black-cat-luck

[black-cat-luck]

no one teaches an assassin

how to grieve

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Damian is staring forward blindly, hands still sticky from not drying properly, suit still sticking to his skin, eyes still dry from crying all his tears. The room is painfully quiet, the last noise was the door slamming shut, still echoing off the empty walls. Damian is alone, the manor quieter than he’s ever heard it, uncomfortable and thick to sit in.

A new door opens, and Damian’s sight is filled with the face of his eldest brother’s, horrified eyes overlooking every one of the younger’s features, his lips move but no words reach Damian’s ears, his shoulders are shaken, but he doesn’t react, he doesn’t even blink. “Never forgive me.” He whispers, unsure when the words had managed to make their way up his throat, Dick makes a pained face and looks behind them, seeing their father’s bedroom door is shut. “I think you both could use some tea.” Damian hears those words, and then his body is cold as Dick moves his own away, taking his warmth and comfort. Damian seems lifeless again, unmoving until Dick is back in front of him a few minutes later.

There’s new voices now, Damian isn’t listening to anything, letting the hot cup burn his hands as he holds the tea Dick had forced into his grasp. He hears hushed whispers, gasps, curses. There’s other faces in his field of view, other worried hands prodding, pushing, trying to get a reaction out of him. He swats one away, and they’re at least grateful to know he’s aware.

After painfully long minutes, another door opens. Damian feels a chill run down his spine, and he nearly spills the tea as his shaking hands set it down onto the coffee table, head bowed as he listens to the footsteps getting closer, his heart beats loudly in his chest as he waits, and waits.

“Damian.” His father’s voice saying his name makes him cry, eyes squeezed shut as he bows himself lower, hands clenched in fists as he sits in his misery.

“Damian.” Hearing it a second time is near agonizing, he feels like he might throw up, petrified as he hears a few more steps, a new hushed whisper.

“Son.” Damian falls to his knees, sobbing openly now as he bows at Bruce’s feet, entire body trembling violently. “I’m sorry!” He chokes on his words, mouth full of his sorrows and pain, tongue feeling like it’d been split in two, he’s pressing his forehead to the ground, nails scratching at the tile, he’s never felt this kind of emotion, this mix of pain and terror, grief for someone who he can hear the breaths of.

“I know.” Bruce’s voice is soft, maybe it had been soft this whole time, Damian wouldn’t know. He can’t hear anything but his own cries, the ones that escape his lips, and the ones that he’s heard on repeat in his own mind for hours now. A hand touches his back and he flinches violently, worse than he ever has, pushing himself closer to the floor as if he’d been burned. “Please, son.” Bruce pleads, touching his back again, he waits until Damian lets him, and he places another hand on the boy, adding a soft pressure to his fingertips, coaxing Damian to lift his body up. The boy is heavier than he’s ever been, his grief dragging him as low as he feels. Damian cries out as if he’s pained, and Bruce doesn’t relent, eventually getting him to sit up.

Damian sits back on his ankles, face contorted in his despair, Bruce looks like he always has, and that’s what scares Damian the most, hands shaking as Bruce suddenly leans down, and hugs him. Damian is rigid as stone, hands opening and closing as Bruce squeezes him so tight he can’t breathe, face buried in his son’s shoulder. “I know you’re sorry, I know.” Bruce rasps, hands shaking as he rubs Damian’s back through the suit, and Damian can’t respond, his cries get louder, hyperventilating as he crumples in his fathers arms, throat raw as he screams, finally letting everything out of his small body, every noise and desperate cry is muffled in Bruce’s shirt, in Bruce’s arms, in his fathers comfort.

Bruce doesn’t let go even when they both struggle for air and have run out of tears to cry. Bruce lifts himself onto the couch beside them, and holds Damian in his arms just as tight as he had been. His son curls up closer now that he can, entire body engulfed in Bruce’s hold, comforted only knowing he’s in his father’s lap, it’s the safest place he could ever be.

The others are still there, as quiet as they can be, but on edge, alert, nervous and overwhelmed as they can only stare at the eldest and youngest of their family more vulnerable than either have ever been seen.

“I’m sorry.” Damian’s voice is hoarse, eyes sleepily struggling to stay open, staring at Bruce’s jaw, a bit of dried blood still staining the skin. “I know.” Bruce whispers, staring ahead of them as Damian’s hand grips his forearm, almost afraid to let go. “Can you ever forgive me?” His voice is weaker now, almost like he didn’t want to say the words, afraid for the answer. “I will.” Bruce responds, and that’s all Damian can hold onto, he doesn’t, he won’t for a long time, but eventually. One day, he will be forgiven.

“I’ve never felt that pain before. It wasn’t physical.” Damian says, sniffling. “Grief.” Bruce says its name like it’s an old friend.

“Grandson of the Demon Head.” Damian whispers, Bruce hums. “I wouldn’t have been able to get you to the pits in time.” He’s explaining, even as Bruce’s hold has tightened, he knows his father is swallowing down his anger.

“I don’t regret what I did. I regret I had to.” Bruce’s grip tightens if even for just a moment. “I know.” Is all he responds, Damian pulls one of his gloves off, licking his thumb, and wiping away the blood on his father’s throat. Bruce flinches at the first touch, but allows his son to continue. “You’ll forgive me one day. I can wait for that. The world needs Batman. I need my father.” Damian reasons, Bruce’s jaw is clenched, eyes dark as he stares at the empty hall in front of him. “I’ll forgive you.” He says, one day, he knows he will, Damian knows he will, so now they’ll both sit in their grief together.

Damian stares at the slight pink stain still on Bruce’s skin, the same skin he’d just seen torn open, the same blood that Bruce’s body laid in for thirty seven minutes, going cold, stained red, lungs empty of air. Damian knew he would never make it in time to get Bruce into the pits, he knew he wasn’t strong enough, a young teenage boy trying to carry his fathers body across the world to save him? It couldn’t be done, it wasn’t possible. But Damian was the Grandson of the Demon, Damian knew he had many possessions valuable to a hell crawler that would give his father back. It might’ve been easier to forgive, Damian thinks, if the life being breathed back into his father’s body wasn’t a curse. If Bruce didn’t wake up, and know he would never be put to sleep again. Immortality might have been a gift to others.

Bruce does not know what Damian traded for his life. Bruce fears Damian himself, doesn’t know what he traded. Bruce will never know, whether or not Damian knows, he will go to his own grave with the knowledge. A grave Bruce himself will have dug. Bruce is cursed to live through all of his children growing old and dying. Bruce’s own children couldn’t exist in a world without him that he is suffering the consequence of the same love he taught them. Bruce Wayne took on a mantle as both Batman, and as a father, and it is his curse that he is going to have to live with it, for the rest of eternity. Damian is sorry for cursing his father, Damian is not sorry that he couldn’t live in a world without him. No one ever taught an assassin how to grieve, and the son of Batman will stop at nothing to save someone he loves, even if they can’t forgive him for it yet.

[black-cat-luck]

Jason groans as a gun points between his eyes, he’s a civilian right now, standing beside Bruce as the mugger yells unnecessarily at them. What Jason should’ve done, is pull his wallet out of his back pocket and hand it over. It’s been ingrained in all of them to just give them whatever they’re asking for. A wallet is meaningless, don’t act stupid over something as small as money. But Jason is angry. He and Bruce are trying to mend their relationship, and they were having a really good night, Jason was actually happy to be with Bruce tonight, and this asshole just had to ruin it all.

“Y’know what asshole? I would’ve just handed it over no problem but you’re being a real prick and I should just beat the hell outta you for it.” Jason sneers, he takes a step forward and Bruce suddenly yanks him back, it’s a surprising force, and Jason’s view is suddenly blocked, he feels his wallet get yanked out of his pocket, and he can only see the back of Bruce’s head, hearing the sound of the wallets being shoved into the muggers hand. Bruce hasn’t said a word, and the mugger runs off without one as well. Jason is angry now, because yeah wallets are meaningless, and they all carry two so they can hand off one without anything but some cash and an expired gift card, but it’s the principle. Red Hood just got mugged?? Batman handed over their wallets without just disarming the man?

Jason Todd has disarmed men in seconds before, has turned their own guns on them before they can blink, one little gun means nothing in his face, and he learned it from Bruce, he learned it from the man who can break a wrist and pour out the bullets before the assailant can even get a single threat out, so why is Jason now standing here mugged?

“What the hell was that about Bruce? We easily could’ve just-“ Jason stops mid sentence, he’d been angry, his words had a bite to them, and he was ready to just go off, but as he walks around Bruce, he sees him standing completely still, staring where the mugger had been, hands clenched in fists in front of him. He doesn’t blink, he doesn’t even react to Jason’s voice.

“Oh.” Jason whispers, looking around to see they’re in an alley now, having been shoved into it with a gun in their face, threatened by a strange man to give him what they had of value. Jason looks back to Bruce and sees that the man’s face is paler than he’s ever seen it. “Okay, okay B I’ve got you, we’re okay.” He says gently, he wraps his arms around Bruce, and feels the man violently flinch at the touch. “We’re okay, it’s over, we’re safe. Let’s go home yeah?” Jason’s voice is soft as he gets Bruce to start moving, feet dragging against the floor as Jason keeps his arms wrapped around him, they make it to where their car was, just barely a block away, and Jason helps him in, sighing as he starts driving.

Alfred is already ready for them when they get back to the manor. Jason helps Bruce up to his bedroom, and wraps a blanket around his shoulders. “Hey old man we’re safe and home okay? See-“ Jason steps back and waves his hands over himself. “I’m good, you’re good.” He pats Bruce down, trying to get it across in whatever way he can. “We’re okay.” He promises, Bruce still has a distant look in his eyes, fingers clutching tightly at the blanket over him. “Get some rest, I’ll be here.” Jason promises, turning and walking out of the room as Alfred brings Bruce tea.

He’s angry at a lot of things, and he’s angry that Bruce was sent into this trauma response, he’s angry that they were mugged. He wants to go put a bullet between the muggers eyes, but he promised Bruce he would be here, and if Bruce calls for Jason and he’s not here, if Bruce somehow finds out where Jason is, that might send him spiraling further. So Jason sits down, trying to squash his anger away as he flips dramatically through a magazine sitting on the coffee table.

“Little wing!” Dick says excitedly as he comes inside, and Jason sighs, annoyed, but thankful for a new distraction as he skims through some celebrity story. “Dickhead.” Jason responds, not even looking up as Dick plops himself onto the couch across from him. “Thought tonight was yours and Bruce’s daddy son date?” Dick teases as Jason rolls his eyes. “Got mugged.” He says, not missing the way the silence hits them thickly. “What?” Dick ask, worry clear in his voice, Jason’s sighs and sets the magazine down. “We were down by crime alley too, I wanted to fight the asshole but Bruce like…Shut down. He threw our stuff at him and couldn’t even move. He’s been catatonic for a while now, Alf is upstairs with him.” He says, rubbing his temple as Dick’s expression stays full of worry, but also very sad. “That must’ve been so scary.” Dick says softly, and Jason huffs. “The guy was an amateur! I could’ve easily disarmed him and just-“ “for Bruce.” Dick says, and Jason sighs. “Yeah, I’m sure it was, but I was there, I wouldn’t haveve let anything happen to him.” Jason reminds Dick, who sighs in exasperation. “Jay he was scared for you. We all know Bruce has little to no care for his own life, but think about how traumatic it must feel for him to be in that situation again, with you.” Dick explains, and Jason grinds his teeth, not looking at him.

“He’s not always Batman, and you’re not always Red Hood. He was Bruce, and you were Jason, and he was terrified he was going to lose you like he lost them.” Dick’s voice is so gentle it makes Jason angry. “I can protect myself.” He feels like he has to prove himself. “We both know that, but trauma doesn’t care for logic. Bruce probably felt defenseless and scared, and he had you with him, he was scared he wouldn’t be able to save you.” Jason sighs, having no argument. “I know you feel like you have to prove yourself, but you don’t always have to be son of Batman, you can be the son of Bruce.” Dick reminds him, getting up and walking away when Jason doesn’t respond. Dick goes to Bruce’s room, and Jason sits and stares at the bedroom door, and he now has to face his anger as it really is, not how he hides behind it. He’s angry because Bruce was hurt, and he didn’t get to make the bastard sorry for doing this to his dad.

Bruce is okay after a couple hours. Jason is hanging off the edge of the couch, watching upside down as Dick and Bruce descend the stairs, both even laughing and joking about something Jason didn’t hear. Jason gets dizzy as he rights himself, and barely has enough time to blink out the duplicates of Bruce as the man hugs him. He sits on the couch beside him as Jason grumbles, but hugs him back. “Welcome back old man.” He mumbles, unconsciously burying his face in Bruce’s shoulder as the elder man laughs softly. “Sorry Jay, you alright?” He asks, he pulls away from the hug, but stays close enough to still have one arm wrapped around him, the other busy carding his fingers through his son’s hair. “Just fine.” Jason responds, and Bruce sits back, knowing his time of accepted physical touch was up.

“I’m glad you’re okay, I was just waiting here until you were, I’m gonna go find that bastard and above that gun up his-“ “already done.” Both Jason and Bruce blink at Dick, who’s smiling slyly. “What.” Jason says, eyes narrowing. “Oh he was from metropolis, ran back there right after, I might have let a small not well known forum in on the fact that someone had the nerve to rob Bruce Wayne and put a gun to his sons head, so he was handled before Superman had the time to find him hanging from a light pole by his underwear.” Dick rocks on his feet as both Bruce and Jason stare at him. “Gotham thugs are pretty protective over pretty boy here, some work in Metropolis and had some time on their hands waiting for the train home.” Dick is too casual about it, and it’s also kind of frightening that he can just…Send a hit on a random person; and thugs from Gotham will just, do it?

Neither Bruce nor Jason say anything, and Dick smiles wider. “Didn’t want to worry about you going after him little wing! I’m gonna make hot chocolate.” He says, turning and walking away, leaving the room in the confused and part worried silence Jason and Bruce stare at each other with. “Well, saves me time.” Jason finally settles on, sitting back and kicking his feet up in Bruce’s lap. Bruce is torn between being grateful his son isn’t out there putting himself in danger over this, but also worried that it’s only been four hours, and Dick already has it all handled. “Alright I’m too tired to think this hard.” Bruce decides, sitting back and turning the tv on, his free hand rests on Jason’s legs, thumb rubbing shapes into the boys ankle, and they’re both comforted having one another like this, and even more so when Dick joins them, kicking his feet on top of Jason’s, and Bruce has his eldest two sitting beside him, comfortable and safe.

[black-cat-luck]

Flightless Bird

Tim is not a bird. Tim never needed to fly, but the Bat couldn’t fly alone, and there were no birds there to help him.

Cw: suicide attempt, mention of death/mutilation, metaphors in place of actual events.

1.7k words

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Tim Drake was born without wings. That’s okay, it never bothered him, he never had wings, so you can’t miss something you didn’t have right? Sure he got jealous seeing all the birds flying above them, but it was out of reach, impossible, he just moved on.

Gotham was known for its birds. Famous for it even. The city didn’t have many actually, despite it being known for them, it was only because of the few they did have. The few they had that protected those who didn’t. It was a noble sacrifice, one that they all honored. The birds of Gotham were so beautiful.

Tim would spend countless nights laying on a rooftop and just watching them fly, taking pictures of the way their wings fluttered as they soared. The Bat was the first bird to fly over Gotham. His wings were such a dark black they were invisible at night, and Tim only knew so much because he’d watched a feather drop, right into his lap, and it’s his most prized possession, he keeps it with his favorite picture of the Bat.

The next bird was just as beautiful, maybe even more so. Blue Birds wings were the same pitch black, but at the very tips, his feathers were a beautiful bright blue, shining as the fluttered and danced in the sky, his way of flying seemed like a show, like he was performing. He was so effortlessly mesmerizing, it made everyone want to be him, want to feel that freedom; that surge of protectiveness over those beneath him.

The third bird was breathtaking, his wings weren’t as black, a lighter shade; but a blood red on their tips. The Crimson bird flew more jagged, like he wasn’t following any direction, bouncing through the air, flying higher than anyone could ever hope to, diving straight toward the ground, and lurching himself back up last second. He seems to be playing, having fun as he reached unimaginable places, his call echoing off the tired city that watched him soar.

Tim was so happy to just watch them, every night he stared at the sky, stared at them. Plastering his walls in pictures of them, dreaming one day maybe he could fly too.

Then the Crimson bird stopped flying. It tried to stay as a whisper, but soon everyone knew, the birds wings had been cut. It was devastating to everyone, but especially the Bat. Tim could never mourn not being able to fly because he never could. But he also couldn’t imagine if he could fly, only to have it taken from him, he knows that’s not something anyone could come back from.

The Bat doesn’t fly like he used to. Tim sits there with his camera, waiting, and any time he does see him, he’s flying too low, he’s being reckless, he’s scaring people. The Bat isn’t supposed to fly like this, the Bat needs to fly in the sky or the people won’t trust him anymore, or it will all have been nothing. His call is softer now, sad. It reminds Tim of a mother bird calling out to her little ones, knowing they won’t answer, they can’t answer, they can’t fly.

The Bat needs someone to fly with. Tim has had this idea in the back of his mind ever since he saw Blue Bird fly. It’s stupid, it’s reckless, but The Bat is in trouble, and Tim so desperately wants to be like them, to know how it feels, to fly.

He’s always been a genius, it only makes sense that he was able to make his own wings. They don’t take long, it’s something he’s been planning out in his mind for a decade. They’re a bit clunky, but he makes them look real, he can’t risk anyone knowing they’re fake, he’s a fake. The Bat needs him, and he needs the sky.

He only has one chance, he reckons. He knows a simple few flaps won’t work, he needs distance, he needs air, he needs to throw himself off a seven story building, giving himself enough time to fall, enough time to catch himself. If they don’t work, well he won’t be alive to have to face the embarrassment of being found dead with a pair of fake wings on.

He weighs his options, nerves overwhelming him, but as he looks at the sky, there’s no stars visible, no wings cutting through his vision. The Bat needs him, he reminds himself. He has to do this.

He leaps from the building, swallowing back a scream as he opens the wings, he flaps once, steadies his breath, and catches himself halfway down. The wings flutter seamlessly, and he cries out happily, lurching himself upward, flying in circles, cheering and crying as he sees the city below him, sees the height he’s gained on the world, sees the stars closer. He did it, he can fly. And now The Bat needs him.

He doesn’t take it well. No matter how hard Tim tried, he knows the wings are fake, and he’s scared for the danger the boy now faces, but he doesn’t put up a long fight. Tim is glad he made it when he did, afraid the Bat might lose his ability to fly if he didn’t get help soon.

He’s kept at an arms distance, he’s often referred to as the Crimson Bird when he’s barely glanced at, and he’s okay with that, he really is, because he can fly. He can fly alongside the Bat. It’s the best feeling he’s ever had.

The Crimson Bird’s wings are displayed in the Bat’s cave. It’s disturbing at first, seeing severed wings, red in spots that isn’t from his natural feathering colors, so large, but still so small. So full of life, but dead, cut from the same life they had left. Tim doesn’t look at then often, a sickening reminder that he is not meant to fly, and a bird that was had that taken from him. Tim can’t hold the guilt for a bird he never met, he just can’t. He’s holding it too much for the Bat right now.

Tim continues to upgrade his wings, and eventually, the Bat helps him as well. He didn’t want to match any of them, afraid that might cause a bad reaction, so he dyed his tips green, and when the Bat hadn’t said anything, he kept his color. He learned to fly like it was breathing to him, it was easy, it was flawless, he was a bird.

The Bat was better, he treated him kindly, he fixed his wings, he viewed him the same way he viewed his other flying partners. Blue Bird was not happy at first, he was worried about Tim being a boy, not a bird, he was worried about the Bat not doing what was right, but Tim proved himself; and the Blue Bird welcomed him as well.

Tim knew this was not a situation he would end happily in, but he thought he might have longer. He’d hoped.

The Crimson Bird attacked Tim when he wasn’t expecting it, when he felt safe in his home, when he felt like he was one of them. His wings were destroyed, his own body hurt worse. The Crimson Bird seemed ready to kill him, his wings had grown back, but they weren’t right, they were completely red now, they were crooked, the feathers felt like daggers.

When Tim recovered he fixed his wings and he tried to carry on. It had been so long, he’d been welcomed as a bird, he’d earned his place. He wouldn’t just give it up like this, not when he’d fallen in love with flying. He had it now, he would mourn the loss of it.

He could exist around the Crimson Bird, he could avoid him. But then the baby Bat arrived. He was everything Tim couldn’t be, and his wings were green. Tim watched as the Bat soared with him, watched as his real wings fluttered in ways Tim fake ones couldn’t. Tim was driven out, Tim was never a real bird. Tim was almost killed again, the wings destroyed again, but the Bat was too busy to help him fix them, to pay attention. What did he need a boy for when he’d gotten back two birds?

Tim had done what was needed. And now he was no longer needed. He was right, about being not able to come back from losing your wings once you’ve had them. He knew this all was a mistake, he knew he should’ve left it alone, but he so badly wanted to fly, and now he was left flightless, alone.

It doesn’t take long for him to find that seventh story building again, and let himself tip over the edge. He doesn’t have wings, he doesn’t have fake ones, he doesn’t have anything. He’s close to the ground when he feels a sudden searing pain, and he’s caught, falling unconscious from the pain, he’s carefully set back on the roof of the building, a bird sitting close by, waiting for him to wake up.

When Tim wakes up he’s in agony, crying as he reaches for his own back, scared to feel feathers. He sees someone in front of him, and yells in shock as the Blue Bird smiles sadly. Tim feels his wings flutter and cries in pain and confusion, hands shakily touching his wings.

Wait, his wings? Tim’s cries turn to a happier sound as he lurches himself upward, feeling his wings flap, it’s natural, it’s a part of him, he’s a bird. The Blue Bird flies with him, he brings him home, he promises him he’s safe. Tim is happy to be back, happy to be greeted by the Bat, to be welcomed home.

The tips of his wings were now red, though it was a much lighter shade than the Crimson Birds, Tim wasn’t just a bird, he wanted to be acknowledged for all he had done, he wanted everyone to know how proud of him the Bat was. So he was Red Bat. He flew beside them, and he earned his place. He flutters his wings and flies higher than he ever has, he was a bird, and nobody could take that from him.

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Thank you for reading! If there’s any confusion about the metaphors here’s a bit of an explanation •*⁀➷

Batman was the first vigilante in Gotham, he’s a bat, bats are winged creatures = The Bat was the first to fly

Blue Bird and Crimson Bird had wings, they could fly with The Bat = Dick and Jason were brought in by Bruce and became Robin alongside Batman

The Crimson Birds wings were cut, he couldn’t fly anymore = Jason died

The Bat needs someone to fly with = Batman needs Robin

Tim Drake was born without wings, he had to make his own = Tim was not chosen to be Robin, Tim had to make himself Robin.

Tim’s wings were broken twice and he was pushed out of the birds nest = Jason and Damian both tried to kill him, and viewed him as an unworthy/fake Robin

Tim grows his own wings and flies = Tim proved himself as a Bat like the others, and returned as Red Robin.

Hope you enjoyed! ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

Can you do dick and Bruce father son activities

I sure can!!

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𖥔 Dick being Bruce’s first ward (son) means there was a lot of awkwardness at first. Bruce took him in because he saw himself in the young boy after the accident, and when Dick was hellbent on vengeance, Bruce wanted to make sure he didn’t go down the wrong path; he wanted to lead the boy to a better life. But, Dick was still just 9, and he had a whole childhood ahead of him.

𖥔 Bruce wasn’t ready to have to be a parent, to have the birds and the bees talk; to make sure Dick knew not to get peer pressured or let anyone walk over him. So when Dick is almost eleven, he’s changing out of his Robin suit as he looks at Bruce, who’s changing out of the Batman suit. “Can we go to Disneyland?” He asks, and Bruce furrows his eyebrows; looking at him. “What?” He asks, genuinely startled by the question. “I dunno, my birthdays kinda coming up and I’ve been wanting to go, and you’re like, super rich.” Dick says with a shrug as Bruce continues to just stare at him, cogs turning as he blinks. “Yeah, we can.” He answers, and Dick beams a bright smile, skipping away happily. Bruce just watched him punch a burglar in the face and laugh at him for crying, but Bruce has a tendency to forget that Dick is not just Robin, he’s still a little boy.

𖥔 They have a blast. Bruce takes them to Disneyworld, and a few other parks and attractions, spending a few days just experiencing it, and enjoying their time. Dick tells him multiple times how grateful he is, and still talks about it even as they get older. He cherishes their time together.

𖥔 Dick breaks a few chandeliers. It’s not his fault, he’s been getting antsy, and how is an acrobat supposed to just sit still? Bruce has an unused ballroom in the manor redesigned, with professional equipment installed. Every type of rope, trapeze, and safety mats are all readily accessible for Dick. The last few chandeliers survive, and Dick spends every free moment in there. Bruce often watches him under the guise of “coming to bring lunch, but not wanting to disturb him.” Dick tries to get Bruce to join him a few times, saying he’ll show him all his tricks, but Bruce is not a fan, and prefers his feet planted on ground, so he just sits there watching Dick, both of them with a smile on their faces.

𖥔 Dick was a fan of baseball, so he occasionally makes Bruce play with him. It’s a bit too father-son, throwing a ball back and forth, it makes Bruce’s chest tight, but Dick is happy, so he doesn’t voice his nerves. Bruce is barely twenty three now, he wasn’t ready to become a father. He thought he was just doing Dick a favor, but when the little boy gets distracted, and the baseball makes his noise bleed, Bruce shushes his cries, and wipes up the blood; promising you’re okay, I’m here, I’ve got you.

𖥔 Dick is extremely compassionate. More so than Bruce has ever seen in someone. He joins Bruce to many things as the billionaires new ward, and the charity events, and volunteering makes him feel better, makes him feel like he really is making a difference. But then he sees crime scenes, places they were too late to, dead children. Some even younger than he is. He wants all the pain and suffering in the world to just go away, but he doesn’t know how to make it, he’s not strong enough to get rid of it all. So Bruce starts wrapping him in blankets and putting on children’s movies.

𖥔 Dick is adamant that he’s fine, he just got a little sad, he’ll get over it, but this movie about a rat that can cook really is interesting, so he gives in. Bruce doesn’t leave him, whether it’s fear over the boys mental state, or just enjoying sitting with his son and letting him eat popcorn out of his hand so he doesn’t have to break free of his blanket burrito, Bruce isn’t too sure, but he enjoys it regardless, and he’s not going to leave his side. He makes sure Dick is covered up and not in a position that will hurt his neck. He turns off the tv and presses a soft kiss to his temple. “Goodnight.” “Goodnight dad.”

𖥔 Dick likes to paint. He never takes it too seriously, but he’ll still find himself in the garden, trying to match the shades of the flowers as accurately as he can. Bruce joins him, they don’t say anything, they swap brushes and squirt out new paint for one another, listening to the birds chirp, looking at the beauty all around them. Dick’s painting is just of a few flowers, some grass underneath it. Bruce’s is a lot more detailed, a lot more beautiful. It’s the garden in its entirety, and there’s a little red bird sitting on a flower. It’s a Robin. Dick keeps that painting in his bedroom. Bruce keeps Dick’s painting in his office.

𖥔 They learn a lot of things together when it’s just the two of them, they face a lot of emotions when they’re both living their first lives, and are struggling to figure it all out together. Dick doesn’t want to end up like Bruce, Bruce doesn’t want Dick to end up like him. Dick sees himself in Bruce and it terrifies him. Bruce still sees Dick as a nine year old boy even when they’re eye level now. Dick finds that painting from all those years ago when he’s unpacking in Blüdhaven. He didn’t want to pack everything up and leave that manor an empty husk of what his life was, but after all the screaming and fighting he had to. He couldn’t take it anymore. He hangs the painting above his bed. He crawls under his covers, wrapped up like a burrito, and watches a little rat cook to get everything off his mind. Bruce had never been a father before. Dick had never been a son of Bruce’s before. They had to figure it out together, and right now meant being apart, but Dick knew he would find his way back home, they still had a lot of growing up left to do together.

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I know this was written differently than Jason’s was but it had to be, Dick was Bruce’s first son, they had to figure life out together, and it’s a bitter but sweet thing for both of them. I hope you enjoyed, thank you so much for the request. ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

Would you be able to do how the kids react when Bruce is hurt really badly

yes!! I love this :]

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Dick

𖥔 He panics. He’s the strong one, he tries to remain level headed to keep everyone else calm and so they don’t send themselves into a panic attack, he is always calm and collected in stressful situations.

𖥔 But oh god that’s a lot of blood. In this moment he isn’t actually sure what happened, he doesn’t even remember who they’re fighting, where they are. A pained cry escapes his throat as his hands press over the bleeding wound in Bruce’s chest. He hears yelling, the others trying to get him and Bruce somewhere safe, trying to get Dick to tell them how bad the injury is, what can they do?

𖥔 “I-I don’t know!” Dick cries, every second of training, every hour spent learning how to stay calm under stress, stay levelheaded, assess the dangers around you first and never let your guard down, it’s all left him. He can’t move, he can’t breathe, because Bruce isn’t breathing, Bruce is bleeding out in his arms.

𖥔 Thankfully for Dicks sake, this was a league mission, so he doesn’t have to be the collected one. Superman is able to get both of them out of danger, he speaks close to Dicks ear, not because the boy is listening, but because the comms are on and Alfred is already readying the batcave for their arrival.

𖥔 Bruce makes a perfectly fine recovery, and Dick is mortified by how he reacted. He knows Bruce will be disappointed, he knows he will be shamed for letting himself be so weak, risking not only his own life, but Bruce’s by leaving them vulnerable in the battle field. Instead Bruce sets his hand on Dicks head, ruffling his hair softly, before his expression becomes serious, hand gently holding his cheek. “I’m here Chum, you don’t have to be embarrassed for being scared. I’m sorry for worrying you.” He says, and Dick cries again, laughing wetly. “You nearly died and you’re apologizing to me?” He asks, it sounds ridiculous. “Yeah, cause I know I would’ve been the same if it were you.” Bruce says it effortlessly, and Dick leans over, hugging him, careful of the healing wound. They’ve both lost too much to be able to lose each other, and that’s what’s the scariest, that they wouldn’t be able to survive losing anyone else, and they can’t promise they won’t. Dick just has to remain strong, and make sure he always has Bruce’s back so this never happens again.

Jason

𖥔 Jason’s anger has always been his strong suit. He was the happy Robin, the cheerful little boy that bounced on his feet and laughed and joked even in dire situations, and that was his weakness. He would’ve been inconsolable if he had Bruce not breathing at his feet like he does right now.

𖥔 But now Jason is angry. He would never admit it in a vicinity Bruce can hear, but how dare they try and take his dad from him? It’s easy for him to let his anger take control, to be violent and bloody because Bruce can’t see him murdering right now because he himself was just almost murdered. It’s not an almost yet, he hasn’t taken a breath in three minutes. Jason can hear it all, through his own blood rushing through his ears, he hears the others talking; he wants to tune it out, he wants to ignore it but he needs to know when Bruce is okay, when he breathes again.

𖥔 Fuck Jason hates the guy, he can’t stand to even look at him but he’s fighting back the sick rising up his throat as he hears his own thoughts. What if this is it? Bruce can’t come back from this. It’s over. The last thing Jason ever said to him is I hate you.

𖥔 Jason finds the man that stopped Bruce’s heart, and screams in anguish as he tackles him to the ground. His guns are thrown aside, his mask is yanked off his head because he’s killing this man. Not a bullet, not Red Hood, Jason Todd is killing this man. He didn’t kill Batman, he killed Jason’s father. His hands shake violently as they squeeze at his throat. He can’t hear the commotion anymore, he can’t hear anyone’s words, his eyes shine green as tears fall past them.

𖥔 I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. He’ll never be able to take it back. He’ll never get to apologize, to mend what was broken, to forgive Bruce and get to be his son again. He’s just a weapon, he’s just a solider, he’s a murderer. The man’s neck snaps underneath his hands as Bruce takes in his first gasp of air.

𖥔 Jason slowly stumbles to his feet, shaking as he faces the others, there’s looks of disgust, of horror, of understanding. Bruce is struggling to his feet, looking at Jason, even with his cowl on Jason knows he’s afraid, he’s confused, worried.

𖥔 “Let’s get home Bat, you need rest.” Jason wraps Bruce’s arm around his shoulder, dragging him along. Batman doesn’t utter a word, nobody does. Jason slams the door to the Batmobile shut, bloody knuckles going white from how he grips the steering wheel. He swerves recklessly, he’s crying, his hands are shaking, he can’t breathe and he’s terrified, all of his adrenaline crashing as he swallows back sobs. He can’t forgive Bruce, he’s tried to kill him himself, why was it any different now? “Thank you, Jason. I love you son.” Bruce rasps, and that’s why. Jason can’t move on because Bruce is right next to him; and he’s alive, and breathing, and Jason is his son.

Tim

𖥔 Tim is scary. He’s seen Bruce worse than anyone ever has. He’s been through it all, he dragged Bruce up from the ground, all while Bruce clawed at him and tried to stay buried. Tim is scary when Bruce is nearly killed, because he will stop at nothing to make it right.

𖥔 Bruce is put into a coma. To the media it was a car accident. To Tim, it was watching Bane snap Bruce’s body over his leg, breaking his spine; nearly killing him. Tim was on auto pilot after it happened, quickly assessing the damage, demanding Oracle to send help, to Nightwing and Red Hood to stage an accident, they need civilian clothes, Bruce Wayne needs immediate medical attention.

𖥔 Tim Drake-Wayne sits in the hospital room, watching Bruce only able to breath because of the machines he’s connected to, body stiff, bruised and cut up, a small incision in his skull to let out the swelling. A medically induced coma to save his life. They’re not even sure if it will save him; time will only tell.

𖥔 Nightwing says he’ll handle it, he’ll get Bane dealt with. Red Hood makes it clear he’ll be killing him now that Bruce can’t stop him. When Dick and Jason visit the hospital room Tim is already gone. Tim has already set his own plan into motion.

𖥔 Robin doesn’t kill because Batman doesn’t allow it, and because Tim fears it would push him over an edge he doesn’t want to face. Tim does not directly kill. Bane’s henchmen and goons are simply in the building when Tim watches it explode from a rooftop a safe distance away.

𖥔 Tim watches as car bombs, and traps that end in blood splatter are tripped, as men stagger into deaths they could’ve easily avoided, I mean really how are these people working for Bane and falling into their own deaths so easily?

𖥔 Over the course of a week they’re all ticked off, like a grocery list. Tim moves quietly, effortlessly. He’s already gone by the time anyone thinks to look. He’s never seen by the time anyone tries to make a guess on who it might be. When Bane is the only one left Tim is reaching his breaking point. It’s been seven days, seven days his father has been comatose, teetering dangerously close to brain dead, to never waking up. Tim sees Bane and his reserves from before are slowly slipping away. He’s never been this angry before.

𖥔 Nobody would believe a witness that says Robin shot Bane point blank and disappeared. Nobody would listen to a bystander that was high off his mind when he swears he heard the kid scream that his father might never recover and it’s all his fault, before spraying the wall with brain matter. Nobody believes Robin would ever do something like that because he’s just an innocent little boy, Batman doesn’t kill, where would he even get a gun?

𖥔 On the ninth day Bruce wakes up, and Tim is beside him, he doesn’t let anyone see him cry, so he only smiles and hugs him; whispering how grateful he is that he’s okay. They call a nurse in, Bruce is groggy but coherent, there’s no damage, no risk.

𖥔 Dick arrives exhausted, having been patrolling as Batman to keep Gotham from being suspicious. He’s still got a smidge of eyeliner not fully wiped off when he hugs Bruce, eyes studying where Tim sits, hands stuffed in his hoodie pocket. He smiles innocently and Dick nods. Tim knows Dick is aware of what he’d done. Tim doesn’t mind that Dick knows, because Tim knows Dick won’t tell anyone, because Tim doesn’t regret what he’s done, and he will do it again if he is pushed to that point.

Damian

𖥔 Damian is never one to be perceived as weak. He will not allow anyone to even think he could ever be weak, he is never weak. Ever. He doesn’t show emotions, he isn’t just some kid. He is a trained assassin, he is stronger than anyone that could challenge him. He is the son of the Bat. He is Robin.

𖥔 Damian’s pride gets the best of him sometimes. It was a simple mission, sure Batman is bleeding but he’s walking it off, telling Damian it’s just a flesh wound, he’ll be fine. They don’t have the Batmobile tonight, and when Bruce reaches to call for it, he falls.

𖥔 Damian is immediately racing to his side. He tries to catch him but he’s too late, and it’s probably for the best because Damian forgets how small he is, and how heavy not only his father is, but the extra hundred pounds of armor in his suit. Damian struggles to push Bruce onto his back, panting as he overlooks him.

𖥔 “Father! Where is your wound?!” Damian shouts. Bruce makes a choked noise as blood drips past his lips. Damian remembers him clutching a side, but he doesn’t know which one, he doesn’t know much right now, his heart is racing, his hands are shaking, and he finally yanks the cape back to see the blood pouring from Bruce’s side. “It probably hit a kidney father why would you insist on it being a flesh wound, do you have any idea how bad this could’ve been if you’d left it??” Damian is still yelling, despite Bruce being unconscious.

𖥔 Damian tears at their emergency gauze with his teeth, he’s applying pressure to the wound, but it’s getting slippery and he stumbles, he’s patched up wounds before, why is this one different? Why won’t the blood stop? Why is he alone with Bruce getting paler and paler with each passing second?

𖥔 Damian is not weak, he does not need help, but he is scared. The blood is not stopping, the gauze isn’t working, Bruce is not responsive. Damian stares at his bloody hands as he starts to panic, hyperventilating as he searches for his emergency beacon, for his comm, for anything. His hands are slipping, he’s covered in blood, he can’t breathe.

𖥔 “Robin I’ve received your signal what’s wrong?” Red Hood’s voice through his ear makes the tears finally fall, and Damian gasps for air. He hears other voices chiming in, everyone live on the comms, and everyone hears him crying.

𖥔 “Robin, deep breath, give us a report.” Nightwing says, they want him to breathe, but they need to know why he can’t in the first place. “Batman is down. I cannot stop the bleeding, I cannot move him on my own. I need immediate help, he is unconscious, and getting critical.” He manages out, throat rough as he tries to swallow, as he stares down at his father as the blood begins to pool to his knees.

𖥔 “I’ve sent his location, Red Robin and Red Hood are the closest. Robin they will be there in three minutes, I’ll help as I can, what happened?” Oracle asks, and Damian takes a shaky breath, relief and guilt overwhelming him, but he hears Nightwing’s voice encouraging him to breathe; and he follows his instructions.

𖥔 Damian tells her everything that happened, what rooftop they’re on, what he did to try and stop the bleeding. While he’s still steadying his breathing with Nightwing Red Hood arrives. As Jason is putting pressure on the wound and instructing Damian to grab gauze, Red Robin arrives, and Tim quickly takes over, leaving Damian sitting and watching as they patch him up in seconds, and Jason is able to lift him up and carry him effortlessly by himself. Red Robin knows him and Robin are not the closest, but Damian is still shaking, and Tim wraps his arm around him and carefully leads him down to where the Batmobile has pulled up. Damian doesn’t speak a word, and the drive is silent once it’s announced over the comms that Batman is secure and inbound to the cave.

𖥔 Damian doesn’t leave his room. He’s embarrassed, ashamed, upset. He was too weak, too defenseless. Bruce lost a lot of blood, if they were any later he might have not made it. Jason was strong enough to lift him, Tim was fast enough to stop the bleeding and wrap him up, all things Damian failed to do in ample time. Even when Alfred notifies Damian that Bruce is awake and well, and would like to see him, Damian does not leave his room.

𖥔 The others give him space, so he’s especially angry when his door creaks open. He looks up with a sharp glare, only for his expression to immediately fall when he sees Bruce slowly limp inside. He’s shirtless and wearing more gauze than skin, holding his side as he carefully steps inside. “Father what are you doing you are on bed rest!” Damian hisses, rushing to his side, he holds one of Bruce’s hands and gently leads him to his own bed; sitting him down. “You wouldn’t come to me.” Bruce smiles as Damian glares again. “I would have, I’ve been busy.” The boy huffs, walking away to distract himself, to not have to see Bruce. He keeps his back to him and pretends to shuffle through papers on his desk. “You know I once fell on Dick when he was Robin?” He suddenly says, making Damian freeze, not responding.

𖥔 “Poor little guy was smaller than you, damn near squished him like a bug. It’s not often Batman falls, but I had a rule with every Robin, if I do, step out of the way. If I’m down, call for help. I would never expect one of you to be able to gather me up on your own.” Bruce hums, and the backs of Damian’s eyes sting as he listens. “I’m sorry for worrying you, and I’m sorry you were alone.” Bruce adds, and Damian faces him, using anger to mask the tears welling in his eyes. “I’m Robin, I’m Batman’s partner, I need to be stronger, I need to be able to be alone.” He sneers, he’s only angry at himself, but he needs to get it out; and he needs to tell it to Bruce, he needs to prove he’s not weak. “You’re also my son. And eleven years old. You cannot be expected to carry a full grown man that’s bleeding out, nine miles on your own. I wouldn’t expect that of any Robin-“ “Todd and Drake seemed to be able to do it perfectly fine.” He spits, his jealously finally mixing in.

𖥔 “Neither of whom are Robin anymore. Jason who’s taller and bigger than me? Tim who’s seven years older than you? They wouldn’t have been able to do it when they were Robin either. It is not a weakness of yours, it is not a weakness of your age, it is simply that you are a boy, and you cannot lift a grown man, I couldn’t lift myself at your age.” He says, laughing as Damian swallows thickly, still not accepting it. Bruce extends his hand, and Damian takes a few steps closer, still looking anywhere but at his father. “You are not weak my son, you should not be disappointed by last night, you were able to call for help when you needed it, you saved me. I couldn’t be more proud.” He says; pulling Damian into an unwilling hug. The boy is stiff, but doesn’t move out of fear of hurting him.

𖥔 “I will be stronger next time.” He whispers; and Bruce hums, kissing the side of his head. “You will be. I will too. You are the son of Batman, hold your head high, you are not weak.” Bruce whispers, and it’s the most comforting thing he can offer Damian, speaking to him the way he knows he needs to hear. Damian will be stronger, Damian won’t let himself lose his father.

Barbara

𖥔 Babs strong suit was being behind a screen. It was what she was best at, better than anything. She loved it, she loved helping people, making a difference, getting to see it all unfold and see people saved again, and again. She held her title as Oracle with pride. Batman wouldn’t be nearly as successful as he is every mission without her. Well, he might be able to be successful, but it wouldn’t be as fast if Babs wasn’t behind him already getting it all done before he has the time to even ask. She prides herself in being a needed ally, more than just a side player that helps occasionally. Batman often offered her the same encouragements, and acknowledges her hard work, and how much she helps them all.

𖥔 It was supposed to be a quiet patrol. Bruce is by himself tonight, Damian is sleeping, Tim is with the titans, Dick is in Blüdhaven, and she’s casually finishing some case files while Bruce sits and watches the city, both of them enjoying the quiet night.

𖥔 Barbara is scared into focus by the sound of an explosion. “Bats??” She asks, quickly typing away, pulling up his footage, and zeroing in on whats in front of him. Bruce moves like he’s injured, a villain attacks him. They’re wearing a mask, she can’t tell who it is. She pulls up the nearby cameras, watching the fight from all angles. She finds where he came from, running the plates and all information on the car, but it reports stolen, and the villain doesn’t match the description as the little old lady that registered it.

𖥔 “Bats talk to me who are these guys?” She calls, pulling up everything she can, Batman hasn’t said a word, and she knows he’s injured, she sees him lose his balance, she hears the scuffle, the back and forth, and then everything goes dark. Every last camera and screen is black. “Bat!” She shouts, trying to pull it all back up. It’s not her system, everything else is working fine, but those few cameras she needs, her comm with Batman, all of it is dark.

𖥔 She stares forward in shock, what the hell happened? She tries not to panic over losing Bruce, assuring herself it’s just some alleyway goon that Bruce will have handled in minutes, so she tries to dive into who this is. She runs everything, vocal recognition, pulling up the neighboring cameras to search for who this is, where they came from, how they snuck up on Batman.

𖥔 Everything leads to a dead end. Barbara curses and slams her hands on the desk, anger overcoming her as her heart starts to beat faster. Why has Bruce still not told her he’s okay? Why hasn’t he fixed the comm, or found a way to send her a signal. Everything’s okay, bad guys apprehended, I’m fine. Where was her reassurance? Batman never goes dark like this, and the fact that everything is turned off from her is terrifying.

𖥔 She pulls up any possible lead she has, anything that could connect her to this, anything they could use. She thinks she’s finally found something when a camera pulls back up; and she gasps, Batman is laying on the floor, not moving, blood underneath him. Then the camera goes black again. Her whole screen is black and she can see her reflection in it, staring in her own eyes. Her hair is down, and the dark of the screen hides her features from her view, and she cries. If she was Batgirl she could help Bruce, she wouldn’t be here defenseless, grasping at straws as Bruce lays at a villains mercy. She doesn’t know if he’s even still alive, if he’s still breathing, she’s just sitting here while Bruce suffers.

𖥔 Barbara has never felt less than the others just because she worked from the safety of the watch tower, she never felt like she wasn’t as vital to them, to helping. But now she does. She’s scared, she’s angry, why can’t she just help him.

𖥔 “Oracle?” Jason’s voice echoes over the comms, and she sighs shakily. “Bat is down, I’ve lost all communication, and all nearby cameras went dark. I’ve just sent you his address, can you get to him?” She asks, voice weak as she stares at a map, seeing where Jason is, only a few miles from Bruce. “On my way. Who is it?” He asks, and her throat is thick as she stares at the screen. “I don’t know. I couldn’t figure it out.” She rasps, it’s humiliating to say out loud, it makes her sick. She doesn’t know, she’s supposed to know. She’s the one that always knows.

𖥔 “All done, Bats is good.” Jason’s voice shocks her. “Wait what??” She replies, and the cameras are all live again, she sees the goons unconscious on the floor. Jason has Bruce’s arm slung over his shoulder. He looks directly at a camera and waves. “They had an interceptor or whatever, knocked everything offline. B might have a headache but he��s fine, they were just some thugs trying to get a jump on him. Gcpd’s already closing in, but I’m bringing some tech back, one of ‘em had something that looks like a homemade vertigo headband, can you look into it?” He asks, and she sniffles, hastily wiping at her eyes. “Sure can; bring it on down.” She sighs, relief washing over her. Bruce is okay, she’s back online, everything is okay.

𖥔 Bruce sits with Barbara as she types everything into a file. He’s benched until his concussion heals, and she’s putting it all into files to save in the bat computer if the thugs he fought ever become a problem again. “You did good.” Bruce compliments as she saves it all. “Hm?” She responds, glancing at him. “With your system going dark, you did good, you still led Jason right to me, still got it all resolved. Thank you.” Bruce says, and she smiles, pride welling in her chest as she nods, facing the computer again. Despite her worries and fears, she didn’t need to be Batgirl to help him, Oracle was who got Red Hood to Batman and helped even when it all went dark; she still did her job, and she did damn good at it.

Steph

𖥔 Steph is an accident with a bat symbol on her chest. She doesn’t try to be, but her need to prove herself, and her fear of her fathers footsteps makes her jump the gun, it makes her so desperate for validation she cuts corners, and makes things messy. She really doesn’t try to, and because she’s so young and anxious she doesn’t realize what she’s done until it happens, and then she’s humiliated and knows she will be looked down upon even more after.

𖥔 So it’s only fitting that one time she cuts corners, it ends with Bruce unconscious, head bleeding, arms still wrapped around Steph from where he’d shielded her with his own body. Steph was not supposed to be on the ground, this was a simple mission, Robin was supposed to be his eyes in the sky, not trying to assist him, not getting herself caught, not getting stuck in an exploding building where Bruce himself gets caught in the explosion to protect her from it.

𖥔 Her need to prove herself is out the window when she shoves Bruce off of her, gasping violently as she sees the way his body rolls limply, the way he doesn’t move, the way his cowl is dripping blood and it’s begun to pool underneath him. She took on this mantle, she wanted to prove she wasn’t like her father, she wanted Bruce to see value in her, and now he might be dying because of her.

𖥔 No, no, no, no. Steph is yanking his cowl off, wincing as his head hits the ground again, making a wet noise from the blood already spilling from it. “Hey, Hey Bat? Cmon, wake up now.” She pleads, voice shaking as she presses gauze to the wound, watching it immediately turn red, she swaps it for a new piece and takes a shaky breath, looking around them. The goons left when they set the bomb, they knew Batman would be too busy trying to save Girl wonder that they could escape, so they’re alone, the Batmobile has already been called to them, so Steph stands and hooks her arms under Bruce’s, yanking upward.

𖥔 She struggles, and pants and cries, but she manages to shove him ungracefully into the car, panic beginning to overwhelm her as she jumps into the drivers seat, fiddling with the shifts and buttons she’s still not too familiar with. Thankfully it has auto-pilot, and kicks itself into gear, speeding down the road as Steph taps at the screen, blood smearing across it. “Hey A, B is hurt real bad. Are you home?” She asks it casually, laughing as her panic rises up her throat, her heart racing as she glances at Bruce.

𖥔 “Yes, I will be waiting in the cave.” Alfred responds, and she swaps the gauze on his head, tears finally starting to fall as she looks at his face. Did she really let Bruce die just because she wanted to be strong? Bruce is bleeding out just because she wanted to prove she was different, prove she could do it. “I’m sorry B.” She sobs. She just wanted to make him proud, she wanted him to care for her the way he cares for his sons, even when she keeps him at arms length and doesn’t let him view her as one of his kids. She doesn’t want a dad. She told them. She has a dad and he’s a bad person and she’s going to prove she isn’t.

𖥔 “I’m sorry dad.” She rasps, staring at Bruce’s face as they come to a screeching halt in the cave. Alfred has Bruce laid on a table and the bleeding has stopped within four minutes. Steph sits, still bloody and crying as Alfred moves fluidly around her, getting Bruce stable, assuring her he is just fine.

𖥔 When Bruce wakes up Steph hands him her Robin costume. He furrows his eyebrows and takes it, still confused. “I almost got you killed trying to prove myself.” She tells him; and he sighs, opening his mouth to respond, but she stops him. “I can’t follow orders, I endangered you, I endangered myself. I can’t be Robin, I can’t live up to what they were, and I don’t want to. I’ll prove myself to you, and I won’t let you get hurt because of me just to do it.” She sounds mature, less scared. Bruce sets the suit down and nods once. “I do not regret doing what needs to be done to save you. I would do it again.” Bruce responds. Scolding her for not following orders seems pointless now, she’s no longer Robin; and she acknowledged her own fault, he doesn’t need to double down, especially not when she’s dealing with her own regret and fears after what happened. “I’m still sorry. I’ll be better.” She rasps, and Bruce hugs her, petting her hair gently as she fights back the tears burning behind her eyes. She’ll prove herself right this time.

Cass

𖥔 Cass stops. She’s always been the quickest one, the slyest, the one to get in and get out and have it not just done, but done good. Cass is untouchable, unbreakable, an unstoppable force hell bent on saving innocent people and protecting the world from the horrors that others bring upon them. Cass is strong because other people aren’t, and they need her to be for them. Gotham needs her.

𖥔 So when she’s fighting, she’s taking out bad guys and escorting hostages out of a burning building, she ends up cornered, hiding a little girl behind her as a goon points a gun at her. “I’ll tell you what little bat, her life for yours. You wanna walk away? Give me the girl. I’ll make sure you don’t have to see.” The man taunts, something sick bubbling in Cass’ gut, fighting down her anger as she analyzes his stance, trying to figure out how to disarm him without a stray bullet possibly hitting the girl.

𖥔 Batman drops down in front of them before she can do anything, giving her a distraction so she can run. She grabs the girl and takes off, hearing them fighting as she goes. She finds an exit and rushes out it, flames dancing inches from them as she runs toward the other hostages, carefully setting the little girl down, she turns back to the building, seeing fire already blocking the exit she just came out from. She wraps her cape around herself and rushes forward, already a step back inside, the fire sizzling around her, and the building explodes. She’s thrown backward, ears ringing as she tries to get back up, adrenaline pumping faster than ever.

𖥔 She hears the people crying, arms shaking as she pushes herself up, only to fall again. Bruce was still in there. She shakily looks up, staring at the rubble ahead of her, gasping for air as she staggers to her feet. Bruce, Bruce. She’s chanting his name, she can’t find her voice, opening and closing her mouth repeatedly, and she lets out a pained cry as she falls to her knees, staring forward helplessly as the red flames dance in her eyes.

𖥔 “Batman?” The little girl from before stands in front of Cass, tears welling in her eyes as Batgirl looks up at her. Cass knows she’s needs to check the hostages, make sure everyone’s okay; count and see if anyone died in the explosion. But she knows part of that answer already, Bruce was still inside, she was too late going back in to save him, he was in there because she let herself get backed into a wall and he had to save her. He got left behind because of her.

𖥔 Cass sits back on her heels, staring at her hands blindly. Now what? What could she do? What was Gotham going to do without having a Batman, how many innocent people were going to suffer and die because Batman died for her? How much death is she going to cause? What did it matter that Batgirl survived if Batman didn’t?

𖥔 “Batman!” The little girl says again; and it only hurts Cass worse, looking up through teary eyes, she sees the girl isn’t even facing her, her back it to Cass, and her arm is extended as she points to the building still burning. Batman is walking out of the flames, holding the same goon that had attacked them. He sets the man down once they’re a safe distance, and Cass is already on her feet, running as fast as she can, and jumping into Bruce’s arms.

𖥔 “I’m sorry for worrying you Batgirl.” Batman says softly, he has to keep their identities safe, he has to watch what he says, but they both know by the way he’s hugging her. I’m sorry Cassie, I’m here. She sobs, body shaking as he holds her gently, rubbing her back through the suit. She’s gasping weakly, mouth moving but no words come out. Even though she’s hidden by her mask Bruce knows she’s trying to speak.

𖥔 “Easy, you’re alright.” He says, setting her down so they’re looking at one another, and she holds onto his arms desperately. “Dad. Safe.” She manages out, and Bruce nods, hugging her again as she cries quietly. They’ll eventually have to pull away and assess the situation, but right now the hostages are okay, and Cass needs to be held by her dad for a little while longer.

Duke

𖥔 Duke working during the day means things are a lot different for Signal than they are for the bats. He has his usual route to patrol, he knows the ins and outs of this city, he knows which places are most commonly victim to robberies and petty crimes, it’s not an easy job, but he enjoys doing it, he enjoys helping people.

𖥔 Duke hasn’t had to stop or fight anyone today. There haven’t been any robberies, no purse or car thief’s, only a stray dog begging for some of his granola bar, it was quiet. Duke sits on a rooftop checking the time and seeing his patrol is almost over, it wouldn’t hurt if he went home half an hour before usual today, nothings happened, he’s sure nothing will happen in these thirty minutes, right?

𖥔 It’s almost like the universe was waiting for him to be ready to head home, because he hears an alarm ringing from a few buildings away. He hurries that way, face falling as he sees several men running out of a bank, carrying bags full of money. He grapples to them, pulling a baton from his utility belt, he’s about to land on the ground when he hears someone scream for help.

𖥔 “He’s hurt someone help!” A woman inside the bank cries out, and Dukes face falls as he looks at them, there’s someone injured, he weighs his options of stopping the thief’s first, or helping the injured person, but as he looks at the man laying on the ground, the air is knocked out of him. “Bruce.” He gasps, rushing over, forgetting about the thief’s as they speed off and disappear, he skids to a stop at Bruce’s side.

𖥔 Bruce Wayne is unconscious on the floor of the bank, bleeding out of a bullet wound in his stomach. “Bruce!” Duke cries out, rushing to his side. This isn’t Batman injured in a fight, or hurt by a villain. This is Bruce Wayne, out in the lively hours of Gotham, getting shot in a bank robbery. “Mr. Wayne, can you hear me? Sir?” Duke yanks his gloves off and checks for a pulse. When he feels one he immediately starts applying pressure to the wound. “He stood between them and me, it’s all my fault.” The girl sobs, she’s clearly a bank teller, her hands and skirt covered in Bruce’s blood.

𖥔 Duke is in full panic, he’s Signal right now, he’s not Bruce’s newest ward, he’s not tending to an injured Batman. Signal the vigilante is helping Bruce Wayne, the prince of Gotham; a stranger. “Hang in there sir, you’re gonna be okay.” Duke forces his voice to sound controlled, despite the way something sits in his throat, tears stinging behind his eyes.

𖥔 A crowd has formed now, hushed whispers and shocked gasps surrounding him as he pushes harder on the wound, his hands begin to shake, Bruce’s skin is losing color, there really is a lot of blood around them. Getting shot isn’t nearly enough to take down Batman, he would walk it off. But Bruce Wayne hasn’t even woken up, how long has it been now? Duke feels sick, breathing shaky as he wraps the wound.

𖥔 Thankfully someone had called 911 because Duke can hear the sirens, and an ambulance pulls up seconds later. He’s gently pulled back, and Bruce is lifted onto a gurney. “Thank you kid, we’ll take it from here.” An emt tells him, and then they take off with Bruce, leaving Duke alone, leaving the vigilante standing there, covered in blood, with a hundred eyes on him. “T-Thank you, you saved him.” The bank teller whispers, Duke helps her to her feet, moving on autopilot as he stares at his own hands, skin crawling as tears sting behind his eyes. He only nods, disappearing onto the rooftop, and running away.

𖥔 He informs the others, and by that night the thieves are caught by Red Robin and Spoiler, and Duke lies in his bed, he’s in his pajamas, he’s showered, but he stares at his hands and sees the red dripping from them, he feels the weight of Bruce’s body, limp and unmoving, he feels himself clinging to his fathers body, and having to act as a stranger, having to keep their identities separate, and not knowing if he would survive. If that killed him, Dukes last moment with him would’ve been as strangers, being watched by hundreds of eyes, and thousands more from the videos circulating.

𖥔 There’s a soft knock on the door and Duke hums, watching through tired eyes as Alfred walks inside, sets down a phone, and walks out before Duke can say anything. The screen is black so Duke only stares, confused until he hears a throat clear. “Duke?” Bruce’s voice rings through the phone, and the boys tears finally fall, hands shaking as he picks up the phone. He has a moment of fear that he’s going to get blood on it, but has to remind himself that there’s no blood on his skin anymore, he’s sure there still is on Bruce’s

𖥔 “Hey kiddo.” Bruce says when Duke doesn’t respond. “Hi.” He manages to rasp, and Bruce hums at the acknowledgement. “You did really good today.” Bruce says, and Duke cries harder, holding his head in his hands as he stays quiet so Bruce can’t hear. “I know it doesn’t feel like it, and I know you’re beating yourself up, but you did exactly as you should’ve. You let the thieves go to help the victim, you kept the victim stable until medical professionals arrived, you had the situation handled so the thieves were caught. You did everything wonderfully Signal.” Bruce compliments, and then a sob escapes Dukes lips, Bruce doesn’t say anything else and Duke sniffles. “It wasn’t an innocent bystander it was you.” He huffs, a bite behind his words as his own failure weighs him down, despite the fact that he didn’t fail at anything, he did everything he was supposed to do.

𖥔 “And it was you Duke. I’m safe because of you.” Bruce says, and the boy huffs in anger. “What the hell was I supposed to do? If something worse happened? If that was the last time I saw you? I had to treat you like Bruce Wayne; I had to be a stranger.” He says, hurt bleeding through his words, and Bruce hums softly. “Your suit doesn’t mean anything Duke, it is still you inside of it. A suit will never change who we are, what you mean to me. I was comforted that my son was there, not Signal.” Bruce says, and Duke squeezes his eyes shut, letting more tears fall as Bruce takes a deep breath. “I know how you’re feeling, and I want you to know that you don’t have to feel this way, you saved me Duke, and I will never compare you to your alias.” He says, and Duke sniffles, nodding even though Bruce can’t see him.

𖥔 “They’re letting me come home tomorrow, and I’m benched until I’m healed, so we’ll spend some time together okay? Just us, no suits or names.” Bruce says, and Duke smiles small. “Sounds good.” He responds, sniffling. “Good. Get some rest Duke, everything’s going to be okay.” He assures him, and they whisper their goodnights and hang up. The weight has been lifted off of Dukes chest, and he takes a deep breath, lying back down. Bruce is okay, and so is Duke.

Bruce Wayne has a family that loves him, and doesn’t know how they’d survive losing him. And he knows he wouldn’t survive losing them. That’s what makes their family so perfect.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This was so fun to write thank you for the request! I love getting to write out Bruce’s relationship with the kids, and had to include all of them for this one, it turned out wayyy longer than planned, had to bring the family together :’). I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did. ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

Can you do headcanons about Bruce and Jason’s father and son activities??? 🫶🏾

Father and son Jason and Bruce is my weak point of course.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

𖥔 There’s few activities you can do as Batman and Robin. As Bruce Wayne and his son, they can do anything, as long as you don’t mind the media that follows you.

𖥔 Bruce doesn’t like Jason being in the media eye much when he’s first adopted. The boy is already training to be Robin, already exclaimed he doesn’t mind, but once news breaks out of Bruce Wayne’s newest adoption, they’re getting papped, followed, and as ready as Jason thought he was, those lights in his little eyes really are too bright. Bruce doesn’t have his cape to wrap him up in and hide him like he’s so used to doing, so he takes off his own sunglasses, they’re loose and hardly hold on Jason’s face, but it’s better than nothing, and they can continue with their little trip to the mall.

𖥔 Jason loves animals. Bruce notices in the way he brings extra snacks to give to stray cats while they’re patrolling, or the way he stops to pet every dog that approaches him. Bruce watches fondly every time, especially when Jason looks at him with bright sparkling eyes and a dog getting comfortable in his arms.

𖥔 Bruce takes him to the zoo after learning of his love for animals. Jason is bouncing with every step as they walk to each exhibit, even giving Bruce random little animal facts for each one they see. When they’re readying to leave Jason’s eyes get caught by the gift shop, and Bruce is happy to lead him inside. He overlooks each stuffed toy and pen topper, though he doesn’t touch any. When he tells Bruce he’s ready to go, and starts heading to the door Bruce frowns. “Don’t you want something?” He asks, Jason looks between him and the stand he was next to, plush giraffes staring back at him. Bruce watches him for a long moment before nodding toward them. “Pick whatever you want.” He says, Jason nervously smiles, and grabs the snow leopard he’d been thinking about since they walked in. He doesn’t have to say that he didn’t think he could get anything because he’s used to only being able to look, not buy. And Bruce didn’t need to ask, letting the boy grab what he wants, and even when he assures Jason he can pick more than one, Jason holds the plushie closer to his chest and insists she’s all he wants. Bruce ruffles his hair as they walk outside again.

𖥔 Jason gets into art the older he gets. He’d always been a smart boy, he always loved different forms of art, but the older he is, the more meaning it has to him, the more he loves it. Bruce takes him to museums, watching from a few steps behind as Jason admires each work, reading each description, studying every line.

𖥔 When Jason starts asking to go to the library more Bruce has him make a list of all the books he wants to read, and has the library in the manor updated. He tells Jason the library is his welcome home gift, and that he can read every book he’d like; and if there’s any they don’t have, Bruce will get them. Jason spends a lot of his time in there, and Bruce sits with him. They don’t talk much or do anything except read or doing their own respective business, but they sit together, accepting tea and snacks Alfred brings them, and when Jason falls asleep Bruce makes sure to put a bookmark in between his pages to assure he doesn’t lose his spot, and covers him with a blanket.

𖥔 Jason likes baking, so Bruce always makes sure there’s plenty of ingredients in the pantry’s, and sits at the island, keeping his promise to Alfred that he won’t touch any appliances unsupervised, but keeping Jason company, making this a bonding moment, they’re doing it together, even if Bruce is just sitting there and licking one of the spoons while they wait for it to bake.

𖥔 They end up watching tv shows together. It’s unspoken, it’s accidental, but when they’re both benched from patrol after a nasty accident, Bruce brings himself to Jason’s room to ask a question, and does that awkward stand half in the doorway watching the tv show playing on the TV (it’s Friends) and when they’ve gone through almost two episodes Jason waves him in, and Bruce sits in his beanbag chair and watches it with him, which becomes an accidental activity where they watch shows together.

𖥔 Jason and Bruce still watch friends, years later, when they’re not speaking and Jason hasn’t found it in himself to forgive or move on yet. They’re miles apart, haven’t spoken in weeks, but when they’re stressed, or tired, or need anything to create noise to silence what’s in their heads, their tvs flicker the familiar scenes, and even when it makes his heart heavy, Jason holds his ratty stuffed leopard close, and watches through tired eyes, remembering the feeling of lying in Bruce’s lap when he was fighting how tired he truly was, now having to pull the blanket over himself, cause nobody else is here to do it for him. It’s small moments like these that remind Jason he was more than just a solider, and miles away Bruce is petting Damian’s cat, making up for the way he misses carding his fingers through Jason’s hair, watching the same scene, the same moment, they’re still father and son, and both know deep down they always will be. And maybe Jason will come home trudging through the snow around the same time Chandler does.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This felt so sweet and I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, thank you for the request. ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

hmm can I have dick Grayson head cannons when he plans a party

YEA!!!⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

𖥔 Dicks party planning is VERY serious and he will not hear otherwise on the matter. There are multiple steps, charts, lists, and a few clipboards. He will make sure everything is perfect.

𖥔 The first party of the year is usually New Years, Which technically is carrying over from the last year, (but don’t let him hear you say that). Dick loves New Years, he loves watching the ball drop, and has a drafted up speech about how much the people in the room mean to him, and how happy he is to start another new year all together.

𖥔 He doesn’t throw a party for the smaller holidays, Valentines is spent with his partner, or if he’s single, Wally. Easter is more of just a family dinner and some chocolate.

𖥔 Halloween parties are scarce because they’re usually all busy on the night because goons decide everyone wearing masks is a free pass to commit crimes.

𖥔 If he does throw a Halloween party it’s on a different day than the actual holiday and he does make everyone go to a corn maze and pumpkin patch all together.

𖥔 He goes big on Christmas, he loves the holiday and loves having everyone together. It’s less of a party, and more of a week long of just, family time.

𖥔 They go on drives through light shows, and to look at people’s lights on their houses. They go sledding, and make a snowman in the front yard of the manor, then mourn the snowman when he becomes victim of their snowball fight. He makes hot chocolate and cookies and everyone bundles together to watch the polar express.

𖥔 On Christmas morning he’s the first awake, like a little kid he goes to each persons door waking them up and dragging them downstairs, always priding himself on getting the best gifts.

𖥔 Dick absolutely loves the holidays, and throwing parties on them.

𖥔 But birthdays? Those are a whole other level of serious. Everyone gets a surprise party, everyone knows it’s happening but still has to act surprised, everyone knows exactly what time to be at the manor to be “surprised”.

𖥔 Dick usually doesn’t accept help with party planning, he wants it to be a him thing, and mostly because he’s worried someone else will mess it up, and it has to be perfect, because it’s a party for someone he loves and they deserve it being perfect.

𖥔 Eventually he accepts help when it comes to hanging banners or blowing up balloons. He has everything planned out to a T, who’s keeping the birthday person busy and away, who’s putting the candles on the cake, who’s helping Alfred set the table as he makes their favorite dinner.

𖥔 It always ends up being perfect, even the year when Dick fell from a ladder and broke a wrist. Even the year when Steph and Tim bumped into one another and sent the birthday cake straight to the floor. Even the year when no one realized Jason hadn’t been informed of their tradition and he pulled a gun on them when they all jumped out and yelled “surprise!”

𖥔 No matter what happens the party is perfect, even if Dick doesn’t think so, because even if there’s mishaps or slip ups, it was done with so much love that everyone is grateful and happy, even if they complained about not needing a party.

𖥔 At the end of the year Dick gets to wrap it all up again with his new year party, his cheesy “I love you guys” speech, and truly just being happy that everyone is together, and he gets to spend another year with his family. And when the clock strikes midnight, he holds his tradition and kisses his partner, or if single, Wally. And he’s just as excited to enjoy the first party of the year.

༺♡♱⋆🦇⋆♱♡༻

This was a fun one thank you for requesting!! I hope you enjoyed! ᡣ𐭩

[black-cat-luck]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 . welcome to my bat cave .𖥔 ݁ ˖🦇 ݁˖ ݁𖥔 .

You can call me Venus!

I will be writing for the Batfamily, and maybe even more DC characters, we’ll see what the future holds!

My romantic writings will only be centered around the adult characters. I won’t be writing any for any characters that are minors (no aging up)! They will be mentioned and written throughout my fics, but never a main love interest!

18+, minors will be blocked (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) ♡

I am simply writing for fun, I don’t follow much canon, I cherry pick what I like and write how I like, if you don’t enjoy my writing you don’t have to read it! If you want to file a complaint dm me and I’ll give you my Venmo and you can pay the $20 complaint fee. ( ˘ ³˘)

Account directions:

Published works:

Bruce:

Dick:

Jason:

Cass:

BatFam:

Requests:

Open!

Feel free to send them in, I’ll try and write it, but no promises unfortunately ❦

[black-cat-luck]

a little comic for jasons birthday. on being robin & batman and being brave & scared

[black-cat-luck]

The funniest aspect of a child crime fighter is that sometimes they’re going to run into something that makes no sense because they don’t have the life experience. Because they’re nine.

Like Robin runs into a guy who works for The Penguin and the guy just throws his hands up like, “Don’t hit! I’m not an enforcer. I’m an accountant.”

Robin:

Robin, squaring up: I don’t know what that is.

[black-cat-luck]

Leaving the Suit Behind? You Are Invited to Fill Out the Robin Exit Interview

OPEN

[black-cat-luck]

Jason Todd x Reader | His World

warnings: a child, reader isn't as big of a character | rating: E

summary: jasons wife just gave birth.

soft, untouched grubby hands gently feel along jason's bare chest. a small face burying against the warm skin. the nurse said skin to skin was beneficial, but jason honestly couldn't tell for whom.

evangeline, his beautiful evangeline. a baby girl who's heart is unbroken, eyes unseeing of all the horrors the world offers. and he'll be damned if that ever changes.

she let out a soft coo that had jasons heart constricting, his big hand moving to cup the back of her head and gently tilting her so she was able to look at him, dwarfing the little girl who stares up at him with his blue eyes.

he never thought he deserved this, his beautiful wife, their house, their cat, and definitely not their daughter. he was a monster, with the blood of countless people on his hands. but holding that baby girl, he feels clean.

he looked up to his wife, gaze transfixed on her. he'd always known she was the most beautiful creature on all worlds, but laying there, in the sterile room, covered in a paper hospital gown, eyes sunken and lips dry, she'd looked more beautiful than ever.

he smiled down at her, then their daughter, before opening his mouth and softly saying. "if she's anything like you, my love. nearly as stubborn and smart, the world would be a better place."

she smiled, tired gaze looking from jason to evangeline, her hand gently extending to touch her soft hair, her messy brown curls just like her father. "Jay?" she asked.

"yes, dear?" he slowly said, still transfixed by the little life in his arms. who gurgled softly at him.

"do you see the little bit of white in her hair too?" she said, bringing a hand to evangelines hairline, gently twirling the small white lock of hair. jasons already soft smile softening, his beautiful girls.

his world.

a/n: tried my hand in dad jay. what do we think?

[black-cat-luck]

a little comic for jasons birthday. on being robin & batman and being brave & scared

[black-cat-luck]

So my Batfamily brain rot is back (not that it ever really left) and I just had a thought like…

If you’re a henchman/criminal in Gotham, seeing your life flash past your eyes is gonna be a somewhat regular occurance but… what if like… the thing that truly made a henchman’s heart fall to his ass was when they hit Robin just a little too hard and this 10 year old kid just starts crying and goes ‘Daaaaaadddd!’

That’s the moment when they truly think they’re going to die because said dad, the kid is calling for is a 6’6 demon from hell who’s all muscle and shadows and vengance and a lot of Gotham still thinks he’s a cryptid

The henchmen all drop their guns and try to calm the kid down but it’s over in 5 seconds flat. Batman breaks several bones before speaking to Robin in the softest voice they’ve ever heard him use and the criminal world, who was already a bit hesitant to fight a kid have even more reason to take it just a little easy on Robin.

And like, I can picture different reactions with every Robin.

Like, for Dick, he’s ten and we all know he was the most violent Robin second only to Damian so maybe when he’s ten or eleven and has calmed down a little, a henchback who still remembers what a little shit he used to be decides to get back at Robin, slips on a pair of brass knuckles and BAM

And then, little Dick just stares for a moment in shock, cheek already starting to bruise, the criminals he’d been fighting all stay still because it was a nasty punch and then…

“Daaaaad!!!” He cries out in a whiny voice that reminds them that Robin really is just a kid and it all clicks into place.

Even Bruce wasn’t expecting that, Dick has just started calling him dad and he still isn’t used to being called that so to hear his kid calling for him in the moment where he is startled and hurt and a little scared… the henchmen don’t even have time to react and they wake up in the hospital with concussions and maybe a few broken bones.

It doesn’t take Dick long to calm down, it was mostly that the hit from a random henchmen really startled him and got him right in the cheekbone. But Bruce still finishes patrol early and Dick still hides under Bruce’s cape all the way to the Batmobile.

Then comes Jason and Jason was such a sweet kid, I headcannon he was the one that called Bruce dad the most often while being Robin. So one night during patrol maybe he finds himself fighting Penguin or Two-Face and it’s been a long night and he has an exam the following day and Bruce is fighting another villain at the other side of the warehouse

The point is, the henchmen and Two-Face start landing hits on eleven year old Jason in his gut and at some point he loses sight of Batman fighting on the other side of the room. Jason gets scared because he’s never really fought without Batman and while he knows that Bruce is still in the warehouse, he can’t see him and the handle of a gun hits the back of his ankle and he falls and he sees Two-Face or Penguin or one of the henchmen getting ready to grab the front of his uniform and beat him up and…

“Daaaaddd!”

The criminals freeze for a moment. They’ve heard the stories of what happened the last time a Robin called scared for dad.

They’re fucked.

They all drop their guns and try to get Jason to calm down, but he’s crying just a little bit and calls again, his voice breaking and despite having been at the other side of the warehouse just a second ago, Bruce somehow drops from the ceiling and it’s over before the criminals can keep pleading with Robin to calm down.

Jason tries to apologize for ‘acting like a baby’ but Bruce is having none of it and carries him back to the Batmobile and Jason is happy to just hide his face in Bruce’s cape because he knows his dad will always be there to save him.

Then comes Tim.

And Tim gets found out while doing reconnisance and somehow he finds himself face to face with Bane who manages to wrench away his bo staff and Tim is just eleven and he is scared because Bane doesn’t look like he’s going to hold back

All Tim knows is that the crack he hears must surely be his ribs either cracking or breaking and he can’t breath and he can only muster enough air for a single word… and he calls for his dad through tears and fear

And at this point… at this point Batman has already lost a Robin, Tim may not be his legally but he is his son just as much as Jason was

Bane spends a month in the ICU

Tim is embarrased that he reacted like that. He thinks it makes him less of a Robin to called scared for Batman… for dad.

So Bruce tells him of the other two times it happened. It’s one of the first times he’s spoken about Jason to Tim so bluntly.

Then comes Stephanie.

Stephanie never calls Bruce dad when she’s Robin. She’s not his daughter and he’s not her dad. They’re not sure what exactly they are to one another.

As far as Bruce knows, Stephanie’s version of Robin never called out to him when she was scared.

What he doesn’t know is that it did happen. Just once

It was the last time she was Robin. When Black Mask had her and she thought she was going to die

At some point while bleeding and feeling nauseous and so scared she could barely hear anything that wasn’t her own heart beating wildly against her chest… she called for dad. Not for Arthur Brown, but for Bruce

Black Mask laughed at her

Stephanie never tells Bruce

And finally… Damian

Now, we know Damian would probably never be startled enough to call for Bruce out of instinct, so I can see 2 scenarios in which this could happen.

First, he sees another kid do it. He sees a kid close to his own age laughing and playing, then tripping and staying quiet for a split second before crying out for mom and dad and he just… assumes that’s something kids do when scared and hurt and startled and does it mostly in an attempt to be a little more ‘normal’

Or, my favorite scenario… he hears of the other times it has happened. He overhears maybe Dick remind Jason of what Bruce did when Jason called out to dad as Robin. Tim maybe jokes that a Robin calling for dad is still the villains’ greatest fear

So Damian stores that knowledge away as a battle strategy just in case he ever needs it… and maybe a small part of him wants to put it to the test, to see if his father would protect him as brutally as he’s protected the Robins before him

So some random night during patrol, he’s up against several henchmen, a few of them grab him from behind, trying to hold him down. Damian is fighting against them when one of them swings a cylinder of metal that Damian thinks might’ve been meant for the plumbing and…

The henchman breaks Damian’s nose, there’s blood dripping down his chin and staining his uniform

Now… it is most certainly not the first time he’s broken something, he’s more than used to the pain, in fact, he barely feels it. However, it gives him a chance to put his little theory to the test

And so Damian allows himself to sound like the ten year old that he is and in a whiny, teary voice, goes… “Babaaaaa!” (Bonus points if it’s the first or second time he’s called Bruce baba instead of father)

What Damian didn’t take into account though, is that Batman and Robin aren’t the only ones on patrol that night. They made a big bust. The biggest part of the operation was over but they were still fighting a few stragglers. The whole fucking family is here.

And they all hear his cry.

Damian doesn’t think he’s ever seen a fight end so quickly. The henchmen only have a split-second of surprise before vanishing, being tackled or shot or having knives buried on their shoulders by his siblings.

The one that actually broke Damian’s nose is being beaten up by Nightwing, Damian doesn’t think he’s ever seen Grayson so angry.

A shadow kneels in front of him, father. Baba. He’s checking Damian and Todd is right at his side, both speaking in hushed tones, checking his injuries and wiping the tears that usually came with a broken nose.

And now… Damian is used to his father and Grayson treating him like a child, trying to be as soft as they can with him. Even Cain does it to some extent.

But… having Drake wrap an arm around him, calling him baby when knocking out one of the criminals that had hurt him ‘that’s my fucking baby brother!’ and continue to hold him later into the night on the couch, having Brown willingly give up all the snacks she keeps in her utility belt and promise to take him to Batburger the following day for milkshakes because he was ‘a champ’. And Thomas wraps his favorite blanket around Damian while they’re fixing him up.

Todd decides to stay the night at the manor. Which he never does. They all decide to spend the night at the manor when Damian still sniffles on the Batmobile and they have breakfast all of them together. Which Damian isn’t sure has ever happened before and Cain gets Alfred to make pancakes with chocolate chips instead of blueberries.

They call him baby in hushed whispers but for once, it doesn’t bother him even though it really should

But most of all, Bruce refuses to let him go for a good five minutes after he first cries for him. Smoothing down his hair and whispering that it’ll be okay and just being soft in a way Damian has never seen before.

He sleeps between his Baba and Grayson and he knows that Todd and Drake and Cain check in on them at least twice in the night for some reason.

And he realizes it’s… it’s nice. Maybe this really could be an effective battle strategy to be employed again someday.

[black-cat-luck]

Enmity

CW: Sex Pollen, hate sex, swearing, light choking. Written with AK!Red Hood and AFAB reader. 18+ MDNI ~3.2k words

The mission was supposed to be easy. A quick in and out of the greenhouse Ivy left behind. It was recon, more than anything. Just a way to get intel on the strange drug being pushed on the streets with her name attached.

It was supposed to be routine, simple. But Gotham never seems to care about your thoughts or feelings, because just as you picked your way through the locked door, Red Hood makes his presence behind you known with a gruff, "Took you long enough. You're getting slow."

You whirl around to face him, you imagine he can picture the harsh glare emanating from under your domino mask, the clear annoyance that his presence brings.

Red Hood is a nuisance. It doesn't matter that he's filling a void that Batman's death left behind, or that sometimes he actually helps people. It doesn't matter that the person under the helmet is Jason Todd.

None of that matters because he's not really Jason Todd anymore. You refuse to believe he ever can be again. After all, it's the Arkham Knight's fault that Gotham has been left in chaos, that Bruce and Alfred are presumed dead.

It's his fault that everyone you've ever cared about is scattered to the wind. So whatever 'good' Red Hood is doing, well, he's only cleaning up a mess he created. You hate him for it. Hate him for coming back as someone you don't recognize. Hate him for not coming back for you.

He doesn't seem to react to your blatant displeasure, brushing past you into the overgrown greenhouse, "This Ivy thing has been nothin' but trouble for weeks. Thought you'd have it dealt with by now," he drawls.

"She's dead because of you," You snap, practically on his heels. You know he's right, in a way, but you're stretched thin, tired, and still dealing with the fallout from the evacuation he caused.

If your comment bothers him, he doesn't show it, lazily looking around the space for any disturbances, signs someone else has been here besides the two of you, "Do you have anything on this?"

Admittedly, you don't have much. Oracle’s been trying her best, but with most of the system wiped, it's been harder. The last thing you want to do is tell him that, so you grumble, picking over some discarded lab supplies strewn throughout the room, "Just the police reports."

He snorts. It makes your chest tighten, and you drill him for what he knows in return, "You have something better?"

He shrugs, almost mocking, "You asking for my help, Doll? Thought you could handle all this on your own?"

"I don't need or want anything from you," You say lowly. He turns to face you, and for some reason, it makes you feel picked apart. You suck in a breath, "But people are getting hurt."

He stays quiet for a minute, and the air seems to go heavy with things unsaid, arguments never mended. Finally, he talks again, voice even through the modulator, "It's some kind of aphrodisiac. Just amped up."

You make a face, going back to exploring the greenhouse, "Amped up?"

"What, you interested? Need some help with your sex life, sweetheart?"

It takes most of your training not to whirl around and throw some kind of projectile. But you know he's trying to rile you up. He's been like this since he's come back. Always testing boundaries.

"Don't make it weird," You mumble instead, fingers twitching for your utility belt despite your better judgment.

You think he's grinning behind the helmet over your reaction, but you doubt he looks kind about it, "It's just potent. Supposed to knock people out for days after. Sounds like the kind of stress relief you need, don't you think?"

"I don't need a drug to have–" You curse and shut yourself up, heading over for some knocked over canisters.

He follows, practically breathing down your neck in a taunt, "I dunno, doll. You seem pretty pent. I doubt any loverboy you have dicking you down is doing a good job of it."

"You're an ass, you know that," You snap, trying to focus on the scene in front of you.

"I remember that being your type," he sneers, and you really wish he would just focus.

You reach for one the canisters, one that doesn't look broken, half-hoping to get a residue sample.

"Wait–" Red Hood barks, a warning, but it's too late. The canister seems to explode, sending a bright colored pollen into the air. It's a thick cloud, and it seems to melt into every line and crease of your suit.

It's awful, you immediately feel hot, dizzy, and you can't stop coughing. Even as Red Hood grabs your arm, hauling you away from the pollen and out of the greenhouse, it just seems to get worse.

You both stumble when you make it out into the fresh air, and he sounds like he's going to hack up a lung, even through his helmet.

The cold air helps a little, but it doesn't stop the itch that starts to spread across your skin, a need. You think he feels it too, as you catch sight of his hands digging into knees from the corner of your eye.

You let out a string of curses, staggering to your feet, "I need to go."

You don't get very far until he's grabbed your wrist. It's embarrassing the noise that curls up from the back of your throat.

"It's too dangerous," he protests, and you're almost surprised at how coherent he sounds when your brain feels foggy and dazed, "You won't make it."

"I can't stay here," You retort, but you can't find the strength to pull away. Every cell in your body is screaming at you to collapse into him, to finally, finally get what you need from him.

You know it's just the pollen. But that doesn't mean your feelings aren't real.

"I have a safehouse–" he starts, fingers never leaving your wrist.

You laugh, but it's getting harder and harder to ignore how hot your skin is. How much you need to get your armor off, "I'm not going anywhere with you."

He tugs you closer, and you hate that you don't even attempt to pull away, "You are so fucking stubborn. Use your brain for one minute, you hear me? You're going to get yourself hurt."

The anger in his voice catches you off guard, but honestly, you could care less. All that matters is that he closer, that's he's–

You cut off that line of thinking immediately, "I– fine. Just let go."

If he's reluctant as you are about it, he doesn't show it. He only drops your wrist. The walk to his safe house is a blur. Your head feels heavy, your vision swims, and the overwhelming need keeps burning in your gut.

All you can focus on is his back, that each step he takes is measured, and that he keeps looking back at you.

You nearly stumble every time he does, and not even a high dosage of the pollen seems to stop him from insulting you, murmuring something along the lines that you can't even keep yourself upright.

You half expect him to ditch you the next time your steps falter, but he waits every time. If your mind was any more clear you'd linger on why. He hates you. Should hate you. You're part of the reason he was stuck in the at cell, after all.

"It's here," he grumbles, voice clearly tight as he jumps down the fire escape, shoving a window open.

You follow him closely, voice equally as ragged, "Maybe a shower will help."

"It won't. There's only one way through it," he supplies, almost bored.

You tense, but your mind is already spiraling with all the things you'd like to do with him. Your mind can't seem to settle on one. Flashes of his mouth between your legs, fantasies of sinking yourself down over his lap, dreams of him pinning you down and making you cry his name.

You shake your head, it's just the pollen. You definitely don't want him that way. You don't imagine what could have been if he was never taken.

"No, no," You stumble out, fingers twisting into your clothes, trying to ignore the urge to just tug them off, "We aren't doing anything."

"I'm not happy about it either," he snaps, "But your little boytoy isn't here to help."

"I don't have a–" You start to hiss, but a surge of want builds in your gut, and your voice trails into a groan.

He visibly stiffens, "You don't?"

You scowl at him, "It's not your business if I did."

He laughs, and your heart seems to stutter when he pulls his helmet off. He looks a wreck. Hair matted to his face, pupils blown wide, and so visibly desperate, "It's– fine. Say it's not. Then it won't change anything if you let me fuck you."

You freeze, and you really, really want to agree. You can't blame him for being desperate, if pollen is affecting him the same as it is you, you think he'd say that no matter who you were, "You're the worst," You grit out instead, "Why would I ever–"

"Pretend it's not me," he breathes out and steps forward. You know you should move away, should even try to hit him, but when his gloved hand cups your face, you lean into it, "Or don't. And you can tell me you hate me until your throat is raw."

His fingers catch the edge of your domino mask as he says your name, voice low, nearly a croon, "Cmon, doll, ya know ya want to. I'll take care of ya."

The string of curses that leave your mouth are needy, the rough leather of his gloves leaving your skin tingling and your legs pressing together, "Fine. Yes. But when it wears off–"

He doesn't seem to care enough to let you finish, ripping the mask from your face and crashing his lips to yours. It's all teeth and groans and a desire to do anything to get rid of the ache setted in the pit of your stomach.

You're not sure if he tears off your armor or if you do, but you are sure that he's being greedy for someone who acts like you're a bane on his existence.

He sucks at the pulse of your throat, squeezes every inch of your skin he can reach, shoves his leg between yours to grind his thigh against your clit.

It's dizzying, and you're the pollen makes you just as eager to have his skin against yours.

You don't mean to still at the sight of his scars. But you've finally managed to tug off his shirt, they remind exactly who has their fingers fisted into your hair.

"Don't," he hisses, feverish in his attempt to bite as many hickeys into your shoulder and neck as he can.

You don't know what he's telling you not to do, but you think it might have something to do with the way your face fell, the guilt that flashed in your eyes.

So, you don't. You tug him by the back of his neck into another bruising kiss that leaves you both panting, "Are you gonna take care of me now? Or were you all just talk?"

Jason Todd isn't just talk. He wasn't as the Arkham Knight, isn't as Red Hood, and certainly isn't now. He makes that clear when he digs his fingers into your waist, helping you drop the last of your clothes to the ground as he guides you back towards the counter, "If you need something, doll, you should use your words."

The fever building in your body seems to spike at how his eyes glint, the ravenous need that never leaves, even as he palms the curve of your ass and licks the line of your jaw.

"Just hurry up," You half snarl, the itch underneath your skin, making you feel frantic.

"Fucking impatient," he huffs, but the twitch of his cock against your bare skin gives away his equal desperation. He grabs you by the hips, spinning you around to face the counter.

"Jason-" you gasp, and he sucks in a sharp breath, forcing you forward, a hand spread over your back until your hands are flat on the counter.

“That’s it, sweet thing. Be good and hold yourself up,” he murmurs, and you almost keen at how the cold granite distracts from how his skin seems to burn against yours.

He nearly laughs, voice ragged, at your reaction, his hands running down your sides until he reaches your thighs. He nudges them apart, forcing you to stand with your legs spread, “Keep them like that," he orders, and in the moment, you think you'd listen to anything he says.

He rewards you for listening, or maybe he's just as driven by the pollen in his system, but he doesn't waste another second.

His hand keeps you bent over the counter, as he presses the head of his cock to your entrance, "C'mon," he half babbles, "open up for me, baby."

It's all-consuming, head spinning when he finally pushes between your folds, carving his way steadily into your aching pussy. It soothes the heat in your skin for a moment, before it comes back hotter, more desperate.

You choke back a needy sob, not wanting to give away how much you want this, but the way your walls clamp around his dick makes it clear how much you do.

He does laugh this time, and his hand leaves your back, sliding up your body to wrap his arm around your neck.

Your eyes snap wide, and he presses his chest into your back, forcing you to feel every inch of him as he works his cock deeper into you. His arm flexes, not enough to cut off your air, but enough to be a threat.

"Gone quiet," he taunts, "Where'd all your spunk go?"

"Go to hell," You start, and if your weight wasn't braced on your palms, you'd reach up to claw his arm in protest, "you aren't even helping with–"

He snaps his hips forward, and pushing all the air from your lungs as a shrill cry leaves your throat.

Jason lets out a guttural moan at your reaction, “There it is. No hiding how good I make you feel, pretty thing."

"It's not you," You choke out, dizzy with pleasure as his hips find a steady rhythm that drags his cock back and forth against your walls. If it wasn't for his arm securely wrapped around your throat, you think you would have collapsed to the granite below, "s'just the pollen."

He bites at your shoulder, hard and purposeful, "Bullshit. Bet you'd be this tight without it. Bet you'd beg me to fuck you full." He delivers his words harshly, nipping at the shell of your ear as he chases his release, driving his dick harder into your cunt.

The noises ringing through the room are sinful, flesh on flesh, the squelch of your pussy as wetness slicks his cock, "Bet you'd like it too," he groans, "shit– you'd love it."

You mewl, half-delirious with bliss, a part of you wants to be angry that this is the most he's said to you in months, but his cock is twitching against the spot that makes your vision blur, and all you can do to just take it, rambling out some barely thought out comeback, "Wouldn't– I'd– anyone but you."

He growls, tightening his arm around your neck and pressing his entire weight into you. Your arms buckle, and he follows you down into the counter, making the hard granite dig into your chest, waist, and thighs.

"It's not anyone else, though, is it," he mocks, punctuating his words with a harsh thrust of his hips, "It's me inside you. Or are you fucked so dumb you forgot my name?"

You choke, eyes rolling back as you clench down on his cock, strings of curse words falling from your lips before you finally manage to whine out his name.

"Again," he demands, intent and focused, even through the feral haze of pollen as he drives his dick harder into you, "Say who's fucking you again."

"Jason," You half sob, every complicated feeling fleeing from mind. All that matters is the way the tip of his cock brushes against your cervix, the feeling of his free hand working its way between your thighs to rub your clit.

He sucks a dark bruise under ear, and when he pulls your head further back into his shoulder with the muscles of his arm, it sends you spiraling over the edge.

He's not far behind, relentlessly fucking you through it until he's painting your insides with his cum. He doesn't stop until a mix of his and your releases are leaking down your thighs, a sticky mess of evidence of what you've both done.

He pulls out without a warning and finally releases his chokehold on your throat, making you whimper and whine at the loss of him, your cunt clenching around nothing.

You shiver, panting and dazed. It helped. Really helped, if you were being honest. But it wasn't enough. Your skin starts to itch again without him inside you, your gut starts to burn with a heavy ache.

You push yourself off the counter instead of showing it, avoiding his gaze as you turn, looking for your suit with hazy eyes. As if you'd give him any more hints of weakness, "I should go."

He snorts, catching your jaw between his thumb and forefinger to angle your face up, "Apparently I still haven't screwed the stupid out of you. Pollen's still in our system."

"I'm fine," You protest, but he cuts that line of thinking off immediately when his hands grab at the back of your thighs, lifting you to sit on the edge of the counter.

"You," he drawls, already grinding his hips into yours, "are a mess. And I said I'd take care of you. You feel taken care of?"

You meet his gaze. It's dark, hungry. A perfect mirror of your own. You stomp down the complicated, longing feeling in your chest at the color of his eyes and set your jaw, "No."

He grins wolfishly at your denial, and nudges his hardening length against your cunt, "No" he prompts, a clear desire to hear more of your voice.

"No," You breathe out, unable to find your usual malice in your tone, "It was disappointing."

"Poor baby," he coos, and your head falls back in ecstasy when he finally slips his cock back into your pussy, "Let me make it up to you."

He does. Again. And again. Until you're not sure where you end and he begins. Then he does again. And again. Until the pollen wears off and neither of you have any more excuses to find release in each other.

And then he does it again.

You devour every moment with a reckless, torturous abandon. Until the line you set so passionately as hate, gets too blurred to remember. Until neither of you are convinced it was ever hate at all.

And then he does it again.

[black-cat-luck]

The real barbie is Y/n.

Y/n’s a doctor, a cop, a scientist, an agent, vet, hero, villain, astronaut, lawyer, spy, criminal, artist, chef, engineer, psychologist, architect, journalist, firefighter, event planner, mechanic, photographer, musician, actor, interior designer, bartender, fashion designer, barista, florist, forensic scientist, flight attendant, profiler, tour guide, translator, etc.

[black-cat-luck]

The Call

Summary: One little call to each of them. One big consequence. (Batfamily x sibling!reader)

Word Count: 2.9K

Notes: IM LATE AGAIN. I hope you all know that I do stay up wildly late when this happens cause I want to edit before I submit, even if some of these were pre-written (its 1:30AM RAHH). ANWAYS. Batfamily, I tried to get as many as I could but I haven't collected runs for about half the family cause I am biased towards my boys, but I am trying to be as accurate as possible when I can be and that includes those dynamics! So rest assured I am doing my research and hopefully that'll reflect soon. As usual, enjoy your daily feed and I'll enjoy my nap. Warnings just for general description of violence.

Much Love~! xx

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When Dick got the call, he was in his civilian clothes.

Dick Grayson was suit shopping, needing something for an upcoming gala. He had put it off for so long, since he wore the Nightwing suit more than any other in his closet. He had let it ring out once while he got his measurements taken, but when they called back a second time, his lips dipped into a frown. Excusing himself, he clicked the answer call button, stating his name. He hears the voice of Bruce, but in the stern tone of Batman. He doesn’t think that he's ever left a store as fast as he had that day, feet thudding on the pavement and breath cold in his chest as he hurries to his car. He unlocks it and all but throws himself into the passenger seat, lines on his face hardening. Throwing it quickly into drive he pulls out and heads in the direction of the manor.

He tries to keep himself composed, his emotional training kicking in. His fingers are tense on the steering wheel, passing over the bridge at a speed a cop would most certainly pull him over for. Even though he tries to take a deep breath, there's a burning in his sternum. It builds until it creeps into his neck, making him click his tongue uncomfortably.

The sensation is a rage he hadn't felt in a while, a fire that hadn’t burnt that intensely since he was just a boy grieving his parents’ death. It had flickered when he had heard Bruce had adopted a boy called Jason after him, sputtering to life upon hearing about his death. Yet he had grown, he had risen above it and had become a shelter for his younger, extended family. He was dependable, uncrackable, and upbeat, that was Nightwing. Yet as he drives back with that painful fire in his chest, he felt nothing more than Dick Grayson, the boy stricken with fear at the idea of losing his family.

When Jason got the call, he had been on patrol.

Helm securely on his face, it kept the drizzly night rain of Gotham out of his eyes. It had been a rather quiet night, stopping a few minor robberies and assaults that were common down by Dixon Docks. He was eager to return home, wanting to swing by the manor quickly to take full advantage of the hot water system before heading back to his apartment in Old Gotham for a well-deserved rest. He had just finished interrogating some of Penguins' men, about to call the cave to let whoever was on tonight know that they finally had the location of the new drug den they had been chasing the past month. However, the communication device he had set on his bike was lit, screen full of notifications.

Calls, one after another filled the small holographic display and he pressed the button to call back, leg swinging over the side of the bike as he did so. He had only started the bike but already he screeched to a stop, making sure he heard the words properly. A curse and gruffly shouted questions were his only response and when he got the information he wanted, he cut the call and the bike roared to life. He leant forward as if that was going to help him get to his destination quicker, blood boiling underneath his skin. His chest ached with the urge to sputter out pants, desperate to start the sign of panic racing through his veins. Yet he was stronger than that, keeping his cool like a tightly wound coil, muscles tensed beneath the suit.

His mind buzzes with worry, anxiety gnawing at his ribcage like a feral rat.

Jason doesn't often allow himself to be emotional on the job, despite his tendency for rage.

But rage was different. Rage burned and warmed him up from the inside, was the force that he put behind every punch or kick. It was his kindling, and it served to guide him as well as any star. Of course, Bruce had tempered it somewhat, but he had just guided Jason into turning it into something else, not getting rid of entirely. He used rage to protect the people of the city, the outrage he felt when he saw them get treated badly. He used rage when coming to his family's defence, the sight of hands being laid on people he had come to care for sparking it too. Those were the rages he was used to using, although there was always a third.

The pit.

The rage that bubbled away in the back of his mind, hidden behind a tall wall and shoved into the deepest part of him. That was the rage that crept forth, green and poisonous in his veins and clouding his judgement in a fog of pain and despair and anger. When it would appear, he would often take a moment to himself to pack it back away, contain it once more in the bulletproof casing of his heart. Yet right now, he didn't want to put it back. It made him rev the bike harder, made him feel like he was getting there quicker. The bike kicked up water as he zig zagged through the back streets, his mental map of Gotham rerouting anytime the traffic was longer than five cars deep. He couldn't afford to lost time, to not be fast enough. Not now, not this time, and if he had to use the rage the pit cursed him with, he would.

Tim was at the manor, holed up in his room when he got the call.

It had been a long night the night before, tossing restlessly. Not that he would have told anyone, but the last fight with Bane had left him with a few more bruises than he had let on, cleverly hidden from the keen eyes of Alfred. He wanted to nurse them himself, carry his own weight. In fact, he had been sulking in his room going over the things that had been troubling him, knees pulled to his chest.

Dick was capable and dependable, and the first Robin, the biggest shoes to fill. Jason was tenacious but loved deeply, and he fought for what was right. His methods might be unconventional to the Bat sometimes, but he knew what he wanted to fight for. Steph had flown the nest to become Spoiler, Cass already had such a firm grasp of who she wanted to become now that she was Orphan. Barbara had even been able to turn her life around after being put into her wheelchair, her desire to help leading her to become Oracle when she had to hang up Batgirl. Even Damian, the true son of Bruce Wayne, was so confident, growing at a rate he knew Bruce was quietly proud of.

But then there was Tim, who stayed up on weekends trying to redesign his suit, to carve his own vigilante life, only to look on it and see the traces of his time as Robin printed clearly on it. The role of Robin had outgrown him, but there was the shred of doubt that whispered in his ear that just maybe, he hadn't outgrown it. The ringing of his phone snapped him out of his daze, and he let it go to voicemail. When it came again, he grabbed his phone with the desire to turn it off, but seeing the emergency signal had him picking up right away.

"Hello?" he called, sitting right up in bed. His eyes widened and he shelved his pity party, running out of his room.

He winds through the halls of the manor until he finds the door he's looking for. Tim's knuckles rap against the wood loudly, repeating until a disgruntled Damian comes to the door, swinging it open violently. "This better be good, Drake." he deadpans, scanning the flustered state of the older boy. Tim just turns his phone screen, showing the emergency call signal before gesturing to the direction of the grandfather clock with his head. "We've got to go." he says curtly, the young boy hot on his heels after he recovers from his shock.

Both of them head to the cave and prepare to depart immediately. Tim slips the suit over his skin like an outgrown shedding, domino mask sliding onto his face. He couldn’t recognise his own face when he caught sight of it in the glass reflection, but a mask and suit would never be enough to hide the panic that clung to him tighter than the Red Robin suit.

When Bruce got the call, he was at Wayne Enterprises.

He was making a rare appearance at the office, knowing that Lucius had something that he wanted to talk to him about. His office felt foreign and sterile, empty and unreal. The glass surfaces everywhere let him glimpse the face of Bruce Wayne, a face that he was beginning to see less and less. It felt uncanny seeing himself without the cowl, and sometimes when he was working, he could swear he saw a reflection of the bat ears in the window beside him. The night had dragged on, and he was only an hour into the meeting with Lucius when the phone in his suit pocket rang.

He and Lucius shared a sceptical look as he turned the phone screen. The call location wasn't displaying as the Batcave, the only place that could contact this phone directly outside of his children, Lucius and Alfred's personal mobile. Yet he knew Red Hood was taking the brunt of patrol tonight, and Bruce was intended to join him after the meeting. Dick was carrying out some errands downtown and everyone else had either stayed home or didn't contact him like this often. The girls preferred to call his phone as Bruce Wayne or spoke through Alfred, so who could it be?

Lucius gives a nod, silent as he sits down. Bruce's face hardens as he presses the speaker button, accepting the call.

"Who is this?" he says, lowering his voice to the gravelly timbre of Batman.

"Da...B-Batman?" comes a broken, shaky voice on the other end. Lucius's eyes widen and flick to Bruce's immediately, mouth parting. Bruce's jaw ticks, eyes widening as well when he hears your voice.

"This is the Batman. How did you get this number?" He asks, having to focus on keeping his voice low, even though the tone of Bruce threatens to creep back in.

"He-he just had it. I don't know. He just told me to speak, I-I'm not even holding the phone I can't see anything; I’m tied, my eyes are-" you begin to ramble, struggling to get through your words before you're cut off.

"Hello, Batsy." calls a voice close to the receiver, and Bruce swore that his heart fell through the floor in that moment. His fingers tighten around the phone the same way that his lungs are constricting in his chest.

"Joker."

The man on the other end cackles, if Bruce could even call him that. "Miss me?" he snickers, Bruce's mind filling with the image of a red stretched grin. "You see, this is more of a... courtesy call. You know Bruce Wayne, billionaire extraordinaire?"

Bruce's head snaps up to Lucius, who's rubbing at his face nervously.

He didn't know, did he?

"You see, I didn't make a lot of impact going after the commissioner last time, so I had to think to myself, If I wanted to really shake things up in Gotham, who else is there? Then I thought of it, who better than the playboy of the century?" he laughs, punctuated with a sharp snap of his fingers.

"Get to the point." Bruce all but growls.

"Yeah yeah, you always love to rush me, don't you?" The Joker snarks back with fake hurt, before continuing. "Regardless, I have one of his little orphan projects, thinking I might have a bit more success with this one."

He hears a thwack over the phone and a scream, making his nails dig into his palm. He steadies his breathing.

"What have you done?" he asks, low and dangerous.

Another thwack.

"Exactly what I said. But there was a rumour going around that you know Mr. Money, so I thought I'd give you a call, you know, a little gift. If you do know the richest orphan in Gotham, then I want to give you the honour of telling him I've got one of his. Better yet, I want to give you the honour of delivering their body to his doorstep. Maybe that way, you might be able to bond over losing your fake kids."

Bruce feels sick, closing his eyes to try and stop himself from making a mistake right now.

Your life was on the line. He had to play smart.

"Where are you?"

The joker tuts on the other end. "This was a courtesy call, nothing more. I don't want anyone interrupting my playtime. Tata for now~"

"Joker-" he starts but then he's cut off, line going dead. Lucius doesn't say anything, his own personal phone pulled out as he calls Alfred, studying the frozen figure of Bruce. It's almost like there's dark tendrils to the shadows on his broad body, deepening the lines on his face.

Bruce doesn't remember too much, but Batman did.

Immediately he had left the room, suit en route to him and arriving within the minute. As soon as the comfort of his cowl touched his skin, Bruce was gone, and it was Batman calling everyone at the same time. It was Dick who picked up first, a couple of rings earlier than Jason before Tim joined, the sound of Damian in the background. Oracle and Spoiler joined together, while the others were still pending. He didn’t have the time to temper his voice as he relayed the situation, immediately getting as many people on recon as possible.

There were shouts and yelling and cursing before all of their lines became inactive, replaced with trackers signalling that their suits were live. When he enters the batmobile he grips the wheel tensely. The lump in his throat doesn't seem to disappear, only growing larger with each second. His mind is filled with pictures of Jason. Pictures of Barbara. The smiling photos of you.

He might never admit it, but he had your photos front and centre in his wallet (something you did in fact know and used to your advantage frequently in 'dad loves me more' battles). He remembers the first day he ever saw you, cold and scared apart from the other kids in the orphanage. He had been investigating a potential human trafficking ring operating out of the centre, but when he saw you, the fatherly pang hit him. The way your eyes stared forward dully as he greeted children as Bruce Wayne, cameras flashing around him. He had enough wealth to buy the children anything they asked for, the other kids excitedly asking for new toys or clothes or art supplies. However, when he kneeled down in front of you and asked you want you wanted, you said only a few words, 'a family'.

And god be damned if Bruce didn't have money enough for that too.

So, he took you in, hid batman from you like he had tried to with everyone else as well. Yet he failed again, but unlike his children in the past, you never asked to join. Never asked for a suit or to stay up or to train in the cave. Never showed any interest in joining your siblings or throwing yourself in front of danger for the sake of the city. When he asked you why you had simply shrugged, giving him a soft smile.

"All I've ever wanted was to be part of a family. I don't need to be a superhero to be loved."

And then you beamed at him with a smile that could have lit up his world and chased the clouds away from Gotham, so pure and genuinely content. That made Bruce feel like he had finally succeeded as a father, and for once Bruce felt like a father. No Batman, no mask and cape. He didn't train with you; he went out with you to the theatre on weekends. You didn't jump from rooftop to rooftop, you liked to come study with him in his office when he had to take care of Wayne affairs. Batman may have been created to save Gotham city, but he was convinced that you were sent to save Bruce Wayne.

Now, he felt that he had failed you as both Bruce and Batman.

"Hold on sweetheart," he whispers to himself, letting his eyes close for a brief moment during his exhale. "I'll get you home. I promise."

He pressed the accelerator further, Batmobile display signaling that everyone else was suited up and across the city waiting further instruction. He just hoped, he prayed that when he brought you back, it wouldn't be in a body bag.