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Bruce still remembers the day of his first argument with Dick.
It was three months, to the day, that his parents had died. Dick was still only legally his ward, and Bruce distinctly remembered being twenty-five and feeling more like a fish out of water every day.
When he thinks back on it now, he can almost laugh.
At the time, though? He could feel his heart breaking and the world coming down around him.
Dick had been training with him for about a month, after quickly figuring out his secret and demanding that he be allowed to help.
On this particular day, Bruce had planned to take a day off from everything and take Dick and Alfred out for a day trip to Metropolis to see a museum that was freshly opened up, watch a ball game, and grab a nice dinner before heading back to Gotham for a rare quiet night in.
At breakfast he shared his ideas with his small family, expecting a cheer of excitement and perhaps even a nod of approval from Alfred.
Instead, Dick threw down the spoon he was mid-bite with, and glared at Bruce.
“Chum, what's wrong?”
Dick, pointedly, didn’t answer.
Bruce put down his own spoon, still holding a mouthful of oatmeal, and turned to face Dick. He didn’t have much experience with children, but he did remember that, when he was Dick’s age, sometimes all they needed was space to speak their mind.
Dick was only a year older than Bruce himself was when he lost his parents. According to Leslie, they were in a very similar mind-set, developmentally. Bruce remembered being that kid.
This was something Bruce had already been planning to bring up to custody lawyers when the opportunity arose.
Either way, it meant that he knew sometimes it was less about what you said, and more about what you didn’t. So, he waited.
He watched as Dick’s eyes brimmed with tears, his face grew red and splotchy, and as his breaths were coming out as hiccups.
Bruce was on the verge of panic.
(Who was he kidding? His son was about to cry, he was ready to do anything to make it better.)
Just as Bruce’s resolve was about to break and he was going to ask Dick what was wrong again when a loud outburst cut in first.
“You’re the worst!” Dick shouted, apropos of nothing.
Bruce, heart breaking and mind whirring, was about to try speaking again when his son’s yell cut him off once more.
“You’re just like the rest of them! You don’t care about your promises! You’ll-” Dick heaved in a big breath before he could continue, “You’ll never be my dad!”
With that, he stomped off, taking a large piece of Bruce with him.
Bruce immediately stood, planning to go after him and beg for forgiveness, despite the fact that he didn’t really know what he would be asking for.
Alfred’s gentle hand on his as it braced against the breakfast table gave him pause.
Alfred shook his head, ever so slightly, with the look of a man who had seen it all before. “Give him just a few moments. Long enough for both of you to catch your breath, hmm?”
Bruce hadn’t even realized how erratic his own breathing had grown. He took a moment to implement his recently learned techniques to calm himself and his pounding heart rate.
Once his breathing was back in order, Bruce counted to sixty-three before his resolve broke and he had to go find his son.
He was prepared to head into the small and soon to be redone acrobatics gym he quickly pulled together when he was granted full-time care of Dick.
Again, it was Alfred who gave him pause. “I’d recommend checking his room.”
Bruce didn’t question the man, rather he changed his course and went up to Dick’s room, settled in next to his own.
He blew out a silent breath before knocking on the door.
“I don’t want to speak with you.”
Good to know Alfred’s lessons of grammar were sticking.
“Dick? Can I come in? You don’t have to speak with me.” As much as it pained him, if Dick said no, he wouldn’t enter the boy’s room.
He heard a heaved out sigh through the door and then, after a long moment, the door opened just a sliver. Bruce wanted to enter, but he didn’t want to push his luck so he settled for standing in the open doorway, feet barely over the threshold.
He still hadn’t figured out what promise he had broken, or what exactly it was that had Dick so upset, but he did know how to handle some of what Dick had thrown at him.
“There was a long time where I didn’t trust Alfred, did you know that?” He started, gentle as he could get his voice to be.
He could tell Dick was listening, one mention of his beloved Alfie and Bruce knew he would.
Bruce cleared his throat and continued. “Yeah, for years no matter what he would do or say, it was wrong. And, I didn’t know about this until pretty recently, but he specifically didn’t bring up the option of adopting me legally because he felt like it would only make me angrier.”
That was a huge weight off of Bruce’s shoulders as an adult. There was a quiet voice in the back of his mind that told him Alfred never really wanted to be around, especially as he reflected on what his childhood consisted of.
Hearing about the day he nearly left, but instead decided to stay and dedicate his life to what Thomas and Martha left behind paved the way for Bruce to get Dick.
He thinks that without that knowledge, he wouldn't have been brave enough to step in for Dick.
Bruce let out a sigh, “Now, I can’t offer you the same thing.” He watched Dick’s shoulders tense. “Alfred was listed as my parents' remaining family in their will. He was legally recognized as my guardian whether he adopted me or not.”
Bruce looked down at his hands, doing his best not to twist them together like he often did when he was Dick’s age. “Unless there’s someone else you’d rather be with, when the offer of adopting you becomes available, I have to take it. I can’t- If I don’t there will be a chance someone could take you away from me and Alfie.”
Bruce paused to gather his thoughts.
He wished he could step into the room, he desperately wanted to give Dick’s shaking shoulders a tight hug until whatever was running through his brilliant brain was silenced.
“I know I could never replace your dad. Despite everything Alfred has done for me after all these years, I still think of my dad every day. I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to step into a space that’s not for me. But I also can’t fathom losing you.”
He had only been taking full care of the boy for a bit over two months, what with all of the legalities after Dick’s parents’ deaths, but he couldn’t imagine a world without him now.
When Dick still didn’t say anything, Bruce offered him a weak smile. “For what it’s worth, I am sorry. I want to make sure you are happy here, as best as I can. For now, I’ll leave you be, okay? But I promise, I’ll be in my study or the library if you need anything.”
Dick still didn’t answer.
“I’m nearby if you want me, Chum.”
Bruce let the door softly click shut behind him. He made his way into his study, letting the thick wood block him off from the rest of the world, before he let out a deep sigh.
Bruce valiantly tried to focus on some items for Wayne Enterprises he needed to finish. For the life of him, he couldn’t focus on anything but the way Dick’s face turned red as his eyes welled with tears.
After what could have been a mere few minutes or a distraught few hours, Alfred came in with a cup of iced coffee.
Bruce looked at him, eyes full of a hope Alfred thought was long since gone. Which made it even harder to shake his head and let Bruce know there was still no sign of his boy coming out of his room.
Bruce slumped into his chair.
“You mustn't lose heart, you yourself were known for quite the silent treatment when you felt the need for it.” Alfred tried.
Bruce sighed again, “I know… I just hate being on the other end of it now.”
Alfred gave his charge a sad smile. “Being a parent requires that you take the good with the bad. As much as it pains you.” He spoke with two decades of experience under his belt.
In the end, it was a few strenuous hours of the silent treatment before a timid request to reschedule their day.
Bruce smiled and had Dick help him pick out what day they would go.
(A few years, and many more arguments, late, and Dick told him the promise he was so upset about.
“B, you called it a family day. You asked if I’d be interested in going out on a “family adventure” to Metropolis. And… Well, my first reaction was to be excited. Then I got upset with myself for discounting my parents so quickly… It really devolved from there.”
He simply pulled his oldest son in for a hug and decided he could shelve it as a cute memory.)
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As much as people assumed about Jason, they were most often wrong when they concluded he had been an argumentative Robin.
Bruce knew they had gotten into it their fair share of times, but compared to Dick, little Jason was practically a diplomat.
Which, in all honesty, made their arguments stand out.
The first time Jason had argued with Bruce after he had taken the boy in, it was about his curfew, of all things.
Bruce knew how important it was going to be, developmentally, that Jason stick to a proper routine. The boy would need nutrient rich foods as often as he would eat, and at least eight hours of sleep every day.
It was the only way he’d get his heart to stop breaking at the sight of Jason’s physical results. He was determined to get his height, weight, and energy level percentiles into their proper range within the year.
Jason cautiously accepted all of the food, getting less and less suspicious of Alfred every day, and was excited about school, which Bruce found to be a novel concept.
But bedtime was where he put up a fight.
Jason didn’t buy his “Batman brought you to my attention” story for even a moment.
In fact, he said “If there are two billionaires willing to look after some street kid, I’ll eat my own shoe. I’m calling bullshit.”
Which simply meant his Robin training now had to be accounted for in his meals. (Bruce figured he’d get over the whole “language” thing. For now. See, he could pick his battles.)
With how much Jason had been enjoying his home schooling, (given the fact that he was leagues ahead of his peers in reading, but not much else, Alfred suggested homeschooling, just until the boy could get on track to enter with his grade level) Bruce never expected imposing a bedtime would cause any issues.
“You’re being fuckin’ ridiculous! Why do you even care if I sleep? Not like you do!” Jason spat, before throwing his hands up and stomping away.
Bruce looked helplessly at Alfred, asking the silent question of what to do.
He had a routine with Dick, Dick was predictable to him by now. In fact, his move to Bludhaven was simply a grown up version of the song and dance they always did when they argued.
Dick liked space, needed it to process.
Bruce couldn’t even guess what Jason would want or need.
As much as Bruce had been through, he had never had to fend for himself the way Jason had. He had never been without. He could predict things based off of himself, but with Jason it was an entirely other state of being.
“There really is only one way to find out, sir.” Alfred offered, already turning to make his way back through the rest of the manor.
Bruce quietly asked, “Wish me luck?”
Alfred’s smile communicated the silent “You’re going to need it.”
Bruce gave himself an extra forty-five seconds to collect himself, before making his way to Jason’s room. He cast a glance at the closed door to Dick’s room before walking towards Jason’s slightly ajar one.
He knocked on the door frame, but didn’t open the door any further. “Jay…son?” His hard pivot from using a nickname surely wouldn’t go unnoticed, but he figured calling him Jaybird at a time like this wouldn’t be welcome.
He heard a beleaguered sigh from within the room before the door was pulled open. Jason muttered a quiet, “Guess we should get it over with,” as he turned away and walked towards-
“What’s that bag?” Bruce asked, keeping his tone even and gentle.
Jason rolled his eyes. “No need for theatrics.” He crossed his arms and perched defensively near a tattered duffle bag.
Bruce took a glance around the room, he saw one of the drawers left a quarter of the way open, empty.
All at once it dawned on him.
He still didn’t know what to do, but he at least had some more context now.
Without a better plan in mind, he walked the rest of the way into Jason’s room and sat down on the bed, leaving plenty of space between him and Jason’s bag.
“You know, I might be able to work with you a bit on that whole bedtime thing. It will mess with the schedule we were going to get you on for Gotham Academy, but I could probably work out some kind of hybrid schedule with them.” He better be able to, with how much money he’s given them before, during, and after Dick was enrolled there.
He watched out of the corner of his eye as Jason looked at him with shock.
He continued. “I split my sleep into two groups of four hours for a while, once your body gets used to it I find that I had just as much energy as sleeping eight hours. Really, what it will come down to is you won’t be on schedule to do school for eight hours in a row.” He turned to look at Jason, patting the spot on the bed next to him.
Jason took a step forward, closer to Bruce, but didn’t sit.
“You know, I don’t want to make you feel like there's only ever one way to do things- I know I can get a little… Overbearing. I just want to keep you healthy. You have a place where you don’t have to be alert at all hours of the day. Once you’re comfortable here, I hope that sleep comes easier for you.”
Jason fiddled with the strap of the duffle bag still sitting on the bed. “Does that… does that mean you’re not kicking me out?” His voice was still performatively stern, as if he couldn’t chance letting his guard down.
Bruce wished he could pull the boy in for a hug, but at this moment he knew it would only raise his hackles. “You’re not getting kicked out, Jaybird. Not now, not ever.” This was a promise Bruce knew he could make and keep.
Jason’s expression pinched once more, though. “You don’t know that.”
Bruce’s smile was sad, “I hope you believe me one day. For now can I help you unpack?”
Jason’s expression was stoney as he pushed the duffle bag closer to Bruce and yanked the zipper open. “Alfred doesn’t like my clothes folded. We have to hang them up.” He conceded.
Bruce nodded, “That’s from me balling up the clothes I claimed to have folded and shoving them in drawers. He felt the need to iron my school uniform every morning and was tired of it.” He tried to hide a smile and not push Jason away from him.
Jason scoffed, “Do you even know how to fold clothes?”
Bruce leaned in conspiratorially, “Once, Alfred asked if I had let Dick help with my laundry. Because the folds were so messy. The best part? I had, but his were folded nicer.”
Jason pursed his lips to avoid smiling at the anecdote, but Bruce could see the reaction for what it was.
The pair took their time, carefully hanging up clothes in Jason’s closet. Bruce took stock of the things he did and didn’t take, making a mental note to get the boy more of the loose fitted cargo pants he seemed unwilling to part with.
He wouldn’t make Jason go with him, like he had with Dick, because he didn’t have any issues getting Jay out of the house for things like the library or museums. Maybe he could throw the offer out if Jason was interested in picking things out for himself.
That’s how, a few weeks later, he ended up with his first leather jacket.
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Bruce could scarcely recall a time that Tim argued with him, in those early days.
Sure Robin had plenty to say to Batman. But back in the manor, the only thing he ever pushed back against was Alfred’s insistence that he stay for dinner.
Even then, it was dressed in politeness that would make an aristocrat jealous.
It was a long while before Bruce realized he much preferred the ruckus of endless arguments over the silence of a boy too afraid to speak his mind.
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When Bruce thought of the early interactions he had with Damian that ended with inevitable arguments, he mostly considered those moot. That was al Ghul influence that he couldn’t hold against Damian, especially as a ten year old.
He heard war stories from Dick from Damian’s first tenure as Robin.
But, if you asked him what he thought of as his first genuine argument with Damian, he’d smile at you and ask if you had met the flock of geese that lived on the lake at the manor.
If the resulting answer was no, he would walk you through what he felt was one of the most harrowing times in his relationship with his youngest son.
Which was saying a lot.
It started with Mr. Freeze making one of his first out of season attacks. He froze over half of Gotham in late March, shortly after it had been officially declared spring.
Now, if you were a fellow hero or vigilante, he’d let you in on the fact that Robin nearly made the man into a popsicle when he caught sight of the large park in the city center frozen over.
If not, he’d move on and say that Damian insisted that they go check on the animals in that park just after the man was put back into Arkham.
It was there that he found two nests of geese eggs, but only one mother goose.
Bruce, with a hand on his shoulder, gently suggested, “Why don’t we take them down to the conservatory?”
The glare that got him was one for the history books. “Are you kidding me? They’re hardly able to keep up with the basic animals they have now, let alone a migratory species. They don’t even have the staff to take care of a band of pigeons! No, I will care for them.”
Bruce reigned in a sigh that threatened to slip from him. “Damian, we don’t have the capacity to care for goslings. They need to go to a facility prepared for them before the eggs are no longer viable.”
Damian squinted at his father. “Do you mean to tell me that we are so impoverished that we cannot care for two simple nests of goslings?”
Bruce cleared his throat and silently asked anyone for the strength to deal with this. “No, Damian, that’s not what I’m saying. You know what, why don’t I call Clark and see if the Kent’s have space at their farm, hmm? I’m sure Conner would be more than willing to assist in transporting them safely.”
Damian scoffed, “Do you know nothing of the migratory pattern of geese? If you move them halfway across the country they will not be able to adapt before winter comes, then they will be at a loss for where they are meant to migrate to. Not to mention the undoubtedly major effect they would have on the Kansan ecosystem!”
Bruce had been afraid of that. “Damian… We can’t take in a flock of geese.”
“So you simply expect me to let these helpless creatures suffer because you don’t think anyone is capable of caring for them? I thought you were supposed to be the one who preached that weakness was meant to be supported?!”
Bruce knew they would continue in circles from here. He glanced around at his other children, silently asking for help.
Tim let out a quiet chuff of laughter before linking his arm through Cass’ and heading towards the other end of the affected park.
From securely behind Damian, Dick raised his arms in surrender.
Jason crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Damian, clearly waiting for whatever response Bruce was going to come up with.
Damian was tapping his foot, “Well?”
Bruce squeezed Damian’s shoulder. “Son, we can’t take in any more animals. Between you and Alfred your schedules are too full-”
“I refuse to leave them here. Whether you allow me to or not, I am going to care for them.” Damian pushed Bruce’s hand off of him and stormed away.
For weeks, Damian would hardly look at him unless it was training and patrol related. Out of the cave, he spent his time watching over incubators and getting the one mother goose adjusted.
Next thing Bruce knew, there were two flocks of geese living out of the large lake on the grounds of Wayne Manor.
Every year they migrated, only to find their way right back the following spring.
Damian made sure their return home was to enough food to last them the season.
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Once Dick was an adult, living on his own with plenty of space from the manor, Bruce found their arguments to be much pettier in nature.
Gone were the days of accusations echoing through the halls of a large manor, only punctuated by slammed doors.
No, now they argued with a similar frequency, but much less severity.
“No, Bruce! I’m telling you, Clark’s original cape was longer than his current one!”
Bruce sighed into his cup of coffee, one adorned with a bright and garish image of Superman, which sparked the entire debate. “Chum, there is no way it was longer. His first cape sat above his boots!”
They had been going back and forth for nearly ten minutes, with the rest of their family watching it devolve.
Dick scoffed, “I used to be able to fully hide under his cape, B!”
Bruce’s smile was soft, reminiscent, “Yeah, and it still only went to his boots. If you’ll recall, you were quite small when you first insisted on going out as Robin and subsequently first ran into Superman. You could, quite comfortably, fit under his cape.”
Dick gaped at him, “There’s no way! That’s it, I’m calling him!” Rather than pulling out his phone, like most others would at a time like this, Dick opened his mouth and shouted, “Uncle Clark! Nightwing to Superman!”
Barely a moment passed before there was a polite knock on their door.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick before getting up to greet his friend. “You really need to stop indulging him.” Was all he said as he opened the front door and greeted Clark.
“You know I fold like a cheap lawn chair when he calls me uncle Clark.” He said, smiling.
Bruce couldn’t help but smile in return, “I am more than aware. Anyways, it seems he would like for you to settle something of a debate for us.” Bruce led Clark through the entry and into the sitting room his family had settled in.
Dick bounded up to him for a tight hug before stepping back and reclaiming his spot on the couch.
Clark nodded greetings at everyone, pausing to ruffle Tim’s hair, as he knew he was the only one of Bruce’s children that would still let him get away with it.
“What’s this big debate?” Clark asked, rubbing his hands together.
Bruce raised an eyebrow at Dick, prompting him to ask.
Dick rolled his eyes but spoke up anyways, “How long was your original cape? Like when I was Robin?”
Clark blew a breath out trying to recall his costume from back then. He looked towards the ceiling and tilted his head to the right, “Uh, I’d say about yay long?” He bent down slightly and waved his hand, gesturing just below his knees. “It brushed against my boots, just about. Which was the main reason I sprang for a longer one, when it came time.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow and smirked into his coffee cup.
Dick groaned aloud. “You’re telling me it was that long when I hid under it?!”
Clark’s smile was wide enough that both of his dimples were on full display. “Sure was. You were a tiny thing- it really was no wonder Bruce had you lit up like a traffic light!”
Tim and Jason’s laughter cut across the room.
Clark turned to them, grin on his face only growing, “I wouldn’t be laughing if I were y’all. B almost did away with the traffic lights only to find that both of you need it more. Especially you, Tim, you’d up and disappear worse than he did.”
That got them to quiet down and throw their hands up in matching offerings of surrender.
From his armchair, Bruce spoke up. “Thank you, Clark.”
Clark spun to face him, hand already rubbing at the back of his neck. “Oh, it’s nothing, really, B.”
Bruce smiled at him again. “Well, I believe you just won me my first argument with any of my sons, so definitely not nothing.”
Clark paled slightly, “Well, if that’s all I really should be going-”
“Relax, Clark, he won’t hold it against you.” Bruce placated.
“Honestly I’m just shocked neither of you have succumbed to a heart attack if I was that tiny. When Damian was, well, smaller I guess, I’d see him grapple and feel the urge to chew my nails.” Dick joked.
Damian scoffed but otherwise didn’t turn away from the drawing he had been doing all morning.
Tim’s phone chimed, drawing part of the room’s attention. He shrugged, “You have time to drop me off in Kansas?” He asked, tilting his head as he looked up at Clark.
Clark took the silent out for what it was and nodded. “Need to grab anything before we go?”
Tim shook his head, “Nah, Kon’s got stuff for me out there, plus we’re meeting Bart in Star so I’d rather not lug stuff with me everywhere.”
“Be home for training tomorrow.” Bruce called, absentmindedly.
Tim rolled his eyes but smiled conspiratorially at Clark.
Before anyone else could get another word out, Bruce spoke up again. “And, you, Clark, I will see later for monitor duty, yes?”
Clark’s attention went back to Bruce as he nodded, “Yep, I’ll be there.”
Bruce nodded and took another sip of coffee.
“You really were tiny, you know. I could carry you around on one arm.” He said, turning his focus back to Dick.
“Irrelevant, you could do that now.” He huffed.
As Clark and Tim made their way out of the room, filled with smiling faces, Bruce considered that maybe arguing with his oldest wasn’t so bad.
Anymore.
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“God, Bruce, will you just sit down and listen to me?!”
Jason’s breath was raged in his chest. An effect of having the same argument with his dad for what felt like the hundredth time.
Bruce paused, regret flooding through his system as he took in the strained look on Jason’s face. He could see the well up of tears in his son’s eyes and wished he could remedy it.
“When I need help, I’ll ask for it. You can’t-” Jason let out a groan, “You can’t just up and decide that you’re going to help me, whether I like it or not. I just need you to-”
Bruce could hear Jason’s voice waiver. He took a step closer, hoping his son wouldn’t back up in equal measure.
He stayed quiet for a moment, suddenly feeling like he did all those years ago. Out of his depth when it came to his second son’s needs. “I’m sorry, Jaylad.”
Hearing his dad apologize, Jason couldn’t stop the slow trickle of tears in his eyes.
He always hated being an angry crier. When he was young, far too young to feel so angry at the world, he remembered being able to curb the tears until he felt safe, until he was alone.
Now, though, after so much, whenever he argued with Bruce, it was like his eyes had been saving up tears for just the occasion.
“I just need you to listen to me.”
The simple phrase broke Bruce’s heart. He couldn’t stop himself from pulling Jason in for a hug, even if he wanted to.
Feeling Jason fold himself into the embrace was the only thing keeping Bruce upright, knowing that his son still trusted him enough to fall apart.
He always hated seeing his kids cry.
He rubbed Jason’s back the way his mother used to rub his after a particularly bad night terror. The way Alfred did years later when the fears were no longer only in his dreams. The way he had the night John and Mary Grayson fell in front of a crowd.
The way he had when a young boy stole the tires off his car and thought he was going to die because of it.
Bruce didn’t know how long they stood there, he didn’t quite care either.
He would stand there for the rest of time, letting Jason’s tears slowly dry up, if it meant his son would feel safe.
At the very least, he was glad Jason no longer packed a bag every time they fought. In fact, after that first time Bruce hadn’t seen him do it again.
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Arguing with Tim was bittersweet.
Bruce had forced himself to acknowledge how little a young Tim Drake really said to him.
It had taken a long while for the boy to open up enough to share his favorite foods, the kinds of drinks he preferred, anything really.
So, as an adult, when Tim argued with him it was a testament to how far they had come.
It was also, however, a testament to how similar the two were in the ways of stubbornness and a complete lack of self-preservation.
“I would have had them, Bruce! What the hell were you thinking sending GCPD in there, of all people?! They got away because of them!”
Bruce took in a slow breath so he didn’t match Tim’s raised voice, “Tim. They took you at gunpoint. Off the street. There was nothing else I could do.”
“You’re the fucking Batman, you’re telling me there was no way for you to take two seconds and a handful of braincells to figure out that I set them up?!”
Of course there was. Once his adrenaline from watching his son get kidnapped at gunpoint wore off, there was plenty of time to realize that Tim had been sticking to a strict schedule for weeks. That he had adjusted his wardrobe slightly.
Bruce might have come up with the plan himself if he had been let in on it.
Tim was pacing around the living room, fighting the urge to get out his cork board and rechart the group’s next moves. Now that they had gotten away from him.
“Tim, you can’t ever do that again.” Bruce pleaded.
He scoffed, “Oh you mean I can’t stop criminal rings by getting myself immediately involved? Sorry, remind me again why you go out at night dressed up like a huge bat?”
He knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. Tim knew he didn’t have a leg to stand on. How could he articulate that, no matter how backwards it seemed, seeing things happen to his kids, especially off the field, only served to weaken his heart and resolve.
How could he express that if all of them decided to up and quit the vigilante business he would throw them each a party with anything they wanted to to celebrate?
He couldn’t.
“Tim, you’re good at what you do. You know that. Please, please don’t put yourself in that kind of danger without a way out.”
Tim's mouth dropped, ever so slightly, in disbelief. “Do you really think that little of me? You really think I would orchestrate an entire kidnapping plot just to turn around and not know how to get myself out. You might not have been here, Bruce, but you sure as hell know how good I got at taking care of myself.”
He raked a hand through his hair, displacing the strands for a brief moment. “It’s never going to be good enough for you. For anyone. I’m going to hear this same lecture three, four, hell seven times, before anyone deigns to listen to me. Fine. Next time I’ll let some poor civilian get kidnapped. I’ll live with that on my conscience to make sure I’m safe.” He spat out the word safe like it burned.
Before Bruce could even respond, Tim turned on his heel and walked out, leaving Bruce standing there, wishing he knew how to get through to him.
The worst part? He and Tim were cut from the same cloth. Bruce has had the same argument with Alfred, the Justice League, hell, even Dick once or twice. Every time there is nothing anyone can say that has made him change his mind.
Dick got the closest.
He pleaded with Bruce, begged him until he promised not to make him lose another parent.
Even then, Bruce could only think of an extra stream of contingencies that meant he would make it home, rather than stopping the behavior.
For now he would have to let Tim cool off. If he didn’t they would just be going for round two.
In a couple of hours (or however long Bruce could wait) he would go see him. Give him a hug, tell him he’s doing an amazing job.
Remind him that Bruce can’t bury another one of his sons.
Hope that one of these days that gets through to him.
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“You have to wait until you’re sixteen to date.” Bruce said.
This prompted Damian to look up from where he had been smiling down at his phone, no trace of his smile from a moment ago.
When Bruce didn’t continue, rather just looked at Damian blankly, the teen rolled his eyes. “Do you really think an extra three months is going to deter anyone?” He asked, snidely.
Bruce did his best not to visibly grind his teeth and clench his jaw. “Rules are rules, Damian. Your brothers all waited.” Jason… well he never really got the chance. And Dick, despite his debut, as far as Bruce could tell his teenaged crushes stayed innocent and awkward until he grew into his own. Tim, at least, had once he was officially Bruce’s son, not that it really mattered at the time.
As far as Tim knew, there wasn’t a rule- he wasn’t looking to date anyone after being adopted but before turning sixteen, as far as Bruce knew.
Damian scoffed. “You’re ridiculous. I know for a fact that Timothy and Stephanie dated before either of them were sixteen.”
Damn. He forgot how much his kids talked. “Tim wasn’t under my roof at the time. You are.”
“Mother wouldn’t have a problem, so long as they could hold their own in a fight.” Damian raised a defiant eyebrow at him.
“Tough luck kid. You want to try before you're sixteen? I’ll make them fight me.” Bruce threatened. “And, for the record, I have beaten both Superman and Lord Death Man in a fight.” If Bruce knew his kid, and he did, it was either Jon or Livewire on the other end of that phone.
(And damn if he isn’t his father’s son. Bruce did have to acquiesce to that, at the very least.)
Damian pulled his phone closer to his chest, only confirming Bruce’s suspicions. “Must you investigate every single aspect of my life?”
Bruce bit back the instinctive “Yes” and went with “You’re my teenaged son. That is quite literally my job.”
Damian sighed and muttered out, “I thought your job was to appear idiotic until everyone assumed our family was too imbecilic to do anything close to vigilantism.”
It was not the first, nor the last, time his Brucie act had been thrown in his face by his family. It was, however, the first time Damian had sounded so offended by it. Bruce couldn’t help but feel like that wasn’t related to the dating limit.
“I think I’ve lost the thread here.” Bruce admitted. It only took five kids.
Damian groaned, sounding every bit the teenager he was. (Which Bruce was very quietly pleased about.) “You might not understand the concept of a positive reputation, but that doesn’t mean the rest of this family doesn’t. Even Timothy has had to run public relation campaigns to be taken seriously.”
Bruce sighed. In order to account for the family-man he was, with an increasing number of kids, he had scaled down his playboy attitude and scaled up the airheadedness he perpetuated. “Did something happen?”
Damian steadfastly ignored him. He turned back to his phone, now tapping away much more aggressively than he had been previously.
If Bruce had to guess, he wasn’t texting anymore. He was likely playing one of the couple farm simulators he had taken a liking to after getting over his reservations about having a smart phone that included mindless games.
Bruce knew there wasn’t anything he could really do here. He couldn’t promise that Brucie wouldn’t make an appearance, and he also couldn’t offer to get anyone who made comments, especially derisive ones, to stop.
That would be counterintuitive, he’s certain that his sons share their lack of appreciation for his meddling in their lives. Especially the unsolicited kind.
Instead, he figures something of an anecdote would have to do. For now. “Once, I walked in on some of the Justice League playing smash or pass.”
Damian visibly cringed.
“It was before most of them knew my identity. The only exceptions were Clark and Diana, both of which were sitting idly by as the rest of the league discussed many… aspects of Bruce Wayne.”
“Please, I beg of you, do not go any further.” Damian tried.
Bruce smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you with this. Many of them could hardly believe I walked into the room as they discussed me, it gave me quite the reprieve from their general foolishness.”
Bruce saw the perk in Damian’s face when the word reprieve left his mouth. “I am sorry for whatever flak you've been getting because of me. I do hope it comes to your advantage one day.”
With that, Bruce left Damian to his thoughts. He figured that whoever he had been texting would appreciate having his attention again. Even if it meant an extra plea with his elder sons to keep an eye on where Damian was going and with who.
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Despite the mixed feelings he had about arguing with his sons, one thing Bruce would always appreciate is that, if they were arguing with him, at the very least they were speaking to him.
Silver linings, and all that, he supposed.