Chapter Text
Unforeseenly, Bruce had gradually let his iron-cased wall down. Once barred with unbreakable steel, he feared that he was actually melting. The Justice League were trusted allies, sure, and even considered good friends, but Bruce still had a second life to think about. A second life that started seeping a bit too far into his superhero one. As Alfred always reminded him, posh and poised and annoyingly correct, “a fortress without a door is a prison.” Even so, who wouldn’t be able to melt in circumstances such as these?
Dick, his son, his chum, was getting married.
Through Bruce’s eyes, Dick was still that energetic little boy who deftly flipped across the Gotham skyline by his side, while happily humming a high pitched ‘dun dun dun dun’ in his iconic traffic light hues. A boy who, despite being stronger, faster, and more skillful than most full grown heroes, was merely a cheeky ten-year-old who would steal Alfred’s cookies at midnight. Years have passed since then; long, eventful years, but he is absolutely content at the brimmed warmth that flowed Wayne Manor ever since it welcomed the first little Robin.
Now, at twenty-six and much taller than his adolescent self, Dick Grayson was not Robin anymore. Dick was strong, charming, painfully selfless, all quoted from the people who loved him in his life.
He found himself and he persisted, he found others and he loved, he found family and now he’ll start his own. He’ll be a bat forever, Bruce knows, and Damian demands, but Kori and Dick have a new beginning to dive into. Who said Bruce didn’t like big families, anyway?
“See, this is why we do the job,” Hal Jordan, sleazed into the couch while aggressively fiddling with his controller, remarked as he finalised his match with a victorious ‘K-O!’ Still suited in his Green Lantern attire, it must’ve been a rather bizarre sight seeing one of the world’s protectors puffed out over a video game. Flash, A.K.A. Barry Allen, was seated on the floor, demanding a rematch with an exasperated whine.
“To beat me? Am I slow to not connect the dots?” Barry huffed, tossing his head back and slightly smirking at his pun. Hal smacked his head, rolling his eyes as if it were obvious. Flash was no master detective, he was no Batman.
“Peace, man. We do it for peace,” he answered as his head briefly turned at the distant sound of heels clacking down the corridor into the main area, “Peace is what lets us be normal people for a change.”
Diana and Clark entered at the exact moment Barry responded with a headache inducing list of high speed responses. Only mushes of the words ‘humanity,‘ ‘lives,’ and ‘tacos’ were able to be deciphered. Clark looked a bit more exhausted than usual, but Flash and GL decided against questioning Supes’ dragging eye bags. Diana, contrarily, was looking as polished as ever, still wearing her lintless business suit and striding in with her casual confidence.
“Why me, Diana?” they heard Clark drowsily mumble as he swung his head low, “out of all journalists.”
“One of the best journalists,” Diana reassured. They continued to the kitchen behind the couch, where Clark opened the fridge. As he ducked his head into the frosted shelves, searching for any substances that didn’t have the words ‘carbonated’ or ‘canned,’ he eventually grabbed a plastic box. It was clearly labelled Batman, but maybe Superman was feeling ballsy today.
“Lois is free,” he threw his hands up, “Lois is the best,” Clark said through muffled bites. What the hell was Batman doing with such delicious snickerdoodles? Quickly, he devoured two more, and snapped the lid close.
“I doubt Lois would want to spend her time writing about Gotham’s latest gossip,” Diana promptly stated, quirking an eyebrow and crossing her arms. Even if Lois was the one assigned, Clark would still be a bit upset, he didn’t want her to miss the special day.
“Then what makes them think I would?”
Accepting her friend’s utter annoyance, Diana shrugged and strided to the seat next to Hal, who had been shamefully eavesdropping with Barry. Succumbing to his persistent hunger, he took the cookie box once more and grabbed another decadently golden snickerdoodle and bit it with a crunch. His anger was quickly subdued as the sugary goodness coated his tongue.
“Bruce Wayne, playboy, billionaire, and complete idiot,” Clark whispered to himself, but loud enough for Diana to hear. Now, usually Clark wouldn’t be so obviously irritated and borderline angry concerning a story for the Daily Planet, even if it did delve into the realm of hot gossip. Or the even more elusive enemy realm, Gotham.
Hell, he wasn’t even one to judge someone so publicly recognised (and ridiculed) as Bruce Wayne. He of all people understood how the media can skew and manipulate a person’s image, and despite Wayne’s…gregarious lifestyle…Clark much admired his efforts in charity and contributions to Gotham City. But this pointless investigation would be interrupting a months planned in advance, boldly circled in red sharpie on his calendar, celebration of Ma Kent’s birthday! Bruce Wayne was not worth missing Ma Kent’s birthday.
However, after threats of unemployment and Wayne refusing to interview any other day, there Clark was. Sulking, eating shockingly decadent snickerdoodle cookies and whining to the Princess of Themyscira. Besides, to Perry White, Brucie Wayne trumps Ma Kent.
“You’ve never met the man, Clark.”
“But I know what he does, he strips mid party and swings on chandeliers,” he drawled boredly, “there’s a billion articles on that topic.”
“Second thing is his son, Dick Grayson,” Flash corrected, shutting up nearly as fast as he interrupted. He gulped, feeling a cold glare pierce his already sweating face.
“What? Gotham goss is intriguing, can you blame me?” he squeaked.
Clark groaned, totally unlike him, but a tired Superman was not something they were equipped to handle. They let him be as he slugged away, but the wafting smell of cookies told Barry that he might’ve forgotten something. As the automatic door slid close, Barry appeared next to the box of cookies instantaneously with Diana and Hal closely eyeing him. He smirked, cookie in hand and entering his gaping mouth. About a half a dozen had already made it to his stomach once a silent presence made itself known.
“My cookies.”
Pin drop silence, followed by the most incoherent babble spewing out of the jittering Flash made the scene utterly hilarious when watched from the surveillance cameras (who knows who’s watching?). Batman, in all his brooding glory, stood tall scanning the room, eyes moving from Diana and Hal seated on the couch vibrating with repressed laughter, and a shaken Barry Allen with cookies in hand. Crumbs still peppering his stuffed cheeks, the bitten golden snickerdoodle just about to re enter his mouth; this was hilarious, even to Batman.
But also entirely inconvenient.
Alfred made his beloved snickerdoodles for Bruce when he had specifically requested them after a month-long JL mission followed by some wedding organising in Cabo (which made Bruce believe a destination wedding was a definite no-no for undisclosed reasons). He had missed his cooking, especially those gosh darn cookies. He stored them in the JL fridge, just for safekeeping as he finished his mission reports and other business, so he could enjoy the whole box after his work.
Now, all that was left was the fallen pieces littering the empty container. Thanks a lot, Barry.
Not entirely listening to Barry’s irrelevant explanation of the stolen cookies, Bruce simply grabbed the cookie from his hand. Then he promptly took a bite. A big one.
“Good, right?” he said, his lips thin and flat, but voice spiked with subtle amusement. Barry was dumbstruck. Bruce glided away while finishing the rest of the cookie.
Flash bumbled once more after shaking off the shock as Batman disappeared. Even Hal and Diana were jaw strung from the couch, and none of them chose to address what had just happened. They simply pressed their eyes back into their sockets and turned on the television, Barry still frozen from embarrassment.
“We should have these cookies at the wedding,” Bruce mumbled to himself as he strolled through the empty Watchtower corridors. Alfred’s cookies really were gosh darn good.