Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You know, for Barry, and a lot of leaguers, the Trinity is the core of the Justice League, no question.

Even Barry, who is included as one of the founders, accepts that fact. Yes, the JL is established by more than three of them, but they are the first. First superhero, first protector of the city, first defender of the Earth.

And the ultimate in a lot of aspects. For example, Wonder Woman is the supreme war commander and peace negotiator. Love and truth and justice. Batman is the greatest tactician (no, Hal, not bane of your existence), the mastermind, the spymaster, and contingency after contingency.

And Supes is the ultimate... nice guy.

Really, with all respect, he’s the nicest nice guy in the room, always. Won’t swear, won’t insult, ask you how was your day, open the door for you if your hands are full kind of guy.

But everyone knows deep down, he’s also the most powerful being on Earth. Almost invincible in both physical prowess and feat of mind. It takes almost a decade for Barry to stop being in awe when being in close encounter with him. Guy seems to even have power to make light shine behind him like a Jesus when he rescues you. God among men, truly.

And this is Barry, the JL founder. So the new generation (ah, he feels so old) when in the presence of Supes, always looks at him with awe and terror in equal measure. It will mellow after a few world-saving sessions or when you meet the mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent. But the respect still remains, for a being so powerful yet still chooses to be one of us.

There are some ruckus anomalies cough Guy Gardner cough, but, well, the man is rougher than Hal, what do you expect?

Until this newcomer.

His name is Nightwing, the former leader of the (also formerly teen) Titans. Wally, his nephew, Flash No. 2, is the one who submits his name in the new recruit meeting.

“Actually, it’s weird that I’m here first. Dude is like, the OG teen hero. He passed the leader role to the younger generation now, as we Titans all do, and moved on to be Blüdhaven’s protector. But he still gives advice to those hormone-ridden heroes. He’s a baseline human that I guarantee is more capable than most of the meta heroes.”

Cyborg, another relatively old member who’s also a former Titan, nods, then he pulls up a feat of Nightwing dealing with a rogue on the screen.

What strikes first is the smile. The man smiles, and laughs, and quips throughout all his fighting. It probably infuriates the villains because he makes them look like clowns, but it’s morale-boosting for the civilians, makes them feel like this is gonna be alright.

And his fighting style, it’s like he can literally fly. He seems to launch himself in the air for like, seven? ten? seconds before he lands on his feet again. “Are you sure he’s baseline?” Barry asks Wally.

“Yes, Uncle Barry.” Wally smirks.

“No real names,” Batman scolds.

Wally now looks chagrined. “Ugh, I mean, yes, Flash... the first?”

“I have to admit that is slightly confusing, Batman,” Superman says.

“Hmm.” Batman grunts back, disagreeing. “I’m against bringing this one into our roster. He's a baseline human, he already has his territory. The risk is not worth the benefit.”

Wally looks even more terrified when Batman seems to reject the idea he thought was brilliant.

“I think it’s worth plenty,” Superman objects. “He even has one skillset we need: hero team leadership, according to his history and what Flash... No. 2 said. Most of us are very individual people, especially you, Batman. Having one more person who knows how to mediate all of us in dire situations is tremendously good.”

What Supes says is true. All of them intrinsically often operate alone or in duos, only gathering en masse in serious threats. Most of them are very specialized, but sometimes that specialty needs a leader who can utilize their best abilities.

The Trinity are really the only three beings who can guide them like that, each with their own way. However, many critical events often require them to be the spearhead and can’t fully direct other heroes.

“He’s young,” Batman counters.

“He’s experienced, even if he is young. I believe he can be a bridge of generations.”

Woah, that is a strong word of support from Superman. Unusual. Barry notices that Ollie also notices this too, judging by his expression.

Batman huffs and says no further. Superman just smiles and turns to Wonder Woman. Somehow she looks amused. “Diana? Your thought?”

Batman is still brooding, doesn’t even say anything like “no real names” back.

“He seems capable. We should let him test his skills with ours. If he performs exceptionally with the skillset we require, I agree it’s time we should invite him,” Wonder Woman, a warrior and a diplomat, offers a reasonable middle way.

And then they vote. It’s sixteen against one, to invite Nightwing to the JL.

When Nightwing comes to the JL, Barry’s impression of him is like this:

1. He’s young for the JL roster. Pretty sure younger than Wally. Early twenties.
   
   
2. With objective eyes, Barry’s quite certain the man probably generates like a thousand fanarts and merch. Many heroes, including Barry himself, wear tight spandex, but somehow Nightwing’s spandex has transcended all other spandex.
   
   
3. He’s nice.
   
   

The man is smiling, greeting, and mingling fast. Ollie likes the sharp wit he has. Arthur likes that he’s not backing down from taunts. But he’s really nice.

“Hey, want some help bringing all these to the table?” He offers Barry to carry all the food he needs to eat in the cafeteria.

“Huh? No need, it just takes me a few seconds to move—”

“Nah, let me help. I know you can do it faster than me, but you have to do it repeatedly like Wally, right? Let me help you.” Then he lifts half of the food.

Nice guy.

Hal sees a new kid that seems cool and wants to be the cool uncle to the new cool kid. He pulls him along and guides him through various facilities.

“And not just the place, you need to know the people who run the place too,” Hal conspiratorially whispers.

“Yes?”

“Yeah, there’s the Warrior of Peace, the Man of Tomorrow, and the Dark Knight. You know, you have to beware of the last—”

“Whoa, Hal, I mean, Mister Lantern,” Nightwing says, holding his hand up. “I’m very sorry, but I don’t do gossiping.”

“What?” Hal says back.

“Yeah, especially when I’m new to the environment, you know, first impression bias and all that. But when we know each other better, I’ll welcome any news updates. But listening to gossip before meeting people doesn’t go well in my book!” He smiles brightly and uses the moment when Hal seems stunned to detach himself.

Nice guy, really.

“Barry, what do you think of the new kid?” Ollie approaches Barry, who’s consoling a dejected Hal.

“Huh? Young? Nice?” he says.

“He’s such a goody two-shoes,” Hal laments.

Ollie pulls a chair and sits down. “You see, I happen to hear when he zeta’d in. He came alone.”

“Wait, no escort?”

“No! He already has a code, and it’s like—” Ollie parrots in an emotionless robotic voice, “B-01 Nightwing.”

“B?” Hal says. “What does that mean?”

“But aren’t 01 Superman’s code?” Barry thinks.

“Yes! But this is B-01. Sus.”

“Please don’t use ‘sus’ if you’re in your early forties,” Barry says, but yeah, sus.

Soon enough, there’s a mission where they can test Nightwing’s “skillset.”

Some asshat robotic aliens are invading Earth with... giant robots in multiple cities. Original.

“Nightwing, you will lead one extra team and accompany me in Tokyo,” Batman orders.

“No.” Nightwing objects. “I should go with Supes in Metropolis.”

The kid has guts.

“Nightwing—” Batman starts to reject what he said, but Superman holds Batman’s shoulder.

“Let’s listen to what he’s going to say first."

Batman and Superman clash often on opinions, and it intimidates newcomers every time, except Nightwing, who doesn’t even register the conflict.

“The aliens will use their big guns on Superman, and their mothership should be around that area. I imagine the battle will be in two phases, first to defend the city from those giant robots. Supes’ team will deal with the main force, and my team will help clear the area. Then when we locate the mothership, he has to deal with it with all our flyers. My team will protect the ground.” He explains, “I’ll never be a heavy hitter, but I’m good at crowd control, both enemies and civilians. I should be his support team.”

The kid also has a brain.

Batman emits an aura of dissatisfaction. He crosses his arms.

“Batman, I can do it. I work well with him,” Nightwing insists.

The young man looks the Bat in the eyes.

Before Batman can continue, Superman interjects, “I believe he can do it, Batman. No, I know.”

Barry, as the more easygoing founder and suitable skillset with ground support, is put in Nightwing's team. He also serves as the evaluator for the official recruitment, and secondly a spare team leader in case Nightwing can't live up to the expectation.

He hopes it doesn't come to that. It decreases his capacity because he has to slow down to communicate.

But from seeing how it's going, it won't happen. The kid is really a natural leader. He communicates with Superman's team well, and directs his own team to maximum efficiency. He can also fight well with extraterrestrial robotic beings even though he is a baseline human.

"Flash, Vixen found tons of civilians in need of evacuating from the building in block three. Please evac them to the designated area, and if the building is unstable, you need to notify me ASAP. I can pull Firestorm from Supes' team to help you in case of that."

"Roger that." And Barry runs across town to do as asked. Here comes the fastest human stretcher.

When he runs to the area, he sees Superman battling a giant robot. He's now using two hands to push it back from the building full of people. Below him some robot readies a mean-looking plasma gun at him.

Barry needs to evac this group of civilians across town, it will take five seconds, then he can come back to—

"Superman, give me an arm!" a shout from somewhere above.

Without context, Superman holds one arm parallel to the ground while the other keeps pushing the robot back.

And Nightwing swings from a shadow, uses that arm as a bar to swing for momentum, and catapults himself at the smaller robot below that readies their gun. Two feet jump-kick the spot on its left shoulder and flip back in time before it explodes itself on him.

"One for the team!" Nightwing shouts. "And Un—Supes, Batman has discovered its reactor is on the left shoulder, in every type of its kind! Talk about mass production. Aim at that spot for an easy boom."

"Can't," he replies. "Until all civilians evac from this big boy."

"Okie-dokie." He clicks the com. "Ground team, help evac all civilians from Superman area."

All in all, great success. Invasion stopped. Minimum casualty. And Nightwing passes his test run with flying colors.

At the post-world-ending hangout, Barry hangs out with his usual gang. He talks about how Nightwing fared in combat, how well he synced with Superman.

“I have a theory,” Hal says.

“It’s probably stupid,” Ollie responds.

“Hey!” Hal shouts, but goes on with his theory. “I think Nightwing is... Clark’s son.”

Ollie proceeds to spit his drink on Barry. Good thing he uses his superspeed in time. “Eww. Ollie!”

“What the fuck, Hal!?” Ollie sputters.

“I’m serious!” Hal slams his hand on the table.

“You know he’s married to Lois Lane and has one superpowered son, right?” Barry says.

“I know, but you see, after the debrief, I saw the Nightwing kid approach Supes when he’s talking with Batman, the kid also has guts to do that, and Superman turns to him, holds his shoulder and—” Hal moves to touch Barry’s shoulder.

“He said, ‘I’m proud of you, son,’” Hal says, pressing his voice in baritone like Clark’s.

“Please don’t look into my eyes intimately like this,” Barry says.

“Supe calls many younglings ‘son’, you know. This is nothing,” Ollie remarks.

“That’s not all,” Hal continues, and stares into Barry’s eyes again. This time he claps both his shoulders. “You have grown so much, and I’m so, so glad I passed you the Kryptonian name to live on your chest.”

“Please stop staring, and stop using that voice,” Barry pleads.

“Ooooh. That’s not normal. I have to admit,” Ollie nods.

“See!” Hal turns to Ollie. “But that’s not all. Then Nightwing hugs Supe back, and they hug each other. Hug me, Barry, to complete the scene.”

“No.” Barry strongly resists. Hal then proceeds to sit back down, thank god.

“You all have to admit they’re very alike in personality. They’re nice, friendly, optimistic, great at leading and inspirational speeches, and absolutely knew each other before all this.” Hal touches his chin. “But it’s true that Clark seems to have one child with Lois? Curious.”

“Yeah, oh!” Ollie shouts instead, “Bruce Wayne!”

“What? The rich-ass guy that is your nepo-baby childhood friend?” Hal lifts his eyebrow.

“He’s our main sponsor, you know,” Barry supplies.

“I’m also the main sponsor,” Ollie refills his drink. “I mean, maybe Supes is like Bruce Wayne, has an adoption addiction and adopted him.”

“You also adopted two children,” Barry injects.

“But I’m not addicted to adoption like Bruce,” he has the nerve to say that. “But yeah, what if Supes adopted him and raised him? Possible, right? Found a human orphan, felt kinship of losing parents, adopted.”

“Why wouldn’t we know about this beforehand?” Barry tries, tries so hard to be the voice of reason.

“Well, it seems Nightwing has been trained for a long time. Maybe Big Blue wanted to keep him a secret until he’s ready. The Teen Titans were probably his test run,” Hal rejects his reason.

But he has to admit, they’re certainly close with each other.

And because Hal is Hal, somehow he spreads his conspiracy.

It is not entirely absurd, and Nightwing, even after officially recognized as a JL member, chooses to keep his identity a secret.

Barry once hears Nightwing talk with Wally. “Why do you still keep your identity a secret? It’s the big league now.”

“You know why,” Nightwing says. Oh, Wally knows. “And because I’ve joined the JL is more of the reason. I won’t let who my dad is confound what you all think about me.”

“Aw, man.”

Barry, admittedly a gossip, tells this to his buddies, which Hal thinks is even more proof of his theory.

“But one day, the secret will come out. I think within three months Supes will admit it, maybe in a world-ending scenario or something,” Hal says.

“No, I think it will take longer. If we’re in the dark about the kid this long, and the kid is elusive, I think there’ll be some family emergency, and then we’ll know because the kid has to cover for him. Trust me, family issues are messier than world threats,” Ollie counters.

“Wanna bet?” Hal lifts his eyebrow.

And of fucking course, this evolves into a betting pool. There’s a secret chat allowed only for leaguers who join the betting. It’s called “Not-Super-Son Reveal! Super-Secret Betting Pool.”

Since Ollie is filthy rich, he contributes an extra five thousand dollars just for fun, and the pool grows massive. They’re betting on time until the reveal, circumstance, who’s the one to reveal, and more. Hal forbids previous Titans members to join the pool because “you kids will totally rig the game,” he said.

When Barry tells Wally about it, the kid laughs so hard he vibrates himself halfway sunken into the floor. “Do you bet, Uncle Barry?”

“No, they’re both nice people. I don’t want to bet on them.”

“Good for you. Oh my god, I can’t wait for the reveal.”

“Will you tell Nightwing?”

Wally thinks for a bit. “You know what, no. This is much funnier. We Titans will keep this a secret from him.”

Barry slips face down on the floor again, ugh, giant octopus monster. He refuses to call it a tentacle monster. He refuses.

And the monster keeps spewing slippery substances, and it’s hard to land a hit or even reach it when everything is slippery. He also refuses to call this substance lubricant. No. It’s not.

“Hentai Exterminator incoming!” Nightwing shouts while doing a complicated flip and gliding on its tentacle like a pro skater, heading toward the mouth at the center with a plasma bomb in his hand.

“Nightwing, you are too close to the bomb radius. Throw it now,” Batman’s voice barks from the comm his ear.

“No, I need—” The kid evades a tentacle with a handspring and jumps to glide on another. His balance is extraordinary. “—to drop this inside, or it won’t work. Hah!” He shouts in victory as he drops the bomb into its mouth, but before he can glide back, one stray tentacle wraps around his waist. “Uh-oh.”

“Clark!” Batman shouts.

At the moment the bomb explodes, there’s a swift blur of red and blue amidst the erupted flesh (eww). Batman and the others rush to the center of the explosion.

A red cape and a body of steel cover Nightwing in his arms. Then Superman stands, pulling the younger man up.

“I almost died by a tentacle monster,” Nightwing says with a dry laugh of disbelief.

“More like an explosive impact, but are you okay?” Superman swipes residual flesh from him, really, ew. Barry just can't with this kind of thing.

“I’m fine, Big Man.” Nightwing smiles.

Superman keeps sweeping his gaze up and down, probably using his x-ray vision to check him, before releasing a sigh. “That was a very close call. I’m glad you’re okay. Your hair’s a mess.”

“Eeeew! Gross! Don’t you dare lick your thumb and comb my hair with that hand.” Nightwing fakes a push to Superman’s chest, laughing.

Can’t deny it’s a familial moment. But Superman doesn’t seem able to hide this kind of deep connection for long (he’s even showing it now). Something doesn’t click for Barry.

“Nightwing, status report.” Batman approaches the two of them.

Nightwing’s smile fades, and he turns all serious. “The target is eliminated. I am unharmed.”

Batman sighs, huffs? “That was reckless, Nightwing.”

Nightwing’s brow furrows. “You know that it must be done. My agility, precision, and balance make me the suitable one to deliver the bomb.”

“But you’re also a baseline human who can be killed by an explosion even smaller than this.”

“And I trust you—I trust the team to cover that side of mine.” Nightwing stands tall against Batman. “I can do this, and I’ve proved it just a few minutes ago.”

Superman steps between Batman and Nightwing. “Now, back off, both of you.” He crosses his arms. “Batman, I don’t think it’s reckless. It’s brave in the situation that called for it. And I did come in time.”

“You can’t always be there for him.”

“So are you,” Superman counters. “One of the hardest, but a must for a parent, is to let their children spread their wings and fly by themselves. To trust what you’ve taught them all their life. I do trust. Do you?”

With the super-speech, accompanied by the sunlight behind Superman’s back, Batman just turns around and walks away. “Be more careful next time. And I expect both of you in the debrief.”

Nightwing looks at the Bat and huffs in exasperation but makes a faint smile. “That guy. But thanks, Big Blue.”

“Anytime, son.” Superman pats his back.

Hal, floating far, far away, mouths at him, ‘Dad energy.’

Maybe?

Of course, with how big and elaborate the betting pool has become, the Bat is bound to know about it.

“What,” Batman states, “is the meaning of this.”

He walks into the small room Hal arranged for the mini discussion. Hal himself is in the middle of writing the bet list on the whiteboard, now with a new category: ‘how they met.’

Barry (who actually shouldn’t be here because he didn’t bet on this, but the pool is so big and convoluted that no one knows anymore who’s in or not) can see the shiiiit alarm blaring inside Hal’s head.

But alas, his friend is the bravest idiot, so he smiles that daredevil smile and says, “It’s a betting pool, about the new kid and Supes, you see.”

“The new kid,” Batman repeats. The air seems colder. Barry’s pretty sure half the table wants to run but is too afraid to move.

“Yes! We happen to know that Nightwing is Superman’s son.”

Silence. Absolute silence from Batman.

Barry glances at the Bat. Woah, he looks, to say it frankly, shocked. Barry thinks he’s never seen Batman this surprised before.

“How?” is what Batman says. “How do you know?”

From the sincere surprise on his face and in his voice. Is Hal actually correct?

“You don’t know either? Damn. I discovered this before the Bat. You see, Nightwing and Supes work so well together. And Superman seems to deeply know him. Proud and protective in equal measure with the same personality. The age is compatible with a father-and-son relationship too.”

During Hal’s talk, Batman’s jaw can be seen visibly tightening. Barry thinks he’s almost talking through gritted teeth. “This is absurd. The personal life of the members is not something to be bet on.”

Barry fidgets at that. He kinda agrees, it’s a too personal issue to be betting on.

“Yeah, but half of the League has joined the pool. What are you gonna do, bench half the League? The only concerned one is you. Even Nightwing and Supes would probably just laugh at it.”

Batman looks at the bets on the whiteboard. Why does he seem more stressed than usual? He takes half a minute to speak again. “Fine. I’ll join the betting pool.”

And he fucking pulls a wad of cash from his utility belt. What the fuck.

“Ten thousand dollars. For Superman will never, ever admit Nightwing is his son.”

Even though most of them are pretty sure Batman places the bet sarcastically, money is still money, and the betting pool grows even larger. Hal has lots of fun with this.

There are people who bet things like: Nightwing was raised in the Fortress of Solitude, Nightwing is a human child rescued from Luthor’s experimental facility, they’re gonna reveal it because of magic, etcetera.

And Batman is progressively in a terrible mood. He verbally bites anyone who approaches, including Superman.

“Batman, can you clarify your tactics on mass mind control protocol?” While in the middle of protocol review, Superman, one of Batman’s two closest trustees, leans toward him, attempting to point out steps that need clarification.

“I’m busy.”

“Come on, you’re clearly not. And your protocol is too complex—” It’s a casual complaint that only Superman can make to Batman, and oftentimes the Leaguers depend on Superman to be the one to do it.

“If you don’t understand, then your head is too empty to learn it. Just scratch all the protocol out and trash it all,” Batman says, then proceeds to stand up and walk away.

Superman, surprised by the response, quickly follows. “Hey, B, Batman, what’s wrong? You never blow out on things like this with me.” He touches Batman’s shoulder, who pushes it away.

“Don’t touch me,” Batman growls back. Superman looks stunned, like a golden retriever denied a hug and not knowing why.

At that moment, Nightwing rushes up to them and pulls himself between Superman and Batman, a feat not many heroes dare to do, but he does it so casually. “Hey, calm down, B. What’s happening? I don’t think he’s done anything wrong.”

“He’s—” Batman starts, but doesn’t continue further while looking at Nightwing. Then he swiftly walks back in the direction of the zeta, leaving the two father and son(?) behind.

Superman looks dejected. Nightwing pats his back. “Come on, I don’t think this is because of what you said. There must be something.”

“I agree, but I’m concerned.”

“Me too. Anyway, let’s continue the review first. I can help you interpret what you think isn’t clear.” Nightwing pulls Superman back to the table while glancing toward the direction of the zeta.

“Clearly a daddy’s boy,” he hears Hal say.

“Shit just got real,” he also hears Wally say.

Tension aside, the world still needs saving. Just a week later, a portal to a demon realm opens, and demons are now spilling out in, very typically, Central Park, New York.

Sometimes it feels like world-ending scenarios only happen in America and Japan. Barry wonders why. But he digresses, and keeps throwing these millions of imps back into the portal. Diana is at the front, fighting with the sorcerer who called forth the literal ninth ring of hell. Superman and Hal deal with the flying types. Others are fighting, disintegrating, pushing demons in various shapes and forms back into the portal, with Batman’s voice directing their positions in their ears.

“There’s a demon that uses cold as a weapon at the seven o’clock of the portal. All speedsters should avoid that area,” Batman supplies in his ear, with the background sound of him probably punching something.

“Roger, roger,” Barry says.

“But freezer ray guns for us at nine o’clock to fight these flame-spewing demons would be effective!” Nightwing’s voice echoes in his ear. Wow, the kid can access the commander channel. “Could you bring around five of them to us, Uncle Barry?”

“Okie dokie.” He superspeeds to the temporary armory and runs to Nightwing’s location, where the kid is with Batman and a few other ground-based heroes. “Wait, Uncle?” he says to Nightwing in person.

“Sorry, got it from Wally.” Nightwing grins amidst this hellish landscape, grabs the guns, and throws one to Batman. “Cold ray incoming! It’s super-effective!”

“No real names,” is what Batman says.

“Sorry for that too!” And Nightwing lifts the gun up, back to back with Batman, and instantly they become the most effective unit Barry has ever seen. Without a word, Batman pulls his cape to shield Nightwing from flame, then Nightwing twists himself and climbs behind the Bat’s back, using his shoulder as a base to jump-kick one demon, then flips back into starting position. It reminds Barry of himself when he had the chance to partner with Wally in the League, when you know one person for so long that you don’t even have to say a word. Perfect sync.

Oh.

Ooooooooooooooh. Oh my god. It all clicks. He’s so glad he didn’t place the bet. Hal, you are so dead.

At that moment, Barry sees a giant fireball hurling toward them. Where did it come from, and this close without anyone saw it coming? A new portal?

You see, Barry is fast, the fastest man alive, but he’s not super-strong. In the span of half a second, he can only pull out one.

In a fraction of time itself, he runs to them, sees Nightwing looking up at the rock of fire, and Barry looks at Batman.

Batman is looking at him, or at the spot Barry was just standing earlier.

The man is also mouthing something, but time won’t wait for Barry to hear what he’s trying to say. Still, Barry knows, really knows, what he’s about to say.

He grabs Nightwing and pulls him out, and in the span of a millisecond, pries the freezer gun from Nightwing’s hands, fires it at the fireball, hoping it’ll be enough to lessen the impact, and rushes with Nightwing in his arms out of the blast radius.

The fireball lands, exploding, and Nightwing shouts, “Batman!”

Even before the explosion dies down, the young man rushes back into the scene.

Batman is lying on the ground, not moving. Nightwing kneels beside him and turns him over, face up. “B, B—hey, hold on, oh god.” He quickly opens the hidden spot in the cowl and the armor and feels his pulse. Barry doesn’t even know the cowl and the armor are separated pieces. After a few seconds, his face shows an iota of relief, but the smile that’s always there is gone.

Nightwing doesn’t even click his comm; he just whispers, “Clark, B is hurt. I need you.”

With a swoosh of red and blue, Superman appears in front of them with a sun behind him like a personal halo. Before Clark says anything, Nightwing speaks first.

“Save him. Please.”

Clark swiftly but gently lifts Batman into his chest. “Always. D—Nightwing, from here on, you’ll have to lead in my, no, in his stead.”

“Of course.” Nightwing replies. He unclips Batman’s gadget belt from his hip. “Might need all of this, just in case.”

Superman looks the young man in the eyes. “I know that you’re always, always prepared for this.”

Nightwing nods, silent and solemn. It reminds Barry of someone.

Clark clicks his comm. “This is Superman to all JL. Batman is in need of immediate medical attention at the Watchtower. I’ll escort him. I give Nightwing permission to command. Diana?”

“Acknowledge. I trust Nightwing’s direction, as all our members will,” Diana’s voice echoes in Barry’s ears.

Superman then disappears in a streak of red and blue.

There’s a cacophony of chaos and panic from many members in Barry’s comm when Nightwing turns to Barry and asks one question. “Why didn’t you choose him?” A small glimpse of a child wanting to throw an accusation at someone.

“’Cause if it’s me and Wally, I know what outcome I want,” Barry says.

Nightwing takes a deep breath and clicks the comm. “To everyone, now I lead, and I need you all to follow me to make this battle a success. We have new information that the sorcerer can open a new portal...”

And he walks back into battle. No quip and no smile, standing proud with the weight of the world as his father has always shouldered.

The battle concludes with their victory, with multiple casualties, but only one with serious injury. A success, really.

During all the battle, Nightwing didn’t smile even once, but directed all personnel with efficiency while fighting the demons himself. Silent and deadly, with only words of authority spoken that you know you will follow.

Now many of them are in the vast med bay of the Watchtower. Some treat their comrades, some are being treated, and admittedly, many are just here because they want to know how Batman is. He is, after all, one of the three pillars of the community, a man who can stand among the gods.

Barry is nursing a first-degree burn wound on Ollie’s arm when Nightwing walks up to him.

“Flash,” he says, still not a trace of smile on his face. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier.”

“Don’t worry, kid,” Barry says back. “It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing in a stressful situation.”

“No, I should be better.” He shakes his head. “And you triggering the freeze gun really lessened the impact, or else he’d…”

Looking in the bright medical light, the kid looks really young, and tired. “You should rest. You did well today,” Barry tells him.

Nightwing turns to the direction of the resuscitation room. “I will, when I’m sure everybody’s stable.” And he walks to the bench in front of the room.

“The kid sounds more of a perfectionist than I’ve thought,” Ollie tells him while the young man walks away. “And he’s really scary when he appeared in front of my unit to give orders. When he does his flippy thing with a smile, it makes you feel like you’re watching a show. But without the smile, he’s like an assassin in the shadows.”

“I think,” Barry says while watching Nightwing sit in front of the door, alone, “all that smile is like Superman’s smile, to convince us that he’s not dangerous.”

“Yeah, father and son,” Hal, sitting nearby, supplies.

Barry doesn’t answer that. He wants to console the kid, but also doesn’t want to expose what is clearly a long-kept secret. However, before he can do any of that, Superman opens the resuscitation door. Nightwing stands up.

“B..?” Nightwing speaks.

Superman turns to Dr. Mid-Nite, who follows him. The doctor gives Supes a nod. Superman turns back to Nightwing and makes a faint smile. “He will be okay.”

And without caring about anyone’s eyes, Nightwing hugs Superman, hiding his face in that chest. The kid sags and melts into the older man, shaking. He looks really, really young, now that the burden he carried earlier is lifted.

Barry and Ollie still have the decency to avert their eyes, but Hal is straight-up staring. “Wait. The one that’s hurt is…”

Nightwing, in Superman’s arms, talks through his quiet crying. “He’s hurt because of me. If I wasn’t there, Flash could’ve pulled him—”

“None of that,” Superman says sternly. “Today, I, and he, are really proud of you. You led all of us and saved the world, Nightwing. As I knew you would one day since I met that gangly-limbed, pudgy-faced young boy.”

“He’s still hurt.”

“He’s safe, Dick. Your father is safe.”

Silence, as Nightwing’s shoulders stiffen mid-shaking. “Uh, Superman, you just—”

“YOU AREN’T HIS DAD!?” Hal screams.

“DICK!?” Ollie screams too. Ouch. His eardrums.

Everyone is staring at them now.

“Shh. Uncle Ollie!” Nightwing turns to Ollie and makes the quiet gesture. “And Green Lantern, what do you mean he isn’t my dad?”

“’Cause that means the one inside that room is your... your…” Hal says, while Ollie seems shell-shocked with something Barry hasn’t yet realized. (Uncle Ollie?)

“Yes, I am.”

The resuscitation door opens again, and one figure, with his torso in bandages but still wearing the cowl, walks out, using the door knob as a support.

“B!” “Batman!” Nightwing and Superman move to help him stand, while Doctor Mid-Nite throws his arms up in the air and mutters, “I give up,” walking back inside the resuscitation room.

Even in this state, Batman still emanates oppressive aura. He turns to Superman. “Clark, will you ever admit that Nightwing is your son?”

Clark looks stunned. “Wha, what? No? He’s your son?”

“Answer me in full, will you?”

“Uh… ‘kay? I will never, ever admit that Nightwing is my son.” he says dutifully.

Batman, even with all the pain he surely feels in his body, lifts the corner of his mouth in what’s a Bat-equivalent of a smirk. “All bets are mine.”

All of the League falls into stunned silence.

“You... you…” Hal starts first.

“YOU LITTLE SHIT!” It’s Ollie who finishes it. “How long have we known each other? I fought bullies for you, damn it, and you pulled this on me!”

Batman, with Superman and Nightwing supporting him on both sides, slowly pulls his cowl up.

“It’s not my fault you’re slow, Oliver,” Bruce Wayne, top ten richest men on Earth, three-time Most Sexiest Man Alive, says.

The med bay erupts into pandemonium incarnated, even more than the demon battle earlier.

Amidst the chaos, Bruce Wayne, with Batman’s stern expression, looks at Hal Jordan and mouths, ‘I do not kill, but you are dead.’

Barry pats Hal’s back in a final goodbye.

“I’m openly married, with a kid, how could you come to that conclusion, really?” Clark Kent crosses his arms in full dad-lecture mode, with Hal and various members who are looking appropriately miffed under the Superman Is Disappointed in You™ look. It’s super effective. Diana, after dealing with the NYC mayor, also has joined them.

“Yeah, I wondered,” Nightwing, or Dick Grayson (“I babysat you! Traitor!” screamed Ollie), says while munching dry cereal.

“But really, your personalities are so alike,” Hal says to both of them.

They look at each other, and laugh.

“No, Dick is not like me at all,” Clark says.

“Yeah, I can’t be a boyscout like Uncle Clark,” Dick agrees.

‘Uncle Clark,’ Ollie mouths to Barry.

“Dude, you’re also his Uncle Ollie,” Barry replies.

“The boy is a fiend, I assure you,” Clark continues.

“Yes, I agree,” Ollie supplies. “Now that I know, it’s not a goody-two-shoes super smile. It’s pure mischievous. The kid, when he was a tween, literally destroyed my penthouse.”

“Bruce also destroyed your penthouse. It’s a tradition.” Dick makes the most angelic smile. It’s the smile of Dick Grayson, the eldest Wayne boy, occasional model, may be a cop, full-time teenage girl heartthrob. The one that sometimes posts things like “Watch we prank our himbo dad with unexplained kittens pt. 1”.

“But you’re so different from Spooky. Not dark, gloomy, and stick-in-the-ass,” Hal continues.

“I have multiple role models. I’ll always be a Bat, but I borrow some traits from Uncle Clark and Aunt Diana that I aspire to be,” Dick turns to Clark and Diana, then smiles. “Effects of having them as Aunt and Uncle for years.”

Diana reminisces on what Dick said, “Before the League, this young warrior has followed our earliest adventure everywhere, much to Bruce’s dismay. He was active in the field far longer than most of us.”

“Original gremlin,” Clark ruffles Dick’s hair fondly. “If you look closely, he’s Bruce’s through and through,” he continues. “They all are perfectionists, tacticians, pragmatists, and true cryptids. Everything else is just another facade.”

“I hide all the bat-ness under the cheeriness just to lull you all into a false sense of security." Dick gives them all a grin with teeth showing. Barry now does not feel secure at all looking at that grin. The kid is not Human Superman, the kid is Smiling Batman.

“He’s the better version of me,” Batman, without the cowl (!), reappears after more treatment in the med bay. He lays one hand on Dick’s shoulder. “As one’s child is supposed to be.”

“B.” Dick makes a genuine smile at his father.

Hal cuts the moment by throwing Bruce Wayne (still surreal) a literal bag of money, which he catches without even looking.

“Go take all the bet money, you rich asswad. You only did this out of pure spite for me!” Hal says in defeat.

“Correct,” Batman confirms. Hal puts his head on the table and screams.

Looking at the money, Dick Grayson suddenly says, “Oh yeah! I win the bet too!” He claps his hands. “I bet with my siblings that it’d be Uncle Clark who reveals our identity! Yes!” He punches his fist up in the air.

Silence, again.

“SPOOKY HAS MORE KIDS!?”

(‘You bet on me, Dickie?’)

Chapter Text

For the (figurative) execution, Hal guesses this is not so bad.

He is at the Martha Wayne’s Hope Haven front door, to officially donate the “bet money” to the orphanage.

Twenty-five thousand dollars, donated in the name of Bruce Wayne, topped up by the Wayne Foundation to one-hundred thousand dollars.

Rich asshole. He can’t believe Spooky is Bruce Wayne. Ugh. Who can guess that? When thinking of Bruce Wayne, you think of the well-intentioned but airheaded bajillionaire who occasionally features in Entertainment Tonight about what extravaganza he’s doing.

“Actually, when he was a teenager, he was really like Batman is now. Emo, dark and broody. Sometimes I wonder why, after the around-the-world sabbatical, he became the goofy himbo. Guess I know the reason now,” Oliver told him the days before.

And why does Oliver escape this punishment? Talk about preferential treatment! Other Leaguers who participate in the bet only have to redo the Code of Conduct in Cape Community Training (abr. C4 training) and take double monitor duty for a month. Meanwhile, Hal is ordered personally to do this just because he’s the initiator.

“Or because,” Barry told him, “you spread words that his son’s another person’s son, maybe.”

He’s sorry, okay? Who’s gonna guess that all the huff and grunt about Nightwing is actually his overprotective helicopter parenting!

Hal sighs. At least the punishment isn’t bad. At first, he would think B-man’s gonna torture him for life or something. Donating (not his) money in the name of Bruce Wayne, he can do that fine.

“Mister Jordan, right?” In front of the orphanage door, a young adult (or very late teen) man opens the door to greet him. “I see you keep sighing in front of the door for ten minutes.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry,” Hal replies. “Are you a... guard?” The young man looks a bit tough. He's as tall as Hal himself but even more buff. Dark hair with a white lock on the forehead, and greenish eyes.

The man snickers. “Nah. Our orphanage is not that kind of orphanage, just a regular volunteer here. You come to deliver Bruce’s money, right? Go inside.” And he leads him in.

It’s a good orphanage. Bright, warm, cozy. Younger children of various ages run around while the older ones help the younger ones.

It makes him think of his family, before his dad died, when mom is still full of love, not grief, and his brother (at least Jack) still talks with him.

Wait, why does he catch feelings at this? Hal halts his thoughts and follows the path. He is greeted by a group of caregivers and the orphanage supervisors. It’s a lot of people.

“Please deliver our gratitude to Mister Wayne, Mister Jordan. Oh, and our volunteer said you’re a pilot! Would you kindly tell the children about your experience as a pilot? The children will absolutely love that.” She gestures to the volunteer, a blonde girl who waves at him.

“Oh? Yeah, no problem,” he says, waves back at her. She gives him a thumb-up.

Hal has quite a good time. The children are tiny agents of chaos, but their curiosity is genuine. He answers a lot of questions. He wrestles and plays airplane with some of the younger ones.

When he sits at the playground, some chubby hands tug his bomber jacket. He turns to see two small children accompanied by a quiet black-haired young woman.

“Mister Jwor-dan, could you have a tea party with us?” one of the girls says.

“Uh-huh? Okay,” he says to the girl.

They cheer and point at him. “Yeah, you’ll be the unicorn princess! Wear this crown!”

The young woman manages to provide the crown. That’s an elaborate crown. And a wig. And horn. And a makeup palette. Children’s tea parties are serious.

Before evening, when all the children have drained most of his willpower, Hal thinks it’s time to say goodbye to them.

“Wait, wait!” one gangly volunteer shouts, camera in hand. “Let’s take a group photo first!”

“Okaaaaay!” All the children, seeming familiar with this practice, go line up for the group picture.

One black-haired child tuts his mouth and pulls Hal to the center “Tch. Stand still here. Understand?” Then he fades himself away from the camera field. 

“Yes?”

Now all the children surround him. The volunteer boy with the camera holds his hand up. “This is both the picture and the video! Everyone, say after me—thank you, W.E.!”

“Thank you, Wee-Eee!” the gaggle of children shout, smiling wide.

“You too! The center man!” he shouts. “Again!”

Hal shouts with the children.

“Next, say thank you, Bruce Wayne!” Now the various young volunteers he’s seen throughout the day are standing behind the camera boy.

“Thank you, Bruce Wayne!”

“The Wayne Foundation, established by Bruce Wayne twenty years prior, actively contributes to societal betterment through both direct initiatives and the support of affiliated organizations.” A giant screen in the JL meeting room now plays the Wayne Foundation introduction video. After the logo, the screen cuts to many faces of children, women, and men of various statuses and backgrounds, all saying, “Thank you.”

With the last face being Hal Jordan, the unicorn princess, smudged makeup, smiling wide and saying, “Thank you, Bruce Wayne!”

His traitor friends are slapping the table. Ollie has the clip personally playing on his mobile, sent from the Wayne Foundation to Queen Charity. Barry is laughing so hard his throat produces a hypersonic sound. Dick Grayson, with caramelized popcorn in his arms, is clicking replay while munching the said popcorn.

“We also have the promotional clip about the orphanage support, with more of your screen time,” he says. “By the way, this clip will be used as the Wayne Foundation promotional for at least a decade, according to the plan. When you walk into the Foundation building, anyone will be greeted by your ‘Thank you, Bruce Wayne’ first. Seems egoistical for Brucie, eh? Guess he doesn’t want to be seen as too benevolent a rich man.”

“There is nothing benevolent about this, this is diabolical,” Hal counters.

Dick shrugs. “It’s your fault for not being aware that my siblings were there to pull this on you. You already know my I.D. and that I have siblings, you should do your homework. Think of it as an awareness training.”

“Thank you, Bruce Wayne!” The clip plays again.

Satanic. Luciferian. Mephistophelian. This is eternal punishment from hell.

Barry takes a breath, tries to speak, and falls back into laughing again. Hal tries to push him, but he vibrates so hard his hand just passes through

“You all think of Bruce as only Batman, tall, dark, and serious, but you forgot this is Bruce Wayne, the man that plays as a chaotic klutz to hide his I.D. by sheer public befuddlement. He is the father of mine, the biggest little shit.” Dick dumps the first bowl of popcorn in his mouth.

Now he remembers from the news. The camera boy is Jim-something Drake-Wayne, another child, the Asian girl is Cassie Wayne? The one who pulled him is probably Damon Wayne, the bio-one, yeah, the scowl matches.

“Wait, the blonde one is his child too?” he turns to the firstborn of the demon.

“Oh, that’s the family friend. The honorary daughter.”

“What about the buff one, the skunk hair?”

Dick’s hand pauses. “Well, one point back on the observational skill.”

One day, at the League meeting. Today Spooky is stuck in his city, so it’s Superman who leads the meeting. He clicks the screen.

“I think this mission can be handled by Hal… Jor… dan?”

The personnel screen that pops up is a picture of Hal at the tea party, with his profile summary changed to: In brightest day, in blackest night, no evil shall escape my sight. Let those who worship evil’s might beware my power… Unicorn Princess’s light!

It’s Barry who starts the laugh, followed by almost everyone in the room.

Even Superman has to lift his cloak to hide his giggle. “I’m sorry, GL, just give me a minute.”

“Why are you all laughing? Unicorn is such a majestic creature,” Diana says. “Being a princess is an unshakable burden that suits your immense willpower. I admire your aspiration, Green Lantern.”