Work Text:
Batman was patrolling on his own tonight, a state of affairs he’d assumed back at the start of his career as typical, but now, multiple sidekicks, associates, and partners later, was a vanishingly rare occurrence and one he relished greatly.
He’d built up the mythos as a brooding, dark, mysterious sentinel of the night, after all, which was a little hard to do when he had a brightly colored child that insisted on doing handstands on his shoulders, quoted Shakespeare to tied-up goons, made criminals cry by dissecting their entire life history, hit people with bricks, or escaped after every stray animal in their path. He spent more time wrangling his children than he did trying to stop criminals, and nowadays, his Rogues’ Gallery and even common thugs had a favorite Bat or Bird that was, inevitably, not him.
All that meant Batman was quite peaceably crouched atop a gargoyle in Old Gotham, brooding to his heart’s content. Robin was benched with a cold, Nightwing had convinced the Red Hood to team up to investigate a deal down at the docks, Black Bat and Red Robin were on a stakeout together, Spoiler was studying for an exam, and Oracle was enmeshed with an operation the Birds of Prey were running.
Batman was all alone, like he was truly meant to be.
He’d muted his comms to more deeply sink into the moment, staring out over his city in all its splendor. Gotham had an unearthly beauty to it, a siren song that refused to let go, and it didn’t matter if he was here or a thousand miles away.
He was Gotham’s, and Gotham was his.
Batman was rudely interrupted from his ruminating solitude by a distant shout. Sighing, he straightened from his crouch and unhooked his grapple. A few short swings later, he dropped into an alleyway with a lone figure, hunched over in a strange rictus.
He seemed to be arguing with himself, voice alternatively high and pleading and low and vicious and Batman unmuffled his footsteps as he stepped closer. The figure’s head snapped up suddenly.
“Batman,” the man said, the whites of his eyes straining. “Help.”
And then they were gone, washed over by a black so dark it looked like a void. The man smiled. “Batman,” he said with the air of tasting the word, licking his lips. “Oh, this ought to be good.”
Batman moved but the man didn’t attack him. Instead, thick black smoke billowed from his mouth and eyes in a sudden gust. That on its own would’ve been enough to draw Batman up short, having seen nothing of its like in all the years he’d been doing this, but the smoke moved with purpose and it hung like a cloud for only a second before it rushed at him.
He swiped at it with a batarang, other hand going to his grapple, but it didn’t do anything to stop it. Batman’s vision was engulfed by the darkness, thick and absolute.
He distantly heard the man fumbling, breath shaking with hitched sobs, and running out of the alleyway. When he opened his eyes, they had a strange, tinted film to them.
“Oh, yes,” the voice purred, as though whispering into his ear. “This will do nicely.”
It wasn’t whispering in his ear. It was in his ear, in his body, vibrations strumming through his throat and out in his own growl. Batman’s hands lifted into the air, twisting side to side, except he wasn’t doing it. One hand dropped down to his belt and started rummaging through his pockets while the other reached up and felt the cowl over his face.
“Quite the strong body you’ve got here,” his voice said, “still spry.” The gadgets were explored as Batman tried in vain to stop it, fighting furiously against his lack of control. “And look at all these toys! You must be rich.”
He couldn’t move. He was trapped inside his body as it was puppeteered by an entity he didn’t recognize, and fear pressed all around him.
“Oh, I didn’t introduce myself. Olivier, demon of Hell, at your service. You didn’t know Hell was real?” The demon chuckled out loud. “There’s quite a lot of things you don’t know, Batman, the World’s Greatest Detective. Or do you prefer Bruce Wayne?”
Bruce froze. Not physically, because he still couldn’t make his body listen to him as it raised the grapple and hooked it on the roof above him, but metaphorically, trying to raise the mental shields J’onn had taught him a long time ago.
“That’s not going to keep me out,” the demon chided, dropping onto the roof in a perfect imitation of Batman’s usual grace. “We’re soul-to-soul in here. I’m as close to you as anyone’s going to get.”
Bruce felt a visceral shiver of disgust.
“Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to the idea. Richest man in Gotham, founder of the Justice League—I can do a lot with this meat suit.”
No. No. He wasn’t going to allow this demon to use him. Bruce strained with all his might, trying to wrench control back. This was his body and his life and no one was going to take it away from him.
“But first,” the demon mused, feeling around his cowl. Bruce felt the near-silent click against his skull. “Let’s get the lay of the land.”
This time, it wasn’t so much a denial as a shout, flooding through him in equal parts fury and panic. Bruce focused on his body, on trying to catch the thing in here with him and throw it out, because he wasn’t letting it get anywhere near his children—
His finger twitched. Then his hand, and Bruce threw himself fully into the sensation, surging into his body with a growled, “GET OUT.”
The demon fought for control, but Bruce fought back, limbs skittering and head twisting as control zigzagged back and forth. It could be fought. It could be beaten. Bruce had a foothold, he just had to shove the demon out.
An image flashed across his eyes: smoke slipping from his lips, shooting across the Gotham sky, happening upon a brightly colored cape creeping across the rooftops, domino mask widening in shock, shoving in—
The instant of distraction was enough. Bruce lost his foothold and control; the demon straightening in his body.
“That’s quite enough of that,” it said, snapping out his cape. “Don’t worry. I won’t touch a hair on their little heads.”
Bruce snarled wordlessly, voicelessly in helpless fury, and beat his hands against his invisible cage.
At least he’d planned to be alone tonight. If the demon tried to interfere with his children’s operations, they’d become suspicious and the demon would be caught out. They would know what to do, to contact the League, or Zatanna, or Constantine—
He tried to swallow the thought before it took form. The demon chuckled, but made no further remark.
It seemed primarily interested in exploring. Bruce was forced to watch as his body was piloted over the rooftops of Gotham, feeling a twist whenever they leapt off a building and he had no control over the grapple. It examined his gadgets too, reading enough from Bruce’s memories and knowledge to figure out what each one was and what it did. Bruce hated it, but nothing he could do would block the demon from his thoughts.
“You really don’t get out much, do you,” the demon hummed after Bruce tried and failed at every mind control trick he’d ever been caught. “Admittedly, we don’t often venture into Gotham—the big boss made it a no-go zone sometime in the 1800s, something about owls?” Bruce could feel his amusement shivering around him. “More fun for me, though! I get you all to myself.”
Bruce snarled and tried shoving him again, but his attempt slid off smoothly. A second attempt was distracted by his comm, tuned to the empty main channel.
“—off, Dickwing, I didn’t sign up for babysitting,” Hood said, voice crackling as he signed on. “Oi. All points. Got a little stowaway and he’s messing up our operation. Where am I jailing him?”
Red Robin snorted as the rest of them clicked on. “Come on, Hood,” Nightwing sighed, “he’s not messing up—”
“—was here for hours and you didn’t even notice,” a nasally voice interrupted, “so who was really babysitting who—”
“Robin,” cut clear across the squabble, low and growled.
No, Bruce thought, no, no, NO—
“You are benched,” his voice ground out harshly. “Return to the Batcave immediately.”
Bruce railed against his captor, but there was no weak point he could find. His body remained tense and out of his control.
“Busted,” Red Robin whispered into the silence, broken up by snickering. Nightwing sighed.
“I’ll head back with Robin,” he said. “Hood, you can mop things up here.”
“Aw, you trust me that much?” Hood bantered back as the comms erupted with chatter, but Bruce was no longer paying attention.
You can’t, Bruce said frantically, stuck on the image of the smoke overwhelming one of his children, consuming them until they blinked open black eyes and started at him in alien satisfaction. Not my children. No.
“What a dutiful dad,” the demon cooed, steering his body back to the Cave. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to possess your children. What would I do with a twelve-year-old?”
Nightwing and Robin were returning together. Bruce had to cling to that. If the smoke left him and entered one of them, then the other would notice. Unless the demon could split itself—
“Man, you really are paranoid, aren’t you? I already told you I wasn’t going to touch them.”
Like Bruce was going to trust the word of a demon. What do you want, he snarled back.
“The same thing as you, Brucie.” An image flashed through his head—the memory of him sitting on top of a gargoyle, brooding all by himself. “Too many hangers-on will get in my way.” No. “Aw, don’t be like that! Didn’t you want to be alone?”
No. Not like this. If he hurt his children—if his demon hurt his children in his body, then Bruce didn’t know how he’d ever live with himself. He was going to capture the demon and make it pay.
“I live in Hell, my friend, you’re going to have to get in line.”
There was no way to stop the demon. It didn’t pause upon reaching the Batcave, fluidly entering the password plucked from Bruce’s head, and strolling in as if it owned the place. It took a few minutes to poke around before the roar of the Nightcycle filtered in.
I won’t let you hurt them, Bruce said fiercely, trying with all his might to keep his body still.
You can try, the chuckle reverberated around him as the demon waited, expression grave, for Nightwing and Robin to get closer.
Dick’s expression was hard, lips pressed flat in the way that Bruce knew meant don’t fuck this up, and Damian had his chin jutted out, shoulders straight and hackles raised. It was always a trial to get through to him when he was like this, and even more so when Bruce couldn’t control his mouth.
“I was fine,” Damian said stiffly, speaking through the stuffed nose. Dick’s expression spasmed behind him. “My stealth capabilities were clearly unhindered and I was able to provide backup for Nightwing and Red Hood. I should never have been benched.”
If Bruce was in control, he might’ve exchanged a commiserating look with Dick over Robins who always thought they knew better.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses,” his voice snarled instead. “You disobeyed a direct order, you jeopardized an existing operation, and you refuse to accept responsibility for your actions.”
Damian reared back, stung, and Dick stepped forward. “Come on, B—”
“Your disobedience has gone unchecked for too long,” his voice said sharply, ignoring Dick. Damian had drawn himself up, expression hidden behind a blank mask, but his green eyes were burning furiously. “I have given you enormous latitude considering your past history, and time and again you have taken advantage of it. This ends now.”
Damian’s mask flashed, just for a second, but enough for Bruce to catch the fear behind it. He felt sick.
“Enough,” Dick stepped in, as always, where Bruce fell short. “Dames, head to your room. I’ll be up in a minute.” Damian wasted no time in quitting the vicinity, turning his face sharply away from them. Dick didn’t wait until he left before he started hissing, low and furious, “What the flying fuck was that, Bruce?”
“That boy needs to learn the value of obedience.”
“That boy is your son,” Dick snapped. “And you just insinuated you were going to send him back to the League of Assassins!”
“Do you want him to learn that there are no consequences for his actions?” the demon replied, projecting infuriation. “Your coddling is the reason he acts like he’s untouchable!”
Bruce beat helplessly against the barrier stopping him from inhabiting his own body.
“Are you really going to bring this up again?” Dick snarled. “You were gone, Bruce! I did the best job with what I had—” his mouth opened, but Dick talked over, now nearly screaming—“and you can’t keep blaming me for your failure to act like a father!”
“Maybe if I wasn’t being undermined at every turn—”
Dick laughed, low and hollow, cutting him off. “Fuck you, Bruce.” He ran an agitated hand through his hair, vibrating with tension, and levelled Bruce with a glare so deep and dark that Bruce had a sinking feeling he was going to cut his losses, head to Bludhaven, and never return. “Whatever problem you have with me, don’t take it out on the kid.”
No, no, Dick, I don’t have a problem with you, don’t leave, Bruce tried to force out past the demon’s mental snickering, but Dick was already walking away.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to clean up your mess,” Dick tossed back. “Like I always do.”
Two down, the demon whispered, humming in glee. Bruce bottled his rage and helplessness and shoved it at the monster, but it had no effect. Instead, he was forced to watch as the demon turned, catching sight of their audience near the Batcomputer.
No. Please, no.
“You’ve returned early,” the demon sneered, managing to convey disappointment in three words as he glared at Tim and Cass. “What did you find?”
“Nothing,” Tim replied cautiously. “Is everything ok—”
“Nothing?” his voice scorned. “So you abandoned your stakeout? Is this the kind of sloppy work you both do on your own?”
Tim’s expression closed off, an impenetrable mask he couldn’t read. Cass, in contrast, was staring at him with wide eyes. Neither of them spoke.
“Well?” the demon stepped towards them as Bruce tried futilely to force it still. “No response? Nothing to say in your defense?”
Stop, Bruce commanded, feeling the weight of helplessness begin to creak his spine. Stop doing this. Please.
Tim stayed silent, expressionless and still, but Cass took a step back, afraid of whatever she could read in Bruce’s body language. It cracked something in his heart, the fear so plain on her face.
It’s not me, Cass, IT’S NOT ME—
The roar of another motorcycle interrupted the standoff, slicing through the tension. Footsteps followed, and the Red Hood stepped into view, helmet under an arm and whistling lightly. “Oof,” he raised an eyebrow when he saw the three of them. “Who died?”
“Hood,” the demon said tersely as Bruce stared in abject horror. “What are you doing here?”
It had taken months to fix things between them, months to get to the point where Jason wouldn’t shoot him as soon as look at him, and the demon knew it. Knew everything inside Bruce’s brain, all of Jason’s weaknesses and sore spots. Knew how tenuous and hesitant their relationship was. How fragile it was. How easy it would be to drive him away forever.
NO, Bruce screamed, overlapping terror and grief. The demon ignored him.
“I have the intel Nightwing wanted,” Jason tossed a flash drive up and caught it. “Where is he? Bat brat sulking over his bedtime?”
“Jason,” Tim spoke up, voice rigidly controlled. “This isn’t the best time. Maybe you should come back later.”
“Oh?” Jason lasered in on the insinuation of drama like a missile lock, smirking as he strolled closer. “Have I interrupted something? Did daddy’s pet and the little princess mess up?” He leaned against the railing surrounding the Batcomputer station and grinned. “Don’t mind me.”
“Jason,” Tim started again, darting glances between the two of them, a hint of anxiety creeping in his tone, but Bruce’s growl spoke over him.
“This is family business,” he said cuttingly. “Get out.”
“Ouch,” Jason pressed a hand to his heart with exaggerated motions. “That wounds me, it truly does.” Had there been a flash of hurt in those green eyes before it was covered up? “I’m starting to feel unwanted.”
“Good,” the demon said, but Jason wasn’t done.
“Problem is, I seem to remember a piece of paper that added me to this messed-up collection of paranoid costumed freaks, as much as I despise it. So this is, actually, my business.” Jason’s grin was shark-toothed. “Adoption certificates don’t expire, old man.”
“Death certificates don’t either,” the demon retorted. Tim sucked in a sharp breath and Cass made a soft sound, but the demon wasn’t paying attention to either of them, attention focused on the way Jason had flinched, if only for a moment. “You talk too much, Hood, for someone fixated on the moment of their biggest mistake.”
No. Bruce was watching a train wreck in slow motion and unable to stop it, paralyzed to the bone.
Jason’s gaze flashed, green eyes burning deeper, and the smirk fell away. “My mistake?” he snapped, taking a half-step back as Bruce’s body stepped towards him. “I didn’t—”
“Think,” the demon completed, “before rushing in to what was clearly a trap.” Jason’s fists creaked. “A lesson death doesn’t seem to have beaten into you.”
“Yeah, well, it didn’t stick,” Jason volleyed back, but it was evident he was off-kilter. He was breathing harder, body taut with tension, but hovering instead of punching. His expression flickered between a hard jaw and wounded shock and if Bruce could see it, the demon could see it too.
He pressed forward, the predator chasing wounded prey, and Bruce felt his sick satisfaction when Jason stumbled back.
Stop it, stop, STOP IT—
“And yet you never let it go, do you?” the demon asked, sharp and pointed. Jason flinched again. “You cling to it like a macabre coping mechanism, using trauma to escape responsibility and humor to deflect your emotions. You’re a child with a security blanket, unwilling to face the goddamn truth.”
“And what’s that, old man?” Jason sneered through trembling lips.
“You were better off dead.”
Bruce couldn’t breathe. He was stuck, trapped by an entity that was destroying his life, and he couldn’t lift a finger to stop it. It felt claustrophobic, like his skin was a shell that wouldn’t let go, no matter how hard he screamed or wailed or tore at it.
“No,” Jason whispered, bravado gone, face stricken as he stumbled away from the demon’s approach. “No, that’s not true—that’s not—”
“Of course it is. Everyone knows it, they just haven’t said it to your face,” the demon condescended, stalking forward with all the ease of a born hunter. “You know they do, because you do too, deep down where you won’t admit it. You came back wrong.”
“No,” Jason wouldn’t look at him, shaking his head, close enough that Bruce could see him tremble. His voice cracked, and Bruce’s heart cracked along with it. “No. No.”
Bruce couldn’t cry, utterly disembodied, but he felt like he was, soul splitting with the force of his grief and rage. The demon laughed, low and malicious, curling around Bruce like a promise.
You’ll be all alone soon.
Bruce shoved everything he had into the attack. He railed against the invisible forces holding him prisoner, trying to shove his way back into his body, trying to control his legs from walking, trying to stop his hands from raising, trying to twitch the smallest finger the faintest inch—
His body stopped up short, legs seizing in place, freezing a few steps away from his son. Bruce paused, confused, because that wasn’t him. The jolt of fear wasn’t his either.
“What are you?” the demon asked, high and surprised and afraid.
Jason raised his head, cringing gone, the fear vanished like it was never there, mouth crooking into a familiar, Robin-mischievous grin. “Took you long enough.”
He twirled his wrists in a showy, ostentatious stretch utterly unfamiliar to Bruce, empty hands closing around the hilts of a pair of long, fiery blades that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
Bruce stared, taken aback. The demon snarled, recoiling as panic swirled around Bruce, but it was too close. They were too close. Jason lunged, swords out, and Bruce felt the heat of them stab deep inside him.
The demon screamed for a long moment of burning agony, and then there was silence.
Bruce blinked at his son’s narrowed eyes and hard jaw, finally in control of his own body, before glancing down at the bright, glowing swords impaled in his gut.
He didn’t remember passing out.
“—killed him!”
“Oh shut up, Replacement, that wasn’t him! If it was, the All-Blades wouldn’t have done anything. Probably.”
“And that’s another thing—when and where did you get magical swords?”
“Don’t be jealous that I’m cooler than you. Now come on, we have to figure out what to do with the body.” Something nudged his ribs, and Bruce could feel it. He gradually became aware of the rest of his body, and a faint, disgusted sensation he couldn’t link to anything.
“The body of our dead father?”
“Oh, would you stop with the hysterics? It was pretty clearly not Bruce!”
“So you just stabbed a Batman lookalike instead?”
“Does he look stabbed to you?”
“…Well, no. But I could see the sword sticking out of him!”
“What is going on here?” a third voice joined the conversation, wearier than the other two. “Cass said something about a fight—why is Bruce on the ground?”
“Jason killed him!” the first voice piped up, clearly stressed.
“What?!” echoed the chorus around him.
“What did you do to Father?” a high, nasally voice asked angrily, stomping closer.
“Look, there may or may not have been some light stabbing involved, but the swords are magic, they don’t work on baseline humans—”
“What magic swords?”
“I don’t understand—”
The voices were getting louder and Bruce groaned, shifting on the hard stone beneath him and wincing as his back ached.
All the voices cut out.
“Not dead,” Cass pronounced.
He didn’t need to open his eyes to feel the weight of a group of intense stares. Bruce blinked slowly, feeling a faint surprise that it worked, and getting lost in trying to figure out why he was surprised. In the meantime, his children came into view, five heads hovering over him.
Bruce raised his hand and stared at it. He could move it again. He could move his fingers and his toes and his arms and his legs.
“B?” came the hesitant query. Bruce looked up—he could look up—and studied his children’s faces. Dick wore guarded concern, Damian’s face was drawn into a sharp frown, Cass looked confused, Tim’s face was blotchy, and Jason regarded him evenly, with a trace of something like guilt across his face.
Bruce shifted into motion and lunged at him.
Jason’s eyes grew wide but he didn’t have any time to move before Bruce grabbed him, wrapping his arms around him and nearly tearing up in relief. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely, because his voice was his own, his body was his own. Jason had figured it out and freed him. “Thank you. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean any of it, I swear.”
“What—Bruce—it’s okay,” Jason gingerly patted him on the back. “I know it wasn’t you. You don’t need to weep on my shoulder.”
“I swear, I have never thought about you like that,” Bruce released Jason only enough to grab his face and stare him in the eyes. “Never. You are not better off dead and it is a miracle you were returned to us.”
Jason’s cheeks were going pink and his attempt to free himself was halfhearted. “Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but he didn’t try to shoot Bruce and he didn’t try to shove himself free.
“I’m sorry,” Dick said tartly. “Will someone explain what’s going on?”
Oh God, Dick. Bruce let go of Jason and spun towards his eldest. “It wasn’t me, chum,” he said hoarsely, stepping towards him. Dick rocked back on his feet, but didn’t run, and Bruce took the chance and enveloped him in a hug. “I am so, so sorry. I couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t me who said those things.”
Dick made a sharp sound, but returned the hug. “If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
“A demon. From Hell.” Bruce let go of Dick and turned to Damian, crouching in front of him. “I was possessed on patrol,” he explained quietly. “Nothing—nothing you heard since then was actually me.”
He knew better than to go for a hug, but Damian sniffed imperiously at him—an action hampered somewhat by his runny nose—and Bruce knew it had been accepted.
He turned finally to Tim and Cass. “I’m sorry,” he said to both of them, feeling the guilt settle sharply in his stomach.
“You looked cold and angry,” Cass said quietly. “Glad it wasn’t you.”
Tim was staring at Jason. “No offense, but how did you know?” he asked quizzically. “There was nothing to suggest possession.”
“Aside from Bruce acting like a raging asshole?” Jason raised an eyebrow, then frowned. “No, you’re right, that’s his default.” A smattering of groans erupted around them, but there was too much fondness inside Bruce for the insult to land. “The All-Blades get twitchy near demonic influences. I could feel it when I got to the Cave, and it was more likely to be the guy yelling at his kids than anyone else, so I took the shot.”
“You stabbed Bruce on a hunch,” Tim said blankly.
Jason rolled his eyes and twisted his wrist again. This time, Bruce was prepared for the gleaming, glowing sword to appear in midair, but the others still jumped. In a fluid motion, Jason spun and struck at Tim, who shrieked and stumbled back and failed to avoid being bisected.
“It only kills demons, Replacement, calm down,” Jason laughed. Tim stared down at himself like he wasn’t sure what he was looking at, and Jason swung the sword through him a couple more times before he let it vanish. “It wouldn’t hurt a human.”
“Aside from giving them a heart attack, you mean,” Tim muttered, glaring at Jason, and patted over his stomach to reassure himself that he remained in one piece.
“Yeah, whatever, we done here?” Jason asked, tossing his flash drive at Dick. “I literally only came here to pass over some intel, and I thought I’d get rid of your demon problem while I was at it. I’m not staying to sort out your feelings.”
“Wait,” Bruce said, before Jason could disappear and avoid him for days. He cast around for the first excuse he could think of. “We need to update our information on the All-Blades. Run some tests. You should probably stay the night.”
“I told you everything I know about the All-Blades,” Jason crossed his arms, “and I can’t manifest them just for you to play with. It uses my life force to materialize.”
“It what?”
“Ah,” Jason said, in the tone of someone who realized they had made a very big mistake. “I should not have said that.”