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The Justice League had seen Batman injured before.
They had seen him poisoned, cursed, frozen, electrocuted, mind-controlled, stabbed, shot, thrown through walls, buried under rubble, and once turned briefly into an actual bat, which he refused to explain afterward.
So when Batman got hit by a flash of silver magic during a fight in Prague and vanished under his own cape, the League reacted with the practiced panic of people who had been through this sort of nonsense before.
“Batman!” Superman shouted, landing hard enough to crack the stone courtyard.
Wonder Woman had the sorcerer pinned against a wall before the man could even finish laughing. Green Lantern wrapped him in three layers of construct chains. Flash skidded to a stop beside the empty-looking cape, eyes wide and horrified.
“Please don’t be dust,” Barry whispered. “Please don’t be dust, please don’t be dust, please don’t be—”
The cape moved.
Everyone froze.
A small black-gloved hand pushed the edge of the cape aside.
Then a child crawled out.
He could not have been older than six.
He had black hair that fell messily over his forehead, pale skin, sharp blue eyes, and the most intense glare any of them had ever seen on a face still round with baby softness.
He was wearing Batman’s armor, technically, but it had become far too big for him. The cowl covered most of his head, the cape swallowed half of him, and the gauntlets hung nearly to his elbows.
The child sat up, looked around, took in the Justice League, the sorcerer, the cracked stones, the smoke, and the fact that he was sitting inside a pile of black fabric.
Then he scowled.
“Report,” he demanded.
No one spoke.
Superman blinked.
Flash opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and then whispered, “Oh my gosh.”
The child’s glare snapped to him.
“Identify yourself.”
Barry pointed at himself. “Me?”
The child narrowed his eyes. “You are wearing red and vibrating. You are either a speedster or a medical emergency.”
Hal made a strangled sound.
Wonder Woman’s eyebrows rose.
Superman stared at the child like he had just witnessed a tiny ghost.
“Bruce?” Clark asked carefully.
The child’s gaze snapped to him.
For one second, something like confusion flickered over his face.
Then it vanished under suspicion.
“How do you know my name?”
Every heart in the courtyard sank at once.
Diana’s grip on the sorcerer tightened. “What did you do?”
The sorcerer, still dangling three feet off the ground in glowing green chains, swallowed. “Temporal regression charm.”
“How long?” Hal demanded.
“Maybe twelve hours?”
Batman’s glare moved from Clark to the sorcerer.
The sorcerer paled.
“Eight,” he corrected. “Definitely eight. Six if he doesn’t fight it.”
Tiny Bruce stood up with great difficulty, nearly tripped over his own cape, caught himself, and pretended it had not happened.
“Unacceptable,” he said.
Barry made a tiny noise.
Bruce looked at him again. “Are you compromised?”
Barry slapped both hands over his mouth and shook his head.
Clark crouched slowly, trying to make himself smaller and less alarming. “Bruce, it’s okay. You were hit with a spell. You’re safe.”
Bruce studied him.
“You’re too close.”
Clark immediately leaned back.
“Sorry.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You apologized quickly. You either know me or fear me.”
Hal muttered, “Both.”
Bruce’s glare moved to him.
Hal straightened. “Mostly know you.”
Bruce looked unimpressed.
Diana approached next, slow and gentle. “Bruce, we are your allies.”
“My allies are not strangers in costumes.”
Barry leaned toward Clark and whispered, “Technically, that’s exactly what we were at first.”
“Barry,” Clark whispered back.
Bruce heard them anyway.
His head turned sharply.
“You talk too much.”
Barry looked personally wounded. “He really is Batman.”
Tiny Bruce stepped out of the cape at last, still dragging most of it behind him. He looked down at the oversized armor, frowned, and began removing pieces with efficient little movements.
Clark watched with growing alarm. “Bruce, maybe don’t—”
“This armor is a liability,” Bruce said, dropping one gauntlet onto the ground with a heavy clunk. “Improper fit. Restricted movement. Reduced stealth.”
He paused, looked down at the giant boots, and scowled harder.
“Ridiculous.”
Diana pressed her lips together.
Hal whispered, “He’s six and already judging our tactical preparedness.”
“He’s not wrong,” J’onn said gently.
Arthur, arriving late from the fight near the river, stopped dead when he saw the child in the middle of Batman’s cape.
“Please tell me that is not Batman,” Arthur said.
Tiny Bruce looked at him. “You smell like fish.”
Arthur blinked.
Barry made a dying sound.
Bruce tilted his head. “King, possibly. Armor suggests royalty. Trident confirms aquatic theme. You are loud.”
Arthur looked at Clark. “I miss adult Batman.”
“No, you don’t,” Hal said. “This one says everything out loud.”
Bruce turned back to the sorcerer. “Reverse it.”
The sorcerer looked at the tiny child, then at Wonder Woman, then at Superman, then at the green chains tightening around him.
“It will wear off naturally,” he squeaked. “Trying to reverse it early could cause complications.”
Bruce’s face became very still.
Clark knew that look.
It was deeply unsettling on a child.
“Define complications.”
The sorcerer trembled. “Memory fragmentation, delayed restoration, possible age instability.”
Bruce considered that.
Then he nodded once.
“We wait.”
The League relaxed.
For three full seconds.
Then Bruce looked at Clark and said, “Take me to the Batcave.”
Clark froze.
Hal pointed at him. “See? Still him.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you smiling?”
Hal’s smile vanished. “No reason.”
Clark tried to speak softly. “Bruce, we should take you to the Watchtower first. J’onn and Zatanna can monitor the magic there, and we can call Afred and explain what happened.”
Bruce went very still.
The change was small, but everyone noticed.
His sharp little shoulders lowered. His fingers tightened around the edge of the cape. The cold command in his eyes flickered.
“Alfred?” he asked.
Clark’s chest hurt.
“Yes,” he said gently. “Alfred.”
Bruce looked younger all at once.
Not less intelligent. Not less intense.
Just smaller.
“That is acceptable,” he said, too quickly. “He’ll know what to do.”
Clark reached out, then stopped himself before touching him without permission.
“We’ll call him right away,” he said. “I promise.”
Bruce looked at him for a long second.
Then he nodded.
“Fine.”
He gathered the giant cape around himself like armor and turned away from them.
“Where is transport?”
And because he was still Bruce Wayne, still Batman, still impossible, he walked toward the League jet with the cape dragging behind him like a storm cloud.
The Watchtower had never been less prepared for anything.
Not invasions. Not alien negotiations. Not magical emergencies. Not the time Plastic Man had gotten stuck in the ventilation system for three hours and kept yelling, “I live here now.”
Nothing compared to a six-year-old Bruce Wayne sitting in the Justice League conference room, wrapped in Batman’s cape, interrogating the greatest heroes on Earth.
“No,” Bruce said flatly.
Cyborg blinked. “No?”
“That security protocol is inefficient.”
Victor stared at the holographic schematic. “You looked at it for eight seconds.”
“Seven.”
Barry leaned toward Hal. “He corrected the time.”
Hal whispered, “I know. I’m scared. How is mini Batman still this smart”
Bruce pointed at the schematic. “Blind spot here. Redundant access point here. Emergency lockdown can be bypassed through the maintenance shaft.”
Victor slowly looked at Clark.
Clark shrugged helplessly.
“He’s Batman.”
“He’s like seven.”
Bruce looked up sharply. “Age does not excuse poor design.”
Victor put one hand over his heart. “I have been roasted by a baby Batman.”
“I am not a baby.”
Barry smiled. “No, of course not.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “You are patronizing me.”
Barry’s smile disappeared. “No, sir.”
Hal choked on air.
Diana sat beside Bruce, calm and composed, though she had been watching him with growing fondness for the last hour.
“You are very brave,” she told him.
Bruce looked at her suspiciously. “That is not relevant.”
“It is true.”
He frowned, like compliments were traps.
Then he said, “Your sword grip is good.”
Diana blinked.
Bruce looked away. “Your stance could be wider in close quarters.”
Diana’s smile was radiant.
“I will remember that.”
Hal leaned back in his chair. “He complimented you and criticized you in one sentence. That’s definitely Batman.”
Arthur entered carrying a tray from the kitchen. “The child should eat.”
Bruce glared. “I’m not hungry.”
“You are a growing human.”
“I am busy.”
“You are six.”
“I am busy,” Bruce repeated, as if that settled it.
Arthur placed the tray in front of him. On it was a sandwich, apple slices, and a small cup of milk.
Bruce stared at the milk like it had personally offended him.
“I don’t drink milk.”
Clark blinked. “Yes, you do.”
Bruce’s eyes snapped to him.
Clark realized his mistake.
“I mean… adult you does.”
Bruce looked disturbed. “Adulthood changes people.”
Barry lost the fight and burst out laughing.
Bruce picked up an apple slice and pointed it at him. “You need a nap.”
Barry stopped laughing.
Hal wheezed. “Oh, he got you.”
“I do not need a nap,” Barry said.
Bruce studied him. “Dark circles. Restlessness. Excessive talking. Poor impulse control.”
Clark muttered, “That is just Barry.”
Barry threw both hands up. “Why am I being diagnosed by kindergarten Batman?”
Bruce took a tiny bite of apple and said, “Because you are obvious.”
Diana laughed.
It was warm and startled and bright.
Bruce looked at her, startled by the sound.
For a second, he almost smiled.
Almost.
Then his face hardened again and he returned to eating with the grim focus of someone fueling for war.
Clark sat across from him, unable to stop watching.
Because only Bruce would get hit with a spell and turned into a child, yet still somehow maintain certain traits of his adult self.
Still observant. Still stubborn. Still sharp. Still protective in strange, sideways ways.
When Barry reached for one of Bruce’s apple slices, Bruce slapped his hand without looking.
Barry yelped. “Ow!”
“That is mine.”
“You said you weren’t hungry!”
“I changed my mind.”
Hal leaned over. “Kid, you are terrifying.”
Bruce glanced at him. “Your ring is loud.”
Hal looked at his ring. “It doesn’t make noise.”
“Not to ears.”
J’onn, standing near the doorway, tilted his head with interest.
Bruce looked at him.
“You’re sad,” Bruce said.
The room quieted.
J’onn’s expression softened. “Am I?”
“Yes.”
“Why do you think that?”
Bruce studied him for a moment, then looked down at his plate.
“You stand like Alfred when he thinks I won’t notice.”
Clark felt his throat tighten again.
J’onn’s voice was very gentle. “You notice much.”
Bruce shrugged, too casual. “People are obvious when they care.”
No one knew what to say to that.
So, naturally, Hal ruined the moment.
“Does that mean adult Batman knows we care?”
Bruce looked at him like he was deeply unimpressed.
“Obviously.”
Hal froze.
Barry whispered, “Oh no.”
Diana looked delighted again.
Clark stared at Bruce. “He does?”
Bruce frowned at him. “You are very loud about it.”
Clark’s mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Bruce took another bite of apple. “You hover.”
“I do not hover.”
“You do. Like a worried sun.”
Barry slid slowly down in his chair, shaking with silent laughter.
Hal pointed at Clark. “Worried sun.”
Clark covered his face.
Diana’s eyes sparkled. “A fitting title.”
Arthur nodded. “Accurate.”
Clark groaned. “I miss adult Batman. At least he insults me in private.”
Bruce’s brow furrowed.
“I insult you?”
Clark lowered his hands.
Bruce looked genuinely concerned, in his tiny serious way.
Clark softened. “No. Not really.”
Bruce studied him. “You’re lying.”
Clark smiled despite himself. “Maybe a little.”
Bruce nodded, accepting that.
Then he said, “You are too trusting.”
Clark laughed softly. “You tell me that a lot.”
“Good.”
The next hour was a disaster.
A productive disaster, but a disaster.
Bruce escaped the medical bay twice.
The first time, he was found in the Watchtower control room trying to access security footage because he wanted “a complete understanding of the facility’s weaknesses.”
The second time, he was in an air vent.
No one knew how he got there.
Not even Flash.
“Bruce,” Clark said, floating beside the open vent panel, “please come out.”
“No.”
“You cannot stay in the vent.”
“I can.”
“You should not stay in the vent.”
Bruce’s small face appeared in the darkness, eyes narrowed. “Different argument.”
Barry stood below them, hands on his hips. “Okay, that was actually fair.”
Clark sighed. “Alfred is on his way.”
Bruce went still.
Then, carefully, “He is?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Ten minutes.”
Bruce looked down at himself, then at the oversized cape bunched around him in the vent. For the first time since the spell hit, he looked uncertain.
“My clothes are wrong.” He would not look so undignified in front of Alfred.
Clark’s chest ached.
“We can fix that.”
“I look ridiculous.”
Barry opened his mouth.
Clark glared at him.
Barry shut his mouth.
“You look like you got hit with magic,” Clark said. “Which you did.”
Bruce frowned. “That is not reassuring.”
“No,” Clark admitted. “But it is accurate.”
Bruce considered this.
Then he crawled out of the vent with as much dignity as a six-year-old in an oversized Batman cape could manage.
Which was, somehow, a lot.
By the time Alfred arrived, the League had found child-sized clothes from somewhere in the Watchtower’s emergency supplies. No one questioned why they existed. There were stranger things on the Watchtower than children’s sweatpants.
Bruce now wore a dark sweater, gray sweatpants, socks, and the Batman cape.
He had refused to give up the cape.
“It is tactical,” he said.
“It is dragging on the floor,” Hal pointed out.
Bruce stared at him.
Hal raised both hands. “Very tactical.”
The zeta tube activated.
The room went silent.
Alfred Pennyworth stepped out with a medical bag in one hand and a folded coat over his arm.
He looked exactly as composed as always.
Neat suit. Perfect posture. Silver hair. Calm expression.
Only his eyes changed when he saw Bruce.
For a moment, the butler was not the unshakable caretaker of Batman.
He was simply a man looking at his boy.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred said softly.
Bruce stared.
His eyes widened.
The League watched the fight leave him all at once.
Not completely.
Bruce Wayne was stubborn at any age.
But enough.
His small face crumpled before he could stop it.
“Alfred?”
Alfred crossed the room in three long strides and crouched in front of him.
“I am here.”
Bruce’s hands tightened in the cape.
“You’re old,” he blurted.
Barry made a strangled noise and turned around.
Alfred’s mouth twitched. “And you, sir, are temporarily quite short.”
Bruce sniffled once, offended and relieved. “I’m not short.”
“No, of course not.”
“I was in a vent.”
“So I have gathered.”
Bruce looked deeply suspicious. “Who told you?”
Alfred glanced briefly at Clark.
Clark looked at the ceiling.
Bruce turned his glare on him. “Worried sun.”
Alfred’s eyebrows rose.
Clark cleared his throat. “It’s a long story.”
“I am certain it is,” Alfred said dryly.
Bruce stared at Alfred for another second.
“I have found many security issues in this tower, they should be fixed immediately.”
Alfred simply looked amused.
“Of course Master Bruce they shall be addressed right away.”
Hal spoke up from the group.
“Must be nice to have a butler 24/7, we should have one on the watchtower.”
Barry elbowed him hard in the stomach.
“Shut up man.”
“Alfred is not simply my butler, he is also my father.” scowled Bruce.
Alfred went still for a second, before his eyes grew fond.
“Can we go back to the batcave now?” asked Bruce.
Bruce stepped forward abruptly and wrapped his arms around Alfred’s neck.
Alfred caught him without hesitation.
Bruce buried his face in Alfred’s shoulder and whispered, “Is it okay that I called you that? I’ve always wanted to.”
The entire Justice League shattered.
Barry made a sound that was almost a sob.
Hal turned away so fast he nearly knocked over a chair.
Diana pressed one hand to her heart.
Arthur looked down, jaw tight.
J’onn bowed his head.
Clark’s eyes burned.
Alfred froze for only the smallest fraction of a second.
Then he held Bruce tighter.
“Oh, my dear boy,” he whispered.
Bruce clung to him.
“You raised me,” he said, muffled into Alfred’s jacket, like he was explaining something obvious. Like the universe had tried to confuse the issue and he was correcting it.
Alfred’s face crumpled.
Then he pressed a kiss to Bruce’s hair.
“As you say, Master Bruce.”
Bruce pulled back enough to glare at him through wet eyes.
“Don’t Master Bruce me.”
Alfred’s expression softened into something unbearably fond.
“As you say, Bruce.”
Bruce nodded firmly, satisfied, then immediately tucked his face back into Alfred’s shoulder.
Barry whispered, “I can’t handle this.”
Hal whispered back, “Nobody can handle this.”
Clark quietly stepped closer.
Alfred looked up at him over Bruce’s head.
“Thank you for watching over him, Master Kent.”
Clark swallowed.
“He watched over us, mostly.”
Alfred sighed. “Yes. That does sound familiar.”
Bruce lifted his head. “Their security is so bad.”
Victor, who had just entered and was immediately dragged into the emotional devastation of the room, stopped mid-step.
“Again with the security?”
Bruce pointed at him from Alfred’s arms. “Vent access.”
Victor looked at Alfred. “He was in the vents for four minutes.”
Alfred looked down at Bruce.
Bruce did not look guilty.
“It was reconnaissance.”
“It was mischief.”
“It was useful mischief.”
Alfred’s mouth twitched. “Ah. The family specialty.”
Clark smiled.
Diana came forward and crouched gracefully. “Bruce, I am glad Alfred is here.”
Bruce looked at her.
Then, with great seriousness, he said, “He makes better food than here.”
Alfred looked offended on the Watchtower kitchen’s behalf. “Naturally.”
Barry leaned down. “Alfred, do you know he called Superman a worried sun?”
Alfred looked at Clark.
Clark sighed. “Please don’t.”
Bruce nodded. “He hovers.”
Alfred’s eyes sparkled. “Indeed?”
“He apologizes too much.”
“Does he?”
“And his cape is too bright for stealth.”
Clark put his hands on his hips. “I am not trying to be stealthy.”
Bruce looked at him like this was a personal failing.
“Obviously.”
Hal laughed so hard he had to sit down.
Then Bruce turned to Hal. “Your ring is loud.”
Hal stopped laughing.
“And you talk when nervous.”
Barry pointed at Hal. “He got you too!”
Bruce turned to Barry. “You need a nap.”
Barry’s smile vanished. “I thought we moved past that.”
“We did not.”
Diana covered her mouth.
Alfred adjusted Bruce on his hip, though Bruce was slightly too old to be carried that way and clearly pretending not to enjoy it.
“Master Bruce.”
Bruce narrowed his eyes.
Alfred corrected smoothly. “Bruce. We should return to the Manor.”
Bruce’s small hand tightened in Alfred’s jacket.
“Will you stay?”
Alfred’s face softened. “Of course.”
“The whole time?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t leave if I sleep?”
“No.”
Bruce searched his face.
Then nodded.
“Good.” He then looked at the league, “I suppose it was not entirely horrible staying with you all for a while.”
Bruce looked embarrassed by his own sincerity and scowled.
“Mostly. When you actually listened to me.”
Barry whispered, “Tiny Batman loves us.”
Bruce immediately snapped, “I did not say that.”
Diana smiled. “You did not need to.”
Bruce pulled the cape higher around his shoulders. “I dislike all of you.”
Hal grinned. “There he is.”
Alfred raised one eyebrow. “Bruce.”
Bruce muttered, “Politely.”
Alfred nodded. “Better.”
The spell wore off just after dawn.
Bruce woke in his own bed, adult again, with a blanket tucked around him and Alfred seated in the chair beside him with a book open on his knee.
For a long moment, Bruce did not move.
His memories returned in pieces.
Prague.
The spell.
The Watchtower.
The vents.
Worried sun.
Alfred.
Dad.
Bruce closed his eyes.
Alfred turned a page.
Neither of them spoke.
Finally, Bruce said, “How bad?”
Alfred did not look up. “You insulted the Watchtower security, accused Master Kent of hovering, informed Master Allen he needed a nap, and called Master Jordan’s ring loud.”
Bruce opened his eyes.
“That all sounds accurate.”
“You also climbed into a vent.”
“I was six.”
“That has never stopped me from being disappointed before.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched despite himself.
Then silence returned.
A softer silence.
Bruce looked at the ceiling.
“I called you Dad.”
“Yes.”
Another silence.
Bruce’s voice came rougher. “I remember that too.”
Alfred rose from the chair and moved to the bedside.
For a moment, Bruce looked painfully young despite being grown again.
Alfred’s hand settled on his shoulder.
Bruce did not pull away.
“I meant it,” Bruce said quietly.
Alfred’s expression softened.
“I know.”
Bruce finally looked at him.
“I should have said it before.”
Alfred’s face trembled with something that was almost a smile and almost grief.
“My dear boy,” he said, “you have said it in a thousand ways.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened.
“That’s not the same.”
“No,” Alfred admitted. “It is not.”
Bruce looked down.
Then he reached up and covered Alfred’s hand with his own.
“I mean it,” he said again.
Alfred’s eyes shone.
“So do I.”
When Bruce arrived at the Watchtower the next day, fully grown, fully armored, and fully prepared to pretend nothing had happened, the entire Justice League was already waiting.
This was never a good sign.
Barry was smiling.
That was an even worse sign.
Batman stopped in the doorway.
“No.”
Clark, standing at the front of the room with the expression of a man trying very hard not to laugh, said, “You don’t even know what we’re going to say.”
“No.”
Hal leaned back in his chair. “Worried Sun has entered the chat.”
Clark pointed at him. “You are not helping.”
Batman’s head turned slowly toward Superman.
Clark cleared his throat. “For the record, I did not start that.”
“You enabled it.”
“That is probably fair.”
Diana stepped forward, smiling warmly. “It is good to have you back, Batman.”
Batman grunted.
Arthur crossed his arms. “The child version was funnier.”
Batman’s glare moved to him.
Arthur smiled faintly. “Less subtle. Same attitude.”
Victor lifted one hand. “Also, I fixed the vent access.”
Batman paused.
Then, grudgingly, “Good.”
Barry gasped. “He complimented you!”
“That was not a compliment.”
“It was from you.”
J’onn’s voice was gentle. “How are you feeling?”
Batman looked at him.
The room quieted.
For a moment, the jokes faded.
The memory of a little boy asking for his father sat between them, tender and heavy.
Batman’s shoulders stiffened.
Then Clark spoke softly.
“Alfred got you home safe?”
Batman looked at him.
After a long pause, he said, “Yes.”
Diana’s smile softened. “Good.”
Batman looked away.
Barry, wisely, did not make a joke.
Hal, even more wisely, did not either.
Then Batman walked to his seat at the table.
On the surface, nothing had changed.
He was still Batman.
Black cape. White lenses. Tactical silence. Impossible posture.
But when the meeting began, Superman hovered just a little less.
Flash talked just a little quieter.
Green Lantern stopped spinning constructs when Batman glanced at him.
And when Alfred’s name came up in a report about civilian support networks in Gotham, Batman’s expression did not change.
Not visibly.
But Clark heard his heartbeat shift.
Just once.
At the end of the meeting, Batman stood to leave.
Clark followed him to the corridor.
“Bruce.”
Batman stopped. “What?”
Clark hesitated. “You don’t have to talk about it.”
“Then don’t ask.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
Batman looked at him.
Clark smiled gently. “I just wanted to say… Alfred looked really happy.”
Batman said nothing.
Clark’s smile grew softer.
“And you looked safe.”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
For a second, Clark thought he might leave.
Instead, Batman looked down the corridor toward the zeta tubes.
“He is my father,” Bruce said quietly.
Clark’s chest warmed.
“Yeah,” he said. “He is.”
Batman turned his head slightly.
“And you do hover.”
Clark laughed.
“I know.”
“And apologize too much.”
“I know.”
“And your cape is impractical for stealth.”
“I really know.”
Batman’s mouth almost moved.
Almost.
Clark saw it anyway.
“Goodbye, Worried Sun.”
Clark blinked.
Then smiled so brightly that somewhere, probably, Bruce developed a headache.
“Goodbye, Batman.”
Bruce stepped into the zeta tube.
Before the light took him, Clark heard him mutter, “We still need better security.”
Clark laughed all the way back to the conference room.
And in Wayne Manor, Alfred found Bruce standing in the kitchen later that night, still in half his armor, staring at a pot of soup on the stove.
Alfred paused in the doorway.
“Hungry, sir?”
Bruce looked at him.
Then, quietly, “Yes.”
Alfred stepped beside him and picked up a spoon.
“Tomato?”
Bruce’s mouth twitched.
“That would be acceptable.”
Alfred ladled soup into a bowl and set it on the counter.
Bruce sat.
For a few minutes, there was only the quiet clink of spoon against the bowl.
Alfred began to leave the kitchen to give Bruce some time alone.
“Goodnight Dad” said Bruce quietly while looking into his bowl.
Alfred went still.
Bruce continued eating, stubbornly casual.
Alfred’s hand tightened on the edge of the counter.
Then he smiled.
“Goodnight, son.”
Bruce’s spoon paused.
Only for a moment.
Then he took another bite.
And if the soup tasted a little warmer after that, neither of them mentioned it.