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“Oh hey, do you know who refilled the coffee pot in the break room?” Cameron says gleefully as she takes a seat at her cubicle, the smell of fresh coffee filling the small work space.
Aadan points over to the corner desk, currently surrounded by a mountain of folders and boxes that seem to be from before the invention of a computer, “Jamie's new intern. He also managed to unclog the sink.”
“Can we keep him?” Cameron sighs wistfully, trying to peer over the papers to steal a look of her new favourite person in the office, “Let's keep him. Where's Jamie? I'm going to convince him to keep him.”
“You don't need to convince him, I think Jamie's already negotiating a permanent role for him,” Aadan laughs.
Cameron had been mostly joking before. The break room is notorious for its clogged sink, despite it having been replaced twice and the weekly maintenance it receives, and no one remembers to make the coffee pot. But Jamie is, much like the sink of doom, infamous for making interns never want to work at the Wayne Enterprises finance department.
“Is he that good?” She asks curiously.
“Jamie told him to write a review about our last quarter, comparing it to the year before—” this time, even Aadan spares a brief look over his shoulder at the hunched figure typing away furiously at their keyboard, “He wrote it all in one night and then Jamie emailed it to the senior team for a second opinion.”
Cameron whistles.
Before Aadan can continue their gossip, Jamie stomps into the office, his blonde hair sticking up in all sorts of directions from his apparent rush. He does a scathing overview of the office, a paperclip falling from his head as he turns, before locking in on his victim for the afternoon.
“Petro!” Jamie hollers, “You're shadowing my meeting today! Get your ass over here!”
Cameron winces at the tone and the wording, only because she's known Jamie long enough to know he's all bark and no bite at all — but the new interns aren't as familiar with his tough love. His new intern seems like a good kid, so she can't help but feel bad for him.
Or, she did feel bad for him, up until he stood up.
“What are you shouting for? I'm right here,” a voice grumbles from the corner desk, and Cameron watches in surprise as the body hidden behind the stacks of folders unfurls to reveal a pair of broad shoulders. The suit stretches over their back, and as they stand, the person rolls his arms back to stretch.
As if the build of the intern wasn't comically intimidating, then their features don't paint a softer picture. They look younger than the other graduate interns, but something about his eyes seem older and far less hopeful than his fellow juniors. He also has a scar across his face, crossing over his mouth and pulling it down into a perpetual scowl.
“Holy shit,” Cameron gawks.
“I walked into him earlier,” Aadan says without looking up, somehow knowing exactly what Cameron is reacting to, “It was like walking into a brick wall. Except the brick wall was asking me about employee health insurance.”
“You talking back to me?” Jamie exclaims as the intern takes his sweet time walking over to him, “A lot of chat given you didn't finish the progress report on —”
“I did. It's on your desk.” The intern rolls his eyes, walking right past Jamie and towards the meeting rooms.
Instead of biting his head off, like Cameron had assumed would happen, Jamie looks oddly proud at the snark. He continues to shout profanities at his back as they two disappear down the corridor, and rather ridiculously, the two paint an oddly entertaining duo.
“We're so keeping him,” she whispers under her breath in excitement, before she catches something out of the corner of her eye, “Oh hey — Mister Wayne!”
The man in question is standing on the other side of the glass wall that separates the two of the office spaces on the seventh floor. He's staring off into space. Then, his tablet slips from his hands and lands on the carpet with a dull thud.
Bruce Wayne is a rare occurrence these days. A couple years ago, when Cameron had first started working at Wayne Enterprises, he'd be seen walking around often, either attending budget meetings or… whatever else he did for the company. Sometimes, his kids make an appearance, though it's never for long. But these last few years his presence has been scarce, his children scarcer.
So to see him today is honestly a pleasant surprise! Maybe he's come down to check out the sink (again).
Though, the more Cameron watches Bruce Wayne stand there, the more his expression seems to twist from airheaded to horrified, “Mister… Wayne?”
She follows his wide eyes, pupils shaking, looking at the same corridor Jamie and the intern had just walked down.
“Not that I don't appreciate you showing an interest in the company,” Lucius Fox voices with a sigh, “But is there a reason you're fixated on the seventh floor of the building?”
Bruce shakes his head, eyes never straying from the group of employees standing by the window, chatting and mingling happily with each other on their break, “I needed a printer.”
“I see that,” Lucius grumbles, pointedly glaring down at the printer in question, where Bruce has photocopied the same spreadsheet twelve times, “And you needed to use this specific printer and not the one in your office because…”
“I like this printer,” Bruce mumbles, narrowing his eyes at the group when someone laughs loudly.
With another sigh, Lucius rubs the temples of his forehead, willing the upcoming migraine away through prayer alone. As per the senior finance team's request, Lucius had come down from his own office to collect what they dubbed ‘an intimidation from the hire ups’. The intimidation being Bruce Wayne stood by a printer and glaring at happy employees trying to do their work for two hours.
Before he can say anything, Bruce wordlessly presses the copy button again, the sound of yet another spreadsheet being printed below them.
“This is ridiculous. What on earth are you even looking at?” Lucius cracks finally, glaring over to the group Bruce has refused to look away from.
Finally, life sparks onto his face, and Bruce turns to Lucius in desperation, “Look there. Do you recognise anyone?”
Understanding that the only way to appease Bruce's insanity is to accommodate his neurotic missions, Lucius looks over to the group dutifully. There are hundreds of people who work at the main branch of Wayne Enterprises alone, so there's virtually no way Lucius would know a handful of random office workers in the finance department, but if Bruce is asking him specifically, then there must be a reason.
Bruce grows impatient as Lucius racks his brain for a familiar face, “The tall one. With the scar.”
Lucius narrows his eyes at the person, “Okay?”
“His name is Aston Jedd Petro, he's an intern,” Bruce continues slowly and deliberately.
“Okay,” Lucius repeats, looking between Bruce and this Aston fellow hesitantly, “A friend of yours?”
The last thing Lucius wants to deal with is a super villain intern at their company. It's bad for business.
Bruce completely ignores the question, asking his own instead, “Do you know him?”
Lucius frowns, looking over to the kid. He's leaning leisurely against the wall next to the window, a pleasant smile on his face as the other employees chat amongst themselves. Other than the scar on his face, he doesn't seem all too impressive, if a little unprofessional, what with the dyed streak of white going through his hair.
“No,” Lucius settles on, though something about that answer doesn't feel right when Aston catches him looking, glaring back with bright green eyes from across the room, “Am I supposed to know who he is?”
At his side, Bruce tenses up further, pressing the copy button on the printer again with more force than necessary. He doesn't answer this question, either.
“Can you photocopy this contract for me?” Aadan whispers to his cubicle neighbour.
“No!” Cameron exclaims, “I've already had to go to the printer once today. Never again!”
“Please,” Aadan begs, leaning forward into her space, “I'll do anything. I'll buy you dinner. Or a house.”
“Pass,” she declines.
“I can do it,” a voice offers from behind them, making the two jump in surprise.
“Oh,” Cameron sighs in relief, heart beating out of her chest, “Aston.”
It's honestly unknowable how such a large and unavoidable presence such as Aston's can manage to sneak up on people, but he's very good at moving about the office completely unseen. Thank god he uses his powers for good, since he could get away with a lot of wrongdoings with a skill like that.
“Hello,” he greets amusedly, then looks over at Aadan, “I can make a copy if you want. Jamie hasn't given me any work to do yet.”
Because you finish everything as soon as he finds something, “Are you sure?” Aadan questions quietly, looking over at the printer in concern.
Aston shrugs, “Yeah. Why not?”
“Aside from the troll guarding the bridge?” Cameron mumbles under her breath as Aston takes the papers and starts to make his way over. Maybe it's just her imagination, but he seems to have heard her from all the way over there, going by his snort of laughter.
The laughter disappears the moment he's by the printer, face to face with The Troll. It might seem like a mean nickname for their beloved boss, but ever since Bruce Wayne had attached himself to the printer in the finance department solely so he could watch them work for hours, he kind of brought it upon himself. Today is no different, since the only time he'd left the printer was for about an hour before he returned.
The same hour that Aston wasn't here, Cameron realises with a frown.
“Excuse me, Mister Wayne,” Aston says in a voice that is probably louder than necessary, catching everyone's attention in the office, “I need to copy something.”
Bruce Wayne looks like Aston had personally asked to shove a stick up his ass. He doesn't even show any sort of reaction to the thinly veiled request to move out the way, simply shifting to the side robotically so Aston can take his place at the printer. The whole time he does so, Wayne doesn't so much as blink, simply staring wide eyed at the intern like he was going to vanish right before his eyes.
“What's your name?” Mister Wayne asks lowly, voice struggling to make its way up his throat.
“Aston, sir.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty.”
“Really. You're from Gotham?”
“Nope, I just moved here from Star City.”
“...you have an awfully thick Gotham accent to have just moved here.”
“So I've been told.”
Cameron looks at Aadan, bewildered, mouthing a silent What the fuck is going on. He only shrugs in response, looking mildly uncomfortable by the sudden questioning of their junior. At least Wayne is harmless — usually.
“What made you want to work here?” Wayne asks, taking the interrogation into a far less personal direction, though for some reason, it feels just as invasive.
Aston leans down to collect his copy and then stands tall, face to face with Wayne. From here, they can see that Aston is actually a couple inches taller than Wayne. They also look startlingly similar.
He shrugs, “There was an opening.”
As he turns away, Cameron wonders if the slightest flinch of Wayne's hand was deliberate. Whether he was about to reach out and grab Aston.
It doesn't matter in the end. Bruce Wayne lets him walk away.
The finance department at Wayne Enterprises is celebrating their successful merger with Wayne Technologies and a foreign satellite manufacturer, which means a fully Wayne-funded dinner at a nice restaurant for everyone in the department.
Usually, Bruce Wayne doesn't attend, which is to say, there is no reason for him to attend. He is not in the finance department, despite the many hours he spends loitering around on the seventh floor.
No one seems to have made Bruce Wayne aware of this, however.
“Is he still looking?” Cameron says into her palm.
Aadan looks over her shoulder, where two tables away, Bruce Wayne is watching their table like a hawk. The senior team are sitting around him, trying desperately and failing to grab his attention, since he seems very fixated on something over here.
“Yup,” he grimaces.
Cameron groans, before turning towards the boy at her side sharply, holding a fork menacingly in his direction, “It's you, isn't it? You're the reason he's trying to vaporise us with his eyes!”
“Maybe it's Jamie,” Aston says with a smirk.
Instead of rising to the bait and cursing, Jamie frowns, "You know what, he does act significantly weirder with you around. Remember how he got his tie stuck in the printer when Aston walked past?”
They all collectively shudder at the word printer, but Aadan seems to follow his colleagues' assumptions. He spares a look at Aston's expression, only to catch him smirking down at his plate of salmon.
“You know something,” Aadan accuses, “Why's Wayne on your case?”
Aston sighs forlornly, almost too theatrical for it to be genuine, “He thinks I'm his son.”
Cameron blinks. Out of all the theories she had conjured up, from secret brother to Luthor-Wayne clone, she can't believe she didn't think of that one! Of course! While Wayne's not out hoarding children, one's a coincidence, two's an accident but three is definitely a pattern. Bruce Wayne seems to acquire kids faster than he knows what to do with them.
Jamie scoffs, obviously disbelieving, “What gave you that idea?”
“He showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night and demanded I do a DNA test,” Aston says casually, taking a sip of champagne he's definitely not allowed to be drinking at a work event.
He says it so casually in fact, that no one at their table processes the words until a few seconds after, in which Jamie jumps to feet shouting, “He fucking what!”
“Mr Wayne, I think you know why I've called you into my office today,” Leilani prompts gently, but when she receives a blank stare in response, she sighs, “Several employees have voiced a certain… concern about your behaviour towards staff.”
Bruce frowns, “Is this about the printer incident?”
“No sir, this is about your alleged stalking—” she pauses, “Printer incident? What printer incident?”
“Nothing,” Bruce deflects, before he narrows his eyes, “Stalking? Me?”
“As you know, accessing employees personal files for any reason outside of an internal investigation is against our private data collection policies,” Leilani says.
“I know,” Bruce Wayne grumbles, a great deal different to his usually bubbly personality, “I helped write those policies.”
“Then you would know that showing up to an employee's home is completely unprofessional,” she continues, unperturbed by Bruce's souring attitude.
Having worked at Wayne Enterprises HR department for almost a decade, Leilani is blessed to have never dealt with Bruce Wayne's untoward or inappropriate handling of staff. In fact, compared to other places, there are very few complaints anyone ever has about Wayne as a boss.
“He's an intern,” Wayne corrects quietly.
That being said, she has received many, many complaints about Bruce Wayne these past few weeks. And they all seem to circle back to one key issue — his obsession with a young intern by the name of Aston Jedd Petro, who bears a striking resemblance to the late Jason Todd.
“How are your children, Mister Wayne?” Leilani decides to ask.
If Bruce is stunned by the non sequitur, he doesn’t let it show, “They're fine.”
“Dick and… Timothy?” She clarifies, familiar with the eldest Wayne but not so much with the newest foster child.
“Yes,” He says stiffly.
Sighing, Leilani dreads having to press, but no amount of respect for her boss can get in the way of her job, “And have you given some more thought on grief counselling? Our Employee Assistant Programs are still open to help facilitate you with a —”
“Leilani,” Bruce cuts her off, not in a tone too dissimilar to the one he used three years ago, when she last brought up this conversation, “Please continue this discussion with my assistant.”
She sighs, standing to her feet the same time Bruce Wayne does, watching him leave her office with very little else to say.
“Do you hear that?” Cameron asks.
Aadan looks around quizzically, “What?”
“That, my friend, is the sound of me printing a sixty page document uninterrupted,” she sighs, gesturing down to the printer hard at work, “Beautiful, isn't it?”
Aadan rolls his eyes at her dramatics, “Where is Mister Wayne anyway?”
“He's not allowed to visit our department anymore,” Jamie says as he walks past, a pencil sticking out of his hair, “Or the seventh floor in general. Sucker!”
Aston follows behind him, looking far too amused given the circumstances. Though, his expression immediately darkens when someone walks through the entrance, carrying multiple bags of deliciously smelling food. Indian, it seems like.
“Order for Aston Petro?” The delivery man calls loudly, his face hidden beneath a tinted motorcycle helmet.
“Oh wow!” Cameron shouts in delight, abandoning her papers to help carry the food in, “Thanks kid! You didn't have to do all this.”
Aston crosses his arms, staring pointedly at the delivery man, who meets the gaze head on. Cameron pauses to watch the exchange with a frown. Maybe Aston doesn't want to tip the driver?
Aadan helps unpack the dozens — truly, dozens — of takeout boxes, laughing in surprise with the amount of aluminum bags he unloads onto the breakdown desk, “I take it samosas are you favourite, Aston? You've ordered like a hundred.”
It's only because Cameron had already been watching him, but she sees the way his glare softens, if only by a little at that.
“They are,” he admits, quietly.
Cameron looks over at the driver, who doesn't seem eager to leave. He must really want a tip.
“I didn't know you played baseball,” Jamie comments as he walks by Aston's desk.
There's a brand new baseball glove placed amongst the pile of papers and folders, obviously expensive and well picked out. Aadan would be thrilled to see it if Aston didn't look so upset by it.
“I used to play,” he explains, hands balled into fists as his side, “When I was a kid.”
Jamie hums, “You thinking about playing again?”
Aston looks up, incensed, “Fuck no.”
“Then… why the fuck did you buy it?” Jamie asks again, mirroring the frustration.
“I didn't buy it. It was just on my desk,” Aston grumbles, grabbing his laptop and heading for the door without a look back at the gift.
As he leaves, stomping the whole way out, Jamie and Aadan share a long, slightly scared, look at each other and then at the sparkling glove left on their interns desk.
“Mister Wayne,” Leilani sighs, her head in her hands, “I don't think I need to tell you how inappropriate this is.”
“I have no idea what you're talking about,” Bruce says innocently, leaning back in his seat. It's so blatantly pure in fact that she almost completely believes that he really doesn't know what she's talking about.
Except, of course, for the baseball that he throws into the air and catches. He puts it in his pocket and winks on his way out when she simply waves him away.
“Guess who I just ran into in the stairwell,” Aadan says with an uncharacteristically happy tone for so early in the morning.
“Judging by your blush, your husband?” Cameron teases.
Aadan scoffs, “Dick Grayson.”
“Correction, my husband!” Cameron leers, earning a shove from a nearby colleague, the group dissolving into giggles.
No one sees Aston's shoulders tense, his fingers pausing on the review he was typing up at his desk, “Does he usually come to the company?”
Aadan ignores the group now gushing about Dick Grayson's luscious locks to turn his attention to Aston. It's been almost three months since he started his internship at Wayne Enterprises, and he has three more to go, so his curiosity isn't unfounded, “Not really. When he was younger, sure, but then he moved for college or something. He's here with Wayne's foster kid.”
“Do you think they'll come visit?” Cameron asks gleefully.
“They're playing tag in the hallway while they wait for Mister Wayne to be done with his psyche eval, so no,” Aadan informs the group, much to their dismay.
This time, Aston's curiosity grows concerned, an odd look on the usually indifferent boy when it comes to anything Wayne-related, “Psyche eval?”
“For insurance,” Aadan shrugs, echoing whatever everyone else has been told, “Don't worry, it's not a secret or anything. Just mandatory. He's had a rough couple of months.”
"He's had a rough couple of years," Someone grumbles to the side, earning a chorus of sympathetic nods of agreement, "First his parents then his own son... I'm surprised he hasn't lost his mind."
“Right,” Aston mumbles, looking away, somewhat troubled.
Before Aadan can ask what that's about, the fire alarm rings out across the building. While there's still a rush to leave the office in a somewhat orderly fashion, everyone is far more worried about climbing down seven flights of stairs than the potential fire. After all, it's Gotham, a fire is never actually a fire.
Usually, it's something much worse.
Aadan is proven right when they finally get outside the building, joining the crowd of employees and curious onlookers alike, all staring at the roof of Wayne Enterprises in awe. There's a plume of smoke forming a ring around the penthouse office.
At his side, Aadan hears Aston take a harsh inhale at the sight.
“What's happening?” Aadan shouts above the noise of sirens and people.
“Batman's fighting Hugo Strange on the roof!” Cameron shouts back.
Who? Aadan thinks to himself, never remembering what any of Batman's so-called enemies are called, as someone steps on his foot, sending him crashing into Aston. The intern barely moves, too transfixed at the blurry figures jumping about on the roof to notice. Off to the side, Aadan then sees Dick Grayson and the other little kid Wayne had taken in. Luckily Cameron is too busy mimicking Batman's moves to notice.
Dick Grayson seems to also be enjoying the show, given his bag of popcorn.
“Ol’ Hugo get anything in yet?” he asks, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth.
The kid shrugs, almost bored, “Nothing I could see.”
Aadan looks back up at the roof, wondering how anyone can see anything through the smoke and fire. What he does see is the Batmobile coming round the corner — from the staff parking garage? — and coming to a stop in the middle of the street. Just then, everyone gasps, and with as much dramatics as his car, Batman jumps from the roof, cape out behind him like one massive spiked wing.
As he, somehow, lands perfectly into the car, the crowd cheers. The two Wayne kids celebrate the loudest, high-fiving each other in glee.
Aston is the only one who doesn't cheer. Instead, he watches the Batmobile sternly, following it as Batman begins to pull out of the crowded street.
“Hey, kid,” Aadan starts, reaching out to the intern, “You okay?”
Aston swallows thickly, “I—”
Then, as if there hadn't been enough fire and violence, the Batmobile promptly explodes. With Batman still inside.
Dick Grayson drops his bag of popcorn.
Aadan can't focus on that right now, or the way the other little kid starts to hyperventilate at his side, because he needs to focus on getting the hell out of here. As the crowd of people descends into chaos, Aadan grabs Cameron's arm and pulls her back, making quick for anywhere that isn't next to the car on fire.
“Aston,” he cries out as Cameron stumbles backwards, “Come on, let's get out of here before—”
Aston's nowhere to be seen. Neither are any of the Wayne's.
Much to the surprise of absolutely no one, Batman is not dead. His dramatic explosion-death had lasted a grand total of about four days before someone saw him punching people in Crime Alley, and then another two days until someone uploaded a grainy video of him swinging through Little Italy to whatever horrible pop song is currently trending.
But Jamie doesn't care about Batman. What he does care about is Bruce Wayne.
After Wayne — unfortunately — survived the fire that just so happened to destroy everything in his office except for him, he'd disappeared for one of his post-disaster holidays. Stockholm, or something. With his return, everyone seems to have forgotten why he was banned from messing with the finance department.
Including the intern who this was all done for in the beginning.
The intern, who is currently having lunch with Wayne in the cafeteria.
“What if we just kill him?” Jamie mumbles.
Cameron frowns over her turkey sandwich, “I thought you liked Aston?”
“I think he meant the other Wayne,” Aadan says with a sigh, stabbing a fork into his salad.
Jamie scoffs, “Aston is not his son. I'm sure of it.”
The other man doesn't seem to believe him, although he too looks concerned, but not all too upset, about Aston's newfound benevolence to Bruce Wayne's stalking.
After all, Wayne had been loitering around their office all day, and then Aston had offered to buy him lunch. Then just yesterday, when Wayne went back to guarding the printer with his life, Aston had all but consented to the interrogation while he copied his recent meeting transcripts.
Jamie is still unsure why Wayne needs to know what blood type Aston is, or who his favourite author is, but he is certain that Wayne's a massive creep.
Unless, of course, this is Wayne attempting to connect with his long lost son?
Jamie shakes his head. Preposterous. There is absolutely no way Aston is related to that airhead Wayne.
“Aw, look,” Cameron cooes, “They're bonding!”
Simultaneously, Aston and Wayne take what is arguably the largest bite out of their respective chilli dogs, both topped with the exact same amount of cheese and jalapeños. Then, like a terrifying circus act, they grab a handful of chips and shove it down their throats as well.
No, Jamie grumbles, no fucking way.
Even if he is the only one who thinks so in the office betting pool.