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Gotham’s Demon
Clark
“You have a mole,” Sportsmaster snarls, backflipping over Clark’s punch. Sportsmaster’s employer of the week is Lex Luthor, meaning they’ve got a League-level threat on their hands. The typical Lex scheme is normally something Clark can handle alone, but the insane billionaire hired goons this time. Case in point, the assassin whispering allegations about Clark’s teammates in his ear. He slams Sportsmaster through a wall, not really taking his words seriously, before following him through the newly made hole.
“That right?” Clark questions, his lack of faith easily heard in his tone. He trusts the League with his life, with Lois’s life. Clark has fought countless battles by their sides and come out the other end unscathed, victorious.
“Yes, he’s been squealing like a pig, feeding us all types of secrets,” Sportsmaster reveals, fighting against Clark’s unbreakable hold as he locks the handcuffs around his wrists.
“And who is this mysterious mole?” Clark asks mockingly, already turning to rejoin the battle.
“Who do you think?” Sportsmaster’s answer is ominous enough to make Clark spin back around, facing the villain once again. His eyes are locked pointedly on something behind them, and, doubtfully, Clark follows his gaze. He finds Batman as the focus of Sportsmaster’s attention and Clark immediately scoffs. Out of everybody in the League, Batman is the least likely to turn to the dark side. The guy is all work and no play. It’s been almost two years and they still don’t know his name. He works every mission until nothing is left unknown and then he logs in his painfully detailed mission briefs and forces everyone else to follow suit. Even Barry can’t escape the man’s patented *Batglare.
“What do you really know about him?” Sportsmaster needles, his gruff voice surgery sweet. “Look at how he fights, at the city he calls home. The Demon Bat of Gotham. Are you sure he is who you think he is?”
Clark tries to push the words away, but he can’t say those concerns and thoughts have never occurred to him before. Even as he watches, Batman takes another masked gunman down in his uniquely vicious style. Bones crack and the subsequent horrifying scream is cut off when Batman smashes a brick against the gunman’s face, knocking him unconscious. Batman moves swiftly and efficiently through the rest of the gunmen in his section. He doesn’t bother pulling punches or minimizing injury, and by the time the fighting has tapered off, he’s taken out more goons than half the league combined.
“You see it now, don’t you,” Sportsmaster goads as Clark hands him off to the police, smirking at caped hero. Clark is well aware he’ll most likely escape before dawn, but hopefully, the police can keep him in custody long enough to get to Iron Heights. Clark should be feeling the high of a successful mission, criminals are being arrested, they have Sportsmaster in custody, and a Luthor plot was successfully thwarted, but one problem, he is starting to see ‘it’, as Sportsmaster so eloquently said.
When Batman walks through shadows they seem to cling to him, as though he wears darkness as a second skin. Sometimes he moves so silently that the only reason Clark doesn’t startle with the rest of their teammates is because Batman has a heartbeat, giving his position away. Diana and Clark host get-togethers, for team bonding and general fun, but Batman hasn’t attended a single one.
Most of the League members have disclosed their identities and the ones that haven’t offered a valid excuse. Anytime someone asks Batman about his civilian identity he just glares at them until they go away. Not to mention the fact that Batman is only a part-time Leaguer, apparently Gotham is a bigger priority than all other things. Batman only really shows up for the occasional patrol or the big fights.
“If there is a mole, why would you tell me? Turning to the light, Sportsmaster?” Clark interrogates, glaring at the man. Sportsmaster grins at him with bloody teeth and a laugh bubbles from the villain’s chest.
“Nah, but maybe I’m craving some chaos,” He conveys, his eyes gleaming. That’s all he gets to say, as a young police officer pushes him into a car seconds later. He’s probably lying, just trying to get a rise out of Clark. After all, there has been no evidence of a mole. No random missions failing, or villains knowing things they shouldn’t, but what if Sportsmaster is telling the truth. If there is a mole, a traitor, the hard truth is that Batman is the best suspect. Clark scans the roving sea of heroes, officers, and criminals, trying to find Gotham’s dark knight. He locates him just as Batman is slipping into his intimidating car, disappearing into the shadows without bothering to tell anyone.
A heavy weight settles in his chest, Clark will have to talk to Diana.
Clark
“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Hal Jordan asks for the fifth time. Clark did speak to Wonder Women and they agreed to bring his concerns to the League at large, barring Batman of course, and as one they voted on their next course of action. Namely finding out if Batman is a spy.
“We have to know,” Diana reassures him, from her chair in front of the big viewing screens in the Watchtower computer rooms. “For the safety of everyone.”
Star Labs has been developing new surveillance technology, and Barry managed to get his hands on a few prototypes. The ones they are using today are micro cameras that can be synced to the target's DNA. The tiny cameras will tail the target everywhere, too small to notice, while sending a live video to the receiving database. One pinprick at lightspeed and they’d be in business. Most of the League is gathered in the viewing room, waiting for the camera to turn on and show them what the Bat gets up to when not super heroing.
Barry stole some DNA during today’s League meeting, one of the few Batman actually comes to, and it’s been about forty minutes since the detective zeta-beamed out. Clark isn’t exactly comfortable with this course of action either, outing someone’s secret identity is a dick move, but like Diana said, they have to know.
The computer comes to life with a little humming sound, the image of an immense cave appearing. Expensive and specialized technology lines the walls, including a full-on mountain of computer screens. It is, quite literally, the biggest computer Clark had ever seen. Batman can be located in a locker room area, removing his armor piece by piece.
“Wait, I thought he works alone!” Flash exclaims, pointing at the numerous lockers behind Batman. Clark shrugs helplessly at Barry, he thought Batman worked alone as well. Diana isn’t any help either, she looks equally confused.
Seven manikins stand around Batman, each one displaying a uniquely designed suit clearly meant for different people. The sizes range from bigger than even Batman’s suit to almost child-sized. Two are shaped like they are for female bodies, so it’s not like the League can reassure themselves by claiming that the Bats just wanted more than one suit.
Batman tugs his cowl off and Green Arrow sucks in a sharp breath, sounding like he was just hit by a car. And honestly, Clark totally understands.
Batman is, well, frankly he is gorgeous. Handsome features, soft black hair, piercing blue eyes, and pouty red lips. He could have been a model. He’s got to be in his late thirties, early forties at the latest, and for some reason that’s shocking. Clark has always pictured an older man under the cowl, someone with decades of life experience.
With his suit off Batman is clad in only a pair of boxer briefs, leaving his toned, tan body on full display. Scars run across his back and arms, and Clark catches a glimpse of a few marring his legs as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants.
Batman extends his arms up and over his head, stretching out sore muscles. Then (finally, god, why is he so attractive?) he pulls on a hoodie. A Wonder Women hoody, which is honestly adorable. Batman steps into leather boots and treks over to an elevator near the lockers, the mini cameras following right behind.
The elevator is just as high-tech as the cave was, and the irony of Batman’s base being an actual cave is not lost on him. Barely thirty seconds later the elevator’s doors open again, revealing a lavishly decorated hallway. Beautiful hardwood floors, rich red rugs, and priceless paintings fill the entrance to Batman’s home. A type of old-world wealth Clark wouldn’t have expected from the modern hero who can hack anything with enough time and effort. Batman walks in this place with a causal ease Clark has never seen from him before.
The hallway leads to an elegant, mahogany staircase. Batman, in a remarkably uncharacteristic move, jumps over the banister, bypassing the actual stairs completely, and lands easily in a crouch, grinning up at the crystal chandelier hanging over his head. A water balloon crashes in the exact spot he was just standing seconds later, water splashing everywhere.
Barry cringes, leaning away from the screen like Batman will look through it and see him. Clark mentally gives his sympathies to the culprit, Batman has proved through many training sessions that he does not appreciate childish antics.
Batman moves his hands in a complicated motion, fingers forming intricate signs at a rapid pace. Sign language. In response to whatever Batman signed, a second water balloon comes careening down at him, but Batman smoothly dances away.
Instead of freaking out, like they all expect him to, Batman laughs. He actually laughs. Diana’s eyes widen slightly, a smile curving her lips. Oliver is still muttering manically under his breath, as he’s been doing ever since Batman took off his cowl, and Hal’s mouth is hanging open. J’onn doesn’t seem surprised in the least.
“It was a good attempt, little one,” Batman calls, holding his arms open. A young girl drops from the chandelier, landing softly in his arms. She has short black hair that is cropped at her chin, warm brown eyes, and a slight frame. She’s pouting sullenly in his embrace, and Batman laughs again. He brushes a few strands of hair from her eyes and gifts her with a kind smile. “If it makes you feel better, none of your brothers managed to get any closer.”
“Brothers?!” Hal wheezes, whipping his head around desperately, hoping one of them has the answers he’s searching for. None of the League does. “He has kids?”
“Poor kids,” Barry mutters under his breath. Ten minutes ago Clark would have agreed with him, but the scene in front of them can only be described as sweet.
“Shhh,” Dinah scolds, and they go back to watching the screen.
Batman’s answer must have appeased the kid because she’s no longer pouting when Clark looks back over. Batman sets her down before signing something, and the girl responds in kind.
“Does anyone know sign language?” Clark asks, glancing at his teammates.
“He’s asking how her day went and the girl is saying that school was fun,” Dinah answers, looking vaguely uncomfortable. “I didn’t sign up to spy on a father talking with his kid, I think we should end this. Batman clearly isn’t a mole.”
Before anyone can respond, a commotion on screen grabs their attention again. Another girl has appeared, blond harried and blue-eyed this time. She hurls yet another water balloon at Batman before ducking behind a leather couch. A fireplace sits off to the right of the staircase, a tasteful seating arrangement before it, and the blond girl grins cheekily from the safety of her cover.
“Hey, B,” she exclaims, saluting him.
“Stephanie,” Batman greets, ducking under the balloon. “You are not one of my children.”
“No,” the newly identified Stephanie agrees, nodding sagely. “But I am dating one of them.”
Batman’s eyes widen and he whirls around, only to be smacked in the face by a water balloon. The black-haired girl lowers her arm, blinking innocently up at him. Batman’s lips twitch, but he valiantly fights down a smile.
“Cassandra Cain-Wayne,” Batman tsks, shaking his head in mock agitation. Water droplets snake down his neck, his electric blue eyes somehow brighter. “You sly, little minx. What am I going to do with you?”
“Chase,” Cassandra remarks, and then she’s off, racing for one of the hallways. Stephine follows right after, their twinkling laughter flowing through the house.
Batman grins, bright and carefree, and sprints after them. They dart through the tastefully decorated halls, jumping and diving over obstacles with all the grace Batman shows while fighting. At one point Batman manages to tackle Stephanie, attacking her relentlessly with tickle warfare. Cassandra sneaks out of view for a second before reappearing with more ammo. Batman has to release his captive to take cover from Cassandra’s watery arsenal.
The entertaining chase comes to a sudden halt when the participants reach the kitchen. An impeccably dressed older gentleman holds up a single finger and all three freeze. He’s wearing the traditional uniform of a butler, perfectly polite expression and all. The distinguished butler raises an eyebrow and sweeps his gaze over the bruised and wet interlopers, and Batman, the great and untouchable Batman, shrinks back like a scolded toddler.
“Miss Brown, Mistress Cass, if you could please locate Masters Damian and Jason, I’d be much obliged. Dinner will commence in ten minutes,” The butler instructs, seamlessly returning to cutting vegetables, like his kitchen wasn’t just invaded.
“Of course, Alfred,” Stephanie agrees, and the girls disappear through the doorway they had just burst through seconds before. As soon as the girls are gone, Alfred turns to Batman, both eyebrows raised in amused judgment. Batman smiles sheepishly, shrugging in a ‘what can you do’ manner.
“Water balloons, Master Bruce,” Alfred admonishes, tossing a handful of tomatoes into a salad bowl.
“It was a strategy exercise,” Bruce, apparently, explains.
Details are alining in Clark’s mind at a rapid pace. The abundance of money, the old expensive manor. Batman is Bruce Wayne. Batman is Bruce Wayne.
Oliver releases a miserable groan, reminding him that Oliver Queen and Bruce Wayne were childhood friends. Dinah pats his pat sympathetically. Clark doesn’t think he has ever seen Barry sit so motionless. J’onn still doesn’t look surprised.
Alfred, unaware of his dumbfounded audience, hums disbelievingly, clearly taking his charge’s words with a grain of salt.
“How did the meeting go?” Alfred asks, handing Bruce a hand towel. Batman grimaces, looking uncomfortable.
“They despise me,” Bruce declares, and all around Clark, Leaguers shift uncomfortably, suddenly rife with guilt.
“Master Bruce,” Alfred scolds, resigned, like they’ve had this conversation before.
“Nobody would even look me in the eye today, and I’m pretty sure Flash stuck me with a tracker,” Bruce informs him, sounding dangerously like a child whining to their parents.
“Did you find a tracker?” Alfred questions with the air of someone already sure of the answer.
“No,” Bruce grudgingly admits, pouting. Alfred smiles at him, reluctantly charmed.
“Master Bruce, you must give them a chance,” the Butler says in chastisement.
“They don’t trust me,” Bruce asserts.
“It’s hard to trust someone whose name you don’t know,” Alfred gently reminds him. Bruce sighs, avoiding his beseeching gaze.
“I’m not ready yet.”
“My dear boy, there isn’t going to be some magical perfect moment to reveal your identity,” Alfred observes, pausing in his salad making to squeeze Bruce’s hand. “Besides, you know how much Master Jason wants to meet Wonder Woman.”
That startles a laugh from Bruce, still as shocking as ever, and peace is restored to the kitchen. Before they can say anymore another kid walks through the door. This time it’s a male teenager. He has dark skin, rich chocolate eyes, and black hair. He’s taller than both the girls, with broader shoulders and toned muscles. He’s dressed similarly to Bruce, in comfy sweats and a hoodie. Bruce lights up at the sight of him.
“Duke,” Bruce exclaims, beaming at the boy. “How was patrol? When did you get back?”
“A few minutes ago. It was good,” Duke announces, accepting the glass of water Alfred hands him. He chugs it before continuing, sending Alfred a grateful smile. “Stopped a few muggings and one bank heist. Nothing too serious.”
“Fantastic job!” Bruce says happily, clapping the boy on the back. “I’m very proud of you.”
Duke’s cheeks flush, but he doesn’t pull away and his smile is pleased. Bruce asks him if he’s injured, subtly checking him over. Duke shakes his head, reassuring his mentor he’s fine. Another child enters the kitchen. This one is as pale as a ghost and vaguely resembles a zombie, but instead of moaning for brains, he’s demanding coffee.
“Jesus, how many kids does Batman have!?” Barry demands incredulously. Oliver just groans miserably again. Diana’s smile is now wide, clearly pleased with the turn of events. J’onn is officially bored and Authur is grinning broadly, completely charmed.
“Tim,” Bruce says casually, stepping into the teen’s path. “When did you last sleep?”
“Ahhh, what day is it?” Tim asks, trying to slip around Batman. The rest of the kitchen’s occupants exchange alarmed glances. “Alfred, coffee please.”
“I don’t really think that’s a good idea-” Bruce starts, only to be cut off.
“Of course, Master Tim,” Alfred agrees graciously, handing the sleep-deprived teen a steaming mug. Tim accepts it happily, easily letting Duke lead him to the dining room when Alfred reminds them that dinner is in five minutes. Bruce narrows his eyes at the butler, lips quivering.
“That wasn’t coffee,” Bruce states, not even having to ask.
“No, it wasn’t,” Alfred confirms, and they share a smile. The sound of a door banging open and muffled scolding rings throughout the house, and Alfred sighs.
“Dick and Barbara,” Bruce and Alfred say together. Alfred waves Bruce away, telling him to help set the table after he’s done welcoming Master Dick home.
Bruce walks back through the same hallways he chased his daughter, and isn’t that weird to think, and her girlfriend down earlier. When he reaches the entranceway with the beautiful staircase, a young couple is waiting there.
The young man is tall, close to Batman in height, with shaggy black hair, vivid blue eyes, and a dazzling smile. He’s long and lean, a swimmer’s or runner’s, build. Simply put, he’s stunning. The young woman next to him has fiery red hair and her bright blue eyes rest behind glasses. She’s seated in a wheelchair, looking sensational in a green summer dress.
“B!” The young man shouts excitedly, throwing himself into Batman’s arms. Bruce laughs, spinning him around.
“Hello, Dick,” Bruce greets warmly, setting him back on the ground. Bruce walks over to the young woman, Barbara, and embraces her affectionately. “I do hope Dick hasn’t been too much trouble.”
“Hey,” Dick protests over the other’s laughter. The way he bounces over eagerly and immediately begins regaling them with tales of his day proves he doesn’t mind too much.
Bruce leads them back through the halls, and when they reach the kitchen Alfred promptly sets the boys to work before stealing Barbara away. Three minutes later sees the table set and six members of the Batfamily seated and ready to eat. They don’t have to wait long before the missing members burst into the dining room.
Stephanie and Cassandra are joined by two other boys. The biggest and smallest so far. The taller one looms over even Batman, with bulging muscles, a crooked smirk, and a swash of white in his dark hair. He’s wearing a brown leather jacket and jeans.
The smaller one is the youngest of the bunch and shares the most physical features with Bruce. He has his father’s hair and eyes. The only thing different is the kid’s tan skin. Well, that and the katana strapped to his back.
Three cats, a dog, a turkey, and two goats follow the boy to the table. The sound of quickly suppressed laughter fills the room. Tim even leans over to ask Duke confusedly, ‘When did the demon get goats?’ Duke just shrugs in response, clearly at a loss.
“Father,” the boy remarks, sitting in the chair closest to Bruce. His animals settled around him. “Todd is an imbecile and I refuse to be related to him any longer. You must disown him.”
Bruce blinks three times in quick succession, and the muffled laughter makes a reappearance. ‘Todd’ immediately protests, waving a finger angrily at the youth.
“I merely informed the demon brat that Harry Potter is not a classic piece of literature,” the Todd guys says, smirking at the ‘Demon Brat’.
“Like I said,” the boy insists, petting his dog. “An imbecile.”
Bruce sighs, dragging a hand through his hair tiredly. Dick and Alfred exchange amused looks.
“Damian, your brothers are allowed to have different opinions than yours. That does not make them imbeciles,” Bruce explains patiently, the words going right over the boy’s head. Bruce turns to the older boy, who smirks at him. “Jason, respect your brother’s books.”
“Of course, B,” Jason agrees, nodding shrewdly. Bruce has to fight down another grin. “Sooooo, I heard the girls landed a hit earlier.”
“Figures his favorite would get it first,” Dick mutters playfully, mock glaring at Cassandra. She smiles sweetly back at him.
“I don’t have a favorite,” Bruce asserts like he’s said this a thousand times.
“Yes, you do,” the rest of the kids say at the same time, grinning at the sulking Dark Knight. Laughter fills the air, the lovely symphony warming Clark to his core.
“I think we’ve seen enough,” Diana declares, shutting off the cameras. She has a gentle smile on her face and the expression is mirrored back at her by every one of the leaguers present. “All who say Batman is not a spy, say Ay.”
“Ay,” everyone calls, the vote unanimous. Diana nods, pleased.
“Flash, destroy the cameras,” Diana orders, and two buttons later the deed is done. “Superman and I will talk with Batman about what we have done here today. It was the correct move, but Batman still deserves to know. Do not spread what you have learned. These are not our secrets to tell.”
She waits until everyone gives their agreement before officially ending the meeting. Clark ambles up to her, feeling a mix of guilty, delighted, and charmed.
“Batman is a family man,” Barry muses, a sandwich in each hand. “Who would have guessed?”