Work Text:
‘Please come to the Manor for dinner. I have something important to discuss with you all.’
As soon as Bruce sent the text, he felt sick with regret, setting his phone down on his desk before it slipped out of his clammy palms. Diana had assured him the text was fine; it didn’t read like the end of the world or a military command. It was a simple request, from a father to his children.
Bruce glanced at his phone, the screen alight with notifications.
Dick: ‘Are you okay?’
Jason: ‘He said please someone take a screenshot’
Tim: ‘i can b there in 10mins?? r u ok?’
Damian: ‘What has happened?’
Cass: ‘OK 😁💖’
Dick: Bruce, seriously, what’s wrong?’
Bruce sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Bruce: ‘I would prefer to discuss this in person. I am at work. I will see you all tonight.’
He grimaced as he set his phone down again, knowing his message was probably being ‘decoded’ and his location tracked to verify that he was indeed at Wayne Enterprises. For perhaps the first time in his life, Bruce turned back towards his monitor, finding refuge in the latest fiscal quarter report, staunchly ignoring the way his stomach was flipping from anxiety.
After all, how do you tell your children you have cancer?
His prognosis was good, his surgery was scheduled, yet the word ‘cancer’ hung around his neck like an albatross. Bruce had survived so much — his children had endured so much because of him, and here Bruce was asking them to endure yet again.
And the question of Batman…
He’d already spoken to Diana, come up with plans for faking Batman’s death or a plain retirement from the Justice League, yet Bruce was terrified. Gotham’s rogues would seize either opportunity, all too eager to cause carnage and chaos on the streets Bruce had given decades to protecting. People would suffer, people would die, because he was too weak to continue the mission he had started all those years ago.
All of his children would think it was their responsibility to bear the burden of the Batman mantle, perhaps Dick most of all. Bruce…he’d never wanted that for them any of them. Ever.
Batman was his burden, his creation, his mistake. Batman had been beautifully terrifying, an imposing figure that clawed its way out of a little boy’s grief and an old fools hope. It was one of his proudest achievements and one of his most profoundest regrets. It had brought his children into his life, a gift far greater than any amount of gold. It had given him friendships Bruce would treasure for the rest of his life, people Bruce could rely on, day or night, no matter what. Yet, it had also taken. It had taken Jason. It had taken Alfred. It had taken any chance of normalcy. Some days, Bruce wondered if it had even taken his sanity.
He would watch as his children suited up, checked their bikes and tested their weapons, the way they could do it with a smile and silly jokes. He watched as they laughed with their teammates, their play fighting and gentle touches, so open and trusting in a way Bruce had never been.
Bruce did not want the mantle of Batman to take that from them, not again.
Tiredness washed over him like a tidal wave. So far, cancer seemed to be non-stop paperwork and planning. Switching his monitor off, Bruce moved to the couch, laying down on the uncomfortable leather with a groan. He just needed five minutes. Five minutes where he didn’t have to plan for the inevitability of hanging up the cowl or picture his kids faces as he said the dreaded ‘C’ word. Just five minutes of peace.
“Bruce? Bruce?”
Someone was shaking him, Bruce registered dully, his eyes stinging as he forced them open, the harsh lighting of the office burning his retinas. Blearily, he peeled his face off of the couch and looked up, dimly aware of how uncomfortably hot he felt, sleep warm in a full suit on a leather couch.
“Huh?”
Bruce blinked again, his vision clearing into the face of Lucius Fox, his brows pinched in worry.
“Are you injured?” Lucius asked, his voice low but urgent.
“No.” Bruce answered, coughing as his voice caught in his throat.
Lucius studied him, looking unconvinced, but Bruce breathed a sigh of relief as the man didn’t question further.
“Tim called to say he was on his way to collect you but you weren’t answering your phone.” Lucius said, glancing wryly at the phone abandoned on the desk.
“Shit,” Bruce rasped, sitting up so fast the office tilted for a second. “How far away is he?”
“I’m already here.”
“Tim.”
“Bruce, you sure you’re okay?” Tim asked, leaning against the doorframe.
To any outsider, Tim looked relaxed, perhaps even mildly exasperated that Brucie Wayne had fallen asleep at work. Bruce knew better. He could see the tension in Tim’s body, the tiniest of stress lines around his eyes, and how his lips were pinched ever so slightly. Bruce had worried him deeply.
“I’m fine.” Bruce insisted, ignoring the silent conversation occurring between Tim and Lucius as he stood up, shaking out his stiff limbs.
“Sure,” Tim replied, dragging out the vowel. “You ready to go?”
“I didn’t realise I was being picked up like a kindergartener.”
“You weren’t answering your phone. Don’t worry, I’ve already text the others to let them know you’re not dying.” Tim joked, holding up his phone with a cheeky smile.
Bruce simply nodded, reality crashing back down. He was silent as he followed Tim down to the parking garage, snatching his car keys right back as his pickpocketing son tried to sneak them out of his jacket. Bruce simply drove as Tim fiddled with the radio, content to watch his son out of the corner of his eye, savouring the last hour of ignorance before everything changed.
“Message everyone and ask what they want from Batburger.” Bruce said, indicating to join the drive-thru line.
“You’re willingly getting us Batburger? Did you lose a bet? Have you been dosed with something?” Tim questioned, that worried look back on his face.
“My generosity has a time limit.”
Tim didn’t argue further, his fingers flying over the screen as he text the others as requested before passing the phone to Bruce, who did his best not to roll his eyes at the order. The speaker crackled to life, and Bruce summoned the politest version of himself.
“Hi there, can I get four Batburger meals with fries?” Bruce smiled.
“No problem, sir! Would you like to Jokerize those fries?”
Bruce felt his eye twitch as Tim smirked in the passenger seat.
Home was a cacophony of sounds; cheers and shouting for the Batburger bags, the clacking of Ace and Titus’ claws against the floor as they rushed to greet him in the foyer, and the general noise of having everyone under one roof. Chairs were scraped back and bags were ripped open, meals doled out and on the table before Bruce had even hung up his jacket.
“So,” Jason began with a mouthful of burger. “What’s the big emergency?”
“It’s not an emergency. Let me sit down and eat.” Bruce said, gratefully accepting the food Cass pushed his way.
Bruce felt five pairs of eyes boring into him as he ate his first fry.
“Okay, so it’s not an emergency, but we all had to come to dinner tonight and you got us Batburger?” Dick said, his head tilted as he studied Bruce as if he were a puzzle to be solved.
“After dinner.” Bruce scowled, his tone leaving no room for disagreement.
Despite everything, it only took a few moments for conversation to truly start, and Bruce felt his lips twitch into a small smile as he listened to all their stories. Something funny Dick had seen in Blüdhaven, a new pizza joint Jason had tried near Crime Alley, Cassandra’s adventures into the world of Spotify on the recommendation of Dinah, the new movie Tim had been to see with Bernard, Damian’s latest volunteering shift at the hospital. Selfishly, Bruce never wanted it to end. But it had to.
Looking around at the empty containers, Bruce scrunched up his napkin, letting his chair scrape against the floor as he stood.
“Lets move into the living room.”
Maybe it was his serious expression, or the anxiousness to know what they had all been summoned for, but there were no arguments as all five of them threw away their trash and moved into the living room, trading furtive looks with each other. Bruce let them file out in silence, giving himself a moment alone. He let out a shaky breath as he lent over the table, closing his eyes as he focused on slowing his pounding heart. Everything was about to become undeniably real, and Bruce hated it. Once again, he was hurting his children.
All eyes were on him as he entered the room.
Jason had claimed an armchair to himself, eyebrow cocked as he studied Bruce’s face. Tim had stolen the other armchair, looking mildly irritated that Dick had decided to perch on the armrest instead of finding his own seat. Cass and Damian had claimed both corners of the couch, leaving Bruce no choice but to sit in between them, absentmindedly petting Ace as the old dog pressed his head into Bruce’s legs as he sat.
“Thank you all for coming.” Bruce began, letting the feeling of Ace’s fur beneath his fingers ground him.
“What is this? Fucking Alcoholics Anonymous?” Jason sniped.
“Jason.” Dick scolded quietly, and Bruce waited a moment for the argument between them that never came.
“Before I continue, I need to ask that what I say does not leave this room,” Bruce said. “Not Barbara. Not Stephanie. Not Duke. I will tell them myself. It is also something I need to inform the Justice League of and I would…prefer for them to hear it from me, rather than second hand from Conner, Jon, Donna, Roy, any of them.”
The atmosphere instantly felt heavier, everyone sitting up straighter in their seats, eyes sharpening at Bruce’s words.
“Alright,” Tim nodded, nervously nibbling his nail. “This is just between us.”
Bruce waited for every single one of them to voice their agreement before he decided to bite the bullet.
“I have lung cancer.”
If the atmosphere had been heavy before, then Bruce had sucked all the oxygen from the room with his statement.
“What?” Dick asked, his voice cracking with emotion, and Bruce felt his heart shatter as he looked into those teary blue eyes of his first baby.
“We caught it very early. I’ll have a surgery called a lobectomy to remove the affected section of my lung, and after that it will be decided if I will need any other treatment or not.” Bruce said, his voice soft as Cass pressed into his side, both her arms wrapped around his bicep.
“That…sounds like major surgery, Bruce.” Tim voiced, his eyes glassy.
“It is,” Bruce conceded, feeling his chest tighten. “My lung capacity will be reduced. It may improve over time but-“
“But not enough to be Batman.” Jason finished, his tone bitter.
Bruce let his eyes slip close for a moment.
“Yes. Not enough to be Batman.”
Damian’s hand shot out to grab Bruce’s hand, silent tears dribbling down his face as he refused to look up. Gently, Bruce moved Damian’s hand up, pressing a kiss to his knuckles just to watch the scowl on his face soften. Damian, his youngest, only fifteen and had lived through so much. Bruce couldn’t help but feel a deep loathing as he swiped away Damian’s tears, detesting that once again, he was the reason for them. Damian didn’t react to him, sniffing quietly as he cried.
“I’ll do it.” Dick whispered, staring into the middle distance with slumped shoulders.
Jason stood up in an explosion of movement and anger.
“Bullshit. This whole thing is bullshit.”
“Dick. Jason. Let me finish,” Bruce asked so earnestly it almost felt like pleading. “I don’t want any of you to feel like you have to be Batman. You’ve all made your own identities, your own lives and I don’t want you to be…burdened with mine. Batman is finished.”
“Gotham needs Batman.” Tim replied, almost robotically.
“Gotham has Red Robin, Black Bat, Robin, Red Hood, Signal, Batgirl, Oracle, Huntress, Catwoman, Azrael. Gotham has Nightwing when she needs him. Gotham can survive without Batman. Gotham will survive without Batman.” Bruce refuted.
“Bruce-“ Dick began, but Bruce cut him off.
“No. I have trained all of you and I am…infinitely proud of the people you have all become. Gotham may spiral for a moment, it always does, but all of you know this city. You are all more than capable of protecting Gotham. You’ve all been doing it for years.”
“Fuck, Bruce. You sure you’re not dyin’?” Jason laughed bitterly, scrubbing at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie.
“Not today. I promise.” Bruce breathed, his lips quirking upwards.
“When’s your surgery?” Tim asked, pulling out his phone, no doubt to put it in his calendar.
“Two weeks time. Tuesday 2nd at 10:45am.” Bruce recited.
“I’m driving you.” Dick said.
“Thank you. I’ll have to remain in the hospital for around a week.”
“We will visit every day, Father.” Damian promised, his voice scratchy, but determination burned in his eyes.
Bruce nodded, stifling a yawn as he ran a hand through Damian’s thick hair.
“You need to rest.” Cass said, sitting up but keeping a hand on his arm.
Reluctantly, Bruce nodded. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, yet he felt almost weightless as Dick, Jason, Cass, Tim, and Damian all trailed up the stairs after him. Bruce didn’t even pretend to be shocked or irritated when he came out of the bathroom in his pyjamas to find all of them squished into his bed, blinking innocently at him. Instead, he simply laid down between all his children, letting them all contort around him, and let his eyes slip closed.
Tomorrow would be more conversations, more paperwork, more planning, but tonight, all his children were home, and Bruce couldn’t ask for more.