Summary: Magic lived in Everyone. Or the one where was chosen as Gotham’s Keeper at birth.
Part 1 of a Series.
TW: There is mention of miscarriage. And there more moments when Bruce doesn’t really like himself. Mention of jumping off a building.
Magic lived in everyone.
From the tiniest hum under their skin, like the one Bruce heard from his mother when he cuddled with her, to the more visible and stronger kind that Alfred wielded with precision. Magic lived in everybody and once you were a certain age, it finally came alive.
Not that it was asleep before. It just wasn’t…connected. Even then, most children knew what their magic was going to be like. The little girl who could make animals happy with just a touch knew she would be a healer. The little boy who’s magic sounded in his laugh and one day would weave itself in his voice, even if it was too weak to do anything other then sing fussy babies to sleep.
Bruce could never understand his own magic though. It thrummed in his body, loud and fiery, with no way or direction. It did seem to want to teach or push or even lay down. It was just there like…like it was waiting.
Waiting for what? Little Bruce wondered for the first time after his fifth birthday when he had finally put into words the feeling that his magic gave him.
His mom smiled at him when he mentioned it, her omega scent of honey and apples wrapping around him.
“You will figure it out, sweetheart,” she told him, “Everyone eventually does,”
His dad ruffled his hair and nodded, “Don’t worry son. Your mother is right. Everything has its place, so does your magic,”