#Alfred later chided them for it

[violent138]

I love the HC that all the Batbros have tried to have their hair out in the open and look as good as Dick's does, and they've all failed. Damian put in enough hair gel for his hair to go rock solid (which Duke tried to warn him about, having tried something similar with a mousse-gel combo when his hair was longer).

Tim's hair is mercifully short enough that it's mostly worked out (but he did get so frustrated once that he got it buzzed down, was mocked for months, never again).

Jason's hair usually looked really bad by the end of patrol (as photos demonstrate), but none of them can mock him without Jason playing the "I died shortly after, this was one of my happiest memories" card.

[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:

[eyes-like-the-night]

Can I have some Alfred x Herbert headcanons please ?

Ask and ye shall receive

Alfred went back to the castle alone a few years after traveling with Sarah, he had questions about vampires and wanted somewhere safe to be.

Herbert was more than happy to help him out, Alfred was just firm on nothing happening between them

Eventually Herbert got it out of him that the years with Sarah was a little tough and Alfred was worried that that was just how relationships were. They talk and Alfred agrees that as long as Herbert gives him some time that they can maybe see how things go.

Some time later after Alfred has the time he needs he’s got to somehow tell Herbert he’s ready to try it out

Alfred fell hard for Herbert and the time before they actually got together he realized Herbert was actually kind of brilliant in certain subjects just hated academics in a school sort of way.

Alfred said I love you first, also good with giving surprise hugs and little kisses.

Herbert loves listening to Alfred talk, so he spent long hours in the library with him and just sat quietly and asked the occasional question over whatever it was alfred was studying at the time even if Herbert found the subject uninteresting. That’s when Alfred started to realize he liked Herbert

Alfred also likes to listen to Herbert talk, partially because he was so used to listening to others but with Herbert he knows he can ask questions or comment without fear of ridicule

Alfred slowly moved into Herbert’s room. Just leaving some clothes in there first while they were still figuring it out

They got married and it was an event

Alfred gently chides Herbert whenever he does something rash and impulsive, which is often.

Herbert taught Alfred French.

Alfred kissed Herbert first

Even though Herbert may not be paying complete attention to what Alfred is saying when it’s some academic thing he’s still there and let’s him talk

Alfred has passed out in the library and woken up with Herbert’s cape over him

The snuggle is real, Herbert’s bed is quite large and no matter how far apart they might start they always gravitate towards each other

[batsandbugs]

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 4: The Three Stooges 

AN: At least it hasn’t been two months again 😅. Let’s check in with the other batboys and see how they’re handling Damian and Marinette’s chaos. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2  Chapter 3

Tim wondered when his day took a solid dive off the cliffs of normal and into the waters of weird.

It probably started when Dick dragged them out of bed at eight in the morning – on a Saturday – piled them into the car, and drove them an hour and a half out of the city to an IKEA. If they had actually been there to shop they would have either burned the store down or killed one another. 

Not that those things were off the table yet. 

Tim had work, actual work, that he could be doing. But no, instead he was playing a demented game of hide-and-go-seek, which was careening into an all-out war. The destroyed shelving units, shopping carts, and forklift were unmistakable evidence of that.

How had the demon spawn accomplished this in less than a minute?

Bruce would kill them, once he came back from off-world.

That is if Alfred didn’t get to them first.

“Uh, order 177? Shit, my pay isn't enough for this.”

The words shook Tim from his stupor. He walked over to the counter.

“Hi,” he said, flashing his most charming CEO grin. “I have a quick question?”

The server's fixed smile contrasted with his dull eyes.

“I need to know what way the boy who ordered this headed.”

“No.”

Tim sighed, “Look, it’s important. My brother-”

“I mean, no, it wasn’t a boy.”

Tim paused. “Huh?”

“It was a girl, a teen girl. Black hair, big blue eyes, French accent. She was sitting over there,” he waved at an empty table. “But I think she walked away before that happened.” Referring to the giant train wreck occurring a few aisles over.

“Oh,” said Tim. “Thanks.”

“Do you want the order?”

Tim held back an annoyed sigh.

“Sure.”

So that’s how he, Jason, and Dick, sat at the abandoned picnic table, staring at the abandoned meal bought with Damian’s credit card. Jason grabbed a couple of fries and shoved them in his mouth.

“That’s evidence, nitwit,” hissed Tim.

Jason ignored him, stabbing a meatball with the plastic fork. “What? It’s going to go to waste. Girlie obviously ain’t coming back for it.”

“We should be more worried about how a random girl used Damian’s credit card!”

“She could have stolen it?” offered Dick.

“Demon spawn would have broken her arm before getting pickpocketed,” countered Jason, eating another fry. Silence. A weird glint appeared in Jason's eye. He turned to Tim. “What did you say the girl looked like again?”

“Black hair, blue eyes, French accent.”

“Shit,” muttered Jason.

“What?”

“I think I ran into her earlier, about an hour and a half ago. Asked her if she had run into demon spawn – she sounded confused and tourist-like. But maybe…”

“Maybe she’s working with him?” offered Tim.

“Could be.”

“Damian? Working with another person? A stranger?” Dick shook his head. “Doesn’t sound like him.”

Jason shoved another fry into his mouth. “The brat’s a competitive little shit, if he thought teaming up would help him get ahead, he’d do it in a heartbeat.” He pointed a fry at Tim. “Can you look at the security footage?”

“I’m already two steps ahead of you,” Tim said, flashing his phone with the hacked in security camera footage on-screen. Jason and Dick huddled in close as a small girl walk on screen and stood at the counter.

“Yep, that’s her. Can you ID her, Timmy?”

Tim rolled his eyes, “This is a smartphone, Jay, not a laptop.”

“I thought Mr. World’s Second Greatest Detective would be prepared for anything.”

“Well excuse me for not having facial recognition software, on my phone.”

“Guys chill.”

“Shut up, Dick,” Jason and Tim said in unison.

The footage played out and they watched the girl order two meals and pay with Damian’s credit card. They switched to another camera when she left and sat at the picnic table. A few minutes later Jason and Tim walked into frame.

“Look, there! She tenses. Look at her body language, she’s panicking. She knows who you two are.” Dick looked shocked that, yes, Damian had teamed up with a partner.

They watched the girl panic, although she managed to keep her body from reacting too much. She placed her phone to her ear and walked away from her spot.

“Who is she talking to?”

“Maybe Damian was watching out of sight?”

“Shoot, Tim, she’s out of frame. Do we have another angle?”

It took another minute or so, but Tim found the right security camera catching the mysterious girl leaving the food court. As she walked away the image on the screen flickered, and a moment later the shelving units fell.

“Oh crap,” swore Jason. “Do you think she has magic? Fuck, it would be just our luck if demon spawn teamed up with someone dangerous.”

Dick shook his head. “It could be a coincidence. We didn’t see her do anything. The chaos could have been a coordinated effort between her and Damian.”

Tim wasn’t so sure. “Come on Dick, you’ve been in the game long enough to know just because something looks one way, doesn’t mean it's true.”

They watched the girl hurry out of sight, this time it was much more difficult to follow her progress through the store. She would randomly duck in and out of showrooms, coming out differently than how she came in. If the three boys hadn’t been trained in stealth and detection for years, they would have had a challenging time tracking her.

Jason whistled low. “Who is this chick? I’m impressed. She has serious skill.”

Finally, she ducked into a showroom and didn’t come out. Tim couldn’t find a camera giving them an unobstructed view, but it didn't matter. They had a destination.  

“This was ten minutes ago, they could already be long gone,” said Dick.

“Or they could still be hiding there,” countered Jason.

“We’ll find out when we get there.” They walked out of the cafeteria and past the closed aisles. The forklift that had been buried under the collapsed shelving unit was being unearthed by a flock of bewildered employees.

“Ten bucks says she has magic,” said Jason.

“Yeah, no.” Tim was good at math and the odds of everything happening just as she left was too big to be a coincidence. “I’m not stupid enough to take that bet.”

“Come on you guys, let’s focus here,” chided Dick.

Walking back through the showrooms Tim kept an eye out for any sign of his brother or his accomplice, but it was as if they had disappeared into thin air. Arriving at the last location they had spotted the girl, they waited for a touring couple to leave before descending on the tiny, boxed room like the detectives they were trained to be.

It didn’t take long to discover the lasered off vent.

“Shit,” groaned Jason. “They could be anywhere by now.”

“Tim can you-”

Tim had his phone in hand, “I’m already on it. I’ll have the vent layout in a minute.” He felt insulted they even needed to ask.

Jason peered into the vent, “Damn, I think we’re too big to follow.”

 Dick sighed. “I miss my vent crawling days; they just don’t make them as big as they used to.”

“That’s what she said,” snickered Jason.

“Focus you two,” Tim snapped. “I’ve pulled up the air duct plans.” He flashed the screen to his two brothers who settled down. “This particular vent runs a couple of places. We have one entrance at the back of the store in the storeroom. Then another veering off near the daycare center, and the last which comes out near the unloading dock.”

“I’ll take the one next to the daycare center,” said Dick. “I’m the only one who isn't demented,” pointing to Jason, “or sleep-deprived,” pointing to Tim.

“Hey!” exclaimed Jason.

Tim sneered, repressing a Damian-like growl, “I wouldn’t be so sleep deprived if you hadn’t dragged us out of the house at eight in the morning. I arrived in from patrol at three.” He hadn’t had coffee in hours, and the weight of his body pressed on him like a panini maker.

Dick ignored them. “Jason can take the one at the loading docks, and Tim you’ll be able to bypass security and get into the back the easiest.”

“Sounds good to me,” grunted Jason.

“Alright,” agreed Tim. “The second any of us spots them, text the group chat, will box them in from there.”

They nodded and headed off their separate ways. Despite the tiredness in Tim's bones, there was a heady rush of the hunt thrumming in his veins. Damian, and whoever he had decided to pair up with, were going down.

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[justcourttee]

Daminette soulmate au where Damian really doesn’t want a soulmate cuz of the league and Mari doesn’t know why but doesn’t wanna be a burden and just pushes away everything and the class is being horrible and she gets depressed and when Damien realizes he’s just like fuck. I’m in the mood for angst

This one comes with a bit of a trigger wanner, super angsty, at least I tried. There is so mention of suicide, but no description. I don’t want anyone to read unless they feel comfortable knowing that. 

I hope this is something like what you had in mind. 

A Moment Too Late

The first time Damian had heard the voice of his soulmate, he was only six years old. Her indecent squeals distracted him from the oncoming blow earning him a black and blue cheek and a week of cleaning duties for failing to end his opponent. 

He hadn’t let anyone know what had happened, after all, the league had forbidden contact with the outside world, soulmate bonds included. Damian recalled seeing hundreds of men and women die for contacting their soulmates or allowing them to become distractions that led them astray from the League’s mission. Just because he was the grandson of the Demon Head, it didn’t mean anything in regards to the rules. 

So he did his best to block out her thoughts or outbursts, only focusing on his current tasks, silently begging her to block him out as well. It worked for a little while, but as they aged, she seemed to become more observant of his silence. 

He was eleven years old when his mother first discovered that he had been on the receiving end of his soulmate bond. Marinette, as he soon learned, was trying to coax him into a conversation when Damian snapped, begging her to shut up. The very next day, he found himself drugged and on a boat floating in the dock of Gotham City. 

Never once did he blame his mother for his predicament. No, she was just trying to protect him. After all, if his grandfather had found out, Damian would have been beheaded in front of the others. The only one to blame was Marinette. 

The next time she would contact him would be her last. She tried to reach out, ask him if he was okay, but the sentiment only fueled his rage.

“Don’t you get it? I never wanted this bond! I begged you mercilessly to leave it alone. I begged you to shut up, but you just couldn’t could you? I lost everything because of you, you hear me Marinette? If you just would’ve shut your damn mouth, I would still be able to see my mother. I hope you never use this bond again, I never want to hear from you again.”

There was no response, but it didn’t bother him. This was what he wanted for so many years, for her to never utter a sound to him again. It was a blessed day, one filled with silence as he entered Wayne Manor for the very first time. 

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Grayson, can you stop mumbling to yourself? You look like an idiot.”

Dick reached back, swatting at where Damian once stood, the goofy smile on his face not wavering. 

“Oh little D, you just don’t understand. If my soulmate wants to talk, I’ll drop everything to take a moment for her.”

“A truly asinine thought, really.”

Damian rolled his eyes as he perched on the edge of the roof, gazing lazily over the darkened city streets. Personally, Damian wasn’t too fond of his brothers using their bonds while on patrol. It was as if they didn’t understand how much of a distraction it could be. No, it was much better to set boundaries, let them know where they stand. 

“Hey little D, have you contacted your soulmate yet?”

Dick squatted beside where Damian was perched, his smile pulling tight as if he already knew the answer to his question. 

“I told you, Grayson, I burned that bridge a long time ago. She hasn’t used the bond since we were eleven and I do not intend to be the first one to break that streak.”

“It sounds like you are too prideful to admit to her that you were wrong.”

“I was not wrong!” Damian could feel the red rising to his cheeks as he turned to avoid Dick’s piercing gaze. “She was the reason I had to leave the league, there is no denying that.”

His voice dropped slightly as he kept his eyes downcast knowing that no matter how many times he told himself that, it only got harder to believe as time passed. 

“Yeah, yeah, same line, less sincerity each time.”

Damian turned, ready to spat a venomous insult when a sudden wave of nauseous hit him like a truck. Doubling over, he could barely make out Dick’s words, the only thing monopolizing his mind was one piercing voice, one he hadn’t heard in years.

“I just want to die! Why won’t you let me die?”

Later, Dick would cry from the fear of the sight of Damian curled tightly on that rooftop, his eyes bloodshot and wide as if he’d seen a ghost. But, in that very moment, he knew that his main priority was to get him back to Alfred in hopes he could figure out any way to save Damian from the haunting phrase that slipped through his lips a hundred times over. 

“It’s all my fault.”

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 

It was close to three in the morning when the pain subsided allowing Damian to slip away from the pestering of his family. His movements were still stiff as if he was just a hollow man trying out his own legs for the first time in years. Her words seemed to be stuck on repeat, even though he was sure that she wouldn’t still be muttering them hours later. 

He couldn’t figure out what had happened to leave her at this last attempt. He couldn’t figure out if he should care or not. 

His gut was still throbbing as if he had been stabbed and the wound wasn’t sure if it wanted to be healed. As he slid down onto his favorite bench in the gardens, he remained locked in a fight with himself as to whether he should reach out or not. Hesitantly, he checked his surroundings before drawing in a deep breath concentrating all of his thoughts on her. 

“Are you okay Marinette?”

It was silent. 

Damian let a minute pass and then another. With a sigh of defeat, he closed his eyes pulling his legs into his chest. Of course she wouldn’t answer, it had been years of silence and carrying the guilt that he so carelessly placed on her.

 Shaking his head, he gingerly lifted it to allow his chin to rest on his knee. No, maybe he was a small part of her problem, but she couldn’t have banked her entire existence on a soulmate. Just what had happened to her over all these years. Certainly, he had been through worse, but even as the words crossed his mind he could hear Dick chiding him, reminding him that everyone carries burdens differently.

“I do not know if you can hear me, but I wanted to apologize for my outburst so many years ago. I blamed you for a lifestyle I was born into and that wasn’t right. Please, I’d like to start again, Even if it’s just as friends.”

The biting wind of the night nipped at his bare arms as if it were her answer itself. She obviously wanted nothing to do with him. Just as he stood to leave, a soft voice tickled the back of his head, so quiet that he almost missed the harsh words. 

“I don’t have friends or family, hell, I don’t even have a soulmate who wants me. Don’t bother trying now. I’m sorry if my emotions got the better of me earlier, but it was no guilt trip and I don’t need your pity. I just want to be gone and leave Paris a brighter city for it.”

Damian could feel the wheel’s turning at the mention of her home. A private plane could make it to Paris in just six hours. She might not want his pity and he wasn’t sure if he had any to give, but one thing was for certain; he could not let her die no matter what she wanted. 

“What will you be doing in six hours?”

His heart was racing a mile a minute as he waited desperately for her response. 

“I’ll be leaving school I suppose.”

Damian couldn’t stop the smile that pulled at his lips as he turned toward the manner, racing at full speed. 

Six hours. He could meet her in six hours. He could change her life in six hours. 

He couldn’t even focus on his clothes as they lay strewn across his bed, each missing his suitcase as he tore through his closet. Six hours felt like a lifetime knowing the stakes, but it was something he had to try. Even if he had to scour the entire city, Damian would find his soulmate. 

He just hoped that he wouldn’t arrive a moment too late.

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[fickle-tiction]

Adorable

"You'd think by now I'd know exactly where to find you." Diana commented as she descended the steps to the batcave, the smile clearly evident in her voice.

Bruce was standing hunched over at one of his computers, his chair long forgotten infront of another screen a few feet away. He looked up when he heard Diana's voice, though he heard her coming down the steps a minute ago. He offered her a smile, half his mouth quirking up as he glanced at her before going back to typing furiously at his screen.

"Alfred says dinner will be ready in ten minutes." Diana said, coming up behind Bruce. Bruce very deliberately didn't stiffen as Diana snaked her arms around his waist, and he forced himself to relax as her chin settled on his left shoulder.

"Let me guess," The corner of Bruce's mouth was still quirked up into a smile even as his eyes were glued to the screen where he was saving all of his files. "Clark's trying to set the table." It didn't matter how many times Alfred shooed him away, Clark still tried to help everytime he was invited over for dinner. Bruce liked to point out Alfred's double standard, his butler and friend had no problem saddling him with placement settings or stirring pasta sauce. Alfred liked to point out that helping out in the kitchen would help build Bruce's character.

"You could learn a thing or two from him." Diana teased, easily turning with Bruce as be tried to get a look at her.

"Is that so?" He asked, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Diana's teasing smile as her face rested against his ear.

The three of them had "officially" been together for a little over a month now, though they'd been friends for much longer, and Bruce was trying very hard to loosen up around them. He wasn't usually one for physical affection outside of the bedroom, and it was becoming clear that Diana was going to take every bit Bruce was willing to give, so he was deliberately not shrugging her off or stiffening up even as she hugged him a little tighter around the waist.

"Mmhhhmm." Diana hummed, lips vibrating against the shell of Bruce's ear. He huffed out air through his nose and tried very hard not to flinch away. "you should volunteer to do the dishes tonight. Really shock the two of them." Diana's smile turned bewildered as Bruce let out a choked out laugh and flinched away from her ever so slightly.

"Bruce?" She asked, her hair now trailing along the shell of his ear as she tried to get a look at his face.

"Mmm." Bruce grunted, torn between fighting down his smile and being open and relaxed like he promised himself he would be. "I'll...do th-ha-that." Diana had moved just so, causing her hair to tickle the shell of his ear. Bruce didn't know it at the time, but that split second was the beginning of the end for him.

"What's up with you?" Diana asked, amusement winning out over concern as Bruce allowed a smile to slip onto his face. It all clicked a second later when Bruce twitched away from her hair again, his shoulder coming up to try and rub at his ear out of reflex.

"Oh." Diana breathed, smile going from amused to lethal in a heartbeat. "oh really?"

Bruce didn't have much experience with this kind of playful teasing, but every fiber of his being was telling him to run for the hills at her tone of voice.

"Clark," Diana didn't raise her voice, but they both knew he could hear her just fine. "You need to come see this."

"Was that really necessary?" Bruce asked, hands coming down to settle over Diana's hands around his waist. He wasn't trying to break away yet, after all, how bad could a little tickling really be? Sure, he didn't like when people got close to his ears, it made him want to crawl out of his skin, but Diana was acting like this was some big revelation or something. Surely his body would adjust to it after a minute or two.

Poor naive little Bruce.

"Oh, you have no idea how necessary it is." Diana smirked just as Clark came flying down the stairs to see what was going on.

Clark flew into the batcave and was met with Bruce, looking like a deer in the headlights, Diana's arms wrapped around his waist and her lips pressed against his left ear.

"Has Bruce finally succumb to the need to cuddle?" Clark asked, a hint of teasing in his voice.

"Yup." Bruce answered, while at the same time Diana replies "Better."

"Di," Bruce probably meant for it to sound like a warning, but it sounded more like pleading to the two heroes.

"What could be better than that?" In all fairness to Clark, it was an innocent question. Unfortunately for Bruce, that was the moment his life changed. (He still won't admit if it's for the better or not, but we all know the answer.)

Diana didn't even let Bruce open his mouth before her right hand reached up and her fingers started gently dancing over the shell of Bruce's ear. Her left arm was still tight around his waist, so he couldn't go anywhere. She was expecting him to hold out for a few minutes, maybe insist that he wasn't ticklish and she was being childish, but to her surprise and delight he broke almost immediately.

"Oh, no way." Clark breathed, eyes lighting up as bubbly laughter started to pour out of Bruce as soon as Diana's fingers started wiggling. He'd never heard Bruce really laugh before, and it took him by surprise how light and carefree his laughter was.

Bruce was in hell, he was sure of it. Right up until he felt a gust of wind and then there was another set of fingers quickly scribbling over his left ear. Now he was in hell.

"No no no no" Bruce protested, even as he heaved with laughter. He tried shaking his head to dislodge their fingers, but that didn't even slow down Clark and Diana. It took Bruce a minute to realize he still had use of his hands, but as soon as he did he threw them up and clamped them over his ears, successfully knocking their hands away and greedily sucking in air as his residual laughter left him.

"It seems someone's been holding out on us." Diana chided, giving Bruce's waist another squeeze as he opened his eyes that he has reflexively shut.

"Where else are you ticklish?" Clark asked.

"Nowhere." Bruce answered promptly, even as four hands started squeezing and wiggling around his torso. He was sandwiched between two literal gods and had no hope of escape, but that didn't mean he wasn't going to try.

"Someone's a squirmer." Diana happily noted as her fingers squiggled over the sides of Bruce's stomach. Bruce would have collapsed if he could have, but Clark's chest got in the way of that so he just wound up face planting into a wall of muscle instead.

"Bingo." Clark grinned, taking advantage of the fact that Bruce's hands flew down to latch onto Diana's wrists as she tickled around to the front of his stomach. Clark happily went back to tormenting Bruce's ears, overwhelmingly amused by the way Bruce practically shrieked.

"Okay!" Bruce laughed, squirming between his lovers as he desperately tried to find an escape route. Unfortunately, it seemed that tickling turned his brain into mush, and he couldn't do more than lightly shove at their bodies as he cackled and tried in vein to bat their hands away. "okay, okay, okay!" He repeated as he clamped his hands once more over his ears.

"Okay...tickle here?" Diana asked, quickly scribbling her fingers over Bruce's ribs and making him jolt as nervous giggles started to pour out of his mouth.

"Or do you mean okay, tickle here?" Clark asked as he lightly pinched at the thin skin above Bruce's hips. Bruce snorted, honest to god snorted, at that, thus once again dooming himself.

"Oh my god," Diana said gleefully. "Do that again!"

"Do NOT do that aga-*snort*" Clark rudely cut him off with another well aimed pinch, followed by a series of light squeezes that had Bruce snorting before his laughter turned silent.

"I think he needs to breathe." Clark chuckled, getting in one last good tickle to the bend at Bruce's waist before easing off. Diana followed suit, once more holding Bruce around the waist. She wasn't tickling anymore, just merely holding him up as he sucked in air.

Bruce had his hands held out in front of himself out of instinct, even though it hadn't helped him a drop, as he leaned all of his weight onto Diana. His face neck and ears were bright red, and there were some tears gathered at the corners of his eyes. Diana and Clark would have been worried they'd pushed him too far too soon, if it weren't for the fact that bruce hadn't told them to stop. Hell, he barely tried to get away, save for the squirming that seemed more reflex than anything.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, bringing a hand up to run it through Bruce's hair. Bruce flinched away, eyes flying open. When he realized Clark wasn't about to tickle him again he relaxed against Diana once more, a soft smile still playing around the corners of his mouth.

"Youre both terrible people."

"Aww, he's adorable when he's trying to act all tough." Diana cooed, kissing Bruce's neck. Her eyes lit up and she shared a meaningful look with Clark when Bruce huffed and flinched away from her. Oh, they'd be exploiting that later.

"I'm not adorable." Bruce grumbled, glaring at the amused smirk Clark was sending his way.

"The cutest." Clark agreed, pinching one of Bruce's cheeks. He raised his hands in front of himself with a soft smile when Bruce smacked his hand away and glared at him, taking that for the signal it was that he was pushing his limits.

"Children." Bruce muttered, trying to scowl as he finally stopped leaning on Diana and stood up straight. He couldn't quite wipe the lopsided smile off his face, since he wasn't trying very hard.

"Did I hear something about you helping with the dishes?" Clark asked, following Bruce as he headed for the stairs.

"After that torment? I deserve compensation, not manual labor."

Diana turned to Clark with a smirk, mouthing "adorable".

"I saw that."

[mandelene]

Hi, I’m a big fan of the FACE family, especially the father/son interaction between America and England. I don’t know if you’re taking drabble prompts right now but if you are could you do one with Alfred seriously hurt/sick and Arthur doing the comforting? The setting is not important it can be nation-verse or not, I just really need some Arthur and Alfred hurt/comfort in these trying times. Thanks so much and cheers from Poland!! <3

I hope this suffices, and sorry for taking so long to get to it! 💕

Just a Little Banged Up 

Word Count: 921

He wakes to the feeling of someone petting his head—it’s warm and protective. The rest of his body feels sore and achy, like he’s been repeatedly hit with a hammer, so the soothing fingers against his scalp are a welcome distraction.

When Alfred cautiously opens his eyes, he squints against the bright lights in the ceiling, and it takes him several exhausting seconds to realize where he is. He’s in bed. In a hospital. The comforting hand belongs to Dad, who is sitting at the bedside, looking like someone has just died.

What the hell happened?

“There you are, love,” Dad says as Alfred blinks through the double vision distorting the world. “It’s all right—you’re all right.” 

He tries to speak, but even his throat hurts. He reaches up a hand to massage his neck, but that’s when he realizes he’s in a neck brace. “...What’s going on?”  

“You were in a car accident. You’ve been admitted to the hospital...We’ve all been very worried about you—Matthew and Papa just left to get some food, but they’ll be back soon,” Dad says, keeping his voice low and quiet. His hand continues its gentle strokes against Alfred’s hair.

He remembers now, but it’s a bit of a blur. He was on his way home from the gym, and a black Jeep ran a stop sign. The guy hit the driver’s side of his car, and the last thing he recalls is the sensation of being thrown to the right and feeling a giant, crushing weight on his chest.

“You’re going to recover,” Dad assures as he leans forward and presses a worried kiss against his brow.

Alfred swallows hard and grimaces against the pain. “…How bad?” 

“Two broken ribs, a concussion, whiplash, a compound fracture of your fibula in your left leg, and a myriad of bruises. You were conscious for quite some time before being taken for surgery for your leg. Do you remember any of that?”

“I don’t think so…I had surgery? Oh, man…Ughhh, my head really hurts.” 

Dad pats the knee of his uninjured leg and says, “You’re due for another dose of pain medication. Your nurse should be here any moment…It’s good to see you awake and able to hold a conversation.”

Alfred squeezes his eyes shut and can’t help but let a small groan escape him. “What happened to the car?”

“Don’t worry about that, poppet. What’s most important is that you’re going to be okay with rest and physical therapy.”

“So, I’m guessing that means it was totaled?” 

Dad sighs, and Alfred can see that he’s trying his absolute hardest not to be emotional. “Yes. To be frank, it’s a miracle you weren’t gravely injured, Alfred. You could’ve…You could’ve been killed.”

Please, don’t cry. I hate seeing you cry, especially over me, Alfred thinks. He tries to move his neck so he can look Dad in the eyes and shoot him a dumb smile, but the brace has him completely immobilized.

“I’m okay,” Alfred tells him, fighting against his own tears now. “I’m sorry for scaring everyone like that.”  

“Don’t apologize. I’m just so relieved...”

Oh, no, he can feel it coming. He’s a grown adult! He’s not going to cry. No, sir! Not today!

He bursts into tears against his will a moment later, and poor Dad tries his best to be comforting by offering him the gentlest hug possible, mindful of his ribs, neck, and head.

“It’s okay now, my dear boy,” Dad whispers, carding a hand through his hair again. “Don’t worry about a thing. Matthew, your papa, and I are going to take good care of you once you’re able to be discharged. We’re here for you.” 

“Yikes,” Alfred jokes, swiping at his tears with his right hand and then regretting it upon realizing he’s tugging on his IV. “Then, I’m definitely in big trouble.” 

Dad very lightly slaps his left shoulder to chide him. “Ungrateful brat.” 

Alfred manages a raspy laugh. “You’d know better than anyone else.” 

His nurse then comes in with his pain medication, and within just a few minutes, Alfred begins to feel a difference. The pain slowly ebbs away bit by bit, and suddenly, a feeling of intense lethargy washes over him. His eyelids flutter, and Dad gives his hand a little squeeze.

“Sleepy?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, a bit.” 

“Good—that’s from the medication. Your body needs sleep to heal, so try to rest.”

“No, I’ve gotta stay awake now that I know you let them do surgery on me. Clearly, I can’t trust you,” Alfred teases. 

Dad scoffs. “It’s not like there was a choice in the matter unless you wanted to wake up to a bone protruding from your leg!” 

“Ouch. It was that bad?”

“I’m afraid so.” 

“Gross…But kinda gnarly. Do you have pictures?” 

“Alfred!” 

 “What? I’m curious. It must have looked naaasty.” 

“Go to sleep. I don’t know why I was so concerned about you,” Dad huffs, but Alfred knows he’s not actually irritated. That’s just Dad-talk for “I love you, and I’m so glad you’re okay.”

“Okay, goodnight, Dad.” 

“Goodnight, poppet. I’ll be right here should you need anything...And no more surgeries for now.” 

“Promise?” 

“I promise.”

“Okay...Just one more thing—if I do end up spontaneously dying, tell Mattie he can’t have my PlayStation 5 because I’m taking that thing to the grave with me. Do you know how long it took me to get my hands on one? I basically had to sell my soul.” 

“Alfred!” 

“Fine, fine. I’m going to sleep.”

[wordsablaze]

You Break It You Buy It

day twenty three, where it’s damian who gets the message that someone is using dick as leverage...

A/N: and so the final stretch begins !! whumptober prompt: ransom

-

“There is a package for you, Master Damian,” Alfred says during dinner. And, having predicted that Damian would frown at him suspiciously, he adds, “It’s from Master Richard.”

Damian swallows a smile and finishes his meal with record speed, not quite racing but definitely moving much faster than he usually does back up to his room where he knows Alfred will have deposited whatever it is Dick has sent him, which turns out to be a small box.

He frowns at it for an entire minute before using a letter opener to gently prise it open. As soon as he’s pushed the layer of tissue paper aside, he gasps. “Alfred!”

Bruce arrives at his door within seconds, frowning when he sees no immediate threat. “What is it, Damian?”

Damian waits until Alfred also arrives at the door before pointing to the box. “Who sent this?”

“Master Richard?” Alfred offers, sharing a confused look with Bruce.

But Damian shakes his head, exhaling slowly. “I do not think Richard would send me his blood-stained police badge.”

“His what?” Bruce demands, stalking forwards to see the contents of the box for himself, his jaw clenching when he does. “There’s a note with it telling us to call Dick.”

Damian’s eyes widen. As he’s chiding himself for not noticing such a vital piece of information in his concern for Richard, Tim makes his way to this room and frowns at the three of them. “Has someone died?”

He’s joking, Damian knows that, but it’s ill-timed and he can’t stop himself from practically snarling at the other boy. “Enough of your useless jokes, Drake. Richard is hurt and missing.”

Tim mutters an apology but Damian’s attention has already shifted to his phone - he may or may not also apologise for being rude later because Dick would want him to - and he calls Dick’s number before he can second-guess himself.

“I really didn’t think it would be the little one calling,” someone says as they answer.

Damian puts the phone on speaker and tosses it on his bed so he doesn’t crush the phone in his hands. “Where is he?” he demands, since it’s his phone and there’s no point making whoever it is on the other end suspicious by having one of the others speak.

“Did you think it would be the little one calling?” the voice asks, but it’s clearly addressed to someone else, leaving them with the uncanny feeling of unwillingly eavesdropping.

“Answer me!” The order is followed by a hiss of pain that logic dictates is Dick.  

“Don’t touch him!” Damian shouts as Tim frantically starts tracking Dick’s phone through his tablet.

The unfamiliar voice laughs. “You Waynes are so stupidly protective of each other. All I’m asking is for you to direct a little of your funding to my charity and then you'll get your precious brother back.”

Damian wants to laugh at the audacity of this woman to request something so obviously uncharitable. He doesn’t, though, because she’s managed to get a hold of Dick and get a package past their security with ease and that makes her dangerous.

“Return my brother and then we’ll talk,” Damian says through gritted teeth.

Another laugh. “That would be rather foolish of me, wouldn’t it? Though I can prove to you that he’s still alive if that’s what you want.”

Bruce reads between the lines first. “No!”

But it’s too late.

Dick’s scream rings through the phone. It’s unclear whether he cuts himself off or whether someone else forces him to quieten, but it’s undeniably his scream that abruptly starts and stops.

“Is that enough proof for you to meet my demands now?” the woman asks innocently; Damian wants to eviscerate her.

Since he can’t do that - not yet, anyway - he focuses on the sound of Dick breathing in the background. His breath sounds shaky but not uneven enough for any serious damage, which is a small silver lining but doesn’t do much to reassure him.

“We’ll consider it if you return him unharmed,” Bruce says coolly.

The woman clicks her tongue at them. “You’re just not getting it. Haven’t you all dealt with ransoms before?”

There are two long seconds of silence before Dick screams again. This time, there’s nothing stopping him from being loud and the four of them are forced to listen as his scream fades into a low and jagged moan that has them all wincing.

“We get it,” Tim mutters as he holds up a map on his tablet, having narrowed the location down to, surprisingly, somewhere in Gotham itself. Bruce nods at him gratefully and gestures between Damian and the phone before swiftly leaving, promptly followed by Tim.

As much as Damian wants to go with them, someone has to stay on the phone.

“So what have you decided?” the woman asks smugly.

Clenching his fists, Damian sighs dramatically. “Look, we just want Richard back. You can have whatever funding you need for this charity of yours.”

“Oh, good! It took you far too long to make a decision though.”

Alfred’s breath hitches as Damian’s eyes widen. “No, wait!”

She doesn’t.

For the third time, Dick screams. And it's so, so much worse than before because his voice breaks horribly before fizzing out, replaced by weak and poorly stifled sobs. It’s possible he’s exaggerating his pain because he’s acting as a mere civilian but unfortunately, it’s also possible that he’s genuinely hurting enough to cry.

"You're going to regret that," Damian vows through gritted teeth, his nails digging into his palms. He's too focused on Dick's crying to think about how much he hates the sound of her laughter but he must have accidentally let a little murderous intent show on his face because Alfred places a hand on his shoulder and gently squeezes, pulling him back to the present.

"Please, don't hurt him any further," Alfred says eventually. Dick makes an odd sound in the background, something weak and unsteady that might be Damian’s name, and Damian bites his lip to stop himself from indignantly yelling in frustration.

The call goes quiet for a moment and Damian is beginning to think something has gone terribly wrong when sirens echo through the phone. He holds his breath as Dick goes silent, only exhaling again when he hears Bruce’s deep voice murmuring reassurances.

He forces his muscles to relax as Dick sniffles and closes his eyes, wishing the box had actually been a gift instead of a bizarre random note. Speaking of, he makes a mental note to clean the police badge before returning it. Or perhaps he'll hold onto it for now and use it as an excuse to see Dick again another time.

"He's okay, Damian," Tim says, interrupting his thoughts, "but I need to hang up now. We'll be there soon, I promise."

"Alright," Damian mumbles as the screen goes dark.

-

and then dick gets back and cuddles damian for like a whole 24 hours bc he deserves nice things <3

-

thanks for reading !! masterlist | dc sideblog: @batfamvibes

[persephone-is-here-omg]

Scars.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne/Reader.

Warnings: Smut. Fingering, mentions of blood and scars.

Word Count: 2258.

Rating: 18+.

Masterlist.

Yes, I am back on my Bruce Wayne shit.

He’s holding his side when you come into the office, your eyes follow the line of his arm and you tilt your head, the bright red stain of blood visible as Bruce peels his hand off from his side “Stitches” His voice is a gruff groan, low and deep “Had to do them myself, Alfred wasn’t available”

You nod calmly and watch as he starts to take his jacket off “Where’s the kit?”

Bruce points to the door at the far left corner of his office “Cabinet under the sink” His voice is deep and low. You hear the groan, again, as you go into the bathroom to get the kit, you’ve done this several times, it always leaves you off balance, makes it hard to concentrate afterwards, but you try to play it cool. He doesn’t need to know the effect this has on you, the effect he has on you. 

You look at him over the rim of your glasses and tsk loudly “That is such a nice shirt and now is ruined” You shake your head and set the small plastic box beside him on the desk he’s leaning against, the blood is bright red and warm enough to feel its heat through the barrier of your latex gloves, you don’t ask if Bruce is ready for you to start, the assortment of scars, big and small all over his torso tells you he is. You clean the blood and start to remove the rest of the old stitches “Usually you do a better job than this” You chide him and smirk, amused at the guttural sound that comes from deep within his chest. One of his hands grips your waist tightly as you start and you raise your eyes to his face for a short second.

“Is fine” Bruce grunts, his eyes fixed on your hands, following the practiced and methodical movements. You look at his jaw for a moment, see how he grits his teeth “I’m used to it” He grips the edge of the desk tighter and his knuckles turn white.

“I won’t think you’re any less of a badass if you admit it hurts” You smirk again and take the new needle.

“I’m used to it” Bruce repeats, a rough edge to his voice, so removed from the charming billionaire from the news and social pages. Closer to who he really is, when he is not trying to charm the pants off of Gotham with a smile.

You work on his stitches slowly, methodically. Eyes fixed on the task at hand and when you finish you clean it again and cover it with gauze, remove your gloves and, only then, you let your eyes wander over his chest and abdomen. Most of the scars are small and almost imperceptible, but others are big and jarred, marking the skin here and there, and there, too. You drag your fingers over the one right under the spot you just stitched, it has a curved shape “There are so many” You muse in a whisper and Bruce wraps his hand around your wrist, stopping you from wandering onto another patch of scarred skin. You lift your eyes to meet Bruce’s blue icy ones, look at him through your lashes and over the rim of your glasses “I’m sorry” You say, barely above a whisper, his hand is still holding your wrist firmly and you look back at his hand around your wrist, how big it looks “I probably should get you a different shirt, B. You have a meeting later today”

“I know and don’t call me that” Bruce growls, hand tightening just a tad around your wrist.

You chuckle and tug on your wrist but his grip tightens more, just this side of uncomfortable, he hates being called B, but you love calling him that. Love watching how he struggles to stay polite, as he always does, and you lift your eyebrows in defiance and refuse to say the words he wants to hear you say ‘I’m sorry, Bruce. Won’t happen again, Bruce’ Because you know it will happen again.

You move your free hand and trace another small scar on his abdomen, watch as his muscles twitch under your fingers “What are you doing?” Bruce tugs on your hand and you step forward, standing right between his spread thighs, your fingers are still on the pale, warm skin, nails softly scraping over the scarred tissue and the twitch happens again. 

You notice how close you are when your thighs collide with the edge of the desk, this is probably the closest you have been to Bruce and you force yourself to keep a steady breathing, to not let him know just how nervous you are. 

You’re waiting for Bruce to move your hands away from his body, after all, he is a man of many walls, high and thick, there to keep him away from everyone else much like the manor sits outside Gotham, part of it but apart from it, physical touch with Bruce is another wall. But Bruce surprises you, he doesn’t push you away as you expect, not this time.

His hand moves slowly, almost as if he expects you to stop him,  “This is the only one I know you have” Up the slit in your skirt, high and towards the inside of your thigh, fabric moving upwards as he finds the thin line of scarred skin.

“Punchline didn’t appreciate when I told her she’s a school shooter with tits and a clown get up” You shrug, but his fingers are warm on your skin and you lick your lips, oral fixation kicking into overdrive as your heart races away.

“Had to patch you up in the car” Bruce continues, fingers still wrapped around your wrist and still caressing the thin scar in your thigh “I tried to… Not leave a scar, but Alfred is much better at this than me”

You swallow and lean in “Is ok… I kinda like it” Your faces are so close right now you can smell the mint in his breath and the scent on his cologne, you place your hand on his side and lean in even closer, lips hovering right in front of Bruce. He closes the space between the two of you, he lets your wrist go and places it loosely around your neck instead.

You still for a moment and let your breath escape you slowly, stealing yourself, then meet Bruce right in the middle, kiss him back and let the warm, heady feeling course through you, extend from your belly to your limbs. His hand around your neck goes from loose to firm, not really squeezing but strong enough that it allows Bruce to set the pace, his pace. As always. 

His fingers caress your scar again and a shiver runs down your back, goosebumps break all over your skin and he breaks the kiss, ice blue eyes set on your parted lips, fingers moving away from your scar and upwards, dragging the fabric of your skirt with them as they near your panty line. You open your mouth, but whatever smartass comment you wanted to make dies before the thought even takes form inside your brain as Bruce brushes his fingers over the elastic of your panties, he snaps it against your skin and you bite your lip, flinching at the sting.

Bruce’s smirk is… You have seen it before, when he knows he’s right about something, when he figures something out just in time. He snaps the elastic against your skin again and deftly pulls your panties to the side and you plead with your eyes, unable to talk, afraid that making a sound will ruin this moment that you had told yourself you didn’t want, but deep down you knew you did. One of his fingers trails between your lips, from your slit and bumps over your clit making you gasp and hold onto Bruce’s sides tightly.

“Ask me for it” Bruce says, his voice lands straight on your pussy, makes you clench around nothing, squirm in his tight grasp “Ask for it” He repeats and stares at you, makes you sure your eyes are fixed on his.

Your mouth opens and closes, you lick your lips, feeling them dry and chapped, then open your mouth again “Please” You whisper, your voice faint and small “Please, B- Bruce”

His hand is still holding your neck firmly and Bruce kisses your lips again, groans as he slips a finger inside you and your pussy immediately clenches around it “I… It’s been a while” You mutter and want to cover your face with your hands, but it feels as if you would float away if you let go of his sides. He growls against your lips and bites your lower one, hard enough for the sting to make you moan, dig your nails into his exposed skin.

“Please, Bruce… Just do it already” You say breathless, clinging tightly to his sides, lips itching to explore the expanse of chest, covering the skin with kisses and bites.

Bruce curls his finger, you close your eyes, your mouth hangs open but no sounds comes out and he leans in, sucks your lower lip into his mouth, teeth dragging over it and adds a second finger, your legs feel almost weak “You’re so tight” He gruffs out, bright blue eyes intense and unflinching as he starts thrusting his fingers, his thumb presses into your clit and you gasp, knees almost buckling as a lightning bolt of pleasure courses through your body and sets your skin on fire.

Your breathing is shaky but you kiss him again, move one of your hands from his side down to his thigh, nails dragging against the warm skin, the soft wool of his trousers, your nails dig into the muscle of Bruce’s thighs when he starts moving his fingers faster, curls them just the right way and presses into that spot that makes your vision go white. You cup his cock over his pants, he’s hard, painfully so and hisses as you squeeze around him slightly, move your hand up and down the length of him, he growls and your walls tighten around his fingers again “I can’t stop thinking about you” Bruce admits and his words send shivers down your spine, his words are aking to him laying claim over you, your hips buck into his hand and Bruce’s eyes flash darkly “That’s it” He says.

You kiss him one more time, all tongue and teeth this one, bite down on his lower lip until you hear him wince and let go, watch intently how he licks his lip and feel him let go of your neck just to drag his thumb over your lips until you open your mouth and suck on it, wide eyes fixed on his own as you do. Bruce’s fingers double his efforts, he moves them faster and curls them in just the right way, enough to make the feeling more intense at each thrust and curl of his fingers, sending you higher and higher and higher still, his thumb circling and flicking your clit at the same pace.

You whimper and moan, struggling to keep the volume low, you close your lips around his thumb again as you spiral down into your orgasm, barely able to stay upright of how intense it is, your legs tremble and Bruce wraps his arm around your waist tight, kisses you and swallows every sound that comes from your mouth, bites your lip until you whimper and can taste blood. His fingers fuck you through your orgasm, slowing down as you come back up to the surface, the nails of the hand still on his side dig on the exposed skin again and you pant, resting your forehead on his shoulder, he caresses your hair as you look back at him and then down to where his fingers disappear inside you. Watch as he pulls his fingers free of your pussy and brings them up to your lips, his intent clear.

You open your mouth and suck on his fingers, drag your tongue between his fingers, twirl it around them, moan softly at the taste of yourself on his skin “Fuck” You mumble under your breath and around your fingers, know you still have work to do and he still has a meeting to attend, but close your eyes and suck on his fingers again. Bruce rewards you with a growl, low and guttural “I don’t want to do this here. I want to do this right. Take my time” He says and kisses your lips one more time “You deserve better than a desk, so stop giving me those eyes. Or I won’t be able to stop”

“Maybe… Maybe I don’t want you to stop” You counter, still breathless.

“But is what I want” Bruce says, all threatening vibes deep voice “Because I need to ruin you for every other man” The last sentence makes you shiver and you understand why he can’t do that here. He probably could, but is obvious he’d rather not, and you nod.

“That sounds promising, B” You feel bolder now, less overwhelmed, more focused and decided to find out what he means by ruin you.

Bruce keeps his eyes on you as he fixes your panties, placing them back where they should be, and then tugs your skirt down, making sure you look presentable “I’ll expect to see you tonight at the manor”

[boys-wonder]

Day 2 - Cockwarming

Pairing: Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne

Tags:  Age Gap, Cockwarming, Submissive Jason Todd, Dominant Bruce Wayne, BDSM, Age Gap, Trans Jason Todd, PIV Sex Consensual Underage Sex, Top Bruce Wayne, Bottom Jason Todd, Vocal Jason Todd, Daddy Kink, Brat Tamer Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Is a Good Boy, Subspace, Dom Bruce Wayne, Gentle Dom Bruce Wayne, Established Relationship

Desc:  Sometimes, when Jason gets too frustrated to focus on his training, too in his head about things, Bruce makes him take a break. He bends Jason over the console of the Batcomputer and fingers him open, then works him down onto his cock and holds the boy in his lap while he catches up on paperwork.

Word Count: 1179

For the @jasonpunishmentweek​, Day 2 - Cock-warming

Ao3 Link: Here

- - - 

“Oh fuck,” Jason keens, and the chuckle that rumbles in Bruce’s chest makes his knees weak. That finger is moving steadily in and out of him, so fucking good and nowhere near enough, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop himself from whining impatiently. It wouldn’t do any good; Bruce would just go slower.

The cold metal of the console presses into Jason’s trembling thighs, and the boy bites back a whimper as Bruce’s thick middle finger slides into his already slick front hole, pressing in and in until the older man’s other fingers brush against Jason’s swollen cock. 

“So wet already,” Bruce murmurs, and Jason flushes, but whatever embarrassed retort he opens his mouth to huff out dies on his lips as Bruce curls that thick finger inside of him, making Jason’s vision go white at the edges.

Instead, his silence is rewarded with a second finger sliding in next to the first, stretching him in ways that make his toes curl. Jason stutters out a breath, digging his fingers into the console as Bruce starts fucking his fingers slowly into Jason’s leaking hole. “Oh fu- god,” Jason whines as Bruce curls his fingers right into that spot, making him see white. 

“Yeah, baby?” Bruce purrs against his hip, lips brushing across the boy’s back. “Right there?” He punctuates the word with another curl of his fingers. 

“Fuck! Yes, fuck, daddy,” Jay cries out, and Bruce rewards him by curling his fingers roughly inside him again. He thrusts them hard and fast inside him for a few blissful moments before pulling them free, leaving Jason empty and dripping. “Bruce, fuck, ple-” His pleas are cut short as he feels the thick head of Bruce’s cock rubbing against his slick folds, pressing against his entrance in a way that makes his head spin with want. 

“Impatient brat,” Bruce chides, and digs his fingers into Jason’s hips as he slowly - god, so fucking slow - pushes in. Any attempt on Jason’s part to rush him was thwarted easily with his iron grip on the boy’s hips, and Bruce keeps pressing in slowly, seconds seeming to stretch into hours before his hips finally, finally touch Jason’s.

Bruce smiles and leans forward to kiss across Jason’s trembling shoulders, giving the boy time to adjust to his girth. Jason is clenching around him, slick dripping onto the console and the floor, trying so hard not to just rock his hips back and fuck himself on the older man’s cock. Nothing makes him lose his cool faster than any part of Bruce inside him, he can’t get enough. He wants everything Bruce has to give him, and he wants it now. But even more than that, he wants to be good. He wants to be good for Bruce.

After a few long, agonizing minutes, Bruce sees Jason relax into the console, the inner struggle finally over with. 

“Good boy,” Bruce praises, running his fingers through Jason’s hair before he carefully wraps his arms around the boy’s waist and gently holds him to his chest as he sinks into the chair behind him. Jason whines as they settle, the movement forcing Bruce’s cock even deeper inside him, and the feeling has Jason’s head swimming. 

He rests his head heavily on Bruce’s shoulder, letting himself be pulled even deeper into subspace as strong arms frame him carefully, swiping and clicking at buttons and keys on the computer to pull up files he can’t be bothered to try and read. 

Time seems to drag on in lurches and lulls, and Jason doesn’t fight it or try to keep track of how long he’s perched there in Bruce’s lap, the man’s cock buried inside him. Every now and then, Bruce will absentmindedly thrust inside him, just enough to sate the itch and keep himself hard. Each time, it sends a white-hot pulse of pleasure skittering up Jason’s spine, making him drip around Bruce’s cock to pool on the chair between their legs. When Jason clenches particularly hard around Bruce, the older man will lean down to kiss soothingly across the boy’s shoulders, the angle of his chin against Jason’s back making it clear that he’s still looking up at the screen, and fuck if that doesn’t make Jason’s head swim. 

Doing this, there’s no risk of doing something wrong. No way he can fuck this up, like he does with everything else. All he has to do is be still and keep Bruce’s cock warm and hard inside him. He doesn’t even have to move. There’s no way to compare himself to Dick like this, no way he can come up short. Not with Bruce’s cock spearing him open and Bruce’s lips on his neck, murmuring praise into his neck about how good he feels, how well he’s doing. How proud of Jason he is. How Jason makes him proud. Dick can’t take that away from him; nobody can. Bruce’s pride in him, doing this right, this is something that’s just his. 

It’s about an hour later - or maybe it’s three? - that Bruce signs out of the Batcomputer and brings Jason’s attention back to his body with warm lips against the boy’s neck. 

“Are you ready to go upstairs and let Daddy take care of you?”

Jason’s thoughts are so fuzzy, slipping through his fingers as he tries to grasp onto them. It takes him several moments to find the presence of mind to respond, but Bruce just waits patiently.

“Mm,” he starts, and clears his throat to try again. “Yes sir.” Bruce gently wraps his arms around the boy, carefully pulling himself free of Jason’s clenching hole, and coos softly at the pitiful noise Jason makes at the sensation of feeling so empty.

“Shh, good boy. I’ll take care of you. I always do, don’t I, sweetheart?” Bruce asks, his voice gentle and grounding in Jason’s ear, the tether with which Jason keeps himself from free-floating into oblivion.

“Yes sir,” Jason slurs into Bruce’s shoulder, vaguely feeling himself being wrapped in a blanket and carried up the winding set of stairs that lead back up into the manor.

Gentle kisses are pressed to Jason’s hair, and are responded with half-aware content noises as Bruce pads through the manor, using a secret pathway here and there to ensure Alfred doesn’t stumble on the pair. Jason’s not sure when they make it into the older man’s bedroom, but the familiar scent of expensive sheets wraps around him, lulling him further into a sleepy, comfortable headspace. 

He knows that Bruce will always take care of him. It’s something that Jason never has to doubt or question, the depth of Bruce’s devotion to him. The tender way the older man’s lips touch his skin, the steadfast and sturdy way Bruce holds him in his arms, the way Bruce’s eyes soften every time his and Jason’s meet, all of it lays out how much Jason is loved. He just needs reminding sometimes, and that’s okay too. Bruce is more than happy to remind him as often as he needs.

- - -

Thanks so much for reading! If you liked this work, please reblog, and if you’re feeling generous, please go to ao3 and leave a comment, or drop one off in my inbox here!

[dented-nado]

I'm cramping like a binch so may I request some superwonderbat softness pls tysm ily?

I’m also cramping like a binch tonight! So writing this in solidarity!!!

---

-This is an AU where all the batkids are around the same age, still kids, and adopted at the same time. Damian is a baby, and Bruce is a tired dad but loves all his kids and his husband and wife-

----

Even if it meant Batman was on the back burner with limited outings… moments like this were more than worth it to Bruce.

He was sitting in the living room, watching the snow fall outside. Damian had fallen asleep in his arms holding onto his finger after a long bout of crying in his nursery from not knowing where his papa had went.

Bruce had bolted upstairs so fast he, in all his coordination still nearly managed to trip on the manor stairs twice.

Damian was a very needy.... clingy baby Bruce had found. It made sense… he was separated from his mother when he hadn’t even been weened yet. So Bruce and Alfred found themselves running to attend to him quite often.

Bruce had been feeling a little guilty lately however… this baby had been… unexpected. He hadn’t planned on also having a baby when he’d just adopted several children a few short years ago that he couldn’t bare to separate when he went to adopt one child at the orphanage. They were so young but all seemed like a family already. And the Orphanage… well, frankly he was in the process of trying to get it shut down for poor conditions and get a better one funded and built.

He’d planned to give Dick, Jason, Tim, Duke, Cassandra and Stephanie all the attention he possibly could. His train of thought was… well… the manor is big enough… Alfred will be around and maybe….

Diana and Clark.

Well, when he told them he was planning to adopt, start a family by taking in kids that should get the childhood that he himself had taken from him… they were overjoyed.

Clark was especially excited, Bruce had often caught him smiling fondly at families with their kids when they passed them by on the street, or chuckling and watching a baby smile back at him from a stroller. Clark was a man practically born to be a good father.

Diana was also thrilled at the idea, and both of them helped Bruce set up what was going to be the one child’s room. Then had both rushed to help even after having just been on a Justice League mission when Bruce sheepishly told them he had somehow managed to adopt six children. Then when Damian had showed up a few years later… a baby formed from Bruce’s DNA that Bruce himself hadn’t known about (Clark certainly knew how that felt)… they helped him set up the nursery, and Diana and Clark tagged teamed with Alfred to help poor Bruce figure out how to provide all the basics a baby would need.

It made Bruce laugh a little bit thinking about it. Clark had panickily started scrolling through youtube videos by typing “How baby HELP” into the search bar when Damian had started crying.

Speaking of Clark and Diana… Bruce stood carefully as to not wake Damian as he heard the door open in the other room, the sound of the winter wind hinting at the snowfall outside leaking in the entrance as Clark held the door open for six kids, managing to walk in formation from youngest to oldest, all holding what seemed like little hot chocolates carefully in their mitten covered hands. They were followed by Diana who shook her head slightly to try and shake some of the snowflakes from her long, thick hair. She also held two cups in her hand and tried to close the door behind her with her leg until Clark took the initiative and closed it for her with a chuckle.

“No one spill okay? Don’t tip your cup so much Tim.” Clark said trying to help keep the kids in order.

The young six-year-old looked down at his hands with wide eyes and straightened his cup realizing he had nearly lost precious hot chocolate to the floor.  “Oh! Okay!”

Diana crossed into the living room with the two cups, walking a little slower and quieter when she entered and realized Bruce was still slightly bouncing a somewhat stirring but still napping Damian.

“I got you a peppermint hot chocolate since you said your throat was feeling a little irritated.” She whispered holding out the cup to him.

“Oh you’re a lifesaver.” Bruce replied taking the warm cup and immediately taking a long sip of the hot – but just cooled down enough – drink, immediately feeling some relief.

“Were they good?” He asked, referring to the kids ranging from 6 to 12.

“Jason and Dick were arguing over if Cereal is a soup or not, but they stayed civil.” She explained with a small chuckled. “They were all very well behaved and stayed together.”

Bruce smiled, bouncing Damian a little more as a small hello as the baby opened his eyes and began cooing and babbling to his father in a baby language that made no sense to Bruce, but Bruce was sure made perfect sense to Damian.

“Thank you again for taking them out for a while.” Bruce said, leaning forward as Diana did as they shared a peck on the lips. “Damian finally slept for a while once I sat down and held him.”

Diana chuckled and looked at Damian and stroked his small head. “You love your papa don’t you? Never want him out of your sight...”

Damian babbled in response.

Clark joined them as he took off his winter coat that he didn’t really need physically, but wore every day of the winter season since Bruce gifted it to him. The kids had all run off to the kitchen when Alfred had called them, begging them to “Please not have their beverages anywhere near the carpet”.

“Hey B-B.” Clark greeted with a grin, putting his arm around his bat and kissing him on the cheek.

“Hello to you too smallish bean.” Clark followed up grinning at Damian who reached up towards the curl that stuck out from Clark’s hair curiously as he always did.

“Thank you… both of you…” Bruce began, looking down at Damian fondly. “I… I know when we… well… you didn’t sign up to be helping me take care of a bunch of kids.” He mumbled guiltily.

Clark and Diana shared a glance and Clark squeezed his shoulder. “B, we vowed to stick with you through everything.”

Diana squeezed Bruce’s hand that shared the same ring that the three of them all wore. “And we wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Bruce found himself genuinely beaming at them both with a soft smile, heart fluttering. How did he get so lucky as to have these two in his life?

It was then that Dick came running into the living room. “Daaaaaaaaaaaaad! You have to help me out here, Cereal isn’t a soup, right??”

Jason marched in after him. “It is too! It’s just milk soup with chunks in it.”

“But it’s cold!” Dick insisted.

“There’s soup that you eat cold!” Jason looked up at Bruce. “Right? Tell Dick he’s stupid and wrong.”

“Tell Jason he’s a buttmunch.” Dick replied sticking his tongue out.

“I’m not saying either of those things.” Bruce replied very matter of factly, deciding not to even touch the cereal may or may not equal soup debate.  

The two boys went back to arguing as Tim ran in, closely followed by Stephanie and Cass who began chasing him around the living room.

“Hey, Hey, you three, if you’re going to play tag go outside.” Bruce chided.

Stephanie paused. “It isn’t tag.” She argued with wide eyes.

Cassandra nodded. “It’s cowboys and aliens.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow and Clark and Diana managed to both tilt their heads in amusement at the same time.

“Tim is the cowboy and we’re the aliens.” Stephanie said very knowingly.

“Ah…. I see.” Bruce responded. “Cowboys and Aliens…” He mumbled before looking at Clark. “What does it mean since you’re both?”

“I’m unstoppable.” Clark responded instantly.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Well we all knew that.”

He ignored Clark who started cackling and turned back to the kids. “Well still, don’t run in the house… or at least not in this part of the house go in the ballroom that never gets used or something.”

“Why have a ballroom with no balls?” Clark mumbled teasingly, earning a half-hearted glare from Bruce.

Stephanie gasped. “Can we have a ball?? Like in the movies????”

Bruce sighed and took a long sip of his hot cocoa. “I’ll think about it, now go, your cowboy is getting away.”

Stephanie and Cass whipped their heads around to see Tim running out into the hall with a laugh and immediately bolted after him.

“Hey wait! I want to catch a cowboy too!” Jason shouted after them, completely distracted from his argument with Dick and running after them.

Dick followed close behind, before pausing, turning to Bruce and putting his hands on his hips. “Don’t worry, I’ll be responsible and make sure they stay out of trouble.” He declared with a proud grin that brought a wide smile to Bruce’s face.

“I know you will chum.”

It was then the eldest child ran off to join the game.

“They really are wonderful kids.” Diana noted with a soft smile, wrapping her arms around Bruce and kissing his cheek several times, leaving red lipstick stains behind.

Bruce nodded. “They are… I’m very lucky.”

Clark pressed a long kiss to Bruce’s forehead. “So are we.”

Bruce sighed gratefully, Clark and Diana by his side, the manor echoing with the sound of kids playing, and Damian babbling away in his arms….

He looked up to the portrait of his parents that hung above the fireplace and smiled fondly at them.

What had been lost… had been found once more.

[daemoninwhiteround2]

So in your ABO batman verse, do they have stuff that prevent accidential milk leakage for Omegas. And if there is, should an Alpha give these to an Omega as a gift, is it a practical gift like socks or the equivalent of giving underwear?

Jason’s been wearing padded bras ever since he completed puberty. He ... doesn’t quite remember when he started, by the time his mind came back to him, he already leaked. He remembers thinking it weird, at the time--omegas don’t typically make milk unless an outside force stimulates them, and Talia never touched him there, and he never got the vibe that any other assassins were thirsty enough (in both sense of the word) to do that--but then his revenge plots demanded his full attention.

(Later, he’d meet Damian, and... a few things made more sense, then.)

He doesn’t really mind the bras. There’s little difference between a decent sports bra and the type of compression shirts the alpha vigilantes he knows wear, anyway. The main difference is, his bras have two little pockets where he can insert pads of cotton. Or, if he’s feeling frisky, can insert little plastic pillows that genuinely give him killer cleavage. (Literally killer, as a fair few alphas have found out.) Depending on where he is in his cycle, and how much he minds smelling of his milk, he can sometimes get away with reusing the same pads for a week or so. Most of the time, he doesn’t even bother to properly wash them, just rinses them in the sink, squeezes all the water out, and leaves them to dry on the windowsill.

Which makes Bruce’s birthday gift... kind of fucking weird, he thinks as he looks down at the packet that had appeared on his fire escape, a note addressed to the name he’s using to rent this apartment written in Bruce’s hand. He ... is this a dig? Is this Bruce’s way of implying that he thinks Jason is too hard up to buy breastmilk padding? Is this ... fuck, he tries to remember how he’d smelt the last time he ran into Bruce. Maybe it’s Bruce’s way of chiding him for reusing pads? He’s the only omega even vaguely attached to the Bat/Wayne pack/s, as far as he knows, is this Bruce’s way of telling him to cover that up more? Does Bruce think his milk production has picked up?

...

Fuck. What if Bruce thinks he’s pregnant?

--

Far away, Bruce smiles faintly to himself as he parks his car. He’s finally nailed Jason’s birthday present: not something so expensive he’ll reject it, or never use it for fear for damaging it, like the presents Bruce had given him for that too-small handful of happy years they had together in the Manor. It’s not something that Jason could see as a threat or a warning.

It’s something practical, something Jason uses--Bruce got a different brand to the ones Jason uses, but everything he’s read about them says that they’re perfect for sensitive skin and sourced in sustainable ways, he looked into the company and they don’t do anything Jason would find objectional, even pay their workers a more than fair wage. It’s a gift that shows that Bruce is paying attention to Jason’s life, to what he likes and what he uses. He didn’t wrap it--the last thing he wants is for Jason to think, for even a second, that it was a bomb. He didn’t leave a note that could be misconstrued as guilt-tripping or manipulative.

He does hope Jason will accept his invitation to come home to the Manor on the following Sunday. He had thought that having a dinner tonight might read as a birthday celebration, might scare Jason off. But everyone knows that Alfred still does a Sunday roast, Jason’s even attended a few in the past, and if this one just so happens to have more of the pack in attendence, and they happen to have gifts for Jason... so be it.

His smile grows as he walks into the house. Yes, all in all, Bruce has nailed this year’s birthday present.

[dontcare77ghj]

Batfam

Steve x reader x Sam x Bucky x Natasha

I’d like to do a part two with this pairing and their week in Gotham. Let’s see what happens.

"I already said, I'd come home." You said, leaning back on the couch. "When have I ever lied to you?"

"Never," Damian admitted. 

"Exactly, and I don't plan on starting now." You assured him. "I will be home in three days, I promise."

"Will you be bringing your partners along?" Your youngest brother asked you.

"I don't think so, Dami." You sighed.

"Are you ashamed of them, Y/N?" Damian quizzed you.

"No, I could never be ashamed of them, any of them." You shook your head.

"Is it us then? Because I could persuade Drake and Todd to behave themselves."

"When you say things like that, it makes me worried you're going to something Dick would not approve of." You laughed. "Leave Jay and Tim alone."

"Well, if you're not ashamed of us, or them, why haven't we met any of them?" Damian pushed you. "You have been with them for three years, sister. Even father wants to meet them."

"That's because dad wants to scare them. As do the rest of you, don't try to deny it. I mentioned Steve's name to Dick and got a very explicit picture of what would happen if he, or any of them, broke my heart." You rolled your eyes.

"If you think Grayson's plan is explicit, you should hear what Todd and I have planned."

"I want to be happy the two of you are getting along, but you just threatened my partners, so not gonna do that." You told him, managing to make the boy laugh ever so slightly.

"If I promise to talk to everyone and ensure they don't cause too large of a scene, will you bring your partners?" Damian asked of you.

"I will ask them tonight." You promised him after a minute. "And I will get back to you with their answer."

"Better get back to me soon. Pennyworth will need to know." Damian reminded you.

"I will. Love you, Dami." You told him.

"Love you too, Y/N."

Hanging up the phone, you let out a sigh and hung your head over the edge of the couch. Damian had made some good points.

You had been with Steve, Buck, Nat, and Sam for three years, and none of them had met your family. You weren't exactly being fair to them or your family. Perhaps it was time you brought the four home.

"Something smells good," Natasha commented, wrapping her arms around your waist.  

"Are you talking about the meal, or me?" You smiled as she pressed her nose into your neck.

"Both." She hummed, contently watching you make dinner.

"Dinner's almost ready, can you grab the boys for me?" You asked her.

"Of course." She said, tilting your head back and pressing a kiss to your lips. Natasha moved away from you and stood in the doorway.

"Boys, dinner!" Natasha yelled.

"I could have done that." You rolled your eyes.

"But you asked me to do it," Natasha smirked, taking the prepared plates and putting them on the table.

"You screeched?" Sam asked, entering the room with Steve and Bucky right behind him. 

"Don't be an ass." Natasha chided, hitting Sam lightly in the ribs.

"You love my ass," Sam smirked, pulling Natasha into his chest.

"Yes, everyone loves your ass, Sammy," You smiled, bringing the rest of dinner over to the table. "Now, sit your pretty ass down and eat." 

"Yes, ma'am," Sam said, sitting at the table.

"What our asses? Should we sit them too?" Bucky asked you.

"Yes, all four of you should sit your pretty asses down and eat." You said, pinching Bucky's ass.

"Cheeky." Bucky grinned, taking his seat. 

"This smells delicious, sweetheart." Steve complimented, leaning over to kiss your cheek.

"Tastes even better," Natasha commented, having already started her meal.

"Jason taught me." You said, picking up your knife and fork. "He's the only one apart Alfred who can cook."

"I'm going to have to thank him one day." Bucky moaned appreciatively. 

"That could be sooner than you think." You mentioned cutting into your meal, not looking at anyone.

"Care to elaborate, mysh'?" Natasha asked you, sipping her wine.

"It's my father's birthday in three days." You said, looking up. "I already said that I'd come home, and I want you to arrive with me. Stay at the manor and meet my family." You suggested.

"You've gone back to Gotham twice in the past three years," Steve mentioned. "You never seem very happy to go back. What's changed?"

"I miss my brothers." You admitted. "I miss dad. I miss Alfred. My family's fucked up, and we never see each other. We're always arguing about something or other, but everyone's going home for dad's birthday. First time in years that everyone will be alive, and there."

"And you want to bring us?" Sam asked, putting down his cutlery. "Wouldn't that be awkward? If it's just your family?"

"Dick's bringing his wife, Timmy's going to bring Steph." You shrugged. "You don't have to come if you don't want to, I just thought it was time you all meet." You added, looking down at your dinner.

"We're not saying that baby doll," Bucky said, taking one of your hands. "I'd love to meet your family."

"We all would," Steve added, Natasha and Sam nodding in agreement. 

"But we just want to make sure this is something you want," Bucky said. "That this isn't just something your family is pressuring you to do."

"No." You shook your head. "This is something I want." You assured them.

"Then we better book tickets for a plane to Gotham." Natasha smiled. "It's time to meet the family."

"We are an hour away, Jay. We'll be there." You said. The five of you had made it to Gotham. Alfred, who you had hugged tightly, had been waiting for you as you exited the airport.

The six of you had piled into the car he'd brought and were on your way back to the manor.

"No, Jay, don't do that. Put Dick on the phone." You sighed, leaning into Sam's side. "Hey, Dick, do me a favor take all the weapons away from Damian and Jay."

"This house is full of weapons. I don't think that'll work." Dick laughed. "I'll keep everyone under control, I promise."

"I'm regretting this." You sighed as Sam chuckled.

"Too late to back out now, baby bird," Dick told you. "We see you when you get home. Love you!"

"Love you too." You said, hanging up the phone. "Is it too late for us to go back to New York?" You asked your partners.

"Yep!" Steve said, resting his head on Bucky's shoulder. "No going back now."

"We should go sightseeing tomorrow," Sam suggested. "You could show us where you used to hang out when you were young."

"You want to explore Gotham?" You asked slowly.

"Well, yeah. I've never been to Gotham before, and now I've got a native as a tour guide." He said, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

"Okay, I'm willing to take the four of you sightseeing, but there are a few things you should know about Gotham." You said, sitting up in your seat.

"So in short, Gotham has a killer crocodile, a scarecrow, a penguin, and a clown running around, causing havoc?" Steve asked after you finished explaining your childhood.

"That is only a couple of the assholes I used to deal with." You told him. 

"Why doesn't SHIELD come in and attempt to help?" Natasha asked. 

"Nat, we've had the Justice League, Titans, everyone come in and help when they can. New villains spawn faster than you can blink in this place." You said.

"Christ," Bucky muttered.

"I can't believe I'm the one who's bringing this up, but couldn't you just kill them?" Steve asked you.

"Dad has a code." You shook your head. "We get 'em arrested, and we don't kill."

"Though that rule has almost been broken a handful of times." Alfred cut in. "Once by yourself, Miss Y/N."

"You almost killed someone?" Sam asked you in surprise.

"I should've actually killed him." You nodded. "He killed Jason after all. Dad came in and stopped me before I could do it."

"Her brothers almost broke the rule five years ago," Alfred commented. "After the fear toxin incident."

"Fear toxin incident?" Bucky quizzed you, raising a brow. 

"I'll explain it later." You said as the car pulled up to the house. "For now, you should prepare, we're here." You smiled, opening the car door.

Grabbing your bags, you were almost bouncing on your feet as you waited for your partners to take their things. 

"You look like Peter that time he stole Clint's coffee." Natasha laughed, throwing her bag on her back.

"Okay, two things, that boy is never allowed caffeine again." You said.

"I can agree with that." Steve nodded.

"And two, that just hurts my feelings." You said, causing Bucky to chuckle.

"Of course it does, sweetheart." Steve smiled, throwing an arm over your shoulders and kissing your cheek.

"Come on, let's go, let's go." You continued bouncing. 

"How much coffee have you had?" Sam asked, taking Bucky's hand as the six of you began walking up the stairs to the front doors.

"I refuse to answer that." You stuck your tongue out.

"How do you act younger than Damian, Y/N?" A new voice said from the top of the stairs.

"Dick!" You exclaimed, running forward and jumping into your brother's arms. 

"Hey, short stack." Dick laughed, spinning you in a circle.

"Oh, shut it." You rolled your eyes as he set you down. "You're a bloody giant."

"Offensive." He scoffed as your partners raced forward.

"Dick, these are my partners Sam Wilson, Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, and Steve Rogers. Steve, Buck, Tash, Sam, this is my brother Dick Grayson." You stepped to the side, introducing them to one another.

"It's nice to meet you," Natasha said, holding her hand out to your brother.

"You as well." Dick nodded, shaking her hand. Dick smiled as he shook her hand but then turned to each of your boyfriends and stared them down.

"We've heard a lot about you," Steve said.

"Then you know we're all highly trained, some of us with teams of our own." Dick attempted to intimidate Steve.

"Okay, calm down." You said, rolling your eyes. "You can intimidate them later. We've been on a plane for hours and just want to sleep."

"Fine." Dick sighed. "But wait until Tim gets back, there will be group threats."

"Of course, there will be." You kissed his cheek. "Is everyone else here? I want to say hello before we take a nap."

"Damian and Bruce are on a quick patrol. Jason had to go out and deal with something. They'll all be back for dinner." Dick explained as you led your partners inside the house.

"Okay, we'll see you then." You promised. You led your partners up the stairs and gave them a basic tour of their surroundings. "And this is my room." You said, opening the door.

"Who needs a bed this big?" Sam questioned, putting his bags down and collapsing onto the oversized bed.

"This is just a little bigger than the bed we have at home." You told him.  "I'm going to apologize for Dick now, as well as the rest of my family."

"Dick wasn't that bad," Natasha said, joining Sam on the bed.

"That's because I was there." You told her. "I can assure you if any of you find yourselves alone with him or any of them, they will be worse."

"What's the age difference between you and all your brothers?" Bucky asked as he looked around your room.

"Dick's two years older than Jason and me, Tim's six years younger than me, and Damian is twelve years younger." You told him.

"Quite an age gap between you and the younger two," Sam mentioned.

"Yeah, and they still act like they're older than me." You snorted.

"Does that have anything to do with the fear toxin incident?" Natasha asked you as you joined them on the bed.

"A little." You nodded. "But they've always acted like that, even before that happened."

"What was the fear toxin incident?" Steve pressed, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

"I met a boy at a college class. He was sweet and funny, and I really liked him. After two weeks of talking, he wanted to take me out. I thought he really liked me, but it turns out he was working for scarecrow. I was to be the test subject for a new toxin he was working on. Luckily, Jason had been following us and got me out of there." You told them. "I was stuck in my worst nightmares, screaming, for twelve hours."

"Is this boy dead?" Bucky questioned you.

"No, the boys wanted to kill him, but dad stopped them." You said. "We don't kill, severely maim sure, but don't kill."

"At least it's a consistent rule." Bucky nodded, flopping onto the bed. "I'm so tired." He groaned, closing his eyes.

"Well, we have five hours until dinner." You said as you picked up your phone. "Five-hour nap?" You suggested.

"Knew there was a reason I loved you." Natasha smiled, pulling you into her chest.

“Hi, Timmy!" You laughed as he crushed you into his chest. "Dammit, you're taller than me now too."

"Everyone is taller than you." Tim laughed.

"Not everyone. Damian's shorter than me." You denied him. "Tim, meet Natasha, Steve, Bucky, and Sam." You introduced him to your partners who smiled at him.

"Y/N has said a lot of good things about you all." Tim smiled, shaking each of their hands.

"Likewise." Sam nodded.

After the five of you had taken a much-needed nap and freshened up, you'd all made your way into the dining room. You'd been greeted by Dick, Damian, and your father, both of whom you had hugged fiercely. Your father was happy to finally meet your partners and had welcomed them in kind. Damian had greeted you with enthusiasm, well as much enthusiasm as Damian could show, and had been slightly cold towards your partners.

Shortly after, Tim had arrived with Stephanie and Jason in tow. Jason had pulled you into your arms and given your partners a similar greeting to Dick's. 

Tim's reaction to your partners made you smile. It was refreshing to see someone greet them without threats.

"Word of warning, ever hurt Y/N, and I will make even the government believe you've killed three world leaders," Tim said, staring each of them down.

"Jesus Christ, Tim." You groaned.

"Understood," Steve said, not flinching as he stared back unwaveringly at Tim.

"I like them, Y/N." Tim chuckled as Bucky pulled you into his side.

"Alfred said to stop intimidating our guests, and that dinner is ready," Barbara said, entering the room.

"Thank Thor for that." You sighed as you all walked back into the dining room.

The seven of you took your seats at the table and began the dinner you'd been dreading for years.

"So, Y/N tells me you're all apart of the Avengers." Bruce started as you all began eating.

"Yes, sir." Steve nodded, gaining a look of respect from your father.

"What kind of war zones are you throwing our sister into?" Damian asked.

"Damian." You narrowed your eyes at your brother. "You promised you'd behave." You said.

"I am behaving." Damian raised his hands in defeat as Jason smirked.

"Sure are demon spawn." He laughed. "Seriously, though, are we talking worse than Gotham?"

"Fewer men in costumes, more Nazi's," Sam explained.

"Also, aliens," Bucky added, causing Sam to nod in agreement.

"And Gods." Natasha nodded.

"You never mentioned anything about aliens, Y/N," Bruce said, turning to face you.

"Or Gods," Tim muttered.

"I'm not an idiot, dad. I know how you would react to that." You said, drinking your wine. "And we won against them, so they're not that big a deal."

“That’s the same thing you said when Harley stabbed you in the stomach.” Dick rolled his eyes.

“It wasn’t that big a deal.” You argued.

“You were holding your insides in with your hands.” Jason reminded you.

“And I lived,it’s fine.” You said, causing everyone around, minus Bruce, to sigh.

“Bruce, do you see what you’ve raised?” Jason asked your father.

“He can’t say shit, he does the same thing.” Tim cut in before Bruce could answer.

“Is it too late for us to go home?” You asked Bucky, who was seated to your left.

"Far too late," Damian said. "I haven't even had a chance to interrogate anyone."

"Neither have I." Jason agreed.

"Why can't you two get along in areas other than threatening my partners?" You sighed.

"Too much effort." Jason shrugged.

Non-reader POV

"I'll be right back." Y/N said, standing from the table. "Please, no-one be dead when I come back." She sighed.

"I'll watch everyone, Y/N," Barbara said as Y/N left the room. The room went silent for five seconds before everyone turned to the Avengers members.

"Let's get a couple things straight." Bruce started. "I'm Batman."

"I am Nightwing and a member of the Justice League," Dick added. 

"I'm the Redhood, a member of the Teen Titans.” Jason stated.

"I'm the Red Robin and a skilled hacker." Tim nodded.

"I am Robin, as well as an ex-member of the League of Assasins," Damian said.

"If you hurt her, we will know," Bruce concluded. "We will find you, and we will ensure no-one will find your bodies, understand?"

"Of course, we understand." Sam nodded. "But there are a few things you should know about us. I'm the Falcon."

"I am Captain America."

"I am the Black Widow. A former assassin of the KGB."

"I was the best assassin for HYDRA. I am still the Winter Soldier."

"And none of us would ever want to or will ever hurt Y/N."Sam finished.

"That's what I wanted to hear," Bruce smirked, leaning back in his chair.

"Bab's, I thought you were supposed to be watching them." Y/N sighed as she re-entered the room.

"I was watching them." Barbara defended herself. "And no-one is dead."

"If it makes you feel better," Dick started. "I think you picked some decent partners."

Reader POV

"So, we'll go sightseeing tomorrow?" Bucky checked as the five of you laid in bed later that night.

"Yeah, just before lunch." You hummed, resting on Steve's chest. "We can either have breakfast here or, if my family has scared you off, we could go out." 

"Your family is not that bad," Natasha told you. "They could have been much worse."

"Yeah, Damian could have stabbed us." Sam snickered.

"So could have Jason." Bucky pointed out. 

"And yet they haven't stabbed, or maimed, any of us in any way," Steve said as Sam intertwined your fingers.

"And I think your father genuinely likes us.” Natasha told you.

“He likes you because you don’t have a penis.” Sam snorted. “The two of you left the room and he had a speech prepared of what he would do to us if we impregnated Y/N.”

“I’ll talk to him in the morning.” You promised him. “Get him and the boys to dial back.”

“I’ve never met the family before.” Bucky commented. “This was good.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it because your stuck here for four more days.” You smiled drowsily.

“Somehow I don’t think it’ll be that bad.” Natasha said.

The five of you soon drifted off to sleep in your childhood home. You would all be abruptly awoken the next morning by your brothers throwing the doors open but even so, this was a good trip to Gotham.

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh

Natasha Romanoff Taglist

@5aftermidnight @ohfuckno

Coming soon

Dean x reader x Cas

Bucky x reader x Natasha

Meg x reader x Cas

Wanda x reader x Vision

Steve x reader x Bucky x Peggy

[batsandbugs]

Bats Bugs and Boomerangs Chapter 1

A/N: Hey everyone, coming at you with another series! This is actually for a late secret santa gift exchange! My recipient was @m3owww​! Her fandoms were Maribat and Avatar the Last Airbender, so I thought: Why not both? She already had a Maribat characters in the show type fic, so I created a fic where they watched the show. It slowly spiraled out of control though, so this is Chapter 1. I’ll eventually have the batfam (and Marinette) react to the whole series, so comment here and on ao3 what you want to see. So Phi, this is kinda like the gift that will keep on giving? Maybe? I hope you like it anyway. Enjoy! 

Our story begins on a frosty winter evening, outside Gotham at Wayne Manor. Marinette sat in the library working on an assignment for her History of Fashion class. She was alone, because Damian, Dick, Tim, and Bruce were out on patrol, with Barbara on comms. Tikki, unless eating or involved with a transformation, spent her time sleeping due to the freezing weather. While the other Kwami either resided in the box or roamed the grounds, and generally stayed out of the human's way.

Marinette gazed out the window, snow falling softly through the air, covering the ground and the tree branches. A crackling fire warmed the room. She shifted, and a painful ache shot through her leg. Marinette glared at the offending appendage, which was the reason she wasn’t out with the team tonight.

Her Miraculous could cure any injury sustained on the battlefield, it didn’t help her one bit when it came to her own natural clumsiness. She hadn’t paid attention as she’d walked out of class one evening. The dim lighting hid a black ice patch and she slipped and fell. Thankfully, her ankle was only sprained and not broken, but she would be out of commission for at least two weeks. Probably more if Alfred got his way.

Speaking of the elderly butler, he strode into the room carrying a tray of tea and cookies.

“Good evening Miss. Marinette. Need another refreshment?”

She sighed at the cold coffee dregs in her mug. “That would be nice, thank you, Alfred.”

He hummed, grabbing a teacup, and pouring her a serving. “How does your leg feel today? I notice you were leaning heavily on Master Damian after supper.” He handed the cup to her and the warmth was a welcome sensation for her chilled hands.

“Yeah, he’s been nice helping me around.” Nice was a misnomer, more like extremely overprotective. He point-blank refused for her to stay at her own apartment, mostly due to its location on the fourth floor with no elevator access. He all but forced her to watch him pack her essentials to bring to the manor while she recovered. Since then, his attentiveness in ensuring she had what she needed within reach and helping her to class had grown. It was a tad smothering considering his usual aloofness, but she enjoyed his actions for the affection it implied.

“It’s throbbing and hot and feels worse than it did three days ago.” She took a tiny sip of the tea and relaxed into its spiced aroma. Alfred made the best tea.  

He nodded. “It will feel uncomfortable for a while until it starts to mend. Just continue to rest and remain off it and you will be back to carousing around the city like the rest of them in no time.” He poured his own tea and seated himself in the plush armchair across from her spot on the couch.

“Oh, Alfred you say that as if you would not be right there along with us if age allowed,” said Marinette with a grin. The stories Dusu could recount about the elderly miraculous holder were nothing short of entertaining, and she knew damn well Alfred had the same need for action as the rest of the Waynes and their assorted allies.  

“I’d do nothing of the sort,” he said primly, taking a sip of his tea to hide the tiny smirk on his face. Marinette couldn’t help but laugh.

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant silence. Despite the pain in her leg Marinette pushed through it and finished her assignment, while Alfred read until it neared time when patrol ended. He bustled up the remains of the tea and promise her a fresh cup when he finished seeing everyone arrive safely.

Later, although she could not say how long, she was buried deep in a book and didn’t notice when Damian entered the room until he sat next to her on the couch.

“Good evening angel.” His hair flopped in his eyes, loose and damp from the shower. In his hands, he held a tray with two cups of steaming tea.

“Thanks.” She took the proffered cup of tea with a smile. “How was patrol?”

“Boring,” he sighed. “You certainly are not missing anything.” If he wouldn’t have taken offense to it, Marinette would have described the look on his face as a pout.

“What about the drug seller Tim tracked to the lower docks?”

Damian shrugged. “Gone silent after we busted the last shipment. Seventeen years in and maybe the criminals finally figured out committing crimes in the same city as a relentless vigilante team is a bad idea,” he said with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. Marinette couldn’t stop herself from giggling. It was a common joke among the family that Gotham’s criminals never learned.

“I think it means we’re doing our job right,” said Tim walking in with a steaming mug. Marinette opened her mouth, but he cut her off. “Don’t worry, it’s decaf.”

“Like Pennyworth would let him drink anything else this time of night,” scoffed Damian, while taking a sip of his tea.

“I’m perfectly capable of monitoring my own caffeine intake, thanks,” Tim said in offense, seating himself across from the couch in the reading chair previously abandoned by Alfred.

“No, you’re not,” called a voice from the hallway. Dick walked in with a large mug of what was undoubtedly hot chocolate. “The last time he didn’t check your drink after patrol, you used coffee instead of water to brew another pot, and then added four whole bottles of five-hour energy. You didn’t sleep for three days.”

“I also solved five crimes, figured out where the Penguin was hiding, and streamlined the dropbox submission system for Wayne Industries. Life requires tradeoffs.”

“No that’s just you, ignoring basic human necessities. Anyway, besides Tim’s caffeine addiction, what are we talking about?” asked Dick.

“The reason for the lack of crime,” offered Marinette.

Dick shrugged, “Happens every year because of the weather. Even criminals get cold. They’ll return to their usual transgressions once the weather warms.” He took a sip of his hot chocolate.

“Tt. Weak,” muttered Damian.

Tim rolled his eyes. “Not everyone receives extreme weather training under threat of dismemberment, demon brat. We should take the opportunity to enjoy the break.”

“Tim, your version of a “break” involves paperwork,” chided Dick.

“It’s not my fault the rest of you people don’t have lives. I’m a remarkably busy person. And what is this, the-criticize-Tim-hour?”

“Oh, only an hour?” smirked Damian. “I thought it was a continuous event, one could choose to participate in whenever the mood struck. I will have to file all my complaints immediately.”

Tim pouted. “Marinette,” he whined. “Can’t you control him?”

She shrugged, “What do you expect me to do? I’m his girlfriend, not his minder. Besides, they criticize because they care.” She laughed when all three boys snarled their noses at the prospect of feelings.

“Marinette, angel, please; never say that again. I criticize because I am right, and they should know it. Not because of any high-minded ideals such as genuine affection.”

“Okay, okay, enough,” said Dick. “If we have a bit of a break, we should do something! Together, as a family. I think Cass and Steph come back in two days.”

“Grayson, just because your girlfriend is off-world visiting family and you have nothing to do does not mean it holds true for the rest of us.”

“Exactly!” exclaimed Tim, “Except not quite, because I don’t have a girlfriend, but I just said I’m busy. R&D is rolling out a new prototype next week, and I have two board meetings scheduled and-”

“Not to mention,” Marinette cut Tim off. He could talk about his schedule forever because he just had that many events. “I can’t move around, what would we even do? Play games?”

Tim rolled his eyes. “The list of games officially banned in our family includes, but is not limited to; Monopoly, Uno, Checkers, Risk, Risk: Legacy, Twister, Jenga, Clue, Guess Who, Poker, Chess, and Go Fish.”

“Oh…” muttered Marinette.

“And that doesn’t even include videogames.”

“After the Wii Bowling incident of 2013, the media room wall was never the same,” Dick said, shaking his head in despair.

“I actually apologized for that, okay?” exclaimed Damian. “Why do you always have to bring it up?”

Marinette fully intended to ask about the incident later. “Okay, so games are out.”

“Ooh,” Dick’s eyes lit up, “How about we call a Family T.V. Event?”

Tim groaned, “The last time we did that we blew up the shed, and got the police called.”

“Well, we won’t watch a crime show.” Dick turned to Marinette. “Jason picked; we watched Breaking Bad.”

“I can see how that would spiral out of control.”

“The time before that, we set fire to the media room and started a familial feud,” Damian pointed out. “Game of Thrones,” he added when Marinette looked to him for clarification.

“Even worse.”

“Okay, fine, so we don’t have the best track record picking shows. But I swear I have a good one this time.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Avatar: The Last Airbender.”

Tim snorted. “What? Like the kid’s show?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “Really Grayson, a cartoon? I know you are developmentally stuck at five, but not all of us are.”

“I’ve never watched it, but I’ve heard good things about it,” said Marinette. She knew there was a French translation of the show, but she preferred to watch media in its original language. Before moving to America, before dating Damian, her English had not been strong enough to confidently watch a show and understand all of it.

“Perfect!” exclaimed Dick. “I know you three and Cass haven’t seen it, and neither has Bruce or Alfred. I would bet Jason’s seen some of it, but I’ll have to check. Barbara and I have, but that’s fine, she loves the show. We’ll have to see about Steph too, but I’m sure she’ll enjoy it regardless. There are awesome characters, battles, suspense, comedy, and it’s not likely going to inspire us to blow up the shed or tear each other to pieces!”

“I have in no way agreed to this Grayson. Drake back me up.”

Tim paused for a moment, stuck between his need to disagree with Damian and the need to get out of Dick’s crazy plan. Unfortunately for Damian, the former won out. “Actually, you know what, a show could be fun. The episodes are what, thirty minutes? Shorter than Breaking Bad and Game of Thrones.”

Damian groaned while Dick responded happily, ignoring his brother’s distress, “Around twenty minutes actually. We could have the whole show finished in about a week or so.”

Damian turned to her, eyes wide and hopeful. “Marinette, please tell me you are on my side?”

She patted her boyfriend’s arm, “Sorry, mon amour, I’m stuck either way. Might as well watch a show.”

Damian flopped against the couch with a pout. “Betrayed. I have been grievously betrayed by my own brothers and girlfriend. What is this world coming to?”

“Woo!” exclaimed Dick, a wide grin splitting his face. “This is going to be great.”

“This is going to be awful,” moaned Damian.

-0-0-

It took a bit of convincing on the part of Dick to get Bruce and Alfred to agree to the venture. Marinette, after learning the full details of the last two Family T.V. Events, was wholly unsurprised. She also did not know the full extent of what Dick did to get Jason to agree (apparently, he and Bruce were fighting, again, so this was expected.) although it probably involved a bribe. But by the week’s end, the entire family was together, all under strict orders (and puppy-dog eyes from Dick) to be on their best behavior.

Which, without a doubt, not a single one of them knew what that entailed.

The arguing started with seating placement, then about who controlled the remote, then over the distribution of snacks, drinks, blankets, and pillows. At one point Jason pulled a knife, which prompted Damian to pull his knife, suddenly Cass had two shurikens visible (where she even kept them while wearing a tank top and shorts, no one could say), and then everyone was yelling with sharp pointy objects in hand.

Once the argument was firmly under control, Alfred collected the weapons and placed them in a wicker basket, along with all the mobile devices, until the episodes for the night were finished. The only one allowed to have a phone was Barbara who was in charge of checking police scanners for any major trouble while the family took the evening off.

Marinette seated herself curled up against Damian on the edge of the couch. She set her foot propped up on an ottoman so it wouldn’t get jostled, and she could continue to ice it throughout the evening. Damian secured their own bowl of popcorn, so they didn’t have to share it with the others.

“Alright, here’s how we’re breaking this down,” announced Dick, who won the battle for the remote, and therefore the episode schedule. “The episodes are short, at least, much shorter than the last show we watched.” He directed a pointed look at Jason.

“I make no apologies.”

“We’ll watch half a season a day, ten episodes apiece. The closed captions will be on but try to keep the chatter to a minimum.” Marinette held back a laugh. Damian explained no one kept quiet during these nights. Watching the show wasn’t the point of these events; if that were the case then they would just watch it all on their own time. The point was the time spent together. This is why even Bruce, emotionally constipated and single-minded in his pursuits as he was, put away the suit for a few days to watch T.V. with the rest of his collected family. Talking was expected.  

“We will, if you will,” called Stephanie.  

“I take offense to that.”

“Aw just sit Dickie, let’s watch the show,” exclaimed Jason.

“Yes, Grayson you already wrapped us into this pointless venture; we might as well get it over with,” Damian grumbled. Marinette found his hand in the folds of their shared blanket and laced her fingers with his. He squeezed her hand, and, when he was sure no one else was looking gave her a small smile. Marinette smiled back, he pretended to be such a grouch, but deep down he was a giant softy at heart.

Dick frowned, saying “Fine, fine, you don’t have to be spoilsports about it.” And pointed the remote at the T.V. starting the first episode.

-0-0-

It didn’t take ten seconds before the commentary began.

“Four elements?” exclaimed Tim.  “Are you serious? I could name at least a dozen off the top of my head. How are there only four nations? 0/10 completely unrealistic. Political infighting alone-”

“Ah, shut up, replacement.”

“Ruthless fire nation?” said Stephanie. “Methinks a little propaganda might be occurring here.”

“A hundred years!? What, has no one competent been born the entire time?”

Marinette shrugged. “The disadvantages of finite magic systems, Dami. It's learned indifference.”

“Honey, after a hundred years that’s not hoping, that’s naivety,” said Stephanie in response to Katara’s impassioned speech.

“She’s right!” exclaimed Dick.

“We know that, but she doesn’t.”

The show moved on to Katara and Sokka in a boat. Sokka held a spear above the water.

“Is he hunting that fish?” growled Damian.

“Ah yeah, I forgot you may hate the entirety of Sokka’s character,” said Dick with a grimace. “Whoops.”

“She’s not very good at the water moving, is she?” asked Marinette

“Waterbending,” Dick and Barbara said in unison.

Sokka chided Katara about her weird water magic. “Oh, he’s not going to be a dick for the whole show, is he?” asked Steph.

“He gets better.”

“They grew up here right?” asked Damian, as Katara and Sokka become caught in a rapid. “How did they not anticipate an event like this.”

“I knew I should have left you at home. Leave it to a girl to screw things up!”

“HEY!” shouted all the women in the room.

They watched as Katara’s fury built and broke the iceberg behind her.

“Good. Use anger, anger is alright,” Cass commented for the first time.

“Okay, you’ve gone from weird, to freakish.”

“This punk is just asking for a beating isn’t he,” growled Jason.

The beam of energy shot into the air after Katara and Sokka broke open the ice. “That’s not going to cause any trouble,” said Tim, rolling his eyes. “Nope, not suspicious or completely conspicuous at all.”

The scene switches to a metal ship.

“Finally! Uncle, do you realize what this means?”

“Oh, look, the bad guys,” deadpanned Tim. “I was right.”

Jason grabbed a handful of popcorn and shoved it into his mouth “What happened to his fucked-up fa-”

“YOU’LL FIND OUT!”

The scene switched back to Katara and Sokka. The figure is revealed to be a hyperactive little kid.

Damian frowned“Oh, I won’t like him either, will I Grayson?”

Dick tilted his head, “Eh.”

Then Appa is introduced.

“Father, could we-”

“No, Damian.”

They watched the children depart, and the scene moved back to the Fire Nation ship.

“Even if you're right, and the Avatar is alive, you won't find him. Your father, grandfather, and great-grandfather all tried and failed.”

“Well considering the Airbender child has been in an iceberg, it’s not surprising they failed.”

“Because their honor didn't hinge on the Avatar's capture. Mine does. This coward's hundred years in hiding are over.”

“Is it just me or does this angry, emo prince remind anyone of demon spawn?”

“Todd, shut your mouth before I remove your tongue.”  

Marinette leaned in close, “Maybe just a little like you.” Damian looked at her with a betrayed pout.

The scene switched and they watched Aang lie to Katara about the Avatar.

“The air child is guilty. Will cause problems later.”

“Narrative Cass, it’s narrative.”

Damian scoffed. “Miscommunication is plot convenience, and it’s a sloppy one at that.”

They watched Aang’s dream of how he ended up in the iceberg, him waking up to Katara and his introduction to the village.

“Well, no one has seen an Airbender in a hundred years. We thought they were extinct until my granddaughter and grandson found you.”

“Extinct?”

“He went into the ice and woke up to find the world different. Anyone getting serious Captain America vibes here?” said Jason, tone-deaf to the clear horror on Aang's face.

“Jason, he just found out his people potentially went extinct!” chided Marinette. 

“It's not for stabbing! It's for air bending.”

“Please tell me the main character is not a pacifist,” begged Damian.

“Well, he is a monk,” said Barbara with a sorry look.

“I sense he's filled with much wisdom,” Katara says as Aang sticks his tongue to his staff and it freezes.

“I switch back and forth between liking this girl and not. One second she’s got gumption, and the next she’s all starry-eyed and naïve,” grumbled Steph.

“I wonder who that reminds me of,” Damian whispered into Marinette’s ear. She felt her cheeks heat up.

"I'm not naive," she shot back. 

He raised a hand with two fingers close but not touching, "You're a little naive." Marinette huffed, but silently admitted to her boyfriend's point. She had a tendency to believe the best in people; she saw it as a strength and appreciated it in this Katara character, but it was so far from how Damian viewed the world, it honestly confused his siblings when they first started dating. 

Damian confided in her that he found it inspiring. She had been through so much, understood the cruelties of others, and still could see the good in people. 

The scene switched to the Fire Nation ship again, and Iroh explained the concept of firebending to an irate Prince Zuko.

“Finally, a display of actual competence,” exclaimed Damian.

“Enough! I've been drilling this sequence all day. Teach me the next set! I'm more than ready!”

“My tutors would have skewered me if I dared to act in such a manner,” he commented again, softer than the first time. More so that only Marinette could hear. Damian’s family was more than aware of his childhood and what it entailed; Marinette slowly learned with comments like this. She squeezed his hand again and received a small smile.

The scene shifted back to the village where Sokka’s failed “warrior lesson” occurred, and then-

“We don't have time for fun and games with the War going on!”

“What war? What are you talking about?”

“Where have you been, frozen in ice for a hundred years?” joked Dick.

They watched Aang offer to take Katara to the North Pole to find a water bending master. The two children go and play with the penguin creatures, but the tone shifted when an old Fire Nation ship appeared on the screen.

“Bad ship” muttered Cass.

“If you want to be a bender, you have to let go of fear.”

“There are so many things wrong with that statement I don’t even know where to start,” said Tim.

They watch Aang and Katara enter the Fire Nation Ship and wander talking about the war.

“Aang, how long were you in that iceberg?”

“I don't know. A few days, maybe?”

“I think it was more like a hundred years!”

“Are you kidding me?” yelled Jason. “How are they just figuring this out now?”

On-screen Aang stepped on the line of wire, tripping the traps.

“Tt. Amateurs.”

"See, she told him it would be a bad idea!"

A flare rises through the air.

“That’s not going to cause any-”

“Oh, shut up Tim.”

The Fire Prince once again appeared on the screen.

“The last Airbender!”

“I was right,” he mumbled.

The screen faded to the credits, and Dick turned to the group.

“So? What do you think?”

“Slow.”

“Nobody has any sense.”

“Are any of the characters actually likable?”

He frowned. “Okay, okay, so the first episode isn’t the best. I swear it gets better. Back me up here Barb.”

Barbara nodded. “He’s right, it takes a few episodes to build the characters up and we see some genuine action. But by mid-season, I swear you’ll be hooked. And then we’ll get to season two and the best characters will arrive.”

“Hey,” Dick exclaimed, pointing a finger at her. “No spoilers.”

“I thought it was fun,” Marinette offered. “It’s very clearly a kid’s show, but I don’t think that’s a bad thing.” She wasn’t going to say each and every person in the room had childhood traumas, and a show full of lighthearted fun was probably just what they needed. She could think it, but she wouldn’t say it.   

“Thank you, Marinette,” said Dick with a smile.

“I rather enjoyed the elderly tea drinker,” intoned Alfred. “He’s more than he appears to be.”

“Uncle Iroh? Yeah, he’s the best!” commented Barbara. "But everyone is great." 

“Alright, episode one finished, nine more to go.”

“Let’s hope it’s more enjoyable than the last,” uttered Damian, a chorus of agreement followed his statement, but when the show started up everyone grew quiet again.

Marinette was sure whatever happened next, it was bound to be interesting.

Tag List (Although it is on ao3 too) 

@m3owww​ @your-resident-chimken-nuggie​  @loveswifi​ @fusser90​@animegirlweeb​​ @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere​​

[theogygiaisland]

The Crimson Trace [1/26]

Characters: Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain, Damian Wayne

Warnings: Teen (13+)

Categories: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery

Words: 8,769 words

Read on: AO3 (next>>)

This is a world where Red Robin tries to defuse a bomb, fails, and ends up not existing at all.

Too bad for him, he wakes up.

Tim Drake is just in time to witness the revival of one of Gotham's oldest villains manipulating the criminal underground, on top of managing the rotating myriad of Arkham escapees, realizing who he is to this different-- and yet the same-- set of bats, and understanding what the hell happened to him in the first place.

Chapter 1: what's wrong? you've been asking but i don't have an answer

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Try again.”

--

He sits there casually eating fruit and oatmeal as if he didn’t just give Bruce a throbbing headache and the promise of no sleep on top of his massive sleep debt.

From his left, he could see his youngest out of the corner of his eye stabbing a into a bowl of mango with his fork. Of course Damian is suspicious of the newcomer-- that was nothing new in a room full of Bats-- even more so that it’s Damian, full of doubt and mistrust from when they saved him from the League of Assassins barely 3 years ago. Although brows furrowed, he kept his lips into a tight line in between the occasional bites, barely a word spoken to any of them. But Damian didn’t need to speak for them to understand his hostility. That rolls off the boy in waves.

Jason, on Damian’s left, just looks like he’s shooting the ‘you just fucked up again’ look as he makes his way through his own fruit bowl. Idly, Bruce wonders what he did now. Between the kid dropping into their lives amidst the pre-patrol brief and Jason’s arrival from some mission halfway across the world with the Outlaws, there wasn’t much Bruce had done to garner such stares. But then again, Jason was Jason, and he was more empathetic than the rest of the family-- Bruce will just have to learn about it sooner or later. Whether he likes it or not.

The young man sits where Duke normally sits rather than next to Dick. Duke would have been good to have here as the teen normally tried to play off family tensions with the ease of someone who only heard how intense these moments were through second hand retelling, but luck wasn’t with the Waynes-- Duke was on a mission for Jefferson “Black Lightning” Pierce until the end of the week.

Bruce’s eyes travel briefly across from Jason where Cass, who hasn’t even looked up throughout breakfast, sits. Bruce’s only girl lounged relaxed in her seat, one foot propped up to lay her chin on and both hands on her phone under the table. Alfred already had chided her before on using devices during meal times, but a mere shrug at her empty plate made the old butler back off. They all know she easily could’ve just excused herself, but the tension in the atmosphere kept her seated in her place despite the easiness she’s trying to illustrate. The fact that she was the one who sits next to the new kid spoke of self assurance that there was nothing that could go down on that table that she didn’t allow.

And then there was Dick next to her and to Bruce’s immediate right, and Dick-- Dick looks comfortable in his own Bat way. It hides the fact that it was Dick who frantically called each family member (Jason from Australia, Cass from the Clocktower, Duke from the Outsider base) back to the manor during dinner claiming a family emergency. Dick spoons his own fruit and oatmeal with gusto and the occasional small talk like Damian’s school work and Cass’ ballet and lamenting Duke’s timing missing Alfred and Jason’s curry night scheduled tomorrow. Relaxed, languid even. But it doesn’t hide the pointed looks he throws Bruce every now and then as if to say that Bruce needs to fix this.

If Timothy Drake-Wayne acknowledges any of these, he takes all of this in stride, more casual than someone who not 14 hours ago dropped half dead in the Batcave with nothing more than the thin material of kevlar padded pants. Tim-- might as well call him by that-- in all aspects except theoretical, does not exist. Should not exist.

Interdimensional travel at best and timeline disturbance at worst. Bruce tries not to show how much this issue is making his head swim over breakfast, but a wince manages to worm its way out.

His son-- and yet not his son-- and yet still supposedly his-- sips from a chipped mug of coffee and ignores everyone while he browses his phone with his breakfast. He’s got the looks from Bruce’s eccentric neighbors down the road he claims to have been his parents. The skinny frame from Jack Drake, and intense blue eyes from Janet Drake. But he’s too thin, with premature stress lines and a closed off disposition of someone who’s been in the caped business far too long for someone too young.

Tim should not exist. They double-- tripled and quadrupled-- checked it and the most they got was an update on Jack Drake and Janet Drake’s messy public divorce seventeen years ago.

He looks like someone who has been taking care of him hasn’t done a pretty good job at it.

Bruce frowns again, wondering if the same thoughts fly through Alfred’s head the moment they realize this teen was supposed to be a part of their family. No doubt the old butler is already chiding his other self for letting a Wayne look as pale and exhausted as Tim does.

“So,” all heads turn to Bruce with a varying mixture of relief (to the kid or his incapability to leave a question unanswered, Bruce doesn’t think about it) and wariness (to the barely erupting silence or his next words, Bruce doesn’t want to think about it). “You’re…. 18 then?”

Tim squints at him above his mug of coffee. “Depends. Is it still December here?”

Bruce nods and confirms the year.

“Then I’ll be 18 in about seven months.”

“I’m assuming you also left in December in your own place.” Bruce deduces, entwining his fingers and leaning forward on his elbows. “So that rules out another Flashpoint happening since aligning dates isn’t really a Speedster detail.”

“Possibly, but it doesn’t rule out timeline alters altogether-- just not far back enough to matter.” Tim shrugs, unfazed at the looks the rest of the Bat children were sending him. Bruce could feel his fingers flex unintentionally and Cass catches it with a frown.

A clang of metal rings throughout the room as Jason pushes his chair back, arms crossed. “What do you mean ‘enough to matter’? You don’t fucking exist!”

Bruce shoots a look at Jason that screams ‘Language!’ but the younger man pointedly ignores him. “Try again, birdy.”

Tim sighes and pushes his oatmeal around his bowl, seemingly with no energy despite the empty mug of coffee in front of him. “What I mean is it doesn’t matter Jason. I don’t matter in the grand scheme of things apparently. From the looks of things, you’ve got Damian--” He points to Bruce’s left, “--early on. He’s not a child who feels like he’s got to prove himself to be family. He doesn’t seem to insult everyone just to feel like he belongs and he actually has a relationship with Bruce from what I see.

“Dick--” Tim points to Bruce’s right, “--doesn’t seem like he’s aged as much. He looks like he never carried the burden of the cowl at all despite being in the correct timeline after Bruce got lost in time. Dick looks like he actually is living his life and not in Bruce’s footsteps or shadow or whatever.”

He points directly to Jason next, who has gone rock solid in light of the indifferent drop of pertinent information. “And you, Jason, yes you, you actually look like you want to be here and not going about not feeling like you’ve redeemed yourself or whatever flair for dramatics you have to call as brooding. You want to be here and people want you here rather than need you to stop going in some chaotic plan. Plus you don’t seem as vengeful as before.

“Cass is just the same but she looks like she actually wants to be around you guys and not just Bruce-- more than before, really, though it’s too early to tell-- the same way with Duke.

“I don’t exist and suddenly every little thing, every little pain point we had under this roof is smoothed out. Your world is happier. You all look like your best selves without all the history that brought you down.”

This casual revelation stills the room. When Bruce thought of the pounding behind his eyes was irritating before, then it was worse now. His brows are furrowed down his face, brain constantly shifting from Bruce to Batman as he tries to slice and dice the information Tim manages to drop with the air of nonchalance. Like he was just reading off a report rather than reveal how fucked up Bruce would have driven the family. Could have driven the family. Still could.

“Best version of ourselves, what does that even mean?” Jason scowls.

“Better. Happier.”

“And you? What about you from back where you came from?” Dick asks, hesitantly as if unsure how to approach the subject.

Tim smirks, all teeth and not a hint of mirth or pride. “In my own way-- I was already amazing.”

--

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Again?”

--

He finds Cassandra after coming back from the Watchtower. Or rather, she was the one that seeks him as he sits on his chair staring at the portrait of Martha and Thomas Wayne behind his deep mahogany desk.

“Come.” She says, but his gaze was still locked on to the blues and browns of his parents eyes, captured during their early days of marriage. A easier time.

Happier. Where Bruce’s life consisted of picnics under the Cherry orchard and chess boards with tea and lounging in the solarium to the sound of humming and windchimes. Before he felt the need for Batman and corruption popping up like daisies and children who felt like aiding falling hope for a city they all love.

Every so often, Bruce would wonder if his parents would love to see how he brought up his children, if they would smile down at them with pride in their eyes, and even at him the way he remembered when he was 8 and brought home his honor’s card. He often liked to imagine them approving.

Nowadays, he catches himself thinking if an alternate Bruce Wayne would still make his parent’s eyes proud. Tim’s general aloofness (which bordered hostility to Damian and Jason) towards him and his siblings is evidence otherwise.

“Come.” Cassandra tells him impatiently. She plucks the tablet from his hands, as only Cass could, telegraphing him that she wasn’t taking no for an answer. “Tim.”

Bruce holds off a sigh as he gets on his feet while the young woman waits for him to gather his bearings. Once steady, she grabs his hand and tugs on it, leading him down the twisting pathways of his study down the East Wing to the West, down the corridor and passing the second ballroom, towards the end of the hall. She drops her hold and pushes into the old study-- Thomas’ old study-- and towards the familiar grandfather clock. The Bat cave.

Cass opens the clock with practiced ease and places a delicate finger to her lips before urging him to follow. She leads them three-quarters of the way down before she places a hand on his arm.

SMASH!

From their perch he sees what Cass was adamant to get him to look at.

He eyes the teen, clad in an old shirt of Dick and basketball shorts from Cass beating down the preprogrammed drones with a bo-staff he has no recollection of having. He spins and kicks and turns, making fighting look like a deadly musical of fizzing wires and metallic CLANGS! bouncing around the echochamber of the cave. Bruce frowns in worry as he realizes the fizzing-- he remembers being adamant with his wards to never practice with the electricity charges on the practice robots without a spotter after almost getting fried to a crisp by a training incident.

And Tim obviously does not know-- or does not care-- of this rule as he does just that.

A robot charges him on the left and he jabs his bo into the center of the machine and pushes the robot back, electrified arms waving around as it tips to its hind wheels. Tim’s back is open and vulnerable which another android takes advantage of, but the young boy merely twists his upper body and SLAMS the backend of the staff towards the head of the android and it goes down with a dying hiss. The first robot jumps back into the fray, but without any back up, it was merely a swing up from one end of the bow that decapitates the machine that makes Bruce blinks at the showmanship.

Tim looks absolutely lethal.

Cass pats his forearm to get his attention and he looks as she points at him. As if his eyes ever left their subject. As if his voice wasn’t still lost at how utterly scared he was watching the second robot take advantage of the teen’s seemingly open back.

His eyes sees Tim, but his mind overlays the image of each of his children-- of Dick, of Jason, Cass, Duke, and even too-young Damien-- and in moments where he was too far to give aid. Tim is not his. Not yet. Or even ever. But Bruce can’t help the squeezing of his heart for another child whose jabs were too sharp and swings too practiced.

Tim pants, back straight and feet apart. Cass shakes her head.

“Bruce….look.”

Then he sees what Cass has been telling him. The way that there’s a slump of his shoulders after rolling them twice. The way he blows out the bangs from his face in a tired puff of breath. The way a hand runs down his face, rubs his eyes a little too long, frown looking down at his hands as it repeatedly grips and releases the fingers around his weapon, not even a hint of that happy adrenaline high he finds all his children have-- that even an assassin trained Cass has-- upon clearing a round of practice androids. It’s in the way his eyes doesn’t seem there too much. Or at all.

Cass nods, as if she knows he’s seen what she’s telling him about.

“Tired.”

--

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Something’s not right with him, Father.”

--

Bruce finds himself walking around the halls of the manor a few days after the incident at breakfast. He found himself staying more at home, than in the boardroom in Wayne Enterprise, much to the displeasure of Lucius Fox. But a family emergency is a family emergency-- even if the emergency isn’t the family he knows about.

Within the short days that was filled with skirting around their new guest and patrol, they learned that Tim has been short and laconic when spoken to but rarely spoke out on his own except to ask for things he didn’t have within reach.

“Pass the salt.” He would say over lunch, a please following as an afterthought.

“Sure.” Was what Bruce would reply, but ‘What did I do to you!’ was what he wanted to scream.

He doesn’t eat a lot for a boy his age and he seems to not do well with just sitting around doing nothing-- or recuperating as Dick mildly suggested he did as the 72 hour mark of the whole half-dead incident hasn’t even lapsed. Tim merely shrugs at the suggestion muttering about ‘Used to it’ which makes Dick look like he’s scrunched up his face into something permanent.

Placatingly, Bruce suggests to Dick that they set up Tim’s own study area with a box of old cold cases if only to keep him away from the training mats. Tim was-- is a bat afterall, and sparring and physical activities were only half of the game.

He leaves them for half a day, and during dinner, his oldest ward retells in detail the story of the now closed off second floor alcove for Tim’s ‘detective’ work. This was met with Jason’s irritated growl as that was his alcove. Bruce suppresses a sigh (of all the things they were to fight over during dinner, an alcove among dozens that peppered ONE wing of the manor was not what he was expecting), and coaxed out a promise to Dick over relocating to somewhere else, like the library.

Bruce always felt better with his hands elbow deep into working or solving things-- that’s one of the reasons why he took up wood working as an elective in highschool rather than continue with AP Math-- so he understands where Tim is coming from. But recently, rather than feeling like he’s just collecting dust moping around the halls of the manor rather than being out as Bruce Wayne (the CEO) or Batman (the Dark Knight), he finds himself drawing comfort in the shared spaces of his children’s favorite haunts, reminding himself that he is not Tim’s Bruce, and his children are capable of more than half clipped replies and dismissive wave of hands.

This is how Bruce finds Tim and Damian in the first floor library, peeking behind old wooden doors despite being able to hear both of them perfectly from across the corridor.

Belatedly, Bruce realized that Damian, his own son, might have seen Tim’s arrival as a personal affront.

“You’re a trespasser! You don’t belong here Timothy Drake!” Damian’s snarl reaches his ear and Bruce doesn’t need to peek around the frame to see his child, hands balled up on his hips with his chest puffed out. “Interloper! Stranger! Inferior!”

“It’s just Tim, actually.” Tim drawls, unperturbed.

“I do not need you here. We do not need you here!”

“You’ve mentioned. Hardly a warm welcoming.”

“You’re an idiot! Go back! Just go back to where you came from!”

“I would if I could, believe me. No one wants a repeat of meeting you.”

Damian makes an offended noise that turns into a growl. “I will wipe that arrogant look on your face! No one likes you here!”

Too late-- Bruce hears the THWAK! of a projectile hitting the opposite side of the wall. He starts to move in, but as the light from the library fills his view, the heavy thud on the carpeted floor is neither a maimed or a dead body of any of the boys he expected to find.

Instead, he finds both of them unharmed by the biographies section. Tim has managed to pin Damian on the floor, hand twisted behind his back as the other was held down with Tim’s other. Damian squawks in indignation.

“I know Damian.” Tim murmurs in a low tone. Eyes too guarded, reflexes too honed. “And I’m trying to leave. I’m really trying to be out of anyone’s hair, much more so yours.”

“I don’t want you here.” Damian huffs, repeating himself. “I just want normalcy back. You-- you’ve changed something. You make Cassandra sad when she thinks no one’s looking, and Richard always sounds like he’s waiting for a bomb to drop and even Jason’s an idiot most of the time but now he’s moreso aggravated--”

“Sorry.”

“--and-- and it pains me that I’m not-- we’re not enough to make Father smile anymore.”

“You noticed it too huh?” Tim huffs.

Damian looks over his shoulder and at Tim who’s kneeing him at the small of his back. But it was fruitless, the younger boy was not struggling anymore, although his words weren’t any less scathing. “Yes, hence I’m asking you to leave!”

“I know, I’ve gotten the message. You have nothing to fear from me.” Tim sighes deep like he’s trying to pull out the tiredness from his bones. “And I’m trying to leave. I know I’m not wanted, believe me when I say you’ve told me enough times to even try and count.”

“I have?”

“Not you per se, but the sentiment is a universal constant, I think.”

“Was I really that awful? You mentioned trying to prove myself to be family during breakfast a few days ago.”

Tim shifts, considering the toned down spite in the words and finally letting go of his pin on Damian and shifting to his knees instead. Damian rolls his elbow and flips himself to look at the older boy.

“Well yes, you tried so hard to fit in-- and I get that. Imagine realizing you have a dad and that dad had other kids he chose to be his kids, and feeling like you have to be chosen too.”

“But Richard was very accommodating when I came here. I have pictures from when I was a year old with him and Jason.”

“Ah, that’s the thing squirt,” Damian squawks at the nickname. “Back where I came from you came to us when you were nine, raised by ninjas and whatnot, so you didn’t really have a huge sense of placement in the family. And you came in such a weird time too, and I guess I was also to blame-- I wasn’t in the best of places-- and fighting a nine-year-old wasn’t my greatest achievement. Too late for apologies, but I guess you’re not the one I’m supposed to apologize to either.”

There was a beat of silence, and Bruce wanted to rush in for his youngest as the information sunk in. Nine. Nine years in the League of Assassins. Bruce already had nightmares as to when Damian got kidnapped by Ra’s vengeful fury for an heir when the boy was three.

They got Damian back when he was eight, together with a newly resurrected Jason, but the experience already had changed the once bright boy into an abrasive version of himself Dick and Jason (and now Cass and Duke) had been trying to reverse.

And now, at twelve, at the cusp of being a teen, Bruce can still see remnants of those times. Ra’s really needs a visit from Batman again, just for Bruce’s own therapeutic need.

“I came here at nine?” Damian asks, confused and Tim merely hums. “I lived with Mother?”

“Talia? Yeah, uh, you did. She loves you, I guess, in only ways a member of the LoA could. But your dad-- Bruce-- he loved you too eventually. You became a permanent fixture in the family, though you didn’t have qualms rubbing it in our faces that you were the blood son or something.”

“I don’t need to know that to know where I stand in this family.” Damian grumpily replies, crossing his hands with his feet.

“I know, but I guess if it were me in your shoes, I’d like the reassurance as well.” Tim huffs. “I didn’t before, but I told you I understand it now.”

“Well did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Have the reassurance yourself?”

“I, uh...thought I did.” Tim admits, looking like he’s choosing his words. “But, uhm, the thing you have to remember Damian is that it was-- is-- kinda complicated. My time with the Waynes, with the Bats, it was more complicated than this, and you had the advantage of actually being Bruce’s.”

“Well uncomplicated things! We’re bats-- that’s what we do. We see complicated stuff and explain it.” Damian says stubbornly. He pokes a threatening finger to Tim’s chest. “And you’re a bat aren’t you. Worthy of it! You have that spot in the Batman family already? So are you family or not?”

“It’s, uh, not that easy--”

“Well?!”

Bruce stood rooted on the spot as he eyes the boys, wondering if he should interfere or not as judging by the shuriken blades embedded deeply into the Mariah Carey biography, he was sure the next meltdown would be nothing less explosive. Even Tim, for a moment, looks like he doesn’t know how to proceed, unlike the indifference he’s aired for the past few days being there.

But Tim laughs, a hearty laugh that fills the room with softness, dispelling any tension leftover from their initial squabble.

“Maybe. Yes. I’ll try to remember that next time.”

“But,” Damian nods to himself. “I’m still the blood son here. Remember that Drake.”

He watches Tim smile, an actual smile that was not forced, or malicious, or hiding something and the teen pulls himself up to his feet before extending a hand out to the smaller boy.

“As if you’d ever let me forget, baby bat.”

Damian mimics the movement with his own smile at the air of casual spitefulness they both pull off well.

“Come on, I believe Alfred’s been baking us cookies, and you look like you need to build more muscle. I know I’m superior, but at least try to make it a challenge the next time we spar.”

“Yeah, yeah, brat. Try to actually sound like you’re not a James Bond villain next time.”

And Bruce’s heart swells-- of pride and astonishment of his youngest and of hope for this stranger who feels rough and jagged around the edges, but who’s name sounds natural in the same sentence as family.

But for now, he creeps back, carrying his footfalls as he slowly backs away and further into his childhood home so neither boy would note their hidden audience.

--

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Admit it B, unless he’s lying-- he just doesn’t exist, like he said he didn’t.”

--

His days could be now divided into two trains of thoughts: Tim and Not-Tim. He knows it’s affecting his work (he’s barely left the house for the meetings and Lucius is not happy about the sporadic answers to his emails no matter how long the re:re:re:re:re get), and he knows it’s affecting his other work (Red Hood, Nightwing and Black Bat has been spotted on most nights, but Batman has cut his patrol route down and only took to the streets when the Bat Signal was on, which was, in the past few days, never), and he knows it’s straining some of his relationships (Catwoman can understand if he doesn’t show up when she robs some Penthouse highrise, but does his children understand the mental and emotional anguish he feels just looking at their somewhat-brother?), but he can’t just stop.

Not when Tim looks like he’s barely slept. Not when the “CASE CLOSED'' pile grows bigger with every pass Bruce makes by the makeshift mind map in the library. Not when Bruce still feels the urge to yell stop, and beg Tim to rest and ‘Goddammit I am your father and what have I done to you!’.

The sudden appearance of Tim makes him appreciate how happy he is for his children who have semi-decent sleeping schedules and slept for at least 7 hours a day, and didn’t take naps in short burst on the coffee table while powering through a case that’s been left forgotten since Alfred has been in diapers.

Bruce doesn’t know if Tim knows he’s in the same room. If he did he was not acknowledging him and was busy instead organizing a double homicide case that’s been left cold for more than two decades.

Bruce himself remembers this particular case where the Jones’ bodies were recovered from their home in the Narrows with no murder suspects. The case was interesting to say the least. The corpses of the father (Jed) and his barely year-old son (Jeremy) were placed in a way that the top view of the scene illustrated a grotesque and twisted version of the painting Saturn Devouring His Son by Francisco Goya. Nostalgia over pouring his mind over this case in his early tenure as Batman, drawn by the complex antics of the criminal mind, fresh out of his long-years journey to become the man he was now.

Now that Bruce thinks deeply about it, it was also one of the first cases he’s seen and in his youth. He barely solved the case, instead getting pulled in a week after during the first appearance of the Joker. He remembers that he hasn’t even recovered where the top half of little Jeremy was, and suddenly he’s glad Tim was there reviewing cases where Batman could not, just out of curious morbidity of how he should’ve done it.

There is a flash of blue and suddenly Dick is there casually draping an arm around Tim before he frowns.

“Have I ever told you that you’re just perfect arm draping height?” Dick asks, voice light and easy. His face pulls into a smile but Bruce saw the frown in his eyes. Pondering.

“If this is you telling me I’m short, don’t bother.” Tim quips, threading a red line between case pictures and thumbtacks. “And don’t bother banning me from caffeine or imposing bedtimes. You’ve done it before, I’ll only disobey them. Again.”

“Aw, come on lil bro.”

Tim sighs, long suffering, and stops his careful ministrations over the cork board. “What do you want Dick?”

“Can’t I just be here for my little pseudo brother from another mother in another universe?”

Tim just huffs.

“I get it, I won’t be able to wrangle you on your bed, sheesh.” Dick says, ruffling Tim’s hair despite the indignant squawk. “Although you do need to sleep sometime, preferably in the bed Alfred painstakingly made 2 nights ago.”

“Sorry Alfred.” Tim mumbles, although not sounding sorry at all. He turns his face away from Dick and again focuses intently on the corkboard in front of him.

“Don’t worry, he’s just worried about you, y’know.”

Tim waves his hand away, dismissing the thought. “I just need to get these cases through before Bruce finds a way to get me back, don’t worry.”

“Why’s that little bird?”

“Because I can?”

Dick smiles softly and urges Tim to carry on with his explanation. Tim merely huffs again in annoyance.

“Old habits die hard okay. I just-- look, it just seems like from the moment I became Robin, I had to fill in big shoes. You were a prodigy. Smart, witty--”

“Gorgeous all over.”

“--flexible like some Asian horror movie ghost.” Dick laughs, full-belly while Tim rolls his eyes. “And I came after Jason, who pulled his own weight, and who was book and street smart, and who was empathetic as hell to those who need it.

“I just...uh, felt like I always had to be proving something. Check things off Batman’s list. Be better because I didn’t have any of your background. Like over compensation or something.”

Dick tilts his head away to look at Tim better. “Why should you? That’s like chapter five of ‘Dummies-Guide-To-Foster-Children’ if I remember correctly.”

“The what?”

“‘Dummies-Guide-To-Foster-Children’. Now that I remember, I think it went something along the lines of ‘Not letting kids feel like earning their keep’.” Dick says slowly. “I remember getting it for Bruce when he picked Jason off the streets and Damian literally off our doorstep.”

From his position, Bruce couldn’t see Tim’s expression, but from the deep frown on Dick’s face, he doesn’t think he’d like to see it.

“I don’t think we have that in the manor-- my manor.”

“Don’t your Bruce read self-help books at least? Like if he’s anything like mine, therapy is a hard pass-- not that it’s wrong, even I went to Dinah every now and then!-- but could you believe a 30-something year old juggling a suspicious new foster kid and a literal baby?”

“No?”

“Then your Bruce probably has it somewhere. Our Bruce has it on the topshelf of his bookshelf in the study.” Dick smiles, radiantly and sneaks a pointed glance in Bruce’s direction. “It really helped a lot, got me and Bruce to reconcile even after I graduated into Nightwing.”

Bruce’s smirk was lost on the man. Message received, but if Dick came and looked for that book, he’d be glad to note its new address on Bruce’s bedside table for some days now.

And, not that he was counting, but Chapter Five was entitled “Educate and Advocate”. Dick was talking about Chapter Seven, “Setting Up Expectations”.

Tim merely hums, lost in thought. He shuffles the paper on the adjacent desk.

“Maybe. I don’t really know. Self-help books were more for live-pray-love heroes like Hawkgirl, or even Hal Jordan I think, not really Batman.”

A frown found his way to Bruce’s face. After his fight with Dick led to a strain in their relationship, and after taking in Jason and Damien, he can’t imagine not going to Clark for help-- and that made all the difference from being a better son to Alfred, to reestablishing his broken relationship with Dick, and all of those culminating with helping Jason come out of his reluctance to depend on Bruce, and raising Damian.

It takes a village to raise a child and all that.

Dick must’ve sensed this slippery slope was far too deep to get into because he makes a grab for the papers in Tim’s hand which the younger boy easily deflects. “Sure, lil Batman encyclopedia-- but whatcha’ got there, Timmy?”

“Just some old case files from 25 years ago. Double homicide, a man and his kid were found dead after a few days. The neighbor reported the smell coming from the apartment and when GCPD arrived, they were already several stages of decomposing too late.”

“Hang on, I knew about this case when I was new to GCPD.” Dick frowns at the entire board. “Something about viewing the crime scene in the murderer’s eyes.”

Tim stops his fussing over the papers. “You’re in GCPD?”

“Am I not in your universe?”

“Bludhaven.” The teen says.

“Oh.” Dick nods, although the frown doesn’t ease up on his face

Tim nods at the corner of the corkboard where the crime scene pictures were located. He taps a finger towards one of his case notes in his hands and clears his throat-- what he usually does when he is forced to say something about their alternate selves.

“Anyways, I already have the murder weapon-- it was a kitchen knife and actual dentures-- can you believe that?--, and I’m gonna ask Black Bat later to check an empty lot in the Narrows for the body, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the suspects.”

“Sounds fun, want to run it through me? You sound like you can use a soundboard to bounce off of.”

Tim perks up and Bruce can almost see a timid smile on his face. “You’d really want to? Don’t you have anything else to do?”

“Not really, I wanna see how Tim Wayne moves in his natural habitat. You hardly left the place aside from your morning routine down at the gym and meal times lately. Don’t think we didn’t notice your constant bedhead despite not even touching your room, did you?”

“Oops.”

“Nah, it’s fine. Though if I’m helping you now, you got to help me later wrangling Jason out for a movie night though. The kid hasn't been staying in the manor long enough and I can see he’s getting stir crazy.”

Anxious, Bruce supplies mentally. Anxious about...all of this.

“Maybe? I don’t...know.”

“Oh come on, you’re the one that said I don’t have to live in Bruce’s shadow. I’m pretty sure he’s allergic to movie nights. C��mon, help me stick one up to the man!”

Tim huffs, although this one sounded lighter than his usual breath of annoyance. Bruce watches with slight amusement as the teen straightens up to his full height from his slouch and shakes off Dick’s arm around his shoulders. “Deal. But we will finish this one tonight. You take this case notes, I still have to adjust the new findings before I forget.”

His oldest brightens, and looks at Tim while he rearranges his case notes over the corkboard. “It’s fine. I think I can work with this.”

Bruce lets off a small smile. He was glad. His eldest child was someone who knows what to be in situations, and that’s what made him the perfect solo-hero any cape in the hero community looks up to. He could be calm and patient to those who need a friend, or he could be serious and straightforward when he leads the Titans to a mission. But the most important role Bruce realizes he’s grateful for-- and not just in that moment-- was his ability to barge in and be someone’s brother whether they like it or not.

Dick catches Bruce’s eye and winks.

--

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Jeez old man, the results won’t change no matter how much you scowl at the damn thing”

--

He finds himself feeling like he’s talking a very different language than Tim most of the time, and some part of his brain muses that that’s also how he felt when Jason came back into their lives after half a year of death. This revelation paralyzes him from taking the next step to send Tim home-- or where he came from at the very least.

The boy rarely does anything aside from ongoing efforts by his children to include him in their day to day activity aside from patrol. At first it was turned down by dismissive hums or huffs, but almost a week after Tim unceremoniously drops down into their lives, he finds the boy more hesitant than dismissive.

And Bruce can’t blame him. Bruce can read between the lines.

Whereas Tim leans into Cass’s playful hand pulling as she leads him around the house and Dick’s half hugs when they’re bonding over cases, Bruce can see the minute tensions of his body when Jason claps his back after training or when Damian bumps into his shoulder when they fix the table for dinner.

He doesn’t tell his children about it, but he has suspicions that they already know. The implications are too loud to not be seen, and he knows he’s trained them enough to pick up on these tells on field-- it was borderline painful to know of its uses in his own home.

Sometimes, he’s happy his children are what he hopes them to be: better than him. Smarter. Sharper. Everything in the complex ways he’s not.

But sometimes he dreads, because he knows them to be braver.

“How’d you even get here?”

“I told you-- it was a bomb.”

Bruce didn’t mean to eavesdrop-- really!-- but he’s worried when he sees Jason corner Tim in the kitchen by the pantry through the Batcave surveillance.

Not that he was scared of Jason’s temper flaring up, this was an issue long solved by open minds and open arms, and he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but having Dinah a part of the regular roster of rotating medical professionals on hand was useful for his prodigal son.

From the screen, Bruce can see Jason cross his arms on his chest, blocking the small door that granted access to the corridors. “They send you either heaven or hell, not through parallel dimensions or whatever. Bombs don’t send one tumbling through space and time kid.”

“It’s just space really.” Tim huffs, knowing he was effectively trapped into having this conversation.

“Try again kid.”

“It was a bomb from the Falcone family. I think. I was operating with Robin-- Damian I guess when--” Jason gives a pointed look, “-- if he wants to fly.”

Bruce grunts. It was a part of the truce Batman has had with Red Hood during the cusp of the Pit Madness where Bruce could hardly find the Jason that he knew. Batman will never have child soldiers-- not anymore-- and Red Hood will not be aiming for headshots while he patrolled Crime Alley. The Red Hood hardly was able to let go of Damian back into the Wayne manor until Bruce-- Batman agreed. Familial ties were strong with the young man. Bruce can’t be any prouder.

And even after the pit madness, Bruce has kept his promise, only partly so that Jason makes the weekly trip to the manor outside of the mask, and mostly because he understood where the teen was coming from.

Looking back at Dick, aged 9 in the first ever Robin suit was nostalgic. Overlaying Damian’s baby face over that? Now it just brings him panic.

“Try again brat.” Jason demands, posture tense, like he’s holding himself back.

Tim rolls his eyes and sighs. “I was with Robin, and there was a fight going on and I was in charge of the bomb, but obviously I didn’t--wasn’t able to disarm it. Next thing I know, here I am.”

“You didn’t even run away?” Jason grits out.

“Sorry?”

“I know Batman-- Batman’s a paranoid little shit. He obviously made you learn and relearn how disarm bombs you could do it in your sleep-- might be especially after my ‘thing’ with Joker. But he always said that for every bomb you couldn’t disarm, make sure you’re at least far away from it.”

“Maybe I thought I could do it. Maybe I didn’t have time, you don’t know what happened.” Tim points out, lifting his mug up.

“Maybe,” Jason grunts. “But it doesn’t change that the first thing you said was ‘oh, I’m alive.’”

“Maybe I was just happy to see you guys.”

Jason bangs a fist into the doorframe. He points an accusing finger at Tim. “Bullshit kid and you know it!”

“Fine!” Tim says, banging his mug down on the marbled counter top. An idle thought of ‘you should be stopping this!’ crosses Bruce’s mind but all he can do is watch as his second oldest puffs his chest out and their newcomer looks on scathingly with angry puffs of breath.

“I didn’t move away. I couldn’t disarm the bomb, there was hardly enough time left for a clear exit, and there were thugs still on the ground and Robin wasn’t far away enough for minimum injuries. I curled upon the damn thing like a kitten to save people! Like we should!”

“Do you have a deathwish?!” Jason shouts.

“No!” Tim shouts back, then sighs, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes. “No. I don’t. You don’t understand. I was scared. I am. I’m thrusted into a place that’s the same but isn’t. It’s fucking me up and I’m scared.

“But it’s also messing me up how I don’t know what happened to those people. Did I save them? Was Robin okay? And I’m scared that I have to live with not knowing, or ending up in another place I don’t belong in and doing all these hardships all over again.

“And you know if you ask me, what I should’ve done differently? I can’t give you an answer-- because I’d do it again, and again, even if it hurted, even if it felt like a thousand suns burning every inch of my skin.

“I still want to be out there.” Tim lifts his face and sneers, an empty and ugly look. His hand goes to his throat as he tries to calm down. “Nice detective skills, Hood. Happy now?”

Jason merely answers in silence, face impassive. Bruce doesn’t know if he feels happy knowing they’re all on even footing in not knowing how to approach their newest addition or frustrated not knowing what to do himself.

He’s their goddamn father, in universe or otherwise and he’s supposed to know how to handle these things! How the hell did he get to this?

Jason tilts his head like he’s trying to decipher Tim for a while, anger receding. As much as the pit influenced him years prior, Jason has always been able to control his rage better than any bat.

The angry one, contrary to popular belief, has always been Dick. Aside from Bruce. And that was also why meditation techniques were a part of Robin training early on.

“I hurt you.” Jason says casually and in a deadpan voice, leaning on the doorframe now that the tension has passed.

Tim hums, retrieving his mug and bouncing the teabag in the hot water.“And what gave you that impression?”

“You trace the scar on your neck, especially when Red Hood comes into the conversation.”

“It was in the past. We eventually forgot about it, don’t worry.”

“Maybe your Jason has.” Jason agrees, eyeing Tim sadly. “You’ve been through shit haven’t you. And you’re barely even seventeen, and you’re already out there.”

“Not out in your world.” Not yet was the unspoken word. Tim sips his drink. “Not a walk in the park, sure, but it’s not digging out of my own grave either.”

Bruce was gripping the arms of his chair, plastic creaking under his fingers. As much as they’ve been past Jason’s bounce back from the dead, it was still taboo to mention-- something Tim clearly disregards.

But Jason merely laughs at this.

“I don’t like you.” The older man admits after a while. “I still don’t. I don’t see what Dick was saying about being comfortable around you. I don’t know what you have with Cassie and Damian, but I don’t like how they leave their guards down. I know it’s their home, but...”

“But you have to protect your own.” Tim supplies as Jason trails off. He turns around and fiddles around the counter, dropping a spoon of sugar into his tea. Jason nods his head in agreement, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I told Damian this already, but you have nothing to fear from me Jason, really.”

“It’s not you I fear kid.” Jason says, eyes darting towards the hidden camera and Bruce had never felt so exposed.

--

Searching: Timothy Jackson Drake

…

…

Unknown

“Hrng.”

ALERT!

ALERT!

ALERT: JOKER RECOGNIZED

--

Chaos. That’s what it was.

“The Outsiders?”

“Deep undercover.”

“The Birds?”

“Barbara just confirmed-- already out to wrangle something in Star City.”

“Hrng.”

Bruce finds himself in the center console as he types away, giving remote access to the Batmobile and their body cameras, two way access to the Bat computer from his cowl, and a pre-patrol briefing to the people who were standing around the cave in various stages of their costumes.

“Jason, I want you up in the manor--” He orders, not even looking up.

“You’re fucking benching me?!” Jason, wearing his combat trousers and boots, growls.

“--and help call Agent A. I want you to prepare for the contingencies. I don’t want you anywhere near the Joker. Not now.” Not ever, Bruce adds mentally, but he knows coddling Jason would not improve his anger. “We’re still not over him orchestrating a demolition to lure you specifically out.”

“Fine!” Jason all but snarls in Bruce’s face, but from the lack of resistance, Bruce would just have to count it as a win. The younger man grumbles to himself, but trudges to the Manor in order to find Alfred. Bruce spares a glance after him, glad he’s got at least one person less to worry tonight.

“Robin, man the coms.” A nod from Damian just as he pushes Bruce away and starts typing at the keyboard.

“Robin, online.”

“Good.” Bruce acknowledges. He pats a hand on his youngest, briefly wondering if he would ever not want to be out there with the rest of his siblings. Knowing Damian, it was a fruitless sort of hope. But in the Bat business, hope was abundant.

“Dick--”

“West side of the docks?” Dick grins. He was busy with the mirrors by the training mats, slapping on a domino on his face and making sure it’s not crooked. “I’m guessing we’re doing a Disco?”

“Hrng.” Batman-- and it was Batman now as he pulls the cowl on-- grunts.

“Disco?” Tim asks, confused but halfway into the pants they found him in and a top half of a spare nondescript uniform. Batman notes that I must’ve been either Jason’s old garb or Cass’s.

“The Disco was a base strategy where they flank a subject and corner them.” Dick explains.

“Nightwing, gets to name it as it was initially his idea.” Damian scoffs at the Batcomputer, eyes not leaving the screen. “By order of arrival in the manor, unfortunately, he gets to name a lot of things.”

“It’s a great go-to strategy and you know it baby bat!”

“Uhm, okay? I’m guessing you’re briefing me as we go.”

Bruce-- and it was Bruce in the matters of Tim-- stops.

“Tim.” Batman turns towards the young teen and Bruce notes that Tim goes rigid being addressed. Batman tries again. “Tim, you don’t have to go out there. You know that right?”

“But it’s Gotham and it’s Joker!” The teen bristles and Bruce places a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“It’s A Gotham and it’s A Joker. It’s not your responsibility.” Bruce says. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you understand that.”

“I do. Understand it I mean.” Tim mumbles, but he flicks his gaze downward. “I just, I want to be out there. I need to be out there.”

Teabags and door frames. Death wishes and fear, Bruce mind supplies.

Bruce drops his cowl back. “Tim, there are things I wished I could tell you on another occasion, but I don’t have the time for it right now. But you have to hear these things alright. I know you didn’t come here to solve our problems for us. Those are not your job. You didn’t come here as a miracle worker.”

He remembers the Case Files, packed and ready for the GCPD to handle and officially close.

“I know you might feel weak, or you don’t belong-- and your Bruce-- and even I myself-- contributed to this. I’m sorry for this and I want to apologize.”

He remembers a teen, promising to leave.

“I know your tired, and you haven’t been here long--”

Decapitated androids. Panting echoes and tired wrists.

“-- and I know you’re scared and frightened.”

Knuckles clutched on door frames. A scar on the neck.

“I wish they weren’t true. I want them to not be true. I want to not thrust you in this life that took you out of yours in the first place. I’m not saying you’re incapable, I’m saying that I’ve been watching this jaded teen all week, and it makes me damn proud to have you as a son somewhere out there, but it saddens me to see how much more you act like a soldier-- a chess piece-- more than a boy in the short timeframe. You’re not my kid, but you’re Bruce’s kid. As a Bruce, I can vouch that all my kids mean more to me than any villain, than any city could ever hold. You don’t have to be out there.

“Yes, it’s a Joker. Yes, we’ve got our hands full, but we’re Bats. We have been doing this-- and it’s not to say you’re not capable in your own way, but I’m saying this is your chance to step away. You don’t have to do this.”

Tim places a hand over Bruce’s. “But I want to do this Bruce, I don’t need to help. I want to help.”

I still want to be out there….We protect our own.

“I knew this was coming. Why didn’t I pick the tiny adorable ones over the stubborn ones.” Bruce pinches the bridge of his nose. “Alright fine. But you’re sticking with me the entire time.”

Tim looks surprised. Maybe he’s surprised it actually worked, but then again Damian has been shooting impatient looks their way every now and then and he has to cut this short. From the way Tim has circumnavigated the “no caffeine” rule, Bruce was sure the teen would be out, with or without his permission.

Might as well keep an eye out for him.

“Remember to triple check your gear-- I think Cass has the closest dosage for you on the anti-toxins so get those-- we’re heading to the Docks in five, be there in the Batmobile as soon as you can.”

Tim raises his head and meets Batman’s eye. Familiar blue eyes clear, intense under the fluorescent light. Open and trusting. “Thanks B.”

“I’m trusting you right now Tim. Suit up.” Bruce frowns at his thoughts and brings back his cowl and turns around to see the rest of the children looking at them.

“Smooth.” Black Bat whistles, and Nightwing cuffs her behind her head.

“They were having a moment!”

“A moment they could’ve done after the maniac has been apprehended, might I add.” Robin sneers from the computer. “He’s only gonna stay in one place for long, and word on the GCPD transmissions is that he’s already got some of their own as hostages.”

Bruce nods to everyone, Nightwing and Black Bat on their respective bikes. Robin, manning the coms and already hacked into the nearest CCTV cameras near the docks. Tim-- Red Robin, hanging out of the Batmobile’s windows waiting.

“Let’s go get that clown.”

[blancheludis]

@whumptober2021 Day 5: Misunderstandings

Fandom: DCU, Batman, Superman Characters: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Tags: Misunderstandings, Unhealthy Relationship, Miscommunication, Open Ending Words: 4.404

Summary: “I bought the bank,” Bruce says, his face unreadable as ever, but he looks like he is waiting for something.

Clark stands with his parents’ farm in his back, the farm that now belongs to Bruce, and he understands, loud and clear. I bought you.

So, with his mother’s home and well-being on the line, he has little choice but to follow when Bruce beckons.

---

“I bought the bank,” Bruce says, his hands hidden in his trouser pockets, completely casual.

His face is unreadable as ever but Clark knows that face by now, knows that Bruce never does anything without reason.

So, what Clark hears, loud and unmistakeably, is, I bought you.

He swallows, his mouth dry, searching for the right thing to say but coming up empty. The distance between them stretches, growing larger with every passing, silent second.

Then Bruce frowns, causing ice to spread inside Clark’s chest. Bruce bought him. That means he is not just holding Clark’s life in his hands but also that of his mother. He understands that the farm is safe for now, the house will remain standing – now the ball is in Clark’s corner to keep it that way.

“Thank you,” Clark says, far too late, but he somehow manages to sound calm, not as brittle as he feels, blindsided by this sudden change of his fate.

The frown vanishes from Bruce’s face but that only makes the icy grip around Clark’s insides tighten. He had not thought Bruce capable of this, trying to control him and demanding him to be happy about it, too.

“You didn’t have to,” Clark adds cautiously. Bruce could have just asked if he wanted Clark, did not have to go to the trouble of holding his home and family hostage.

“Nonsense,” Bruce says, dismissing in a way that seems to come so easily to him. It has Clark gritting his teeth, even while he keeps his face friendly – a very thin façade.

Here they are, regularly saving the world together, but they are apparently still not equals. Clark pointedly does not look at the house behind him, at the fading colours and the cracks in the porch, at the corner where the roof threatens to give in during the next storm. He did not grow up with money to spare but they were never poor, not in any way that matters. There was always warmth to be found in their house, always love.

Rather uncharitably, Clark thinks that is where they differ. Not because Clark is an alien with super strength and super speed, while Bruce is human. No, Clark is rich in terms of love. He knows where he comes from and where he belongs. Bruce, on the other hand, is lost, building relentlessly to hide the fact that there is no ground to build on.

“I’d invite you in,” Clark says, although he really, really would not. Whatever game Bruce is playing, he will not do it in front of his mother. “But I should tell my mom first.”

Bruce straightens even while his brow creases again just a bit, enough to make Clark wonder what the price for disappointing Bruce will be. Whether they will lose the house immediately or if he will dismantle Clark’s life in a different way first.

“I’ll come to the Manor once I’m done,” Clark offers quickly and takes a step towards Bruce, hoping he is not placating him too obviously. Bruce likes subtlety, after all.

They have known each other for a while now, fought next to each other, and yet he has no idea how to please Bruce, what is expected of him here.

“I’m looking forward to it,” Bruce says, still as unreadable, but he looks slightly less tense.

Clark smiles. It is a real thing if borne of relief instead of happiness. He is glad to take this to the Manor. It is already such an empty place, grief permeating its shadows. Clark will not feel bad about adding his own to it.

“Give my best to your mother,” Bruce says as he is already turning away, off-handed like there is nothing to it, just a social nicety.

Clark’s smile freezes. He stares at Bruce’s back. Later, he will think that he should not have been surprised. Batman is built to be a threat, his every move and word meant to subdue and intimidate. But Bruce is subtler than that, underhanded. Hiding his threats beneath well-wishes that, under any other circumstances would have been innocuous, is right up Bruce’s alley, although it hits Clark like a sucker punch.

He hears the warning loud and clear. I bought you and I expect you to fall in line. Or else.

Clark loves his home but he loves his mother more. “I will,” he says and means it. There is no other choice anyway.

---

Clark thinks briefly about contacting Diana. Perhaps she would have some insight into what Bruce expects. Although, if he is honest with himself, Clark knows. He noticed Bruce’s stares, slowly morphing from distrust to respect to something he thought was welcoming but might have been simple want instead.

He could have asked. Ignoring their bumpy beginnings, Clark liked working with Bruce. They could have built something. But perhaps that is not what Bruce is interested in. He likes control, that much is clear, and maybe he sensed that Clark does not want to be on the receiving end of that. That could be the game and Bruce will tire of it quickly. Somehow, Clark knows that will not be the case.

He is stalling. After talking to his mother, he went to his old room, her relief leaving a bittersweet aftertaste. There is so much to do, but he guesses Bruce’s patience will run out if Clark starts retiling the roof instead of doing as he is told.

No, he decides, he cannot tell Diana. She does not do subtle and Clark cannot afford force. He will give himself half an hour and then he will do what must be done. That is what heroes do, after all, even if he has never felt less like one.

Later, Alfred opens the door for him, smiling with a warmth that Clark does not understand. “Mr. Kent, what a pleasure to see you here.”

Clark nods in greeting, tries to pull up his lips and fails miserably. “I guess Bruce is waiting for me?”

He is and he is not, looking surprised when Clark enters his office. “I didn’t expect you so soon.” Clark was not exactly given a schedule, but he prefers to be early rather than late. “Come, we need to go over some things.”

Privately, Clark expects rules on how this new life of his will run. Instead, it is business as usual, talking about the League. He barely hears a word Bruce is saying but makes sure to nod in the appropriate places.

He stays for dinner – Bruce does not say he can leave – and while he knows that Alfred is an excellent cook, everything tastes like ash.

 ---

The first time they kiss, Bruce holds him like he is afraid Clark will disintegrate in his arms. Only when Clark pushes forward, acting eager to drown out the churning of his stomach, does the tension bleed out of Bruce’s muscles. If things were different, Clark could even enjoy this. He had thought about it, even, about Bruce. But either Bruce never looked at him the same way or he just likes to make sure his lovers cannot leave on their own terms.

All the following times, Bruce kisses like a drowning man, desperate for the air in Clark’s lungs even knowing that it is poisoned. 

None of it makes sense. Clark is here to stay until he is dismissed. He will not refuse any of Bruce’s whims. And yet it feels as if it is Bruce who is waiting for the second shoe to drop, as if Clark will one day decide his mother’s home and well-being are not important for him anymore and leave.

It does not give Clark a sense of power. Instead, he just wonders when their time is finally running out, afraid of what the fallout will be.

 ---

“Where were you all our lives?” Jason asks one night when they are waiting for Bruce so they can eat dinner. “B is like a new person since you decided to give his sorry ass a chance.”

Clark did no such thing, but that is better kept between him and Bruce, so he shrugs. “Waiting for the right opportunity, I guess.” Bruce certainly did, and Clark did not have much choice but to follow.

He does not have much contact with Bruce’s family, but they treat him like he is one of them. Somehow, Clark thinks, this would be easier if they did not, if at least someone would acknowledge that he is nothing but a stranger, one of Bruce’s few indulgences, just one wrong step away from being dropped and put outside with the trash.

“Well, I wouldn’t have minded having you around when I was still living here.” Jason’s grin looks real, not even a hint of sharpness beneath it, although nobody in this family could ever be described as soft. “Much fewer shouting matches.”

You should have bought your father a whore much sooner, Clark thinks but immediately scolds himself for it. Neither the children nor Alfred seem to know the reason for this arrangement. And Bruce treats him kindly, almost as if this were real.

And Clark does not only come here to warm Bruce’s bed. If he did not know any better, he would even say that Bruce values his company.

“Although your taste is questionable,” Jason continues, apparently not bothered by Clark’s silence. “You could do much better.”

And that is the thing, because in the situation he is in, Clark cannot do anything but acquiesce. He is getting a better version of Bruce than he expected, making it not hard to play along. But this, right here, is the best Clark can do while his mother’s fate is lying in Bruce’s hands.

“He’s your father,” Clark chides quietly, because what else is there to do?

Also, if he ignores the way it happened, he has little to complain about. Bruce is polite and giving and constantly concerned with Clark’s well-being. He does not think it is a façade. Not beyond the obvious.  

But if it is not a façade and it is not real either, he has no idea what else it could be. Clark hates being lost. It makes him feel like he is in freefall and, for once, unable to fly. He is not naïve enough to think somebody would catch him either.  

 ---

Clark expects kinks and pain and being uncomfortable the entire time, but Bruce is a generous lover. He never asks Clark to stay and yet always seems to be so glad when he does, almost like Clark is doing him a favour instead of not making a fuss about his duties.

None of it makes sense. Less so with every passing day.

Even with a handful of adopted children, Bruce is still regularly crowned most eligible bachelor. People are throwing themselves at him left and right. Some of them must be in it for more than just Bruce’s looks or money. There must even be someone who already knows about Batman. Someone who does not have to be coerced.

With a bit more time, Clark thinks he could have been that. Sometimes, when he lies awake in Bruce’s arms, warm and safe and satisfied, he resents that he was not given that time.

 ---

“Why don’t you invite your friend over to dinner?” his mother asks.

The roof has finally been retiled and Clark is thinking about repainting the living room. The question rips him out of his musings like someone dunked his head in ice water.

“My friend?” he asks, although he knows exactly who she is talking about.

Bruce is many things. His colleague and co-conspirator and lover. But they have never been given the chance to become friends.

“The one who helped with the farm,” his mother says, frowning at him. She knows exactly that he is stalling, just not why. And Clark will do everything in his power to make sure she never finds out. “I know you felt like we should have managed on our own, but who knows where we’d be without him.”

Without the farm, probably, but that does not necessarily mean they would be worse off.

“Bruce,” Clark says flatly as if he only just remembered the name. As if all of his thoughts do not circle around Bruce all the time these days – as if he does not sometimes think that is not only a bad thing.

“Exactly.” She smiles, honest and grateful and all the things she would not be if he were honest with her. “You never bring him here.”

Clark is sure his world would implode if he did. “He’s busy,” he dismisses, trying for a casual tone and failing. At least his mother might think he is merely nervous about bringing a partner home to meet her. And he is, just for all the wrong reasons. He is terrified of her liking Bruce.  

“Well, you’re seeing each other all the time,” she keeps digging, knowing she always gets what she wants sooner or later. Not this time, though. “Surely it won’t be too hard to invite him sometime.”

“Mom –”

“Clark,” she says in the same tone she used when he smuggled frogs into the house as a boy. “I haven’t properly thanked him yet.”

What is there to thank Bruce for? Clark is paying their debt every day. It might not feel this way most of the time, but he is still acutely aware of the truth.

“I’ll tell him,” Clark lies. “But you shouldn’t get your hopes up. I can barely get him to sit down for dinner when he’s just a few doors down from his office.”

The very idea makes him sick, thinking about Bruce sitting at their dinner table, looking at their family pictures on the walls, sliding neatly into a spot where he does not belong. Bruce is a charmer, he would steal his mother’s affection within moments of coming into the door. And that cannot happen. Clark’s heart is not made to be broken in that way. His mother wants to see him happy, he knows, and it is too much to lie to her about that.

 ---

“Why didn’t you just ask?” Clark does not mean to say that out loud, but he has been thinking it often during quiet hours.

Because whatever this is, Bruce does not seem to want to rule him. He is content with them just being together and yet he lets that executioner’s axe hover over Clark’s neck.

“Ask what?” Bruce blinks at him, growing more awake. They are lying in bed together, worn out and sleepy and Clark has already decided not to go home tonight, which has too little to do with what Bruce is expecting of him and too much with how comfortable he is, here at Bruce’s side.

It would be easy to bow out, feed Bruce something inconsequential. But Clark is tired of waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Why didn’t you just ask me to go out? Why did you have to buy me?” He has never said the word out loud and he stumbles over it.

Confusion burrows Bruce’s brow as he stares. He has gone very, very still. “Buy you?”

Clark clicks his tongue, remembering why they never talked about it. It is too cumbersome to hash out the details. “Me. The bank. Same difference.”

Understanding dawns on Bruce’s face, giving way to something far greater, far darker. Clark does not get a chance to interpret it properly because Bruce all but pushes him away, scrambling out of the bed and to his feet. He is naked but stands in a fighting position like it is second nature to him no matter what he wears.

“I didn’t buy you.” The offence in his tone is undermined by growing confusion. It sounds very believable.

“You went to quite some length to gain control over my life. I’d say that counts as buying.” Before him, Bruce’s expression grows brittle but Clark presses on. This has been weighing on his soul for way too long. “I didn’t expect you to threaten my mother, but I guess that’s all part of the game.” The words taste bitter on his tongue, still tinged with fear of the possible repercussions. “Only, you’re not even doing anything you couldn’t have gotten if you’d just asked.”

No underhanded humiliations. No kinks where superhuman regeneration abilities come in handy. No secret grievances to pay for. It almost felt real, a relationship like any other, if not for the way it started.

“You think I bought you.” Bruce sounds old, his voice is rougher than usual, almost pained. He is leaning away from Clark, even while his feet remain steady on the ground.

Clark frowns. “You did.” As much as he could be bought, chained not by strength but by concern for what he holds dear.

“And then -” Bruce clears his throat when his voice breaks. “You came into my bed because you thought I’d what?”

“Take the farm. Put my mother on the street.” Clark knows this and yet his voice lilts up, turning his words into a question.

Bruce closes his eyes, his face so raw and open as Clark has never seen it before. It looks like he is in pain, sudden and suffocating. A weight sits heavily in Clark’s stomach as he wonders, just maybe, if he got it all wrong.

“I bought the bank,” Bruce says, voice so low that Clark has to strain to hear him. “And then I forgave your mother’s loan the very moment I could. I have nothing in hand to harm you or your family.”

That is not true, a voice in Clark’s head says but even at that moment he knows it is uncharitable. Bruce would not – but –

“You’re not –”

He is cut off as Bruce starts laughing. It is a sharp-edged thing, clawing its way up from some terrible place, fed by self-loathing and doubt. “You thought I was blackmailing you into having a relationship with me? And you just agreed?”

Bruce does not mock him, the incredulity is clearly pointed at himself, drawing blood with a certainty that speaks of life-long practice. And yet, Clark feels offended. He might not be human, but he is not above emotions, above fear.

“What was I supposed to do?” Clark asks, watching as Bruce’s expression falls further, deep lines opening up where Bruce usually hides everything beneath a clear canvas.

“You’re Superman. You’re a reporter,” he says as if the latter somehow weighs more. “You know my identity, so even if you didn’t want to kill me you could have stopped me any time.” He puts out the idea of being killed as if there is nothing to it. “And you’d have been right to ruin my life because all I’ve apparently done is ruin yours.”

This is not how Clark imagined this conversation to go. He expected to be shut down immediately, to be pushed back into silence. But this? “You didn’t ruin –” he tries to say because, if anything, it seems they ruined each other.

“I raped you,” Bruce snaps, effectively cutting through Clark’s line of thoughts. “For months.”

For a long moment, all Clark can do is stare, the words sitting incomprehensible between them. His chest is hollow and yet something in there seems adamant to drag him down.

“No, Bruce. You didn’t,” he then says, his voice rough. “You never hurt me.” There was never any violence between them, no bruises, no humiliation. He never even had to hide a hickey. And yet, Bruce says the word rape with such certainty, such loathing, his judgement already made.

“You didn’t think you could say no. What else do you think that is but rape?” Bruce turns around abruptly, pressing one hand against his mouth. He looks small, like the tension in the air would be enough to smother him.

Clark knows he should say something, clear this up, but he does not know how. He is watching Bruce fall apart in front of him but all he can do is stare.

Then Bruce buries his face in his hands. “I can’t stop being Batman. I’ll do whatever else you want, but I can’t give up that. Gotham needs –” he cuts himself off, shrinks, impossibly, even further into himself. “If you insist, I’ll find someone to take over, but I’ll need some time.  I’ll – you won’t have to see me ever again.”

Something is happening here, way too fast for Clark to follow. Bruce bought him, only – he did not? Because being acquainted with a billionaire apparently means that banks get bought just to help each other out.

He was so sure, though. The expectation for something lingered in Bruce’s eyes that day, and he never protested when Clark gave himself over.

“Bruce.” Clark’s mind is spinning too much to make sense of what is happening, but he cannot watch this, cannot watch Bruce damage himself beyond repair. And for what – an apology? Batman has nothing to do with this. “You forgave the loan?”

That is the easiest thing to reach for. Because Bruce did not rape him, did not harm him at all. That first night, Clark might not have come to him voluntarily, but he came willingly. He knew what he was getting into – or he thought he knew – and he still went. And it never mattered that Clark thought he could not refuse because nothing bad ever happened. A few scheduling conflicts, a few fake smiles when he was not in a good mood. But – it was a misunderstanding? Bruce never set out to control him?

Bruce is still turned away, likely as unable to look at Clark as Clark is to look away. “Of course,” he says, raw and honest.

“It’s not –” Clark breathes, then clarifies, “You don’t have to do anything. I definitely don’t want you to stop being Batman. We – I just misunderstood. But nothing happened.”

Months of uncertainty happened. Months of waiting for the punchline. Months of trying to figure out Bruce’s game only to learn that there has never been one.

“Nothing happened?” Bruce whips his head around. His eyes are wide, filled with some grief that Clark cannot even begin to decipher. “If that’s what you think then I’ll definitely make sure you won’t have to see me again.”

For some reason, that last thing stings more than the realization that all of Clark’s fears have been for nothing.

“I’m not a child, Bruce. Don’t treat me like one,” he snaps, not stopping when Bruce flinches away from him. “I might have thought that I didn’t have a choice, but you never did anything I would have said no to.”

A small voice in the back of Clark’s head asks him whether that matters. He would not have said no, not for anything as long as he thought his mother’s happiness was on the line. He pushes that thought down, unable to fully comprehend it, much less deal with it right now.

“Apart from demanding your presence and presuming your consent? I trapped you in a relationship you didn’t want.” Bruce sneers at himself, then deflates. He looks old, suddenly, hollowed out. “God, you must hate me.”

Does he? Clark wonders, even while he already says, “I don’t, aren’t you listening?” It is a painful dichotomy, this sudden anger and the stubborn incomprehension warring in his mind. “If you had asked me before you bought the bank, I would have gladly gone out with you.”

“But I didn’t ask.”

Clark has no argument for that, and while he still searches for one anyway, a sudden wall builds itself up between them.

Bruce’s composure is shattered but he still visibly draws the pieces together. Neither of them has yet reached for any clothes but he still stands as if in full armour. “You have my deepest apologies, Clark,” he says, too formal, too withdrawn, even if Clark does not doubt his sincerity. He has seen the ruin lying beneath Bruce’s mask, after all. “I know that’s not enough, but I promise you will never have to deal with me again. But, whatever you need from me, now or in the future, you will have it.”

What Clark needs is - “Bruce, stop.”

But Bruce does not listen, of course not. His eyes travel over Clark’s face as if to memorize his features and then he turns around, never looking back as he storms out of the room. Out of Clark’s life.

“Bruce.” No answer.

Clark should follow him. Bruce still has to find clothes and he does not have any super speed to aid in his flight. It would be easy and this conversation is not done. And yet, Clark finds himself remaining right where he is. In Bruce’s bed, naked but for the blanket pooling around his waist.

A misunderstanding, he thinks. Relief blossoms in his stomach but it sits there heavily, not quite releasing him. He cannot let Bruce go, not forever, but his mind is not his own right now. His skin still burns where Bruce kissed him just an hour ago and his muscles ache deeply. Soon there will not be any visible traces of their time together left and – Clark needs that. He needs to be his own person for a while.

Slowly, he gets up and puts on his clothes. He will leave town and visit his mother for a while. The living room still needs to be repainted and he is desperate to do something that makes sense.

Later, once he feels at home in his own skin again, he will go to Bruce. He can imagine the maelstrom of thoughts Bruce must battle right now. Guilt and shame and self-deprecation. Knowing him, he will not get out of this on his own but just do his best to bury it, ignoring the way it eats away at the very foundation of his being. Clark cannot let that happen, not when they have both contributed to their misery. He knows Bruce is a good person, knows he never communicates clearly. And yet he assumed the worst and gave in to it.

The living room, first, Clark thinks as he steps out into the sun, feeling its warmth as he has not done in weeks, even if his legs are not quite steady. And then the rest of their lives.