The Watchtower was silent.
Every seat at the Justice League council table was filled, but no one spoke. The footage that had started the incident — the holographic lecture from Superhero High — still flickered faintly on the central display. Even muted, it was damning.
Bruce stood at the head of the table. No cowl, no cape. Just the man. His expression was unreadable, but the silence carried weight — the kind that made even Clark hesitate.
“My children were used as examples,” Bruce said finally. His voice was low, deliberate. “Without consent. Without notice. Their images were recorded during private training and projected to the entire student body.”
He let the words hang there, razor-sharp in the air.
Clark shifted in his seat. “Bruce, I—”
“Don’t.” The single word cut through him like a blade.
Bruce’s gaze swept the room, steady and cold. “You all know what that footage contained. They weren’t in uniform. They weren’t prepared. They were training in a space meant to be secure. And someone—” his voice hardened— “thought it appropriate to turn them into teaching material.”
Diana’s tone was careful, calm. “Red Tornado didn’t intend harm. It was an academic demonstration. He—”
“He showed my children half-dressed in a room full of students.”
The table fell silent again.
“Intent does not erase impact. They were objectified, reduced to examples for anatomy and discipline. You expect them to lead by example, yet you strip away their right to privacy in the same breath.”
Bruce leaned forward, both hands braced against the polished surface. The reflection of his eyes in the glass looked colder than the man standing there.
“If you had done this to any of your own, we would not be having a discussion. We would be dealing with fallout.”
The tension was suffocating. Barry looked down. Clark’s jaw tightened. Even Diana didn’t speak again.
Bruce straightened, his tone leveling but no less dangerous.
“All copies of that footage will be destroyed. Every record, every backup. If I find it circulating beyond this station, I will trace it. And I will hold whoever’s responsible personally accountable.”
No one doubted he meant it.
He gathered the tablet from the table, shutting off the projection. The holograms of Dick, Jason, Tim, and you vanished, leaving only their afterimages burned into everyone’s thoughts.
“You don’t parade my family for lessons. Not again.” Bruce turned, the meeting dismissed without another word.
The Cave was quiet when Bruce returned. The air smelled faintly of metal and ozone, the remnants of recent training. He spotted you all gathered near the console — tired, quiet, avoiding each other’s eyes. The holo-screens still glowed faintly with chatter from the outside world.
He stopped at the base of the platform, just looking at you. Dick’s posture straightened instinctively. Jason tried to look unfazed, arms crossed. Tim’s gaze flicked up from a datapad, cautious. You met Bruce’s eyes and saw something there you hadn’t seen earlier — not fury, not disappointment, but concern buried deep beneath the mask.
“Are you all alright?” Bruce asked.
The words were simple, but they carried the weight of everything unsaid — the apology, the protectiveness, the quiet promise that he would never let it happen again.
Dick gave a small nod, the kind that meant we’ll survive. Jason muttered something about “next time punching the projector.” Tim almost smiled.
Bruce exhaled once, slow and steady. Then he nodded, turned toward the console, and with a few keystrokes, erased the last trace of the footage from his systems.
“It’s done,” he said quietly. “Get some rest.”
He started up the stairs, the cape trailing behind him, the echo of his footsteps fading into the upper levels of the Cave.
And though none of you said it out loud, the silence that followed carried its own kind of peace — because when Bruce Wayne got that angry, it meant one thing: someone had messed with his family. And he would make sure it never happened again.