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Chapter Text

Once, about 17 years before present, there was a very ambitious woman. She had several doctorates, and was a leader in her field of study. She had various martial arts trophies, ensuring that she was fighting fit and would never have to cower in front of anyone. She had a doting husband and a beautiful, clever daughter. 

But unfortunately, her husband could not give her a second child. She wanted another little one, though. Badly. Her husband was uninterested in adoption, saying that their little girl was enough, but she yearned.  

Then, a shining opportunity appeared. A fundraising gala, sponsoring Gotham University’s STEM departments was announced. Hosting this event was none other than the Prince of Gotham himself, and he was known to be… open to advances. It coincided perfectly with when she would be the most fertile that month. He had black hair and blue eyes, just like her husband. It was too perfect of an opportunity to miss. 

So she told her husband she was helping an old professor at the fundraiser, and went without him. He seemed delighted for an opportunity to bond with their daughter. She felt guilty, but only momentarily. She wanted another baby too much to dwell on it. 

She bought a beautiful dress, did her makeup for the first time in quite a while, and left her wedding ring in her hotel room. 

Bruce Wayne was handsome and considerate, if a bit empty-headed. He remembered to wear a condom, which was responsible, but not what she wanted. Luckily, she was able to snag it from the waste bin after he left. He had done so in a hurry, apologizing as his pager blared. 

It was messy, but it had done the trick. Several weeks later, she shared the news of the ‘miracle’ with her husband, victory burning in her veins. 

***************************************

*Present Day, Another Fundraising Event*

There was a server with Bruce Wayne’s face. 

He could be as old as Jason, but Bruce suspected younger. It was hard to tell. He was about Bruce’s height, but leaner, though not by much. He had a dusting of patchy peach fuzz on his jaw, and dark circles under his eyes making look a fair bit older than Bruce thought he actually was. There was a certain gangly-ness about him still. 

He was working for Gold Plate Catering, a company Bruce hadn’t worked with before. His usual caterers had gone out of business unexpectedly, and the Martha Wayne Foundation was forced to hire this company last minute. The servers all seemed like consummate professionals, the mystery look-alike included, but their boss was a different story. 

Furious screaming could sometimes be heard from behind the kitchen doors, berating whichever employee crossed the greasy man’s path.

Bruce watched as his look-alike entered the swinging doors and was met with an “And YOU-!” before the doors muffled the yelling again. 

“Charming guy, huh?” Tim muttered, seated beside him. 

“I don’t think we’ll be hiring them again,” Bruce replied under his breath.

“A pity. It's just the boss that’s the problem.” Bruce hummed in agreement. “Did you see the tall guy?” Tim continued, even quieter. 

Bruce dipped his chin as an affirmative but didn’t reply verbally. He was still watching the kitchen door, waiting for the mystery boy to reappear. 

When he did, he was a little more rumpled than he had been previously, and actively smoothing out a scowl. Staring like he was, it wasn’t hard for Bruce to catch his eye and beckon him over. The boy straightened and started towards him, a professional mask sliding into place before he seemed to realize just who had beckoned him. He paused, eyes on Bruce’s face, before taking two quick steps back. He whipped his head around to look at the wall - no, the window. With the lights of the ballroom and it being dark out, he was using the window as a mirror, Bruce realized. The boy looked at his reflection, and then Bruce, at his reflection, then Bruce.

Slowly, the young man started toward them again. Bruce put on his best “Brucie” smile as he approached, taking in details as he got closer. He was wearing a threadbare white collared shirt and black slacks so worn they were grey. His knuckles were bruised and scraped, but recently doctored. He had cauliflower ears and a bump in the bridge of his nose, like it had been broken, maybe a few times. He was muscled but visibly underfed. There were scars, knife wounds and burns, on his arms disappearing under his rolled up sleeves. 

His eyes were a pale, piercing blue, just like Bruce’s own. They were studying him, analyzing him, just like Bruce was studying him. 

“Hello, hello! Could I ask your name, young man?” Bruce asked when he was close enough not to be overheard by any of Gotham’s elite gossip mongers. 

“Danny, sir. Is there something I can help you with?” He was polite, but clearly suspicious. What had set him off, Bruce wondered. A billionaire CEO wanting to talk to him? Or the fact that they looked so alike?

“Ah, well, this is quite embarrassing, but would you be willing to tell me who your mother is? It’s just that, well, we look so alike! And coincidences like this are rarely just coincidences in my experience,” Bruce said, hamming up his ‘Brucie’ persona as much as he dared. 

The kid’s gaze was sharp, measuring. He tapped the table he and Tim were sitting at, thinking it over. “Madeline,” he finally said.

Bruce noticed the lack of last name, but didn’t press. This kid did NOT trust him, and he didn’t want him to run. He racked his brain for a ‘Madeine’ or a ‘Maddie’ and came up empty. He pasted on a vapid, if apologetic smile, and asked, “Could you describe her? I’m so sorry, I’ve sobered up quite a bit, but when I was younger…”

Danny looked deeply unimpressed, but acquiesced after looking at Bruce for another moment. “Red hair, blue-ish purple eyes. About yea tall,” he made a gesture indicating just under his chin. 

“How old are you?” Tim asked, as Bruce tried to think. The description did sound familiar. 

Danny shifted on his feet and shot a look behind himself at the kitchen doors. His boss was still in there, and none of his coworkers were within earshot. “16,” he finally said, turning back to them. 

“So about 17 years ago…” Bruce snapped his fingers, partially still in character. “There was a fundraiser for Gotham University’s STEM programs. There was a beautiful woman that introduced herself as Maddie Walker. Her eyes were quite striking, I remember now. Intensely smart woman.”

Danny had gone somewhat pale, but nodded. “That’s her maiden name,” he confirmed, running a hand down his face. 

“Are you ok, chum?” Bruce asked, getting a raised eyebrow from Tim. 

“I, yeah, it's just that my parents have supposedly been happily married for the last 20 years,” Danny said, giving a hysterical little laugh. Both Bruce and Tim winced. 

“...Sorry,” Bruce said, unsure of what to say. 

Danny flapped his hand dismissively, about to say something when one of his coworkers came up to him at a run. 

“Danny, Ross has got Beth cornered,” she hissed to him. Danny straightened up, suddenly seeming much bigger than he had a moment ago. 

“Pardon me, sir, it seems I’m needed,” Danny said. He turned and returned to the kitchen with his coworker hot on his heels, hissing in low voices to one another. 

After his probable son disappeared back into the kitchen, Bruce glanced over at Tim. He was frantically typing on his phone. 

We have a Code Damian! I repeat, CODE DAMIAN

*several people are typing*

Chapter Text

Danny wiped his sweaty palms on the dish towel he kept tucked in his apron. Things were going tits up, in multiple different ways, all right this second. ‘Deal with the crisis at hand,’ he thought to himself, trying not to focus on the revelation that his dad probably wasn’t his dad. ‘Deal with the identity crisis LATER.’

“Why were you talking with Bruce Wayne, anyway?” Adrea asked, hustling to keep up with his long strides. 

Danny glanced at her, not slowing down even though he wanted to stop and shake her. “That was Brucie Wayne?” he asked, slightly hysterical. 

“Yes?? You didn’t recognize him?” She asked incredulously.

“No! I’m not from around here, remember? Also, I don’t give a fuck about celebrities,” Danny hissed. And that had to be the end of the conversation, because they had entered the kitchen. 

“YOU STUPID FUCKING BI-”

“That’s Enough.” 

The owner of Gold Plate Catering, Ross, shut his mouth with a snap, looking up, up, up at Danny. Danny didn’t let himself smirk when Ross took an involuntary step back. 

“Hey Andi? Get Beth out of here.” Andrea put an arm around the still sniffling Beth and led her out into the hallway. Most of the rest of the employees were now in the kitchen, waiting to see if Ross would finally be put in his place. 

Most of the employees were folks that couldn’t get better paying jobs for one reason or another, and definitely didn’t have the money or standing for a lawyer. Ross took advantage of this, berating and abusing his employees regularly. 

Recently, Ross had propositioned Bethany, a good 20 years his junior and freshly hired. She had turned him down, and he had gone off on her every chance he could since. Most of the time, Danny and Andrea were able to shield her, but not always. And Beth was too soft a soul to take Ross’s words without crying. Danny thought he got some sick pleasure from it. 

Danny had had quite enough. 

“You don’t treat people like that,” he said coolly, staring down at Ross. 

The older man sneered. “You don’t get to tell me shit, Nightingale.” 

Danny loomed, putting a little ectoplasmic power behind it. Ross took another step back. 

“At some point, you won’t have any employees left,” Danny said. He looked over Ross’s head to Mikey, a big guy that did most of the heavy lifting. Mikey nodded and took his apron off. Danny took his apron off. Every Gold Plate employee in the kitchen took their aprons off. “A little sooner than you thought, even.” 

Ross looked around with wide eyes, breath coming faster and faster, until he turned back to Danny. His lips curled back as his eyes bugged out. Faster than Danny had anticipated, Ross grabbed a knife out of the block on the counter. 

“You’re not going to cost me my goddamn company, you little fuck,” Ross hissed, advancing on Danny. Mikey and several others looked ready to pounce on him from behind, but Danny shook his head a little at them. The kitchen was too crowded. One wild swing could spell tragedy. Danny needed to think fast, he needed room, he needed credible witnesses -

He’d heard the name Commissioner Gordon while working; he was in the ballroom. The very large ballroom. With security guards. 

“Fuck sakes Ross, you treat us like shit, why wouldn’t we quit?” Danny kept his attention, his anger, focused on him as he slowly walked backward until he hit the kitchen doors. Emboldened by Danny ‘retreating’, Ross advanced, brandishing his knife.

“Fucking ungreatful, the lot of you.”

“Maybe you should let your boss know you’ve fucking ruined his operation, huh? Or I could tell him,” Danny grinned, showing too many teeth. 

Ross didn’t notice the amount of teeth, instead charged at him, knife raised. 

Danny backpedaled into the ballroom, yelling at the top of his lungs, “He’s got a knife!” 

The entire ballroom froze, but Ross was on a rampage and didn’t notice the new witnesses. He lunged, eyes still bugged out and snarling. He wasn’t especially fast or skilled, but he was better than Danny was anticipating.

The security guards were just watching, proving to be supremely useless. Danny kept dodging, trying to think of another plan. He picked up a serving tray, dumping its contents and using it to block a few more blows. 

Movement caught his eye. Bruce Wayne stood at the periphery of the action, radiating stress and worry. Their eyes caught briefly before Danny had to focus again. 

Ross charged again, blowing like a bull. Judo flip, Danny decided. He tossed aside his temporary shield, planted his feet and waited for Ross to meet him. He grabbed his wrist, pivoted, shouldered his bulk up and over - 

Thump! Ross hit the ground harder than Danny really intended, but he didn’t hesitate. Before he could gather his wits, Danny had him in a full body choke hold, not tight enough to knock him out, but enough to restrain him. 

“POLICE,” Danny yelled at the top of his lungs, since these useless fancy socialites seemed frozen in shock.

“We’re here, lad! Easy does it,” Commissioner Gorden (Danny hoped) came forward with handcuffs. As Ross was secured, his coworkers flooded onto the ballroom floor, celebrating and trying to talk to Gordon, trying to tell someone about all of the shit Ross had pulled. 

Danny was still sitting on the floor, watching the chaos unfold as if from a distance. Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder. He jerked around, bracing for another knife, but all he saw was Wayne. 

“You’re bleeding,” the man said softly, a small, serious frown on his face. It was much more natural than the vapid smiles he had been wearing all night. 

“I’m f-” Danny registered the pain then, a hot sting on his forearm. He stared at the long red line, smeared and starting to drip. “Huh.”

“Come sit. Tim’s gone to get the first aid kit,” Wayne said. 

Danny nodded and hauled himself to his feet with only a little help. He followed his older look-alike over to his table, but paused before he fell into the offered seat. There was more than just Tim waiting for them. 

‘That’s a lot of Waynes,” Danny thought.