Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Flying over Gotham City wasn’t something Superman did on a regular basis, mostly because of Batman’s no metas policy (for he was the kind of man you didn’t want to get on his bad side); but more for the fact he had no business being there. But tonight, he felt the flyover was justified.

For the past few weeks, he’d had his eye on a smuggling operation that was centered in Metropolis; but as of late, they’d started to migrate into Gotham. And it wasn’t that Superman didn’t think Batman couldn’t handle it; he just assumed the vigilante had more important things to deal with. After all, the ring started in Metropolis; so isn’t technically still his case? That was certainly how he was going to justify himself should Batman find out; all though, with him, it was a matter of when not if.

That thought made him laugh, he wasn’t even in Gotham! He was in space using his super vision to scan the city below; and as long as he didn’t go down into the atmosphere, the Caped Crusader didn’t really have an argument, did he?

Well, at least he would have stayed in space. Had he not noticed what looked like a bright yellow blanket wrapped around a small child on top of a roof. In Gotham. In any other city, sure, it might have been a little strange—okay, very strange—but Gotham? That was like giving the poor child a death wish, who would do that to their own kid?!

He couldn’t just leave the child down there unprotected, so of course, he flew down into Gotham. But this is definitely justified; it’s a child for heaven’s sake!

It wasn’t until he was on the roof top that he noticed the child was a little boy. Four, maybe three years old? And he was half bundled in a black blanket, not the yellow fabric that looked suspiciously like a cape. So the boy had a superhero fetish, that’s normal, but a bright yellow cape in Gotham; who—and where—were this poor boy’s parents?

Superman took a couple steps closer to the boy; he was lying on his stomach and sound asleep, perhaps completely unaware that he was alone on a rooftop. Why was he up here in the first place? Had he come up here in hopes of seeing his native superhero? Whatever the case, Superman had to make sure the boy was all right.

Silently closing the distance between the two, he knelt beside the boy and gently shook the boy’s shoulder, “Hey, champ,” he said quietly, “can you wake up for me?”

The boy whimpered in protest as he tried to burrow further into the blanket.

“I know it’s late,” Superman tried as he lifted the small boy into a sitting position, “but I just want to ask you something.” He lifted a curious eyebrow as he could now clearly make out a mask that blended in with his jet black hair. But the thing that really made him curious, was why—in all of the multiverse—was this small boy dressed like a traffic light?

A north wind started to blow and chill the air around the pair. Superman quelled a sigh as he lifted the sleepy boy into his lap; what good would it do to let the child get sick because he was out in the cold? But that question again made him ponder, where were the boy’s parents?

After a minuet or two, the traffic light boy weakly pushed back to try and figure out who was holding him; only to find a surprised and unknown face looking back at him. His blue eyes widened and he whimpered again.

Is this Batman’s child!?! was the first thought that entered Superman’s mind as he noticed the bat shaped pacifier attached to the boy’s red vest by a blue lanyard with black cats on it. That, and the lead lined mask. Oh, this was definitely Batman’s child. And he was going to be screwed if the boy started to cry. “It’s all right,” he said hurriedly, “I know your father.”

That proved to be the wrong thing to say. The boy’s eyes impossibly widened more as he spat his pacifier out and whined, his lip starting to wobble dangerously. He started to squirm, “Put me down!” he cried fearfully.

Oh, no. Oh, NO. “Hey, hey, hey; I’m a friend! I’m not going to hurt you,” Superman tried to comfort as he subconsciously tightened his grip on the boy.

Again, that proved the wrong choice. “PUT ME DOWN!!” the boy yelled as tears started to slip out from behind his mask.

Perhaps he could still save himself. Superman let the boy go and held his hands up to show he didn’t mean any harm, “I didn’t mean to scare you. And I’m not going to hurt you. I promise.”

The boy scrambled to his feet and grabbed his blanket, looking more than ready to throw it on the stranger should he need to. He sniffed and eyed Superman suspiciously, “How do I know that?”

“Because I’m a superhero too,” he replied gently as he rose into the air and got his legs back under him. The boy’s eyes widened again but otherwise he didn’t move; Superman took that as a good sign and gave the traffic light child one of his best boy scout smiles.

“Y-you’re” the boy stuttered after a moment of silence, “you’re a-a meta.”

“Yes…”

Once more, the wrong answer. The child gasped and took a few steps back, “T-the on-only metas in-in Gotham are b-bad!”

There were metas in Gotham? Since when?! But that wasn’t his problem right now; his problem was trying to convince a terrified child—who apparently didn’t know Superman existed yet—that he was a good guy in a city where it seemed Batman was the only good guy. “I’m not from Gotham…”

By Krypton! how many bad answers could he give!? The boy backed up until he had pined himself against a wall; he was visibly trembling now and he looked as if he would break at any second unless Superman played his hand right.

“I’m from Metropolis,” Superman tried, he relaxed as the boy calmed down slightly. Slightly. “There, I fight crime much like your father does here.”

“D-do you know him w-well?” the boy asked; he was still trembling, but at least he was attempting conversation.

“We’ve known each other for quite some time,” he just doesn’t like me very much.

“Are you-are you friends?”

Out of all the things the boy could’ve asked, why that?!? “Uh, not exactly?” Judging by the way the traffic light child tensed; whatever positive ground he had gained with the boy was now gone; with. One. Single. Answer. He mentally groaned and took a step closer, “But we’re not enemies either.”

“H-have you-you ever f-fought?”

Well crap. At this point, Superman didn’t care if Ma Kent was going to spank him for even thinking that word; but he’d been taught not to lie, and he would never lie to a child—especially not one that was as cute as this terrified little boy—he swallowed, “Yes. Yes, we’ve fought.”

The boy pressed his back up against the wall and he whined.

A fearful, pitiful little whine that made Superman feel like a very bad person. He sighed and took a few steps closer—

Those steps proved to be his undoing. With a frightened yelp, the boy threw his blanket over the tall hero and landed a very well placed kick to the groin, that—had he not been invincible—would have seriously hurt. And while it might not have hurt Superman, it most certainly hurt the boy.

With a howl of pain, the now hurt child fell back onto his rear and wailed as he clutched his foot. “MAMA!!!” the boy screamed, “DADDY!!!”

If Superman hadn’t been cooked before, he definitely was now. A quick x-ray scan showed that the boy’s foot wasn’t broken—thank God—but he’d still have to answer to Batman for why his child was hurt. He was so dead.

His super hearing caught the sound of two rapidly approaching pairs of feet. The first falling heavily, angrily,—that would be Batman. The second was light, all most catlike; the boy’s mother? He really didn’t want to find out.

He cast a final, worried, glance at the still wailing boy; then he shot into the cold night sky. But not before a pair of highly observant eyes caught sight of his red streak.

“Superman,” Batman hissed through clenched teeth as he glared at the spot where the red streak had been barely a moment before. How dare that boy scout come into his city and hurt his child. He looked down to find that Catwoman had all ready scooped their now sobbing son into her lap.

“Shh,” she calmed as she gingerly reached down to remove the child’s small green boot, “you’re safe now, kitten.”

“‘urts,” the little boy whimpered in between sobs and hiccups.

“I know, kitten, I know,” she whispered tentatively as she examined his foot.

Batman knelt beside them and gently caressed his son’s hair, “Is it broken?”

“No,” she looked into her husband’s blue eyes, her own filled with only the kind of sadness a mother could have, “just swollen, but he’ll have a bad bruise and limp for the next few days.”

He grunted as he removed his gloves. So that bloody boy scout hurt his poor baby and didn’t even have the guts to stick around; he would deal him latter. But right now, he had more important matters to attend to; he took a med pack out of his belt, got out a tube of cooling jell, and—as gently as he could—went to work.

“Mama,” the boy whimpered a little louder this time, “it ‘urts.” He had stopped sobbing; but the tears that resulted from the pain were far from finished.

The two adults simultaneously flinched. Their little bird was incredibly lucky his foot wasn’t broken, especially considering the pain he was in. Catwoman sighed as she rested her chin on the fluffy mop of jet black hair, “Can’t you give him something to help with the pain?”

“I wish I could,” it was now Batman’s turn to sigh, “but what I do have on me would be far to strong.” He winced as his child whimpered and burrowed his head into his mother’s neck; if he couldn’t ease the pain, perhaps he could distract the boy from it, “Robin. Robin, baby, can you look at me?”

It took a moment for the teary eyed boy to look at him; and even the he chose to keep half of his face hidden.

Eh, good enough. Batman gave an encouraging smile, “Can you tell me what happened?”

“Well, I-(hiccup),” Robin paused as he went cross-eyed to try and glare at whatever had caused the offending hiccup.

Catwoman giggled, “It’s all right, kitten,” she let out a soft purr as she started to rub her son’s back, “go on.”

“I was sleeping-(hiccup)-but someone was trying-(hiccup)-trying to wake me up. When I o-(hiccup)-opened my eyes all I saw was blue! I thought maybe we had-(hiccup)-gotten home and Daddy was carrying me to my room, but it-(hiccup)-didn’t feel like Daddy; so I pushed away-(hiccup)-but it was a stranger!”

“Can you describe him?”

“Um,” the boy paused to flinch at the bit of pain that shot through his foot, he whimpered as he continued, “He was tall, like-(hiccup)-like you Daddy! He even looked like you; except for a-(hiccup)-a curl of hair on his face like this,” he pulled down a few strands of his own fluffy black hair to show what he meant, “he wore a blue onesie with a-(hiccup)-a red cape and boots. He looked kind of out of place, though. Oh! And he-(hiccup)-had a big S on the onesie. He said he knew you, Daddy, do you know him?” A hint of fear suddenly entered his eyes as he added quietly, “He’s a meta to. And-(hiccup)-and he said he was from Metropolis and fought crime just like you do. He-he also said you fought.”

“I do,” Batman frowned, “his name is Superman. And what he told you is true; he has incredible powers, but—unlike those in Gotham that tend to use their powers for evil—he uses them to help keep Metropolis safe.”

“Then why did you fight?”

“Well,” he hesitated, how was he supposed to explain this to a five year old? Oh, “Me and Superman, we’re kind of like you and Speedy.”

At the name of his nemesis, Robin wrinkled his nose and growled in a way Catwoman had definitely taught him, “Oh,” was his simple response.

Catwoman purred a little louder to show her amusement as she started to gently run her claws through her sons hair, “Everybody had their rivals, kitten; now, what happened after he woke you up?”

“I told him to but me down, but he held me tighter. So I got scared and yelled at him and then he put me down;-(hiccup)-he said he wasn’t going to hurt me but then I found out he was a meta and-and I just got more scared.”

“What happened next?” Batman encouraged.

“I-I backed into a wall,” the boy replied quietly. That was the one thing both his parents had been teaching him since he was old enough to understand; and he failed to even obey that, “I’m sorry,” Robin sniffed and turned his head back into his mother’s neck, “don’t be mad, please.”

“We’re not mad, kitten,” Catwoman said as she lovingly nuzzled the small boy, “you were scared and you’re still young. You’ll get stronger and better as you get older,” she purred a little louder to try and encourage the boy, “what did the big, bad, Superman do?”

“He took a couple steps closer and-and I just got so scared! I threw my blanket on top of him and kicked him!” He proudly looked up at his mother, “Just like you taught me!”

“Good boy, kitten!” she purred wildly as she hugged the boy a little tighter.

“It really hurt though,” Robin whimpered.

“That’s because one of Superman’s powers is invulnerability,” Batman said as he stood and put his gloves back on. He chuckled at his son’s look of confusion, “That means he can’t feel pain. He didn’t earn the nickname man of steel for nothing.”

“Must be nice,” the boy mumbled.

“It probably is,” Catwoman all most giggled as she stood and let her son climb onto her back, “what do you say we go home now, hmm?”

“Okay.” The two adults chuckled as their son yawned and offered a sheepish smile.

Five minuets later, two shadows of a bat and a cat were seen flying over the rooftops of their city. Their little bird sound asleep and harnessed to his father’s back; dreaming about his interesting encounter with the world’s most powerful hero. And the adults? Well, they were plotting their revenge; nobody made their baby cry and got away with it.

Chapter Text

It was an abnormally bright and cheerful morning in Gotham City. Even more so at a certain manor fourteen miles away. Much to be said, the occupants of that manor had a feeling the day would just turn out right.

That is what Bruce found himself thinking as he was awakened by energetically babbling Dick who was also half bouncing half climbing all over him. How in the multiverse this boy had so much energy in the morning was beyond him; and that somehow made him love his vigorous little ball of fluff even more. “Okay, chum, I’m up. I’m up,” he chuckled as he sat up.

“Daddy!” Dick happily cried as he flung himself onto his fathers chest (and proceeded to ignore the oof that escaped his father’s lips as the unprepared man received the 'blow'). The boy smiled innocently, “You shouldn’t sleep in so late!”

“And why is that?” Bruce responded with a raised eyebrow.

“Because I eat all your breakfast!”

He gave the child a displeased look, “Richard Thomas Wayne,” he said without any real reprimand behind it, “don’t you know better than to eat your own father’s food?”

The boy’s blue eyes widened almost comically, he looked down and whimpered, “N-no.”

A small smile spread across Bruce’s lips. Dear boy. “Well,” he let his smile grow a little more, “I think a round with the tickle monster will be ‘punishment’ enough.”

Dick’s eyes widened even more as his head snapped up to look at his father; he opened his mouth to say something, but not before a high pitched squeak escaped his lips as his father’s hands shot around his waist. He giggled and squealed happily as long fingers ran up and down his torso.

“Okay, boys,” Selena laughed as she leaned against the doorway, “can you calm down long enough to eat some breakfast?”

“Well good morning to you too, hun,” Bruce replied with a hint snark as he stood up, causally throwing his still giggling son over his shoulder, “and just so you know, it was this little imp that woke me up; I’m still tired.”

She sighed and rolled her eyes, “So he’s a little hyper in the morning,” she turned and started to walk down the hallway, “he’s just trying to show you that he loves you. Isn’t that right, kitten?”

“Uh-huh!” Dick giggled and started to squirm, “I love you bunches! Uh, can you put me down now?”

“Hmm,” Bruce shared a concerned glance with Selena. It had been a couple days since the Superman incident, but their son’s foot was still bruised and he still had a limp; and they both knew it still hurt. Bruce sighed, “After the stairs, chum.”

His response was a good nurtured sigh, “Okay.”

Once at the bottom of the stairway, Bruce kept his word and set his son down. He gave Dick a hair ruffle and winced as the little boy limped off around the corner. With a sigh, he turned to his study door, "I'll see you tonight, Selena."

"Bruce," she reached to grab his arm, "it can wait until after breakfast."

"I've put this off for long enough," he growled as he pulled his arm free, "and it's not like I'm doing anything abnormal."

Selena quirked her eyebrow, "Since when is fighting Superman normal for you?"

"I'm not going to fight him," he responded indignantly, "I'm going to teach him a lesson. There's a difference."

"Fine," she relented, "go and avenge our little bird; but you know what he's going to think once he finds out you left first thing."

He closed his eyes and let out a sigh; his child was incredibly affectionate, much to the point where Bruce had to be careful when the boy needed to be disciplined (which—he is proud to say—isn't very often). So his son could—would—take his absence from the table as his disappointment for—something. He sighed again and let a corner of his mouth turn upwards, "Where would I be without you?" he asked as he kissed his wife.

"Probably still in bed," Selena replied with a coy grin, "or brooding. Or, perhaps hiding in the shadows terrorizing the living daylight out of people."

Bruce rolled his eyes as they started to walk, "I wasn't that bad."

She gave him a cheeky look, "You came pretty close though."

"At least I was on the right side of the law."

"Careful, " Selena retorted, "or you might find yourself on the floor of the sparring ring."

He snorted, "Of course, dear."

They shared a teasing grin as they walked into the dining room; smiling when they saw their son babbling away to Bruce's old butler. Who—he would definitely say—was enjoying the young lad's morning energy.

"Good morning," Alfred greeted in his British brogue with a grin that may as well have been a wide smile, "did you sleep well?"

"Quite," Bruce answered as he took his seat at the table—and proceeded to receive the majority of Dick's babbling. Again. He let out a slight chuckle before he turned to his butler, "Alfred, I am planning to head out this morning and probably won't be back until after dark…"

"Y-you're going to be gone all day?" Dick whimpered as a pout started to cross his round features, "why?"

"I have a very important meeting with a, uh, a very important client."

"Oh," the boy responded quietly as he returned to his breakfast; the mischievous sparkle now gone out of his eye.

For a moment, Bruce felt like he should say something. But he didn't, that is, until he caught a raised eyebrow from both Selena and Alfred. He sighed, "Dick," he waited for the boy to look at him, "you know I love you."

The boy nodded but looked a little sadder. Odd.

Is something wrong? Bruce opened his mouth to ask; and then it hit him, "And you want to know something else?" He waited for eye contact before continuing, "You mean much more to me than any meeting or client ever could."

Finally, a smile followed by a giggle. And so the babbling—all though slowly at first—continued.

Bruce was more than happy to just sit and listen (even though he lost track of his child's train of thought more than once), but about five minuets later, he had a feeling that it was a now or never moment. He stood and ruffled Dick's all ready messy hair, "I'm sorry, chum, but Daddy has to go to work now."

Seemingly in a single second, Dick had plastered himself to his fathers side. He hugged the tall mans leg tightly and pressed his face into his father's thigh, "Okay," was what made it passed Bruce's well pressed pants, "but don't get hurt! Or lost! Or…"

"Shhh," Bruce calmed as he knelt so his son could hug him properly, "I'll be careful."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

As he stood, Bruce kissed his child on the forehead and walked over to Selena, "Did you tell him?" he asked in a low whisper as he leaned over to kiss her.

"No. But he's a clever boy," a corner of her mouth turned upwards, "don't do anything stupid."

He rolled his eyes, "Yes, dear. I'll see you tonight."

A grin spread across Bruce's lips as he walked back into his study, it would be—interesting—to see how the rest of the day would pass; especially given the modifications he made to the bat-suit.

Oh, how surprised Superman was about to be. How surprised, indeed.

Meanwhile; an overly nervous Clark Kent sat behind his desk at the Daily Planet, finding it impossible to focus on anything. Particularly what a steadily growing annoyed Lois Lane was trying to tell him.

"Clark? Clark?! Clark! Is there anything going on in that brain of yours!?" Lois huffed in frustration.

“What? Oh, uh, sorry Lois, " Clark offered with a weak smile, "you were, uh, saying something about…"

She arched an eyebrow and crossed her arms, "I always knew you were scatterbrained, but this is getting out of hand."

"I'm afraid I'm not following," Clark responded after a particularly blank stare.

"Of course you aren't," she mumbled under her breath and turned to walk away to find Jimmy Olsen.

"Golly," Clark mumbled to himself as he turned his gaze to the nearby window. So far, this week was turning out to be on the bad end of the spectrum and he was fairly positive it would only get worse; especially once Batman found him. And it sure didn't help things that Lois was starting to get agitated.

But of the two, he considered Batman to be the more dangerous. Sure, the man may not know his secret identity and might not be a meta; but there was a reason it was rumored that the Dark Knight was the only one who could single-handedly take out the Justice League.

His head fell into his hands as he groaned; what if he was overreacting? No, he had hurt Batman's child; unintentionally sure, but he doubted the man would see it that way.

"Hey, Mr. Kent!"

The voice had caught him off guard, so he flat out jumped out of his chair and spun around. Smiling nervously when he saw a surprised Lois and Jimmy, "Um, hey, Jimmy."

"Are you okay? " the younger man cocked his head, "you're more jumpy than normal."

"Thanks for the concern, Jimmy, but uh," Clark trailed off as a large shadow passing by the window caught his attention. The shadow passed again and he scrambled over to the window, It can't be! Not now!

"Clark? You look as if you've seen a ghost," Lois took a few steps closer.

He whirled around and started to run for the stairs, "Sorry, Lois. But could you tell Mr. White I'm going home early? Thanks! Goodbye!"

Lois furrowed her brow as she watched her coworker make his hastily nervous—if not fearful—exit. There was something making Smallville act like this, and she would be the one to find out.

Half an hour later, Superman shot across the globe in an extremely erratic path. Doing anything he could think of to throw Batman off his trail. He knew he couldn't evade the man forever; the next Justice League meeting would make sure of that, but if he could at least postpone the meeting…

A groan escaped his lips as he turned to head to the north pole, to his Fortress of Solitude. At this point he was just running; and that made him pause and think. He was running because he was afraid. But what was he afraid of? An angry daddy Bats who wants to kill me. But the Batman of this universe doesn't kill. Or does he?

Forget it, Superman growled to himself as resumed his flight, people are known to do things they normally wouldn't if their child—particularly a young one—was involved. And I really don't want to know what Batman would do, he swallowed, especially considering he has the most—if not all—of the kryptonite on earth.

By the time he set foot on the cold snow of the north pole, Superman had fairly convinced himself that it would be better to try and wade this out. After all, it was a long way between Metropolis and his Fortress; no one would ever think to look here. Right?

A relieved breath of air escaped his lips as the impenetrable door closed behind him; now positive that he was safe, he started to walk around. It took him several moments to realize that his robots weren't around. Okay…

"Krypto!" he called for his dog, "here boy! I'm home!"

Nothing but the wind. No chaos. No bark. What was going on?

With a nervous feeling starting to rise in his stomach, he started to hunt for Krypto. Only to sigh in relief when he found the dog sleeping in his corner. Seriously though, that dog is a chaotic gremlin who couldn't be controlled. May the world be spared should he get out.

It was then Superman heard a noise that sounded like a falling crystal. Odd, for Kryptonian engineering had proven incredibly solid (pretty much because it could stand up against Krypto's antics).

He walked off in the direction the noise had come from: the sunstone crystal room. And he didn't have to even look for the source of the noise; right in the center of the room on the floor was a black crystal. What on Krypton? The only sunstone crystals I have are white, where did this come from?

The black crystal wasn't affecting him, so he did the only reasonable thing and picked it up to place it in the tube to figure out what it was. And shall it be said it wasn't what he was expecting.

In front of him, as a hologram, stood the Caped Crusader. "Superman," the hologram started, "I am most impressed with your Fortress, it is a marvel of engineering."

"Uh, thanks," he blinked twice, "how did you find it though? And how did you replicate a crystal? And," Superman looked around nervously, "are you still here?"

A quiet chuckle was the next thing that came from the hologram, "Everyone is entitled to their secrets," what looked like a sly grin—or, he supposed, as close to one as the man could get—crossed the hologram's lips, "isn't that right, Clark."

Superman felt his jaw drop, "How did you…"

"Let's not get distracted," the hologram interupted, "you know why I'm here, and I want you to tell me what you could have done differently."

"I probably should have left once I realized the boy was yours," Superman said as he scanned the Fortress with his X-Ray vision, "but my morals prevented me from leaving a toddler alone on a roof in Gotham."

Surprise flickered across the Caped Crusaders face, "How old to you think he is?"

His face went blank, "I thought he was three our four."

"Four is understandable," the hologram responded, looking thoughtful, "but this is the first time anybody thought he was three." He met Superman's gaze and returned to his natural glare, "My son is five; he's just a little short for his age."

Surprise now crossed Superman's face, "You let a five year old have a pacifier?!"

"I have a very good reason for that," the hologram of the Caped Crusader growled, "now, why did you leave after he got hurt."

Because I'm terrified of you, he thought to himself, "You were coming, and I didn't need to be there."

"For some reason, I feel like you would still stay," said the gruff voice of Batman from behind him, "you're to much of a boy scout to leave a small, scared, and hurt child unless you were positive he'd be all right."

Superman spun around to be face to face with the Caped Crusader, "How did you?!… No, don't answer that, " he took a few steps back, "you're not going to kill me are you?"

The other man looked genuinely surprised, "Why would I kill you?"

"Uh, golly," Superman stuttered with a bewildered look on his face, "so I've been paranoid for no reason?" he mumbled.

"I wouldn't say 'no reason', " Batman's face remained at his neutral glare, "my child is still hurt after he acted in self defense against you."

"Then what are you…"

A firm—and painful—kick to his groin interrupted that sentence; ultimately leaving Superman kneeling on the floor biting his lip to keep himself from saying things he shouldn't. But at least could finally see why he hadn't been able to see—or hear—the Batman sneak up on him; the man had laced the fabric of his suit with kryptonite.

The Caped Crusader's black, steel-toed, kryptonite laced (no wonder that hurt so much!) boots entered his vision and he nodded, "I know," he said in a strained voice, "I'll stay out of Gotham and leave your son alone."

He heard an indecipherable grunt before the other man knelt next to him, "One more thing, Clark," the gruff voice whispered right at his ear, "if anything happens to him, and I find you were involved," his voice dropped a notch, "I will find you. And there will be nowhere you can hide. Understand?"

"Yes."

Another grunt. An almost inaudible swoosh of fabric. And the Caped Crusader was gone.

Superman let out a sigh of relief, that could have been much, much worse. He slowly got to his feet and limped out of the room, debating whether or not to warn the rest of the Justice League about a protective daddy Bats.

No, he finally decided with a wince, Batman will bring the boy around when he wants to. He shivered, I can only hope the others will be smarter than me. Perhaps at the next meeting, only time will tell...