#Bruce: we can’t keep him. he has parents

[morganbritton132]

No Capes AU where Tim is pretty freaking sure that his neighbor is Gotham City’s local cryptid The Batman so obviously, he has to get adopted by Mr Wayne to find proof.

Tim, knocking on the front door to Wayne Manor with all the conviction a nine year old can have: Hello, Mr. Pennies. Is Mr. Bat- Wayne home? I have to ask him an important question.

Alfred:

Alfred: Are you here alone?

Tim: I would like to live in your castle with you and Mr. Wayne, and Dick Grayson. Please, mark yes.

Tim: *hands Alfred a piece of paper that says ‘Can I live here? Yes or No.’

[timmydraker]

Tim’s parents demand a meeting with Bruce and their son himself to discuss the future of their company and Tim’s place in it. Everyone knows they probably want to get in on Bruce’s wealth and business so they might be able to go from millionaires to billionaires like Bruce.

To everyone’s surprise, Tim accepts and says he’ll do it as long as Bruce will stay with him the entire time.

Obviously Dick refuses not to and Damian insist as the ‘true heir’, which makes Jason want to as well just cause he’s not being left out. Duke promises to stay out of it and keep the girls busy so Tim doesn’t feel cornered or smothered in worry.

So, Bruce and his three sons sit on the meeting with Bruce doing most do the talking and Tim sitting on a chair with his brothers all keeping eyes on him.

Jack and Janet try to give pleasantries to their son but he just stared at them, a blank look that even Bruce can’t decipher if only because he’s never seen it before.

Jack does most of the talking, explaining that Tim still has a set aside amount of many and place in the company but that it’s only there because he’s kept the family name. They explain that they would be happy for Tim to take the Wayne name as long as their son gives up his legal place in the company and hands over his personal funds they gifted him willingly.

They subtly explain that they want him to continue to work with the as he works with WE extremely well, and that they could possibly become partners.

Tim would still be the co-CEO of WE as well as COF for Drake Industries but he must… ‘donate’ money to them regularly as a show of good partner ship.

Bruce is furious that they just want money and haven’t acknowledged their son or the fact that he just turned eighteen, but he remains calm and after almost twenty minutes of talking Dick cuts them all off.

“Perhaps-we could ask Tim himself what he thinks of this offer.”

The growing tension both settles and raises as everyone turns to Tim who is sitting like a statue.

He looks like he could be dissociating but there’s a distinct presence in his eyes like he doesn’t want to miss a single word or second.

Jack sits back and gives Tim a stern look, “Well, son? What do you say?”

Tim speaks in the same voice Bruce has heard him talk to clients he doesn’t like, “I’ll accept, I’ll even give my earnings from the company.” Just as Jack and Janet begin to look smug and his family members look shocked he adds, “on one condition.”

Janet looks at him like he’s the most vile creature ever and covers it with a forced smile as Alfred pours more tea for her as a means to appease the clearly nasty woman.

Everyone waits for Tim to state his condition but none of them are ready for when he looks his parents each in the eye and says in the calmest, most level voice the most shocking sentence nace they have ever heard from both Tim and Red Robin:

“I want you to kill yourselves.”

.

..

…

No one speaks.

Jason and Dick look genuinely afraid, Damian looks taken aback though not nearly as shocked as Bruce is with his jaw hanging low.

Alfred for the first time in his life serving the Waynes spills tea and looks at Tim in a way that shows he is genuinely aghast.

Janet and Jack are frozen looking at their son like he’s a different person, which is funny as that implies they knew he was before.

Tim doesn’t smile or gloat, he does nothing to suggest his words were one big joke or last ‘fuck you’ to them.

He sits still and patient, waiting for an answer.

Janet opens her mouth several times to speak but never gets any words out though Jack manages to get over his shock and fury crosses his face. He opens his mouth, most likely to yell or berate his son but Tim beats him to it.

“It’s your choice. I’ve said all I want, so kill yourself or leave.”

Tim picks up his own tea and watches as Jack and Janet storm out of Wayne Manner.

Silence prevails for a while with none of the family talking until Damian breaks the silence, “Holy shit.”

[cottagecore-moss-king]

Not so Artificial Intelligence Part 2

When Bruce finally managed to get the time to look at the file Danny had added to the bat computer, it was almost patrol, and the rest of the family was filling in to get ready to head out. Even Jason had shown up, but that was probably just because he was bribed by Alfred with leftovers from dinner. Bruce couldn’t really blame him, Alfred’s food was the best in the world, but he does wish that he would show up more often just to hang out with him and his siblings.

Bruce sat in the bat-chair, graciously labeled with a sticker from a recent prank by Stephanie. She had gone around and labeled everything in the bat cave, but added the bat suffix in front. It had taken forever to find most of them, but he allowed some of them to remain. 

Finding the new folder was easy, it was labeled FROM DANNY, and left in the middle of the screen. Clicking it open and sipping his fresh coffee he glanced at the first document. The folder was full of notes, pictures and videos, but all of the previews were white, green, or black. 

Bruce started to read through the document, and chocked on his coffee at the contents.

Hello Batman and family, I hope this reached you before they do. I didn’t bring this up just incase you knew and were supportive, but how you act and how contaminated you are I will assume you do not. There is a Government Law that declares any being that has come into contact with enough or creates ectoplasm as non-sentient and non-sapient, but at the same time malicious {Abbreviated the AEA}. We are to be turned over to the GIW to be experiment upon and exterminated. This is literal torture, and I have gathered as much evidence as me and my friends could without being caught. I beg you, please be careful if you decide to take these people down. From what is on here, I think that Lazarus Water is a form of corrupted ectoplasm. Also, anyone who has died and come back to life no matter what are counted, and anyone with godly blood within them. Please Please, save us. My parents are the leading “scientists” which is bullshit, and they’ve already tied me down once. I can’t go through that again. Please, Amity and the Infinite Realms need help. If you don’t help us, I’m scared we may be forced to go to war, and I don’t think you can win against the godly dead. 

Please, I’m begging you - Danny Fenton {King Phantom}

“You good B?” Nightwing asked strolling over casually. He didn’t know how to answer, how was he supposed to say ‘Oh yeah, just found out that the government calls us non-sentient\sapient, and we are to be experimented and slaughtered. Also if we don’t stop them our worlds probably going to fall and we’re all going to die a painful death.’ That’s a fun conversation to have.

Clearing his throat he finally spoke up. 

“Red Robin, Oracle, I need you to help me sort through these, Nightwing, get the Justice league ready for an emergency meeting, call the Dark too. Look at this.”

“Are we sure it’s real though? It could be a prank,” muttered Oracle, though even she doubted her words.

“Even so, the threat is there and we should certainly look through this, and that means the League needs to know.”

Batman carefully mourned the loss of a peaceful evening, and his coffee, he was going to need to leave that at the cave, he had an image to keep. 

Nightwing wasn’t smiling anymore, Robin looked concerned, and Red Hood was openly gawking at the screen.

“I’ve called the emergency meeting, you three sort these files out, I’m calling up the JLD now. Guess we should warn Constantine to bring a couple extra bottles huh.” His joke fell flat, but Bruce wonders if he should bring some alcohol and coffee with him, image be dammed. 

“Wait a second, godly blood included? They fuckn’ shittin’ on Diana!”

“That’s what your concerned about Todd? Not that the we both fall under these parameters, along with Father and the rest of the collection? I will go fetch Thomas from his chambers, he will need to suit up to follow us to the watchtower.”

“Good idea Damian, tell him to hurry up. Everyone else, in the Zeta Tube, Alfred, you can stay here if you want.” Bruce gathered his laptop and moved the file over, copying and sending it to Tims laptop as well. 

“Thank you master Bruce, I will wait for the younger masters then I will be up shortly. Run along now.” Alfred excused with a bow, but even his face was shadowed in worry and thinly veiled anger. 

“See you in a bit Alf.” Dick replied, inputting directions to the watchtower in and doing a quick headcount. 

With a flash, the dark gloomy cave was replaced by fluorescent lights and the steel infrastructure of the watchtower. Hopping off the platform another flash of light appeared, and Aquaman stepped out. The group filled out as Aquaman politely greeted them. Making their way to the nearest meeting room, Batman and Red Robin began to set things up as the gathered heroes began to sit. 

“Hey Nightwing, what’s with the meeting, you never call for an emergency meeting, Blüd rarely has big threats.” Flash mentioned as he zoomed into the meeting room, last as always, and began to dig into his waffle plate. Where he got waffles from, Bruce didn’t want to know, they weren’t serving waffles in the cafeteria today, or yesterday from leftovers. 

“This isn’t just Blüdhaven, it’s all of the united States.” He worried, checking over one final time to make sure everyone was here. A collection of the main heroes from the Justice League, they’d need to figure out who counted as ecto-contaminated before throwing people around, and Constantine, Zatanna, and Deadman were gathered to represent Justice League Dark. At least he assumed Deadman was there, as a chair was pulled out and labeled for him. At least they wouldn’t have to race to find him, they could tell him just to stay up in the watchtower if things got bad. Finally, Robin and Signal rushed in, signal tiredly rubbing his eyes and his helmet in Agent A’s hands. 

“As some of you know, a person got stuck in the batcomputer a couple months ago. And was only recently released.” Murmurs and imputed questions rose around, and Nightwing promptly ignored them. 

“They left behind a file for us, and we were looking through it and discovered many hidden crimes from the US government. They have taken and labeled a whole species and group of people as non-sentient and non-sapient, and have been experimenting and committing genocide on them.” Again, a chorus of questions and yelling went up, and Nightwing had to take a moment to pause. A glance at Martian Manhunter reviled a stone cold face, quietly waiting for more information. 

“Oh god… what is this?” 

[sadandyetverysexy]

Dp x Dc au: Normal is Good

Okay so hear me out— i see lots of “you can’t control Danny he’s a wild child” premises and like, I agree, I love that, but JUST hear me out. Danny who is just entranced by being treated like a NORMAL KID.

I think for best results this should be done with de-aged Danny so he’s a bit younger, but it can def work with regular Danny too.

Danny winds up running around Gotham for one reason or another doing INSANE SHIT to try and help or just survive and his family is out of the way. The explosion, Bad Fentons, etc— and one of the bats picks up Danny. This can be a dad!Jason, or dad!Dick, or classic Bruce Adoption. But they see this little shit running around and are like “no fucking way, not on my watch you little maniac”

Now, a lot of people use the “Jazz practically raised Danny” card, and I love that card and fully support it, but she was also a kid. With no other parents to consult. Who was raised by the Fentons originally and def has no clue what normal parents are like. So she probably didn’t exactly measure up to how a kid is MEANT to be raised. So Danny still had an incredibly strange childhood that just was Not Normal, but I feel like we see Danny with a deep desire to be normal. He doesn’t even really like being a superhero that much, he just wanted to be a kid.

So he gets bat adopted, and Danny is just functioning how he did growing up with the Fentons, which is No Restrictions Do What You Want. And then his bat dad (using Jason for this) is like “No. It’s Bed Time.” And Danny. Danny is ALL for that. He’s bewildered. Mystified. He’s not grumpy about being told what to do at ALL, because he’s just so shocked.

“You’re serious? You’re fucking dead-ass serious? It’s bed time? Oh my god this is so cool. I’ve never had a bed time before! This is great!” Because this is the first time he’s EVER been treated like a normal child by a parental figure. He just got sent to bed. Wow.

Having a parent who is in charge of keeping him healthy and actually enforces Danny taking care of himself is kind of cool.

“Eat your vegetables, they’re good for you.” And they won’t try to eat him back? Fuck yeah, he’ll eat his vegetables!

“No you aren’t allowed to go out at 2 in the morning, go back to bed, you have a doctors appointment for your yearly checkup tomorrow.” oh ancients, Danny has always heard other kids complain about not being allowed out at night, but to have himself told he can’t? This is so weird. And he’s never been to a yearly check up before!

“Brush your teeth before bed” “I can’t get cavities, I’m dead!” “Ya know, for some reason I don’t believe you. When was the last time you went to the dentist? Are you sure you can’t get them?” Danny has 7 cavities.

The first time Danny gets to actually use the “my dad said No” excuse, he is ECSTATIC. Jack and Maddie have LITERALLY never told him he can’t go out somewhere. Ever. He’s in a whole new world where he doesn’t have to fight ghosts, or be a hero, or anything and he loves it. He has a normal kids room without deadly weapons in it and normal kid hobbies and a fridge full of normal food and a parent who enforces a bed time, and it’s weird as hell and it’s great. Normal is pretty damn good, he has no clue what Sam and Tucker were always complaining about. Shits sweet.

[celaenaeiln]

JL: Nightwing! It’s a delight to see you! You should come by more often.

Nightwing: Thank you! I’m so sorry, work has been piling up on me but I’ll try to drop by the office party this Sunday.

JL: Ofcourse! Looking forward to seeing you there. By the way, is Batman coming late?

Nightwing: No, I’ll be filling in for him today.

JL: Did something happen?

Nightwing: Nothing much, he’s just grounded.

JL: ???

48 hours earlier

Dick: Bruce, I’m telling you now and we’ve had this conversation before but you need to build a better rapport with your children. They look up to you as a father figure and your actions influence their behavior.

Bruce: …hmrgh

Dick: And you might not be aware but you unconconscious behavior is damaging. Tim has picked up your terrible habit of constantly working in front of a screen-it’s going to strain his eyes. He’s always inside too, so you need to make him go outside more. I’m not always here, I have an entire city to run, the titans need me, I'm mentoring hundreds of heroes, the Justice League calls on me to help them, and I need to keep up with my social life. The people in Bludhaven where I teach and work also call me if I’m gone for a day-the point is-I can’t always be playing second parent here in Gotham.

Bruce: ……hmrgh

Dick: Damian always looks up to you

Bruce: *side eyes*

Dick: He does! See you don’t even realize it! He wants to make you proud and Jason gets mad when you don’t make time for him because he cares too. Stephanie doesn’t have a dad she can turn to and it would mean the world to her if you took her out to an amusement park or something. When was the last time you spent time with her.

Bruce: ….hmrgh

Dick: And-

1 hour later

Dick: -that’s why you need to stop working, go to them right now, and bond with them.

Bruce:

Dick:

Bruce: ……...hmrgh

Dick: I’m waiting.

Bruce: *dragging himself off the batcave chair and begrudgingly trudging upstairs under Dick’s watchful eye*

Bruce: *listening to the sounds of his kids in the living room and pumping himself up* Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. Better relationships mean better teamwork. And Dick. Do it for him.

Bruce: *entering* *clearing his throat* Children. We will be going-

*The living room is in utter chaos. The cushions are strewn and ripped with stuffing coating the couches and floor which for some reason is stained yellow, the flower vase is shattered and so is the table it was sitting on, there’s string confetti on the chandelier, there’s spray paint and neon goo across the walls and in Tim’s hair, Jason has deep claw marks down his face as he wrestles with Damian who’s sporting massive bruise on his cheek and trying his hardest to bite him, Stephanie is dunking Tim’s face in a tub of soda which splashed everywhere while he’s ripping out Jason’s hair and also trying to kick Damian with his foot, the tv has massive spiderwebs and looping on tellatubies like a broken record machine, Titus is spitting out a feather while a random goose runs around honking while Alfred the cat chases after it at full speed, knocking down decades old paintings.*

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce:

Bruce: *rolling up his sleeves and stomping forward to join the fight* HMRGH.

[bluerosefox]

GHOSTS WITH HEARTBEATS

When Jason had been going to Gotham Academy, he had (for a good reputation for the media and to help him catch up on his penmanship, remember he had been on the streets and dropped out of school before getting picked up by Bruce for a while) signed up for a penpal project for 'less privileged people' to write to.

(Although Jason was annoyed the penpal project stayed within the states and only selected a middle of nowhere town, he knew the Richie Rich Elites would never subjugate their 'Heirs' to actual kids in need of learning how to read and write)

But Jason didn't mind his penpal.

Danny Fenton was a riot to talk, err write to in all honestly.

From his dry punny humor (and boy can he give even Dick a run for his money in the pun department but hey using some of them actually got Dick to warm up to him a few missions ago) and death jokes so many death jokes, to his nerdy love for space Jason enjoyed writing to Danny.

Even the short stories he would write about a ghost kid protecting a small town from other ghosts was interesting to read. He really liked the different kinds of ghosts there could be. Granted some seemed very OP like that Clockwork dude.

Jason liked writing to Danny, and even after the penpal project was over they had plans to keep sending letters, maybe even exchange numbers soon...

But then he died by the hands of the Joker.

The letters leaving Wayne Manor may had decreased but the letters being sent never did or at least until a few years ago.

Then Jason somehow returned to the land of the living.

Got taken by the LoA, tossed in the green waters and turned into their Pit Raged weapon for a while before leaving them behind and setting out for his revenge against the Joker and to force B's hand.

And becoming a Crime Boss for a while too. Can't forget that.

Point being with all this going on, the old warm memories of exchanging letters with Danny Fenton was pushed into the back of his mind and forgotten about for a while.

It isn't until one afternoon at Wayne Manor that while roughhousing with Dick, who had Jason in a brotherly headlock as they walked down a hall to one of the sitting rooms, that while Jason had slipped out of Dick's hold had stumbled into a hallway desk that had a few things on the top of it, one of the things being a small box that tumbled off when Jason hit it.

The box lid opened and out of it spilled out a good number of letters.

"Shiii-p, dang it Dick!" Jason said when he looked at the mess he accidentally made and stopped himself from swearing, the place might be named Wayne Manor but everyone knew this was Alfie's domain and no swearing was a rule within his halls.

Dick only laughed and teased only in a way a sibling can do "Hey not my fault your as big as a tank Jaybird! We should get you some caution signals if you keep bumping into things!"

Jason flipped him his favorite finger, thankfully Alfred only knew when they swore thus it did not summon him, and bent down to the letters.

His hands froze when he recognized the hand writing and the address it was sent from.

"From: Danny Fent Nightingale

Amity Park, IL"

To: Jason Todd-Wayne

Gotham City, NJ.

Wayne Manor"

And when Jason opened the letter. He really wasn't expecting what was written inside.

"Jason.

I'm finally leaving Amity Park. I can't be there anymore, not after everything. I'm too tired, and emotionally hurt. Everything is just to much. And I can't keep doing this to myself. My parents still can’t understand there is nothing ‘wrong’ with me or why I refuse to let them take care of Ellie, I refuse to let her live the way Jazz and I did, Jazz has to much on her plate already with her own life and college but she’s been hounding me to reach out to mom and dad, Sam refuses to listen to me when I tell her I want to be more than ‘Phantom’ in Amity Park, and Tucker is so busy trying to get into a good college and job we barely have time to talk nowadays. And don’t get me started on Vlad, that fruitloop’s been breathing down my neck since Ellie’s deaging.

Despite how much of a hellhole you like to call it, I think Gotham might be my, no mine and Ellie’s best bet of living some kind of life, especially now since the whole deaging she had to go through, she needs an ectoplasm rich city as well and since she has no actual papers because she was my clone and I remember you saying Gotham has people who can create new identities and-

I’m rambling again, to letter you again. I really need to stop it.

I can’t keep pretending you’re going to read these.

I know you’ll never read these. You’re gone. I can’t even find you in the Realms no matter where I look.

I’m sorry. For using you as, well, a way to vent my life for last couple of years. I shouldn’t had done it but it helped me.

Believing my friend was still alive and getting my letters I mean.

Again I’m sorry.

This will be my last letter to your ghost, pun unintended.

Goodbye Jason. Wish us luck in your city.

-Danny Fen-Nightingale...."

The sent date on the letter was roughly eight years ago.

[inamindfarfaraway]

Batman fun fact! Did you know that Scarecrow’s toxin doesn’t always cause fear? Sometimes it does the opposite! In Detective Comics #571, he wields a variant that completely inhibits the biochemical fear response, preventing people from feeling any concern for themselves or using basic common sense. He runs a racket administering it to star athletes, who take huge risks and get badly injured. Then they’re willing to cough up a lot for an antidote. Batman and Robin - here Jason Todd - catch on, but Bruce is dosed with the reverse fear toxin; since his intelligence is his greatest strength, being too overconfident and reckless to think twice about anything makes him his own worst enemy.

This premise was adapted in the Batman: The Animated Series episode “Never Fear”. There we see that with no fear of losing his moral integrity, Bruce becomes cold and merciless to criminals. Robin - here Tim Drake - has to catch somebody he leaves to fall off a building, tie him up to stop him endangering himself and others and give him the antidote to prevent him murdering Scarecrow.

But in the comic book, Jason is kidnapped by Scarecrow. He gets gassed and hallucinates Bruce dying and telling him that it’s his fault. He isn’t around to keep Bruce in check as he goes to rescue him through a series of death traps that he can’t resist cutting it as close as possible in. So how does Bruce not go off the deep end? How does he not lose sight of what’s important? Not lose himself?

Because even a drug designed to shut down stress at the most fundamental level can’t overpower his true worst fear. The Dark Knight might feel fearless…

but a parent never is.

[help-itrappedmyself]

Dead on Main Part 9

My apology for the earlier mishap. Hope you like it!

Masterpost

A few hours later, a fourth of the way home, they start arguing about who should drive the next shift. There seem to be two main arguments. The first is between Dick and Bruce on whether Bruce even needs a break.The second is between Dick and Tim about who should take over for Bruce.

Bruce has been driving for four hours, and it’s now about midnight, so he should take a break to sleep. Dick had napped for about an hour after the panicked stop when Jason’s ectoplasm had gone haywire, and he was the only one who had slept so far. He’s winning the argument between him and Bruce. Because he was the only one who had napped so far, and apparently Tim had been awake for a terrible amount of time, Dick is also winning the argument between him and Tim.

Danny is pretty sure even sleep deprived most people would drive better than his father, and he doesn’t have a driver’s license so he keeps quiet. It’s funny how intense they get in their arguments without ever becoming serious. Danny appreciates that no matter how intense they get there’s never any anger in their voices.

“Tim, you haven’t slept more than five hours in the last two days, you are not driving this car. There is no way you are driving this car. Neither of us are going to let you.”

“Bruce has been awake for 23 hours straight!” Tim argues.

“Which is why Bruce should also not be driving anymore!”

“Tim you are definitely not driving, go to sleep. Dick, If we switch drivers we have to stop and we can’t afford to stop and waste time. We’ll switch drivers when we need gas next.” Bruce states rationally. Danny thinks this is a good argument really.

“If we crash and die we’ll also waste time.” Tim points out, sulking.

“Switching drivers will take all of two seconds and so help me If I am not driving in the next two minutes I am commandeering the radio for the rest of the trip and you know neither of you will be able to stop me.”

Danny isn’t sure why that is so serious of a threat, but that shut both Bruce and Tim up immediately. Bruce pulls over and they do a quick seating change. Since Bruce and Tim need to sleep so one of them can drive later, Danny switches into the passenger seat while Dick slips into the driver's seat. That way Bruce and Tim can stretch out in the back.

“What do you listen to that they dislike so much?” Danny asks a little later. Danny can’t tell if either of them are sleeping, but neither of them have moved at all in the last ten minutes. He’s quiet just in case.

“I mean, I like a lot of music. They just know that I can put on circus music for hours. I grew up in a circus, so I'll even enjoy doing it. It annoys them after like three songs at most though.”

Danny has a moment where all he can think of is Freakshow’s circus, but he shakes it off.

“Did all of you grow up in the circus?” Danny could have sworn Bruce was more like Vlad. Grew up wealthy, ran a business (less illegally, he thinks, but that's not hard considering), and went to parties and stuff. Dick laughs at his question.

“No, only me, I’m afraid.” Dick glances at the back seat, before refocusing on the road. “Bruce adopted all of us, except for Damian. But even Damian grew up with his mother before coming to live with Bruce. So all of us have very different upbringings actually. Circus for me. Jason was next, he had a hard life before Bruce found him, and after too. He’s been through a lot. Tim had rich parents, they loved him but weren't around much. Duke was adopted after his parents died but he was raised by both of them, he had the most normal life growing up.”

“Tim and Damian both found Bruce more than the other way around. Damian’s mom… loves him a lot, but she was in a dangerous situation and wanted Damian to be safe. So she dropped him off with us.” You could hear the love in Dick’s voice as he spoke about his family.

“Your family seems happy. Nice. I mean, you all dropped everything to drive me home. I appreciate it.” Danny thought carefully for a moment, he didn't want to learn too much second hand. He'd rather get to know Jason personally. But some things only family can tell you. “Do you think Jason and I will get along? From what I've heard I know we have similar senses of humor, at least relating to our own deaths. And, well, we have that experience to bond over. But our lives seem like they've been very different.”

Dick’s face softens. “I think that Jason has spent his whole life fighting. For anything and everything. He's not going to stop now. You guys’ll figure it out.”

Danny looks at him. “Have you met your soulmate?”

Dick’s whole face lights up. “I have. We knew each other before the switch, but.. it was still a lot of drama and awkwardness at first. I think Bruce almost had a heart attack when it happened, and then an aneurysm when he found out who it was. That was hilarious.”

Dick glances at Danny, saw him biting his lip and twisting his hands together, eyes in his lap. “We had met, but we still had a lot to learn about each other. Getting to know him has been one of the best parts of my life. He’s my best friend.”

Dick reaches over and ruffles Danny’s hair. “Why don't you try to sleep Danny. You'll be meeting him soon.”

Danny nodded, giving Dick a light smile and settling himself into his chair.

[adkawariatka]

So it’s a follow up of my previous post. it’s Tim perspective on how Damian changed and his reactions to them.

Tim wos tired but that’s nothing new. He should have slept at least two hours at night, but what’s done is done. He sits at the kitchen table sipping his third espresso and watching his siblings. When Bruce enters he looks at those present and seems to count. Ha that might be needed Tim thinks. After third attempt of his murder by demon brat that’s expected. Speaking of demons… Tim hasn’t seen Damian outside patrol for quite long. Not that he is complaining not having constant threat to your life around is nice but demon still should be at manor. Maybe Tim missed something when he wos looking into his case for last two weeks…

-Does someone saw Damian in manor lately?

When no one answers the question Tim sits straighter. That’s bad news really bad news.

-he wos at patrol tonight but outside from that no.

Dick answers. Well it’s Sunday at 10:00 in the morning. It’s not impossible for Damian to go out but where? It’s not as he has any friends. Tim snorts to his thoughts. He imagined demon brat talking to other kids „incompetent idiots that’s not how you hold katana!!!”. So no he doubts that possibility. He can see Bruce’s jaw tighten in worry. Ok so they need to find the brat. Before they can get serious about any action they hear front doors open and Alfred greetings

-Good morning Master Damian

And the demon enters kitchen as if nothing wos wrong. As if going out of manor as 10 year old alone wos acceptable. He greets father then Dick and to his suprise him also. And tries to go to the living room but Bruce stops him by putting a hand on his shoulder.

- where were you?

Tim winces it sounds more as a growl than a perfectly civilized question. Bruce parenting skills are shit as always. He knows that it’s out of worry but still….

-I wos on a walk

Damian is perfectly calm. That’s good. Tim is too tired for furious demon right now.

- who give you permission to go out without supervision?

And Damian watches him carefully. Tim can see him taking slow deep breaths. Huh, weird.

-you told me to make friends so I am working on it.

Tim almost spits his coffee. Working on making friends!? He hopes that any children that Damian chased with his katana are unharmed.

- you shouldn’t go out without anyone knowing where you are going. You need permission

-I am not a kid I can take care of myself!

There is the demon that Tim knows.

-it’s not a matter of being a kid or not. I need to know where you are as your guardian I am responsible for your safety

-tyt it’s pretty clear that I can protect myself

-but in this family you don’t need to. We have different rules.

And Tim saw something that he never saw before. Damian hestitated. Took a deep breath and asked like a civilized human being without anger or insults

- then if I inform you where I am going and when I will be back I can go?

Tim can’t believe it. Demon brat is… talking. With words like normal human being. Tim checks his coffee. He really needs to sleep more. Halucinations are bad sign.

-

But sleeping didn’t change the fact that Damian acted weird. After school and patrols he disappeared for „walks”. Tim knew something wos going on. But Bruce let it go. Damian started to inform him where he went and for how long and it actually checked. Dick even checked his location and everything lined up. But that wosnt the end of strange behaviors from Damian. The demon brat often glanced at Tim when they were in the same room. Not stared but glanced trying to be subtle. Well like for assassin training he wosnt so stealthy as he probably thought. Tim expected another attack soon. He started to carry battarangs with him around the house. when he started doing that and Damian caught on he did even weirder shit.

Imagine one evening when they were all in the living room and Damian enters. Of course with his katana that he keeps with himself at all times in the manor becouse Bruce forbidden him outside of hause and procedes to lock eyes with Tim and leaves his weapon near the door. Tim is staring at Damian as if he grew second head and he isn’t the only one.

From that time whenever Damian is in the same room as Tim he leaves his katana close to the door. Tim smells a trap. Whatever the brat is doing it can’t be good. Even if that gesture is kind of reassuring…. Tim is no fool. He will not be swayed by nice words or acknowledgment of his work or even leaving weapons outside of range of Damian’s hand.

One day after patrol, when Tim started to get ready for going to his room. To work of course, becouse the sharp eyes of Alfred didn’t leave him for a moment and distracted him from his case. He realised he is not alone. Damian followed him like shadow. Tim didn’t speed up his walking to not let the demon realize that he knew about his presence. Slowly he closed fingers around his batarang to make sure he will par first blow of katana. They were before Tim’s room when Damian started to speak

- Drake can we talk?

That sounded off. Damian didn’t talk he stabbed. More often Tim than anything else. But he sounded hestitant…. Well he has a weapon and when they enter his room they will be on his ground. He will know environment and hidden weapons there. He will have huge adventage when the fight will barek out.

-Sure why not

Tim let’s them in. He allows Damian to enter first. That way he has his back to Tim it’s safer that way. When the door closes Damian turns around Tim grips batarang in his pocked and waits for the start…. And nothing. Damian stands in the middle of his room locks his eyes with Tim’s and glances at his hand in his pocked. In the well lighted room it’s no mistakening that shape for anything different than a weapon. And then his guest procedes to holds his hands up palms to Tim in universal sign of no violence. Tim is dumbfounded. Damian clears his throat and starts:

- Drake I have been doing some reaserch… and it turned out I wos…. Misinformed. My past actions towards you were caused by my lack of knowledge and I shouldn’t have attacked you. I will not repeat that mistake again. I mean no harm to you…. Anymore

- What? Misinformed?! You stabbed me! Multiple times!

- I am aware Drake And I…

- no if you think that I will buy this story then You are delusional and

- I am sorry Timothy!

Damian cut him off. And Tim shut his mouth and looked at Damian. Really looked. He wos fidgeting and he actually flinched when he raised his voice. He stared at the floor and squized his hand so hard that it must have hurt. Tim stared in shock.

- Holy shit you are serious

Damian raised his gaze at Tim. And nodded. For once he looked as 10 year old boy. God Tim wos a dumbass. Damian WOS 10 years old. And lately he tried to be non-threatening towards Tim. Every weird action linked into a pretty clear picture. it looks like Damian finally realized his actions were wrong and came to Tim…. And Tim shouted at him.

- I ok let’s make things clear you realized you were wrong after what 8 months of leaving under one roof together? And…

Damian started to shrink in on himself and Tim stopped himself shit he wos doing it wrong. He crouched to be at Damian’s eye level and started again.

- No sorry first things first thank you for telling me. I appreciate the gesture. And lack of weapons for last month… It’s good to know you won’t try to kill me anymore. I don’t think I can just forget of what you did but… we can try to work it out. What do you say?

-that sounds reasonable Timothy.

Wow its so weird to agree with the brat… no Damian. Wait did he call him by his name!? While Tim wos trying to organize his thoughts Damian murmured something that caught his attention, that probably wosnt for Tim to hear.

-he wos right…

- It wos draining patrol I won’t take more of your time Drake. Good night

-who wos right?

Tim wosnt going to let that go. Someone talked Damian into doing this and he needs to know who. Dick wos unsuccessful in teaching Damian in basic human interactions. So must be someone outside. Bruce is too much emotionally conspirated, maybe Alfred. If yes then there is no reason to worry. But someone from outside could have hidden goals. It wos dangerous. Damian seemed suprised by his question but did not hestitate.

- My friend

And wosnt that a mistery. Tim needed to check that „friend” no matter what. He could be using Damian or plotting to hurt Wayne’s. But he wosnt going to let his suspicion break just created string of trust with his younger brother. He will check that stranger on his own in a way that Damian won’t realize. For know that wos enough. Damian wos opening the doors to go to his room when Tim added

- what happend to Timothy?

Damian slammed the door in his face. And Tim burst out laughing. He wos not going to let that go.

[phantom-0-writer]

prompt 01: gotham academy's mentorship program

“Mr. Wayne, thank you so much for finding the time to meet with me.” Principal Carson, someone Bruce, became more and more familiar with as the years passed, welcomed him into his office. 

“I hope my children aren’t causing you too much trouble, Mr. Carson.” Bruce chuckled lightly, sitting in the guest seat. 

“After your generous donations to the school, I would find that difficult to believe.” Mr. Carson laughed conversationally, before getting right to business. “Actually, the reason I wanted to meet with you in person rather than over the phone despite, I’m sure, your busy schedule was to discuss Damian.” 

Damian had come to the Manor about a year and a half ago, and had been attending Gotham Academy for almost 9 months. Bruce had hoped that going to school with other kids his age would help Damian become more sociable and learn about larger society outside of the Bat, Birds, and League, but that was proving to be difficult considering the almost regular calls Alfred received from the school about Damian’s behavior or actions. 

Bruce couldn’t help the weary sigh that escaped him, “I assure you Principal Carson, we-” 

“I think you're misunderstanding, Mr. Wayne. Damian is not in any kind of trouble.” Mr. Carson reassured, “Well, for now that is.” He chuckled dryly. 

“Ah.” Bruce nodded, letting his airhead persona take the lead, while still showing that he was paying careful attention. 

“In the last few years, Gotham Academy started a mentorship program, where the younger kids usually between the grades of 5-8 can get mentored by their seniors. Damian is a brilliant child, concerningly so I believe. His peers often can’t keep up with him in terms of academics, but he lags far behind them in social skills. I think Damian would benefit from the mentorship program, where he can have someone who can truly keep up with him intellectually as well as guide him socially.” Mr. Carson explained. 

Bruce considered this, letting the idea turn over in his mind. Perhaps this is what Damian would need. “You sound like you have someone in mind.” 

“I believe the best candidate for the job would be Daniel Fenton.” Mr. Carson handed him the student profile. “He’s here on a Wayne Scholarship, which he’s held for the past year. Mr. Fenton is currently in the 11th grade, his chosen career path is astrophysics, which he plans to pursue into college. His grades are outstanding despite his difficult classes, and his professors all share the same sentiment that Mr. Fenton holds one of the greatest minds in the Academy. He shares many of the same classes with Tim as well. He has a friendly personality and gets along well with most people, pretty athletically inclined as well. All around Mr. Fenton is what Gotham Academy hopes our student to be.” 

Bruce looked over the profile in his hand. Daniel James Fenton seemed like an outstanding student. Perhaps it was time to put him to the test with Damian Wayne. 

---

When Danny had been called to the office, because apparently they had assigned him a mentee, he had been expecting the worst. All the scholarship students had to sign up for the mentorship program to be on standby if a mentee ever applied. All the other scholarship kids had said it was just a formality and that none of them ever got called for it. But classic Fenton Luck. 

When Danny walked into Principal Carson’s office he was prepared to be faces with some snot-nosed brat who wouldn’t know how to take no for an answer and didn’t care about classes because they would just inherit their parents big shot company was what he was expecting. 

So imagine his surprise when he walks into a room to a liminal kid, probably around 12, who looks like he wants to be there as much as Danny does. Danny takes one look at the kid who’s trying to project himself as angry and menacing, but Danny could easily read the kid's true emotions of nervous-scared-anxious thanks to their shared less-alive-than-one-would-expect status. 

“Daniel, welcome. This is Damian Wayne. He’ll be your new mentee from now on.” Mr. Carson smiled kindly, gesturing for Danny to sit down. The liminal kid - Damian - scowled at him, projecting irritation. But all Danny could feel off of him was nervousness.

Danny was screwed, wasn’t he?

--------

table of contents

[holylulusworld]

Pen Pals (2)

Summary: The withering rose never finds love. Right?

Pairing: Lord!Clark Kent x Lady!Reader

Characters: Lord Bruce Wayne, OC Aurelia, unnamed parents

Warnings: angst, regency au, mentions of betrayal, angry Clark, fluff

A/N: This is an alternative version of Windfall with different characters.

Catch up here: Pen Pals

The wind gently tugs at your dress as you walk toward your destiny. You wandered off to your favorite tree, not far from your father’s house. Even after you burned all the letters, you still feel the betrayal of Lord Wayne’s lies.

If only he’d been honest, you’d have gladly helped him court Flora. She deserves all the happiness in the world. But he had to awaken hope in you.

For years, you told yourself it’s not the end of the world to end up as a spinster.

With Lord Wayne writing to you all summer, you believed these days were past you. A bright future was almost tangible. Now, devastation and hopelessness have overcome you.

You’ve never been hopeless before.

Believing you’ll end up alone, you try to find something to fill your lonely life. Reading and gardening were your escape. You spent hours plucking your favorite flowers to press them. Lord Wayne ruined it for you, too. Only looking at the flowers would hurt you even more.

“Lady Y/N,” you stiffen, hearing a familiar voice call your name. This can’t be. He cannot be here to see your cheeks covered in tears and your favorite book torn apart because he told you he loved it too. “Your father was worried sick. We were all looking for you.”

If not for your perfect manners and your excellent education, you’d love to scoff at his words. How dare that man come here, pretending to be worried about you?

“I left a note.” You can barely keep the anger out of your voice, but ry your best. While Wayne stands a little further away from your shelter, the tree you found when you were five years old, you gracefully get back up. “I told him that I'll spend some time reading under the tree.”

You turn your back on him quickly to wipe the tears off your cheeks.

Taking a deep breath, you try to calm your nerves. This man can never know he broke your fragile heart. Even if you never felt a deep connection with Lord Wayne, you had hoped time would help you fall in love with him.

“Lady Y/N, I wanted to—” He steps closer, almost brushing his fingertips over your shoulder, when another voice calls your name. A deeper and rougher one.

“Wayne, stay away from Lady Y/N!” You gasp at Lord Kent’s angry expression. He knows you fled to your tree to forget about the embarrassment you still feel. “You have almost ruined her reputation!”

“Lord Kent,” you say, taking a step toward Lord Kent. “You shouldn’t…” You shake your head. “What if my father hears any of it? You’d be the one ruining my reputation.”

“My lady,” Lord Kent says, dropping his gaze for a second. He didn’t expect you to scold him for coming to your rescue. “He cannot talk to you ever again. Not after he came to court for someone else. He has no shame and no honor.”

“Lord Kent!” Lord Wayne steps closer to you, and Lord Kent. “Take that back! You speak in such a manner about me.”

“Tell me, Lord Wayne, how you still call yourself a man of honor.” Lord Kent laughs right in Wayne’s face. “You made this beautiful flower believe you wanted to marry her only to court her cousin.”

You’re too scared to even move when Lord Kent steps in front of you, blocking Lord Wayne’s path. “A gentleman of your standing should know better. How dare you come here and talk to her! I will not allow you anywhere near my chosen bride!”

Your eyes widen at Lord Kent’s words. “Lord Kent…” You try to calm his anger. If he does more than insult Lord Wayne, people will know about the secret you tried to hide. “Please bring me back to my father’s house. It’s getting cold.”

You rub your arms, pretending to be cold, to get Lord Kent’s attention. “Lady Y/N,” he turns around and strips his coat off to wrap it around your shoulders. He drops his eyes to the torn pages on the ground, sighing deeply. “A minute, my lady.” Lord Kent hastily picks the pages up to stuff them back into the book, which he hides in the pocket of his coat. “I’ll guide you home now.”

Lord Wayne huffs behind you. “Without a chaperone? You’re not a man of honor yourself, Lord Kent.”

“I brought someone with me.” Lord Kent bites back. He’d love to wrap his arm around your shoulders to protect you not only from the wind getting colder, but he knows better.

As Lord Wayne follows suit, Lord Kent points at Aurelia. The good soul figured out what happened between you and Lord Wayne and offered her help. “Unlike you, I won’t bring shame and pain over Lady Y/N.”

He nods at Aurelia when she takes your hand. Lord Kent wishes it were his hand you’re holding. Being a gentleman sometimes means denying himself the simplest things. Like feeling your soft hand in his.

“Y/N,” your father says, watching Aurelia guide you inside the house, followed by Lord Kent and Lord Wayne. “What happened? Where have you been all day?”

“Father,” you say, dropping your gaze, sniffling. “Please forgive me. I forgot about the time over reading. I wanted to press a few flowers too. The last one before winter arrives.”

“I found her at the tree.” Lord Wayne tries to get your father’s attention. All too proud, he tells your father he wanted to bring you home safely.”

“I arrived only a moment later.” Lord Kent steps in before Lord Wayne can ruin your reputation by telling everyone you spent time alone with him. “Miss Aurelia was kind enough to come with me as a chaperone.”

“Lord Kent.” Your father looks at you, and then at Lord Kent. He knows you’re hiding things from him. You’re a smart woman, and you tried your best to hide your pain. Still, your father saw the shame and hurt in your eyes. “Let me thank you for bringing my beloved daughter home safely.” He shakes Lord Kent’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “Aurelia, thank you too.”

“It’s my duty and honor to protect Lady Y/N,” Aurelia says to your father, but glares at Lord Wayne. “Even a lion couldn’t defeat me if I had to protect Lady Y/N.”

“I’m sure about it,” your father chuckles. He quickly turns toward Lord Wayne, shaking the man’s hand. “Thank you too, Lord Wayne.”

You watch your father guide the men out of the room while your mother and cousins rush into the room to look you all over. Their chatter and hugs distract you from your racing heart.

What if Lord Wayne now tells your father about the letters?

“Lady Y/N,” Lord Wayne once again sneaks up on you. He came to your father’s house earlier in the morning to discuss matters of importance with your father.

“Lord Wayne,” you curtsy and turn to leave the hallways. Being near the man who betrayed you still hurts so badly.

“Y/N, my dear,” your father says as he walks out of the study, Lord Kent by his side. Your eyes widen when the Lord immediately steps toward you to take your hand. “Lord Kent came to me to ask for your hand.”

“He…what?” Your voice trembles, and you feel dizzy. Lord Kent takes your hand while you’re staring up at him with wide eyes. He knows about the letters and still wants to court you.

“I told Lord Kent it was your decision, my dear,” your father softly says while keeping an eye on Lord Wayne. Just as assumed, he came this morning to talk about the wedding with Flora.

“Lady Y/N,” Lord Kent softly says your name. “After I lost my beloved wife five years ago, I believed love would never find its way into my heart again. You, my lady, enchanted me with your grace, your wit, and your kindness.” He kneels down on his left knee, still holding your hand. “Would you give me the honor of becoming my wife and make my life brighter again?”

He opens his other hand, offering a beautiful golden ring to you. It carries a ruby, an emerald, a garnet, an amethyst, and a diamond.

You’re speechless. Lord Kent is charming, and you cannot deny that he’s a very handsome man. He lost so much, but despite that, he showed more heart than Lord Wayne ever could.

Where Lord Wayne only sees a pretty face, Lord Kent sees the light and warmth in your eyes.

“Lady Y/N?” Lord Kent feels his heart drop when you take too long to answer.

“Lord Kent,” you stammer, unsure how to answer his question. Should you take the ring or simply say yes? The silence following his title is painful for Lord Kent. “You’re an honorable man. You only ever showed respect and kindness towards me.”

You take a deep breath before covering the hand holding the ring with yours.

“I am honored to accept your proposal of marriage, Lord Kent.”

Tags in reblog.

[deliciousbasementtrash]

Playing Nurse for the Batfam

Artist: https://www.instagram.com/twalxxart/ Twalxx

Summary: you are a nurse working for Gotham General Hospital. Batman has offered you a job. You are now a nurse for the entire Batfamily. There has been an emergency and you have been called into the line of fire. You have been injured by the Black Mask, how will Jason react?

Pairing: Slowburn Jason Todd x Female!reader

Warning: Adult language, mentions of gunshots and death

Word Count: 2.4k

Masterlist

Note: These characters are not my own they belong to DC. The only character that is 'mine' is the reader. I am going to be as nondescript as possible for the reader as well for physical attributes. This is a continuation series; I’m not sure how long it will be. Also for some reason, my replies to comments are not showing up. I’m not ignoring your comments Tumblr won’t let me respond :( But please, please comment I live for it

Part 9: If I Have to Throw You Over My Shoulder I Will

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

Jason Todd

[Jason, please we need backup. We need you.] Dick had sent about ten minutes ago. 

Some dark part of me wanted to do nothing. The part of me that was tortured and beaten. The part of me that was angry no one cared enough to avenge me. But I loved Dick like he was my flesh and blood. And whether I admit it to myself or not… I love Bruce the same way.

Often I think about how my life led me down this way. Was it fate? Was it God? Was it just dumb fucking luck? 

There is one theory I keep circling back to. The Red String Theory. At birth, we have invisible red strings tying us to the people we are destined to meet. Was I tied to my parents? Bruce? Alfred? Dick? Tim? Barbara? Steph? Cass? Damian? Duke? Or even… him? 

That’s too many. If that’s true, my fate lines look more like a messy evidence board. Or maybe a fucked up marionette puppet. Like I was made to be influenced by those tied to me. Pushed and pulled. Just a vessel of violence. 

But the Red String Theory couldn’t be true. At least not for me. I’m so covered in red. You can’t pull a red thread out of a sea of blood.

My morbid thoughts halted when I saw Pizza Joe’s. I parked off to the side. In an alley, no one could see. I approached the gunshots, listening for Dick. Boy Wonder was nowhere to be seen, but I made mental notes of the men that were perched on the buildings. 

I made my way discreetly around the building, toward the back. My heart stopped dead in my chest.

Y/n was pinned against the wall. With a gun in her mouth. Fighting with everything in her against the Black Mask.

Something in me snapped. Without hesitation I shot twice at his arm, severing the flexor digitorum profundus and rendering his index and middle finger useless. I shot through his stupid fucking masked head. I shot through his heart. I shot through the bastard's fucking dick. I shot. And I shot. And I shot. No one hurts her. Ever.

I barely noticed Bruce as I stepped over him. I could have checked his pulse, his status, anything. But all I cared about was getting to her. 

Anger and fear surged inside me, at the sight of seeing her covered in blood. I started to panic. My chest felt like one thousand pounds of pressure was crushing me. All I could do to calm myself down was to pull her into my arms and hug her tight enough that I felt her heartbeat against mine. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.

I had stayed away from her this past week. Trying to keep her safe from whatever bullshit I would bring her. But here she was finding the danger all on her own. Without me to make sure she was safe.

Seeing her face, feeling her against my body, lit something up inside me. Anger surged.

“Why the fuck are you here?” I growled.

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

Jason grabbed my chin, slowly moving it from side to side, inspecting my blood-spattered face. His mouth was moving but all I could hear was the damn ringing in my skull. Jason frowned and looked at both my ears. I felt a warmth run down the left side of my neck. 

Jason leaned into my right side, his cold helmet brushed against the shell of my ear making me shiver. “You’re hurt.” The words were simple. But they were laced with bitterness and anger that went beyond reason.

I looked up at his Red Hood, “Dick needs your help.” I couldn’t tell if I was screaming the words or saying them at a reasonable volume. I couldn’t gauge Jason’s reaction either which annoyed me. I wanted to rip that helmet off and see his face. 

“I’m looking at someone that needs my full attention right now. Grayson can handle himself,” he snarled the words at me. 

Gunshots sounded loud enough for me to hear. My brain started spiraling into the worst-case scenario. A Dick Grayson riddled with bullets involuntarily entered my mind. “Please help him. Please, Jason.” I grabbed his arm as I begged. His bicep tensed under my grip. 

“I’m not leaving you alone,” he ground out. “Get behind me.” Despite his harsh tone, he gently moved me behind him. His broad shoulders and generous height covered me completely. I kept a hand at the base of his hip. Ready to heal him if needed. 

There were four shooters surrounding Dick, and three on the buildings, all pointing their guns at him. Jason opened a pocket on his thigh and reloaded his right gun one-handed. He was so smooth with the movement it was like he was doing something simple like buttering toast. He was dexterous at a level I can only describe as masterful. 

Jason aimed at an impossible speed and precision. Seven shots rang out. Seven men fell. I don’t even think they realized Jason was enemy fire until they already had a bullet fly through them. It was seemingly impossible. 

Jason didn’t give me a chance to assess Dick or Bruce before throwing me over his shoulder and walking away.

“I need to help them! Jason! Jason, listen to me!” I yelled and slapped the back of his leather jacket. He ignored me or I didn’t hear his response. Knowing him, most likely the former.

Suddenly, he moved me off his shoulder and straddled me onto his motorcycle. My mind was acutely aware of his large hands pinning my waist down.

“Grayson is fine. He will take care of Bruce and your car. I’m taking you home. Now.” He was leaning toward my good ear again, his voice was dark and commanding. Lighting a certain part of me on fire. Who am I kidding, my whole being burned. 

“I am fine, Jason. Really. You got there in time. Just let me heal the boys and I’ll go with you!” I sneered at him.

“How about no,” Jason sneered back and straddled onto the motorcycle behind me. His firm body was flush against the entire back side of mine. My breathing became uneven when he reached his arms around me and revved his motorcycle before accelerating. I tried not to lean back into him. But he was so warm and I was so tired. Jason must have felt my tension. His hand found my hip, as he continued steering with the other. He pushed back, forcing my body to melt into his. 

“I’ve got you,” he said, making me shiver. 

Gotham was a blur of lights as Jason drove us back to the Batcave. In a record, 6 minutes. Which I tried not to take personally.

He rode us through the entrance, and as close as he could get to my workstation. He got off quickly as if trying to get away from me. But just as quickly scooped me up from my underarms and placed me on top of my examination table. I blushed at the firm way he moved me around. Like I was his to just grab and move as he pleased. He was an extremely strong man. He made it seem like it was no effort at all. 

He roughly took off the Red Hood. His hair was a wild mess. His eyes were dark with what appeared to be anger and concern. His breathing quickened as he looked me over.

“What blood is yours?” He curtly asked, messily digging into my neat supplies. I tried not to cringe as he did. With his mask off it was a lot easier to understand him because I could read his lips and vaguely hear him.

I looked down at my red-stained hands. I curled them up and down. The blood was sticky and cracked. Suddenly, an assault of memories flooded my mind.

The hospital wing after the mass shooting—healing a man being tortured over and over for information—my mom's bloody nose—my bloody legs dripping into my sneakers. Breathing became sharp and rushed. 

A hand gently caressed my face, “Hey, hey. It’s just me. It’s Jason,” his voice and touch was gentle. Easing my mind back to reality. When I was no longer trapped in my own mind I realized that Jason was once again cleaning up my hands. He washed the blood off of them until you never knew I had stabbed a man in the neck. 

His hands were warm and calloused and thorough. For a moment he just held my hands in his. His thumb traced small circles on the inside of my wrist causing goosebumps to rise on my skin. Slowly, he trailed upward to my forearm, and an angry sigh left his mouth. Wordlessly, he cleaned and tended my cut. Wordlessly, he wiped the blood and brain matter from my face and neck. Wordlessly, he took off my stained hoodie and disgusting scrubs. Until I was left in my white undershirt and tight black shorts. 

His eyes were hard and staring just above the curve of my breast. Right where my heart rapidly beat. Right where the Black Mask had made a small but deep cut. And then his eyes trailed upward. Toward my bruised neck, and burned cheek. 

“I should have killed him slower,” he growled out. I hadn’t realized how close Jason was to me. Somehow he had gotten between my legs and mere inches away from my face. My cheeks heated, as I took in the oddly delicate features of this harsh man. He had a very light sprinkling of freckles across his nose. His eyes were more of a stormy gray than blue. His eyelashes were so pretty and long I wanted to slap him. And his Cupid’s bow was sharp and defined which highlighted his full lips. I swallowed roughly. 

“Thank you, for—for helping me,” I whispered, afraid that if I spoke any louder I might scare him off. 

Jason scoffed angrily, “You shouldn’t have been in that position in the first place. I’m going to beat Bruce with an inch of his life—”

Gently, I gripped Jason’s hand, “I chose this. Don’t be mad at Bruce. If anything, be mad at me. I should have been more prepared. I should have brought a weapon.” 

Jason leaned his forehead in so it was just barely touching mine. I involuntarily held my breath. 

His hands reached for mine as he traced along my old burns. “We are bad for you.” He whispered. 

“You guys have given me a part of myself that I thought was lost forever. How could that ever be bad?” I lifted a hand hesitantly up toward his cheek. Jason leaned in like he was desperate for the contact. For comfort. For me. 

“I can’t get you out of my head. I want—” Jason’s soft words were interrupted by the screeching of my car followed by the Batmobile. Jason practically jumped five feet away from me. I frowned at the lack of contact.

Well, Bruce is well enough to drive, that’s good. Pretty fucking shit timing though, Batboy. 

I lowered myself from the table. I tried hiding my wince, but I saw Jason tense. He reached forward steadying me, before scolding, “Do not push yourself for them.” 

Dick came out of my car with a large dimpled smile and a huge ugly shinner. Bruce looked pale but better. I motioned for them to sit where I was just perched. Ready to finish healing them.

Bruce was simple. I just had to re-patch him up. Finish what I started. Dick was a bit more complicated. Homie had the snot beat out of him. One of the bright sides was that he wasn't shot. 

When I was done, both Dick and Bruce politely excused themselves to their rooms. 

I slowly cleaned up my workstation. Jason silently helped me. His mouth was a firm line. 

My hands shook with exhaustion when I was done. My eyes went in and out of focus. My head was pounding from the exertion and the physical trauma. I covered my bad ear, trying to will the ringing to stop. Jason noticed and gently pulled me to him. Before I knew it he had his arm under my knees and back, and he cradled me into the elevator.

I snorted at him, “I’m fine, Jason, really. Don’t go through the trouble of carrying me.”

“I think I want to rip that word out of your vocabulary,” he snapped. “Let me just carry you. Don’t make it a big deal.”

My heart sank, and I whispered, “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“While I’m at it, I’ll take that one too,” he said, pressing the button number 4. Our floor number. “Don’t lie to me and tell me you’re fine. Don’t ever apologize for existing.” He huffed and paused, “Please.”

I nodded, not sure what to say. The elevator ride went by shockingly quickly. He walked past his room and into mine. He set me down on my bed gently. He pulled my blankets back and covered me. I got deja vu as he did it. I smiled under my covers. 

Jason pulled an armchair towards my bed. He angled it so he could see both the door and the windows. I looked at him, confused. 

He shrugged at me, “I didn’t like seeing a man have a gun in your mouth. I actually don’t think I saw it for more than two seconds before everything went red.”

“So, that explains why you’re watching me in my armchair because…”

Hashbrown barrelled toward Jason. She rubbed her body on his feet demanding attention. Jason swiftly picked her up and held her on his lap. She seemed to soothe him as he pet her. The tension in his body decreased, instead of ramrod straight he leaned back. Almost comfortable, but not quiet. 

“Because I need to make sure that you’re okay,” he said after a few minutes went by. 

“Why?” I asked, needing an answer. 

“I don’t like it when you’re hurt. Or in danger,” he answered. 

“Why?” I demanded, again. 

He roughly raked a hand through his messy hair, “I don’t know why. I just feel like… like you’re mine to protect. You put all your energy into healing other people. You deserve someone to care if you’re healthy and safe.” 

I think only two people in the world have ever cared about that. Sam and my mom. His words were like wildfire to my mind and body. 

Warmth bloomed in my chest, followed by boldness, “Do you have to protect me from all the way over there? Or can you protect me in my bed?”

Taglist: @soundsfunbutno @killxz @morpheus-girl @redhood414 @bungunz @conicoroahre @greenyofthegreens @taytaylala12 @theroyalmanatee @nym-0-s @sarahskywalker-amadala @bonesbonesetc @dreaming-of-the-reality @gone-batty-fics @thescarletcryptid @bakugosgf2005 @irregular-child @vythika96 @greenyofthegreens @mythicalmo @eccentricarabella-blog @princessbl0ss0m @ghostindeath @whirlwind2005 @the-lights-are-loud @00hellohello00 @tfygcdy @theblindhag @murkyponds @midnightecko @crookedmakerfury @cosmicqueenieb @deans-spinster-witch @princessbl0ss0m

If I missed anyone please let me know <3

Author's note: Thank you all so much for your kind words, comments, messages, and interactions!! They inspire me to keep writing. I hope you guys continue to enjoy the story, thank you again <3

Hashbrown Cam!

[sokoneedsagun]

Part 3 of batfam as incorrect quotes of things said by me or my friends

This time color coded though!

“You can’t have daddy issues, mommy issues, and be gay, pick a struggle.” - Damian

“I don’t think that’s how that works” “shut up I’m trying to Pavlov’s dog you” - Stephanie and Damian

“I’m not even sorry if I’m sleeping and a child RIPS my eyes open, they’re going out the window.” - Selina

“he has multiple orphans at his disposal”- Bruce (I think this might’ve been said about Bruce Wayne)

“Actually no because I hate that guy, I hope his eye brows fall out” - Tim

“He keeps giving me weird looks everytime I see him I think he’s homophobic” “call him a slur” - Duke and Steph

“I can’t tell if it was the dyslexia or the brain rot” - Tim

“Can you divorce your parents?” “Yeah it’s called emancipation” - Dick and Barbara

“There’s only so much of the tragic backstory we tell people” - Cass

“Do you know how much it takes to get me to drink tap water??” “Shut up rich boy” - Tim and Stephanie

“In my opinion if you’re going to get lung cancer do it the right way” - Jason (this was about vaping vs smoking, both are bad, don’t do them.)

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for ducksandswans behind the cut; the wet nurse omegaverse. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“What do you need to get through this?” Bruce asks, because getting Clark through this as emotionally stable as possible is still the obvious priority. 

“I need to have been a better mother,” Clark says tiredly, shaking his head. “But we missed that boat, so just–don’t worry about it. I’m fine. I can handle existing in the same building as a wet nurse for a little while.” 

Existing in the same DEN as a wet nurse who’s going to be feeding both your pups for possibly months? Possibly YEARS? Bruce doesn’t say. They don’t know how long Lor’s going to need a wet nurse. Don’t know if they’re even capable of actually creating a formula his system will accept, much less actually do well on. Clark grew up malnourished on human milk, even coming from a packmate who’d adopted him as her own pup, and he was three when Martha and Jonathan found him. 

Lor’s likely going to have health issues, and he might need to nurse longer than a human pup for lack of the full nutrition he needs; might just want to. And what, Clark and Lois are going to wean a three or four year-old if they don’t absolutely have to? Also, given the kind of sire and dam he came from, he might not take well to being “abandoned” by someone he has a bond with. Even a feral bond. And given how strongly Carl reacted to him in turn, and the fact they feral-bonded at all . . . 

It’s going to be a long time before they can wean Lor even if they do manage a successful formula or supplement for him. At least, it’s going to be a long time if they don’t want to incite severe psychological distress in a toddler. 

“You’re being exactly the mother Chris needs,” Bruce says evenly. “You’re taking care of him, whatever it takes.” 

“I can’t even get milked up for him when he’s starving,” Clark says tightly, folding his arms under his chest and staring back out the window. 

Bruce doesn’t think Clark would appreciate hearing that PTSD symptoms aren’t that easy to ignore. It’s something he knows, but not something he’s willing to acknowledge. He blames himself. Hotels it against himself. Carries it like a weight that even Superman can’t be expected to take. 

It’s understandable, but it’s also a problem. 

“That’s not reflective of your ability to be a parent,” Bruce says. 

“It is right now,” Clark says as he shakes his head, his voice gone even tighter. “Lois and I don’t even have another omega in our family pack. I should’ve at least–I could’ve found another omega to nurse Jon years ago. He was four, and we made him stop nursing without even going through the actual weaning process. We could’ve taken someone in or just–” 

He cuts himself off. Keeps staring out the window. 

“You can’t be expected to force a pack bond like that,” Bruce tells him. “No one ever did expect you to.” 

“But I could’ve,” Clark says. “I should’ve. Chris could’ve died because I didn’t. And what if I’d gotten pupped again? We couldn’t have kept them. I couldn’t have–what could we have even done?” 

“We’d have had nine months, Clark,” Bruce reminds him patiently. Clark’s obsessing over irrelevant fears, and they both know they’re irrelevant, but Bruce still can’t help presenting options for dealing with those fears. It’s the same thing as Clark’s irrelevant fears, as a response. “We’ve already found a wet nurse Lor accepted, and we’re still in early stages with the supplement and formula tests. There would’ve been plenty of time.” 

There’d be plenty of time if it happened now, even. And given they’re already working on formula for a purely Kryptonian pup . . . 

Bruce makes a note to get working on a version specialized for Kryptonian-human hybrids, once they manage something for Lor. 

Assuming they ever do, anyway. It’s possible they just can’t produce what a Kryptonian pup actually needs on Earth. Not without a Kryptonian dam. 

Better to realize that’s a concern now, though, as opposed to after Clark does get pupped again or Jon grows up and sires a pup of his own–one who might need the same things Lor does, and not be old enough to survive without all of them, or not have powers strong enough to absorb as much from the sun that would keep them alive, or– 

It’s better to have realized it now, especially when they don’t even know if Lor actually will be able to survive on a human omega’s milk. 

It’s an ugly thought, but Lor has a better chance for a better life here than he does back with his sire and dam, and they can’t even trust his sire and dam would actually take care of him if they did send him back. Lor doesn’t have another option. 

A pup or a litter that Jon one day sired deliberately, though, without knowing better . . . it would’ve been much worse, if they’d had this problem then. 

Though it’s bad enough having it now, of course. 

Bruce very, very much hopes that a human omega’s milk is enough to keep Lor reasonably healthy, at least for now. It’d be better if Kryptonian pups didn’t eat so much, probably–he’s sure Lor was only fully satisfied today because he’s been so hungry for so long–but anything that’ll buy them time to figure out a better fix is better than nothing at all. 

He doesn’t dwell on the fact that Lor didn’t tolerate a single one of the formulas they’ve tried, or the fact that Jon refused formula when Clark stopped nursing him. It’s not conclusive evidence. 

Lor did take to Carl’s milk, Bruce reminds himself. And feral-bonded with him immediately, too. 

But that’s not conclusive either, of course. 

[kindlingkeen]

Hello! I'm just curious, what do you think would happen to Jason if Bruce had never met him? In Bruce's mind, if I'm not wrong, Jason would be a racer, and in Flashpoint, we have Father Todd (and omg, I'm obviously very normal about Father Todd's design), but in both cases no one in the Clan of Bats is adopted — what do you think would happen to Jason if Jason wasn't adopted?

(I just love what if—, but I have yet to see a what if (character) wasn't adopted focused only in one character, because normally is Dick that isn't adapted and that somehow makes Bruce unable to meet all of the rest of his kids, so in the end is a what if no one was adopted, so I just wanted to know your opinion)

I had to think about this one for a while because my brain kept trying to drift from not adopted to adopted late. Baby Jay was a scrappy little dude, determined to get by on his own without help. I don’t buy the ‘he’d be dead without Bruce’s involvement’ idea that often floats around the fandom. My vision of him if he was never adopted by Bruce has him still living in Crime Alley.

He got his GED and he secretly dreams of college, but life keeps getting in the way and ultimately his community matters more to him.

He’s the head mechanic at that one auto shop that everyone knows spends its nights and weekends as a chop shop specializing in stripping cars boosted from the Diamond District and Old Gotham, but it’s also the only place to take your car if you actually want to keep it running without getting ripped off. If you’re a single parent and you come in on a slow day, you’re almost guaranteed to get your oil changed or engine tuned up for free. The room in the back has a pull out couch and a mini-fridge — most nights it hosts someone fleeing a domestic abuse situation.

He volunteers at the library and helps with their after-school reading program.

Every dealer and addict in the alley knows, so help you god, if Jason catches you in action near school grounds or with kids, you’re in for a world of hurt. But he’s always got Narcan in his pocket and he’ll hook you up with the needle exchange program at the community center if you ask.

Catwoman keeps on eye on him because he feeds the feral colony living in the abandoned factory on 7th and he helps animal control navigate gang lines in order to set traps for their spay/neuter release program.

He’s on Gordon’s radar for a string of cases involving sex workers that were abducted and assaulted. A bunch of known pimps and johns showed up in ICU in body casts afterwards, but GCPD can’t pin the attacks on him conclusively.

And he did eventually steal the tires off the Batmobile, plus more than a few pieces of tech. Batman made the mistake of parking in the Alley one too many times in conjunction with instances of excessive force against men and woman who fell into henching just trying to get by for their families. Bruce learns his lesson … eventually.

There’s another scenario that lives in my head where he becomes a vigilante/anti-hero on his own, but I might actually write that one as a fic someday so … 🤐

Thanks for the great ask, anon!!

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

The Other Half Part Twenty Three

Previous Part | Masterlist | Next Part

Notes: This is a long one y'all. There's more angst, BUT there's a fluffy ending, so. Ya just gotta trust me.

Length: 6K

Warnings: Angst that ends in fluff, so you're gonna suffer, but you're gonna be happy about it; canon-typical violence; a D-level DC villain that's usually more of a Superman baddie, but he's fought Batman once or twice, so.

Summary: When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you. 

“I never liked him.” 

Michelle’s flat insistence makes you splutter a laugh through your tears. You sniffle, raising both hands and scrubbing at your eyes, knowing that you're almost certainly ruining your makeup. You’ve tried to put on a brave face, but Michelle has known since you arrived that something was off. She’s banished everyone else from the kitchen, giving the two of you a quiet space to talk. The odd swell of laughter and conversation reaches you every few moments, reminding you that you’re having an incredibly sensitive conversation just a few feet away from people that would probably sell it to the Gotham Gazette for one corn chip. 

“Yes, you did,” You argue, raising your hand and scrubbing a tear away. 

“...I mean, a little.” Michelle rips a piece of paper towel off of the roll, passing it over. “Did he tell you why?” 

You dab at your eyes, trying to piece a reasonable explanation together—one that wouldn’t shock Michelle and expose Bruce’s secret. 

You had waited up for Bruce all night, but he’d never come back. At least, he hadn’t come back to you. You’d realized when you’d gone down for breakfast that Bruce had returned, but slept elsewhere—down in the bat cave, maybe, or in an entirely separate wing of the house? But there he was at the table, genially listening to your father discuss whether or not the Metropolis Metros had any chance of making the playoffs that year. You had gotten yourself some coffee and sat at the opposite end of the table, unable to catch Bruce’s eye. He was avoiding it; he was avoiding you. He’d kept that up as you’d seen your parents to the car, as you’d hugged your mother and dodged her attempts to discuss what had been said last night. You saw the firm handshake that Bruce had shared with your father, the strained smile that he’d managed as your father had insisted that he hoped that there weren't any hard feelings. 

The two of you had stood side by side as the car pulled out of the driveway, hands to yourselves, eyes set on the fading red tail lights until they were out of sight. 

“Can we talk about it?” You finally hedged. 

“I don’t think there’s much to talk about.” 

You turned to watch him stride away, stunned. It took you a moment to follow, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up. 

“I think there’s a hell of a lot to talk about!” 

“I don’t agree.” 

“Why the hell not?” 

“Because they’re right.” 

“Excuse me?”

“They’re right!” Bruce barked, whirling around to face you. You froze in place, eyes widening as his yell echoed in the foyer. “I can’t keep you safe.” 

“You have kept me safe—You do keep me safe, Bruce!” 

“If I could, you never would’ve gotten kidnapped in the first place!” 

“I got out of there because of you—” 

“You got in there because of me!” 

“There are people in this world that are just plain greedy, Bruce. There’s nothing that you can do about that, it is not your fault.” 

“It’s my fault that you of all people were taken, and as long as you and I are together, you will continue to be a target.” 

“I don’t care!” 

“I do!” 

“Oh, so you get to go out every night and put people away and get the shit kicked out of you even though you know I hate it and that’s fine, right? Bruce Wayne can make his own damn decisions and put himself in as much danger as he wants, but I get into one little situation and that’s it? You’re decided? I don’t get a say in this?”

“You get a say. You have had a say, but I am through knowing that I’m endangering your life.” 

“Well let’s think this through, then. Who else are you putting in harm’s way? Lucius, for one—” 

“That’s enough—” 

“You’re endangering Alfred. Are you telling him that you’re through putting him in danger?” 

“Do not bring Alfred into this.” 

“It’s a bullshit argument, Bruce.” 

“I’m done talking about this,” He warned coldly, turning away from you. You didn’t let him get far, keeping a pace or two behind him as he strode toward the study.

“What if I’m not?” 

“I don’t give a damn.” 

“What do you want, Bruce?” 

“I want you to leave!” 

He stopped short again, but there was no danger of you slamming into him this time. In fact, you took one step back, then another. You searched Bruce’s face desperately as your entire body felt like it was going to cave in on itself. You shook your head a little, hands flexing at your sides as you forced yourself not to reach out, not to tug him in and hold him close and beg him, plead with him to reconsider. 

“You don’t mean that,” You insisted. 

“I do.” Bruce’s gaze dropped to your shoes. 

“Look at me.” 

“I’ll have Alfred pack your things—” 

“Look me in the goddamn eye and tell me that.” 

“You can stay at the penthouse until Michelle can move you back in.” 

“Bruce, don’t do this—” 

“You can take as long as you need.” 

“You—” You reached up, grasping the lariat necklace and yanking it roughly. You felt the clasp break roughly against your skin, heard diamonds scatter as you tossed it at his feet. “You are a fucking coward.” 

You hadn’t let him see you cry, but you were sure he’d heard you. You’d hardly made it into your shared bedroom before you’d knelt down and let out a raw, sharp scream—one so long and so loud that you were hoarse when it finally broke. You had spent the day hiding out in your room, and had only managed to stop crying just long enough to fake a few smiles at Friendsgiving. 

When Michelle had announced that she would be moving to Keystone City, you’d burst into tears again. Your other friends had passed it off as you being overcome by the news of your oldest and dearest friend moving, but Michelle knew you, and she knew better. It hadn’t taken her long to drag the truth out of you. 

“We just, um…” You sniffle. “We just haven’t been seeing eye to eye on a lot of things lately.” 

“Marriage? Kids?” 

You shake your head at her plying. 

“A lot of things.” 

“...Does this have anything to do with the fact that your parents were at Thanksgiving?”

“Let’s just say their visit was less than stellar.” 

“Oh, hon, I’m sorry,” Michelle shakes her head, taking your hands in hers. You give them a gentle squeeze in turn, eyes swimming as you look down at them. She’s quiet for a few moments before she plies: 

“What are you going to do?” 

“...May as well move to Metropolis,” You admit. “Mom and dad are there, you’re leaving, and Bruce…” You clear your throat. “There’s nothing keeping me here.” 

“Will they let you transfer at work?” 

“Something tells me they’ll have the bright idea first thing Monday morning.” 

“No, he wouldn’t.” 

“He’s stubborn. Once he gets an idea into his head, he won’t shake it.” 

“You can be damn stubborn, too.” 

You nod a bit. “I can, but I’m just…” You shake your head as the tears well viciously again. “I’m so damn tired, Mish. I can’t keep fighting for him if he doesn't want me.” 

“Honey,” Michelle sighs, crowding close and drawing you into her arms. You curl your hands around her arm, keeping her close as the sobs begin to shake you again. 

-- 

“How is the weather there?” 

“We’re really resorting to speaking about the weather?” You smile. “My my, times are desperate. Did you pull the lilies up yet? Must be getting cold over there.” 

“Now who is speaking of the weather?” 

You chuckle at Alfred’s reminder, shaking your head. The two of you go quiet on your sides of the phone. You focus your gaze on your mom’s macrame plant hanger, shifting from foot to foot. You know how Alfred is (“Just fine, as always, dear.”), but you don’t dare ask how Bruce is. 

“Have you settled in?” Alfred presses before you can bring anything else up. 

“Um…” Your brow furrows. “The office is nice—bigger desks.” 

“And the apartment? The car?” 

“I’m with my parents. I don’t have a car.” 

Alfred is quiet for a few moments before he offers: “Master Wayne—” 

“I know what he did,” You cut in quickly. You'd gotten the email from the newly Wayne-owned apartment building, as well as the message to pick your new car up from the dealership when you'd arrived in Metropolis. “I don’t want anything from him.” 

Alfred sighs softly on the other end, and it makes your gut twist. You lean back against the kitchen counter, looking down at the floor. 

“...How is he?” You finally mumble. 

“He misses you.” 

“Funny way of showing it.” 

“Buying you an apartment and a car?” 

“I don’t care about things, he knows that. If he cared, he would pick up the—...Damn phone,” You trail off in a mumble as you hear yourself growing more and more frustrated. You tried calling him three times before you left Gotham, but you hadn't gotten a single response. You haven't bothered to try since.

“Anyway,” You clear your throat, “You never answered me about the lilies.” 

“I have a few weeds to pull up before I cover the beds.” 

“You should do that soon. It’s only going to get colder. Are the lights up in the city yet?” 

“They are.” 

“Must be nice. I love Gotham at Christmas.” 

“How is Metropolis?” 

“It’s nice! It’s nice. It’s fine. Pretty. Good lights. Not as good as Gotham’s, but good.”

“Are the accommodations at your parents comfortable, at least?” 

Comfortable. That isn't the word you’d use. These days, you’re sleeping on a lumpy pullout couch in a cramped living room, living out of a duffel bag. They’re meant to be spending their days comfortably, not with their heartbroken daughter sleeping in the living room and trying to put the pieces of her life together. You’re grateful to them for opening their home, and you feel so ungrateful for feeling crowded, but a week ago, this was not the life that you pictured—

You raise your hand to pinch the bridge of your nose to stem a wave of tears. 

“Mhm!” You nod, though Alfred can’t see you, hoping that the affirmative movement will bolster the firmness of your tone. “S’nice, it’s cozy.” 

“I am glad to hear it.” 

“Yeah! Yeah, thank you.” You clear your throat. “I should get going for work soon, I’ve got a meeting to prep for.” 

“Of course. I'll send the remainder of your things tomorrow."

“Sounds great. I’ll call you soon.” 

“It will be lovely to hear from you then.” 

“It’s lovely to hear from you now.” You smile bitterly. “Bye, Alfred.” 

“Goodbye.” 

You lower the phone and hang up, raising your hand to swipe at the few tears that have managed to slip. Work, you have got to get to work. Your parents' place is a quick bus and train ride to and from the office, but you’ve been getting in early to get up to speed—and with the hopes of avoiding the paparazzi. 

There aren’t nearly as many as there were when you were in Gotham, but so far, you’ve had a handful lingering around the front door when you leave. They always throw out questions—Why’d you leave Gotham? Did you and Wayne break up? Did he cheat on you? Why aren’t you living in the apartment with your name on it? Are you ever going back to Gotham? 

You hadn’t bothered to answer a single question, just kept your head down and strode toward the train station. They had the decency not to follow you on, or back to the apartment. When you arrive this morning, there isn’t anyone with a camera outside the building. You give the receptionist a friendly smile before you head to the elevator, pressing the up button with a knuckle to keep from dropping your phone or spilling your coffee. 

The office is quiet when you step inside. You can see a couple of other people there, but they don’t acknowledge you as you settle in. You open your laptop, humming to yourself as the laptop begins to boot up. You heard a few carolers performing Silver Bells on your way to the office, and it is stuck in your head now. You rest your chin on your hand, trying to picture what the grounds’ gardens must look like all covered over. You can picture Alfred crouching down, covering the raised beds with chicken wire, with Bruce pulling it taut from the other end—

You shift in your seat, trying to push the thought of Bruce away.

He’d be bundled up, too, maybe using the spare pair of gloves that you bought for Alfred—

Ugh, stop it! Stop, just banish him from your mind. That’s probably impossible, sure, but you can pretend, right? You click on the internet app, and freeze when you see the loaded article on the homepage: Bruce helping a model out of a car. You recognize her. You're sure that you’ve seen her at a couple of Liz’s parties. You can’t quite remember her name, though…Your eyes stray to the description before you force them away again, pulling up your email and biting the inside of your cheek to keep from letting tears fall. It feels like all you can do these days is cry, no matter what you do. You know that getting over Bruce is going to be slow-going.

Your hand strays to your neck, where the lariat necklace used to sit…No. Nope, letting it go. Taking out your headphones, putting on your favorite angsty playlist and letting it go. 

--  

“How was your day, honey?” 

You poke through your container of leftovers as you lean against the kitchen counter. You give your mom’s question a placid smile, and don’t bother to say a word. You know that an admonishment isn’t far behind. 

“Oh, don’t stand and eat,” She tuts just a moment later when she spots you. 

“I’m fine standing, mom. I've been sitting all day.” 

“Your day, honey.” 

“It was okay. We got the invite for the Christmas party, it’s next week.” 

“Everyone was nice?” 

“It’s an office job, not my first day of kindergarten.” 

“Well,” She sniffs, “Forgive me for asking a question.” 

You roll your eyes. 

“Everyone's pretty nice, yeah, but...I don't know. We reviewed this application for a toy maker who wanted to set up a workshop for the holidays, but the board wound up turning it down. I thought it seemed like a good cause,” 

“Oh really, that’s nice.” 

Nice. She isn’t listening—but you push on anyway: 

“It’s a bummer, you know, this Schott Jr. guy’s application was kinda…Sad. It was a little childish, though. I think the writing on the grant really messed up his chances.” 

“You can tell me about it later, hon. I have my quilting group tonight.” 

God, your mother has more of a life than you do these days. “Well, have fun. Where’s dad?” 

“Late shift.”

“Out on Neville Island? Jeez, how late are they gonna keep him?” 

“Your father is a big boy.” 

“I know, just…” 

Your mom casts you an almost pitying look. “This isn’t Gotham, sweetie. He’ll be fine.” 

You nod a little, peering down into your remaining leftovers. 

“Have fun at quilt club,” You add as your mom heads for the door. 

“Sure! We’ll keep it down when we come in!” 

“Yeah, I know you all get really wild while quilting.” 

“Oh, and honey?” 

“Mm?” 

“Try not to spend the night sulking. Maybe…I don’t know, go to a bar, pick someone up—” 

You choke roughly as you accidentally inhale the bite of food. You regain your breath, throat throbbing as you gasp, “Mom!” 

“The only way to get over someone is to get under someone! Okay, I’m going, I’m going,” She insists, holding her hands up in mock-surrender as she edges for the door, taking up her quilting tote bag. You scoff, turning and practically flinging the remainder of the leftovers into the trash as you hear her footsteps retreat down the hall.  

“Only way to get over someone is to get under someone,” You mumble, “Fucking…Unreal.” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, glancing toward the trash can. Maybe you shouldn’t have thrown out those leftovers. You’re still hungry. Maybe you ought to get yourself out of the apartment, grab some food. Or...You reach into your pocket, drawing out your phone. You don’t call Alfred again—instead, you dial Michelle’s number and walk over to the couch, plopping onto it. You wince a little, glancing down at the cushions. You really should be more gentle with it, you are sleeping on it all the time.

You set the sound to speaker as you wait. It rings…And rings…And—

“You better not be calling to tell me that you’re back with that jerk.”

You can’t help but smile at Michelle’s candor. 

“I haven’t even heard from…Him.” 

“That jerk. Call him a jerk.” 

“Mish, please.” 

“Well, he is. But I guess I’ve said it enough for both of us.” 

“How’s Keystone City?” 

“Honey, I have never seen so much corn in all my damn life.” 

“Is it doing the men out there any good?” 

“It would have to be super corn if it did.” 

“How’s the apartment?” 

“Oh my god, it's fucking huge. Half the price we were paying in Gotham for double the size. You should move down here. With our joint funds, we’d be able to build our own mansion.” 

“Mm, I don’t think I could move down just yet. I’ve only been at the Foundation for three months, and just moved to this location a week ago. If I up and left now, I’d lose my job in minutes.” 

“We could find you one down here.” 

“Is it very busy down there?” 

“No. But maybe you could do with slowing down a bit.” 

“Maybe. Hey, have you gotten your tree yet?” 

“Have you?” 

“The couch folds out right where it would go. Mom’s thinking of getting a small one that she can put on the kitchen counter.” 

“She wouldn’t.”

“...I think it’s guilt,” You admit. “She’s why I’m here, anyway.”

“Ugh, you’ve hit the point of blaming your mother. Finally—took you long enough.” 

“Well,” You grumble, “She wasn’t thinking, but her not thinking kinda got me on her couch. You know what she told me before going quilting?” 

“What?” 

“That I should go pick up a stranger.” 

“What?” Michelle screeches, and you wince, turning your head away from the phone. “Oh, my god! Are you mortified? I would die, oh my god!”

You giggle, a lightness taking over you for the first time in several days. 

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, the sexual tension between me and the electrical sockets are slowly creeping up. I’ve gotta find my own place.” 

“If you need a reference—”

“I’ll call you—” 

“I will lie through my teeth.”

“You’re a dear.”

“...Have you spoken to him?” 

No. “No.” 

“Have you blocked him?” 

No. “Yes.” 

“Do you miss him?” 

Terribly. “Maybe.” 

“...Okay, here me out—” 

“Oh, no, Mish—” 

“I’m just saying, maybe your mom is on to something. Not like that, but—have you taken a moment for yourself since you got to Metropolis?” 

You think for a few moments, shifting back on the couch. 

“...No, I’m just working,” You admit softly. “I feel like if I let myself do anything but work, I’ll just…I’ll fall apart.” Your words quiver as you say it.

“I’m not saying don’t think about it,” She reassures. “I mean…It was almost a year with him, you know? Just…Don’t let that be the only thing that you think about.”

You sink back into your seat, lips pursing as your eyes begin to wet. 

“I don’t,” You protest weakly. Michelle sighs on the other end, and you know that you haven’t fooled her for a moment. You shake your head, resolved to push the conversation in another direction: 

“Are you going to paint any rooms in your apartment?” 

“...I got a few paint samples.” You can hear how reluctant Michelle is to move on, but feel a swell of gratefulness when she does. “Mostly blues and greens. I’m thinking of some kind of turquoise for the kitchen.”

“Some kind of turquoise? Isn’t there only one kind of turquoise?”

“You know, I used to think that, but the paint section of the store proved me very, very wrong.” 

-- 

You tuck yourself in early, knowing that you won’t be asleep by the time your parents get in. Still, you’d rather fake it than have them ask you if you had a nice night in. Worse, your mother could ask if you’d gone out and gotten under someone, as it were. You stare up at the ceiling, trying to focus on taking slow, even breaths. 

You can’t help that Bruce creeps up in your mind. 

What’s he doing right now? Is he creeping through some alley? Swooping down on a wrongdoer? Conferring with Gordon? 

Elspeth Emerson, that’s that model’s name. She’d hardly spoken a word to you the couple of times that you had met her. Come to think of it, you couldn’t remember what her voice sounded like. 

Can you even remember what Bruce’s voice sounded like?

“I want you to leave!” 

You wince at the thought, and you roll onto your side, as if you can pull away from the memory. Yes, you remember what Bruce’s voice sounds like. How long will it take until you forget? You peer through the curtains, chest muddling with pangs of regret and sadness as your mind begins to race—to wonder if things would be different if you’d just fought a little harder—

But how many times can you give your love to a man that’s trying to push you away? A man who only took a few days to get over you—or at least to go out and make it seem like he’s moving on? 

He must have known that you wouldn’t use that apartment, or that car. He must have just wanted to seem like the bigger person, as if he wasn't the one that had sent you packing. You huff softly, raising your hand to swipe your tears away as they begin to leak. It’s no use; a few slip. It’s only a moment before the trickle turns into a stream, dampening the pillow beneath your head.

-- 

You fall into a rhythm. It isn’t a rut—it is decidedly not a rut. You manage to get up and out of the apartment before your parents are awake in the morning. The paparazzi stop lingering around the office, because your existence ceases to be news. You stop flinching at the mention of Bruce’s name; you stop hearing his voice as you try to fall asleep. The ache of missing him doesn’t disappear, but it lessens, some. You don’t take your mom’s recommendation of getting over Bruce by getting under someone else. You consider it, sure. You download a couple of dating apps, but you never actually make a profile. There’s just nothing about it that feels right. 

You speak with Alfred almost daily—usually on the phone, if not over text. You don’t ask about how Bruce is doing, and he doesn’t tell you. 

That doesn’t stop you wondering. 

-- 

“What the hell is that?” 

“Did you see it?” 

“It’s so cute!” 

“Do you think it’s some kind of office Christmas gift or something? A little teaser before the holiday party later?”

“You hear Wayne’s gonna be in attendance? Someone said they thought the saw him in the elevator. Do you think it’s because of…You know—” 

“Who cares—Hey, does that thing move or is it just a decoration?” 

Your coworker’s chatter draws your focus, and you turn away from your laptop. You can see people crowding around something by the elevators. You stand, joining them and peering around them to try and get a look at what they’re talking about. You can just catch a glimpse of a brightly colored, 5-foot tall nutcracker. Your brow furrows as you take in the fuzzy beard, the crisp blue paint of the nutcracker’s coat, the bright gold buttons, and the rifle tucked at its side. You nod at the painted script on one of the boots. 

“What’s that say?” 

“Schott and Son.” One of your coworkers steps forward, stepping around it and eyeing the back. “There’s a button back here!” 

Schott and Son. God, why does that sound familiar? 

“Press it!” Someone else urges. You hear the gears crank and whir, quickly covered by a music box rendition of the Nutcracker Suite. You smile a little, as the Nutcracker’s arms move as if marching. You all startle, then laugh as it steps forward and does a short bow. It reaches around itself, and your stomach churns as it grasps the butt of its rifle. You take a step back, warning, 

“Uh, guys—” 

“Lighten up,” Someone scoffs, “It’s just a toy.” 

Their insistence is stifled by a gunshot, leaving the tip of the rifle smoking. You hear two panicked huffs before someone screams. You whirl around to see blood pouring from your coworker’s shoulder. Their scream is chased by others as the Nutcracker ventures deeper into the office, firing again. You scramble away as the others do, running for whatever cover you can find. You stumble as someone gives you a shove, practically climbing over you to get out of the way. You crawl along the floor, getting beneath a desk and tugging a chair in. You fold yourself in as tight as you can, clasping your hands together and fighting to keep your breathing and quiet as you peer out, watching people scramble to get out of the way of the Nutcracker. 

Fuck, you left your phone on your desk, so you can’t call 911—Surely someone has, right? Someone’s heard the commotion from another floor, or an alarm has gone off, something— 

You hear a horrifying thud, chased by a few more gunshots. You wince with the furious bashing sounds, raising your hands to press over your ears. You focus on your own pounding heart, your rapid breathing—

The feeling of the chair shifting beside you makes you scream and open your eyes. 

The sight of Bruce crouching beside your desk makes you crumble. 

-- 

“...It’s nice.” 

It’s a feeble attempt at a compliment and a conversation starter. It’s also an insane understatement. It seems that Bruce didn’t only buy you this apartment—he’d had it furnished, and filled the fridge and cabinets with groceries, spices, all of your favorite goodies. You look from the fully stocked bar cart by the kitchen over to the living room, where Bruce is hurriedly closing the curtains over the lowered shades. 

Maybe it shouldn’t be such a surprise that the apartment he chose is so big. 

Just being the bigger person, You remind yourself, He doesn’t want to be the bad guy. 

Bruce finally turns to look at you. You see his lips twitch with something unspoken before he purses them and swallows thickly. He looks so wan—pallid, and tired. He’d looked it when he’d found you beneath that desk, after apparently smashing the shit out of that Nutcracker with a printer. The ride to this apartment (in the car that he had bought for you and had driven to the office) hadn’t made it any better. Neither of you had spoken. 

“You never, um…” You clear your throat. “What are you doing in Metropolis?"

“It was requested that I make an appearance at the holiday party.”

Your gaze narrows slightly. You smell bullshit...But you're not really in the mood to litigate it right now.

“Right.” 

You turn away, finally, shrugging off your coat and tossing it over the back of a chair as you head for the bar cart. 

“Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine, Mr. Wayne. Great, even.” You take up a clean glass, setting it windowsill beside the car before you reach for the bottle of whiskey. “You want some?” 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“More for me, then.” 

“Are you sure you wanna do that right now?” 

“I can’t think of a better time.” 

You reach for the seal, struggling to twist it off before you fling it away. You grasp the bottle firmly, trying to ignore your shaking hands as you lift it and the glass. You can’t steady them no matter how hard you try, but you pour anyway, some of the liquid sloshing over the sides and onto your fingers—

You go still as Bruce crowds up close to you, grasping your hands and forcing them down. The glass connects with the windowsill with a sharp, shrill sound; you wouldn’t be surprised if it was chipped, if not cracked. You squeeze your eyes closed as you just feel him—the heat and strength of him up against your back; the gentle press of his face against your hair, and the sound of him drawing in a deep breath; the warmth of his hands, steady over yours. Your lower lip begins to wobble as Bruce intertwines your fingers, using his grasp on your hands to curl your arms around yourself. 

“Good thing I wasn’t in Gotham,” You quip dryly, forcing your stern tone over the your rapidly fracturing resolve, “Or today could’ve been a real disaster.” 

You shake Bruce off, stepping out of his arms and snatching your glass from the sill, striding more deeply into the living room. You hear Bruce sigh behind you before he hedges: 

“What do you want me to say?” 

“An apology would be nice.” 

“You want me to apologize for wanting you safe?” 

“Was I safe today?” You snap, whirling to face him again. “Was that—Killer nutcracker something I was safe from? You can’t anticipate every moment of my life, Bruce. No matter where I go, I could be in danger. What, do you want me confined to a room somewhere and permanently out of harm’s way? What if someone breaks into that room?”

You search his face, desperate for some kind of recognition, some kind of understanding. Bruce shakes his head, his gaze dropping shamefully to his shoes. You lower yourself into an armchair, peering down at the amber liquid, watching it shift with your still-shaking hands. You hear Bruce cross the room before his shoes come into view. He grasps the wooden coffee table, tugging it closer and sitting on the edge of it. 

“I just don’t…I don’t like the idea that someone could come after you again, with the purpose of getting to me, or getting something from me,” He admits softly. “I can’t be the reason that I lose someone I love. I can’t do that again.” 

You lift your head as Bruce’s voice breaks, heart stuttering as you see his eyes well with tears. You set the drink aside, taking his hands in yours. 

“I know that it scares you. It scares me, too. But Bruce, you cannot protect me from everything. But you do—” Your voice breaks as your face twists with upset, “You do protect me, from so much. You protected me after the kidnapping, you protected me today. If you hadn’t been there, I don’t know what would’ve happened…’Sides between this and the attempted robbery at the store, I think I’ve proven that I can get into plenty of trouble all by myself.” 

Bruce huffs a shaky laugh through his nose as he nods. He raises your joined hands to his lips, pressing kisses to your knuckles. 

“I’ve missed you so goddamn much,” He murmurs. 

“I’ve missed you, too.” 

“I want…” He winces at the phrasing, and seems to reconsider. “I mean…Would you consider coming home?” 

Home. Your chest aches with it—with the thought of the mansion, and Alfred, and the covered garden beds. 

“Bruce…I love you so much. I want us to have a life together, but…” You shake your head, steeling yourself as his face falls, “But I can’t keep having this argument. I can’t be pushed away from you over and over again and keep wanting to come back. This nearly broke me—No, Bruce,” You chase his gaze as he averts his, holding his eye as your tone grows more firm. “I understand that you want me in one piece, I get it. But how the fuck do you think I feel, night after night, knowing that every time you leave may be the last time I see you?...If I come back,” You hedge carefully, “This is…It. If we implode, or you change your mind and throw me out again, we’re through, I mean really through—” 

“That will never happen again.” 

“But—”

“You have my word.” He says it firmly, holding your eye as you held his. “I…I acted like an asshole. I didn’t want you to leave, but I thought it would be better for you.” 

“Nothing about this has been better for me.” 

“I know, I see that now. I’m sorry.” 

You nod a little, looking down at your hands. 

“...You just want me back in Gotham so you can keep a closer eye on me.” 

Bruce chuckles softly, raising a hand to cup your cheek. 

“I want you back in Gotham because nothing has been right since you left.” 

You tip your face into his hand, letting your eyes slide closed and allowing your tears to fall as you accept the gentle touch. Bruce shushes you softly, smoothing your tears away and pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

“Tell you what,” He murmurs. “Why don’t you call your parents, let them know you’re alright and you’re spending the night here before we go back. I’ll figure out getting your things back in a couple of days.” 

“They’re not gonna like that…And the Foundation’s going to be pissed.” 

“S’okay. I think they’ll understand you transferring back after what happened in the office. They've cancelled the holiday party to secure the building, make sure that thing didn't have any extra surprises hiding anywhere.” 

“Speaking of which,” You lean back, scrubbing your eyes. “There’s someone you should look into.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“The uh…The Nutcracker, it had a name on it—” 

“Schott and Son.” 

“Right. Winslow Schott Jr. put in an application for funding from the Foundation, but it was denied.” 

Bruce’s frown deepens. “When did this happen?” 

“Uh—Two weeks ago, maybe? He left a few angry calls and emails, but then he dropped off, so we figured he’d given up.” 

“Did he have a company he applied through, or was it just him?” 

“Umm…” Your brow furrows as you try to remember. “It was…The Toymaker, or…The Toyman, something like that.” 

Bruce hums, nodding. “I’ll have Fox pull the file, see what we can find.” 

“Okay.” 

You stand and step away, and only make it a couple of steps before you hear Bruce stand. He catches hold of your hand, folding you into his arms. You go willingly, pressing your face into his neck and drawing in a deep breath as you cuddle close. 

"Bruce?"

"Mm."

"Why are you really in Metropolis? I know you, you hate these parties."

Bruce's thumb sweeps along your lower back as he peers gently at you.

"I needed to see you," He admits softly. "It was just supposed to be for a minute...But I was headed to your floor, and I heard the shots, and..." His face goes tight, his jaw tensing. "I couldn't stop myself."

"I'm glad you didn't," You give him a small, reassuring smile. "But I'm a little biased." You reach up, gently sweeping your fingers across his stubbled cheek.

“You haven’t been sleeping,” You accuse. 

“Told you,” He mumbles, “Nothing’s felt right since I lost you.” 

You tip your chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. 

“Then it looks like you found me just in time."

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