#Damian has a fucking metal spine?!?!

[wtfamidoingwhithmylife]

Was no one gonna tell me Damian Wayne has a metal spine or was just supposed to figure that out for myself

[batstorm93672]

I posted 152 times in 2022

That's 152 more posts than 2021!

138 posts created (91%)

14 posts reblogged (9%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@oifaaa

@winterstorm032802

@clerkwithamouth

@miki-meh

@dc-universe2

I tagged 144 of my posts in 2022

Only 5% of my posts had no tags

#damian wayne - 131 posts

#damian wayne has feelings and he wont admit it - 89 posts

#jason todd - 75 posts

#dick grayson - 70 posts

#tim drake - 68 posts

#robin - 57 posts

#bruce wayne - 47 posts

#stephanie brown - 36 posts

#batman - 34 posts

#alfred pennyworth - 32 posts

Longest Tag: 136 characters

#dick is always happy to get gifts and see damians progress but anything about older brother to jason from damian would ensue teasing lol

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Jason: I tried to steal the tires off the Batmobile, can you top that?

Damian: Indeed, for unlike you, I did steal the Batmobile and drove off

Jason: Holy crap what did he say?

Damian: He said he has half a mind to report me for grand theft auto. So I said "I'd like to hear that call. Hello police? My son stole the Batmobile"

Jason: Literary at it's finest

Damian: *nods*

Bruce holding a cup of coffee: Why... why are you two like this?

Damian: It's how we get by father

Jason: Call it therapy for Dead Robins Club

Bruce: There's a club?

Jason: Yeah I'm the founder and leader, Steph is the co-leader and Damian is our newest addition

Damian: *nods*

Dick: *looks up from his phone* That just sounds like poor coping methods

Jason: Oh yeah? You got anything better?

Dick: *looks back down at his phone*

Jason: That's what I thought

704 notes - Posted September 17, 2022

#4

Dick: Alright! Siblings game night!

Stephanie: Wohoo!

Tim: What games?

Dick: I was thinking of something from the closet instead of video games for now

Jason: There's Monopoly

Tim: I am not playing that with you

Jason: Why not?

Tim: You landed on my square and then when I said you have to give me money, you pulled out a gun to my face and said "I'd rather face death then give any sort of money to you"

Jason: *shrugs* You were in jail, not giving money to some scum

Damian: ...I have a suggestion

Dick: Does it involve violence?

Damian: No

Dick: *genuinely surprised* Oh wow, okay go ahead

Damian: We should contort the human body in ways they can not imagine. Letting fate decide their punishment upon the ground they walk. Letting them suffer greatly and feel as their own body fails every so often, upon failure they shall be eliminated in a fashion that would make the dead weep

Jason: *barely containing laughter*

Cassandra: *thumbs up*

Duke: *goes to Stephanie* I... I don't think I'm willing to play anymore

Tim: Someone needs to translate that

Dick: *sighs* He means, Twister. He suggests that we should play Twister

760 notes - Posted September 11, 2022

#3

Tim: Hey Damian, if I knocked on your back would we be able to hear metal from your spine?

Damian: ...

Stephanie: Can I try?

Damian: You woke me up at 4 in the morning for this shit

Tim: You didn't deny it

Damian: Get the fuck out of my room

786 notes - Posted August 25, 2022

#2

Dick: *stretching* Damn I almost fell and now my back hurts

Tim: Alfred has some medicine for that

Dick: Nah I'm all good

Jason: To be fair you are old

Dick: What... I'm not old

Jason: Yes you are

Tim: I mean I hurt my back a few days ago

Damian: Tt, figures you would

Tim: Don't act tough, haven't you ever hurt your back in battle? It messes with your spine if hurt too much you know

Damian: I wouldn't know

Tim: *scoffs* Cause you're invincible? Or a supreme being in comparison to us lowlifes?

Damian: No, my spine is metal so I wouldn't know cause my original spine is no longer attached to my nervous system

Tim & Jason:

Damian: What?

Tim: WHAT THE HELL I THOUGHT LOSING A SPLEEN WAS BAD

Jason: YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING

Damian: I assumed everyone knew? I was shot by the Flamingo in the spine and was paralyzed until Grayson took me to mother and she replaced my spine with a metal one, but it was simply a ploy to control me and try to kill Grayson

Tim: ...

Jason: ...

Dick: *sweats*

Jason: YOU DIDN'T THINK TO MENTION THIS DICKHEAD

1,423 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Tim: Ugh! Some dude at work was so annoying! *sits down on the sofa next to Damian*

Damian: *places his book down* Terms and conditions

Tim: W... What?

Damian: Tt, Where do you want this to take place, how shall it be done and will you be able to provide me bags or a small cold storage place

Tim: ...Are you... are you offering to off someone for me?

Damian: This is business Drake, make it quick

Tim: God's sake no Damian!

Damian: You've wasted my time

Jason: *walks in* This asshole was being so annoying!

Damian: Terms and conditions?

Jason: Docks, quick and easy, yes I'll provide the bags

Damian: Very well

Tim: W- What the hell?

Jason: Dami and I are going on a trip

Damian: Good day Drake

Tim: What... did I just witness?

Jason from afar: A business transaction Timbo

6,868 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

I love how my top 5 are all shitposts I made on random

[sohotthateveryonedied]

I’ll Make a Million Mistakes

Read here on AO3!

Summary:

“Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.”

“I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.”

“Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.”

“Y’all need Jethuth.”

Bruce likes to think of himself as a patient man. Even more, he’d like to think it’s a trait he earned all on his own, but anyone who’s met him would testify that he inherited his patience from the man who raised him, and Bruce would have to agree. This level of restraint he possesses is an acquired skill—one that is reserved for the world’s best butlers and for fathers of six. Karen from the PTA wishes she were on Bruce’s level. His exceedingly calm temperament is the only reason Bruce doesn’t melt into a puddle on the ground now, his bones turning into a milky froth because Jesus fucking Christ, hasn’t he had a hard enough night as it is? No person should have to spend two hours solving riddles because Eddie was feeling manic tonight and then be forced to come home to human children. Duke smiles around a mouthful of bloody gauze. “In my defenth, I’ve never even had a cavity before.” “No, you just got your tooth knocked out.” “Teeth.” “What?” “Ith acthually teeth, plural. I lotht two of them.” Bruce facepalms. “Goddamn it.” He ignores the giggles from his other kids, all of whom apparently decided they needed to be present for this conversation. He’s picking his battles tonight.

“Ith not my fault!” Duke points over at Tim, standing against the Batcave’s wall minding his own business. “Ith hith fault.” “It is not. Bruce, don’t listen to him.” “Oh, yeah? Who knocked me into the railing in the firtht plathe?” “That was Jason’s fault. He’s the one who threw the football.” “Actually,” Jason chimes in, “that was Cass. I was an innocent bystander.” “Liar,” Cass says. “Don’t call me a liar.” “Liar.” “You’re the liar. She’s framing me, Bruce, I swear to god. I’ve never done anything wrong to my siblings in my entire life.” Dick makes a spluttering noise. “You once threw a pineapple at my head because I was breathing too loudly!” “And I don’t regret it one bit.” Bruce sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this. He gently grasps Duke’s chin, being mindful of his sore jaw. “Where?” Duke pulls out the wad of gauze and opens his mouth wide. He points at the space where his front tooth used to be, then a canine on the bottom left which now consists of half a white shard. “Ith thith one and thith one.” Bruce hums. “I can get you a dentist appointment tomorrow afternoon. They’ll put a couple of caps in and you’ll be good as new.” He’ll have to rearrange a few things in his schedule. At least now he has a valid excuse to skip racquetball with Clark. There is no logical reason a bumpkin from Kansas should be better at racquetball than Bruce is, there just isn’t. “Tho my thmile ithn’t permanently ruined? Thath a relief. Thethe babieth are my betht feature,” he says, all the while bloody saliva dribbles from his lip like a deranged vampire. Best feature, definitely. “Don’t worry,” Dick says, throwing his arm around Duke’s shoulders. “Everyone in this room has had their teeth knocked out at one point or another. It’s a rite of passage around here.” “I don’t know how to tell you thith, but that doethn’t happen to normal people. We acthually prefer to keep our teeth, believe it or not.” “Wait until you get your first major battle scar. Trust me, they’re cool.” “Y’all need Jethuth.” “At least it’ll make for a good story one day,” Tim says. “Everyone loves scar stories.” Jason snorts. “People actually like death stories more, but go off I guess.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jay. Find new material.” “You want new material? Check this out.” Jason tugs down the collar of his sweater. He shows off the mostly-faded autopsy scar sliced up his torso and to his shoulders. Bruce winces. Dick yawns. “So? You got autopsied. Big whoop. Scars don’t count if you’re dead when you get them.” He tips his head down, parts a section of his hair with his fingers to show off the fresh scar on his scalp. “Talk to me when you get shot in the head.” Tim rolls his eyes. “You realize how stupid this is, right? We shouldn’t be arguing about who has the worst bodily trauma.” “Why,” Jason says, “because you know you’d lose?” “Because I’ve got you both beat.” He pulls up his t-shirt to display the surgical scar on his abdomen. “Missing spleen. Beat that.” “I lost a kidney. Kidney trumps spleen any day.” Cass rolls up the leg of her shorts to show off her bullet-riddled thigh. “Connect the dots. I win.” “But have you lost a vital organ?” Tim asks. “No.” “Spleens aren’t that vital,” Dick says. “Fuck off, at least you still have one.” “I would prefer to keep my organth,” Duke says. “Juth thaying.” “And you will,” Bruce assures him. “Probably.” “Probably?” “Look, I’m tired. We’re all tired. Can we schedule the scar contest for a later time when I’m hopefully not here to witness it?” Maybe he can ask Alfred to drug his tea from now on. At least then he can rest easy in a drug-induced slumber, knowing all the while that he’s missing the kind of petty arguments no parent should have to hear. “No one said you had to be here,” Dick says. “Anyway, Bane once slammed me against a wall and now my hip throbs when it rains.” “At least your wrist doesn’t click when you move it at the right angle.” Jason shakes his wrist next to Tim’s ear. Tim cringes. “You’re all amateurs,” a new voice says, and Bruce wants to die. Damian and Stephanie appear to have returned from patrol, still in their uniforms. “Try having your entire spine replaced.” Tim wrinkles his nose. “Great, it’s time to hear Damian talk about how much better than us he is. My favorite activity.” “Shut up, Drake. You’ve never experienced pain.” “I got blown up once! I still have burn scars all over my neck and shoulders!” “Eh. I’ve had worse.” Steph grins and holds up her left hand, just happy to be included. (Note to self: ponder whether Stephanie is secretly a golden retriever in human form.) “I have no feeling in these three fingers.” She pokes them to demonstrate. “And should I mention that I was tortured by Black Mask once? No? Because power tools were involved, in case anyone was wondering.” “Do I need to reiterate that I once died in an explosion?” “Jason. Little wing. I’m begging you to shut up about your death.” Cass points to a spot on her ribcage. “Two ribs made of metal. Got shattered during a fight. Four years old.” “My dad used to burn me with cigarettes every time I was bad, so...seven times a week, more or less.” “Oh, same!” Jason and Steph high-five. “My grandfather broke my arm in two places when I made a mistake during a training drill. He made me fight assassins for three hours straight afterward without so much as an ice pack.” Duke looks horrified. “Are you guyth okay?” “No offense, but none of you should talk unless you’ve gone through childbirth.” Stephanie rolls up the top portion of her Batgirl suit just enough to show off the scar across her lower belly. “You think getting blown up is hard? Try spending three hours in labor and having a baby ripped out of you. That’s hard.” Jason wipes away a fake tear. “Boo-hoo, someone had a baby when she was a teenager. Human reproduction doesn’t involve being beaten to death with a crowbar.” “Nobody cares that you died, Jason!” “Indeed,” Damian agrees. “Being stabbed by your clone is far worse than being caught in a little explosion. And I can take a crowbar beating in my sleep.” “I’m gonna kill him, Bruce. I’ll kill him right now. Just say the word and I’ll do it.” Bruce sighs, closing his eyes. “Duke, there are painkillers in the medicine cabinet if you need them. I’ll text you the time of your dentist appointment. The rest of you, please refrain from talking to me for the rest of the night.” Bruce walks away toward the manor, silently praying that he can forget this conversation ever happened. “Hey, who wants to see where Killer Croc bit my ass once?”

[writingblock101]

Old Memories (Jason Todd x Reader)

Request for anonymous: “I didn’t want you to see me like this.” and “You’re proud of me?” 

I hit 700 followers? Holy shit? Thank you! Enjoy!

Word Count: 3,000 words

Warnings: Gore, violence 

Tags: @idkmanicantenglish, @mayahoelland2013

Red Hood grimaces under his helmet at the sound of the familiar, maniacal laughter. His hands tighten into fists as his skin burns with the heat of a bomb and stings from the blows of a crowbar. Keep breathing. You’re not in Ethiopia. His fingers ghost over the word “HA!” carved repeatedly into skin that isn’t his. The memory makes Red Hood’s stomach boil with rage. 

His hands brush over one of his guns strapped to his thighs. The heavy metal brings him comfort, knowing he’s not a scared kid, beaten and chained to the ground in an abandoned warehouse. He’s highly trained and heavily armed with a chip in his shoulder. While Red Hood may have agreed to not kill in Gotham, he’s certainly going to deliver some pain to the Joker. 

“Help patrol Gotham, they said,” Red Hood mutters to himself. “B would appreciate it so much, they said.” 

“You good, Wing?” Nightwing asks over the comms. 

“Peachy,” Red Hood growls, his teeth grinding at the sound of the laughter again. “Where the fuck is this crazy son of a bitch?” 

“Dunno. The upstairs classrooms are clear.” 

Red Hood grumbles under his breath as he checks an empty kindergarten classroom. While he’s happy Joker decided to hole up in a school at night when there weren’t any kids present, there are about twenty million different ways he’d rather be spending his evening than hunting for the Joker with Nightwing and all of them include you. 

You and Dick, of course, were the ones who talked him into helping patrol Gotham. With Batman and Robin on bed rest after getting caught in an explosion and Red Robin abroad, that left Nightwing and Red Hood to make sure Gotham didn’t go to hell. And of course, just with Red Hood’s luck, Joker decided tonight was a beautiful night to break out of Arkham. 

“I hate this fucking city,” Red Hood grumbles. 

“Clearly not that much ‘cause you never left,” Nightwing quips back. 

“Yeah, well, sorry for not fucking off to a completely different city because B pissed me off,” Red Hood snaps. 

“We’re not all dramatic enough to die instead.” 

Red Hood grins under his helmet, glad that his siblings are finally catching on to how much fun it is to make death jokes. 

The intercom crackles to life, Red Hood’s grin melting off his face. 

“Looks like old Batsy seems to think he’s too good for my games,” The Joker sighs. “Instead, he sent me Old Boy Wonder and the Defective,” He laughs loudly. “I’m sure we’ll still have some fun!” 

Red Hood grinds his teeth, but finishes checking the last classroom. 

“Downstairs is clear, anything upstairs?” 

“All clear,” Nightwing confirms. “That just leaves the gym.” 

“Great,” Red Hood sighs. “Meet in the west stairwell.” 

Nightwing swings around the railing, dropping onto the floor next to Red Hood. Show off. 

“Shall we?” He asks. 

Red Hood grumbles but follows Nightwing out the stairwell and toward the large gym. Red Hood shoves open the door to be immediately met by gunfire near his head. He curses, ducking left while Nightwing sprints right. 

“Hiya, boys!” Joker exclaims, firing another round of bullets into the wall above the bleaches Red Hood is hiding under. “I thought you two would never find me!” 

“I’d rather find you in a cell in Arkham!” Nightwing yells from opposite bleachers. 

“Arkham?!” Joker sounds deeply offended. “Boy Wonder, when did you turn into such a party pooper?” 

“You want an alphabetized list?” Nightwing growls then his escrima sticks crackle to life with electricity and he leaps out of his hiding place, hitting a nearby goon in the face. 

Red Hood takes that as his cue and comes out shooting. They make quick work of the goons, sending the Joker sprinting toward the back of the gym. 

“This party isn’t over yet!” He exclaims, pulling out a different, strange-looking gun. 

“What the…” Red Hood frowns at the toy looking weapon then Joker points it at him and fires. “Shit!” Red Hood exclaims, rolling out of the way from a dart that’s sticking into the floor. 

Joker fires again, this time hitting Red Hood in the shoulder. He curses, yanking the dart out, but feels strange. Joker laughs again. 

“I hope you like my new concoction!” He exclaims. 

Jason feels the room spin around him for a moment, a floating feeling rushing throughout his body. A giggle builds in his stomach then comes tumbling out of his lips. Another follows, spilling like bubbles out of Jason’s mouth. Bubbles, that’s funny. He laughs more, the idea of bubbles coming out of his mouth seeming hilarious. 

He looks down at his chest, expecting to see bubbles. Huh. He’s on the ground now. Isn’t that funny? Jason thinks so. 

He looks down at his chest, wanting to find the bubbles. Maybe they’re a pretty color! Wouldn’t that be funny? Bright green and purple bubbles spilling out of Jason’s mouth. That would be hilarious! 

Jason laughs more, tilting his head to see the bubbles, but he doesn’t see bubbles. Dark red blood gurgles down his chest, oozing from his split open stomach. Those aren’t green and purple bubbles. More blood gushes out of his stomach as Jason laughs harder. Blood? He’s bleeding? When did he start bleeding? He needs to stop the bleeding, but he keeps laughing. What is so funny? Jason isn’t sure, but he keeps laughing. 

Deep cuts on his arms begin dripping with blood. HA! HA! HA! HA! carves itself into his skin. Jason laughs harder, feeling tears rush down his face. He hears the smack of a crowbar against skin, the ticking of a clock, the smell of gunpowder. He feels the burn of an explosion, a sheen of sickly green covers his eyes. It bubbles around him, forcing his skin back together. 

“Jason?” You stand in front of him, blood spurting from your slit throat. “Why did you do this to me?” 

It’s not funny, but Jason can’t stop laughing. 

“Why did you do this to me?” You hiss, more blood spurting from your throat. 

As blood dribbles from your throat, it catches the scars on your arms. HA! HA! HA! 

“You did this!” You scream. “Jason! You did this! Jason! Jason! JASON!” 

“Jason!” Nightwing exclaims. 

Jason jerks awake with a gasp. He shoves Nightwing away from him and rips his helmet off, breathing heavily. His hand flies to his chest to find it perfectly dry. He isn’t bleeding, you’re not here. He’s on the ground in the gym. The Joker is tied up and unconscious. Isn’t that funny? 

A familiar, maniacal laugh escapes Jason’s lips. His eyes widen at the realization. 

“Hey,” Nightwing puts a grounding hand on Jason’s shoulder. “It’s okay, breathe through it. We have the antidote, let’s just go to the Cave--” 

“No,” Jason cuts him off. “I’m not going to the Cave,” He giggles at the thought of bats, his anger quickly flushing away. 

Nightwing sighs, probably not surprised by Jason’s resistance. 

“Okay, fine. I can go to the Cave. Do you want me to take you back to your apartment?” 

“No!” Jason laughs again, his chest tightening at the familiar laughter. He feels a crowbar smack his skin. His hands go to his hair, tugging. There’s no crowbar. Another laugh spills past his lips. “I can’t,” Jason manages as another laugh forces its way out. He tugs harder on his hair. “I can’t do that to Y/N… Not when I’m like this.” He laughs again. 

Dick frowns, squeezing Jason’s shoulder. 

“Okay, Jase, just breathe. You’re okay.” 

Jason nods shakily, his heart rate speeding up with each laugh. 

“My apartment is too far…” Nightwing frowns. 

“I have a spare key to Tim’s apartment,” Jason giggles, his fingers tightening in his hair at the sound. 

Nightwing narrows his eyes. 

“Does Tim know this?” 

Jason rolls his eyes. 

“He’s the one that gave it to me, birdbrain,” The usual bite is wrecked by another maniacal laugh. 

“Okay,” Nightwing helps Jason to his feet. “Let’s get you out of here.” 

. . . 

It’s not just Joker Venom. Dick curses under his breath. It never is easy with Joker, is it? He looks over at his brother on the couch. The crazed grin has forced its way onto Jason’s face as more and more maniacal laughter forces its way out. 

With each giggle, Jason’s nails dig into his hair. Luckily, Dick was able to get Jason out of his gear, but the sight on Tim’s couch was truly heartbreaking. 

Jason is hunched over, curled in a protective position Dick guesses Jason used a lot before meeting Bruce. His hands are knotted into his hair, tightening with each giggle. His eyes are squeezed shut, tears streaming down his face through the laughter. 

“No, stop!” He begs. He murmurs something low and panicked that Dick doesn’t catch. “Stop! Leave Y/N alone!” 

Dick clenches his fist, his chest tightening at hearing Jason say your name again. If he had to guess, Joker laced his Venom with Fear Toxin. Because Joker Venom wasn’t already hellish enough. 

Jason whimpers again, curling tighter on himself. Dick needs the antidote. This isn’t the first time Joker has combined his Venom with Fear Toxin so making the antidote won’t take long, but Dick can’t bear to leave Jason alone. 

Kori is off-world, Roy is on the other side of the country, Bruce and Damian are the absolute last people Jason wants to see… Kyle is off-world, as is Donna, Tim is in Europe, Cass is in Hong Kong with Steph, Babs is helping the Birds of Prey with a mission, and Dick doesn’t have a single clue about how to get in touch with Jason’s friend, Artemis. While Dick understands why Jason doesn’t want you anywhere near him, Dick doesn’t want Jason left alone for any period of time… Which leaves you as his only option. 

Dick sighs and fishes out his phone. 

. . . 

You stand outside Tim’s apartment, staring at the door. Dick gave you the full rundown. Jason has been hit with a mixture of Fear Toxin and Joker Venom, giving him terrifying hallucinations while laughing like the man who murdered him. 

The sound of maniacal laughter, muffled by the door, sends chills down your spine. Your arms burn where the words HA! HA! HA! HA! are carved. The sound of screams echo distantly in your ears. 

Although it has been years since you were trapped in that 3rd-grade classroom with that deranged clown while watching him carve into your classmates’ bodies, the memories still haunt you constantly. Some kids got Glasgow smiles carved onto their faces. Others got the Joker’s name carved across their chest. You got his laughter carved down your arms. Years of therapy is the only reason you can stand in front of this door without running. 

Another laugh fills your ears. You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling the sting of the cuts running down your arm, but you pause, taking a deep breath. Although the laugh sounds dangerously close to the Joker’s, underneath the high pitch noise you can hear Jason’s low timbre. He is in there, forced to be producing the last sounds he heard as a scared, beaten sixteen-year-old, and you’re not going to let him suffer alone. 

You knock on the door. 

Dick opens the door, looking a bit disheveled. He’s still in his Nightwing costume, mask and all, but judging by his messy hair, he’s been tugging on it and running his fingers through it, a nervous habit you’ve noticed most of the family doing. 

“Hey,” He pulls you inside quickly. “I’m sorry to drag you into this--” 

“I’m glad you called me,” You cut him off. A familiar laugh interrupts you, causing you to tense. 

Dick frowns, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. 

“Hey, just breathe. You’re not there. You’re in Tim’s apartment.” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, nodding along with Dick. 

“I’m okay,” You promise. 

“Y/N?” Jason says quietly. 

You break away from Dick and slowly approach Jason on the couch. He looks exhausted and terrified, dried tear tracks on his face along with the frozen, crazed smile. 

“Hey, Jaybird,” You begin quietly. “You okay?” 

“You’re...You’re not real…” Jason slowly backs away from you, curling against the couch’s opposite arm with a giggle.

“No, Jay, I’m here. I’m real,” You reach out to run your fingers through his hair. 

He sighs, melting into the touch for a moment, then a deranged giggle forces its way out of Jason’s mouth. Your hand tenses slightly in his hair. It’s not Joker. This is Jason. Joker isn’t here. It’s just Jason. He would never hurt you. 

Jason notices your sudden stiffness and slips away from your touch. 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Anger tries to overtake his features, but the fixed smile makes Jason look even more demented. He glares at Dick. “I told you not to call! What the hell?!” He laughs loudly, his hands closing into tight fists.

“I didn’t want to leave you here alone and Y/N was the closest person,” Dick explains calmly. 

“I would be fine!” Jason protests, another laugh forcing its way out. 

“No, you wouldn’t be,” Dick responds tightly. “I have been watching you lose your shit on the couch for the past twenty minutes! I need to go make you the antidote.” 

“I’ve survived worse!” Jason protests with a loud, maniacal laugh. “I’m already living through hell, I didn’t want someone else to be dragged in!” 

Your face softens. 

“Jay,” You reach out to touch his arm, but he jerks away from you. 

“No!” He protests loudly with another laugh. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” Tears form in his eyes. “I don’t want to… to turn into him.” 

“Jase,” Dick frowns. “You’re nothing like the Joker. You’ll never be the Joker.” 

“You… You don’t get it!” Jason yells with a laugh.

Dick opens his mouth to say something else, but you interrupt before he can. 

“Dick. Go to the Manor, I’ll stay here,” You order. 

Dick shoots a worried glance at Jason but nods and walks out of the room. You turn your attention back to Jason. 

“Jay,” You cradle his face, wiping your thumbs under his eyes. “You’re not the Joker. You never will be.” 

“I know, but I didn’t… I didn’t want you to see me when I sounded like this,” Jason giggles again, your shoulders tensing for a moment. “See! I know you’re scared of me! I never want you to feel like that around me!” 

“I’m not scared of you,” You tell him sharply. “I know you would never do anything to hurt me. Yes, the laugh brings back some bad memories, but you don’t bring back those bad memories. You help me replace them with something better.” 

Jason’s eyes squeeze shut for a moment, his hands coming up to hold your wrists. 

“I saw myself standing over you so many times. You were bleeding and I was holding the knife,” He pauses, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I saw myself hurting you,” He giggles, his hands momentarily tightening on your wrists at the sound. 

“Jay, have you ever had any desire to ever hurt me?” You ask. 

Jason’s eyes fly open. 

“No!” He quickly says. 

“Then what makes you think you’re suddenly going to start now?” 

Jason says nothing, looking down at the floor. You move a hand to his chin, forcing him to look at you. 

“I’m proud of you,” You tell him. 

His eyebrows furrow with a crazed laugh. Both of you tense for a moment. 

“You’re proud of me?” He asks hesitantly. 

“Every day,” You tell him. “You never cease to amaze me. You’ve experienced the worst of the world, but still put yourself in danger to help others. You have so many reasons to be angry, but you still find some way to love everyone around you. Tonight, you faced off against a man who has hurt you and so many people that you love. He tried to break you, turn you into what you hate, but you are still standing here strong. I am proud of you.” 

Tears freely flow down Jason’s face then he pulls you into a tight hug, holding you close to his chest. 

“I’ll never hurt you,” He promises into your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. 

“I know,” You whisper back, despite the giggle that escapes him. 

. . . 

By the time Dick makes it back to the apartment, you had coaxed Jason on the couch where he was fast asleep against your chest. You idly run your fingers through his hair, whispering words of reassurance to him when his body goes tense from nightmares. 

Dick holds up a syringe. 

“How is he?” Dick asks. 

You shrug, glancing down at Jason fondly. 

“About as good as he can be, given the circumstances,” You look at the syringe. “Antidote?” You ask. 

“Yep,” Dick nods. “Let’s wake him up.” 

“Jay,” You whisper to him, running your fingers down his back. “I need you to wake up.” 

Jason jerks awake, looking frantically around the room for a moment, but your hand in his hair directs his attention to you. 

“Hey, you okay?” You ask quietly. “We’re in Tim’s apartment.” 

Jason nods with a giggle. 

“Dick got the antidote.” 

“Thank God,” Jason groans, rolling his sleeve up. 

Once Dick injects Jason with the antidote, you two move to Tim’s bedroom for the night. The smile is finally starting to fade from Jason’s face. 

He collapses onto the bed and pulls down you with him, wrapping his arms around you tightly. 

“Thank you,” He murmurs into your hair. “I love you.” 

You tilt your head up and give him a sweet kiss. 

“I love you too,” You whisper back, making Jason hold you tighter. 

Everything is okay. 

Thank you guys so much for being patient! My parents are currently moving, I am transferring colleges, starting my summer job and trying to sort out summer classes. Those other request are coming up! I’m really excited to write the next one! 

[sprnklersplashes]

the midnight raven

ao3 

AN: as of now this is a one shot, but if people express interest in a bigger story about this, I’d give it a go 

janis+damian, implied beginning of romantic cady/janis. rated teen for mentions of violence.

Taking punches, kicking ass, that she can do. Letting people in? Less so.

Her back hits the window for the third time, and all she has time for is a simple “oh shit”.

The glass gives way beneath her body and she’s falling, nothing beneath her but empty space or beside her but rushing wind. When her back hits the concrete, the little air she had left escapes in one heavy puff of white smoke. She coughs heavily, her whole chest rattling with the effort, and feels something wet splatter on her lips, followed by a metallic tang on her tongue. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and doesn’t even need to look, only be grateful that she chose black all that time ago for this very purpose.

That’s just what she needs.

She rolls over onto her side, only for every muscle in her body to protest, rather loudly. Somewhere in her dazed mind, she realises that must’ve been quite the fall, for her to feel like this. She also realises that it’s possible she might have a concussion. She’ll add that to the list of things she has to work with after tonight. Her arm screams out in pain as she attempts to push herself up, twice buckling under her weight before she can stand. Her legs are only slightly better, though still not as steady as she’d like them to be. She coughs heavily, wincing at the strain on her sore body, and heaves up another mouthful of blood onto the pavement. It glistens sickeningly in the faint glow of the nearby streetlamp, almost like it’s mocking her. Somehow, Damian’s words echo in her mind-you’re extremely durable, not indestructible, Janis-and they feel particularly potent now. Carefully, she presses two fingers against her chest, moving them slowly and steadily until she finds the worst spots, which she does with hissed breath and gritted teeth.

At least four broken ribs, and it’s not even midnight yet. That’s got to be a record. 

The hair on the back of her neck stands up, a prickle of cold sweat running down her back, and she turns around just in time for yellow light to blind her for a second before fading. The backdoor swings open, and at first it appears a living shadow steps through. Until her eyes adjust, and she sees it’s just a man. The same man who just drop-kicked her through the window, now looking at her with equal parts confusion and anger. Judging by that expression, the gun in his hand is merely a precaution. It normally is when it comes to this. After a 100 feet fall, a bullet to the head would just speed up the inevitable for anyone else.

“So it’s true,” he tells her, and his mouth curves into a grin. His voice is smooth, a little too smooth, like it’s been ironed out, lest he give anything away. There’s only the faintest hint of an English accent left. It’s no doubt a learned trick, and he does it well, even though he can’t quite manage to disguise the slight fascination in it. She can’t say she blames him. “You cannot die.”

“No I can,” she tells him. “I just choose not to. I find it a little inconvenient and I have plans next week.” She straightens up, despite the ache in her spine, and squares her shoulders, her bloody chin raised at him. “So, are we doing this the easy way or the hard way? Because trust me, I think you’d prefer the easy way.”

She hears the cocking of a gun, the sight disguised by the shadows, and for a moment, she tenses. Janis has tested herself a lot, done all sorts of crazy shit just to see if she could, but a gunshot has been the one boundary she’s not dared to cross yet. She doesn’t feel like crossing it tonight either.

“Hard way then,” she sighs and she raises her fists. 

Shots ring out and her brain instantly tells her where to go, ducking and dodging the raining bullets as quickly as he can fire them. Every cell in her body feels like it’s buzzing, her nerves anticipating his moves before he can make them. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches the end of the alleyway, where the dark criminal underworld meets the city streets. Not a lot out this time of night, in this part of town, but that doesn’t mean no-one. Anyone could hear this, from a well-meaning citizen to a curious drunkard, and the last thing she needs is someone who shouldn’t be here. Keeping herself safe is hard enough, even with her added protections.

“Well that was a nice little show,” she calls out as she backs away, further into the shadowy corners of the back alley. “Want to go get some more bullets and try again? I don’t mind waiting, honestly.”

“You know I’ve heard all about you,” he tells her, and his voice follows her. She sighs in relief, only because she knows he can’t see her. “The great protector of this city. The champion of the underdog, so they say. Some call you an angel, sure you are sent from above. Others are not so sure. There are some in this city who believe your origin is far less noble.”

“If I wanted to know my reputation, I’d check Twitter,” she tells him. “Is that all you’ve got? That some people don’t like me.” She keeps walking, her hand stretched out behind her, feeling for a back wall. Nothing so far, but it’s close. “Because frankly, I don’t even like myself, so it’s not a burn.”

“No, no, not that,” he tells her. “I was going to tell you that despite everything people have said about you, they have all failed to mention how god damned irritating you are.”

The voice is closer now, and when he lunges at her, it’s with a frustrated snarl. She blocks it with a kick to his stomach, a punch to his jaw. He swings at her and she ducks, hooks her leg around his to topple him to the ground. It’s one of the first moves she learned, and one of her best. Unfortunately, it’s also one of her signature moves and people have come to know it. To expect it. The guy grabs her by the back of her shirt and pulls her to her feet, his grip not once loosening despite her hardest kicks, to his legs, his stomach, to the place the sun doesn’t shine. Up close, under the dull porch light, she can see the fury in his eyes, making him look more animal than human, and he doesn’t once let up. Instead, there’s the coolness of a blade against her cheek, and she stills. She’s no stranger to knife fights, and nine times out of ten they amount to papercuts, but this guy did his homework. The blade is jagged, long, and capable of far more than a mere pocket knife.

Time to be smart, she tells herself.

“Who do you work for?” he whispers. “The police in this town don’t like you, so it can’t be them. The FBI? The Bureau, is that who it is?”

“I don’t work for anyone,” she tells him. “With them, occasionally, not for them.” His grip on her top tightens and a strangled cry escapes her lips. The blade presses closer, and further down this time, against her side, and she realises. He means to torture whatever information he wants out of her.

Good fucking luck, buddy, is all she can think.

“Okay, so you don’t want to talk about that,” he breathes. His voice shakes slightly, like a taut string being plucked at. “Fine, I don’t need to know.” Behind him, Janis notices a metal stairwell, probably a fire escape. Too dark for him to see, but that’s what she’s here for, and she swallows her smile. At least, until the knife pushes through her shirt and she feels blood running down over her skin, down along her abdomen and into her leg. And with it comes dull, throbbing pain, and she bites back the cry. “What I do need to know is where you sent my cargo.”

“You mean the kids?” she spits back, and he presses the knife harder. She almost feels something, almost. She shakes her head and allows the smirk to form on her lips, unable to resist the satisfaction. “Like I'm telling you. They’re free, and you can run and tell your boss that.”

“No.” His voice is deep, throaty, almost a growl and certainly not intentional. She wonders if she should enjoy this, watching a man like him come undone. Damian would say she shouldn’t, but that’s the good part of not having Damian here. Even when he pushes the knife further into her, and the sharp pain flares up, she doesn’t drop it. “You will tell me. You will. Or-”

“Or you’ll what? Kill me?” She shakes her head, despite the way her mouth runs dry at the motion, bile creeping up and stinging the back of her throat. “No, you won’t. You can’t kill me when I know what you want to know. And I’ll go through anything before I tell you where those kids are.” She grins, and knows he can see the blood on her teeth. “So you can suck it, asshole.” She coughs again, but does him the courtesy of avoiding his face. “Now I am willing to offer you a deal here.”

“What kind of deal can you possibly offer me?”

“You tell me where your base of operations is, and I don’t call the cops on your bitch ass,” she tells him. “That seems like a more than fair deal, don’t you think? I get what I need and you get to go home.” His face hardens at her offer, and his hand moves from her shoulder to her throat, pressing down until her gasps are strained and thin. “Okay so I’ll take that as a no?”

“You can take that as a go to hell,” he tells her. For a second, something flickers behind his eyes, something beyond the cold, calculated mask she’s fought with all night. A forced reminder that the monsters she fights with aren’t entirely monsters, and it threatens to drag up that stupid empathy she sometimes has. “You know what Hayden would do to me if I told anyone about him?”

“So it’s a definite no, then?” she asks. He only glares, and that’s all she needs. She’s grown bored of pleading with them, trying to gently coax them to the light. She’s done with offering them deals none of them want to take. She only ever did it for Damian’s sake in the first place and since none of them want the light, it’s far more efficient this way. “Okey dokey.”

Her knee hits his stomach and his hand jerks from her throat. Once she’s free from that it’s a simple one-two to his stomach and kick to his chest to disorient him. And as he stumbles backwards, she aims her wide swing right to his temple, and his eyes widen just before she makes the blow.

It only takes one punch, and next thing she’s handcuffing him to the fire escape. She did consider letting him dangle there, because honestly he deserves to, but she opts for letting him sit crumpled against the wall, cuffed arm raised up high. She scribbles down the location, straining her eyes to make out the name on the street sign, and that’s her done. All in a day’s work, and now she can clock-out, as it were. 

Right after she gets this to the nearest cop. 

With the paper safely folded into her pants pocket, she begins making her way there. The map of the city is almost perfectly clear in her mind-she can attribute both her enhanced memory and many nights of studying it to that-and if she’s right the nearest cop lives only three streets from here. Well, that’s not entirely true. The nearest one actually lives in the next street over, but he’s a dick and so even with her fun array of injuries, she’s willing to take the long way round just to not give him the satisfaction of her visit. Besides, she’s fine, really.

Completely fine.

Her feet hit the ground on the other side of the wall, silent but not steady. She actually comes close to hitting the ground again, stretching out her hand just in the nick of time. Dimly, she realises she’s normally better than that, but her instincts feel muted right now. Like a picture drawn with a blunt pencil. She keeps her body low as she makes her way through the streets, not wanting to find out what might happen if she attempts to stand up any further than she already is. Best case scenario, vomit on the sidewalk and the nice citizens of Chicago could do without that. She keeps her head ducked too; the normally-faint streetlights suddenly exceedingly bright tonight, glaring down intensely at her. Or maybe that’s just her. Didn’t she suspect something about a head trauma a minute ago? She’s fairly certain she did.

She’s made it to the bottom of Cop Dickhead’s street before she realises she’s probably not getting any further than this. She pauses for a moment, one hand on her knee, her chest heaving. She’s still in the darkness; she’s learned where the safest shadows of this city are, mapped out routes for her to sneak back home undetected. Except now she’s accepting that she likely isn’t making it home, not in this state, and instead might have to settle for one of their safe spots; the abandoned phone booths all over the city. Just call her Superman. But instead of changing, she can patch herself up there, as long as Damian can grab what she needs. She should be reaching for her phone, but that can wait, she guesses. She needs… What does she need? Painkillers, definitely. Water, that would be good. And bandages, some for her face, some for her arm. A voice whispers needle and thread but she shakes her head, wondering why she’d need those. She’d only need those for stitches, and she’d only need stitches if-

Oh right. She was stabbed. She glances down at herself, barely making out her hand pressed against her side. Her gaze is blurred and unfocussed, and growing steadily darker the longer she looks at it. Slowly, and with monumental effort, she lifts her hand up to her face, and watches it tremble, the glove stiff and cold.

I should probably sort that out, she thinks, and perhaps says out loud. Then she hits the ground and the last thing she feels is the soft breath escaping her mouth.

                                                                             ******

The warmth is the first thing she registers when she wakes up. If you can call it “waking up”. More a slow, gradual, ‘waking up and falling back asleep and then waking up and then vibing in this little grey area for god knows how long’. And given the crap she just put her body through, she’s more than happy to rest while she can. But when her senses do catch up with her mind and drag her further away from sleep, the first thing she registers is warmth. It’s nice, and it holds her in sleep-or whatever this is- a little longer.

Slowly, she begins becoming aware of everything else, even with her eyes closed. The pillow beneath her head, the slightly scratchy wool of the blanket over her, the slight angle her body sits on as she rests on the couch, her feet just touching the edge and-

Wait. No.

Her eyes fly open, her body bolting upright. Her hands tremble this time not from pain or overuse, and her eyes fly everywhere. Her already-heightened senses work overtime, taking in each and every detail, and she falls further into anxiety with each one. She tosses the blanket off her, recoiling from it like it’s alive. Everything is so, so unfamiliar to her-from the green patterned wallpaper to the cluttered coffee table to the couch she’s sitting on. Even the sounds aren’t right; no coffee being brewed in the kitchen, a clock that ticks too loudly and too quickly, cars outside moving far too fast. It slams into her one after the other-wrong, wrong, wrong-and she immediately starts looking for an escape route. One window, she notes. First floor. Easy. Another door, leading into a hall. She likes it less for a few reasons, but it’s there.

“You’re awake.”

She stifles a gasp and turns slowly at the voice, her neck twinging as she does so. They didn’t sound malicious, or gloating, but she knows not to take anything for granted. She starts looking around the room, this time for a weapon, only to realise the weight still around her waist-baton is still in her belt, along with her nunchucks and back-up handcuffs. 

If she has been captured, they aren’t very good at it.

When she finds whoever it is, she finds herself startled by what she sees. First off at how young they are-her age, or thereabouts-and secondly, everything else. Her companion is clad in a yellow plaid shirt and khakis, their light brown hair is held back in a loose braid. Blue eyes peer at her over a striped ceramic bowl, a faint scattering of freckles across their nose. They might as well have “non-threatening” written on their forehead, and for a second she almost relaxes. Almost. Instead her hand rests on her baton, hand poised to grab it.

“You brought me here,” she states. 

“Mm-hm.” The stranger takes a step forward and Janis backs up, her hand slightly outstretched. A small look of hurt passes across their face, but they take the message and stay where they are, their eyes never leaving her. “I found you passed out on the sidewalk. You were-are-pretty badly banged up. And I didn’t know what to do, so I took you here.”

“You took me here,” she repeats. “Where is here?” Normally she tries to keep up her persona in front of civilians, in the rare moments she interacts with them, but for now her brain is so frazzled she’s glad she can speak at all. 

“Oh, uh, one second.” The stranger darts around to the coffee table, respecting Janis’ request for distance at the same time. They go around in a complete circle before reaching it and lifting a letter off the table, reading from the top corner. “54 Aldergrove Way.”

Aldergrove Way. So she’s just the next street over from where she was. Even closer to where she was headed. Well, that works out, if she isn’t about to be tortured and then dumped in the sewers. 

“You want some cereal?” 

“What?” Her new companion-or whatever they are-simply shrugs, a small smile on their face, and nods at the bowl. So she didn’t mishear them. It would almost be better if she were being tortured, she thinks. At least she has a plan for that.

“Thought you might want to eat something,” they explain simply, as if they’re old friends coming in after a night out. The suggestion, the way it’s delivered, it’s all so bizarre that Janis can only mumble a ‘no thanks’ in response, image be damned.

“Suit yourself,” they mumble with a shrug. “I’m Cady by the way. Cady Heron.” Janis nods, the muscles in her neck twinging in protest. Like she said, it must’ve been quite the fall. She looks over at Cady, her eyes quickly flitting over her. With every second, the theory that she’s been captured looks less and less likely. Even disregarding the fact that they’re obviously in a well-lit, residential street-hardly ideal for a criminal underworld, Cady gives off the vibe that she wouldn’t even pirate a movie, let alone anything else. She doesn’t relax though, because she can’t.

“I don’t know how many times you’ve taken a stranger off the street, but for future reference maybe don’t tell them your first and last name,” she explains. Cady nods again, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

“I’ll make a note of that.” She twirls the spoon about in her cereal, her lips pursed as she fills the silence between them with small, nonsensical sounds. Their eyes don’t leave Janis though, and they hold a thousand and one questions and frankly, Janis can’t blame them. “So you got hurt pretty badly.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles in reply. Her hand travels down her body, checking out the damage now that she has the time. “How long was I out for?”

“Oh, um, about twenty five minutes? Half an hour, maybe.” They scratch the back of their neck and Janis tries not to smile. “I think I got there just after you passed out.”

“What were you even doing back there?” she asks. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s dangerous to be out there alone?”

“You were there,” they point out. “I went to buy some milk. And I wasn’t alone. One of the neighbours was with me, but she wanted to call 911. I told her I’d take care of you and that I’d call an ambulance from here.” Janis opens her mouth, but her whole rant must already be on her face because Cady smiles, a gentle chuckle escaping them, and shakes their head. “I haven’t called anyone yet. I wasn’t sure if I should. I was going to call my parents-they’re at some overnight conference thing at the university, but they’d probably freak out. And then call the cops.”

Hm. They’re smarter than they look. Janis simply nods at her before swinging her legs around the front of the couch, her lips clamped shut to conceal the worst of the damage. Still, that half hour nap must have done some good, because she can already feel her body restoring itself. Moving is still a pain, but not as much as it was before and some of the aches have already faded to background noise. Her ribs are still fucked, but they won’t take long to get back. Same with her back. The head she’ll have to think about, but she guesses it wasn’t so bad or it’s already started healing itself. Gingerly, she lifts up her shirt, cautious of Cady’s presence, and feels around her abdomen, only for her fingers to hit a strip of gauze. Her head snaps up, eyes wide, and Cady only shrugs.

“You were bleeding,” they say matter-of-factly, with the unsaid tone of ‘what else was I going to do?’. Janis stutters for a minute, and blood rushes to their cheeks as they think of Cady bandaging her bare stomach, her unconscious and none the wiser.

“You know how to fix a stab wound?” she asks.

“Yeah. I uh… I learned a lot of survival skills where I used to live,” they explain. “Including how to give stitches. Luckily I had my med pack on hand. If you want, I can show you my certificate.”

“That won’t be necessary,” she tells her. The smile spreads across her face before she can stop it and all she can do is duck her head and hope Cady doesn’t notice. Bad for the public image and whatnot. Can’t have the people of her city knowing that their silent, stoic protector has a soft side, or one that can be easily reached at that. Most of them think she doesn’t feel anything and it works better for all of them if it stays that way.

The smile fades but doesn’t disappear as she reaches up and pushes her blood-coated hair away from her face, her fingers checking for other cuts or scrapes. She comes across a callous bruise beneath her fingers, as well as a fair amount of scrapes, but decides not to fret on it. They’ll be gone by tomorrow. But then she realises there’s nothing between her hand and her face; the scrap of fabric she’s become so accustomed to is gone, and that panic from before sparks up in her like a flare.

“My mask,” she gasps, this time springing to her feet. She looks over at Cady, either accusing her or sharing her panic, she doesn’t even know. “I don’t have my mask.”

“Here, here, I do.” Cady bends down and grabs it from its spot, half-hidden beneath the brochures and letters on the coffee table. She holds it out in front of her, and Janis doesn’t miss the fearful spark in her eye. Some small, asshole part of her thinks good, you should be scared. Another part wants to hold her hand and tell her it’s okay. She doesn’t give into either though. “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken it. I just wanted to see if your face needed anything.” Janis takes her mask and Cady steps back. “I saw the bruises. Wanted to see if it was any worse. I have ice packs in the freezer if you-”

“You took my mask off,” Janis says again. “You’ve seen my face.”

“Yes.”

Janis turns away from her and hurriedly ties the mask back on. It’s a neat little design on her part-a clasp hidden beneath a thick ribbon to reduce the chances of it falling off. Not a lot of good it did now, though, if Cady was able to get it off her. The mask has a purpose, to separate her two lives. To minimise the damage she causes. It’s the part she fights hardest to protect, but clearly she’s not fighting hard enough.

“So you know who I am.”

“No,” Cady replies. “I have literally never seen you before, ever. In my life.” She hears Cady shrugging behind her, and for a moment rolls her eyes at herself. Of course she doesn’t know her. Several people in this city don’t know her. “I just moved here. Yesterday.” Regardless, Cady’s seen her face now, there’s no going back from that.

“I’ve heard of you though.”

“What?” Janis turns then, more comfortable beneath the mask, and finds Cady half sitting on the arm of the couch, drumming her nails on her bowl. She still looks casual on the outside, as though they’re far more friendly than they actually are, but there’s a tension in her shoulders that betrays her.

“When we were moving in yesterday, I saw the murals. And people, the neighbours, they told us stuff,” she explains in a low voice. “A masked vigilante who walks the streets. Keeps watch over the city. Does the cop’s job for them.” Janis chuckles at that, half-proud of herself. “I almost didn’t believe them. Maybe I wouldn’t have if I hadn’t seen the murals. But here you are.” They gesture at Janis. “The Midnight Raven.”

“Oh shush,” she sighs. “Honestly it’s such a pretentious nickname. I’d have been fine with the Raven even, but everyone needs a gimmick apparently.” Cady laughs as Janis folds her arms, and she can’t not notice how nice her laugh is. Like sunny summer afternoons and strawberry ice cream and green grass, that kind of nice. So nice that Janis finds herself smiling back.

“You should complain,” Cady tells her. “Write into the papers, tell them you don’t like it.”

“Because that will do wonders for my public image,” she sighs as she falls back onto the couch. The levity doesn’t last, and she’s forced to look at the situation head-on. Cady looks out of the corner of their eye at her, a slightly curious look about them.

“If it’s anything, not everyone thinks you’re a monster,” they say softly. “The girls across the street, for instance, they think you’re amazing.” Janis hums in acknowledgment, but their words quickly fade away. Her public image is the last thing she’s concerned about right now. Cady’s safety on the other hand, well that’s all she can think about. There’s a reason her secret is so closely-guarded and it’s very little to do with her.

“Cady, I need you to listen to me.” Cady turns to her, the last traces of composure draining from their face. Severity is a strange look on a face like hers, and Janis feels bad for putting it there. She doesn’t belong in this, with her. But she was too kind-hearted not to be. “Cady, think. Did anyone see you with me? Anyone at all?”

“No.” They shake their head. “No, the street was empty. I mean, my neighbour helped me carry you, but that was it. They didn’t come inside.” Janis nods, her teeth grit. Just their neighbours. But they just moved here. They don’t know who to trust. 

“This is important,” she tells them. “If… if someone comes and asks if you’ve seen or heard anything suspicious, maybe something relating to a violent crime, deny it. You never saw anything. You were in here watching TV or whatever it is you do. You’ve never even seen me before, is that clear? You can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Anyone?”

“Anyone.” 

Cady swallows thickly, their eyes widening like they’re only just realising the weight of what they’ve gotten into. They look so lost, even in their own home, and Janis relates, a little. Relates to that feeling of being thrust into a new world and new rules and not knowing where to turn. The feeling of carrying so much and being unable to share the load.

So against her better judgement, she pulls her glove off and places her calloused hand over Cady’s soft one.

“Thank you, Cady,” she says. “You didn’t have to do what you did for me.”

“Yeah, I did,” they reply, a faint smile playing on their lips. “It’s the least anyone can do for you, right?”

Something stirs in Janis’ chest then, something alien but not unfamiliar. And not unwelcome either. Cady looks at her through their lashes and Janis finds herself wishing they had met somewhere else. Somewhere normal. Because despite the circumstances, she likes them. They might only have had this time together, but she can tell the kind of person Cady is. And she doesn’t need any superpowers for it.

The tinny ringing of her cellphone fills the room, the device humming against her hip, and she curses under her breath. Cady squeaks and backs up from her as she takes the phone out, even averting their eyes to give her privacy.

“Damian,” she breathes. 

“You answered,” is all he says. She rolls her eyes, but she knows the meaning behind it. They started this a while ago, a way of keeping him sane. Five missed calls from him and she’s probably in serious danger or worse. The nightmare scenario. What exactly he’d do if she missed five calls, she doesn’t know. All she can do is make damn sure he never has to do anything. And her answering on the first call is a rare sight indeed, and the relief in his voice shows it.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So you’re okay?”

“I’m…” Her voice trails off, and her gaze moves involuntarily towards Cady. Who knows what would have become of her if not for them? She doesn’t believe she would have died, but there are endless possibilities besides that. She still winces every time she breathes too quickly, and the stab wound in her side is making its presence known. “I’ll be okay. I’m out. It’s over. I’ll be home soon.”

“Okay,” he breathes. “Text me when you get home, okay?”

“Only if you go the hell to sleep,” is her reply, and he chuckles on the other end. Damian might not come out on patrols or missions with her, but his word was true when he said they were in it together. If she’s up then he’s up, despite her best efforts to keep him at bay. “You’ll text?”

“I promise,” she tells him firmly. “Fifteen minutes, tops.”

“Holding you to it,” he replies before he hangs up. She lets the dial tone ring in her ear for a few seconds before she cuts it off and holds the phone close to her chest instead. Despite Cady’s turned back, and the almost-ease she’s beginning to feel here, she can’t help feeling she’s violated Damian here. Whatever she feels about Cady, Damian has never met them. And even if Cady isn’t on the “bad side”, she could still slip up. A tiny detail is all a person like Hayden might need to get to her.

“I should go,” she says over her shoulder. “I need to get home.”

“Didn’t think superheroes had homes,” Cady replies, swinging off the couch. Janis chuckles drly as she turns and she finds herself face to face with Cady and those big, round eyes of theirs, the unwillingness to let her leave evident in them. Her chest hurts, not from the fall, and she quickly realises why. She’s seen that expression on Damian before. That shouldn’t freak her out like it does.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” they ask. “Out there, I mean. What if you pass out again?”

“I won’t.” She tugs on her gloves and checks her belt again. “I hardly ever pass out. This was the exception.” Cady nods, but the concern doesn’t quite leave her eyes. Janis swallows a laugh. Maybe if Cady knew all she was capable of she’d be less reluctant to see her go. “Trust me. I’ll be fine. And if I’m not-” Her voice catches there, unsure of where her words were headed. I know where to find you feels the most natural course, but she doesn’t like it. It’s too close to I’ll see you again and she’d prefer to not see Cady after tonight.  “You know.”

“I do.”

Cady shows her to the bathroom window after she asks if there’s another way out. From there it’s only a short hop to the next house over, and then it’s a clear path along the streets, even with her exhausted legs.

 She thanks them again and wishes she was better at this. Like everything about this vigilante shit, talking to civilians looks far easier in the movies. They’re all so confident, so at ease in her superhero persona that they charm the cute girl with just a few short words. Janis hasn’t quite mastered that part yet and so after some awkward deliberation she leaves Cady with a pat on the arm and a “be careful”.

Cady responds “you too” just as she climbs out the window and it almost makes her lose her footing. Not that she does this to impress anyone, but she hopes Cady didn’t see that. For the public image and all.

                                                                        ******

It’s well past noon when Damian enters her room, all the delicacy of a one-man brass band. She doesn’t even open her eyes when he sits down on the bed, instead greeting him with a heavy groan that says more than words could right now. “Fuck off” is the general vibe she was going for, but with an added undertone of “why are you asking me to be awake right now”. She has no doubt he picks up on the subtext of her groans, given that he picks up on everything else about her, but he elects to ignore it and pulls open the curtains instead, letting in what he calls “god’s natural daylight”.

In her state, she’d be inclined to call it “Satan’s personal headlamp” and she pulls the blanket over her head, her free hand flipping the bird at him.

“Well good morning to you too,” he says indignantly and he sets himself down on the foot of her bed. “Do I want to know what time you went to sleep at?”

“It was early,” she tells him from her makeshift cave. “Early for me anyway.”

“Mm-hm. You may have gotten in before midnight, I have no doubt you were up to the small hours brooding.” That gets her to flip the covers off and fix him with a resentful glare, her dark hair falling in front of her face.

“I do not brood,” she tells him pointedly and he only raises an eyebrow. With a sigh, she pulls herself into a half-sit, mindful of her ribs. Damian watches her as she does so, hands poised to help, and she avoids his gaze for the time being.

He’s half-right about last night. Not that she’d call it brooding, but she couldn’t go right to sleep after she came in, despite how shattered she felt (and still feels). Her mind was too preoccupied with the fight and Hayden and everything from the past few weeks. And Cady, funnily enough.

Thankfully, Damian does know when to drop it.

“Apple or chocolate?”

“Apple please.” He tosses her a package wrapped in white paper, still warm and soft from the bakery ovens. As she’s tearing into it, a chilled bottle of orange juice lands on her lap, as does a protein bar and a banana soon after, all from the little corner store. Cheap and does the trick.

“So what’s your damage?” he asks as she eats. He takes his little Hamilton notebook out of his bag and clicks open his pen. “And do not bullshit me.”

Janis heaves a sigh, stopping short when the pain tugs at her chest.

“Couple of cracked ribs,” she explains. Damian’s expression darkens, but he nods. “Uh, I banged my head a few times, but I think it’s better. Had a pretty bad shiner last night, is it still there?”

“Not really,” he says. He shifts closer to her. “Only now that you’ve pointed it out.”

“Cool. I fell out a window too. Not fun. Cut me up quite a bit but…” She holds out her arms, which last night were covered in thin, deep cuts. Overnight most have faded to pale pink lines, only a few still red. By tomorrow, they’ll be nothing but a memory. And thankfully, she had the foresight to wash the blood off before climbing into bed. “My back’s a little screwed from that. As is my everywhere else. I’d give that a week maybe. And…” 

She holds her breath, wishing she had stopped after her back. Or that Damian was a worse friend, and wasn’t sitting hanging onto her every word, waiting for her next injury so he can try to take care of her. And then record it, make notes on how long it takes her to heal from what. Over the past year, he’s kept a record of every sprain, fracture, bruise and break she’s sustained in that book of his, as well as how quickly she recovers from each one. ‘So when it happens again, we know how long it’ll be,’ he told her. Admittedly, it was a good plan, and one that keeps him from worrying too much. But there’s nothing in there on knife wounds, which means she’s about to drop a new entry on him.

He doesn’t cope well with those.

“And I got stabbed.”

“Stabbed?” he echoes. She raises her eyebrows, her finger flying to her lips to remind him her parents are nearby. He rolls his eyes and lowers his voice, but the urgency doesn’t leave his tone. “Stabbed. Like with a knife?”

“No Damian, with a hairbrush. Yes, with a knife.”

“And it… and it hurt you?” he asks. “I thought knives couldn’t hurt you.”

“Technically they can. It would just have to be a very very good knife. In the hands of a person who is very, very good with knives.” Her free hand slips beneath her covers and rests over the bandages on her side. She hasn’t checked beneath them yet. “It’ll be fine. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been.”

“That’s not reassuring.”

“I got stitches,” she tells him. “I got myself patched up. I’m okay. I know it’s new, but I’d say give it a week and I’ll be good as new.” She looks up and is met with him blinking in surprise, his pen falling from his fingers, and it takes her a minute to catch up with him. She’ll blame that on the recent head trauma.

“You got stitches?” he says slowly.

“Yeah.”

“So… you went to the hospital?” She sighs heavily and runs a hand through her ponytail.

“No.” She could lie, of course, but she doesn’t, because a, he would know, and b, it would only delay it. So she watches as confusion spreads across Damian’s face, his mind working to fix a puzzle he only has half the pieces to, until he looks and silently asks her to fill it in. She shrugs, acting like it means nothing, and picks at a loose thread on her bed. “Someone patched me up.”

“Someone patched you up?” he says. “Who in the heck patched you up? Because there is only one person who patches you up after a fight, and I did no such thing last night.”

“I’m not cheating on you if that’s your worry,” she tells him. She shakes her head, stopping suddenly when the pain flares up. “Look, you don’t need to worry. It was a one time thing.” She shrugs and pulls harder on the thread. “And odds are I’m not going to see them again.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m going to put all my effort into avoiding them,” she says flatly. “It shouldn’t have even happened. I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. They were never even meant to see me. Now I’m staying out of their life for good.” She clenches her fist. “It’s better that way, right?”

“If you say so,” Damian replies, although he sounds even less convinced than she does. His hand half-reaches out and then pulls back, his eyes lingering on that spot under the blanket. “Can I…”

He doesn’t need to finish. She pushes the covers back and pulls her shirt off, grunting at her stiff muscles. Damian’s eyes widen when he sees it, and his face turns two shades paler. It’s also the first time Janis has seen it properly. A thick square of white gauze and bandage covers her side, possibly more than necessary, and a small spot of red spoils the pristine whiteness. Gingerly, she starts pulling at the medical tape and peeling the bandages back, just to see. The stitches are small, neat, precise. Clearly, Cady knew what they were doing. What kind of life had they had before, she has to wonder. Hopefully more peaceful than hers is.

“And you think a week?” Damian asks.

“Yeah,” she whispers. She presses her hand against the wound and closes her eyes. She’s only done this once or twice, and she’s still not sure if it actually works or it’s just her imagination. But she swears she can feel it, feel her body fixing itself from the inside out. “Maybe a little bit more. If it’s not done by then, we get it checked out.” She carefully replaced the bandage. “I’ll think of an excuse.”

Damian gives a soft chuckle, and Janis slowly lowers her shirt. At least a week until she recovers from everything. Far less than most people get with stuff like this, she knows, but the days still stretch out before her. And that’s with pretending to be normal on top of it, going about her Janis-life like nothing happened. And assuming-hoping-the Midnight Raven isn’t needed for that time.

Sometimes she wonders if she’ll ever really get a break, or if this is her now. Breaking and healing only to break again. Stuck in a cycle of her own making.

“Here.” Damian taps her arm and hands her over the pastry before opening the orange juice for her. She rolls her eyes at him, not needing to be fed like this, but he only grins. “Enjoy it, bitch. For the next week, this treatment is what you’re getting. Now eat up and I’ll find you some clothes.” He presses a quick kiss to her head before moving over to her closet.

Still, at least she’s got Damian.

                                                                          ******

Her weekend is dedicated to getting her body back to where it needs to be. Which mainly involves a lot of lying around and staying hydrated while her body does the work. It also involves a fair amount of talking around her parents. Over the past four years, she’s become pretty adept at that and she adds that to the list of things that scare her.

She didn’t plan on telling them at first. Because she’d learned from the only sources she had-movies and TV shows- that the hero keeps their antics a secret from their parents. For their own safety and reasons she understood to varying degrees. They’d never understand, they’d put a stop to it, they’d mess it up… somehow. She wasn’t comfortable with it, not at all, but it was what superheroes did, apparently. So that’s what she did… for a week. It all came to a head very quickly, and her close relationship with them came back to bite her. So she took them to the garage and let them watch as she lifted the front of her father’s car with ease. She wasn’t letting them in all the way, she’s not that crazy, but she leaves the door open for them.

She told them enough to keep them in the know. Her parents know what she can do and that she can handle more than she should. They know sometimes they shouldn’t check her bedroom at night and not to ask when she comes downstairs with a black eye. And they support her, even if they don’t know everything. Her mom gives her herbal tea and her dad makes her grandma’s famous cure-all soup and they don’t question why she alternates between her bed and the couch all weekend or how bruises disappear from her face overnight. And in return, Janis shakes her head at all the characters on her screen, wishing she could yell at them to just tell them, it’ll be fine, trust her.

By the time she heads into school on Monday, she already feels halfway there. Like she predicted, the cuts on her arms are gone, and her head feels perfectly fine. Her side and her ribs still bother her, sure, but she knows how to take care of herself at school. Appearing normal is second nature to her now, and she could slip into the less dangerous, but equally difficult world of high school as just Janis, and no-one would be wiser.

Even now she sits at her desk, doodling mermaids in the margins of her notebook and laughing with Damian about his plans for drama class-which involve using his adopted ensemble of freshmen-and the events of Friday night seem a world away.

Ms Norbury claps her hands to signal the start of class (the “shut up” signal as Janis dubbed it last year) just as Janis is leaning forward to flick Damian with her pencil for a rather saucy comment. She sits down in her seat, chewing her pencil and giving Damian a look that says ‘I will get you later for that’ while the rest of the class settles down. She takes a swig of water, her ribs just slightly troubling her and sits forward, adding a few more details to her mermaid doodles. The door opens and out of the corner of her eye she notices Mr Duvall’s shoes.

“May I have your attention please,” he asks. “I’d like to introduce a new student to your class. Her name is Caddy Heron.”

“Actually, it’s Cady.”

Shit.

Her pencil falls from her hand, her fingers turning cold. It rolls off her desk and clatters on the tiled floor, the tiny sound drowned out by Janis’ heartbeat and that voice, that name echoing around her mind. She lifts her head slowly and turns it in their direction, hoping against all hope that this is a mistake, that her near-perfect ears misheard, that it was just a daydream mixing with reality. She’d take anything, but instead gets nothing. Because standing up at the front of the room, just as she remembers them, is Cady. Caramel coloured hair, falling loose past their shoulders this time, in a blue flannel instead of a yellow one. But the same person who patched her up, and she swore she was avoiding at all costs, is standing at the front of her freaking homeroom and this goes beyond fate mocking her. From now on, she’s calling Fate a grade-A bitch and not caring what it does to her in return. 

Cady’s eyes scan the room, all bright and alert and adding to that ‘excited puppy’ vibe she has going on. That is, until they land on Janis. They blink for a second, like a deer caught in headlights, and then their mouth opens and closes wordlessly. Janis gives them a small wave, unsure of what the hell else to do here, especially since she’s kind of busy falling down a spiral herself. Cady waves back, the gesture even smaller than Janis’ was. Damian turns around, a silent question in his eyes, and she only nods. The last thing she sees is the panicked confusion taking over Damian’s face before she buries her face in her hands.

This teenage vigilante thing just got a hell of a lot more complicated.

[jinmukangwrites]

Whumptober Day 24

Blindfolded | Sensory Deprivation

Ao3

Note: might continue this one if enough people yell at me. Do not ask to be put on a tag list.

Warnings: Torture of a minor, blackmail, blood, violence, vomit, more tws in tags

Summary: Slade blackmails Dick into joining him. Things go downhill for Dick when Damian tries to get involved, and Slade decides the interference is a perfect opportunity for a lesson in torture.

-o-o-o-o-

The gym is the only place in this entire mansion where Dick feels safe. Or, at least a little in control of his life. It's been months since he's sold his freedom, and while he's allowed free reign of the entire building excepting the west wing and the basement, there's hardly anything he can do in any of these empty rooms besides glare holes in the walls.

At least, while he's in the gym, he can pretend the faceless punching dummies belong to Slade Wilson. 

Because fuck that guy. 

It's the safest place in the mansion. It's the only place he's allowed to work himself up to the point of hitting, kicking, and screaming. As long as he doesn't harm the equipment or himself, Slade doesn't care what he does in here. Granted, if he shows his frustration too much anywhere, Slade will use it against him. Which is probably why whenever Slade needs something from him, he looks for him inside the gym.

So maybe it's not the safest place in the mansion.

But it’s still better than cold, empty rooms.

And Dick doesn't really care anyway. Everything stopped being safe the moment he was pinned to the carpet of his own apartment and whispered to that… that…

His knuckles ache. The punching dummy just wobbles, and Dick wonders what would really happen if he tore it apart. 

He doesn't even get to entertain the idea of slamming his fingers into the tiniest weakness of the padded fabric to rip it at its seams, because before he winds up for another punch, the sound of heavily booted footsteps make themselves known behind him. 

Which definitely means something is up. If Slade wanted to come in here just to mess with Dick, he could have easily left his movements more silent than a moth's wings. He punches the dummy, wipes sweat from his brow, then turns to glare at his captor. 

It's not Slade who looks back, but Deathstroke in full attire. 

Something is definitely up. 

"Apprentice," Deathstroke says smoothly, sending chills of annoyance down Dick's spine. He hates everything about this, but Slade refusing to call him anything other than apprentice or boy is just an insult to injury. It's like Slade owns him. Like Dick doesn't have a right to any other name. 

However, instead of lashing out like he oh so desperately wants, he straightens his posture, flattens his expression, and brings his hands behind his back to grasp onto each of his wrists. 

Time for the most humiliating thing of all of this. His mouth already tastes disgusting. 

"Master."

Dick can't see Slade's face under his mask, but he knows the other man is grinning. It's been months, and Slade has yet to tire from Dick's discomfort. 

"Tell me," Slade practically purrs, folding his arms across his chest and looking too relaxed. "Do you remember the conditions of your stay here?"

What's Slade's game? Why is he bringing this up now? Dick grinds his teeth for just a second before forcing himself to respond. 

"I do what you say, when you say it, and immediately follow any and all orders without question."

"And in exchange?"

 Now Dick can't help but feel a little bit of his uneasiness show in his face. He swallows and shifts his feet. 

"You won't detonate the bombs."

Dick can practically smell Slade's smugness as he asks "and where are the bombs located?" 

Dick takes a deep breath. "Inside the skulls of Jason, Tim, Cass, Duke, and Damian."

How Deathstroke got the bombs inside all of their heads, Dick will never know. All he knows is that he came back from patrol one night to find Deathstroke sitting on his couch, the X-rays of each of their heads sitting on his coffee table. Of course, he didn't know it was their heads until he was overpowered and manhandled to the ground so Slade would explain it all too happily. 

Dick doesn't know what Slade's plans are this time around. He hasn't done anything besides force Dick to train in various forms of combat. He hasn't said anything about joining his mission or killing people or… or anything. Just training. Dick's beginning to think he just enjoys having power over Dick. 

"Come," Slade says, forcing Dick from his thoughts, "I have something I need you to do."

Dick forces himself to nod, and not question why Slade brought the bombs up. He simply brings his hands to his front, unwraps the tape around his knuckles, and follows along even though the sweat sticking under his workout clothes is uncomfortable and he'd much prefer a shower before dealing with whatever Slade wanted from him. 

The walk through the mansion halls are as lonely as always. Dick's sure that even if Slade wasn't a jackass with the thirst to kill for money, this place would still be empty. The entire mansion was built somewhere within the Appalachian mountains, practically in the middle of nowhere. Hidden expertly within the trees and designed to be practically invisible to any eyes traveling above. To get here, they had to take a helicopter. 

A helicopter. Dick cannot stress that enough. 

He lets his mind wonder as he follows Slade. It's probably for some sort of training exercise outside. Maybe he's being brought to the gun range? He tries to tell himself it's nothing, but there's still an inkling of unease in his gut. 

Why did he bring up the bombs?

Slade suddenly comes to a halt, and it's all Dick can do to not slam into his back. He stops and looks at the door Slade stopped in front of with widening eyes. 

The door to the basement. 

One of three places Slade has forbidden. 

Slade doesn't bother with any dramatics like locks or passcodes. No doors are locked here. Dick knows better than to push anywhere he's not supposed to. 

The literal heads of his family are on the line. 

He watches with a horrible emotional cocktail of nervousness and curiosity as Slade turns the handle and opens the door. There's nothing special right away. Just stairs leading down into the shadows. 

"Follow," Slade says, and Dick does. 

The travel down is… uneventful to say the least. Nothing to see besides stone steps and gray walls. However, Dick quickly becomes aware of a drop in temperature. A dramatic one. One that seeps through his sweat soaked clothes and straight into his bones like freezing little needles.

It's when they reach the basement floor he realizes why it's so cold, dark, and secretive down here. 

It can hardly even be called a basement once Dick gets a good look. 

It's more like a dungeon. Long hallways, iron doors with iron bars, dim candles built into the walls… 

It's Slade Wilson's personal prison. 

Which is strange, because Slade doesn't often take prisoners. Dick's normally the only one to own that title when it comes to Slade. 

Slade doesn't give him a chance to really take in everything and just continues down into the dungeon, passing door after door, each holding just glimpses of various dangerous looking tools and chains and contraptions… ones that have Dick's head spinning just by thinking about the range of torture that can be performed in each room.

His bewilderment must be more obvious than what he meant it to be, because Slade turns to look at him and lets out a chuckle.

"You have questions," he notes. 

Dick swallows and turns his head from the doors. He forces himself to look Slade right in the eye. Or… the hole where his one eye is hidden under.  "… I do."

"Ask."

Deep breathes. "What is this place? Why are we…"

Slade chuckles and turns away, grabbing at a ring of keys from within one of his pockets. It seems the no locked doors policy doesn't apply down here. "I didn't plan on taking you down here so soon," Slade explains, turning down a seemingly random corner. "I planned for you to know this place… intimately… soon enough. Except, well, something came up. And I supposed this portion of training could begin a bit earlier than planned."

He stops in front of a door, one that's more heavier fortified than the rest they had passed. The iron widow on the door is covered by a steel plate, possibly making the inside completely shrouded in darkness. 

Dick watches with growing anxiety as Slade pushes the key into the door, turns it, then steps back to allow Dick a clear, complete view on what's inside. 

His stomach twists violently. His breath leaves his lungs like he's taken a violent blow to the gut. 

There's chains hanging from the center of the dark room, shackles locking tightly over clenched, bare wrists. There's a boy hanging from them, his uncovered toes just one chain link away from having enough purchase to let his heels touch the grime covered ground. He's not wearing a shirt, and his pants are torn near his knees. 

Wrapped around his eyes is a blindfold. Over his mouth is a painfully tight looking leather gag. Locked over his ears is a pair of what is definitely sound canceling headphones. 

Damian. 

Dick finds himself backing away, his heart in his throat, but he quite predictably runs into Slade's chest. He can feel every single one of his nerves twist violently as Slade wraps his fingers around Dick's biceps to keep him standing there, in the doorway, with the perfect view of his littlest brother hanging in chains. 

Then, his eyes slide to the side of the room where there are metal tables set with… with tools. Knives. Hammers. Whips. Pliers. Brands. 

He almost chokes on his tongue when Slade leans down so his mouth is right by Dick's ear. "He tried to fight me all alone on my last visit to Gotham, demanding to know where you are. I easily took him down, but he needs to be taught a lesson, don't you think?"

Slade’s last trip to Gotham was three days ago. Has Damian been here… hanging here for that long?

"Slade…" Dick whispers, shocked that his voice still exists at all. 

The hands on his biceps tighten. 

"Master-" Dick quickly corrects himself, but it doesn't fix a single thing. Stirn, unmoving hands begin to force him to walk forward until he's fully inside of the cell, able to smell the faint reek of a child's sweat, and the smudges of blood that stick to his skin. Dick clutches his fists so tightly he can feel his fingernails threaten to break skin. The closer he gets, the more wounds he can see on Damian's mostly naked body. 

Slade was careful taking him down. 

"Now here's what you're going to do," Slade growls while Damian continues to hang there. Blinded, deafened, gagged, helpless, probably completely unaware that they're in the room. He lets go of Dick's arms and walks towards Damian. He curls a hand in Damian's hair, causing the boy to tense. 

Dick wants to scream. 

 "You're going to do exactly as I say with no back talk." Slade tugs on Damian's hair, causing a muffled grunt, before he taps the pointer finger of his free hand right onto Damian's left temple. Right where the X-rays showed where the bombs were implanted. "Or else."

Dick can hardly sort his thoughts. He can barely breathe. All he can focus on is the hand in Damian's hair, watching as Slade pulls his head back so his neck is exposed, showing the beginnings of an Adam's apple that bobs nervously. 

"Master-" Dick gasps, he can't even keep his voice even. 

Slade squeezes his hand in Damian's hair, causing Damian to bend backwards even more and release short, almost panicked breaths. The sensory deprivation must not be doing any favors for him. The way his toes barely touch the ground doesn't even allow him to feel for vibrations. 

"Pick up the knife, boy." 

And something shatters in Dick's chest. "Please, Master- I'll do anything-"

"Pick up the knife!" Slade snarls, and Dick can't help a full body flinch. "If you question me one more time, I'll chain you up to watch me break him myself. Only, if I do it, I'll make sure he dies slowly, and painfully. I won't even use the bomb."

Dick wants to cry. Instead, he sucks in a breath and turns to the table, picking up the first knife he sees with shaking hands. He tells himself that he's doing this to save Damian's life. That if he does as he's told… Slade should let Damian go. 

Teach him a lesson. Teach him a lesson. 

Slade's not sending a message. He's teaching a lesson. Which means he won't be forced to kill Damian. 

Just learn how to torture him. 

"Good boy." Dick can practically hear the smile in Slade's voice as he finally lets go of Damian, backing up so the boy is left hanging in his shackles, breathing hard and definitely fighting off anxious twitches.

He holds the knife out in front of him, the light is low in the cell, but he can definitely tell how sharp the edges are. He honestly would rather plunge this knife into his own heart than put it against his kid… but Dick has a feeling Slade wouldn't let Dick go that easily. Somehow, Slade won't let Dick die here. He'll keep Dick alive, then chain him up, and force him to watch Damian gain gruesome death that he doesn't deserve. 

He's helping Damian. He's helping Damian. He's doing this to make sure he lives. That they all live. 

So he holds the knife out in front of him, approaches, and forces his face to not show how much distress he's in. His lips wobbles, and Slade definitely notices it, but he doesn't comment on it. Just chuckles.

God, Dick hates him so much.

"Put the edge against his jaw… but don't press hard enough to cut flesh," Slade says, and Dick crawls away to some corner of his mind to do exactly as he's told. Robotically. Not feeling anything. His brain is screaming. "Run it down his neck, yes just like that. Trail the tip over his chest, not cutting, but let him feel it. Let him imagine the things it can do to him. We will prove his expectations to be underdeveloped in a minute-"

And Dick does as he's told. He trails the knife over Damian's skin, forcing himself not to flinch every time Damian's breath catches. He brushes where Slade tells him to brush, threatens with a small push when Slade tells him to threaten. 

He breaks skin on Damian's back when Slade tells him to break skin. 

I'm sorry Damian, he can only scream inside his mind as digs the blade in at an awkward and extremely painful angle near Damian's collar bone. 

The kid writhes and certainly does his best to ignore the torture… but he eventually screams through the gag. 

And Dick keeps doing as he's told. The shattered pieces of his sole are now a fine, crushed dust. 

"There we go…" Slade compliments happily, when the first tear appears under Damian's blindfold. "You're doing great, apprentice."

And it doesn't stop there. And Dick keeps doing as he's told. He keeps pressing the knife. He keeps trailing it. Tearing skin. Puncturing sensitive places. Using Damian's struggles and tremors against him. 

Like a monster. 

I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry.

Eventually, Slade finally tells him to stop. Dick backs away like Damian’s fire. He watches with wide eyes as Damian sags against the chains and heaves a shaking breath that rattles his entire blood splattered chest.

“Go upstairs, shower, and go to bed,” Slade says, putting a hand on Dick’s shoulder. Dick can’t help it, he flinches. All he can think about is how Damian is desperately trying to get a hold of himself. Unaware that the torture is over. Unaware that it was Dick who… who… who did this. Slade doesn’t seem to care about Dick’s flinch. He just tightens his iron strong grip and leans closer to Dick’s ear. His mask is off now. Dick can tell by his familiar hot breath against his cheek and ear. “You did good, apprentice. I’m proud of you.”

“What…” Dick breaths, memorizing every line of red on Damian’s skin that he caused. Dick swallows down a mouthful of vomit that tries to rise. “What about-”

The grip on his shoulder shifts, thick fingers squeeze the base of his neck dangerously. “I said go upstairs. Shower. And Go. To. Bed. The brat is no longer your concern.”

There’s a threat in Slade’s voice. One that Dick has been conditioned to immediately obey for fear of worse punishment. Fear of a button being pressed and every single one of his siblings…

He looks at Damian for a heartbeat longer; tells himself that Slade will let Damian go. That Damian will soon be back at the manor and recovering. 

Dick nods his head then turns heel, forcing that little pit of despair to turn into something that could be mistaken as hope. He walks past all the other cells, not looking inside a single door, before he’s running up the stairs two at a time and sprinting to his room.

The moment he’s in his bedroom—a large one at that, but filled with nothing but a bed and a dresser—he beelines to his bathroom and is already stripping his clothes before he can close the door behind him. He tries to wipe his arms and hands with his shirt as he takes off his garment, but he can still see smudges of red on his skin. He turns on the water as hot as it can go then collapses by the open toilet.

He empties everything in his stomach, then continues gagging every time he smells blood on his body until steam has completely fogged up the mirror.

He flushes the toilet and steps into the scalding water, hardly even noticing how his skin burns.

All he’s aware of is the red running pink down the drain, and the drops of water on his cheeks that is definitely from the spray of the shower.

He’s not sure he’ll ever forgive himself.

He’s not sure he’ll ever be able to fully wash the blood from his body.

All he can do is stand there and let the practically boiling temperature of the water assist his emotional turmoil in becoming something physical.

[setsailslash]

Good god your askbox is open for prompts??? Well then how about this gem that you definitely didn't see coming: Bat Boys in a Jaeger. Which batboys and how many of them (because in canon we've had three several times now and WHY NOT FOUR I GUESS if you wanted to) is up to you. Though I will definitely tentatively request Jason be at least present somewhere. Extra points for ghost drifting (whether it's cute or romantic or sexy or horrifying or none of those is also up to you)

in which Jason is a little bit of Raleigh and Yancy and Herc and Chuck all at the same time. way more bruce&jason content than anticipated but all the boys are here despite very obvious favouritism lmao (can totally be read as something more but it’s gen!! :OO)

Jason remembers how a ghost drift goes in distant memory. 

Bruce was always good in that he is a blank slate, never brought a thing into their driftspace and took everything that Jason offered as his own. 

Except.

The after effect was a buzzing sense of weightlessness that echoed inside of him. He’s not floating or flying, he’s at the cusp of a sharp long drop. And it’s nothing he can grasp especially on their worst days when the feedback from their drift goes rampant between them even without any of the machinery that should make it possible.

But it’s real and it’s true.

Jason’s hand moving before his head could truly register the motion, already following the way Bruce moved his. He was a shadow connected at every place, sewn to the man he calls his co-pilot.

-

When Jason dies ten miles off of the Gulf of Aden, Bruce pilots their Jaeger back to shore all on his own. Circuitry suit burning the entire way through skin to scorch flesh, co-pilot torn from his head while they were still connected. 

That was the last time Bruce ever steps foot inside of a Conn-Pod again.

-

Coming back to the Jaeger Program was never supposed to be like this.

Jason looks at Dick Grayson, the Program’s golden boy and tells him: “You don’t want me inside your head.”

They have both had Bruce Wayne as a co-pilot, the difference being Dick came out unscathed while Jason died. 

“Let me decide that for myself, Jay.” Dick answers with a smile despite the dark bruises under his eyes. He is in his drivesuit and they are standing in the Conn-Pod next to one another.

There’s something a lot like trepidation crawling up Jason’s spine. His heart kicks up a beat, each pulse a thundering boom to echo inside his helmet. 

“Don't say I didn't warn you.”

He felt like the sharpened rough edges of something ready to shatter on impact on a good day, he cannot imagine how Dick could navigate that.

"Lil' win—"

"Don't fucking call me that."

Their LOCCENT officer chooses that moment to come over the speakers, and Barbara’s voice leaves no room for anything otherwise when she asks them both. “Ready for the drop?” 

For Jaeger pilots like them, it's an ingrained response. They echo one another when they answer, “Ready.”

-

[Neural Handshake Initiating.]

Three. Two. One. 

They drop.

-

It’s biological, this drift of theirs. 

It’s a fit of their heads that fit tighter than the way their drivesuits can pull across their shoulders. Even with each piece settling over top, giving them the necessary weight, it’s a pull that has them feeling electricity spark across their skin.

It’s a singe.

-

It’s not enough though.

Because they need all the warm bodies encased in cold metal and put to the test. Jason is one more in a long line of sacrifices. The Kwoon looks and feels the exact same when he steps foot inside of it once again. There is an air of indifference, and it’s funny to learn nothing is sacred anymore. Not even this. 

What truly stings though is the sight of Bruce standing on the sidelines in a dark suit.

“Drift compatibility doesn’t mean shit anymore, does it?” Jason spits out because the man might be the Marshal now but he was once Jason’s co-pilot too. And something hits like a dull solid pang when it is a replacement candidate standing on the other end of the mats, bo-staff in hand. 

Jason doesn’t wait for an answer, he turns to Tim Drake to say: “I’m not going to dial down my moves.”

“Okay.” Tim’s lips quirk upwards at both corners, vicious and sharp, his grip shifts where it curls around the staff. “Then neither will I.”

-

They each make their first strike against the other. And then again and again and again.

There is a rush of blood, exhilaration in their veins. Sweat at their temples and it drips. Tim is good even if it physically pains Jason to admit to it.

Maybe drift compatibility is not the joke here, maybe it’s Jason. Because he is on his back, pinned and stunned when Tim draws the last point between them, bringing it to an even score. It’s unmistakable, he knows this feeling.

The end of his bo-staff is millimeters from grazing at Jason’s throat.

“Three-three.” Tim says to him.

-

The world is coming to an end. 

If this isn’t the time for desperation, then there probably isn’t one.  They are the last stand, a last ditch effort, one final score if Jason's ever seen one.

Bruce goes as far as to test his own son with Jason. 

“I imagined him differently.” Damian says to start.

And Jason fucking scowls at the brat.

-

He feels them in his head, their thoughts lingering like an afterthought.

Having access to every crevice of someone else’s mind is not something to be desired, let alone a thing he would do to himself again and again and again like it’s a special kind of punishment he thinks he deserves. 

But. Bruce asked.

It’s one thing to have nothing buzzing inside of his head, and another to have it full to bursting at the seams. To Jason Todd, drift compatibility is akin to having a conversation with a stranger in the pouring rain or shrouded in the dark of an alleyway, and finding a thing that he wants to hold on to for the rest of his life.

He is Dick watching his parents' death. He is Tim stepping foot inside of his first Shatterdome. He is Damian being kept out of the pilot placements despite his perfect simulation scores.

They fill his head with their thoughts, and they press into the core of him until they become him.

Jason didn't ever think he could experience this so many times. They are his last moment when that last thread of his connection to Bruce snaps, and he's dragged under the waters of the Gulf of Aden streaked in Kaiju Blue.

From beneath the waves, it glowed neon green when the bright lights of their Jaeger passes over him. Bruce burned during his last run, and Jason did too.

Jason inhales and they with him.

-

He is suited up.

And so is every remaining Jaeger pilot they’ve got left in the program: Dick standing with Damian next to Tim at the other end of the hallway leading to their Conn-Pods.

“When you drift with someone, you feel like there’s nothing to talk about. I don't want to regret all the things I never said, Jason.” 

It is a testament to how long he’s been waiting to hear this from Bruce when his eyes are prickling in what might actually be tears. It’s salty and it stings.

“B, you don't need to.” He lets the man tug him into his arms, and his voice gets muffled but that’s okay too. “I know them all.” Jason tells him. “I always have.”

It’s a lie, but it’s a very good one. Jason has always known Bruce in that painfully intimate way, understood the man for who he is and who he cannot be for Jason even if push comes to shove comes to out right blows. And there were plenty of that even during their best days. 

Jason has spent a long time resenting Bruce. 

Maybe it's about time he moved on from that.

The world has been coming to an end for a while now, it would be ending on a good note if they do not have to die inside of one another’s head once more.

When he makes the drop into driftspace this last time, he thinks of all their good times.

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

Broadcast Torture + Jason Todd & Tim Drake

Written for the @badthingshappenbingo​ . X’s are finished & can be found on my AO3 (under the same username!!), asterisks are requested. Thanks to @whateverrrrwhatever​ for making this way better than it was <3

----

The entrance to the Cave Jason takes is old and rarely used anymore. He isn’t sure if the kids even know about it, and really, he hopes they don’t. It feels like a little secret just between him and the Cave (and a few other assholes, plus Alfred). Anyway, he’s only going to the Cave tonight because no one else is here. B is out with the Justice League somewhere, Dick off with Kory and Roy, and all the rest of them, Duke included, are holding down the fort here in Gotham.

None of them will come back any time soon unless they’re grievously injured. Knowing, like, all of them, that’s a distinct possibility. He seriously hopes they can keep their shit together tonight, though, because if not? He’s going to have to interact with them. And he can only handle so much interaction with people, period, much less his intense family members. He worked with Damian the other night, and that’s enough time with another Bat to last him for at least a few more weeks.

Thankfully, what he’s here for shouldn’t take too long—he just needs some files on the drug trade down at the docks. The more he can get the better, especially ones from at least a few years ago, since he has suspicions that remnants of the Lucky Hand Triad have regrouped.

Technically, Jason can go without them. But they’ll help, and as long as he gets done before 3 am, it’ll be fine. Three is, of course, the witching hour of Bat injuries. (Trust him, he knows all about those.)

Really, the only person who might see him poking around—getting his files, he means, because poking around insinuates he’s here for anything else, and he is not —is Alfred. And Alfred won’t tell on Jason, so if he does happen to come down to the Cave and see Jason, well, it’ll be no big deal. It’s always been easier to interact with Alfred than any of the rest, anyway.

When he steps into the main part of the Cave, he can’t help but notice how weirdly small it seems. Wasn’t it bigger? It’s as empty as it’s ever been, though, the only sounds the humming of machines and the bats flying and screeching.

Maybe Jason should be scared by how dark and confined it is. Anybody in their right mind would be, but he’s never been frightened of this place and he’s not going to start now. Determined, he starts over to the big computer, trying not to think about how familiar everything feels, no matter how long he’s been gone. How every corner brings up a new memory, but all the new keepsakes mean nothing to him. How he still knows his way around. Or how he feels… weird here, almost like an apparition or something.

He casts his eyes on the place where his old suit used to be on display, and can’t help the feeling that maybe he’s just a ghost, the shadow of a boy in a picture who’s climbed out of its frame to haunt the city.

Shaking the thought away, he hurries over to the computer bay, flinging himself into Bruce’s chair with false ease. Sitting here doesn’t help him feel any better—it holds so many memories from his childhood that feel more like dreams, muted and far away. In soft focus like that, he can’t be sure what’s real and what’s imagined, what’s a lie. But ugh. God, he’s got to stop, now. He came here for a reason, and the sooner he can get his shit and go, the better.

Just as he’s about click into the huge storage drive of reports and files that Bruce has amassed over the years, he realizes something.

Babs has to know he’s in the Cave right now. There’s no way she’s not going to tell B or Dick, or both. Probably both. And probably Alfred, too, because why not, right? But what can she tell them besides the truth, which isn’t even that bad?

On the other hand, if he’s going to get told on, why not mess with the others a little bit?

Detouring from his original intentions, Jason cracks his knuckles and sets off to open up all of the weirdest porn Google can give him.

It gets old after a few minutes, and it’s best if he gets out of here sooner rather than later, so he moves on. (He leaves the pages up, of course. Let Dick or Tim find them when they get back. Hah.)

He goes to click into the database, but the cursor on the screen doesn’t move. He tries again and it still doesn’t work.

“What the fuck,” he says, because, seriously, what? The Batcomputer doesn’t get slow. And it can’t be Babs, because although she’s not shy about putting up her logo and locking people out of their hardware... no logo. Not Babs, then.

But if not her… by all rights, it shouldn’t be possible.

Discomfited, Jason wonders if he should try to fix it, or tell Babs. He leans down to make sure the mouse is plugged in, but a noise on the screen has him looking back up.

A video has popped up on the screen.

At first, it’s just black. Jason is confused and annoyed. Maybe Oracle is messing with him.

“Babs,” he says, because whether this is her or not, there’s no way she’s not tapped into whatever bugs she has down here. “Stop playing. I’m just here for some files and then I’m gone.” When that gets no reaction, he adds, “Won’t even take the originals, just need some copies.”  

Nothing happens. Jason looks around, struck once again by how empty and dark the Cave is.

Okay, his gut was right. It’s not Babs. But what, or who, the hell is it?

Before he can even begin to figure it out, the video changes, revealing a laboratory splattered with what looks like paint. Other than that, it’s practically devoid of color. The tall, peeling walls remind Jason of the warehouses at the docks. Medical equipment fills out the edges, somehow even more rudimentary and broken down than he’d expect.

As far as he’s aware, there’s nobody out there with a hospital gimmick. He looks closer, taking in as many details as he can. The paint catches his attention again, and he curses as he recognizes the colors. White, green, and red. Fuck. 

A huge metal table sits in the middle of the room, angled upwards, and there, strapped down on the table, unconscious, is the fucking Replacement.

Jason honestly doesn’t really like the kid. They’re civil enough. Jason has apologized for everything that happened when he came back and Tim has forgiven him, if not forgotten. Not that Jason can blame him. But other than a few conversations outside of the capes and a few missions they’ve teamed up on, they don’t interact much.

There are still days where Jason thinks about being replaced—he knows that’s not how it happened, exactly, but whatever. In those moments, he sees sickly green and has to forcibly calm himself down, punch a wall, something to get the feeling out. He has to tell himself it’s not Tim’s fault, not really.

Replacement or no, it’s hard to see him on the table like this. He really is just a kid.

The Joker moves into view on the screen, his hands clasped behind his back, casual as can be. And Jesus Christ, his smile is still as big and inhuman as it ever was, sickeningly amused by a 17 year old under threat of torture.

"Oh, Batsy,“ he sings, and the sound of his voice sends furious, painful shivers down Jason’s spine. Oh fuck no , he thinks, and wants to get up, but he finds himself rooted to the spot.

It’s the same spot where Jason’s dad sat for years, protecting the city, making it better , or so Jason had thought. But sitting here now, it feels like he’s Bruce. It feels like he’s that little kid who was murdered. It feels like a lot of gut-churning, ominous tangle of emotions he doesn't have a name for and doesn't care to learn.

"I’ve got another of your little birds,” the Joker says, leaning close to the camera.

Part of Jason wants to walk away. He can’t stand this. He doesn’t want to hear another word out of that fucking thing’s mouth ever again, and it’s better to just let the voice pass by over him than to actually listen.

But the other part of Jason, the part that’s been fighting this war since he was born, won’t let him ignore what’s on the screen. He has to know everything, all the details, can’t have only half the picture.

So Jason pays attention and catalogs everything. Forces himself to listen as the clown talks about kidnapping Tim off the street. How he distracted him and snuck up on him and beat him over the head until he was unconscious. How easy it was to capture the oh-so-weak Robin.

Eventually, the Joker stops talking. Must be bored, since he’s not getting an immediate reaction. The dramatic piece of shit only loves attention.

He walks over to Tim. The way he moves is disgustingly familiar to Jason. There’s a kind of switch near the table, far enough that there’s no way Tim could reach it, and then. Then. The Joker flips it.

Tim’s body convulses and shakes as electricity burns through him. He screams, straining against the table.

Jason clutches the armrests of Bruce’s chair, the leather creaking under his hands. Leaning forward, he finds he can’t look away, jaw jumping. He shouldn’t be surprised by anything the Joker does by now, but all he can think is an unending loop of what the fuck?

The Joker flips the switch again and goes over to Tim, crooning something the camera doesn’t quite pick up. A little louder, he says, “I think you need some air, little birdie.” He pulls an oxygen mask from  somewhere out of view and puts it on Tim’s face.

Alarm bells ringing in Jason’s head, he watches as Tim struggles, twisting his head and attempting to bite the Joker’s fingers. There’s nothing he can do but watch as Tim loses the fight. The mask is secured, and within a few moments, it fills with horrible green gas.

All he’s got to breathe is Joker toxin.

Jason watches for another minute as the Joker takes the mask off, deceivingly gentle. After a few moments, Tim starts hysterically giggling, the sound a wheezing and crackling and painful thing.

A message shows up on the screen, listing an address and quickest route to the location. Signed: ‘O’.

“Fuck this,” Jason says, because he doesn’t even want to think about what comes next, what’s going to happen to the kid’s body, how badly the kid is going to be hurt. He stands and hurries over to where all the keys are hung up, grabbing the first set he can reach. He runs to the motorcycles and high tails it the fuck out of the Cave.

Jason thinks he might throw up. The thought of seeing the Joker in person again is too much to bear even on his best nights, but. Whatever. He has to get through it. He’s managed it before, with other traumatic things, and he can manage it now. He can do it for Tim.

He doesn’t like the kid. They aren’t friends and they certainly aren’t brothers, but he’s not about to just let the Joker kill another Robin. Abso-fucking-lutely not.

—-

If you enjoyed this, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment in the tags. Thank you <3

[mattzerella-sticks]

Tales from the Future - Batflash Week Day 1: Wards & Didn’t Know They Were Dating

After a tough mission in the future with the Titans, Damian and Wally discovered something very shocking. They couldn't keep this information to themselves, though, and decided to tell their families - save the very people the information is about.

Will the group of Robins and Speedsters stay focused enough to come up with a plan or realize that the future isn't as bad as they're fearing?

Damian watches Jason casually stroll in through the window, one leg swinging in after the other with practiced aloofness. “Tch,” he scoffs, “nice of you to show up.”

“Buzz off, Bat Brat,” Jason says, squeezing in between Dick and Tim on the couch. “I was busy .”

“Who was busy?” Dick asks.

“Me, I just said -”

“No, who was busy,” he clarifies, leering at Jason. Groans erupt from across the room, Damian hiding his face in his hand. Duke huffs from the armchair, mirroring him.

A smack echoes, Dick cursing. Tim glares from the other side of the couch, frowning. “None of us want to hear about Jason’s sex life.”

“I don’t know,” Dick says, rubbing his head, “I could use a good laugh or two.”

Sighing, Wally steps behind Damian. He turns to face his friend. Wally looks unimpressed, a similar expression to the other speedster guests who joined them this afternoon. The older Wally sits on the other armchair across from Duke, closer to Dick. Bart vibrates around the room, not really staying in one place for too long. “Is this how every meeting starts?”

“No,” Damian admits, “sometimes we do more than slap the other.”

Wally’s eyebrow climbs further up his forehead.

“Okay, everyone, settle down,” Damian calls. His brothers quiet immediately, giving him their attention. “We didn’t assemble to tease Jason.”

“But it’s such a fun team building activity.”

“Fuck you, Bubble Butt.”

“How dare you -”

Another clap silences them again. “Do I have to separate you two?” Damian asks, glancing between the older Robins. They dart their gazes towards one another for a brief second before relenting, a white flag waving from their stations. “Good,” he continues, running his hands across his chest. Smooths invisible wrinkles on his charcoal black button-down. “Now we’ve gathered you all for a reason.”

“A very important reason,” Wally preempts Bart, the latter’s jaw hanging. Offhand comment still cocked in his chamber, pulled from the trigger. “That has to deal with Barry and Bruce.”

Their family sobers immediately at the mention of their respective elders. “Really?” Dick asks, “What is it?”

Damian and Wally glance between themselves, silently discussing who would start. Taking too long, Jason breaks their debate. “Someone just freakin ’ start already!”

Taking point, Damian clears his throat. “We’d finished a mission with Jon, saying our goodbyes to him and his team in the future…”

A mission to the future seemed too early for Damian’s ragtag team of Titans. He could barely get them to stop fighting each other to handle villains of this century, there was no telling how they’d fare against criminals with advanced and alien tech. Yet Jon came for him at an inopportune time. Bubble bursting in during a team meeting, popping out with his friend , Saturn Girl.

“Damian,” he panted, ash smudged across his face, “I need you.”

That was all the convincing needed. Except the moment he set a foot into the time bubble a gust of wind sped past and snatched his wrist.

Wally wouldn’t let Damian leave them, the others gathering round demanding to be brought along. Damian scowled, trying to figure out a quick enough argument to shut the idea down without offending them. Because he promised them he’d be kinder . Kindness cost him dearly, since Saturn Girl gave them a free pass by saying, “Of course you can come along.”

Carried into the time bubble by the incoming stampede, they squished together to travel to the 31st century. He squirmed between Crush and Roundhouse, annoying Wally given the timed puffs of air he breathed through his nose.

“You were tickling my chin,” Wally scoffs, “And it was taking too slow.”

“We were advancing 1000 years in a blink of an eye!” Damian cries, “There’s nothing slow about it -”

“Guys, focus!” Wally says, “What does this have to do with Barry and Bruce?”

“Well, when we got there it turns out this villain had taken control of their head quarters,” Wally says, ignoring his cousin.

A green, floating eyeball paraded around the Legion of Superheroes’ Clubhouse. Members with glowing, verdant gazes stalked the halls like zombies. Unfortunately they proved much more resourceful and smarter than their appearance.

An accidental sneeze from Roundhouse alerted their presence, and heroes descended upon them. Damian found himself holding off a wolf-man with his staff caught in his sharp jaws. When he flipped the beast off him, Damian saw the rest of his team separated and battling in their own small groups. And the eye, watching them. Waiting.

“Its owner entered with fanfare,” Damian tells them, “using this boy who shoots lightning for special effects.”

Tim yawns, “Why does this matter?”

“It does! Now, she entered…”

The Emerald Empress immediately captured Roundhouse with her Eye, trapping him in her spell like all the others. Saturn Girl shouted for them to retreat, falling back towards a secret tunnel. Except on their way Djinn snagged her ankle on a waiting hand, phased through the floor.

“Go!” she says, “I’ll be fine!”

Damian froze, only Wally’s fast reflexes pulling him out from falling debris dropped by a gravity manipulator. They left Djinn and Crush - the latter shoving past Emiko to help the other girl. Behind the shut door of the secret entrance Damian saw emerald light flash and his heart sank.

“This is why you should have stayed in the past,” Damian growled once they snuck far enough away, “Not even five minutes and we’ve already lost half the team!”

“We’ll save them, Damian,” Wally said, a steady calm to the raging storm brewing inside the smaller boy, “We always will.”

“Don’t see how,” Emiko added, the first few words since travelling to the future. “Her Eye looks kitted to the max. Coupled with the heroes she already has under her thrall and the ones we gave her… I don’t think we have much of a chance.”

Damian huffed, “Especially once she combines her Eye with Djinn’s magic -”

“Djinn?” Bart asks, “Who’s Djinn? You keep mentioning her.”

Flushing, Damian glances at the grandfather clock ticking ceaselessly in the lounge. “She’s a team member of ours… very powerful magic, one of our strongest assets, and -”

“Damian’s got a total crush on her.”

He whips his head to glare at Wally, the other boy standing nonplussed. Instead of a smirk, a harsh line cuts across his face. As if his words were more of a tiresome fact than rope to hang him with.

His brothers gladly string him up. Dick coos, “Aw, you’ve got a crush Damian?”

“Thank God,” Jason says, “Maybe you’ll finally get that stick out of your ass.”

“Does this mean we have to chaperone you?” Tim asks, “Because I don’t want to double date…”

Duke leans forward in his seat. “Are we going to ever meet her?”

Damian waves their comments away. “This isn’t about me. And for the record I don’t have a crush.”

Jason scoffs, “Sounds like what someone with a crush would say.”

“I don’t!”

“Jason knows what’s he’s talking ‘bout,” Dick nods, clapping Jason’s shoulder, “Guy’s king of unrequited crushes.”

He brushes Dick’s hand off him. “Fuck you, at least half of them were requited.”

“Sure, and I made it to fifth base with Harley Quinn…”

Bart zips over to Tim, whispering. “What’s fifth base?”

Tim shakes his head. “You don’t want to know.”

Wally pinches his brow, reclining into his armchair. “Can we please get back to the story?”

“I would be glad to,” Damian says, “if people would let me.” Given the floor once more, Damian carries on where he left off.

They regrouped. Jon led them in a motivational speech, every word and gesture oozing small town sensibility. His father would be proud. After he rallied the troops, Saturn Girl presented schematics of the Legion headquarters. Damian and Emiko poured over the holograms, planning their assault. Satisfied with a course of action, the group returned.

Although their plans strayed early on from the course they laid. A few heroes that Saturn Girl thought were off-planet appeared and forced them to separate. Damian and Jon fled down one hallway, followed by a barrage of shrapnel. Cosmic Boy, as Jon told him, barreled their way with a Lantern and an orange lizard-creature at his side.

Jon handled the flankers, Damian keeping Cosmic Boy occupied. With power over metal most of his arsenal was useless, and he dropped it so he wouldn’t be controlled. Instead Damian relied on his training, utilizing the environment to his advantage. Waiting for Leading Cosmic Boy into a narrow hallway, snaking around the metal he pulled. Pushing his reflexes to the limit, Damian dodged each swipe until Cosmic Boy trapped himself in a cage of wires and panels.

Unable to move, Damian rabbit punched him.

Jon dumped his attackers to the floor when Damian returned, and together they advanced to the main room. Regrouping with the others, they stormed where Emerald Empress hid.

More heroes awaited them, guarding their queen while she mixed the emerald energy from her eye with Djinn’s unique purple magic. This timeline’s Doctor Fate underneath like a scale, helping to balance the power.

Knocking away a ball boy into identical triplets, Damian noticed the colors mixing together hideously. Terribly foreboding, a chill shot through his spine. “We need to stop this!” he yelled, tumbling underneath lightning.

Wally wrapped up a talking raccoon and hurled him towards a green-skinned boy. Being the only one who heard Damian, he tracked his gaze to the makeshift throne. “Okay,” he said, “let’s stop this.”

“So?” Bart asks, “How’d you stop it?”

Damian pouts, crossing his arms. “He threw me.”

“What?”

“He threw men,” he repeats, “at the Emerald Empress.”

Wally nods, smiling. “While I dealt with Doctor Fate.”

With those two erased from the equation, it was only Djinn and the Emerald Eye. Their auras swirled in battle for dominance. When it looked like the green would overtake Djinn’s purple, her eyes flashed brilliantly violet and swept over the encroaching light like a tidal wave. Purple energy coursed through the Emerald Eye until it short-circuited and turned grey. It fell to the floor, powerless.

Spell broken, the others woke from their trances. Some moaned with pain while others blinked in confusion. Their friends, Crush and Roundhouse, staggered away from Saturn Girl and Jon while returning to their senses.

“You beat the villain, big whoop,” Jason says, “still don’t see what this has to do with Bats and Flash.”

Wally rolls his eyes. “After the fight, when we were saying our goodbyes to the team…”

Roundhouse bounced between Jon, Saturn Girl, Wally and him, drawing the Legionnaires attention towards him. Asked questions with blazing speed that surpassed their speedster. Jon led him away from the group, Saturn Girl at his side while explaining a few of the concepts to sate his curiosity.

Leaving Wally and Damian open for an ambush.

“Excuse me?” someone cleared their throat behind them, “I… I can’t believe you’re actually here…”

Startled, Damian brandished a bat-a-rang immediately and spun on his heel to attack. Before he could launch his weapon, though, Wally gripped his wrist in an iron vice. “Damian, no ,” he scolded, nodding towards the frightened teenager in front of them, “ friend .”

He glared at the speedster, unrelenting in his combat stance. Wally didn’t back down either.

The newcomer looked between them, nerves dying as each second ticked on by. “Uh… is he gonna put that down?”

“Yes.” “ No .”

Wally sighed, lowering Damian’s hand. “Sorry, we’re a little on edge…”

“Yeah, yeah,” the teen said, “Emerald Empress took a lot out of all of us… your team did a great job.”

Nodding, Damian used his silence to study the newcomer. Recognizes him from their previous battle as the one with lightning powers. If he hadn’t witnessed his powers in action the costume would telegraph immediately what he can do. Lightning bolts mean two things - and he didn’t rush away like any other speedster would when presented with danger. So that meant the only other option was electricity manipulation. “Who are you?”

“Oh, right, uh -” the teen chuckles awkwardly, scratching his head, “the name’s Garth - or, uh Lightning Lad.”

“Cool. I’m Wally, Kid Flash. And my trigger happy friend is Damian -”

“ Robin .”

“...I was getting to that.”

Garth beamed, “I know, I know! I… kinda know a lot about you, actually…”

A chill raced down Damian’s spine at the giddiness crackling across Garth’s face. Being trapped with a fanboy is not what he needed. Wally tensed as well, darting his gaze over in silent communication. However a different emotion flickered behind his eyes, telling Damian to suck up whatever outburst bubbled up inside him. He snapped his jaw shut. Agreeing to play nice only because he felt too tired to cause a scene.

“Hey,” Wally started, “it’s always great to meet a fan -”

“A huge fan,” Garth cut him off, “Like, you’re such an inspiration. I remember growing up, whenever a dust storm tore through our settlement and we’d be locked inside for days , my brother, sister and I would read up on all your classic adventures.” He turns to Damian, “Both of yours.”

“I’m surprised you had time to even read about his ,” Damian smirked, “ my adventures - that have passed and are yet to come - should have been enough entertainment.”

“...Actually you’re featured in a lot of Flash’s stories.”

Damian bristled again, not caring for how Wally’s chest puffed up. Only to deflate slightly, with a sigh. “Looks like I’ll never get rid of you,” he mumbled.

Scoffing, he rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky I still hang around you after all these years…”

Garth chuckled. “Oh, man… the banter is just like they said it’d be.” He bounced where he stood, sparks jumping off his shoulders. “I really can’t believe… you two. Some of the best teen heroes. You are part of the reason I am who I am today. I’ve met Superman and Jon already… all I’ll need for my life to be complete is to meet the originals and I’ll be set!”

“Originals?” Damian asked, “What are you talking about?”

“You know, your mentors. Batman and Flash ,” Garth continued, eyes glowing blue, “Those guys, I mean… Growing up where I’m from there were some pretty strict rules on how to live your life. If you didn’t fit the mold you’d be ignored and cast aside. My brother Mekt… being born without a twin… Anyway, Batman and Flash were in your face with who they were. When they came out they didn’t bat an eye -”

“What?”

Damian and Wally leaned forward with vested interest. “What?” Wally said again, “What do you mean, ‘came out’?”

“When they publicly announced they were dating?” Garth answered, “Well… it’s not like they had a choice, what with that picture in the Gotham Gazette but - hey, they didn’t deny it! That’s…” He stilled, finally noticing the expressions of the others. “You didn’t know? But aren’t you from… wait, what year are you from?”

“2019.”

Garth paled, stepping away from them. “Oh… oh frack . I - I shouldn’t have said that, should I?”

It didn’t matter. The future dropped upon them like a bombshell. Damian’s vision whited briefly until he blinked into awareness once more. Wally’s grip on his wrist tightened, reminding him that throughout the conversation he latched on like a vice. Wrenching free, the bat-a-rang fell with a clatter.

“Please,” Garth whispered urgently, “forget I said anything. Brainy’s all about not interfering with the timeline. If he finds out I outed them he’ll kill me… and that’d really hurt my chances with the guy.” He looked between them. “You don’t have any questions, do you?”

There were a million. Except Jon returned, telling them how it was time the Titans returned to the present. Herded into the time bubble, Wally and Damian didn’t say another word about what they learned. Waiting for the perfect moment to discuss it.

With others who deserved to know.

They watch their family process the information, breath held, waiting for a response.

Bart reacts first. He snorts, drawing all focus to him. A single laugh blossoms into a full-body heave until he tips over the couch, sprawling across Damian’s brothers’ laps. “That’s really funny guys,” he wheezes, “Seriously… amazing.”

Damian scowls. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because it’s not true?”

“We were in the future, Bart,” Wally says, “How can it not be true?”

“Maybe it has to do with the fact that I’m from the future?” he says, “Because I’m Barry and Iris’s grandson . If they somehow didn’t end up together d’you think I’d still be here?”

“Then again,” Tim interrupts, “you are from a timeline that doesn’t exist anymore.”

Bart’s good mood shatters into a million pieces. Pouting, he glares at his friend. “Thanks for reminding me.”

Jason shifts under his heavy weight, rolling Bart off. “So,” he says after the heavy thud , “What are we gonna do?”

“Who says we have to do anything?” Duke says, “It sounds like them getting together is a good thing - hey !” He whacks the pillow thrown at him from its target, his face. Jason, the guilty culprit, looks remorseless. “What was that?”

“You were speaking crazy,” Jason tells him, “How can Bruce dating Barry be any good .”

Dick smirks, folding his arms across his chest. “Wow, Jason. Didn’t know you were a homophobe .”

“Fuck you, it’s not like that.”

“Then what is it?”

Jason sinks into the couch, mirroring his brother. “If Bruce really is gay, bi or… queer than… it’ll be another thing we have in common,” he whines, “The more that happens the sadder I get.”

“Wow,” Dick says, voice thick with emotion. He reaches across to squeeze Jason’s shoulder. “I can’t believe… you actually followed through whenever I told you to suck a dick. I’m proud of you.”

Slapping Dick off him, Jason bares his teeth in a growl. “Keep talking and I’ll show you how I beat Dick .”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Wally zooms from his seat and breaks the two apart, hands firm against their chests. “Knock it off you two, we’re getting distracted from the bigger picture… how to make sure this doesn’t happen.”

“You mean you don’t want to be brothers, Wall?”

He rolls his eyes at Dick’s artificially sweet expression. “Batman’s creepy enough without imagining him all domestic with Barry.”

“Or all sex-like ,” Jason adds, making every wrinkle in the room crease with agony.

Damian shakes the image from his mind, switching back onto the topic at hand. “Now we’ll have to be very careful so they won’t find out we’re on to them -”

“Which’ll be hard,” Tim adds, “they’re two of the best detectives in the world.”

“But they’re only two people,” Wally says, stepping closer to Damian, “we’re a team . Trade shifts - always knowing where they are. Making sure they’re not alone together.”

Wally raises a brow at his cousin. “I bet you want to tell Superman or Wonder Woman, too… have an inside operative during Justice League meetings.”

“...That could work.”

Duke stands with a shout, interrupting the planning. “This is crazy! If Bruce and Barry want to be together than why should we get in the way? It seems like the future’s pretty good when they’re a couple. Are we really gonna get in the way of that?”

His outburst brings an unexpected bout of clarity to Damian’s plans, parting the cloudy skies for sunshine to burst through. Reminded of Garth’s casual openness about himself and his reverence to Damian’s father, he winces.

Like dominoes everyone else sobers into quiet reflection. The energy fueling the crazy planning in the room deflates, letting everyone return to their senses. Damian feels the tightness of his bones over hearing the shocking news finally settle, as if coming to terms with the future.

Dick clears his throat, the first to break the silence. “But if they do get together,” he starts, waiting until he’s found every eye in the room before continuing, “... then Jason won’t be special anymore.”

“That’s it !”

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

Bruce adjusts himself on the Batcave’s examination table, eyes fluttering shut as Barry runs careful fingers across his temple. When they stumble over the cut he hisses, a hand darting over to squeeze his.

“Sorry ‘bout that, babe,” Barry says, “that’s one well hidden wound.”

“It’s okay,” he says, “It’s my fault for letting Kite Man get the drop on me.” The mediocre villain swooped in and sliced open his cowl with the tail of his giant kite, catching the Dark Knight in a moment of weakness. If Barry hadn’t been at his side, he would have walked away with much worse.

“I’m surprised he got a few good swings in,” Barry says, dabbing at the cut with some peroxide, “You feeling okay?”

“I’ve… got a lot on my mind.”

Barry pauses, pulling away. Bruce cracks one eye open, frowning at the seriousness weighing on his lover’s shoulders.

“Nothing bad,” he continues, snaking his arms across Barry’s waist to bring him closer. Spreads his legs open so he can fit between them. He nuzzles at his chest, enjoying the frantic heartbeat that is normal for Barry Allen. “I… I’ve been thinking about us and… the future .”

“...Wanna elaborate on that so my mind won’t fill in the blanks?”

Bruce takes a steadying breath, the words rushing from his mouth afterwards. “I want to tell the boys about us.”

An eternity passes in a second, Bruce clinging tight to Barry’s body. Afraid the other man will vibrate free and out of his life. That never happens. Instead the opposite, Barry settles further into the moment. Tips Bruce’s head so he can see the beaming smile on his face.

“What brought this on?”

“I… I just think that we've been really good,” Bruce explains, hating how his nerves easily expose themselves in the tremble of his voice. “And I understood why you wanted to take this slow, in case things don’t work out. It wouldn’t be the first for either of us, to have a relationship fall apart. But everyday you stay by my side and I… I feel different. Better. Happier . And I think the same is true for you. We’re making each other better people. I love you and I love the person you inspire me to be… And I want my family to know.”

Barry offers a wet chuckle, hiding in Bruce’s hair. He kisses the cut he grazed earlier, a few tears trickling into it. Composing himself, Barry straightens in Bruce’s embrace. “I love you, too,” he says, “And if you want to tell your boys then… I want to tell the Flash family, too.”

“Really?”

“We should do it together, actually,” he continues, skin vibrating in excitement, “have some sort of family dinner!”

“They’ll immediately sense something’s up if we do that,” Bruce laughs, “You sure we can’t just call a meeting down here and… rip the band-aid off? In costume?”

Barry rolls his eyes. “Come on, it won’t be so bad. I mean what’s the worst that can happen?”

Bruce readies a response, only the clacking of Alfred’s heels interrupts him. His butler speeds over with anxious haste. “Master Bruce? Barry?”

“Yes Alfred?”

“It’s the boys.”

A headache tickles his head, adding to the pain already camping there. “Which boys.”

“All the boys,” he says, turning to Barry, “even your boys.”

“What?” Barry asks, “What are they doing here?”

“I don’t know, but a fight’s broken out!”

Barry tenses against Bruce. “A fight?”

Bruce, disappointed, sighs while sliding off the table. “What happened?”

“I’m not sure. One moment I was in the kitchen readying dinner and the next I knew there were crashing sounds coming from the parlor. When I got there Duke had a speedster in a headlock, Dick and Wally were fighting, and Jason hung Damian off the chandelier… again .”

Frowning, Bruce fixes his cowl. He looks to Barry, “Looks like family dinner will have to wait.”

Barry shrugs, mirroring him. “I can hope. Besides… that wouldn’t have been very us , would it?” He slips his hand into Bruce’s waiting one, squeezing.

“No it wouldn’t,” Bruce agrees. “Now come on, we have a fight to break up.”

[batstorm93672]

One hand to his chest and the other to the floor, everything was spinning and he felt like falling. What the hell caused this? He can't remember, he just knows it hurts like hell.

Something was trying to catch his attention, but his mind was too muffled to locate the whereabouts. A sharp pain in his back, was it his spine? No not again! His back hurts so much, no where were the bullets? Who shot him? Not Flamingo right? Not again. WHO FUCKING SHOT HIM?!

Damian screamed moving his hands to his back and beginning to search for any sign of the bullets. Why was there nothing? He can't feel any bullets, is it already too late? Will he have to suffer again through his mother trying to hurt him? Would he cause his siblings pain without even meaning to? What would they all think? That he went back to his killing ways? That he can't ever change and will always be a horrible killer?

Something began to draw him away from the bullets, a weird sensation... A pulse?

A pulse, who? Who's pulse is this? Not his, he was looking for bullets not a pulse.

"-in and out"

Huh?

Who's talking?

"Breath-"

Ugh he can't focus! Come on there's a pulse and voice, meaning he isn't alone. So someone can help explain that if he does try to hurt them without meaning to, that it isn't his fault. "W-Where are the bullets!" "-at?" "GET THEM OUT PLEASE! WHERE ARE THE FUCKING BULLETS!"

"-no"

No? Why won't they help? Who is it? A foe? Did they cause this?

"Y-You did this to me? Why would you shoot me?! I don't wanna go through this again!"

"-re -let"

No wait... it can't a foe, if it was they wouldn't know about the pulse and try to calm him down.

Damian's voice slurred as he spoke again, without so much anger or fear "Y-You didn't do it... you're trying to help..."

"-m"

"Can't hear..."

"-okay"

Damian took a few deep breaths, focusing on the pulse. After a few minutes he managed to match it, he could focus more and their voice was more clear.

"Hey there, nice to see you all better"

Female.

But who?

"Take it easy"

"Brown... is that you?"

"Yeah it's me"

Stephanie, it's Stephanie. Damian rolled over onto his back and looked at the ceiling, they were in the Batcave. "My spine... is okay?" "Yeah nothing happened to hurt you" "Mm, haha I'm an idiot for thinking it was happening again" "No. You are not an idiot, panic attacks over a traumatic experience is normal for such a thing" "Do you know how it began?"

"You were fighting against the simulator, a hologram shot a couple of times and they were right behind you. Next thing I know, you fell to your knees and started to scream. Scared me greatly, so I did what Bruce said to do if you have a panic attack" "Father mentioned a way to help?" "Yeah, he has a whole file on all of us if we have panic attacks and what to do to calm us down" "I did not see my name on that file?" "He makes sure to exclude the certain name so we don't feel bad about ourselves and such, but pretty much everyone already knows" "How interesting"

"Yeah it seems the hologram soundings of bullets had you convinced that you were shot. Honestly speaking, this is the first time I've heard about your spine? If you don't mind me asking, what happened?"

"Shot five times in the back, paralyzed until Grayson brought me to mother who replaced my spine with a metal one, it was simply a ploy to use me against my will by controlling me. Grayson and I went and destroyed the device meant to control me in the first place"

"Holy crap! So your spine is metallic"

"Yeah, it causes some pain to my nervous system at times"

"I'm sorry to hear that"

"You need not apologize, it's not your fault. I must thank you for helping me through this, even if you didn't know what occurred"

"Of course"

Damian sat up, stretching his arms up and resting his head on Stephanie's shoulder. Stephanie wrapped her arms around him and he closed his eyes in her warm embrace.

[tropesarenotbad]

Caption/ID: A white person with a mohawk and goatee is pretending to be different people 

Bill (Professional Henchman), in a black baseball cap: oh and over there is where we keep all the novelty masks for various robberies 

New Goon, no baseball cap: oh, good to know

Bill: and with that, I think the tour of the evil lair is complete. Got any questions?

NG: yeah, just one— if I’m on, like, lookout duty and I spot a super of any kind, what should I do?

Bill: well seeing as we’re in Gotham you really only have enough time to go “it’s the Bat!” and all of a sudden you wake up in the ICU

NG: oh that makes sense

Bill: however if he leaves you for seconds then there is actually a colour-coded system that we use

NG: oh shit that sounds efficient

Bill: yeah, yeah it is. Yellow circle [he holds up a hand and the classic batman logo with a yellow circle appears] usually means that he’s in a pretty good mood and you’re probably going to keep your kneecaps

NG: I—I’d like to keep my kneecaps

Bill: Yeah I remember I said that the first time too. No yellow circle [he holds up a hand to show the batman logo without a circle] if it’s just a black bat, you’re probably fucked you’re probably going to lose a couple of bones

NG: I’m sorry lose bones? 

Bill: yes lose bones keep up kid. If it’s any variation of a red bat [he holds up his hand, the Batwoman logo appears] spiky or otherwise, don’t even bother screaming we will probably hear the gunshots before you even have time to get something off

NG: What— the fuck up I thought Bats had a no gun rule

Bill: Nonono, Batman has a no gun rule. Batwoman? Not so much

NG: Oh so essentially if it’s anything but a yellow circle bat I’m fucked

Bill: oh no no no no no, if it’s like a blue bird [he holds up a hand where Nightwing’s logo appears] or like a blue V symbol you’re good, you’re only going to get a couple of bruises and then sent home

NG: well at least there’s another option

Bill: Ehhh his turf is bludhaven I ain’t counting that one. If it’s a yellow bat [he holds up a hand for the Batgirl logo] I would probably be... worried? 

NG: Why, is there something special about that one?

Bill: I mean like, yeah kind of— there’s a couple of them. If she’s got red hair [Barb Gordon], you’re probably going to get the shit kicked out of ya, basically the same as getting the shit kicked out of you by batman with no yellow circle. If it doesn’t have any hair and no mouth [Cass Caine]? Don’t even bother screaming, same rules as red bat, you’re probably going to be dead before we can say anything

NG: Oh so the yellow bat is just bad fucking news then

Bill: Nah nahnahnahnah if she’s got blonde hair [Stephanie Brown] you’re fine don’t worry you can kill that one. 

NG: so yellow bat is just like a sometimes scary then?

Bill: I mean yeah basically the yellow bat follows the R rule

NG: I’m sorry the R rule?

Bill: ah shit I guess you should explain the R rule— the R rule is basically that every single Robin has their own fucking deal. So, so if the R is blocky [holds up a hand to show both the Dick Grayson and Jason Todd Robin logo] then you’re probably not going to get beat up that bad, unless the kid looks really fucking mad then, then you might get thrown off a roof

NG: it’s either not bad or thrown off a roof?

Bill: Eh yeah you kinda just have to judgement call that one. If it’s a spiky R with no yellow circle [hand shows the Tim Drake Robin logo] then you’re probably going to get hit in the face with a metal pole a couple of times

NG: this is so much

Bill: Yeah I mean and the same rules apply for a yellow bird [Red Robin’s logo appears, Red Robin also being Tim Drake] on that one but that one’s just gonna hit you a little bit harder

NG: Wait I thought we were talking about the R’s isn’t this a Robin thing?

Bill: Yeah we are that one’s just the same Robin keep up. If it’s got one spike [hand shows an R with a spike both towards the main mast of the R and a spike in the downward swoop of the R, exclusively Damian Wayne’s logo] —you’re probably gonna die that one has a sword

NG: One of them has a sword?

Bill: One of the Robins, yeah, and I mean like Red Hood does also but only sometimes

NG: Okay and he’s... one of the red bats, right?

Bill: Yeah, oh and sometimes he’s got like this red V mask design [his hand shows the Red Hood logo] too

Red Hood suddenly appearing behind them: Oh and don’t forget his design is sometimes close to a red bird

Bill: Oh yeah and sometimes it’s a red bird design on his chest

NG: Okay, good to know, thanks man

Red Hood: Oh yeah, don’t mention it

Bill: Yeah ... OH SHIT

Red Hood: -lunges towards them-

/end caption/ID

My favorite tik toker strikes again!

[iphoenixrising]

Been going through a lot lately. I had this great idea! Imagine Alpha damian helping omega dick through his heat. Like dick is all embarrassed and hesitant, but damian is a persistant little shit

hi babe.

it’s ah late and I’ve got to crash soon, but just something short, okay?

(Btw, gotta have Tim there, so maybe a little more the Pack Alpha is guiding Dami on how to take care of an Omega the right way.)

**

Dami’s face had been pink when he came down to the Cave, newly presented–

–with questions.

“Father is a Beta,” Baby Bat said quickly, “I want to learn these things from an Alpha, and you have always been good to Grayson and Todd…”

He’d been pleasantly surprised, hands frozen on the keyboard of the big computer, riding only in the body suit and utility belt, getting down some notes before he pissed off back to his Perch in the city. 

(“Stay the night,” B had tried to coax them after they’d gotten back from a good fucking night out on the streets. “You can go back tomorrow morning if you absolutely have to. Besides, Dick is out with Wally and Jay is with Artemis. Your room is ready upstairs.” Hm. Looks like he’s going to take B up on that offer after all.)

He saves his progress and turns away from the computer to give the younger Alpha his attention, “Okay. I’m all ears, Dami. Talk to me.”

It was a few hours of Q&A, the fourth Robin intently listening even to more…graphic details–

“How will I know I will not…hurt my Omega?”

“They’re built to take a knot. You can tell your Omega is ready by how much slick you can scent and feel–”

But by the end of it, Dami still looked too troubled for Tim’s piece of mind.

Tim kept mulling over it, wondering if he’d said all the right things, but when Dick made it back to Gotham first, he could put the worry away for a little while and take care of his Omega.

It was rewarding, stripping Dick down to the skin and making sure his scent was on every inch of that body, to make Dick’s exhaustion and strain ease under things like pleasure and love and care. It was focusing on a lightly-scented bath, gentle but thorough washing, a nice, filling dinner with something fancy for dessert. It was the mint massage oil and knotted muscles finally relaxing under his slick hands, the sleepy, half-mast eyes watching him motherhen fondly.

It’s later, holding Dick against his chest, the purr soft and deep against the night, that he wonders again if he shouldn’t make Baby Bat meet him tomorrow night on the Wallstone. Just a little, “patrol with me tonight. Let’s break some faces,” while he feels out where the young Alpha in his Pack is at. He’s thinking of about four contingencies, when a hand comes from under the covers and smoothes over his forehead.

“Wrinkly brow, Timmy. Your face will stay like that.”

He tells Dick generally what happened and what he’s planning. 

It’s even more of a twist when Dick gives him a plan of his own: 

“Why not just show him?”

Which is how (with a little more communication involved) they ended up in Titan’s Tower with Dick naked and utterly beautiful in the center of his bed with Dami mouthing at his hips and ribs, gently fingering him up after Tim made him come the first time, just with hands and mouth.

(”Make him come at least once before you knot him.” The Pack Alpha’s voice is deep from taking Dick’s cock all the way down, two fingers moving, the scent of slick intoxicating. “That’ll make him nice and relaxed. He’ll come easier, be more sensitive, especially here,” and takes a pert nipple in his mouth to lick and suck.)

“See how much he likes that? You’re doing perfect, Baby Bat, being a good Alpha and taking care of him.”

Dick’s mouth falls open, hands spasming in the sloppy sheets.

“You are mesmerizing, Richard,” is hoarse and deep while the fourth Robin works him. “More than Tim could ever describe.”

“Give him another, Dami, just a little more and you’ll hit–”

The cry pulled out of the Omega is really just jackpot. 

“Nice. You’re going to make him feel so good, aren’t you? He gets so wet when you touch him there.”

And of course, they all talked it this long beforehand. First him and Dick, then him, Dick, and Jay, then he and Dick went to Dami with the offer. Jay went next with Baby Bat to assure him the Pack was good with this, and if he learns from their Alpha, any ‘Mega he might get his hands on will be one lucky sumbitch, yeah?

So it’s Tim with his boxers, pointedly remaining clothed while their Robin watched and now takes Dick apart with his hands and mouth, uses what he learned, strives to find all the right spots, works to make the Omega under him keen. 

He doesn’t even notice when his purr starts to rumble his chest, vibrating down Dick’s spine, straight to his cock. 

“Make him come again before you fuck him,” is the sage advice from the red-faced Pack Alpha, lip bitten raw at the picture they make together, at how good they smell in His. Fucking. Bed. “That’ll make him feel so good when you knot him. Our Omega deserves to come as many times as you can make him.”

Dami pauses in lapping at Richard’s scars without stopping the motion of his hands, “Tim…Alpha, can I…? Is this–Will you allow this?”

Tim leans down on his elbows, his smirk satisfied and calculating. Someone that has a plan.

“We all talked about it, Dami. Dick and Jay both want to help you any way they can.”

And the youngest Bat’s eyes slide down to Dick’s pink-face, moving his free hand to turn his mentor’s face so he can look deeply into those half-mast eyes.

“Richard…Dick, I– I would never harm you. You know that, yes?”

“D-Dami! Of course I oh, oh there! Again! Dami, again!”

Hips undulate, Dick trying to fuck himself on Dami’s hand.

“Our Alpha will allow me this honor of servicing you, but I must hear it from you as well. Please, tell me I may care for you.”

And it’s so traditional Alpha, formal even when his Alpha cock is hard and red, leaking at the tip, his eyes dilated with arousal, his musk full in the room, mingling with Dick’s sweetness, and Tim’s natural earthy/metal/coffee mix.

For the first time since Dami’s hands spanned bare skin, Dick’s eyes open and his hands release the sheets, to grip his Robin’s forearms, pulling Baby Bat closer down.

“Damian. If you do not take care of me, I’m going to make you patrol downtown and check every dumpster for ten blocks.”

The reply is choked laughter, open and free, all telling how far he’s come since he started wearing the tunic almost a decade ago.

“I will take care of you, Beloved, but you must tell me what you need.”

Tim’s smirk grows when Dami teases, draws it out without stopping, puts more pressure on Dick’s spot to see his hips jump and hear the whines getting louder.  He licks his lips, tries to keep himself from panting, tries to be fine just staring hungrily at the two of them. He doesn’t touch himself at all even thought he’s straining in his boxers, and instantly earns all the vigilante points in the world.

It’s not long after Dami’s first knot goes down and he’s flopped beside Dick’s sprawled form, a palm over the slight curve of Dick’s belly, that the younger Alpha whines for him, eyes too big in his face.

It’s easy to stand and lean over Dick’s sated form and rub a hand through his hair absently while nuzzling against Dami’s nose affectionately.

“You did such a good job, Dami. I’m so proud of you.”

He’s slightly surprised when their Robin turns his head enough to bring their mouths together, and it’s really unfair how good Dami tastes when his mouth open for a real kiss, and this wasn’t something he thought he could have either.

“The next lesson,” panted against his mouth when Dami starts moving, apparently found some strength in his limbs, “shall be how to take care of our Pack Alpha, isn’t it Richard?”

“I really want to see this.”

“Oh God, Dami–”

“It would only be better if Todd were here with us. Then we could pleasure them together, and continue with one another once they were sated.”

“Onboard,” Tim replies even as he’s moving to top first so he can mouth at the tempting skin he’d been ogling for the past few hours. “First, we get to see who is going to take care of who.”

[thefemalethatwrites]

Devil Within (Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader)

Request: Nope.

Prompt: You were the second Batgirl alongside Jason’s Robin but when he did you left.

Relationships: Bruce Wayne/Batman x Reader, Dick Grayson/Robin/Nightwing x Reader, Jason Todd/Red Hood x Reader

Warnings: Cursing? Torture

Word Count: 2729

A/N: I’ve tried posting this multiple times in the past week but it hasn’t posted but now it has! I must say that this isn’t one of my best pieces. Enjoy anyways.

~~~

(Y/N)'s POV

"Hello everyone and welcome back to my YouTube channel. Today I was supposed to be met with a dear friend of mine, who've you met plenty of times before; Jason Todd, however he's bailed-" I was cut off by my phone, I raised an eyebrow as I looked at the Caller ID, 'Bruce', "Hello?" I answered,

"(Y/N), it's Jason" he said,

"What about him? What've you done?" I questioned as I stood up and began pacing,

"The Joker-"

"No! You're lying Bruce! Don't you dare say it!" I snapped cutting him off as tears appeared in my eyes,

"He's dead" He stated making the tears fall, I dropped my phone and fell to my knees letting out a painful scream and sobbed.

***

"Hello everyone and welcome back to my YouTube channel. After my 5 year break from it. As some of you may be wondering why I practically fell off the face of the Earth it's because someone extremely close to me died and I didn't feel like I could give you all my best when I definitely wasn't and I didn't want to put a facade for you. But I'm back and ready to get back to my schedule. I love you all so dearly. Until next time" I say into the camera before switching it off, I sighed as I quickly edited it and uploaded it to my channel, my phone began ringing, I glanced at the caller ID and growled, "What do you want Bruce?" I snapped,

"I need your help taking down Red Hood" he stated, I rolled my eyes

"And what made you think that I wanted to help?" I asked,

"Because he almost killed Tim" He retorted,

"Fine but I'm doing it so another Robin doesn't end up like Jason" I agreed reluctantly before hanging up, I left my recording room and headed into my bedroom, I glanced at my old Bat-girl suit scoffing in disgust before changing into a plain black top with a leather jacket and jeans, I tied my hair up and placed a simple black eye mask on before leaving through my window, I met up with Bruce and Dick,

"(Y/N)" Dick greeted with a smile, engulfing me into a hug, I rolled my eyes as he pulled away,

"Let's get this over with. I don't want to spend another second wasting my time with you" I sneered towards Bruce, he grunted in response before we searched the city for this 'Red Hood'.

Finally we found him, disposing of some drug dealers,

"It's about time you showed up. And you brought a new friend. Another replacement no doubt" Red spat,

"Replacement? I think not. How about I show you how much of a real deal I am" I threatened as I went to go for him but Bruce stopped me making me glare at him,

"This isn't your fight, (Y/N)" he whispered, I growled

"Then why the fuck did you ask for my help?!" I snapped slapping his arm away from me,

"Back up" he answered, which pissed me off even more,

"Back up?! Screw you!" I yelled and I punched him across the face, "Think twice before calling me for back-up again" I spat before going to walk away,

"It's Jason, (Y/N)" Bruce called over making me freeze momentarily as tears made their way to my eyes,

"So you finally figured it out" Red said as he removed his helmet, I slowly turned to see Jason stood there in the flesh, I sighed as I turned back around and headed home.

***

"It's worked. It actually worked" I mumbled as I paced my living room,

"Indeed. Now for you to hold up your end" A deep voice rumbled,

"Fine" I sighed stopping in place, I shiver crawled up my spine making me shake,

"We're now one" The voice announced within my head, I hummed in acknowledgement before turning to my window as Jason climb through it,

"And what can I do to help you?" I asked resting a hand on my hip,

"You look well" he commented, I rolled my eyes and folded my arms,

"What do you want?" I demanded,

"Ouch, that's the treatment your Bestie gets when you find out he's alive? I'm Hurt" he mused,

"Ex-bestie" I corrected,

"Wow...what happened to the happy YouTubing Bat-girl I knew?" He asked,

"She took your death hard, and as a warning that if she continued to wear that symbol on her chest she too would end up 6-feet-under" I answered, he hummed,

"You also stopped YouTube. Until recently" he stated,

"Your point? You were supposed to do a video with me before I got the news. I didn't want the memories to remind me of what I lost" I replied dropping my arms, he sighed,

"Do you still give the best hugs?" He asked, opening his arms awkwardly, a small smile pulled at my lips as I opened my own arms and he stepped into them and I wrapped them around his large frame and squeezed, "I missed you, so much" he whispered,

"I missed you too" I replied.

***

"Hello everyone and welcome back to my YouTube channel. Today, I'm joined by the one and only; Jason Todd!" I exclaimed as he sat in the chair next to me,

"Remind me again how I agreed to this?" He asked, I rolled my eyes

"Because you owe me. Plus, I'm your bestie" I beamed making him chuckle,

"Anyway, today I-we will be look at some of your fan-work; this includes art stuff, video edits and dare-I-say stories/imagines/head cannons" I explained,

"You're going to regret that last category" Jason commented making me slap his arm,

"Shush. Let's start with Tumblr art" I say as I searched my name and brought up several art pieces made by people,

"Hold up, is that us?" Jason said as he pointed to an artwork, it was of him and I younger, I was smiling/laughing and Jason had a bright smile on his face as he looked at me,

"Where did this come from?" I questioned as I looked through the progression shots then finally the source, "Oh my god. That was the second video we did together. It was a reading your comments" I stated.

***

I groaned as I made my way to my door, I opened it revealing Bruce,

"Nope" I say as I closed it but he stopped it with his hand,

"(Y/N), I need your help" He stated as he invited himself inside,

"The last time you needed my help I was only back-up" I retort, he sigh

"I know and it was wrong of me to do that to you but I really need you this time" He replied,

"You have plenty of other people to help you. Go get them. You can show yourself out" I snap as I began to head towards the kitchen

"Joker has them; Dick, Tim, Damian, Jason" He stated making me stop, "(Y/N) I'm begging you. Put on your cowl one last time for me. For Jason" he pleaded, I changed my course to my bedroom and pulled my batgirl costume out, I put it on and held the cowl in my hands as I exited my room,

"Still fits" I comment, a small smile appeared on his face as he nodded

"Thank you" He said before we headed out to his car.

We arrived at the Cave and was greeted by Alfred, Barbara, Kate, Stephanie and Cassandra,

"(Y/N)?" Barbara asked in disbelief,

"Yeah don't get too excited this is a one off" I replied folding my arms,

"The second batgirl was (Y/N) (L/N)! The famous YouTuber?!" Stephanie exclaimed,

"Yeah. Fan?" I asked, she nodded

"Only one of the biggest!" She answered making me chuckle before turning to Bruce who was now in his Batman suit, I put on my cowl,

"We work as a team. Our objective is to get the boys out" Bruce said, I rolled my eyes but nodded as did Kate, Stephanie and Cassandra,

"Shall we?" I asked as I headed over to the motorbikes.

***

We arrived at an abandoned toy factory,

"Stay alert. I don't want any corpses to drag out" I demanded before we entered the building,

"Do you really think this is a smart idea girl?" The demonic voice asked within my head, I hummed

"Spilt up, we'll cover more ground" I ordered,

"We'll be at a larger risk" Bruce retorted as he grabbed my arm,

"Do you want your sons or not?" I growled pulling my arm from his grip and squared up to him, he gave me his famous bat-glare which I didn't budge under, I only returned it,

"Fine we'll go in small groups, myself and Batgirl, and Batwoman, Spoiler and Black-bat" he ordered, I rolled my eyes and we separated down different corridors,

"Don't ignore me girl" the demonic voice snapped, I heard the psychotic clowns laughter making me spilt from Bruce, I looked through a window and saw each of the boys restrained to a metal chair and beaten, as Kate, Cassandra and Stephanie stood in the middle back to back, Bruce entered the room,

"Yey! Now the really fun can begin now Batsy's here!" Joker exclaimed before a swarm of his henchmen came out from any entrance possible, I sighed and climbed through the window on to the beams above, the four of them were easily overpowered and the Clown prince revealed himself, "I must say Batsy, I'm a little disappointed. Wait...where's Batgirl?" He questioned making me smirk,

"Who?" Bruce asked,

"You know Batgirl! She arrived here with you! I saw her!" Joker exclaimed,

"You must've been hallucinating Joker. No Batgirl arrived with us" Stephanie commented,

"She's right you know" I called out setting them all to look around, I wriggled out of the Batgirl suit revealing my pure black skin-tight bodysuit, I removed my cowl dropping it down below and moving from my position and placed on a simple black eye mask, "Batgirl never arrived with them, it was only little old..." I trailed off as I dropped from the beams on to a henchmen and snapped his neck, "...Me" I smirked before Bruce, Kate, Cassandra and Stephanie broke free and we began to take down the henchmen, Joker ran out of an exit making me growl, as I sliced a throat of one henchmen and drove my knife into a neck of another,

"(Y/N)! We don't kill! I thought you knew that!" Bruce scolded, I rolled my eyes and did a backward handspring avoiding the swings of a henchman before kicking the crowbar out of his hands and catching it before swinging it around his face,

"Get the boys out of here! I'll handle the rest!" I demanded,

"What So you can kill them all?" Bruce growled as he approached me as the last henchman fell, I glared at him

"No, so they can be treated. Now go!" I snapped as another swarm entered the room.

***

I groaned as I came conscious, one of the clowns managed to catch me by surprise with a crowbar to the back of the head,

"Ah finally, now how do you start a live stream Miss (L/N)?" A clown asked, I raised an eyebrow

"And why do you want to start a livestream?" I questioned earning a punch in the face, sending my head to the side,

"I don't. Joker does. Now tell me!" he snapped as he came to hit me but a gunshot echoed though the room and he fell backwards,

"Honestly, you can't find the men these days. I do apologise Miss (L/N) for his awful hospitality. Perhaps I'll be better. Now, let's start a livestream" Joker said as he approached a laptop that was hooked up to a camera, my eyes widened as it was on my channel, "Oh I hope you don't mind. Your channel does reach to a lot of people" he said before beginning the livestream, "See! We've only just started and we're closing up on 1million viewers. Our fans!" He cheered coming over to me,

"Go to hell!" I spat trying to get to him, he smacked me around the face with a crowbar making me yelp,

"Oh no we can't be having that. And to make sure that you don't die no one can cancel the stream or leave it" He chuckled before connecting the crowbar with my ribs causing another yelp,

"You can leave your streams on just leave your phone or computer or whatever you're watching this on" I demanded before getting another hit,

"So batsy, I know you're watching me along with all your bat-brats now you can either come save her or you could leave her in my hands. I promise I'll take the best care with her" Joker bargained making me chuckle,

"Of course you will" I commented earning another couple of hits, "B I know I've been off with you but if you or any of you other bats come save me I'll kick your ass myself. We all know I've been through worse. Since I was Batgirl" I smirked,

"What?! You were Batgirl?!" Joker exclaimed as he bent over in front of me, I narrowed my eyes at him

"Yes!" I growled as I kicked him in the manhood then head butted him.

***

"And we've hit the 72hours mark. Wow you can endure a lot" Joker stated,

"Come on girl. Kill him" The demonic voice commented,

"No" I grumbled,

"He's a monster" It continued,

"No" I repeated,

"Just like you" It stated,

"No!" I yelled gaining Jokers attention,

"No? No to what? Finally lost your mind?" Joker chuckled before skipping around the room,

"No. She didn't want to give up this fragile body to me" The demon spoke from me as I was locked into my mind.

Jason's POV

"No. She didn't want to give up this fragile body to me" (Y/N) said in a deeper, broken voice,

"Huh?" Joker asked as he stopped in his tracks, (Y/N) snapped free of the restraints kicking the Joker backwards into the camera, knocking it over,

"She fought so hard against me taking control and killing your pathetic self" (Y/N) spoke before the Joker let out multiple grunts, the camera was picked up revealing a bloody, bruised and beaten (Y/N) but her eyes were completely black, "I'm in control now. The girl you all once loved is gone and there's nothing you or she can do to stop me!" (Y/N) snapped before chuckling, dropping the camera that was aiming towards the Joker who was unconscious, "I must thank you 'Joker' if it wasn't for you, I would've never taken control of this body. Bye-bye now" (Y/N) cooed.

***

(Y/N)'s POV

"(Y/N)!" Jason yelled, I turned to face him,

"Oh it's you. The dead boy wonder. The reason she's in this predicament" The demon spoke,

"Shut up! He doesn't need to know this!" I snapped, the demon chuckled

"Oh but he does girl. You see Jason, (Y/N) was so torn up over your death that she went all over the world to find a way to bring you back. She eventually came across me and bargained her body as a host if I brought you back" The demon explained, I sighed

"But you didn't bring me back. Talia Al Ghul did" Jason retorted, 

"True but she doesn't know that. Or didn't" The demon chuckled,

"You lied to me!?" I exclaimed,

"You lied to her. Give her back!" Jason yelled as he came to attack, he was easily beaten and thrown on to his back,

"You want to know why she desperately wanted you back. Why she was so willing to give herself up?" The demon questioned as I circled Jason,

"You're probably going to tell me anyway" Jason grunted as I kicked him in the gut,

"She loved you. She still does. I know that her watching this is torture" the demon tainted as I withdrew a sword from thin air, "So why not let her watch you die" The demon said as I went to impale him,

"No!" I screamed and the sword stopped mid-way, 

"What the-?" The demon asked,

"You're not hurting anyone else" I growled making my eyes widened as I regained control over my body,

"No!" The demon yelled from inside my head, I smirked and threw the sword away,

"Didn't hurt you too bad did I?" I asked Jason as I helped him up, he engulfed me in hug,

"Not at all. I've missed you" He replied making me smile as I returned the hug,

"Me too. You best get me back to the Cave and locked up until Constantine arrives and removes this thing from me" I stated as I pulled away, he nodded,

"Just one last thing" He said before crashing his lips on to mine making my eyes widen in shock before easing into and returning it, we pulled apart and smiled at each other,

"I love you too. Since we were Robin and Batgirl, if I'm honest" He confessed, I chuckled giving him a quick peck,

"And I've loved you since then as well, Jason Peter Todd" I smiled.

[audreycritter]

Hullo there, Bruce & Jason family bonding. A fic request response for @mylittleangelxxx​ set in Cor Et Cerebrum continuity. 

Gen Rated T for language

The leaves from the puny, withered decorative landscaping tree in the crumbling plaza are tinged red with early autumn. The cracked parking lot with faded yellow lines is not the sort of place one might expect to find Bruce Wayne on a Tuesday afternoon, but he is there nevertheless, sitting in a nondescript car chosen for the occasion, waiting.

After five minutes pass, the low roar of a motorcycle engine grows closer. A figure in a full mask helmet takes a swooping right into the plaza and pulls up next to the car, almost too close to the driver door. The bike shuts off and Jason Todd takes his helmet off and hangs it on the handlebars.

He's parked so close that Bruce can barely open his door enough to climb out. He frowns at the bike and twists sideways to fit through the narrow opening. Jason makes no effort to move the motorcycle but grins crookedly at him.

“Hiya, Dad,” he says, and Bruce almost shuts the corner of his jacket in the door when he starts.

“You do that on purpose,” he says, only mildly irritated and mostly, secretly, pleased. He means, vaguely, Jason’s tendency to only pull out the familial name when he's either genuinely distressed or hopes to startle or otherwise jolt Bruce.

“What?” Jason asks, a hand over his chest. “‘Me? Call you father? The nerve.”

Despite the offended tone, Bruce is relieved that Jason seems to be in a good mood. He's been the most temperamental of their patchwork family unit for some time, but the past year has had the lemons-and-sugar effect of drawing the kid closer to family and rattling him physically and emotionally all at the same time.

As if Jay, of all people, needed more of that.

Instead of answering Jason’s mock outrage, Bruce tousles the boy’s hair hard enough to make him duck his head and swat at the side of Bruce’s face in retaliation. The blow cuffs Bruce’s cheekbone and even Jason looks surprised at how solidly it landed.

“Ow,” Bruce says, putting a hand to his face. “I probably deserved that.”

“You crybaby,” Jason shoots back, heading across the lot for the small store that is their intended destination. “It was frickin’ nothing,” he calls out behind him.

Bruce follows and quickens his pace to be walking alongside Jason, whose shoulders are hunched while his hands are jammed into his pockets.

“Jay,” Bruce says, as they step up on the curb in tandem. “Don't worry about it.”

Something in Bruce’s tone must convince Jason, because instead of tightening toward explosion, the young man visibly relaxes. The door bell chimes as Bruce pulls on the metal handle and they go from the bright autumn light into the dim interior.

The inside of the musty, crowded shop smells of ink and old paper and Bruce inhales deeply. Jason has pulled his hands out of his pockets and is already picking up clothbound books on the new arrivals shelf, turning them over as he studies the spines.

“Hullo,” a voice calls from the back of the bookstore. “Be right with you!”

The towering wooden and metal shelves are so closely spaced, it’s hard to see very far from the front counter. The shelving doesn’t match and Bruce has always guessed it was picked up piecemeal from library auctions, but he isn’t certain. The layout of the store is older than him, by maybe a decade or more.

Jason’s already tucked a book under his arm before turning for the taller stacks. Bruce catches a glimpse of it as he walks by-- it’s a worn Tom Swift.

“Are we looking for something?” Jason asks, scanning the shelves. They’re a mix in this aisle of more recent used books, none older than twenty or thirty years. Some of them have intact dustjackets with faded or folded edges.

“I haven’t stopped by in a while,” Bruce says, crouching in the narrow space to study a shelf of densely packed paperbacks. He makes a quick study of the vertical names, searching for Allingham or Sayers or anything missing from Alfred’s worn collection.

“You needed a babysitter?” Jason asks, amused, without looking down. There’s a tenseness in his voice when Bruce stands and Jason glances over, doing a single sweep with his eyes of the fluid motion. “You’re not nursing broken ribs or a fucking concussion, are you?”

“No,” Bruce says, letting the slight sting of the assumption wash over him and choosing to let it fade away. “Just thought you’d enjoy it. It’s been a busy few weeks.”

“Frick, but it has,” Jason sighs, pulling a book out to look at the cover. He makes a face and nods to it.

Bruce looks. It’s a painting of a vampire in a black cape with shining silver teeth, embracing a woman with blonde, curling locks and a sheathed knife strapped to her bare back.

“It’s you and Selina,” Jason says with a smirk, sliding the book back.

“Stop,” Bruce says, attempting sternness but failing miserably to his own ears. “Selina would never carry a dagger that impractical.”

In response, Jason snorts and then takes the book all the way off the shelf and holds it against his side along with the Tom Swift volume.

“I think I need this one,” he says, turning the corner around the aisle.

“Sorry about that,” the voice from the back of the store says, drawing close to them. “Was in the middle of glueing a spine.”

An elderly man with a stooped back emerges from a back room, just at the corner they’re approaching. There’s a flicker of recognition and then he smiles warmly.

“Mr. Wayne!” he exclaims. “I was starting to get worried I’d lost my bread and butter.”

“We’ve been busy, Mr. Murphy,” Bruce says easily and Jason gives a slight wave and resumes looking over a high row of much older books, with maroon or mustard or navy cloth bindings and embossed titles and curved spines. “We were overdue for a visit.”

“I’d say,” Murphy agrees. “And this boy of yours. I haven’t seen him in over a year.”

“I’ve been out of town,” Jason says, tearing his eyes away from the shelf. Bruce can’t tell if the older man’s attention is making Jason feel welcome or uneasy, the boy’s face is so impassive.

“Ah, well,” Murphy gestures a ‘what-can-you-do’ with his hands. “I have some things I’ve been waiting to show you, Mr. Wayne.”

“Lead the way,” Bruce agrees amiably, letting himself be drawn away from the $1 and $2 volumes lining the shelves of the aisle they’re in. They approach the front again, drawing close to the glass case near the register. Jason trails after them and then joins Bruce in leaning over the glass.

Murphy pulls a small keyring out of his pocket and unlocks the case from behind.

“This, this one I got from a German fellow,” he says, reverently lifting a gray and tan book. “Goethe’s Faust, a Harrap printing for London. One of a thousand in the first run.” He opens the book and holds the pages spread for them and Bruce scans the German verse without touching the book.

“Faust creeps me out,” Jason says, with clear admiration in his eyes.

“You prefer Marlowe?” Murphy asks, raising an eyebrow.

“If you sell your soul to the devil, doesn’t matter if it’s in English or German,” Jason says.

“Eh,” Murphy says. “Probably true.”

“I’ll take it,” Bruce says, eyeing Jason sidelong. The younger man, for all his protests, still hasn’t taken his gaze off the dark lines of text. “What else do you have?”

“You don’t have a Faust?” Jason asks, finally looking away as Murphy closes the book and sets it aside. “No. I know you have a Faust. At least four, actually. I remember moving them.”

“And now you do,” Bruce says casually, turning his attention back to the contents of the case.

Beside him, Jason freezes and makes a small noise of protest.

“You’re not going to buy me a ton of shit,” Jason says. Bruce thinks he sounds more pleased than annoyed.

“No,” Bruce agrees. “Which is why I had to get that one in before you were on your guard. Help me find something for Damian.”

“Is that a Narnia set?” Jason asks, peering down, distracted.

“It is,” Murphy agrees. “First American printing. Got it just yesterday, actually. Condition isn’t great but it’s not bad, either. Wanna see it?”

“Yes,” Jason says quickly.

“For Damian?” Bruce asks, guessing this to not be the case for a reason he can’t quite put his finger on. For knowing himself to be an intelligent man, it irritates him how often he feels dense.

“Damian doesn’t like Narnia,” Jason says, taking the offered box set in his hands and looking it over. Apparently, Murphy is unbothered by either of them holding these without a commitment. Or maybe he’s already assumed the sale from Jason’s initial reaction.

“He doesn’t?” Bruce asks. It doesn’t especially surprise him that his youngest isn’t as enraptured by fantasy, but he’s curious about Jason knowing this.

“The Calormen,” Jason says, looking up at Bruce with a crease of his brow.

“Oh,” Bruce says, understanding slamming into him like a careening steam engine. If he’d had a vague sense of feeling dense before, it fully floods him now. “Hm.”

If Murphy is intrigued by this exchange, he doesn’t show it or ask questions. He never has. Bruce isn’t even entirely sure the man is aware that Jason died or if his easy acceptance of Jason’s return is wrapped up in a mute, elderly wisdom of the contradictions of Gotham, even out here in the limping suburbs.

“I’ll take ‘em,” Jason says, surrendering them reluctantly.

Bruce considers, very briefly, telling Murphy to add them to his own tab, but suspects if he does so, Jason won’t show obvious interest in anything else. He decides to just keep track of how much Jason spends and then let Alfred sort it out somehow.

“I’m guessing this is a duplicate for you, too,” Murphy says, with an understanding smile.

“Yeah, you know,” Jason shrugs. “Might have kids someday. Gotta stock up.”

Bruce pretends to be engrossed in a bookbinding, partly so Jason doesn’t see his reaction to this casual statement and partly because he can’t actually figure out quite how he feels about it to hide it very well.

With a casual observer, he might actually be successful, but Jason nudges him in the side with an elbow when Murphy turns to wrap the set in brown paper.

“Oh, shoot,” Murphy says. “I've left the tape in the other room. I'll be right back.”

He leaves the counter, seemingly unworried about leaving them with the open case.

“Don't panic, old timer,” Jason says. “Dickie and I have a pact not to have any until we're sure you're done taking in strays. The family can only handle so much drama.”

“I'm done,” Bruce says resolutely. “And I don't take in strays. You aren't cats.”

“You keep telling yourself that,” Jason says smugly. “I'm waiting til Damian hits sixteen, just in case. It seems to be the cut-off. I'm not in a hurry.”

Despite his outward irritation, the slight glare he turns on his second son, something in Bruce is deeply relieved to hear Jason talk so openly and calmly about his younger siblings. It soothes concerns that Jason, even now, regards their presence as a kind of insult or intrusion.

“Alfred would throw me out of the house,” Bruce says mildly, instead of arguing.

“You could come stay with me,” Jason grins. “It'll be fun. Me, you, a salty teenager, a tiny apartment. Maybe we can get that reality show your PR guy keeps trying to talk you into.”

Bruce chuckles and asks, “Tim?”

“He thought you were considering it, you know,” Jason says. “He called me in a hot panic.”

“What'd you say?” Bruce asks, thinking suddenly of Tim and the fact that he should take the kid out for coffee or something soon.

“I told him it's be good acting practice,” Jason says. “That you sounded excited and we shouldn't take it from you. And that I was going back to stay with the Kents.”

“Jay,” Bruce says, trying to muster the ire to sound reproving.

“B?” Jason asks. Their eyes meet, Jason’s glinting with amusement that Bruce finds himself unable to not match. After a second, something in Jason’s expression shifts, his features more solemn though not troubled. “Shit,” he says plainly. “I've missed you.”

When Jason ducks his head, Bruce puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezes.

“It's been too quiet without you,” Bruce says. “You sure about staying in Gotham this year, though? Clark said Martha already thinks the house feels too empty.”

Jason nods and leans closer to a book.

“Yeah,” he says. “I already got stuff set up at Gotham U. It's time to just fricking get over it and be home. Damian would like that.”

It takes Bruce a moment to realize the last sentence was directed toward the book, and not connected to sentiments about Jason’s physical location.

“What is it?” he asks, twisting his neck trying to make out the faint title.

“Want to see another one? Ah, yes. The Histories.” Murphy asks, returning with an old tape dispenser. When he sets it on the counter, Bruce can hear the sand inside the false wood veneer shifting and settling. “I wasn't joking, you know. Not to pressure you, but I live for a month on your visits.”

“You're just appealing to my sense of pity,” Bruce accuses with a slight smile.

“I own a stinking used book store in a dying plaza,” Murphy says. “Rent is cheap but ebooks are cheaper. I'm not above honest begging to support my paper habit. Can't say no to a pretty book.”

“We are cut from the same cloth,” Jason says a little forlornly. “You want my advice?”

Murphy’s lips twitch, as if he's prepared to be amused, and he lifts the book out without them needing to specify.

“What's your advice, young Xenophon?”

“Find a rich guy to adopt you,” Jason says glibly, carefully holding the book and then handing it to Bruce.

Bruce intentionally and with some effort keeps his face carefully neutral.

“Huh,” Murphy says. “You in the market, Mr. Wayne? Don't know anybody else anymore.”

“No,” Bruce says, “but I'll take the Herodotus.”

“Give him three years,” Jason advises.

“I think we're done,” Bruce says and Jason sets the Tom Swift and paranormal romance on the counter. “Unless you wanted to browse some more.”

“Nah,” Jason says. “I gotta go get my rat from Dev before he gets too attached.”

Murphy begins ringing up the purchases and he pauses when he reaches for the Tom Swift.

“Separate bills?” he asks.

“Hell, no,” Jason says. “I'm broke.”

Bruce’s heart warms a little at this allowance, knowing that Jason both has money and is letting this one fall to Bruce on purpose.

“How long has Dev had the rat?” he asks, pulling out his wallet.

“Since last Thanksgiving,” Jason says.

“Jay,” Bruce says with a crooked smile, “I don't think it's your rat anymore.”

“Come help me liberate him,” Jason invites, a little pleading. “I can't face Dev crying all by myself.”

Murphy’s demeanor betrays no emotion besides mild good humor as he swipes Bruce’s card for the few-thousand dollar charge. Most of it is the Faust.

“I don't even like the rat,” Bruce says. “I told Cass it was a bad idea the first day.”

“Cass didn't listen to you about something?” Jason exclaims, taking the offered brown bag from Murphy. He staggers back in exaggerated and false shock. “The perfect child ignored your fricking wishes? Yours?”

“It is the only mark ever against her,” Bruce says dryly. “Thank you, Mr. Murphy.”

“Come back again,” Murphy says. “Soon.”

Jason nods and they step out of the shop together.

“How are you getting the rat home on a motorcycle?” Bruce asks, unlocking his car. Jason had paused to take the book for Damian out of the bag and he freezes, suddenly, and gives the motorcycle an angry look.

“I don't know,” he says stiffly.

“I'll give you a ride,” Bruce says. “We can swing back for the bike later.”

He waits a moment to see if Jason will argue or resist, either for actual reasons or just to be contrary.

“You sure?” Jason says instead, one hand on the passenger door. “I mean, jiminy cricket, aren't you busy or something?”

“My whole afternoon is yours,” Bruce says. He decides to push a little. “And dinner, if you want it.”

He wasn't lying when he said he had missed Jason. Even if there had been interludes where the family was together, or that week that Jason had surgery and it was just the two of them, it has been a long ten months. It is the sort of thing he felt himself more and more capable of noticing or acknowledging recently, as he is less totally consumed by work. He often finds himself forced to pay attention, by activity in the house and the transition of sullen teens into noisy, bolder young adults.

“Food’s my love language,” Jason says when Bruce joins him in the car. “Did Martha Kent tell you?”

“Alfred could have told me,” Bruce says, guiding the car out of the parking lot.

Jason falls silent and when Bruce looks over, he's perusing the Tom Swift book. Bruce is content to let the silence, which feels more comfortable than tense, settle over them for a while. He drives without forcing effort into maintaining conversation even though a question is nagging the back of his mind, something he's danced around and not directly asked Jason in the few weeks he's been back in Gotham.

It feels more pressing the longer they're on the road until the silence tips from casual to anticipatory. Jason closes the book and looks out the window at the bay as they drive over a bridge.

Bruce clears his throat and for all his usual decisive action, finds the words stuck there.

“So,” Jason says, almost as a prompt. “I think my course load is gonna be pretty heavy this year.”

There are methods of finesse and diplomacy that Bruce finds it easy to wield in the boardroom, when the subject is one he is easily detached from and can be analytical about. But the closer things move up from the work of his fingers to the beating of his heart, the more that tact falls away and he mentally resigns himself to bluntness.

“Are you going to patrol again?”

Jason doesn't look startled by the question but he does, briefly, look very torn. He opens his mouth, swallows, licks his lips and presses them together.

“I don't know,” he says after a long pause. “It feels like a waste not to. What do you think?”

A year ago, six months ago even, this might have felt or even actually been a challenge.

But right now, Bruce just hears an earnest and troubled question.

“I think you should do what's best for you,” he says, knowing this isn't much of an answer but feeling compelled anyway. Jason scoffs and turns back to the window.

“Sure,” he says, bitterly. “Fuck.”

“Jay,” Bruce says, slowing to a stop at a red light. He watches Jason watch the girls in the car stopped next to them.

“What,” Jason says flatly.

“This is hard for me to answer,” Bruce says frankly, thinking of conversations he's had recently with Selina. He wishes he'd talked this through with her, too. She's always been better at nuance. “If I tell you not to go out, I think you'll read it as doubt in your abilities. If I tell you to patrol with us, I'm worried you’ll feel obligated or avoid me.”

“That,” Jason says, looking down at the book on his lap, running a thumb across the cover, “is probably true.”

“So, what do you want? You've had a while off. Do you miss it?”

“I miss feeling like I was making a difference,” Jason says. His thumb traces the curve of a massive, wired contraption in the cover illustration. “But no. I don't miss it. I feel like I should and I don't. And I don't want to decide.”

“Then don't,” Bruce says. “Don't make anything final. Just be Jason for a while. There isn't a deadline.”

“I'm glad I was Robin,” Jason says suddenly, a little fiercely. “I don't regret it.”

“I know,” Bruce agrees quietly. “But you don't have to prove that by never moving on to something else. You can be a Wayne and not have the usual nightlife.”

Jason pulled his hand back from the book and cupped it around his ear, relaxing into a cheeky grin.

“Sorry, I'm a little hard of hearing. All those guns and not enough ear protection. Can you say that again?”

Bruce isn't quite ready to make it into a joke yet.

“I'm serious, Jay. It's my fault I've made it seem mandatory but it was never supposed to be.”

“Okay,” Jason says, lowering his hand. “I'll think about it.”

“And besides, Alfred would throw a party if he thought one of us had enough sense to get out,” Bruce adds, pulling into the parking lot.

“I might pretend to be sure, then, just to get a cake out of it,” Jason says, and the stress in the car seems to have melted away.

“He'd make one for you if you'd just ask,” Bruce says, turning the car off.

“That's not any fun,” Jason says.

They climb the interior stairs together and stop outside the door. Bruce has made the trek to this rarely visited apartment alone before; he realizes he has no idea how often Jason’s done the same. He knocks and there's the sound of movement inside.

“You can't sodding have him!” Dev yells through the door, without even answering. “You fucking abandoned him!”

“Algernon’s mine,” Jason yells back, pounding on the door again. “We had a deal!”

There's a long pause.

“He died!” Dev says vehemently. “Dames’ bloody cat ate him.”

“Alfred’s never hunted anything in his life,” Jason retorts. “He's too lazy.”

“The rat gave himself up,” Dev answers, sounding closer to the door now. “Get a new one if you bloody care so much.”

“I'm not paying for that,” Bruce says firmly.

“You're a fucking liar!” Jason yells.

“Sod off!” Dev yells back.

A door down the hall opens and a sleepy-looking woman leans out and glares at them, then slams her door shut.

The door to Dev’s apartment swings open and Dev is standing there, scowling. The rat cage is visible behind him on a low table, the supplies already gathered into a bag next to it.

“Hullo, Wayne,” Dev says. “Your son’s an absentee parent.”

“He came to see his grandrat,” Jason says fiercely, pushing his way past Dev into the apartment.

“I did not and never say that again,” Bruce says, going in after him when Dev steps back and gestures a welcome with a flourish.

“You've been back for weeks,” Dev says, a final and feeble protest.

“I was settling some stuff,” Jason argues. “Get your own rat. This was respite care and you fricking knew it. And only ‘cause Martha’s got a stiffer backbone than Bruce.”

Bruce’s eyes narrow at this but he doesn't put energy into challenging it.

“Yeah,” Dev says with a sigh. “Take care of him.”

“You're not really pissed are you?” Jason asks, turning a little in his crouch, where he's been petting the rat through the cage grating with a finger.

“Nah, mate,” Dev says. “I’m not home enough anyway. He's better off with you.”

“Of course he fucking is,” Jason says. “He's mine.”

“How've you been?” Dev asks, turning to Bruce when Jason leans forward to talk to the rat.

“Good,” Bruce says. “I'm wondering how much of this attachment to rodents is my fault.”

“Probably all of it,” Dev says cheerfully. “How’ve your ribs been, then?”

“Better,” Bruce says.

“They've been better or they are better?” Dev asks, pointedly. Jason looks up from the rat to shoot an accusing look at Bruce, his white bang flopped in front of his eyes. He brushes it aside irritatedly.

“You told me you weren’t hurt,” he says.

“They are better,” Bruce clarifies. “It was just two cracked ribs, Jay.”

“‘It was just two cracked ribs, Jay,’” Jason tells the rat in a mocking tone. “My body’s just broken but I’m fine.”

Dev doesn’t even look slightly remorseful for bringing it up.

“I hate to rush you,” he says, “but I’ve a night shift at the hospital.”

“Weren’t you at the manor for tea this morning? When do you sleep?” Bruce asks.

“I can’t even take that seriously, coming from you,” Dev says, without answering. “Out. I need to mourn the loss of my rat before work.”

“You coming to the thing?” Jason asks vaguely, standing.

“As always,” Dev nods, and Jason picks up the rat cage. Bruce takes the bag next to it without being asked. “Don’t have any sodding emergencies while I’m working,” Dev warns when they leave. “I’ll leave you to bleed out, just out of spite.”

“Noted,” Bruce says wryly. “Have a good night.”

The door closes behind them and it is only then that it occurs, fully, to Bruce that this means transporting a rat in the back of his car. He sighs.

“What thing?” he asks, while they go down the stairs.

“Oh, hell if I know,” Jason says. “We always pretend to have plans. I don’t remember how it started. Sometimes, we talk about shit we never did, just to drive Tim crazy.”

“I don’t have an older brother,” Bruce says pointlessly, knowing this is stating the obvious, “but I don’t think I would have handled one well.”

“That is literally the fricking understatement of the century,” Jason acknowledges. “But Tim’s usually pretty chill about it. We should actually grab him for dinner or he’ll probably just eat crappy ramen. I’ll text him.”

Bruce waits in the gathering autumn dusk, the slight chill of the air blowing over him, while Jason finagles the rat’s cage into the backseat. And though he usually dislikes being left out of making plans, he honestly appreciates that Jason didn’t need to check with him or study his response before committing to the text he is already typing to Tim, while he half-kneels in the backseat.

When he stands, his eyes still on his phone, Bruce puts the bag in the backseat and closes the door.

“Hey,” Jason says, without looking up from typing. “It’s been like, two years.”

Bruce looks at the low moon, rising slow and waxing full on the east horizon, just barely visible in the narrow window that opens between the buildings and the bay beyond.

“Yeah. It has been.”

“Huh. Thanks for not dying,” Jason says, attention still seemingly on his phone. “And thanks for calling today.”

“You’re welcome,” Bruce says. “One of those things was more my doing than the other.”

“Alfred made you call?” Jason asks, finally looking up and quirking an eyebrow. He grins. “Figures.”

“Get in the car,” Bruce says gruffly, a smile tugging on his lips. “Let’s go get Tim.”

[pomfry]

I'll see you in hell (a place you know so well)

I’m so happy I got such a good response to this!

I love the implications of this idea, and the way it can affect canon along with everyone involved in it.

I’m not going to continue rambling, so here’s the summary!

Damian’s missing and Bruce sends Jason to look for him.

Jason learns more than Damian wants him to know.

Jason’s comm crackles to life just as he finishes giving a harsh blow to the stomach.

“Yes?” He grits out, firing a bullet into a kneecap.

“I need you to go get Damian.” Bruce responds, and it’s without any hesitation.

“Why?”

“Because he’s in your territory, I’m all the way across town, and he wasn’t supposed to be out tonight.”

Jason sighs, slams a guy’s head into a wall, and answers, “Fine.”

“Thank you. I’m sending you his coordinates.”

His phone buzzes just as he dodges a final attack before hitting his opponent in the temple with the butt of his gun.

Jason grapples his way onto higher ground and looks at the coordinates.

He looks up and sees the kid sitting on a rooftop, legs swinging and cape billowing to the side.

Jason makes the leap and lands a few feet behind him.

“Todd,” Damian begins, and his voice sounds far away, like he’s in a different place than Gotham. “Do you remember where you went when you died?”

Jason frowns and shifts forward. The kid looks defeated. His shoulders are curved in, spine in a arch. “No. Dying and waking up are like going to sleep and waking up for me.”

Damian let’s out a strangled laugh that echoes. “Of course.” His laugh turns into a cackle, and he bends over, hood falling on his head. “Of course I went to a different place! I always knew I was exceptional!” His tone is bitter, and, if Jason looks for it, broken.

Damian falls silent, staring at the neighborhood below him with some sort of fascination.

Jason walks forward. “Damian, I know-”

Damian turns his head and glares. “You don’t know. That’s the problem.”

“Nobody knows!”

A hand clutches at his right shoulder, like there’s a reminder. A scar left by an enemy.

“I always found it ironic. Grandson of the Demon, Son of Batman, locked in a metal box for weeks on end with no one to speak to. Robin, a little caged bird, who can’t help no matter how hard he wants to.”

Damian curls in on himself. “No matter how much he wants to escape. No matter how much he wants to stop fighting.”

Jason’s frozen in place, simply stopped by this image of a drowning boy in Robin’s colors with the winter breeze coming in on the side.

“No matter how many he killed to survive. It was never enough.”

Damian falls into his back. “They say that demons are red and have horns, Todd. That they have animal legs. That they tempt mortals to do sins.” His eyes are vacant, staring up at the smog covered sky right in front of Jason’s boots.

“Demons don’t tempt us. They never have. We created our own sins. They wait and wait and wait until you die and-”

“Kid-” Jason leans down to press a hand into his shoulder.

Damian sits up and rolls away, and the scary thing is, is that his eyes are still miles away.

“Sometimes I look around and think that it’s a miracle I’m back. Other times I wish I stayed down there because, down there, things were terrible but simple.”

He sighs, and it’s a ragged, tired thing, and for the first time Jason notices the exhaustion in his stance.

How long has it been since he’s slept? Jason thinks.

“Todd?” Jason snaps to attention as Damian speaks his name.

“Yeah?”

“Is that crazy? It… It was-” Damian cuts himself off, lips pressing together. “I know it’s crazy. Being down there fucked up my mind.”

“Not like it wasn’t fucked up before.” Jason speaks without thinking, and he flinches as Damian let’s out a harsh laugh that seems to rip the air in front of him.

“My mind was fucked up, certainly, but-”

Damian stops talking. “Why am I telling you this? I-Nobody can know!” And for the first time since Jason found him, his eyes are alert.

“Damian-” Jason says, taking two steps toward him.

Damian’s irises are pinpricks. “I need to go.”

He turns and jumps his way to the next roof, landing only to grapple to a higher one.

Jason stands on a rooftop in the middle of the night with more insight to Damian Wayne than anyone’s had.

And he’s scared for him.