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Wayne Manor rarely witnessed quiet breakfasts. Partly because Bruce rarely woke before noon, partly because of the usual chaos of their lives.
And it was even rarer to see Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damian together, without arguing, without weapons in plain sight, and without an impending crisis. But the occasion was special, and it called for a truce.
Then they could go back to slaughtering each other, but where Bruce couldn't see them.
“Here we are! These are for you,” Dick chirped with far too much emphasis,placing packages on the table, in front of Bruce.
Bruce looked at the presents, then at his children, then back at the presents.
He looked confused. Dick smiled—at least, he tried, ignoring the feeling of panic that was starting to set in—and said, "What, we finally surprised you, old man?"
Bruce looked at his eldest son, the confused expression never leaving his face. "Actually, yes. For what are those?”
"You know exactly what they're for," Jason muttered from behind Dick, and he had to fight hard not to hit his brother "Just open them, so we could all go home.”
Dick would have strangled him. Luckily, Bruce didn't mind. Instead, he picked up a small package, weighed it, and asked, "Is this a test? I need to figure out where the trap is?"
"What? Why?" Tim asked, in a mixture of confusion and horror. Damian nudged him. "Isn't it obvious? To test his skills. Grandfather did it for my seventh birthday."
Okay, that was a whole new can of worms he wasn't about to open now.
Dick coughed into his hand. "It's not a test. Just...presents. You know, for your birthday…”
Bruce's birthday was last week, and they'd tried so hard to pretend not to care that they'd let a damn week go by doing nothing, convinced Bruce already knew everything and wanting to do something special, really special.
Too bad they'd ended up without a party, without inviting anyone, without calling Cass from Hong Kong, without calling Clark, of all people, and without a single gift.
Duke and Stephanie, God bless them, had spent an entire afternoon searching, while the others kept Bruce busy with a case (ending with Jason arguing with the man to buy the two times, and yes, he'd gotten a little carried away, but at least they'd achieved their goal, right?)
"My birthday," Bruce repeated, as if the word sounded foreign.
Dick broke out in a cold sweat. Shit, shit, shit. He's going to be angry, and for once, he'll have reason to be angry.
He swallowed, "I know, it was last week, but…”
"Look, if you were expecting a big party, you were wrong. Just open this damn gifts," Jason blurted out, getting glares from everyone else.
Nice way to apologize, Jason! They were wrong, for once!
Bruce, however, remained unruffled. He was too familiar with Jason's bullshit, "I wasn't expecting anything…”
"Well, then open these…”
"Because I haven't celebrated my birthday in years."
It was as if someone had suddenly increased the gravity in the room, making the pressure feel a hundredfold. Jason was the first to react, "Don't say bullshit, old man. You and I celebrated your birthday…”
"When you were fifteen, Jason," Bruce reminded him calmly, "It's been eight years since we last celebrated."
Jason blanched, taken aback. He opened his mouth to say something, probably some more complaint, before Tim butted in. "What about me? There's no way we've never celebrated together before! Once with Dick..."
"It was your brother's birthday, not mine," Bruce replied, still maintaining a mask of perfect indifference. "But you didn't celebrate mine. It was never the right time.”
"The right time?" Tim's voice was strangled as he asked.
"You've had a lot on your plate. And I'm sure I was lost in time during at least one of…”
"We celebrated Dick," Tim croaked, incredulous. "So...it's only logical that we...we did the same for you..."
"If you're so sure, at least tell me one gift you gave me." Bruce's question wasn't meant to be cruel. He was simply stating the facts, cold and stark. And Tim knew it.
Tim tried to remember a gift, at least one, but couldn't. Simply, Bruce was right. Tim never got him anything. Before, it was because he wasn't really Bruce's son, it would be weird. Then, Janet died, Jack died, a lot of his friends died, and Bruce was lost in time.
Later…well, if it weren't for Dick and Damian, he probably wouldn't have even thought of doing anything this year.
Dick tried to think about it too, but with even greater terror he realized that after New York and the Titans, there was a kind of void in his memory.
There had been Jason, he'd come to the Manor a few times, but he'd never stayed longer than necessary. Above all, he'd never stopped by for Bruce's birthday.
(And even before that, hadn't Dick told him his birthday wasn't important? Hadn't Dick told him he'd never do any of the things he did with his parents, because Bruce wasn't and never would be their replacement? Bruce had just accepted it, never demanding anything, never expecting anything, and it was strange to him that they cared.)
"Bruce…we…I…”
Dick couldn't find the right words. And what could he say? Hey, after years, I've decided your birthday is worth celebrating. No hard feelings, right?
He didn't have a chance to continue.
Alfred came over, glanced casually at the presents, and turned to Bruce. "Mr. Fox called, sir. It seems there's some business at WE that requires your attention.”
"I understand," Bruce said, standing up. "Thank you for the gifts, but it wasn't necessary. And Damian, we'll talk about your seventh birthday later..."
So, Bruce quickly left, phone in hand, quickly dialing Lucius Fox's number. It was just them and Alfred.
Alfred looked livid, but kept his tone perfectly polite. "So, I guess your little prank went well this time. At least you had time for the important things, didn't you?"
Dick was an adult, with an adult life and job, who saved the world at least once a month.
But in front of Alfred, at that moment he felt like a child.
Oh, they fucked up so bad that Bruce wasn't even bothered. He expected it.
"Was there really a call from Lucius?" Tim tried to ask, and Alfred just glanced at him sideways. "What, Master Tim, are you worried you'll miss the WE surprise party?"
"No, I meant...Lucius didn't call me."
"There's always something to talk about at WE," Alfred said, not really giving any answer, "I'll take care of your gifts, and Master Bruce will let you know if he likes it."
"Wait, we should..."
"You should what, Master Jason?" Alfred interrupted coldly. "I thought you wanted to hurry so you could get home right away."
Jason seemed to shrink. However, he found the strength to ask, "Why haven't you called us before? For his birthday?"
"You know Master Bruce wouldn't have appreciated you coming here out of obligation."
"We wouldn't have," Dick said, hoping she'd believe him. "I swear, we...he's our father, Alfred, of course we wanted to do something special..."
"The facts, over the years, have proven otherwise. After all, Master Bruce can't replace good people, can he?"
"I was nine, I...I was wrong. Now I know, I'm sorry..."
"Master Richard, it's not just something you said when you were nine. You were a grieving child, it was understandable. But it's all the times you never did anything for Master Bruce, skipping his birthday and doing everything you could to not be there. The same goes for the others. How much did you have to beg for your brothers to come?”
Jason turned sickly red, because he knew Alfred was right. He had repeatedly refused to celebrate what was a hypocritical asshole, and he had even done the bare minimum for the gift.
He was there because the others had forced him, not because he wanted; Jason would still be pretending nothing had happened, if it weren't for the creeping shame, and the knowledge that Bruce had never forgotten any of Jason's birthdays.
"Alfred, it was complicated..."
"From experience, I know it wasn't," the butler said, uncaring for Dick's excuse," Tell me, Master Richard, did the idea come to you because you were in a good mood or because you haven't seen each other in months?"
Dick bit his lip. Alfred continued, "I suppose the latter. Distance is good for a relationship, or so they say."
He sighed, and for the first time, he looked his age. Alfred said, "Master Bruce will never hold anything against you. He thinks he deserves every insult and neglect. He thinks he's a monster. I wish I hadn't contributed to that belief. But I did, and because of that...I have to say something now. Someone has to be angry for him. Because this," he pointed to them and the abandoned gifts, "is not what he deserves. And if you think otherwise, Master Richard, then please...don't bother celebrating him anymore. It would just be less painful. Stop hurting him, if you can. “
Dick wanted to do it. But he had the painful impression that, perhaps, he wasn't capable of doing it anymore.