#Alfred isn’t dead he’s on vacation

[tim-drake-scholar]

Just in case you didn’t know I wrote a timbern fic 👉👈 it takes place after the events of TD:R and it’s quite domestic and angsty… but lots of fluff. It’s about Tim trying to find his place in Gotham as a young adult and trying to redefine his position in the batfamily, while also trying to introduce Bernard to his family and his ✨lifestyle✨ I would love it if people could check it out and give me feed back

[ibviously]

Little Red Bracelet

Summary: Jason was bleeding when Kara arrived at Wayne Manor. He’d be dead to her as soon as she confirmed he was alive.

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of violence and injury.

Pairings: Jason Todd x Kara Zor-El, Dick Grayson x Kara Zor-El

Jason was bleeding when Kara arrived at Wayne Manor.

“Ms. Zor-El, what a pleasant surprise,” Alfred said, his white gloved hand still on the doorknob. The butler made no move to vacate Kara’s path.

“Alfred, please let me in,” Kara whispered, her words so soft they barely touched the silence that clung perpetually to the estate’s walls. She kept her voice level in order to mask the rage that bit at her insides. Kara shifted in the entryway. Right to left. Left to right.

“I am afraid I have been ordered to keep you out of the manor, Ms Kara.” The remorse that tinged Alfred’s voice was sincere. Still, the space behind Kara’s eyes became hot and her hands clenched in on themselves.

He promised. They made an agreement- had an understanding. Yet here she was, shaking at the doorstep of Bruce Wayne’s mansion because his son lacked any instinct for self preservation. Kara told herself that this was the last straw, that she would see him this one time and that would be it. Done. Out. Over.

Jason Todd would be dead to her as soon as she confirmed he was alive.

Kara swallowed, and met Alfred’s eyes with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry Alfred, but I’m coming in.” She didn’t wait for his objection before she brushed him aside, as if dusting away a leaf that had fallen on her shoulder.

Wayne Manor was cold. The first time Kara had entered, cowering behind the form of her older cousin, she shivered, and not just from the impending sense of doom. All of the warm mahogany and leather scented candles in the world could not disguise the mansion for what it was; a cave. The Batman-Billionaire was not quick to welcome another Kryptonian, but with a little heroism on Kara’s part and vouching from Dick Grayson, Kara was a regular. Now, she strode in, sure-footed and furious.

“Jason!”, she shouted, scanning through the walls for some glimpse of him. Nothing. She turned to demand that Alfred tell her where he was, but he had vanished. Kara let out a frustrated huff and swallowed the fear rising in her throat. As soon as she wrangled the worry induced nausea, the guilt crept into her stomach.

She knew he was going after Joker, he had told her.

“I didn’t say he doesn’t need to be stopped, Jason. Im saying this isn’t the time to engage. And certainly not alone,” Kara sighed, picking up the sweatshirt Jason had peeled off of himself and plopped on the floor. His leather jacket had been scrubbed of blood an hour prior and was drying as they spoke. He was bent over a dresser (a birthday gift from Kara), scavenging for clean kevlar amour. A bowl of leftover pasta sat, untouched and cold, atop the furniture.

Jason hadn’t been eating much. The hunt for Joker had been on for weeks- it consumed Jason. He didn’t sleep, didn’t speak with anyone unless out of necessity. Kara tried to understand the desire - the need, to tear Joker down. But she had learned awhile ago that any mission fueled by rage was doomed.

Kara’s attempt at reasoning was met with silence. Her blood boiled.

“This is bullshit, Jay.” The profanity caught his attention- but only for a second. Jason glanced up at Kara, waiting for elaboration, and when he was met with a furrowed brow and pursed lips- he went back to foraging.

“I know what I’m doing,” He stated plainly, “he’s not gonna live through this- and Gotham will be better for it.”

What has Gotham done for you? Kara wanted to ask. All she heard from Jason were stories of shiners from police and scrounging in garbage cans while the rich ate caviar and fucked the same prostitutes that lived on his streets.

Maybe that was it. Maybe Jason felt some type of ownership over the city that had raised him. Maybe he needed to feel like all of the hunger and the pain and the death was worth it- because now he got to make a change. Now he got to contribute to the symphony of gunfire that had once been his lullaby.

“It’s all the same, Todd. Death is death, no matter which people are at which ends of the gun.” Kara’s pleas were whispers in the howling wind. He wouldn’t listen, she knew, but it didn’t stop her from saying, “Please don’t. Not tonight.” Kara considered getting on her knees and begging. She had seen numerous criminals, petty and professional alike, assume the position and look up at her. They fumbled their words. Some cried. Some even soiled themselves when her blue eyes glowed red down upon them. She thought about what she’d say: Please, please. Not tonight. Tonight can just be us. We can pull the blinds and put the TV on and you can kiss me as hard or as soft as you like. Just stay. It can be one of those nights where you pick a movie and I pretend to be learning something about ‘culture.’

Those nights had ended when Joker made his return to Gotham. Kara wanted to scream. She wanted Joker dead for what he did to Jason. She wanted to rip him up and bleed him dry. She wanted to grind him under her knuckles-paint him across the city streets. She wanted to melt him down to nothing and pour him into Gotham Harbor.

That was the kicker! It wouldn’t be a fight- not like it was for Jason. She could float down like an angel into whatever cess pool Joker currently occupied and break him until he was malleable and rotting.

That type of thinking was unproductive- damaging- she knew. But it was nice to submerge oneself in a tide of self destructive thought. In that way, Kara could understand why the need for vengeance had ravaged all that Jason was.

It wasn’t a difficulty concept to grasp. Kara held the same feelings towards Brainiac. Her dead planet was there when she closed her eyes every night. The screams of her parents echoed in between every moment of peace. When she looks at herself all she sees is the reflection of a crumbling Krypton, projected back in the whites of her eyes. But Krypton was gone- irrevocably and permanently gone. It did not roam her streets or make the news. She did not live with the constant reminder of its presence. There was peace to be found in that.

Things were different for the Red Hood.

Jason was dressed now- complete in leather and guns snug in their holsters. Kara almost smiled. She liked him like this. It had taken awhile to grow fond of; the brutality of his persona. Red Hood. The undead bringer of justice. Killer. Gunslinging Robin- back from the grave. Vengeance, always vengeance.

Eventually, with the growth of mutual trust, came the appearance of something much more rare. Something much more foreign to either of them.

Intimacy.

It lingered on their knuckles between brawls and stuck to their shoulders after helping one another stumble to safety. It hung in the air after every argument. Kara could taste it on her teeth after Jason’s tongue had been in her mouth. It wasn’t love; she knew that. She wasn’t even sure if it was romantic. All that Kara could be sure of was that her soul ached at the thought of Jason every suffering at the Joker’s hands again.

Jason rose from his hunched position by the dresser and turned to face Kara. His gaze was cold. Kara knew there was no way to keep him with her.

“Will you hand me my bracelet?” he requested, peeking past her and nodding toward the beside table.

The bracelet was a gift, a peace offering after a particularly brutal argument. It was a small ring of red fabric from her cape- supplemented with the binding of a copy of Pride and Prejudice, for structural support. Roy had helped her make it.

Kara handed him the bracelet and hung her head in defeat.

“Make sure he stays dead.”

Jason’s hand was clad with an intravenous needle, a heart monitor, and his red bracelet. Kara’s breath caught, solid and hot in her chest when she entered the cave’s medical bay.

Kara took him in, her eyes scrounging for detail. Jason, Jason, Jason. Her heart slammed against her chest with such force she thought it might burst through her body and splat on the floor. She imagined it pulsating on the linoleum beneath her. Thump, thump, thump.

“Kara?”

Dick’s voice cut through her day-dream. Kara tore her gaze from the floor to see a grief ravaged Dick Grayson striding towards her. His face was pale and hollow, eyes sunken, and hair matted and greasy. Before she could take a step forward, Dick was embracing her; his body quivering around her as he clung and buried his face into her neck. Kara’s arms acted on instinct, pulling his body into her and cradling his head. Kara’s fingers tangled themselves into the curls at the base of his neck. She held onto Dick; gaze never wavering from the boy in the cot before her.

Jason was bleeding. Crimson stained the sheets around his torso, showing through the bandages that encircled his abdomen. He was pale, taking in slow, shallow respirations. His face was purple and bludgeoned- barely recognizable. Kara felt her legs wobble beneath her. If it weren’t for a certain Blue Bird in her arms, Kara would have fallen to the floor. She would have collapsed right next to her beating heart- laid her head down and let it pump the remainder of her blood into the open air.

“Kara, you can’t be in here.”

She hadn’t noticed Bruce was standing by the bedside until he spoke. Her gaze snapped to him.

“Is he okay?” she whispered. She heard her own voice as if from underwater.

“He is going to be fine. Now please, Kara, go upstairs. And take Dick with you…”

The rest of Bruce’s lecture was drown out by the lazy beats of Jason’s heart. Kara counted them- each thump more beautiful than the last. She loved Jason’s heartbeat. From the moment they met, she was attuned to its thick, off-kilter beats. Jason had told her, when she asked, that the Lazarus Pit had just made it ‘different.’

“How long has he been out?” Kara demanded.

Bruce scowled. “Three hours. I’m not going to ask again. Get out. I’ll tell you when he wakes up.”

Kara grinned- toothy and mean. Tears fell past her lip and into her open mouth. “Or what, Bruce? Are you gonna make me leave?” Clark had warned her against reminding Batman of what she was. He told her not to give him any more reasons to stock up on Kryptonite.

Dick groaned into her neck, straightening himself and cupping Kara’s face, forcing her gaze away from Jason. His eyes were bleary and hopeless. Two blue pools of misery. “They gotta cut him open, Kara,” Dick drawled. She smelt liquor on his breath.

Kara opened her mouth to protest- but Bruce was quick to explain.

“Joker planted an explosive behind his rib cage. We have to take it out. And you cannot be in this room when we do.”

Dick awoke to sunlight filtering through the curtains of the living room. He groaned, tightening his grasp around the girl pressed against his body. His head was pounding and the insidious tendrils of dread that had made their home in his chest had not wavered. The whole night felt on ocean away; distanced by gallons and gallons of thick water, suspended before him. He couldn’t keep the words from cutting their way back into his head. Not again. Flashes of Jason’s small, mauled body rotted his dreams.

Jason’s alive.

He repeated the affirmation over and over as he stared at the ceiling- again and again until it sounded like truth. Neither Alfred nor Bruce had emerged from the cave since Jason had arrived, bloody and thrashing, carried into the medical unit by Dick’s own hands. Jason’s blood was dried and flaking from underneath Dick’s fingernails as he traced slow circles across Kara’s cheek. It was a miracle she was still asleep. Dick, sloppy with intoxication, had played every card he had to get Kara to settle down on the couch.

“Kara, please, please- you can see him in the morning.”

“Stay with me or I’m grabbing the kryptonite.”

“You’re only going to distract Alfred.”

“We couldn’t help him, even if we were in there.”

After hours of pleading, and Kara clawing at the BatCave door, she finally collapsed into him- letting Dick scoop her into his arms. She sobbed into his chest until his t-shirt was soaked and all she had left to give were labored breaths and apologies.

“It’s my fault- he told me…”

“…shouldn’t have let him…”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Jason…Jason…Jason…”

Dick let her apologize. He let her drown in remorse until her throat was dry and sleep took her away from him.

Now, as Dick examined her face in the morning light- he wished he would’ve corrected her. He wished he would’ve told her about the life that she had breathed into Jason. He wished he would’ve told her that she was keeping him afloat. He wished he would’ve pressed his whiskey soaked lips to her ear and droned on and on about how much they both loved her, until they drifted into nothingness.

But he hadn’t, and now Kara’s face was puffy from crying and grey with guilt. Her lips were swollen and parted, taking in tiny sips of air with each inhale. Golden hair lapped at her shoulders and tickled Dick’s nose. He held his breath, pausing to engrave this image of her into his memory. Soft, relaxed, melting into him like his skin held the only warmth in the world. Dick pressed his lips to her forehead. She smelt sweet and earthy- like air after a storm.

Of course, this image of Kara could not be farther from the truth. He had seen her soaring through the sky and bending steel with her bare hands. He has seen her eyes glow red and melt their target down to nothing. Kara Zor-El had rolled with the filthiest of villains and came up victorious. What’s more-she wasn’t tainted by the encounters. With each brawl in the Gotham streets, Dick had to remind himself that he was not the same as the men and women he fought against. Not better- just different. Dick Grayson. Not Nightwing, Not Robin. He was a person, and he wouldn’t lose himself to the violence and the abuse and the terror that he submerged himself in every night.

Kara was above it all. She had bled and broken and dragged herself from the edge of defeat countless times. For every time she fell, she rose, wobbling on weak knees- chin high. She would recover from this. She would forgive Jason.

Kara stirred when Dick removed his lips, her blue-grey eyes fluttering open and fixing onto him immediately. She didn’t squint, didn’t fight back the sudden onslaught of light invading her cornea. Kryptonian eyes didn’t waste time adjusting in the morning.

“…Jason?”

Her question was answered with the creak of the staircase and Jason’s gargled cough as he hobbled into the living room. She tensed against Dick's body, her fists bawling up in the fabric of his T-shirt. Dick could feel the heat building behind her eyes. It warmed his cheeks. He almost sighed at the feeling.

By the time Kara dragged herself off the couch and away from Dick, Jason had made his way down the stairs and stood at the corner of the living room.

“Are you okay?” Kara’s voice shook. Her jaw clenched so tight she thought she might shatter her teeth and choke on them.

Jason stood in front of her, straining against gravity to keep himself upright. Kara almost came to his side to help him stay up. Almost. He was purple and green and pale all over. Kara knew that his grey shirt was hiding long lines of fresh stitches and scraped skin. Jason shifted on his feet and swallowed a wince.

Kara swallowed a sob.

“Good as new,” Jason chirped, ending the last syllable with the twist of a smirk on his scarred lips.

Dick was behind her as soon as Jason’s words came out, gingerly grazing her fist with his fingers. She knew he was attempting to calm her- or warn her. But it was too late for restraint. Dick strode over to Jason, slinging an arm around his back, bracing him. Kara felt phantom tremors in the hardwood under her feet.

Kara exhaled, blowing hot air out of her nose and refocusing her vision. She held out her hand, palm up, and said, “Give it to me.”

Jason’s eyebrows drew close in confusion.

“What?”, he questioned.

“Give me the bracelet. I want it back.” Each syllable that came off her tongue was cold and acidic.

Hurt registered on Jason’s face for more than a second. He was too tired to mask his emotions in sarcasm and an expertly placed glare. “Kara…”, - a plea from Dick. She didn’t budge.

Jason continued to stare at her, his exhaustion stricken expression never wavering. “Did Joker fuck up your ear drums too?”, she spat.

Jason recoiled at her words- as if she had slapped him.

“That’s enough,” Dick announced, positioning himself in between the two. “Kara, go home and you two can talk later.” His blue eyes were alight with anger. Dick was angry at her. Good. Clark was right. Bridges were bound to burn, especially ones that led to Waynes.

Kara choked on a laugh and pushed Dick aside.

“You lied to me. You’re a lair, Jason. You promised me that you were done with the self endangerment and the vendetta and the meaningless violence. I cannot spend every night wondering if I’m gonna see you alive the next day." Her voice broke on the end of the sentence, fizzling into a whisper as tears built up in her eyes. Kara looked at her shoes- desperate to keep herself from falling apart in Wayne Manor. "I don't like this anymore," she rasped at the ground, "and I won't feel like this again."

Jason’s expression had hardened as Kara spoke. He was just as stoic as he was during Bruce’s lectures or beating criminals into mush. It made Kara’s stomach curl. Just as she was about to launch another attack of insults, Jason pulled the bracelet off his wrist and handed it to Kara. Their gazes met, his green eyes steady on her. She fought the urge to break his nose. Kara hoped he didn’t catch the tears swelling in the ridges of her eyes. It took the rest of her self control to grab the bracelet, careful to avoid touching Jason’s skin, and wrap her shaking fingers around it.

She dropped her head. The sight of Jason was tearing down her resolve to leave. But she had too.

If the destruction of her planet had taught her anything, it was that it is wise to know when to leave. Best not to wait until things fall apart. She was good at feeling for the cracks. Good at feeling the tremors of instability beneath her feet and seeing them for what they were; warnings. The signs are always there. They were there before Krypton broke apart in space. They were there before Kara held Lena Luthor��s dead body in her arms. They were there when Kal-El turned his back on her and joined the Regime. And they were here now, in Jason’s silence and her shaking hands.

It was time to go.

“Good bye, Jason,” Kara stated, not trusting herself to take him in one last time. If she looked at him too long she might break and cry and beg him to stay in her arms until she was ready to let go.

Kara turned, stepping away from a bleeding Jason Todd, and let herself out of Wayne Manor.

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Severed Rings

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/KAVIolh by AaronCole0902 He is going to die here. Jason is used to fucking up, feels like he spent his whole life doing it. But this, this isn’t one he’s going to be able to come back from. This isn’t one Batman will forgive, not even Bruce could. The joker is gone, the seconds left on the bomb feel like an eternity in his mind. Everything happens at once, every sound, emotion, agonizing memory and nerve in his body are on fire, and then there is nothing. or The one where Jason Todd is ghost for his 6 month death-vacation and Tim Drake happens to be a nosy meta who can see ghosts. Words: 1137, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Death in the Family (Movie 2020), Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Robin (DCU), Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Dead People - Character, ghosts - Character Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake Meta AU, Major Character Death is Canon Jason Death, Temporary Character Death, they are brothers officer, Loneliness, Depression, Anxiety, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Fuck the timeline and ages I make my own story, no beta we die like todd, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, its so sad and then gets better and then gets sad again and then gets better again, relatively happy ending bc im a sap, projecting onto fictional characters, Dissociation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, some light body horror, will put necessary trigger warning before content i swear, Tim can see ghosts, jason is a ghost for the 6 months he is dead, They become friends, Brotherly Bonding, Developing Friendships, Healing, jason is around 15, Tim is around 11/12, they are BROTHERS you creeps let them be, Tim Drake Sees Dead People read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/KAVIolh

[confused-wanderer]

How would Jason react, or even know about Bruce nearly killing the joker?

He doesn’t hear it from Damian, Dick nor Barbara. It’s only when a few years have passed and relations between Bruce and him slowly start cooling that he starts being able to return to the Manor more often without feeling pangs of guilt, longing, nostalgia and overall the Lazarus Pit screaming to be let out.

However, he isn’t dumb. Whenever he complains to Tim about how Tim’s been treated better and loved more than he was, he’s quick to notice how Tim’s jaw tenses, with fingers spastic as if they wanted to curl into fists. Nor does he miss what Tim whispers under his breath twenty minutes later.

If only you knew..

Bruce keeps trying to make amends, tries engaging with him face to face before a few bullets got the message across and he retreated. But Jason could still feel him waiting, hovering, for the signal to light up and let him know he was needed.

He could go to hell though.. Every single time he looked at Bruce he felt safe, followed by fierce anger burning through his veins. He hated that he felt at ease when Bruce entered. Hated that he almost fell back into their old banter. Hated that he missed him. Hated that he still trusted him.

Hated that he still loved him.

One night, after giving Bruce the cold shoulder the entire time and watching in satisfaction as Bruce’s shoulder slumped in defeat, he felt the sudden need to comfort him. He’s the batman, he chided himself. If he could get over your death, he can get over this.

Standing out on the balcony, he never spoke to the presence already there.

“Master Jason..”

“Hey Alfred, it’s pretty cold out you sure you’d be fine?”

“I’ve faced worse winters.”

Jason sighed. That old man always had an air of expectancy around him, just like when he was robin, like a mother waiting for their child to tell them what they did wrong.

“What do you want?”

“I want to know what the bloody hell you think you’re doing?”

That caught Jason’s attention. Hatred and stoic ness quickly melted and all he could do was stare at him in shock.

“Why are you tormenting him?”

“Are you fucking kidding me??-“ “Language master Jason.”

“Alfred. You were there.”

“There was nothing master Bruce could do to save you-”

“I DONT CARE ABOUT THAT ALFRED! He-“

Shoulders slumped, he looked down.

“He replaced me.” Jason whispered. “He didn’t even wait till my body was cold he just fucking went ahead and replaced me. Even after knowing I died, he still put another child in that suit, MY suit! And then, HE DIDNT EVEN AVENGE ME!! He just took Joker back to Arkham, which is basically just like a vacation for him, and LEFT. After all these-”

A shivering cold current of electricity ran through his body and he could feel the Lazarus Pit rising, making his body grow colder by the second.

“After all this time.. he never did anything.” Jason muttered. “So yeah, not only was knowing I was dead for four years a slap to the face.. but to come back home to find another kid in my room and business as usual? As if I never existed? That just made me realise I didn’t matter.”

CLINK

The tea cup in Alfred’s hands was shaking, and a wave of concern overtook Jason. He was about to reach a hand out to steady it when Alfred put the cup down, sighed and looked at the moon.

“Master Bruce never gave Robin to Tim. I did.”

“.. Come again?”

“I gave it to him myself. After you died.. he was a shell of himself. He started pushing himself more, brutalising criminals to the point of hospitalisation. After you died.. a big part of him did too. He refused to be around people, friends, to be happy, to eat. He was punishing himself for your death by refusing to live. And I never forgot you either my boy.. Every night for months I stood by the windows, staying awake and looking outside..hoping to catch a glimpse of you. For the first time in my life I prayed for you to be beaten and bruised, but alive. Locked myself in your room, in your memories, as if standing over your bed was guarding you even in death..Master Bruce missed you so much he played tapes of your missions, just to hear your laugh.”

The older man shook his head and refused to look at him.

“He rejected Tim, but I couldn’t watch him destroy himself. I’d already lost one son..” Alfred paused, looking at Jason with such fondness and pain. “ I wasn’t going to lose another.”

A long pause lingered in the air, and Jason could hear his heart racing as it processed what he’d heard.

“As for Joker,” Jason looked up, and saw the most terrifying scowl he’d ever seen before, with eyes filled with hatred and a craving for retribution.

“Jason Bruce almost killed him too. Like you said, I was there. I was always there. He had chas- hunted Joker down, torturing him slowly and violently until the air was thick with his screams. How every bone was shattered, with so much blood you couldn’t even tell the tiles underneath were white.”

Alfred closed his eyes, and Jason couldn’t help feel that though he was remembering the scene, he was also reveling in it. “His body shattered, smile gone replaced with pain and the howls of misery that he emitted that night.. alas-”

“He didn’t kill him.”

Alfred’s eyes bore into his, and reflected the darkness of the shimmering sky.

“You’re not hearing me. He damn well nearly did. There are things worse than death in this world and Bruce made sure to make Joker feel every single.one. But Superman.. heard him. He heard the roars of fury and grief, and stopped him. All while Bruce stood over the broken body of what once was human. All while muttering your name over and over again, like it was a prayer that kept him grounded. With every hit he took, with every ounce of pain he delivered, he did it with your name on his lips.”

They both just stood there.. shadows in fading moonlight as the noises of life started waking the world with their song.

“Unfortunately, his voice was recorded on one of those surveillance cameras. Tim wiped it, but we kept one copy.. and though the footage is corrupted, the sound is crystal clear.”

Alfred hesitated, before gently cupping Jason’s hands and placing a cold weight on them.

“I hope you never hear it..my boy. I’d rather you burnt it. But if you want to hear the raw truth.. I wanted you to have proof.”

Sunlight burst through the horizon, and with it came the dawn of a new time.

Jason heard the tape as soon as he left.

And burnt it right after.

Alfred was right.

All he had heard were the guttural cries of a broken man..

A father, grieving for his son.

Jason finding out Dick killed joker post:

[iguessthisisanewobsession]

This is in response to the "Jason pretending to be/gaslighting himself into actual pregnancy" thread.

What exactly is Alfred’s and Bruce’s reaction to the…news? Like, how did they get told? Did the batkids (-Todd) sit them down, bring the board out, and try to quickly explain the ‘hey your son/grandson may be pregnant, yes it’s possible, halfa biology is a fun thing isn’t it?’ and all that jazz?

Or did Jason announce it randomly in the middle of chaotic family dinner and acted like he didn’t say anything odd, or did he bring it up offhandedly before waking away and ignoring any calls for him to return

Lmao maybe in a different world Jason chooses to announce it during a gala, Peeta ‘if it weren’t for the baby’ Mellark style, and then just let hell ascend.

Or did Danny break it by just simply asking Jason how the baby was

The first time the other boys breakdown.

It’s decided that Jason would tell Alfred at his own time and so they focus on Bruce.

They sit Bruce down in the cave and lay out their evidence the best they can.

And when the others come in later to suit up Bruce tries to bench Jason and that does not go down well.

A full screaming match that hasn’t happen since Jason’s switch, that ends with Bruce just shouting,

“I don’t care what happens out there right now, I can’t allow a pregnant person to put themselves in danger!”

And Jason just freezes in place, the cave is dead silent. Half of the clan is just looking on in confusion. The other boys are refusing to look in their general direction. Stephanie folds herself in half with a laugh and Alfred just raises an eyebrow.

Jason’s has to catch himself on the table to stop himself from falling over from the stitch in his side.

~~~~~~~~~

The second time is after the Desiree incident he goes to talk to with Alfred alone.

The what ifs were keeping him up, he needed to talk to someone who wouldn’t judge him.

They sat together under the island lights with tea and Alfred gave him a gentle hug .

Jason admitted that he didn’t know why he was crying anyways. It was his choice, he knew it was for the best.

Maybe it was just how bad he’s been feeling for the last week.

Alfred doesn’t judge and reassured Jason that he was allowed to feel such ways.

~~~~~~~

The third time it was real casual, so casual in fact that they others just through he was joking.

When the others realized he had completely kicked the last of his smoking habit and just said “for my baby” they thought he had quit during the prank.

When he declined a drink with Bruce and Dick he just said “baby” and they assumed he didn’t feel like it and was joking.

When Jason said he wasn’t going to patrol for awhile they assumed he was taking a well deserved vacation.

It wasn’t until he was a good four months along did they take a hint.

Dick, poking Jason side jokingly: Man little wing, not so little now. I know you’re on vacation and all that but you’re starting to let yourself go.

Jason not looking up from his writing: Gee Dickhead, thanks. Not like I’ve been growing your first nibling or anything.

Dick:…. What?

Jason: you know? My baby? Little thing making a mess of my guts rn?

*The others tuning in at the breakfast table*

Jason: guys, seriously. Did none of you take me seriously?

Damian: it was hard to after the last time

Jason: why’d you think I’ve sat out all the breakouts the last two months???

Tim: I just thought you were being a dick man.

Jason: Thanks. Old man, you good? You have been staring ahead for quite some time.

Bruce, mildly choked up: hmmm

Jason: ok good anyways what do you think about the name ‘Martha Jane Todd Wayne’ for a girl? I thought Jane Martha first but I think Martha Jane sits better on the tongue.

Bruce with an even more choked up expression: hmmm

[rebelsandtherest]

Ghost Story

Words: 6,652

Summary: During a vacation to New England, a freak accident leaves Alfred in a tricky situation. Luckily, Matthew is there to help bail him out. Today's Halloween nightmare is tomorrow's urban legend, but sometimes, the truth behind the myth is just two brothers doing their best. A very belated Halloween oneshot.

TW: Death, dead bodies, mention of drunk driving and related accidents, general macabre themes—but it's more the spooky creepy variety than the dark and existential kind

Halloween? In December? It's more likely than you think! I'd meant to finish this in time for Halloween but it just wasn't meant to be. A VERY belated Happy Halloween, everyone!

I know literally nothing about how a morgue/medical examiner's office works. Whatever inaccuracies exist are just pure, indulgent campiness.

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Friday October 30, 1990

Burlington, Vermont

It was a cool and damp Friday evening, as evenings tended to be this time of year. The moon was a middling sliver of light behind a blanket of clouds, which was anticlimactic all things considered.

The cool and the damp had leached indoors, and after a long and tiring workweek, Linda was entirely ready to wash up, hang up her coat, and return home where a pile of green and yellow fleece was waiting for a fairy godmother to turn it into a 10-year-old-sized t-rex costume. She'd promised her son it would be ready, claws, teeth, zipper, and all, in time to go trick-or-treating with his father, but the clock was ticking alarmingly close to midnight.

Linda's coat sleeves were down to her elbows when the phone rang. She sighed and glanced at the clock with equal parts annoyance and resignation before flipping her coat back on and falling into her creaky desk chair with deliberate aggravation.

"What," she griped into the receiver, wrestling with the tangled cord. The voice on the other end told her what, and she rubbed a hand over her face, worried that there would be no fairy godmother for costumes this Halloween..

"Aw, jeez," she sighed into the phone, sounding sad despite herself. She leaned away from the desk to look to where her assistant was packing up to leave. "Don't go anywhere yet, Jen," she said. "Got one coming in from Windsor."

"Oh?" Jen, who'd already done up her lipstick and changed into heels, the poor thing, was clearly trying to be nonchalant through her disappointment. Linda couldn't blame her. It was 8:45 on a Friday night, for Christ's sake, the girl should be out with her friends. Still, Linda hadn't made her take the job. If she was going to stick around, she might as well learn.

"Yeah," she sighed, pausing to let her caller finish his report before hanging up. "They're bound to be here in fifteen, twenty minutes. Go ahead and start filling out the paperwork so we can make this quick."

"Paperwork?" to her credit, Jen was swapping out her heels for clogs once more without complaint. "Did they give you the details?"

"No," Linda said sadly, standing from the desk and going immediately to clear off the exam table. "It's a John Doe." Jen frowned.

"Oh."

"You tag one of them before?"

"No."

"Well, it's depressingly uncomplicated. Grab a new folder and I'll show you how to start. We'll fill out the rest when he gets here."

Pedestrian deaths were, unfortunately, a common enough occurrence that Linda probably could've written the police report herself. Vermont drivers were confident even in the pitch black of an October night, sometimes too confident when rounding blind bends in the backroads. The driver in this particular incident was currently in Windsor county jail after blowing a 0.14 on the scene. But the poor soul who'd got caught on the passenger side headlight was here in Burlington, in a morgue on a slab looking considerably worse for wear.

"His face isn't in too bad of shape… I'm sure they'll want to put out a public notice to see if he's got family," Linda sighed, standing by as moral as well as clerical support as Jen recorded what little details were available. The body was blue-lipped and mottled with bruises, some pre-mortem but most of them wine-red stains of pooling blood. He was tall, handsome, and depressingly young. He also had a graphically broken arm and a skull cracked in two places. bloodying the back of his blond hair.

"Did he really have no ID?" Jen asked, looking up from the typewriter. "It's strange for someone to be out on the roads so late without a wallet or keys or something."

"Maybe he lived in the area," Linda shrugged. "I mean, I hope he's got someone looking for him." She glanced at the body, which they'd only just cut out of its clothes. "No wedding ring, though. Parents, maybe? Looks a bit old to be in school." She sighed. "Any which way, I'm glad I'm not the one who has to make that phone call."

"Yeah," Jen agreed quietly, click-clacking on the keyboard slowing to a stop. She reviewed the page before pulling it free of the machine. "I guess this is it," she handed the report to Linda for review, who trusted her assistant enough to give it only the briefest of skims.

"We'll have to call in tomorrow and ask if there's another photographer available while Jordan is out. But this is good for now. Come on, let's get him on ice and clean up."

"I can do it," Jen said confidently. "I know you wanted to be home tonight, go on ahead and go, I can finish up here."

"You sure?" Linda asked, hesitant to take the young assistant up on her offer, but preoccupied in equal measure by the tissue paper pattern that had been ingrained into her memory since her son told her he wanted to be a dinosaur.

"Yeah," Jen gave her a smile, "don't worry about it, I got it."

Jen cursed quietly, digging around in the top drawer for the White-Out. She'd grown adept at typing during her undergraduate degree, earning higher marks than her peers. Unfortunately, one summer using her boyfriend's desktop computer had ruined her for manual typing, and though she'd only had a "backspace" key for four months, she had no idea how she'd ever done without.

"If you'd gotten better grades in English, maybe this wouldn't be a problem," she grumbled to herself, fingers jittering in frustration. The sooner she finished up her notes, the sooner she could leave. "You know how to type, stupid hands, just do it." It was perhaps a bad habit, talking to yourself, but she worked in a morgue, and tonight she worked in a morgue alone. It wasn't as if her office-mates minded.

"Fuck," she hissed when the "E" key stuck for the umpteenth time. She pried it back to rights and resumed typing. : 5 8. R— the "E" key stuck again. "Oh, for the love of—

BANG

Jen jerked so hard she'd have to use White-Out for half the last line. She didn't notice, head jerking automatically to look at the locked door of the freezer room.

BANG

She jerked again, the creaky office chair wheeled halfway across the room from the force of her standing up.

BANG

Jen reached a shaking hand out toward the coffee mug full of pens and pencils, fishing around until she found the letter opener. The blade was only an inch and a half long, but she wielded it like a dagger in front of her, staring at the freezer room door.

BA—

She jumped again, and rushed to the door, keys in hand. Missing the lock several times, she had to hold her right hand still with her left to fit the key into the lock. Turn, turn, and the bolt unlocked. She pressed the handle down and pulled. Reached around the doorframe with her right hand, hit the lights.

She met eyes with the corpse heaving for breath on the floor, and screamed.

------------------------

It was 1 am on October 31, and Matthew Williams was still sleeping off the inadvisable amount of cinnamon whiskey and chocolate he'd consumed at the office Halloween party the night before. When his phone began to ring, he thought it must've been his hangover headache trying to wake him up, so he dug his head deeper into his flannel-clad pillows and pulled the duvet up over his head.

When the phone rang a second time, he thought it was a phone in his dream, but it was the prime minister's job to answer it. The third time, he realized it was real, and that it was his, and that it might actually be something important. Unwilling to sacrifice warmth for the sake of whoever was on the other line, he shuffled into the kitchen with his duvet as a cloak, eyes opened only by a sliver with which to see. He was wincing when he got to the phone, not sure if the sound hurt because he was hungover or because he was tired. It was probably both. With effort, he yanked the phone free of the receiver, tucking his arm back under his duvet as he smushed it to his face.

"This had better be good," he groused, voice deep and groggy.

"Mattie,"

Matt opened his eyes fully. It was just a name, his name, spoken by a voice who'd usually receive an earful of colorful language for calling at this time of night. But tonight, there was a strange timbre in those two syllables that rang too many alarm bells to ignore.

"Alfred?" He asked, still groggy but now trying to rouse himself.

"Mattie, I need help," and Alfred Jones could utter no scarier words than those. "Thank god you answered, you didn't pick up and I thought–I mean, I only just remembered your phone number, I thought maybe I'd—I'm sorry to call you, I didn't know who else–I'm stuck in here, there's no way I can get out on foot like this, she's going to wake up sooner or later and I'm going to be even more in the shit—"

"Al, slow down,slow down," Matt's head felt like it was at sea, so he pinched the bridge of his nose to anchor himself. "What happened? Who's going to wake up? Are you hurt?"

"I'm in the morgue," Alfred told him. "I broke out of the freezer and scared this woman so badly she fainted."

"The morgue? Al what the fuck did you–"

"I got hit, I think? Didn't see him–look, we can talk when my brain is back online, I was—report said my skull's been bashed in, I'm not doing so hot at the whole thinking thing—god why does this always have to be so fucking cold."

Matthew was fully awake now. Head throbbing, mouth dry, entire body engulfed by a duvet, he looked around for his car keys.

"Where are you?" He asked, testing the length of the phone cord while he rummaged around his countertops.

"The city name is long, my eyes are patchy–starts with a B. Vermont."

"Burlington?" Matt found the keys buried under some potholders.

"Yes, that one. Morgue. Medical examiner's office I think."

"Okay. How long have you been back?"

"I don't know. I didn't–wasn't fully back

Until I turned and saw this chick screaming in the doorway."

"You're not still in the freezer, are you?"

"No, but it's cold as fuck in here. Or in my brain. Borrowed lab coat but they make them cheap and thin now."

"I'm going to be there in a few hours. Hang in there, okay?"

"Hanging sucks, I don't want–oh wait you meant. Yeah. Okay. I'll be here."

Matt hung up the phone and went back to his room, groaning as his headache intensified. Not changing out of his fleece pajamas, he pulled on jeans and a hoodie and shoved his feet into boots, tossing back three advil and a pint of water before he retrieved his keys.

"Honestly," he complained aloud, no real heat in his voice, "couldn't have picked a better time to die, could you?"

------------------------

It was beginning to mist by the time Matt's wheezing Pontiac rolled to a stop outside of the Medical Examiner's office. The night was slowly turning into morning, but the human world would be slumbering for a while yet. Matt turned off his headlights but left the engine running, heat on full blast. Pulling up his hood and tucking some clothes under his arm, he followed the sidewalk up to the front door.

"Alfred?" He whispered into the night, glancing this way and that. As far as he could tell, he was well and truly alone, but this was a morgue, after all. Matt had seen his fair share of ghosts in his life and deaths. He had no doubts this place was home to a handful of unlucky souls, and normally he would've shown more respect than to go right up to the door and wiggle the handle, press his face against the window with hands cupped and leave fog on the glass. However, he was only here to fetch one particular ghost. When the back of his neck burned with the stare of something unseen, he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and instead ducked down, quietly sneaking around the building.

Past the dumpsters and AC units, he found the back door had already been opened, a clipboard wedged between the door and its frame. Slowly, he pulled it open, not sure what to expect on the other side. The building was dark save for a few safety lamps and the red flicker of a smoke detector.

"Alfred?" He called, and let the slight echo hang in the air.

"Mattie?" came the response several seconds later. Matt followed it into a nearby office, where he found his brother: muddy, shivering, nude but for a lab coat and what looked like a white bedsheet, sitting curled up knees-to-chest right on top of the medical examiner's desk.

"Al, holy shit, are you okay?" Matt rushed forward immediately.

"The floors are cold," Alfred explained, aware of his bizarre perch. He let Matt come to him rather than attempt to move himself. "This building is cold," he added, bringing his legs over the side of the desk, shivering so violently it took a few tries to get his left leg out from under him. "I know I'm a wimp, I know your place is worse, but god I'm just cold, coming back didn't used to be this cold, I swear to Christ."

"You are a wimp," Matt said, shaking out a bulky flannel. "But not today. Come on, this is way warmer, give me the coat." Alfred struggled to do so, so Matt helped him. Absurdly, he was struck with a childhood memory of Alfred doing the same thing for him, when he was small. Alfred shucked the thin lab coat, but the bedsheet remained wrapped around his hips.

"I don't suppose you brought pants, did you?" he asked, nodding at the bundle of clothes.

"I did, actually," Matt looked his brother up and down. "Do you need help putting them on?" When Alfred did not immediately respond with indignance, Matt realized how nasty a return he must've had. Alfred heaved a sigh.

"My brain is still mush, let's just do it before I remember how to feel embarrassed." Normally one to tease Alfred for his puritanical sense of modesty, Matt only unfurled the clothes.

"Okay," he said, glancing at Alfred's bluing toes. "Socks first, though."

------------------------

Matt ended up carrying Alfred piggyback to the car so as not to get his socks wet. He'd tried to lighten the mood by teasing Alfred about his weight, which was familiar and comfortable bickering territory between them. Alfred, to his credit, tried to bicker back, but ended up blacking out in the crucial few seconds where he'd usually be telling Matt that he was a vain bitch.

"Oh hey, there you are," Matt said, and Alfred looked over at his brother, disoriented for a moment to realize he was buckled into the passenger side of Matt's hatchback and they were moving. The outside world was a blur, and not only because of the rain, which was coming down heavier than before. His face scrunched and he rubbed his eyes, which were sore. Everything was sore.

"I want my glasses," he whined, knowing it would do no good.

"Sorry, bud," Matt said, looking over in sympathy but unable to help. "I've got some spares at my place, it's not the same prescription, but–"

"Your place? Alfred looked up, momentarily distracted from his pain. "We're going north?"

"Um, yeah," Matt said, glancing quickly between Alfred and the road, newfound concern putting a wrinkle in between his eyebrows. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"I don't have my passport."

"Alfred, you're with me. It'll be fine," Matt assured. Alfred stared at him for several long heartbeats, blinking as though to clear the blurry world around him, before his brain found the right synapses.

"Oh, right," he said, sinking down in his chair and enjoying the brush of the fleece against his neck as he let the lined flannel collar bunch around his chin. "Right, I forgot."

Matt chuckled, glancing over at him. "Forgot? You were the one who kept pestering me to carry those fancy-ass ID cards around with me in the first place." Matt's laugh faded, and, not hearing Alfred laugh or make some other comment, glanced at his brother. "Al, are you–ah."

Alfred, who'd forgotten that he and his brother were not human, had fallen asleep.

------------------------

When Alfred next awoke, his whole body had woken up, too. They were only just over the border, Matt told him, and had crossed without issue. The Canadian began describing the rest of their route up through Ontario to his house outside of Ottawa, but Alfred was not listening.

His insides felt as though they were on fire, or frozen, or melted, or shot full of lead. He struggled to arrange himself in a position that was not excruciating. Eventually, he settled for sitting in his chair sideways, bent over his knees with one foot underneath him. Unfortunately, his regenerating guts were also stealing the heat he'd been enjoying in his hands and feet, and just as the cramps seemed to have passed, he started shivering again. He stayed huddled in his bent position, no longer out of pain, but against the cold.

It had stopped raining, so the cab was quiet save for the hum of the engine and tires. Alfred's shivering must've caused some amount of disturbance, however, because Mat reached over to him.

"Hey," he gave his brother's arm a gentle squeeze. "You okay?"

"Hungry," Alfred said quietly, curled in on himself. Matt did a double take and frowned at him.

"Are you ready for food yet? I brought a thermos of bread broth if you want some, it should still be warm."

"Bread broth," Alfred huffed out in surprise. "Jesus, Mattie, did I wake up in the Hoover administration? I want real food."

"Alfred, you were dead a few hours ago, you know food is a bad idea."

"I'm hungry."

"Al, you're not ready for–"

"The first vacation I've had in ten months on my property in my states, one of my stupid-ass, careless fucking idiot citizens beamed me in my own fucking driveway and landed me in a goddamn freezer, and now I'm going to be spending my remaining days off regrowing my guts and remembering how to count backwards from 100, I want a goddamn burger, okay?!" The outburst left Alfred winded, but his face remained pink and angry, glaring out at the out-of-focus road.

Matt chewed on the inside of his lip. He knew better. He knew that real food this soon was a doomed idea. He also knew that Alfred's habit of self-soothing with food was not something he ought to indulge. But Alfred hadn't done a very good job of hiding it when he wiped away his tears of frustration, and Matt knew the feeling acutely well.

"How about a breakfast sandwich?" He suggested. "There's a Timmies coming up soon, does that sound good?" Alfred nodded, and then, as if realizing he'd not spoken out loud, said,

"Yeah, that's great."

"Okay. I was wanting some coffee anyway." Matt flipped his blinker on to move into the right lane.

"Thanks, Mattie," Alfred muttered softly. Matt sighed softly.

"Let's just get you home, eh?"

------------------------

In a few days, Alfred would be willing to admit that, in retrospect, the Timmies had been a bad idea. Matt had warned him, and had even talked him out of adding cheese to his order, but even so, Alfred had ordered two of them. They'd tasted divine and he'd felt immediately better after eating. However, even while he tried to drift off into a food-fueled coma, it didn't take very long for him to regret his choices.

Alfred was sitting up straight now, and was warm from head to toes, so Matt could finally turn down the heat (he'd stripped down to his t-shirt). He was coherent and talkative and, despite the lack of glasses, was at least able to figure out more or less where they were as they approached Ottawa.

Unfortunately, coming back from the grave—or freezer, in this instance—always came in fits and starts. It was still dark out, and in the light of the headlights, the trees and grass were like zoetrope figures, slip-sliding this way and that across Alfred's vision in a way that made the world feel tilted.

"Matt," Alfred said, staring at the dashboard in an attempt to ground himself. It wasn't working. "Matt, can you pull over?"

"Huh?"

"Pull over."

"Is something wrong?"

"Now."

Matt did, cursing as cars whizzed past him and honked as he threw on his hazard lights. They'd not yet come to a complete stop on the gravel shoulder before Alfred undid his seatbelt, opened the door, and threw up his hard-bargained breakfast into the grass. In the car, Matt sighed and rubbed his eyes. Undoing his own seatbelt, he reached into the backseat and dug around for a fresh bottle of water. Once Alfred was done retching and coughing, Matt tapped his shoulder with the bottle.

"Careful," he said, instead of the tempting 'I told you so' that rang in his mind. "Don't want you to start choking all over again." Al just groaned and took the water, sitting slumped halfway out of the car staring at nothing and trying not to gag.

"How much farther to your place?" Alfred asked, sounding desperate and exhausted.

"Not far. Little less than an hour." Alfred groaned pitifully, shoulders slumped.

"I know," Matt said, scratching his brow and thinking of his warm bed. "Almost there. You okay?"

"I fucking hate dying," Alfred said, spitting and rising his mouth out with more water. "But I think I hate coming back even more."

"I know," Matt said, not knowing what else to say. It had been a long, long night. "I'm sorry, Al."

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A little less than an hour later, they were safely back at Matt's house. Alfred carefully tread across the path to the door, trying not to muddy his borrowed socks. By the time Matt followed him inside, Alfred was lying on the couch with an arm thrown over his eyes to stop the world from spinning. They showered and changed—Alfred showered again when he decided he still smelled like the inside of a morgue freezer. Matt dug out a small pharmacy of drugs for Alfred to take, and then made breakfast: waffles for Matt and a plain piece of white bread with a glass of water for Alfred.

Just as the sun was coming up, the brothers turned in for bed. Like they had when they were small, they bunked together. However, in a reversal of their childhood custom, it was Alfred who was snuggling into Matt's side for warmth. Matt, still awake and yawning, combed his fingers through Alfred's clean hair, which sent the American drifting toward sleep as fast as a rocket. Matt yawned again and looked down at Alfred's smushed, drooling face. He paused in his combing for a moment to appreciate his brother like this: alive, warm, close. He resumed moving his fingers and glanced at his clock—and beside it, the calendar.

"Oh, by the way, Al," Matt whispered.

"Mmnh?" Alfred grunted, only barely lucid.

"Happy Halloween," Matt told him. Alfred snorted softly into the blanket that cushioned his face against Matt's side.

"Should I go as a zombie this year?" he slurred. It was Matt's turn to snort, and for a moment both brothers shook with tired, contained laughter.

"I'm going as a bear," Matt decided through a yawn, hand slowing, eyelids heavy. "So I can sleep through the whole thing."

"Mmmm," Alfred groaned, falling alongside his brother towards a much needed rest. "Sounds good."

Matt's hand slipped from Alfred's hair and landed near his shoulder, where it would stay until they woke up in November.

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Tuesday October 31, 2000

Burlington, Vermont

It was a cool and damp Tuesday afternoon, as afternoons tended to be this time of year. Alfred Jones had camped out at the diner booth for nearly an hour, and had for the past half hour or so been occupying himself with spinning his Nokia on the table like a top. He watched it spin and clatter to the table, before picking it up and trying to make it spin longer. Occasionally, he would look out into the parking lot, craning his neck this way and that.

"Did you want a refill, sir?" Asked a feminine voice, which distracted him from the cars outside. Alfred turned to the waitress, who was wearing striped stockings under her apron and a glittery witch's hat over a stern and uncompromising face. She was also holding a full pot of over-brewed coffee in one hand.

"Oooh, witch's brew, huh?" Alfred smiled up at her. Longsuffering expression unchanged, she blinked at him. His smile wobbled and he winced.

"Sorry, that was. Um, yeah, if you could just leave the pot, actually?" The waitress glanced at the clock—it was nearly four.

"Suit yourself," she shrugged, sliding the pot onto his table. As he was pouring himself a cup, the bell on the door announced a new arrival, who paused to wipe his feet at the door.

"Ayyy, there he is!" Alfred shouted across the diner, not caring if others stared. The newcomer rolled his eyes and took off his scarf and jacket. "Long time no see!" Alfred smiled as he approached.

"It's been ten months, Alfred."

"Is a man not allowed to miss his brother after nearly a year of radio silence?" Alfred asked, feigning magnanimity. He stood and hugged Matt hard before the Canadian could protest. Matt smiled and hugged back just as hard despite himself. Once they withdrew, Matt threw his things into the bench opposite his brother and slid into the booth.

"Radio silence," He scoffed,."You're the one who's been holed away at NASA this whole time, not me—weren't you literally in space last week?"

"Details, shmetails," Alfred waved him off, slurping at his coffee.

"Is that decaf?" Matt asked. Alfred regarded the mug.

"No, why?"

"It's an hour till sunset."

"So?" Alfred took another sip. Matt only tilted his head and gave his brother a quizzical look. Uncomfortable with such scrutiny, Alfred leaned back in his seat. "So, what's up with you?"

"Oh you know, same old hat."

"Aw come on, don't give me that. The Kiwi said you got your ass handed to you in some kind of drunken rugby match against uncle Alisdair?"

"Oh god," Matt winced, "she told you about that?"

"Not nearly enough. Spill."

The brothers launched into conversation as though they'd seen each other yesterday. The waiter came back around and seemed to appreciate Matthew's mild manners better than those of his brother, which gave the two something to argue about while she fetched them both a slice of apple pie. It was beginning to grow dark outside, and in between the ever-present rainclouds, shades of orange and pink peaked through to a hidden sunset.

"Thanks for coming down," Alfred said, drawing Matt's attention from the sky. "I know it's odd timing. I'm flying back down to Maryland on Thursday, Houston on Saturday, but I wanted to say hi before I left town."

"It's no problem," Matt demurred, holding back a comment about how Alfred ought to take a vacation. "NASA must have you busy to make you miss Halloween, you're not even dressed up."

"Ugh, I know," Alfred complained, pausing when the waiter arrived with their pie. "I thought about wearing part of a space suit or something, but apparently that's 'abuse of government property,'" he rolled his eyes, making dramatic air quotes with his fingers. "And 'a waste of taxpayer dollars.'" He took a bite of his pie. Still chewing, he added, "so I just went with this," he flicked the collar of his windbreaker, which Matt only just realized had an Apollo mission patch on the left breast. Behind them, the door bell rang and a gaggle of high schoolers piled into the diner, trying to decide whose parents' house was best suited to host a Blair Witch Project watch party.

"I mean," Matt said, fighting a smirk, "it's a better costume than the last time we did Halloween in Vermont." Alfred squinted at him for several seconds before realization dawned.

"Oh, shit, I'd nearly forgotten about that!" Alfred laughed, covering his mouth politely since he was unable to keep from smiling around a mouthful of pastry. "Oh, man, that was a bad vacation." Matt laughed, cleaning his plate of whipped cream before leaning back and propping his feet up beneath the table.

"Did you ever find out what happened to that assistant you scared half to death?"

"No," Alfred sounded disappointed, "I mean, I don't even remember what she looked like. I hope she wasn't too shaken up about it, I feel bad."

"I mean, I don't know, maybe the bump on the head made her forget about the whole thing."

"Maybe," Alfred continued eating, and did a double take at Matt's clean plate. "Did you finish your pie before me?"

"I had a light lunch."

"Do you want more?"

"God, no, I'm way too full."

"The owner's husband is Canadian, you know, makes a mean fried dough." Alfred told him, "they have some fresh-made beavertails up at the counter. Got little pumpkin and witch hat sprinkles."

"Wait, really?" Matt whipped his head around to look up at the counter. After a moment of indecision, he stood and scurried to the pastry display. The ensuing lack of conversation allowed Alfred to focus on his pie. It also allowed him to eavesdrop on the noisy teenagers who'd piled into the large corner booth at Alfred's back.

"Oh come on, it can't be that scary," a boy was saying.

"Have you seen it?" replied another male voice. "I don't know, man, I like that kind of shit, but it made me pretty jumpy, no joke."

"I didn't even realize how much it freaked me out until nighttime," said a fememine voice. "I got so paranoid, it really does get to you! I think you'll like it."

"I just don't get why fiction is supposed to be so scary," the first voice said. "There's plenty of scary stuff in real life! Like, make a movie about real horror stuff, if you really want to scare people."

"Oh, what, you're going to make a nature documentary about vampires in their natural habitat?" The group laughed at that. "Get real, Jamie."

"No but seriously!" Jamie insisted. "You don't even have to go that far. There's creepy stories everywhere—have any of you guys heard about the John Doe that disappeared from the morgue back when we were in elementary school?"

Alfred choked on his pie. Half the teeangers began to groan.

"Oh, come on, not this again."

"I knew it! I knew it would come back around to this."

"Jamie, it's just an urban legend."

"No! That's where my mom worked, there are pictures, it was like a whole–"

"A whole cover-up, we know,"

"Wait wait wait, I don't know," cut in a new voice, "What happened?"

"Please don't encourage him,"

"Okay so basically," Jamie began,

"Here we go."

"There was this hit and run accident down in Windsor county, and—"

"This thing is as big as my head," Matt announced, carrying over a truly massive beavertail. "You and your portion sizes. You're going to have to help me eat… this… thing…" Matt trailed off as he sat, because Alfred was shushing him with a finger over his lips and waving at him to stop talking. Matt frowned at him, glancing around.

"What?" He mouthed. Alfred, who was smiling and trying not to laugh, pointed over his shoulder at the booth behind him.

"–but in the middle of the night he just… disappeared. Literally walked out the door and was never seen again."

"What, were there like footprints or something?"

Matt took a large bite of his pastry and gave his brother another "what the hell" shrug. Alfred tapped his finger to his lips again and gestured for Matt to wait and listen.

"No footprints, but the freezer door was kicked open," Jamie said, pausing for dramatic effect, "from the inside."

"Oh come on, you can't just kick open a freezer door," complained a friend.

"No, I'm serious, look, there are pictures!"

"Oh my god, of course you would carry pictures around in your backpack."

"Only for Halloween," Jamie said, rifling through notebooks.

"So wait, when was this?" asked someone else.

"Almost exactly ten years ago," Jamie answered, and in the neighboring booth, Matt began to frown. "Midnight on October 30th—or Halloween morning."

"Ooh, witching hour," teased someone.

"Give me those. What the hell?"

"Right?"

"Come on, these have to be faked, right?"

"No one could kick that door open with just their feet," the most skeptical of the bunch said, "they'd break their ankles for sure."

"Yeah, if they were human," Jamie said.

"Oh my goddd," groaned the skeptic.

"So what, a whole ass dead body just. Disappeared?"

At last, Matt's eyes widened, and he fixed Alfred with a look.

"Are they talking about…?" he mouthed. Alfred began to nod his head rapidly, a maniacal smile on his face.

"Oh my god," Matt laughed, trying to muffle his laughter.

"So wait, how do you know it was at midnight?" Asked the girl who was unfamiliar with the story.

"My mom's assistant, Jennifer, she was staying late that night to finish the paperwork on this John Doe, she heard a big BANG, BANG, BANG, from where they keep the bodies," Jamie mimed, "she walked in to see what it was, and there was the dead body out of the freezer, standing up on its own two legs, staring at her."

"Oh jesus, so they stuck him in there when he was still alive?!"

"No, that's the thing, like I said, my mom was the medical examiner back then, they had to take photos whenever they got new bodies in, look at this!"

"Oh, fuck I didn't need to see that," someone complained, gagging.

"Wait is this a real photo?"

"Yeah."

"Oh my god that's so creepy."

"Aww, that poor man!"

"Damn, he was hot."

"Brittney, it's literally a dead body."

"Yeah but he was hot."

Alfred was biting his index finger, trying not to laugh. Matt rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, he'd be hotter if his brains were inside his skull."

"Ugh that's just… so gross—are you even allowed to have this stuff?"

"I mean, not really, but I made scans of it when I found it a few years ago. The police have the original file, but mom has a copy too."

"Wait, so the police investigated?"

"Yeah, but nothing really ever came of it. It never made it to the media, beyond a milk carton "have you seen me" kind of thing, they had a sketch artist do a portrait." Paper rustled as Jamie produced the sketch.

"Oh come on, that looks nothing like him."

"Eh, I see it."

"He's not nearly hot enough."

"Brittney."

"So did the police ever find anything?"

"That's where it gets really weird," Jamie said, dropping his voice to a loud whisper, "they started going through all the evidence—whoever this guy was he left the office a mess. They found hair and even blood, but before they could start testing any of it some people from the FBI showed up and shut it all down."

"Wait what?"

"Yeah, so no one even knows what all the police found, if they found anything. It never even made the evening news."

"Nuh uh," one of the teens snatched paper out of Jamie's hand. "This can't be legit. Someone would know something."

"I mean, my mom knows about it. Poor Jennifer was traumatized–she left mortuary school right afterwards."

"Ugh, I'm still mad he died, he's so cute."

"A reanimated corpse is covered up by the FBI, and you're worried about how cute the zombie is?"

"I have an idea," Alfred said softly, so only Matt would hear.

"What?"

"Just be ready to leave in a second. Not in a hurry." Alfred grabbed his phone and stretched out his right arm to rest on the top of the bench, tapping the Nokia idly on the wood.

"But if he wasn't actually dead, why would the FBI need to get involved?"

"He could be like, an informant or something?"

"He can't not be dead, you saw the photos! You can't fake those kinds of injuries."

"Yeah, unless you work for the F B fucking I."

Alfred dropped his phone over the booth, causing a few students to lean out of the way.

"Ah, shit, I'm so sorry," He said, bringing his knees up to the bench so he could lean over into the teenager's booth. "New phone, kinda slippery," he joked, making sure they could've gotten a good view of his face. The kid who Alfred assumed was Jamie had wide eyes and a suddenly-pale complexion. "Thanks so much, I'm so sorry," Alfred said to the girl who handed him his phone. He could see the moment when she recognized him, because her eyes went wide and darted immediately back to the photos spread out amidst their sodas and snacks. He followed her gaze and winced, which was not part of the act. He'd never seen the images before, and a part of him wished they didn't exist, but then again, this was going to be fun.

"Yeesh," he commented, eyes lingering on the photos. "I always hated those. Camera adds ten pounds, and all that. Anyway," he grinned at the group, "Happy Halloween!" He waved his phone at them and stood completely from the booth. Some of the students craned their necks and leaned out of the booth to see him better.

"Ready to go?" Alfred asked Matt, who to his credit, had somehow repressed his smile enough so that only the dimple in his left cheek gave him away.

"Yup," the Canadian said, holding his partially eaten beavertail in one hand and his coat in the other.

"Awesome," he spoke loudly enough to be overheard. "Just enough time to swing back by the house and change into costume."

"Oh?" Matt was willing to play along. "What are you dressing up as?"

"A ghost!" Alfred answered.

"Oh what, are you not already in costume?" Matt improvised, and Alfred burst out laughing. They left the diner with conspiratorial smiles, taking a moment in the parking lot to spy the group of shocked teenagers through the window.

"You're not going to be able to show your face here for a few years, at least," Matt commented.

"Worth it!"

"Alright, come on, Casper. I'll buy you a drink for your funeral." Alfred laughed as they climbed into Matt's aging Pontiac.

"Here, hold this," Matt said, handing Alfred his beavertail. Alfred took a large bite out of it, smearing chocolate across his mouth. When Matt looked over to check for cars, he caught Alfred's shit-eating grin as he watched the teenagers argue from a distance.

"Never even made the evening news," Matt tutted, ducking his head to follow Alfred's gaze. "It's a damn shame."

Alfred laughed, face and smile stained with chocolate and an errant pumpkin sprinkle. "I fucking love halloween!"

[moonlitdesertdreams]

Alright

Summary: After the events of the movie, you convince Bruce to take a vacation.

A/N: Hi guys, I'm coming out of hiding because I'm drooling over The Batman and the moody, broody, emo-hair Battinson. Even though Bruce declined to leave Gotham at the end of the movie, I decided he deserved a vacation, and this happened. I hope you guys enjoy the product of my all-consuming brainrot.

Tags: Bruce Wayne x Reader, Bruce Wayne, Batman, The Batman, Battinson, vacation, DC Universe, fluff, vacation

WARNINGS: SLIGHT SPOILERS FOR THE BATMAN (2022)

Word Count: 1.1k+

You were, in all honesty, flying by the seat of your pants on this one.

It wasn’t that you had never gone on vacation or planned one before. No, planning the vacation was the easy part.

It was more that you hadn’t expected Bruce to say yes when you brought up the idea.

Six months had passed since the Riddler’s bombs rocked Gotham’s seawalls and flooding left hundreds dead. Six months since you climbed to the roof of a Midtown arena and used your medical degree to aid the national guard in removing civilians from a ravaged city.

Six months of nightmares, PTSD, and promises for a healed city.

Bruce hadn’t missed a night in the streets since the floods. His body and mind craved the Batman persona, and too often you were an enabler. While you worried and paced Wayne Manor, Batman was healing Gotham. You emphasized his importance every day. Bruce was slowly becoming a symbol for hope as the remaining civilians clawed their way back towards normalcy.

Some nights, he would ask if you wanted him to stay, but the words sounded far away. His mind strayed to the city while his body laid against yours in bed.

And every time, you’d tell him to go.

In its fragile state, Gotham needed Batman more than you did.

But six months after Bella Reál officially became mayor, you exited your shared bedroom a little after 10:00 P.M. and found the Batman- Bruce- asleep at the dining room table. Your makeup bag was unzipped with the blush compact open, mirror smudged with black fingerprints. The Batman cowl hung from the back of the chair, obviously waiting for its owner before he passed out. Bruce’s head rested on his arms, and the thick kohl liner he used to conceal his eyes was grasped loosely in his left hand.

You made your approach obvious, shuffling your feet against the rug. Bruce had shot up, half-armored body clanking against the chair. Exhaustion overtaking him, he stood and herded you to the bedroom. The next morning, after Gotham’s first night in months without the Batman, he agreed to a vacation.

-

On your first morning in the Caribbean, you woke up alone.

You scoured the hotel room for Bruce, finding no trace of him. It was alarming to an unnecessary degree; you knew Bruce was an adult and allowed to come and go as he pleased, but he normally kept close when you were in public, let alone in another country.

“Shit.” You murmured.

A text from Alfred pinged onto your phone screen. Your hand snapped out to grab the device, and almost missed the paper that fell from beneath it.

‘Beach’

A single word was scrawled across the paper, and you rushed to get dressed before leaving a tip for housekeeping, grabbing a blanket, and scuttling out the door. You cursed at the slow elevator but eventually hustled out to the sandy paradise awaiting you. Sun rays were just creeping over the ocean, and the breeze blowing from the west was enough to coax a shiver from your body.

It was only a few metres from the ebbing tide where you found Bruce.

He was clad in board shorts and a black t-shirt, elbows propped on his knees and chin resting on his arms. You could see the goosebumps on his arms, and draped your thin blanket around broad shoulders.

“Good morning.” Bruce murmured as you settled cross-legged in the sand beside him.

“Morning.” You return, sighing as you look over the ocean. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

He hummed in agreement, face painted with the orange and yellows of the sunrise. “It is. Better than waking up in the rain.”

“How long have you been out here?”

Bruce shrugged, reaching an arm out to encircle your waist. He tugged you closer, your head coming to rest against his chest. “I’m not sure… I just- I couldn’t sleep with the noise.”

Your brow furrowed. “The noise..?”

Bruce shifted, spreading the blanket on the sand behind him. “Lay down with me?”

You smiled, leaning into him as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “Of course.”

He cast a glance down either side of the beach, ensuring its safety before pressing you onto your back and chasing your body onto the blanket. Lips pressed to yours in a bruising fashion, trailing your jaw towards your ear and back to your mouth. Your eyes met his bloodshot ones as he leaned back, and a finger came to trace the bags beneath them.

Bruce’s eyes fluttered shut under the touch, and he lowered himself to hide those bloodshot eyes against your neck. “It was the waves crashing.”

You paused with one hand in his hair. “What about them?”

“They woke me.” Bruce spoke softly against your collarbone. “I heard it and I just… it reminded me of the floods.”

A pang of sadness washed over you, and you suddenly regretted booking the vacation you had. “Bruce, I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about the water-”

He shushed you with his lips on yours once again, shifting your positions so he was on his back and holding you to his chest.

“No, no. It’s helping, I think. That’s why I came out here- I can’t sleep at night anyway. Sitting here, listening, it’s… therapeutic.” His fingers played with your hair, and you relaxed into his chest. As it rose up and down, you felt a hope blooming as his words ran over and over in your mind.

Any prospect of Bruce confronting trauma- whether it be from the Riddler’s plots or his parent’s deaths- was a step in the right direction.

“Good. I’ll sleep on this beach every night we’re here if it helps you.” You slid a hand beneath his t-shirt and traced the scars on his abdomen.

He chuckled. “I think I’ll stay on the balcony if it’s all the same to you. The sand is… everywhere.”

Leaning up onto an elbow to scan his face, you smiled. “The big, bad Batman, afraid of a little sand?”

Bruce’s head lolled towards you, tired eyes squinting as more of the sun peeked over the ocean. You felt his hands creep up your sides before your world turned upside down, and he had you tossed into the sand to your right.

A laugh escaped your mouth, and you were thwarted in your attempts to get up as Bruce clambered on top of you. “Bruce!”

“What did you say about being afraid of sand?”

You squirmed underneath him, doing your best to wrestle with a man who spent his nights as a masked vigilante in the- arguably- most dangerous city in the country. It was truly a pitiful struggle, and you were resigned to having sand in your hair and every piece of clothing on your body.

But somewhere in your mind, beside the feeling of sand grit beneath your shirt and the sound of Bruce laughing- actually laughing for the first time in ages, you knew it was all going to be okay.

You were healing.

Bruce and Gotham were healing.

And you were all going to be alright.

If you enjoyed this, checkout my angsty one shot titled "Morning Routine" or take a gander at my masterlist (linked below)!

Masterlist | Send me ideas

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Slipping Through My Fingers

Read here on AO3!

When it comes to his children, Bruce has very few regrets. He loves them completely, scars and all. He wouldn’t want to change a single part of them.

But he can’t lie and say that he doesn’t regret the timing with which each of these beautiful souls entered his life. Bruce has six children, but he’s never had a baby, and isn’t that wrong? Isn’t that a pity? He missed so much of their lives—so many milestones that every parent wants to remember forever but that he’s not even had glimpses of. He wasn’t there for the first steps or the lost teeth or learning how to ride a bike. He missed all of his children learning to talk, missed watching Sesame Street with them in the morning and making soapy mohawks in the bathtub. Bruce missed everything. He missed moments that he can’t get back, no matter how hard he yearns for a rewind. Take him back. Return to him the moments he lost without even knowing it until they’d already slipped through his fingers. Bruce has a few mementos to get him by, but they only grant him glimpses of the years he missed. Dick has a bin of old tapes from the Flying Graysons’ best performances that he likes to watch on bad days. Occasionally he’ll let Bruce watch with him. There’s something magical about watching the young boy in the tapes swing on the trapeze and pull gravity-defying moves, all the while knowing what a strong man that boy will one day become. Jason came to the manor with very little, having to travel light while on the streets. There’s a shoebox under the bed in his old room salvaged from his mother’s things, containing a handful of photos from Jason’s toddler years, a stuffed animal or two, some loose possessions. Bruce used to go through them after Jason’s death, just to give himself something to hold on to. Tim had more than Dick and Jason combined: plenty of photos, report cards, baby teeth, and coloring books all saved in storage. But as much as there was, Bruce still only had glimpses of the real Tim. Every family photo was stiff, like an assortment of plastic dolls. The papers and drawings that have been collected are too crisp, like they were shoved into a childhood folder and forgotten about without a second glance, not even making it to the refrigerator. All Bruce has of Cass’ childhood are videotapes of training sessions. He refuses to watch them, for both her sake and his own. Duke has a photo album he keeps in his bedroom, compiling plenty of baby pictures and family vacations. He’s only shown it to Bruce once. Otherwise, he keeps it in his bookshelf, untouched but for the handful of times he’s visited his parents, showing them old memories in case it will miraculously jog something and put the shards of them back together. The longer it doesn’t work, the less he’s willing to tell. The League of Assassins has an entire storage room of files on Damian’s development. Bruce has seen it. It’s like every move the boy made was monitored and catalogued, detailed without so much as a lick of emotion to remind anyone that this was a child being discussed. There were no shiny milestones to celebrate, only completed stages. No one commemorated his first word or first time seeing a butterfly, but his first time using a wakizashi sword earned five entire pages. If Bruce could go back in time, he would snatch up every one of his children and give them the lives they deserve, right from the start. No pain. No dead parents. No neglect, no heartache, no scavenging on the streets just to survive the night. He would wipe their slates clean if it meant he could stave off their suffering, just for a little while longer. He would do anything to go back.

Back when Bruce was a child and tragedy hadn’t yet torn his family to bloody shreds, there was one Fourth of July on which his parents took him to the circus. Alfred had an open invitation to accompany them, but, being a Brit, he politely declined from the day’s festivities. “I’ll have you know, young sir, that I served as a spy for the British forces and mentored Alexander Hamilton during his teenage years.” Bruce was ninety-nine percent sure that Alfred wasn’t alive during the American Revolution. That day was the first time Bruce had been to the circus. It was a local one, small with very few extravagant spectacles, but his father bought him peanuts and afterward the three of them watched the fireworks in Gotham Park. It was a day that imprinted itself on Bruce’s memory, sticking with him long after they were gone. So when he sees a flyer announcing that Haly’s International Traveling Circus is visiting Metropolis on the same day Bruce has an interview with Lois Lane for some column on America’s wealthiest men, how can he turn the opportunity down? The air is warmed by summer rays, the entire field radiating Metropolis’ natural brightness. The scent of peanuts and popcorn wafts from all sides and the classic tinkling circus music fills his ears. The show doesn’t start for another half hour, so Bruce settles on walking around, unsure of what to do with himself. He should get some photos to bring home for Alfred. He’s always had a fascination with jugglers. After some perusing, Bruce pulls up under a tree, shaded against the thick trunk. He’s just pressed send on the pictures to Alfred when he hears a voice from above. “Hey, mister.” Bruce looks up to discover a boy perched on a tree branch two feet above his head. The kid looks around six years old with black hair that curls around his ears. He’s wearing a bright red and green costume—obviously one of the performers. How a child his age came to be part of the circus, Bruce can’t begin to guess. He’s missing his front teeth and his skin, tan with a honey glow, makes his nationality hard to place. Bruce blinks up at the boy. “Hello.” The kid drops down and catches on the branch with his hands, dangling with his bare feet kicking in the air. “Whatcha doing here?” Now that he’s paying attention, Bruce can detect the slightest accent. Romani, perhaps? “Why does anyone come to the circus?” The boy laughs. “You don’t look like the kind of person who goes to the circus.” “Then what kind of person do I look like?” The boy thinks, swinging back and forth like a cartoon monkey. How his hands aren’t scraped raw from gripping the rough bark, Bruce doesn’t know. “A lawyer, maybe. Or a president.” The corner of Bruce’s mouth lifts. “I’m neither of those things, unfortunately.” “Well, I’m an acrobat.” “I can see that.” “But I do other stuff too,” the kid tells him, “like I know how to juggle and how to walk on stilts and how to throw knives at targets. I’m getting real good at that.” “Are you sure a kid your age should be playing with knives?” The boy laughs. “You think knives are scary? You should see it when they let me play with the tigers.” Bruce arches an eyebrow. “You play with tigers?” That can’t be safe. Maybe he should have a talk with the ringmaster and make sure someone is ensuring that no little boy heads are getting bitten off by mighty jaws. “Oh yeah, the tigers are the best.” The kid swings his body upward, letting go of the branch and pulling a heart-stopping somersault midair as he falls. He lands on his feet without a wobble. “I know all of their names and they’re huge, like they’re this big”—he stretches out his arms as far as they will go, which makes the tigers a whopping two and a half feet tall—”and sometimes I’m even allowed to ride them!” Bruce leans back against the tree trunk, crossing his arms with a smile. “Is that right?” “Yeah!” The kid then launches into a string of chatter, so fast that it takes all of Bruce’s focus to keep up. He tells Bruce all about the circus’ tigers: what breed they are, how many they have, what they eat, what their names are (their actual names and the names the kid gave them; Marshmallow is his favorite), and how his dad once gave him permission to hold a hoop while a tiger leapt through it. The entire time, Bruce can’t help but wonder, is this what childhood is supposed to be like? Swinging on tree branches and giving oral reports about your favorite animals to complete strangers? Is this what growing up is like for normal children? Bruce doesn’t know whether to be envious of this little boy or concerned. He’s so innocent; it bleeds from every grin. There’s nothing weighing this kid down—literally and figuratively—and Bruce finds himself silently praying to a being he doesn’t believe in that it never changes. Let this kid stay pure, untouched by the evils of the world. Let him go his whole life swinging on branches and talking about tigers without a single setback. After a good ten minutes when the boy’s tumbled into a handstand and has moved on to tell Bruce about his favorite elephant Zitka, a feminine voice rings, “There you are, Dick. I’ve been looking everywhere for you!” A beautiful woman approaches the pair, wearing an identical red and green leotard. She’s got matching black hair and blue eyes—too spitting of an image to be anyone but his mother. “Come on, sweetheart, we’re supposed to be backstage.” “Sorry, Mom,” Dick says, turning right-side up, but he hasn’t lost his grin. Now that he thinks of it, Bruce doesn’t recall it waning once in the entire time they’ve been talking. She takes in Bruce, suit and all, and plasters on a stage smile, sticking out her hand. “Mary Grayson. You’ll have to forgive my son, he gets excited easily. He’ll talk your ear off for hours if you let him.” But the glimmer in her eye gives Bruce an inclination that she has no problem being an audience for her son’s happy rants. Bruce shakes her hand. “Bruce. I take it you’re the Flying Graysons I’ve been hearing so much about?” “The very same. I hope you’ll be seeing our show tonight.” “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” He winks at the littlest Grayson, who beams. Mary ruffles Dick’s hair. “Well, this little robin and I should be getting ready now. It was a pleasure meeting you, Bruce.” “Likewise.” He leans down and shakes Dick’s small hand. “And if you ever come to Gotham, maybe you can tell me more about those tigers, eh?” Dick looks like he contains the sun itself. He’s sunshine incarnate. “Definitely!” He drags his feet when his mom starts leading him away, rolling her eyes good-naturedly. “Bye, Mr. Bruce!” He waves his hand like a windmill of its hinges, and Bruce can’t help but return it. Bruce hasn’t felt this content in a long time to the point where he has to stop in wonderment of it. It’s unlikely that Haly’s will end up coming to a place like Gotham anytime soon, but Bruce hopes for it anyway. After all, Gotham could use some sunshine.

Here’s the rest of it on AO3 because I don’t feel like formatting all 7,000 words on here lmao.

[internalsealpanic]

I Will be Your Tim Drake for Tonight (1) (Jason Todd/ Reader)

Summary:  Preferring to do anything but your physics project, you decide to accepts Tim’s proposal. It’s simple. He does your project, you try to figure out whether Jason Sionis is criminal. Easy, right?

masterlist

A/n: This takes place in a world where Jason is adopted by Black Mask. Inspired by Building Interest by Zoeleo.

The events and characterization in this story are very heavily based on Zoeleo's Long Term Investment series. It is fantastic and I really highly recommend all of her fics.

a/n: For clarification, Reader does have psychic powers but it only lets her sense people's emotions physically. No mind-reading. Her power is more like an overactive sense of empathy which may force her to dissociate into someone else.

There will be violence and mentions of alcoholism (used as coping mechanism for physical pain) and chronic pain.  

As for the additional warning, an animal is harmed but it is barely described. I could not bring myself to actual describe it but the aftermath is described.

I also just converted this from an OC so I apologize for any grammatical mistakes.

Without further a do: 

Your skin itches as you make your way through the crowd. It wasn't the suit. After all, Alfred Pennyworth was incapable of doing wrong. It was the sea of hands patting your back, petting your head, and pinching your cheeks made every inch of skin want to slough off. Tim owed you. He owed you big time. Then again he's back at the manor tackling your physics project and making sure Gotham doesn't set itself on fire while Batman is on  ‘vacation’.

You should be fine. It’s not like Brucie asked you to investigate a suspected criminal who also happens to be Roman Sionis’ heir. Nope, no pressure there. Thanks Bruce. You’re clad in blue contacts, a black wig, makeup, and a stolen suit. As safe as you felt in someone else's skin, you still felt like you were gonna fall over. Maybe it's because you were dumb enough not to bring your cane.

The room was dizzyingly full of people. Your mind goes haywire. Jumping from one mind to the next. Dipping into every emotion it could stick itself into. It was almost overwhelming enough for you to forget about the ache in your leg. You knew this night was gonna be far longer than you could stand.  You needed a drink. Or 9.

"Hey, no drinking! You're underaged!" Dick nearly shrieked, plucking your fifth(?) flute of champagne. You wouldn't be in a few months. Really he was being quite unreasonable to the drunk person in front of him. Looking him dead in the eyes,  you wave another server over and take 2 flutes of champagne.  "I'm fine Dick. I've drunken harder stuff than this."

"No," Dick said firmly snatching the 2 flutes from your hand.

"Big bro pleeeaaasee" You drawl sweetly knowing Dick was a sucker for that move.  Dick tries to look unmoved but you could see in the slump of his shoulders that he wanted to give in.  "I'm having an episode," The word episode felt strange and wrong but there really was no other way to describe it. "and I don't have any painkillers on me." You added hastily.  

"Fiiine-" Dick whines, resolve crumbling to dust. Handing back only one flute of champagne, he scolds: "Just don't get shit faced. We're here on a mission."

"Yes, motheeeer,"

Without missing a beat, you down it, feeling the tearing in your head beginning to fade.

"Jesus, calm down," Dick said taking the now empty flute from you.  

You are less than surprised by the fact that he isn't fazed by being called mother at this point. It might just be the alcohol. The Powers might not understand the concept of fun but they sure do have taste in alcohol.

While Dick lectures you on safe alcohol consumption and Babs laughs unhelpfully, You feel the press of another person's mind.  The other 2 seem to notice it too. Being pulled out of their reverie, they turn to greet them.

"Target at 2'oclock" Babs whispers but your mind had for some reason forgotten how English worked. Instead, it drifted to the simple mind coming closer to them. Almost too quickly,  you dropped down to your knees. Your joints complained but you could feel your mind smooth as you placed a gentle hand on the dog's fur.

The dog whuffs with glee as if to say "Yes! There! Pat there!".

Absorbed in the dog's uncomplicated happiness, you began to piece yourself back together and the pain in your head receded.

" Who's a good girl? You are! You are!"

The dog yips happily. Its smooshed face pressing into your hand. You forget the party until-

Dick coughs clearing his throat, laughter bright in his blue eyes.

You, for the first time, notice the person beside the dog. It was their target, Jason Sionis,  stretching out his hand to shake yours.  

"Oh- Uh- it's just your dog- She's- Hi, I'm Tim Drake." you shoot up to shake his hand. You notice the patches of scabs and scars on his knuckles. You’re pretty sure Dick or Tim could give him a run for his money if they didn't have makeup on. Though that just might speak more to their-as Damian puts it- incompetence.

Your eyes flicker to Dick momentarily as he tries so hard not to laugh.

"Well, it was nice to make your acquaintance," Jason says flatly as he turns his attention to Dick and Babs for a more coherent discussion.  You weren’t entirely certain that you offended him but you were probably close.

You want to say that it's his eyes that you notice first. They were a striking shade of ultramarine,  a terrifying facsimile of the ocean. They made you shudder. You would have rather noticed how nicely he filled out his suit. The man was made of muscle under that well-tailored suit.  You file the image for further appreciation later.  But, unfortunately, you are far too accustomed to checking your brothers for wounds for your eyes to not immediately flicker towards the scar on his face. It takes everything in you not to stare at the scar cleaving down the flesh of his cheek rigging the right side of his face into a permanent grin. Thankfully, he leaves them saying something about having business somewhere else.

Sure, the guy falls into Gotham’s pattern of ruining your face and turning to a life of crime but so far he hasn’t really shown anything concrete.   Plus, he’s really nice to his dog. No one that nice to a dog could possibly be the Red Death, Black Mask’s shiniest, and rumored to be his most brutal, new enforcer. Then again, your mother always did treat Anatoli like a king.

"Tim was right. You can act like him. You even got him shoving his own foot in his mouth down pat. Great job. " Dick chuckles patting you on the shoulder jostling you out of your thoughts.

You sigh. "The next time I go undercover I'm going alone. I don't even know why you're here."

"I think you've demonstrated why."  

You- annoyed, embarrassed, and feeling the marching in your skull coming back- jab "Alright Fabio , you befriend Mr.Pretty boy-" .  

"That's pretty mean eve-"

"I didn't mean it to be mean-"you honestly didn't but you were byelingual at this point.  "-I think he's pretty. Scars are sexy and all of that carp. "

"I am very concerned."  

"You should be. I'm out of booze and the dog just walked away. " you hissed rubbing the side of your head before stomping off to look for more drinks.

You feel your head jack rabbiting again. The staff had, as per some evil person's request (Likely Dick or maybe Babs), cut you off from the booze. You find yourself wandering around until your feet take you outside. The cool night air and the nearly freezing bricks sooth you warmed skin as you slide against it.  

"What? Did you come out 'ere to watch my dog piss?" a slightly familiar baritone voice chuckled.  

"As fun as that sounds, I just escaped Dick Grayson. I believe that, in itself, is reason enough to go outside and take in the 'fresh' Gotham night air. " you snark, looking up expecting him to grin at you but was greeted with a look of concern. You’ve seen it before. Your hand almost automatically makes its way to your nose.  You felt a thick liquid brush against the pads of your fingers. If you looked at them, you’d likely see them covered in blood.

You shrug and brush your deep red sleeve against your face. You probably didn't get all of it based on the crooked grin on his face.

"Shit kid, they'll think I punched you." Jason chuckles good-naturedly. You know he's not nervous. He’s charming enough to talk his way out of it.

"Relax, Dick will likely say I deserved it if they do think you punched me but that is highly unlikely seeing these episodes are an open secret after I bled on Mrs. Yavorski's satin dress a few years ago. "  

"Well, in that case, you want a smoke? Should take the edge off." Jason says it as a joke holding out a pack of cigarettes to you. Everyone knows Wayne kids are good kids.

You, feeling particularly cheeky, take the cigarette between his lip and take a long drag, inhaling and letting your eyes slide close.

He makes a quiet choking noise. Away from the sea of minds, you can feel his eyes on you. Wide and disbelieving. A cocktail of interest, embarrassment, excitement, and delight swirls in his mind. It might have been attraction or it might just have been amusement. You shouldn't be too surprised by the reaction. Tim is quite the knock out even when he looks dead on his feet. His confusion only lasts five seconds before you cough out   "Christ, it's just as bad as Bruce said it was."

You hand him back the cigarette laughing and coughing into your sleeve.

"So, did your brother tell you to apologize?" He says, clearing his throat not really looking you in the eyes. You can still see the faint speck of color on his face.

"Well,  he didn't say it. He doesn’t really have to and I do have manners contrary to popular belief. Plus! In my defense, your dog is cute. "

"Lizzie is, isn't she?" Jason smiles patting Lizzie on her head. It was a soft gesture. Something you really didn't expect from a supposedly hardened criminal let alone someone raised by Roman Sionis.

You crouch down to Lizzie's level and put your hands on the dog's face. Lizzie happily nuzzles into your hands.  

"You have a dog?"

" Depends, does Dick count?"

Jason snorts. "Do you ever think before you speak?"

"Not when I'm drunk and bleeding, no."

"How drunk are you?"

You mime counting.  "As far as Dick knows, I'm 1 to 2 flutes drunk. As far as the staff knows, I'm 7 flutes drunk."

"I should probably get you back to your brother then" Jason laughs, pulling you by the arm. You notice for the first time just how big his hands really are.  

"No, I-"

Gunshots. Pain. Panic. They ring in equal measure to you as a black van pulls up in the alley.

"Fuck! Box!"

A man in a dark suit crumples to the ground. You recognize him. He was part of Jason's security team. In a flurry of movement, Jason's by his side. You think he's checking the injuries- which in your opinion is at once the smartest and dumbest move you could do in this situation- but he-is in fact-checking for a gun.  

Gun in hand, Jason begins shooting at the men.

You think to grab a stray brick or something but you knew your best chance was to crouch low and maybe convince Jason to do the same. But based on the murder radiating from him, that was highly unlikely.

Lizzie runs out in front of them to protect Box and Jason. It goes as well as expected.  

Lizzie whines into your touch. The tendrils of your mind desperately trying to keep Lizzie there. You want to scream. Your mind surges trying to dip into someone else but Jason's anger and grief consume you. You want to charge at them, rip their throats out, tear them limb from limb. But it's Jason who does it. His body launches forward faster than you could speak.

The men in masks were just as fast. One of them incapacitates him with a well-placed metal pipe to the head. His whole body hits the pavement with one loud thud. Your breath catches.  

"There's two of them,"

"What do you mean there's two of them?"

"The boss said black hair, blue eyes, and a fucked up face"

"Did he say what kind of fucked up?"

"Not really"

You want to squawk about how nosebleeds don't really count. Given,  it is bleeding like it’s auditioning to be the next Niagara falls.

"Just take them both!" barks a rough voice from the van.  

You think to make a break for it but fast as you are(not really). Your head was still ringing and you couldn't really take them out on your own.

You hold your hands up in surrender. "I'll go quietly. I know the drill. "

The men look at each other clearly confused by your cooperation but not really willing to question it.

They throw cuffs on your wrist and literally throw you into the van like a sack of potatoes. Not that they treat Jason any better. He looks dizzy and pale.

"Are you-"

With a heave, he throws up on "your" shoes. You want to laugh. You really do. You also just want to cry.  

Tim is going to kill you. No, Alfred will. If you’re lucky-which you never are- Dick will suffocate you with a hug before they ever get to you.  

Maybe just maybe, the kidnappers will do it for you.

Yeah, right.

[notquiteaghost]

i do not have the energy to do it myself but god i want someone to rewrite the dick grayson becomes a cop storyline to be like. good.

and by 'rewrite' i do mean 'the only similarity needed is 'dick becomes a cop to root out a specific instance of corruption' every other element can get fucked', cuz like...

dick realises Something Is Going Down but when he asks jim for advice on handling it jim just stares into the middle distance and laughs hollowly because arrest?? cops??? get cops fired???? in this country???!?

so dick is like. okay. how do i build an absolutely airtight case. how do i get inadmissable evidence when all evidence is handled by. the criminals.

oh shit fuck i have to go undercover don't i

(and also find lawyers and a judge and shit) (but for the sake of a workable story we'll say gotham has people in the justice system happy to persecute cops) (and obviously they are well acquainted with the bats)

so then. Dick Joins The Police.

he does NOT use his real name because Richard Grayson Eldest Son Of Bruce Wayne has maybe said some things, in some public forums, about cops. and how they were useless when his parents were killed and useless when his brother was killed and actively harmful in almost every other situation.

he tells bruce what he’s doing & he tells barbara cuz he'll have less time for patrol and who better to help you covertly get people to confess their crimes on record than oracle

and also if he doesn’t have someone to vent to about the process of becoming a cop and all the many many problems it has he will quit and then commit arson, and barbara has many years experience being a sympathetic ear to this kind of venting

but he maybe forgets to tell anyone else

which means tim drops by dick's place one morning to ask for his opinion on smth and dick is fully in a cop uniform and tim just jumps straight to 'i have fallen into another universe' because a) that Does happen and b) tim drake can be a little dissociative, as a treat

and it also means that jason is just walking one evening minding his business not even on his way to do a crime and then he sees dick grayson, who once looked a cop dead in the eye and told him he didn’t even know what sex is to give a sex worker time to scram, wearing a badge and telling off some kid, and he reflexively punches him in the face

the resolution of both of these is almost exactly the same. jason/tim yelling "a cop! a COP!", various statistics, "what would commissioner gordan say!!!" and "a fucking COP??!?" until they let dick get a word in edgeways and he says "i am undercover do you have that little faith in me" and they deflate and go "oh. okay. ...need a hand?"

dick IS purposefully keeping it from damian tho because damian does not approve of undercover work. damian would just break into the officers' homes and start breaking their bones until they confess. getting damian to understand what is and isn’t admissable in a court of law is very much a work in progress

and then. the process of dick gaining the relevant officers' trust and confidence, and then getting in on whatever they’re doing, whilst also trying to minimise the damage done in just a general sense. these two goals are very much at odds with each other, but dick cannot be in a situation where he could help someone and not do it

he does a lot of yelling. the ‘the only good cop’ groupchat (now dick, barbara, tim, jason, steph, cass, and alfred) (not duke. dick loves his brother and will not remind him of endemic racist violence if he doesn’t absolutely have to) points out he is possibly not the best choice, to go undercover as a cop; he asks if anyone else would like to volunteer; everyone remembers ‘being unable to sit idle when you could help’ is kinda a key part of being a vigilante; someone links a cat video

also there are explicitly no good cops. there are cops who think theyre good cops but they’re actively ignoring the really bad cops and that isnt the moral highground they think it is. one of them catches on to what dick is doing maybe and asks to help and dick is just like "if you really want to help then quit"

the end of the story is dick getting the evidence he needs and Literally Immediately quitting

and then the cops get charged! and sentenced! and fired! and imprisoned!

(prisons are bad but if anyone deserves to be in them it's cops. what goes around comes around.)

and dick goes on a vacation, because that had a genuine effect on his blood pressure. and maybe comes back from vacation like, y’know what fuck it full police abolition let's go. what’s the point in being adopted by one of the richest men in gotham if you can’t use that money to abolish the goddamn police. jim gordon deserves to retire.

and the moral of the story is dick grayson says fuck the cops

[thepartyresponsible]

welcome to the all fluff, all the time network. i said here that i was taking prompts, but i neglected to mention that i’m writing all of them as fluff. or as close to fluff as i can manage, anyway.

this one’s for the anon who asked for jason with anyone with the prompt “please don’t do this.”

it’s a standalone piece of a much longer hockey au. endgame is jason, bucky, and frank.

                                                          ---

“Please don’t do this.”

“Oh,” Jason says, “I’m gonna do it.”

“Jason,” Bucky says. He leans over, as close as he can get. He’s pale, a little wide-eyed, bottom lip red from his attempts to bite back the pain. “Come on.”

The trainer doesn’t look up from carefully rotating Bucky’s arm, checking the range of motion, but Jason knows damn well that the little frown on his face is not good news.

They were on Injured Reserve together, him and Bucky. Back when Jason first got traded, when he showed up with – no shit – hundreds of stitches in his throat and exactly zero endearing personality traits. Barnes had been quiet, distracted, kinda lost in his head, but he’d always been so Goddamn nice. From day one, when Jason showed up exactly like some prissy, sullen bastard who’d never been traded, never expected to be traded, never wanted to suit up in anything other than Bats’ black and gold, Barnes had treated him like he was something worth keeping around.

And here they are, five games into Barnes’ big comeback, and Brock fucking Rumlow just took a swipe at Bucky’s freshly-healed arm.

Castle’s out sick, or this would be his responsibility. Hell, if Castle were playing tonight, Rumlow probably would’ve kept his fucking hands to himself.

The Avengers don’t need an enforcer. That’s not Jason’s job. But Jason considers himself a well-rounded player. He can fill in where he’s needed.

“I’m gonna fucking do it, Buck,” Jason says, eyeing his route, sighting his target. “I’m definitely gonna do it.”

“Todd,” Coulson says, tone kinda sharp but not angry like he means it, “we don’t need any theatrics right now.”

“Philly,” Jason says, “Philadelphia. Cream Cheese. All I’ve got is theatrics.”

Coulson sighs and turns his eyes skyward. He keeps Jason on the bench until the Avengers score on the power play, and then he sets him loose. As far as Jason’s concerned, that’s practically a benediction.

Thor heads in for a change, worried eyes pinned on Bucky, and Jason’s over the boards and racing up the ice a full two seconds too early, like too many men is a summation of his recent dating history and not a perfectly fucking legitimate penalty.

Not that his behavior would indicate he gives a good Goddamn about taking penalties right now.

He does – and he hopes Bruce notices this when he watches the tape later, hopes Alfred appreciates the depth of his personal growth – wait to drop his gloves until after Rumlow calls him a pretty boy and a bitch and a coward who lost his balls. He waits, like a professional, until Rumlow’s own gloves hit the ice before he throws a mean, messy uppercut directly to his throat.

Rumlow’s a good fighter. It’s why his fans love him. He floods his Instagram every summer with pictures of himself shirtless and sweating in a boxing ring. Jason shouldn’t know that, probably, but it’s not like he’s ever had a problem compartmentalizing I wanna fuck you and I wanna fuck you up when he needs to.

Rumlow fights like someone who knows how, who learned in a ring with his knuckles taped or behind a school with someone to hold the other kid’s arms back. He knows to go for weak points, mainly. It’s served him well so far.

Jason hasn’t been in a fight since the one that damn near killed him. And he never had any formal boxing lessons, but he grew up doing his best not to get stabbed to death in Gotham’s back alleys, and the result of that practical training is a fighting style Roy Harper once fondly described as honey badger on a life-altering hit of PCP.

Jason’s swallowing blood when it’s over. His knuckles are fucked, and there’s an unfriendly tingling in his gumline that suggests his emergency dentist might be about to earn herself another tropical vacation, but Rumlow’s flat out on the ice, and he’s bloodier than Jason, and that’s all that matters.

Jason goes, easy and compliant, when the linesman pulls him away. Wide-eyed and innocent, who, me? all the way to the bench because maybe it’ll make the officials more lenient. It must work well enough, because they both take five minute majors, but Jason dodges the instigator penalty, saved by Rumlow’s notorious willingness to fight anyone smaller than himself or maybe by the mercy of officials who just watched him slam his stick against Bucky’s arm like he was trying to split firewood.

A five minute major with 4:38 left in the third period. So that’s the end of Jason’s game, then. Worth it.

Bucky isn’t on the bench when Jason gets skates up, but Wilson gives him an approving clap on the shoulder as Jason shuffles toward the tunnel, and it settles Jason enough that he gets all the way through the trainer’s pestering, weathers them checking his teeth and patching his knuckles, and then walks himself to the locker room before his lungs forget how to process oxygen.

“I asked you not to,” Bucky says, long-suffering but still so fucking nice. He wraps his good hand around Jason’s neck and tips him forward. “Breathe.”

“Fucking,” Jason says, as he tries to focus on a sane breathing pattern. “Fuck you, Buck. I wasn’t gonna—we just got you back.”

He feels like his throat is closing up.

It’s the blood in his mouth, he thinks. And the blood he saw on the ice. The crowd, roaring like that. Bloodthirsty.

They’d been thirsty like that in Gotham when he squared off against Bane. Biggest fucking guy in the league, and there was Jason, scrappy and pissed off, fighting Bane because Bruce wouldn’t.

He’d known he was gonna get hurt. He’d been ready for that.

It was an accident, what happened. Bruce didn’t mean it, and Jason’s heard, if you watch the footage, you can see Bane trying to stop it, his giant hands grabbing for Jason as he falls.

Jason’s never watched it. He doesn’t need to see himself catch Bruce’s skate blade with his throat. He lived through it. That was enough.

“I had to, Buck,” Jason says. He’s got his head propped against Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky, because he’s a nice guy, because he’s a good teammate, is running his hand through Jason’s incredibly disgusting, sweat-soaked hair. “He hit you, and Frank’s not here, and Rogers can’t leave the crease, so--”

“You’re sweet,” Bucky says, which is something no one has ever said to Jason.

“Had to,” Jason repeats. Because it’s not about being sweet. It’s about making sure everyone knows what’ll happen if they hurt his people.

“My arm’s gonna be fine,” Bucky says. “They took some x-rays, just to check. But it’s gonna be fine.”

Jason breathes out, and his lungs remember their function, and he can breathe again. “Good,” he says. He scrubs at his face. His hands barely come away bloody at all.

“Shit,” Bucky says, with a heavy sigh. He takes his hand out of Jason’s hand, slides his fingers carefully along his cheek to his jaw, and then he lifts Jason’s face toward the light. He frowns at the split lip, the forming bruise. “Frank’s gonna kill me.”

“What?” Jason says. He runs his tongue over his lip, and Bucky’s eyes track the movement. There’s a weird, wrung-out feeling twisting in the pit of Jason’s stomach. “I’m the one who didn’t— he just whacked the shit out of your arm, Buck. Right in front of me.”

Bucky smiles at him, crooked and a little rueful. He stares at him for a second longer, and then he pulls back. There is, faint but still audible, the roar of a hometown crowd getting a victory.

Well, they were up 4-1 when Jason went after Rumlow. Whatever Bruce, and Tim, and all of Gotham’s management think, Jason isn’t incapable of growth. He’s getting better. He is learning, finally, to pick his battles.

Maybe all he needed was to get the fuck out of Gotham. And someday he’ll probably even feel alright about being wrenched out of his hometown and discarded like trash down a storm drain.

“You should take a shower,” Bucky tells him. “Put some ice on those hands. The guys’ll wanna buy you drinks.”

After Jason’s second-to-last fight in Gotham, he watched from the penalty box while the other team scored the goal that won them the game. Bruce was so mad that nobody in the locker room spoke a word afterwards. Nobody talked to Jason at all.

After his last fight in Gotham, the Bats traded him while he was still in the hospital.

It’s been a long damn time since anyone bought him drinks after he fought for his team. Since back before Roy was traded. Since way back in the early days, when he was a rising star instead of a letdown and a liability.

“You think so?” Jason says, biting back a smile. “No shit?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. He’s smiling when he does it, so there’s no sting to it at all. “Go get cleaned up,” he says. “No one’s gonna let you in a bar with blood on your face.”

There are bars in Gotham that wouldn’t recognize him any other way. But Jason’s starting to think – with a stupid, flickering hope he’d left for dead years ago – that maybe things will be different now.

[jasontoddiefor]

Batfam Fanfic Rec Sunday!

I’ve decided to do something worthwhile with my 1400+ Batfam bookmarks, therefore I welcome you to my first Fanfic Rec Sunday. Every Sunday I guess I’ll recommend fanfictions for a specific theme, AU, trope, etc.

Feel free to request specific themes or AUs and I’ll do my best to search for fitting fanfiction!

(”Oh, I’ve always wanted to read something like a Brooklyn 99 crossover!” ”I’ve got your back, young reader.”)

This week’s theme is Time Travel & Batman Beyond!

And I’ve got 28 amazing fanfics for you below the read more!

Have fun and don’t forget to leave these lovely writers a comment!

Title: A Gift to Cherish Summary: The wonderful thing about being hurdled through time and space is that Jason doesn’t have to deal with the fallout of not listening to Bruce. The awful, terrible, no good very bad part of hurtling through time and space is that he has no idea where he is. It’s all up to wormhole he was thrown into to decide where he gets spit out to. In which Jason is thrown into a future he never came back to, and gets to heal, just a little bit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226775

Title: A Good Place Summary: Damian Wayne is kidnapped and sent back years through time. Together, he and Father – who's only been Batman for a mere six months –must figure out how to return him to his own time. Over the course of the next week, Damian discovers that Mexican gangsters do not mess around, that social workers find Bruce annoying, that Bruce might be a little messed up, and that crystal chandeliers create the fondest memories. Oh. And Alfred has hair. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515501

Title: A hundred miles through the desert Summary: Finding himself nearly three decades into the past hadn't been part of Jason's plans for the day, but he could manage. Having no idea how he got there, no clear path home and a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne determined to drag Jason into his search for his parents' killer - that might be a little more complicated. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18197330

Title: And They’re Only Getting Better Summary: 90's!Tim Drake wakes up in his Red Robin body. Exhausted from a YJ mission, he chooses to focus on getting through a normal day so as not to disrupt things for his future self. But, y'know, his way. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522401

Title: A Time to Reflect Summary: Bruce finds himself stuck in the past, and while waiting for the league to pick him up, struggles to get along with his past self. Plus being in a practically empty manor is a bigger adjustment than he'd like to admit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156707

Title: Back to the Past Summary: Bruce is Robin, his dad isn't Batman though, despite how similar the outfits are. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237258

Title: Careful what you wish for Summary: Sometimes, Batman can’t help but miss the time when Dick was the one and only Robin. In a world with magical imps, he should have known better. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009647

Title: Choose - Lose Summary: Tim looked to the empty space where the time traveler had stood, a forgettable man with a forgettable face in a forgettable shabby brown suit, and had made his unforgettable offer. You can save him. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320876

Title: Cocoa in April Summary: There are strict rules when it comes to time-traveling. But when Dick is faced with an adorable young Bruce when he's accidentally sent back to 1988, he can't resist a conversation. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888914

Title: death sucks (and then you live) Summary: Red Hood is starting to put some serious plans in motion when he's attacked by a not-so-welcome blast from the past. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532380

Title: Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep Summary: I am not here I do not sleep. Terry wants to say he's okay with cemeteries. But taking your kinda boss, kinda mentor, kinda surrogate father-figure to his creepy family cemetery does not make him feel good. He didn't realize just how much Bruce mourns. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378990

Title: In my arms Summary: There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could change. Those were the rules of the past. Besides, babies cried all the time, even if this was less a cry and more of an angry wail from a little one pushed past its limits. But still. He should have been on his way. He likely would have been, had this been a different home. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728655

Title: Innocence and experience Summary: What starts as a normal patrol ends up shaking up the world of Young Justice when a boy claiming to be a future Robin drops from the sky while chasing after a man in white. The Team struggles to deal with Damian and the future he represents all the while trying to return him to his rightful time. But for what purpose is this new villain in the past and can Damian and the Team stop him? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224534

Title: I Used to Be an Adventurer Like You, Then I Took an Arrow to the Knee Summary: Stephanie was just on patrol and now she’s stuck somewhere, sometime, with Bruce. They bleed and bond and mostly try to keep each other alive— you know, just a Tuesday. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437716

Title: life, if well lived Summary: Jason wakes up from a time-travel mishap to find Thomas and Martha Wayne hovering over him. Just another day in the life, right? ...Not quite. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378512

Title: Lost and Found Summary: Bruce is dying. Slowly, painfully. Not going out in a blaze of glory and defiance for a greater purpose. He's caving under the weight of his own age, under the damage he's done to his heart through the years. Terry can't be by his side constantly to do damage control. More than that, he can't watch it happen with no reprieve. But there's no one else. Terry needs help keeping vigil by an ill Bruce's bedside. But the old man had kids once, didn't he? Are the bridges he burned unable to be rebuilt? As he observes, Terry definitely starts to wonder how this family used to be. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214692

Title: meet the robins Summary: sad little orphan bruce travels to the future and meets the family he’ll have one day :) too bad he can’t stay forever :( Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685095

Title: Mint Chocolate Chip Summary: Summer vacations have been going on just long enough for Jason to start getting bored, when he gets an unexpected visitor. From the future. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860545

Title: no one seems to go Summary: “Father,” Bruce mumbles, “I am something of an outlaw.” “Were you always this dramatic, son?” Thomas asks, the bed beneath them shaking as he shifts. “Alfred.” Bruce snorts, shaking his head. “Theatrics are his speciality, remember?” Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663957

Title: Of your own making Summary: Jason died. Then he came back, forty years too late. It takes time to adjust. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211523

Title: One Big Batty Family Summary: In which Billy Batson and the McGinnis siblings join the present day Batfam. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133567

Title: Oops I did it again Summary: "You're insane." Or possibly an insane dream from eating chili dogs before bed. Which one Jason wasn't sure since he had yet to pinch himself. "I'm a member of the longer existing Dead Robins Club that doesn't even give you a lousy shirt. Not shocking Jay." Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936921

Title: Raisin Delight Summary: A year after Jason Todd dies, Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne take on the case when they notice strange occurrences in Gotham city. This has disastrous consequences, but so do most things that Tim gets caught up in, so what's new, really. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644082

Title: Realization Summary: Bruce makes a discovery while conducting a check-up on Terry. Takes place midway through the "Splicers" episode. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377468

Title: Strange Manor Summary: Bruce let his eyes close to wallow for a moment in worry and fear for Jason. One second, two, three. He opened his eyes. Time to act. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474308

Title: The Incandescent Rose Summary: Terry McGinnis (the new Batman) impulsively asks marriage proposal advice from his mentor and grumpy father figure Bruce Wayne. When the older man describes a proposal in which he had been yelled at and abandoned, Terry can't help investigate the matter by seeing some of Bruce's most knowledgeable friends and family members. This search prompts someone else into action. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414228

Title: The Time Travel Problem Summary: Barry Allen and Clark Kent, follow Bruce around during a time travel mission through Gotham City's recent past. If only Bruce would stay focused. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143081

Title: Younger Bruce, Older Jason Summary: Jason wakes up in the dead of night to an unexpected visitor. (Like you’ve never heard that one before...) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867975

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Severed Rings

by AaronCole0902 He is going to die here. Jason is used to fucking up, feels like he spent his whole life doing it. But this, this isn’t one he’s going to be able to come back from. This isn’t one Batman will forgive, not even Bruce could. The joker is gone, the seconds left on the bomb feel like an eternity in his mind. Everything happens at once, every sound, emotion, agonizing memory and nerve in his body are on fire, and then there is nothing. or The one where Jason Todd is ghost for his 6 month death-vacation and Tim Drake happens to be a nosy meta who can see ghosts. Words: 1137, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Death in the Family (Movie 2020), Batman (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Major Character Death Categories: Gen Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd, Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson, Robin (DCU), Janet Drake, Jack Drake, Dead People - Character, ghosts - Character Relationships: Tim Drake & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd Additional Tags: Tim Drake Meta AU, Major Character Death is Canon Jason Death, Temporary Character Death, they are brothers officer, Loneliness, Depression, Anxiety, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd Gets A Hug, Tim Drake Gets a Hug, Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Fuck the timeline and ages I make my own story, no beta we die like todd, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, its so sad and then gets better and then gets sad again and then gets better again, relatively happy ending bc im a sap, projecting onto fictional characters, Dissociation, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, some light body horror, will put necessary trigger warning before content i swear, Tim can see ghosts, jason is a ghost for the 6 months he is dead, They become friends, Brotherly Bonding, Developing Friendships, Healing, jason is around 15, Tim is around 11/12, they are BROTHERS you creeps let them be, Tim Drake Sees Dead People via https://ift.tt/KAVIolh

[astranne]

Miraculous and The Light (HC)

Ok, so. This HC is based on this idea. It’s a miraculous x dc crossover and one of the best ideas, I’ve read recently. I really liked it and this is why I’m forcing myself to write my ideas down. 

Before we start the HC, I need to clear some things. Marinette becomes the guardian in age of 13, the kwami are teaching her as good as they can. Luka has the snake miraculous, Chloé the bee (but new costume), Kagami the dragon (again new costume) and Adrien is Chat Noir. Alix has the bunny and Kim the ape miraculous. (The two are chaos and they smelled Lila’s bullshit before she came back the second time). They deal with Hawkmoth as good as they can and they do good. Until Lila does her shit again. She manipulates Alya, which leads also Nino to be one of her followers and since Adrien is his best friend, he starts to listen to Lila. He becomes obsessed with Ladybug and her identity. The team doesn’t really notice, since it’s subtle and slowly becoming worse. So, now let’s start with the HC.

The Team protects Paris, Marinette is the leader

The situation becomes worse, the akumas take longer to defeat

They try to contact the JL, but nobody listens

And Chat Noir comes lesser to the fights, claiming his privat life is stressfull

At first, everybody understands, but it doesn’t stop and Chat becomes like a bad behaved child/brat 

Lila causes another Hero Day, the Team almost looses. Chat Noir didn’t show up and the Team is angry. Chloé is ready to skin a cat

After the Hero Day, they accidentally reveal their idtities. Their group becomes closer, everybody can see, they work even better now. 

Chat is envy

And Tikki is angry. No, scratch that. She’s mad. This boy could’ve been such a good cat, and now this?! 

Since Plagg is her opposite, and she’s the one of Plagg, they keep each other in balance. And they aren’t in balance at all. She takes over Marinette (while she is Ladybug) and starts to rip Chat/Adrien in shreds

Whole Paris witness this and is terrified. Who knew Ladybug had such power? 

Chat tries to save his face/life/’hero’ persona, but since Marinette is the guardian, she stripps him of his Miraculous, while Tikki wipes out his memories. Adrien’s former friends are sad, but also glad, they have one problem less

But now. Since Tikki used her more of her powers, some people notice, such as Klarion. He’s the server of chaos, but keeps in balance with creation. And the two aren’t balanced at all.

He talks to the Light, and surprise, surprise. Ra’s al Ghul and Vendal Savage felt it too

They begin to search and are surprised, that so many miraculous are active. The Light digs deeper and Vendal is very close getting up and burn Paris down. And take Hawkmoth with it

The inner circle of the Light (Vendal Savage, Klarion, Ra’s al Ghul, Lex Luthor, Deathstroke (there are still more members, but I will explain shortly))

Now, their primar goal is not to take over the world, or make everyone ‘see the light’. That’s what the ‘lesser’ members think (the ones, who are not in the inner circle) They want to keep the balance in the world, keep ‘peace’. But they know, it can’t be always peace, with creation there comes always destruction (Tikki and Plagg are totally their inspiration and mentors or whatever you could call that) And for this, they don’t always do ‘good’ things, like heroes do

Bc of this, every hero, every other villian thinks, that the light is bad. It��s a very good cover and so they can hide their true plans. So, the inner circle sends Black Manta after the Young Justice (the season 2 happens here) and go to Paris. 

They find the miraculous users while fighting an amok and an akuma and are impressed. Clearly, most of them have no training and they hold themself formidable. 

The inner circle talks with the team, which is wary. But then the kwamis recognize them and the teenagers (probably 15?) are so glad, that they finally have help. Not the one they expected, but still help

Vendal was one the first guardian, a simple man and then blessed by Tikki and Plagg. He trained other guardians and miraculous users until he almost died

Ra’s al Ghul was once a dragon, but also used the cat miraculous. This is the reason, why he can use the lazarus pit and isn’t mad

Klarion knows about the kwamis, the first gods, often makes rituals and such stuff. But he never saw a miraculous before

Deathstroke knows about the miraculous, but never knew, what power they truly hold

Lex Luthor knew about them too

The team is offered a traditional training with the League and since they are all true holders, they will master it faster than anyone before. Vendal wants to train Marinette as the guardian, after she finished hers with Ra’s. Deathstroke will be their mentor and Klarion will teach them in magic. 

Lex takes them under his wing, teaching them about buisness, money, politics and manipulating

They train and fight Hawkmoth for two years. Sometimes, Vendal takes over as Chat Noir, sometimes Ra’s, to keep Marinette and Tikki balanced. But they need to find her true holder, which isn’t that easy, while they are still in training and fighting

The team is around 17/18, when they finally defeat Hawkmoth and Mayura. The major of Paris and the president of France tell the world finally the truth about the situation (world is shocked (especially when they hear, that the Justice League didn’t help))

Now, the heroes want to help, after Wonder Woman, Aquaman and Dr. Fate, as well Zatanna, kicked their asses for being dumb bitches. When Batman doesn’t stop (he’s an ass sometimes, but I don’t hate him) they threaten to leave the JL. He doesn’t belive it and suddendly he has 4 members less. 

The four go to Paris, even when there is a heroes ban. They offer their alliance, but keep their distance, which everyone is glad. 

Since Hawkmoth and his sidechick have been defeated, the Miraculous Team retires. Or so everybody thinks. 

They all leave Paris, letting their friends and family think they have a job/go on vacation (Kagami and Luka fake their death, Marinette too) 

Lila is smug, bc she thinks, she won, since Alix and Kim just leave and Chloé is a weeping mess

The six go to the League, where they learn new/more things and become the elite squad of Ra’s. 

(Ra’s is totally a proud parent, who shows, how much his kids are better than anyones. Well, as good as he can with his stoic face)

The six still use their miraculous, but have new costumes (darker colors, mostly black) 

And so life goes on, until the JL and the YJ attack the light. They take many hits, loose many bases and the first time, the heroes meet the squad

The six are just called ‘the squad’. They switch miraculous, so the heroes don’t make connections. 

(Marinette is White (rabbit), while Chloé is Red (dragon), Kagami is Brown (monkey), Alix is Blue (snake), Kim is Scarlett (ladybug), Luka is Black (cat)) Over their costumes, they wear a typical League uniform. 

They totally rip the heroes apart

Anyway. The JL and YJ are wary about the sqaud, they all know, they are deadly. Some think, even deadlier than Deathstroke. 

After the attack, the squad meets Lady Shiva and Talia al Ghul

And her new pet project

You already know it. Jason Todd

His mind is fucked up, he doesn’t remember much until this woman in red smiles at him and just hugs him? Girl, this is the league?! 

Jason is totally Marinette’s black cat. 

He’s suddenly being trained (can you imagine a confused Jason Todd, trained by Vendal, Klarion and the rest of the team? Bc I do) and partnered with Plagg, who absolutly loves his new holder. There is so much chaos in him, he even survived the pit!

The squad goes on mission, mostly to mess with the JL, who notice, there is a new member. And oh shit- he destroys everything. And there Superman curmbles to ash... (no worries, he’s brought back)

Jason isn’t trying to kill Bruce, well, he still fights against Batman, but he doesn’t want him dead (the heroes think, the squad tries to kill them)

Some years pass (I have no idea, what happens in season 3 (Young Justice) since I didn’t have the time to watch it) the miraculous slowly become balanced again and the team is doing great

Until Talia snitches Bruce (bc she’s a little bitch) that Jason is alive. Not only that, he’s a part of the squad. Ra’s personally tries to kill his daughter- bc no Talia! You can’t just go and tell secrets! (silently crusing in many languages about the balance and how his own daughter betrayes him) He’s so angry, that he disowns his daughter and claims 7 year old Damian as his heir.

Bruce tries to hunt Jason down, but no success

Marinette takes Damian under her wing and gives him the miraculous of the tiger (Damian is so proud, that he’s a true holder). She and Jason become somewhat his parents, just like the rest of the team

Alix and Kim are totally together, as well Cloé and Kagami, while Luka has a on/off relationship with Lady Shiva, who is the true holder to the fox miraculous

Talia attacks the league, when Damian is 10 and takes him to his father

Damian hides the miraculous and Roarr, but Alfred knows. He always knows. (Totally cliche, but he’s the true holder to the peacock)

Damian acts like a brat like in canon, but can be such a softy

But only with his true family

Jason moves to Gotham, becomes the Red Hood, while Marinette becomes Scarlett (his partner) 

The rest of the squad starts to recruit new holders and start to train them, often visited by Jason and Marinette

One tragic night, Batman fights against Red Hood, almost kills him, when Scarlett breaks his arm. Robin (Damian) comes to help, freezes, when he sees his family. He stops fighting, takes a deep breath and turns to his father.

Batman is confused, but then Robin says, that this is Jason, the second Robin and that he will not fight family

Batman lashes out, being an idiot, talking some nonsense about Jason being a criminal and suddenly Robin disapears. The big bat thinks, his kid went home 

Well, he does, but not the Manor. He follows Jason and Marinette and sleeps a night there. 

Then his father starts to search him (Damian) and finds him with Jason

Totally a fight there

Until Alfred comes and makes them to sit down and talk

Jason explains everything, telling Bruce, that the squad doesn’t exist anymore, bc of Talia.

He causally says, that Marinette is his girlfriend, that they somewhat adopted Damian, after Talia was banned.

Bruce tries to wrap his head around this, but slowly accept this new part of his family

It takes some time, but Jason (Red Hood) and Marinette (Scarlett) become a part of the Batfam

They lead the new Miraculous Team in secret, keep in contact with the inner circle of the light

This goes well, until Tim finds out. 

Bruce lashes out again, bc what the fuck- his own child and his wife (they married) are spying for the light?! He tought they destroyes that damned organisation

Damian runs with them

They go to Nanda Parbat, where they meet the new recruits. 

Now, every kwami has a true holder

Balance is perfect as it can be 

Two years later, Bruce still tries to find Damian, in the hope, he isn’t with his older brother and his wife

He still is

Then Ra’s has enough of this drama, talks with the inner circle of the light and the kwamis

Kidnaps the batfam

Explains everything

Like everything

Slowly the batfam understands

Bruce is so proud that two of his sons are true holders, one of them literally can control chaos

The batfam starts to help the inner circle of the light, the other members think, this heroes finally saw the light

I can totally see the lesser memebers dumbfounded faces, when the whole Batfam shows up

Vendal starts to explain

“Batman was trained under Ra’s al Ghul himself, Batwoman followed.”

“Nightwing was trained by Deathstroke.”

“Red Hood was trained by Lady Shiva, Deathstroke and Ra’s al Ghul and is a former member of the squad.”

“Scarlett was trained by myself, Ra’s al Ghul, Lady Shiva, Deathstroke and Batman. She was the leader of the squad.”

“Red Robin was trained, like all the other Robins, by Batman. Lady Shiva took him under his wing for some time.”

“Signal was trained by Batman, Red Hood and Scarlett.”

“Batgirl was trained under Batman, Nightwing and Scarlett.”

“Black Bat grew up in the League and is the daughter of Lady Shiva.”

“Robin is my grandson and the son of Batman. He was trained under Scarlett and Red Hood, when they still were in the squad.”

(Did I forget someone?)

Gaping villians

But when Vendal says, that Batman will be part of the inner circle, as well Red Hood and Scarlett. they loose their absolute shit. 

They fought the whole time with their allies??

Vendal then also says, that this will be the last meeting and they will all forget, that the Batfam is a part of the light

“Well... we can’t take risks, can’t we? We don’t want to repeat an incident with the Young Justice again... because of this, only the members of the inner circle will remember our prupose and the light itself.” 

Batman then says to the JL, that he will leave the League, since this is going nowhere

The Batfamily is now officially a hero group and more loved than the JL, bc they don’t destroy much in their fights and if they do, Bruce Wayne pays. They keep in the shadows, which means, no civilians hurt AND many villians retire, when they hear, that Batman will fully remain in Gotham. They don’t try anything, bc he always seems to know

Okay... this is much more, than I acutally wanted to write and in the end, it didn’t came out as I first thought. But I hope you still like it, bc I like this version better

And it’s in the middle of the night, so if there are any mistakes... I don’t care :)

Masterlist

[excuseme-howdareyou]

Death

@alculai (While I’m not the best at writing bad family, I’m unfortunately great at death and grief)

Warning: Major character death

Song of choice: ‘For This You Were Born’ by UNSECRET

..........

“Come on, come on, where is it?” Tim grumbled to himself as he practically tore apart his closet in search of his glove. It was right here! Or at least it had been last night when he got off patrol with Bruce at 2am. Tim had come home from a long night, exhausted and sore, and just kinda… threw off his uniform and tossed it into the closet. The uniform had been right where he threw it when he got dressed for tonight’s patrol. Minus one green glove.

Tim scratched his head and stared at his other hand, his bare hand. He needed that glove!

“Looking for this?” Batman popped up behind him, helpfully holding up the missing glove.

“Guukk!” Tim screeched.

……………….

If he didn’t know any better, Tim would think the night was getting colder. But no, this was the height of summer in Rome, and Rome summers were hot and sticky.

‘Heh, guess I got the sticky part down,’ he chuckled to himself and spared a glance at his palm. The night was dark, but the streetlights just strong enough to show the glimmer of blood. With a grimace, he pressed his hand back against his side. Shit, it wasn’t even stinging anymore. Just a dull ache and he could feel himself shivering. It felt like the night was getting colder but he knew better.

This alley was dark and dirty and whatever little shelter he found behind this dumpster would only last so long. ‘Come on, Tim, time to get going,’ he encouraged himself. With his free hand, he reached up and grasped the side of the dumpster to pull himself up.

‘Just a… just a little bit further.’

……………………

“Bruce Wayne?”

Bruce looked up from speaking with Lucius and saw two men in pressed trousers and simple button ups. Law enforcement of some kind, his senses told him, seeing the faint outline of a firearm at the calf of the taller one. “Hello,” he greeted them with his best Wayne smile,” How can I help you gentlemen?”

Just like he was expecting, they both held up their wallets sideways. “I’m Agent Markos of INTERPOL,” the shorter, blonde one said,” This is Agent Paul, we have some questions to ask you about your son.”

Internally, Bruce was grimacing. ‘Oh geez, what has Jason done this time?’ But outside he appeared worried,” Oh boy, they didn’t cause an international incident, did they?”

While the taller one continued to glare him in that subtle way, the shorter one at least attempted to be polite about the whole thing. “Mr. Wayne, when was the last time you saw your son?” he asked.

“Just yesterday I spoke to Dick, we talked on the phone for a little bit about his work,” Bruce answered readily enough. Granted, the work they talked about was Nightwing cases, but he could let the agents assume he meant they talked about Dick’s work as a police officer. “Damian I saw this morning as he went to school.”

“And your other son?”

“Jason’s happily running the Ice Lounge as far as I know.”

Whatever mock-politeness was on the taller agent’s face dissolved as he all but scowled at him. “Your other son,” he prompted through gritted teeth. His younger counterpart discreetly hushed him and one elbow pressed against his side until he stepped back and let the blond take the lead again.

It was Lucius who figured it out first. “Oh my god,” his jaw dropped open,” Tim. It’s Tim, isn’t it? Is he alright?” He looked between the two agents, becoming more anxious as he looked at their contrite faces. “Please, tell us. What’s happened?” he practically pleaded.

Agent Markos took a slow, measured breath. “Mr. Wayne, Mr. Fox,” he began,” I’m sorry to tell you, Tim Drake’s body was found three days ago in Rome, Italy…”

‘No…’

All the breath left Bruce’s body in one big whoosh.

“...Our medical examiner reports he passed on sometime last week…” Agent Markos was still speaking but… but Bruce could barely hear him, could barely comprehend what he was saying.

“...We’re trying to establish the last time he had contact with any of his family, try to figure out why he was in Rome…”

‘Tim… no, no… not Tim…’

“...-ayne? Mr. Wayne?-”

Then all went black.

……………………

Boarding schools weren’t big on the whole holiday thing. Sure, they put up decorations wherever there was room, allowing the professors to hang wreaths on their classroom doors and turned a blind eye when a student decked out his room in flashing colored lights. But beyond winter break and the decorations, the holidays were wholly unappetizing is one were to stay there for the Christmas season.

Mom and Dad weren’t able to fly back for the holidays, a new room of artifacts had been discovered on their dig and everything needed to be closely studied and catalogued. Or at least, that’s what he thought needed to be done. He wished they would tell him what they found, what was so exciting that they couldn’t fly back for just two days. Heck, he’d even take one day.

He could go home for winter break, head back to Drake Manor and hang out for two weeks before classes started after New Years. But the manor was empty and he doubted the cleaning service bothered to put up wreaths and lights while they kept the place tidy. Here, in his half of the dorm room, there were lights strung up around his four poster bed and a tiny little pine tree on his nightstand. That would have to be festive enough. And hey! He actually had the dorm to himself for once, as his roommate went back to Philadelphia to visit family.

It wasn’t such a bad Christmas, he surmised. He even got a little present from Batman when they finished patrol last night and a day off, telling him to enjoy Christmas. That had to have been big, Tim guessed, because he was pretty sure Bruce was Jewish and didn’t think he celebrated Christmas. Then he wondered if perhaps it was Dick who celebrated Christmas and that’s why Bruce got him a present, because he got Dick one too and thought might as well get both Robins something for the holiday. He wondered if Dick had driven home for the holiday, taking a weekend off from work and he wondered if they set up a big Christmas tree in the Wayne Manor. He bet they did. That sounded like something Alfred would do.

He wondered if when Bruce sent him home for the holiday, did he know he was sending Tim back to an empty dorm at the boarding school?

………………

Tim used to think Rome was beautiful. Hated how hot and muggy it got, but dreamed of vacationing here whenever the cold winter of Gotham got to him. Seriously thought of opening a safehouse in the city somewhere, just so he could make an excuse of a case in Europe and escape to Italy for a week. Let the sun and heat warm up his bones.

Now, he hated the city. Hated how it was unfamiliar and when he stumbled out of the alley, he had no freaking clue where he was. Didn’t even know which was way north, which was really stupid because that wouldn’t help him in the slightest even if he knew because Tim didn’t know where the hell he was in the city. Now he hated how hot and muggy it was and yet he still felt cold, hated how he could feel the stickiness of sweat along his hairline. His breaths came in faster and shallower, could feel his heartbeat staccatoing in his chest.

Help. He needed help. It was stupid to go out without his gear tonight. Stupid to go walking around Rome without his Red Robin gear, but he just wanted to be Tim for a night. Just wanted to explore the city a little bit, enjoy the old architect that was so different from Gotham and photograph buildings he’s never seen before.

Just wanted to celebrate having dismantled a serial killing cult and spend one last night in Rome before heading home.

Just didn’t think he’d stumble across one last surviving member of the cult sacrificing a young woman to their dark god. Didn’t think he’d have to fight for his life as a man/beast/shadow of a thing bore down on him with blades and knives. Didn’t think that when he twisted the thing’s arm beyond having broke it, it’d turn to him and laugh. Didn’t think it’d laugh in his terrified face and then a long claw would pierce under and through his ribs.

Didn’t think he’d be running through the dark alleys of Rome and desperately searching for help.

He tried his phone again, pressing the little button on the side that would send out a distress beacon. He was halfway across the world, but Batman would be able to get it, right? He’d be able to see that Tim was in trouble, and he’d come to the rescue right? Even if Bruce couldn’t get here in time, he’d call Superman or the Flash couldn’t he?

‘Superman,’ Tim realized suddenly, thinking himself very stupid. “Kon-el,” he rasped, growing suddenly wearier when he spoke,” Kon… Connor…help.” He prayed he would hear him, like Kon promised he would always hear Tim if he called out to him.

Then he remembered Kon was dead and a whine of despair escaped his throat.

…………………

Jason announced his presence with a bang and shouting, as always. He kicked the door to Bruce’s study open with all the force of a hurricane and stormed in. “I swear to God if this is another one your fucking convoluted plans to have another one of your Robins infiltrate a secret organization, I’ll rip your heart out through your-” he bellowed then fell silent once he got a look at Bruce.

He… he didn’t look good.

Bruce sat at his desk, supposedly going over the report that had been “acquired” from INTERPOL. Only… only he wasn’t reading. He wasn’t even looking at them. Bruce sat at his desk, head bowed and hands buried in his hair, gripping so tight his fingers had long gone white. His shoulders were trembling.

“It’s real, Jason,” he spoke in a ragged voice,” He’s really-” His mouth clacked shut with a click, unable to even speak it but somehow unable to even voice his grief with sobs.

Jason’s heart leapt up into his throat. “It’s not a…” he breathed in shock and disbelief,” You mean the replacement’s really-”

“He was not a replacement!” Bruce shouted at him with all the gentleness of a slap to the face. Shaking fingers slammed against the desk as he shot to his feet to scream at his second eldest. “Tim is my son just as much as you and Dick and Damian! He was not a replacement or a spare or a pretend son as I’ve heard you call him on more than one occasion! He was my son and now he’s dead and-” His face fell and Jason could see the cracks in his armor as Bruce all but fell back into his seat,” My son is dead and I didn’t even realize he was missing.”

………………….

Bruce was… Bruce was sure taking his damn time getting here, Tim thought as he staggered down the street. Or was it la via? Huh, he could’ve sworn he knew Italian, but at the moment Tim couldn’t remember any word in Italian to save his life. All he knew was there was cobbled stone beneath his feet and rough walls that scratched his palm as he made his way along.

There were no more lights in this area. Tim wondered why there were no streetlights, that had to be the only reason why it was so dark. It was late at night, he knew that, but why did it have to be so dark? Putting one foot in front of another was a monumental effort. Fingers scrambled along the wall until he felt what had to be a door. There was wood and metal, and yes, a handle.

A door. A door meant inside a building and inside meant people. Help. He had found help. Tim grasped the handle for a brief second before slamming his hand against the wood thrice. The sound echoed in the dark, but no voices answered him. It was late, it was night, maybe they didn’t hear him? He slammed his hand twice more. When no answer came, he tried the handle.

It was unlocked. Unlocked and open as he squeezed the handle and leaned his entire weight against the wood. He lurched inside, barely catching himself against the door before falling to the floor. It was dark inside but that was okay, it was late, it was night, they were probably asleep. “Help,” he called out, little more than a rasp,” Hello?”

He stepped forward and tripped over… something, and fell. There was carpet beneath his fingers as he tried to catch himself. An odd thing to notice as he tried to stand again, but that’s what he noticed. As well as how he didn’t have enough strength in his arm to push himself up. He felt so… weak. Weak and useless. Couldn’t even stand up from the floor. What would Damian think of him as he was now? What would Bruce think?

A sob escaping his throat, Tim rolled onto his side and pressed a hand against his stomach. It didn’t even hurt anymore, but there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him ‘pressure, keep pressure on it’. He just had to keep pressure on it until help could get here. He just had to keep pressure on it until Bruce got here.

Tim laid on the floor and cried as he waited for someone to come.

[thefightingbull]

Sequestered

3 weeks. 21 days. 504 hours. 30,240 minutes. 1,814,400 seconds.

Jason was doing math. In his head. Because he was bored. Worse? He was irritated. Not because of the boredom, but because he was going to spend nearly two million seconds sequestered from the rest of the world with his brothers inside an 864 sq. ft. apartment.

“It’ll be a well-deserved vacation,” Dick smiled genially from the kitchen table. “The JL can take care of whatever is happening out there.”

“-tt- As if anyone of us will survive this quarantine,” Damian scowled. He was perched on the back of the couch that Jason was currently lying on.

“As long as you behave yourself, we’ll be fine,” Tim replied sitting at Jason’s small table with his laptop on the opposite side of Dick. “Besides, you didn’t have to come along, Demon Spawn.”

“Neither did you,” Jason pointed out beneath at least three thick blankets. “Actually, not a fucking one of you needed to show up! In fact, had you not, you could be out there with Bruce instead of taking up my clean air, my food, and my limited fucking space!”

Not one of his brothers showed him an ounce of pity or sympathy. They all three looked at him with their varying shades of light-colored eyes. Damian looked disgusted. Tim snarky, and Dick? Well, Dick might have looked at him with a touch of guilt in his eyes.

Dick should though. This whole stupid thing was his fault. Dickie-Bird heard that Jason had a fever and just had to show up to check on him. While he was at it, Golden Boy might as well drag their dipshit brothers along and really make everyone uncomfortable. It wasn’t like the whole nation was about to panic and insist on quarantine’s or anything.

Jason sniffed hard, trying to rearrange the “congestion” in his sinus cavities.

“Just blow your nose, Jason,” Tim sneered as he scrunched his own.

“Fuck you, it’s my house, I’ll deal with my mucus however the hell I want!” he grumbled, ignoring the croaky quality of his voice.

“Guys let’s not fight. We’re just at the beginning of this quarantine. We can’t be at each other’s throats already.” Dick frowned.

“This is lame,” Damian huffed and slid down to rest atop Jason’s ankles. “You don’t think they’ll forget to feed my pets?”

Jason’s heart softened just a touch at the concern Damian showed toward another living being. He tried to sigh but ended up coughing instead. Luckily, Dick was on it.

“Alfred would never forget about the animals in your room, Dami,” The oldest offered gently.

“Unless you’re hiding more than he knows about, then those ones will probably starve,” Tim shrugged.

Jason shouldn’t have laughed, but he couldn’t help it. It was vicious and nasty and very much in Tim’s wheelhouse when it came to Damian. He kind of liked Tim’s dark side. The kid took a lot of shit from Damian in particular. It was good to see him stand up for himself.

“Tim!” Dick scolded. “That’s not funny, Jason!”

“My cell phone is dead, let me use yours, Todd.”

Jason rolled his eyes and pulled the phone from his pocket. He really didn’t mean for tickle in his nose to catch him off guard, but it did and Jason wound up sneezing on his phone when he instinctively brought up his hands.

“Gross!” Tim chuckled.

Dick however came to the rescue as usual. One hand held out some tissues for Jason and the other was handing Damian the requested cell phone. “I’ll grab you some wipes for your phone, Jason,”

“Thanks,” Jason mumbled, tossing the slimed device on the coffee table beside the couch.

Damian pulled out his cell phone and immediately started trying to get a hold of Alfred. “Alfred? I… I have a raccoon. It’s in my closet. Yes. I know… Up in the crawl space… You will? You promise?”

“I know I’m surprised, how about you guys?” Tim snickered.

Jason grinned, as Damian flipped Tim off. Dick frowned at the antics, but he was moving about Jason’s apartment. His older brother took the liberty of cleaning up, a rarity in and of itself, but Jason wouldn’t argue. He wasn’t going to touch his phone again until it was clean.

“You know, I don’t have the virus they think I do,” Jason explained. “It’s just a common cold.”

“No one’s going to let us take that chance,” Tim sighed. “Bruce says he’ll have some supplies dropped off, but I gotta say, I’m more worried about him.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t be. Without us around to bug him, he’ll be a lot more effective. Especially since most of the criminals are hiding, too. It’s not like they can just waltz into a hospital if they get sick.”

Dick blinked as he held Jason’s phone in one gloved hand, the other scrubbing down the device with an electronic safe sanitary wipe. “You know, that’s actually a good point. Black Mask isn’t offering medical and neither is Two-Face.”

“Penguin and Black Mask might,” Tim disagreed. “They both have a legitimate business.”

“Maybe they have a bad guy hospital,” Jason laughed. “Could you imagine?”

Timothy grinned. “Half of them seem to be doctors, it wouldn’t surprise me.”

Even Damian couldn’t help but snicker. “-tt- Mr. Freeze is the safest in his suit. They’d make him do all the check ups and testing.”

“Harley would be on hand for psychological support,” Dick added with a barely restrained laugh.

“For as poor and pathetic as our city is, education is of the utmost importance in Gotham. Especially among criminals,” Jason smiled to himself. “Speaking of doctors gone evil, I wanna watch Hannibal.”

“You can’t, Dami’s too young,” Dick denied.

“What!” Jason exclaimed.

“He’s an assassin Dick, I doubt there’s anything more gruesome than his own actions on that show,” Tim shrugged.

“It’s happens to contain graphic sex, gaslighting, and other themes that are not suitable for children!” Dick defended his stance.

“Did you read that off the Parental Guidance box?” Jason asked suspiciously.

“I’m not a baby. I can handle a primetime television show,” Damian insisted.

“No,” Dick shook his head. “I am not giving on this, find something appropriate to watch.”

Jason grinned triumphantly and pointed immediately to his shelf of movies and television series. “Pride and Prejudice, it is! I want the BBC series with Colin Firth, top shelf, third to the left.”

Dick’s eyes widened at his mistake as Tim and Damian groaned. Jason coughed for effect, pulling his brother from the agony of his defeat. He clapped his hands in the obnoxious “chop, chop” call to action that Jason knew irritated everyone.

Three weeks with his brothers? It might be a small space, but it was his small space, filled with his favorite things. He had hours and hours of books to listen to, read, or thanks to miniseries events, watch. After Pride and Prejudice he might even go with Jane Eyre just to really torture them all.

They thought they had him beat when the quarantine was first announced. Ha! They’d crack long before he did.