Chapter Text
(DAY ONE)
Zaps of energy left and right. The sky was an unsettling orange. There were literal pits of hell opening. The surrounding trees of the Philippine forests whipped with some sort of magic-induced wind. Sorcerers, both on the side of the Justice League and enemies alike, shouted spells.
Bruce hated these fights.
Racing across the battlefield, he worked where he could; downing henchmen, smaller enemies. Using his anti-magic tools where applicable. Downing demons when they rose from the grounds.
It would be so much simpler if they were fighting aliens. It would be less of a headache if they were fighting robots.
But no.
It had to be magic.
Bruce fucking hated magic.
"GET DOWN!"
Clark tackled Bruce to the ground as a zap of pure energy was fired at him--Circe yelling in frustration at the miss. Somewhere to the left of them, Constantine cast a spell to distract her, and Diana let out a war cry as she launched herself forward into the throng.
"Batman. I should take you off the field, this doesn't really fit your skillset--" Clark was starting as he tried to gather Bruce into a bridal carry.
But Bruce was nothing if not stubborn.
Yes, he hated magic fights. Yes, he would much rather be in Gotham, than out of country in this fight for the Justice League. Yes, he was going to punch someone if Constantine made one more sarcastic remark.
But he was not going to stand down.
"Let go of me, Superman. I'm fine," he grit out, pushing the man away with a firm hand. (He couldn't do so strength wise. But Clark knew better than to try and force his hand.)
Clark gave him a look; one that Bruce was well-familiar with.
It said You are being unreasonable. You are being stubborn. You are being irrational. You are being Bruce.
"Batman, come on—you know magic messes with your tech. One wrong hit and—"
A fireball exploded dangerously close to them, cutting him off. Debris rained down as Bruce ducked instinctively, his cape shielding him from the worst of it.
"I've had worse," Bruce grunted as he straightened up again, adjusting a slightly smoking gauntlet before pulling out a pair of Nth metal batarangs—rarely used but effective against magical entities when one got desperate enough. He tossed one experimentally in his grip before locking eyes with Clark again. "Go. Wonder Woman needs backup."
Superman exhaled sharply but relented—there was no arguing when Bruce got like this. "Fine." He shot into the sky just as Constantine’s voice rang out nearby.
"Oh wow, Batsy! Still standing? Color me impressed!" The magician sidestepped a demon swipe effortlessly while puffing on a cigarette like this was all some casual afternoon stroll for him instead of literal hell erupting around them. How typical. His smirk widened at Bruce’s immediate glare. That was what he did during all of these battles—wind up Batman mid-apocalypse battle scenario.
And god, did it work. Because this whole thing was Constantine’s fault in the first place. Somewhere in the past year he'd had a run in with Circe, who had found an alliance with one of Constantine's enemies from Hell, and now, here they were, a magic army versus the Justice League.
"Be quiet," Bruce growled, before moving to take down some lower grade magic users trying to gang up on the others.
Powers and spells and tech and loud. The battlefield was alive and thrumming with energy. But Bruce didn't give up. He pushed forward. Because even in his most uncomfortable element? He thrived in battle.
That was, until it happened.
Bruce had just managed to shield Hal from a magic blast using an anti-energy net thrown into the sky like a makeshift shield. The move had required a leap, leaving him momentarily suspended in the air, unable to dodge.
Circe had seen her chance. And to get rid of this mortal meddler?
A ray of purple hit Bruce head on.
There had been too much chaos surrounding--no one had had time to block it.
A shout of pain. And suddenly?
An empty Batman suit hit the ground in a heap of kevlar and leather.
Empty.
A stunned silence rippled through the battlefield.
For half a second, no one moved.
Then it descended into chaos.
Diana roared in fury, her sword carving through the air as she lunged at Circe with terrifying precision. Hal barely managed to yank his ring up in time to block another spell headed his way before he was forming green cleavers. Clark’s eyes burned red after scanning for heat signatures where Bruce had just been standing…and finding nothing but what he assumed was a pile of still-hot ash. The constant familiar thrum of his Bat’s heartbeat gone silent made any mercy fall short as he went on the attack.
And Constantine? His smirk was gone. Cigarette dropped from his lips as he froze mid-incantation, blue eyes darting between the discarded suit and Circe’s triumphant sneer. Something dark flickered across his face before he hissed out a curse under his breath. "Oh, you absolute idiot."
No body left behind meant this wasn't death—it was transformation. A magical displacement. Which meant Bruce wasn't gone…just elsewhere, or possibly even reconfigured entirely if Circe felt particularly spiteful today (and given her track record? She did). If he’d been incinerated? The suit would show more damage.
But Constantine didn't have time to voice that. Because the entirety of the Justice League?
They thought they had just witnessed Bruce, Batman, the world's greatest detective, a founding member, their comrade and at times leader, die.
And suddenly, the fight got a lot more violent.
Barry's speed left flames in the ground. J'onn stopped holding back his powers. Diana’s battle cry echoed like thunder as she slammed Circe into the ground with enough force to crater the earth. Clark’s heat vision carved through incoming demons like a scalpel, his usual restraint for even the undead gone—his gaze locked onto Circe with frightening intensity the next moment. Hal's constructs morphed from defensive shields into razor-edged blades, slicing through magical barriers like they were paper. Even Constantine abandoned sarcasm for sheer, visceral spellwork—whispering Latin too fast for normal ears to follow as arcane fire twisted around his fingers.
Circe barely had time to look afraid as she was surrounded, realizing one crucial miscalculation:
She just made the Justice League angry.
The fight was over within fifteen minutes. J'onn had had to personally fend off Diana from killing Circe on the spot, while Clark rushed over to the empty suit.
What was he going to tell Dick? To tell the rest of the kids?
They all knew this was a part of the job. They all risked death daily. And Bruce was no stranger to injury, no stranger to death. But to be...incinerated?
The cowl's empty lenses stared up at Clark from its deflated state.
Constantine finally managed to shoulder his way through the chaos, kicking at the crumpled suit with his boot before crouching down. His fingers flicked out—a quick diagnostic spell shimmering over the fabric.
"Relax, you lot," he muttered, ignoring how Clark's grip on the cape tightened protectively. "He's not dead."
Diana whirled on him so fast her blade nearly took off Constantine’s ear. "Explain."
John exhaled sharply through his nose—why did no one in this bloody league understand basic magical theory?—before jabbing a finger toward Circe (currently restrained by glowing Green Lantern chains). "That was a transfiguration spell, not a disintegration one! She didn't kill him, she did her namesake's signature move." He glanced back up at their confused, worried stares, and rolled his eyes. "Drama queens, all of you..."
Constantine moved to shift through the pile of fabric. "He's...in here somewhere...ah."
Buried in the chest plate and underclothes, there was a creature, wide eyed and flailing as Constantine picked it up by the feet.
A bat.
A giant golden-crowned flying fox, to be specific. Native to this region.
"There. See? He's alive," Constantine said with a smug smile. “Leave magic to the experts, eh?”
The bat—Bruce—immediately let out an indignant screech, twisting in Constantine's grip and flapping his massive wings violently. His golden fur bristled, ears pinned back in clear fury at being manhandled like this.
Clark’s shoulders slumped with relief before he promptly dissolved into laughter–half relieved, half manic. Diana barely contained a snort behind her gauntlet while Hal wheezed, doubling over mid-air as his constructs flickered out from sheer amusement at Bruce’s pitiful state (and the glee that came with knowing he wasn’t dead).
Constantine just sighed and dangled Bruce-bat by one foot like an unruly cat. "Alright, you overgrown fruit bat, settle down before I accidentally drop you."
Bruce responded by sinking sharp little fangs into John’s finger with surprising accuracy for a creature that technically shouldn’t know how to aim yet.
"Ow! You absolute wanker—!"
Bruce, the bat, literal, had not been content to be examined by Constantine, who couldn't figure out a way to break the spell just yet--and neither could Zatanna.
Both sorcerers had gone to question Circe instead--though, knowing her, it was a dead end. (Her magic even beat Diana's lasso, to a degree--speaking in vague terms that offered no help.)
Bruce had been handed off to Clark eventually, hooked feet and hands clinging onto his arm. The bat was practically vibrating on his arm.
"He's kinda scared, isn't he? Poor little guy," Barry mumbled as he approached Clark.
Clark was trying his best to comfort the bat-form of Bruce, gently stroking a finger over the small, fuzzy head as he nodded. "Yeah, he must be terrified."
Hal was hovering close by with a wide, teasing grin. "Aw, look at the little bat, the big bad bat-dude reduced to a little scaredy-cat."
Barry elbowed his side. "C'mon, that's not fair. He can't help being a cute bat."
While they all fussed and fretted over Bruce, Diana stood aside, watching closely.
What was worse was that Constantine confirmed Bruce didn't understand human language like this; so at the moment?
He was confused, and smaller than normal, in a different body.
It was funny, a little.
But Clark and Diana had always been a bit...protective, over Bruce.
And they didn't find it funny at all. Especially when Hal reached out to try and touch the fruit bat--Bruce, who let out a high pitched squeak in alarm.
Clark's arm instinctively curled around Bruce-bat, shielding him from Hal's fingers with a glare that could melt steel. "Back off, Jordan." His voice carried the kind of quiet warning usually reserved for world-ending threats.
Diana was already stepping between them, her posture rigid. "This isn't a joke," she snapped, gaze flickering to Bruce’s twitching ears and the way his tiny claws gripped Clark’s sleeve like a lifeline. "He doesn’t understand what happened."
Even J'onn floated closer, his usual calm replaced by something sharper as he shot Hal a look.
Hal threw up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright! I get it—no teasing the distressed bat." He wisely backed off, but not without muttering under his breath. "Man, you guys are so dramatic over him..."
Barry sighed, waving at Bruce sympathetically before going to zoom off and continue scene clean-up.
"...It is hard to read his mind," J'onn admitted. "Animals do not have complex language like we do. All I can sense is that he is experiencing fear, as well as brief images of his children."
Bruce wanted his family.
They hadn't broken the news to them yet.
The mention made Clark's expression crumple a little. His mind was already conjuring up the horrified looks on their faces, the tears of shock and fear and confusion.
How in the hell were they going to break this to them? What could they say? Hey, don't worry, B-man is just a cute bat now—he's still alive, no biggie.
Jesus christ, Dick was going to freak.
But Clark was the closest to the family. And the closest to Bruce.
So he already knew it had to be him.
"Go," Diana urged. "I will handle things here. We will find a way to reverse this." Her hand reached to rest on the large bat's back. Bruce didn't seem to mind her touch, though was too confused to do much else than grip Clark's arm tighter.
Clark looked at the others, getting a resolute nod from J'onn and a solemn one from Constantine. His expression softened as he looked down at Bruce-bat, gently scratching the soft golden fur between his ears. A low warble escaped the bat, but he leaned into the touch and seemed to relax a fraction.
Clark nodded, his grip on Bruce-bat shifting protectively. "I'll tell Alfred first—he'll know how to break it to the kids gently."
And then he took off–gently, as to not stress the creature wrapped in red fabric.
The flight back to Gotham was tense. Bruce clung tightly to Clark the entire way, occasionally letting out small, distressed chirps that made Clark’s heart clench.
By the time they touched down at Wayne Manor’s doorstep? Alfred was already waiting, like he had somehow sensed something was wrong (maybe through some kind of British-butler-ESP). One look at Clark’s grim expression and the giant golden bat curled under his arm told him everything he needed to know before anyone even spoke.
"Ah. I see Master Bruce has taken his branding rather literally this time."
Bruce had been shaking like a leaf by the time they had landed--buggy blue eyes (which he seemed to have retained despite the transformation) wide and alarmed.
Until he saw Alfred.
And almost immediately, scrabbled out of Clark's hold to try and make it over to the familiar, comforting face.
Only to fall flat onto the porch steps.
The thing about bats? Not very good at the ground-walking thing. And for Bruce, who had been a bat for all of an hour?
He screeched--very high pitched and chittering in the way fruit bats did--in distress as his claws found a lack of purchase on the smooth wood.
The butler moved forward with haste. In one smooth motion, he scooped up the distressed bat-Bruce with practiced hands—like Alfred Pennyworth knew how to properly handle a panicked golden-crowned flying fox (probably from some obscure butler training manual).
"There now, Master Bruce," he murmured, cradling the trembling creature against his chest like it was second nature. His fingers worked gently through the fur at Bruce's nape—a soothing gesture that had worked since Bruce was six and terrified of thunderstorms. Easily transferred to less humanoid forms. "You're quite safe."
Bruce immediately buried his face in Alfred's sleeve, tiny claws gripping the fabric like a lifeline as his panicked chitters slowly quieted into uneven little huffs. The effect was instant: this was Alfred. This was home.
Clark let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding as Alfred shot him an utterly unimpressed look over the top of Bruce’s fuzzy head—eyes sharp enough to flay skin off bone despite their calm demeanor.
The silent message?
Who did this.
And where are their corpses.
"We're...working on it," Clark's hesitant response came. "Constantine and Zatanna aren't sure how to reverse the spell yet. Circe did a transfiguration spell. She's being...handled."
And not gently.
Bruce's heartbeat was rapid against Alfred, even for a bat. He, at least, was unharmed and alive. But being stripped of language, one's body, and assaulted with new senses and bodily functions?
Even the mighty Batman would be struggling with that.
Alfred's expression darkened imperceptibly, his fingers never pausing in their methodical strokes along Bruce's fur. "I see." His voice was deceptively mild, but Clark had known Alfred long enough to recognize the quiet storm brewing beneath.
Bruce let out another small chirp against Alfred’s chest—confused, vulnerable in a way Batman never allowed himself to be—and that seemed to stir something in the butler. His jaw tightened before he turned on his heel with military precision.
"Master Clark," Alfred said crisply over his shoulder as he strode toward the manor doors, Bruce cradled securely like a disgraced emperor wrapped in silk. "Do inform Miss Zatanna and Mister Constantine that they have precisely six hours before I personally ensure their next visit to Gotham involves being sewn into sacks with rabid honey badgers."
Clark swallowed hard and nodded mutely. He wasn’t about to argue with that threat when it came from Alfred Pennyworth. Not when even gods feared this man’s wrath when one of his children was suffering.
And so Clark left, back to the Watchtower to help with the interrogation, while Bruce stayed clung to Alfred, wet nose pressing into his pulse point as he stayed buried in the crook of his neck.
The next part of the day would be difficult:
Alerting the family.
And this constituted the emergency beacon, most certainly.
Dick was the first one who responded to the alert. When he appeared through the zeta tube and into the Cave—still dressed in his Nightwing outfit and looking frazzled, like he'd just been dragged out of a mission—the last thing he'd been expecting was the sight of Alfred cradling a giant bat on the Batcomputer's main chair. His expression went slack with utter confusion before his brain finally seemed to catch up.
"...Alfred," he started slowly with wide eyes, "is that a—"
"I'd prefer to explain to the group at large," Alfred replied tightly. "Do take a seat, Master Dick."
Soon, the rest of the family trickled in. The emergency beacon wasn't something played with lightly; it meant trouble.
Which was why the increasing confusion surrounding Alfred holding a literal flying fox was surmounting.
Tim seemed vaguely creeped out by the creature. Jason just eyed it, lost. Duke cooed a bit. Steph took pictures (until she was promptly shooed away by Alfred). Cass had figured it out upon first glance. And Damian...
Well. The kid loved animals.
And a golden crowned flying fox was an incredible sight.
Damian's face lit up the moment he laid eyes on the bat-Bruce currently ensconced in Alfred's arms. He immediately darted forward with an eagerness that rivaled an excited puppy—only to be stopped dead by a sternly raised hand from the butler.
"Now, Master Damian," Alfred said, fixing Damian with a pointed look. "I must caution you to be gentle."
Damian scowled. "Of course," he grumbled, but his eyes were already locked onto the bat with a mixture of awe and admiration. When he reached out to the bat--Bruce, not that anyone but Alfred and Cass had put that together yet--the creature didn't seem afraid. Just immediately sniffed him, before clambering to try and...
Groom, Damian.
It was a very basic instinct: this is my child. Care for my child.
And suddenly, the gesture, paired with the fact that Bruce was notably absent, and had been on a mission related to magic only a small while ago?
Recognition flooded each of them.
Dick let out a choked noise, something between laughter and horror, as his brain finally clicked. "Wait, wait, wait—that's Bruce?!" his voice cracked.
Jason went stiff as a board, eyes darting from the bat (who was now meticulously nibbling at Damian's hair), to Alfred. "You're joking."
Tim exhaled sharply through his nose and shoved his domino up to pinch the bridge of it like he was already getting a headache. "Great. Just—great." Beside him, Duke had lowered his phone from taking pictures.
Steph’s jaw dropped before she suddenly whipped around to point accusingly at Cass (who had been suspiciously quiet this whole time). "YOU KNEW?! And you didn’t warn us?!"
Cass shrugged slightly. “The blue eyes,” she said like it was obvious. “Would be brown if it was a normal bat.”
Bruce was clinging to Damian's uniform and 'cleaning' his face and hair with precision--one wing clumsily flapping and ending up covering the kid's face.
Fruit bats of this species were the largest in the world. Bruce's current form was about a foot tall, with a five foot wingspan. Larger than life, even as a literal bat.
It was a scene that was so absurd that for a moment nobody said anything. Everyone just stared in utter bewilderment as the world's greatest detective and current patriarch of a vigilante family, now a bat, ran his tongue along a strand of hair while Damian was just sitting there, utterly still, and letting Bruce groom him like it was the most important thing in the world. His normal scowl was smoothed out, replaced by a look of pure fascination.
Even Alfred looked like he was struggling to keep up his stoic demeanor at the sheer absurdity of it all. After a beat, he cleared his throat.
"Yes. This..." He gestured to the bat-Bruce, "...is indeed, Master Bruce."
And the confirmation sent chaos erupting through the group. Their voices overlapped as they spoke at once.
"How the hell did that happen?!" Jason blurted, before he lost it—doubling over with a bark of laughter so loud it echoed off the cave walls. "Oh my god, this is gold. The big bad Bat reduced to a literal winged rat with no impulse control—"
"More importantly, is it permanent?" Dick echoed his first sentiment, sounding twice as concerned and baffled.
Tim pinched the bridge of his nose again. "Please don't tell me the only lead we have right now on how to fix this is John Constantine."
Damian grinned as he adjusted Bruce’s grip on his shoulder. "Father makes an excellent familiar."
Steph had started taking closer up photos with a manic grin. "So going in the group chat."
Duke awkwardly glanced up at the cave bats. "Uh. Is he like. Gonna hang out on the ceiling now?"
Bruce seemed a bit overwhelmed with all of the noise. He flinched slightly as Jason's laughter got louder.
With a sudden flap of his wings, he got off of Damian--
And was right back to latching onto Alfred, claws digging into his suit jacket as he landed chaotically and trembled.
Alfred had had enough. They weren't taking this like the serious matter it was.
"Everyone calm down."
Alfred's booming command instantly cut through the chaos of noise and laughter. He shot a glare across the room, his sharp eyes sweeping the gathered group as he adjusted Bruce against his chest.
Everyone went silent.
"Do I have your attention? Good."
Alfred's gaze softened a fraction as he looked down at Bruce, who was currently shaking like a leaf in his arms. "Master Bruce is currently in a highly vulnerable state. He is terrified and confused, and you lot are acting like children. Enough of this ridiculousness."
The scolding was met with immediate sheepishness from Jason, Steph, Duke, and Damian. All that was left was the tension from Alfred's lingering tone, and Bruce's nervous chitters and breaths as he buried himself under a wing like a shield.
It was only then that the grimness of the situation fully set in.
Dick's hands curled into fists at his side. Bruce—his father, their mentor and leader, for gods' sakes—was currently a literal bat. He was trembling and terrified, and all anyone had done in response was treat it like some hilarious situation to laugh and take pictures over.
He couldn't imagine what it felt like. To lose control over your mind, body, voice…
He was the first to move, approaching with gentle, quiet intent. "Alfred's right," he murmured, stepping closer with a hand outstretched toward Bruce-bat. He kept his movements slow and deliberate, letting the bat sniff him before attempting contact. "We need to be logical here."
Jason sighed heavily through his nose before shoving his hands in his pockets with an awkward shuffle of feet. "Fine. But I reserve the right to mock him relentlessly after we fix this."
Tim had already started typing furiously on a Batcomputer keyboard. "We should pull up all known cases of human-to-animal transfiguration magic and see what counterspells exist—"
Cass nodded once at Alfred in silent solidarity—she'd been quietly furious since she realized Bruce was scared rather than just confused—before moving beside Dick to help soothe their disoriented father-figure by gently stroking along the soft fur between his wings.
Even Damian looked contrite as he stepped forward again (much more carefully this time) with an offered piece of fruit from Alfred’s always-stocked snack tray nearby. "Father...apologies for my earlier behavior."
Bruce had allowed the touches--didn't seem afraid of his children--but wasn't quite relaxing anymore now. He didn't even sniff the fruit--just staring with wide eyes and quick breaths. He didn't seem to want to move from Alfred at the moment.
Steph had awkwardly lowered her phone. "...I'll uh. Go tell Babs and the Birds of Prey. We'll take over patrols," she offered in weak apology to Alfred.
Alfred nodded gratefully at Steph. "Good. That would be appreciated."
Duke awkwardly cleared his throat. "Um...maybe someone should tell Commissioner Gordon what's going on, before he hears it from someone else? Just to, um...keep everyone in the loop."
Dick's head snapped up. "Right. Good thinking, Duke."
Because that was the thing.
Not only was this a horrible experience for Bruce...
Gotham was now missing its true Batman. And it wasn't the same as it was with injuries or vacations, where they knew he'd be back.
No.
The uncertainty was harrowing.
Tim’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “...Guess we better pull out the contingency plans. He probably has one for something like this.”
Jason let out a slow breath through gritted teeth before muttering, "Christ." Even he couldn’t find humor anymore—not when Gotham was on the line.
Cass moved silently to Bruce-bat again, gently pressing her forehead against his tiny head—a wordless promise: We’ll fix this.
Dick straightened with forced calm. "Okay," he said evenly, hands gripping the back of a chair so hard the metal groaned under his gloves. "We handle this like we do everything else—together." He pointed at Jason and Tim sharply. "Research duty—magic counterspells, previous cases like this." His gaze flicked to Steph and Duke next. "Gotham needs its shadows even if Batman can't be there right now." Finally, he turned toward Damian and Cass with firm resolve. "And someone needs to make sure Dad doesn't accidentally fly into a ceiling fan."
Alfred exhaled quietly in approval as Bruce finally relaxed slightly against him again (though those wide eyes stayed darting between them all like he knew something was wrong, but not what). The bat let out another quiet chirp before burying himself further into Alfred's jacket collar as if trying to hide from reality itself.
It was going to be a long night.
Meanwhile…
A golden lasso-wielding warrior sat cross-legged across from an infuriating sorceress in her cell.
Diana leaned forward with razor-sharp sweetness.
"Now Circe…Let us try that spell reversal one more time."