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Mission debriefs were a standard part of every mission that the Justice League went on as a group.
Their mission today had been an overall success, but for a variety of problems, it had also taken several hours longer than planned. As such, it was important for the team to come together to discuss what went wrong, what went right, and what they needed to change or keep an eye on in the future. It was all protocol.
Bruce knew this, because he wrote the protocol. Still, as they approached what would be early morning back in Gotham, all that Bruce wanted to do was go home and see his children. He was a bit worried about them; he knew they could all take care of themselves, of course, but his comms system had been taken out fairly early in the fight and he hadn't been able to do a check-in yet.
(The broken ribs and gunshot wound in his side didn’t help, either. Bruce made a mental note to test his armor against alien laser guns more extensively in the future.)
“I want to remind everyone to not assign blame,” Clark said from the front of the room, starting the meeting. It was clear who he was speaking about; Bruce and Hal had been passive-aggressively sniping at each other for the past hour, and had barely stopped for long enough to get their injuries dealt with. Bruce really couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty about it. “All of us made mistakes at some point today, and all of us should strive to be better in the future.”
Hal scoffed from the other side of the table. Bruce turned towards him, slowly and menacingly.
If Hal wanted a fight, then he would get one.
Clark sighed, barely audible as he sank down into his chair, and Diana nodded at him in understanding.
Luckily for them, the budding fight was interrupted by an automatic zeta tube alert calling out, “Code B10, Robin.”
The entire team froze except for Bruce, who quickly shot up towards the door of the meeting room. Unfortunately, the quick movement pulled on the stitches in his side, and after just a few steps he stumbled, almost losing his balance as pain bloomed.
“Woah,” Clark said, instantly by Bruce’s side and steadying him. Clark ignored the hands attempting to push him away as he turned his head towards the hallway. “I’m sure it’s alr—”
Bruce’s head snapped up at the sudden silence, following Clark’s gaze uselessly to the wall. Clark had that look in his eyes, the one that said he was looking at something no one else could see.
“What,” Bruce growled, wishing not for the first time that he had x-ray vision as well, “What is it.”
Clark was more baffled than concerned as he stuttered, “Well, uh… does Robin, by any chance, have any…”
The door to the meeting room slid open automatically and a small leopard confidently walked into the room.
“…any cats?” Clark finished, weakly.
Bruce stared at the cat. The cat stared back. It was clearly an adolescent, with paws a bit too large for the rest of its body, but it carried itself with a certain degree of confidence and pride that Bruce had never seen in a wild animal. That, paired with the suspiciously mask-shaped splash of black fur across the leopard’s eyes as it stared at Bruce, led to one very confusing possible conclusion.
“…Robin?” Bruce asked. Someone in the room choked.
The leopard huffed, and the sound was so similar to Damian’s usual “tt,” that Bruce almost stumbled again. The leopard’s eyes narrowed as it- he stalked forward towards Bruce.
As soon as Damian was close enough, he began pushing against Bruce’s legs, using his weight to force the man back and into his chair. Once Bruce was sitting, Damian put his front two paws up on the chair, leaning forward and sniffing around the area that Bruce had been injured.
“Robin,” Bruce interrupted the shocked silence that had settled over the room, “Can you understand me?”
Seemingly content with his inspection, Damian sent Bruce a narrowed eyed look that clearly said “obviously, are you stupid?” Then, after making sure the insult got across with an eye roll, he pulled up his back paws onto the chair as well, planting himself firmly in Bruce’s lap and shoving his head under his father’s chin.
Instinctively, Bruce’s arms came up to wrap around his son, holding him securely in his lap as Damian began to let out soft little chuffing noises.
“What the fuck?”
Bruce glared at Hal before he even processed what the other man had said.
“No, you don’t get to look at me like that, Spooky,” Hal defended himself, pointing at Bruce, “You have a goddamn cheetah in your lap!”
“Leopard, actually,” Bruce corrected, looking back at his son. Damian seemed to understand him, at least enough to use the zeta tube and roll his eyes, and yet Bruce knew that Damian would never curl up in Bruce’s lap like this if he was thinking clearly, and especially not in front of the Justice League.
This version of Damian didn’t seem to care at all, though. In fact, as they sat there, Bruce could feel his front paws begin to flex back and forth, kneading into his thigh.
Thank god for kevlar body armor, Bruce thought as he felt the tips of Damian’s claws press into him.
“That is so not the point,” Hal argued back.
“How,” Barry spoke up cautiously. “How did he get here?”
Bruce was saved from answering by another alert, this time coming from the large monitor at the front of the room.
“Incoming call,” It read out, “B07, Spoiler. Emergency line 1605.”
That was the emergency line for the Bat Cave.
“Accept,” Bruce called out, turning towards the screen. “Spoiler, re-“
“B, thank god.” The call opened to show Spoiler at the Bat Computer, eyes wide and clearly stressed. She was breathing somewhat heavily as she continued, “I know you said this number is only for big emergencies only, but you weren’t answering your normal comm and we can’t find Robin, which isn’t the worst emergency in normal situations, but this is—“ Her eyes flicker to something to her left and she cuts herself off, rushing off camera and yelling, “Dick, get off of that!”
Bruce winced at the sound of a loud crash, an annoyed squawk, and… a bark?
“Spoiler,” he called out again.
“Sorry, B!” She responded, popping back up on camera, firmly holding a wiggling blue macaw this time. “Look, there’s a bit of a situation here, can you come back? We really need to find Robin.”
“I have Robin.”
Steph froze for a moment. “You… have Robin?”
Bruce leaned over to the monitor’s controls and turned on the camera.
He could see the exact moment that Steph realized the number she had called, eyes widening even more as she processed the Justice League members staring at her, before her eyes settled on Bruce and the leopard in his lap.
“You have Robin,” She sighed, shoulders relaxing slightly, before tensing back up as the macaw tried to wriggle free again. “How do you have- why do you have- is he biscuiting?”
The bird in her arms froze, turning its head slightly to stare at the computer screen.
“Ow, hey!” Steph grumbled as she got yanked down slightly, a lemur of all things climbing up her arm and perching on her shoulder. Next to her, a large black mastiff slowly lifted up its head to look over the computer console.
Bruce sighed loudly, resting his head against the back of his chair as he looked at the animal forms of three more of his children. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and appreciating the weight of Damian on his lap. He was biscuiting. It was nice.
“Report,” He tried again. His voice must’ve come out more gruff than he intended, because all five of his kids perked up, including Damian. Suddenly, all five of them were making noise, with Damian grumbling both adorably and grumpily into Bruce’s chest, Dick and Tim squawking over each other as Steph tried to shut them up, and a low rumbling sound that could only be the dog equivalent of laughter coming from Jason.
“Spoiler only, please,” Bruce held up a hand, quieting them all. He ignored the barely restrained snickers coming from his teammates.
“Nightwing and Robin were patrolling the Bowery when Nightwing requested backup for an unidentified magic user. As the Reds were the closest, they responded to the call. Approximately 13 minutes after they arrived, Oracle reported that their comms were no longer responding. I arrived on the scene approximately three minutes later and found all of the boys disoriented but otherwise unharmed. I inspected the area but could not find the magic user, and so I returned to the boys to try and get them to a safe location. That was when Robin had disappeared, and I returned to the Cave to contact you.”
“So you didn’t apprehend the magic user?”
Steph’s eyes flashed dangerously as she snapped, “I was a bit busy trying to move a dog, parrot, and whatever the hell Red Robin is across Gotham, Batman. And I don’t know if you can tell,” she gestured up towards Tim, who had pulled down Steph’s hood halfway through her report and was grooming her hair, “but they aren’t exactly in their right minds! Nightwing can fly, B, do you know how annoying it was to catch him?
Bruce winced. That wasn’t what he meant. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Jason moved first, shoving his large head into Steph’s thigh until she reached down to pet him, the tension draining from her body. It had clearly been a long night.
“You did good,” Bruce said instead, his tone softer, and Steph nodded at him.
Bruce looked down at the cat in his arms and then at the rest of the Justice League in the room with him. He gathered up Damian in one arm, and used his other to brace against the table as he stood up, trying to not pull at his stitches again.
Dick cooed at the movement, watching the way Bruce took a deep breath through the pain. Bruce smiled at the obvious worry.
“I’ll be there soon,” Bruce reassured them, voice still softer than normal. He reached over and hung up the call, cutting off a loud, worried squawk from Dick.
He turned to the rest of the Justice League, who were all staring at him in shock.
“Well,” He said, picking up the limp cat in his arms, “I suppose I’ll see all of you later.”
As he exited the meeting room, the last thing he heard was a quiet, “Did she call Nightwing a dick?”