Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

For the entire time that Batman had been working alongside the Justice League, he had been human.

Supposedly.

At least, that’s what he’d claimed on his first physical. And had explained during his first ‘extreme measures’ meeting. The one every League member went through to ensure proper care should something go awry. Potential allergies, weaknesses, abnormal physiology… Batman had said his treatment should be the same as any other person. The same as any other human.

Maybe the wording had been a little too vague because the creature, snarling and writhing under the effects of fear toxin, couldn’t possibly be anything further from ‘human’.

Earlier that day a few key members of the Justice League headed out together, each with something to prove.

A small collection of ‘wanna be big shots’ had seemingly bitten off more than they could chew, and pissed off a few too many people in the process. Turns out, lifting dangerous contraband from the major villains of multiple crime notorious cities was the fast track to a target on your back.

Their imported gear was lifted right out of the trucks before the JL could track them down. It would have been impressive had they not been so sloppy about the execution. A few boxes hefted into the eyeline of a surveillance camera and it was all over.

Except it wasn’t, because what happened when a bunch of high level villains attempted to jump a collection of small-time thieves; all armed with some of the most disruptive weapons ever designed?...

The answer was a lot of property damage.

With how widespread the damage types were, it would have been irresponsible to expect just one or two Justice League members to take care of the eventual chaos, so they’d opted to take the battle as a team. Even bringing in a few local heroes to handle the panicking public. All of them briefing one another, as much as they could, on the types of dangers to be on the lookout for.

Honestly, the whole thing was near to ending completely by the time the fear toxin came into play.

One of the small-time crook’s had grabbed the glass container in a last ditch attempt to avoid jail time. The shriek of terror he’d made the second it had smashed on the asphalt told Bruce all he’d needed to know about the man’s intentions. He hadn’t had a clue what he was doing or what he’d just unleashed.

“Rebreathers!” Bruce called through the coms, pulling his own from where it had been tucked into his belt. With any luck, this last cloud of smog would be the last of it and they could all go home. But life just couldn’t be so simple.

As quickly as he was able to bring the mouth piece to his lips, he was sacrificing the device (plus the extra he’d been carrying just in case) to a mother and daughter who’d been caught up amongst the chaos. A decision he’d made in a heartbeat, and would make again without hesitation if he’d had the choice.

The problem was, Bruce had a history with fear toxins and not a nice one. Every time he immunised himself to the compound a new one was springing up out of nowhere, ready to knock him on his ass all over again.

‘What’s it going to be this time?’ he thought languidly, crushing his hesitation in favour of running back into the fray.

Ethiopia? His Parents? Once he’d heard Alfred call to him, as if over the coms, begging him to save him from a home invasion. None of it was real of course. Just pure and simple paranoia.

It wasn’t even the fear that got to him any more, Bruce had learned over and over and over that to embrace fear is to conquer it. But Bruce wasn’t the problem. Unfortunately, if it was as simple as just understanding himself a little better, understanding that his flaws and neurosis were simply just ‘that’, then dealing with a new strain of fear toxin would be as manageable as everything else he faced. But it wasn’t.

Bruce could handle fear. Could file it away in his brain and overcome it. Through reasoning, through preparation, through confirmation of facts.

Batman could not.

Batman was a being of pure emotion. Some strange feral part in Bruce’s brain that snarled with instinct. The part that pushed for adrenaline and panic in every fight.

It was like having a circus lion in the back of his brain at all times. Chained down, just waiting for the day the keepers forgot the key. One slip up and they’d all be lunch.

It was hard to pinpoint the exact moment Bruce realised he was sharing his brain space with another being. At first he’d thought it was just anger issues, maybe even anxiety or a late developing personality disorder. Perhaps brought on by neglecting to process his parents death. But after months speaking to therapist after therapist he’d begun to notice the feeling in the back of his mind becoming stronger. More insistent. Before he knew it he was tracking down criminals while wearing an armoured fursuit AND thinking it was a good idea while doing it.

Batman had been a constant feral fixture in Bruce’s life for years. One he fought with every day and night.

Some fights he won and some fights he lost. And when he did lose, boy did Batman take his winnings seriously.

It wasn’t like he lost control completely. Batman never forced Bruce out of his mind; he supposed it was more like trading places for a while. Whenever something became too much for Bruce to handle Batman took over.

The sensation felt floaty. Like the moment just before falling asleep. Bruce could still hear and feel and see exactly as he could before, but his awareness was dulled. Batman called the shots and their shared body followed suit.

When he’d first started his ‘hobby’, Batman had been a secret weapon. He still was. Taking over when Bruce became overwhelmed. A built in cheat code for pushing through bullet wounds and broken arms. But after that first year his trump card became an overprotective inconvenience the second Dick became involved.

No one would have thought it, but Batman adored children. Especially when he considered them his own. On more than one occasion, after Dick had come to stay, Bruce had snapped out of a trance to find himself baby proofing his study. Or rearranging the living room to resemble something more like a ‘nest’ than a couch. Nevermind that Dick had been 12 at the time and was too old for baby locks and blanket forts.

The decision to promote Dick from Son to Robin had been Bruce’s alone for once and Batman despised him for it. It had taken nearly a full year for Batman to stop clawing himself to the forefront of their shared mind every time Robin so much as scraped his knees. But over the years they’d gotten better.

Both Bruce and Batman had gotten used to the idea of being fathers and even expanded the family outwards.

The more the Robin’s trained the less Batman was willing to slam dunk Bruce’s mind into unconsciousness every five minutes over a splinter. Nowadays said ‘dunking’ only happened under extreme circumstances.

‘Extreme circumstances’ in this case meaning, ‘Hallucinating your coworkers murdering your eldest son while inhaling an almost lethal dose of fear toxin’.

It ended up being Superman who took the brunt of it.

Poor Clark had just been trying to do the honorable thing in helping Nightwing up off the floor.

The last blast of fear toxin had scared off the remaining uncaught crooks so, with the smoke evaporating in the evening air, all that was left to do was to lick wounds and regroup. Of course, someone high out of their mind would perceive the camaraderie as a threat. A move to tear Nightwing limb from limb rather than to help him recover.

Batman went crashing straight into the two of them, snarling and hissing with all his might.

Superman, in all his grace, wheezed out the most bewildered shriek. Desperately fighting the reflex to swat at the ferocious creature like one might an enraged cat. One wrong move and he’d be backhanding his colleague through the closest brick wall, and no one wanted that.

It took the exhausted Justice League over 15 minutes to entrap their hallucinating teammate. Bruce might have fought with honor, taking time to analyse and plan, but Batman fought to win. He went for the eyes, the neck, the stomach. Scratched up dust from the road to throw it into faces. He hissed, he spat, he bit, he clawed. Anything for victory.

In the end, it took a combination of distraction and luck to force Bats off his guard long enough to let Hal trap him inside a fortified green box.

“If anyone has any ideas for an antidote or a psych eval or…. Hell, an exorcism, now might be the time!” Green Lantern whined, straining with every blow Batman dealt to the box walls. This was not going to hold him for long.

“It’s the fear gas,” Nightwing called out, finally on his feet after the scuffle to get his point across, “You’re freaking him out by crowding him. You gotta back off!”

The Justice League looked at him like he was crazy.

“Look, you just gotta trust me on this one. Back away a bit, give him some room to calm down and think.” Nightwing waved his hands placatingly. He took a few steps forward.

“Can he hear us in there?” Nightwing asked Hal.

“I didn’t imagine it as soundproof.” The strain in his voice was getting worse with every snarl.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” Nightwing continued, he hurried up to the box and knelt beside it.

Batman continued to pound on the walls, bearing his teeth at the sight of the other Justice League Members, no matter how much space they gave him. Dick could only imagine the plans he had for Hal once he freed himself. That glare could kill.

Okay, time to end this before things got any worse. Mission ‘bring Bruce back’ was officially in progress.

Nightwing cleared his throat into the back of his hand, and tried to get a feel for the sound he’d need for this. A choked, rough crackle bubbled from behind his tongue. And as pathetically rusty as it was, it did its job. Batman’s attention immediately snapped to him, like a magnet to steel.

“Oh yeah, I know you know what that means.” Dick smirked, forcing the sound once more. It had been years since he’d last tried to speak like this, but the muscle memory was still there.

It was a chirp, the kind Batman himself used when human English escaped him (which was most of the time since Bruce could be fluent for the both of them). The pronunciation was a little rough but when you studied something enough as a child it tended to come back to you when you really needed it.

And this was a situation that needed it.

Sure, it was a little embarrassing in his mid twenties to squeak out a phrase that basically translated to, ‘hello, I’m a baby. Look at me’. But if that’s what it took to get Batman to calm down while the toxin wore off then it was worth the mortification.

Even through the paranoia all Batman cared about was his kids. Of course.

“You can drop the walls now,” Nightwing called out behind him, not taking his eyes off Bats, “I’m gonna keep his attention so someone tell A to bring a car around.”

He could tell there was hesitation with the way the green light flickered first before dissipating entirely. Batman went to lunge head first back into an attack but snapped back to Dick the second he chirped out a protest.

I’m a baby. Stay. Look at me.

God this felt weird. But the important thing was that it was working.

Bats was spending all his time looking over Nightwing for injuries instead of trying to fight and make things worse for everyone. Only once did he pause his fussing to growl threateningly at Clark when the hero floated a little too close. But otherwise he was on his best behaviour.

By the time Alfred arrived in the Batmobile, Batman was looking a little floaty, and half a blink later Bruce was back, looking ever so slightly green in the face.

With Dick on one side and Alfred on the other they hefted Bruce up by his shoulders and walked him slowly towards the rumbling vehicle. Only pausing for a moment to mumble something about “talking about it Monday” before the door closed behind them.

Chapter Text

True to Bruce’s word, the Monday meeting began with a QnA.

Not one Bruce began himself but more like a jumbled mess of questions voiced the second he’d made his way through the entryway.

Bruce sighed.

Just like a press conference. He hadn’t even sat down yet.

It had been exactly like this when Nightwing was first introduced to the league.

By nature Bruce was a private person. He’d gotten used to the fame in his early teens and by his 18th birthday he’d turned misleading the paparazzi into an art form. A few ‘leaked’ clubbing photos and suddenly the world was much more interested in the ‘wild child inheritance ceo’ which left the real Bruce Wayne to his own devices. But there were some things you just couldn’t hide forever. Especially from your nosy coworkers.

And your adopted son turned indie vigilante was one of them.

Most of the JL were just surprised to learn he wasn’t completely alone. Batman’s whole ‘I fight alone’ aura hadn’t lended itself naturally to a ‘fatherly’ personification. Barry had spent the week and a half afterwards rooting through tabloids and trying to figure out which supposed fling Dick’s ‘baby momma’ was before Bruce could threaten him away from the subject for good.

Bruce didn’t care what the press thought of him and his private life, but his family was off limits.

It had made the League’s professional relationship slightly crooked for a few weeks afterwards and Bruce was not looking forward to it happening again.

Through the shouts and the questions, he stepped forward into the meeting room. Taking a brief reprieve to let the room settle while he grabbed a cup of coffee from the boardroom’s machine.

“I understand you’ll have questions.” Bruce began. Taking his seat at the head of the table; leaving the more inquisitive members (cough Hal and Barry cough) with no option but to sit down and shut up.

“Before we begin, I want you to know I can’t tell you everything,” he quickly raised a hand against the upcoming protest, “it’s not because I want to keep things from you. It’s because I don’t have all the answers to give you. There are some things that are just as much of a mystery to myself as they are to you. So we’re just going to have to learn to deal with that.”

You could hear a pin drop with how quiet the boardroom had become.

“I’m allotting time now for any questions you might have, though we don’t have all day so you each only get one. Anything more than that and you can take it up with me later in private.”

‘Or better yet not at all’ Bruce thought indignantly.

“Should I be raising my hand?” Barry questioned a few moments into the resounding silence, already putting his palm in the air, “yeah uh, what happened to ‘No Metas in Gotham’? That didn’t look very ‘average human’ to me, Bruce?!”

There were a few mumbles of agreement.

“That rule still stands.” The Flash frowned in protest, “I’m not a hypocrite. And I’m not an exception to that rule. The truth is, I’m not Meta.”

“Bullshit!” Hal called out in protest, “I felt every one of those punches, you nearly tore my arm off! That was not normal!”

Bruce sighed, rubbing the crease between his eyes in frustration. He didn’t know whether to be relieved that Dick wasn’t invited to this meeting or cursing his lack of support. Nightwing had always been better at simplifying complicated information than he was.

“I’m not Meta,” Bruce continued, tone short with indecision, “But the ‘thing’ cohabiting my brain is.”

Silence.

“Come again?” Lantern stuttered and Bruce resisted the urge to call Dick up and let him deal with this for him.

“It’s a long story,” he attempted to continue, making it a point to ignore the stares of his coworkers, “But for the sake of expediency let’s just say there’s another being living in my head. My actions whilst under the effects of fear toxin were his doing, not my own.”

The League blinked at him owlishly.

“He’s… emotional.” Bruce added for good measure.

“Is it dangerous?” Wonder Woman asked softly, doing her best not to let the confession hang in the air. Bruce had never been so grateful.

“Yes, and No. Normally he’s much better behaved. Unfortunately he has a bad habit of losing his cool and doesn’t like sitting on the bench while I take care of things.”

‘Gee, I wonder where he gets that from?’ Bruce could imagine Dick would mumble had he been present.

“So, what? It gives you super strength or something?” Green Lantern lent forward, his tone much less accusing than last time.

“Among other things. Although, it’s much less than you’d think.”

The JL began to mutter between themselves.

“This other being,” Martian Manhunter began curiously, “He is perhaps more ferocious? Feral, perhaps? I’m sorry I’m having trouble thinking of more polite phrases.”

Bruce nodded.

“How’d you figure that?” Barry questioned. J’onn made a sour expression.

“It’s hard to say. There are limits to my powers. I cannot read the minds of those who are not sentient or sane. On the rare occasions you have given me permission, Bruce, there was always this sense of emotion. I had assumed that you were perhaps limiting your outward emotional presence and instead ‘keeping it all inside’.” J’onn continued, speaking almost to himself near the end.

“This explains a great deal to me.” He concluded, sounding almost satisfied that the mystery had come to a close.

“It’s not a parasite, is it?” Aquaman piped up, very clearly attempting to keep a disgusted expression off his face. Although Bruce could clearly see the way his eyes were scanning him up and down for any signs of illness.

“He’s…” Bruce began, almost ready to defend Batman’s honour, “We don’t fully know what he is.” He settled for. “The leading theory is something more ’mythic’. We ruled out the Alien theory after the battle with the Appelaxians.” He chose to omit the fact that most of these theories came from a betting pool Oracle had organised. And contained genuine references to local conspiracies like Mothman and Bigfoot.

“There was an Alien theory?” Clark asked, sounding a little winded.

“I like to cover all my bases.”

“Okay but, just so we’re clear,” Barry began, leaning heavily on the table this time for support, “You have some kind of monster living in the back of your head that… takes over? Whenever you get scared?”’

Bruce frowned at the oversimplification.

“Yes.” He caved.

“Is it just me, or does that explain a lot?” Barry sighed in relief, sinking back into his chair and glancing over to the rest of the JL members, most humming in agreement.

“I mean, no offence,” Bruce was not offended, “But I’m pretty sure you’ve growled at me before. Like, ‘raccoon on the back porch fighting over a hotdog’ style. I thought I was imagining it!” The League chuckled softly in amusement.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Clark said suddenly. The table became quiet once more.

Bruce glanced to the window while he thought, thousands of stars gleaming outside the glass.

“Because I like to be in control.” He finally decided.

“There was a possibility you would respect me less. That it would change our ability to work together, the way things changed once you discovered I was a father. I couldn’t risk the safety of the Earth on the chance that giving Batman control would permanently impact our ability to do our jobs.”

Bruce took a breath, letting himself watch Barry and Hal whisper to one another.

“It was hard to imagine a world where you’d trust me when someone so volatile was waiting to be let out of the passenger seat.”

“We do trust you Bruce.” Diana whispered, a reassuring smile gracing her face. “We didn’t delegate you this role because you demanded it or bullied your way into it. You earned it like all of us did.”

“Normally I’d hate to be the one singing your praises, but Diana makes a good point. You’re a good asset, Spooky.” Hal huffed, “It’s actually kinda nice to know you’re not as uptight and perfect as you make out to be.”

“I’m far from perfect,” Bruce tried to argue.

“Well yeah, I know that now!” Hal nearly spat back, “But it’s kinda hard to imagine you being anything less when you’ve somehow managed to ‘one-up’ us at every turn.”

He gestured wildly to the watchtower walls, “You literally own this place. You have a satellite, a private plane, a family. Kids that love you.” He clearly catches himself from saying more, staring away from Bruce to bite at the skin on his lips, “Look all I’m saying is, it’s nice to know you’re human every once in a while. Even if human right now is having Gotham’s Cryptid living in your head rent free.”

Without knowing what else he could say, it was all Bruce could do simply to nod.

“Hey,” Flash said after a few moments of heavy silence, “do you hear him in the back of your head all the time like in ‘Fight Club’?”

“Not always,” Bruce said, trying to recall Fight Club’s overarching plot. Most of his memories were clouded with thrown popcorn during movie night and having to prevent Damien from pulling a knife when he was hit with a stray piece. No wonder he didn’t remember the plot.

“Often, what I get are more feelings than words. Though, I’ve been told he speaks occasionally to my children so long as they use his language instead of ours.”

“Oh,” Wonder Woman exclaimed softly, she began to dig around for her communicator, “I hope you don’t mind but I sent my body cam footage over to Cyborg for analysis. When he sent it back he was insistent I listen to the audio.”

Projecting her screen up to the main meeting holograms, a video feed took over the space. Bruce had already seen this footage from his own body cam, but it was always displacing to watch his body move in such an unnatural way when he wasn’t in control.

He watched Nightwing sit and let himself be fussed over until Alfred arrived. Teeth occasionally baring towards the camera in a growled warning.

“When I first watched it back I thought it was simply his presence that calmed you, but once the audio was enhanced and slowed…” Wonder Woman continued, pressing a button to replay the clip, now several times slower.

The audio became clearer and clearer, each replay iteration removing more and more background distractions until nothing remained but small clicking sounds and the occasional high pitched whistle.

Dick’s ill-practiced tongue. Bruce would recognise it anywhere.

“It sounds like a bird,” Clark mumbled.

“It’s not clear enough to be a bird,” Flash piped up, “I swear, my roommate in college had a cat that sounded exactly like that.”

“That’s what calmed him down, isn’t it?” Diana said, lowering the volume. “Nightwing was speaking to you… to him.” She corrected quickly.

“Nightwing knows how to get under his skin. He made the right call in keeping his attention while I regained control.” Bruce fought the urge to pout.

‘That ‘call’ lost me my weekend’ he thought sourly, recalling the last few days he’d spent in the back of his own mind while Batman spent their time pampering their children and slinking about the manor in a ‘territory patrol’.

“The clicking sounds similar to Cetacean,” Aquaman mused, eyes glued to the main hologram, “I’d be very interested in trying to replicate a few phrases or words if you wouldn’t mind teaching us.”

Bruce frowned. So far the only individuals capable of communicating with Batman were limited to a small number of the Batfamily.

Jason was by far the most fluent (by pure linguistic aptitude and not much else). Dick was out of practice, Tim struggled with grammar (or lack thereof), Cass struggled to speak at all most days (English included), and Damian was becoming more and more frustrated with every hour he attempted to study.

As for Alfred, Stephanie, Duke, and Barbara… They didn’t exactly meet the ‘criteria’ yet to understand. Something that Bruce was thankful for everyday considering how strangely traumatising the process was.

Not even a few days ago, merely informing the Justice League of his ‘affliction’ was inconceivable. Giving instruction for translation would be an additional step in a direction Bruce wasn’t sure he was comfortable with. To explain the language would be to begin to explain some of Batman’s peculiarities. Which would eventually lead to another discussion explaining why only some of his children could learn and speak.
A discussion that would reveal Batman’s intrinsically protective ability to bring some children back from the edge of death.

Truly Bruce didn’t understand it; a fact which frustrated him greatly.

But once in a blue moon, and only to children Bats had become emotionally attached to, something would happen. A scenario in which they were certain to die would simply reverse. Like Batman himself had breathed enough life into them to keep going where they would have failed otherwise.

It started with Dick. The official story in the papers told that only Mary and John Grayson had fallen that night but in truth Bruce had seen Dick trip. The way he’d slipped off the pedestal in an attempt to catch himself mid movement, the wires snapping before his very eyes.

He’d watched his parents hit the ground first and then he was gone too.

In the chaos Batman had taken over. And when Bruce finally came back, he was holding a little boy in his arms. One that was miraculously still breathing. Devoid of any injury. Not even a bruise.

But changing the tides of death was bound to have consequences and Dick hadn’t come back entirely… human.

He still looked the part. Still spoke and laughed like any 12 year old. But sometimes when Alfred called him to the dinner table he chirped and sang in response. He growled when Bruce tried to get him down from the chandelier. Dragged all his blankets under his bed at night. And whimpered and whined til Bruce joined him on the couch to cuddle.

Once he’d spent the better part of 40 minutes chasing a fly round the mansion.

Bruce couldn’t say with total confidence whether or not Dick had or had not eaten the poor thing at the end of that 40 minutes. They hadn’t spoken of it afterwards or ever since.

They’d eventually figured out that, whatever Batman had done, had left a part of the entity inside Dick’s mind. Not enough to be fully conscious like how Batman sat in Bruce’s brain. But enough to impart certain instincts into Dick.

He glanced back up at the screen. Dick’s ill-practiced tongue, clicking out a request over and over again through the speakers.

“It would be difficult.” He decided out loud, “There’s a lot of nuance.”

Aquaman seemed put out, but nodded in understanding all the same. Bruce fought the urge to sigh.

“The way Dick is speaking isn’t… It’s not... It’s for children. The beginning phrase, the clucking at the back of the tongue, it’s like purring. That sound followed by the whistle tone that goes up in pitch is a demand for attention.” Bruce said carefully, choosing his words deliberately, “It translates to something along the lines of ‘I’m your son, look at me’.”

Aquaman’s eyes shone, “Fascinating.”

“hm.” Bruce agreed, deciding not to elaborate further.

“How did Nightwing learn? Did he teach him? Or did you?” Clark asked, seemingly just as interested. Bruce fought back a grimace.

“You’d have to ask Nightwing, it’s complicated.”

Clark deflated slightly; not for the first time Bruce was reminded of how little Superman actually knew about Krypton. Culture, Language or otherwise. Clark would probably kill for the chance to be embraced by his heritage. To speak even a few words of Kryptonese in casual conversation would mean everything.

“Are there any more questions?” He settled for moving on.

“Can we do anything?” Hawkgirl, who had been almost entirely silent til now, asked calmly, “To help?” she added.

Bruce could hear the unspoken question underneath the phrase.

‘Are you okay?’

“Your Jobs.” Bruce replied flatly. An easy stoic mask falling over his expression once again.

The world hadn’t ended this time, but they’d barely seen anything. A few growls and a bit of fighting. Nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Just because they were currently unsuspecting didn't mean they wouldn’t be. Bruce had contingency plans for every event he could think of and had relied on keeping Batman’s strength in his back pocket should he need it. Now his secret was out in the open more than he’d ever wanted it to be. The JL could plan around it. Could use this part of him against him. One more bad scare and Bats would take control automatically. They could use his instability against him and use it as justification to do whatever they wanted. Whatever their incentive required.

It wasn’t even just about him either. He’d steered the questions away from his children as much as he could, but the more they knew about Batman and more they would know about Nightwing’s weaknesses as well. About Tim’s or Jason’s or Damian’s or Cass’s.

It was a lot of trust to put in some very powderful people.

But with how their expressions softened into relaxed respect and affection, it was hard not to take it all at face value.

Only time would tell if he could trust the Justice League with the more complicated aspects of his life. And for once, Bruce was maybe even willing to stick around and find out if it was all worth it.