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The Justice League found out Batman had children on a Tuesday.
Not biologically, necessarily—though the details of that conversation quickly became so complicated that Barry had started drawing a family tree on the back of a mission report and then quietly given up when the lines began crossing—but children all the same.
Wards. Sons. Partners. Robins. Former Robins. Current Robin. A Red Hood, which was apparently not a villain anymore, despite the ominous name and the helmet and the general air of someone who had definitely rehearsed dramatic rooftop entrances in mirrors.
They also found out that the children knew Batman was Bruce Wayne.
And that Batman’s children were Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Tim Drake, and Damian Wayne.
And that they were all, in one way or another, going out into Gotham at night to fight crime.
There was a very long silence in the Watchtower conference room.
Then Diana said, carefully, “Bruce.”
Batman did not move.
Clark, who had gone very still in that way that usually meant he was trying very hard not to say something as Superman that he wanted to say as Clark Kent, leaned forward. “How young did they start?”
Batman’s jaw tightened.
Hal’s eyes widened. “Oh, that is never a good sign.”
“They are trained,” Batman said.
“They are children,” Arthur said.
Jason, who had been leaning against the wall with his arms crossed and his leather jacket zipped halfway up, raised a hand. “For the record, I’m legally an adult and spiritually about ninety.”
“You are not helping,” Bruce said without looking at him.
Jason grinned. “Wasn’t trying to.”
Barry looked between the boys, then at Batman, then back at the boys. “Okay, wait. So, all of you have been running around Gotham?”
“Not running,” Damian said, offended. “Patrolling.”
Tim, sitting cross-legged in one of the Watchtower chairs like it was a computer nest he had personally conquered, sipped from a coffee cup he definitely had not brought in with him. “Running implies a lack of tactical purpose.”
Dick smiled brightly. “Also we do flips.”
“That is also not helping,” Bruce said.
Diana’s expression softened, but there was concern behind it. “Bruce, surely you see why this is alarming.”
“I do,” Batman said.
That seemed to surprise everyone.
Then he continued, “But you are operating under the assumption that I could have stopped them.”
The League stared.
Bruce gestured, barely, toward the boys.
Dick waved.
Tim lifted his coffee in a tiny salute.
Jason smiled like a warning label.
Damian looked insulted that anyone in the room had ever believed themselves capable of stopping him from doing anything.
Clark rubbed a hand over his face. “Bruce.”
“I tried,” Bruce said.
All four boys spoke at once.
“No, you didn’t,” said Dick.
“You brooded,” said Jason.
“You created three contingency plans, two encrypted tracking systems, and then gave up when we bypassed them,” said Tim.
“You were ineffective,” said Damian.
Bruce’s mouth flattened.
The League, who had faced alien warlords, ancient gods, speed force anomalies, and one extremely emotional Starro outbreak, found themselves staring at the Wayne family with growing unease.
Hal pointed at them. “Okay, no offense, Bats, but your kids are tiny lunatics.”
Jason made a face. “I’m six feet tall.”
“You have tiny lunatic energy,” Hal said.
“Thank you.”
“That was not a compliment.”
Jason’s grin widened. “I know.”
Clark looked at Bruce again. “We’re not saying they aren’t capable. We’re saying they’re young, and the work is dangerous, and maybe the League should evaluate—”
All four batkids went very still.
Bruce noticed.
The League did not.
Tim slowly lowered his coffee cup.
Dick’s smile became sweet. Too sweet.
Jason tilted his head.
Damian’s eyes narrowed with the focused intensity of a tiny aristocratic hawk.
Batman closed his eyes for half a second.
Clark stopped talking.
“What?” Barry asked nervously.
Bruce stood. “Meeting adjourned.”
“But we didn’t finish discussing—”
“Meeting,” Bruce repeated, “adjourned.”
The batkids were all smiling now.
It was not comforting.
Diana watched them with the expression of a warrior who had just heard a twig snap in the dark woods.
“Bruce,” she said, “what did we do?”
Batman looked at his children.
Dick was whispering something to Jason. Jason’s grin was becoming increasingly feral. Tim had already opened a tablet. Damian was staring directly at Hal Jordan’s hand.
“You questioned their competence,” Batman said.
Hal snorted. “Oh, come on. What are they gonna do? Ground us?”
Tim looked up.
“Funny,” he said.
And then the lights went out.
For exactly three seconds.
When they came back on, all four batkids were gone.
So was Hal’s ring.
The silence this time was much louder.
Hal looked down at his bare hand.
Then he looked at Batman.
Batman looked back.
Hal’s voice cracked. “Your kid stole my ring.”
From somewhere in the vents above them, Jason called, “Which one?”
Hal spun in a circle. “That’s not better!”
The first official League evaluation of the batkids lasted seventy-two hours.
No one called it that.
The batkids called it “Operation: Stop Looking At Us Like We Need A Babysitter.”
Tim called it “a practical demonstration.”
Jason called it “messing with capes.”
Damian called it “basic psychological correction.”
Dick called it “bonding.”
Bruce called it “inevitable.”
It began with Hal.
To his credit, Hal did not panic immediately. He was a Green Lantern. A test pilot. A man who had flown into intergalactic combat and trash-talked beings the size of moons.
But there was something uniquely humbling about looking down and realizing that a teenage vigilante in sneakers had removed the most powerful weapon in your possession while standing in the same room as you.
“I want it back,” Hal said.
The vent above him made a suspiciously amused sound.
“I mean it.”
A small folded note drifted down from the ceiling.
Barry caught it out of the air and opened it.
“What does it say?” Clark asked.
Barry cleared his throat.
“Dear Green Lantern,” he read. “You have failed basic situational awareness. This is concerning given your role in planetary defense. Your ring is safe. Probably. Follow the clues. Love, the tiny lunatics.”
Jason’s voice echoed faintly from somewhere unseen. “The ‘love’ was Dick’s idea.”
Dick’s voice followed. “Because we’re friendly.”
Damian’s voice, distant but disdainful, added, “I voted for ‘regards.’”
Hal stared at the ceiling. “Batman.”
Bruce was already at the door.
“No,” Hal snapped. “Don’t you walk away. Fix your kids.”
Batman paused.
Then, very quietly, he said, “They were like this when I found them.”
And left.
Hal spent twenty-four minutes searching the Watchtower.
He found three fake rings, two rubber ducks wearing tiny domino masks, and one sticky note inside the monitor room that said, “Warmer.”
The actual ring was in his jacket pocket the entire time.
He discovered this only after Tim appeared behind him in the hallway and said, “You should really check your possessions more often.”
Hal made a sound that was almost heroic and almost a scream.
Tim vanished around a corner.
Hal ran after him.
There was no one there.
Only shadows.
Hal stood in the empty corridor, breathing hard.
“Absolutely not,” he said to the hallway. “Nope. I refuse. Batman multiplying is against nature.”
The second target was Barry.
Barry liked kids. Barry was great with kids. He was fun. He was approachable. He had snacks in every pocket and had once let a group of schoolchildren cover his Flash suit in glitter stickers during a museum tour.
So when Dick Grayson found him in the Watchtower kitchen, Barry relaxed.
“Hey,” Barry said, smiling. “You’re Dick, right?”
Dick smiled back. “That’s me.”
“You doing okay? I know that meeting was probably weird.”
“It was a little weird,” Dick admitted. “But mostly we’re used to it.”
Barry winced. “People worrying?”
“People underestimating,” Dick corrected, still smiling.
Barry opened his mouth.
Dick leaned closer.
“Nice watch.”
Barry blinked and looked down.
His watch was gone.
So was his comm.
So was one of his boots.
Barry stared at his socked foot.
Dick took a bite out of an apple.
Barry looked back at him.
Dick’s smile widened.
“I’m fast,” Barry said.
“I know,” Dick said cheerfully.
“I’m very fast.”
“Super fast.”
“No one should be able to take my boot.”
“Probably not.”
Barry narrowed his eyes. “Where is it?”
Dick pointed upward.
Barry looked.
His boot was hanging from the ceiling light.
When he looked back down, Dick was gone.
Barry did not yell, because Barry was an adult and a founding member of the Justice League.
He did, however, make a noise that brought Clark into the kitchen at superspeed.
“What happened?” Clark demanded.
Barry pointed at the ceiling.
Clark looked at the boot.
Then at Barry’s sock.
Then at the empty kitchen.
“Oh,” Clark said.
Barry nodded gravely. “The children.”
The third target was Arthur.
Arthur did not think he would be easy to mess with.
He was king of Atlantis. He had survived assassins, political coups, deep-sea monstrosities, and surface world diplomacy. Four Gotham children, no matter how well trained, were not going to intimidate him.
That was what he said to Mera during a call.
Unfortunately, he said it while standing in the Watchtower training room.
Unfortunately, Damian Wayne heard him.
Arthur did not see Damian.
No one saw Damian unless Damian wished to be seen.
The first sign that something was wrong came when Arthur reached for his trident and found a plastic child’s fork taped to its handle.
The second sign came when he discovered a note tied around the shaft with black ribbon.
It read:
“Your Majesty,
A weapon should never be left unsecured in a shared tactical environment.
Also, your stance leaves your left side open when turning toward faster opponents.
Respectfully,
Robin.”
Arthur stared at the note.
Then the shadows near the wall spoke.
“You are welcome.”
Arthur turned.
Damian stepped out from the darkness with his hands clasped behind his back, chin lifted, expression severe.
Arthur blinked.
“You are very small,” Arthur said before he could stop himself.
Damian’s eyes sharpened.
Somewhere above them, in the rafters, Jason whispered, “Oh, he’s dead.”
Damian drew his sword.
Arthur raised both hands. “I meant young.”
“That is not better,” Damian said.
“Robin,” Batman said from the doorway.
Damian did not look away from Arthur. “He insulted my stature.”
“He noticed your age.”
“He will notice my blade next.”
“No.”
Damian clicked his tongue.
Arthur, wisely, removed the plastic fork from his trident and said, “Your critique of my stance is appreciated.”
Damian considered him for a long moment.
Then he nodded once. “Acceptable.”
He stepped backward into the shadows and disappeared.
Arthur stared.
Batman looked tired.
“He was right about your left side,” Bruce said.
Arthur looked down at the note again.
Then, very quietly, he adjusted his stance.
The fourth target was Diana.
The batkids had debated this one.
“You can’t prank Wonder Woman,” Dick said.
“You can,” Jason said. “You just have to be willing to die with honor.”
“She will hear us coming,” Damian said.
“She might let us think she didn’t,” Tim said, which made all of them pause because that was worse.
Diana, for her part, was not offended by their efforts.
She found them charming.
Dangerous, yes. Alarmingly coordinated, certainly. But charming.
She had grown up among warriors. Children on Themyscira learned discipline, combat, history, philosophy, and responsibility early. She understood training. She understood duty. She also understood the difference between empowering the young and sacrificing them.
So when the boys began stalking her through the Watchtower, Diana let them.
At first.
Jason was the first to make a move.
He dropped silently from an overhead maintenance hatch behind her, one hand extended toward the lasso at her hip.
Diana caught his wrist without looking.
Jason froze.
Diana turned her head.
Jason smiled.
“Worth a shot?”
Diana smiled back.
Then she flipped him gently over her shoulder and onto the training mat.
He landed flat on his back with a grunt.
From the shadows, Dick whispered, “Points for commitment.”
Tim whispered, “Negative points for execution.”
Damian whispered, “Todd is an embarrassment.”
Jason lifted one hand from the mat and flipped them off.
Diana laughed.
“Again,” she said.
Jason sat up. “What?”
“You are testing us, yes?” Diana asked. “Then test properly.”
The shadows went very quiet.
Then Dick dropped from the ceiling.
Tim emerged from behind a weapons rack.
Damian stepped out from a place no one should have fit.
Diana’s smile widened.
What followed was not exactly a prank.
It was closer to a small war.
Dick moved first, fast and acrobatic, using momentum and misdirection. Jason came in heavier, more direct, turning Diana’s attention. Tim stayed back, analyzing, calling out openings, throwing small devices that snapped into harmless bursts of smoke and light. Damian went low and silent, aiming for pressure points with terrifying precision.
Diana disarmed them all in under two minutes.
But she did not dismiss them.
She corrected Dick’s landing angle.
She told Jason he telegraphed with his right shoulder when frustrated.
She praised Tim’s timing.
She told Damian his restraint had improved.
Damian looked so pleased that he immediately tried to hide it by scowling.
From the observation deck, Clark watched with a soft expression.
Bruce stood beside him, arms crossed.
“They are good,” Clark said quietly.
“Yes,” Bruce said.
“They’re still young.”
“Yes.”
“You worry about them.”
Bruce did not answer right away.
Below them, Diana laughed as Dick somehow twisted out of a hold and Jason shouted, “That was sick, actually.”
Bruce’s gaze stayed on his children.
“Every night,” he said.
Clark looked at him.
Bruce’s voice was low. “But they are not soldiers I recruited. They are people who were already running toward danger before I found them. I gave them training, armor, comms, backup, rules.”
Clark was quiet.
Then Bruce added, “And a home.”
Below, Damian pretended not to lean into it when Dick ruffled his hair.
Jason pretended not to smile.
Tim took a photo.
Clark’s face softened even more.
“I know,” he said.
Bruce grunted.
Clark nudged him gently with his shoulder.
“Still terrifying, though.”
Bruce’s mouth twitched.
“Yes.”
The fifth target was Clark.
No one wanted to prank Clark.
Not because he was Superman.
Because he was Clark.
“He’ll look sad,” Dick said, horrified.
Jason groaned. “That’s his whole defense system.”
Tim nodded. “Weaponized disappointment.”
Damian crossed his arms. “Kent is formidable.”
Jason stared at him. “Did you just call Superman formidable because he has puppy eyes?”
“Among other things.”
“We’re not hurting his feelings,” Dick said firmly.
“No one said we were hurting his feelings,” Tim said. “We’re demonstrating preparedness.”
“That sounds like hurting his feelings with paperwork.”
“It’s Batman’s love language.”
Jason pointed at Tim. “Unfortunately, that’s true.”
In the end, they decided on a test.
A careful test.
A friendly test.
A mostly friendly test.
Clark was in the Watchtower common room, reading through reports and pretending he wasn’t listening to every heartbeat on the station, when the lights dimmed.
He looked up.
“Hello?”
No answer.
Then a small green glow appeared on the table in front of him.
Clark went very, very still.
A lead-lined case sat beside his reports.
It had not been there a second ago.
Across the lid, in neat handwriting, was a note.
“For emergency use only. We know what we’re doing. Please stop looking at us like abandoned ducklings.
—The Bats.”
Clark stared at the case.
His heartbeat changed.
Four shadows froze in the ceiling vents.
Batman appeared in the doorway so silently that even Clark almost missed him.
Almost.
“Bruce,” Clark said.
Batman glanced at the case.
Then at the ceiling.
“Come out.”
Nothing happened.
Batman’s eyes narrowed.
“Now.”
One by one, the children emerged.
Dick dropped down first, landing lightly and looking guilty.
Tim followed, expression carefully neutral.
Jason came next, trying to look like he regretted nothing and only mostly succeeding.
Damian appeared last, chin high.
Clark looked at them.
The room felt different now.
Not angry.
Not exactly.
But heavier.
Dick stepped forward. “It’s not a lot. And it’s sealed. Tim designed the case.”
“I triple-checked the shielding,” Tim said quickly. “It’s safe unless opened.”
“It was my idea,” Damian said.
Jason snorted. “It was everyone’s idea.”
Damian glared. “I was taking responsibility.”
Jason’s expression shifted, softer for half a second.
Clark noticed.
Of course Clark noticed.
Clark looked at the case again.
Then at Bruce.
“You taught them this?”
Bruce’s face was unreadable.
“I taught them contingencies,” he said.
Clark swallowed.
Dick’s shoulders slumped slightly. “We’re not trying to hurt you.”
Tim nodded. “Or threaten you.”
Jason shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “But if something mind-controls you, or turns you evil, or makes you decide Earth needs a dictator, someone has to have a plan.”
Damian lifted his chin. “You are too powerful to leave unchecked.”
Clark looked at Damian for a long moment.
Then he sighed.
The sound seemed to leave his whole body.
“I know,” he said.
That clearly surprised them.
Clark took off his glasses, though he did not need them in uniform. It was a habit. A human one.
“I know why Bruce has kryptonite,” he said. “I don’t like it, but I know. I trust him with it because he doesn’t keep it out of fear. He keeps it out of responsibility.”
Bruce’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Clark looked at the children.
“And I suppose that’s what you’re trying to show us. That this isn’t a game to you.”
Dick nodded.
Tim’s gaze flicked briefly toward Bruce.
Jason looked away.
Damian said, “Obviously.”
Clark’s mouth curved faintly.
Then his expression softened into exactly the sad, warm, impossible Clark look Dick had been afraid of.
“Oh no,” Jason muttered.
Clark stepped closer.
“You shouldn’t have had to learn that young,” he said.
The boys went still.
Even Damian.
Bruce’s expression flickered.
Clark continued, “But I’m grateful you learned it well.”
Dick blinked.
Tim looked down.
Jason swallowed and covered it with a cough.
Damian’s ears turned red.
Clark smiled gently. “And for the record, I never thought you were abandoned ducklings.”
Jason squinted at him. “You absolutely did.”
“I thought you were highly trained, emotionally complicated ducklings.”
Dick laughed.
Tim made a note on his tablet.
Damian looked personally victimized. “I am not a duckling.”
“You are a very sharp duckling,” Clark said.
Jason lost it.
He bent forward, laughing so hard that he had to brace one hand on the table. Dick joined him immediately. Tim tried to hold out and failed. Damian looked betrayed by all of them.
Bruce, traitor that he was, looked almost amused.
Clark picked up the lead-lined case and handed it to Batman.
“I would prefer,” Clark said, “that anything like this stays with Bruce.”
“That was always the plan,” Tim said.
Clark looked at him.
Tim hesitated. “Mostly.”
Bruce took the case.
Then, after a pause, he rested one hand briefly on Clark’s shoulder.
Clark smiled.
“Thank you,” he said.
Bruce grunted as he began to walk out the room.
Jason leaned toward Dick and whispered, loudly, “That’s Bat for ‘I love you, please never get mind-controlled.’”
The second Bruce was out of earshot, all four boys moved at once.
Clark blinked as Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian each produced an identical lead-lined box from somewhere on their person and set them neatly on the table in front of him.
Dick smiled sweetly. “Just so we’re clear, we like you.”
Jason leaned forward, smile sharp. “But if you ever hurt him, emotionally or physically, alien or not, we will become a problem.”
“A coordinated problem,” Tim added pleasantly.
“A permanent one,” Damian said.
Clark stared at the four little boxes, then at the four boys wearing matching expressions of cheerful murder, and slowly raised both hands. “Noted.”
From the doorway, Bruce’s voice called, “I can still hear you.”
All four boxes vanished instantly.
Dick beamed. “Hear what?”
The final test happened during the next official League meeting.
The League had gathered again, this time with a slightly different energy.
Hal kept checking his ring every thirty seconds.
Barry was wearing boots with double knots.
Arthur had adjusted his stance and was pretending he had not.
Diana looked delighted.
Clark had brought cookies.
Batman sat at the head of the table.
The batkids were nowhere to be seen.
This was, by now, a warning sign.
J’onn, who had been silent through most of the proceedings, tilted his head.
“They are here,” he said.
Hal groaned. “Of course they are.”
Batman did not move.
“Robin,” he said.
Damian dropped from the ceiling into the chair beside him.
Hal yelped.
“Red Robin.”
Tim emerged from beneath the conference table, tablet in hand.
Barry lifted both feet off the floor. “How long were you under there?”
“Long enough,” Tim said.
“Nightwing.”
Dick swung down from a support beam and landed on the back of Bruce’s chair before hopping lightly to the floor.
“Hi.”
“Red Hood.”
Nothing happened.
Bruce waited.
Jason’s voice came from behind Hal. “Yeah?”
Hal made a strangled sound and spun around so fast he nearly fell out of his chair.
Jason was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, holding a cup of coffee.
Hal pointed at him. “I checked that wall.”
Jason sipped his coffee. “Check better.”
Clark pressed his lips together very tightly.
Diana did not bother hiding her smile.
Batman looked at the League.
“They wanted to make a point,” he said.
“We made several,” Tim said.
“Your perimeter awareness needs work,” Damian added.
“Your vents are embarrassingly accessible,” Dick said.
“And your snack security is trash,” Jason said, tossing a protein bar to Barry.
Barry caught it automatically. “Hey, that’s mine.”
Jason winked.
Arthur looked at Bruce. “You allow this?”
Bruce looked at his children.
Dick perched on the arm of his chair. Tim stood at his left shoulder. Damian took the seat at his right like it was his birthright. Jason remained against the wall, trying very hard to look detached while staying close enough to intervene if anyone so much as breathed wrong near his family.
Bruce’s expression softened so slightly that only people trained to read disasters in shadows would have caught it.
“No,” Bruce said.
The League blinked.
Bruce continued, “They allow me to think I do.”
Dick beamed.
Tim snorted.
Jason looked down into his coffee, smiling.
Damian looked smug.
Clark leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You realize this has not made us less concerned, right?”
The batkids looked at him.
Clark smiled.
“It has made us concerned in a different direction.”
Barry nodded. “Yeah. Like, originally I was worried about your safety. Now I’m worried about mine.”
Hal lifted his hand. “Same.”
Jason pointed at him. “You should be.”
Diana folded her hands on the table. “You are skilled. Exceptionally so.”
Damian inclined his head, accepting this as his due.
“But skill does not erase youth,” Diana continued.
Damian’s face soured.
Dick stepped in before he could speak. “We know.”
That quieted the room.
Dick’s smile was still there, but it had changed into something gentler.
“We know we’re young,” he said. “We know it’s dangerous. We know Bruce worries. Alfred worries. Everyone worries.”
“Alfred worries loudest,” Tim said.
Jason gave a solemn nod. “Weaponized disappointment. Lethal.”
Damian muttered, “Pennyworth is formidable.”
Clark smiled into his coffee.
Dick continued, “But Gotham doesn’t stop being Gotham because we stay home. And some of us were already in danger before we ever put on a mask.”
Jason’s expression went carefully blank.
Tim’s eyes lowered.
Damian looked away.
Bruce went very still.
Dick placed a hand on the back of Bruce’s chair.
“He didn’t make us this way,” Dick said. “He just made sure we survived it.”
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Jason ruined it on purpose.
“Also he gave us grappling hooks.”
Tim nodded. “Major selling point.”
Damian said, “And swords.”
Bruce said, “No one gave you swords.”
Damian looked at him. “I acquired swords.”
“Unfortunately,” Tim said, “that is legally distinct.”
Barry raised his hand. “I have so many follow-up questions.”
“No,” Bruce said.
Hal leaned back in his chair, studying them. “So what, we’re just supposed to accept that Batman has a small army of terrifying children?”
“Not small,” Jason said.
“Not terrifying,” Dick said.
“Not children,” Tim said.
Damian folded his arms. “Army is acceptable.”
Clark laughed.
The sound eased something in the room.
Diana looked at each of them in turn. “Perhaps we do not have to like that you fight.”
Bruce’s gaze flicked to her.
“But we can respect that you have chosen to stand beside him,” she continued. “And that he has chosen to stand beside you.”
The batkids went quiet in a way that told the League more than any prank had.
Bruce looked down at the table.
Then Jason, of all people, pushed away from the wall.
“Yeah, well,” he said gruffly. “Somebody’s gotta make sure the old man doesn’t get himself killed.”
Bruce’s eyes narrowed. “Old man?”
Dick patted Bruce’s shoulder. “Ancient.”
Tim nodded. “Practically fossilized.”
Damian sighed. “Father’s age is advanced, but his combat efficiency remains acceptable.”
Clark choked on his coffee.
Hal laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.
Bruce stood.
All four batkids vanished.
Not ran.
Not ducked.
Vanished.
One second they were there, orbiting Batman like impossible little shadows, and the next they were simply gone.
The League stared at the empty spaces.
Batman did not turn around.
“They’re behind me, aren’t they?” Hal asked.
Jason’s voice murmured directly beside his ear, “Boo.”
Hal screamed.
The meeting dissolved.
Barry laughed until he cried. Diana put a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking. Clark gave up pretending to be dignified and buried his face in both hands. Arthur leaned back and muttered something about surface children being a menace. J’onn looked quietly pleased.
Batman stood in the middle of it all, surrounded by chaos, his cape still, his face stern.
But his children saw the truth.
The tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth.
Dick saw it first and pointed. “He’s smiling.”
“I am not,” Bruce said.
Jason appeared upside down from the ceiling. “You are. It’s creepy.”
Tim leaned out from behind a pillar. “Documenting for evidence.”
Damian emerged from Bruce’s cape.
No one knew how he had gotten there.
Bruce looked down at him.
Damian looked up.
There was a long pause.
Then Clark said softly, “He really is your son.”
Bruce’s expression changed.
Not much.
Just enough.
His hand settled briefly on Damian’s shoulder.
Damian did not pull away.
Around the room, the other boys went still too.
Dick’s smile softened. Jason looked anywhere but at Bruce. Tim pretended to type something, though his screen had gone dark.
Batman looked at the League.
“They are capable,” he said.
No one argued this time.
Then he looked at his children.
“They are also reckless, irritating, insubordinate, dramatic, and impossible.”
“Genetics,” Jason said.
“I’m adopted,” Tim said.
“Spiritually genetics,” Dick said.
Damian nodded seriously. “Father’s influence is extensive.”
Bruce sighed.
Clark smiled.
Hal checked his ring again, then his pockets, then the ceiling.
Barry looked at the boys with open admiration. “Okay, I’ll say it. You’re terrifying, but in a cool way.”
Damian looked pleased.
Jason pointed finger guns at Barry. “That’s the correct response.”
Diana stood and inclined her head, formal and warm. “Then welcome, sons of Batman.”
Dick’s eyes widened slightly.
Tim froze.
Jason’s face did something complicated.
Damian straightened.
Bruce looked at Diana for a long moment.
Then he gave one small nod.
The boys recovered quickly, because they were bats and bats did not do vulnerable for longer than three seconds without making it everyone else’s problem.
“So,” Dick said brightly, clapping his hands together, “does that mean we get League access cards?”
“No,” Bruce said immediately.
Tim already had one between his fingers.
Bruce stared at it.
Tim stared back.
Bruce held out his hand.
Tim sighed and gave it to him.
Jason coughed.
Bruce held out his other hand.
Jason groaned and handed over three more.
Damian scoffed.
Bruce looked at him.
Damian reluctantly removed one from his sleeve.
Dick smiled innocently.
Bruce turned to him.
Dick’s smile faltered.
From inside his escrima stick, he produced another card.
Hal threw his hands up. “How many access cards did you steal?”
Tim glanced at Jason.
Jason glanced at Dick.
Damian looked at Bruce.
Bruce closed his eyes.
“All of them,” Clark guessed.
J’onn looked down at the table. “Not all.”
Everyone looked at him.
J’onn held up his own access card.
A small black bat sticker had been placed over the corner.
Diana checked hers.
So did Arthur.
So did Barry.
So did Hal.
Every single card had a bat sticker.
Hal stared at his. “When did you even—”
The lights flickered once.
The boys were gone again.
Their laughter echoed faintly from somewhere in the walls.
The League sat in silence.
Then Clark looked at Bruce.
Bruce was gathering the stolen access cards with the resigned air of a father who had lost this battle before it began.
Clark smiled. “You couldn’t stop them even if you wanted to.”
Bruce looked toward the shadows where his children had disappeared.
For a moment, his face was not Batman’s at all.
It was Bruce Wayne’s.
Tired. Proud. Worried. Fond.
“No,” he said quietly.
From the vents, Damian’s voice called, “We heard that.”
Jason added, “Sentimental.”
Tim said, “Recording saved.”
Dick said, “Love you too, B.”
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose.
The League watched him, watched the shadows, watched the places where Batman’s children had vanished like they had been born from the dark itself.
And finally, fully, they understood.
Batman had not brought children into his war.
He had found children already fighting their own.
And somehow, impossibly, he had given them shadows to hide in, skills to survive with, rules to hold onto, and a family to come home to.
Hal slipped his ring back on and muttered, “Still tiny lunatics.”
A small rubber duck wearing a domino mask dropped from the ceiling into his lap.
No one saw who threw it.
But Batman looked up.
And this time, he was definitely smiling.