#and Damian gives him a Look while flicking his eyes towards Bruce

[chiyana]

Jon: Damian, I have a suggestion that you're going to hate, but I need you to bear with me and seriously consider it Damian: very well Jon: *takes a deep breath* I think we should go on an adventure with our brothers (Kon and Tim) instead of our dads Damian: *visibly vibrating with anger* *deep inhale* ...eXpLaIn Jon: our dads are constantly talking about responsibility and the importance of a well-balanced SuperBat partnership, working together as a single unit and approaching things seriously Damian: they are respected heroes, above reproach in their conduct and two of the three main founders of the Justice League Damian: meanwhile our "brothers", as you say, have a public history of being reckless and idiotic when teamed up together and are regularly involved in inane, useless shenanigans Jon: they would let us ride laser dinosaurs into battle without question Damian: they- Damian: -later- Damian: father Jon and I are going on an adventure with Drake and his clone boy

[atlasthegreatest]

A Not-so-Quiet Visit / Talia Al Ghul x Daughter! Female Reader

Which, Talia’s eldest daughter — Y/n Al Ghul— decides to check on Damian, shocking the Batfamily, who mistakes her for an enemy. With Bruce intervening, the truth of her identity leaves the others unsettled — another Al Ghul is now in play.

Word count: 4542

A/n: This was requested by an anon. Hope you like it!

The low hum of the Batcave’s computers filled the cavernous space. Barbara sat at the console, tapping away on a keyboard while Dick Grayson and Tim Drake poured over reports from Gotham’s streets. Damian had been unusually quiet tonight, even more so than usual. He sat on the edge of a metal workbench, his face drawn in thought, occasionally glancing toward the time on the Batcomputer as if waiting for something—or someone.

“He’s more brooding than usual. Impressive,” Dick muttered to Tim, who snorted quietly.

“Maybe he missed a test question or something,” Tim replied under his breath.

“Silence, imbeciles,” Damian snapped, but his heart wasn’t in it. His eyes flickered toward the Batcomputer again. He seemed restless.

At that moment, the distant sound of heavy footsteps echoed from the upper levels of the Manor—Bruce’s office. Damian froze. He knew who it was.

Before he could say anything, the sound of boots clicking confidently on the cave’s metallic stairs made everyone spin around in alarm.

Barbara’s hands instinctively reached for a defensive position, and Dick moved smoothly into a combat stance. Tim swore under his breath and quickly drew his bo staff.

The figure emerging from the shadows was a young woman, older than Damian but bearing the same sharp, angular features and a gaze far too cold for someone her age. She had a regal air about her—like she belonged here. Her black combat suit hugged her form, with weapons resting at her hips, though she made no move to reach for them. She didn’t seem concerned in the slightest.

Her hair was tied back tightly, and her striking green eyes—so much like her brother’s—swept the Batcave with a calculating sharpness.

“What the hell—?” Tim started.

“Intruder!” Barbara announced, fingers hovering over the console to trigger security protocols.

“You dare.” The words left her mouth with the venom of someone who was used to being obeyed. She lifted a hand in a small, dismissive gesture that mirrored Talia Al Ghul perfectly. “Lower your weapons, now.”

“You’re with the League of Assassins,” Dick said, his voice low, tense. “What do you want?”

She gave him a condescending look, the kind that told him he was so far beneath her notice it was almost laughable.

“I am not here to deal with you,” she replied coolly, her accent a faint echo of her mother’s. “I am here for my brother.”

“You mean Damian?” Barbara asked, her confusion deepening as she eyed the young woman. “Who are you?”

Damian shifted uneasily, but the tension in his shoulders melted just a little. “She is my sister,” he said with the certainty of someone revealing a fact he thought should be obvious.

The entire room froze.

“Your what?” Tim said, blinking as if he’d misheard.

“Sister,” the woman confirmed smoothly. “The eldest child of Talia al Ghul. Damian’s superior, and unlike him, far more patient.” Her gaze flicked back to Damian. “I came to ensure you were unharmed. There were rumors circulating among the League—none of which I liked.”

“What rumors?” Dick demanded.

“You don’t need to know,” she replied with a dismissive glance. “It is a matter for the family. Not… outsiders.”

Barbara took a step forward. “You can’t just walk in here and—”

“I can. And I did.” The woman raised a brow, unimpressed by the outrage gathering in the room. She stood perfectly still, making no move to draw her weapons. Her poise was absolute, the very picture of a leader accustomed to giving orders without needing to raise her voice.

Tim gave Damian a sharp look. “You have a sister? And none of us knew about her?”

“Correct,” Damian said, standing up and walking toward her without hesitation.

“You’re just now telling us?” Barbara asked, still reeling from the revelation.

Damian shot her a look that was both arrogant and irritated. “My personal affairs are none of your concern.”

The woman gave a faint, approving smile. “At least you remember that much, little brother.”

Before anyone could press further, a deep, familiar voice called from above.

“Stand down.”

Bruce Wayne descended the steps slowly, his shadow stretching across the cave floor. His gaze locked immediately onto the woman. His face betrayed no surprise, no confusion—just an unreadable, neutral mask.

“You knew,” Dick accused, disbelief written across his face. “Of course, you knew.”

Bruce didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stopped a few feet away from the woman and gave her a nod—small, almost imperceptible, but it was there.

“Talia is upstairs,” he said to her quietly. “You could have used the front door.”

The faintest trace of amusement curled the corners of her lips. “I wanted to see how well your security has held up. It’s lacking.”

Tim muttered, “She is related to Damian.”

The woman ignored him entirely, stepping past Bruce with a fluid grace. Her attention remained solely on her brother as she reached out to clasp his shoulder—firmly, yet with an unspoken sense of care. “You’re well?”

Damian gave a sharp nod. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look it,” she murmured, studying him with narrowed eyes.

“It’s nothing.”

For a moment, there was silence between them. It was the kind of silence that spoke of familiarity—one born from years of shared experiences, of battles fought side by side, and of a trust that did not need words to be confirmed.

“You’ve been holding back again,” she whispered in a low tone, meant only for Damian. “Mother will not be pleased.”

“Mother isn’t pleased with many things,” Damian retorted, his expression softening slightly in a way the others rarely saw.

From the background, Dick and Tim exchanged glances. None of this made sense.

Barbara, still processing everything, crossed her arms. “So, let me get this straight—you’re some kind of… shadow sibling we were never supposed to know about?”

The woman turned her gaze on her, expression unreadable. “I prefer to think of myself as the one who handles things you cannot.”

“That’s comforting,” Dick muttered sarcastically.

Bruce gave her a look that was equal parts warning and understanding. “Are you planning on staying long?”

“No. Mother and I won’t linger.” Her eyes flicked upward, where Talia undoubtedly waited in the Manor. Then she glanced back at Damian. “But I will return.”

There was no goodbye, no ceremony. She gave Damian’s shoulder one final squeeze before turning on her heel and walking toward the exit with the same effortless confidence she had entered.

Just before she disappeared into the shadows, she paused and looked back, her piercing green eyes locking onto Bruce.

“Take care of him,” she said, her voice softer this time. There was no malice in her tone—only a quiet command, laced with something dangerously close to affection.

Bruce gave a subtle nod. “I always do.”

And with that, she was gone, as suddenly as she had arrived, leaving the Batfamily standing in stunned silence.

“Well,” Dick finally said, breaking the tension, “that was… something.”

Tim groaned, rubbing his temples. “We just found out Damian has a sister, and Talia Al Ghul is upstairs having tea with Bruce. What even is our life right now?”

Damian smirked. “You’ll adjust.”

Barbara shook her head, exasperated. “I really hate this family sometimes.”

From the shadows above, faint laughter echoed—like the sound of a ghost, a whisper of a life none of them knew existed until now. And somehow, it felt like that wasn’t the last they’d hear from her. Not by a long shot.

———————-

The Batcave settled into uneasy silence after the mysterious sister’s departure. Dick ran a hand through his hair, still processing the bombshell that just landed on them, while Tim leaned against the workbench with a scowl, looking like he’d been hit by a truck.

Barbara sat back at the console, shaking her head in disbelief. “So, you’re telling me that Talia al Ghul didn’t just have one kid with Bruce. She had two. And nobody thought to mention that.”

“Not even Bruce,” Tim muttered bitterly. “You know, typical Bat fashion. Gotta love family secrets.”

Damian shot him an icy glare. “She isn’t your business. My sister is loyal to the League, unlike certain people.”

Dick snorted, crossing his arms. “Well, she did just waltz into the Batcave, acting like she owned the place. Kind of a red flag, don’t you think?”

“She wasn’t going to harm anyone,” Damian snapped, clearly agitated. “She came to check on me, nothing more.”

“Yeah? Because that’s what people do—check in by sneaking into top-secret caves full of vigilantes,” Tim shot back, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Super normal sibling stuff.”

Barbara leaned back in her chair. “The bigger question is, how did she even get in? We would have noticed if any of the cave’s systems were breached.”

“She’s League-trained.” Damian’s tone was dismissive, as if that explained everything. “If she wanted to sneak in, none of you would’ve known until she was standing right behind you.”

Dick rubbed his forehead, already tired of this conversation. “Okay, let’s take a step back. Who is she exactly? How old is she? And—”

“Her name is not important,” Damian interrupted coldly. “And what you need to understand is simple: she is my sister. My responsibility. Not yours.”

“You know that’s not how this works, Damian,” Barbara said, glancing up from the console. “If she’s aligned with the League of Assassins, she’s a potential threat to all of us.”

Before Damian could respond, Bruce’s heavy footfalls echoed as he approached the group, his expression still unreadable.

“I suggest we leave it there,” Bruce said, his voice low but authoritative. “She’s not here to harm anyone.”

Tim threw up his hands. “Oh, great. Now Bruce is doing the ‘I’m not going to tell you anything important’ thing too. Awesome.”

Bruce ignored the jab, addressing Damian directly. “Go upstairs. Your mother is waiting for you.”

Damian hesitated, but only for a second. With a curt nod, he turned and made his way toward the stairwell leading back into the Manor, leaving the others behind to stew in their confusion.

“Bruce,” Dick said after a beat, “you can’t seriously expect us to just let this go. Damian has an older sister. That’s—kind of a big deal.”

Bruce’s gaze remained steady, but his silence was answer enough.

Dick’s eyes narrowed. “How long have you known?”

Bruce exhaled as if the weight of the conversation was something he had long anticipated but hoped to avoid. “Since the moment she was born.”

Tim threw his hands up. “Unbelievable. You knew, and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“It wasn’t your concern,” Bruce said calmly, though there was a trace of something weary in his voice. “She’s not part of this life. Not in the way that matters.”

“Then what life is she part of?” Barbara asked. “Because the way she walked in here, it feels like she’s pretty comfortable with all of this.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, the smallest crack in his usual composure. “She was raised to be Talia’s heir. The League is her world. She keeps to her duties there.”

“And now she’s here.” Dick folded his arms, frustration clear on his face. “That’s a problem, Bruce.”

Bruce’s gaze darkened slightly. “It isn’t. She’s not an enemy.”

Tim scoffed. “Not yet, maybe.”

“Enough,” Bruce said sharply, cutting off further argument. “She came here to see her brother. That’s all.”

Dick wasn’t ready to drop it. “And what happens when she comes back next time? What happens when she decides the League’s business is our business?”

Bruce’s silence lingered, heavy and impenetrable.

Barbara shook her head, clearly unsettled. “You really think this won’t blow up in our faces? Because I’ve got a bad feeling it will.”

“Let me handle it,” Bruce said quietly, a hint of finality in his tone. “When the time comes, I’ll deal with her.”

Tim crossed his arms, unconvinced. “Right. Because that always works out so well.”

Dick let out a breath, tension still clinging to his shoulders. “Whatever. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

They all knew what that meant. In their line of work, things rarely stayed quiet for long. And now, with Damian’s sister lurking in the background, things were bound to get more complicated.

Upstairs in Wayne Manor

Talia al Ghul sipped her tea from delicate porcelain, her poise immaculate as ever. She sat gracefully in one of the high-backed chairs in Bruce’s study as if she were a guest rather than a dangerous woman from his past.

Damian stood near the doorway, arms crossed over his chest. Y/n leaned casually against the wall beside him, her expression cool and distant. The siblings shared a silent understanding as if words were unnecessary between them.

“You’re staying for long?” Damian asked his sister quietly.

Y/n shook her head, her green eyes flickering with a softness reserved only for him. “No. Mother’s business here won’t take much longer.”

Talia’s gaze remained on Bruce, studying him with that familiar intensity. “You should feel fortunate, beloved,” Talia said smoothly. “Our daughter was quite insistent on seeing her brother.”

Bruce leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving hers. “And you let her walk into the Batcave.”

Talia gave a small, amused smile. “She wished to test your hospitality. Clearly, there is room for improvement.”

Bruce didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he looked toward the girl standing silently beside Damian.

“You know where you stand,” he said quietly. “If you ever need—”

“I don’t,” Y/n interrupted, her voice sharp but not unkind. “I stand with him. That is all that matters.”

There was a long pause.

Then Talia rose gracefully from her seat, setting her cup aside. “Come, children. We have work to do.”

Without a word, Y/n followed their mother toward the door. But just before leaving, she glanced back at Bruce one last time, her expression unreadable.

“Try to keep him safe,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

And then she was gone, a shadow disappearing into the night, leaving Bruce to wonder how long it would be before she returned—and what would happen when she did.

The door to the study closed softly behind Talia, Damian, and Y/n, leaving Bruce in silence. He exhaled slowly, staring at the spot where they had stood moments before, a familiar weight settling onto his shoulders. This wasn’t just a fleeting encounter. He knew it, and so did they.

He remained seated for a moment longer, letting the quiet of the Manor stretch around him, before rising and heading back toward the Batcave. There would be questions, distrust, and arguments waiting below. And this time, he wasn’t entirely sure what answers he could give.

Outside Wayne Manor

The night air was crisp and cool as the trio walked toward a sleek black car waiting in the driveway, guarded by two of Talia’s elite assassins. The League’s presence was discreet but felt, even here on neutral ground.

Y/n walked in measured silence beside Damian, their pace synchronized without effort. They had fought together enough times to move like two halves of the same whole.

“You didn’t have to come,” Damian muttered, his voice low, only for her ears.

Y/n’s sharp gaze flicked toward him. “I always come when I hear you are in danger.”

“I wasn’t in danger.”

“Not from your enemies,” Y/n replied calmly, “but you forget—Mother and I know how this family operates.” Her green eyes, so like his, glimmered in the moonlight. “You are surrounded by people who distrust you. That is danger enough.”

Damian’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He knew she was right.

Talia, who had been walking slightly ahead, glanced over her shoulder with a knowing smile. “The two of you should remember,” she said in a light tone, “family bonds are precious things. And fragile.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” Y/n replied without missing a beat.

Talia’s smile lingered. “Good.”

They reached the waiting car, and Talia turned, brushing a hand lightly over Damian’s shoulder—a rare, fleeting gesture of affection.

“We will speak again soon, my son,” she said softly. Then her gaze drifted toward her daughter. “And you—ensure your brother remembers who he is.”

The young woman gave a curt nod. “I always do.”

Talia’s lips curved ever so slightly in satisfaction. She stepped gracefully into the backseat of the car, leaving her children to exchange one last glance.

“I don’t need your protection,” Damian muttered, though there was no real heat in his voice.

“You’ve always needed it,” Y/n replied dryly. “Even when you think you don’t.”

Damian scowled, but there was something akin to fondness in the way his gaze lingered on her.

“You’ll visit again?” he asked quietly. It wasn’t quite a question—more a statement of expectation.

“Of course.” Y/n reached out, briefly ruffling his hair with the ease of an older sibling who knew she could get away with it. Damian glared, but she only smirked. “I’ll be back sooner than you think.”

With that, she turned and slipped into the car beside their mother. The door clicked shut, and without another word, the car pulled away, its taillights vanishing into the shadows.

Damian stood alone in the driveway for a moment, watching it disappear into the night. Y/n always came when he needed her. Even when he didn’t realize he needed her.

With a quiet breath, he turned and headed back toward the Manor, feeling strangely lighter despite the storm brewing inside the Batcave below.

Back in the Batcave

Bruce stepped down the last stair into the cave, and as expected, the conversation had only grown more heated in his absence.

“Bruce, we have to talk about this!” Dick was saying, his voice raised in frustration. “You can’t just let League-trained assassins walk in and out of our house like it’s nothing!”

Tim shook his head. “For all we know, she’s playing a long game. Damian trusts her, but that doesn’t mean we should.”

“She didn’t come here as an assassin,” Bruce said, his tone calm but firm.

Dick turned toward him, exasperated. “Then what did she come here as, Bruce? His sister? Do you believe that’s all she is?”

Bruce’s expression didn’t shift. “Yes.”

Barbara crossed her arms, skeptical. “Even if that’s true—and I’m not saying it is—what’s stopping her from dragging Damian back into the League’s messes? What happens if Talia decides it’s time to reclaim him?”

“She won’t.” Bruce’s answer was simple, certain.

“And you know that… how?” Tim challenged. “Because she said so?”

Bruce’s gaze was unreadable. “Because her loyalty isn’t to Talia. It’s to Damian.”

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions, doubts, and frustration. But Bruce knew none of them could fully understand the dynamic at play—not yet.

“You have every reason to be cautious,” Bruce continued. “But she isn’t here to fight us. Not today. She’s here because she cares about her brother. That’s enough—for now.”

Tim looked like he wanted to argue, but Dick held up a hand. “Fine. For now.” He shot Bruce a meaningful look. “But we keep an eye on her. If she comes back, we need to know about it.”

Bruce gave a small nod, though he knew that watching her would accomplish little. She had been raised by the League. If she didn’t want to be found, they wouldn’t see her coming.

Barbara sighed, rubbing her temples. “I don’t like this. Not one bit.”

“None of us do,” Tim muttered.

Dick glanced toward the empty stairwell where Damian had disappeared earlier. “So, what now? We just… wait?”

“For now,” Bruce said quietly. “We wait.”

————————

Somewhere in Gotham

In the backseat of the car, Y/n stared out the window as the city lights blurred by. Her hands rested calmly in her lap, but her mind was far from still. This visit had only been the beginning.

“I assume you found what you were looking for,” Talia murmured beside her, watching her daughter carefully.

“I did,” Y/n replied. “Damian is… as he should be.”

Talia smiled faintly. “And the others?”

Y/n’s lips curved into a small, knowing smirk. “They’ll never trust me.”

“Good,” Talia whispered. “It is better that way.”

Y/n didn’t reply, her thoughts already drifting ahead to the future. This was just the first move in a long game.

She had no interest in Gotham’s petty power struggles. But Damian was part of this world now—and that meant she would be too, sooner or later. Whether the Batfamily liked it or not.

And when the time came, they would see just how far she was willing to go to protect her brother. No matter the cost.

Bonus Chapter:

The lights in the Batcave hummed softly, the enormous space unusually quiet. The others had gone for the night—Tim back to his apartment, Dick out on patrol, Barbara working from her own space. Bruce was still upstairs, giving Damian some time alone after the tense encounter earlier.

But Damian wasn’t alone for long.

He sat at the edge of the platform where the Batmobile was parked, legs dangling over the side, a rare moment of stillness in his life. The cave felt different tonight like something was unsettled, but not in a way that put him on edge. It was the kind of quiet that came before a storm—calm, expectant. He welcomed it.

Out of the shadows, Y/n came, her presence so subtle he almost didn’t notice. Almost.

“You should be gone by now,” Damian muttered without looking up, though there was no real annoyance in his voice. “Mother doesn’t like waiting.”

Y/n’s soft footfalls echoed faintly as she approached. “Mother can wait.”

She sat down beside him, silent for a few moments, her gaze scanning the depths of the cave. “It hasn’t changed much,” she observed.

“No,” Damian replied. “It hasn’t.”

The two siblings sat side by side, neither saying much, but the tension that had hovered over the Batcave earlier was nowhere to be found between them. This was their space—a quiet corner of the world where they didn’t need to pretend.

“Does it bother you?” Y/n asked finally, her voice softer than usual.

Damian glanced at her. “What?”

“Being here. With them.” She didn’t say the Batfamily, but the implication was clear.

Damian considered the question carefully, not out of hesitation, but because it was complicated. “Not anymore,” he answered after a moment. “It did at first. But it’s different now.”

Y/n hummed in acknowledgment, though her expression remained unreadable. “That’s good.”

Damian tilted his head slightly, watching her closely. “What about you?”

“I’m exactly where I need to be,” Y/n said with a faint smile. “Though that may not always be the case.”

Damian frowned, sensing the deeper meaning beneath her words. “You’re not leaving the League.” It wasn’t a question—just a fact.

“No,” Y/n confirmed. “But that doesn’t mean I’ll always stay away.”

Damian folded his arms, his gaze sharpening. “If the League ever moves against Gotham—”

“It won’t be by my hand,” Y/n interrupted, her voice steady and sure. “Not against you, Damian. Never against you.”

The weight behind those words was palpable, a silent vow spoken aloud. They might serve different masters—Damian, the Bat; Y/n, the League—but their bond ran deeper than any allegiance.

Damian gave a short nod, satisfied. He knew she meant it. “The others will never trust you, you know.”

A soft chuckle escaped Y/n’s lips. “Good. Trust makes people weak. Distrust keeps them sharp.”

“You sound like Mother.”

“I’ve had good teachers.” Y/n smiled, a rare glimpse of warmth breaking through her otherwise cold demeanor.

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment longer, the kind that only siblings shared. No need for explanations. No pretense.

Then Y/n shifted, brushing her shoulder against his in a way that felt oddly affectionate. “Do you want me to teach you something new?” she asked lightly, a playful glint in her eyes.

Damian raised a brow. “Like what?”

“Something the Bat hasn’t shown you yet,” Y/n teased. “Mother taught me a few new techniques you might find… useful.”

Damian’s lips twitched, the closest thing to a smile he ever allowed in front of others. “Alright. Show me.”

They stood together, slipping easily into their familiar rhythm. They’d sparred like this since childhood—silent, fluid, understanding each other’s movements in a way no one else could. For a brief moment, it was like they were children again, back in the League’s hidden training grounds, fighting side by side under Talia’s watchful gaze.

But this time, they weren’t sparring as weapons of the League. They were just two siblings, enjoying a fleeting moment of peace in a world that never gave them any.

The cave was theirs tonight, and for now, that was enough.

Upstairs in the Manor

Talia sat at the window of the guest room, watching the moonlight spill across the grounds. She could hear the faintest echoes of movement from the Batcave below—her children, lost in their own world.

Bruce stood in the doorway behind her, silent, his presence as familiar to her as her own shadow.

“You always wanted them to be close,” he said quietly, stepping into the room. “And they are.”

Talia’s lips curved into a soft, wistful smile. “They are all we ever did right, beloved.”

Bruce didn’t respond. There was no need. In some ways, Talia was right. Damian and Y/n were both products of worlds built on shadows and violence, but in each other, they had found something rare—something unbreakable.

For a moment, the silence between Bruce and Talia was easy, like slipping into an old memory. They had shared countless battles, betrayals, and regrets. But tonight wasn’t about the past. It was about the fragile peace hanging between their children—and the delicate threads of trust that might one day hold them together.

“Will she stay away from Gotham?” Bruce asked after a while, though he already knew the answer.

Talia didn’t turn from the window. “Not forever.” A pause, then a knowing smile. “She’ll come back when Damian needs her. And perhaps, one day, when you do as well.”

Bruce exhaled slowly, running a hand down his face. “That day may come sooner than any of us want.”

Talia rose gracefully from her chair, crossing the room to stand in front of him. She rested a hand lightly on his chest, just over his heart.

“You raised Damian well,” she murmured, her voice softer now. “But don’t forget—I raised Y/n.”

There was no threat in her words, only a reminder. A quiet acknowledgment that their daughter was both a product of love and war, molded by both of them, yet ultimately beyond their control.

Talia smiled one last time and brushed past Bruce, her scent lingering in the air like a fading dream. “Good night, beloved,” she whispered, and with that, she was gone, disappearing down the hall like a ghost.

Bruce stood alone in the dim room, his gaze drifting toward the window and the moonlight beyond.

He knew, without a doubt, that Y/n would return. The only question was when—and what side she’d stand on when the time came.

For now, all he could do was wait.

[onyxxjin]

Elision | Part 1

Arriving at Wayne Manor after a long night, Alfred brings something strange to Bruce’s attention: an invitation, a message, for the almighty Batman.

Bruce Wayne/Batman x Elision (Oc)

Words: 2,100~

Alfred patiently waited beside the hydraulics turntable for the two permanent residents to return from their night patrol together as father and son. As the months passed, they slowly began to get along better than they did at their first meeting. Master Damian became slightly easier to deal with, though his manners and brash social skills still needed work, as he told master Bruce repeatedly. Looking down at his watch, he hummed idly, hearing the mechanical sound of the ramp door opening, accompanied by the revving of the batmobile’s engine.

As the sleek car stopped, Alfred circled the front of the car, watching as the red-tinted dome slid open to allow both passengers to exit the vehicle. Pulling off his hood, Bruce turned his attention to the butler.

“Alfred.”

“Master Bruce, something requires your attention on your computer.” He gestured a hand towards the desk and chair sitting and awaiting his return. Alfred trailed behind Bruce as he strode towards the massive display mounted on the wall. 

“I discovered it earlier while you two were out.”

Damian already stood opposite him and Alfred, waiting for Bruce to read before inserting his opinion.

His brows furrowed as he shifted his gaze up to the screen. Across the entire monitor lay a pop-up window with simple text and an attachment at the bottom.

“Hello, Batman. You don’t know me, but I know you, Mr. Wayne. I offer no threat to you or your secret identity, but the mere knowledge of me knowing your name makes this message compelling, doesn’t it? When we meet, I have a proposal to offer you. I hope you can dance. -E”

“This message is encrypted?” Bruce turned to glance at Alfred, who nodded.

“Yes. Not a single trail to follow back to. Brilliant if I say so myself.”

The man hummed, reading over the words again as he sat down, opening the attachment “E” included. 

“An invitation?” Confusion contorted Damian’s tone, his mind stalling at the idea.

“To a masquerade ball,” Bruce explained.

“It could be a trap.” Damian gestured to the letter, looking at his father, who still stared at the words, “You aren’t possibly thinking about going, are you? They could expose you, father.”

“If they wanted to expose me, they would have done it already. I have many enemies, Damian, but I don’t think this person is one of them.” Copying the message and putting it into a new file labeled simply “E,” he closed the window and stood up, turning back toward Alfred.

“What will you do, Master Bruce?”

“Have my Italian suit cleaned and pressed by Friday,” He chuckled and smiled, “I have a ball to attend.”

4 Days later | Saturday, 6:26pm

Placing a hand over his stomach, Bruce ducked his head down as he slid out of the limousine. The door closed behind him with a low thud as he strode toward the mansion’s entrance, braving the stairs to the gilded doors. The sound of bustling conversation emanated from inside, leaking out and into the brisk night air. His fingertips grazed the matte black mask he chose for the evening that shielded the right half of his face, leaving the left side of his jaw exposed. 

Giving his name at the door, they let him through without a hitch. The wide, rounded steps from the door led to the marble-floored foyer, a red carpet cut across the white floor like a trail of blood leading his eyes to the winding dual staircases. Accepting the glass pushed into his hand, it took him longer than expected to feel the slip of paper in his palm. 

Taking a drink from the glass, he opened the paper, “Ten ‘o clock. -E” he turned his head to the left, sweeping his eyes across the open floor, picking through the people grouped together. His eyes flicked upward, and he noticed a figure turn to walk away from the balcony railing, disappearing out of his line of sight.

Shoving the slip into his pocket and placing the champagne glass onto one of the passing trays, he gracefully made his way past the guests and toward the staircase, raising a hand and laughing to avoid useless conversation. Ascending the granite staircase, his hand slid across the railing while his eyes scanned the area to his left. The main populace consisted of men and women whispering to one another, gossiping, and flirting their way into one another's expansive wallets. Roaming the halls, he looked for someone he didn’t even have the name of, making this all stranger.

“Bruce Wayne?” 

He perked up, revitalizing his mask of Bruce Wayne as a man approached him, wearing a simple black mask that rested over his nose.

“How could you tell?” He smiled, sticking out his right hand for the man to take.

“It’s not difficult to pick you out from a crowd, I’m a massive fan of your work, and I heard you would be here.” The man beamed at him, eyes shining with excitement and curiosity as they shook hands firmly. He smiled in return, though part of his mind groaned. Was this E? The mystery person who bypassed his firewalls to leave a message was a fanboy who wanted to spew about his fixation over his company? No. Someone like this couldn’t pull that off. The conversation droned on all the while Bruce gave half-hearted responses to the poor man, nodding and laughing at the appropriate times as their social standards dictate.

“Gentlemen, apologies. I was hoping to whisk this one away if that’s alright with you?” A voice came from their right: a woman in a black mask approached them. Her orange hair fell in loose waves over her shoulders, and her lips colored a poppy red. While most women at the ball tonight wore red or gold, she dawned a simple black, single off-the-shoulder dress with a high slit. Bruce turned toward the woman fully as her hand slipped into his, silently beckoning him to follow. Bruce didn’t even remember the man’s name as he stuttered along the lines of “yes, of course, nice to meet you.” 

Pulling him down another hallway, the woman let go of his hand, allowing him to walk beside her. Observing the woman, he noticed how quickly the innocent, charming act melted away. It made a chill run down his spine, and he wondered if this was the same sensation people experienced around him.

“You’re E?” He questioned lowly, looking down at the woman beside him as they walked. Disbelief slipped further into his voice than he meant, the woman rendering him unable to school his tone.

“I am. Why? Surprised a woman pulled all that off?” She grinned up at him. The stunned look plastered on his face made her laugh, “I’m joking,” She assured, “let’s talk somewhere quiet. Too many eyes.” “And ears.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Exactly.”

Navigating the mansion seemed like child’s play to the woman, turning corners without hesitation.

“You seem to know the place well.” He noted, taking long strides to keep up with the swift lady.

She chuckled, “Blueprints.” flashing a toothy grin over her shoulder at the man. She disappeared behind another corner, and Bruce followed her into an open floor kitchen with two elevators tucked into the wall: Staff elevators. She stood back from the doors with her arms crossed, the button with the arrow pointing up already glowing. 

The sound of footsteps disturbed their silence, alerting them both to the notion that they weren’t alone. The woman’s eyes shined with an idea, grabbing the man’s arm. 

“Kiss me.”

“What?” Surprise lit up the features not hidden behind his mask.

Without giving him the time to react, she pulled him in by his silk tie, their lips crashing together forcefully. He let out a startled groan into the kiss, lifting the woman up and onto the kitchen island as he recognized her plan. He hooked a hand under her knee, lifting her leg against his flank while placing the other against her hip. Her hands raised to his hair, messing with it quickly before resting her arms around his neck loosely, one of her hands still tangled in his hair.

“Hey!” 

The woman gasped in feigned surprise, breaking the kiss and staring wide-eyed at the staff member who supposedly caught them in the act.

“You two can’t be back here.” 

A cheeky, lipstick-stained grin appeared on Bruce’s face, letting out a charming chuckle, “We’re sorry, got a bit carried away, is all.” The woman giggled along, hiding her face in the crook of his neck.

The worker cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable witnessing the scene before him. He waved a hand dismissively.

“It’s fine, just…don’t wander off, please.” The employee quickly sped off, flustered. They stood still for a few moments longer, making sure they were alone again before getting up. 

The woman reached up, swiping her thumb across his lip with an amused chuckle, “That shade looks better on you than me.”

“Maybe I’ll pick it up once we’re done here.” He dragged the back of his hand against his lips while he stepped back, letting her off the countertop. She snickered as she watched him fix his hair, turning back towards the elevator as it chimed, the doors opening shortly after.

The two stepped inside the metal box, ensuring no other staff spotted them as the doors closed. The woman pressed a knuckle against the button that led to the roof and stepped back, pulling the masquerade mask off her face. He didn’t notice himself staring until she turned her head to look back at him, her brows raised and another amused grin across her face.

“What? Like something you see?”

“I’m not sure yet. Still looking.” He replied with a smirk, pulling off his mask and placing it into his jacket for safekeeping.

The elevator slowed to a stop, a ding catching their attention as its doors opened for the two to exit into the cool night air. A pool reflected blue light across the rooftop, illuminating the two as they walked. 

“Is there anything else I can call you besides E?” A chuckle rose from his chest as he spoke, idly resting his hands in his pockets. 

“Elision.”

“‘To omit,’ interesting.” 

“It’s not as interesting when you’re the one removing things. Or people.” 

His brows knit together, turning his head to look at the woman.

“Who gave you that name?” 

She chuckled darkly, “Now you’re asking the right questions.” She paused, stepping to the railing bordering the roof, “Do you know who owns this mansion?” She tilted her head to look at the man as he settled beside her. It only took him a moment to mull over the question.

“Seth Weeks. Politician. City Council member.” 

“Now, what if I told you that near the border of Gotham, underground, there’s a facility that trains and experiments on children to create soldiers?” Any sign of a smile or amusement disappeared from her face as she stared up at him, her eyes searching for any sign of what thoughts raced through his head.

He narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously, “I would know.”

She shook her head, “No, you wouldn’t. This goes deeper than you. This government corruption goes further than what you’ve broken down.”

“I would notice hundreds of children going missing, Elision.”

“They aren’t born in Gotham and kidnapped, Bruce.” She leaned against the railing, tilting her head to look at him.

The silence stretched over the next several moments. Bruce’s brows furrowed together in thought, his eyes wandering around as he pieced together the puzzle she set out for him.

“...They’re born underground.” 

The woman clicked her tongue, nodding, “Now you’re catching on.”

“Where does Seth fit into this?” “Funding. Weeks visits the facility twice a month to ‘make sure his money is being used properly.’” A bitter frown pulled at her face, the words leaving a bad taste in her mouth. 

“I’ll need to see this facility.” He reached into his jacket to retrieve something, casting his gaze to meet hers.

She whirled towards him, eyes wide as she stared at him, astonished. 

“That means you’ll help?” Those four words decided for him, setting it in stone. This was why he put on the mask, to see the hope in the eyes of people like her. Pulling a card out of his pocket, he held it out for her, a contact card, but not for Wayne Enterprises, for Bruce himself.

“Yes.”

[bluebellhairpin]

Saving Bruce Wayne

Bruce Wayne X Batmom!Reader 

A/N: Listen, I just wanted Bruce to have to get saved again, okay? - Nemo

Summary: Batman caught a cold, Bruce got kidnapped, and so you have to save his ass. Again. But this time, you have a little help - the Gotham City Sirens. And Damian. And Jason. 

Warnings: Kidnaping. Mild violence. Swearing. Drugs/drugging mentions. Damian is a vulnerable momma’s boy because I said so. 

Listening to: ‘It’s On Again’ by Alicia Keys + Kendrick Lamar - ‘There's no day off for heroes and even when I'm tired, go is the only word I know.’

Series Masterlist 

Masterlist  

It wasn’t everyday that you had to work with a band of vigilantes to rescue your husband from a kidnapping. Yet not everyone was married to a billionaire either. 

You were at work making your way steadily through a stack of Bruce’s paperwork when a broadcast came through on the TV in your office's reception area. Normally you wouldn’t be at work - either it was all left to Lucius or Bruce to handle, leaving your life fairly easy, however the former was given a well-earned holiday and the latter was supposed to be on sick leave. 

(Literally. The Batman had caught a cold while out on patrol two nights ago, and was left under the supervision of Alfred and Damian for the day so he’d get some rest.)

When your Assistant ran in with a distressed look on their face, and told you to turn on the news channel, you obeyed cluelessly. So what if it was another lunatic wreaking havoc in the city? That was normal. What was not normal was seeing your husband - Bruce ‘I am vengeance’ Wayne tied to a folding chair looking more drugged-up than you’d left him that morning. 

The villain, some colorfully dressed man with a lisp, did his usual spiel - “You have 24 hours to give me 30 million dollars or Gotham’s Golden Prince will die!” - and that didn’t worry you so much. Twenty four hours was enough time to get Bruce back then go for a platter of tapas after. What made you grab your coat and bolt towards your car to go home was the fact Bruce was at home all day. 

With Alfred and Damian. 

When you’d pulled up to the front of Wayne Manor, you already had to dodge two police cars and four officers trying to stop you and say you weren’t allowed here right now. 

Rolling down your window and revving the engine at them a few times made your path clear very quickly. 

Once you stepped out and flashed Commissioner Gordon a wave, you noticed Damian sitting on the front steps nursing a ice pack to his cheek. Further up at the front door, Alfred was talking to another police officer, humoring the detective’s note taking. 

You sat next to Damian, and he sought out a place pressed against your side. 

“I’m sorry Ummi,” he started softly, eyeing all the people, “I tried to stop them, I promise. They came so suddenly, and they left even quicker. I don’t know how they did it.” You ran your fingers through his hair and hummed, thinking. 

“It wasn’t your fault. If your father hadn’t gotten himself sick then this wouldn’t have even happened in the first place.” You pressed a quick kiss to his temple, just above his ice pack. “I know you did your best, you always do. Now let me see what’s under that ice pack.” 

All the extra people cleared off by dinner that night. 

After a talk with Jim, you were able to get away with no extra security aside from a cop car parked outside the front gate in case something did happen again. Thankfully he was understanding with your vague reasoning behind it all. He always was. 

Damian had become your shadow, the whole time during dinner he sat by your side and picked at his food. Even when you joined Alfred in the kitchen he followed, leaning against the counter as you helped with the dishes. After, when things settled, and you sat in the family room with Damian, Titus’s head resting on his lap in turn, he looked over at you. 

“Are you not worried about Father?” You looked up at him from flicking through TV channels.

“Worried? Yes I am, he hasn’t taken any meds in over four hours.” Your lips quirked up a little as his slightly nervous glare turned into a more unimpressed one. “He’s gonna have a killer headache by the time I pick him up later.” 

“You’re going to get him?” He sat up then. “I thought you must’ve been waiting for Grayson or Todd to come over to go get him.” 

“Not Tim?”

“Of course not Tim, I don’t want to work with him.” Damian shied away, petting Titus’s  head and ears. 

“And if he was the only one left?” He didn’t answer you, but he did start petting a little harder. 

“So when are we going to start looking?” 

“I need to make a phone call first.”

“I didn’t think these were the people you’d be exchanging their help for a ride in the batmobile.” Damian still hadn’t gone far, and was now hiding in the shadow of your cape as you approached the group of women before you. 

While he couldn’t see it, you turned to look down at him with a smile as you shook your head. 

“I thought you knew that Jay got half of his delinquent nature from me.” 

“Vee!” you were turned back to the group as Harley bounded towards you. 

“Hi Harley.” 

“So where’s the car? You know how much I just love a joyride.” 

“How about we get this done first, then we’ll have even longer to play around with all Batman’s toys?” You looked ahead to spot Ivy standing just shy of a dumpster, and you gave her a nod, but someone was missing. 

“Where is -”

“- Right here.” Selina appeared at your side, brushing past as she eyed Damian over your shoulder. “Although I wouldn’t have brought a child with me to take on someone so dangerous that they actually successfully captured someone like your husband.” 

“Robin is with me, so it won’t be a problem.” 

Normally, Selina was fairly civil, in fact you could invite her out for brunch and she’d say yes - both of you found common ground in the finer things in life - so you ignored her ‘catty’ behavior, chalking it down to just being worried. Like you were.  

“I agree, kids gotta learn eventually -” Harley started, “- Plus with a mamma as protective as our Val, he’s gonna be fine.” 

“I can’t believe you trust these people.” Damian said, crouched next to you as you peered down at a building. “Each of them are currently on Gotham’s top ten most wanted.”

“We both know that the list changes each week like a roster.” You kept looking at the building, watching as Selina slipped through a top-story window. “And as far as you should be concerned, it’s me and them, or you’re back to working with Red Robin.” 

“Doesn’t mean I trust them more.” he grumbled. Looking over, his scowl could be seen even with his mask on. Reaching over, you rested a hand on his shoulder, and brushed your fingers against his cheek, just under his mask. 

“You don’t have to trust them.” You said. “You only have to trust me.” 

Damian stared at you for a few long moments, studying you and weighing his options no doubt, before nodding once and taking your hand off him with a soft squeeze. “Good thing I trust you.”

“Jesus Christ, I hate stairs -” You and Damian turned to the back of the rooftop you were crouching on, saying nothing as a familiar red helmet popped through the roof hatch. “- All this fucking cardio Dick makes me do and I can’t even get up a four level flight of stairs without wheezing twelve times.” 

You would be glaring at him if your mask didn’t hide it. And you would’ve been laughing if it were a different situation. 

“What are you doing here?” Jason looked over at you, then walked over with his hands on his hips. “Why are you talking so loud?” 

“Firstly, did you hear all of what I said back there?” he asked sheepishly. You nodded. “Then I’m sorry Ma, I don’t like swearing in front of you. Second, I’m here ‘cause apparently the old man got billionaire-napped and I figured you might need some help.” 

“We don’t. Mother has made a wonderful plan which doesn’t involve you.” Damian said. 

“However we have no one to come in after and make sure everything’s been secured, so if you’d like you can help make sure nothing goes wrong -”

“Holy Moley is that Poison Ivy?” Jason leaned over your shoulder onto the roof railing, watching as Ivy broke open the front door of the building you were watching.

“Yes. Ivy, Harley Quinn, and Catwoman are working with us on this one, you are not to fight against them until Bruce is back home - understood?” You explained. 

“Yes ma’am.” Jason chuckled. “But you’ve got some proper explaining to do when we do get him home.” 

“That’s fair.” Then you tapped Damian’s shoulder. “But that’s our signal, let’s go.” 

Bruce and Damian, together on their own, would’ve handled these guys with little problems. However Bruce was not in the right mindset to have dealt with them, and that was clearly shown by how dopey he was. 

By the time you walked in with Jason, Selina was cutting off his arm restraints, Damian was at his feet untying the rope there, and Bruce was smiling up at Selina. 

“I’m so glad someone came to get me, Superman never saves me so I was getting worried because I couldn’t think of anyone else who would come get me!” 

“Oh my - I think he’s been drugged.” Jason whispered to you. You hummed, narrowing your eyes at the group in front of you. 

“Hey Vee, look what we found on one of those goonies.” Harley said, offering her open palm and the small vial in it. Taking it, you held it up to the light, and noted the white powder inside. 

“Looks like a street drug.”

“Meth is what it looks like.” Jason said. “Bruce doesn't look too bad, but we should get him to a hospital - who knows how much they gave him.” 

“There’s more!” Bruce exclaimed, drawing your attention, and pointing towards your group as he leaned on both Damian and Selina. “There, the jester, and the mannequin. And that one in the middle who looks like Batman but I want to kiss for some reason.”

“Because that’s your wife.” Damian mumbled.

“My wife?” Bruce gasped. “My my, what a capable and strong wife I have!”

“Oh lord, if you don’t shut up I might start wishing I never helped you.” Selina said with a grit of her teeth. You beelined over, giving Jason the vial, and swapped places with her. 

“Thanks for the help, you can swing by tomorrow and I’ll give you a lil something.” She clicked her tongue at you, but didn’t refuse the offer. 

You had to drop Bruce off with Commissioner Gordon. 

He was thankful that the Wayne patriarch was back alive, however took the advice of hospitalization after a drug test did come back positive for methamphetamine. You, reluctantly, had a long trip home before you could visit Bruce at the hospital without questions asked. 

Having given up the batmobile to Harley and Ivy as payment or thanks for their help, you and Damian had no fast way home. Jason however did have his motorbike. 

Damian was not happy about having to sit in front, and you weren’t entirely sure about how safe it was to fit yourself, Jason and Damian on a bike like this - but you also didn’t have much of a choice.  

The fact someone caught a photo and it was posted online the following day did make you laugh, but no - it was not happening again. 

When you got back to the cave, both you and Damian changed in record timing. Alfred had been informed on the ride home about the situation, and was waiting upstairs to take you both to the hospital. You told Jason to stay put, and Alfred added there was pie in the fridge he was welcome to take a slice of if he wished. 

Bruce was left in the hospital for a good half a week. The doctors wanted longer - because it’s Bruce Wayne - but he didn’t need it. And he was getting bored. 

The good news was that aside from the drugs being flushed from his system, he no longer had a cold so severe that it helped give him amnesia. 

Dick was the one who brought him home. Having gotten time off work, and having not seen him since it happened, he thought the drive back to the Manor would be a good time to catch up. No one disagreed - not outwardly. Damian probably would’ve done it if twelve-year-olds were legally allowed to drive cars.

Having to live up to the self-proclaimed title of ‘best son’ and all that.  

However, seeing Bruce step out of Dick’s car - back home - did let all the stress finally settle on your shoulders. As if it had been hovering over you instead to help save your sons or anyone else from worrying more than they already were. 

It took a few moments for them to enter, but once they did they were greeted by both Jason and Tim. Damian stood beside you, and wrapped his hand around yours. 

“Come on Ummi, Father needs you now.” he said, “And Grayson will be upset if you don’t give him a hug.” At his honest words, you let out a laugh, and pulled him in for a hug. It was returned tightly. 

That night, after a full home cooked meal, and a movie which the whole family - most pets and butler included - were tucked into couches, you laid in bed with Bruce beside you. He had pulled you close, and was busy tracing the lines and marks that littered your face. 

“You know, I couldn’t sleep in that room.” he confessed, voice light. 

“I was in this room and couldn’t sleep, so go figure that one out.” He made a ‘hmph’ sound, pulling your head to tuck under his chin after he pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m sorry I made you worry. And the kids.” he said, “But I do remember liking you doing my job - I did a wonderful work of that suit you wear.”

“Oh you’re so insufferable.” groaning, you pinched at his sides. He jumped away, but quickly wrapped himself around you to keep you pinned. “Hey, I was tormenting you.”

“That’s fair, but you can go back to that tomorrow,” he said, settling you both down under the covers, “But right now all I wanna do is cuddle.” 

“Okay.” Smiling, you pecked his lips with a kiss. “I’ll fit it onto my schedule then.”

[litrally]

all the king’s horses, and all the king’s men

One by one. They went missing one at a time, and it took Bruce far too long to figure out exactly where they went. 

read it on ao3!

“Dick always smiles like the cat that got the cream. He's the craziest of them all, with a sadistic sense of humor to match."

There was a biting chill in the air, and the slanting streaks of rain pouring down from the sky didn't particularly make the night more pleasant, either. Dick was squatting beside one of the many gargoyle's lining Gotham's rooftops, nearly indistinguishable from the stone statue beside him through the haze overtaking the skyline. The crackle of his comm in his ear interrupted the steady patter of rain on the rooftop.

"I'm seeing some movement on the upper east side," Tim's voice came through. "But there's also some radio chatter of the shipment coming in through the roof."

Bruce grunted in response. "Nightwing and Robin, take the roof of the building. Keep an eye out for any incoming vehicles and hold off any men that come your way. Red Robin and I will take the upper east side."

Despite his exhaustion from being stuck in one place for the whole night, a course of relief went through Dick when he realized he wouldn't be partnered with Bruce again. They made a great team, of course, but when they two of them worked together, old habits came back. They were less 'partners' and more 'Batman taking point so there's no chance Dick could get hurt. Or contribute in any way'. Which, Dick supposed, was just Bruce's way of showing that he cared. But in all honesty, it had been a while since they last blew up at each other and Bruce backed off. He started encroaching on Dick's independence again, and Dick was getting sick of it. He had the last seven years of his life reestablishing himself as a perfectly capable and independent hero, and he really didn't need Bruce to come back and trash his reputation and self-esteem allover it.

A chorus of affirmations came through the comms in response to Bruce's instructions and Dick snapped back to reality, relaying his own, and he found himself grappling to another building corner purely off muscle memory.

He greeted Damian with a silent nod and moved to perch just above the men they were surveying, Damian followed in suit and crouched on a rafter in a similar manner across from him.  Bruce's voice came to life in his ear again. "We have to move at the same time, else we risk them communicating and getting more organized just before the shipment arrives," he said. "Move on my mark. Three….Two…. One."

As the final word left Bruce's mouth, Dick and Damian dropped from their hiding spots and launched into action. The grunts and sounds of gauntlets meeting flesh over the comms solidified that Bruce and Tim were doing the same, and their timing had been right on. Dick ducked underneath a punch swinging towards his face before kneeing the man in the gut and swiping his legs out from underneath him. He threw a wing-ding at the one who drew a knife a few feet away and leapt over another who's leg flicked out in an attempt to take out Dick's knee. Dick brought his elbow down on the man's head as he descended and the man dropped like a rock.

Dick looked around, everyone close enough to him subdued for the moment and checked each of the exits. He moved to grab one of the men's radios, only to look up and glance at Damian fending off the two men in front of him from across the room. Dick's mouth opened in an attempt to distract them and give Damian an opening, failing to see another thug raising the butt of his gun to the back of Dick's head.

A batarang flew from one of the exits Dick could have sworn he already blocked off, whipping the man's wrist to the side. Dick spun around, bringing an escrima down on the back of the man's neck, looking up to see Tim flitting amongst the hoards of men that had piled into the warehouse with him and Damian.

Dick's eyes narrowed. Bruce wouldn't have sent Tim here alone… not with the amount of confusion they had about the transport details and security information between bases. Which meant…

Sure enough, Batman dropped from the rafters, taking out another one of the thugs as Dick had been about to raise his batons to attack him. Dick let out a slight growl, turning to take out another man near him.

"We had this handled," he said, the words coming out clipped.

Bruce have him a look, as close to a dry raised eye brow as he could give under the cowl. "I'm sure the thug who almost pistol whipped you from behind would say otherwise," he replied smoothly, his actions never faltering as he threw a batarang and pinned one of the men to the floor by his shirt collar.

Dick bit back a retort as he spun his heel into the last thug, turning towards Tim and Damian on the other side of the room. "All good over there?" he asked, the words coming out light and so utterly different from the tone Bruce had just been subject to that Bruce started a bit. Even Dick's words had a mask. One, judging by the way Tim and Damian grinned and shrugged off his casual brushes, even his brothers couldn't even see through.

The only sign of Dick's irritation on the ride home was the lack of mindless chatter. The lack of jokes and quips about any creative take downs or idiotic attempts from the thugs was replaced by Dick's advisements about Tim's and Damian's technique. His tone still came through as relaxed and casual, and with Damian and Tim on the verge of falling asleep in the back seat, they didn't seem to notice the change in typical topics.

They couldn't see his body language either. Tensed and wound up, his leg bouncing and eyes staring out the window beside them.

Dick slid out of the car the second it came to a stop in the cave, giving Alfred a tired smile and a nod when he came to take the other two boys upstairs. Dick made a beeline for the showers, but Bruce's hand snapped out, holding his wrist and preventing him from taking another step.

The doors to the elevator had barely slid shut when he started. "Are you alright, Dick?"

Dick huffed out a breath Bruce didn't quite know how to interpret. "Of course I'm alright Bruce," he said with a smile that was just a bit too wide. "It's not like there's a chance in hell of me getting hurt on any missions while you're around."

Bruce blinked, the only sign of confusion he would show. The words themselves sounded innocent enough, but there was something about the way he seemed to be almost biting them out that was off putting.

Bruce's next words came out low, his irritation with the backhanded tones finally rising to match Dick's. "Are you going to tell me what's going on, or are you going to make me keep dealing with your passive-aggressive bullshit until you get over it?"

Dick's eyes flashed and he jerked his wrist out of Bruce's hold. "Stop coddling me," Dick snapped, his cool façade finally crumbling.

Bruce stared at him "I'm not. I just--"

"You keep doing this," Dick interrupted. "You weren't happy when I started to run my own missions with the titans, you kept spying on me when I moved to Bludhaven, and now you're doing it all over again. I can handle a simple combat op with me and Damian," he growled, "And I don't need you stepping in every time you think that I need help."

Bruce's eyebrows shot up. "Are you serious right now? You would have gone down on tonight's mission. Hard. And you're going to try and convince me you can keep an eye on your own surroundings while watching out for Damian's?"

Dick took a step towards him, fists balling at his sides. "Yeah? Well I guess we'll never be ever to find out now, since the great and all powerful Batman can't handle the fact that someone might actually be capable of doing anything without him." He spit the name out like a curse, rolling his eyes in a way that had Bruce stiffening.

Bruce ground his teeth in frustration. "Dick, I'm only trying to help you--"

Dick cut him off. "I don't need your brand of help, Bruce," he snarled.

Bruce huffed out an incredulous laugh. "You sound fourteen again, you know that?"

Dick shook his head, his eyes trained on the floor in front of him. "Fuck you, Bruce."

Bruce took a deep breath, trying to calm himself against the steady rise of irritation that he had been fighting all night. "Dick, you need to pull yourself together."

Dick let out a strangled laugh. "Yeah, B, I do. And this clearly isn't the place to do it." He peeled his mask off his eyes and threw it in Bruce's face, Bruce's hand only just barely making it up fast enough to catch it. Dick turned away and strode to his across the cave as fast as he could, the silence absolutely eerie in contrast to the heated tension that had been present not 30 seconds ago. Dick tugged his helmet on over his head, fighting the tightness in his chest from an emotion he wasn't quite able to name.

Bruce turned away as Dick strode towards his bike, working on dismantling the minute amount of tech he and Tim had recovered before going to intervene on Damian's and Dick's sector. He listened to Dick's bike roar to life a tad more aggressively than necessary, but didn't shift his gaze from the tools in front of him as the sound of the bike ebbed as it grew more distant.

Dick didn't contact Bruce that week. Or the next. In all honesty, that wasn't entirely abnormal after the type of fight they had, so Bruce was content to leave Dick to his own devices until he needed him. But by the time the third week rolled around though, he was starting to get a bit worried.

It was Tim who really gave in as the bridge between them, like he always did. Bruce caught him on his way out on Friday night, a bag slung over his shoulder. "I don't know what's going on between you and him, but he's not answering any of my calls," Tim shrugged. "Thought I'd go over to check on him and spend the weekend in Bludhaven."

Bruce nodded. "That's probably a good idea. Ask him to call me, if you can

Tim gave him a small smile before tugging his hood over his head and stepping out the door. "Sure, B. I'll try my best. But you know how he can be sometimes."

Bruce huffed a sigh, the words affecting him more than he'd like them to. Dick could be stubborn as hell when he wanted to, and after spending 17 years of his life living with Bruce, that hadn't wavered in the slightest. The words from their last fight kept echoing in Bruce's ears, and he couldn’t help but have a bad feeling about the way they'd left things. Dick was always great at ignoring Bruce, but ignoring his brothers wasn't normally something he did out of spite for more than a week at a time.

"I understand," Bruce replied. "I'll see you Monday."

Tim waved him off with a flick of his hand over his shoulder, his back already turned as he stepped into the cab and put in a pair of headphones.

The drive to Bludhaven felt longer than usual. It wasn't unusual for Dick to disappear without telling anyone for a while, usually when his day job caught up to him and he was pulling extra shifts at the precinct to make up for it. If that were the case, he just needed someone to show up, get him some food, and convince him that 7 hours of sleep wouldn't cause the end of the world.

What had Tim feeling off though was Dick's lack of message when there was a large drug shipment moving in to Gotham from Bludhaven. Large enough that Dick couldn't have missed it--in either job--and that he'd never want anyone on the Gotham team to be blindsided. Tim was lucky he'd caught it as early as he had, or someone could have gotten seriously hurt.

The sense of dread Tim had been feeling since taking down the group's base had never really faded--even when he double, triple, even quadruple checked that they were contained by GPD and wouldn't be going anywhere. But why hadn't Dick told them about it?

Tim realized with a jolt that he was outside Dick's complex, and he paid the driver in a daze before shaking his head and stepping out of the car.

The pit in his stomach wouldn't stop growing as he ascended the stairs to Dick's apartment. The world seemed to be screaming at him wrong, wrong, WRONG.

The feeling compounded when no one came to the door as Tim knocked. Twice. Almost on instinct, he was pulling lock pick from his jacket pocket and twisting the door handle open less than a minute later.

The world seemed to come to a screeching halt as Tim took in the apartment. It was silent, with a vague dankness in the air that indicated no one had been there in a while. There was a half full pot of water on the stove, some slightly moldy bread out on the kitchen counter. All signs that Dick had been in the middle of something, but left. And hadn't come back.

Tim felt his hands begin to shake as he searched through the apartment, finding Dick's shattered phone on the floor by the bed and an abandoned comm unit by the Nightwing suit. Oh, no.

I need to call someone, he thought, trying to take breaths deep enough to get his vision to stop blurring. It took him three tries to unlock his phone and tap the first contact on the list.

"Bruce Wayne speaking," came the voice over the phone.

Tim let out a sob.

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

"Damian, smallest but no less ruthless. He kills with precision and unmatched efficiency. It is said no one ever saw him coming."

It had been four months since Richard had disappeared. Four months since Damian had gotten a full night of sleep. Four months since Damian had been able look anyone in the eye without feeling like the world was falling apart.

Father had been searching relentlessly, hardly coming up for air as Bruce Wayne anymore. He split his time between searching every database he could think of in the cave and tearing through Bludhaven's streets trying to find any connection to where Richard had gone. It was safe to say he hadn't slept very much recently either.

With Batman preoccupied elsewhere, Red Hood, Red Robin, and Robin had been splitting up patrols for the city. Every night Damian laced up his Robin boots with a hollow sort of feeling in his chest he refused to acknowledge. It had probably been because the suit's original owner would have been terrified to see the state his family had fallen into. But that was no matter. There was still work to be done.

It was nearing the end of Damian's patrol route when he noticed he was being followed. He'd blame it on the exhaustion and the stress for not noticing earlier. Father would want me to call for back up, he noted absently, but dismissed the thought almost immediately. He was a Wayne and an Al Ghul, and he was Robin, dammit. He could handle a tail.

He was very quickly proven wrong.

No matter how fast he ran, or which convoluted route he took across roof tops, the figure refused to leave him. Eventually, Damian managed to get far enough ahead to reach an empty rooftop without the figure immediately on his heels. He took a few deep breaths, trying to slow his breathing, before turning to face the thing that had joined him above the city.

The figure came close enough for Damian to make out the shape of its mask, its armor. Damian went absolutely still.

A talon, he thought. Father had warned him about them, but he never thought they'd actually be an enemy he would have to deal with. Especially not on his own.

The talon drew closer, and Damian's hand crept up to the sword sheathed across his back. He tensed, pulling the blade in front of him and preparing for the figure to lunge at him.

Then it did the last thing Damian expected.

It removed its mask.

Damian's sword clattered to the ground.

"Richard," Damian breathed, his eyes wandering to take in every inch of the man in front of him. "Is that really you?"

He looked so familiar, every inch of him the Batman and the brother he had grown familiar with. God, he'd missed him so much.

Relief went coursing through Damian's body, and he wasn't sure whether to let out a laugh or a sob. Every part of it felt right to see Richard standing there in front of him. Every part, except his eyes.

Richard's eyes looked… pained. Far different than any expression Damian had grown familiar with on his face. Fear gas and bullet wounds couldn't hold a candle to the hollow golden eyes that seemed to reflect everything emitting life but looked so soulless at the same time.

Grayson…always felt better when Damian allowed him affection, was the only thought echoing through Damian's head. Damian couldn't stand to look into those eyes any longer, not without doing something, anything, to fix it. So Damian took a step over his sword in a daze, breaking in to a sprint to close the distance between himself and the Talon in front of him.

Damian launched himself into Richard's arms, and felt them coming up to hold him. He absolutely melted into the hold and for a moment, just for a moment, everything felt right again.

Then Damian realized he couldn't breath. The arms that had felt so comforting just seconds before constricted like steel bands across his back.

"Richard," Damian wheezed. "Richard let me go."

The arms across his body didn't falter.

"Dammit, Grayson," Damian forced out, his chest growing tighter with black spots appearing in his vision.

He managed to free a hand enough to force his fingers into a pressure point beneath the Talon's armor. The arms holding him fell away, and Damian dropped like a stone to the gravel rooftop, gasping to try and banish the fuzziness in his head.

"What's wrong with you?" Damian moans, glancing up only to propel himself to the side on instinct alone. The Talon lunged for him, and Damian shakily forced himself to his feet.

"Richard, please," Damian begged. "I don't want to fight you."

Talon's only answer was a roundhouse kick to Damian's head.

Damian ducked, sliding into a defensive stance. He dodged whatever hits he could, and bit back grunts when his blocks only barely held up against Talon's attacks. It almost felt the same as it did when they sparred in the cave. Damian could hear Richard's quips and corrections in his head, but he was barely holding his own against the barrage of hits.

It was so familiar, but so different. The man who raised Damian wasn't like this. Not this ruthless. No this violent. And that realization ached more than any hit the Talon landed ever could.

The thought had Damian's arm dropping a fraction of an inch too low, an opportunity the Talon didn't miss.  Talon grabbed Damian's wrist, and Damian let out a yell as he was thrown across the roof and onto the course gravel.

A heavy weight settled across his stomach, and ice cold hands wrapped around his throat.

Damian kicked and clawed, twisting his hips back and forth in an attempt to fling the shell of his older brother off his body. "Richard, stop this, please!" he wheezed.

Eventually though, his body gave out. His hands dropped away from arms pinning him to the ground. His legs fell flat against the gravel.

Damian didn't really register any of the pain. He just felt betrayed.

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

"Tim. The cold and calculating one. He treats killing as an artform and has perfected his methods. His kills are clean, unless he has reason to torture his victims. In which case, he has also perfected the art of inflicting pain."

Tim just felt… numb. Two of his brothers were missing; it had been two months since the last one disappeared, and six months since the first. The only alternative to the vicious silence in his head was to let himself feel the pain of it all and scream until his throat bled. But that wouldn't solve anything. He needed to hold himself together, because if he didn't, no one else would either. And that definitely wasn't an option.

So Tim drowned himself in the numbness.

Bruce didn’t let anyone patrol anymore. And with Cass in Hong Kong, Steph in New York, and Bruce bouncing between them, Bludhaven, and the League of Assassins headquarters, he wasn't in Gotham very much of late. So, Tim found himself patrolling with Jason more often than not.

It had been a long night. No breakouts at the moment, thank god, but the petty crime on the street seemed never ending. Not to mention, Jason was starting to worry Tim. And god, Tim did not have the mental capacity to worry about another person in this damn family.

Jason seemed… angrier. Not angry in the way he was after the pit, but angry in the way Bruce was in Tim's early Robin days. Was he watching history repeat himself in front of his eyes? If that were the case, he sympathized with the Dick from that period of their lives a little more. He simply didn't have the energy to bring someone back from the edge anymore.

By the time they made their way back to the cave, Tim was swaying with exhaustion. He was in desperate need of a break. He went through his post patrol routine in a daze, and felt into bed, his eyes almost immediately falling shut.

But he couldn't fall asleep sleep. Hadn't been able to make It through a full night in about six months. He tossed and turned for about an hour, before letting out a groan and sitting up while rubbing at his eyes. Well, he winced, as the light of his bedside lamp overtook the room, if I'm not gonna sleep I might as well make myself useful.

He headed down to the cave, pausing in the kitchen to brew himself a fresh cup of coffee. He settled himself in front of the computer and started scrolling through the never ending files collected on his missing brothers.

There was an endless amount of hazy photographs, unread text messages, and surveillance video to go through, but it was the blood sample collected from a recent murder scene that was still bothering Tim. They collected the sample in hopes of connecting it to the killer, or at least someone else present at the scene. When they ran it through their databases though, it only returned a 70% match, which, with a system as extensive as theirs, was very much an anomaly.

The stranger piece, though, was that it was a 70% match of Dick's DNA. Bruce had chalked it up to cross contamination at the scene, but Tim wasn't quite convinced.

He then thought back to the location where Damian had gone missing. That rooftop had been one of their handful of blind spots throughout the city. The chances of some random abductor getting that lucky was slim, but if Dick's disappearance was somehow linked… ?

No, no, no. There's no way. Dick would never voluntarily lay a hand on Damian. Unless…  Suddenly, Tim was pushing himself out of his chair and changing into his suit before he could finish the thought.

Tim's bike skidded to a stop outside the apartment where Dick's DNA had been found. Tim stepped off  and flicked on a flashlight,  pressing forward to gently push the front door open.

Immediately, the space felt different than the last time he had visited. The furniture looked like it had been moved, and the blinds on the windows looked like they were pulled to a different level than they were in the crime scene photos. It seemed almost… inhabited.

There was something eerie about it though. Something that left Tim's skin crawling the longer he looked around. Maybe it was they dead, grey flecks of skin on the carpet. Maybe it was the strange scraps of metal on the kitchen table.

Tim's heart was pounding in his ears when he noted the bandolier of knives thrown across the bedroom floor. He reached out to touch them, and a shock when through him when he noted they were freezing to the touch.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose, and Tim twisted around to face what had approached him from behind.

Wide blue eyes met gold.

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

"Jason is the silent one and keeps to the shadows. He takes no particular pleasure in killing, preferring to get a job done quickly."

It was kind of ironic, in a sick sort of way. He was the only robin that wasn't supposed to be here, that Bruce didn't want at some point in his life. Yet now he's the only one left.

He and B fight a lot less, surprisingly. It's probably because if they actually blew up, there would be no reason for them to fall back together again. There's no more buffer between them, no more support for the aftermath. The only thing they had left to hold themselves each together was each other.

Jason realizes he misses his brothers. More than he ever thought he would. From Dick's mindless chatter, to Tim's relentless quest to prove himself. Even the Demon Brat's sniping comments of everything they were doing to "tarnish his father's reputation." Jason bit back a laugh. God, there was nothing he wouldn't give to hear Damian say that one last time.

The thoughts and memories of his brothers' laughs echo around his head, and Jason realizes he can't quite breathe anymore.

He tries to take deep breaths, his chest stuttering between them as he climbs out to the roof of the manor. The roof had always been Dick's space. His place to think. And he's finally able to catch his breath.

Jason quickly lost track of time, staring up at the sky and alternating between I should stop wasting time and do something, and I don't know if I can do this anymore. He feels something blocking the cool breeze blowing over his shoulder and half turns. He lets out a sardonic but pathetic laugh with an undercurrent of… something. An emotion Jason isn't sure he could identify even if he wanted to.

"Well, there you are. I suppose it's my turn, isn't?" He called out with a bitter laugh. "You tore this house apart, you know that?. It's not like there's anyone left standing here to try and fix it." Jason's voice filled with something thick. "Not really."

The presence behind him doesn't respond, and Jason gets up from his perch, frustration mounting and  begged it to do something. "So take me then!" He roared. "Take me, and get it over with, you bastard!"

The figure still doesn't respond, and the silence is really starting to piss Jason off.

"The whole strong, silent thing doesn't work for many people, and I have to say you're not--"

Jason cuts himself off abruptly.

The presence he's been yelling at isn't a presence. It's three. The same three presences that, when they left him, made his home feel more like a prison. Like a coffin, buried six feet underground, with Jason frantically clawing at the surface until he ran out of air.

So he turned to them, faced them head on, and said four cursed words.

"Take me with you."

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

Bruce fell silent after presenting the info. The League stood speechless to once side of him. On the other side, Midnighter crossed his arms, frowning. Apollo closes his eyes in sorrow.

Slade glared. "And pray tell, how did you manage to lose not one, but all four of them?"

"From acts of foolish negligence."

The accusation echoed around the room. The Al Ghuls strolled in with assassins followed closely behind them. "The important question now is, what are you going to do to remedy this error?"

Thank you for reading! This fic was based on this stunning art by @whispering-imp! They wrote the italics in quotes + that end scene, and I just filled in the stuff in between :)

[marauderundercover]

Taking Chances Ch. 11: Blast from the Past (Siblings)

AO3

Prev

Swinging side by side with her father was an amazing experience. Marinette tried hard to stifle her laughter, figuring Batman wouldn’t appreciate it if word got around that the newest vigilante was a giggler. He swings to the next roof and pauses, Marinette frowning as he listens to something on his comm.

“Alright. All hands on deck. Robin, you’ll stay on the roof with Ladybird.” He instructs, Marinette frowns. Was he really sticking her younger brother on babysitting duty? And why couldn’t she go wherever it is he’s going?

“What’s happening?” She asks, crossing her arms.

“There are several crates of weapons and a few dozen armed men in a warehouse a mile out from here. You and Robin are going to stay on the roof to make sure no one leaves before the police arrive.” He instructs before turning and grappling away. Marinette frowns, but follows behind him. Does he really not think that she can handle herself? And she knows this is going to cause problems with Damian. He already doesn’t like her and now he has to stay with her. She watches as he swoops down into the warehouse and she lands silently on the roof.

“I do not appreciate this.” Robin says, stepping out of the shadows with crossed arms. Although she can’t see his eyes behind his mask, Marinette knows he’s glaring at her. She just rolls her eyes.

“I don’t either. I don’t need someone watching me 24/7. I can take care of myself.” She says, and with a sudden jolt, she realizes this is the first time he’s willingly speaking to her. The first time they’re talking and it’s to argue. Lovely.

“If you had simply stayed away, then I would have been allowed to follow Father. Instead, I am being punished for your insolence.” He adds. Is he going to lecture her the entire time Batman and the others are fighting in the warehouse, she thinks, raising an eyebrow. She starts to snark back, but a shadow moving behind him pulls her attention instead. Narrowing her eyes, she watches as a figure steps out of the shadow, a gun raised at her.

“Well well well. What do we have here?” The man asks, a smirk on his face. Marinette glances at Robin, trying to see if he recognizes the voice. She doesn’t see any recognition, so she immediately catalogues the man as an unknown threat. Chances were that he was involved with the group currently fighting in the warehouse and not an actual Batman level villain. But he still had a gun, so she wouldn’t underestimate him. Robin turns to face the man and he immediately takes the gun off Marinette, pointing it instead at Robin’s head. Marinette narrows her eyes. She may not know him very well, but he was still her little brother. And she wasn’t about to let some stupid goon threaten him. Flicking her wrist, she aims her yoyo at the man’s gun, smirking as she manages to yank it from his grasp. She catches the gun as it flies back with her yoyo, holding it carefully and trying to ignore the internal panic. She’d never held a gun before, never wanted to or had a reason to. And she really didn’t want to hold it now, but she didn’t want the man to know that she was scared of the gun, because that would give him an advantage. She just grins at the dumbfounded look on the man’s face, his shock enough so that Robin was able to knock him down without a fight. He pulls a zip tie out of his utility belt and ties the man’s hands together.

“Well that was disappointing. I was hoping for more of a fight.” Marinette teases, hoping that the tension between her and Robin would break. She watches as his lips purse slightly, not sure what the expression meant.

“I hardly think one buffoon with a gun would be much of a fight for either of us.” He finally says, and her eyes light up. Success!

“But if it was the right foe, they could surely take you down.” A new voice says, and this time Marinette can practically feel the tension rolling off of Robin.

“Slade.” He says, obviously tensing for a fight.

“Damian. I wasn’t aware you were in possession of a Miraculous.” The man, Slade, says, turning towards her. Marinette stiffens, uncomfortable by both his words and the fact that she can’t see the man’s face because of his costume.

“I’m not in possession of anything.” He says, his jaw clenched. Marinette shifts into a defensive position, desperately wishing that she had a comm. Surely the rest of the family had heard this man’s intrusion through Robin. But she wished she could hear them. Whether it was giving information about the man or reassurance that the rest of them would be there soon, she wanted to hear them.

“Tell me, little girl, how did you stumble upon one of the most powerful pieces of magic in the universe? And why haven’t I met you before?” He asks, stepping towards them. Glaring at the man, Marinette steps forward so that she’s standing in line with Robin, unwilling to cower behind her brother.

“I don’t think we run in the same circles. And I assure you, I didn’t stumble across anything. I was chosen to wield this Miraculous.” She says, shoving false confidence in her tone when all she wanted was to grab Robin and run. Slade oozed a sense of wrongness and danger. Not a combination she wanted anywhere near her or her family.

“Mmm. Perhaps not. But we’ll never know, will we. I’m going to have to ask you for that Miraculous now, dear.” He says, her eyes narrow.

“I’m not sure if that’s worked for you in the past, but it’s not going to work today. You’re not the first creep in a mask asking for my Miraculous.” She snarks, hand twitching as she analyzes him and tries to come up with a plan. Without any warning, he lunges towards them, a sword suddenly in his grasp. Marinette jumps back, going on the defense as Robin lunges forward with his own katana. Marinette flits around both of them, throwing her yoyo at Slade every time he got too close to Robin. It was obvious the man was well trained, and it was also obvious that he had little patience for the two.

“You’ve improved, but you’re still not good enough.” He hisses, lunging towards Robin, his sword aimed at the boy’s chest. Marinette lunges towards them, shoving Robin out of the way. She shrieks in pain as Slade slides his sword into her shoulder. She can’t see the man’s face, but she can just imagine his smirk. He puts his other hand on his sword, and she just knows he’s going to twist. She can’t let that happen. So instead, she jerks back, screaming as she pulls herself off the sword. Robin launches himself at Slade once again, furiously slashing at the man. Slade lifts his sword up and Marinette flicks out her yoyo, grunting in pain as she irritates her shoulder. But she’s able to wrap her yoyo around the man’s wrist. Smirking, she tugs roughly, pulling the man off balance enough so that Robin can disarm him. Just as she lets her shoulders relax, Slade yanks his arm, tugging her to him. She yelps in pain as he wraps her into a chokehold. Staring at Robin, she tries not to panic. They’re gonna come for them, right? The rest of her family? Surely they’ve beaten those goons by now. They definitely heard the problem on the roof through Robin’s comm, right?

“Unhand her.” Robin says, shifting his position now that he has two swords.

“I don’t think I will. Not for free, anyway. You want her alive for some reason.” Slade says, tightening his hold. Marinette lets out a choked breath, desperately trying to pull in enough oxygen.

“What do you want?” Robin asks, Marinette tries to shake her head, already guessing what the man wants. She’d rather die than give some psycho the power of Tikki. Not only could he destroy the world, but Paris would also be lost without the Miraculous Cure.

“Her earrings. Let me take them, and I’ll let her live….this time.” He says.

“No….don’t...not..worth it.” Marinette manages to say, just barely able to shake her head. She gags as Slade tightens his grip again, black spots dotting her vision.

“Ladybird-” Robin says, and Marinette is certain she’s hallucinating now. Because he almost sounds pained.

“Don’t.” She begs, fighting to stay conscious. As she watches him, she sees a smirk make its way onto his face. That’s good. Good. Smirking brother means….what does it mean? She’s not sure. All she knows is that suddenly, the pressure on her neck is gone. She falls to her knees, gasping for breath and wincing at the burning in her shoulder. Too much. Too much all at once. A hand on her good shoulder shakes her from her thoughts and she weakly hits at it.

“Ladybird, it’s me.” A voice says. She blinks, opening her eyes, wincing at the pain enveloping her. Looking closer at the figure, she sighs in relief, letting herself slump down. She’s safe. Arms pick her up gently and she smiles softly, tiredness hitting her as the adrenaline finally fades. Curling in closer, she mumbles into Batman’s chest.

“Thanks dad.”

---

Bruce Wayne was pissed. And the only person who could piss him off so much was himself. He’d left Damian and Marinette on the roof alone because he thought they’d be safer. He didn’t think the two would be able to get into any trouble up there. Of course he would be wrong. Of course Slade Wilson would choose tonight to come after Damian. And of course the man just had to know about the Miraculous.

Hearing his daughter’s pained screams over his son’s comm would haunt his nightmares. It’d likely become the unholy symphony over the images of Jason’s broken body and Damian’s limp form. Images that’d haunted him for years and would continue to do so until he dies. When he was young, his nightmares were just of his parents. But he had seen things much worse since becoming a father. And now he’d heard much worse. Shaking his head, he tries hard to hold onto the one bright part of the evening.

Marinette had called him dad.

It was the first time she’d called him anything other than ‘Mr. Wayne’. His heart warmed at the thought, but everything came crashing down again when he remembered. Slade Wilson was gone. He’d managed to get away while his focus was on Marinette’s wellbeing. Which means his daughter was now in even more danger. Damian had informed him of the man’s obsession with the Miraculous. It was something they’d need to talk about, but not tonight. After she passed out in his arms, he brought her back to the manor. Alfred stitched her shoulder, and Bruce brought her to her room. It wasn’t decorated yet, but he’d made sure to pick out a room for her after finding out about her. Even if she didn’t want anything to do with them after this, she’d always have a room here.

Sighing, Bruce sticks his head into Marinette’s room, just to reassure himself that she was there. That she was safe. It was something he did with each of his kids, every time they were injured. Every time he was afraid that he would lose them. The sight in front of him makes him pause and pull out his phone to take a picture. They might be mad at him for it later, but he’d curse himself forever if he let this moment slip away. All of his children were piled in Marinette’s room. The girl herself was on the bed, curled into a ball despite her injured shoulder. At the foot of her bed was Damian, his face peaceful for once. Jason, Dick and Tim were all in a pile on the floor, pillows and blankets scattered both beneath them and on top of them. They were an impossibly tangled pile of limbs, guarding their youngest sister. He smiles softly, eyes finally falling on Cass curled up in an armchair that she must’ve pulled next to Marinette’s bed. Satisfied that all were well, Bruce shuts the door gently, not wanting to risk waking any of them.

His children were together, and safe. For now.

Next

Tag list: @maribat-bdbwm @vixen-uchiha @stainedglassm @liquid-luck-00 @jayjayspixiepop @jjmjjktth @mizzy-pop @trippingovermyfeet @queenz-z @thepaceperson @iloontjeboontje @waiting247 @laurcad123 @toodaloo-kangaroo @ritacrow-blog @deathssilentapproach-blog @kittenmywaythrulife @nerd-nowandforever @tazanna-blythe @when-no-wings-do-broomsticks @imarivers8

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Living with what you’ve done

Uhhhhh

UHHHHHHH WHAT

Ok so I started writing the 100 special but then I got to 120!?! Wtf when did this happen?

Though I would like to thank each follower personally I have social anxiety and would rather not randomly message strangers following me. Here is my public thank you!

Idk what I did while writing this but it seems I managed to copy-paste the beginning four seperate times. This brought the word count up to 5.9k but it is now edited and brought down to 2.3k

Inspired by my friend @deltaxxk who loves angst and told me I have to write a follower special

Other prompts used: One, Two

Also! There are movie references within this fic, if you get them all you get a virtual lollipop 🍭

Ao3

Disclaimer: THIS FIC IS MAJORLY ANGSTY PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS IF ANY OF THE WARNINGS WILL TRIGGER YOU

Warings: blood, fire, death (+graphic descriptions of dying), injuries, grief, human trafficking and mentions of psychopathy

———————

“Robin we’re out of time! We must leave, we’re out of time!” Her yo-yo strained with tension as she swung into a goon, sending their body flying away from her team.

They had gotten a lead on a meta trafficking ring that involved some of the Gotham elite’s children disappearing. The lead brought them to the dock, GothDrill’s warehouse sat just off to the right. Its fluorescent lights signifying signs of life, Marinette knew most weren’t there willingly.

“Make more time!” He snapped back. Ladybug fumble slightly before regaining her footing, she wasn’t expecting the coldness in his tone.

She jumped back into the fray and watched from the corner of her eye Damian take on four goons by himself. She stifled a sigh before punching the man in front of her square on his jaw, ‘must he always prove himself when he has already?’ Damian edged himself closer to the garage doorway of the shed before disappearing into the building.

Focus her attention back on the battle around her, she saw Red Hood downed under a steel beam. She rushed over, and with her enhanced miraculous strength to lift the offending metal. He groaned with pain, the beam had pinned his legs, forcing him to lay stomach down. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, supporting the majority of his weight to get him to his feet. Pain throbbed in his left leg and they stumbled onto the dock to hide behind down GothDrill crates.

Ripping the seams of his pant leg, she revealed a dark purple bruise that was rapidly spreading. She also discovered the beam had broken his femur and shattered his kneecap, how he wasn’t screaming in pain was beyond her. Pink light danced between her fingers before drifting down to his wound. Jason bit his hand to prevent any cries from leaving his mouth. He didn’t want another confrontation in his state.

The sound reached her before the light did. Jason panted as he looked up to see what distracted her from his healing. Reflections of orange and yellows dancing across her cerulean eyes. “Damian.” She whispered frozen stock still.

Something within her very core snapped and cardinal urges overtook her common sense. Shooting up like a bullet she sprinted towards the blazing inferno, her ears numb to the world around her.

Inside was worse than the burning exterior. She could see where the explosion originated from, big barrels of flammable chemicals blazed white with heat. The smoke and burning chemical gases penetrated her airways, coughs racked her chest.

She could see flames running up the walls and the lit barrels but the rest was black. The smoke was a blanket of darkness that wrapped around her.

And then she heard it. The screaming.

Multiple voices, so raw with pain, masculine and feminine, old and young. Running towards it she hoped to spot Damian but luck wasn’t on her side. Instead she found the trafficked civilians, their bodies red with burns with their hair and clothes set ablaze.

She ran full speed at the wall nearby, shattering the melted bolts. The fire blazed brighter at the new source of oxygen. She directed the victims out, the dove towards the water. The goons had fled during the initial explosion leaving the Batfam free to help.

She looked down at the bodies of those who didn’t survive. Some were burned beyond recognition, she kept looking, scouring for Damian.

She heard Red Robin calling her name, she looked up to see the scaffolding holding the roof breaking apart and falling to where she stood. She felt her body tackled out of the way and another thunderous crash hit the floor.

She was dragged outside and placed into the care of a newly arrived ambulance. Her eyes, red from the smoke and ash, looked out the back door of the vehicle. Firefighters and police had arrived on scene along with news reporters and the public. Families of the trafficked were reunited with their lost love ones and others mourned their deceased. Red Robin stood there, watching her.

“You can’t just follow me into fire.” She croaked to him, her oxygen mask muffling her.

The whites of his black cowl narrowed and his fists clenched. “Then don't run into fire,” he growled at her before walking off.

Her body moved without thinking, removing her oxygen mask against the protests of the paramedics. Ladybug reassured them she’ll be alright and that they should help the others who were more injured than she. She walked back towards the building but the black-clad figure of Batman stopped her stride.

“You’re not using your cure.” He stated. Her eyes widened, the cure could save his missing son, save the trafficked from their injuries and deaths. Who was he to deny the will of a god’s favoured?

Using the cure in Gotham was always straining and the Batfam knew that. On multiple smaller occasions, she was prevented from using it due to the amount of damage and crime being reverse causing serious health concerns they observed in Marinette. But she never thought it would also be denied on an occasion like this.

“I have to! Robin cou—“

“No, you could die.” He cut her off, her foggy mind becoming more enraged.

“And he could live!”

Without a reply he injected her neck with a sedative, her body collapsed from the drugs and exhaustion. The world going dark around her.

+++++++++++++

Three days after

Her blaring phone distracted her from her dissociative state. She was staring lifelessly at her TV, she could say what happened in the show even if her life depended on it. She scrambled to her phone, Dick’s name lit up the screen.

She accepted the call, answer with a hoarse “hello?”

“Marinette? Are you able to make it over we have some things to tell you.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Pressing her phone to her ear with her shoulder she ran around her apartment, grabbing her keys, shoes and jacket. Rushing out the door she rapidly fired questions at him, “What is it? Did you find him? Is he there?” All of which were answered with silence.

“It’s best that we discuss this when you get to the manor.” And with that, he hung up. The click seemed to echo in her car, even though she knew it didn’t. Driving towards the outskirts of Gotham where Wayne manor resided, she felt a spark of hope rekindle in her chest. Although Dick didn’t give her much to go on she still hoped they found him and everything could go back to how it was.

Fate wasn’t merciful to the naive it seems.

Her world shattered around her as she saw the crisped cape on the table. The smell of burnt blood permeated the room. Her eyes stayed locked onto the cloth as she spoke, “But this is only his cape, not his body. He still could be alive somewhere! He is injured and hurt and we have to find him!”

No one spoke. Their eyes flicked to one another.

Jason limped in her direction, his crutch clicking against the stone flooring. He placed a heavy hand on her shoulder, his eyes brimming with unshed emotions. “The cape was found with the body, everything else was unsalvageable except the cape.”

A silent “we’ve found him, just not how we wanted,” resounded throughout her being.

She glared at Bruce, “He could be alive if you didn’t stop me! I could have saved him!” She lashed out, tears pouring down her cheeks.

“And we would have been having this exact conversation with Damian about why we didn’t stop you. The best outcome for this situation was you living.”

“No the best outcome was both of us being given a chance at survival” Marinette screamed at him, his face was emotionless. How could he be so uncaring to the fact of his youngest son dying?

Running out of the Batcave and manor she gasped at the cold night air. A sob escaped her mouth. Her head banged against her steering wheel, tears dripping onto her pyjama pants. There was no way she’d be able to sleep tonight.

++++++++++++

Twelve days after

Fire danced in her peripheral. A medley of bright oranges and golden yellows. She remembered the times when the two of them would watch the sunset in silence, sipping on hot chocolate and green tea. This blazing inferno was different. Its colours more violent and foreboding.

The screams. They were different from the ones she heard that night. They were his screams.

She saw her body encased within his burnt arms. Damian was little more than a burnt corpse, his eyes blazed green and his bone was replaced with metal pipes. The cure resurrected him but he was not wholly there anymore.

She awoke screaming. Not in control enough to remember she had neighbours; mentally pleading that they’d understand. They knew of his disappearance but not of his death. She was still heavily in denial.

She isolated herself away from everyone, afraid she would hurt anyone else that got close. She couldn’t stop wanting to hurt Bruce for making her unable to use her cure or the goons for setting the place alight and killing her fiancé. She wanted to go scorched earth.

She snuggled into his pillowcase, his faint scent of honey was still present. She willed herself to fall back asleep, his scent surrounding her. His pillow, his shirt, his ring; but she was missing him.

++++++++

Two hundred and eighty-seven days after

Red trickled down her finger. It took her a moment to move the fabric away from the dripping blood source but managed to before it stained. It had been years since she had pricked her finger with a needle, but her subconscious must have needed to feel something; even if it was pain.

She looked around at her juvenile pink room. She had moved back into her parents six months after Damian’s death. Three months into her stay and she still had most of her belongings in boxes. The only decorations in the room were scattered commissions and a wooden blanket.

Looking down at the puddle of blood that was growing on her white desk she wonders if Damian bled before the fire cauterised his wounds. She had researched that burning to death was one of the most painful ways to die, it takes hours, each nerve ending burning. The burn victim usually passes out after a few minutes but she could imagine Damian desperately trying to put himself out, only to find more fire encompassing him.

His cape was bloody so she hopes he bled rather than burned. Or maybe he was crushed by the falling roof and killed instantly. She hoped he didn’t suffer for long.

Similar intrusive thoughts plagued her mind constantly but she kept her focus on her art to push through the days. Gazing down at the wound she found Tikki had held her and Wayzz had wiped the puddle with tissues.

Today she’ll live for them. Tomorrow she might live to try her father’s new recipe of cinnamon macarons. Last Tuesday she lived to hear Luka’s new song. Next month she might live just to pat the stray kitten that lives in the alley behind the Chinese restaurant two streets over.

++++++++++

Five hundred and twenty days after

She froze at the sight before her. Thinking it was another hallucination or she was having another nightmare. “You thought,” The glass in her hand cracked under her grip. Her brain couldn’t process what was happening. She hasn’t disassociated this much since the day he ‘died’.” That by faking your death, you could find out who you could rely on?”

“TT, yes. Now that I know everything can go back to the way it was.” She swigged her glass again, wishing it were whiskey instead of water. When they had met, Jon and his family had warned her that he was severely emotional constipated from his upbringing but this was in the psychopathic area of emotionless.

“No.”

“What?” His shock almost seems real. His eyes had widened and his body language was unsteady.

“No, we aren’t done talking about this! How ignorant do you have to be to think this won’t affect our relationship? Won’t affect me?”

“It wasn’t real. I’m here.” He stepped forward, arms rising to hug her. He never was one for physical contact. She pulled back, grabbing a steak knife and placing it between them. He told her he had set the place aflame. He found the lead for the trafficking ring. He planned it all. And now he was back, almost a year and a half later.

“That doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt! I’m going to have nightmares for the rest of my life! How selfish, how, how stupid do you have to be to not consider what it does to someone who cared about you?!”

“Cared?”

“Do I need to spell it out? We’re done. I don’t want to see you ever again,” She seethed. “You think everything can go back to how it was before? Well, it can’t. I spent months of my life mourning over a guy who wasn’t even dead. Who didn’t even care about me enough not to toy with my emotions. My life isn’t a game Damian!”

“I only did this because I thought—”

“I don’t care. Get out. Out of my house. Out of my life. Just get out.”

“I didn’t intend to hurt you, I just wanted to know.” Hot, rage-filled tears ran down her cheeks. She jabbed the knife at him, stopping inches before his chest. She had backed him down the stair and to the front door. Neither of her parents were home and he was more unpredictable than ever.

“I hope you can live with what you’ve done, le miel”

[awhitehead17]

Batfam Alphabet: K - Kryptonian’s

Summary: After noticing how everyone is busy meeting up with someone who is either a Kryptonian or even a Kent that day, Dick notices how he’s the only one in the family that doesn’t have a Kryptonian partner.

Enjoy! :D

“C’mon Damian, let’s go! We’re going to be late!”

Dick pauses from where he’s walking through the foyer and looks up to find Tim shouting for their younger brother as he hurries down the stairs. When he reaches the bottom the teenager rushes to the door and throws it open and impatiently waits in the doorway as he checks his watch every few seconds.

Raising an eyebrow, Dick glances at the top of the stairs but doesn’t find any sign of Damian. He turns back to Tim. “What’s the rush?”

Tim blinks and stares at him for a moment like he’s just noticing Dick’s presence for the first time. With his eyes flicking to and fro Tim huffs in annoyance and taps his foot restlessly. “We’re meeting Conner and Jon at Amusement Mile but we’re running late because a certain someone can’t apparently keep track of the time!”

Dick frowns, suddenly feeling concerned for his brothers’ safety. “Is going there a wise idea?”

With a wave of his hand Tim dismisses his concern. “It’ll be fine. At the end of the day we’re all trained and it’s only a phone call away if anything does happen. Kon and Jon are there so if we do need an emergency evac we can get out of there quickly.”

Before Dick could respond a new voice joins the conversation.

“We have plenty of time Drake, don’t be so impatient.”

Both Dick and Tim look up to find Damian now descending down the stairs at a leisurely pace, obviously not in such a hurry as Tim is. Dick wonders if Damian is doing it purposely to annoy Tim or because they do have a lot of time to spare and Tim is just being overly-cautious.

“There’s nothing wrong with being a little early or even on time brat.” Tim snaps at him, glaring as Damian reaches the bottom of the staircase. “Now come on, we’re wasting time.”

Without even so much a goodbye Tim spins around and hurries out the door once Damian approaches. Damian tuts but follows behind Tim saying “Bye Grayson” as he passes Dick on the way out of the door.

It takes Dick a moment to react, his mind catching up with the fact that Damian and Tim are hanging out together, seemingly willingly with one other. He blinks and shouts after them, “don’t kill one another! Stay safe and remember to call if anything happens!”

Neither brother responds to him but Dick rationalises he’s done what he could, if something happens between them he is not to blame. Maybe he should message Conner to ask him to check in and to make sure they behave. The Kryptonian brothers get along unlike Tim and Damian so his caution is reasonable as them two together is certainly a questionable matter. In the end he decides against it, instead choosing to wait and see what the end result of the day looks like.

Eventually he shuts the front door and continues on his way with what he had been doing before the sudden distraction.

------

Dick’s route through the foyer is interrupted again not even an hour later, only this time because of the group of girls gathered there. Dick stops and stares at the scene unsure on how to proceed, should he make his way through them or go around them?

Steph, Cass, Barbara and even Kara are grouped together giggling about something. Seeing three of them together is rather normal but he is surprised to see Kara around.

Before Dick could decide on what action to take he’s spotted by Steph. The blonde waves enthusiastically at him. “Hey Dick! How are things? Don’t mind us we’re moving to the media room now.”

The other girls turn and face him. Cass and Kara give him a smile and a small wave in greeting while Barbara shoots him a bland look. He wouldn’t expect anything else from her.

As Dick is about to move he’s stopped short by Kara addressing him. She points up to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. “Dick, is it true that you used to often climb up there and hang from it?”

Dick glances up and his mind is suddenly ambushed with fond memories of when he was a kid and used to do acrobatics from said chandelier. Alfred used to give him hell for it, particularly after he accidently broke one when he got a bit too bold trying a new move.

He smiles and looks back at Kara nodding. “Yeah, that’s true. More often than you would think believe it or not. I did it less frequently as I got older though.”

Kara snorts with amusement. “I can totally see Jon doing something like that, rao, even Conner would try something like that.”

“Considering who they’re friends with, that doesn’t surprise me.” Steph comments laughing. “Well lets get to it! See you later Dick!”

Steph takes off down the corridor towards the media room with a bounce in her step. Kara sends him one more smile and follows her, Cass comes up to him and stands on her tip toes to place a kiss on his cheek before following them and finally Barbara sends him a wistful smile before trailing behind the girls, clearly also remembering what he used to be like back then.

Once they disappear from view it takes Dick a moment to move, his mind thinking about what just happened. He didn’t even realise they were friends with Kara. He doesn’t even know how they know each other, then again he doesn’t follow every move the girls make, they’ve probably had cases that have crossed over a time or two. Shaking his head he lets it go and continues on with his day.

----

When Dick bumps into Bruce in the kitchen later on that day he feels like there’s a pattern forming.

He’s sat at the kitchen island minding his own business as he eats his lunch and mindlessly going through Facebook, Alfred is pottering about also minding his own business, when Bruce rushes in looking a little frazzled.

Dick watches mollified as Bruce darts about the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards left right and centre clearly looking for something which he doesn’t find straight away. As soon as he came in, Alfred simply stood to the side and allowed Bruce to freely search the place patiently waiting for the inevitable to happen.

After searching every cupboard and draw available Bruce turns to Alfred and before the man could say anything Alfred simply holds out his hand revealing a travel mug. Bruce suddenly looks so relieved and gratefully takes the mug out of the butler’s hand with a breathless “thank you”.

“You are a saint Alfred, there’s no way I’m going to be able to cope today without this.” Bruce determines already taking a sip of the mug’s contents.

Dick blinks, completely lost to what’s happening, especially when all Alfred does is nod as he had been expecting that reaction the entire time.

“What is going on?” He blurts out without meaning too. The two men turn and face him, Alfred looking passive and Bruce looking surprised at his presence. Has Dick become invisible or something? That’s the same reaction Tim had that morning in the foyer.

“Oh, afternoon Dick, I completely missed you sat there.” Bruce says looking a little sheepish, a look that isn’t common on the man though Dick’s seen it more than enough times at this point in his life. “I have a meeting with Clark and the rest of the League members. I’m running a bit behind schedule but not enough to not grab my coffee before heading off. I won’t be back until late, don’t wait for me before going out tonight.”

With that statement Bruce leaves the kitchen with the travel mug clutched tightly in his hands. Dick shoots Alfred a surprised look but the elderly man has already turned around and continued with his task.

Sighing Dick turns his attention back on his half eaten lunch and goes back to scrolling through his Facebook newsfeed. Quickly getting bored of it, he places his phone down and strikes up a conversation with Alfred, the man appears more than happy to converse with him as he works.

After a while Alfred breaks their conversation, sending Dick an apologetic look. “I’m sorry Master Dick but I’m going to have to excuse myself. I have a scheduled phone call to make in a few moments.”

Dick stares, caught off guard by the reason. “What? Who with?” After he says it he realises how bad and how patronizing it sounds. He immediately winces and apologises.

Alfred merely looks amused at his behaviour, thankfully not taking any offense to it. “If you have to know Master Dick, I have a call with Mrs Martha Kent. We’re going to be comparing recipes and giving some recommendations.”

“Okay…”

Alfred leaves the kitchen then, leaving Dick all by himself in the room as his mind reels back over the last hour or so to what’s happened. Is everyone busy today or something?

Finally finishing his lunch, Dick clears his mess up and wanders out of the kitchen trying to decide what to do for the rest of the day.

-----

The next thing to happen which adds to the odd feeling he’s been having throughout the day is when he bumps into Selina in the corridor of the bedrooms wing. He’s heading towards his own room when he notices Selina strutting her way towards him.

His eyes widen as he takes in her outfit. She’s wearing a low cut black blouse paired off with tight leather pants and high heels. She’s wearing a golden necklace with matching bracelets on her wrists and her face done up with perfect looking make-up. The shadowing around her eyes make them stand out along with the boldness of her lipstick which helps define her facial features.

Dick stops in his tracks and watches as she approaches. When she’s close enough she stops and sends him a smile.

“Hot date?” Dick asks with a grin. He can’t help but be curious on why she’s dressed up like that. Bruce isn’t around and there’s no party that he’s aware of happening. Unless she plans on crashing the meeting Bruce happens to be in, it certainly wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened…

Her smiles turns more devious, “Not quite birdie,” she drawls out. She places her hands on her hips and cocks them to one side. “I’m meeting with Lois Lane. There’s a certain… get together we’re attending and I tend to make a statement.”

Dick’s eyes widen in surprise, he hadn’t been expecting that. He knows that Selina and Lois know one another, he’s seen them interact with each other enough times at gala’s both Bruce and Clark have attended too but he didn’t know they were that close.

After a couple beats he sends her an easy smile. “Well, I’m certain you’re going to make a statement alright.”

“Thank you kitten,” she replies patting his cheek softly, “now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get going.” She saunters past him, continuing down the hallway clearly ready to kick some ass. Selina is the personification of the saying ‘looks can be deceiving’.

“Have fun!” Dick calls out to her retreating form.

As he enters his room Dick is struck by a thought that even Selina is busy that day. It’s really starting to appear that he's the only one without any plans or even someone to meet up with. It suddenly makes him feel lonely, it’s an irrational feeling but he couldn’t help feel it temporarily, maybe it’s jealously of his family all currently hanging out with someone or each other. It’ll soon pass when everyone is back home and skulking around looking for stuff to do out of boredom.

----

Half an hour later and Dick knows he's had enough. It seems like the last straw has been drawn and how the universe has decided to rub salt into the wound.

Dick’s not even out of his bedroom doorway before he’s stopping short at the sight of two beings walking past him. He blinks and looks down the hallway with furrowed eyebrows and seconds later it registers who he’s seeing.

“Jason?”

His brother stops in the middle of the hallway and turns around to face him. He looks surprised for a moment before his expression goes back to neutral. “Oh, hey Dick.”

“What are you doing?” He questions his brother, his gaze slipping to Jason’s companion. Bizarro stands next to Jason, his eyes drifting between the two of them as he watches them interact with a frown.

Jason jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “We’re heading out now as we’re about to meet Artemis.”

Dick runs a hand over his face taking in the new information. “How long has Bizarro been here?”

His brother sends him perplexed look. “Uh, like all day? Did you not know that?”

“No. No I didn’t.”

“Oh,” Jason shrugs, not bothered by his answer, “well whatever. As I said we’re heading out now, so see ya! Say bye bye, Bizarro.”

“Bye bye.” Bizarro calls out to him with a wave of his hand.

Dick half heartedly waves back as he watches them disappear down the hallway. Once they were gone Dick slips back into his room and shuts the door behind him, completely forgetting the original reason why he had been leaving in the first place.

He goes over to his bed and flops down on it with a heavy sigh. Jason, even Jason, is busy and has company. How is it only him who isn’t doing anything? Usually it’s the other way around, where he’s always trying to find time in his schedule to meet up with his friends, family or to have some time for himself.

Burying his face into his pillow he sighs dejectedly, feeling sorry for himself. Dick frowns, maybe that’s not the right term, would jealously be more accurate or maybe loneliness is better suited. Whatever the word is for what he’s feeling, he knows it’s pretty much unwarranted. He should be happy that all of his siblings and extended family are out being sociable, they all have hectic and unpredictable lives, taking any free time a person has to spend it with those they care about is worth it.

Dick shouldn’t be annoyed with his family because he’s the one currently holed up in his bedroom sulking because he doesn’t have anyone to be with. It’s not their fault.

Something else he notices is how everyone seems to have their own Kryptonian, or by extension a Kent.

There's Bruce and Clark, though Bruce will deny their friendship at every opportunity. Tim and Conner, who are best friends (maybe more, Dick’s not quite sure). Damian and Jon, as much as the former is reluctant to admit how much he cares for the younger. Steph, Cass, Barbara and Kara who are all apparently friends. Selina and Lois. Alfred and Mrs Kent. Jason and Bizarro.

He’s the only one without a Kryptonian partner. While he’s worked with Clark a few times and has connected with him, after all Clark’s the one who inspired him to become Nightwing, it’s not the same thing.

After spewing in his thoughts for a while, Dick comes to a conclusion that sleep sounds like the best option right now. If he sleeps then he’s not thinking, and as a bonus at the same time his body is resting and extra rest never hurts anyone.

He shifts on his mattress, getting into a more comfortable position to sleep in, and buries his head further into his pillow. Closing his eyes he tries to force his body into unconsciousness. His eyes snap open only seconds later when his phone pings from it’s place on his bedside table.

Stuck between being excited for a message and dreading it, Dick reaches out and grabs the device. Rolling over onto his back he lifts his phone up in front of his face and reads the notification. Seeing who the message is from, a wide grin stretches across Dick’s face and any dread he had been feeling instantly disappears. It seems like the universe has finally decided to side with him (or that it’s had enough of him moping) because it’s a message from his long time old friend Wally West.

‘Hey man it’s been waaaayyyyyy too long. Are you free to hang out any time soon – we need to catch up bro.’

Dick agrees with the message, it has been too long since they last saw one another. From what Dick heard last is how Wally’s been busy helping out in Central City, his relationship with Linda is progressing smoothly, he’s been helping to train his cousin and how he’s been away on a mission with Jay. Dick had thought Wally was still away, hence why he hadn’t contacted him but obviously he’s wrong about that.

Dick types out a reply to his friend, feeling eager and excited to meet up. ‘I’m free right now if you are. C’mon over to the Manor when you can?’

It takes a few moments for Wally to respond. ‘Absolutely. Though will Bats have my ass if I just show up?’

Dick snorts, of all the things to be concerned about… ‘No. You’re fine. B’s in a meeting.’

‘Okay! I’ll be there in a flash ;D’

It’s stupid but Dick couldn’t help chuckle at the poor joke. No doubts on how Wally’s picked up that behaviour from Barry.

Feeling jittery, Dick rolls off his bed and begins making his way downstairs so he could greet Wally by the door. He doesn’t know what they’ll do other than talk to catch up and possibly raid the kitchen at the same time. Dick doesn’t mind what they do, at least he finally has someone to hang out with!

Just as Dick reaches the bottom of the stairs in the foyer, the doorbell rings alerting him of Wally’s arrival. Dick grins as he approaches the door and it only gets wider when he opens it to reveal his best friend standing there on the front porch.

“Wal-man! How’s it going dude!” He exclaims stepping towards the speedster.

Wally’s gaze snaps to him and an identical grin appears on his face. “Dick, it’s so good to see you man!”

They come together and embrace tightly with a few firm pats on the back. They part after a few beats and then take a moment to observe one another. Dick is pleased to find Wally appearing the same as he did when he last saw him, looking happy and healthy.

“So…” Wally trails off when the silence gets drawn out for too long.

“So.” Dick repeats promptly. Getting himself together, he continues to grin and throws an arm around his friend’s shoulders, using that leverage he guides Wally into the house. “We have a lot to catch up on.”

Wally’s own arm wraps around Dick’s back as they pass through the foyer. “That we do. I can’t even remember when the last time I saw you was.”

With his free hand Dick waves the comment away. “Doesn’t matter, we’re here now. Shall we grab some food and go to my room? I would suggest the media room but the girls are currently inhabiting it, have been all day, alternatively we could go to the conservatory or even outside since it’s dry and warm.”

Wally hums for a moment before answering. “Food is a definite must, you know me – hey has Alfred cooked recently, any chance we could steal some leftovers? And your room sounds fine, at least there’ll be less chance of us being disturbed by one of your millions of siblings.”

Dick rolls his eyes at the comment though he carries on smiling, some days it really does feel like he has a million. Will Bruce ever learn the meaning of ‘no more’?

“I have no idea what Alfred has in the kitchen so we shall see when we get there.” Dick says smiling.

The two of them fall into an easy stream of chatter as they begin catching up with what’s going on in their lives.

As they chat Dick thinks to himself, why was he so bothered that his family members all have their own Kryptonian when he has his own speedster? A couple of them also have a speedster but not everyone so Dick can hold onto this, at least that’s what he’s rationalising to himself. Thinking back on it, Dick realises that it’s stupid, why should he be concerned about it at all? He's now with his best friend, that’s what matters and that’s exactly what he's going to focus on.

[imaginationjunkie]

Say the word

Jason Todd x Reader

It’s kinda heartwarming

I tried to control my fast breaths, lifting my head from the crook of Jason’s neck to give him a lazy kiss. Deliriousness coursed through our veins, minds hazy from the aftermath bliss of an intimate climax.

Being apart for weeks for his mission and my conference clearly had one gigantic perk- the mad intense I-missed-you-so-fucking-much sex.

It doesn’t matter if it was the first or the thousandth time, the feeling of his body against mine never failed to weaken my limbs to mush and warm my heart, like it’s soup being heated up on a stove.

A smile split my lips as I tried lifting my naked body up from his chest, and failing. The thick, muscular arms that were tightly wrapped around my waist stopped me from doing so. It made me smile wider and lean down to put my lips on Jason’s.

“You know you’re gonna have to stop doing that right?” I murmured, running my fingers through his dark raven locks. A chaste kiss was placed on my cheek by his smirking lips.

“Hmm? Doing what?”

I leaned down so that our bare chests pressed against each other, lips hovering over his. My whisper was naughty as I answered him.

“Why should I? We both seem to like it so very much,” Jason nuzzled his nose against mine with a mischievous smirk.

“Because if by any chance I get preggers before marriage, my parents will chase you to the ends of the earth and decapitate the crap out of you,” I whispered jokingly, but meant every word. “And then after they’re done with you, they’ll feed me to the demons.”

My ever-so-daring boyfriend’s reply was to lowly chuckle and simply kiss my shoulder. 

Affection came naturally to us now, especially since Jason had been touch starved practically since birth. The first few months of our relationship, I had to have a mental debate every time before touching him; how far I should go with the cuddling, to hold his hand or not, put my legs on his body while cuddling or not...

Unlike his brother Dick, who much to Jason’s irritation loved pulling me into a tight hug every time we met, Jason just wasn’t the affectionate type.

After a few months, I understood how badly he needed to be touched- to be loved, to be comforted. When he got the message that it’s okay to hold me as much as he wants, that there’s finally someone he can lose himself in, someone he can love, he found a way to touch me every spare moment we spent together. Kissing my neck, nuzzling his nose, holding my hips, putting his large hand on the small of my back or around my waist, constantly lifting me onto his lap- the list’s never ending.

“I’m serious, a child out of wedlock is beyond just a sinful taboo in my family,” I booped his nose, leaning my forearms on his chest to hold my upper body up.

Jason pretended to be lost in thought for a while before suddenly rolling our bodies over to our sides, the ridges and sinewy muscles of his defined chest flush against my back. He tucked the messy portion of my hair out of the way before kissing from my neck up to the back of my ear. 

“Well since marriage is out of the question, I’ve no option than to not make my pull out game weak,” his tongue darted out to lick my ear teasingly.

Ignoring the pang that hit my heart at his statement about marriage, I turned to swat his chest teasingly. My lips were unable to hold back a grin at his reference to WAP .

“What? You’re the one who keeps dancing to it every morning,” Jason grinned back at me.

“It’s 4 am, we should sleep,” I shook my head at him, turning to face forward again. Jason and my shared bedroom turned dark as he flicked the dim bedside lamp off, making the glow of moonlight our only source of light.

The warmth from having his arms encased around me brought a serene feeling, making me think about how impossible it’d be to live without Jason Todd. 

“I love you,” he murmured against my neck.

My eyes closed shut, senses overwhelmed with the depth of my feelings.

“I love you,” I whispered back.

I had an amazing life- loving and supporting, albeit sometimes overbearing, parents, a great job, a pretty apartment, and a man I’m certain I’d love and be loved by for the rest of my life. For the entirety of my existence, I’ve had the one thing Jason never did- stability. 

But when it’s meant to be, it’ll always be. 

God, fate or whatever higher force is up there looking over us made sure to let our souls find each other. Cherish each other. 

I knew Jason’s views on marriage and children. It was hard enough for him to indulge himself with something as normal as a committed relationship, that too for two and a half years; but it’d actually be impossible for him to be a husband, a father. He didn’t have a basic job in the least, and thus didn’t think tying the knot and being a family man would be suitable for him. 

Ever since I was a little girl, one of the things I’ve wanted greatly was to be married to the man I loved someday. But for Jason I could give it up. I could give up the hopes of having a ring on my finger and a baby on my belly, because he means more to me than anything ever will.

¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡ ¡

*2 months later, New Year’s eve night at the Wayne Manor backyard*

“Damian, those aren’t fireworks, they’re explosives!”

At my alarmed exclaim, Dick quickly snatched the big box from his younger brother’s hands, waddling his finger as if to say ‘no no’.

“They’re fireworks,”  Jason assured from behind. “The kid and I labelled it explosives so Dick doesn’t steal it,”

Dick’s face scrunched up in confusion, “”Why would I steal your fireworks? I’ve better things to do for fu-”

“Miss, the barbecue is ready. Would you like to add the last bit of sauce on top?” The always-polite and everyone’s favorite Alfred smartly interrupted Dick from saying the curse word.

Every time I practically forced my boyfriend, his brothers and father into having a family night, Alfred let me help with the food; and since I suck beyond words at cooking, he always gave me the easy tasks to do.

Now if you’re thinking that prevented me from considering myself as the world’s second Martha Stewart, you’re wrong.

I clapped my hands together in delight, “I’d love to!”

“No she wouldn’t,” Jason, Dick and Tim said at the same time.

I turned to them, perplexed at their concurrent interference. 

Taking note of the unusual shiftiness in the boys’ stances, I raised a brow- “And why is that?”

Out of the three suspicious-looking brothers, Dick replied- “Because there’s only 20 minutes till midnight and you have to help us set the fireworks off!”

Now both my eyebrows rose, and I crossed my arms against my chest.

“So you’re telling me,” I said in slow amusement, dragging the words sarcastically. “That three of the strongest night vigilantes of Gotham, one being a violent nutcase once,” a look was thrown in Jason’s direction, “Needs an ordinary girl to set off fireworks?”

This time Tim responded, “Well you see, we’ve never set them off. None of us has ever had the chance to have a normal new years with fireworks and a countdown,”

“Really?” I deadpanned, voice turning into a shrill by the end of the question, “So have I been planning and working my ass off every new year’s for the past three years to make robots happy?”

Tim realized his mistake, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head before trying to redeem himself. “But we’ve never had a family new years, y’know, with the barbecue and fireworks,”

“Also, you’re nowhere near ordinary,” Jason added in a low voice as he came to stand behind me and kissed my temple. I rolled my eyes at the cheesiness, wrapping an arm around the middle of both the boys’ backs.

Right then Damian piped in, surprising everyone. “Plus you’re not a girl, you’re a woman,” he emphasized on the last word, making Jason scoff with a smirk and everyone else laugh.

It didn’t take long for me to grow on Damian, making him accept and like me. From what I heard from his brothers and Alfred, he didn’t like most people and never went easy on newcomers. I was especially concerned about getting Jason’s family to like me, since he didn’t have much of a good relationship with them and I wanted to change that. In the end everyone ended up accepting me; and gradually even treating me as one of their own. Dick and I were practically best friends.

Despite what he used to say, I knew Jason loved them all like they were his own blood; so I knew that it meant a great deal to him to rekindle his relationships with them.

Bruce Wayne’s voice spoke for the first time that evening, “Good evening, my apologies for the delay,”

An awkward silence took over our so-far cozy night. All of the boys looked other directions, not acknowledging their dad who never bothered to show up to any family days on time. I tried my best to knit the boys together, help them get close and create a bond; and saying that I succeeded wouldn’t be a lie. But the fact that Bruce couldn’t even take one day off from his billionaire/ vigilante duties sort of upset me every time.

Jason scoffed, his mouth opening to say something undoubtedly snarky to his father. But before he had the chance to I stepped on his shoe and gripped his hand tightly, silencing him.

“It’s okay Bruce, at least you made it,” I smiled.

The excruciatingly tense atmosphere was cracked by Dick, “I still need help with the fireworks, anyone up for it?”

“I’ll come!” I was quick to squeak and walk towards him.

“Me too,” Damian grumbled, following me.

Tim was the last one. “Yeah, me as well.”

“Great, so you guys do the fireworks and Jaybird and I will be right back!” Dick clapped his hands together in perky delight, pushing Jason’s back forward as they walked into the manor. From the distance, I saw Jason shrug Dick’s hand off before glaring at him. Again, confusion filled me at their strange behavior tonight.

“What was that about?” I asked Tim.

He smiled, “Nothing, probably just vigilante stuff.”

As the minutes passed by, the new year came nearer and nearer. The three of us successfully managed to set off the first batch of fireworks, looking up at the sky and laughing freely. Even Bruce had a small smile as he took a sip of his drink, looking up and the lit up sky with a hand in his pocket.

When it was about 10 minutes to the clock ticking 12:00 am, worry started to cloud the excitement I was feeling; but Tim and Damian were quick to distract it.

“Now can we do the grand purple one?” Damian gave me a rare pleading look.

“Yeah we can, but where’re Jason and Dick? They’re gonna miss new year’s,” I voiced my concern. 

Right then, my phone started ringing. 

Incoming video call from mom.

I answered, knowing that my parents were calling to say Happy New Year like they did every year. What rendered me surprised after receiving the call was that almost my entire family was on the frame of my mom’ video- two of my aunts, uncles and all the cousins I’m close to. Which are a lot.

I’m a family person, if you couldn’t tell already.

“Hi baby!” My mom grinned.

I grinned back, glee taking over the initial confusion.“Hey y’all! Are you having a New Years party without me?”

One of my younger cousins replied, “Sort of, now show us!”

My brows furrowed, “Show you what?”

A string of ‘oh shit’s sounded from mom’s side, further increasing my confusion.

Out of the blue, Dick intervened from behind me, “The fireworks of course!”

A sudden bang! took us all by surprise, and I looked up to see the huge purple fireworks lighting the dark canvas of the sky up. A wide grin split my lips, along with all the other boys as they whooped at the different shades of purple. It happened to be my favorite color. 

I felt the familiar warmth of Jason’s body against my back before hearing or seeing him. The digital clock on the top corner of my phone read 11:55 pm. Not being able to contain my excitement, I subconsciously shoved my phone to Tim, who was beside me, while my family was still on video. I raised a hand to point at the sky.

“Jay look, it’s all so purple!”

And then something happened. Something I wouldn’t even dream of imagining.

Jason’s larger hand rose to the level of mine, which was still pointing up at the sky. He spread my fingers out so that my hand was displayed open. I turned to look at my boyfriend, not quite understanding his intentions.

His eyes were trained on mine, a golden and purple reflection from the fireworks and balcony lights visible on the glossy blue orbs. 

Our eyes stayed on each other’s as I felt something cold graze the top of my ring finger.

In the background I heard Dick harshly whisper, “Tim, the song!”

I wasn’t dumb. I knew what my boyfriend was holding on top of that finger.

Jason’s lips were an inch away from my ear as he spoke clearly, not a hint of hesitation in his voice, “Just say the word, and I’ll put a ring on you.” 

I couldn’t even look at it as I tried to get over the giant bucket of emotions that was thrown over me. Shock, flabbergast, sheer happiness, disbelief, excitement, a rush of adrenaline. My heart threatened to beat the crap out of my chest.

“Jason,” I whispered, my eyes fluttering shut as he put his chin on my shoulder, inches from mine. “What. Are. You. Doing??”

He bit his lip, smiling before cryptically answering. “I love you.”

“I thought you didn’t want to get married?” I questioned again. “Do you think I’m pregnant? Are you doing this cause-?” my voice was breathy.

Jason smirked, his unoccupied arm going round me from behind to rest on the other side of my waist. “No baby, I don’t. The twenty something negative pregnancy sticks on the bathroom trash sort of made it clear that you aren’t pregnant.”

I couldn’t hold back my own grin from his teasing. For the first time, I turned my head to look at our hands. The sky was phenomenal in the background of them, a swirl of blue, red and purple as Damian and Dick continued setting the fireworks off. Tim was holding my phone up to where Jason and I were standing, undoubtedly showing the scene to my family. Now I knew why they were all gathered together to call me.

“You asked my parents?”

Jay rubbed his nose on my cheek, his smart-assery coming to action as he quoted my words from that night two months ago- “Of course, wouldn’t wanna be chased to the end of the earth and be decapitated the crap out of now, would I?”

The boys all had blinding bright and hopeful grins on their faces; even Damian! Alfred’s expression could only be described with one adjective- delight, and Bruce had an odd smile as he saw the straight-out-of-a-movie scene unfold.

I turned my head to the side to look at Jason again, grin faltering to a small smile.

This time nervousness coated his expression and words as he asked once again, “Will you marry me?“

I heard my mom speak through the phone, “Oh come on, stop torturing the poor boy! Answer already!“

Taking a deep breath, I leaned my head even closer to Jason’s. His blue eyes pierced into mine with their intensity, and my lips touched his as I said the word softly. 

“Yes.”

[bluegarners]

dick + jaw wired shut ???

hiii anon!! sorry this took awhile to get out there, but here it is! ao3

Jaw Wired Shut

It happens quickly. A bit too quickly, really. One could say it happens in a flash, but neither Wally nor Barry are really here to appreciate that, so it just happens quickly.

He’s on his bike, a slightly older model of the same one Robin rides, just larger and more loved (well-used is another kind term, but he really means beat-up), and they’re both reaching speeds upwards of seventy miles per hour. One hundred and twelve kilometres if he’s using the correct measurements, but no one really cares. Either way, the point is that they’re going fast and only getting faster as their high-speed chase takes them down long streets filled with trash and night-walkers alike.

Robin is slightly ahead, his smaller bike a bit better at maneuvering around the sharp angles and narrowing roads, and Dick is trying his best not to think about how one pot-hole could spell the end for both of them at the speeds they are currently keeping. Of course, they’re both wearing helmets with more padding than standard (thank you, Bruce), but it does little to reassure him as he keeps one eye on the perpetrators they’re tailing and the hardly fourteen year old boy handling a motor-bike like he’s been at it for a lifelong and fulfilling career as a Nascar driver.

It’s not raining, Gotham in some sort of mid-fall drought, and Batman took the car in the opposite direction to try and cut off the gang before they reached the city limits, so there are small mercies. Very small, but Dick is used to relying on slim chances so it’s fine. Fine, really.

The thing is, though, is that they’re only getting faster. Later, Dick will wonder how in the world the gang managed to fix an engine onto the old van to make it go so fast, and later Dick will shake his fist at the sky for his inattention or his too divided attention, but for the moment, Dick is only pushing his bike to keep pace with Damian’s, and going back and forth between glancing at Robin’s wildly flapping cape and watching for civilians that got in the way.

They’re hardly forty feet from it when the van doors kick open and two men crouch at its opening, shouldering what looks to be a machine gun (holy shit, they weren’t supposed to have that kind of weaponry) and a few hand-guns. Immediately, Dick is calling into the comms with the new development.

“Fall back, they’re armed!”

Robin cooperates, lessening his speed and coming to ride along Dick’s flank.

“Weaponry?” Batman asks.

“Hard to say,” Dick shouts, wind screaming in his own ear. “Definitely a few 9mm and maybe a GPM. They’ve got more than a few rounds in there too.”

“Copy. Stay back. Do not engage and keep distance. I’m closing in on them. Keep civilians out of the way.”

“Like we weren’t just doing that,” Robin mutters, the feedback in the comms a glimmer of humor despite the intense situation.

“Got it, B,” Dick responds, a grin marring his serious tone.

He’s hardly got the words out before the first lash of bullets is hitting the rough pavement, metal clashing against stiff cement and slightly more malleable cars. They’re lucky that these thugs just seem to want to put more distance between themselves and the vigilantes because the bullets are only hitting the path in front of their bikes. Still, the ricochet is violent, metal casings bouncing up and pelting anything even remotely close, and it pushes Nightwing and Robin back further. It’s the middle of the night, somewhere close to three a.m., so there aren’t too many civilians out, but it’s still Gotham.

It’s just a normal Tuesday for most of them.

“Maneuver five?” Robin asks, swerving to the right as a slurry of bullets hits a sewer covering. “Or seven?”

“Seven,” Dick decides, grimacing a bit as his front wheel wobbles against the pavement. “Push it up to a Scenario B, and,” he adds, taking care to emphasize the stress in his voice, “minimum engagement.”

Robin doesn’t respond, a blow of air into the comms all that Dick gets in reply, before Robin is suddenly speeding up and launching his bike onto the civilian pathways and gliding by store displays and carefully made signs.

A maneuver seven typically involves three people; one to distract, one to enact, and one to take care of whatever other obstacles there are. Seeing as their only backup was about twelve streets away, the plan adjusts to a Scenario B; meaning that now there is only the distractor and enactor. Being the distraction is more dangerous in this scenario as there is no one to ensure that they aren’t instantly put into a direct line of fire, so that role is automatically deferred to either the older or the more experienced. Both of those apply to Dick, so he takes it upon himself to do his best to keep the attention of the machine gun and 9mm on himself while Damian builds up enough speed to intercept or figure out a way to crash the van itself. Thus, the enactor.

It’s a difficult maneuver but not impossible, and both of them have trained and even done the maneuver a few times. Of course, other variables like speed, location, psychology of the criminals, and the vehicle itself all play major roles in the outcome of maneuver seven, but thinking on one's feet isn’t as difficult to do when it’s either do that or die standing still.

Not as reassuring as it sounds, but it works. Most of the time.

Robin is waiting for the signal to increase his speed, riding parallel to Nightwing’s bike, and Dick fishes for a wingding out of one compartment. He snaps it open, sharp metal edges clicking into place, and with a slight head-tilt, both Robin and the wingding are flying towards the speeding van.

Dick’s accuracy hasn’t failed him in years, and the (essentially) metal boomerang collides against one of the legs supporting what he thinks is a modified GPM. He slings another one, flicking his wrist in a motion that guarantees a slight curve, and a second wingding buries itself into the lower bumper of the van. This one is different though as Dick presses down on a button and a flash-bang goes off, a miniature flare emitting smoke and blinding the gang members inside. Robin is getting closer, a little further than twenty feet from the van off to the right on a sidewalk, and Dick readies a third wingding when he sees a commotion interrupt the panicked flailing of the men.

Previously, Dick had only counted two men in the rear of the van, both armed, but now a third one appears, wielding another gun and some unknown object in the other. They’ve got a gas mask on, goggles too, and they’re staring right at Dick.

“Third assailant,” he hurries into the comms, reassessing. “Armed.”

“Got it,” Damian grunts in reply, engine revving slightly as he pushes his bike further and rapidly gains pace. “Batman, update?”

“Encountered some civilians. Five blocks away. ETA thirty seconds.”

Okay, good, good, Dick thinks to himself, throwing the wingding still in his hand. It knocks out another leg on the GPM and he hears the shout of surprise. “Robin, what’s it looking like for engagement?” he asks aloud.

He veers to the left suddenly, pops of one-two-three as one of the 9mm sounds off. He curses as a stray casing impacts against his back tire and he wobbles for the second time.

“Preparing to board.”

What? Dick thinks as he turns his attention to Damian, who is slowly inching his feet upwards onto the seat of his bike. It’s a risky choice, one that is never 100%, or even 80% guaranteed to work, and Dick feels his heart leap into his throat as Damian continues to accelerate, all the while getting closer and closer to the speeding van and bunching his legs together.

Trust him, a voice whispers in the back of his head, but Dick can’t help but divide his attention by watching his little brother, and god he looks so small, gather his feet underneath him, one hand still controlling the bike, and jump into the screaming air, aiming for the front windshield.

The impact is going to hurt, Dick knows from experience, but he can’t help but feel that sting of pride as he hears the shock of the gang members, the van swerving momentarily before regaining its momentum.

And this is where things begin happening too quickly. Where things happen in a flash.

A lot is going on at the same time. Robin is clinging to the front of a van filled with armed gang members. Robin’s bike is currently still rolling on the sidewalk, slowly, very slowly, coming to a stop and falling on its side. Batman is hardly one block away, Dick can just barely hear the rumble of the Batmobile’s engine against the wind tearing at his arms, but it’s out of reach. The two gang members are still rubbing magnesium and smoke out of their eyes and the GPM is tilting out the van, the slightest push away from it tumbling into the street. The third member is elbowing past their blinded partners, dropping the gun in their hand and fumbling with whatever was in the other.

All of this is happening at the same time, and all of these requires Dick’s attention, his direct action, but he’s still half-way between his heart seizing as he thinks about bruised ribs beneath Robin’s tunic and trying to correct the unexpected and severe quaking of his back tire. He’s always been good about juggling multiple things at once. Give him an orange, a spoon, a bowl, and a paper weight and he’ll put on a show. Give him a week to commute between the Titans, Gotham, Bludhaven, and three new case files, and he’ll get it done a day early. He’s good about handling multiple things at once, but it’s a maneuver seven, a Scenario B, and Dick is slightly more harried than he normally is with it all.

So the grenade being launched out of the back doors and the GPM crashing and splintering into the pavement, parts of it hurtling at Dick’s bike upwards of eighty miles per hour, goes unnoticed. Dick is distracted and misses it. Misses those precious few milliseconds of time and pays for it.

The sound of the GPM practically exploding on impact is what alerts him, eyes zeroing in on first the metal pieces and then the rounder object that just seems to… float, mid-air, gray-green and twirling and heading straight for him.

It’s all Dick can do but break. Hard. A jolt so severe the handles jut into his sides and he’s practically leaning over the front of his bike, before he’s swiveling around, desperate to put some space between himself and the ensuing explosion. From the distance he’s at, the grenade and shrapnel coming from the GPM, he’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with some charred flesh. Who’s he kidding? He’ll be lucky if he scrapes by with his life.

There’s nowhere to go but back because even though it’s Tuesday and most of the shops are closed, it’s still very much Gotham, and Dick just can’t take the chance of diving behind a car or swerving into a shop window without the risk of injuring innocents. His back wheel, dented and more than likely missing some rubber, squeals against the asphalt as he lurches forward, away from the van, hand coming up to hastily, hopefully, patch into the comms to alert Robin, warn Batman, about the explosive.

It happens too fast though. Too quick. He’s barely got a finger onto the side of his helmet before he feels the heat burning into his back, the shock-wave of sound following closely behind. The force of the detonation brings the rear of his bike shooting up, his body pushed out of the seat and flying, arms outstretched and ears ringing.

He thinks he screams. It certainly feels like something is being ripped from his throat, loud and fearful. It’s a distant thought though because even though his arms are spread out before him, his head slams into the ground first, the smack comparatively silent against the roar of everything and nothing in his ears.

He’s not too sure what happens immediately after. Dick thinks he might’ve passed out, lost consciousness as he (presumably) rolled and rolled and scraped his body against asphalt and hard Gotham tar before finally coming to a stop.

All he knows is that when he opens his eyes, it is an enormously difficult task.

There’s feedback going off in his ears, a static cling to it that leaves him nauseous. He can’t feel his fingers or his toes, and some part of his brain is screaming at him that that’s not a good thing, but the other part is relieved. Moving is an impossible task and Dick is glad for the shock.

The world is a tinted mess of shadows and yellow shop lights through the visor of his helmet. Half of it is shattered, the enforced glass fractured and in some areas missing altogether. It filters through to his eyes and Dick is tempted to close them, avoid the pulsing brightness that stabs into his brain. He doesn’t though, an ingrained piece of him knowing that to close his eyes would mean to possibly lose the battle and Dick’s not willing to give in just yet.

There are other noises in the background, piercing and violent, metal screeching against metal, but all Dick can really focus on is the sound his breath makes as his lungs expand and deflate. He can’t decide if he’s breathing through his nose or through his mouth, erratic and chattering throughout his helmet. He doesn’t think breathing is supposed to sound like that, echoey and clunky, but he takes what he can get.

There’s also something against his lip. A few somethings. Small and smooth, and there’s a few just sitting in his mouth. His tongue tastes like iron, like he’s been eating nothing but metal for the past few days, and the sensation of it alone makes Dick want to vomit. He tries that, throat working and muscles in his cheek convulsing, but the immediate pain, the prompt resistance, stops him. Again, he’s not sure how, but he doesn’t vomit even though he badly wants to. Instead, he just lays there, allowing his body to take over the reflex of breathing, and trying his best not to succumb to what he’s sure is a comforting darkness.

His right arm is squashed under the weight of his body, a distant part of him acknowledging that it’s probably been dislocated, but he has no energy to move himself to lay on his back. There are a thousand protocols running through his head, ones he’s known for years and could probably recite backwards if need be, so he knows instinctively that laying on his back or moving from whatever position he’s managed to crash into might mean further damaging his spine. His neck. Not that he’d notice the difference if he were to, the shock from his propulsion slowly ebbing away to the point where awareness of his own predicament is poking at his brain.

For now, though, he just lays there and breathes, maybe even bleeds as well, and tries to fight against the urge to scream and vomit. The pain is getting worse, throbbing and burning at his jaw, his cheek, his entire face. He hopes the helmet has done its job and prevented something worse than a concussion.

Suddenly, there’s movement in his peripherals and Dick spots green boots and black laces.

Robin. Damian.

He’s okay. He made it out. Alive.

Dick finds himself sagging a bit at the relief of that. It had only been a barely second thought to, ‘Oh shit, that’s a grenade,’ but the worry for his little brother’s safety had definitely been pounding away in the background. Now that he can more or less see for himself that his littlest brother is unharmed, Dick relaxes enough to the point where he forgets he’s supposed to be making an effort in staying awake. Gray tickles at the edges of his vision, drifting in and out of focus, before a sharp “Nightwing!” snaps him out of it.

Robin is crouched down to his level, elbows digging into the hard tar as his pensive little mask peers through Dick’s broken visor.

“Nightwing, are you awake?” he asks, a fine tremble lurking behind those words.

Dick tries opening his mouth to reply and instantly regrets it, a shout of agony ripped from him instead. Okay, yeah, that’s a broken jaw. A bad one. And… oh god, those are teeth in his mouth. Loose teeth. As in, teeth that are no longer fixed to his skull and are sitting like popcorn kernels on his tongue.

Panic grips him for a moment, the sudden urge to spit out the tiny pieces of not-really- bone violent and driving. His shoulders move, anticipating the reactionary need to pucker his cheeks and convulse his stomach at the same time, but a small yet firm hand pokes at his arm.

“Stay still,” Robin orders, the only sign of alarm being the slightest twitch of his lips. “You’re going to be okay, Nightwing. Batman will be here soon and we will take you back to the Cave.”

Dick wants to nod, signal he understands despite the dread that’s beginning to curl around his chest, but even that tiny movement is sending jolts of fire throughout his jaw and neck. He settles on a low grunt that comes from the depths of his sternum, and the tone vibrates in his teeth. He’s never taken such special notice to the small things before but it’s all he can think about right now. All he can focus on, the feeling of many hard objects just swirling around in his mouth, slicked in his blood and metallic in their taste.

Popcorn.

Something gnawing at the edges of a frenzy poke at Dick’s composure and it is with concerted and severe effort does he scrunch up his left hand and move it back and forth against the road. Damian can only frown at the movement but understanding creeps in as Dick repeats the motion again, visible strain shaking at his arms.

Damage?

“I don’t believe you knowing the extent will do you any good, Nightwing,” Damian answers, chin crumpling the slightest bit. It’s a new tic of his that Dick has picked up on. Damian only does that when he’s stressed. Anxious.

Dick wheezes in reply, fisting his left hand again and moving it against the rough terrain. He taps the ground for emphasis, another dimmed whine involuntarily escaping from his lips as it jerks his shoulder, traveling upwards to his neck. Knowing the extent of his injuries will at least take his mind off of the fact that there are teeth in his mouth. Teeth that aren’t where they are supposed to be. Loose little kernels that taste like flesh on his tongue. Drool sliding down and out of his mouth like he’s some starving animal with a gaping maw. The stench of his own breath and the smells of bodily fluids and blood smearing within the helmet.

He slams his fisted palm into the ground again. It’s more like a plea than it is a request at this point. He’s freaking out and the pain is starting to get to him. Black spots blur in and out of focus and Robin’s green gloves are all he can pay attention to.

“Okay,” Damian relents, one of his hands hovering just outside of the helmet’s visor, “but please. Calm down. Batman will be here soon, Nightwing, but I need you to calm down first. I… cannot touch you or offer comfort, and I am sorry, but please. Stay still.”

Dick hears him, even through the static clouding his head, and relaxes his fist, slumping further into himself. The spots are turning gray and washing over like a film in his eyes.

“Your suit managed to protect much of your backside from the brunt of the explosion,” Damian continues, settling further down into his crouch. His mask is pinched and aching. Dick does not know what to do. “You will have secondary burns, most likely, and a few lacerations from shrapnel. I don’t believe there are any extraneous pieces lodged, however.”

Something clicks, rather clinks, inside of Dick’s mouth and he feels another smooth… piece fall onto his tongue. The urge to swallow, or better yet vomit, persists. The side of his face feels tacky, like half-dried glue is clinging to his lower cheek. A million fire ants pepper his jawline and neck. It burns.

“Visibly, from my stance, there are only a few other injuries, mostly other lacerations.” Damian pauses, his chin scrunching up again. “However, I cannot see your face. I do not know-”

“Robin,” another voice interrupts, deep and controlled. Edging into a degree of certain authority in their small world of chaos.

Dick is still thinking about the clink though, can’t think of much else except the acid seeping into his bones, his entire facial structure, eating away at his skin and every cell he’s ever owned. What little adrenaline that had been keeping the worst of it to a buzz is fading, becoming a roar in his ears and a sickly, numbing ache in the concave of his right cheek. The gray is darkening, bleeding into what small consciousness he has left to interpret what’s going on around him and Dick is left with the cold sensation of undiluted fear in his chest. Icy and coiling.

There’s a long, high-pitched beep from somewhere beyond his vision and he hears the faint but gruff voice that follows it, every second or third word filtering through to his ears.

“...stable… move… secure…. Robin...”

He blinks. The gray turns darker. Knives are digging themselves deeper and deeper into his face, flaying open his skin and grating against bone.

He blinks. His eyelids are sticky. His nose itches. Something is drying on the sides of his lips.

He thinks he might be dying.

He blinks.

The world goes black.

. . .

He’s jolted from the dark to the screeching heat by his ear, and for a moment, Dick is paralyzed with unknown. Not fear of the unknown, but just an unknown.

It’s like there’s a jackhammer going off right next to him, reverberating and shaking his eardrums and brain into mush, and he’s flinching away from it when something prevents him and holds him still.

“Stop,” is what he tries to get out, a mere gurgle of syllables escaping instead as his tongue refuses to leave the dry roof of his mouth. He tastes plastic. Blood. Ash.

The buzzing stops, erratic silence plunges into his head, and he almost wishes for the noise back until he registers the fact that his jaw is no longer rattling and his teeth are no longer quaking where they lay.

Oh god.

His teeth.

His jaw.

The panic sets in immediately, a ferocious awareness that he has no idea where he is or what’s going on climbing on top of the realization that he’s in so much pain that it’s unbearable and ruthless. It hurts. It hurts so much.

“Master Richard?” a voice calls to him, far away and cavernous. “You’re alright. You are in the Cave now. I have to saw off your helmet. Your jaw has been dislocated and that makes removal difficult. Please, do your best to hold still. You’re going to be alright, my boy.”

“Do as he says, Richard,” another voice chimes in, just another noise to echo in his ever shrinking head. “Stay still.”

Dick thinks he recognizes those voices, trusts them enough to try and attempt the task at hand, but when the buzzing resumes and the thundering in his own brain doubles, it proves impossible. It’s as if the Flash himself is summoning the lightning that dances throughout his face: violent, repetitive, and so, so blinding.

There’s another jolt and his mouth yawns open in a terrible impression of a roar and the world goes black again.

. . .

When he wakes up, it's to the feeling of needing to throw up. It’s that same sick-to-his-stomach feeling he got when he was younger, down with a bad case of the flu but not quite knowing it yet and being unable to do anything except lay down with an ice-pack on his face. There’s a faded memory in the very back of his mind of laying on a leather couch, watching cartoons, and then feeling a lurch in the depths of his being that had him practically yelling for a bowl to hurl into.

He doesn’t throw up. His stomach rolls around and the back of his throat is tingling with an impulsive reflex, but there must be nothing left inside of him because nothing comes up.

Opening his eyes is a chore, sticky and weighing a thousand pounds, and when he does, it’s to the cool, dull fluorescence of an overhead light that pokes at his awareness. Its electric flicker reaches his ears, like a fly hanging around his head, and he turns his eyes away from the light to drift around. Next to him is Damian, small and huddled.

There are bandages on his face, butterfly band-aids holding together small cuts that will eventually heal on their own, and greasy patches of skin where ointment has been applied to yellowing bruises. He looks up at Dick’s gaze, stowing away his phone, and frowns carefully. Damian says nothing though and a part of Dick is grateful for it. The world is still a haze, blurry and out-of-focus, and he doesn’t think the pain medication running their course through his veins will let him hold a conversation just yet.

He keeps the silence, keeps his little brother’s gaze, and after a few minutes of staring, he drifts off again, blissfully unaware of anything else.

The throbbing in his face is what wakes him up again. A pounding ache that feels as if someone is repeatedly punching him in the jaw. He reaches up a hand to touch it, the pull of an IV or some other fluid tube in his hand restricting his already sluggish movement, and a different hand comes up to intercept his inspection. Dick turns his direction from the hand to the owner of the appendage, something like a smile tugging at his sore features.

“Glad to see you awake, Master Richard,” Alfred says softly, holding the younger man’s hand in his own. “Before you do anything else, however, there are some things you need to know so you do not… fret… later on. Do you understand?”

Already feeling the dull emotion of anxiousness, Dick nods anyway. He’s tired.

“Good,” Alfred amends warmly, releasing Dick’s hand. “Your jaw has been wired shut,” he continues. “You will have difficulty talking for the time being, but for now, you will not be able to open your mouth at all.”

Now that it’s been pointed out to him, the sudden need to yawn or say something pulls at Dick immensely, practically an instantaneous reflex as his muscles twitch to open his mouth.

“Your jaw was fractured on the right side of your mandible, as well as dislocated,” the old butler continues, not unkindly. “Unfortunately, your face had become so swollen by the time you were brought back to the Cave, your helmet couldn’t be moved without it being cut off of you. Do you remember that?”

Dick nods, somewhat shakily, as the urge to speak pesters him further. He can feel the restraints though, feel his limitations and taste the metal plates and wires in his mouth. On his teeth. Oh god. There are gaps. There are gaps.

“Yes, you woke up as I was cutting away the sides. I am sorry for that, Master Richard. We had thought you would remain unconscious long enough for us to remove your helmet, which, I am unbearably grateful you were wearing. Your injuries would have been considerably… worse had you not been wearing it.”

Dick wants to make some joke or mockery of the lessons ingrained into him about wearing a helmet since he was nine, but the staunch reminder of his limited capabilities leave him mute and horrifyingly silent. He can’t… He can’t even smile properly. It feels wrong. He feels wrong.

“Just as well, the impact that led to your jaw dislocation also popped out your right shoulder. It was put back in without any trouble, it will just feel sore for a spell. You have some minor burns on your shoulders and upper back, and a few lacerations on your arms, but otherwise nothing else.”

Dick wants to ask about his teeth. Wants to ask how many he’s missing, how many are in his mouth, how many are on the side of the road, how long it’ll take to get new ones or be fitted for some replacements, if any of them are salvageable, but he remains quiet. Too afraid to speak. Too afraid to try and find he can’t at all.

He flexes his lower jaw, desperate for the tiniest bit of leeway, but his jaw remains in place. His mouth remains welded shut.

“For the next few weeks, the wires will remain in place and you’ll be given a largely liquid diet. I, or someone else, can help you with that and the cleaning process required to maintain the wires.” Alfred sighs then, reaching up a hand to ghost over Dick’s hair. It lacks the warmth Dick is desperate for. The touch is too light. Too far away. It makes him feel like he’s not truly there. Transparent. “You were tremendously lucky, my boy. Had circumstances been different, I fear we would be having a much different conversation.”

Just as he’s only found himself capable to do, Dick merely nods, crinkling his eyes in what he hopes looks like a light acceptance. Having his jaw wired shut isn’t a first for him. He’s been knocked down enough in his life to have fractured his face more than once, has experience dealing with getting food from a syringe and trying to suck down things he knows would taste better whole rather than in a puree. This isn’t… new.

And yet, something tight is gathering inside of his chest. Something cold and choking, wrapping around his rib-cage, tighter and tighter. Squeezing.

He just nods though, watching as Alfred walks away to get Damian and Bruce, announce to them that the eldest is awake.

And he doesn’t even need to open his mouth to talk coherently. Sure, some of the enunciation might be lost, but he can move his tongue and his lips just fine. He’s fine. It’ll only be a few weeks, and then after the wires and the plates are out, he can be fitted for new teeth. Get the dental work done. Yeah, just a few weeks. No time at all. He’s fine. It’s nothing new. Nothing new.

He’s fine.

Dick hears the quick succession of small feet before he sees Damian enter. There are still butterfly bandages on his face, still sickly bruises on his cheeks, and still a slight pull on his brows. Dick does his best to smile as the boy approaches but his own face still feels like it was rammed with a semi-truck, and he’s yet to look in a mirror or take in his predicament properly, but he’s sure he isn’t a pretty sight to behold.

“Good evening, Richard,” Damian says, stilted and unsure. He hovers, just as he did when Dick was still looking through broken glass.

“H-” is all Dick can get out before he stops, feeling that constriction around his chest further tighten. He tried to open his mouth. He tried to say ‘Hello’ and attempted to open his mouth to do so. He can’t though. He can’t. He can’t do that.

His hand trembles as he raises it to his forehead, pushing outwards in a mock salute. Damian’s brow creases further.

“I see,” is all the boy says, easing into the same chair he had sat in before, leaning forward and steepling his fingers together. “No matter. I imagine you would like a report of everything that has happened since… then.”

Dick just blinks at his younger brother in response, trying his best to breathe around the weight in his lungs. He knows how he’s breathing now. It’s through his nose. How silly of him to think otherwise.

“The grenade used for the gang’s attempted escape was essentially a homemade device. Thus, the explosion resulting from it’s release was not as potent as a military grade grenade would have been. Batman was able to successfully stop the gang’s departure near the same moment the explosion went live. I was not caught in any crossfire,” Damian adds, glancing upwards before settling on his fingers again. “Once the suspects were secured, Batman and I assessed you before taking you back to the Cave. I presume Pennyworth has already briefed you on the extent of your injuries?” Damian’s chin crumples at that, one of his eyebrows twitching in a similar manner.

Dick nods. It’s all he can do. All he can do but breathe. Barely. His chest hurts. He’s not… He’s not getting enough air.

“That’s good,” Damian says, shoulders relaxing a fraction. “It’s been approximately twenty-eight hours since their arrest. There were no other severe casualties than your own. Bat- Father is attending a meeting of some sort. He will be back shortly and will expect a report now that you are coherent enough to give one. Of course, seeing as incapacitated as you are now, it will prove to be difficult for you, so I will see to it that you do not make any mistakes and will help- Richard? Are you alright? Richard?”

Dick stopped listening half-way through Damian’s brief, too focused on getting enough air to his lungs. He can’t remember the last time he had a panic attack so severe, so debilitating, and he knows how to control it, knows how to calm down again, but that involves taking deep, calming breaths, something he is incapable of doing seeing as the easiest way to do that is through the mouth and he can’t fucking open his mouth and he’s not getting enough air-

He can’t suck in oxygen fast enough, each intake of breath through his nose like breathing underwater through a straw; too slow, not enough. His hands are gripping the sides of his cot in an effort to strain himself further, lungs working overtime as he inhales and exhales in the same breath, struggling to get any of it to his brain. If only he could open his mouth, breathe through his mouth. If only he could articulate what he’s feeling, force the words out of his mouth, and even though he knows he can do that without opening up his jaw, it is a task much too difficult for him.

His face is on fire and his lungs are following, consumed in his deprivation. Somewhere off to the right he can hear the sounds of someone calling to him, begging for his attention, but he’s not getting enough air and that’s all he needs. Just a little more air. Just- just a little more air and then he’ll be okay.

There is none though. No oxygen for his starved lungs, no salvation for his leaking brain. The pain, the hurt, pulses through him like his own furious heartbeat, and he’s clenching his jaw so hard it feels like it’s breaking, fracturing, all over again.

Just a little more air. Come on. Come on.

There’s a quick succession of snaps, one-two-three-four, and suddenly his jaw is falling open, and Dick gasps.

Great, heaving breaths fall into his lungs despite the absolute anguish in his relief, the gaps in between his teeth whistling as he sucks in breath after breath- greedy, starved for air.

They stutter in his chest, lungs inflating properly and expanding so much it hurts. He trembles in his cot, overwhelmed with the ability to finally breathe, and as he continues to wheeze and gasp, he falls back, releasing his death drip on the metal bars. The sudden release of tension leaves him light-headed, and his vision spots, graying in and out as he calms down.

A figure stands in his peripherals and Dick recognizes it as Damian, tense and clutching a pair of wire-cutters in his hands. His eyes are wide, watchful, and the creases that line his face betray the stress, the fear, building inside his small body.

Dick raises a hand, still gasping as he presses it to his lips and lets his hand fall back down in a sloppy ‘Thank you’. Damian only jerks his head in response, mouth pressed tightly into a thin line.

It continues on like that for some time, Dick continuing to wheeze and Damian continuing to stand over him, wary and strained.

Dick can feel the jagged ends of the wires poking into his gums as his jaw bobs up and down with each breath. Can still taste metal and blood. This wasn’t supposed to go this way. It’s not new. He’s used to this.

But not really. Not truly. Yes, he’s had his jaw broken before. Has had wires holding his upper and lower jaw together. Has been faced with the ordeal of liquid diets one too many times. None of this was supposed to be new, he’s done it all before, but there is something new he didn’t consider. Didn’t think of immediately as being the cause. Of creating the entire experience “anew” again.

Damian.

He’s never been injured in this way, so humiliatingly, in front of the boy. Broken bones are one thing. Cracked ribs and toes, fractured arms and dislocated shoulders. Long gashes and concussions. Par for the course, Damian has been witness to all of these injuries before and Dick has faced them with the same level of casualness as any other.

But this was different. This was… debilitating. Feebling. Near disabling.

Damian was going to have to watch him get fed through a syringe. Watch his muscle mass shrivel away, even if just minutely, because a liquid diet is not the same as rich, solid food. Watch as Dick struggles and fumbles over basic, normal things like talking. Watch as simple, little things become unbearably painful, as the urge to laugh or cough overwhelms him to the point where he needs to sit down.

And even now. Even just then. Damian had to watch Dick hyperventilate, nearly strangle himself to the point of unconsciousness all because he couldn’t breathe through his mouth well enough. Couldn’t regulate his breaths the way he wanted to. Needed to.

And it was so humiliating.

To struggle so much in front of the child he’s tried so hard to be strong for.

Because he can’t talk his way out of what just happened. Can’t reassure Damian with an easy grin that doesn’t turn into a grimace. Can’t wave away the pain, the bruises, the metal contraption in his mouth. Can’t hide effort in remaining natural, just as he always has before..

He’s supposed to be Richard Grayson. Steadfast and loyal partner to Damian Wayne.

And right now, he just feels…

Wrong.

Dick can’t take his eyes off of the white-knuckled grip Damian has on the cutters. Can’t ignore the way every muscle is stiff and rigid. Can’t not realize that it’s his fault Damian is so shaken, so unnerved, even with all of his own injuries and fresh trauma to care for. And now it’s a different type of pain in his chest that makes Dick feel light-headed. The shame, the guilt, that shrouds his head at the knowledge that he’s no good like this. No good for Damian. No good for Bruce. No good for Alfred.

No good for even himself.

It all just… it happened too fast. Too fast for him to do anything about it.

He can’t even catch his breath anymore.

[rainygothherowolf]

Jasonette- Little Sister Pt.1

Here ~ Next ~ Last

Jason was annoyed, he didn't understand why he had to babysit a bunch of annoying teenagers. Bruce tried to make the excuse of keeping them safe while Joker was on the loose, but that didn't mean the head of security of an international company should be following some stupid tourists.

On top of that, his little sister's birthday was coming up. It was hardly a week away but Jason was already feeling the guilt, she would have turned fifteen this year. Jason remembered how a six-year-old Marinette would go on and on about when she became a teenager.

// Flashback, 12 years ago //

"Jay-Jay!" A small half-Asian girl with midnight hair exclaimed, her bright blue eyes shining with excitement as her hands shot up, asking to be held.

"Alright, alright, jeez I just got back, pixie! And you're getting to old for this!" A fourteen-year-old Jason picked up the far too light girl, balancing her on his hip as he fished the granola bar out of his back pocket. "Are you hungry?" Marinette shook her head 'no', pushing the food towards him.

"I ate yesterday, it's your turn." Marinette pouted but took the food anyways.

"Wanna share?" She offered, Jason shook his head. He insisted she eat, and eventually she did.

"Now, I have to go back." Marinette frowned, "I just came to bring your food. I'll be back soon, see you tomorrow." Jason gave his little honorary sister a hug before tucking her into bed, using both her blanket and his.

"When I'm big, like you, I'm gonna make you stay!" Jason chuckled softly before tucking her in again, on the inside he was proud. She was so smart, she'd grow-up to become an amazing person, Jason just had to make sure she lived long enough to do it.

// Flashback ends //

Jason never saw Marinette again, that was the night Batman found him and took him in. His life had changed so much since that night, if only he hadn't been so stupid and told Bruce about Marinette, Jason was convinced he would have taken her in too. But now it was too late, apparently she'd been adopted by some couple in Europe but the case was sealed and without telling Tim or Bruce he'd never get his hands on them.

The second robin was pulled out of his thoughts when Dick approached him, strangely not at work.

"What?" Dick seemed to get more and more excited as he walked with Jason.

"Where are you going, Jay?" Jason glared at his brother, shoving him off.

"I have to go babysit some french class that Bruce invited."

"Hey, you never know- it could be fun!" Jason just rolled his eyes at his older brother's golden retriever-like mentality. They turned a corner and boarded the elevator.

"What are you even doing here, aren't you supposed to be working?"

"I got the afternoon off."

"Great, wanna take my place?" Dick looked at his watch before responding.

"No, trust me, you're the better person for the job." Jason was confused by that, but the elevator doors opened and a quick glance at his own watch told Jason he was late.

"Whatever." Jason huffed as he walked to the lobby, but Dick just followed him as he messed with his phone. Odd.

Marinette was excited, her class had been selected by Wayne Enterprises for a class trip! She was so happy that she'd get to see Gotham again. No one knew that Marinette had grown up in the states and been adopted by the Dupain's, not that anyone cared. The class was quick to fall into Lila Rossi's trap, it hurt Marinette to see her friends leave her but she'd be okay. She had Tiki and her parents.

She might not have Jason, but she'd be okay. She had to be, Ladybug couldn't be emotional compromised.

Lila suddenly pulled Marinette from her revere when she gasped,

"Oh my goodness, you won't tell anyone right? Bruce always hates when people find out, our family is really serious about privacy... but you won't say anything right?" The class was quick to give their assurances before Lila continued to spin her web of lies. She was prattling about some rich boyfriend of hers and how she’s practically family.

Instead of listening to the mindless Italian, Marinette decided to take in the modern lobby. The walls were a sharp white that went well with the dark marble floors. There was a sleek receptionists desk with four busy-looking employee's. Everyone was dressed in business-wear so the french class stood out like a sore thumb. The room had tall ceilings with an understated, modern chandelier and rounded sofas. The seating was scattered throughout the large lobby.

Their tour guide was a nice blond man named Mark, he that said they were going to begin as soon as a security guard assigned to escort them arrived. Marinette was waiting near Mark and Mme. Bustier, keeping her distance from Lila's coffee and her class' harsh glares.

"Later, Dick." An almost familiar voice called, it was gruffer and deeper than it used to be but Marinette instantly recognized it.

"Jay-Jay?" Marinette called out, softly, disbelievingly, it wasn’t the first time she’d thought she heard the voice but the bluenette couldn’t help but hope. He caught it and their eyes met. Marinette could feel her eyes fill with unshed tears as she took Jason in, he was much taller with dark hair and an odd white tuft on the front. His face had matured since she'd last seen him, he now had sharp features and a strong jawline, his eyes were unmistakable. He was dressed in a suit but on top of his shirt was a bullet proof vest, sure she couldn't remember much but his voice had always calmed her and the thought of the skinny fourteen year old smirking would always make her smile, it was almost instinctual.

"Pixie pop?" He sounded like he couldn't believe his eyes, behind the shock was relief- and grief. Marinette slowly walked towards Jason, stopping right in front of him.

Jason couldn't believe it. After all these years they finally found each other again. Regret and disappointment washed over him in waves. Her eyes looked broken. He never should have left her, he should have found her sooner, he should have told Bruce, he should have done something- anything.

"Marine-?" Jason tried to speak but was cut off, Marinette had slapped him. Hard. The harsh noise of her hand hitting his skin got everyone to stop in their tracks, even the eternally busy receptionists. His cheek stung, she was stronger than she looked. He didn't stop her.

"Idiot." Before Jason even knew what was happening Marinette was hugging him, jumping to reach her arms around his neck.

He did his best to shove back his self loathing for another time, right now he had to focus on Marinette.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so so sorry." Jason just kept apologizing as he hugged her back, a stray tear seared his cheek. Marinette cut him off with a flick to his ear- he used to do that when she was bratty.

"Where did you go? Why did you leave me? I was alone. And you promised!" Marinette spoke, pushing through the tears, through the emotion- all Jason could do was dip his head in shame. He always promised they'd stay together, no matter what.

"A lot of stuff happened, Pixie. Let's get out of here- yeah?" Marinette nodded before hugging Jason again, this time around the waist.

"I missed you, you big idiot. You’re the worst brother ever, you owe me a lot of candy." Jason relaxed at the word brother, even if he had years to make up for it was better than losing his little sister for good.

"See! I told you he was looking into it for a reason, pay up!" Dick exclaimed, that got Jason's attention. Dick and the rest of his siblings saw his glare and quieted. Damian wasn't even paying attention, he was on his phone. Tim saw the glare but still payed Dick, grumbling as he did so.

"Go be idiots somewhere else."

"No way! She said brother! That makes us her brothers too!" Marinette jumped at the conclusion, Jason growled. He glared again, but the tiny person clinging to Jason took the edge off.

"Dick Grayson." The original Robin introduced himself politely, "Nice to meet you." She greeted the boy politely, wiping her tears away with her left while she shook his hand with her right.

"Tim Drake." The most exhausted of the group introduced, he was about to do something to the youngest- whose head was still buried in his phone- but was interrupted.

"Of course the slut has an american sugar daddy!" Lila loudly announced laughing, the rest of the class joined in- some more hesitantly than others. Jason noticed Marinette try to make herself smaller, hugging him tighter- this wasn't anything new to her.

Jason glared, the boys eyed him- worried about the genuinely deadly look in his eye.

"What did you call her?" Jason asked in perfect french, the children flinched. Mme Bustier stood between the students and Jason, looking nervous but determined.

"Please don't intimidate my students." The woman tried to sound firm but failed miserably.

"Then maybe you should stop your students from bullying their classmate, or did you not hear the brunette insult another student?!" Caline didn't know whether or not to answer but decided to stay quiet.

"Any of you brats insult my little sister again and you won't wanna know what happens." Jason quietly threatened, meaning every word.

"Little sister?" Alya exclaimed, "Please! Marinette is an only child, if you're going to lie at least be convincing! You don't know her at all, the lying bully is just trying to steal the spotlight again!" Jason was pissed and took a threatening step towards the girl, but deep down he knew she was right, he didn't know Marinette. But the one thing he did know was that he was her brother, and no one messed with his family.

For once, Jason's brothers were quiet. Dick and Tim were waiting to see how Jason would handle everything, waiting to see if they needed to intervene. Damian was on his laptop, not giving anyone a second glance. It seemed to Jason he had been paying attention because Damian assumed he'd be in the lobby long enough the take out his computer.

The entire exchange from the moment the insult was given to now had taken no longer than a minute but Marinette was still clinging to Jason until he tried to walk towards Alya again, she had whispered something to Lila that made her laugh and when Jason tried to move forward Marinette released him and grabbed his suit coat, trying to pull him back. Sure the pulls were weak but she meant it.

"You'll just make it worse, Jay." He huffed, there was no way in hell he was going to let Marinette anywhere near the moronic class ever again.

"Fine, let’s call security and get them out of here."

"Hey you can't do that, we were invited by Bruce Wayne himself." Jason continued as if the bespectacled brunette hadn't spoken.

"Oh wait! I am security! Get out."

"Jason-"

"B! Great, you can tell them to leave! I'm outta-here!"

"You're not going anywhere, Jason, and the class is scheduled for a tour. Tim, call Lucius. Ask him to cover for us and get someone who isn't the head of security to escort the tour. Never touch my email again." Tim sheepishly agreed, dialing Lucius' number.

Bruce then turned to the French class as they stared in awe, Caline blushed softly.

"You must be Mme Bustier?" She nodded, "I'm Bruce Wayne, my apologies for the delay, the tour will be starting shortly. If it's alright with you, may Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng be excused from the tour?" Bruce spoke in pristine French, the teacher could only nod in response to the older man's rehearsed smile.

"Mr. Wayne! Can I get a quote for an article?" Alya asked without thinking.

"What's your article about?" Bruce asked, curious.

"Uh-" Alya blushed before trying to disappear into the crowd, he politely ignored her outburst.

"It was a pleasure meeting all of you, but if you'd excuse me I have other things to attend to-"

"Wait! Aren't you going to greet Lila?" The billionaire looked confused for a moment before he noticed one girl looking particularly distressed.

"I'm sorry to say I don't know anyone by that name, now if you'll excuse me-"

"What do you mean? Lila Rossi, your honorary niece! She practically lived with you when her mother worked at the embassy here in Gotham! Your youngest son, Damian's childhood friend! Her boyfriend!" The boy on his laptop snorted at Rose's statement.

"I am not in a relationship with anyone, and I have no childhood friends." Damian shut his laptop as he ran a hand through his hair making a good portion of the class blush, Marinette couldn't help but think 'He's too good looking for his own good'. His dark hair and tan skin highlighted his jade eyes, a business suit adding to her professional demeanor. His shorter, swoopy hair was mesmerizing... and his arms were thick and seemed strong, the veins on his hand clearly visible as it moved through his silky locks. Jason seemed to catch onto her train of thought and hastily covered her eyes.

"No." Marinette giggled, coming back to reality when the boy was shielded from view. He was as protective as ever. She remembered how he'd get when the other kids used to get close to Marinette, being a little girl meant pity cash from adults and was a solid partner on the streets of Gotham. Marinette moved his hand to watch the long awaited fall of Liar Rossi.

"What do you mean?" Nino exclaimed.

"If that wasn't true, what else did you lie about?" Kim exclaimed, Alix seconded.

"Nothing, I swear." The brunette pleaded, desperately trying to convince the class.

"Does this mean you don't know those music producers you promised I'd get to meet?" Nino demanded, the class began to circle around Lila, all asking about promises she'd made

"And the acting internship?" Milene asked.

"Do you even know Ladybug?"

"Or Jagged Stone?"

"Was anything you said true?" The class continued to ask her questions, Lila looked shaken as her not-so-carefully crafted web of lies fell apart.

"Was what you said about Marinette true?"

"Did she even bully you?"

"I knew she wouldn't say such horrible things!"

"Yeah, Marinette never would have hurt anyone! I can't believe we fell for your lies!" Everyone began to yell at Lila, blaming her for all the awful things they did to her. Jason could hardly stand it, pulling Marinette into another hug- she had been dealing with morons.

"Class! Now is not the time, we have a tour. Unless you want the trip to end early I suggest you quiet down!" Mme Bustier was ignored. Mike whistled, loudly.

"Alright! It's time for the tour, so quiet down!" The tour guide quickly took a head count and led the class away, an artificial smile in place. Everyone was either glaring at the Lila girl or looking at Marinette as they walked away.

"Sorry about them, they can get pretty loud." Marinette tried to play the whole thing off, they let her.

"Bruce Wayne."

"Marinette Dupain-Cheng, it's an honor to meet you sir. Thank you for the trip!" Bruce gave his three younger sons a look, Damian was back on his laptop but was quick to defend himself.

"I, for one, had no part in this, father. They bet on why Jason looked into some girl's adoption file."

"And you knew?" Damian stopped typing and looked up.

"Maybe... but you can't prove anything." Tim smirked before he remembered what he was going to do before any of the drama came up.

"Damian! Introduce yourself!" The boy who looked to be a little older than Marinette rolled his eyes with a sigh but approached the girl nonetheless, glaring at Tim before looking at Marinette for the first time. His scowl morphed into something else as he studied her.

Marinette noticed his examining her and blushed, but looked back at him just as interested.

"... Damian Wayne."

"Marinette." They shook hands, neither taking their eyes off each other. Jason looked between the two teenagers, first at Damian then to his little sister before going back to Damian and then back to Marinette before it stopped on Damian's- Jason.exe stopped working before it went into overdrive.

As if on instinct, Jason put a hand on each of their shoulders pushing them apart. Their longer-then-normal hand shake ended as they eyes snapped to Jason.

"Don't even think about it. No way in hell, brat, keep your slimy paws off my sister." Marinette blushed heavily, averting her eyes in embarrassment.

Dick and Tim howled in laughter when they heard Damian's response, Bruce smirked.

"She's your sister, not mine."

[atlasthegreatest]

Weight of Memories / Cassandra Cain x Gender Neutral! Sibling Reader

During a patrol, Y/n gets injured and tries to hide it. But when the others find out, they try their best to not let them heal them up because they think it’s their punishment.

Word count: 2970

A/n: This was requested by anon and is set a few months later after “Shadows of the Past”. I know a few of you guys wanted to see more of Cass and Y/n so, here it is.

It was a rough night in Gotham—one of those nights where the city seemed to breathe chaos. The Bat Signal had been up, the streets swarmed with criminals trying to make their mark while the Bat-family worked in unison to keep it all in check. By the time the team returned to the Batcave, everyone was exhausted, bruised, but standing. That was the important part.

Y/n, however, wasn’t just standing—they were hiding something.

As the others dispersed to change out of their suits, grabbing water or sitting down to go over debriefs, they stayed close to the shadows, subtly leaning against the wall. They gripped their side now and then, making sure no one was paying close attention.

Their mind was racing—body aching in a way that was more than just the usual soreness from a night’s work. There was pain, sharp and insistent, running through their ribs and into their stomach. They were pretty sure something was broken, but they couldn’t let anyone know. Not now. Not when the others had been perfect tonight.

They weren’t going to ruin the victory with weakness. They deserved this pain for not being fast enough, strong enough, to stop what had happened during patrol.

Y/n sucked in a breath, clenching their jaw as they shifted, feeling a hot, wet sensation trickling from beneath their suit. The wound was bad—probably from a knife or shrapnel, they couldn’t even tell anymore—but they had to keep it hidden. The pain was… deserved.

From across the room, Cassandra noticed something was off. She always noticed. She paused mid-conversation with Damian, her gaze locking on her sibling’s posture—the way they seemed tense, holding their body awkwardly as if trying to mask the pain. Her brow furrowed, suspicion rising.

Y/n must have felt her eyes on them, because they quickly straightened up and pushed off from the wall, giving her a forced smile. “I’m fine,” they mouthed, hoping that would stop her from coming over.

Cassandra wasn’t convinced. She knew her sibling better than that. Without a word, she started moving toward them, her eyes narrowing.

“Cass, seriously,” they said, their voice strained but determined to sound casual. “I’m good. Just tired.”

She stopped in front of them, crossing her arms, her eyes flicking down to the faint trace of blood on their side that had started to seep through their suit. She didn’t need to say anything for them to know that she had caught on.

“It’s nothing,” Y/n muttered, shifting their weight uncomfortably. “I don’t need help.”

“Let me see,” Cassandra said firmly, reaching for their suit.

But they pulled back sharply, wincing at the movement. “No.”

Cassandra’s eyes widened slightly at their reaction, her concern deepening. By now, the others had noticed the exchange, and Jason, Dick, and Bruce were slowly turning their attention toward them.

“Something wrong?” Dick asked, stepping forward, his eyes flicking between Cassandra and their sibling.

“No,” Y/n snapped quickly, too quickly, gritting their teeth. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” Jason snorted, noticing the blood now too. “Looks like you’re leaking, dude. You sure that’s normal?”

Y/n shot him a glare, their frustration boiling over. “I said I’m fine. Just leave it alone.”

Bruce stepped forward then, his face a mask of calm authority. “Let us help. You’re hurt.”

“No,” they said, more adamantly this time, their voice cracking slightly. “I— I deserve this. It’s my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. I—”

Before they could finish, their legs buckled, the strength draining from them as the pain they had been holding in finally caught up. Cassandra lunged forward, catching them before they could hit the ground, her arms wrapped around their waist to support them.

“Stay still,” she whispered, her voice soft but firm.

But Y/n struggled, trying to push her away. “No! Don’t… don’t fix it. I— I don’t deserve to be patched up. I messed up. This is my punishment.”

“Punishment?” Bruce echoed, his voice low with concern. He crouched down beside them, his hand gently gripping their arm. “What are you talking about? You don’t deserve to be in pain.”

Y/n’s breath hitched, and their eyes glazed with desperation. “I… I wasn’t good enough tonight. I let that guy get the drop on me. I should’ve been faster. I—” They clenched their fists, frustration, and guilt pouring out of them. “I should’ve done better. This… this is what I get.”

Jason moved forward too, his usual cocky demeanor softened with genuine concern. “Come on, dude, that’s not how this works. You don’t have to hurt yourself for messing up. We all screw up sometimes.”

But the more they tried to reason with them, the more Y/n pulled away, determined to refuse the help. They were too lost in their guilt, too caught up in their sense of failure.

“Stop!” they shouted, their body trembling. “Just leave me alone!”

Cassandra shook her head, tightening her grip. “No. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

They struggled again, but this time, Bruce and Jason stepped in. Jason grabbed their legs while Bruce steadied their upper body, holding them down as gently as they could without letting them thrash. Y/n’s breathing came in short, frantic gasps, their eyes wide with panic.

“Let go!” they begged, their voice breaking. “Please… don’t fix it. I don’t… deserve it.”

Dick crouched down beside them, his face filled with empathy. “You do deserve it. You deserve to be okay. We all make mistakes out there. You’re human. And you’re part of this family. We take care of each other, no matter what.”

Y/n’s eyes flickered with emotion, their resistance weakening as the words sank in. Tears welled up in their eyes, mixing with the pain and exhaustion. “I… I failed,” they whispered, their voice barely audible now. “I wasn’t good enough.”

Cassandra gently cupped their face, forcing them to look at her. “You didn’t fail,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You’re still here. That’s what matters.”

Slowly, Y/n’s body went limp in her arms, the fight draining out of them as they finally let the others help. Bruce signaled for Alfred, who had already prepared the medical kit, and they began carefully cutting away the damaged suit, revealing the wound underneath.

Y/n winced, but they didn’t resist this time. They just lay there, their chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as the weight of their guilt slowly gave way to relief. As Alfred worked to clean the wound, they let out a shaky breath, their eyes closing as the pain was finally addressed.

Cassandra didn’t let go of their hand the entire time, her grip steady and reassuring. When it was over, she sat beside them on the floor, her eyes never leaving their face.

“You’re allowed to make mistakes,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re allowed to get hurt. But you don’t have to carry it alone.”

Y/n opened their eyes, looking at her through the haze of exhaustion. “I just… didn’t want to disappoint you.”

Cassandra shook her head, her expression soft. “You could never disappoint me.”

And in that moment, as they lay there, bandaged and bruised but surrounded by family, they finally believed her.

————————-

As the silence settled over the Batcave, the weight of the moment began to shift. Cassandra sat on the cold floor beside her sibling, her hand still gently gripping theirs, reassuring, unyielding. The rest of the family hovered close, giving space but remaining watchful. No one moved until they were certain the immediate danger had passed.

Y/n was still breathing heavily, though the panic in their eyes had started to dim. Alfred’s medical work was, as always, precise and efficient, but there was no ignoring the depth of the injury. Broken ribs, a nasty gash, bruises spreading across their side—it had taken a toll. And yet, even as their body began to relax, the emotional turmoil still simmered beneath the surface.

“You’re okay now,” Dick said quietly, kneeling beside Cassandra, his voice soft but firm. “You’re safe. You don’t have to carry this on your own.”

Y/n blinked slowly, fighting to keep their eyes open. Exhaustion had hit hard now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Their mind was still caught in that familiar loop of guilt, doubt, and self-criticism, but the fierce resistance had ebbed. For now, at least.

“I… I wasn’t fast enough,” they mumbled, their voice hoarse, almost a whisper. “I messed up out there.”

Jason, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, spoke up in his usual blunt tone, though there was an unmistakable note of empathy in his voice. “You didn’t mess up any worse than the rest of us do on a nightly basis. Trust me, I’ve gotten my ass handed to me more times than I can count, and I’m still standing. You’re not perfect, none of us are.”

Bruce stepped forward, his cape brushing lightly against the floor as he knelt beside them. His face was calm, and composed, but there was a gentleness in his eyes that only appeared in moments like this—moments when his family needed him. “The only failure would have been not coming back,” he said quietly. “You’re here. That’s what matters.”

Y/n let out a shaky breath, their gaze flickering between the faces of the people who had become their family. They had spent so long feeling like they had to prove themselves, to live up to an impossible standard, especially with their past. It was like a ghost that haunted them—David Cain’s voice in their head, telling them they had to be flawless, that anything less was a failure. That voice had followed them, even after his death, whispering in the dark corners of their mind.

“But I’m supposed to be better,” they muttered, the words spilling out before they could stop them. “I’m supposed to be… stronger. I’m supposed to protect people. And tonight, I—”

Cassandra squeezed their hand tighter, cutting them off before they could spiral any further. “You are strong,” she said firmly, her voice filled with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “You do protect people. You protected me more times than I can count. But you also need to let us protect you.”

Y/n’s lips quivered, the weight of those words sinking in slowly. It was something they had never allowed themselves to accept before. Vulnerability felt like a betrayal of everything they had been trained to believe. But here, surrounded by people who saw them as more than just a weapon, they felt a glimmer of something new—something like understanding.

“I… I didn’t want to drag you all down with me,” Y/n admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “I thought if I handled it myself… if I just pushed through… it wouldn’t be anyone else’s problem.”

Bruce’s hand rested lightly on their shoulder. “You’re not a burden to any of us,” he said, his voice low and filled with that quiet authority he carried. “You’re part of this family. And families don’t leave each other behind. Not ever.”

Y/n swallowed hard, tears welling up in their eyes, though they blinked them away quickly. “I don’t… I don’t know how to just let go of that guilt,” they admitted. “It’s always been there like I have to earn my place here. Like I have to keep proving that I belong.”

Jason, uncharacteristically serious, sighed and uncrossed his arms. “Look, I get it. More than you know. But trying to deal with all that alone? That’s how you burn out. You’ve already earned your place. You don’t have to keep fighting ghosts. We’ve all got your back, whether you like it or not.”

Dick nodded in agreement. “You belong here. With us. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

Y/n took a shaky breath, the tension slowly releasing from their muscles as they finally allowed themselves to believe what they were hearing. It wasn’t easy—it would never be easy—but the constant need to carry everything on their shoulders was starting to feel less impossible. Surrounded by these people, this family, the ghosts of David Cain’s teachings didn’t seem quite as overwhelming.

Cassandra could feel the shift in them, the subtle change in their posture, the way their breathing became less labored, the way their grip on her hand softened. They weren’t okay, not entirely, but they were starting to believe they could be.

“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered, her voice filled with a kind of tenderness only she could offer. “We’re going to make sure of that.”

Y/n closed their eyes for a moment, exhaling a breath they didn’t realize they had been holding. When they opened their eyes again, they looked at Cassandra, then at the rest of their family, and nodded. It wasn’t a full acceptance yet, but it was a start.

“Okay,” they whispered, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of their lips. “I’ll try.”

Cassandra gave them a soft smile in return, leaning her head against theirs for just a moment, a silent promise that she wouldn’t leave them to face this alone. None of them would.

The Batcave hummed around them, its quiet, mechanical sounds a stark contrast to the storm of emotions that had just passed. The night had been rough, but they had made it through. Together.

And for the first time in a long while, hey allowed themselves to believe that they truly belonged in this family—imperfections, mistakes, and all.

Bonus chapter:

It had been weeks since the night Y/n was injured. Weeks of recovery, both physical and emotional. The Batfamily had been there every step of the way, helping them heal in more ways than one. But some things didn’t heal as easily as wounds.

One morning, Y/n woke up with a dull ache in their chest—one that wasn’t from the injuries but from something deeper, something harder to explain. They had been thinking about him again—David Cain, the man who had raised them, trained them, broken them. The man they had killed.

It wasn’t guilt, not anymore. That had faded with time. It was… something else. A mix of anger, regret, confusion, and, oddly, an empty kind of relief.

The grave was quiet when they arrived, the headstone simple and unadorned. The cemetery was far outside Gotham, away from the noise and chaos. No one visited Cain’s grave; no one but them.

Cassandra had come with them this time. She stood a few steps behind, giving them space but close enough that they could feel her presence. It was comforting in its way, knowing that she was there, even if they didn’t need to say anything.

For a long while, Y/n just stood there, staring at the headstone, their hands shoved deep in their jacket pockets. The wind was cold, rustling the leaves around them, but the silence was heavier than the chill in the air.

“I didn’t think I’d come back here,” they said quietly, their voice almost lost in the wind. “I thought once I killed him, I’d feel… free. But now, I just feel…” They trailed off, unsure how to put the weight in their chest into words.

Cassandra didn’t speak, but she moved a little closer, her footsteps soft on the grass. She knew how hard it was for them to confront this, but she also knew they needed to.

“It’s strange,” they continued, still staring at the grave. “He’s gone. He’s been gone for a while now, but sometimes it feels like he’s still here, still inside my head.” They glanced down at their hands, clenching them into fists. “All those years of training, of being told that pain was the only way to get stronger… it doesn’t just go away.”

Cassandra’s expression softened. She had felt the same way about their father, though her path had been different. They both carried the scars of his influence, even though they had chosen their paths long ago.

“You didn’t have to kill him,” she said after a moment, her voice gentle but firm. “But you did. And now you’re here.”

Y/n nodded slowly. “I know. And I thought I’d be okay with that. But… part of me still hates him. And part of me hates that he made me hate him.”

The wind blew harder, and they pulled their jacket tighter around themselves. “It’s like… there’s this hole where something should be. I don’t know if it’s closure or peace or something else, but whatever it is, I haven’t found it.”

Cassandra stepped closer, reaching out to place a hand on their shoulder. “It doesn’t go away,” she said quietly. “But it gets quieter. The hate. The anger. You learn how to live with it.”

Y/n closed their eyes for a moment, taking in her words. She always had a way of understanding things without needing to say much. And in that moment, her presence was enough.

When Y/n opened their eyes again, they glanced at the grave one more time before turning away. “I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive him,” they admitted softly. “But I think… I can move on.”

Cassandra gave a small nod, her hand still resting on their shoulder as they both turned to leave. “That’s enough.”

As they walked back toward the Batcycle, the weight in their chest felt a little lighter. It wasn’t gone, and it probably never would be, but for the first time in a long while, they didn’t feel like it was dragging them down. Y/n wasn’t alone in this—not anymore.

And maybe that was the first step toward healing.

[toosicktoocare]

Hi, uh, this is awkward since you're the first person I have ever requested a fic from. Anyway, if you're still taking requests for dc, would you mind making a sick Alfred? I just want the boys to do something for their father/grandfather. Thanks. Love your fics btw.

This is super cute, and I lowkey feel honored (?? lmao) that I’m your first request. I hope you like the fic!

Dick’s rounding a corner, with Jason hot on his heels, but he freezes, one socked foot seconds from leaving the dark wood of the hallway to plant on the white, almost pristine, linoleum of the kitchen, and he quickly braces both hands on either side of the doorframe when Jason slams into his back.

“What the fuck, Dickbrain?”

Frowning, Dick narrows his eyes as Bruce turns away from the stove. He’s donned in a navy blue apron, and he’s got one oven mit on to protect his hand from the hot frying pan he’s holding.

“Where’s Alfred?”

Jason peers over Dick’s shoulder, wordlessly studying the black smoke that billows up from the pan. “Christ, we’re gonna starve.”

“Jason,” Dick hisses, sparing a brief glare to Jason’s direction before bringing a worried gaze back to Bruce, his brows furrowed.

“Alfred’s sick” is all Bruce offers, his voice low and worn, and he turns back to the stove with a sigh.

“Sick?” Dick parrots back, the single word so unfamilair on his tongue within this context. “How sick?”

“He’s, like, really old,” Jason mutters, tense at Dick’s back. “Is he dying?”

“Jay,” Dick groans, his words getting lost when Damian shoves past him to squeeze into the kitchen, a small crinkle to his raised nose.

“Father, are you trying to burn down the entire manor?”

Bruce’s sigh fades to a low growl. He leaves the pan on the stove and turns back to the three, running one hand down his face. “Alfred’s fine. He’s been working through a cold the last few days, and he just pushed himself a little too hard. He’s on bed rest for the rest of the week.”

Dick gnaws lightly at his bottom lip, worried, and Jason spares a weary glance around the kitchen, fanning away some of the lingering smoke. “You’ve never cooked a day in your life, have you, Bats?”

“Jason,” Bruce warns, but, despite the gravel in his tone, his face falls around an endless sigh, and he sinks down into a chair, dropping the oven mit atop the table. “I admit I’m a little out of my element here.”

“Clearly,” Jason spits out, examining some of the spices Bruce has littered all over the counter. He pokes at whatever charred, burned mess is stuck to the bottom of a pan with a wooden spoon, groaning deep in his throat.

“Maybe we can order in?” Dick questions, peering over Jason’s shoulder with a wince.

“Nah,” Jason says, already shuffling spices around to clear space. “I’ve got this.” He turns back to the others. “Also, scram? I don’t need your deadweight in here.”

Dick offers a mock salute and clamps a hand to Damian’s shoulder, guiding him out of the kitchen.

“Grayson, Todd’s going to kill us all.”

“Relax,” Dick says, waving for Bruce to follow. “Jay’s been feeding himself for a while. He’s actually a really good cook.”

“I did not know this,” Bruce says lowly, and Dick spares a side glance, brows rising.

“Save the emotional constipation for another day, B. We’ve got Alfred to worry about.” Dick expertly ducks when Bruce swings at the back of his head, and he slips around until he’s walking backwards, facing Bruce and Damian. “I’m going to go check on him.” At the look Bruce gives him, the sharp, borderline Batman look, Dick raises both hands in defense. “I’ll be quiet; I promise.”

“I don’t believe that one bit,” Bruce grumbles. “But I’m too tired to stop you.” He starts to guide Damian to the library, to maybe pick out a book Alfred will want to read, but he stops, glancing over his shoulder. “Dick, remember. Just because Alfred’s sick, it doesn’t mean he’s incapable of tossing you out the window in a heartbeat.”

Dick grabs at his chest. “He would never!” He spins on his heels, taking the steps back up the stairs two at a time, and he’s just about to turn toward Alfred’s room when Tim steps out from his own room, somehow looking simultaneously like he’s slept for days yet hasn’t slept at all.

“What’s burning?” Tim questions around a yawn. “Alfred doesn’t burn things.”

“Bruce was cooking.”

Frowning, Tim glances toward Alfred’s room, taking mental note of the closed bedroom door. “Why? Where’s Alfred?”

“Sick,” Dick says, and immediately, Tim turns on his heel and starts toward Alfred’s room, promptly dodging Dick’s quick attempts at grabbing him until Dick’s bear-hugging him and pulling him back right before he can twist open the door.

“Let me go, Dick.” Tim wriggles in Dick’s arms, but Dick only tightens his hold and starts back to the stairs.

“Not a chance, Tim. You can’t be around him.”

“It’s not going to kill me, Dick.”

Dick sets Tim down on the top step, frowning. “Maybe not, but I’ve seen you hooked up to IVs too many times now, baby bird. So, humor me? I’ll tell Alfred you say hi.”

Tim doesn’t pout. He pulls his lips into a wordless, flat line, eyes sharp against Dick’s blue ones, and they remain like that for an endless minute before Tim breaks the gaze with a sigh. “Who’s cooking?”

“Jay is. I’m sure he could use the help.”

“Doubtful,” Tim mutters, but he starts down the steps anyway, and Dick smiles, watching Tim turn into the kitchen, before he starts back to Alfred’s room, offering two courtesy knocks before slipping quietly into the room.

Alfred’s propped up into a seated position, his pale face pulled to the window, but when Dick steps in, he turns to him, offering a tired smile.

“Master Richard,” Alfred rasps out, and Dick winces, crossing the room and dropping to the edge of the bed.

“Hey, Al. How’re you feeling?” He reaches over, brushing the back of his hand to Alfred’s cheek. It’s warm, he thinks, but not alarmingly so. “You feel a little feverish.”

“Oh, don’t dote, Master Richard. I’m quite alright.”

“B has you on bed rest,” Dick replies, and Alfred sighs around a light laugh that gives way to a few coughs.

“Master Bruce has a tendency to panic...”

“Oh,” Dick drags out, “we know.” He smooths his hand over Alfred’s blanket. “I’m sorry we didn’t notice you were sick before,” Dick sighs, and Alfred pats his hand warmly.

“No apology necessary, Master Richard. I’ll be fine in a few days tops, I assure you.”

Nodding, Dick drags his fingers through his hair. “Can we get you anything?”

“Soup would be nice,” Alfred starts. “I specifically told Master Bruce to keep far away from my kitchen, but based on the faint scent of burning eggs, I presume he did not listen.”

If there’s one thing that will consistently impress Dick, it’s Jason’s impeccable timing. At this, the latter slips into the room, kicking the door open with his foot. He’s carrying a tray that looks out of place in his hands, and atop it, there’s a large, steaming bowl of soup that smells incredible.

“Master Jason,” Alfred smiles, and Jason shoos Dick off the bed, gently placing the tray across Alfred’s lap.

“Ah, Master Jason, I’ve quite missed your cooking.”

“Wait,” Dick draws out, “You’ve had Jay’s cooking?”

“We have a thing,” Jason smirks, jabbing right where he knows it will bother Dick the most. “He comes to my apartment to patch me up, and I cook us dinner.”

“You guys have a thing?” Dick works his jaw, a pout pressing against his lips. “Al, do we have a thing?” He paces the length of the room, unfazed at Jason’s loud groan. “We definitely have a thing, right?”

“Jealously doesn’t suit you, Dick.”

Dick whips around to see Bruce walking in, with Damian close behind, a novel in hand. “B, how the hell does Jay have a thing with Alfred, and I don’t?”

“I almost want to be offended by that,” Jason spits out, smiling. “Almost.”

Dick whips a sharp gaze back to Jason, prepared to take the very clear bait Jason’s dangling before him, but he stops when Tim shuffles in, silently, and drops onto a loveseat that’s a reasonable distance from Alfred’s bed.

“You all seriously have the worst bedside manner.”

“Tim-”

“You can’t be in here, Tim.”

“You’ll get sick.”

“Are you double-masked, Master Timothy?” Alfred’s voice, though a tired rasp, carries over everyone else, and Tim hooks a finger under the top mask covering his mouth and nose, pulling it back to reveal a second mask.

“I’ll be okay,” Tim assures, and Bruce and Dick look seconds away from arguing, but Jason interrupts, flopping down onto the couch beside Tim.

“Is someone going to start reading this sh- stuff, or what?” He motions to the book in Damian’s hand, and Damian holds to book out to Bruce, eyes wide, expectant.

Bruce drags a large chair up to Alfred’s bed, muttering “careful” as Damain climbs onto the bed, situating himself beside Alfred. Dick eyes Tim wearily, shares a silent conversation with Jason, then drops onto the plush carpet below him, his back pressed against the side of the bed and one foot stretched out in front of him.

Alfred watches, an unreadable expression painted across his face. He looks to Jason, who’s tugging Tim’s legs up over his, and then to Dick, who’s face has gone soft as he watches the two. He’s slowly moves to see Damian curled up at his side, small and still beside him, and then he meets Bruce’s eyes, and Bruce smiles, a rare sight that never fails to warm him to the core.

“I’m sure you all have much work to do,” Alfred tries, and Bruce shakes his head and flicks open the book.

“There’s nowhere else we’d rather be, Al.”

[violetnemerald]

You Don’t Know Me: Chapter 1

Gotham has always been known for its underworld. The underworld operated with great success thanks to the rich who put up the facade that Gotham was a great place to live and not one where crime families ruled. No crime family was more feared than the Wayne’s. Damian Wayne was the heir to the family business, destined to take over after his father.

Damian sat at the bar against the wishes of his guards. At the bar he was exposed, stripped of protection, which was exactly how he liked it. If he was going to be making a business deal he liked to give the other party a sense of vulnerability. With this many make the mistake of becoming vulnerable themselves which could in the end be used to exploit them and ultimately getting what he intended. On this particular day Damian was tasked with renegotiating terms with Trigon about his little drug operations. Trigon had invented and sold a little drug he liked to call Sin. Sin plagued many of Gotham citizens, both wealthy and poor, with addiction. Trigon had made the most demanded drug to ever hit the streets of Gotham City. While both Bruce and Trigon got along the tensions were still high. The meeting today was in regards to solving said tensions, or at least making them a little less suffocating.

Damian glanced around the restaurant taking notes of where his guards had situated themselves. As much as he wanted his freedom he always had to earn it through deception and distraction. His father prefered him with a guard in case any rivals attempted to take out the heir. Damian, having been trained to be an assassin by his mother, wished someone would try so he could finally prove himself to not need the surveillance.

Damian glanced down at the golden liquid swirling around his cup. He had been waiting long enough to be a glass and half in. The sound of a wooden door caught his attention causing him to turn his head towards the front of the restaurant.

Through the door two men walk in, following behind them is a woman hidden by their tall stature. From what he could see of her she was looking down focusing on what he assumes is something in her hands. Damian’s gaze lingers noting a faint familiarity to the way the woman presents herself. Turning his attention away he pulls out his phone taking a quick glance at the time. Six thirty- four great. I’m willing to give this guy six more minutes before I walk out that doo-

“Mr. Wayne.” a delicate voice interupts from beside him. A girl, interesting tactic Trigon, Damian thought as he moved to face the source of the voice. With every inch his eyes move up the more familiar it feels, until his emerald eyes meet her slightly violet eyes. Shocked was an understatement for how he feels in this moment. Damian hadn’t been expecting Trigon himself however he certainly did not expect the girl he’d been sleeping with for weeks to walk through that door. He shifts in his seat before composing himself. There are too many people around, too many witnesses, to reveal this girl as his weakness.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were someone else.” Her eyes full of panic as she herself attempts to understand the situation. Damian could not blame her. When they met he didn’t share his real name in fear she would’ve run away. He sees now that that was not the case. The innocent girl he knew as Rachel was just as much wrapped up in the ways of the Gotham underworld as he was. Taking control of the situation Damian gets up offering out his hand.

“No you have the right person. Damian Wayne.” He says sternly while looking at her hoping she would catch the “go along” tone.

“Uhh yeah… Raven.” She stretches out her hand to meet his. Her hand molds to his, the touch sending a wave of warmth through his torso, ultimately allowing thoughts of their previous encounter to rush in. She did so many things to him, including completely disarming him with the brush of her fingers. Pale fingers slowly remove themselves from his grasp, savoring every inch of contact before falling to her side. Raven lowers herself into the chair right next to him, stiff, unwilling to move in fear that one miscalculated action could lead to her life unraveling.

“I did not realize Trigon had a daughter. But I can see why he would keep a beautiful woman a secret. You are a secret weapon to him. ” Rosey lips turn upward, in addition a slight eye roll as Damian’s playful remark falls on Raven’s ears. Just as quickly the tension blew in the door it fades with that bright smile of hers. “Unfortunately it’s going to take a lot more than a pretty face to disarm me.”

“Whose says my purpose is to disarm you. I’m here because my father trusts me, and will be leaving me in charge if something were to happen to him.” She retaliates, as she pulls out a series of files her dad gave to her as she left. Placing the manilla folder on the bar top in front of them. An empty glass and a napkin, which she was sure was for her, pushed away to make room for more important matters.

“I’m sure you get whatever you want. Don’t you Rae?” The last word slipping out, as it was habit. Despite how natural it flowed from his mouth it was not lost on him, nor her, the mistake he just made.  

The panic returns this time, mixing with threat. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and with so many spectators someone was bound to pick up on something. “Can I call you Rae?” He continues, playing off his slip up as charm.

Raven makes no comment. Sometimes the best response was no response. Instead she chooses to keep a stern face and look down and shuffle through the papers on the bar in front of them. Pulling out a list of demands made by her father and placing it on top of the array of sheets. Raven glances at Damian through the corners of her eyes. He studys the various documents put in front of him, eyes flicking from paper to paper. His face remains still, no indication that anything on the papers surprises him or even spikes an interest. His hand extends to the glass near him bringing to his lips. The edge lingering on his lips before he tilts the glass and finishes the rest of its contents in one sip.

“These terms are ridiculous. I’m sorry but has your father been sampling his own product. He is insane to think that we would even consider these terms. Come back when you have realistic terms.” He stands up. The chair makes a noise as it scrapes across the floors. He buttons his suit and makes his approach to leave, but before he does he looks back at her. Once more their eyes meet and all the surroundings fading before coming right back into focus. No wrong moves.

“Also... what do you want? I know what your father wants but what do you want?” He questions with less anger in his tone before he turns to head out the door. Raven watches as half the people in the bar get up and follow the young man out the door.

_________________________________

Raven knocks once on the door, making herself known. When they had developed the one knock system she thought it was going to be just for her assurance, she now realizes that it is a two way street. They are more similar than she previously thought. Here she was thinking he would never understand why they had to meet in secret or who she really was, but in reality he was probably thinking the same things.

The door opens revealing him. A tan face interrupted by green orbs. A face that she was now looking at for the second time today. She quickly walks through the small opening brushing past him. The door slamming shut behind her. He turns a hunger in his eyes. Oh had she been looking forward to this meet all day, and it was only heightened by their unplanned meeting. All she wanted to do at the bar was have her way with him in the bathroom, but surroundings limited their interactions, which she was not all too happy about.

“I figured out what I want.” Her voice just above a whisper as she takes a step, closing the gap between them. Raven leans up her lips meeting his, desperate to feel his body against hers. With her close and without the watchful eyes of others Damian felt no shame in grabbing her hips and pulling it against him. His thumbs digging deep into her hip bones. Desperate and needy pale fingers tug at the bottom of his shirt. The two breaking long enough for him to slip the shirt over his head. As he takes off his shirt she takes off hers, taking advantage of the time apart as she didn’t want to waste anymore of their time together.

Dipping back down his lips find their way to her neck, her head rolling at the feeling. His path of kisses continues to her bra strap, stopping to look into her eyes. The only emotion she could see behind green barriers was lust.  

With one hand still holding her hips, Damian raised his other hand to the clasp of the bra. He took one side of the bra in between his index and middle finger. With his thumb he pushed on the fabric just past the clasp, the hooks unlatching from their holds. With the lack of tension, the bra straps fall down her arms. She allows the bra to fall to ground between them before bringing her hands back to his cheeks, pulling him towards the bed with her. The back of her knees meet the edge of the bed before she falls back onto the sheets, Damian following soon after.

____________________________________

“So your real name is Raven huh.” Damian looks at the woman as they both come down from their euphoric states.

“Yeah…” Raven can feel how rosy her cheeks are getting as she looks down letting her cover her face, hiding in shame. “I couldn’t exactly come out and say my real name. But you shouldn’t be saying anything, you did the same thing Damian Al Ghul.” Raven says mocking the last name he originally gave her.

Damian rolls over to get out of the bed, Raven catching a glimpse of the slight eye roll. If it was anyone else they would’ve interpreted his actions as anger or annoyance, but Raven knew better by now. He liked that she could give it right back to him, in more ways than one.

“So, shall we talk about the terms of your surrender?” His head turns to the side, just enough to see her face. His eyes shooting daggers at her.

“Fine no business with pleasure.” Raven concedes, knowing she hit a nerve. In the little time she knew him, and as much as she teased him, she had never seen him that angered by something she said. He fully turns to face her this time, any remnant of the anger gone, all that was left was his normal face, with a hint of sincerity.

“By the way, I was serious about that, Rae.”

“Serious about what?”

“Thinking about what you want. You have the power to change what you’d like, take advantage. Make sure you get what you want out of the deal. You can turn that so-called family business into whatever you want, without your father’s watchful eye. You are smart, and very powerful and make people fear messing with you.”

................................................................................................................................

Thank you so much for reading. I know this was sloppy and well, could use a lot more editing, but I wanted to get this up today. I may at a later date edit this but until then this is it and I will get started on the next part tomorrow. 

[avaritia-apotheosis]

Phantom Children Ch. 3

In which: Danny getting yeeted into the Lazarus Pit yields anticlimactic consequences and Bruce Wayne converses with a fruit loop.

AO3 | Prologue | 2 | [ 3 ] | 4 |

DANIEL BARELY HAD TIME TO SCREAM before he’s plunged into the green depths of the Lazarus pit, primeval waves crashing against the walls of the pool. Talia flicked her wrist, signaling the ten League members hidden in the shadows to approach. Each one spaced equally apart around the pit with smoke pellets synthesized from blood blossoms held in their hands, ready to drop at a moment’s notice.

Pit madness rendered the majority of the living uncontrollable, with even the weakest of humans imbued with a strength that could only be induced by the purest of rage. The League was not taking chances as to how a being like her son would react to it.

The waters stilled.

Then—

A bright flash of light. Then, faster than the eyes could follow, a figure erupted from the waters. Bone white hair that twisted and curled as if it were still underwater. Skin lightly tinged frostbitten blue and clad in a suit of black and white and shrouded in an aura of blinding light. Phantom appeared from the depths, floating above the pit like a god reborn.

His eyes burned a toxic green.

“What the fuck was that?”

But not pit madness green.

Talia ordered her assassins to at ease with a raise of her hand. She slowly walked to her father’s side just as her son—Phantom—landed at the edge of the pool. Idly, Talia noticed how different Phantom seemed in comparison to her son. Physical attributes aside, Daniel tended to make himself smaller. What venom that may coat his words and the vitriol in his glares dampened by the way he held himself. Shoulders hunched and head tilted down. Non-threatening. Hands always needing to do something, whether it be holding his arms or shoved inside his pockets or constantly brushing it through his hair. No matter how she and his instructors taught him how to hold himself like a warrior, like a soldier, he still tended to present himself as a skittering little animal.

Phantom was different. He squared his soldiers and lifted his chin high, unafraid to stretch out to his fullest height and use his defiance of gravity to make himself look bigger. Stronger. His arms held steady at his sides, curled into tight fists. Green eyes—green as the Lazarus pit yet without that spark of madness that so consumed everyone else—burning with righteous fury.

“You fucking threw me into the weird green pool. What even—who does that?”

Ra’s tilted his head. “Fascinating. It seems you have a resistance to the pit madness.”

Phantom blinked, caught off guard. “Pit…madness,” he echoed. A statement, though from the wrinkle in his brows and the look he shoots Talia, it was more a question than anything else.

“It is one of the side effects of the Lazarus pits.” Talia approached her son with caution, holding his face with both hands and inspecting for any differences. “While the waters rejuvenate, restore, and even temporarily imbue one with supernatural strength, it also tends to inflict users with temporary insanity.”

“Insanity?” His eyes widened, trembling hands coming up to hold her wrists. Strangely, Daniel did not pull away from her touch. “I could have gone insane?”

Those bright eyes of his looked so frightened. Haunted. Pupils dilated to mere pinpricks of blackness, lost in a sea of Lazarus green. “Oh habeebi, only temporarily.”

“Like that’s better!” He yelled. “Even temporarily, I’m—” He staggered back, breaking out of her hold. Harmless Danny Fenton bleeding into proud Phantom as he ran his hands through his hair, unwilling to look at anyone.

Ra’s continued to watch, his arms crossed beneath his sternum, muttering to himself. Her father had prided himself on being one of the most knowledgeable about the Lazarus pits and its effects. Now, faced with a new mystery, the scholar within the Demon’s Head emerged as he observed his grandson.

“No,” Ra’s said, mostly to himself. “Perhaps less of a ‘resistance’ and more of an ‘immunity’ to it, given how both Daniel and the Lazarus pit have similar compositions. It would be a fascinating tangent to follow.” He chuckled to himself. “How droll. The life-restoring Lazarus pit holding a connection to the land of the dead.”

Talia turned to her father. “So, Daniel will not feel any of the pit’s side effects, then?”

Daniel perked up at the sound of his name, halting in his pacing. “I…might not go insane?”

“Perhaps, though it is too soon to tell. You have the waters of the Lazarus pit flowing through your veins, Daniel.” Ra’s smiled; eyes gleaming with the sparks of pride. “You and it are made of the same chemicals, the same reality-defying compounds that can bring the dead back to life.”

“Well, great. I have the same chemical makeup as a glowing hot tub, what else is new—” Her son staggered, and she caught him. Impossibly bright rings formed at his abdomen and then split, transforming Phantom back into a human. Mortal. His face haggard and sweating from the temples, eyes back to her beloved’s pale blues.

Her father did not bat an eye. “The pit’s healing effects are slowed down, then? Or perhaps it is because he has no wounds to heal?” Ra’s hummed; chin cradled in his hand. “Set him back into the pits, Talia. I believe young Daniel has yet to absorb all his needed energy.”

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine. Put me back in the crazy water, why not?” Daniel tugged at her shoulders. “Just…gently, please?”

Talia smoothed down his dark hair with a smile. “Of course, habeebi. I will even stay with you as well.”

When he looked at her, it was something almost akin to gratefulness.

------

In Gotham City, the upper echelons of society gather together at the Gotham Expo Center. The shining halls, which had been used as the site of a week-long exhibition of new scientific research, was reoutfitted to serve as the venue for the exhibition’s final event.

A gala. The hunting ground of the nouveau riche and old money families. Corporate moguls and debutants made their rounds across the floor, chatting with heirs and politicians and the who’s who of the upper class.

Scientists and researchers attempted to step out of their shells and dazzle the crowds. Wanting to fish a willing patron with deep pockets to fund their next project. Reporters huddled together like schools of fish, warily approaching the predators in their midst for a question or a photo. Both things many of the wealthy and affluent are easily ready to give, as long as it only showed off their best side in tomorrow’s society papers.

Bruce Wayne, the Prince of Gotham, and society’s darling observed everything as he always did, in that most people believed he barely noticed anything beyond what’s right in front of him. He raised the flute glass of champagne to his lips, pretending to take a sip as he listened to the chatter of sycophants around him. A few were even some promising researchers of which he made a mental note to pass along to Lucius.

Two nights ago, Bruce received a tip of unusual movements from the League of Assassins. The organization had been quiet as of late, and while Bruce had been very carefully monitoring their activities in the background, the sudden tightening of their security prompted him to take a closer look.

There had been sightings of the League of Assassins centered around a small town in Illinois—Amity Park. A rural tourist trap championing itself as the most haunted place in America. Something that Bruce would normally scoff at or zealously research about if not for John Constantine’s warning to “never go within a ten-mile radius of that hellhole.” With similar sentiments from others in the occult community, the Justice League decided to take that warning to heart. Bruce’s curiosity may have been piqued, but even he was tactful enough to avoid courting more trouble.

Suffice to say, Bruce—and especially Batman—could not afford to ignore Ra’s al Ghul’s movements. Whatever his plans were involved whatever anomalies were going on in Amity Park. And wasn’t it simply serendipitous that one of the guest lists for tonight’s gala was Vlad Masters, the mayor of Amity Park?

“Vlad Masters, is that you?” Bruce, slapping on his signature Brucie smile, masterfully detached himself from his previous group, quickly heading towards the nearby bar where he spotted Vlad getting another drink.

“Why, Bruce Wayne, it’s been so long!” The two shook hands, of which Bruce was slightly surprised at how cold to the touch Vlad was. A health condition, perhaps. Then again, there was something in Vlad’s appearance and stature that spoke of a deeper reason.

“It’s been, what, two years? What brings you to Gotham?”

“Business; the usual really.” Despite whatever friendly aura they’re projecting, Bruce Wayne and Vlad Masters weren’t friends. More acquaintances that have been forced to mingle a few times because of the nature of their business and the demands of high society. From what Bruce knows, Vlad is a business tycoon that’s as blindingly charismatic as he was infamous for his quick rise to wealth and a few rather shady dealings.

Bruce stuck his hand in his pocket. “Well Vlad, last we all heard was you dipping your toes into politics. You’re a, uh, what, a governor?”

Vlad let out an obviously fake chuckle. “Oh nothing as grand as that. I’m only a small-town mayor, really.”

“Right!” Bruce snapped his fingers. “So, what’s that like?”

“Oh dreadful work, really. So much paperwork, so many things to do or oversee, but rewarding in its own way.” He puffed out his chest. “Many of the people in Amity Park do rely on me, you know. Though I’m afraid my schedule’s busy enough that I barely have time to go home!”

“Well, we’re very happy that you made room enough to visit us here in Gotham.”

Bruce sensed Damian coming to stand beside him and instinctually placed a hand around his shoulder. Though his youngest had been steadily adjusting to his new life here in Gotham, he still preferred to stick to his father’s shadow than mingle with those of his own age groups at galas. (Then again, Bruce was very similar when he was younger so perhaps it was a genetic thing).

He smiled down at Damian—frowning as he’d rather be patrolling the streets in uniform as opposed to schmoozing with people he hardly cared about. “Have you met my son, Vlad? Damian, this is Vlad Masters, a business partner and a, uh—” He scrunched his face, pretending to remember what Vlad’s current occupation is. “Mayor of some small town out west.”

Bruce turned to look at Vlad, expecting to see some variation of ‘insulted but trying to keep up a polite façade’—only to freeze.

Vlad’s face paled considerably. His beady eyes comically wide as he looked at Damian, the fingers curled around the stem of his flute glass bone white. Damian, unnerved, steadied his stance but shifted minutely closer to Bruce.

Well, this was interesting. “You alright, Vlad? You looked like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

Vlad jerked his head towards Bruce. Surprise—and fear? —contorted his features for a brief moment before smoothed back down into a proper mask. “Mayor of Amity Park, yes. My apologies,” he chuckled. “Young—Damian, was it? —only reminded me of someone I knew once.” He shifted his gaze back to Damian. “The resemblance is actually quite uncanny.”

Damian furrowed his brows. “Amity Park?”

“You’ve heard of it, Damian?”

“I would be surprised if you did.” Vlad masters took a small ship of his champagne. “Then again, it should be expected that you might have heard of it. The town does love it’s ghosts.”

Bruce laughed. “What, like Casper?”

“Something like that, yes.” There’s a tightness to Vlad’s voice. “Amity Park is its own breed of strange. We’ve handled things well enough on our own in the past, and quite honestly you get used to all of the spooks eventually. Though I must say the shadows are quite new—I’d often ask myself if I should petition your city’s vigilante and put him on the case.

“Shadows?”

Vlad easy smile shifted into a faint grimace. “They have a rather nasty habit of snooping.”

------

Despite Bruce and Damian’s attempt at plying Vlad for more answers, Vlad kept his mouth shut, evading questions and changing topics skillfully. Something that only raised Bruce’s alarm that something was going on.

“So,” Bruce unbuttoned his suit as he stepped into the car, “How did you hear of Amity, Damian? Ghosts and ghouls don’t exactly seem like something you’d be interested in.”

He waited for Damian to buckle his seatbelt before shifting the Bentley into drive and pulling out of the Expo. They had stayed at the gala long enough, making their rounds and giving the media enough for a headline in the society pages.

Damian rested his hand against the window. His face scrunched as he watched the looming facades of Gotham’s architecture pass by. “Mother mentioned the name once or twice,” he said. “I was not…privy to every operation that happened in the League, so I don’t know anything despite that my grandfather took an interest in Amity.”

“And I’m sure that from Masters’ odd phrasing, Ra’s didn’t just magically lose that interest either.” He narrowed his eyes. “Contact Oracle and have her dig up everything we need to know about the situation in Amity Park. I think it’s time Batman made his introductions to some out-of-town guests.”

[watchtower-feed]

BatDragon

Batfamily ✧ 1 ✧

     The fight had run long and everyone is exhausted. While Bruce is away on a top-secret intergalactic League mission, all of his wards decided to work as a team to take down Black Mask and his men. Only because it’s been a particularly unusual job, unusual even for Gotham. Black Mask had outsourced manpower from Bane himself to protect his precious cargo, a single chest the size of a serving platter. It was enough for all of them to be cautious and actually work together.

     The Red Hood is making sure every single hired muscle is tied up and unconscious. “Damn. Black Mask sure gave us a fight for this one.” He rubs his gloved hands together while he walks toward the chest. “Makes you wonder what’s inside.”

     Nightwing, Robin, Red Robin, Spoiler, Orphan, and the Signal have been circling the cargo as well. Scanning it. Observing it. It’s not made out of gold or silver, just a metal chest with a few dents on it from being roughly handled and eventually dropped during the fight.

     Finally, cautiously, Robin and Red Robin squat down beside it to examine the locks. It’s nothing advanced. In fact, they were just multiple bulky old-fashioned locks. Quietly, the two of them worked together on opening it.

     The tension and anticipation are so thick in the air until Spoiler couldn’t stand the silence any longer. “What is it?” She asked as soon as Robin’s gloved hands are holding the lid and lifting it slowly.

     Red Robin is the first to see a glinting sheen. “Some kind of precious stone?” he remarks. When Robin has the lid all the way down, all of them could see the thing that’s inside. “Not a stone--”

     “An egg,” Robin finishes.

     “Ohmygod,” Nightwing interrupts, “Are we doing Eragon--”

     His mouth hangs open. All of their eyes are glued to the egg in front of them as it rocked in its place and then the sound of a tiny crack echoed inside the harbor warehouse and made their hearts stop. They watch the small intermittent ruptures extend until it finally formed a jagged piece. A piece that’s pushed out by you.

     “It hatched.”

     Your small black claws grip the edge of the egg as you slowly peak over the opening. There are seven gigantic figures crouching down and looking at you closely. They blink. So you blink.

✧ ✧ ✧

     “Who did she look at first?” Jason’s chest rumbles when he speaks and you find the vibration soothing. “Because she’s definitely imprinting on me right now.”

     Tim rolls his eyes as Jason secures you more firmly in his arms and against his chest. You nuzzle the tip of your mouth against the soft thin fabric of his undershirt. “After hatching from the egg she needs to be incubated. It only makes sense that she’d latch onto you ‘cause you’re the one with the strongest body heat here.”

     Your soft claws dig into Jason’s bear arms after hearing Tim’s voice, another soothing sensation to your newfound senses.

     Suddenly, a golden curtain sneaks up on your vision and you’re met with another one of your giants. “I have body heat, too,” she whines. Then, with a gentler voice she speaks to you, “Hey, little you. Wanna come to mama? I bet I’m a lot softer than this rugged old man.”

     Jason tries to tuck you away from her but you’re already crawling towards Steph. She snorts in victory as you settle on her chest. Her bare skin is a lot gentler on your soft scales.

     Two other heads lower down to look at you and you welcome them both by flicking out your tongue and touching the tips of their noses. Cass laughs at the wetness while Dick pouts.

     “How come she’s not acting like the dragon from the movie?” He reaches for your featherless wings, “She hasn’t even opened them once--” and tries to pull on them, causing you to hiss in fear.

     He quickly retracts his arm and spouts rushed apologies. From the few hours they’ve known you, they at least know that you do not like your limbs being pulled.

     Damian walks in with a scowl on his face while nursing his bandaged hand. “What did you do?” he accuses Dick right away.

     “He tried to pull on her wings,” Duke spits out right away. Everyone shifts their glares at him because he still hasn’t gotten rid of his instinct to tattle, a habit that’s gravely unwelcome among Batman’s wards.

     “Tsk.” Damian walks up to Steph to examine you closely, making sure you’re unhurt. He’s also close enough for you to lick his nose. Your smallest giant. The giant who helped you climb out of your egg and onto his harm.

     Damian was so curious at your mysterious physique that he couldn’t help running his fingers along your trunk and then pulling on the spiked ball that was the tip of your tail. So you bit him.

     Everyone shouted and Duke swatted you away making you fall on the ground. Scared and helpless. But it was Damian who extended his other hand again and picked you up to take you home.

     You’ve been staring at him long enough that Steph gently hands you to him. Damian carries you with both of his hands. You may only be a little longer than his forearm, but you easily extend beyond his embrace.

     “I’m taking her with me to Nanda Parbat.”

     Angry gasps fill the room and you watch tensely as your bigger giants quickly surround him. 

     “What?”

     “Give her back,” Steph’s the only one who stomps toward Damian.

     Damian doesn’t step back. “The manor is no place to raise a dragon.”

     “But it’s enough for a demon,” Jason quips, “and we’ve survived.”

     “The League of Assassins is centuries old. My family is the greatest source we have to find out more about her species.”

     “Good lord.”

     Everyone turns and freezes the moment they see Alfred in his robe and nightdress. His hands are shaking while he ties his robe around his waist and stares wide-eyed at you. You blink at the new older giant who’s standing underneath the doorway. He doesn’t blink back.

     “Alfred, we can explain--”

     “You brought home a baby dragon…”

     Finally, once the absurdity of it all has been voiced out, Bruce’s wards can finally feel the gravity of this single night.

✧ ✧ ✧

     Batman is too far out in another galaxy to be reached and his wards didn’t want the League to know about you. In their eyes, your giants are still children and they would take you away from them.

     Instead, another family member was called.

     When Ra’s Al Ghul makes it to the manor’s front door alongside his daughter, he stops. They turn to each other and wonder if they should just break-in. But they didn’t come here to intrude. Damian had invited them over and so they knock and wait.

     There’s nothing more surreal than the Al Ghul’s having tea with Alfred and Bruce’s wards, everyone out of their costumes and combat gear. Well almost everyone.

     “Why aren’t you guys in costume? That’s Ra’s Al Ghul,” the Signal whispers behind his cup of tea.

     “‘Cause he’s Ra’s Al Ghul,” Tim answers. “If anyone knows who we are, he would.”

     Jason leans in and gives the Signal his own two-cents, “Plus, they came to the manor and not the cave. That should’ve been your heads up.”

     Frustrated, he takes off his mask and sinks into his chair, letting the previous silence continue to grow in the Wayne sitting room.

     Then Dick breaks it, “So Damian told you and you came here, huh?”

     Talia smiles while her father continues to drink his tea with his eyes shut. “Wouldn’t you?” she teases, “I’m sure even beloved himself would come down from his perch if you had told him there’s a dragon in the manor.” Talia watches in amusement as Bruce’s wards swallow. She turns to Jason for confirmation. After having been raised by Talia after his resurrection, he knew he couldn’t lie to her so he looks away. “So you truly haven’t told him.”

     Finally, Damian walks back into the room with Steph who’s been holding you gently against her chest while you slept. When you pick up the new scents in the room, you immediately wake up and turn to them.

     To everyone’s surprise, Ra’s Al Ghul quickly stands. He stares at you. And very slowly he walks forward to meet you. He gazes down. Old ancient eyes study you deeply while you stare at him and blink.

     Of course, a living breathing dragon would be something the League is interested in-- something he’s interested in. After centuries on this Earth, he has never seen one and has at least once wondered if they truly exist. But today his grandson offers him that experience.

     Only to be disappointed.

     “This is nothing but a lizard.”

✧ 1 ✧

✧ Watchtower Masterlist ✧