A/N: This one came on a whimsy, hope you get a smile out of it and let me know what you think =]


Only child trait number one: being spoiled rotten.

Okay, really, he's a multi-billionaire and was raised as the only Wayne heir, to any given outsider of course he seems spoiled. A huge mansion, a butler, nice fancy cars and private jets, a huge company, and the ability to buy absolutely anything he desires, Bruce has it all. Bruce is not, however, spoiled. Nor was he ever spoiled. If anything, he's the kind of man to lavishly spoil everyone else.

When Bruce had been eight years old, his father had taken him out to do some Christmas shopping. Being the typical boy that he was, he had immediately homed in on the sleekest, most expensive computer tablet in the mall's electronics store. Noticing that his son was no longer by his side, Thomas Wayne had turned around to see his boy with his face practically plastered to the store window.

With a soft smile on his face, Thomas had backtracked through the throngs of holiday shoppers until he was right beside his son. Kneeling down so that he was almost level with Bruce, Thomas had asked a question that struck a chord in Bruce's young mind.

"Do you need it?"

If he really thought about it, Bruce had everything a kid could possibly want, a fact that his classmates didn't hesitate to enviously point out to him on an almost daily basis. With all the cool toys he already had at home, did he really need another one just because it was shiny looking?

Unsticking his face from the window, Bruce turned his face up towards his father with a wide toothy smile of his own as he shook his head.

"No, I don't need it. But mommy said that she needs a new mixer."

"That she did. You want to buy it for her?" Thomas asked, gently ruffling Bruce's hair before straightening up and taking Bruce's small gloved hand in his.

Bruce did buy his mother that red mixer she'd wanted, but he also bought the tablet twenty years later to put under the tree for the first Christmas he shared with Dick.

Only child trait number two: being socially shy and introverted.

Um, have you seen the number of parties Bruce attends? And half of those parties are ones that he himself hosts on an almost monthly basis.

Every party attended calls for a date or two that of course needs to be fed a nice dinner and be appropriately conversed with for at least two hours before the party even starts. Once arrived at the party there is always at least thirty people Bruce has to schmooze for work, and then there is at least another fifty that need to be chatted with for social standing's sake.

If you calculate it all out, on a weekly basis Bruce has to be socially amicable to about a hundred people for somewhere close to five hours, and that's all outside of work, forget about all the human interaction that's required during work hours.

As for Bruce's cold aloofness as Batman, well that hardly counts. It's necessary for the protection of his civilian identity. Besides, not even Batman's social isolation is sacred anymore, not since Robin came along.

Upon seeing his adopted son's struggle with making friends he could really relate to and trust, Bruce had bitten the bullet and gone to Barry. Bruce had known that, as annoying as the flaming red speedster was, Barry did have a nephew who was close to Dick's age and who was also in training to someday become a superhero.

So Dick met Wally, and they hit it off immediately. Thusly, Batman is now unfortunately subjected to Flash's frequent elbowing about setting up 'play dates' and 'bonding between parental figures'. Bruce figures that slinging a batarang at the man's head would probably be a bad idea.

Only child trait number three: being possessive.

Er…right. You know, possessive is such a…strong word. Bruce prefers the term protective, and at the most over protective on certain occasions.

As a child, Bruce was perfectly fine with sharing his toys with other kids, just as long as they were played with where Bruce could keep a sharp eye on them, they were played with in the proper way, they were only played with for ten minutes tops, and they were cleaned of all fingerprints before being returned. If any toy was returned with even a single scratch…well, let's just say there's a reason why Batman has such an intimidating glare.

Once Bruce started school he started to mellow out in his possessive issues, much to his parents' and later Alfred's relief. He only twitched ever so slightly when he saw one of his lent out pens or pencils getting nibbled on, and he only plotted revenge if he was forced to rip out a page of his impeccably kept notebook when an annoying desk neighbor started prodding him with a writing utensil.

As he grew older and became Batman, however, Bruce's possessive streak returned with a vengeance. Bruce blames Dick, wholeheartedly, for having the ability to change Bruce the way he did. After all, Bruce does not secretly intimidate bullies in the dark of night as Gotham's most feared vigilante, unless said bullies have thrown Dick's bag into the pool and then laughed when the boy had to go swimming for his ruined homework.

Bruce also does not get unnecessarily violent with the evildoers he takes down as Batman. That is, he does not beat them into a bloody pulp unless they kidnap his Robin, chain him up, and then attempt to beat the life out of him. Scarecrow will recover from the physical injuries in about a year if he's lucky, mental injury recovery is debatable.

Okay, so Bruce has a problem when it comes to being overly protective/possessive, so sue him. He'll probably win.

"Brucey, where'd you go?" A simpering voice suddenly brought Bruce's attention back to the formal function he was currently hosting and to his date of the night. Hanging off of his arm like a dolled up handbag was a voluptuous blond wearing a dress dipped down to there and slit up to here. In other words, Lindsay was the typical stereotype of Bruce's dates.

Where does he even find these girls?

"Perhaps he was mentally shutting himself off from your inane, uneducated chatter for fear of contracting your stupid. Or maybe he was trying to ignore the fact that you've been rubbing yourself against him like a cat in heat for the past two hours. Take your pick." Dick was suddenly next to them, sparkling juice in hand and slim stature looking sharp in the dark suit Alfred had forced him into.

Lindsay looked highly offended at the cool glare being sent her way by the thirteen year old, perfectly coifed curls framing a pouting face. With a snooty humph, the woman flounced off with her nose in the air and heels clicking against the marble floor, obviously expecting Bruce to chase after her after chastising his son.

Bruce, however, stayed where he was, his body relaxing minutely as Lindsay's cloying presence finally left. Glancing to his side where Dick had situated himself after Lindsay's departure, Bruce noted the smug expression now adorning Dick's face as he took a sip of his juice.

"Don't forget Bruce, I'm an only too."