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Bruce Wayne would admit that he was quite impulsive.
Most of his impulses were small.
They told him to eat this, say that, make this deduction, and follow a clue to this building. Those impulses were half-formed things that more often than not led him to the correct solution. His larger impulses were more… unstable.
He wasn’t always sure that the solution they led him to was was the right one.
The Batman had been a result of impulse.
His commitment to the city had been another impulse that had hardened into a responsibility.
He had thought the impulse to go to the circus had been a small one but had unexpectedly solidified into one of his most life-changing and earth-shattering decisions.
It had turned into a monumental thing.
A monumental thing in the package of a very small boy.
A small mop of dark curls bobbed along the edge of Bruce’s bed, circling like a tiny shark. Bruce tracked its path silently, eyes narrowed as it steadily came closer. Occasionally, the head giggled and the dim room lightened with the sound.
Eventually, it came close enough for Bruce to see the two bright blue eyes peering up at him.
“Hello,” Bruce said, voice huskier than usual from sleep. It was early. The sun hadn’t even come up, not that it really mattered considering the black-out curtains that were constantly hung around his window.
He had thought kids slept in later than dawn, though.
“I’m hungry,” said the child, clambering onto the bed and upon Bruce’s bare chest. His small fingers pressed into Bruce’s skin and made the bruises along his ribs ache in dull pain.
Bruce grunted but didn’t tell the boy to get off.
“Then, eat,” he replied, brushing at the hair that kept falling in front of the boy’s eyes. “There is food in the kitchen.”
The boy blinked and Bruce watched his small face dip into a pout. “I’m little,” he said, even though Bruce knew he was average-sized for his age. “I’m not allowed to be in the kitchen by myself.”
“Is that so?” Bruce asked genuinely, tilting his head in confusion. Had that been one of Alfred’s rules? He didn’t remember.
“Yes,” the boy said with exasperation like explaining these things to Bruce was a chore.
“Why?” Bruce said, bracing an arm on the boy’s back and tilting him down as Bruce sat up. The boy collapsed into a joyful giggling heap in Bruce’s lap.
“I don’t know. It’s a grown-up thing. You should know. You’re a grown-up.”
Bruce couldn’t help the small burst of discomfort with being called a grown-up and the easy way the boy assigned responsibility to Bruce. It hadn’t seemed like too long ago that he had been a dark, half-formed thing, something created from shadows and caught between man and—
“I’m hungry,” the boy repeated more insistently, poking his thin finger into one of Bruce’s old bullet wound scars. “Feed me, or else I’ll eat you.”
Bruce huffed and looked down.
Richard Grayson stared up at him, a shining, bright expectation that terrified Bruce was in his eyes.
He made a playful growl as he pretended to snap at the hand that was petting through his hair.
“Feed me.”
Bruce grunted, and through some instinct, he didn’t know he had, picked the boy up and put him on his hip.
By similar instinct, the boy curled into him, molding their bodies together like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“What do you eat?” Bruce asked as he shuffled them towards the kitchen. It was silent and empty when he got there and it was only after a few seconds of staring did he remember that Alfred had told him he would be gone for three days to visit a friend.
And that he had left young Dick in Bruce’s care.
“Normal things,” Dick answered, his little hands prodding as a scar on Bruce’s neck. He had been quite taken with learning the story behind every scar and Bruce had been forced to make up increasingly impossible stories.
“What’s this one from?” the boy asked, his voice light.
“A fight.”
Dick startled in his arms.
“A real fight? Like the one’s on TV.”
Bruce gave a grunt that was almost a full chuckle. The boy accepted it easily, already learning how to read Bruce’s nonverbal grunts.
“Wow,” the boy said in something close to awe. “That’s so cool.”
It hadn’t been cool. Bruce had nearly lost his life in a mission that had gone bad. He had been naive, over-confident, too green to take on over a dozen men at once. His helmet had been cracked from a crowbar strike. Blood had filled his mouth and slithered down his throat. All he could see was the glint of artificial light on a sharpened blade as a gang member smirked down, teeth as sharp as–
“B,” the child in his arms whined, dramatically collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. “Food.”
“Oh.”
Bruce ferried the boy to the fridge and put him down in front of it. He waited, expecting the child to open it up and procure himself the food he needed.
But the child only kept staring up at him.
“What?”
“Well, I’m not supposed to do it myself. You’re supposed to do it for me.”
Bruce looked at the fridge and then back to the child.
“Alright,” he said, even though anxiety instantly rolled through his stomach and made him wish he could disappear into the Batcave.
He went through the motions of gathering a bowl of cereal together and the child watched him like a hawk the entire time.
He must have completed the meal satisfactorily, though, because young Dick didn’t give him any more commands.
The boy only spoke again once he was halfway through a bowl of cereal and watching Bruce from across the large kitchen island.
“You’re bad at this, aren’t you?” Dick asked, between massive spoonfuls of cereal. Bruce could hardly believe such large amounts fit into a mouth that small.
Bruce didn’t even think to lie.
“Yes.”
“That’s okay,” Dick assured him with a little nod. “I’m bad at some things too.”
The kitchen dipped into silence as the boy munched on cereal and Bruce watched him. The boy’s eyes kept flickering to him, curiosity beginning to peak.
“B, can I ask you something?”
Bruce tilted his head.
“Yes.”
“Are you a vampire?”
Bruce tilted his head more.
“Why do you say that?”
The boy’s legs swung under him and he released his spoon to begin ticking off reasons on his hand.
“You always wear a cape. You love black. You flinch away from the sun. You don’t eat like normal people. And you’re sorta bad at being a human.”
That startled a chuckle out of Bruce.
Alfred said many of the same things, though his tone was more annoyed when he did.
Bruce guessed a Batman was similar to a vampire.
“You’re right,” Bruce said with a nod and the barest hint of a smile. “I’m a vampire.”
It was ridiculous and instead of laughing at the joke, Dick just gazed at him in wide-eyed wonder that frightened Bruce.
It was the same type of wonder he had given Bruce when Bruce told him he was adopting the boy. The same wonder that had been there when he had held the boy for the first time as his world burned down around him.
The same wonder that Bruce was terrified of tarnishing and washing away.
He had brought so many things into the shadows.
He didn’t want this light to get lost there too.
“I knew it,” Dick whispered, his cereal bowl utterly forgotten.
Bruce gave the boy one of his rare smiles and took the bowl to put it into the sink.
The boy instantly slipped down from the chair, following like a bright duckling.
Bruce stared at the dirty bowl. It was bone china. Alfred only used a certain type of soap on bone china, but Bruce didn’t know which one it was. He stared at the five soaps, eyes darting between them.
He gulped, took the bowl, and silently slid it into the trash can next to the sink.
“This is our secret, okay?” Bruce said gravely as he hid the bowl under some dirty paper towels.
Dick nodded, still in awe it seemed.
“Of course.”
“Good,” murmured Bruce as he walked out of the kitchen, Dick still padding at his side. “Now let’s find you something to do.”
Alfred found the bowl.
Bruce remembered the lecture he had gotten, but had forgotten about the joke.
He didn’t recall it until there was another impulse, three years later.
Another boy.
Rougher around the edges.
Gotham City incarnate, and yet still somehow perfect.
His name was Jason Todd.
He was six and Dick had just turned eleven.
“No, that’s impossible,” one boy whispered up to his new older brother. His face was paler. His eyes were more haunted. He tracked Bruce like a potential threat in a way that Dick had never done.
Bruce had seen some of his own nightmares reflected in that shadowed gaze.
Bruce was trying to be someone who could banish them away.
He wasn’t sure how he was doing, but at least the boy had stopped flinching away. He had even begun approaching Bruce, warily leaning into his side like a stray cat. He would allow a hand on his head or his shoulder as long as Bruce didn’t move too fast.
Bruce had finally understood was Selina had said about having “a thing for strays”.
The trust, even if it was still only barely there and able to be revoked at any moment, was warm and precious.
“I thought so too, but it’s true.”
Bruce listened, half-hidden in a shadow. The boys were sprawled on the dining room floor, a mess of old metal parts between them. Dick had asked for Legos. Bruce hadn’t known what those were.
Through a quick Google search, he found that these could be a fitting replacement and secretly brought them from the Cave for the boys to play with.
The boys seemed happy enough and were quickly fitting them together into what looked like a rudimentary car.
“Vampires aren’t real,” Jason insisted, as he added want looked like a seventh wheel onto the car.
“People said the Batman wasn’t real. Half of Gotham doesn’t think he exists,” Dick said, picking some small piece from the larger pile. “But we saw him last week on the news.”
Jason’s mouth went round and his small face crinkled.
Fear.
The sight of it turned Bruce’s stomach.
“Bruce… he’s not going to hurt us, right? He won’t suck our blood and touch us bad.”
Dick instantly shook his head. “No, B isn’t scary at all. He’s never sucked my blood.”
He fell silent as he pulled out a piece they could use as an eighth wheel and slotted it onto their car.
“Between you and me, I think he’s really bad at being a vampire.”
Bruce had to swallow down a laugh, especially as Jason indignantly glared at the car.
“How can you be bad at being a vampire?”
“He always forgets the sun hurts him. He walks right out into the sun and then flinches because he forgets it will burn him. I always have to get him his umbrella or sunglasses.”
Jason looked at Dick, trying to detect a lie, but Dick’s natural earnestness won him over.
“I thought he was just weird.”
Dick laughed and the sound filled the Manor and Bruce’s chest.
“Oh he’s weird, but I still love him no matter what.”
Jason didn’t agree.
He also didn’t disagree.
He stayed silent even when Bruce revealed himself and Dick brightened like a firework, before launching into a wild, rolling description of their haphazard creation.
Apparently, they had been designing a flying house.
Not a car.
Dick called it “the Bathouse”.
Later that night, Bruce had corralled his boys onto the couch to watch a movie. Dick went willingly, turning towards Bruce like a flower towards a dark sun. When Bruce sat down, he instantly curled up into his side and shoved himself under Bruce’s arm. He didn’t stop squirming until Bruce began tenderly petting the boy’s unruly hair.
Jason didn’t do the same.
He got onto the couch, but stayed a healthy distance away from Bruce.
Bruce didn’t push, though. He played the movie and watched as a little girl and a blue alien made friends.
Slowly, Jason began edging towards them.
Bruce forced himself to keep looking forward and didn’t look to the side as another boy nestled into his side. He was stiff at first and then, like winter softening into spring, he melted into Bruce’s side.
It was hard to stay still through the burst of joy that almost made him want to cry.
He swallowed and met Alfred’s eyes across the room.
His father smiled knowingly and turned back towards the television.
Bruce didn’t remember the end of the movie. He also didn’t remember the vampire conversation again.
He did remember pressing a kiss to Jason and Dick’s heads as he tucked them in that night.
Another child came two years later.
Dick was a teenager. Jason was eight. They were inseparable, despite the gap.
The shadows were almost entirely banished from Jason’s eyes, and Bruce only saw them when a stranger got too close or someone raised a hand too quickly.
Jason often looked at Bruce with that same terrifying wonder now.
It was still suffocating, but he felt a little more confident that he wouldn’t shatter it completely. He was managing. Barely.
His boys seemed happy though, and it made up for any fear Bruce had about losing their wonder.
Well…
Usually happy.
One of his boys didn’t look happy at the moment.
“There’s a boy!” Jason said, bursting into Bruce’s study with a righteous fury that reminded Bruce of himself. “He was out in the rain!”
Bruce tilted his head to the side. “It’s raining?”
“Yes, and that’s not important,” Jason snapped, practically growling. His hair looked damp like maybe he had been in the rain himself. Bruce needed to get him a towel.
The man rose and Jason was a furious little shadow behind him. Bruce got one of the towels from the adjacent bathroom and silently handed it over. The boy snatched it and wiped his face.
His cheeks were red. His freckles were vibrant.
“Get one for Tim too,” he insisted, shoving past Bruce to grab the towel himself. “He’s cold and wet and they just left him outside.”
Bruce crouched down, meeting Jason’s gaze at eye-level.
“Who is Tim?”
“Our neighbor,” Jason mumbled, eyes flitting down and fingers picking at the fabric. “Dick and I found him outside. He was walking home from school. His parents forgot to pick him up.”
Jason’s jaw went tight and he gripped the towel tight enough for the white of his knuckles to show.
“He’s just a kid. They forgot to pick him up. And it’s raining.”
“That’s not good,” Bruce said, standing up. Being wet and cold wasn’t good for little boys. He had learned that when he adopted Dick. “Can you show me where he is?”
Jason nodded, a sad slump to his shoulders, and he took Bruce’s hand when he offered it.
The boy led him through the Manor, towards the front hall, and showed him a small, shaking huddle of a child.
The huddle had two, wide baby-blue eyes that were filled with a loneliness Bruce recognized.
It was a boy without his parents.
A freshly made orphan lost in a place that was once familiar.
A child seeking comfort he wasn’t sure was going to come.
Bruce wondered if maybe this was how Alfred felt that first time.
“Hello,” Bruce said, sitting on the floor next to Dick.
The new child sniffled.
“My name is Bruce.”
“I know,” came a reedy response, thin and breakable. “I live next door.”
“They are big properties,” Bruce responded gently. “Next door can be quite far away.” He reached forward to offer a hand and the hand that got put into his seemed impossibly tiny.
How was it that his boys were growing up and yet he kept getting smaller hands put into his?
“Let’s take you to the kitchen,” Bruce said, tugging the boy from his blankets. Jason was right, he was soaked.
And too thin.
And too lonely.
Bruce knew how to fix that.
“Are you guys vampires too?” the small voice asked when they all thought Bruce was asleep. They were snuggled on his bed, squirming like puppies and poking bony elbows into his organs. It was amazing that he had slept as long as he did.
“No,” Dick said, disappointment vibrant in his voice. “He never offered to bite us and turn us too.”
Jason laughed, his voice was thick with teasing. “Once Dick tried to convince Bruce that he would make a good vampire by only eating steak tartare for a week. I don’t even think Bruce noticed that that was weird human behaviour.”
Bruce hadn’t known. He had thought Dick just really liked steak tartare.
“To my credit,” Dick was indignant and a knee prodded into Bruce’s kidney. “Bruce knows nothing about human behaviour. I could probably start eating plastic and he’d think it’s normal.”
Bruce took a little offence.
He had only fed Dick plastic once and it had been on accident.
“Do you think someday I could be a vampire too?” Tim asked, his voice hopefully. “I’d like to turn into a bat and fly. I’ve always dreamed of flying.”
“I don’t know,” Dick said. “I hope. Someday maybe Bruce will let us fly too. I miss flying sometimes.”
Bruce smiled and faked a snore that silenced all his children.
They only stayed quiet for a moment, though, before they began talking about other types of flying animals. Dick insisted that he wanted to be a sugar glider and Jason said he’d rather be a dragon. Tim wanted to be a pterodactyl.
It was a small kind of perfect.
Bruce didn’t forget the vampire conversation this time. He introduced Dick to the Bat at the end of the week and told him his goals, his hopes, what he was trying to do.
He told him about how Dick could decide to be a bat too if he wanted, but only after Bruce gave him all the training he needed to be safe.
And only if this was the life Dick truly wanted.
Dick didn’t become a bat.
He was too hopeful, too bright to be a creature of the night.
A bat didn’t fit him.
He trained for three years and became something better.
He became a bird.