Chapter Text
Another day, another being-tied-to-an-elaborate-contraption.
Dick had come down to Gotham to attend Damian’s visual art competition at school (which he won of course. Dick was so proud). And after, he’d stayed to patrol with Batman and Robin.
Now the trio was chained up on some cheap, hand-built game show set in a poorly lit warehouse. The set was surrounded by precariously balanced stage lights and a camcorder pointed towards them, which was connected by a web of cords to a laptop on a fold-out table. At the laptop, a man in a ski mask and an ill-fitting three-piece suit typed away so quickly that the cheap table and the briefcase leaned against it rattled.
Cluemaster was still in prison. And Riddler had been running on the straight and narrow for a bit, but even if this was a relapse on his part, he’d be operating on a much better budget. Nygma understood the importance of production value. Plus, he always made sure his goons had outfits that were on theme. This whole set-up was some amateur business. The only thing it looked like anyone spent any real money on were the chains that shackled the three of them to their podiums.
So, a newcomer then. Presumably, the man at the laptop was operating on his own.
The man in question raised his head, straightened his tux, and walked in front of the camcorder, apparently satisfied with whatever he'd set up and ready to begin. “Good evening, Gotham.” He declared. “I am the Exposer.”
“Woah there! Keep your clothes on, Robin is a minor!” Dick exclaimed in momentary panic, but the masked man’s panic quickly eclipsed his own.
“NO! I'M NOT—NO! NOT THAT KIND OF—I MEAN LIKE EXPOSING THE TRUTH LIKE—Shit. I didn’t even think—shit ‘Exposer’ really does sound like a pervert thing.”
Dick rolled his eyes. He knew Bruce was working on his restraints, so he slid comfortably into banter as a distraction to keep their captor occupied but off-task. This newbie wasn’t an imminent threat. Bruce should be able to get out of whatever this man threw together to chain them. “Yeah, names are really the kind of thing you should workshop, buddy. How about focusing on the truth aspect? Something like, Truth-man. Or Truth-Bringer. Oh! Or Veritas? That’s classy.”
The man’s eyes widened in excitement. “Shit, that is good.”
Damian huffed, rattling his chains as he squirmed at his podium. “Nightwing, don’t waste your breath helping this goon.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry," Dick held up his chained hands in mock apology. "Continue with your speech.”
“I’m starting over, there are only like 5 people on the stream anyway.” The villain grumbled before recomposing himself. He turned back to the camera. “Good evening, Gotham. I am Veritas the...The Truth Bringer.”
“Big improvement.” Dick nodded and Damian gave a dismissive “tt.”
Regardless of their derision, Veritas’ forged on. “Gotham, tonight, I will reveal to you the horrors of the truth. Poets and ‘heroes’ wax poetic about ‘truth and justice’, but in fact, these two things could not be further apart. No, the truth is that ‘truth’ is the destruction of all things.”
“You’re first stab at a name was pretty rough, but this speech is going well so far.” Dick chimed in, interrupting Veritas’s flow and earning a glare from the ‘villain.’
“As I was saying," Veritas hissed, "Today I will show you 'truth.' In all its hideous glory.” He paused to retrieve the brief case left by the table.
Dick took the silence as another opportunity to comment. “For future events, it's usually best to stage that sort of thing ahead of time for smooth transitions.”
“Shut up.” Veritas hissed as he cracked open the briefcase and pulled out a syringe.
Oh. Time to treat this a little more seriously. Injections and chemicals are never a good sign. Arguably even more so when they were coming from amateurs. At least if Ivy or Crane pulled out a mystery syringe you could be confident it would do what they intended it to. Dick had no such confidence in whatever this guy had, and he picked up his own efforts trying to find a weakness in the chains.
“I was once a humble man with a perfect wife. She was a brilliant chemist. Perfect in every way. Then one day the truth tore us apart.” Veritas continued, waving the syringe dramatically for the camera. “She poisoned me with this! Her own creation to compel the truth was the end of us. How happy we could have been if only what was meant to remain in the dark had remained there. I’ve always loved her; I never would have left her—my other actions shouldn’t have mattered. But still, the truth ruined our marriage, and she left me. It has ruined me—”
“Wait, hold on.” Dick couldn’t help interjecting again. “Are you saying your wife invented truth serum, used it on you, and then left you because you were, I assume, having an affair, and you’re doing all this because you’re bitter about it?”
“It wasn’t even an affair!” Veritas whined. “I just fucked around a little. They weren’t, like, relationships.”
“Pathetic,” Damian scoffed, and the preteen’s derision clearly dealt Veritas considerable damage based on his angry growl.
“It’s not—! Nevermind. Gotham! I am here tonight to show you the hideous face of truth and its destructive power to tear apart even the closest of bonds! We’re all held together only by illusions and lies, and the ‘truth’ dissolves them all. This serum not only prevents lies, but compels its victim to speak too! Its victim cannot stay silent! The deepest, darkest secrets of their hearts will be dragged from within and shown to the world no matter how they fight to resist. So yes, tonight we will learn the truth behind Batman’s identity.” He declared proudly, before hedging. “But we will save this reveal for last—I want to give some time for more viewers to hop on the stream, so spread the word! Like, subscribe, and share. Anyway, until then—FIRST you will get to bear witness to their destruction!” Veritas turned towards Bruce, syringe out and pointed towards the arm chained to his podium. “Just as I was destroyed, so too shall they be.”
Veritas immediately paused, realizing he couldn’t stab the needle through the layers of gauntlets, Kevlar, and titanium. “Oh—”
“Yeah, that’s a dead end there, bud.” Dick laughed.
Vertias snapped a glare his way before returning to the briefcase. “I have an aerosol too.” The villain snapped as he pulled out a small can and waved it their way, though his expression clearly telegraphed his disappointment with having to use it. “The syringe just looks cooler.” And with that unceremonious announcement, he sprayed Batman in the face with a purple mist. “NOW! Under the compulsion of the serum, expose your true feelings: Tell the world what you hate the most about—” Veritas paused to look between Nightwing and Robin before easily picking on his primary tormentor. “Nightwing.”
The air left Dick’s lungs as his stomach dropped through the floor. No. Anything but this.
Bruce struggled against it, seeming to choke on nothing.
“THIS IS ABURD!” Damian cried, struggling harder against his chains. “OBVIOUSLY THERE IS NOTHING TO DISLIKE ABOUT NIGHTWING! THIS IS JUST A VAIN ATTEMPT TO—TO—WE DON’T EVEN HAVE REASON TO BELIEVE IT’S TRULY EVEN A TRUTH SERUM!”
Dick meanwhile felt frozen—every argument, every accusation thrown between the two running through his mind. He wasn’t sure if he could take it—to hear it spoken truthfully and directly. Hearing all of Bruce’s hatred, contempt, and disappointment in him poured out not just in a heated yelling match in the cave but in front of Damian, in front of the whole world. Things were better now, but they never talked about the hard years. They may be civil now, they may act like a family, but surely all those things that were said were still there in Bruce’s heart.
Bruce coughed, blood flicking from his lips from a failed attempt to bite his tongue, and Dick hung his head in resignation. It was at least nice to know Bruce wasn’t eager to dump out his true feelings.
“His suit.” Bruce choked and the room went silent.
...
“What?!” Veritas scoffed.
“It’s not nearly safe enough.” Bruce continued through ragged breaths. “He refuses to add armor plating in favor of maximizing his mobility. But I hate it. It means he faces greater danger. We’ve improved it over time, but it’s still far too vulnerable.” He struggled to bite something back before again bursting forth through a bloody cough. “ANd it’s too form fitting.”
“B!” Dick cried, caught between confused relief and embarrassment. He was still struggling to process what any of this meant. How could the design of his suit be the thing Bruce hates the most about him? What about all of his failures? His disobedience? Everything they’d ever screamed at each other about? There was literal blood on his hands. How did all of that rank below an aerodynamic fire-proof triple-weave Kevlar suit?
“What else could you expect?” Damian puffed proudly. “Obviously, there is nothing to hate about Nightwing besides his fashion choices. It was the only possible answer.”
“Wait a second, B’s not talking about my fashion choices, this is a matter of suit design,” Dick interjected—he may be struggling to figure out what’s happening but he had to defend his style. He instinctively turned to Bruce for backup, which was a bad call to make given the situation.
“The first Nightwing suit was the worst.” Bruce continued as if that look had prompted him. “The material wasn’t even fireproof, let alone any form of protection against serious weapons. And the v-neck—”
“I know, I know. That’s why I altered the design.”
“The first time you came to Gotham in it, I broke a man’s jaw for a comment he made about...your appearance. I just wanted to wrap you in a Kevlar iron-plated sweater. I still do.”
“B!” Dick was pretty sure he was about to melt from embarrassment...and something softer—better than the shame and heartbreak he was expecting—but he sure as hell had not been prepared for whatever this is.
At this point, Bruce sighed, unable to hold back any more, he hung low as he simply and quietly admitted. “I wasn’t ready to handle the fact you’d grown up. In a lot of ways, I’m still not. I know it's selfish, but I can’t help still treating you like a child at times, even though I know you don’t need me anymore.”
“B,” Tears were starting to blur Dick’s vision as he struggled to respond. “I’ve never—of course I still—You’re my dad. I’ll always need you.”
“This—” Veritas looked down at his spray can in confusion, as if to check he had the right serum. “This isn’t what I was looking for.” He scratched his mask-covered head. “Robin. What do you hate about Robin?”
“He’s growing up too fast. I wish I could have given him more of a childhood. He deserves so much more—”
“T-the other one? The Red Robin?”
“He pushes himself too hard. He’s so talented and—”
Veritas looked ready to pull his hair out. "What about the girls? The Bat girls? There's like three of them?"
"They're all so talented, driven, and self-sufficient. None of them needs me. My daughter, she's truly one of the greatest fighters I've ever had the privilege to know."
"Singular? Is only one your daughter? Who are the others? Where are all these kids coming from?!"
"Spoiler refused to let me adopt her. She and the original Batgirl have living, present parents. But I consider them like my own, and I—"
"Nevermind! Shit man, how many kids-? Oh, and there's Signal, the daytime one. Come on. You've got to hate something."
"I hate that since he patrols during the daytime, I have less time to spend with him. I wish I could be more present in his life."
"Uh, the police? They're useless, right? The Commissioner? What do you hate about him?"
"He needs to quit smoking. It's a self-destructive hazard to his own health."
"Umm, oh shit how did I forget Batwoman? She stole your concept. Don't you hate—"
"What she stole was volume two of my DVD collection of the Grey Ghost. She 'borrowed' it and still hasn't returned it over 20 years later."
Veritas threw up his hands in exasperation. "Shit, Batman. This is all you've got? Concerns about their well-being and a... what? Childhood grudge? That's all you feel about these people?"
"What I feel is such deep love and gratitude that they are in my life, and an immeasurable fear of losing them because I know I don't deserve any of them."
"You're really fucking up my plan," Veritas muttered under his breath as he pulled out his phone, clearly scrounging for ideas when his next idea sprang to his mind. "Oh, um, the Red Hood guy. He used to kill people, but he rolls with you now. What about him?”
Bruce choked even more dramatically, pulling back as if he could somehow escape the compulsion before blurting out brokenly. “He’s gotten so big. He used to be so small and I could hold him and keep him safe—but I couldn’t keep him safe, I failed and—"
“Look, Batman,” Veritas sighed, rubbing his temples. “In order to prove my point, I really need you to actually say something, ya know, mean? You can’t just be proud of them all and angry at yourself?! Come on, give me something Uh... disappointments? Anger? Resentments? For any of your um... ‘kids’?”
Words were spilling from Bruce's lips now, an unstoppable torrent. “I hate when they move out. I’m disappointed that I couldn’t be the father they deserved. I resent myself for the way I push them away. I wish they would all move back home, where I could make sure they’re safe. I just love them all so much and—”
Veritas dropped his masked face into his hands. “Ok, this isn’t working—"
But before he could find a solution to his frustration, he was clubbed with the hilt of Damian’s katana and collapsed unconscious.
Dick blinked in shock, realizing somewhere along the way of that dramatic little conversation Damian had managed to escape. With a swing of the blade, Damian cut the cords attached to the camcorder and kicked over the table, sending the laptop clattering to the ground. After a quick pat down of Veritas, Damian swung a pair of keys around his finger and approached the podiums.
“Good job, Robin.” Dick sighed in relief that it was finally over. He was grateful for Damian’s quiet “tt” as Robin unlocked the cuffs. He’d really like to be unchained so he can wipe his eyes.
“Are—are you alright, Father?” Damian asked uncharacteristically softly as he unlocked Bruce next.
“Self-inflicted lacerations to tongue and cheek tissue,” Bruce replied, well, honestly. At least that felt more like a natural thing to hear from the Batman.
Dick took that as his own cue to shift back into regular work mode—they can think about the implications of this whole night (Bruce didn’t hate anything about him. About any of them. —He—he loved them so much and he was just so stupid he’d rather try to bite his tongue off than admit it). “We should collect the serum and return to the cave to synthesize an antidote.” Dick declared as he collected the discarded spray can and the briefcase.
“FATHER!”
Turning back to Bruce and Damian, Dick was shocked to see Bruce had scooped the preteen and set him on his hip—it was laughable really. Damian was comically too large and was struggling like a feral kitten to escape, but Bruce didn’t seem to notice.
Then, before Dick could brace himself, Bruce used his free arm to pull him into a bone-crushing hug, pressing him into the steely Kevlar of the Batsuit and gripping the back of his neck desperately with one hand. “I’m so proud of you. I’m so proud of you both. I love you so much, I don’t know—I don’t have words. There’s nothing I can say.”
“RELEASE ME!”
Dick ignored Damian’s hissing to wrap his own arms around both father and son. “B, you’re such an idiot.” Maybe it was concerning that it took a truth serum to force it out of him, but nothing about their relationship had ever been very normal anyway. "I love you, too."