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Rain drummed against the windows of the elegant mansion on the outskirts of Gotham, but inside reigned a peace that Damian Wayne had learned to value more than anything else.
He was sitting in his study, looking through reports, when a sudden, heavy thud at the front door interrupted the silence.
Damian furrowed his brows. Raven had gone out with the children to the park and for some small shopping, and he wasn't expecting anyone.
He grabbed a dagger hidden under the desk and approached the door. When he opened it, Jason Todd nearly fell inside.
He was in full Red Hood gear, but his armor was shattered, and his side was drenched in blood.
— Hey, demon...
Jason croaked, leaning against the doorframe.
— I was in the area... bad action. Thought you'd let me not bleed out on your rug.
Damian sighed heavily, rolling his eyes, though inside he felt a prick of anxiety.
— Todd. Incompetent as usual.
He growled, but caught him by the arm and pulled him inside.
— You're lucky that no one... that I'm alone.
Damian threw Jason onto the leather sofa in the living room. The room was furnished minimally, but with class. Jason, despite the pain, looked around dazed.
— I didn't know you could afford such taste, kid. Where's the gold and portraits of ancestors?
He joked, hissing as Damian cut open his suit to get to the gunshot wound.
— Sit still before I decide that you should lose that kidney after all.
Damian snapped back, efficiently cleaning the wound.
— This is a home, not a museum. Bruce doesn't know about it and it's to stay that way. This is my private space.
— Sure, sure. The Great Grumbler's hermitage.
Jason muttered, closing his eyes as Damian applied the stitches.
Just then, they heard the sound of a key in the lock and a joyful squeal.
— Daddy! Daddy, look what we have!
Jason stiffened on the sofa, and for a split second, Damian froze with the needle in his hand.
Two three-year-olds ran into the living room.
The boy had dark, slightly curly hair and an intense gaze that Jason would recognize anywhere.
The girl, with a slightly paler complexion, had in her the same peace and dignity as her father.
— Alfred, Talia, I told you not to run through the hallway.
A low, melodic voice spoke. Raven stood in the doorway. She was wearing a plain purple sweater and holding a bag of groceries in her hands.
She stopped, seeing a bloody Jason on the sofa and Damian with a needle in his hand.
— Do we have a guest?
She asked calmly, though her eyes flashed purple, assessing Jason's condition.
Jason Todd looked as if he had just seen a ghost, Batman in a pink tutu, and the end of the world all at once.
— D-daddy?
He choked out, looking at little Alfred, who had just climbed onto the sofa and was curiously touching the Red Hood mask lying nearby.
— Damian? Are you... are these...?
— Alfred, move away from your uncle, he's dirty.
Damian said in a tone that brooked no argument, but was strangely soft. He looked at Jason with a murderous gaze.
— Todd, meet my wife, Rachel. And my children. If you squeal about this to anyone in the family, I will personally see to it that you never walk again.
— You have a wife?! And children?!
Jason yelled, forgetting the pain in his side.
— You named your son Alfred? And your daughter Talia?! Damian, you have three-year-old children, and we thought you were sitting here alone reading old scrolls!
Talia approached Jason and held out her hand, in which she held a small, plush duck.
— Does the gentleman have a boo-boo?
She asked in a quiet voice. Jason felt his brain overheating.
He looked at Raven, who smiled slightly and with a wave of her hand made the groceries fly into the kitchen by themselves.
— Damian wanted to tell you... someday.
Raven said, stepping closer to pat her daughter on the head.
— But apparently, fate beat him to it.
An hour later, Jason was already patched up, sitting with a cup of tea that Raven had given him, while little Alfred tried to explain to him the rules of how his toy Bat-cave worked. Damian stood by the window with his arms crossed, looking like the most irritated man in the world.
— Bruce will have a heart attack
Jason suddenly laughed.
— Imagine Dick. He'll go crazy. He'll want to be their favorite uncle. He'll be sitting here every day.
Damian gritted his teeth.
— That's exactly why no one knew. I wanted them to have a normal childhood. Away from your drama and eternal missions.
— They're Waynes, Damian. And Raven's children
Jason noted, glancing at Talia, who had just made her doll start to levitate.
— Normalcy was never meant for them.
Jason pulled out his phone. In a fraction of a second, Damian was beside him, pressing a knife to his throat.
— Don't even try, Todd.
— Give it a rest, I at least have to send Bruce a message: "I'm at Damian's. We're doing well, but we need a bigger dining table"
Jason grinned. Jason raised his hands in a high gesture of surrender, looking straight at the blade of Damian's knife, and then at little Alfred, who was watching him with a seriousness worthy of a supreme judge.
— Okay, demon, put that hardware away
Jason muttered, and his voice softened.
— I promise. Word of honor of an outcast son. I won't breathe a word to Bruce, Dick, Tim... not even Cassandra, though she'd probably sense I was lying anyway if I tried.
Your secret is safe with me. At least until little Alfred learns to throw Batarangs in my direction.
Damian slowly lowered the weapon, though he still measured his brother with a distrustful gaze.
The evening passed in an atmosphere Jason would never have expected in Damian's house.
Raven prepared a simple, home-cooked dinner, and the smell of roasted vegetables and herbs filled the living room. Jason watched the children fascinated.
Little Alfred was strikingly similar to his father, he had the same confidence and analytical gaze. He sat at the table upright, moving a piece of carrot across the plate as if he were planning a siege strategy.
— Uncle Jason, why do you have scars on your neck?
The boy suddenly asked, not taking his eyes off the meal.
— Alfred!
Damian rebuked him, but Jason only laughed.
— Because I didn't always listen to your dad, kid. It's a lesson to be faster than trouble.
Talia, on the other hand, was a shadow. She sat close to her mother, rarely speaking, but Jason felt her gaze on him.
Her eyes, dark and deep, seemed to see not only his wound, but everything he was hiding under the tough-guy mask.
When Jason wanted to reach for the salt, the salt shaker suddenly gently "flowed" through the air and landed right in front of his hand, surrounded by a barely visible, purple aura.
Talia blinked at him knowingly, and then hid her face in Raven's arm.
— She sees more than you think.
Raven whispered with a slight smile.
— And she is learning to control the heritage I passed on to her.
After dinner, to Damian's great surprise, Jason stood up and began to collect the plates.
— Let me help. After all, you saved my butt and fed me. It's the least I can do.
As they stood at the sink, Damian finally relaxed.
— Alfred visits us.
He admitted in a whisper.
— Once a week. He calls every day to check if the children ate breakfast. I think it's the only reason he hasn't gone crazy yet, living in the manor with my father.
— Old Pennyworth can hold his tongue better than any of us.
Jason admitted, wiping a plate.
— Hang in there, Damian. You have something here... something none of us ever won.
Five months later.
The secret lasted surprisingly long.
Jason became a regular guest, dropping by with toys (which Damian scrupulously checked for bugs) and became the kids' favorite playmate.
However, Bruce Wayne didn't become the world's best detective by accident.
He noticed that Jason, usually avoiding contact, suddenly became extremely punctual, was wounded less often and, most strangely, often disappeared in the same quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of the city.
He also noticed that every Tuesday, Alfred packs homemade cookies into a bag and disappears for the whole afternoon, humming under his breath with a strange, mysterious smile.
One rainy afternoon, Bruce, dressed in civilian, dark clothes, parked a few blocks away and followed Jason's trail.
He saw his second son enter an elegant house hidden behind a high hedge. Bruce approached the living room window, hidden in the shadow of the terrace.
What he saw made his heart stop for a moment.
Inside, Jason and Damian were talking about something, and on Damian's face was a peace Bruce had never seen on him before.
A woman of exotic beauty and short, purple hair came out of the kitchen, carrying a plate of snacks.
Bruce remembered her, Raven.
A member of the Titans. A girl he once considered a talented ally when he sent Damian there to learn cooperation.
Suddenly Jason knelt on the carpet, setting his Red Hood helmet aside.
Two children ran out from another room. A little boy, a faithful copy of Damian from his childhood, whom he had only seen in a few photos from Talia, immediately threw himself around Jason's neck, and a girl with dark, sharp eyes climbed onto his lap, trustingly leaning her head against his shoulder.
Jason embraced them both with such naturalness and tenderness as if he had been doing it for years. Bruce leaned against the wall of the house, breathing heavily.
These children... their age, their appearance, Raven's presence.
The math was relentless.
Damian had a family.
Damian had children.
And He was a grandfather.
The shock was so strong that Bruce felt for a moment as if all the air had escaped him.
Damian, his youngest son, had built a world of his own in total secrecy from him.
He felt a wave of pride, but also of terrible, choking pain that he had not been invited into this world.
That Jason knew.
That Alfred knew, judging by his Tuesday trips with sweets.
And he stood outside, in the rain, looking through the glass at something that should have been part of his life. He couldn't wait any longer.
He walked away from the window, went around the house and stood before the front door. He hesitated for a moment, adjusting his coat, and then pressed the doorbell.
His finger trembled.
A sudden silence fell inside. Damian's steps were heavy and fast, one could hear a readiness for battle in them. When the door opened, Damian stood face to face with his father. His eyes immediately turned icy, and his whole posture shifted into a defensive one.
— Father.
Damian spat out, blocking the passage with his own body. Bruce looked him straight in the eyes, and then moved his gaze to Jason, who was standing in the depths of the hallway, still holding two children in his arms, who were now curiously peeking out from behind his shoulders.
— Damian... — Bruce began, and his voice was low and unnaturally hoarse.
— I think the time has come for you to stop standing in the doorway and introduce me to your family.
Damian stood in the doorway like a statue, his hand clenching the handle so hard that his knuckles turned white. For a fraction of a second, Bruce saw in his eyes a pure, instinctive urge to slam the door, but ultimately the younger Wayne stepped back, letting his father inside. A thick atmosphere of uncertainty drifted into the hallway along with a cold draft of rain.
When Bruce entered the living room, Jason instinctively adjusted his grip on the children as if he wanted to shield them.
He looked extremely embarrassed; his face took on that characteristic "caught again" expression that Bruce had known for years.
— Did you tail me, Bruce? Seriously?
Jason muttered, trying to sound casual, though his voice betrayed nervousness.
— Do you really have nothing better to do in this city anymore?
Bruce didn't answer. His gaze was fixed on the two children.
Little Alfred, who inherited the same proud jawline and dark, thick hair from Damian, broke free from Jason's embrace.
He stepped forward, looking at Bruce with childish fascination.
Although he was curious, his small hands clenched into fists, he was subconsciously copying his father's combat stance, sensing the tension hanging in the air.
From behind Jason's leg, little Talia peeked out.
Bruce felt a shiver run down his spine.
The girl was strikingly similar to Raven, she had the same pale complexion and black hair, which shimmered with deep purple in the light of the chandelier.
However, it was her eyes that made Bruce freeze.
They were dark purple, like her mother's, but when she blinked, he saw a flash of intense green in them — exactly the same as he saw in the mirror on Damian.
Talia didn't move. She watched Bruce in silence, and her gaze was unnaturally mature, full of distrust, as if she were weighing his every breath.
— Well, a dragon's entrance, as usual
Raven spoke up, approaching her husband and placing her hand on his shoulder to slightly calm his bubbling emotions. Bruce looked at her.
She was no longer the teenager from the Titans he remembered.
A peace and powerful, grounded energy radiated from her.
To his surprise, Raven chuckled softly under her breath, which completely broke the tomb-like mood.
— I knew it would be like this.
She said with amusement, looking at Damian.
— I told you your father would figure it out sooner or later on his own. You Waynes are obsessed with secrets, but you solve them just as quickly.
Damian huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, but his wife's touch clearly softened him. He cleared his throat, straightening up.
— Since you're already here, father... and since you've apparently violated my privacy
Damian began with a hint of his old brusqueness, though a hidden pride resonated in his voice.
— This is my wife, Rachel. But you already know that.
He pointed to the boy, who had already come quite close to Bruce, tilting his head high.
— This is Alfred. My son and heir.
Bruce felt his throat tighten at the sound of that name.
He looked at his grandson, and then at Damian, understanding what a great tribute it was to name a child after their faithful butler.
— And this...
Damian pointed to the girl, who was still staying close to Jason
— ...is Talia.
Bruce felt a sting of pain and nostalgia. Naming his daughter after the mother with whom Damian had such a complicated relationship was a bold and meaningful move.
Little Talia, hearing her name, did not smile. She only narrowed her eyes, analyzing every detail of Bruce's outfit, as if she were looking for a hidden weapon under his coat.
— Alfred, Talia.
Damian said, and the children immediately focused their attention on him.
— This is Bruce Wayne. Your... grandfather.
The word "grandfather" hung in the air, sounding almost unreal to Bruce.
For years he had thought of legacy in terms of battle and the mask, and now before him stood living proof that his son had found something far more precious.
Bruce slowly knelt to level his gaze with the children.
Alfred took one more step forward, reaching out a hand to touch a button on Bruce's coat.
— You have the same watch as great-grandfather Alfred. the boy noted in a sharp voice.
— Only yours is newer. Bruce smiled faintly, feeling the last of the tension leave him.
— Yes, Alfred. It's a gift from him.
Bruce remained in silence, kneeling on the carpet.
He didn't try to impose his presence; as Batman, he knew that sudden movements only startle, but as a father and grandfather, he felt he had to ask for silent consent.
He looked first at Damian, who after a short hesitation gave a barely noticeable nod, and then he moved his gaze to the children.
Alfred was easier.
The boy, encouraged by Bruce's warm tone, began to talk about his plastic dinosaurs, which according to him required "tactical deployment."
However, Talia was a challenge.
She stood motionless, and her purple eyes with the green flash seemed to x-ray Bruce's soul.
When he tried to reach out a hand to pat her on the shoulder, the girl took half a step back, and a thin wisp of dark energy swirled around her fingers.
Bruce didn't pull his hand back.
Instead, he slowly pulled a small, silver bat-shaped keychain from his pocket — a souvenir from the Batmobile keys. He placed it on his open palm.
— This isn't a toy for everyone.
Bruce whispered, looking Talia straight in the eyes.
— But I've heard that very special people live in this house.
Talia watched the object for a long time. Finally, almost noiselessly, she approached and touched the metal with her fingertips.
The distrust in her gaze didn't disappear completely, but the purple glow around her hand faded.
It was a pact.
A small victory that allowed Bruce to stand up and breathe.
When the children grew busy looking at the keychain under Damian's watchful eye, Bruce straightened up, and his face immediately hardened.
He turned toward Jason, who was leaning against the wall with the expression of a convict.
— Five months, Jason?
Bruce's voice was low, vibrating with suppressed anger.
— You knew about this for five months and didn't think it appropriate to inform me?
Jason straightened up suddenly, throwing his hands up. —
And what was I supposed to do, Bruce? Call and say: "Hey, old man, remember that kid you sent to the Titans? Well, he has two mini-assassins now and a wife who can transport you to another dimension if you look at her wrong"?
Jason snorted, taking a step toward Bruce.
— Damian asked me for silence. I showed up here wounded, he patched me up, and I gave him my word. Do you know what that means? It's that concept you only use when it's convenient for you!
— It's my family!
Bruce growled, and the living room suddenly became very cold.
The argument began to escalate. Voices became louder and louder, and the atmosphere resembled that of the Bat-cave after a failed mission.
Little Alfred and Talia immediately sensed the change.
Although Bruce and Jason stood in the center of the room, the children as if on command retreated to Damian.
Alfred grabbed his father's pant leg, and Talia squeezed under his arm, looking at the arguing adults with growing fear.
Damian embraced the children, and his gaze became murderous.
— Enough!
He barked, silencing both men.
— You will not bring your grudges into my home.
Raven, who until now had been watching everything from the side, stepped between them with superhuman calm.
Her face was gentle, but power radiated from her that could not be ignored.
— I think we all need a moment of breath.
She said quietly, placing a hand on Bruce's chest and directing the other toward Jason.
— Bruce, Jason... stop. This is not a battlefield. This is a living room where in a moment I will serve tea and cookies that Alfred Pennyworth prepared so carefully.
Bruce looked at her surprised.
— You knew about Alfred too?
Raven smiled and chuckled lightly.
— He's here almost every week. He's the one who taught me how to bake these cookies, because Damian claimed mine were "too magical" in taste. Please, sit down.
The children are afraid of you, and that's the last thing you want, Bruce, right?
Bruce looked down. Alfred and Talia were looking at him from behind Damian's back like at a dangerous stranger, not at a grandfather.
This hit him harder than any blow from a villain. He lowered his shoulders, slowly letting out air.
— I'm sorry. He muttered, though the word passed his throat with difficulty.
— Raven is right. Tea... tea sounds good.
The living room, which just a moment ago was bustling with joyful chaos, was now filled with a heavy, stifling silence.
Although Bruce sat in the designated spot, the damage had already been done.
His raised voice, that specific Batman tone that brooks no opposition, acted on the children like a cold shower.
Talia, seeing the flash of anger in the stranger's eyes, narrowed her purple eyes. She wasn't crying – the blood of the al Ghuls and the Waynes flowed in her veins – but her hand once again glowed with a faint, warning light.
She grabbed Alfred by the sleeve of his sweater.
Little Alfred, though braver and ready to defend the territory, looked at his sister and saw a clear signal in her gaze:
"Evacuation. He is dangerous."
Without a word, with a dignity worthy of small aristocrats, the children retreated from the living room.
Talia led, casting a final, sharp look at Bruce over her shoulder before they disappeared into the depths of the hallway.
Damian followed them with his eyes, making no move to stop them.
He knew that in her room, Talia was already calling a "war council" to analyze the psychological profile of the "Aggressive Grandpa," and Alfred would listen to her instructions with the utmost attention.
Raven placed a ceramic teapot on the table, and Damian brought a tray of cookies – the same ones whose recipe he had been perfecting with Alfred Pennyworth during the older gentleman's secret visits.
He sat next to his wife, across from Bruce, while Jason settled a bit to the side, still casting defiant looks at his father.
— They're afraid of me...
Bruce stated. His voice trembled, which for a man of his composure was equal to a cry of despair.
— Because you acted like Batman, not like a grandfather.
Damian replied coldly, pouring tea.
— Batman doesn't exist in this house, father. Only we are here.
Bruce clenched his hands on the hot mug. —
Why, Damian? The wedding, the children... you hid it for years. Do you really distrust me that much? Did you think I wouldn't want to be part of their lives?
Damian set down the pot and looked his father straight in the eyes.
— This isn't about trust, but about safety. Look at my life. Look at the life of Jason, Dick, or Tim. We were all pulled into your war before we could properly hold a fork.
Talia and Alfred... they have a right to mornings where the biggest problem is whether the doll is levitating too high, not whether the Joker escaped from Arkham.
— I could have helped protect them.
Bruce countered, and his stubbornness began to take over.
— The Manor is the safest place in Gotham...
— The Manor is a magnet for madmen!
Damian interrupted him, and Raven placed a hand on his shoulder to cool the emotions.
— I wanted them to know you, Bruce Wayne, not a symbol. But I knew that as soon as you found out, you would start training them.
You would start planning their future in a mask. And I won't allow that.
Jason snorted under his breath, sipping tea.
— He's right, Bruce. Admit it, in your head you're already arranging a training schedule for little Alfred.
Bruce was silent, because deep down he knew Jason was right. The first thing he thought of, seeing the boy's sharpness, was his physical fitness.
Meanwhile, in the children's room, an atmosphere full of seriousness prevailed.
Talia sat in the middle of the carpet, crossing her legs exactly like her mother during meditation.
Alfred sat across from her, holding a plastic dinosaur in his hands.
— He is big and loud.
Alfred whispered.
— But he has a cool watch. Do you think he's bad?
Talia shook her head, and her black hair with the purple shimmer waved.
— He's not bad like the monsters from mother's fairy tales.
Little Talia assessed, narrowing her eyes.
— But he is... difficult.
He wants to rule.
I saw how he looks at daddy. He thinks everything belongs to him.
— So what do we do?
The boy asked, trusting his sister's intuition.
— We observe.
The girl decided.
— If he yells at uncle Jason again, I'll use magic to untie his shoelaces.
And you... you have to check if he has more of those silver bats in his pockets.
We need to know what we're dealing with.
Alfred nodded with full conviction. For him, it was a mission. For Talia – the defense of their small, perfect world.
Bruce took a deep breath, looking at the steaming mug of tea.
He felt more vulnerable than ever in a confrontation with the Joker.
He looked at Damian, then at Raven, and finally at Jason, who maliciously raised an eyebrow, savoring every second of Batman's humiliation.
— Damian, Rachel...
Bruce began, and his voice was now quiet and humble.
— I'm sorry. I had no right to come in here with grievances. My reaction... was inadequate. I would simply like to get a chance. Not as your commander, but as a grandfather.
I promise I won't try to take control.
Damian exchanged a long look with his wife. Raven sensed in Bruce authentic regret and longing, so she nodded slightly.
— Very well, father.
Damian said sternly.
— You may visit here. But it's the children who will decide if they accept you. And I'm warning you: Talia doesn't forget grudges as quickly as I do.
Just then, the two siblings emerged from the hallway.
They walked side by side, full of seriousness.
Alfred, according to his sister's plan, took the role of the "good cop," while Talia remained in the shadows, serving as an analyst and protection.
Alfred went straight up to Bruce.
In his hands, he held his favorite Tyrannosaurus.
— Do you want to play?
He asked, narrowing his eyes as if he were assessing whether Bruce could even make a dinosaur roar. Bruce, desperately wanting to fix his mistake, immediately got involved.
— I'd love to, Alfred. Is this Tyrannosaurus planning an attack on a herd of Triceratops?
He asked, trying to sound like a "cool grandpa."
While Bruce explained how to carry out a flanking maneuver with plastic figurines, Alfred suddenly moved closer and put his arms around his neck in a hearty embrace.
Bruce froze, and a look of pure emotion appeared on his face.
He didn't notice, however, that the boy's small, deft fingers were at the same time professionally "feeling" the sides of his blazer and his pants pockets, checking if grandpa was hiding any tear gas or batarangs there.
Talia, meanwhile, slowly approached the table. She took a cookie, bit off a piece, and stood between Damian and Jason, not taking her eyes off Bruce.
— Daddy?
she whispered, and her voice was unusually calm.
— Is the "Aggressive Grandpa" worthy of trust? Is he dangerous to our home?
Jason had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from bursting into laughter at the sound of Bruce's new nickname.
Damian, however, leaned over his daughter and answered honestly:
— He is difficult, Talia. He often thinks he knows best and can be too loud. But he wouldn't hurt you. He's... part of our pack, even if he's been isolated from it for a long time.
Talia looked at Jason.
— Uncle? Did he shoot you?
She asked, remembering Jason's stories about "difficult relationships."
— Not today, kid.
Jason replied with a smile, though a shadow of old memories could be seen in his eyes.
— He's stubborn as a mule, but deep down he's just an old man who doesn't know how to ask for love. But watch him, he has the eye of a detective.
Talia nodded her head, analyzing the data.
She saw how Alfred was just pulling Bruce under the table to "hide from a meteorite." Bruce, a billionaire and the terror of criminals, was crawling on all fours across the carpet, completely unaware that his own grandson had just located his phone and pocket knife, and then discreetly showed his sister the "clear" sign.
— He's weird.
Talia summarized, taking another bite of the cookie.
— But if Alfred is watching him, he can stay for tea.
Raven smiled at Damian. Bruce was so busy trying to be a grandfather that he completely failed to notice he had just been dismantled by a pair of three-year-olds better than by the Justice League.
The sight was truly unusual.
Bruce Wayne, a man who struck terror in the darkest corners of Gotham, was now kneeling on a fluffy carpet, trying to give his low, gravelly voice the sound of... a terrified Triceratops.
— Raaar? Is that how I do it, Alfred?
Bruce asked, looking hopefully at his grandson.
— No, grandpa. Triceratops go "moo-moo" because they're sad that a dragon is chasing them.
The boy corrected him with a stone face, crossing his small arms over his chest in a gesture that perfectly copied Damian.
— You have to try harder. And crawl faster, because the dragon will catch you!
At the table, an atmosphere of joyful sadism prevailed.
Damian slowly sipped his tea, and the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously upward.
Raven leaned her chin on her hand, sending Damian images of pure amusement through their psychic bond.
Jason, on the other hand, barely held back from a loud burst of laughter, biting into a cookie so hard that he nearly choked.
— Look at him.
Jason whispered, leaning toward Damian.
— The world's best detective just got a reprimand from a three-year-old for bad dinosaur dubbing. This is worth every minute of silence over these five months.
— Silence, Todd
Damian muttered, though satisfaction shone in his eyes.
— Don't interrupt him. Alfred is currently testing his psychological stamina. It's a key element of the selection.
Talia didn't join the play, even though Bruce twice tried to make eye contact with her and encourage her with a gesture to join in "saving" the figurines.
The girl sat stiffly between daddy and uncle Jason, looking like a little judge passing a sentence. Her purple eyes followed Bruce's every move, from the way he placed his hands on the floor to the micro-movements of his eyebrows when Alfred told him to pretend he was eating plastic grass.
— He has sad eyes, daddy.
Talia whispered, not taking her eyes off grandpa.
— But his smile is real. Just a bit rusty.
— That's because he rarely uses it, honey.
Raven replied quietly, stroking her daughter's hair.
— But for you, he's trying to clean it up.
Talia nodded her head, recording it in her memory. She was still not convinced.
The fact that "Aggressive Grandpa" could crawl was a plus in her register, but she was still analyzing whether his presence would not disrupt the peace of their home.
Alfred decided to move to the final phase of the test.
— Grandpa, now the dragon has imprisoned the princess in the castle under the table. You have to go in there and you can't hit your head because the dragon will hear!
The little one commanded, pointing to the tight space under the oak tabletop.
Bruce, without blinking an eye, began to crawl under the table, almost catching his shoulders on the legs of the chairs on which the adults sat.
Jason couldn't hold back and lightly kicked a table leg when Bruce was halfway through.
— Oops, earthquake, grandpa!
Jason called out in a malicious voice. Bruce looked out from under the tablecloth, casting Jason a look that would normally mean a week in solitary confinement, but seeing the joyful face of little Alfred, who was clapping his hands, he only sighed and continued the mission.
Damian exchanged a look with Raven. They knew the kids had completely taken control of the situation.
Bruce was so hungry for acceptance that he failed to notice how much he was being manipulated.
Alfred was still "accidentally" bumping into him, checking the hardness of his muscles and looking for hidden equipment, while Talia on the side assessed whether he could remain calm under pressure.
Batman was pinned to the mat.
Not by a villain, but by tea, cookies, and a pair of toddlers who were just deciding whether to let him stay for dinner.
A silence so sudden and thick fell over the living room that only the rhythmic drumming of rain against the windowpanes could be heard.
Bruce, still trapped in a humiliating position under the heavy oak table, froze. In his hand, he clutched a plastic dragon, and his blazer was wrinkled from crawling on the carpet.
Little Alfred suddenly straightened up. His face, until then full of childish excitement, hardened in a fraction of a second, taking on an expression of cold, analytical seriousness that Bruce knew all too well from Damian's face.
The boy looked at his sister and, with a slow, almost ceremonial movement, bowed his head.
That was the signal.
The operational phase had come to an end. Time for the verdict.
Talia took a step forward.
Her black hair, shimmering with a purple glow, seemed to ripple from an excess of energy, and in her eyes flashed a green so intense that Bruce felt as if he were looking straight into the pits of Ra's al Ghul.
The girl put her small hands behind her back, straightening up proudly.
— "Aggressive Grandpa"
She began, and her voice, though childish, carried echoes of Raven's power and Damian's dignity.
— I have been observing you. I saw your anger,
I heard your voice, which tried to dominate this house.
I saw how Uncle Jason cowered within himself, though he pretended to be strong.
Bruce felt the blood drain from his face. He slowly began to crawl out, but he did not stand up. He knelt before her, struck by the power of her perceptiveness.
— My brother tested you.
Talia continued, pointing to Alfred, who now stood by her side like a faithful guardsman.
— You allowed yourself to be touched, you allowed yourself to be disarmed, even though you thought it was just hugs.
You showed that you can put your pride in your pocket and go under the table just to please us.
This proves that something good glimmers in your heart, but it is not enough.
She took one more step, leaning over him. Around her small fingers, a dark, purple mist swirled.
— You have my conditional permission to continue staying in this space. But listen carefully, because I will not repeat myself.
This house is a sanctuary.
If you raise your voice at my father one more time, if you try to impose your will on us or act too aggressively toward any member of this family...
you will be removed.
My mother will open a portal, and I will see to it that you never find your way back.
Have I made myself sufficiently clear, grandpa?
For fractions of a second, Bruce stared at her with his mouth wide open.
He was Batman.
He had interrogated gods, stood toe-to-toe with Darkseid, survived Joker's tortures.
And yet, it was this three-year-old girl who made him feel authentic respect laced with fear.
A sudden, spasmodic sound tore through the silence. It was Jason Todd, who couldn't take it anymore.
He slumped from his chair to the floor, howling with laughter and pounding his fist against the rug.
— "YOU WILL BE REMOVED"!
Jason roared, trying to catch his breath.
— Bruce, she just read you your Miranda rights! Oh my God, Damian, she is more terrifying than you and your grandfather put together!
Damian did not try to silence Jason. He himself sat at the table, hiding his face in his hands, but his shoulders shook violently.
From under his fingers came a quiet, throaty chuckle that quickly turned into a rare for Damian, sincere laugh.
Raven, meanwhile, looked at her daughter with undisguised pride, snorting with laughter into the hem of her purple sweater.
Bruce slowly rose from his knees. His detective mind, until now clouded by emotions, suddenly began to piece the facts together.
He looked at Alfred, who with an innocent smile pulled a small GPS transmitter from his pocket, the one Bruce had hidden in the lining of his blazer.
Alfred must have swiped it during that "affectionate" hug.
— You... you knew from the beginning.
Bruce choked out, looking at his grandchildren with a mixture of terror and deep admiration.
— This wasn't a game of dinosaurs. It was an operational test. You were checking my patience, my reaction to stress, and my equipment.
Alfred nodded with full seriousness.
— You have very weak security in your left pocket, grandpa. You need to work on that.
Bruce leaned against the table, feeling his head spin. He had been completely played.
By three-year-old children.
In their own living room. Under the eye of his son, who clearly knew exactly what was going on.
— Damian...
Bruce looked at his son, searching for any support, but found only amusement.
— I warned you, father.
Damian said, wiping tears of joy from the corners of his eyes.
— Talia is not a child who can be bought with trinkets.
She analyzes threats. And you, walking in here with your Bat-pout, were threat number one.
Congratulations... you passed the first round.
Talia approached Bruce and gently patted him on the knee with her small hand, which in her body language was the highest expression of grace.
— You can eat a cookie, grandpa. You earned it. But remember: the dragon's eyes never sleep.
Bruce took a cookie from the plate, looking at it as if it were an encoded device.
He sat on the chair, feeling that this house was the best-guarded fortress in the world—not by defense systems, but by the love and intelligence of two toddlers who had just allowed him to be part of their lives.
Bruce sat at the table, stiff and completely baffled, holding a half-eaten cookie in his fingers.
As Batman, he knew how to escape a trap or lock himself in a vacuum chamber, but here—in his own family—he felt as if someone had tied his hands with an invisible rope.
Right next to him, on high chairs, Talia and Alfred were conducting a consultation that resembled a meeting of high command.
— Once a week is enough.
Talia stated, crossing her small arms on her chest.
— We must observe whether the "aggressive impulses" return. If he is good for a month, we can consider twice a week. But only under the supervision of Uncle Jason or Daddy.
— And he must bring more of those silver toys.
Alfred added, noting something with his finger on the tabletop as if filling out a form.
— And he must learn to pretend to be a dinosaur better. His roar is... not very convincing.
Bruce looked from one child to the other, then at Damian and Raven. He felt like he was a ghost in his own movie.
They were actually doing it.
Three-year-olds were deciding his visit schedule, using terminology that sounded dangerously familiar.
— What do you think about this, Rachel?
Damian asked, ignoring his father's shocked gaze.
— Once a week seems like a reasonable quarantine period for someone with such a temperament.
— I agree.
Raven replied with a barely perceptible smile, sipping her tea.
— We must care for the energy in this house.
Bruce brings a lot of... weight with him.
Gradual exposure will be best.
Jason was nearly choking with laughter, whispering comments about everything to Damian:
— Do you see his face? He's about to start analyzing the chemical composition of those cookies to check if you didn't give him truth serum.
Bruce, old man, accept it. You're on the "to-be-vetted" list.
Bruce couldn't take it anymore.
He set down the cookie and straightened up, adopting his most authoritarian pose, the one that made Commissioner Gordon instinctively adjust his tie.
— Listen...
Bruce began in a low, decisive tone.
— I appreciate your concern for the home, but I am your grandfather and the head of this family. I think we should discuss these terms in a more...
Talia sharply turned her head toward him. Her gaze was so cold and sharp that Bruce cut off mid-sentence.
— Aggressive Grandpa.
The little girl cut him off, slamming her small hand on the table.
— I did not grant you the right to speak just now.
You are sitting at the table on my terms.
We are currently analyzing your social utility.
Please continue eating your cookie in silence.
Bruce closed his mouth.
He literally felt his jaw drop.
He looked at Damian, expecting him to scold his daughter for the lack of respect, but Damian only raised an eyebrow and shrugged.
— I'm sorry, father. In this house, the hierarchy is clear.
Damian said with a hint of satisfaction he couldn't hide.
— And you are currently at the very bottom of it.
Talia manages security, and she does not like it when her decision-making process is interrupted.
Bruce looked at Jason. He just winked at him and pushed the plate of cookies toward him.
— Eat, Bruce. If you're good, maybe they'll let you stay for the bedtime story.
Batman, the man who always had a plan for every eventuality, sat in silence in a suburban living room, terrorized by a three-year-old version of his mother and son.
He watched little Alfred, who was currently confiscating his pen (probably for research purposes), and realized one thing:
He had been played. Completely. And worst of all—he began to suspect that these cookies actually tasted good to him.
Bruce felt the situation slipping out of his control in a way that none of his emergency protocols had predicted.
He sat stiffly, watching Alfred and Talia exchange final knowing glances.
Finally, the girl placed a cookie crumb on the saucer and looked at her small wristwatch.
— Time is up.
Talia announced, rising from her chair with grace worthy of a queen.
— Just a moment.
Bruce protested, trying one more time to regain even a shred of authority.
—Talia, Alfred... I wanted to tell you about how your dad, when he was little, tried to...
— Aggressive Grandpa!
Talia interrupted him, and that intense, purple glow flared in her eyes again.
— Your audience limit for this week has been exhausted.
The decision is final.
You must leave our cave.
Bruce wanted to stand up on his own to maintain some dignity, but he didn't have time.
Talia made a fluid movement with her hand, and streaks of dark, ethereal energy shot from her fingers.
Bruce suddenly felt himself lose his footing. His body, weighing nearly a hundred kilograms of pure muscle, rose into the air with the lightness of a feather.
— What... what are you doing?!
Bruce choked out, waving his hands helplessly in the air while levitating a few inches above the carpet.
Talia did not answer. With an expression of deep concentration on her face, she "guided" him through the air toward the hallway.
The front door, under the influence of her will, swung wide open with a bang, letting in the crisp, rainy air.
— Talia!
Damian called out, but in his voice there was no rebuke, only pure, unbridled pride.
— Remember your posture!
Jason at that moment literally slid under the table.
Only his spasmodic gasping for breath from an excess of laughter and his hand pounding against the furniture leg could be heard.
— Oh no! I don't believe it!
Batman is being carried out of the house like trash in a black bag!
Jason roared, wiping away tears.
— Damian, I beg you, tell me you're recording this with the security system! This is gold!
Bruce flew through the threshold, feeling completely humiliated when his feet finally touched the wet concrete of the porch.
He turned around sharply, wanting to say something, but Talia was already standing in the doorway, holding Alfred's hand.
— See you in a week, grandpa.
The little judge said.
— If you are quiet and don't yell at Uncle Jason, I will let you bring us fruit. Now go. It's raining, and we still have blocks to set up.
The door closed right in Bruce's face, and from behind it came one more massive burst of Jason's laughter and Damian's quiet, proud voice:
— Good job, daughter. Very precise gravity manipulation.
Bruce stood in the rain, looking at the closed door.
In his hand, he still held the silver bat keychain that Talia had given back to him at the last moment.
He walked toward his car, shaking his head in disbelief. He had been defeated. Driven out. Levitated.
He knew one thing, next time he would bring the most expensive fruit in all of Gotham. And he definitely wouldn't raise his voice.
Bruce drove into the Cave at a speed that suggested either a chase after the Joker or a desperate desire to escape his own thoughts.
The engine roared with an echo under the stone vault, and when the tires finally screeched on the smooth concrete, Batman did not get out immediately. He sat in the darkness of the cockpit, leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.
In his head, the image of little Talia lifting him up with a single flick of her wrist was still on a loop, along with the sound of Jason's mocking laughter, which probably still echoed off the walls of Damian's living room.
When he finally opened the cockpit and got out, Alfred Pennyworth was already waiting by the terminal.
The older man, impeccable as always, was wiping a silver tray, but Bruce immediately noticed that microscopic glint in his eye.
The glint of someone who knew everything before it even happened.
— Good evening, Master Bruce.
Alfred spoke, setting the tray aside.
— You look... remarkably earthy. Did the mission in the northern suburbs prove more demanding than you anticipated?
Bruce stopped mid-stride, taking off his soaked blazer. He wasn't in his Batman suit, which only intensified his sense of vulnerability.
— You knew, Alfred.
Bruce said in a low, accusatory tone.
— From the very beginning. The cookies, the weekly visits... How could you not tell me?
Alfred raised an eyebrow, maintaining a poker face, though the corner of his mouth twitched dangerously.
— Master Damian made himself very clear regarding his privacy. And I, unlike some, am capable of respecting the wishes of a father who only wants peace for his children. Besides...
The older gentleman smiled almost imperceptibly.
— Watching you figure it out for yourself was my little retirement entertainment.
Bruce slumped into the chair in front of the Bat-computer.
— She levitated me, Alfred. Talia threw me out the door using magic. And little Alfred stole my GPS transmitter and criticized my triceratops roar.
Alfred couldn't hold it back and let out a short, dry cough to hide a snort.
— Oh, Mistress Talia has always had a strong character. And Master Alfred is extremely meticulous when it comes to technical details. Quite like his grandfather, don't you think?
Bruce looked at the black monitor screens.
For years he had built this place as a control center, and now he felt like he controlled absolutely nothing.
— They banned me for a week.
Bruce muttered, rubbing his face with his hands.
— I'm on probation. If I raise my voice, "I will be removed." Jason nearly died of laughter.
— Master Jason has always had a weakness for good theater.
Alfred commented, pouring Bruce some tea.
— But I would advise you to take those conditions seriously.
Mistress Rachel and Master Damian raised those children with love, but also with great discipline.
If Mistress Talia deems you a destabilizing element, I fear even I will not be able to help you return to her good graces.
Bruce sighed, accepting the cup.
— The rest... Dick, Tim, Barbara... they don't know anything.
— And so it shall remain.
Alfred cut him off firmly.
—Master Damian is not ready for the enthusiasm of Master Dick, who would likely fly there with a supply of cotton candy and miniature Robin costumes within the hour.
It would destroy everything Damian has built. Can I count on your discretion, Master Bruce?
Bruce looked at the silver bat keychain he had placed on the console. He remembered the seriousness in the little girl's eyes and how proudly Damian stood by his wife's side.
— Yes, Alfred. For now, at least.
Bruce replied, and in his voice, for the first time that evening, a hint of warmth appeared.
— I just need to find out where in Gotham they sell the best organic berries. Talia mentioned something about fruit.
Alfred smiled broadly, seeing that the world's greatest detective had just received his most important assignment.
— I shall send a preference list to your phone, Master Bruce. And please practice that dinosaur roar. Master Alfred is a very demanding critic in that regard.
The End