Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Wayne Manor has stood almost as long as Gotham itself. From the outside, it looks like a haunted house: all dark stone and shadows with lives of their own.

Every so often, someone “has to ask” about the rumors that the building is haunted. A nosy reporter. A drunken socialite. A paranormal YouTuber.

Outwardly, Bruce Wayne laughs them off, dismissing the idea out of hand. It's not his secret to tell.

The reality is that Wayne Manor is much warmer and more welcoming to those who reside there than it is to outsiders. Laughter echoes through the halls. Little faces peer out of the windows, waiting to welcome him home.

That's not to say there are no ghosts.

But they don't haunt the Manor.

They make it a home.

Bruce doesn't meet his first ghost until adulthood.

And even then, he doesn't meet him in the Manor.

After his parents’ death, Bruce swore he was going to stop crime in Gotham. His ideas on how he would do this were… ambitious to say the least.

Thankfully, Alfred talked him down from dressing like a superhero and beating up bad guys. Fun in an eight-year-old’s imagination, but wildly impractical in reality.

Instead, they had many long discussions about why people might turn to crime. As Bruce grew, he began to understand why his mother devoted herself to charity and his father worked at the hospital despite not needing to. They had the means to help. They felt it was their responsibility to do so. Now it's Bruce's turn.

So he built upon the foundations they put in place. The Martha Wayne Foundation and The Thomas Wayne Foundation might not be as cathartic as punching criminals in the face. But they’re making a dent in crime, one soup kitchen, one hospital bill, one family at a time.

The downside is that in order to keep the charities running, Bruce has to keep the Wayne name in the public eye. Which means he has to make appearances at too many galas and gallery openings. Polite conversation with Gotham’s elite is enough to make Bruce wish he'd followed his childhood dream. He wonders if it's too late to take to the streets as a masked man like Zorro.

Occasionally, he does get the chance to see something interesting. Tonight, Bruce Wayne is at Haly's circus, surrounded by a “who's who” of the city's most important people. The twinkling lights, laughing children, and smell of popcorn take Bruce back to his childhood in a way that brings a smile to his face. The mayor shakes his hand as Vicki Vale begins to edge her way through the crowds towards him, dictaphone in hand.

Despite the company, Bruce finds himself enjoying the show. It's the most fun he's had at one of these outings in years. The clowns, strongmen, and jugglers are incredible, but they have nothing on the family of trapeze artists who come on as the final act. The Flying Graysons.

The family seems to defy gravity. Nobody can tear their eyes away. A toddler a few rows in front of Bruce is frozen with popcorn halfway to his mouth, a wide grin brightening his tiny face.

Bruce watches with his heart in his throat as the smallest Grayson somersaults four times mid-air, before stretching his arms out and being caught by his mother and father.

Then the rope snaps, and mother, father, and son go tumbling to the ground.

The audience screams.

The toddler drops his popcorn on the floor.

Bruce can't breathe.

The crowd presses in from all sides. It's too loud. Bruce feels like he can smell blood and gunpowder, even though he knows there is no gun here. There's popcorn scattered across the ground. In the dim light, it seems to shimmer like the ghost of Martha Wayne's pearls.

There's a gap in the tent.

Bruce manages to slip through it, away from the panicking mob around him.

He sinks to the floor of the muddy circus grounds and tries to remember his breathing exercises. Bruce has seen a small army of therapists over the years, and he's already making plans to see when his latest one can squeeze him in… When he hears crying.

His first thought is that maybe the toddler he saw earlier got split up from his family. Bruce pushes down his own fear and goes to investigate.

He doesn't find the small child with the popcorn.

Instead, the pale form of the boy from the trapeze flickers in front of Bruce's eyes as he turns the corner. He's sobbing loudly with his arms wrapped around himself.

One second, his red, yellow, and green uniform is bright and whole. The next, it's torn and bloodied.

Everything in Bruce tells him to run.

He finds himself stepping forward.

Whether this child is a ghost or something else, he's still a child. Bruce won't leave him alone and scared.

“Hello?” Bruce keeps his voice soft and gentle as he can manage.

The boy turns slowly to face him. Bruce can see right through his (bloody) tear-stained face to the circus caravans beyond. He says nothing, just sniffs and rubs at his nose with one (bruised and bleeding) arm.

“Do you need help?” Bruce asks.

“Yes…” The boy's voice seems to echo around them. It's a whisper on the wind and a thunderous roar in Bruce's head. It makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. Bruce takes another step towards the boy before crouching in front of him.

“I lost my mom and dad,” the boy says. Goosebumps prickle across Bruce's arms. “We were all together and now they're gone.”

Bruce is completely out of his depth. He decides to approach the situation the same way he would with any other child.

“Maybe we can look for them together?”

The boy smiles. It's a bright (broken) grin. Full of (missing) teeth.

“What do they look like?”

The boy rocks back on his heels. “They're acrobats like me! We match.” He gestures to his leotard.

The sound of his voice makes Bruce feel like someone is pouring ice water down his spine. He fights the urge to shiver.

“The Flying Graysons, right?” he asks.

The boy takes a sweeping bow and doesn't flicker at all.

“That's us! Did you see us?”

Bruce nods enthusiastically. “You were incredible!”

“Did you know only three people in the whole world can do a quadruple somersault?” the little Grayson asks. “And I'm one of ‘em!”

He beams proudly.

“Wow!” Bruce doesn't have to fake his awe. “I think that was my favorite part of the act.”

The boy’s smile drops. The flickering comes back faster than ever.

“We fell.”

Bruce nods sadly.

The boy looks down at his bloody leotard. His twisted, broken limbs.

“I'm dead, aren't I?” his voice wavers.

“I think so, yes,” Bruce says apologetically.

For a second, everything is still and silent.

Then the little acrobat's jaw seems to unhinge and he screams. A terrible, heartbreaking wail that drowns out even the nearby police sirens. Every light on the circus grounds glows blindingly bright before they all cut out with a bang. Bruce ducks and covers his head against the shower of glass from the broken bulbs.

When he looks up, the boy is gone.

Bruce doesn't tell anyone about the encounter with the ghostly Grayson. By the time he gets home, he's halfway convinced he hallucinated the whole thing.

Until the little glass shards fall out of his hair in the shower.

He schedules an emergency therapy appointment and prepares to take his paranormal encounter to the grave. After all, who would believe him if he told them?

And then things get weird.

Around two weeks after Haly's Circus leaves Gotham, the temperature in the Manor plummets. It's summer, but Bruce can see his breath as he makes his way through the hallways to breakfast.

“Good morning, Master Bruce,” Alfred greets him from the kitchen. “I don't suppose you've seen the good spatula anywhere?”

Bruce freezes. Blinks. He doesn't touch anything in the kitchen. Alfred banned him after the third pan fire.

“No?”

Alfred sighs and places Bruce's breakfast in front of him. He turns to rummage through the drawers.

“I could have sworn it had been washed and put away,” he grumbles. “And yet this morning, it is nowhere to be seen.”

That's when Bruce notices something red on top of the fridge. He reaches up and grasps around blindly.

It's Alfred's turn to blink mutely when Bruce presents him with the silicone spatula.

“Now how on earth…” he murmurs.

Bruce just shrugs and eats his bacon.

Over the next couple of days, the lights start going out, but only in the rooms Bruce spends the most time in.

“I'll call out an electrician,” Alfred says when Bruce remarks on it.

The television, which had started playing a news report on the investigation into the Graysons’ deaths, explodes.

“...I think that would be for the best.” Bruce agrees.

The electrician finds nothing wrong.

“The wiring’s pretty good for the age of the building,” he tells them. “Best I can figure, you got a bad batch of bulbs and a faulty TV. You'd have to contact the manufacturer for that, though.”

Alfred thanks him and shows him to the door.

Bruce frowns, remembering the little Grayson’s wail, and the darkness it brought to the circus.

The next few days are a whirlwind of exhausted frustration.

Bruce has to bring flashlights everywhere as more and more lights go out.

But he can't put the flashlights down because the second he turns his back on them, they disappear.

Alfred suggests that maybe Bruce has just forgotten where he put them down.

Bruce replies with a pointed glance between the spatula in Alfred's hand and the space at the top of the fridge.

Alfred raises an eyebrow but concedes the point.

Like the spatula, the flashlights inevitably turn up in high up spaces. The top of the fridge seems to be a favorite spot, but they also turn up on bookshelves in the library and various chandeliers. Bruce swears he hears giggling when he has to bring in ladders to get them down.

Bruce hasn't slept well since his last trip to the Monarch Theater, but recently he's been waking up from nightmares several times a night.

It's the second time he's woken up tonight, and he's counting breaths, grounding himself so he can try and get back to sleep, when he hears it.

“He'd fly through the air with the greatest of ease…”

Bruce jolts upright. A cold sweat spreads across his skin.

He tiptoes out of his room and down the hallway, following the sound.

“The daring young man on the flying trapeze…”

Bruce freezes as he approaches the grand staircase.

There in the chandelier, kicking his little legs in the air, is his circus ghost.

“Hello,” Bruce says.

The chandelier lights turn on, just a little. The dim lights like a halo around the acrobat.

“Oh,” he says, as his legs stop swinging. “Hi?”

Bruce smiles softly, even as blank eyes turn in his direction. He's just a child.

“You don't happen to have any of my flashlights up there, do you?” Bruce asks, tilting his head.

The ghost grins at him.

“I might do,” he giggles.

“I might need them to get back through to bed,” Bruce says with a shrug.

The boy stops smiling. The lights dim again.

“I'm sorry,” he whispers. “I didn't mean to break things.”

“I know,” Bruce reassures him.

“I didn't mean to do it at the circus either.”

Bruce isn't sure if it's the lights or the boy that flicker this time, but there are definitely tears in those empty eyes.

“But I couldn't stop!” the ghost gasps out as the tears start falling. “And it was scaring all my friends! Even Zitka didn't like it when I went near.”

He sniffs loudly. “Mr Haly started talking about ghosts and bad luck and something called an ex-or-cist.” He pronounces the word slowly and carefully.

“I don't know what that is, but it sounds scary,” the child admits, and for a fraction of a second when Bruce looks at him, he's all twisted limbs and bloody leotard again. “I didn't want to stay there anymore, but I didn't know where to go and then…”

He goes so quiet that if Bruce couldn't see the lights brighten and dim rhythmically, like breathing, he'd think he'd vanished again.

“And then?” Bruce asks gently.

“Then I remembered… after the… after I…” he pauses. “The first night. You spoke to me. And you were so nice.”

He glances down at Bruce. “And then I was here.” He shrugs.

He's trying to be brave, Bruce thinks, but his bottom lip is wobbling.

“Well,” Bruce says. “I don't think I properly introduced myself last time we met.”

The boy shakes his head slightly.

Bruce smiles. “My name is Bruce Wayne. This is my home, and you are welcome here as long as you like.”

Because he's not going to send a scared child out on his own, even if the child in question is dead.

“Do you mean that?” the ghost asks.

“Yes.”

The boy somersaults off the chandelier and lands next to Bruce.

“My name is Dick,” he smiles. “Thank you, Mr Wayne.”

Dick throws his arms around Bruce in a surprisingly strong hug. Bruce ignores the chill and hugs him back, stroking his hair until the sun starts rising and Dick disappears from his arms.

It takes him forty minutes in the shower to feel warm again.

Alfred doesn't believe Bruce when he first mentions Dick. Not that Bruce blames him.

It doesn't help that Dick thinks it's funny to hide when Alfred enters the room. He doubles up laughing at Bruce's exaggerated exasperation afterward.

Then the news comes on again. The police have arrested someone for the murder of the Graysons.

Dick sees his own smiling face on the TV screen and freezes.

“No!” he screeches, putting his hands over his ears. Bruce switches the TV off, but it's too late. “Nononononono–”

Alfred enters the room quietly just in time for–

“NO!”

Every light on the first floor shatters.

Dick looks up, guiltily. “Sorry, Bruce. Sorry, Alfred.”

Alfred, to his credit, doesn't so much as blink. “Don't you worry yourself, Master Dick.”

Dick rubs at his eyes, and Bruce can see the moment Alfred spots him flicker into the fallen acrobat. The brief shock and furious empathy that passes over the butler's face.

“I'll get started on clearing up the glass,” he says. “I'm sure Master Bruce is trying his best to help you with your new abilities.”

Bruce is.

The problem is that he's not sure which books are helpful and which are fiction masquerading as paranormal science. It's not an area he previously had any interest in.

He asks experts and “experts” online and over the phone.

They all give him the same advice.

“Having a ghost in your home is dangerous.”

They tell him to perform an exorcism or have a priest bless the house. A few offer to smudge the Manor for free.

Bruce turns them all down with varying levels of politeness.

Eventually, an elderly medium says, “I won't help you endanger yourself… but if you're dead set on this, you might want to look up John Constantine.”

Then she hangs up the phone.

Bruce does look up John Constantine.

He pays for the man's flight from London after a brief phone call, but makes it clear that he won't pay for anything else if Constantine so much as suggests he gets rid of the ghost.

Bruce doesn't know what he expected from a man whose website declares him an “occult detective”. Somehow, he isn't surprised that Constantine looks like he hasn't slept or showered in weeks and smells like a dive bar.

“Mind if I smoke?” he asks.

Bruce is about to reply that, yes, actually, he does mind, when Constantine lights his cigarette anyway.

Less than thirty seconds later, Alfred has lifted it straight from his mouth.

“Mr Constantine,” he says sharply. “If you must indulge in such a filthy habit, I do insist you do it outside.”

Constantine smirks and tips an invisible hat. “No problem, Jeeves.”

“Alright, Dick,” Bruce says gently, before Alfred can eviscerate their… guest. “You can come out now.”

Constantine takes one look at the small child in his flickering leotard, glances up at the lights that dim as Dick scuffs his feet, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says. “I think we can figure something out here.”

He turns to Bruce.

“Might be pricey, but you can afford it, right?”

Without waiting for an answer, he pats Bruce on the shoulder and announces, “I'm nipping out for a fag. Won't be long!”

Then he leaves.

For half an hour.

When Constantine finally returns, Bruce and Alfred watch as he talks to Dick. The questions he asks don't seem particularly helpful to Bruce. But then again, he's not an expert. Maybe Constantine is learning something useful.

Dick performs a whole routine using the chandelier and the banisters, and the wide open floor space in the foyer. He grins and bows when Constantine nods and says, “Not bad, kid.”

Then he adds, “Too bad you fell before you could finish at the circus.”

Dick freezes mid-bow. The lights in the chandelier burst one by one. Constantine stands, unfazed, in the circle of glass.

Then Dick vanishes, and Constantine turns to face Bruce and Alfred, wiping glass shards from his shoulder as he does so.

Before he can speak, Bruce punches him in the face.

“Yeah, I probably deserved that one,” Constantine admits, wiping the blood from his nose. “Don't worry. Your ghost kid's still here.”

“Forgive us if we are not reassured, Mr Constantine,” Alfred scowls.

Constantine shrugs. “You told me not to get rid of the ghost. I'm not going to get rid of the ghost. I ain't risking my paycheck.”

Bruce doesn't trust this man as far as he can throw him. He does believe he wouldn't throw his money away like that.

“So, little ghost-boy has emotional regulation problems,” Constantine says. “As long as his anger is getting the better of him, this is going to keep happening.”

He pauses for a second. “You might wanna try… I dunno. Mindfulness or some shit. Help him get his feelings under control.”

Bruce and Alfred share an incredulous look.

Constantine hands Bruce a piece of paper.

“My invoice for the consult.”

The number is absurd. There's no way Bruce is paying this.

“Thirty days to pay, or I come back,” Constantine explains. “And I ain't gonna be nice about it next time.”

Bruce fumes.

“Right. See you later, then!” Constantine gives a wave and lights a cigarette on his way out the door.

“That. Was a mistake,” Bruce sighs.

“Indeed,” Alfred agrees.

Since Bruce doesn't have any better ideas, he decides to try mindfulness.

He starts by researching child therapy and emotional regulation. Obviously, he can't take Dick to a traditional therapist. Bruce can’t risk someone misunderstanding – or worse, trying to make Dick disappear again.

But therapy was useful when Bruce was a scared and grieving child. And that's what Dick is, even if his ways of showing it are different.

They run into problems when Bruce tries to go through the child therapy workbooks with Dick.

Firstly, it's hard for Dick to move a pencil on his own. Stealing flashlights and spatulas is apparently a completely different skill from manipulating a writing implement. More often than not, the pen or pencil flies across the room.

Bruce does the writing for Dick. The boy hovers over his shoulder and tells him what to put down.

But that leads to the second problem.

“What can I do if I'm feeling angry?” Bruce reads.

“Um…” Dick says. “Uh… I don't–”

Several seconds of silence follow. Bruce turns around. Dick is gone.

It's a pattern that repeats when they try mindfulness exercises or guided meditation.

“It's just so boring,” Dick complains. “My brain keeps thinking of different things and then I go poof and end up somewhere else.”

Bruce turns back to the internet for help.

He joins a parenting forum for children with additional support needs. He figures Dick, being a ghost, definitely qualifies.

Not that he tells the other forum users that his child’s disability is the fact that he's incorporeal. After he posts, most of them seem to assume Dick has ADHD.

Bruce thinks they might not be far from the truth with that one.

The most useful advice comes from NeurospicyMomma:

you've got to meet him where he's at. it sounds like he's at his best when he's moving. let him move while you work.

SimonSaysStim adds:

It might be hard for him to name his feelings and what he can do. You can help him with that. ‘It looks like gymnastics makes you happy. Maybe moving around could help get rid of the angry feelings.’ Just an example, obvs.

Meet him where he's at. Notice Dick's feelings and name them for him.

Bruce can do that.

The handymen Bruce hires might think he's crazy, but they don't blink when the billionaire installs a trapeze in one of his mansion’s ballrooms.

Bruce pays them extra for their discretion.

Dick is overjoyed with the new equipment. He puts on a show for Bruce and Alfred the second the builders leave.

They applaud as Dick flips and twirls. It's the most solid Bruce has ever seen him.

Alfred shows up to Bruce's study one afternoon and hands him a parcel.

“I saw this online, Master Bruce,” he explains. “I thought Master Dick could use it to practice control with the lighting.”

Curious, Bruce opens the package. It's a light-up pegboard.

Dick is excited to find that moving and placing the little light pegs is much easier than writing was. It lets him practice only lighting up certain lights at a time.

The number of bulbs needing replacement in the manor decreases drastically.

Bruce frowns at Constantine’s invoice. He hates to admit it, but he was right. Emotional regulation worked.

Bruce transfers the outrageous sum to Constantine's bank account 29 days after his visit to the Manor.

Chapter Text

It doesn't exactly become easy, but it definitely becomes easier. The months pass quickly. And then Bruce finds himself planning ghost-inclusive Christmases.

They throw birthday parties with eight candles on the cake every year. They're equal parts celebration of Dick's (after)life and mourning his first life.

“I won't ever get to drive a car, Bruce,” Dick sobs from within the chandelier the first year he turns eight again.

“Why aren't my parents here?” he asks as the lights flicker across the whole manor.

“I don't know, chum,” Bruce admits. “I'm sorry.”

Dick hiccups and drops the pegboard onto Bruce's head. He's arranged the pegs to spell “GO AWAY”.

Bruce gives him space.

Not long after Dick's fifth “eighth” birthday, they're playing Scrabble. Alfred on one team, Bruce and Dick on another.

Dick keeps giggling and whispering suggestions in Bruce's ear.

Bruce dutifully places the tiles.

“Master Dick,” Alfred sighs as Bruce and Dick both struggle to hold in laughter. “I don't think ‘bumhead’ can be found in the dictionary.”

“We're going to have to look it up, Alfred,” Bruce says evenly.

Alfred flicks through their giant Scrabble dictionary, but Dick’s chant of “Look it up! Look it up!” cuts off suddenly.

Both adults turn to look at their ward. Dick is sitting bolt upright. His outline flickers erratically, but he's otherwise stock-still.

“Someone's here,” he whispers.

Then he vanishes.

Bruce makes his way down to the foyer. Usually, when Dick vanishes, he can be found in the chandelier. 

Before he can get there, he turns a corner and spots a boy standing in the middle of a hallway. He's taller than Dick, with a red hoodie and jeans. He has what appears to be a tire iron poking out of one of his back pockets.

He's also bleeding from his head. And his arms. And his ribs. Bruce isn't entirely sure the hoodie’s color isn't due to the blood.

There's a trail of bloody footprints leading from the nearby library.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks. The answer is obvious, of course, but he has to start somewhere.

“No,” the boy says quietly. His voice is hoarse. As if he has a cold. Or has hurt his throat shouting.

“I think…” the boy says shakily, examining his crumpled fingers, “I think I died.”

Oh, thinks Bruce. We have another one.

For lack of a better idea, Bruce ushers the boy into the conservatory. It's sunny outside today, and the view over the gardens always cheers him up.

They can also get there without passing the chandelier. Given Dick's initial reaction to another ghost in the Manor, Bruce decides introductions between the two can wait.

Alfred brings Bruce a cup of tea.

“I'll check on Master Dick while you two talk,” he says.

“Do you know where you are?” Bruce asks once Alfred leaves.

The boy shrugs. “Thought it might be heaven when I saw the books. Then I ‘membered you only go there if you're good.”

He shakes his head. Little droplets of blood hit the floor beneath him. “I ain't ever been good ‘nuff to go somewhere like that.”

Bruce makes a mental note to look into confidence-building exercises. If the boy wants to stay, that is.

“Well,” he says, “this is Wayne Manor and I'm–”

The boy startles. “You're Bruce fuckin’ Wayne!”

Bruce chuckles. “That's me.”

The boy looks at him with wide eyes. “Sorry. I know I'm not s’posed to swear.”

“I think I can let it slide,” Bruce smiles. “What's your name?”

“Jason…” the boy says slowly. Like he's not sure if he wants to trust Bruce. That's fair. From the looks of him, he doesn't have much reason to trust strangers.

“Well, Jason,” Bruce says. “Why don't you tell me a bit about yourself?”

“Not much to say…” Jason starts.

Bruce waits patiently.

“Okay, so…”

Considering he didn't think there was much to say, Jason’s story includes far more than any child should have had to go through. It comes out in bits and pieces. First, his family.

“Mom died last year,” Jason explains. “She got sick, then she OD’d.”

He says it so casually, but Bruce can see the way his eyes water.

“What about your dad?” Bruce asks.

Jason scoffs. “Either he's in jail or he's dead too.”

He glares at his feet and mumbles, “‘S long as I don't got to see him no more, I don't care.”

Then his “work” situation.

“Once Mom got sick, I paid the bills for us,” Jason says, chest puffed out with pride. 

“Only…” he looks ashamed, suddenly. “Not many places hire kids. So I stole tires.”

That explains the tire iron.

“It’s a big responsibility looking after someone else like that,” Bruce says. He won't condemn a starving child for stealing to survive.

Then his death.

“There was this big fancy car parked in the alley, and I figured I'd get enough money for a hotel room,” Jason says in a faraway voice. “Just one of the ones downtown that don't ask for ID…”

He shakes himself out of his daydream.

“But it turns out one of Sionis’s guys owned the car and he was not happy to see me…”

He looks up at Bruce. Tears are streaming down his face along with the blood now.

“He had a crowbar… and he…” Jason takes a shaky breath. “He…”

“You don't have to talk about it, Jason,” Bruce reassures him.

Jason nods, relieved.

Before finally…

“I think I figured out why I'm here,” Jason says. “Like, in your giant freakin’ house.”

“Yeah?” Bruce asks, curious.

“Those Thomas Wayne guys paid for a bunch of my mom's medications…” Jason scuffs his feet along the ground. Bruce tries not to look at the bloody puddle the child's sneakers are sliding through.

“And everyone in the alley knows the Martha Wayne soup kitchens are the only ones where you won't get trafficked.”

Bruce is horrified by how matter-of-factly Jason says this. And proud of the proof his family's foundations are doing good.

“Anyway…” Jason continues. “When you see ‘Wayne’ on something, it means it's safe. So when I didn't know where to go…”

“You came here,” Bruce finishes.

Jason nods.

Bruce is definitely keeping him.

As long as Dick agrees.

“No.”

It's the first word out of Dick's mouth when Bruce approaches the foyer.

“Hey, chum,” Bruce tries.

“No, B,” Dick says firmly. “I don't want that ghost in my house.”

“Jason's not so bad,” Bruce tries again.

It's the wrong move. The temperature plummets.

“No! I'm not sharing! It's not fair!” Dick shouts. “Make him haunt somewhere else!”

The chandelier bulbs burst. Bruce shakes glass out of his hair.

Dick vanishes for the second time this afternoon.

Every time Bruce sees him for the next week, Dick asks sweetly, “Is that bloody ghost gone yet?”

Bruce calmly does not point out that Dick is also a bloody ghost and replies, “Jason is still planning on staying, yes.”

Then Dick turns out whatever light is closest to Bruce and vanishes again. Bruce is just glad he's not breaking any more bulbs.

Meanwhile, Jason is getting more comfortable with Bruce and Alfred. He spends hours reading in the library, and likes to watch Alfred cooking in the evenings.

At first, he'd been concerned at the amount of blood he was leaving everywhere. Then they discovered it disappeared without a trace after half an hour or so. Reassured by the fact that Alfred didn't have to clean up after him, Jason started getting bold enough to explore.

And then the problems really started.

Not a day goes by without one of the boys screaming and breaking something. Dick breaks all the bulbs in the library repeatedly, so it's too dark for Jason to read.

Jason responds by heckling Dick during his trapeze practice and deliberately bleeding wherever he knows Dick is planning to be.

They quickly learn that the angrier Jason is, the more he bleeds. And the longer the blood sticks around. Bruce is beginning to feel like he's living on the set of a slasher movie. It's getting out of hand.

After two weeks of chaos, Bruce pulls out his phone. He really hoped he wouldn't have to do this…

“Constantine here.”

Bruce sighs. “How soon can you come out for a consult?”

“For an old pal like you, Brucie-boy? Hmm… next month.”

Bruce clenches his fist and breathes deeply.

“How about if I fly you out, first class?”

“How ‘bout you gift me that bottle of Macallan gathering dust in your study?”

Bruce doesn't even know when Constantine spotted that.

There's an ominous crash from the direction of the foyer.

“It's yours,” Bruce says.

“Fuckin’ hell. Must really be an emergency this time. I'll see you tomorrow, Wayne.”

Constantine hangs up before Bruce can say anything else.

He regrets this already.

Over the last five years, Bruce has called Constantine several times. He's still not entirely sure why he keeps doing it.

The first time Dick turned off all the lights for a whole week, Bruce asked Constantine if that was normal.

Constantine replied, “He's a ghost, mate. Nothing's fucking normal.”

For some reason, though, Dick likes the man. Bruce thinks it might be because it's someone different to show off his latest tricks to. And he usually has something equal parts unhelpful and reassuring to share. There are worse things for Bruce to waste money on. Right at this moment, he can't think what those might be…

This time, Constantine lets himself in.

Bruce briefly considers changing the locks, then realizes that probably wouldn't stop him.

“Right then!” Constantine announces as he walks in. “You get that Macallan out and I'll chat with baby-ghost here.”

That's when he spots Jason bleeding on the stairs. The boys have been winding each other up all morning, and a small stream of blood is running down the side of the staircase.

“You're new,” states Constantine.

“No!” Dick squeals, flying out from the chandelier. “Don't talk to him! You've got to exorcise him!”

Jason turns to Dick and shouts, “What the fuck, Dickhead! Exorcise yourself!”

Constantine turns to where Bruce is standing, slumped against the wall by the door.

“I have a problem,” Bruce says wearily.

“Only one?”

Before Bruce can say anything else, Alfred peers out from the kitchen.

“Ah. Mr Constantine has arrived,” he says. “Shall I pop the kettle on?”

“That'd be grand, cheers, Alfie.” Constantine heads through to the kitchen.

Bruce glances briefly at where Jason and Dick are still screaming at each other, and quickly decides tea with Constantine might actually be the better option this time.

After tea…

And shortbread…

And a second cup of tea for everyone…

And Constantine's cigarette break…

Constantine talks to each ghost one-on-one and then together.

Bruce isn't even listening at this point. Just watching Jason making rude gestures at Dick behind Constantine’s back, and Dick responding by dropping the temperature until even Constantine has to pull his trenchcoat fully closed.

Then both ghosts disappear, leaving the lights switched off and bloody puddles all over the foyer.

“Well?” Bruce asks.

“They'll be right,” Constantine shrugs. “It's just supernatural sibling rivalry, mate. I'm sure it'll all even out.”

Unhelpful.

Reassuring.

Bruce sighs.

Constantine throws an arm around him.

“Now, about that Macallan…”

Bruce hands over the bottle without hesitation. He was never going to drink it anyway.

Constantine exchanges it for a piece of paper.

Bruce blinks.

“This is double what you usually charge.”

Constantine smirks at him. “Course, mate. I'm consulting on two ghosts now. Double rates.”

Bruce tries to remember that he asked for Constantine's “help”.

When they reach the doorway, Constantine stops.

“Professional due diligence,” he says. “You've got two ghosts here now.”

“I'm aware.”

Constantine snorts. “Do you know what that means, Wayne?”

Bruce shakes his head.

“Means you've got some kind of connection with the spirits.” He pauses, either because he's thinking hard or because he wants to be dramatic.

“Just saying, don't be surprised if a third shows up… and a fourth… and a fifth…” He lifts the Macallan like he's toasting Bruce. “You get the point. Ta for the whiskey, mate.”

He's gone before Bruce knows what to think of the warning.

Bruce turns to his second most trusted source of ghost advice.

The additional support needs parenting forum.

“As always, grateful for your advice with D,” he posts. “As you know, he was an emergency foster who now stays with me long-term.”

It's the story he gave on his first post. It's… close enough to the truth that he doesn't feel bad about it.

“I've just taken in a second boy, J, in similar circumstances. D is not reacting well. Neither boy can be in the same room as the other without tantrums and arguments. Any help would be much appreciated.”

He gets a handful of comments expressing sympathy and reassuring him that he was right to offer Jason a place to stay. And a similar number suggesting he's a terrible parent for not consulting Dick first.

But then MomOfMany gives Bruce what he needs. Actionable advice.

You've got a few problems here. You don't say in your post what the sleeping situation is, but I would *strongly* suggest making sure both boys have their own bedroom if you have space. Somewhere they can both go without the other bothering them.

That… makes sense.

Next, you've got to reassure D that you're not replacing him. Spend time with just him. A lot of times older kids feel less loved when a sibling is added to the mix. It's his first time having to share Dad and Grandpa! Your job is to show him you still love him just as much as before.

When she frames it like that… but she's not finished.

And J is going to need reassurance and one on one time too. There's a good chance he feels like he's the problem here, coming into a new house. Even if nobody's saying it, he's likely picked up that you're all tense since he moved in. You need to make sure he knows he's safe and you're not getting rid of him.

Oh. Jason's confidence-building has taken a bit of a back seat with all the arguing.

Basically, don't try and force them to like each other, make sure they both know they're safe and loved, and you've got a real chance of making this work. Good luck!

Bruce calls everyone into the dining room. Dick and Jason glare at each other across the table.

“Okay,” Bruce says. “I've got a couple of things I need to say to you boys. If you can both listen without interrupting or insulting one another, it will be much easier for everyone.”

“I can if he can,” Dick snaps.

Jason rolls his eyes but doesn't say anything.

So they're off to a great start.

“The first thing is that I need to make sure you both know that I'm not getting rid of either of you.” Bruce glances between the boys. He doesn't miss the relief as Jason's posture relaxes, or Dick's frown. “You are both welcome here. I'm not exorcising anyone and I'm not replacing anyone.”

Dick's shoulders hunch up around his ears. The way they always do when Bruce names his feelings for him.

“The second thing,” Bruce continues, “is more fun, I think.”

Alfred nods from where he's standing in the doorway.

“Alfred and I realized that it might be good for you both to have your own space. There are plenty of rooms in the Manor, you can each pick a bedroom and–”

Jason snorts, and Dick stares at Bruce incredulously.

“A bedroom?” Jason asks. “B, neither of us sleep. What the heck are we going to do with a bed?”

Dick lets out a loud giggle before he seems to remember he's not supposed to like Jason and cuts himself off.

Jason startles a little at the sound, but gives Dick a shy smile.

“Alright then,” Bruce says. “I still think it would be a good idea for you each to have a space that's just yours. What do you think?”

Apparently, what they think is that Dick gets the chandelier and Jason gets a corner of the library. The two boys shake on it, and for the first time, Jason's bleeding stops completely.

They still argue.

“No, Jason! I'm the oldest!”

Both Constantine and the parenting forum assure Bruce that this is normal sibling behaviour.

“The fuck you are!”

This particular argument has been going on for a week.

“Language, Master Jason!”

But nothing has broken, and the blood fades within minutes.

“Sorry, Alfred! You're eight, Dick. I'm ten. I'm the oldest!”

So they're making some progress.

“But you've only been ten for a few months. I've been eight for five years. So really I'm thirteen.”

There are a few glorious seconds of silence.

“Dick. That is the dumbest sh–”

“Alright!” Bruce yells. “From now on, nobody is allowed to talk about who is the oldest.”

Jason and Dick both stare at him.

“Spoilsport,” Dick mutters.

“Jeez, old man,” says Jason. “You need to chill out.”

The boys fist-bump.

Bruce wants to cry. He's not sure if they're tears of pride or exhaustion.

The scariest day in Bruce's entire life happens when Dick decides to teach Jason trapeze skills.

“Okay!” Dick shouts as Bruce enters the ballroom. “Now let go and stretch out your arms!”

Bruce picks up the pace just in time to see Jason's hands let go of the bar.

He hangs upside down by his knees very briefly.

Then he falls.

Bruce’s heart lurches the way it hasn’t since Crime Alley.

But Jason stops and rights himself halfway to the ground. He hovers and slowly lowers himself to stand next to Bruce.

“Hey, B,” he greets.

Bruce can’t reply. He just stares between Jason and the trapeze, still swaying overhead.

“...Boys,” he wheezes. “I think from now on, it might be a good idea for you to tell an adult when you want to use the trapeze.” He feels like he's aged ten years. “Just so someone's here to supervise.”

Dick floats down to join them just as Jason rolls his eyes.

“Why?” Jason asks. “What's the worst that could happen? ‘S not like we're gonna hurt ourselves.”

Bruce grimaces. It might be true, but he doesn't like to think about it…

“Wait!” Dick yells. “Stuff goes through us!”

Bruce doesn't like the way his blank eyes have lit up.

“Duh, Dickie.”

“So, even if we fall, nothing bad will happen?”

This is Bruce's nightmare.

“That's what I just said,” Jason huffs. “Get with it already.”

Dick grins and leaps into the air.

“Want to see the first ever quintuple somersault?!”

“Yes!” Jason whoops.

Bruce turns swiftly and exits the ballroom. He can't watch this.

He joins Alfred in the sitting room, where they can only just hear the cheering and crashing.

“It's so nice to see the boys getting along,” Alfred remarks contentedly.

Bruce can never tell him.

Ever since Jason pointed out that ghosts don't need sleep, Bruce has wondered what the two boys do at night.

He reassures himself that it's not trapeze tricks.

The nights aren't noisy enough for it to be trapeze tricks.

He finds out on the anniversary of his parents' murder.

Bruce never sleeps on the anniversary. He always tries. Maybe one day it will be easier.

Tonight, he simply turns on the light and heads downstairs for some hot cocoa.

There's a light on in the library when he passes by, so Bruce pokes his head in.

Jason is sitting in one of the comfy armchairs in the “family” section of the library. (Jason's “room” is tucked away at the back, where he can be completely alone.)

Dick is curled up at his side, head on his shoulder. He has his pegboard in his hands and is lighting the individual pegs up in various different patterns. There's a thick fleece blanket piled on top of (and through) their legs.

Jason is reading aloud, barely above a whisper.

“‘No,’ Nico said. ‘Getting a second life is one thing. Making it a better life, that’s the trick.’ As soon as he said it, Nico realized…”

Bruce backs out of the door, leaving them to it.

He knows his parents would be proud of their grandsons.

Chapter Text

Tim is a surprise.

By the time he arrives, it's been over a year since Constantine's warning. Bruce has almost forgotten about it.

Also, Tim knocks.

Dick is kicking his legs over the edge of the chandelier while Jason acts out the entire plot of Hamlet on the staircase.

(“It's like the Lion King without lions, Bruce!” Dick had exclaimed.

“You're a heathen, Dickie,” Jason had muttered with venom.)

Bruce is watching them both and wishing, not for the first time, that his kids showed up on camera. This seems like the kind of moment that should be saved.

“The rest is silence…” Jason whispers, before “dying” a ridiculously dramatic death.

He's just (finally) collapsed on the stairs, when there's a quiet taptaptap from the door.

“Aw, man!” Jason says. “So much for silence.”

He and Dick vanish, as they usually do whenever Bruce has visitors.

But when Bruce opens the door, he's greeted by a small boy in flannel pyjamas. He's sweating and shivering.

And almost completely see-through.

“Hello, Mr Wayne,” he says quietly. “My name's Timothy Drake. I live… I lived next door.”

The world seems completely silent around him.

Bruce’s heart sinks.

He knows Tim.

Jack and Janet Drake are present at every gala Bruce goes to. Usually, Tim accompanies them. Bruce tries to spend at least a couple of minutes chatting to the boy about his school or his latest videogame. 

God knows he remembers how boring these events were as a kid. He likes to make sure the next generation of high society children get at least one positive adult interaction while their parents mingle.

It's usually the highlight of his night. Miles more entertaining than any of his interactions with the other adults.

“Come in, Tim,” Bruce says. He takes Tim to the conservatory. It seems right.

Unlike Dick or Jason, Tim doesn't seem to feel that what he went through was traumatic at all.

“Are your parents back from… Paris, was it?” Bruce asks.

“No,” Tim replies. “Not yet. I expect it'll be another few weeks before they're home.”

A few weeks. Their child died, and they don't even know.

“Won't your nanny ask them to come back sooner?”

Tim gives Bruce a strange look. “I don't have a nanny.”

What.

“Nine is old enough to stay home alone,” Tim explains. Like it's normal. “Mrs Mac comes round at weekends. That's the housekeeper.”

“Only at weekends?” Bruce asks. This child was on his own. In a house not even ten minutes down the road.

Tim nods. “I should have messaged her sooner, but my head felt a bit soupy last week. I think I had a fever.”

He sneezes. The tiny “choo!” echoes round the conservatory.

“I tried calling my parents, but I think they had their phones off.”

Bruce is finding it very difficult to hold himself together. His neighbours. Left their child home alone. While they were in another continent. And they didn't even answer their phones.

“But then, on Saturday, I didn't feel sick anymore!” Tim says. “Except I got out of bed, but my body didn't.”

Saturday? But today is Monday…

“Then Mrs Mac came in, and she was crying and screaming, and I didn't like that,” Tim continues, oblivious to Bruce's internal spiraling.

“So I tried to think of where else I could go, and you were always so kind at galas, so I knew you would help. And you know the rest!”

Tim smiles and yawns.

“What happened between Saturday and today?” Bruce asks.

He regrets it as soon as Tim answers.

“Oh,” Tim mumbles. “I wasn't really sure you would want to be bothered. So I waited in the garden for a while. Before I knocked.”

Two days. This child was abandoned by his parents. He died on his own. And then he waited. In Bruce’s garden. For two days.

Bruce doesn't let Tim see his panic.

“Well, I'm glad you knocked, Tim,” he says. “I'm always happy to see you.”

And because he learned from Jason’s introduction, he says, “There are a couple of people here I think you might like to meet.”

Bruce sends Alfred into the conservatory to wait with Tim while he looks for Dick and Jason.

(“Mr Pennyworth! It's so nice to see you again.”

Alfred has to take a deep breath before he replies, “And you, Master Tim.”)

Bruce finds the boys in the library.

“Can we be noisy again now?” Dick asks.

Bruce smiles and nods. He didn't tell the boys they have to be quiet when outsiders visit. He thinks they decided that on their own.

It's probably what's kept them safe from all the busybodies poking their noses into Wayne Manor.

“But before you go anywhere!” Bruce says quickly.

Jason pokes his head out from behind a shelf. Dick turns where he's already floated halfway through the floor.

“Do you two remember when Jason arrived?” he asks.

“Course we do,” Jason replies. “We're dead. Not old like you.”

Dick is nodding. “I remember. It was terrible. And we still haven't gotten rid of him.”

“Hey!” Bruce interrupts before the argument can start. “Nobody is getting rid of anyone else.”

The blood that had started to trickle from Jason's temple slows.

“There was a boy at the door earlier,” Bruce explains. “He's waiting in the conservatory with Alfred at the moment.”

Jason understands before Dick does. The trickle starts back up.

“I wanted you two to meet him before we make any decisions,” Bruce reassures. “But, again, no matter what happens, I'm not getting rid of, or replacing, either of you.”

Dick frowns. “You got me a new brother?”

Jason smacks his arm. “No, Dick. A potential brother is waiting downstairs, and Bruce wants to make sure we aren't going to commit ghost-icide if he stays here.”

Bruce closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

“That isn't how I would have chosen to phrase it,” he says. “But yes, I would like you to meet Tim and, if you can all get along, I think it would be good for Tim if he could stay here.”

“Fine. Let's go,” says Jason. Blood drops onto the floor behind him as he leaves.

Dick follows, but he's still frowning, and his outline keeps flickering. “Why can't I feel him…” he mutters.

Bruce hopes this goes better than last time.

The Manor seems to get quieter with each step they take towards the conservatory. An unnatural hush falling over the three of them. Even Bruce's footsteps don't make a sound by the time they're just outside.

Tim's voice drifts out through the door.

“...and then you push the button and the chicken falls onto the lava and you get cooked chicken!”

“I see, Master Tim.”

Bruce knocks on the door.

“Tim?” he says as he steps into the room. “I'd like you to meet Dick and Jason.”

The boys float past him to see Tim.

Dick freezes.

Tim stares at him.

Together, they say, “I know you!”

Bruce and Alfred give each other shocked looks.

Jason's bleeding gets a little thicker. The sound of it hitting the floor echoes like a dripping tap.

“You're Dick Grayson!” Tim exclaims.

“You've met before?” Bruce asks.

“Yeah,” Dick says with a flicker. “Tim was at the circus the night that… the night you met me.”

Bruce has a brief flashback. A toddler with popcorn unable to tear his eyes away from the performers. A toddler with dark hair and wide eyes, standing next to Jack and Janet Drake.

Which means Tim saw…

“You got a picture with us,” Dick continues. “Before we went on.”

Tim nods and smiles. “You remember me?”

None of them miss the way Tim gets a little more opaque as Dick replies.

“Of course I do. You were so excited.”

Dick turns and grabs Jason's arm.

“C’mon, Jay! We've gotta show Timmy our tricks!”

Jason nods decisively, even as he continues to drip blood on the wooden floor. “You're gonna love this, Timmers.”

Tim beams at him and follows the boys in the direction of the trapeze room.

Bruce can't see through him at all.

Bruce is absolutely not pacing in front of the ballroom door like an expectant father in a period drama.

He's just making sure his boys are all okay.

Without intruding.

Giving them space and keeping them safe.

Jason pokes his head through the closed door and seems relieved to see him.

“Hey, B?” he asks.

“Yes, Jason?”

Jason slides down the wall to sit in his slowly growing blood puddle.

“Tim's parents are kind of shit, aren't they?”

Usually, Bruce or Alfred would remind Jason not to swear. In this case, Bruce doesn't think there's a milder word for what Tim’s parents are.

He nods. “I don't think Tim realizes that, though. So we're not going to push him on it, okay?”

Jason nods and looks up at Bruce with teary eyes.

“I thought the whole point of being a rich kid was you didn't need to worry ‘bout taking care of yourself,” he says. “But turns out, doesn't matter if your folks got nothing or got everything. They can still treat you crappy.”

He hugs his knees.

“Then you still end up dead,” he whispers.

Bruce sinks to his knees next to Jason and pulls him into a hug. He feels blood soaking through his clothing, but he doesn't care.

His kids are only solid enough to hold when they need physical comfort. Temporary bloodstains aren't going to stop Bruce from providing that for them.

Jason sobs for a little while, face hidden in Bruce's shoulder. Then he gives his snotty nose one last rub on Bruce's shirt and sits up straight.

The bleeding is slowing again. Jason's face is a picture of pure determination.

“We've gotta keep him, B,” he says. “He's gotta know he's worth more than they treated him.”

Bruce smiles softly at his second ghost-kid. “That's the plan, Jaylad. Dick and Tim are lucky to have a brother like you.”

Jason brightens up just as there's a loud banging from inside the ballroom.

“Come on,” Bruce says. “Let’s go find out what trouble Dick's causing now.”

Bruce pushes open the door, and Dick immediately shouts, “It was Jason's fault!”

“Hey!” Jason calls from the hallway behind Bruce.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Dick.

“Oops,” Dick giggles.

“Dick did a quintuple somersault!” Tim says excitedly. “It was so cool.”

Ah. Bruce knows how this goes.

“And then he crashed?” Bruce asks.

“And then I crashed into the wall…” Dick sighs. “How come that makes a noise, huh, B? Why don't I just go through?”

“I don't know,” Bruce admits.

“We can ask Constantine later,” Jason says.

“Constantine?” asks Tim.

Jason shrugs. “He's like our mad, drunk, magic uncle. You'll probably meet him soon.”

Bruce hates that Jason is right. He gave up and put Constantine on retainer after Jason broke one of the library windows on his birthday. Now the man is a steady drain on his finances instead of an occasional splurge.

“Oh,” Tim says, getting slightly more translucent. “I don't know how long I'll be staying. I might not get to meet him.”

Dick and Jason both give Bruce a pointed look.

“Tim,” Bruce says. “I think I speak for all of us here when I say you're welcome to stay as long as you want.”

Dick and Jason nod frantically in approval.

“Only if you want to, though,” Bruce adds. He's not sure where else Tim would go, but he doesn't want to pressure him.

Colour floods back into Tim, and he becomes so solid it's hard to believe he isn't a living, breathing child.

“I want to,” he whispers.

“Great!” Jason says as Dick cheers. “Now you get to choose your haunt.”

After they've explained to Tim what a “haunt” is…

(“No, see, it's great because a haunt is somewhere people hang out, but haunting is something ghosts do and–”

“Jason's the only one who calls them haunts. I keep telling him it's dumb, but he doesn't listen.”)

Tim asks if he can use the computer.

“I'll still have to use it sometimes for Wayne Enterprises work,” Bruce explains. “But if you're okay with that, it's fine with me.”

Tim is okay with that.

He quickly figures out how to work the desktop from inside the computer tower. The first thing he does, unsurprisingly, is install Minecraft.

When Bruce wakes up in the night two days later, he discovers Jason and Dick have moved their nighttime reading to the study. So Tim can listen as he plays.

That's when Bruce notices that Tim is also checking news sites.

Oh. He has a nine-year-old who has unlimited, unsupervised access to the internet. There are so many ways this could go wrong.

Using his phone, Bruce turns back to the parenting forum.

Recommendations for parental controls?

He briefly explains the situation, his new kid being a tech genius, needing to restrict things he never needed to worry about before.

He ends his post with:

T, if you're reading this, you're not in trouble. Not everything on the internet is safe for kids and I don't want you to get hurt if you find something bad accidentally.

Because he knows he has the forum bookmarked, and Tim is a very curious child.

Over the next few days, Bruce ignores the comments telling him he's awful and expressing disbelief at his story.

Though he does reply to a couple of them, clarifying:

Believe me. I've cut details out. The truth is far weirder.

He changes his computer settings. He installs third-party applications. He talks to Tim several times about why the restrictions are needed.

Bruce isn't sure whether Tim sees all of this as a challenge or if he's just so used to doing things without adult intervention that he doesn't see the problem.

Either way, the morning after he makes any changes to the computer, he logs in to find them all undone.

Tim also changed his desktop background to an exceptional Minecraft block portrait of his three boys, though. So at least there's that.

GOTHAM PHILANTHROPISTS CHARGED IN SON’S DEATH

Bruce shoots out of bed, jaw tight, fists clenched, when he reads the headline on his phone.

Jack and Janet have only just been found. Tim has been staying at Wayne Manor for twelve days. He'd been dead for two days before that.

Internally, Bruce shakes with rage. Yesterday evening was probably the first time the Drakes were aware of what happened two weeks ago.

He hopes they carry that guilt for the rest of their lives.

Externally, he tries to keep himself calm, relax his hands, so he can find Tim before…

Every noise in the Manor cuts out. There's no electrical buzzing from the older light fixtures. No creaking floorboards or wind shaking the windows.

Just silence.

All Bruce can hear is his own breath. And his heart pounding in his ears.

Dick and Jason are hovering, stunned, outside the study. Bruce sends them downstairs to Alfred.

From the doorway, Bruce watches as the monitor on the desk flicks through the Gotham Gazette website, then the Gotham Sun, then Twitter, Facebook...

#DrakeArrests #TimDrake #HomeAloneGotham

“Tim?” Bruce manages to whisper.

The monitor displays a blue error screen, and the sound rushes back all at once.

Bruce sits at his desk for two hours while Tim yells and sobs from inside the computer case.

Then, for another hour after Tim leaves the machine to cry silently on Bruce's shoulder.

He's never felt more like he's failed.

“It wasn't okay, was it?” Tim sniffs.

“No, Tim,” Bruce admits. “It wasn't.”

“They left me.”

“They did.”

“They kept leaving.”

Bruce rubs Tim's back through more tears. He can barely see the boy. It's like holding solid air.

“...Can I really stay here?” Tim asks.

“Of course,” Bruce replies without hesitation. “You don't have to be alone anymore.”

Tim still spends the next three days barely visible. He sneezes and coughs, and sweats more often, too. Bruce considers calling Constantine, but he thinks in this situation, with Tim…

He might do more harm than good.

On the fourth day after his parents’ arrest, Tim rushes into the kitchen so fast that he doesn't stop in time to prevent himself from passing through Bruce.

Bruce holds his breath and waits until Tim isn't watching to shudder. He's not sure he'll ever get used to the boys phasing through him. It feels like being doused in ice water.

“Bruce! Alfred!” Tim yells. He's almost fully opaque again this morning. “You have to come see!”

Alfred raises an eyebrow at Bruce, who shrugs. Together they follow Tim to the study. Jason and Dick are already gathered in front of the monitor.

“I guess one of the articles shared my old username,” Tim explains. “I've been using a new one since I've been here. It didn't seem… right to keep the same one, and I can't use any of the chat features anymore for some reason…”

Bruce gives an internal sigh of relief. His nine-year-old still has unfiltered internet access, but at least he isn't chatting with strangers anymore.

“But look what my friends did!”

Tim disappears inside the machine and opens a Minecraft world. He interacts with the first sign.

Tim Drake was loved. RIP GothamBlocks.

“They recreated all my favorite builds from the server!” Tim exclaims. “Look!”

Tim spends the next few hours showing them his floating library, his secret base with hidden doors, and his castle with a moat, drawbridge, and doorbell.

There are signs next to each build where the person who recreated it explains what it is.

As well as other signs that Tim points out with awe.

You helped me with my redstone contraptions when nobody else would. RIP GothamBlocks.

You were never bossy and always shared resources. RIP GothamBlocks.

You made me want to be a better online player. RIP GothamBlocks.

“They miss me,” Tim says quietly. “They remember me.”

“Of course they do, Timbo,” says Jason. “They love you.”

Tim climbs onto Bruce's lap for another hug.

Dick, Jason, and Alfred wrap their arms around him.

“We love you too, Tim,” Dick says.

This time, Tim is smiling through his tears.

Because Jason and Dick keep insisting, and Tim is a little more settled, Bruce does eventually ask Constantine to visit.

He makes clear it's nothing urgent.

So, of course Constantine shows up that afternoon.

“I told you it wasn't urgent,” Bruce sighs when he sees Constantine standing in the ballroom doorway.

Constantine shrugs. “I was in the area. Do you know how cursed this fucking city is, mate? You're lucky your three are regular Caspers.”

They watch as Jason and Dick try to prod Tim into climbing the ladder. He's shaking his head, but he's laughing, so Bruce doesn't feel like he needs to intervene.

“The boys had some questions they wanted to ask in person,” Bruce explains. “And I had one for you, too.”

“Seven years living with ghosts and now you have questions?”

Bruce chooses to ignore that comment.

“What made them stay?” he asks. “Dick and his parents fell together. Why aren't they here, too? Jason's mom died a year before he did, but as far as we can tell, she didn't leave behind a ghost.”

He doesn't ask “Why did my parents leave me when they died?” but from the searching looks Constantine gives him, Bruce knows he heard it anyway.

“Right,” Constantine nods. “Figured you’d get to this one eventually.”

He pulls his cigarette case from one of his trenchcoat pockets. “Short answer is, people don't usually realise it's an option. They pop their clogs and pass on, no worries.”

Constantine takes out a cigarette, but places it behind his ear. He doesn't even attempt to smoke in the Manor anymore. Alfred always catches him.

“But if there's fear? If a spirit can't process what just happened? They refuse to move.” He shrugs. “It's why so many of ‘em are dangerous.”

Bruce remembers Dick flickering and shaking outside the circus tent. He remembers Jason holding his bleeding, crumpled fingers up in front of his face.

“Most folk don’t stick around, mate,” Constantine sighs. “Takes a special kind of scared to get stuck like that.”

Bruce imagines Tim getting out of bed without his body. Waiting in Bruce's garden in his pajamas for two days.

“So they're afraid…” he says quietly.

“Aren't we all?”

The two of them watch as Dick flips from the trapeze before landing with an audible thump on the ground below.

Tim laughs and claps.

“Dare you to do it with your eyes closed!” Jason shouts.

“For what it's worth…” Constantine begins, and it's the most serious Bruce has ever heard him. “They don't seem scared anymore. Credit where credit’s due, you and Alfie got a knack for this.”

Bruce smiles.

“Now, let me know when they're ready to ask their questions,” Constantine says, turning. “I need a smoke break after that.”

Bruce laughs quietly as Constantine leaves.

Maybe the magician isn't all bad after all.

Chapter Text

Bruce doesn't know what his kids are up to, and that worries him. They'd all been quietly sitting with him in the library when Dick had vanished.

At first, Bruce thought he'd just gotten bored. Dick still struggles with sitting still for long periods of time.

Then he'd reappeared, whispered something to Jason, and then to Tim, and all three of them had left in a hurry.

They're not in the trapeze room.

The computer is off in the study.

The chandelier is completely still.

Bruce wanders into the kitchen, where Alfred is baking.

“Have you seen the kids?” he asks.

Alfred pauses as he thinks. “I haven't seen them since they decided to spend the afternoon in the library.”

He goes back to stirring the cake batter in the mixing bowl.

“I did hear some chatter from the attic as I was walking past, though.”

The attic? What on earth are the boys up to in there?

Bruce is just about to pull down the trapdoor and find out when Tim drops down through the ceiling.

“Everything alright?” Bruce asks him.

Tim nods quickly.

“We need you and Alfred to go to the conservatory,” he says. His forehead shines with ghostly sweat, and he gives a little shiver, but Bruce can't see through him, so he's not too worried.

“Can I ask why?”

Tim shakes his head. “You’ll see when we get there!”

Then he shoots back up into the attic.

If his most nervous child isn't concerned, it's probably not too bad, right?

Bruce tries to convince himself of this as he heads back downstairs to Alfred.

Bruce and Alfred have just sat down when four little ghosts float through the conservatory door.

Wait.

Four?

Bruce was fairly certain he only had three ghost kids earlier today.

But sure enough, standing next to his three boys is a girl in a scruffy sweatshirt. She's taller than Dick and Tim but not quite Jason's height. Her dark hair hangs like a curtain on either side of her face, but she won't look up.

“‘S okay,” Jason says. “Alfie and B are good people. They'll help.”

The girl peers up at where Bruce and Alfred are sitting. Then her mouth starts moving.

No sound comes out, but the boys are nodding along encouragingly.

She stops and looks at Bruce.

He glances at Alfred, who looks as confused as he feels.

“B?” Dick asks.

“I'm sorry,” Bruce says. “I can't hear what you're saying.”

The girl shrugs. A “what can you do?” type motion. Bruce smiles kindly at her.

“What do you mean you can't hear her?” Jason says.

“You can?” Bruce asks.

The girl nods.

“Maybe we can… translate?” suggests Tim.

“An excellent idea, Master Tim,” Alfred agrees.

The girl takes a deep breath and speaks again. Bruce considers himself to be alright at lip-reading, but he can't tell a word she says.

“Her name is Cass and she would like to stay,” Jason says.

The girl's mouth moves again. 

“She would like her haunt to be the attic,” Tim interprets.

“Still can't believe we call them that,” Dick mumbles.

“If it's okay with the boys,” Bruce starts, and all three nod as one. “We're very happy to have you.”

“Miss Cass?” Alfred asks.

She peeks shyly at him through her hair.

“May I ask how you knew to come here?”

Bruce had been wondering the same. All three boys had a link to Bruce, or his foundations, before they arrived in his home.

Cass beams and speaks only for a short time.

“It feels safe here,” Dick translates.

Cass nods.

“She doesn't like to talk about what happened to her,” explains Tim. “We asked in the attic, but she didn't want to say.”

“We told her you wouldn't make her tell,” Jason adds. “She just kept saying she wasn't safe. And she's safe here.”

Bruce is so proud of his boys. “I'm so glad we could be somewhere safe for you, Cass.” He looks around the room at the people he's closest to. “Welcome to Wayne Manor.”

The boys laugh excitedly and start pulling Cass away to give her a tour.

As he's leaving, Bruce hears Dick whisper, “I always wanted a sister…”

Cass likes to spend time with people. That's the first thing Bruce learns about her. She will sometimes go up to the attic for a while when things start getting too loud, but more often than not, she just likes to be where other people are.

She rarely joins in with their activities, preferring just to sit nearby and watch.

Bruce wonders if she ever gets bored, but she seems happy enough. The boys tell him she likes to chat to them at night about the things she's seen during the day, which is nice.

One evening, Bruce finds himself flicking through channels in the sitting room. He's searching for something that might drown out the noise of the trapeze room. All three boys are in there. They're “settling an argument about ghost physics,” according to Tim.

Bruce asked them not to tell him anything else. If he doesn't know, he won't worry.

Cass is curled up in an armchair nearby. She smiles whenever Bruce glances over. Apparently, she didn't want to know the outcome of the physics argument either.

Bruce pauses his channel-surfing. One of the arts channels is showing a recording of Coppélia. He remembers it being one of his mother's favourites. He puts the remote down and settles in to watch.

Twenty minutes later, Cass is sitting on the floor, right in front of the TV. Once the music and dancing started, she began to gradually edge closer. Bruce isn't even sure she knows she's doing it.

She's absolutely entranced. Bruce still can't hear her, but he watches her gasp and grin at the dancers.

As the show goes on, she begins to move her arms, mimicking Swanhilda’s movements onstage.

Eventually, she stands up and starts dancing between Bruce and the TV. It's okay. Bruce isn't interested in the professionals anymore.

By the time the curtain falls, Cass is beaming. She copies the curtsey of the dancers, and Bruce applauds.

Cass seems to snap out of a daze at the noise.

She smiles bashfully at Bruce and absconds to the attic.

Three weeks later, Bruce comes home from a meeting with the board to find Constantine drinking tea in his kitchen. He pauses in the doorway.

“I didn't call you out?” Bruce says, racking his brain for what could’ve gone wrong.

“Nice to see you too, mate,” Constantine replies before sipping his tea. “Little Timmy's been emailing me. Says you got a new one. Figured I'd come check things out before you get yourself overwhelmed.”

Bruce blinks. “Tim emails you?”

“Mmhmm. Calls me Uncle John.” Constantine looks incredibly amused.

Bruce sighs. Tim isn't supposed to be able to email anyone. Looks like the latest parental controls have failed. Again.

“You wouldn't happen to have any suggestions for keeping Tim off the internet?” he asks.

“I'm here for the hauntings, not tech support,” Constantine smirks. “‘Sides, I'd miss Timmy's family newsletters that way.”

Bruce groans.

“Anyway,” Constantine says, “I already met your newest. Just having a cuppa before I leave.”

“What did you think?” Bruce asks. Cass seems pretty well-adjusted to him, but he knows Constantine sometimes sees things differently.

“She's a real cutie-patootie, Wayne.”

Bruce smiles proudly.

“But, uh,” Constantine frowns, “might be good to find a way for her to communicate without a translator.”

That… is actually a very good point.

Bruce must look as shocked as he feels.

“Yeah, yeah,” Constantine says. “I got a soft spot for these kids. Don't think too hard about it.”

He stands and puts his cup in the sink.

“Places to go, demons to see,” he shrugs. “Thanks for the tea, Alfie!”

Alfred nods as he comes into the kitchen.

Before Bruce has fully processed what's just happened, Constantine has left.

He's going to have a chat with Tim about just what he's been telling “Uncle John”.

Bruce isn't sure where to start with Cass’s communication, but he knows where to go for advice.

Hi again. C (f12) has been placed with us as another emergency foster. She's comfortable talking to the other kids, but is non-verbal around adults. I'd like to try and give her some other ways to communicate, so she can tell us what she needs and the other kids aren't having to act as go-betweens.

He thinks for a bit and adds:

It's emotional labor I don't want to put on them, and I worry about miscommunication (it's like a game of telephone). As always, grateful for any advice you can give.

The first comment is from BlessThisStress.

Oh, honey. Bless your heart for taking in another child. I have to wonder, though. Are you prepared for this? I think I remember it's just you and your father looking after these children. I worry that this little girl needs a mother figure in her life. How many children is it you have now? Four? How many are you planning to take in? I worry about the kids' long-term mental health. No judgment, just my 2 cents :)

Bruce takes a deep breath. He doesn't usually reply to these sorts of comments, but…

Thanks for your concern. I can assure you that all four kids are happy and healthy. They do have their issues, all of them have gone through things children should never have to experience. But we try our best. I asked for advice on a specific topic, not your opinions on my ability to foster. That is for me, my family and relevant professionals to decide.

He does not mention that the relevant professional in question is a chain-smoking British sorcerer.

As for how many I'm planning to take in? As long as there are children who need my help, I'll try my hardest to help them. I'm lucky enough to have the time, space and resources to give them a home. As long as they're happy to stay, I'm happy to have them.

Thankfully, most of the replies after that direct Bruce to various online resources. A few wish him luck.

MomOfMany and SimonSaysStim DM him with extra advice.

Bruce makes a plan.

Cass enjoys the ASL lessons she and Bruce try together. Tim learns too, since he's in the computer half of the time when Bruce loads the videos on YouTube. It's a great way for the three of them to bond.

But when Cass tries to use her signs outside of their lessons, her hands become misty and transparent. It's like there's motion blur surrounding her fingers. Bruce can't read her signs any easier than he can read her lips.

Tim can apparently still see and understand, so it looks like it's direct communication between Cass and the living that's the problem.

Bruce tries various flash cards and AAC boards. Cass makes faces at them. She gets frustrated when Bruce or Alfred can't figure out what she's trying to say on the first try. More than once, she throws the cards on the ground.

Then she inevitably wanders off to find one of the boys.

Bruce orders a Ouija board out of desperation. 

He and Cass take it to the library, where Jason is reading a copy of the Daily Planet.

Lois Lane wrote a scathing, in-depth piece on Gotham's class dynamics and how they factored into the Drakes’ neglect case. Jason immediately declared that he was in love. Bruce figures there are worse crushes to have than Pulitzer Prize-winning journalists, so he doesn't mind encouraging this one.

Cass seems interested in the Ouija board, but nothing she points the planchette to spells anything Bruce can interpret, beyond “yes” and “no”. Which Cass can communicate just fine without the board.

Jason watches Bruce try to figure out what Cass means by “O-H-L-X-Q” for at least two full minutes before he remarks, “You know Cass can't spell, right?”

Cass cringes, embarrassed.

“Ah,” Bruce says. “Maybe we can start there, then?”

Suddenly, Cass looks up, delighted. Her mouth moves rapidly, and she flaps her hands.

“She'd really like that,” Jason translates. “Nobody taught her to read before, and she wants to choose her own stories.”

He frowns. “What's wrong with the ones I pick?”

Cass rolls her eyes and drifts away.

“Hey! Cass! What's wrong with my books?”

Jason drops the paper and follows her, yelling as he goes.

Okay. New plan. Bruce turns back to the forum for homeschooling advice.

Bruce and the boys try various techniques to help Cass with her reading. Dick gets especially excited when they get a sand tray and practice writing in the sand.

Not that any of the boys manage to make letters.

“It's difficult moving the stick,” Tim explains. “It doesn't feel right in my hands.”

He shakes the stick wildly. “It won't move how I want it to!”

Bruce remembers Dick's frustration with the therapy workbooks years ago. It looks like he's not the only one with fine motor control issues since becoming a ghost.

“It's alright, Tim,” he says. “Maybe we can practice more later?”

Tim relaxes a little and nods.

Cass, on the other hand, picks up the stick and immediately draws two large stick figures and four smaller ones. She smiles as she draws long hair on one of the little ones.

Bruce beams at her. “Is this us?”

She nods eagerly and passes him the stick.

There's not enough room on the tray for Bruce to write everyone's name, so he draws an arrow to the long-haired figure and writes “Cass”.

Bruce watches her open her mouth, and for the first time, he can read her lips as she says her own name.

Things move quickly after that. Cass is a quick learner when it comes to her letters. Bruce thinks the boys have been helping her practice overnight as well.

He makes sure to tell them all how proud of them he is.

As Cass progresses, she starts leaving notes everywhere she goes.

Bruce goes into the bathroom one morning to find the mirror already fogged up and “Cass sez hi” written in messy letters. He smiles for the rest of the day.

Alfred turns his back on his baking, and when he turns back, he sees “Dick brok a lite” spelled out in flour on the counter. He laughs and moves to replace the bulb.

Bruce settles down for work at his desk, and Cass presses a piece of paper into his hand and runs away. When Bruce looks at it, “moar dansing pleez” is printed on the paper. It looks like it was typed on an old typewriter.

Bruce didn't even know they owned a typewriter. It must have been in the attic.

He sets up a recording of Swan Lake on the TV in the sitting room, and Cass grins at him.

But Bruce's favourite message appears on the wall above his bed while he sleeps.

They bought the kids some paints last week. Even when they can't control the brushes, they still like getting to make their marks on the paper.

Cass has taken the red paint and written “LUV YOO” in giant dripping letters.

Bruce’s heart swells. He loves his daughter too.

When Bruce wakes up from his latest nightmare to a ghost child in his room, he doesn't panic. He just switches on the light.

Cass is standing next to his bed.

Slowly, carefully, she signs, “D-I-C-K. Help.”

Bruce is out of bed in a flash. Cass guides him down to the foyer before she leaves again.

Dick is lying on the floor, sobbing underneath the chandelier. In the flickering light, he switches rapidly between whole and broken. Oh. Of course.

Tonight is the anniversary of The Flying Graysons’ final performance.

There's been so much going on recently that Bruce hasn't been keeping track of the date. Usually, he brings a camp bed to the ghosts’ haunts on the days he knows will be difficult. 

It's not easy for any of them, but Dick takes it especially hard.

Bruce lies down next to him and settles in for a long, uncomfortable night as Dick climbs on top of him.

It's only once Dick's sobs have turned to sniffles that Bruce realizes.

Cass came to him for help.

Cass used her signs.

And Bruce understood them.

The first parcel is unexpected. An Amazon package addressed to Ms Cassandra Wayne.

Then Bruce remembers his nine-year-old son has unlimited internet access and, apparently, his Amazon login details.

Cass’s whole face lights up when she opens it to find a set of sticker books. Each one is the story of a different ballet, with stickers of the various outfits to place on the dancer on each page.

“I thought you could practice your reading with them,” Tim explains.

Cass hugs him tight, and Bruce swears he hears her whisper, “Thanks, Tim.”

Over the next few days, several more parcels arrive. CDs with the music from every ballet in Cass’s sticker books. A jewelry box with a tiny ballerina that plays The Dance Of The Sugarplum Fairy when Cass opens it. A copy of Ballet Shoes by Noel Streatfeild.

Bruce eventually asks Tim to stop when he catches him trying to buy Cass stage lights for the attic.

“I just want her to like me,” Tim says softly.

Bruce thinks back to all the times over the last few days when he's found Cass in the study with one of her sticker books while Tim creates an updated Minecraft family portrait.

“Tim,” Bruce replies. “Cass already loves you.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

Bruce buys the stage lights himself two days later. He sets them up in the trapeze room for Cass's dancing, Dick’s acrobatics, and Jason's occasional one-man Shakespeare performances.

Tim mans the laptop for the lighting and sound effects.

Bruce doesn't regret the purchase.

Cass eventually opens up to Bruce on Christmas Day.

“I was a weapon,” she signs.

It's just the two of them. Alfred is cooking Christmas Dinner. Bruce offered to help but apparently the pan fire kitchen ban is enforced especially strictly on Christmas.

The boys are, surprisingly, in the library. Bruce got them the latest book in the Percy Jackson series and Jason immediately dragged Tim and Dick away to read to them. Cass had screwed up her face when he asked her to join.

But the Nutcracker is on TV and Bruce wanted to enjoy it with his daughter.

“A weapon?” he asks.

“My father,” she signs. “He did not want a child. He wanted a weapon. No speaking. No reading. No writing. Only hurting.”

She's not looking at Bruce. There are tears in her vacant eyes, and a scowl on her face.

“But children are not meant to be weapons.” Her hands are shaking, but Bruce can still read her signs clearly. “I got hurt.”

“Oh, honey…” Bruce says, but Cass isn't done.

“I didn't know children are not meant to be weapons until I died. Then I saw other children. Then I met my brothers. And you. And Alfred.”

She takes a shaky breath. “Why?” she whispers. “Why didn't I get to be a child when I was alive?”

“You should have had a chance,” Bruce agrees. “What happened to you was wrong.”

“IT'S NOT FAIR!” Cass screams.

Bruce feels like he can't breathe. Like Cass’s scream has taken all of the air out of the room. Then she collapses in quiet sobs. The air comes rushing back into Bruce's lungs.

“I'm so sorry,” he says as she climbs onto the armchair with him for a hug. “I'm so sorry.”

After, Cass acts like nothing happened. She's delighted with the Nutcracker. She helps her brothers pull Christmas crackers and puts the paper hats inside on their heads for them.

She heads up to the attic after dinner, and nobody sees her for the rest of the day.

Bruce wakes up on boxing day morning and knocks on the attic door before breakfast.

Cass lets him in without looking at him.

Bruce takes out the box he brought with him and lets Cass look inside.

A photo of him and his parents. Three theatre tickets for The Mask of Zorro. A few shining pearls.

“When I was eight years old,” Bruce says, “a man made a terrible choice. That choice took my parents away from me.”

He breathes slowly as Cass runs her fingers over the picture, looking between the little boy in the photo, and the man sitting on the floor in her attic.

“It felt… It still feels incredibly unfair.” He can feel wetness building behind his eyelids when he blinks. “That one man making one wrong decision could do that.”

Cass nods and pushes the pearls around.

“It still hurts,” Bruce admits. “It's over twenty years later, and it still hurts.”

“Why did you show me?” Cass signs. “If it hurts?”

“Because you shared something terrible with me yesterday,” Bruce says. “Something that hurt you so much you don't want to talk about it.”

Cass is tearing up as she nods.

“But you were so brave to do that,” Bruce smiles sadly. “And I wanted to be brave too.”

“This wasn't the end of your story,” Cass signs.

“And you haven't reached the end of yours,” Bruce replies.

Cass smiles. “We are part of each other’s story now.”

“We are.”

Cass gives Bruce back the box, and they spend the rest of the morning searching the attic for all the treasures Bruce had forgotten about. The ones he can share with his children now.

Scrabble nights like tonight are some of Bruce's favourite moments of chaos.

Bruce and Tim are on one team.

Jason and Alfred on another.

(“Alfred is the only one of you who takes this seriously. I need to be on his team.”)

Which leaves Cass and Dick in the final team.

The two of them giggle together as they place “p-o-o” on the board as the first move. Their second move is “farts”.

Jason is getting more and more frustrated as the game goes on. He's bleeding onto his chair. Bruce is beginning to think they should have played Monopoly instead.

Then Cass picks up the next tile for their team and frowns.

“Thou whoreson zed, thou unnecessary letter,” she mutters with venom.

Everyone can hear her. They all freeze. Then Jason bursts into laughter.

“I knew you liked my books!” he crows.

The rest of the game is as much trading Shakespeare insults as it is placing tiles.

Jason and Alfred win on both counts. Nobody minds.

Dick got to pick the words he wanted. Cass got to practice her spelling. Tim was just happy to be included.

Bruce feels like this is how family should be. He never wants it to change.

Chapter Text

The snow lies thick on the grounds of Wayne Manor. Bruce loves the silence that follows snowfall.

His kids on the other hand…

They're playing “the floor is lava”. Given that they're all able to hover when they feel like it, they've had to change some rules.

“Tim! You've been floating too long! The volcano’s going to explode on you!” Dick yells.

“I'll save him!” Cass cries.

There's a crash, and the noise of Tim laughing.

“Yes! We're safe!” Dick shouts.

“No,” Jason says dramatically. “The lava gods will have their sacrifice!”

More squealing and laughter follows. Alfred smiles as he passes Bruce his breakfast.

“It's so nice to hear the children enjoying themselves,” he says.

Bruce nods and sips his coffee.

“It's not quite how I imagined the next generation of Waynes, of course,” Alfred continues. “But I am glad to have them nonetheless.”

Bruce chuckles.

He tries to imagine himself looking after a baby. Waking up for midnight feeds and diaper changes. Looking into kindergartens with enough security to keep out paparazzi. Having to set bedtimes.

Strange as it seems, he feels he’s better equipped to parent ghosts.

His thoughts are interrupted by the doorbell.

The giggling from the hallways abruptly stops.

Bruce waves off Alfred's attempts to answer the door. “My breakfast's done anyway,” he reassures. “It's probably just a package or something.”

It's not a package.

It's Talia al Ghul.

With a child.

“Hello, beloved. May we come in?”

They make their way to the conservatory. Alfred takes one look at their guests and gets started on a pot of tea.

Bruce hasn't seen Talia in just over six years. They met at a gala when it was just Dick at the Manor. The weeks that followed were… incredible. Confusing. A lot.

It wasn't supposed to be anything serious, but things moved fast. Bruce really felt that Talia understood him. Understood what he was doing in Gotham. He pictured a future where he could introduce her to Dick.

And then she revealed that her father is a semi-immortal eco-terrorist in charge of an army of ninja assassins.

After three ninja assassins jumped them on their way to the opera.

Bruce didn't really see a future with her after that.

Talia cuts straight to the point.

“This is Damian,” she says, gesturing to the child. “He is your son.”

Bruce feels like his brain has crashed. There's no way…

But the boy seems about the right age. And Bruce can see himself in Damian's features.

“Hello, Damian,” Bruce smiles.

He can work out how he feels about this later. He won't let his panic scare his… his son.

“Father,” Damian replies stiffly.

“I've come to realize that it is not safe for Damian to be brought up under my father's influence,” Talia explains. “So he will stay with you.”

Both Bruce and Damian look up, shocked.

“Talia–”

“Mother–”

She holds up a hand.

“This was not an easy decision to make,” she says. She smiles gently at Damian. Her whole face softens when she looks at him. “I can keep my father's men out of Gotham.”

Talia turns to Bruce. He thinks he can see a hint of sadness behind the steel in her eyes.

“If I had any other choice, I would not have come here,” she says. “I need to know Damian will be cared for.”

Bruce looks at the boy sitting next to her. He's trembling a little as he presses himself into Talia's side.

Biologically related or not, Bruce knows his answer would be the same.

“Of course.”

Talia turns to Damian.

She takes his face in her hands and whispers something to him.

Then she kisses his head, nods to Bruce and Alfred, and leaves.

Alfred tidies up the teacups and says quietly as he leaves, “I'll let the others know.” 

Damian doesn't look up. He's still shivering, fists clenched tight. His breathing seems oddly stiff, and Bruce realizes he's using a breathing exercise similar to the ones Bruce's therapists taught him years ago.

He waits until Damian seems a little calmer before he asks, “How old are you, Damian?”

Damian gives him an odd look. “Five and a half. Surely you could have worked that out?”

Bruce snorts. “I suppose I could have. Do you have any questions for me? It must be quite a shock to be here.”

Damian frowns. “When will I be able to go back to Mother?”

Bruce sighs. “I'm not sure, Damian,” he admits. “Your mother wants to make sure you're safe.”

“I know that,” Damian huffs. “But what will happen with my training while I'm here?”

“Your… training?”

Damian nods sharply. “Mother hired the best tutors for me. I'm very good with the katana!”

Bruce's head spins. Damian is clearly proud of his training, but the thought of someone so little being trained to fight… Bruce is beginning to understand why Talia felt Damian was better off here.

“Well,” Bruce begins, “I'm not sure about katana training… But maybe your new school will have a martial arts club?”

Somehow, Damian's frown deepens. “School?”

Bruce nods.

“I will have to go to… school? With other children?”

“Yes?” Did Damian not go to school before?

Bruce is about to ask Damian some questions about his life with Talia and his grandfather when there's a deafening smashing sound from the Manor.

Alfred comes back in with a strained smile.

“Perhaps Master Damian and I could see about setting up a bedroom,” he suggests. “If you would be so kind as to investigate the library, Master Bruce.”

Damian is on his feet and following Alfred out of the room before Bruce can blink.

Bruce can only guess that one or more of the kids did not take the news of their new arrival well. Hopefully he can calm them down. He doesn't know how much more drama he can take today.

The library is empty when Bruce gets there. The room is freezing. Snow blows in through the windows.

Which are all broken.

That's when Bruce notices the blood. He follows the trail down the hallways until he finds all five of his children.

Damian is hiding behind Alfred. He's shaking again.

Dick, Jason, Tim and Cass are all floating in the corridor ahead. They're talking and shouting over each other.

Dick flickers rapidly between forms. Jason is still bleeding profusely. Bruce can only just see Tim. Cass’s mouth moves but no sound comes out.

Damian squeezes his eyes shut.

“Enough!” Bruce doesn't shout, but it's close.

All of the children stop and turn to look at him. Bruce spots Alfred's shoulders relax.

“Damian is choosing his bedroom,” Bruce explains firmly. “I expect you all to respect his space the way you respect each other’s.”

The ghosts share a glance with each other. Then, as one, they disappear.

Bruce and Alfred explain the situation with the ghosts as they make their way to the family wing.

Damian nods calmly. He's trying to seem unaffected, but Bruce spots the fear in his eyes.

“Please may I be alone, Father?” Damian asks once they've chosen his room.

“Of course, Damian,” Bruce says.

He closes the door as he leaves, feeling like he's in over his head in a way he hasn't since Dick arrived.

Bruce reaches out to the parenting forum.

My ex left our child with me. I didn't know we had a child as we broke up before she discovered she was pregnant. I disagreed with her family's politics, and her father was very controlling.

That doesn't even come close to explaining the situation, but Bruce doesn't want his account to be banned for posting about ninjas.

Now my ex has realized how unhealthy her father's behaviour is, and she's asked me to look after our son. All five kids are (understandably) freaking out and none will be in the same room as me.

NeurospicyMomma is the first to reach out.

im sure youre already doing this, but please reassure them all that they are still your kids. blood doesn't mean your biokid is more real. i was adopted as a kid and when my parents had a biokid a few years after i arrived it really messed with me.

MomOfMany adds:

It sounds like they might all need some time to adjust. This is a big upheaval for all of them. And you!

SimonSaysStim simply writes:

No advice, just wishing you luck!

It might not be as immediately helpful as their previous advice, but Bruce is still extremely grateful to have these strangers on his side.

The next few days feel like everyone has regressed.

They can't get someone in to fix the windows in the library because it looks like the scene of a mass murder. In the end Bruce and Alfred just board up the windows to keep out the snow.

Damian can't walk through the foyer, because every time he does Dick rains shattered glass on him.

Every morning Bruce finds notes Cass has stuck to his door. There are never any words, just angry faces. 

Tim somehow manages to take down the servers for Wayne Enterprises for an entire 24 hours.

All four of the ghosts vanish as soon as Bruce tries to talk to them.

Bruce calls Constantine.

“Bit busy, mate.” There's Latin chanting in the background. “Got a case of serial demon possession. I'll see you and the kids once I'm done here, yeah?”

Then he hangs up.

So it looks like it's just Bruce and Alfred on this one.

The only child Bruce sees regularly is Damian.

Like his mother, Damian is a lot.

He screams at Alfred over breakfast, because he's vegetarian and Alfred, who didn't know, offered him bacon with his pancakes. Damian throws the pancakes on the floor and stomps out of the room.

He returns five minutes later, demanding replacement pancakes.

Bedtime is a nightmare of “five more minutes” and “Mother let me stay up” and “I HATE YOU!”

In the last three days Bruce has been slapped, punched, kicked and bitten. He's exhausted.

He only realizes that this is Damian's version of progress when Damian yells, “Just do it already!”

Bruce freezes. They're in Damian's bedroom trying to enforce a reasonable bedtime.

“What?” Bruce asks. Boundary testing, he thinks. Damian has been looking for his limits. 

“I have been bad,” Damian says. “I am disruptive and uncooperative. Why haven't you punished me?”

Bruce frowns as that registers. “You're a child dealing with a lot of big feelings, Damian.”

Damian mirrors the frown. “I am in control of my emotions.”

Bruce sits down on the bed.

“Okay…” he says. “I think we got off on the wrong foot. It's really different here from where you lived with your mother, isn't it?”

Damian nods.

“There are probably all sorts of things you don't understand about living here yet,” Bruce continues. “But there's something important you should know.”

Damian looks at him expectantly.

“I will never punish anyone in this family for having feelings. Not even if they're big and messy feelings.”

Bruce smiles wryly, “I might prefer it if those feelings were expressed with a little less shouting and hitting…”

Damian ducks his head and Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder. “But I'm going to help you with that. That's my job as your father.”

Damian sits unnaturally still for a few moments. Then he says, “I think it is time for me to go to sleep now, Father.”

Bruce smiles, “Okay. Goodnight, Damian.”

As he goes to turn off the light, he pauses in the doorway. “If you have any other questions about staying here, you can ask me or Alfred any time. Nobody will punish you for that either.”

He hears Damian let out a shaky breath.

Maybe they'll get through this after all.

The next night, on his way to bed, Bruce spots Dick deep in thought outside Damian's room.

“Everything okay, chum?” Bruce asks. Dick doesn't look at him, but he doesn't vanish either.

“Damian was sad,” he says simply.

“I think Damian is sad a lot,” Bruce replies. “It's hard leaving everything behind and joining a new family.”

Dick nods. “He's sleeping now,” he says.

“That's good,” Bruce says. “How are you doing?”

Dick tilts his head to one side. “I think… I've been sad too. And maybe a bit scared. And angry.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

Dick shakes his head. “I don't feel that way anymore. But I think I need to speak to everyone else.”

Bruce smiles. “Alright, chum. Let me know if there's anything you need.”

“Okay, B.”

And with that, Dick disappears.

A few days later, Dick calls Bruce, Alfred and Damian through to the sitting room.

All four ghosts are in there. Tim is connecting the laptop to the TV screen. From inside the laptop.

Once everyone is seated, Jason steps in front of the TV. He's still bleeding, but only slightly. He nods to Tim, who clicks a button on the laptop.

“SORRY DAMIAN” whooshes onto the screen.

“We made this to say ‘sorry’ to Damian,” Jason says.

Tim clicks again. The words fade and are replaced by Tim's Minecraft portrait of the four ghost kids.

“We got very used to being the only four kids in the house,” Jason continues.

Tim clicks. The portrait spins away and one of Cass’s angry faces spins in to replace it.

“We were mean,” says Jason. “Because we were scared.”

The angry face dissolves and is replaced by a little stick figure, a medium size stick figure and a big stick figure.

Jason takes a deep breath and shakes blood off his arms. Cass gives him a thumbs up. “We were… we were jealous. Because Damian will grow up.”

The blood drips a little heavier as Tim clicks to the next slide, which appears to be a clipart grave.

“We can't grow up…”

Tim clicks and a red circle with a line through it appears over the grave.

“But we don't want Damian to be like us.” 

Another click. This time a new Minecraft portrait spins in. Four ghosts with Damian in the middle.

“Damian is our brother now,” finishes Jason, “and we want him to be happy.”

All four ghost kids stand together and say, “Sorry, Damian.”

Bruce feels like he might cry.

Damian looks between Bruce, Alfred, and the ghosts.

“Your apology is accepted,” he says. “How did you make the block picture?”

Tim lights up and launches into an explanation of Minecraft.

The Wayne family may not be a “typical” family, but Bruce wouldn't change it for the world.

The change isn't instant. There are still arguments and hauntings and the windows in the library don't get fixed for another month.

But in between, Bruce gets to see the moments that make it all worth it.

Like the day he walks past the study and spots Tim playing Minecraft on the desktop.

And Damian with the laptop, struggling to figure out the controls.

When he notices Bruce, Tim pipes up, “Don't worry! It's a private game.”

Bruce chuckles. He's been trying to teach Tim why it can be dangerous to talk to strangers online. It looks like he's taking the lesson on board for his brother, if not for himself.

There's a hissing sound from the laptop, followed by an explosion noise.

“...What was that?” Damian asks.

“Oh. Your house got exploded by a creeper,” Tim explains. “I can help you build it again!”

“Are there more of these… creepers?”

“Oh, yeah. We can play on creative or set the game to peaceful if you don't like them.”

Damian sits up straight. “No! I want to see more.”

Bruce leaves them to it, the sound of Tim explaining the game's armor and weapons following him down the corridor.

“Bruce!” 

Bruce is jolted out of his armchair nap by Dick bouncing around the room beside him.

“Were you sleeping?” he asks, with a sly smile.

“No,” Bruce yawns. “Just resting my eyes…”

Dick giggles at him.

“I need you in the trapeze room,” he says. “The equipment is too heavy for me.”

Bruce lets Dick lead him through. The crash mats, as well as various other unused gymnastics equipment has been flung around the room.

Bruce raises an eyebrow at Dick.

“It's easier to throw things than pick them up!” Dick pouts. “It's not my fault.”

“Why do you need this stuff out anyway?” Bruce asks, not entirely sure he wants to know. Dick hasn't touched any of it apart from the trapeze since it was delivered years ago.

Dick blushes a little and rocks on his heels. 

“Damian is playing Minecraft again.”

“Okay…” Bruce prompts.

“I thought maybe he would want to play with me too, not just Tim,” he kicks his feet. “I thought we could do some gymnastics. Because Damian would need the harness for the trapeze and I think I lost it.”

Bruce smiles softly at Dick. “You wanted something fun and safe for him.”

Dick nods eagerly. “Do you think Damian will want to?”

“Well,” Bruce says, “the only way to find out is to ask. Even if he doesn't want to now, he might want to later.”

Dick starts to flicker, just a little, so Bruce adds, “And even if he doesn't want to do gymnastics with you, I'm sure he'll be happy you asked.”

That gets another nod as Dick’s outline becomes solid again.

“You wait here!” he cries. “I'm going to go ask Damian!”

Five minutes later, Damian is standing, unsure, on the balance beam.

“Just put one foot in front of the other,” Dick explains. “Slow and steady!”

Damian's mouth is set in a hard, determined line. He gradually makes his way along the beam, wobbling as he goes.

Dick grins. “It's like you've got little Bambi legs!”

Damian freezes, loses his balance, and topples backwards onto the mat.

“He gets knocked down! But he gets up again!” Dick laughs.

But Bruce spots the look on Damian's face and braces himself for what's coming next.

Damian stands, charges, and throws a punch at Dick. 

It doesn't connect, but Dick flickers rapidly, taken aback.

“I hate this stupid house!” Damian yells. “I want to go home!”

Then he runs out of the room.

Dick bursts into tears. “I didn't mean to upset him!”

“Oh, buddy,” Bruce sighs, giving him a hug. “You didn't do anything wrong.”

He rubs Dick's back. “Damian is used to having to be good at things,” he explains. “He gets a little sensitive about mistakes. You didn't know.”

Dick nods into Bruce's shoulder.

“But I'm sure once we talk to him, he'll understand you didn't mean to hurt him,” Bruce reassures.

Dick sniffs and wipes his nose with his arm.

“Can you go and talk to him?” he asks. “And tell him I'm sorry?”

Bruce nods. “I'll go and look for him now. I'll come back once we've chatted to let you know what happened.”

“Thanks, B,” Dick says, and he flops face first onto the crash mat.

Damian is not in his room.

He's not in the study with Tim.

(“Tim, I hope you're not emailing Constantine again!”

“Uncle John has to meet Damian! We're comparing schedules!”)

Bruce almost walks right past the library. But then he hears it.

“Damian, that's so dumb!”

Bruce takes a deep breath to try and prepare himself for what he's about to walk into.

“Everything okay in here?” he asks as he enters the library.

Jason pulls Damian out into the open.

“Damian thinks you're going to hit him,” he says bluntly.

Damian flinches.

“I told him that's dumb because you're not like his grandpa or my dad!” Jason huffs. “You don't need to hit kids to make yourself feel good.”

Damian is cringing like he's waiting for Bruce to explode at him.

“Damian,” Bruce says, crouching down, “I can't promise that I will never get angry around you. I can't even promise that I will never raise my voice at you, though I will try my best not to shout.”

He puts both hands on Damian's shoulders. “But I promise– I promise that no matter how mad I am, no matter what you do, I will not hit you.”

And then, because he thinks it might be needed, he clarifies, “And by that, I mean I will never purposefully cause you pain. I will not attempt to injure you in any way. If anything I do does hurt you, I want to know so I can stop straight away.”

Damian blinks at him.

“But… I failed,” he says. The confusion in his voice breaks Bruce's heart.

“You tried something new,” Bruce says. “We all make mistakes when we try something new. That's how we get better.”

“Yeah, I fell loads when I started trapeze stuff,” adds Jason. Then he snorts. “Dick still crashes into things and he's the expert.”

 Damian cringes again. “I tried to hurt Dick,” he mumbles.

Bruce nods. “You did, but I think you know that was wrong.”

That gets him a frantic nod from Damian.

“And,” Bruce continues, “I don't think Dick is upset about it. He understands.”

“He does?” asks Damian.

Bruce nods. “In fact, the only thing that's upsetting Dick right now is that he's worried that he upset you.”

Damian considers this for a while.

“I… Do you think Dick would forgive me if… if I were to apologize to him?”

Bruce smiles softly. “I think Dick would love that.”

Damian… grabs Jason's hand.

Jason looks just as surprised as Bruce.

“Will you come with me?” Damian asks. “In case Dick is angry?”

“Sure thing, half-pint,” Jason says.

Later, Bruce watches as the three boys take turns on the equipment.

Dick and Jason may not be getting older… but they're definitely growing up.

Bruce isn't even surprised when he walks into the sitting room to see Constantine sitting on the sofa with a cup of tea.

Cass and Damian are on the floor with a sticker book about starting school. Damian won't be going until after the summer, but Bruce knows he's already worrying about it. Tim obviously picked up on that too.

Bruce sits down on the armchair, watching them.

“So,” Constantine says, “you introduced a living kid to a gaggle of ghosts?”

Bruce nods.

“I'm guessing you called me ‘cause it was a shit show.”

Bruce shrugs. “It was for a while, yes.”

Constantine sips his tea. “Looks alright now.”

“It is,” Bruce says as Alfred enters the room with a tray of cookies, and orange juice for Damian.

“At this stage, I don't know what I'm paying you for,” Bruce admits.

Constantine snorts. “Me neither, mate. You're the expert in baby ghosts at this point.”

He takes a cookie from the tray. “Thanks, Alfie– That's not a suggestion to stop paying me, mind."

Bruce raises an eyebrow at him.

“Have you seen the rent in London? Fucking atrocious. Couldn't afford it without you, mate.”

Bruce laughs. “Admit it. You'd miss us if we stopped calling.”

Constantine smirks. “Yeah, well… Alfie makes the only decent cuppa this side of the pond. Can't give that up.”

Bruce just smiles. Maybe he doesn't need to pay for Constantine as a supernatural expert anymore. But he doesn't mind paying the rent for his kids’ “Uncle John”.

Bruce wakes up to the sound of little footsteps shuffling across the floor. Switching on the light, he hides his shock at seeing Damian standing halfway between the door and the bed.

“Are you alright?” he asks.

“Cass said…” Damian starts. “Cass said if… if a child has nightmares it is… acceptable for them to sleep in a parent's room.”

“Of course it is.”

Bruce lifts up the covers and Damian scrambles the rest of the way across the room and into the bed.

“Even without nightmares,” Bruce adds, “if the child can't sleep, they can come through.”

He doesn't want Damian to think Bruce will turn him down if he doesn't meet some unnamed criteria.

“Thank you, Father,” Damian yawns.

He's asleep within minutes, curled up against Bruce's chest. A Damian-shaped, softly snoring hot water bottle.

Closing his eyes and squeezing his son tight, Bruce drifts back to sleep full of love for his children.

Chapter Text

Alfred has just left to pick up Damian when Bruce's phone rings.

Constantine.

He never calls Bruce first.

“Hello?”

“Bruce, mate.” Bruce can hardly hear the words over the screaming in the background.

 “I'd never usually bother you like this, but I got some friends in Gotham need a favor. And I'm currently up to my tits in demons, so I'm a little busy.”

“You're dealing with the hell portal in London?” Bruce asks. It's been all over the news.

“Fuckin’ nightmare,” Constantine spits. “Anyway, these guys are real sound, but they got a little ghost problem. Mind if I pass on your number?”

Bruce knows Constantine wouldn't set him up for failure. He wouldn't risk his rent money like that.

“Uh, sure?” he says.

“Brill. Keep an eye out for their call!”

Bruce stares at his phone after Constantine hangs up… Who on earth is asking Constantine for favors in Gotham?

(Aside from himself. And Tim.)

His phone rings with an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Yes, hi. John Constantine gave us your number. I hope that's okay.”

Bruce knows that voice.

“The Justice League are trying to evacuate the Narrows and, well, there's some sort of ghost causing problems.”

There is no way…

“Constantine said you might be able to help?”

“I'm on my way,” says Bruce.

Because really, what else can you say when Superman calls you?

Bruce keeps up-to-date with the news. He doubts there is a single person in Gotham who doesn't. There are a lot of crazy, bad things that happen in this city and a lot of stubborn, crazy people (like Bruce) who insist on living there anyway.

So he's aware that there's currently a terrorist attack going on in the city. Another poison gas of some kind.

He makes sure to grab a gas mask on his way out the door.

Except when he gets there, the Narrows seem to be gone.

There's just a block of void where the neighborhood should be. With some very confused-looking superheroes standing just outside of it.

“Hello?” Bruce greets as he gets out of his car. “I'm Bruce Wayne. We spoke on the phone?”

As Superman (Superman!) makes his way over to him, Bruce hears the Flash mutter, “Constantine is friends with a billionaire?”

And Green Lantern’s mumbled reply of, “I'm still stuck on the part where Constantine has friends.”

Superman ignores them both, so Bruce does too.

“It's nice to meet you, Bruce,” he says. “The poison gas threat has been contained, but there are still a lot of sick and injured people in there who need help.”

He sighs. “Constantine wasn’t a hundred percent sure the darkness was caused by a ghost, but even I can't see through it… The sooner we can get it dealt with, the sooner we can get everyone else out of there.”

Bruce nods. “I'll try my best,” he says.

Then he takes a deep breath and walks past the heroes into the void.

Bruce thought he knew what darkness was like, but this is something else.

He holds his hands so close to his face that he accidentally pokes himself in the eye, and he still can't see them. The silence inside the void is absolute. He can't hear his footsteps or his own breathing.

He can't see or hear the Justice League behind him either, even though he can't have taken more than a couple of steps into the void. He has no idea what he's doing here. How is he supposed to help when the most powerful people on the planet couldn't?

Every instinct is telling Bruce to get out of here as fast as he can.

At this point, Bruce is well-practised at ignoring those instincts.

He stops walking, closes his eyes, and listens.

A stuttering sob echoes through the dark.

“Is someone there?” Bruce asks.

“Get lost!” a young, frightened voice replies.

“I won't come any closer,” Bruce promises. “I just came to check you were alright.”

There's a disbelieving snort. “Sure, you did. I heard Green Lantern earlier. He said they're going to get rid of what's causing the blackout…”

Bruce has only just met Green Lantern, and he already dislikes him.

“Well, I'm not part of the Justice League,” Bruce tells the voice. “They asked for my help to rescue people in the Narrows, and as far as I'm concerned? That includes you.”

“Huh.”

There are a couple of seconds of silence before Bruce asks, “Do you think you could try letting some light back in?”

“No!” comes the voice of the kid. “No. I can’t… I mean, if I do, I’d actually have to see it again.”

“See it?”

“Yeah… and I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”

Bruce can't even imagine what the kid must be trying to avoid seeing. “That sounds really tough. I don't want to make you do something that you're not ready for.”

Bruce hears a sniff. Then–

“I don't want to keep it dark… I know there are people who need help. But I saw Mom and Dad on the floor… and then I saw me on the floor…”

“I'm so sorry you had to see that,” Bruce says.

He thinks hard. “What if I kept talking? Do you think you could find your way to me in the dark? That way you wouldn't have to see anything you don't want to.”

The child appears to think for a while before he says, sharply, “And you won't hand me over to Green Lantern or the rest of them? Not even if the Justice League thinks it's ‘for the best’ or something?”

“I'll fight the whole League if I have to, to keep you safe,” Bruce swears. Superpowers or not, nobody is harming this child on his watch.

“Yeah,” the kid says. “Yeah, I think I can find you in the dark.”

Bruce gives a sigh of relief and smiles.

“Okay,” he says. “We're going to take this one step at a time. What's your name?”

“Duke.”

“Alright, Duke. You focus on my voice, and we'll get through this together.”

There's only one subject Bruce knows he can talk about for long enough to make sure Duke reaches him.

“Is it okay if I tell you about my kids?” he asks. “They've been… maybe not quite where you are, but they've all experienced that same kind of loss.”

“They're ghosts too?” Duke says.

“Four of them,” Bruce replies. “My youngest, Damian, isn't. Alfred, who helps me look after the kids, was on his way to pick Damian up from ballet class when I got the call here.”

Bruce chuckles. “I asked Damian a few weeks ago if he wanted to join a sports club at his school. He's just turned six and school is new for him, so I thought that'd help. I thought for sure he'd choose karate or taekwondo. He was big on wanting to fight when he arrived with me.”

He smiles. “But instead, he said he wanted to do ballet. I think it's because my twelve-year-old, Cass, loves ballet, and he looks up to her.”

“Cass is a ghost, right?” Duke clarifies. He sounds a little closer, but with the way their voices echo in the void, Bruce can't be sure.

“She is,” Bruce confirms.

He doesn't know how long he spends talking to Duke in the dark.

Bruce tells him about Cass’s notes on the mirrors and her love of sticker books.

He talks about Tim's Minecraft builds and all of Bruce's attempts to keep him off the internet.

He tells Duke about how Jason will bleed everywhere when he's annoyed or anxious, but also how he calms down and stops when he's settled with a book.

By the time Bruce starts talking about a little boy he met at the circus… The boy who first came into his home and broke all his lightbulbs…

“I'm here,” Duke says, and he's right in front of Bruce. Though Bruce still can't see him.

“You did it,” Bruce smiles.

“Would it…” Duke trails off.

“Would it?”

“Would it be okay if I stay close to you while I bring the light back? I don’t want anything else to surprise me.”

“Of course.”

The boy grabs Bruce's arm, and then he begins to glow.

The void disappears, and the Justice League breaks into a flurry of movement. Bruce is barely paying attention to them, too busy with the child next to him, still squeezing his eyes shut tight.

(He does keep an eye out for Green Lantern, just in case. Bruce made a promise, after all.)

It's several minutes later when red boots touch down on the gravel next to them. Duke startles, and the light around them dims a little.

“I'm sorry,” Superman says. “I didn't mean to scare you.”

Duke looks up at him, a little starstruck. Bruce doesn't blame him.

It's Superman.

“I just wanted to let you know that we found your parents.” Superman's voice is steady and gentle. “They're unconscious, but they're on their way to the hospital.”

Duke goes completely still.

“I don't want to move on without them,” he whispers. “I can't just disappear on them if they're still alive. They'll need to see me.”

“Remember what I said, Duke,” Bruce reassures him. “You don't have to do anything you're not ready to.”

He looks at Superman, daring him to argue.

He doesn't.

“But where will I go?” Duke asks. “I can't stay at the hospital. Not like the patients are going to be happy to see a ghost floating around…”

There's only one option Bruce can think of.

“How would you like to meet my kids?”

“You got candy in your car, too? You think you're going to take me to a secondary location?”

“Street smarts!” Superman jokes.

Bruce laughs. 

Duke gives Bruce an assessing look. “If this is some sort of creepy trick, I'll bring the void back. Don't think I won't!”

“You don't have to come with me if you don't want to,” Bruce says. “And the second you have any doubts, you can leave.”

“You'd actually let me decide? Just like that?” Duke asks.

Bruce nods.

“Alright.”

“I'm going to take Duke here home,” Bruce says to Superman. “If you ever need me again, you have my number now.”

Superman smiles.

As he guides Duke towards his car, Bruce hears Green Lantern ask, “We're just going to let Constantine's spooky friend leave with the spookier ghost kid?”

From Duke's flinch and the way the sky gets darker, he hears it too.

But Bruce doesn't have to fight Green Lantern today, because Superman says, “The child isn't dangerous. He was scared.”

“We went into the Narrows looking for a fight,” Wonder Woman adds. “I’m not surprised he defended himself.”

Bruce doesn't hear the rest of their conversation once he sits down in the driver's seat. Duke hesitates, then phases through the door into the passenger seat, and they start the drive back to the Manor.

“You're Bruce Wayne,” Duke says after a few minutes.

“I am indeed,” Bruce confirms.

“I'm sitting in a millionaire's car…” Duke mutters to himself.

Bruce doesn't point out that he's actually a billionaire. Poor Duke seems stunned enough as it is.

“I'm going to call Alfred and let him know we're on our way back,” Bruce says.

Duke nods, and Bruce gets the car to dial the Manor.

“Wayne residence.”

“Hi, Alfred. You're on speaker.”

“Master Bruce. I suppose you have a very good excuse as to why you were not at home to have an after-ballet snack with Master Damian?”

Bruce cringes. Alfred still manages to make him feel like a child when he tells him off. Duke covers his mouth with his hand to hide his laugh.

“I'll explain everything when I get home,” Bruce promises. “In the meantime, could you let the kids know that I'm bringing someone home to meet them?”

Bruce hopes Alfred picks up on his meaning. He doesn't want to go into detail with Duke sitting in the seat next to him.

“I will endeavor to make sure they are on their best behavior,” Alfred reassures them.

“Thank you, Alfred. We won't be long.”

When they reach the gates of Wayne Manor, Duke says, “I don't know if I'm ready for this either.”

Bruce parks the car.

“Want to talk about it before we go in?”

“It's just… Suppose Mom and Dad wake up and I’m not there. Who’s checking on them? Who pays the medical bills? What happens to our lease if they’re in hospital?” It all comes out in one breath. Duke looks like he's seconds away from bursting into tears or collapsing.

The car's interior is definitely darker than it was before, too.

“I can answer some of those questions, if you think it would help?” Bruce asks.

Duke nods with his head in his hands.

“Well, first of all, after an incident like this? The Thomas Wayne Foundation covers as many hospital bills as possible for the people affected,” Bruce explains. “The Martha Wayne Foundation runs a program where rent is paid to landlords when tenants are hospitalized due to a major disaster. Which this was.”

The car returns to normal lighting levels as Bruce says, “There will be no hospital debt and no worry about housing when your parents wake up. I'll make sure of it.”

Duke looks up at Bruce the same way he looked at Superman earlier.

“You can afford to do that?” he asks.

Bruce smiles at him. “It’s the least I can do,” he says. “Almost everything my family earned came from the people of Gotham. I plan to make sure as much of the money as possible goes back to helping them in return.”

Duke takes a breath. “Where do I go when they wake up?”

“That's up to you,” Bruce reassures. “You can stay here for as long as you want, or if you want to go back to your parents, we'll support you with that too.”

Duke thinks. Then he says, “Okay. Let's do this.”

Alfred meets them in the foyer.

(“I can't believe you have an actual butler...” Duke mumbles. “This is some Downton Abbey type crazy…”)

“Alfred,” Bruce says. “This is Duke. He's had a very stressful afternoon with the Narrows gas attack and the Justice League.”

“I see,” Alfred replies. “Well, Master Duke. The rest of the family is waiting in the conservatory. They would rather like to meet you, if you feel up to it?”

“Uh… sure,” says Duke. “You don't have to call me ‘Master Duke’, though. Just ‘Duke’ is fine.”

Bruce chuckles. “You're fighting a losing battle there, Duke. I've been trying for twenty years to be ‘just Bruce'.”

“And your father tried for ten years before that to be ‘just Thomas',” Alfred scoffs, but he winks at Duke, who grins back.

They set off to meet the rest of the family together.

Introductions go… surprisingly well.

They get off to a rough start, with Damian announcing, “So. You're the one who made Father late for afternoon tea.”

But once Bruce has explained what happened and asked Damian to apologize, things go much better.

Jason has been edging closer to Duke as the kids introduce themselves.

“Aw, man!” He cries suddenly. “You're taller than me!”

Duke is indeed roughly an inch taller than Jason.

“Little brother,” Cass says, reaching up so she can pat Jason's head.

He grumps and rises a couple of inches off the floor.

“Now you know how I feel…” says Tim. He's the smallest of all the ghosts. Even Damian is fast catching up to his height.

“We should give you a tour!” Dick suggests, and the other four nod.

“Need a haunt,” Cass agrees.

“You need a better name for those,” Damian frowns.

Dick whoops. “I knew there was a reason I liked you so much, Dami.”

With that, the ghosts pull a smiling, but bewildered-looking, Duke out of the room. Damian runs after them as they float up the stairs.

After a bit of exploration, Duke settles in the cinema room. It's not somewhere the rest of them use very often. Movies don't typically hold his kids' attention for long enough for them to sit through one.

Duke loves movies. When Tim figures this out, Bruce's dismal DVD collection is replaced with what feels like every movie ever made. On Blu-ray. Bruce has to order the Blu-ray player afterwards.

That's when Bruce realizes it isn't that his kids don't like movies. It's just that Bruce never had the right movies for them to watch.

“I'm going to be the acrobat, obviously,” Dick is saying from inside Bruce's study.

“I'll run surveillance!” Tim adds excitedly.

That's when Bruce pauses in the hallway. Tim's going to do what, now?

“I'm on explosives!” Damian's words spill out in a rush. What on earth is going on?

“I wanna be Rusty,” Jason says.

“And I'm Matt Damon.” That's Cass.

Duke says, “Okay, so here's the plan…”

Bruce knocks on the door. He needs to know.

The kids are gathered around the desk, leaning across it.

“What are you up to?” Bruce asks.

“We're Ocean’s six!” Damian squeals.

“Dami!” Dick groans. “Now B is gonna expect the heist! Duke's going to need to rework the plan.”

“I'm Danny Ocean,” Duke explains.

Right. Ocean's Eleven was the latest movie night pick.

“Alright…” Bruce says as he leaves the room. “But I'm putting my best security on the job, now.”

Bruce returns to his bedroom that evening to find the room covered in papers declaring, “Ocean's seven were here!”

He turns, betrayed, to look at Alfred. Who was supposed to be his “security”.

“They offered me better pay,” Alfred states dryly.

Bruce just laughs.

“Come back to harvest fruit,” Alfred reads. “Eight letters.”

“Reappear,” Duke replies confidently.

“Of course,” Alfred agrees. “Reap pear. Reappear.”

Bruce smiles as he listens. Alfred has done the Gotham Gazette’s cryptic crossword every morning for as long as Bruce can remember. He was delighted to find that Duke enjoys the puzzles too.

The news is playing, muted, on the TV. Bruce watches as the Justice League rescue survivors from the rubble of a supervillain’s earthquake.

Bruce can admit that he admires them. From what he's seen, they act as though having powers gives them a responsibility to use those powers to help others. It reminds Bruce a little of his parents' (and now his) approach to the Wayne family's wealth.

Huh.

“Spring blossom opened, lit up. Five letters.”

“Hmm… Tulip?”

How much quicker could the Justice League respond to emergencies with the right infrastructure behind them? How many more people could be saved with the right technology?

Bruce can do something about that, he thinks.

“It begins at home, they say.”

“Charity,” Bruce answers.

He gets up and heads for his study. He has some phone calls to make.

Several successful meetings later, Bruce and his company are funding the Justice League. It's probably the most ambitious use of his wealth so far, but Bruce can already tell it's going to be worth it.

He heads to his study to update his team at Wayne Enterprises on the latest meeting.

Constantine is sitting in his chair.

Duke and Jason are on the study's sofa with a copy of the Daily Planet.

Constantine opens his mouth, probably to say something offensive, but Jason spots Bruce before the words make it out.

“Read this!” he cries, shoving the newspaper into Bruce's hands.

Life in the Narrows: How a Community Faced the Unexplained Together.

“Lois Lane wrote the only piece that focuses on the people,” Jason says. “I’m in love, B.”

“I never knew what it was like for everyone else in the void,” Duke says. “It sounds like it was actually pretty calm for most people.”

“Defense mechanism,” Constantine nods. “Makes sense it’d only hurt the people you thought were going to hurt you.”

Jason grabs the paper again.

“Come on! We've gotta go show Dick. He hates the way the press normally reports on these things. This will make his week!”

Duke shrugs and follows Jason out the door.

“I didn't even get to read it,” Bruce remarks.

Constantine snorts. “I'm sure you'll get around to it eventually.”

He gives Bruce a searching look from the chair. “Heard you sorted more than one problem for the JL.”

“First of all,” Bruce starts, “Duke wasn't a problem. The Justice League were the problem there.”

Constantine rolls his eyes and smirks. “Sure.”

“Secondly,” Bruce pauses. Thinks about how to explain this. “If I've got enough money to pay your rent, I've got enough to help Superheroes deal with all the behind-the-scenes work they've apparently been neglecting.”

He huffs. “Their records system needs a complete overhaul, and the state of their headquarters is atrocious. They clearly need the help.”

Constantine just laughs at him. “Only you could find a way to parent people who are practically gods, Wayne.”

Bruce chuckles. He supposes that is what he's doing.

“Are you staying for dinner?” he asks.

“Why do you think I'm here, mate?” Constantine finally gets out of the seat. “Alfie asked Tim to let me know he's making Yorkshire puddings with his roast tonight. No way I could turn that down.”

Clark Kent - and wasn’t that a shock when Superman shared his identity with Bruce and the kids - has apparently been keeping his superhearing trained on the hospital and texts Bruce with regular updates on Duke's parents. That's how he finds out they're awake.

When Bruce lets Duke know, he plunges the room they're in into the void. It takes Bruce almost an hour of reassurance for him to let the light back in. And then he disappears to the cinema room.

The parenting forum assures Bruce he's going about things the right way by letting Duke choose what to do next. Well. With the exception of the usual “concerned parents” who think struggling with new situations means you've failed as a parent.

So Bruce prepares for long days and nights of supporting Duke. Letting him know that no matter what he chooses, Bruce will be at his side.

But his kids, as always, surprise him.

The next day, he spots what appears to be strobe lighting coming from the trapeze room. Bruce pops his head in to see Duke, Dick, and Tim gathered around the laptop and the stage lighting.

“We're training,” Tim explains before Bruce can ask.

“Training, huh?” Bruce smiles.

Duke nods with determination. “I want to see my parents. But I don't want to make a void when I get there. So we're practicing.”

“The pegboard didn't work for Duke,” Dick explains. “I thought it would, ‘cause we both make lights go out. But Duke's powers don't work like mine.”

Bruce hadn't even thought about a potential link between the two boys’ light powers. They've been busy, clearly.

“I think Dick breaks the lights or turns them off or whatever with electricity,” Duke explains. “But with me it's like… It doesn't matter if it's an electric light or sunlight or what. I panic, and it feels like I'm pulling all the lights in.”

“So we're experimenting with the stage lights,” Tim finishes.

“Need help with anything?” Bruce asks.

“No thanks, Bruce,” Duke replies. “We've got this.”

Then he nods at Tim, who turns the lights back on.

Bruce leaves them to it. 

He does walk past the corridor every so often, though. Just in case.

The day Duke decides he's ready to see his parents is the day after his mother gets to go home. His father has been home for the better part of a week, although he spent most of every day at his wife's bedside.

They agreed that Bruce won't go in with Duke. That way, he can have some time alone with his parents.

But as they draw near the Thomases’ apartment, they spot a crowd gathered out in front of the building.

“Wait!” Duke cries. Bruce stops the car.

There's a large photo of Duke by the door. Flowers, cards, notes, and toys are arranged around it.

Duke's parents are standing in front of the photo, talking to the people outside. Bruce spots a reporter and a professional photographer, but they’re quickly turned away by the residents.

Duke watches the scene in silence for a while. Bruce can't keep up with all the emotions that flit across his face. Finally, Duke says, “It's like watching your own funeral.”

Then he shakes his head, wipes at his eyes, and asks quietly, “Can we go back to the Manor?”

“Of course,” Bruce agrees. He turns the car around.

“I’m not going to visit them,” Duke says when they're around halfway through the journey. “I don't think… I think if I did, it'd make things harder, y’know?”

He takes a stuttering breath. “They already have to get better and work out how to move on from what happened. If I'm right there in front of them…”

He doesn't finish his sentence.

Back at the Manor, before they get out of the car, Bruce turns to Duke.

“I want you to know,” he starts, “that if you ever change your mind in the future, you only have to ask.”

Duke nods. “I know.”

Bruce squeezes his hand, and together they go home.

Chapter Text

The first time Damian really knows that he is different from his siblings is his seventh birthday.

He knew before then, of course. He can't float like they can, or move through walls. At the end of the day, they are ghosts, and he is not.

But when Damian stands next to Tim on his seventh birthday and realizes that he is taller than Tim… That the height difference is only going to get bigger…

When he blows out the candles on his cake and notices there's one more than last year… but that Dick has had the same number every year for almost ten years…

That's the first time Damian thinks about the fact that, at the end of the day? He is alive, and his siblings are not.

As he settles into bed that night, Damian makes himself a vow. He has a chance at life his siblings weren't lucky enough to have. He's not going to waste it.

The girls in Damian's ballet class have always enjoyed spending time with him. Apparently, being twelve, and a boy, and unashamed to admit he dances makes him cool. Damian has long since given up trying to understand why that is, and just appreciates the friendships for what they are.

They're backstage at their ballet recital. Vivienne is listing everyone who will be watching her tonight.

“Mom and Dad, obviously. And both of my sisters are home from college right now. And Lee. My brother. My aunt said she was going to try and come, but my grandma's in the hospital right now, so I don't think she'll make it,” she explains before she pauses for breath. “Who's coming from your family, Dami?”

“My father and Alfred,” Damian states.

None of his siblings can come. As far as the rest of the world knows, Damian is an only child.

“My Uncle John kept threatening to come,” Damian grimaces. “But I think I convinced him not to.”

“What about your mom?” Louise, one of the newer girls, asks.

“I haven't seen her since I was five years old.”

There's a brief hush. Then an outburst of “aww”s and “Dami!” and other tween girl squealing. Damian is relieved when Mrs Smythe, their strict dance teacher, scolds them for talking and tells them it's time to go on.

Damian takes a deep breath and walks out into the glare of the stage lights.

His father is beaming at him from the front row. Alfred is beside him with a video camera pointed at the stage.

His siblings may not be able to attend in person, but nobody enjoys Damian's performances like Cass does.

That night, they watch the video, the two of them snuggled up on the sofa.

“You are good,” Cass says.

Damian shrugs. He's adequate at best.

“No!” Cass says suddenly, gesturing for Damian to pause the video.

“What?” he asks.

“Don't shrug. You are good.”

Damian sighs. “Cass…”

“Damian.”

Cass has a look in her eye that tells Damian that she's not going to give up until he agrees.

“I… have gotten better?” he says.

She squints at him, but finally nods.

“Good. Now dance with me!”

They play the video again, and they dance together.

Talia Al Ghul shows up to Damian's “sweet sixteen” party.

Damian hadn't even wanted the party, but he's been to Vivienne's and Louise's and a handful of his other friends’… He thinks this might be what adults mean by “peer pressure”.

It's the first time any of Damian's ballet friends have been to the Manor. It was supposed to be a simple garden party. But there's live music, a dancefloor, and a red velvet cake almost as tall as Tim. Father also hired a petting zoo. It's the most ridiculous and incredible thing Damian has seen in his life.

He wishes his siblings were able to enjoy it with him. Occasionally, he spots one of them peering out of the window, and he smiles and waves.

Damian has just blown out the candles on his cake when–

“Happy birthday, Dami.”

Damian freezes. His friends whisper amongst themselves. He can see Father getting out of his chair, but he holds a hand up to stop him.

“You don't get to call me that,” he tells his… he tells Talia.

“I thought you would be happier to see your mother,” she says, holding her arms out for a hug.

“Forgive me for not being delighted to see you after being abandoned for a decade,” Damian spits.

“I never abandoned you. I kept you safe.” She drops her arms. Damian only catches the hurt in her voice because the tone is the same one he uses when he wants to hide his upset.

He inhales. “You didn't visit. You didn't call. You didn't even write. It's hard not to feel abandoned.”

“I love you, Damian,” Talia tries.

And it's true. Damian knows she does. In her own way. It's just…

“Maybe,” he replies. “But love doesn't mean anything if you don't show up.”

He turns back to the cake, getting ready to cut it and serve his friends.

“Please leave, Talia,” he says.

He doesn't hear her go, but when he looks back, she's disappeared.

He cries after. And then Louise pulls him onto the dancefloor with the rest of their friends.

With the music pounding in his ears, surrounded by people who choose to share their love with him, Damian decides not to let Talia ruin his night.

“I feel ridiculous.”

“It'll be fun, Dami!”

Damian can't believe Jon talked him into this. 

Ever since Father started funding the Justice League and Uncle Clark brought his son over for Damian's first ever “playdate”, Jon has had a way of getting Damian to step out of his comfort zone. But this?

This might be a step too far.

They're both in tuxes, waiting for Alfred to bring the car around. Father and Clark have taken what feels like an obscene amount of photos.

“You have to tell me all about it,” Duke sighs. “Prom always looks so awesome in movies.”

And there's the other reason Damian is doing this.

His siblings try to be subtle, but they're living every “normal” childhood milestone through him.

He doesn't mind giving them this.

“Alright,” Damian scoffs. “I'll give prom a chance. But if it ends up being the kind of movie where a bucket of blood is poured over someone…”

“Then it'll be just like home!” Duke laughs.

“C’mon, Dames,” Jon says, grabbing at Damian's arm. “Let's go!”

Prom is fun, even if it's not quite what Duke would have imagined, Damian thinks.

The students voted on a fairytale theme, so the hall is decorated in golds and silvers. Vivienne and a few more of their friends join Jon and Damian when they arrive. She looks gorgeous in her deep blue fishtail dress. Damian dances with her when the music slows and kisses her at the end of the evening.

It's a fun night with his friends, and it’s nice to dance with Vivienne. Nicer to kiss her.

Damian spots Jon grinning at him from the other side of the hall.

Even if it isn't anything like the movies, Damian is glad he came.

This is the worst night of Damian's life.

Vivienne's family are all so loud. Damian's family are too, but they have boundaries.

Vivienne's father opened the night by asking Damian if he's “planning to be a stay-at-home dad” because he's majoring in early years education.

Her mother has included meat in every part of the meal. Potatoes cooked in goose fat. Bacon mixed in with the vegetables. The bread rolls only have cheese added to them… but Damian doesn't trust the cheese to be rennet-free.

Vivienne’s older brother, Lee, makes joke after joke about male ballet dancers being gay. But because he follows every one with “I’m just joking, Dami. You can take a joke, can't you?” Damian feels unable to stop him.

The last straw comes when one of Vivienne's sisters laughs, “No offence, Damian, but if someone who looked like you sat next to me on a plane, I'd spend the whole flight nervous.”

Damian excuses himself from the table.

Vivienne blows up at him at the doorway. They were just joking. Damian embarrassed himself in front of everyone. She thought he was better than this. Doesn't he care enough about her to stay for one dinner?

Anyway, Damian's pretty sure he's single now. 

He decides to walk home. If he gets a cab, he'll be back too quickly, and everyone will want to know what happened.

“Well, if it isn't baby Wayne!”

Damian looks up from his own feet to see John Constantine standing right in front of him.

“Just caught up with your old man,” he says. “He said you had a date.”

Damian squeezes his eyes shut and counts to ten. He won't cry in front of his not-really-uncle.

“Guessing it went a bit tits up.”

Damian snorts despite himself. “That's an understatement.”

John gives him a searching stare. “You're twenty-one, right?”

Damian doesn't think he likes where this is going. “Not for another few months.”

“So we're heading across the pond, then,” John shrugs. He waves a hand and a portal opens in the middle of the street.

“Alrighty! Let's lose all the brownie points I just gained playing nice with the ghost-sprogs.” He wraps an arm around Damian's shoulders. “Time for Dami and Uncle John to go get proper shit-faced.”

The hangover the next day is almost enough to make Damian forget the whole terrible experience.

The envelope feels heavy in Damian's hand.

He took it straight to the library. He can't open it in front of Father and Alfred.

“You're not worried, are you?” Jason asks. He's bleeding through his hoodie, but it's a slow-bleed kind of day.

He's probably picking up on Damian's anxiety.

“I’m a little worried,” Damian admits. “But you've always been good at making me brave, Jay.”

Jason rolls his eyes, and Damian laughs.

“Go on then!” Jason says. “Open it.”

Damian does.

Dear Damian

Congratulations! It is with great pleasure that we offer you admission to the Masters Program in Child Development–

Jason leaps into his arms.

Damian hugs his brother.

“You're gonna keep comin’ back, right?” Jason asks when he pulls away.

“Why wouldn't I come back?” Damian asks.

“‘Cause you’re all grown up and you're gonna hafta get a job...” Jason pauses. He fidgets with his tire iron as blood spills onto Damian's acceptance letter.

“And we're all just little kids you won't need anymore.”

“Well, that's just dumb, Jason.”

“Hey!”

Damian smirks. “I just finished telling you that you make me brave. Of course, I'll still need you.”

“You're just being nice,” Jason huffs.

“This is my home,” Damian reassures him. “I'm always going to come back.”

Jason nods slowly. But he still doesn't look sure.

“Besides,” Damian adds, “Father doesn't have a Master's Degree. I'll have to come back to rub that in.”

“We've gotta go tell everyone!” Jason yells suddenly, jumping to his feet.

Damian grins and lets himself be pulled into the conservatory to share his news.

Jon lands quietly on the balcony, and Damian lets him into the Manor. Their apartment building is being treated for bedbugs, so Damian decided to visit his family for a week. 

“How'd it go, Superman?” he asks.

“Urgh,” Jon groans, flopping face down on the bed. “Dad can't get back soon enough.”

Clark is in space for a mission with the Justice League, so Jon is currently protecting Metropolis on his own.

Damian laughs under his breath. “Come on. You're getting my bed covered in grime. At least take the suit off.”

Jon rolls over and raises an eyebrow. “...And then we can get the bed dirty in a more fun way?” he asks.

Damian pulls him off the bed and gives him a quick peck. He means to shoo Jon into the shower to get cleaned up before they sleep, but Jon is staring at the doorway.

“Damian?” Tim says, from where he's halfway through the door.

Damian stands, frozen. His hands are still on Jon's shoulders.

“I heard talking in your room, and I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Tim explains.

“It's fine,” Jon reassures the little ghost. “Just me, Timmy.”

Tim glances between Damian and Jon.

“Jon… are you Damian's boyfriend?”

Damian can feel his face heat up. Like he's a teenager again.

“Yes, I am,” Jon declares proudly, beaming at Damian.

Damian hides his face in Jon's shoulder.

“Cool. I'll leave you alone now,” Tim says as he leaves.

“Our relationship is going to be the headline for next month's family newsletter,” Damian mumbles.

“Oops?”

Damian just laughs. It's not how he planned to come out to his family, but when has anything in this house ever gone to plan?

The Manor gardens have always been beautiful, but today, with the floral arches and twinkling string lights, they truly are a sight to behold.

They don't hold a candle to Damian's new husband, he thinks, watching Jon dance with Cass, Duke, and Tim.

Jason is sitting nearby at a table with Lois, hanging onto her every word. Damian chuckles at the sight.

Dick floats into the seat next to Damian.

“Well done today,” Damian says.

Dick's chest puffs up with pride.

When Damian and Jon had announced their engagement, Dick had surprised them by asking if he could be the ring bearer. He practiced for months to make sure he could carry the rings without flinging them away.

Today, in front of their friends and family, he did it without even a flicker of his fallen self.

“Thanks,” Dick beams. “I came over because I thought you should know that B, Uncle Clark, and Uncle John have just opened a bottle of whiskey.”

Damian is out of his chair and halfway across the garden before he's even realized what he's doing.

He's not dealing with a drunk John Constantine on his wedding day.

(If the new Mr and Mr Kent-Wayne finish the open bottle of Macallan on the way to the airport the next day, that's between Damian and Jon.)

Damian only realizes, as they pull into the driveway, that he is now the same age as his father was when Mother dropped him off at Wayne Manor.

A lot has changed since then.

The Manor still seems to be a magnet for ghost children, although most of them have since chosen to leave.

Damian smiles as he remembers Babs, who finally managed to set up parental controls that Tim couldn't undo. As he remembers Steph, who made it her (after)life's mission to find something that would scare Damian's father.

(After months of walls dripping blood, and the eyes of the Manor's portraits moving to watch Father down the halls, she finally succeeded. With a rubber spider placed in the bathroom.)

Of course, some things have stayed the same.

Damian's ghost siblings have never left. They all give different reasons for why they don't want to move on. Damian suspects they simply love their family too much to want to leave.

Jon parks the car and turns to face Damian. His eyes are red and watering. Damian knows his own are too.

Alfred Pennyworth passed away earlier this evening.

As soon as they got the call, Damian and his husband packed their bags and headed for Wayne Manor. Father will need their support.

Jon squeezes Damian's hand as they open the door together. The second it swings open, they're greeted by five chatty little ghosts, and–

“Master Damian, once you and Master Jon have removed your shoes, your father could use a hand in the kitchen.”

Damian freezes. “Alfred?” he asks.

“Yes, Master Damian?”

“You stayed?”

Alfred smiles at him. “How could I leave when I knew my family was here?”

Damian hugs him.

“I'm sure your grandparents, Master Dick's parents, and Master Jason's mother would have stayed if they'd known there was a choice,” Alfred continues. “It felt irresponsible to do anything less.”

“It's good to see you, Alfred,” Damian says.

He finds his father in the kitchen, squinting at the instructions on the back of a ready-made microwave meal. Damian takes it out of his hands.

“I remember the last time you tried to make one of these,” he says. “We're not having a repeat if I can help it.”

Father chuckles, “I think it's about time I learned how to use my own kitchen.”

“Plenty of time for that,” Damian tells him. “Tonight, Jon and I are cooking.”

His father smiles and hugs him. His arms feel just as strong and sure as they did when Damian was five years old and terrified.

“You didn't have to come,” Father says.

“Tt.” Damian rolls his eyes, but doesn't break the hug. “Of course I did. This is home.”

“Hey, Bruce,” Jon greets as he enters the kitchen. 

Damian steps back and lets the two exchange a brief hug.

“You weren't trying to cook, were you, B?” Jon asks.

“Why does everyone assume I can't cook?”

“Jon was there when you attempted pancakes,” Damian points out.

“And when you burned the hot chocolate!”

Father shrugs and sits down. “Fine. I can admit defeat.”

As Damian and Jon cook, the ghosts start to drift into the kitchen. Alfred first. He might not have the fine motor skills necessary to cook anymore, but he is “perfectly capable of instructing where necessary, Master Damian.”

Duke joins them not long after. He sits on the counter to get Jon's opinion on what they should watch at the next family movie night.

Damian doesn't notice Cass has arrived until he goes to put the milk back in the fridge and sees that she's rearranged the Scrabble tile fridge magnets to spell “music pls”. She dances around the kitchen when he switches on the Sleeping Beauty score.

Tim settles in at the table next to Father with the laptop. Apparently, there was a recent update to Minecraft which has completely revolutionized Tim's gold farm, and he's desperate to share the news.

Jason sits on Father's other side. He's reading The Sun and The Star today. Damian remembers reading it with him in the library when it first came out. The spine of the book has crinkled considerably since then. It's one of Jason's favourites.

Damian reaches for the spatula he just put down, and his hand closes on air. He frowns for a second until he hears giggling from the top of the fridge. Dick is hiding with the utensil in the small space. Damian laughs and tickles him as he reaches up to get it back.

Finally, everything is ready, and the whole family sits around the table while the three living family members eat.

It's loud. It's chaotic.

It's home.

Wayne Manor has stood almost as long as Gotham itself. From the outside, it looks like a haunted house: all looming iron gates and Gothic spires.

Every so often, someone “has to ask” about the rumors that the building is haunted. A persistent reporter. A busybody neighbour. An influencer looking to go viral on TikTok.

Outwardly, Damian Kent-Wayne simply scoffs and raises an eyebrow, dismissing the idea out of hand. They don't need to know the truth.

The reality is that Wayne Manor is much warmer and more welcoming to those who reside there than it is to outsiders. The halls are filled with laughter, and children's drawings are pinned to the walls. The lights turn on to greet Damian when he arrives late at night.

That's not to say there are no ghosts.

But they're not monsters.

They're family.