#alfred is the best though

[wolfjackle-creates]

Something Next to Normal

Tim's having a regular day at school when a classmate ropes him into helping with the school play as the light technician. Tim agrees to one rehearsal, but his responsibilities as Robin keep him so busy. He knows he'll have to turn down the position. Then he learns what Next to Normal is about. Tim absolutely cannot do this. --- Alfred is proud of Tim for taking on an extracurricular. The boy spends so much time alone. Having an excuse to spend time with other students his age can only be good for him. He wants to go see the show, but Tim counsels against it. After looking it up, Alfred spends a night in sleepless grief. But when day comes and he's face-to-face with Tim, he realizes the living boy in front of him needs him and something has to change.

This fic is inspired by a conversation I had with @yaderyngoch that you can find here.

Next to Normal is a super emotional musical that deals with surviving after grief. And the themes fit so well with Tim's early tenure as Robin that once the connection had been made, I couldn't stop thinking about it. Within hours, I was asking yaderyngoch if they minded if I started writing. A month later, this is what came of it.

Thanks to @greensword101 and @flipwizardstarlight for helping beta!

I plan to release chapter two in about a week.

Chapter 1 word count: 5,969

Content Warning: Bruce doesn't take a parental role towards Tim. And, at this point, he's not being a very good mentor either. He's too caught up in his own grief. The comfort will come up in chapter two.

-----

“Tim, Tim! There you are!”

Tim turned to see Alex, a senior in the journalism and drama clubs, waving a hand above his head and running towards him down the school hallway. “Hey, Alex. What’s wrong?”

Alex stopped right in front of him and bent over panting. He held one finger up, silently asking Tim to wait a moment. Finally, still somewhat breathless, he said, “We found out last night that my dad got a major promotion at work.”

“That’s awesome, congrats!” said Tim.

But Alex shook his head. “They want him to start immediately. Job’s out in California so we’ll have to move.”

Tim grimaced in sympathy. “Dude, that sucks. When will you be moving?”

“End of the week. But look, we need your help.”

Tim cocked his head. He wasn't really that close to Alex, though they were friendly. “How can I help? I assume your dad’s company will be providing movers and stuff.”

Alex waved him off. “Not like that. I mean with the musical! Performances are happening in a month and I’m in charge of lighting. You’re literally the only person in the whole school who I think could learn everything in time.”

Tim bit his lip. He was already falling behind on his homework due to his Robin responsibilities. “I don’t know, I’m really busy right now…”

“Please, Tim,” begged Alex. “Just come to today’s rehearsal. It’s right after class. Give it a shot, and if you hate it, I’ll figure something else out. But please, one rehearsal.”

Tim hesitated a moment longer, but the pleading in Alex’s eyes got to him. He never could help being useful. “Okay, one rehearsal.”

---

The moment Tim entered the auditorium, Alex waved to him. “Tim! You made it, awesome. Come on, let me introduce you to Mrs. V.”

Before Tim could do more than say, “Hi,” back, Alex grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the front of the auditorium.

“Mrs. V! This is Tim.”

Tim smiled up at the woman and held out his hand just as his mother had taught him. “Nice to make your acquaintance, Ma’am.”

She looked to be in her late thirties and had bushy black hair and dark eyes. She cocked her head at him, but shook his hand. “You look awfully young to be in high school, Tim. Will your parents mind you staying late?”

“I skipped a grade,” said Tim, brushing past the question like he always did. Starting high school at barely thirteen was unusual enough, and he was small for his age. “And I’ll be talking it over with them tonight to see if I can make it work.” An utter lie, of course. Tim’s parents wouldn’t be home for a few weeks yet. But they made a good excuse. “I’ll be able to let you know tomorrow for sure.”

“And, Alex, you really think he’ll be able to learn everything?”

Alex was nodding before she’d even finished speaking. “Yep. He might be a freshman, and a young one at that, but he’s brilliant. He was in the journalism club in middle school, right?” Alex waited for Mrs. V to nod before continuing. “So their teacher brought them to the high school to get a look at our recording studio here. Tim figured out the equipment in, like, ten minutes. To the point where he was correcting Dave last year’s president of the high school club. We’ve integrated nearly all of his suggestions into our broadcasts this year.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked at Tim with much more interest. “Then I hope your parents let you join us,” she said.

Tim didn’t let his expression slip and wondered what his parents would say if he ever bothered to ask their permission. Oh, who was he kidding? They wouldn’t care so long as it didn’t interfere with his school image.

“As I’m sure you’ve heard, I’m Mrs. Vasilakis, but most students just call me Mrs. V. Today we’ll be doing a run through of the show from top to bottom with scripts in hand so Alex can show you what he does and you can get used to the show. We’re doing Next to Normal, are you familiar with it?”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t know many musicals, I’m sorry.”

She waved him off. “Well, I hope we can get you interested. Alex, I can give you twenty minutes to show him the controls while I corral this group and get them warmed up.”

“Thanks, Mrs. V! Come on, Tim. You can toss your backpack down on any empty seat.”

Tim did as instructed and followed Alex to the back of the auditorium.

Alex led him to a small door with a “Do Not Enter” sign hung on it. He pulled out a key and unlocked the door. “Mrs. V lets me keep the key, though she might want you to get it from her every time. I guess they had issues a few years back with people sneaking up here. Something was stolen or broken or something and since then admin refuses to allow students open access.”

Tim nodded his understanding, but a glance at the lock proved it was as cheap as they came. He didn’t know how it worked to actually keep anyone out.

The door led to a narrow stairway and at the top was a room just large enough for the lights, their controls, and two chairs. Alex sat in one and gestured Tim to the other.

“Home, sweet, home,” said Alex grinning. “So, you ever seen any of this stuff before?”

“Some of it,” admitted Tim. Enough of the Gotham rogues had a flare for the dramatics that he’d seen some weird light shows, even if he hadn’t been on the job that long yet. “But I’ve never been in charge of it.”

“Still better than I could say when I started. We’ve tried to keep things labeled pretty clearly so that helps. These dials are the over head lights, these are over stage lights, spotlights. The set up here is pretty good for a high school, but we’re still limited in what we can do. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a professionally performed play or musical, but don’t worry. We won’t be doing anything nearly so fancy.”

“I haven’t, actually,” commented Tim. He thought he had it all figured out, but it would be good to see everything in action. “I think my mom likes plays, but I’ve never gone with her. I think she is afraid I’d struggle sitting quietly for that long.”

“Would you?”

Tim laughed. “Probably a year or two ago. I’d be good now. But back on topic, what’s most important?”

“Right, yeah. Of course that’s what you want to know. Basically make sure anyone who is speaking has a light on them. And that anyone who is on stage can be seen, even if they’re in shadow. This show isn’t the worst, but there are a few moments where multiple characters are singing in contrast to each other. And if we can show the space between them while still lighting them, it’d be great.”

“I… what?” Tim had no idea what that was supposed to mean.

Alex grimaced. “I suppose that doesn’t make sense—“

A loud piercing whistle sounded from below them.

“Well, you’ll see when we get into it. Just watch what I do, yeah?”

Tim shrugged again. “Sure. I’m good at learning on my feet.”

Alex grinned. “It’s why I’m begging you to do this!” He watched the stage a minute and nodded to himself. “Okay, we’re gonna lower all the lights. You always start in dark. This is how we do that.”

Tim watched intently, taking even more notes, as Alex deftly adjusted dials until everything sat in darkness.

Then Alex turned on a spotlight, showing a boy a girl—playing a mother and son—arguing before the boy stormed out of the house. Then the girl started singing about her family. When she reached the line about her daughter, “And my daughter though a genius is a freak,” another spotlight turned on and Tim watched as Alex pointed it at a different girl sitting at a table with a textbook and papers spread in front of her.

He cringed when he heard the mom character say, “I’m going to have sex with your father,” and decided he didn’t really care about the story. Instead he focused on following Alex’s actions. The daughter took over the song, so Alex turned off the light on the mother.

Soon enough, four actors were on stage, trading off lines as they sung about it being “just another day.” And Tim understood what Alex was doing. Each had a spotlight on them, but the shadows were deep between the characters because they didn’t seem to like each other very much, even if they were a family.

Soon it was hard to even follow the words with everyone singing together. Tim really didn’t think he was going to like the show. He had his own struggles with his family and with Bruce. He didn’t really want to watch a fictional family’s struggles.

Whatever, he didn’t have to enjoy himself today.

So he tuned it out. He focused on how Alex played with the lights to make sure everything could be seen. He watched the difference between solos and ensemble moments. When spotlights were used versus lighting the whole stage.

Despite Tim’s best attempts, he couldn’t help but learn about the family. The daughter, Natalie, was the character he liked the most. The son, Gabe, was just an asshole. The dad, Dan, was trying to hold everything together and failing miserably. And the mom, Diana, was falling apart as badly as Bruce and they couldn’t seem to find a good treatment for her.

But all of that was just background to the lighting techniques he was learning. Then when Diana came out with a birthday cake for Gabe, Dan had to take her to the side and remind her that “he’s been dead, sixteen years,” and Tim stopped breathing.

”He’s not here.” echoed in Tim’s ears.

His blood ran cold, and he stared at the stage is shock. The reveal had been a complete surprise, but suddenly so much about the show made sense. And yet all Tim could think of was Bruce, still clinging to the memory of Jason, putting himself—and all of Gotham—at risk in the process.

“You all right?” whispered Alex.

“Huh?” Tim shook his head to reorient himself. His heart was beating too fast. Why was he reacting so strongly? But all he could hear were the words, “He’s not here,” repeating in his mind. Tim forced a smile just as his mother had taught him, though. “Oh, yeah. Of course. Just didn’t expect that.”

Alex laughed even as the music turned more upbeat, the tone jarring compared to the one before. He turned the lights up to match the new tone. “One of the best twists in a musical in my opinion. Forgot you wouldn’t know to expect it.”

Tim just hummed as Diana took center stage again. Her words, “Do you know what it’s like to die alive,” made him cross his arms and clench his fists around his shirt. Why was it that despite the actors in front of him, all he could see was Bruce throwing himself into fight after fight?

But Diana was worse than Bruce. She still had a daughter. One who was still a kid and relied on her. Didn’t she care? He forced himself to tune out her words and returned to taking notes on what Alex did.

He managed well enough until Natalie’s next song came on. Her first three lines went by, worming their way into his head until, “She’s not there,” made him stop.

All he could do was stare at the stage as the girl sang. Each line seemed to hit harder than the last.

“He’s immortal, forever alive. Then there’s me.”

The actress filled every line with a resigned desperation for something, anything, to be different. Tim’s breath froze in his chest. Was his heart still beating? He could hear the blood rushing in his ears, but somehow the words from the stage broke through even that.

“He’s your hero, forever your son. He’s not here. I am here.”

His eyes burned, and he bit his cheek to give himself something else to focus on.

Then Diana tried to comfort Natalie. “You know I love you. I love you as much as I can.”

Tim clenched his fists hard to hide their shaking even as Natalie threw her arms up in frustration on the stage. Why was he reacting so strongly? He wasn’t the same as Natalie. Bruce wasn’t his dad so it didn’t matter if Bruce couldn’t even look at him half the time. He had parents. They might not be home right now, but they loved him. They did.

He wasn’t Natalie.

“Please look closely and find her before she fades away!”

Tim barely heard the rest of the song. Was he breathing? He needed to breathe. He let out a shaky breath.

“Tim? You sure you’re good?”

He needed to focus. His mom would be so disappointed in him. He smiled, just like he’d learned to do for the galas he’d been forced to attend from the age of five. “Of course, Alex. Sorry. I just didn’t realize how good a singer Rose is.”

Alex grinned. “Yeah. She’s really good. Got the role of Natalie as a junior if you can believe it.” He paused speaking to adjust more lights. “Are you following what I’m doing?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

Compartmentalize. Tim could do this. He’d been doing it for years. And he’d only gotten better at it since becoming Robin.

The next song, sung by Gabe again, made his heartbeat ratchet back up. Tim hated Gabe for reasons he couldn’t articulate even to himself. But hearing the ghost of the dead son sing about how he was alive as he danced around his mom, crowding her, had Tim biting his cheek so hard he tasted blood. He stopped, closed his eyes for two seconds, and focused again on what Alex was doing. On the way the lights followed Gabe as he haunted, taunted, the rest of his family in turn.

He’d get through this. He’d promised one rehearsal and that’s what he’d get through. Tomorrow he’d say he couldn’t do it.

Even as all the characters begged, “Catch me I’m falling,” Tim focused on just learning his job. When Dan and Diana blew off Natalie’s recital, he clenched his fist, but kept his breathing steady.

Alex didn’t ask if he was okay, just kept up a quiet stream of instructions.

Diana’s failed suicide, done at the behest of Gabe’s ghost, reminded him of all his nightmares of being too late and finding Bruce’s body broken and bloody one day when trying to follow him on patrol. The nightmares that always made him wake screaming.

Tim forced himself not to think of Alfred when Dan sang about standing with his “feet right on the ground” whenever Diana went off flying. He ignored the way Dan wished for someone to give him a lift. And if Tim’s breath caught when Dan sang his was “just a slower suicide,” it didn’t matter because Alex didn’t notice. He just focused on how Alex softened the lights to make the scene more melancholy.

Finally, after Diana agreed to ECT at Dan’s pleading, Alex turned the lights all the way down, then all the way back up.

“And this is the end of act one! What do you think so far?”

Tim swallowed and shrugged. “I didn’t realize they made musicals like this. Are they common?”

“This one was pretty groundbreaking when it came out. More recently, we’ve got Be More Chill and Dear Evan Hansen. But I’ll tell you a secret, I like this one way more.”

Tim hummed and looked over the lighting equipment. “It’s definitely intense. They’re doing a good job.”

“Yep. So for the real show, intermission will last about twenty minutes. Three minutes before curtain, you’ll want to dim the lights briefly to warn people to get back to their seats. Right now, Mrs. V is going to talk to the actors and give some pointers for a few minutes. Give everyone a chance to catch their breaths. Need the bathroom?”

Tim shook his head.

“Then what questions do you have for me?”

Over the next few minutes, Tim made sure to ask any question he could think of. By the time Mrs. V let out another whistle to call everyone to their places, Tim was pretty sure he could manage lighting for the rest of the show. Though when Alex took up the position, Tim didn’t fight him.

No reason to seem too eager when he wouldn’t be taking the project on.

The next act started and Tim tried to pay minimal attention to the musical. Though when the characters realized Diana had amnesia from the treatment and Dan decided the proper response was to just not mention their son, he couldn’t hold back a snort.

Amusement that died in his throat when Natalie revealed what life had actually been like for her. At least he couldn’t draw any parallels there. Neither his parents nor Bruce had been present enough in his childhood to screw his up the way Diana had screwed over Natalie’s.

When Diana finally remembered her son, Tim expected the breakdown.

He couldn’t help but feel for Natalie as she left the house again to get into trouble. Memories of nights spent in Gotham when he was way too young threatened to overtake him.

He managed to push through it and get himself back under control by focusing on Alex’s actions. He paid vague attention to the musical, too invested in the story to fully ignore it. But he directed most of his focus to Alex. So many of the songs started with one character before changing to another, so he’d have to learn them well enough to know when to switch the lights as each person took over.

Diana’s therapist begged her to stay a patient, to not give in to her depression. But it was clear she’d had enough. Would Bruce give up one day? Decide to stop fighting and let himself die?

Only…it turned out Diana wasn’t fully giving up on life. She apologized to Natalie who was clearly caught between finding it too little, too late and hope that this time might be real.

He couldn’t help the ache he felt when Natalie and Diana agreed that a life “next to normal” would work just fine for them.

Tim knew what it was like to strive for a normal life. One where his parents were home. One where he was told “good job” when he did well on a school assignment or finally figured out how to do that flip.

Maybe it was time to give up that dream, though. Be like Natalie and settle for something else. The thought made his eyes burn, but he pushed it aside.

Surely Diana didn’t have to leave just for everyone to find a way to heal? Wasn’t there a way for them to figure it out together?

But Diana left and everyone, even Gabe, seemed to find a measure of peace.

Then Alex turned the lights down again until the entire auditorium was in darkness once more.

Mrs. V began clapping and called out “Well done, everyone!”

Alex turned all the lights back on and leaned back in his chair as Mrs. V addressed the actors.

“So, any more questions for me?” asked Alex.

---

“How was your extracurricular, Master Tim?” asked Alfred when Tim slipped into the passenger seat.

Tim shrugged and pretended he wasn’t still shaking inside from the music. “It was all right. But I think I’ll have to tell Alex I can’t do it. Just so busy, you know?”

Alfred tutted. “If you want to do it, we can make the time. Master Dick had his gymnastics meets. And Master Ja—”

Alfred cut himself off and Tim looked out the window. So many conversations ended that way in the manor. But he remembered Dan’s song about needing someone to lift him up. “You can talk about him, you know. To me. If you need to.” Tim didn’t look at Alfred as he spoke, just continued staring out the window.

“Thank you, Master Tim.”

The rest of the car ride passed in silence as Natalie’s refrain, “I’m not here,” echoed in Tim’s head. He focused on keeping his breathing steady and his hands still. He was fine.

When they got to the manor, Tim took over his corner of the dining room table and pulled out his homework. Laptop set up on an angle to his left, papers on his right. Start with math because that was the easiest.

Only he couldn’t focus on the numbers at all. For possibly the first time in his life, they didn’t make sense.

Catch me I’m falling.

Tim grit his teeth and grabbed his headphones. Maybe if he just listened to the soundtrack again, the songs would get out of his head?

He started it from the beginning. His pencil tapped against his papers in time to the beat. When he got to Natalie’s song, even his pencil stilled as he stared unseeing at his homework.

Then Gabe started singing “I’m Alive!” and Tim grabbed his phone and jabbed the back button. He couldn’t. He couldn’t listen to that one.

Natalie singing about being invisible might cause his hands to shake and his heart to beat hard, but it was better. He stared at his phone, watching the lyrics pass by. When the final words appeared, he jabbed the single repeat button to make sure he wouldn’t be jump scared again by Jason’s, Gabe’s song.

He had no idea how many times he’d listened to “Superboy and the Invisible Girl” when Alfred cleared his throat behind him. “How is your homework going, Master Tim?”

Only his months of training kept him from jumping in his seat. He looked over his math and realized he’d only managed to get through two problems. “Going great, Alfred. What’s up?”

Alfred raised an eyebrow at him, but didn’t call him out on his lie. “Dinner is nearly ready. Why don’t you put away your things and help me carry it out?”

“Of course! I’ll be right there. Just give me two minutes.”

Alfred smiled and clasped his shoulder. “Take your time. I’ll go inform Master Bruce.”

Tim nodded as he gathered up his papers and closed his laptop. Within moments, his things were neatly packed and his backpack hidden in the hallway closet.

Dinner at Wayne Manor was as awkward as they all were. Tim sat two seats away from Bruce and kept quiet. The first time he’d eaten here, Tim had tried to ask Bruce about his day, but Bruce merely stared at him for an entire minute before grunting and going back to his food. Tim hadn’t tried again.

He should’ve refused the ride home and taken the three buses and a cab that it took to get from Gotham to Bristol. Then he could’ve eaten in his own home. At least there it was silent because no one else was around rather than whatever this mess was.

Through it all, he could hear the echo of Natalie’s song. He felt invisible sitting there in complete silence.

With no conversation and all three of them focused on their plates, Tim finished eating within ten minutes.

“Would you like anything else, Master Tim?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Bruce grunted. “Then report to the cave. I need to debrief you before tonight’s patrol. And I want to evaluate where you are in your training.”

Tim jumped to his feet. “Of course. I’ll bring my dishes to the kitchen and head right down.”

The debrief was boring. Edward Nygma had escaped Arkham, so Bruce had Tim review several of his old riddles. Tim had kept up with those when they had happened and really didn’t learn anything new. The Riddler’s cases had always interested him the most.

Not that he said anything of course. From the direction of Jason’s memorial, he could hear the echo of the words, “I’m alive!”

If one thing could be said for training, it was that it required enough of his focus to drown out Jason’s voice. Bruce hit hard and fast and scolded whenever Tim wasn’t able to dodge. But it was fine. He was getting better.

To his surprise, when they finished, Bruce merely grunted at him and turned away to change into his suit. Tim must’ve done really well, and he bit back a smile. Usually they spent at least ten minutes going over everything Tim had done wrong.

Patrol itself started fine. They were looking for leads on Nygma, but in the meantime just stopped anything they came across. The euphoria of patrol chased away the echo of any songs that might have haunted him otherwise.

Everything was going fine. Until Tim saw a woman in scrubs getting cornered in an alley by three large men. He looked around, but Bruce was already two streets away. “Batman?” he asked over comms.

“Hurry up, Robin.”

Tim bit his lip and debated following, but then the woman began begging. “No, please. I promise I don’t have anything.”

“You’ve got a phone, don’t you?” asked one of the men as he took another step forward.

“And even if not, bet there’s something else we could get from you.”

Tim did not like the smile on the second speaker’s face. Mind made up, he shot his grappling hook and swung down, making sure to land on Asshole #2’s shoulder’s, knocking him to the ground.

“Pretty sure she said she’s got nothing for you. Why don’t you leave her alone?” He stood on the asshole’s back.

“Shit, it’s the kid!”

“Where’s the bat?”

“Get offa me!”

Tim jumped off #2’s back as the man pushed himself up. Dick’s acrobatic training meant he landed on his feet, and Shiva’s training had him pulling out his staff and extending it into the man’s stomach as he did.

While #2 was bent over trying to regain his breath, Tim swung it to the left to get the Asshole #1. The woman, meanwhile, pulled out a canister of pepper spray and got the third directly in his face.

Tim grinned at her. “Thanks, ma’am!”

“I should be thanking you, Robin. Glad to see you back out on the streets!”

The pepper spray victim collapsed to the ground and was scrubbing his face, leaving Tim with just two to take down. He managed to get both incapacitated quickly and zip-tied their hands behind their backs.

He was finishing with their ankles when he heard, “Robin,” from behind him.

Shit, that was definitely Bruce’s I’m-not-happy voice. Tim forced a grin and turned. “Hiya, B!” he said, just as he’d heard Dick or Jason do when they were in trouble on patrol. “You missed the fun.”

Only, unlike with Jason and Dick, Bruce’s jaw tightened and his hand clenched into a fist.

But he didn’t say anything. So Tim turned back to the woman. “Want me to escort you home? How much farther do you have?” He knew Bruce wouldn’t be happy with that, either, but he couldn’t just leave her.

“Just two blocks more. Would you mind?”

“Not at all!” Tim turned to Bruce, still grinning. “You can call this in, right? I’ll be right back!”

“Robin!” barked Bruce.

“Yeah?” Tim pretended to have no idea Bruce was upset. He was shaking inside, but he was Robin right now. And Robin was brave and bright, no matter how scary Batman was.

“You do not wander off.”

So Tim cocked his head. “Oh, you want to come, too? I’m sure that’ll make Ms…” he looked at the woman curiously.

“Emma,” she supplied.

“Ms. Emma feel even safer. Are the cops on their way for these three jerks?”

Batman grunted and Tim’s grin grew.

In a stage whisper, he told Emma, “That’s Batman’s ‘yes’ grunt. Let’s go. These three will hold until the police get here.”

Emma laughed and led the way down the street. “I’m gonna be the safest person in Gotham, then. Thanks, Robin, Batman.”

“So, Ms. Emma, do you work at the hospital nearby?”

“Yep. I’m a night shift nurse. Usually I drive to and from, but my car’s in the shop. And I’m only a twenty minute walk from work. Thought I could risk it for one day.”

Tim nodded. “That’s how they get you.”

Emma laughed and ruffled his hair. “You’re absolutely right. I’ll just wait until one of my coworkers can give me a ride home tomorrow.”

“How much longer until your car is ready?”

Emma sighed. “I don’t get paid until Friday. Then I can authorize the work to start.”

Tim hummed in sympathy, but was already making plans to track down Emma’s name and figure out which mechanic she used. Surely it’d make sense for Robin and Batman to pay her bill after helping her out. And a bit extra to move it to the top of the line.

Tim asked Emma about her work and she regaled him with stories from a Gotham ER for the rest of the walk. Bruce stalked silently behind them.

When Emma stopped in front of an apartment complex, she turned to face Tim. “Thanks for walking me home, Robin.”

“Anytime, Ms. Emma.”

She leaned down and hugged him tightly. Tim’s eyes widened in shock at the sudden warmth. His heart beat hard in his chest and he could feel every point of contact like it burned. Just as he realized he should lift his arms and hug her back, though, she was pulling away.

“Good night, Robin! And you, Batman.”

Bruce just grunted, and Tim wanted to roll his eyes. “Good night to you, too. Stay safe!”

“I will, thanks to you.” She waved as she unlocked the door and disappeared inside.

“Batmobile, now.”

Tim bit back a sigh. “Of course, Batman,” he said. He didn’t bother pretending to be cheerful now that they didn’t have an audience.

Bruce spun and shot his grappling hook, swinging away. Tim followed on his heels. Tim knew he was in for a scolding, but didn’t dare dally on the trip over.

When he got to the alley, Bruce was waiting next to the driver’s side door. He grunted and gestured for Tim to get in.

Tim’s hand didn’t shake as he opened the door, but his stomach felt like lead, and he knew it was only long practice at hiding his nerves that kept it steady. Bruce slid into the driver’s seat and pulled out.

Even with his gloves on, Tim could tell Bruce was gripping the steering wheel as tightly as possible. And his jaw was clenched shut in displeasure. Tim bit his lip, unable to break the silence that settled in the car.

Silence that stretched for long minutes. Tim began to hope he’d be able to avoid the lecture he knew was brewing.

Then Bruce opened his mouth. “What was that?” His voice was cold and hard.

“What? Saving a woman?” Tim pretended he wasn’t shaking inside.

Bruce practically growled at him. “You disappeared!”

Tim kept his back straight and kept his eyes trained on the road ahead. He would not react to the anger directed his way. Keep it straightforward and factual, like giving a report. “A woman was being harassed by three men. They didn’t even have a gun and you were a block and a half ahead already. I knew it’d be a quick intervention so I intervened.”

“You do not go off on your own, ever.”

“I had it handled, Batman—”

“I don’t care! You always ask for backup before entering into combat situations. What if one of them had a hidden gun?”

“I know how to fight against opponents with firearms.” Tim kept his voice steady no matter how much he wanted to shout back.

“You can’t keep running off, Jason!”

Both of them froze. Tim stared straight ahead, every muscle tense, just waiting for Bruce to say something else. The buildings raced past them as they rapidly approached the end of the street.

Only Bruce didn’t hit the breaks. And the building across the street was getting closer.

“Watch the road!” screamed Tim.

Bruce cursed and jerked the wheel, just barely managing to follow the turn of the road rather than slam into the building. Tim had to his arm to keep from banging his head against the side window as his seatbelt dug into his chest.

Once they were back on the road and traveling at a more reasonable speed, Bruce spoke again. “Tim—”

“Don’t.” Tim gripped his uniform over his heart. His throat was tight and his eyes burned and he couldn’t get that damn song out of his head. He wanted to collapse forward, rest his head between his knees and just breathe, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the road, terrified Bruce would get distracted again. “Just. Don’t.”

For once, Bruce listened. The rest of the ride to the cave passed in silence.

The moment the car pulled to a stop, Tim was out the door. He stomped over to the changing area and began stripping out of his uniform. He needed it off.

“Master Tim? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Alfred,” said Tim.

“What happened? Do I need to check you for injuries? Or Master Bruce?”

Tim grit his teeth, but shook his head. “We’re both just peachy.” Tim ripped off his under layer, stripping down to his boxers. “See?” He spun so Alfred could see he had no new injuries.

Alfred’s eyes narrowed as he took in Tim’s body. “Very well,” he said after a pause.

Tim grabbed a mostly clean shirt and pair of jeans from his locker and pulled them on. “I’m going home now.”

“Let me prepare you a small after patrol snack before you do,” said Alfred.

“Not hungry.” Tim’s stomach was still in knots. He could see the brick wall getting closer through the windshield and feel the jerk as Bruce had to turn too hard to keep them from crashing.

Alfred opened his mouth, but closed it again with a sigh and nodded. “Very well, Master Tim. Thank you for joining us for dinner tonight.”

Tim nodded his acknowledgment, though he regretted ever agreeing, and grabbed his skateboard out of his locker. He’d changed so quickly that Bruce was only now approaching the changing area himself. Tim straightened his back and looked Bruce in the eyes. “I will report to the cave at twenty-two hundred hours for tomorrow’s patrol.”

Then, before Bruce could do more than nod, he tossed down his board and jumped on. Twenty minutes later, he was in his own room at Drake manor and climbing into a shower, heat turned up so high it was almost scalding.

It still didn’t make him feel as warm as a stranger’s hug.

And finally, in the privacy of his own house, with three locked doors between himself and the world, Tim collapsed to his knees and cried.

---

Alex was waiting for him when he got off the bus at school the next morning.

“Hey, Tim! Have you made your decision yet?”

And Tim thought about leaving school and going back to an empty mansion with his parents who-knows-where or to Wayne Manor and another awkward dinner.

He opened his mouth to say he couldn’t, that he was too busy.

“Sure, Alex. I’d love to.”

-----

And that's chapter 1! Hope you enjoy!

Totally look up some of the songs from Next to Normal. They hit hard. Especially when imposed on the bats.

[arrowmaker15]

(Every main male of the Batfamily looking at Jason)

Jason, who had just walked in: What? Why did you call for me?

Tim, raising a box: Is this what I think it is?

Jason, panicked: Did you go searching through my room-

Dick: So it's true! Little Wing is gonna get married~

Damian: *tsk* They both could do better.

Duke: This is great news!

Alfred: I must say, I am quite proud of you for taking this next step.

Jason, trying to shove Dick off of him: Will you all fuckin' stop hounding me- I'll start cutting heads off again, I will-

*Bruce clears his throat, and everybody stops, shuffling away to let the two tallest stare it out*

Jason: What? Disapprove?

Bruce:

Bruce: The opposite. I'm proud of you. Only one question though.

Jason: And what's that?

Bruce: Who's the Best Man?

Jason:

Jason: Not any of you fuckers, that's for damn sure-

[przeorysza]

The Last Kingdom Season 1 + tumblr

[aelswiths]

Until the Danes learn the benefits of peace, it will continue. You may leave me, my dear. As you wish.

For @myrcnahlaedige & @kingslionheart

[thetimelordbatgirl]

Learning stuff about behind the scenes of The Batman (show) really is just when seeing them not feature certain Batman villains or having to adapt Batgirl first and Robin as soon as Teen Titans was done with, just know it was likely down to the Bat Embargo.

[roobylavender]

also something else tangential not to that ask but to the tangent of that ask: it is a wonder why the people to whom bruce affords the most interiority whether by circumstance of knowing him for so long (alfred, leslie) or by his own rare willingness to relent (talia), are never really used to help bolster understanding between him and his children despite the fact that they are aware of things the children aren’t. with alfred i think it owes to lack of consistency in his role from one writer to the next; sometimes he’s merely there for the occasional comedic quip, sometimes he has genuine commentary on bruce’s lifestyle and care for the children, other times he hardly exists as anything more than a prop who could just as easily be removed without any impact at all. talia is obv villainized before she has the chance to interact with any of bruce’s children in a truly constructive capacity. and then there’s leslie. i’m really curious why leslie (at least prior to war games) hasn’t been used more in this capacity. not that it’s the sole thing she should exist for but i think she offers a unique perspective in that while she does condemn vigilantism, she also understands where bruce is coming from and that his intentions are good, if misguided. so why is that never capitalized on to allow her to communicate with, if anyone at all, dick? i have far too many spiels on here about the leslie and jason potential but it’s really baffling to me there’s not a more significant rapport between her and dick considering the fact that year two and full circle establish her as having been a significant witness to dick entering bruce’s life. she was witness to him being partner to bruce for roughly a decade. how would that not result in some sort of relationship between them, and why wasn’t that ever used to provide a bridge to understanding bruce via the lenses of two very different people?

[joemerl]

Available on FF.net here.

Writer's Month 2023: word: hammock | setting/AU: at a bar

Bruce Wayne Week 2023: Identity porn | Injured Bruce | Gotham royalty

Summary: Bruce spends the afternoon relaxing in the backyard. Not by choice, obviously.

Word count: 455

[phantom-dc]

Bruce sighed.

He never thought he would die like this. When he started out as Batman he was certain he would meet his end fighting the criminal underworld of Gotham. When he got older and life got stranger, he believed he would die fighting off a threat like Joker or Deathstroke, maybe even Darkseid. Being used as a human sacrifice to the King of the Infinite Realms was not on that list, let alone being a willing sacrifice.

Unfortunately, it had been necessary. An asteroid was on collision course with Earth. The asteroid had a colony of sapient alien life on it, so destroying it was not an option. As the League grew desperate, Constantine revealed a similar incident had happened a few years ago. The King of the Infinite Realms had, along with his subjects, turned the Earth intangible and both the Earth and the Asteroid had survived. Constantine isn’t sure why or how, but there are signs an extremely powerful ghost had merged realities and in the process erased the memories of this event from the entire population of Earth! The only reason Constantine knows about it is because a Demon with time-based powers told him during one of their poker games. Summoning this King was risky, as they had no idea what the King would want in return, but this entity seemed like their best bet. Now Bruce thinks they had been wrong.

Superman pulled Bruce out of his thoughts:

“Bruce, are you sure you want to go through with this? If we work together, we might be able to-”

Bruce cut him off:

“No, Clark. You heard Constantine. If we do not hold up our end of the deal, the Ghost King could simply make his ally, this “Clockwork”, reverse time to before the planet was saved. The Earth and the asteroid will still be destroyed, killing everyone on both. This is the only way.”

Clark looked dejected. He knew his friend was right. The King had turned the entire Earth intangible with one hand! He knew the League couldn’t defeat this foe, not without help. Any being that could help them would demand even more bloodshed in exchange, though. One human life in exchange of saving the entire planet had been a steal, according to the Justice League Dark. Clark looked at Bruce:

“Are you going to put on your cowl? This will be the only chance you have to tell the other Leaguers who you are.”

Bruce looked at his cowl. He had taken of his suit, so that his family had something to bury. But to reveal his identity to anyone other than Clark....

“I will keep it on. Even if I die here, I cannot risk anyone finding out my identity and using it to get to my family. I hope the League understands.”

Bruce is pulled into a hug. As Clark holds him as close as he can without breaking bones Bruce cannot help being filled with regret. He wanted more time with his family and, dare he say, friends. This was not how things were supposed to go. Clark pulls away and seems to want to say something:

“Bruce, I just want you to know, I-”

“WHAT THE HECK IS GOING ON, B?”

Suddenly Nightwing enters the room, along with the entire Bat-family. Even Alfred and Oracle, donning masks, are there. They looked confused and scared, which made sense. They had all been summoned to the Watchtower, and when they had seen non-field members there as well they knew something was very wrong. Robin stepped forward, demanding an explanation:

“Father, what is happening? Why did you ask for us here? Explain yourself this instant!”

Red Robin looked ready to fight, staff in hand and in a low stance:

Where is the danger? Who is the enemy? Do you have intel for us? ARE YOU BEING MIND CONTROLLED?

Spoiler yanked at Red Robin’s cowl, pulling him out of his paranoid spiral:

“Easy, Captain Paranoid! Let him speak!”

Red Hood was clearly agitated. It was never a good sign if he was asked to the Watchtower:

“The fuck is going on, old man? Are you dying or something? That’s my stick, not yours!”

Bruce steeled his nerves. This was not going to be an easy conversation. How does one tell their family they are going to die and there is nothing to be done about it? Things had been going well for them, too. Dick and he hadn’t fought as often anymore, Jason had not called him names when he patrolled Crime ally last week, Tim hadn’t done anything that could be considered villainous (that he knew of) and Damian had not stabbed any goons for a month. Truly things had been good. Bruce knew this would mess it all up. He feared Jason would start killing again, or Damian would take out his grief on the criminals or Tim would… Well he had no idea. Last time Bruce disappeared Tim blew up so many LoA bases (he still wasn’t sure whether there had been people inside or not), so it was anyone’s gue-

“Sir, could you please elaborate on why we are here? I’m assuming it has something to do with the reason for this dreadful cold, and perhaps your lack of a shirt?”

Bruce sighed. Alfred always knew how to get through to him. With a heavy heart he told them everything. He would sacrifice himself for the survival of both planets. There was nothing to be done about that, and he asked them to please accept his decision. Naturally everyone was outraged. Amidst the chaos, Orphan asked a question:

“Why you?”

Bruce explained that, according to Constantine, the King had asked for a single sacrifice in return: “To feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed.” It had pointed specifically at Batman, making sure they all knew which one it wanted. There had been no time to negotiate the prize, so he had accepted. After that it had left immediately for Earth, turning it intangible so the asteroid flew through harmlessly and fulfilling its end of the deal. Orphan seemed to think for a bit, before speaking up again:

“We’ll miss you.”

She hugged Batman. The others, realizing there was nothing they could do, at least not before facing the King, joined in as well. Bruce told them how proud he was of everyone. That they were strong and brilliant, and to please protect each other and Gotham in his stead. He thanked Alfred and Oracle for their help over the years and to please continue to support the others with the same strength they used to help him. After a moment they were interrupted by a knock on the door.

Wonder Woman had entered the room. With a saddened expression, and a dented doorhandle that showed her tension, she had come to collect her friend.:

“Batman. It’s time.”

Bruce nodded at her. Thanking her, he tried to leave with her, but was stopped by Alfred. After a quick hug, Alfed offered Bruce a cookie from the plate he had brought along:

“Every man deserves a final meal. I’m sorry this was all I have to offer.”

Taking a grateful bite, Bruce allowed himself to indulge in the taste of home.

“Thank you, Alfred. This means more to me then you realize.”

Steeling himself once more, Batman and the others followed Wonder Woman to the main room. It was the largest room in the Watchtower, several stories high with observation platforms, security screens showing cities all over the planet and a teleportation platform. As they approached the room, Batman was surprised by the cold that radiated form the entrance. Opening the door the source of all the cold and grief became visible to the group. Signal had to shield his eyes:

“What the hell!?!”

There it was, the High Ghost King of the Infinite Realms. A giant being, which had been so large they had to move to the observation platform to speak with it. Even then it towered over the heroes. It’s skin impossibly dark, with constellations spotting its tail & torso. The stars converging on its lower arms, making it look like it was wearing glowing white gloves, the same as a strange symbol on his chest that seemed important. The stars on its neck blending seamlessly with its hair, yet leaving its head completely dark aside from a few little spots on its face. The only facial feature they could make out where 2 Lazarus green eyes, focused on the new arrivals. On its hand, a ring with a skull on it that had freaked out the Lanterns. On its head a dark crown covered in patches of frost, and its own Aurora Borealis spreading from it. The room had already been partially covered in frost simply from the King’s aura. Power emanated from it, which had caused several members that had been dead and revived before to kneel on reflex, which was frightening even if they managed to get up on their own again.

Martian Manhunter had tried to peek in the Kings mind, hoping to find a way to convince the King to spare Batman, but he had been unsuccessful. As soon as he tried his knees buckled, and he had been pushed out. Ever since the Ghost King had radiated frustration. Now, as Batman entered wearing only his cowl and some spare pants, that frustration seemed to spike dangerously. Was the King upset he had been left to wait for his offer?

"What the fuck is this? I didn’t ask for a striptease, especially from some old Frootloop!”

“Constantine, what’s wrong? What is it saying?”

Batman was worried. He had not expected more anger from the being when presented with the offering. Looking at Constantine, he saw the magician frantically looking through the pages of his books, desperately looking for a translation.

“Hang on, mate. I’m doing my best here! Ehrm… no, that’s not right… Something about mating? Maybe he likes you, Bats. He also said something about “the absence of clothing” so…

Suddenly he is cut off by a strange sound coming from the Ghost King. It makes a strange motion with its body and its giant maw opens, as more of those sounds escape. It reminds Robin of Alfred the Cat when he has a hairball. However, there is more sound in the Watchtower now. The Red Hood is clutching his stomach as he is doubling down in laughter.

“HAHAHAHA!!! WHAT? HOW THE FUCK DID YOU TRANSLATE THAT BADLY? HOLY SHIT!”

The Ghost King stops making the noises, and it’s eyes snap to Red Hood. It moves it’s head closer to him, casually passing it through the barrier Constantine had put up. Constantine’s swears in surprise, but the King seems not to care as it “speaks” to Red Hood:

"Oh, thank the Acients! Someone who understands Ghost Speak! Can you PLEASE help me and translate for us? This trench coat guy is terrible, and somehow twists everything I say in the worst way!"

Red Hood relaxed, looking up at the Ghost King’s giant head.:

“Sure man, no problem. I’m pretty sure he is using like 3 different dictionaries to get this far. I saw him first translate Ghost to Pixie, Pixie to Gnome and Gnome to Demon before telling us in English! So, what’s up?”

Batman was stunned. The Ghost King actually face palmed. What the heck was going on?

"Of course he is. That explains why it sounds like he is putting this through Google Translate 4 times! These guys summoned me to save the Earth, which, totally cool. Happy to help! But a summons makes it official, which means I need to get an offering. I can’t leave without it or I face a mountain of paperwork from some stupid bureaucratic eyeballs for not following proper procedure. But I can always ask something simple and get it over with. No biggie, right? WRONG.”

Red Hood actually grabs a chair to sit on. Not even in a somewhat respectful way, he is sitting on it backwards, casually leaning on it.

“Oh, boy. How badly did they fuck up? Gotta be big since Batman over there is ready to be eaten?”

The King glares at Constantine, who puts up his bravest “time to out-bollock a Eldritch Demon” face. The King is not impressed:

"Man, I asked, and I quote: “I’d like to eat a regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like that guy would eat!” I wanted it to be clear I didn’t want blood, or corpses or virgins or any of the other horrible things stupid cults try to give me! I just wanted a burger or something! But then Mr. triple dictionary over there somehow turns that into: ‘’I wish to feast on a non-magic, non-meta mortal human that will not resist being consumed, and it must be that one.” I’ll admit I was pointing at one of the non-supers, but that didn’t mean I wanted to eat him! I just wanted to make sure it was normal food, something that doesn’t fight back!”

Red Hood looked confused, asking if the King’s food usually fights back. The King rolls it’s eyes:

"In life, I lived with mad scientist parents who treated lab safety as a suggestion at best and a chore for teens at worst. Put enough samples in the fridge and you get a whole new type of Thanksgiving trauma. Dang, I’m getting even more hungry. I’d love some turkey right now. Could you get them to bring me some food? That way I can have my sacrifice and leave…”

Red Hood stands up. He asks if the King can wait a few more minutes, claiming that after all that frustration he deserved something better. Getting a nod from the Ghost King, the Red Hood suddenly shouted over the platform railing towards the waiting Leaguers:

“FLASH! Get your squad up here, and bring pen & paper! I got a job for y’all!”

Zooming up every member of the Flash family gets a list of things to get and a warning not to tell the Bats what’s on it, or Red Hood will shoot them in the knees. Looking at the lists, they quickly caught on what was going on and promised they wouldn’t tell. This was way too funny! Red Hood does a fake bow to the King, clearly amusing himself.

“Don’t worry, your Hungry-ness! Your sacrifice is being prepared! Anything else we can assist you with?”

The Ghost King seems to tilt its head in amusement. Whatever Hood was doing, it was working, which honestly was the only reason nobody had tackled him to the floor.

"Actually, if you could get that Frootloop to put on a shirt that would be great. He is shivering and honestly, I’m worried he’s going to poke someone’s eye out with a nipple. Why is he shirtless anyway? Please tell me he wasn’t actually trying to seduce me or something, he’s old enough to be my dad! Gross!”

This caused Red Hood to again double over in laughter. Everyone was confused, what could possibly be so funny in this situation? Constantine had frantically tried translating during their conversation, but it had gone too fast for him. He gave up when the King mentioned eyeballs and seduction, accepting he wouldn’t get anywhere like this. Batman however couldn’t resist his need to know everything anymore.

“Hood, report! How are you communicating with the entity?”

Red Hood turns to Batman, walks past him and towards Alfred, grabbing one of the cookies he had brought with him. As he walks back and hands it to the Ghost King, he starts to explain:

“Honestly, not sure. It feels instinctive, like a second mother-tongue. Pretty sure it’s some sort of “dead-guy-language” you learn when you die. Speaking off: Turns out Constantine is a VERY unreliable translator. Spooky here is actually pretty chill! He used you as an example to make sure we knew what he wanted, not to demand you as a sacrifice. He is in fact pretty ticked that you guys tried to feed B to him. Speaking of: Batman? Put a shirt on, for fucks sake. You look like you’re going to freeze your tits off.”

This earned a round of giggles from Green Lantern & Green Arrow. Now that the tension had left the room, other Leaguers also smiled in relief. Besides, it’s always fun to see Batman being the butt of a joke. Sure enough, Batman let out a frustrated sound, that got the rest of the Bats to join in on the fun. They understood that their dad in fact felt rather silly right now, which meant that they had more to gossip about soon. Constantine now was wondering what Hood was up to:

“Mate, I did my best! Sorry for not being fluent in every language in existence. What the hell did you send the Flash to get? The bloke is a scientist and denies magic when it’s right in front of ‘im! What could they possibly get that I couldn’t-”

At that moment, the Flashes zoom out of the Zeta tubes and zoom across the observation deck. After a few moments of red and yellow blurs, the deck is covered with tables filled front to back with food! Picking up a receipt that fell to the floor, Batman realizes this is take-out from all over the world. Seeing a puddle of Lazarus water grow on the floor, he looks up. The Ghost King is actually drooling! Red Hood steps aside and gestures to the feast:

“Welp! There is your sacrifice! One. And I also quote: “regular human meal that doesn’t fight back, like “that guy” would eat!” Well, more of a feast then a meal, but I’m sure a big guy like you can finish it, and you can always take home the rest I guess. Bon Appetit!”

Opening his giant maw, the Ghost King digs in. Well, as much as he can. He actually looks kind of silly eating everything with a tiny fork. Still, judging from the purring sound emanating through the Watchtower it’s to the Kings liking.

"DUDE, THIS IS SO GOOD? I need to know these restaurants! You want a bite for helping me out? You saved me SOOO much annoying paperwork, I was about to bail!”

Picking up a plate of karaage, Red Hood took of his helmet revealing a second mask underneath and dug in as well:

“Don’t mind if I do, this smells fantastic! Oh shit, you should try this stuff, it’s great!”

Red Hood being allowed to partake in the offering so casually caused Constantine to do a double take. He realizes he seriously misjudged this entity. Still, that didn’t explain the horrific stories about him. He would need to do some digging into that, maybe with Hood as a translator. For now he takes a swig of his drink. The world was saved, no one died or lost their Soul and he didn’t make any new enemies he thinks. Plus, Batman felt like an idiot, and that always made the Brit smile.

All in all a good day!

[saltymarshmall0w]

beatdown buddies

(You always read fics where the pit is instantly calmed by Danny’s presence, but what if it didn’t?)

Now, you have to understand, that Jason was long past attacking strangers in a blind fury. The Bats? Sure, all the time--- but he was working on that.

This particular scrawny, possibly-homeless stranger hadn’t done anything more than simply exist in Jason’s proximity. If it was any other Crime Alley resident, Jason would be much more likely feel a surge of protectiveness.

This guy though– he was different.

Locking toxic-green eyes to toxic-green eyes made the pit in his skin violently react. Before he knew it, he was hitting the guy with everything he had, and the guy was hitting back.

The groceries Jason had left his apartment to get spilled all over the ground as the two rolled.

Pulled hair, split knuckles, and bruised bodies, the guy’s fist hit Jason’s jaw for the umpteenth time, cracking his head back and making him look at the gloomy sky.

They only used their fists. Jason could feel the familiar ghost of weapons hidden under the other guy’s hoodie, but neither pulled their hidden weapons.

Despite it all, Jason and the guy shared blood-tinged smiles. Blood boiled under his skin in an exciting trill. He was angry, and it was fantastic.

He’s pretty sure he just made a new best friend.

Someone hit Jason’s back with what could distinctly be identified as a broom. He vaguely heard the sound of yelling around him, but Jason’s only focus was getting his next hit in.

Eventually, they were stopped by a familiar shade of blue and black. Strong arms pulled him off the stranger and pinned his arms down, locking their arms over his chest to prevent Jason from getting free.

“You need to calm down!” Dickwing’s voice lectured in his ear. “You’re going to kill him!”

Surprisingly, Jason settled in Dick’s hold, fight and anger drained out of him in the space of a breath. The fire under his skin didn’t keep flaming and flaming and building it just– stopped.

“Oh, Please.” The stranger was grinning widely, despite the model of developing bruises and cuts across his face. A burly man who Jason vaguely recognized worked at the store they were standing right in front of was both holding up and holding back the guy. “We were just saying ‘Hi’.”

The guy made eye contact with Jason. Blue, no hints of green anywhere. The guy winked. “Danny.”

Frankly, Jason couldn’t quite explain his actions. He felt stupidly chastized by Nightwing’s patented older brother stare of disappointment. Apparently, the guy couldn’t explain his actions either, as he disappeared the instant no one’s eyes were on him.

-

Jason arrived an hour early to Wayne Sunday family dinner. He missed cooking alongside Alfred, and offered his help.

He let Dick wrap an arm around his shoulder for a few seconds as a welcome. He didn’t seethe at Bruce simply being there. He chose to sit between Tim and the Demon brat when it looked like new fratricide plans were being drawn up by the younger.

The pit didn’t scream under his skin to hurt. Little things didn’t set him off, making him have to leave early. He wasn’t tempted to throttle anyone for existing around him.

The pit was just… quiet. Peaceful even. Well, as peaceful as it could get in the Wayne household.

It was a massive improvement compared to six months ago— hell, compared to last month.

He shrugged off inquiries about his black eye, citing it would heal quickly anyway.

-

Jason should have known he wasn’t safe.

Sure, he was on a roof one could only grapple to, across the city from crime alley, and dressed up as Red Hood.

However, Danny always reappeared periodically like a well-timed extremely therapeutic punching bag.

One moment, Jason was looking down over the streets of Gotham the next, he was being flying-kicked by a lithe frame. Something instantly recognized Danny so, rather the putting a bullet in him, Jason picked himself back up into a crouch and lunged at Danny.

“Hood? Hood what’s going on?” Someone called in his ear— Oh, right he had connected comms with his family that night.

Danny stopped suddenly, straddling Jason’s stomach, one hand fisting his collar, the other posed to strike. He blinked. glowing green eyes turned blue. “You’re not like, busy doing vigilante stuff, are you?” He asked.

Every bruise and cut from their last fight was gone, his baby face appeared as though it had never been punched in his life, making him look all the more punchable.

“Nope.” Jason answered, driving an elbow into the kid’s stomach and in the same motion ripped the comm out of his ear to toss it to the side.

Minutes later Danny was pulled off him, and the fire under his skin died down.

He blinked back into his surroundings to find himself on a rooftop with half of Gotham’s vigilantes standing in a circle around him, an unease that he could only read because he was so familiar with them written in all of their body languages. Batman held Danny slightly behind himself, keeping a firm grasp on the guy so he couldn’t escape.

“You claimed the rage was getting better.” Bruce stated in the way that meant he was supposed to answer his unasked questions..

Jason waited for rage and indignance to rise up in him, but rather he just considered that Bruce saw glowing green eyes and a brutal beat down and made a logical leap.

“It has!” Jason argued anyway. He sniffed and ran a hand under his slightly bleeding nose. It didn’t sting enough to be broken. “I haven’t lost my cool in months.”

“That’s what he has me for!” Danny chimed happily. His nose was broken, but Danny didn’t seem to mind the twin streaks of blood running down his face. “We’re friends with Benefits. It’s always healthy to have a little dead-guy on dead-guy action. You guys should really fight with him more often, his ectoplasm is rank.”

[bluemoonbun]

Rotating an idea in my head;

Imagine a neglected!Reader who did everything in an attempt to impress their family.

Who got amazing grades and got into high school at age 11.

Who was "a savant beyond their years" and "talented beyond what their age group could be taught".

Skills came easy to them. Give them a year and some encouragement and before you know it they'll have mastered whatever it was.

It wasn't like they could leave the house and hang out with friends. Bruce said that was off the table. It got quiet so often in the manor.

But it wasn't enough

Until someone saw the potential that Batman was just leaving there. Like he wanted someone to just... scoop them up and tutor them.

Their friends and allies and even a few enemies saw the potential. They all agreed to teach them their greatest skill. In a year they've mastered all of them, even surpassing some of them.

Any drug they were developing was improved beyond anything they could've imagined.

Weapons fashioned to fit them far surpassed anything, even the best on the black market.

The Rogue Gallery was beyond impressed.

And Reader was on Cloud Nine with all the attention it was earning them. Head pats, praise, treats. It was more than anything they could've asked for. And even if they didn't have a new invention at the end of the week, so many were willing to just hang out. Without prompting! No "Go bother Alfred" or "I'm busy" or "Another time, chickadee".

Harley had to be reminded that a 12 year old had no business around hyenas, even if Budsie and Louie were on their best behavior. Harley settled for watching old magical girl animes with you.

Luckily, Poison Ivy knew not to bring you around her poisonous plants. Though she did spend a concerning time teaching you exactly what plants were poisonous and how they were poisonous.

Bane taught you everything he knew, from throwing a punch, to how to scare someone off. Granted, a 12 year old, with so much of their baby fat in their cheeks, and wrists as thick as Bane's thumb, looked like a Ragdoll kitten copying a Bengal tiger. He played chess with you too, and he said that given your role in advising, a knight or a bishop would fit you best.

Bane was your favorite. He'd smush your face (gently, you were so tiny he was scared of breaking you), lift you up, even do pushups and pull ups with you on his back.

When Bane told you how he'd saved Alfred once during a collapse of Arkham Asylum, only to be incapacitated once Alfred was "done" with him, it made your blood boil.

As you learned all of their stories, learned the human in all of them, you knew that you were saved from a family with rotten blood. You'd spend your life repaying them, even if they never asked.

--------

Eventually, you decide to follow them into battle. You're kept up and away from the bulk of the battle. This time, it was Joker vs the Batfamily. Tim was unable to track what he'd been trying to do past a few errant clues. It was clear that the Rouge Gallery had a new villain.

You were given direct instructions to watch yourself; Joker wouldn't care enough to tear his eyes off Batman. You already knew that; Harley had spent 3 days trying to convince you to reschedule with someone else, but you told her you wanted Joker, not someone who'd be tempted to glance back and give away your hiding space.

Jason was the one that saw you. You were dressed in a costume that resembled a bishop chess piece with a split full face mask, perched atop a van far from the actual battle. His old scars with Joker made him hesitate, but you looked like a definite person of interest, and everyone else was indisposed.

He ran over, firing rubber bullets as you dodged, eventually tripping and falling off the van. Why were you so small? Jason picked you up, grip just loose enough so you could breathe.

You reached up, pulling your mask off. Jason blanched as he saw your face, soft around the edges and wide eyed.

Bruce told him that he'd stayed away to protect you from the vigilante life. You were the one person who hadn't pushed to join them, so he never told you about missions to avoid any ideas of joining. Jason followed suit, and so did the others. Their lives were busy enough anyways, and you had Alfred when he didn't have something more important to do.

He may have brushed you off more than absolutely necessary, but he wasn't in the right headspace then! You had already grown so much and all he'd wanted by then was vengeance on Batman. You couldn't blame him for keeping his distance at that point. He was protecting you.

But here you were, pinned by the throat by your own brother. Your protector. He released you, taking a step back. He glanced around for an opening, seeing a small alleyway. He gestured over his shoulder for you to follow. "C'mon kid. I'll get you back home and I won't even tell Bruce you snuck out, 'k?"

Suddenly, he felt a prick in his back, shortly followed by a burning itch and ice cold pain. He fell to the ground, trying to reach the spot you pricked.

"Miss Ivy said these were dangerous. Her own home blend. It's a diluted version, so you'll be fine in a few days, Todd" said the much too calm voice above him. He was struggling to breathe around the writhing mass of pain, looking up at you between blinks of tears.

He couldn't scream, he could barely breathe. He could die here and the family wouldn't know until the dust settled.

"It won't kill you, and from the looks of it, they'll be coming to pick you up soon."

"Aren't we family?" He chokes out between gasps. He felt so lost. You were his baby sibling, the tiny thing that'd wander the halls, holding an old chess board as you asked your cool big brother to play with you. The person he kept away from to protect. How could you repay him like this?

Hadn't he done so much for you?

You look at him from the boot of the van. When had you gotten so far away? Your voice is quiet, but it's heard, if barely, over the revving of the engine as Joker's minions prepare to drive away, and the screaming of his name as the rest of the family approaches.

"Were we? I never thought you wanted a baby sibling like me."

-------

The Batfamily took him home and patched him up. The new tech, like all other recent inventions brought in, were so advanced they bordered on state of the art. Even Tim was struggling to decode any of them, with all the kill-switches that seemed to recognize when it wasn't hooked up to the original computer and bricked themselves.

Jason had recovered, like you said, in a few days. Capable of breathing easily in 2 days, regularly needing to be sedated before then, and sitting up without pain by day 5.

The Batfamily had asked him by day 4 about the masked person they had seen next to him. Jason was detached from himself. That face, those eyes. They held no warmth for him, no pity for him while he was writhing in agony at their feet. Like he was less than a stranger.

Like he was less than human in their eyes.

Your name fell off his tongue like lead, slamming against the ground as everyone fell into silence.

"It was them. They gave me that injection. Their face, I-"

"Todd, did the injection give you hallucinations? There was no way that they'd accomplish something like that." Damian raised his brow, checking the chart to make sure the bulk was out of his system.

"I know what I saw. They hadn't even injected me when I saw their face."

"That's impossible, Jay! Look, I'll go to their room and get them right now. They'll probably be pretty cranky since it's, what, 4am?" Dick's footsteps disappeared down the hall.

After a few minutes, Dick came running back, looking at Jason with a mix of shock, horror, and confusion.

Two words.

Two words that finally made them look at you.

Two words that made them realized what they'd missed.

Two words that made them connect the inventions that almost got them killed to the darling child they'd convinced themselves they were protecting with cold shoulders and smothering silence.

Two words that made them refocus their sights on bringing you back.

"They're gone."

[p1nkshield]

Prompt idea: Danny has been attending Wayne family dinners for weeks now and he truly doesn’t know how he got this far

Danny has been without a home or a means to get food for a while because of either identity reveal gone bad or Dan timeline shenanigans. Either way he needs to eat. As a last ditch attempt Danny tries to attend/infiltrate a Wayne family dinner. He’s seen the Wayne kids around Gotham and he’s sure that he could look and act the part enough to get in the door and out with some bread rolls at least.

Was it his best idea? No.

But he sure as sugar ain’t firing on all cylinders rn.

And Bruce already has a gaggle of blue eyed, black haired children.

What’s one more?

Batfam of course notices immediately when a whole new kid shows up, grabs some miscellaneous pieces of food and then prattles off some excuse about “not being that hungry.” (Clearly a bald faced lie) And that they were “Going to the library to study for finals, bye Dad!”

1. No one skips out on family dinners. Even Jason was here.

2. Alfred sets the table for everyone ahead of time and the kid had no place to sit.

3. Nobody in this house studies anything beyond case files.

4. Nobody in this house calls Bruce Dad.

Danny thinks he is suffering from success. No matter where he is in Gotham someone picks him up and insists he’ll be late for family dinner which is unacceptable.

Alfred just wants to feed the boy.

The batkids are amused by his efforts to look as though he’s been here all along.

Bruce is drafting adoption papers as we speak.

[queeniewithabeanie]

The Great Great Grandmother

Dpxdc Prompt #3

In the Wayne household it was well-known that Alfred Pennyworth's word was law. It was much less well-known the circumstances that their beloved butler had grown up it. Alfred was raised by his paternal grandmother, Danielle "Elle" Pennyworth, née Fenton.

While Danny's obsession with protection led him to stay in Amity Park until every tie he had to the place joined him in the Ghost Zone, Dani's obsession with freedom led her to do anything but stay in the same place.

She moved all over Earth, then to space, then to the realms, and finally to other dimensions. When Dani found herself stuck in a dimension very similar to her own, except a couple hundred years in the past, she knew Clockwork had something to do with it. She wanted to curse him out, her obsession was freedom and Dani did not do well caged.

It turned out to not matter too much because after a year or so trapped in the dimension Dani found herself going by the name Elle Pennyworth with a baby boy on the way.

Time flew by fast and her husband had died, content enough with his life that he didn't leave behind a ghost. Elle was heartbroken, but knew a peaceful death was what he wanted.

Her son had a son himself, Alfred was his name. Elle promised herself she would be the best grandmother she could be. That turned out to be a promise she had to fulfill sooner rather than later.

Her son and his wife had died only a couple of years after baby Alfred was born, disease apparently. It didn't take her long to notice that little Freddie had taken after her more ghostly half.

He was always appearing in places he wasn't supposed to and he was far more empathetic than most any human she had ever met. Elle taught him to control his more inhuman aspects and made sure that he would never forget etiquette.

"Being able to know how people are feeling is easy for those like us," she would tell him, "but knowing how to help those that aren't feeling well whether it be physical, mental, or emotional that's difficult."

"Why do we help them then?" Little Freddie would ask, before he knew the words she had spoken by heart and the answer to his own question was carved into his soul.

"Because difficult means there's something you're fighting for, and helping means that you care."

Alfred would repeat those same words to little Brucie when he was little and to all of his many many children. He would give a small smile as he said it, Granny Elle would love to know how much her great great grandchildren took after her brother.

He couldn't wait for Granny Elle and Great Uncle Danny to meet his many grandchildren. It would be a bit awkward to explain how they both still looked like they were in their teens though. Alfred only kept up the illusion of aging because he hadn't found a good time to tell his family he wasn't as human as they thought.

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,�� he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[batfam-stuff-posts-0]

Reversed Robins

Damian: Tired, exasperated, responsible eldest who tries not to show his amusement at his brothers' antics. (*cough* the mom friend *cough*). Doesn't murder out of respect for Bruce. Has tea with Alfred weekly to bemoan the fact that they are the only ones in this damn family with self-preservation instincts.

Tim: The definition of teenage angst. Killed the Joker, which was never traced back to him. (Damian's rather proud of him for it, especially the planning and skill required to hide it, though he'd never admit that to Bruce). Works with the Bats a lot and is usually on pretty good terms with them, just avoids Batman. Is Oracle's favorite.

Jason and Dick: Adorable small little cinnamon rolls with a side of violent, murderous rage. They feed off of each others' chaotic energy. Have a competition every week to see who can get Damian and Tim to pick them up more (Tim counts for more points because as much as Damian would like to pretend otherwise, he always caves to the puppy eyes, but Tim doesn't usually). Are basically best friends.

[nightingale-prompts]

Alfred's Apprentice- DCxDP prompt

Alfred isn't immortal and he can admit he's not getting any younger. It also wouldn't hurt to have someone else to take on the workload since the family isn't going to get smaller.

Instead of finding help, help found him.

"Call me Nightingale. Danny Nightingale." The young man said presenting a black card with perfect white ink calligraphy.

Danny was about Tim's age. He had already graduated early according to records. His record was perfect in all respects. Smart. An intellect comparable to geniuses in respects to science which had more uses in the households then you'd expect. He was very precise when it came to cleaning. Every surface needed to be cleaned regardless of how much use they see. In fact Danny would carry a blacklight and wipe anything with fingerprints. His almost supernatural strength allowed him to move furniture for easier cleaning.

Alfred had suspicions that Danny had a history in crime scene cleaning. He chose not to say anything.

The kid was a damn good cook as well. Though his tea isn't up to Alfred's standards. At least heist his aim is good.

Bruce at least didn't adopt this one and leave Alfred to take care of him.

"Nightingale, did you clean the ceiling?" Alfred asked.

"Yes, sir. Please leave any hard to reach places to me. The chandelier is especially finicky to polish and you have better things to tend to." He said bowing at the waist.

Bruce was still uncomfortable asking Danny for anything and let Alfred instruct him on what he should do. He has suspicions that Danny was being trained to tend to Damian should something happen to him. Alfred would come up with a contingency like that.

The others took to Danny as best as they could. Most treated him like a brother with the exception of Tim and Damian. Tim couldn't really see past them being the same age but Danny was able to understand his babble about theories and help him. Thought Danny was also to wait out Tim's insomnia easily and take him to bed.

Damian had no issue seeing Danny as a servant which was exactly what he wanted. Dick would criticize him about being rude but Danny would assure him that Damian was not being rude, he was just giving Danny a job to do.

It was during an outing with Damian that Danny was put to the test. They were just visiting an art supply store. Danny carried Damian's bags to the car and put them away in the trunk. As he opened the door to let Damian in a group of kidnappers tried to steal the young master.

It was likely a crime of opportunity as they saw a rich boy and his butler out and about.

As the group tried to drive off with Damian in tow, all the tires on their van blew out as Danny had already thrown down caltrops under the ties.

Gracefully and with the dignity expected of a bulter he pried the rough hands off of Damian, breaking every finger as he went.

"Please refrain from such brutish actions. I'd usually be unwilling to let this go but you must be very desperate to commit a crime so blatantly as to steal a child. I'm in a rush to get the young master home for dinner. So remain here, the police will be here in a few moments."

With that Danny escorted Damian into the car and drove them home.

[somnoir]

Damian's future husband

Got inspired by this specific line in a Tumblr thread and my brain went to work

Phantom was a strange hero—a vigilante that often worked with Justice League Dark. Constantine was always so antsy around the man, while Phantom himself often muttered about taxes and blasted fragments whenever said trech coat man was in the vicinity.

The Bats were, of course, initially apprehensive of the death defying being that could rip a man skeleton out of their body, manipulate space itself to rip open portals to different dimensions, and vanish better than they did. They were wary, mildly hostile after realising that Phantom had now issue killing.

But then time passed and Phantom was proven to not be a serial killer but only used killing as a last resort. Though Batman wasn't too pleased, he was—begrudgingly—tolerant of that. Because, yes, Phantom was a nice guy, a very likeable person in general. He made sure that the environmental damage during battles were kept to a minimum, he chose civilians over the enemy whenever it came to hostage situations, he was tactile and kind, and he cared so much for the innocent that he was willing to lose his innocence to keep theirs.

Of course Batman was fond of the young man, especially when he found out that Jason of all people had some sort of crush on him. A very big and almost pathetic one that he and Alfred would watch while sipping tea.

Seriously, Jason was his son! Has he not learned anything from his Brucie persona? The poor thing was like a Victorian maiden and would be scandalised at the mere thought of showing an ankle.

It was embarrassing how he'd practically start blue screening the moment Phantom was in the vicinity. As a father, Bruce was gracious enough not to bully his poor son whenever it came to Phantom. His siblings, on the other hand, held no such qualms and mercilessly dug into Jason.

In all honesty, he pitied Jason after hearing that Phantom assumed that Jason just didn't like him.

He really had to talk to him.

"You fucking hypocrite."

And that was a failure because Bruce forgot that he was just as constipated as his son.

"I'm not taking advice from the man who couldn't even try to be softer in his secret crush!"

With that, Jason slammed the door and left.

Okay... Plan B?

But what the hell was plan B?

Right.

Dick Grayson.

Bruce: About your brother...

Bird child #1: OH MY GOD

Bird child #1: THANK FUCK YOU FINALLY MENTIONED IT

Bruce: it's become an issue

Bruce: Alfred has commented that it's pathetic now.

Bird child #1: Wait wait

Bird child #1: I'll add you to the group chat!

And this Bruce Wayne found himself in a GC named 'Phantom of the Watchtower'. Along with all the complaints expressed by both family and friends when it came to Jason's bullshit.

Ah well... At least he wasn't alone in the suffering.

(Jason did not need to know that there was a video of him grappling through Gotham, Phantom passing by and waving at him, and Jason proceeding to hit a wall mid flight.)

Dick knows that his little wing has had trouble in relationships for a long time. His resurrection changed him, changed how he perceived his relationships. Dick didn't have the heart to be mad about it.

Phantom's arrival was a breath of fresh air for them.

But he suspects that Jason's attraction began with the fact that Phantom had died young as well. Fourteen from what was said. He had died much younger than Jason and had came back a hero, willing to protect the innocent and do what was best for those around him. Sometimes Dick suspects that Jason not only wanted to be with Phantom, but also to be similar to him.

Now he's watching Jason fumble with his words again, immediately going quiet once he realized that nothing coherent was coming out of his mouth. The helmet most likely hid how red his face was.

"Are you alright?" Phantom asked, frowning up at Jason. "You don't feel too good. Is the corrupted ecto acting up again? Oh, I knew I should have sped up the process of removing it but then it'd be very painful if I did it at once. And Frostbite recommended that we went slowly so we could monitor the side effect... And, and—"

"I'm okay." Red Hood immediately assured, his hand practically flying to Phantom's cheek then he shoved it down before he could even touch Phantom. "It's been a long day."

"Is the Joker out again?" Phantom's frown deepened.

Another thing Dick has learned about the dead and the undead! The fact that their murderer was still active unsettled then greatly and affected their entire mentality and behaviour.

"No. No. He hasn't tried escaping."

Phantom hummed, "I see. So what's bothering you."

"It's nothing." Jason grunted, sounding a little too much like Bruce for Dick's liking.

Okay, nope, he wasn't going to let this continue if his baby brother was going to continue making Phantom assumed he didn't like him. Nightwing to the rescue!

"Phantom! Hi!" Nightwing quite literally dropped into the alley, running his fingers through his hair and smoothly directing Jason away from whatever catastrophic misunderstanding he was walking into.

"Hello Nightwing! It's nice to see you again? How's Kori? Oooh! I wanted to invite her to a space date again—" He rambled on and on, eyes practically starry. Wait, nevermind. His eyes really were starry.

(Meanwhile, Jason was cursing his older brother for taking the attention from but also very thankful that Phantom didn't have to witness his stupidity again.)

Tim had noticed that the Joker hasn't attempted to break out in a long... Long time.

It's not a bad thing, no. It was great, in all honesty. But of course, Tim was paranoid, almost batshir crazy (pun intended, in the words of his damn boyfriends). The surveillance feed on Arkham was updated a long time ago, watching it very closely until static overtook the screen.

"Replacement," Tim startled, blinking before he saw Jason peering at him with a questioning look. Practically interrogating him on the spot. "The hell is that?"

"I don't know." Tim clicked his tongue, "This hasn't happened after Babs and I updated those damn cameras. Fuck, give me a second..."

"Did the Joker get out?" Jason practically growled.

"No, no. I'm sure he didn't. He would have been causing trouble by now." Tim reassured, clicking his tongue again before the feed went back to normal. Joker's cell seemed perfectly fine, with the Joker fast asleep on his little cot. "See, just some static. Maybe Phantom passed by."

The mere mention of Phantom has Jason blue screening, instincts kicking in as his older brother shoved his helmet over his head again. Then the idiot gets on his bike and speeds out of the cave.

Coward.

Tim whipped his head around, quickly surveying the area.

The static wasn't random. Phantom always had to be in front of the camera to directly affect the feed. So thank fuck when he made friends with Phantom's teammate—Pharaoh—and figured out how to fix any distorted imagery.

He sees Phantom standing over the Joker's unconscious body, plunging his hand into the maniac's chest and pulled out a glowing green orb. A core, from what he remembered. Holy shit, was the Joker a ghost too?

But he saw how Phantom seemed to put restraints around it, literal chains before shoving it back inside.

Slowly, Phantom turned to the camera, his entire figure still distorted, but he could see that fanged grin that his brother seemed to swoon over.

(The Joker was still alive, very much, but no one could understand how he was stuck in an almost permanent coma. Tim wasn't going to give Jason even more reason to start giggling over Phantom, unless he wanted to ruin the entire Dead on Main operation.)

Damian did not quite understand the insanity that was multiple individuals (including those that were not of their brood) attempting to matchmake Todd with Phantom. He didn't understand what was so great about Phantom, in all honesty.

He was heroic, powerful, and quite intelligent. Many people held similar traits. Perhaps it was the fact that he was a deathly being that attracted Todd in the first place.

"Hello, Robin!" Phantom greeted one day, eyes shimmering like the stars in his cape. "Superboy said you had something to tell me?"

Damian shifted slightly, "Yes. Are you aware of the Lazarus Pits?"

"Ah... Yes, of course. My court and I have been trying to destroy all of them. The Lazarus is corrupted ectoplasm that has been mixed with filth of all kinds." Phantom hummed.

"Filth of all kinds... Disgusting." Damian frowned, nose scrunching up at the memory that he's bathed in those pits before. "But I digress. I would like to assist in the destruction of the pits. Father and the rest of the family has fretted over my grandfather's pits for many years and we have barely grazed the surface on what the Lazarus truly was."

"I see! I was planning on asking Batman to help out on that. But since you've already asked, would you like to come to the Realms? I'm sure you can interrogate some of the ghosts your grandfather has wronged." Phantom grinned, already offering Damian a hand. He was floating, while Damian stood in the roof and stared at the hand.

It reminded him of the kryptonians. But Phantom's hand was cold and he didn't yank Damian the same way Jon often did.

No, Phantom took Damian's hand and then proceeded to hook an arm around Damian's waist, pulling him of the roof and into the air. And then they were flying into a glowing green portal that reminded Damian of the pits.

The moment they were in the infinite realms, Damian felt the overwhelming pressure of the dead. He swallowed the bile that rose from his throat as Phantom set him down on solid ground. The entire place felt eerie and strange, of course it was. This was the afterlife.

"Right, I forgot." Phantom cursed, "You're not as liminal as my family. Give me a second, baby bat." He murmured, his hand glowing green before it's gently pushed into Damian's chest. A sudden wave of warmth overtook his entire body and Damian stared at the ghost.

"I'm giving you a bit of Ecto to reduce any discomfort here in the realms. It'll flush itself out in 24 hours so don't worry about becoming overly liminal." Phantom smiled softly, before he offered his hand to Damian again. "Let's go? I have to stop by my keep to check the records of Al Ghuls victims."

"Of course."

And instead of being carried like a cat, Phantom picked him up bridal style and flew past what seemed to be floating islands and towards a large red and purple castle.

Is this was Todd feels? Damian asked himself, oddly enjoying this experience.

The moment they landed—

"Your majesty!" A floating eyeball yelled, rushing towards them. "You've brought an outsider—"

"Away with you." Phantom snapped, a crown and cape of stars suddenly appearing on him. "This is Robin. Ra's Al Ghul's grandchild."

"The Demon's head..."

"Yes, now shoo." Phantom snapped, before leading Damian away from the eyeball. "I'm sorry for my Observants. They're a conservative bunch."

"You are a king?"

"Mhm... Though I don't like to advertise it. The last king was a tyrant and I defeated him a little while after my death. I never intended to be king, in all honesty. But here I am." He gestured to the crown of fire and ice and the cape of stars. His grin was strained and quite troubled but he didn't mind leading Damian towards a large room filled with bigger files.

"Now, would you like to search yourself or do you want me to have someone else do it?"

Damian grimaced at the sight. "I'd prefer for someone else to suffer."

And that's how Damian found himself touring the realms, with Phantom happily bringing Damian to the arena where a ghost named Skulker awaited them. The man was a hunter, respectful towards Phantom yet troublesome as he challenged him. Phantom looked utterly annoyed, before he turned to Damian with sparkling eyes.

"What about you, Robin?"

And then Damian was fighting everyone and everything in the realms at the behest and amusement of Phantom. The ghost king provided him with different weapons each time an enemy switched.

It's only when they returned to the land of the living that he's informed that any weapon he's used is now his.

And he has a cat with him! The ghost of a small yet ferocious kitten that had his under Phantom's cape whilst Damian and other ghosts fought to glorious battle. Phantom kindly offered her to him, naming her Astra with the star shaped pupils in her eyes.

Damian is quite sure he has fallen in love.

Damian returns to the manor, utterly awestruck and infatuated. Thankfully (unfortunately), Todd is in attendance when Phantom carries him out of the portal, still held in a bridal carry with Damian actively clinging to Phantom like he had hung the stars (maybe he did).

"Sorry if we worried you! Robin wanted to help with our Lazarus problems since it's also your problem too." Phantom quickly explains once he saw Batman's troubled expression. "Don't worry about your gifts. I'll figure out a way to make you a dimensional bag."

Damian stared, "May I visit the realms again? If you would be amendable to it."

"Of course! You're my favorite, so why wouldn't I?"

Hah! Hear that? Take that, Todd!

Phantom vanishes into his portal seconds later, leaving Damian with the most beautiful and intricated sword in his hands. Blinking quietly, he whirled around and pointed the sword at Jason, who instinctively went into a battle stance.

"You may be my brother, Todd, but if you have not married Phantom once I am of age, I shall fight for his hand in marriage himself."

(Jason knows very well that Damian isn't joking and proceeds to practically plan the most novel-esque confession to date. Jane Austen might just be proud.)

Masterpost