Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night is cold, as is every night in Gotham, and the air is biting. 

Batman grapples down from the roof, blood staining his suit, stitches barely holding him together and incredibly, crushingly, bone achingly tired. 

It’s nearing midnight and officially rounding out the fifth day of his random but increasingly consistent bout of insomnia. He can almost hear Alfred’s critiques in his ear, along with his kids. 

Dick’s obvious jokes on the scene he’s in, Jason’s shadow on the edge of his vision, Tim’s steady presence, Duke’s wry comments, Damian’s appraising gaze, Cassandra’s protection, Stephanie’s jeers. Etc, etc. 

He misses them. It’s a weakness that is easy to use against him but unlikely to be exploited by the usual groups, not with all of them out living their own lives. 

Damian has been spending more and more time in Bludhaven which made sense at first given their uptick in crime but as the days blur into weeks it becomes increasingly obvious he perhaps just likes it better over there. Tim, Stephanie and Duke are studying at the university of their dreams and Cass is abroad in an ill-advised but painfully familiar search for herself. 

‘It won’t be for long, Bruce.’ Dick had said then, not quite looking him in the eye but genuinely apologetic. ‘It’s just till things get a little less crazy, it won’t be long.’ 

If he were to call them now, would they even answer? Would any of them?

As he nears the scene—Joker, again, because the man seems to have a sixth sense when he is at his most miserable—the tinge at his back flares. There is little he can do about that now but it’s presence is a steady ache that is impossible to ignore. 

”Batman!” The Joker greets gleefully, clapping his hands excitedly. “I’ve been wondering what you’ve been up to without your little entourage, seems they’ve finally flown the nest!”

There was supposed to be more to this, wasn’t there?

He is quick to remove the bomb from the two closest hostages, their arms tied and their faces streaming with tears. The tick, tick, tick of the device is working one of them into a panic attack so he moves quickly to deactivate it. 

How long have they done this? How long will they do this for? This forever revolving roster of people he’s known for decades now, villains the world calls them, villains their actions confirm. 

Do they tire too? When they see him swooping down to foil yet another plan, have they questioned their lives? 

“B-Batman,” The hostage says breathlessly, a flicker of hero worship shutters over his eyes and a part of Bruce dies. “Oh man, I can’t believe it. Do you think, if you’re not very busy, could I have an autograph!? We came to Gotham for you, you know?”

This hero worship is not new but the shamelessness rubs against him wrong.

“Get out of here.” He growls in lieu of answering. Quick to untie them out of their bonds to usher them away, a motion he’s done thousands of times before and will likely continue to do a thousand times from now. 

Bruce is tired.

“I was wondering when you were going to start having some real fun, Batsy!” The Joker exclaims and the rest of his speech blurs around Bruce like mist.

It’s the same thing. Day in and day out, it’s the same people making the same mistakes and what does that say about him that a part of him, a part that gets smaller and smaller every day, thinks maybe. 

Maybe today will be different, maybe tomorrow they’ll change their minds and be good the way he knows they can be. Maybe this dance will be one less partner.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Joker is defeated, like usual, Gordon leaves with a stiff nod and a pat on the back and there is a crowd watching him from a distance. 

He presses the comm button on the side of his cowl and a silence greets him. 

Ah, that’s right. 

Alfred went back to England for the new year, visiting family. 

‘I can’t keep doing this, Master Bruce.’ There was such disappointment in his eyes then, old and weathered and so very disappointed. ‘You’ve become unrecognisable. I don’t know if I can help you in any meaningful way, anymore, and that…that scares me.’

He only barely holds himself back from playing the last voice message he was sent from Alfred, a little reminder of the trip and his return date, a date that has since passed.

There is a silence in the manor now that never fails to leave him a bit breathless. He could call the others, the options there. 

He won’t, obviously, but the option is always there. This he will agonise over later, the blaring truth that the same could be applied to them is not yet connecting in his insomniac head. Bruce was never good at shifting blame, not when he is the epicentre of so much wrong.

God, he is tired.

Gotham sleeps on and her most valiant knight waits for her to dispatch him again. Despite being more bruise than man, he waits. 

And this, possibly, was the problem his family were talking about. 

Then, there is a flash in an alleyway. 

It catches on the corner of his eye, something blinding and otherworldly. He wonders, absently, if this was another hero coming to check in or give an update on the uncertain position of the League. Maybe another world ending threat he’ll need to take care of, hell, maybe a mix of both like that has never happened.

In the end it’s none of those things and—all of them at once.

It was a boy in an alleyway and the story starts again.

There is blinding light and, suddenly, Shigeo is nowhere and everywhere at once. 

Flickers of the scene—his brother caked in blood, the older teens who had threatened them not moving, silent, still—all of it plays under his eyelids on repeat.

Again and again.

Shigeo always knew that there was something more to his powers. Something darker and more sinister just bubbling underneath and this brief and only lapse of judgement will be forever edged into his memory. A reminder of what was hidden inside him that forever thrashes and claws to get out.

This has become a form of torture. The constant refraining of the scene at every angle, analysing and forced to watch the gruesome results for eternity. Sadness can’t change anything, anger won’t rewind time and make them go a different route that day. To save them from reality, to save those people.

To save his brother.

Nothing can and so the scene goes ever on.

This is new, though, this endless light that fluctuates from a comforting warm to a chilling cold. The nightmare stays the same but the encompassing silence surrounding it is different. Not wholly unwelcome. 

Maybe he could stay here forever, here where it is warm sometimes and cold sparingly. Where he could be kept far away from others.

Far away from his family.

The light doesn’t fade but it does feel as if it’s getting bigger, expanding out past him and beside him and below, all at once. His powers attempt to fight against it but whatever force this is it is a strong one. 

Shigeo manages to shield his eyes before the light expands past vision and past sight, carving away into unfamiliar street signs and dirty, graffitied brick walls. 

He’s in an alleyway. 

There are scraps on his hands and dirt caking his shoes. He blinks weakly against the blaring street lamp, the motion of moving his head bringing a ringing nausea. 

”…Mom?” He attempts to say, the word itself echoing a little in his head as he tries to find purchase for the situation.“Dad?…R-Ritsu?” 

He doesn’t want to go further into the alleyway, not when he was told so many times before to never do that, but going out to the street feels even scarier somehow. 

People are pushing past each other more aggressively then he’s used to and it looks as if it was getting dark. He’s never been out this long before but there are no landmarks he can identify that look even vaguely familiar.

Shigeo is scared.

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25%

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As he curls into a ball close to the dumpster he tries to make himself look as small as possible. Under the assumption that if people overlook him he might just blend in enough in the background to be ignored. 

There is a group further in the alleyway, bigger kids by the sound of it, jeering and laughing to each other. Although he prays they don’t get any closer the sounds of their voices bounce off the walls and it doesn’t take long for them to reach where he is.

“Hey shitty kid, you got anything on you?” The one who asks him—pimpled face with the curl of a cruel smile— doesn’t quite look at him. His eyes moving erratically around from him to the spaces around him. There is something trailing out of his nose and he smells terrible.

He needs to say something. 

“Doesn’t look like you’re from around here, fuck, is that a uniform? You some kind of private school brat?” Says another.

There is a sudden vicious cheer from the group and they surround him. 

Why can’t he say something?

”Your uncle knows someone who does that kidnapping shit, right Jack? You think we could get loaded from this?” 

50%

“Please…” He tries to say, fighting against the instinct to run. Knowing that with their height and pure numbers alone that they would catch him. 

“You got something to say?” The closest one throws something near him and it bounces off the dumpster, making a dull thud as it skids onto the dirty ground.

Will he have to use his powers again? So soon after his internal vow to his brother, to his family, that he would never lose himself like that again? 

The group is coming closer, jeering and saying horrible things, as just under his skin he can feel something inside him crackle and sizzle, dying to be used. 

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That darkness from before has laid a nest into his chest, he can feel it as it teases on the edges of his anger and his fear.

A bottle comes dangerously close to his head, he shatters it with a flick of a finger. One of the shards slashes the closest one in the face and a deep, emptying shame sinks into his body.

All hope that this small show of strength would scare them away dies as they laugh amongst each other, sights set on him. 

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Shigeo closes his eyes tight and sobs; he can’t do this, he doesn’t want to do this.

But what other choice does he have?

A small, pudgy hand raises as the teens progress further; the distinct colour surrounding the boy is ignored in favour of their perceived win. 

”Please…leave me a—“ He can’t finish it, memories flood faster and faster as the scene switches back and forth from a memory to reality. 

’ Leave my brother and me alone, please, I’ll give you anything’ He had said then, so, so scared but needing to be strong for his baby brother. 

Only they did not take his bravery well. They did not like his bravery at all.

‘ Brother!’ That scream, that horrible never ending scream felt like hearing the end of the world. 

“…What the hell is this? Why’s the kid glowing!?”

”I—I dunno, hey brat, cut that shit out!”

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Maybe in part it was the end of the world; It was definitely the end of his. The pure evisceration of the facade they had built over the years. 

The fantasy they tried so hard to believe, that he was a normal kid who can grow up and have a normal life. 

‘Ritsu!’ 

His vision goes white and as his consciousness sinks into the safe and familiar feeling of his powers. 

There is a deep solemn voice calling out to him and then, 

100% regret

nothing.

Chapter Text

“—of all the ridiculous, why don’t you go ahead and call your commissioner while you’re at it!? He’s a child not a goddamn prisoner—“

Shigeo wakes in a bed that he knows instinctively is not his. 

There is a gentle sink to the springs that sing luxury and a soft quality to the pillows that feels a bit like sleeping on a cloud. All leagues above his own bed but are, quite honestly, going to do nothing for his back.

The blanket scratches against his skin and as much as he would love to squirm out from under it, he doesn’t want to alert the voice yelling. 

”—chaining him up like an animal! What would your mother say!?” The voice continues to rant, seemingly just out of his eyeline. Lingering on the corner of his vision. 

Catching bits and pieces of the speech does Shigeo start figuring out his predicament. He is indeed kept like an animal, the bars are just small enough that he can’t just step out but the lack of psychic defence makes him believe that this isn’t the government coming to lock him away. 

Not like he doesn’t deserve it. 

Weakly he tries to push against the handcuff, testing his mobility in it, when the voice acknowledges him again. 

“—Alfred just had to leave now of all times, look at the boy! You set it far too tight!”

“I’m fine.” He says quietly, sorting through his memories for some kind of explanation for where he is. There was an alleyway and some older kids but after that, nothing. “It doesn’t hurt.”

”—Of course you’d say that, I think I’d know if—if it…” The voice stutters, sounding strangely stunned. “…I’m hearing things, have to be, there’s no way the boy can…”

“It’s okay, see?” Shigeo lifts the cuffs, jostling them back and forth. “They’re not tight at all.”

As the figure moves does he realise why they are so surprised by him. 

A wispy translucent figure hovers a good distance away, as if afraid to move closer. Startlingly bright eyes and slicked back hair, the man is dressed smartly, like an old black and white movie. His curly moustache hides a concerned frown. 

”You…you can see me?” He says stiffly, his ire visibly dwindling. A weary tentative kind of hope burns in his eyes. 

Shigeo takes a second to absorb the words, he never had the quickest reaction time and that power surge took a lot out of him. Until, eventually, he nods.

“Remarkable.” The ghost whispers, with an unreadable expression. Shigeo can’t hold himself back from fidgeting under that scrutinising gaze. 

This was new to him. Usually ghosts can tell by his innate psychic energy that he was a little different from most people; it was a major problem when he was younger and continues to be a problem now. Their home had turned into a bit of a ghost call centre near the end there. 

Before the… incident, that is.

Ghosts don’t like to stay around long once they realise who he is. From what  the few ghosts he had managed to get to talk to him, it was a bit like staring directly at the sun that could kill you as easily as sneezing. 

Honestly, this might be the longest conversation he’s ever had with a ghost that wasn’t causing trouble and being mean. He seems very concerned, which is nice. Telling, in a way, and gives him hope that maybe this place was made specifically for him. To keep him here away from innocent people just going about their lives. 

A place where he’ll never hurt another person. 

“I can’t imagine what you must be thinking right now…” The ghost says, regretfully. “My boy might be a little intimidating but it’s mostly an act. He just wants to scare you a bit before letting you go, now, I don’t know what he saw to warrant such a ridiculous reaction that is imprisoning an actual child but—“

”Is he a good man?” He asks, a little desperately. “Does he…does he protect people? Protect people from…bad things?”

The ghost looks at him as if seeing him for the first time. Moving closer he tries to lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Yes, lad, he protects people. Although I have my…reservations on the extent of his commitment, no one could deny my son's will and determination to help anyone who needs a helping hand. Whatever villain you find yourself running from he will defeat, this I have every confidence.”

”I’m glad.” He whispers, relief flooding him.

The ghost sighs and a heaviness settles into his eyes. “What’s your name then, my boy? My mother would have given me a hiding waiting this long for introductions.”

”My name is…Shigeo Kageyama.” He greets with a clumsy bow that only slightly jostles his binds. “…H-Hello.”

This earns him a fond snort, something like nostalgia crinkling the side of his eyes. “Well met! Thomas Wayne, previous owner of your temporary prison and the exacerbated father to your jailer.”

”What do you mean by ‘temporary prison’?” His brows knit. Although getting better at his English, there were still some aspects that confused him. 

“You won’t be here a minute longer if I have anything to say about it.” Thomas Wayne, grumbles. “Secret identity be damned!”

“What? Oh no, no, I shouldn’t leave.” Shigeo interrupts, sitting up on the edge of his bed, drawing his knees to his chin. “No, I think it’s much better if I stay here.”

The ghost startles. “You can’t—possibly mean that.”

“I’m dangerous out there.” He says, chillingly matter-of-factly. A small, innocent smile carving into his face. “When I’m in here, I won’t be causing trouble and—and hurting people.”

”Have you…” Thomas takes a breath, refusing to lose his calm and misinterpret something that could have a perfectly reasonable explanation. “Have you been hurting people, Shigeo? Outside of self defence?”

There is silence, just a brief, minute silence but a telling silence all the same. 

“I don’t know.” He murmurs, looking away him. 

“It’s okay to defend yourself when you’re getting hurt, kiddo.” Thomas tries to reach out, seeing that initial spark of trust the boy had in him withering. “I don’t want you to think that it’s wrong to fight back against people who mean you harm. In an ideal situation you should go to the police or a trusted adult but that isn’t always possible, is it?”

The boy sniffs and, to his absolute horror, begins tearing up. 

“I don’t know…” Shigeo repeats, voice cracking.

Running a hand through his hair, a horrible habit he hasn’t seem to even beat in death, Thomas wonders what exactly his son has gotten himself involved in.

The screech of rubber and metal reverberates through the cave, announcing the arrival of the man in question.

“Everything will be just fine, okay? Don’t give yourself any unnecessary stress, Bruce is very sentimental to the plights of children.” He tries to reassure, wincing at the very intimidating figure his son cuts in the shadows of his cave. “Oh rats, I meant to say Batman.”

“Batman?” Shigeo whispers, something like anticipation working its way through him. That’s a hero name if he’s ever heard one.

The feeble light that Shigeo gets is hardly enough to cut through the natural darkness of the cave. Making it near impossible to make out features on the intimidatingly large man. 

Although he squints at the dark outline, Shigeo finds himself mildly disappointed that there doesn’t seem to be any wings, despite what the alias ‘Batman’ implies. 

‘Is he like Caped Baldy?’ He wonders, with the beginnings of hope blooming in his chest. ‘Can he protect people from me?’

Shigeo quickly wipes away his tears and strains to sit upright, wanting to make the best first impression. 

The cave is quiet and even the ghost seems to tense. The dark figure stands in front of him, judging and ever silent until:

”You are awake.” He states, a little unnecessarily, with a smooth baritone that doesn’t seem half as intimidating as his appearance.

Shigeo blinks up at him, weighing his words carefully before replying: 

”Yes.”

“Good.”

There is another pregnant silence.

“Oh for christ sake…” Shigeo hears the ghost groan behind him. Not wanting to be rude, he doesn’t turn to ask what’s wrong, a little starstruck at the seemingly real superhero in front of him. 

“Are you Batman?” He says, attempting a conversation, not quite sure how to interpret the silent observation (far too involved with his own silent study). 

“I heard…I heard your name is Batman and that you…help people.”

He tilts his head, a bit like an owl. “I am and I do.”

”Oh good.” Shigeo moves as close as he can to the edge of the bed, fighting a bit against his restraints. “Did you…did you save those people? In the alleyway? I hope they’re not too hurt…”

”You remember the confrontation?” The older man asks, tensing slightly. “Are you saying your actions were indeed voluntary?”

”I don't…” Shigeo swallows, feeling the familiar sink of guilt and shame. “I don’t know how to…answer that.”

“Now you listen here, the boys done no wrong and if you think locking him away to rot in here is the way to go about things then—“

”You don’t have to answer anything that makes you uncomfortable.” Batman says grimly, a sincere gruffness that eases something in Shigeo’s heart. 

Thomas, the ghost, loses the steam of his anger and something tired and worn replaces it. Although Shigeo can’t quite interpret what this means, he resolves to check in on him when the time’s right. 

Batman continues, softer than before. “I will have to ask you things, so I know how better to help you, but I promise they won’t be invasive or uncomfortable. Would that be alright?”

Shigeo is confused by the gentleness, the image he has created of ‘Batman’ formed by his new ghost friend has harsh edges and awe-inspiring strength. There wasn’t a lack of power, from what he could see, but the cold harsh edge he had expected was non-existent.

“That’s okay.” He accepts, knowing that an interrogation was unavoidable based on all the things he’s done, conscious or otherwise.

“Good,” There is a ghost of a smile that disappears as quickly as it's seen. “I think we can continue this conversation out of the holding cell, I see now this precaution may have been…unnecessary.”

The longer he stays here the more it does seem like he is the real deal superhero he’s always dreamed of meeting. Although it might be a bit forward, Shigeo wants to ask him if he knows Caped Baldy, wants to know if there’s ever been bug villains or spider powers like what he reads about.

”Oh, no it’s—it’s fine!” Shaking his head to emphasise the point. “I uhm…I think it’s better that I’m in here.”

”Better for who?” There he goes again, dropping into some kind of hero mode that only the strongest people have. Where the gravity around them is heavy and filled with expectation, this has to mean that he is taking his words seriously. 

Feeling like a lifelong weight has been lifted, Shigeo attempts a smile. “Better for everyone.”

Although Shigeo doesn’t quite understand why both Batman and the ghost look at him like they can’t quite believe what they see, nor do they like what they find, he still can’t find it in him to let it dampen his good mood.

It finally ends here. He can never hurt another person again, not with Batman here. 

Batman is a superhero and, just like the ghost man said, he protects people from bad things, protects the world from villains. 

He is glad—no, overwhelmingly thankful—to have met someone like that. A hero who can control a horrible, brother killing villain like him. 

Chapter Text

Despite what Shigeo assumes to be a prison, it’s rather spacious than what he always pictured prisons to be. 

There was a single bed with pressed linen, the cell itself was spacious and clean. It was hard to find faults in it; not that he tried too hard to do that. It was awfully nice of the Batman to keep him here away from people. He doesn’t quite know how he’s gonna repay the hero for that but he’s thinking hard about it.

favourite part might just be where it was located, though. 

Wherever they are it has high ceilings and multiple levels. Rocks dip down from the roof into spikes and the floor looks a bit like the chocolate parts of rocky road. It was pleasantly cool and quiet, a hum of electronics somewhere just out of view and the distant calls of what Shigeo hopes to be bats.

There were platforms everywhere, displaying the most interesting and varied objects he’s ever seen. Just across from his cell was a life size dinosaur figure that snarled down from its perch. The face was a little scary but that didn’t lessen his excitement in the slightest.

There were giant playing cards and futuristic computer screens that could probably play any game in the world. The display cases have different versions of Batman suits, a giant sprawling training area everything was just unbelievably cool. It was really unfortunate that he was the only one to see it,  If only Rits—

No. 

He’s not allowed to think about him anymore, Shigeo almost forgot.

Murderer, 

murderer, 

murderer.

Mob grabs at his shirt, trying to find where that horrible, stabbing feeling was coming from. It hurts. Everything hurts and all around him things lift in the air, hovering ominously. 

Through the fog of his blurry vision—was he crying? What was there to cry about?— he can just make out the familiar figure of his latest hero.

”I need you to breathe.” The figure commands gently, around eye level to him despite Shigeo knowing that the position was likely very uncomfortable for the larger man. 

“Deep breaths, you can do it.”

Yes, he should be able to do that, shouldn’t he? Breathing doesn’t sound too hard, in theory, but spots start appearing on the edges of his vision. His throat felt as if thousands of ants were scurrying up and down it.

”You’re not breathing, you have to breathe kid, come on.”

’I’m trying.’ He wants to say, is actively trying to say, but words seem to be failing him. ‘Everything hurts, Mr Batman.’

“Can’t…“ Shigeo manages to gasp out, pale faced and hyperventilating.

”Yes you can.” Batman says, firmly. “I know you can. Just one big breath in and hold, hold, hold for four—“

Shigeo tries, he really does and, although he hears something smash to the ground, somehow his body listens to him. A big wet gasp echoes through the cave. He holds it, teary-eyed, and waits for more instructions.

Batman doesn’t quite smile but there is an unclenching of his jaw that makes him seem a little less tense. ”—And now one big breath out four counts, like you’re blowing up a balloon.” 

The gasping exhale out doesn’t sound at all like the one Batman did but he doesn’t seem to mind. Throughout this whole experience, Batman was calm and virtually unflappable like he knew exactly what Shigeo was going through. 

Like he could help.

Often, throughout his life, Shigeo had faced many things that the adults around him couldn’t explain to him. Things that were too big for them to comprehend or too strange to fathom. It made him feel very lonely sometimes. Like he was just drifting past moment to moment, untethered to the world in any real way.

Batman wasn’t like that though. In the short time he’s known him—through the brief interactions they’ve shared—he feels known and understood in a way he never thought someone like him could feel. He felt like maybe…maybe he could be safe here.

And in the space between his heart and his head—that small horrible space that aches for his family, his home—there is a lightness that he’s never experienced before. 

They do this for a while—soft murmuring instructions and hesitant stuttering breaths—until Shigeo feels a little more stable and less like he wants to vomit.

”I didn’t mean to do that.” Shigeo says, quietly, trying to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry.”

The brief silence stretches just long enough for him to get worried, until there is a hand on his shoulder. Stunned, Shigeo blinks up at the still-masked face, trying to gauge if he will be punished or not.

”No need to apologise.” The man utters, simply. Almost matter-of-factly. “These things happen.”

”It shouldn’t.” 

“No,” Batman concedes, reluctantly (Or as reluctant as a man like Batman can sound). “But people are not perfect. You are not perfect nor should you have to be.”

”You know…what I did to those people.” Shigeo screws his eyes shut, willing his tears to stay at bay. “I can’t make mistakes, my mistakes hurt people.”

“Would you look at that?” Shigeo startles when he hears the sudden voice of Thomas Wayne, only now making his appearance. Unsure just how much the ghost heard, Shigeo stays quiet. “Doesn’t that sound familiar, Bruce?”

”To err is human.” The older man utters, the hand that was placed comfortingly on his shoulder dropping. A shadow seems to come over what little of his face Mob can see. “Mistakes are a part of life, it makes us who we are.”

”It does?” He surprises himself by how vulnerable he sounds, feeling a little lame being so emotional in front of a superhero. 

”Would I lie to you?” 

”No, I don’t think so.” Mob says, with no hesitation. “You’re a hero. And uhm, Heroes aren’t allowed to lie.”

The shadow seems to grow larger. “No, they aren’t.”

Feeling a little embarrassed by the scene he caused, Mob looks up a little shyly. “Are you…angry at me? For using my powers?”

”No.” His jaw seems to unclench, again, which Shigeo is starting to see means that he is happy. “I’m no expert but that didn’t look too voluntary on your end.”

“Oh, well.” Mob smiles faintly. “That’s good.” 

“Such invigorating conversation with you two.” Thomas Wayne comments, lightly, a spark of amusement in the depths of his translucent eyes. “I almost wish Alfred were here to witness this, what a blast from the past.”

”We need to continue our talk from last time.” Batman says, gravely. “but I don’t wish to push you, so if you feel like I ask a question you don’t want to answer just give me a sign. Does that sound alright with you?”

Mob blinks a litte, registering what is being asked of him before nodding. “Yes, that’s okay.”

Batman nods and moves closer to his ‘room’ pressing some buttons on the side, when there is a loud pressure beep and the door swings open.

Mob moves closer to the corner as Batman settles into the chair beside him, far larger than the sun itself. The binds around his wrist are gently clicked off, the hero stashing it somewhere under his cape. 

“Oh wow,” He startles, just a little starstruck seeing a hero so up close. The bat motif is shown in little ways, on the cut of his cowl, the emblem across his chest, the belt that was just a splash of yellow against pure night black. A little different from Caped Baldy but just as amazing. “You look really cool, are you…are you a psychic too?”

Batman takes out a tablet and begins typing at a breakneck speed, as curious as mob is he doesn’t try and lean over to peek at what he’s writing; even though he really wants to.

“So your powers, would you describe them as psychic abilities? What extent do you think your abilities reach? Would you say it’s very far?”

With the reminder of the depths of his powers, Shigeo all but deflates. His steady enthusiasm drains as he pushes through the bloody, horrible, memory that he has only just got ridden of. “I guess...”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” There is a slight grimace and his typing abruptly stops. “I don’t know many psychics, I’m just a little curious. What happened in that alleyway is…unfortunate but there were no casualties. The teens that had accosted you are fine enough, the only thing bruised there was their egos.”

A tentative smile blooms from his face. He didn’t realise how much he needed to hear that those older kids weren’t hurt but his heart felt instantly lighter with the admittance anyway. “That’s good.”

“Shigeo, my boy, it might be best to introduce yourself. Seems he’s completely forgotten to ask for your name.” The ghost shakes his head, a fond tilt to his mouth. 

Wiping the dried dirt from his palms on his pant leg, Shigeo hesitantly raises his hand, like he learnt from English class. 

“So uh…my name is Shigeo Kageyama.” He takes a breath and releases it, just like he was told. “I’m a psychic and sometimes my powers get kind of scary. Sometimes…Sometimes I get kind of scary. I don’t mean to be but it happens anyway.”

There is a brief silence before a large hand clutches his, giving it a little shake. 

“It's nice to meet you, Shigeo Kageyama.” His tone doesn’t change but Mob likes to think there is warmth under his expressionless mask. ”I’m going to make sure you get back home as soon as possible. Despite your circumstances I have every confidence.”

”Circumstances?” Mob blinks, startled. “What do you mean?”

The new silence is different from their other bouts of prolonged quiet. There is a feel to the air as if they are on the precipice of something, the edge of something fragile.

It scares him, as so many things seem to do nowadays. 

”Mr Batman?” 

The man stands, abruptly. “This was a mistake.”

”What—what do you mean?”

Clutching the edge of his tablet, the superhero glides to the exit and his ghostly father hovers over his shoulder looking disappointed and guilty all at once. 

“For god sakes, you don’t intend to hide his status from him forever are you!?” Thomas Wayne rants, gesturing wildly to Mob. “He’s going to find out eventually!”

”Find out what?” Mob asks, making the ghost flinch and, much like his son, refuses to look at him.

”I’ve—arranged for someone to continue this interrogation in my place.” The older man says distantly, walking further and further away. “He will be here soon to fetch you. I trust him greatly.”

Mob, panicking, lunges for the bars and tries reaching out for him. “Mr Batman, please, did I upset you? I—I didn’t mean it, I’m sorry, where are you going!?”

Thomas Wayne’s brows knit in concentration. “Trust him greatly? What in the…oh, oh I see what this is.”

”Batman!?!” Mob tries to call out, again, hoping he hadn’t ruined everything so soon. 

The ghost shakes his head, rubbing his face as if dispelling an imagined migraine. “You’re causing more trouble than you intend you silly man…Shigeo, please, everything is well. My son will not leave you to rot, he will return sooner than you think.”

”Did I do something wrong?” Mob sniffs, breathing heavily and willing the floating items around him to drop. 

“No, no this has nothing to do with you. My son just isn’t the best at putting down masks, got real rigid ideas of things. Heaven knows where he got that from.” He says dryly with a grimace. An expression that shifts when the duo register movement from the direction Batman disappeared from. 

There is a clicking whoosh as the bar door swings open again and, in what is starting to feel like deja vu, a hulking figure is illuminated in the doorway.   

Mob tenses, unsure what will greet him now with Batman gone. Thomas is beside him, an attempt at a half hug abandoned as it only serves to leave an icy chill through his shoulder bones.  

He scrambles back to his bed when a figure approaches, holding several floating items in front of him, threateningly. 

“Who are you?” Mob swallows, trying to glare. “Where’s Batman?”

“Hello there,” The man that stands in front of him is tall, large in the same way as Batman but not with the same kind of hard edges. The resemblance to the ghost over his shoulder is unmistakable but the one glaring difference, his brilliant blue eyes, sparkle as they gaze at him. “The names Bruce, Bruce Wayne, I’m more the brains of the whole bat operation. Also the charm and the heart and—well, if I could throw a punch I bet I’d even give big old Batman a run for his money!”

‘Bruce Wayne’ smiles at him warmly but Shigeo is still too confused to return it. “Shigeo, isn’t it? I’ve heard a lot about you! Why don’t you come on out of there and I can get us some tea. That bat can be real bad at the basic things, can’t he? Come on out, it’s fine, we can talk better out here.”

”I shouldn’t leave.” Shigeo tries to say, unwillingly relaxing at the man's kind tone. “If Batman’s not here then I might lose control again and—and I don’t want to hurt you…”

Thomas hovers around anxiously, wringing his hands but staying silent. For once, keeping his opinions to himself. 

“It’s okay.” Bruce urges again, reaching out a hand. “Batman told you that he trusts me, and he’s not the kind of guy to trust all that easily. I know you’ll be okay out here because there’s an anti psychic field throughout the cave. He put it up just for you.”

”He did?” Mob blinks up, looking around the cave roof as if trying to catch the force field in action. “He made it just for me?”

”Sure did!” There is a soft hand that ruffles his hair, forcing Mob to look up at the man. “Come on out now, bud, I think I’ve got some earl gray if you’re up for it—oh! I’ve got some real stuff too if that’s more your style. You a juice guy? Milk?” 

Hesitantly Mob reaches out and grabs the offered hand. Looking back at Thomas Wayne as if for permission—earning him a thumbs up—he takes the first couple steps out of his prison cell.

He gives a small smile. “I’d…I’d like some milk, please.”

Chapter Text

Bruce’s bones still ache from the battle fought not even three hours ago, his new wounds covered up with thick bandages and spray disinfectant. The boy responsible none the wiser of the destruction he had brought. 

Or, perhaps, far too aware given how hard it was to coax him from the holding cell.

Wrangling him up the stairs into the main house was a trek and a half, especially since he was told how top secret even the knowledge of such a trek was.

”The force field goes all the way up here?” The boy asks as he is being led. His tone was much like his voice, a mild inoffensive murmur. 

“That’s right.” Bruce answers, thankful that the boy's naivety coaxed him from his assigned prison and guilty that he found benefit in that trust. “Batman’s real smart about stuff like that. Awfully dumb about other things but, you know, this he can get right at least!”

Yes, things like lying to a child to move him from the prison he forced him into. Real fucking hero of the year for that one.

Or maybe interrogating said child directly after he has a literal panic attack, like his hollow words made up for causing the panic attack in the first place.  

“I can’t imagine Batman doing anything dumb…” Shigeo says, very earnestly but still giggling at the very idea. 

He’s never seen as young as he is at this moment. The quiet sort of maturity has been all but shredded and some small, complicated, crisscross of Bruce’s anxieties soften at the sound. 

“No, trust me, the guys strong but getting him to do laundry is like pulling teeth!” He gestures wildly at the words, ridiculous and dramatic as Bruce Wayne was made to be. “You gotta tell him, point break, just cause a shirt has a hole in it doesn’t automatically make it a rag! There’s such a thing as sewing!” 

Examples of his own inadequacies are not hard to come by—especially after raising snarky, particularly quippy, teenagers—but keeping it vague and light is harder than he expected.

“Oh, but that one's understandable.” Shigeo says, nodding slightly as if imagining the scenario. “I don’t think Batman can sew with his uhm—claw hands? Maybe he doesn’t know how?”

”That could be possible.” He nods along, somewhat nostalgic for the simplicity of kid logic. “Well, guess we’re just gonna have to teach him then.”

Although he doesn’t reply, Bruce can spot the slight tilt of a smile and gives himself a mental pat on the back.

They take their time getting to their destination, a thousand scenarios running through his head on why this is a bad idea but whenever he glances down to the little shadow tentatively following behind him, the scenarios disappear. 

Small owlish eyes took in the new space with a detached but genuine curiosity, seemingly at the age where everything new was interesting. Despite how dusty it’s become after months of abandonment—and without Alfred there to maintain its upkeep— he seems to warm up to the library.

”I’m a little out of practice.” Bruce says, laughing self-degradingly at his abrupt cough, the bitter taste of his tea not agreeing with him. “You don’t mind the milk?”

”No, it’s good.” He says, simply. “I like it.” 

Then, after a considerable pause, he sets his cup down and smiles—a little unnaturally. “Thank you.”

Raising a brow, Bruce chalks it up to ingrained etiquette lessons. A victim he was himself, once upon a time. 

The tea was a pleasant warmth in his hands, the mug an old but reliable relic of a Father’s Day's past. The boy (because despite everything he saw, the power that was levelled at him, that was all he was. A terrified, powerful, little boy) sat in the comforter opposite of him. 

“So, Shigeo,” Bruce says eventually, weighing each thought carefully in his head. Batman looks for information, an angle to exploit, but Bruce Wayne has no ulterior motive. ”How are you feeling about all this? I think contacting your parents might be…a little difficult right now but I’m sure we can figure something out.”

‘Difficult’ was an understatement but there is simply no easy way to explain to an incredibly volatile emotionally fragile child that they had crossed dimensions and are, quite literally, worlds away from their family. 

Which, wasn’t that a fun realization to have? Having been only seconds away from calling Clark only to find the terrorising monster was only a distraught child had not been a pleasant experience. Nor was running the boy's DNA to find it incompatible with any known and extraterrestrial strands he has on the database which is, unsurprisingly, a lot. From the start of the night to the end it had been a continued and colossal shit show. 

”No!” Shigeo gasps, a frail wheezing thing, and sits up in his chair. “I—I don’t think that’s a good idea, maybe later when I’m more normal but…not now.”

Bruce sets down his tea and folds his arms in concentration. Not particularly happy with the passing comment on becoming more ‘normal’ but prioritising the more pressing nugget of information. 

“Maybe not now but later?” Bruce suggests, gently. “I won’t pressure you to answer but I’m mighty curious. What makes you think that meeting them now isn’t a good idea? I’m sure they miss you, Shigeo.”

He’s playing a dangerous game asking something like that. If, somehow, he talks him around to wanting his family back, the news that they don’t have the technology available to accommodate that would be a determined shortcut to another psychic meltdown. 

Batman would have avoided all mention of his family, try to curve around the topic so it never came up and go right through to psychic abilities and limitations. The only real way to gauge the boys' threat levels without actively engaging in combat. 

“I don’t…” He swallows, sniffing and valiantly holding down his powers. “I don’t want to trouble them anymore.”

Only, Bruce Wayne wasn’t Batman. 

Different personas had different strategies, different priorities, and although the Dark Knight has been very widely known for his mission, Bruce Wayne was known for one thing and one thing only. 

He lays a hand on the top of Shigeo’s head—earning him bewildered blinking eyes hidden under fringe— and ruffles it.

It was an old habit he used to use on his Robin’s. He claimed it was to check their response time but really it was to assure himself that they were still right there, alive. 

Dick used to laugh when he pulled that move, telling him how stiff and awkward it was but basked in the attention anyway. 

‘You’re so bad at this,’ He had laughed, patting Bruce’s head in retaliation. ‘we’ll work on it, don’t worry, ‘How to human’ training will start as soon as possible!’

Jason soaked in the positive attention like a sponge; even though he complained about it to anyone who would listen. 

‘It’s actually embarrassing hanging out with you, old man.’ Jason shook his head, the flush on his ears not at all hidden. ‘Are we gonna patrol or what? I gotta remember that you have the capacity to be kind of cool sometimes.’

Tim was a harder nut to crack but never seemed to mind it when it happened. 

‘You don’t have to do that, you know.’ Tim had stated, matter-of-factly. ‘It’s not like I’m expecting you to treat me like one of your kids. I just wanted to help.’ 

‘I know.’ Bruce had said in reply, ruffling his hair anyway. 

‘Whatever,’ He sighed but made it a point not to shake off the hand.

Damian, Bruce had never gotten around to seeing his reaction, things moving too quick for them to really bond the way they were supposed to.

Another failure on his part.

Shigeo was rather singular in his reaction, not like any of his other kids. Although very startled by the sudden contact his only real outward reaction was to blink up at him. His confusion was molasses slow and virtually unexpressed. It was very in line with what he knows of the boy's personality but the undercurrent of sympathy he spots made Bruce feel, vaguely, that he’s being pitied in this moment.

With this realization there is a curious bubble of amusement somewhere in his chest that takes Bruce by surprise. 

He’s always been a bit pitiful. Ever since he was a child there was a crowd to pity him, keeping their distance, of course, but ever watchful. Always waiting for the moment they can turn their pity into scorn. After years of inactivity he gave them a reason. Have it be for the sleeping around, his moronic actions or the thoughtless comments, they could choose their pick. Anything was better than the pity, he had thought, and so Bruce Wayne, fool billionaire was born. 

It should be impossible to look at Bruce Wayne in his mansion, wearing his expensive clothes and listening to his foolish comments and find something inside him to pity and yet…

”It’ll be okay, Shigeo.” Bruce says, because that’s the sort of thing you say to people who pity you and you pity in turn. “I’ll do whatever I can to keep you out of trouble, cause heavens know I’ve been in my fair share of trouble.” 

“And…And Batman will be here too?” He asks quietly, still slowly blinking back up at him. 

“Of course he will.” Then, because his brain never really stops strategising, he adds. “Batman even wants to work with you on your powers, help polish them up a bit so you can use them easier.”

Which Bruce has no doubt in his mind Shigeo will want to do. The trend of child vigilantes did not originate from Gotham, and in extension from him, but there was still the point of order that all of his charges have pursued their own form of heroics. The 100% turn rate was undeniable and, as much as it pains him to admit it, this child will likely fall into the same aspirations as those before him. 

“He does!?” Shigeo exclaims, starry-eyed and absolutely beaming with hero worship that Bruce doesn’t believe he could ever deserve. “Are you sure?”

“Yep, he told me himself.” The smile he receives in return only serves to make his heart ache. There are shadows in his smile, shades of Bruce’s kids that really shouldn’t exist in this strange, dimensional travelling little boy and yet…

and yet…

Bruce looks out the library window, tracking a stray bird as it lands on a nearby tree. His hand continues to pat soft, pitch black hair as he mourns and remembers easier days. 

The sun peaks just above the trees and the sky is clear, it looks like it might be a good day.  

Chapter Text

They have their moment for a few, blessedly silent, seconds before something else Bruce has neglected to consider pops up. 

”Mr Wayne? Sir?” Shigeo wiggles a bit under the hand still ruffling his hair. “Can I uhm eat now? Or are there like set times…”

“Set times?” Bruce blinks, stopping his motion to kneel eye level. ”Like breakfast and lunch? We can have breakfast now if you want, I just figured you’d be a little tired.” 

The boy’s blank stare, once again, betrays none of his thoughts. “In the shows? They always have set times for stuff. I thought it would be the same here, sorry.”

”No need to apologise,” Bruce replies on instinct, well used to the compulsive apologises after raising several neurotic teens. “Shows for…what exactly, Shigeo? Ah, maybe you’re a fan of those stuffy historical shows? I can see where you might be confused, we’re not stuck in the age of social obligation and poisonous niceties anymore! Isn’t that nice?”

”Uh, yeah.” He nods, still looking quite confused. “Sorry again.”

”It’s fine. Really.” There was a slight suspicion of what exactly the boy was referring to but surely not... “But what show might you be thinking about? I might even know it.”

“Oh—I’m not good with the names of things? It was just what my mum and dad watched after dinner.” He supplies, somewhat hesitant. “I don’t know much about prison and stuff, it just looks kinda different from the show. Is it because you’re rich so this is just a rich prison?”

“Right.” Prison. His suspicions were correct. The traumatised little psychic boy still thinks he’s a prisoner being kept here for his own good—of course his vague, short-sighted explanation wasn’t received correctly, why would it? Not confirming or denying anything, shuffling the boy along from room to room he’s failed again in the last few minutes and—no, not the time.

”Shigeo you’re not in prison, nor will you be going to prison anytime soon.” He says calmly, realistically too calm for the version of ‘Bruce Wayne’ he’s shown so far but the rage and self-loathing that bubbles just beneath makes him clamp down on it extra hard. “Batman should have clarified that better.”

“Oh.” The news doesn’t seem to affect him at all but after years of studying microexpressions he knows there’s some relief. “Oh, okay. I was kind of worried that uh—I was breaking some kind of rule for walking around and stuff. So, that’s good to know.”

Despite the situation, Shigeo has been remarkably accepting of everything, especially Bruce’s failures. Had this been any of the others this conversation would have ended with Bruce getting punched in the face and spending three hours outside a locked bedroom door. 

”I want you to feel comfortable here.” An impossible thing to ask for anyone; his currently empty house is a testament of this. “This isn’t—listen, none of this is ideal but I’m going to contact people who can help you get home when you feel like it’s time to go home. So, if you don’t want Batman to train you anymore I completely understand—“

“W-What?” And for what has to be the second time since he’s known the kid, Shigeo’s expression changes. “No, no, I don’t want that!”

”It’s really fine.” He tries to argue, hoping that maybe this problem can be solved quickly. “He won’t take it personally, I promise.”

”He said he’ll train me. You said he would yourself.” Shigeo repeats stubbornly. “Why would he break a promise? That doesn’t make sense.”

“Shigeo, please, I don’t want to be beating a dead horse but his lack of clarification—lack of care for your wellbeing—has made it where you believed to be walking up to your prison cell! You should be furious! Hurt, even, that a hero was willing to put you through that!”

He knows he’s getting too loud, can hear his own voice ringing in his ears, even the slight flinch from Shigeo every time he speaks is a warning sign but Bruce can’t help himself.  His own frustrations like a raging inferno, searching for a target to release its fire.

“Angry?” Shigeo asks, like the idea didn’t occur to him. “No, I’m—I’m not angry at all.”

”It’s alright if you are.” Bruce tries to press, now a bit afraid that the surface level hero worship will have Shigeo excuse anything he does, a very dangerous practice. “It’s normal to be affected by someone you trust making mistakes that negatively affect you.”

“I mean…I guess yeah that’s kinda bad. If Batman thought I was mean or something I’d be really sad. Cause I don’t think I am and so that wouldn’t really be true.” Shigeo nods to himself, thinking out his words carefully. “But if he just made a mistake then…that’s okay.”

”Why would that possibly be okay?” 

The boy looks at him strangely, like he is the odd one in their conversation. “Batman’s pretty cool, I think. But he can’t know everything. My dad said it’s impossible for anyone to know everything. So, it’s okay to get things wrong sometimes.” 

“Batman can’t afford to make mistakes.” Which hasn’t stopped him before, of course, otherwise why else would he still be here? His entire life was a series of long winded mistakes that cost more than he was ever willing to give. 

“Why not?” Shigeo tilts his head to one side. ”He seems pretty rich…”

”Not that kind of—“ Bruce huffs, beyond exhausted by the direction of their conversation. “There are many people that are affected by his mistakes. He cannot afford to let those people down or, worst of all, hurt them more than he already has.”

”Oh…did uhm…did one of his mistakes hurt you?” Shigeo stares at him, vaguely sad. “If it makes you feel any better, he probably didn’t mean it. When I made my mistake I didn’t mean it either but it still hurt a lot of people cause I’m dangerous. Batman’s not really all that dangerous so his mistakes only, you know, hurt your feelings. That’s not that bad I think, Mr Wayne, really.”

It’s a waste of time to disagree with him, even though it physically pains him to let it pass, Bruce knows this is not something to dismantle with just one conversation. Something like this takes time, a lot of goddamn time that they don’t have and a far more emotionally proficient person than him.

Bruce doesn’t understand, but he has to try. 

”You know,” He weighs every word carefully, uncertain of what direction he really wants to go here. Somehow this is more difficult than any press tour or gala interview he’s ever done. 

“I’ve met a lot of people in this line of work. Criminals, crooks, villains, heroes.” He counts each one on one hand. “When you work with Batman, it’s inevitable, and of those people I can confidently say that more than half of them were what the world would call ‘dangerous’. Truly, absurdly, dangerous.” 

Then he grins, because he’s been told in the past that his smiles can convince anyone of anything and he wants nothing more than for Shigeo to believe this. 

“The thing is though, the powers you have don’t determine who you are. Some of those dangerous people were heroes. Kind and fearless, putting themselves at risk for the safety of others. Superman is the most powerful man in the world and he doesn’t hurt anyone who doesn’t deserve it.” 

It’s hard to see how exactly the boy receives this. In some lights he looks like he’s concentrating, in others like he’s incredibly bored. Despite the tenseness of the situation, Bruce is vaguely impressed by it. 

”Superman.” Shigeo repeats, testing the name. “He’s like Batman, kind of?”

”Yep!” He says perhaps a touch too enthusiastically. Thankful that he seems to have gotten through to him. “They make up a team of heroes that do their best to protect earth from dangers all over the world. Each is just as competent as the next and are collectively known as earth's first and only defence.”

Bruce hopes this might kickstart a more positive look at power. When the inevitable time comes and Shigeo takes a step out into hero work it will be good for him to have more role models to tailor his ethics towards. Superman, Wonderwoman, Flash, the League is not short on examples of heroics.  

“Oh, I see.” 

It isn’t anything like Bruce’s own call to action, that was made from bloody brick and bleak days. This is more a hope for the future, that a power that large can be shifted to something more constructive. It’s good to have hope in this world.

Shigeo chews on everything he’s heard, hopefully thinking deeply on the message he’s trying to convey.  

Perhaps too deeply, now that Bruce is really weighing out the silence.

Looking up to see what exactly might be the cause of the extended silence, he finds a very peculiar sight. A multichrome almost rainbow energy cocoons a small bug in its centre. Crystalised by the ever shifting light, the bug floats through the air, stagnant and inches away from Shige’s equally glowing hand.

“Hello.” Shigeo waves at the bug, bringing his slightly wide-eyed face as close as he can. “I don’t think Mr Wayne would like you on his jacket.”

Frankly, Bruce wouldn’t have given a damn about a bug on his jacket but he wasn’t going to tell him that. Nor was he quite certain on the actual scale of abilities Shigeo had access to. 

The detective in him is itching to write this new discovery down, the Batman in him bristles at the casual use of powers but the parent in him, the loudest of the bunch, is proud that there’s still some parts of Shigeo’s powers that don’t terrify the boy. 

“It’s not nice to jump on people like that,” Shigeo explains, gently putting the bug on the windowsill and using another energy hand(?) to lift the window up. “You might scare someone accidentally.”

”Mighty good advice.” Bruce comments lightly, reluctantly wondering what the psychic might think of Batman’s signature move. “Thank you very much for saving me.”

“It’s okay.” He replies in return, a pleased little smile pulling on his lips. 

Yes, there was no doubt about it. Shigeo might be a little more reserved than Bruce was used to but he is every bit a hero.

Blinking a bit to try and refocus his attention, Shigeo tilts his head in thought. “Sorry, I got distracted. What were you saying?”

But perhaps, not just yet. 

”Just giving you options, kiddo.” Bruce says with a tired grin, mentally erasing several contingency plans in one fell swoop. “Doesn’t uh…really matter anymore.”

Give it a few years, 

maybe. 

After setting up a spare bed for Shigeo and all but ordering him to take a shower—once again assuring him that the ‘psychic force field’ has enough range and strength to contain him—Bruce deflates on the couch in the library, looking at the empty mugs and the rings they made on the coffee table. 

There was no time to rest, not with his workload, but his liquor cabinet calls to him in the way he knows to be wary of. Overwork and stress led him here and another overindulgent alcohol binge will help no one, let alone the child now in his care.

It’s better to take a break and reevaluate the facts.

Shigeo Kageyama is an anomaly, shy to a fault and ridiculously powerful. Trusting in a way that tells of an easy childhood but cautious enough to be aware of what he harbours. Shigeo is unlike any of his children, and thus, impossible to understand. 

Bruce thumbs through the rough outline of events that the boy had managed to write down for him and finds the crude illustrated examples unhelpful and, dare he say, mildly depressing. 

As much as he is a holder of indescribable power, Shigeo is first and foremost a traumatised, deeply scarred, nine year old boy who thinks himself a monster needing to be locked up. 

He covers his eyes, willing the day to move faster and for a plan to drop in his mind fully formed. There is a 9am meeting with the finance team and a 3pm meeting with the League but how can he possibly leave with an unknown civilian walking around his house?

Babysitting was not what Bruce signed up for when the night started, nor is it something he needs to add to his already overflowing workload. 

Maybe calling Clark is the right call? Set up with the Kents in their calming and quaint farm where the worst he can get anxious about is the occasional spiders and catty neighbours. The added bonus of Superman overlooking your training has to sweeten the deal too. 

At least then they can guarantee the boys safety and have an on-location failsafe if things turn bad. 

Despite his personal feelings there is also the complication that is the state of the house.

It isn’t like Wayne Manor is hospitable right now, general upkeep gone the second Alfred left the property. A lonely relic of the past with winding pathways that only work to confuse and annoy anyone who wanders them. The acidic and cruel man who owns it, needing to put on a face to better trick the small boy looking for help. 

Yes, this is for the best. 

It would be irresponsible to continue housing Shigeo in these conditions, if not ridiculously selfish. Missing company in the house is one thing but denying a little boy proper care for his own gain is just— downright negligent.

Bruce opens his eyes, clarity easing the storm that is his thoughts. So many things to do, so little time.

First things first, choking down a protein shake and shifting through the cupboard for something half way appropriate for when the kid gets out. Bruce spent a considerable amount of time in Japan during his training years but the food he frequented wasn’t what one would call healthy. The diet he underwent was extreme then, fueled by the teenage need to prove himself and conquer his own body. In some ways a true success, but in others? He can’t go one meal without mentally calculating every ingredient and gram of difference he has to make up in training.

Although he’s gotten better over the years there’s been some regression since Alfred left and it is nowhere near the level a 9 year old should be eating. So, yes, food first and plan second.

Halfway through his mental checklist there is a sharp ring from his phone. Left on the dining table, Bruce lumbers out of his comfy position on the couch, stretching his shoulder and grabbing the phone in the other hand.

”I’m busy.” He answers, not bothering to check caller ID, which really, was the first mistake.

”When are you not, Master Bruce?” Alfred’s crisp accented voice cuts through the fog that is his brain and Bruce shakes his head, drawing the phone closer. 

“What’s wrong?” Is his immediate response, categorising the most possible reasons for the call and calculating how long he would take in the Bat-plane if he was needed somewhere. 

”Yes, that is how our conversations have evolved. Me providing basic polite inquiries and you looking for fires to put out. Even distance can’t seem to change that, what joy.” There is a brief silence on the other side. “I didn’t call to fight.”

”Why did you call, then?” Bruce answers briskly, burying that brief flash of hurt that comes from the acid in his butler's tone. “If not to make snappy acidic comments thousands of miles away.” 

”As I have not called to fight, I will cut to the chase.” Alfred continues, unperturbed by his interruptions. “There have been some complications on my end, just some light weather issues that will push back the flight for a couple more days.”

“Would you like the jet? I can get you on the next flight as soon as possible.” He asks because there is money in his bank that can help, useless money that billionaires hoard like treasure in their secret vaults. Money that can be used for things like this.

“Always quick to fix and yet slow to listen.” Alfred mutters under his breath, before clearing his throat. “I’ve been contacted by Master Jason. He informs me that your workload has all but tripled since I left, tell me, will I be expecting a rubbish heap by the time I return?”

“Alfred—“

“I understand your base level needs are far more…primitive from ‘everyday civilians’ such as myself but I do hope you are not overextending yourself.”

”Of course not, Alfred.” Lying never really served him well with Alfred. Ever since he was a child, Bruce has never truly gotten one over him.  “Will that be all? I’ve got—“

There is the sudden beep of his fire alarm, jolting him from his conversation.

”What in the blazes is that!?” Alfred exclaims, somehow hearing the ringing alarm through the phone. 

“Nothing.” He says through gritted teeth, having an inkling where that noise might originate from. ”I’ve got a meeting right now—“

”No you don't. I looked over your schedule and you have nothing this early, thus why I called. Now what is that noise behind you?” The suspicion is evident in his voice. “Why does that sound like the fire al—“

“You’re imagining things.” Bruce says, damning the consequences. “I’ll see you soon, Alfred. goodbye.”

“Master Bruce—“ He slams his phone onto the table, ending the call swiftly. 

Keeping his stride level, Bruce works through his frustration at not only Alfred but also towards whatever scene he’ll be walking into. 

Unconsciously slipping into Batman mode, Bruce straightens his back and smoothes his expression into something mildly threatening but neutral. He is prepared for everything.

everything, that is, except for the scene he walks into.

The kitchen is pure chaos. Flour across every benchtop, eggs hovering very dangerously on the roof just waiting to fall and bowls of many sizes spread on the floor as a nine year old boy, covered head to toe in flour, stands in the very centre.

”Shigeo…” Bruce says, calmly. “May I ask what exactly am I looking at?”

The psychic doesn’t even seem phased by being caught in the act, deciding only to bring one of the bowls from the floor to his mouth and take a taste tester. Taking another look around, almost every appliance is levitating, even some that have nothing to do with cooking, right there hovering over the bench.

“Look.” The smoke from the oven is thick and practically curdling in the air when Shigeo opens the oven doors. On a—ceramic—plate is burnt to a crisp disk of dough and sugar. The shape infers pancakes but the mild grease on the top suggests food hazard. “I made us breakfast. You can have the big one and I’ll have the undercooked one. It comes with the syrup already inside so, you don’t even need to add it.”

Perhaps this too was on him, for assuming he could leave a child unsupervised for so long.

He levitates the plate—and, the plate was in the over and it didn’t explode into pieces? What exactly are the boys powers?— effortlessly, dropping one in front of him. “We worked really hard, I hope you like it.”

”…Thank-you Shige.” Bruce wonders what deity he slighted to end up in a fresh hell like this. The crisp burnt disk staring back at him, its gooey centre puffing up and down oddly; as if breathing deeply. “It looks delicious.”

Chapter Text

Mob stares at his reflection in the mirror, the perspiration fogging the edges of the frame making him look just as blurry as he feels.

It’s been very eventful lately, one thing just tumbling on after the other. Although it was very scary to begin with, Mob feels safe here.

Mr Wayne is nice and patient and doesn’t scold him for asking too many questions which is pretty great. 

His new home is empty but very, very big. Although he tried to play it off before, Shigeo is a little relieved that there isn’t anyone else here with them. Making new friends isn’t the easiest thing for him—too many rules that no one else follows, so many things to keep track of, the eye contact—he was content just leaving that stuff for other people. Which, really, makes Mr Wayne kinda lucky having this place all to himself.

”Shigeo, don’t stay in there too long or you’ll prune.” Thomas Wayne, Mr Wayne’s deceased father, calls from the other side of the door. By the sounds of it, he might even be a few rooms over, stretching his abilities for perhaps the first time in decades. 

As Shigeo tries himself off, the ghost's voice is closer, just a room over. “Ordinarily Alfred would take care of the official introduction but, well, he’s a bit indisposed at the moment so you’ll have to make do with me.”

”I’ve already seen the house I thought?” Shigeo echoes back, fitting the shirt he was given to change into over his head. 

”Not officially you haven’t!” Thomas exclaims, waving a dismissive hand. “Weren’t you hungry before? Bruce hasn’t even shown you the kitchen! Would you like some food, Shigeo? I’m sure we can whip something up.”

“Oh, yes please.” Shigeo gasps softly, putting on his new outfit with a new enthusiasm. “I uh—I saw a movie once that in America you sometimes have ah pancakes for breakfast. Do you think we could…”

”Never very good at pancake making, myself.” Thomas comments dryly, recalling his many attempts to impress his wife during their early years together. “Though, I blame the equipment, personally.”

”I didn’t know it worked like that but…”

”Ah.” Thomas startles as the door creaks open and Mob steps out, fully dressed. “I didn’t realise he still had those.”

The last time Thomas Wayne had seen that particular outfit it was during the worst period of Bruce’s life. 

Only days after the death of his parents, shuffling along to their funeral he wore this. The adults around him that were meant to be protecting him sobbing and lost in their own grief, his butler so close and yet unable to reach past their vast divide and connect through their shared loss. 

Thomas spent many months following his boy then, comforting him through every storm yet forever out of reach. 

“Could we try anyway?” Mob asks a little shyly. 

Thomas blinks, a bit misty eyed. “Sorry?”

Mob fiddles with the edges of his new sweater vest. “Pancakes? Could we try pancakes? If it’s no trouble, I mean…”

“Trouble?” This, more than anything else he has said so far, seems to shake Thomas out of his haze. “No, there should be no trouble at all. Though…”

It is unlikely Bruce will object to using the kitchen for the boy, but a nine year old child isn’t likely to have a very good grasp on the dangers of the kitchen. If anything goes wrong, Thomas will be unable to do anything to help. Decisions, decisions…

”Oh, I know!” Thomas exclaims, rushing off. “I’ll be right back, Shigeo. The kitchen is right down those stairs to the left. Wait there in the meantime and don’t touch anything while I’m gone, I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“Okay.” He nods diligently, staring blankly at the spot the ghost used to be. 

It’s a lot more excitable here than at home which Mob isn’t quite sure if he likes or not. On the up side, there’s always something to look at but on the down side he gets a bit confused. There doesn’t seem to be many other ghosts in the mansion other than Thomas Wayne. The others that he spots just flicker in and out of hallways or empty rooms, barely even glancing at him. 

Despite that though, it’s still an amazing opportunity. He’s still a bit convinced that this is all a dream; a real life superhero helping him control his powers, a billionaire taking care of him and even a ghost friend so he’s never alone. 

He wants to do something to show his thanks and breakfast feels like the best idea to do just that.

Manoeuvring through the halls, careful not to disturb anything, Mob finds the kitchen on the lower level. Exactly where he was told it would be.

It’s beautiful, like everything is in this house. State of the art appliances and fancy marble tabletops, maybe if he looked through the cupboards there would be expensive cereal or fancy eggs. There is a whisper of gold beams pooling past the slips of the blinds, an encompassing silence comforts him as Mob shuffles a couple steps forward, entranced. 

There is a thud in the corner of the room, caused by nothing. 

“Hello?” He calls out, voice echoing through the bare rooms. “Mr Wayne? Mr uh—Mr Thomas?” 

Familiarising himself with the kitchen setup, Mob starts snooping through drawers. Taking out the things that he needs to make breakfast. Or, at least things he thinks he’ll need to make breakfast.

”What even are pancakes made out of?” He murmurs to himself, staring blankly at the open fridge. “Sugar?”

He reaches up to his tiptoes trying to grab the eggs when they fall off the top shelf, almost landing with a splat in front of him. 

“That was close,” Mob breathes out, the eggs suspended by his powers. “I gotta be more careful.”

“Whoa!” A voice chimes right next to his ear.”You’re all kinds of magic, think you can levitate keys and shit!?”

Shrieking, Mob flings the eggs with his powers towards the sudden assailant. Watching as it fazes right through the figure splattering on the wall. 

As the ghost laughs obnoxiously, Mob feels more than a little humiliated. 

“Oh wow,” They say, wiping an imaginary tear. “They get jumpier and jumpier every year.” 

Mob continues looking at the floor, unhappy with being made fun of but trying valiantly to push down his powers that flare just a little bit from the mayhem.

The ghost is unlike any of the others he’s seen here. Shorter than most of the occupations by a lot, the boy looks to be in his early teens. Black unruly hair, electric blue eyes and a very…eccentric dress sense. Green and yellow, red and black, he looks a bit like those old court jesters without the silly hat. It makes Mob wonder how long the ghost has haunted this house for.  

“You talk, bowlcut, or does Gotham have its first mute Robin?” He thinks the ghost is joking with him but after that scare it’s a little hard to trust it. “Look, I know you can see me, I saw you with the old man earlier. Kageyama Shigeo, right?” 

“It’s not…” Mob swallows, gingerly picking up the egg shells that stick to the wall. “It’s not nice to scare people like that.”

“Huh?” The ghost boy sticks a finger in his ear. “Anyone ever told you you got a horrible mumbling problem? Jesus man, I get being shy but it's a bit over key don’t you think?” 

”It’s not magic.” Mob clarifies, ignoring the question. “I’m psychic.”

”You’re kidding.” The boy gasps, bobbing up on the soles of his feet. “So you can just do that levitation shit whenever you want? I can’t believe you’re actually cool, you do not look it. You kinda sell yourself short there, huh?”

As another sting from the insult hits him, Mob is beginning to realise just how upset he is from his failed attempt at breakfast. Cleaning up a runny egg off a wall only seconds after entering the kitchen was bad enough but being bullied by a ghost boy was like the nail in the coffin. Can he not do anything right?

”…Sorry.” Mob mutters, hiding his eyes behind his bangs.

“What’s that?” The ghost boy looks strangely excited, hovering even closer to his personal space. “ Hey, can I actually touch you or how’s that work? I’ve always wanted to be able to teach those new Robins a lesson and it might as well start with you!”

”I don’t know but...I don’t think we should be doing lessons or whatever without Mr Wayne here.” Mob tries to state firmly, the attempt ending a little weak. 

“Are you kidding!?” The ghost roars, a wild and yet very genuine enthusiasm blossoms on his face. “This is the most fun I’ve had in years! That old man will just drag us down! Come on, let’s do this, think fast!”

“What?” He gasps as the ghost sends off some kind of projectile, forcing Mob to catch it with his powers.

He gets no time to celebrate, as another three projectiles rapidly approach him in three different directions. 

“Wow, not bad!” The ghost boy's voice echoes all around him. “See if you can handle this!”

Mob tries to tell him to stop as he catches the three weapons seamlessly but the boy doesn’t seem to like being bested and sends off another four.

 “This—this is really dangerous!” He calls out, trying to keep a firm grip on his emotions through it all. 

“Who cares? It’s not like it’s gonna kill ya.” The boy suddenly blinks into his field of vision. “Though, if it does, then we can hang out forever, doesn’t that sound cool?”

”I don’t know…” His powers act as a shield as another few projectiles hurl towards him from the boy himself. “If that’s such a good idea.”

“What you—you don’t think I’m any fun?” The boy's face grows stormy. “I’m Robin! I’m way cooler than some snot nosed middle schooler! At least the other replacements made sense, are you even old enough to use the grapple guns?”

“Please—“ Mob says, weakly, the strain of keeping his whirling emotions at bay starting to hurt. “I’m—I’m not replacing anyone.”

”Of course you are!” The now named ’Robin’ shakes his head in exasperation. “There’s legacies to this stuff, you know! You’re lucky I got you early on so I can train you how not to be weirdos like those other Robins. You’re gonna be my student, got it!? Whatever I say goes!”

“Batman is my uh— teacher.” He says, breathing through his anxieties. “and he wants me here and I think Mr Wayne does too. Batman’s going to teach me how to control my powers so I can never use them again.”

”What!?” Robin exclaims, the projectiles thankfully disappearing. “Why the hell are you gonna do that!? Look, I might be the best Robin that’s ever been but like—with those freaky magic powers you could easily be close second! Why give em up now!?”

”You keep saying that.” Mob tilts his head in consideration. “I’m confused, your name isn’t Robin?”

”Of course not!” Robin looks at him strangely. “How new are you!? That’s like, Bat lore 101.” 

“Oh okay, sorry.” Mob still doesn't quite understand what’s going on but hopefully soon he can get back to pancaking before Mr Wayne and Batman come out. “I don’t want to be…one of those so, that makes us fine, right? I don’t want to replace anyone or take anything over…so…”

There is a pregnant pause.

“…You’re not the new Robin?”

”Uhm, no I don’t think so.” He thinks back on what he said to Batman, wondering if there was any possible way he could be misinterpreted and comes up blank. “Yeah, I’m definitely not.” 

“Oh.” The ghost blows a raspberry. “That was a waste of time then. Now I just feel sorry for you stuck with his grumpy ass all the time.”

“I dunno,” Shigeo hums. “He’s kind of really cool but I just wanna show him how grateful I am for bringing me here…him and Mr Wayne, and stuff.” 

“He likes scotch.” Robin suggests, instantly.

Mob looks concerned. “Is that hard to make?” 

“Right, you’re a baby I forgot, hmmm.” He taps his chin in thought. “I mean you could try serving him a plate of justice but he usually gets those himself.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying.” Mob looks back to the kitchen counter where he had put anything he thought might be in pancakes. “Oh yeah, I was making Mr Wayne and me breakfast. I forgot.”

“Breakfast?!” The ghost hops onto the counter excitedly. “No way, Bruce lets you in his kitchen?!”

“Kind of.” Mob takes out measuring cups and bowls.

This is a bit out of character for him but being in this new situation means he’s got to step up in places too. Hiding behind his broth—family won’t cut it anymore. So, with a deep breath, Shigeo gets the new ghosts attention by waving his hand in front of his face. “Hey so…Do you uhm…do you wanna help, maybe?”

To his complete relief, the ghost doesn’t react much to this invitation and even gives him a smile. 

”Sure, you’ll probably need all the help you can get and I happen to be the best at practically everything.” Robin says cockily.

Although there he gives no outright reaction to this news, Shigeo is beyond relieved to have someone around for his first time making food. Although he’s helped his mum put rice in the cooker once, he has almost no other cooking experience.

The two boys do about as well as expected for a nine year old psychic and thirteen year old ghost, as in very poorly. Shigeo doesn’t look for recipes and tends to forget the various things he leaves running all around the kitchen. The ghost watches this with great amusement and although he is giving valid advice, Mob is a little too young to absorb it. 

The kitchen is a mess and the fire alarm is going off but there is a…something on their plates, so it is considered a rousing success.

”Is it supposed to have that smoke?” Mob says, sniffing the charred remains of food. 

”Are you seriously asking if pancakes are supposed to be smoking?” Robin asks, giggling up a storm. “Yeah, sometimes.”

”I think it’ll be really crunchy cause of the uhm…all those hard pieces around it.” Mob smiles slightly. “I hope he likes it. We tried really hard.”

”Oh he’ll be feeling something alright.” The ghost snorts, reaching up to try and manually turn off the fire alarm until—

“Shigeo.” A voice interrupts them. “Get away from that boy.”

There is a suffocating tension that falls onto the group, the only sound being the beep of the fire alarm and the exhaust fans over the oven. A large dog is following after Thomas Wayne, ears perked up and alert. 

Thomas positions himself in front of Mob, shielding him from the other person in the room. 

“Mr Thomas.” Mob says softly, looking a little shy. “Look, we made breakfast.”

”Excuse us, Shigeo.” Thomas states calmly, a threatening aura surrounding him. “Me and your new friend are going to have a little talk. My son will be here soon, why don’t you get some cutlery out for the both of you while you wait?”

”I—okay it was nice—uhm meeting you Ro—“

“See ya around, kid.” Robin smirks, giving a salute as he all but dissipates from the room, followed very closely by the other ghost of the manor.

As they begin fading away from the scene Robin can just hear the tail end of a conversation—

”…It comes with the syrup inside so you don’t even need to add it…”

—before, the void.

They land around the same time, in between the turbulent space of life and death, beneath the floorboards and yet also through the walls, everywhere and anywhere. 

“Someone’s jumpy.” The ghost boy snickers coldly, the playful carefree attitude from the kitchen long gone. “You got a problem with me or something?”

”Who are you ?” Thomas grits through clenched teeth, not too dissimilar to his son. “Answer truthfully.”

“I’m Robin.” 

“Yes, you do look a bit like the young Jason Todd that once lived here, perhaps you heard of his passing and thought it would do no harm to masquerade yourself in his memory.” Thomas says, calmly.” Cruel but not impossible.”

”Fuck you.” The boy spits, his eyes a sudden livid green. 

“What other alternative is there!? Jason Todd is very much alive and although the similarities are striking that does not erase the fact that he is now very much a grown man!” 

”I didn’t say I was Jason Todd.” He says slowly, his skin turning a strange translucent rainbow quality before—suddenly, he is shifting through the various different versions of his own suit. Yellow and green and black and red. The different iterations over the years, flashing before his eyes. Thomas has never seen anything like it.

”I told you, old man.” The ghost says slowly, a mean smile curling on his face. “I’m Robin, yes THE Robin, hero extraordinaire, you can hold your applause. And I kinda got a thing planned with this kid and you getting in the way would just be boring, so can you fuck off? Maybe? Please?”

“I do not know what you are therefore I do not trust you.” Thomas reiterates, coldly. “And I would rather die again than let you harm a single hair on that little boy's head.” 

“Woah, paranoid much? I see where the big guy gets it from. Like father, like son, huh?” 

“Heed my warning, boy.” There is a gush of wind behind him, swirling around them and wrapping around them both, threateningly. “For it will be my only one.”

Thomas whips up with the wind and disappears, successfully leaving his message. While Robin slinks back into the decrepit walls of the manor and waits. 

Shigeo Kageyama is weird. Wimpy in a way you kinda have to pity but there is a certain strength in his defence, an ease with his powers that are a bit staggering. It’s not a perfect match, not really, but there’s really no other contenders for the title anymore. And he’s been here too long to let one more opportunity, as I’ll suited it might be, slip past his fingers now. Competency and kindness is really all you can hope for in a hero and screw the others, this time he gets to pick! This weirdo psychic boy will be the next Robin, the ghost boy decides. 

Whether he wants to be or not. 

Chapter Text

Choking down breakfast might have been the hardest part of this entire experience. Which is impressive, given their first acquaintance was Bruce being thrown into a brick wall as whipping psychic energy lifted his car in the air.

“Shigeo.” Bruce says stiffly once he caught the boy grabbing his own plate of inedible food. “Don’t eat that.”

The attempt at breakfast was appreciated—abstractly. The effort was nice and, truthfully, Bruce can’t remember the last time he sat in the dining room, sharing food with another person. 

It was considerate, Shigeo is a sweet kid.

But…

The burnt mass in front of him—served on silverware that Alfred has never allowed 

them to use—twitches, as if exhaling its own fumes. 

His culinary skills had much to be desired. 

“I just want to try a little, make sure it isn’t bad…” Not even a hint of emotion, a poker face so deeply ingrained to his everyday he likely doesn’t realise how difficult he is to read. 

A truly impressive, if ridiculous, feat to be able to mystify Batman of all people. Bruce wonders if this is how Alfred felt all those years ago, raising an equally ridiculous child. 

“We’ll get food delivered.” He replies perhaps a touch too sharply, his phone call with Alfred all but shredding his patience to maintain the personae. 

The boy perks up. ”Could we uhm maybe get pan—“

“Don’t you want to start your training?” Bruce interrupts, adding ‘clean the kitchen’ onto his ever growing list of things to do. “You seemed excited about it before? Where has that energy gone now? I know you want to control your powers so that can’t be it…unless you’d rather not have Batman train—“

“No!” Shigeo scrambles to make his displeasure all the more clear.

Is it a bit mean? Without a doubt but Bruce’s patience has already started to shred and the added kick of whatever it is he ate isn’t helping.

Besides, all of his kids have always had a bit of a tough side, the fact they could handle their own with him, not take his bullshit sitting down, was always a point of pride for him.

Pasting on another smile, he continues. “You sure? Well alright then, Batman can get you started on training while you wait for delivery! How do we feel about omelette? Poached eggs on a sesame bagel? Oh, I’ll get you a breakfast wrap, you’ll need all the energy you can get with your training.”

Shigeo stills for a second before nodding, a touch absently. “Uhm…yeah that’s fine.”

There’s something wrong in the reply, something stiff and just a bit too restrained, but Bruce is impatient and angry and—tired, so very tired, that he doesn’t acknowledge it. 

“Great.” He says with a grin, slightly pushing past the boy to go further into the kitchen, surveying the job. “He’s probably gonna get you to do the dull stuff the first month but beggars can’t be choosers. You asked for this, after all.”

”…Okay.” There is a brief flash of panic that filters over the young psychic's face until it smoothes into indifference. An indifference that seems to be his default, how fortunate.

Bruce assumes that’s where they’ll end their conversation. Give him enough time to work through his anger and get the kid to kick off his very first lesson in patience waiting for a mentor that won’t come. Except when he turns to grab the plates, the boy is still there, head bowed down, hesitant.

“Mr Wayne?” Hesitant over him, it seems. 

Bruce doesn’t know Shigeo all that well right now, but after raising several dozen kids, he’s learnt to pick up on patterns. The little quirks kids are too stupid to notice they have, those things that parents treasure. He doesn’t know Shigeo well enough to catch his impossibly subtle tells but for vigilantes in training there really is only one thing to ask moments before meeting the famed ‘Dark Knight’. 

“You wanna get me to convince the Bat to teach you how to fight bad guys, right? Skip all the boring parts and go right into the action?”

All those who worked under him had the same speech. Filled with self righteous bravery and stupid naivety, it is a rant of the ages that never fails to make him nostalgic. Half convinced Dick had shared his original monologue to the others, Bruce had their messages monitored and all he got was ridicule for the attempts and even more speeches.

He treasures his time as a mentor for new heroes. Not only for his family but League members and their kin, any new upstarter with more confidence then sense needing to be led through the ropes. It was rewarding pushing them to their limits and watching them reach their full potential, if not painfully familiar. 

Shigeo doesn’t seem like the cocky type like his many prior students but there is a zeal to be like Batman that Bruce finds disconcerting. Who would want to emulate something so broken and scarred unless they too were willing to go to ridiculous lengths to reach their goals? Ambition above one’s own well being is a painfully recurring theme with his children. 

And he refuses to watch it happen again.

”I don’t mess with Batman’s side of things, Shigeo.” The smile is shaking, as brittle as it was, but he hasn’t lost himself yet. “Whatever he says you’ll be doing on the whole vigilante business, you do. Every drill, every boring breathing excessive, every test okay? It’s a respect thing for him. Which leads us to when you’re up here—“

Bruce waves a hand around the room. “It’s a bit of a respect thing for me too. So please for the love of god, try not make this tidy up a regular occurrence, okay? This is why I hire other people to clean!”

The joke doesn’t land the way he hoped it would, there’s a tension instead that sinks in its wake. A type of tension that does nothing but exhaust him because this kind of silence is the omen he always dreaded. The type of tension that leads to petty arguments and hurtful words which, honestly, might be exactly what he needs right now to get out some of his churning pit of emotions and—

Shigeo finally looks up and, to Bruce’s comprehending horror, his eyes are filled with tears.

”I’m…I’m really sorry, Mr Wayne.” He says through hiccups, his expression not quite shamed, not quite hurt, but a far cry from the emotionless boy Bruce thought he was. “I just wanted to be useful and—and thank you and Batman for everything. I didn’t mean for it to go…so, so wrong but it did anyway. I really appreciate you letting me stay here and not in prison, you didn’t have to.”

Blinking away the tears that just threatened to spill from his eyes, looking visibly lighter, Shigeo bows clumsily. “You’re really nice and I’ll try and—and be better. I will.”

Nodding to himself, having said exactly what he wanted to say, Shigeo walks down to the cave leaving a stunned man behind.

It seems there was no need for Bruce to purge his frustrations through sharp words and pointed jabs, nor with bloody fists and broken teeth. No, all it took to whittle his anger into deep, aching regret was a little boy’s clumsy and tragically heartfelt apology.

”What am I doing, Alfred?” Bruce mutters into his hands. “What the hell am I supposed to be doing?” 

Mob feels a great weight lifted from his shoulders after his talk with his temporary caretaker. The guilt was weighing on him heavily after the silent breakfast and when he finally stopped to think about the mess he made, the worse he felt. 

Acting impulsively has always been a bad habit of his. His parents called him on it, his teachers, his—his brother. Everyone in his life had hated this side of him and if he wants to keep living here he’s gotta learn how to break it. Mr Wayne is very kind but Mob’s frustrated his parents countless times for not thinking things through and he wants to be better here, just in case this kindness had a time limit. 

Thomas Wayne was floating next to him, strangely quiet for the usually opinionated ghost. 

“Is something wrong?” He asks, one hand on the rails leading down to the cave, the other on instinct trying to grab the ghost's hand. 

There is the echo of hesitant, cautious steps as they descend, the hum of machinery as alive as ever and the distant chatter of whatever creatures lived in its shadows. Just as Mob was going to ask again, the apparition speaks.

“Bruce is doing you an injustice, treating you like that.” There is a quietness in his words that didn’t feel right said by the usually jovial and charming man.

Unsure how to respond, Mob stays silent.

Then, there is an exhale with no breath. “And I think I am as well, treating you as if you were my son. You’re nothing like him, are you? I’ve just been seeing what I wanted.”

The trek down has never felt so long or endless. The uncertain loathing in the air latches onto his anxieties and feeds off of them. Did he do something wrong?

9%

As if speaking to himself, Thomas doesn’t wait for a reply before continuing. ”We’re treating you like a second chance. A second chance neither of us have ever earned.”

There is a softness to his eyes once he snaps back to the present, a softness stained with grief. “You remind me a lot of him when he was your age. A lost, deeply empathetic little boy too curious about the world for his own good.”

A pudgy hand attempts to slip back into the hand hold neither being could feel but which both could still be warmed by.

”You can tell me about him, sometime.” Mob murmurs, quietly. “If you feel like it. I’ll listen.”

Something rueful settles and disappears within the ghosts aura, as gradual as a wave hitting an ocean shore and just as beautiful.

“I might just take you up on that one day.” Thomas breaths and the colours shift and change.

And this, right here, was forgiveness.

As the cave winds deeper, each step felt like a new beginning thrumming with possibility. As Thomas turns back to him, a curl of a grin under his equally as curly moustache, Shigeo knew that the worst of it was over. 

 “You know catching the tail end of your conversation I was convinced you would just—blow up at the man. Fight back or scream and run away, hide till morning, something like that.” The man looks vaguely ashamed by his confession.

Shigeo giggles at the thought. “That would be dramatic.”

”Yes, and you are not dramatic or headstrong in the slightest, are you? Nor sullen and angry or cold and calculative,” Thomas sighs and despite their more serious tone, he seems more settled than he ever did before. Not content—for how would a ghost content with life still drag themselves to wander this earth forever?—But a little more stable. “A great injustice indeed.”

Shigeo doesn’t want to float down like he did the way up, not if he can help it. If this training could render his powers null and void then he’s going to need to get used to being normal.

“Can I ask you something, Mr Thomas?” Mob wheezes through deep puffs of air, stamina one of his (many) worst qualities. 

“Of course.” Then after a considerate pause. “If it isn’t particularly difficult.”

They reach the ground level, screens and spotlights blink on as soon as their feet touch the floor. The bats in the cave scurry away from these sudden beams of light but don’t freak out as much as Shigeo assumed they would, likely used to the unpredictable nature of their dwelling.

“Do you think Mr Wayne will kick me out?” He questions, all in one breath so he won’t lose the nerve to ask at all.

“Ah, well that is an easy one.” Thomas snorts, as if even the mention of such an idea was ridiculous. “I doubt there’s anything you could do that would ever make Bruce do something like that, you shouldn’t worry.”

Mob looks up through his fringe, uncertain and fidgety. “I really messed up though…What if he tells Batman!?”

Although Mob isn’t quite sure why Thomas Wayne is laughing at him but he quickly pushes down the hurt that surfaces from it. 

“Hmm, well you’ve got me there, he might very well do that.” He says with a mysterious twinkle in his eye. “They have a very special partnership that hinges on communication and full transparency, a partnership singularly given to Bruce Wayne and Bruce Wayne alone.”

Mob flushes in realisation, he didn’t…no one told him they were…like that. 

”Partnership?” He asks, hesitantly, probing for clarification.

”Yes, a very deep partnership with a dynamic that many, many people found difficult to accept even to this day.”

”That’s not right.” Shigeo voices, quietly, earning him another fond hair ruffle.

”Batman is a very flawed man.” Thomas shrugs, not too concerned. “His relationships, in reflection, are equally as complicated and messy and—oh god, look at me, grade A Gotham city gossip! I apologise dear boy, it’s been far too long since I’ve been able to rant like this, it gets away from me!”

There is an attempt to laugh the entire talk off, maybe minimize the amount of truths shared but Shigeo stays silent.

“Don’t think too hard on it, now.” The ghost coughs, awkwardly. “Adult things such like this are weird and beyond most academics, you won’t have to deal with this stuff for years. No, you should be focusing on school work and—food! Where is that blasted food that Bruce promised you!? Honestly, why he didn’t just drive to pick it up himself and leave it to that blasted machine I’ll never know—give me a moment, Shigeo, I’ll be right back.”

As Thomas floats away, presumably to chase up on the current status of breakfast, he leaves behind yet another thought for Mob to ruminate on.

His stomach grumbles and the cave is still a little chilly but Mob’s mind is alight with possibilities. The way Mr Thomas said ‘partnership’ as if he was teasing him with this new knowledge. It makes sense in hindsight, perhaps too much sense, so was that why Mr Thomas was teasing him? Because it was supposed to be something he should know by now? Why has no one mentioned it before? Did they not trust him?

13%

Mob frowns, the rumbling feeling in his stomach turning sour. He really hopes that’s not the case. Despite how short the time has actually been through this whole adventure, it’s been very meaningful. 

He had hoped it was equally as special to Mr Wayne or—if he was lucky enough—Batman but finding out that they didn’t even trust him enough to mention their relationship shot that dream to the ground.

Was there a way to prove he was trustworthy? What did trustworthy people even do? 

There is a slight movement on one of the screens, a glowing red bar flickers to life and drawn like a moth to a flame, Mob presses buttons with wild abandon —pushing through the small voice saying this is a bad idea—until the screen flashes white and the focus sharpens into the vague shape of a person. 

The bad video quality still produces a fairly good image of who exactly Mob is looking at and bemused couldn’t even begin to describe what he was feeling.

Their black hair is greasy, presumably, to perfect that slicked back look. Piercing blue eyes and a very colourful spandex outfit, it was hard for Mob to pinpoint just how he’s supposed to be treating this man. Luckily, polite has always been his default.

“Bruce?” They call out with no reply. “I uh—I saw you cancelled the League meeting for today and…I wanted to make sure that it wasn’t because of uh all that stuff from last week. I didn’t mean to make things awkward between us but it looks like I really—really fucked that up so can we just pretend—“

“You shouldn't swear.” Shigeo interrupts, blinking owlishly up at the screen and the very strangely dressed man on it. “It’s rude.”

The man pauses, mid rant, vaguely mortified. “I—uh, sorry is that—Damian? God, Robin, I apologise for the confusion but is your father—“

”I’m not Robin.” Mob states, setting the record straight before there’s yet another confrontation. “I don’t—I’m just normal. Sorry, Mr Wayne isn’t uh here right now, he’s very busy.”

“You’re a civilian.” The stranger says, brief and to the point but still able to make Mob blink in wonderment because in saying these three words his face changes. What once was awkward fumbling and red faced corrections, there was a gravity to him that just—appeared from thin air. The type of gravity that…only…superheroes can have…

Taking a closer look at the man, Mob can’t believe he didn’t recognise him earlier. It was only a brief search once he was given a phone, just to see what other superheroes were out and about but he remembers every clip he came across with rapt attention.

”You're ... .you're one of Batman’s league friends? Right?” He asks with shy anticipation. “You fly and—punch things.”

“I like to think we’re friends, yes. You can call me Superman, young man.” The stranger—a hero, his heart gasps—greets with a patient smile. “And what might your name be?” 

“Shigeo.” Mob mutters, too excited to stifle his powers. There are some tools being moved around in the background, luckily, out of the computer camera's view. “Do you know Caped Baldy?”

”I—don’t believe so.” The man says, not certain or confident enough for Mob to believe it for a second. He’ll meet his hero one day…

“You can’t hide him forever.” Mob whispers under his breath.

The hero startles. “Pardon?” 

”Nothing.”

They talked for several minutes, his questions rattled off as soon as they entered his mind and answered just as quickly. It’s clear why this man was associated with Batman, he’s so much like him. Attentive and detail oriented, patient at times when Mob really needed the space to think and, best of all, an absolute endless fountain of knowledge. 

So comfortable with the conversation, Mob even finds it in himself to mention the mishap from this morning.

”That is…a tough one.” Superman empathises, listening to the story with a wince. “Mess is part of the process though, you gotta remember that—“

Shigeo blinks, seeing the floating colours of what he associates with Thomas Wayne coming up to him quickly. Pulling away slightly from the screen, he turns the camera a certain way that doesn't show him staring vaguely to a space on his right.

“Shigeo?” Thomas calls out to him, phasing down the stairs. “Your food has finally arrived! Honestly, I would’ve grabbed the damn thing myself if I knew you would have to wait this—Is that Superman? What’s wrong? Is there an emergency?”

Mob offers him a faint smile before shaking his head, not bothering to hide his glee. “I don’t think so. He just wants to talk to Mr Wayne.”

“—It’s not great making the same mistake over and over again but sometimes it’s unavoidable. You seem like a good kid though and that counts for more than you’d think—“ The superhero continues, unaware he’s lost his audience's attention.

”Ah? He wants to talk , does he?” Thomas scoffs, folding his arms tightly over his chest. “Don’t listen to a word, Shigeo, not until I hear an apology for all that needless manhandling last week, honestly, my son allows that man far too much leniency—“

”He hurt Mr Wayne?” Shigeo echoes, all his excitement in meeting such a powerful hero disappears in the blink of an eye.

25%

“In a—sense you could say, well…“ The ghost looks conflicted, and another wave of unpleasantness tightens Mob’s stomach. “They have a very complicated relationship, it’s not—“

Shigeo pulls a face. “Superman can’t have a relationship with Mr Wayne. He’s with Batman. You said that.”

Thomas is frozen. “I—that is how you..? Shigeo, please I can’t—‘

Their conversation is cut short though by the very topic in question. “Shigeo, was it? I don’t want to take up too much of your time but do you think you can just—tell Bruce to get in touch with me? It’s not insanely important but I just—we just need to chat.”

Mob is trying to understand, truly he is, but none of the pieces are fitting correctly. The two images in his head are comparing this nice, friendly superhero and the horrible people that Mr Thomas warned about. It couldn’t be and yet…it was. 

The minute the call started, Superman was looking for Mr Wayne. The ghost even mentioned some kind of fight last week that Superman feels guilty over and with Batman never visiting the house upstairs…was there a…falling out?

“You want to…talk with Mr Wayne?” Mob repeats, hearing internally the sound of breaking glass.

”Yes, yes I do.”

”He’s in a relationship.” Mob blurts as bluntly as he can. 

Honestly, the more Mob thinks about it the more suspicious he feels about this ‘Superman’ character. Friends with Batman during the night but trying to seduce his partner in the day, the one time Batman can’t show up? Unacceptable.

“That’s—“ There is a slight pained grimace before it too smoothes into a default type of calm that Mob can see right through. “good for him, really. I just wanted a chance—”

”He doesn’t have any chances to give you.” Shigeo says, bulldozing over yet another attempt at an explanation.“Mr Wayne is using up all his chances for Batman. Not you.”

There is a slight pause as Superman is taken back by his sudden attitude change. “Can’t argue with that…I— listen, if you wouldn’t mind just—“

”Sorry,” He interrupts, calmly “ I think I do mind, actually.”

Which are the few precious words he ends the call with, pressing another round of random buttons until the screen switches off. 

Mentally, he pats himself on the back for a job well done. Registering vaguely that Thomas Wayne is making choking sounds in the corner, Mob goes back to work, figuring out how to be more trustworthy and—training. Whichever comes first. 

Chapter Text

By the time Bruce makes it down to the cave, Shigeo is missing. An exacerbating but not wholly unexpected outcome.

There is no urgency in his actions as he sets the food on the workbench, keeping a cautious eye to the monitor to make sure he hadn’t left anything too gory on screen. 

”Shigeo?” He calls out, neutral and without his performing inflections. A change he hopes will make a difference. “You’re food’s here. Come eat.”

The silence that answers is not unusual for the boy but it still gives Bruce pause. There might still be some hurt feelings from their…conversation, should he get Batman to look instead?

Bruce takes his time looking over possible hiding spots the boy could have squirreled into, well-versed in every secret the cave held. 

It didn’t take long to find him, not when he was out in the open barely bothering to hide at all. Another thing to work on.

It was a curious sight to stumble onto, the young psychic lifting himself in the air, hovering, as he inspects the many plaques and souvenirs Bruce keeps up. That shimmer of energy that envelopes him like a second skin is powerful, possibly unconscious as well. 

The more he learns of this boy, the more he worries. 

If this was the unconscious level, what level was that energy in the alleyway? 

How much of that attack was he aware of? 

Just how powerful is Shigeo Kageyama?

”Is that real?” Shigeo mumbles, tilting his head curiously in his direction, successfully breaking him from his spiraling rumination. “Looks like it hurts…”

Bruce shakes to clear his head of his confounded thoughts, walking over to observe what ever dusty relic has captured his attention this tim— 

Bruce almost swears. 

“You shouldn’t be looking at that.” He manages to keep his voice steady but the mortification is barely holding itself at bay.

”I didn’t know I couldn’t.” Shigeo replies, then as an afterthought and a reprimand all at once. “You never said.” 

“I shouldn’t have to.”

Shigeo points a finger. “Who’s he?”

Two-face stares back from the framed photo he keeps in the locked display case Dick had given him all those years ago as a gag birthday gift. Catwoman, Talia and Khoa are also immortalized with various objects and photos, all spread out reverently in this blasted case. Bruce feels a great deal of luck that the young psychic hadn’t stumbled too far into the more dangerous photos. Traumatising him so early might, heaven forbid, scare him away from hero work altogether.

”One of Batman’s many foes.” He supplies, only slightly grumbling. “Enough now, your food is getting cold.”

Bruce wonders if his new approach is registered to the, somewhat, absent boy. If his lack of showmanship, performative charm and the subsequent reveal of his more neutral personality will be the apology he hopes it’ll be. 

Judging from the kid’s complete lack of reaction he doubts the change is noticed at all. Or, if it is, that he even cares. 

Something about that feels refreshing.

“What is it?” Shigeo asks as he eases down to the ground. 

Bruce leads him to the workbench where he placed the takeaway container. “You’ll like it.”

There is a slight pause as he smells the air for clues then a faint, excited, gasp. 

“Pancakes!?” before he all but rushes to take a seat.

Bruce sits opposite, fiddling with yet another unfinished metal piece all the while suppressing a smile. “I’m not sure what came over me but I had a thought you might benefit from a sugary energy kick more than a balanced, healthy one.”

The grateful look he receives in response is all the forgiveness he hoped for and Bruce is content to sit back for just a few moments to wait for him to finish his meal. A part of him is thankful for the time to make sense of the contradictions the boy’s power holds.

There is a carefulness to the young esper that Bruce assumes stems from his background. Even now as he reverently lays out the food on a plate and eats, there is a caution to his movements that most children his age do not display. Holding himself like he was afraid of letting something slip.

“Do not expect this every morning.” Bruce adds, despite himself.

“Mhm, yeah.” Shigeo says through a mouthful of food. “I want uhm to help with breakfast too. It doesn’t have to be pancakes if you don’t want it.”

”You wish to help?” Flashes of the kitchen mess he will have to clean tonight come to mind. “That’s not necessary, really.”

“Did you not like them?” The boy asks with wide, far too trusting eyes and Bruce doesn’t have it in him to tell the truth.

”It isn’t that.” He says through a twitching smile. “I wouldn’t want you to…overextend yourself. Especially after Batman’s training.”

“Oh then that’s fine.” Shigeo tilts his head. “I want to help, even with uh Batman’s training. You both have been so nice and I’ve just been nothing but trouble. If I can help out with chores then—I want to.”

Not seeing an end to this debate, Bruce reluctantly concedes. “If that…will make you happy.”

”Yeah.” Though it’s said with little to no change of expression, Bruce sees the genuine relief. “Can we watch tv while we eat?”

Bruce raises a brow. “There is no TV in the cave, Shigeo.”

“Yes there is.” He points to a surveillance screen suspiciously still running. “I’ve been watching that red guy beat people up for a while, actually.”

“You shouldn’t be watching that.” Bruce is quick to reprimand, making a note to follow up on Jason’s takedown, not liking how one-sided the fight seems. 

“There’s nothing else on.” The boy points out, contently mowing into breakfast, the syrup dripping from the fork and dirtying the workbench. 

“He’s kinda cool, I guess. I think he’s one of Batman’s friends actually, cause of the uhm—the bat on his chest.” Pointing with his fork at the screen to illustrate his point, fluffy pancake chunks scatter on the ground.

It seems that under the natural stoicism and incredible power there still laid a messy, annoying little boy.

Luckily, he’s had quite the experience in that very demographic. 

“The cave isn’t your room. Batman tolerates mess even less than I do so after training you will clean whatever you’ve done down here and then you can go up to the kitchen and help me clean there too.”

Shigeo blinks rapidly, the surprise making his fork bend, dropping yet another chunk. “W-what?”  

How the idea didn’t occur to him till now was a mystery but now that it’s here he might as well go for it.

“Think of it as my training.” He gestures to the cave. “Batman will improve your ability while I improve your manners. You need a refresher, quite frankly.”

”I’m gonna be tired though…”The young psychic, honest to god, whines. Not quite as high pitched as Dick but will all the quiet pout of Cassandra. 

A glimmer of amusement bubbles up. “Didn’t you volunteer to do more chores? Well, you’ve made your own to complete, how self-sufficient.”

“But—“

”No buts.” A phrase he hasn’t had to say in years. “Finish your breakfast and get a move on, I believe Batman is already waiting for you in the gym.”

”What!?” Shigeo gasps, mopping the last dreds of syrup with his final pancake. “Has he been waiting long?”

”Don’t speak with your mouth full.” Then, when he sees the boy grab his plate on his dash out, he says louder. “Do not take dishes into the training room!”

”Batman might be hungry—“ Is what Bruce thinks he hears, but it was hard to make out given that those blasted psychic abilities seem to have the added benefit of being fast on top of its incredible power. 

Bruce sighs as he reaches for his domino mask, the more he finds out about Shigeo’s abilities the less he wants to know.

Radiating with barely concealed excitement, Shigeo sat cross-legged on one of the training mats waiting for his new mentor patiently. 

It took Thomas a few minutes of pleading to convince the stubborn psychic to leave the food he squirrelled away for Bruce on a table instead of dirtying the mat. Something he knows would drive his son up the wall. 

”You seem uncharacteristically focused, Shigeo.” Thomas Wayne teases, having been following the young psychics dips and dives of the day with fatherly delight. 

”I’ve never been trained for my powers before….” Shigeo admits, shyly. 

“Never?” The ghost startles, now that’s unexpected. “Were your powers a late development, then?”

”I’ve had them my entire life.” He answers, a rare glimpse into his old life. “I’ve never met another psychic before now.”

Anticipating the hurt this misunderstanding might cause if left unamended, Thomas is quick to set the record straight. “Now, it isn’t that Batman is a psychic, that is not quite the case, but there is still no teacher more impressive. Despite the learning curb, he will guide you through any trouble you’ll face with ease.”

“Oh, really?” Thankfully, the boy doesn’t seem too concerned by this revelation. “Okay.”

Was that curve of his lip disappointment? Resentment? That twitch of the brow Acceptance? Annoyance? It'd be impressive how little he can read off of him if it wasn’t equal measures frustrating. 

“What he makes up for in his experience is his skill.” Thomas doubles down. “You should make sure to listen to all his instructions now, Shigeo.”

”I will.” He nods, diligently, not quite attentive to his impromptu speech but ever polite enough to nod at all the right times. “I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

Before he can touch that particular landmine, the doors open and, finally, Bruce steps out. 

Thomas hasn’t broached the subject with Shigeo yet, part in fear it doesn’t work and part fear it does, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about conversing with his son again. There’s some guilt in asking something so momentous on such a young boy and his newfound friendship is what holds him back from asking.

The thought lingers, though, to say all the things he couldn’t all these decades watching him mature. 

The ability to tell him he needs to start taking care of himself now that there’s a child in the house, how Thomas worries every time he comes back home late. Reminisce about Martha in all her good and bad. Congratulate him on his many beautiful kids and commiserate on the shared struggle of not quite being able to connect with them.

Apologise for not being around longer, and how immensely, incredibly saddened he is to have left his son all alone now.

“Whoa.” Shigeo gasps, small but so filled with wonderment, and Thomas focuses again on the present. 

”How did you get up there?” The boy asks, clambering over the equipment to meet Bruce as he perches atop a high beam. “Are you sure you’re not psychic? That’s a very psychic thing to do.”

”I am not.” An admission that is quick and curt but the slight twitch in his jaw indicates the surprise at the question itself. Clearly, he didn’t realise that was ever in question.

“Mr Wayne said I have to do chores after training.” Shigeo informs him, unaware that his attempt to tattle on Bruce is a bit useless. “It’s cleaning.”

“And so you will.” Batman jumps smoothly, tumbling into a roll and landing directly across from Shigeo. “Cleaning is not difficult.”

Shigeo shrugs, noncommittally, though the expression he wears gives him away. 

Bruce, in a rare strike of social awareness, catches the sour look. “Don’t pout.” 

“I don’t mean to.” Shigeo replies, a surprisingly honest answer from the boy. “It’s just…cleaning isn’t…very fun.”

”Many things in life aren’t fun. It is important to do them, regardless.”

”Why?”

Bruce doesn’t sigh but Thomas knows his son well enough that he is barely holding himself back.

”Shigeo.” His son grumbles, going over the first warmup stretches. “Just, follow my movements and stay quiet.”

”Okay.”

A beat. 

“…Sorry, did you mean starting from now? Or when I start moving?”

Well, Thomas thinks—quietly relishing the darling interaction with fatherly pride—perhaps he didn’t leave his son quite all alone.

Chapter Text

“That’s enough for now, Shigeo.” Bruce commands, halting the young psychic from wheezing through yet another push up. “Take a moment to calm yourself. There are refreshments in the fridge.”

The boy can barely see straight, not with the curtain of sweat pouring down his face. He mumbles through a reply before quietly folding into a heap on the training mat; with the light snoring coming from him it's very apparent that their training session is done for the day.

Bruce didn’t have the best basis of ‘normal’ but from the multiple research papers he looked up in preparation for the regiment he planned, he’s pretty sure an average child should have more endurance than this. 

His kids had a passion for training that consumed them and the skill to back it up. All of them with their own strengths and abilities that exceeded his every expectation every day. 

Perhaps he was too spoiled with them as life has decided to give him a real challenge. 

Shigeo Kageyama is powerful, beyond powerful in all types of psychic ability. Bruce had run multiple tests, ranging from lifting objects to flight, teleportation to strength. He flew through each and every one with beyond impressive readings that were humbling to see in a boy so young.

So much so that if Bruce hadn’t seen the DNA test results with his own eyes, he might have just confused Shigeo as an illegitimate offspring experiment of Superman. 

Well, another one.

Stifling yet another yawn, Bruce rips his mask off and walks over to the unconscious boy.

He picks him up with one hand and slings him over a shoulder, shuffling back upstairs to the room they had picked out.

If only this innate mastering of powers translated to his actual fitness. 

The attempts for a basic fitness evaluation were pitiful and, sadly—due to the boy’s pigheaded but familiar determination—this humiliation ritual will likely run its course every time until he is unconscious, much like it had today.

Bruce can’t disagree with the mindset itself—far be it for him to be that hypocritical—but the results were beyond disappointing and a far cry from the level of skill a vigilante needs to have. 

Reaching the upper floor, Bruce glances out the window to see the clouds part a bit from their light sprinkling of the morning. A brilliant hint of blue slashes through the sky and a calm settles over the manor. 

It makes sense for his new ward to be so exhausted, what with the stress of the night there was little time for Shigeo to properly rest. Bruce should have thought of that, Batman should have thought of that. 

Yet another mistake.

He adjusts his grip so Shigeo doesn’t wake from the movement and makes a list on top of the already existing list of things to do. 

It was ridiculous to assume so much from the young psychic. It was ridiculous this undertaking had happened at all, if he was honest, but it was too late to back out now. 

Passing the kitchen only serves to make him grimace of the mess he’ll have to clean. The thought itself makes his sympathy for Alfred grow stronger, not being able to imagine what he’d do if Shigeo had some of the same…destructive qualities he did at that age. 

“All things considered, you're a lot nicer than I was.” Bruce mutters, more to himself than anything. Placing him on the freshly pressed linen and draping a blanket over, Bruce resists the urge to tuck him in. Reminiscing how each of his kids had detested it. 

“You’ll be better than me too.” He whispers, a promise, a vow and an omen all at once. 

“Don’t want to be…Ritsu…” Bruce startles at the unfamiliar name the sleeping boy whispers in his dreams. ”I just want to…normal…”

There is some unrest before Shigeo rolls over and snuggles even more into his bedding. 

He knows better than anyone that scars never truly fade, only get tucked away until it becomes too hard to hold back. This, he can relate to. 

It’s clear that despite their now many heart-to-hearts there’s still much he doesn’t know and vice-versa. 

He has a running theory that Shigeo’s powers are directly influenced by his emotional mindset, the night they met a clear example. 

Trust will be an uphill battle but maybe Batman can introduce techniques that he’s used in the past to dampen emotions so the more volatile impulses don’t consume him. This, Bruce believes, will be the key to helping him through his psychic outbursts, however frequent they might be. 

“…Batman…you're my second…favourite hero…” Is another escaped thought from the sleeping child. “Please don’t…leave like…I’m sorry, Ri…”

Feeling off-footed, Bruce forces himself to walk away. 

Maybe he’ll get a head start on the emotion regulation training and be a little more prepared.  

Shigeo is not going to be staying long, he’s got to remember. 

He can’t get attached. 

He won’t get attached. 

As Mob wakes again, the sun is just starting to settle on the horizon. 

His blinds are closed but the peaks of orange that flicker in and out of view lights up the room in a fun and colourful way. 

It would be nice to say that the sleep cured his many ailments but, sadly, his powers don’t really work that way. Everything aches and he’s just a bit out of breath even now but still, there is nothing he wants to change about it. 

For the first time in his life, there is a direction he can walk to for answers. There’s someone that gets him, understands the struggle he’s had for so long. Understands that without control he’ll lose himself and become a monster. A villain like the ones heroes fight. Or maybe he already is one and Batman’s just keeping an eye on him. Maybe, Mr Wayne has secret powers too and can seal his psychic powers with a snap of a finger and Mob just has to be trustworthy enough to get it.

Each hypothetical example gives him hope for the future. 

A happier future, without him in it.

He gets called down for dinner, Robin lingers on a seat to Mr Wayne’s left, pretending to eat with them. It is a roast with potatoes, spicy sauce and a mushroom salad. Mob picks up a spoon.

”Woah, the big guy’s really in a mood.” Robin comments, jeeringly.

Oh. Mr Wayne was unhappy? He didn’t know. 

He tries to get his attention, so he can ask about what might be troubling him, when Robin continues. “What’d you do? Talk about his feelings? Surprised he hasn't blown a casket yet.”

Was that a rule he didn’t know? No one told him about that rule, was he not supposed to talk about feelings too? Is that why he isn’t trustworthy?

Mob’s spoon bends.

19%

Mr Wayne curses and the ghost laughs, their reactions almost synchronized. As if realising this, Robin abruptly stops laughing and looks away with a pout.

Something is weird. He feels weird. 

“Why did you do that?”

”I don’t know.” 

Dinner is weird. 

Mr Wayne sighs and the sound bounces around the room; the silence a suffocating force. He feels weird. He feels like he’s missing something. He's missing a social thing, maybe.

21%

“Shigeo.” Mob looks up from staring blankly at his food. Why did the room feel so small? Mr Wayne isn’t smiling at him anymore. He’s angry, he’s made him angry.

”Shigeo,” Mr Wayne repeats, looking annoyed.

”Is this—a normal meal with you two?” Robin watches with barely contained fascination. “Jesus, it’s like he’s gone through osmosis.”

Mob isn’t good at reading things, the lines or the spaces in between them and now it’s like that’s the only thing that’s here. 

“Your powers are playing up.” Mr Wayne continues, staring at him—wearily.

He wants to be able to read the lines better, the spaces between sentences and the silences that breath inside them. He wishes that reading people was as easy as reading books. Maybe then he wouldn’t be messing up so much.

27%

“Sorry.”

”Don’t apologise.” Mr Wayne raises a brow—still not smiling, he hasn’t smiled all day. Is he angry? Has he been angry this whole time?—“Just, please try some of the techniques that Batman went over with you. It will help.”

”I don’t remember.” He’s mumbling again, a nasty habit that he knows his mum hates but his throat feels like it’s closing up and mumbling is all he can manage.

He’s being weird. Mr Wayne probably thinks he’s a complete weirdo. 

Mr Wayne is—he’s frowning now. Angry, that’s definitely angry. No wonder Mr Wayne doesn't think he’s trustworthy, here he is, making him angry, after everything the older man has done for him.

40%

”Woah, dude, just calm down.” Robin says, a touch panicky. 

“Shigeo, your…is that you?” There are more things lifting around them now, chairs and cutlery, the dinner itself. It’s not going too far up but the light hovering from their original spots isn't screaming ‘total control’. 

“Sorry.” He feels like crying, he’s messing it up. It’s going to happen again, and it’ll be all his fault. “You’re angry….”

“I’m not angry.”

”You are.”

There is a whisper in his ear. 

“He is.”

45%

“Why do you think I’m angry?” 

“I don’t know.” Which is sadly the truth, his thoughts are so loud and confusing it's hard to pinpoint exactly where it starts.

”I don’t mean to be contradictory, Shigeo.” He admits, but the words don’t make sense to him. “That’s never my intent.”

Is he hurting Mr Waynes feelings cause he doesn’t know how to talk to people? Is he missing his one shot at being normal? Why is he like this? “Sorry…”

“Do you…prefer it when I smile?” Which is an odd question but Mr Wayne looks really serious when he asks. “Would that make reading my emotions a little easier, Shigeo? I know I can be a little…detached.” 

“If you want to...” He’s trying to be truthful, he just doesn’t know what the truth is right now. “I don’t know…”

He was supposed to be better than before, for his family, his—his brother and he’s failing.

He’s a failure.

”You’re not.” Mr Wayne says, cutting into his rather circular thoughts. “Change takes time, you’ve got all the time in the world here, I promise.”

Mr Wayne is…smiling now, kinda like how he was when they first met. It’s familiar and—comforting. Maybe the older man isn’t that angry with him if he’s willing to smile like that…although—

Mob melts into the sudden hug he is drawn into. 

“You ever get told you think too much?” Mr Wayne is definitely lighter now, less grave and severe. Did he do something right?

25%

“Yeah…” He admits, burying his embarrassment on yet another freakout by nuzzling closer into the others chest. 

“Hmm, Batman has that same problem.” Mr Wayne says with a wink. “You’ve got a lot in common!”

“You think?” Shigeo’s eyes light up. “Really?”

”Really.” 

14%

Mr Wayne steps back from the hug, and Shigeo notices for the first time that the dining table has floated up to the roof with the food. 

“Uh, sorry, dinner might be a bit cold now...” Shigeo waves a hand and it lands gently in its original spot. 

Mr Wayne waves it off, giving a big cheesy grin and tucking in. “I like cold food. Trust me, when you meet Alfred he can tell you all about how cold my food gets when I’m in a work blitz.”

Dinner continues, a quiet but warm affair, and Mob hopes that tomorrow’s training will help him control himself. Especially around Mr Wayne, who is significantly more fragile than Batman and him and would be the first to be seriously hurt if anything went wrong.

And despite how critical Mob is with Mr Wayne’s choice in company—that super guy is still really suspicious—and despite how little he can relate to him, or trust him really, Mob can’t imagine a more perfect partner for Batman. 

Mob bends another spoon.

“Ah.” Mr Wayne smiles, amused. “This is another quirk, then? That is fine. We’ll have to figure out some alternatives. How are you on plastic utensils? Any allergies?”

Yes, Mob thinks, he really likes Mr Wayne when he’s like this.

Robin is still in his spot at the table, staring.“…The fuck did I just watch?” 

Chapter Text

Thomas Wayne doesn’t know why there’s been a complete reset with the duos dynamic but it is clear that it isn’t helping anyone. 

His son is working his newest ward through breathing exercises to better help regulate emotions. It seems that Bruce has made the link to young Shigeo’s power and mental state, thank god, but the solution to said connection is…baffling, to put it mildly. 

“We’re going to cut you off completely from your emotions.” Bruce explains calmly, like this was just another exercise. “Not for long periods of time, of course, but just enough where we can mould how you express these emotional buildups into something more controlled. If you build up this skill, there is very little you will feel that can penetrate those defenses.”

“Oh.” The boy says simply. “Okay.”

Which is such an objectively horrible idea, Thomas wonders just how his son is considered the world's greatest detective. 

The connection is known, Bruce knows the correlation between innate psychic ability and mental wellbeing but there has been no discussion of therapy or even a base level health check up at all since the correlation was confirmed. 

“Of course he wouldn’t consider such a thought.” Thomas scoffs, trailing after Shigeo at a safe distance. “That would take vulnerability ‘Batman’ can’t afford.”

”What are you talking about Mr Thomas?” Shigeo asks over his shoulder, somehow not alerting his instructor of the distraction. 

“Shigeo.” The ghost moves closer to his side, aware that if he doesn’t stop this now, it’ll do irreparable damage to the already fragile boy. “Batman’s methods might herald results for himself but under no circumstances are you to go through with this.”

”Why not?” He asks with a pout, the only visible display of his disappointment. 

Thomas needs to think fast if he wants to keep Shigeo’s attention, well aware the boy tends to be quite absentminded in the face of his idol. “Tell him you want to learn more about gun safety.” 

“Why?” He blinks, as if thinking it through. “I don’t like guns.”

”Yes, well it is still important to know what makes dangerous things dangerous, wouldn’t you agree?”

”I guess…”

“Please, Shigeo.” He’s not begging but it’s a close thing. “He thinks it’ll help and you must trust me when I say it will not.”

There’s a clear debate he sees play out on the boy's face. His hero worship against their tentative friendship and it hurts Thomas to know he’s made him so conflicted but this was deathly important.

He has loved his son to the end of his life and forever after but when Bruce gets an idea of something there is very little to sway him from that path and this…this is not the correct path. 

If Bruce ruins this boy, however unintentionally, Thomas doesn’t think it’ll be a hit he’ll recover from. 

“Please.”

”…It’s okay, Mr Thomas.” Shigeo frowns and does that endlessly enduring move of his where he tries to hold his hand. “I’ll tell him, it’s okay.”

The breath he shouldn’t be able to hold, literally cannot hold, is released and a tension lifts from his shoulders.

Bruce won’t like it, if anything, he‘ll actively loath calling the others for assistance. But he has no choice in this case if he feels his own knowledge is lacking and there is only one person Thomas knows is the most qualified in talking about the negatives of gun use. 

Someone, Thomas hopes will be able to nudge his son into a more…healthy direction. However minuscule that nudge is. 

“Mr Batman.” Shigeo is a horrible actor, doesn’t bother to hide his very stilted way of speaking or the insincerity in his words and Thomas wonders what Bruce must think of the display. “I think we need…uhm…can I learn more about…guns?”

”Safety.” Thomas hisses, knowing the distinction is very important to his son.

”—Yeah, can we learn more about uh gun safety? Please?”

Everything stops and the slight twitch on his neck is the only tell Thomas can see that hints at his son’s caution. 

“What has brought this up?”

”Tell him you saw something on tv, there was a street fight just before you got here, anything! Heavens know Bruce could run through that with you himself, the amount of times he’s been shot…”

”I don’t know.” Shigeo answers, a little too honestly. “I think it might be important or something…you, you get shot a lot don’t you?”

There is a slight grimace, he won’t lie about this. “I do.”

The pain on the small boy's face even makes his own undead heart crack. “…I don’t like that.”

”Yes, well.” Thomas knows his son well enough that he can see Bruce is holding back an ugly, bittersweet laugh. “On the road to protecting Gotham there are many bumps and bruises along the way. It is…something I’m used to, nowadays. I barely feel them.”

”That doesn’t make it better.” 

“No.” He, surprisingly, concedes. “It’s the right thing to do, though.”

”It’s not right…” The poor dear looks like his whole world has been turned over. The first time, perhaps ever, he’s confronted the dangers of the hero work he idolises. It is a good wake up call for his aspirations for heroics. 

“Then…I want to..to protect you.” Shigeo says with a firm resolve. “I don’t want you to get hurt, Mr Batman. I really, really don’t.”

”Shigeo—“

”No.” Even Thomas is taken back from the backbone the young boy has grown. Never possibly imagining something like this when they had first met. “You won’t get hurt anymore, I won’t—I won’t let that happen.”

The ghost smiles something bittersweet, happy that his warnings finally had someone to hear them. 

“You can’t save him, you know?” An ominous and unwelcome voice ruins the moment. 

”I told you to keep your distance.” He says, coldly, not even bothering to face the mysterious figure. “Do you think just because my son is here I will not defend my property? Your youth makes you naive.”

“And your optimism makes me hurl.” Robin snarks, floating further down the cave, away from Shigeo’s training. “To be honest, I don’t even think he wants to do this. Not like I’ll stop pushing for it, of course, that kid’s got so many issues it’s like he was born here! And what better therapy is there than ass-kicking?”

”I’m not listening to this.”

”Yeah, go on, pull a classic Wayne and ignore the problem till it blows up in your face, that’ll help.” Robin rolls his eyes and the smile stretching over his face is anything but kind. “He’s gonna get dragged into this life whether he likes to or not.”

Then, in a brief flash of uncertainty, Robin looks frustrated. “If Batman…“—and this title he says with such mockery that it’s unclear if it’s aimed at the figure or Bruce himself—“doesn’t get his shit together, he’s not gonna get another sidekick…”

Then, the words that put a chill down his spine. 

“…He’s getting another goddamn clown.”

Jason Todd didn’t know what to expect being called to the cave—which, when was the last time he came here out of mask? Months? Years?— for some kinda ‘safety demonstration’ but it definitely wasn’t this. 

“Can we have a snack now?”

“We’ve only just started, Shigeo.”

“Oh.” 

Silence. 

“I think…Mr Wayne said I could have a snack if I finished my chores.”

“And have you?”

The downtrodden mumbling is answer enough.

There’s an itch somewhere in the back of his head that wants to scream about this. It’s loud and green and—not a good role model for little kids.

Bruce has….another kid. What’s that make it now? Two football league's worth? Do they have to count the alternative worlds too while they’re at it? 

The kid is just—unbelievably small, not even meeting his hip, and with the biggest cow eyes he’s ever seen. It’d be cute if this entire situation wasn’t so horrifying. 

Jason doesn’t give a fuck where the kid comes from—how many times have they had that conversation? Everyone has a story, they have a right to their privacy blah, blah, blah—but is Bruce really sinking so low to start recruiting toddlers?

(The Robin in him is angry, furious, that this dot of a kid thinks he can come in here and just—) 

“The fuck is this?” Jason says, getting a little tired being an observer to this dumpster fire. “You pop out another one or something? Junior here looks enough like you, God, Damian’s gonna be insufferable.”

Which is half right, Damian’s gonna kill this kid when he sees him. Not cause they look particularly similar—When he said that, it was mainly talking about that trademark Bruce blank face—but just on principle. He was willing to share with his family but this scrawny, civilian baby? Yeah, Dick’s gonna have his hands full on that one. 

He’s being glared at and he wants to snap and maybe even fire a stray bullet for the rebellion of it all but…Bruce has another kid.

What the fuck did he miss?

“You shouldn’t swear.” A whisper of a voice cuts through his thoughts like a hot knife through butter. 

He snorts, feeling a little insane and restless under his skin. There is an itch to just put his mask on but Bruce had been pretty insistent not to bring Red Hood to the party and he can’t do another fight right now.

”What was that?” He pretends to push a finger into his ear, boggling a bit at how neutral the baby’s expression was. ”Didn’t hear ya.”

There, that’ll get the kid to explode, a classic Bruce response—

“Oh, that’s okay.” He looks down to his shoes. “…Sorry, never mind.”

If Jason didn’t know better, he’d almost think the kid was…embarrassed for talking out of turn. 

And then he does something even crazier and…hides behind Bruce’s legs, very evidently shy to people he doesn’t know and chooses to seek comfort from Batman of all people.

Huh.

Jason taps the side of face in thought, now this is interesting.

”Oi.” He grunts, beckoning with one hand for the boy to come closer. ”You got a name?”

”Yeah.” To Jason’s begrudging delight, it doesn’t seem the kid knows what implication is just yet, hilarious.

”Introduce yourself, Shigeo.” Bruce speaks up for the first time since he’s got here, strangely quiet in the interaction. “It’s okay, I trust him.”

Jason scoffs, like that means anything. 

“…Really?” The kid questions and—still, still looking at Bruce like he hangs the fucking stars and doesn’t he know what that bastard will—Jason sighs.

”What? Don’t look trustworthy enough for you, kid?” He’s being petty, that’s pretty fucking obvious, but he also can’t help it. There’s something…different here.

Bruce is…different now, and Jason has no goddamn idea why.

“Not really, no.” 

Which, well, that does make him laugh. Backbone or no, training or not, the kid has guts. 

“Names Jason.” He says, cutting their little game short. “I’ll teach you how not to kill youself with your own gun and you’ll sit there and listen but, first, I wanna ask you something.”

When he waits for a reply that stretches a little too long, Jason realises that the silence was acceptance in itself. Another snicker fights to break out but he manages to control himself before it does. 

“You eaten yet?” He asks with a toothy grin.

It seems he’s managed to surprise both teacher and student, awesome. 

Thinking for a second—which, Jesus, sure likes taking his time on that— the boy reluctantly shakes his head.

”Great!” Then he shoots Bruce a look and sees the moment comprehension of what he’s doing registers. The lack of pushback is his acceptance. ”We’re gonna get lunch first and you’re gonna tell me how the hell you landed yourself with that miserable fuck. I wanna hear everything.”

“I—Huh?”

”It’s fine, Shigeo.” Bruce interrupts to give his consent, something that makes him furious. “We will pick up training after your meal…Have a good time.”

The lost and bewildered look Jason gets in return is victory enough. 

When Bruce sees Jason again he is Red Hood and the distance between that seemed to yearn light-years is, miraculously, shorter. The silence just that little less strained. How did this happen and what does he have to do to keep it here?

”You…you gotta talk to this kid, Bruce.” There’s no preamble or insults. He’s never seen Jason so direct before.

”What did you find out?” He all but demands.

”Just…” Red hood sighs, pats him on the shoulder—sympathetically? Why?—“you gotta talk to him soon, okay?”

Then his son walks away, leaving Bruce with even more questions than he started with. 

Chapter Text

Jason wasn’t quite sure what he was doing inviting the snot nosed brat out to the diner near their house but restraint had never really been his strong suit.

The urge to peek into Bruce’s life was always an itch ever since he heard the sidekicks had fled the nest. Him and Batman were the only few heroes still serving in Gotham and sometimes they would cross paths out on the streets. It was nothing like their old dynamic, which Jason was so fucking glad for, but it worked for him. Being a stupid little shit running around in green tights and spandex preaching about world peace was a lifetime ago. Literally. 

You can’t call what they have now a partnership, that’s a bridge he burnt as soon as he knew how, but it doesn’t really matter what they call it. It’s just the reality now.

Kind of like how it was the reality that he was sitting here in a cramped booth opposite a Bruce Wayne spawn colouring a picture book supplied by the diner. 

“You gonna order something?” Jason nods to the menu, still sizing up the kid but also not that much of an asshole to invite the brat out for lunch and then just—not give him lunch.

He gets a shrug in return. “Are you going to pay?”

“Ha.” Jason snorts, looking at the menu he has pretty much memorised. “What could you even pay with? Buttons?”

”Mr Wayne gave me a card.” The kid adds, looking at him blankly. “I dunno when I’m supposed to use it though.”

Fuck, of course he got the black card. You’d think Bruce would learn after the first five or so kids that giving orphans that kind of unlimited access to anything is just asking for trouble.

“Oh shit, now that’s pretty big.” Jason grins, putting the menu down. “What you gonna use it for? Bouncy castles don’t fit on the second floor but a circus can fit in the backyard pretty well.”

And those examples aren’t even his, Dick really was a hard first act to follow. 

“Huh?” He has that vaguely confused expression again, like the words Jason is saying are completely alien to him. 

“You got a card with unlimited possibilities, kid!” Jason gestures in the hope to really convey how influential that little piece of plastic is. “You can go as crazy as you want and Bruce won’t do anything about it! Just gotta flash those giant ass eyes you got, make 'em a little teary and boom!”

Jason clicks his fingers. “Bruce will fold, every time.”

It’s taking another goddamn minute for the intentions of his words to reach the out of space that is this kids head, but when it does connect there is immediate discomfort. 

“No, no, I wouldn’t want to be any trouble for Mr Wayne or—Or Batman.” Now he looks genuinely worried, like even thinking about using the card for evil was punishable. ”I’ve been nothing but trouble since I got here. I wanna—I want to help, in any way I can.”

”So, you think that’ll be through, what? Taking on the robin title and going off Willy nilly doing whatever the fuck you want? Fat chance you’ll help anyone if your form is as sloppy as I’m starting to suspect it is.”

“I thought you were the gun expert…” Shigeo squints at him slightly, and Jason decides to cut his losses and forgo the pretense. 

“I’m an expert in a lot of things.” Jason drops an arm onto the table, heavily. “Though mostly around fucking up people so badly they’re more bruise then skin.”

”That…” The boy frowns softly, likely the most Jason's’ gonna get out of him to show discomfort. “That’s not good, Mr Todd. Hurting people is really bad.”

Jason doesn’t know what to do with that, isn’t that the whole point of what they’re doing?

“Why do you think that?” 

“Cause…” It really looks like he’s putting together all the brain cells he’s got into this. “It just is. It makes people feel bad and that makes you feel worse and–and–hurt and it’s your fault and–”

Shit, he’s getting overwhelmed.

“Oi, calm down already will ya?” He says gruffly, internally boggling that it took this small a hit to get him spiraling. “Just asking a question.”

“Well…now you know my–my answer.” The kid ends with a frown, using the menu to hide behind. “So that’s that.”

“Sure.”

First attempt at interrogation, complete failure.

After a little Segway with Dolores asking for their orders—predictably, pinching Shigeo’s cheeks much like how she used to do for him—and returning with a truly impressive haul, he figured now was as good a time as any to try again.

“It’s good right?” He asks over his own food(hamburger with side chips and a large banana milkshake, the same orders he’s had for decades).

The kid’s quiet but enthusiastic trying his meal, probably not used to the Gotham type of wine and dining. “Yeah.”

“Well, good.” Jason nods, unnecessarily pleased that he didn’t get another smartass comment. “This is the best place in this shitty city!”

“Oh okay.” Was the lacklustre reply. Which, that’s gonna take some getting used to.

“You’re a weird kid, anyone ever tell you that?”

“Kind of yeah.” He stops mid chew to really think about it. "A lot of times…”

Ha. No surprise there.

“Bruce got you doing the robin training yet?” He doesn’t bother with pretence. “You don’t look…shit, I’m not gonna lie to you kid, you look like one breeze could just fly you away. Physically and mentally, you're a total space cadet.”

“Am I?” The kid murmurs, tomato sauce smears his face but there is no move from him to wipe it off. “Oh I didn’t uhm I didn’t know that.”

“You can’t go out on the field.” He decides right then and there, Bruce be damned. “If any of those bastards takes a single second to seize up the new robin they’ll waste no time gutting you like a fish right in front of him just to prove a point.”

“I’m not robin.” Shigeo says with a strange emphasis.

“Yep, you better believe you're not.” Jason continues, taking a casual sip of his milkshake. “I ain’t have that title long but I sure as fuck got a say in who it goes to. You are not robin material and I don’t know what Bruce is thinking with all this but I’d rather see him break his goddamn spine with no backup then see another underprepared robin trying to risk their lives saving his—”

90%

It wasn’t too obvious what was happening at first but the way that everything around them just felt heavy was a good indicator that somewhere in the conversation he had seriously fucked up.

Then, everything around them started flying. From the booths they were sitting on, to the food on their plates, the stools by the bar, the condiments in the kitchen, everything, everything .

Was this a new villain? Like Gotham needs anymore of those.

Jason tries to grab Shigeo’s hand but whatever force that was holding everything up was pinning him down.

“Sh–Shigeo.” Jason struggles to get out, fighting valiantly against the invisible force. “Call Bat–”

Then as he looks up to gauge just how freaked out the boy might be, he sees what has been sitting in front of him the whole time and clarity has never felt so bitter.

The small dot of a kid has glowing, red eyes and the energy answers to him like an extended limb, his hair whipping itself into a frenzy around his face.

“Don’t…don’t ever say that.” The kid’s voice is the same, so it can’t be mind control or some kind of possession, but it’s crackly, emotional.

Jason makes a move to try and incapacitate him but struggling does nothing. He is well and truly trapped here. And this is the moment that he realises that Shigeo is only using one finger to do all of this.

One little twitch of his pointer finger has Jason restrained, the diner in complete standstill and the people, who had the unfortunate chance to be here, suspended on the roof of the building. Held up like balloons. 

One finger.

Fucking hell.

“Why—Why would you even.” Shigeo is fighting tears, miraculously, like he was somehow the one being attacked. “Why would you ever, ever say something like that!? Why would you ever want Mr Waybe to–to–”

Jason isn’t even sure if Shigeo knows he’s got him held captive here. Got the whole diner held captive, actually. 

“He’s not ever gonna get–get hurt! Not ever!” The kid emphasizes his own point, the pulsing, insane power around him growing in his frustration. 

He’s got to keep calm, despite the restlessness and his own increasing panic at being so restrained, Jason can’t lose it too. 

“Yeah, you’re right about all that.” He nods–or, at least tries to, the movement not coming out the way he wants–and tries to shape his expression into something more sympathetic. “Sorry, I got a little away from my mouth. Happens all the time, let me tell you.”

70%

“It’s not–it’s not right.” The power is dimming and Jason can regain feeling in his fingers again. “You can’t just–wish those kinds of things to happen, you can’t! Mr Bruce is–is nice and kind and he doesn’t deserve anything… like that to happen to him. Me and Batman are supposed to protect him because he’s–he’s important and likes clean kitchens and pancakes and–”

“No, yeah you're right.” 

The fuck did Bruce invite into his house? Some kind of eldritch horror masquerading as a spacey middle schooler?

“You can’t say that about Mr Wayne or—or Batman.” There is a real seriousness in his eyes now, a promise for violence maybe? A promise for retribution perhaps? Either way, despite it being from the small and chubby face of a child, it still somehow sends a shiver down his spine. “Not ever.”

”I won’t.” He lies, easily.

44%

The energy pulses out and it looks like the calm approach had actually worked cause slowly but surely Jason regains movement again.

Before he jumps over the table to restrain the possible threat, the kid collapses into himself. 

Not crying, not anymore, but his puffy cheeks are red and his frown is wobbly, contemplative in a weird way. Quiet in the normal, kid way. The diner patrons are put gently to the floor, from his spot he can tell they are thankfully alive. In a deep sleep if he had to guess. 

14%

It doesn’t seem like Shigeo even registers just what the hell he's done. Jason runs a hand through his now sweaty hair and stands to go over to the opposite side of the booth, dropping into a crouch in front of the very upset boy.

”Okay, enough already, God.” Jason huffs. “You’re kind of a cry baby, aren’t you? What is it now, Spacey? I apologised already, didn’t I?”

“You can’t…you can’t say that sorta stuff, cause one—one day…” His face crumbles. “It might…it might actually happen. Like, for real life it might—and you didn’t mean it to but it just—it happens anyway and you can’t do—do anything because it’s your fault—“

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jason has one arm around the kid’s shoulder. A loose, side hug that might just be proof that he’s losing his mind in his older age.

Shigeo seems more well adjusted then he did at this age, at least, cause instead of being cursed out and pushed aside he feels the smallest sigh of relief. Little arms wrapping around his middle makes Jason feel ridiculous and, somehow, a whole lot less angry about everything that’s happened so far.

He’s still pretty firm on the no new robin thing, that won’t ever change, but this was a glimpse into what Bruce has had to deal with so far and well, the absolute potential that pours out of the kid like a broken faucet is insane. It’s no wonder Bruce is starting this young, with the batshit crazy amount of power that is being welded by an emotionally stunted Bat-mini he’d be crazy not starting as soon as possible.

“I didn’t mean to yell at you, Mr Todd.” Shigeo whispers into his jacket, unwilling to make eye contact. “I get—I get angry sometimes.”

”Everyone gets angry, weirdo.” Jason huffs, reluctantly patting the boy on the head and longing for the chance to take out a cigarette. “You just gotta control how you express it.”

“Oh.” Shigeo hums, the drain of the sudden emotional swirl likely tiring him out. “But you don’t control how you express your anger?”

”The fuck?” Jason stands from his crouch to subtly check on the now slowly waking civilians on the floor. “Yes I fucking do you little—“

”See?”

“Smart-ass.” Squinting in suspicion, Jason goes through the motions to check on every casualty, noting that none of them seemed to remember what exactly had happened and had no injuries from being lifted so far up. 

He doesn’t envy Bruce having to deal with a ticking time bomb that bad but, then again, he doesn’t envy the kid for having to deal with the emotional brick wall that was Batman. Jason is gonna do a brief, quick, Batman approved ‘guns are bad’ speech and fuck off out of this inevitable dumpster fire. 

The kid slips his stupidly small hand into his, a casual, comfortable gesture like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Jason’s not going to get involved. No way can he get involved.

”So do you swear like that cause you didn’t have parents to tell you it’s bad? Or are you one of those delinquents my mum talked about?”

”Fuck off.”

”Language.”

Ah hell, who’s he kidding? Bruce is gonna need all the help he can get.

Despite the late night, Bruce is not the only one mulling around the kitchen. It had been a stressful day and a half, Jason’s vague warning as ominous as it was irritating and he had barely been able to get any work done since. Add on Alfred's impromptu return then there was much to think about.

It felt good seeing his son again, though. The brief meeting and stilted goodbye was more than Bruce had thought he would get from him. Much more. Before the ominous warning, it felt kind of like how it used to. 

As he pads down to the kitchen, mind still furiously working out this new puzzle, he finds the light already on and the tv in the lounge playing. Confident in his security but finding himself curious he peeks past the wall to find what is becoming an increasingly familiar sight.

Shigeo Kageyama is rummaging once again through the cupboards—assumedly not having learnt his lesson from breakfast—and various confectionaries litter the table. Reluctant to break the mood, Bruce steps back to observe. Carefully noting the more delicate and purposeful movements, as if he was following along someone’s instructions. 

“…Why can’t we add chocolate chips too, though? Raisins are kind of super gross, no offence…”

Ah. Bruce was hoping that the talking to the air ‘quirk’ of his was just a result of trauma made that night but it doesn’t seem to be the case, unfortunately. 

What is their family history of mental illness? Was it inherited or formed due to the many other possible trauma events he’s experienced? Was it due to being in a different dimension or was it connected to his psychic abilities? 

Whatever Shigeo’s making didn't seem as disastrous as his other attempts so Bruce decides to let this one go; maybe getting some work done in the cave could cure his insomnia?

Before he can take another step, however, Shigeo blinks up to his exact location. “Oh, hello Mr. Wayne.”

Shrugging off how mildly disturbing it was being caught by a civilian child, Bruce made his way over.

”What are you up to, kiddo?” He’s stretching the smile just that little bit wider, closer to the public personae smile then his own. He wants to establish trust, therefore, he needs to be someone who can be trusted. “It’s very late.”

”Making something.” Shigeo says simply, turning his attention back to the mixing bowl in his hands. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Shigeo,” He’s sighing now, a touch too fond to be as exhausted as he feels. “ Did you need to make something now? We’ve got a busy day tomorrow.”

“We do?” Shigeo tilts his head to one side in mild confusion. ”Training?”

”Mhm yep, that’s a big one but no not only that.” Bruce notices, rather late, that some benign kids show is being played on his platinum tv. “Alfred is…Alfred is very important to me and will be coming back from his vacation. We have to pick him up from the airport.”

”Oh okay.” The boy nods, before staring blankly at the mixing bowl, visibly processing the information. He turns back up. “Wait, important how?”

”Very important.” Bruce says with a wink, deciding not to get bogged down by his own anxiety of the next day, instead adding: “In fact, some consider Alfred to be Batman’s father. Although Batman would never say it, secretly I think he sees it that way too.”

Just as he had expected, Shigeo gasps in wonderment, practically shining with anticipation. “Batman has a dad too!?”

”Of course! Why wouldn’t he?” Bruce says, perhaps a touch too bitter sweetly. 

“I dunno.” Shigeo is shy now, looking down at his socked feet in embarrassment. “I thought he was born from the shadows…that’s what Mr Todd said.”

”Did he?” Of course he did, why isn’t Bruce surprised? “No, Jason was just being dramatic. Batman is as human as you and me.”

Although Shigeo looks reluctant to agree, he gets distracted again by something in the air above him. 

“What? Wait, why?” His face is all disappointment and Bruce is struggling to figure out what exactly had caused it. “You don’t need to leave, please, I wanna finish these—“

”What’s wrong, Shigeo?” Bruce stands opposite of him now, vaguely looking for a threat but mainly focused on the micro expressions the boy is flashing through.

”He’s gone.” The boy murmurs, turning away from him. “I think I made him sad.”

“Who’s gone, Shigeo?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He replies, frustrated. “I dunno the recipe, I can’t finish the cookies.” 

Should he push this more? Figure out what exactly Shigeo thinks he’s seeing and get to the bottom of the odd behaviour? Had he been in a better state of mind, there is a real possibility he would’ve continued pushing on this particular topic but with how hectic things are now and how anxious he feels for tomorrow, Bruce decides he’ll let this one go for now.

Bruce doesn’t know it yet—won’t know it till much, much later in the future—but it will be one of the biggest regrets of his life not following Shigeo up on this.

But that is the future and this is now.

”If we’re making cookies I think I might be able to help out.” Bruce says with an easy smile, tucking away his concerns for the time being. “What have we done so far?”

”Uhm, I did the mix and now I gotta get raisins.” He says with an adorable grimace.

”Mhm, raisins are my favourite!” Bruce chirps, deftly mixing the bigger clumps that the boy hadn’t managed to mix yet. Shigeo watches with wide eyes, like it was the most important thing in the world.

The domestic act was precious as it was nostalgic. Bruce remembers his own childhood of raisin cookies and sleepless nights. When his father would catch him sneaking down and, instead of telling his mum, would make him his favourite as a treat.

Slow enough so that Shigeo could see, Bruce purposefully takes the chocolate chips from the top shelf and sprinkles some in. The gasp the boy gives manages to crack his ever perfect smile into something a little more lower but all the more genuine.

“Yes, this looks good.” Shigeo says with a small grin as Bruce carefully puts the mixture into the oven. “We can eat these while watching Gem Buds.”

“I…have a lot of worker I gotta finish off, Shigeo I don’t think—“

“Oh no it’s one of the good ones, you’ll really like it—there’s uhm there’s Steward and his mum was a moon gem from space so he’s got all these superpowers but the real powers are the friends he makes so—“ Bruce is being dragged into the lounge and plopped down onto the couch, the boy still rattling off the plot with at least 50% plot accuracy. 

It’s not the first time a hyper fixated kid has drawn him into this room so Bruce lets it happen, keeping careful note of the timer in the kitchen for the cookies and gradually relaxing back into the seat. Listening to Shigeo’s white noise rambling, he spots things that indicate that Shigeo might have been here a while. 

Snack wrappers are put in a small pile on one side of the couch, several blankets taken from all over the house made into a little fort, and a small collection of drawings thrown like a tornado on the floor. 

The drawings are, rather embarrassingly, centered around him. Bruce Wayne, specifically, and not Shigeo’s hero Batman, a figure that the boy has spent hours gushing about.

It’s a curious choice and makes him wonder just what exactly has spooked Shigeo enough to forgo sleep for the night.

“…then you find out that the moon gem is actually a sun chip which is one of the really, really powerful gems…”

But, that’s a thought for tomorrow. 

“So Steward is half sun chip?” Bruce questions, munching on their quite nicely executed cookies. “His father had said nothing of this development?”

”Yeah,” Shigeo nods, crumbs all over his face. “Well that’s the thing people didn’t even know till uhm till the end credits…”

For tonight, at least, misery loves company. And Bruce may be struggling with his anxieties for tomorrow and Shigeo for the anxieties of today, it still feels lighter somehow now that it’s shared. It’s a good feeling, a weirdly familiar one. Much like the not-so-raisin raisin cookies.

It feels like a phantom of what Bruce remembers home feeling like. 

Chapter Text

Bruce has a very busy day ahead of him. The airport pickup is around one so leaving at least around ten would give them enough time to go the distance and find a park close enough to the exit. His phone hasn’t stopped blowing up since his somewhat curt correspondence to the business department of Wayne Inc looking for their CEO and to the League who’s only crime was wondering why one of their founders was missing from yet another summit. 

He should be getting up, needs to get up. 

There is a soft snore to his side, and lazy beams of light dance through the parted curtains. 

“W…What’s the problem, Steward? I bet Batman can help…”

Well, Bruce thinks, tucking the loose blanket a little closer to the sleeping boy, he can always get up later. 

There’s an ache in his back, which felt like a result of the ridiculous decision to twist his monsteriously large body onto the old, ratty couch to begin with. Shigeo snoozes quietly though, which is reason enough to stay just that little longer.

When was the last time one of his kids had done this? Years maybe, decades likely. Dick loved constant affection, the casual and effortless physical contact that let whoever was receiving it know that they were loved and seen. Bruce had the most difficulty adjusting to that then almost anything else he had learnt in his life. Though, it was even harder learning to live without it. 

Jason had been a downright brat about it until he was officially adopted. They had been similar in that sense. Not quite aware of the rules of family, so out of practice, but still so willing to carve out our own way.

Tim liked his space, or, maybe he just liked knowing that Bruce was with him. It was always hard to pinpoint just what exactly the boy had found in him to follow but having someone there in the cave with him, a steady and consistent presence, was a gift. Cassandra was much the same. She had been the most like him, had been the most similar that it was downright terrifying. Bruce used to have persistent nightmares, when she still operated in Gotham, that he’d wake up one morning to find Black Bat with her spine snapped by someone willing to do the damage. 

Duke and Stephanie were too grown with their own complicated relationship with parents for them to seek that kind of care from him. There was a deep trust, though. A trust that transcended mentor and protege, a respect that he would wear like a physical badge of honour if he could.

Shigeo sleeps with a small smile, which is illuminating. When they had first met, it was hard to parse through the majority of his emotions. That perpetual blank face hid so many thoughts and feelings that the only thing that cracked through were the feelings that were big enough to have power behind it. A power that could shape the world and generations after it.

Although he would never admit this out loud, it was quite eerie not being able to accurately predict Shigeo as well as he could other people. The body language, stance, personality, manner, a contradiction and a mystery all wrapped up in one. Paired with a power that could level cities? It was all the more important for Bruce to really understand what drove the boy, before one more freak out takes Gotham out of the equation completely. 

All his life, no matter who he met through his travels or in his work, Bruce had always prided himself on being able to know accurately what a person was going to do based on their body language or facial expression. And just his luck he’s landed with the one dimensionally lost little boy that refused to bide by the rule book of social convention. 

Is this what it’s like to be with Bruce Wayne (or Batman) on a day to day basis? To be constantly uncertain where you stand with someone?

Bruce Wayne ruins everything he touches from board meetings to dress shirts to charity galas to his own family, that is what he does, that is what he’s good at. They do not see the broken man hiding underneath that suggestive smile, nor do they bother to check. It is a circus they have paid to watch, why go back and ruin the magic?

Batman breaks, crushes, destroys. Have it be bones or bloody noses, brick walls or crushing support beams, he was made to destroy Gotham and born it anew. A symbol that will outlive him, a curse that makes him spit out blood every night and choke down a fistful of tablets every morning. The most literal of his masks whose only allies consist of a team who does not trust him.

Is it a bit self-centred to regard both of his personae with such gravity? Perhaps, but he thinks about himself a lot nowadays. The lows more then the highs but all the in-betweens as well. Masks became so easy to use, he’s not even sure if he remembers what it was like before them.

Bruce feels his face twitch into a grim smile, he feels the grooves of his mouth and the dips of his cheeks. It’s not the playboy smirk or the unsettling grin and it feels unfamiliar slotted against his aging face. 

Shigeo is different, that was apparent the moment he laid eyes on that scared boy in the alleyway. He is quiet in his curiosity, refusing to take up space but making the space more comfortable through presence alone. Shigeo was the most unlike him of all his kids and that was a thing to be treasured. There was still hope left in the young psychic, a real zeal for justice and empathy for those not as fortunate. And he smiles so wide, so free, so genuine when he sees Bruce that it takes him back every time.

’Surely,’ He thinks in these moments. ‘Surely this was not meant for me.’

But it is, every time, either Bruce Wayne or Batman, that strange, small, little boy’s mask cracks and there is genuine awe.

There, deep in his heart, was the making of a true hero of legends, another Red Robin, another Spoiler and Signal, another Black Bat and, if he dared hope, another Nightwing. 

Another hero that Batman would be nothing but an anchor to, dragging them down with obligation and expectation.

There is another murmuring whisper against the couch arm. ”M…Mr Wayne you can…keep the pancakes, I’ll get…the apple cow…”

There is drool, coming from the boy's mouth and pooling directly onto Bruce’s sweater. And he decides, barely a second of hesitation, to pat him on the head, relishing the sweet moment in all its imperfections. 

Curling a bit so he can just squeeze out of the loose grip, Bruce slips off the couch. Making sure to move the blanket up to cover the boy completely, he makes the arduous journey back to the office.

There was no use being so dire, so bleak for a future that isn’t anywhere close to now. The doubt persists though, because his brain was not made to regulate things through priority order. 

Before he even knows what he’s doing—before all the return emails and follow up correspondences—he’s calling Clark. 

As expected of the ever prompt reporter, he answers immediately. 

”Bruce.” Clark sounds breathless, though a tad hoarse. It elicits an interesting reaction from his body that he chooses to ignore. ”I…I didn’t think I’d hear back from you.”

It takes a minute for the pleasant buzz of Superman’s voice to form actual words in his mind, but when it does he is left confused.

”What?” He barks, leaving little room for anything but a straight answer.

“Is there something wrong?” Clark asks gravely instead, ignoring the very pointed question. “I promise it wasn’t my intention to make you uncomfortable, I didn’t mean to go as far as I did—If—If there’s someone else—or even if I could do anything better in the future, not to say that there’s a future! I uh—“

”Good lord, Clark.” Bruce snaps, brutally interrupting the rambled speech. “We slept together, it happened, get over it. We’re in our fifties for christ’s sake, I’m not a blushing virgin calling to ask their crush whether it was good or not.”

”I didn’t—Ah—right! Of course! Of course not!” There is definitely that deer-in-headlights expression playing across his face, judging by the panic in his tone, but Bruce has no patience to deal with any of that.

”I need you to house someone.” The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop them. Before the more emotional—lonely, lonely, lonely— parts of his brain catch up to him and he backs out of the plan completely. 

“A young psychic boy, around the age of nine. There was an incident resulting in inter-dimensional travel that has no conclusive return plan established. As the nature of travel was powered, primarily, through his own innate abilities it will likely be many years before we can develop a safe, less emotionally intensive alternative.”

“Right.” Clark, the bumbling fool, was very quickly tucked away. Superman is on the other end now. “And why is it you’re contacting me?”

”The current arrangements are not appropriate—“

”Please,” He scoffs, a sound that never fails to take Bruce by surprise due to its rarity. “I wouldn’t be putting up much of a fuss if it was someone like Hal calling me up about a lost inter-dimensional psychic kid. That man should not be in charge of anyone let alone himself, but you? I still remember the first time I met Robin, green tights and cheeky comments but so deeply attached to your side it’s like you got a new cape attachment.”

”I don’t understand the relevancy—“

”No?” And Bruce can just hear the eyebrow raise. “The Robins? Spoiler? Signal? You don’t understand the relevancy of the many—successfully debuted, mind you—young people in your care over the decades we’ve known each other? I understand the need for your cover but surely we can keep the Brucie Wayne comments to the papers, Bruce.”

”You don’t understand—“

”He seemed like a sweet kid.” He continued, once again bulldozing through the conversation. “Got a real bone to pick with me but we all have those days and I did just message out of nowhere.”

Bruce wants to fight for this, to prove a point or say something that can make him feel more in control of the conversation. But Clark had that uncanny ability to strip away all pretence. That strange, rather singular, ability to see him and talk to him through his own stubbornness. 

“He’s very sweet.” There’s lead in his tongue, his mouth feels closed and cloying like molasses but still he doesn’t hang up. “A bit spacey but…genuine. He cares about things very deeply.”

”Yeah?” And much like the eyebrow, Clark’s smile is all in his voice he can practically see it. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

“I’m not strong enough, Clark.”

There is silence on the other end, while Bruce is only focusing on his breathing and the peculiar way his sight is obscuring and blurring.

”I’ll…ruin it.” He’s choking on these words too, far too real, too vulnerable. “I’ll ruin him and I can’t…I’m not strong…I’m not strong enough, Clark.”

”Your family wouldn’t agree.”

Bruce almost laughs. “They would be the first to.”

There is some shuffling on the other end which Bruce uses to focus and ground himself with. This was nothing to get worked up about. It was all fine.

”I…I can take the boy, if you need.” Clark states, plainly and cautiously, measuring out his words like he was paid to do. Professional but not distant, the Kent special.

Bruce can somewhat feel his heart drop, which might be a medical check he’ll administer after the call, could be some kind of blood level drop.

”Only, if you both are sure about that, though.” Clark clarifies, somehow also easing the tension in his chest. “I might not be big on psychic things but I do know what it’s like to feel overwhelmed by your own powers. We can have a couple sessions in control and meditation and see where we go from there.”

”I appreciate it.” Bruce grunts because speaking feels like too much effort right now.

”I’m serious though, we’ll see how it plays out in the following week and if it looks like he’d really benefit from living out on the farm then I can call up my parents.” There’s a brief, familiar, silence before he continues. “I know how you get though, Bruce, and I want you to try with this one. Actually try, not pretend like you do at galas.”

”I cannot control that.”

”Oh, Bruce.” There is a genuine laugh, twinkling and merry that is all Superman. “I think you actually believe that too, which is precious. Your heart’s too big for it not to bleed out into everything you do. What it really comes down to though, at the end of the day, is who you’re willing to show it to.” 

“He’s not…” Once again, the words escape him. “He doesn’t understand things. Facial expression, infliction.”

”Hmm,” Clark hums in thought. “So you have no idea how to act to make him feel comfortable.”

”I do know how to act.”

”Is it the airy, tired billionaire shtick?” He asks, knowing the answer. “Or maybe you tried going straight silly fuddy duddy dad routine, like that ever worked for Jason.”

”This conversation is going nowhere.” Bruce grunts out, frustration and helplessness building in his chest, clawing from the inside out. 

“He wants to see the real you.” Clark states, softly and with full intent. “Impassioned rants, black crappy coffee, ridiculously detailed plans and early mornings. The Grumpy scowl and all. Why deny him that?” 

”How could you possibly know that’s what he wants?”

Clark laughs, and it is a dastardly pleasant sound. “Well that one's easy...” 

Bruce is frozen and all but taking up space in the hall, hanging on every word. The final comment echoes even minutes after Clark hangs up.

”…That’s all anyone who’s ever met you wants.”

By the time they have to leave, Shigeo is not where Bruce had left him. Which, really, was on him for thinking any child, no matter how well mannered, could stay in one place and be content.

The return calls had not been received well (either by the League or his tech team) and he will have a mountain of work to complete tomorrow but that does little to hinder his excitement from the prospect of seeing Alfred again.

Their last meeting was a bitter one. A night filled with accusations and hurtful words, actions he wishes he could take back and insults that will never leave him. Bruce will have to try extra hard to get on his good side and keep him just that little bit longer in Gotham. 

‘I can’t keep doing this, Master Bruce.’ A voice as fragile as it was old, as hurt as it was final. ‘You’ve become unrecognizable. I don’t know if I can help you in any meaningful way, anymore, and that…that scares me.’

’You knew what I was building.’ He had tried, fruitlessly, to assert. ‘To create something like Batman, to create a symbol, there needs to be sacrifices.’

‘Is that all your life is to you!? Something that you can sacrifice to feed your ever ridiculous symbol!?’

‘Batman is worth more than my life!’ He had roared, so overcome with frustration that he could barely see. 

The face Alfred pulled in response, though, that made all that pointless anger shimmer into nothing. The silence in the manor after this felt like a coffin to their relationship. A coffin he buried himself.

There are excited whispers coming from outside, breaking Bruce from his ruminations. Relieved to hear the familiar childish giggles, he moves quickly to get Shigeo ready for the trip. Knowing the very easily distracted boy, there will likely be several detours before they are ready to depart. 

Following the noise leads him to parts of the garden he hasn’t visited in far too long. One of the older caretakers of the gardens, the first hired by Alfred and one of their longest employees, sit contently on a hay bale watching the entranced boy in the barn.

Thankfully, Carlos has always been of the same cut of Alfred in that strange and unusual things don’t phase him as they would a normal man. Despite being lifted a couple centimeters off the ground on his hay bale, the man seems nonplussed. 

The closer he is to the, admittedly,  sweet scene, the more of the nature of their conversation is revealed.

“...So they are rock gems kind of but they don’t hurt people they just like to heal.”

“Uh huh.”

“Which is kind of uhm what I made once if like I was in the show then I would have a cow like this and we’d have gems on our foreheads and we’d go solving mysteries and making friends and–me and–and wait, is his name really Batcow?”

“That’s what the young master took to calling her.”

“Oh wow, so Batman has animal friends too, I thought so because he seems like he would, but I didn’t want to ask him because um what if It’s actually really rude to ask that? But Batcow seems very nice and I can see him solving mysteries with Batman like that, he seems really smart, is he really smart?”

“The cow?” Carlos asks, still suspended in the air. “Yes, I suppose she’s just that bit smarter than the rest of em. I imagine that’s why she’s got that little fancy plaque.”

“Okay.” Shigeo says with a slightly awed smile. “That’s kind of awesome. Can I uhm, am I allowed to feed her? Does she need special food like gem rocks, that’s what Steward feeds his Lizard.”

“No, just hay.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Bruce breathes through his nose and stamps down on the irrational and his frankly bizarre urge to smile. Contemplating what this warm, glowing feeling is deep in his stomach and grateful that it has overshadowed the anxiety of Alfred’s return.

At least, for now.