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It was the night his parents died all over again.
Blue eyes: watching the fall, seeing the end, unable to act. Just another spectator in the audience.
Bruce could hear the soft gasps of the people around him, their breaths like the hisses of snakes right before the attack. His date, a beautiful woman he would barely remember passed this horrific event, grabbed on his arm the same way his mother had grabbed his father right before the bullet shot through her skull.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about the small boy standing at the very top of the trapeze, knowing but not fully realizing that his parents were gone forever.
Chaos erupted after that. The audience weeped for the boy, but mostly weeped for themselves, because none of them signed up to watch a young couple die.
Bruce could feel his date duck into his arms, silently begging for comfort. But no one was comforting the boy, because no one wanted to climb up to meet him.
It only took a few hours for the tragedy to become a story. The audience left with tissues in their hands and memories they would dramatize for their friends, the reporters swooped in with flashing cameras and sharp pencils, and the police arrived to solve the mystery and to clean up the mess — always too late to save the orphan from his fate.
The only two that were not moving with the chaos was the boy… and the billionaire.
Bruce Wayne’s slow stride cut through the crowd, people easily parting for his familiar face, until he reached the one person who did not move away.
Dick Grayson stared blankly at the ground. He did not show any sign of having noticed being approached — not until someone finally reached out to him with a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“My parents….”
Dick’s voice faltered. He did not know what else to say.
The hand on his shoulder gave it a gentle squeeze. “I understand.”
The small body of the boy barreled into Bruce’s middle as his arms wrapping tightly around his belly. And that was that.
The boy would be adopted.
The reporters had watched the exchange like hungry vultures. Dick closed his eyes against the harsh lights of the cameras as they flashed and captured the moment for all of eternity.
The police tried to keep it under control, but there was not much they could do against it. This was the story of the year: billionaire orphan Bruce Wayne was finally settling down to start a family.
Questions came skyrocketing down on the two.
“Are you sure you’re ready to be a father?” One reporter asked.
“Does this bring back memories of watching your own parents die, Mister Wayne?” Another asked.
“Did you have connections with the Graysons, Sir?”
On and on they went. But Bruce was used to being asked such rude, prying questions from total strangers looking for a headline — so he walked through the crowd with the boy safely tucked into his side.
At least until one reporter asked a particularly shocking question: “Will you be adopting the rest of the Grayson children, Mister Wayne?”
Another camera flashed right in his face. This would be the photo that would sell for almost one million dollars: the initial reaction of Bruce Wayne realizing that he was not just adopting one boy… but seventeen.
Alfred Pennyworth had seen a lot in his life time, but he didn’t think anything shocked him more than the moment his infamously reclusive pseudo son drove into the Wayne Manor gates with an entire bus full of sad black-haired, blue eyed little boys.
“They all need rooms, Alfred,” Bruce said.
The man, usually so put together when he was parading around as Bruce, looked more frazzled than ever before. His ink black hair stood on end, as if he’d been tirelessly running his fingers through it; his turtleneck sweater was rumpled and stained with what looked suspiciously like tears and snot, as if several small someones had used the fabric to blow their nose; and his arms were full with not one but two infant children who were battling on who could scream the loudest.
Alfred was almost scared to ask. “How many, Sir?”
“…Twenty?”
He did not sound sure, but the butler could forgive him for that. He’d seen new fathers appear more overwhelmed in less chaotic situations.
“Very well, Sir,” Alfred gave a curt bow.
And right before he left, he could hear one of the children say very loudly to his brothers: “That old guy talks funny.”
Dick, Bruce realized, was a middle child.
When the reporter had asked that time-stopping question, he had assumed that he would be taking in one or two extra children.
But then the circus owner had led him to John’s and Mary’s family tent.
What felt like a sea of blue eyes stared back at him as he walked through the flap.
“This is Bruce Wayne,” Mister Haly said to the boys, “he said he is going to adopt all of you.”
The older boys looked skeptical. They glanced between themselves and whispered in each other’s ears. But the younger boys who looked up to Dick instantly trusted Bruce based on the simple fact that they saw him holding Dick’s hand.
It was a long meeting as each boy took turns crying into his three thousand dollar sweater, seeking comfort from the arms of a man in so much shock that he barely even flinched when they started to grab his sleeves and wipe their noses with them.
“Would you like to know their names?” Mister Haly asked eventually.
A million black haired heads swiveled from the circus owner to the billionaire.
Bruce grunted.
Names. Names would be good.
It would help to humanize these children; allow him to see them as more than a bunch of crying eyes and running noses and clinging hands.
“The eldest boy is Robert,” Mister Haley said, “but he goes by Bob. The second eldest is Ronald, but he goes by Ron. The third eldest is Randall, but he goes by Randy. The four eldest….”
The names, all starting with an R, began to blur together as they filtered into Bruce’s ears.
“Nice — “ his voice was tight. He cleared his throat. “Nice to meet all of you…. I’m Bruce.”
“Hi, Bruce,” the all said, and the force of all their voices coming together made the flimsy tent rumble.
Life in Wayne Manor changed drastically from that day.
Meals had to be moved from the kitchen island to the dining room because there was not enough space for everyone to sit; expensive vases and lamps could no longer be treasured because the boys’ rowdiness caused them all the break; and the once tragic silence within the family wing had quickly become the loudest area in the mansion.
But worst of all: Alfred took more vacations.
This left Bruce with the sole responsibility of caring for about twenty-five overactive boys — who always seemed to be hungry.
Bruce was a man of many talents. But not one of those talents could be applied to the kitchen. He always left that room sweating, exhausted, and covered in flour. But the boys did not have mercy on him.
“I’m hungwy,” one of the smaller boys said to him sadly.
Bruce had been hiding in the attic. The young boy was standing on his older brothers’ shoulders so that he could peek in through the latch.
“I’ll be right down, Roderick,” Bruce said, feeling very much like a donkey being harnessed to a wagon.
“My name is Rufus, but I go by Ruff Ruff.”
“I’ll be right down, Ruff Ruff.”
Bruce miserably creeped out from behind the pillar and followed the boys back to the kitchen.
The boys were all very talented at finding Bruce when they wanted to. Which was why it came as no surprise to Alfred that they discovered his big secret within the first month of living with him.
“You do this… to get revenge for your parents’ murder?” Dick asked.
He was the first one to find the tunnel leading to the Cave. And now he was standing in front of Bruce’s earlier Batman suits, glaring up at it with a fire that burned deep in his veins.
Bruce knew that look. He still saw it when he looked in the mirror sometimes. It was a look that could eat you away from inside out.
“I do it to make sure that no one else has to go through what I went through,” Bruce said. He laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder, unknowingly remaking the moment that he’d told Dick he’d adopt him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you in time.”
Tears blurred Dick’s vision. But when he looked up at Bruce, his fire had not dimmed. “I want to help, too.”
Alfred knew Bruce’s answer before he even opened his mouth.
“Then I will train you.”
Unsurprisingly, once one boy got something — everyone else wanted to get the same thing, too. Which was why Alfred found himself sewing not one, not two, not even three Robin suits.
But twenty-five. Because Bruce still did not know that he only had seventeen children.
Alfred silently wondered how his pseudo son had settled on the number twenty-five. And also wondered how he managed to get each boy to love him so fiercely when he couldn’t even remember any of their names.
But there was no denying it: those boys loved their father.
Father’s Day was like a parade in the house once it came around. In the morning, the eldest boys had broken into the kitchen while Alfred had been sleeping and made what looked like scrambled eggs, bacon, and a runny substance that might have been banana pancakes if Alfred looked at it with one squinted eye.
Bruce, to his credit, ate it all with the same practiced smile he used at press conferences.
After breakfast, the boys crowded around the man to give them their gifts. The two eldest boys (twins at the age of fifteen) had put their allowances together to get Bruce twin swords with their names etched on each. The third eldest (at the age of fourteen) got Bruce a complete collection of detective novels. The fourth, fifth, and sixth eldest (triplets at the age of thirteen) had gotten together to dedicate a dance routine for him.
On and on it went until the the morning had become the afternoon, and the boys collectively decided that the best way for Bruce to spend the afternoon was to relax.
“You are always taking care of us,” one of the boys said. “You need to take the day off!”
“There’s an important case that I need to solve,” Bruce began.
But the boys would not hear it. They bullied their father into the theatre room and forced him to sit in what they referred to as “the best chair in the house” — which was really just the armchair at the very center. Then they even let Bruce pick the movie for the first time since their adoption.
When Alfred walked in with a cart full of popcorn bowls, he could not help but smile at seeing the way eighteen blue eyes snapped in his direction the moment they heard the door open.
“Here you are, young masters,” Alfred said as he pushed the cart down the line of chairs and let the boys pluck their favorite bowls off the shelves.
“Thank you, Alfred,” they all said in that harmonized way that always sent Bruce on edge.
The butler steadfastly ignored the drowning man look Bruce sent him as he left the room.
It took until school began for Alfred to complete all of the Robin uniforms.
None of the boys were aware of this as they lined up in front of the butler to collect their lunch bags. Each yawning boy silently murmured their gratitude with tired, drooping eyes and sleep-pale cheeks.
“Is Bruce taking us to school in the bus?” One of the thirteen year olds asked.
“I do not believe so, young Sir,” Alfred said. “He has purchased a limo instead.”
Bruce Wayne driving a bus had become quite the sensation online. And even though the man himself denied caring what other people thought of him, Alfred had seen how embarrassed he’d get every time the bus was brought up in causal conversation.
“Bye Roland, bye Rylan” the boys said to their infant twin brothers. The boys all gave the babies cheek kisses before trudging outside to meet their father in the limo, leaving Alfred to take care of the youngest until their father made his return.
Roland and Rylan practiced their waving to the older brothers. And just when Alfred thought that the house would finally see some quiet, the boys began to scream.
“Are they all going to be called Robin, Sir?” Alfred asked.
The Grayson boys were running and flipping through the baby-proofed BatCave, each donning identical red, green, and yellow uniforms with utter glee. It had been the perfect welcome home gift for the gaggle of circus boys who had never gone to school before.
Bruce grunted.
“Wouldn’t that get confusing for you, Sir?”
Another grunt.
Alfred sighed. Batman was a formidable creature, but arguing against over a dozen stubborn, easily jealous boys was clearly too much even for him.
Luckily, Dick did not seem to mind sharing the title of Robin with his brothers. The young lad was more focused on the hero aspect than the rest of them — or more focused on avenging his parents.
“I’m ready, Batman,” Dick said. He was standing in his leotard with his hands on his hips and his chest poked out. “To the BatMobile!”
All the boys ran screaming for shotgun.
Bruce looked ready to give up his vigilante career right then.
“BATMAN!”
Bruce flinched at the screech and looked around wildly for what could have caused one of his boys to make such a sound.
This proved to be the wrong method.
Bane grabbed the back of his head and lifted him with alarming ease. Bruce latched onto the thick fingers that were slowly crushing his scowl, but he was not strong enough.
It was pain like nothing he’d ever experienced before.
He grit his teeth, determined not to shout in agony lest the sound frighten his sons. If he was to die, let him die with dignity.
“He’s hurting Dad!” One of the older boys roared with rage.
“GET HIM!”
Even if Bruce had shouted with pain, no one would be able to hear it over the battle cry that left his Robins. They came from all directions: up above, down below, left, right, from the sky. It was a wave of red, green, and yellow fabric — and gnashing teeth.
The youngest boys tore into the tubes feeding Bane his venom as the eldest pummeled him with their fists until he let go of their father.
Bruce fell limply to the ground. But even then they did not let up on Bane.
Bruce could feel tiny feet use his back like a launch pad as they tackled the villain to the ground and continued to attack.
Only one of his boys stopped to check on him. He was one of the smaller ones, maybe the one a year older than Dick. He cupped Bruce’s cheek gently and said, with a fierce little scowl, “Get up, Daddy. We are vengeance.”
Bruce really wished he hadn’t said that line in front of the boys. Now they repeated it every time they brought a criminal in.
But even he couldn’t deny it: it was kind of cute in that moment.
Bruce got to his feet and looked at the damage around him. Bane was flat on his stomach, wheezing with pain. Several green pixie boots were planted triumphantly on his back as if he were game they’d just shot down.
Domino masks stared up at their father expectantly.
“Good work, Robins,” Bruce said in his growl.
“Thank you, Batman,” they all said together.
He hoped they didn’t see him shudder.
The boys were not idiots.
They all knew that their father always got them mixed up. And they did nothing to help him with that.
In fact, they did the opposite.
Sometimes, when Bruce got one of their names right, the boy in question would wrinkle his eyebrows in hurt and say, “Dad, that’s not my name.” It had been a joke, at first. After all, how long could they go with confusing Batman?
But then they realized that there were some advantages to this.
For example, Ruff Ruff managed to have three birthdays in one year simply by telling Bruce he had a different name each time.
“You forgot my birthday, Bruthe?” He asked with watery eyes.
“Of course not, Reginald,” Bruce would say instantly — just to quickly leave the room so he could book them all a flight to Disney World.
They weren’t sure what was stopping Bruce from simply sitting them down and asking them what their names were and when their birthdays were. But they all had the quiet suspicion that the man had just become too embarrassed to ask once they hit the one year mark of their first meeting.
In the end, it did not matter.
Bruce provided them with the attention that they needed whenever they demanded it. Who cared if he would pat them on the head and say, “it will be alright you.” Just as long as they got their heads patted after a rough day, then they were fine.
It wasn’t until they met a black haired, blue eyed boy in a dirty alley that they realized their full power.
“Come with us,” they said in unison.
Jason Todd shuddered in horror. “No, thank you.”
The skinny boy was backing away from them slowly. But he could not do much as the Robins crowded around him, staring at him through creepy white domino masks.
“You can be our new brother,” the smallest of the Robins said.
“We can take care of you,” another said.
“No one will ever find out,” said another.
They all got closer and closer until Jason’s back hit the wet wall beside the alley dumpster.
“Leave me alone!” Jason shrieked. He waved his tire iron in front of him, as if it were a cross and the Robins were demons. “Get back!”
“Don’t be scared,” they said together.
They still got closer, not at all deterred by the swinging tire iron.
Jason swung it at the tallest of Robins, but the boy caught it easily and tugged it out of his hands. “You don’t want to hurt us,” the Robin said.
“Oh my God,” Jason gulped. “What are you going to do with me? Kill me? Brainwash me? Feed me to Batman?”
The boys all laughed around him. The sound was so creepy that Jason almost wet his pants, even though he hadn’t done that since his father went to prison.
“You’re so dramatic,” one of the Robins said. The boy reached up and peeled off his domino mask, revealing a pair of ordinary blue eyes. The rest followed his lead. “Alfred is going to love you.”
Jason blinked around him. Every single Robin had the same eyes, and they were all twinkling in amusement.
“Wh — who is Alfred?” Jason stuttered. “Is he your pimp?”
The tallest Robin wrinkled his nose. “Ew. No. He’s our butler. He takes care of us.”
“He can take care of you, too,” another Robin said.
“W — what do you mean?” Jason really wished he could stop shaking, but he was still convinced that he was in a Hansel and Gretel situation right now. Take a bite of the cookie house and you will be food in a month.
“Come live with us,” one boy said. “There’s plenty of room. Plenty of food. You can even have your own room.”
“No, thank you,” Jason said again. “I’m fine on my own.”
“No you’re not,” one of the Robins said in frustration. He took a step forward and laid a hand on Jason’s shoulder. The skinny, malnourished boy couldn’t hide his flinch. “Listen. My name is Dick. These are my brothers. I know it can be overwhelming to see us all together, but we wanted to make sure that we each agreed before we made such a big decision. And we did. We want you to be our brother, too.”
“But… why?”
“Because you need a brother,” Dick said firmly. “Don’t you want someone who is always watching your back?”
Jason looked between all the boys. They all stood shoulder to shoulder in a way that he’d first thought was creepy, but now he could see that they were just protective of one another. A lost part of his heart ached at this.
He’d never had a brother before.
He’d always wanted one.
“Can — can I change my mind if….”
Dick’s smile was kind. Jason found himself relaxing under his hand. “Of course. If you change your mind, we will let you go. Okay?”
“…Okay.”
The boys whooped like football fans do when their team scores a point. And, not a moment later, every single one of them crowded Jason around in a welcoming hug.
“Er…” a voice said, but no one could tell who it was from the pile. “What’s your name, kid?”
“Oh! Jason. Jason Todd.”
“About that… you’re going to need to change it.”
Ryder Grayson (once known by very few as Jason Todd) sat nervously at the dining room table between his brothers.
The table was piled with an overwhelming amount of breakfast food that the other boys tore into greedily. Ryder had no clue which to reach for — what if something was there for a specific boy? What if he chose something but didn’t like it? Would the food go in the trash? Or did they have animals that they fed their leftovers to?
As he was agonizing over what to eat, the door to the dining room opened.
A man in his thirties strolled through to the sound of, “Good morning, Dad!”
Ryder wondered if he was the only one to see the way the man’s shoulders shuddered at the harmonized greeting.
“Good morning, sons,” he said.
The man — the man who was both Batman and Bruce Wayne — sat at the head of the table and let his eyes travel down the line of his sons.
“…is everyone here?” He asked with uncertainty.
Ryder caught the way some of the boys smirked at each other. They’d said this would happen: that Bruce would subtly try to get answers on how many children he actually had.
Ryder hadn’t believed them until this moment.
Bruce Wayne had no clue if all his sons were at the table or if one of them was missing. He also had no clue that one of the boys sitting in front of him was not his son at all.
“I think Rhett is in the library,” one of the boys said. “Rhett goes by Reeree now, Dad.”
As far as Ryder could remember, there was no boy named Rhett. But Bruce nodded seriously as if there were.
“And… everyone else is here?”
“Why are you asking so many questions, Dad?” Said one of the eldest. “Aren’t you hungry?”
Bruce’s cheeks flushed red, but he made a valiant effort to look otherwise unaffected. “Yes. You’re right, son. The food looks delicious.”
The man piled his plate with various breakfast items, all the while Ryder watched with bemusement. This was Batman? The world’s greatest detective?
Gotham was doomed.
The boy beside Ryder nudged him. “You eat, too.”
“Eat, Ryder,” another boy said. “Alfred’s pancakes are the best.”
The others murmured similar words of encouragement until the boy gathered enough bravery to start serving himself breakfast.
Ryder spent most of his time in the library. It was just so huge and none of the other boys seemed to appreciate that they had complete collections of Jane Austen, the Bronte sisters, and Shakespeare.
This also meant that it was the only place where Ryder could find some peace and quiet.
He loved his brothers, but sometimes it was very obvious that they grew up in a circus.
He was halfway through Wuthering Heights when he heard the library door open.
“Oh.” Bruce was standing at the threshold. “Hello… you.”
Ryder raised one eyebrow. His brothers were right; Bruce really was the most clueless crime-fighting detective in the world.
The man cleared his throat awkwardly, perhaps hoping that the young boy didn’t notice how he’d avoided saying his name.
“Hi… Dad,” Ryder said awkwardly.
“I see you’ve taken an interest in books,” Bruce said. “What are you reading?”
“Wuthering Heights.”
“Really?” Bruce looked genuinely surprised. Ryder would have been offended by this, if he hadn’t seen his brother’s report cards. Every single one of the circus boys had a D in English Literature. “How are you liking it?”
Ryder shrugged. “Not as good as Austen.”
Bruce grinned. This was the first time he had ever done that to Ryder.
Not that the man had noticed.
Bruce crossed the threshold and sat down in the chair next to his newest son, unknowingly setting the boy on edge. Why was the billionaire taking a sudden interest in him? Why single him out? Where were his brothers?
“You like the classics?” Bruce asked.
“Yes.” Ryder’s answer was short.
Bruce frowned. He was not used to his boys having an attitude with him. They were all so easy going.
Well, all except Dick. And apparently Ryder now, too.
“Are you feeling well?” Bruce asked.
“Yes.”
Ryder knew that all his brothers loved Bruce, but he couldn’t understand why. The man hadn’t even bothered to learn any of their names, for Christ’s sake, so clearly he did not love them back. They were like a bunch of stray animals he’d fed and found that they would not leave.
Not that Ryder would ever tell his brothers that. They were all weirdly loyal to Bruce.
Bruce reached forward. Ryder flinched.
“…Are you sure you’re feeling well?” Bruce sounded genuinely concerned by his reaction.
Ryder’s entire face felt like it was on fire. Of course this would be the way he was found out. Bruce was going to see that Ryder behaved oddly from the rest, that he enjoyed being alone and that he got cagey when touched.
Bruce was going to find out. And then Ryder was going to be kicked out.
Ryder would have to go back to living on the streets.
“Hey,” Bruce was in front of him. There was grey at his temples. Dick had said that Bruce only started going grey after he took in the kids. “What’s wrong? Did something happen at school? Or does this have to do with Robin?”
Dick had figured out how to enroll Ryder into school without alerting suspicion — but he was firm in not allowing Ryder to be Robin until he had proper training.
Bruce noticed neither of these things.
“I’m fine,” Ryder snapped. He pushed Bruce’s hand away. “Stop crowding me.”
Bruce’s frown deepened. “You… your accent. It’s different from the rest.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, old man.”
Suddenly, frighteningly, Bruce’s eyes narrowed.
Great. It had taken him five months, but he was finally figuring it out. The kid he’d tucked into bed and given awkward forehead kisses to every night was actually a total stranger.
“Who are you?” Bruce demanded.
Ryder tried to run, but his shoulders were being pushed into the back of the armchair. “Let me go!”
“Answer my question.”
“Help! Ron! Randy! Dick!”
A stampede of feet made their way toward the library. Several of the boys gawked around the room like they’d never seen it before, but most of them charged over to where their new brother was still screaming.
“Dad, what are you doing?” Ron asked.
“Why is Ryder scared of you?”
“Why are you grabbing him like that?”
“Dad, are you okay?”
Bruce looked between his boys and Ryder with utter bewilderment.
Ryder could see him struggle with this new turn of events. If Ryder was an imposter, then why were the other boys treating him like a brother?
The only explanation must be that Bruce had been wrong: Ryder was one of his boys. And he’d almost attacked him.
Bruce awkwardly stood up amongst the sea of questioning eyes. “I…. I’m not feeling well, I’m realizing. I will see you boys later.”
Ryder watched the older man tear out of the room like a Bat out of Hell. The boys all turned to look at him curiously.
“What happened, Ryder?” Dick asked.
“He… he figured it out,” Ryder said shakily. “He knows I’m not his son.”
Dick thought about this for a moment, then shrugged. “So? In order to kick you out, he has to acknowledge that he has been treating you like a son for months. Without legal documents. He basically kidnapped you.”
“I don’t think that is how kidnapping works, Dick.”
“Sure it does. Anyway, what are you doing in this dusty old room? Let’s go play video games.”
The other boys whooped carelessly and pulled Ryder away from his beloved books. And as they were walking, he heard one of them say, “Oh, by the way: this is Rory. He used to be our neighbor, Tim Drake, but we didn’t like his parents so we took care of it.”
The new black haired, blue eyed boy grinned up at Ryder with a missing tooth. He looked to be about four years old. “Hello.”
“Uh…. Hi,” Ryder said, feeling faint. This was most certainly kidnapping on their part. There was no way it could be described as anything else. “Did you come here willingly, kid?”
“Nope. They put me in a sack and dragged me across my lawn.”
Dick held up a stern finger to the boy. “Rory, you know that’s not the story we rehearsed.”
“Sorry, Dickie,” Rory turned back to Ryder. “Yes. They saved me from bad people. Bruce is my new daddy and I love you because you’re my new brother. Carry me?”
Rory did not wait for an answer. Ryder felt little hands gripping his shirt as the kid climbed up to his shoulders like a skinny koala bear. Once the kid was comfortable, he gave Ryder another grin and then kissed his cheek.
“You’re my favorite brother,” Rory said. “Please don’t kick me out?”
“Aw,” Dick simpered. “How could you even think that we’d do that? You’d have to be the most heartless brother of all to try to give this sweet boy back to his neglectful parents.”
Ryder’s shoulders sagged in defeat. “Yeah… yeah, okay. I won’t tell.”
Behind him, all the Grayson boys gave Rory nods of approval and eager thumbs up.
And still, Bruce did not notice when his seventeen sons became nineteen.