1Disclaimer: I do not own this maze of bone and flesh and word and wit. But I do swear, that if I dare, I'll make something of it.
A/N: It started as headcanons shared through PM between myself and Wolfskater, and next thing I knew, fic. Father's Day fic, no less, and it's like, what, August?
It starts at exactly midnight on June 17. Cass and Dick had arrived yesterday, and even with the jet-lag, Cass is the first one up. She wakens Dick and they go out for a quick patrol, beginning their work for the day. At 6:00 a.m., they make their way back home to the Batcave, shedding suits and showering before returning to the Manor above. The house is still and silent. Everyone is sleeping in today. Nobody will be awake until ten o'clock at least.
Well. Almost nobody.
Damian does not believe in sleeping in, and so has been up since 5:30. He is currently sitting up in bed with his lap desk, his colored pencils, and two homemade cards made of cardstock and construction paper. On one, the message HAPPY FATHER'S DAY, FATHER is written in multiple hues, on the other, Alfred's name replaces the title of "Father." He hadn't planned on making the second one, but after Grayson had asked him about it yesterday, he had reconsidered and gotten out the extra paper.
Ten o'clock.
As if just waiting for the hands to turn over, Stephanie is awake and downstairs in a flash. Within moments, she has a hot griddle on the stove, oil sizzling, and a batch of waffle batter mixed up and ready to be poured in. Cass stumbles down the stairs moments later, bleary-eyed and in need of coffee, but she doesn't touch the coffee maker, not after what happened last time. No, she leaves the coffee-making to the master, and when Dick comes bouncing down the stairs like he hasn't had only five hours of sleep in nearly two days, he places a steaming cup in her hands only a few minutes later, then turns to place two more cups on the two trays that sit on the counter awaiting their burdens of waffles, syrup, and cards.
Speaking of which...
Tim comes down next, hands full of cards and pens and passes them around. Most of the cards are amusing, some are incredibly touching, and one is just an index card with a smiley face drawn on the back. There are at least five for each of the recipients, and they all sign each others, so that nobody is quite sure who each card is from, but every single card bears at least four signatures. Damian comes down a few minutes later and adds his handmade cards to the pile with a glare that dares anyone to say anything. Dick beams with joy and pride, but says nothing.
(They add Jason's name to the touching cards, because he would hate it that they chose those particular ones.)
The trays are loaded up and Dick and Cass (having the steadiest hands and feet) are elected to take them upstairs. They make an odd little parade, the five of them, Dick and Cass out front with the trays, followed by two teenagers in pajamas and a ten-year-old wearing a t-shirt that is much too big for him that declares him to be "Literal Sunshine." (It belongs to Dick.)
Bruce has been awake for nearly half an hour, but he stays in bed because he knows how disappointed they will all be if he gets up too soon. Down the hall, Alfred smiles to himself.
Damian opens the door to Bruce's room and runs ahead quietly to peer at his father's face. "Father," he says, "wake up."
Bruce pretends to awaken and yawns theatrically. He grins at Dick's good-natured eye roll. "What's this?" he exclaims in false surprise at the sight of the tray, as if breakfast in bed hasn't been a Father's Day tradition since Dick came to live with him 15 years ago. His kids aren't fooled, but they laugh anyway and Stephanie sings out an enthusiastic, "Waffles!" as Dick places the tray over Bruce's legs.
"What about Alfred?" he asks with a knowing smile. Not a second later, Cass comes into the room followed by an amused Alfred Pennyworth. "He insisted on getting out of bed," she says in mock exasperation. "I could only convince him to come here."
"Well," Bruce says, "I suppose he'll just have to share with me." He pats the bed next to him. "Come on, Alfred," he invites with a smile. "Come have breakfast in bed."
"Oh, Master Bruce," Alfred protests, "I couldn't possibly."
"Alfred," Damian pulls out his trump card suddenly, startling them all with the familiar form of address, "please?" He tilts his head to the side and bites his lip and Alfred caves almost instantly.
"Well, alright," he says, and climbs into bed next to Bruce. Once the tray is settled on his lap and both he and Bruce are biting into their delicious waffles, Damian turns to Dick in satisfaction and demands, "Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Did I do it right?"
Alfred stops eating in astonishment as Dick laughs. "Yes, little D," Dick says, "you did it exactly right." He reaches out and ruffles Damian's hair and Damian doesn't even try to murder him.
"Grayson taught me to 'look cute'," he says long-sufferingly. "He says it can be a useful thing."
"Master Richard," Alfred says, trying to look reproving and suspecting that he only looks fond.
He does.
"Happy Father's Day!" all the children chorus. Tim presents the cards. Bruce pretends he isn't crying a little. Alfred doesn't bother pretending.
And then…
The alarms go off in the Batcave, reroute and burst out through Tim's phone.
"What –" Bruce starts half off the bed, only to be pounced on by Dick and wrestled back to the mattress.
"Uh-uh," Stephanie says, wagging her finger at him. "Not today. Today, you relax."
"But the alarms," Bruce protests, lying back despite his words. Stephanie grins at him.
"Boys," she says to Tim and Damian, "sic 'em." She points to the door.
Tim is already out the door, but Damian pauses to fix her with a baleful glare that doesn't faze her at all.
"Not a dog, Brown," he calls over his shoulder. She waves at him cheerily.
"Bye, boy! Get back soon and we'll have a treat for you!"
He bares his teeth at her and then he's gone.
"But –" Bruce tries again.
"Nope," Dick says, popping the last syllable. "Dami and Timmy can handle it. Trust me," he adds, because Bruce is difficult and has been gone for awhile and so probably isn't quite aware that Damian and Tim can, in fact, handle it. More than handle it. In fact, sending both of them to handle it might just constitute overkill. But it's Father's Day, so they aren't leaving anything to chance.
Sometimes, a little overkill is necessary.
It is a few hours before Damian and Tim make it back to Wayne Manor, slightly bruised and in Tim's case, missing both eyebrows, but by then Alfred and Bruce have been engaged in nostalgic conversation and family games of Apples to Apples while Cass, Dick, and Stephanie slip out occasionally to make sure the chores get taken care of. If Alfred suspects that his ship is not running exactly as tightly as he would do it, then he'll stop being Alfred and start being The Butler and nobody wants that. Besides, the few chores that Alfred performs everyday are easy enough to take care of.
(Dick burned lunch, but that was an accident, and no one even noticed, so there.)
Bruce looks up from his cards and beams at the sight of Tim and Damian standing in the doorway, hair wet from hasty showers and looking exhausted but quietly pleased with themselves. "Finished cancelling the apocalypse, boys?" he asks, low and warm.
Damian looks confused, but Tim laughs. "Yes," he says, coming further into the room and shoving Dick over so that there is room on the couch for him to sit down. "We're all good."
"Are you going to tell me what that was all about?" Bruce asks, handing Stephanie, holder of the green card, his fill-in-yourself card, which reads Demon Monster Spawn in Tim's familiar handwriting. Damian peeks over his father's shoulder at the card and blushes a bright red.
"Nope," Tim says back, reaching out nonchalantly and drawing seven red cards for himself. "Sit down," he says to Damian, who looks around awkwardly.
"There's no room," he says.
"Here," and Bruce is curling an arm around Damian's waist and pulling him close to lean against his side. "My lap is free."
Damian is stiff and then all at once, like a cat, he relaxes onto his father's knee, leaning against Bruce's broad chest. "I need cards," he says imperiously.
Desperately fighting down the urge to squeal in delight, Dick passes him a small stack.
"Bruce," Stephanie is laughing a little. "The green card is Adorable. Do you even know what Demon Monster Spawn means?"
Bruce shrugs. "No? But my other options were Catfish or Superman and that definitely wasn't going to happen." He looks around at his grinning family and says, "What?" suspiciously. "What does it mean?"
Damian buries his face against Bruce's chest. Dick says, "Aww." Tim blushes.
Cass says, "The Demon Monster Spawn refers to Damian, when Tim was in a particularly bad mood while playing the game. And," she grins, "I do believe it's the winner."
"Sure is," Stephanie says, flipping the green card at Bruce. "Ain't nothing more adorable than our baby brother."
Bruce feels Damian seemingly trying to burrow through his chest in an effort to hide, but that means he also feels it when Damian's face twitches into a smile.
And later…
They deliver dinner to the table in perfect sync, drawing on years of watching Alfred's perfect mastery of place settings and silverware. Bruce's eyes shine with affection; Alfred's with something a little more touched.
And yet later…
Damian allows Bruce to hug him tightly and press a kiss to the top of his head before he goes to bed, but he surprises them all even more when he willingly wraps his arms around Alfred for the span of a few seconds before running up the stairs.
Tim hugs them both, wishes them both a happy Father's Day, and follows his brother. Stephanie is next, with kisses pressed to cheeks with loud smacks and a cheerful smile scampering off to bed. Alfred and Bruce each receive a hug and kiss from Cass and Dick, and then those two are off, suiting up and preparing for one last patrol, keeping the watch for tonight, so that Bruce won't have to. Gotham will survive without Batman for one night.
And then Bruce turns to Alfred and produces a card of his own, pressing it into the older man's hands with a fond smile and a whispered, "Happy Father's Day, Alfred."
Alfred wipes his eyes and smiles gently at the man he has always loved as his own son. "To you as well, Master Bruce."
And once more…
Bruce is waiting, lying in bed with his back to the window. Every year, he waits like this, counting down the hours, and then the minutes.
Bruce never forgets about his other child.
At exactly 11:59 p.m., just before the clock ticks over, before Sunday turns to Monday and Father's Day is over, the window to Bruce's bedroom slides open and someone slips inside.
He knows that Bruce is awake, just like Bruce knows that they will both pretend otherwise. Bruce often thinks that he isn't as good at being a father as he wishes, that maybe Dick and Tim and Steph and Cass and Damian and even this one, this wayward child coming off the street through a window, they all deserve better.
But on Father's Day, on this one day a year, even his wayward bird flies home.
"Happy Father's Day, Bruce," Jason whispers into the silence of the room.
Midnight. Monday.
Jason leaves and Bruce rolls over and falls asleep smiling.
A/N: It was gonna be cute and funny and then it got a little angsty there at the end. Also, Alfred just wouldn't stop crying…
"Cancelling the apocalypse" is, of course, a reference to the movie Pacific Rim.