Disclaimer: Don't own anything but the writing and some plot ideas.
BETAED by FATEISoverrated, because she has the patience to deal with my stories and and edit these monstrosities.
Wally of the Bat-Clan
After Bruce Wayne adopted Dick Grayson, the rambunctious four year old that he was, Bruce decided he had enough children. Five was a good amount. Between Damian, Tim, Cass, Jason and Dick, he had a nice large group of children. They were sweet and well behaved. He adored his kids, really, he did. They weren't the politest bunch (Jason and Damian) nor the quietest bunch (all because of Dick and Jason) but they were his.
Then the Flash had called up, claiming that Poison Ivy was lurking around Keystone. He needed assistance and asked for Nightwing. Normally, Bruce had no qualms sending Damian off to fight crime. Damian became Nightwing recently, after Dick had chosen the name. Dick always chose the name. He'd picked Damian's old name as Robin when he was just three. Now he'd chosen the name Nightwing because of Clark's story. Tim was taking the mantle of Robin up at the age of eleven, the same age that Damian started at, with the name of Redbird before he switched to Robin.
All those name changes was the precise reason that Bruce was hesitant to send Damian to Keystone. Sure his sixteen-year old eldest could handle himself in a fight. But Nightwing was just gaining a reputation, and this was the first time Damian had chosen an identity as a solo fighter. He still had to discover the Damian-cam that Bruce had installed to follow his son around.
Then Alfred had in his stoic and calm voice simply said, "Why don't you go with him, Master Bruce?"
The idea was so ludicrously simple, that Bruce agreed to go. Tim was disappointed that Bruce benched him as Robin, but agreed to it while Bruce went with Damian to Keystone. His eldest was obviously hurt, and refused to talk to Bruce (not the first fight they'd ended in the silent treatment), resulting in Bruce agreeing to stay in Keystone as Bruce Wayne. Not as Batman.
The agreement was the stupidest thing he ever done. In a resigned manner, Bruce Wayne attended galas and had to sneak off to the bathroom to hack security feeds and track Nightwing and Flash. The Damian-cam was on 24-7, and he was torn between beaming as his son threw a thug into the wall, and calling Damian to lecture him about watching his surroundings when the second thug landed a punch on Damian's jaw. Fortunately, Bruce was able to finally relax once Damian reported how he got a lead to Poison Ivy.
The lead was the reason Bruce found himself in the hick town of Blue Valley, Nebraska. He came to the town as Matches Malone, not Bruce Wayne. Matches was driving through Blue Valley with his son. From what Damian had explained of Ivy's plan, she was getting revenge on the farmers who bred cows and were killing the plants to feed the cows. Apparently Blue Valley was a provider of the bulk of the meats for Central City.
The night Damian went off to grab Ivy, with the Flash as back-up, Matches Malone decided to saunter up to a little bar called The Watering Hole. Bruce figured he might as well gather some intel on Blue Valley's crime for the Flash while he was here. Not that he was expecting much.
At the bar, Matches ended up sitting beside a man named Rudolph West. Bruce immediately didn't like the man. For one thing, he was abrasive and loud, drinking too much and complaining. Matches was the unfortunate listener.
He learned that Rudy, as he preferred to be called, was a mechanic. He worked long hours, had a nice wife named Mary, and a son named Wallace. Wallace was too loud. The kid was always making a mess. He wasn't as powerful or strong as Rudy had wanted. Mary gained too much weight during her pregnancy with Wallace and now her tits sagged because the kid was always hungry as a baby. By the end of the night, Matches learnt nothing about Blue Valley's crime scene, and all too much about the abrasive and rude brat Rudy was raising to be an abrasive and rude man just like his father.
It was, however, out of the goodness of Bruce Wayne's heart, that he loudly clapped Rudy on the back, and helped the man out of the god-forsaken bar. He refused to let Rudy drive. The man could barely see straight and it was two in the morning. He drove Rudy's car back to the address plugged in as home on the GPS system. Rudy was passed out beside him.
The house, when he got there, was a small little thing tucked in between a row of tiny homes. The front porch looked beaten and weathered. There was a broken window in the front yard that had been taped over. Other than that imperfection, the house seemed fairly normal. Matches shook Rudy awake, and escorted the drunk man to the door. Rudy fumbled with his keys, unable to find the right one as he loudly cursed. None of the neighbors even bothered to take a peak. Nobody cared.
Once inside the house, a light flickered on from upstairs. A little boy, no more than three maybe, peeked out from the corner. He stared with one wide-green eye at the scene. Bruce froze as he took in the sight of the tiny kid, holding a raggedy little bear in one hand. He was wearing an oversized shirt and pajama pants. The kid looked terrified, and Bruce felt his heart go out to the kid.
"Mary!" bellowed Rudy to the house, "Get yer ass down here!"
No answer. A sinking feeling sat in Bruce's stomach. He glanced around, finally finding a small note hooked to the wooden key-holder by the door-way. Rudy was still yelling for Mary as Bruce calmly plucked the note. The answer was crystal.
'I'm sorry Rudy, but I can't do this anymore. I'm tired of hearing how you were promised a powerful son. I'm sorry I couldn't be the wife you wanted, or the mother Wallace needed. Please don't strike out at Wally like you've done to me. Maybe he'll be able to match your expectations one day, but I can't. I'm tired of this marriage. My mother was right, we rushed into this. I'm done. Tell Wallace I love him.'
So Rudy has been hitting his wife. Bruce immediately felt worried, as he glanced back to the little boy, staring down at the scene. From what he'd garnered of Rudolph West, the man was in no way fit to be a father. Let alone to the quiet and helpless child. And Mary West must have been young, probably in her early twenties and sought a quick escape from a marriage she'd jumped into that went all wrong.
"Wallace!" called Rudy, the belligerent drunk, "Get yer ass down here."
The boy was trembling as he came down the stairs. Despite his fear though, he took his time to hop every other step. Clearly the boy still had some spunk left in him, despite growing up in this filth. Bruce couldn't help the small smile. It reminded him of his own kids. The spunky little things that came from unbelievable conditions.
"Daddy?" asked the little boy, at the bottom of the stairs, clutching his teddy closer to his chest.
Bruce gave the boy a look over. His face was dusted with freckles along his nose and cheeks. He had an unruly mop of red hair on his head, with some stray hair falling into his eyes. And what eyes. They were big and green and twinkly like the Teodora Emerald Catwoman tried to steal just two months back. There was a spark in his eye, one that Bruce was certain Rudy couldn't appreciate.
"Where's Mary?" asked Rudy picking the kid up with one meaty hand tugging on that over-sized grey pajama shirt.
"Mommy- I don't know," said the boy quickly.
Rudy shook him, and Wallace whimpered, before the man dropped him. From the height he fell at, Bruce was certain he'd get hurt. And he did. There was a whimper as the boy bruised his elbow and twisted his ankle. And that's when Bruce stepped in.
"Hey now! Let the kid alone Rudy," he said in his slick Matches persona.
"Don't tell me how to treat my kid!" growled Rudy, swinging a fist at Matches, "He knows where Mary is!"
"Look, relax man," said Matches quickly, "I'm on your side! The bitch is probably just passed out somewhere. And anyways, whatsit matter? I can get you a better bitch in a matter of minutes, so let it alone Rudy. Besides, she probably was still carrying some pounds."
Matches slung an arm over Rudy's shoulder, while leading him to the couch, "What you need is a nap or some more whiskey."
He pressed a pressure point in Rudy's neck, causing the man to slump over. He was unconscious in a matter of a minute. Glancing at the beefy man, he carelessly dumped the man onto the couch. Rudy deserved much less in his opinion. Before he left, however, he heard the whimper from the small child in the entry way.
"C'mere kid," he said to the boy, and with wide, uncertain eyes, Wally approached the stranger.
"W- What did you do to Daddy?" he asked, staring at Rudy's limp form. Smart kid, picking up that he'd caused the damage.
"He's just asleep kid. How old are you anyways?" he asked, as he lead the kid into the small kitchen at the back of the house.
It was with amusement that Bruce watched the kid slowly follow him, but stay a few feet away. The boy still didn't trust him, so he was definitely smarter then the average kid. But he was assessing him to not be a threat. Which was pretty amazing since any ordinary kid in this situation wouldn't go ten feet near a stranger who smelled like alcohol. This kid was definitely not ordinary.
"I'm going to be four on November 11th!" said the boy easily, looking proud at the idea. But it was September, and the kid was only three. Just two years younger to Dick.
"Is that so?" asked Matches, as he searched through the cabinets, "Where's yer ma's first aid kid?"
"She keeps one in her room, and under the sink," said the boy easily.
"So your name is Wallace, bit of a mouthful for a kid," said Matches as he fetched out some rubbing alcohol, bandages, and what looked like a bottle of wine. Some first aid kit.
"Mommy called me Wally," said the boy with a shrug, as Matches lifted him up to the counter, "You didn't kill Daddy, right?"
Bruce looked into the kid's eyes, and sighed. The boy was smart not to trust a total stranger, but this was getting old fast. He rolled up his sleeve, and held out his wrist to the boy. He took Wally's hand, and gently placed two fingers on his pulse.
"That's my pulse," said Bruce quietly, "When I'm done wrapping your ankle, you can check your dad for one. It means he's alive, okay kid?"
Wally's tiny fingers played on Bruce's hand. They were cold, but he couldn't help the warmth that spread through his body as the kid wrapped his tiny little hand on his wrist, as far as he could. The boy nodded to Bruce, and loosened his grip on the bear.
"Who's yer friend?" asked Matches, nodding to the bear.
"He's Flash," said the boy with a grin, "Mommy got him from the toy-store the Flash saved from the Trickster all the way in Central when I was just born!"
Bruce nodded, and felt a little miffed. A Flash fan? That was going to have to change if the kid was going to be spending more time with Bruce. Except why was the kid hanging around with him? Bruce felt that familiar tug he'd felt with his children, and sighed. He'd have to think about this more. He wanted to help the kid, he really did, but Bruce Wayne had no ties to this kid at all. And Wally was from Central.
"Hey mister, in the movie the doc checked the pulse on the neck. Why'd you use your hand? Are you lying to me?" asked the boy suddenly, as Bruce began to wrap Wally's sprained ankle with the bandages.
Bruce glanced up at the boy, who was looking curiously at Wally. He doubted the movie the boy was talking about was for kids, based on his home environment, but apparently the boy was smart enough to retain that knowledge.
"That's the carotid pulse," said Bruce firmly, "What I checked was the radial pulse. They're both part of veins connected to your heart."
And that's why adopting a kid was a bad idea. Inwardly, Bruce cursed. That's not how you explained things to young kids. You used magic and bubbly terms that were sweet sounding. Not biology terms. He opened his mouth to correct himself only for Wally to interrupt.
"So the carrot pulse is connected to my heart?" asked the boy with interest, "Why's it called the carrot pulse if it's in my neck? And why's the other one the raid-eel pulse? Are veins important? What do veins do?"
Bruce stared at the boy. He'd never expected a three year old to ask such insightful questions. He stared at the kid, before a smile came on his face. An odd little kid indeed. Just like his other little odd-balls at home. And if he liked biology, well, Tim did say he wanted a souvenir from the trip.