Chapter Text
Bruce glanced out the arched window of the manor. The sun made a rare appearance from behind the clouds that normally coated Gotham City. A slight smile crossed his face before the sun slid back behind the looming grey clouds. He frowned and turned back to his coffee, a custom brew guaranteed by Tim to keep him awake for at least 12 hours, no excuses.
“Good morning, Master Bruce.” Alfred approached. “I feel I must make you aware of the…situation in the dining room.”
Bruce sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Is it something I’ll have to pay for?”
“Most likely, sir. The children are currently having a food fight over the last pancake.”
“Pancake?”
“Indeed, sir. I would not have felt the need to inform you but for the one-of-a-kind Egyptian vase—”
Crash!
The sound echoed through the manor, followed by indistinct swearing. “It was rather ugly, anyway.” Bruce looked down at his coffee and hoped it would give him the will to face his children. “As you say, sir.” Alfred turned to leave. “And, Master Bruce, you may want to speak with Tim. He’s put coffee in his cereal again.”
Bruce stood from his armchair and looked out the window again. Raindrops slid down the glass. Typical Gotham weather. He wandered to the dining room, sipping his coffee. He spluttered at the mess.
Scrambled egg covered the floor. Bacon stuck to the walls. Something dripped on his head and he looked up, simultaneously patting his hair. Sticky. Maple syrup drizzled the ceiling.
Unsurprisingly, there were no kids in sight.
Surprisingly, the picture of him and his parents from long ago remained untouched, the black gossamer veil still covering his mother’s smile. “At least they left that alone,” he murmured.
Alfred bustled from the kitchen, cleaning supplies in hand.
“Here, let me help.” Bruce stepped forward and slipped on a puddle of syrup. His mug flew through the air. He banged his knee on the table and pain flashed down his leg.
“Forgive me if I decline, sir.” Alfred offered a hand. He held Bruce’s unspilled coffee in the other.
Bruce ruefully got to his feet and accepted his mug. “Thank you, Alfred.”
“Daaaaaaaad!”
Bruce’s hand went to tangle in his gelled hair before the yell finished bouncing off the walls.
“Off to the races, sir?” Alfred looked up from the mess with a slight smile.
“I might have to glance at those adoption papers again.” Bruce slid toward the door, syrup under each foot. “See if I really signed them all.”
He walked up the staircase, following the muffled sounds of fighting in the kids’ common room. He didn’t often come up here, at least, not as often as he’d like. Some of his children preferred a great amount of privacy, and he did try to give them at least that much.
He toed open the door to the large sitting area, now modified with the best in gaming technology, comfiest furniture, and even a drink station with every soda and flavor available. He had to keep them hydrated somehow.
“It’s not what it looks like!” four voices exclaimed the moment he stepped inside.
He slowly tipped his head to eye each of them. Dick slid out from under a table, a sheepish expression on his face. Jason rolled his eyes from where he crouched behind a barricade of cushions. Damian, who was inexplicably covered in glitter, glared at Tim from on top of a bookshelf. Tim held a water gun, ever-present dark circles shading his blue eyes.
“….what should this look like?” Bruce held eye contact with each of them. He knew they wouldn’t tell him. Even Batman hardly stood a chance when it came to getting the truth from his children.
The four boys exchanged glances with each other. “Nothing.”
Bruce sighed and rubbed his forehead before sipping his coffee. A quiet pop caught his attention. He looked to Tim, who held the water gun level with his mug. A slight grin quirked the edge of his lips. Glitter showered through the air toward Bruce and landed on his hair, his suit, and, most importantly, his coffee.
All four boys burst out laughing.
Bruce sighed and took another sip of his coffee.