#Superman shrugs and says it was the right thing to do before flying off

[mattzerella-sticks]

I'm too angry and in my feels to make a coherent response to Lex's "You can't control Superman" and "Earth is for the Earthlings" lines, but it is exactly this narrow view regarding the capability of Superman's powers that has these people becoming the very weapons/villains they see Superman as, because none of them can comprehend having so much power and using it for good.

If you could fly why use it to rescue a cat from a tree or help an old lady cross the street?

If you could shoot lasers out of your eyes why use it to repair a bridge when you can kill?

If you were invulnerable, why throw yourself in front of a car to save a child when you could cause harm without reproach?

Though they label Clark an 'alien', they see him as too human to be anything but genuine in his desire to help people, and that's why they fear him. Because they can't understand him.

[artemismoorea03]

DP x DC or Marvel: The Help of The Dead

I won't lie this could work for either

When Phantom joined the team almost everybody had the same thought; "He's just a kid, how could he help?"

They insist on protecting him in fights, especially when he makes it clear more than once that he wont fight living humans. So when it comes to armies of people they have to deal without the child on the battlefield, which is fine by them. One lest child on the front lines is one less ass to save when shit hits the fan.

But then one day that suddenly changes.

An evasion with scales unlike anything they had ever seen before which is saying something. Together the teams had fought countless battles but in that moment things seemed truly like they were too much.

Until Phantom finally clapped, jumped off the table. "These aren't living humans right?"

They weren't human, far from it. The team had mentioned this more than once but it was hard to tell if he was just double checking or if he hadn't been paying attention to anything.

"Great. Pull the team back, I got it."

"You really don't expect us for you to fight this alone, do you?" Superman or Captain America would ask as Phantom just laughed.

"Don't be ridiculous, who said I would be doing it alone. Now pull them back. I won't say it again." Then Phantom simply vanishes.

The orders are given, timidly but their given. Moral of the people left in the 'danger zone' drops and things seem to drastically change when a massive green cloud begins to swirl in the sky before ripping open into a portal that sends chills down the spines who see it.

The heroes fear it's a second wave or some kind of superweapon going off, but then a figure flies out, does a flip and strums a guitar.

"HELLO, WORLD! WELCOME TO THE SHOW! FOR THE BASTARDS TRESSPASSIN' I SUGGEST YOU GET CRUISIN' BEFORE YOU GET ONE HELL OF A BRUSIN!"

The team is confused until the portal explodes, a large mass of things fly out filling the sky blocking out the sun to the city. The heroes panic, the heroes don't know what to do. But the mass isn't attacking, in fact there's a wave of movement until who shows up at the front of the lines, a regal cape, a flaming crown and a glowing ice covered ring.

"Phantom." Nobody knows who breathes the name when they all realized what was happening.

Phantom simply waves his hand, a green megaphone forming out of thin air as he speaks into it.

"Attention invading forces. You have trespassed on territory claimed by the King of the Dead. You were given your chances to leave, and since you chose to stay then this must mean you have enjoyed your visit and wish to make your stay permanent. Don't worry, we'll help you with that. If you wish to leave, now is your chance. Either evacuate or drop your weapons of we will drop you."

The invading forces refuse, hell they even go so far as to scoff at the idea. Phantom simply shrugs then gestures to the one with the guitar, as she begins to play again and Phantom bops around for a second before he holds up his hand.

"By the order of the King of Death you are here by to protect the living souls of this world and destroy any who are not human, animal, or under our protection. There will be no ransacking, no obsession chasing, and no harming of the living. This is the decree now... take out the trash."

The slaughter is over before the one with the guitar finishes her third song. Two days of fighting over in less than nine minutes with no human lives lost in the attack, more captured enemies than dead, and without Phantom having to lift a finger.

The team is surprised, not only was Phantom working for the King of the Dead but the Army of the Dead was fuckin' terrifying. When Phantom was confronted with this information later, he simply laughs, shrugs and says;

"What can I say? Sometimes you have to let the kids outside to play or they'll go stir crazy."

"Why didn't you fight?" Another one of the heroes would ask as Phantom looked at them.

"You heard the decree, didn't you. 'No obsession chasing', my obsession is 'Protection'. I stayed back because if I was involved I would have probably caused more damage then our enemies."

After what the heroes had seen... this threat was terrifying.

Suddenly they realized that Phantom did help - by staying back - and the day he was actively in the fight...

Not even the mysterious 'King of the Dead' would be able to save the souls who went against Phantom.

[suzukiblu]

Guessing game: Farm

Context: a familial soulmates AU is happening to newly-decanted baby clone "Superman" and Ma and Pa "it's free alien baby" Kent.

The waitress comes back with the drinks and asks if they're ready to order, and then they have to actually read the menu. She leaves them to it. The Zesti does taste really good, but Superman has a hard time concentrating on the menu and barely resists the urge to glance up at Jonathan and Martha every five seconds.

"Oh, wait–can you read yet, kiddo, or do you need some help with that?" Jonathan asks with a faint frown as he glances up at him himself, and somehow the question doesn't sound judgmental at all.

Weird, Superman thinks again.

"Yeah," he says. "Um–Cadmus was educating me with information uploads. I didn't finish them, but I can read and write and do, like . . . well, some math, anyway. I got through trig and precalc, mostly. Uh, and some chemistry and biology. And, like, I can speak English and Spanish and a little Mandarin, and I know basic ASL. I don't think I'm actually as smart as they thought I was gonna be, though, some of it's kinda . . . confusing, to be honest? And they only ever showed me stuff once, I think they just thought I'd . . . you know, get it."

"You're two weeks old!" Martha says with an exasperated huff. "Those damn morons, you're gonna need a lot more than two weeks' worth of yellow sun before you're going to get the eidetic memory or the enhanced intelligence."

"The–what?" Superman blinks. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other, oddly, and then back to him.

"Superman had perfect recall," Jonathan says. "Hyperthymesia. A photographic memory, you might call it."

"Oh," Superman says, blinking again. "Uh–I didn't know that."

"I don't know how much most people ever thought about it, so far as his powers went," Jonathan says with a shrug. "Not quite as flashy as the heat vision or the flying. Actually it's a surprise you can fly this quick, come to think."

"I'm sort of . . . cheating," Superman mutters, ducking his head. "My Kryptonian physiology isn't developed enough to give me the real powers yet and they didn't know how long it might take for them to come in, so they sort of . . . there's like this . . . field, kind of, that the original Superman put off? Subconscious telekinesis, I guess. Skin-tight force field, basically. It's why bullets weren't ripping up his suit all the time and why he could, like, pick up a whole freaking bus or whatever one-handed and it wouldn't just break in half from the fucked-up–uh, the messed-up support. The field would just wrap around whatever he was touching and reflexively keep it together. So Cadmus just kinda . . . copied that and cranked it up to eleven, for me. So I'm telekinetic, kind of?"

"Huh," Martha says, looking a little puzzled. "You know, that never even occurred to me, but it certainly explains a few things."

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

"So you mean you're going to be stronger than Superman was?" Martha asks with a little frown, and Superman . . . blinks.

"Uh . . . I don't think so?" he says uncertainly, not sure where she got that idea. "I don't know how the hybridization of my DNA will affect, like . . . any of the Kryptonian powers. They might turn out weaker than his were, since my genes are sort of already adapted for a yellow sun."

"I don't know, being primed to process yellow sunlight might make your powers end up stronger, on that logic," Jonathan points out reasonably. "Once you grow into them a bit, anyway. And either way you'll have the telekinesis enhancing your strength and invulnerability, and that might get stronger too. And, well, at least some hybrids have a tendency to turn out bigger and stronger than their parent species."

Superman tilts his head. Blinks a couple times.

"Huh," he says.

Well, there's a really freaking cool and absolutely fucking terrifying thought.

"How do you know all that?" he asks. "Are you a biologist or something?"

"I'm a farmer, son," Jonathan says wryly. "I'm talking about mules and wolfdogs."

"You're a farmer?" Superman repeats in absolute bemusement.

"We both are, dear," Martha says. "All our lives. We live out in Smallville, actually, we're just here visiting . . . well. Clark's fiancée. Her name is Lois."

"Where's Smallville?" Superman asks, still bemused.

"Kansas," Martha says. "We have a little farm out there. And . . . well, we'd very much like to take you in, obviously, though I don't know where you're staying right now."

"Just, like–wherever, right now," Superman says awkwardly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he's pretty sure he does even as he wonders how that's supposed to be "obvious". He's not, like, a little kid or anything. It's not like he can't take care of himself. "Like, it's not really . . . just wherever."

Jonathan and Martha glance at each other. Superman feels embarrassed. It's not like it matters where he's staying, and like, he'll find a place, eventually, just . . . he hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

Cadmus, unfortunately, did not prepare him to ever live . . . well. Outside of Cadmus.

"Would you like to visit, at least? Take a look around?" Jonathan offers. "It's not too far a flight from Metropolis."

"Um . . . maybe," Superman says, really not sure what he'd ever do on a farm of all places. Like, in what way is a farm a "Superman" kind of place to be?

Though he guesses it'd be politer than making Jonathan and Martha come to Metropolis. And if they actually . . . if they really want to see him . . .

He could swing by sometimes, that's all. He guesses he'd have to be careful about doing it because probably the Kents aren't gonna want anybody to know they're his soulmates, given the whole "being civilians" thing. Maybe he can just . . . just pretend to be . . . he doesn't know, exactly? Just–maybe some random distant relative or something. Maybe they have some cousins or whatever. Or just . . . something.

Superman actually has no idea how many people hang out with their extended family members like that, to be honest, but it's the best idea he's coming up with right now.

[schrijverr]

Slipped Their Minds

After a few years working alongside the Justice League, Batman decides that it will be safe to let his kids tie themselves back to him. The only thing is, that since Nightwing is already part of the League, they forget to mention that he is also part of the Bat associates. They only remember when they are surrounded by other members, who loose their shit at the fact that Batman is Nigthwing’s dad.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

When the Justice League forms, most heroes have been around for a few years already. Superman has been flying over the skies of Metropolis for four years, the Flash has been zooming around Central for three and the Green Lantern got his assignment a year and a half ago. While Wonder Woman, J’onn J’onzz and Cyborg are more recent additions.

The only exception to this rule is Batman, who has already been doing this for around fifteen years already, though no one knows for sure when he started. And he has never been very forthcoming with the information either.

Now it’s two years later and the Justice League is looking to expand. The hero community has grown since their start and they want to pad their numbers and increase their reach, so that they can make more of a difference.

One of the new members they recruit, is Nightwing.

Nightwing does not seem like the most interesting new recruit, since he is a human surrounded by people that can absorb nukes or kings of the seas. However, Nightwing piqued their interest, because rumors of him go way back.

Upon meeting the man, they realize this kid has been in the business for a long time, first popping onto the scene about eight years ago. Bar Batman, he’s been doing this the longest.

“Man, how come I never heard of you until recently?” Flash exclaims. He and Nightwing have hit it off right away. “You’ve been doing this for so long, rumors must have started to seep out at some point.”

“Nah, I wasn’t really considered a hero until like a year or so ago,” Nightwing shrugs easily, leaning back in the other monitor chair. “For the first two years, I was a rumor made up by criminals, then I was a good for nothing, punk vigilante that was on the wanted list for the next three years. By then you guys got onto the scene and heroes truly became a topic in a positive way, so they became a little more open to my meddling. Though they still don’t trust me entirely. Now we’re here.”

“Wait, they still don’t trust you?” Flash asks.

“No, course not, it’s Blüd,” Nightwing laughs as if that’s funny. “You can’t trust anyone there. It’s a shithole of a shithole. I’m not a hero, Flash, I’m a vigilante. Huge difference.”

“Ugh, you sound like Batman,” Flash complains. “Wait, aren’t Blüdhaven and Gotham like super close to each other?”

“Yeah, why do you think it’s such a shithole?” Nightwing jokes, though everyone has already learned the hard way that he’s the only one, who can joke about his city like that. They’re pretty sure Aquaman still feels the bruise. For a human, he sure can pack a punch.

“Did you two work together? Before the League? Or, like, even before heroes?” Flash asks, rapid speed as his excitement grows.

“Our cases overlapped sometimes,” Dick says, deciding it’s not technically a lie, because Nightwing didn’t want Batman nosing around in his city until recently and Robin doesn’t really count. “We knew of each other, shared information sometimes.”

“Wow, I can’t imagine what baby Batman must have been like,” Flash says, a little awed.

“Probably a lot stupider than we think,” Dick snorts, still remembering when Bruce took him in only two years after he himself had started running around in kevlar.

Right now, he’s kind of sad that he made Bruce promise to let him be in the League on his own, because otherwise he could share some embarrassing stories with Flash – or Wally, the man’s secret identity wasn’t too hard to figure out – but he can’t do that without revealing Robin and that can’t happen.

Robin is still an unconfirmed rumor. There are a lot of reports about him, but the switches in Robins that have been going on made them all so widely different that no one trusts them. And no pictures have been leaked. Babs is very good at what she does.

Out of the Gotham’s vigilante population, Robin is the only known one in the streets and under the rogues in Arkham. All the other birds and bats – save Signal, the stubborn day shift – are pretty unknown and Batman likes to keep it that way.

He and Cass, Jason too technically, are the only ones, who are proper adults now and the world has changed drastically from when they were kids.

Dick might frown on B’s paranoia most of the time, but it’s no longer just the creeps in Arkham they have to worry about. It’s the anti-hero mentality that is popping up alongside the support, the people with grudges on a larger scale that are trying to find weak spots to get back at heroes that stopped them or couldn’t save them, magic that could control their allies and turn them against them, along with all the ones they love.

The world isn’t safe and anonymity makes his baby siblings a little better protected.

Of course, he’s not going to sit there and say the world was safe when he ran around in short shorts and bright colors. The fact that he was out there in the first place spoke to that. However, it seems like the world was at least smaller then, the harms more manageable. Vigilantes less known, with smaller targets on their backs.

So, he just laughs at the young Batman hypotheticals Wally comes up with as they continue to shoot the shit and watch over earth from high above. Almost like a rooftop, but on a much larger scale. B definitely came up with that one.

And so the Justice League evolves with the new heroes in it, while Nightwing and Batman masquerade as strangers to protect their family.

However, before Dick was Nightwing, he was Robin and it is hard to hide years of working alongside each other with only the other one as backup. Even Barbara came later. At the start, it was just them and that’s hard to forget.

Bruce tries to hide it, putting Dick on different teams, knowing he is capable of leading them, and scheduling different training days for them, as well as trying to stay out of his way as Dick establishes himself among their allies.

But avoiding each other entirely is suspicious too. Besides, it’s unavoidable sometimes. They have skill sets that compliment each other well, it’s natural that they get assigned together, especially when it’s a stealth mission.

Still, they maintain a professional distance. They’re coworkers, whose styles mesh well, but who aren’t particularly close.

And so time passes and the world changes more.

Cass is making a name for herself in Hong Kong, Jason is running around with his Outlaws, while Tim has joined the Teen Titans (under the guise that his name is merely an homage to the Robin rumors from his hometown, where he doesn’t operate) and Steph is striking out with the Birds of Prey.

Only Damian and Duke, the babies of the family, are safe in Gotham – for as far Gotham is safe. And even then, it’s really only Damian, whose existence is still rumor. Signal runs around in broad daylight, the first confirmed connection to the Bat.

A connection, they observed, that has protected him thus far. Not harmed.

Sure, they all know the risks of being a vigilante, but there is no more anonymity keeping them safe. Robin is starting to be believed in more and more, vague images floating around with increased cameras on the streets and all the others have been spotted outside of the context of Gotham. Maybe it is time.

Maybe, telling the world that these people fall under the protection of Gotham’s Legend. Of the first hero – though he doesn’t use the term himself – that ever graced the world. Of the man that is still here, no matter what life throws at him.

Maybe that will be safer than having them be lone vigilantes out in the wind, ready to be taken out by any wannabe villain trying to make their mark.

Red Hood has always worn a bat on his chest, but most considered it a mockery (as it was intended at the time). However, when more and more start to appear, people take it more seriously.

Like, Orphan, who patrols the street in her Black Bat get up that she usually dawns in Gotham, Red Robin, who introduces Robin to the Teen Titans – thus also the world – confirming his existence and tying them both to the Bat, while Steph finally takes on the mask of Batgirl full time.

It’s a perfect plan that goes off without a hitch.

Sure, there is a small explosion online as people learn how many vigilantes patrol Gotham and Gothamites start to share old tweets that were conspiracy theories at the time or their own experiences with the newly revealed vigilantes.

Within the hero community people are surprised to see just how many vigilantes Batman trained, though only Dick hears about that, since Bruce avoids the Watchtower like the plague afterwards.

Naturally, Dick reports gleefully about all the wild shit he’s heard in the halls of the Watchtower to his siblings with grandeur.

Like that first time back on the Watchtower after the reveal. Wally zooms up to him in the middle of the cafeteria area, saying: “Did you see about all the Batman children popping up everywhere?”

“Of course,” Dick snorts, because why the hell would he not have?

“Did Batman, like birth them all? What do you think?” Wally asks breathlessly, obviously it’s been eating at his mind.

Before Dick can reply, Diana interrupts: “I did not know Batman was a sculptor, gifted by the Gods.”

“What?” both Dick and Wally reply, confused.

“His children,” Diana says, her tone giving away that she thinks they should understand that. When it becomes clear they don’t, she expands: “My mother brought a lump of clay before the Gods. She shaped me and breathed life into me. I assumed Batman had done the same, is that not so?”

It’s quiet for a moment as they process what the Amazonian princess just said. Then it takes every ounce of Dick’s training to say straight faced as he explains that humans don’t reproduce that way, while Wally just fails and breaks down in laughter.

By the time Diana understands, Hal has joined them, having wandered over to find out what they hell was happening over there.

He asks: “Spooky really had a bunch of kids? Somehow I can’t imagine him with a baby, like did he have batdiapers made?”

Amused Dick thinks about the last time he saw B hold a baby. Definitely better with kids older than four. So, he shakes his head and says: “Nah, he adopted.”

“That makes sense,” Wally agrees.

“So, he just found a bunch of highly competent kids?” Hal says, not buying it. “I mean, where would he even get them?”

Dick starts laughing immediately, because this has always been his favorite joke to make. However, his laughter prevents him from speaking, so for a second he looks insane, then he gleefully chokes out: “T- the- the circus!”

Wally punches his shoulder and says: “Don’t be a dick,” with an amused voice.

Naturally that only sends Dick into a further spiral and he can’t explain, both because he’s still laughing and because he doesn’t actually want to give their secret identities away. They’ve luckily changed topics by the time he’s gotten himself under control.

All in all, it is a win for once. No organization breaks out of the shadows to target them all and the hero community doesn’t suddenly turn against them. The only thing they forget, is that they never mentioned that Nightwing is also a Bat associate.

Dick has always tried to make Nigthwing outside of his association with the Batman, moving to a city and picking a theme and name far from Batman’s influence.

Bruce has learned over the course of many fights to respect that. And he values his relationship with his son enough that he does, especially when being protective – a thing all of them have at some point referred to as being overbearing.

So, when they’re talking about tying everyone to the Batman, they don’t think to make a plan for Nightwing too. Dick is a Bruce’s son and he’ll always help when Gotham needs it, but Nightwing is Blüdhaven’s vigilante, helping the Bat, but standing on his own.

Besides, he is a part of the Justice League like Batman is, they already know him. He doesn’t need to be revealed to them, he is them.

It’s a silly mistake. More an oversight than a mistake, really. And the good news, is that it doesn’t matter that much. The bad news, is that they don’t realize they’ve made the oversight until they’re in the Watchtower and it’s too late.

Bruce has finally decided everything died down enough that he can show his face again without being overrun. However, as an extra buffer, he has assigned himself monitor duty with Dick.

Sadly, Dick is a more social person than Bruce and he regularly shows up a little early so he can chat with whoever is there, before settling down at the monitors. So, if he wants to use Dick as a human shield – Bruce prefers social interaction lighting rod – then he’ll have to act now, use Dick as a distraction so he can sneak to the observation deck.

So, he travels with Dick to the Watchtower, the two of them appearing together as they discuss the latest drug smuggling case Dick has been working on. It’s been keeping him busy, so he hasn’t been on the Watchtower in a bit.

When they get to the cafeteria area where most heroes gather, Bruce stays half a step behind Dick, hoping one of his friends will spot him and he can make his escape. However, instead it seems like a few have stayed behind when they saw Batman was on duty just to talk to him.

“Batman,” Diana greets with a smile, coming his way as more people spot him. Curse you, Diana, for being earnest and nice enough that Bruce would feel bad disappearing on her.

“Wonder Woman,” he replies. Then he adds: “Flash,” because the man has come their way as well.

“Heya, Bats, Nightwing,” Wally greets. “Surprised to see you up here, finally decided that you couldn’t hide out in your cave forever? Or did the kids push you?”

Dick snorts at that and Bruce sends him a glare, not reacting. Clark is making his way over as well and he is not looking forward to that. No use in already embarrassing himself.

Clark reaches them, right as Diana smiles: “Yes, your children, Batman. I wanted to congratulate you on the fine warriors you’ve raised. Green Lantern showed me videos of their valor in battle, you must be very proud.”

“Hn,” Bruce grunts. Obviously he is proud of his kids, but he barely knows how to tell them that, he doesn’t know how to even begin this conversation.

“Come on, Batman,” Clark joins the conversation. “You can’t be quiet about them forever. We want to know about them, about you. They all popped up at the same time, it had to be coordinated, knowing you.”

“Yeah, man, brag a little,” Wally both teases and encourages.

Bruce only feels cornered now. He loves his kids and as Brucie he has no trouble bragging about them, knowing what to say and meaning every words of it.

He wants to tell them about Damian’s last art exhibit, how well Tim has been dealing with his vigilante life and the company, how well Steph has been doing in her classes and how much good Jason and Cass have been doing out on their own. He wants to tell them about how well Duke has been settling in at the Manor and in the family, how much Barbara has been helping the community from the library and how Dick has been making such a difference in Blüdhaven.

However, immediately, he shuts all those thoughts down. He made their connections known to protect them and every detail he gives away to these people, can only put them in danger again.

Of course he is also proud of their vigilantism, but talking about that, might show weaknesses, things they had to grow in. And that is also dangerous. Having them be mysteries is how he has always protected them, he doesn’t know how to be proud without the possibility of hurting them hanging over his head.

Fortunately, Dick doesn’t leave him hanging and serves as the social interaction lighting rod, Bruce hoped he’d be.

After a beat, Dick smiles widely and slings and arm around Bruce. He pulls him closer as he easily says: “Don’t worry about his grumpy exterior. That was his proud grunt. You learn to understand him. Right, B?” then he tugs on the cowl ear, something he has always done.

Bruce lets a small smile slip at that, because unlike what some people think, he does try to be a person sometimes. Like, Dick. Dick knows, which is why he squeezes his shoulder for a moment, a quiet support.

The moment is broken by the three around them, loudly wondering different things: “B?” “Since when are you so buddy-buddy?” “I did not know you were so close.”

Both startle back at the sudden explosion of noise, then look confused at the three heroes, aware of the eyes of everyone suddenly on them, before looking back at each other.

“What do you mean, B is my-” Dick starts, before suddenly realizing something. He turns to Bruce with wide eyes as he says: “Oh my god, we totally forgot to mention that you’re my dad too.”

“Hn,” Bruce says again, hating when it is shown that he’s not infallible, but human. Very human compared to the supers they surround them with.

Around them, it seems like everyone has fallen silent for a second. Busy comprehending. Then there is a repeat of before, with everyone falling over themselves to ask questions. They do so loudly and overlapping with each other, years of press conferences has taught both to stay quiet until they’ve sorted themselves out.

As expected, everyone quiet down after a bit when there are no immediate answers forthcoming. A reporter at heart, Clark pounces in the silence: “We never found any ties between Nightwing and Batman, not even going years back. How did you hide that?”

Dick laughs a little sheepishly: “I was going through my rebellious phase when I first started out, I didn’t want any of B’s interference when setting out on my own.”

“Wait, but if you didn’t start out together, then how did you get good? Did you get a vigilante starter kit or something?” Hal asks, coming over and dropping any pretenses that he hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“No, course not,” Dick snorts. “I was the first Robin. Got all my training before I even started with Nigthwing. B here had already taught me everything he knew.”

“Hn,” Bruce interjects.

“Well, practically everything,” Dick amends. “But I also learned stuff from some other people that he doesn’t know. So, same difference in the end.”

“Haven’t you been Nightwing for the past eight years, dude?” Wally asks, confused.

“Yeah? So?” Dick replies, because he has. He doesn’t know what that has to do with the conversation.

“How freaking old are you then?” Wally exclaims.

“I’m twenty-six,” Dick says.

Clark looks between them, then asks Bruce: “May I know how old you are then? Should you still be doing this?”

Bruce glares at him and says: “I’m thirty-eight, Superman. Not ancient.”

“Wait, thirty-eight? That’s only twelve years apart,” Wally quickly calculates.

“That is way too young to have a kid, Bats,” Hal whistles, a bit disturbed.

“I didn’t become his father when I was twelve, Lantern,” Bruce grouches, already dreading the next two hours that he’s going to be stuck here.

“Oh, yeah, adoption,” Hal says apologetically, cringing slightly at himself.

“Is that too young?” Diana asks, innocently.

“Yes, way too young,” Bruce grits, before anyone else can answer her.

“Uh-huh,” Dick nods. Then he suddenly says: “Twelve years. I never thought of it like that. Are we really that little apart? You seem so old in my memories, but that’s even less than me and Little D.”

“Well, I imagine perception warps things,” Bruce says. “A twenty-one year old must seem like quite the adult when you’re nine.”

“I suppose.”

“Okay, so you were adopted when you were nine?” Wally says. “When did you start being Robin. I know the current one is like twelve or some shit, but nine is way too young to be running around fighting crime.”

Neither Dick nor Bruce respond to that, both giving each other a glance. Their lack of response tells everyone there enough.

“What the Hell, Batman – pardon my French,” Clark exclaims. “A lot of us have sidekicks, but to start training someone that young. And without precedence?”

“To send a child onto the battlefield is frowned upon,” Diana agrees, more echoing her disapproving look.

Again, Bruce feels cornered. He has never been comfortable with his kids putting themselves in danger. G-d, knows he isn’t, especially after Jason.

However, if he hadn’t equipped them and trained them, they would have been out there anyway and that would have been way more dangerous. But to explain that, feels like giving excuses, when he knows it isn’t a great thing to be doing.

Dick steps in again, diffusing by saying: “Hey, hey, lay off him for a bit. It’s not like he had much of a say in it. If I hadn’t become Robin, I would’ve committed murder at nine and spend the rest of my days in juvie.”

Record scratch. Pause.

Another silence.

Another explosion.

The loudest among them is Wally, who is arguably Nightwing’s best friend and thought he knew the guy pretty well before this, exclaiming: “What the hell, man.”

This time, it is Bruce, who steps in for Dick. He says: “We have all been in dark places and bad stuff has happened to all of us. Let’s not judge a kid, who just suffered a loss. It was a temporary anger, you’ve all seen the kind of hero he is, the type of man he has become.”

A beat of silence passes, before Dick jokes: “See, told you that was his proud grunt,” though Bruce can hear the layer of emotion he attempts to hide with it.

Luckily the others drop it too, letting the moment pass. Wally just says: “Damn, just when I think I’m getting to know you, you’re just another mystery.”

“I’m like an onion,” Dick smiles. “Layers.”

Wally groans as Hal says: “Really? Shrek?” which launches them into a discussion about the movie and its merits.

Meanwhile, Bruce is getting pinned by Diana and Clark, they gazes preventing him from walking away.

“You didn’t say anything about being related to Nightwing when he was voted in,” Clark comments.

“I voted for him,” Bruce replies.

“You know that is not the same, Batman,” Diana says kindly.

“Nightwing is his own vigilante,” Bruce says. “He has worked hard to come out from my shadow. I trust him to make it on his own. My vote was based on his work, just like it always will be. It’s not like I didn’t vote for anyone else.”

“Hm, maybe,” Clark agrees. “But you’re keeping secrets.”

“I always have,” Bruce shoots right back.

“About your identity, we can respect that, but Clark is right,” Diana says. “This isn’t just your private life, this also impacts us. Your other kids aren’t in the League, but Nightwing works with us. We would have liked to know. Can you imagine if we learned about it, because something happened to you out there? Or vise versa?”

Bruce doesn’t like to think about anything happening to Dick, but he can imagine the reverse wouldn’t have been very pretty. “Hn.”

Clark says: “You’re allowed to keep secrets, Batman, we won’t force you. But haven’t we proven ourselves to be your friends? You can let us in. Keep us in the loop.”

Precisely because they are his friends, they can become a danger. People close to him are the ones that will be used to target him, he can’t just risk his kids like that. However, he doesn’t think having that conversation will help, so he says nothing once more.

Diana sighs at that, a bit defeated, making a little bit of guilt churn in his gut (though not enough to risk giving anything away).

Clark asks: “At least tell us if you’re hiding another kid somewhere.”

“I will,” he says, because it is the least he can do. Though he mentally adds the caveat; if it is relevant for the job. He tries to ignore the stab in his heart when Clark and Diana give him a big grin in response.

Before he can give it further thought, the conversation is interrupted by Dick, who calls out: “Get a move on, B. We still have monitor duty.”

He is smiling, surrounded by his friends. Friends he made on his own. He looks happy. Confident. A good young man. One that stands on his own, yet knows he’s not by himself. Bruce can’t find it in him to feel guilty about giving Dick the space to become that person. Not when they both had to grow as people to get there.

They were the first two costumed vigilantes the world knew, even if they haunted the shadows for most of their time as a duo. The two of them are older than heroes. Older than the League. They have enough experience to asses the risks themselves.

Besides, Bruce can privately admit that everyone’s reactions have been kind of funny. He’s sure Dick and his other kids agree. If he knows them well enough, they’re probably watching on a feed Barbara pulled up, laughing at them and gathering more blackmail. Maybe he’ll do it all again, if he ever adopts another kid.

Though, he doesn’t let any of that show, just keeping his face neutral as he goes to join Dick for their monitor duty.

He hears Hal whisper: “Teach me how you got away with saying that,” and knows it’s going to be a long two hours.

~~

A/N:

I know the timeline doesn’t make sense, especially with Nightwing as a name, but my fic my rules. This is more to be funny than to actually have a conversation with canon xp

[blancheludis]

Whumptober 2024, Day 11: loneliness

Fandom: Batman, Superman Characters: Tim Drake & Conner Kent, Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd Tags: Suicidal Ideation, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Depression, Friendship

Summary:

"You do know these things can kill you," Conner says as he finds Tim with a cigarette between his lips, legs dangling over the edge of the roof. He sits down right next to Tim, their shoulders touching. The warmth is welcome. The small smile is, too.

Tim offers the cigarette to Conner and, only when he accepts it, does he say, "I don't think I will live long enough for the occasional cigarette to matter much."

- Tim is tired all the time and, when Conner is not there, feels like loneliness will swallow him whole. But Conner is there, as often as he needs to be, ready to catch Tim if he falls. Or jumps.

Conner brings them to a roof in a city Tim does not recognize. It is better this way. Less chance of being observed. Superman could find them without any effort at all, and Bruce would not be far behind, but they would have to know to look. Nobody is going to miss them for the length of a cigarette or two. Probably not for far longer than that.

Tim sits down right at the edge, legs dangling, watching the traffic pass by underneath. He likes high places. Everything looks smaller, less pressing. It makes himself feel smaller, too, although he usually does not need the reminder. There are no walls pressing in from all sides, though, no people demanding his attention, no paperwork stacking up. This is the closest he can come to peace anywhere. Up on a roof in a strange city, the night air cold around him, a trusted friend at his side.

"You do know these things can kill you," Conner says as he sits down right next to Tim, their shoulders and thighs touching. The warmth is welcome. The small smile is, too.

Tim makes a show of lighting the cigarette and taking the first draw, smoke filling his lungs. Then he turns to Conner, one eyebrow raised, and offers the cigarette to him.

Only when Conner accepts it, does he say, "I don't think I will live long enough for the occasional cigarette to matter much."

He is not sure where that comes from, but it is true nonetheless. Life has been trudging forward painfully. A carousel of work and training and fighting. Of too much coffee and too little sleep. Of solving one case only to get three new ones. He is moving in circles, never managing to take a single step out of it. Usually, he does not have time to think about it, but it is nagging at the back of his mind, and sometimes he just needs a break.

"Stop talking like that," Conner chides, glaring at Tim even though he refuses to meet his eyes.

"What?" Tim shrugs and takes the cigarette back. "You know our fatality rate is stupidly low. That has to change at some point." Or, at least, someone has to stay dead.

Conner nudges him, waits until Tim looks up. "But not with you."

"It's not like I'd get a choice," he says and wonders, in the same breath, what he would do if he did. The edge seems just a bit closer, pressing against his legs.

He puts the cigarette back against his lip, breathes out smoke and follows its whirls up into the sky. A few stars twinkle back at him, unmoved, expectant.

Conner is a solid presence at his side. "It was your choice last week to jump off that building before you knew whether your grapple had connected securely," he says, his voice strangely thick. It is not an accusation. Tim knows those, hates them, because he always does his job.

He pauses, thinks about the exhilarating feeling of jumping into empty air, of actually falling, the world rushing by. It is different than flying with Conner. That, too, is without boundaries. But sometimes, Conner's arms holding him safe feel restricting, like censure. 

A car honks down on the street, ripping him out of his musings; making him aware of how close he is to the edge.

"What is this?" Tim asks with a small smirk. "An intervention?"

But Conner does not smile back. "Does it need to be?"

Tim all but pushes the cigarette back into Conner's hand, breathing around the last of the smoke in his lungs.

"It's not like you're staying back and safe, either," he says off-handedly, like it does not upset him when his friends are reckless, when he recognizes his own restlessness in them. "That guy we suspected to have krypto on him? You charged without thinking twice about it."

He knows he hit a sore spot when Conner leans just slightly away from him, not losing contact but swaying with the insinuation.

Very carefully, Conner says, "I did think about it."

Tim looks at him, does not give him a chance to hide. "And I calculated my risks before jumping."

Conner sighs, a weary sound dragged up from deep down. He tries a smile and ends up with a sharp-edged grimace. "We're pretty messed up, aren't we?"

Pressure builds behind Tim’s sternum. He is not sure whether it is laughter or something worse. Not willing to take the chance, he pushes it back down, practiced in the art of hiding himself away. 

"That kind of comes with the job. And it wouldn't be the worst thing," he then says with another shrug, focussing on the street below. Quietly, he adds, "If it were me, I mean."

He feels Conner growing tense beside him, feels supporting warmth turn into shock. "Tim."

But Tim shakes his head. They usually do not mince their words. Everybody else does enough of that. 

"What?" he asks, completely unrepentant. "B has Damian as heir. They have Oracle for the tech stuff. The rest of the family is getting along most of the time." He goes quiet, less confident. "They'd hardly notice."

Everything else is a fact. That last thing is personal, if no less substantial. Sometimes, he wakes up at night, unable to breathe, unwilling to call out, absolutely convinced that no one would come even if he did. Even in the light of day, he hardly finds enough proof to counter that fear.

Conner reaches out and holds onto Tim’s hand, warm and solid, impossible to ignore.

"I'd notice," he promises quietly, squeezing until Tim's finger tighten in turn.

"Cheers to that," he says but means it.

In this entire world, Tim has three brothers, two of which only tolerate him on a good day, a father who likes to call them soldiers before he would ever call them sons, a team of heroes that has his back in a fight but otherwise expects him to be functional and self-sufficient, and Conner. His ray of sunshine in a drab, grey Gotham winter. The only one who hears Tim's perfunctory I'm fine and pushes past it. He hates him for it, at times, sure, because sometimes pretence is all that is keeping him upright. But he has learned that it is important to have someone with whom he can allow himself to fall and know he will be caught.

Conner is silent as they pass the cigarette back and forth until it is gone. They watch the traffic, the stars. They are both breathing.

"Clark has Jon, too," Conner then says, not looking at Tim as he puts the stub out on the roof. "I mean, I'm not sure he'd notice either."

Tim hums and pulls his legs up from over the ledge, puts his head down on his knees, sideways so he can watch Conner instead of the world around them. "We could quit," he says, more an offer than a dream.

Conner looks back at him, steadfast, open. "As in moving out and going to college, right?" he asks, just a bit of tension behind the words. "Not as in jumping off roofs."

Their hands are still holding onto each other and Tim leans closer, smiling. "I'm not actually suicidal," he promises, not allowing himself to really think about it.

Smiling back, Conner says, "Could have fooled me."

It is the truth. Probably. Tim does not want to die. He has a number of contingency plans in case he is too hurt to continue working or killed in the field. Too much responsibility weighs on his shoulder for him to not make plans. Historically, Bruce does not do well with losing one of his children. Tim is not convinced that his loss would impact the family as much as Jason's did. Damian, for one, would be ecstatic. But Tim is still doing his part. He has his patrol routes, his cases, the company. He has a job to do. Several, actually. Dying would throw a wrench into a well-oiled machine and Tim hates being disruptive. He also hates being nothing more than a tool. That is what he signed up for, years ago, when he went to knock on Bruce's door and refused to leave. Some foolish part of him still hopes his role will change, though, that he could be accepted for who he is, not for what he can bring to the table.

"Are you happy?" Tim asks, banning all thoughts of dying from his mind.

That is a terrible question to ask someone whose life has been largely determined by others. Raised in a lab, plucked out by Superman who had made his displeasure about having a clone very clear, delegated to being a sidekick in vigilantism. None of that leaves much room for normalcy. Still, if Conner can get over that, then there is still hope for Tim, whose only hardship in life is that no one deems him worthy of love.

Yet, Conner says, "I don't know." It still sounds like a lie. "Are you?"

"No," Tim replies without hesitation. He is not in the habit of lying to himself. He does enough of that to other people. "This was never about being happy, though."

Conner laughs at that and mutters under his breath, "Absolutely messed up."

---

Superman waits for them when they get back. Or, perhaps, he is just in the wrong place at the wrong time, walking through this particular hallway in the exact moment that Conner and Tim come down from the roof. One look is enough to pull his lips down in disappointment.

"You snuck out to smoke?" he asks, eyeing them critically.  

Of course, he would smell the cigarette smoke, even after they flew twenty minutes back here. Of course, he could not let it go. He is only marginally better than Bruce in needing to control everything.

"No one saw us," Conner tries to reassure him.

Tim hates the way Conner’s shoulders automatically straighten. He does the same thing, of course, but he learned that from his parents to properly represent the family name out in public. Conner does not need to look like the perfect heir for galas or news articles. He learned because Superman is as liberal with his critique as he is unsatisfied with every move or word out of Conner.

"That's not -" Superman's face closes off, dismissing whatever he wanted to say. Instead, he turns towards Tim, expression stern. "Smoking will kill you."

While Tim still contemplates whether it is safe to roll his eyes, Conner steps forward, half between Tim and Superman. "It was my cigarette," he says, chin raised and back even straighter.

Superman can pull off disappointment better than Bruce. The very picture of this golden, selfless hero furrowing his brows at them as if they set out to personally affront him, is really effective. Batman, on the other hand, is better at putting fear into people's hearts. Together, they are a good team. Superman pouting you really shouldn't do this, with Batman hovering behind him growling or else. Tim is unmoved, having had enough time to get used to both of them. 

"You're not immune to all poisons," Superman lectures the boy he cannot bring himself to call son.

"You can hardly compare cigarettes to poison," Conner replies as nonchalant as he dares.

Superman crosses his arms in front of him, showing off his impressive mass. "I very much can. You will stop immediately," he orders, steel in his voice.

There is only one answer Conner can give. "Yes, sir."

Completely ignoring Conner's protective stance, Superman then looks back at Tim. "I'll talk to Bruce about this."

That is just great. Exactly what Tim needs. Another lecture. Another fumbling conversation that will leave both Bruce and him hurt and painfully aware of everything that is lacking between them.

"That's not -" Tim tries because he has to, but stops quickly when Superman cuts him off.

"You are still children," he explains as if that has ever meant anything. "It is our responsibility to take care of you."

Tim bites the inside of his cheek hard enough to taste blood. Of course. They are not allowed to smoke, but going out to fight criminals and aliens is all right. Heaven forbid they forget to eat their greens. It might make them so slow they cannot dodge the next killing laser beam pointed at them.

Superman had not cared Conner was a child when he pulled him out of the lab, watching his every move and threatening to lock him back up if he did so much as put a toe out of line. Bruce did not care Tim was a child when he pummelled him into the training mat every day for weeks in preparation for becoming Robin. Their age is only ever an excuse when it is convenient for the adults around them.

"Of course, sir," he pushes out between clenched teeth. It is not his best attempt at sounding accepting, but he does not want to. It does not matter either way. Both of them are good enough soldiers. They follow directions when it counts.

---

It takes barely an hour for Bruce to knock on Tim's door. He even waits for Tim to call him in, which is more accommodating than Tim expected. It gives Tim time to arrange himself out of his slouch into something more straight-backed at his desk. When Bruce opens the door, he does not come in but remains leaning against the doorframe, looking Tim over like he is cataloguing all the ways he is lacking.

"Smoking?" he asks, more of a rumble than an actual voice. It irritates Tim immediately.

"It's not like we're chain smoking," he snaps, temper flaring. "It was one cigarette. Everybody tries that once."

Bruce is not a human lie detector, no matter how it sometimes seems. In this case, it is not about lying, however. Whether it was one cigarette or five or a hundred, he still snuck out to do something forbidden. This is like that time Tim had champagne at a gala and had to endure an hour-long lecture about how important it is to stay sober in case something happened. A drunk vigilante is worse in an emergency than no one turning up at all. It is all about control. Mind-altering substances and addictions are in clear contradiction to that.

"You're not everybody," Bruce says, making it sound more like an accusation than a reminder. "You should know better."

No, Tim thinks. They are not like everybody else. Their life expectancy is already reduced and smoking really is the smallest problem on the list.

Tim sits up straighter. "We already told Superman that we'd stop."

Bruce clenches his jaw. "And he didn't believe you."

Of course, not. Tim has no intention to let others dictate his every step. It is not so much about the stupid cigarette than about getting out, away from everything else. The Manor, the company. It is easier for them to sneak out at night and fly somewhere no one knows them. It is easier to sit on a roof than to brave a crowd of strangers. If Tim were to tell Bruce that, sometimes, they go out for pancakes or ice cream, he would surely find some fault with that, too. 

"What will you do, then?" Tim cannot help but ask. It is never a good idea to provoke Bruce, but he is so tired of sitting back and saying yes, sir. "Build us a small smoke alert and pin it to our clothes?"

He expects Bruce to growl at him, to argue right back. Instead, he comes into the room and sits down gingerly on the edge of Tim's bed, looking ridiculous, tall and dark, in the small space.

"What's going on with you, Tim?" he asks, uncharacteristically gentle.

Immediately, Tim's mind flies back to the edge of the roof, to the street looming beneath his dangling feet. To the air rushing past him as he fell, grapple unused in his hand. There is no way Bruce can refer to any of that. The only one who knows is Conner and even they have not really talked about it, beyond the careful acknowledgment that it exists.

"I'm not a child, B," Tim snaps. The easiest way to deal with Bruce is to irritate him to the point where he leaves rather than puzzle through a difficult emotional situation. "I'm not taking drugs. I'm not doing anything that endangers our missions. I just went out with a friend of mine to have the absolutely normal teenager experience of sneaking a smoke."

Bruce's expression darkens. "You -"

But Tim talks right over him - which might actual be proof that he might be slightly suicidal, after all. "I know we're supposed to be better," he says, ignoring that thought. "Well, we're not. What are you going to do about it?"

This is the point where Bruce is supposed to get up, growl something about responsibilities, and maybe to order him to come to a training session later. Instead, he puts both his hands in his lap, carefully unclenched, and looks at Tim, expression almost gentle in its openness.

"Do you need me to do something about it?" he asks, completely serious. No hidden accusation, no threat, no disappointment.

"No," Tim replies, reeling as he tries to understand what is happening here. They do not do this. He needs them to stop doing this. With just the tiniest pang of regret, he pushes on, "I need you to not control every last bit of my life."

Still, Bruce does not look upset. "Is that what you think?"

With a sigh, Tim slumps back in his seat. "No," he admits. In fact, he is usually the one who needs the least oversight. Bruce trusts him not to be a problem. "You just don't need to make such a big deal out of this."

Bruce inclines his head, not quite an affirmation but also not a protest. "You can talk to me, you know that, right?"

Sure. If he wants a few grunts in response and a pointed reminder to be better. Or, it turns out, whatever this is. Neither of them is good with feelings, and less so with talking about them. They are meant for business deals and strict schedules. Usually, that is enough. Tim is not sure why he feels so unmoored. Why he picked now to push against boundaries he never even wasted a second thought on before. Nothing has changed.

"Can I sleep now?" he asks, wondering whether he should just say thank you, whether that would not make Bruce back up quicker.

"I - yes, Tim," Bruce says, and now he looks disappointed. "No more sneaking out, please."

Tim does not promise anything and he knows Bruce notices it. He does not comment on it, but it does not feel like a victory.

---

They meet on the roof of the WE building. It is not the most secure meeting place they could have chosen, but it is all Tim can fit into his lunchbreak and there is a secluded area where they should not be immediately visible for prying eyes.

Conner takes one look at him and sits down close, shoulder slotting against shoulder as if there is no other way to sit.

"No smoke today?" he asks lightly and catches Tim's eyeroll with a grin.

"It's more of a whiskey day," Tim shoots back.

One of these days he is just going to quit. He will walk out of his fancy office, leave the door open, and just leave. Let them all argue with each other. They do not need him for that.

Conner pokes him with his elbow and teases, "I'd think you wouldn't have to come up here for that. Don't your corporate friends all stash something in their desks?"

"What's with the prejudice?" Tim asks, but knows exactly where Lucius has hidden the good stuff. There is a sharpness in his voice that he did not intend to be there. 

Conner notices it, too, of course, but he does not look offended. Instead, he remarks casually, "You look like you want to fight someone. Or sleep for the next two weeks."

Sleep sounds wonderful. There is enough fighting going on in their lives. Patrol has been busy the past days. Always some new emergency right around the corner. Even now with a whole bunch of them running around Gotham, there is always something to do.

"I'd take a break," he says and closes his eyes for just a moment. If he is not careful, he could nod off right here, feet dangling once again over a deadly drop but leaning safely against his best friend.

Shifting his posture, Conner lets Tim fit more comfortably against him.

"Your personal taxi is at your service," he then offers quietly. He means it, too.

That is what Tim loves about Conner. In a world with so much double speak and games being played, Conner is always honest with him.

"I wish it were that easy," Tim says, looking at Gotham sprawled out underneath them. They could just push off the edge and leave the city, fly somewhere no one knows them, somewhere no one wants anything from them. By now, he can understand why his parents spent all their time in remote places digging for forgotten artifacts. Nothing has ever sounded more tempting to Tim.

"Isn't it?" Conner asks but sounds serious, like he is really ready to bring Tim far away from here. "How about you come to the farm for a few days? We can fix up the fence together. There's nothing but sky and corn out there. No crowds, no emergencies."

No convenient high-up roofs either for the bad nights, Tim thinks before the enormity of the offer really hits. Conner sometimes talks about the farm. About the kindness of Superman's parents. About having a home, a place full of warmth where he can just be himself. But, also, about how easy it is to get lost out there, to drown in all that endless space. Both of them know loneliness intimately. How it takes and takes and takes. How it leaves an emptiness behind that feels impossible to fill, even when other people are around. Sometimes especially when other people are around.

Tim can imagine it, both of them out there. Quiet nights with an actual starry sky above them. No noise except for their own breathing. No training or fighting or dragging himself out of bed for another round of heated board meetings.

"I can't just invade Superman's home," Tim argues before the thinking can turn into longing.

But Conner catches him, like he always does. "Ma and Pa won't mind." With uncharacteristic shyness, he adds, "In fact, they'd be ecstatic if I brought a friend home."

Friends. Family. This started out as a mere working relationship. Both Superman and Batman were glad they could hoist their kids off on each other to get some breathing room themselves. Now, Tim cannot imagine his life without Conner anymore. Even so, it is often too much.

"How aware are they of -" Tim gestures broadly at all of Conner.

"Pretty much all of it," Conner assures him. "It's not like we're sneaking around at night."

No. Superman and Superboy are heroes for the light of day. They do not incorporate vengeance like Batman does. They do not hide in the shadows.

Tim finds that he wants to say yes. Wants it with every fibre of his being. Life has become this downward spiral he is not sure how to claw himself out of again. Every day the same, rinse and repeat. He needs a break or he will snap. Or jump.

"B will never say yes." Tim looks at Conner, wants him to take them anyway.

And Conner smiles. "We'll see about that."

---

Tim is late for patrol. If not for the inevitability of Bruce's disappointment, he would be late every night. Like this, he can get ready in peace, without Damian's insults and Bruce's terse instructions. He can put on his gear in silence and head out when he wants, not having to wait for anyone else.

Of course, it is too much to ask that the peace lasts.

Tim is just about to put his mask on when Jason comes down the stairs, munching on a half-eaten cookie. Jason likes to be late to patrol, too, because it gives him a chance to catch up with Alfred without anybody else interfering. He does not stick to anybody else's schedule, though, so Tim had hopes to escape him. When is he ever lucky, though?

"I heard life is not exciting enough for you and you're sneaking smokes right under B's nose," Jason says by way of greeting as he saunters over to his bike. He is already mostly dressed and can therefore put his entire unwanted attention on Tim.

Unimpressed, Tim points out, "You're smoking."

Jason probably smoked before Bruce ever picked him up from the streets. He should be careful with the hypocrisy.

"I also kill people when they annoy me." Jason shrugs like he does not have a care in the world. "You're the prodigal son."

Laughter tumbles over Tim's lips unbidden. He stops it immediately, but the damage is done. Usually, he is better at pretending that he has everything under control. Usually, people do not insist on talking to him about anything other than work.

"Did B put you up to that?" Tim asks, feeling exhaustion running through him like a tidal wave.

"Hell, no." Jason scoffs, but he never takes his eyes off Tim, seeing far more than he is supposed to. "I overheard him and Dick talking. They're worried."

They are all a bunch of hypocrites. Bruce had already started his grand plan for vendetta against crime in Gotham when he was Tim's age. Dick moved out and did his own thing at eighteen. Jason went and died only to come back and make a name for himself as a crime boss. Damian is a trained assassin. How is Tim getting caught smoking more concerning than all of that? They do not know anything else. About the lack of sleep, the bone-deep tiredness he cannot shake, his sudden fascination with high-up places.

"Well, tell them they don't need to be," he drawls in a close facsimile to his usual aloofness.

"Tell them yourself," Jason shoots back immediately. There is no heat behind the words, however, no implied threat. Instead, he just keeps watching Tim, digging deep, searching for all the things Tim does not want anyone to find out. Then, like a switch being flicked off, his expression grows bored, his shoulders slump. "So, little Superboy?"

It is such a rapid change that Tim feels like he got whiplash just standing there.

"Don't you have friends you can bother, Jason?" he asks, not sure he can deal with brotherly teasing any better than with concerned suspicions.

Swallowing the last of his cookie, Jason asks, "Does he carry you bridal style when he whisks you away for a smoke break?"

Tim finally puts his mask in place and glares at Jason through it. "This conversation is over."

Expression still uncaring, Jason says, a little sharper than necessary, "I heard he didn't have the greatest childhood either."

There it is, Tim's temper, always simmering too close underneath his skin these days. "I don't know what you're insinuating, but -"

Jason raises both hands in surrender. "Nothing, Timbo," he drawls, almost managing to sound unaffected. "Take care of each other. I fear the rest of these idiots don't know how."

With that, he pulls his helmet on and starts his bike. He drives off before Tim can even think of a response. What was that? Jason pretending to care about him? The world is currently not ending, so that is a resounding no.

Shaking his head, Tim finishes his preparations and waits a full five minute before he follows Jason out. He really does not have any energy left for strange conversations with his family.

---

"How is it that my entire family is hounding me about one stupid incidence, but you're good to do whatever you want?" Tim rants the next time they meet.

They are not on a roof but sitting in the very back of a small coffeeshop in Metropolis. There are no other customers and the waitress left them the entire coffee pot instead of walking over every time Tim empties his mug. She has learned her lesson after the third time.

"Don't worry, Clark had a friendly conversation with me, too," Conner says with the kind of helpless amusement that means he has long since accepted that Clark only cares when it suits him. "Although it was more about not corrupting you than me dying of lung cancer."

Tim almost chokes on his coffee. "Corrupting me?" he echoes, feeling strangely insulted.

Between the two of them, Conner is the innocent. As a lab-grown clone who got swept up by Superman of all people afterwards, he barely had any chance to develop the kind of habits to corrupt anyone else.

"Funny, right?" Conner asks with a roll of his eyes. "I didn't tell them it was you who likes to choose the highest building in any given place to have your crises."

They should not joke about that. Not even when no one else is there to listen. "Conner," Tim chides quietly.

Instead of letting it go, Conner asks, "Have you thought about the farm?"

It feels like Tim has not done anything else. In countless meetings with board members or investors, Tim has imagined getting up and stepping into a cornfield, just leaving everything else behind.

"Yes," he admits carefully.

"And?"

The coffee mug is empty again, so Tim busies himself with filling it up. Once he cannot stall anymore, he asks, "Next week? I cleared my schedule."

Conner raises both eyebrows as he stares at Tim. Surprise looks good on him. Separates him from Clark.

When he is quiet for too long, Tim looks away. "What?" he quips, trying to calm his mounting heartbeat. "You pulling back the offer?"

"Not at all," Conner reassures him quickly. He still looks at Tim with a strange intensity. "I just realized that things must be worse than I thought. You sound actually eager."

Heat creeps up Tim's neck. Things are not that bad. He is just really, really tired.

"Well," he says, trying for flippant but falling somewhat short. "You've painted a pretty picture."

Suddenly, Conner grins, and there is his best friend, happy and eager. "Yes. You'll love it. No tech, lots of manual labour. Cows."

Tim finds himself smiling back, wider than he has in months. "Is it too late to back out?" he asks, just because that is expected of him. He is not a country boy. He needs asphalt and glass fronts and computers, not dirt and animals. More than that, however, he needs a change of scenery.

"Definitely," Conner says, full of cheer. He kicks Tim's shin in light warning. "I'll call them as soon as I'm home."

"Only if they're really all right with it," Tim says but, by now, it only token protest. 

He has not yet asked Bruce, and right now he finds he does not want to, either. Lucius knows, which means the company will keep running without him. The other bats can take over his patrol for a few days. He does not need permission. He will let Bruce know before he leaves and not take no for an answer.

Conner's grin widens as he points out, "They raised Superman. Do you really think I could pressure them into something they don't want to do?"

Above all else, Tim does not want to intrude somewhere else he is not wanted. "I just want to make sure," he says but he trusts Conner. Trusts him with his life and everything else, too.

Without a trace of hesitation, Conner says, "I'm sure."

What more could Tim ask for?

[wolfjackle-creates]

I wish I'd had the time to reply to this earlier. I ended up with an IRL thing that took my writing energy (language editing for a scientific paper) and I wanted to give this my actual attention.

My ideas for what happens after Kitty and Johnny get captured by Danny:

(typed directly into tumbr, unedited)

Word Count: 2.1k

-----

Danny sagged the moment Kitty disappeared into the thermos. Batman had almost run over to Superman the moment the coast was clear, Nightwing barely a step behind him and the group was talking in low tones.

But Danny just fell to the ground. He'd take ten minutes to rest, then start the long flight back to Amity.

He deserved ten minutes at least, didn't he? Even if this was all his fault?

"Hey, there, Phantom," said a voice Danny didn't recognize.

He opened his eyes, when had he even closed them? Superman was smiling down at him.

"It sounds like Batman and I owe you our thanks," he said, still smiling.

Danny winced and waved it off. "Nah. It was my fault to begin with. Sorry I let them get out of Amity. It won't happen again."

"About that," said Batman. "I believe the Justice League is the one to owe you an apology."

Danny's brow furrowed in confusion, but Superman was nodding his agreement. "I agree. Apparently there was a... miscommunication... somewhere. We'd like to talk to you and find out more about your situation. See if we can provide support so this sort of thing doesn't happen again."

Danny winced again. "Look, I know I screwed up—"

"No!" interjected Superman. "That's not what we mean. We mean that you sound like a good kid and you should never have been doing this job alone."

Nightwing nodded. "Yeah, Phantom. The Teen Titans were formed so that kids like I was and like you are would have a support network when they got into this life."

Danny opened his mouth, then closed it again. Then yawned. He was so tired and none of this made sense. "Look, I can give you my phone number or email or something? And then you can ask all the questions you want. But I need to start flying home now or I'm gonna miss school."

"And you 'can't miss any more school,'" said Nightwing.

Danny shot finger guns at him and grinned. "Exactly."

"Let us fly you home," offered Batman.

"What," said Danny. "You, what?"

"We have a plane," chipped in Nightwing. "Plenty of space. You can sleep in the back while B and I fly. We can get you home within two hours."

He should say no. He should just turn invisible and start flying home right now. "Okay," is what came out of his mouth instead.

---

As soon as Danny laid down in the back of the plane, he was out. Note even the pressure changes of take off or landing could wake him up.

Nightwing was the one to shake him awake after they arrive. "Hey, Phantom," he said as Danny blinked up at him in confusion. "I think we've got another question for you that we need answered before you head to school."

Danny rubbed his eyes and yawned. He pushed himself up and saw jeans covering his legs rather than a black jumpsuit. He looked at his hands—bare, no white gloves. "Pariah curse it," he muttered.

Nightwing chuckled. "Your curses are interesting. What does that one mean?"

Danny just shrugged. "Is that the question you want me to answer?"

Behind Nightwing loomed Batman who shook his head. "No. Why did you transform into a normal human boy the moment you fell asleep? Superman heard your heart start beating the moment you did."

"B!" exclaimed Nightwing who threw up his hands. "We agreed I'd handle asking the questions. He's gonna think he's in trouble or something. Which, kid, you're not. Not at all. I suppose this explains why a ghost has to go to what sounded like a regular high school?"

Danny nodded. "I... yeah. I just... didn't die right. Or died and was instantly partially resurrected. Or something. It doesn't matter. Now, though, I'm half-ghost, half-human."

Batman hummed in thought and Nightwing's face fell.

Superman knelt down besides Nightwing. "How did that happen, Phantom? And what would you like us to call you?"

"My name is Danny—"

"Like the Fenton's son?" asked Batman.

Danny groaned and rubbed his hand over his face. "How'd you find out so quickly? Yeah, I'm Danny Fenton. And I had an accident in my parent's lab two years ago when I was fourteen. It's how the portal activated and what gave me my powers. I'm the only reason it ever turned on, so I have to step up and stop ghosts from hurting the humans and humans from hurting the ghosts. It's all my fault." He looked down at his hands. They'd hate him.

Nightwing reached out and put an hand on his shoulder and tilted his head up with the other. "Danny, no. That's not your fault. You were just a kid."

Batman nodded. "Indeed. We were unaware of this portal. Now that we are aware, your parents will not be allowed to keep it operational. Could you lead us to your home? We have some questions for them."

"Are they gonna be in trouble? Because they didn't do anything on purpose. They just wanted to study ghosts."

Batman's voice grew even more gravelly. "They opened an interdimensional portal that allows beings from said dimension to pass through with impunity. There must be consequences and we will not allow the situation to continue as it is."

Danny winced. "I... if I just leave now and don't take you to them?"

Nightwing grimaced. "We know their names, we know the name of the business. We have your address. I'm sorry, Danny. This has to be done."

He signed. "Okay. But... can I sneak into my bedroom before you go knocking on our door and interrupt my parents? I don't want them to know I was the one to lead you to them."

"Of course, Danny," agreed Superman. "I believe that's more than fair."

Twenty minutes later, Danny was invisibly sliding back into his room. He'd only just gotten on his pajamas when he heard loud banging on the door.

It wasn't hard to look like he just woke up as he opened his door and poked his head out at the same time as Jazz.

"Who do you think that is?" she asked with a yawn.

Danny shrugged and the two made their way to the top of the stairs where they could watch their mom open the door to reveal Batman, Superman, and Nightwing on their doorstep.

"Danny," Jazz hissed. "What did you do?"

"I didn't mean to!" he hissed back.

"What are they going to do?"

"I don't know."

Jazz sighed and grabbed his hand to drag him down the stairs.

Batman was taking the lead in the round of questioning as he demanded to know about the portal. He wasn't even trying to hide his displeasure.

Batman and Superman didn't react to their presence, but Nightwing smiled at them. "You must be the kids. We're sorry to interrupt your morning. In fact, why don't I go with you guys to the kitchen. Make sure you get your breakfast sorted while the adults talk."

Jazz snorted, "You're an adult, too."

Nightwing gasped and clutched at his chest. "The horror!"

Danny thought he caught Batman's lips twitch into a brief smile, but as he was still mostly focused on their parents' continued explanation about their work, it was short lived.

"C'mon," said Danny, "kitchen's this way."

Nightwing followed them and Danny pulled out a box of cereal and three bowls. Jazz grabbed a knife and opened the fridge.

"What the fuck!" exclaimed Nightwing a moment later.

Danny glanced over and saw Jazz spearing two hotdogs who had tried to attack her with plastic toothpick swords.

Jazz grumbled as she pulled out the milk and shut the door. "Dad!" she called. "Did you seriously give the hotdogs swords again?" She walked to the doorway and brandished her knife, the two hotdogs twitching and leaking green blood as their weapons fell from hands that disappeared moments later. All that was left were normal, inanimate hotdogs.

Superman's eyes were wide. "Um, what on Earth was that? Why were those hotdogs moving?"

Maddie laughed. "Oh, it's just the ectoplasm. Must've left some in the fridge for too long, you know how it is. But honey, swords? Really? Remember how you got stabbed that one time a few months ago?"

"But, shnookums! They were going to loose to the chicken! I had to give them a fighting chance."

Batman cleared his throat. "Am I to understand that you store scientific samples in the fridge with the food that your children eat? Food that then is altered so much it attempts to attack them?"

Superman pulled out a communicator. "I think we need Flash here. And Green Lantern."

Danny grabbed Jazz's arm and pulled her back into the kitchen. "C'mon, Jazz. Let's eat before we have to go to school."

Jazz gave him a Look, but let herself be led back to the table. "Danny, we're not going to school today."

"I have a test! I can't skip again."

Another knock sounded on the door.

"That'll be Flash," said Nightwing. "The elder. He's a scientist and I'm pretty sure Superman asked him to come to yell at your parents about lab safety."

Jazz blinked at him and smiled. "If he can get them to listen, I will buy him a gift basket." She poured milk into hers and Danny's cereal.

Danny took his gratefully and began shoving food into his mouth. "So hungry," he said around bites. "Forgot to get dinner last night with all the excitement."

Nightwing's face fell. "You didn't eat? You should've said something! We could've gotten you food."

Danny shrugged. "Johnny and Kitty were more important."

From the living room they could hear a new voice raise in volume. "Samples in your fridge? That's lab safety 101! Show me your lab. I need to see how much worse it can get."

Jazz sighed and pulled out her phone to make a call. "Hi, Mrs. Anderson? It's Jazz Fenton." She rolled her eyes at something the woman said. "Yes, I know Danny can't..." She tapped her finger as she was obviously interrupted again. "Look—"

Danny could tell she was getting frustrated.

"Mrs. Anderson! I'm afraid neither Danny nor I will be in school today. There's four members of the Justice League here questioning our parents and potentially a fifth on the way. We can't really say no to Superman, can we?" Jazz paused as she listened to something and Danny hid a smile. "No, I do not know why they decided to come now of all times," she lied. "But they're here."

Suddenly Superman himself was there. He held his hand out to Jazz. "Can I speak to her?" he asked.

Jazz nodded and handed over the phone without saying anything more.

Superman cleared his throat. "Mrs. Anderson is it? Yes, this is Superman. Mm-hmm. Yes." He paused as he listened. "We were unaware of the situation here. A fact we are trying to remedy. I apologize for keeping two of your students away from your institution, but we wanted to address things immediately rather than wait for the weekend. I trust the children will not be punished for these circumstances. After all, they have no control over the situation. We will be keeping a close eye on them and I will be most displeased to hear they got into any trouble." He paused again. "Great, thank you. I trust you can tell Ms. Jazz the same?" He handed the phone back.

"Mrs. Anderson?" Jazz smiled and inclined her head to Superman. "Yes, thank you so much. I know Danny has a test today... uh-huh. Great. I knew I could count on you. He'll be so happy to hear that. You have a great day."

"What did she say?" asked Danny.

"They'll work with you to reschedule your test, Danny. And we won't get in any sort of trouble for the missed day or assignments. In fact, the school will ensure we get an extension on any homework, assignments, or projects we might have for the rest of the week."

Danny's mouth fell open and, without even thinking, he rushed to Superman and hugged him. "Thank you."

"I think I should be thanking you, kid. It was the least I could do."

More shouting emerged from the lab and all of them looked.

"I should go check on that," said Superman.

"We'll go with you," said Jazz.

Nightwing laughed, "Of course you won't. It's probably super dangerous down there."

Danny and Jazz both just looked at him. Jazz spoke first. "Part of our chores are to clean the lab."

"Yeah, it's way safer with us down there than without."

Superman sighed. "Let's just get this over with."

-----

How long did that get? Ooops.

Suffice to say, no one is happy. The portal will be dismantled and shut down posthaste. Danny and Jazz will be brought home by one or another hero while their parents are brought up on charges of reckless endangerment of the entire city on top of criminal negligence.

Please tell me that with 'Johnny and Kitty pocess Superman and Batman' That they are either on a date or go on a date after a fight? Please this needs to happen

@britcision also asked about this one!

So I was looking through what I wrote of this and...it's not that good. It's based on a prompt from back in Nov 2022 and I was still figuring things out back then and needed to rewrite everything I wrote at least once. It's less crack than you'd expect from the title, I'm afraid.

So I'm gonna do part of that rewrite. Because I'm insane and don't have self control. 🤣

Anyway, the prompt is from @zeestarfishalien and can be found here. Oddly it doesn't have half as many notes as I remember it having. Huh. Guess I thought it had more because I latched onto it so strongly.

Anyway, enjoy!

Word Count: 1.6k

-----

"Danny!" yelled Jazz from downstairs.

Danny froze for just a moment. That was Jazz's something-is-wrong voice. He dropped through the floor to get to her that much quicker. "What happened?" he demanded.

She just pointed to the TV where a news reporter was standing in a city. Behind her, Batman stood next to the open driver's side door to the batmobile while Superman floated in the air a few feet away with his arms crossed.

"Don't look at me like that, baby," said Batman.

"I will look at you however the hell I want. You forgot our date, asshole!" yelled Superman back.

The reporter grinned at the camera. "Looks like quite the lover's tiff we've stumbled upon! Who would have ever suspected Batman and Superman of being in a relationship?"

Behind her, Superman used his heat vision to shoot at Batman who cursed loudly before jumping into his car and speeding off. Superman huffed and flew in the opposite direction. Jazz muted the TV while the reporter continued making speculations about Batman and Superman's relationship. Danny stared at Jazz in horror.

"That was—"

"Yeah. Yeah, I think it was."

Danny closed his eyes and thought about the half finished essay he had upstairs and the history test he had the next day and how his parents would be home in an hour. He wanted to cry.

"I have to go to Gotham."

"I'll take care of our parents. Have you had the flu yet this year?"

Danny's laugh had a hysterical edge to it. "Tuck's been keeping track of my excuses. Ask him. I'll just…" Danny let the sentence trail as he transformed and flew out of the house without another word.

Even flying as fast as he could, he didn't arrive in Gotham until night had fallen. He tried to sense Johnny or Kitty or listen for the chaos that always followed them, but the city was so big.

After over half an hour of searching with no luck, Danny was sitting on a roof with his head buried in his knees trying not to cry. He only had so many hours before he had to be back in Amity for school. If he missed any more days, he'd get a suspension and his parents would be livid.

Just then, the clock tower chimed ten. Danny lifted his head to look at the tall building, one of the tallest in the city. He might not have any idea how to find Batman, but surely the other heroes would. Maybe he could get their attention?

In a matter of minutes, he was floating above the clock tower. With a deep breath, he shot an ectoblast up into the sky. Two minutes later, he repeated the action.

Not long after his fifth blast, two grapple hooks attached to the tower near his feet and seconds later he was facing Batman and Robin.

Danny immediately fell into a fighting stance. "Johnny, I'm not going to let you get away with this. Get out of him. Now."

But instead of calling him a do-gooder nerd, Batman pulled out a batarang and held it ready to throw. "I'm not this Johnny," he growled.

Danny relaxed and sighed in relief. "Oh thank the ancients, you got him out. I'm so, so sorry, Batman! I know you and the Justice League are relying on me to keep the ghosts from escaping Amity. Johnny and Kitty must’ve gotten past me. How'd you get Johnny out? Were you able to help Superman? Kitty is at least reasonable most of the time so I hope she didn't give you any trouble. Where are they now? I'll just collect them and bring them back to the Realms."

Robin pulled out his sword and pointed it at Danny. "What do you know of Fa— Batman's condition? Who is this 'Johnny' you speak of?"

Danny's core stuttered in his chest. The kid couldn't mean… He looked past the blade pointed at him towards Batman. "You… aren't Batman. Are you? You're covering for him while Johnny is overshadowing the real one."

Batman put a hand on Robin's shoulder. "Lower the sword, Robin." To Danny, he said, "I think you owe us some explanations."

Danny buried his head in his hands and tried to bite back the tears. He was so tired. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. This is my fault. They got past me and I failed. I'm so sorry."

“Desist with your groveling and explain!” ordered Robin.

“Right, yeah. Of course. Sorry.” Danny looked up, but the stars were hidden behind smog and lights. He sighed. “I’m Phantom, of course. Responsible for monitoring the portal in Amity and keeping ghosts from coming through and causing problems on Earth. Also for stopping human hunters from hurting any ghosts. Johnny and Kitty, two ghosts, must have gotten past me. I’m careful, I swear. We set up an alarm on the portal so I know the moment someone comes through, but I missed them somehow. I…maybe they came through at the same time as someone else? I’ve had to deal with Skulker and Boxy so far this week. And Queen Dora came for a visit and one of Pandora’s people stopped by to drop something off. So if Johnny and Kitty came through at the same time… Pariah curse it, I should’ve realized. What a stupid design flaw. I’ll be working on a fix for that as soon as I get out of school tomorrow. I’d do it sooner, but I’ve a test you see. And if I miss any more class, I’ll get a suspension, and then my parents really will kill me again.”

Danny winced when he saw Robin’s fingers twitch towards his sword again. “Sorry! No more excuses. It’ll be fixed ASAP, promise. Um, Johnny is generally into motorcycles, but I think he saw the Batmobile and wanted to take it for a ride so he overshadowed Batman. From what I saw on the news, he blew off a date with Kitty to do it so she’s pissed and followed him and ended up overshadowing Superman. Probably so she could use his powers on top of her own to punish Johnny.” He trailed off and waited for the yelling to start.

But they were silent.

Danny shifted from foot to foot. “Again, I’m really sorry. I know you rely on me to keep this from happening and I swear it won’t again. But if you tell me where you think Batman is, I’ll go retrieve Johnny. Same with Superman and Kitty. I need to get this wrapped up by four, maybe four thirty, so I can get home in time for school to start.” He couldn’t hold back a yawn. He just wanted to sleep.

Batman and Robin exchanged a glance and Batman put away his weapon. “I’ve never heard of you or this Amity before. You’re a kid, who is your Justice League mentor? Why aren’t they here?”

“I… What? Justice League mentor? What are you talking about? All of my mentors are ghosts.”

Robin snorted. “Who informed you that it was your responsibility to monitor this portal that allows these ghosts to invade? Why are you the only one preventing attacks such as this?”

Danny bristled. “I’m not alone! Sam and Tucker and my sister help me!”

“Are they kids like you?” asked Batman.

“If by like me you mean ghosts, of course not. They’re fully alive. I’m the only ghost of the group.”

“No,” said Batman after a pause. “That’s not what I meant. I wanted to know if they were teenagers who still go to school like you or if they were adults you worked with.”

Danny shrugged. “Jazz is starting college next year, but yeah. They’re my friends.”

Batman let out a long breath. “Right. And why do you think the Justice League is expecting you, specifically, to monitor this portal?”

Danny threw up his hands. “Because you told me that!” He saw Batman open his mouth to say something and quickly added, “Not you specifically, but, like, the League. This guy Constantine came by a month or two after the portal opened and saw me and relaxed. Said he was glad to see I was already handling things there. Gave me a number and laughed and said if anyone could handle the situation, it’d be me, but I could call if I needed back up.” He shrugged. “And he was right. So far I have been able to handle it. This is an exception and I’ll get it fixed in a few hours tops.”

Robin ground his teeth. “That lazy magician.”

Batman also muttered something under his breath. “Thank you, Phantom. For doing so much on your own. If you tell us how to free Batman and Superman, we can handle it from here.”

“What?” Danny shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about? You need specialized weapons that I don’t have on me and containment devices and access to a portal to the Realms to get rid of them. Seriously, I can get this taken care of. Just tell me where Batman is.”

Batman sighed again. “We don’t have much of a choice. Fine. But will you be able to get us these weapons and containment devices if we requested some of you? We’ll pay you, of course. And we’d like more details on what you’ve been dealing with. I’m afraid Constantine… did not share the details of your dealings with the rest of us.”

“Yeah, sure. The weapons are made by Drs. Jack and Maddie Fenton of FentonWorks, based out of Amity Park, Illinois. Their son Danny can help you pick out the most useful ones. Some are more torture device than anything, though, so definitely avoid those. Danny will be able to tell you the difference.”

Batman nodded once, jaw clenched. “Thank you. Now, I’ve just gotten an update on the possessed Batman’s location. Follow us.”

-----

Dick is pretending to be Batman here. If they have a "normal" batman out, then they can show the possessed batman is an imposter.

I saw some debate on the original over whether Johnny would possess Batman or Superman. To me, the answer was obvious. He'd possess Batman because he wanted to take the Batmobile for a spin.

Meanwhile, Kitty is the smart one. She'd go for Superman because then she could use his powers and her own to 1) punish Johnny and 2) prevent anyone from stopping them.

Regarding Constantine: He made an oops, but it's not (fully) his fault. Due to time missions from Clockwork, Phantom is shown to be thousands of years old and is known for fantastic feats. If Constantine had known this was some fourteen year old newly dead kid, he'd have acted differently. Instead, he thinks Danny is older than he is with millenia of experience.

This is free for anyone to continue!

[paladin-n-cleric]

✨✨✨ cleansing the byler community’s askbox with cute concepts ✨✨✨

u got me hooked on this theory and for that i owe u my life so here we go. sorry this is so long omfg.

———

they’d all been awake for at least 24 hours now, maybe longer, working hard to track down vecna—will especially, as he’s essentially been their human gps all day, tapping into his connection with vecna in order to find him. he’s slumped against the backseat window now, mike on his left, el and lucas in the front seat.

lucas drives steve’s car and drops everyone off at home. will doesn’t protest when mike pokes him in the arm and nods his head toward his house, inviting will in. will looks at el, who nods, confirming she’ll tell their mom that will’s safe and he’s staying at the wheelers’. he’s had a tough day, and his medicine for a tough day is mike; his mom has always known that. joyce will understand.

they get inside and will starts heading for the basement. “hey, what are you doing?” mike asks. “aren’t you hungry? thirsty? you’ve been, like, exerting yourself all day.”

“oh, right. yeah, that’s a good point.” will walks back to the kitchen as mike throws some leftover pizza in the microwave and then pours a glass of water. he hands the glass to will.

will chugs it down, then sets the glass down, rubbing his eyes. “god, i’m tired.”

“i know. i’m sorry.”

will’s confused. “what are you sorry for?”

mike shrugs. “i wish i could’ve done more.”

“you stayed with me the whole time. that’s all i could’ve asked for.”

mike smiles a little. “maybe. but. i don’t know. at least lois lane is an ace reporter for the daily planet, right?”

will laughs, trying to hide his sadness at the memory. he remembers those words from his last tough day. “i think flying around with superman was her most important job, and she did that all the time.” he swallows, hoping mike doesn’t realize what he’s just implied. god, he’s tired.

mike’s face turns serious, and for a second will is scared. “will… you’re special.”

“what? no, i’m… no. i don’t have… powers or anything, if that’s what you mean. this thing i have, with vecna, he created that to control us, try and spy on us. it’s not anything that i did. i’m just happy that we realized we can use it to our advantage.”

“no, it’s not that. it’s, um… you were brave, today. and everyday, but today i just… couldn’t believe some of the places you were walking into. some of the rooms in creel house, jesus… i could never have gone in there alone.” mike swallows, doesn’t make eye contact. “unless it was to save you.”

will steps closer. “so now you understand why i did it.”

“to save yourself?” mike snickers.

“no, dumbass.” will laughs back. “to save you. and—and everyone. but if something happened to you…” will really needs to get some sleep before he says something he shouldn’t.

mike smiles and shakes his head in disbelief. “sometimes i feel like, the day you became my friend, superman landed on my doorstep-“ they’re distracted temporarily by the microwave beeping.

will tries to laugh it away but mike doesn’t break his gaze. “mike…”

“and i don’t think you became special when vecna possessed you. i think… you were born special. and i’m just the lucky goddamn nerd who was… the first person to realize that. well, besides your mom and jonathan.”

“mike… you’re tired. you don’t know what you’re saying.”

“yes, i do. and you do, too. you remember when i said all that?”

“about my sister? yes, i remember.”

mike shakes his head profusely. “no, not about… no, will. not about her.”

will’s suddenly aware that they’re standing really close. “oh.”

“yeah. oh.”

time is blurry and he’s so tired he hardly remembers the kiss the next morning when he wakes up with mike’s arm draped over him.

who is he kidding? he remembers it in stunning detail.

SQUEALING KICKING MY FEET MY SMILE COULD LIGHT UP A ROOM THIS IS SO LOVELY <33333

sending these asks to people is the sweetest thing ever, thank you. and we’re on the same wavelength or something bc i wrote a script where they put food in the microwave and the beeping interrupts the moment???

anyway i love love love the superman van theory and this mini fic !!!!!!! you’re an angel for this <3333

[ragingbookdragon]

The Daughter Of Superman, The Adopted Son Of Batman...What Could Go Wrong? PT. 2

Jason Todd x Kryptonian!Reader One-Shot

Word Count: 2.8K Warnings: Angst

Author's Note: I should really post my other Kryptonian reader story. Enjoy the angst! -Thorne

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

She jerked backwards, eyes widening at the sight of the thick, crimson liquid running down her arm. A shudder ran through her, throat seizing up as she tried to suck in air, her other hand coming up to rub at her arm. Suddenly it was on both hands and she stared at them in horror.

A voice called from below her, pained, but firm. “Superwoman…it’s okay. Don’t—ugh—don’t panic. It’s alright.” The voice was soothing at first, but when she looked down to find its owner, the body next to him took up all she saw, a vicious, gaping hole where his heart used to be.

She peddled backwards, stumbling to the floor, apologies falling from her lips. “I’m sor—I’m so sorry. It was just—he was hurting you and I—I didn’t mean to do this, I swear—”

The boy reached out to her but grunted in pain, hand dropping to hold his side. “(Y/N)—”

Her eyes met his once more, and he could see the tears swimming in her gaze as she whispered, “I’m sorry.” She shot from the ground, disappearing in the sky in a blur of red and blue.

He reached for her calling out, “(Y/N)!” He lost sight of her as quickly as she left, and the other two ran up to him.

“Tim!” The taller boy stopped, looking down at the corpse next to him, jaw dropping in shock. “…Oh my god. Wh—what happened?” He looked at the other. “Tim?”

He shook his head, eyes meeting the shorter one. “Bart, I need you to get to Central and find Wally and Dick and tell them to get to the cave.” Bart nodded and spun, taking off in a flash of yellow lightning.

The other boy knelt, picking him up off the ground. “Tim, what happened?”

He groaned, hand moving to hold his side once more. “(Y/N) killed him on accident.” Tim looked at him. “Conner, I can get back to the tower on my own, but I need someone to get to Jason.” He sucked in a breath, reaching up and wiping the blood from his nose though it still bled despite him. “Kori and Roy will probably be with him, but right now, we need everyone who can search.”

Conner nodded, steadying Tim on his feet before rising from the ground; he looked down at him. “Do you know where she went?”

Tim shook his head, grimace crossing his lips as he muttered, “I don’t think we’re gonna find her for a long time.” He glanced up at Conner. “Go. Now.” The boy nodded, flying off, and Tim took a few steps forward before stumbling into a wall. He heaved a sigh, picking up his transmitter from his belt.

He pushed a button, and a few seconds later, a voice came over the line. What’s going on?

Tim frowned and asked, “What’s your E.T.A. to earth?”

Eighteen hours. What happened?

Tim glanced back at the body, the puddle of blood seeming to consume it. “It was (Y/N). She… she killed someone.”

The voice on the line was silent, then it said, Superman is on his way. Call me when he gets there.

The line went dead, and Tim sighed, sliding down the wall. He lent his head back, eyes staring up at the sky, waiting for (Y/N)’s father.

***Later In The Cave***

The group stood in silence, faces molded in a mixture of shock and pain. Tim yelped as Alfred pushed on his side. “Ow shi—Alfred!”

The man hummed, wrapping the cloth around his side. “Apologies, Master Tim.” He tucked an ice-pack between the layers. “With the broken ribs you’ve got, it would be best to keep ice close. I also advise against any harsh movements.”

Tim nodded, gaze turning to the man beside his oldest brother. “Clark.”

The man looked up from the ground, voice stricken as he lamented, “I can’t hear her. She’s…completely silent…” his eyes held a deep and sorrowed pain. “I can’t hear my baby girl.”

The others listened, then Jason stepped forward, expression grim and solemn. “Tim, what exactly happened in San Francisco today?”

The boy looked over at him before dropping his gaze to the ground, sighing, “What didn’t happen out there, Jason?”

Tim shook his head, clearing his throat. “It was a routine mission, patrol the area before getting back to the tower, but Bart called and said that he saw what looked to be a meta-human going on a rampage. We all met up and started fighting, and while it took some time, we managed to get him to an abandoned warehouse complex. Turns out, he not only had super strength, but he could also make copies of himself, and when I figured out that the original was susceptible to damage while he had copies, I sent Conner, Bart, and (Y/N) to fight the copies while I found him.”

He paused, picking at his nails. “What I didn’t expect was for him to throw me into a forklift and break three of my ribs. I tried to get up, but before I could move, his hands were around my throat, and he was lifting me up off the ground.” He absentmindedly reached up, fingers brushing the purple hand-prints around his pale neck. “Everything was happening so fast, and I couldn’t get my bearings in time. My vision started to get dark, and I could hear (Y/N) shouting from behind, and the next thing I knew, I was being dropped again. When I could see and breath clearly again, I looked up, and I saw (Y/N)…I saw her…”

A hand rested on his shoulder, and he glanced up, seeing Conner nodding firmly at him. He let out a breath and said, “And I saw (Y/N) standing there, and the meta-human lying in a pool of his own blood and he had…he had a hole through his chest.”

Quiet gasps were heard around the cave, and Tim looked up at Clark. “It was just an accident Clark, she didn’t mean to do it. She was trying to save me.” The man didn’t look at him, eyes glued to the floor as he swallowed thickly, obviously thinking about what he was just told.

Jason stepped up to Tim. “Do you know where she went?”

Tim shook his head. “No, she took off before I could stop her.”

“So, you’re pretty much saying that she could be anywhere.” Everyone turned their head at the sound of Dick’s voice.

Tim nodded. “That’s why I called everyone here. We need help trying to find her.”

Dick turned to Wally. “You and Bart comb Central.” The two took off, and Dick turned to Kori. “You should take Roy and go check around hideouts the Outlaws frequent.” Kori and Roy made their way to the stairs. “Tim, you sit out and monitor everything. Conner, you can help me and Jason check Gotham. Clark…”

Dick walked over and resting a hand on his arm. “You should go home and tell Lois about what’s happened, then check Metropolis.” Clark nodded, but made no move to go, and Dick squeezed his arm gently. “Clark.” He looked at Dick. “We will find her, I promise.”

Clark nodded again, this time finding his feet; he paused as he reached them and turned to Jason. “Jason?” He turned, waiting for Clark to continue. “I don’t really have any doubt that you’ll be the one to find her tonight…” His voice soft as he asked, “But when you do, will you tell her that I’m not angry at her?” Jason nodded, and they watched Clark leave.

Dick faced them, tone quiet. “Conner, you and I can take North and East Gotham, Jason, you should take South and West.���

They nodded at his words, each moving to the exit. Tim’s voice reached them before they could leave. “Jason! Can you wait for a minute?”

Jason nodded at the others, watching them leave before moving back to Tim. “What’s up?”

Tim hung his head and whispered, “It’s my fault, Jason. I should’ve been more vigilant when I was fighting. If I had gotten up sooner, none of this would’ve happened. I’m sorry—”

A hand rested on his shoulder and he looked up; Jason stared at him seriously. “Tim, it wasn’t your fault. And it wasn’t (Y/N)’s either.” He squeezed Tim’s shoulder gently. “Okay?” Tim nodded and Jason let go, though he saw the tears in Tim’s eyes.

***

Jason crouched atop the ledge staring down at the city, a frown crossing his lips. He didn’t bother to look up at the sound of someone’s boots hitting the rooftop, or when they stopped beside him. “Have you found her?”

He snorted, eyes following a car on the busy road. “Do you honestly think I’d be up here if I had?” He glanced up, seeing Dick slightly grinning at him.

Dick lowered himself on the ledge until he sat next to Jason, legs hanging freely off the edge. The two of them simply stared out at the streets, observing the cars carrying their passengers’ home.

After a few moments, Dick asked, “Where do you think she is?”

He watched Jason shrug and murmur, “I have no idea…I’ve searched everywhere that has any kind of meaning to us and I still can’t find her.” He looked at Dick, eyes filled with trepidation. “I’m worried about her, Dick…she’s all alone out there, thinking about what’s happened, and it’s eating me up.” He shook his head, letting out a sigh. “I shouldn’t have left San Francisco earlier. I should’ve stayed.”

Dick’s eyebrows shot up at his words. “Wait, you were in San Fran earlier today?”

Jason nodded. “Spent the night with her but left in the morning.” He thumped the heel of his armored boot against the wall. “I could’ve stopped that meta and she wouldn’t have done anything.”

“You’re really torn up about her killing someone, Jason.”

Jason turned to Dick, shouting. “Of course I am!” He placed a hand against his chest. “I kill bad people because they’re evil and they deserve it. I wouldn’t want (Y/N) or any of the people I care about to follow the path that I do.” He paused, voice lowering. “(Y/N) is…a good person. She’s kind and caring and she loves everyone with everything she has. She protects those that are innocent and protects those she loves even more fiercely.”

He sighed heavily, his voice lowering to a whisper. “I’d never want her to have to think about the people she kills like I do.”

“You’re telling me you actually think about the people you kill?”

Jason let out a mirthless laugh, his gaze returning to the city. “Contrary to popular belief and what you see when you look at me, I am not a heartless killer, Dick. I know the consequences of my actions, and believe me, I think about them every moment I’m alive.” He stood and looked down at his brother. “I’m going to hit my apartment and take a nap before getting back out there.”

Dick nodded, observing him as he started climbing down the ledge; he called out to Jason. “She’s really changed you in the year you’ve been together.”

Jason snorted, “Don’t tell anyone, I’ve got a reputation to keep.” He paused, hand gripping the ledge as he replied, “ But yeah she has… and only in the best ways, Dickhead.”

“Hey!”

***

The apartment was quiet, just as he’d left it the day before, and he shucked his helmet and jacket off, placing them on the table. He bent over, undoing the laces from his boots, kicking them off before reaching up and pulling his domino mask off, raising a hand to rub the fatigue from his eyes. It was a futile attempt to delay the inevitable, and as he made his way to his room, he mentally took note of how long he needed to sleep before getting back in the field to look for her.

As he walked through the hallway, a quick intake of air sounded through the apartment, and Jason reached to his hip, pulling a pistol. He stepped carefully through the hall, checking the rooms before he came up to his bedroom. Sucking in a quiet breath, he stepped into the room, gun following his gaze as it landed on a huddled mass beside the window.

He walked silently over to it, and upon closer inspection, his eyes widened, voice laced with disbelief as he questioned, “(Y/N)?”

She raised her head, eyes red rimmed and bloodshot. “Jason?” she whispered, unsure of herself.

He lowered the gun, placing it on the nightstand before moving to her, hands grasping her upper arms. “(Y/N), we’ve been looking everywhere for you.” He shook his head. “Why didn’t you call one of us and tell us where you were?” She didn’t respond to him, simply looking down. Jason let go of one of her arms, gently cupping her cheek. “Doll?”

He felt something wet drip onto his hand, and finally, she sat up straight and stared at him. The blanket she’d been covered with fell away, and his gaze dropped to her arms. His eyes widened at the sight of the faint red smeared across her arm. “(Y/N),” He breathed.

“I kept scrubbing and scrubbing, but no matter how hard or how much I did, it wouldn’t come off.” The tears were rolling down her cheeks now, and she lowered her head. “I didn’t mean to do it Jason. I just…”

Jason reached for her, pulling her into his arms and hoisting her up. He reclined against the headboard, arms wound tightly around her. “Shh…it’s alright…”

“I killed him, Jason.” (Y/N) pulled back enough to look him in the eyes. “I kept yelling for him to let Tim go, but he wouldn’t. I could hear Tim’s heartbeat fading and I just reacted.” She gazed at her arm. “I put my arm through his chest, Jason!” (Y/N) stared at her arm as if it didn’t belong to her body, an alienated limb, then she felt herself being lifted again. “Jason what—”

He said nothing, maneuvering her into the bathroom where he sat her on the sink. She watched as he pulled a rag from the cabinet and reached below the sink for a bottle. He poured the solution into the rag, then gently took her arm, wiping it. His gaze was unreadable, but it was anything but hard; in fact, it was soft, and before she knew it, the remaining blood had been wiped away.

Jason threw the towel into the hamper and turned back to her, cradling her face in his hands. “It’s all gone, (Y/N)…it’s not there anymore.” Her eyes lowered to her arm before they rose back to his, and he pressed his forehead against hers. “You don’t have to think about this anymore, doll.”

“I killed him though, Jason.”

She felt him shake his head and he asked, “What would’ve happened if you hadn’t?” She went silent, and Jason asked again, “(Y/N), what would’ve happened to Tim if you hadn’t protected him?”

Clearing her throat, she whispered, “He would’ve died.”

“No, he would’ve been murdered.” Jason looked in her eyes. “(Y/N),you saved Tim’s life.”

“At the expense of another’s.”

Jason let out a sigh and nodded. “Sometimes that’s the only way…but (Y/N)?” She looked at him and he insisted clearly, “What you did today…does not make you a killer, and it doesn’t make you a murderer…do you understand that?”

(Y/N) blinked at him before looking away and muttering, “…You should call everyone and tell them where I am.”

Jason reached down and picked her up from the sink, flicking off the light and moving to the bed. He lowered her down before crawling under the covers beside her, pulling her to him and raising the covers to their chins.

“I’ll call later.” He pressed his lips to her forehead. “Right now, the only thing that matters is you.” (Y/N) bit her lip to keep from crying, and a moment later, Jason quipped, “Remember that time that you threw me out of a third story window?”

(Y/N) let out a watery laugh, burying her face in his chest. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you, Jason?”

She glanced up at him, and he leaned down, pecking her nose. “If I keep getting a reaction out of it, probably not.”

(Y/N) searched his eyes for a moment then whispered, “I love you, Jason.”

He nodded, pressing his lips to hers. “I love you too, (Y/N).” He curled his arms around her, caging her to his chest. “Get some sleep…I’ll be here when you wake up.”

She did as he said, tucking her head under his chin. “Promise?”

“Cross my heart, doll.”

[bi-bard]

Chick Flick Moments - Sam Winchester Imagine (Supernatural)

Title: Chick Flick Moments

Pairing: Sam Winchester X Reader

Requested: by an anonymous reader

Word Count: 2,363 words

Warning(s): violence, cussing, Sam embarrassing himself, spoilers for any movie/show listed in the author's note

Summary: (Season 11) Gabriel takes a break from hiding to teach (Y/n) and Sam to forgive each other.

Author's Note: I had so much fun putting this request together! Also, if I remember correctly, this reader wanted to remain anonymous.

Here are links to all the scenes that inspired parts of this imagine:

1 (Princess Bride), 2 (8x12 Criminal Minds; can't find just the scene to link), 3 (Moulin Rouge), 4 (The Notebook), 5 (The 10 Things I Hate About You), 6 (Gilmore Girls), 7 (La La Land)

Hey! I did a rewrite of the ending of Supernatural. It took a really long time to complete, so it would mean a lot to me if you check it out. Here’s a link! (it’s on my personal account)

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

I rolled my eyes as I walked through the bunker.

Sam was still ranting about the most recent hunt. I was just tired of listening to it. Dean had long since given up trying to control his brother, who had shown no sign of listening to anyone.

"You can't just throw yourself into every single enemy," Sam yelled. "Fun fact, you're not Superman!"

"Oh my god," I finally, turning around. I had been halfway through the library at this point. Dean continued through the bunker, ignoring us. "I ran up to one extra vamp because you were about to get your throat ripped out! Yes, I put myself in danger but it was to save you!"

"Why are you so desperate to be a hero," he asked.

"Why are you so pissy that I saved you," I shouted back.

I let out a yell before turning and leaving.

"Where are you going?"

"To bed," I shouted from down the hall. "Maybe you'll be nicer in the morning! You're welcome for saving your ass!"

I stormed into my room and slammed the door shut. I changed quickly, throwing my old clothes into the corner before curling up on my bed. My emotions got the better of me. I started crying into my pillow.

Imagine saving the man you secretly loved... and then he got mad at you about it.

I fell asleep crying that night.

--time skip--

I shot awake, cringing at how bright it was.

I looked around, letting my eyes adjust to the light.

I was on a hill. I was on a hill, lying in the grass with the sun shining on my face. This is not good.

I stood up and did a circle to look around the long stretches of grass. Nothing looked even slightly familiar.

"For fuck's sake," I muttered.

I decided that the best option would be to try to climb down and find a person... somewhere.

I was just about to start making my way down the hill when I felt a hand grab me.

Out of pure fear, I grabbed the person and pulled them from behind me. The person went flying down the hill.

"(Y/n)," I heard Sam's voice yell as he rolled down the hill.

I put my hand over my mouth. He soon stopped rolling and then he stood up, scrambling to pull the black mask off of his face. I sighed, dropping my hand when I saw he was alright.

"Sam," I called.

"Your instinct is to throw some down a hill," Sam asked.

"When a masked man tries to grab me, definitely," I replied. "Fun fact, Sam, I can actually defend myself."

He gave me a sarcastic smile. I shot it right back to him.

Sam looked down at his outfit before sighing and shrugging at me. He had just started to move back up the hill when my visions went dark.

I opened my eyes a few moments later.

What had been an open field was now a dark warehouse or factory. I saw Sam across from me, but also a group of people behind him. I recognized them. They were characters from Criminal Minds, a guilty pleasure I watched when we weren't hunting.

I tried to figure out what was happening.

Then, I became all too aware of the barrel of a gun pressing into my neck.

"No," Sam yelled.

It clicked.

Sam was supposed to be Spencer. I was Maeve. This was Zugzwang.

My heart dropped.

"Wait, please, don't," Sam yelled as the gun pressed harder on my neck.

"Sam, shut up," I snapped.

"Me for (Y/n)," he shouted.

"You would do that," Diane- the unsub of that episode- asked.

"Yes," Sam replied.

"No," I yelled. "Sam, shut up."

"You shut up," Diane growled at me.

"One difference between me and her...," I growled back.

I grabbed the gun, pushing it forward, away from my neck. The bullet she tried to fire hit the brick wall. I turned, bringing an elbow down on her arm. Her hand dropped the gun into my grasp. I pointed it toward her.

"...I'm not scared of a simple gun."

The others walked over and arrested her. I looked at Sam.

"If you continued, she would've killed herself, which would've killed me," I explained. He furrowed his eyebrows. "I watch this show when we aren't hunting."

He walks over, going to hug me before the scene changes again.

"Holy...," I trailed off as I looked around.

Around us, we could see the tops of roofs and a beautiful night sky. It was almost a dreamy setting.

"Where are we now," Sam asked.

"Only the great Moulin Rouge," Sam and I both twirled around to face... Gabriel. "I know, I know... I'm not dead, anyway!"

I rolled my eyes.

"You two need to learn a lesson," he pointed at us.

"It's like back in 2010," I mumbled. "Play our roles to get out. Probably why we were pulled out of the last two."

"You'll fall into them naturally, I promise," Gabriel smirked. "And yes. Stop ignoring the plotline."

"Alright... sure, I was gonna get shot for your crappy game," I snapped sarcastically.

Then, he was gone. I rolled my eyes.

"So, what are the roles," Sam asked as I walked around the top of the elephant.

"Well, Christian and Satine," I pointed between us. "Maeve and Spencer. The Princess Bride and Westley. It's all romance."

"Why," Sam scrunched his face up.

"Because Gabe wants to get his rocks off," I said sarcastically, "I don't know, Sam!"

I walked down the stairs of the elephant. It was gorgeous here. It was just as vibrant as the movie made it look.

"Wow," I look back at Sam. "This is awesome."

I chuckled and nodded.

"What seen is it?"

"The Elephant Love Medley," I said. "Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman sing this mash-up of famous love songs as his character tries to convince her that there is nothing more important than love."

"I'm not gonna sing," Sam shook his head.

"I was not gonna ask you too," I chuckled. "I've heard you sing."

"Rude."

I just shrugged.

I looked around at the room, trying to figure out how to play these roles without the singing.

"Wait," I said. "Come on."

I grabbed his hand and pulled him back to the stairs.

"What is it," Sam asked as we made it to the top.

"At the end of the medley, Christian and Satine are dancing and they walk out onto this field of clouds and are held up in the sky."

"What-"

"This whole movie feels like a fever dream the first time you watch it."

"Come on," Sam held a hand out to me.

"Can you dance?"

"Not well," he chuckled. "The role didn't say I needed to be good."

He grabbed my hand and pulled me closer to him.

I tried to lead his steps and laughed as he stumbled into a pattern.

"Come on," I moved back so I could grab only one hand.

I led him a few steps forward and onto- what seemed to be- steps in the clouds. I let out an excited laugh when it worked. Sam looked at me and grinned at my excitement.

As soon as got to the top of the steps... it was gone.

We were in the middle of the street now.

"Aw, that was just mean," I mumbled. I glared at Sam when I heard him laughed.

He held his hands up jokingly before extending one toward me. I furrowed my eyebrows at him.

"I know what movie this is," he shrugged. I motioned for him to continue explaining. He walked over, hand still held out to me, "The Notebook. Noah and Allie dance in the street. So... will you dance with me? Even without the sequence where we dance in the clouds."

I bit my lip as I smiled.

I took his hand and let him pull me into the street. I laughed as I stumbled into his chest.

We fell into the scene naturally.

Sam held one of my hands in his and held my waist with the other. I placed my free hand on his shoulder. I looked up at him. It felt strange that we so casually fell into the scene but I was happy.

Sam jokingly twirled me around before pulling me back to his chest. I closed my eyes and chuckled.

"What," he asked.

"Nothing," I shook my head. "I just never saw you as such a romantic."

"Well, don't tell anyone, you'll ruin my reputation," he said sarcastically.

I rolled my eyes.

Sam spun the two of us in a circle before going to dip me. I didn't think I'd ever get to experience something like this. It always just felt like something I should forget about as a hunter. I was starting to forget why I was so angry with Sam in the first place.

I barely noticed that Sam was leaning in before the scene around me changed.

I was on a football field.

I looked around.

There was no sign of Sam.

"Crap," I mumbled, trying to figure out where to look first.

Then, there was a voice going over the field's speakers.

"You're just too good to be true... can't take my eyes off of you..."

I looked around toward the stands to see Sam walking with a mic. Can't sing, my ass.

"You'd be like heaven to touch... I wanna hold you so much"

"Oh my god," I muttered.

"At long last love has arrived... And I thank God I'm alive... You're just too good to be true... Can't take my eyes off of you."

I tried to bite back my laugh. He shrugged at me with an embarrassed smile and stepped into the actual stands.

We both jumped when the marching band started playing. I looked to see Gabriel smirking and leading their march.

Sam and I shrugged at each other. He continued on with the act.

Now, Sam Winchester pretending to be Patrick in "10 Things I Hate About You" was a treat... and was exactly what you imagined it would be.

He was almost stumbling down the steps as he continued on with the act. I was laughing hysterically by the time I saw the security guards starting to run in.

"Sam," I yelled, pointing behind him.

"Crap," I heard through the mic (which made me almost double-over in laughter) as he tried to take off running.

As soon as he was grabbed, the scene changed.

We both took a deep breath when we realized we were sitting together in a car.

"Thank god," Sam mumbled.

"That was a great performance, by the way," I said, still chuckling.

"Shut up," he muttered, laughing along with me. We fell silent after a minute. "So... what scene is this?"

"I have no idea," I replied.

"It's Gilmore Girls, dumbasses," we heard Gabriel's voice but saw no sign of him. "Season 1, Episode 16... absolute idiots."

"Didn't peg him for a Gilmore Girls fan," I said. Sam laughed.

"Me neither."

We fell silent again.

"I'm sorry," Sam said, looking over at me. "You were right. You can defend yourself and you were just trying to help me. I'm sorry for being such a dick about it."

I grinned, "Thanks... I forgive you. I know you were just worried about me."

Sam smiled back.

"I... umm...," Sam looked down for a moment, clearing his throat and collecting his thoughts. "I just... I love you."

My heart leaped up into my throat. I blinked at him a few times and forced a chuckle out. Which was the wrong response but I panicked. Hunters... we could face the devil but emotions were a no-no.

"(Y/n)," Sam's smile dropped slowly when he realized I wasn't responding.

I was just about to respond when the scene changed again.

Sam was gone again and I was on a city street.

"Dammit," I muttered.

I ran down the street, turning the corner. I looked at the wall of the building I was by. Was this a jazz club?

I walked through the door and was guided to a table so I could sit down and watch the performance.

"La La Land," I said.

Sam and I watched this together. Dean had gone to bed. We weren't tired and just turned this movie on because it looked like it was mostly happy.

Big dance numbers, beautiful effects... and the epilogue that made me hide tears from Sam.

I looked at the stage. Sam was sitting there, wearing a suit, looking at the audience nervously. He hesitantly reached toward the piano. It was like it was a prerecorded track. It sounded just like the movie.

I smiled.

I just wanted to talk to him.

Soon the performance ended.

I stood up and started walking over, seeing Sam starting to walk out.

I grinned at him, "Sam-"

He cut me off by cupping the sides of my face and kissing me softly. I touched his sides lightly, smiling against his lips. It was... magic. Absolute magic.

Then, I shot awake, back in my bed in the bunker.

The game was over. Thank God.

"(Y/n)," I heard yell through the bunker hall.

I ran into the hall and ran toward his room.

We stopped as soon as we saw each other.

"Please tell me that wasn't a dream," I said. He shook his head, smiling widely at me.

I ran over, pulling him down to kiss him again. It was softer than our last kiss and I loved it. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me closer. I buried my hands through his hair.

"Woah, what did I miss," we pulled away when we heard Dean.

I could basically feel Sam chuckle against my lips before he moved to look at his brother. I turned around in Sam's arm.

"A chick flick moment," Sam answered.

"Alright," Dean gave us a weird look before leaving without another word.

I looked back at Sam with a smile, "I love you."

"I love you too," he grinned and leaned in to kiss me softly again.

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

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[blackleatherjacketz]

Neapolitan

Tim Gutterson x Raylan Givens

Created, co-written and managed by @wildglitterwolf​

Summary: The topic of ice cream flavors brings up deeper desires.

Warnings: Kissing, Mentions of sex

For once, Raylan would love it if Art didn’t automatically send him down for anything that happened within Harlan county limits. Of course, Raylan would also love it if Boyd didn’t end up being involved the majority of the time, as he and Tim were now on their way to his bar after failing to find Wade Messer at Audry’s or at his house. Instead, they were greeted by Danny Crowe’s bare ass and his large big balled pit bull, two things Raylan really wasn’t prepared to deal with. And now, he’s gotta deal with whatever bullshit Boyd is gonna spin before he finally talks. Why did he ever think finding Wade Messer was going to be that easy?

Raylan saw a general store down the road and suddenly felt like after all the shit he just went through, and everything he was about to with Boyd, he’d earned himself some ice cream. Without slowing down or a warning to Tim, he made a sudden turn into the parking lot, shutting the car off.

“I’m gonna get some ice cream. Do you want to come in and grab some for yourself? I’ll buy. I still feel bad for running off on you that one time I was getting some.” He didn’t really feel bad, he often thought back on that time with amusement, as it was not him looking like the fool as he did with Roland Pike.

“You, do, huh?” Tim asked dryly, looking over at his partner. He didn’t think that Raylan was capable of feeling bad about anything at all, let alone giving him the slip when he was assigned to watch over him. “In that case I’ll have a jumbo banana split.” He smirked, unbuckling his seatbelt and hopping out of the car.

“It’s… it’s a general store. Not a Dairy Queen,” Raylan said, looking confused as he watched Tim slip out of the car, doing the same before following him inside.

The shopkeeper’s bell rang as they entered the store, the top of the door hitting the clapper as it swung halfway open. The smell of stale, burnt coffee filled their nostrils as Raylan tipped his hat to the man behind the counter, making his way past the candy and potato chips toward the freezer section in the back.

“Well, you were right,” Tim started, perusing the pathetic collection of ice cream flavors behind the glass door. “It’s no Dairy Queen.” He bit his bottom lip as he scanned through the flavors, his ocean blue eyes glazing over the fruit popsicles before stopping at Scooperman.

“Well, as long as they got the classic,” Raylan said, wasting absolutely no time in pulling open the freezer door and grabbing his usual vanilla. He waited on Tim, a look of concern etched on his face as he saw what his partner finally decided to pull out. “You’re serious? What are you, five?”

Tim glanced at the pint of rainbow colored ice cream in his hand, shrugging with nonchalance. “Five and a half.” He grinned, tossing it into the air and catching it with his other hand. “Didn’t really peg you for a vanilla guy.”

“Oh, don’t think I don’t know what you’re implying. Pretty much anyone I ever shared a pint with, that’s the first thing out of their mouths. At least what I eat doesn’t look like a hippie threw up all over it.” Raylan took the Scooperman from Tim, rotating it in his hand as he looked over the childish depiction of a Superman knock off flying over it before placing it on top of his vanilla. “Besides, if you wanted a flavor for the other thing, I’d say I’m more of a…” Raylan looked up in thought as he rubbed his thumb over his fingers as if that would magically help him decide what kind of ice cream best described him in the bedroom, “I’d say maybe a chocolate with fudge and caramel ripples.”

He smiled at Tim as if to say ‘you figure out what I mean by that’ as he started to head towards the cashier before suddenly turning back around, pointing his finger in a moment of realization. “Although, there were a couple Neapolitan situations. I guess you can say I was the vanilla guy in that.”

Tim stared at Raylan, stunned into complete silence as he watched him pay for their frozen desserts with a cocky grin on his face. A couple of neapolitan situations? Chocolate with fudge and caramel ripples? Jesus, he didn’t think he’d take the bait at all, let alone swallow the hook, line and sinker. He raised his eyebrows into his hairline, trying his best to keep it together as the cashier took his time handing Raylan back his change.

He kept his silence just long enough for them to both get into the car again, finally saying what he thought he meant. “So you’re saying you’ve fucked men before?” He cut right to the chase, trying his best to frame the question so that it was impossible not to answer it.

Raylan felt his pint start to fumble out of his hands before pressing it up a little too hard against the steering wheel, setting the horn off and making him jump back in his seat as his hat slipped over his face a bit. He lifted it up cautiously, eyes wide as if he had just been caught red-handed. “What makes you think it was men? I ain’t ever said that, thought it would obviously be implied it was… not men.”

“You alright there, Princess?” Tim smirked, taking the cap off his own pint before ripping the cellophane off his plastic spoon. “Those flavors mean either men,” he dug his spoon into the red and yellow part of the ice cream, “Or you’re into some really nasty BDSM shit.” He kept his eyes on Raylan as he put the spoon into his mouth, studying his face as the options ran through that pretty little head of his. “Or you’re a furry.”

Raylan nearly lost his pint again but settled enough to at least get the lid off. “Excuse me, but the only flavor in this car that says ‘furry’ like a children’s cartoon is the one you're eating. And I still don’t know how those flavors say men in particular to you. As for the other stuff though, well… you gotta be at least level 10 on the friendship scale to unlock that. You’re only welcome to my tragic backstory at this point.” He dipped his spoon in and slid it across the top as he watched the ice cream roll over onto itself, finally taking his first bite. Cheap store bought or not, it still was a comforting taste to him.

“Alright, so I’m a level four friend.” Tim took another bite, pointing at Raylan with his empty spoon. “You’re the one who took that shit and ran with it, not me. I just said something about vanilla, and you went off on a whole new level of Raylan Monologue.” He paused, savoring the flavor of his well-deserved treat. “Anyways, what’s wrong with fucking men?” He took a shot in the dark, hoping his solidarity was enough.

“You’re really hung up on wanting to know if I fuck men, huh?” Raylan said as he licked his spoon, maybe with a little purpose in how he did it to show off his abilities in licking long objects. “That kind of interest makes me think you’re not innocent of that either.”

Tim stared a little too long as Raylan licked his spoon, wondering what his tongue would feel like on his skin before shaking the idea out of his head and focusing back on the conversation. He tried his best to ignore the rush of warmth that overcame him as the words ‘I fuck men’ left his lips.

“Maybe I’m not,” he whispered, taking in a deep breath.

Suddenly, any jesting Raylan was preparing to launch back at Tim seemed to vanish. Tim was younger than him, not in the sense of a full generation between parent and child but he remembered the time when there were no older queer men there to look out for him growing up in Harlan; they were either dead by their own hand in shame or dared to be proud and paid for it. He still recalled when Boyd admitted similar feelings and how he was both relieved to not be alone and terrified that anyone could sniff them out at any moment. That dread didn’t fully leave him once he arrived a newly divorced man in Miami ready to start over, but Mr. Chocolate and Mr. Strawberry showed him that he was definitely not as alone in this world as he might have thought.

“You know… it does get better,” Raylan said, rattling off the cliche he’s been hearing a lot since but did have truth in it. “I mean, I don’t know your situation but I thought it was just me and- uh, me and this other guy in our town who were the only ones like that. In Miami it was definitely more than just us, there’s a whole community out there. Of course, you probably knew that already.”

Yeah, Raylan was starting to think he wasn’t the right mentor to take this little gay birdie under his wing for moral support.

“Shit.” That warmth faded from Tim’s core as it flushed through his extremities, nearly melting the ice cream he’d all but forgotten was still in his hand. He was hoping to bust Raylan’s chops for whatever he said next, but hadn’t anticipated his coworker to actually meet him with support and understanding. This was a scenario he hadn’t seen coming, something he couldn’t plan a reaction for. Now what was he supposed to do? “It’s not as bad in Lexington anymore,” he answered, “But the Army was, well… the Army.”

He shrugged and took another bite, allowing himself to feel the discomfort of talking about himself before flipping the focus back on Raylan. “And by some other guy, you mean Boyd?”

“Yeah, isn’t the mayor gay or something? Sure as hell wouldn’t see that back in my day.” Raylan smiled his reassurance, in the middle of his next bite when he nearly gagged on the spoon at the mention of Boyd.

“What?? No! I know more people in Harlan than just Boyd, you know. I mean I played baseball for years, you don’t think two guys in the locker room aren’t bound to exchange glances at each other? One of them just happened to have the balls to ask the other.” Raylan felt so good that his little story was convincing enough that he half believed it himself; not like he wasn’t guilty of taking a look around himself post games. “What about you? Anyone before Army life that made you realize you were different?”

“Sure,” Tim had a way of replying to all of Raylan’s questions at once with a single word, taking the biggest scoop of ice cream yet into his mouth. He rolled it around with his tongue, realizing too late that he’d bitten off a little more than he could chew. The cold cream hit the roof of his mouth, sending an aching pain up through his head and into his eyes. “I didn’t play baseball, but there were a couple guys that made me start to question… ugh, brain freeze.”

Raylan smirked and thought ‘amateur’ to himself as he got the amount he knew was his limit before he hit the brain freeze zone on his spoon, licking it off and swallowing in one go. “Well since we’re on the subject of baseball… do you prefer to pitch or catch?”

Tim opened his eyes wide and blinked a few times, to get rid of the brain freeze, of course. It wasn’t to force out the intrusive thought of Raylan bending him over his desk at the office, slamming his hips into those mahogany drawers. No, it was definitely just brain freeze. “I prefer to catch, but I’ve switched it up a few times.” He put the cap back on his ice cream pint. “How about you?”

“Whatever the situation calls for, honestly. Or both at once, seeing as vanilla is the middle flavor between chocolate and strawberry,” he said, giving Tim a little more of that Neapolitan situation to play around with in his mind. “Although, I guess if I think about it, I really only was catcher consistently with one person so I guess I’m more of a pitcher.”

“Well, we’ve all been there, right?” He tried to downplay his ongoing shock as the conversation progressed, even if he hadn’t been the vanilla, strawberry or chocolate in any intimate scenario. Sometimes he wished he could be a little bit more like Raylan, dripping with sexuality and ready to jump into bed with anyone at any time. Attraction and arousal just didn’t come as easily for him, no matter how badly he wished it had. “So you’ve had actual relationships with men, or just sex?”

“You mean the whole flowers, chocolates, and forgetting your anniversary kind of relationship? Just once.” Raylan wasn’t going to mention that that relationship was the one where he played catcher, and he certainly wasn’t going to say that it was with Boyd. “Otherwise, no. I was mostly hooking up after I was divorced and in Miami where it was much easier to find a gay bar than anywhere else I was. I take it, you know the scene in Lexington? Maybe you can show me some time, see if we can’t play wingman to each other or something.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet Miami was a lot more fun; more places to dance, anyways.” He searched through the imaginary Rolodex of gay bars in his brain, wondering which one would be the most palatable to his coworker. He never imagined he’d be having this conversation with him, let alone bring him to one of his favorite gay haunts. “I know a few places we could go,” he offered, giving himself some time to decide. “But it depends on what you like.”

“What, you got some BDSM or furry bar on your list?” Raylan scraped the bottom out, getting the last bit of melted vanilla on his spoon. He licked it clean and bent it into the empty cup, closing it up. “So was choosing your flavor supposed to be a subtle hint about all this? Does it taste like the rainbow?”

“Jesus, Raylan,” he scoffed, “I was just talking about atmosphere and music, but if you’re looking for a cuddle pile, I’ll have to do a little bit more research.”

“Nah, I was just… because you accused me of all that earlier, I ain’t into all that. Well… unless you count handcuffs. You ever have it when they find out you’re a marshal and that’s when they want the handcuffs to come out? Is that when you find yourself pitching?” Raylan was rambling at this point, mainly because he wanted to get Tim’s mind away from any kinks he might be unfortunately associated with now, but he only seemed to be digging the hole deeper. “You done so I can toss the trash?” he asked, gesturing to Tim’s pint.

“Handcuffs are fun,” he handed Raylan the half-eaten pint of ice cream, unable to eat anymore. “And yeah, everybody has a bondage kink as soon as they find out what you do for a living, but I guess that’s why I prefer to catch.” He sighed, trying to find the right words to express himself more clearly. “I spend most of my time doing things to people, so it’s nice to lose control for a bit and have something done to me for a change.”

He looked at Raylan as a weight seemed to be lifted off both of their shoulders, a small smile crossing his lips instead of his usual clenched jaw. “If that makes any sense.”

“Makes perfect sense,” Raylan said with a slight shrug as he took the trash and got out of the car, on the hunt for a can to toss it. He spotted the large dumpster around the side, throwing his away first but then deciding to take a taste from Tim’s without his judgment. It was good, a bit too much going on flavor wise, but he could see it being comforting to some.

For some reason his mind drifted to the last time they went out for ice cream when Tim was basically babysitting him, their conversation the night before on how he was going to eventually give him the slip and Tim replying that “this shit makes me hard”. Honestly now that Raylan thought about it, maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised to find out Tim was into men. Although he was awfully inquisitive in the blunt manner on finding out if Raylan was, which seemed weird unless-

Raylan’s eyes widen as if someone physically smacked the lightbulb on in his mind. Could Tim have been pushing this whole time simply to find out if he had a like minded companion in Raylan or something more? Raylan had suggested they be each other’s wingman because office romances were never in favor, and God knows, if anyone found out in that office neither of them would live it down. But Tim had been bold all day, Raylan thinking he was matching him equally in that regard, but it could always be pushed even further.

Raylan finally tossed the Scooperman pint and made his way back, the thought of what he was about to do heavy on his mind as he slipped back into the driver’s seat, eyes down at his hands in his lap as he gave himself one last chance to back out. “Tim?”

“Raylan?” He asked in return, knowing full well his partner was a man of several words instead of just one. He could see his face twist in discomfort as the cogs in his brain turned, putting all the pieces together before opening his mouth again.

“If I read this whole thing wrong, forgive me,” Raylan said, warning him ahead of time instead of after so he didn’t try to backtrack that he didn’t mean to. As soon as the words left his lips, he pulled his hat off with his right hand, his left reaching over to pull Tim’s face into his until they locked lips. He didn’t push too hard into it but it’s also not light enough to be easily brushed off either, allowing Tim to be the one to decide when it ended, be it seconds or minutes.

Tim was surprised but not disappointed, even glad that Raylan took the hint on making the first move. He knew that he wasn’t the best communicator in the world, but didn’t think he could be any more obvious if he had tried. It only took him… how long to figure it out? He leaned forward into the kiss, closing his eyes as Raylan’s hand warmed the apple of his cheek. He’d been wondering what it would feel like, how a kiss from him could bring some people bliss and spin others into sheer unbridled chaos. He was lucky and only felt the former.

The simple flavor of vanilla was still on his lips as he parted them with his tongue, pulling his coworker in closer by the back of his neck. He felt Raylan’s mouth open to his, a stifled breath escaping it as he tasted… black cherry and blue moon.

“Did you eat the rest of my ice cream?” He asked.

“Hmm?” Raylan felt he was being snapped out of a blissful haze, Tim’s initial response to the kiss only making him want more from his partner. He replayed the words over in his mind, that smile of his forming as he is again caught red-handed. “Hey, you never replied if it tasted like the rainbow so I just wanted to see for myself.”

“Sometimes words don’t do things justice,” Tim whispered, smiling back. He set his forehead against Raylan’s, brushing his thumb over his perfectly sculpted cheekbone. “It was good, wasn’t it?”

“Well, it was a bit much at first, given how ‘oh so basic’ I am with my pallet. But now, since I’ve tasted it again on your lips, it’s not so bad, if that’s what you taste like.” Raylan wanted to slap himself for that one; he definitely hadn’t been at a cringe romance level since Boyd, and never thought he would be with another guy. Well, guess there’s always a second chance for everything.

Raylan pulled away and put his hat back on, knowing Art would already disapprove of them just stopping for ice cream, let alone full on making out in the car. “So, uh. I guess maybe I don’t need a wingman. Or if you want we could just skip the bar all together and, I don’t know… my place, your place, something.”

“Definitely my place.” Tim smiled, looking up as an older woman walked in front of their car. He couldn’t help but wonder if anyone had seen them just now, the usual nervous feeling of being found out taking hold of him. “But I guess we should go see Boyd first, huh?”

“Do we have to?” Raylan asked, rolling his head over to look at him. “I’m not really in the mood to hear a sermon from the preacher.” Or be in the same room as an ex and maybe a potential future partner.

“Alright, well, I’m not in the mood to get torn a new one when Art finds out we decided to take the rest of the day off, are you?” He buckled his seatbelt, wishing deep down that they could.

“No, I guess not.” Raylan buckled up as well and started the engine up, carefully backing up and resuming their trip down to Boyd’s bar. “Hope it doesn’t take long, I got a suspicion Boyd gave Messer a burner only he has the number to. But I might need you to keep an eye on him so he doesn’t go off and do something to interfere.”

“You know him best.” Tim agreed to the task, mentally playing back every conversation he’d heard Boyd and Raylan have in front of him.

He knew that tone Boyd always took with him, that familiarity seasoned with hurt and spite, as if every word that came out of his mouth was a dagger meant straight for his heart. It was the same tone his ex used with him when they ran into each other and tried to be cordial, when even a ‘hello’ sounded like an ‘I wish you were dead’. He hoped that maybe by tonight Raylan wouldn’t insult his intelligence anymore by denying his chocolate caramel history with Boyd Crowder.

[fridayfirefly]

Retirement

Read Retirement on AO3

Masterlist

For Maribat March Day 21 - Domestic Bliss

The first time Marinette and Garfield ever discussed retirement was before they even started dating. For superheroes, retirement was just a fact of life. One day, if you make it long enough, you'll put down the suit and you'll never pick it up again. Maybe someone will take your place. Hopefully, no one will need to. But no matter how strong you are, not even if you're Superman in his prime, the simple fact was that someday you would retire.

"What do you think you'll do after you retire?" Marinette mused to Garfield. Out of all the Titans, Marinette spent the most time around Gar, simply because the two of them spent a lot of time in the living room. Marinette liked the ambient noise that his video games provided when she worked on her projects, and Gar liked to have someone to talk to while he played. Most of Marinette's current focus was on the embroidery in her hands, as she stitched vines running down the sleeves of her shirt, but she still took the time to start a conversation with Gar.

"I dunno..." Gar glanced up from the game he was playing. "What'll you do once you give up being Ladybug."

"That's a tough question. I used to think that I wanted to run a big fashion company, like Agreste Fashion, but now I think I want something a little more low-key. In my ideal future, I own a little boutique where I make custom clothing. There would be a fabric store and a café on the same block as me, and I would never have to leave the neighborhood."

"That sounds nice. I think I might try going to college and see where that takes me. I applied to Jump City University right before Christmas, and they accepted me. If I went, I would start classes in the fall.”

Marinette’s head jerked up as she gave Gar her full, undivided attention. “I’m going to JCU next fall!” she exclaimed excitedly. “We might have classes together. What are you planning on majoring in?”

Gar shrugged, “JCU has a veterinary program that I'm interested in. I'd be taking animal behavior, biology, chemistry, and a whole bunch of other science classes.”

“That’s so cool!”

“It’s nothing much. I didn’t expect them to accept me, anyway.”

Gar seemed oddly subdued about the idea of going to college. He was a naturally enthusiastic person, which made it very out of character for him to be so dismissive. It worried Marinette. “No, you deserve praise for your accomplishment. Jump City University is a very selective school.”

“I’m not a genius. I’m just me.”

“You’re smart, Gar, I know you are. Getting accepted to JCU is just one of the many reasons why you are brilliant.”

“Are you gonna name them all for me?” joked Gar.

His question was rhetorical, just a joke, but Marinette wasn't finished convincing Gar that he deserved all the praise in the world. “For starters, you can finish any video game in less than a day. Even the ones where you need logic and strategy, you fly right through them. Secondly, you’re a genius when it comes to animals. And it’s not just because of your superpower. You taught yourself animal behavior so that you could blend in with the animals you’re imitating. Thirdly, you pretend not to be invested in politics, but I’ve seen how you keep yourself informed about environmental policies and activism. You really care about the planet. Fourthly-“

"Alright, Buginette,” laughed Gar, a slight blush on his cheeks. “You’ve proven your point.”

Marinette set her embroidery down on the coffee table and moved to Gar's couch. "Is this game multiplayer?"

"Yep. Do you want to play a few rounds?"

"Hmm... I think I could spare a few minutes to kick your butt."

"Please. I'm going to squash you like the little bug you are."

"You wish!"

----------

The next time Marinette and Gar discussed retirement was well after they started dating. They got together in their Junior year at JCU after spending two years in relationship limbo, with both too nervous to make the first move. They finally confessed their feelings for each other after Dick and Starfire locked them in a closet together until they admitted that they liked each other. They graduated college as a couple, with Gar planning on attending veterinary school and Marinette planning on starting up her fashion business. That summer they spent a lot of time talking about the future.

"I've been thinking of recruiting someone to take over as Ladybug," remarked Marinette as she cuddled up next to Gar on the couch.

"Really? Who do you have your eye on?" asked Gar.

"Wonder Woman recently took on a new protege, Cassie Sandsmark. The Ladybug Miraculous already has some connections to Wonder Woman and her home of Themyscira. Her mother, Queen Hippolyta, was a wielder of the Ladybug Miraculous for quite some time."

"If you gave up the Miraculous would you still fight crime?"

Marinette shook her head. "I think it might be time to give up crimefighting. It's been ten years since I took up the Ladybug Miraculous to fight Hawkmoth, and six years since Hawkmoth was defeated. I wasn't ready to give up that responsibility then, but I think I'm ready now."

"When would you give up the Miraculous?"

"Soon. I talked to Wonder Woman about it last week and she's enthusiastic about the idea. I would need to spend some time getting to know Cassie, just to make sure she's a good fit, and Tikki would need to vet her as well, but I have a good feeling that she'll pass any tests of character we put her through." Marinette turned to face Gar. "I didn't want to make any concrete decisions before I talked to you. I know that we've always fought crime together, but I'm ready to move on with my life. I'm ready to retire."

Gar nodded. "I understand and I fully support your decision. I've been considering leaving the Titans as well. I know I could continue living in the Tower and attend veterinary school at JCU, but last week I got an acceptance letter from UC Davis for their School of Veterinary Medicine."

Marinette's eyes widened. "Gar, that's amazing! I remember looking into UC Davis when you were applying, and their program is nationally ranked."

Gar grinned. "The best in the country. It's too good to pass up."

"You have to go!" exclaimed Marinette. "This is your dream!"

"I think I'll send in my acceptance tomorrow," decided Gar. "Maybe we can go to Davis this weekend and scout out an apartment."

"And fabric stores," chimed in Marinette.

Gar laughed. "Anything for you, Buginette."

----------

The final time Marinette and Gar discussed retirement was years later. Marinette and Gar had gotten married and had moved back to Jump City. Marinette opened her fashion boutique, which had very quickly exploded in popularity. Gar started working for a non-profit veterinary clinic, which provided free veterinary services to lower-income neighborhoods. They had both achieved their dreams, and yet neither seemed content with their lives.

"Maybe we just need a change of scenery," suggested Marinette, leaning her head against Gar as they both sat on the beach watching the sunset. "I'm so tired of the city."

"Maybe," said Gar. "It would be nice to have a house with a backyard, rather than just an apartment."

Marinette sighed. "I know that I always said that I wanted to be the owner of a successful boutique, but this wasn't really what I had in mind. I'm so busy that I feel like I never get to spend any time with you anymore. Every day my inbox is filled with emails asking me to sell my company or expand to more locations. I'm tired of it. My passion is for making clothes, not running a business."

"I know how you feel. Every day I encounter another neglectful pet owner who brings their animal to the clinic for help but refuses to listen to me when I tell them that they need to change the way they treat their animal. It's exhausting."

"We could both just quit our jobs and move into the woods," joked Marinette.

Gar nodded, but he wasn't joking. "I've actually been thinking about that. There are a lot of remote regions with a real need for veterinary practices to provide medical assistance for the farm animals out there. I would feel a lot more useful taking care of animals that don't have anyone else."

Marinette turned to face Gar. "I wouldn't mind moving. I've been sending all of the offers to buy my boutique straight to my email archive, but I'm sure if I looked through them all I could find someone who would be able to take care of the business aspect of Ladybug Designs. I could retire from the business and design on my own time, when the inspiration strikes, instead of forcing myself to churn out design after design."

"You really wouldn't mind?" asked Gar, a hopeful look on his face.

Marinette shook her head. "I was serious about moving out of the city. There's something I've been wanting to tell you for a while, but I've been waiting for the right moment. I think that moment is now. Gar, I'm pregnant."

The deer-in-the-headlights look on Gar's face was comical, to say the least. Marinette giggled, "Well?"

Gar snapped back to reality, transforming into an elephant, trumpeting his joy. He turned back into himself and wrapped his arms around Marinette. "I'm so happy! This is the best news I could have ever heard, Buginette. Now we have to move. I want our kid to have a backyard and a dog and a big driveway where I can teach them how to ride a bike and a pond where they can swim in the summer-"

Marinette cut Gar off with a kiss. "One thing at a time," she giggled.

"I think this will be the best decision we have ever made," declared Gar.

Marinette agreed. "I think that partial retirement will be good for us."

----------

This was bliss. The feeling of grass under Marinette’s bare feet as she walked back to the house from the lake, hand in hand with Gar. The sound of their daughter's laughter as she danced around them, catching fireflies. The taste of homemade apple pie and vanilla ice cream, eaten rebelliously early as Gar proclaimed, "Dessert before dinner!" The sight of the stars up above them, no light pollution to mask the beauty of the heavens. The sound of Gar's voice, whispering, "I love you, Buginette," into Marinette's ear. And as Marinette settled into her husband's arms, she knew for certain that retirement was the best decision she had ever made.

@maribatmarch-2k21

[consumeconstantly]

Bring Me To The Precipice of Victory

1| 2 | 3(you are here) | 4  | next

Summary: When Batman departs— just for a short time, just to patch things up in Gotham— things go horribly, horribly wrong in Paris.

He doesn’t know if he can come back from realizing that Marinette and Ladybug are one and the same (and that his daughter has died more times than he can count.) (all biodad bruce are posted in chronological order but can be read as stand alones)

______________________________________________

The moment of peace, of solidarity, that Batman shares with Ladybug up on that rooftop at night means the world.

After a minute or two, Ladybug pulls back, tear tracks down the sides of her face, eye and nose red. She takes another minute of silence,hugging herself in the muggy Parisian air. When she next opens her eyes, Batman can almost imagine that Ladybug never cried at all. 

But he knows that's not true. Ladybug seemed so fragile in his arms. He can imagine— he can imagine Dick in her place, broken over Jason’s death. Tim losing his parents. All of his children facing insurmountable odds with no team by their side. Alone. 

Ladybug is not alone, but functionally, she may as well be. He’s watched the fights. He’s analyzed them. Ladybug is always, always the leader. She strategizes with Ryuko and Viperion, but Ladybug is who everybody looks to for an answer when things don’t work out the way they want them to. She’s the one with the plan, the backup plan, the out. She’s the one who swoops in to save the day.

She’s also the one who has racked up the most hours on the battlefield. Even Chat Noir, her partner, only has three quarters of the hours that she’s put in. For most of the other members of her team, she puts in double, sometimes even triple of what they do. Over the course of six years, there have been a little under two thousand battles, lasting from under an hour to over five hours. Ladybug has shown up for every single one, without fail. That’s not even counting the patrols that they do; although Ladybug is given a lot of flack for not patrolling as often as Chat Noir, there’s a fundamental difference in how they patrol. Ladybug is methodical, Chat Noir is volatile. 

He’s not a bad superhero when it comes down to battle, but the two of them are fundamentally different. Ladybug sees her time as a superhero as a duty. Chat Noir seems to view it as a time to unwind— and while that’s worrying, considering the information he’s gathered on the Miraculous Team so far points to the majority of them beings teens or young adults— it’s not what is needed to deal with the Paris situation. 

Perhaps one of the easiest ways to see these differences is during patrol. Chat Noir uses patrol time almost seems to be an outlet for stress. He entices whoever he’s on patrol with to race to random places in Paris with no rhyme or reason. Whenever he comes across crime, he stops it, but Ladybug— Ladybug searches for crime.

Ladybug has a team and she trusts them with her life, but she cannot trust them to be responsible. That is perhaps the worst possible thing that can happen. And through the videos that he’s watched, it’s clear that the hours she puts in do affect her, and fairly heavily. 

Whoever she is, she’s young. Too young to be in battle untrained, because they are untrained— despite being in the field for years, all of their basic form lacks and tells anybody with an experienced eye that they’ve never had formal training in martial arts. 

When Batman and Ladybug leave the roof, they leave on a better note than where they started. Batman is still upset that Tom and Sabine are dead, but he cannot attribute it solely to Ladybug’s negligence. He admires the young heroine for rising to the occasion when there was nobody else to help. He has no doubt that with the resources and training that he can provide him and his operatives already on the case, Hawkmoth will be revealed in no time at all. 

He’s right, but in the worst possible way. 

It’s largely a mistake on hiss part-- he gets a notification that the Joker broke out of Arkham again, and Hawkmoth and Pavona are missing for the time being. Though Ladybug has made a mistake in not taking Pavona out immediately, she and her team have won every akuma and sentimonster battle. The logical course of action is to go where the most danger is. 

Bruce does not have any predictive powers. There is no way for him to know what’s going to happen. But when he and his team finally catch the Joker and put him away again-- a feat that takes just a little under twenty four hours, extreme concentration, and a good number of injuries-- Batman finally gets a chance to breathe. The adrenaline from facing off against the Joker’s latest scheme fades. Batman reclines in a chair as Alfred binds his  wounds and passes him pain relieving pills while he gets stitches in his abdomen. 

He checks the news in Paris. 

He almost drops the device that he’s using to view the news. 

Marinette’s existence has been hidden from his family. With Dick, he was more concerned about his existence as Robin, rather than informing him that he had a sister. As soon as he started contemplating bringing up Marinette, Batman and Robin had a bad break. Then Jason came along, troubled and angry. Bruce didn’t want to introduce Marinette into the mix then because he was volatile. 

Jason died due to Batman’s incompetence. Bruce grieved the loss of his ward; Batman was never allowed to mourn the loss of his second Robin.

Tim felt unworthy as the only child Bruce didn’t pick up off the streets, and Damian-- well, Damian was Damian. First he had a superiority complex the size of the Grand Canyon, and once he got accustomed to how they handled things in the Wayne Manor-- though Tim would argue that Damian is still not used to this kind of lifestyle-- he overcompensated every single mission and needed a remedial course on How to Interact With Other Humans 101. Add the overarching concern of Marinette being exposed to his vigilante life style and being unprepared for it, and he was never able to tell his children that he had another biological kid. A daughter.

When the news that Sabine and Tom died reached his ears, he told everybody he had business in Paris without elaborating what. With Wayne Enterprises opening a Paris branch of their R&D specialising in European artifacts, it was easy to draw connections that weren’t there.

“Bruce, you need to relax. Business in Paris can be dealt with later, you need to take the time to heal,” Tim says.

A clip in his shoulder from a bullet, knife wounds on his torso and legs, a sprained wrist. Whatever chemical experiment the Joker got his hands out still pumping through his veins. “I need to go-- it’s important--”

The pain relievers Alfred gave him earlier were also a sedative. 

Tim catches him before he passes out.

#

He wakes up three hours late through sheer force of will.

“Paris!” Bruce jolts upright, still in costume, lying prone on a medical cot in the Batcave.

The first thing that catches his eyes is the red and black flying across the screens.

Ladybug.

His kids are all watching the screens with abject horror. 

“Is this,” Tim wets his lips. “The business trip that you were on?”

Bruce drags himself out of bed, adrenaline washing out any residual pain. He doesn’t have the capacity to respond, he needs to get to the zeta tube, he needs to get to Paris, Ladybug is bleeding, the city is in shambles, and Marinette-- 

One of the news sites up on the screen declares the arrondissements that are obliterated. The one that houses Tom & Sabine’s Boulangerie is amongst their number. An approximate death toll fills the static.

-- Marinette is likely among those lost. He has lost another child due to his inaction. Due to his inability to push through, to look forwards and predict the future and the consequences of his actions. Marinette is another Jason, but if Ladybug doesn’t get it together, she’ll be gone permanently. And Ladybug is little more than a child. She can’t handle it, not by herself, not with her team. She needs an experienced hero, and Batman will be there for her, be the one leading the charge against Hawkmoth as the civilians hide in their homes and pray for her Miracle Cure to reverse the damage.

Dick places a hand on his shoulder. Bruce tries to shrug it off, but his fingers dig into the place where the bullet clipped his flesh. The pain is just a reminder that if he does not get to Paris now, there will be thousands-- no, millions-- more who feel this pain. How did Marinette die? Was it an akuma? Did the rubble of one of the destroyed buildings fall on her? Did Ladybug even try to protect her?

“I need to go,” Bruce growls.

“You can’t. While you were out, the majority of the Justice League prohibited all travel via zeta tubes. Nobody can get into Paris right now.”

Bruce knocks Dick’s hand off his shoulder and turns to his eldest. At the very least, Dick and the rest of his children look solemn. Damian’s gaze is fixed to one of the screens that shows Ladybug. “A city is in danger, millions of lives are at risk, Marinette--”

His daughter is dead. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud.

Standing by idly is the last thing he’ll let himself do.“Who put out the order? I’ll get them to reverse it.”

Dick moves so he’s between the zeta tube and Bruce. “B, you don’t understand. If you go to Paris right now, you’ll get akumatized.” 

“I can handle my emotions.”

Jason points at the upper right section of screens that’s replaying past footage. “I wouldn’t bet Paris’ survival on it. Not when more level headed superheroes got on the scene first and failed. They really don’t need any heavy hitters getting akumatized. Not when Superman put three members of their team out of commission.”

Superman arrived on the scene first; it took a matter of seconds for him to get akumatized. He was responsible for razing down three arrondissements in no time flat. Ladybug had to call for a Lucky Charm in order to get her hands on some kryptonite, which forced her to recoup after her time ran out. 

Black Canary arrived next. Then Red Tornado. 

Both were akumatized in mere minutes. 

“After Red Tornado got akumatized, Wonder Woman led the charge to put the rest of the zeta tubes on lockdown,” Duke says, grim. “All we can do now is hope that these Parisian superheroes can pull off a win.”

Bruce stumbles over to get a better view. He remembers Ladybug, small and slight in his arms. A child, crying over the loss of her pseudo parents. 

A warrior, bloody and bruised and broken.

She is one of the last ones standing.

King Monkey and an ox themed hero both died at Superman’s hands. The former got in the way of his laser beams, the latter a victim of super strength and getting thrown through two buildings and having their necks snap at an unsightly angle. Chat Noir was also sent hurtling through the air, and the only reason he was still alive was because Ladybug alighted from the sky and grabbed him before he got sent through a building in his unconscious state. Black Canary came shortly after, apparently informed of the Superman situation and carrying kryptonite. 

She didn’t last for long either. Almost immediately after helping Ladybug and Ryuko bind Superman in such a way that he couldn’t escape, 

Pegasus got hit by Black Canary’s sound waves and Chat Noir’s residual injuries from his fight with Superman forced him into a state of unconsciousness. Queen Bee and Carapace were able to pull off a win against Black Canary, but not without serious injuries. Ryuko faced off against Red Tornado alone, which normally would have been a thing of awe, but in the grander scheme of things, was a huge issue, as without her, the Miraculous Team functionally lost all of their heavy hitters. Rena Rouge and several Miraculous users that clearly had never been in battle before were the ones left to hold their own against the scores of akumatized Parisians.

The only ones left to hunt down Hawkmoth and Pavona were Ladybug and Viperion, and the former was already on her third use of Lucky Charm.

Ladybug pulls out her communicator, dodging an attack.

“Can we get sound on this?” Jason grips the closest table.

Dick shakes his head. “Zatara says there’s already enough interference just trying to get these images. And for some reason, Dr. Fate refuses to get involved with any of this.”

Bruce’s phone rings. He doesn’t pick it up on the first ring, too focused on the ongoing battles. He does take his phone out of his pocket to silence it the next time, but when he presses the sound off, an image comes through.

“Bruce.” Ladybug’s image comes through crystal clear, and it doesn’t make him feel any better. Ladybug, blood dripping from her mouth, costume torn open, hair burnt, wild eyed. 

He opens his mouth to speak, but the image goes blurry as she moves to avoid several attacks pointed towards her. 

“Before I go, I--”

“Watch out, LB!” Bruce lifts his eyes to the screen that displays Ladybug and Viperion in battle. The spotted heroine gets pushed out of the way of a laser, but the snake themed hero takes the hit.

The ambient noise coming from his phone is strong; he can hear blades clashing in the background as Chat Noir, already on his last legs attempts to hold off Darkblade. Screaming from civilians, a strangled sob from Ladybug. “Viperion.”

Ladybug comes back into view. Blue eyes filled with rage.

“If this doesn’t end in our favor, you need to make sure that Hawkmoth and Pavona do not acquire both the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous. Do whatever it takes to prevent that from happening.” She blinks, retreats into herself, and Bruce wonders if he’s seeing the girl behind the mask. 

“And If I don’t get to see you again--” If I’m dead, the words go unspoken, “I really did want the chance -- I-- you’re a good man. A good father. Your daughter-- she loves you. She really, really does. Stay safe.”

The transmission cuts off. On the screen in front of him, Ladybug closes her communicator, closes Viperion’s open eyes, and strides to the epicenter of the akumas. Blue fire flashes in her irises, and for a moment, she’s staring directly at the screen. And Bruce knows those eyes. He knows them. 

The next second, all of the computers simultaneously die.

Bruce is numb. No-- no.

He is nothing.

#

All his children-- no, not all his children, Marinette is missing, Marinette is Ladybug, and she’s out on a field that he can’t see grappling with magic forces strong enough to incapacitate Justice League members like their powers and abilities are inconsequential-- stare at him.

“That was… Ladybug?” Tim’s brow furrows. It’s clear that he’s thinking up a hundred different reasons why Ladybug and Batman are connected, why he’s the last person she calls before going into a battle that could very well cost her her life.

“My daughter.” The words are ash on his lips. An existence he’s never acknowledged. Not out loud. Saying it brings a sense of finality to the room. An impending death. “My daughter.”

Nobody asks how long he’s known or when he met her or why he’s never brought it up before. Everything is fuzzy. Floating. 

For a while, there’s silence. 

“Zatara says there’s too much interference to get the picture back up,” Dick opens his messages, frowning. 

Damian still stares at the screen Ladybug looked at directly, frozen.

Bruce picks himself up and moves. He may not be able to use the zeta tubes, but he has a private jet and a license, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something.

#

It takes two hours too long to get to Paris. He shaved five hours off the flight length due to superior technology, and another hour and a half off due to sheer force of will. 

The landing is not a pretty thing, but Paris is already in shambles, and there’s no way that the ATC will approve his landing, so Bruce picks out the flattest looking spot of rubble before his jet meets the ground.

According to Tim and Duke, who stayed behind in case this turned out to be an attack spanning multiple cities, the battle ended mere minutes before they landed. Dick manages to get Zatara to broadcast the image in the cockpit of the jet, and on the screen lay three prone bodies. Gabriel Agreste, whose body type fits that of Hawkmoth, Lila, and a third that Bruce does not recognize. 

A bone sticks out of Marinette’s arm, the connected hand crushed and hanging limp. The opposing ankle is twisted almost fully backwards. She is covered in blood and ash and filth. There is no victory in her eyes. Only weariness.

In her good hand, she holds her yoyo. 

She raises her eyes skywards-- the roof of the Agreste mansion is blown clean off-- blinks slowly, and throws the yoyo into the air. 

“Miraculous Cure,” her lips read.

The corpses in Paris rise from the dead. Rubble reforms into buildings. The ashy haze that covered the city disappears.

Ladybug looks like she wants to disappear, too.

She collapses, instead.

Nobody is there to catch her when she drops to the floor. 

@biodad-bruce-month

Maribat tag list(to be added onto this pls send me an ask/dm): @our-precipreciousss @my-dear-friend-anxiety

Who Are You (and what will you become) tag list (to be added here just comment): @anjuschiffer @theunquiet-dead @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @cresentmo0n @allulily @myazael @zalladane @rebecarojas07 @keepingupwiththemalfoys  @frieddonutsweets @all-mights-asscheeks @thornalchemist23 @trippingovermyfeet @jiso-lee @redscarlet95 @ira-sairain @screechingflapbiscuitpeach @ramos123 @cutechip @theunquiet-dead @sleep-deprived-aroace @enternalempires @lilkymilky @woe-is-me0 @officiallydarkgeek @miyla-lokidottir @queencommonsense @demonicbusiness 

mb for not doing tag list right away i forgot i had these cued up already

[odos-bucket]

So I was reading @andillwriteyouatragedy​‘s incredible Brand New Day where Bruce and Clark adopt a young Dick Grayson together, and was thinking about a sort of companion story where they take in Jason together too. Using that story as a rough reference, I’m gonna say they’ve been together for a decade or so here. Dick is somewhere in his late teens. I’m figuring Clark probably offers to tag along on Bruce’s annual trip to crime alley every year. Bruce always politely declines. It’s basically become a part of the day’s bleak tradition. Clark is surprised when for once his offer is accepted. Later on, if pressed, neither of them would be able to pinpoint what was different about that night that made Bruce decide that it might be okay to have some company for once. Clark probably feels weird about it at first. Even though he’d asked Bruce if he wanted company, and Bruce had said yes, which he never would have unless he’d absolutely meant it (and Clark knows that). It still feels a little like he’s intruding on something private, even sacred. Then of course they get there, and there’s nothing going on. Superman’s senses don’t pick up the slightest hint of disruption anywhere in the neighborhood. Maybe they start patrolling around it anyways, maybe they just wander for a couple of blocks. Sooner or later they overhear someone talking about how it’s this night every year that Batman comes calling. Local criminals have picked up on the fact that if they just keep their heads down for this one specific night they can pretty much avoid him. Bruce is all grumbly about it, and immediately goes into ~strategy mode~ like, “Okay, I’ll have to start coming here on different days, on an irregular schedule.” He immediately opens up a dozen different tabs in his brain with calendars, and crime statistics, and is thinking a mile a minute, because that’s what he does. He���s kind of agitated about needing to change something that’s been a ritual for so long (because Batman has OCD, fight me) and he’s annoyed at himself for being bothered by it. Absolutely none of this sudden inner turmoil is detectable in his expression or body language. But Clark knows Bruce, knows how he reacts to things, and that there’s no way he’s not annoyed right now. He says, “Sounds like tonight will be a bust if we stay here,” then when Bruce grunts in response, continues, “We could go back to the manor. Watch a movie.” Then after a pause. “Or we could patrol somewhere else.” A moment passes. When Bruce says, “Okay,” Clark isn’t sure which suggestion he’s agreeing to, but they start back towards the car. It’s not a long walk, but they aren’t moving particularly quickly. By the time they get back to the batmobile it only has one wheel.

Clark frowns as he walks closer, before being stopped in his tracks by a surprising sound. It’s a sound that he recognizes immediately, that he hears all too infrequently. Bruce is laughing. Clark’s mouth quirks into a half smile. He takes a few steps forward, thinking about just picking the whole thing up and flying it back home. Then from a few paces ahead he hears Bruce’s low, gravelly Batman voice say, “Hi there.” Once he’s tuned in to the idea of another presence nearby, it becomes obvious to his advanced senses that someone is lurking behind the car. “Shit,” a small voice says. Bruce takes a few steps closer. “Planning on finishing the job?” He gestures to their remaining wheel. Clark shifts until he can get the kid partially in his sight without the aid of x-ray vision. He’s small, and looks to be somewhere in his pre-teens. “I got no idea what you’re talking about,” he says quickly. “Oh really?” Bruce asks. The boy glares at him. “Nice tire iron,” Bruce continues. “Comes in handy.” “I bet it does.” No sooner than the words are out of Bruce’s mouth, the tool is colliding with his shin. The boy shoots out from behind the car, and down a nearby street. Clark starts toward Bruce, who quickly gestures for him to go after the kid instead. He catches up with him in less than a second. When his hand falls onto the kid’s shoulder he freezes, muscles tightening throughout his body, and heart rate speeding up rapidly. The fear response is so sudden and extreme that Clark finds himself pulling away as if he’s been burned. The anxiety around being feared is something he’s mostly left in his past, but there’s a deep rooted insecurity within him that it still prods at. The kid stumbles when he starts to run again, and by then Bruce has caught up. They hang back, but trail after the boy at a distance, until they reach a condemned building a few blocks away. “Should we go in?” Clark asks. “Probably where my tires are,” Bruce says, before climbing through an uncovered doorway. It isn’t hard to find him again. There aren’t too many heartbeats in the area to distinguish between. When Bruce opens the door to the dilapidated room, the boy’s pulse rate jumps through the roof. Nothing changes externally about him though, and Clark wonders whether or not Bruce can tell that he’s afraid of them. There’s the slightest vibration to his words when he speaks. “Okay, take your stupid tires already. I’m sorry, all right? Just leave me alone!” Bruce isn’t looking at his tires. He’s looking around the room, no doubt noticing the same things that Clark has, mold, water damage, a broken window. The place is freezing. Then in the corner there’s a cardboard box with some pasta and canned goods in it, a small stack of books, and a mattress on the floor. “Do you… live here?” Bruce asks. “Yeah. What of it?” Bruce takes a few more steps into the room. “Where are your parents, son?” Clark asks. “Mom’s dead. I dunno where Dad is; don’t really care, if I’m being honest. Now take your stuff and go already!” He’s holding the iron up again, wielding it in a manner that’s clearly meant to be threatening. Bruce plucks it out of his hands with relative ease, inspects it, then turns it around and hands it back. “Move your thumb up like this, and you’ll have a sturdier grip. And don’t stand with your legs so far apart, it’ll put you off balance.” He sighs. “What’s your name?” “… Jason.” He grabs the tire iron back, shuffling to adjust his grip and footing, keeping his stance defensive. Bruce looks around the place again. “You can’t stay here, Jason.” “Oh yeah? Says who? I can take care of myself! Been doing it for long enough.” Bruce glances up at Clark, who can see the wheels turning in his head, before looking back at Jason. “I’d really like the wheels of my car back,” he says carefully, then hurries to continue before Jason can interject. “Can I make you a deal? We’ll buy you dinner if you reattach the batmobile’s tires?”

There’s a fast food place a couple of blocks away that’s open 24 hours. Jason agrees to accompany them, but walks a few yards behind. The employees at the place aren’t at all phased by the appearance of the two vigilantes. Bruce inspects a suspicious stain on one of the walls, while Jason and Clark look at the menu posted above the counter. They order- Bruce gets two of what Jason asks for- then go outside to eat. Bruce is lost in thought as they exit the restaurant, wondering what it would take to bring free food trucks to the area. Jason’s halfway done with his meal by the time they sit down on the sidewalk. “Do you go to school around here?” Bruce asks, wanting to put together a fuller picture of the boy’s situation. Jason gets a distant look in his eyes in response to the question. He finishes chewing slowly, swallows, then shakes his head, clearing his throat before replying. “No. Not for a long time now.” He shrugs. “I got all I needed to out of it.” “You had some pretty advanced reading material back at your place for someone who didn’t finish middle school.” Bruce recalled seeing The Odyssey amongst his few possessions, as well as a couple of Shakespeare plays. Jason shrugs again. “Reading’s not that hard.” “Some people find it very difficult,” Clark says. “Some people are stupid.” Bruce cuts in before Clark can start on the gentle reprimand he can see him preparing. “Ever think that maybe you’re just smart?” Jason gives him a curious look, like that really wasn’t a possibility that he had considered before, then takes another bite, and stares off thoughtfully. “So, Homer,” Bruce prompts. Jason nods. “It’s a fun story. Odi-seuss is a dick though.” Bruce resists both the compulsion to correct his pronunciation of ‘Odysseus’, and Alfred’s voice in the back of his head urging him to tell the kid not to swear. “What makes you say that?” He asks instead. Jason looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Gee, I don’t know, maybe all the pillaging, and murdering he does throughout the entire book.” “Poem,” Bruce corrects. “What?” “The Odyssey is a poem.” “Wait, really?” Bruce hums an affirmative. “Huh… cool. But the point still stands.” “I’m inclined to agree with you. Have you ever read The Scarlet Pimpernel?” Jason shakes his head. “It’s been a personal favorite for a long time,” says Bruce. Clark shoots him an amused grin. “I’ll keep an eye out for anyone throwing out a copy,” Jason says. Bruce frowns. “You have a library around here.” The remark earns him an unamused snort. “It’s a Gotham library; people don’t go there to read books, they go there to buy, sell and/or ingest drugs, and they tend not to be too happy with anybody who’s lingering around while they’re doing it.” Bruce feels a pang, not for the first time that night. “Jason,” he starts, before realizing he isn’t sure what to say. Jason keeps angled to watch him expectantly as he rises to deposit his napkins and bag in a nearby trashcan. “We’d like to help you,” Clark says. “Yeah,” Jason scoffs. “Right. Just how do you plan on doing that? Because I’ve heard that before. I’ve done the whole foster care thing already, and I’m not about to go through it again.” “No,” Bruce is quick to agree. “But there are residential schools in the city. We could help you to get enrolled in one.” Jason seems taken aback by the offer. “…Why?” He asks slowly. “Well for one, because kids should be in school. You’d be provided with room and board for the duration of your time there, which would leave you with less to worry about.” He reaches out to pass Jason the second takeout bag. He’s still lingering at a distance from them. “At least think about it?” “No. I mean, like, why?” Bruce’s eyebrow raises, tugging at the material of his cowl. “What’s in this for you?” Jason continues. “Why do you even care?” “It’s our job,” Clark says. “You’re job is to beat up bad guys.” Clark smiles when Jason mimes punching someone, before saying, “Our job is to help people.” Jason purses his lips. “Don’t boarding schools cost money?” “Most of them offer scholarships,” Bruce says. “I have a few friends who are deans. I could make the necessary introductions to ensure you a place at one of their institutions.“ Jason’s arms are crossed high over his chest, and his expression is set like he’s deep in thought. “I don’t want to end up stuck somewhere where someone else is the boss of me.” “How about you at least come with us to check a couple of these places out,” Bruce suggests. “Just see how you feel about them. No commitment.” Jason’s nose scrunches up. “Where exactly are these places?” He asks. “It varies,” Bruce says. “All within the city.” They watch the boy chew on the inside of his lip for a moment. “Just to see,” he says eventually. Bruce nods. “I’m not getting into a car with you,” Jason adds. “We can take the bus,” Clark offers. Jason raises an eyebrow at that, and his mouth quirks almost into a smile. “Batman and Superman are gonna ride on Gotham’s shitty public transit?” “Why not?” Clark asks. “… Okay,” Jason says, still plainly unconvinced. “Let’s meet back here,” Bruce suggests. “Tomorrow?” Jason takes a minute, but eventually starts to nod. “Sure,” he says. “Why not.” They part ways after Clark disposes of his empty bag. The heroes return to their car.

While they’re driving back Clark says, “I know that look.” Bruce pauses to take stock of his own expression, and makes sure to neutralize anything on his face that might be out of the ordinary. Clark continues, unbothered by the lack of response. “It’s your ‘I’m already deeply emotionally invested in this kid’ look.” Bruce hums noncommittally. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to sleep tonight,” Clark adds. Bruce doesn’t either, but that’s par for the course at this point.

Part Two

[scarlct-vvitch]

angat prompt: "you're bleeding." - superbat 👀

The idea Bruce had proposed to Clark had been pretty simple: camp out on the highest stack of shipping crates they can find (or on top of the crane used to move them, if needed), wait until the targets showed up to make their trade (maybe twenty-five of them), and take them out. Gotham doesn’t need any more weapons.

It was supposed to be simple. It was supposed to be guns in the crates, with bullets that would bounce right off of Superman’s invulnerable chest. It was supposed to be no trouble for Metropolis’ favorite hero.

The crates weren’t supposed to be full of kryptonite.

The crates were full of kryptonite.

Bruce realizes it too late; he had sent the signal for Clark to fly down the second the crate was unlocked, hadn’t seen the eerie green glow until half a second too late.

He watches as Clark realizes, freezes, tries to fly the other direction, but it’s too late. Bruce watches as he falters mid-air before he crashes to the ground and struggles back up to his knees as the smugglers realize they’re not alone. Bruce tries to will gravity to move faster as he leaps down.

It’s chaos from the second his feet hit the concrete.

He takes down the first goon he reaches by grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into his armored knee; the man crumples. From there, it’s more shouting, more movement as the goons can’t decide if they want to scatter or fight. 

In the end, only about six or seven leave, which leaves Bruce with nearly twenty to deal with largely by himself. He risks a glance at Clark as he ducks under a punch. Clark’s on his feet, but barely, and three of the goons surround him with guns.

“Get the shit from the crate!” one of them shouts.

Bruce swears and lands his next punch hard, send the guy flat on his back. He turns to try and make his way to Clark, but five more block his path, all pointing weapons at him.

Bruce takes a moment, steadies himself. He will get to Clark before it’s too late--there is no other option.

He breathes, flexes his fingers, and dives in.

The first shot, he dodges easily, feigning left and knocking the gun out of the guy’s grip and sending it clattering to the floor before he punches him in the throat. He ducks under the next and sends out a kick to sweep his attacker’s legs out from under him. Two down.

He sends a batarang whistling through the air at the next, hearing it make a wet sound as it sticks in his bicep. The fourth he crowds, giving a quick one-two into his gut before he finishes him off with a blow to the nose. He turns to face the last when he hears Clark make a pained noise behind him.

Bruce whirls to see Clark doing his best to fend off the woman wielding an unnaturally green dagger. But hand-to-hand isn’t Clark’s strong suit, and he knows it; he’s the cannonball to Bruce’s sniper shot.

Bruce whirls just in time to see the woman dodge his punch and send the knife straight into his ribs.

Clark’s face twists in pain--dully, Bruce wonders if he’s ever been stabbed before--and he uses the little strength he has left to slam his arm into hers, and Bruce sees the bone snap before she screams.

Bruce’s world narrows until all he can see is Clark, crumpling to the ground, pressing his hand over the wound as best he can.

In an act of desperation, he grabs every smoke bomb, flash grenade, every distracting thing he has on his belt, and sets them off all at once. The air fills with smoke and light, and Bruce runs straight through it as the goons try and cover their eyes. He gets to Clark, scrapes him off the ground as best he can, and makes a run for it.

Clark grunts in his arms but manages to try and hold onto him. There’s shouting behind them as the smoke starts to clear. Bruce runs faster, just barely makes it out of sight before they get their vision back.

He crouches behind a crate and slaps a hand over Clark’s mouth to keep him quiet. He keeps them pressed into the shadows as best he can. He’s almost certain they’re going to be caught.

By some miracle, a minute passes. Two.

They must have decided the shipment was worth more than Superman’s head.

Bruce lets himself breathe a bit, turns so he can get a better look at Clark, who’s gone pale. It makes Bruce’s blood run cold. He gently peels Clark’s hand away from the wound.

“You’re bleeding,” Bruce says dumbly. As if they didn’t know.

“Really?” Clark retorts, but his voice is thin.

“Shut up,” Bruce snaps. “How do I help you?”

Clark tries to shift positions and winces. “Not much we can do. It’s dark out.”

“What are you, a plant?” Bruce quips. He yanks a piece of gauze out of his belt and starts pressing it into the wound. Clark winces, again.

“Maybe,” Clark says. He watches as Bruce briefly pulls out his phone and presses his panic button, the one that tells Alfred to send someone to him, fast. 

They’re both quiet for a moment, Bruce trying to assess their next move and Clark trying to not bleed out. Bruce breaks it with a sigh.

“I’m sorry. I should have waited before I sent you in.”

Clark makes a sad attempt at a shrug. “’s fine. I’ll live. Probably.”

“You’ll live, Clark,” Bruce says firmly. “It’s not fine. I should have--I should have known better.”

“It’s okay, Br--Batman,” Clark corrects, because even when he’s dying, he refuses to say his name on a mission, even if Bruce just did it to him.

“I should have waited. There’s no excuse for--Clark? Clark,” Bruce says, because Clark’s eyes have started to flutter closed. Bruce shakes him, not caring if it hurts. “Clark.”

Clark struggles to stay awake. “Shit, sorry,” he says, words slurring a bit.

“Stay awake,” Bruce says, because he can’t lose Clark, he won’t lose Clark. “You’re going to be okay.”

“Yeah, sure,” Clark says loftily. His eyes are closing again.

“No,” Bruce says desperately. “No, Clark, Clark--you have to stay awake.”

He presses harder on the gauze, hopes with every inch of his being that someone can show up and save him. Save Clark.

Clark’s eyes are closing. He needs to keep Clark awake with something. Anything. 

“Clark, please,” he tries. Nothing. “Clark, wake up.”

Nothing. Bruce is going to lose him.

If he is going to lose someone else, it is not going to be until he has done everything he possibly can to save them.

In one final act of desperation, Bruce hooks his fingers into Clark’s costume and hauls him up, smashing their lips together.

He feels Clark jolt beneath him, feels him being yanked back to consciousness. He puts everything he has into the kiss, willing Clark to stay alive with teeth and tongue. It’s messy and tastes vaguely of gunpowder and blood.

The kiss ends after who-knows-how-long, tilting his forehead against Clark’s. “You’re not allowed to die, Clark.”

He hears clanking behind him, something crashing into metal. He turns just in time to see Diana land next to him so hard the concrete cracks. The breath he lets out is so full of relief he almost passes out.

She moves immediately to Clark, scooping him up from under Bruce. She takes a flying leap and they’re gone, off somewhere sunny, Bruce is sure. He glances down at his bloody hands.

Clark is going to be okay. Clark is going to be okay. He’s alive. He will continue to do so. It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.

He’s definitely going to ask him about the kiss, Bruce realizes.

Maybe not completely okay, then. But Bruce will take it.

[alecmagnuslwb]

Say Your Name Softly

Read on AO3

“Jaybird what happened to ‘don’t call any attention to ourselves’?” Roy asks as he looks around the bar where Jason has absolutely just caused a scene.

“I’m improvising,” Jason says throwing a wad of bills onto the bar for the owner as an apology for the trouble he’s just caused. “And choose between Jaybird or your trachea, you can’t have both,” Jason adds on because he doesn’t need Roy giving him some stupid nickname.

Roy, naturally, doesn’t listen. Jaybird sticks and despite his reputation and vague threats Jason never actually does anything to put a stop to it. Jaybird becomes common vernacular for Roy.

First Jason’s pretty sure Roy does it just to annoy him, especially when he realizes Jason wasn’t really serious about the whole trachea thing, delighting in every sharp glare that has less and less heat behind it every time Jason shoots one back.

From there it just sort of evolves, Jason stops glaring every time Roy says it and it becomes an everyday friendly nickname that as much as Jason is loath to admit it out loud he likes.

He’s Jaybird and well that’s fine.

***

Roy takes a running jump from the ledge of the building reaching out for the grappling hook and landing with a grace that sometimes still surprises Jason.

He doesn’t stop moving as he rolls to a stand and takes off, arrows knocked and aiming at the goons cornering them.

“Cover me Jaybird!” he shouts as he goes, expertly dodging gunfire while hitting three of the goon’s square in the chest with stun arrows. Jason curses under his breath already in motion guns at the ready. Beside him Dick chuckles.

“Jaybird?” he laughs and questions simultaneously as he stands and does a complicated flip jumping into the fray. Jason ignores him taking out the kneecaps of several of the guys while Dick kicks and punches his way through a pack of them, the blue of his Nightwing costume moving like a blur. Off to the side he hears the familiar thwip of a bow and thud of knocked out bodies.

Between the three of them they deal with the lackies easily, to the surprise of no one Black Mask doesn’t even bother showing his ugly, bony face. Jason’s tying up the last of the goons when he hears the sirens in the distance, Montoya most likely leading the charge. Jason stands to his full height about to shout over to Roy that at least he needs to get going, he’s not exactly on the best of terms with the GCPD just yet even if he’s been cleaning up his act.

Roy however beats him to it, “Jaybird!” he shouts from the other side of the roof where he and Dick have been chatting. “We better motor!”

Jason turns and shoots a thumb out to the direction of the next roof over so they can make their escape quickly before the cops show up not needing to say a word for Roy to know what he’s meaning. Roy nods in return before turning back to Dick, the two do some complicated bro handshake that ends with a loud high five before Roy immediately takes off in a run shooting another grappling hook for he and Jason to slide across.

“See you soon,” Dick shouts at Jason as Roy already makes his slide over to the next building. “Jaybird,” he emphasizes with a big doofy looking smile that Jason hates. He does not have time for his big brother teasing him about going soft or something by letting Roy call him a nickname.

“Hopefully not too soon, Dickie,” he shouts flipping his brother a playful middle finger as he takes off in a run following close behind Roy.

***

Dick isn’t the first, or the last to comment on the little nickname as more and more people hear it. Kory always gives Jason this look, this soft understanding look that he doesn’t understand every time he lets the nickname slide. Alfred drops on comms one evening to invite him over for tea and calls him Master Jaybird and Jason can hear his teasing smile in the words. One by one his family and Roy’s friends all start to just make little notices of it, like it’s some big deal.

Which it isn’t. It’s not like the words become more and more a term of endearment than a nickname, like lately Roy hasn’t taken to saying it a lot softer than he ever had before and started accompanying it with these lingering soft little touches. It’s not like Jason hasn’t found himself feeling something a little deeper than friendship of late when Roy says it, like he doesn’t absolutely melt when those little touches brush his skin. It’s just a silly name, that’s it.  

“You good, Jaybird?” Roy asks his hand reaching out to turn Jason’s unmasked face to look at the cut along his cheek, all things considered it’s a minor injury.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jason says not making any move to stop Roy’s hand from lingering. That is until he catches sight of a small pack of Titans out of the corner of his eye. He clears his throat and steps back a bit a small grateful smile that he knows only Roy will notice on his lips. Roy just nods his head resting a hand a little too lightly to be considered some sort of bro slap on his shoulder before he steps away over to the little group.

Donna starts walking their way brushing Roy’s arm in a friendly manner as she goes, Jason’s stomach does a weird fluttering thing at the action. He’s not jealous, there’s no reason to be jealous. He and Roy are friends. Donna and Roy are friends. It’s as unmeaning as the nickname is.

“Jaybird, huh?” Donna says with a tittering laugh as she passes. They’ve just thwarted an apocalypse; Superman is somewhere on the metropolitan battlefield and that’s what she chooses to focus on. Roy just shrugs winking at her as he goes a look of some understanding passing between them that Jason can’t quite read.

Jason turns around bending down to pick up his helmet where it had been rudely knocked off of his head during a fight. Donna’s boots come into his eyeline, the amazon standing firmly beside him. He stands to his full height mirroring her stance with her arms crossed and hip cocked. She watches over where Roy, Dick, Gar and a few others have gathered checking in with each other.

“You better treat him right, Todd,” she says turning the full force of her warrior stance on him. Jason squints at her, the sky has turned back from its bright red to the sparkling night it should be, it makes the little constellations and stars on her outfit shine even brighter and makes her somehow more intimidating.

“That’s all,” she says before he can scramble to say it’s not like that with a wide fake smile, she reaches out her hand and places it on Jason’s shoulder like Roy just had, but with a much firmer grip, a grip that means business. It takes every bit of his Batman training not to wince.

She smiles more genuinely after a moment and steps away her eyes trained upwards when she spots Diana fly above.

Jason just watches her go expression unmoving realizing that maybe everyone keeps pointing out the nickname for a reason.

***

Jason’s not totally certain how he ended up at an arrow family dinner, except for the fact that he’s weak in the face of a bright-eyed pouting Roy Harper. So when he’d asked Jason to come as a buffer in case things between him and Ollie got intense his big green eyes bright in the morning sun with a pout on his face as he gave Jason a giant mug of coffee just the way he likes it, well he didn’t have it in him to say no.

Roy had been dodging the invitations for nearly a year, but when Dinah showed up in person and asked him to come there was no way he could say no.

Plus they’ve been spending more and more time in the warehouse in Star City than the loft in Gotham these days anyway, so really it was more a matter of convenience than anything.

So here they all are surrounding a big green table, which Jason thinks is a little on the nose, and everything has been shockingly pleasant so far. Dinah had practically burst into happy tears when she saw Roy on their doorstep and she’d even welcomed Jason in with open arms.

It’s clear the other arrow kids love Roy he’s oldest of them and they all look up to him and it pains Jason to see how surprised Roy is by that fact all the time. He’s not a screw up in their eyes, he’s their hero who overcame a lot to still be sitting at this table today.

Connor and Cissie are fairly indifferent to Jason which is just fine by him, except for Emiko who keeps asking exceedingly inappropriate questions about Batman that Damian always refused to answer. Jason doesn’t have any qualms about answering them however and he’s certain he’ll be getting a stern call from Bruce in no time about it. Mia is even shockingly polite, which considering their history is the most shocking thing about the whole evening.

Even more shocking though is Oliver Queen himself who is nothing but cordial and corny the whole night through. He’s clearly trying to maintain an easy-going environment and watching his words carefully so that he doesn’t test any boundary or limit that will lead to even one tense moment between he and Roy.

He doesn’t like Jason, but he’s never liked Jason so the simple fact he’s made not one negative remark about Jason’s presence is just enough for him. Everything about this night is clearly a win in Roy’s book judging from the smile that’s rarely left his face all night.

Dinner is perfectly pleasant and even makes Jason a little nostalgic for his Robin days when he was still innocent and family dinners weren’t just the occasional tea with Alfred. They’re lingering after dinner clearly each just waiting to see who will be the first one to break and say they need to leave and go on patrol.

It’s a waiting game Jason’s seen and always been the first to break at every gathering of his own brood, the only reason he’s not tonight is for Roy’s sake. He’s not even really paying attention anymore just lingering over the Tupperware of insanely good chili that Oliver had pushed his way moments ago letting the family just be together.

“Hey, Jaybird,” Roy says startling Jason out of his staring contest with the chili. He looks up and meets Roy’s eyes followed by the amused little smiles of everyone else and Ollie’s wide eyed, confusion maybe? Definitely surprise. “You ready to go bust up that fight club?”

Jason raises an eyebrow. The fight club in question has been on their radar for some time now, they’re 99% certain they’re using meta’s against their will and have been planning a little coup of their own over the weeks. Roy has about one and half feet in the door as a high roller, playing the role of spoiled rich boy looking to blow money even better than Jason does.

The next time he shows up he’s certain it’ll be the clubs last night in operation, he didn’t think tonight would be that night.

“You sure?” Jason questions searching Roy’s eyes for confirmation that this isn’t because he missed something going sour. Roy’s eyes look clear and certain and Jason knows he hasn’t missed a thing, Roy just wants to get the job they started done. He nods grabbing the Tupperware and the rest of the arrow kids take that as their cue each signaling their own farewells. Ollie never stops watching the two of them however, he looks like his mind has been running a mile a minute as he leans against the counter.

He finally moves when they all makes their way out the door, Dinah hugging each of the kids and even Jason as they file out. Roy and Dinah chat for a few more minutes while Jason safely secures the chili to his bike.

Roy looks so light and carefree and it makes Jason smile against his will. They walk over to the bike together Dinah hugging Roy one more time before he turns to Ollie and they do a weird bro hug style farewell that’s only a little bit awkward.

Ollie grips his bicep when they pull back. “You sure you two won’t need any backup with whatever you’re messing around with tonight?” he asks eyes briefly flitting over to where Jason leans against his bike.

“Nah, we’ll be good, Jaybird’s got my back,” Roy says. Ollie gets this amused look on his face as Roy steps away and takes the spare helmet Jason offers him. Jason gets on the bike first ignoring whatever is going on with Oliver.

“Jaybird,” Oliver mumbles under his breath before shaking his head. “Well if you change your mind, Pretty Bird,” he says looking Jason directly in the eyes as he pulls her close and places a lingering kiss on her head. Jason can’t ignore the implication of that comparison the way he’s managed to ignore everyone else’s glances and little comments. “And I are just a call away,” Ollie finishes with a chuckle.

Roy gives him a smile and a salute as he puts on his helmet and slips onto the bike behind Jason sitting a little closer and holding Jason’s waist a little tighter than necessary. Jason throws down his helmet visor to avoid the way Oliver’s still looking at him all meaningful and vaguely threatening before speeding away.

***

Tearing down the fight club is a hell of a lot easier than Jason expected it to be. They gear up at home then they’re in and out and sending vans full of free meta’s to safe havens set up around the city by the Black Canary herself in under two hours.

They’re both a little banged up when they make it back to the warehouse, but it’s nothing a few band-aids and a little Neosporin can’t handle.

Roy starts discarding pieces of the fancy burgundy suit he was sporting as soon as they’re in the door, Jason follows suit pulling weapon after weapon from his person in what they lovingly refer to as the discard box by the door. It’s their go to spot for all the weapons that need a good cleaning or maybe a good recycling down in Roy’s workshop.

By the time Jason’s down to just his pants and an under-armor shirt Roy’s settled down at the kitchen island rifling through the first aid kit with one hand and holding his other to a spot on the back of his head.

Jason walks up behind him picking his hand up from the spot he’s covering carefully.

“Did someone slice you on the back of the head?” he asks grabbing the rubbing alcohol from Roy’s hand.

“Yup, not sure how, but yup,” Roy grimaces when Jason takes a cotton ball to the slice.

“Told you not to cut your hair,” Jason says as he keeps cleaning the wound out. Last month Roy had finally parted with his scraggly red locks for a new cut short on the sides and back and just a little longer on the top. It looks good on him, but sometimes Jason misses the tresses of hair that would always slip their way out of his hats and blow around in the wind when they stood on rooftops. The hair not even fazing Roy from making a perfect shot when they’d fly in front of his eyes.

Roy snorts. “You just miss braiding my hair.”

“Yeah during all our pillow fights and sleepovers,” Jason huffs as he finishes cleaning up the slice and moves to open the Neosporin. He can’t exactly bandage this up so he’ll just have to badger Roy to remember to keep it clean.

Roy sighs. “If only you’d accept all my invitations to those, Jaybird,” he says seriously and there’s implications not even an emotionally constipated Jason Todd can’t catch onto under those words.

“You’re always calling me that,” Jason says as he slowly finishes up on the wound.

“Jaybird?” Roy asks slowly turning around to face Jason when he gives him a tap on the shoulder signifying he’s done.

Jason nods swallowing the lump in his throat realizing this conversation is happening there’s no jumping around it anymore.

“Well aside from your attempts early on, it was pretty clear you didn’t mind it all that much,” Roy says leaning back against the island. He reaches out brushing the bit of hair that’s fallen into Jason’s eyes, it’s the part that’s shock white a stark contrast to the rest of his dark hair. “So, yeah I call you that all the time.”

“You know Oliver calls Dinah Pretty Bird all the time,” he says tracking the movement of Roy’s hand as it falls slowly down the length of Jason’s arm.

“That he does,” Roy hums as he reaches Jason’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

“And you call me Jaybird,” Jason says looking up from their joined hands to Roy’s eyes.

“That has been established.”

“You know some people might make implications based on those similarities,” Jason says holding Roy’s eyes.

“Yeah they sure might,” Roy says pushing himself off the island. They’re practically nose to nose, eyes locked. “Damn do I wish the right person would realize those implications already.”

Jason swallows again a small smile forming on his lips. He never thought this would happen, that he’d work up the courage and finally acknowledge this ever-growing thing between them. That it would lead to a moment like this.

“Well I think he’s catching on,” he says. Roy smiles bright and lifts his other hand to gently cup Jason neck.

“About fucking time,” he says before leaning in finally breaching the space between them and connecting their lips. It’s a slow, sweet glide with so much passion and over a years’ worth of tension all seeping through when their lips move and their tongues meet. Jason’s not sure how much time passes, but eventually breathing becomes a necessity.

Roy doesn’t let him go far, keeping his hand on Jason’s neck and their fingers intertwined. He tilts their heads together while they both catch their breath.

“Well that works, huh, Jaybird,” he says stroking his thumb up and down the side of Jason’s neck.

“It sure does, Roy Toy,” Jason says with a chuckle hating the nickname even as it leaves his lips. Roy’s head throws back in a deep laugh he can’t seem to restrain.

“No way, nuh uh,” he says still chuckling. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, I’ll have to take up your trachea idea if you try to make that a thing.”

Jason snorts. “I’ll keep workshopping then,” he says before leaning back in and kissing the bright smile off of Roy’s lips.

[sabraeal]

Traffic Lights Are Burnin’

[Read on AO3]

Written in honor of @nebluus‘s birthday! She asked for some WFB, and of the options I gave she chose the next part of our Six Flags saga...only the beginning scene of that chapter ended up ballooning out into this so...it ended up being less Amusement Park Shenanigans and more Wholesome Boys Will Be Boys Content. I’M SURE MADI WILL BE JUST FINE WITH THAT TOO 😂

“Are you making an omelette?”

English is not, functionally, Mitsuhide’s first language. Not that he thinks of it like that-- first or second, third or fourth; there’s no ranking in his life, no moment in which one language followed another. There was English with Mama and quebecois with Papa; a plan quickly scuttled by Mitsuhide being the fifth Lowen sibling. Refusing to be pigeonholed into a single language no matter how many times Mama repeated consistency is key, his brothers mostly spoke a tossed salad of both and assumed he’d understand the lettuce.

Coupled with the fact that all his cousins lived in Toronto anyway, Mitsuhide had hardly begun talking himself before it became outside quebecois and inside English. Unless they left the province, in which case it was a free-for-all that left his few monolingual aunts and uncles dizzy.

Which is to say, Mitsuhide only becomes aware of the precise inner ranking of his languages in moments like this, where gut immediately kicks out a dry ‘j’essaie.’ The translation is vetoed on the grounds that although in quebecois he’s never met a word he couldn’t steep in sarcasm and smuggle in a sacre, he prefers to keep his English so clean it squeaks.

You’ve got it all backwards, Kihal had told him as he sweltered under the San Juan sun, English is fake, you can be as much of an asshole as you want it in, it doesn’t count.

It’s true, there’s something that’s more real to him in French, that’s more real about him, but, well-- there were far fewer cousins to tattle on his potty mouth this way. And now that he knows Obi...

Well, if Kiki ever made good on her threats to teach him any of his “church swears,” he’d probably never sleep easy again. So instead, he scrolls through his mental rolodex of possible appropriate replies before settling on, “Would you like one?”

Zen glances up from his array of pamphlets, glossy paper glaring beneath the overhead lamp. It matches the way Zen is looking at him. “We don’t have time for that.”

Mitsuhide frowns, giving his eggs one last vigorous whisk before pouring them into the pan. “There’s always time for breakfast. It’s the most important meal of the day.”

He glances over just in time to see Zen’s grimace. “Shirayuki really could be your sister.”

There’s really no reason he has to look so horrified by the idea. His brothers may all be broad shouldered, barrel-chested giants, but plenty of his cousins made pocket money in high school through catalogue modeling. And they’re all very nice girls.

He doesn’t mention it. A conversation never ends well if you have to whip out photos of female relatives to prove your point. “Would you like one?” he repeats instead, a safer tactic overall.

Zen’s nose wrinkles beneath some dubiously drawn eyebrows. “Are you putting spinach in there?”

“Kale,” he agrees. “And chicken.”

“In a breakfast omelette?” He clucks his tongue, just the way the Wisteria’s chef would when he attempted to cook at the estate. Quel dommage, he would say, sighing over the cutting board, why would you do that to perfectly good eggs? “Why would you do that?”

Because these muscles don’t come cheap; Mitsuhide chokes down a truly staggering amount of chicken in order to keep them. Roasted, of course-- boiled is technically better for protein, but even he has to draw the line somewhere. The eggs have less, but they are calorie efficient; he’d eat more of them if he could stomach the slimy, snake-like sensation of swallowing them down hard boiled.

But explaining his diet regime usually ended with glazed eyes, so he settles for, “I could always put something different in yours. There’s ham.”

Fancy ham, Obi calls it. It’s just from the deli counter, fresh sliced from whatever quality cut’s on sale, but considering how the first time Obi saw a charcuterie board, he shouted, Oh, Lunchables!--

Well, Mitsuhide can accept that maybe they have different benchmarks for fancy. And somehow just the simple act of calling it that does make it taste better. Or at least more satisfying when it’s shoved between a Hawaiian roll and deli cheese.

There’s a soft shuffle by the kitchen door, and a wild thatch of bristle peeps around the frame. Mitsuhide shakes his head with huff. That’s a new one-- just think the devil’s name and he appears.

Obi lopes into the kitchen, all long limbs and smooth movements, blurring right into the background without any effort at all. He’d gotten Mitsuhide a few times when he’d first moved in, popping up wherever it was sure to be the most inconvenient, grinning like a cat with feathers in its teeth. But once you knew the trick of it, well-- it’s no effort to keep the kid in his sights.

Which is why he has a full, uninterrupted view when Obi slips right up to Zen’s elbow, and asks, “Whatcha doing, chief?”

“Wah!” Pamphlets fly up, a glittering flock of wings swooping beneath the lamp. Zen slaps them down before they can skitter off the table’s edge. “Obi! Make noise for fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry,” he sing-songs, not a sincere note in it. Two long fingers pluck a pamphlet off the wood, twisting it between them. “What’s all this? They starting to put theme parks on exams now?”

“No.” Zen scowls, snatching it out of his hands. “I’m just making today’s itinerary.”

Mitsuhide slides his omelette onto a plate, turning just in time to catch the glance Obi sends him. It somehow says is he fucking with me while also implying I’ll hold him down if we gotta send him to the doctor. “An itinerary?”

He leans a hip against the island, fishing out a fork. What was it Obi always said? Dinner tastes better with a show. Time to find out whether it extends to breakfast too.

Zen fixes Obi with a look that could have had trenches with all its affront. “You can’t go to an amusement park without a plan. How else do you get on all the coasters?”

“It’s only Six Flags New England.” A week ago, the name alone made Obi flee like a cat from a bath, but now every syllable drips with derision, like a sommelier reviewing boxed wine. “They’ve got what? Superman?”

Mitsuhide shoves a corner of his omelette in his mouth. It’s not as good as a sausage, mushroom, and cheese, but, well, it’ll do. “Bizarro.”

“Bizarro.” Obi scoffs. “See? Nothing. Besides, I thought you were the kind of guy to spring for fast passes, boss.”

Zen’s always been sensitive; the sort of kid who tended to pop off when a situation came to a simmer instead of trying to turn down the heat. When Izana had been sitting president, he’s spent half his tenure fielding tense calls, sometimes even climbing into a towncar at a moment’s notice to be taken back east. The school, he’s always say, lifting a shoulder, my brother is proving to be a challenge, and my mother is...unreachable.

He’d thought this Zen kid must be like the ones he knew on the ice, punching first and asking questions later, complaining about being put in the box. All temper and no temperance, Mama used to say when she drove him home, can’t talk when you got plastic between your teeth.

But then he’d met him, undersized and stick-limbed, living in that house with people paid to be invisible. A kid with too much on his shoulders and too many eyes to watch him stumble under it. He’s come a long way from there.

So when Zen squirms in his chair, red already starting to lick up his neck, Mitsuhide doesn’t enjoy it. On the contrary, Zen’s discomfort is his discomfort, a failure of him to keep the watchful eye on him that Izana asked him to.

But it also doesn’t stop him from adding, “Shirayuki believes that waiting in line is part of the amusement park experience.”

Obi looks as though he’s just been told it’s his birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one. “Of course she does.” His mouth sharpens to a wicked grin. “So you’ll be lowering yourself to the peasant’s lines today, huh, Your Highness?”

“Don’t call me that,” he grumbles, swatting him away. “No one’s being lowered anywhere. We won’t be running into any of them so long as we get there early and hit the coasters in the right order.”

Obi coughs. Or at least, makes it sound like he is. “Uh-huh.”

“Where is Shirayuki anyway?” Zen glares at the empty doorway, brows heaving like thunderclouds over the bridge of his nose. “I thought you said you’d get her.”

“I did.” Obi twitches his shoulders; as good as a shrug, from him. “She’s getting ready.”

“It’s been fifteen minutes.” Zen’s glare changes target to him, thunder rolling in the tone of his voice. “Shirayuki doesn’t take this long to get ready.”

When Mitsuhide glances up, chewing around another stab of egg, kale, and chicken, Obi’s eyebrows are already there to meet him. His head tilts, just the barest degree; this is your show, big guy.

Mitsuhide coughs, trying to clear his throat of leaf bits. “Girls,” he starts, the ground sinking beneath him with each word, “like to look nice. Especially when they are on, uh, dates.”

“This isn’t a date,” Zen informs him, more than a little put out. “Obi’s going.”

The sound Obi makes can only be termed as distressed. “I didn’t want to.”

For exactly this reason, is what he doesn’t say. Doesn’t even show it on his face, though it has to be lurking beneath it, considering how he--

Well, considering nothing Mitsuhide knows for sure. But certainly a few things he reasonably suspects.

“Chief.” Obi flips the chair next to him, straddling it. “You know, I really thought it couldn’t be true. I really wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. But to hear you now--” he leans in, one narrow brow raising the same time his voice drops-- “you really do chicken out when it comes to getting chummy with Doc.”

Mitsuhide nearly chokes on his chicken.

Zen’s red all over, like someone pulled him from a boiling pot and put him on a plate. “You don’t know that.”

“Sure I do,” he says, so easy. “Doc told me.”

“She said that?” His skin’s so flushed Mitsuhide’s half afraid he’ll pass out, but instead he just collapses against the ladderback, head buried in his arms. “Shirayuki?” 

“Pretty much.” Obi sighs, hands braced on the table. “I mean, is it so hard to say she looks nice when she dresses up? Or that you like her hair, or--” he stumbles, shaking his head-- “no, not the hair. Too loaded. But you know, one of her floaty little numbers. Her freckles. Something.”

“I have!”

Obi lifts a dubiously narrow eyebrow. “Like when?”

“Ah...” Whatever the answer is, it’s not helping his blood flow problem. Mitsuhide nearly opens his mouth, searching for a good way to make himself a target-- “The Big E.”

Well, there goes that plan.

Obi’s inquisition crumples into confusion. “What? When did you--”

Every word ekes into the air with the utmost resistance. “When she was wearing your hoodie.”

“When she was wearing my--?” Gold eyes round to coins. “Chief.”

For a solid minute, that’s the only reaction-- wide-eyed disbelief, earned from two sides. But Obi coughs, mouth twitching, and it’s a snort, a smirk, and--

And then Obi launches himself away from the table, both hands still gripping the edge as he falls apart utterly. The chair’s back keeps him from putting his head between his knees, but spiritually he’s there, tears tracking down his cheeks as his laughs wheeze out of him

One hand finally slaps the table, like he’s asking for a time out. Zen frowns down at him, red finally fading to a painful pink. “It’s not that funny.”

“It is,” Obi squeaks, and Mitsuhide has to shove his last bite of omelette into his mouth to stifle his own noises. It’s no good-- Zen whips around and gives him the same glare he’s been saving for Obi.

“If you don’t cut it out,” he says loftily, “I’m going to let a freshman stay in your room.”

Well, that brings Obi up. “Fine,” he coughs, voice still ragged from laughing. “But still. My hoodie.”

“The sleeves hung over her hands! It was cute.” Zen huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “Fine, if I’m so bad, why don’t you two show me how it’s done?”

There’s a pause, long and loaded; enough that Mitsuhide glances up from his plate to see just what tomfoolery he should brace himself to break up--

Only to find Zen staring at him.

Intellectually, Mitsuhide is aware that Zen is a Wisteria. He met him through Izana, after all; he’s been over to the manor, he’s even met their prodigal mother on one of her rare stopovers between vacations. But when he thinks of the name, it’s Izana who springs to mind, the gears churning behind his eyes.

It’s not often that Zen reminds him of his brother; Cookie’s always said that Izana takes after their mother with that long and lean model build, while Zen has always been Kain’s child. But now, now--

He sees it, and it sends a shiver right through him.

With a quirk of his lips, Zen says, so like Izana that if he closed his eyes he wouldn’t know any different, “You first, Mitsuhide.”

Obi’s mouth curves into a leer. “Yeah, Big Guy. Show us the skills that got you Ms Kiki.”

This probably isn’t the time to tell them that it wasn’t him who got her; Mitsuhide hadn’t been trying to do anything more than be the friend she needed, to be a person she could confide in, could trust. People like that were thin on the ground for girls like her; heiress tended to make men see dollar signs instead of personality. But Kiki--

Well, she had other ideas. Ones he’d only cottoned onto when she climbed on top of him and shoved him against the couch cushions with her mouth.

“D-Don’t look at me!” he manages, trying to busy himself with anything. But there’s only a plate to be put in the sink, and a pan to be wiped. Not enough to fake a decent amount of responsibility. “I’m not--”

“Aw, c’mon, Big Man. Don’t leave us hanging.” Obi leans back, grin so wide it practically splits his face. “Lemme paint the scene. You’re single, Doc is adorable, and she’s waiting there--” he gestures to Zen, who flutters his eyelashes in precisely the way Shirayuki doesn’t-- “for you to make your move. Go!”

He could point out he’s not single, and that he doesn’t have any plans to change that anytime soon-- but that only ends in one way: a two-pronged mockery with additional ridicule provided by the impending arrival of his better half. He could also point out that of all the people in this room, he’s the only one who hasn’t wanted to date Shirayuki, but-- well, the problems with that one were obvious.

Instead, Mitsuhide takes in a deep breath, learns on the counter, and says, “Why, Shirayuki! You’re looking beautiful this morning. Those shorts really flatter your legs.”

There is a long silence, and then to everlasting embarrassment, they burst out laughing.

“Her shorts?” Zen’s hand is pressed to his chest, like he needs support to keep upright. “That’s all you can think of? Her shorts?”

“Well, Obi said not to do her hair,” he protests. “Complimenting her dress seemed like low hanging fruit. I was trying to be unique.”

Obi doesn’t even bother to remain horizontal, sprawling himself over the long forgotten maps. “So you went for her legs?”

“There’s nothing wrong with legs!”

“Oh, no, of course not,” Zen sputters out in an effort to keep his mouth straight. “Definitely a very neutral place to comment on.”

“Definitely not known for being attached to things like asses.” Obi’s mouth twitches, as much a sign for danger as thunder rolling in the distance. “Or puss--”

“I was not trying to comment on that.” He’d felt bad for Zen earlier, but the sentiment doesn’t seem mutual. “It’s not typical, sure, but Kiki never seems to mind when I compliment--”

“Kiki?” Zen squawks. “Kiki?”

“Well, I think we’re all learning a little too much about Big Guy today,” Obi wheezes. “Mainly that it’s Ms Kiki that chased him, and not the other way around.”

“Yeah.” Zen shakes his head, long and slow and solemn, like a doctor about to give a terminal diagnosis. “No game at all.”

Mitsuhide’s not a competitive man. Sure, he was forward on the ice, the kind of player that got sent to the box before the end of the first half and slid right into the captain spot when it was vacant. Aggression is part of the game, competition laced in every turn of his skate and lift of his stick, but that’s a different situation, a different language--

But it’s that part of him that surges beneath his skin right now, that makes him want to saunter over and put both hands on that rickety, painted wood until it creaks. That makes him want to take a full minute to bend down, showing off every centimeter of his one-ninety plus, and ask real low if either of them has made a girl beg on their cock lately, but--

He puts it in its place. That sort of talk always sounded better en français anyway.

Zen waves his hand, slipping his pamphlets out from under Obi. “Anyway, enough messing around. Are you still making omelettes, Mitsuhide?”

“Ohh, omelettes?” Obi spins to him with wide eyes. “Can I get mine with fancy ham?”

Mitsuhide blinks. “Wait, aren’t you going to do your take?”

“Nah.”

Zen shrugs. “Joke’s over.”

“So I just did that for no reason--?”

“I wouldn’t say no reason,” Zen wheedles. “It was very educational.”

Obi grins. “Mainly about how Big Guy likes legs--”

“Oh,” drawls a voice that makes his body go cold and hot at the same time. When he turns, it’s Kiki leaning against the jamb, a single elegant brow raised, excusing amusement and menace in equal measure. “Am I to take it that the show is over?”

“K-kiki,” he stammers. “How long--?”

“Hm.” She saunters over to the counter, slipping onto a stool with a casual grace that still leaves his mouth dry. “Long enough. I have to admit, I was looking forward to seeing a display of Obi’s fabled moves.”

“Ms Kiki,” Obi simpers, pressing a hand to his chest. “I’d be happy to give you a personal demonstration anytime.”

Both her brows raise. “Did I say I was desperate?”

He’s saved from Obi’s answer by Shirayuki padding into the kitchen, flushed and breathless. “Oh, you were right Kiki! Everyone is already ready. Sorry to make you wait.”

There’s a hesitation in the air, and Mitsuhide can’t figure it out, not until he sees-- she’s wearing shorts.

Shirayuki blinks. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kiki hums, sending him a gaze so wicked it should be illegal outside the bedroom. “Do you have anything to say to her, Mitsuhide?”

“No!” It comes out a little too harsh, a little too loud. “I mean, I, uh...like your sandals!”

“Sandals,” Obi snickers, a sound that’s only covered by Zen’s hushed, “Shut up.”

“Oh!” She blinks down. “Thank you. I got them at Payless. I, um, don’t think they make them in your size.”

“No,” he manages mildly. “I don’t imagine they would.”

“You do look real cute, Doc,” Obi chimes in, slinking out of his seat to circle around her. “Did you dress up for today?”

Zen makes a noise, somewhere between a choke and a gasp, but even with the pink brushing her cheeks, Shirayuki’s too used to his antics to do much more than sigh.

“Of course I did, Obi.” Her fists perch high on her hips, cocked as she talks to him. “It’s the last time we’re all going to be going out together, isn’t it? What could be more special than that?”

Mitsuhide may not be a competitive man, and especially isn’t a malicious one, but when Obi’s jaw goes slack, the tips of his ears darkening just the slightest bit, well-- he does indulge in the slightest bit of schadenfreude.

“Well,” Zen says, a little sharp. “Let’s get going.”

“Aw!” Obi whips around. “What about fancy ham?”

“I don’t think you need--”

“Oh, I haven’t had breakfast either!” Shirayuki adds, eyes wide. “Do we have time?”

Zen hesitates, and then with a sigh, relents. “We’ll stop at Dunkies.”