#Alfred: We need bigger mugs

[mr007pennyworth]

The audacity of finishing a cup of tea before you've eaten the packet of biscuits means you have to get out of your 'well comfy' chair to make another cuppa just so you can be disappointed at finishing the packet but also pleased you get to open a new one because you haven't finished your second cuppa and the cycle starts all over again.

*sighs in British* "its a struggle honestly"

[river-bottom-nightmare]

“i really don’t get why i have to keep doing this,” bruce complained—quite reasonably and collectedly, he was certain. he did not whine.

alfred hummed, flipping through a case file detective gordon had brought him earlier that day. single mugging, married couple dead, no possible suspects. not a shred of evidence connecting it to a crime four years prior. their leads were getting thinner and thinner, but bruce’s will was iron, was a buoy in the water, was was a centuries-old fortress that refused to crumble. he refused to crumble.

though, in a very physical sense, he was close to crumbling right about now. atop a platform, he aimed a grappling hook alfred had given him, (its origins unclear), and shot at a higher platform some yards away. with a click of the trigger it spiraled upwards, loosely catching onto the target, much sloppier than his earlier attempts. to be perfectly fair, his earlier attempts had been an hour and a half ago. catch, lock, leap, then land.

“you stumbled on your landing there,” alfred noted, the barest flicker of a glance upwards. 

“because i’ve been doing this forever,” bruce said. “there are other things i need to learn. other ways i can spend my time instead of wasting it on this—” he gestured, throwing the grapple to the ground. 

“you’re still determined in your idea of a vigilante for gotham, are you not?” alfred asked.

determined? at times, it was the only thing keeping him alive, stoking his soul like kindling, burning up, burning away, turning to ash just to sustain that starving flame. was he the kindling or was he the fire? bruce wasn’t quite sure. either way, “yes.”

“then you will pick up that grapple and train for another hour,” alfred stated simply, little room for argument in his tone. his posture softened a bit as he looked up, though, soft for a man of his demeanor. “have you considered,” he said, “that it’s not a lesson in grappling hooks i am trying to teach you.”

--

“i can do this better than you, you know,” dick said his voice was airy, amused, riding the backside of a giggle. he was careful to let it come out that way every time. still, the taps of his fingers and swinging of his legs betrayed his impatience.

“balance isn’t the point of this,” bruce said, looking up at him. he had a case file spread out on his lap, ever-fond of paper despite the slowly-developing computer the two of them are building in the cave, because secretly bruce savoured the sting of a papercut against the thumb, the reality of it, tangibility in the most piercing way. it kept him grounded.

dick, who had been doing his level best to never once be grounded in his life,  quickly leaped from one ledge in the batcave to another. the grappling hook in his hand had been an unfamiliar weight at first, as in the circus he’d been much more reliant in his own momentum, the push and pull of his own body. after hours upon hours of training with it, however, the grip fit into his hand as though it had been molded for that very purpose. (knowing bruce...)

the two front flips dick performed during the jump clearly hadn’t been missed by bruce. the older man’s lips were pursed disapprovingly, but he couldn’t hide the amusement in the crinkles of his eyes from dick, no matter how serious he seemed to appear. bruce had grown to know dick in the months they’d been partners. he knew how much dick cherished being airborne, how it made his blood pound against his wrists, at his throat. still, the monotony was starting to get to him.

“if there’s a bigger lesson here, i’m not really getting it,” dick said.

bruce hummed, looking thoughtful. “maybe it’s best we practice this outside tomorrow. or, at least, in the city. i think that will help.” dick wasn’t sure how exactly a change in scenery would change the one thing he’d been doing over and over and over for the past two hour, but he swung down to the ground anyway.

“just keep in mind,” bruce said, “the grapple isn’t just a tool to take you from building to building. and a building isn’t just a landing place.”

--

“i have been trained in picking things up remarkably quickly, grayson. that’s enough practice. i have this down.”

even with those words, damian used his new grappling hook to swing up two stories to the next building. dick followed him, choosing at the last minute to follow damian’s example with the grappling hook instead of his own momentum and daring, as he often did.

“that’s not why we’re doing this,” dick said, settling on the stone ledge. damian touched down next to him. “i mean, you could work on your flow from one leap to the next. they’re not as smooth as the could be—” a scowl on damian’s face, furious at being corrected, resolute in training himself until he fixed the issue, trying to hide his inadequacy altogether, “—but the lesson isn’t the grappling.”

“the lesson seems to be very obviously about grappling,” damian pointed out.

dick made an agreeing sort of noise, then seemed to stare at the stone ledge they were sitting on for a minute and a half. “to me, it’s always seemed as if all the buildings in this city are connected.” damian shot him an irritated look, but quelled when dick sent him a gesture in response: just go with it. trust me. “it’s all—it’s all gotham, it’s all the grit and bones that this city is built on. and the grappling hooks are a tool to take us from rooftop to rooftop, sure, but it’s a bit more than that. they connect us to the city, too.”

that, damian could see, the hooks of the grapple biting into the meat of the building, like a flechette striking through the heart of a bullseye, a puncture wound cutting right to the heart, a pinprick in width but hooking on to whatever it finds. it’s an ache he felt far too often, himself.

“yes, i know,” damian said rather belatedly, running his fingers over the scarred building. “so?”

“so,” dick said. “if all of these rooftops we run across like they’re our playground are gotham herself, and our grapples are what cut deep into her skin and bones, then what does that make us?”

and, well, when dick phrased it like that, scraped-raw skin and bruised flesh and and the ever-present thud of a heart, the answer fell to his lips easily. “we’re gotham’s lifeblood. we keep her trembling and shaking and fighting every night. we keep her alive.”

--

this is incomprehensible and far too bold a claim but i’m feeling far too metaphorical and overdramatic today

tag list: @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @buticaaba @comics-observer @newsical @queenofbooknerds @scattered-winter @amillionandonefandoms

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 8

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Tim woke up the next morning, because that’s how things work.

He fought back a groan as he slowly flexed each muscle individually, making sure that everything was still working. To his surprise, it actually was. His brain stuttered to a stop. Why had he been asleep, then? He was pretty sure it wasn’t his usual sleep day…

Then, he finally processed the fact that his face was pressed to something that definitely wasn’t his pillow.

He cracked an eye open. He was laying on top of Marinette, head resting on her stomach. She was still asleep, he noted, one of her hands was thrown over her eyes and the other tangled in his hair.

He vaguely considered just staying there. He could stay in that position forever…

Except he couldn’t. He had responsibilities. He was pretty sure that if he skipped both patrols and work his family would assume he’d been brainwashed in some way.

So, reluctantly, he pushed himself up and reached a hand out to poke Marinette awake.

She grumbled a little and caught his hand, blinking her eyes open. She looked up at him for a moment, uncomprehending in her sleepy state, and he couldn’t help but smile. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead before clambering away from their tangle of limbs so he could take a quick shower and get ready.

First, though, he started up the coffee machine. He’d known that she’d had coffee, he’d been there when she bought it... but, really, if she was worried enough to lie about it he’d at least try and alleviate those fears a little.

That done, he took a quick shower. He already had a towel and toothbrush at the house -- wow, Marinette really wasn’t joking, he had basically moved in already, oops -- so he used those.

Then he pulled on the outfit she’d made him. By the time he needed help lacing up the corset, Marinette had stumbled into the room in a daze.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hello?”

She held out one of two mugs for him and he was forced to hide his smile behind his cup.

“Could you help me with this,” he asked.

She nodded and downed her entire mug before walking behind him. He felt her forehead tip forward to rest against the back of his shoulder as she worked and he was very glad she couldn’t see his face because he was sure that he was beginning to get redder than their costumes.

She pulled the lace tight and tied it off and he had no clue if the tightness in his chest was because she had laced him too tightly or because of nerves but either way he didn’t really mind. He turned back around, pressing another kiss to her forehead.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiled at him. “I’ll make some bacon for you to eat on the go. Don’t want you to be hungry.”

He considered saying no but, really, he didn’t see her all that often in the morning and he had to admit that it was pretty cute. “If you remember to make some for yourself then sure.”

She hummed a little and turned around to go make food. He’d check on her in a few minutes to make sure she hadn’t fallen back asleep while cooking.

For now, he absently checked his clothes over for bugs. It was an old habit from years of living with the bats and, had he been even slightly more awake, he wouldn’t have done it.

Except he did. And there, hidden in the cuff of his shirt, was a bug.

… he hadn’t even been this happy when Damian had bugged him for the first time. She cared about him and his well-being! He was accepted!

When he made his way back into the kitchen he made sure to give her a long hug.

~

Marinette was so tired. She had been working on attaching the diamonds to Cassandra Wayne’s dress and there were so fucking many.

So, when Robin climbed through her window, all she did was give a vague wave of acknowledgement.

“You need better window locks,” he informed her.

“Most people don’t know how to pick every lock in existence, kid.”

“But some do.”

She thought about whether or not she really wanted this to be the argument that took up valuable work time. The answer was no, definitely not.

She finally turned to face him, resting her cheek against the couch. She didn’t know Damian personally outside of messing with Tim when they were in their superhero identities, she wasn’t even completely sure that this was Damian (though he did match up with the measurements she had for his outfits), so there was no good reason for him to be there.

She squinted suspiciously at him. Now that she was paying attention, she could see that he had his hands behind his back.

“What do you want?”

“I saw on your lease that you are allowed to have pets in your apartment.”

Oh no.

“Please tell me you didn’t,” she whispered, her voice close to begging.

He slowly brought his hands out from behind his back to reveal a black cat with almost luminous green eyes. She rested her head in her hands, taking deep breaths to remain calm.

“I wish to coparent with you.”

“... your dad didn’t let you get another pet?”

(Yes, she knew about the pet problem. She had seen Batcow. She had seen the Batbats all over the cave that he had apparently taken in.)

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Possibly.”

She slowly lifted her head from her hands to glare at him. Unfortunately for her, he puffed out his little baby cheeks in a pout and, even if most of what she did was played up to mess with Tim, she was weak for little kids that look sad.

“Fine. But you’re paying for everything and you better actually help me take care of it.”

“She! And her name is Vanelope!”

“Van --?” She decided she didn’t care. She glanced at Damian’s still disapproving expression and rolled her eyes before leaning down to be at the cat’s eye level: “I’m sorry for calling you an ‘it’, Vanelope.”

He nodded, apparently satisfied by her begrudging apology.

“C’mon, put Vanelope down, we’re going to the pet store.”

Damian beamed. She pulled the front of his hood down over his eyes in retaliation for the dumb situation he’d put her in. Revenge achieved, she transformed and ducked out her window before she could get stabbed.

~

Scarecrow’s parties were always the best.

For one thing, there was the haunted house. Scarecrow took the whole ‘scaring people’ thing very seriously, it was his whole shtick, so you could always count on him to dream up the best haunted houses. Even better, he’d give out brownies laced with minute traces of fear toxin to make the whole thing just a little bit scarier.

Speaking of brownies: the food. Tim was pretty sure that some of the stuff served at the parties could rival the things Marinette and Alfred made.

Then there were the venues he picked. They had to get bigger every year, what with Bruce’s adoption problem and the Rogue’s ever-expanding roster. This year the man had rented out an entire park and the building nearby. The building had a dance floor and a kind of second floor that overlooked everyone. The park held all the people that the building could not.

Add in the fact that every single person was probably clinically insane in some way or another and you’d have the reason for why he was always excited to go.

Tim attended the party as a Red Robin employee. He had to, it was on brand.

Marinette raised her eyebrows when she saw him. She’d gotten there before him, which had been a little bit of a surprise. He’d thought she’d at least wait for a few vigilantes to come to make sure it was safe --.

Oh. Nevermind. He stifled a grin when his eyes landed on a blonde in an outfit he recognized as Cassie’s. He was pretty sure dressing up as Wonder Girl was betraying the bats but he wasn’t going to be the one to call Steph out on it. Cassie was pretty cool...

Cassie -- no, Steph -- was suddenly grabbed by the arm by an excited Marinette and pulled her over to him. Marinette was wearing a pirate costume and he suspected that the bottle of wine in her free hand was more than an accessory.

“Red Robin, yum~,” both women chorused.

He rolled his eyes. “They’ve infected you already. Soon you’ll be disappearing into the shadows without ending conversations.”

Marinette grinned, the corner of her mask (now tinted black in some places to mimic a pirate’s beard) twitching. “It’s about time you assholes got a taste of your own medicine.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Y’know, for someone who didn’t like the idea of the party before, you sure did get into your outfit.’

“Please, I put effort into all my outfits.”

“Except for the Ladybug one,” teased Steph.

She huffed. “I was on a time crunch --.”

Tim grinned. “That’s no excuse.”

“... you had thought about it for who knows how long and not only did you come up with the name Drake, but you also came up with an ugly brown outfit. You don’t get a say in this.”

Steph grinned. “And me?”

“Your outfits are okay,” said Marinette after a few second’s thought.

Tim gasped in mock offense. “And I thought we were friends.”

“Friends call each other out for their stupid fashion choices.”

Steph smirked and slung her arm around Marinette’s shoulders. “And, really, you need an intervention.”

When did they start ganging up on Tim?

“Whatever. This outfit is nice, so that makes up for all past mistakes.”

“It’d be nicer if you didn’t make the same joke every year,” Steph teased.

He huffed and pouted, but then something caught his eyes. Dick had arrived, Tim could see him perched on a second floor railing in his work clothes… of course, the name tag marking him as Nurse Grayson was gone, but it was still the same light blue scrubs.

He paled a little under his domino for two reasons. The first was the instantaneous worry about their identities; sure, Gotham had many medical workers, but who knows, Gotham and Bludhaven twitter both insisted that Dick had a very distinct body. The second was Marinette was going to end up liking Dick quite a lot -- she already looked up to him for his fighting style, there was no way she was going to be able to resist the signature Grayson charm that had won over every superhero, vigilante, and villain on Earth (and a few other planets as well).

He knew that, inevitably, Dick would win her over… but he was definitely going to stall it as much as he possibly could.

So, he pulled a grin to his face. “Oh, Ladybug, you haven’t gone in the haunted house yet, have you?”

She gave him a slightly wary look. “I don’t do good with scary things.”

He grinned. “I’ll protect you.”

She raised her eyebrows slightly before sighing. “Fine.”

So, they made their way across the park to the haunted house. Scarecrow had, somehow, built an entire house in the one month since he had broken out of Arkham. It looked like it had been torn right out of a video game, with the blackened, decaying, and peeling wood and rickety steps.

Jonathan Crane smiled when he saw the two of them approaching. He was dressed as a scarecrow, but the one from the Wizard of Oz instead of the creepy one he was usually dressed as.

“Crane!” Tim greeted.

Crane held out the plate of fear toxin brownies for them. “Nice to see you, Red Robin. And nice to meet you, Ladybug.”

Marinette blushed a little, her head tipping to the side. “I’d shake your hand but you haven’t set down that tray the entire time I’ve been here. Starting to think you can’t.”

He laughed a little. “I appreciate the sentiment.”

Tim smiled a little and popped a brownie in his mouth. Fear toxin tasted a lot like chili powder and, he had to admit, it was pretty good.

Marinette took a brownie with a lot more hesitance.

“Oh! Have you been exposed to fear toxin yet?” Asked Crane before she could take a bite.

Marinette looked a little worried about the use of the word ‘yet’.

Marinette shook her head, though. “No.”

“Then your immunity isn’t built up. I’d suggest just eating half of that.”

She nodded thoughtfully and broke the brownie in half. She held the halves in her hand awkwardly, unsure what to do now.

“I’ll take the half you haven’t eaten,” suggested Crane.

He set down the tray -- Tim swore he could hear a cartoon sound effect as the man struggled to unstick his hand to the metal -- and took her other half.

“Since it’s a lower dose it’ll probably take longer to take effect,” said Tim. “We’ll have to wait a bit so you can have the full experience.”

Marinette took a tentative bite and her eyes lit up. “This is really good. What’s your recipe?”

Apparently, Crane had once tried to replicate the taste with normal chili powder and had fallen short. Tim watched the two of them theorize what it could be that his attempts had been missing. It was clear that Marinette had missed living in a bakery more than she was willing to admit and, unfortunately, none of the bats were particularly good at even cooking basic meals, let alone the kinds of things she was able to do. Alfred was the only exception and, even then, Bruce wouldn’t let him near her most of the time because of Identity Reasons. Tim was glad that she had someone to talk to about it, he just kinda wished that that person wasn’t a Rogue.

Tim jolted out of watching them when Marinette started rubbing up and down her arms absently. Ah, the toxin must be setting in for her now.

“Ladybug, ready to head inside?”

She blinked and looked up from the conversation. “Oh. Sure. I’ll talk to you later!”

“I’ll try not to get thrown into Arkham by anyone else while you’re gone,” joked Crane.

Tim grinned and took Marinette’s hand, pulling her inside.

It turns out she actually wasn’t all that good with scary things. Or, at least, jumpscares. She clung to his arm, dull nails doing their best to dig into his skin.

On one hand, he kind of felt bad for telling her to come along. On the other hand he thought it was kind of cute, maybe the next movie they watched together could be a horror.

He would probably be able to enjoy it a little more if he wasn’t tripping out on fear toxin himself. There was a creepy little girl following them around and he wasn’t going to acknowledge her and her creepy little white clothes because talking to hallucinations is always bad.

But then, towards the end, she disappeared.

He didn’t like that either. It set him on edge. It shouldn’t, the fear toxin was just wearing off… but he didn’t feel like it was wearing off. He was still a little shaky and the buzzing under his skin was still present, so maybe she’d been real and something was up.

He got his answer when he heard the sound of little feet dashing overhead.

Marinette squeaked and her grip on his arm tightened, somehow.

When the end was in sight and Tim was waiting anxiously for the final scare, he heard someone running towards them. High pitched laughter echoed around them.

“Oh fuck no,” he yelped when he saw the little girl running towards them, arms outstretched, pretty white dress splattered with red.

Marinette seemed to agree with the sentiment. She nearly pulled his arm out of its socket as she pushed herself into a sprint. He stumbled awkwardly a few steps before catching his footing and returning the tight grip.

And then, like the vigilantes with nerves of steel they were, they ran from the child.

~

She tried to look calm when the door swung shut behind them. She was pretty good at managing her emotions, she thought (or, at least, good at pushing them down).

But it wasn’t necessary because, when they reached the safety of the outside, they were handed a framed picture of them sprinting away from the creepy little girl, horror written plainly on their faces.

She blushed, more than a little embarrassed.

Thankfully, she was quickly distracted from her embarrassment. Her eyes landed on Bruce, who was dressed as a vampire. She waved for his attention, intending to point out the similarities in their outfits to mess with him, only for his eyes to zero in on the wine bottle in her hand.

Marinette mumbled a curse.

She turned and pressed a ‘kiss’ to Tim’s cheek through her mask. “Gotta go,” she chirped, before promptly disappearing into the crowd.

Alright, time to avoid Bruce. Where is the last place she’d be? Actually, no, he’d probably check the last place...

Her eyes landed on where Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn were hanging out by the drinks.

Hm... a negative (people she was wary about) and a positive (drinks!) to balance each other out. A good middle ground.

She walked over and picked up a weird drink with a lot of different candies sticking out of it. She did not know why Scarecrow felt the need to sully the good name of alcohol with American candies but, since it was apparently the only option, she slipped a straw under her mouth to drink.

The drink was taken from her fingers.

She looked at her now-empty hand, brain struggling to catch up, straw hanging limply from her mouth. Then she spat out the straw and cursed.

She slowly turned to look at the person who had stolen it from her, expecting to see a disappointed Bruce, only to meet eyes with Poison Ivy.

(Ivy had dressed up as a stereotypical martian. Marinette wondered, vaguely, if actual aliens were ever offended when people dressed up like the movie versions of them.)

“I’d like that back, thanks,” she said, reaching for the drink.

She held it out of reach -- holy shit she was tall -- and raised an unimpressed eyebrow at her. “You’re a child.”

“I’m nineteen.”

“Exactly: a child,” she said.

Marinette rolled her eyes. Was this how Damian felt? Damn, no wonder he was always so angry about it… but, to be fair, Damian actually was a child. She was nineteen. She had a job and an apartment. Completely different.

But, since convincing Ivy she wasn’t a child wasn’t working, she had to come up with a new approach: “I’ve been drinking since I was six.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to soothe the woman in front of her.

Thankfully, Harley Quinn -- who was wearing a knockoff Riddler costume -- decided to take pity on her: “Let her drink, Ives, Europeans drink differently than we do.”

Marinette and Poison Ivy exchanged confused looks. Marinette hadn’t gone out drinking with anyone properly in America outside of occasionally dropping into bars to trick old men into giving her drinks and then disappearing. Poison Ivy just, apparently, wasn’t aware of the difference.

“For them it’s a social thing, they don’t really get drunk like we do.”

Ivy hesitated. “You don’t get drunk?”

“I mean… we can get drunk,” she said slowly. She cringed visibly. “I did, once. The day I turned eighteen my mom told me ‘Just this once, to see what it’s like’... the pictures… they deleted them, but I will never live it down...”

She reached for the drink again and, this time, Ivy gave it to her. She was lucky she had her mask to hide the smirk on her face.

When Poison Ivy didn’t leave after that, Marinette knit her eyebrows together. The woman blushed (she blushed green?) and Harley pushed her towards Marinette a step.

“I would like to apologize for how we met…” Ivy said slowly. “Joker was an asshole in Arkham and I’d had a fight with Harley and I guess I just…” She snapped her fingers.

Marinette raised her eyebrows. “It’s fine. It’s not the first world-ending event I’ve had to stop because someone had had a bad day.”

Harley hesitated. “That’s… different.”

She shrugged. “New city, same shit… just sometimes easier, I guess. People are actually scared of Joker?”

“Now, that isn’t very nice!” Said a painfully cheery voice behind her.

She’d summoned him.

Marinette took a long, deep breath, before turning around to greet Joker and Punchline. They were dressed as circus clowns, because of course they would. “Hey! Still alive, I see.”

Joker smiled, like he always did. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Pretty sure you’ve died more than B-man over there,” said Harley.

“No clue why they keep bringing you back.”

Marinette’s eyebrows scrunched together. The man had died? And they had brought him back? Willingly? Weird.

“It’s ‘cause I’m Batsy’s favorite,” cooed Joker.

“Favorite punching bag, maybe,” said Ivy.

Marinette, wisely, decided to back up a step so she wasn’t between the two fighting groups.

“At least people pick him as their first choice,” said Punchline.

“You’d be the expert on what it’s like to be the second choice, I guess, since you’re just me but purple,” said Harley.

“I’m you but self-aware,” Punchline corrected her.

Ivy raised her eyebrows. “Some would say that’s worse.”

Punchline almost punched her.

She didn’t stop because of some amazing show of self-restraint, of course. Nightwing had just chosen that moment to drop down between the two groups. And then Nightwing, with his all-amazing powers of getting pretty much everyone on his side, got them to declare a truce and go to opposite sides of the room.

Marinette was a little disappointed as she took a sip of her drink. It had just started getting good.

But also: Nightwing!

“Is it true that you can do a quadruple somersault?”

Nightwing smiled widely.

~

Tim was beginning to think that maybe Marinette was so interested in Dick because she was secretly his long lost sister or something. They had the same ability to make even some of the worst people like them.

But, no. Dick having a secret half sister or something? How stupid would that be?

Still, Tim had seen her making friends with: all of his siblings that lived in Gotham, Scarecrow, Poison Ivy, Harley Quinn, Dick (damn it, he’d hoped he could keep them apart just a little longer)... the only people she hadn’t gotten to like her were Punchline and Joker, and even then she was choosing to annoy them, who knows what would happen if she actually tried to befriend them… and now she was hanging out with Riddler...

He sat next to them on their bench. “I’m beginning to think you can’t make friends with anyone normal.”

She grinned. “It’s a blessing and a curse.”

Riddler (dressed as the gameshow host he would probably be if he hadn’t gone off the deep end) looked over at Tim with barely hidden disdain. “Red Robin,” he greeted coolly.

Marinette frowned. “Why don’t you like him?”

“Him and all the bats… they always answer my riddles before I finish telling them.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix: Red, wait until he finishes telling the riddles before answering.”

He scoffed. “Why would I?”

“For the drama!” Riddler said in a tone that made it obvious he thought it was obvious.

“Half the time you have people’s lives on the line. Lower the stakes and maybe we’ll be more attuned to the dramatic tension.”

Riddler scowled. “You bats just don’t appreciate my art.”

“You’d think that they’d be all for drama.”

“Right? They have a whole brooding cave! But I want high stakes and suddenly I’m too concerned with the vibes of things.”

Marinette grinned and leaned towards Riddler conspiratorially. “They have more than a brooding cave. They have brooding gargoyles, brooding rooftops, brooding cars… I once caught Red over there brooding on his motorbike. Who can brood on a motorcycle? It’s a motorcycle!”

Tim huffed. “I thought we agreed to keep that a secret.”

“Sorry, darling, it’s just too easy to mess with you.”

Tim started to respond, but then he realized something.

‘Darling’?

That could mean one of three things. He needed to excuse himself from the conversation to figure out which was the truth.

He sent the two of them a halfhearted glare. “I will not put up with this bullying any longer.”

“Fine, fine. If you’re going to come back, bring me a cookie.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “If I must.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode off, a man on a mission.

After questioning all of the family she had talked to (she had yet to meet Jason, apparently), he determined that she didn’t use nicknames all that often. When she did it was usually just to make things quicker for herself. The only people outside of him that she ever used nicknames for were Bruce (‘B’) and maybe Damian (‘kid’).

And he had a nickname like that, too, of course. She called him ‘Red’ from time to time, probably just because she was too lazy to go through the hassle of saying his entire codename.

… but ‘darling’ was different. He had a pet name. In both identities, apparently.

Which meant one of two things:

a) he was special to her in both identities

or b) she knew he was Red Robin.

He was kinda hoping for the first one, but he wasn’t about to let emotions cloud his judgement. He sought out the world’s only accurate lie detector.

He found her surveying the crowd with Jason. They looked like they’d been transported directly from the renaissance, with her plague doctor outfit and his Shakespeare costume.

Tim grinned at them despite his slight anxiety. “Nice of you to bring a Green Arrow costume back from Star City, Flamebird.”

Jason touched the ugly goatee and mustache that both of them shared before sending him a glare. “And you all wonder why I don’t come home more often.”

“Really? I thought it was because you and Roy were --.”

Jason’s face reddened with either anger or embarrassment, Tim didn’t know and didn’t particularly care as his brother left them in a huff.

He couldn’t see Cass’s face but he could feel the disapproval.

“I just… I wanted to ask you something in private…”

Cass didn’t leave, so he assumed it was okay.

“Does Ladybug know our identities?”

Cass was motionless for a moment and he wished she didn’t have such a bulky outfit because it was hard to get a read on her…

And then she nodded, tapping the side of her forehead (the sign for ‘know’) to further emphasize the point.

He looked down at where Marinette was excitedly describing something to an enthused Riddler.

He’d been anxious about her finding out but, now that she had, he found that it was a huge weight off his shoulders. She knew who he was and she accepted it.

He leaned against the railing, a smile threatening to make its way across his face.

She accepted him.

[her-world-on-fire]

Atlas {Jason Todd x Reader}

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Word Count: 3,720

Prompts: ii. and vii. ❝i am calm. i am nothing but calm all the time.❞ ❝no, you're not. you're fifteen seconds from starting a fight at all times.❞ & ❝i'm surprised you haven't killed him yet.❞ ❝i keep trying but nobody ever let me get that far.❞ 

"JASON CALM DOWN!" I pressed my hand against his chest, looking into his eyes fiercely, we didn't the time for his temper. He broke away and walked away but not before he shot the guy in the leg. "We weren't here, or the next one goes in your brain." He said slowly and then turned back to me. His piercing blue eyes felt almost cold, I blinked in shock. I've seen him angry more times than I can count but this was unsettling."I am calm. I am nothing but calm all the time." He said through clenched teeth, making me scoff as we jumped off of the roof. We broke out into a sprint, by now I regained my composure. "No, you're not. you're fifteen seconds from starting a fight at all times."  Jason was a hothead, he was so angry at the world. He tried his hardest to make sure it was safe at night but he felt like he didn't make a difference so he was pissed off. He was pissed off that so many bad people got to live and kill good innocent people. The bad people got to tear mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, from their families. So his solution ironically was to do the same thing. He would kill those who he thought deserved it. Contradictory but his temper always got the best of him. Normally I would let him be angry, but not tonight. We had an agreement with Bruce, we needed his help. The agreement included no killing. As much as Jason hated it we couldn't do it ourselves this time, it was bigger than us. 

For months we had been trying to investigate why the number of children missing spiked. At first, it was hard to notice. Street kids those who wouldn't be looked for. Then foster kids would be adopted more frequently finally, normal kids began to be abducted. Street kids would never leave each other, they were the closest thing to a family they had. So when they began reaching out to us we got worried and looked into it. We went around Gotham talking to them, they knew who we were and confessed everything. "Something is going on Jay. Something big." We climbed on his bike and went back to our apartment. We had been living together shortly after we started working together. We would always end up together at the end of the night too tired to go back to our own apartment. So we decided to get an apartment together. We each had our own rooms because we needed time apart sometimes. That was one of the most important things I learned. Sometimes you just need to be alone. It can be overwhelming spending so much time with one person. Especially the lack of sleep, and frustrations over unsolved cases, it all just took a toll on us. He took his helmet off and sighed running a hand through his hair. I pulled up my computer and looked into news articles. Of course, nothing had been mentioned about street kids. I was just about to put the paper down when my eyes drifted to a suggestion. 

Percentage of foster kids adopted in Gotham rises

"No fucking way." I breathed, Jason loomed over my shoulder. I looked back at him, we shared a look. This wasn't a coincidence, someone was taking kids. No bodies were being found so why were they being taken? I had a couple of theories already. I stood up from the screen and pulled on  my jacket, "Where are you going?" He asked following after me, keys still in hand. "To find out what the hell is going on." We tried to figure it out ourselves but it seemed like we were always 10 steps behind. So I suggested we get help. Outright, Jason was outraged I even suggested it so I walked away and let him cool down. Sure enough, he came around once he began thinking straight. I handed him his helmet, I had already turned his bike on, I smirked. He tossed his cigarette, "Not a fucking word." He growled as I tossed it to him and he caught it. 

He got on and sped off, to the Wayne Manor. He scowled, as we arrived at the gates. The doors opened and he pulled in, we were greeted by Alfred. "To what do we owe this surprise?" He asked and I elbowed Jason, he remained silent. I rolled my eyes at his immaturity, "It's nice to see you again Alfred. We're here to talk to the boys." Jason turned to me, even angrier than before. Alfred looked between us and I gave him a polite smile as he walked us in. I lowered my voice, "Don't give me that shit. You know the boys are going to listen in if we want them to or not, better they know straight instead of getting crooked details." I rolled my eyes and gave him a begging look. I took my hand in his, I knew this isn't where he wanted to be and I was trying to keep him calm.

He huffed and then we arrived at the study. It took a while to get there since the Mansion was so big. Jason was boiling, he was so dramatic. We were greeted by Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian. "Both of you are here this can't be good." Damian commented as Jason growled, "Fuck off, Demon spawn." I gave his hand a squeeze and then looked at him Dick sighed as he and Tim exchanged looks. Bruce was deadly silent, waiting for us to explain why we were there. I wasn't going to speak this time, Jason had to say more than 4 words. I cleared my throat and nudged Jason giving him a stern look. He shuffled forward and rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. "We need your help." He said directly looking at Bruce, both holding their glares. It was amazing how incredibly alike they both were, and they refused to see it. I brushed my fingers over his knuckles, they were icy cold. His rings were even colder making a shiver run down my spine. I didn't even know if he was going to agree. Jason lost control the last time Bruce agreed to help us and I had to work without him. Jason was a pain the whole time, he kept asking for information but I wouldn't give it. I knew if I did he would follow and piss Bruce off. Bruce didn't speak for a long time. I assumed he was still holding the grudge. 

"I'll keep him in check." I paused looking at Jason to make sure he didn't make things worse. He pressed his lips together, no doubt restraining himself by biting his tongue. Still, he didn't say a word. "Please we wouldn't bother you if this wasn't important." The two finally looked at me. Tim stepped forward this time, he spoke in a flurry. He stumbled over his words, "You're not bothering its really good to see you. Not just you. But not that it's not good to see you. It's good to uh see you both." I smiled, some of the tension was gone now.  Dick clamped a hand over Tim's mouth to keep him from babbling further. The boys claimed he had a crush, I thought it was sweet. I looked up at Jason if looks could kill. Tim drove Jason crazy. Dick pet Tim and sighed as Damian snickered, "We talked about this Tim, too much caffeine makes you jittery." Dick chimed in a sing-song voice, almost gloating he told him so. "Speak for yourself I don't like seeing these ugly mugs around here." Dick smacked the back of Damian's head and he growled. 

Jason almost pulled me behind him, it was pure instinct. He was already on edge being back at the mansion. He hated being here, he felt so out of place. He felt like a failure the rest of the boys were still under his wing, it was like he was replaced and pushed out. I wouldn't have dragged him here if I didn't think I had to. He was immediately silenced when Bruce put his hand out to shut everyone up. He rubbed his temple and sighed, "Jason is an adult, he should be able to control himself. If he can't and crosses a line again you're both done." Jason gripped my hand tighter, I knew he was seconds away from giving up keeping his mouth shut. His patience by now was paper-thin. I decided it would be best if I did the rest of the talking. "We understand."

Alfred called Bruce away and he excused himself leaving us with the boys. I saw Tim nudge Dick, and raised an eyebrow. I only caught a fragment of what Tim said, "Please, just ask." He rolled his eyes at his brother letting out a long sigh before he turned to me. "Is your wiring still acting up?" This caught Jason's attention, the wiring in the apartment wasn't acting up. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited for my response. I was confused for a moment until it hit me. In my other apartment my lights used to act up, I told Jason about it but he was asleep so I told myself I would tell him later. I never did. "Oh! No, I'm not in the apartment anymore!" I said, making Tim's head drop in shame. I mentioned something about the wiring and Tim most likely wanted to fix it. He seemed very interested whenever there were problems in my apartment, in fact, I'm sure he fixed every broken appliance. It was another reason to move in with Jason. "Oh," Dick said and then looked to Tim, he stepped forward. "You found a new place already?" I looked at Jason. He squirmed under my glare, the boys seemed interested, they could sense it. 

 "Actually, I moved in with Jason." 3 jaws simultaneously dropped. Jason scowled at them and I smirked, "You didn't tell them as I told you to." My voice seemed nice but my eyes were screaming murder. What if they needed me and couldn't reach me? This was something to bring up in private, judging by his look Jason knew that too. Jason turned to me and I pulled his arm and held a finger, "One second," I made it clear that we would continue the conversation later. The boys couldn't hear anything but he was in trouble. There was no hitting so that was a good thing.  Tim whispered, "They moved in together? What does that mean?" Damian rolled his eyes, and Dick sighed. We made our way back to them. "I'm surprised you haven't killed him yet." Damian paused, "And a little impressed you've put up with him for so long." 

"I keep trying but nobody ever let me get that far." There was a swarm of questions I shut my eyes and put my head on Jason's shoulder. My face turned bright red,  Jason smirked and whispered in my ear. "I knew what the fuck I was doing darling." He said slowly taking in the fact that he was right. I underestimated the boys, and he was reveling. He pulled away and gave a short shout. They all stopped clamoring. "God, you guys were going to give me a headache." I brought my fingers to my temple and looked into their eyes. "One at a time please." Dick pushed the two aside murmuring he had privileges. Despite being older, he was just as curious as to his younger brothers. "Why did you move in?" I looked at Jason pleading, and he shook his head. "Not touching these questions with a 10 feet pole." I groaned but accepted my punishment. Maybe there was a reason for the secret. I thought about my answer for a moment then replied, "Well it was more out of convenience. One of us would always end up at the others, and my apartment had bad wiring. So we chose his. He got tired of having to go to mine and get his things. So he suggested it and now we live together." 

Dick looked between us and nodded, satisfied with his answer. It was like an interrogation, and I was taking all of the heat. It was Tim's turn he even raised his hand. I pouted, he looked upset. I never took the whole crush thing seriously. Now I could really see it, this whole time I thought the boys were just teasing him. "Are you two together?" He hesitated and I froze unsure of how to answer. I didn't want to get his hopes up or break his heart but I honestly didn't know what to tell him. It seemed like it, we lived together, we slept together, but we never really talked about it. I looked at Jason he held the same panicked expression. How do could we explain that sometimes we had sex and then never talked about it? I tilted my head to him, to signal for his help. 

He gave me a look, I asked for this. I really did. Nevertheless, he saved me. He too was thinking of the hookups, making him smirk. I covered my face and turned away trying to regain composure. In fact, I knew under Jason's shirt, there were purple marks trailing down his chest and I had ones that matched. He made his higher, and if my shirt were to shift, he could see.  "We need to figure that out ourselves as well," Jason replied. It was a valid answer, Tim didn't seem to torn up about it. My hands absent-mindedly went over to rub my neck. Suddenly, it was hot. Judging by his look, Dick's suspicions were confirmed. Damian broke the silence pushing past Tim. "Do you kill people?" I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. I ran my tongue across my bottom lip. I was so tempted not to answer. I knew it could backfire. Jason looked to me, wondering if he needed to save me again. I shook my head and looked back at Damian. "Due to my past, yes. I try not to now." Growing up in a sketchy place, I learned at a young age you can't depend on people. I fell in with the wrong people and made questionable decisions. However, every time I did kill I felt justified. I used to be as angry as Jason and I lost control a lot. But now working with Jason I calmed down, one of us needed to have a level head and I knew it probably wouldn't be him. I felt dirty now. I really opened a can of worms with that one. When it comes to his brothers I will never doubt Jason again. 

In the next few weeks, we worked closely with the boys.  Each night we got closer, to finding the source. We spent most of our nights in the Batcave tracing leads. Jason was getting antsy, so he went out and patrolled. Lucky that he did, because he caught an abduction as it was happening. "On 45th! They took a group of kids into a van." Jason's voice shouted in my ear. Dick shot up from his seat. The boys pilled into the Batmobile. I took my bike and followed close behind. Jason gave us the coordinates. "How far out are you?" 

"11 minutes."

"We can't wait that long." I could hear the desperation in his voice. He knew exactly what those kids were going through. He was reliving his trauma. "Jason, if we blow this we lose them all. Wait for us. We can't let a single one alert the rest of the group." He went silent. Sensing the urgency we all sped up even more. The Batmobile was easily recognized and most civilians cleared a path. We arrived and saw Jason's bike parked in a nearby lot. He was set up on the roof overlooking the building making sure no one got out. 

"I'm sending the drone," Tim called and released his bird into the air. He guided it into the building giving us a full view of what was inside. Children were in cages, surrounded by men with guns. In the center of the room, there was a table with computers. "They're waiting for the signal." Dick looked at all of us. "This has to be flawless. No mess-ups. We get one shot." 

"Tim, I want you on those computers. I want to know everything on there. The rest of us have one job. Make sure no one gets away." Having received our orders we all grouped up. Tim ran another scan of the building. "Two from the roof, one from the back door, and two from the front." Jason and I took the roof, Dick took the back door and Damian and Tim took the front. 

We all waited for the signal. "Now." Dick spoke into the comms. All at once, we each infiltrated the building. Tim went straight for the men by the computers. He took them out with ease and then uploaded his drive into the computer. Damian kept anyone away from the table. Jason and I focused on the guards who were standing by the children. We were mindful of their weapons and kept them away from the children. 

Each of the men was bounded, ready for the GCPD. "Which one of you fuckers has the key?" Jason asked looking at each one of the men. Neither of them spoke a word. "Fine." He grabbed the closet man and took his hand. He took his index finger and in a swift movement pulled it back. An agonizing scream came from the man, and a loud cracking noise followed right after. I moved to Jason, "Do you really want to traumatize them even more?" He thought for a moment and then looked back at the man. "What about this one?" He grabbed his ring finger and then man yelped. "It's him!" He pointed to a blonde man across the room. I went over and reached in his pockets, sure enough, there was a key. I breathed a sigh of relief and began releasing the children. "How much longer on the drive?" Dick questioned Tim, "30 seconds." 

Dick nodded and looked at me. "Alfred I need GCPD and medical." 

"Right away, ETA is 3 minutes." 

Jason took the same man by the collar and dragged him out of the room. I followed after him. "GCPD will be here in 3 minutes. We stopped them. We know where all their warehouses are, and everything we need is on that drive." I whispered to him but he didn't budge. "I only need 2. This one's a talker." He moved away and then looked at the man. "Who do you report to?" 

"He'll kill me, he knows everything-" Jason didn't let him finish before he landed a devastating blow right to his face. "I don't have time for this. What is his name?" He grabbed his hair and held his face up. Blood trickled down his cheek. "But my-" Once again another blow landed on his face. The man coughed up blood, Jason didn't ask again. He waited for another few seconds. As he went to strike him again, the man pleaded. "Wait! David Benjamin." He managed to get it out. 

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

Jason and I only got to stick around briefly. Our relationship with the police wasn't as amicable. Due to our spotty record, we had warrants out for our arrest. Once the children were taken by the EMTs we went back to our apartment. Jason was sitting on the fire escape. He still hadn't changed. The blood still seeping in his clothes. "Hey, come in." Jason looked down and obliged. Once he got in I shut the blinds. I guided him into the bathroom. "Let's get these off." I slowly took off his gloves, he inhaled deeply. I looked over them, they were bloody and raw. I sighed and turned on the warm water. "The rest of these too." My hands moved to his shirt and I pulled I off over his head. There were a few small cuts, but nothing that needed stitches. 

Jason had been silent. I knew what was bothering him. He was thinking about those kids, he saw himself in each one of them. I guided him to the shower and helped him take off the rest of his clothes. I helped him into the shower and once he was under the warm water, it was like he was out of his trance. "Get in here." 

I hadn't changed either. I was too worried about him. He was admitting that he needed the company. I agreed and stripped off my clothes. We both stood under the warm water. Neither of us spoke as we washed away the deeds of the night. 

Once we got out of the shower we got dressed and sat on the bed. "We did it, Jason. They're safe now." 

"I know." He said softly. I took his hands and gently ran my fingers across them. He sighed and looked at me. "Let's go to bed." I moved to the lamp by the bed and shut it off. I pulled the covers on the bed back and climbed into bed. I sighed and felt the warmth comfort me. My body ached, but it was worth it. I felt Jason tug me closer to him. I moved closer and rested my head on his chest. He ran his fingers through my hair absentmindedly. "Thank you." I looked up at him and he exhaled. "I don't know what I would do without you." He leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my lips. His other hand moved around me and rested on my side. "I love you."

"I love you, Jay." 

After weeks of restlessness, Jason finally closed his eyes and slept peacefully.

MASTERLIST

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[ellana-ravenwood]

“Can you be my dad’s girlfriend, please ?” - Bruce Wayne x Fem!Reader (x Batkids)

I was just thinking about the kids’ experience in school, being both part of the Wayne family and everything it brings AND a vigilante...and this story just came to be. I hope you will like it : 

Fair warning : this is very long. I hope you will not find it boring. The subject interested me, and I wanted to write a slow burn story for ages. And here we are.  

My master list : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

                                                      ******

DICK.

"Are you sure about this, Dick ?"

"Yeah, I am.”

The boy looked sure of himself alright, but Bruce couldn’t help and be a little worried, faced with the building’s decrepitude, and the general state of the neighborhood. Of course, he himself would never care about that, but this didn’t concern him per se.

It wasn’t about his safety, but Dick’s.

Bruce Wayne could wish to change Gotham all he wanted, do everything in his power to make living in this city better, and hope for progress...He wasn’t an idiot.

He knew his work just started, and that most of the city was still very much unsafe. And Dick went through so much already...

Was enrolling him in this school the right choice ?

“You know, Gotham Academy is currently the best rated school in the city ? And it’s closer to the Manor, not by much, but still...It’s also closer from Wayne Tower, just in case.”

Dick frowned, and Bruce could see that he was going to say something before he could truly think about it. His little ward was very impulsive, at times. And sure enough, Bruce was right, as Dick turned to him and started vehemently :

"It's full of phonies and not payed enough frustrated teachers who are mean to kids because they were born rich ! I mean, some of those kids totally deserve it, being phonies and all, but there’s many that are just normal nice kids with rich parents ! I can’t learn with a teacher who hates teaching. And the phonies are getting to me now, mocking me because I was in the circus...And it’s harder to fit in when you go home and are not in the boarding school part ? Most of them are in boarding school, and were jealous I could go home. And I don't care about the "prestige" everyone was always talking about. I don’t go to school to appear better than I am, I go there to learn !”

There’s a short silence, during which Bruce feels a pang of guilt in his heart.

Other kids were mocking him ? The teachers weren’t nice ? Why did Dick wait three months into the school year to tell him he wasn’t feeling well in that environment ? Was he not feeling comfortable enough around him yet ? It has only been six months since he started to live with him, after all..

Bruce tried his best to make him feel at home at the Manor, but it proved, at times, to be more difficult than anything he ever did in his life.

And this was coming from a man who went to train all over the world for years, enduring impossible trials after impossible trials. None of his training though, prepared him to raise a kid. Thanks god Alfred was always there to help him out when he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do.

And the more he thought of it, the more Bruce realized that putting Dick in the fanciest school of the City might not have been the best move...

“Do-Do you um, care about the prestige ?"

Dick asks, breaking the silence, looking up at Bruce shyly.

It was clear in the little boy’s eyes, he was very worried about what Bruce was thinking right now. And that the short silence after his passionate diatribe made him nervous. Because...Maybe Bruce would disagree with him ?

Maybe knowing the reason Dick wanted to change from private school to a "normal" public school in would make him angry ? Offend him ?

After all, Gotham Academy was very much like the school Bruce went to as a youngster (said school blew up a few years prior after an “accidental” gaz leak).

Looking at the boy’s almost panicked face, Bruce reassured him quickly :

"Of course not chum. I want you to be happy and feel comfortable in whatever school you choose. If you want to go to this one, then you're going to this one. I was just making sure everything was truly ok with you."

"Well it is ! I have friends here, people that came to-to the circus, you know ? Kids I met during intermissions and all that.  Back in the other school, people, and not just the kids, the teachers too, made fun of me because I was in a circus ! Always talking about how I probably was uneducated and all. Bruce, They kept saying I was a clown when I was an acrobat !"

Once again, Bruce felt his heart tightening in guilt and sadness. Three months. The kid waited THREE MONTHS, enduring mockeries and not feeling well, before saying something ! And he only said said something after Bruce kinda forced him to talk about his feelings...

Which had been a very laborious process. Dick was a stubborn child, and Bruce wasn’t really the best person when it came to the concept of “opening up”. Eventually though, he finally got an answer out of the kid.

It wasn’t going well at school, which is why he was being angrier and angrier, and lashed out even more often than when his...The subject of parents was sort of taboo, right now.

Nonetheless, Bruce observed a clear improvement in Dick’s mood and behavior over the Summer. Being with him made the boy more cheerful, and like his entire world still had some sense. Like he wasn’t all alone. When Bruce thought back to his own childhood, and the months after his parents’ death, he truly realized how much Alfred helped him go through everything.

And he wanted to be that person for Dick. It succeeded, as the boy opened up more and more, and was starting to smile again. Be snarky and sassy, too, which Bruce could definitely do without (or not).

When school started however, he went back to a morose like attitude and it didn’t take a genius to understand something must be up..

And here they were, in front of a completely normal school in the Otisburg District, Uptown Gotham. Not the worst neighborhood, most definitely not the best.  

Dick said he knew people that went to this school, and that’s why he chose it. And today was his first day. Even though he was a rather extroverted child, Bruce could tell he was nervous.

Made sense, it’s not easy, being the “new kid”.

Laying his hands on the boy’s shoulders, Bruce gave them a light squeeze he hoped felt reassuring, and said :

“Well, buddy. Should we go in ?”

************

This was one of the most stressful day of your life.

No. Second most stressful day. The worst one was most definitely about a week after you graduated college, all cheerful and happy about the prospect to start teaching ! You were riddled with enthusiasm and willingness to change the World, give kids a chance annnnnnnd...realized that day finding a teacher’s position where you wanted was difficult.

Because of sentimental reasons, you did not want to leave Gotham. This city had been your home all your life, and you just couldn’t envision yourself teaching anywhere else.

The city was big, but there wasn’t that many schools, in the end. Or at least, not enough teacher jobs available. None at all, in fact. Well, in the schools you wanted to work at.

There was work in the few private schools all around the city, but you didn’t want to be a teacher in such a place.

You grew up in a bad neighborhood of Gotham (which wasn’t telling much, since most neighborhood in Gotham were “bad” at the time), and you were certain that it was only thanks to the best sixth grade teacher you’ve ever had that you didn’t turn bad.

Out there, in the street of GC, it was so easy for kids from disadvantages families to fall into petty crimes. There wasn’t really a lot of prospect for those kids, with no money to continue their studies and nowhere to really go.

Eventually, a lot of petty crimes turn into organize crimes and...Well, you were sure that one of Gotham’s root problem was their bad public schools.

You swore to yourself that when you’d become an actual teacher and have your own class, you’d advocate a lot to the city council to have a bigger budget, and give a real chance to kids from the lower neighborhoods !

But right now, after three months of not being able to find any steady work in the area you wanted (only short subbing times), and almost accepting a position at Gotham Academy...You finally found a job (well, at least you think you did) and were waiting nervously in front of the principal’s office for him to give you a class !

You didn’t know yet which one you’d get, and it made you extremely nervous ! The entire ordeal was settled really fast, and just enhanced your stress because you had barely any time to prepare. And since you didn’t know which class you’d have, you prepared for any grade you could have in an elementary school (because yes, you were an elementary school teacher. You were sure that trying to lead kids the right way had to start from an early age, as so many of them, in Gotham, just quit school before the age of 15...).

The day before today, you received a call from a panicked principal in the Otisburg district, talking about one of his main teacher quitting after she got mugged for the 7th time that month (it was particularly hard for her because she was originally from Metropolis, so not used to all this violence...), and he was in desperate need to find someone to fill her spot ! The principal’s words particularly resonated within you, since she was saying that those kids, given their circumstances, couldn’t afford to miss a few days of school.

It could have terrible consequences. Which is why she called you (you remember perfectly well that principal, and couldn’t help, when she hung up the phone, to feel utterly giddy because...she was running one of the school you wanted to go the most to !).

But then you realized she didn’t tell you which class the quitting teacher had, or if the spot would be “regular” of if it was yet another subbing time for you...

And here you were, waiting in front of her door, stressing the hell out. And oh my god WHY did you came an hour earlier ?! It just enhanced your stress. 

Next to you, there was a trash can full of the espresso you got from the machine in the empty teachers’ room. All this caffeine running through your blood system surely didn’t help you relax.

You were about to take yet another walk around the school to try and release some tension when...

**********

“Can we get ramen for dinner ?”

“I’m not against it chum, but I believe we’ll hurt Alfred’s feelings if we come back for the fourth night in a row with take away.”

“Oh. Right. Then maybe he can make ramen ?”

“I’m sure he’d learn for you.”

“Can you call him so he’ll do it for tonight ? I really want ramen. I miss it..”

“Dick, we ate ramen the past four nights.”

“But it’s so good ! Pleaaaaaase Bruce please please please ask hiiiiiim ?!”

“Alright alright alright. I’ll call him after the meeting ok ?”

“YES !”

Half-standing half-sitting, as you were about to leave for yet another walk, you noticed two persons coming your way, and caught a little part of their conversation.

A man and a boy, probably his son. The little one was jumping up in the air, fist bumping the nothingness, clearly happy about the prospect to eat “ramen”. As they both came closer to you, you realized that...

“Ah, mister Wayne ! I see you’re here too, Miss (Y/L/N), good good. Perfect timing.”

You jump in the air, surprised by the sudden appearance of the principal. Was she a ninja or something, to open her door so stealthily and just appear out of thin air ?! 

The thought made you smile, because honestly, in Gotham City ? It was a possibility that the principal of this little school was an assassin of some sort...You stopped your mind from inventing stories about a famous ninja acting as an elderly school principal as a cover, and being one of the most prolific hitman of Gotham at night, and turned to her.  

Why was it, that your imagination always ran the wildest at the worst moments ? Right now, you were about  to have your first briefing at your first teacher job ever, in the company of the famous Bruce Wayne, and you were thinking about ninjas and whatnot ! WHY ?!  

You smile awkwardly at her, and walk into her office, wondering now why a man like Bruce Wayne was here. 

According to TV and diverse newspaper, he was a few years older than you, and after everyone thought he died long ago, came back out of nowhere to take his place back in the city’s life just a few months ago. 

Why was he here ?

Wasn’t he supposed to be a billionaire who was gonna “turn Gotham around” ? A rush of excitement suddenly filled you. Was he-Was he getting interested in helping schools out ?! 

************ 

That little boy who was with Bruce Wayne, it was “Richard Grayson”. You read his story in the paper, what terrible tragedy...Made worst by the fact it was the only news going around in Gotham for quite a while. 

Turned out though, the papers and other media missed one hell of a headline... Their beloved Bruce Wayne adopted the kid ! And no one talked about it ! Your guts were telling you that the reason why this was kept a secret was the man himself. You didn’t know him, but he most definitely seemed like the kind of person who would make sure no further stories about a poor defenseless little boy would surface all around the city. 

“So as I was saying, perfect timing ! I thought, mister Wayne, a man of your stature might want to meet your son’s teacher first ? Well here she is ! Miss (Y/N/L) ! She’s starting at our school today too, and will teach the third graders.” 

Bruce cleared his throat, and looked at you worriedly. Wow, rude. You didn’t quite know why, but your guts were telling you again this Bruce guy wasn’t very convinced about you right now. 

“Um, how old is miss (Y/N/L) ?”

You raise an eyebrow, and answer before the principal can : 

“Miss (Y/N/L) is 23, almost 24. Why, is that a problem ?”

“Um, no no. I mean...Maybe. I was under the impression Dick was going to be in the class of someone who had a lot of experience being a teacher ?” 

WOW ! RUDE ! You turned an outraged face to him, and he avoids your eyes. The little one though, “Dick”, looks at you apologetically and elbows his gardian in the ribs. 

“Can I ask you something mister Wayne ? Do people tell you the same thing when they realize you’re about my age and are raising a child right now ?” 

Bruce turns to you, and...Oh you hit the bullseye. 

“I think I have every right to ask about your experience, as I’m about to leave my child in your care.”  He says coldly, and oh you just want to punch him. You knew he got the analogy, and maybe you were a bit out of line but come on, he was too.

You were about to answer something, and was ready to get fired before you even started school as you knew you were going to put the richest man in Gotham back to his place, when the principal said : 

“I can assure you miss (Y/L/N) is the person we need ! When she came to leave her curriculum vitae a few months ago, I just had hired Miss Hick, who quit. Poor woman, she was from Metropolis, you know ?” 

Both you and Bruce nod knowingly. The principal continues : 

“In any case, I almost regretted that I hired Miss Hick when I saw miss (Y/L/N). Let me tell you mister Wayne, I can assure you that she’s really the person this school needs ! She came out top of her class from school, and clearly has the passion to teach ! She might not have a lot of experience yet, but I think both the kids and her can grow a lot because of this. I’m a very gutsy person you know ? I can have a “feel” of people, know what they’re worth...It’s the part of me that was raised in the Bowery, you know ? Well in any case, from all the things I know about her, and the many letters of recommendations I had from schools where she had internships or subbed, she’s the perfect person for the job. And you, mister Wayne, I feel like you’re a reasonable man...Give her a chance, will you ?” 

************

Well, this was interesting.

Sure, your first impression of Bruce Wayne wasn’t very good, but you had to admit that the way he seemed worry about his ward kinda warmed your heart. 

It wasn’t very nice, to be questioned about your ability because you were young. But you could understand where he was coming from. And you kinda started to feel guilty about lashing out, and talking about his own legitimacy to raise a child. 

Since when was hurting someone because they hurt you the right solution ? You knew better... 

“I’m sorry.” 

Oh ? Haha. You both talk at the same time, as you close the door to the principal’s office, raising your heads to look at each others. 

You were both clearly feeling ashamed, and were looking down at the floor, when you decided to apologize. At the same time. And so you both start to laugh. Under the gaze of little Dick, who is most likely thinking : “What the Hell ? Adults are so weird.”, given his confused expression. 

“I’m very sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude or anything. It’s very unlike me, I assure you. It’s just, I want Dick to...Be alright.” 

He says, smiling shyly at you. And you can’t help but thinks this is probably not a look people are used to see on Bruce Wayne’s face. 

“No no no, I’m the one who is sorry. Your concern was totally receivable, and I didn’t really help my case by being an as-um,  very immature right afterward.”

“Well, let’s start all over, alright ? I’m Bruce Wayne. And this is my ward, Dick. He’s going to be your student this year.”

“I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m um...Going to be your ward’s teacher.” 

“Well, a pleasure to meet you miss (Y/N/L). I’m sure we’ll see a lot of each others, in this coming years.” 

He tells you with a charming smile. And you try to pack in your brain all the rumors about him being a womanizer, to try and take away how attractive he is. How handsome, sure. But also how his voice is deep and soft to the ear, and how he genuinely seemed to care about his kid in that short meeting...You almost forget his rudeness. Well. He did apologize.  

“Pleasure to meet you too, and I’m sure we will.” 

Bruce shook your hand, and crouched down to be at Dick’s eye level. He put a hand on his head and said : 

“Well chum, see you tonight ?” 

“Yup !” 

There’s a short silence, and you can see Bruce wants to say more but is searching for his words. Finally, he says : 

“Are you going to be ok ?” 

The boy smiles widely, and nods enthusiastically. Bruce gives him a worried smile, and after ruffling his hair stands up, and leaves. But not without turning around one last time, as he’s about to disappear at the corner of the corridor, and waving at his boy. Dick waves back, and puts his thumbs up. 

Everything was going to be ok ! 

************

Nothing was going to be ok ! 

What was Dick doing ? He should’ve said to Bruce he was really scared and worried about starting everything over in this new school ! He was pretty sure that if he had, Bruce would’ve taken him with him to work, and give him time to not be afraid anymore. 

Bruce was like that. Always caring about his feelings first. He would probably homeschool him if he wanted...but that’s not what Dick wanted. Although he was thinking about it right now.

He did want to go to a normal school. And see the friends he made while in the circus. And have good teachers (this miss (Y/N/L) sounded great). But it was still scary ? 

Dick could act as if he was confident and outgoing all he wanted, he was still an eight (almost nine) year old boy who was about to be thrown into an unknown environment. Not very reassuring. He was thinking...

“I’m nervous too, you know.” 

“Huh ?”

“This is the first class i’m going to teach as an actual teacher, and not just a substitue teacher. It’s very nerve wracking. I’m also about to meet a whole lot of new people, that’s always a bit scary, right ?”

“Right.” 

The boy answers, feeling his nervousness slowly fading away, as you smile at him reassuringly. It kind of reminds him of how Bruce would talk about his own problems to relate to his, which always helped him understand things more. 

It helped him greatly, when he thought about his parents, and Bruce told him about his...

“Let’s make a deal. If I feel like I’m going to freak out, I’ll say “banana”, and you’ll make a diversion so I can escape ok ? And if you feel like you’re about to freak out, ask me if you can have some bananas and I’ll make something up so you can go in the corridor to regain some countenance ok ?” 

“...Bananas ?” 

“Ok, ok banana maybe isn’t the right word. What about...”

Oh god, the kid was most definitely thinking you were crazy, right ? You were trying to find a way to actually make him feel comfortable, and tell him it was ok if today become too overwhelming and he needed to take a break from all this novelty. Oh geez if you couldn’t make one child feel ok, could you even hold a full classroom ?! 

“What about saying we need to go to the bathroom ? Everyone needs to go to the bathroom at one point.” 

“Oh, brilliant idea Dick ! So, if we both feel like things are too much, our escape plan will be the bathroom...ok ?” 

“Ok !” 

The boy answers excitedly, and you feel a sudden wave of relief. Ok. Good. Mission accomplished. He was clearly not feeling as nervous anymore. And you ? Well, this little victory calmed you down quite a bit as well. 

Still though, as you pushed the door to your classroom and was met with all your new students, you felt like saying you needed to go to the bathroom right away... 

************

When Dick came home that night, he wore the widest smile Bruce saw him wear for a long time. And oh, oh he was so excited to talk about what he did that day.

************

“Miss (Y/L/N), Miss (Y/L/N) !” 

Dick calls you across the corridor, as the rest of the children exit the school to go home. It’s the end of today’s lessons, and you’re exhausted. You can’t wait to go home, but you never really mind doing some extra hours to answer a kid’s question. 

Especially when said kid is Dick Grayson. 

Of course, you’re not playing favorites in your class, oh no no no you would never...But you liked that kid. 

Dick walks to you, and waits a few minutes for the corridor to empty out. And then he looks up at you, and as if it was the most evident question in the World, he says : 

“Can you be my dad’s girlfriend ?” 

For the first time in ages, you can feel your face growing hotter, all the way up to your ears. You spit the coffee you were drinking, and you turn to the little boy who just asked you the cutest question ever, that also made you highly uncomfortable.  

“Um uh I um uh...What ?” 

You totally blank. You. The person who spend her entire days answering kids’ questions, no matter how weird and kinda useless. And here you were. Completely unable to say anything. 

“Can you be my dad’s girlfriend ?” 

There another short pause, where you just stare at the boy and he stares back, not flinching one bit. And then there’s a sudden light in his eyes, as if he just understood something, and adds : 

“Please ?” 

And it kind of melts your heart, how he thinks you weren’t answering because he wasn’t being polite. Trying to choose your words carefully, you say : 

“What brought this up ?” 

You knew that asking their thought process first, could help you greatly understand a child. 

“Well, you’re great and pretty and nice and the best teacher I ever had and he needs to be taken care of. You take great care of us !” 

“Dick, your dad isn’t a child anymore..” 

You smile at all the compliments the boy gave you. How sweet and innocent. You also smile at him calling Bruce his “dad”. 

As the school year unfolded, you saw a shift in Dick’s behavior. A good shift. He opened up more and more, and it was obvious he was slowly finding a new family again, without forgetting the one he lost. 

You actually thought Bruce’s approach to tell him he could call him whatever he wanted, and that Dick’s parents would probably just want for him to be happy, and would be happy themselves he wasn’t alone...Was very cute. 

You talked about it with him in a parent/teacher meeting. Of course, you had said meeting with all “your” kids’ parents. Not just Bruce. Um. 

“I know he isn’t ! Though believe me he acts like one sometimes. But I’m saying that because...I think he’s lonely ? And sad ? Sometimes it feels like he’s just not with us you know ? I don’t know how to explain it, I don’t have the words to...” 

Oh but you see exactly what Dick means. You noticed it too. Sometimes, Bruce, when he thought no one was looking, had this melancholic look in his eyes, as if lost in his own dark world indeed. 

Not that you saw Bruce THAT often. I mean, just like you saw the other students’ parents really. After all, the school this year really worked on involving the parents more. You and the principal really had the same ideas, and you thought that getting the parents right into the student’s school life was vital for a good development. 

“Dick, you know you can’t just become someone’s girlfriend like that ?” 

“Sure you can ! I asked Rose McDowell yesterday if she’d be my girlfriend, and she said yes ! It’s simple, you have to ask and then you’re in love.” 

You smile at how sweet this child simplified vision of love is, and say : 

“Adults are complicated, Dick. We can’t just fall in love by asking someone if they want to be our girlfriend or boyfriend. We have to go on dates, and know each others, and such things ?” 

“But miss, you know my dad. If you’re not sure about something, ask me ! I know everything about him, and if I don’t, then Alfred must know !” 

Again, you smile at how easy that little boy seems to find solutions to any problems. And oh you wished it was that simple. 

“This isn’t how it works, Dick. You have to have feelings for each others, too.” 

“Well, I know he likes you !” 

You feel your heart jump in your chest, and a rush of excitement...Until you realize. “Simplified answers and solutions”. And thinking he loves little Rose. Dick clearly does not know what “likes” truly mean, and might mix up friendship feelings with love. 

After all, it was true you and Bruce got along. Strictly in a...teacher/parent kind of relationship of course. Let’s just say Bruce Wayne agreed with your kind of teaching. Not every parents saw eye to eye with your “fun” methods and such. 

So in the eye of a kid, agreeing with each others might seem like this “like” feeling. But really, there was NO way a man like Bruce Wayne would be interested in someone like you. 

You saw the models he dated at charity balls and other galas. It never lasted long, and he had much less flings since he officially adopted Dick, but you still saw how they looked and such. Why, when he had such options, would he go for a plain elementary teacher like you ? 

“Dick, I don’t think he likes me in the way boyfriends like their girlfriends, do you understand what I mean ?” 

“There’s more than one way to like a person !?” 

The boy seemed blown away by that, and you can’t help but smile once again his innocence :

“Of course there is. You don’t like Bruce the same way you like Rose, right ? Or your friend Harry ?” 

Quick connections seem to be made in his little head, and he nods slowly. But oh horror, his shoulders flop down dejectedly, and he looks sad now. You don’t have time to try and find a way to make him understand everything is alright as he says : 

“So you don’t like him ? I mean, like like him ?” 

Smart boy. He understood fast that there were indeed a difference between love and friendship. Or at least, he understood the concept of it. You smile and you say : 

“No buddy, no I don’t like like him.” 

It’s a blatant lie, but sometimes, for a child’s own good, a lie is the best solution. 

Because even if by some miracle Bruce Wayne “liked liked” you, he was still one of your student’s parent. When you were in college, one of your teacher hammered in your head that it was highly unethical to date a student’s parent, and this principle just stuck in there. 

No. No way. You could never date Bruce Wayne. Because even if he liked you back (back ?) the fact was, he’d forever be one of your student’s parent, even the day Dick would go to the next grade...

************

Dick moves on to the fourth grade, and it’s quite painful to let go of this very first class you’ve ever taught. Those kids that help you grow as a teacher, as you lead them on the path of knowledge. 

For an entire year, you all learned from each others, and it’s with a heavy heart you see those children moving on to the next class, as you welcome new kids yourself. 

Wow. You didn’t think it would be that hard. But it really is. Even more so because you know, no matter the impact you had on those kids’ life, they’re bound to forget you one day...It was a sad thought, but one you wrongfully thought would be true. 

Actual truth was, you shaped a lot of those children’s lives and they’d forever be grateful that you never gave up on them. 

And as a new year starts, and your class is full of unfamiliar faces, you have to face the fact that this is what being a teacher is. 

************

For the next few years, you don’t really see him. Briefly in the school’s corridor as he goes to a parent/teacher meeting or something of the like. Or in the principal’s office, after he made yet another large donation for the school (since his son enrolled in a “normal” school, Bruce got very involved in the education system in Gotham and donated a lot of money to a lot of schools in rough neighborhoods, unknowingly accomplishing your lifelong dream). 

But you don’t see him as much as when Dick was in your class. 

Which makes sense...Why would you keep seeing Bruce Wayne ? 

You saw him often because you were the kind of teacher to involve the parent a lot. You saw him when Dick decided to make an expose on him, and dragged him in his classroom (it was very funny to see the famed Bruce Wayne awkwardly standing in front of a bunch of kids). You saw him when you had to talk about Dick’s progress or problems. You...Well, you saw him like every other parent. Nothing special was going on. 

And now, as you don’t have his kid as a student anymore, of course you see him less. 

But sometimes, sometimes when you finish work and walk back to your car, he waves at you from his own car (he always made sure to pick his son up) and smiles, and honestly...It’s enough for you. 

************

This sort of non-relationship goes on for a very long time. Where you quickly see each others in hallways, waving at each others in the parking lot, and catching up with quick conversations that are always the same : 

“Hello Mister Wayne.” 

“Hello Miss (Y/L/N).” 

“How are you today ?” 

“Fantastic, and you ?” 

“Great. Well, I have to go to my class.” 

“Yes, I have to go to. It was nice seeing you.” 

“You too.”

Hundreds and hundreds of short conversations, that started to mean a lot to you, even more so since Dick was almost going to graduate primary school and..Oh god. 

You had a crush on Bruce Wayne. 

Then again, in Gotham city, with how much he appeared on TV and such, a lot of people had a crush on Bruce Wayne. 

But you…well, he was handsome, nice, funny, but most of all, he cared so much about this little boy he adopted, that…how could you resist really ? You rationalized everything by thinking that you liked him so much only because of how much he cared for Dick (who wasn’t even your student anymore !). 

Of course. People caring about "your" kids, about their education and all, always kinda made you melt. Even more so when they were single parent ! 

Yes. Yes you didn't really liked Bruce Wayne. You didn't really have a crush on him. You just…Admired how well he took care of that kid that suddenly appeared in his life. Hell, he seemed to take care of him better than the parents who had their own children since birth…It was something. 

Of course, you were sure their "butler", Alfred Pennyworth, that you met a few times, was for something in all this. Still. It was very sweet. And impressive. And all those feelings gave you the impression you had a crush on him...but you really don’t, right ? 

No. No you don’t. Oh, but here he comes, you know he has a meeting with Dick’s 6th grade teacher and... 

“Hello, Miss (Y/N/L).”

“Hello, Mister Wayne.” 

The same conversation. 

Over and over again. 

And it always ends on large smiles being exchanged, and a short pause, as if neither of you truly want to leave...

************

Dick graduated sixth grade and you stopped seeing Bruce Wayne. 

It made you oddly sad, but then again...That’s how life went, right ? It was time to move on from your silly crush that lasted those past three years. 

************

JASON.

Another year passes, and you’re slowly getting over Bruce Wayne. Your heart doesn’t beat as fast when you see him on TV, and you started to date men there and there, when you felt like you wanted to be with someone. 

After his graduation, you didn’t see Dick again, which confirmed your theory that no matter the impact you had on a child, when they moved on...They moved on. 

The truth was, Dick never forgot you, and wish he would have had the time to go back to his old school. But middle school was harder and more demanding than elementary school, and with his nightly activities...

But he never forgot the first teacher he had that made him feel like he could do anything. And that was always understanding, and adapted her way of teaching for every single kids in the class.

But that, you did not know. And you thought you had moved on, too. Until you saw him again. At the exact same place you met. In front of the principal office. 

“Mister Wayne ?!” 

“Miss (Y/L/N) !” 

He says with a warm smile, his hands on the shoulders of a little boy that couldn’t be older than ten or eleven. And you understand that he adopted again, and realize that yup, you still have a crush on Bruce Wayne. 

************

After Dick's debacle at Gotham Academy, how much he hated it and such…Bruce figured that with Jason, he'd just let him choose. 

So he went and took brochures from each school, and brought them back to the Manor for Jason to take a look at. Alfred had a little tear at the corner of his eye, when he witnessed his master going all around Gotham just to pick up infos on every single school so his kid could choose…

It was particularly refreshing that since Young Master Dick left, Bruce felt lonely. 

Even more so given the conditions they parted at the time…ah but that was another story, and the butler had no doubt in his mind that Dick would come around, forgive his father and vice versa. After all, young Master Dick was a teenager now (not since very long), he had to rebel at some point, and it did some good to Bruce to have someone disagreeing with his methods and making him reconsider things…But again, that was another story.

For now, everything was about Bruce going well out of his way to make sure Jason would be comfortable.

"You can go wherever you want."

"Really ?"

"Yes, you're the boss. Choose where you want to go."

Jason's face brightened, and Bruce couldn't help but smile at him. 

That little boy clearly had so few choices in his life…Oh god, Bruce hoped that suddenly having so many choices wouldn't overwhelm him ! 

But the boy was carefully studying brochures one by one, putting them away in three different piles. Bruce wondered for a second why, when the kid looked at him and understood his silent question :

"This pile is for the "big no no never", this one is for the "maybe", and this one is for "good ones""

Ah. Made sense. Organized little feller.

This went on for a few minutes until he picked up one brochure and exclaimed :

"Hey that's my old school !"

Bruce turned to look at what school Jason was pointing to. Oh. 

Oh. 

Wow. 

It was Dick's old school, too. 

The one in a not so nice neighborhood that he wanted to go to because friends he made while at the circus went there. And it used to be Jason's  ? Well. It made sense. Also, fate had funny ways sometimes.

“And do you want to go back there ?” 

“Well I only went one year there, but I think I still know people who are still there...It might be nice, to already know a few people ?” 

“So this one ?”

“I think so, yes. This one. I have a good feeling about it !” 

Bruce smiled, and...Did that mean he would see you again ? 

************

“This is my son, Jason.” 

He says proudly, hands holding reassuringly the boy’s shoulders. 

Oh yes, yes you vaguely remember reading an article about how Bruce Wayne adopted a new kid, after his older son went away in boarding school (which always made you feel odd, Dick didn’t sound like the boarding school type of kid ? Ah, but he must’ve been about 14 or 15 now, right ? Maybe his teen years weren’t going as smoothly as his childhood...). 

Wondering if you should ask how Dick is, or if it was maybe too personal given the circumstances, you turn to look at Jason and...

"Hey I remember you. You used to come to this school right ? In a few class below the one I teach currently, and then one day you disappeared !"

"You-You remember me ?"

"I always notice children that seem a little-"

"Odd ?"

"No, not odd. Sad. It was obvious something didn't go well in your household. I’ve been teaching long enough to...notice you guys. When you disappeared I asked you teacher and she told me you turned bad. There was no infos on where you lived so I couldn't go and see…I'm very glad you, in fact, turned the opposite of bad !"

"You…would've try to find me ?"

"Of course ! "Turning bad" is something too easily accepted in Gotham ! If you don't give up on a child, who might not have an ideal family environment, then they have a better chance ! Of course it doesn't always work, I did have a lot of failure…but a few hold on, and those few matters !"

Jason’s mind was blown away. He stopped going to school when his mom overdosed...He was 8, and suddenly had to fend off for himself, as no one cared to know what happened to the “son of that junkie on the third floor”. 

He survived as he could, by committing petty crimes and dangerous stunts. Until Bruce found him (or rather, until Jason stole the Batmobile’s tires and got caught). 

And here he was, having a home again for the first time in ever, and faced with a woman that genuinely was concerned about him, but didn’t have the means to help. 

And what would’ve happened if she had ? Well, Jason was glad she didn’t. She seemed nice, but he wouldn’t trade his new dad for the world. 

Bruce was his hero. And he loved him dearly. Why would he want any other parent now ? He had one that, in his eyes, was perfect for him. 

“So, you know him ?” 

Bruce was looking at you with eyes full of interests. The little speech you made about going out of your way to make sure every kids you encountered was ok...moved him. It stirred something in his heart. Something good. 

Something that felt nice. 

“Well, not per se. But I saw him around, like I said. It’s very nice to properly meet you, Jason.” 

“Likewise, Miss...”

“(Y/N/L).” 

You answer with a smile, and Jason finds himself wishing you’ll be his teacher, for this first year back to school in a while. 

“It’s unfortunate that Jason here, is entering fifth grade. He will not have you as a teacher...” 

“Fifth grade ? Well what a coincidence. I’ve been teaching that class for the past two years, to break the routine, you know ? There’s a lot to learn in fifth grade, it’s a pivotal year for kids, so I’m glad I was transferred to that class ! And I’m double glad because that mean we’ll see a  lot of each others, Jason.” 

And you smile at him, making him blush because he’s still not used to people being nice to him like that... 

Bruce smiles too, but not for the same reasons. So you’re teaching fifth grade now huh ? Well. That means you’ll see a whole lot of HIM too...

************

Young Jason Todd. 

Brilliant child. 

Promising. You were sure he would have a very VERY bright future ! It wouldn’t surprise you if he was the one to take on Wayne Enterprise, he was THAT smart. Yes. Bright future in coming for sure (um...). 

More studious than Dick was. More attentive, too. Dick could sometimes be the class clown, and get distracted. But Jason ? Jason was listening carefully, drinking your every words, and oh it was so nice to have a student like him in your class ? 

Even more so when you knew that he could’ve turned very bad if Bruce didn’t adopt him...Ah damn. This just enhanced exponentially your crush on Bruce. 

************

It’s like it’s a redo of when Dick was your student. 

Once again, you see a lot of Bruce Wayne (and are comforted that this will go on for at least one year afterward, until Jason graduated). But since his son is your student again, he’s often at the school. 

Working with the principal to help financially, and participating greatly in Jason’s school life. 

And the crush continued, although you were pretty sure he just saw you as his kid’s teacher...Then again, why would he see you any differently ? 

************

“YEAAAAH GO GIANNNNNNTS !!” 

Jason screams at the top of his lungs, standing up on his chair in the massive Knightsdome Sporting Complex, watching with attention the baseball match unfolding in front of his eyes. 

For his birthday, the boy asked to go to a game with his dad, and here he was, with Bruce...at a game. Not any game. The game of the year ! 

And he was so excited and hyped, that Bruce didn’t regret one bit taking the day off from Wayne Enterprise to be able to come with him here. 

And that’s when he sees you. 

You’re a few row down, on the left, and you’re...Talking with a guy. 

Who was that guy ?

The dude kisses your cheek and Bruce’s heart tighten. Probably your boyfriend.

Something escaped him though...Why was seeing his kid’s teacher with her boyfriend made him feel so melancholic ? Why did it hurt his heart ? 

And then the answer came as easily as Jason screaming in happiness as his favorite team just scored a point...He had a crush on you. 

He was pretty sure he had a crush on you ever since he met you, when it was Dick’s first day. And all this year he was your student, and the moments you shared with him...The moments you shared ? What was he saying ?! You didn’t share any moments. You were just his son’s teacher ! 

It was normal to have meetings and such. And then, it was just courtoisie to say hello after that, when Dick was still in the school. Right ? No matter if he wasn’t as close to any other of Dick’s teachers...If he wasn’t as involved. They weren’t like you and...

This was stupid. You were his kid’s teacher. He couldn’t have a crush on you. 

Ah but now you smile, and throw an arm around that guy’s shoulder, looking happy and. It dampens Bruce’s mood greatly. Why ? Why does he feel so blue ? This is suppose to be a great moment with his son, why are his eyes fixed on you and...

“DAD DAD !! DID YOU SEE THAT DAD !!!???? THIS WAS AWESOME !!” 

Dad. This is the first time Jason calls him dad. And Bruce focuses back on the boy, lying about having seen “that”, and looking at his son enthusiastically jumping up and down his chair in excitement. Cute boy. 

************

“Thanks for those killer seats, sis’.” 

“No problem, I’m enjoying it too haha. Happy birthday, dumbass !” 

You say, putting your arm around your younger brother’s shoulders, while enjoying seeing the Giants kicking Metropolis’ team’s ass. 

Aaaah, you loved baseball.

************

“AH YES GOOO GIANNNNTS.” 

Jason was still screaming, holding a stray ball Bruce caught for him above his head in a sign of victory. They were walking up the path to Wayne Manor’s entrance now, but Jason’s excitement still hadn’t gone down. 

He was still jumping all around, talking about how cool everything was, and how much he loved the stray ball Bruce caught, and how he hoped he’ll get it signed one day, and how much he loved his new Giants t-shirt, and his new giants cap, and his new Giants baseball pants, and his new Giants shoes, and how he wished he could wear all of it to school and...

“Hey, why don’t you ask miss (Y/N/L) to be your girlfriend ?” 

The sudden question takes him by surprise and he stops mid-way up the stairs to the entrance, and stare at his son. 

“What ?” 

Jason talked so much and so fast, the past hour, that Bruce didn’t catch everything he talked about, and most certainly missed how they arrived on this subject ?

“Why don’t you ask miss (Y/N/L) to be your girlfriend ?” 

“That’s...I..You...She...We...I...”

It’s the first time Jason sees his father stutter, and he realizes he must’ve stroke a cord with that question. He smiles slyly and adds : 

“Oh you thought about it huh ?” 

He got up a few stairs ahead of his dad so he could be at his level, and nudged him with his shoulder knowingly, being absolutely obnoxious. 

“What are you talking about ? She’s your teacher, we can’t !” 

There’s a short silence, during which Jason loses his smirk that is replaced by a confused expression and, as simple as that, he asks : 

“Why ? You like her, no ?” 

Yes. Yes he did...But it was more complicated than that. And she apparently had a boyfriend ! Bruce didn’t feel like ruining the day trying to explain his conflicted feelings to his son, and so he said : 

“Because she’s your teacher, and that’s that.” 

************

Three years after Jason isn’t your student anymore, you hear about his death. In the worst way possible. Through the TV, as you’re preparing dinner. 

And it shatters you. You’ve always liked Jason a lot, he was so bright, he was supposed to have a successful future !! 

He died during the Joker’s terrorist attack, apparently, along with a few other people. And it was the most tragic day of your life... 

You don’t see Bruce for years, after that.

************

After Jason’s death, you vowed your entire life to teaching, even more than before. It became vitale to you, that future generations would make this city better, would give it some sort of sense. 

Because in which world was it normal for a 15 years old boy to die because yet another psycho was roaming the streets ? 

Jason fuels even more your wish to make this city a more bearable place to live in, and you work more than ever towards this goal, creating the “Jason Todd school foundation”, a name barely in homage to the student who inspired this entire action. In homage of a student who particularly touched your heart, and represented in himself why there was a desperate need to improve the education in Gotham City.

Your non-profit charity works harder than any other, to improve schools in Gotham, and give a better chance to this kids. 

One of your biggest donator is a certain Bruce Wayne, but you still don’t see him anymore.

************

TIM.

It’s only when he sees you talking to one of your students, right there, at the end of the hallway, that he realizes how much he missed you. 

Two years passed since...Since his life completely changed. Since everything was painted in black again. And yet, yet it feels like it was yesterday he saw your smile. 

He heard your voice. 

He saw you care for “your” children. 

It’s like a small ray of sunshine in his heart, as he finally sees you again. After Jason...After what happened, he felt like he couldn’t face you. Like he couldn’t face one of the only person in the world that cared greatly about that boy. 

And so he avoided you. But Destiny brought him back in your path, and as you notice him, and a natural smile spreads across your face...He realizes how much he missed you. 

In his hand, he squeezes Tim’s hand a little tighter, and the boy looks up at his dad curiously. What got into him ?  

The other small ray of sunshine in his dark and dry heart, his new son, is about to asks him what’s up, when he sees how his dad is looking at that woman, at the end of the hallway. 

Timothy Drake-Wayne has always been the smartest little boy around, and he immediately understands what is going on...

************

"So you can choose chum. Either school. This is Gotham Academy, the "best" one but it really has that reputation because…money. And then that's the one Dick and…Dick went to. He liked it very much, the facilities are not as nice, but the teachers are passionate."

Bruce doesn’t mention Jason, even though Tim is pretty sure Jason too, went to that school. But he knows it’s a delicate subject, so he does not mention it.

"Where did he go ? Why wasn't he in Gotham Academy ?"

"He couldn't get along with people."

"…Dick ? Our Dick ? Not getting along with people ?"

Tim was properly shocked. 

"He can get mad very fast, you know ? Remember when you beat him at Smash Bros ?

"Oh yeah…He broke the controller. I just thought it was an occasional thing ! He really likes smash bros"

"It's not that occasional. He can get very angry very fast. And the kids in Gotham Academy weren't very nice to him, so he got angry often. It was also not long after his parents…”

"Oh. I get it…Well, I want to go where Dick went !"

Bruce’s heart tighten at the mere idea to see you again. 

Was he ready to face you, after ignoring you for two years ? After Jason stopped being your student, the boy still went to see you, as you really changed his life. He wanted to be a teacher, too, so he often came and observe...Which meant you saw a lot of Bruce too. 

And Bruce felt like he owed you an explanation. About how Jason...But he couldn’t. He couldn’t face you. He just couldn’t.

Something in him made him sure that if he would talk to you, he’d break down. He’d tell you everything. Everything. 

And he just couldn’t do that. 

************

Tim hated school. For the past two years, he got away from not going by falsifying a paper where he forged his parents’ signature saying he was now homeschooled. The truth was, his parents never really paid attention to what he was doing, and since he hated school...

He might as well not go, and do other things of his days. Like discovering who the Batman was !  

And he did, he did found out ! Shortly after that, and after stubbornly going to Wayne Manor days after days so Bruce would train him, he lost his parents ...And got adopted by the Batman himself. 

It was strange, because Bruce paid a lot of attention to what he was doing. Actually, he was borderline overprotective sometimes...Of course, Tim knew it was because of the Robin-he-wasn’t-allowed-to-talk-about. 

Jason Todd. The brother that he’ll never know. Only Dick, talked to him about that (after Jason’s death, Dick came back to the Manor to support Bruce, and enrolled in a high school downtown, where he was a senior). Bruce never mentioned him, but Tim saw him spend hours standing in front of Jason’s old suit, and staring at it...

But that was another story. That nonetheless explained why Bruce was being particularly protective of him (like, he still held his hand when they were walking in the streets and stuffs like that, even though Tim was 9 now !). 

In any way, Tim still hated school, and it’s full of “don’t wanna” and dreading the boring hours he’d spend in class learning things he already knew, that he dragged his feet across the corridor to go to his first class.

Dick told him about the teacher, apparently he had him in third grade. Great. A third grade teacher teaching fifth grader. Wow. He would learn sooooo much. 

************

This was the first time in his life Tim actually liked school. Sure, you were teaching a lot of things he already knew but the methods you were using, with games and fun things so they’d remember better, was amazing ! 

It didn’t feel like school, yet as the end of the day drew near, Tim realized he actually learned a lot of things ! WOW ! And for the first time in his life, Tim couldn’t wait for the next day. 

You too, couldn’t wait for the next day, as it was going to be the first teacher/student conference, and you’d see your forbidden crush, Bruce Wayne. 

************

“So, are you going to take miss (Y/L/N) on a date ?” 

“What ?” 

Bruce and Tim were in one of the car, driving back home, when Tim just jumped right into it. 

“Pleaaase, all this chit chat you guys had was unbearable. You talked so much about nothing.” 

“We were talking about your latest test, chum.” 

“Right. For the first two seconds. Then you made up excuses to keep talking.” 

“Well, you sure have a great imagination. Miss (Y/L/N) said so herself.” 

“Oh really dad, we’re really going to go that way ? You’re going to deny it ?” 

“Tim, we were just talking about you. That’s it. Just like any parents and teachers.” 

“...Riiiiiight.” 

Obviously, the boy wasn’t convinced. However, he dropped the subject, too surprised by the fact his father’s face was slowly turning bright red. 

************

Cassandra.

“This is my new sister Cass !” 

Tim says enthusiastically, smiling widely at you. 

“She’s older than me, but she um...isn’t from this country, so never went really to school so that’s why she’s in your class and I’m in sixth grade ! She’s very nice ! She’s coming here because I’m here too ! She wanted to be where I was ! She’s my sister !” 

“Cass” looks at you curiously, a bit of shyness in her eyes too, and when you raise a hand to shake hers, she flinches back. 

It doesn’t take you long to recognize all the signs of a child that was beaten by her parents, and a rush of anger climbs inside you. 

Tim, after he introduced his sister, rushes to his own class, and you’re left with Cass as the rest of your students come in. 

She goes from one foot to the other, unsure of what she’s supposed to do in this first day of school, and it’s obvious...it really is, her first day of school.

And already, you think of a plan to make her feel welcome. To make her feel like it’s ok if she doesn’t get everything right away, or if she isn’t at the same level than others. 

You quickly realizes she does not speak much, most likely because she wasn’t really taught to. It breaks your heart, and you do everything in your power to adapt your class for her. To give her that extra support. 

And in that case, isn’t about having a favorite or not, it’s about being there for kids who need it. It’s your entire life’s work up until now. 

Cass incarnates exactly why you became a teacher. 

**********

“You. Like her.” 

Cass says simply, touching her father’s chest, and then pointing at you, who’s currently helping a few kids finishing last minutes decoration for the school play. 

Bruce turns to you, looking longingly at you as you smile to the kids, and help Tim put his hat on properly (he was playing President Lincoln..). Of course, just as he was looking at you, you had to take care of his kids. 

His feelings for you were always stronger, when he saw you with one of his children. You’ve always been such a great teacher, caring so much for them. 

Of course, you cared about all your students. More often than not, you went out of your way to make sure a kid had enough food, or was treated properly. Went out of your way to go after children who stopped coming to class, dragging them back in. 

How could he not like you ? 

He turns to Cass now. His only daughter. His sweet, sweet daughter. How could he lie to her ? It is impossible. 

And so, for the first time since, years ago at a certain baseball game, he realized he had a crush on you (that might’ve turned into something more now), he says aloud : 

“Yes. Yes, I do.” 

Cass smiles sadly, because she understands he’ll never act upon his feelings for multiple reasons. And she understands her precious “Miss (Y/N/L)” won’t either... 

************

It’s interesting, how your relationship evolved, in almost ten years. From when Dick first became your student, to when Cass left your class for the last time. 

Nowadays, you actually became friends, mainly because Bruce became one of the board member of your Charity. 

You had to admit this was going beyond a simple teacher/parent relationship (as if it hadn’t been that way for years). But...but you’d never cross a certain line

Neither of you would admit your feelings. You’d simply stare at each others from a far, and look away when the other turned their head toward you. 

You started to call each others by your first names, but it just made sense. 

You were friends now. Nothing more. Even if Cass wasn’t your student anymore, neither were any of his other kids...Things could still not go further. 

That’s simply how things were. 

He did not want to drag you in his life, and felt like it was inappropriate to date his kids’ teacher (even if technically you weren’t anymore, you were still “Miss (Y/N/L)” to all of them). And the media would crush you... 

As for you, in your head, those kids, even if the oldest one was going on his twenties, were still your students. And you had a strong ethic..

************

DAMIAN.

“I don’t see why I have to go to this...public school, father” 

At the word “public”, Damian shivered slightly and Bruce couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Oh, how he wished his boy wouldn’t have inherited his dramatic side...

"Your brothers and sister loved this school."

"Don't call them that please, they're not my-"

"You're my son. They're my children too. You're their brother. End of story."

There’s a short silence, where Damian scoffs. He breaks his stubborn silence, realizing his father wasn’t going to budge, and adds : 

“Yes well like I said, they weren’t use to a high standard of living. Mother hired the best private tutors and such. If they’re satisfied with mediocrity then good for them.”

“Well, here’s another reason to go to this school. Detach yourself from this type of life, isn’t that what you want to do ? Plus I think it would do you nicely to be a little more humble.”

“Humble ? My life is anything but humble !”

“Except for the fact that now, you’re going to a normal public school in a not so nice neighborhood in Gotham”

At those words, Damian’s eyes widen. Did his father just...make a joke ? Oh the smirk on his face was undeniable, he just mocked him !

“Hey, I-”

“Bruce ! Ah, and you must be Damian ?”

You say, as you see the both of them. Damian scoffs, and you take the conclusion that yes, it must be him. 

Bruce talked to you on the phone about his youngest son, who recently came into his life after...A lot of complications. He didn’t really tell you what happened, but you understood he dated a woman long ago and she had a son, and hid him from him. Which outraged you. But also was none of your business...

In any case, he talked to you about Damian. He had been raised in very high society, and warned you a little about him. But oh, you did not believe a child needed warnings. No matter what, you’d find a way to properly teach that boy. A method that would suit him. Like you did for all of your students (and man did you already had some tough cookies in your classes). 

************

Damian looked at his father, and then at you, and how you smiled at each others stupidly. And frowned. You left to ask something to the principal, and Damian turned to his father, saying :

“Mm. Are you sure you put me in this school to teach me how to be humble, or did you just want to see that teacher again ?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, boy.”

But Damian was not stupid, he could clearly see how his father’s eyes were lingering behind you, and how you smiled at him.

It made him sick.

************

You held Damian back at the end of a class, to talk about his latest test. 

He had made no mistake, and punctuated the entire thing with personal comments such as : “a baby would know this” and other “I could answer this one in Japanese” (and proceeding to write his entire answer in kanjis) etc etc...Which made you think that obviously, that kid did not want to be here. 

And most definitely could jump further into his studies, if he thought this class was much too easy. You had the occasion to see his tests and his attention in class, and it was clear the “high society” from which he came from educated him very very well. 

With an unimpressed look, Damian picked his stuffs up and went to your desk. You showed him his test, and said : 

“It has come to my attentions, thanks to your very...Smooth comments, that this class is probably not up to your level. I was thinking maybe we could see to have you skip a grade or two. Would that be something you want ?” 

He shrugs, still not looking very concern, and you sigh. In three months in your class, Damian hadn’t opened up at all. He was most definitely one tough cookie to crack...You sigh, and say : 

“I’ll talk to your father about it.”

“Useless, he won’t accept.”

“Really ? Why ?”

“He thinks I need to learn how to be humble.”

“Ah. And what do you think ?”

“Why would I hide how good I am at things ?”

“Ah but Damian, being humble isn’t about hiding that you’re good, but accepting and knowing there’s always room for improvement.”

You say with a smile, and it...does something to him. 

It’s not that your words have a particular impact on him, he heard Alfred or his “siblings” telling this kind of things hundred of times. 

But there’s something in your face that makes him flinch. Moves something inside him. It’s like...It’s like you genuinely care. 

Damian never really saw anyone looking at him with this expression. Clearly wanting to breach the gap, to make a jump and truly want the best for him. 

Of course, his father really tried to bond with him, but they still didn’t get each others at all. And with his siblings ? Tt, he had no siblings. With the others, he always tried to be better (without always succeeding), and it frustrated them. With reasons. 

So he never saw that particular smile, that particular expression. A genuine and hopeful smile. Someone not judging him in the least, and ready to give him a chance, even after he spend the last three months being horrible to them...

Damian couldn’t understand why you were looking at him like that. Why you had so much hope for him, why you didn’t give up already, why...Why ? 

Why were you smiling at him, while he made all the effort in the world to make you understand he did not want to be here ? 

Why ? 

He couldn’t understand. He hated not understanding.

And it made him...sick ?

************

Why did it make him sick again ? After a few more months of school, he couldn’t remember the reason. 

Classes were...Pleasant to him, when you were teaching them. He found himself wanting to listen. Wanting to participate. Wanting to talk. 

You had a way of approaching subjects that made everything fun, that made everyone wanting to learn more. 

Why did he dislike you so much at first ? Probably because he wasn’t used to someone genuinely caring about his well-being ? He had been surrounded by fakes and people trying to kill him since his birth, it was difficult to believe there were some good people on Earth. 

Bruce, just like how he noticed Cass’ speech improve after a few months in your class, noticed his son opening up more and more. 

He was still quite introverted, and sometimes acted like a brat...but he was also just a ten years old boy. He couldn’t be perfect. 

There was no doubt in Bruce’s mind that the way Damian slowly changed his mind and changed for the better, came in big part thanks to your class. It also, of course, came from the fact he had amazing children who weren’t about to let Damian get away with treating them as if they weren’t part of the family. 

Instead of getting mad at him though, they just involved him more in their lives, wether he wanted to or not (something they most definitely picked up from your class, where you always made sure everyone was included, and had a “non judgement zone” installed). And slowly but surely, he got used to it. 

He got used to say they were his brothers and sister. That they were a family. He got used to bicker over siblings stuffs, but not to hate them anymore just because they existed. 

He was raised to be like that. Individualist, and taught to crush anyone he deemed a threat. For him, the children his father adopted were a great threat, they could steal his legacy...But slowly, he realized all he had been taught was rotten. 

It took time, of course. And patience. 

But the fact no one was willing to give up on him made him feel things. For the first time in his life, he felt what that “love” thing was, and what being actually cared for felt like. 

A mix of a healthy family environment (and an escape to kick ass at night, and release some frustration), and a good school environment, and slowly but surely, Damian really did improve.

Of course, the change came from him. He was the one wanting to change, wanting to be part of something...But he most definitely had great help along the way. 

Everything culminated the day he had to do an expose for his class, and chose Tim as his subject. 

Of course, Tim knew nothing about it. Damian had come to see him as his brother, and would often boast to his friends at school how great his siblings were...but he’d never tell them to their face. 

Only you knew, how greatly he admired his big brother Tim. He talked a lot about how Tim was only 16 and already managing a lot of things at their father’s enterprise, and he couldn’t help but digress to brag about his other siblings too, who were all very successful. 

And no one in his family would ever have known, if it wasn’t for you who called Bruce to tell him about this absolutely beautiful expose Damian did about his siblings...It made you almost tear up. Even more so when he talked about “the brother he never met”, Jason (who was alive at the time, and back in the family, but the public still thought he was dead...however Damian couldn’t help but talk and brag about him too, even if he had to use the past tense. He would realize only later, how insensitive it could be to have done that in front of you, who still hadn’t gotten over his death...). 

You told everything to Bruce, and it almost sounded like you talked about your own son. It did all kind of things to Bruce’s heart. Nothing he said alout, though. 

************

Damian was going to graduate from elementary school when it happened. 

It was the first full blown charity ball you held for your “Jason Todd school foundation”, and...You had no illusion. 

If people came to your little event it was because Bruce Wayne was here too.

It had been, nonetheless, a rather pleasant evening. You caught up with Dick, Tim and Cass (and was painfully reminded of Jason’s absence), and what they were doing currently. Tim and Cass were still in high school, and Dick had recently decided to join the police school. Didn’t surprise you much. 

Yes. It was a rather pleasant evening. 

Except for the fact your heart kept getting stabbed over and over again every time you saw Bruce with his date, a Russian model that was probably one of the most beautiful woman you ever saw. 

How could you compete against that ? ...Not that you’d want to compete. 

You do your best to avoid them all night long, even though you see him look for you, trying over and over again to come and talk to you. 

You just can’t do it. You can’t look at him in the eyes while he has such a gorgeous woman at his arm. And so, not very discreetly, you avoid him like the plague, always finding a way to put people between you and him, or escaping to the ladies’ bathrooms. 

Until she corners you.

You were fairly certain she noticed Bruce wanting to talk to you, and had gotten jealous that he therefor paid less attention to her. Oh but if only she knew you and Bruce were just friends...

She’s able to finally talk to you as he went to get some drinks, and before even saying hello or anything, she asks, with a clearly exaggeratted Russian accent (you heard her talk with a barely noticeable accent before) : 

“You’re the one who throw all this right ? Good party. Are you alone tonight though ? I thought it was custom for people who organized this kind of things to be accompanied.” 

She says, with an infuriating fake smile. And that’s the moment Bruce choses to come back, so you can’t even be snarky or anything. You don’t want Bruce to think anything bad about you, so you say : 

“Well, I’m here for the children. So no, I didn’t bring a date. I was too busy trying to appeal to people to invest in our new educative programs.” 

The Russian model looks you up and down and say, the condescendence clear in her voice : 

“Oh, is that why you’re alone ?” 

And here we go, yet another knife in the heart. Reminding you that beyond those impossible feelings you have for Bruce, you also take every hours of your day and use it towards your “educative cause”, virtually having no real social life. And wow. Outch. “Alone”. Touché. 

You don’t see Bruce frowning at his “date”, and you awkwardly smile before slipping away, finding an excuse to do so. 

“(Y/N) wait I wanted to...”

You hear him say something, but you already jumped in the middle of a bunch of people and joined their conversation, effectively blocking Bruce’s way to you. 

You really, really didn’t want to talk to him, even more so if that woman was at his arm. 

************

The night comes to an end, and you’re utterly satisfied of it. 

You managed (thanks to Bruce mainly), to find founding for all your projects, and had a nice nights full of passionate talk about education and such. 

You had the opportunity to hang out with ex-students of yours, that made great things of themselves. Not just Dick, Tim, Cass and Damian. It was kind of a given, they’d do great, mainly because of their father’s fortune (although those kids were geniuses). But kids from the worst neighborhood in Gotham that benefited from all your actions. 

You felt very proud, and shed many tears. More than once, you thought about Jason, and how you dedicated all this success to him. How you wished this would lead Gotham on a more peaceful path, and things like what happened to Jason would never happen again. 

The wound of his loss was still fresh, and as the evening was coming to an end, and people leaving, you took a little break and went out on the balcony to take a breath of fresh air. 

************

It was only ten minutes into your isolating time that he finally found you. 

And you were beautiful, there, your elbows on the bannister, looking out at the night lights of Gotham City. 

“Great night, huh ?” 

You jump a bit in the air, surprised, and turn to him. 

No Russian model around, coast clear ? 

“Yeah. Yeah it was good. We have enough fundings to rebuild a hundred schools haha. Just with your donation, we could’ve achieved all our project. Thank you, Bruce.”

“Well, it’s for a good cause.” 

“Still, many do not think or care about it.” 

“You know I agree with you about the importance of good education..” 

Yes. Yes you know. You’ve had many passionate conversations about the future of Gotham, and what you wished it would become. 

Both of you had the same ideas and ideals. Both of you wanted to see Gotham thriving and peaceful. With happy inhabitants that wouldn’t be afraid anymore. 

The Batman helped a lot, for sure, but it was to the people to do the rest. By making the environment everyone was growing in a better place. 

And it started...With schools. 

Yes. Bruce always agreed with your point of view, and was the first to believe in you. 

“You did great, you know. None of this projects would exist without you.” 

“I just...gave people ideas. Nothing too big.” 

“Nothing too big ? (Y/N), you singlehandedly change Gotham’s entire educative field, making every schools better.” 

“Well, I didn’t do it alone.” 

You turn to him, and smile. 

Sure, maybe you initiated a lot of things. Maybe it’s your own experience and such that molded the entire charity and such. But without Bruce Wayne ? And his wonderful kids ? You’re not sure you would’ve gone too far. 

Dick is the one that gave you the self-confidence you needed by having to be strong to help him out, Jason was the one who pushed you to finally take a step forward, Tim and his novel ideas always made you want to improve, Cass and her will to fight and learn inspired you greatly in inventing new methods to help out kids with specific needs, and Damian showed you everyone could change for the better, no matter what. 

Wether you liked it or not, the Waynes really had a huge impact on your life. 

And as you turned to Bruce, somehow, you saw he was thinking something similar...In his eyes, you could see how grateful he was, and how much you changed and helped his kids. 

He smiles. 

You smile. 

Neither of you want to add anything. Everything goes through your eyes. 

Thanksfullness. Gratefulness. Pride. Contentment. 

It’s interesting, how for so many years, your fate and theirs was linked, in more ways than you could imagine. 

To the point that now, Bruce couldn’t imagine a life without you, and vice versa. 

You really were, great friends...

The word hurts, and you look away, unable to hold his gaze. 

Friends. 

His calloused fingers brush your cheek, you you’re so surprised you turn back to him and...No. No he can’t. You can’t. 

You know this look. 

And if you’re being honest with yourself, you’ve known for a while. 

Which is why you were frustrated with him bringing dates everywhere, him still being kind of a playboy (even though his kids gave him an excuse to tame it down). Frustrated with those feelings too because...

Because both of you knew you shared it. 

Both of you knew...Probably since a long time. 

Not that you nor him would ever act upon it, because then, it could change everything, and in a very bad way. 

Plus, you can’t date a student’s parent. You have a very strict ethic.

And he can’t bring you into his world. 

Frustration. 

You both know. 

But you’ll never do anything about it. 

And then...

...

...

...

...

...

He kisses you.

He kisses you and it’s like those past twelve years of pining for him suddenly fly away. Like you’re 23 again, fresh out of college, about to teach your first class ever, and you see him. About your age. And he has a ward...A son.

You talk for a few minutes, you fight, you apologize, it clicks. And then he leaves, and for a year, you help his son grow. After that, you don’t see him for a while...Until he comes back, with another adoptive son.

Jason. And then Tim. Cassandra. Finally, now, Damian.

All those years walking a parallel line to his, acting as if his kids aren’t your favorite in your class (because “you don’t play favorite, that’d go against my entire work ethic !”). Acting as if you don’t make up a lot of parent/teachers conferences just to see him (because you didn’t really need that much...). Acting as if it didn’t hurt you the most when his kids moved on, and you stopped seeing them...and him.

He kisses you and it’s like you’re 23 again. Acting right away on your feelings. Not being afraid.

Afraid of what ?

He’s one of your student’s father. It’s not ethical. He’s also rich and handsome, so out of your league. And it’s unrationnal, you don’t see him that often.

Afraid of what ?

Rejection. Loneliness. Knowing exactly what you want but never doing anything to achieve it. Regrets. ...

12 years vanish, as he kisses you.

You’re 23 again, and...and...And you can’t do this !

He’s one of your student’s parent ! He’s THE Bruce Wayne !

The sudden bliss you felt as his lips met yours vanishes too, and it’s like a cold bucket of water dumped on your head as you realize...

You can’t do this.

Now, or 12 years ago, it’s the same situation.

You can’t do this.

And so you softly pushes him away...

“I-I...”

It’s more difficult than you think, to say those words. He looks at you curiously, a fiery passion still lingering in his eyes.

“I can’t.”

You say, and the only thing you can do now, is run. Run as fast as you can.

“Fly you fools”, are the words that come to your mind. You have to leave, far, far away. And now, you have to stop talking to you. 

Because this all thing is unethical. 

You can’t date one of your student’s parent ! Even though none of them are your student anymore...

And Bruce Wayne is so out of your League ! Even though he’s the one who kissed you first...

And this could change everything, after all, he became your best friend, this could ruin everything ! Even though whenever you saw each others with someone else you felt like dying... 

And he’ll surely reject you, you’re just you, a simple elementary teacher, and he’s him, THE bruce Wayne ! Even though he always looked at you as if you were much more than a “simple elementary school teacher”. 

And...

And...

And...

“Why ?” 

He asks. Why ? Why ? Why ? Why can’t you ? 

Because of all the reasons you keep listing in your head. Student’s dad. Rejection. Out of league. Too much. Not enough. Regrets. Friendship. 

Because...because...Why ? 

He knows. Of course he does. 

He knows you love him. 

And deep down, amongst all the insecurities and fear...You know he loves you. 

So, why ? 

You can’t escape this. He knows. You know. You both knew for a while, without ever acting upon it. Why ? 

Fears. 

Stupid ones. 

Why ? 

As if a divine force was bringing you back to him, you get close to his body again, without even noticing yours moving. 

Why not ?

When you think about it, all those years, it’s as if destiny lead you to each others. Bruce Wayne’s children should’ve never end up in a second rate school in a shitty neighborhood...And yet they all did. 

An elementary school teacher really was supposed to have such a huge impact on “her” kids ? Well, you did. 

Two parallel lines. Always going in the same direction, but never quite meeting.

Until a fateful accidental conjoncture. 

Like a good night representing everything you believe in. 

Like tonight. 

So, why ? 

“I can’t.” 

You repeat, but you don’t even believe it yourself. 

“Why ?” 

“Because...Because...”

You can’t remember the reasons anymore. Was it even ever wrong ?  

He leaves you time, makes sure you want this. He takes a step back on the balcony, away from the remnant of people. 

You follow after him.  

Why ? 

Because you love him.

And he catches you in his arms...Why ? 

Because he loves you. 

12 years in the making. 

Of obvious signs ignored...Why ? 

You don’t even remember anymore. And it doesn’t matter.

Why ? 

Because he’s kissing you again. 

Now that he’s sure. Now that you’re not running away for...reasons you can’t recall. Now that he’s sure. Now that you’re sure. 

It seems silly, that you lost so many years...But then again, it’s only now that you’re finally ready. 

Why ? 

Because as you both reflected on what you accomplished, and what the other’s place was in your life, you both came to a logic realization : 

You were in love. 

And so you kiss him back, and it’s like you’re 23 again. 

************

“AH ! Finally !”

Tim exclaims, as he points to his father kissing his favorite teacher ever, Miss (Y/L/N)...No, (Y/N). And although he feels rather content that this is happening, he finds it disgusting. 

“Oh geez they’re really going at it...” 

Damian makes a face, because he also thinks the kiss is gross. However, in his heart, and not about to say it out loud just yet, he was very happy for his father. And for himself, really. 

Cass, a smirk on her face, simply said : 

“Called it.” 

But then Dick, throwing an arm around her shoulder, adds : 

“Oh no little sister. No no no. Eight years old me shall forever remain known as the one that “called it” first ! Hahahaha.”

And indeed, it’s only, over twelve years ago now, when little Dick asked if you could be his dad’s girlfriend, that you allowed your feelings to truly burgeoned. 

Because as long as his kids were ok with you two being an item, really, who cared about anything else ?

_________________________________________________

WELL !! Here we are. I hope you liked it. Thanks very much for reading, and see you soon with a new story :). Hoping this one wasn’t too bad...

As usual, feedbacks, or comments about what you think of the story in general (good or bad, by the way. But please don’t be just mean, if you did not like something try to say why ? We usually all know why we don’t like a thing, so please if you think of something negatively, try to explain why  you did not like it so I can improve next time and not just feel like shit ? Saying something is “bad” and that is it is counterproductive, rude and not very nice...There’s always a way to say things :) ) and reblogs and all are very VERY welcomed. 

[sparkleofpizza]

The archer - Tim Drake x reader 1/?

Hey guys, how are you doing? I have been working on this story for a while now and decided to finally post it, I am currently still writing the next parts because I decided to change a few ideas I had previously, but this is mainly just me giving Tim Drake some love and incorporating a bit of my love for Arrow too. Hope you guys like it and feel free to request me anything if you'd like, I write for the batboys, Wally and Conner. 

Requested: no

Warnings: some swearing

Summary: Y/n Queen will be living in the Wayne Manor for a while, and Dick Grayson decided to be the Cupid between her and his little brother Tim Drake.

Word count: 2.228

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6 - Part 7

The Wayne manor was silent that day, Bruce had everyone prepared for the arrival of a guest. The four boys were pissed off as why they had to make sure their rooms were organized, it was not like the guest would sleep in there. Dick and Jason didn't even live there anymore, but they gave up on arguing after one pointed look from Alfred.

When the doorbell finally rung, the boys were all too busy playing around in the cave - somewhere they found out they would have privacy, after all there was no way the guest would get there. So they weren’t there to greet you as you found your way around the house, after being greeted by Bruce and Alfred, letting them take your bags to the room you’d be staying at and showing you around.

You ended up standing in front of the clock, you knew pretty well what that clock meant, your brother had told you about that. You had a vague idea that the boys would be there - you really wanted to meet all of them - but didn’t want to intrude, this wasn’t your house after all and Bruce was already being nice enough to let you stay over while your brother was away in some business. So you went back to your room, deciding to meet them when was the right time.

And it actually didn’t take long for you to run into one of them. You collided with a huge body, making you land in your butt as you looked up to see none other than Jason Todd. He started down at you.

“Who are you?” He asked, frowning "Are you the guest Bruce told us about?"

“Hello to you too, Jason.” You rolled your eyes at the boys antics, pushing yourself up “It’s nice to see you again.”

He started at you for a few seconds before realization drowned on him. You are Y/N Queen, Oliver’s young sister and Roy’s ‘sister’ as well. He hasn’t seen you such a long time he almost didn’t recognize you.

“Y/N?!” He questioned, too surprised, patting your shoulder “Oh, it’s good to see you again. You look so different from the last time I saw you.”

“That’s because the last time you saw me I was sixteen.” You smirked up at him “Which means you’re getting a bit old.”

He narrowed his eyes at you “You’re like eighteen now or something?”

“Nineteen, actually.”

He nodded, leading you downstairs to the kitchen “Well, you’re still underage so you still have to respect me and do what I say.”

“When have I ever done something people tell me to do? I literally went after a serial killer on my own when I was fifteen just because Ollie told me to stay out of it.”

Jason nodded his head, remembering Roy complaining about something like that. He didn’t pay much attention at the story at the time because he thought it was boring and he had better things to think of, such as his revenge on Bruce, but now it seemed amusing a small girl like you trying something like that. He made a mental note to ask you more details about it later.

“I hope none of you are doing anything imprudent, we have a visitor and that would be really bad looking for you all.” Jason exclaimed, entering the kitchen with you by his side 

His three brothers were sitting on the counter, fighting over the last cookie Alfred had made earlier. Their heads shot up in curiosity trying to find out who was there with their brother. Hoping it wouldn't be the mysterious guest.

You stood still, pushing some hair from your face and offering them a friendly smile. Oliver has told you about them, even Roy filled you in on who they were, you’ve seen pictures of them, after all they were Bruce’s Wayne kids, but damn, you didn’t expect them to be this good looking in person. 

“Todd, who’s this?” A small boy questioned, holding up a knife to point at you

You chuckled at that “I’m y/n, it’s really nice to meet you. Maybe you should let go of that knife, kids shouldn’t hold things that can hurt them.”

“I’m not a kid!” He yelled 

His brothers laughed at his face, Tim already taking a liking into you. If you got to bother Damian in less than five minutes into conversation than you were cool. Dick though you were funny and Jason smiled proudly just because he knew you before everyone else.

“This are my brothers, Dick, Tim and Damian.” Jason introduced them to you 

You smiled once again, taking a sit across from where they were. 

“So...” Dick started “Y/n, when did you and Jason get together?”

“What? You think we’re dating?” You almost gagged, taking a look at the boy beside you. From all the stories you heard about him from Roy, you were 110% sure that you’d never be able to feel something more for him “We’re not together.” You chuckled at the end

Jason narrowed his eyes “Y/n is the guest Bruce told us about, but hold on a second... Why did you sound so disgusted?”

“Because anyone would be disgusted if someone thought they were dating you, Todd.” Damian rolled his eyes, earning a few laughs from his brother and you, and a death glare from Jason

“Roy just tells me so much shit about you, and you guys are glued. It would be like dating Roy, totally weird.”

“Oh, you’re friends with Roy?” Tim asked, leaning in a bit, curious about how much you knew about them all

You smiled directly at him, flipping some hair from your face. He stared at you for a while, mouth slightly open before quickly shutting it close. You were so pretty and what a perfect smile you have. 

“Yeah, I’ve known him almost my whole life.” You replied, frowning a bit, thinking back into old memories of when things went down hill, but quickly smiled again at boy in front of you “So I know plenty about all of you.” 

That gave him the answer he needed. You knew about their nightly activities, which was better than having to lie all the time. Not like he was expecting to have you around all the time, you were just staying for a while. But he wouldn’t mind staring at your gorgeous e/c eyes, and pretty conquer smile. 

Dick’s eyes went wide, looking at his brother and than at you. An idea already popping on his mind, if you weren’t dating Jason, maybe that meant you weren’t dating anyone, since you stated you also weren’t dating Roy. Big chances of you being single. Watching you and Tim interact made him want to play match maker, oh he was desperate to play match maker.

“How old are you, y/n?” He blurted out loudly 

“I’m nineteen, why?”

“Oh! Nothing! Just curiosity. Did you know Tim is twenty-one? Only two years older than you! Funny, right?”

You nodded, biting your lower lip to prevent yourself from laughing. Dick didn’t know how to be discreet.

It had been a couple of days since you’ve been at the manor and you noticed a couple of things:

1. Damian was a very hard person to socialize with, he was very judging and didn’t seem to enjoy your presence at all.

2. Jason was everything Roy told you about him, and that was kind of creepy.

3. Dick was definitely trying to play cupid, asking you random questions out of the blue and then stating facts about Tim.

4. Tim had a very weird sleeping pattern, was coffee addicted and the nicest to talk out of the four of them. 

You tried to live your days as normally as possible, but nothing normal is really normal in this family. You thought it was ok their vigilant routine, your brother was one as well, but weren’t they extreme sometimes?! No wonder Oliver said Bruce was uptight. They show zero emotions. 

You tried not to get in their way, not really bothering them when they were busy with patrol and cases. You figured your time of the day should be during the night, when the would be out of the manor and on the streets fighting crime. 

Going down to the kitchen to get some coffee, maybe something to eat and then you could silently laugh while watching Brooklyn 99. What you didn’t expect was to run into Tim during that.

He was pouring down coffee on his mug when you appeared on the doorway. He glanced up, smiling once he saw you.

“Did I wake you up?” He questioned, leaning down on the counter 

“No.” You shook your head, smiling back at him “I came to get some coffee. Shouldn't you be on patrol?" 

"It is my day off." Tim replied, watching you as he took a sip of his coffee

"So then... Can't sleep?"

“I normally don’t sleep. What about you?”

You arched your brows at that, pouring some hot coffee in a mug for you. Who normally doesn’t sleep?

“Just wanted to watch some Netflix in the quite of the night.” You shrugged “What do you normally do since you don’t sleep?”

"I just work on some cases."

That seemed unlikely. How could someone stay up all night just working on some cases? He certainly did other things, maybe he had a secret girlfriend and he would sneak her into his room at night and that's just what he told everyone he was doing? Working on some cases.

"But you do that all night? I doubt it's healthy. Don't you like have a secret girlfriend you're sneaking in and you just don't want anyone to find out about?"

Tim laughed at your statement, shaking his head. 

"I don't have any secret girlfriend or a real girlfriend for the matter. I like working at night. You could help me sometime, if you'd like?" A dust pink took over his cheeks, maybe he crossed the line by asking you join him in his room in the middle of the night, but you smiled at him 

"I'd love to help you on some cases. Shall we start now?"

He nodded, grabbing your hand and pulling you in towards his room. You smiled at the touch of your palms, his hand was way bigger than yours, but you liked how it felt against your skin. His fingers were cold. You could get used to holding hands with him, it felt nice.

You entered his room, looking at the place around you and seeing how it had so much of him in it. It smelled like coffee and his cologne, a nice combination. He closed the door behind you, leading you to his desk.

"So, what do you want me to help you with?" You questioned, leaning on the desk and staring at him 

He took a moment to admire you. Your face free of makeup, some natural redness on the skin that made you look cute, your hair down on your shoulders, and your comfy pijamas. 

"Have you ever worked on a case before?" You nodded, making him look at you with surprise. You smirked before he kept on talking "I'm trying to track down some of these weapon buyers, there's supposed to be a sale soon, but I can't point out the location yet."

"What are our leads?"

Tim smiled, showing you all the evidence he got before splitting up the job and the both of you starting to work. You sat on his bed with a laptop and he sat beside you with his own. Both clicking at the keyboard, trying to find new clues to find out the place of the weapon sale before it's too late. 

At some point of the night, you had decided to take a small break. Laying on your side, looking at Tim while he worked and holding a small conversation with him. But then you were too quiet and when he looked at you again, you had fallen asleep, holding on his shirt sleeve. 

He closed his laptop, carefully placing it on his night stand, trying not to disrupt you, and lied down himself. He tried to put some distance between your bodies, but you shifted only getting closer to him once you missed his body warmth, and he found himself trapped when you plopped a leg over his thighs. His cheeks turned red and he was really glad you were asleep so you wouldn't be able to see how flustered he was right now. 

Eventually, during the night, Tim wrapped his arms around you as your head was placed on top of his chest. And that's how Alfred found the both of you in the morning, having checked your room to wake you up for breakfast and being frighted to find an empty bed. 

"What you're staring at, Alfred?" Dick asked, waking past him on the hallway only to squeaky like a little kid once he saw you two asleep holding each other "I knew it! I knew they'd end up together!"

He grabbed his phone, snapping a couple of pictures before being rushed out of there by Alfred. Tim deserved some sleep, and the both of you looked too adorable together to be disturbed like that. 

[itzagothamcitysiren]

Welcome to the Family

sorry it’s taken me so long to update! I’ve been working a lot, having to pick up a couple of shifts. One of the girls I work with is sick :( I’m hoping it’s not covid, cause that would SUUUUCCCKKKKKKK. (excuse me while I go cry from the stress now) 

I made this chapter extra long for making you guys wait though! 

You’re Taking Up a Fraction of My Mind pt.7

               The manor had been completely a buzz all day long and for once Halley wasn’t the only one riddled with unmatched anxiety. From the moment the sun shined through the windows Alfred became a madman, ordering the hired staff around in ways Halley had never witnessed before. Not being accustomed to this Alfred, Halley had made the mistake of entering the kitchen to grab breakfast before anyone could stop her. She was almost immediately shooed out by the man curtly as he had the cooks and other staff already inside preparing the copious amounts of food for the night.

           She’d never experienced anything quite like it but was relieved when she found herself suffering with the other residences of the household. Bruce showed a somewhat lighter side to himself that she didn’t know existed as he joked that it was best to leave Alfred be and snuck everyone out for breakfast to get out of his hair for a while. She thought she’d be the only one who would be willing to go but Jason and Dick beat her to the car, both wanting to get out of helping Alfred downstairs.

           They’d gone to a more upscale breakfast place, Bruce knowing he had to keep up some sort of appearance in Gotham. It went by without any major incidents, which was good in his books, as he was recognized as soon as he entered the restaurant. Dick was usually always on his best behavior now that he was older of course; Bruce remembered how much of a handful the boy could be when he was younger. And Jason was still tired from last night’s patrol to start any trouble; he hadn’t yet provoked Dick into one of their little spats they’d had throughout the last week.

           Bruce had hoped the two would get along, wanting Dick to be somewhat of the role model Bruce could never be to Jason. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Jason to follow his path in some sort of way, but Bruce’s methods didn’t seem to work on him as well as he had wanted. He’d group the pair up a lot on patrol since Dick came back, wanting Jason too see how Nightwing worked; maybe seeing a new way of doing things helping him progress more.

           Though, Bruce hadn’t lied when he said Jason was improving; because he was. Of course he still had issues he needed straightening but compared to the Robin he was a year ago, he was completely different. He just had a couple more edges that needed sanding and had hoped Nightwing could be the one to do it. But his plan hadn’t quite panned out the way he had hoped, not failing to noticed how the pair just didn’t see eye to eye.             The Batman wasn’t completely left in the dark about why the two hadn’t been getting along. You didn’t need to be a world class detective like himself to figure it out.

           It all steamed from the mantle of Robin. Dick was clearly still upset with Bruce about handing the costume off. He didn’t quite understand yet that Batman needed a Robin, and since Dick gave it up he had to move on as well. It wasn’t like Bruce just gave it away to anyone either. Jason may be tough but he was also a good kid; he deserved to be Robin just as much as Dick had. If only Dick could just see that, Bruce felt like the two could actually become friends. Even brother’s maybe.

           He looked at between his children, taking a large sip of coffee, trying to mentally prepare for the long night ahead. Halley caught his eye as she sat next to Dick, talking to Jason who sat next to Bruce. The pair were going back and forth about something that had happened in school over the week, laughing about some girl named Sam.

           “And is this, Sam, your friend?” Bruce asked, putting the mug down, genuinely interested in the two’s personal lives. He’d hate to admit it, but he’d been so consumed with both his jobs lately that he felt like he let the two fall through the cracks; something he swore he wouldn’t do after having done so with Dick.

           “Oh yeah, they’re best friends.” Jason taunted, pointing his fork at the girl sitting across from him, before jabbing the food into this mouth and chewy loudly.

           “Shut up! We are not!” Halley jeered, a stern look on her face, sounding offended that he’d suggest such a thing. “She’s just a girl in my school who’s trying to be my friend because she has a crush on Dick.” She said pointing a thumb at the man sitting next to her.

           “A crush you say?” Dick laughed, giving Halley a playful wink and wiggling his eyebrows.

           “Gross, don’t make his head any bigger than it already is.” Jason grimaced, pulling a face.

           “I don’t have a big head!” Dick defended, letting his hand fall into a fist on the table.

           And there it was, Bruce smirked as the two set off, going back and forth. It came off as playful, just a simple small spat between brothers so Bruce didn’t make a move to stop it just yet. Instead he found himself sharing an amused look with Halley, both shaking their heads before going back and digging into the rest of their meal.

           After breakfast was over and they arrived back at the manor it was a little after noon. Bruce was immediately swept away by Alfred to help finish up preparing for the evening. They snuck a peak at the ballroom, seeing it transformed. Halley hadn’t yet ventured inside the room, never having a need to before and felt herself staring at the marble floors and tall walls in awe, the large shinning chandelier fixing itself in her sights. She tried to not imagine the room packed with high class socialites, all schmoozing the other, with glasses in their hands.

           Car’s began to arrive around dinner time, Bruce already ready to go and was waiting for everyone else in his study; it would look good for them to all enter as a family. The loud ballroom could be heard from the room, everyone waiting for the man of the night to arrive. He fixed his bow-tie, looking into the mirror over the fire place and preparing his smile that he’d have plastered on his face all night.

           Upstairs, Halley had just finished putting her heels on, walking around in circles to get used to them. She wouldn’t admit it but she had totally practiced walking around in her room with them all week. She still felt a little shaky but she was a quick learner and at least didn’t look wobbly as she took another step. She walked back to her mirror, reaching for the lipstick she had gotten at the shop. She carefully put it on, the last thing she needed to get done to get ready.

           When she was pleased, she placed the stick down next to her eyeliner and mascara. She double checked herself in the mirror, afraid she missed something or looked ridiculous. She had lightly curled her hair, once again calling Kori for advice. She smiled, checking her teeth to see if any lipstick got on them and let her lips form a straight line when she was done.

           She went to leave her room once she settled on her appearance, intending on going to Dick too get his reassurance but she found herself pausing as she closed her door behind her. Jason’s door stared right at her and she found herself walking towards it. Dick already told her how he felt about the dress and she had believed him but he would also say anything to stop her fretting whereas Jason was always honest.

           She knocked on his door, saying it was her and waiting until she heard him say she could come in. Taking a deep breath, she gripped the handle, twisting it slowly and opening the door. She moved into the room, her eyes looking for him to find him standing off where his dresser and mirror where. He was desperately trying to tied his bow-tie. Her face softened at him. He was in a suit and his hair wasn’t a shaggy mess. She couldn’t help but let her eyes trail over him, never seeing him so dressed up before.

           When she stood silent, Jason removed his eyes from his reflection. He looked at Halley, doing a double take when he saw the girl standing in his doorway, sheepishly. He felt a blush creep onto his face, his hands still fiddling with the bow-tie as he became distracted. Damn, he thought looking at her up and down.

           “So I’m ready,” She said letting her hands pull on her skirt, as if lazily showing it off.

           Jason nodded, finding a lump in his throat suddenly. He had to clear his throat in order to speak, his voice almost cracking as he spoke, “I can see that.”

           Halley almost bit her lip but stopped herself, remembering the lipstick on them. She rubbed her bare arms her eyes trailing to look anywhere but Jason now, instantly regretting going to him and not Dick. Jason could see her tense up but couldn’t try to help as he himself suddenly felt his own chest tighten.

           “Does it look alright?” She found herself pressing, still not looking at him, almost pouting her lower lip as she asked.

           “Yeah, it looks alright.” Jason said lamely, wincing as the words left his mouth. His brain wasn’t working and couldn’t stop the first words he could think of from leaving his mouth. Of course she looked alright, he thought. She looked more than alright, she looked really, really, really good. Come on Todd, stop acting stupid, he reprimanded himself.

           “Oh, well good.” Halley’s disappointed voice cut through him and he felt himself scrambling to think of something else to say.

           “That came out wrong. You just threw me off,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to save himself from sounding like an ass. “I just didn’t expect it, you look really-,” he began to stammer, embarrassing himself further. Taking a deep breath he managed to continued,

           “You look nice.” He rushed, reaching out to her but retracted his hand, unsure what he was even going to do with it. He cleared his throat again, pulling his normal ‘cool’ voice, “We clean up pretty good.”

           “Yeah,” she let out a soft giggle at him, looking up at him again, fluttering her eyelashes. She felt her own heart beat faster at his reaction. Nodding her head at him, she found herself with a new sense of confidence. “You don’t look like a total mess for once.” She teased, letting her hands clasp behind her back.

           “Rude,” Jason mocked being appalled, placing a hand on his chest. “You may look good in that dress but you’re still clearly a dork.” He teased right back, now officially giving up on his bow-tie. He let it hang around loosely around his neck, pointing at it to Halley. “You wouldn’t happen to know how to tie a tie now would you?”

           “Nope,” Halley let the p pop as she spoke.

           “It’s fine. Bruce usually has to do it anyway.” Jason shrugged. He found himself placing a gentle hand at the small of her back, smoothly leading her out of his room and making their way to Bruce’s study.

           They soon all gathered in Bruce’s private study, Jason’s bow-tie now fixed thanks to Bruce and they all waited a few more minutes before heading out and towards the ballroom. Light music could be heard along with chatter from the guests inside. Halley walked a few steps behind Bruce, Dick taking a spot next to him and Jason walking a few steps before her. She felt her heart pumping the closer they got, seeing Alfred near the main doors to the ballroom, waiting for them.

           The first hour or so of the gala had been a blur, starting from the moment she entered to where she found herself now. She had been swept away by Bruce as he began introducing her to all sorts of people. Dick and Jason branched off on their own way, deciding in taking the divide and conquer approach at greeting the guests.  She watched them from the corner of her eye, feeling out of place without them. She tried to keep her smile on her face, not wanting to make Bruce look bad as he introduced her as his daughter to person after person, swiftly avoiding questions when asked about her birth parents. They had settled on telling the public that she never knew her parents, having lived with some relatives who were friends with the Wayne’s and when they died Bruce adopted her. Gotham knew he had a thing for orphaned children and they ate it up.

           She’d shaken so many hands by the point Bruce let her escape that she felt almost like a robot. She found herself standing off to the side near a huddle of tables, the doorway to the porch overlooking the gardens behind her. She people watched for a few minutes, smiling at a couple who walked past her and said hello. She could still feel her heart threatening to burst out of her chest, looking around for a familiar face. She spotted Dick, but didn’t move to meet him seeing as he was on the dance floor with some blonde haired girl. She rolled her eyes, knowing it was all for show but couldn’t help but feel somewhat mad at him for dancing with another woman when he had Kori back in Jump City.

           She turned away, looking around the room again, wondering where Jason had gone off too. Frowning when she hadn’t seen him she turned to looked towards the exit, questioning if she could get away with sneaking out and up to her room without being noticed. She felt someone approach her and quickly looked away from the doorway, her body relaxing when she saw Jason walking towards her.

           “There you are; finally escaped Bruce and his admirers?” Jason asked, his hands in his pockets. He leaned against the table behind him, looking up at the girl.

           “It wasn’t that bad.” She said, rubbing her arms and shrugging.

           “You’re still a bad liar.” Jason chuckled, leaning further back, eventually just pulling a chair out and sitting down.

           Halley joined him, running her hands behind her bottom as she sat so the dress would lay flat underneath her. She placed her elbow on the table, propping her chin on the palm of her hand. She let her eyes trail back to the dance floor, watching as it was full with people. It was completely different from the party she attended weeks ago. The music was almost soothing and not pounding through a crappy sound system. Instead a live band played soft jazz tunes. The people on the dance floor didn’t look like they were having sex through their clothes either, instead swaying elegantly.

           “You wanna dance?” Jason asked, noting her stare. He wasn’t necessarily asking her to dance, just asking if she wanted to. He wasn’t a dancer and had avoided ever having to since he started coming to these stupid things.

           “Absolutely not.” She rushed out. She tore her eyes from the dance floor looking at him and horror. There was no way in hell she’d make her way over there tonight. “Why? Do you?”

           “Fuck no,” Jason laughed out, his eyes widened as he mimicked her horror.

           They shared a quick laugh, letting themselves fade into a moment of silence. He tapped the beds of his fingertips together, letting the comfortable yet nagging silence take over. Stealing another look at her, he felt himself stuck staring at her appearance as she let herself bring her attention back to the dance floor. He bit his lip before standing up. He let his hand fall in front of her face, motioning her to take it. She stared at it questionably at first, afraid that he was going to make her go to the place she couldn’t help but stare at.

           “Just trust me?” He said, trying not to lose his nerve.

           She bit her own lip, cursing to herself before sliding her tongue over her teeth. She grasped her hand into his, letting him led the way for the second time that night. He snuck her to the porch door, not opening it until he was sure no one had been looking at them, especially Alfred. Once they were outside, the cool spring air met them and he kept moving, ditching the party behind them. He still grasped her hand as he led her down the stairs, going slowly down so she wouldn’t trip in her heels.

           She let him lead her into the gardens, only stopping when they were far out of sight from the windows and next to a fountain. She looked around confused as to why he took her outside but didn’t totally hate the idea. It had gotten stuffy inside the ballroom and she felt her skin cooling down now that she was outside. Her skin cooling didn’t last long as she felt her face heat up again when she felt Jason’s free hand slip onto her waist, holding it nervously at first but then firmly.

           “What are you doing?” She jolted, her hand grasping his forearm of the hand holding her waist. Her instincts told her to rip it off of her but there was an inner voice screaming at her to let it stay. Her heart officially leapt out of her chest when he raised their conjoined hands, putting them in the same stance of those dancing inside. She sputtered out, “I said I didn’t want to dance,”

           “And I said you were a bad liar, didn’t I?” He rolled his eyes, hiding his own nervousness with his cool guy demeanor. He swayed them gradually side to side, deciding if he was going to dance with her he was going to at least do it away from the prying eyes of Gotham’s prissy high class.

           “There’s no music,” she said trying to make excuses to pull away but his hold on her kept her there.

           Jason closed his eyes, letting go of her hand but kept the one on her waist still there; he liked the way it felt. Reaching into his pant pocket he pulled out his phone, clicking the screen to life. His brow furrowed as he looked through his music app, finally settling on a song and hit play, turning the volume up before placing it back into his pocket.

           Halley scrunched her nose up as he grabbed her hand again and stared swaying side to side again. The music was somewhat muffled by the fabric of his pocket and the music itself wasn’t even something you’d really dance to the way they were dancing. It was some punk band he played for her sometimes when they hung out in his room while they did homework or just sat there and talked. It wasn’t that she didn’t like the band, she actually liked a lot of the stuff Jason showed her, she just didn’t think it fit into their steps.

           Jason knew what she was thinking and scrunched up his own face, not wanting to regret trying this. “Look this is the best I got,” he said started to let his hold on her drop.

           She quickly shook her head, suddenly feeling a coldness when his hand left her waist. She grabbed his shoulder with her free hand, removing it from his forearm. She pulled him to her so they stood a little closer. “No, it’s sweat; just not what I expected.” She shrugged.

           He laughed, putting his hand back where it had rested, shrugging his own shoulders and pretending to be offended. “Whoa, didn’t know you thought so little of me.”

           He was obviously joking but played it pretty well that he wasn’t. Halley saw past it though after a slight second of doubt, letting her hand wrap around his neck to be more comfortable as they let the song finish out. They stood that way for a few more songs before eventually sneaking back into the manor from another entrance.

           They went to their separate rooms to change into their pajamas before meeting back up in Jason’s room. Spreading out on his bed, Jason threw on a movie, allowing Halley to make the choice on the original Star Wars even though she’d seen it so many times; she could practically recite the movie. He didn’t mind though, not really paying attention to the screen anyways. He felt himself more concerned with the girl lying next to him with her eyes wide at the screen, as if this was the first time she had seen the film.

           He caught himself reaching out to her, just as Luke and Han met Leia for the first time. Halley’s hair had fallen almost in front of her face and she made no move to push it out of the way so he found himself doing it for her. His fingers ran through her hair, brushing it behind her ear before he could notice what he was doing. Halley had frozen, her attention slowly moving away from the screen and too him. Her eyes were wide as she seemed to be processing something. Jason let his hand fall from her hair to the empty spot on the bed next to her. He watched her face, a sense of uncertainty entering the room.

           He hadn’t even realized he’d been thinking of her and how pretty she looked tonight and how much he actually enjoyed their time alone outside. He felt the familiar thoughts that had been taking over his head lately return and his wanted to snap himself out of it. He didn’t like her, he kept trying to feed himself, but the way she was staring at him right now started to drown out those thoughts.

           “Jason?” her voice pipped up, watching him as he watched her.

           She hadn’t known what came over her but felt herself move closer. It was like it was all clicking to her, missing his fingers running through her hair, wishing he’d do it again. She still could feel his hand on her waist, wanting that feeling again. She also couldn’t help but remember their time cuddled up in the library together and the night spent together before that. She felt a tingle run through her system when he responded to her, not bothering to think of a proper response, instead ignoring her head and letting her body take over.

           “Yeah-” He asked quietly but found himself being cut off, Halley having no intent on him actually answering her unasked question.

            His voice was muffled when he saw her move to him and felt her lips smack against his. It was a pretty rough kiss, seeing as she never kissed anyone before and it was pretty clear she had no idea what she was doing. She quickly pulled away, her face contorting into a scared one. She sat up, apologizing before trying to get off of the bed.

           Jason was still thrown off by the sudden action and his reaction time took a while to kick in but when it did, it did. He grabbed her arm, jerking her back down to him as he too sat up. He snaked a hand up to rest around the back of her neck, using it to pull her back down to him. This time he pulled her to him, connecting their lips in a softer kiss. He heard her let out a sound of content and smirked into the kiss, starting to move his lips against hers. She started to move hers as well, easing into it, letting him take the lead and do her best in mimicking his movements.

           He pulled her closer until she was practically straddling him, letting his hand rest on her waist again until he started letting it sink down until he let it settle on her hip.  Her hands almost mechanically wrapped themselves around his neck, copying what she’d seen in movies as she had nothing else to go off of. Her mind was in a tizzy as he pushed his lips harder against hers, letting out a deep breath as he pulled away for a millisecond before going right back to it, not giving her a second to catch her breath. Halley sighed when the hand resting on the back of her neck inches up into her hair.

           She hadn’t known how long they stayed like that, eventually pulling away and taking a break. Neither teen knew what to say, soon finding their lips attached again instead as the movie played on in the background. Out of breathe and hearts racing, Jason quickly threw the next movie on once the credits began to roll. His lips soon finding their way back to hers both teens only had one thought on their minds-

           Holy shit.

[flyingkiki]

Curiosity, Chapter 8

Well, this got interesting. *looks around nervously* 

~

“Mary Johnson, 46, born in Steel City, her family moved to Gotham when she was seven. Her father, Chester Johnson, was a real estate agent who was reassigned to Gotham. He died of cancer when she was 12. Her mother, Francine, eventually remarried a couple of years later to a guy name Carl Tomson. The three of them lived a pretty straightforward life. Mary has been in Gotham ever since, never moved once. She’s a veterinarian, owns a local practice in downtown Gotham and has zero bad reviews on Yelp. She likes animals, enjoys spending her weekends at the park, catching the latest movies at the cinema, and bowling,” Tim paused as he looked at the Batcomputer. Throwing both Raven and Bruce a wry grin he shrugged. “I pulled the last bit out of her Tinder profile.”

Raven crossed her arms and cocked her head to the right, and gave Tim an amused look. Bruce made a dismissive sound at the back of his throat. Switching her gaze to the smiling middle aged woman with ash-blonde hair, green eyes and horn-rimmed glasses, Raven found it hard to believe that this woman was a die-hard follower of the Church of Trigon. She looked more like a mother from a Sunday school.

“Apparently, aside from her interests in animal care and parks, Mary seemed to have a keen interest in the occult. In her junior year of college, she heard of a cult that was gaining popularity among the underground scene in Gotham. Long story short, Mary met Brother Blood, joined the church, and helped him grow the church, and prepared whatever it took to summon Trigon onto earth,”

Raven frowned and stared at the pictures of police reports that appeared on the Batcomputer. “How come she was never caught? We never saw her when the Titans took down Brother Blood,”

Tim’s brows furrowed a bit and his blue eyes swept over the huge screen in front of them. “She somehow escaped capture when the Titans took down the church. When all records were in custody, there was no record of a Mary Johnson anywhere in the church,” Tim replied. He pressed a few more keys on the computer. “Just a Lilith Morningstar.”

“Of course,” Raven pushed herself away from the railing she was leaning against with a loud huff of annoyance. Folding her arms across her chest, she walked up to the computer and looked at the grainy image of a middle aged woman dressed in a black robe looking at something off camera. Leave it to the fanatics to take on aliases related to Satan. “Wife of Lucifer,”

“She used Lilith as her alias all throughout her time with the Church of Trigon,” Bruce said. “Explains why there is no trace of her.”

Tim nodded. Typing on the computer, he pulled up pictures of Mary – Lilith – from different locations throughout Gotham and with varying timestamps throughout the span of 20 years. “I’ve run a face recognition scan through the city’s CCTV network. She’s been frequenting a couple of old bookstores and underground locations that are more popular among occultists,” explained Tim.

Raven stared at the multiple reports and images blown up on screen. She turned to Tim with a surprised look on her face. She knew that Tim was an excellent detective, but she did not know that he was that good. Didn’t he say earlier that he was up at three in the morning? “You pulled up all of this information at three in the morning? How are you even awake?”

Tim waved his coffee mug at her and grinned as he heard Raven snort softly at him. “Sleep is for the weak,”

Bruce frowned, ignoring the banter and keeping his eyes focused on the screen. “Do we know why she is trying to recreate Trigon’s summoning?”

“From what we gathered she wants to finish what Brother Blood has started,” said Raven. “The church promises that Trigon will purge the world and offer them sanctuary. His followers will live in his cleansed world with everlasting life.” She frowned and folded her arms tighter over her chest. “Or so the promise goes,”

“This is the warehouse district Frank mentioned,” said Tim as he pulled up an image of an old rundown warehouse. “I’ve been tracking movements within the district and within the last 48 hours, there’s been only one person who entered one of these warehouses,”

They watched as hooded person appeared of screen and walked up to one of the old warehouses. The figure opened one of the old rusty doors and slipped through them. “Whoever that was stayed there for a 68 minutes before leaving again but this time they got a companion heading out,” Tim sped up the video and they watched as two figures stepped out of the warehouse and walked off screen. Tim paused the video and looked over his shoulder at Raven and Bruce. “That’s one empty church, if you ask me,”

Bruce frowned and stared at the screen. “Pull up the underground layout of the district. Check if there are any underground structures or tunnels under that warehouse,”

Tim hummed and typed in a few commands. “Way ahead of you, B. Oracle and I pulled up the plans up underneath the warehouse. There’s a tunnel system that’s about a 600 meters deep and leads to a bigger hall with a couple of rooms,”

Raven frowned and stared at the blueprint. A chill ran down her spine and her fingers dug into her arms. She suppressed whatever memories that bubbled dangerously under her steely resolve. “Probably one of the older church halls from Brother Blood’s time,” she said.

Switching to the blueprint of the main warehouse, Tim pulled up details of each point of entry. “There’s a couple of windows at the east and west wing of the warehouse, if we enter from the forest side tonight. There are beams and parts of the roof that caved in, that provide good enough coverage for us,” Tim began to play through the structural details of the warehouse. “Entrance to the underground hall is somewhere to the northwest of the warehouse, we’ll have to find it – it should be likely hidden in the flooring or through a door in the back wall,”

Tim continued to pull up a few more plans and live footage of the warehouse. “I’ve programmed the system to send out an alarm for any movement in the area. Oracle is doing another structural scan so we have a better idea of the underground layout.”

Bruce nodded, satisfied with the details presented. “We’ll head out tonight during patrol,” He offered Raven and Tim a brief look. “Good job you two,”

Raven titled her head at Bruce, lips quirking slightly. “Tim was the one who barely slept,”

Tim chuckled and waved his hand absently. “Who needs sleep?”

“Someone who is going head on with a group of people who have a knack at summoning inter-dimensional demons,” Raven rolled her eyes and sent him an amused smile.

“Concerned?” Tim grinned swiveled his chair in her direction. He threw her an amused grin.

Raven made a dismissive sound and turned on her heels. She ignored the brush of his emotions against her. Sending Bruce a quick glance, she stuffed her hands into her (Tim’s) hoodie. “I’m going to do some reading and meditate. I’ll see you later tonight?”

Bruce nodded. He checked his watch and pushed himself away from the railing he was leaning against. “Right. Tim and I have a board meeting. We’ll be back before dinner and we can discuss plans before we leave for the warehouse.” Turning to Tim he eyed him expectantly. “Better get ready, we leave in 10,”

“Board meeting before we take down a church that summons inter-dimensional demons. Bruce Wayne keeps a very interesting social calendar,” Raven sent Bruce an amused smile as she passed him on her way out of the cave.

Not waiting for a reply, she slipped out of the cave and silently walked through the hidden pathway that connected the cave to the manor. Emerging through one of the hidden doors in one of the many sitting rooms in the manor (why Bruce had so many was beyond her), Raven towards the library. After the morning briefing, she didn’t feel particularly hungry for breakfast anymore. She hoped Alfred would understand.

Picking up some of the books she and Tim had been reading over the last few days, she slipped into the deeper corners of the library away from their usual reading space and settled into one of the reading corners at the back of the library. She needed some secluded alone time for herself. Settling into the plush reading chair, Raven pulled her feet under her and comfortably leaned back. Exhaling softly, she tried to release the tension that had settled around her shoulders.

Cracking open the book she had been reading, Raven tried to focus on the text in front of her. However, after rereading the same paragraph five times and still not understanding a single word from the passage, she closed it with a frustrated sigh and closed her eyes. Her head thrummed softly, a whisper of a headache crawling under her skull.

Raven was fairly certain that they’d be able to see this little ragtag church of her father’s at work tonight. From what they gathered so far, they stood a fairly good chance to put an end to this circus by tonight. A few words from the text swam in front of her eyes, sacrifice, death, gem, and she knew that there was absolutely no need for her to read anything more about the Church of Trigon – she already knew everything there was.

Folding her legs into a lotus position and placing the book into her lap, Raven’s fingers curled absently into the old tome. The edged of the book bit into her fingers, grounding her. Her mind reeled briefly as hot, stifling fire consumed her thoughts. Somewhere in the distance she could hear the chanting, Scath, Scath, Scath, and a distant strangled cry. She felt the sickeningly familiar text of Scath dance across her skin and singe her flesh. The curved script pressed into her arms and legs, and slowly burned her torso. Her lungs burned from the heat of fire all but consuming her –

“We need the gem.”

Raven inhaled sharply, allowing cool air to fill her parched lungs, and she quickly opened her eyes, eyeing her surroundings wildly for a brief second. She pushed the tome out of her lap involuntarily and sunk heavily into the plush cushions to calm herself down. A wave of irritation hit her as she thought of how easily the church got under her skin. She should have a better handle over the situation.

Closing her eyes and seeing the fire burn at the back of her eyelids, Raven sore she was going to burn the church to the ground tonight.

Getting into a comfortable lotus position, Raven exhaled softly and slipped into her meditative trance. This should help her ground herself and prepare her for later tonight.

She’ll be fucking damned before Lilith would get the best of her.

“Raven?”

Purple eyes snapped open sharply and quickly focused on Tim as he stood at a safe distance away from her. Feeling like the last dredges of Nevermore slip away from her consciousness, Raven blinked at Tim, who looked like he came fresh from work as he was still dressed in a business suit. How long had she been meditating?

“Alfred says you haven’t had breakfast or lunch,” Tim crossed his arms over his chest and eyed her curiously. “It’s past three in the afternoon,”

“Oh,” Raven breathed softly and unfolded her legs under her. Her leg muscles tingled from being kept in the same position for so long. “I didn’t notice the time,”

Tim tilted his head and watched Raven arrange some of the books in front of her on the table. “Alfred wasn’t sure if he could interrupt you for lunch,”

“Hmm,” Raven hummed softly. She threw him an amused look. “And you could?”

Tim chuckled softly and uncrossed his arms, visibly relaxing. “Well, I can dodge whatever attack you might throw at me a lot faster than Alf,”

Raven eyed Tim in his suit skeptically. It was ridiculous had good he looked in a suit – how come he did not walk around in a suit more often like Bruce did? Seriously. Bruce Wayne’s adult children could fit into a Men’s Health magazine easily – they probably did at one point. “I’m not sure you can in that suit,” she teased.

Tim snorted ungracefully, putting his public image as CEO of Wayne Enterprises to shame. He watched her stand up from the couch and pick up a book from the floor. “You’d be surprised what I can do in this suit,” he said playfully and threw her a grin. Raven released a small bark of laughter and Tim blinked as his brain finally caught up with him. “Okay, that sounded wrong.”

Raven hummed softly, trying to hide her smile as she gathered the books she had been trying to read earlier. Moving around the table with the books in hand, she joined Tim by the end of the bookcase aisle. “I’m a bit hungry. Do you think Alfred would mind if we get something to eat now before dinner?” she asked.

They began walking through the old bookshelves filled with old books. “He asked me to get you to eat something. I want you to eat something,” Tim told her. He shot her a concerned look when she did not respond. “Is everything okay?”

Raven stopped and looked at him curiously. “Everything is okay.”

Tim crossed his arms and stood in front of her, looking down at her with a calculating eye. “You missed breakfast and lunch. You at the very least would have had some tea. You’d rather not make Alfred worry by missing his meals. You walked off right after our morning briefing. And you ignored the messages I sent you today,” He raised an eyebrow at her and titled his head just a fraction of an inch. “Shall I continue?”

“Stalker much?” Raven pressed the books against her chest and raised her eyebrow in challenge.

Tim shrugged his shoulder nonchalantly. “I’m a keen observer.”

Raven rolled her eyes playfully at him. When she saw that Tim’s gaze was unrelenting and he was expecting an answer from her, she sighed softly. “Look, it’s nothing. This whole case has been getting under my skin and it’s just frustrating me,” she replied. She looked away from Tim and purposefully stared at some of the old books a couple of rows down as she felt her skin crawl unconsciously. “I thought I was done dealing with my father and his henchmen. The idea of someone else trying to do what Brother Blood did just throws me off. I told you last night, it just gives me bad memories,”

Tim’s drawn eyebrows relaxed and he looked at her with concern. “Hey,” he said and gently placed his right hand on her tense shoulder. “We’ll get this done tonight, no more Church of Trigon and no more crazy followers trying to summon inter-dimensional demons. We’ll get this done for your mother, I promise,”

Raven looked up at Tim and felt his warm emotions brush against her. She sighed softly and relaxed her shoulders. He was right, they would get everything in order tonight and this would be all over. She threw him a small smile. “Thanks,”

“Excellent,” Tim beamed and he took a small step towards her. “I for one want this over and done with so I can take you out on a date after this. You’ll go on a date with me, right?”  

Tim knew that whatever was going on between him and Raven was still pretty new. And while he knew that Dick was going to beat his ass for starting a relationship with one of his teammates (because getting this close to each other was definitely not part of the mission plans), Tim absolutely knew that he wanted to spend more time with Raven, even if it meant if he had to spend time in Jump once in a while. He could at least take her one date in Gotham before she had to go back to Jump – and then they’d have to figure something out from there. Would she even –

“You think way too loudly, Tim,” Raven raised an amused eyebrow at him. The corner of her lips raised lightly in amusement.

“Oh,” Tim released a breathy chuckle, embarrassed. Of course, Raven was an empath. He chuckled sheepishly and absently ran a hand through his long hair.

“I’m a boring date,” Raven said, tilting her head just a little bit at him. She felt the familiar press of his emotions against her and she silently sought more of it.

Catching her teasing tone and easily feeling the atmosphere shift around them, Tim laughed softly and crowded her personal space. Dropping his gaze to her lips, he ducked his head just a little bit to level her gaze and he watched in satisfaction as her eyes widened a fraction of an inch and her breath caught in her throat. Gently cupping her jaw, he drew her closer and he smiled.

“You’re anything but boring, Raven,” Tim whispered softly to her.

Raven felt that familiar, satisfying purr of emotions inside of her as Tim’s warm emotions practically wrapped themselves around her. Her eyelids dropped softly and she watched as Tim hovered so close to her. “Oh?”

As Tim crowded her space, Raven felt herself get drugged by the delicious press of their emotions. The familiar smell of sandalwood overwhelmed her senses and Raven felt the all too familiar press of lips against her own. Humming softly in satisfaction, she gently leaned into the kiss, silently asking for more.  

Somewhere in the back of her mind Raven wasn’t sure how she’d ever be able to explain to Dick, her team leader who had 100% faith in her that she would not fuck this mission up, that she had somehow completed the mission he had asked her to work on and come back with a potential relationship with his brother. She wasn’t sure if she was overachieving or asking for trouble. She faintly wondered what Batman would think.

But that, like her earlier worries over Lilith and her father’s church, did not seem to matter right now as Tim continued to kiss her. Raven felt the gentle swipe of his thumb against her cheek as he titled her chin to get better access. The kiss was gentle and needy, nothing like this morning’s hot and frenzied kisses. Theses kisses warmed her body and had her seeking for more.

Tim gently pulled back and inhaled softly, relishing her tantalizing scent of lavender. Staying within her personal space, he stroked her cheek once more and smiled as he watched her hooded eyes look up at him. “So?” he whispered gently. “Is that a yes?”

Raven blinked through the haze and gave Tim a confused look, which he thought looked cute. “Hmm?”

Tim chuckled and offered her a smile. “A date. Tomorrow?” Grinning triumphantly, he tucked a few stray strands of purple hair behind her ear and pulled away fully. “I take that as a yes?”

Taking in the twinkle in his blue eyes, Raven teasingly quirked the corner of her lips up at Tim. “Careful, you’re getting cocky,” she teased and slipped out of his arms. Side stepping him, she threw a small smile at him over her shoulder. “Will you wear a suit again?”

Tim’s eyes widened in amusement as he watched her walk towards their reading table and drop off the books she was carrying. Tim was sure he was imagining the light sway of her hips as she walked towards the table. He grinned brightly at her as they resumed walking out of the library. Giving her a sly grin, he leaned into her just as they were about to exit the library. “So you like the suit?” his voice held a playful tone in it.

Raven snorted and nudged him away with her shoulder. “It looks nice,”

Tim threw her another teasing grin. “You said I looked nice, I’ll remember this,” he said with a lilt in his voice.

Raven rolled her eyes at Tim in mock annoyance but secretly enjoyed the attention. “I said the suit looks nice,” she replied as they entered the kitchen. “Don’t put words into my mouth,”

“That’s what she said,” Tim grinned.

Raven narrowed her eyes at Tim in warning as they caught sight of Alfred standing dutifully over two steaming mugs and a plate of, in Raven’s opinion, the most beautiful sandwiches she had ever seen. Cyborg would be jealous. Stopping by the kitchen island, she offered Alfred a small smile.

“Miss Raven, you missed breakfast and lunch. I am glad that Master Tim was able to convince you to finally have something to eat,” Alfred sent her a stern look as he watched the two settle by the kitchen island.

Raven offered Alfred an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Alfred. I must have lost track of time,”

Alfred looked unimpressed, obviously having heard the same excuse throughout his lifetime at the Wane Manor. “I’ve prepared some light sandwiches for you, these should tide you over until dinner before you all head out. This family has a tendency to forget the essentials of partaking in meals on time before breaking up deadly crime rings,” blinking at the pair once, Alfred continued. “I expect you all for dinner later before you decide to put an end to a church that summons inter-dimensional demons. It’s a terrible idea to go out on missions on an empty stomach,”

Not waiting for their reply, Alfred stepped away from the kitchen island. After brushing off some imaginary lint from his right sleeve of his suit, he straightened and cast them a long look. “Now if you will excuse me, I will tend to our garden before starting dinner,”

Raven watched Alfred step out of the kitchen before staring at Tim with a surprised look. She watched Tim take one of the beautiful cucumber sandwiches. “Is he always like that?” she asked while watching him take a bit out of a sandwich. “That’s mine,”

“Since I was a teenager,” Tim shrugged and gave her an amused smile, completely ignoring her and picked another small sandwich. “He’s made it a mission to get Bruce and everyone else to eat on time,”

Raven plucked one of the cucumber sandwiches from the tray and took a bite. Her stomach churned painfully after finally getting something into it. She forgot how hungry she really was.

“Where’s Bruce?” she asked Tim, giving him a curious glance. She took a sip of Alfred’s special English tea which Raven had come to enjoy over the past few weeks. She faintly wondered if Alfred would be kind enough to share the recipe with her.

Tim nursed his cup of coffee and picked up another small sandwich from the platter. “Wrapping things up at the office. Our board meeting lasted a bit longer than we planned, I left as soon as I could,” he answered.

“The Wayne’s certainly keep a very interesting social calendar,” commented Raven.

Tim snorted and threw her a wry grin. “You should see us during budget season,”

Raven looked at Tim in amusement before finishing up her sandwich. “I can’t imagine what it’s like juggling crime fighting and managing a multi-million-dollar business,” she said.

Tim hummed loudly into his coffee mug as he finished the last of his coffee. Placing the mug on the kitchen island, he shrugged absently. Balancing his day job and their nightly activities was pretty tiring, especially when reporting to the office after a particularly bloody night out. After years of working with Bruce, both as Red Robin and as Senior Management at WE, Tim had gotten a handle of managing the demands of both jobs. Though, he’d love to get a day (or maybe a week) off. Perhaps Raven would be interested in going on vacation with him? Europe, maybe? He mentally shook his head; he was getting way ahead of himself.

“Scheduling can get a bit messy,” joked Tim. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the curious Raven. “Bruce was able to do it for years. When I joined, I guess I just got engrossed into everything and I haven’t slept since,”

Raven raised an eyebrow at him. “That can’t be healthy,”

Tim laughed and nudged his empty coffee mug away with his fingers. It slid across granite countertop. “Tell that to my obsessive work ethic,”

Pushing her chair back and standing up, Raven eyed him curiously. “Well then, I guess your obsessive work ethic won’t mind we go through tonight’s plans one more time?” she asked.

Chuckling, Tim followed her suit and they made their way out of the kitchen. “I was hoping you’d say that,”

Throwing a teasing look over her shoulder as they approached the old grandfather clock in the living room, one of the many hidden entrances to the cave, Raven’s purple eyes danced. “You sure?” she asked, a teasing lilt in her voice. She felt the curious press of Tim’s emotions against her. “And it’s not me hoping your obsessive work ethic won’t mind a day off tomorrow for a date?”

Reaching over her shoulder to type in the code into the hidden panel of the grandfather clock, Tim threw her a wide smile. He got a soft whiff of her lavender shampoo, and Tim was sure that he could get used to the warm scent around him. “So that’s a yes to tomorrow?”

The door to the cave opened with a soft swish. The noise barely covered Raven’s chuckle. “Let’s put an end to my father’s church, and then we can talk about tomorrow,”

“Gladly,”

~

The evening was muggy and warm as Raven stood hidden in the shadows of one of the warehouses. As a soft breeze hit her, she could smell the impending rain. She just hoped it wouldn’t rain while they were taking down Lilith and the church, it was always such a bother to fight in the rain. Purple eyes scanned their marked warehouse in front of her, trying to catch any movement. Batman and Red Robin were on their way with the Batmobile and Tim’s motorcycle.

Raven watched the trees by the forest rustle as another silent breeze swept past. An uneasy feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she considered how things may turn out tonight.

“We need the gem.”

Raven released a shuddering breath as the whispers of her dreams brushed against her mind. She had bad feeling about tonight.

She felt Batman and Red Robin approach her position and she looked over her shoulder to see both men jump onto the roof silently from out of nowhere. It always amazed her how for humans, Batman and his team moved with such graceful stealth.

“Anything?” Batman asked when they joined her at the edge of the roof.

“I don’t sense anyone inside right now,” Raven answered, her purple eyes glowing faintly as she stared at the old warehouse in front of them.

“Entrance is northwest of the warehouse. We can go in now,” Red Robin tapped a few buttons on his computer on his arm. Closing the program, he dropped his arm and looked at his companions. “Shall we?”

Raven nodded and they sprang into action, silently taking off from their hiding place on the rooftop and jumping onto the roof of the old warehouse they’ve been staking out. Flying over to the forest side of the warehouse, Raven spotted the windows Tim briefed them on and slipped through the broken window. Batman and Red Robin easily followed her.

From their vantage point on the second floor landing, the warehouse was bare save for some old wooden crates lined up in the far corner. It was dark, except for the yellow light of the lamppost that streamed through the broken windows. Raven scanned the empty warehouse warily, drawing her body into her cloak involuntarily as the silence settled around her uneasily. It smelled musty and the whole warehouse creaked softly in the soft summer evening wind.

She eyed the rusty warehouse doors up ahead of her. She faintly wondered if her mother passed through these doors years ago?

“Here,”

Tim’s voice was soft in the night and Raven turned around, surprised that Batman and Red Robin had slipped down the landing and were crowded over a trap door hidden behind a few crates.

Flying down the landing silently, Raven joined the two men. Red Robin pulled open the trap door and the smell of incense overwhelmed her senses. The uneasy feeling in her stomach churned angrily. Quickly exchanging looks with Batman and Red Robin, she nodded and instantly released her soul self, wrapping the three of them in the dark matter. This would allow some form of protection over them while they slipped through the cavern.

Quietly walking down the stairs of the trap door, Raven kept her eyes trained in front of her. The cavern was empty and sparsely lit by torches that licked the stone walls. She could hear nothing except her own breathing. How could the GCP have missed this place when they first took down Brother Blood?

After a few more minutes of walking and taking turns through the cavern, they eventually found a door up ahead. Light streamed through the cracks of the door. As they approached, Raven quickly cast a glance over her shoulder and caught Batman and Red Robin’s eyes. Nodding silently, she turned back to the door and briefly touched the basic steel door. No one seemed to be behind it.

Gingerly touching the door, Raven took a surprised step back as it slid open with a soft hiss under her fingers. The heady smell of incense assaulted her senses once more as they stepped into the large, warmly lit hall.

The hall was built like a church, several pews lined up and facing a white, marble altar. They tentatively entered the hall, their bodies tense and alert for any movements. Torches lined the stone walls that emanated an ominous glow over the church. Dark wooden beams ran over the walls and arched under the ceiling. Dark red markings ran along the cobblestone floor that lead towards the altar. Above the altar, the mark of Scath was etched into the wall. It glowed darkly down on them as they cautiously approached the large altar.

“Well, shit,” Red Robin breathed next to her.

Raven felt her insides freeze and she drew herself deeper into her cloak as her emotions bubbled under her skin. There, in the middle of the white marble altar, stood a little white picture frame and a bronze dagger next to it.

Staring up at them from the picture frame was a picture of Raven.

[vikingpoteto]

we don’t have to dance (to the beat of their songs)

Chapter 5 on AO3

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Relationships:  (Gen) Tim Drake & Jason Todd

Tags: Battle for the Cowl, Alternate Canon, Adopted Sibling Relationship, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Mental Health Issues, Past Child Neglect, Domestic Fluff, Canon is not valid I am, and I want them to be friends goddamnit

Summary: In the middle of their battle, Jason asks Tim to leave the nest and be his Robin. Tim decides it's not a bad idea, after all.

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Jason Todd is many things. A street rat. A literature nerd. A former hero. A crime-lord. Dealing with anger issues. Ignoring a whole lot of other issues. But he isn’t an idiot. And, while he’s been bamboozled more times he can count, he realizes Tim Drake is a bigger conundrum than he anticipated. He isn’t about to be fooled again.

He thought he had Tim figured out. Rich kid. Too smart for his own good. Smug beyond repair. No regard for his own well-being. Incapable of holding grudges. He thought the kid couldn’t surprise him, not in a way that mattered, until that first night.

That’s when he starts taking note of the small things.

Saturday is uneventful. Jason wishes he could say he forgets he isn’t living alone anymore, but, even though Tim makes little to no noise as he sleeps the morning away, Jason is painfully aware that he has a roommate. He can’t focus on his book, he can’t focus on the absurdly detailed report Tim made him. He definitely can’t focus on anything else after Tim flies down the stairs like a speedster, blurts out something that could’ve been good morning and disappears in the kitchen. Jason heads to his room, assuming the kid is getting himself breakfast, and he tries to take a nap. He fails.

After giving up and heading downstairs to make dinner, he finds the kitchen as clean as he left — did Tim do the dishes? Did he eat at all? — and he can barely hear faint noises downstairs. He makes a mental note to fix the sound proofness of his walls as he climbs down.

In his Office, like Jason calls it, he finds Tim wearing headphones. The music is loud enough that Jason can clearly hear muffled heavy metal. The computer is half dismantled, half loading something somehow, and Tim is carefully tinkering with the suit Jason gave him.

Instead of throwing something at him like he wants to, Jason walks into his field of view and waves at his face. Tim takes off the headphones.

“The fuck you doing?” Jason asks.

“Fixing stuff. I know you love Jane Austen, but do you have to use the same software she used to write?”

Jason punches him in the shoulder. He regrets it instantly and curses at himself inwardly. Tim, however, doesn’t even flinch. He snickers as though that was the reaction he expected.

Huh. Jason files that away for later analysis.

He gets Tim to suit up and they head out for the night.

They don’t go together per se, as Red Hood is still laying low, planting the seeds subtly so no one notices until he’s ready to make an entrance. He gets intel. Ruins the plan of a very misguided small dealer. And finally saves a pair of prostitutes from a harasser. He wears nothing but a domino mask all night, because there are only a few key players that must know Red Hood is back. He smiles at the girls after he’s done and they get excited asking him if he’s the Red Hood. He takes off without answering.

Red Hood has always been popular with prostitutes, as weird as that sounds. What can Jason say? The girls that worked near the street he grew up in were the nicest people he knew; he has a soft spot for them.

He meets up with Tim near the end of the night and he finds that Tim’s spoken reports are a lot briefer than his written ones: he stopped some muggings. Probably broke the kneecaps of some creep near the park. Confirmed intel he got from his research. He actually saved a cat stuck on a tree too, which makes Jason roll his eyes. They go back to Jason’s place without further ado.

Sunday is more of the same, except Jason manages to actually sleep. That is, until the sound of a hammer wakes him up.

He finds Tim in his living room dismantling an old television he got from God knows where. The shouting match that follows should make things more awkward, but instead it makes them easier.

Turns out Tim doesn’t mind exchanging insults or having dusty pillows thrown at him, and Jason feels more at ease by the time they swallow cold sandwiches and head out.

He has this unreasonable pang of anxiety when Tim vanishes into the shadows, but he shakes it off. The Red Robin suit is getting better everyday and, thanks to the cowl, Tim looks older and more menacing than he actually is, meaning no one is going to fuck with him.

It’s fine. They have a plan. It’s working. There are rumors that Hood is back, though nothing but whispers. Enough to stir his territory without getting unwanted attention from the better neighborhoods.

It isn’t until Monday at around 1pm that the other shoe drops. Jason wakes up scratching his belly and walks past Tim on the way to the kitchen.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Tim mumbles.

“Fuck off, Replacement,” he says back.

The kid is fucking with something that smells like oil on the kitchen table. Jason thinks to himself he should have words with him about it… after his morning tea. Morning tea at 1pm, but still.

He’s boiling water and staring blankly at Tim when he realizes: it’s Monday.

“Wait, what the fuck are you doing here?”

Tim stares at him. Back at the myriad of circuits spread around the table. Then back at Jason

“Wrist computer,” he says.

“No, here !”

“The kitchen?”

“Home! You’re, like, 17, right? Shouldn’t you be at school?”

Tim stares at him as though he’s grown a second head. “Jason. I don’t know how to tell you this, but I stopped going to school after my father died again and I traveled abroad to work with an organization of murderers.”

“That was a fucking month ago. You get a month of skipped classes, your dad died. Now that you’re here, you can go back.”

His chin actually drops and Jason is greeted by the sight of a nearly white chewed gum threatening to fall from Tim’s open mouth.

“I’m not going back to high school. Are you insane?”

“Are you insane? Of course you’re going back to school. Don’t you have, I don’t know, friends or a girlfriend or… whatever!”

“No, I don’t?” Tim scowls. “You want me to go to school so I can date? Why don’t you go to school?”

“Everyone thinks I’m dead.”

“Oh, heck off, you don’t get to pull the death card with me,” Tim rolls his eyes. “It works with Dick and Bruce, but I’m immune.”

“The fact that you still say heck off means you definitely should be at school around people your age. Get some bullies. It builds character.”

Tim’s pale cheeks go crimson and Jason has to bite back a grin. Knowing that Tim blushes like that opens so many teasing opportunities.

“Shut up, I got used to it because Alfred got mad at us for cursing! And I don’t need school to get bullied, I have you right here.”

Jason decides to test a theory. It’s a wicked idea, but Jason isn’t known for fighting fair.

“Tim. I ain’t raising an uneducated goblin.”

“I’m seventeen ! You’re not fucking raising me! You’re like a muscular child sharing a place with a slightly smaller child!”

“If you don’t go back to school, the deal is off. I’m not keeping you around.”

And, just like that, Tim closes his mouth and all the color drains from his face. Jason expected this. He doesn’t feel great about it.

“Y-you… Dick will notice if I start going back to school,” he tries. “This is against the plan. Batman will know we’re working together.”

“No. He’ll know you’re back in town. Make an excuse. I know you’re great at it.”

“This will affect my productivity. I won’t be able to upgrade your gear as fast and I’ll have to sleep more. This is-”

“Non-negotiable. School or no partnership.”

Jason knows it’s too late for him. It might be too late for Tim, too. But not late enough that Jason will let him give up. Tim may never have a normal life - the fact that he’s working with his almost murderer more than proves it. Jason selfishly wants to make sure he has at least a little normality.

This is about Jason, not Tim. Jason doesn’t think he can live with another deadman walking.

“Fine,” Tim says, like he’s agreeing to a death sentence. “I’m going back to school tomorrow. You happy?”

“Hella,” Jason says.  He turns back to his tea. “And Tim? I’ll know if you’re skipping and I’ll kill you if you do.”

Tim starts listing a colorful collection of insults a lot worse than heck off. Jason grins at him and Tim, in his teenage rage, doesn’t seem to notice that the smile doesn’t reach Jason’s eyes.

So Jason's theory is confirmed. Tim Drake doesn’t care about attempts on his life. He isn’t afraid to fight an armed man. He isn’t afraid of having a familiar person taking a swing at him, so Jason doesn’t think that he has issues with physical abuse.

Nothing freaks him out as much as someone critiquing his work, though. And not in the asshole way, that would be way too easy. As cocky as he is, Tim doesn’t look like the type to think he can do no wrong. He wouldn’t get irrationally angry over someone pointing out he can do better. He does, however, flip out at the mere possibility that he’s done something wrong and didn’t own up to it already.

Jason thought he knew Tim until he jokingly complained about him sleeping on the job and saw genuine horror in his eyes. Horror like never before, not even when Jason beat him and tried to leave him for dead. Hell, at that point the kid said he was a better Robin right before passing out.

Who did this to him, Jason wonders? Who convinced Tim that the worst he can be isn’t a high school dropout or even a dead boy, but a person who messes up?  His biological parents? Bruce? Is Tim even aware of it?

Jason doesn’t know, and he isn't sure what to do about it. Can he do something about it? He remembers far too well, thinking Bruce brought him in because he wanted another Robin. How every time he made Bruce laugh, or solved a case, it felt like a victory. How every time he got scolded, he expected Bruce to send him back to where he came from. He remembers having that fear confirmed when he heard from Talia that he’d been replaced.

Is there really something to be done?

Despite a good deal of complaining about work hours, Tim starts going to school. Jason hounds him to make sure he isn’t lying and he’s pretty sure he’ll have to keep checking regularly, because, if he learned anything about Tim, is that the kid is scarily patient and spiteful.

He stalks him all the way to school on the first day, making it painfully obvious that he’s there even if Tim puts a lot of effort into pretending he can’t see him. He pops at Tim’s classroom window and waves cheerfully as Tim flips the bird at him. Waking up early was hell, but Jason finds it ridiculously fun to make Tim annoyed.

On Friday, Jason decides to pick Tim up after class just to keep him on his toes… then he almost crashes his motorcycle into a lamppost when he sees a fancy car and a familiar man leaning against it.

Dick Grayson.

Despite the fun distractions Jason came up with, his whole damn body still remembers the beating he took. He wonders if Dick took as long to recover after that night.

His fake second death would be really short-lived but, lucky for him, Dick is preoccupied with something else. Jason parks around the corner. His height wouldn’t allow him to hide among the flux of rich kids walking out of school looking for their chauffeurs, but he has to come closer.

Well, time to get those stealthy muscles to work.

Ironically, it was Dick who taught him that the best hiding spot was in plain sight, and that’s how he casually walks behind the sports car and heads towards a beaten phone booth.

Dick doesn’t notice him.

Whether it was thanks to Jason’s skills or the fact that the older man looks like he’s having an internal anxiety attack, Jason may never find out. He does, however, hear it when Tim’s voice lets out a long word that definitely isn’t heck . He risks taking a peek at the duo and sees Dick smiling. He looks tired.

“Timbo,” he greets.

“Don’t call me that,” Tim groans. He would’ve sounded like your everyday grumpy teenager, but there’s too much tension in his jaw.

“Welcome back,” Dick says. “Were you planning on telling anyone you’re around?”

“I’m assuming you don’t mind, since you kept paying for my school. I was also checking to see how long it’d take you to find out.”

Jason almost snorts. Who knew the kid had it in him? Furthermore, it’s impressive how Tim methodically and deliberately hid all signs of displeasure. He looks earnestly happy to see Dick and he almost makes his barb sound like friendly banter.

“Timmy, you were gone for almost two months. Where were you?”

“I was pursuing a lead. It didn’t pan out. So I’m back.”

Dick is quiet after that. Jason assumes he knows damn well Tim isn’t one to give up just like that. At the same time, Jason can see Dick assessing the differences between the kid in front of him and the kid he last saw.

“Let’s go home. We need to talk,” he says finally.

“Sorry, I can’t. I’m heading to a friend’s house so we can do homework together. I have a lot to catch up.”

“Tim…”

“You were right, Dick.” Tim smiles softly. “Damian needs you now. I don’t.”

Dick flinches. “I didn’t mean…”

“I know,” he chuckles. “Let me rephrase that: I’m fine. You know, when you first asked me to help Bruce, I planned on staying for a few months. A year, tops. I was always supposed to go back to my normal life.”

“Timmy, you’re family,” Dick pleads. “Your normal life doesn’t include going home?”

Tim’s expression is empty of emotion when he replies: “I need space now. I’m not going back, Dick. I’m sorry. I have a place to stay. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“ Where are you staying? Do you need help setting up anything or…”

“I’ll text you the address later. Right now I really need to go, though.”

Dick presses his lips into a tight line. He hesitates before reaching out to hug him. Surprisingly to Jason, Tim allows it and even hugs him back, even if not as tightly as Dick does.

Jason didn’t realize that. The whole time, he thought Tim needed his older brother and Dick was painfully blind to it. It never occurred to him how Dick also needed Tim. He wonders if Dick felt lost when Tim went away, or if he realized how messed up it was to rely on a teenager.

And Jason’s file on Wayne drama keeps growing thicker.

“Come over for dinner tomorrow?” Dick tries again. “Alfie misses you.”

“And annoy Damian in the process? I’d love to.” Tim deadpans.

Dick finally pulls away from the hug. “He’s made a lot of progress. You’d be surprised.”

“I’m sure he doesn’t remember I punched him before I left.”

“Tim. Dinner?”

“Why would I say no to free food?” Tim gives him a crooked smile.

Dick moves as though it’s painful to let Tim go. He retreats to his car as slowly as it’s humanly possible, like he expects Tim to change his mind and join him. Tim smiles and waves until Dick vanishes around the corner. His look turns hollow, but none of the kids walking past him seems to notice it. Not even when Tim calls out:

“You can come out now. He’s really gone.”

Jason pretends not to hear two girls letting out startled little squeals when he leaves his hiding spot.

“That was cold blooded, Replacement,” Jason says, stretching his hand to Tim. “I knew you were a liar, but that was impressive.”

Without blinking, Tim takes out a tracker from the collar of his shirt and another from his hair. He hands both to Jason. “I didn’t lie, mostly,” he says. “I did plan on leaving after Bruce got better. Or at least when we found a better replacement. That didn’t work like I expected.”

Jason doesn’t say anything as he casually crushes one of the trackers under his boot and places the other on a random kid passing by. He knows how magical it feels to be Robin. He doesn’t think he could quit out of free will. He still remembers the addicting adrenaline that makes you feel like you’re really a bird soaring across the sky.

Until you’re not.

He notices it when Tim looks down at his own feet. Without thinking, he reaches for Tim’s head and messes up his hair.

“C’mon. I got the parts you asked. You can finish tinkering your suit tonight.”

They take the night off. It’s too risky going patrolling the night Dick found out about Tim’s return. Instead, they sit in the living room and Jason turns on the TV while Tim finishes adjusting the suit. The documentary about fish only keeps Jason’s attention for about five minutes before he notices Tim is butchering his cowl. Of course they start bickering.

The new mask isn’t quite a domino. It still has a nose guard similar to a bird’s beak that creates the illusion that Tim’s nose is more aquiline rather than a small snub, which is good to hide one’s identity. Still, Jason thinks going out without head protection is fucking stupid and Tim goes on a rant about looking like he’s wearing a condom on his head. Jason didn’t say anything when Tim replaced the old bandoliers with yellow ones with more compartments. The condom head thing hurts, though, and he ends up beating the shit out of Tim with a couch pillow.

A good deal of screaming and kicking each other later, they return to the task of redesigning. Tim replaces the RR in the middle of his chest with a bird-like symbol that hides a panic button. He switches the black gloves for sleeker red ones, although the middle finger and indicator are black. Jason thinks Tim is trying to make it more dramatic when he flips the bird (heh. Robin flipping bird) but Tim punches Jason’s shoulder and says the new gloves allow him to use his wrist pad more easily.

Jason hits him when he notices he weakened some of the defenses, and they bicker some more before Tim gives in and puts the shin guards and knee protectors back.

The cowl and the cape are gone, much to Jason’s annoyance, and he says Tim’ll look stupid. Tim calls him a knock-off Iron Man. Jason tries to smother him to death with a pillow when Tim doesn’t stop laughing.

It’s the most fun Jason had in… God, how long? He doesn’t remember the last time he could just joke back and forth like this. It doesn’t do good to your reputation as a crime lord if you give the drug dealers a noogie. Tim, on the other hand? Tim gets at least five noogies a day because he’s a dumbass.

It isn’t until they head to their rooms, later that night, that Jason realizes he hasn’t thought about his fight with Dick at all since they started working on the suit. He would've never guessed Tim’s presence wouldn’t be a bitter reminder of everything Jason lost, but rather than a good distraction.

Another week goes by before the suit is finished.

Jason swallows his pride and admits (to himself, at least) that getting rid of the cape was a smart move when he and Tim stand next to each other in full uniform. Tim’s new outfit doesn’t look out of place near Jason’s bulletproof vest and leather jacket. They’re a lot less dramatic than the Bats, and Jason likes that. They’re their own team, not one of them .

“Comms?” Jason asks.

“Tested and protected. Even Oracle would have to manually tinker with them to get into our frequency.”

“And you decided your field name yet?”

Tim hesitates. “I… Red Robin is fine.”

Jason nods. “Plan?”

“Break into Black Mask’s warehouse through the vent, plant…”

“Red Robin,” he cuts off. “Plan.”

Tim sighs. “Make Roman our bitch.”

“Atta boy. Let’s go.”

It’s an operation as simple as it is petty: Black Mask thought he could take over one of Hood’s warehouses. Jason was going to prove him wrong. It wasn’t a key hideout, but it was a relatively safe place if you were in the business of laundering money — discreet, easy to access without being noticed by the pigs, with most of the sewers around it hadn’t been blown up, which was always a plus. Hood was almost sure Roman took it just to show that he could and turned it into a drug warehouse to spite Hood. The fact that he disliked drugs wasn’t exactly a secret, after all. Szazs probably was involved in the process, Jason was sure.

In the end, Tim convinced him the stealthy approach was better. Just get in, ruin the whole operation and, by the time Black Mask realized it, he had lost a ton of money. Poetic justice and all that.

Jason complained about the plan being boring, but, as they get on their bikes to head out, he feels almost jittery. He doesn’t know if it’s just the thrill of being on the field again after so long — sue him, he’s an adrenaline junkie — or the prospect of the petty revenge. Either way, Red Hood grins under the helmet and, almost as though he can see his expression — or as though he’s feeling the same — Red Robin smirks back.

Just like that, they take off into the night. The wind howls past them as Hood leads the race, fast enough that it seems like he’s riding aimlessly. It doesn’t mean he isn’t choosing the way methodically. He knows he’s picking the right streets, the dark ones in which the dark red leather merges perfectly with the shadows. They rush past buildings with closed windows, sure that no one is stupid enough to glance at the two suspiscious riders.

Red Hood makes a sharp turn that would’ve made a less experienced driver fall into the asphalt. He hears Red Robin whooping excitedly behind him and he can’t help but laugh.

When they’re just a few blocks from the warehouse, they stop. At this point, Hood almost considers throwing the plan away — crashing the motorcycle into the place would make for an excellent entrance — but, as though reading his thoughts, Red Robin gives him a pointed look before getting off his bike.

“You’re such a wet blanket,” Hood says, even though no words were truly exchanged before that.

“And you’re a drama queen,” Red Robin retorts. And he grapples up to the nearest rooftop before Hood can give him a noogie for that.

Lighter and more agile, Red leads the way now and Hood is happy to be his shadow until they reach the strategic spot they picked — the two story building next door.

“Thank god this place didn’t crumble,” Hood comments absently. “The other buildings are too far for a clear view.”

Red gives him a strange look. “I checked whether it was still standing while we were planning the attack. Do you not verify the surroundings when you’re making strategies?”

“I like to leave room for improvisation; I’m not a stick in the mud like you.”

Red rolls his eyes under the mask as he reaches for the binoculars in his belt. Hood does the same. There shouldn’t be a lot of activity tonight if their intel is correct, and it looks like it is. They can’t see the inside of the warehouse — which is why Red Hood liked the place so much, damn it  — but they can still see the roof as clearly as they can see the vent they chose to… Hood freezes.

“Hey Hood?” Red Robin calls.

Jason pulls a face under the hood. “Yes?”

“Remember our plan to lay low so Batman doesn’t notice us?”

“Hmm.”

“Remember how I wanted to check on the rogues and you told me to stop being a stick in the mud?” He hisses.

“No one likes a bitching vigilante, Red.”

“Freaking Poison Ivy is here.” Red Robin gestures widely at the roof of the warehouse, as though Red Hood can’t see the green lady trying to get in through the very same vent they planned on using.

“See, that’s the beauty of crime fighting. You make a plan. The plan goes wrong. You throw the plan away.”

“Oh my freaking God,” he groans, “this is Young Justice all over again, but worse.”

Despite the complaining, they seem to be in agreement about what to do next: they take their grapple guns and shoot at Ivy’s blindspot. Red Robin is already getting his rebreather to filter whatever toxins they’re about to face.

The boys land almost silently all things considered. Without thinking, Hood points at  the other side of the roof and crosses an X in front of his lips, before closing a fist. Red Robin nods and sprints without a question.

For the second time, Jason freezes. The instructions were clear — take the other side, we’re going for a surprise attack after cornering her — but they shouldn’t have been. He didn’t realize he kept using those gestures to give orders, because he hadn’t had anyone working this close to him in literal years. He didn’t realize he still remembered the whole language — ASL, but also specific gestures that only made sense among Bats — until he had Red Robin following his orders. Something in his stomach feels heavy.

“... Hood ? Do you copy? ” Says a hushed voice in his ear.

Shit. Get it together, Jason.

He presses the comm button. “Listening.”

On the other side of the line, Red Robin sighs. “ Oh thank god, I thought the comms were suddenly fried. I’m in position. ”

Shit . “Hang on,” he says. He finally starts moving, extra careful not to make any noise.

“ You good, man?” Red asks, and Hood can practically see the confused furrow of his brow.

“Yeah, yeah, be quiet before Ivy hears us.”

He finally gets close enough to see her — she’s unscrewing the air vent cover to get in, even though she could probably just get a giant peach to roll over the place or something. It looks like Red Hood and Red Robin weren’t the only ones trying to be stealthy tonight.

He takes one step closer, and many things happen at the same time: the metal roof creaks under his boot. Ivy goes stiff for half a second. Then Jason is doing a backflip to avoid being bombarded with freaking thorns? When the hell did Ivy add a machine gun of thorns to her arsenal?

“Red Hood?” She stands, frowning. “Huh. I heard you were dead.”

“I get that a lot,” he says.

He reaches for his guns as Ivy waves her hand gracefully. Red Hood watches, with mild disgust, as what he thought was a weird belt snakes its way up Ivy’s torso until she has two venus flytraps settle on her shoulders.

“Fucking gross,” he says.

“I get that a lot,” she quips.

When he shoots at her, she’s ready. A branch grows fast enough to take the bullet for her and, before he realizes, she’s already inside his personal space. Hood dodges a punch in the throat but she keeps advancing. She knows better than letting him keep her at shooting range.

Welp, brute force it is then.

Hood puts his gun away at the same time he dodges a kick to the face. He takes a swing. One of Ivy’s pet plants almost bites his fist and he barely has time to retreat before the pesky thing takes a piece out of his glove.

“Huh. My sixth grade teacher told me those things are only lethal to flies,” he huffs.

Ivy grins. “My children are special.”

She presses and attacks again, and this time Hood lets her. When her knee hits his stomach, he grabs her by the calf and uses her own momentum against her. She barely weighs anything when he throws her hard at the ground, her back hitting metal and her pained groan muffled by the loud clang. He cringes. So much for stealth.

He makes to kick her before she recovers her wits, but apparently plants are more resistant than they seem. Hood feels his foot stuck to something and he curses when he looks down and sees thick vines holding him back. Shit, why didn’t he consider she had traps prepared around her?

“That was kinda rude, Hood,” she grins, slowly sitting up. “But I’m not mad. I might even give you a little kiss.”

By then, his resistance is futile and he wishes he hadn’t put his guns away so fast, because the vines quickly wrap around his whole damn body and he can’t even shoot the b —

A flying staff hits her on the side of the head.

“ACK!” Ivy shrieks, falling to the side.

“What are you doing, Hood?” Red Robin hisses, pressing a batarang into Red Hood’s hands.

“The hell?” Ivy groans, now looking dizzy. “I thought you worked alone.”

“I’m the intern. They call me Red Robin.”

And he stands over her, looking all heroic and ready to fight. Ivy, however, stays where she is, gaping at him.

“Bullshit. You’re regular Robin,” she says. “I thought you died. We all did when we saw the smaller Robin.”

Hood snorts.

The kid deflates a bit.  “How the hell do you know who I am?”

“You’re Harley’s favorite Robin,” she says simply. “She got really grumpy when we heard there’s a new Robin again.”

“I’m Harley’s — Wait, you guys have favorite Robins?”

“Of course we do. Mine’s the girl one. She didn’t die, did she?”

That’s one of the most surreal conversations Red Hood ever witnessed and he’s leading an unusual second life. Fortunately, Ivy is distracted enough — or at least hurt enough — that she doesn’t intervene while he cuts himself free.

“What are you doing here, Dr. Isley?” Red Robin asks. “Are you aware that this place is Black Mask’s?”

She scowls at him. “Are you aware that Sionis is a misogynistic jerk and he’s doing a lot of damage to the environment in this stupid warehouse? I’m going to take this thing down.”

“Hey, fuck off, this place was mine before Sionis stepped in,” Hood protests.

“I don’t care if you’re his landlord.” She gives him a scathing look. “I want him out.”

“This is great then!” Red Robin smiles. “We also want him out. And we have eco friendly plans for the place after Black Mask is out of the equation.”

Ivy gapes at Red Robin as though he started speaking a foreign language out of the blue. Red Hood is thankful for his helmet because he’s sure his expression isn’t much better.

“Are you suggesting we team up with Poison Ivy?”

“Why not?” Red Robin smiles as if he’s suggesting they should have burgers later. “The enemy of my enemy, right? Plus, I used to give her a free pass here and there because sometimes she’s right, you know?”

“Huh. So that’s why you’re Harls’ favorite.”

Red Robin shrugs again and stretches his hand to her. “Friends for the night?”

To Red Hood’s utter shock, she hesitates for less than a second before taking the kid’s hand and letting him pull her back to her feet.

“Just tonight, though,” she says.

If anyone told Jason tonight he’d be working with no one other than the Poison Ivy to take down one of Black Mask’s drug labs, he’d call them insane.

Nonetheless, he watches as Ivy throws caution to the wind — there’s no way the people inside didn’t hear their little scuffle — and uses one of their sentient plants to rip off an entrance on the metal roof. Right before jumping in, however, Red Robin squeezes his shoulder.

“What was that?” he whispers low enough that Ivy won’t hear them. “You were off. That wasn’t like you.”

Hood shrugs his hand away. “We’ll talk about this later. Come on, we can’t let Ivy have all the fun.”

They can already hear the screaming inside, so Red has no option other than compliance. Time to crash the party, he was looking forward to this.

And it’s fun. Having Tim around is fun. Watching a bunch of crooks run terrified of a plant lady is fun. Rounding up his former employees — those traitors — and watching their comically horrified faces upon realizing he isn’t dead is fun.

So much fun he completely misses the fact that there was someone else tailing Ivy. No one sees it when a young boy clad in bright colors rushes away from the place. Robin doesn’t know what to make out of what he witnessed tonight.

[atanih88]

FIC: A glimpse of the future (DCEU, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne)

Title: A glimpse of the future Pairing: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne Rating: General Warnings: N/A Word Count: 3,486 Summary: Written for the prompt ‘heat vision’.

Notes: Written for @superbatweek Day 3’s prompt. Very late and I still have today’s prompt to post. I don’t know what happened, it was supposed to be a short fic and it kind of turned into this. Whatever this is. Un-beta’d. Hope you enjoy!

It's still in the room; the smell of burnt hair and skin.

Bruce breathes in and breathes out. His knees are drawn up under the sheets and his head is buried in his arms as he draws in careful breath after careful breath.

The screams are too loud, reaching him even beyond the dream. He can't shake the image of Superman's eyes, overflowing with white heat—the certainty that Bruce would be next. It's seared into his mind and Bruce can't escape it, can still see it, the same way spots burst like fireworks behind closed eyelids after staring at the sun for too long.

But his heartbeat slows, under his control again and the sweat on his nape and on his back begins to dry.

Steadier, Bruce unfurls and squints.

Swollen clouds cover the sky, crowding each other.

Although there isn't much light it still feels like too much. He hasn't slept long enough. He knows that.

But from the first night of Clark's return, the nightmares had come back right along with him.

Rain slews down the side of the house, blurring the grey storm outside.

Bruce firms his jaw. He can still feel that powerful fist punching through him. He touches the skin with light fingers, presses harder when his chest doesn't automatically scream in pain. He flattens his palm. Relief ripples him, leaving his every hair standing on end.

The rain turns vicious, pelting the glass walls now.

Bruce shoves the sheets aside and heads for the shower.

It takes longer than he'd like to scrub his skin until the burning smell disappears completely. It doesn't matter that nothing was ever really burning. He doesn't want any of it on his skin, doesn't want any part of that dream to linger on him, any part of Clark to lodge like a shard of broken glass in his mind.

Bruce wraps a towel around his hips when he comes out and stands at the sink. He stares at the hastily wiped mirror, traces of condensation marring the reflection of his face. The rims of his eyes are red and his face is leeched of life. And then that disappears as the steam eats up the clear surface again.

Bruce splashes cold water on his face and then walks back out, still rubbing at his face. He can't manage more than pulling a robe on and belting it before heading out into the open space of the living room.

The storm outside batters the side of the house and the surface of the lake is alive under the onslaught of rain.

'Ah, Master Wayne, you're up. Good. You have a visitor.'

Bruce only has enough time to glance up, catch a glimpse of Alfred's impassive face and take the espresso from his hand.

He stills when he glimpses the unexpected visitor over Alfred's shoulder, sitting on the edge of the settee, red flannel and worn jeans an unexpected splash of colour inside the lake house.

Bruce straightens, armour slotting into place, wiping any hint of weariness from his face even as he feels resentment prick at him for being caught off guard.

From where he sits, Clark gives him a nervous smile; he's got his elbows planted on his knees, hands clasped together as he waits.

'Bruce,' Clark says.

'Clark.' He turns to Alfred, who is still at his side, eyebrows arched.

'I'll make myself scarce shall I?' Alfred says. 'I'll be in the cave if you need me,' and then in undertone, 'and perhaps it would be good to remember that we are polite to guests. Even unexpected ones,' he says, mildly. 'Mr Kent, can I get you anything before I leave?'

At that, Clark stands and scrubs his hands over his thighs. 'Ah, no. Thank you, Alfred, I'm fine.'

'Not at all. Pleasure to see you, Mr Kent.' And then, with a pointed look at Bruce, Alfred leaves them to it.

The sound of the rain fills the quiet between them.

Bruce sips at the hot shot of strong coffee and watches Clark over the rim of it.

He doesn’t quite fit in Bruce's home.

'Sorry to barge in on you like this,' Clark says, and his smile turns sheepish.

Bruce thinks about excusing himself and getting dressed, wants his cuffs in place; tie tucked into his waistcoat, to be able to slide his hands into his pockets, Bruce Wayne firmly in place. But doing that feels too much like a retreat.

Which shouldn't matter.

They're not enemies. Not anymore.

Still.

In the end Bruce strides over to where Clark still stands, seeming unsure of his welcome. Clark himself looks thrown, eyes sweeping over Bruce's wet hair, down to his bared calves and feet as Bruce walks over to the armchair and sits down.

Clark sits back down too, still rubbing his hands over his thighs.

'It's no problem. What can I do for you, Clark?'

Clark watches him, eyes focused with an unusual intensity on Bruce's face.

When he speaks, it's as if he's addressing a spooked animal. 'Well. The meeting with the UN is in a couple of weeks. I guess I just wanted to,' he shrugs, 'go over it. I know you've spoken to Diana about it.' He stops there. 'But if this is a bad time—'

Bruce waves that away, finishes the shot of caffeine.

He can still feel the throb of a hole in his chest. He wonders if that's what it had felt like to Clark, when Doomsday had put a hole through him instead.

You were right about him. You've always been right about him.

'Bruce?'

Clark's eyes are on him, eyebrows puckered. It's only when Clark's gaze flicks down to Bruce's chest that Bruce realises he's slipped his hand into his robe and splayed his hand over the spot that had been punched through in the dream.

And Bruce does something then that he hasn't done in a very long time.

He decides to try. He decides, this time, to trust.

'What if,' Bruce says, 'they ask you what's stopping you from turning on them?'

At that, Clark's face shuts down. His jaw clenches and his stare turns hard. 'I thought we were past this.'

Bruce leans forward and sets the empty cup on the table and he steeples his fingers together. 'That's not what this is about.'

'Isn't it?' Clark stands and all of a sudden, it's like he fills the entire room. 'We've been working together side by side, Bruce. I think I've proven that I can—'

'Before you died,' and that seems to stop Clark pretty effectively, because surprise flitters over his face and then confusion adds lines to his forehead, bows the corners of his mouth, 'I saw something.'

'Saw what?'

Bruce breathes in deep to maintain that steady heartbeat, to maintain composure. 'Barry,' Bruce says.

'Barry? Bruce, I don't—'

'Clark. What would you do if you lost Lois?'

'What?'

'Everything I saw that day was something that I think Barry was trying to tell me would come to pass.'

'You're saying you think I'd turn on the world because Lois left me?'

'No. I'm asking you what would happen to you if Lois died.'

Clark stares at him. But Bruce notes it, the way Clark's eyes change, the way his nostrils flare and he flinches—barely visible to anyone else, but not to Bruce. Just the thought of it, of Lois' death, hits Clark physically; Bruce can see it happening right in front of him.

Bruce watches, quiet, as Clark clenches his jaw, muscle working in his cheek, his hands fisting at his side. Then Clark's gaze falls to the floor and that energy that had filled him, filled the room, that energy that's red and blue and holds Clark up in front of the sun like a God, saps out of him.

It's Clark Kent in Bruce's home, lost and confused and like he doesn't know what else to give of himself.

'I don't know,' Clark says, voice so low Bruce almost doesn't catch it, 'I don't want to think—it's Lois.' He says it like that's everything.

'I think Superman can survive losing Lois. I don't think Superman can survive losing Clark Kent. And Clark,' Bruce can see Clark bracing himself for what Bruce is going to say next, 'I'm not sure Clark Kent can survive losing Lois.'

Clark paces over to look out at the lake. 'You think it meant something? What you saw? It wasn't just—'

Bruce takes in the crossed arms, the curled in shoulders. But there's nothing Bruce can do about that.

'What else?' Clark asks.

Bruce waits until Clark faces him again. 'What else what?'

'What else did this Barry say? What did you see, Bruce?' Clark's eyes drop to where Bruce's hand is still splayed over his own chest.

Bruce pulls his hand away. He gets up and makes another coffee.

It's something he hasn't even told Alfred, hasn't told Diana. It'd felt like too much of a step back.

But he owes Clark this much.

Bruce tells Clark everything, standing on one side of the kitchen island, Clark on the other. Clark's tea stays untouched between the palms of his hands, his gaze fixed on it until Bruce finishes. Not that it takes that long.

It seems so much bigger in Bruce's dreams, so much longer, like Bruce could get lost in that moment forever—strung up, vulnerable, nothing left to help him survive—

'I'm blaming you for it,' Clark finally says.

Bruce sips the coffee. It's subpar compared to Alfred's.

'I don't know what you want me to do with this, Bruce.'

And this is the thing that gets Bruce. The sheer amount of human emotion packed into Clark. His entire being straining towards Bruce, hands planted on the island, like he's asking Bruce for something. Anything. Maybe even asking Bruce to take this back. To take everything back.

'Does anyone else know?' Clark asks.

'No.'

'Thank you.'

Bruce isn't sure what Clark is thanking him for.

'I should go.' Clark picks up the mug as if to go put it in the sink and pauses as if surprised to see it's still full. He drinks the whole thing down in one; throat working with it and then takes it and places it carefully in the sink.

Bruce watches him go.

Clark stops at the front door, hand out to open it. 'You think I can stop it from happening?'

Bruce leans his hip against the island, rubs a hand over stubble. 'I have eyes on Lois, Clark. It won't happen on my watch.'

'That's not what I meant.' Clark looks over his shoulder at Bruce. 'If something does happen to Lois. If—if we can't stop it and somehow, somehow I,' Clark squares his shoulders. 'Do you think there's something we can do? To stop me? To stop everything you've seen?'

The rain has slowed outside, the clouds beginning to split, allowing for fragile slithers of light to cut through and touch the lake.

'I don't think anything could stop you if you turned.'

'You stopped me.'

And Bruce will do it again, if he has to. It doesn't matter if guilt chews at the edges of what's left of him, of what makes Bruce human. Bruce will do it again. But if there's another way—any other way—then he hopes Clark finds it.

'Find someone else.'

Clark steps back from the door, turning fully to face Bruce. 'To stop me?'

'No.' Bruce meets that blue gaze head on. 'To anchor you. Find someone else who'll matter to you, as much as Lois. And maybe when,' Bruce sighs, 'if the time comes. Maybe they'll have enough of you to keep you on this side.'

For a long moment, Clark just looks at him. With a nod, he opens the door and disappears out into the rain.

Bruce stays until the rain stops and the lake is calm.

The tentative touches of light disappear as the clouds close back up.

~

The UN meeting is televised.

It's their first united appearance. They call them the Justice League and social media apps and sites crash under the onslaught of activity. It takes three hours before they're up and running again.

All in all, it doesn’t go as badly as it could've done. But they all feel it, the targets on their backs. Bruce is sure they're already in the middle every inch of information they have on them all, doing their best to develop weapons that could put them down.

Bruce doesn't blame them. It's the smart thing to do.

Superman's cape is a bright crimson banner in the grand room. He stands tall, confidence and calm etched into his every line.

It's the first time Bruce has seen him since Clark showed up at the lake house.

Bruce keeps himself in the background, watches as they all soak in Superman's strength and the truth that rings out in Diana's every word. The rest of them decline to speak and Bruce removes himself shortly after. It's better for their image in general, if Bruce isn't there, if he isn't automatically associated as a core member of this new beacon of hope.

'That went rather well, wouldn't you say, sir?'

Bruce drops the chains, chest heaving from the effort, arms burning. He leans his arms on the supportive beams and swipes the side of his face against his shoulder.

Alfred lays a towel and a change of clothes next to Bruce's half empty bottle of water.

'Well,' Bruce says, filling his lungs with air, 'they didn't nuke us. I took that as a win.'

'Indeed.' Alfred adjusts his glasses and looks around the training room, a touch of exasperation on his face. 'Master Bruce, need I remind you that your prescriptions are still in the kitchen along with your untouched dinner. Now, while I understand you are keen to maintain your sheer animalistic mass should another showdown with a God-like entity occur,' Bruce has yet to meet anyone who can pull off dry like Alfred, 'you are only human and do actually have to sustain yourself.'

'I get it, Alfred. I'm done for tonight.' Bruce pushes away from the beams, rolls his shoulders against the aches in his back. 'Gotham is quiet, for now.'

'Then may I suggest now might be an opportune time to take a break. Or would you prefer I set up an IV feed so that you can continue at break neck speed?'

Bruce sighs. 'Right. Thanks, Alfred. I'll be up in ten.'

'Very well. I'll see myself out for the night.'

Bruce unwinds the tapes from around his hands, walking over to the towel as he goes. 'Goodnight, Alfred.'

The lake house is surrounded by night when Bruce pads up to the main floor. The aftermath of the training exercises sits along his shoulders and burns in his thighs. Bruce shrugs on his t-shirt as he heads for the covered plate on the island, dimming the lights as he goes.

He drags over a stool and hitches himself onto it, muscles protesting. As he picks up the fork and begins to lift the cover off the plate, he catches movement in his peripheral.

He turns to see Superman's booted feet touch gently on the lake's boardwalk.

Bruce puts the fork back down and moves off the stool.

Outside, Clark is staring out across the lake. He doesn't move even when Bruce walks to stand beside him.

'It went well today.'

Bruce folds his arms over his chest. 'Yeah.'

Clark tilts his head back. The breeze tugs at his cape, sends it rustling over the boardwalk. Its coolness is a welcome touch to Bruce's still overheated skin.

'I love Lois,' Clark says.

'I know.' Bruce sees a flash of movement further out in the lake, tenses as he tries to make out the shape and realises it's not one shape but two. Grey swans, graceful necks folded in on themselves, sleeping. He wonders how long they've been here.

'I can't switch that off. I don't want to.'

Bruce never thought Clark would. 'It is what it is.'

'But I've thought about what you said. About having an anchor, having someone else.'

Bruce stills. This isn't how he expected this conversation to go. He glances over at Clark and finds Clark watching him back. There's a small smile on his face, wry and a little sad.

'Clark. You know what I saw; you know that's not guaranteed? You know nothing is guaranteed.' And Bruce doesn't know why he's doing this, why he's trying to comfort when the smart thing to do here is to drum this into Clark, to account for every possible outcome and have a contingency plan for it.

Except that the Man of Steel is right here in front of him, a bone deep loneliness etched into the lines of his face.

'But you're preparing for it, aren't you?' Clark asks. 'Even now.'

Bruce drops his arms, sliding his hands into the pockets of his loose pants. He shifts so he's facing Clark. 'It's what I do.'

'I know,' Clark says.

When Bruce doesn't say anything else, Clark walks to him, cape whispering over the floor behind him. Clark doesn't stop until he's close enough that just a step more would bring him into contact with Bruce.

Bruce's stomach rolls, apprehension stealing into him, knowing that Clark won't do anything, but unable to squash that sense of foreboding that's been in his blood since he first saw Superman crashing through Metropolis, bringing down buildings as if they were nothing more than toys in his way.

'I won't hurt you, Bruce. If any of this—all of it comes to pass. I won't hurt you.'

Bruce's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. 'That's not something you can promise, Clark.'

And Bruce is familiar with the look that steals over Clark's face just then.

It's the expression that turns him from Clark Kent into Superman. The same expression that Clark wore when he'd stopped Batman and threatened him. The same look he wore in their fight.

The same one Clark wears in the desert nightmare.

It means none of those things right now; means nothing but sheer determination, like the world will just bend to Clark's will if he wants it to.

And it would.

But Bruce's thoughts cut short when Clark cups Bruce's neck in his hands and thumbs Bruce's chin up.

Clark's cape brushes over Bruce's feet and Clark's mouth on his is dry and soft, his thumbs on the underside of Bruce's jaw twin points of warmth that hold Bruce still.

And Bruce—Bruce is stumped. Eyes wide open, Clark's black curling lashes going in and out of focus as he stands there, mind wiped clean of anything. He doesn't even notice that his own hands have come up to cup Clark's elbows.

Clark makes a noise, like he's the one caught off guard. He steps closer and Bruce feels the Superman crest press into his chest through his thin t-shirt. Clark's mouth presses against his a little harder, slotting against Bruce's.

The flutter of wings and disturbed water registers in the back of Bruce's mind. But the thuds of his heart his beat louder in his ears.

Clark makes another soft sound, this one quieter and as he pulls away, his mouth catches on Bruce's bottom lip, dragging against it, leaving it damp.

Bruce lets his hands fall back when Clark steps back.

'I can trust you not to die on me, right Bruce?'

Clark lifts up into the air, effortless, hovers just a few inches above the ground, knee slightly elevated like he's poised to blast off.

'You'll be the last thing standing between me and the world.' He smiles down at Bruce, still soft, still sad. 'And maybe if everything comes to pass, if the last thing standing between me and the world is my anchor, then…' Clark sighs and tilts his head up to the sky, 'maybe the world will stand a chance.'

Clark climbs higher in the sky. Bruce still hasn't found any words.

'I'm moving out tomorrow,' Clark says and he sounds so final. He glances down at Bruce then. 'Is it okay if I stop by? When it's all done?'

And Christ. He sounds young. He sounds young and heart broken and Bruce—

'Yeah,' Bruce's voice sounds like its been pushed out through a grater. 'You can.'

Clark nods once. 'Goodnight, Bruce.'

'Goodnight.'

The night sky swallows up the red and blue and the quiet of the lake grows loud.

Eventually, Bruce goes back inside.

That night, he doesn't wake up with molten eyes etched into his sight, doesn't wake up to the smell of melted skin or the phantom pain of a mortal wound in his chest.

That night, Bruce doesn't dream.

[12freddofrogs]

Gotham Crusaders - A Batfamily TV Show

A few months ago I started wondering how I would adapt the Batman/Batfam comics to TV. I started relatively simple, but then I started getting a little more detailed with a specific episode plot here, a little more to this scene there, some dialogue to be specified… and now the fic is nearly 80k on Ao3, and I still have another season/chapter to go.

This is an extract from Chapter/Season Five, Damian’s Robin introduction, also known as Dick’s run as Batman. 

Other episodes in S5 include Cass giving the Batgirl mantle to Steph, Jason getting caught in a hostage situation at Gotham Library, Dick introducing Damian to ice-cream, Tim making a reluctant alliance with the League of Assassins, the Red Hood trying and failing to convince himself he doesn’t care, and the general aftermath of the Bats without Bruce.

Start Gotham Crusaders from Season One Here

Season Five Here

Season Five, Episode Sixteen - Halloween Night

There haven’t been any holiday episodes so far. Let’s celebrate Halloween with the Batfamily.

Cass, Steph, and Babs wander the Gotham University Halloween fete at dusk.

For the moment, they’re just having fun. Steph goes apple-bobbing. Babs aces a ring-toss. Cass is unimpressed with cotton-candy.

A commotion catches their attention.

The girls hurry to where one of the students had tried to tear apart a light display. By the time they arrive, two security guards have already pulled the skinny twenty-year-old off.

He’s babbling about how lights will attract Batman, even as the security guards breathalyse him.

In his theory, the Batsignal is a way for the police to announce when they have a new victim for him, so it’s very unwise for them to have their own vampire-beacon on Halloween night.

“Batman and his colony are feeding on criminals to lure us into a false sense of security before he unleashes his dark powers—”

Steph laughs so hard she falls over. The student pauses long enough to glare at her, which doesn’t help.

Babs bites her hand to stop giggling. Cass is trying to pull Steph to her feet.

Finally, the student is escorted back to his dorm, mumbling that Gotham is going to be enslaved because they believe a blood-sucking monster wants to help.

Robin’s been a child for over ten years now, how is that not suspicious?

If anything would get Steph off the ground, it was not that.

Once he’s gone, Cass asks what a vampire is.

Meanwhile, Dick and Damian are arguing in the Manor living room.

“I’m not asking you to go trick-or-treating.” Dick pinches the bridge of his nose. “Or dress up, or put on a spooky voice, or do anything beneath the outrageous dignity of a ten-year-old. All I’m asking is you open the door, smile, and give out candy.”

“I don’t understand why we reward these pitiful efforts.” Damian looks out the window. Alfred is visible handing chocolate to a girl dressed as a dragon. “I have seen three facsimiles of armour tonight, none of which would stand up to the shoddiest of blades, and there’s no challenge in approaching the door. Surely we should have at least set up a basic trap to be worth overcoming?”

“Okay, the point of fun is a lesson for later.” Dick picks up a novelty candy bucket and shoves it into Damian’s hands. “Right now is social skills.” He drags his youngest brother to the hallway. Through the window, there’s another group of trick-or-treaters. “Talk to these kids, and then we’ll go on patrol.”

“Tch! Fine!” Damian storms to the door as Alfred steps out of the way. He sends an icy glare over his shoulder before turning the knob.

“Trick or treat!” Three eight-year-olds beam at him: a princess, an astronaut, and a dinosaur.

It’s impressive Damian’s forced grin doesn’t scare them. There’s nothing genuine about the teeth on show. “I… like… your costumes.”

“Thank you!” The astronaut holds out her sack.

“You must be a dead astronaut.” Damian gives her a chocolate. “Appropriately ‘spooky’.”

“I’m not a scary astronaut”

“No, you’re a scared astronaut.” Damian hands confectionary to her companions. “Even accepting the useless fabric as part of the holiday, your ‘suit’ stops at your wrists and ankles, exposing much of your skin to the void. Your ‘helmet’ is improperly attached to your shirt, and there is no indication your character has an air supply. By now you would have suffocated as your blood vessels rupture and the fluid in your eye sockets boil.”

The children gape at him.

“Happy Halloween.” He shuts the door. “Well?”

Dick and Alfred exchange a look. “He did smile.”

“That he did.”

Night falls and the Bats go on patrol.

Batgirl detours back to campus, tucking her comm unit into her belt.

The conspiracist-student is getting ready for bed. When he steps into his bedroom, he screams to find Batgirl on his desk.

“For someone so afraid of Bats, you’d think you lock your window.”

He stumbles back, pressing himself against the wall. “You… you can’t come in here without an invitation. You shouldn’t be—”

“Vampires can’t enter houses without permission. This isn’t a house.” Batgirl waves at the dorm. “It’s not your home, not a permanent space, it’s basically public property. I can come and go.”

Maybe it’s a little cruel, but it’s supposed to be a harmless prank.

Batgirl’s rattles off vampire lore, occasionally slips into a bad Transylvanian accent she can’t hold, makes spooky gestures with her hands.

She does promise that the Bats of Gotham don’t kill — maybe they’ll take a sip from a mugger, but nothing they can’t spare.

“Calm down, I’m not going to bite you. We’re harmless, really, at least to law-abiding citizens like—”

The student had been pushing himself along the wall to his closet, where he rips out a clove of garlic.

Batgirl is delighted, and plays the part. Hissing, retreating, hands out defensively. It’s awful acting, but she’s only there for a joke. It certainly convinces him.

While Batgirl is dramatically cowering from a spice, the student grabs a heavy metal water bottle from the desk and hits her over the head.

(Continues under the cut)

Batgirl wakes up tied to a chair in a lecture theatre.

A garlic garland is draped around her neck.

Steph is more concerned with the ropes. Her arms are pinned to the arm rests, done so vigorously she can barely wriggle her fingers. Her legs are similarly tied.

It’s still night. The lecture theatre is dark, with the only light being a glimpse of the festival from the windows and the candles the student is lighting.

“Um, hi?”

The student leaps to his feet, brandishing a cross at her. “Stay back!”

“Sure. Just untie me first.” Batgirl tugs at her ropes. “Okay, we may have gotten off on the wrong foot. I was kinda joking. I’m not a vampire.”

Shockingly, he is unconvinced. “I will not allow your colony to feast on the innocent.”

Batgirl switches her argument from ‘not-a-vampire’ to ‘not-an-evil-vampire’. It doesn’t work either.

Finally she groans, letting her head hang forwards. “How long am I going to be here?”

“Until morning, when you are destroyed by the rays of the sun.” With that dramatic pronouncement he picks up his book and leaves.

Batgirl sighs. “Nobody will ever let me hear the end of this.”

Meanwhile, the episode needs a bigger threat than a uni student with a stroke of luck.

Clayface is a more traditional Halloween villain.

Batman and Robin get waved down from a building by a nearly hysterical man, babbling about a monster that just mugged him.

At first Batman just tries to calm him down, but the revelation that the mud coating his shirt is attempting to crawl away makes them realise Clayface is active.

They give him money to take a cab home and the Dynamic Duo split up to search.

Contacting the others reveals that Oracle’s cameras caught glimpses of Clayface an hour ago, that Black Bat is patrolling on the North End but will keep an eye out, and Batgirl isn’t picking up,

While Batman continues the A-plot with an actual rogue, Robin is sent to find Batgirl.

He grumbles as he leaves, but doesn’t protest.

Steph hadn’t wanted to advertise her plans to prank a civilian, and had switched her tracker/comms off as she arrived on campus. That was still enough of a record for Oracle to note she went back to the university.

Oracle takes a guess and researches the vampire conspiracist. Henry Davids has posted a lot online.

The window to his dorm is open. Robin grapples up, pauses when he finds identical grapple marks already in the wood.

Inside the room are signs of a struggle. A single blonde hair is caught on the curtain.

“Oracle. Batgirl was here and appears to have been outmatched by someone with less combat training than a goldfish. What can you tell me about this building’s activities?”

“Not much, kiddo. Most of the dorm building cameras have been broken for months, needing new funding that hasn’t gone through.”

Black Bat is in the middle of stopping a convenience store robbery, but she takes the time to touch her comms. “Do you want back-up?” she asks, spinning neatly to slam her knee into someone’s throat. “Can be there twenty minutes.”

“No.” Robin climbs out the window. “I can handle this.”

He swings up and drops down to the ground.

Meanwhile, Henry has returned to the lecture theatre.

Batgirl is bored, but her cowl’s eyes widen when she sees him placing a pile of wooden stakes on the teacher’s desk. “Wait, I thought you were going to burn me in sunlight?”

“I said you would die at sunrise. I’m not dumb enough to think a vampire can be defeated by one.”

“How about garlic and sunlight? Throw in some holy water, too, that’ll do the trick — is that one silver?”

Robin is combing the campus.

Oracle tries to help, but Batgirl’s offline and there aren’t enough security cameras. Plus, she’s also concerned with finding Clayface.

“Are we sure Davids is still on the grounds?” Robin asks.

“No, but he hasn’t got a vehicle, the buses aren’t running, and there haven’t been any taxis. If Henry left campus, he was on foot. Even in Gotham, you can’t drag an unconscious girl through a crowd unnoticed.”

“You think she was unconscious?” Batman asks, crouching in an alleyway. More of Clayface’s mud is splattered over the ground, steadily making the way to a manhole cover.

“Hard to imagine what he could have threatened her with to make her go willingly, and Robin said there was a fight.”

“And there’s no digital trail.” Batman puts a sliver of mud into a tray as a compass and slides into the underground. “Guess you’re on physical detective work, Robin.”

“How? Drunken crowds roam every pathway. Even if he left footprints, every sign would be obliterated.”

“Those crowds happen to be your best bet,” Oracle says. “Just ask for information.”

“Nicely,” Black Bat adds, handcuffing the last of her robbers to a streetlight. “Don’t hurt anyone.”

“Or tip anyone off,” Batman says. He flicks his torch against the walls, which bounces back and lights up his grin. “You need to go undercover.”

“How would I do that?”

Cut to Damian knocking on a door.

“Trick or treat,” Robin mumbles reluctantly, holding out a bag from the fete.

He’s given a slew of compliments about how adorable he is, how cute his Robin costume is (“Did you make that yourself?“) and a small shower of candy.

“Thank you,” he says, forcing a smile. “Have you seen my… older sister? We’re in matching costumes. She’s Batgirl.”

He’s told they must look adorable, but nobody’s seen her.

At another party someone waves over someone dressed in a well-intentioned-but-badly-designed Batgirl costume Robin has to visibly bite back comments about.

His bag fills quickly. Once in a while he double-checks no-one’s watching before sneaking a chocolate.

Finally, he gets some useful information. No-one’s seen his ‘sister’, but when he adds that her boyfriend is Henry Davids, someone recognises him. “Yeah, I saw him an hour ago heading into the Arts Building with a lot of candles.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait, kid.”

“Yes?” He pauses midstep.

“Look, see, um… sometimes when a boyfriend and girlfriend get candles and go into a place alone—”

Robin leaves without another word.

He palms another piece of candy before dumping his bag.

Robin lands on the Arts Building.

He pauses at the stairs, finding paper cut-outs of crosses and garlic cloves dotted around.

“Tch.” He taps his comm as he walks. “Robin to Batman. I’m pretty sure I found him. Give me ten minutes and this will be handled.”

“Alright.” Batman is distracted, climbing out of another storm drain and frowning at the giant Halloween party in the building in front of him. “Keep me updated.”

Batman watches the party.

He notices the same man who’d begged him for help earlier that night — now cheerily joking with friends, the same clothes mysteriously clean — and contacts Black Bat.

While she arrives, he heads over to the party, only to find not only is there a strict guestlist that requires an invitation and ID, but also that the bouncers don’t recognise he’s really Batman.

Batman doesn’t insist on his identity, instead asking why the security is tight enough he can see patrols walking the upper balconies.

The guards don’t answer.

Oracle explains that company parties mean it’s very difficult to keep track of everyone’s movements, and this particular company has a lot of valuable prizes stored in the same building.

She’s cut-off when the suspiciously-not-muddy man notices Batman, curses, and transforms into Clayface.

Back in the theatre, Batgirl is sulking.

Henry has set up the room with enough candles to be a fire hazard, each connected with string.

He’s sitting in the row behind her. Several wooden stakes are resting in easy reach.

Batgirl sits up a little straighter when a small red-green-black figure appears in the doorway. “Oh. It’s you. Great.”

“What is this?” Robin steps inside, gesturing at the room.

“This is… umm…”

She’s spared the explanation as Henry lunges forward over her shoulder. He presses a wooden stake against her chest plate, the other hand gripping a mallet.

Robin has a batarang out immediately. “Let her go.”

“I can’t.” Henry’s pale, his eyes frantic. “I have to — I have to protect Gotham. This is my only chance.”

“Protect Gotham from what?”

“You.” Henry’s breaths are quick and shallow. “I know what you are, I know what you’re going to do to the city. I’m the only one willing to stop you.”

“He thinks we’re the terrifying vampire heroes of Gotham,” Batgirl says. Her voice is unconcerned, but she can’t stop glancing at the stake.

“You’re not heroes.”

Robin rubs his forehead, lowering his batarang. “Look, we’re not va—” He stops mid-word. Slowly, he pulls his hand down, smiles with too many teeth. “We only feed on those who deserve it. Criminals, muggers, the occasional student too nosy for their own good.”

Henry jolts.

“I’ve been very good lately.” Robin takes a step forwards. “But it’s Halloween, and no-one can deny I look like a child. I think I deserve a treat.”

Batgirl tries not to laugh.

The panic serves to motivate Henry and he swings the mallet with all his might, digging the stake forwards.

Reinforced armour meets pointy stick. The wood splinters.

There’s a long moment where he’s frozen, unable to comprehend what happened, before Batgirl headbutts him. He falls back.

Robin bites down his smile, stepping into the maze of tripwires.

“No, no, no!” Henry stumbles to his feet, one hand clutching a bloody nose. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his emergency garlic clove, throwing it at Robin.

There is a long moment where Robin considers the spice that landed by his feet, before he grins.

He takes a dramatic leap back, flipping midair, and bares his teeth in a hiss. “That was unwise. Now you’re out of ammunition.”

“Not yet!” Henry rips the garlic necklace off Batgirl’s neck, and starts flinging the individual cloves.

His aim’s pretty good. It’s useless, but accurate.

Robin plays the game. He ducks and dodges and somersaults to avoid the garlic, trying to hide his smile. Once he pauses long enough to wave his fingers like claws.

Batgirl is trying very hard not to laugh. When Robin abruptly remembers her presence, she grins at him.

Meanwhile, Batman’s dealing with Clayface.

The security guards fire, but the bullets do nothing except splatter people with mud. He reaches up to swipe at the balcony, and the guards are no longer interested in shooting.

Batman darts past the bouncers, causing a reaction as people recognise it’s not another costume.

Clayface doesn’t stand and fight, and instead moves to the upper levels by stretching an arm as a grappling hook. Batman follows him, as the party flees.

Upstairs, amongst enough art to be a gallery, they fight.

Black Bat arrives through a window mid-battle.

It takes a while, ducking between pieces of fancy artwork (Black Bat takes the time to move one statue out of the way) but eventually Clayface ends up caught in containment fluid.

Henry is still throwing garlic.

He attempts a particularly ambitious shot and trips over the string criss-crossing his theatre.

Around the room, his candles are knocked over.

Flames start to spread.

Robin flings a batarang. It stabs Batgirl’s chair, narrowly avoiding her arm.

“Hey!” She scowls, even as she’s rubbing her tied wrists against it.

Robin leaps over the chairs.

Henry is tangled in string and mildly dazed. Robin slices the thread and drags the student to his feet.

Batgirl’s free by the time they’re standing.

The three of them flee the burning building, Robin and Batgirl dragging Henry by the elbows.

Batgirl pauses at the door, turns, and tosses a pellet into the midst of the fire. Foam explodes out, suffocating the worst of the flames.

Combined with the sprinklers finally turning on, the damage is halted.

The moment they’re out, Henry slides to the ground.

The Bats let him.

“You okay?” Batgirl asks.

“I — I think so.” He takes a deep breath, still on his knees. “You saved me.”

“We did.”

“Are you going to bite me now?”

“No,” Robin says.

“I might slap you, though,” Batgirl mutters.

“How exactly did you get into that situation?” Robin asks her. She ignores him.

“So — so you were telling the truth? You’re heroic?”

Batgirl and Robin share a look. Robin rolls his eyes and turns away, and Batgirl shrugs. “Yep.”

“I… I was wrong?”

“Also yep.”

“About everything? What about the Riddler being an escaped thrall? And the Bat-signal announcing new victims? And — Batman came back after being disintegrated, I had to be right about the time-travel.”

Robin jerks out of his folded arms. Batgirl stiffens. They stare at him.

“Or… not. I guess I was” He stumbles to his feet.

The sound of sirens reach them. The fire’s out, but smoke drifts from the windows.

“I’m sorry. About everything. I shouldn’t have — I should have put more together, realised vampire doesn’t equal monster.” There’s no response, but Henry’s looking at the fire engines anyway. “I’ll talk to the firemen. Thank you for not biting me—”

When he turns around, he’s alone.

Later, the Bats have met up on top of a building.

“It doesn’t mean anything.” Robin says, balancing on the roof railing. “He tried to put a stake in Batgirl’s heart. I wouldn’t consider him a reliable source.”

“No,” Black Bat agrees, sitting with her back against the railing. “But Tim is.”

“Names,” Batman says without thinking.

“I figured T was in denial.” Batgirl’s pacing. “I got it, I might have done the same. He didn’t want to lose three parents in ten months. But our little conspiracist had the same theory.”

“We already knew T must have had something to base it on.” Batman stares out at the city. “Some detail he’d decided was a clue. Even good detectives come to wrong conclusions and he’d never insist if he hadn’t found something he called evidence. Someone else just found the same clues.”

“Nothing Davids said can be considered relevant,” Robin insists.

Batgirl stops pacing and sighs. “No. Probably not.”

There’s a moment as they let it sink in.

Oracle informs them Henry had admitted the truth and been arrested. He’ll only be held overnight, but is likely to be expelled. He’ll probably head back home, leaving Gotham.

“Good.” Batgirl nods. “I don’t think he deserves Arkham but I really don’t want to deal with him again.”

“I still have questions about how you were captured by that incompetent,” Robin says.

“Don’t act so dignified, I saw you playing along and hissing like a good little vampire.”

Robin’s cheeks colour. “I was not — I did not play — and even if I — that does not answer how you were caught!”

Batman places a hand on Robin’s shoulder, trying not to grin. “It’s not Halloween without a horror movie. Shall we finish patrol and meet up?”

“Make it the Cave,” Oracle advises. “Better atmosphere if we turn off the lights. I’ll bring popcorn.”

“I vote cheesy horror,” Batgirl says, swinging off the roof.

“With vampires!” Black Bat calls, following her.

Batman glances at Robin. “Did you have fun?”

“I—”

“Good.”

They pull out their grappling hooks and swing away.

Find the rest of the fic on AO3.

More tumblr extracts:

S1E13 - Birdcage In which Dick Grayson is held for ransom. Dick is bored, Bruce is frantic, and Robin ends up on the phone with the Commissioner and has to fequently ‘pass’ the phone to Dick.

S2E9 - Double In which the second Robin trades himself to Two-Face as potential leverage over Batman in return for the civilian hostages to be freed. Jason proceeds to comment frequently on all the ways Two-Face’s plan is failing.

S3E20 - Songbird In which everyone in Gotham under the age of eighteen is abruptly bursting into song. Tim is distressed, Steph attempts to pretend she’s not creeped out, Dick finds it hilarious, and Cass is a little jealous that she’s too old to be effected. 

S4E01 - Worst Nightmare In which Scarecrow manages to drug Robin and Spoiler. Batman is a protective father, Steph has a discussion with her childhood fears, Tim is walking a fine line between terror and consciousness - and at home, Cass refuses to acknowledge flour/sugar/baking soda are different ingredients for cookies. 

[gobydana]

The Vet Part 3

A/N: Next part of the Vet. Bruce’s kids trying to help out, much to his displeasure. 

Catch up here: The Vet Part One, Part Two

After a long night of dealing with the stakeout gone wrong, Bruce was ready to head to bed. FIrst he had to make sure Duke and Jason were okay and getting the stake out patrol written. Turns  out Duke was right in that the drugs might come earlier. Next time he was letting him lead.

After making sure everyone was headed to bed or to their respective apartments, he trudge upstairs. As he almost reached the sweet salvation that was his bed, his phone rang. Clark needed him to help with some league items. It happened to be the same day as Alfred the cat’s check up appointment. Well so much for seeing Dr. Y/N again he thought as he plopped onto the bed and fell asleep.

Dick volunteered to take Damian and his cat to the vet while Bruce was off on a meeting. On the way out he joked that he didn’t want to trade Bruce places. Bruce suspected he was using this chance for a day out with his little brother. With both of them in their respective hero activities, they didn’t get as much time together.

After a long, unnecessary meeting, Bruce headed back to the cave from the Tower. He was mumbling on the way up the stairs that the meeting was not needed. A simple email would have worked and Clark knew that. At this point he didn’t have a lot of time before patrol. Dick texted him asking if Nightwing could make an appearance tonight.

He got upstairs to see Dick and Damian with Batburger leftovers. Both were chatting about some video game. He could guess where they were disappearing to next. Apparently there was a two player game they had been trying to beat for the last two months when they saw each other. He cleared his throat to let them know he was there.

“How did the appointment go.” Bruce inquired while grabbing some leftover salmon and rice.

“Good. Alfred is a good kitty.” Dick replied.

Damian nodded. “Also I have invited Dr. Y/N to the gala. After all, you said this gala was to honor those who help animals. They has done well in that category.”

“Some of their collages are coming too.” Dick added in. “It was good seeing them again. Great vet.”

He almost choked on the food he was eating. Bruce couldn’t help but agree. Yet now he was nervous about the upcoming gala. It was his son idea, to raise money to help the local animal shelter and those who helped those animals. It also seemed now he might get some time to talk them. Why did that make him so nervous?

“You are coming to this one, right B?” Dick inquired.

“Yes, I am hosting it after all.” He replied.

“That has never stopped you before.” Damian remarked.

Bruce just hummed in response. The boys headed towards the media room to play their games until patrol. He was lost in his thoughts that at least he would get to see them. Suddenly, remember that Clark was suppose to be the reporter for that gala. Last thing he needed was one of the league's worst gossipers spreading unneeded rumors. Maybe he could ask Lois to cover it instead.  Not normally her reports, but she wouldn’t be snooping in his life.

Thankfully that night was as normal as it could get for patrol in Gotham. Dick teamed up with Damian. It kept Dick from being chatty over the comns. Bruce was once again on his own for his side of town. His children weren’t as chatty on the comns compared to a normal night. Times like this reminding him that they didn’t need him as much. The days of one of the robins next to side almost over.

After patrol, when the others headed their own way, Dick stayed back. He had the half grin that gave away his thinking. He wanted to know something and was going to find out whether Bruce wanted to tell or not. It appeared he was in a good mood, which meant it wasn’t something Bruce had done wrong.

“What is it Dick.” Bruce said as he watched his oldest approach.

“Oh Dr. Y/N was just telling us how Batman helped her the other week. Getting kittens out of behind a dumpster.” He said while smiling.

“Yes. Someone tried mugging them. I was doing my duty.”

“Mmmm hmmm. The kittens are healthy and same with momma cat in case you are wondering.” Dick said.

“Did she tell Damian about the kittens.” Bruce inquired.

“Oh yes. He wants to make sure that someone takes care of them. Dr. Y/N said they were staying with them until they were grown. Warning now, I think he is plotting on taking once they are old enough.”

“I will warn Alfred to watch his backpack. Now was it before or after they mentioned Batman that you gave Damian the idea to invite them.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about. It was done out of gratitude for all they have done for the pets in this family. Amazing skills and should be consider top of Gotham’s vets.”

“Sure.” Bruce said as he headed towards the shower.

“Please make sure to actually come to this gala and stay most of the time. I can take on Batman duties if needed that night.”

“Oh, Alfred didn’t tell you? You are marked as coming to the gala.” He said with his signature smirk.

“You don’t play fair old man. I wonder if Clark is coming. He is usually fun.”

As Bruce headed out of the cave, he texted Lois. It was decided now, he did not need Clark and Dick both there teaming up. 

The night of the gala finally came. Bruce was in a designer tux looking every bit the billion playboy. An imagine that was currently ruined by trying to get his children in line. Cass was in a black dress with a drop back and Stephanie in a dark purple, full length with silver accents. She was helping Tim with his tie as he was muttering ideas for the latest case. Duke was asking if he could have computer duty or even clean the batcave. He must have thought he had a winning idea since he was only in a tshirt and dress pants. His last argument was that Barbara got to miss for patrol, why shouldn’t he.

Jason wasn’t even dressed. Just sitting in a chair reading a book while informing Duke it would never work. Dick was actually dressed and helping Damian who was insisting that his pets should be able to come. Alfred was downstairs checking all the last minute ideas. Harper was commenting that she got in her tux quicker then the boys, while also tossing gummy bears at Cass who was catching in them in her mouth. Time like this made Bruce miss his days of getting dress and going. Now he got bigger headaches and a losing battle.

Once the ever growing family was as put together as they were going to get, they headed towards the main room. Since this was Damian’s idea for the charity, he took over some of the invites. Among the usual Gotham socialites were the top of the animal medical community. He made sure to greet everyone, but truth was he kept looking for one particular person.

Finally, he found them looking stunning. To him, they were the most beautiful person in the room. He started to make his way towards them to be stopped by Lois Lane. She had been trying to find him since he owed her for covering tonights report.

“Good evening Bruce.” She greeted.

“Thank you for coming.” He replied.

“No problem, just remember to hold up your end of the deal.” She pointly said.

“I have already arranged with Alfred to have Jon come over next weekend so that you can cover the UN assembly.” He stated.

“Perfect. Also I am assuming the reason that you didn’t want Clark here, might be  the person Dick and Jason are talking to?” She said while directing his attention towards Y/N.

“Yes, now if you excuse me for a moment.” He said.

Lois waved him off as she made a point to find some of the animal experts to talk to. She could not deal with the socialites at the moment. She couldn’t help but let out a giggle as she saw Bruce’s panic face upon seeing the boys talking to Y/N. The poor man didn’t stand a chance with his children.

“So Bruce is chasing Ace around the house, trying to get him to drop the socks in his mouth. It wasn’t working as Ace was diving under tables.” Jason was saying as Bruce came up to the group, already modified.

“How is it going?” He stated while coming up behind Jason and putting his hand on his shoulder.

“Wonderful.” Jason said with a devilish smile. Dick must have informed him about Y/N.

“We were actually going to grab a drink.” Dick stated while steering Jason in the directions of the bar. Bruce silently hoping they remembered they had patrol tonight.

“Having a good time.” He asked nervously.

“Oh yes. Finally getting to catch up with colleagues. Sometimes I get way too busy for that. Though last I saw Dr. Hans he was explaining to someone the best type of dog to get for young kids.” Y/N said with a small laugh. A laugh Bruce wanted to hear more of.

“Would you care to dance?” He asked while holding out his hand.

“I’d love to.” Y/N replied.

The two of them made their way to the dance floor. The first minute was awkward as they tried to come up with something to talk about. Bruce decided to ask what they liked to do in their spare time. They went into a discussion on favorite movies. They were a movie buff to challenge Bruce. Soon the discussion turned to their love of helping animals. For the first time in a while, Bruce found a genuine smile staying on his face.

They had a few more dances together. Y/N was a wonderful dancer. One of the best he had the joys of dancing with. He was actually getting to enjoy the gala for once. Both talking about everything they could. The conversation flowing easy. He didn’t even bother to put on his Brucie persona for the night.

His and Y/N time came to an end as Kate Kane came up behind him. A slight tap on the shoulder and reminder he was needed for tonight’s speech. She then went back to dancing with her girlfriend. As she went back to dance, she gave a wink to the batkids who had been gathered in a area so they could watch Bruce.

“I am sorry, got to go play host.” Bruce said.

“Have fun. Glad I don’t have that job.” Y/N joked.

“I don’t blame you. Before I go, ummm next week, would you like to grab lunch?” Bruce asked as his heart rate increased.

“Let me check my schedule, but I would love to.” Y/N replied with a smile.

“Just let me know.” He said while going towards the stage were an impatient Damian was waiting.

As he left, he heard them say they would call him. It hit him then as he walked on stage which number they had. He was going to inform Alfred that no one minus him and Alfred were answering the phone. Especially since a few of his children were a little too good at sounding like him. With that he turned towards the audience, ready for next week to come. 

Tagging: @superwhoteen​ @the-shadow-of-atlantis​ @fuckbuckyyy​

[lithuanias]

Title: Šūdas, How Long Does it Take to Make Tamales? Rating: G Relationships: Lithuania/Mexico Word Count: 2312 Summary: Nobody told him it took six hours to make them. Notes: Written for Day 1: Cooking for @aphrarepairweek2018 .

Lithuania knew as much about Mexico as Mexico knew about him, which is to say, nothing. He knew that she bordered America, rarely had snowfall in winter, and had spicy food.

He looked at the address Mexico had given him and back at the unassuming white restaurant front.

He stepped inside. The interior of the restaurant was filled with elegant chairs and white tablecloths. A bar was on the side.

A waiter asked him something in Spanish, and he blinked.

“Table for one, sir?”

“Ah no, I think a friend of mine made a reservation.”

“What name?”

“Maria Juarez Hidalgo.”

The waiter looked at something on the tablet. “Of course.”

“Your other half is already here,” the waiter said. “Follow me.”

Lithuania blushed.

The waiter brought him to a table in the back of the restaurant.

“Here you are, sir,” said the waiter.

“Oh, hello, Toris,” said Mexico, standing up.

This was the first time that Lithuania had seen Mexico outside of United Nations meetings. She had brown hair a few shades darker than his and wore a black dress patterned with flowers.

“Maria,” he said, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to see you.”

“How have you been enjoying Mexico?” she asked. “Alfred told me you were visiting Yucatan.”

“It’s been a wonderful change,” Lithuania said truthfully. “I miss summer weather. December in Cancún is summer in Lithuania.”

“Really?” Lithuania could see her contain a shiver. “I’m glad I can help you remember summer.”

“And the food was spectacular.”

Mexico smiled. “I haven’t come across a country who doesn’t like Mexican food. It must be a bit different than what you’re used to.

“At any rate, I’m glad you’re enjoying Mexico. Mi casa es tu casa. ”

“I…vaguely understood that.”

“Make yourself at home.”

“How do you take your mezcal?” asked the waiter.

“My…what?”

“Mezcal,” said Mexico. “It’s an alcoholic drink made out of agave.”

Lithuania blinked. He had no idea what agave was either.

“It’s like tequila.”

“Oh! Ah, straight?”

The waiter poured them two shots of mezcal and set a plate of peeled oranges on the table.

“Do we drink them like shots?”

“You can,” said Mexico. “But personally, I prefer to sip it and then eat a bit of the orange.”

“Okay.” Lithuania took his glass. “One, two, three…”

“Salud.”

“Salud.”

Lithuania drank the entire shot.

Lithuania gasped. “That is…strong.”

“It’s nice,” said Mexico. She laughed. “You didn’t mean to drink it all, did you?”

Lithuania shoved an orange in his mouth. “I normally take shots of vodka.”

Lithuania looked at the menu. He had eaten a few of these dishes back in Yucatan.

“Tamales?”

“Sorry?”

Lithuania pointed at the line on the menu. “The dish. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of these before.”

“You’ve never heard of tamales?”

“Alfred may have mentioned them in passing, but I’ve never eaten them. What are they?”

“They’re meat stuffed in a corn dough and cooked in a corn husk.”

“Oh, would you recommend them?”

“Personally, I don’t like buying them at restaurants,” said Mexico. “I’ll either buy them from stands or make them myself.”

“If you have time tomorrow, I’d love to make some.”

“You really want to make tamales?” asked Mexico.

“I’d like to,” said Lithuania. “They sound like very interesting.”

“Really?”

“Have you been to Puebla?”

“No, but I’d like to have gone. Why?”

“Ah, then I’m guessing you haven’t had mole.”

“Mo…lay?”

“It’s a sauce made out of chile, spices, chocolate—”

“Did you say chocolate?” asked Lithuania. “I’d love to try it. What do you serve it with?”

“Oh, here they serve it on top of enchiladas. Have you—”

“I’ve had those!” Lithuania said. “Alfred used to make some frozen ones.”

Mexico stared at him. “I think you need to eat these instead.”

***

Thank God, Mexico had cleared her schedule the next day.

Mexico woke up at seven the next morning and raced to buy the ingredients for the tamales. A large pork shoulder that needed to be broiled and shredded, corn husks for the wrapping, and poblano chiles for the sauce. She always had an unopened package of dried corn masa at home.

First was the pork, which took the longest. She filled a pot full of pork broth, chiles, garlic, salt, and cumin, added the pork. Now she just had to let it simmer for three hours.

And then she waited.

The doorbell rang. Her Chihuahua ran to the front of the apartment, barking her head off.

“Diablita, ¡cállate!”

Mexico stopped the mixer and opened the door, pushing Diabla out of the way with her foot.

“Good afternoon, Maria,” said Lithuania. He held out a bouquet of red roses.

“You’re so sweet. Did you find my apartment alright?” said Mexico.

“I did. Oh, hello!”

Diabla panted and jumped up on Lithuania’s leg, wagging her tail and whining.

Mexico rolled her eyes. “Ignore her. She just craves—”

Lithuania had already bent down to give her pets. “I normally don’t like little dogs, but she’s so sweet. Hello, there—What’s your name?”

“Diabla.”

“You named your dog after Satan?” Lithuania exclaimed in horror.

“It’s a natural name for a Chihuahua. Come, let me show you the kitchen” said Mexico.

A black, hairless dog with upright ears on the couch stretched his legs and yawned.

“Wh-Is that a dog?”

Bonito looked up at Lithuania and then plopped his head back on the couch.

“Yes.”

“He…has no fur.”

“He’s a Xolo.”

“A…xolo…?”

“Xoloitzcuitli,” Mexico said proudly. “They’re my national dog.”

“I’ve never seen one of these before. Hello,” Lithuania adopted the same dopey tone he had with Diabla. “You’re a very interesting dog, aren’t you?” He scratched behind the dog’s ears. Bonito groaned and squinted his eyes in pleasure.

Mexico smiled softly.

“Well, I’ve just started the masa,” said Mexico.

“The…?”

“The dough.”

“I’d like to help,” said Lithuania. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Hm.” Mexico looked at the packages of dried corn husks. “You can start by cleaning those.”

“Do you have a…”

“The strainer is in the drawer under the oven.”

Lithuania got it out the drawer.

“And when I’m done with that?”

“It shouldn’t take you too long. You can shred the pork. I’m pretty sure it’s done. Just use any bowl on the counter for that. Keep some of the broth I’m going to need it for the masa.”

“Here you go,” Lithuania said, putting down a mug filled with the pork stock.

“Thank you.” She blended some of the stock into the

“Done!” exclaimed Mexico. “Thank, God, I can work on the sauce now. Masa can take hours.”

“Hours?” said Lithuania. “How long do these take to cook?”

“I put the pork in at noon.”

“Noon?” exclaimed Lithuania. “It’s three-thirty right now. I had no idea how much work you had to put into this. If I would have known—”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mexico waved away his words. “I’ve never had someone ask to make them before. Now for the chile…”

Lithuania’s eyes watered. “What are you cooking?”

Mexico looked at the dark red chile searing on the stove. “These are just poblano chiles.”

“They’re so strong.”

“Poblano are some of the gentlest chile!” she exclaimed.

“My cuisine isn’t spicy! You saw me at the restaurant yesterday. I could have died.”

“That wasn’t even hot!” Mexico pressed more of the blended chiles against the strainer, making the sauce as smooth as possible. “You’d die if I was filling these with habanero.”

“I don’t want to know what that is.”

Mexico kept herself from rolling her eyes, as she opened the kitchen window.

“Thank you,” said Lithuania. He looked down at the bowl full of shredded pork. “How many tamales would this make?”

“Around fifty.”

Lithuania sputtered. “Did you say fifty?”

“We’re not going through all this work to make twenty,” said Mexico.

“What’re we going to do with all the rest?”

“Freeze them, give them to the homeless, maybe I can ship some over to you in a cooler. I occasionally give some to America if I’m feeling generous.”

Mexico took the bowl of shredded pork and poured the red chile sauce onto the meat, blending them with her hands.

“Phew, finally.” Mexico wiped the sweat off her forehead. “Now we can start filling them.”

“Oh yes,” said Lithuania. “How can we do that?”

“I’ll make one as an example. You take a cornhusk, fill it with the masa like this—” Mexico took a spoonful of the dough and spread it against the corn husk. “—and then you fill it with meat.” She took a spoonful of meat and spread a dollop of it on the dough. “And you fold the husks like so, and we’re done.”

Lithuania nodded. “I can help you with that.”

“Join me,” she said.

Lithuania stood next to her and started preparing his own tamal. “I did one!” he exclaimed.

Mexico looked over his shoulder. “That is going to be a very tiny tamal.”

“Ah, I’m sorry.”

“No, no, it’s okay. See.” Mexico spread more masa onto Lithuania’s corn husk. “Don’t be afraid to make it bigger. It’ll cook fine.”

“Okay,” said Lithuania. “Thank you.”

They worked in silence for a little bit, occasionally Diabla would bark at something outside.

“Say, can I ask you something?” said Lithuania.

“Sure.”

“When I visited Yucatan and saw the Mayan pyramids, there were a number of serpent statues. What are they?”

“Snake motifs, specifically feathered serpents, were very popular with indigenous people before the Europeans came over,” Mexico explained.

“Really?” Lithuania’s eyes sparkled. “Before I converted to Catholicism, snakes were prominent in Lithuanian culture as well. I’ve always liked them.”

“Seriously?” said Mexico. “I thought Europeans hated snakes.”

“Christians hated snakes,” said Lithuania, folding another corn husk and beginning to make another tamal. “The Baltic people used to worship them. We held them in very high regard.”

“I’m neutral towards them. My mother used to worship them. I think. You two would get along.” Mexico shook her head. “I don’t remember her much.”

“You remember your mother? Who was she?”

“Azteca.”

“Like the Aztec Empire?”

“Yes, that was her.”

“Where is she now?”

“Oh, Spain killed her.”

“O-Oh.”

He looked at his bowl. “I’m out of meat,” he said suddenly.

“I am too,” she said, thankful for the change in conversation. “There’s plenty of masa left. We can just make a few naked ones.”

“How long do these take to cook?”

“Water’s boiling,” Mexico said, looking at the steam rising from the tamalero. “I would say we steam them for about a half-hour per batch. We can start putting some of them in.”

“How many can the strainer fit?” asked Lithuania.

“About fifty.”

“That’s huge.”

“Let’s put them all in, and see how much it really fits.”

Mexico and Lithuania washed their hands and painstakingly placed all fifty-two tamales inside the steamer.

“It’s over now.” Mexico put the lid on the tamalero. “Would you like a beer?”

“Would I ever,” said Lithuania. “What kind do you have?”

Mexico opened her fridge. “How about a Noche Buena?”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“It’s typically sold around Christmas. It’s a dark beer.”

“I’ll take one.”

Mexico pulled one out for him and her. “We can relax on the couch.”

“Salud.”

“Salud.”

They clinked their bottles. “You’re catching onto Spanish,” said Mexico.

“Just a little bit.”

Diabla crawled into Lithuania’s lap. “Hey, there,” he said softly.

“Now I have a question for you,” said Mexico. “How did you end up being good friends with America? I don’t remember there being a large Lithuanian population in the US.”

“After World War I and…a few developments with my neighbors, I briefly moved in with him to work. He offered his home to me. His kindness meant so much to me.”

“Oh.” Mexico’s mouth went dry. “That’s a bit different than my experience.” It made her feel strangely distant from Lithuania.

Lithuania’s eyes softened. “I…I understand,” he said.

Mexico gave him a skeptical look.

“Considering my…history with a large neighbor of mine, I’ve heard rhetoric calling us paranoid whenever we express concern. Us, meaning me, Latvia, and Estonia,” Lithuania said. “They just don’t understand.”

Mexico knew very little about Lithuanian history. The most she had ever heard about the country was in the 90s. “No, they don’t.”

The heat from the kitchen filled the room.

“You’re one of the most sincere Europeans I’ve ever met,” Mexico blurted out.

“I…I’m what?”

“That was a stupid thing to say,” she said suddenly. “S-Sorry.” Oh, she was an idiot.

“I know that they’re not done yet, but I’ve had a wonderful time making the tamales, Maria,” Lithuania said. “I don’t know anything about Mexican culture, but I love learning about it.”

Mexico’s heart skipped a beat.

“I think we’re both drunk,” said Mexico.

“I’m not,” said Lithuania. “Are you?”

Mexico shook her head. “No. I haven’t even finished the beer.”

Lithuania stroked Diabla’s back. “Are…Are the tamales done yet?”

“No…”

Mexico drank more of the beer.

“Do you want to check on them?” asked Lithuania.

“No…” she replied.

“What do you want to do?” “Can I kiss you?”

Lithuania set down his beer bottle and looked pensively at it.

He turned to her. “Yes.”

Mexico put a hand on his rough face and kissed him. His lips were smooth and tasted slightly of the beer, but also something else—rye and grass and everything that made Lithuania that Mexico knew so little about.

They pulled apart. Diabla stepped off Lithuania’s lap with a growl. Bonito grunted and jumped off the couch.

“I think we offended the dogs,” Lithuania said. His hand was on her arm now.

“Oh no we didn’t! I think the tamales are done now!” said Mexico, suddenly getting up. “Want to try some?” She held out her hand.

“I’d love to,” Lithuania said and took it.

[renecdote]

For the sappy prompt list, can I get SuperBat with "You make me so happy" because I need some sappy in my life

I know these are sappy prompts but this got even sappier than planned because Bruce is a giant sap.

It’s Sunday, which means Bruce’s alarm wakes him up at nine-thirty instead of letting him sleep through noon and well into the afternoon. He reaches out with his eyes still closed and drags his phone under the covers with him to jab at the screen until the blaring stops. His alarm is supposed to be a gentle jangling, a pleasant melody to wake up to. That was anything but pleasant. He makes a note to find out which of his children changed it to that obnoxious horn sound and put them on Cave cleaning duty.

There’s a sound like claws scratching on a tin roof and then sunlight fills the room. It burns at Bruce’s eyelids even through the comforter and he groans. He was out late last night, sunrise peeking over the horizon before he fell into bed beside his partner, and he wants nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. But it’s Sunday, so he opens his eyes and sits up instead.

“Rise and shine,” Clark says with way too much exuberance. He’s already dressed, looking annoyingly perfect and well-rested. Bruce takes in his smiling face and pressed shirt in less than a second then zeroes in on the mug in his hand.

Bruce grunts his response because “fuck off it’s too early” is too many words and reaches for the coffee. He cradles it close to his chest and breathes in the heavenly aroma. The first sip feels like it jumpstarts the electrons in his brain instantly. 

“You make me so happy,” he mumbles.

Clark laughs. “Me or the coffee?”

Bruce gives him a flat look from beneath lowered brows. Obviously the coffee.

But maybe Clark as well. If Bruce is feeling sappy. It’s too early for sap though so he just grunts again.

Clark shakes his head, still smiling. He puts one knee on the edge of the bed and leans over to kiss Bruce. His lips are soft and taste like rooibos tea. Bruce wrinkles his nose. Clark presses a quick kiss to that too before standing back.

“C’mon,” he says, holding out a hand to pull Bruce out of bed,  “before your kids wonder why it’s taking me so long to wake you up.”

“Because I hate mornings,” Bruce grumbles as he stands up. He shoves his feet in a pair of slippers and reaches for his dressing gown, letting Clark help him put it on so he doesn’t have to put down his coffee mug.

“Yes, I know. Creature of the night and all that.”

“You only like morning because you’re a solar battery.”

Clark’s laughter rings through the Manor’s halls. It makes something in Bruce’s chest coil into a ball of warmth. His home filled with the sound of his partner’s joy, it feels right. Right like the way it does when he stands at the bottom of the stairs to yell “Alfred says dinner is ready!” and hears several sets of footsteps thundering toward him. He finds his lips edging up into a small smile. 

The smile is still there when they enter the dining room and find the rest of the family milling around the table waiting for them. It even grows bigger, hidden behind his mug as he takes another sip, when he looks around at all his kids and sees them all safe and in one piece. 

“About time,” Jason says loudly. “We were beginning to think-“

Dick elbows his brother and smiles at Clark and Bruce. “Good morning, B,” he says. Echoes of other good mornings bounce around the room as Bruce sits down at the head of the table. He looks at his kids and Alfred and then finally Clark. Good morning? No. It’s a wonderful morning.

Even if it still morning.

[wildlyleftlight]

Home for the Holidays

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays ♫ ‘Cause no matter how far away you roam ♫ When you pine for the sunshine of a friendly gaze ♫ For the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home! ♫

Dick Grayson listens to the familiar, slow-flame drawl of Perry Como emitting from the sidewalk speakers inexpertly hidden along the salt-stippled avenue of shops. He drops from the curb without a hop to his step and shoves one of his gloveless hands into the front pocket of his jeans. It isn’t cold enough for him to see the huff of his breath on the air, but it is early enough in the morning that he wouldn’t be out here if not for the giant travel mug of coffee resolutely grasped in his other hand.

The Blüdhaven strip mall is safe and dead at this hour on a Tuesday, which lends a qualifying moroseness to the airing age-old Christmas melody. He hears the refrain chase him, tinnily, all the way to his car, and he fingers the cell phone in his pocket. He wonders about calling Babs, but even though she isn’t strictly out on the streets with them, she’s just as much in on the nightlife too, and it’d be a sin to wake her this early only for a maudlin earful.

Four days ago, he’d gotten into another fight with Bruce. Four days later, he can’t let it go. Because he – Dick Grayson – went and picked a fight with Bruce Wayne two weeks before actual Christmas just so that Bruce wouldn’t because Bruce always did. Dick has worn Batman’s cowl and Dick has filled Batman’s boots, but never before has he so badly misstepped into his father’s shoes.

Ever since his juvenile abdication from all things Bruce Wayne, and even though Bruce and he are more or less civil with each other now, the holidays have a way of stirring Dick’s mercurial temper to a melancholy cocktail of nostalgia and the bitter aftertaste of knowing he’d lost those formative years – those family traditions – completely independent of Bruce’s crimes of passion. There’s irony somewhere in that, he guesses, and a double-dose of it, but Dick is nothing if not sentimental. He has the tendency to chalk up the past to self-blame, whether or not it actually was Bruce who had fanned the fitful flames of Dick’s anger. Still, it had always been Robin’s duty to counterbalance the Batman, to be the yin to his yang and negate Batman’s darkness for him with a simpering buoyancy. So every time he’s stormed out just because of Bruce being Bruce, the fault lay indisputably with Dick. It has to.

By the time he arrives back at his apartment, Dick’s travel mug is empty and his mood is half-full. He disentangles himself from his scarf with quick tugs of his hand. The tightness around his throat does not yield.

“Sweet Jesus, Dickless,” he hears Jason say, “you have failed me for the last time.”

“What did I do now?” Dick asks very amiably, shoving away all pensive introspection as he enters his kitchen to find all three of his little brothers glued to their cell phones. There is still a prevailing stress in his eyes, a dejected slouch in the incline of his shoulders where they lean so he can peer over Jason’s head. Nothing is more important to him than his family, but lately he’s realizing more and more that his family isn’t all he wants; he wants for his family to want him right back. He looks past his brother’s large, scarred fingers that are frantically tapping away at Animal Crossing: Pocket Camp.

“You have no pears in your Market Box. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph Stalin– don’t you know that pears are the hardest to come by?”

“Sorry, Jaybird. I don’t play much anymore.” Dick tosses his jacket over the straight back of Jason’s – his – chair. “I’m tapped out; my loan is up to one hundred and fifty thousand Bells,” and, even as he says this, Dick pulls his phone from his pocket, logs into the game, and presses at the screen a few times. “I have seven pears. There you go. I put them up for twenty Bells, just for you.”

“–Acquired,” interjects Damian, with spectacular self-satisfaction, at the same time Jason goes, “–One hundred and fifty thousand Bells? How the hell– Dami, you fruit-thieving little shit,” he growls, in the same breath, “–did you get yourself in so steep?”

“I’m on, like, the fifth loan, I think. And it’s for one hundred and fifty thousand.”

“You mean you actually pay them off? What is wrong with you?”

“It’s a game about debt,” Tim peaceably inserts, without looking up. His fingers flit across his phone screen as deftly as they do his remote hacking device. “Paying off your loans is virtually the only thing you’re supposed to do, Jason.”

“No, it’s a game about making a freaking killer-sweet pad, with all the things. Did you get it, Dicky?”

“Those pears will be the building blocks of my empire, Todd.” Damian, again. Smugly, again.

“Fuck your empire. Apollo wants his pears. I will never get that zipper shirt,” mourns Jason, not quite sincerely enough to muster tears.

“Yeah, I got it,” Dick answers when he is finally allowed the chance to. He holds up the gift card. “But I’m still not sure why you see fit to get Bruce a Starbucks gift card for Christmas. Doesn’t it seem a little… I dunno… bourgeois?”

“Spoken like a true trust fund baby. Shut up,” Jason adds, shutting down the argument toward which he’s riling Dick. “And anyway, Batman is by the people, for the people.”

“I’m just saying. I-am-vengeance grappling to an LED marquee and paying for a Venti Mocha Frapp, with a gift card?”

“You don’t know Batman the way I do.” Well, that was true. Each of the Robins knew Batman differently from the others. “He loves that shit. Ask Alfred. They’re opening a Starbucks by the precinct and Bruce will flip his wig when he finds out.”

Dick shrugs neutrally, noncommittally, and allows Jason to steamroll over his shameful flare of jealousy. There is ice in his chest, scaling his clavicles, and he ignores the nagging familiarity of it just like he ignores the familiarity by which Jason speaks of Bruce. “Little D, the lady at Suncoast says that you can design your own PopSocket for Al. Through the website.”

“Hand me your laptop, Grayson,” demands Damian, without more than a second’s thought. “I will investigate.”

“Okay, but,” he warns, “if you need to use your own editor, I haven’t got Photoshop on here.”

“Tt.”

“I can get you Photoshop, Dick.”

“Because you’re a pirate, Timmy,” scoffs Jason, “and Dick is a trust fund b–”

“Or maybe, Jason, I’m not a trust fund baby and that’s why I don’t own Adobe anything,” Dick shoots back, using his full name now. He’s nettled by the tone being used on him, for a topic that is so sore with him. The ice bracketing his heart suddenly thaws into a puddling sob of frustration, which goes angrily suppressed. He knows how flammable his own temper is, which colors him all the more upset, enough to turn away from Jason so that he is facing and simultaneously avoiding Tim’s stare.

Tim sees how Dick’s eyes are flashing dichotomously – an electric blue set in a face schooled of any outward expression – and intervenes before Jason can bring up the point of that ubiquitous knife pressed between them: that at least Dick had actually gotten to live to his age of majority. “Did you pick up gift tags?”

Dick throws out a sideways glance, barely the formality of miffed scrutiny in the stillness of tundra. “Yes, I got gift tags. Because we’re all so hopelessly impaired–”

“Drake, your camper is cliché.”

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year. And I’m trying to complete all of the Christmas Event Challenges.”

“That’s all that’s inside it; Christmas crap,” pipes in Jason, “except for– what is that?”

“It’s a slipper rack.”

“Okay. Damian, I’m gonna have to go with you’re wrong on this one. Tim’s camper is so Tim.”

“This is card stock. Why would they stick stickers on card stock?” Tim gripes from where he’s meticulously, conspicuously peeling something off of the backing of the gift card.

“…” And Dick takes the few long moments of sibling banter for what they are: a breathing spell. He collects himself, cards his unruly black hair into tufts, and compartmentalizes.

When dealing with Jason Todd, taking anything personally was taking tinder to kindle. Jason knew Dick, and Dick knew better; it’d never been about himself. Maybe when he was younger he’d thought so, but the eldest had long since come to learn that Jason’s best defense was his best offense; barreling heart-first into things, to disarm or to destroy, because he’d grab at anything if it belonged to him – and his brothers, Jason finally ascertained, were his brothers. On less malevolent days of the week, not unlike ordinary sibling rivalry, Jason’s possessiveness usually manifested itself by way of teasing just this side of too-fierce. In sharper, more extenuated circumstances, he cut to the quick, navigating the veritable minefield of responsiveness and gut feeling and leaps before looks. In a civilian, Jason’s behavior was the very antithesis of vigilanteism. In a younger brother, it was arrested development. Which makes sense, because he’d died a child, and every time Dick is reminded of that it is harrowing pain, and it is thankfulness, softening the edges all around the insults Jason’s whetted to the hilt, that his brother is alive.

After a self-possessed sniff – in farewell to his pride, he convinces himself – Dick rests his palm on Tim and gives his bedhead a good tousle. In a smoothly paved voice, he asks, “‘You still workin’ out? Rerack?’”

Damian Wayne barks a laugh, and immediately Jason jumps on the bandwagon. “‘How’s it going, brosephine?’”

“‘We don’t always have to talk about training, you know. There’s plenty of other stuff goin’ on!’” Dick, quoting from their favorite, the jock type animal. Who happens to also be a bird named Jay.

“‘Like…um… You know… How ‘bout that weather?’” supplies Jason.

Dick dissolves into laughter. Gasps, “‘Did you know that just talking about your muscles can make them bigger and stronger?’”

“I hate you both.”

“‘Sue me! Rerack!’”

Dami enters the fray. “‘How’s it going, Drake? Training like a madwoman?’”

Jason stops short. “Demonbird, you play as a female character?”

Damian colors. “The videogame is not gender-specific with its dialogue.”

“Isn’t it?” Dick considers, curiously.

“How would you know?” challenges Jason – who does play as a female character – as he squares his broad shoulders and tilts his chair onto its back two legs.

“Jason, how do you not know what Damian’s character looks like,” Tim asks. Don’t you see it wandering all over your world?”

“We’re not friends.”

“We are so, Todd!” And the beat where Damian’s accent lands is given an irregular emphasis.

“Fine. How in blazes would I know if we’re friends? I cannot even begin to fathom the nickname you chose for yourself. And I have a bazillion names on my friends list, ninety percent of which is in Kanji.”

“…Is it?” Dick, still stumped and not following the tangent of conversation at all.

“‘Macmoo,’” Tim offers, taking a sip from his empty coffee mug.

“Alright, kiddies. Giddyap,” Jason says, and really pronounces it that way. He stretches himself to his full height, and then some – easily six feet four on his toes for the assuaging pop! of his back. His arms arch up and he towers over the fridge. “Go get dressed, Cretin,” he orders lovingly and gives his littlest brother, who barely comes up to the bottom of his chest, a fond forward shove toward the bathroom. “I’m starving to death.”

As his sibs depart the kitchen, Dick angles himself for a fast escape to the dishwasher, but Jason steps in front of him, purposefully overbearing. “Uh-uh. You too, Dicky.”

“Jay, I’m already good to go.” He indicates his faded jeans, his windbreaker that’s fallen from the chair during Jason’s see-saw sitting. “Besides,” Dick japes, lamely, “you don’t get to tell me what to do; I’m the big brother.”

Jason opens his mouth to say one thing, closes it, then reopens it to say something different. “You have a funny memory.” Jason sighs, puffs up his cheeks, then sighs again. “It’s reticulated.”

“Like it’s a giraffe’s ass?”

“Like it’s circling around the same platitudes over and over and getting shakier every time it has to.”

Dick falls silent, but he doesn’t withdraw his gaze from Jason. He looks measuringly at his brother for a time, beyond teal eyes and need-to-know bases, beyond, even, shared pasts and shared costumes and shared fathers. Rain was cobalt, like the grooves in his irises reflecting at least an alchemic silver lining if not his brother’s whole love.

Raking up the quiet, Jason speaks, “Trust fund baby? Seriously, that’s what got under your skin? Which of the implications was worse? That you were a snob or that you were a Wayne. Or weren’t a Wayne, as it goes.”

“Both! Neither. It was you wanting to hurt me because of it,” Dick snaps, instantly pissed off again. He ignores the tension line at one corner of his brother’s mouth, breaking it apart in his mind and scattering it to pieces. It’s only flesh, after all.

“Fuck you, Dick,” Jason says, in a low voice. His pulse is hammering. Common courtesy dictates he not raise his voice inside of doors and out of anger. “Not everybody has to love you all of the time. You didn’t for me. You aren’t for Bruce.”

“I do love Bruce.” He’s a father to me, as much as you are a brother to me, he doesn’t say.

“Then why don’t you tell him that and stop dragging me down the roads of your guilty conscience.”

For the gravid space of a breath, it really seems like Dick is going to lose his temper and explode into dynamite violence. Then he winces, as if going against a great backlash. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to take any of this out on you.”

“That’s exactly what I mean, Dick.” No moniker for his name this time. “Forget about walking on eggshells; you are an emotional rhino in a china shop.” Jason fumbles a cigarette to his lips. “Except the china shop is holiday hullabaloo.” He fishes for his lighter, mumbling something about how his skinny ninny brother is a rhino, and can he believe this.

“I just miss knowing that I can’t lose my family at even the best of times. Don’t smoke in here.”

And because Jason’s feeling generous, he obeys, but he doesn’t remove the stick from his mouth. He rolls it with his tongue, longingly, between the borders of his lips. Nicotine is his sunrise; his lips, the horizon.

It is then that Tim and Damian file back into the room.

“I thought we were going for brunch,” says Dick in a flat voice, nonplussed when Tim, wearing a tasteful burgundy button-up, makes his way to the coffee pot for a second mug. Damian is wearing black slacks that look as though they’d been recently pressed by Alfred.

“That, too,” Jason remarks, in an offhand way.  “But first you’re getting your Christmas present early, Dickface. Now go change. I’m cashing in on a few favors for this one.”

It isn’t until they are all four crammed into Jason’s beat-up ‘93 Mazda – with Dick wisely refraining from asking if it’s a stolen vehicle – that Jason spills the beans, reveals that they’re going to get their picture taken together, but doesn’t point out that Dick hasn’t hung a single portrait on a single wall of his apartment in any of the years that he’s lived there because Dick won’t hang anything if he can’t hang a picture of his family, and that’s why Jason’s taking them to the seedy studio of an even seedier acquaintance to get this done.

“You mean… You guys didn’t stay over just because Alfred cleared you out so he could wrap presents for under the tree?”

“Cripes no. Don’t ask stupid questions. You know how many rooms are in the Manor and you know how resourceful Alfred can be. We came because I rallied the troops.”

And Dick is moved to tears. His eyes are hot and runny, even after he adjusts the sticking vent in the dashboard. In the rearview mirror he watches Damian glaring balefully out of the window, but Dick knows by Damian’s acquiescent silence that the littlest bird isn’t actually bothered in the least. Dick sees Tim’s tired reflection but knows by the tall mug Tim’s holding that he doesn’t mind trying.

Dick scrubs his face with his knuckles. “You know, Jay, you don’t have to start a fight with me every time you want to make me feel better.” He raises both hands in a gesture of truce to ward off Jason’s dark scowl. “Though I appreciate the effort!”

“I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t always make it so hard for yourself. Self-saboteur. Quit flattering yourself. And anyway… It kinda wasn’t completely your fault. I was being… well… you-ish.”

Dick chuckles but wetly, in pieces over this whole being loved thing, and leans his head wordlessly against the passenger-side window.

After a few miles, he is distracted by a murmur coming from Jason – not so much by the sound as by the gravitas of the timbre applied to meet Dick halfway. It’s another Animal Crossing quote, of all things, and considering that Tim had formulated a calculation for the minimum mandatory animal conversations Jason was likely to play through in a given day, it isn’t at all surprising to Dick that Jason can recite verbatim:

“‘Everything you hold dear is under attack, and they’re going to do whatever they can to take it away.’” There is a considering lull – and Dick’s smile is lopsided and peaking – before Jason gives him a hard look. “‘It’s you…versus the ants.’”

Dick sits up straight. He reaches for a knob and clicks on the radio. It is Perry Como again, crooning the classic. Dick turns it up.

“Thank you, Little Wing.”

“Merry Christmas, Big Bird.”

Oh, there’s no place like home for the holidays ♫ ‘Cause no matter how far away you roam ♫ If you wanna be happy in a million ways ♫ For the holidays you can’t beat home sweet home! ♫

[ellawritesficssometimes]

Just a Tat Too Much (FrUK One-Shot)

Summary: FrUK ONE-SHOT- Arthur runs a tattoo parlour, one that he's very proud of. If only he didn't have to be outshined by a flamboyant, over-the-top flower shop across the street. Don't even get him started on the insufferable git who runs said shop. (Punk! Arthur). Fic Exchange with browsofglory :)))

Word Count: 6214

Let me enlighten you with a tale of just how shitty and ironic my life is. My college years had brought me unprecedented wonders; I excelled as one as the top students in my business school. Unfortunately, this endeavor had also entailed the acquirement of a rival, Francis.

Francis was a stuck-up Frenchman who I could only handle in small doses before having to suppress the urge to throttle him. He was arrogant, nosy, and knew just how to get under my nerves. He was bright and lively in both appearance and personality, whereas I preferred to wear dark colors and drink bitter tea to match my cold, 'soulless' heart. We were like day and night, if you want to get figurative with the descriptions.

For some reason, Francis found our differences to be part of some bigger picture. A picture where we would someday be lovers. I humored Francis in our final year of college, teasing him on occasion, but never really taking him seriously. In all honesty, I thought that I would never see him again after we had graduated.

I couldn't have been more wrong.

I branched off to open and run a brand-new tattoo parlour of my own. All was swell and business was booming until a certain effeminate fiend from the past conveniently decided to open a flower and chocolates shop across the street from me. For those of you who are slow on the uptake, that effeminate fiend was none other than Francis. He followed me everywhere in college, so it was really quite foolish to have believed that he wouldn't have done the same in the workplace.

My shop looked utterly ridiculous next to his. Where my parlour was dark, gothic and, full of blacks and shades of crimson, Francis's shop was a hue of rosy reds and pinks, smiles, and sunshine. The folks leaving his shop would gawk at my parlour in horror – admittedly, this was one of the most amusing parts of the job – taking in the skulls, crosses, bones, and demon decorative designs as if they just seen the gates of hell.

Nothing felt better to me than watching 'ordinary' people get flustered over my shop and those who worked in it. So what if we had more piercings, scars, and ink on our bodies? I've often been mistaken for a demon or Satanist, as absurd as that may seem. Perhaps the pentagram designs on my arms didn't help with that impression, but what can I say?

I didn't give a rat's arse about what people thought of me. I owned my business, and I would conduct it however I pleased to. I didn't have to worry about 'being unemployable' because of my tattoos; my work life revolved around them. The only people to please were my customers; certainly not a snide Frenchman who thought that he could woo me over to the 'vibrant side of life'.

I had taken the early morning shift today, which meant that I wouldn't be dealing with too many customers. Most people came to the parlour at night, especially when they were drunk. Who was I to refuse service? Money was money, and even if the tattoo a customer had chosen was ghastly and horrid, as long as they signed the release forms, my workers would happily adorn them with their mid-life existential crisis tramp-stamp. We did offer tattoo removal services, after all. One drunken mistake could easily be rectified with a fat wad of cash!

Oh, don't give me that pissy look. Yes, yes, I recognize that I'm a complete asshole. Get over it, darling. It's a brutal world out there. A gentleman's got to survive somehow.

Currently, I was sprawled over the glass front counter, face cupped by both hands. I began to bite off the black nail polish from my nails, knowing that I had a long day ahead of me. I looked outside the window, spotting a little girl peering inside my shop. I shed her with a cryptic grin, revealing the fake pair of fangs that my co-worker Vlad had insisted that we all wear. Apparently, it added to the 'aesthetic' of the parlour.

The little girl licked her strawberry ice cream cone, green eyes wide with curiosity. Curiosity quickly became terror when she spotted me grinning at her. "Hullo, dear," I mouthed, running my tongue over my lips.

"Big bruder!" the little girl gasped, dropping her ice cream cone on the pavement, the ribbon in her hair flying behind her as she ran away in the opposite direction. "There's a mean monster who wants to eat me!"

I chuckled to myself. "Monster, huh?" I mused. "Well, that's certainly a new one."

Pleased with causing childhood traumatization so early in the day, I went back to lounging lazily on the front counter. Usually by now Francis would have visited to tease and/or flirt with me. Just what was he up to today? Oh well, can't say that I cared all that much.

BRING!

I looked up, expecting to see said Frenchman, only to scowl when I realized that it was my half-brother, Alfred. The oaf looked absolutely miserable. His wheat-blond hair was sticking up more than usual, his blue eyes puffy and wide with fear. He reminded me of a cornered animal who had nowhere to go…the defeated expression on his face was concerning.

He was wearing a Hawaiian print blouse that was tucked into a hideous pair of quesadilla print leggings. Yes, you heard me correctly, leggings. The guzzler hat that he wore on his head made me roll my eyes so far back that I was nearly blinded.

The twat had gotten black-out drunk again.

"Artie! Artie!" Alfred wailed, running towards me, figurative tail hanging between his legs. "I fucked up, man! So bad! So fucking bad!"

I jumped a little when Alfred slammed his massive hands on the counter.

"Get your filthy hands off the glass!" I snapped. "I just cleaned it this morning. And you know how I don't like talking to people until I've had at least three cups of tea in me!"

Alfred gave me an incredulous look. "Dude! I know you have no soul, but could you at least pretend to be concerned for your little brother?!"

"Oh?" I hummed, crossing my arms. "And why should I be concerned? What could you have possibly done that's bad enough for you to abandon your pride and come crawling to me for advice?"

Alfred whimpered, looking like a vulnerable five-year-old child. "Okay, first, screw you. Who shit in your morning bowl of blood of the unborn? And second, I got drunk…"

"Congratulations, twat-face," I scoffed. "I think the quesadilla-themed leggings already made that obvious enough. What are you trying to do? Protest Trump's wall by ignorantly perpetuating harmful stereotypes? Oh, and very funny."

Alfred sighed, still too intoxicated to come up with a clever rebuttal. "Look, you jackass," he scowled. "I really do need your help."

"Whatever happened to 'I'm fine, Arthur. Stop worrying. I'm not going to party in college. Stop sticking your pasty finger up my butthole?'" I smirked.

"Okay, Christ!" Alfred cussed. "Do you always have to be right?"

"I wouldn't have to be right all the time if you hadn't grown up to become such an insufferable moron," I retorted, only to falter when Alfred leveled me with an unamused glare. "All right, all right. I think you've suffered enough. What happened? What did your drunken arse decide to do last night?"

Alfred pushed himself off the counter, turning his back to me. He pulled down his pants before I even had the chance to say anything. "Just look," Alfred whined.

I covered my eyes, nearly knocking over my mug of tea. "Fucking hell, Alfred!" I snarled. "You could have at least warned me!"

Alfred stifled a sob. "Just look at it, will ya? You can lecture me later."

This job didn't pay me enough for what I was about to see, or rather un-see.

Through the spaces of my fingers, I peaked at Alfred's bum. There on his right cheek, was a palm sized tattoo of an eagle.

"Did you see it yet?" Alfred asked, no doubt on the verge of bawling his eyes out from the shame of his drunken mistake.

"Just one moment," I bit my lip, suppressing a snicker. I pulled out my phone, snapped a quick picture, and saved it to drive. "All right, I've seen enough." Hello, new Christmas cards…

Alfred pulled up his pants and turned around. It was a good thing that no people were outside to witness this potential, not to mention unwanted, flash. "So," he said, his voice jittery and nervous. "Can you fix it?"

"Fix what?" I asked, despite knowing exactly what he meant.

"You know," Alfred whispered. "Remove my tattoo…?"

"Do you have a spare three grand lying around?"

"Arthur!" Alfred shouted.

"Fine," I relented. "You can come in tomorrow at 8. Lukas will be working then. You might need several laser treatments though…"

"Why can't you do it?" Alfred blushed.

I shook my head in disbelief. "I've seen your bum enough times when I changed your diapers. You've really pushed it this morning."

Alfred sighed, bowing his head. "I wanted freedom for this country, not an invitation for guys and gals to grab my ass," he muttered.

"Please," I grinned, hoping to cheer up the poor sap. Being sad didn't suit him. "The only time your butt is ever free is when you've had an unhealthy dose of Chipotle."

Alfred laughed, only to have his stomach growl, and loudly at that.

I shook my head in disbelief, opening the cash register to pull out a twenty. "Go get yourself some breakfast," I scolded, reaching over to ruffle his hair. "Mum isn't going to be very happy if she finds out that you've been skipping out on your classes again."

Alfred's expression brightened considerably. "Does this mean you won't tell her about the tattoo?"

"Of course not! She already doesn't approve of this parlour. The last thing I need is for something to justify her prejudice."

Alfred skirted around the counter and pulled me into a bone-crushing hug. "Thanks, Artie!" he exclaimed, bellowing into my ear loud enough to cause my piercings to rattle. "You're the best!"

"Sod off, and go brush your teeth!" I grunted, pushing Alfred's much taller and heavier person away. "I can still smell basic bimbo and tequila on your breath."

"HAHAHA!" Alfred cackled, blowing me a smug air kiss before opening the parlour's front door. "Nice one. And thanks a bunch. I'll remember this the next time you're looking for an excuse not to come to a family outing."

I smirked. "You know me so well."

Alfred said his goodbyes, slamming the door shut, despite how many times that I've told him not to do that.

With the parlour empty again, I took a relaxing lunch break, enjoying the silence save for the rock metal softly playing in the background.

The sound of voices outside the parlour a half hour later prompted me to eavesdrop – I looked down so that they wouldn't catch me staring. I had very little entertainment during the day. The only interaction I could count on was an infuriating visit from Francis. Uh, not that I wanted the frog to visit me…of course not!

I stand corrected. Francis's moronic friends often visited me too. Except usually they were with Francis, not alone like they were now.

"But I don't want to go in," Antonio whined. "He's rude, and I don't like him."

"Stop being such a little bitch, Toni," Gilbert deadpanned. "We're doing this for Franny. Sometimes you've got to take one for the squad. Even if it means dealing with a scary, grumpy old man hiding in a 20-something-year-old-body."

The hair on the back of my neck prickled.

Okay, ouch.

Us 'demons' had feelings too, believe it or not.

"Fine," Antonio pouted.

BRING!

Gilbert and Antonio strolled into the parlour, pathetically forcing grins on their faces.

Antonio's green eyes widened into saucers when he spotted the iron maiden prop lying on the wall to their right. His tanned cheeks flooded a faint pink as he nervously twirled the cross pendant wrapped around his neck. He was a very devoted Catholic.

Gilbert pulled up his sunglasses, nestling them in his chalk-white hair. "Arthur, mein sassy man. How goes business these days?" he asked, his crimson red eyes nervously flitting around the parlour.

"No business during the day, I'm afraid. Just nights," I mused. "Unless you two are interested in getting some tattoos?"

"Dios mio!" Antonio swore, jumping back like a spooked cat when he 'accidentally' poked and prodded at a mechanical skull prop. He hadn't been expecting it to shout: "The power of Satan tempts you!"

I pulled out a notebook, grabbed a pen, and crossed off a tally:

Antonio shits his pants for the 47th consecutive time upon touching that skull prop.

Poor bloke keeps forgetting about what it does.

While Antonio motioned the sign of the cross, Gilbert walked over to the front counter. "And what if we were interested in getting tattoos? What would you say to that?"

Gilbert leaned a friendly arm over the counter, causing me to pull back in disgust. I fancied my personal space, thank you very much. "I'd say you were lying," I answered, narrowing my eyes at the German in suspicion.

"On the contrary," Gilbert smirked. "I hardly have any brows as it is, being an albino and all. Perhaps I'm in need of something more…prominent…"

I caught Gilbert looking at my eyebrows. "Is that a crack at my eyebrows?" I leered, gritting my teeth.

"Nein, nein!" Gilbert waved his hands back and forth. "Your brows are glorious, truly," he winked.

I gave Gilbert a sour look; I didn't believe him at all.

Antonio yelped when Gilbert grabbed his arm and pulled him over to the counter. "Stick to the plan, and stop fucking around," Gilbert hissed through his teeth.

"You said we would get ice cream," Antonio whimpered, his mood reminding me of a puppy who had just been kicked in the stomach.

"Hmmph," I crossed my arms. These two were definitely up to something.

"So…" Gilbert drawled, his voice cracking awkwardly. "Those are some cool drawings you got there," he remarked, pointing behind the counter.

I glanced over my shoulder at the various drawings that were pinned up on a clothing line.

"Indeed," I hummed, winking at Antonio when I caught him childishly ogling at my gages. "Those are custom tattoos that clients draw up for us."

An awkward silence fell between the three of us.

Antonio's attention span was quick to fall elsewhere. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "That's a cool design!" He gestured towards a drawing of a crystalized rose.

Gilbert and Antonio exchanged suspicious glances.

Gilbert's cheeks spread into a shit-eating grin. "I never took you for a flower person?"

"I'm not," I huffed.

"But, you draw them on people? Surely you must like them?" Antonio asked.

"Ja, what's your favourite?" Gilbert chirped.

"I already told you, I'm not fond of flowers," I deadpanned.

Antonio pursed his lips. "How about chocolate? Your perfect idea of a date? Are you a top or bottom? Favourite sex pos-! Ay!"

Antonio yelped again when Gilbert elbowed him in the rib-cage. "Haven't you ever heard of being subtle?!" he spluttered.

"Oh, so that's what this is all about?" I rolled my eyes. "Well, you can tell that disgusting amphibian jerk friend of yours that if he truly wants to know the answers to those questions, then he can grow some balls and come here himself."

"So, you do like him!" Antonio exclaimed, beaming from cheek to cheek.

I picked up my favourite pen, which was styled as a decapitated finger. "I'm about two seconds away from shoving this down your happy-go-lucky throat," I warned. "Now, if you two imbeciles aren't here for tattoos, quit wasting my time and get the hell out!"

Antonio's eyes watered. "Okay," he sniffled.

Gilbert wrapped his arm around Antonio. "You monster!" he scolded. "You know how emotionally fragile he is. He doesn't like to be shouted at."

"Not my problem," I said, sticking up my nose.

"Lovi yells at me all the time," Antonio moped as Gilbert led him out of the parlour. "Why doesn't mi tomatito like me anymore? Am I not husband material?'"

Gilbert consolingly rubbed Antonio's arm. "Of course not. You're perfect husband material. Some people just don't appreciate how sweet and adorable you are."

I ignored Gilbert when he looked over his shoulder to glare at me.

When the front door shut, I drummed my nails against the counter, a devious smirk on my face.

I wonder what Francis would do next? After all, it was always good fun to make him flustered.

I had that pretty boy wrapped right around my finger.

…

I didn't have to wait long before Francis strolled into the parlour, his face smug with an infuriating smirk. He was wearing an open collar white blouse, loose denim capris, and his hair was kept in loose blond curls that fell to his shoulder. I felt a nerve in my temple twitch when I spotted the bouquet of roses that he had tucked under one of his hairy arms. He was like Gaston from Beauty in the Beast, save for the muscles, but was twice as grating and arrogant.

The heels of Francis's dress shoes clacked obnoxiously loud as he pranced over to the front counter. The smooth, purring tone of his voice did absolutely nothing for me. Nothing. "Would you like to explain to me why poor Antoine is sobbing? Or rather, explain to me what you did?"

My nostrils flared; the scent of Francis's rose perfume was suffocating. "He came here on his own free will. It's not my fault that he's a sensitive twit."

Francis rolled his eyes. "Oh, mon Dieu. That attitude is exactly why you're going to end up alone in life."

"The bouquet of flowers you're holding points otherwise," I huffed, lazily puffing out a few strands of fringe from my face.

Francis's expression lifted. "Does that mean you'll actually accept them this time?"

"Sure," I smirked, grabbing the bouquet of roses from him. "I'm always in need of something to burn. I can't have people finding out about the corpses we have stored in the back."

"Haha," Francis laughed dryly, placing on elbow on the counter. Shrewd blues eyes were met with an unforgiving forest of green. "Very funny. Let me guess, as soon as I leave, those will be going in the waste bin?"

"Hardly," I answered. "I forgot to get my mum something for Mother's Day. These should do just fine. Thanks, truly."

I was hoping that Francis would have given up and left by now.

But, oh no. No, no, no. Francis was just as stubborn as I was, remarkably.

Francis's eyes widened as we watched me tuck the bouquet in a cubby underneath the counter.

"You dyed your hair pink!" he blurted out.

I raised a heavy brow at him. "Why, thank you Captain Obvious. Oh, relax, it's just the tips."

"Wait!" I fumed. "Why am I telling you to relax?! It's my hair, I can do whatever the hell I want with it!"

I felt my face flush. Unfortunately, I wasn't wearing any concealer or foundation today.

Francis gasped, and in a blur of blond hair, he was suddenly behind the counter, looming over me. "Why?" he whimpered. "Why do you taint your natural beauty with these crude, unnatural colours?"

I grit my teeth. "I'll have you know that-! Oi! Geroff!"

Francis cupped my face with two warm hands, tilting it to the side as he shamelessly inspected me further. "Pink hair? Thick eyeliner? And is that a new brow piercing? Tsk! Tsk! And what is this?"

Francis used one hand to tug at the fish-net long sleeve shirt that I was wearing as a bottom layer.

I growled lowly under my breath when Francis let go of my face, instead opting to grab my right hand. "What am I, a bloody zoo animal?" I snapped. "Is it really that shocking that I have a different sense of style from you?"

Francis ignored me completely. "At least let me trim your nails. Hmmm. Or perhaps those unruly eyebrows of yours…"

"I'll h-have you know that I do in fact trim my eyebrows," I spluttered, feeling my face redden further. There was always something about Francis that caught me off guard and I hated it. I hated how warm his hands felt; how gentle his touch was; how he hummed softly under his breath when he was around me. He was a familiar face that intruded my personal space as if it were child's play.

But, for reasons inexplicable, I let him.

"All right, all right! That's enough groping out of you!" I huffed, shoving Francis's eager hands away from me.

Francis pouted, but gave me my space nonetheless by walking over to the other side of the counter, where he damn well belonged.

I sighed, knowing that he was expecting me to fill the gap in our conversation. Honestly, he could be such a child sometimes. "What did you come here for?"

Francis met my gaze, lips puckered in a stubborn grimace as he spoke. "You know why, Angleterre," he muttered. "I think we'd make a wonderful couple."

"That's why," he grinned, his expression suddenly becoming excited again. "I've come here to prove once and for all that I'm serious about you."

I bit my thumb, a nervous habit of mine. "Oh?" I asked, feeling as if I had just been winded. "And how are you going to do that?"

Damn him for making me feel this way. We've known each other for so long, and yet now he'd rendered me completely speechless. There was something about him today that was different, I could sense it. Behind the teasing look on his face, there was solid determination. And, to be perfectly honest, it frightened me terribly.

I didn't let many people this close into my life. Why Francis stuck around after all these years still boggled my mind. Being rude was a defensive mechanism. I hurt others before they could hurt me. Francis, however, was one of the few people who bit back with insults of his own. I never knew what to expect with this man. Perhaps that's why I was so afraid to let him in…

"I came here to get a tattoo!" Francis declared proudly.

I blinked several times, contemplating his words. Then, like the emotional porcupine that I was, I went on the offensive. I would call Francis out on his bluff. Surely, he didn't actually intend to get a tattoo…right?

"Oh God," I feigned shock. "You're not serious, are you?"

"Of course I am!" Francis chuckled, azure eyes burning holes into my own. "You're stubborn, and this is the only way to make you believe me."

"Fine," I relented, smirking as I bent down to grab a stack of freshly printed release forms. "What would you like? Do you have a drawing for me to imitate? Or perhaps, you'd like to pick a design from our catalogue?"

I licked my lips, waiting for Francis to cave. So far, he wasn't budging. I'd make sure to change that soon enough.

"How about I let you pick one for me?" Francis suggested, batting his lashes. "I'd like one on my forearm, just like you," he purred.

"I don't see how this is proving anything," I muttered. "Give me your arm."

Francis let me take his right arm. It took an immense effort on my part to keep my hands steady as I pushed up his sleeve.

"Pity," I remarked, running my fingers over the smooth skin of his forearm. "I can hardly imagine tainting such pearly white skin with permanent ink."

Francis wavered. "Well, as they say," he smiled weakly. "Lovers should be willing to dedicate their body and soul to their partner…"

"Did you just imply that I'm your partner?" I asked, biting the inside of my cheek. Bloody hell. The cringe was just too strong for me not to be embarrassed. How could he be so brash and open like this? If I wasn't so perturbed, I would have felt admiration for him…

"Surely, you'll have to go out with me after this, non?" Francis smiled, his eyes filled with strain.

I couldn't bear to look at him, otherwise my own bluff would be called out. Instead, I poked and prodded at his forearm with my nails, making sure to dig them in occasionally. "Those are some bold words," I smirked. "Perhaps we should match that with some even bolder tattoos. I know the perfect design for you!"

"Sign those forms, I just have to get the machine ready," I smiled, baring my fake fangs.

I plugged in the chord for the liner machine, the familiar hum of the monstrous contraption sounding like music to my ears. From the corner of my eye, I saw Francis fill out the release form, his entire body stiff and his face paler than milk.

Satisfied with his reaction, I turned around, determined to make him sissy out before it was too late. Francis was merely trying to impress me. I was going to make him crack. He cared too much about his appearance to willingly let something blemish his 'flawless' appearance. "Done already?" I asked.

Francis weakly nodded his head.

"Well then," I drawled. "Roll up your sleeve. I was thinking of giving you a skull and roses tattoo. Just like that one," I pointed to a drawing hung up on the wire behind me. "It's one of my favourites…"

"H-how wonderful! I'd love that!" Francis just about squeaked, his lips trembling. "It'll represent my 'dying' passion for you~"

Cheeky bastard.

We were both too prideful to give in to the other. At least, not yet anyway.

I grabbed Francis's arm again. "Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed. "Loosen up, will you?"

"D-desole," Francis apologized.

I shook Francis's rigid arm, but his tense muscles refused to uncoil themselves.

We both fell into a stubborn silence as I marked up his arm with a fine sharpie pen, sitting him down in a chair.

"You know," I mused. "It's not too late to change your mind."

"N-non!" Francis refused. "I want this…I want you…"

My face burned again. Thankfully, Francis was looking anywhere but me.

I grabbed the inking pen. "Last chance?" I taunted.

Silence.

I clicked a button, causing the pen to vibrate.

"I'm really doing it."

"O-Oui, I know."

"It's going to hurt…"

"Love demands pain sometimes…"

"Here it comes."

Francis swallowed heavily. "I can't wait."

I brought the vibrating pen closer and closer to his forearm, my eyes flickering towards Francis. The Frog was showing no signs of backing out. He had his eyes shut tight, his jaw clenched in nervous anticipation.

Damn it. This has gone too far.

I turned off the inking pen. "For fuck's sakes, Francis," I deadpanned, letting go of his arm. "Did you really think I'd force you into getting a tattoo that you didn't want? You bloody, stupid, stubborn bastard."

I despised how I had been the first one to give in.

Francis slowly opened his eyes, breathing for the first time in what must have been minutes. He muttered something in French, most likely a prayer of gratitude, before he fainted, his head lolling against the back of the chair.

"Fuck," I cursed.

I grabbed the bouquet of roses he had given me, sticking them under his nose. "Here Frenchie, Frenchie, Frenchie," I cooed. "Here's your daily fix of flamboyance and sunshine."

No response.

I quickly lost my patience.

"Come on you effeminate scoundrel, wake the fuck up already!"

I then took it upon myself to slap his cheek, scowling at the roughness of the stubble peppering his jawline.

Francis spluttered awake. "Q-quoi? What happened?!"

"You wanted to get a tattoo, I called out your bluff, and then you fainted," I muttered bitterly, crossing my arms.

Francis's cheeks became pink. "Oh," he murmured. "That sounds like something I would do."

Francis stood up, wobbling to the side.

I grabbed his arm, steadying him. For someone so thin, he sure did weigh a lot. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You need to sit down and wait until the dizzy spell passes. And lay off the wine and bread, will you? You're not going to stay thin forever," I grumbled.

Francis laughed, shrugging of my arm. "Silly Arthur, I'll be fine. My pride is what needs to be salvaged. Besides, wine and bread is good for the soul. I won't ever give up those luxuries, just like I won't ever give up on you."

I watched him in stunned silence as he staggered towards the front door. "I'll be back, Mr. Kirkland. You can count on it."

"You're never going to leave me alone, are you? Idiot."

Francis chuckled warmly, sending chills running up my spine. "Oui. Not once have you ever said that you didn't want me. It's only a matter of time before you realize that I'm the one you need."

"I-! Just wait a minute!"

BRING!

Francis left the parlour, leaving me speechless once again.

I cupped my flushed face, burying it in my hands. "Damn him. Fuck me," I cursed.

I paused, realizing the double meaning of what I had just said. "FUCK!"

…

Lukas came in a few hours later to take over my shift.

"Arthur?"

"Wot?!"

"Why is your face so red? Do you have a fever?"

"No, why do you ask? And what's that smug look on your face for?!"

Lukas sighed, an unreadable expression on his face. "Looks like that Frenchman finally got through to him," he muttered to himself.

"Wot was that?!"

"Nothing."

…

One week later…

I was beginning to grow worried. I hadn't seen Francis's ugly amphibian mug for close to a week now. Don't get me wrong; I enjoyed the quiet. But, I couldn't help but wonder: What if he did decide to give up on me? Had I really been that awful to him?

I couldn't explain it, but I felt empty. As a man of routine, I expected things to run according to schedule. So when they didn't, I felt…off.

As if the God's were testing me, seeing how long my patience would wane, a familiar face in an unfamiliar get-up walked into the parlour. My jaw dropped, and I burst out laughing.

Francis had 'gothed' up. His blond hair was replaced with a black wig, making his blue eyes appear to be sharper than before, despite the copious amounts of eyeliner and eyeshadow that covered his eyelids. His shallow, slender nose now had a ring embedded at the tip of it, with plenty of other lip piercings to complement it underneath. His face was much paler, so pale in fact that I suspected him of wearing face makeup. His lips were painted a matted black, tight and held in a firm 'stoic' grimace. For his outfit, he was wearing a graphic Metallica t-shirt, tight black skinny jeans, and matching combat boots.

"Dear lord!" I guffawed, wiping tears from my eyes. "Did you just come back from a ritual of sacrificing virgins?"

Francis's 'stoic' expression lifted, his painted lips curling into a predatory grin. "What, do you not like my outfit?"

"Of course not!" I wheezed, bending over to clutch my rib-cage. "You look bloody ridiculous."

Francis furrowed his brows. "I don't understand? I'm dressed just like you?"

And then he became angry.

"Mon dieu! You're impossible to please!" Francis snapped, raking his hand through his fake black locks. The piercings were also fake. "It took me several days to make myself look like…like this!"

I faltered. "No one asked you to do this for me."

"But I wanted to!" Francis threw his hands up into the air.

"Sorry to shit on your emo parade, but not everything can go your way, you know," I smirked.

"I dyed my hair for you!"

Oh bollocks.

My mouth parted open in shock. Francis's hair was the thing most dear to him. "Francis," I began, swallowing heavily. I was still stunned that he had taken things this far. And what for? To impress me? To win me over?

"Don't tell me that dye's permanent," I croaked, biting my lip. I felt downright awful.

Francis groaned, looking up at the ceiling. "Oui, it is."

I left the front counter, walking up to him. "You're such an idiot," I scoffed. "I don't even use real dye."

"You don't?" Francis asked.

"My Mum would disown me," I smiled weakly. "She's an uptight and traditional sort of person."

"Oh," Francis breathed, winded by his own shock. "I see…"

"Well fuck," I placed both hands on my hips. "What now? This is quite possibly the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for me."

Francis finally met my gaze, hope sparking in his eyes. "Really?"

"Yes, really," I huffed, thoroughly embarrassed to be admitting something so personal. "Now can we get back to the part where I lecture you for being an idiot?"

"Oui," Francis bowed his head.

In response, I reached over and placed my hand over the back of his head, ruffling his hair lightly.

"You looked better before," I said gruffly. "If I can't spell it out to you, then I'll just be outright with it. You don't have to change anything about yourself to please me. I wouldn't have kept you around if I hadn't liked you. Likewise, you don't have to prove anything to me. The fact that you stayed all this time is enough proof in itself."

"Arthur...?" Francis looked up at me finally.

I sighed. "Fine. I'll go on a date with you. I've finally succumbed to the realization that I'll never truly get rid of you."

Francis squealed, surprising me when he pulled me into a hug. "Oh, mon petit hedgehog!" he cooed. "So you do have a heart~!"

I awkwardly patted Francis's back, blushing furiously. "Yes, yes. I think that's already been established. Now if you could please remove yourself from my torso and let me breathe, that'd be very much appreciated."

Francis pulled away, straightening his posture as he beamed down at me.

"I'll go pick up a packet of hair dye from the drugstore. It's painful looking at you like this," I muttered.

Francis cupped my cheek, batting his mascara coated lashes. "As a true French, I'll do anything for love. Eh, perhaps I did go a bit overboard with this look though…"

I leaned into Francis's touch, sighing contently.

As an Englishman who worshipped clever wordplay, I couldn't dream of missing out on this opportunity to make a good pun. "Just a tat too much," I mused. "Now c'mere, you. Let's rub off that lipstick of yours."

Francis and I exchanged smirks before he bent down and kissed me.

Although the smudge of his lipstick on my lips wouldn't last, his unconditional love had forever marked a place in my cold, bitter heart.

Tattoos weren't the only things that could be permanent, after all.

~The End

A/N: Make sure to check out browsofglory’s one-shot. They’re an amazing author :D You can find their one-shot here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12592784/1/Arthur-and-Francis-Go-to-Couple-s-Therapy

Thanks again. Have a great day/ night :D