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There was a small child on Bruce’s porch.
…
Why was there a small child on Bruce’s porch?
Bruce plastered on a movie-worthy smile. “Hello there, little one! How can I help you today?” Maybe Boy Scouts? He couldn’t think of a reason why they’d come here though, and the boy was alone. … an orphan looking for handouts?
He started going for his wallet the second the thought crossed his mind.
“Mister Batman,” the child started, “I’m your new sidekick.”
Bruce froze, opening and closing his mouth. “… sorry, what.”
---
“Master Bruce,” Alfred started, ever-so calmly in a way that didn’t help Bruce at all, “May I ask why there is a young child in the Cave?”
“Hi,” the child in question added, helpfully. “‘m Duke.”
“Hello, Mister Duke, it is a pleasure to meet you. Master Bruce?”
“Ummmm,” Bruce fumbled. “… he asked to see it?”
Alfred gave him the most disappointed look in the history of the world.
---
Bruce was banging his head on his desk. Why? No particular reason.
“Bruce,” said the no particular reason in question. “I’ll be fiiinnneee, I promise! I can help you out~”
“Duke, please,” Bruce said, exhausted beyond reason.
“No, no, ‘cause you’re not listening to me, B!” Duke stomped his foot down angrily, tiny hands clenching by his sides over and over again.
Bruce sighed, “Look, buddy, I hear you. I know why you want to go out into Gotham and be like me, but I can’t let you do that. Not only would it be irresponsible of me, as an adult, but it would most definitely put you in danger. And that’s not even touching on your foster parents, who no doubt will be worried about you.” He leaned back, shaking his head. Crossing his arms, Bruce looked back at the little boy who had such similarities to himself and wondered how he was supposed to protect this… stubborn little bastard.
No wonder Alfred gave up on raising him to be normal.
Duke huffed angrily, crossing his (tiny, baby, pudgy, unbearably cute) arms in an unconscious mimic of Bruce. “Fine! Whatever. I’m going back to the fudging place where I literally have to sleep with three people in the same bed. Bye,” he spat, turning on his heel while Bruce felt like he’d been slapped in the face.
He hadn’t realized the foster homes in Gotham were quite that bad, but on second thought he really should have. It was Gotham, after all. Everything was always bad, all the time.
Bruce grimaced, rubbing his chin in thought.
“Alfred? Can I sign up to foster kids?”
---
There was so much red, covering every inch of the little boy dressed in yellow. It almost felt like he was choking on it, that the blood was in his lungs and drowning Bruce in his sins.
It felt like it was his fault, that Duke was lying on the ground, unresponsive and ashen.
Bruce didn’t know how he managed to get both of them back to the Cave, if he accidentally hurt anyone too badly in ending the fight. He didn’t feel like it mattered now, not with Duke’s little hand limp in his.
There were little scars crisscrossing the boy’s arms, though most of them looked like they came from play or little mistakes he learned from. A large one stood out, however, where it looked as though Duke’s bone had pierced through his skin.
Bruce felt his heart ache as he remembered what Duke’s file had said it was from. An accident, the words read. Abuse, the space in between meant. One of his previous foster homes had a drunk father take his power and use it against his charges.
The worst part was that his license had only gotten suspended, not revoked.
Bruce grit his teeth, feeling and hearing them creak. It was unacceptable, and he knew he had to do something about it. Years ago, preferably, but now would have to do.
Keeping his grip on Duke’s hand gentle and steady, Bruce went for his phone, calling up Lucius. He wouldn’t allow this continue.
No more hurt children.
---
There was a small child on his porch.
This time, the only thing Bruce could think was “I hope I don’t adopt this one.”
---
“At least you didn’t adopt him, sir.”
“Please Alfred, not now.”
---
Bruce smiled, watching Damian explain one of their science concepts to a perplexed Duke. He truly hadn’t expected his sons (!!!!) to get along as well as they had, but he was far from complaining.
Happy kids, happy house or whatever the moral was. He could never get it quite right.
Bruce took a sip of his coffee (black like a madman, according to Duke), watching Damian go from explaining Physics to doing them, demonstrating by throwing Duke over his shoulder in a WWE wrestling move, then doing it again in a smoother Jujitsu take down.
Duke let out magical, high-pitched giggles that had Bruce smile slightly and Damian grinning down in victory.
Yeah. They’d be alright.
---
“Alfred.”
“Yes, Master Bruce.”
Bruce gestured to the evil looking blonde child Damian had brought home. There was an ice pack on his face hiding where, supposedly, said child hit his son in the face with a brick.
Damian had proceeded to kidnap said child, with the explanation that “she will be a great warrior, Father! Just look at her reflexes and power!”
There was a sudden touch on his leg, distracting him from where the new child (“Her name is Stephanie, Father, my apprentice!”) was meeting Duke, to a chorus of high-pitched delight. Bruce jumped, whipping around to see yet another child, staring through his soul with soft brown eyes.
“Alfred,” he said again, more insistently this time.
“Yes, Master Bruce,” Alfred sighed in dismay, “we don’t have enough comfy blankets for all your new children.”