Gotham was a strange city, dangerous and proud. Those who stayed were either too poor, too stupid, or too stubborn to leave. Those who stayed were jealously, ruthlessly Gotham’s children.
The rest of the country knew that Bruce Wayne was in the too stupid category. Despite numerous kidnappings and galas taken hostage. Despite the frankly absurd amounts of money lost to theft and wasted on foolish endeavors to fix what clearly should just be left to rot. The man just wouldn’t leave. He just smiled and gave that stupid little shrug that said ‘what can you do’ in the middle of whatever crime scene he’d found himself in that week and moved on.
Gotham knew that Bruce Wayne was in the too stubborn category. He may have been a little bit ditsy and endearingly confused much of the time but there was no way he was still there out of some lack of intelligence. They all saw the way his expression tightened every time a reporter from out of Gotham stood before the latest pile of destruction and asked if this was finally enough. The way he set his jaw in the face of disaster was a look many Gothamites knew intimately. It was the stubborn jut of ‘this is my city and I’m not moving, no matter what happens.’
Gotham knew a few things about Bruce Wayne that the rest of the country just didn’t seem to understand.
Gotham had been watching their premiere son, had seen him in his tragedy and strength.
Gotham knew the look of one of its children.
Bruce Wayne didn’t always look like a child of Gotham. That just meant that Gothamites were more flexible than anyone gave them credit for.
The rest of the country watched with fascination as the corruption so ever present and oozing from every institution seemed to falter at Wayne Enterprises. They tittered and joked that Bruce Wayne had somehow managed to be too brainless for even the most basic embezzlement scheme.
Gotham knew better.
They knew that while Bruce Wayne was certainly… Well, the poor dear did seem to have hit his head as a child… and quite often since if all the unfortunate and bizarre accidents were any indication.
But! Bruce Wayne was not too stupid to run an embezzlement scheme and even if he was, the CEO certainly had no need to run the embezzlement scheme himself.
Corruption is easy, simple, it is not hampered by stupidity or brainless socialites.
No, Bruce Wayne was just bafflingly, unfailingly, inexplicably an excellent judge of character.
What he lacked in other departments was more than made up for by an empty grin and “vibes.” A term that apparently confounded the board of directors so thoroughly he had to invite his latest child in to explain “that hip new slang you kids are on about.”
And the children! Oh, the children.
The rest of the country didn’t understand.
Gotham did.
Or at least, looking at adorable chubby cheeks and a winning grin, they thought they did.
Dick Grayson wasn't Gotham’s child, not quite.
He was Bruce Wayne’s child certainly, his pride and joy from how much he yammered on about him at parties. Gotham wasn’t sure.
But… in spite of that, Gotham took hold of him anyway and didn’t let go, enough that he never flew far, enough that he was comfortable in their sister city.
Gotham would always have a soft spot for its lost little acrobat, its kind little transplant.
The second one was Gotham's child through and through.
The tabloids scoffed and gossiped about the charity case, at least the last one was interesting. A born performer plucked from a life few could understand and thrust into a position many could envy.
This one was a street child, resilient and clever.
This one didn’t give tight smiles and uncomfortable eye contact at veiled comments. This one fought for survival at every gala and in every headline. This one was different.
Bruce Wayne’s peers never saw beyond the accent and origins.
The people of Gotham loved him. They mourned him.
Jason Todd was Gotham’s child.
It felt very fitting that he would be the one to meet a tragic end. Gotham loved, it loved and it burned.
Gotham was for those too poor, too stupid, too stubborn to leave.
Gotham’s beloved child breathed his last an ocean away.
It only seemed right Gothamites would swear they saw him out of the corner of their eye in the crowd in the evenings, hallucinated him in line at coffee shops late at night, and glimpsed him turning a corner in his childhood neighborhood as the sun rose. A new white strip in his hair, strong and tall in the way that child never grew to be.
It was only wishful thinking. Why, after all, would the child of such a cursed city be so lucky?
Of course, it was only right that Gotham’s child would haunt its streets, forever unable to move on, forever trapped by a cursed city.
The third one was Gotham’s child.
A different Gotham than the last, but still Gotham.
A more proper Gotham, Bristol born and bred.
Even Bristol could not escape the tragedy that seeped into Gotham's very foundations.
Bruce Wayne was a little more hesitant this time. There was less gushing and loud bragging to whatever socialite was within earshot this time. Little smiles and sad eyes told the world of the tragedy there.
This one was proper and smart, quiet and measured.
Bruce Wayne’s peers approved.
Gotham didn’t care what they said about it. They saw the set of his jaw and the flash of anger in his eyes when journalists spoke of taking his smarts and skills and moving beyond a broken, doomed city.
Timothy Drake was Gotham’s child.
Too stubborn to be anything but.
The final one was no surprise, at least in origin.
Rumors of bastard children were not uncommon. Bruce Wayne, billionaire and foolish child of Gotham, it was no stretch of the imagination to say there had been unforeseen consequences to one or more of his adventures with the ladies.
So, no, Gotham was not surprised that Bruce Wayne’s latest child was actually a blood son.
The rest of the country spent a busy week churning the scandal all on their own.
Gotham waited.
To see if this one was one of their own.
This one was arrogant and proud, passionate and unafraid to speak his mind.
Gotham watched their latest child, stiff and small and formal. They watched him scoff and announce to the public that: “My father has once again disgraced himself in a skiing accident.”
They saw a child not quite sure how to act his age, not quite comfortable in their streets, stubborn and angry and Gotham claimed him.
Damian Wayne would be Gotham’s child.
Whether he knew it yet or not.
He would be.
Gotham was a jealous city, a cursed city. It was a city like all others. It had children, uncountable children according to the disastrous census attempts, it loved each of them.
The ones too poor, too stupid, too stubborn to leave.
Bruce Wayne and his ever growing gaggle of children were no different.
Gotham would watch them grow, watch them change, mourn each loss and celebrate each achievement.
They were Gotham’s children.
For better and worse.
Now and forever.