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It is a well-known fact that Bruce Wayne, Prince of Gotham, is protective of his kids.
It’s long since been the first racist reporter he’s shut down, yelled at, and gotten fired. Long since the first inappropriate comment or wandering eye has been publicly reprimanded and disgraced. Long since the elite of Gotham have learned that money cannot solve everything when it comes to Bruce Wayne’s ever-growing group of children.
But this gentle reverence doesn’t apply to Bruce Wayne himself. In fact, many people still see him as a meaningless airhead with a tragic past and think that, given his reputation, they can get away with things. Perhaps it’s a fate he’s brought upon himself, he thinks somewhat mournfully as another hand wanders and another condescending remark reaches his ears, but he’ll deal with it if it means his kids don’t have to.
They make it clear how they hate these events, and he tries to let them skip when it’s not necessary, but he inevitably ends up with at least a few of his kids attending with him, complaining the whole time. Perhaps he could find it in him to feel more annoyed if he also didn’t feel the same.
What takes a while for him to realize—a while for all of Gotham’s elite to realize—is that the Wayne children are not as unobservant as they might seem. Bruce Wayne might be protective of his kids, and fiercely so, but his kids are just as protective of him in return.
Actually, they’re worse.
___ ___ ___
It starts with Tim.
Well, it’s hardly the first time one of his kids has interrupted him when talking with a group of people at a gala like this, but it’s the first time Bruce notices his children’s inexplicable sense of timing.
“Bruce.” Tim’s formal voice halts the conversation of the small group around him, snide remarks and pointed teasing faltering in the still air. “We have an interview about Wayne Enterprise’s newest ecological efforts. We need to start heading that way, or we’ll be late.”
Bruce doesn’t remember having an interview scheduled, but there’s a reason he trusted his son with the company.
“Ecological efforts,” one of the finely dressed men nearby snickers to the young girl hanging off his arm. “I bet he doesn’t even know what that means.” A few people nearby try to stifle their agreeing giggles, but Bruce figures he wasn’t supposed to hear that, so he doesn’t acknowledge it.
“Well, it seems I’m needed elsewhere.” He smiles politely, and the group chimes in politely in return. “Have a good night, ladies and gentlemen.” He raises his glass in the air in a parody of a toast and misses the way Tim levels the group with an oppressive glare.
By the time he turns to face his son, Tim has schooled his features into a calm smile and lets Bruce sling an arm around his shoulder while they walk away. He misses the confused and concerned glances the group they leave behind exchange at young Tim’s behavior, something like dread starting to build in their stomachs.
Hopefully, he doesn’t take after his father.
Tim leads him to a small, well-lit room with a couch and a few chairs. They stop in the doorway, and Tim frowns a little upon seeing no one there. “I guess they stepped out for a few minutes.” He says, settling on the couch.
Bruce settles on the couch next to him, suddenly finding himself glad for the break. Playing up his Brucie persona can be exhausting, even more exhausting than running around all night as Batman, but tonight seems to be worse. He isn’t sure why everyone’s snide little remarks about his skills, his past, and his failures were so irritating tonight. He’s used to it and has grown thick enough skin to deal with it regularly, especially considering how often he and his kids get to prove them wrong by moonlighting as vigilantes. Tonight, Bruce thought one more meaningless insult would put him over the edge. The reporter will probably have some more pointed drivel to needle him with, but at least, for now, he gets a small break to gather himself and rest from the onslaught.
It’s not until later that night that he considers the interviewer’s remark about them being early and the relief that came from Tim’s silent presence.
___ ___ ___
Cassandra may be the only one of his children who can get away with just dragging him somewhere without explaining herself.
This is mostly because she rarely comes to events like these and talks even less when doing so. It’s a shame, given her perceptive mind and deadly sharp sense of humor, but he understands. He didn’t talk very much at these types of galas when he was a kid, so he feels sympathetic in that regard. Cass is also fairly self-sufficient, or seems comfortable getting assistance from one of his other kids if need be—she, Steph, and Duke seem to be fairly close—and she doesn’t like putting herself in the spotlight just to get help from him.
Bruce also doesn’t blame her in that regard. The constant onslaught of attention can be dizzying—or maybe that’s just the remains of the headache he has from getting his head slammed against the pavement when out fighting as Batman last night. He has no real excuse to skip out on a charity event like this, so he’s fighting through the blindingly bright lights and roaring wall of noise, trying to pretend to follow the conversation even as he resists the urge to curl up into a ball.
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t notice Cass approaching until some of the noise lessens, the conversation around him falling quiet once more. It takes until she grabs his hand for him to notice, too busy trying to figure out what was going on, trying to pretend that even the smallest respite wasn’t heaven. Finally, he manages to look her in the eyes, trying to decipher what she’s telling him, but his head is pounding against the bright lights. He’s not fast enough, so she takes matters into her own hands, dragging him away from the small crowd. He stumbles after her, too caught off guard to even begin stuttering apologies, and allows himself to be pulled out onto one of the little balconies.
He hadn’t even realized how stuffy it had been, everyone packed in that room, until the cool night breeze washed over him. He takes a moment to revel in it, the peaceful quiet and the dim light of the moon, before turning to his daughter. “Cass, is everything okay?”
“Overwhelming.”
“Was it too much for you?” He asks, but doesn’t get a response, Cass just staring out at the gardens below. “I can leave if you want some privacy.” He needlessly offers, already turning to head back inside even as his stomach fills with dread at the thought.
“Stay.” She implores, turning to catch his arm. She stares at him meaningfully for a moment before turning back towards the garden and leaning against the balcony’s railing. After a moment, Bruce joins her, reveling in the peacefulness of the moment.
___ ___ ___
He only really starts to be suspicious of something when Steph cuts in on a dance with a rather… persistent woman. His kids pulling him away from situations that were making him uncomfortable twice is just great timing, but three times is starting to look like more than just a coincidence.
Bruce is glad that most of the events he attends don’t require dancing, but this one, unfortunately, does. Bruce finds himself dancing with many ladies who are desperate to affiliate themselves with Gotham’s most eligible bachelor, but the lady he is dancing with now has yet to take no for an answer, no matter how many times he says it. He’s starting to run out of polite ways to dismiss her as she insists on “just one more song.” Her hands start to wander into places that he’s trying to avoid showing that make him uncomfortable.
The song comes to an end, and he starts looking for a different dancing partner—any other dancing partner—when a familiar voice chimes in.
“Mind if I cut in?” Stephanie asks, looking at the unwanted woman with a thinly veiled glare. “Bruce promised me a dance.” She grins with too many teeth until the woman removes her arms from around Bruce’s waist, and Steph is able to slot herself into the place she left behind. They start to sway to the music, and Bruce watches out of the corner of his eye to see where she goes, in hopes he can stay away from her later.
“I don’t recall owing you a dance.” He says, eventually, in a way he hopes that comes off as teasing and not ungrateful, as he turns his attention back to Steph. He’s not quite sure where he stands with her, as she commonly insists he’s not her dad and instead that she just likes stealing his money and eating his food. If that’s what it takes for her to feel comfortable being around him and willing to stay somewhere safe, he’ll take it. He never set out to replace anyone’s parents, after all.
Steph turns that mischievous, shark-like grin at him. “Jason bet me 50 bucks that you wouldn’t dance with me.” She explains.
Bruce isn’t sure whether to feel more annoyed that his kids are betting about him or that they think he wouldn’t dance with Steph. “I like dancing with you. I’d dance with any of my children if they asked.”
“That’s what I said. Jason just thought you’d be too awkward to accept.” She laughs, and Bruce once again debates about being offended. “But honestly, anything would be better than dancing with that bitch, so I don’t know if it really counts.”
“Steph, you can’t call people that in public.” He chides gently, hoping no one overheard them.
“So you’d agree with me in private, then?” She challenges, and he rolls his eyes fondly but doesn’t protest.
Eventually, the song ends, and Steph excuses herself to collect her winnings, and Bruce gets swept into other things. It takes him a couple of days to realize he didn’t see that handsy young woman ever again that night.
___ ___ ___
By the time Damian does it, he figures he ought to ask, if at least to see what his children were up to. And, well, maybe Damian wasn’t as subtle as his other kids had been. Not obvious to the public, of course, but obvious to Bruce.
“Grayson says it is past my bedtime.” Damian interrupts bluntly, breaking up a rather unpleasant and mildly threatening conversation with the CEO of one of Wayne Enterprise’s rivals. The angry CEO blinks down at Damian in something like surprise, his grip on Bruce’s jacket loosening.
“Is that so?” Bruce questions in return, trying to seem unaffected. He’d rather deal with this type of nonsense rather than Tim, but he doesn’t need any of his children to see this.
“Yes.” Damian agrees but doesn’t elaborate.
“Are you hoping I’ll convince him to let you stay up later?”
Damian stares at him, unimpressed. “Of course not. I need your assistance.”
“My assistance?” Bruce echoes, feeling lost. “With your bedtime?”
“Well, I’m hardly going to do it by myself.” He intones.
“Right,” Bruce manages to say, mind whirling, as if he tucks his 12-year-old son into bed every night instead of crusading around Gotham with him until the early hours of the morning. “Of course. Let’s go then.” He turns to the other man and smiles with false politeness. “If you’ll excuse me.” He says, scooping Damian up into his arms, and disappearing into a quiet hallway.
“Alright, what was all of that about?” He questions, setting Damian back onto the floor.
“Helping you, of course. As Robin is supposed to do.” Damian states it as if it were obvious.
Bruce sighs. “Not that I’m not grateful, but you can’t just interrupt me every time I’m a little uncomfortable.”
“So, what? Drake, Cain, and Brown get to do it without complaint, but as soon as I do, I get in trouble?” He crosses his arms. “That hardly seems fair. And I’d say that qualifies as more than a little uncomfortable.”
“Is that what you all have been doing?” Bruce wonders aloud.
Damian scoffs. “Have you only now realized? I thought you were the world’s greatest detective.”
“I noticed something was up with everyone’s behavior at all these events for the past few months, but I hadn’t quite figured out what.”
___ ___ ___
Bruce isn’t sure if he catches on to their plans more easily now that he knows to expect it or if they’re becoming more obvious now that they aren’t trying to hide it from him.
“Dad,” Dick whines, draping himself haphazardly across Bruce’s shoulders and spilling some of the drink he holds up into the air, mid-toast. The small group gathered around him awkwardly lowers their glasses and pretends not to watch Dick make a drunken fool of himself. “They cut me off.” He continues to complain, and Bruce is only mildly reassured by the fact that he knows Dick plays up a similar persona to his at events like these. It’s very likely his son isn’t actually drunk. “So you don’t mind if I take yours, do you?” He questions, slurring his words a little.
Bruce’s suspicions are confirmed when Dick plucks the glass out of his hand with the speed and deftness that a drunk person could not have. Still, he does not revel in watching him go to drink it and spill most of it on his shirt. Watching his intelligent and mindful son make a fool of himself in public is not one of the ways he hoped his kids would emulate him. But obviously Dick needs him for something and needs to get him somewhere alone, so he goes along with it.
“I think there’s a reason they cut you off, sweetheart,” Bruce says with a laugh, turning to address the small group around them. “I need to go deal with this,” he explains, as if they don’t already know. “If you’ll give me just a moment, then we can get back to that toast.” He grins charmingly, and the small group chimes mutters of agreement.
Bruce leads Dick to a secluded area, and Dick plops down on the floor.
“I know you’re not actually drunk, so what’s going on?”
Dick grins up at him, leaning back on his hands with his legs stretched out in front of him. “I thought you learned not to take drinks from strangers.”
“Of course not.” Bruce refutes immediately, even as he plays the scene over in his mind. Usually, he’s careful to get his own drink, mostly to avoid drinking alcohol despite making everyone else believe he’s doing so. But for the toast, the glass was pressed into his hand.
“We saw someone put something in it,” Dick explains, smile slipping a little. “I was just going to bump into the server and spill the whole tray, but once I saw it was given to you, well, I figured this was easier.”
“What? Making a fool of yourself?”
Dick rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t going to stand around and let you get roofied.”
“And that’s why you decided to drink it yourself?”
Dick levels him with a look. “I spilled it on myself for a reason, Bruce. Don’t assume I’m stupid just because you’re feeling overprotective.”
“Of course I know you’re smart, chum. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you kids swooping in to save me when you think it’s necessary.”
Dick snorts. “Someone has to. You don’t care about yourself.”
Bruce doesn’t deign to respond. “Come on,” he says instead, holding his hand out to pull Dick off the floor. “Let’s use this as an excuse to get out of here early.”
Dick smiles up at him and lets Bruce pull him to his feet, knowing he’s won.
___ ___ ___
Duke is the newest of his ragtag little family, and Bruce still isn’t sure how to act around him.
He’s just looking after him in the meantime while his parents hopefully recover, but with each day that passes with no progress, he finds himself feeling more and more nervous. He isn’t trying to replace Duke’s family either and doesn’t want to force him into any decisions, but he just wants Duke to know he’s welcome. Maybe the fact that Duke is willing to go along with his kids’ schemes to bail him out of certain situations is enough to know that he’s getting along just fine.
“Hey, Bruce,” Duke says, a bit shyly.
Bruce is glad for the interruption. If he had to listen to this old lady ramble on about his parents for any longer, he wasn’t sure if he was going to punch her or break down into tears. “Do you think we could head back early? Dick, Tim and Damian already left but I have an early morning for school tomorrow and I need a ride.”
“Of course,” Bruce agrees easily. This may be a thinly veiled excuse, but any excuse is one he’d take at this point. Duke could have told him they needed to go home to make sure they didn’t leave the stove on, and Bruce would’ve left with him just the same. Bruce doesn’t even bother excusing himself from the rather one-sided conversation he was having and makes a mental note to never invite that lady again.
“Thank you,” Bruce says as they wait somewhere secluded for Alfred to come and pick them up.
Duke shrugged, like it was nothing. “I would’ve been upset if someone was talking about my parents that way, too.” He glances up at him. “Do you want to tell me about them?” He offers kindly, and for once, Bruce doesn’t feel himself bristle at someone else bringing them up. Instead, he relaxes and allows himself to reminisce.
Maybe one day, Duke will do the same.
___ ___ ___
Jason often attends these events as one of the waitstaff.
He’s back from the dead and becoming more comfortable being a part of the family again, but has made it expressly clear that he has no interest in being resurrected publicly. Bruce has respected that wish—it's the least he could do—so Jason got out of attending for a while. But bad things tend to happen at events like these, and after one too many injuries, he found himself nervous with members of his family attending without him to keep an eye on them.
Bruce hates that he isn’t able to show off his son and knows how poorly some of the waitstaff are treated by other members of the Gotham elite, but it’s what Jason wanted, so he went along with it. He can’t deny that he’ll take getting to spend time with Jason in any capacity he can get it, and, well, who is he to deny his son’s flair for the dramatic?
“Oh, I am so sorry, sir,” comes Jason’s falsely apologetic voice as a tray with glasses of red wine spills on a man nearby who had been talking rudely about Bruce. Bruce turns to look at the small commotion, and Jason just catches his eye, winking subtly. Bruce hides his grin behind his own glass of red wine, taking a careful sip at his son’s behavior.
Perhaps it’s not all that bad to allow himself to be taken care of.