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The Justice League holds meetings on a regular basis—sometimes monthly, sometimes weekly, depending on the situation, the urgency of the threats, and the availability of its members. These gatherings cover everything from technological updates and battlefield injuries to global crises. Alien invasions in Asia? They assess. A surge of metahumans experimenting with extraterrestrial weaponry in South America? They assign a response team. They see it, they evaluate it, and they decide who’s best suited to handle the issue—ideally, someone already stationed in that region.
Attendance varies. Shazam, for instance, used to show up more often, but college keeps him busy. John Stewart, as always, is off-world more often than not. But tonight’s meeting is standard fare—budgets, infrastructure, security updates. Does the Watchtower need more personal quarters? Should they build another relaxation area? And, of course, the inevitable: Did Barry break another console controller after losing to Hal?
It’s a full house tonight. Clark, Diana, Oliver, Barry—even Hal, which is surprising, considering Aquaman didn’t even bother to RSVP.
But someone’s missing.
The massive screen at the head of the table flickers to life, revealing Bruce Wayne in the Batcave. He’s still in his Batsuit, though the cape and cowl are off. His hair is slightly disheveled, exhaustion etched into his face. He hadn’t been able to make it in person—not with ongoing issues at the Manor and other concerns that demanded his attention.
Diana speaks first, her voice gentle. “Bruce, if you need to reschedule, we can push this back.” She watches him carefully, recognizing the familiar signs of exhaustion. She’s told him countless times that rest is crucial, but he never listens.
“It’s Thursday,” she adds. “We could move it to the weekend.”
Bruce shakes his head. Behind him, the Batcave’s advanced tech hums softly. The video feed is crystal clear, though the system automatically blurs classified equipment.
Oliver is the first to object. “Oh, no—” He looks around at his teammates. “If this moves to the weekend, I’m out. Dinah and I have tickets to a very exclusive event. Not missing it for a meeting.”
Barry squints at him. “Aren’t you rich?”
Oliver gives him a flat look. “Do you not understand the meaning of ‘exclusive,’ Barry?” What he doesn’t say is that he only scored those tickets because Bruce had canceled a date with Selina.
Barry shrugs. “So… you’re not that rich.”
Hal snorts in amusement.
Within seconds, Barry and Oliver are standing, ready to argue, but Diana, already irritated, shuts it down. “Enough. If we start now, we can all leave sooner.”
They settle back into their seats.
On-screen, Bruce’s attention briefly shifts to someone off-camera. A second later, Tim Drake appears beside him, holding up a tablet.
“Do you think my essay is solid? ‘The Impact of Artificial Intelligence on Business: Will Machines Replace Us?’ I need you to read it, Bruce.” Tim’s tone is serious, his posture expectant. “Jason refused because, and I quote, ‘I fully support machines taking over.’”
Hal laughs. “Who is that?” he asks Barry.
Barry barely glances his way. “Tim Drake.”
Hal still looks lost.
Barry sighs. “Conner’s boyfriend.”
Hal squints.
Barry rolls his eyes. “You know, Superboy?”
Recognition dawns. “Oh. How do you even keep up with this stuff?”
Barry shrugs. “Bart tells me. He’s friends with both of them. You know Bart—my grandson from the future?”
Hal blinks. “Right. Got it.”
Back on-screen, Bruce is holding Tim’s tablet, his usual stern expression softening. It’s subtle, but it’s there—the shift in his eyes, the faint smile.
“I’ll read it tonight and give you feedback in the morning,” Bruce says, setting aside some files. “Now go to bed. You have class at eight.”
Tim doesn’t argue. The screen glitches slightly, and for a moment, the team sees something unexpected—Bruce pulling Tim into a quick but firm hug before sending him off. A father making sure his son gets some sleep.
When the feed stabilizes again, Bruce is alone, back to business. His expression has reset, serious once more. “Where were we?” His tone is sharp, direct. “Diana?”
Diana smiles. She likes seeing this side of Bruce—the father, not just the strategist. She and Clark had been there for him through the worst of it, through grief and loss. Seeing him like this, now, felt different. Better. Clark, however, is distracted, focused on his phone.
Oliver, already losing patience, waves a hand. “Clark! Hello?”
Bruce narrows his eyes. “Clark, if you have something to take care of, just go.”
Clark sighs, standing up. “Sorry, house renovations. Some issues came up.” He listens to something on the other end, then groans. “Conner, we are not installing a drum set in your room.” More silence. “What? Jon wants one too? Conner, put Lois on the phone.” And with that, he exits.
Hal watches him leave, then looks around. “So… can we start? Because, honestly, I was supposed to be at a party on Planet 342. And let me tell you, their parties? Next level. Literally.”
Diana doesn’t even dignify that with a response. She just sighs. “Let’s begin. We’ll go through the agenda in order.”
Everyone, including Bruce, nods in agreement.
Bruce takes a sip of coffee, knowing full well it won’t be enough to get him through the night. He has to be up at six for a board meeting, followed by an endless list of Bruce Wayne obligations, and—because fate clearly enjoys tormenting him—parent-teacher conferences in the evening.
And it’s only Thursday.
Diana clears her throat, refocusing everyone’s attention. “Since waiting for Clark will take too long, let’s start with current threats and potential dangers.”
The holographic screens in front of them shift, displaying reports, combat footage, statistics, and intelligence briefings.
“There are several active crises,” Diana continues, “as well as team deployments to finalize…”
And with that, the meeting truly begins.
An hour later, Clark arrived, offering an apologetic smile as he settled into his seat.
“Sorry, things are a little crazy at home. Conner wants a drum set, Jon too. And Kara’s coming over this weekend, so we’re making room.”
The rest of the League accepted his explanation with nods and murmurs of understanding. The meeting carried on in a familiar rhythm—statements, reports, the occasional side comment. Barry alternated between snacking and checking his phone, while everyone else maintained the kind of serious expressions that only came from years of knowing exactly how these meetings played out. Diana spoke. Bruce, as expected, took the lead, keeping everything structured. Clark chimed in when necessary, Oliver made his usual remarks about delegating to his team, and in the end, everyone fell into their respective roles.
Diana was the first to introduce a pressing concern.
“We’ve encountered metahumans experimenting with magic,” she said, her voice steady but firm. “The combination is dangerous, even more so when they tamper with forces beyond their understanding. We’ve consulted Zatanna, and she’ll be monitoring the situation closely.”
As she spoke, the hologram shifted, displaying images of metahumans with shadowy figures looming behind them, books glowing with forbidden symbols, and individuals muttering incantations in languages long since banned.
“The Justice League Dark will handle this,” she concluded.
Hal took the next turn, arms crossed, looking unusually grim.
“The Lanterns are tracking off-world artifacts being smuggled into this system. Some of these objects are highly valuable—illegal trafficking is becoming a serious problem. Kyle and Jessica are on it.”
Oliver arched a brow. “And not you, Jordan?” His grin was pure amusement. “Power finally going to your head?”
Hal shot him a look. “I’m watching too, Queen. But if you keep running your mouth, I’ll make sure Gardner gets more assignments.”
Everyone quickly shook their heads.
“See?” Hal smirked.
Barry leaned forward next. “Wally and I are investigating some… experiments. Scientists trying to artificially recreate super-speed. The results aren’t promising.” His jaw tightened slightly. “I’ll have more updates next week.”
Bruce sipped his coffee, watching the holograms with calculated focus. Alfred had slipped him some aspirin earlier, but he knew it wouldn’t do much. His chair—one of those absurdly expensive orthopedic models—was doing its best to support him, but age was catching up, whether he admitted it or not.
Still, the familiar hum of the Batcave ran in the background. His sons were here. Red Hood and Nightwing lingered near the break area, just out of sight from the main screen, no doubt raiding the mini-fridge for snacks. Bruce didn’t say it out loud, but he liked seeing them together. Liked that they were talking again.
A quick mental check-in.
Cass was with Stephanie, having a sleepover. Duke was with friends. Tim was somewhere in the manor—probably not sleeping, but at least present. Damian was sleeping. Jason and Dick were down here.
Everything was as it should be.
And then—
Hal sighed dramatically. “So, are we done with the serious stuff? Can we move on to the important issues? Like my request for another sauna and goose-feather mattresses for the rest areas? Oliver said he’s gonna pay for some things.”
Oliver scoffed. “Hey! I said I’d cover a few things, but do you have any idea how expensive those mattresses are? Even my kids don’t ask for that. Why don’t you hit up Brucie? He’s got more money than me.”
Clark and Barry chuckle as Oliver gestured grandly.
“What?” Oliver shrugged. “It’s true.”
Clark, ever the mediator, raised his hands. “Alright, guys. Can we stay on track? Some of us have things to do in the morning.”
Everyone reluctantly refocused. Bruce exhaled slowly. Some days, dealing with his kids was easier than dealing with the League. He liked them, they were his friends, but putting Hal, Barry, and Oliver in the same meeting was practically inviting chaos.
Bruce took control again. “As I was saying—” His eyes landed on Hal with that unmistakable parental disappointment. “We’re moving on to mission coordination. Diana’s been working with government agencies to—”
The sudden noise made him stop mid-sentence.
Not distress. Not danger. But something close.
Raised voices. Bickering. Familiar.
Clark sat up slightly. “Bruce? Everything alright over there?”
Bruce’s expression flattened. Without a word, he turned in his chair. The League watched the screen as he muttered something under his breath and then, in a voice none of them were used to hearing, said—
“What did I tell you two? Don’t make me come over there.”
Silence.
The League exchanged glances. Bruce was rarely like this in front of them. Everyone knew—knew—that he had a family, that his once-shattered household had somehow, against all odds, started to mend. But hearing it? Seeing it? That was different.
Oliver smirked. “That’s what happens when you collect too many kids. Bruce needs, like, six extra hands. Roy swears the manor is pure chaos.”
Hal, looking vaguely confused, frowned. “Wait. How many do you have? I lost track at four.”
Clark, amused, answered, “Seven.”
“Seven?” Hal blinked. “I swear, man. Are you starting your own baseball team?”
Before Bruce could respond, his voice carried over the comms again.
“Red Hood, let go of your brother’s arm.” A pause. Then, with absolute certainty— “Yes, Red Hood. I have super-hearing and x-ray vision. That’s how I know. Now, don’t make me come over there.”
The League tried. They really tried. But the moment Bruce stood up, effectively pausing the meeting, Diana was the first to let out a quiet laugh.
Oliver rubbed his temples. “Yeah, this is why I stopped at three. If I had that many, I’d be in a hospital.”
“Didn’t you say Lian keeps you on your toes?” Diana asked, watching the screen with mild amusement.
Oliver softened instantly. “Lian is an angel. A perfect child.” He pointed at them all. “And I stand by that.” And Oliver is always happy to talk about his grandchildren.
Clark leaned back, thinking about his own family. Conner and Jon weren’t like Bruce’s kids—they weren’t… well, that . Conner was patient, and Jon adored him. No brawls, no wrestling matches. Conner helped Jon with homework, picked him up from the manor when he had sleepovers with Damian.
“…Huh,” Clark murmured.
Barry glanced at him. “What?”
Clark frowned. “I just realized… Conner was at the manor a lot before he and Tim started dating.”
The realization settled in.
“No, no—he’s a good kid,” Clark added quickly. “He just… really wants that drum set.”
Another round of shouting broke through, followed by the distinct thump of something— someone —hitting the ground.
A white cat with black patches leapt onto the Batcave console, stepping on random buttons and accidentally turning up the volume.
Barry squinted at the screen. “Uh… who’s that?”
Clark smiled knowingly. “That’s Alfred. Damian’s cat.”
What they hear is something far too domestic for any of them. No bodies in sight—just the unmistakable voices of Nightwing, Red Hood, and Bruce.
“Bruce, he took my Capri Sun!” Jason starts, already agitated. “And you’re just gonna let him get away with it? I’m raising my fists, Bruce, I swear—”
More noise. Scuffling. A grunt.
“Dick, let go of your brother’s arm,” Bruce says, voice weary—one of those rare times he actually sounds like a dad.
“He owes me twenty bucks, Bruce! And he says I drank his Capri Sun—” Dick sounds just as pissed. “Jason, let me go! I didn’t take your damn juice. Why don’t you ask Damian?”
More struggling. A series of overlapping protests.
“No, you let go first, idiot!”
“Give me my money back, dumbass!”
“Jason, give me my twenty bucks!”
“I did ask the gremlin,” Jason snaps. “He literally said, ‘No, Todd. Why would I take your things? I was sleeping.’”
Bruce sighs. “Jason…you called your brother for this?”
There’s a beat of silence, like even Bruce can’t believe this is his life. Then, with the exhaustion of a man who’s seen too much, he says, “If you two don’t settle this, I’m grounding you.”
A burst of laughter echoes from their audience. Diana chuckles, and the others quickly follow suit, amused by the absurdity of it all.
“You can’t ground us, Bruce,” Jason protests. “We’re twenty-three and twenty-seven. Also, this is Grayson’s fault. I left my Capri Sun in the freezer as a post-mission treat, and he stole it.”
(“Think the cat can move the camera so we can see this?” Barry mutters to Hal. Hal shakes his head. “Damn it.”)
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care who started it. Fix it. Now. Or you’re both grounded.”
There’s a beat.
“Both of you—hug it out. And say, ‘I won’t steal your juice again.’”
Jason scoffs. “They’re Capri Suns , Bruce.”
“Yes. That.” Bruce turns, done with this.
“Not fair, Bruce!” Dick whines. “I didn’t take his Capri Sun! And why aren’t you telling him to give me my twenty bucks back? I was gonna buy something with that money!”
Jason makes an exaggerated face. “You’re rich, Grayson.”
Bruce is rubbing his temples now. “And you’re not broke, Jason. So why are you even taking his twenty bucks? Never mind—just give it back.”
More shuffling, a thump, another round of unintelligible bickering.
“Dick. Jason.” Bruce’s voice drops into Dad Mode again. “Enough.”
A pause. Then Jason accuses, “You always do this, Dick! First, you deny everything. Then I prove you did it! Just like you did with my Tamagotchis.”
(“What's Tamagotchi?” Diana asks, now visibly lost.
“They’re virtual pets,” Clark explains. “You take care of them, and they grow up.”
Diana nods, filing this under ‘strange customs.’)
“You left me with six fully grown Tamagotchis, Jason!” Dick shouts. “ Six. That’s a huge responsibility! What did you expect me to do?”
“ Not kill them, for starters!” Jason fires back. “I was gone for a day ! I had a book fair to go to! And when I came back— poof —all gone! Like you did it on purpose, Grayson.”
Dick gasps, deeply offended. “I had a Mario Kart tournament with Roy! I didn’t have time for six dying virtual pets!”
“You absolutely did it on purpose,” Jason huffs. Then, dead serious, “Just admit you drank my Capri Sun.”
Dick throws his hands up. “Give me back my twenty dollars , Jason! And my signed basketball! You took it when Roy was over.”
There’s a long, suffering sigh—Bruce’s, of course. The audio quality on these comms is too good .
“That’s it,” Bruce declares, tone final. “You’re both grounded.”
A pause. Then Jason, incredulous: “You can’t ground us.”
Bruce ignores him. “Since you’re both so determined to act like children, I was going to let you skip the Disney trip. But now? Now, you’re coming . No excuses.”
A horrified silence.
(“That doesn’t sound like a punishment…” Barry whispers. “Who doesn’t love Disney?”
Everyone nods—except Clark, who’s already shaking his head. He remembers. He knows.
“Dick and Jason hate Disney,” Clark murmurs. “They went once. Complained the entire time. Jason hated the crowds, Dick said the rides were boring. They swore never to go back.”)
“ This is cruel and unusual punishment! ” Jason protests, full-on scandalized. “ See, Grayson? This is what happens when you steal my Capri Sun!”
“ Me?! ” Dick sputters. “ Dad! Tell him something! Also, I don’t want to go to Disney! Nobody wants to go to Disney!”
Bruce just shrugs. “Final decision. No more discussion. And just so you know, I’m telling Alfred right now. Oh, and by the way—no dinner tonight. Uniforms off. Think about your actions.”
“ Dad! ” Both of them protest at the same time.
“This is a violation of our rights, ” Dick mutters. “I’m telling Alfred.”
Jason is already sprinting. “I’m telling Alfie. And I’m exaggerating everything.”
“Alfred’s never gonna believe you, Jason!”
Their voices fade as they bolt down the hall, still arguing.
Bruce turns back to the monitor. The exhaustion in his expression has softened, just slightly—something amused curling at the edges of his mouth.
Nobody says a word. Nobody calls him out on it.
But they all know.
Bruce Wayne loves these moments. Moments where, despite everything, he still gets to be their dad.
Bruce runs a hand through his hair, looking exhausted, but there’s a faint smile—one only a few would catch.
“I apologize for the interruption. We can take a minute and then resume the meeting,” he says, his tone almost automatic, like it’s something he’s said a hundred times before.
Clark takes a moment before speaking. “You’re really going to leave them without dinner?” His voice carries the exasperation of someone talking about a couple of unruly teenagers, not two grown men fully capable of taking care of themselves. He’s seen them bicker since they were kids—well, Jason was still small, and Dick wasn’t much older. Clark had been around for those days, watching their arguments unfold like clockwork. It had been entertaining at times. Other times, he’d walked away grateful to be an only child.
Bruce gives him a flat look before scanning the room, that signature Bat-glare settling over the group. “Clark. I would never do that.” He exhales sharply, already knowing how this conversation will play out. “By now, they’re upstairs, still arguing while Alfred feeds them. You really think I’d leave them to starve?” He shakes his head. “Besides… Alfred wouldn’t allow it.”
The mention of Alfred pulls a few amused glances around the table. Everyone knows the butler is the true force of order in the Wayne household. The man had made sure they all ate, even on nights when Bruce himself didn’t.
Oliver, as if the topic shift is seamless, leans back in his chair. “So, when you do Disney, you go to the one in Japan, right? More private, more exclusive?” He says it like they’ve discussed this before, like it’s the most normal thing in the world to ask Batman about his theme park preferences. “When I took the kids, we hit Disney first—loved it, by the way—then Universal. VIP passes were worth every cent. Lian had the best birthday.”
There’s a beat of silence. Oliver looks around. “What? Disney is, like, the go-to for birthdays. Plus, it was a family trip.”
Clark huffs out a laugh. “Yeah, sure. On a journalist’s salary.”
Oliver grins. “Hey, when you hit Space Mountain, your whole perspective changes.”
“The spa is better,” he adds, dead serious. “Pure paradise.”
Bruce sighs, rubbing a hand over his face while Diana chuckles quietly. Moments like these—where the League feels almost domestic—are rare, and she enjoys them while they last.
Then Barry perks up. “Wait—wait. You guys actually got on Space Mountain?”
Oliver nods.
Barry scoffs. “Man, when I took the kids, we didn’t even get close. Lines were ridiculous.”
Hal places a hand over his chest in mock betrayal. “Barry. You went to Disney without me?”
Barry gives him a deadpan look. “Dude, you were off-world. Some water planet. Not my fault intergalactic WiFi hasn’t reached the Milky Way yet.”
Hal groans. “Unbelievable.”
Diana watches them all with a knowing smile, but then—
“Father!”
A new voice cuts through the chatter, and Bruce turns, already recognizing it. Damian Wayne storms in, looking thoroughly unimpressed. “Drake is cheating at the game again. Tell him to stop. Cheating is dishonorable for a warrior, Father.”
Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Damian. Shouldn’t you be in bed?” Then, his tone softens slightly. “Why are you even playing with Tim?”
Damian crosses his arms. “I woke up because Todd was complaining about Capri Suns. And Father, Drake needs to stop. He keeps cheating in Mario Kart.”
From upstairs, a distant shout echoes through the cave—Tim’s voice rising in protest. Whatever he’s yelling is lost under the general chaos.
Bruce exhales slowly, then turns back to the League, now standing with arms crossed. The screen behind him flickers, catching the movement of his sons arguing in the background.
“I need to handle this. We’ll reconvene Monday,” he says, his voice much calmer now. “You’ll all get a message.”
There are nods all around before the screen goes dark.
Oliver shakes his head, laughing to himself. “Damn. The bastard never told me which Disney he picks.” Without missing a beat, he pulls out his phone and dials. “Pretty Bird! Guess what? Feel like hitting a resort next week? Yeah, with the kids—no, no, a short break from your tour. Trust me, it’ll be worth it.” He stands, waving vaguely at the others before walking off mid-conversation.
The remaining four exchange glances.
“Food break?” Barry asks, eyes lighting up. He nudges Hal. “You owe me a rematch, by the way. Last time you were losing and pulled the whole ‘oh no, duty calls’ stunt.”
Hal smirks before punching Barry’s arm lightly. “Idiot. Fine. But only because I plan on kicking your ass this time.”
With that, they leave, heading toward their usual haunts, leaving only Clark and Diana behind.
Diana, still amused, glances at her friend. “Alright, explain something to me. What is it with all of you and theme parks?” She gathers her things, ready to leave. “Especially the themed ones.”
Clark chuckles. “It’s simple. And actually—why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow? Lois wants to talk to you about an upcoming Metropolis exhibit on the Olympian gods. She’s writing the front-page story. Plus, Jon’s been obsessed with this book series— Percy Jackson . He’s got questions.”
Diana grins. “Ah. I’ve heard of it. I’d be happy to help.”
As they leave the conference room, walking through the halls of the Watchtower, exchanging nods with fellow heroes, Diana speaks again.
“It’s good to see him like that,” she says softly. “I think having his sons together again… it makes him happy. I think he needed that.”
Clark nods, his expression thoughtful. “Yeah. It’s really good to see.” He exhales. “And honestly? I’m kind of glad that wrapped up early. I’ve got an interview tomorrow, and I need to go over a few things with Conner.” He shakes his head. “It was starting to get a little boring, anyway.”
Diana laughs, shaking her head at him.
But beneath the humor, they both know the truth—seeing Bruce like that, at peace, was something rare. Something he’d always wanted.
Maybe, for once, things were finally looking up for the Waynes.