#Jason holding an orphan child for ten seconds: I am a Father Now

[flowerflamestars]

Robin fic snippet

“Skin contact,” he said, reaching out. Elle passed him the baby, hands briefly overlapping on her little skull, “No one was holding her.”   The difference came by degrees- tired wail fading into sad grizzling, rubbing her wet little face beneath Jason’s collarbone before rapidly seeming to collapse into exhaustion.   Careful, Jason leaned against the edge of the desk he never actually used. After a beat, Elle followed, moving with assured quiet to pull herself up on top of the wide oak slab, high enough to lean her cheek on his shoulder.   “Started screaming the second she was done eating,” Elle whispered. Sighed, turning her head to press a brief kiss to Jason’s skin. “God.” She reached out, hesitantly touching one little hand, bunched even in rest, “She’s so small.”   For a while, they just watched the baby sleep.   “Does she have name?”   Elle smiled. “Elodie, I think. Feels like an Elodie.”   Another Elle. Ellie. Jason barely wrestled silence into his laugh, rocking the baby as she stirred. “Sounds good.”   He wanted to know what shade her eyes would be when they settled past baby blue. The color of her hair. The sound of her little laugh. A tiny, tiny magical person- Elle was right, of course. They’d never let her get hurt, ever again.   “Philippe’ll be here in the morning,” Elle told him, quietly.   Jason told himself not to be a fucking idiot. Not to be disappointed-   He also knew perfectly well what he sounded like, when he whispered back, “We’re not keeping her?”

[writer-room]

Siblings: Chapter One

AO3

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

Summary: The Bats reflect on how their thoughts about siblings have changed over the years. Some opinions stayed, others didn't.

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Dick always wondered what it’d be like to have a little brother or sister.

He recalled asking his parents why he didn’t have one. Not accusatory, just curious.

His mother had smiled and said that they had their hands full plenty with Dick, and he was all they needed. His father, while still kind, said that they didn’t really have the time or resources in the circus at the moment to add another child to the family.

Dick was disappointed, but he understood the reasons.

Even still, he’d find himself staring at the kids that watched the acts with awe. Older kids lighty taunted their younger siblings, ruffling their hair and pretending they were too good for it all, and that they were doing their siblings a favor by being there. Kids who nudged their brother or sister to distract and steal the snacks from concession stands, later whispering words that’d make the other gape or giggle. Young children holding their sibling who was of toddler age or younger, pointing towards parts of the acts, their glee growing upon seeing the excitement of their sibling.

Dick hadn’t been lonely growing up in Haly’s Circus, he had his parents and the other people who worked there, from the handlers to the clowns to the tricksters. 

And yet, he still found himself watching the kids who’d come in with one, or even two or three, brothers and sisters, taunting and laughing and sharing their wonder.

A sibling would’ve been nice, he thinks mournfully. It might’ve even been fun.

Ah, well. At least he had the circus.

,

“Hey, hey Dick. Dick. Dick, lookit.”

“If I turn around and I see you about to push Damian off the roof, I��m breaking your helmet.”

“You wouldn’t.”

Dick sighed, turning back from where he was keeping an eye on the streets below. Jason, who’d only been a few feet away, immediately took this moment to seize Tim, who had been too busy looking through his binoculars to care about whatever the two had been doing, and proceed to chuck him off the roof.

Dick pinched the bridge of his nose with a groan as Tim’s undignified shriek was cut off by him catching himself on a fire escape below, scrambling to get a good hold on so he didn’t fall the rest of the way.

“What?” Jason huffed. “You said not to push Damian, and I didn’t push Damian.”

“Of course,” Dick replied sarcastically. “My mistake, I’ll be sure to rephrase it as don’t push anyone off the roof.”

“Now that’s just unreasonable,” Jason huffed, hand on his hip as Steph and Cass snickered from the nearby chimney they were perched on. “I can think of plenty of people who deserve to be pushed off roofs. Like Scarow, for example. Bastard made me break my good hand last month and I still need to shoot a bullet in his back for that one.”

“Then don’t push your family off roofs, is that enough for you?” Dick sighed, standing up and peering over the edge of the roof. “You alright down there, Tim?”

“Names,” Damian finally chastised, not once having glanced over to the others from where he was on the corner of the roof, farthest as he could get from them.

“Oh, sure, now you worry.” Tim grumbled from the fire escape, finally pulling himself to his feet and brushing himself off. “Dick, please tell me I have permission to stab out Jason’s eye.”

“You do not.”

“He’d be fine!” Tim complained, snagging a hand on the stairs and instead pulling himself up along the outside of the fire escape instead of walking up the steps like a normal human being. “Harper could probably make him a new functional one in two days if she's in a good mood.”

“I’m not making him a new eye in two days. Maybe two weeks.” Harper informed from the other side of the roof, also ignoring the others as she tinkered with some gadget.

“Get anywhere near me and I’ll cough on you,” Jason threatened, also peering down off the roof. “You have basically no immune system, you’d die in a week. A long, painful death. Poetic cinema, really.”

“If you say it's poetic because you were beaten with a crowbar for two hours, I’m dropkicking you.” Steph warned, eyes narrowed.

“You’re so mean to me,” Jason gasped, placing a hand on his chest as he turned. “What did I ever do to deserve this? I’m nice to you!”

“No, you’re not.” Chorused Dick, Tim, Damian, Steph, and an extra voice through their earpieces.

“Wow, thanks, Babs.” Jason grumbled. “Showing up just to bully me, typical.”

“Names,” Damian warned a second time.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Babs crackled through their earpieces. “You’re not the only one I bully.”

“Everyone please stop harassing Jay,” Dick pleaded, though it came out more as an exhausted sigh.

“Names,” Damian growled a third time, losing his patience.

“I know it's fun,” Dick continued, ignoring him. “But this is supposed to be a scouting mission, and I’d rather he didn’t start taking out petty revenge during patrol.”

“I have no idea why he’s so surprised we get bored when scouting,” Steph mumbled quietly, to which Cass simply shrugged.

“You have no faith in me,” Jason snorted, and Dick could tell he was rolling his eyes under his helmet.

“I have plenty of faith in you,” Dick soothed. “I also, however, know how you are.”

“Don’t worry,” Steph raised a hand. “I already lost faith in you when you tried to kill Tim.”

“Which time?”

“Steph, don’t taunt him. Do it back at the Manor.” Dick lightly scolded.

“How many times do I have to repeat this?” Damian snapped, whirling from his post to glare at the others. “We do not use names on patrol!”

“Doesn’t Jon call you D on patrol?” Harper raised a brow, glancing towards him.

“That is different! He does not use my actual name!”

“Hypocrite,” Jason coughed under his breath.

Tim finally swung back onto the roof, skillfully rolling and dodging when Jason attempted to immediately kick him off again. Tim rolled close to the chimney, quickly pulling out his bo staff and crouching, glaring at Jason. It was reminiscent of two cats in a standoff, arched backs but neither of them making the first strike yet.

“Do not fight,” Cass said calmly. 

“Thank you, C--” Dick hesitated, glancing at Damian for a brief moment. “--Orphan.”

“Fight in Cave,” Cass continued cheerfully. “We have sparring mats for reasons.”

“And I take that back.”

“You wanna hang with the cool kids?” Steph asked, leaning off the chimney to offer her hand.

“Yes. Have I mentioned you’re my favorite person?” Tim grinned, putting his staff away as he took the offered hand and was pulled onto the chimney beside Steph and Cass.

“You could stand to say it more often,” Steph teased.

“Cheaters,” Jason grumbled, relenting that fighting both Steph and Cass to get Tim was a losing battle.

The three were rather squished on the chimney, but none of them seemed to mind. Harper only rolled her eyes and went back to tinkering.

“We really need to bring D--Signal on one of these things.” Dick muttered, shaking his head.

“Because he’s sensible, or because you want him to suffer like the rest of us?” Tim raised a brow.

“Because he deserves the same family bonding time.” Dick said simply.

“Duke and Cullen are next to me listening in on this,” Barbara said through the communicators. “I am here to inform you that Duke is both touched and terrified.”

“The bumblebee was awake and didn’t even bother to join us?” Harper snorted. “Rude.”

“Cullen agrees with you.”

“He better,”

“I’m taking a ten hour nap after this,” Dick complained, sitting back on the edge of the roof, legs dangling in the open air as he leaned back dramatically on his hands. “I deserve it. Self-care and all that.”

“That is the length of a normal amount of sleep.” Damian raised a brow.

“Not in this family, it’s not.”

“Preach!” Tim pumped a fist.

“You don’t count, Tim.” Dick chastised, leaning his head back to look at Tim upside down. “Everyone here remembers to sleep at the latest once every two days. You don’t sleep for five.”

“I’m being harassed,”

“You’re being bullied into a proper sleep schedule.” 

Damian suddenly whacked Dick over the head, startling him with a yelp as Jason hid a snicker. Harper and Cass looked over for a moment before continuing with whatever they had previously been doing.

“Names!” Damian hissed. “Do you all want your identities revealed?”

“Literally nobody is here,” Harper pointed out.

“If Gotham hasn’t found out our identities by now, they never will.” Steph snorted.

“Especially finger-stripes over here.” Tim added, a smug expression on his face.

“A nine-year-old finds out your identity one time and you never hear the end of it.” Dick muttered under his breath before sitting up and proceeding to snatch Damian, who had been previously stalking towards the others, by wrapping an arm around his chest and tugging him closer as the boy squawked.

“You were using a Flying Grayson move, dude.” Tim deadpanned. “You gotta pay the price for being flashy for no other reason than because you can.”

“That’s his entire personality.”

“Why do you all hate me?” Dick whined, holding a squirming Damian close as he gave the boy a noogie. “What did I do to gain such torment?”

“You want the list?” Harper looked up, finally putting away whatever she was tinkering with.

“We alphabetized,” Cass added.

“Wrote on the front and back,” Steph nodded sagely.

“I’m adding three more to the list when we get back,” Damian growled, looking ready to bite Dick if he didn’t stop soon.

“You better be joking about that list,” Dick warned, releasing Damian for his own safety. “Because if I ever find a list of reasons to be mean to me, I will not show mercy.”

“Do you mean you’re gonna attack us physically or emotionally?” Jason inquired.

“Emotionally,”

“You sick bastard.” Steph whispered in horror. “I can’t believe you would use your powers for evil.”

“Does it make it any better if I tell you the list, if it does exist, would probably only exist so that when we notice someone looks like they’re gonna do something stupid, we use the list to remind them of something you did so they take it out on you and not, say, turn all of Gotham into a gang war zone.” Harper said slowly.

“I hate you,” Steph glared. “You mess up one time--”

“You died, Steph!” Tim exclaimed, before getting a batarang chucked at his head that Damian somehow snuck into his utility belt.

“She didn’t even die,” Jason snorted, crossing his arms. “Both of you two had lame fake-out deaths.”

“Why am I the one who’s become the punching bag?” Dick complained, holding Damian back again when he tried to grab the batarang Tim had dodged and threw it again.

“Because you’re actually good at feelings and everyone else is emotionally constipated.” Harper deadpanned.

“And the Ric incident.” Damian added right after, giving up in his thrashing. A shutter passed over the Bats at the mention of the name.

“Aw,” Dick’s face softened, ignoring the Ric comment. “You guys care about my advice?”

“Congrats,” Barbara chuckled slightly. “You’re the therapist brother.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Jason groaned, flopping backwards on the roof. “Now he’s going to be mushy and clingy all week.”

“Lord knows you idiots need it,” Harper huffed as Dick practically glowed.

“I’m sicing him on you later.”

“Jokes on you, he hasn’t found my apartment yet.”

“Yes I have,” Dick raised a hand, turning towards her. “Well, Robin found it, but I still know it.”

Harper stared at him for a few moments, momentarily turning her head to Damian for a moment before going back to Dick, and then turning to Jason.

“You’re a monster,” She whispered, a look of true horror on her face.

“I know,” Jason cackled gleefully.

“None of you are leaving the Manor when we get back.” Dick said matter-of-factly, pointing a finger to his siblings. “We’re gonna bond, and you’re going to like it.”

“We’re already bonding right now!” Damian protested.

“You’ll have to kill me first.” Steph hissed, shying behind Cass.

“Bold of you to assume you can keep me confined to the Manor.” Tim huffed in offence. “Orphan, I’ll stash you in one of my safe houses if you promise to be my bodyguard.”

“Deal,”

“You guys are so dramatic--”

“Hey, guys? Crazed pyromaniac with flamethrowers to the north.”

The group immediately dropped whatever they had been doing, heads snapping up towards the direction Barbara had tiredly informed them of the attack.

It was only a few moments before the sight of flames peaked over one of the buildings, dying out almost immediately. Shouts and rumbles were steadily growing in volume, especially the cackling of Firefly, likely revving up whatever weapon he’d acquired this time.

“Fantastic, can’t even keep watch with you morons.” Damian growled.

“Oh you are not the only one trying to work here!” Tim snapped. “Orphan, for example, is doing a wonderful--where’d she go?”

He and Steph looked around rapidly, their sister suddenly missing from the chimney. How they hadn’t noticed she’d left their crowded space was a mystery that’d likely never be solved.

“Over there,” Jason said boredly, upholstering a gun and pointing across the rooftops.

The outline of Cass’s body could be seen sprinting across the roofs towards where the fire had been spotted, leaping with reckless abandon.

“Life lesson for the rest of you,” Harper hummed, getting to her feet. “Be like Cass.”

“Stop using real names!” Damian barked.

“Last one there is on cleanup duty!” Steph hollered, shoving Tim and taking off in the same movement.

“Asshole!” Tim yelled as Jason, Harper and Damian all bolted after her without a moment's hesitation. 

Dick laughed, just getting to his feet as Tim stumbled up and after the others, swearing obscenities.

He quickly ran after his siblings, though he strayed a little further back, nobody paid attention to who showed up last anyway, his eyes darting from each of his siblings. Someone had to make sure they didn’t face-plant off a roof.

They shouted over each other as they descended down to take out Firefly. The guy had really picked a bad night to start causing trouble. It’d be over in no-time.

Even still, Dick paused on the roofs, scanning the streets below as the others ran to and fro, yelling over each other as Barbara switched between the coms to talk to them. It was a chaotic mess and Dick found himself grinning at it all.

His siblings were a hot mess, and it was amazing.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Hold Your Child as Tight as You Can (And Push Away the Unimaginable)

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

Bruce tries not to think about the day. Not this one. Not any other, for that matter, but especially not this one.

With every second that passes, he drifts farther and farther away from his center. He’s thrown off balance, like gravity has made him an exception. No one tries to console him, and that’s just fine because Bruce doesn’t want to be consoled. Alfred tries on occasion, but Bruce isn’t the only one hurting too deeply to reach. The manor exists in a fog, silent and riddled with cracked pieces. It’s too empty now.

Bruce tries not to think about the day. Not this one. Not any other, for that matter, but especially not this one. With every second that passes, he drifts farther and farther away from his center. He’s thrown off balance, like gravity has made him an exception. No one tries to console him, and that’s just fine because Bruce doesn’t want to be consoled. Alfred tries on occasion, but Bruce isn’t the only one hurting too deeply to reach. The manor exists in a fog, silent and riddled with cracked pieces. It’s too empty now. Nearly everyone has called. When Bruce wouldn’t pick up, they started texting. Eventually Bruce turned his phone off. Just seeing the words spelled out ached like a screwdriver to the gut. If this were any normal day, Alfred would be bringing Bruce his lunch right about now. But he knows better than to disturb Bruce when he’s in Damian’s room. Bruce is aware of the poor taste he exhibits now, drinking a bottle of whiskey in a ten-year-old’s room. He’s setting a bad example. God, how he wishes he could still set a bad example. “Honestly, Father,” Damian said when Bruce took his glass of champagne away. “I’ve been allowed to drink wine before. My mother even encouraged it at formal events. Maturity garners respect.” “Well, I don’t encourage it. You’re still a child, no matter how sophisticated you think you are.” Not to mention the fact that a ten-year-old drinking champagne at a Wayne gala would certainly turn heads. Bruce downed the champagne himself, laughing at Damian’s scowl. “Come on, son. Let’s get you a juice box.”

That was only four months ago. Four months ago, back when the beast that is tragedy was locked tight in its cage, things were good. Things were perfect. Bruce had everything. Now he has nothing left. He takes a swig, closing his eyes as the alcohol burns his throat. “It’s a little early, don’t you think?” Bruce opens his eyes and finds Tim standing in the doorway, his fingertips clutching the frame. It brings Bruce back to the early days when he would creep to Bruce’s room in the middle of the night after a nightmare, uncertain if he was welcome to enter. He’s just as wary now, watching Bruce. “The whiskey, I mean. You’ve never been much of a day drinker.” “It’s a special occasion.” “That it is.” Tim steps closer, cautious. Bruce wonders, is his fear kindled from stepping into his dead brother’s room, or from Bruce? “How are you doing?” “How do you think I’m doing?” Tim scratches the back of his neck. “Okay, yeah, bad question. I’m...not very good at this.” “Did you need something?” He can’t do this. Not with Tim here. Not ever. That was the whole point of coming to this part of the house in the first place. “I wanted to wish you a happy Father’s Day. And...to give you this.” Tim holds out his hand, uncurling his fingers to reveal a small piece of metal with a chain on it. Bruce takes it, turns it over in his fingers. The flat piece shows a chibi-like depiction of Batman and Robin. “Damian picked it out.” Bruce’s insides crumble, folding in on themselves like botched origami. “When?” “A couple weeks before. He saw it when we were at the mall and thought it was stupid, so I bought it for him to give to you as a gag gift. Thought he might want you to have it.” It takes every ounce of Bruce’s strength to keep his voice from shaking, to keep from falling apart altogether. “Thank you.” He closes his hand around the keychain. “I thought you were with the Titans today.” “I wanted to make sure you weren’t alone.” “That’s not your job. You don’t have to—” Bruce swallows. Takes a breath. “It’s not all on you.” “Isn’t it? I’m the only one left.” Bruce is about to disagree, to tell him that there are others, but he keeps his mouth shut. Because Tim is right. Damian is dead. Jason hasn’t checked in with anyone in weeks. And Dick… “I’m here for whatever you need, Bruce. That’s why I joined up in the first place, right?” It’s supposed to be a joke, but it falls flat. Tim’s arm twitches like he wants to do something, provide some sort of comfort, but he keeps his distance. “I’m here for you. No father should have to lose two sons.” Bruce should tell him the truth. He should come clean, tell Tim that he need only mourn one brother, that Dick is out there somewhere alive and well. But he can’t do that. Besides, it makes sense, doesn’t it? Bruce brought on his own suffering, and it’s spread to the entire family like a virus. They’re all hurting, every one of them. All because of Bruce. “Thank you, Tim. I’ll keep that in mind.” Tim’s expression doesn’t change but for a dimming of his eyes, a sag in his shoulders. He sees the dismissal for what it is. “I’ll...leave you alone.” He goes without another word, closing the door behind himself. Bruce turns the keychain over in his palm. It’s small, cheap. Worth next to nothing. Worth everything. He needs more whiskey. Half a bottle later and the pain hasn’t numbed any, which he should have expected. This isn’t the kind of pain that any sedative can treat. Not even sleep takes the hurt away—if anything, it amplifies it. Bruce’s dreams now consist of a little boy with a sword shoved through his chest, crying for his dad to come save him. Food has lost its taste, the stars have lost their glow. It’s as if the whole world dimmed once Damian was taken out of it. “I miss you,” Bruce whispers to the empty room. “God, I miss you so much. It hurts more every day.” When Bruce’s parents died all those decades ago, it tore something inside of him seemingly beyond repair. Then, by some miracle, it healed. Dick healed it. So did Jason, Tim, Cass, Damian—they all healed him, each in their own way. Jason’s death tore open the scar and taught it how to bleed again. And now Damian has razed the land, made it unsalvageable. Barren. A wound can only be opened so many times before the flesh can no longer be stitched. “It’s a scratch, Father. I am perfectly capable of taking care of it myself.” Damian’s face was twisted in a scowl, more indignant than hurt despite the bloody rivulets coursing down his forearm. “I’m not disputing that. But just because you can do something yourself doesn’t mean you have to. Turn your arm for me?” Bruce swabbed the cut in disinfectant. Damian bit down on his bottom lip until the skin turned white. “Sorry. The anesthetic should kick in soon.” “I’m fine.” Bruce sighed. “How long before you accept that you’re allowed to express pain?” “Four million years.” Bruce chuckled. “Okay. Then I’ll just have to stick around with you for four million and one.” What Bruce wouldn’t give for those four million and one years. He would take an eternity of pain, anguish, agonizing sacrifice up to his knees if it meant he got to hold his child one more time. If he could tell him how much he loves him. Loved him. Orphans lose parents. Widows lose spouses. But there is no word for when a parent loses a child. It’s such an unimaginable tragedy that no one has dared to name it. There are not enough words in the English language to describe the depth of this feeling, of losing one’s entire world. Bruce wouldn’t wish it on his greatest enemy. “I loved you so much, Damian. More than I deserved to love anyone. And I should have told you that when I had the chance.” His eyes burn. His lip trembles. “There shouldn’t have been a day that went by when you didn’t feel loved without conditions, without a single exception. You were perfect.” He doesn’t stop the tears as they slide down his cheeks, warm and salty. The chasm in his chest widens, expands to the edges of his body until there is more emptiness in him than flesh. He is a black hole. “I had so many plans for today. It was supposed to be our first Father’s Day together.” Bruce was dead for the last one. And now death has stolen his child from him without warning, without mercy. Without reason. Bruce’s next breath gets stuck in his throat, makes him shudder. Damian didn’t deserve this. He should be home, safe, alive. He was just a boy. Just a baby, guilty of so many horrors but still so innocent. God, he was just a baby. “I should have been there for you. You needed your father to save you, and I was too late. I couldn’t keep you safe. But I’m going to get you back, Damian.” The whiskey bottle lies on its side on the bedspread, empty. “I’m going to do whatever it takes to bring you back, even if it kills me. I won’t fail you again.” He would say more, but his vocal cords refuse to work. Bruce buries his face in his hands, sobs wracking his large frame. What a sight he must make—the Batman, sitting on his son’s bed, crying like a child himself. For god’s sake, Father, Damian would say if he were here now. If I’d known that my death would turn you into a sniffling mess, I would have tried harder to stay alive. You’ll never intimidate criminals like this. But Damian isn’t here to say that. He isn’t here at all, and that’s on Bruce. So he cries, sobs, hoping it will do something to alleviate the ache that has set into his body. But if anything, it just makes the ache worse. Makes it grow and grow, forcing it to the forefront of his mind, demanding to be acknowledged. Your fault. This is all your fault. You don’t get to take it back. Bruce’s son is dead. His baby is dead. He won’t stop until he finds a way to take it back.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Y/N Wayne and the Unruly Family (Batdad Headcanon)

Requested by Anonymous for “Batdad and fam find out about harry potter and the cursed child”

Warning: Minimal spoilers for Harry Potter and the Cursed Child.

Papa! Papa!” Damian shrieks, running from somewhere in the manor.

Dick follows right after. “Not a drill, people! This is not a drill!”

You and Alfred look at them oddly, then share a confused glance. “Am I missing something?”

“Papa! Papa!” Damian yells again, not yet able to form sentences. You’ve only seen him this excited when he and Jason were planning to steal the Batmobile for a joyride (which you had to intervene in, of course).

Dick opens his mouth to tell you, but then Jason comes barrelling in.

“Oh my Goooooooooooooooooooood! It’s here! She did it again, people! AGAIN! AND IT”S COMING HERE!”

You wait ten seconds for Tim to come running in, screaming in delight, coffee stains all over his shirt from having spilled on himself. “AHhhhhhHHHHH!”

Alfred, of all people, loses patience, and gives a shrill whistle.

“...Master Y/N.”

“Thank you. Now, will someone tell me what is going on?”

And then Bruce comes jogging in, holding up seven pieces of paper. “Y/N? I need to talk to...you....”

“Tell me what’s happening!”

And as one, they answer. “Harry Potter and the Cursed Child is coming to Gotham.”

Being Bruce, he’ll never admit that he’s just as big a fan as his children, who, being them, are among the most vocal fans on social media. Within minutes of being informed that Bruce has somehow gotten Cursed Child to be performed in Gotham, they’re Tweeting and posting and blogging about it.

Apparently, because of the Wayne Foundation’s collaboration with Lumos, JK Rowling’s charity that works to end the institutionalization of children in orphanages and tries to place them in safe and supportive family environments, he’s convinced the team behind the production to do a charity performance, to which he and lots of other Gotham big-wigs are invited to (he also maneuvers it so that some of the orphan children get to see the show as well).

Dick posts a series of photos on social media. The first is a picture you took of him reading Goblet of Fire on the couch with a serious expression. The next is of Jason on his back on the same couch, reading Prisoner of Azkaban and kicking his feet in the air. The third is of Tim with headphones on, reading Chamber of Secrets. And the last one is of Damian, surrounded by the others in a snuggle pile while you read Sorcerer’s Stone aloud to them, Bruce smiling in the background. The caption is - “Mr. and Mr. Wayne of Wayne Manor were proud to say they were a perfectly Potterhead family, thank you very much.”

Jason is super excited and brags to Roy about it. Which leads to Ollie and Dinah complaining to Bruce at the Watchtower when they can’t get tickets.

Clark’s a huge fan of Harry Potter as well - a child who develops powers and then finds friends who stick with him through thick and thin? Come on! - and practically begs Lois to let them switch with Entertainment just for the weekend. She denies him. At first.

But then she remembers that her father, General Sam Lane, was of the “Harry Potter is Satanic” mindset, and she wants to get back at him. So she and Clark get to go, and she makes a point of Tweeting about it just to tick her father off.

Anyway, Damian wonders whether he should wear a suit or dress robes, and you tell him that you’ll wear whatever he decides so he won’t feel alone. Besides, Dick’s wearing dress robes, has already previewed his outfit on Instagram and gotten about a million likes on it.

Jason wears a leather jacket with the Golden Snitch bedazzled on the back - Roy made it for him as a joke and he secretly loves it.

Tim and Bruce wear suits, although Bruce wears Deathly Hallows cuff links and Tim wears a Hogwarts tie.

Everyone’s so excited -  even Alfred.

On the day leading up to Night One, Damian cannot focus on anything other than the play, and Dick and Jason are combing over the books for the minutiae, just in case. Tim is under forced bed rest so that he can stay awake through the play. Bruce has the League cover patrol for tonight and tomorrow.

At the cliffhanger end of Night One, no one can talk.

Cursed Child is a two-night event, and none of the boys want to talk about it until they’ve seen the whole thing. So basically Wayne Manor is silent all day, because it’s the only thing on everyone’s mind.

Damian and you wore suits the first night, so you wear dress robes on the second. Jason and Dick wear their Hogwarts robes, and even Tim gets in on the action by wearing a prop Time-Turner as his pocket watch, and poses for several photos pretending to use it.

Alfred wore a suit the first night and now wears a pair of Spectrespecs with his suit tonight. Bruce wears the Deathly Hallows cuff links again and now has added a tie patterned with lightning bolts.

There are mixed reviews after the play.

Dick thoroughly enjoyed it, his one question being why didn’t they let Albus and Scorpius just be together, to which Tim quickly responds that “there are platonic male friendships that happen to have homoerotic subtext, okay? Let it go!”

Jason and Tim were iffy on the time-travel plot, but mostly enjoyed it, although ironically they found Albus to be a bit annoying.

Damian is a diehard Ron/Hermione shipper (He, Jason, and Dick have had intense debates on this), and dislikes the portrayal of their relationship, however, he does like how they are a loving couple.

Anyway, it’s been very exciting. The whole thing triggers Damian to request another Harry Potter marathon.

Alfred breaks out the big fluffy blankets. There’s going to be a lot of sleeping over in the next few weeks as you go through the series.