Chapter Text
Alfred had been around for many years, had done many things. From theater, to espionage, to a butler, to a father, to a grandfather, he was a man well versed in many things. So when his once new employers suddenly came rushing in with a babe, talking and occasionally yelling about how they had found their new son, because there was no mistaking the protective hold Martha had on him, in a dumpster on their way back from the movies, he peered at the new babe. He was quit adorable, porcelain skin and inky black locks, but Alfred felt a slight shutter as he gazed into the babes eyes.
They were an empty ice blue.
It was almost as if his soul was ripped out of his tiny body.
But he only shook his head and asked what the new parents were to name their child, with an almost immediate answer of Bruce.
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The bat-kids and co loved their dad, but don't you ever dare tell him or they will feed you to Ivy's plants, 'cause Harleys hyenas are trying to loose weight and have sensitive stomachs. But point is, while they all express it in different ways, some still finding it hard to even admit it to themselves, they loved him. They loved Bruce.
Although, sometimes, when they look him in the eyes, they shivered.
Not in fear, no sir-ey, no ma'am, they lost all fear and respect after each of their own glittering of the bat suit. Barbie pink sparkles somehow scared Gothams goons and rogues more then the regular pitch black.
Who would've figured. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
No, it was in the, "Were those human eyes or a dolls eyes?"kinda way. Because each of the kids swore up and down that they had a moment where they thought Bruce was just an empty husk, a corpse walking around with no soul behind its eyes.
But what-evs, they got over those moments quickly enough that no one noticed. Well, enough so Bruce didn't notice. And while it was never explicitly said anywhere, at any time, they all knew something was wrong.
Something was wrong with Bruce, like he was hallow inside.
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The Justice League, despite what some might say, were more of a group of friends, almost a family with how much bullshit they pull through on a weekly, daily, bases. So, when Batman finally revealed his identity to the original Leaguers of the Justice League, they were ecstatic and baffled to realize that oh god, that's Bruce Wayne. Oh god, we played fmk with celebs just the other day. Oh dear lord.
So while some tried not to combust into flames, those who weren't looking at everything but Bruce looked him the eyes. And a soon to be familiar shudder ran through each of them. His eyes looked soulless, like he was dead. Like he should be embalmed in a casket at his funeral.
It just felt wrong.
But who were they kidding, this was Batman, this was their team mate through hell and back. Someone who helps those deemed irreversibly evil! He did so much good! How could they ever think that about their team mate and leader?!
But ever since, they just couldn't shake that feeling of something, just something, being wrong with Bruce.
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Bruce knew something was wrong with him. He knew that Alfred thought that he hadn't seen how the older man would flinch when he was younger while looking in his eyes. He knew that sometimes his kids would get freaked out when looking him in the eyes. He knew that even the JL was not immune to what he calls The Shiverstm. Bruce would never take offense to them, because out of everyone, he knew something was wrong.
Bruce felt it everyday, he felt his emotions almost muted. It felt like when he was talking, when he felt as though a pun of all things should have been said, he just grunted. He never meant to grunt, to go "Hhn," it just happened. And when he felt like expressing joy in something? When he felt expressing any emotion at all? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. His face barley changed when he knew he should be smiling, when he should be crying, when he should be angry. The emotions were just muted, like they weren't even there. And while that helped as Batman, it did not when talking to the people he loved.
Oh trust him, he's been to all sorts of psychiatrist's, therapist's, even surgeons to figure out what the disconnect was. And nothing.
Nothing, nothing, nothing.
It bothered Bruce to no end, knowing exactly how he feels, should feel. But nothing ever felt right.
It was like he was missing something important, something that is vital to his being.
To his soul.
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The cult had stressed every member of the Justice League and Justice League Dark out, what with the massive amount of followers and preparations made, they were having a hard time keeping up. Thankfully there were no sacrifices, only a gargantuan summoning circle that was glowing a toxic, neon green, spilling a freezing mist out as the cultist chanted. They were running out of time as the chants were almost done and the Realms being, The Ancient of something, for no one really knew what they were summoning despite the amount of research done, was about to be able to break free.
It was an all hands on deck situation, and one no seemed prepared for it.
One that was about to end in Disaster.
Because soon, the once mist rose up from the ground and turned into multiple galaxies of stars and space, the room dropping to almost freezing temperatures. The once neon green summoning circle, now a swirling vortex. Almost every being, no matter if they were dead or alive fell to their knees. The exception? The one that didn't fall to his knees, but instead felt as if he was floating?
Batman, Bruce, B, what ever name you chose, felt something click into place. As if it all clicked into place. His once muted emotions coming at him in full force. He didn't have to force a smile, a frown, a twinkle in his eye, it all suddenly came naturally. He truly felt emotions for the first time in a long time.
He felt whole again.
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The Leagues, the cult, and even entites near enough, could feel the oppressiveness, the pull of too much gravity, of too much emotion. It was exhausting and frightening, it was exhilarating and beautiful. But it only took a glance forward to see the creature, The Ancient, crawling out of the vortex. It looked as though galaxies upon galaxies had been smushed together, as if it was just one black hole devoid of life, as if it was life itself reaching up and out.
But soon enough shouting from someone, no, multiple people, multiple bats, were filling the air. They were screaming at someone to "Please, stop! Quit walking towards it B!" with an ear shattering "DAD!!!" snapping most, if not all from their haze. Eyes quickly snapped to the gliding figure of the Bat who was marching his way towards the entity. Shouts soon filled the air, only to be ignored by the one they are meant for.
They could only watch in horror, or in the cultist view, confusion, as both Batman and the cosmic horror reached out in unison, grabbing each others hand.
A blinding light filled the air. Not even closing and turning could help with the brightness. But soon enough it died down, with stars dancing every now and then in their eyes. Oh wait, no, there were actual stars dancing in the room. But they were quickly forgotten as everyone turned towards the sound of relieved laughter.
Laughter that felt familiar, yet different, as if it was fuller, filled with life.
And there, where once Batman and an unknown entity stood, was a single being. But they knew, they knew the joyfully crying being was their Batman, their B.
As for Bruce? As for Danny? As for the single being?
He's never felt this whole.