Chapter Text
Ever since he adopted Dick Grayson — or rather, since he actually started getting along with Dick Grayson — Bruce Wayne had tried to be a good father.
Not the perfect movie kind — let’s be honest, nobody can actually be that perfect — but the kind who knew how to listen, be present, and learn about the things his children loved, even if he did not understand half of what they were saying.
That was how he learned the difference between a “streamer” and a “YouTuber,” how to tolerate the music blasting from Jason’s headphones (“it’s not noise, dad, it’s metal” — along with all those subgenres that sounded exactly the same to him), and how to accept that Dick needed to practice flips in the garden every week “so he wouldn’t get rusty.”
And how to discover that Tim Drake never raised his voice… but was definitely the most dangerous whenever he opened his mouth.
But nothing — absolutely nothing — prepared him for the day Jason called him OLD for asking what WWE was.
That afternoon, while walking toward the living room with his coffee, Bruce heard a loud thud followed by a battle cry.
“I’VE GOT YOU, YOU DAMN TRAITOR!”
“IN YOUR DREAMS! YOU WON’T GET AWAY WITH THIS!”
Bruce stopped dead before entering. He let out a sigh already heavy with exhaustion and resignation, then pushed the door open, ready for whatever disaster awaited him.
In the middle of the room, Dick had Jason in a headlock using one leg while both of them rolled across the carpet.
Cushions were scattered everywhere, a chair had fallen over, and the television showed wrestlers yelling in slow motion.
And seated calmly in one of the armchairs, Tim watched the scene with complete serenity and a bag of chips in hand. Alfred could deal with his youngest son’s ruined appetite later at dinner. Right now, Bruce needed to understand why two of his children were rolling around on the floor.
“Jason’s losing,” Tim reported without looking away from the fight. “Again.”
“…Can I ask what exactly you’re doing?” Bruce asked with the forced calm of a man afraid of the answer.
“Training!” Jason shouted from the floor.
“I’m teaching him a submission hold!” Dick answered with complete seriousness, tightening his grip.
“Who taught you that move?” Bruce asked, blinking.
“The TV,” Tim said, popping another chip into his mouth. “But Jason’s doing it wrong. You’re not supposed to bite your opponent.”
“HE STARTED IT!” Jason protested immediately.
Dick and Jason froze for a second, staring at Bruce with a mixture of pride and confusion, as if he were the weird one for not understanding.
“From TV, duh,” Dick finally said. “Don’t you know what WWE is?”
“Should I?” Bruce replied with a sigh.
Jason scoffed.
“Of course he wouldn’t know. Bruce is ancient.”
“Confirmed,” Tim added calmly.
“I see,” Bruce replied, setting his coffee cup on the table. “In that case, this ‘ancient’ man is banning flying tackles in the living room.”
“But, dad!” both boys protested in unison as they untangled themselves under the threat of parental authority.
“It was a technical move!” Dick corrected.
“And it almost worked!” Jason added.
“All right…” Bruce finally said, crossing his arms. “Explain this WWE thing to me before somebody loses a tooth.”
Jason climbed off the floor, fixing his hair as though he had just survived a war.
Bruce watched them for a moment, cheeks faintly warm from holding back laughter. Sometimes, he thought, being a good father meant pretending you had some authority while your children believed they had all of it.
And when Jason proudly pulled out his tablet to show him a video of his favorite wrestler, Tim leaned slightly toward Bruce and murmured confidentially:
“It’s pro wrestling, dad. But not like the stuff here. It’s international. They have the best wrestlers in the world.”
“And the best of all,” Dick added with the kind of excitement only teenagers had when talking about their idols, “is Superman.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
“Superman? That’s his stage name?”
“Yes!” Dick said, already searching for videos on his phone. “He’s the King of the Air. Look at this!”
“They call him the King of the Air,” Tim explained, eyes gleaming while watching the acrobatics on Jason’s tablet. “He does aerial moves off the top rope and defeats opponents with a smile.”
Before Bruce could reply, Dick showed him another clip where a man in a blue and red mask leaped from the top rope, spun three times in midair, and landed perfectly on his opponent.
The crowd roared while the camera followed him raising his arms, energizing the arena with a smile hidden behind the mask.
“He does that without wires, dad,” Jason said, completely amazed. “And he donates most of his salary to children’s charities.”
“That sounds… improbable,” Bruce murmured, though the wrestler’s mannerisms on screen left him slightly intrigued.
“You don’t get it, dad. Superman is a real hero.”
“And statistically the most popular one,” Tim added from the armchair. “He’s been the top merchandise seller for three years straight and the crowd favorite to win a title this year.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow but did not answer immediately. He looked at his sons — Dick talking excitedly, Jason mimicking wrestling jumps, Tim quoting statistics like he was in a board meeting — and for a moment, smiled fondly.
Until Jason opened his mouth again.
“Although if you don’t know who he is, you really are kind of old.”
Bruce froze.
“Old?”
“Ancient, maybe,” Jason corrected innocently.
“Confirmed,” Tim added without lifting his eyes from the tablet.
A brief silence followed.
Tim glanced up for only a second, evaluating Bruce’s expression.
“He’s about to do something impulsive,” he murmured.
Bruce leaned slightly toward Jason with the dangerous calm that preceded some of his best decisions.
“Oh really?” he said slowly. “And what if this ancient man got tickets to see that Superman live?”
“You?” Dick stared at him incredulously.
“Yes, me. Front row seats,” Bruce added, picking up his phone with the wounded dignity of an offended billionaire. “We’ll see if I’m still ‘ancient’ when we’re sitting ringside watching this Superman guy fly.”
Tim did not look surprised.
“Knew it.”
Jason and Dick stared at him in shock before exploding into screams.
“ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
“I LOVE YOU, DAD! SUPERMAN LIVE!”
Bruce would never admit it out loud, but as the two boys ran around the room celebrating, he could not help thinking that maybe being humiliated by his children was worth it… as long as they did not make him scream in public.
Tim glanced sideways at him, barely smiling.
“That was definitely impulsive. Good luck getting them to sleep tonight, B.”
The excitement exploded through the room like a bomb.
Dick and Jason talked at the same time, each trying to convince Bruce that WWE was the greatest thing he would ever witness in his life.
Bruce could barely keep up.
Tim, meanwhile, seemed perfectly comfortable observing the chaos from the couch while discreetly hiding his empty chip bag between the cushions to avoid Alfred’s scolding, Bruce assumed.
“Dad, look at this,” Dick said, showing him another video. “This was last year’s match. Superman versus Titan. He jumped off the turnbuckle and knocked him out midair!”
“And then he speared him after!” Jason added, practically bouncing on the couch. “Boom! Straight to the floor!”
“That does not sound… safe,” Bruce commented, frowning at the screen.
“It isn’t,” Tim interrupted calmly. “But it’s calculated. He has a very low margin of error according to his stats, and he’s way too technical to actually hurt someone.”
Bruce looked at him sideways.
“That does not reassure me much.”
“That’s what makes it awesome!” Dick and Jason answered in unison.
Dick rewound the clip, replaying it in slow motion. Superman spun three times in the air before landing on his opponent.
“See? He’s the King of the Air. Nobody flies like him.”
“Technically, he rotates on his axis before impact,” Tim added. “It distributes the force better.”
Bruce blinked.
“Right. That makes it much more reasonable.”
“And when he wins,” Jason continued enthusiastically gesturing everywhere, “he takes off his entrance cape and gives it to some kid in the crowd. Usually sick kids or the ones holding signs with his name.”
“He also does charity work,” Dick added. “And he never breaks character. Not even during interviews.”
“He has an extremely high approval rating,” Tim chimed in. “And an impeccable public image, even though nobody knows who he really is under the mask.”
Bruce looked at them, amazed by their level of devotion.
“And all this is… part of the show?”
“Yes, but it’s real too, dad,” Dick said, almost offended. “Superman always keeps his promises.”
Jason jumped up and pointed at another clip.
“And this is his finisher, the Solar Flight. Look, he climbs up here, spins around and—”
“Jason, do not imitate him on the couch!” Bruce interrupted, raising a hand just in time.
Jason lowered his arms with a shrug.
“I was only preparing you for the BEST WEEKEND OF YOUR LIFE,” he said with a mischievous grin.
“He’s going to try it in the hotel,” Tim added.
“I’m not going to do that,” Jason protested.
“You’re going to try,” Tim replied without even looking at him.
Bruce let out a dry laugh.
“I’m preparing myself, believe me. But we should warn Alfred and adjust the plans for the nearest event,” he said, looking at the screen where Superman raised his arms before the crowd beneath red and blue lights.
For some reason, he could not look away from the video. There was something almost… hypnotic about the confidence with which that man moved, and especially the way he seemed to enjoy every second inside the ring.
Tim tilted his head slightly, watching him.
“He caught your attention,” he murmured.
Bruce did not answer.
Dick observed him silently before grinning mischievously.
“You’re going to like him, dad.”
“I doubt it,” Bruce replied, though the smile slipping onto his face betrayed him.
Tim looked back at the screen.
“He’s going to like him.”
“Master Wayne, allow me to confirm this,” Alfred said, looking at the laptop screen with an expression both calm and deeply ironic. “Are you about to spend over one hundred and fifty thousand dollars… on professional wrestling?”
Bruce, seated at his desk with his elbows resting against it, typed with a frown.
“It’s not just wrestling, Alfred. It’s a shared experience, something the boys will remember for the rest of their lives.”
“Yes, most likely every time they check their bank accounts,” Alfred replied without missing a beat.
“Front row seats, backstage access, VIP event passes…” Bruce murmured, ignoring him. “Dick mentioned they wanted to see him ‘up close.’”
“Up close or on top of the ring?” Alfred asked as he placed a cup of tea beside him. “Because I fear that, given how impulsive they are, they’ll attempt the latter.”
“Jason is going to try it,” a voice said from the doorway.
Both of them turned.
Tim was leaning against the frame with his arms crossed and an expression far too calm for a nine year old.
“And Dick is going to record it,” he added. “For ‘technical analysis.’”
Bruce closed his eyes for a second.
“That is not going to happen.”
Tim raised an eyebrow.
“It’s going to happen.”
Alfred cleared his throat softly, hiding a smile.
“I must say, young Master Timothy has an impeccable record when it comes to predicting his brothers’ actions.”
Bruce ignored that and looked back at the screen.
“They won’t be the first Waynes to do something reckless, Alfred.”
“No, but they may be the first to do it in front of millions of viewers.”
As if the universe wanted to support that statement, Bruce’s phone started ringing.
“Lucius,” he answered.
“Tell me I did not just see a transfer of over a hundred thousand dollars toward something called the OnLocation Elite Plus WrestleMania Experience.”
“Ah, that. Yes.”
“Bruce,” Lucius said in a measured voice, “please tell me this is an investment project and not a midlife crisis.”
“It’s a family trip,” Bruce replied calmly. “My sons are fans, and I thought it would be good for us to spend time together.”
“You could’ve bought an entire stadium for yourselves,” Lucius grumbled.
“I’m practicing paternal empathy.”
There was a brief silence.
“That is exactly what someone in the middle of a midlife crisis would say.”
Jason looked up from the book he had been reading on the couch.
“It’s not a crisis,” he said. “It’s compensation for the years we didn’t have a father figure, and now he’s trying to be an encouraging parent so we don’t develop some weird psychological complex.”
Bruce looked at him.
“I am not compensating for anything.”
Jason shrugged, and Tim continued.
“You bought the most expensive package without comparing options.”
Alfred nodded solemnly.
“A classic indicator.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes.
“Thank you for the financial analysis. Any other observations?”
“Just promise me you’re not going to end up flat on the mat, alright?” Lucius added.
Bruce exhaled through his nose.
“I don’t plan to. Though with my luck, something will probably fall on top of me.”
Tim said nothing… but he smiled.
Alfred, however, let out a restrained laugh.
“Well then?” he asked once Bruce hung up. “What suit will you be wearing for this ‘paternal empathy’? The formal one, or the one resistant to popcorn stains?”
“Both,” Bruce answered dryly as he closed the laptop. “You never know when you’ll need style and protection.”
Alfred picked up the empty cup.
“Of course, sir. Elegance above all else… even in combat.”
Bruce stood from the desk.
Tim watched him for another second.
“You’re going to end up on television,” he said.
Bruce paused slightly.
“No.”
“Yes,” Tim replied with absolute certainty. “And your face is probably going to be visible when something falls on top of you.”
Bruce slowly turned his head toward him.
“That is not going to happen, smartass.”
Jason smiled, small and satisfied.
“It’s going to happen.”
The weeks flew by for Bruce thanks to his sons’ excitement. Every dinner came with nonstop conversation about what awaited them the following weekend at the next WrestleMania championship match: the full weekend itinerary, the techniques they might get to witness, and all the activities included in the VIP package experience.
Bruce Wayne’s study was immaculate as always, but today it was filled with open suitcases, maps of Las Vegas, and a couple of backpacks with action figures waiting to be properly packed.
Alfred walked from one side of the room to the other with a tablet in hand, reviewing flights and transportation with the precision of someone organizing a military operation.
“The tickets, private flights, and ground transportation have all been confirmed,” he announced. “Everything is ready for the Wayne family to enjoy a weekend in Las Vegas.”
Bruce nodded while reviewing the itineraries on his own tablet.
“Excellent. We just need to make sure the Bellagio penthouse is ready, with a view of the Strip and direct elevator access.”
“It has already been prepared, sir,” Alfred replied. “I have also arranged discreet transportation to the stadium and support personnel for any possible inconvenience.”
He paused briefly before adding with complete calm:
“As for myself, I have reserved a few hotel tours, along with some… cultural visits.”
Jason looked up from the couch.
“Casinos?”
“Museums of human behavior in high risk environments,” Alfred corrected.
Jason laughed.
“He’s going to gamble.”
“With impeccable moderation,” Alfred replied without losing his composure.
Bruce did not even look up.
“As long as you don’t come back with a tiger, everything is fine.”
“I shall do my best, sir.”
“Good. I just need to make sure the boys don’t destroy anything.”
Alfred raised an eyebrow.
“As though they ever have.”
“You broke a lamp last week,” Tim said without looking at anyone.
“It was collateral damage from the maneuver I was practicing,” Jason replied.
“It was an avoidable fall,” Tim corrected.
“It was fun while it lasted,” Dick added with a grin.
Bruce sighed.
“I am going to ignore that and refrain from asking further questions.”
Dick and Jason were already watching Superman clips on their phones, arguing about who would have the best ring entrance if they were wrestlers.
“I’d come out with fire,” Jason said.
“That’s banned now,” Tim replied.
“Then fireworks.”
“Also dangerous.”
“Then epic music.”
“That one is possible.”
Bruce listened with half a smile while Alfred handed him sunscreen.
“Just in case, sir.”
Bruce looked at him.
“We’re going to a nighttime event.”
“And to a city in the middle of the desert,” Alfred replied.
Bruce took the sunscreen without arguing.
“Fine.”
Bruce exhaled slowly.
“Go upstairs and finish packing.”
The three boys stood almost at the same time, taking the chaos, noise, and excitement with them.
When the door closed, Alfred adjusted one of the suitcases with precise care.
“Nervous, sir?”
Bruce took a second before answering.
“No.”
Alfred smiled faintly.
“Of course not, sir.”
The jet took off at sunset.
Jason claimed the window seat the moment they sat down, pressing his forehead against the glass as the city grew smaller beneath them.
“How much longer until we get there?” he asked for the third time in less than ten minutes.
“Several hours,” Dick replied without looking away from his tablet. “And it won’t change if you keep asking.”
Tim was already watching more matches, completely absorbed in the wrestlers’ statistics and records for the weekend.
“Look at this one, Jay. This is when Superman won the championship.”
Bruce watched quietly with a drink in hand, half listening while the sky turned orange.
He was not entirely sure when this had become more than just an impulsive idea brought on by seeing the excitement on his sons’ faces while they informed him that he was clearly not ancient.
But he did not mind either.
Las Vegas looked unlike anything they had ever known.
Lights, giant screens, and buildings impossible to ignore because of how brightly they shone.
“Is that a castle?” Dick asked, pressed against the car window.
“And what’s that?” Jason added. “A pyramid?”
“The Luxor Hotel,” Tim answered automatically. “It has a beam of light visible from space.”
Jason whistled.
“I want to stay there next time.”
“I want that one,” Dick added, pointing at another glowing building.
“That’s Caesars Palace,” Tim said. “Roman themed.”
“There’s also Circus Circus,” he added, pointing into the distance. “It has rides and circus performances at night.”
“Okay, definitely that one,” Jason declared.
“We could make a list,” Dick suggested excitedly. “Switch hotels every time we come.”
“That is logistically inefficient,” Alfred replied.
“Boring,” Jason countered.
“But possible,” Tim corrected with a shrug.
Jason turned toward Bruce with a dangerous smile.
“Next time, let’s not stay at a boring hotel.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
“The Bellagio is not boring.”
“It’s elegant, we know,” Dick said. “But that one has a pyramid and the other one has an Eiffel Tower.”
“And that one looks like a palace,” Jason added.
“And that one has a circus,” Tim finished.
Bruce looked at all three of them.
Then at the city.
Then sighed.
“I already took you to see the real Eiffel Tower.”
“But we’ve never seen the small one,” Dick replied without losing any enthusiasm.
Bruce shook his head in defeat.
“We’ll see.”
The three of them smiled as though that already meant yes.
And as the car stopped in front of the Bellagio, with its illuminated fountains dancing outside the entrance, Bruce had the faint suspicion that the entire weekend was about to spiral completely out of control.
The black car stopped in front of the lobby, where the air smelled like expensive perfume and lucky bets.
Jason got out first, still wearing sunglasses even though it was nearly nine at night.
Dick followed behind him, recording everything with his phone.
“Look at that!” he said, pointing at the fountains. “Bruce, this is like Gotham but with decent lighting!”
“And less visible crime,” Jason added.
Bruce sighed, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket while the bellhop started unloading the luggage. Alfred, immaculate as always, carried a folder containing the check in documents.
“Sir, if I may remind you,” Alfred said, “I suggested we stay somewhere quieter.”
“Alfred, it’s WrestleMania,” Dick replied, looping an arm around him. “You can’t live without a little noise.”
“Young Master Richard, at my age noise is synonymous with migraines,” Alfred answered.
“And fun,” Tim added.
“And questionable decisions,” Jason finished.
Alfred handed the keycard to Bruce.
“Enjoy the spectacle, but remember: I do not want calls from jail or a hospital.”
“What if it’s from both?” Jason asked.
“Then I shall pretend I do not know you and your names mean nothing to me.”
The elevator went directly to the penthouse suite.
The doors opened to a space so massive that the three boys fell silent…
For exactly two seconds.
“Okay… this isn’t a room, it’s a Scorsese movie,” Jason said as he walked inside.
“I call the bedroom with the fountain view!” Dick shouted, sprinting down the hallway.
“And I want the one with the minibar!” Jason answered.
“We’re not allowed to use the minibar,” Tim said while following them.
“I never said I was going to use it.”
“You are going to try.”
“You can’t prove that.”
“I can wait.”
Bruce watched the chaos while Alfred arranged the luggage with flawless precision.
“I wonder,” the butler said, “what became of those peaceful years when young Master Richard played with Legos.”
“He traded them for adrenaline and poor decisions,” Bruce replied with a tired smile.
“Natural evolution,” Jason added from the hallway.
Alfred huffed softly.
“I shall be downstairs at the restaurant, sir. I will attempt to pretend this is a cultural trip.”
“Enjoy your ‘research,’” Bruce said.
“I always do.”
Alfred left at a brisk pace.
“BRUCE, YOU HAVE TO SEE THIS!” Dick shouted.
“I FOUND THE JACUZZI!” Jason added.
“Do not get in without supervision,” Bruce answered automatically.
“We’re already in it,” Jason replied.
“That does not help,” Tim said.
Bruce closed his eyes for a second.
“Five minutes,” he finally said.
“YES!” all three shouted.
Bruce walked toward the terrace.
The lights of Las Vegas stretched before him like a golden ocean.
He pulled out his phone and checked the VIP package itinerary.
Photos with the wrestlers, backstage access, an exclusive dinner, and the after party.
From inside, he could hear laughter, splashing water, and what was probably someone attempting to jump off something.
Bruce exhaled.
“There better be decent coffee,” he muttered.
The fountains began to dance beneath the night sky.
And for the first time in a very long while, the chaos behind him did not feel like a problem too difficult to manage.
When they arrived at the venue, the sheer scale of the experience hit Bruce immediately.
From the exclusive entrance onward, everything was spectacle: lights, smoke, and music blasting at full volume. Giant screens played highlights from past matches while the crowd surged forward like an electric current.
“Dad, look at this!” Dick shouted, pointing at one of the screens. “We can walk down the ramp before the show!”
“And there’s food, merch, and an arcade area,” Jason added, spinning around excitedly. “This is better than any amusement park!”
“I liked Nintendo World more,” Tim said, “but this is pretty acceptable.”
At that moment, one of the screens changed.
Rhea Ripley appeared on camera, raising her championship belt with the kind of dominant confidence that made the crowd roar. She shot the camera a challenging look, followed by one of her signature smirks.
Jason stopped dead in his tracks.
“There she is.”
He didn’t say it like a discovery.
He said it like someone recognizing something that belonged to him.
“It’s starting already,” Tim murmured.
“Shut up,” Jason replied without taking his eyes off the screen.
Dick laughed.
“You’ve been talking about her for weeks.”
“That’s not true.”
“You tried changing your wallpaper to a picture of her.”
“It was a good picture.”
“You tried playing her entrance music in the car.”
“That was strategic.”
“You said you were going to start training ‘for personal reasons.’”
Jason finally looked at them.
“I am going to start training.”
“For Rhea Ripley,” Tim finished.
“For discipline.”
“She has a very high win rate.”
“Thanks, Tim.”
“And a dominant presence in the ring.”
“TIM.”
“I understand why you like her so much. She’s a woman who proves she’s strong and very beautiful.”
“SHUT UP.”
Bruce wisely decided not to comment on his son’s obvious childhood crush.
The VIP access wasn’t just a privileged entrance.
It was a full experience.
Interactive booths, display cases filled with memorabilia, games, giant screens… everything was designed to make people never want to leave.
“We’re splitting up,” Dick announced without waiting for permission.
“No,” Bruce replied automatically, grabbing his eldest son by the arm.
“We’re separating visually and emotionally, but we’ll still technically be in the same area,” Dick clarified.
“That does not make it better.”
“It makes it significantly better.”
Jason was no longer listening.
He had stopped in front of a dummy with Logan Paul’s face on it, where you could hit it with a metal chair to measure a person’s strength level.
“Oh, this is personal.”
“He didn’t even do anything to you,” Tim said.
“He exists.”
Jason rolled up his sleeves.
“That’s enough.”
Then, showing his VIP pass, he got in line to wait for them to hand him a chair.
He slammed the dummy as hard as he could. Then again.
“That’s for that interview!” he growled. “And for talking too much!”
“He can’t hear you,” Tim added.
“I’m channeling emotions.”
“You’re hitting a mannequin.”
“With intent.”
“I’LL BE BACK!” Dick shouted, already running off. “I SAW A FIGURE COLLECTOR STAND!”
“He’s lost,” Tim said.
“He’ll come back,” Jason replied, still staring at the scoreboard showing how his strength compared to the wrestlers’.
Dick did not come back immediately.
The merchandise stand was enormous, filled with perfectly arranged figures.
He browsed through them with almost surgical concentration.
“No way…” he murmured. “No way…”
He stopped.
His eyes lit up.
“There you are.”
He carefully picked up the box.
“John Cena, special edition… the one I was missing.”
He turned it around, inspecting every detail as though it were a sacred relic.
“Okay. This trip was worth it. I just need to ask B for an advance on my allowance.”
A little farther away, Tim stopped in front of an elevated display.
It was not just a showcase.
It was a full recreation.
A cage suspended in the air, illuminated by dramatic lighting, and inside… a figure hanging awkwardly, swaying slightly as if still trying to figure out how to get down.
Tim smiled.
“Okay, this is really well made.”
He did not look away from it.
“Bad Blood 2024,” he said, as though it were obvious. “Rhea Ripley had Dominik Mysterio locked inside a cage so he wouldn’t interfere in her match against Liv Morgan.”
Dick walked over too, curious.
“And why is he hanging?”
Tim pointed at the chain.
“Because he tried to climb out. The cage didn’t even have a lock. They trusted he wouldn’t come down because he’s afraid of heights… but he still tried and ended up tangled in the chain.”
Jason laughed.
“What an idiot.”
“He was literally left hanging in the middle of the match,” Tim continued, now clearly enjoying the explanation. “And Rhea…”
He paused briefly, looking at the figure.
“…decided it would be a good idea to use him as a piñata with a kendo stick.”
Jason smiled approvingly.
“He deserved it.”
“Then someone else interfered,” Tim added. “But Liv retained the title.”
Dick blinked.
“All of that happened… in one match?”
Tim nodded.
“Yes.”
Jason crossed his arms, staring at the cage with approval.
“Okay, now that’s wrestling.”
Tim tilted his head, studying the details.
“It’s exaggerated storytelling with real physical execution.”
“It’s a cage with lights,” Bruce said, having quietly listened to his son the entire time.
“It’s a cage with context,” Tim corrected.
Jason looked at him.
“I still prefer ‘Dom the human piñata.’”
Tim let out a small laugh.
“That is also correct.”
Farther ahead, a screen was showing backstage interviews.
A man in a suit held a microphone, speaking with polished professionalism.
“…and what makes Superman impressive isn’t just the aerial technique, but the precision with which he executes every move…”
Bruce slowed his pace for barely a second.
“…Clark Kent for WWE Network, reporting from backstage.”
Jason did not even look.
“Do you think Rhea’s fighting tonight?”
“Probably,” Dick answered, returning with his figure.
“I already checked the schedule,” Tim said. “Second night. We get to see Superman on the first one.”
Jason exhaled.
“Okay. Good. I can wait.”
Bruce frowned slightly… but kept walking, listening to everything his sons were saying.
In one area, displayed on an illuminated pedestal, sat a blue and red mask.
“That’s Superman’s,” Dick whispered.
Jason looked at it with genuine respect.
“Okay… this is actually incredible.”
“It’s well made,” Tim added. “Looks lightweight.”
Bruce stepped closer out of curiosity for a second.
It did look far too light for someone who did what that wrestler did.
“I finally found it! You have no idea how long I searched for this online.”
Dick lifted his new figure triumphantly, one he had maybe helped pay for a little too enthusiastically with one of his cards.
The comment came right after Jason’s.
“I beat Logan Paul.”
“The dummy wasn’t competing,” Tim said.
“I was.”
Tim rolled his eyes.
“That explains a lot.”
“Shut up.”
Bruce looked at the three of them.
One excited over his collection.
Another ready to fight inanimate objects.
And the third somehow finding logic in chaos.
He sighed.
But it was not exhaustion.
“Ready for the next thing?” he asked.
“YES!” all three answered in unison.
The first night of the show would, for Bruce, confirm exactly why these kinds of events attracted his sons in such different ways.
Entering the stadium was unlike everything else.
It was not just huge.
It was overwhelming.
Lights spinning in every direction, giant screens, music vibrating through the floor beneath their feet, and thousands of people gathered for a single purpose: to be entertained and hope their favorite would win. Even from the VIP entrance, the crowd’s noise crashed over them like a constant wave.
“Okay,” Bruce murmured, adjusting the sleeve of his jacket. “This is… substantial.”
“This is incredible,” Dick corrected, already walking faster. “Come on, we have to find our seats!”
“If you run, security’s going to stop us and someone will definitely have to come help,” Tim added calmly, though he was speeding up behind his older brother too.
Jason did not even answer.
He was staring at everything with shining eyes, trying to memorize every detail of something he had dreamed about.
“This is better than the videos.”
“Of course it’s better,” Dick said. “It’s live, it’s huge, and we’re right at the front!”
An attendant guided them to their seats.
Front row was the most expensive package, directly in front of the ring, separated only by a small barricade made from material that did not look especially reassuring.
Too close.
“Oh,” Bruce said, stopping for a second before sitting down at the edge so he could better keep an eye on his sons. “This… is closer than I expected. Is this safe?”
“That’s the point. I hope something splashes on us,” Jason replied, dropping into his seat.
Tim looked around.
Cameras, production crews, and several security staff nearby.
“We’re going to end up on television.”
“Perfect,” Dick said. “Smile, Bruce.”
“Not right now, Dick.”
The boys ordered food delivered directly to their seats and waited excitedly for the show to begin.
The lights started dimming, and the murmur of the stadium transformed into rising screams.
It became loud anticipation for whatever was about to happen.
“It’s starting,” Dick said, leaning forward.
The first match hit like an explosion. To Bruce, everything felt fast, loud, and completely over the top while his sons enjoyed every second, reacting alongside the crowd.
Jason was already standing on his seat.
“THAT WAS CHEATING!”
“There are no strict rules,” Tim corrected. “Just flexible storytelling. I remind you this isn’t real.”
“THAT’S NOT FAIR AND OF COURSE IT’S REAL!”
“It’s entertainment. Obviously everything is scripted.”
Dick was applauding like it was the greatest thing he had ever seen in his life.
Bruce watched, trying to understand everything happening in front of him while Tim quietly explained storylines and wrestler statistics beside him.
The second match was different. More technical, faster, and undeniably driven by a different kind of storytelling. Bruce could finally understand why his sons loved this so much, especially if he thought of the narratives as a very violent form of theater for children.
Tim narrowed his eyes.
“He’s going to try a hold from behind.”
The wrestler did exactly that, and Jason stared at him strangely.
“…okay, you’re weird.”
“This wrestler follows a very clear combat pattern. It was only a matter of time before he did it,” Tim replied.
“I hate you.”
“I already know it’s not personal.”
By the third match, Bruce was leaning forward, trying to entertain himself by studying the combat patterns he now noticed in the wrestlers.
By the fourth, he had started reacting.
He was not shouting or moving around like his sons, but he was no longer detached from the match unfolding in front of him either.
“That had to hurt,” he murmured at one point.
“Oh, it definitely hurt,” Jason confirmed confidently.
Time flew by for the Wayne family, and then the lights suddenly went out completely after the announcer mentioned the final match of the night.
Silence fell.
A few seconds passed.
Then came an explosion of red and blue lights.
The stadium erupted into cheers.
“IT’S HIM!” Dick shouted, jumping to his feet.
“SUPERMAN!” Jason was already halfway over the barricade.
Tim leaned forward completely focused, eyes shining with the kind of wonder only childhood excitement could create.
Bruce looked up and saw him appear at the top of the ramp. Superman was imposing, just as he had looked in the absurd number of videos his sons had shown him from every possible angle. He walked with confident ease, smiling at the crowd without hurry while his cape moved behind him as if he did not need to do anything to command everyone’s attention.
The crowd screamed his name. Signs were raised high while children lifted masks and stretched out their hands to support their favorite wrestler as he greeted people from afar during his entrance.
Bruce noticed it immediately.
It was not just excitement.
It was trust.
A closeness with the audience that kept Superman everyone’s favorite.
He climbed into the ring, bounced against the ropes, and jumped. Superman’s persona rarely involved long speeches because he often said actions mattered more than words when it came to succeeding.
He spun through the air with impossible precision.
And landed perfectly.
The stadium exploded.
“THE KING OF THE AIR!” someone shouted behind them.
Jason slammed his palm against the barricade.
“HE DID IT!”
Dick was laughing.
Tim was watching even more intently now, his eyes filled with childish awe, like someone witnessing something extraordinary.
Bruce could not look away. There was something almost hypnotic about the man’s performance as he quickly removed his cape, revealing the iconic S symbol across the upper part of his back.
Then the match started, and everything became a fast, precise blur.
Every movement Superman made was clean and calculated.
The pace intensified when his opponent crashed outside the ring and Superman backed away, clearly preparing for one of his signature high-flying moves.
He ran.
Pushed himself off the third rope—
“HE’S GOING TO JUMP!” Dick shouted.
And he jumped.
For Bruce, time slowed.
The spin of that large man was flawless.
But the opponent shifted just enough to attack from another angle.
And suddenly there was nowhere to land.
The impact was immediate.
A solid weight crashed into Bruce as the air was knocked from his lungs. The world tilted backward while he slammed into his seat.
“BRUCE!” Dick shouted while Jason was already on his feet.
Tim leaned forward immediately to make sure his father was okay.
Cameras turned.
Security rushed toward them.
The air left Bruce’s lungs all at once, his head spinning from the noise and confusion.
On top of him was a solid weight, too close, too real, too warm. The wrestler froze for half a second before reacting far too quickly, and Bruce blinked.
The world tipped backward as his back hit the seat hard enough to throw him off balance, and above him, the wrestler stayed still for just a moment.
Their eyes met.
Blue behind the mask.
The line of a mouth.
A split lip perhaps.
Only for less than a second, but enough for Bruce to truly notice the person on top of him.
The cameras moved first, reacting to the crowd’s panic over an accident that thankfully had not become serious.
“CUT TO RINGSIDE!” one of the commentators could be heard yelling.
“Hey, hey… I’m sorry. Are you okay?” The voice was lower now. Urgent. Nothing like the one used for the performance.
Bruce blinked, still catching his breath.
“…I’ve been worse,” he managed to say.
Which was not entirely a lie.
The wrestler let out a short exhale, clearly relieved.
“I wasn’t supposed to land here. Sorry.”
It did not sound scripted.
It sounded genuine.
A referee rushed over.
“Everything’s fine! Everything’s fine!”
But the wrestler did not look away from Bruce.
“Are you sure?”
Bruce nodded.
“Yes.”
Strangely, amid all the noise, their eyes locked again.
Blue behind the mask.
And then—
“BACK TO THE RING!” a producer shouted.
The moment shattered.
The wrestler gave him a quick smile, pushed himself up in one smooth motion, and returned to the match as if he could become a different person instantly.
The crowd roared like nothing had happened.
But something had.
“Mr. Wayne,” a staff member said as they approached. “Would you like medical assistance?”
“No,” Bruce replied, adjusting his jacket. “I’m fine.”
Dick remained close beside him.
Jason’s fists were still clenched.
Tim watched everything with that strange calm his youngest son always had whenever something caught his attention.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” Dick asked, still leaning toward him.
“I’m fine. It was just the shock of the moment, and you all know I’ve had worse situations than this,” Bruce replied, straightening himself.
Jason looked toward the ring, visibly annoyed.
“That shouldn’t have happened.”
“It was a mistake,” Tim said calmly. “His calculation failed.”
The giant screen immediately replayed the moment from multiple angles.
The jump.
The mistake.
The collision.
And throughout the stadium, phones were already raised, recording the incident like people had grown accustomed to doing over the years.
Dick glanced at another screen.
“They’ve replayed it like five times already.”
Bruce exhaled slowly.
“Perfect.”
Around them, the reactions were mixed.
Concern.
Excitement.
People pointing.
Others nervously laughing.
Some applauding the continuation of the match.
But Bruce barely heard any of it.
His attention remained fixed on the ring.
On that wrestler.
On the way he had returned to the match with even more careful precision.
And for one brief moment, when he passed near their side of the ring again…
he looked back at Bruce.
Just for a second, as if searching for any sign that he was hurt.
Bruce held the gaze.
He noticed the more restrained rhythm now. The more measured movements. As if the mistake had changed something in the wrestler.
As if he was compensating for it with care.
When the match ended, the referee raised the winner’s arm and the music filled the stadium once more.
The crowd noticed it before Bruce fully understood what was happening.
Superman stepped out of the ring and headed directly toward them.
The murmuring grew louder, cameras focusing on them again while people watched with their phones raised high.
The wrestler stopped at the barricade, facing Bruce directly.
“Hey,” he said, leaning down slightly. “I wanted to make sure you’re okay. I’m not supposed to ruin anyone’s night.”
His voice was still firm… but softer now, undeniably closer.
Bruce looked at him carefully.
The mask did not hide everything.
Especially not the concern in the man’s eyes.
“I’m still in one piece,” Bruce replied.
“Good,” Superman exhaled, genuinely relieved. “I missed my landing point.”
“Happens sometimes, I suppose,” Bruce said with his trademark smile.
“It really shouldn’t. I’m sorry.”
Dick could not stop himself.
“You’re incredible!”
Jason nodded enthusiastically.
“That was brutal.”
Tim added more calmly,
“You adjusted your fall midair to avoid landing directly on us. That was… fast.”
Superman looked at them.
And smiled.
“Thanks,” he said. “Are you guys having fun?”
“YES!” Dick and Jason answered at the same time.
Tim gave a small thumbs up.
Superman looked back at Bruce for perhaps a second longer than necessary.
“Seriously… I’m sorry.”
“Apology accepted. It really wasn’t anything.”
Superman nodded.
Then, as if remembering something:
“There’s a meet-and-greet tomorrow,” he said. “If you come… I’ll see you there. I’ll make sure you get all the autographs you want.”
Jason’s mouth fell open.
Dick was already nodding enthusiastically.
Tim looked at Superman with open admiration.
Bruce held his gaze.
“We’ll be there.”
Superman smiled again, softer this time, almost personal, before stepping away and heading up the ramp to say goodbye to the crowd before disappearing from sight.
“Okay, I definitely don’t think you’re a boring old man anymore,” Jason said with a grin as he watched Superman walk away.