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Jim Gordon told himself that this whole arrangement started when Alfred Pennyworth was constantly calling him because his ward was repeatedly driving him over the edge of sanity and if Master Gordon did not get his bloody arse to the manor right this very second, Master Bruce would end up being a pancake on the gravel. And then road kill by a very exasperated valet although there would be absolutely no proof. In truth, it probably all started when the Waynes died and left their highly impressionable eight year old behind, who then decided that Jim Gordon was the best thing since sliced bread, or whatever it was that rich folk with a butler and manor ate in the mornings.
And Jim was touched by it, he really was, but honestly he was just trying to do his job in this dammed hellhole of a city, and Bruce could you please stop trying to conquer fear by jumping off rooftops and injuring yourself? Poor Alfred is going to have a heart attack and then have you experience the same pain by ripping out your myocardium.
Who knew that valets were so murderous towards their charges?
Long story short, rookie detective Gordon found himself visiting Wayne manor more and more than just those few drop bys when Bruce’s parents first died. More like, every other day and wasn’t that just a killer on his car since Wayne manor was oh so conveniently located on the outskirts of Gotham, a good distance away from the hustle and bustle of the city. And instead of doing the smart thing and just saying no every time Alfred called to complain about Master Bruce, - who was apparently getting creative with his latest stunts and always greeted Jim with a small smirk on his face as he came in through the front doors. Jim was starting to suspect foul play at work but the kid was too damn clever to leave behind evidence about his sudden fascination with leaping from the balcony to the chandelier. – Jim kept agreeing to make the long drive up to put a stop to Bruce’s latest antics and impart words of wisdom that he made up on the fly. Sometimes, Jim thought that Bruce was taking his quotes and mixing up the meaning to fit in his own eight-year-old traumatic world.
Dear god, Bruce was going to get himself killed before he even reached double digits, wasn’t he?
Alfred had implored him, - and who even used a word like implored nowadays? – to borrow one of the many Wayne cars sitting collecting dust in the garage. “It would be helpful if you would stop being a problem with creating pollution with your ancient vehicle, Master Gordon.” Alfred had said. Jim protested, sure his car wasn’t the top-of-the line-manufactured goods that the Wayne family had, but it was still his. “Oh honestly, just leave your gas guzzling economical disaster here and just drive the silver car. Goodness knows you’ll be saving me from an early death of lung cancer.”
So Jim had been roped into traveling back and forth between Gotham police station and the Wayne manor and his apartment plus Barb’s flat in a hybrid that had a speed boost Jim was 95% certain was illegal. Bullock had raised an eyebrow or two over his new ride, but wisely kept his trap shut. It was the smartest move that Jim had ever seen his senior partner do.
Then his breakup with Barbara happened and Jim just couldn’t stay alone in his apartment. Well he could have, and quite easily, but he didn’t want to. And Alfred was more than happy to accommodate him into the manor since someone actually appreciated all his efforts in the kitchen. Bruce at least had the decency to look slightly abashed at Alfred’s pointed glare.
For how corrupt the force was, Jim was never able to make himself leave. So his days turned into spending mornings and afternoons (and sometimes the dead of night) in the office or walking around the streets of Gotham. The evenings were a pleasurable experience with Alfred’s cooking and Bruce sitting on the chair and swinging his legs around since the chair was still too large for him to put his feet flat on the floor. Alfred would go over Bruce’s latest exploits, handcuffing himself to one of the water pipes down in the basement with a paper clip being used as a makeshift lock pick, please mind your things Master Gordon and hide them away from Master Bruce if you don’t mind. Then Jim would give some inspiring speech that he wouldn’t remember ten minutes later, but he was sure Bruce had taken to heart and then it would be time for Jim to spill about how his day went. Even though as a detective Gordon wasn’t exactly supposed to be spilling police secrets, the combined glares and stares of the members of the Wayne household were more than enough to spill the beans.
He bet even Fish Mooney would have trouble saying no to them.
Things got interesting when Oswald freaking Cobblepot somehow managed to figure out where Gordon was staying and dropped by for a visit. And by interesting, Jim meant that he was exceedingly close to start strangling the man right in front of Bruce who was staring at Oswald like he was a new puzzle to play with.
“How in the world did you follow me here?”
“Oh, I just hopped in the trunk of your car. Your driving is really terrible, by the way.”
“Isn’t that illegal?” Bruce interjected, just slightly hiding behind Gordon.
“Oh absolutely. But I really needed to talk to my friend Detective Gordon so some measures had to be taken.” Cobblepot had nodded quickly, his neck moving up and down so quickly Gordon was slightly afraid his head would just fall off. Bruce’s face lit up like a Christmas tree, and he did the most childlike thing Gordon had ever seen him do since he first Bruce months ago. He ran up to Oswald and started dragging him to his room, shouting about learning how to get away with illegal acts of detective work. At least the kid was honest.
Alfred was going to murder him. Or maybe restrict Jim from his culinary delights, which would basically be the same as being murdered but more in a heartbreak way rather than having his body sliced into multiple pieces and scattered among the wind. The butler had confided in Jim that he had been recruited for the British spy agencies; it was something he could do with his eyes shut.
When Alfred met Oswald an hour later, all he did was eye the man and then sweep out of the room, muttering about how no one apparently ate down in the city, do you people not know what a grocery store is, and that dinner would be in an hour.
Oswald had stammered something that went ignored and Bruce promptly informed him that he better hurry with his explanation of manipulating the truth to mess with people or else they would be late for dinner and then Alfred would be disappointed.
No one wanted Alfred to be disappointed.
Gordon hung around the doorway for the next hour, just watching Bruce open up to someone who wasn’t himself or Alfred. And although the topics were something he wished Bruce wouldn’t know about, it wasn’t like he was the boy’s guardian to tell him to stop.
Dinner was rather uneventful. Cobblepot stammered some excuse that he needed to go, Alfred glared at him, and Oswald sat down next to Bruce with Gordon in his customary seat across the table from them both. Alfred had seated himself next to Gordon and constantly reminded both Master Bruce and Master Cobblepot to please use your manners on the dinner table, unless no one wants desert.
Jim wasn’t exactly surprised that Bruce pleaded for Oswald to stay and Alfred somehow managed to convince the man to come over for babysitting duties several times during the week so Alfred could take a nice relaxing time away from Master Bruce. Besides, this would probably get Cobblepot out of Gordon’s hair for a while, especially since this whole turf war nonsense was starting to pick up steam. And the last thing Gordon wanted was for Oswald to go and get himself actually killed, especially after he bonded with Bruce so well.
He wasn’t going to question how the two of them bonded, he wasn’t.
The next few weeks passed by in some sort of mixed blur that involved more chase downs with Bullock, a surprise meeting with Falcone, some sort of gun fight that was hazy from a concussion obtained by getting his head slammed against a brick wall, and a meet up with Barbara who told him she was pregnant but getting back together with Montoya, because she just couldn’t handle the secrets.
“But you still needed to know about this even though I’ll be with someone else, Jim.” She had said. And Jim got that; he could understand that sentiment, even if he slightly hated it. Hated because he still loved Barbara, still probably would, and oh god, this is what Montoya must have felt like. But she got Barbara back, and now…. Well now Jim had Bruce and Alfred. He just wished that Renee wouldn’t have tried to drown his professional career because of jealousy of a personal matter.
Life went on. Maroni and Falcone had their little spat over Arkham and Gotham remained standing. What more could he ask for? Alfred subtlety brought over paperwork to change his residence to officially be Wayne manor, news that surprised and excited both him and Bruce. Oswald was starting his own territory gain somewhere on the west side of Gotham, he just couldn’t stop those itchy fingers of his from doing something with crime, and still visiting the manor on a weekly basis to spend time with Bruce and his new stalker friend, Selina, who Bruce had spotted sitting on the garden wall. Rather than do the smart thing and tell either Alfred or Jim, Bruce simply ran out and offered Selina, Cat, a chance to come in from the ghastly rain that had plagued the city for the past few days. She would come and go as she pleased, staying in the manor anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks at a time. Oswald would come and babysit the two of them, and Alfred would pay him in brownies. Jim made sure Selina and Oswald didn’t get too far out of line doing their work on the streets; he couldn’t stop them unless they specifically crossed the line (and he knew Oswald had crossed it several times already) but he could have contacts in the streets for a bit of more controlled crime. Cobblepot as a crime lord was both efficient and terrifying Gordon had whispered to Bullock once while they were on an information gathering run. Apart from the few swear words aimed in his direction for not killing that penguin kid when he had the chance, Bullock was rather amiable about the entire situation.
Crime was crime, no matter who was running the show. But it did make things easier having the head honcho on speed dial. Or at least that’s what Harvey had said with his mouth full with a hot dog. Gordon disagreed, but then again if Gotham were like any other city with a competent police force, then there wouldn’t be a head crime lord to worry about. And it wasn’t like Gordon didn’t like the kid; he did. Those weekly dinners watching the man said to be ruthless cower from a glare of a butler for not sitting up straight had softened Gordon’s initial annoyance of him. But the fact that it still was so easy to bribe a way out, or set someone up wouldn’t ever sit well with Jim. But he’s learned its better to just pick and fight his battles. Otherwise he’d never stop arguing with anyone.
But right now? Now everything is good.
Typical of Gotham, nothing ever stayed good for very long. Jim supposed he should have gotten used to it when he first came back to the city. It had been five years since the head of the Wayne family and his wife had died. The Maroni and Falcone rivalry had been completely obliterated and Penguin was the sole gang leader left in Gotham, running his operations out of his new club. (And as long as it wasn’t too illegal, Jim turned a blind eye and deaf ear when Oswald stopped by to brag.) Cat had a room of her own, although the 18 year old never stayed long. Jim and Alfred were both raising Bruce (and Selina, although no one ever voiced it out loud). Bruce at 13 was forcing himself to be included more in Wayne Enterprises, something that more than half of the current board members disliked. Which only made Bruce involve himself even further, determined to be the best there ever was and to piss off those old farts who can’t tell their own heads from their asses. Bruce claimed those were Selina’s words with wide eyes, something Alfred didn’t believe for a second. Jim had moved up in the force, no longer the rookie detective, but someone more seasoned. Harvey was still his partner, and after five years, Jim couldn’t imagine having another partner to work with on the streets of Gotham. Luckily for him, the feeling was mutual. Although Bullock’s words were more along the lines of “finally got you trained to take a proper lunch break; ain’t startin’ over with a greenie now.”
It was a Tuesday morning during the sticky hot month of July when Montoya nearly broke down the old wooden doors to the manor by knocking. Jim was just getting ready to leave for the bullpen when Alfred hollered for him at the front entrance. Jim ran up the hallway, slowing down to ruffle Bruce’s hair as he peaked from around the corner.
“What’s going on? Is there a fire?”
“Door for you, Master Jim. Stop hiding Master Bruce and come let’s go get breakfast.” Alfred stepped back, leaving Jim alone with Renee Montoya with a toddler holding her hand.
“Er… you want to…come inside?” Montoya shook her head and nudged the girl standing next to her forward. She refused, clinging tightly to Montoya’s hand and pressing herself to the older woman’s side.
“There was an accident.” Montoya said crisply. “Barb… Barbara’s car was found totaled by the bridge, but no trace of her.”
Jim could have sworn he felt his heart fall straight into his stomach. “…What?”
“I need you to look after Barbara here, she is your daughter after all. I need you to look after her for a while so I can find out the truth.”
“Montoya…..”
“Montoya-Kean. We got married before Barbara came along.”
“Let me help you. I’ll call off work and come along to see the scene and-“
“No!” Renee looked close to tears. “No, I need you to watch Barbara. Someone needs to watch her and I don’t want to have her see me when I’m this close to a case.” Jim closed his eyes for a few long moments, trying to get his trembling limbs to function, trying to find the right words to say in this sort of situation.
“Alright.” What else could he do but agree?
“You’ll do it?”
“I said I would, didn’t I? Bruce will enjoy the company.” Jim sighed. “Just, make sure you call everyday, will you? And keep me up to date?” Montoya nodded, then looked down to her daughter.
“Come on, Babs.” Renee murmured. “Time to go, I’ll be back soon.”
Barbara started to cry. “No, don’t go Mom! I promise I’ll be good, don’t leave me behind!” Jim could feel his heart breaking as he knelt down.
“Hey there, Barbara.”
She pushed her face in Renee’s leg and wailed. “Babs, let go.” Renee said pushing Barbara off. “This is your dad, remember we talked about it in the car. You’ll be visiting him for a few days.”
“I have you and mom, I don’t have a dad!”
“Yes you do. Now go and I’ll call you in a few hours, alright?” Renee gently pulled herself away from Barbara’s grip and walked off.
“Remember to stay in touch!” Jim called. “Do you even have my phone number?”
“Of course I do, Gordon. Your partner doesn’t mind spilling a few tips for the right price, after all.”
“Goddammit, Bullock.” Jim muttered under his breath. He would have to yell at him later for handing out his cell number.
Jim and Barbara watched as Renee Montoya marched up to her car and drove away, the girl’s cries nothing more than sniffles now. It was only when they couldn’t see the car anymore that Jim cleared his throat and held out a hand.
“So, I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m detective James Gordon.” To his relief, a small hand found itself in his open palm.
“Barbara Montoya-Kean.” A whisper met his ears. “I’m sorry about earlier, I know you’re my dad.”
“Hey, its alright. How about we go inside and say hello to everyone before a bit of breakfast? I’m sure Alfred will still have something out for us.” She nodded and Jim stood, making sure to hold Barbara’s hand as they walked to the kitchen. He’d have to call Harvey and tell him he couldn’t make it in today.
A few days ended up being nearly a week and a half before Montoya came zooming back to the manor to take Barbara back home. As predicted, Bruce adored Barbara, claiming she was the little sister he’d always wanted and making her giggle. Jim juggled work and spending time with both Barbara and Bruce, getting to learn about his daughter and the four years he had missed out in her life. Montoya kept her promise and called every day and kept Jim updated, although more than once Jim could hear a hitch in her voice as she spoke to Barbara.
Before she left, Jim made Renee agree to drop off Barbara whenever she needed to, or whenever Barbara wanted to stop by.
For years Barbara would come over every summer and her mother would continue to hunt down the still missing Barbara Montoya-Kean Sr. despite the trail and case having gone cold. But that didn’t stop Renee from trying, her obsession to solve this mystery only growing as the years went by. When she was thirteen, Barbara elected to permanently move in at the Wayne manor, unable to live with her mother any longer due to clashing personalities. Jim had thought Renee would be furious at him for agreeing, but when they chatted over the phone, she was relieved.
“I love her, Jim, I do. But we fight so much that I don’t know if we’re both trying to kill each other with words.” She confessed. “And I can’t stop looking for Barb, I can’t.”
Bruce was twenty-two when Barbara moved in for good. He was head CEO of Wayne Enterprises and with a new board of members, was making progress in slowly expanding the company for a more international field. On the side, he was taking classes online for graduate studies in economics and criminal law, and Alfred couldn’t have been more proud.
“I think that had you not come to be a more permanent fixture in Master Bruce’s life, he might have decided to go running around rooftops in a silly costume to deal with the criminals.” Alfred had been cooking dinner at the time and Jim had gotten off work early for once to watch him work his magic. “He always was such a dramatic child, even at the best of times.”
Oswald, who was going only by Penguin nowadays, had been refusing to stop by for the past few years, claiming to be too busy with his crime rings and taking sole control of Gotham’s underground. But Jim knew for a fact that Bruce still called every week, demanding he return for some of Alfred’s potpie to no avail. But Jim wasn’t too worried; Oswald had gotten much better at taking care of himself and covering his tracks when necessary, and Jim also knew Selina was keeping an eye out since she ran in similar circles as Oswald. Some of the new independent criminals were far too psychotic and creative for Jim’s ease of mind, but those two could take care of themselves. (It never stopped the nagging worry whenever he got word of either Selina’s or Oswald’s antics that managed to make it to police floor, though.)
“He’ll show up sooner or later.” Alfred shrugged. “Poor boy still doesn’t know how to was a dish properly.”
Jim wished he could have Alfred’s level of confidence in these matters.
Selina came over much more frequently than she had years ago, spending much of the time behind locked doors with Bruce, although both Jim and Alfred pretended not to realize the reason why Selina decided to visit. Jim had to constantly restrain Alfred from showering Bruce with hundreds of plans he had designed for their eventual wedding.
“Alfred, you don’t even know that they want to get hitched.”
“My boy, I have seen those two grow up together for the past fourteen years. There is no way that they are not going to get hitched, as you say. All they really need at this point is the ceremony to make it official anyways. Now keep those pages away from the fire, I worked hard on it.”
Barbara and Selina got along like a seesaw. One minute they would be wildfires trying to consume the other, and the next they would be the best of friends, despite the large age gap between the two. One could get whiplash if they stared at it for too long.
Which was why Jim simply nodded when both of them came to him about the something the other did, agreed with whatever they said and send them over to Alfred who would set them straight. No matter what Alfred said, Jim was not metaphorically hiding behind the long time butler. Nope, not at all. He was outright tossing the problem and running as far away from it as possible. It was a perfectly tactical move on his part.
It was the next year that something new happened to the little put-together family living at Wayne manor. Bruce had gone to the circus that stopped in town; it was their finale night and the head of the circus, Haly, had wanted to make it extravagant for the donors who had so kindly sponsored their arrival. Wayne Enterprises had paid for about a third of the total, while the Drakes, the Wayne Manor’s next-door neighbor about a mile away paid another third. Jim didn’t know who paid the last third of the sponsorship; he never thought it was important to go digging up information for a traveling circus on the edge of town when he had other matters to attend to.
From what Bruce said when Gordon was called out that night for the death of the trapeze artists, the moment that the two bodies hit the floor with a sickening thud, Bruce had clamored out of his seat and to the little boy who was sitting shell-shocked at the foot of the ladder up to wires. While everyone else swarmed the center ring, Bruce moved the kid away from the crowd of vultures (his words, not Jim’s).
“Little Timothy Drake even came to sit next to us. I was surprised Janet let him out of her sight at the circus of all places, but she did and he spent nearly an hour just hugging Dick, while I talked.” Bruce confessed to Jim once they arrived back home at the manor.
It had been ruled that the deaths of the Graysons had been an act of murder, an ends to justify a failed insurance scam by Tony Zucco who had been noted with suspicion for previous allegations but never placed at the scene of the crime. Richard Grayson, the kid, over heard Zucco threatening Haly the day before the fatal show and had seen a man around his height and build leaving backstage minutes before the start of the show. Jim had talked to the social worker in charge of Richard’s case who had told him that the child would be placed in the foster home system until family could be found, or in the case that there was no family, until he was adopted.
“Excuse me, Mr. Gordon.” A small hand pulled on his jacket, striving to get his attention. Jim must have dozed off.
“What’s up, kiddo?” Jim was meeting with Richard a few days after the death of his parents for his official statement for the police records.
Richard bit his bottom lip, looking down at the floor for a few seconds before responding.
“Um, do you know Mr. Wayne?” Jim nodded. “Well, my last night at…. at the circus. He told me something to help with nightmares but I don’t remember what he said. Do you think you could find out?”
Nightmares. Poor kid was stuck in a strange place where he knew no one and of course he would be reliving his parent’s fall over and over in his mind. The way Gotham treated children within her borders was cruel.
“I’ll do you one better, Richard.” Jim grinned and reached for the phone in his pocket. “How about I give Mr. Wayne,” and wasn’t it hilarious to hear this little kid call Bruce Mr. Wayne? “a call right now and you can ask him yourself?” The speed in which Richard’s face lit up should not have been possible.
“Really? He won’t mind if I call? Isn’t he busy though?” the kid’s face scrunched up after his last question. “And please don’t call me Richard. It makes me sound so not tentious.”
“Tentious?”
“Yup. I’d rather be tentious than pretentious, it’s just silly.” Jim laughed as he started dialing a number he had long since memorized.
Jim never knew what was said between Bruce and Dick during that phone call, but he did know that the kid managed to wheedle out Bruce’s phone number out of him and memorize it and then proceed to plead the managers of the juvie center where he was staying until an orphanage opened up into calling Bruce every single day.
Bruce adored it. Even Barbara had commented on how often Bruce kept looking at his phone waiting for a call and she nowadays was usually too wrapped up in computer programming to notice anything else around her. (Jim just knew that he didn’t really want to know what she was doing on the computer, so he never asked any questions. Especially when his daughter presented him with a free album of greatest rock hits for his music player. Bribery strikes yet again.)
It was four months later that all the paperwork went through and Bruce was finally able to adopt Richard Grayson-Wayne from the juvie center and into the manor. Apparently, even though there had been an opening in a few orphanages during his time there, Dick preferred to stay since he had made so many friends with the staff and other children. Jim suspected it was his personality plus Dick’s ability to literally flip over everyone’s head. That trick was always a crowd pleaser.
The first thing the twelve year old did after entering the manor for the first time with wide eyes and jaw dropped, was ask if Bruce knew who Timmy was since he gave great hugs and Dick really, really wanted to thank him for it.
And that’s how Timothy Drake started spending his afternoons and weekends at the Wayne Manor with the blessings of his parents, especially when they went off for one of their numerous trips.
Barbara was just pleased that she now had two people she could assert her authority over, instead of being the youngest in the household. The boys adored her enough to be her little minions and tackle Selina whenever she crawled into the manor from a window.
It would then escalate into a tickle war since Selina Kyle was a very difficult woman to pin down for long, and Dick and Tim would suffer the brunt of her attack and up running down the hallways in laughter and screams.
“Mistress Selina, quit chasing those hooligans down the halls leading to the perishable items, or you will be joining them in cleaning up the mess and polishing my silverware!” Alfred would shout, while Bruce, Barbara, and Jim would attempt to hold in their guffaws at Alfred’s threats to no avail.
Although his threats really weren’t a laughing matter since Alfred was rather good at making people do his bidding whether they wanted to or not; it was a fearsome power.
By this point in time, Bruce was a legal consultant on matters of homicide and social services of children to the police force in Gotham as well as being CEO of Wayne Enterprises. Bruce had turned the company’s gaze inward, focusing on building more orphanages for the far too many homeless children in Gotham. Jim had managed to get promoted to Commissioner, something that Harvey Bullock had no problem teasing him over. Even after all these years, they were still partners, regardless of positions.
Selina was still enjoying her nightlife as a collector of shiny objects, but seeing how she always returned the items she stole, apart from the few bits of spare change she collected to feed her rapidly growing cat army, Jim never bothered trying to arrest her. Especially since there was no proof on paper that Selina was the actual culprit and the only reason Jim had figured it out was because she kept giving her “gifts” to Bruce, who would later hand it to Jim.
Besides, thievery was nothing in Gotham compared to the psychotic homicides that made up more than sixty percent of crimes in the city. No use wasting precious resources for something that could be overlooked. No one got hurt, and there were relatively few tears. Gordon counted that a very good day.
Sometimes Jim wondered if his life was a video game, with how the criminals of Gotham preferred to dress in extravagant costumes and use over the top weaponry for their plans.
In other cities, Jim had heard, there were beings that were being called Superheroes for protecting the innocent and apprehending criminals. Science experiments gone wrong, aliens, lightening bolts… the list went on for these mysterious good-willed costumed vigilantes.
Gotham didn’t have caped crusader jumping on rooftops to save her. She didn’t need one, nor did she want one. (There had been that brief period of time where Bruce was trying to make a costume shaped like a bat to scare the criminals of Gotham, and if one asked Alfred on a good day, he might decide to share the pictures.)
Dick had once said that Gotham reminded him of life under the tent. The circus thrived on chaos in an orderly fashion and was almost alive in choosing her favorite children to keep performing. Gotham had the same vibe, he had muttered sleepily on the couch watching the news for yet another murder that had taken place. If you didn’t impress her, she had no more use for you.
Any other police officer in any other town would have assumed that Dick was speaking nonsense, but Jim routinely had to track down a man who sprayed laughing gas on people to kill them while making his minions dress up as clowns; Dick’s comparison didn’t seem too far-fetched. To be honest, nothing in Gotham could have been expected by anyone to learn at the police academy. There was always something new, big, and bad walking down some street or the other.
Like now, where it was about noon and Jim had received a text from Alfred stating that Oswald had decided to bless the manor with his presence with a new friend and could Jim please pick up a few groceries before he came back to the manor so Alfred could whip up a proper meal.
If I didn’t know any better, I would say the boy has forgotten how to eat anything besides take out. Somehow, Jim could picture Alfred turning up his nose in disdain at the very thought, even though a text message.
Isn’t he a bit old to be considered a boy any longer, Alfred?
When all of you can collectively add your maturity levels to match mine, then I shall have discussions about how old you lot think you are.
When Jim got home later that night, requested groceries stacked nicely in the bags currently in his arms, it was to see Oswald trapped in a chair at the dinner table by the force of Alfred’s glare and Tim sitting innocently on his lap, and a teenager around Dick’s age pouting with his arms crossed at his chest, sitting sullenly next to Dick.
“Ah good, you’ve brought the food.” Alfred said, sweeping in to take the groceries from Jim. “Go socialize, Master Bruce should be down in a second. Dinner will be ready in an hour.”
When Bruce finally came down, - “took you long enough, old man. What were you doing, pampering yourself?” “Jason, mind your manners!” – introductions were made and it was story time around the dining hall.
Turned out Selina picked up the kid, Jason, from the streets. “In her words,” Oswald had said stiffly, “he was a kitten after her own heart. Copying her techniques and everything.”
“Well, I gotta have a role model, don’t I Cobblepot?” Jason shouted.
“Selina’s a good role model to have.” Tim chirped from his spot on Oswald’s lap. “She’s super nice and makes great cream puffs.” Apparently Oswald had built up some sort of immunity to Alfred’s glare in their earlier war of getting the mob boss to stay for dinner, so the butler had employed Tim’s services.
“That she does.” Jason nodded.
Selina had to go out of town for a few days for a job; no one bothered asking what type of job and Jim made a mental note to keep an eye out for any high profile robberies in neighboring cities. She had left Jason with Cobblepot with strict instructions to drop him off at Wayne manor that night since she was in a rush and couldn’t make it all the way to the manor and to the train station before her ride came along.
“She threatened to scratch his eyes out if he didn’t do what she said.” Jason grinned gleefully. “I ain’t never seen a guy shriek in fear that loudly before.” Oswald’s ears had burned red and Jim walked around to pat the poor kid on the shoulder amidst
Bruce’s loud chortles and Dick’s giggles. Even Tim was grinning up at Oswald.
“There, there, Oswald. Everyone knows not to mess with Selina. Nothing to be ashamed of for a healthy dose of fear where it’s due.”
“I wasn’t scared.” Oswald muttered. “Especially not of her.”
“Of course not Master Oswald.” Alfred had come back from the kitchen, apron tied snugly around his waist. “Now, if you are all done chatting, I believe there is a dinner waiting to be eaten.”
The one good thing about the night Jason came along is that it forced Oswald to come visit more often, much to the enjoyment of Bruce and Selina whenever she was in town. The boys were warming up to Oswald’s personality after each visit; Dick personally thought he was a riot. The bad thing about Jason coming along was Jason coming along to corrupt Dick and Tim to do his evil bidding. Or maybe that was only when Jim was on babysitting duty.
On those rare days when Alfred left the manor, which always seemed to be on those days that Jim had off from heading to the office, – Coincidence? Most definitely not. – the commissioner was the boss man of the house for those few hours. And whenever Selina had dropped Jason off, which was becoming much more frequent as she decided that the best place for Jason to grow up in was a huge ass manor rather than the apartment she rented out, and Tim’s parents decided to leave the country yet again, the three boys would run wild. Unluckily for Jim, Barbara had gone off for college a few cities away, so she couldn’t help; although she did call everyday to complain about the stupidity of her peers. Jim sympathized.
Jim had thought it was bad with just two boys.
Three was a whole different ball game, with heavy-duty clubs for balls and broken china as the bases. And the mental trauma, had he mentioned the mental trauma?
Alfred simply laughed at his complaints.
Dick and Tim adored Jason, one as another little brother and the other as the cool slightly older brother but not oldest but as cool as the oldest was awesome. Tim was very wordy when he wanted to be.
And Jason hadn’t known what to do with all of these new people in his life, afraid they would all leave him soon enough anyways cause that’s what everyone did eventually. It took a stern talking to from Alfred, a few consoling words and hugs from Bruce and Selina, and two cling-on human beings sticking by his side for six days straight before Jason got the picture. Jim got to do the hair ruffling honors once the kid realized that this family wasn’t letting him go anywhere.
A couple years later found the Wayne household busy with accepting yet another child into their midst. Barbara was going for her Master’s in computer software and design, Jason had just started college, Tim was in his last year of high school and Dick had been attending Gotham University hoping to be a detective like Grandpa Jim.
“I’m not that old, Dick! Jesus Christ!”
“Uncle Jim then? Adopted dad’s, picked up father figure? What do I call you?”
“Jim, you brat!”
Damian Wayne was the actual blood son of Bruce Wayne. As the kid liked to remind everyone on a daily basis. He arrived at the manor with nothing but a backpack and a note signed by his apparent mother and a haughty attitude that was slowly being driven out by Alfred’s hard work and Jim’s lectures.
According to Bruce, Talia al Ghul was the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, the infamous leader of the League of Shadows.
“Look, just because I don’t run around in tights like all those vigilantes out there with mortal enemies, doesn’t mean I don’t keep track of people who move against Gotham.”
Bruce had met Talia during one of his international business trips to the Middle East where apparently some things happened and then were never spoken of again. But if Damian was here, it was probably because Talia was trying to get him away from her father and away from being the youngest assassin of the modern age.
“No, Damian. Put the sword down. Tim can be annoying, but that doesn’t mean you try and stab him every five minutes.”
“Tt.”
Sometime in the future, a church bell rang proudly through the air. Bruce Wayne, multi-billionaire from his family’s company and own work with the law, father-type figure to four boys, a brother to a proud sister in all but name, and basically a son to his valet and the commissioner of the city was getting married.
It had taken several pleading sessions, promises that no one would try to hold Selina in one place if she didn’t want to, and many chucked binders by Alfred of all the wedding plans he had concocted over the years before both parties agreed.
Jim stood next to Alfred in the audience, watching as the four groomsmen fidgeted through the long ceremony. The bridesmaids, Barbara and two of Selina’s closest friends, Pamela and Harley, stood on the other end of the altar, quietly gossiping behind each of their decorative flower arrangements.
“Could you have imagined any of this happening any other way, Jim?” Alfred whispered as the priest droned on.
“Not at all, Alfred. It might have been a sad life if it had.”