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Bruce couldn’t believe this was happening. Somehow, someway, the Justice League had figured out his secret identity. And not just that—no, they had discovered the real Bruce Wayne. The tired, overworked, constantly-exhausted, vigilante-dad version of Bruce Wayne. The whole “spooky, terrifying Dark Knight” thing was slipping through his fingers faster than a child’s cereal bowl in a crime scene.
And honestly? He was devastated.
He had worked so hard to craft that reputation—the one that made even the toughest criminals squirm in fear at the mere mention of his name. The Batman: a shadow, a nightmare, a force of nature who inspired absolute dread. But now? His own teammates barely even flinched when he glared at them. Not after they’d seen him actually glare at Red Hood during dinner, only for Jason to lob mashed potatoes right at his face. His threats? Completely ineffective. Remember that one time he tried to warn Tim to go home and rest, only for Tim to giggle like a maniac and steal his coffee instead of taking him seriously? Yeah, that was the last straw. His whole mystique had been shattered.
And let’s not even get started on the “family” stuff. The Justice League had watched him patch up Nightwing’s boo-boo mid-meeting. They had heard Damian casually insult him in front of everyone by calling him a “condomless harlot” after Bruce told him not to bring his swords to the Watchtower.
It was bad. Real bad.
He’d spent years building this reputation, and now… well, now it was all down the drain. Nobody cared about the Batman anymore. They didn’t flinch when he walked into a room. They didn’t give a second thought to his brooding or his dark, intimidating silence. All they saw was Dad—the one who couldn’t stop Tim from stealing his coffee or make his kids do their homework.
He had lost control.
And if there was one thing Bruce Wayne couldn’t stand, it was losing control. Especially when it came to his image. The solution had to be brilliant. He needed a way to remind the Justice League who the real Batman was—and he needed it to be spectacular.
And then it hit him.
A dinner party.
No, not just any dinner party. This was going to be a hauntingly spectacular dinner. He would invite the League to Wayne Manor. But not for an ordinary, formal dinner. No, no. This would be a dinner worthy of the movies—the kind where creepy rich guys in haunted mansions make you feel like you’re about to meet your untimely demise.
He'd take his “Brucie Wayne” charm and amplify it.
And of course, his kids would have to help, they’d love any opportunity to scare the JL. They would be the perfect cast—no one could pull off creepy, polite, distant family members like them.
It was genius.
And when the evening was over, the League would remember one thing: Batman was a force to be reckoned with.
And Bruce? Bruce would finally get his fear factor back. Even if it meant dinner would end with a few scared League members.
This was going to be amazing
The next night, Bruce gathered his kids in the sitting room of Wayne Manor, their usual hangout. He stood before them, arms crossed, as they all glanced at him with a mix of curiosity and, in some cases, outright disdain.
“I need a favor,” Bruce began, knowing full well how rarely he had to ask for help in such matters. “I need to restore my reputation. My... intimidating presence.”
Jason smirked and glanced at the others. “Is this one of those ’I’m Batman, I’m scary, respect me’ plans again?”
Bruce ignored the jab. “Yes,” he said, voice low and serious. “But this time, I’m going to do it right.”
A pause. Then, to his surprise, Tim raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “Alright, Batman. What’s your brilliant plan?”
Bruce allowed himself a small smirk. “I’m throwing a dinner party.”
Damian scoffed, “A dinner party? How's that going to get back your reputation?”
Bruce smirked and started to explain how it was going to work and what parts they get to play, he might have mentioned that they could do whatever they wanted as long as it scared the league.
Once everyone agreed and sorted out their parts Bruce left and prepared to send out an invitation to the JL.
The next day, Wayne Manor became a hive of activity. Bruce had envisioned an elaborate atmosphere for the dinner, but he quickly realized that it wasn’t going to be easy to pull off alone. And so, he enlisted his children.
“Alright,” Bruce called out to the group, “everyone has a task.” His voice was stern, but there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. This was his chance to show everyone what real intimidation looked like.
Tim and Stephanie were on candle duty. Bruce had ordered an obscene number of candles—enough to create a hazy, flickering atmosphere that would make the house feel like it had been abandoned for centuries. Stephanie was clearly enjoying herself, taking great care to place the candles in strategic spots where their shadows could creep and stretch across the walls.
“I think the dining room needs more,” Tim suggested, already starting to line up candles along the mantle. “If we want that ‘haunted mansion’ effect, we need to make sure the whole room feels like it’s on the verge of collapse.”
“I got it,” Stephanie said, taking a step back and admiring her handiwork. She placed one last candle in a dark corner, then dramatically lit it. As the room filled with soft, golden light, she turned to Tim and smiled. “Now it looks like we’re in the middle of a spooky movie.”
“That’s the point,” Tim said, sounding almost impressed. “Just don’t set anything on fire.”
Meanwhile, Damian had taken it upon himself to release his pets—which, to no one’s surprise, were not your average household creatures. Spider, even a bat or two roamed freely as he let them loose throughout the manor. With a little wave of his hand, he watched as a few tarantulas scuttled across the floors, their beady eyes glinting in the dim light.
He smirked to himself as they left crawling up the walls and down the hallways.
Elsewhere, Jason and Dick had taken it upon themselves to handle the other details, like sound and atmosphere. Jason, of course, found a way to make things more dramatic than necessary. He had dragged a few old, dusty books from the manor’s library and placed them strategically around the manor to add to the effect.
“I mean, what's a haunted house without an ominous book of forbidden knowledge?” Jason said with a grin as he dropped an ancient-looking tome on a table dust flying everywhere.
Dick, ever the peacemaker, was tasked with ensuring the lights were set to the right level. He adjusted the dimmer switches, carefully balancing the light so that it felt just dark enough without it being too hard for anyone to see. He was meticulous, but even he couldn’t hide the grin creeping across his face as he watched Bruce oversee the process.
"Man, this is going to be so good," Dick muttered, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Meanwhile, Cass was quiet as always, but she stuck close to Bruce, her silent presence a comfort as he hovered near the dining room. Bruce was focused, moving with purpose as he arranged the final touches. The long, dark mahogany table was set with eerie, ornate silverware, and each place setting had a dark, crimson napkin—everything looking like it belonged to some long-forgotten aristocracy.
Alfred, who had been watching the chaos unfold with, was still in the kitchen, muttering under his breath about how "ridiculous" the entire idea was. But Bruce wasn’t about to let a little thing like common sense derail his plan. He had a reputation to rebuild after all.
As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, the manor began to take on an eerie glow. The candles flickered, casting strange shadows in the corners of every room. The heavy wooden doors creaked open and shut as if they had been unused for years. Damian’s pets skittered above the rafters, creating the occasional noise that sounded suspiciously like something larger was lurking just out of sight. There was a chill that Surrounded the manor adding to it all.
“This is perfect,” Bruce murmured as he surveyed the scene. “When the League walks in... they’ll feel it. They won’t be able to help but feel the tension. They’ll know they’re in the presence of someone who demands respect.”
Cass, standing beside him, tilted her head slightly. The way they were all pulling together—his family, his team—it was a rare moment of unity. She couldn’t wait to see it all fall into place but now they all needed to get dressed the League should be arriving soon.
As the Justice League slowly trickled into Wayne Manor that evening, there was a subtle tension in the air. They weren’t sure what they were walking into, but they could all sense something off. The grand staircase was bathed in soft candlelight, casting long, eerie shadows on the walls. The place was unusually quiet—too quiet—and the silence stretched uncomfortably.
Superman, ever the optimist, took in the atmosphere with a frown. He had been to Wayne Manor countless times, but this felt... different. The grand hallway, typically full of life and energy, was dark and silent, like something from a gothic horror film. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, glancing around. “Bruce?” he called, though his voice was a bit quieter than usual. There was no answer.
"Is it me or does this place feel... wrong?" Barry muttered, barely able to hide the nervous tension in his voice. His feet shuffled on the cold wooden floors as he looked around, eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting something to jump out at him. “I mean, Bruce is all about his darkness, but this is next level.”
Bruce stood at the foot of the grand staircase, waiting for them. His figure was tall, framed by the dim glow of flickering candles. He wore a faint grin, eyes glinting in the half-light, as if he were the host of some grand, unnerving affair. Behind him, his children stood in a perfect line, each of them eerily still, dressed in black funeral attire. Well, except for Jason, who had opted for a blood stained white shirt that still bore remnants of some incident.
The silence was thick, hanging in the air like a heavy fog.
“Ah, welcome,” Bruce said with a slow, deliberate smile. His voice was lower than usual, almost a murmur, yet it carried throughout the grand hallway with an unsettling calm. The kids behind him didn’t move, didn’t speak. They merely stared at the League with cold, emotionless expressions.
“Dinner’s ready,” Bruce added, his eyes twinkling just a bit too brightly. “Please, come in.”
Superman blinked and exchanged a look with Diana. “Uh, Bruce?” He stepped forward cautiously, his voice still holding that mix of confusion and hesitation. “This is... certainly an interesting atmosphere you’ve got here. Everything okay?”
“Oh, it’s just the way I like it,” Bruce replied, his grin stretching a little wider. His hands folded in front of him as he ushered them toward the dining room. His children remained completely silent, their eyes slowly following their guest.de
As the Justice League followed Bruce into the dining room, their unease only grew. The room was lit almost exclusively by candles, casting long, dancing shadows across the walls. The table was set with antique silverware, crystal goblets, and fine china that all looked too pristine, too perfectly arranged. The furniture was dark, heavy, and old, like something you’d see in an old European manor, as if it had been untouched for centuries.
Green Lantern hesitated at the door, looking around with an eyebrow raised. “This is... definitely not what I was expecting.” He turned to Bruce, his voice half-joking. “You sure you don’t have a coffin hidden somewhere around here?”
“Just sit down,” Bruce replied, far too cheerfully for someone with a reputation like his. “I think you’ll find the evening... enjoyable.”
Bruce took his seat at the head of the table and his kids took their seats as well. Tim, Stephanie, and Dick sat on one side with Jason and Daiman sitting on the other, all still and quiet, their faces unreadable. Tim occasionally toyed with the edge of his napkin. The other followed though more hesitantly.
Throughout the evening, the League grew increasingly unsettled, but they couldn’t quite put their fingers on what was making them feel so... off. Was it the dark, eerie atmosphere of Wayne Manor, or the strange behavior of the kids at the table?
The kids were far too calm for comfort, almost unnervingly polite. There was no usual banter or casual comments—just cryptic, unsettling snippets of conversation that made everyone pause.
Damian, ever the first to make everyone uncomfortable, casually glanced around the table. “You know, the last time I was in a situation like this” His voice was unbothered, almost too casual, as though he had spent years in places much worse than this. “The shadows seemed to stretch... like they were alive.” He added it so matter-of-factly, it was as if he were commenting on the weather.
Bruce couldn’t help but fight back the smile that tugged at his lips as he watched the discomfort spread among the League. It was working. The tension, the eerie atmosphere, the kids’ unnerving behavior—it was all coming together.
Tim, sitting across from Damian, simply nodded in agreement, though he wasn’t adding much to the conversation. “Yeah,” he said lightly, looking up from his plate, “I've been in places where you could feel the walls stare at you.” He shrugged, acting like it was a regular Tuesday. “It’s all about the... ambiance, you know?”
The League exchanged uneasy glances, unsure whether they should laugh it off or seriously worry. Wonder Woman shifted in her seat, looking toward Bruce for some kind of explanation.
Before anyone could respond, the dinner took another strange turn when Bruce decided it was time to serve the wine. He presented an unlabeled bottle to Diana, pouring it with an almost theatrical flourish.
“Where did you get this?” Diana asked, staring at the glass in her hand, still cautious about the label-less bottle.
Bruce, in his usual fashion, pointed to Jason, who was sitting across the table looking unusually calm with his blood-stained shirt. “Jason procured it,” Bruce said, trying to keep his tone casual, but the underlying tension in his words made the room feel even colder. “Earlier today. Especially for you.”
Jason, ever the picture of creepy nonchalance, offered Diana a grin, his eyes glowing an eerie green in the dim light of the candles. It was like something out of a spooky mystery, but with an unsettling twist. Diana, unsure whether to laugh or feel more uneasy, hesitated to pick up the glass.
As if the dinner wasn’t strange enough, Tim suddenly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I’ll be right back,” he announced, his voice too calm. “I have to... feed the experiments.” Without any further explanation, he swiftly left the room, leaving the League staring after him.
The awkward silence was broken by Hal Jordan, who looked around at everyone, trying to keep up with the bizarre atmosphere. “Okay, guys, seriously. This is starting to feel like one of those haunted house tours.” He forced a laugh, but it came out nervous. “Are we sure we’re not about to be trapped in here for some... weird, ritualistic dinner?”
The kids didn’t respond, their faces completely blank, not a hint of humor in their expressions. It was like they had already won the game before it even started.
Bruce felt a grin tugging at his lips again. This was exactly what he wanted. The fear factor? Oh, it was definitely back.
“Please, enjoy your meal,” Bruce said smoothly, his tone pleasant but laced with something a little more ominous. “It’s a rare treat.” He raised his glass, offering a silent toast to his children, who all followed suit. “I’m sure you’ll find it... memorable.”
The League, despite themselves, couldn’t help but glance around nervously. Even the usually fearless Superman was now staring at his plate as if it held the secret to the mystery of Wayne Manor.
As the evening wore on, more moments of unease piled up. It wasn’t the kind of tension that broke easily—it was the kind that lingered, like an itch under the skin that you couldn’t quite scratch. Every glance, every cryptic sentence from the kids, and every overly-posed word from Bruce kept everyone on edge. Some of them even swore they heard skittering sounds around and blurs running across the walls.
As the dinner continued, the tension was thick, and Jason—who had been sitting with a sly grin throughout the whole evening—finally couldn’t hold it in any longer. After witnessing a particularly bizarre moment, he slipped out of the room, his shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter.
Bruce, still pretending to maintain his eerie composure, knew exactly what had set Jason off. It had been when Oliver, in an attempt to make light of the strange atmosphere, had finished his meal and let out an exaggerated sigh of relief. Damian, with that uncanny ability to sound completely nonchalant about even the most disturbing things, had leaned in and calmly said, “I would love to feed your bones to my animal friends if you don’t need them anymore.”
Jason, sitting across from Damian, had choked on his wine. It had been a full-on snort, and some of it had even gone up his nose, leaving him gasping for breath and red-faced as he tried to hold back the laughs. And yet, through it all, Damian hadn’t flinched, his expression cold and unreadable.
Despite Jason's near-complete breakdown, somehow, miraculously, no one broke character. Not even when the skittering noise that had been haunting them all evening got louder, as if something—no, someone—was creeping just above them.
Then, from nowhere, Stephanie made her move. She climbed up onto the table with an almost graceful ease, her eyes gleaming with mischief. She came back down with a large, fat tarantula cradled in her hands. The room went dead silent.
Damian, without missing a beat, stood up, his eyes gleaming with that same unsettling calm. He extended his hand to Stephanie with the seriousness of someone making an important business transaction. “Ah, dessert!” he exclaimed in a deadpan tone, like this was the most natural thing in the world. “I will help Pennyworth prepare it.”
Damian took the tarantula from Stephanie with the care of someone handling a priceless artifact, then calmly walked out of the dining room, presumably to “prepare” the dessert, though no one was sure what that really meant. The rest of the League sat frozen for a few moments, staring after him with wide eyes, as though they truly believed they were about to be served the giant arachnid for dessert.
The gasps from the table were immediate, and some of the more squeamish members of the League—Flash in particular—looked like they might pass out at the thought of eating something that had just been handled by a creature like that. Even Diana, who had faced gods and monsters alike, looked momentarily unnerved, glancing around the table to make sure no one was looking at her too closely.
Bruce, meanwhile, couldn’t help the quiet, satisfied chuckle that slipped out. His plan was working better than he had anticipated. The League, usually so unflappable, was visibly shaken by the eerie atmosphere, the cryptic words from his children, and the bizarre interruptions that came with it all. Bruce’s mind was already racing through potential follow-up plans. Maybe they could do this every month.
When Damian returned, the tarantula now safely back in its enclosure, Bruce kept his face perfectly serious. “I hope everyone is enjoying their evening,” he said smoothly, his voice carrying the tone of a man who had just orchestrated an absolutely perfect evening.
By the time dinner was nearing its end, the mood had shifted from awkward to outright tense. Everyone was just trying to hold it together, pretending as if the whole thing wasn’t spiraling into something close to a fever dream. The League had barely managed to keep their composure through the bizarre dinner. At this point, even Superman—who had been as stoic as ever—was picking nervously at his food, unsure whether the entire meal had been some kind of test or a prelude to something much worse.
It wasn’t long before each member of the League began making their excuses to leave, their attempts at politeness strained under the weight of their nerves. “Uh, well, I think it’s time for us to head out,” Aquaman muttered, clearly eager to make a quick exit. “Great... great dinner, Bruce, but I have, uh, some... stuff to do.”
Superman nodded in agreement, though his usual calm demeanor was no longer present. “Yes, I should get back to the Watchtower,” he said quickly, rising from the table with exaggerated speed. “Thank you for the... um, hospitality.”
One by one, they all made their hasty exits. Bruce, in his best attempt at feigned disappointment, gave a dramatic sigh. “Ah, such a shame. I was hoping we could have enjoyed a little more quality time.” His eyes twinkled with mischief, but on the outside, he maintained the appearance of a gracious host. “But do let me know if you ever want to revisit... the manor.”
After the last of the League had rushed out the door, Bruce stood alone in the grand dining room, a feeling of smug satisfaction spreading through him. The atmosphere had been thick with tension all evening, and it had worked like a charm.
Alfred, ever the picture of poise, began to clean up the remnants of the evening—tattered napkins, spilled wine, and crumbs from the lavish spread they’d barely touched. The mood in the room shifted, the eerie, haunting ambiance slowly dissipating. The flickering candlelight from the dozens of candles that had been placed around the room now just felt... decorative. Bruce let out a long, satisfied sigh, watching the scene unfold around him. It had been an excellent idea, if he did say so himself.
“Well,” Bruce said, his voice a little louder than necessary as he turned to face Alfred, who was methodically straightening the chairs around the table. “That went well, don’t you think?”
Alfred didn’t even look up, continuing his task with impeccable efficiency. “I certainly hope you realize, Master Wayne, that you will be cleaning all of this up yourself and returning the manor to its usual state of proper decorum,” he muttered under his breath, clearly not impressed with the theatrics. “I’m sure the atmosphere you’ve created is... less than ideal for both the staff and your guests.”
Bruce shrugged with a smirk, arms stretched across the back of his chair, looking all too pleased with himself. “Oh, it’s worth it. Totally worth it,” he said, leaning back further in the chair, closing his eyes, and letting out a content sigh. He was basking in the glow of his own genius. The fear factor? Back in full force.
The soft sound of laughter echoed from the hallway as his kids made their way upstairs, no longer bothering to hide their amusement. The evening had been a success, a bizarre combination of spooky dramatics and subtle terror, all of which had left the League scrambling for an exit.
Bruce glanced toward the hallway, his heart swelling with pride as he watched his children trying their hardest to stifle their laughter. Even Damian, who was usually so composed, couldn’t hold it in. Tim’s laughter echoed down the hall as he turned the corner, and Steph had let out a giggle so loud it almost sounded like a snicker. Jason, of course, was still wiping tears from his eyes, no doubt reminiscing about the moment when he nearly lost it in front of Diana.
It had been a night of chaos, yes. The fear, the unsettling atmosphere, the mysterious behavior—it had all worked exactly as planned. The League hadn’t known what hit them.
Bruce’s gaze lingered on his kids, all of them still grinning ear to ear, their eyes alight with excitement. His kids... they'd actually been on board with this crazy plan from the beginning, helping him pull it off without hesitation.
Damian caught Bruce’s eye and gave him a little nod, like the miniature demon was approving of his work. Even the usually stoic Cassandra seemed to be enjoying herself, her face lit up with the smallest of smiles. And then there was Dick, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Okay, okay,” Dick said, finally breaking the silence with his usual sarcastic tone. “This was... amazing.” He wiped a tear from his eye and let out a short laugh. “Absolutely brilliant. I thought Diana was going to hurl when she saw the tarantula.”
Bruce raised an eyebrow at his eldest, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m glad you enjoyed the show, maybe we should make it a monthly tradition. A little family bonding through fear and terror.”
“Yeah, sure,” Jason called out from the doorway, still grinning. “Nothing says family time like traumatizing the Justice League.”
Everyone trailed off the their own rooms to change into something more comfortable and regrouped to clean up everything, all laughing and chatting about the night.
And if the League didn’t speak to him for weeks after that dinner.
But Bruce didn’t mind. After all, what’s more important than restoring your legendary reputation and having a laugh with your family?
As for Damian, well... Bruce had learned something new that night. His son was a theatre kid, with a flair for the dramatic. And that was another revelation in itself.