Despite popular belief in Gotham, Bruce- Batman, was in fact only human. Though he was adamant about his refusal to admit so, sometimes after a particularly grueling week of leading a double life he found himself utmostly exhausted, and asking himself the timeless question of "what is my life?". Alfred and he had strong disagreements over what qualified as overexertion and stretching oneself too thin, but really, who would understand his personal daily limits better than himself? Certainly not Alfred's judgmental eyebrows...
But at the present Bruce was truly willing to admit defeat.
The past week had been a terror he never wished to repeat under any circumstances, and he was still wondering deep down whether the entire city had been plotting his demise together, or if he truly was just that unfortunate in his luck by all natural means.
Not only had it managed to snow in September, causing a city wide panic in which everyone flocked to the stores to fight over groceries, and countless vehicular accidents- most notably Dick's. His eldest's flying Batmobile of choice had dramatically skidded off the rooftop Damian and he had landed on, sliding on the black ice neither boy had been able to see, and ultimately the car had been a total loss. Their cars were sturdy, but not fifteen story drop sturdy. Batman and Robin had ejected their seats and had landed on the slick safety of the roof, surviving to watch the metal crumple in on itself as it hit the pavement with a sickening screech. He had arrived to retrieve them only to find Dick in an utter state of shock still gaping down at his baby's remains in the street below and Damian awkwardly offering a consoling palm on his mentor's shoulder as he mourned the loss.
Never mind that they could fabricate a second one... Dick had always been especially sentimental...
Then of course Victor had to come out of the wood work to celebrate the abnormally early winter wonderland- oddly enough not caused by him, nor the other cold based rogues the League dealt with (he had so been hoping to place the blame on something other than nature), and that had been a catastrophe to contain. A word he used loosely when faced with over seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in property damage downtown...
Of course such events only managed to get the other local rogues fired up and in a festive mood, and not two days after several buildings became ice sculptures, a riot broke out within Arkham, and several escapes somehow managed to occur. One of these days Bruce was going to revolt and uproot the entire staff, before hand-picking his own employees for payroll, while letting Lucius and Tim work out a security system that was true to the word overkill. He was getting awfully tired of various levels of workers taking bribes, being controlled via drugs, poison and/or pollen, and shapeshifters managing to fool other guards. He and Gordon had bonded over this very topic just a month prior over rooftop coffee, glares, and exasperated sighs. Jim truly needed a vacation.
The escapees this go around? The Riddler, Penguin, and Ivy were the only heavy hitters, accompanied by several less worrisome inmates. He was relieved that none of the more volatile rogues had managed to make a get away.
Was it wrong to be happy that he was unable to find any trace of the three? Perhaps. But quiet rogues enjoying their freedom in hiding was far better than three rogues having escaped to wreak premeditated havoc on the city. In time they would each come out of hiding on their own and he would inevitably pick them up then. Instead, he managed to recover ninety percent of the other various inmates that had escaped along side them within seventy-two hours, even with other things keeping him preoccupied.
Other things like Harleen leaving Damian strung up like a piñata with a pair of cat ears and a tail added to his ensemble while he pursued Selina four blocks over. Somehow he shouldn't have been surprised when they looped back around and the blonde was gone. Even more so when Selina snapped a few photos of his son with her phone, cooed, then licked her way into his mouth, arms draped around his neck. He certainly should have anticipated the small dagger that ended up lodged in the meat of his shoulder while she gracefully leapt away- with his dignity, and he wrenched the blade back through the torn kevlar. If he took photos of Damian discreetly before cutting him down he rationalized that his son was better off none the wiser.
Alfred promptly framed one.
Damian began the 'silent treatment' with both of them for the betrayal...
Then came the security hack at Wayne tower. Nothing of any value had been accessed, mostly due to Tim's alarms and quick maneuvering, but the fact that anyone had had the audacity to attempt a break through had Tim snarling as his agitated strokes abused his poor keyboards, and Bruce had left the young man's office shaking his head, not wanting to touch that with a ten foot pole. Barbara had informed him hours later that Tim had found the source of the intrusion, and several cups of coffee later he had not only fixed the systems so it could never be re-attempted, but that Tim had decimated the party's systems beyond recovery in a fit of tech. vengeance that had left him smiling contently- but with a tick to a brow. Bruce had not wanted to see the feed from Oracle's conversation with him, but of course Barbara was cruel, and he was certain the shudder that had gone through his body seeing the teen's face was going to repeat and haunt him for weeks.
No one ever touched Tim or Barbara's system's twice.
On the sixth night of the week he was subjected to the gala fundraiser from hell. Mandatory- or so Alfred and Lucius insisted, Bruce was certain at this point that they merely enjoyed to see him suffer humanity. He perhaps could have tolerated it, he had countless times before, if the boys had managed to maintain proper human civilian behavior throughout the night instead of bringing chaos- or if they had merely stayed at their respective homes.
He should have stayed home.
Or better yet, he should have been out on patrol.
Three hours in he had begun to pray for catastrophe to end the event.
Dick was tipsy, and had already demonstrated a back-flip for a small cluster of awed wealthy teens and was moving on to more elaborate acrobatics by the time he had managed to make his way over to the group and scruff his eldest, dragging him away from a chorus of boos. After planting him at a table where he would hopefully settle down Bruce had returned to reluctant mingling.
He was half way through his fourth tumbler of seltzer, playing the boozed playboy, when suddenly an arm far from feminine had skirted around his waist, joined by a chin resting on his shoulder. Before he could turn to face who he had wrongly assumed was a newly mobile clingy Dick, the arm around his waist shifted until a firm hand slid to his thigh and squeezed sensually. One of the ladies in from of him squeaked at the sight and he froze.
"That suit makes you look delicious... I should come to these more often, Daddy." Jason- whom Bruce hadn't the slightest idea how he had managed to get in to the event, purred behind him.
Unfortunately not quiet enough for it to go undetected by the gaggle of ladies around him. Ladies who were now in various states of shock, amusement, arousal, and disgust.
With the week he had been having he should have known better than to be comforted by an utter lack of Red Hood and/or Scarlet. Really, why had he taken that as a good sign? Why had he been praying for catastrophe?
Pure idiocy, that's why.
"Broooose, I haven't seen you in weeks!" he had pouted, scraping stubble across his cheek as he nuzzled Bruce despite the look of mortification on his face. "I've missed our play-dates so much, don't you love me anymore, Sir?" Jason had huffed, corners of his mouth twitching.
He could smell the whiskey on the man's breath but he also knew well enough that Jason was far from plastered. This was intentional and thought out.
Of all the things that could have happened it was quite honestly the last way he had thought that this night would have gone. He could only imagine the thoughts going through the ladies' heads at such a display. Making matters worse he managed to look in the right direction at the right time just fast enough to catch Vicki Vale's very interested approach and he pried himself out of Jason's grasp none too gently.
"Now now Jay, I think you have had more than enough to drink..." He chuckled, hoping the grin not reaching his eyes was passable enough for their audience. "We'll discuss this thoroughly at a time in which you can be properly embarrassed by your behavior..." He snipped, and the Hood only rolled his eyes with a smirk.
"I look forward to it... gonna punish me, B?"
Bruce was sure he was going to have an aneurysm. The migraine was already forming.
Much to his relief Alfred appeared just as he was reaching a fetching shade of purple.
"If you would follow me, Sir, I will deposit you at your home. Ladies, I do home you forgive this young man. I assure you that he will be most embarrassed come morning about being so handsy. Sweet lad did an apprenticeship with Master Bruce a few years ago..." he trailed off, and Bruce watched as the majority seemed to accept the butler's explanation for the scene.
Jason however looked put out over the end of his fun, and reluctantly allowed Alfred to herd him towards the main entrance to the hall.
Bruce gave a nervous laugh once they were out of sight, and glanced over at Vale to see a look of fury on her face, before turning back to his ring of guests.
"Now ladies sorry for that awkward interruption- he really is a sweet boy, just in a rough patch... friends with my boys these days, seems he's harbored a crush..." He cleared his throat, straightening his suit jacket.
And that was that.
Only he should have most definitely called it a night after Alfred's departure.
As though Jason's surprise groping tipsy appearance had not been shocking enough, it certainly hadn't turned out to be the most awkward event of the night.
No, Vicki had managed to miss out on quite the story of groping, and had been out for blood.
His sons were far too careless outside their suits and clearly wanted him grey and wrinkled.
Because before he could even be aware of the situation, Vicki was on top of Tim- or to be more accurate, Conner Kent was on top of Tim, and the teen was very unaware of the audience they held while the half Kryptonian pressed his back into the hall's wall and kept his mouth distracted.
Bruce himself only stumbled upon it by chance- taking a breather from the crowd, and was too late to prevent Vale's hovering and most importantly of all, his son being macked on by Clark's.
When this had developed he wasn't sure, but he was quickly beginning to regret letting Tim spend so much time alone with the buff teen for so many years.
Alfred truly was the better parent. He deserved all the awards. Bruce himself was hopeless.
Although too late, he cleared his throat pointedly and Kent promptly put several feet of distance between the two of them, leaving Tim panting against the wall- where he managed to focus long enough to look up at the woman in horror.
He knew his fate was sealed. That was punishment enough. Bruce remembered fondly the Tamara Fox situation. The boy knew he was screwed.
Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"I'm heading home to bed... we'll discuss this development after I've gotten a good amount of rest. Be home before midnight." And with that he had left Tim to handle the situation by himself.
He only managed half undressing before he was asleep face first in his sheets.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Bruce woke with a groan and flaming death in his retinas. He shifted, jamming his face beneath his pillow as Alfred tsked.
"I thought perhaps you would like a morning update of the boys..." The elder man chuckled fondly.
Bruce only whined and burrowed deeper into the Tempur-Pedic mattress.
"Before sundown they're your sons..." he muttered, muffled by the down pillow.
"While I must congratulate Master Dick and his Disney movies for that reference, I recommend taking a look at this morning's newspaper. That Vale woman is simply just ghastly..." he huffed, smacking Bruce's hip with the rolled newsprint.
The man stiffened and poked his head out reluctantly.
"She had hours, just hours to get things into print and managed it..." He groaned, turning over as he unfolded the mess that was sure to be his life.
And it was.
Front and center on page one was Tim pinned to the tacky wallpapered wall with a tongue down his throat, giant bold print offering explanations for Tim and Tam's called off engagement, affairs, Tim's supposed shame over his sexuality, and much to Bruce's horror, mentions that the apple might not have fallen too far from the tree given the much younger man seen in Bruce's company last night that had been awfully bold in his affections.
He could just die.
Bruce moaned as he returned to smothering himself with the pillow.
Alfred only laughed as he pulled the curtains closed once more and exited the room.
What was his life?