Bruce huffed, shaking his head at the way everyone was staring in shock. "He's in gymnastics," he told them as an explanation before turning back to the boy who was still holding his pose. "I told you not to leave your brothers—"
"Daddy!" Dick whined, looking at him with a glare and huffing, "My stomach is gonna be so mad at you—"
"Dada! Dada!"
Everyone's head shot over as the door to the room opened and a little boy came racing over as fast as he could, another boy behind him. Bruce shouted for them to slow down, but it was too late when the littlest of the three went crashing into the metal tiles and immediately bursted out into crying so loud it had the team flinching back. Bruce, however, rushed forward and lifted the boy onto his hip while telling him,
"Shh, baby. It's okay. It's okay. It was just scary, but Daddy's here."
The team had never heard his voice that soft, never seen him look so worried for something so miniscule. They've seen him literally get stabbed and not care as much as he cared about this toddler tripping over his own feet and taking what could only be described as a small tumble. It was nothing serious and he probably wasn't hurt. If so, the damage would be completely minimal. Yet, Bruce was still cooing at him. He rocked the boy back and forth, rubbing his back in big sweeping motions. The boy wasn't having it, shoving his face into the man's neck and letting out gut wrenching sobs like the world was ending, and to his credit, Bruce took it in stride.
"It's okay," he cooed. "I know that was a really scary fall, but you're a-okay, aren't you, Timmy? I'm sure it was just scary."
The boy shook his head, pulling back to look at his daddy with wide eyes and a big wobbly chin, bottom lip jutted out. "Knee hurts," he huffed like Bruce had betrayed him.
"Does it now?"
"We can look at it, Daddy!" the second boy, not Dick, gasped from where he had been hiding in Bruce's cape, peeking out around his hip. "Let me see! I can fix him!"
"Why don't we look together, Jay?" Bruce suggested, setting Tim down in the chair that he had previously been occupying before looking over his knee. The boy was wearing cargo shorts that fell just before the knee, so there was easy access to the little scrape that was there.
"What happened?" Dick asked, trying to peek over Bruce's shoulder.
"Timmy scraped his knee because of you!" Jason yelled, turning to his older brother and shoving him roughly. "We weren't 'posed to leave the room, you big idiot! Daddy's gonna be mad at you and it's all your fault!"
"You were the one crying about being hungry! I was trying to get food!" Dick shot back, tears building in his eyes.
He threw a punch that did not look controlled, but Jason dodged it easily and landed a kick into the boy's side. Dick doubled over before he looked up at his brother with a growl reminiscent of his father and raced towards the six year old. He tackled Jason to the ground with grunts from both of them, the way they fell looking far too hard of a hit for the team to feel comfortable, but Bruce wasn't too worried. It wasn't the first time the boys had fought, and it probably wouldn't be the last. Alfred likened them to puppies when they got this way.
Jason landed a knee to Dick's ribs, making him yelp in pain before he made a whine in the back of his throat. His younger brother's eyes went wide with what looked to be concern, and at that moment, Dick took advantage of his distraction and bit him on the hand.
"Ow!" he cried. "Ow, Daddy, help! No biting! Daddy!"
Bruce huffed, scrubbing a hand down his mask and giving Tim a look before he rushed over and grabbed the nape of Dick's costume in one hand and the back of Jason's sweater in the other, holding them away from each other. If they had been puppies, it would be like their mom picking them up by their scruffs. He gave them unimpressed looks while asking in a disappointed tone,
"What did we say about biting, Dick?"
"Can't bite my brothers," he mumbled, legs and arms dangling in defeat.
"And what did we say about the blame game, Jason?"
Neither of them had met Bruce's eyes. The boy huffed, "It's not productive."
"Good," the man said. "If I set you down, are you gonna behave for me? That means no fighting. And I mean it. I will put you in time outs."
"Daddy!" they whined at the same time before earning a dad look that had even Superman feeling a shiver down his spine. The boys looked properly chastised as they said together, "Yes, Daddy, we'll be good."
"Thank you," Bruce said, setting them down on the ground and leading them over to Tim. The boy was looking pitifully adorable with his wet clumped lashes and big bright blue eyes, pointing to his knee as if his daddy had forgotten about it. Bruce gave him a fond smile. "Let's get you a bandaid, sweetheart. Would that make you feel better?"
"Gotta- Gotta put the stuff on it," he said. "So it's gonna heal."
"Can I do it, Daddy!?" Jason gasped. "Please! I'll be- be careful, promise!"
"Only if Timmy is okay with it. Timmy, would it be okay if Jay made your knee feel better?"
"But needs a magic Daddy kiss after," the boy said. "Promise?"
"I promise. I'll give it a magic Daddy kiss after." Bruce put a hand on Jason's back and urged him forward. "Go on, baby, you can do it."
Bruce reached into his utility belt, grabbing a large Batman themed bandaid and a tube of some kind of antibiotic ointment that probably wasn't necessary, but all his kids had deemed the stuff extra special. Probably because of the numbing agent it used to take away the pain. Bruce passed everything to Jason, who knelt down in front of Tim and giggled while opening the ointment tube and playing doctor. The team turned to the last boy, Dick, who was hanging back with his arms and legs crossed shyly over his body, tears welling in his eyes as Bruce crouched in front of him.
"What's wrong, baby?"
"S'all my fault," he squeaked, throwing himself into the man's arms and hiccuping against his shoulders. "Now Timmy hates me and Daddy's gonna go away 'cause I made him mad!"
"Daddy's not going anywhere," Bruce promised, squeezing him in a tight hug and whispering, "Daddy would never leave you no matter how mad I was, and you know that, Dickie. It's just your silly brain playing tricks again."
"Not mad? 'Cause I left the room and made Timmy hurt himself?"
"How could I be mad?" he teased. "I left you all alone in a place that you've never been without not enough food to keep all of you fed. If anything, Daddy is the big dummy here."
Dick shook his head adamantly. "Daddy's not dumb. Daddy's the smartest in the whole world, and I know it 'cause I saw it."
"Well, thank you, sweetheart." Bruce carried him over to Tim and Jason, adding, "And Timmy doesn't hate you at all. Timmy loves his big brother, right?"
The baby boy nodded, watching as Jason finished up with his bandaid. "Love you, Dickie. You can kiss my booboo too."
Dick wiggled down and pressed a kiss to the boy's knee before Bruce crouched down and looked over Jason's handiwork, telling the boy,
"This is great, kiddo. Better than last time."
"Really?" he asked shyly.
"Of course, sweetheart. See how it doesn't sit wonky and how the ointment didn't come out the sides? You did such a great job."
"Kissie, Daddy," Tim reminded the man.
Bruce gave him a smile and kissed his knee while Dick leaned into his side. He stood with the boy wrapped up in one arm, Jason hiding underneath the cape again, and Tim reaching out with a small pout.
He said, "Uppies."
Bruce let out a soft grunt as he picked the boy up and onto his shoulders with one arm in a maneuver that was honestly impressive. Tim leaned across to Dick's head and gave him a big hug while kissing his cheek.
"Love you, Dickie," he giggled. "Don't be sad. S'my fault 'cause I runned."
"Ran," Bruce corrected, looking down when he felt a tug at his cape and rolling his eyes fondly while lifting Jason on his other side.
"S'not your fault," Jason said to Dick softly. "I was bein' a big butthead and you were just trying to get us lunch. Like the best big brother in the whole world." He pressed a kiss to Dick's cheek with a smile. "Sorry, bubba. Love you."
"See?" Bruce teased, nosing his oldest son's cheek and giving him a smile. "No matter what, what's the number one rule for our family?"
"We always gonna love each other," Dick mumbled. "Even when it's hard."
"'Specially if it's hard," Jason chirped. "'Cause that's what families do."
"And Daddy loves us!" Tim giggled.
"I think that's rule number two…" The six year old furrowed his eyebrows. "Or is that no running in the house?"
"No, that's not a real rule," Dick told him. "Daddy just tells us that to pretend he's being responsible. And so we don't fall down the stairs."
"Okay," Bruce hummed, stopping their conversation. "Can we all be friends now?"
"Best friends!" they all gasped at the same time.
"So…"
The family turned to Hal, who was gesturing between them like that was enough to explain everyone's confusion and downright shock at the sight of Batman covered in kids. Bruce nodded as Tim grabbed the mask from his head and put it over his own with a giggle, the eyes falling too far down his face to see. The mask was much too big, but the boy didn't care one bit as he wiggled and gasped,
"Daddy, down! Down!"
Bruce set all the kids down, watching as they began to chase each other and play fight, rolling his eyes because Tim had just scraped his knee and there he was running around again. He didn't bother telling them to slow down when he knew that it would go ignored. Plus, they were halfway right. He only told them to slow down because he knew he was supposed to say that kind of thing, but Bruce would rather deal with a few scraped knees and some tears if it meant his babies were getting to play.
"You have kids," Oliver said dumbly. Some of them still had mouths hanging open in shock.
"Yeah, just them three," he hummed. "Dick's the oldest, my little Robin."
Bruce was wearing this smile that had all of them freaked because he never smiled. They had all separated him so far from his Brucie Wayne persona that even when they saw him smile outside of the cowl, it wasn't like they were looking at Batman. That was just Bruce Wayne, Gotham's prince. He was a completely different person. But this guy, who was wearing a soft fond tilt of his lips while speaking of a little boy they didn't even know existed, was a stranger to the team.
"He's eight, gonna turn nine soon," Bruce continued. "And then Jason is two years younger, and then baby Timmy's the youngest. He's almost four."
"And you… adopted them?"
Bruce nodded. "Dick's parents died, and I investigated the murders. He was only four years old at the time, so I took him under my wing. He knew I was Batman and after a couple years he came up with his Robin costume, practically lives in the thing now."
"But he's not… actually fighting criminals, right?" Diana asked.
The man gave her an unimpressed look, similar to that disappointed one he'd given Jason and Dick just minutes earlier.
"Do you think I'm crazy?" Bruce asked. "He comes on patrol with me sometimes, but mainly just to sit on rooftops and watch me fight. He knows he's not allowed to jump in." He said it like it was nothing to let an eight year boy watch (or listen to) his dad getting beat up or beating up criminals. "And then Jason's parents were… involved with things they shouldn't have been, so he ran away. I found him when he was four too and he was trying to pickpocket me. He'd been on the streets for maybe a week, so I took him in. He didn't know I was Batman at the time and found out later. And then Timmy was just your run of the mill baby you needed help. His dad worked for Wayne Tech and had gotten a fatal type of cancer. With no one else to take the baby, I promised him I would look after Tim."
"And you just… have all these kids running around?" Barry asked in confusion.
"Pretty much."
"They know how to fight?" Clark asked, referencing the fight that Jason and Dick had previously and the fact that they were now wrestling on the ground. It looked like they knew what they were doing, dodging blows with almost expertise.
"Yeah," Bruce hummed. "They like to spar at home, and I've taught them a few things. Nothing major, just simple stuff. They had fun with it and it keeps 'em active, you know? But I think Tim is much gentler."
"Ow! Timmy, stop! Bad, bad, bad!"
Bruce's head whipped over to the kids, seeing that Tim had wrapped his arms around Dick's leg and was biting his shin. So much for being gentle.
"Ow!" the boy growled, slapping his little brother on the head.
"Tim!" Bruce barked, all three looking over in shock. "No biting."
The boy released his jaw from Dick's leg, jumping up and running over to Bruce. Sometime during their playing, Jason had stolen the mask and was now fighting Dick while pretending to be Batman. Dick had been saddled with being Joker.
"Dada," he giggled, reaching up.
Bruce grabbed his hands, letting the boy climb up his legs and over his torso until he was sitting on the man's shoulders again, little hands fisted in Bruce's hair.
"We're working on the biting," the man told his team sheepishly.
"What the fuck?!" Hal finally gasped. "What the actual fuck!?"
"Language!" Diana hissed.
The three boys gasped, Tim wiggling down as Dick and Jason ran over. No one on the team could understand how Bruce was just fine with his body being used as a glorified jungle gym where the boys were constantly climbing up and down. Now, they were skipping in circles around Bruce's legs, chanting,
"Dollar in the swear jar! Dollar in the swear jar! Dollar in the swear jar!"
"Two dollars!" Dick added at the end. "He said it twice. Daddy! Two dollars in the swear jar!"
Bruce huffed, nodding his head. "We'll put two dollars in at home," he promised, turning to Hal. "You owe me two dollars."
"What?! I didn't agree to a swear jar!"
He was looking around for support from his teammates, but everyone just shrugged and shook their heads. Hal was on his own.
"Fine," he huffed.
Bruce nodded, wrapping his cape around the three boys to get them to stop their chanting and prancing. They all giggled from behind the heavy fabric, Dick and Jason peeking their heads out, but Tim stayed hidden behind Bruce's legs.
"Can you three make it back to my room without killing each other this time?" he asked.
"Nope," Dick chirped, smiling wide and innocent. "Definitely not. We're hangry, Daddy."
He patted his belly, his two brothers copying him.
Bruce now remembered the whole reason this had happened in the first place and let out a sigh. "Are you three gonna be good if you go to the cafeteria alone?"
"Absolutely not," Jason told him, grabbing the man's hand and tugging. "You have to go with us or we'll like… burn the place down. Like Alfie says."
He rolled his eyes, knowing for a fact that all of his kids were being little shits right now, even if they were adorable little shits. Bruce felt as they all started tugging at his arm, not having enough strength to truly pull at him even with their combined forces. The team was watching with wide eyes, no one knowing exactly what to say at the moment because what could they say about The Dark Knight being a fucking dad. And not just a regular dad either. Like, one of those tired dads who could make his kids act right with just a look.
"I guess we could finish off here," Clark hummed. "If that would be okay with the kids?"
Timmy nodded, telling him, "Dada says you're boring."
"Tim," Bruce hissed.
"What?" he asked with genuine confusion all over his face as he tried to climb Bruce's armor up the man's body. "You said so! Not me!"
"S'true," Jason giggled. "Said Superman is boring 'cause he talks too much."
“And ‘cause Superman is lame,” Dick huffed. “Everyone just think he’s cool ‘cause he can fly but Batman is so much cooler!”
“He’s got all the gadgets!” Jason agreed, reaching around to unclamp Bruce’s utility belt and wrapping the too big thing around his body like a sash.
“And the mask!” Tim giggled, snatching it from his brother. “And he’s super duper smart!”
“Yeah,” Dick laughed, looking up at his dad with a knowing smirk. “Superman is a big dummy. He only wins his fights ‘cause he’s strong, but Batman has to actually use his brain.”
“Superman doesn’t have a brain!” Tim shouted, jumping up and forcing Dick to give him a piggyback ride. “Right, bubba?”
“Boys,” Bruce sighed, shaking his head. “Please.”
“What, Daddy?” Dick asked with a coy smile. “It’s just the truth.”
“I don’t like this,” Clark chimed in, raising his hand as if he needed permission to speak. “Did you tell them I’m dumb?”
“No!” Bruce protested at the same time Dick gasped,
“Yes!”
He glared at the boy, and his son was folding immediately.
“Fine,” he huffed. “Daddy only told us the first part, but we still definitely think all the other stuff too. Right, baby?” Dick turned his head to look back at Timmy.
“I dunno,” he murmured. “It- It’s kinda mean, Dickie. I don’t wanna be mean.” He was starting to sniffle, so his big brother turned him around and squeezed him close while saying,
“You could never be mean, star. You’re too cute.”
“Oh,” the boy giggled, a blush spreading over his cheeks. “Daddy is the best hero.”
“Atta boy,” Jason teased.
Bruce couldn’t help the fond smile he was sporting, pulling the boys over to him while trying to bid goodbye, but Clark had other plans.
“You really don’t like my meetings?”
Bruce huffed, glaring at the team as they all gave him disbelieving looks. "We're all thinking it!" he said. "Sorry, Clark. No one cares about laying concrete. We pay people to do that."
He folded his arms over his chest with a pout but Bruce didn't care as he picked Tim up on his hip and grabbed the mask from his face. The man replaced it on his own head, telling the boys, "Just because Daddy tells you something, doesn't mean you have to tell everyone."
"But you tell us to not lie," Dick shot back. "I think you're embarrassed 'cause we got you in trouble with Superman."
That led Jason to smirk as he added, "And Wonder Woman. Hi, Wonder Woman!"
"Stop trying to flirt with Diana," Bruce ordered as the woman awkwardly waved at the child.
"I'm not!" Jason whined, but he let out an oomph as Bruce lifted the boy over his shoulders. "Daddy, no! Put me down! I'll be a good boy, promise!"
Bruce turned to the group. "Are we done? Because if I don't feed them in the next ten minutes, they will become spawns from hell."
Each boy gave him an offended look until Dick began to bark at the man, Jason and Tim joining in with their own yapping as Bruce gave the team an I told you so look. They waved him off, watching as the man settled Tim on his shoulders before picking up Dick the same way he had done to Jason. As he turned to walk away, the team could see the two boys talking to each other like this was the most normal thing in the world (to them, it absolutely was. This was how Bruce carted them out of most places.)
"Daddy, they're weird," Tim said from atop his shoulders.
"Yeah, they are," he chuckled.
"You're the only normal one, Daddy," Dick chirped.
Bruce chuckled at that, shaking his head fondly. "Thank you, baby."