Alfred peeked into the bedroom and, somehow, wasn't surprised to find two figures in bed. Very good. He needed to come upstairs and get some rest. I wonder how long he's been asleep? I do hate to wake him if he's only just laid down… He snuck around the bed quietly, hoping to check the boy for fever without disturbing either of them. He had to content himself with laying a hand on the back of his neck, as his face was still pressed tightly against Bruce. Hmm. A bit warm, but it could just be from sleeping, he mused. He's due for another pill in an hour or so. I'll check him more thoroughly then.
"…Alfred?" came a quiet speaking of his name.
"Master Wayne," he nodded back, seeing that he was awake despite his attempt at stealth. "No cause for alarm, I was merely trying to get an idea of his temperature."
"He was a little warm earlier."
"As he is now," the butler's forehead creased slightly. "Did you sleep long, sir? There's no rush to get up if you're still tired, I've only just returned and dinner is still several hours away."
Bruce shifted just enough to look at his watch. "I got a couple of hours." Ugh. I promised I'd go to Mount Justice…I'd rather just lay here with Dick, though. He knew no one would blame him were he to not show up, but it wasn't in his nature to willfully not do something he'd said he would. "I need to get up." He tried to disentangle himself without jostling his son, but as he pulled away both adults heard a small murmur.
"…daddy…"
He must have been dreaming of his parents, Alfred thought with a twinge of sadness. Seeing the billionaire's face, however, he second-guessed himself. "Master Wayne?" he queried, intrigued.
Knowing he was caught, Bruce jerked his head towards the door. There's no point in talking about it in here, we'll wake him up. He needs more rest. Once they were safely in the hall, he sighed. "I left out a few details about last night," he admitted.
"I see."
"I mean, he was probably thinking about his father just now," he said in a rush, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck. "But…he did call me that."
"Called you what exactly, sir?" Alfred knew full well, but he wanted to hear it anyway.
"…Daddy. He called me daddy."
"Hmm." No number of years practicing an impassive expression could have kept a broad smile off of his lips at that news. He didn't have to ask how the other man felt about that particular development; the tender expression he'd worn a moment earlier in the bedroom had told him all he needed to know. "Do you intend to allow this to become his regular way of addressing you?"
"I don't know," he answered a bit hesitantly. Part of him stuck by what he'd told Dick shortly after his arrival; he had no intentions of trying to replace John Grayson. The rest of him was still humming happily over those meaningful five letters, and couldn't care less what he may have said in the past. "It's up to him, really. If he wants to, I'm fine with it." More than fine with it, he had to admit to himself. "If he doesn't, that's fine, too. I would never want him to feel like he had to. As much as I might enjoy it if he kept it up," he added under his breath.
"A wise decision, sir," the butler granted his approval. "Even if he chooses to continue using your given name, I have no doubt that he will always think of you as exactly what he called you last night."
"Yeah…" He basked in the thought for a moment longer, then shook himself, remembering what had drawn him upstairs to begin with. "Where were you? He got up and wandered down to the cave." In bare feet and a blanket, he knew better than to add lest the boy be kept in bed an extra week for fear of having caught cold.
Alfred glanced at the door behind which Dick slumbered on, mild concern crinkling around his eyes. "I was finalizing the details of a certain Yuletide purchase," he explained. "Per your instructions. I wouldn't have left without telling you, but I knew you were occupied in a complex task and I believed that the young sir would remain asleep until my return. I assure you, it will not happen again."
Oh, right, Bruce recalled. The snowmachines. He had only taken the boy out once on the sled that had been rented to help search when he'd disappeared with Gobblehead before Thanksgiving, but the sheer pleasure that short ride had evoked had been enough to convince him that the manor needed a permanent set. As much as he trusted Alfred, he'd wanted to be a part of the selection process, and had skipped a morning of work to visit a dealership. He'd been worried about finding one that the child could reasonably control, and had all but thrown his credit card at the sales representative who explained that most companies made kid-sized machines. I can't wait to hear him squeal when he sees it, he smirked. Especially when he realizes that his is a miniature of the one I bought for myself…
"I took the liberty of procuring helmets for both of you, as well," the butler went on, "as well as a full assemblage of riding gear to keep you warm. I find it difficult to believe that either of you will keep your speed at a safe rate – please, Master Wayne, don't argue, I know you both too well - and even on warm days the wind will be quite chilling. Everything will be delivered tomorrow."
"Can you keep it hidden until Christmas?"
"Of course, sir. It is only twenty four hours, after all."
Twenty four hours? "Wait…is tomorrow Christmas Eve?"
Alfred's eyebrow quirked slightly. "Yes, sir."
Damn. That snuck up on me. "And everything else is ready?" he asked, suddenly anxious.
"All of the other items on the rather extensive list you gave me have been wrapped and are merely waiting to be put in place."
"…You say that like you think it's too much," Bruce frowned.
"My concern is merely that his remarkably unselfish head may explode when he realizes how many new things you've purchased him. But then, it is his first Christmas here. I suppose we may as well go completely over the top with it," the Englishman acceded. It's no larger than the massive holidays your parents once threw for you, so I can hardly cry foul. I was rather pleased to see you really get into the spirit of the thing again, to be fair.
"He deserves nothing less," he stated, his tone brooking no opposition in spite of the fact that he knew none would be forthcoming from Alfred. "Listen, I'm going to Mount Justice. They're still working on the serum there. I'll try to be back before too late."
"Very good, sir. And good luck." The last thing we need is a mind-controlled Batman. Good lord, what a frightening thing that would be.
In the cave, Bruce changed quickly and headed towards the Zeta tube, pushing his lenses down as he went. A moment later he stepped out several states away and, finding no one in his immediate vicinity, made for the medical lab.
"We were just talking about you," Flash informed him as he walked in.
"Mm." He approached the table that the speedster and the Martian were standing at and frowned at the assortment of vials and tubes. "What have you found?"
"A solution," J'onn replied.
"We think," Flash added. "Thanks for doing the hard part. With your notes about the structural layering and the broken-down sample Superman brought in, we've been able to work pretty fast. What we've got right now will either cure us or kill us."
That seems like a rather crucial difference, he thought wryly. "Is there any way of knowing which it will do before we take it?"
"There are a few more tests to be run," the Martian replied. "If they all go well, we should be able to proceed with the cure as it is now. Otherwise, we'll have to reassess." He paused. "You won't be able to do much to help from here on, unless one of you possesses a knowledge of neurobiology I'm unaware of?" When neither one professed expertise, he went on, trying to kick them out politely. "I will be able to work faster if I don't have to concentrate on filtering out the thoughts of others." It hadn't been so bad when it was just Flash in the room with him, but Batman's normally blank emotional mantle was twitching wildly today, aggravated, J'onn had no doubt, by concern for Robin. It was understandable, of course, but highly distracting.
"…Fine." I don't want to be here all night. Tomorrow's Christmas Eve, and I'll be damned if I don't spend it with my son, Batman thought as he turned and left, willing to do so if it meant the work would be completed sooner. They don't need me; I could have stayed with him, after all. Damn it.
As if he'd heard his thought, the speedster kept pace with him in the hallway and changed the topic to Robin. "How's the mini-Bat?" he jested when they were clear of the lab.
"…What?"
"I don't know, Kid called him that earlier. It fits him; he's you with a better personality and brighter clothes."
Batman wasn't sure whether to glare or gloat at that. "He's recovering."
"…Any, uh, nightmares?"
His eyes narrowed beneath the cowl. What business is it of yours? he wanted to snap. Unless… "Not that I'm aware of. Has Kid Flash had some?"
"Yeeeeah. A couple different ones. We talked about them, but…I don't know, he seems to be carrying a lot of guilt over a couple of guys who he said shot each other in the parking lot?"
"Mm. He mentioned them." His mouth tightened. "Robin said it was Kid Flash's first time seeing someone die."
"It was. And where was I at that crucial moment? Downstairs, under mind control." He gave an angry snort. "…C'mon, I'm starving. Let's hit the kitchen, I haven't eaten in hours."
Batman wanted nothing more than to just return home, but the trace of self-loathing he heard in the other man's voice held him back. I'm not his counselor, he considered. …But I do owe him for bringing Robin here safely last night. And between the boys and the serum, we do share two things now that none of the others can quite understand. It's logical to reinforce our alliance. Stifling a sigh, he turned and headed for the lounge, consenting to play psychologist for at least a short while.
"…It's funny," Flash mused as he poked around in the fridge a minute later. "The whole time we talked, Kid kept calling Sawyer 'Sawbones.' He told me that was what all the guards seemed to know him as. Even after I explained who he really is, he kept calling him that nickname."
Huh. "…Robin calls him the same thing," he disclosed. "It may be easier for them that way."
"What do you mean?" the speedster asked, sitting down with a box of questionable-looking leftovers.
"We know him as Daniel Sawyer. A man who used to live a more or less normal life. He's not that man anymore; he's no longer a decent person. We're used to seeing that transformation," he ground out, pacing. "We know good people turn bad. It's an accepted fact of our lives. But they're too young for that truth, both of them are. It's easier to think of Sawbones as only a façade." His voice dropped. "It allows them to maintain the vague hope that maybe it's just a mask, after all. That maybe the human being behind it isn't completely lost, could still be salvaged." Like we are. Well, like I am. I'm a different person in so many important ways when the cowl is off… He was suddenly incredibly glad that Dick had known him as Bruce Wayne for two months before he met him as Batman.
"…So you think it's…what, preservation of their innocence?"
"What little of it they have left, yes."
"Damn." He chewed, then made a face and pushed the food away. What little of their innocence they have left, he sighed mentally. What little we haven't stripped them of with all of this, or allowed to be taken from them by putting them in the situations that we do. "…Do you ever feel guilty about it, Batman? About…about putting them on the line like we do?" He knew better than to expect an answer – he was talking to Gotham's cowled protector, after all – but he needed to get the question out there, as well as the admission that came on its heels. "Because I do. I thought I was taking him out of a bad situation, but…sometimes I think I've just stuck him in a worse one."
Twenty four hours earlier, he wouldn't have favored the inquiry with anything more than a 'shut the hell up' glare, at least when he was in costume. But he'd been asking himself the same thing ever since his first glimpse of the boys on the security cameras, and somehow it was comforting to know that the worry wasn't simply a byproduct of Batman's dark nature. "They can stop any time, Flash," he reminded him. "We're giving them the best protection against the world that we know how to. What more would you suggest that we do?"
"I don't know. Thought maybe you would, to be honest."
"I have very little more experience in this business than you."
"And no one would ever call Batman a natural parent," the seated man joked darkly. "Although you are weirdly good with him." He almost tacked a teasing 'daddy' onto the end of the compliment, but decided at the last moment that he preferred all of his limbs attached.
"…Mm."
"I wish we could just make them all go away, Bruce. Sorry," he added as the other man stiffened at the use of his name. "All the bad ones, though, you know? Let them grow up in a world that doesn't need people like us."
"That's not possible. There will always be more, no matter how many we put away."
"That's my point. We teach them how to protect themselves and each other against the evils that lurk in the dark corners no child should ever see, but where does it end? They'll teach their kids, and again, and again, and there will always be more, like you said. It never ends. There's no rest for the children of vigilantes, I guess, but they're still children."
"They're…extraordinary children. It's cruel, yes, but it will make them strong. Stronger than we are. That's the reward."
"…They shouldn't have to be strong. Not on their own. Not yet. And not like this."
"It can't be helped. So…deal," he said a little harshly, Flash's words poking at his own most smothered sentiments. "You can't force him out of it now."
"I know. That's the bitch of it."
"…Yes."
"You know," the speedster ventured when several moments of silence had passed. "I was thinking earlier…well, I'd never do it, but…it would have been so easy to give Sawyer a dose of his own medicine last night. Literally. We could have shot him up and given him an order to be a reasonably law-abiding citizen who never littered, kicked puppies, or tried to take over the world. And he would have done it. There'd be one less monster in the world."
"No. There would be two more."
"What're you saying, Batman, that the ends don't always justify the means?" The question was only half in jest.
"There are some lines I will not cross, Flash. And you wouldn't, either, despite the direction you took this conversation. It's what keeps us from becoming the problem." Okay, he decided. Therapy time's over. I'm leaving. He flipped his lenses up and met the other man's surprised eyes just long enough to say a few final words. "…I've found tucking him into bed helps," he shared, his voice sounding forced, as if he were giving away some great and powerful secret under duress. "I don't know if it will work in your situation, with the age difference, but…if he'll let you, give it a try."
Parenting advice from Batman, the seated man shook his head in awe as the last of the black cape disappeared around the corner. Sawyer didn't tell us that his mind-control serum had wild hallucinations as a side effect. Bastard.