#Damian Wayne

[oifaaa]

What a bunch of weebs RIP to Bruce's Yacht tho it did not make it home

Tip jar

[chubimar]

The tumblr girlies have been talking about handsome asf Doctor Damian and I am but a humble artist with a weakness for pretty boys. Thus! This happened

[sakuravalenp]

He's supposed to be invincible - DC X DP

Just something random that came to my mind.

So, Danny ends up being adopted/fostered by Bruce just months before Damian arrives at the manor, the how and why is your choice, but the GIW is still a threat. 

Now, Danny catches Damian attacking Tim the first time and instead of telling the rest of the family or scolding Damian, he went lik:

“You haven't even defeated me, and you think you have a right to attack Tim? Get in line, kid.”

And so Damian understands that to get the right to fight against Tim, he needs to get rid of Danny first. Climb the power pyramid, if you will. And so, Damian starts his assassination attempts against Danny. 

But here's the thing: Danny is making absolutely no effort to stop him, he just takes the attempts. The first time, Damian successfully stabs Danny, and goes to announce his victory over Danny to his father. Bruce rushes to Danny, worried for his safety, and finds him just chilling there, not a single drop of blood or injury. Damian is gapping.

“Oh yeah, the kid beat me in a round of hide and seek. He’s pretty good.”

Bruce is relieved and pats Damian’s head, not noticing his utter confusion. And so a cartoon-like montage starts: Damian attacks Danny and claims victory, but Danny is completely fine, and says Damian won at some random game. Everyone thinks the two are super close, and that Damian’s excitement about winning is super cute. 

Eventually, positive enforcement wears Damian down, because everyone congratulates him and gives him affection for winning the “stupid things” Danny comes up with. He gradually calms down and integrates pretty well. Danny does end up being his closest sibling because he’s the only one that actually knows all of Damian. The only one Damian could attack with zero restraint and still be treated the same. 

But the important thing here is: Danny becomes an invincible figure in Damians mind. He could be stabbed, decapitated, poisoned, and still come back like nothing happened.

So surely, when Phantom is shot out of the sky by a Blood Blossom, surely he’ll just stand back up in a minute like always. Surely, he’s just waiting to get back to the cave to pretend like he always did for Damian. Surely, he’s just putting on a show on the medbay. 

But hours go by, and he’s still pretending. Still looking pale. Still keeping his eyes closed.

Damian doesn’t understand why he hasn’t bounced back yet. He should be okay by now. Alfred is moving around, changing the IV,dabbing Danny’s head with a damp cloth. There’s commotion outside as everyone is trying to get an antidote.

But this shouldn’t be happening. 

Danny is invincible.

Danny should be back to normal already.

So Damian starts shaking Danny. Screaming to stop pretending and tell them he was beaten in some stupid game again. To open his eyes already. 

Father is pulling him away, trying to calm him down, but he keeps struggling in his arms, because he’s getting Danny to wake up. 

And he doesn’t notice the tears falling down his face until he runs out of energy, and all that’s left is hiccuping in his father’s arms.

...

So… yeah, that’s what my mind supplied today while on the bus :)

Maybe one day I'll write it, but I don't have time, so I would love to see someone else's take on it.

[incorrectbatfam]

I just think that a live action Batman movie should just be 2 and a half hours of Bruce trying and failing to get everyone to come to a debriefing session. It'd be full with subplots, like a story inside of a story thing where it's cutting between Bruce and whichever kid and crazy thing /

The haters will hate it because Bruce is the only one who doesnt suit up or get a fight scene

[Gotham Harbor]

Steph: *taking down Kite Man on a sinking stolen fishing boat*

Steph: Good thing I followed you down here. I knew something was fishy.

[Batcave]

Bruce: None of them are here yet? The meeting starts in fifteen minutes.

[Crime Alley]

Jason: *shoots a henchman*

Jason: I've burned through your last reserves. It's just you and me, Sionis.

[Batcave]

Bruce: *paces back and forth while checking the clock*

[downtown]

Dick: *in a motorcycle chase with the Riddler*

Dick, into his comms: Oracle, update on the bomb threats?

Barbara, from the Clocktower: I've located both bombs inside the bank vault. I'm dispatching Huntress and Batwing to diffuse them while Flamebird and Azrael are on crowd control.

Dick: You're the best.

[Batcave]

Bruce: *checks the computer*

[Gotham University]

Bernard, whispering into his phone: Punchline is holding the chem lab hostage.

Tim, watching from a rooftop: I have eyes on the situation. Bluebird is scoping the perimeter as we speak.

[Batcave]

Bruce: *takes a bathroom break*

[Kahndaq]

Cass: *staking out Lady Shiva's new hideout from over a dune while munching on chips*

[Batcave]

*toilet flushes*

Bruce: *comes out with toilet paper stuck to his shoe*

[Nanda Parbat]

Damian: *fighting Ra's and a bunch of assassins one-handed while while dangling off a mountaintop*

[Batcave]

Bruce: *checks his watch again*

[Iceberg Lounge]

Kate, in disguise: You sure about this?

Selina, also in disguise: I know Penguin. Just follow my lead.

[Batcave]

Bruce: This is seriously not like them.

[space-time continuum]

Duke, falling through the multiverse: AAAAAAAAHHH!

Duke: *faceplants in another dimension*

Miles Morales: Wrong universe?

Duke: How'd you know?

Miles: It happens.

Miles: *hits a button and sends him back*

[Batcave]

Bruce: *has his back turned*

Dick: *rides in on his bike*

Tim: *swings in*

Jason: *walks through the door, wiping blood off his helmet*

Steph: *picks a sardine out of her hair*

Cass: *shakes off the sand*

Kate and Selina: *toss their disguises aside*

Damian: *sheaths his sword*

Barbara: *patches in over video*

Bruce: *turns around*

Bruce: Excellent, you're all on time.

Bruce: Wait.

Bruce: *does a headcount*

Bruce: Where's Duke?

*portal opens in the ceiling and Duke falls out*

Duke: Present.

Bruce: Good. Alfred, pull up the briefing.

Bruce: *looks around*

Bruce: Alfred?

[post-credit scene]

Alfred: *sipping a coconut on a beach*

Alfred: I needed this vacation. I have been nonstop working since 1944.

MCU elderly Steve Rogers: You and me both, pal.

[rickktish]

im having stupid damian wayne thoughts hours and i cannot escape

he's baby. he performed a year of abominations before losing most of his baby teeth. he has a complicated relationship with his mother, who actually has enough screentime to be a complicated person, unlike so many other mothers and mother figures. he was conceived by either rape or a failed marriage depending on which canon you follow. he was nearly adopted by his oldest brother, who is actually deeply aware that he's not ready to be a parent yet and is torn between grief and relief that it never actually had to happen. he speaks like a caricature of formal english. he taught wonder woman's daughter every swear word she knows completely unintentionally. he has an unspecified accent. he keeps getting whitewashed. half the fandom is convinced that he's biologically inherently evil. he's a vegetarian for reasons of his own personal morality but is not vegan. he's obsessed with animals and keeps collecting more of them. he watched the closest thing he had to a loving grandfather get his neck snapped in front of him and has held himself personally responsible ever since. he's his universe's version of a swiftie. he reads shojo manga and naruto. he's decapitated men too many times his age. he died and went to hell before hitting his teens. he draws stupid little comics of his si/oc being a protagonist. he and his father may or may not be autistic depending on which fans you ask, we'll certainly never know. dc's writers are obsessed with giving him identity crises. he named his turkey jerry and his cat alfred and his cow batcow. he has an artificial spine. he has the potential to be blorbo of all time if people would stop forgetting that he's a child instead of the monster who replaced their favorite robin.

i just. i can't stop thinking about this.

[lili-home-to-embraces-and-hugs]

The Batcave has a “Do Not Talk To Me” couch. It’s sacred. It’s unspoken. It’s real.

okay so. picture this:

the batcave has one couch. it's in the corner. it’s hideous. it’s like beige or green or something equally offensive to every one of their aesthetics. no one likes the couch.

and that is exactly why it became sacred.

because one night jason just. drops onto it. full gear. bleeding. absolutely done with life. says nothing. doesn’t even take off the helmet. sits there in silence for 3 hours and then leaves.

next week tim uses it. sits there post-mission. face in hands. someone tries to ask if he’s okay and jason throws a batarang at them.

and thus it began.

Rules of the Do Not Talk To Me Couch:

You sit there? No one speaks to you.

You cry? No you didn’t.

You eat cold noodles off your chest at 4 a.m.? That’s sacred time.

If someone tries to comfort you? They are excommunicated for 12 hours.

Dick (sitting on the couch):

Damian: Grayson, are you—

Jason (from across the cave): HE’S ON THE COUCH.

Jason: I don’t make the rules.

Steph: You LITERALLY made the rules.

Jason: And I am the defender of the rules. There’s a difference.

one time damian storms in. covered in blood. absolutely furious. 10/10 rage goblin energy. throws his sword. marches to the couch. sits. arms crossed. steaming.

tim takes one look at him and goes: “i’m making tea.”

jason: “that’s acceptable. tea is allowed. talking is not.”

bonus:

once bruce sits on it.

and the ENTIRE CAVE goes silent.

tim literally freezes mid-typing. cass stops mid-flip. jason just mutters “oh shit.”

they all leave. immediately.

the couch is not ready for bruce.

extra bonus:

alfred vacuums around the couch. never says a word. leaves snacks in a silent offering. once placed a weighted blanket gently on jason’s shoulder. that’s different. he’s allowed.

[localcursedfriend]

Ok everyone is talking about Doctor Damian and I know that's like the path he seems to be going. However, I think Charge Nurse Damian would absolutely hit. Like all of those traits that made him a little odd as a kid, before he went through unpacking all the stuff with the LoA, would serve him beautifully as a charge nurse. Clear, quick, efficient communication? Exactly what you need when you're in charge of people who are in charge of making sure people stay alive and healthy. A firm prioritization system? A must if you are overloaded with work and need to do everything all at once (Nurses straight up deserve so much more help man). Confidence in yourself and how you operate in your space? Absolutely. He would get to use all the cutthroat confidence and attitude he was raised in while getting to be kind and empathetic like he is at his core. (Also he gets to use all his like Robin skills, but I think a lot of that can be cross applied to if he became a doctor, sooo)

But more importantly Damian wants to help people in a special way. I'm not saying doctors don't help people, they absolutely do, but nurses get much much more face time with patients. They get to see the impact that they are making. I think that's something that NEEDS to be a part of Damian's story. It's important for him to see the change he's doing, seeing goodness grow one person at a time because it's part of his story and his growth.

[ineveryfandom]

bruce and dick, father and son? classic. batman and robin, partners in justice? exciting. bruce and dick, brothers with a huge age gap? more likely than you think.

-

Jason: *loses in a game against bruce*

Bruce, patting his back: it’s alright son, let’s play again

Dick: *loses in a game against bruce*

Bruce: that’s for calling me old

Dick, screaming at Bruce: HOW COULD YOU?!

Duke, new to the fam, very concerned: what’s happening?

Tim: you don’t wanna know

Duke, nervous: …is it something really bad?

Tim, gravely: yes

Dick, shaking Bruce: HOW COULD YOU?! HOW COULD YOU DRINK MY SMOOTHIE?!

Duke:

Alfred: *pointedly looking at the broken window*

Bruce: dick did it

Dick, in space, on call with Alfred: i wasn’t even anywhere NEAR there

Cass: fuck!

Bruce: language

Steph: let my girl say fuck

Bruce: language.

TV playing in the background: ..nd SCORE! unfortunately, the Gotham Guardsmen have lost to Metropolis Metros once m—

Dick, from the couch: motherfUCKER

Bruce, angrily: metropolis BASTARDS

Cass:

Cass: not fair >:[

In a restaurant

Barbara: dick can you pass me the salt

Dick, with headphones on, not hearing her:

Barbara: dick? dick. dick!

Bruce: ill get it

Bruce: *reaches for the salt near dick’s plate*

Dick: *suddenly has his arms around his food, his fork clattering to the ground, their drinks spilling everywhere*

Bruce:

Dick:

Barbara:

Dick: ...in my defense these are some real good nachos

Dick: *waltzes inside bruce’s room, not saying anything*

Bruce: ...?

Dick: *looks at the pictures on the walls*

Bruce: can i help you??

Dick: *checks himself out in the mirror*

Bruce: please do that in your own room

Dick: *turns on the lights and rummages in the drawers*

Bruce: i already ate all the snacks there

Dick: *leaves* *doesn’t close the door*

Bruce:

Damian, also in the room:

Damian, in realization: jason got it from him

[veliya01]

First time doctor and patient

Yes, this is damians half sibling, respawn. Yes his father is that half eye guy. No I will not believe hes dead.

[luminesick]

Damian, with red puffy eyes: You too?

Tim, with red puffy eyes: *raises a brow* Yes?

Damian has severe pollen allergies. Tim was high.

[batbabydamian]

Damian and Maps from the fancomic @thedailylifeofdamianwayne by the amazing @nicodrawings!! so far, Maps has been hounding Damian for his help in the most delightful way possible lol

this series is a new exploration of Damian attempting high school alongside a familiar cast of friends, and ofc there’s a case that needs solving! please check it out! 😤

[batfam-belfry]

Damian finally claiming one of his brothers

[iydiamartinx]

THE TODD-LER PROBLEM

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader ft. batfam

divider by: cafekitsune & omi-resources word count: 2.9k synopsis: Jason gets hit with a magical regression spell during a mission and ends up… five years old. Still foul-mouthed. Still somehow armed. a/n: Don't ask me how or why I wrote this, it just happened... warning: This is utterly unhinged, its a crack fic

There were many things you expected when you opened your apartment door at 3 a.m.

Your boyfriend, Jason Todd, in full gear. Shrunken to approximately three feet tall. And trying to pick your lock with a paperclip. was not one of them.

You blinked once. Twice. “…Jason?”

The tiny figure looked up, scowling, with his tiny leather jacket zipped to the chin and a modified red helmet under one arm. His helmet was clearly a custom fit because of course someone on the team had taken the time to resize his gear. Probably Tim. Or Alfred. Or Jason himself while he’d been cursed into a fun-sized menace.

He tilted his head. “Took you long enough.”

You stared. “You’re three feet tall.”

“Yeah?” he snapped, voice high-pitched but filled with all the rage of a war vet denied his nap. “Well you’re late, an’ I’m cold, and some guy in a sparkly cape turned me into a—” he waved a tiny hand wildly— “a frickin’ gremlin!”

You stared.

“I mean child!” he corrected, stomping past your legs and into your apartment like he owned it. “A frickin’ child. I have to use a stool to pee. I’m livin’ in hell.”

“Excuse me—”

He pushed past your legs like an angry little linebacker. “Also, someone tried to feed me carrots at the manor. Carrots. Like I’m a damn rabbit. I had to escape.”

“Jason, are you seriously—”

“—And Alfred was this close to making me take a bubble bath.”

You raised a brow. “You love bubble baths.”

“Adult me loves them. Toddler me has dignity.”

You shut the door with a sigh, already regretting every life choice that had led to this moment. “Fine. One night. But if you pee on anything, I’m calling Bruce.”

30 MINUTES IN...

You stared at the miniature version of Jason Todd standing dead center in your apartment. You still hadn’t gotten over the fact he was now a child.

He stood with his arms crossed. Eyebrows furrowed. Scowling so hard his little nose scrunched up. The resized red helmet was sitting crookedly on his head, and somehow, somehow, he was still wearing a tiny leather jacket like it was battle armor.

“Jason,” you said slowly, kneeling down to his eye level, “where did you get the gun?”

His eyes narrowed, suspiciously smug. “Trade secret.”

“Jason.”

He pouted. “You left your sock drawer unlocked.”

You blinked. “My sock drawer doesn’t have—”

Realization dawned.

You groaned, standing up and rubbing your face. “You hid weapons in my sock drawer?”

“Of course I did,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “What if you got mugged doing laundry?”

You turned on your heel, already pulling out your phone. “Zatanna needs to reverse this spell immediately. How is his five year old self more dangerous than his adult one.” You muttered to yourself. 

From behind you, Jason stomped his tiny boot. “I am not five! I’m five-and-a-half!”

You didn’t even look back. You just sighed and started texting Alfred for backup.

And possibly restraints.

Or duct tape.

Maybe both.

ONE HOUR IN...

You found him in the kitchen standing on the counter—barefoot, wild-haired, and determined. His tiny arms were stretched high above his head, fingers pawing at the top shelf with the sheer willpower of someone who believed they could reach it if they just tried hard enough.

“What,” you asked slowly, “are you doing?”

“I want Oreos,” he said, like it was obvious.

“There are Goldfish crackers right there,” you offered, gesturing to the open box on the counter beside him.

He looked at you like you’d insulted his ancestors. “I’m not a toddler. I have standards.”

He took them with both hands, giving you a small, pointed sniff of derision—as if your earlier suggestion of Goldfish had been not just offensive, but a personally insult.

Then, without another word, he hopped off the counter and disappeared down the hallway like a sugar-fueled cryptid preparing for war.

TWO HOURS IN...

You finally managed to corral him in front of the television, queued up some harmless cartoon with talking animals, and tiptoed into the kitchen to make yourself a much-needed snack.

When you came back, the cartoon was gone and you found him watching John Wick 3 with unblinking intensity.

You stared in horror. “You are not allowed to watch this.”

He didn’t flinch. “Too late.”

You snatched the remote from the armrest. “You’re five.”

“Five an’ a half!” he shouted, voice pitching up in outrage. “An’ I know all ‘bout vengeance! I lived it! Lemme watch Keanu!”

“No.”

“I will bite you.”

“You already did!”

He smiled. “And I’d do it again.”

You lunged for the remote.

He let out a feral shriek. The sound pierced the air like a banshee’s war cry. There was a flurry of motion, limbs, and one elbow jabbed directly into your ribcage. The remote went flying.

Somehow… you lost.

And there he was, not ten minutes later, curled in a blanket like a smug little gremlin, happily finishing John Wick 3.

You sighed, already pulling out your phone to call in reinforcements.

Alfred picked up on the first ring.

“Please tell me patrol is over,” you whispered, glancing warily toward the living room. “I need backup. Immediate. Preferably armed with sedatives and maybe a priest.”

There was the soft clink of a teacup on saucer before Alfred replied, calm as ever. “Master Grayson and Master Drake should be available in a few hours.”

You groan, “Anyone sooner?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” He said.

You hung up and returned to the living room.

Jason was kicking his feet now, reclined like royalty, humming the John Wick fight music under his breath. Every few seconds he’d mutter something like “yeah, get him, Keanu,” or “double tap, baby,” as if he were part of the director’s commentary.

By the time 300 started, he had risen.

He stood on the couch with all the solemnity of a war general addressing his troops, fists clenched at his sides. Then, with zero warning, he let out a piercing battle cry—“SPARTAAAAAA!”—and began hurling Goldfish crackers across the room like they were flaming javelins.

You didn’t bother trying to stop him.

You just slid slowly down the wall, sat on the floor beside the fridge, and accepted your fate.

THREE HOURS IN...

You were gone for five minutes.

Five.

You’d left him watching Love Island.

He’d finally—finally—fallen asleep, sprawled across the couch. The soft drone of British contestants filled the apartment, and for a precious, fragile moment, there was peace.

Just enough to sneak off for five minutes. That was all the time it took to use the bathroom and splash some cold water on your face in the vain hope that you could survive another hour of this gremlin-sized Gotham menace.

When you returned, Love Island was still playing on the TV and Jason was nowhere in the living room. 

“Jason?” you called out.

You heard a noise come from the kitchen

Your stomach dropped.

You rushed in, skidding to a halt just inside the doorway.

The drawer was open.

That drawer.

The one that held the scissors.

The duct tape.

Your spare burner phone.

And, apparently, your last shred of peace.

You turned around slowly—already feeling the weight of regret in your bones.

Tiny Jason stood proudly in your hallway wearing a cardboard chest plate, duct-taped shoulder pads, and your colander on his head.

He raised a wooden spoon like a sword. “I’m Red Hood 2.0,” he declared in a voice that was both too high-pitched and far too serious. “Call me… Lil’ Death.”

You stared at him in exhausted horror.

“…Where’s the rest of the duct tape?”

He gave a wide, toothy grin.

“In mah hair.”

Of course it was.

FOUR HOURS IN...

Alfred had finally sent backup.

It was Damian.

By that point, you didn’t care—anything to give you ten minutes of silence and the chance to remember what breathing felt like.

And for the first ten minutes, it was peaceful.

Too peaceful.

You froze in the hallway, a familiar sense of foreboding slithering down your spine.

Then came the scream.

“YOU LITTLE DEVIL!”

Tiny battle cries echoed from the living room, followed by the unmistakable clang of steel meeting something very much not steel.

You ran in to find Damian standing on your coffee table, sword in hand, while Toddler Jason swung at his legs with a plastic baseball bat wrapped in duct tape and thumbtacks.

“WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

“He challenged me,” Damian snapped, breath steady as he parried a wild swing with the flat of his blade.

Jason bared his baby teeth, eyes gleaming with chaotic glee. “He tried to steal my Oreos and called me a baby!”

“Because you are,” Damian barked, deflecting another spoon-wrapped strike. “This is undignified!”

“I’m a toddler, you rich goblin!”

You slapped a hand to your forehead. “Jason, drop the bat.”

“NEVER!”

“Damian, he’s five!”

FIVE HOURS IN...

Damian was still on the windowsill, arms crossed, radiating hatred like a heat lamp.

He hadn’t spoken in nearly an hour. Not a single word since the incident—the one where he lost to a sugar-crazed toddler wielding a thumbtack-wrapped baseball bat and unyielding vengeance.

You knew that silence. Knew it too well.

He was plotting something. You just didn’t know what.

Not that you had time to dwell on it—because that was when backup number two finally arrived.

The door swung open and in walked Dick and Tim, both dressed down but wide-eyed, scanning the wreckage of your apartment like first responders to a war zone.

Jason—still pint-sized, still radiating the unholy combination of espresso and anarchy—lit up like a demonic Christmas tree at the sight of them.

“Well, well, look who finally showed up,” he chirped, spinning once in his little leather jacket and cardboard armour. “The Backstreet Boys of Disappointment!”

Dick froze mid-step. “I—what?”

Tim looked at you with the tiredness of a man who’d seen too much. “Is he still feral?”

“Worse,” you muttered. “He’s refueled. He ate three cookies and found my instant espresso jar.”

Dick’s eyes widened. “You gave him caffeine?!”

“I didn’t give him anything! He’s a damn toddler who still retained his lock picking skills!”

Across the room, Jason twirled dramatically and pointed at Tim. “Timmy,” he sing-songed, “wanna play hide and seek? I’ll hide… you seek therapy.”

Tim blinked slowly. “You’ve created a monster.”

You pointed at him with your coffee. “He was with you all when this happened.”

Jason pivoted toward Dick, eyes glinting. “Hey, Disco. How’s that permanent sidekick gig goin’? Still doin’ flips no one asked for?”

Dick narrowed his eyes. “You wanna go, tiny man?”

Jason smirked. “Bring it, Jazz Hands.”

And that’s all it took.

Two minutes later

Jason darted between them like a pinball on fire.

Tim lunged with a blanket like he was trying to trap a wild animal. Jason bit straight through it.

Not metaphorically—actually bit through it.

Dick went in next, trying to cut him off with a broad lunge, but Jason hurled a half-full sippy cup at his face with terrifying accuracy. It burst on contact. Sticky apple juice everywhere.

From the windowsill, Damian observed the descent into madness with narrowed eyes and smug silence. Like an evil cat waiting for the moment to pounce.

He chose his moment well.

With a cry of, “FOR HONOR AND BLOOD!” Damian vaulted from the sill into the fray.

He mostly landed on Tim. But the intent was there.

You stood in the doorway, clutching a first aid kit in one hand and your last shred of sanity in the other. It was unclear which would run out first.

Jason popped up from behind the couch like a goblin jack-in-the-box, eyes gleaming with the unholy thrill of chaos. In one hand, he wielded his modified bat like a sword. In the other, a full roll of duct tape, raised like a grenade.

“I DECLARE A BLOOD FEUD!” he roared.

Tim yelped and ducked just as the tape roll whizzed past his head and smacked into the wall with a dull thunk. “He almost took my eye out!”

“WHO GAVE HIM NEGAN’S BAT?!” Dick yelled, backpedaling fast as Jason swung in his direction with surprising force for someone who barely cleared three feet.

“He made it,” Damian grunted, trying to deflect the strike with a throw pillow.

The swing knocked the pillow clean out of his hands.

In the scramble to dodge the next blow, Dick and Damian collided—feet tangled, limbs flailing—and crashed to the floor in a graceless heap.

“WHO’S THE SIDEKICK NOW, SUCKERS?!” he cackled, arms thrown wide like a gladiator demanding cheers from the crowd.

On the floor below him, Damian and Dick groaned in tandem, still tangled in a heap of limbs and wounded pride.

You stood safely behind the armchair, one hand gripping your phone, filming the chaos. Might as well have some blackmail for later.

“You’re going to regret this when you’re big again,” you warned, deadpan. 

“I’LL REGRET NOTHING!” Jason howled, launching himself into Tim’s back like a rabid possum.

Tim shrieked, flailing. “GET HIM OFF! HE’S IN MY HAIR—HE’S IN MY HAIR!”

“He’s like a feral koala,” Dick muttered, as he untangled himself from Damian.

Jason clung tighter, teeth bared, voice giddy with power. “Say sorry for the replacing me and I’ll only ruin your eyebrows!”

“Are we seriously doing this now?” Tim, flailing, shouted, “I didn’t replace you! You died!”

Everything stopped.

For half a second, the air went dead silent.

“TIM!” you and Dick shouted in unison, horrified.

Jason’s response was to let out a piercing shriek of righteous indignation.

“YOU VOTED ME OFF THE ISLAND!”

“WHAT DAMN ISLAND?!”

From the floor, Dick wheezed, “We need to start a support group.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “You’re all weak.”

“I don’t see you winning against him, demon spawn!” Tim barked, still trying to dislodge Jason from his spine. “You surrendered three minutes in!”

“I did not surrender,” Damian snapped.

Tim finally managed to pry him off with a desperate twist and a shove, sending Jason rolling back onto the couch in a tangle of limbs and laughter.

Everyone froze.

Jason huffed, catching his breath where he lay sprawled on the couch. His curls were tousled, cheeks flushed, eyes glittering with unspent mischief. For one brief, shining moment, it almost looked like the storm had passed.

Dick rose to his feet slowly, warily, hands lifted in surrender.

“Okay,” he said, breathless but hopeful. “Can we finally all just… relax—?”

You took a cautious step forward, narrowing your eyes as you noted the look on his face. “Jason. What are you doing now?”

He turned to you slowly, far too slowly, a smile already creeping onto his face.

Dick glanced over, confused, just in time for Jason to pivot on his heel.

“THIS! IS! SPARTAAAAA!!!”

And then his tiny foot shot up and kicked Dick square in the jewels.

Dick dropped like a sack of bricks, letting out a high-pitched strangled wheeze as he crumpled back onto the floor.

“…Who let him watch 300?” Tim groaned, not even pretending to be surprised anymore.

You winced, trying not to look at Dick who was curled into a fetal position.

Jason raised his arms, victorious. “TONIGHT, WE DINE IN—WHAT’S THAT PLACE WITH CHICKY NUGGIES?!”

“…McDonald’s,” Dick croaked weakly from the floor.

Jason nodded solemnly, his reign unquestioned.

“McDonald’s.”

SIX HOURS IN...

You were exhausted.

The apartment looked like a toy store had exploded. There were still thumbtacks embedded in the coffee table, juice stains on the ceiling, and possibly a spoon lodged in the bookshelf. You didn’t want to know.

The others had practically fled—limping, muttering, and swearing.

And Jason? Jason had finally agreed to get ready for bed after a long, drawn-out battle of wills that involved one timeout, two bribes, and exactly ten minutes of him growling about how “Peter Parker wouldn’t last five minutes in Crime Alley.”

Now, he sat on the couch, arms crossed and sulking in a pair of oversized Spider-Man pajamas—the only ones you’d been able to find. His curls were still slightly matted from duct tape, and there was a Band-Aid on his cheek from another brawl he’d got in with Damian.

He glared at you over the rim of his sippy cup.

“This not over,” he mumbled darkly. “I know where you sleep. I’mma get payback.”

“Sure you will, Jason,” you said, trying not to laugh.

“I’ll put ketchup in your shoes.”

You tucked him in on the couch, pulling the blanket around him as he curled up like a tiny, angry cinnamon roll.

He muttered something else under his breath, unintelligible, mostly grumble. “…Night-night,” he muttered, already half-asleep. 

THE NEXT MORNING...

Jason woke up full-sized, shirtless, confused, and sprawled across your couch.

 He blinked up at the ceiling, brow furrowed, throat dry.

“…What the hell?”

You strolled in, far too cheerful for someone who had survived a toddler warlord just a few hours prior. You tossed your phone into his lap.

You strolled in, tossing a phone into his lap.

“Morning, Lil’ Death. I made a slideshow.”

He looked down at the photos. There he was—pouty, covered in crumbs, mid-battle with his brothers, wearing  cardboard chest plate held together with masking tape and colander strapped to his head like a war crown. One had him dead asleep with his face smashed into a pillow, cuddling a stuffed penguin.

Jason groaned into his hands. “Kill me now.”

“I’d rather show Bruce.”

His head snapped up. “You wouldn’t.”

You grinned. “Wanna bet?”

[incorrectbatfam]

who's most likely to pick a fight with a kangaroo? And who's mostly like to lose/win the fight?

Respects animals and wouldn't fight one: Damian, Cullen, Alfred

Would fight one if you dared them: Duke, Barbara

Picks a fight and loses: Jason, Stephanie, Bruce

Picks a fight and ties: Tim, Harper, Kate, Bette, Selina

Picks a fight and wins: Cassandra, Carrie, Helena, Luke

Is secretly the kangaroo: Dick

[rickroll-25]

Big bro Jay ❤️