Chapter Text
Bruce Wayne was many things. A billionaire. A detective. A symbol of justice. A man who forged purpose from pain, strength from sorrow.
But above all?
He was a father.
And a father doesn’t need to be perfect—he just needs to fight. To stand between his children and the storm, no matter the cost. To stare down the impossible and say, “Not them. Not today.”
He wasn’t the best. He wasn’t the worst. He was human, flawed, stumbling, scarred. He made mistakes. He fucked up. But he never stopped trying to make it right. Never stopped getting back up. Never stopped loving them, even when he didn’t know how.
Because that’s what fathers do. They don’t quit. And neither did he.
· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·
The Watchtower hummed with the low, steady pulse of machinery and murmured debate. Batman stood at the head of the table, as always, silent, imposing, a statue of control.
Then his comm buzzed. Not the League channel. Not Gotham PD.
The Batcave.
Alfred’s voice was calm. “Master Bruce, I regret to inform you that Master Timothy has taken ill rather suddenly. A fever, 104 degrees and climbing.”
Bruce didn’t move. Didn’t react. But the air in the room sharpened, his heart stuttered.
Superman glanced over. “Everything alright?”
“Fine.” The lie was automatic. The League didn’t know about Tim. Couldn’t know. (A child was a vulnerability. A child was a target. A child was- )
His fingers flexed. The monitors reflected in his lenses showed vitals spiking back in Gotham.
“He’s delirious,” Alfred said quietly. “Keeps asking for you, I will make him soup, while we await your return.”
Bruce’s jaw locked.
Flash cracked a joke. Wonder Woman chuckled. The meeting droned on.
And Batman —the man who had faced down world-ending threats without flinching— was counting seconds until he could leave without drawing suspicion.
Because his kid was burning up, and no one in this room even knew he existed.
The meeting was stretching longer and longer, and Batman’s brooding was getting more obvious, alerting other League’s members that something was wrong. it was sudden, a call on the League emergency screen. Superman hovered close to the computer, answering the call.
Red Robin was facing the camera, a boy—small, too small—swayed on-screen, domino mask half-peeled, cheeks fever-bright. His pupils were blown wide, unfocused. “B?” His voice was a rasp, a child’s plea wrapped in delirium. Bruce knew it was his lack of spleen that affected the boy so much,
“Ra's,” he slurred, fingers clawing at his sweat-damp sheets. “No— stay back —B… Dad…” His body jerked, as he called for Bruce.
Superman's coffee cup hit the floor. “What…?”
Batman was already moving, cowl lenses flaring white—but Martian Manhunter caught his arm. “That child just said Ra's al Ghul's name.”
On screen, Tim gasped, looking around. “Dad—you gotta come—” His voice broke. “I'm not, I'm— Dad …”
“Zeta beam. Now,” Bruce snarled, shaking off J'onn's grip.
The Watchtower's air turned to ice.
Batman's gauntlets creaked as his fists clenched.
Then—
“Enough.” he snapped, pushing everyone off, “Batcomputer, activate override code : R-One-Alpha.”
The Batcomputer's emergency override kicked in, cutting the feed. The zeta beam activated on its own.
As the light swallowed him, the Justice League stood frozen in his wake.
Wonder Woman's tiara glinted as she tilted her head, fingers resting on her lasso. “I respect our friend's secrets,” she said carefully, “but that was a child who spoke of Ra's al Ghul as if facing him in battle.”
Flash—who'd rushed home from countless missions to sick kids' bedsides—rubbed his neck. The yellow lenses of his mask narrowed with understanding. “Yeah, and did you catch how he said 'Dad'? That wasn't a code name.” He pointed out. “That was a scared kid calling for his father.”
Superman hovered slightly above the floor, arms crossed over his S-shield. When he spoke, it was with the quiet authority of someone who'd held feverish children through countless nights. “We all heard the fever in that boy's voice. Batman has the right to tend to his son first.” His blue eyes swept the room. “The explanations can wait until the crisis has passed.”
As the League dispersed, the unspoken truth hung heavier than any kryptonite: Their most guarded member had just exposed his greatest vulnerability.
And none of them were sure which revelation was more shocking—
That Batman had a son.
Or that the son had clearly fought Ra's al Ghul.