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Season 0: Year One C18: Flippin' the Page (2) (Public)
🕑 Added 2025-07-01 12:35:08 +0000 UTCMoving frantically between the lab's central console and the blood sequencer, Bruce dragged holographic data streams across the screen to compare the bloodwork from the sample he’d just drawn to the one from the month before, and the months before that.
For hours, he worked, running simulations; isolating protein chains and scanning for any trace of magical residue.
The results from every previous month came back clean, a perfect baseline of pristine human biology. He was just about to dismiss the Magician’s concerns when the final analysis of the current sample completed with a sharp, anxiety-inducing chime.
[WARNING: Anomaly Detected!]
On the flat screen, a single genetic sequence which the Batcomputer had previously deemed stable in every test suddenly pulsed.
“Find anything interesting, or do you just like to admire your own genome in the dead of night?“ Bruce’s head snapped where Rowan stood, leaning against a steel cabinet with a half-eaten apple in his hand, before deciding to return to work.
“You should be in bed.“
“Couldn’t sleep,” Rowan replied with a shrug, taking a loud crunch from his apple and gestyring gestured toward the blinking red alert on the screen. “So, what's the verdict, Doc? Did I give you religious cooties?”
Swiping a hand across the console, Bruce shut down the display.
The blue light vanished, plunging the bay into shadow, save for the single spotlight above the workstation. “It’s nothing.”
“'Nothing' doesn’t get the big, bad Bat to run diagnostics on himself in the dead of night,” Rowan countered, pushing off the cabinet and coming closer. The tense silence between them stretched for half a minute, before Bruce finally conceded. “It's the Metagene.”
The teensger's jaw instantly dropped.
He stared at Bruce, then at the blank screen and back again before a triumphant cheer tore from his lips as he jabbed a finger at his sullen-looking host.
“I called it… I fuckin' called it! All that Looney Tunes logic you've been pulling—it all makes sense now! You’re a goddamn Meta!“
“It only activated recently.” Bruce replied, holding up a hand to stop the boy’s excited outburst. “Zatara seems to think the close proximity to you was the catalyst. I haven't noticed any substantial increase in strength, speed or durability either. And if there is, it's likely negligible.“
“How can you be so sure? What if it’d always been active and you just weren’t aware?”
The question felt like sacrilege the moment it left his lips, but believe or not, Rowan was well and truly curious.
“Because I check my bloodwork once a month for active chemical or biological agents.” The big, bad Bat shrugged, lifting the cowl over his head as though he'd already predicted the Bat-Signal would flash to life on the main display that exact moment.
“… You gotta teach me that someday.“ Whistling admiringly, Rowan strolled over to the glass display where his repaired Suit awaited.
“You're heading out tonight?“
“Well, duh!” Slipping into his boots, the Imp staggered to the right trying to squeeze in his boots. “You're not getting rid of me that easily. Besides, I have a twenty-eight days left to sow terror, and I plan to make it count.“
“You're enjoying this way too much.“
'The Life,' Rowan assumed Bruce meant. “And you don't?“
Whether he cared to admit it or not, Bruce Wayne needed Batman.
It was his purpose, his lifeboat against the shame of failing his parents—a shame that completely ignored the fact he had only been a child then.
The only answer Rowan got was a non-committal grunt from his mentor, and he was fine with it; he’d expected nothing less, or in this case, nothing more.
“C'mon… Let's put the fear of God in these bitches!“
That night, Gotham's underworld received the same treatment Croc did: The full, unadulterated Double-Takedown Special. From the smaller, inconsequential gangs that were little more than yes-men, right up to the big-bads they answered to… All in a night's work…
Less than a night's work, in fact, since by the time they did another of Two-Faced's operations in, it was barely past 1A.M. Yawning in boredom, Rowan glared at the city under him. “Is it me, or has the quality of criminals decreased recently?”
“F-Fuck you, freaks! Two-Faced's gonna—”
The henchman hadn't the chance to finish when a boot cracked his ribcages, tossing him three stories down.
"It's always the same with these assholes, isn't it? Have they run out of voicelines or something?" Rowan jested, catching the henchman with the Batclaw just before he went splat on the pavement. Unfortunately, the sudden arrest also left deep, stretching bruises across his shin. It must have fractured his tibia too, judging by the ear-splitting shriek.
'That ought to keep him down for a few months.'
“It isn't just you,” Done tapping a command to the Batmobile, the Dark Knight finally addressed. “There has been a… Shortage of henchmen lately.“
“A shortage of henchmen? In Gotham?! Are you serious?!!“
The Bat nodded. "They're retiring. Some from the injuries, others because crime is no longer profitable once you factor in the hospital bills."
"Well, would you look at that…" Twirling his staff, the Imp dangled his feet over the edge of the building. "We're actually putting a dent in their numbers."
He wouldn't say it aloud, but the thought filled him with pride.
His mentor, however, didn't seem to share the enthusiasm.
In fact, for the first time since they'd met, Bruce looked utterly… Lost.
After all, what was a Crusader with no Crusade to fight?
'But he doesn't have to be just Batman, does he?' Rowan thought, staring at the rigid line of his mentor's back, then cleared his throat. "So, since there's a shortage and all, do you, I don't know, want to hang out?"
"Hang out?" Repeated Dark Knight, as if the idea both repulsed and confused him.
"Well, yeah. I've been your ward for, what, almost three years now? And our interactions have been limited to training, the occasional meal, and patrol. C'mon... I want to know the Man too, not just the Myth."
“D-Do it, man. He just wants to connect with you…“ One of the previosly unconscious thugs suddenly wheezed. “I used to ask mah pa’, too. He always refused, and look where it got me.”
Both vigilantes turned, and he immediately cowered. “Or don’t! I—I’m not telling you what to do! I'm just saying, man, a purpose might be important, but you don’t have to make it your whole life…”
Tilting his head at the criminal’s dopey life advice, Rowan snorted. “What he said.”
With a final, withering glare that promised future pain, Bruce brushed off the thug's advise with a grunt and took off, plummeting from the rooftop. “My system just notified me of an ongoing heist.”
The awkward silence stretched between the two remaining figures on the roof—a wheezing, clearly doped-out-of-his-mind thug and the vigilante who just beat him to a pulp. Don’t ya fret. Yer ol’ man’s just awkward. Us old folks’re like that.”
“Dude, you seem reasonable enough… Why resort to crimes?“
“I like drugs, and the good shit's expensive.“ The henchman casually shrugged. "Where d'ya think all this wisdom comes from? It's the 'shrooms, man! It's the freakin' 'shrooms!"
Having expected some profound, intellectual, or moral dilemma, the Imp had to take a moment to facepalm at the answer. “So… You gonna cuff yourself, or should I?”
He followed shortly after, the cool night air whipping past his helmet as he zipped through the neon-drenched canyons of Gotham.
He found Bruce two blocks away, locked in a familiar, dangerous dance on the slick roof of the Gotham National Bank.
His mentor wasn’t trading blows; he was trading space, weaving through the cracking snaps of a bullwhip wielded by none other than the living symbol of femme fatale: Catwoman.
“Dyaaa-am!”
Those curves… That leather-clad ass! No wonder Bruce didn’t want to put her in jail…
She made every portrayal of Selina Kyle Hollywood had spewed out look cheap in comparison.
'Oh, he’s hitting that! He definitely hittin’ that! That's mah boy!' Rowan cheered internally, landing on a ventilation unit to enjoy the show just as Selina's whip coiled around Batman's gauntlet.
“You’ve gotten slower, big guy.” Catwoman purred, abandoning her weapon and flipping backward to avoid a lunge. “Getting old?”
“Selina…“ Batman growled back, quickly sidestepping a low sweep aimed at his ankles and circling the Rogue in a tense stalemate. “Um, I love when you say my name~”
'GODDYA-AAAM!!!'
That was when Rowan made his move, gliding from his perch and thursting his palms into the Bat's back, who in turn tumbled straight on top of the Cat.
"Oops! Sorry!" He chirped, sounding not at all apologetic. “Gadget malfunctioning!“
Trapped between the big, bad Bat and a cold wall that clashed sharply with her own body heat, Selina Kyle blinked, flustered… If only for a second as Bruce’s arm found its resting place around her waist. “Nice jawline, hero.”
Behind them, Rowan raised two enthusiastic thumbs-up before innocently declaring, “Wait…What’s that? I think I hear someone screaming for help! Don't worry, good civillain! The Imp's coming to your rescue!“
“Nice kid…” Head glued to the Dark Knight's chestplate, Catwoman traced slow, idle circles on his armor, mischievous eyes glancing up as she pushed him away. “So the rumors are true. You have a son now.“
“Robin isn't—” The Dark Knight made to deny, only to then backtrack.
“Womanizer.“ Catwoman snorted, and with a graceful twist, freed herself. But instead of bolting for the edge of the roof, she took a step back, crossing her arms as she appraised her old flame, who remained motionless where he stood.
"You're not running." He stated as a sly smile hooked up the corners of her lips.
"And miss the main event? Please."
Gesturing dismissively toward the bank below, the Rogue grinned.
"Bank heist is so... Crude. All that noise and brute force. It’s not my style. And besides,” Selina purred. "I'm not interested in the money tonight."
“Then why are you here?” the Dark Knight asked, even though her sweet moans were already starting to echo in the back of his mind.
Then, Selina’s gloved finger rose, gently tracing the sharp line of his jaw. “I saw someone on the news say you’ve got a very strong jawline. Thought I’d fact-check.”
What came next was a totally different kind of chase.
She led, and he followed—a pair of shadows dancing across the gargoyle-haunted rooftops of Gotham.
They hurried away from the blaring heart of the city; from the noise that'd mask theirs, their path leading to a more isolated spire overlooking the urban forest. Rationality… Logic… It all faded as they land on a secluded balcony high above the sleeping city, the rain finally beginning to soften around them as they began to shed their armor.
Briefly, the Dark Knight considered giving Alfred a heads-up—
Then he caught the glazed, lustful look the Cat was giving him,
And just like that, caution was thrown to the wind.
'Rowan will tell him.'
And tell Alfred, the boy did.
.
.
.
“Bruce and Selina, sittin’ in a tree! K-I-S-S-I-N—!”
Rubbing his temples, Bruce sighed tiredly. “How long has this been going on?”
“I’m afraid Master Rowan hasn’t let up since last night.“ The ever-dignified Pennyworth replied, his sigh draining what little warmth was left in the room.
Dick’s eyes widened, flicking between Rowan, the stone-faced billionaire, and the ever-suffering Batler. Then, with a resigned shrug, he joined his utterly shameless ‘uncle’ who was taking a massive bite of toast and powering through a shower of crumbs: ““First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in the—””
Bruce was just about to reprimand the boys when Alfred—traitor that he was—joined in the levity.
“Then comes the baby in the baby carriage…”
Turning a betrayed glare on his adoptive father, the Caped Crusader slowly lowered his cup.
His eyes—the only part of his face visible above the morning’s Gotham Gazette—narrowed into a glare so cold it burned.
"Master Rowan, Master Dick," Coming to Bruce's rescue, the Batler hid a smile and gently chided. "That's quite enough. There'll be no such… Uncivilized chanting at the breakfast table.“
Rowan threw his hands up in a gesture of pure innocence. “What? It’s a classic! A staple of every childhood! I’m just giving Dick a spelling lesson!”
Lips curving into a wretched, devious grin, the boy howled with laughter while mimicking Catwoman’s purrs. “Didn’t you teach Selina too? And judging by the scratch marks on your back, I’d say the session went veeee-ery well.”
“… I have a question.” Dick raised his hand, innocent as a newborn.
“Shoot.”
“Why'd there be scratch marks on Bruce’s back? Was it from fighting a villain?”
Rowan tried. He really did, but he simply couldn’t help it. Slapping the table with all his might, the Imp roared. “Oh, he was fighting, all right! He was CRUSADING all over that 'kitty!'”
The Imp might as well have had his fangs around the big, bad Bat's throat for all the psychological damage he’d dealt.
The newspaper snapped shut at last, the crinkle followed by Bruce’s gruff, irritated voice. “Rowan. Eat your breakfast.”
Leaning in his chair with a smug grin, the boy winked. “For all that it's worth: I ship it.”
Alfred closed his eyes for a moment, as if praying for a patience he knew he would never be granted, but Bruce and Rowan knew better. The Batler wanted to laugh just as much as the boy did—he just couldn’t bring himself to take part in such a vicious mutiny.
Eventually, the laughter died down, replaced by the familiar, quiet clinking of silverware against fine china.
Rowan, looking immensely pleased with himself, plopped a slice of bacon in his mouth.
Bruce, meanwhile, merely resumed reading his Gazette, holding up the newspaper like it would protect him from further assaults on his dignity. And Alfred? The Batler was back to his usual routine, silently learing the empty plates from the table.
The earlier levity had long faded into the ever-welcoming quietness.
“Mr. Wayne…” Dick began, only to correct himself a moment later. “Bruce, I’ve been here for weeks. I’ve seen what you and Rowan do every night… You fight for people who can’t fight for themselves. You give them hope when there’s none left. You gave me hope that Justice will prevail. And, well, I'd like to pay it forward.“
For a brief second, Rowan considered cracking another joke. Gaslighting the kid was surprisingly fun, mostly because of how damn entertaining Richard could be. But—'Bruce does need someone to look out for him. And Richard…'
Whether this Variant of the Dark Knight judged the boy worthy or not, Grayson needed a Purpose beyond merely existing.
“The situation in Gotham is volatile,” The Crusader replied at last, and while it wasn’t exactly the answer Dick had hoped for, it wasn't a 'No' either. “There are threats I don’t fully understand. Bringing someone new in now would be reckless.“
Smacking his lips, Rowan drawled, “Buuut…”
“Your time will come; IF you still feel the same way then.”
“Just accept it. That’s as good as you’re gonna get.” Patting Richard’s shoulder, Rowan murmured, “Took me two years before he let me loose on Gotham. But hey, you seem like a fast learner… I’m sure you’ll beat my record in no time.”
Pushing his chair back, Rowan was just about to make a break for the gym when the billionaire stopped him. “Get changed into something simpler. Both of you. We’re headed out.”
“Now? In broad daylight?“
If that wasn’t surprising enough, the man then turned to the Batler. “You too, Alfred. And get the Civic.”
“The Civic?“ It was the cheapest, most unassuming car in the entire Wayne motor pool—a decade-old sedan Bruce probably kept for sentimental reasons and hadn’t used once in all the time Rowan had lived under his roof.
“Are we going somewhere?” Dick asked hesitantly.
Seeing the question in his wards, Bruce finally set the paper down. For the first time all morning, the hard lines of the Batman seemed to have softened, leaving something more weary, uncertain and perhaps even with a touch of guilt in their place as he looked at Rowan.
“My methods are designed for soldiers. For the mission. I have not… Allowed for much else. But my lifestyle doesn't necessarily have to be yours, and it shouldn't.“
Only when he put it into words, and saw the wide-eyed confusion in both boys, did Bruce realize how terribly he’d handled things… Not just with Dick, but with Rowan. The moment he learned the boy had Demon in his DNA, Bruce had started treating him not like a ward, but a potential enemy to be tamed.
His treatment of the boy was unbecoming, and it disgusted even he himself.
“It may be late, but I'd like for you two to be just kids today. I'd like to… Hang, as you put it.“
“Bruce, if you're being blackmailed, blink twice.“
Forehead throbbing with veins, the Dark Knight pivoted on his heel. “Just get ready.”
The inside of the Honda Civic was a far cry from the silent, armored cabin of the Batmobile or the plush leather of the manor's Rolls Royce. It was cramped, smelled faintly of old air freshener, and the seats were covered in a durable, but otherwise unremarkable grey fabric.
Squeezed together in the back, Rowan and Dick stared at Bruce, who sat rigid in the passenger seat, looking deeply; existentially uncomfortable.
Alfred, at the wheel, adjusted the rearview mirror, then smoothly pulled out of the long driveway and onto the main road. "Where to, Master Bruce?" To Rowan’s utter bewilderment, the Bat turned his gaze in his direction, as if expecting him to already have a destination in mind.
Unfortunately, no such miracle occurred.
A flicker of frustration crossed Rowan's face before being replaced by a sly smirk.
He had a simple rule for situations like this: When in doubt, delegate. “Where to, Dick?“
Like a deer in headlights, the Acrobat stuttered. “We can get ice cream?”
The older boy let out a short, barking laugh and ruffled Richard’s hair. “You two heard the kid. Ice cream it is.”
The car idled at the end of the long driveway, engine humming quietly.
A full minute had passed, and they still hadn't moved.
Rowan leaned forward again, poking his head between the front seats. “Uh, is everything okay up there?“
Alfred’s eyes met his in the rearview mirror.
For the first time since Rowan had known him, the butler looked genuinely perplexed.
“Apologies, Master Rowan, it appears we have a slight logistical issue. While I have the destination, I am… Unfamiliar with the specific purveyors of quality ice cream within the city limits.”
Rowan stared owlishly. “You’re shitting me… You’re telling me neither of you knows where to get ice cream?”
“I never cared for it as a child, so Alfred had never had a reason to procure it on my behalf.”
Head thudding against the seat, the white-haired Half-Fiend groaned, unable to believe the world’s Greatest Detective and his usually endlessly capable Batler were being stumped by a scoop of frozen dessert. “What, you never hung out with friends or something?”
“I did in my teens,” Bruce replied, completely deadpan. “But we mostly spent time in nightclubs.”
Trying to stifle a laugh and failing spectacularly, Dick hid his smile behind a clenched fist. Meanwhile, Rowan sighed, then immediately perked up. “I think I know where we’ll go after that ice cream.”
The Batler didn’t even bother to glance back. “I'll not take you to a nightclub. That is not a scene children ought to see…”
“I wasn’t talking about nightclubs!” The Demon huffed, arms crossed like he had just been deeply wronged and misunderstood. “I was talking about strip clubs!”
“Master Rowan… You just had to do it, didn't you?“
“The opportunity was right there.“ The Hellspawn shrugged, utterly unrepentant.
“One day, self-restraint will occur to you… I only pray I live long enough to see it.“
“Oh, c'mon Alfie! Don't sound so glum! The way I see it, you've got another fifteen years before retirement.“
“And every one of them will feel longer than the last, thanks to you. Also, if you ever call me 'Alfie' again…”
After a brief, but intense debate in the car, they ended up on a cracked sidewalk in the Diamond District, a place none of them besides Rowan had frequented. It was a hole-in-the-wall with a small, brightly painted window attached to the side of a pawn shop, with a faded, buzzing and flickering neon sign shaped like an ice cream cone.
Admittedly, he'd never tried their products, being a street urchin and all, but he'd heard nothing but good things about it.
Stripped of the billionaire’s sharp tailoring, the crisp butler uniform, and the intimidating mesh of Kevlar and interlocking plates, the four most extraordinary people in Gotham looked jarringly… Normal.
Holding a simple vanilla cone, Dick looked happier than Rowan had ever seen him, a small dab of white on his nose.
Rowan himself was already halfway through a monstrous mustard cone, while Alfred held a small cup of strawberry, which he enjoyed with a tiny plastic spoon.
Bruce, in the meantime, was staring at his chocolate cone as if it were a complex piece of alien technology he had to dismantle…
They hit to the zoo next, where Dick—accompanied by the Batler—practically teleported from enclosure to enclosure, oh'ing and ah'ing the entire time. “The kid looks happy.“
“He does.“ Bruce responded stoically, then added. “What about you?“
“What about me?“
“Are you enjoying yourself?“
“I guess I am…” Rowan rubbed his chin, thoughtful for once. “You?”
“… I guess I am too.“ It didn’t take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Bruce wasn’t built for this kind of casual conversation, and neither was Rowan for sincerity.
Knee bouncing with a caffeine-fueled twitch, Rowan asked, “So… When are you letting him off the leash?”
"He's not ready."
“Not ready?” Rowan scoffed. “The kid’s a goddamn natural. He’s crushed every test I’ve thrown at him. He’s sharp, he’s driven and he’s in it for all the right reasons. Hell, I'll even go as far as to say his put mine to shame.“
He could lie to himself; to Bruce and say it was all for Gotham, but Rowan saw no point in pretending.
He liked beating criminals down; liked reveling in the strength he’d painstakingly built.
Dick, on the other hand, wanted to bring Hope to this dumpster fire, which—in his humble opinions—was a Cause far nobler than the Demons that drove both he and Bruce to seek comfort in the dark.
“You're selling yourself short.“
“Not really… I just understand myself better than most. I mean, let's be real, if I bite the dust right here; right now, there'll be no pearly gates welcoming me in. Shit, I'd probably fall straight down.“
The boy had said it so plainly, with such matter-of-fact certainty, that Bruce simply couldn't dismiss it as another one of his 'jokes'. But enough about me. Why are you putting his training off? You threw me into the wringer in, what, days? Did I just have a punchable face or what?”
“Try a punchable personality and a smackable mouth.“ The big, bad Bat snarked.
“A joke? I knew it! You're not the real Bruce, are you?! You're a shapeshifting impostor!!!“
Glowering under his cap, Bruce suddenly relaxed, rubbing his jaw tensely. “Circumstances were different.“
“You mean I'm a Demon, and Dick isn't.“
The Knight looked—dare he say it—guilty, if only for half a second.
“Don’t worry. I get it. Demons have a bad rep for a reason. But that doesn’t explain why you’re still holding back. Even if he backs out later, your training would probably set the kid up for life.”
“I trust you’ve got it handled.”
“Oh, I’m good, but I’m no Batman. C'mon, Bruce.”
Rowan pushed.
“There's another reason you're holding back. What is it?“
Clearing his throat, the Dark Knight finally answered. “It’s come to my attention that people don’t like to feel replaceable, or like someone else’s replacement.”
“It’s okay. I don’t care, and…” His gaze drifted to the Acrobat, who appeared utterly enamored with a gorilla that had just sprayed wet brown all over the glass.
“Ew!“
Chuckling at the scene, he continued with half-lidded eyes. “I don’t think Dick will mind either.”
Grunting in acknowledgement, the Dark Knight caved at last.
“His training will start in a month. Until then, I want you two to focus on being kids.”
Comments
Ano Nymous
Guess I'll have to do better than😆
Yandere Supremacy
I love the way you portrayed Batman and his growth in this story. It’s been one of my favourite parts of reading it
