Chapter Text
Dick didn't often have nightmares anymore. Not that he was particularly well-adjusted about his parents' deaths or all the other bullshit that's occurred through his life, it's just that he tends to have his breakdowns in the shower. Tonight is not his own making, however. It's been some time since he faced Scarecrow and he forgot how potent that damn gas could be.
Even that, though, isn't really what's bothering him. He'd seen the same memory before, even this particular one where Bryce comes running to save him and gets consumed by the flames. He doesn't know why the big top is always in flames during his nightmares - it wasn't during the actual event - but perhaps its the drama. The big top did burn down when Batwoman showed up to stop him from killing Tony Zucco, so maybe he conflates them. But what always bothers him is what he babbles during his time affected. He's always more worried about saying something incriminating than what he actually sees (at least, after the fact).
Bryce is a pillar of resistance, though - she never says anything. A lot of the time, it's hard to tell if she's even affected. He almost resents her for it, but he knows that she only has that kind of power because she does wake up calling her parents' names, reaching out for them. If he's not well adjusted, she's not adjusted at all.
She says nothing to him on the ride home and the silence is stifling. If his ribs weren't broken, he'd get on his cycle as soon as they were back in the Cave and make a break for Blüdhaven. However, he needs medical attention and observation (two of his other ribs were barely healed from the last time he broke them, now this one had no go and snap on him).
When they pull in, Alfred is waiting with a gurney and helps him remove his uniform. Bryce disappears and he assumes she went to change before doing his scans. But she reappears a moment later, cowl down, and takes over his undressing. The silence is weighing even more on him, but his exhaustion overwhelms his desire to fill it. To his surprise (dismay?), Bryce takes him to the showers and helps him wash. They've seen each other naked enough that there's no shame in it anymore, and he wonders if its weird that he's so comfortable being naked in the shower with his adoptive mother (eugh, now that's a porn title if he's ever heard one).
Joking aside, it's kinda nice. Bryce's hands are callused to shit, but she's so gentle they never catch on his skin. For once, too, she's not beaten all to shit or bleeding into the water (that's his job tonight), so he doesn't feel bad about letting her carry him around. It's even a little thrilling, that she can swing him around with the same ease that she had when he was a child. She also always has the best shampoo, conditioner and bodywash.
He's almost dozing in her grip, so when he hears it, he thinks he's imagining it. It's an old Romani lullaby his father used to sing him. Other preformers could hum the tune before a performance to calm their nerves or to the animals if they were getting upset. It's only once Bryce shuts off the water that he realizes it's actually her baritone echoing off the tiled walls.
"You sing?" He asks, drunk on the heat of the shower and his fatigue.
"On occasion." She replies, hauling him over to the benches so she can dry them off.
"Neat." He waits for her to start again, but she doesn't. "You can keep going."
She glances down at him from where she's drying his hair, then opens her mouth and stuns him into silence. She picks up the lullaby's words in a near-perfect reflection of his Romani dialect in a lilting croon.
"When?" He breathes, choked up. Thankfully, she's a mind-reader, because she doesn't ask for clarification.
"Just after I got you. I asked Haly about your cultural background and had other performers direct me to a Romani heritage organization. I had a dialect coach flown in from Turkey to help me learn to speak it." She purses her lips as she steadies him, slotting his leg into loose sweatpants. "You would babble in Romani during your nightmares."
"Why did you never tell me?"
"I thought you knew." She quickly dressed herself in shorts and a cropped sweater. "I sang to you all the time in your first year here. I spoke to you, too, but you must have been dreaming."
"I guess I was, because I didn't know." He can feel the tears beading in his eyes, but he fights them back - it's too soon, too near to Scarecrow's attack. "Can, uh, can we speak in it? You and me?"
"Whatever you want." She says warmly, helping him back up and walking them over to the MRI machine. To his astonishment, when she lays him down on the cot, she hands him Zitka, his stuffed elephant. She also presses a kiss to his forehead, her damp hair trailing along his skin as she pulls back and smiles wanly at him. "I'll always be right here, Dick."
The rest of the night is pretty normal, since Bryce goes back to work on the case they'd been investigating once the MRI rules out further injuries. Alfred escorts him to his room and helps him into bed, but he can't sleep. The odd moments with Bryce keep him awake.
Light has started to peek over the crest of Gotham's skyline when his door opens. He snaps his eyes shut, straining his senses to guess the intruder.
A callused hand cards through his locks carefully and her voice gentles the chirping of the birds. She's singing another lullaby, and it doesn't take long before he slips down into true sleep. He only spares a thought to wonder how many times she's done this to him before.
Jason's got more good than bad days, but today isn't one of them. The shaking and flashbacks won't stop and he had to pull over three times on his way to the Cave to throw up. He didn't even know why he came back here, of all places.
"Jason?!"
He lists off the bike and is grateful to he caught in Bryce's thick arms. Even through his helmet, he can smell that spicy perfume Tim bought her that suits her too well.
She efficiently strips him of gear and weapons, then forces him to down a can of room-temperature ginger ale. It calms the sickening, rolling feeling in his gut, but the world is still spinning and tinting green, manic laughter and scraping metal echoing from far away but not far enough.
She strong-arms him into sweats and a tank top, then gets him to gargle some mouthwash. Another canis forced on himand by the time she's got him into the elevator, he's feeling more human. He finally notices that she's in the tights and sports bra that she uses to do grunt work on the vehicles, though she clearly hadn't gotten to them yet. It does, however, leave her midriff very visible and he notices a scar there that's old and deep.
"Where'd that one?" He mutters, jerking his chin downward.
She glances at it, then frowns. "Don't worry about it."
He flops his head down onto her shoulder. "Tell me."
She purses her lips. "I was outside the building when it exploded. A shard from the glass caught me."
He frowns. "Which building?"
"The one you were in." She says solemnly.
"Oh." He doesn't know what to say to that. She never talked about her side of it with him, only took the berating he dished out in mullish silence.
She picks him up in her arms once they reach the top and carries him over to the secondary living room couch. She swaddles him in a thick blanket, then vanishes into the kitchen. She comes back with crackers, cheese, more ginger ale and clementines. She sets up the tv, putting on an old cartoon he used to love as a kid, then starts handing him crackers and cheese.
Before he knows it, he's just sleepy and leans against the solid jut of Bryce's shoulder.
"It's okay, baby." She murmurs, fingers trailing through his little white tuft. "I've got you."
He wakes up some hours later to the early morning sun catching on the gauzy curtains of his bedroom, which he doesn't remember going to. He takes stock of himself, realizing that Bryce is underneath him, arms around his shoulders. His own head had been resting on her clavicle, and when he pushes up enough to look at her, she's sound asleep. Her hair is a halo of black over his pillow and her face is lax - her mouth is slightly parted, a thing she only does when she's managed to hit REM. The rest of the time she breathes through her nose, a countermeasure so she knows when it's broken and to control her heart rate. One hand is resting limply between his shoulders and the other is wound in hair.
He must have fallen asleep on her during the show. It's kinda surprising that she was able to move him without him noti-
She moved me. He blinks, letting that sink in. She's strong enough to move me without waking me up.
He wonders when he missed that, why he wasn't aware she was capable of that. Sure, he noticed she pressed more, was bulkier than normal - she'd had to do a whole press junket explaining the sudden and unfeminine mass she'd put on. He'd left a mocking voicemail telling her not to let her figure go to waste lest the men of Gotham lose interest in her fortune.
His own arms, he realizes, are wrapped around her waist. That gnarled scar on her side scrapes against his inner elbow and bicep. He knows she has creams and surgeries available to her to hide or minimize the scarification - she gets so much, she has to - but she's left it right there, raised and angry and probably painful when she pulls it.
He feels the tears well up, and a little piece of him hates himself for it. Hates how much he still achingly, desperately loves Bryce. She failed him, continues to fail him and the rage inspired in him by every breath she lets Joker draw is ever-present, but ... but she means the world to him. Her approval and affection drive him like nothing else does. Whether he likes it or not, she's his mother. And he loves her like his mother, however much he tries to deny it. His heart has yearned for moments like this, little memories from when he was Robin floating to the surface like wreckage. All the times he'd hidden in her cape and she'd let him, the way she'd tutored him before returning him to school so he wouldn't be behind, the smile that had lit up her face when he brought home his first report card and the immediate yes he'd gotten when he asked to bring a friend home. He missed how safe she made him feel, how anchoring her stalwart presence could be (when she wasn't just being obstinate and frustrating).
"Fuck it." He mutters, letting himself lay back down and hold her tighter. Bryce murmurs in her sleep, adjusts her hips and- and squeezes him back.
"Sleep, babybird." She murmurs, curling in on him. "'M here."
He bites down his tears once more, burrowing into her hold and letting the cold rays of early dawn turn warm on his skin. Her consistent heartbeat and steady breathing lull him back down even as the sun rises higher.
Realistically, Tim knew that staying up ungodly amounts of hours would weaken his immune system and make him more susceptible to colds and influenza. But there was a lot going on in his life: his final year of high school - a year behind due to the, uh, aftermath of Bryce and Conner being dead for a while - was coming to an end which meant finals and culminating projects, the Teen Titans were recovering from a big takedown operation and he was following up on one of Riddler's idiotic bomb threats since Steph was out of town.
He jumps so hard he gets dizzy and a little nauseous when Bryce opens the curtains to her study. She hadn't been out that night on patrol, but attending some gala or something. She was dressed down now, in yoga pants and a loose cable knit sweater.
"Is that the one Steph got you for your birthday?" He asks.
"No, its the one Pamela gave me after I restored the Gotham Botanical Park and started the community garden project." Bryce gestures to the vibrant red cotton. Little roses are knitted in the body of the sweater.
"Does she know how to knit?"
"I think she had the plants do it, to be honest." She hums. "I don't think Pamela's a very handy woman, though it's possible that Harley taught her how."
"That's fair, I suppose." He stretches and winces as ever vertebrae very painfully pops down his back. "What time is it?"
"Wednesday."
That wasn't what he asked, but- "Fuck, it's Wednesday?"
"Don't worry, I told Vic when he called that you're still alive, though only barely." She closed his laptop. "You're going to sleep now."
"But B-"
"I've already informed both the Titans and the Watchtower that you're on a mandatory rest period for three days and I moved all of your Red Robin gear - including the stash you have in your apartment in the city and the safehouse in Metropolis - to Jason's warehouse. He agreed to babysit it for me while you recover."
"Recover? I'm not sick."
"You've been awake for four consecutive days." Bryce chides, her black gaze knowing. "You're going to have one hell of an exhaustion hangover tomorrow and a cold that will kick your ass."
"All the more reason to keep working."
"Naturally." Bryce hoists him out of the chair and over her shoulder.
"Hey!"
"Three days is the limit, you know that." Bryce sharply pinches the back of his thigh in punishment. "You got an extra day because I was in Cairo. Now you have to pay the price."
"Who ratted on me?" He asks, already plotting vengeance.
"Your playlist." She snarks back. "I know how your music changes the longer you're awake."
"Past Tim, that rat bastard." He mutters bitterly, only soothed a little at Bryce's warm chuckle.
"Yes, so you're going to do everything I tell you to for the next three days or I'll drug you into sleep."
"I'm immune to your Nyquil tricks."
"Try hospital-grade sedative."
"You're not qualified to administer that."
"Well, aren't you lucky that Alfred is."
He scowls. If She calls Alfred in on him, he'll never escape. Better to play along.
The next morning, he resents how correct she'd been. He resents even more how doting she is, feeding him soup and pastries as he wallows in a misery all his own making.
In the quiet moments right before she leaves for the day and he's warm and content and tired, just watching the sun emerge over the horizon to lull himself to sleep, he wonders how the ominous, big bad Bat has more love and care for him than his own parents had ever been able to manage. He misses them, certainly, and he wishes they didn't have to die for him to have this life, but he knows (however much it makes his gut squirm with guilt) that he's better here than he'd ever been with them. It's why he doesn't correct himself when the words slip unbidden from his mouth.
"Thanks, Mom. I love you."
Bryce stops in her tracks, then her eyes crinkle with the most devastating, heartbreaking smile he's ever seen on her face. "I love you too, my boy. Sleep well."
He makes a mental note to say it to her more often, just to see that expression of unfiltered joy all too rare on her. It's a little selfish too, he muses as he drifts off to sleep, since Jack and Janet Drake had never once looked so overcome just for having his love.
It had taken some convincing, but Barbara had managed to get her dad to let her go with Bryce. He had good intentions, but his house was far from wheelchair accessible, and he couldn't leave his job behind for the week or so it would take for the damage to her apartment to be fixed. Besides, the building was one of Bryce's, so she would know as soon as it was possible for her to get back in. Bryce's house was also already optimized for her to work and live in since she became Oracle, though her father didn't need to know that.
"I appreciate it, Bryce." She says as she was wheeled in.
"Of course." The older woman smiles. "I've got overnight contractors working on the building and Kate and Luke helped me remove your tech to a safehouse nearby. As soon as it's safe, we'll get you back in your place."
"Does that one lift at the end of the hall still go down to the Cave?"
"Yes. I inspected it not that long ago, but let me know if it's making any strange sounds. I'm in the middle of getting an elevator installed behind the grand hall's fireplace to go up to the domestic floors, but it's not finished yet. You'll have to go through the Cave to get around, unfortunately."
"It's okay. It'll probably be easier that way anyway." She pointedly looks around. "Aaaaand yet this is not the way to the Cave."
Bryce snorts, stopping the wheelchair at the base of the stairs. She moves around the front, then hoists Barbara up onto one hip, like an oversize toddler. She collapses the chair and tucks it under the other arm, then climbs the stairs for them both.
"Shit, B. when did you get this strong?"
Bryce huffs. "Jason won't stop getting bigger."
"Huh?"
"After Jason died, I promised myself I would always be strong enough to carry any of my children out of trouble, even as adults. But Jason won't stop growing."
Barbara's not ashamed to admit she ugly laughed at that, and she's sure Bryce was glad to be rid of her by the end of the week, when every time she went to deadlift, Barbara snorted to herself. But hey, who was Bryce if not a massive over-compensator? Good thing she wasn't a man - God, the dick measuring contests she would have gotten herself into.
Cassandra had never really felt like a normal girl, and she completely understood why. It had taken a couple years for Bryce and the other to teach her to speak, and she was still better at signing than she was talking a lot of the time. Her training made doing normal things more difficult, too.
But Bryce seemed determine to fulfill this unspoken wish of hers, and today was one of those days.
"Ice skating?" She cocks her head.
"You dance so well, I wanted to see what you look like on the ice." Bryce isn't wearing any makeup and her hair's in a ponytail - what Steph calls her Marilyn Monroe Disguise, since most people don't recognize her in plain clothes when she's wandering Gotham.
She chuckles nervously. "I've never done it. I was trained to run on ice and such, but not skate."
Bryce shrugs. "No time like the present. I'm not exactly a ballerina on ice either."
She takes a breath and decides Sure, why not? Bryce had gone to the trouble to rent the rec centre after hours, so why not make a fool of herself in private? Could be fun.
And it did turn out to be. Her control from dancing did help quite a bit and she never hit the ground, though she was wobblier than she'd like to admit. Bryce wasn't lying about herself, though - she also never fell, but she was far from her normal grace. It made Cassandra feel ... normal. It was also probably the longest she'd spoken to Bryce one on one, talking casually and laughing for hours as they looped around the rink.
As the sun peeks into the rink through the side windows, she hums thoughtfully to herself and asks, "What inspired you to bring me here?"
"My father used to bring me here." Bryce says, hands in her pockets. "He had done it since he was a boy, as a hobby, but he could skate like he was floating. He was so good, he would bring me out with him and carry me in his arms as he waltzed."
She's captured by the wistful nostalgia in Bryce's expression. "Oh wow."
"Father was a fantastic waltzer - he would have Alfred put a record on and sweep my mother off her feet. He was just as good on the ice."
She bites her lip, but decides to take the chance. "Do you know how to waltz?"
"I do."
"Would you be willing to teach me?"
"Sure." Bryce glances at her. "Why the sudden interest?"
"Well, if I'm going to sweep you off your feet on the ice, I need to be able to do it on land first."
Bryce laughs brightly, enough to crinkle the edges of her eyes, then pulls her in to kiss the top of her head. "My dear, you already do. But yes, I'll teach you."
She wraps an arm around Bryce's waist with a grin and they continue skating.
Stephanie is genuinely surprised when Bryce nudges her foot with the toe of a heeled boot one late May afternoon and she looks up to find her in unassuming grey tights and a plain black t-shirt, hair down and sans all the gaudy jewellery that she normally wears in public.
"Being a real girl suits you, Pinocchio." She grins. "What's the occasion?"
From nowhere, Bryce produces her sleek black credit card, a smirk of her own coming to her bare lips. "Feel like shopping?"
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not going to peruse merger options with you."
"How about dropping half a million in each store on Boutique Row?"
Now that gets her attention and she actually closes the book she was reading. "Oh yeah?"
Bryce flicks the card into her hands and does an exaggerated bow. "I am your willing mannequin until tomorrow morning."
She jumps off the couch. "For real?"
"You always say you want to redo my daytime wardrobe." Bryce shrugs, but that mischievous glint in her eye hasn't abated.
She breaks out into a sincere smile. "Hell yeah! Give me a second to change - I'll meet you at the door."
It takes her less than a minute to change into more appropriate in-public attire (lest she risk the wrath of Alfred) and meet Bryce at the front door. The older woman has pulled out Stephanie's favourite daytime car, a Dodge Challenger SRT Demon in an iridescent black that shines a bright purple when light hits it with purple narrow-spoked rims so pale they're almost white. Realistically, she new Bryce had a car to represent each kid - a car they were free to use when they were home so long as they returned it to the Manor - but she usually just hitched a ride with someone else or rode into town on her bike.
"I always forget how sexy this car is." She drools. To her continued surprise, Bryce tosses her the keys.
"Only the best, darlin'." Bryce winks, then saunters down to the vehicle and slides into the passenger seat with that effortless grace both sides of her are so known for.
"Best day of my life." She mutters to herself.
They get lunch first, then Bryce keeps her word. They spend the entire afternoon and a good chunk of the evening wandering down Boutique Row, into every high-end exclusive retailer that she'd been too poor to even look at as a kid. In between critiquing some of the more hideous avant-garde fashion disasters for sale (which makes Bryce chuckle warmly and smile, which only encourages her bad behaviour), she takes her sweet time perfecting looks on Bryce. The older woman doesn't so much as sigh, modelling choices and changing outfits as directed. She even listens wen Stephanie gets her to do some of the more outrageous Bree-Bree Wayne poses, like bending over to blow kisses. She cackles when she gets Bryce to do it in an entirely puke-green alligator-skin three-piece suit, even as she's vaguely annoyed that Bryce can actually kind of pull it off. It's a fantastic time, and Stephanie even gets a few pieces herself, chosen by Bryce and all in varying shades of purple. Her favourite is an oversize cable knit sweater that hangs off her more like a blanket than a shirt. It's got a wide neck that lets it hang off one shoulder and is made of a super soft material in a deep, uneven plum colour. Bryce paired it with pale jeans and suede army boots with plum wool socks, but the sweater is what captured Stephanie's heart.
When they got home, Bryce offers to let her sort through her closet with her, throwing out the clothes she hates the most and making room for their massive haul. (Bryce hadn't actually let her keep the card - she'd taken it back when they went to pay and hadn't let her see any of the totals.)
"Hmm, not that." Bryce says, saving an ratty old coat, so worn it was a dark grey now instead of black. It was an old style, too, with the length reaching passed Bryce's knees.
"Why?"
Bryce strokes over the discoloured patch on the lapel. "I wrapped Dick in this coat the night his parents died."
"Wait, you were there?"
She nods. "I had been pushed to enjoy myself by Alfred. Haly's Circus hadn't been to Gotham since before my parents died, so I decided to go there. I was in the second row during the Graysons' show." She winces. "I knew what had happened the second I heard the snap. Most of the other people fled, but I went up to him, kneeling on the ground and wrapped him in my coat. His hands were bloody from where he'd been touching his parents and it stained the wool. Alfred wasn't able to ever get it out, but I told him not to try. For almost a year, when I wasn't home for him to crawl into bed with, I woudl come home to find him on the couch, bundled up in this coat."
She clears her throat, trying not to let her eyes well up the way they want to. After living with Bryce for so long, it's easy to roll her eyes at all the dead-parents-drama-angst stuff, but it strikes home again the gravity and depth of Bryce's love and compassion. She was only twenty-four when she adopted Dick, only two years into being Batwoman and still struggling to keep from dissociating Bryce right out of her psyche. And yet, through all her own bullshit, trauma and mental illness, she didn't hesitate in taking that lonely boy into her arms when everyone else ran away.
Stephanie hasn't lost her parents; her mother is in another state with her new family and her father's an idiot. And yeah, Bryce might not be the best to be around all the time - they're squishy mortals in a deadly occupation, of course Bryce is going to be a relentless ball-buster - but she's a damn good mom.
"So, uh, yeah." She clears her throat again, looking away. "We'll keep that."
Bryce hums warmly, hanging the coat up in a safe place. She doesn't look upset though, despite how ugly those memories have to be for her. "You know, Steph."
She makes an acknowledging noise.
"One of the things I'm most grateful for in my life is having all of you in it." She strokes the coat's sleeve, then looks at her. "That I- That I was there in time, at the right time. I'll never know how many of my choices were the right ones, but my children certainly were."
"B . . ." She ducks her head and gives in, hugging the older woman tightly around the waist.
Bryce's arms around her are thick, warm and secure. She may not have lost her parents, but they never loved her like Bryce does. She squeezes tighter when Bryce kisses the top of her head.
"I'd choose you again in a heartbeat." Bryce whispers, and that's the crux of it, isn't it? It's self-evident that Bryce loves them, but she chose each one of them, even Damian - she offered them a piece of herself knowing she would never get it back. No obligation bound Bryce to her children, she'd done that herself. And to be told that she would make the same choice a second time, that you're worthy of more than one shot- It was almost more than Stephanie could take, and definitely not how she'd seen this afternoon turning out.
She pulls back, wiping at her eyes. "And here I thought you were allergic to emotions, haha."
Bryce's expression is far too soft and knowing for how bare Stephanie feels right now, but she mercifully moves other to another rack in her closet. "I'll sort out which clothes have sentimental value."
"Please tell me most of them aren't because of dead parents."
Bryce chuckles. "That coat is the only one. The rest are clothes you kids liked to steal when you were little, or ones that you still steal to wear."
"Can Jason even fit in you clothes anymore?"
Bryce smirks over her shoulder. "None of my boys will ever be too big to steal my clothes."
"You freak me out sometimes with this little competition you have going on with Jason. Feels like it's only going to stop when one of you snaps a hamstring or something."
She snorts. "As if Jason will be able to catch up with how much I can press."
"Ooooh, that sounds like a challenge. Should I issue it in the Batchat?"
"Feel free. I'd like to see any of you manage to do one pull up with the chain weights I use."
She wrinkled her nose. "I'm not insane, B. I'm not going to challenge you. The only one foolish enough to do so would be Jason."
"It's not very nice of you to want to see him tear muscles in his arms attempting to do it."
"Oof, cocky and bitchy? There's the Bryce I know."
"Naturally. I wouldn't want to disappoint."
She laughs, pulling her phone out of her pocket. "Totally going to text Jay and say you said he can't do a pull up."
"Say Roy said it." Something passes over Bryce's face. "Things between him and I are ... starting to get better. I don't want to jeopardize it."
Her heart melts at the admission. "Totally. Roy was talking shit when he brought Lian over to see Dick."
Bryce shoos her out of the closet. "Go start your mayhem while I set aside the clothes I need to keep."
"Can do, B." She salutes and walks out, smiling to herself as she opens up the family's groupchat to unleash chaos.
Duke doesn't really know how to be around Bryce sometimes. She's an intimidating figure at the best of times, and while he's gotten to see the softer side of her since he moved into the Manor, he's by no means as comfortable as the others - either in the way Cassandra curls into a ball on her lap in the Cave or how Jason hurls playful (at least, he thinks they're supposed to be?) insults at her. He's definitely not brave enough to do what Tim does and just casually drape himself over her back when he's about to pass out (exhaustion? stress? adrenaline drop? concussion? blood loss? - he never knows with Tim). So, he's not really prepared for any real attention from her, or even for her to want him around at major events.
"I, uh- Sure?"
"You don't have to, Duke." She says gently. "This last couple years have seen a lot of major changes in your life, and if you're not ready for press or socialite scrutiny, that's entirely reasonable."
Parts of his world shift and click into place. "Wait, you've been waiting on me?"
She cocks her head. "For you to get settled and comfortable? Of course I have."
"Oh." Well, now he feels a little foolish.
She frowns. "Did you think I was ashamed of you?"
"Not- ashamed, exactly . . ."
She rounds her desk and pulls him into her arms. "Never, my boy, never."
Damn, Damian wasn't kidding about how good her hugs are. "It's just- You take all the others all the time. Even Jason, who's still legally dead."
She strokes down his back. "When I adopted Dick, everything about the situation was a media circus. The circumstances of the Graysons' deaths, my personal fame and reclusiveness, how quickly I adopted him - it was the same kind of shitshow I went through. I hid him away from it for over a year, until the tabloids have up on trying to force my hand. Everyone else had never seen media attention at all before I came into their lives, and I wasn't keen on making it difficult for them. You're also from a normal background - I didn't want you to feel pressure to face the mob before you were ready."
"So why did you ask me now?"
"It's not a Wayne event but it's still in Gotham - we can leave at any time, for any reason." She sighs. "There's not many galas or events in Gotham that Wayne Industries doesn't have a hand in in one fashion or another."
"I want to go."
"You don't have to." She pulls back to stare into his eyes, her black gaze on his to drive the point home. "I'm serious."
He scuffs his shoe. "I, uh. I was going to ask you to do something with me anyway, so consider this a trade off?"
She smiles gently. "Sure. What did you have in mind?"
"I'm in the basketball house league at school, right? Well, they asked us if we wanted to get our parents together and do a game. Like, half the team and their parents against the other half."
"And you wanted me to come?"
He cringes. "I was gonna ask if you would. You don't-"
"I'd be honoured, Duke." She presses their foreheads together and his body relaxes, all his unconscious anxiety falling away. Then she grins. "So, do you want me to actually be good at basketball when we do this? And how should I dress?"
He flushes. "I don't pretend not to be a good player, so as long as you're not, like, aiming for the NBA draft you should be fine. And what do you mean, how should you dress?"
She chuckles. "I'm certainly tall enough." He thought that was a bit of an understatement - there aren't a lot of women who are 6' 4". "And I meant it literally - should I dress down, with more baggy clothes, or stuff like my workout gear?"
"I don't know - whatever you're comfortable with?"
Her smirk was devious and he considered that perhaps he had miscalculated. "Sounds good. Let me know when it gets firmed up for. As for the gala, that's not this week, but the next. You still want to go?"
"Yeah, I will."
The gala comes around first, and Duke's not too proud to admit he's nervous. Gotham's elite are a notoriously white cabal of aristocratic nepotism babies with carefully curated lineages they can trace back to the boat they crossed the Atlantic in. While Bryce's own family are no exception to this rule, Bryce herself very much is. There are books in the library's hidden archives that detail the family tree of the Waynes, ledgers from the 19th Century which detail old finances and family connections that connect her to almost every other family that rules the city. Duke may not be the first child of colour Bryce has introduced - Dick, Cassandra and Damian came before him; Romani, Turkish and Persian respectively - he is by far the darkest one.
Bryce helps him choose a dapper velvet suit that's a rich garnet colour that compliments his skin tone remarkably well. Jason, hilariously, is the one deputized with helping him dress. His shirt is black and his tie is white. Bryce dresses to match, and he's kinda touched she put so much thought into matching him (Into associating herself with you, an insidious thought bubbles up in his mind, but he firmly ignores it). She's wearing a custom a-line dress with a Queen Anne corset built in. The garment itself it black, but the linen that curves over her shoulders is white, as are the delicate lacework sleeves that extend over the back of her hand to loop around her middle fingers. The body of the dress and the corset are artfully stitched with garnets which catch the light and refract onto the white lace beautifully. To his surprise, she had Steph and Cass braid cornrows on either side of her head to match the shaved stripes on his own. The rest of her (very long and voluminous) hair was pulled back behind her head and up, curled in the smallest, tightest coils a curling iron could manage and pinned up with a comb crested with her some of her mother's pearls.
"Oh wow." He says when Bryce comes down the stairs. He's seen her prepare and leave for galas before - hell, he's helped lace up her corsets when her ribs have been fractured - but he's never seen her like this.
"Yeah." Lucius Fox - who is attending this particular gala with them - hums in amusement. "She always goes all-out when she introduces one of the kids."
"I take it you like it?" She says once she reaches the bottom, doing a twirl that makes the tulle lift and sway, even under the weight of the garnets.
"Very fetching." Lucius compliments, since Duke can't pick his jaw up off the floor. She smiles and offers Duke her hand.
"Shall we, my boy?"
He swallows thickly and takes her hand. "Uh, yeah."
He doesn't know what he expected to happen during the gala, exactly, but Bryce sticks by him for most of the beginning of the night. Once he was more comfortable, and some of the younger socialites had started up conversations with him, she gracefully bows out to attend to her own business. Most of them were people he knew vaguely from Gotham Academy, and they were warmer to him than he expected.
"First time?" One of the boys, Daniel McCormac, asks with a knowing smile.
"Yeah. Before Bryce, my family wasn't exactly, uh ..."
"It's okay." Another classmate, Brittney Domati, smiles. She had been a partner of his for a biology assignment the semester before and was a pretty extroverted and friendly person in general. "Really, even those of us raised with this sort of thing aren't ever prepared for our first time coming. At least Miss Wayne is a kinder soul than my mom - she won't try to set up a marriage for you over the course of the evening."
"That actually happens?"
Brittney sighs dramatically. "Yeah. My mom's all about the legacy of the family blah blah blah. Rumour has it that Miss Wayne used to be approached all the time for prospective matches and that's when she started 'acting out'." She does the air-quotes with one arm around his shoulder. "The less they were deterred, the more she did it."
"Like, slept around?"
"Yeah." Daniel takes a sip of the sparkling water he'd snagged from a waiter. "Then she started adopting kids and the marriage proposals stopped. I'm going to have to pick up her playbook, honestly. Got room in your family for one more?"
"Danny's ace." Brittney stage-whispers. "Papi don't like that very much."
He suddenly feels bad for his more aloof classmate. He can't really appreciate what it must feel like being treated like breeding stock from the time you're a kid, but it must suck. "Hell yeah, man. The Manor's basically infinite - swing by whenever."
Danny's face abruptly lights up and he realizes that bring ace must add a whole new layer of awful. "For real?"
"Sure. You can hang out in my room, if you want. God knows they're big enough for like, ten people."
Danny's smile is brilliant. "I'd love that. Here, put your number in my phone. I won't show up without any warning - I know I hate that when it happens to me."
"Sure thing, man. Just be prepared - the Manor's a bit of a zoo and my siblings are super nosy."
Brittney reaches around Duke to smack Danny on the shoulder. "Atta boy! Making friends!"
Danny flushes and looks down. "I can't help it - half the people I talk to want to fuck me and I'm just like 'nah, fam'. It's exhausting after a while."
"Dick has the same problem." He grimaces. "He seems to like the attention, though."
"I don't mind people liking me or being attracted to me, I just don't want them to get upset with me when I don't return it." Danny huffs.
"Nah man, it's cool. You don't gotta explain yourself to me."
"I was wondering where Wayne's next charity case was going to wind up." Another classmate - Katerina Masserelle - stops in front of them. She's a year their senior, but he's seen her around campus. She's trailed loyally by her boyfriend, Mitchell D'Artello. "Has she left you to the vultures so soon?"
This is exactly the kind of thing Duke had expected to face, but he's no less taken off-guard by it. Brittney, though, has no similar hesitation. Voice overflowing with Maximum Disdain, she volleys back, "Evidently. Don't you know you're not allowed to bring non-service dogs into this establishment?"
Katerina's eyes narrow at the slander to her boyfriend, but Mitchell is so checked out he doesn't even register it as an insult about him. "I take it you're also aware there's a dress code?"
"Sure." Brittney answers flippantly, leaning into Duke the way that Steph usually does when she's feeling dramatic and sassy. "How much did Daddy have to pay to get you let in like that?"
"Certainly less than your Mommy lost in the stock market this quarter." Katerina's smile is knife-edged and bitter.
Danny sighs like he's eight-five. "Did you have something to say, Katerina?"
"Oh yes." She turns that unfriendly smile on Duke. "I was curious about how well Bryce's newest orphan is faring. I'm aware that you're not used to this kind of class."
If he were alone, he would probably shrink away from her, but Brittney's aggression and Danny's disinterest bolster his confidence. He pulls on his inner Bryce and channels as much aloof disregard as he can into his tone. "It's ... fine, I suppose. The company has been pleasant so far, but the rest of the night isn't looking as entertaining."
"Is that so?" Katerina coos, mock-sympathetic. "Poor dear. It's exhausting having to deal with these social scrabblers, I know. You won't have to deal with it for long, I'm certain."
"Oh, do explain." Danny drawls, spinning the flute glass in his hand like a seasoned alcoholic.
Katerina doesn't take her insincere smile or ice-cold gaze off him. "Once the circling vultures realize you don't have access to Bryce's inheritance, you'll be disregarded like the rest of your kind."
"What kind would that be?"
"Melanin doesn't exactly suit a true Gothamite." She titters. "Especially when it's from the trash on the street."
Brittney's off him in an instant, her lunge at Katerina only stopped by Danny's reflexive catch. "YOU FUCKING BITCH-"
"No, let her continue. I'm quite interested in what else she has to say." All four freeze and look to their right, where Bryce is standing. Her face is a porcelain mask, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raising in challenge. The adults all around them turn to watch and a hush falls over the hall.
"Hey B." He says, suddenly concerned that he's going to get in trouble for causing a scene.
"Hello, darling." She glides over to him, running the back of her fingers along his cheek. "Don't stop on my account, Miss Massarelle. I was unaware you had been appointed to arbitrate the racial equity in Gotham and I await your wisdom on the subject."
Katerina pales. "That wasn't what I- I wasn't saying that."
Bryce is drawn up to her full stature, commanding the attention of the entire ballroom with a flick of her fingers. "Of course you were. I believe you were in the middle of a carefully considered evaluation of my son's melanin quality and its relation to the very tragic loss of his biological family in a Joker attack."
Katerina is frozen, pinned under Bryce's power. Her parents emerge from the crowd in an attempt to salvage the situation.
"Miss Wayne! I was wondering how I could have missed the hostess at her own gala only to find you here." Mrs. Massarelle titters as she emerges, putting herself in front of her daughter.
Bryce raises an eyebrow. "If you were as talented in instilling manners into your runt as you were at carefully avoiding me, you could have gone the entire gala without having to enter this conversation."
Mrs. Massarelle's false smile cracks. "Avoid you? Not at all! I'm sure this entire thing is just a misunderstanding."
"I'm not deaf, Jeanne, as much as you would prefer me to be." Bryce snaps back, tone dropping with her patience. "The delinquency of your company in paying its bills to Wayne Enterprises I can tolerate, but personal and racial attacks on my son at my mother's gala is beyond reproach."
Mr. Massarelle steps in. "You're absolutely right. What can we do?"
"Other than get out of my sight? Nothing. The ordure that fell from your daughter's mouth has already cast a stain on this evening."
"Of course." Mr. Massarelle says, ducking his head and shuffling his family away.
Bryce watches them go, then her expression softens and she returns to being a gracious host. "Apologies, my friends. Please, carry on with your night. I have to attend to my son."
The crowd turns away, but Bryce catches Danny and Brittney before they can blend into it as well. She escorts all three of them into an unlocked office across the hall from the ballroom. She lays a hand on Brittney and Danny's shoulders, smiling sweetly at them.
"Thank you for standing up for him. I appreciate the effort." Both the teens relax under her grip. "If you ever need anything, feel free to let me know and I'll do what I can."
Brittney obstinately crosses her arms. "I didn't do it for you to owe me a favour. I hate that bitch."
Bryce laughs. "I wouldn't offer my services if you had done it just to get in my good graces. I just want you to know that your good deed has not gone unnoticed."
Danny glances over at Duke, then up at Bryce. "Duke already offered to let me to come over. Can I?"
"Of course." She looks at him for a long moment. "Is your father giving you trouble about an engagement again?"
Danny deflates.
She squeezes his shoulder. "I'll talk to him. I'm sure I can work out a fake engagement to keep him off your back until you're eighteen and can break it off on your own."
Danny jolts. "Really?"
"I remember how aggressive your grandfather was about setting me up with your father." She winces like she'd eaten something sour. "I can only imagine what you're going through right now."
"I- Thanks, Miss Wayne."
"Bryce is fine."
Danny swallows, close to tears. "Thanks, Bryce."
"Pfft, in that case," Brittney pipes up, "get me an internship at STAR Labs Kyoto."
"Kyoto?"
"I've always wanted to live in Japan." She shrugs. "And it gets me away from my goddamn overbearing parents without having do resort to your playbook."
Bryce chuckles good-naturedly. "I'll make it happen, but you'll have to wait until you're eighteen. STAR Labs doesn't allow underage assistants. Now, if you both don't mind, I'd like a moment alone with my son."
"Of course." Danny nods, then turns to Duke. "I'll text you, okay?"
"And Imma steal your number from Danny." Brittney chirps. "So, be prepared for John Cena memes."
Duke bursts out laughing. "Sounds like a plan."
The two teenagers leave, but instead of coming over to him, Bryce blind-dials a number on the desk's phone.
"This better be you, Bree-Bree, or I will be very upset." A male voice comes over the line.
"Who else, my pretty little whore?" She coos back and the man laughs.
"What brings about this delightful little call at-" There's some shuffling, "-12:30 at night?"
"I want someone disinherited."
The man whistles. "Before the stock market even opens? And on the night of Martha's gala? What the hell did they do to you?"
"They were racist to my son."
"Oh, to the new one, Duke?" The man sounds stricken. "That's awful. How much?"
"I'm going to do forty points to start."
"To start? Shit, Bee-bee, you're on the warpath. I'll match it. Who?"
"The Massarelles."
" ... It was Katerina, wasn't it?"
"Who else?"
"Totally get it. I'll have their whole company on the market floor by noon."
"This is why you're my favourite."
"Aww, you too, babydoll. I'll call you tomorrow once the numbers are up."
"Perfect. Goodnight, Tony."
"Night, Bryce." She hangs up the call.
"What was that about?" Duke asks.
Bryce blinks. "Oh, I'm going to sink Massarelle LLC."
He blinked owlishly back. "You can just do that?"
"Not by myself. That's why I had Tony drop his stock too. That should tank their stock price," Her expression darkens, "and teach them not to fuck with my family."
"Wow." He's floored. "Just for me?"
She pushes off the desk and wraps him in her arms. "There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you, my darling boy. You're as much my son as any of your brothers, no matter what."
He hugs her back. "Thanks, B."
"Do you want to go home?"
It hadn't sunk in until now how much the confrontation had rattled him. He knew it was a possibility, even a likelihood, but that didn't stop the helpless feeling that had burned up the back of his throat. This was one battleground he was not equipped for. "I- Yeah, I think I do."
"Alright, sweetheart. I'll call the car."
Duke's personal vengeful satisfaction came a few weeks later, at the house league basketball event.
Letting Bryce choose her own outfit had been both a blessing and a curse. A curse, because every boy in his league and all their fathers were openly lusting after Bryce and it was really gross. A blessing, because Bryce wielded her sexuality like every other weapon at her disposal and she was just as lethal.
Katerina's older brother Colin was also on the house league team, which meant it was Mr. Massarelle who he brought in as his parent volunteer. And Bryce? Bryce had spent the morning carefully applying the illusion patches that hid her scarification over almost her entire body. She did a seamless job - Duke only knew where they were because he'd helped her with some of the trickier ones - and she'd taken advantage of it by wearing short pale grey gym shorts with mesh sides, a black sports bra and a purple-white tanktop that was only three-quarters of the normal length. It showed off her sculpted body amongst the horde of frumpy middle aged men that made up the other parental volunteers. Some mothers had attended as audience members and had to sit in quietly boiling rage as their husbands (and sons) ogled the expansive length of Bryce's legs, the tight and flat plane of her stomach and the graceful arch of her back. Her hair was up in a ponytail, but she had these whisps that always escaped any updo unless moussed down and framed her face nicely. It might not have helped, either, that Bryce was the tallest person in the room.
Bryce had shown up after he'd finished school and he's lead her to the gym. The game wasn't for another hour, but it also wasn't enough time to get something to eat. She shared some blueberries and a Gatorade with him before he changed and they took to the court, playing against each other. The result was that by the time the rest of the team and their parents had arrived, they were both already sweaty and Bryce's flimsy shirt and shorts were sticking to her in a tactically sexy way.
"Pay attention to the way they'll stop moving to stare." She whispers conspiratorially, a smirk stretching her gloss-pink lips. The team gets split into four smaller teams; three students and their respective parents. His team went second, facing off against team four with Colin and Mr. Massarelle on it. And as with everything, Bryce turned out to be correct about her distraction factor.
Now, he'd played basketball with her before, and with the rest of the family. Apparently it was something that Dick had really liked to do and Bryce had kept up the tradition. She wasn't an aggressive player usually, but she wasn't flashy or exaggerated either, playing with a low centre and a skilled long-shot. On the court now, though, she was twisting and spinning in ways that put her assets on display, like a tactical nuke made of sex appeal. She didn't sacrifice her competency, either. Needless to say, it wasn't hard to win. When their team was waiting on the following rounds to finish up, she winked at him then started to stretch. The pinched expressions on the faces of Mrs. Massarelle and Katerina were satisfying in and of themselves.
Yeah, you wish you were us. He thinks, trying not to let the vicious and slightly mean joy show on his face. Keep wishing.
His team winds up winning the little tournament, and he enjoys the genuine smile Bryce has on her face as she pulls him for a hug. "Way to go, baby!"
"Thanks, B." He grins back.
As they eat dinner at a hole-in-the-wall family restaurant Danny recommended to him, he finds conversation between the two of them flowing as easy as breathing. It's familiar and comfortable in a way he hadn't experienced since his parents had died.
I think I understand now. He thinks to himself when he tucks into her side on the ride home. I fit right here.
Damian's always been a momma's boy, and his brothers tease him mercilessly for it. He's only met his father briefly on three occasions - the first, when Ra's tried to abduct him as a little boy and the second, when he tried to kill Mother, and the third time this evening, when Ra's intercepted them on patrol to 'introduce himself properly'. Mother had not been pleased at all, forbidding Ra's from her city. Ra's had obliged her demand, but not before dropping a bomb that rocked the very foundation of Damian's existence.
"Jaan?" Mother says softly, opening his door. He's sitting on the edge of his bed, staring down at the pendant Ra's had tossed him. She quietly closes the door behind her then comes to sit next to him. Through his heart in his throat, he manages to ask the question that's been rattling around in his head.
"Is it true?"
Mother breathes out through her nose, lowering her head. It's as much an admission as anything. "When I was young, I had trained with the League of Assassins - it's where I learned most of my skills. Ra's was, is, the leader of the League, and my talent caught his attention. I had a youthful infatuation with him in return, but ultimately, our moral codes clashed and I left the League to return to Gotham. He approached me several more times, offering me a chance to take up a place at his side. By then, I had chosen my path and refused him, but we maintained a good relationship. He took advantage of that goodwill. He asked me to dinner, under the pretense of something being wrong with the League. He drugged me and I woke up the next morning down the beach from the restaurant." She took a steadying breath. "Nine months later, I gave birth to you in the Watchtower."
The tears drip down his cheeks to splatter on the pendant.
"Damian?" She tilts his face up, tenderly wiping his tears away with her fingers and it's- it's just too much.
"How can you not hate me whenever you look at me?" He bursts, anger the easiest emotion to latch onto amongst the tidal wave threatening to drown him.
"I could never hate you, jaan." She says, cupping his cheek. "You have been nothing but a blessing to my life."
The gentle, reassuring words just make him want to lash out more. "How can you be so calm about something so horrible?! I wouldn't be able to even look at-"
"Enough." Her firm disapproval is something he can cling to. "What Ra's did to me as nothing to do with you. Do you understand me? I could have done a number of things to make sure his plan failed, but I didn't. I chose to let it happen. I chose to have you, despite all the complications. I chose you, my butterfly."
He jumps into her arms, clinging to her as he begins to sob.
"I will always choose you." She murmurs, holding him close. "I don't see Ra's when I look at you, and I'm not reminded of that night. I love you so, so much. I won't let Ra's hurt you, not now nor with his actions in the past. You're my baby, not his. I was the one who carried you, the one who gave birth to you, the one that raised you. He had nothing to do with any of that, and he never will. Okay, Dami? He's not a reflection of you, and you're nothing like him."
He's sure he's holding her neck tight enough to choke her, but she lets him. She just holds onto him as he sobs out all his fears into her shirt. He's not even sure how long he's been going when he calms down to hiccuping breaths and exhaustion.
The door opens again, closes, and another body joins Mother on the bed. "How'd he take it?"
"Poorly, but better than expected."
Jason's warm hand lands on his back, rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder blades. "It's okay, buddy. Ra's is an asshole, but that doesn't have anything to do with you. Bryce would never let that happen."
He snuffles and ducks his head under her chin enough to look at Jason. "How can you be so sure?"
Jason's expression softens. "Kiddo, you're the only one that's biologically related to Bryce, but she's managed to pull the best out of all the rest of us. In my case, she's done that twice. And we were all adopted, with life experiences she couldn't control. She's had you from the beginning, and she's loved you from the beginning too."
He reaches his hand out and Jason takes it. Mother kisses the crown of his head.
"You've got nothing to worry about." Jason reassures, then looks up at Mother. "How are you doing, B?"
Mother shakes her head and holds him tighter. At a whisper, like she can only leak the truth, she admits, "I only remember bits and pieces of the event itself. I'm not even certain how, exactly, he did it. I don't have flashbacks to it, or even think about it. But with a few words, Ra's can reduce my child to tears. I should have told you myself, Damian. I never should have hidden it from you and given him that kind of power, to make you doubt me."
He fiddles with the pendant before tossing it to Jason. "Destroy it, please."
Jason nods and stands, taking the pendant with him.
"I ... I don't doubt you, Mother." He says once Jason is gone. He feels his voice get even smaller. "I was afraid you would hate me, that you hid it from me because you were ashamed of me."
"Jaan, never." She breathes, holding him tighter. "You make me so proud, and I love you so much. I would never make you pay for Ra's sins, and if I thought I couldn't handle it, I would never have put you in that position. My love is unconditional - for your siblings, for Alfred, for you."
The sun is creeping over the horizon and Damian is so very, very tired. "Can I stay with you tonight?"
"Of course, baby. You won't go to school tomorrow either." She decides. "Come on. We'll go have a shower together, then snuggle up in my bed, okay?"
He feels like he's five again, even though he's a very respectable twelve. "Okay."
Bryce has always been a helpless cook, but she's an excellent baker. Perhaps it's the analytical bent to her mind that makes her pastries and breads scientifically engineered delights. In the wake of her parents' death, it was one of the few things he could convince her to do with him and she spent many an hour kneading dough as she worked out her confused and heartbroken feelings. Now, as an adult, Bryce bakes when she's in particularly chipper moods. Best of all, a happy Bryce smeared in flour is prone to singing, and Alfred has always loved to hear his darling girl sing. It was perhaps the most devastating thing to disappear after Thomas and Martha - Bryce's voice had once been an all-encompassing melody that was the soundtrack of the Manor.
Luckily for Alfred, today was a very good day.
All of the children that aren't in school are out and about, leaving just him and her alone in the building. He has just started to wonder where she'd gotten off to when her voice - wizened with time, deeper in tone - echoes up the stairs. He follows the song into the kitchen, where Bryce is already in the midst of making dough. She's got a bowl full of warm water and yeast sitting off to the side, a larger bowl with flour and beaten eggs next to it. She's pouring honey into the mixture and he recognizes his recipe for challah bread, Dick's favourite. Pastry dough she had made last time she was in such a mood had defrosted in the fridge last night and is now sitting on the counter, warming to room temperature before she starts to mould it.
He flicks on the electric kettle, moving behind her to pick a teacup and the sugar. She's got earbuds in, her phone sitting on the table behind her. He checks the track and sees it's an Lebanese artist she's listening to, Cyrine Abdur Noor. The original title is in Arabic, but the bracketed romanization of Law Bass Fe Eyne follows behind it. He knows she learned Arabic training with the League, and for some reason had taught Damian the language alongside English from birth. Perhaps she had thought he could make use of it should he ever be captured by Ra's. Maybe she had intended for it to be her private language with Damian, since she had no way of anticipating Cassandra's addition to the family. After all, she had learned Romani and Turkish specifically for Dick and had been more than happy to teach Jason French. Tim had learned Mandarin for business, but the only person he could regularly converse with in it was Bryce.
He sits down with his cup and pulls a tea bag from the canister next to the kettle. Bryce continues on, the shuffle on her phone switching between genres, languages and tones at random. She doesn't seem to mind, just moving along as if nothing's changed. She's wearing an oversized men's dress shirt in a baby pink with the sleeves rolled up and a pair of comfortable lavender tights. Her hair is pulled back with a green clip and her face is bare of both makeup and bruises. As if smiling on him specifically, the shadow over Gotham has lifted today and she's bathed in unfiltered sunlight. He takes a moment to fish out his own phone, recording a minute and a half of this rare peace.
Tim is the first one to return, stopping at the entrance to the kitchen, puzzled. He gives up after a moment, going to get his own teacup and pouring himself some tea and taking one of the other chairs as he scans through documents on his tablet. He hums along with Bryce unconsciously when he knows the song, nodding along as he carries on.
Steph and Cassandra come home at the same time. Cassandra comes to investigate first and thankfully stops Stephanie before she can make Bryce aware of their presence. They start up a video game in the adjacent living room with the volume low so they can also sing along when they know the song Bryce is singing.
Dick comes home with Damian, having picked the boy up from school. Stealthy as assassins, they infiltrate the kitchen and take up two more chairs. They listen to her for a while, then Dick starts very, very quietly helping Damian with his homework when the boy needs it.
Duke is on the phone with Danny when he comes inside. Alfred hears him say, "Hold on, listen for a second," then his arm sticks through the doorway with his phone held out. After Bryce's high note fades out, he pulls the phone back in and Alfred heard, "Yeah, that was Bryce! ... I dunno, man. Sometimes she's just in a good mood and she sings when she thinks no one is listening. ... No, yeah. We all cluster in there when she's not looking."
Jason is the last one home, carrying groceries in his arms. He's Bryce's opposite in the kitchen - an absolute wizard as long as it doesn't involve getting yeast to rise. She seems to be expecting him, because she doesn't startle when he drops his load down on the unused stretch of marble counter. The rest of the family freezes at the table, Alfred included, when he pulls the left earbud out of her ear and puts it in his own. She adds an extra embellishing trill to the end of her note just to tease him, then carries on with her kneading.
"'S that for my pierogi?" Jason asks, dumping potatoes into the free sink to rinse them. Bryce, keeping her beat, just nods. "Cool. You'll fold 'em too, right?" She nods in assent again. "Sweet. Yo, Tim, switch the playlist to duets."
Bryce startles and looks over her shoulder, catching sight of them all huddled behind the kitchen island for the first time. "How long have you been there?"
"Most of the afternoon." Tim replies, dutifully switching to the correct playlist.
"Yeah, B, don't get shy now!" Steph calls from the other room.
Jason brandishes a wet potato at her. "If we're making pierogi, you're singing with me, so help me unmerciful God."
"Okay, okay. You can lower the potato." She laughs, high and bright.
Tim puts the phone back down and Jason returns to his potatoes with a sassy hip-check. The first song that comes in has the male singer start, so Jason picks up like he'd been singing with her all afternoon. She joins him for the chorus and their voices blend seamlessly, so strong together that it makes Alfred shiver. They continue on for the couple of hours it takes for them to finish a couple hundred pierogi, some of which they'll eat for dinner and most of which will go into the freezer for nights down the road. They continue to sing, now with background accompaniment by the other kids, even as they clean the kitchen and put everything away.
For Alfred, there is no greater reward, no time better spent, than time just like this. And if Bryce's pleasant mood carries her through the evening and into the next morning, when he can hear her singing to herself as she readies for a board meeting, all the better for it.
Jason is the one who grabs the phone at some ungodly hour just after dawn. He's supposed to be on his way to his bed after a lengthy night of patrol and he's only wearing boxers and a blanket when he slings the receiver up to his ear.
"Sup, Wayne Estate." A beat of silence. "Which one."
Alfred arounds the doorway into the foyer, heart in his throat. Jason's posture is steel-spined and the blanket's fallen from his shoulders. Barbara, who had come over for access to the Cave's computer system and had been having tea with him before she left for the day, rolls out behind him.
"'Kay. I'll be there in fifteen minutes." Jason hangs up the phone and takes off up the stairs. They can hear him rap on the bedroom doors upstairs six times each and Alfred almost collapses to the ground.
"Woah, woah!" Barbara catches him as best she can, ushering him over to one of the benches built into the wall.
Within seconds, Jason's back down the stairs, fully dressed, grim-faced and shoving his wallet into his back pocket as he grabs his civilian keys from the drawer next to the door. "Bryce is in critical condition at Gotham General. T-boned by a drunk semi who passed out at the wheel on the highway into town."
Barbara claps her hand over her mouth. "Oh my god."
"Stay here with Alfred. I'll call and let you know the details once I have them."
"For fuck's sake, be careful, Jason." Barbara pleads. "Don't drive like a madman."
He doesn't make a promise he won't keep, vanishing out the door. Tim's the next one down the stairs, stuffed haphazardly into a suit with noticeable bags under his eyes but very much alert. "I'm going to WE. I'll be back to change and go to the hospital once I'm done there."
Barbara nods. Dick and the others come down not long after, also all dressed. Before they can scatter to the winds, she grabs Dick's arm. "We need to stay with Alfred."
Dick looks torn - he has no idea what kind of shape Bryce is in, but he doesn't want to leave Alfred here in the state of shock and panic he's currently in. The decision is made for him when he catches what Alfred's whispering to himself.
"Don't let her go before me. Please, Lord, I won't survive if she dies before me. Don't let her go before me, I beg you, Lord."
With a grimace, Dick turns to the others. "Steph, go grab the weighted blanket. Cass, help me move Alfred back into the kitchen. Damian, get the good tea ready. Duke, find the imported cookies."
They hesitate, but ultimately do what they're told. Alfred is shaking and Cassandra's expression is pinched in worry.
"We'll do what we can here until Jason tells us more." Dick says, but it sounds like an order.
"Please don't take her." Alfred continues to whisper. "Not like this, not before me."
"I'm going to be in the Cave getting all the paperwork ready." Barbara informs them. Dick nods sharply. They both know she's going to scour traffic cameras to find the exact moment Bryce was hurt and compile a litigation case that would make any lawyer envious.
Bryce had given all of her children power of attorney over her in her will, with specific instruction that any of them could act on her behalf, but that only one of them needed to sign off on a course of action. She had never removed Jason's name from her will, only added the others as they came into the picture, even before she knew he was still alive. Babs had gotten him illegally reinstated as a real boy so all his ID would be legitimate. He hadn't ever understood why they would go through all the trouble - it was easier for him if he stayed dead for all intents and purposes. Hard to arrest a dead man, after all.
He's grateful for it now.
He bursts through the doors into the ICU and stalks right up to the triage nurse, who backs away from him. "My mother, Bryce Wayne, got admitted after getting hit by a truck. Where is she?"
A cop rounds the corner. "Are you the one I spoke to on the phone from the estate?"
"Yeah."
"She's this way." He gestures and Jason follows him. "Do I even wanna know how many traffic laws you broke to get here in ten minutes?"
"No." He answers shortly, his entire body a live wire of adrenaline and fear.
The cop shakes his head, then leads him over to a surgery bay window. She's laying there, on the table, with her pantsuit cut open and surrounded by emergency room surgeons and nurses muttering rapid-fire medical jargon at each other.
"Status?" He asks automatically.
"Dunno." The cop answers honestly. "The truck jumped the barrier and hit her right on the driver's side door. I'm surprised she's even still alive."
"The truck driver, is he alive?"
"Yeah, but I get the feeling I shouldn't show you who he is."
Through gritted teeth, he mutters. "For his sake, probably not."
The cop politely pretends not to have heard it. "With the amount of booze and cocaine in his system, he just might die too."
His eyes are riveted to Bryce's still form, hooked up to so much medical equipment she almost looks like an experiment.
"Sir?" A nurse comes up to him with a clipboard and the cop excuses himself. "Miss Wayne is in critical condition and may need decisions made for her. Are you next of kin?"
"Yeah, I'm her second oldest."
"Perfect. Do you think you can write?"
He feels the fine tremble that's spread through his entire body. For others, it may be fear, but for him it's a deadly, cold rage. "Not legibly."
"I appreciate your honesty." She says. "I'm going to ask you some questions, then, and I need you to answer as best you can. Can you do that for me?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, let's get started."