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Chapter Text

It all started when Captain Marvel sent out a distress call. The thing is, Marvel was one of the Justice League's heavy hitters; usually, he has no problems taking out his villains and ensuring Fawcett City remains intact. Other than the one time he had called for backup while dealing with a particularly unpleasant partnership between Black Adam and Mr. Mind, Marvel could hold his own.

Which is why receiving the Captain's call worried the League in the first place.

Unfortunately, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and Martian Manhunter were all off-planet when the call came through. Aquaman was attending to one of his many duties as the King of the Seven Seas, and Superman had been busy as Clark Kent, covering the latest breaking news about his alter-ego's confrontation with the Light. The Flash had been occupied in his own city, partnering with Green Arrow in an attempt to once again wrangle the ever-persistent Captain Cold back into the cell he had managed to escape.

Which left Batman. 

While Batman was a reliable ally to have on your side in a fight, he never seemed to warm up to his teammates. Instead of joining any outings the League put together as team-building exercises, he ignored them, or enjoyed his own version of fun by fixing them with his trademark Bat-glare. He especially despised those with optimistic personalities—after all, he had built his Dark Knight persona out of doom and gloom, shadows hanging from his shoulders like the dark cape he wore.

Captain Marvel represented his polar opposite: The man was sunshine incarnate. He never failed to greet his colleagues with a blinding smile and an enthusiastic wave, and he was always happy to lend a sympathetic ear to those who needed it. What else should one expect from a man who's superhero catchphrase was literally "Do good, and good will follow"?

Needless to say, the two did not get along.

That’s why the team was more than a little worried when they realized Batman was the only available League member capable of responding to Marvel's situation. Within the five minutes, Bruce had already received two calls on his personal cell-phone from the two League members who knew his civilian identity—a warning from Diana and a pleading message from Clark—reminding him to be patient with the chipper Captain.

While he may not like the man, Batman had put grudges aside to deliver justice in the past, and he would continue to do so now. Reluctantly, he agreed to answer the call-to-arms, gearing up the Batplane and taking off in the direction of Fawcett.

As far as the League had heard been told, it had been another one of Dr. Sivana’s nefarious plots that had gotten slightly out of Marvel’s hands. He requested help in an attempt to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. With Batman’s help, the issue had been subdued quickly, with reports of a minor lightning storm towards the end of the fight. However, lightning storms seemed to be an increasingly common occurrence in Fawcett within the past year, so no one was concerned.

None of that explained the present situation: Captain Marvel and Batman were both acting weird. The League didn’t have other words to explain it. The Captain had—despite his good-natured personality and seemingly endless goodwill—always been notoriously weary of the Bat. That in itself wasn’t strange. Most of the League, barring Clark and Diana, tended to steer clear of the man; the Bat intimidated them all.

No, the weird part was that suddenly, inexplicably, Captain Marvel had begun seeking Batman out . And, if that wasn’t odd enough, Batman seemed to be okay with it.

Their new friendship left the team dumbfounded.

“Dude,” Barry whispered to Hal one day, a week after the change had occurred. The heroes had dispersed, and were now talking amongst themselves in small groups, commenting on everything from the latest training exercises to their personal lives. “What’s up with Spooky and Marvel?” he asked, gesturing discreetly at Captain Marvel, who was waving his hands animatedly as he engaged Batman in an engrossing tale.

Batman was not only tolerating the red-suited man—he seemed to find their discussion amusing, if the League could gather anything from the small quirk of the corner of his lips that was almost, but not quite, a smile.

“I have no idea,” Hal replied, bewildered, and more than a little creeped out at the sight of their fearless leader appearing relaxed for once.

~ooOoo~

The rest of the League had noticed the difference as well. Betting pools—which had started between Hal and Barry, but had quickly spiraled out of control once Oliver found out—had emerged, attempting to figure out the cause behind the shift.

“I bet the Big Red Cheese has something on Bats—why else would B-man be smiling at him? Clearly, the man’s trying to call for help. That smile was the creepiest thing I’ve seen since I first saw the Joker's; there’s no way it’s real,” Barry shuddered, pacing in front of the part of the team that was currently gathered in the kitchen, waiting impatiently for their weekly debriefing meeting to begin.

“No way dude—Marvel's way too nice for that. Dr. Sivana must have had mind-controlling robots or something. Are we positive it was Sivana they were facing, not Mr. Mind?” Hal added helpfully.

“Maybe Batman has finally come around to Marvel,” Clark tried to add in, albeit nervously, appearing to be uncomfortable discussing his teammates behind their backs. “He’s a nice guy, after all—if a bit childish.”

The group emitted a collective groan. They all liked Marvel, but the guy had a never-ending supply of energy. His mouth ran a mile a minute: Even Barry had difficulty keeping up.

“Whatever their reasoning is, we shall discover it soon,” Diana concluded with a tone that hinted at finality. “Our presence is required in the conference room. Batman will be ready to start any moment now.”

Reluctantly, the group shuffled out; they knew the Amazonian was right, but they still had unanswered questions they wanted to ponder further.

As one, they filed into a large meeting room specifically designed for full-group gatherings. Marvel was, as per the new norm, sitting up front, beaming at Batman. As they entered, the Dark Knight turned to face them, his milky white lenses seeming to narrow at the sight of them entering together—but that could have just been a trick of the light.

At least the group had enough sense to look sheepish.

Batman huffed an impatient breath before coming to the decision that questioning them wasn’t worth the effort. “Now that everyone is finally here, we may begin...” their leader started, waiting no time getting straight to the point, like always.

The meeting consisted mainly of a run-down of recent events, as well as a pointed reminder directed towards Oliver to turn in his post-mission reports. Oliver grinned, suitably embarrassed, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly with one of his hands. A polite cough interrupted the moment, and Batman returned to his notes. The rest of the meeting passed in a blur.

Until The Event happened.

The Event—as it was dubbed following its occurrence—began as another discussion of training exercises the Knight wanted the group to run through that week. Batman announced sparring pairs, listing off partners until he reached Hal: “Green Lantern, you’re with me tomorrow.”

Hal groaned loudly, then quickly realized what that was a mistake. He sat up straight and frantically locked gazes with Batman, excuses on the tip of his tongue.

Batman glared at him, opening his mouth to no doubt execute his murder, when an unexpected savior swooped in to rescue him.

“Oh, don’t be such a meanie, B. We all know you’re going to go hard on him anyway; spare him now while he lasts,” Captain Marvel said, rolling his eyes.

The rest of the team froze, eyes glued to the scene unfolding in front of them in fascinated horror. B? Meanie? they thought silently. Who did Marvel think he was? No one stood up to Batman—especially not someone who wasn’t part of the trinity. 

The Dark Knight’s gaze snapped up to pin Marvel under his unblinking stare. Marvel didn’t even flinch: In fact, he stared down the Bat-glare with a returning glare of his own… puppy eyes?

How the hell was a grown man even making that face?

The League frantically swiveled their heads back and forth between the two, breaking into a collective sweat. Marvel wasn’t backing down, and Batman’s gaze was narrowing. Klaxon warning bells were going off all across the mind link J'onn had spontaneously created in his alarm.

Then, the unexpected happened.

Batman's gaze broke, and he looked away. Somehow, some way, Captain Marvel of all people had defeated the infamous Bat-glare. Batman cleared his throat and continued on with the meeting, as if a life changing event hadn’t just occurred.

Suddenly, an awful thought began to stir in Barry’s head.

“Shit man, do you think Batman and Cap are dating?!” he squeaked out in a frantic whisper to Hal, who was sweating profusely from his narrowly escaped death. If possible, Hal paled even more than he already was.

No, no. Absolutely not. That was not allowed.

Now, more than ever, the League had to know: What the hell happened in Fawcett?

Chapter Text

A month passed since The Event, though not much had changed about the dynamics of the League—which meant that Batman and Captain Marvel were still getting along.

The team never thought it would actually last: If they hadn't seen the affectionate gestures exchanged between the two with their own eyes, they might not have believed it.

Out of all the theories that had been put forth, Barry’s dating theory fit the best—even if the idea made most of the team want to vomit. Nothing else even came close to explaining the situation on hand.

The team felt like they had stepped into The Twilight Zone. Batman had taken to, on occasion, ruffling Marvel’s hair, which was about as much affection as Batman was capable of showing—certainly more than the team had ever seen before.

But, none of this was the current focus of Arthur Curry. The King of the Seven Seas had been moping because he had been assigned monitor duty—Marvel just so happened to be his partner.

Marvel was an entertaining guy, but even his animated attitude wasn't enough to make monitor duty interesting. The man had been in the middle of regaling his latest tale about helping an elderly lady decide which plants to buy her grandchildren as birthday gifts. The Big Red Cheese had, for some reason, decided that Poison Ivy was the best person to turn to for help. She was happy to give him advice, but the plants she had suggested turned out to contain a pesticide that used chemicals the lady was allergic to, and the poor woman had developed a rash that had quickly morphed into anaphylactic shock. While Ivy had gone to declare war on the pesticide company that had ruined the poor plant, Marvel began rooting around the woman's house for her EpiPen—that's when a robber had shown up to steal the bedazzled one-of-a-kind version of The Settlers of Catan she had won at an exclusive Rick Astley concert...

Obviously, Arthur was bored to death, and he tuned his colleague out and nodded along to the story just enough to pretend he was listening as other thoughts swirled through his mind.

“Hey, man,” he interrupted the Captain, “do you ever wonder what will happen after the League is gone?”

Marvel’s story stumbled to a halt, and he turned to look at Arthur, a startled look painting its way across his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“You know,” Arthur gestured vaguely, “like, what happens when the League disbands? Obviously, we’re all going to die one day. Well, scratch that. Diana won’t. Maybe not Clark either—the jury’s still out on him. But you get my point.”

Marvel snorted, but Arthur wasn't done yet. “But, eventually we won’t all be here. Who’s going to be around to stop the evil plots then?” Arthur finished, beginning to panic in earnest now, well on his way towards a bleak downward spiral.

The Captain appeared pensive for a moment, eyes losing focus and locking on to an invisible point beyond Arthur, his brow furrowing. He stared for a few moments before he finally turned to gaze directly into Arthur’s eyes, and said, “all we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given us.”

They stared at one another in silence.

Arthur burst into laughter. “Shit, dude! That was deep! Where'd you pull that out of?” He asked, peering at Marvel curiously.

The Captain beamed, the joy in his eyes sparkling so brightly that Arthur had to briefly look away so he wouldn't be blinded. “One of my brothers really likes books!” Marvel declared happily.

Aquaman blinked. There was a lot to unpack in that simple statement. Marvel almost never revealed any information about his private life. The League knew as much about Captain Marvel as they did about Batman—nothing at all. They didn’t even know either hero’s name. Well, Clark and Diana knew Batman’s, but the rest of the team wasn’t privy to that knowledge. 

Arthur was shocked that Marvel willingly revealed that he had a brother. Likely more than one, if he had heard the wording correctly.

“You have a brother?!” Arthur asked, his mouth falling open in his stupor.

Marvel’s expression wrestled with confusion for a few seconds before flitting briefly to realization, then finally settling on another beaming smile that showed off his too-white teeth, accompanied by a loud, booming laugh. “Wow, yeah, I guess I really do,” the Captain mused.

He guesses? Arthur thought, bewildered. How does one not know they have a brother?

Unless… wait a second.

Both Batman and the Captain were around the same height, and though Marvel was slightly more built than Batman, they had similar statures too. Their complexions were similar shades of beige. Marvel had never worn a mask, so it was no secret he had aqua-blue eyes. Once, years ago, after a devastating fight that had ended with most of the League battered and bloodied, one of the Bat’s white lenses had been shattered—it was just coming back to Arthur now that Batman’s eyes had definitely been a similar shade of blue. They even had similar jawlines, for crying out loud!

Holy shit, Arthur thought, is Marvel Batman’s brother?

It would check out. Everyone was different around family, even Spooky. Batman may think he had everyone fooled, believing him to be more machine than man, but they had all seen his cold exterior thaw around his gaggle of vigilante children. They followed him around like a parade of ducklings, and he took his role as the mother duck seriously. The man was weak when it came to the happiness of his family, no matter how much he denied it.

And now, out of nowhere, Batman was going soft around Marvel when they looked suspiciously similar? And since when does Marvel know deep quotes from prominent literature? That seems more like a Batman thing.

The two heroes must have just recently uncovered the truth of their relationship during whatever happened in Fawcett—it would explain everything.

He has to tell the rest of the League. Barry’s going to be so pissed when he finds out no one won the betting pool. All those involved had agreed that if no one uncovered the true reason, the entire pot would go to J’onn, who had politely refused to join in on the betting, making him the only outside party.

Arthur had fully tuned Marvel out by now… he could tell the other man was recalling more stories from his latest patrols, but Arthur’s mind was still playing catch-up with the weight of this new realization.

His last thought as he hastily bid Captain Marvel goodbye and jumped on the group chat Barry had created specifically for the betting pool was: Wait a second… "brothers"? Plural? Does this mean Batman and Marvel have another brother we need to worry about?

And, if the two had just recently discovered their relationship—Arthur halted that thought in its tracks. He sincerely hoped the two hadn’t found out they were related to Dr. Sivana. Superman’s uncle being a villain was already enough of a problem for the team to handle.

Chapter Text

Shortly after Arthur’s monitor duty realization had spread like wildfire, the next bout of strange behavior occurred.

Hal, Barry, and Oliver had been lazing on the couch in the rec room when the Zeta-Tube announced Captain Marvel’s arrival. The man of the hour came rushing into the room at top speed, almost taking out Superman as Clark appeared in the doorway, curious to see what had the Captain in such a hurry. Marvel's eyes flickered frantically around the room before addressing the confused heroes before him: “Quick, you guys gotta help me hide!”

Clark was torn between amusement and concern. “Who are you hiding from?” Clark asked as Marvel flew from place to place around the room, attempting to find a hiding spot, forgetting how large he was as he attempted to shove himself in one of the supply closets.

When it became clear to Marvel that he wasn't going to fit, no matter how much he contorted his body, he wiggled free of the cramped space and back into the room. “Nevermind," the Captain waved him off flippantly, "I’m wasting valuable time. Just don’t tell them I’m here!” The man dashed off once again to who-knows-where.

The rest of the group shared a series of confused glances. Them? Who could them possibly be referring to? No one had access to the tower besides the heroes themselves. But the Captain was clearly worried about being caught, Watchtower or not.

The heroes were just about to address these questions aloud when the Zeta-Tube suddenly went off once more. Then again. And again. And a few more times—each time reciting its pre-programmed phrase for announcing a new anonymous visitor.

The team froze.

“O Captain! My Captain!” a voice from the hallway called dramatically. Who the hell was quoting Whitman?

“Tt, as inconspicuous as always, Todd. You've likely scared him off; now we’ll have to redouble our efforts to find him, you imbecile,” another, younger voice joined the first, grouching menacingly.

“Names, Robin!" cried a new voice, this one sounding exhausted, perhaps from enduring the prolonged presence of the first two voices. "Besides, you're just as loud as he is. Even if Hood hadn’t given us away by now, you definitely have. I didn’t hack our way into the Watchtower while B is out just so we could spoil our chance at revenge, so come on!"

Well, at least the League knew the aliases of two of the intruders they were dealing with—Robin and "Hood." Clark recognized Robin as Batman's young vigilante partner and son, but he couldn't place the other name, the voice unrecognizably mechanicalized by some kind of helmet—he felt like the answer should be on the tip of his tongue.

“Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea guys,” a more hesitant voice rings out. "What's B going to think about all this? We're going to be grounded for ages."

“Nonsense! B’s out of the country right now—we couldn’t have picked a better time," came a final voice, which then proceeded to cheerfully singsong, "come out, come out, wherever you are Little B!”

Clark paused. These voices. He knew these voices. If Robin was here, that could only mean—

“Nightwing?” gasped Clark. The team stared at the assorted collection of bats and birds as they made their way into the rec room. 

“In the flesh, Uncle Clark!” Nightwing grinned, his white teeth sparkling with an almost manic intensity.

There, piled in the entrance to the room, was Batman’s hodgepodge of young vigilantes—Nightwing, Red Robin, Black Bat, Signal, Robin, and… was that fucking Red Hood?!

That’s right, Clark’s mind supplied, albeit a little late. Jason had returned as an anti-hero that called himself Red Hood, hence the “Hood” earlier on.

The League stared at the group, dumbstruck. The rest of the young heroes—and anti-hero—flashed them the same sharp smile as Nightwing before dispersing throughout the tower. The League didn't attempt to stop them—they knew the group would find whatever they came for. There was no stopping a determined bat once they set their eyes on a target.

All they could do was observe from the sidelines.

A few members of the group decided to stick to calling out to their target, but Hal swore he saw one of them—he thought it might have been Red Robin—crawl into a vent and disappear. Black Bat just vanished. One second, she was somewhere in the middle of the pack, and the next she was gone, melting into the shadows like her father—perhaps even better. The rest crept off silently.

The remaining members of the League gathered in the tower had come running at the disturbance, so everyone—minus Batman was gathered in the rec room. Batman had excused himself for the next 48 hours, claiming he was being held up by “work,” whatever that meant. Captain Marvel was also suspiciously missing, but judging by the way the groups of bats had come in shouting about a Captain… 

“FOUND ‘IM!” one of the bats shouted. The voice sounded like it had come somewhere from the general area of the meeting room. A roar seemed to erupt from every direction, and the bats crawled out from their hiding places, converging on the location of the cry.

“No!” screeched a voice—that one was definitely Marvel’s this time—“Let me go! Help me!” Marvel shrieked, which concerned the League, but Marvel was… laughing?

Soon, a tsunami of colorful costumes flooded the room, the largest two of which were hefting a heavy Captain over their shoulders. Nightwing and Red Hood held their squirming captive tightly, and were marching towards the Zeta-Tube once more.

“Sorry, no can do—shoulda thought twice about dying my shampoo red, Cap!” Red Hood said, giving Marvel a noogie.

“You like red!” the Captain squealed, laughing as Nightwing jabbed a finger into his side playfully. “You’re literally the Red Hood! It’s in your name!”

“Yeah, no—bad call double B," Nightwing cackled, Marvel's pleas falling on deaf ears. "Hood went through an emo redhead phase, and he’s still embarrassed about it. You just rubbed salt in old wounds."

Marvel stopped struggling suddenly, and peered up at Red Hood, gobsmacked. “No way,” he breathed, “you went through a redhead phase?”

“No, absolutely not!" Hood spat before turning to Nightwing. "That was supposed to be a secret, asshole." Nightwing's shoulders shrugged innocently, but his expression was anything but.

There was a collective gasp as Black Bat dropped from the ceiling, startling the League members who had drawn in close to get a front seat to the drama. “Children,” she hissed angrily at Red Hood as she gently clapped her hands over a confused Captain’s ears.

Well, the League thought, she’s not wrong. Even though half of them are adults, they’re terribly childish.

Hood’s posture changed to look sheepish, but it was hard to tell with his helmet on. That thing showed even less expression than Batman’s cowl—if that was possible. “Sorry, Cap,” Hood conceded. “Still, you gotta pay your dues. Them's the rules. I’m not the only one you’ve wronged in the past couple of days. I think Demon Spawn is actually considering pulling out his baby assassin skills again after the stunt you pulled that landed Bat-cow on the roof. You shoulda left the animals alone if you knew what's good for you,” Hood laughed with little sympathy.

This altercation was growing more peculiar by the second. Did he say, bat… cow?

“Indeed. It is time to make our return voyage so we may exact our revenge,” the young Robin rubbed his hands together, à la evil villain.

The League exchanged nervous glances. Should they intervene? Marvel was relatively indestructible, but this was the Batfamily he was up against.

Suddenly, the Zeta-Tube announced a final visitor.

“Recognized, Batman: B-02,” its metallic voice called out, silencing the rabble, and freezing the assembled group in place.

Batman stopped when he saw the scene. He sighed, bringing a hand up to cover his eyes, and all the bats turned and looked at him sheepishly. Just when they looked like they were going to open their mouths to offer excuses, the Dark Knight held up a placating hand: “I don't want to know. I don't care why it happened, but I don't want it to continue. Leave now, or I tell Agent A.”

Grinning, Nightwing saluted, hoisting Captain Marvel higher up on his shoulders, with Hood doing the same behind him. Marvel sent the League one last pleading glance, but if Batman wasn’t going to do anything about the situation, they sure as hell weren’t going to intervene.

The group of bats filed onto the Zeta, disappearing one by one, taking Marvel with them. Batman turned and walked away, muttering under his breath something along the lines of, “have kids, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.”

“What the hell was that?” Barry asked the League once Batman was out of earshot. They didn't answer, too busy staring at the place the bats had disappeared.

Chapter Text

Two weeks after Captain Marvel was kidnapped by bats, Barry darted into the Watchtower’s kitchen, planning to once again raid the fridge to satiate his speedster metabolism. He produced twelve slices of bread from the pantry, laying them out in two rows on the counter to start an assembly line of sandwiches that were waiting patiently to be made.

As he opened the fridge and reached for the mayonnaise, something caught his eye. “Well, well, well—what do we have here?” he asked himself, leaning in to check the dish for post-it notes claiming it. That rule had been started after he had accidentally eaten ice cream Batman had bought Diana after she mentioned she hadn’t gotten around to trying the frozen treat yet.

To this day, he still swears he saw his life flash before his eyes when Diana came at him with her sword drawn, her face alight with anger. From then on, all food that the heroes were saving for someone specific was to be labeled with a post-it note.

The dish, which appeared to be some kind of pie that was covered in bananas and a jiggling mass of cool whip, looked delicious—if a bit lopsided. One side of the crust was spilling over the side of the pan while the other was sunken beneath the filling, which was distributed unevenly across the pan. The whipped cream on top had been smeared, but the finishing touches looked messy, like it had most likely spilled onto the counter whenever the mystery person had made it.

“Hey guys?" he called down the hall, "who’s the pie for?” No one answered. He glanced back at it. The dessert’s enticing presence captured his thoughts, his sandwich line abandoned. No one had answered… surely that meant he couldn’t be blamed if he just took a slice. Right?

With his mind made up, he made short work of cutting himself a slice of the pie, picking up a fork, and trying the creamy dessert. What on earth is this? he wondered as he put a second bite in his mouth, this pie is incredible!

While he could tell that the pie was clearly banana flavored by the fruit resting on top, he hadn't known it also contained a mixture of toffee, chocolate, and coffee as well. And the crust was just so buttery. It was delicious.

He was so absorbed in savoring the dessert that he hadn't noticed Captain Marvel enter the kitchen. “My banoffee pie!” the man cried, staring at the tin Flash had cut his slice out of.

Barry froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. Oh shit. He set down his plate and raised his arms placatingly. Marvel looked seconds away from having a complete meltdown. “I’m so sorry man. I shouted down the hall to ask if anyone knew what the pie was for, but when no one answered I thought I was safe,” he tried, hoping Marvel would be more understanding than Wonder Woman.

Suddenly, the Captain’s big blue eyes welled up with— were those tears? How old was this dude? “That pie was for Alfie’s birthday! I made it because it's his favorite!" Marvel cried, bringing a giant fist to rub at his wet eyes, sniffing a few times. "I just wanted to surprise him with something I made. He’s always making food for me, it only seemed fair to return the favor. It took me hours to read the directions and make it… I even did it all by myself!”

“Uh, congratulations? For making a pie?" Barry tried, confused as to why that was an accomplishment. "Listen Cap, I’m really, really sorry. I have no idea who 'Alfie' is, but I can help you make another one. I didn’t mean to ruin your hard work,” the Flash was frantic. He knew Marvel wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he didn’t know how to calm down a crying man—he could barely calm down a miserable child, for heaven's sake! This was way worse than Diana's reaction!

“I think you’ve done enough,” rang a cold voice from the doorway. Barry froze, swallowing thickly before turning around to face down Batman. The man fixed him with his famous Bat-glare as he made his way over to Marvel.

Batman put a gentle hand on the Captain’s shoulder, rubbing it sympathetically before guiding the bigger man into a hug. A hug! Barry never thought he’d live to see the day Batman hugged someone!

What was the state of the world coming to? he thought to himself. The sight of the two men hugging was almost sweet, and he would have totally taken a picture if he wasn’t already in so much trouble.

Oh, who was he kidding?

He used the Speed Force to pull out his phone and snapped a quick picture, sending it to the group chat so Batman couldn’t tell him to delete the evidence.

For once, the man hadn’t noticed, shedding his usual observant awareness in an attempt to soothe a crying Marvel. He occasionally sent glares at Barry between comforting words. “It's okay, sport. I’ll help you make another banoffee pie. I’m sure he’ll love it, even if you didn’t make it all by yourself.”

Sport? Who the hell calls a grown man sport, brother or otherwise?

Something was beginning to smell fishy about the theory about Batman and the Captain being siblings, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Marvel nodded at Batman's soothing words, calming down slightly. “It’s just, I worked really hard on that pie, and I really wanted to show him I could do it all by myself. I knew it was risky to hide it here, but Alfie would have seen it and the surprise would have been ruined if I had left it at home,” Marvel whispered. "I should have remembered the sticky-note rule. This was all my fault."

Batman shook his head. “It wasn't your fault. What's done is done—how about you let me go buy the ingredients, send everyone home for the night, and then you can use the kitchen here to make another one? If you still want to make it by yourself, I can just stay to keep you company, and you can tell me all about those awful comics you like,” the man teased. Marvel sniffled quietly, but a small smile appeared on his lips, so the jibe had clearly worked.

Barry felt like he was intruding on a personal moment. There was so much new information flying around about both heroes, and his curiosity was burning inside him, a bright fire that desperately needed answers to fan its flames, but he didn’t want to make things worse than he had already made them. He retreated as quietly as he could, determined to allow the two heroes their moment of... whatever the hell this was.

“Oh, and Barry,” Batman called from somewhere behind him. He stopped, turning back around to face the other two. “Thank you for volunteering for monitor duty until further notice,” the Dark Knight growled. Barry groaned internally, but he knew it was best to agree and make a tactical retreat before he made an even bigger fool of himself, so he sped out towards the Zeta-Tube and left.

~ooOoo~

Later, the group chat blew up over the photo.

Chapter Text

No one was quite sure how it happened, but one of the Circe’s blasts hit Captain Marvel directly in the chest, and he went down fast. With nothing to break his fall, Marvel landed in a crumpled heap on top of a stray taxi cab, crushing what was left of the vehicle, shattered glass spraying in every direction.

“Billy!” Batman screamed, forgetting to refer to the Captain by his alias in his panic, revealing information that had been previously unknown to the team. He abandoned his efforts to subdue the sorceress, instead sprinting over to Marvel’s side.

“No! Billy, you need to stay with me. Eyes on me,” Batman was rambling. “Come on, Captain—that’s it, eyes up here” Batman was frantically trying to get Marvel to look at him, but nothing seemed to be working. Marvel groaned, looking for a second like he might regain consciousness, but his eyes merely began to flutter.

By now, Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter had joined forces to subdue Circe—their combined physical and mental attacks finally enough to bring the sorceress to the ground. While they worked to restrain her in cuffs covered with runes designed to nullify her magic, the rest of the team began to converge on Batman and Capt—Billy’s location. The Dark Knight had his communicator in his ear and was speaking rapidly to whoever was on the other end. 

Batman, who remained a steadfast symbol of justice even when facing down the most vicious of villains, was currently a disaster, his hands shaking as he checked Billy over to figure out the extent of his injuries.

For better or worse, most of the injuries appeared to be magical in nature: Billy was not losing blood, and he didn’t appear to have a concussion. The only real problem seemed to be that he wasn’t waking up.

“I need him to be okay,” Clark heard Batman whisper. Images of the second Robin’s broken body in a funeral casket flashed before Clark’s eyes, forcing him to suck in a sharp inhale. So that’s why the Dark Knight was so distraught. It would make sense that the sight of any badly injured family member would throw Bruce back to Jason’s death—especially one who was so recently discovered, if Aquaman’s theory proved to be true.

Batman finally looked up at him—even with the cowl on, he could read the devastation in the lines of his friend's mouth.

Clark strode forward and laid a heavy hand on Batman’s shoulder, and together they faced back towards the collapsed hero. “He’s going to be fine, Batman," he said with the most authority he could muster. "I’ll carry him back to the tower, and you can run tests to figure out what he was hit with."

~ooOoo~

True to his word, Superman carried the unconscious Captain back to the watchtower, lying him gently on one of the cots in the sick bay. Because only Clark was present in the tower, Bruce had taken off his cowl and flocked to Marvel's side, fussing over the man and procuring several pillows from the other beds to arrange them behind Captain Marvel’s head in a comfortable position.

The other heroes had been left on clean-up duty. Wonder Woman and Martian Manhunter dealt with Circe; Diana had decided she would bring the sorceress home with her to Themyscira for her imprisonment. The woman was wily and a powerful adversary. If they weren’t careful, Circe would find an opportunity to escape.

The rest of the League—Flash, Green Arrow, Green Lantern, and Aquaman—headed over to aid the police officers that had arrived on the scene, moving some of the heavier debris Circe had left in the wake of her destruction.

After he was done fussing, Bruce sat down heavily in a chair beside Marvel’s bed, sighing and running his hands over his face before bringing them down to rest on top of Marvel’s hand.

Clark watched the duo, worried for Marvel, but amused at the scene playing out before him. “So,” he started, attracting Batman’s attention from the sleeping form beside him, “Billy?”

Bruce stiffened at the name before breathing out a long exhale. “Yes,” he conceded, turning to face the man in question with a fond look on his face. The scanners had determined the cause of Marvel's current predicament was non-life-threatening: The Captain's magic had simply been drained from the impact of Circe’s magical ray. With plenty of rest and relaxation, the World's Mightiest Mortal would be as good as new.

“I never would have guessed. It sounds a little on the young side for such a powerful man,” Clark continued gently, leaning casually on the doorframe. Bruce spared him a glance, the corner of his lip twitching up into an almost-smile.

“It really does,” he said. He opened his mouth as if to continue on that thought, but just then, the Zeta-Tube exploded into action, announcing the arrival of a sizable group.

Footsteps pounded down the hall in frantic succession, skidding to a stop just outside the door.

“Oh my god, Billy,” breathed Dick, already sprinting across the room, snatching Billy’s free hand in his own. He brought his other hand up to rest on the Captain's forehead, feeling his temperature for signs of a fever. He turned to Bruce: “B, tell me he’s okay—I need to know he’s okay,” Dick cried, barely holding back the sobs threatening to wrack his body.

“He's fine," Bruce reassured his eldest son quickly, spreading his arms in a silent invitation for Dick to drape himself over Bruce’s shoulders. "His magic was drained during the fight, that’s all." Dick’s sobs began in earnest now—this time, they were tears of relief rather than sadness.

The rest of the Bat clan wasn’t far behind the original Robin. Jason took up his station at Billy's side where Dick had been before he had collapsed in Bruce’s arms, and was holding Billy’s free hand. Tim and Damian were alternating between peering anxiously at Marvel’s sleeping form and the vital signs displayed above his bed. Duke had pulled over two more chairs—one for himself and one for Cass. They both took a seat near Marvel’s feet.

Then, an elderly gentleman wearing an expensive tailored suit appeared in the doorway—all the bats froze and turned to look at him. “Alfred?” Batman asked, face contorting in a way that indicated that he was unsure why the older man was there.

“Now, dear boy—that expression doesn’t become you. I think the current situation is dire enough to warrant my presence in the tower. Wouldn't you agree, Master Bruce?” Alfred scolded gently before crossing the room in determined strides. The rest of the bats parted like the sea, making a pathway for the man to reach Billy’s side.

“Poor thing. To think we have scarcely known him, only to nearly lose him all the same,” the man said, a wrinkled hand coming up to brush Billy’s hair out of his face.

Suddenly, the heart rate monitor picked up, its incessant beeping nearly drowning out Billy's pained groan as he came to. He blinked his eyes several times. “Alfie? Where am I?” the Captain asked as he stirred into consciousness.

“Oh my dear boy!” Alfred cried, and within the next moment, the Captain was buried beneath a mountain of bats, all eager to hug his injuries better. Marvel’s muffled laughter could be heard emanating from somewhere near the bottom of the pile.

Bruce glanced at Clark, tilting his head in a silent request. Clark nodded briefly, heading out towards the observation corridor of the Watchtower, wanting to give the family some time to themselves.

He stood there, staring out at the view of the cosmos, gazing deep into a nebula that was visible from the deck—a vast cloud of dust and ionized gases that came together to form the most breathtaking hues of magenta, teal, blue, and orange. He enjoyed coming here to sit and stare at the stars that dotted the horizon, never truly losing the sense of awe he felt upon his first voyage out into space.

There was a loud crash from somewhere within the tower, and the lights above him flickered suddenly, blacking out for a few seconds before blinking back to their original brightness. Worried, Clark stood quickly, turning to head back towards sick bay. He had no idea what the noise and the shortage had been caused by, and it would be best to stick together with the tower's other occupants in case of an attack.

He stopped shy of his destination, coming to a halt as he was about to turn the bend that would bring him to sick bay. There, he saw the Batfamily exiting sick bay in a single file. As Bruce emerged, Clark had to do a double-take. The man was carrying an unfamiliar child who was sleeping on his shoulder.

Rao, did Bruce seriously get another kid and not tell me?— Clark thought—Come to think of it, how did the kid even get here? I swear he didn’t arrive with the rest of them...

The child was easily the youngest of the batch. He didn't look a day older than ten. But, he clearly fit right at home with the rest of the Batfamily—flaunting his raven-black hair and sleepy aqua-blue eyes. Currently, his arms were curled around Bruce’s neck in a loose hold. His head lolled to the side in his sleep before Bruce carefully reached a hand up to keep it in place, heading towards the Zeta-Tube.

“No fair! I wanna hold the sleeping baby! Just look at those cheeks—they're so squishable!” Dick whined, taking care to do so quietly in the hopes that the kid wouldn’t hear him.

“You snooze, you lose, Dickface,” Jason sneered, but he inched closer to Bruce, getting close enough to run his hand gently through the kid’s hair and cooing faintly when the boy’s nose scrunched up.

“Young masters, you will all have a chance to hold him upon our return to the manor. Now, please hurry along—supper will be served cold if we don't get a move on,” Alfred said. They reached the Zeta-Tube and disappeared one by one.

Clark felt a little angry at his friend for forgetting to tell him about the newest addition to his family, so he took the least confrontational course of action and headed back into the room to check on Marvel.

Upon reaching the cot, he realized Marvel wasn’t there. Oh Rao, where could he have gone? he wondered—the man was supposed to be resting!

As he stalked off to search the tower for his stubborn teammate, his mind couldn't help but drift back to the bats, and he wondered if they had anything to do with Marvel's disappearance.

Chapter Text

Clark hadn't mentioned the incident in sick bay to the rest of the team. He wasn't sure what it was, but there was something bothering him about the whole ordeal—he felt like he was sitting in front of a puzzle, but there were several pieces missing. The picture remained incomplete.

When he hadn't managed to find Captain Marvel in his search of the tower, he had called Bruce in a panic-stricken moment, only to be informed the man was fine, that he had been sent home, and that he was going to be taking the next two weeks off to recover—no other details provided. Clark had calmed a little once he learned that his friend wasn’t bleeding out somewhere in a ditch, but he was beginning to feel more than a little suspicious about the relationship between his two teammates.

The two weeks without Marvel had been uneventful—the team was grateful for a distraction when the cheerful man finally returned. He spent most of the day he came back being hovered over by Batman, of all people.

By now, the League didn't even know what to think about their relationship anymore. The betting pool had long since dissolved, with J’onn winning everything due to the team’s lack of substantial evidence to support any of the theories that had been floating around.

After a few rigorous hours of running training drills, the team took a break, heading to the kitchen for food and water.

Captain Marvel rooted around in the small faded-green backpack he always brought with him to the tower. "Dang it!" he exclaimed, flushing when he realized that he had voiced his frustration aloud. "Oops, sorry guys."

"What's up, Cap?" Barry asked, curious to see what had gotten the other man's knickers in a twist.

"It's nothing," Marvel replied—much too quickly. He was obviously hiding something.

"C'mon Cap, we're all friends here... what is it?" Hal pressed, grin shark-like at the chance to stir up trouble.

He was interrupted by the Zeta-Tube announcing the arrival of a guest. "Geez, again?" Clark muttered under his breath. It seemed like all the tube ever did anymore was let anonymous visitors into the tower. Usually, those visitors just so happened to be—

"Dick!" Marvel screeched, running full speed at the man who had just arrived, jumping up to latch onto the visitor like a koala. Unfortunately for both of them, Marvel was far too heavy for Dick to support, and this action sent both of them tumbling to the ground.

"Oops," Cap—no, this was definitely Billy talking now—"sorry," the man said sheepishly.

Dick—who just so happened to be Nightwing —grinned at him. "Hey-a double B! I knew you missed me, but I didn't think you'd be so happy to see me already," Dick cooed. Billy's cheeks and neck flushed a deep scarlet red, and he hid his face in his hands. This only prompted more teasing from the other man.

"Look at what I brought you!" Dick said, proudly producing what appeared to be a brown paper bag. "Lunch! Imagine my surprise and delight when I found out I got to deliver Alfie's special lunch to my baby brother because he had forgotten it. You're in for the teasing of a lifetime, baby B!"

The rest of the Justice League stared in fascinated horror, their minds replaying every single one of their interactions with Captain Marvel since they had known him.

"Did—did you say little brother?" Oliver squawked from the back of the room.

Dick turned to beam at the League. "Sure did! Let's see, where does that put you—little bro number six? Or no, that would be little sibling number six, but little bro number five."

The wheels were turning in Clark’s head, and the final pieces of the puzzle were falling in place. Oh Rao, he thought, the kid? Marvel? Could he really be…? His heart pounded in his chest as the enormity of the realization washed over him.

"What the hell does that mean?!" a bewildered Flash wailed. Dick gasped, crawling towards Marvel—Billy, who was still lying on the floor, and gently clapping his palms over the bigger man's ears.

"Watch your goddamn fucking language, young man! There are children present!" Dick cried, clearly enjoying every second of the mayhem he was causing.

"What's going on in here?" Batman roared, angry at having been interrupted in his eureka moment he had been about to have on his latest drug-smuggling case. He took one glance at Marvel and Nightwing sprawled in the middle of the floor, in the center of the madness, and he knew this was going to be a long night. Even though it was still the middle of the day.

"Oh dear," Nightwing tutted. "You're all in for it now," he finished in a singsong voice.

"You happen to be part of the group that's 'in for it,'" Batman growled at Dick. Then he swiveled to face the group. "Who wants to start?"

"I give up: What the hell is your relationship with Captain Marvel?" Barry cried, feeling utterly defeated.

"That's really what all this is about?" Batman muttered under his breath. 

“Is Captain Marvel your son?” The question burst from Clark’s lips before he could stop it. Now that he had connected the dots, he had to know.

Bruce tilted his head slightly, impressed. "Yes. I adopted him a few months ago."

You could hear a pin drop—the rest of the Leaguers froze, brains scrambling as they desperately tried to understand, but ultimately failed to do so.

"Uh, Bats—hate to be the one to break it to you, but Marvel's gotta be at least twenty-five. I don't think it works like that," Oliver, the brave, stupid soul, spoke next.

Batman slowly turned to face him, face as expressionless as stone: "Is he though?" And with that, he twirled back towards the doorway, cape flowing dramatically behind him as he exited the room.

Nightwing whistled, "and to think: People always call me the dramatic one." He turned back to Marvel. "Well, that’s as close to explicit permission from B as you’re ever going to get. Whatcha say, kiddo? Want to show your team how old you are?"

Marvel took a deep breath, then nodded. He picked himself off the ground, reaching down to help Nightwing up afterwards. He shooed the black-and-blue themed hero several feet away from himself. Finally, he faced his team, and mustered what courage he could. He screamed: "SHAZAM!"

Lightning struck the man, enveloping him in a blinding electric aura, forcing the League to avert their eyes. It faded as quickly as it had come. Before the team even had time to be alarmed, a young boy with dark hair and blue eyes emerged from the spot Captain Marvel had been standing moments before, waving cheerfully at them. "Hi guys! My name's Billy Batson, and I'm turning eleven on Friday!"

Despite the many, many questions Barry had running around on a repetitive carousel in his head, the only coherent thought he could get out was, "Bat-son?"

Nightwing snorted and young Billy groaned, hanging his head.