#Alfred's there for ninety five percent of everything and wants

[violent138]

Bruce one hundred percent randomly brags about his kids to Alfred, and it started kind of like:

Bruce, ridiculously proud: "Do you know that Dick can speak five languages now?"

Alfred, who was doing the Italian flashcards with Dick just yesterday: "That's very impressive, sir."

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Days to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

wanna start from chapter one or read more? here’s the table of contents!

welcome to bentley’s shop of irrational, dangerous, and stupid ideas! there’s only a sixty percent chance you’ll break both your legs :)

did you spy two chapters in a day? yes. yes you did.

part twenty-four

❝ THE GREAT ESCAPE ❞

SUNDAY — 5:44PM — DAY 99

BENTLEY VAGUELY REMEMBERED BEING WOKEN UP A MULTITUDE OF TIMES FOR MEDICINE, WATER, CRACKERS, AND THE LIKE. But he never really woke up until the golden evening sun was shining into his bedroom, and he was blissfully unaware of what time or day it was.

He felt better. His head wasn’t stuffed with cotton anymore. His stomach wasn’t hurting or spinning, but it was extremely, extremely empty. He wasn’t burning hot or freezing cold. He didn’t feel bad, per se, but he did feel like he could sleep for a couple thousand years and still wake up tired.

“Bentley,” 

He flinched at the voice that quickly let him know he wasn’t alone in the room. Bruce was sitting near the right side of his bed with a book in one hand. The chair he was sitting in hadn’t been there before, and had probably been dragged in from someone else’s room. There was an empty one on the other side. Bruce smiled, and it looked like he hadn’t slept in a while.

He sat up straighter and put the book on Bentley’s nightstand. “Hey there, bud. How are you feeling?”

Bentley took a mental note of his whole body. Overall, he… felt like he really needed a shower. With a power washer. “Okay. Tired. Gross.”

Bruce chuckled. “That’s good. Your fever broke a while ago, and as of now you’re at a normal temperature with no meds.”

Bentley nodded slightly. “What time is it?���

“Five-forty-five on Sunday,”

Oh crap. Last thing he remembered, Damian found him before school on Friday. So his brain and body had been MIA for two full days?

And if Friday was day ninety-seven, then…

It was day ninety-nine.

Bentley had never wanted to curse so bad.

“Dick stayed in here the whole time, I just sent him off to get some sleep about an hour ago. The others were in and out as well,” Bruce smiled lightly. “And don’t tell anyone I told you, but Damian asked if he could stay home from school the morning he found you. He pouted the whole drive when I said no.”

Bentley smiled a little, and so did Bruce. Although one of them was a bit faker than the other.

“I’ll go have Alfred make you some soup, I’m sure you’re hungry. Is there anything else you need while I’m up?”

A miracle, maybe?

“No, thank you,” Is what Bentley said. Bruce stood up and stretched. The child smiled at him reassuringly, and Bruce continued out of the room and clicked the door shut behind him with a distant you're welcome.

Bentley’s smile promptly went away.

What was he supposed to do now? His father would come to get him from the Manor tomorrow and probably run over a bunch of Waynes while he was at it. And then it would be back to life at the Estate. The closet. The dark. The constant fear.

He didn’t want the Waynes to hate him. He didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want anything to happen, and he didn’t want his father to win.

He just wanted everything to stop. 

He felt the familiar buzz and tingle of anxiety brewing inside of him, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t waste anymore time. He needed to do something, he needed to make a plan, because he, Bentley, was the only one that could change how this went.

Catch them off-guard, his father had said during training. Throw them off. Confuse them. Use your weaknesses as strengths.

Throw them off. What was the one thing his father had that he could use as leverage against the Waynes? They weren’t divided, that was Bentley’s abandoned job — they were a united family of superheroes. His father surely had to have a backup plan incase Bentley failed. But what was it? What was something that could get them all kneeling to him in one fatal blow?

Damian asked if he could stay home from school the morning he found you.

I did not think about how my behavior would affect you. I’m sorry.

Kid’s mine, go get your own.

While I do not require any help, your presence would be… agreeable.

Bruce ordered the one that matched Dick’s because he’s, like, your best friend.

I would never hate you. None of us would ever hate you.

You’re more important all of that, Bentley.

Oh, God.

It was him.

Bentley should have seen it before — he wasn’t just sent to live with the Wayne’s to do his father’s job. He was sent on purpose… so they’d care about him, so they’d call him one of their own, so his father could rip him away in exchange for whatever it was he wanted from the family. This had never been about Bentley being a good little sidekick. It had always been about manipulation, and Bentley was just the tool from the beginning. He’d been playing right into his father’s hand even while defying his orders.

Even though he failed, his father was going to use him to get to them.

Bentley snapped back into reality when the door opened, and Alfred came in with a little tray with soup, toast, and water. Bruce came in behind him.

He was going to be the reason the Waynes fell no matter what.

He chatted with Bruce as he ate, and his body was really happy for it the food, but subconsciously, he was a wreck. He was spiraling in every direction he could think of trying to fix this, to get around it, to avoid it, to ignore it, to stop it, anything. Every time it ended in chaos and hate, and every time it made his heart hurt worse than before.

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” He decided when he was finished with his food and hadn’t had any eel issues. Bruce’s blue eyes twinkled as he nodded.

“Alright. Would you like me to stay close by?”

“No, it’s okay,” Bentley replied, pulling the covers off of his legs, trying to make sure his hands weren’t shaking. “I’ll come downstairs when I’m done.”

“Okay. I’m sure the others will be excited to see you up and well. Just… don’t push yourself, okay? If you want to come down that’s great, but if you want to rest, you should,”

Bentley smiled and nodded and tried to make it not look strained.

Bruce stood up and retreated out of the room, clicking the door shut behind him for the second time, and Bentley’s smile fell. Ninety-nine days later and it was crunch-time, time for him to make some kind of game plan.

How do you foil a supervillain’s evil plot? How do you destroy their plans when you’re the tool they’re working with? When you’re being used as leverage?

Bentley had to imagine it. If someone was cutting the wires to an elevator with a pair of scissors, you’d just…

Take the tool away. Then they’re left with nothing. Bentley’s father couldn’t hold anything over the Wayne’s heads if he didn’t have anything to hold. If he didn’t have Bentley. 

His father could get to him in the manor. Bentley didn’t doubt that. Going back to Whittaker Estate wasn’t an option. He needed to be away from his father. Out of his reach, his sway, his influence, gone.

He needed… 

He needed to run away.

He’d been thinking about ways to get out of the Manor since day one, incase Damian ever decided he wanted to kill him. He already had a plan for this. 

Step One: Make It Seem Like He Was Home.

He stood up on his (somewhat wobbly) legs and half staggered into his bathroom. He looked pretty much normal in the mirror, despite being a bit pale and having a red rats nest instead of hair. His legs felt a bit like noodles after laying for two days straight. He flipped the shower on and turned it all the way to scalding hot so it would steam up the glass, and brushed his hair a bit. The shower water would keep them from investigating — at least for a few minutes.

Step Two: Escape the Manor

Which was way, way easier said than done. He left his bathroom and made sure to lock it before he closed it; so no one could walk in and see the empty shower unless they jimmied it first — it bought time. Everything bought him time. And he needed time. Because as soon as someone realized he was gone, the Gotham streets would crawling with vigilantes on the lookout for a certain little redhead.

He walked over to the left window of the two that straddled his bed. At the bottom of the two story fall was a bush — the other window had nothing but grass. There was a screen but it didn’t seem like it would be very hard to break through.

He knew the Waynes weren’t stupid. They had security measures, but he didn’t know when they were on or off. The moment he opened a window it could set off an alarm, or notify Bruce directly, which would be disastrous. But he’d still have time before they figured out what room it was in. Unless it told them that, too — then he was kind of screwed.

He needed a way to close the window from the outside so it wouldn’t be wide open when they came to check on him, which posed a problem. All that sat outside the window was a two story fall. There wasn’t exactly a Bentley sized close-the-window-behind-you balcony for him to use. He’d come back to that later.

For now, he changed into a hoodie, jeans, and a big jacket, and locked his bedroom door just for good measure. To give himself more time.

Maybe if he could hold onto the windowsill while he jumped out, it would fall closed. Or if he could find a way to tie something on it, he could close it from the outside. Or he could attempt a Dick Grayson-class circus act and balance on the lip of the window and close it with his nose or something. God, this was so complicated. How did anyone ever sneak out of a house?

He’d already chewed through too much precious time. It was inevitable that someone would check on him in the next fifteen or twenty minutes. He zipped up Jason’s old red jacket and walked over to the window.

He was on the right side of the Manor. To get to the front, he had to go right when he got outside. Then across the extensive grounds and over the massive gate, all without getting seen by any ten or eleven detective inhabitants of the house. Or getting barked at by a dog. Easy peasy.

The windowsill did have a handle, though. A little hole for your fingers, to make it easy to pull down. Maybe his whole tie something to it idea wasn’t so terrible after all.

He’s got this.

He shook hands out by his sides. The more time he wasted, the less he had before someone realized he was gone, the less distance he could cover before they started looking.

He quietly shuffled to his wardrobe and pulled the bottom drawer open, which was full of shoes — all tennis shoes and one pair of rain boots. Old and new ones that had appeared. He grabbed all of the tennis shoes, one by one, and started jerking the laces out.

That took him five minutes. He anxiously watched the clock as he started tying them together, end to end, to make one, massive shoelace. That took him about five minutes, too. 

Then he tested each of the knots by jerking on each one. They seemed to hold, at least enough to close an open window.

With heavy breaths and a small anxious shake to his hands, he tied it to the handle of the window with a double knot. Then turned it into a triple knot. Than a quadruple knot.

Time was ticking, almost fifteen minutes had been used since Bruce left.

Bentley sighed heavily and reached up toward the window latches. And he flicked them, suddenly and quickly like ripping a bandaid off, and waited. Nothing happened. 

He took a deep breath, steadied his hands, asked himself if he really wanted to do it or if he just wanted to take a shower.

He needed to do it. For them.

He slid the window open, and 6:34pm marked the minute Bruce Wayne may have received a security breach text.

Bentley kicked it into high-gear, assuming that, in the worst case scenario, he had about five minutes to get his butt out the window before someone came knocking. Probably… a minute or two of buffer time for them to pick the doors he locked. Or less. They were detectives.

He shook his head to clear his brain and focused on the task at hand — going out a two story window without breaking any bones. He pressed his hands against the screen and the panel popped out, falling into the bushes below.

He swung his legs over the windowsill and dropped the rope of shoelaces out the window. It stopped about two feet from the ground, but that was fine, he could reach it. If he didn’t break his legs.

What was the best way to land a fall from a second story window? Obviously not his head. Probably not his back. Feet it was, then.

Time was ticking, so he held his breath…

And pushed himself out of the window.

For a split second, all he felt was air, and then he hit the ground. He tried his best to land in some semblance of a crouch, but the impact shot pain through both of his ankles and he had to bite his tongue to stop from making a noise.

Two minutes gone.

He pushed himself onto his feet with a pained wince and glanced around. No one seemed to be outside, at least on this side of the house, and the dogs weren’t out. The sky was growing dimmer and the sun would be setting soon. He needed to be long gone by then.

He grabbed the shoelace rope and jerked on it a few times to no avail. Then he kept jerking on it and kept jerking on it with growing desperation until he was practically using all his body weight, and the window shut with a loud bang.

Success. Even though it didn’t take a Sherlock-level detective to see a long rope of shoelaces hanging from the side of the manor, they’d be hard to see from the inside. At least for a moment.

So, ignoring the dull pain in his ankles, he pushed himself toward the front of the manor, sticking close to the walls and ducking under windows. 

Oh my God, he was actually, really doing this right now.

He could see the massive gate. He could see the street beyond. If he could just get on the other side, he’d be home free.

No one was in the front yard. The cars were parked but none were inhabited. The dogs weren’t out. The fading sunlight gave him a slightly better chance of not being seen.

So he sucked it up, took a breath, and ran. Like his life depended on it. Like the Wayne’s lives depended on it, because they did.

He thudded to a stop when he made it to the gate and realized he was too small to climb it. Panic shot through him like a poison arrow, because he was standing right in front if the manor, where anyone could see him.

What the heck was he supposed to do now?

Just get over it, just get out.

He stuck his arm between two of the metal bars, then his head. Than a leg. Then he pushed with as much force as he could to get the rest of him through, and the thudded on the pavement. 

On the other side of the gate.

Time was ticking. No, it was gone. He knew the route to the inner city of Gotham good enough, he’d seen it over and over in the car.

So, to save the Waynes, his friends, his new family…

He stood up, brushed himself off, and started running.

—

Dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💛

—

tag list!

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[mandelene]

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

You’ve got it! 💕  Thanks for the ask!

Someone asked me to write asthmatic Matthew in the ER a while ago, and I didn’t do it, but here it is now. 😂 I hope it's not total trash.

Sweet Normalcy

Word Count: 1555

Chest pain, the dull aching kind that flares up every time he inhales, that’s all he feels. Keeping his eyes open takes a great deal of effort, but the constant hissing flow of nebulized albuterol being delivered through the mask on his face makes it hard to get any sleep. Maintaining a train of thought for longer than fifteen seconds is also a sudden challenge. When he rolls his head to the right and looks up at the monitor behind him, he sees his heart rate is in the 140s and his oxygen saturation is at ninety-five percent on albuterol and oxygen. That’s not normal for him. None of this is normal. He can’t remember the last time things got this out of control.

“Matthew? Any better, love?” Dad asks him from the chair to his left. He’s been sitting there for hours now, continuously keeping vigilant watch.

It’s a busy night in the emergency department, and it feels a bit like he’s in a bad fever dream. The doctor checking in on him introduced herself earlier, but he can’t recall her name. An alarm goes off every few minutes from someone’s monitor, and it takes him longer than it should to recognize that it’s his monitor making that noise and alerting his nurse to keep coming over to assess him due to his seesawing oxygen saturation and heart rate.

Matthew’s not even sure what time it is anymore. He barely remembers anything. Every hour or so, he will doze off into a fitful half-sleep for twenty minutes or so before waking again and feeling disoriented. A nurse could tell him he’s been here for a week, and he’d believe them.

“Matthew? I asked if you’re feeling any better?” Dad asks again, leaning forward in his seat to grab his clammy left hand and squeeze it gently.

“A little,” Matthew lies, for his father’s sake. He wonders where Alfred and Papa are. They were here earlier, he’s pretty sure.

“I can tell when you’re not being truthful,” Dad sighs, squeezing his hand harder. “You’re not improving. You need to be admitted. This is ridiculous. You should have been admitted hours ago.”

Matthew hates seeing him stressed like this, but he also knows there’s nothing he can do about it at the moment. He feels himself slipping into momentary sleep again, and his eyes flutter shut. He wants to go home. Wants to be in his bed…Is it morning yet?

“Sixteen-year-old with a history of asthma…Patient accompanied by his father. Patient began oral corticosteroid treatment two days ago at home after experiencing wheezing, chest tightness, and coughing that was not fully improving with usual rescue medications…”

They’re talking about him—Matthew realizes that much, at least. He opens his glazed eyes and sees a new doctor approaching him. His ID badge says he’s a critical care doctor. Matthew’s not sure what the difference is between him and the other doctor he saw earlier, but he honestly can’t be bothered to care. He wants to sleep. Desperately. And he wants the chest pain to stop.

“Matthew, buddy?” the doctor says, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He doesn’t want to breathe anymore. His chest hurts too much, and speaking would require taking another agonizing breath.

"Mmmrgh" is all he can manage.

“He’s been less and less responsive,” Dad supplies from the other side of the room, and Matthew can hear the nervousness in his voice, which is unsettling. Dad rarely ever shows how anxious he is when someone’s sick. “I can’t get him to talk to me in full sentences anymore—just phrases.”

The doctor carefully sits him up, and Matthew feels his whole body shake. He rests his elbows against the stretcher to brace himself. A cold stethoscope touches his back, and he shivers.

“He’s still not moving air. He needs to be brought upstairs to intensive care to be monitored. We’ll continue IV steroid treatment and continuous albuterol. If he’s still like this, we can consider non-invasive ventilation and take it from there. Our main priority is to protect his airway.” 

Dad says something, but Matthew doesn’t hear it over the noise of the nebulizer. He just knows he’s going to be moved soon and the treatment is going to become more serious now. If he weren’t so tired, he might be scared.

The doctor leaves, and Dad goes back to holding Matthew’s hand. “It’s going to be all right, love. You’ll receive better care soon and hopefully, you’ll start to feel better,” Dad tells him before using his other hand to pet his head. “Try to rest. I’ll be right here, and I won’t let anything happen to you, understand?” 

Matthew nods. His eyes do close again, and he does get some brief rest. The next time he’s aware of his surroundings and wakes up, he’s already in the ICU, which means he slept through his transport. The respiratory therapist is setting him up on a BiPAP machine, and once it’s on, it makes his chest hurt even more, which he didn’t think was possible. He grits his teeth against the pain and tries not to make a fuss about it—it would just make Dad worry even more. The air being forced into his lungs is welcome yet excruciating at the same time.

But he doesn’t have to say anything for Dad to know he’s suffering. It’s written all over his face. “I know, poppet. It’s just temporary. It should help.” 

It’s so exhausting that he falls asleep again without even needing to think about it. Again, he has no idea how much time passes until he sees the sun shining through the windows of the hospital, indicating that it’s finally morning. The BiPAP mask squeezing his face gets replaced with a regular oxygen mask again, and it occurs to him that his chest feels much lighter and his head is clearer. The worst is over. The air in his lungs feels crisp and refreshing...Almost sweet, even. 

“How are you feeling?” Dad asks for the millionth time, still perched next to him. 

“Better…For real this time.” 

Dad hasn’t slept, of course. He never sleeps in such situations. He was likely watching him all night and conversing with his care team. “Good. You gave us all quite a scare.” 

“Sorry.”

“Oh, no, it’s not your fault, love. Not at all…Do you think you’re feeling well enough to have some breakfast?” 

“Yeah.” 

Dad gives him a relieved smile and then goes off to request a breakfast tray for him. It gets brought up within half an hour, and even though Matthew feels a bit nauseous from the steroids in his system, he knows he needs to eat to gain some energy back.

He’s given some pancakes, a fruit cup, and orange juice. He decides to make a move for the orange juice first because his mouth feels incredibly dry and gross. He picks up the carton and that’s when he notices just how shaky he still is. His hands are trembling violently from all of the bronchodilators in his system.

Dad quickly takes the carton from him, sticks a straw into it, and then brings it back up to Matthew’s lips. “Here, poppet, I’ll hold it for you.” 

“…I can do it.” 

“You’ll spill it. Don’t be stubborn.”

It doesn’t feel great to have poorer motor skills than a toddler, but Matthew sips some juice through the straw anyway, allowing himself to be fed because he doesn’t have a choice. He finishes the entire carton, one pancake, and half of the fruit cup before his stomach protests. Dad doesn’t seem too happy about him not finishing the meal, but he doesn’t push it either. 

And just as he’s finishing up, he finds out Alfred and Papa are outside of the unit, waiting to be allowed in. He’s only permitted to have two visitors at a time, so Dad leaves to take a quick trip home to eat and shower while Alfred and Papa take watch next. 

“Dude, you’re alive! Thank God, man. No offense, but you were looking really rough and out-of-it yesterday,” Alfred exclaims upon arrival, bright-eyed and full of pep as always. “It’s good to see you’re looking more like yourself now.”

“We’re so relieved, mon chou. Your father said you may be able to come home as soon as the day after tomorrow.” 

“I hope so…Sorry for making everyone worry.” 

Alfred throws his hands up in the air and shakes his head dramatically. “I have to teach you everything, don’t I, Mattie? You’re not supposed to apologize for being sick. You’re supposed to milk it for all its worth and make everyone feel bad for you and buy you get well soon gifts. Tell Dad when he comes back that you wanna play the new Pokemon Snap on the Switch.” 

“That’s what you want to play, Alfred.” 

“Yeah, but we can share it, right?” 

“Alfred, your brother is seriously ill, and all you’re thinking about are video games again! Where did your father and I go wrong? You could show some sympathy!” Papa scolds, pinching the bridge of his nose in aggravation.

“It was a joke! Kinda…Obviously, I love ya, Matt! I was really worried, too!” 

And he has never craved normalcy as much as he does now. 

Yup. Things are already going back to normal.

[sohotthateveryonedied]

Slipping Through My Fingers

Read here on AO3!

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

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

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

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

[viking-raider]

The Bat’s Sister *Fic Request*

Summary: You’re Bruce Wayne’s little sister, and after meeting at a Charity Gala, you and Clark Kent kept running into each other. So much so, that the pair of you fall in love, much to Bruce’s annoyance and attempts to stop it. But, both Clark and Bruce would do anything to keep you safe.

Pairing: Clark Kent/Reader

Word Count: 14,274

Rating: Superman/Batman AU, Fluff, Violence, overprotective superheros

Inspiration: Request by @jessevans​ (x)

Author’s Note: This is my first Clark Kent/DC story! I had a lot of fun writing it too!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans​ @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things​, @ohjules​, @mary-ann84​, @omgkatinka​, @hm-fck​, @the-freak-cassie-131​, @heelsamizayn​, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4​, @michelehansel, @katiebriggs004-blog​

Clark first met you at one of Bruce's Charity Galas. He was there to write an article on the event for the Daily Planet, when he noticed Bruce pull you aside into a corner as you entered the venue, handing you a glass of champagne. Clark let the rumble of the hundred plus people in the room around him fade away and honed in on the conversation between the two of you.

“You're late, y/n.” Bruce told you in a concerned voice, resting a hand on your shoulder. “I thought...”

“Bruce, just because someone is running late, doesn't always mean something happened to them.” You sighed, rolling your eyes at your older brother. “You know what the traffic from Metropolis is like at this hour trying to get into Gotham. Especially, when the great and mighty Bruce Wayne is throwing the gala of the century.”

“If you'd called me, I could have gotten you a helicopter in.”

“Dear God, Bruce.” You laughed, sipping your champagne.

“What's the point of being so rich, if you don't enjoy it?” Bruce teased you, grinning.

“Being rich is your thing, Ru.” You chuckled, shaking your head. “I am more than content on living in my flat in Central Metropolis, and doing my simple nine to five job.”

“A flat the our inheritance pays for, and a nine to five that's at Wayne Biotech.” Bruce rolled his eyes back.

“I pay my own bills,” You defended yourself. “Our inheritance only pays for the rent and whatnot. As for Biotech, I enjoy it, helping the world invent and discover new vaccines and medical treatments. You know as well as I do, I can't sit around a multi-million dollar mansion, while servants take care of literally every whim and fantasy I may or may not have. I'd lose my mind.” You sighed, setting your glass down on the table behind you. “It's not like I can run around the city in a rubber suit.”

Bruce narrowed his eyes at you, you'd been the first person he told about being Batman. “You're the only family I have left, y/n. I don't want to lose you, like we lost our parents.” He told you, taking your hand in his. “You know, that's the main reason I do, what I do at night.”

“I know it is, Bruce.” You told him, resting your hand on his cheek. “But, I can take care of myself as well, you know.”

“Mr. Wayne.” Clark beamed, stepping up to you and your brother. “Ma'am.” He smiled, sweetly at you.

“Mr. Kent.” Bruce replied, turning to the reporter. “How can I help you?”

You narrowed your eyes and tilted your head at your brother, seeing his shoulders tense as he looked up at Clark, giving you the odd feeling that the two knew each other.

“I'm well.” Clark replied, his smile smug, but familiar. “It's an amazing party you have going on here.” He said, gesturing around to the rest of the room, like he was reminding him that there was more than just the three of you in the room. “Can I get a statement about it?” He asked, pulling out a pen and small notepad.

Bruce opened his mouth to say something, but something else caught his attention and he patted Clark on the shoulder. “You know what, I forgot to check on something downstairs. But, I'm sure my sister, y/n, here would gladly give you a statement about it. It was her idea to throw this gala to raise money for a wonderful cause.” He grinned at you, chuckling seeing the utter look of horror in your face as he walked away.

“Oh, I hate him.” You sighed, picking your glass back up and downing it.

“Would you like that to be your official statement?” Clark asked, grinning amused.

“I wish.” You scoffed, shaking your head. “But, no. Of course not.”

“So, tell me, what it is that the gala is about?” He asked, poising himself to write down your answer.

“Um,” You glanced around the room, hugely uncomfortable about being in the spot light, you never liked being the center of attention.

Clark watched and listened to your heart beat become erratic with panic and tucked his pen back into his front pocket and his notebook in his back pocket. He turned around as a waiter walked behind him and picked up two glasses of wine, holding one out to you. “How about we go somewhere quieter, that way you're more comfortable answering any questions?” He suggested, your fingers brushing as you took the glass from him.

You took a deep breath and a gulp of the wine. “Sure.” You nodded, looking around and then motioned for him to follow you out of the main room of the event and down the hall to one of the empty offices. “Ask your questions, Mr. Kent.” You told him, sitting down across from him.

“Right.” He smiled at you, pulling out his pen and pad again, setting it on the desk next to him. “You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“Little sister, yes.” You nodded, turning your wine glass between your hands. “I was two, when our parents were killed.”

“How old was Bruce?” Clark asked, scribbling in his pad.

“Sixteen.” You replied, shifting in your seat, neither you or Bruce liked talking about the death of your parents.

“I'm guessing, he took care of you, after that?” He inquired, tilting his head at you and pushing his glasses back up his nose.

“Sorta.” You shrugged, taking another gulp of wine. “Between him, our butler, Alfred, and nannies. All rather lonely, really. But, you have to make the best out of what life gives you.”

“And being a Wayne, that's pretty much everything you want, since your family as huge chunk of the world's wealth.” Clark chuckled, smiling at you, but his smile faded see you didn't find it funny. “I'm sorry, that...what is this gala about?” he asked, shaking his head and changing the subject.

“The Gala is to raise awareness about the hunger crisis in third world countries.” You explained to him. “Wayne Industries started a food supply market in the 1910's, that helps feed low income families and homeless in Metropolis and Gotham.” You continued, crossing your ankles.

“What made you want to throw the Gala for it?” Clark asked, intrigued.

“I spent a year in Africa helping try and treat a disease outbreak, then helped develop a vaccine for it with my position in the Wayne Biotech labs. While I was there, I noticed how so many villages struggle to keep themselves fed, and figured that Wayne Industries had more than enough money to help, as would many of the other rich socialites over here. But, rich people don't generally like donating money, unless they get to dress up and mingle with other rich people.” You chuckled, finishing off the rest of your wine. “and yeah, you can put that down as my official statement.” You added, seeing Clark's eyebrow raise as he finished writing down what you said.

“That'll make for some scandal.” He giggled, setting his pen down. “A rich woman calling out other rich people.”

You rolled your eyes. “Just because you're rich, doesn't mean you get to think you're above everyone else in the world. Besides, I'm not into being rich. It doesn't really give me what I want out of life.”

“And what do you want out of life, Ms. Wayne?” He asked you, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his chair.

“Something quiet and simple.” You sighed, looking out the open windows to the bright and dark night of Gotham. “I've lived in the city for ninety percent of my life, and I've never felt more one with the world, than when I'm somewhere quiet, where I can look up and see the stars, and not the lights of a million buildings, airplanes and satellite dishes.”

“Why don't you move out somewhere in the country?” Clark asked, he could relate to how you felt, he'd been a small town boy, and coming to Metropolis the first time was overwhelming, especially with his Kryptonian powers.

You shrugged your shoulders. “Bruce got me a house out in the country for my birthday a couple years back, but I don't get to spend too much time there. I'm the head Biochemist at Biotech, so I work a lot and when I'm not working a lot, I'm traveling for other Wayne industry responsibilities.”

“You're quite the busy young lady.” He complimented, taking a sip of his forgotten wine.

“Indeed, I am.” You smiled at him. “Tell me, how do you and Bruce know each other?”

“What makes you think we know each other?” Clark asked, smoothly. “We've met at several events I was writing a article on for the Daily Planet.”

“I know my brother, Mr. Kent.” You told him, smirking and crossing your arms. “I know, when my brother is acquainted with a reporter, and when he knows someone.”

“Well, I guess when you run into someone as often as he and I do,” He told you, acting cool. “You just start becoming very familiar with each other.” He explained, dancing around the fact, he and your brother had met each other two years before, and ended up leveling most of Metropolis and Gotham, as Superman and Batman. “I end up attending nearly all of your brother's events for Wayne Industries.” He added, pressing his lips together.

“Hm.” You hummed, knowing he was hiding something. “Fair enough, I suppose.”

There was a knock on the office door and one of Bruce's assistants stuck her head into the room. “The silent auction is starting, Ms. Wayne.” She informed you, looking between you and Clark.

“Thank you, Felicia.” You told her, standing up and smoothing your dress down. “Mr. Kent, it was a pleasure to meet you, and thank you for the interview.” You said, extending your hand to him.

“The pleasure was all mine, Ms. Wayne.” He told you, standing up and shaking your hand, gently. He moved out of your way and held the door open for you, smiling sweetly as you nodded your head to him, and walked out.

Clark ran down the street, in a complete rush to get his latest article into Perry White before his deadline. All he needed was to have Perry chewing him out again for being late, and holding up the printer. But, he couldn't help the detour to rescue people from a major apartment fire. He turned the corner and collided straight into someone, knocking them over and his glasses off.

“Oh, gosh!” He exclaimed, shifting the strap of his shoulder bag. “I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention.”

“That's quite alright, Mr. Kent.” You told him, picking up your bag and grabbing his black framed glasses off the sidewalk.

Clark blinked several times, looking down at you. “Ms. Wayne.” He grinned, helping you up. “Are you all right?” He asked, looking you over.

“Other than feeling like, I ran into a bull made out of a brick wall?” You chuckled, holding out his glasses to him. “The only injury is to my pride.” You assured him, readjusting your jacket and backpack.

“Well,” He sighed, biting his lip. “Is there anything I can do, to ease that for you?” He asked, tilting his head at you.

“Not unless you can get me across town in,” You glanced down at your watch, and groaned. “an hour.” You sighed, your shoulders dropping. “I'm running late for my flight to Jordan.”

“I could get you to Jordan in less than an hour.” Clark commented, licking his lips.

Laughter bubbled out of you at his comment, your hand resting on his upper arm. “If only.” You giggled, looking up at him.

He raised his eyebrows at you, pressing his lips together to keep himself from making another comment. “I should let you get to your flight, I'm sorry about being a brick bull.” He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“No harm, no foul.” You assured him, going on tiptoe and giving him a hug, surprising him into hugging you back.

“Tell your brother, I said hello.” He called after you, as you rushed into awaiting car.

“I will!” You called, slipping into the car and your driver closed the door.

Clark watched your car pull away and disappear in the traffic, running his hand through his hair again and then turning on his heels and continued to rush down the street and into the Daily Planet. He managed to get his article in on time, but he ended up spending the rest of the day thinking about your body hugged around his. By the time he clocked out and started his walk back home, Clark had already settled it in his mind that he was going to try and get his hands on your phone number and ask you out to dinner, for an interview, of course. Perry had asked him to do a follow up on the Wayne Charity Gala he'd attend the month and a half before, so it was the perfect reason to ask you out. He just needed to find out when you'd be back from your trip.

“Yes, Hello,” Clark said, when someone from Wayne Industry Headquarters finally answered the phone. “I'm Clark Kent, a reporter for the Daily Planet in Metropolis. I did an interview with Ms. Y/n Wayne, and I need to schedule a follow up interview with her.”

“Ms. Wayne is out of the country, at the moment, Mr. Kent.” the Secretary informed him.

“I am aware of that.” He said, running his hand through his hair as he paced his small flat. “Can you tell me when she'll be back, and how to contact her when she returns?”

“Um...” The Secretary groaned, typing quickly on her computer and shaking her head. “Ms. Wayne is due back into Gotham in two weeks. If you'd like, Mr. Kent, I can pass on a message to her assistant, Felicia, and have her call you when Ms. Wayne returns.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you.” Clark replied, it wasn't exactly the answer he wanted, but it was better than her telling him to fuck off and hanging up on him. Clark wasn't off the phone with the woman when his phone rang again, with a private number. “Clark Kent?” He answered, pathetically hoping it was you.

“Why are you asking about my sister, Superboy?” Bruce asked, leaning back in his chair as he sat in his office.

“Bruce.” Clark smiled, tightly, dropping onto his couch.

“Answer the question, Clark.”

“I was asked to do a follow up interview with her, after the one I did with her at the Gala. Where you ditched her, to go play Batman.” Clark told him, giving into the older man's protective banter. “How did you know I called about her?”

“Clark, y/n is the only blood family I have left in this universe.” Bruce told him, rotating in his chair to look out over Gotham. “I know, if someone three countries away, breaths in her direction. I especially know if someone is inquiring after her in my own company, or any company.”

“Don't you worry about smothering her?” Clark asked, pulling his glasses off and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“She knows, I do it, for her own good.” Bruce growled, squeezing his phone a bit tighter.

“I'm not going to do anything to your sister, Bruce.” Clark sighed, picking up on the edge in his voice. “I just need a follow interview with her.”

“Then, why didn't you call me?”

“People don't usually call the owner of a company to ask for an interview with one of their employees. They usually call the front desk and ask for one to be scheduled.” Clark countered, dropping his head back.

“Y/n isn't one of my employees, she's my sister, and I'm her guardian.”

“She's a grown woman, Wayne.” Clark shook his head. “She doesn't need you acting like her father, or her personal Batman. She needs you to be her brother, and let her live her own life.”

“Coming from the alien, that's an only child.” Bruce snapped, hanging up on him.

Clark dropped his phone on the couch beside him and sighed, heavily, scrubbing his hands over his face and through his hair. He got up, stripping his clothes off as he made his way into the bathroom and cranking the hot water tap all the way on and stepped into the spray, groaning as the hot water soaked into his skin and muscles. He leaned on his arms against the shower wall, letting the water rain over his head, and watched as it swirled down the drain.

“Just an only alien child,” he groaned, tilting his head back to let the water hit his face. “That might be in love.”You were on the jet on the way back from Jordan, when Felicia sat down across from you. You cocked an eyebrow at her, knowing by the look on her face, she had news to tell you.

“We had a request come into headquarters for you.” She told you, scrolling through her phone.

“Oh?” You sighed, you really weren't in the mood for people requesting you. You just wanted to get home and sleep for a week. “What do they want?”

“An interview.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I don't do interviews, everyone knows that.”

“Well, it was an ask for a follow up, to one you've already done.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then it dawned on you. “Clark Kent.” You nodded, it made sense now.

“Do you want me to contact him, and tell him, you'll be denying his request?” She asked, glancing up at you from her phone.

“No.” You sighed, rubbing your eyes. “I'll do the follow up, just make it a point to tell him, I'm not answering an personal questions.” You told her, getting up and going to the back of the jet, to lay down.

Felicia called Clark as soon as the jet landed back in Metropolis. “Mr. Kent, I'm Felicia Davis.” She introduced herself.

“How can I help you, Ms. Davis?” Clark replied, pressing his phone to his ear with his shoulder as he sat at his desk in the Daily Planet.

“I'm Ms. Wayne's assistant.” She explained, sliding into the car beside you. “I'm calling in answer to your request for a follow up interview with her, about the Charity Gala.”

“Oh, yes, right!” Clark grinned, ear to ear. “Is there a good time for Ms. Wayne to meet me? I was thinking over dinner, if that's alright with her.”

“Ms. Wayne just arrived home from two weeks in Jordan, and is rather exhausted.” Felicia told him, opening a personal planner she carried around for you. “So, she'll need a couple of days to recover from her work trip.”

“Of course.”

“How does Saturday night sound to you, Mr. Kent?” She asked, tapping the date with her finger and looking at you, to confirm you're all right with it as well. “Excellent. Ms. Wayne will meet you at 7 pm, Saturday night. Do you need us to make the arrangements?”

“No, no.” Clark shook his head, like she could see him as he rummaged around his desk for a sticky note to write on. “I can make a reservation at a restaurant in down town Metropolis, and then send you the details.” he told her, finding what he was looking for.

“Very well, you can contact me with this phone number.” Felicia told him, penning it into the planner.

“Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Clark said, leaning back in his chair, with relief.

“You're welcome, and have a good day, Mr. Kent.” She replied, hanging up with him. “He'll be making a reservation for dinner this Saturday at 7pm. He'll call me with the name of the restaurant.”

“Strange for a man to pick the restaurant, we usually do.” You chuckled, glancing out the window.

By the time Saturday rolled around, Bruce had caught wind of you going to dinner with Clark, and in his typical fashion as your overprotective brother, he completely blew it out of proportions. You both spent that Friday in his office at Wayne Industries arguing about it, and most of the morning and afternoon Saturday doing the same.

“Oh, for the love of Superman, Ru!” You snapped as you stood in your closet, trying to pick out a pair of shoes to go with your outfit.

“Don't say that name!” Bruce barked over the speaker of your phone.

“What name?” You quipped, picking up a pair of black flats. “Ru or Superman?”

“Superman.” Bruce sighed, he'd stopped trying to prevent you from calling him, Ru, decades ago.

“Good Lord, Bruce.” You rolled your eyes, slipping your shoes on. “You still feel threatened by Superman? Ye ol' Batman's jealous.” You teased him, knowing it get under his skin.

“I'm not threatened or jealous of him, y/n.” He told you, rolling his eyes. “Not like that anymore, at least.”

“Then, enlighten your dear sister, and tell me how you are threatened and jealous of him?” You kept teasing him, checking yourself out in the mirror.

“It's complicated.”

“Well, uncomplicate it.” You pressed, going to your jewelry box for a pair of earrings.

“There's not enough time to do that, your date is in twenty minutes.”

“It's not a date, Ru!” You snapped, turning to look at your phone. “It's business. Business, you got me stuck in, when you left me at the Gala with Clark, so you could go play rescuer.”

“Don't remind me.” He groaned, still feeling the deep bruise on his side.

“All right, I'm going.” You told him, picking your phone up off the bed.

“Call me, if anything happens.” Bruce told you, quickly. “Or if you need an alibi to call it short.”

“I will, bro.” You told him, going out the front door. “And, Bruce, don't fucking stalk me. You, Alfred or anyone else, for that matter.” You warned him, hanging up before he could protest. “Off we go, Hector.” You said, as your driver opened the car door for you.

Clark stood out front the restaurant waiting for you to arrive, and smiled brightly, seeing your car pull up and your driver open the door for you. He offered you his arm as you got out of the car. “How was your trip to Jordan?” He asked, leading you inside.

“It was very good, thanks.” You told him, smiling softly. “How's work going for you?” You asked as the waiter showed the pair of you to your table.

“It's never a dull moment for a reporter, especially in this world.” He teased, pulling your chair out for you, then moving to his. “Your assistant, Felicia, made it clear I wasn't supposed to ask you any personal questions.” He said, setting his pen and notepad on the table by his menu.

“Well, if you do, they're to be off the record.” You explained, picking up your menu and browsing the selection of food and wine.

“Of course.” Clark nodded, following your lead. “What was your business in Jordan about?” He asked, looking at you over his menu.

“It was a Biotechnology convention.” You explained, turning the menu page. “Biochemists and the like gather every few years to discuss their research, breakthroughs and such with each other. Swap what info we can to help each other out, typical boring Scientist mambo jumbo.” You chuckled, looking over your menu at him.

“What made you become a Scientist?” He asked, picking what he wanted and setting his menu aside, but didn't bother with his notebook.

You shrugged, setting your menu down. “I enjoy helping people. I'm no Superhero, so I help in the ways and places I can.”

“You don't need to have super powers, to be a Superhero.” Clark said, looking at you, softly.

“That's possibly true.” You nodded, agreeing with him.

The waiter came over and took your dinner and drink orders, and you and Clark chatted away through two glasses of wine and most of your food, before you really realized that Clark hadn't written a single line in his notepad.

“Isn't this an interview, Mr. Kent?” You asked him, as dessert was set in front of you.

“You can call me, Clark.” He smiled at you, picking up his spoon to dig into his ice cream.

“Clark,” You grinned, taking a bite of your chocolate lava cake. “aren't you supposed to be interviewing me?” You repeated your question, smirking at him, impishly.

“I am supposed to be interviewing you, Ms. Wayne.” He nodded.

“Y/n.” You told him, staring at him across the table. “You can call me, y/n.”

Clark blushed and took another bite of his ice cream. “Admittedly, y/n, this is an interview with a motive.”

“Typical reporters.” You teased him, rolling your eyes playfully.

“My Boss, Mr White, asked me to do a follow up interview on your Charity Gala, but I really just wanted to ask you out to dinner..”

“So, you used the interview as an excuse.” You chuckled, nodding your head and amused that Bruce was mostly right.

“I am sorry.” He told you, abashed.

“That's quite all right, Clark.” You assured him, you really didn't mind at all. “But, won't you get in trouble with your boss for not doing the interview?”

“Yes, probably.” Clark nodded, worried at that prospect, he'd been on thin ice with Perry for several months.

“Well, how about we finish our desserts, and we take the actual interview on a walk around the park?” You suggested, setting your attention back on your cake, hoping to hide your blush.

“I rather like that idea.” Clark said, seeing your blush, easily, and blushing a bit, himself.

Clark paid the bill and you both left the restaurant, stopping long enough for you to tell Hector the change in plans. You took Clark's offered arm, resting your hand in the nook of his elbow as you strolled through the gates of the local park. The sound of late night birds, other pedestrians and the gurgling of the various fountain filled the cool night air, making it feel like You and Clark were blanketed in another world altogether. Clark took out his notebook and pen, and started funneling out all the questions he had to ask you for the interview and you answered them with a calm ease. It took no time for you and Clark to knock out the interview, and get to spend the rest of the time making several rounds around the park, oblivious of time and space. You were laughing at a joke Clark had made about himself being a small town, country boy, when you suddenly felt the cords of his muscles under your hand turn into steel, cutting off your laugh and glancing up at him.

“Clark?” You frowned at him, as he pulled you both to a stop and he looked around the dimly lit darkness around you, his head tilting slight side to side as he scanned around. “What is it?” You whispered, looking around with him.

“Stay calm.” He told you, softly, taking your hand from his forearm and carefully pulling you behind him, as three guys came out of the dark treeline, beside the sidewalk. “Evening, gentlemen.” He greeted them, every muscle in his body tensing, making Clark come off even bigger than he already was.

“Jesus Christ.” You panted, pressing one hand to your stomach and resting the other one on Clark's hip as you peeked around his arm.

“Hand over the jewelry and cash, and you and your sweetheart over there,” one of the men said, winking at you. “have to get hurt.” He said, the unmistakable click of a knife opening muted out everything else around you.

You looked up at Clark as he slowly shook his head.

“Not going to happen.” He told them, licking his lips. “I'll give you this one warning, to walk away.”

“I don't think, you understand your situation.” Another of the three said, taking a step forward.

“Clark.” You whispered, squeezing his hip.

“It's alright, y/n.” He told you, his eyes still glued to the men. “They're not going to hurt us.” He assured you, grabbing the arm of the guy as he shot forward, twisting his arm behind his back and shoving him to the side.

The one with the knife came at Clark next, raising the knife high. But, Clark easily grabbed him by the wrist, wrenching the weapon out of his hand and punched him across the face, forcing him back into his friends.

“I suggest you leave.” He threatened them, tossing the knife aside and giving them an expression that sucked all the courage out of them. “Now.” He snapped, rolling his jaw as they scrambled to their feet and haul themselves out of the park. “Are you all right?” Clark asked, his body relaxing as he turned around to you, cupping your face in his hands.

“I'm fine.” You told him, looking in his eyes, utterly shocked. “You could've gotten hurt!”

A smile broke out over Clark's face, and his hands dropped from your face. “I'm all right.” He assured you. “I'm use to people trying to fight me, I was bullied as a kid.” He explained, looking back to where the would-be robbers disappeared. “I should get you back to your car,” he added, looking up. “It is getting rather dark.” He offered you his arm again, and you slowly took it, still in shock.

“Of course.” You nodded, letting him lead you back the way you'd come.

“Good night, y/n.” Clark smiled as you stopped by your car.

“Good night, Clark.” You smiled back, still in a bit of a daze over what happened.

He blushed, slightly and started to walk away. “Do you think I could see you again?” He asked, turning back around, spurred by a bit of courage.

“Uh,” You blinked at him. “Sure.” You nodded, ducking into the back of the car and pulling out a card from your bag. “This is my private number.” You told him, holding it out to him. “Just so you don't have to go through headquarters or Felicia, to get a hold of me.”

Clark looked down at the card, then back up at you, spinning the little card around his fingers, nervously. “I'll give you a call, some time soon.” He promised, then wished you good night again, before turning himself towards home.

“Mr. Wayne called, while you were on your little walk.” Hector told you, as he pulled the car away from the curb.

“Of course, he did.” You rolled your eyes.

“He wants you to call him.”

“I'll call him in the morning.” You told Hector, rubbing your neck. “I just wanna go home and sleep, right now.”

Clark was staring at the card with your number on it as he sat at his desk at work, trying to work up the courage to call you, when one of the secretaries for the newspaper came over and told him, he had someone waiting for him in one of the conference rooms. Sighing and slipping the card into his pocket, Clark got up and found the conference room his visitor was waiting for him in.

“What are you doing here, Bruce?” He snapped, closing the door behind him.

“You took my sister on a date last night, disguised as an interview.” Bruce told him, clearly fuming already. “And you almost get fucking mugged in the process.” He snapped, slamming his hand down on the conference table.

“First of all, it wasn't a disguise.” Clark barked back, his anger flaring. “I do admit that when Perry told me to get a follow up interview with her, I also used it as an opportunity to take her out to dinner, I wouldn't call it a date though. Secondly, She was in no danger of those three punks, with me there with her, and you know that.”

“That doesn't fucking change the fact, she could have gotten hurt, Clark!” Bruce yelled, not even bothering to keep his voice low.

“I wouldn't have allowed it, Bruce!” Clark yelled back, moving closer to the table that thankfully separated them. “I would have protected her. I did protect her. They never got within two feet of her.”

“Oh, but they got within three feet of her.” Bruce snapped, mocking him. “Mighty Superman only have a detection range of two feet.”

“I knew they were there, I didn't fucking know they were going to try and mug us.” Clark countered, glancing behind his shoulder, to the door. “There were dozens of people in that park with us,” he told him, calming down. “Not every person that comes within range of her, is going to try and harm her. I certainly never would, and would never, allow anyone else to either. Y/n is as safe with me, if not safer, than she is with you.”

“Oh, you thinks so?”

“I know so.” Clark answered, a sharp tone in his voice. “You're just a mortal human. You get stabbed with a knife and you're fucked.”

“You think since you can take the hit of a bomb, you're better than me at protecting my baby sister.”

“She's not a baby anymore, Bruce.” Clark snapped, that upset him more than anything else in this conversation. “She's an adult, and you need to start treating her like one. You're not pissed off about what happened last night, you're afraid that she might fall in love me.”

“I'm not afraid she might fall in love with you.” He growled, raking a hand over his face and turning away from him.

“Then, what are you afraid of?” He demanded, leaning against the table.

“I'm afraid of her getting hurt.” Bruce said, quietly. “Especially, because I know she's already in love with you.”

“She is?” Clark asked, shocked and staring wide eyed at Bruce's back.

“Yes.” He sighed. “But, I can't allow that.”

“Why?” Clark groaned, rolling his eyes. “Cause I'm an alien.”

“Because, you're Superman.” He answered, spinning back around to look Clark in the face. “How many enemies do you have, that are looking for you to have a weak point? She would be that weak point, Clark.”

“She's your weak point as Batman.” Clark argued, sitting down at the table. “She's your weak point as normal Bruce Wayne, richest man in the world.”

Bruce huffed, sitting down at the table across from him. “I know she is, that's why I go so far out of my way, to protect her.”

“And you don't think, I can do the same?”

“I know you can,” Bruce sighed, feeling older than he really was. “I'm just not use to having to share her, is all.”

Clark laughed and shook his head at that. “We can protect her together, Bruce.” He told him, leaning over the table to him. “It doesn't have to be one or the other of us. It doesn't have to be Clark Kent vs Bruce Wayne, or Batman vs Superman, all the time. We found our common ground on protecting Earth in the Justice League, and we can find the common ground of protecting y/n.”

“I don't want you to tell her, you're Superman.”

“Does she know you're Batman?”

“She does.” Bruce nodded, checking his watch.

“But, you want me to lie to her about who I am?” Clark narrowed his eyes at him.

“She found out about me being Batman on accident.” Bruce told him, meeting his eye. “She found Alfred tending to one of the injuries I sustained after our battle with Steppenwolf. Wasn't like I could exactly lie to her after that.” He ran a hand through his hair, remembering the look on your face when you walked in on them. “But, you're Superman, you won't have that issue.”

“You do recall my dying?” Clark asked, cocking an eyebrow at Bruce.

“The kryptonite was destroyed when you killed that monster, Clark. There's no more of it on Earth, and probably the universe. It's nothing you have to concern yourself with anymore. What you do need to concern yourself with now, if you choice to pursue my sister, is her safety and keeping her in the dark about who you are. We both know the more she knows about who we are, and what we do, is more a danger to her life.”

You sat, cross legged, on Clark's couch with a bowl of cereal balanced in your lap as you watched the news, in one of Clark's plaid shirts. You spent more time in Clark's flat now-a-days then you did your own, and were content to do so. Clark appeared in the door way of his bedroom, watching you as you ate, momentarily oblivious to his presence. He grinned seeing you in his shirt, only three of the center buttons closed to keep the over-sized garment on your small frame, even then it slipped down one of your shoulders. He could still smell the lingering scent of sex from the night before and earlier in that morning.

“You sleep well?” He asked, stepping into the living room.

“I always manage to sleep like a baby, with you.” You told him, looking up at him as you took another bite of your coco puffs.

“That makes me feel good.” He chuckled, leaning down to kiss the top of your head, then padded into the kitchen to make himself some breakfast. “What's your day looking like?” He asked, glancing around the corner to look at the tv.

“I have to go into work at the lab in an hour or so, then two board meetings.” You answered, setting your bowl on the coffee table, and grabbing the remote to turn up the news. “I do have another conference in Jordan in two days, some issue going on with one of Wayne labs there. Bruce is sending me over to deal with it, since the rep that's there now, is doing fuck all.” You explained, frowning at the news.

“How long will you be gone?” Clark asked, his own eyes glued to the tv as he made his breakfast.

“Shouldn't be more than a week,” You replied, absentmindedly. “With any luck of them being competent.”

“Well, if they're not competent enough to listen to you, they're in real trouble.” Clark joked, reassuring himself that what was happening on the news, wasn't something he needed to rush out and present Superman too.

“I'll fire every last one of the idiots, if they fucking try me.” You said, rolling your eyes at the thought of them giving you issues, which you knew, with men of their caliber and brains, they most certainly would.

“Well, it gives us enough time.” Clark told you, coming to sit down beside you on the couch.

“Enough time for what?” You frowned, turning your head to look at him.

“I wanted to ask you something.” He told you, resting his plate on his thigh.

“Oh, god.” You moaned, seeing the seriousness in his eyes. “Perry didn't fire you, did he?”

Clark laughed, shaking his head. “No, I'm still a reporter at the Daily Planet.” He assured you, with a blush. “We've been dating for a year now...”

“Yeeah..”

“I was going to ask, if you wanted to move in with me...” He said it slowly and quietly, not quite meeting your eyes. “You practically live here anyway.” He added, with a nervous laugh and looking around his flat, he could identify more of your things than his own, in the living room alone.

“That's a serious commitment, Clark. “ You said, just as slowly.

“I know it is.” He told you, pushing the food on his plate around with his fork. “I thought, maybe, we were at that point...”

“Bruce would have a heart attack.” You chuckled, at the thought.

Bruce didn't like the thought of you dating Clark, he didn't like you spent so much time with him, especially in between the sheets. But, he'd stopped nagging you about being with him, almost a year ago. He still gave you disgruntled remarks when you spoke about Clark in his presence, and he always seemed a tiny bit on edge, when the three of you were in the same room together. You didn't care what Bruce thought or felt on the subject, you were happy and content with Clark, the relationship the two of you had together. You'd also never been in such a serious relationship with someone, that you moved in with them, either.

“Does his opinion, matter so much, that it would make an impact on our relationship?” Clark asked, concerned it would, Bruce had promised to ease up on his attitude towards him and his love for you, but, Clark also knew, that what Bruce thought and said mattered to you.

“No.” You shook your head, resting your hand on his arm. “No, Clark, it wouldn't.” You tried to sound as convincing as possible, but could tell by his expression, it wasn't enough. “Just...give me until I come back from my trip, to decide?” You asked, biting your lip.

“Take all the time you need.” He smiled, leaning in to kiss you.

You smiled at him and kissed him back, before getting up to get dressed and rush off to work. You left on your business trip two days later, and both you and Clark called it, when the people in charge of the Wayne Biotech lab in Jordan would give you trouble and annoy the hell out of you. Your temples throbbed as you fell back on your hotel room bed, staring up at the ceiling, the arguments you had with the board still bouncing around your brain, making the migraine you had worse.

“Bunch of brain dead morons.” You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

A loud crash from outside your room door startled you up out of bed, you stumbled away as the door flew open, your back hitting the wall behind you as a disguised man stepped through the opening. The only thing you could see on him, was his eyes, and you didn't like what you saw in them. He advanced towards you, putting you into instant fight or flight mode, and decided to do both. Picking up the closest thing to you, the lamp on your bedside table, and launched it at him, before scurrying over your bed and making for the door. You'd almost made it down to the lift, when he caught up with you, grabbing you by the back of your hair and painfully yanking you backwards against him.

“Hello, Ms. Wayne.” A woman called stepping into the hall from another room.

“Who the fuck are you?” You panted, struggling against your captor. “What do you want?”

“I'm Pamela Evans.” She grinned at you, giving you a once over. “And I want to know about the advanced gene development project you and your brother are working on.”

“We're not working on gene development.” You growled, bearing your teeth at her.

“My sources say otherwise.” Pamela said, grabbing you by the jaw.

“Your sources are fucking brain dead.” You snapped, jerking your head out of her hand.

“I don't believe you.” She growled, giving you a super dirty look.

“That's your issue.” You growled back. “Wayne labs and Industries have never, and will never, do research on the type gene development, you're apparently going on about. Whoever is doing it, is a mad scientist asking for trouble.”

“You see,” Pamela brought her face inches from yours. “I've seen the files on your and Bruce's computers. So, you're going to tell me all about it.”

“You're delusional.” You shook your head the little you could with the man's hand still tight in your hair. “Fuck.” You gasped suddenly, feeling a cold tingle in your thigh and glanced down to see her pull a small pocket knife out. “You don't understand we're no....”

“No, sweetheart, it's you that doesn't understand.” Pamela mocked you, pulling something out of her shoulder purse. “We're going to get that research out of you, one way or another.” She pressed something to your neck and you felt a sharp pain. “I'll give you long enough to sleep off your nap, to tell me.” She said, as the black fog around the edges of your eyes grew and your body went limp.

You woke up God knows how long later, shackled to a concrete wall in a dimly lit room. There were no windows in the square concrete room, a single light set deep into the center of the ceiling and a metal table and a single chair below that. There was a thick metal door opposite of you with a slot window set in it. You were drawn to the sound of that opening, a pair of eyes looking in on you, then slamming shut again. It was several minutes before the actual door itself opened, and in walked Pamela and a man, the man from the hotel. Even with him out of his disguised, you could identify those eyes from a mile away.

“Good morning, Ms. Wayne.” Pamela smiled, giving you a smile that would have made Mary Poppins sick. “Or is it night, Eli?” She asked, turning to the man, who just shrugged his shoulders. “Doesn't matter, have you decided to give me the information I've asked for?” She asked, turning back to you.

“I told you, it doesn't exist.” You told her, groggy and fearful, your thigh throbbed and you could feel a small steady stream of blood ooze from it, leaving a puddle around your foot. “Messing with human genes is dangerous, and ridiculous.” You tried to reason with her.

“Then, what's this?” Pamela asked, pulling a sheet of paper from the table and bring it closer for you to see. “That's an email, from you to your brother on the subject. Telling him, that it was possible for such advancement.”

“It's opinion, not research.” You panted, trying to keep your anxiety at bay. “Someone at one of my brother's many business ventures wanted to know if he thought it was possible to do so, and my brother asked me.” You explained to her. “While, I think it might be possible for such development and advancement, neither of us are conducting research to find out. It's purely academic.”

“Why do you think it's possible?” Pamela questioned, turning her back to you and setting the paper back down on the table.

“I believe anything is possible, with the right circumstances and factors.” You told her, focusing on her back.

“Do you think you could achieve it, if you were to try it?”

“I don't know, and I wouldn't try.” You told her, honestly and shook your head at the thought.

“Even if, your life depended on it?” Pamela asked, smirking at you as she leaned back against the table, to look at you.

“My life, for the lives of all the failed test subjects it would more than likely take to prefect it?” You summed up her thoughts, you knew the math on how many people would be needed to be experimented on, and the decades it would take to achieve on top of that. “Yes, then I'd die, to prevent you and anyone else from trying it.” You nodded, confident in that choice.

“Well, let's see if we could,” She shrugged her shoulders, glancing at Eli. “persuade you.”

Eli dropped a rolled up bag onto the table with a emphasized thump, and rolled it open, revealing several instruments, you didn't need to be a Scientist to know were about to be used to torture and, likely, kill you. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to calm your heart and make peace with your choice. Eli removed something from one of the pockets, it looked like an ice pick or something, and moved over to you, running the sharp tip down your chest, between your breasts and down your stomach.

“Change your mind now, or I'll let Eli have his fun.” Pamela tried to give you a chance.

“No.” You said in a small, but steady voice.

Pamela waved her hand at Eli, and he easily sank the object into your stomach next to your belly button. You howled in pain, yanking on your bonds as Eli slowly removed it, grinning at you like a little boy on Christmas morning. Eli, luckily, didn't get far in the quest to torture you to death, as serious commotion sounded from the other side of the closed steel door, catching the attention of all three of you. Pamela looked to Eli, then hesitated for a moment, but she moved to the door, she'd just rested her hand on it, when it blew off the hinges, launching her halfway across the room. Eli dropped his weapon and moved away from you, as a figure stepped through the dusty doorway.

“Superman!” He snapped, jaw falling open.

Superman looked from Pamela under the heavy steel door, Eli backing up into a corner and You chained to the wall, head lulling and struggling to keep your heavy eyelids open to stay conscious. He wasted no time dispatching Eli, throwing him across the room as another figure stepped through the doorway and made for you, cupping your head in their hands.

“Y/n?”

You blinked several times, shaking your head and trying to clear way the heaviness in your mind. “Bruce?” You panted, recognizing your brother's voice through the fog.

“It's alright, sis.” Bruce reassured you, taking something out of the utility belt of his Batman suit and cutting you free. “We've got you now. You're safe.” He supported your weight against his body and turned to Clark, standing above Eli's lifeless body, in all his Superman glory.

Clark looked at the pair of you and the pure anger on his face melted, seeing you. “She's hurt.” He said, crossing the room to you, cupping your face in his hands. “She's bleeding internally, whatever they stabbed her with, nicked her intestines. If we don't stop the blood now, she'll bleed to death.”

“I have something on the plane.” Bruce said, lifting your shirt and grimacing at the wound to your stomach.

“It'll take too long.” Clark said, shoving everything off the metal table. “Lay her down, I'll cauterize the wound.”

“I'm not letting you heat vision my sister.” Bruce snapped, shaking his head and shifting your weight against him, to support you as you grew limper against him.

“Bruce, she's going to die, if I don't!” Clark barked, impatiently, resting his hand on your shoulder. “I know what I'm doing, I've done it before.” He tried to reassure him.

“Trust me.” He added, quietly.

Bruce sighed, and let Clark lift you up and lay you down carefully on the table. Clark peeled up your bloody shirt, biting his lip as he saw the wound to your stomach and noticed the one to your thigh. He glanced up through the opening and pressed his lips together, hearing more people coming.

“We've got more guests on the way.” He told Bruce, over his shoulder, trying to keep his focus on you.

“I'll deal with them.” Bruce said, moving around the table and out of the room.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, resting his hand on your cheek. “Y/n, look at me.”

You blinked hard and groaned as Clark put pressure to your wound, you looked up at the blurry double face hovering above you. “Clark?” You whined, blinking repeatedly trying to clear the strange look your boyfriend had. “Clark?” You repeated his name, stronger this time, but no less confused by what you saw.

“Yeah, sweetheart.” He forced a smile, brushing your hair out of your sweaty and grimy face. “I'm going to stop the bleeding, but it's going to hurt, a lot.” He warned you, with a pained expression. “But, you have to hold still and trust me.”

“I've always trusted you, Clark.” You groaned, wincing.

“Good.” He panted, sounding relieved. “Take my hand.” He told you, slipping his hand into yours. “And squeeze as hard as you have too, baby.” He instructed you, his eyes turning red.

You screamed at the top of your lungs at the excruciating burn to your already agonizing wound, squeezing Clark's hand so tight, it felt like the bones of your hand were going to shatter. You'd passed out from the pain and came to sometime later, finding yourself in bed on one of the family jets and Clark sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, holding your hand in his.

“Clark?” You whined, squeezing your eyes shut at the bright lights.

“You're all right, y/n.” He told you, letting your hand go to turn off the lights, and pull down the window covering. “You're safe now, love.” He promised, sitting back down next to you, and brushing his fingers through your hair.

“How?” You moaned, opening your eyes to look at him.

Clark blushed, looking away from you and biting into his lip.

“You're-” You blinked up at him, your mind finally connecting. “Superman.”

He nodded his head, taking your hand and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

“That's why Bruce was so set against us.” You nodded, regretting it. “He didn't want me dating you because you're Superman, and you two are practically enemies.”

“We're not enemies anymore, y/n.” Bruce said, appearing in the room. “Clark and I are in Justice League together.”

“Jesus.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “The two most important people in my life, have lied to me, to such a degree.”

“We were trying to protect you.” Bruce tried to reason with you.

“Protect me?” You snapped, turning your head towards him. “That bitch kidnapped and tried torturing me, because she thought we were trying to do research on advanced gene development, Bruce. I can imagine what she'd have done if she knew by brother, is Batman, and my boyfriend, is Superman.” You looked at both of them, angrily.

“Advanced Gene Development?” Clark frowned at you. “Why would she think that?”

“Someone contacted Bruce about the possibility of it, and he and I discussed it.” You explained, no less angry. “She got a hold of the emails we exchanged on the subject, thinking we were actually doing it.”

“But, we're not.” Bruce frowned at you, as well. “I wonder how she got those emails as well, they're supposed to be secure.”

“Well, she's got people in a high enough place in the company to get a hand on them.” You snapped at him, annoyed. “Were you ever going to tell me, you're Superman?” You asked, turning your attention to Clark.

“I wanted too.” He whispered, dropping his eyes to your hand.

You rolled your eyes over to Bruce, narrowing them as he refused to look at you. “The fuck of men.” You growled, looking away from both of them.

“He's an alien.” Bruce mumbled, fidgeting with his watch.

“He's got a dick. I know, I've seen it.” You snapped at him, eye twitching. “He's a man. A man from another planet, but a man, nonetheless.”

“I didn't want to know that.” Bruce groaned, squeezing his eyes shut.

“And, it's not your business what Clark decides to tell me.” You told him, sharply. “Especially, in reference to my and his relationship, Bruce.” You winced, pushing yourself up more against the pillows piled behind your back.

“You are my wa...”

“I haven't been your god damn ward for over ten years, Bruce!” You shouted at him. “That ended the hour I became eighteen, and you know it! Stop trying to be dad, you're not dad and you never fucking will be! He'd have let me be a long time ago, he'd let me be my own woman, instead of trying to control what I do with my life and who I see, whether they're from this planet or not.”

“I'm your brother, it's my job to protect you.” He shouted back, turning to you.

“Protect me!” You yelled, your voice cracking. “Not keep me prisoner and suffocate me!”

“Let's calm down.” Clark said in a calm voice, squeezing your leg.

“NO!” Both you and Bruce yelled at him at the same time, and making his sensitive ears twitch with the volume.

“You're staying home with me.” Bruce seethed at you, but his tone was quieter.

“Fuck you!” You barked, your voice still loud.

“You're not safe on your own, y/n.” He tried to reason with you, again. “Whoever these people are, who think we're doing advanced gene development, are going to try and get their hands on you again.”

“And you're safe, cause you're fucking Batman.” You mocked him, rudely.

“That,” Bruce snapped back at you, snarky. “and I'm not the head Scientist at the biggest Biotech laboratory, and company, in the world. You, out of anyone on this planet, can make that advanced development happen, and these people know this.”

“As I told that bitch,” You told him, crossing your arms. “I'd rather die. The decades it would take to perfect the genes for testing. Then, the number of lives, the trials would claim to attune the genes for the subject, is astronomical. If, I was the person that could manage to pull this off, perfect the genes, and find the correct subject for them; there's between a five to ten percent chance, it would even work.”

“What would such an advancement even be used for?” Clark asked, leveling an eyebrow at you.

“Anything.” You shrugged, looking at him, brows creased. “You could edit a person's genes for anything, from preventing certain illnesses. Body characteristics, like if you wanted them to be tall and muscular. You could delete genes, so they felt no pain or be more aware of it. You could engineer super soldiers, or make it possible for people to have a long life span. There's so many options, and they're only limited by imagination and technology.” You rubbed the crease between your brows, feeling a stress and tension migraine forming.

“You could create the Earth equivalent of me.” Clark summed it up, a sick feeling in his stomach.

“Yes.” You nodded, that thought hadn't occurred to you. “Pretty much.”

“So, do you understand, why you're not safe?” Bruce sighed, feeling the tension knot up his shoulders. “You need to be somewhere safe, until we get this sorted out.”

“They'll look for her anywhere Wayne Industries is affiliated.” Clark said, softly, rubbing at his neck and looking at Bruce.

“I can have Alfred find us a safe house for her.” Bruce agreed, nodding his head.

“I'll take her home with me.” Clark said, smiling gently at you.

“Your flat isn't safe.” Bruce stated, looking between the two of you.

“I know, it's not.” He answered, still watching you. “I mean, I'll take her to my mom's, in Smallville. No one's going to look for her in Kansas, it's such a small and middle of nowhere town. I'll take time off from the Daily Planet, and stay there with her to make sure she's looked after. My mother could use my help on the farm, anyway.”

“Is this your way of introducing me to your mother?” You grinned, teasingly.

Clark laughed, blushing and nodded his head. “I guess, it is a way to think of it.”

“I like his idea.” You told Bruce, looking at your brother. “He's got a point.”

Bruce sighed, his shoulders slumping, he was begrudged to agree with both of you on the subject. “I'll have the pilot redirect us towards Smallville.”

“You shouldn't.” Clark said, stopping Bruce as he headed out. “If anyone notices a Wayne plane landing at the airport in Great Bend, it'll be a dead giveaway, that's something's going on.”

“Then, how do you propose on getting y/n to your mother's farm?” Bruce asked, cocking an eyebrow at him.

A lopsided smirk pulled on one corner of Clark's mouth as he looked at you, eyes sparkling. A slow grin pulled across your lips as you caught on to what Clark was suggesting, and you were more than cool with Superman flying you to his parent's farm. Bruce groaned as he figured out the same thing, rolling his eyes and throwing up his arms, he couldn't fight you two being together and he couldn't fight doing what he had to do, so you were safe.

“Fine.” He sighed, deflated. “We'll land in G.I. Airport as scheduled, and you can take y/n to Smallville from there.”

Clark nodded, pressing your knuckles to his lips. “We'll stop by my place, so we can get a couple changes of clothes before we go.”

“You have clothes at his place?” Bruce asked, looking at you, surprised.

“I've been staying at Clark's a lot the last couple of months, so it's just easier to keep some clothing there.” You answered, blushing at Clark. “He also asked me to move in with him.” You added.

“You never did get the chance to answer me.” He reminded you, glancing up at you.

“I know.” You replied, nodding and biting your lip.

Bruce looked at the two of you, then quietly excused himself and gave the pair of you space and privacy.

“I think, I'd like to move in with you, Clark.” You told him, carefully leaning forward and brushing your fingers through his short curly hair. “I want to take us more seriously.” You admitted, smiling sweetly at him.

“I'd love nothing less, than the same.” He smiled back at you, leaning in and kissing you, tenderly, on the lips.

You rested back, wincing that the discomfort of your stomach. You peeled back your shirt and grimaced at it, even though Clark had cauterized the wound, it still hurt and was tender as hell. Clark gently traced the tips of his fingers around the wound, mindful of sensitive areas and looked up at you, sadness in his blue eyes. You reached out and cupped his cheek in your hand, caressing his skin with your thumb and gave him back a similar sad expression, but one tinged with love and trust.

“It's going to take a bit of time for you to heal.” He told you, his fingers moving down to your torn and stained jeans, where Pamela stabbed you in the thigh. “You'll have scars...”

“I'm use to having scars.” You told him, resting your hand on his shoulder. “Inside and outside.”

The jet landed in Gotham International Airport, Clark easily carried you off the plane and to the car Bruce had waiting for the three of you. You rested your head on Clark's shoulder, you'd tried to sleep on the plane, but you couldn't get comfortable enough. Clark wrapped his arm around your shoulders and rested his cheek on top of your head. The chauffeur dropped the both of you off at Clark's flat, you said good-bye to Bruce, who promised to keep in touch and visit, if he could. You managed for first stairwell and a half up to Clark's flat before the pain in your leg became too much, and Clark carried you the last of the way up. He set you down on the couch and went into the bedroom, dumping his gym bag on his bed, then shoved yours and his clothes into it.

“Okay, I think that should tide us over.” He said, slinging the bag over his shoulders. “If not, I still have clothing at my mother's...”

“And I can always buy some.” You chuckled, smiling up at him. “So, how do we do this, Superman?” You asked, looking up at him.

“Let's go up to the roof.” He told you, going around the coffee table and picking you up into his arms. “It's a good launching pad, since this is the tallest building in a decent radius.” He explained, taking you up the stairs to the roof.

“I'm guessing that was a factor in your renting the place.” You teased him, hugging your arms around his neck.

Clark blushed at you, smiling guiltily. “It was.” He admitted, standing in the middle of the roof. “Hold on really tight and take a deep breath, hold it and I'll let you know, when to let it out, okay?” He explained to you, shifting your weight comfortably.

You nodded, hugging your arms tighter around his neck and took a few breaths, then held it. Giving you a nod of warning, Clark flexed and both of you rocketed into the clouds with an insane speed. What would have taken almost four hours, nonstop, on a normal flight, took less than twenty minutes for Clark to achieve. You panted as he carefully set you down on the dirt driveway of his childhood home. You heard the screen door open and saw a beautiful, older woman step out onto the porch, shading her eyes from the mid afternoon sun.

“Clark?” She called, taking a step down off the porch.

“Hey, Mom.” Clark grinned at her, his hand slipping into yours. “Mom, this is y/n.” He introduced you as she came closer to you both.

“She's the one you've been telling me about?” She asked, grinning at you, brightly. “It's so nice to finally meet you.” She said, giving you a hug.

“It's nice to finally meet you as well, Mrs. Kent.” You smiled, hugging her back.

“Oh, please, call me Martha.” She told you, holding you at arm's length, making your heart skip a beat, finding out the Clark's mother's name was the same as your own mother. “What are you two doing here?”

“Um,” Clark blushed, looking down at Hank as he sniffed around his feet. “There was a bit of trouble, and I need somewhere safe to keep y/n, until her brother and I figure it out.” He told his mother, patting the dog on the head.

“What kind of trouble?” Martha asked, looking between the two of you, and noticed the blood on your jeans and shirt. “Good lord.” She gasped, pressing a hand to her chest.

“Mom, it'll be all right.” Clark said, resting his hand on her shoulder and pulling her into a hug. “I'm staying here with you guys, I'll help you around the farm. I know there's a few projects dad started and that I promised to finish.” He pulled back, smiling at her encouragingly.

She stood there, quietly looking up at her son, worried and concerned, but you could see that hint of relief on her face, as well. “Why don't we get you two inside.” She said finally, turning and motioning to the house.

Relieved himself, Clark picked you back up and carried you up onto the porch, stopping as he caught the look on your face. “What is it?”

“I feel like you're carrying me over the threshold, on our wedding night.” You chuckled, resting your hand on his cheek as he blushed.

“I'd be a lucky man, to have you as my wife.” He smiled, teasing you and kissing you softly on the lips as he walked into the house.

Clark carried you upstairs to his bedroom, flicking the light on and setting you down on the double bed. He dropped the bag on the floor and pushed open the window, letting in the cool late summer breeze into the room. with the sound of the wind ruffling the corn stalks, tree branches and tall grass. It felt surreal to you, even the few times you stayed at the country cottage Bruce bought you, there was a busy road not far from it, so you never completely lost the busy city feel. But, here in Smallville, there was none of that, you were literally miles from the busiest road, just endless farm fields, nature and the occasional bark from Hank down in the yard.

“It's so quiet.” You commented, laying back in his bed and grinning at the hanging planets above it.

“Is that going to bother you, city girl?” Clark teased, sitting next to you on the bed, looking up at the planets with you, and tenderly rubbing your good thigh.

“I find it disconcerting, that I can hear my own thoughts without them being interrupted by a car horn, siren or someone yelling a rude comment at someone else.” You teased back, with a giggle. “But, I love how peaceful it is.” You added, in a softer tone, eyes flicker back to his.

“That's one of the things I love about being raised here.” He told you, shifting to lay down on his back, beside you. “It took me a long time to hone my powers, so I didn't hear every huge and microscopic thing. I would sit in the corn field, and just zone everything out, except the sound the stalks made when the wind rustled them, or fixate on a bird, singing in its nearby nest.”

“Are they hard to deal with in a city like Metropolis?” You asked, turning your head to look at him, slipping your hand into his.

“At first it was, cause there's so much sound and its so quick, if that makes sense.” He answered, still looking at the planets. “But, over time, I fine tuned it, and I'm able to control it now, no matter where I am.” He explained, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles.

“That's good.” You smiled, shifting uncomfortably.

Clark turned his head towards you, sensing your pain. “Can I do anything?” He asked, brushing his fingertips over your cheek.

“Not unless one of your super powers, is relieving pain.” You quipped, weakly.

“Sadly, I don't have that super power.” He frowned, sympathetically. “How about a bath instead?” He offered. “Get you cleaned up and into clean clothes, the hot water might even help.”

You let your eyes drift shut at the thought of a nice hot bath, washing off all the grim, dry sweat and blood off your body. “Join me?” You asked, tilting your face towards him, hopeful.

A grin pulled across his lips, and he sat up on the edge of the bed. “Can you make it that far?” He asked, motion to the bathroom door on the other side of the room with a raise of an eyebrow.

“If I can't limp three hops to the bathroom.” You said, sitting up beside him. “You might as well put me down.” You chuckled, but the glint in Clark's eye told you, he didn't find it funny. “I can make it.” You told him, kissing his cheek and propelling yourself up and hopped into the bathroom. “Tah-dah!”

That did make Clark smile, getting up to join you. He helped you peel off your shirt, unbuttoned and unzipped your jeans, carefully tugging them down over your wound. He hadn't cauterized the wound there, Pamela had managed to miss any major or troublesome veins, so it had stopped bleeding sometime ago. It still cut through muscle and nerves, making it hard and largely uncomfortable to walk, or limp for that matter. Letting you lean back against the sink, Clark drew the bath and helped ease you into, before taking off his own clothing. You slid forward, letting him slip in behind you and then eased back, resting against his broad and strong chest, melting as his arms locked around you, his chin resting on top of your head. You both just rested in the hot bath, eyes closed and enjoying the safe and peaceful tranquility of the moment. You could hear Clark's mom bumping around downstairs, humming to herself.

“She's making dinner.” Clark suddenly said, as he read your mind.

“Hm.” You hummed, feeling your stomach growl as the mention of food. “It sounds, and smells, amazing.” You commented back, resting your hands on his as they rested on your waist.

“You want some help, cleaning up?” He asked, tilting his head to look at you.

“How can I say no, to a handsome man, offering to wash me?” You laughed, nodding your head.

“You can't.” Clark laughed, softly, into your ear, pressing his lips to your neck.

Clark let you sit up, between his legs, and picked up the soap and a wash cloth. It felt incredible to have his strong hands on your body, rubbing the soapy cloth into your skin and massaging the tight and stressed knots of muscle in your back. He was mindful of your wounds, rinsing away the soap, before letting your hair down, attentively pouring water over your head to wet your hair, then gently working the shampoo into your hair and scalp, making you moan at the amazing feel. Hair and body washed, Clark helped you out of the tub and dry off, you limped back into his bedroom, picking the bag up off the floor and digging through it for your clothes, while Clark took a shower. You limped downstairs, looking at all the family photos that lined the wall going down the steps, smiling at the younger Clark. You found Martha in the kitchen, stirring something that was in the pot on the stove.

“See you got cleaned up.” She said, smiling as she noticed you standing in the kitchen doorway. “Must feel nice after what you've been through.”

“Incredibly so.” You nodded, taking a seat at the kitchen island. “Dinner smells good.” You complimented her.

“Thank you.” She answered, giving you another smile. “So, tell me, how did you and Clark meet?” She asked, putting a lid on the pot and turning to you.

You blushed, brushing your wet hair behind your ear. “I met him, when he was doing an article on the Charity Gala my brother, Bruce and I, were hosting. He interviewed me at it, and we just kept running into each other, until we fell in love.” You told her, smiling.

“Your brother, Bruce?” Martha asked, brow slowly creasing. “Bruce Wayne? You're Bruce Wayne's sister?”

“I am.” You nodded, frowning back at her.

“He's the one that helped Clark and I get the house back.” She told you, her eyes a bit glassy at the memory.

“Get your house back, how did he do that?”

“Clark was...gone for a while, and while he was away I fell behind in the bank payments, and they foreclosed on the house.” She explained to you, turning back to the stove, needing a psychical distraction. “Your brother and Clark are friends, and he helped us get the house back from the bank.”

“The Smallville Union Bank?” You asked, lifting an eyebrow at her back.

“Yes, you know it?” Martha asked, looking at you over her shoulder.

“Yeah...” You nodded slowly, shocked. “My brother, he bought the bank, out right...” You told her, glancing around as it struck you why Bruce had bought the bank.

“He did it,” Clark's voice came suddenly. “as a gift to me.” he explained, sliding into the seat beside you.

“That's so incredibly sweet of him.” Martha beamed at the two of you, touched.

“It really is.” You agreed, dumbstruck, and looking at Clark, who offered you a small smile, his hand squeezing your knee.

You'd stayed on the Kent farm for nearly two months before Bruce finally did come to visit. He hadn't even so much as call, or send any other type of communication to you, while you were there. He feared that if he did, the people that hurt you would pick up where you were and come after you. So, when he showed up on the porch early one morning, you knew it was because he'd found something out about the people wanting to know about the Advanced Gene Development.

“Bruce?” You said, stepping out on to the porch with him, you'd healed well enough by now that you only had a minor limp. “Did you find out anything?” You asked, feeling your anxiety rise.

Clark had been asleep upstairs, and sensed the rise in your anxiety, he'd become quite attuned to you in the past two months, even more so than he had the year you two spent together back in Metropolis. He figured it was because you two spent every waking moment together, from sun up to sun down, you'd just become synced to him. You also found you really liked the small life of Smallville, quiet and not many people, helping Martha in her garden, and Clark on various of the farm projects; he'd even taught you how to fix the tractor in the barn. So, when he sensed your anxiety, even while dead asleep, he was up and at the screen door in a microsecond.

“Clark.” Bruce greeted him, lifting an eyebrow at the fact Clark was only in his boxers.

“Bruce.” He greeted him back, unbothered.

“I came with news.” Bruce said, turning his eyes back to you.

“Well?” You pressed, sitting down on the porch swing.

“Seems three of the CEOs in the company were working for Pamela Evans, she'd corrupted them.” he started to explain, pacing the length of the porch, which gave you an even more unsettled feeling. “They, ironically, call themselves, the Council,”

“How ominous.” You rolled your eyes, rocking back and forth on the swing.

“It was a rogue group, trying to reproduce and enhance humans,” He looked at Clark, and sighed. “to try and fight any more aliens that might try and take over the planet.”

“Such as Superman.” You understood, glancing at Clark yourself.

“Luckily, they're a small group and easily taken care of.” Bruce went on, leaning back against the porch railing. “I've tracked down most of them, and dispatched them. But, there's one person left, the leader of the group.”

“Pamela wasn't?” You asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No.” Bruce shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest.

“Then, who is?” Clark asked, moving to sit on the swing with you.

“His name is Oliver Maddox.” He sighed, rubbing his scruffy face. “He has a very small and faint paper trail, a trail that leaves behind a lot of bodies.” He pressed his lips together, looking at you with a down turned face.

“So, where is Maddox?” Clark asked, on edge.

“I was hoping, you'd help me find him, Clark.” Bruce told him, lifting his head. “If we can eliminate him, then the group will fall apart, and y/n will be safe again.”

“Give me everything you have on him,” Clark told him, adamant. “And I'll take care of him.”

The tone of Clark's voice worried you, but you trusted him. Bruce gave Clark the file on Oliver Maddox, but declined to stay at the farm, even for breakfast, saying he had pressing matters to deal with inside Wayne Industries. You understood that with the corrupted CEOs he had to get rid of, there would be a lot of paperwork and damage control to take of. You sat on Clark's bed after breakfast, worried over the prospect of Clark going after Oliver Maddox, and potentially killing him.

“Y/n.” Clark whispered, leaning against the door jam, and frowned when you didn't answer him. He pushed off the door frame and moved to you, cupping your face in his hands. “Y/n.” He said your name, even softer this time.

You blinked up at him. “You're going to kill him, aren't you?” you asked, quietly.

Clark sank to his knees, moving his hands to hold both of your in his, pressing his lips to your fingers. “If I have to, then, I will.” He whispered, against your knuckles. “But, I will bring him to justice, and keep you safe, y/n.”

You leaned forward and kissed him, deeply, holding his head in your hands. Clark slipped his hands up your arms, gripping your shoulders for a moment, before his hands glided down your back and his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him, so your legs wrapped around him. He stood up, supporting you with one arm under your butt, turning long enough to close the bedroom door, and lay you back down on the bed. He pulled your sweats and panties off, shoving down his boxers enough to get himself free. You ran your fingers through his hair, fingertips caressing his neck and shoulders, nails racking, harshly, down his lean back and dug into his round ass, making him moan and growl into your neck as he sucked on it. His hands went behind your knees, pushing them farther up and rubbing himself against you, causing you to moan around your trapped lip as you bit into it, and you felt his cock grow and harden against your wet core.

“Clark.” You mewled, breathless, using the advantage of your hands grasping his plentiful ass to jerk his hips against you.

“Y/n.” He groaned back, his eyes squeezing shut at the feel of you.

Sex between the two of you had always been balanced and gentle, but this time it wasn't, it felt desperate and rough, like you needed to keep each other grounded by pure force. Clark rocked his hips into you, driving himself deeper into you each time, your hands moved up his back, hooked under his arms and around to his shoulders, nails breaking the skin at the top of his shoulders and making Clark hiss. The headboard knocked against the bedroom wall to the uneven and hard thrusts, catching Martha's attention as she walked into the house from picking vegetables from the garden, for that night's dinner. She looked up at the ceiling, hearing the faint noises the two of you were making, even above the banging headboard, blushed and shook her head.

“Let's go take a walk, Hank.” She called to the border collie, setting the vegetable basket on the counter. “Give the kids some space.” She chuckled, holding open the back door for the dog and following him out.

“I love you.” You moaned, pulling Clark into a kiss as you both came, needing the taste of him on your lips.

“I love you too, y/n.” Clark moaned into your mouth, brushing your hair out of your face.

It was the screen door slamming that woke you up an hour later, you found yourself alone and knew what was going on. You yanked on your sweats and ran down the stairs, your thigh throbbing from the excretion. Clark was standing a few feet away from the porch, long red cape blowing in the gentle breeze, he turned to you, the breath and words you were starting to form stuck in your throat, seeing him fully decked out in his Superman suit. It defined every muscle you worshiped and hugged the amazing curve of his ass. But, it made a huge swelling of pride burst from inside your chest, and a smile crossed your lips. You looked him in the eye, both of you smiling, both of you knowing what he was going to do, and why. Your feet didn't even touch the porch steps as your ran for him and found yourself wrapped up in his arms, his lips on yours.

“Go get them, Superman.” You whispered against his lips. “And don't be late for dinner, Clark.” You added, chuckling as you stepped back.

“I will, and I won't be.” He grinned, then shot up into the sky, a sonic boom punctuating his ascent, before he vanished into the clouds.

[bluboothalassophile]

Getting to Know More

Fun facts about Terry McGinnis:

He was a notorious middle child in a HUGE family: Dick, Jason, Athanasia, Cassandra, Tim, Duke, Damian, Alina, himself, Helena, Thomas, Bruce Jr., and Matt. His extended family included Dick’s wife, and Dick’s kids, Thomas, Mar’i, and Jake; Jason’s adopted daughter Lian Harper; Tim’s wife, Stephanie; and Duke’s wife; Claire Clover. His extended, extended family also had Uncle Luke’s and Aunt Babs’ kids; Carrie and Nell, Bette Kane, Grampa Lucius, and, well, at this point one got the picture; huge ass colony of Bats living in Gotham here.

He shredded it where skateboard, hockey, motocross were concerned, but he had the coordination of a spaz for baseball and surfing.

His mom was awesome on epic proportions. Seriously, he didn’t know how she did it but she redefined super mom.

Another thing to know, he totally did not have a crush on the Princess of Atlantis, he was only going with her to this movie because he happened to like it, and because Mareena was the only chick he knew who didn’t like chick flicks (Mar’i, Helena, Lian, and Max could all go Suck It! He was going to see a damn action flick if it fucking killed him this year!) Mareena just also happened to like action flicks, which was why she was here with him.

Standing there in the theatre line he tried not to stare at Mareena who was hiding her identity under a hoodie she had stolen from his room when she had walk up to the Manor with a movie for them to see. Mareena did not have friends in Atlantis who appreciated the arts of action flicks. Terry didn’t care though, he was no longer being that weirdo who was going to a theatre alone. Also, she was a chick Dana could not get jealous over and drive him insane. He would think college meant that the drama would die off with the age grow up, but apparently not. And he was not getting blue balls because Dana was having imaginary jealous fits over imaginary slights.

“Why can the line not move faster,” Mareena huffed.

“Because the line is moving this pace because people are slow. Besides, we’re ahead of the line for the premiere line,” he jabbed his thumb over his shoulder to show her. Mareena frowned.

“You people are annoying,” Mareena said icily.

“How are we annoying, you wanted to go to this movie, so I’m going with you to see this movie,” he said.

“I would’ve asked someone else, but,” she started.

“There’s no one but Don and Dawn, and we both know there’s no way in hell that Barry and Iris would let them come.”

“I could’ve gone to New Krypton,” Mareena argued.

“Oh yes, because watching their movies is so entertaining,” Terry rolled his eyes.

“You land dwellers have no appreciation for the fine arts of moving with a flow,” Mareena argued.

“Pipe down, and don’t draw attention of the paparazzi,” he snapped when her hood started falling off of her head, which had him pulling it more firmly over the green hair of hers. Only disadvantage of going to the movies with Mareena was the fact her hair glowed in the dark. But other than that, trade offs, made it worth it!

“You do realize they’d be more inclined to notice you and not me, right?”

“I’m wearing a Gotham Knights cap, and I am not royalty, I’m just one of a hundred Wayne kids,” Terry point out.

“I thought you were a Prince,” Mareena said.

“No, I’m a Wayne,” he said. “Not royalty.”

“You are also…” she held up her index fingers by her head and smiled a bit.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t count,” he shrugged. Dick had been Batman, Jason had briefly been to save Dick’s wedding, Cass currently was, Damian was next. It wasn’t anything special anymore, it wasn’t special in the family he belonged in. Though B was still the control freak behind the scenes for them so technically B was still the Bat.

“Why not?”

“Cause B’s the big man in charge.”

“Your dad is in a wheelchair,” Mareena pointed out.

“Partial paralyses is not a disability, it just means his legs have to take a break sometimes and Mom has to push him around, it’s not abnormal to what normally happens with him,” he shrugged.

“You guys have issues,” Mareena stated.

Terry merely shrugged. “Dad’s fine, we’re fine, it’s all fine!” he snorted.

“Last time you said that everything was on fire,” Mareena stated.

“Let me restate we’re fine. But mostly keep your hair away so I don’t have to explain to Dana why the hell I’m seen with another woman.” Terry stated.

“Ah, the nefarious Dana, why are you still dating that woman?” Mareena asked. “She was bratty when you were a teen, she’s worse now.”

“Not all of us get fairy tale romances,” Terry shrugged. “Besides, I like sex, sex is a great relief to the stress of everything.”

“You sound like a cad.”

“You should hear my sisters talk,” he shrugged. Mar’i, Helena, Max, and Lian were way worse than him about the sex talks, girls were all about feelings, and emotions and connections, it was annoying, and they always talked about it and guys! Terry probably knew more about women than the average guy and it was a disturbing amount information his sisters had given him. And just to clarify, he thought of Mar’i, Lian and Max as his sisters because he had known them since he was in diapers! It was hard to think of them as anything remotely close to something other than sisters.

“And you shouldn’t knock down romance,” Mareena stated. “Your family has the most epic love stories according to my father. Other than maybe Diana and Steve’s.”

“You’re nuts!” he sputtered.

“Am not, the story of B and Selina, Dick and Kori, Jason and Raven, Tim and Stephanie, B and Talia,” she stated. “Epic romances.”

“That’s just gross, and disturbing to think about my family’s love lives,” he grimaced.

“You guys are secret sweethearts I bet,” Mareena decided with a cheeky smile.

“We are the Knight! We are the Terror of Nightmares! We are NOT Sweethearts! Even Alina is even an epic of epic badasses,” he argued. His phone buzzed and he pulled it out to see the text was from his mom.

“What’s up?”

“After the movie we need to go get Matt, Carrie, Tommy and Nell from school. Babs and Luke had to go to Africa,” he said.

“Oh.”

“So we’ll get them, get a slice, and then I’ll drop you off, or are you tubing?” he asked.

“Why would I be tubing?”

“Cause it’s up or down with you,” he retorted.

“Can I stay? I haven’t hung around the surface too much, and I do not want to go to the Tower,” she said.

“Yeah. Julia will help us set up a room for you,” Terry said. Julia had come to Gotham recently because Alfred was sick.

“Who is Julia?” Mareena asked.

“Julia is Alfred’s daughter,” he answered.

“Alfred is not B’s father?” she said in bizarre wonderment.

“Uh… yeah, not a secret,” he pointed out. “Alfred is awesome, and he’s totally grandpa, but he’s not blood.” Terry shrugged.

“WHAT!?” Mareena sputtered. Terry jumped a bit as he stared at her bewildered expressioned.

“What!?”

“He’s not blood!?”

“No, I mean, like ninety percent of my family isn’t blood.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “It’s not news.”

“I…” she started. “I always thought you were related,” he said.

“Really?”

“Black hair, blue eyes, ungodly pale.”

“What about Duke or Damian!?” he sputtered.

“Okay, so you don’t all look alike,” she rolled her eyes.

“Exactly, and we are all pretty much adopted. Only Athanasia, Damian, Alina, Helena, Tommy, Junior, Matt and I are actually B’s blood kids.”

“I thought you were just… you know, cause you’re a huge family and dad says B started young, really young, so I just assumed,” she shrugged.

“It’s all public record,” he shrugged. “B hasn’t been shy about it. Dick, Babs, Jason, Cass, Tim, Duke, Steph, technically and kind of, Harper, Cullen, Bette, and Renee.”

“I just thought you were related, and I thought you were also, you know,” she shrugged innocently.

“What else did you think we were!?” He sputtered.

“Vampires,” she said innocently.

“I hate dad for starting that rumor,” Terry muttered sourly.

“That one is funny though!” She persisted. “Hal told me, before I met you guys, that you were all demons.”

“Well, Rae is,” he shrugged.

“I thought your dad was big anti- anything that isn’t human marrying into my family,” Mareena said.

“Luci made valid points which had B accepting the fact marrying into a family as divine and powerful as Rae’s is a… you know, it’s kind of a divine honor,” Terry shrugged. “Besides, I didn’t know they weren’t married until they were officially married.”

“You didn’t know they weren’t married?” Mareena asked.

“They’ve been together since I was in diapers,” Terry shrugged.

“Really?”

“Yes really. I’m pretty sure they were the ones who found me,” Terry said.

“I’m learning more about you than I ever thought possible.”

“All of this is actually public record.”

“Really?” she asked skeptically.

“My biological mother was Mary McGinnis, she was married to Warren McGinnis, they died in a car crash when I was three days old and they were driving home from the hospital. I’m technically property of A.R.G.U.S. so Waller took me in, Jason found me about a year later,” Terry explained.

“That’s weird,” she decided.

“No, what’s weirder is the fact that Matt is my full brother,” Terry stated. “Mary and Warren were dead five years before Matt was even conceived, and he’s my full brother.”

“What?”

“Yeah.”

“I thought you were B’s blood son,” Mareena said carefully.

“I am. Waller injected a serum into Warren McGinnis’ DNA to scramble his own DNA to match with Bruce’s. Warren was a chimera essentially thanks to Waller’s tinkering,” Terry said. “I’m a ‘clone’ of Bruce’s in a way or I was supposed to be with what Waller set up, and I’m his son, but NO, he did not get involved in the conception of me or my blood brother Matt. He’s the genetic material for us. He’s still Dad though since he’s well, Dad,” Terry shrugged.

“That’s complicated.”

“That’s my family. Also, completely public record,” he shrugged.

“You’re not normal,” she said icily.

“What!? I’m completely normal! I’m going to a movie, and with you no less, in broad daylight, and I’m not turning to ash because of the sun either!” he smiled.

“You’re sounding like a assbutt,” she muttered.

“Asshole,” he corrected. “And you started it.”

“What did you expect from my family?” she asked.

“Lots of energy,” he answered honestly. “Dad always said that you guys were energetic like no tomorrow and wild, also unpredictable, dangerous, and loud, very loud.”

“You expected that!?” she sputtered.

“Did you think I was expecting a mermaid from Little Mermaid, fishtail and all?” he asked her.

“Yes!”

“Nah,” he shrugged.

“You’re an ass,” she informed him.

“I’m aware.”

“Good.”

“Besides, I’m a you know,” he shrugged. “Being unpleasant and assholes in general are required.”

“Oh! The ticket booth! And next time we are dropping your family name to get into the movie.”

“You wanted to be a normal American teen this time instead of being a Princess of you know,” he said.

“I did not want that. You wanted that. Freaking love of invisibility. I swear if you were metas you’d all be like that.”

“Rae cast an invisibility spell once, that was awesome, terrifying and cool.”

“Why!?”

“Oh, the demons were hunting her, I was like seven, and it was a giant hide and seek game,” Terry said.

“That’s not normal.”

“You grew up under the sea,” he pointed out.

“You grew up in Gotham.”

“I don’t like you right now,” she decided.

“You adore me, I’m paying for the movie,” he pointed out.

“True,” she decided.

“Awe, you two are an adorable couple!” the ticket attendant said when they stepped up to buy the tickets for S.O.S. “First date?”

“We’re not a couple,” Terry stated as he paid for the tickets.

“But we are friends!” Mareena declared slinging her arm around his shoulders.

“Barely.”

“You adore me!” she declared.

Terry rolled his eyes as the ticket clerk chuckled but gave them their tickets. “I’ll spring for the snacks, you get the good seats,” he ordered as they had their ticket punched and walked into the crowd.

[huilian]

Office Woes

AO3 Characters: Dick Grayson, Bruce Wayne

Summary: So, the office it is. Where Dick cannot put the whole thing on fire because he will have constant surveillance on him. Constant. Surveillance. The kid is barely ten but will most definitely wreck havoc on everything he can get his hands on if he is not under constant surveillance.

A/N: 

commemorating the first full week of me doing UNPAID internship, here's tiny! Dick at the office with Bruce.

***

The first time Bruce brings Dick with him to work, it is a necessity. There is no other option. Alfred is going on one of his ‘vacations’‒Bruce tries not to think about it too much. It’s a vacation. It is‒and Clark is still handling clean-up from Luthor’s latest attempt to thwart him. To be honest, Bruce can probably ask Mr. and Mrs. Kent to watch Dick for the day, but that would mean either they come to Gotham or he and Dick needs to come to Kansas. And that is just not happening.

So, the office it is. Where Dick cannot put the whole thing on fire because he will have constant surveillance on him. Constant. Surveillance. The kid is barely ten but will most definitely wreck havoc on everything he can get his hands on if he is not under constant surveillance.

So yeah. The office it is.

Bruce has done all the necessary preparations he could think of. He has alerted his secretary, Sarah Taylor, a nice woman who does not deserve whatever havoc Dick would make; his employees whose workplace is near his own; and the security. Who definitely will not be able to stop Dick if he decides to make a havoc, because Dick is too well trained, damn it. (It’s kind of Bruce’s own fault for training Dick too well as Robin, but better him able to wreck havoc sometimes from being overtrained than be dead in the streets for being undertrained.) He has made sure that Dick brings his homework with him and his books and his various other trinkets, because Dick is most dangerous when he is bored. He has also made sure that the only comfortable place to nest in other than his own work chair is within his sight at all times. He has secured his workplace from dangerous items, but that is a bit harder, because he will not leave his workplace completely undefended, and that left securing all his weapons. (The securing that Dick may or may not be able to break. Overtrained, like he said.)

Bruce just hopes that what he had done will be enough to keep the havoc wrecking to a minimum. Because Dick will wreck havoc, under constant surveillance or not. He will.

Dick is ecstatic, of course. Dick is rarely only happy or only sad. He’s ecstatic, or devastated, or wrathful. Bruce often wonders how a child so small can feel so much, when he is a six foot two man and more often than not what he can feel is just nothingness.

Bruce does not feel nothing now. He is too busy figuring out every possible way Dick can wreck havoc and how to deescalate it.

“Hello, Miss Taylor!”

Sarah Taylor is good at her job. Her job is going to get a lot harder today.

“Hello, Dick! How are you today?”

“I’m amazing, Miss Taylor! Bruce is going to let me stay with him the whole day!” Bruce is starting to regret that decision, and it’s not even ten minutes in.

“Oh, really? No wonder you’re so happy, Dick!”

Sarah Taylor is a nice woman. When she saw someone happy, she joins them in their happiness. It is an admirable quality for a woman who had lived in Gotham for all her life. Nevertheless, she should not have encouraged Dick.

“Yeah! I can’t wait!”

Bruce needs to put a stop to this. Dick can chatter all day long if nobody stopped him. He did that often at home when Bruce can barely summon the will to get up in the morning after a grueling patrol. But that is neither here nor there.

“Dick,” Bruce says, “Miss Taylor has work to do. Don’t disturb her too long.”

Sarah smiles at Bruce. “It’s alright, Mr. Wayne. He’s no trouble at all.”

Sarah will not think that in another hour or two. Bruce ushers Dick inside his office, and whispers to Sarah, “I’m really sorry about this.”

Sarah just look at Bruce bewilderedly. “Dick is a charming kid, Mr. Wayne. There’s nothing to be sorry about.”

Bruce just grimaces. She’ll see.

*

Even though all of Bruce’s meeting has been postponed, there is still, contrary to popular belief, work for him to do. He makes sure to check on Dick every few minutes. If havoc is coming, Bruce wants to be as prepared as possible. So far, so good. Dick is still doing his homework on the little nest he had made, in the exact place Bruce planned for (Thank God), and there is no sign of him finishing soon.

Bruce allows himself to relax. That is his first mistake.

When he next lifts his head to look at Dick, barely five minutes had elapsed. Barely five minutes. Dick is gone.

*

Bruce spends twenty minutes checking every single hiding spot in his office. That is his second mistake. He should have known that Dick won’t stay inside.

(Bruce curses himself for making his office full of hiding spots. He also curses himself for making Dick be as trained as he is. He still can’t bring himself to regret it.)

After twenty minutes, Bruce finally acknowledges that Dick is not inside his office anymore. Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.

“Sarah?”

“Yes, Mr. Wayne?”

“Have you seen Dick?” There is a ninety percent chance that Sarah did not see Dick go out. Dick is Robin, after all, and highly skilled in entering and escaping a room unnoticed. Bruce himself made sure of it. The last ten percent, the part of Dick that is still a performer and can’t resist showing off, is what made Bruce spent precious seconds asking Sarah.

“No, Mr. Wayne. Not since you and him go in your office.” Sarah’s voice is confused. Bruce must sound like an insane man.

(He is probably insane. Bruce can’t seem know anymore.)

“Well, Sarah. Dick is not inside anymore.”

Bruce hears crashing, then his door being opened. Sarah is there, with a panicked look on her face. She probably thinks that she is going to be fired.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Wayne. I didn’t see him go.” Sarah looked like she is on the verge of tears. Bruce will comfort her later; he needs to find Dick now.

*

It turns out, Dick is chatting with a few people three floors below Bruce’s office. While in a handstand. In several languages at once. Why is he like that?

When Dick sees Bruce, he smiles so wide his face seems to split. “Bruce!” he calls out. And then he walks towards Bruce. While still in a handstand.

Bruce sighed inwardly. No, scratch that. He allows himself to sigh outwardly. He earns it.

“Dick, what did I tell you before we go here?”

Dick stops. His brows furrow. Then he smiles sheepishly. “To not disturb you?”

Dick knows that Bruce knows that Dick knows perfectly well what Bruce said before they come here. “Try again.”

Dick pouts. Bruce will not submit to that pout. He will not. He is Batman, and he will not submit to a ten-year-old’s pout.

Bruce stares at Dick. Dick stares at Bruce

“Mr. Wayne?” A small voice pipe out.

Bruce breaks his staring contest with Dick to see who had just spoken. It’s one of the people Dick was chatting with. He is probably not yet twenty. Why do Wayne Enterprises hire people that young?

“Yes,” Bruce reads the name tag in his uniform, “Mr. Garcia?”

“Um, Tomas is fine, Mr. Wayne.” Tomas breathes in, as if preparing himself for something. “Dick is not disturbing us. He’s a good kid.”

Dick looks meaningfully at Bruce. Bruce chooses to ignore it.

“Yes, Tomas. It’s good that he’s not disturbing you. But he should have told me if he’s going to go out of my office.”

Tomas flinches. Oh no. Bruce did not mean to scare him.

Dick decides to take pity on him. And by him Bruce means Tomas, because Dick did not take pity on Bruce. Not ever.

“B! Stop scaring Tomas!” See? This is what Bruce has to deal with every day.

Tomas’ freezes. Bruce sighs. Again.

“It’s alright, Tomas. I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

Tomas looks at Dick, and then back to Bruce again. He nods, slowly. And then he promptly leaves. It is probably for the best. Bruce is going to scare him no matter what he did. (Bruce is the owner of the company. Tomas is a nobody on the bottom of the ladder. He’s going to be scared of Bruce no matter what.)

Bruce makes a mental note to apologize to Tomas tomorrow. And to explain to him that he really should not be scared of Bruce. (It’s Lucius he should be scared about. Even Bruce is half afraid of Lucius.) Bruce also makes a mental note to assure Sarah that she is not going to be fired.

“B! You made Tomas leave!”

Bruce winces. It’s not like he needed the reminder. “Yeah. Sorry about that.” Then Bruce looks around to the rest of the people Dick was chatting with. It was a strange crowd, something Dick always have the tendency to attract. There is his head of marketing, a staff from R&D, the doorman of this floor, and a few others Bruce can’t place. “Sorry about this, but Dick really needs to go back and finish his homework.”

Bruce looks at Dick, who is still in a handstand. (Why is he like this? Why?) Dick sighs, then lowers himself from the perfect handstand he’s in. (Bruce is still jealous of Dick’s handstand. A ten-year-old should not have that kind of perfect control of his handstand.)

“I guess I got to get going, then. Bye, guys!” Dick waves to the crowd he had gathered. The crowd wave back. Then he had the nerve to hold Bruce’s hand.

Bruce fully intends to glare at Dick, but then Dick just had to give Bruce the wide grin that Bruce can never resist. In the end, Bruce just shakes his head, and holds Dick’s hand back.

“You need to apologize to Miss Taylor, you know. You scared her.”

“Only if you apologize to Tomas, too. You made him leave!”

“Yeah, I know. I’ll apologize to him tomorrow.” Bruce will. He will. “Now, you need to go back to my office and finish your homework.”

“Aww. But it’s so boring,” Dick whines.

“Well, you still need to do it. And tell me if you want to go out again, please.”

Dick visibly brightens up at that. Bruce needs to train that out of him. “I can go out again?”

Bruce is going to regret this, he really is, but he says, “Yes.”

Dick gives a joyful shout, and a few cartwheels just for the hell of it. “Yay! Thanks, B!” Then he hugs Bruce.

Bruce smiles. He can’t help it. His heart and his face always do things out of his control whenever Dick hugs him.

Now, onto the next havoc. There is still seven hours left until they can go home. Dick will probably wreck several more havocs before the workday is done.

epilogue

Bruce expects Jason’s first visit to his office to be the filled with havoc, the same as Dick’s first visit. He shouldn’t have worried. Jason does his homework quietly, and then spend the rest of the day reading the books he brings.

Why can’t Dick be like this?

(He really should not compare Jason to Dick.)

[lizartgurl]

Perfect Marks (Aqualad x OC Soulmate AU)

Word Count: 6200+

Summary: Write something on your skin, it appears on your soulmate’s skin as well

My sole goal of joining tumblr was to make decent Kaldur content and this shows it. I don’t think I’ve ever written anything this fast-paced, and I had no idea a one-shot would turn out this long, but I really enjoyed writing it!

Based off of @the-shadow-of-atlantis‘s soulmate au for Kaldur and her oc, Annabella (x) and inspired by @writing-yj‘s The Bird Tattoo xreader  series (x). You guys are both incredible writers, and I love reading your fanfics :)

@staar-sailorr @super-spoiler @lesbianstargirl @flamebiirds @princes-jasmine (please let me know if any of you do not want to be tagged in my oc fics in the future. i’m just tagging you for now becuz)

The morning of her first day of high school, Emma Grayson screamed.

Half of Gotham must have heard it, if not the entire manor. Rick, just down the hall, skid right into the bathroom door trying to help.

“Emma, what is it?”

“Just look!” Emma shrieked, shoving her arm in his face. Her little brother's eyes went wide at the thick black marks winding up and down both her arms.

“You and Roy went out clubbing last night and didn't bring me?” He asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

“Well how do you know we didn't sneak Wally with us?” Emma snapped.

He shrugged, leaning against the doorway with an insufferable smirk that he couldn't hide. “Wally and I are too tight for him to leave me out of any shenanigans.”

Bruce materialized in the doorway before Emma could smack Rick, and sighed as he saw the marks on her arms.

“You don't remember getting any tattoos yesterday?” He asked.

“No.” Emma shook her head.

“And you're not hungover, so you probably wouldn't have blacked out,” he murmured, taking Emma's arm in his hands to examine the marks. “Do they hurt at all?”

Emma shrugged. “They itch a little, but not painfully.”

Bruce nodded. “They must be your soulmate's markings then. Probably tattoos.”

Emma sighed. She herself wasn’t very artistic, so she never would have drawn something so elaborate on herself, but she never took into account that her soulmate might be. And if they were tattoos, that meant that even if her soulmate showered five times a day, they would never come off of either of them. Emma was absolutely terrified of needles and vowed to never get a tattoo. She never thought she'd be paired with someone who got those giant sleeve tattoos, much less tattoos at all.

“Get dressed, make sure you don't have anymore. Richard, you go get dressed too. I'll see you both downstairs for breakfast in a minute.” Bruce instructed.

Emma locked the door behind them and bravely faced her reflection in the silver-framed mirror. They each started on her hands, snake heads, with no embellishments other than an eye and an open mouth. The snakes then twisted around her arms three times and continued on to her shoulders. After taking off her PJs and turning around a couple times, she found that they connected, arcing down to her lower back.

A few minutes and a couple puffy eyes later, she met Bruce in the dining room, taking her usual place across from Rick.

“For you, Miss Emma.” In addition to her breakfast platter of eggs and bacon, Alfred handed Emma a jar of concealer that matched her skin tone.

Bruce wiped his chin of jelly from his toast. “With tattoos of this size, keeping them hidden is vital to your secret identity. Not only would people try to replicate the tattoos to claim to be your soulmate, they would also connect Finch and Emma Grayson with the similar tattoos.”

Emma nodded, and began to apply the concealer to the back of her hands. Her school uniform and her Finch uniform already had long sleeves in case of such a situation. Now the rest of her wardrobe would follow suit. At least Gotham was miserable, cold, and wet ninety-nine percent of the time.

Alfred dropped Emma and Rick off at Gotham Academy before taking Bruce to the WayneTech offices, and Bruce made a big show of seeing his children off on their first day of a new school year for the all-seeing public eye.

“We can look more into them tonight, Emma. How about that?” He offered with a winning smile, a last attempt to cheer her up.

“Sure,” she smiled back. Rick had already run off for the building with the middle school classes. Emma was moving up to the high school building this year, with grades nine through twelve.

She plopped into the open seat between Barbara Gordon and Lucas Fox in first-period chemistry.

“Hey, Emma! How you doing?” Babs asked, sounding peppy and upbeat.

“Long morning.” She groaned.

“As always on the first day of school, huh?” Luke asked with a chuckle.

Emma giggled too. Her friends knew just how to cheer her up, even if they didn't know what was going on.

“Emma?” Barbara was squinting at her hands, “Are you wearing-”

“Good Morning!” The chem teacher trilled along with the bell, and Barbara forgot what she was going to say.

Head cushioned in her arms in the edge of the second row, Emma snuck a look at her two closest friends, who both had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows in the warm classroom. She had to settle for just taking off her sweater.

Luke and Barbara were the two smartest students in their grade at prestigious Gotham Academy, which rubbed off on Emma. They were both in the computer science club. Luke was in robotics club, and wanted to be an engineer like his father, Lucius Fox, head of the R&D department of WayneTech. Barbara's father was Police Commissioner James Gordon of the GCPD, and spent every spare moment in the library. Emma took to joining her, and Rick and Luke would join them.

Instead of paying attention to the long list of safety procedures that Doctor Crane was going over, Emma spent first period thinking over whether or not to tell her friends. Would someone overhear? Would they let things slip?

It would just have to be another secret she kept from them.

~

Bruce was gone from the time that they got home to late at night, so Emma persuaded Rick to help her look through all the books that the Manor’s library had on Soulmates and their markings, so long as they got to watch Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark while doing it.

Most of the books Emma read were general knowledge. Whenever you wrote or drew something on your skin, it appeared on your soulmate’s body as well. Mostly it was just notes and reminders, doodles in the midst of boredom, but tattoos were a popular tactic to try and find your soulmate quicker, by looking for the exact replica of your tattoo on someone else.

There were several books on the language of markings, symbols ranging from elaborate to simple that could send a certain message to your soulmate were they also well-versed in the language of markings. Emma didn’t find anything resembling her soulmate’s markings in any of those books, so she tossed them on the floor with Rick’s books, which had slid off his lap after he fell asleep shortly after Indy entered the Well of Souls.

Sighing tiredly, Emma shut off the TV, but the excitement of her soulmate’s markings and the first day of school all rolled into one left her exhausted, and she never wanted to leave the sunken cushions of her favorite TV couch.

Shrouded in night, the room faded into darkness. Emma removed her sweater to use a blanket, and stopped.

“Rick,” she whispered, jabbing him in the shoulder.

“Huh?” He asked, “Is the movie over?”

“You fell asleep, but look,” She held out her arms, bare beneath her t-shirt. The black, geometric shapes were now outlined by a faint blue glow, reflected on Emma’s face. The light itself seemed almost alive, and thought it could have been the lack of sleep, Emma thought she saw it swirling around the room, back and forth like an ocean’s current. Beautiful and powerful. Magical.

Rick laughed giddly. “That’s so cool!” He said, suddenly awake.

Emma laughed too. Maybe her soulmate’s markings weren’t so bad after all.

~

Weeks passed without them fading. Bruce had been right about them being tattoos. They itched like fresh tattoos, though the ink wasn’t in her skin. Alfred gave her a soothing skin balm to rub on her arms before she went to bed each night, guided by the blue lights. They made the perfect night light, though Emma had long since outgrown such things. She’d jolt awake from a nightmare, only to have the magical light envelop her with a tingling sensation somewhat like an electric shock. It was comforting, like a never-ending hug.

Sometimes, on patrol, when Bruce wasn’t looking, Emma would take off her glove and let the snake-head glow, smiling somewhat as she showed it all of Gotham City. Her soulmate must really like snakes, and if they cast the light that her tattoos did, maybe they were a magician like Zatara.

Emma desperately hoped that her soulmate was a hero. She wanted to be able to tell them everything, to share both parts of her life with her soulmate.

“Woah,” Wally gaped appreciatively as Emma showed off her right arm in the seclusion of a back alley in Star City, just outside the “Arrow-Cave,” or the “Quiver,” which Ollie was convinced would catch on.

Roy nodded, but from the way his lower lip jutted out as he slowly nodded, it was clear that he was impressed by whoever had etched these tattoos.

“Show us your tattoos again, Roy.” Emma said. She rolled her sleeve back down, cutting off the light.

Roy rolled up the right arm sleeve of his shirt, exposing the small constellation on his shoulder. The big dipper, or the bear and the birds according to those who had generously raised him. It was a permanent reminder of his childhood and what he had learned with them. After Emma smiled, he showed off the tattoo on his left shoulder. The one from his soulmate.

It was a perfect circle, a shield, he insisted, with the head of Medusa and several wriggling snakes spreading from the center. The Aegis, Athena’s shield. Obviously his soulmate had a penchant for Greek mythology.

“I’m thinking of getting a tattoo,” Wally lounged against the brick wall.

“Oh really? What would you get? A hot dog?” Rick asked, balancing in a handstand on top of the fence that cut the alleyway in half.

“Ha, ha.” Wally huffed, offended. “What would you get, Boy Wonder?” He demanded.

“A bird, duh.” He flipped in the air, landing neatly in front of Wally, “A robin, to be precise. Right behind the ear.”

“What about you, Emma?” Roy asked. “If you got a tattoo, what would you get?”

Emma leaned back on top of the trash can, using her arms to prop herself up. “Probably a music heart, with the treble and bass clefs twisted into the shape of a heart.” But she still wasn’t certain. That didn’t seem special enough compared to her soulmate’s tattoos, or Roy’s tattoo, but it was the best that she could come up with in two seconds.

Rick and Wally were still bickering. “So if it’s not a hot dog, what is it then? Nachos?”

“No! It’d be  the digits of pi, stretching from my right hand to my left, like Emma’s!”

“Nerd.”

“Geek.”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Roy asked as the younger two continued to yell. He knew better than to expect an answer.

Emma shook her head, grinning at the secret she was keeping, this one more for her own amusement than out of necessity. Rick had sketched out where he wanted his tattoo earlier, and now it was hidden beneath his raven-colored mop. And when Wally had taken off his mask to eat some of Ollie’s cookies in the safety of the Quiver, Emma glimpsed a few wobbly sharpie lines in Rick’s non-artistic peeking out from under the bright red hair. Wally was too distracted to notice it for himself, and it was hidden beneath his lightning bolts whenever Rick had been looking at him.

The next day at school, chem class was cancelled because Doctor Crane was missing. Emma and Babs went to the library while Luke finished his homework in the computer lab. Alysia Yeoh wrote her phone number on Barbara’s hand in black pen as the three discussed Harry Potter and the New Hunger Games movie. Then in the middle of civics class, the same ten numbers jumped out at Emma, faint on the back of Luke’s writing hand and nearly made her spit out her strawberry lemonade.

She texted Roy in glee so she wouldn’t blurt out and ruin the surprise for Luke. He let her, though he wasn’t really the kid of person that got obsessed with soulmates.

Emma, however could not wait to meet her soulmate.

~

Batman called in Flash and Aquaman to help out with a new villain, calling himself “Scarecrow”. Finch was texting Roy with updates every five minutes, and managed to catch the end of Aquaman’s reply as the Batmobile roared towards the Harbor.

“I will be bringing an apprentice of sorts with me.”

“You have an apprentice?” Batman asked. His monotone betrayed no surprise.

“A recent development, I will admit. It will not be a problem, will it? I want to get him started as soon as possible, and after all, Flash and yourself have sidekicks of your own, as does Green Arrow, some of them younger than Aqualad.”

“I take it that’s his name, then?”

“I take it will be fine, then?”

Robin snorted. It wasn’t every day that they heard a member of the Justice League sassing Batman. Typically, Wonder Woman was the only person who could get away with that, on account of her lack of weaknesses. Aquaman may or may not pay for that comment sooner or later if he didn’t watch his back.

“Meet you at the rendezvous point.” Batman cut off the transmission, glaring at his kids in the mirror. Finch only shrugged back at him. Her tattoos were itching again.

Flash pulled up seconds before the Batmobile came to a complete stop.

“Ha! We were here first!” Robin cackled.

“Only counts if you’re out of the car, boy wonder,” Kid patted him on top of his head. Emma grumbled, wishing that Roy were here, so at least she wouldn’t feel like an outcast to their flirting. She pulled out her phone again.

“Finch, phone away. Scarecrow can track the signal.” Batman instructed. She shoved it securely in her belt pocket.

“So how long did Fish man say it’d take him?” Flash asked.

“He’s probably taking the scenic route to show Aqualad around,” Robin piped up.

“Aqualad?” It was Kid’s turn to be surprised now.

In answer, there was a splash from the docks, and Aquaman flew out of the water, crouching in a majestic landing a moment later. A smaller splash followed, with a much less graceful landing that nearly sent the poor “Aqualad” stumbling back into the water.

“Woah!” Finch lunged forward, grabbing his wrist.

“Th-thank you, my lady,” He fell over himself to find his balance, bowing as courteously as he could with sea legs.

“Oh, no worries!” Emma insisted. “And- and you can call me Finch, please.”

“Apologies,” He said immediately, “I am afraid I am not used to the surface yet, it is still very new to me.”

“You will get used to it, Kaldur’ahm,” Aquaman gave a broad smile, clapping his new protege on the shoulder.

“Robin, Kid Flash, I would like to introduce my protege, Aqualad.”

“Cool!” Kid sped over, nearly shoving Finch to the side to shake Aqualad’s hand. “I’m Kid Flash! The coolest superhero around, but you can call me Wally when we’re off-duty.”

Robin saluted. “I’m Robin. Call me Rob. And you’ve already met my sister, Finch.”

“Yes, I have. It is wonderful to meet all of you.”

“Well, there’s also Speedy, but his mentor has a hot date with Black Canary tonight so they’re all currently unavailable,” Kid Flash snickered as their mentors discussed the issue at hand.

Finch gave him an elbow in the gut. “So, Aqualad, how long have you been working with Aquaman?” She nodded towards the adults, and Aqualad followed her indication.

“How are you working with Aquaman?” Robin asked, “I didn’t know the guy had any kids.”

“He does not,” Aqualad assured him. “I am one of his subjects. About two weeks ago, Ocean Master and his followers attacked Atlantis. Though he appeared to best Aquaman, my friends and I, students at Her Majesty’s Conservatory of Sorcery, were able to distract Ocean Master long enough for our king to recover. To show his gratitude, he gave us the opportunity to become his protege. I was the only one who accepted. I have spent the past few weeks training with my king and learning more about the surface world, the dangers it faces, and the threats to Atlantis.”

“Hey, kids! Gather round!” Flash beckoned them over, and Emma groaned inwardly at being called kids. They were on the younger side of teenage years, yeah, but the work they did was anything but childish. Unless you were Wally, and then you could be immature about anything.

While the adults had the dangerous job of actually going in after Scarecrow, the kids were designated to the much less dangerous assignment of patrolling the perimeter to make sure that Scarecrow nor his recently-acquired henchmen got away.

Finch didn’t mind it that much, she could get away with being lazy when Batman wasn’t looking over her shoulder every second, but Kid and Robin were a little upset at being left behind. They mirrored each other, chin propped up in one hand each.

“Why did Batman need to call us in again?” Kid asked. “I mean, isn’t he always like, ‘Bleh bleh, I work alone, bleh bleh,” He imitated the dark and scratchy voice of a vampire.

“Scarecrow’s only weapon is his fear gas, and he’s trying to figure out how to transform that gas into a liquid to infect Gotham’s water supply, and maybe the whole coast, and he needs someone in forensics who can track the fear gas chemicals super-fast, like your uncle. I’m pretty sure Aquaman invited himself along when Flash blabbed about the possibility of the coasts being affected.” Robin listed off.

“Well, the oceans are Aquaman’s responsibility. He takes that very seriously,” Aqualad was the only one of them standing at attention. His eyes were used to the dimness of the water, giving him an edge in night-vision. “He is a very good king, and he does not wish to let down his people.”

Finch set aside her phone. “It sounds like you really respect him.”

“I do. He has been very kind to my family. I admire his heroism for Atlantis and the world.”

Emma’s mind suddenly swelled with curiosity about Atlantis, but before she could ask, the doors of the warehouse they’d been staking out blew open to smoke, and about ten dark-clothed thugs ran out, coughing violently.

“Is that fear gas?” Kid asked.

“Nah, that’s probably just Batman’s smoke pellets.” Emma shot her grappling cord at a tower of cargo containers. “Try to keep up, Gentlemen!” She sang, swinging off towards the escaping thugs. She landed on one, taking him out. Another got a kick to the jaw, and the other hit her in the back. She staggered forward to regain her balance, alone against nine. Maybe she should have waited for the boys, that way she wouldn��t have been alone in facing them.

The thugs said nothing, but grunted, swinging and lunging at her as she danced around them, doing what she could to stay out of their grip and take advantage of any openings.

“Finch, look out!” It took a moment for her to register the almost-unfamiliar voice before Aqualad shoved her out of the way of a thug sneaking up behind her, getting trapped in the bear hug grip instead. Aqualad refused to lose his cool, and took a deep breath. A blue glow started at his shoulders, twisting down his arms, and letting out a burst of bio-electricity that stunned his captor with a scream.

“Woah,” Wally’s eyes were wide with admiration.

Emma’s eyes were wide too.

His tattoos glowed a warm blue hue.

And they matched the marks hidden on Emma’s arms.

~

“Emma, get up.”

“No.”

“We’re gonna be late for school.”

“Go without me.”

“No.” Still in his PJs, Rick took a flying leap at Emma’s queen-sized bed and bounced until she threw off her covers and started bouncing with him.

“So you met your soulmate, huh?”

Emma bit her lip before she could bite back with a “You too”.

“I thought I was ready to meet them, but I guess I’m not,” She said, still bouncing.

“Well, you don’t have to tell him. Not yet, anyways,” He pointed out. “Me, however, I’m not gonna be able to hold this in for very long.” Emma suddenly wanted to shout out that Wally was Rick’s soulmate, but she held herself back.

“It feels wrong,” Emma said, landing on her butt. Rick landed next to her, bouncing a couple times.

“He’s from Atlantis. He should have been soulmates with someone from Atlantis, someone who understands his tattoos and markings and their cultural significance,” She traced the tattoo up her right arm, an eel, not a snake. Aqualad had told a nervously curious Wally last night. After the fight and noticing Aqualad’s tattoos, it was like someone had flipped a switch from casual to awkward. She couldn’t even look at him without turning bright red. According to the marks on her skin, this was the man she was destined to spend her life with, to fall in love with. And she had known him for less than a day.

“You could always learn more about Atlantis. Ask him, talk to him.” Rick pointed out. “I think Bruce gave Aquaman a water-proof cell phone for AL to use. I can look up his number if you want-”

“No, I can ask him next time we team up, thank you very much.” Emma interrupted.

She sighed. “It probably would be a good idea to start there, though.”

Rick hugged her, his arms around her neck. “It’ll all work out, you’ll see.” He promised.

Emma hugged his arms, holding her little brother. “Thanks, Rick.”

“Master Richard! Miss Emma! You’re going to be late for school!”

~

The team was formed a few months later. Roy refused entry to the kiddie club, leaving an opening for Superboy and Miss Martian, neither of whom had any markings for themselves or from their soulmates. Emma was ecstatic, though both she and Aqualad missed having Speedy around. Artemis came next, an arrow tattoo wrapped around her bicep, and Speedy became “Red Arrow”, to show that he was moving on.

In the Junior Justice League base of Mount Justice, hero aliases were traded for civilian ID’s and nicknames. Wally remained the only one in confidence of Finch and Robin’s secret ID’s, but other than the three of them, there was Conner, Megan, Artemis (yes, it was the same as her hero name), and Kaldur.

Kaldur’s maturity and level-headedness got him elected team leader, in charge of organizing missions and getting the ragtag team to work together. Emma found herself sticking close by to help out with paperwork and discussing team problems and training with Kaldur. Not just because she wanted to get to know Kaldur, but because she felt so comfortable with him. She could talk to him about how red skittles were clearly the best out of all skittles, and he would listen intently. She could ask him a rhetorical question and he would answer patiently, or he would help her find the answer. He put time and effort into her, and she did the same. He was still studying and experiencing Surface Culture, and Emma loved explaining things to him.

Time set aside for mission discussions more often than not turned into these discussions of almost nothing. Kaldur was quite businesslike, compared to everyone else, at least, but Rick insisted that he “melted” around Emma.

“Still think that fate made a mistake?” He asked.

Emma shrugged. “I feel guilty for hiding it now. What if he thinks I only spent time with him because he’s my soulmate and not because...” She trailed off.

“Because you really care about him?” Artemis asked, loudly sipping a can of pineapple juice stolen from Wally. She and Megan knew, of course. Those things tended to happen when you shared a locker room.

Emma shrugged. “I just don’t think I’m ready yet.”

The others were, though, and she could tell.

“It’s not their secret to tell.” Roy told her over the phone. “If any of them so much as blurt the world ‘soulmate’ in Kal’s direction before you give the okay, I’ll kick all their butts.”

“How do you put up with it?” She asked him. Roy was basically a best friend to both Emma and Kaldur. Keeping it a secret from one of them had to be hard.

“I’ll admit, it’s hilarious seeing you two blushing and talking like that and he apparently doesn’t get a clue.”

“You jerk!” Emma threw a pillow at the wall to substitute for throwing one at Roy.

“Seriously, Em,” His laughter had faded, “You like him, don’t you? And he likes you. What do you have to lose by telling him?”

~

Nothing. She had nothing to lose. Or did she? She couldn’t tell, and it drove her insane.

“Is something bothering you, Finch?” Aqualad asked.

“Dragonfire,” She reminded him, flexing her new wings. A gift from her old friend the Joker.

“Yes, of course. My apologies,” He still bowed his head formally. Emma liked it when he used Atlantean mannerisms.

“It’s okay, I like that you still call me that sometimes.” She liked it so much her stomach tickled. She passed it off as her new powers being irritating.

Raquel overheard, and like the others she had it.

“We have to set them up,” She declared to the team while Kaldur and Dragonfire were off doing “important paperwork”.

“Agreed,” Artemis pounded her fist on the island counter for emphasis.

“But how are we going to convince Dra that she should tell? The longer she waits, the more nervous she gets.” Wally said

“Shouldn’t we let them decide?” Conner tried to say.

The PA switched on in a burst of static. “Team, report to the mission room.”

According to intel from Batman, Jonathan Crane, the Scarecrow, had escaped from Arkham Asylum and was hiding somewhere in Miami, Florida. The team’s mission was to find Scarecrow and whoever was helping him, and make it hard for Scarecrow to hurt anyone until Batman and the League could come in and deal with Scarecrow themselves.

While everyone else donned a tank top to go with their shorts, Emma stuck with her usual long-sleeved shirt in the Florida sun.

“Are you not hot in that?” Kaldur asked.

“I’m fine,” Dragonfire insisted with a smile. Several girls walked past, admiring Kal’s tattoos, and Emma turned away, just a little bit jealous. Of course, it was her own fault for not being more open about their marks in the first place. The team was split up patrolling the city. Kid Flash and Robin scouted out the perimeter, Superboy, Miss Martian, and Artemis had the malls, Zatanna and Rocket had the streets, and Kaldur and Dragonfire had the beach. They walked in silence, side by side through the warm sand, keeping an eye out for any shady or straw-like figures.

And then Kaldur reached down and took Emma’s hand.

“Huh?” She didn’t realize that she’d said that out loud, as if he’d said something she’d misheard.

“I thought that it would sell our inconsequential appearance if we pretended to be a couple,” He said, “Is that alright?”

Emma smiled, thankful that her blush was hidden beneath her sunglasses and the brim of her floppy straw hat. “That’s just fine,” She assured him.

It wasn’t awkward, and it certainly wasn’t boring when Kaldur was around. There was no doubt about it, Emma knew that she was in love.

And then there were screams.

Emma tried to stop the crying child that was running down the beach, but she only screamed louder and ran in the other direction, avoiding anyone who reached out or stopped to try and help her, until she finally fell to her knees, curled up in a little ball. More kids were appearing with those symptoms, jumping at every little movement or sound. Fear gas.

No time to wait for the League, Dragonfire and Kaldur sprinted the way the kids had come.

“Aqualad to Team, come in, the symptoms of mass fear gas have been spotted on the beach. Rendezvous at our coordinates ASAP.”

“Kid Flash to Aqualad, Rob and I found the remains of a lab used to create fear gas about five miles inland.”

“Tag and bag the evidence, then come help us,” Dragonfire instructed. More and more people were screaming out of fear now, not just the kids.

They spotted Scarecrow out at sea, on a rickety old boat bobbing on the waves that were becoming more and more tumultuous every second. Had the clouds been that dark and ominous a second ago?

“Hold on!” Kaldur shouted. Emma wrapped her arms around his torso as he dove into the waves, holding on for dear life as he made for the boat like a torpedo. He shot out of the water and Emma spread her dragon wings, dropping him on the ship like a bomb. Scarecrow threw canisters of fear gas at both of them, but Emma fried them with her electricity, negating the anxiety-inducing abilities. Her fists crackled and her hair billowed with static as she hovered above the ship like a bird of prey, providing cover as Kaldur fought off Scarecrow’s guards. Emma went for the big man himself. It was strange to think that this was her old biology teacher, but given how teachers were treated in America, she really couldn’t blame him. She swept in with a hook to the jaw, sending him stumbling backwards.

“How do we stop it, Crane?” She demanded, going for intimidation. The guy liked fear, right?

“Such power...” Crane hissed, “Tell me, child, what scares a god like you?”

Emma shot him in the arm with another lightning bolt. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Scarecrow grabbed at her shirt, tearing off some fabric. She threw him off with another blast of electricity that tore her shirt even more. It wasn’t made of the same durable stuff that her uniform was.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad shouted, “I think we have been exposed to minimal effects of the fear gas!”

“Probably!” She agreed, ducking under Scarecrow’s hit. “Try to stay focused! You can fight it off!” She promised.

She turned back to Scarecrow, who now had an aerosol-like can pointed at her face, and sprayed before jumping over the side of the boat. His henchmen follow suit, and Dragonfire heard the sound of a submarine roaring away below the choppy waves.

“Dragonfire!” Aqualad caught her as she rubbed at her eyes, coughing violently.

“Dragonfire, Finch, hang on, you can fight it,” He urged, setting her down on the

Emma heard none of that, her ears were too clogged, no matter how she tried to shake off the fear gas.

She looked down at her arms, the sleeves of her shirt completely gone. Kaldur looked down and saw them too. He quickly pulled away, backing up several steps.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Finch’s voice quavered, echoing in her ears as Aqualad swam in and out of her vision.

It cleared long enough to see the disgusted look on his face.

She was out cold before she hit the water.

~

Emma awoke tangled in soft white sheets. She hugged herself, running her fingers against the rough ink. They itched more than ever now, reminding her of what happened on the boat.

Kaldur hated her. He had to. She hated herself.

“Good, you’re awake,” Black Canary smiled down at her kindly, approaching the side of her bed.

“You’re all right,” She said at the sight of tears flooding Emma’s eyes. “The fear gas should be just about flushed from your system by now. Aquaman and Batman are helping to oversee the cleanup of Miami Beach, and even though Scarecrow’s escaped, no one was killed. Wonder Woman and Flash are making sure that everyone receives a vaccination for the fear gas.”

That did little to assuage Emma’s rapidly beating heart. “Is Kaldur-” She stopped herself, “Is Aqualad okay?” She whispered.

Canary’s smile brightened. “That’s right! He’s your soulmate!” She patted Emma’s bare arm, “Just one moment, I’ll go get him for you.”

“No, Dinah wait-!” The door whisked shut behind Dinah before Emma could finish.

She leaped to her feet, shaking like jello. She had to get out of there, she couldn’t face Kaldur like this. She grabbed a change of clothes, lying on the counter, and tripped over her big feet. Seconds before she smacked into the linoleum, strong arms with too-familiar tattoos caught her, lifting her up.

“Hi,” Kaldur said, giving a small smile.

Emma pushed him away, falling back into the bed. “Go away,” She demanded, throat thick with tears.

Kaldur’s eyes went wide, glancing between his tattoos and the marks on Emma’s arms. “Finch? Are you alright?”

She shook her head, “Just leave me alone!”

“Finch, what is wrong?”

“Don’t call me that!” She screamed. “I get it, I’m not what you wanted in a soulmate, I’m sorry to disappoint you,” She sobbed.

“But even if you hate me, I have to tell you that I love you. I have been since I met you, before I even knew that we were soulmates.”

Now, Kaldur’s face was screwed up in confusion. He was usually so passive, it was strange to see him like this.

Having said that, Emma was unable to keep her mouth shut. “I love your sincerity and your honesty, your kindness and how much you care. I love your curiosity and fascination with every new thing you find out about the surface world. I love your patience and your smile and that little laugh you make when Rick and Wally are kidding around because we know they’re soulmates but they can’t tell. I didn’t want to tell you I was your soulmate because I wanted to make sure you liked me for me, and that I liked you not just because you were my soulmate.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the blanket in her hands, worried that it might tear if she held it too tight, but it was better than letting the tears she was holding back burst out.

There was she soft pad of bare feet on tile, and Kaldur’s rough but gentle hands brushed some hair from her face.

“I do not hate you, Finch. It would be impossible for me to do so.”

She gasped and opened her eyes. A few tears fell, but Kaldur helped her wipe them away. “I have loved you for a long time, but I hope you can forgive me for not coming forward with my feelings before.” He paused, taking her hand in his. “I was afraid that if you were not my soulmate, you would not be open to dating other people.”

She almost laughed, throwing her arms around him. Kaldur returned her embrace.

“I love how kind you are as well. Your impatience is endearing, and I find it amusing how I seem to be the only person you are patient with. I love how you are always so happy and smiling. I love how stubborn you are, and your commitment to justice for those who need it.

“And I love the fact that you are my soulmate.”

~

“Are you seriously getting nachos?” Artemis asked, looking at the stereotypical designs that were offered at the most popular tattoo parlor in Happy Harbor. “A lightning bolt would be ten times cooler.”

“Lightning is fleeting but food is forever,” Wally said, attempting to sound old and wizened.

“Yeah, at least until you eat it,” Rick snickered.

“I think I might get lightning,” Emma said. “Or maybe a tiny dragon.”

“Definitely get a dragon,” Raquel agreed, “There’s like fifty heroes who have lightning iconography. You’re the only one who’s got dragon wings.”

“What about Man-bat? Or Blue devil?” Wally pointed out.

“Dude, they’re a bat and a devil, not dragons.” Zatanna said, coming back from her seat with several magical sparkles sprinkled around her wrist like a bracelet. A few moments later, the same style appeared on Raquel’s wrist to go with the white comet on her forearm.

“My turn!” Wally declared with glee, hopping up to the table Zee had been at. “I want the first seven digits of Pi on my ankle,” He said, settling on a price with the tattoo artist.

“What about you, Conner, what are you getting?” Megan asked.

“I can’t get anything here, I’m too strong, but Clark has some tech at the Fortress he can use to put the Superman symbol on my bicep if I really want it.”

“And you do, don’t you?” M’gann giggled.

“Yes, I do.” He nodded firmly. “What are you getting?”

“I don’t know! There are so many cool designs!” She squealed.

“What do you think, Kal? It’s gonna be your tattoo too,” Emma leaned against his shoulder, wearing short sleeves in the summer for the first time in two years, arm in arm with her soulmate.

Kaldur held up the piece of paper he’d been doodling on. “How about this?” He asked, pointing to a small drawing in the corner. A pair of dragon wings, just like hers.

Emma beamed and kissed his cheek. “Perfect.”

[bluboothalassophile]

I just read serious it was amazing, and it got me wondering if you could do a chapter for calm in the storm where Jason actually tells Kara or some other ex girlfriend that they're done and never gonna hook up again? Please and thank you

Hello,

I’m glad to hear you enjoyed Serious, it was interesting to write. Not sure that this was how you wanted it to go, but I hope you enjoy!

Needs…

Jason was feeling pretty solid about him and Raven, they weren’tsolid again, but they were on the right path to being solid again. Hashing outexactly what they were, while not easy, had probably been the most useful thinghe could have done with Raven.

But the thing she didn’t know, the entire month he had beenon that op with Kara and uncover, he hadn’t touched Kara or even glanced herway. It wasn’t really intentional, but every time he had to do something withKara he had been reminded of Raven. She didn’t feel right, she didn’t tasteright, she didn’t sound right, she just… she wasn’t right.

But now Jason feels like he’s got it figured out. Kara was agirl that he wanted, but Raven, that was the woman he needed. Yes, need.

He was a bit freaked out by that, because every person hehad ever needed in his life let him down:

-Bruce

-Alfred

-Dick

-Talia

-Babs

-Catherine

-Tim

-Damian

-Cass

-Stephanie

Everyone. And Raven being a person he actually needed, itfreaked him out. It felt too vulnerable, too exposing, too revealing. He didn’twant to need her. He didn’t. But he… he also knew Raven didn’t have to knowthat he needed her. If she never knew then she couldn’t let him down, and hisheart wouldn’t be broken by her.

With that sound logic, he was more than willing to leap headfirst into whatever the hell sort of relationship Raven wanted. If she wantedthem to be public then he’d go public with her, he would do whatever the hellshe wanted, and he would stay with her.

Which kind of brought him to why he was thinking this as hewas summoned to the Watch Tower, and he reluctantly found himself walkingthrough the metal halls as he looked down at Earth. He paused, spotting NewYork City, New York, that was where she was. It was strange, she was so faraway, he couldn’t even really see her. But that was where Raven was. So faraway.

“So small isn’t it,” Kara said which roused him from histhoughts as his eyes flicked to her reflection in the window.

“Yes,” he answered levelly.

“So, I was thinking about us,” she smiled.

“Us?” he sputtered as he turned to her.

“Yes, we’re going on another undercover mission!” she chuckledand he frowned.

“No,” he shook his head.

“But we were so good!” she whined. “And us together, itmakes sense, I know what you like and you know what I like,” she smiled as shetouched his chest and leaned up to him. He caught her warm hand; it was toowarm, she was too hot physically, and too invasive.

“Kara, this is a bad idea,” he said as he removed her fromhis personal space.

“I know I didn’t react well to our fall out, but come on, wewere good, this was good,” she gestured between them.

He remembered suddenly when he was stuck between the legs ofRaven who was bitching about being invisible, and stitching up his shoulder. Hehad been stabbed on his way to Raven, after a fight he had had with Kara.

“No, Kara, we weren’t,” he said as he looked blankly at him.

“We were great!” she argued.

“No, we were good at two things, TWO, not everything else,”he snapped and moved her off of him again.

“That’s not true!”

“Sex and arguing; there was nothing else there,” Jason saidblandly.

“What!?”

“Besides, Nightwing’s the Bat with the best ass, and youwouldn’t shut up about it. I don’t compete with my brothers,” he stated as hewalked to tell B that he wouldn’t be doing whatever mission it was that hewanted him to d with Kara. It wasn’t happening because that would hurt Raven.And Jason could do a lot of terrible things, but he didn’t think he could everlive with hurting her. Raven was… was someone he needed.

He didn’t know how to feel about her yet, but he needed her.He needed Raven in his life, he needed her with him, he didn’t think he couldever live without her in his life.

“You know I didn’t mean that!” she shouted after him.

“But you did,” he said softly. “That’s the thing Kara, youmean everything you say, and even with the super hearing you don’t hear me. Youdon’t want anything I want, and you want me to be what you want. I cannot andwill not change for you or anyone. Also, you lit my shit on fire when we brokeup, so no, I’m not going to do this with you, not now, nor ever again. I dolearn from my mistakes.” he shrugged as he stuffed his hands in his pockets andcontinued on without her. Jason had learned a lot from Kara, he knew that, andhe didn’t think he’d ever be so stupid about something like this again.

“Hood,” Bruce greeted him.

“No, put Nightwing, put someone else, anyone else on it, I’mnot going on a mission with Kara again,” he said.

“You two have a ninety-five percent compatibility for themission,” Bruce started.

“I don’t care B!” Jason snapped. “I’m an Outlaw, not a JLmember, hell, I’m barely a Bat, so you can call whoever the hell you want, butI’m not involved. I’ll be on call for real problems, and Gotham shit, but keepme out of JL business. I am not a member, nor do I intend to be one, or changeto be one. I do good work just the way I am. So leave me out of this shit. Askfor Nightwing or Red Robin or even Robin, but leave me out of it.”

“Why the sudden change?” the Bat asked and Jason could seethe gears whirling.

“It’s not sudden, what was sudden was you thinking I was oneof you, not the other way around,” Jason answered as he walked away.

He was going home, he’d cook sweet chili steak tonight, andhe would sit on the couch and read a book with Raven.

He had all he needed when he got to do that.