Chapter Text
Tim was one efficient kid.
He’d managed to track down the four kids running from the League in record time. His recognition software picked them up in the JFK airport, and within minutes he’d traced their steps through the JFK airport, onto the air trains, and through the Amtrak station in Manhattan. They’d boarded a train bound for Metropolis, which was highly convenient, for Bruce.
He wouldn’t even have to reach out to Clark to let him know he was coming into the city. Clark didn’t care about that.
Not that Bruce cared if other heroes cared, but sometimes it was easier to send a heads up than deal with an unwanted guest crashing his case.
The kids had arrived in Metropolis mid-afternoon. Bruce left Tim to follow their movements that evening, and fully intended on introducing himself that night.
His main goal for the meeting was to let them know he was there, as were the resources of the Justice League. Them choosing Metropolis was likely due to Superman’s protection over the city. There weren’t many places in the world Ra’s hesitated to visit. Gotham and Metropolis were essentially it.
Still they hadn’t got clear photos of the kids’ faces. And Bruce was convinced the oldest one was a kid. He held himself like a highly trained combatant, but even with the bulk he’d built, Bruce could see the lanky-teenage figure. And the attitude in his body language.
Tim had tried his best to get into the facial recognition systems at the airports, but hadn’t done so in time to catch the photos before they were auto-deleted by the system. So all they had were security images from all the various cameras.
Three of the four kids were adept at avoiding the cameras, the eldest one the most, so the only face they had a clear shot of was the younger girl.
And she looked identical to Talia.
Bruce. Wanted to know her exact age, because her age was close to… their child.
Although Talia had told him that child was a boy, so perhaps this child wasn’t his.
He. Didn’t think Talia lied to him about the miscarriage. But.
Bruce. Never. Checked up with her… after their falling out.
Something sharp started gnawing at his stomach as he got dressed for the night. Part of him hoped his child was not among these kids.
But.
Part of him expected it.
The kids ages…
The girl. Looking exactly like Talia.
With a deep, steadying breath, Bruce pulled his cowl up and stamped it all down.
For now, his only objective was making contact. He’d figure anything else out, once they’d made contact.
Tim came bouncing out of the locker room a moment later, fully suited up. He grinned in Bruce’s direction and asked, “Ready? They checked into the Holiday Inn on 48th street two hours ago. Their room has a window in the alley.”
“I’m ready,” Bruce replied.
They flew over, then took bikes from just outside the city. It was much faster than taking the bridge in Gotham.
From there, it only took a few minutes to be parked beneath the window where the kids were staying, up on the 6th floor.
Bruce had Robin stay below, just for the moment, to keep an eye out for the kids potentially trying to escape. Not because Bruce thought they’d want to run from him, but just because he knew they were likely jumpy. And might run if they heard anyone outside the window.
Thankfully, Batman was silent enough, because no one inside the room had noticed him until he slid the window open and pushed the curtain out of the way.
He’d already checked with his thermal vision in the cowl, and saw two of the kids were sitting on the beds, one child was in the bathroom, and the oldest one was not there.
Considering the three kids seemed relaxed, though, Bruce knew he couldn’t be far.
So that’s how Bruce found himself, sitting on the windowsill, his feet both inside the room, both hands up in the air in attempt to convince the two little girls looking at him with wide eyes that he wasn’t a threat.
The littler one looked more scared than the other. The older one just seemed… startled, maybe. The little one looked outright terrified. Her bright blue eyes bore into Batman with so much intensity, it took his breath away.
Because.
She did, in fact, look exactly like Talia. Except for the eyes.
The eyes.
He saw.
In the mirror. Every day.
“Hello,” he tried, as he slipped down fully on the ground, allowing the curtain to close behind him. Once it was firmly shut, he slowly reached up and pushed his cowl back, revealing his face to the two girls in the room.
Normally… he wouldn’t. But. If the girl was.
“I’m Batman,” he said, to the still terrified looking girl. The other one had looked away, briefly, down at a book in her lap, but was looking again, this time with a little… disinterest, maybe.
“Bruce. You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he said, his eyes darting between the two of them. He settled on looking at the little one, and added, “I was a friend of your mother’s.”
The littlest girl continued staring at him. She didn’t seem surprised or anything.
Just. Terrified.
Perhaps she was so scared, she didn’t have room for any other emotions. She had a stuffed animal clutched in her arms, held tightly to her chest, as she shook slightly. A quick glance at the other girl showed her looking at Bruce curiously, but her face still nearly blank. Nearly, because Bruce could tell she was deep in contemplation, her green eyes calculating.
The bathroom door clicked open, at that point, and in the blink of an eye the little boy was barreling across the room. “Get away from her,” he shouted, as he drew a knife from his sleeve.
Bruce caught the boy’s arm easily, disarming him in one swift motion before gripping his wrist tightly.
“Stay away from my sister,” the boy growled, though he didn’t try to free his wrist.
Bruce’s eyes snapped onto the little boy, then, and he outright froze.
His sister…?
Because.
He’d seen that face… in. his own childhood photos. In the mirror.
If he thought the girl had his eyes… this boy had everything else.
“What,” he stammered, as his eyes darted between the two children.
They couldn’t both be his? Unless they were twins?
A second knife slipped out of the boy’s sleeve, and he lunged forward, aiming for Bruce’s side.
Bruce grabbed his other wrist, and flicked the knife out of that one, too.
The kid had to be around 8 or 9. The… correct age to be his son. That he and Talia had been expecting.
“How old are you?” Bruce asked, as he studied the child’s face.
He was looking at Bruce with so much hatred… Bruce felt his breath stutter.
All the child did was growl. Bruce tightened his hold on instinct, which only resulted in the kid using Bruce’s hold to get enough leverage to kick him in the knee. Hard.
But Bruce was used to that maneuver, especially from children lashing out at him, so he didn’t even flinch. Instead, he flipped the boy in his arms, so his back was pinned to Bruce’s chest, his own arms crossed in front of his body in a bear hug.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” he said calmly, “I’m here to help you.”
“Our brother warned us about you,” the boy spat, as he went eerily still in Bruce’s hold, “We do not want your help.”
Bruce furrowed his brow and wondered how many kids Talia had.
They couldn’t all be his.
Maybe… maybe only this boy was his. Maybe the girl just happened to have his eyes. Eyes similar to his.
But. Regardless. Why had Talia kept it secret from him?
“How old are you, boy,” Bruce repeated, as he shook the kid slightly.
That earned him a heel in his knee, but the boy scowled deeper when Bruce didn’t budge, then spat, “I’ll be nine in October.”
Which. Was exactly how old his child would be. He would be turning nine in either October or November.
They hadn’t been sure, on the exact due date…
Bruce felt his blood go cold.
Talia. Had had their child. She’d lied to him, and then raised their child.
In the League.
Without him.
And his boy hated him. Without even knowing him.
“Am I your father?” Bruce heard himself ask.
Maybe. Maybe he wasn’t. Maybe this was just… Bruce wasn’t sure.
Coincidences were not a real thing.
The boy went stubbornly quiet in his arms, but the girl nodded.
The older girl, sitting on the far bed, scribbling in a book.
Coloring. In a coloring book.
Because these kids were in fact, children.
Hysterically, Bruce hoped his boy colored in coloring books.
Knowing Talia… and more specifically, knowing Ra’s, he doubt he did.
He had his son in his arms.
The hotel door clicked when someone inserted the keycard, and Bruce, the boy, and the terrified little girl looked up.
The girl coloring, however, kept working at it as she said, flatly, “Your father is here.”
What did that mean, Bruce thought, bewildered. He couldn’t be the teenager’s father, too.
That was impossible. Not, at least, possible with Talia.
The teenager stood frozen in the doorway, obscured partially by the door to the bathroom, and the harsh shadow the bathroom light was creating. Bruce couldn’t get a good read on him.
He did see a take out bag in his hands, and Bruce supposed that at least explained why he wasn’t with the children.
“Put him down,” the teenager said, still standing in the doorway. Before Bruce could explain the boy had pulled a knife, the teenager added, “Damian don’t stab him.”
“I will not allow him to take Athanasia from us,” the boy exclaimed.
Bruce, very slowly, put the boy back down on his feet and released his hands. He did not stab Bruce. Instead, he stomped away from him, and over to where the teenager was standing.
Damian was one of the names Talia had mentioned, when they briefly discussed names.
Bruce. Bruce had said he didn’t like it. Because of the Omen… but he had to admit. The name suited this child.
“Why did you leave the girls defenseless,” Damian shouted, pointing an accusing finger at the teenager.
The teenager stepped further into the room, letting the door shut behind him before he pushed the bathroom door out of his way, as well.
That was when Bruce finally saw his face.
“I’m not defenseless,” the coloring girl snapped.
“I didn’t,” the teenager shot back, scowling down at, at Damian, “I just went downstairs to grab our dinner delivery. You’re the one who decided to take a 40 minute shower when you knew I was ordering dinner.”
Bruce wasn’t breathing. His lungs were burning, and he could feel himself shaking, somehow.
“You could have knocked and told me you were leaving,” Damian snarled, as he turned and faced Bruce, now standing next to.
Next to.
“If you’re so observant, why didn’t you notice I’d left all on your own, dingus,” Jason snapped. He stepped another step in, and set the bag of food on the foot of the coloring girl’s bed.
Jason finally looked back over at Bruce, and glowered. “Get out.”
Bruce sucked in a sharp breath, and could feel each individual beat of his heart as he nearly whispered, “Jason?”
How… how.
How?
That was the only coherent thought in Bruce’s mind.
How?
“Get out,” Jason snapped, “breaking into a hotel room is illegal. I’ll call the cops.”
“I-I don’t understand,” Bruce stammered, taking a step forward. Closer to, closer. “Jason.”
“Yes,” Jason exasperated, with so much vitriol, “That’s my name. Now get out, I don’t want you here.”
“I don’t understand,” Bruce repeated, almost desperately.
How was Jason here? How was.
How?
“Jay,” the smaller girl whispered.
It got Jason’s attention in an instant. His face softened, and he walked over to her in three long strides. “It’s okay,” he whispered back, as he picked her up.
She wrapped her arms and legs around him immediately, like she’d done it a hundred times already.
It looked so natural, so normal.
The little girl—Athanasia, Damian had called her Athanasia, he thought—murmured something Bruce couldn’t hear, but Jason.
Jason. His Jason. Jason Todd. His son. The older girl had said your father and she’d meant it.
She meant it.
Jason hugged Athanasia tightly, and said, “He’s not going to take you away, don’t worry. We’re staying together.”
“I—“ Bruce tried, but paused, when all that earned was a glower from Jason.
A glower with so much hatred in it.
Bruce swallowed thickly. He wasn’t sure what Jason was mad at him for, but…
There was a lot Jason could be mad at him for, and Bruce would understand completely. There was a lot Bruce hated himself, for.
“I,” he tried again, a little more cautiously, flitting his eyes between all four children in the room. The other girl was no longer coloring, and Damian was now standing next to her, his arms crossed.
“I came here,” he said again, his voice more steady, “because I heard there were children running from the League, and it was possible one or more of them were Talia’s children. I came to offer my protection.”
“I’m not leaving them with you,” Jason sad flatly.
Bruce faltered, looked between all four kids again. “I was going to offer it to all four of you. I didn’t know it was you, or, or that Damian was alive.”
“What do you mean?” Damian asked, his head cocked to the side. He was giving Bruce a critical look.
“Your mother told me you died before birth,” Bruce said, carefully.
Damian’s face slackened, and Bruce could tell he’d just… won. Something.
Maybe a chance.
“Damian?” Bruce said, half a question, to make sure he had the name right, and half a request.
Damian’s eyes locked onto Bruce’s, and he nodded, slightly.
Bruce swallowed. “I’m sorry I was never there for you,” he said, haltingly, “I would have been, I swear. And, if you’ll let me, I’d like to get to know you.”
“What about Athanasia?” Damian asked, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was standing between the two beds, still next to the other girl, but his eyes darted to where Athanasia was still hiding her face in Jason’s shirt.
“Like I said, all four of you are welcome in my home. I would protect all four of you, and, get to know you all.”
Damian’s face hardened, and Bruce felt like he’d just lost whatever it was.
“Athanasia is your daughter, too,” Jason scoffed.
Bruce nodded. “Twins?” She did have his eyes. He just… wasn’t aware there had been twins in there. Bruce had seen the ultrasound. He’d seen his son, in Talia’s womb. There hadn’t been a second baby, though Bruce knew those could hide, sometimes.
But then Jason shook his head and said, “A year and some change apart.”
“One year, five months, and eight days apart,” Damian said.
Jason scowled, and looked over at him, “Why the fuck do you know that?”
“That’s how much older than her I am,” Damian shot back.
Bruce furrowed his brow, and tried to reason out that math. The last time he saw Talia for at least 5 years was… five months into her pregnancy with Damian. And they’d certainly never been together again, after their breakup.
“How?” Bruce asked, “Talia and I never…” but he trailed off.
Because Jason made a disgusted face, and it looked just like Jason.
His Jason. Who always acted so embarrassed, so disgusted when topics like sex came up.
“Jason,” Bruce choked out. He took another two steps forward, and all four occupants in the room flinched.
Jason grabbed onto Athanasia tighter, but didn’t react any further before Bruce had his arms around Jason’s shoulders, hugging him tight. Crying, maybe. Silently.
“I don’t understand how you’re here,” Bruce whispered.
Jason was tense. Incredibly tense, and the little girl still in his arms shifted, so she was less between them. She freed herself, and stood on the bed next to them, so Bruce could crush Jason into a tighter hug.
The boy in his arms felt exactly like Jason, exactly how Jason always tensed when Bruce hugged him.
“I don’t understand either,” Jason said after a moment. He hadn’t reacted to the hug, hadn’t returned it, or relaxed, but he wasn’t pushing Bruce away, either. He crossed his arms tightly between them. “All I know is Talia threw me in the pit.”
“The Lazarus pit?” Bruce asked, squeezing Jason a little tighter.
That, he knew, was likely just as terrifying as-as.
As his death.
“You’ve been in the pit,” the girl on the other bed asked incredulously.
“Grandfather does not allow anyone to use the pits,” Damian said, almost accusingly.
Jason pushed Bruce away, and scoffed. “Yeah, why do you think Ra’s hates me. He only didn’t kill me because Talia convinced him I could be useful.” He took several steps back, until he was standing next to the other bed, just a few feet from Damian and the other girl, his arms still tightly crossed across his chest.
“Did Father really kick you out?” Damian asked.
“What? No,” Bruce replied instantly, but at the same time, Jason said, “Sort of.”
“Sort of?” Bruce echoed, “What do you mean sort of. You died Jason, you—” but he choked off the last word.
He swallowed and just. Sort of collapsed down, onto the bed beside him, sitting on the edge. He buried his head in his hands and tried to gather his thoughts.
Tried to. Reel it all in.
Jason. His Jason. Was.
Alive. He was so alive, and he was so Jason.
Bruce took a shuddering breath in and held it.
Talia had thrown him in the Lazarus pit. His boy, had been in the Lazarus pit.
His boy was alive.
And his boy had defected from the League of Assassins, rescuing his children while he did.
Bruce. Needed another minute.