all bruce could say is that he was reaching the end of his will here, watching through the batcomputer in the batcave at what his idiots of children were up to this time.

he had sent the 5 of you out for patrol, to get a taste of working collectively as a team—and family—felt like. it was dick, jason, you, tim, and damian: possibly the worst choices of his life.

bruce watched in absolute disbelief as he watched jason give a man attempting a 7/11 robbery a wedgie, laughing his ass of with dick at the mans spongebob and patrick underwear.

tim and damian emerged from the shop with slushies, muttering some shit about: “tastes like justice.”

the real kicker was what happened next: you, the most sensible out of all his strays (or so he thought) placing the man on a lampost hanging by his boxers, scribbling a penis on his face with a pen that was in your pocket.

all 5 of you surrounded the underwear-hanging man now, laughing like this was the funniest thing you’d done in years. and it got a small chuckle from damian, so considering all things, it was pure comedy.

sighing, bruce pinches his nose as he muttered something about: ‘disgraceful kids’ and ‘no senses of humour’. he tried to be mad, truly, but when he saw all 5 of your faces laughing, and that you were having genuine fun… something in his heart softened, and he couldn’t find himself to care.

not tonight, anyway.

tomorrow you’d all be getting a major disappointed father talk which he needed to ask alfred to prepare for him.

but for now he settled for listening to his children’s joyous laughter through the headset’s speakers, a smile on his lips despite himself.