Poker Face | Bruce Wayne

ten

Bruce rolled his neck, straining the muscles of his back as he made his way to the front of the Manor. The incessant ringing of the doorbell sounded like a small child was standing outside. Every bone in his body screamed out of soreness— the mission yesterday had been a success, but a part of him wished it hadn't been. Meredith had taken it upon herself to call the shots, and he was irritated with himself for letting her do so. The punching bag in the cave paid the price.

Alfred was gone for the afternoon, which left the unfortunate job of answering the door to him. The bell continued to ring. Bruce bit his teeth to stop himself from yelling at whoever it was to shut the fuck up because he was tired and he was sore and he still had a multi-billion dollar conglomerate to expand across the country and he still had four kids and he still had a world-renowned organization of superheroes to run that was currently being taken over by his childhood crush and all he wanted was a goddamn coffee but he couldn't seem to find any and—

He pulled open the brass handles with ease, and standing in front of him with his arms crossed was Devin Elias. Bruce caught himself from rolling his eyes. He was right— a small child was at the front.

"What."

"I know you're Batman."

Bruce felt like he should've been more threatened, or shocked, or terrified at that sentence, and maybe it was the fact that he was on the verge of passing out, or maybe it was the fact that he knew it was coming, judging by the way Devin was staring at him the night before, but Bruce honestly couldn't find it in himself to truly care.

"So."

Devin seemed surprised. "What, you're not even going to try and hide it?"

Bruce tilted his gaze down at the cup of coffee in the older man's hand that was creating a cloud of steam in the cold Gotham air. "I'll explain if you give me that."

"Wha—" Devin looked down. "The coffee? That's really all it's going to take to get you to talk? I figured I was going to have to present you with a ten-page essay on my evidence before you even let me in the door."

Bruce was silent. Devin scoffed, handing over the drink, and Bruce stepped back to allow him inside. Suddenly rounding the corner into the foyer was Dick, dressed in flannel pajama pants with his hair sticking up in eleven different directions. He'd stayed overnight after the fiasco in Central City, too tired to drive back to Bludhaven, also informing Bruce that he didn't want to deal with whatever argument he and Kori were currently in.

It was four in the afternoon and Dick was still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Hey, who the hell keeps ringing the— oh. Uh, Mr. Elias, right?"

The man groaned. "Please, it's just Devin. 'Mister' makes me feel like my dad."

"Alright, Devin, um, sorry for my lack of shirt, but what are you doing here?"

"Oh, I'm just confronting Bruce about how I know he's Batman."

Dick was suddenly standing up straight. He chuckled slightly, turning his gaze to Bruce. "Batman? Bruce? Don't be crazy."

Bruce took a sip of the coffee, eager to not feel like he was on the brink of death, but scowled at the sweet taste. He liked his coffee black— of course Devin had his loaded with more sugar than the actual drink. He supposed beggars couldn't be choosers. "Don't bother. He knows."

"Oh." Dick seemed to slightly relax. "Well, uh, welcome into the club of knowing Gotham's biggest secret, I guess. How did you find out?"

"Wasn't hard." Devin smirked, throwing a lazy arm over Bruce's shoulders. "He was always a weird kid— seems like something he would do."