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Chapter Text

Nobody had introduced Artemis to the esteemed philanthropist billionaire playboy mogul Bruce Wayne yet, but given that he had allowed a simple garden party to spiral into a full-blown event with a guest list in the hundreds and a custom hors d’oeuvres for each very important person, they wouldn’t get along.

The machinations were Angeline’s, but still.

His rich aunts with a propensity for pinching cheeks, the gaggles of socialites sipping drinks and cutting eyes, the reformed criminals (not caped, but still criminals), and the financiers pretending they weren’t criminals had stolen all the available shade. And then, the Waynes, right at the center. The party revolved around them. The superstar celebrity family. Tabloids reserved their front pages for them weekly. Gossip didn’t have to be truthful. It barely had to be entertaining. It just had to be Wayne.

Artemis pleaded for gunshot induced separation anxiety but father still sent Juliet and Butler patrolling the grounds. That excuse only worked the first month. Butler hadn’t looked half as contrite as he should have. Just said “Sorry, Artemis,” and strapped on his Kevlar. If he had stayed, they’d be commiserating at the edge of the yard together. As it was, Artemis crouched alone, fanned himself with his hand, and watched his mother flounce towards him.

Her white dress snapped at her ankles. Heat couldn’t melt her hairspray or penetrate the perfect cake of makeup on her face. It refused to run. A tiny electric fan whirred in her hand.

“How thoughtful,” Artemis said, peering up at her. “Is that for me?”

“Darling!” Angeline said. She stood over him, expectant, and made a little motion with her hand. Artemis unfolded from the ground. He’d done his best to distract. “Isn’t it amazing?”

“Perfect.” He tugged his tie loose another degree. Why did she invite the Waynes? Nothing personal, not really, but Gotham’s finest also meant Gotham’s most persistent paparazzi and he and his family were barely not criminals anymore. Father hadn’t even finished detangling their more illegal assets or donating them to charity or whatever he thought made the world better or at least repaired his conscience. 

As always, Angeline either failed to notice or ignored his sarcasm. “Stay good, okay?” She tapped his spine straighter, laid a kiss on his cheek, squeezed his shoulders to his torso. “Remember the pit stains. I don’t want anyone making fun of my baby’s pit stains.”

“Can you please go worry about Beckett smearing sauce on his face or someone’s dress? Or father spilling family secrets after too much champagne?”

“I would, but I need my handsome, genius, well-behaved and polite son to come and say hello to some very important people for me while his father takes some other lovely people on a tour of the house.” She laid a little hand on his cheek. Artemis did not lean into it.

“You’re talking like there are spy recorders,” Artemis said. “And since only the first two adjectives apply to me, I can only recommend Beckett or Myles.”

“Arty,” His mother pouted. Over forty and she pouted.

“Angeline,” he responded.

She sucked in a breath. “Arty. That’s not fair.”

His mother still pouted at forty-something but like any adult, she understood how to guilt trip. “I’m sorry.” Kindness fled so easily when his temper flared. “I’m trying.”

Angeline became Mother again once she got sober, a mark of forgiveness and of faith. New Artemis shouldn’t crush that so quickly, on a whim. New Artemis didn’t let his temper seize and shake him like a dog. New Artemis dedicated himself to personal reform. If not professional. Not yet. 

“Guide me over.” He extended an arm. Forgiveness came so easy to her; she smiled in a way that cast all her shame off her face and threaded her arm through his and they walked towards a small specific cluster of people in very expensive suits. Waynes.

“My oldest son!” Angeline pushed him forward. He would crumble if they asked him about school, homework, the family fortune, vacations in Athens or St. Barts, whatever old money prized. He couldn’t do it. 

When mother spent the days snorting father’s fortune at least she hadn’t been so shallow. Well, she had been, for cocaine. But that took less energy to put up with that than this did. A terrible thought, but he still thought it, and pretending he hadn’t would get him nowhere.

“It’s a pleasure,” It didn’t matter if they could tell he spoke through his teeth. At least he said it. 

Bruce Wayne had a big hand with a solid group and square white teeth probably insured for several thousand dollars. He almost didn’t bother with the others until mother pressed her heel into the side of his foot. 

He rotated towards them, hand still extended. Two of the older sons chatted in their little huddle, Dick and Tim. Tim stared at his hand, then his face, then his hand, while Dick smiled wide and big, and it reached the corners of his eyes like Bruce. It couldn’t be that they weren’t actually related.

Dick went for it first. “Richard. Call me Dick, though.” Artemis dropped his hand after. Enough for one day. Tim stared with serious eyebrows. If Dick was supernaturally handsome, Tim was pretty in a erudite, normal way. 

“Aren’t we related?” Tim asked. A starstruck looking waiter noticed them. He had a tray filled with watermelon chunks skewered with tiny wooden toothpicks and shifted his weight in a way that signified a decision was being made. No way Artemis could escape, now, drawn into the vortex of conversation.

“Actually,” Artemis said, “I think we are.”

“You’re kidding,” Dick said. “How?”

 Dick Grayson had been named Gotham’s most eligible bachelor at an annual rate since he turned twenty-one. Regardless of rumours or the presence of actual girlfriends, or sometimes multiple at once. The waiter made the beeline towards them and shoved the watermelon into their midst. Dick popped one in his mouth and the waiter kept looking until Tim said a pointed “Thank you,” And the man scurried out.

“Via the Drakes,” Tim continued. “Distant cousins. On your father’s side, I think?”

“Yes,” Artemis said. “Twice removed. Something inane like that.” He could see beginnings of similarities between them- blue eyes, light skin. The features were all wrong, though, nothing like what mirrors reflected back to him. Artemis had a more snub nose. A different jaw.

Something on Drake’s person beeped. He pulled it half out of his pocket. “I have to go.” Dick looked alarmed. “Steph,” Tim explained 

“I see,” Dick said. “Odds that it’s business, or do you think she just found a plate of, just like, super fun snacks!”

“Don’t be a dick, Dick.” Tim said. He nodded towards Artemis. “I’ll uh. See you. It was nice to reconnect?”

“Mmm,” Artemis concurred. Then there were the two of them, him and Dick.

“For the record,” Dick said. “I wasn’t being inaccurate. Even if I was being a dick. That’s total Steph behavior.”

It took so much effort to not say I don’t care, or, I am too miserable to pay attention to your irrelevant conversation, or, your pun is not funny and neither not you. Returning to the edge of the yard was not an option. Artemis would try to stand here, because these were the people Angeline cared about impressing. He shut his mouth and inhaled through his nose. One-two-three-four. Like Dr. Braum taught him.

Dick said, “Wait one sec,” and left. He jogged towards a pavilion and he returned with two dewy bottles. “Here,” he said, and handed one off to Artemis. Artemis twisted the cap and downed it. Blessedly cool. Carbonation tickled down his throat. Pit stains be damned.

“Thank you,” he said. Dick might be a puppy dog incarnate. Grown up Beckett might be like this. 

“I apologize.” Artemis said. “That wasn’t. I wasn’t the most civil.” 

“No problem.” Dick leaned in, brushed their shoulders, slid his voice lower. “Hey, one eccentric billionaire to another. How do you know I didn’t poison your drink?”

“Is this child’s play?” Artemis responded. “You didn’t open the bottle top. Your handprints only smudged the condensation on the body of the bottle, nowhere near the rim. You couldn’t have deposited poison anywhere near my mouth.”

Dick whistled. “And they say Tim’s smart.”

“Don’t pretend that was anything short of just testing for idiocy.” Beckett might have considered that a real compliment. Maybe he’d end up an artist. Or a Twitch streamer.

Dick laughed. “I meant it! That was a compliment. A sincere one. You’re perceptive. You remind me of someone, my littlest brother. Have you met him? Damian Wayne?”

“An actual Wayne?” Artemis asked.

“A biological one,” Dick corrected. “Oi! Dami!” His words slurred, just a little. They hadn’t a minute or two ago.

“Dick,” Bruce said lowly. He’d been deep in conversation with his mother. Wayne a father? To a boy? Wayne getting someone pregnant and letting her keep the baby? Wayne committing to raise a child?

The crowd parted like a sea. A boy, Artemis’s age, walked through, a boy without pit stains who wore a tailored suit and a red tie. He didn’t speak, say excuse me, even order. He just walked, and people moved around him. He stopped at Bruce’s arm and Artemis could finally exhale.

Damian smirked. An insult, a calculated sign that he’d measured Artemis’s worth, like Artemis had, but he’d found something lacking. Artemis’s body tensed but he stared back, cold and wooden. Damian frowned. So he didn’t like a spine, then. Damian expected people to bow.

Bruce had been watching. He clapped a hand on his son’s shoulder and Damian didn’t melt into it, didn’t find it familiar, just stood straight. A tempest raged under his skin.

“I see you’ve met my son.” He followed the statement with a hearty laugh.

Artemis felt it growing, an unshakeable gut sensation. If destiny existed its thin silver threads had just bound their guts together.

Artemis had a feeling they would see a lot more of each other.

Chapter Text

“This is ridiculous.” Artemis grumbled. “Parties are awful.” He wiped a hand across his brow, his sweat-soaked bangs clinging to his hand. Summer was the worst. Parties were terrible. And outdoor parties in the summer were hell itself. Why, why had his father decided it would be a good idea to invite the Wayne family, of all people, to the estate. Not that he had anything against them, but one of Bruce Wayne’s adopted daughters- Stephanie, was it?- had bonded with his mother and the guest list had quickly spiraled out of control. Now, several thousand people had been invited and several hundred types of hors d'oeuvres were being served.

Butler was gone, patrolling the grounds for suspicious individuals with Juliet. With no small amount of protest from Artemis, his father had separated the two, leaving him stranded in this sea of people without a single confidant.

“Isn’t this just amazing, Arty dear?” Angeline Fowl beamed down at her son. Her blonde hair had been styled to perfection, and not a drop of sweat appeared on her skin even at this infernal temperature. Artemis had to admire her composure.

“...Fine, mother.” Artemis replied, adjusting his tie. God, the heat really was getting to him if he was fiddling with his suit. “Simply perfect.”
Thankfully, Angeline missed the note of sarcasm in his voice, and she pecked on the cheek and flounced off to greet other guests, including the illustrious Mr. Wayne himself. Artemis was starting to hate the man, just because of this party.

“You look miserable.” Artemis turns slightly right, trying to move as little as possible, (as to avoid the embarrassment of 'pit stains'. Juliet had warned him about this.) and is faced with a man.

Not just any man though. If Artemis is remembering correctly, this is Richard ‘Dick’ Grayson, heir to the entire Wayne Company. Voted most wanted bachelor by one of those ridiculous tabloids- Artemis can’t remember which- this year. He’s too busy being miserable to care at this moment.

“I am.” He snaps,cordiality forgotten, and returns to watching people pass by and counting the seconds until he can retreat to blessed solitude and air conditioning. God, he's never realized how amazing it is until now. However, this Richard character refuses to quit, and seems to take pity on him.

“Here, want a drink?” He holds up a pair of bottles, and without second thoughts Artemis grabs one, pops the cap and downs it, loving every second the cool substance flows down his throat.
Once he finishes, he feels slightly more civil and ready for conversation.

“Thank you.”

Dick grins. “No thanks needed. But one child of an eccentric millionaire to another, how do you know I didn’t poison your drink?”
Artemis closes his eyes, trying to remember the exact details of the bottles Dick was holding so carelessly in his hands, and a smirk graces his face as his eyes pop open. Ah, the perks of having an eidetic memory. “Both bottle caps were sealed, and judging by the frost that had accumulated on the glass, no hands but yours had touched it.”

“Damn.” Dick whistles. “And they say Tim’s smart.”

“Timothy Drake?”

“Wayne now.” Dick corrects, glancing down at him. Artemis can’t help but be a little suspicious of the man. Holly would say it’s jealously, and make a snide comment about his height, however, she was even shorter than him. Artemis couldn’t help but feel a little smug at the fact.

“Do you know him?” Dick asks, genuinely curious.

Artemis frowns. “Distant cousins. From what I know, father had a ‘falling out’ with one of his in-laws.”

Dick laughs. “Y’know, you really remind me of someone. My lil’ brother, Damian Wayne.” He jerks a thumb towards a boy in a white, pinstriped suit with a red tie. Judging by the way Dick’s words are starting to slur, Artemis thinks he may be a little drunk. Oddly enough, it hadn’t been too obvious before, but now...

His father beckons to him, and Artemis walks towards the imposing figures of both his father and Mr. Wayne, a pleasant smile plastered across his face. It’s a farce of course; he’s loathing every second he moves.

“Father.” Artemis Fowl the First turns towards him, genuinely pleased to see his son. Bruce is simply curious, but once his father begins to launch into a detailed account of the family business (excluding the former criminal activity, of course) Wayne looks to be genuinely interested. Probably looking for business opportunities. Having heard the speech before, Artemis lets his gaze wander till it zooms in to the boy on Bruce’s right.

He hadn’t noticed him previously, but now, he wonders how he couldn’t have. He holds himself with an air of importance and most definitely pride, and although most probably can't sense it, he radiates hostility. Artemis’s eyes take in his impeccably tailored suit and tie and he wonders how alike they must seem.

The other boy appears to be surveying Artemis as well, and gives a derisive smirk in his direction. Artemis can feel the hairs on the back of his neck rise, and he wills himself to stay calm. Instead of letting an angry flush cross his face, he raises an eyebrow, causing the boy in front of him to frown.
Bruce Wayne takes notice of the action claps a hand over his son’s shoulder. “I see you’ve seen my son, Damian.” He says, following the statement with a hearty laugh. The boy gives Artemis a downright predatory grin, and he can feel his eyes narrow.

Artemis gets the feeling they’ll be seeing a lot more of each other.