Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Clockwork stared at Nothingness.

The Infinite Realms felt still. Far from its usual muck of chaos and mayhem. Its denizens were subdued, the multiverse reflecting the emotions of its most essential pillar of existence.

In Clockwork’s arms, he held his young King’s ghostly essence. It was muted, reflecting the Realms’ sentiments.

He was mourning, after all.

His King had been happy. He had finally revealed his ghost self to his parents, and contrary to what they all expected, Madeline and Jack Fenton had been horrified.

Not at their son’s nature, but at the fact that they’d been hunting Danny. Their own son.

After their initial shock that they’ve been blasting lethal shots at their teenager, Danny found his ear twisted by his mother, who yelled about keeping it a secret for so long, how he ran circles around them, and how ‘we could have killed you, Danny! One lucky shot was all it took, ohhhh, you are SO grounded, young man!’

But nothing could have erased the relieved grin from Danny’s face even as his parents’ rants followed him for a week. He confessed to them, once his glee abated, that he thought they’d kick him out once they knew. Or worse, do what Jack often declared and tear him molecule by molecule.

His father looked horrified at that. “Danno, we wouldn’t do that! We’re not the best, but we love you both! Even if you’re half ectoplasmic entity! You remember about that worm talk we had? We’d build you and Jazzy-bear a worm house if you got turned into worms!”

Their guilt over the fact that Danny was a half-ghost in the first place because of them made them more receptive to learn more about ghost culture. They weren’t happy about the denizens’ in-built violent tendencies, but since Danny gave as good as he got, the panicked duo was pacified and was more than content to study ghost culture and biology instead of trapping them. It didn’t stop them from arming Danny to the teeth with Fenton weapons that worked for him instead of against him, thrilling both Danny and Tucker.

”Dude, these are some sick gear! We should’ve told your parents years ago!”  

Jazz had just been mainly relieved. She had always felt anxious leaving her brother alone with her parents, and had lost several days of sleep when Danny told her he finally wanted to tell them.

“I’m already at the airport, Danny, you can’t stop me. I don’t care that I’m missing class, the uni will still be standing when I get back. Wha- no, you can’t take care of yourself. Your stupid butt needs backup! It’s better I come with you now, what if I come home on spring break and find bits of you in a glass container or something?!”

Danny had decided to take up the mantle of Ghost King and couldn’t explain why he was going to be missing or out of communication for a long amount of time. He probably wasn’t going to college either. Jazz wanted to tell her brother to just run away or lie. She had a spare room in her apartment; they could pre-record chats, pretend Danny was with her, or something. She was that wary of their parents’ reaction.

But her brother looked ready to cry when he asked her for support, and Jazz didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop.

She still loved her parents, ecto-warts and all. Danny did too.

She, Tucker, and Sam had been ready to bust Danny out of the house if the reveal went bad. She would tranq her parents if it came to that, bind them in their own glowing nets if needed. Jazz raised that boy through his every shenanigan; she’d be damned if her parents broke his heart. Or any part of his body.

After a tense hour of waiting outside the living room and hearing no explosions, Jazz took a wary peek and found a sobbing, hugging puddle on their linoleum. Even their mother was crying. Jazz didn’t join them, but she smiled in relief.

Even Vlad was mostly subdued, having his identity as the Wisconsin Ghost revealed by a vindictive, tattling Danny who expected his parents to charge, guns blazing.

But he didn’t quite get the reaction he wanted.

Oh, they were angry that Vlad was basically their son’s nemesis and had been quite the pest, but once Danny grumbled about how Vlad got his powers and why he was so neurotic, the waterworks started again. Jack’s tears had barely dried when he learned about Danny, and then the dam broke again once he learned about Vlad.

Once Vlad understood what the hell Jack was blubbering about after he leapt out of the van and onto Vlad’s doorstep, he grew livid that the ruse was up and transformed. But Vlad had barely begun his rant about Jack ruining his life, only for the larger man to squeeze his (former) best friend in a bear hug, bawling. Vlad looked stunned, forgetting that he could have easily phased out of Jack’s grip.

Their mother was frowning, an ecto-blaster in her arms, ready to cut Vlad in half at the slightest provocation, but it seemed Vlad was genuinely bewildered at the remorse Jack was showing.

Ghosts can sense emotions and Jack drowning Vlad in them clearly broke the billionaire. Enough that Vlad didn’t show his face in the following months and stopped obsessing over his Maddie and making Danny his heir.

It was bliss for the young Ghost King. He had his friends and family, and a hopeful future ahead.

Only for the GIW to kill everyone he loved.

Once they realized they weren’t getting anything from the Fentons, the GIW decided to cut loose ends. It was quick. Methodical. Just a few impulsive orders from above. Something that was so out of the realm of possibility that Clockwork didn’t even imagine it could happen. He had been deep in his rest, startled awake at the sudden waves of grief and agony the Infinite Realms were manifesting, in tune with its fledgling King.

He found Amity Park utterly destroyed, not a living thing in sight. His King was transformed into a grotesque version of his ghost self, wailing in rage, his sorrow reverberating throughout the world as he clutched his sister’s horribly mangled corpse.

He found his family and friends’ cooling bodies. And in turn, his turbulent emotions had taken every life in his town.

And try as he might, Clockwork could not undo it.

Pause.

He was Time itself, yes. The strands of every second that happened and will ever happen were at his fingertips. Time would be one of the very few beings to exist until the True End. He had access to every maybes and every infinite stroke of a butterfly’s wings that could lead to a different timeline.

But Danny… this Danny was now also a vital part of the multiverse and the continuum. He was rooted to the Realms after he accepted his role. The ‘verses have changed shape to suit him, embracing his core of kindness and empathy.

And the Ancients could not truly interfere with each other’s domains.

Danny had laughed when he first touched Pariah’s throne, not realizing that the Forces… the Presence, had decided to acknowledge his claim. The hush throughout the Realm, Clockwork felt it the moment those half-mortal hands touched the blackened iron.

Danny did not need the blessing of the other Ancients to be King. The realm itself decided.

“I expected pain or something, but it tickled a little! And then felt like a warm hug. That’s all.” Danny had shrugged, wearing faded jeans and a ratty NASA shirt, grumbling when Sam nudged him to be more polite in front of the flabbergasted Ancients and Observants.

Nobody told Danny what happened.

Pariah Dark may have been the Ghost King, but the multiverse did not bow to him. The Infinite Realms, home to every power the multiverse cannot comprehend with its limitedness, had been chaos incarnate under his rule because he sought to subdue them all.

But Danny did not seek to rule. And so the Presence gave the clueless teen everything Pariah ever dreamed of having… and then some.

He was now the heart of the Realms.

All that power and influence was now tethered to Danny.

If Clockwork changed Danny’s fate, made it so that his family still lived, everything would be affected.

If Danny had not taken the first steps to reclaim the throne, then perhaps Clockwork could have restarted Time. It would have been as easy as a blink.

But now, it was like digging into the depths of a mountain to get to the cracked gem beneath. To do so would destroy the foundations of the mountain… the Realm, and End it. Restart it. Begin again. He could build another mountain… but it would not be the same. Not really. Clockwork would have to drag down every being whose power is lesser than his, and possibly rewrite them. They would be identical… but would they be really Danny’s?

His King would not want that. He wouldn’t want another version of his family, his friends. He was already feeling the loss of what he had. He would continue to do so even if Clockwork had somehow restored everything.

In the millions of possible versions of this timeline, none were this bad. It had been a human’s evil split-second decision that placed the multiverse at risk.

Not even Dan was this bad. Dan Phantom’s timeline was the result of an accident, and that version of his King still laid waste to his own universe in his grief.

This was deliberate. Cold murder.

How laughable. That the Ancient of Time could not undo this one specific thing that threatened to rip everything in pieces.

His King was now a brilliant wisp of light that fit within Clockwork’s palm. He had soothed Danny, preventing the deterioration of the Realms. He told him his parents and sister were going to be ghosts, and so were his friends. Even Vlad, who was assassinated while he was in his office, was going to regenerate as Plasmius.

“Not now, my King. Someday.” Clockwork comforted. “It will take some Time for them to appear, but you feel them, don’t you? They’ll be here.”

The little light pulsed, still deeply asleep. Clockwork mused that Daniel probably realized the effect he had on the Realms and decided to hide within himself for now.

“It’s absurd that everything hinges on a child getting a hold of his emotions.”

“Nocturne.” Clockwork greeted. The Ancient of Unwaking floated into being beside him. “The meeting is over. Dorothea just left.”

Nocturne ignored his words and stared at the ball of light. “To think that if they attempted to kill the King instead, he’d have been fine and none of this would have happened. Instead, those mortals aimed at the one fragile point of his existence that could have broken him completely.” Nocturne frowned. “We are one tantrum away from being Ended.”

“You know that’s not true,” Clockwork said. “Daniel was not informed of his powers. There are ways to make it so he does not always reflect upon the Realms. It is our own failings that we did not teach him this.”

“You said it so. The others agreed.”

“I did not foresee. I wanted him to retain his mortal half. And this timeline was supposed to be flawless.” Clockwork sneered. “Again, Chaos is outside of my domain. We are not fully omniscient. As the Presence is fond of reminding us.”

“You truly did not See this, hm? Master of Time.” Nocturne mocked. Still, he reached out a hand towards the ball of light, giving it a soft touch. “Our King needs to be whole again, but how can he heal when those who can do so are unreachable? Do not tell me you are leaving him in this… fledgling state.”

“No,” Clockwork said, cupping the light back within his arms. “He needs his humanity. The Fentons… he will have them back in time. That knowledge comforts him now. His family will be part of his Fraid in the future, I can See it. But he does need to heal his wounds. And his guilt over the lives he took.”

Danny wiped out Amity Park, along with the GIW agents who took his family’s lives then tried to escape. Those men were now enjoying the Ghost Warden’s special brand of hospitality. As for the mass civilian casualty…

Nocturne scoffed. “All those people got the Afterlives they desire, as they were part of the King’s beginnings. What more could he want, then?”

Clockwork sighed. “The failings of immortals. We do not value what our King does.”

Yes, everything had been tied up neatly. The people from Danny’s town are now probably better than they were before, as they were granted either whatever Heaven they believed in or a new life in another dimension that promised happiness. And of course, Danny still got to keep his loved ones, only they needed time to recuperate.

But that was not the point. Danny should not lose his humanity. Clockwork knew it was what made him special, what made the Presence choose him. Half-mortal, half-Being… Danny knew both, and the Realms needed the Balance.

Danny was one of the few rare beings who wanted to do things because it was right, not because it was easy to resolve with a wave of a hand. That sounded ridiculous, but it was true. Even with all the powers he would have in the future, Danny, with all the humanity and morals embedded into his Core as he grew, would never truly gain the mind of an immortal and would know how important living and free will truly are.

Even Clockwork does not understand, not really. Wouldn’t everything be easier if they’d just… be?

And so the Presence truly is safer in Danny’s core. Danny would not manipulate Fate or Destiny just because he felt he could do better. He would not feel the urge to take control or believe everything was his fault because he had a way to change it.

No greed for power, no heavy guilt for things he should not control. Just is.

Clockwork’s vision was clear. This multiverse had a long, long Time ahead of it with Danny as the crowning glory of its stars.

Now, to make sure his young King’s light would continue to glow for eons…

“You will live again.” Clockwork declared. “A new mortal family, isn’t that wonderful? The life that was taken from you… you can have it. And you’ve always felt alone in your heroism, didn’t you? Well, we can’t have that…”

His King will be nurtured into the person the Realm needs. He’d be stronger and happier for it, too. And when he returns, whether at the end of his second natural life or through the use of his powers, his family will be waiting for him.

“May you live in interesting times, Daniel.” Clockwork smiled, letting go of the faintly glowing orb as it disappeared into the new world he had chosen. Fascinating people, Danny’s new parents. Almost unchanging in all dimensions. The addition of a child Ghost King will surely rattle their world. His father’s, especially. “Good luck.”

As the last flickers of Danny’s light vanished, the Realms answered in turn. Almost into a form of slumber. It was peaceful. Still.

Clockwork sighed and turned back to the palace. “Now to make sure the Princess isn’t smiting the Observants for annoying her…”

Chapter Text

Talia had always been a pragmatic woman.

Within the harsh winds of the deserts of Eth Alth'eban, she followed her father’s orders and kept the League’s vision at the forefront of her heart. From childhood, she was raised to be her father’s sentinel, his warrior. And while there were times when she disagreed with his actions, she kept her tongue leashed.

She lived for the League.

She was born for that purpose.

Her only deviation in life was her Beloved. Her father approved— at first. A relationship with Bruce Wayne, the man he acknowledged as the Detective, was well within the scope of his plans. Ra’s al Ghul saw Bruce Wayne as a possible heir, a son far more fitting to inherit the title than the disappointment that was Dusan.

For a precious few moments in her life, Talia felt the closest thing to contentment. She had her life and her love within her grasp, and it felt like she could take on anything the world threw at her. She would face it with her Beloved, her father on his throne, and the League serving as their hands, and they would change the world together.

That happiness shattered in less than a year.

The relationship between her father and her Beloved had strained. Ra’s believed in ridding the world of corruption at its roots, preventing it from festering further. Filth could only truly be removed if it didn’t exist to spread their taint. As such, murder was a way of life in the League. It was expected, anticipated even.

But her Beloved refused to kill, refused to mar his hands with blood. No matter how righteous their crusade was, that it was the scum of the earth they were eliminating. His ideology clashed with the League’s purpose. And so, he refused to stay within the sphere of Ra’s influence, taking only what he deemed worthy knowledge for his continued fight for justice and refusing the rest. It left her father feeling furious, used, and disrespected.

Bruce wanted Talia to leave with him.

He didn’t tell her, not in so many words, but she knew a part of him hoped she would break away from the League.

But Talia also knew that Bruce had been expecting her refusal. He had not looked back when she finally told him no. They both knew that no matter how fierce the passion between them was, Bruce was currently rewriting his life for his mission as the Dark Knight. And although Bruce had permanently etched his ideals and morals into the marrow of his bones—ideals that her father could never hope to rewrite, no matter how he insisted Bruce would someday return to the fold— he was still stumbling in the dark about what to do with the rest of his life.

Despite the love he felt for Talia, even he did not know what would happen, did not completely plan for the aftermath with her in it.

The man who earned the title of Detective, who played Knight to one of the most dangerous cities on Earth, whose contingency plans had layers upon layers… did not know what to do with a genuine relationship. The irony was not lost on Talia.

That was apparent in how a few months after he left, he had taken in an orphaned boy and began dressing him in bright colors, patrolling the streets of Gotham. To the world, it seemed like the Batman had taken in a protégé.

But Talia knew better. Her Beloved’s bleeding heart had overwhelmed him once again, and now he had his own rebellious child he was reining in.

If Talia left with him, they would be happy, perhaps.

Talia could have found a way to blend into Gotham’s high society, carved out a false name, perhaps introduced as a Middle Eastern princess who was swept off her feet by the charming Brucie Wayne during one of his jaunts around the world. She would have been the exotic Mrs. Wayne, gossiped about by old wives and young social climbers alike, and Talia imagined she would have enjoyed verbally tearing down such women almost as much as she did slitting actual throats.

She would have been a stepmother to that wily orphaned boy. She would have taught him how to fight. She would teach him how to handle swords, how to remain calm in the face of adversaries. Perhaps, she would take on a mantle as well, a coded name to patrol the streets with her beloved and his ward.

It was a charming thought.

One that was nothing but a dream.

Because her father would have hunted them.

Talia knew he would. To be betrayed by his student was one thing, but Ra’s would perceive his blood daughter turning her back on the League as the highest form of insult. Bruce was not truly one of them and so did not operate within their rules, which was why Ra’s let him go fairly unscathed.

But Talia was the Demon Head’s daughter. She had been inducted into the League from the moment of her conception. Her titles and honors, which made the assassins of the League bow and venerate her, carried heavy consequences. The invisible chain that tied her to her father’s sect would be one she carried to her grave. If Talia had left, Ra’s would have been enraged. That green haze of anger would overtake his senses, and there was a possibility her father would execute her himself. She would be a loose variable… and her father hated those.

If Talia had reached out, if she had taken her Beloved’s hand, they would forever be looking at the shadows, wary of the next attack. They would never feel peace. And even if Ra’s let them be, there would always be that sliver of fear and paranoia that his mercy would dry up and he would then drag his daughter and paramour back into the confines of the League.

They would never get a moment’s rest.

(And Talia would never admit to herself, not out loud at least… but she had never known life outside the League. She had only ever lived under its creed. It was a significant part of herself. To even attempt to break free of it was akin to slowly carving out a limb. To be removed from its familiar embrace… it was foreign, anathema. If she was not Talia al Ghul of the League of Assassins, then what would she be?

She was not brave enough to find out.)

And so, Talia refused Bruce’s slight askance. She merely smiled at the tilt of his head as he left in the early morning. He understood her silent reply and did not bother with trying to change her mind. He knew her well. She had bid him farewell with a short but fierce kiss. And in the coming years, if she had chosen to take missions near Gotham, her father did not react beyond an amused hum.

It showed Ra’s slight indulgence for her, that he allowed her to secretly meet with the student he now spoke of with scorn. He turned a blind eye for now. As long as she returned to them.

Talia had been practical most of her life, and she knew it was easier for her, for everyone, if she stayed with the League.

Her Beloved had been her only aberration.

And now… he was her second.

“Talia.”

Batman was in full regalia, brooding and majestic in his dark suit. He stood there, unmoving, his shadowed presence looming in every corner of the saferoom.

“I’m afraid this isn’t a social call, Beloved,” Talia said, approaching him, taking him in after several months of not seeing his form. He carried himself well, better than he did when he first donned the mask. Time truly was the greatest teacher. “I trust you have been well?”

A slight scoff. “I haven’t heard from you in almost a year, Talia. But you’re asking about my health?”

Ah. Her Beloved felt slighted. It wasn’t her fault, not all of it. But she supposed it was a reasonable thing for him to conclude. That after a year of silence, she had decided to end their relationship without informing him and now wanted nothing to do with their dalliances.

She would have explained herself, would have implored him to understand, but that was before she learned all about the budding flirtations he was having with one Selina Kyle, and so she decided it didn’t matter.

Yes, she loved him. But she made her choices, and so did he.

“I care, still.” She said in explanation. Then she steeled her nerves, deciding to leave their complicated history in the past for now. “That isn’t why I asked you to come here today.”

He frowned in suspicion. “What then, Talia?”

She hesitated. She knew that deep in his heart, her Beloved did not hate her despite her year of silence. He was hurt, yes, and slightly colder than he was before, but he held no hostility and was more human than he would normally be under the cowl.

But this… this could be her undoing.

“I have told you, almost a year ago, that I lost the child I was carrying. Our child.” She began slowly. Bruce made an aborted movement towards her, as if his body automatically tried to reach out for her. He still cared, at least. “We grieved, did we not?”

“We did.” Bruce swallowed. He removed his cowl, something Talia did not expect, and she saw a flicker of sadness cross his eyes. “Is that why you disappeared? Were you still… mourning.”

Talia laughed once. “I am still mourning, Beloved. It is my sin to carry.” She waved a hand at his confused expression. “I lied, Bruce.”

He tensed. “What?”

“I did not miscarry our child,” she said. “I chose to obey my father. He wanted an heir. And now I am being punished for keeping him from you.”

Bruce breathed in sharply, now looking furious. “Talia, what did you do?”

“Our son lives, Beloved. But not for long.” Talia flicked her hand and from the shadows, a young female emerged, an assassin who was also serving as a nurse.

In her arms, she held Talia’s treasure.

The assassin approached and Talia gently lowered the slip of cloth to finally introduce her child to his father.

He was a small mewling thing, wrapped in warm luxurious cloth as he was held securely in the woman’s arms. Even from a distance, Bruce could see that he was pale and sickly.

“This is our Danyal,” Talia murmured, a note of affection in her voice. She took her from the assassin, cradling him gently in her arms and smoothing the baby’s thin wispy black hair from his forehead. “He is four months old.” She looked at Bruce’s stunned face. “And he is dying.”

“Dying?” He rasped, approaching both of them, his eyes transfixed on their son. He raised his arms and they hovered just out of reach, as if he was afraid of touching them both. “Talia, how? Why?”

“I do not know.” She answered, keeping her emotions in check. She had to make this quick. “Danyal… he was born weak. I carried him to full term but… he did not cry upon being born. They thought him dead at first, until they saw him breathe. Our doctors and healers have no answers. Father lowered him in the Pits—”

“In the Lazarus Pits?!”

“—and he did not get better.”

“You allowed Ra’s to throw our son into the Pits?” There was rage in his eyes, and Talia knew that the only reason he was not shaking her violently was because she was holding their son.

“There was no allowing, Beloved. I did not know what happened until it was over. Father took Danyal from his crib.” Talia replied. That made his anger recede. “Danyal did not react to the Pits, at least. He did not get worse. But he did not get better either. That was the final straw for my father. He ordered me to kill Danyal.”

A shudder went through Bruce’s body. He laid a hand on the bundle of cloth, as if assuring himself that their baby was still taking short, tiny breaths. “He ordered you, Danyal’s own mother—”

“My father views him as a disappointment, a thing to be discarded,” Talia said. “He is no grandson of Ra’s. He expects it to be a quick affair for me to handle. He does not know I am here.”

“Talia—”

“Take him, Beloved.” she said. “Whatever time he has left in this world is now yours.”

Bruce stared into her eyes, searching. “You’ve given up on him. You think he’s going to die.”

“I have no reason to believe otherwise,” Talia said, her lips twisting into a pained smile. “Every day, he grows weaker. He no longer cries. He barely eats. And I cannot keep him with me, lest Father realizes he is alive and kills him himself. The only choice I had left was to bring him to you, for you to meet him before he dies, and hope the last of his days could be spent in your presence.” She hitched her shoulders, rocking her child slightly. Danyal did not move. “It is the last mercy I could give him, as his mother.”

For a moment, Bruce said nothing. He stared at them, mother and child, as if committing them to memory.

Then, he lifted his arms towards her.

Talia gave him a pained smile, then pressed a quick kiss on their baby’s forehead. “Be good for your father, ya amar. Albi.”

Danyal made a small noise, and Talia liked to think it was his way of answering her.

Her Beloved took their son in his arms, and it was a somewhat comical sight, the image of a hulking, terrifying vision of black cradling a small bundle of baby. Talia gazed at them for a few heartbeats, at the scene of her son and Beloved together for the first time.

She drew in a breath, then motioned to Bruce. She was leaving. No other words were needed to be said.

Talia left both of her hearts in that safe house. She did not want any information on her child, about when or how he died.

She refrained from receiving any information about Bruce for a few years. Anything about him, her father could handle. She did not need to know if he grieved their son, if he buried their son. The last image of them together was imprinted on her mind, and that was the only thing she wanted to remember.

Any information about her giving birth to Danyal was destroyed. She killed all the doctors and healers who saw to him, which made her father disapprove at the waste of it all, but she reasoned that the shame of Danyal’s birth was to be buried. He conceded. As far as the League was concerned, she never carried a child in her womb. Danyal did not exist.

(It was only twelve years later that she realized that she should have accounted for Bruce’s stubbornness. That her Beloved would move heaven and earth for the people he loves, and come out triumphant.

Staring at her son’s bright blue eyes, healthy and vibrant, peering at her with the curiosity of meeting a stranger, she wondered what if… what if she had taken her Beloved’s hand when he asked her to leave? Would he have defied all odds to give them a happy ending as well?

Talia would never know.

She made her choices, after all.)

Chapter Text

He was so small.

His son with Talia… the one he believed had died.

Danyal was as light as a feather. He was lying on a makeshift crib as they flew over time zones, Bruce keeping watch over his tiny form.

He stared at the faint rise and fall of his son’s chest. The baby was so pale, almost blue, that Bruce was terrified he was dead. But Danyal kept breathing even as the Batplane tried to destroy the sound barrier as they travelled, overextending its limits just to get to Gotham faster—

The plane was self-piloting. Thank god it was because Bruce couldn’t focus on anything but the cold little hand between his fingers.

The soft beeping of the crib’s heart monitor was the only thing keeping him sane. Talia’s assassin had provided it, and Bruce was thankful. It told him Danyal was still alive, that there was a chance. That Talia was wrong.

And she would continue to be wrong if he had anything to say about it.

“Hold on, chum.” He whispered, clutching his little foot. “You’ll live, I swear.”

The cold analytical part of his mind whispered to him that Talia might be lying, that this could be a trap. But even at four months, weak and asleep, Daniel looked so much like a Wayne, highlighted with his mother’s delicate features, that it was hard for Bruce to looks away.

He had been wary when Talia broke the news that she was pregnant. Aside from the usual complication of having a child with Talia, making his child Ra’s grandchild… would Bruce even make a decent father? He was trying, with Dick. It was difficult; the boy was so determined to have his revenge, his eyes holding the same rage and helplessness that Bruce felt when his own parents were murdered.

Bruce was still awkward, he knew that. Dick didn’t really know what to make of him, and Bruce didn’t know either. It was ironic how it was somewhat easier for them to interact when they were in capes than in real life. Robin was Batman’s partner, someone he trusted in the field, and they could talk as equals in the face of crime. But as Bruce and Dick? As the supposed parent and his ward?

It was taking some time to adjust.

But Dick was smiling more now. He went to school and had friends, in both his civilian and hero life. Bruce and Alfred tried to channel the boy’s anger into more productive ways… ways that wasn’t afforded to Bruce when he lost his own parents. It was working, so far.

He… Bruce could tentatively say that he wasn’t that bad at taking care of his ward.

Dick was… he was up and about, at least.

So when Talia had told him she was pregnant, a hundred different scenarios crossed his mind. Did Talia want the baby? He didn’t voice it out because he immediately concluded that yes, of course she did. She wouldn’t tell him if she didn’t want to keep their child. Then his mind went to how they would raise a child whose mother was an assassin and the father a vigilante. Would Talia allow him to raise the baby in Gotham? In Wayne Manor? Bruce didn’t want Ra’s anywhere near his child. It could spark an argument between them but it was unhealthy to keep a child moving from one place to another, especially with parents who weren’t together, the parenting books he read when he took Dick in as a ward said so—

Would his parents be proud? Happy? Their son was having a child. There was finally a Wayne heir. Dick made his feelings loud and clear about being adopted for now, so this baby would be the first Wayne legally. And oh god, he had to keep the baby away from the vultures of Gotham’s high society, they were just as bad as Ra’s—

 Ra’s as a grandfather. He would be keeping his child far far away from that madman. Bruce would make sure his child would never be inflicted with Ra’s brand of mentorship—

And Alfred. He wondered how he would react. Happy that Bruce was a father again, by blood this time, that he had another grandson to spoil? A rascal that would terrorize and brighten up the manor? Perhaps disapproving that the mother was Talia. Then again, Bruce had already hit Alfred’s lowest point of disapproval for dressing as a bat vigilante and beating up criminals at night—

Dick as well. He’ll have to adjust to having a new baby sibling. He’d probably be happy, he was always complaining about how big and boring the manor was with only three people living in it—

Would the baby look like Talia? Like Bruce? Would they be smart or mischievous or energetic? Talia wanted the name Athanasia if it was a girl, and she said Bruce could name the baby if it was a boy, so he had been browsing some baby books—

So many things to prepare and learn and anticipate… only a few months before the baby was here.

(He was going to have another child!)

But then…

Talia miscarried.

And all his thoughts halted.

Talia didn’t want his sympathies. She embraced him once, sharing her own shock and grief over the news, but she didn’t linger. She informed him, and just… left.

Bruce didn’t know what to feel. All his anticipation, cautious excitement, and harried ideas about how to take care… what to do… would the baby love him, he was a wreck…

It didn’t matter.

The baby was gone.

Didn’t even get the chance to breathe. To be born.

Should he even mourn someone who didn’t exist?

So he compartmentalized. He was good at that. Ignoring things.

He tucked it away. Something to spiral over when he could afford to.

Gotham needed him. The world needed him. A baby, his child, who was somewhere out there, blissful in their non-existence… they didn’t need Bruce.

(And yet it hurt. It ached. Bruce wanted, he wished… But of course he couldn’t have it.)

But now… now, Danyal was here.

Weak but still breathing. And as the Batplane descended into the Cave, Bruce screaming for Alfred, he was determined to keep it that way.

He would live. His son… his and Talia’s little boy.

……………………………………

“He’s… he’s alive, Bruce. But he’s so underweight, his organs look underdeveloped for four months.” Leslie sighed, removing her hand from Daniel’s bare chest. His breathing chest. “I want to remind you again that I’m not that kind of doctor, I don’t have any infant specialization, but… I don’t know how much longer his body can keep fighting like this without support. He’s fragile—like he was never meant to survive outside the womb. If we’re going to save him, we need to act now. I… I don’t have that kind of skill.”

Bruce didn’t look up from the blood results the computer was showing on the screen. The DNA test was an afterthought because getting information about Danyal… Daniel’s health was more urgent, but the test showed what he already knew the moment Talia gave the baby to him. It showed his paternity clear as day.

BRUCE THOMAS WAYNE - DANIEL THOMAS AL-GHUL WAYNE

Probability of paternity: 99.998%

Despite the dire situation, Alfred found time to give him a dry look after he saw the baby’s name. The family butler hardly batted an eye when he was awoken by an emergency alarm in the middle of the night, followed by Bruce flying into the cave holding a baby. Alfred tamped down his own shock and fear at the face of Bruce’s visible panic and remained calm as he got the new member of the family into a sterile incubator. He had to be the rational one for now, this situation didn’t need another person spiraling.

He'd release all the tension in the shooting range. Later.

Still, he raised a brow at the baby’s middle name, then raised the other brow as Bruce added Talia’s surname before Wayne.

Bruce knew it was a little on the nose, probably not very creative either, giving his son the same middle name as his. But he still wanted to honor his deceased father and he was also panicking, and so he typed in Thomas before adding the al-Ghul to his son’s records.

He would acknowledge Talia this way, at least.

“There’s something in his blood.” Bruce said, staring at the corrupted results showed at the screen. His son was still asleep, every twitch monitored by a vigilant Alfred as Leslie pored over the medical papers Bruce’s machines spat out. “Talia said Ra’s soaked him in the Lazarus Pit.”

Alfred’s shoulders tensed while Leslie groaned.

“That would even make me less qualified.” she said, her strained eyes reading the results. “I think… it’s keeping him alive. Whatever it is in his blood. Could be the Lazarus Pit, could be something else. Bruce, he shouldn't be alive. He’s so underweight, his organs are about to collapse. Any other baby would… well. He should’ve been strapped to an incubator this whole time but you say he was out and about when he was given to you. So that thing in his blood just might be saving him.”

Bruce thought about the irony of Ra’s inadvertently saving Danyal without knowing.

“You say he’s… dying.” Bruce said, his voice hitching at the last word.

“Yes. The anomaly in him is keeping him alive but it won’t last. He’s not responding to stimulus and that’s not good.” Leslie sighed. “I can’t pull miracles out of thin air, Bruce. We need an intervention. And fast. Doesn’t need to be medical. In fact, I don’t think medical could help, considering that former mentor of yours probably hired the best doctors he could.”

The beeping of the monitors filled the tense silence.

Then, Alfred spoke. “If medical means are not enough, then we can perhaps look to… other ways. Anything would be better than this unbearable waiting.”

Chapter Text

Bruce did not trust magic. Or any power that had to do with the supernatural.

He didn’t dislike the wielders. He didn’t hate metas. He was in a team with gods and aliens and beings who broke the fundamental laws of the universe, and had to trust them with his life several times. A man can only be around so many bizarre forces before he learns to accept it, even if he never learns to trust it.

In its most basic form, magic was something Bruce would always be suspicious of. And one he knew he would never wield himself.

Magic was wild. Uncontrollable. And most of the time, unexplainable. It went against Bruce’s utilitarian principle that everything had a logical explanation behind it. If it couldn’t be studied, broken down, and accounted for, then it could never be really fought against.

And that countered the very thing Batman was built on: preparation.

Magic may be a source of power, but it was also uncertainty. And uncertainty got people killed.

So when Alfred first suggested looking into magical means to save Daniel, Bruce bit back the automatic refusal from his tongue that he almost tasted blood. But the denial died the moment he heard Daniel’s rattling breath, which grew fainter by the minute.

This was his son. And he would turn to any means necessary, bar hurting Daniel further, to save him.

He turned away from Alfred’s knowing look and made a phone call.

Bruce knew many magic users in different fields and disciplines. Half of them he knew wouldn’t be of help, either due to the nature of their powers being flat out offensive with no healing capabilities, or he didn’t trust them around Danny at all.

His first thought wasn’t of Clark or Diana. It was possible they had the tools to help; with Clark’s regeneration chambers and Diana’s vast mythical knowledge. If there were any heroes he would trust with Daniel, it would be his fellow founders. But he was pinched for time, and he would call them… the moment his first choice failed him.

No, his first call was to a native Gothamite he tentatively trusts, whose whole legacy was surrounded in magic. Whose father had been his mentor.

Who knew he was Batman.

He would have called Giovanni, but the man was missing.

So his daughter would suffice.

…………

His first call was thankfully his last. Zatanna picked up his call on the third ring, her tone slightly annoyed.

“Bruce?” she called, her voice muffled by the sound of laughter and clapping. “Please tell me this is a social call, I have a show—”

“It isn’t.” Was the interruption. “Please. Come to the Cave, right now. It’s an emergency. My son is dying.”

The urgency in Bruce’s gravelly voice made Zatanna go rigid. “Fuck. I… alright. I’ll be there.”

She turned her back from the stage and teleported to the Batcave, expecting Dick to be gravely injured, or cursed, or both. Instead, she blinked at the sight of Bruce slumped over what looked like an incubator.

“Zatara.”

“It’s… not Robin? What’s that? Bruce, is that a baby? You have a baby?” The baby mewled, and Zatanna stiffened at what seemed to be the force of a dying star wrapped around the infant. It was so compressed and heady, sucking out all her other senses, it made her feel faint. “Is that baby overloading? Oh, by the Moons of Maat! Is that primal magic?” she exclaimed, alarming the bats overhead. She then teleported away, then reappeared just as quick, a thick textbook tucked at her side.

“Zatara—”

“You will let me help. You asked for me.” She told his sort-of childhood friend as she took out her carving wood, unfazed at his Bat glare. “It’s also possible that he’ll blow up half of the east coast if I don’t so it’s not just his life that’s at stake, Bruce. You called me. I’m your best bet.”

After a tense moment, he let her pass.

“Hoo, boy.” Zatanna felt a thrill of anxiety crawl through her skin as she stared at the baby. The small, whimpering baby that was wrapped in so much god energy that she was surprised he hadn’t spattered in a mess of gore and viscera. She touched him tentatively, and sighed in relief when the energy did nothing but swirl in a sluggish manner, like the disturbed surface of a vast ocean.

“This is not how I thought my Friday night would go. How is he keeping all that power in?” she muttered, earning her another searing glare from Bruce. She wrinkled her nose at him. “Can it, Bruce. Don’t shoot the messenger. Glare at me some more and I might have a breakdown. This is huge, you’ll owe me till your eighty.”

She knew what to do. Zatanna definitely knew what to do.

But the chilling thing was… if it were a week ago, she wouldn’t know how to resolve this at all. How to gently unseal magic… ancient magic on a living being without harm.

An unknown book had appeared in her nightstand a fortnight ago. After checking it for the usual hexes and curses, she deemed it safe enough to read. The title had intrigued her enough that she stayed up a few nights to read it from front to cover.

That book covered the solutions to baby Wayne’s predicament. A godling baby Wayne.

It was definitely suspicious, and Zatanna knew she’d be spending the weekend in Bat confinement the moment Bruce got wind of this fact.

But baby first, jail later.

If anyone told her was going to spend her night defusing a baby that was a literal magical bomb, she’d have been out of touch faster than anyone could say raeppasid.

Nevertheless, she worked on the baby almost surgically. It was more primitive than her usual magic tricks. Zatanna didn’t like drawing sigils. Unlike her father, who can cast intricate runes as easily as breathing, Zatanna’s magic was more potent with words and intent, and was generally physical.

Like. Fireball go boom.

But Zatanna was still her father’s daughter, and Giovani Zatara did not lack in teaching his pupils.

Sigils she barely used before appeared left and right of the tiny body. Her mouth moving along with her hands as she explained everything to Bruce. She knew the man was fighting the urge to keep her away from his son and that this was a huge sacrifice for Bruce’s paranoid ass, so she narrated everything.

She was the man’s childhood acquaintance for crying out loud, and yet he was acting like she was about to pull a power saw on the baby.

So yes, she’d rather not be interrogated within the inch of her life later, thank you very much.

“—this essence of magic is only found in gods, Bruce, what the hell type of woman did you sleep with? And no, there’s nothing sinister or malignant about it, I’d say this is the purest raw kind of magic you’d feel see in… ugh, I don’t know? Angels? How would I know, I haven’t really met one, just came across some artifacts. But this… what’s baby Wayne’s name again? Daniel, right. Daniel’s magic doesn’t have any flavor, like gods do. You know how Wonder Woman carries the mark of several patron goddesses? People who have magic can sense it, if they know where to look.

“This, though? It’s unfiltered. And it’s on a baby. Who hasn’t combusted yet. He can’t expel it properly so he’s like a shining beacon to those who know what to look at. Even now I have to shut down my Sight so I won’t get blinded.”

Zatann saw the moment the baby’s magic registered to the others.

It swept over the Batcave like a tide, slow but heavy, an unseen weight rolling over the room. The baby’s power wasn’t violent or wild, but it did feel like death warmed you over. The sudden feeling of dread and helplessness, followed by a presence draping over your shoulder. Invisible. But watching.

To Zatanna, it was like being dragged headfirst into the deepest parts of the ocean. First, the sudden panic, then the fear, helplessness, the pressure around your body, then the weight of it all closing in. Inescapable. Absolute.

And underneath the terror came something else. Acceptance. That small, terrible awareness that you couldn’t do anything about it but stand down. That it was illogical to fight against something that was so encompassing, but wasn’t even hostile. It was not an attack on you. It just is, vast and unexplainable.

How do you fight a dying star? As it collapses in front of you? You could only watch in awe and realize how small you are, in the grand scheme of things.

And all of that, in two seconds.

Like she told Bruce, it was an encounter with the supernatural. Of the highest kind.

Not even a year old and Baby Wayne was invoking fear into everyone’s hearts. Daddy Bats should be proud.

She could see the hairs on Bruce’s arms stand. He didn’t react beyond stiffening, but Alfred and Leslie went pale, their eyes wide as they swayed slightly at the freed magic washing over them.

”Goodness.” Alfred murmured after a few seconds of adjusting. He began walking around the room with visible discomfort. “That is… intimidating.”

”Alfred?”

”Just trying to acclimatize myself, don’t you worry, Master Bruce.” Alfred said. “I haven’t felt this way since that one time at Morroco. Nothing but a pistol and my wits with me.”

“I feel like I’m going to be sick.” Leslie said when she finally felt like moving. “I feel like crap. Like I went through a hundred surgeries. But they all lived.”

”Yes, such an odd feeling.” Alfred mused. “Terror, a sudden pressure, then exhilaration. That one mission I had might be one of the most frightening experiences of my life, but it was a resounding success.”

“So like… be not afraid.” Zatanna said drily as Leslie couldn’t fight it anymore and went away to vomit. “Amazing, isn’t it? That it came from such a small body.”

Bruce was silent for a moment, a complicated look on his face. It was clear he was struggling to understand, but finally he just said, ”Feels like Wonder Woman putting the fear of… well, herself in everyone. Frightening, but satisfying to witness.”

”Yes, and I’ll be putting a stopper to it. We don’t want the littlest Wayne striking fear in the hearts of daycare children everywhere.”

Zatanna began to layer several runes on the baby’s skin, glaring at Bruce when he twitched at her direction. “Alright, you control freak. I’m going to explain everything while I draw, and I’ll redraw it later for you to study, alright? Don’t hit me when something glows or twitches. Just let me work on him for now.”

It took more than an hour to finish everything, not only because it took time to settle in between rituals, but also because Zatanna had to have a break. She just came from a show, her magic stores were not full at all, so she had to take a re-breather.

And during those breaks, she took the time to study the baby.

He was cute, a very beautiful baby boy. Zatanna had seen her fair share of babies, and she could safely say that even though he was pale and sickly-looking, this little one had that sort of refined features that could only be polished by a lineage stemming from Gotham high society’s careful breeding. The Kane and Wayne genes had clearly worked overtime, no doubt about it. Pale white skin, dark downy hair the same color as Bruce’s, with tiny pouty lips that reminded Zatanna of Martha Wayne’s girlhood portrait displayed on the Wayne manor’s foyer.

Some small features were unknown to her, like the tilt of his eyes and slope of his cheek, but it only served to enhance the baby’s looks. His mother was clearly a looker, which was a given. The women Bruce slept with… Zatanna idly ticked off the possible mothers in her mind…

But Daniel was also very small and fragile-looking, a shivering baby bird. And if she wasn’t careful, if she made one wrong move here, she might make everything worse. And then a dead child would be the least of Earth’s worries.

Zatanna was pointedly ignoring him most of the time, but the atmosphere around Bruce was darker… scarier than usual, like he was one second away from calling the entire Justice League over, and the only thing preventing him from flying off the handle was his finely honed control and Zatanna’s assurances that she could handle this.

Daniel had to get better. Just imagining a grief-stricken Batman rampaging through Gotham sent a shiver through her spine.

Zatanna sighed and got back to work.

“—this also won’t hurt him. It’s a blessing to give his power to Earth, the portion that overwhelms him. The Earth will absorb it… and I don’t know, it’ll make the crops grow bigger around Gotham? Do you even need that with Ivy around? Well… the spell can be adjusted when he’s older, and it was used by the ancient Inca for their babies. Like a charm. Never thought I’d modify it for a godling—"

“—take him to casinos when he’s older Bruce, he’ll be one lucky tyke. Seriously, if you’re not as rich as sin already, you will be. The Earth will be overjoyed by what she’ll sense as an offering of power from a new godling, and it’ll try to be kinder to him as a result.”

In the end, Daniel was stabilized.

It was incredible, watching him go from a weak thing struggling to take the smallest of breaths, to having a little bit of rosiness in his cheeks. Every inhale no longer sounded agonized, his hand began to grip back at Bruce’s thumb, and his tiny feet even began to kick as he slept. He was still bone-thin and tiny, but in a way that surviving preemies did.

“Amazing.” Leslie murmured as they watched the numbers on the screen, Daniel’s live medical vitals, climb up. “Heart rate, oxygen saturation, respiratory patterns… they’re all stabilizing. I’ll have to do another bloodwork, but this is very promising.”

“His god powers are benevolent then, not truly destructive.” Zatanna told them, ignoring Bruce twitch when she said god powers. “It’s not meant to hurt him. It was just overwhelming him.”

“I’d like to know how you even got to sensing… god powers.” Bruce murmured. “I thought you didn’t want anything to do with the esoteric.”

“I’ve stumbled on a troublesome bastard who likes to dive into the supernatural headfirst.” Zatanna reluctantly confessed. “And I get dragged in sometimes. You get used to that kind of heavy energy.”

Bruce hummed, stroking the baby’s cheek.

A flash of white enveloped Daniel, making everyone but Zatanna straighten in alarm. The magician blinked, her Sight now active, and stared at the neat row of runes visible on Daniel’s left knee, like a little bracelet.

Good. She did everything right, then.

“He’ll be fine.” Zatanna said with a tired smile. “I’ll ask around discreetly, but I’ll bet my wand that he’s stable now.”

Bruce was still tense for a moment, then he let out a long exhale, eyes closed in clear relief. Leslie discreetly wiped her eyes. Alfred had disappeared and came back with an opened bottle of one of Thomas Wayne’s prized bourbon, the kind that the world thought no longer existed. He took the first shot, then handed the whole bottle to Bruce, who didn’t even open his eyes as he took it.

“Thank you, Miss Zatanna. The Wayne family owes you the life of one of its members.” Alfred intoned, hands folded, a tremor in his voice. “Anything you may need, I assure you we will do our outmost to fulfill it in gratitude.”

Zatanna grinned, flushed at the praise. “Oh, Alfred. You’re very welcome.”

“…Zatanna.”

She looked to where Bruce was wiping his mouth, having taken a large swig of bourbon directly from the bottle. His face was still stoic, but his eyes told a different story.

Zatanna’s expression softened. The man rarely called her by her name. The fact that he was doing so right now told her what he wanted to convey.

“You’re welcome too, Bruce.”

Leslie had taken over monitoring Daniel. Bruce didn’t leave his son’s side, dragging a makeshift table and chair to study the book Zatara handed over willingly, his one hand turning the pages, the other clutching Daniel’s tiny wrist through a tube inside the incubator, the fluttering pulse calming him.

“And you say it just appeared on your house?” Bruce asked, brow furrows as he read.

“Nobody tripped my alarms.” Zatanna said. “And I know I’m not that good with keeping my books and things in order, but I swear I’ve never owned this one. ‘Secrets of Ritualistic Bindings’ by A. Ionchron. And it’s writen in modern English too, which is just weird for what seems to be lost magic.”

Bruce hummed and continued reading the book. Zatanna fidgeted, then sighed and removed her hat. She would be here for a few hours, might as well freshen up.

Alfred graciously gave her a change of clothes and led her upstairs to shower. She had her own guest room here, from her childhood days of visiting Wayne manor.

She spent an hour in the bath, then made some calls to her talent manager who was upset at her sudden disappearance. She didn’t feel hungry, so she decided to make her way back to the cave instead of teleporting like usual.

“I’ll list down some possible side effects he might have in the future, but unless I get a better idea of why he has that power in the first place, I might be going in blind.” Zatanna said, making herself known. Bruce was still in the same position she had left him, the silly man. “Then again, he might just grow up normal. Well… normal for a Wayne, at least.”

“Indeed. His vitals are stable. Good readings. If I didn’t know Miss Zatanna worked her magic on him, I’d think these results were from a different baby.  You can take him out if you want.” Leslie said, smiling slightly as she looked up at Bruce. “I don’t think you’ve greeted your son properly, with all the panic earlier.”

So now Zatanna had the pleasure of watching Bruce fidget, then awkwardly stand up as Leslie opened the top of the incubator. The man clearly didn’t know how to hold a baby properly, as the good doctor had to coach him to press the now mewling infant more firmly against his chest.

“—don’t let him dangle, yes that’s it. Like you’re scooping him up. Relax those shoulders Bruce, he won’t fly away.” Leslie chuckled.

Zatanna took a sip of Alfred’s excellent tea, smirking as her father’s former pupil gently, almost reverently, cradle the baby in his arms. Hah. Bruce Wayne as a father. It’ll never get old. She wondered if she could sneak in a photo of Bruce being a… well, a daddy. Oh sure, the moment was so tender and pure, but this could also be blackmail.

Big bad brooding Batman brought to his metaphorical knees by a baby.

Both the Justice League and the elite of Gotham would pay through the nose to get their grubby hands—

“Oh,” Bruce’s choked voice interrupted her thoughts.

“What is it?” Leslie asked sharply.

“Nothing.” Bruce answered gruffly, bouncing the now-awake baby, who was wriggling in his arms. “It’s just… he woke up and… he has my father’s eyes.”

Alfred blinked rapidly then approached the duo, peering over Bruce’s shoulder. The tremor was back in his voice when he spoke, “Well, now. That he does, Master Bruce. Master Thomas would have been overjoyed.”

Everyone decided to ignore the slight shake in Bruce’s shoulders as he rocked the baby.

Conversation became more technical after that, with Bruce lightly questioning Zatanna like she predicted. Leslie left for a quick nap, taking a communicator with her. Alfred went upstairs to prepare snacks. Baby Daniel was returned to the incubator when Bruce’s gentle rocking put him back to sleep, and Bruce was now more Batman again, looking through the book Zatanna brought.

“We need to call Wonder Woman.” Bruce said after scanning the pages.

“Wait, what?” Zatanna said, blinking. “I mean, I did say Wonder Woman has the blessing of goddesses, and your son does have—okay, calling her makes sense. Amazonian demigoddess an all.”

Bruce gave her a look. “Not just that. Take a look at the author of your book. And the words below.”

Zatanna did.

The cover of the book was fantastical, like a proper magician’s book. Swirling galaxies, constellations, and stars dotted the black background. It was embossed with a golden border. In contrast to the cover, the written title was crude, clearly not made in a publishing house. In mechanical letters, it read;

A. Ionchron

US

Published

1939

She frowned. “Okaaay… do you recognize the name?”

“No. It’s a clue. A. Ionchron. Take the name apart, and it’s Aion and Chron. Aion is the primordial Greek god of unbound time. Eons. Unchanging. Eternity.” Bruce then traced his finger from the Chron, to the bottom. “Then this part. Chron. US Published. Chron and US makes the word Chronus. It’s another name for Chronos—”

“What the hell—”

“—who is another primordial god of time. Linear time.” The Batcomputer lit up to show pages of lore related to the two Greek gods of time.

Zatanna gaped. “Kronos? Are you saying Wonder Woman’s baby-swallowing godly grandpa has something to do with this? Didn’t they oust the guy?”

“You should really refresh your mythologies, Zatara.” Bruce said, not looking away from the computer screen. “Chronos is the primordial god of time. With an ‘h’. Kronos is the titan king the gods overthrew. And… arguably Wonder Woman’s grandfather. They’re different entities.”

Zatanna threw up her hands. “Oh, so not the baby eater then, but someone infinitely more powerful, that makes it so much better. Primordial gods aren’t even really conscious, Bruce. I do know they’re unfathomable forces of the universe. And you’re telling me the clues point to them, both primordial Time gods, being involved with your son’s condition.”

“We’re not sure. It’s just a clue.”

Zatanna snorted. “Bruce, your baby was leaking god energy. The primordial ones hopefully aren’t involved, that’s a scary enough thought, but someone’s moving things around. For all we know, your baby’s the reincarnation of a god or something.”

Bruce gave her a disapproving frown. “He’s still my son.”

Zatanna stared, then chuckled. “That baby fever is keeping the fog in your brain, huh? Normally, Batman wouldn’t even allow such an unknown entity ten miles near Gotham.”

Bruce sighed, tossing the book back at her, surprising Zatanna. “He was dying in Talia’s arms, Zatara. What kind of god would permit that to happen?”

“Point.” She grumbled. “I have to tell you that before I prodded at him, he felt like a dying star, like it was killing him from the inside. When I began chanting, that’s when the energy went bright. So… yes, he could’ve died if I didn’t unravel his powers.”

Bruce went silent, then walked over to his sleeping son, standing vigil.

Zatanna blinked. “Wait. What did you just say? Talia? Talia al Ghul?! That’s who his mother is? What the hell Bruce, you knocked up the princess of a terrorist cult of assassins?! You stuck your dick in that?!”

A long pause.

“Will you be his godmother?”

“…”

“…”

“…WHAT THE HELL, BRUCE?!”

Chapter Text

The thing about going through a life-changing emergency was that time became irrelevant. And so did your surroundings.

Bruce arrived with Daniel at three in the morning. The adults, running on adrenaline and almost nothing else as they kept a baby from dying, largely forgot about the outside world.

After the ordeal had passed, Alfred remembered his eldest grandson and promptly went back upstairs to prepare young Richard for school. They were all clearly going to be preoccupied for a few more hours, and Dick was used to Bruce being so deep in his investigations that he sometimes didn’t resurface during mornings.

Alfred didn’t think he was the right person to explain these circumstances to the young child. He would leave Master Bruce to it.

Preparing the usual morning routine for the boy he considered his first grandchild was comforting. After such a harrowing ideal, returning to such familiar motions provided him with a much-needed sense of calm.

A warm bath, a freshly pressed uniform, and a healthy breakfast of eggs, toast, some bacon and half a grapefruit.

Alfred chuckled and idly threw the box of extremely sugared cereal Dick tried to sneak into a loose floorboard. He imagined the look of outrage on the child’s face when he realized his treasure was missing.

He was too young to pull a fast one on Alfred.

Still entirely amused, Alfred left a quick note on the counter. The lad had been taking the school bus for a week now instead of taking the limo, just for the novelty, so Alfred was free to return to the cave to serve breakfast to Master Bruce and Miss Zatanna.

Alfred just forgot one crucial thing.

.......................

Ten-year old Dick Grayson woke up at nine in the morning, a little later than usual. He lazily trotted into his bathroom, washed his face, brushed his teeth, then frowned at the school uniform waiting for him at his walk-in closet.

“It’s the weekend, right?” Dick took a bleary look at his clock. Saturday. “It is. That’s not like Alfie to forget.”

Maybe he thought Dick had a school trip or something? But that didn’t add up, Alfred had his school itinerary memorized…

Still in his pajamas, he dragged himself to the kitchen. Alfred was nowhere to be seen, so he crept into the pantry’s loose floorboard, only to find—

“Aw, no! Alfie! My cereal!” Dick cried in outrage. He’d had to pay his classmate triple the normal price just to get that box of Crocky Crunch! His schedule was so locked in that he couldn’t get it from the supermarket on his own. And there was no way he’d sneak it out while he was Robin; imagine if someone got killed in an alley somewhere because he decided to buy cereal during patrol.

Grumbling, he sat down to eat his boring not-cereal breakfast. His brows furrowed as he plucked the note from the refrigerator.

‘Have a good day in school, Master Dick.’

“Okay, so Alfie did forget the date. That’s really weird.” He ignored his breakfast and left the kitchen.

For Alfred to be so distracted that he got Dick ready for school without checking the date… That was so odd. Alfred didn’t forget. Ever. And there were clocks and calendars all over the manor. Heck, Alfie even had that antiquated gold pocket watch Bruce had modified to show both the time and date. For him to miss it meant he was really distracted. But not Robin and Batman level distracted, otherwise Dick would’ve been called up.

And if it was something Bruce didn’t want him to see, Alfred would be up the Manor with Dick, trying to prevent him from snooping around the cave. So not rogue-level emergency, but something that sidetracked Alfred.

“Alfred forgetting. More ominous than an Arkham breakout.” Dick muttered. But it could also be nothing and he was just paranoid.

Either way, Dick still wanted to find out.

Dick figured that Alfred was with Bruce, probably annoying him to step into some sunlight again, reminding the man that he was actually human and not really a dark-loving cryptid of the night. He giggled and slipped through the grandfather clock and into the Batcave, staying silent. He had to know what the grownups were hiding…

Dick lifted himself up the smooth rocks, not taking the usual path below. He crept silently above, giving him a good view of the Batcave, the computer, and the people in it.

They had visitors. There was Leslie, which made Dick frown in worry. But Bruce was up and about, clearly not hurt. Then Zatanna, a rarer visitor, who was seated in one of their stiff chairs, reading a thick book. Dick wasn’t as familiar with her, but she was one of the good guys and he was aware that Bruce knew her before he became Batman. Dick learned that from some old photos he saw that Alfred kept; a teenaged Bruce in a suit, beside him a young Zatanna and a man that could only be her dad.

A few ways from the magician were Alfred and Bruce talking to each other in soft tones… and between them was a clear plastic capsule, humming softly, the transparent top giving Dick a clear view of what was inside.

Or rather who.

Dick’s mouth flew open. ‘Is that a—?’

“Master Bruce, might I suggest a bath? You’ve been in the suit for hours. And perhaps a quick rest. It would help clear your mind about what to do… especially once Master Dick returns from school. He ought to know that he now has a brother.”

Bruce frowned at Alfred, distracted. “School? Alfred, today is—”

“I HAVE A WHAT?!”

The bats in the ceiling screeched and flapped their wings at Dick’s echoing scream, almost making him slip from his hidey-hole as they flew away, but that didn’t matter because what?!

“I HAVE A BROTHER? THAT’S A BABY IN THERE?!” Then he clamped his mouth shut, worried that he woke up the baby or something. Huh, nope. From his view, the baby wasn’t moving at all. Must be sound-proofed.

“Dick?” Bruce’s head whipped up. “What—Dick, get down from there! You know you’re not allowed—”

“Oh, my.” Alfred murmured, realizing his error. “Dear me.”

“Yeah! It’s the weekend! I don’t have school today, Alfie, you forgot!” Dick laughed, nimbly jumping between the rocks, sliding down a stalagmite before hanging over a metal railing, then dropping in front of the incubator. He ignored Bruce’s scolding and peered inside, eyes wide and voice hushed in awe. “I don’t blame you though, if this is why! Woah, I can’t believe it; I really have a brother now?”

Bruce sighed, but gave Dick a tired smile. “You do, chum.”

The adults went silent as the young Robin continued to peek at the little human inside the incubator.

“And he’s yours? Like, you didn’t pick him out of a cardboard box or something?” Dick said finally, tapping the plastic cover with one finger softly, cooing when the baby snuffled in his sleep.

“He’s not a kitten, Dick.” Bruce said, ignoring Leslie’s chuckle. “But yes. I had his DNA tested. He’s mine. It’s... not a problem, is it?”

Dick’s brows furrowed as he looked up. “A problem? Whaddya mean, B? He’s a baby. He’s gonna be fussy and everything, but not a problem.” Then he paused, eyes widening like an idea just hit him. “Ohhhh. You’re doing that awkward, non-talk thing again. What is it? Do you think I’d be upset that he’s a real son or something? Like, I’m not, but he is?”

“Out of the mouth of babes.” Alfred muttered. Bruce just grimaced but his silence spoke volumes.

Dick snorted. “I’m fine, B. Like I told you, I’m a Grayson. And he’s a baby! Nothing’s his fault, and I’m not mean enough to keep a baby from his dad because I wanna keep you and Alfie for myself or something. And it’s not like you’re not gonna throw me out, are ya?”

“What? No, Dick—”

“So there’s no problem.” Dick said, before grinning wickedly. “I’m gonna love the baby so much I’ll be his favorite person. And then we can kick you out instead!”

Bruce's eyes softened. “You do that, chum.”

Dick beamed, but then wrinkled his nose. “Eurgh, Bruce. Alfie’s right. You need a bath. You wouldn’t want to go near the baby all stink’ed up, do you?”

Zatara snorted. Bruce frowned, looking at his ward and son, clearly reluctant to leave.

Alfred took matters into his own hands. “Do go on, Master Bruce. I’ve prepared the cave’s shower to your preference. I’m sure you trust Master Dick to stand faithful vigil over our youngest, don’t you?”

Dick’s proud and determined expression deflated any protests from Bruce’s mouth. He trudged out of sight, a towel slung on his shoulders courtesy of Alfred.

“Hi Leslie, Hi miss Zatanna.” Dick called out of politeness, eyes still glued to the tiny form resting inside the incubator.

“Hello, Dick.” Zatara greeted back, watching the Boy Wonder interact with the newest Wayne family member.

Judging from the wide grin on Dick’s face, he was clearly going to be one heck of an older brother. Some eldest children took to a new sibling badly, too used to being the sole focus of attention, and Dick being Bruce’s ward might even complicate matters… but seeing Dick practically vibrate in eagerness at the sight of Daniel told her he was welcoming the change with wide open arms.

A few minutes passed with Dick continuously cooing at the sleeping baby’s every twitch, clearly enamored. “I can’t believe I have a brother now. He’s so cute. He’s wearing tiny socks on his tiny toes. What’s his name? Bruce didn’t even tell me, that poop head.”

“Daniel Thomas Wayne.” Alfred answered, smiling at the sight of both of his grandchildren together.

“Daniel? Ugh… that sounds so stiff. Like Richard.” Dick stuck his tongue out in distaste. “I mean it’s my name, it just sounds like I’d be getting a scolding when someone says it. I’ll call him Danny instead.”

Alfred smiled. His eldest grandson had taken to naming almost everything related to their vigilantism. The batcave. The batcomputer. The batmobile. And it all stuck. Daniel’s nickname would no doubt be a common one as well. “Just so, Master Dick.”

“And he’s the reason why Leslie’s here? Is he okay?” Dick looked up in worry. “He looks so small.”

Leslie patted Dick’s head reassuringly. “He’s fine now, kiddo. Had us worried for a while, but Zatanna helped quite a lot.”

Dick shot Zatanna a curious look, and she grinned back. “You’re looking at your baby brother’s godmother, little Robin. Bruce was really grateful for my help.”

“Huh.” Dick blinked. “I thought you were his mom.”

Leslie covered her mouth to hide her laugh while Zatara almost hit her chin on the armrest, sputtering in shock.

“Me?!” Zatara exclaimed in disbelief, pulling herself upright. Bruce was hot as sin, smoldering even, but nothing in this side of the world could convince her to carry that much long-term baggage for a man, let alone a baby—

The Boy Wonder shrugged. “Nobody’s saying anything, so…”

Dick’s head swiveled to the Batcomputer where Daniel’s information was still flashing and Alfred, just realizing their mistake, attempted to close the screen.

Too late.

Dick’s mouth opened in shock then turned to Bruce, who had just stepped out from his shower. Bruce blinked at the sudden accusing finger pointed at him.

“Holy mother of… Batman’s baby! B! You traumatized me with all that sex-ed talk and all those pictures and slideshows, ugh! But then you got a whoops baby with that stabby murder lady, out of all the women on Earth! Really, Bruce? Talia al Ghul?!”

Bruce grimaced at Dick’s words. “Things are more… complicated than that.”

“Complicated how?! How hard is it not to dip your willy in crazy—”

Zatara barked out a laugh, followed by Alfred’s scandalized, “Master Dick!”

A tiny whimper interrupted Dick’s rants, and the boy immediately halted, peering into the incubator where hazy blue eyes blinked up at him.

“He’s awake!” Dick said in a hushed voice. He wiggled his fingers in greeting. “Hi! Hello, baby! I’m your big brother Dick!”

The baby made another sound, like a squeak, and Dick wanted to die from the sheer cuteness.

“He’s got really blue eyes, Bruce!” Dick said, grinning. “It looks so pretty on him!”

Bruce swallowed, chest feeling both heavy and light at the same time. “It does, chum.”

Dick frowned, tilting his head. “It looks familiar, though. But it’s not your blue…”

“It’s my father’s eye color. My blue came from my mother,” Bruce said. Thomas Wayne’s eyes had been a brighter, electric blue, while Martha’s— the shade Bruce inherited— were pale, almost gray blue.

“Oh.” Dick turned back to the baby, who was now jerking his tiny hands and feet. “Can… can I hold him?”

“Actually,” Leslie interrupted. “I think he’d take a bottle now. You can feed him if you want.”

Bruce made an aborted movement, but Dick’s face lit up like the sun at the thought of feeding his brother, so he backed out. Disappointed as he was that he wouldn’t feed his son his first meal, Bruce was glad to see Dick so eager to care for his new brother. Any chance for them to bond this early could only be a blessing.

“Alright, kiddo. Sit over at the couch, I’ll bring him to you.” Leslie said. Dick scampered into a loveseat, arms ready to cradle. Leslie chuckled, handing Alfred the warmed bottle of milk as she expertly lifted the baby from the incubator and into Dick’s arms.

“He’s so light. Why is he so light?” Dick said, a little despondent as he jiggled Danny on his thigh carefully. He held babies before, as Robin. He rescued too many to count, handing them over to grateful parents or EMTs. But even the babies in Crime Alley were heavier than Danny was right now.

“We’re trying to fix that kiddo.” Leslie said. “Just be the best big brother you can be and he’ll put on weight. Skin to skin contact is very important for babies.”

“I’ll do that…” Dick shifted his brother so he was looking up at him. Even though he was so little, Danny was the cutest baby Dick had ever seen, that’s for sure!

“You’re better at this than Bruce, he almost dropped the baby earlier.” Leslie said, adjusting Dick’s hold slightly.

“He did?” Dick glared at Bruce then shuffled in his seat, as if to hide the baby from view.

“Do be more lenient towards Master Bruce, Master Dick. He is completely new to this.” Alfred said diplomatically, handing him the milk bottle.

“’Kay.” Dick grumbled, ultimately distracted by his new task. He turned to face his baby brother, who was looking up at him sleepily, and gently prodded the rubber nipple against Danny’s mouth. At first, nothing happened. The nipple simply rested at the seam of Danny’s lips, the baby seemingly unaware he was being offered food. Then, a trickle of milk slipped past his lips, and Danny’s mouth opened a little wider. Encouraged, Dick maneuvered the bottle in, and Danny began suckling softly.

“He’s eating!” Dick squealed, bouncing his knee slightly. “Bruce, I’m feeding the baby!”

“I can see that. You’re doing great, chum. I’m sure your brother appreciates it.” Bruce said, ruffling Dick’s hair gently.

Indeed, Daniel was looking at Dick with hazy eyes as he sucked on his bottle, probably fascinated at the older boy making high-pitched noises at him.

Dick cooed at Danny, then buried his face in the baby’s wispy hair. “He smells so nice. Babies smell really good.” Dick giggled, then looked at Bruce, his face more animated than Bruce had ever seen it before. Not even becoming Robin for the first time had elicited such a happy expression from him. “I love him already.”

Everyone melted at the declaration.

Despite the hair-raising situation earlier, just seeing the two new brothers bonding so affectionately made everything worth it.

Zatara stretched her shoulders, looking away from the small happy family. It was an endearing sight, one that Zatara hated to break. But she was pressed for time (she has a scheduled sold-out show in the afternoon and she was already drained), so she reluctantly stood up and gestured at Bruce to the side.

“I didn’t want Robin to hear.” Zatara said simply when they were a few feet away. “Let’s be quick. What are the chances that your lover came across something ancient and or magical while carrying Daniel?”

Bruce grimaced. “Very high. The League’s base is at a secret city in the Arabian desert, Eth Alth'eban, and she often took missions around the peninsula.”

Bruce didn’t mention that it wouldn’t be like Talia to take such risks, though. As much as she was loyal to the League, it was clear that she loved Daniel. Enough to risk giving him to Bruce for what she thought was their son’s final days. But if it was an accident…

Zatara whistled. “That’s a lot of possible artifacts that she could’ve come across. You could ask her.”

Bruce nodded in agreement, but silently decided to refrain from informing Talia for now. The baby’s condition was still delicate, and he didn’t want any possibility of Ra’s finding out about Daniel’s survival.

“I know this is unsolicited advice, but Bruce…” Zatanna paused, hoping the man wouldn’t take it the wrong way. “I think it may be time to reveal your identity to the Justice League. If you need Wonder Woman’s input about Daniel, it’s not practical to hide just why you need her help. I don’t doubt that she’d respect your need for secrecy as usual, but she also might need to get close to Daniel to sense what’s going on. Same with the rest of them. They can help protect him if they know your civilian identity. I get your suspicion, I understand why you keep to yourself… but it’s not only you at stake here, Bruce. There are kids involved.”

She went silent, then turned her gaze to where Bruce was looking. Dick was singing what sounded like a Romani lullaby to the baby, slightly off-key but endearing nonetheless.

“…I’ll think about it.”

“I mean, you have to think of the… oh.” Zatanna blinked. Then her lips twitched. “You agreed. Huh. That’s a first. Moons, fatherhood really did change you. This feels like a national holiday. Give it a few months and I might find a baby sling right on your suit—”

“Don’t push, Zatara.”

She laughed. “Alright, alright, you giant grump. Anyway, I gotta leave for now, Bruce. I will keep you updated on anything that might be important. You can keep the book for now, I’ll get it later. Tell me when you call the Justice League, I am not missing out on that.” Zatanna said as they returned to the others. Dick was now walking around, carrying Daniel over his shoulder, a burp towel resting neatly between the baby’s cheek and his shirt to catch any milky spit-up. “Aw… That’s just adorable. Let me carry my new godson before I go.”

Bruce inclined his head once, standing back as Zatara passed by, her cheerful voice urging Dick to hand over the baby. The boy was having none of it, clutching his baby brother tighter and stepping away from Zatara while Alfred tutted at him.

So many things to consider… so many plans to make and adjust with Daniel now under his care and protection.

But right now, listening to Dick’s loud protests, Alfred’s gentle scolding, and the beginnings of Daniel’s soft babbling, he decided to set it all aside, just for a moment… and simply be present for his family’s sake.

.........

Chapter Text

From his little corner of the Realms, Clockwork was watching Danny’s new life unfold.

He, of course, believed in the saying actions have consequences. As the embodiment of Time, it was literally his duty to make sure the cards fell. Didn’t matter which direction, just that time unraveled and gave results.

But in Daniel’s case, Clockwork did give a little nudge or two.

Grandfather privileges.

In thousands of timelines, Talia al Ghul did become pregnant with Bruce Wayne’s child while he was still starting out his crusade.

In almost all of those timelines, she lost the baby.

(In almost all of those timelines, after losing her child, Talia would create—)

Pause.

So it was not difficult for Clockwork to ease Danny’s spirit into the soulless husk of the pin-sized fetus, giving it the life it never had in the first place.

Clockwork had watched Danny grow in his new mother’s womb up until his birth. The soul of the High King was unused to such a feeble body, struggling to contain itself in a new mortal form.

Danny’s old body had been a halfling, a harmony between two worlds. His death may have been brutal and sudden, but he grew into his powers slowly. And when he had touched the High King’s throne, the Presence had silently eased its powers within Danny’s body, gently transforming him into a being of power, turning his true form into something so bright and otherworldly that only a few Ancients could truly bear to see it.

And now, that same soul was inside a weak mortal shell with no ghostly half to balance it out. It was akin to shoving a brilliant white dwarf star inside an old shed and hoping that nothing would disintegrate.

Of course Danny would be born sickly. His powers were adjusting. It was sentient enough not to obliterate its new little body, but one wrong tip and Danny could either perish before he was born, or take the whole world with him when he combusted.

Naturally, Clockwork had set out to rid his King of this pesky problem. It was quite an easy fix. But he couldn’t just leave the Realms and repair it himself, no.

Other than the fact that making such direct decisions about his King’s new life was never in his control, his arrival would spark a commotion.

In the broadest sense, the Ancients were everywhere. They were universal concepts.

But they were also conscious.

Clockwork was every God of Time. He was the Greek Aion, Chronus, the Persian Zurvan, the sixty Chinese Tai Sui, the twelve Annunaki, one of seven Forces... Sometimes singular entities, sometimes collective.

Every now and then, some smaller aspects of the Ancient became beings capable of thought independent from Clockwork, joining their respective religions, creating legends of their own… but in their minds, they knew that they were infants… merely specks of dust, at the feet of their Originators.

They drew their power from belief. From worship.

But Clockwork… the Ancients just are.

There was a reason Ancients rarely took consciousness on the Outside, and could only really safely form in the Infinite Realms, where natural laws did not exist.

Even now, the fact that Clockwork had left the smallest traces of himself on Earth made the Pantheons restless.

Magicians and sorcerers, gods and the supernatural… the Speedsters, the Order, the Lanterns… they felt the shift in Time, and it made everyone nervous.

The more Clockwork manifested himself Outside, the more he shone a beacon on Daniel’s existence. A beacon the infant King did not need while he was in such a vulnerable state.

So he could only influence, for now. The humans’ choices would be their own.

Clockwork riffled through the timelines of his King’s new life and huffed in amusement.

This new maternal family of Danny’s was quite foolish. As Danny continued to weaken in his mother’s embrace, Clockwork gently nudged a few sorcerers and mystic healers into their way. But both Talia and Ra’s al Ghul were so secretive, so paranoid and entrenched in their little kingdom, so assured that theirs was the best, that they did not consider any other avenues to heal the boy.

Throwing Danny into that corrupted pit of theirs did nothing, of course it didn’t. His powers were far too pure… and they just bathed him into the equivalent of sewer water. Poor child, even from the Infinite Realms Clockwork could feel Danny’s upset at being covered in muck and grime.

At least Talia had enough motherly love in her to relinquish Danny to his father, who had freer connections and was far more desperate to save his son.

There, Clockwork saw his chance.

He dropped a book with the most blatant instructions inside Zatara Zatanna’s abode. And sure enough, despite the Dark Knight’s dislike of the supernatural, his love for his son made him humble enough to ask for help beyond that of medical capabilities. He turned to magic, and it yielded answers.

The simple solution to Danny’s predicament was to make a metaphorical leak in his powers. Let the excess trickle into the cosmos, until the time comes when his body grows accustomed to all of it once more. Zatanna performed the necessary rituals, and Danny was now sleeping happily in his older brother’s arms.

And since he felt quite playful, Clockwork had left the simplest of clues that would lead the Dark Knight to the right conclusions.

Let him follow the trail to the gods. To Aion, to Chronus…

To Clockwork.

Danny will need a teacher in the future after all. He refused to let it be anyone but him.