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ravennm84 · 4 years ago

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Marinette’s Family Court Circus

I got this idea from a post @unmaskedagain and decided to put my own little spin to it. It’s a bit sad and does have my usual Lila-Salt spin, but I really loved writing this. Warm-Fuzzies and please enjoy!!

The day of her greatest triumph was also her greatest tragedy. Hawkmoth had finally been defeated, the butterfly and peacock miraculous back in the miracle box where they belonged, and Paris was finally safe.

However, when Gabriel Agreste was revealed to be the magical terrorist and his assistant, Nathalie, his accomplice, Adrien had been devastated. When the Paris police sought to find out the extent of Adrien's involvement, he had no choice but to reveal in a private interrogation room with only the mayor, Officer Roger, the chief of police, and Ladybug herself, his identity as Chat Noir. After which, Adrien said a tearful goodbye to Plagg and surrendered the ring of destruction to Ladybug. A press conference was held within an hour, absolving Adrien of any crimes in relation to his father, and his bodyguard would also be absolved four days later.

That night, after Ladybug had returned home and tearfully placed the ring, broch, and pin back in the miracle box; her parents and Grandma Gina had told her that they were going out to dinner to celebrate; Gina had even rented a car so they wouldn’t need to walk or take the subway. How Marinette wished that they had just gotten on the subway.

She woke up the following afternoon in the hospital. Apparently, her family weren’t the only people celebrating Hawkmoth’s defeat, and a car load of university students had celebrated too hard and T-boned their car while running a light. The doctors told her that her grandmother and father had died on impact and her mother passed away during surgery. Marinette had been extremely lucky to survive without any life threatening injuries; a broken leg, arm, collar bone, two cracked ribs, and a few lacerations across her body.

She was hardly paying attention to what the doctors were saying. Too shocked by the whole situation. There was no Miraculous Cure that could fix this. In the span of a single day, she had defeated her enemy, saved Paris, lost her partner, lost her grandmother, and her parents. She was alone.

When her family’s lawyer, M. Contere came to talk about custody, it was revealed that her grandmother was supposed to take custody in the event of her parents' deaths. Her grandfather would have been the next logical choice, but he had recently suffered a stroke and had been placed in a nursing home. This left the lawyer scrambling to find someone to take the girl or risk having her surrendered to the city of Paris.

Going through the Dupain-Chengs’ contact list, M. Contere made phone calls to numbers listed as family friends or emergency contacts. There were three that particularly stood out to him, all listed under the title of ‘uncle’.

The first was to an ‘Uncle J’; a woman answered the phone, introducing herself as Penny. When Contere told her it had to do with the Dupain-Chengs, the phone was handed to a man with a distinctly British accent. He sounded devastated to hear that Tom, Sabine, and Gina had all passed away before going into a panic and asking if Marinette was alright, showing absolute relief that she had survived the crash. When Contere mentioned the custody hearing, the man practically demanded to know the date, time, and place before promising that he would be there.

The second contact that stood out was labeled as ‘Uncle Tony’. That call was answered by an assistant named Jarvis before transferring the call to Tony. Again, Contere could hear the surprise and hurt at hearing that his friends had passed away before asking if Marinette had been in the car. When told that she had survived, there was relief and he mentioned that Peter would have probably cried for a week if he’d lost his childhood friend. Tony then offered to take custody of Marinette and Contere quickly told him the details.

Although M. Contere was relieved that at least two family friends/possible relatives seemed more than willing to take Marinette, he knew how fickle and difficult the courts could be and wanted as many options as possible for the girl, which led to the third contact labeled ‘Uncle Bruce’.

The phone was answered by an older sounding gentleman named Alfred before transferring the call. Contere could hear multiple voices in the background, most sounding like young men, and when he told Bruce about the passing of Tom, Sabine, and Gina; it went very quiet for a moment before all the voices began speaking at once demanding to know what happened, who was responsible, and if Marinette was okay. M.Contere answered the questions that he could and told them that Marinette was in need of a legal guardian. Bruce said Gina had been a great friend and mentor to him when he was younger and that he would be honored to care for her granddaughter. So he told him the details of the court hearing with the promise that he would make sure that Marinette was taken care of until then.

After hanging up, M. Contere had a strange feeling that he couldn’t shake. A feeling that told him that those three ‘Uncles’ were either going to make his job of getting Marinette into a stable home a lot easier… or it would be a total nightmare.

~oOo~

The day of the hearing was a Monday and Marinette's case was the first on the docket, which was a relief. If things went smoothly, she could be placed with one of her respective uncles by the end of the week and be taken care of. When the two of them stepped into the room, with Marinette rolling beside him in her wheelchair, M. Contere was surprised to see multiple familiar faces in the courtroom that he had not expected. Jagged Stone, Bruce Wayne, and Tony Stark were glaring, arguing, and puffing out their chests at each other; ignoring everyone else in the room. He also noticed how each man seemed to have an entire team of lawyers backing them up.

The tension and glaring match only broke when the two women; Pepper Potts and Penny Rolling, and the four Wayne boys; Dick, Jason, Tim, and Damien, noticed Marinette’s arrival.

“Marinette, sweetie, how are you feeling?” Penny asked as she walked away from Jagged to kneel beside Marinette’s wheelchair.

“Been better, but I’m glad to see some familiar faces,” she said with a weak smile.

Pepper leaned over a bit to give the girl a gentle hug while minding her injuries. “We’re here for you, Mari. No matter what.”

Then the four boys were almost surrounding her, offering to hunt down the people that took away their family and pile so many lawsuits on them that they’ll die of papercuts. This made her chuckle and grimace a bit from the pain, telling the boys that was sweet but unnecessary.

Jagged, Bruce, and Tony immediately put their argument on hold as they hurried over to check on the girl as well. Contere found it to be a good sign that Marinette seemed familiar with the three men, that they all asked how she was and if she wanted anything, as well as promising that they would take care of her. That last one, the three said at the same time and got them glaring at each other again. This caused Contere to sweat and Marinette to give her head a resigned shake.

What followed would probably go down as the most intense, well argued, and most headache-inducing case in the history of the Paris Family Court System with all three men vying for custody of the teenage girl.

Being able to provide financial stability wasn’t a concern as Jagged Stone was currently the most successful rockstar in Europe, Asia, Australia, and the Americas; while Tony Stark and Bruce Wayne were two of the wealthiest businessmen in the entire world. All three even offered to completely cover Marinette’s tuition to any school she wanted, so long as she was accepted.

Her safety turned out to be a large factor with all three men, and they were willing to hire their own private security to make sure that she stayed safe at all times. However, the three men also argued how the others lived in unsafe environments.

Jagged mostly lived in tour buses and out of hotels, which was a factor; but he was willing to call off his tours during the school year and only go on tour during school breaks so Marinette would never be without her guardian. Penny was also willing to help Jagged at every turn, stating that she loved Marinette like a niece and would make sure that she had a strong female role model in her life as well.

Tony’s reputation as a playboy and his identity as Iron Man brought up the possibility of attracting a dangerous element. He argued that his homes were equipped with the most advanced security systems on the planet. As well as being friends with an actual “God-Alien”, who had met Marinette and liked her a great deal. Tony was also willing to make Marinette her own personal Iron Suit that would be programmed to protect and fly her to a safe location at the first sign of danger. Pepper also offered to share custody as she already took care of Tony’s daily life as his assistant, taking care of Marinette would be easy and she was looking forward to having her around.

Bruce’s residence in Gotham, the most crime ridden city in North America, was a big factor. Bruce made a point that he already had experience as a guardian of his three adopted sons and his biological son, and they were kept safe. That he also had a top of the line security system at his home, which was located outside of city limits. Dick, Jason, and Tim also commented that they thought of Marinette like a little sister and that Wayne Enterprises had locations all over the world. If the judge decided that Gotham was too dangerous, one of them would gladly take up residency in a city that the judge approved and would stay there to watch over Marinette while still working and providing for her.

After two hours of listening to the back and forth of the three men and their lawyers, the judge decided that he’d heard enough for the day and set the next meeting for the following Thursday after lunch. He also recommended that the men bring proof that they have the mental capability of caring for a teenage girl, lists of schools near their homes to show that she will continue her education, and character witnesses, if available.

The three men wanted to take Marinette out to get something to eat after the court was adjourned, but M. Contere was forced to tell them that it would not be appropriate during the legal proceedings. He also recommended that they follow the judge’s instructions and make sure that they had everything needed, otherwise they would likely not qualify. Hearing that got all three men, their assistants, family, and lawyers moving at top speeds to get everything they needed for court in a few days.

Once they were out of sight, the lawyer couldn’t help but let out a stress induced sigh as he raised one hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. This custody battle had the potential to turn into a total circus, and although it could do great things for his career in the long run, he was more worried about how this would affect Marinette.

Speaking of, he was brought from his thoughts when he felt her small hand gently pat the hand that was holding his briefcase. When he looked down at her, she gave him a kind, though slightly amused smile. “You had no idea about the can of worms you were opening when you made those phone calls, did you?”

He couldn’t help but chuckle. “How was I supposed to know that Uncle J, Uncle Tony, and Uncle Bruce would turn out to be three of the most influential men in the world? How does your family even know all of them?”

“Uncle Bruce was raised by the family butler, Alfred Pennyworth, after his parents died. Grandma Gina and Alfred were best friends when they were younger. After the Waynes died, Gina would go check on them in Gotham, she liked to brag that she helped get Bruce back out of his shell. Uncle Tony knew my parents back in university, he was a lot younger and smarter than the other students and you can guess that didn’t go over well with some of them. My parents looked out for him and they became friends, and even after he got busy when he took over the company, he always made time to be there for the big moments in our lives; my parents’ wedding, their baby shower, and when I was born. I’ve actually spent a few summers in Gotham and New York visiting them.”

“And Jagged Stone?”

“He’s the most recent of my honorary uncles. I’m his personal designer, but he got unofficially adopted into my family after the tv show that took place in my parents’ bakery. Uncle Jagged made a bread guitar and sang rock songs with my dad. Once the show was over, Mom invited him and Penny to stay for dinner. During the course of the night, Dad claimed him as a new little brother. Jagged was so happy that he started calling my parents big brother and big sister, and started calling me his niece. Since then, he’s come over at least once a month to just relax and be a family with us.”

M. Contere couldn’t help but smile at that. From the sound of it and what he had seen, all three men truly cared about this girl and were willing to bend over backwards for her. That was a good thing, but he still worried that a custody battle between these three men could go for a long time and possibly cause mental distress for Marinette. Although the final decision was ultimately up to the judge, he was allowed to make recommendations if they were in the best interests of the child.

With that in mind, he knelt down beside Marinette. “You know the three of them and what they’re living situations are like better than I do. And even though you’re not 15 years old yet, I could petition the judge to factor your opinion. Which of them would you like to have guardian status?”

When Marinette gave him a knowing smile, he just knew that things might get more complicated.

~oOo~

It got a lot more complicated.

The media had caught wind of the custody battle, causing a giant crowd of paparazzi to stake out the courthouse to catch a glimpse of the rockstar, billionaire, and the self proclaimed “genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist” who was also a superhero. To their credit, the three only said that they were devastated by the loss of the Dupain-Chengs and wanted to do what was best for Marinette and left all the other questions at the door.

In the courtroom; all three men, as well as their assistants and Bruce’s boys, had done mental evaluations that their lawyers submitted to the judge. They also provided lists of different schools that Marinette was free to choose from; including public schools, private, and even schools that specialized in fashion. But the absolute kicker was the character witnesses.

Jagged Stone had brought other music stars, movie stars, and production mega stars that made Contere wonder for a moment if he’d accidentally walked into an award ceremony. Tony Stark had brought the Avengers, The Avengers, as his character witnesses. Contere wasn’t too proud to admit that he was a bit starstruck when Thor himself came over to great Marinette and complimented her on her ‘battle scars’, saying that they were a testament to her strength. If that wasn’t enough, Bruce brought multiple members of the Billionaire’s Club as character witnesses, many of whom had been suspected of being members of the Justice League.

The judge looked just as surprised, though somewhat irritated, by the people crowding his courtroom. He quietly looked over the mental health evaluations that had been provided, as well as the lists of schools; finding that everything was in order and that any of them would have been wonderful guardians to the girl. He was tempted to call another recess and pick this back up the following week until Marinette’s lawyer raised his hand.

“If it would please the court,” the judge motioned for him to continue, “although Mlle. Dupain-Cheng is not yet of legal age to make a final decision on the matter of custody, I felt that she was old enough to state her opinion. We have discussed it over the past few days and I believe we came up with a proposal that will satisfy all parties involved while still being in the best interest of the child.” M. Contere presented the four copies of the proposal to the bailiff, who handed one to the judge, and the three lead lawyers.

The judge read the summary at the top before looking at the lawyer in surprise. “You’re proposing joint custody?”

“Yes, your honor. My client and I feel that due to the influence that these men hold, as you can see by the character witnesses that have come here to speak on their behalf, that this custody hearing could be drawn out for a long time, which could have mental repercussions on Marinette.” Contere didn’t miss the ‘you ain’t kidding’ roll of his eyes, or the looks of shame that the three men shared at the thought of hurting Marinette.

“Keeping that in mind, my client came up with an outline for a possible custody agreement. M. Stark would retain custody during school as he has listed one of the top fashion schools in America, which would further Marinette’s future career. The weekends would be spent with M. Wayne, as Wayne Enterprises has connections to the fashion industry and would be able to give her training to help her successfully run her own business. M. Stone would have custody during summer breaks, so Marinette may continue gaining experience as his personal designer, a position she has held for close to a year and has already earned her recognition in the industry.”

The judge grew quiet again as he contemplated the proposal and read over the details. He didn’t want to deal with these three powerful, and in a lot of ways eccentric, men for the next few months while attempting to figure out the best placement for the child. Nor did he want to deal with the media frenzy that this case had already brought on. If anything, this was likely the best option, if he could get the men to agree to the terms.

“Do you have any objections to this proposal?”

There was a moment of silence as the lawyers continued to look over the proposal and spoke to their clients. Jagged’s lawyer was the first to respond. “No, your honor. M. Stone believes that this would be best for Marinette, but we would like to add a clause that M. Stone be permitted to call and visit Mlle. Dupain-Cheng so long as it does not interfere with her school work.”

“My client would also like that clause added to the proposal, your honor,” said the Wayne lawyer. “As well as the clause that Messieurs Stone and Stark work together with M. Wayne in securing Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s safety. As previously stated, all three men could be considered high-priority targets and normally require bodyguards. M. Wayne has proposed that any potential bodyguard be vetted and approved by all parties involved before being hired.”

The judge looked to Stark’s lawyer. “And do you have any stipulations you would want to see added to the proposal?”

“Only that there be an open line of communication between Messieurs Stone, Wayne, and Stark at all times in reference to Mlle. Dupain-Cheng’s well being and any possible travel. As all three men are known to travel the world for business; there will be occasions for the child to travel as well. When this occurs, the other guardians should receive notice of the country, city, and address that she resides; so, in case of an emergency, they will be able to be present to assist and protect her.”

“My client has no objections to these clauses,” said Jagged’s lawyer.

“And you, M. Wayne?”

The Wayne lawyer nodded. “The clauses are more than reasonable and are in the best interest of Mlle. Dupain-Cheng. Although I only speak for my client, I do not believe that I would be out of line to say that is the main focus of Messieurs Stone and Stark as well.”

The lawyers hid their relief when the judge nodded in agreement. “As the proposal was presented by the child and the three of you are in agreement, I’m scheduling a meeting in my chambers for next Tuesday to go over the finer details of the custodial agreement. I will allow your clients and one lawyer each to attend; this includes you and your client, M. Contere.”

“Yes, your honor.”

“And as for you, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng,” Marinette’s head snapped up to meet the judge’s gaze. “It seems that you have gained three extremely powerful, influential, and in many ways crazy guardians. I don’t know if I should congratulate you or give you my sympathies. What I will do is wish you the best of luck and hope that you are prepared for the future. Court is adjourned.”

There was a hum of surprise and joy that spread through the courtroom as Jagged, Bruce, and Tony stepped up to each other and shook hands before approaching Marinette and M. Contere.

“Of course, my niece would come up with a way to keep everyone happy, she’s so rock n’ roll that way.” Jagged beamed with pride as Tony and Bruce nodded in agreement.

“Would it be alright if all of us went to dinner to celebrate,” Bruce asked Contere, indicating the ‘all’ to be himself and his boys, Jagged and Penny, and Tony and Pepper; along with Marinette and Contere.

“So long as there’s no discussion of custody and everyone stays civil, I don’t see any harm in it.”

Everyone smiled in agreement while Pepper mentioned that she’d just finished making reservations for all eleven of them at a nice restaurant that had the best view of the Eiffel Tower.

As the others began filing out of the courtroom, Marinette patted his hand and gave him a sympathetic look. “You just opened your second can.”

M. Contere wasn’t sure about what she’d meant until after the meal was over and the waitress brought the check, and then watched as the three billionaires fought over it. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he only hoped that this would all be over on Tuesday and he could go back to his normal, boring cases.

#ml fic #ml prompt #marinette deserves better #maribat #ml au #bruce wayne #tony stark #jagged stone #marinette dupain cheng

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bluegarners · 4 years ago

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“someone slips on ice and gets hurt... hurt/comfort pls!” ~anon

For 12 Days of Batfam prompts!

Gotham is cold.

He doesn’t mean that metaphorically, like Batman would normally brood over. Sure, Gotham was pretty heartless when it came to certain things, and yeah, Bludhaven wasn’t any better, and sure, Gotham sometimes felt like one endless cycle of insanity day after day, but he’s getting away from the point.

He’s talking about the frigid kind of cold. Not the kind of cold where snow falls lightly from the sky and dusts the world in white. Not the kind of cold where it’s just chilly enough to put on a jacket and some gloves and start a fire (a contained and safe fire, mind you- arson is not part of that description) and maybe sip some hot chocolate and roast a couple marshmallows for the heck of it.

That’s the kind of crisp weather Dick would like, but as he said: Gotham is cold.

Which brings him to where he is now, jogging in place and trying his best to stay warm on what may be the most boring stake-out he’s done in months. His suit isn’t built to be warm. It’s not bulky and though it has kevlar in it, the material is meant to help stop bullets and deter knives from gracing themselves into his, unfortunately, vulnerable organs. Point being, the skin tight and relatively thin suit he’s wearing isn’t built for Gotham’s icy chill.

His fingers had gone numb a while ago, and Dick’s absolutely sure he’s sporting a new shade of blue lipstick from Fenty Beauty, and were someone to see him, Dick’s also certain they might mistake him for Rudolph. He wouldn’t mind being recognized as such an icon, but it wasn’t exactly the sort of thing to intimidate criminals with.

Efforts at staying warm prove futile, and the exercise he tries to do without being obvious also does little to put back some feeling into his toes. He’s thinking about calling it a night, the drug deal he’d been hoping to catch the last few weeks a bust, when a classically suspicious white van pulls up. It’s laughable, in a way, how stereotypical some of Gotham’s “lesser” villains could be, but Dick’s not one to complain.

Makes his job easier after all.

Two men exit the van, shuffling through some contents in the back. They’re both wearing ski masks, somewhat appropriate for the weather actually, and seem to be in a hurry. Hushed whispers go between the two as they wait stoically by the front doors of the van, what looks to be a small ziploc back clutched in one of the goons hands. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that it’s a drug deal, or at least something related to it, and Dick feels a smile creep onto his frozen face as another person slowly walks up to them, shifty and anxious.

A newbie then, Dick thinks, crouching down and carefully making his way closer to them from his vantage point. Must be a kid then.

Based on the height and general demeanor of the newcomer, it’s safe to assume that the buyer is indeed a teenager, at most a young adult. Perhaps not even old enough to buy alcohol. How they heard about the new drug, and where to get it, was a bit surprising, but seeing as the deal was happening in the poorer districts, Dick was sadly not perturbed.

There are few quick words exchanged, an envelope of cash being handed over for the ziploc baggie, and Dick knows it’s time to finally take action. A good thing too, seeing as it feels like the soles of his boots had become suspended to the frozen concrete.

His entrance startles both parties, the men in ski masks immediately reaching for weapons and the teenager backing away, stumbling over himself in an effort to run. Perhaps if they were more experienced, or at the very least a second more prepared, they would have been able to put up some sort of defense. As it were, though, Dick had been stalking this particular drug for weeks. He knew where most of the suppliers were, knew what areas they liked to sell in, knew their demographics and the supply chain, and also knew who and what the dealers consisted of.

This “new” drug was really just a potent mixture of PCP and bath salts. A dangerous combination, but not valuable enough to have competent dealers and proper weapons for protection.

Which is why the take down of both men lasts all of about seven seconds, Dick easily knocking them out before they could reach for any weapons they happened to have in that van of theirs. He’ll give them props for trying though- it’s not everyday Nightwing, of all people, decides to ruin your one job.

With the dealers out of the way, Dick turns back around to see the teen, baggie in tow and still clutched tightly in his fist, booking it across the street. It’s dark enough to the point where the boy just looks like a flighty shadow in the night, but the flickering lamp-posts give just enough light to show exactly where he was heading. The confidence in his gait suggested that he knew where he wanted to go, and if Dick had to make a hypothesis, he’d say the kid was heading home.

The only place in the world that could feel safe after something like this.

Dick feels a frown pull on his face, the skin tight from being exposed to the bitter air, and not for the first time, feels a smidgen of sympathy for the situation. He brushes it off though, shelving that particular thought of his to the back of his mind, and grapples onto the building over, pulling himself over the ledge.

He follows the kid from the rooftops, leaping over gaps and darting across fire-escapes to keep up with the twists and turns the teen took. If he knew he was being tailed, then the kid was doing a pretty good job at evading, but he was no match for someone who had trained for years doing this exact thing. Dick may live in Bludhaven now, but Gotham would always be his first home. He knew this city almost as well as Bruce, and the only reason he didn’t know just as much was because he hadn’t given his soul away to it just yet. Bruce had shaken hands with the city and signed away his being when he donned the cowl.

Dick was attempting to do the same with Bludhaven.

The kid bolts into an alleyway, coat flying behind him in his mad dash, and Dick thinks now is the time to stop the chase. He descends from the rooftop, landing in front of the breathless teen, and holds out a hand firmly. It’s a little funny, the scene he makes. Not only does he look like Rudolph, but with the pose he’s made for himself, he might as well be a crosswalk guard with his hand up to halt speeding cars.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says, not unkindly. “Let’s do this the easy way, kid.”

The teen takes a step back, the drugs held tightly against his chest. “You’re… you’re Nightwing.”

“The one and only,” Dick smiles, taking a step forward.

“But-but this is Batman’s city. Why are you here? You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Honestly, kid, that’s not your biggest concern right now. If I were you, I would be worrying about how to explain those drugs you’ve got there.”

As if realizing the contents of the baggie for the first time, the teens eyes dart to it, panic setting in as the situation’s gravity, and what it could mean for him, overwhelms him.

“Th-These aren’t mine,” the kid tries. “I-I swear I wasn’t gonna use them.”

“Uh huh,” Dick says, taking another step closer. “Why don’t you try again, uh, what’s your name?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“Okay,” Dick shrugs, easing his way nearer. “That’s fine, I’ll just call you Buddy. Now, Buddy, there are two ways this can go. One, you give me that bag and you’ll only be reported for minor drug possession. Gotham has a fine ranging from 30 to 50 dollars for that sort of crime, so it won’t be too bad. The second option is, well, I don’t think you want the second option. So, what’s it going-”

Now, Dick could blame about ten different things for what happened next. He could blame his mouth, as he gets too chatty with the younger ones sometimes. He could blame the poor lighting, seeing even more difficult at this time of night. He could even blame the wind for being too loud, lest he would’ve heard the quick intake of breath and shuffling feet.

Dick could blame many different things, but as it were, Nightwing was being pushed, hard, and he hadn’t seen it coming.

The unexpected shove throws him off balance, arms waving in the air for some sort of hold, and Nightwing probably would’ve been able to stop the fall on any other night, but, as he keeps being sorely reminded, Gotham is cold tonight.

Gotham’s cold was unforgiving and instead of snow, it produced ice. And, lucky him, a patch of black ice presented itself right where his unfortunate footing was trying to find some stabilization. His feet fly right out from under him, all four appendages now in the air and flailing comically.

Dick has the awareness to at least look where he’s falling, craning his neck just so, and he internally groans as the sight of an open garbage can meets him. For whatever reason, Gotham liked using metal cans, of all things, and this one did not have a lid on it.

Fantastic.

He can’t catch himself, his arms out of his control (Dick also blames the cold for the numbness in his hands and, hence, lack of grip), and it’s all he can do but brace for impact. Oh, he’s so going to-

The side of his head slams into the rim of the metal bin, and the world goes white. He crumples against the frozen ground, boneless and suddenly without vision. Something warm, or decidedly extremely cold, slides down his neck and Dick can barely keep his eyes open. There’s no pain, at least not yet his muddled head reminds him, but he can’t seem to move or do anything for that matter. Sensations fail him and the lack of any visuals besides the blaring white and static in his eyes scares him. His tongue feels fuzzy, and there’s something smooth and metallic dribbling past his lips, but his biggest concern right now is getting up.

Laying here, injured, was a big no no. Vulnerability was a dangerous thing. If he could just… If he could just move his arm, he might be able to do something. Call for backup maybe. There’s a drug bust that’s going to go down soon and he’s been tracking these guys for weeks now and it would be a shame if they were to get away. Those drugs were dangerous after all, and in the wrong hands could get someone killed. It could get kids killed. It could get his… his buddy killed. Did he have a buddy? Buddy?

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.”

Dick hears the distorted voice from above, the sound crackly and pitchy.

“Oh, god, I-I swear- oh my god. I didn’t mean to do that, I swear, I swear. Oh my god, what do I do. What do I- oh my god, I killed him. I killed him.”

If he could, Dick would roll over and try to console the obviously panicking person. He can’t exactly make out everything they were saying, but it sounded bad. What happened? Were they hurt?

A hand is jostling his shoulder now.

“Sir, Nightwing, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please wake up, I didn’t mean to do that. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Wake up, wake up please. I’m sorry, oh my god, I didn’t-”

Another sound pings in his ear, like the toll of a tiny bell, but Dick doesn’t have the presence of mind to really register it. It’s the last thing he hears before the static overpowers him and the white disappears.

Tim hates being sick. He hates being benched even more, but he’s only benched because he’s sick. So maybe he actually hates being sick more than being benched. He’s not sure.

The head cold he’s been nursing, begrudgingly, the past few days has been steadily getting better. He woke up this morning without feeling like his head was being squeezed into a compressor, so it was progress. Alfred still won’t let him drink anything but water, something about hydration being key, but as he sips some hot chocolate from his favorite mug, Tim thinks that what Alfred doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

He’s on monitor duty currently, a task assigned to anyone who wasn’t out on patrol. Barbara was on a break tonight, taking the time off to sleep and try to catch up on other things, so it was left to Tim to handle the comms. It’s boring, horribly so, but it’s the only thing he’s allowed to do without being wrestled to his bed to rest.

He begins pinging everyone for their hourly check-in, a new protocol Bruce decided to implement after “the incident” (Tim still believes that the check-ins are unnecessary- it only happened one time! One time!), and waits for their response. He gets a few pings back, Spoiler being the only one to actually say hi, and waits for Nightwing to answer.

A minute go by and Tim pings Nightwing again. Most likely, Dick was distracted. He’d said he was on a stake-out tonight, hopeful to catch some dealers in the act. Maybe he finally did. Maybe he didn’t. Tim doesn’t really care; the warm drink in his hands was making him sleepy.

Another minute passes, and Tim lethargically pings again. Concern is slowly seeping into his stuffy brain, but he’s deciding to give Dick a little more time to answer. Dick was a chatter-box sometimes, and though he doesn’t have a headache right now, Tim’s not eager to gain one.

“This is Red Robin, requesting a check in,” he says into the comms, frowning a bit when there’s still no answer. “Nightwing, report.”

He’s technically not supposed to do this, privacy being a very important part of all their lives, but the silence was making him nervous. With just the slightest bit of hesitance, Tim opens the communication line so he can listen to what, exactly, Dick is doing. The comms are two way, and with Tim having access to the main port, he can time into anyone's’ comm and hear the situation. Typically it’s yelling or curses on the other end, the normal reason for not answering the ping being a fight or some unavoidable situation.

What Tim isn’t prepared for, however, is the labored breathing that sounds horribly wet and pained. Like someone was breathing through a straw and drowning at the same time. Okay, not a great analogy, but he’s caught off guard and suddenly very aware of the fact that Nightwing is injured and, probably, incapacitated.

There’s someone in the background as well, their voice not quite decipherable but panicked all the same. It’s definitely not a voice Tim recognizes and that amps up his anxiety a bit more.

Quickly tuning to the shared channel, Tim urgently says, “Nightwing’s down. I’m sending out his location. Whoever is closest needs to get there ASAP. Someone’s with him as well, but I don’t know who it is. They might’ve been the one to attack him.”

“Robin and I are close. ETA two minutes,” Batman grunts, the slight pitch change an indication of his worry. “Is Nightwing’s comm broken?”

“No,” Tim sighs, unable to do anything more but listen to it all unfold. “He didn’t report in for the hourly. For whatever reason, he can’t respond. He’s injured, but I don’t know to what extent. He might be unconscious.”

“How long has he been down?” Robin demands.

“I don’t know,” Tim responds, growing frustrated. “He didn’t say anything earlier or call for backup.”

“Have Agent A prepare things,” Batman orders. “Treatment for hypothermia may be needed. Batman out.”

“Robin out.”

The moment of silence after is haunting, but the feeble breaths that come through a second later make Tim’s stomach churn. It fills the Cave, echoing and reverberating sounds of sickness and hurt.

He can’t turn it off though. He has to make sure Dick is okay. That he’s still breathing because although it’s grating and gut-wrenching to listen to, it’s a sign of life.

Tim hates being benched.

The one hundred and twenty three seconds it takes to get to Richard’s location is tense. It’s a blinking blue dot on the radar, flickering in and out as they draw nearer and nearer to the dank alleyway Nightwing was laying in.

Batman and Robin had opted to patrol with the Batmobile that night, the bite of Gotham’s frost a needless pain to endure. Damian hadn’t made a comment about Richard’s foolish idea to do a stake-out in below freezing temperatures, it wasn’t his place to ridicule the man he looked up to on something so trivial, but Damian thinks he’s regretting that decision a bit.

Richard listened to him. Not all the time, and frequently the older man possessed more knowledge on what was to happen, but he did consider Damian’s advice and for that, he was grateful. Now, Damian wished he had just slapped the man to get him to see straight. Clearly, the plan had been inane from the beginning, and now Nightwing needed to be rescued and assisted.

An imbecilic situation.

They reach the entrance, or perhaps exit, of the alleyway, the path too dark to see clearly through. As soon as he opens the door, Damian hears the sounds of flighty footsteps and immediately plunges into the dim. He can see the figure now, a gangly and awkward excuse of a man running to the other end of the alley. Damian can sense Batman behind him in his pursuit, the comfort of backup strange.

If this man, who they were chasing, was strong enough to incapacitate Nightwing, one of the best fighters in the world, then they may have a problem on their hands.

Damian stops short though, almost falling onto his face as the gleam of ice appears in his peripherals. It catches the light of a dull and yellowing streetlamp, but it’s just enough to reflect onto the ice and reveal yet another figure, slumped over and unmoving.

Careful of the ice, Damian approaches cautiously, peering closely at the lump of mass laid against the brick wall. Batman keeps in pursuit, and soon, his cape disappears from the alley, determined to catch the fleeing perpetrator. Robin is alone now.

Taking out a flashlight from his belt, Damian directs its beam to the form and nearly gasps.

It’s Nightwing. Richard.

Immediately rushing closer, Damian is startled to see the sheer volume of blood weeping down the older man’s face, a stream of red that flows down his jaw and soaks the hemline of his suit. Taking in the situation, Damian sees the knocked over trash bin, a corner of the top suspiciously rust colored. Additionally, the ice patch that’s near the base of Richard’s feet, and the position he currently lays in, would suggest that Richard had fallen or been pushed over, slipping due to the ice.

The amount of blood still flowing out of Nightwing is concerning, but if it was from a head wound, then it wouldn’t be surprising. As Richard liked to say, head trauma was the most dramatic trauma.

The older man is unconscious, lips blue and face much paler than would be healthy. He doesn’t respond to Damian’s attempts at waking him up, including shining the flashlight directly into his eyes after peeling away his mask. However, in doing so, Damian also learns that Richard may be suffering from a concussion or worse, as his pupils barely contract when he passes the light back and forth.

“I have the suspect,” Batman says into the comms. “A teenager named Ben Purole. He claims he pushed Nightwing, resulting in him hitting his head on a garbage bin.”

Damian nods to himself, satisfied with the confirmation. “That is likely,” he responds, applying pressure to the now located head wound. “Nightwing is suffering from head trauma, perhaps a concussion, but appears to have no other wounds. He is bleeding and unconscious though. It would be wise to get him treated quickly.”

There’s a grunt on the other end to signal affirmation and less than twenty seconds later, Batman appears, carefully taking Nightwing into his arms and walking towards the Batmobile still parked at the entrance of the alley. Without prompting, Damian opens the side door, crawling in after Richard had been set to lay down.

The movement and sudden change in temperature seems to rouse him, a groan escaping his lips. Before Damian has properly fastened his seatbelt, the Batmobile is off, gliding easily across the icy roads. Father doesn’t like to drive fast during this kind of weather, though he knows the tires of the vehicle are built to grip onto slick surfaces, but there is a sense of urgency in the way he weaves between cars and runs lights.

“Wh’ happn?” Richard slurs from where his head rests in Damian’s lap.

“You were being brainless,” Damian responds, sniffing slightly, “and slipped gracelessly into a trash bin.”

“Skate?”

“No, you did not skate. What you did could hardly even be called falling. It was tasteless.”

“M’ head hurts.”

“Like I said,” Damian whispers, annoyance fading, “You fell. I believe your head collided with the edge of a metal bin.”

“Bleedin’?”

“Yes.”

“Con..concuss...con…”

“Yes, it is likely you have a concussion. You will be scanned when we arrive at the Cave to be sure.”

A moment of silence passes, nothing but the growl of the Batmobile’s engine to shake it.

“Richard?”

“Mmfph?”

“Are you… Are you alright?”

Two seconds.

“M’ cold.”

“Oh,” Damian says, slightly embarrassed. That was obvious, really. Why had he not provided a blanket yet? Or any sort of jacket or heat pad? Perhaps it was not just Richard being brainless tonight.

Gingerly, Damian shifts about, searching for anything that might provide warmth for the duration of the drive. He finds nothing though, the majority of their winter equipment most likely in the trunk. Richard’s lips are still blue and his shoulders shake in what might be shivers. His skin is cold to the touch, eyes squeezed shut and pained, and Damian cringes at the drying blood beginning to crack around his cheeks.

Now, Damian could provide multiple excuses for his next course of action. Not excuses, no, not that. He’d come to the reasonable conclusion that Richard was cold and may have hypothermia. There was also the conclusion that Richard most likely needed comfort, as he was still greatly disoriented and concussed. Damian’s actions were for the sole purpose of providing means of ensuring Richard’s safety as well, as even though Father was a good driver, one could never be too cautious, especially on such icy roads.

So, yes. Damian draping himself over Richard’s body in an awkward hug was purely for safety reasons. He intended to provide warmth with his own body heat and it was purely for Richard’s comfort. Nothing else. It was to help Richard. Damian did not need anything nor did he seek comfort.

The hug was for survival reasons. Yes, survival. Exactly that.

Damian will never admit to the small smile that crept up his face when Richard hummed, a small and frozen grin of his own spreading.

The rest of the drive was spent in easy silence and when they arrived at the Cave, Tim and Alfred were waiting for them. By then, Dick had become slightly more coherent. Not exactly lucid, he still slurred his words just the slightest bit, but it was safe to conclude he was in no real danger.

Of course, as soon as he was cleared, Bruce took one last glance at Dick before heading back out again. Damian stayed in the Manor, watching his brother sleep on the cot they kept out for occasions like this. Dick had been given three blankets and a hot pack to hold onto. Hypothermia hadn’t set in, but the bright pink of his fingers and toes were a sign of future trouble if they didn’t immediately correct it.

Hours later, some time in the early morning when the sun had just barely begun to rise, did Bruce return. Alfred had sent both Tim and Damian back up to the Manor, a reprimand of something along the lines of, “Heaven forbid you two be the ones to catch a cold rather than Master Richard tonight,” shaming them enough to carry themselves to their respective rooms and settle in.

Taking off his cowl, Bruce’s eyes instantly travel to his eldest, still swamped with absurdly fluffy blankets and a ridiculous amount of pillows. He’s by his side in seconds, gazing at the color that had returned to Dick’s cheeks. Running a hand carefully through his son’s hair, Bruce frowns as he feels the familiar bumps of fresh stitches, his mouth pulling down further when he sees Dick’s brow twitch in irritation.

He keeps his hand there for a moment longer though, closing his eyes in what might be thankfulness. He’d left to check the garbage bin Dick had slammed into, scanning it for signs of rust or other ill-effects of time. Bruce had felt a surge of relief when he found no signs of oxidation in the metal, calling Alfred to tell him that tetanus was unlikely. Seeing Dick lay there, unresponsive and slurring, had scared Bruce more than he wanted to accept.

He’s a man always prepared for the worst, but never knowing what to do in the aftermath. That part of him that whispers his greatest fears screamed at him tonight, only subsiding once he’d returned. He was a coward, he knew this, but there was hardly anything else he could think to be.

“Bruce?”

He opens his eyes to look down, taking in the sight of his eldest son, rosy cheeked and smiling, no longer covered in red stains and frost. It was a good sight. A great sight. Bruce isn’t religious, but he might even call it a blessing.

“Hey, chum. How are you feeling?”

Dick responds by leaning into Bruce’s touch, content and warm. There’s a suspicious wetness building in the graying man’s eyes, but neither make a comment. It was rare, these moments between them. Far and few between, but appreciated nonetheless.

“I hate the cold,” Dick grumbles, sinking further into the mass of blankets. “Winter in Gotham sucks.”

As if on cue, a hearty sneeze erupts from out of Dick’s nose, startling the both of them. Dick sneezed like he was a married man with three children; purposely loud, dramatic, and with enough force to throw his back out. Bruce blinks, processing the sneeze and trying to decide if something like that was even meant to come out of a person, much less a concussed person.

He needn’t think too hard about it though as a giggle, yes a giggle, makes itself known, filling the Cave with a lightness it doesn’t often experience.

Dick is laughing and it’s one of the most beautiful things Bruce has ever heard, and he can’t help but chuckle too.

Gotham is cold, but the small med-bay felt like the warmest place in the world.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #dick grayson & bruce wayne #damian wayne #Tim Drake #dick grayson & damian wayne #nightwing #batman #robin #red robin #12 Batfam prompts #dc #prompts #fanfiction #my fic

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heyitsani · 4 years ago

Text

I Cannot Be Broken

Omega!Dick Week Day 5: MILF!Dick

Word Count: 2898

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Talk of past Non-Con (nothing graphic) and Robincest (obviously)

Pairing: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd

Summary: James Grayson-Todd finds out some of his dad's past after an Alpha gets a little too friendly with the other man while picking James up from school.

Notes: This mentions the situations with Mirage and Catalina but without any kind of detail. It also deal with unsavory intentions that are not acted upon.

Also, I skipped day three and four on purpose. I will not be posting day three, but day four will come tomorrow after I post my story for the prompt I picked for day six. Day four would have spoiled day six so I chose to wait. Sorry not sorry.

You can also read this on AO3 here

“Is that your dad?” James looked up from his phone to see his dad leaning against the Bentley while surrounded by a group of women and men, cooing over the infamous Richard Grayson. It took all his will not to roll his eyes at the sight, having seen it so many times in the past. But it was rare to have his dad pick him up from school and not Alfred. The worst part about the crowd was that his dad hardly ever noticed the attention, yet it persisted.

His papa had said it was because his dad was unable to see himself the way the world did. There were too many people in his past that had taken advantage of his dad and now his self-image was shattered. Too many promises to love, care, and cherish his dad that had eventually been broken and then the blame for those broken promises placed on him instead of where it belonged. It had made James cry for his dad at first, but then his papa had said it was in the past. And all they could do was shower him with affection and love now.

“Jamie,” his dad smiled brightly when he spotted James and pushed through the crowd, going straight for his son.

“Hi Dad,” the boy greeted, easily slipping into the waiting arms despite most kids shying away from affection at the age of thirteen. James could hear the tittering behind his dad and the snickers from his classmates, but he didn’t care.

“Uncle Dick!” James released his dad and shot a glare at the kids who were watching them as his cousin Harper, Uncle Tim and Uncle Kon’s daughter, came bouncing up to them and demanded a hug.

“Dude,” James looked at Robert when he materialized next to him. “Your dad is a total MILF. Look at that crowd.”

“Ew, don’t talk about him that way.” Shoving his best friend’s shoulder, James looked back to where his dad was still chatting with Harper. He was aware that his dad was a good-looking man. You’d have to be blind not to noticed and even then, James had a feeling a blind person would still know. Because he wasn’t just beautiful outside, but inside as well. Dick Grayson was the kind of Omega that if he were to write about him in an English paper, he would be considered Mary Sue because as far as James was aware, his dad had no flaws. At least ones outside of his abysmal self-worth.

His dad was the kind of man who would give anything to protect others. And he did just that, each night as Nightwing. And he had done it back when he had been Officer Grayson for a brief moment, long before James had been born. And he did it whenever he saw someone in need on the streets of Gotham. It had always been a point of contention between him and Papa, who had to scold him constantly for trusting strangers in a city like Gotham.

And while it was amusing to see his papa treat his dad like a child in those lectures, it was concerning at times how his dad was too trusting.

“It’s true dude, whether or not you want to admit it.” James just rolled his eyes and frowned at the man who had separated from the group of fans that his dad had previously been surrounded by. The look of him immediately caused the boy’s hackles to rise and he moved closer to his dad.

“Richard, here is my card. Please call me about that coffee date to discuss the possibility of WE getting involved with the charity.” His dad took the card and James didn’t miss the way the Alpha’s fingers lingered against his dad’s.

“Thanks,” his dad said brightly, but it was too bright. James had learned how to spot the mask that his dad wore in real life now and again when he was in situations he didn’t feel comfortable in. Stepping closer to his dad, James gripped his hand.

“Dad, is Papa home yet? I wanted to ask him about something with my homework,” James interrupted anything the strange alpha might have said in response, pulling his dad’s eyes down to him. He could tell his dad knew it was a lie. His papa had mentioned he would be home late that night when they had been having breakfast that morning and he knew his dad knew he remembered.

“I do believe he is. Shall we? Harper, is your dad coming to get you or would you like a ride?”

“Uncle Jon is coming to get me. I’m going to hang out with him and Uncle Dami today.” James kept his eyes on the alpha who had narrowed his eyes at the blatant dismissal. When the dark eyes shifted to James, the teen smiled innocently at the man before letting his dad pull him along to the waiting car.

“Nice seeing you all,” his dad said kindly as he opened the door for James, who waved to Robert as he remained on the steps and watched with observant eyes. James slipped into his seat and waved his phone at Robert as his dad rounded the car and slipped inside. The instant the door was shut, James heard the rush of air his dad let out.

“Dad?” James waited for his dad to look over at him before he did or said anything else. When the older Todd-Grayson looked over at him, James reached for his hand. “You okay?”

“How do you feel about stopping by to see Papa?” James nodded but frowned. Spontaneous visits while his papa was working were rarely a good thing. “I’m good, baby. I just could use a little more stabilizing than just his scent back home.”

“Want me to call him?”

“Yeah, that’s a good idea.” James nodded and pulled out his phone. He ignored the text from Robert asking what had exactly happened a few minutes ago and pulled up his papa’s number, hitting call. The phone rang a through to the point that James was fairly sure he was going to get voicemail until it clicked as it connected.

“Jamie, you okay?” And of course his papa would think something was wrong. James never called while he was working unless it was an emergency.

“I’m okay, Papa. But Dad and I are going to come by. We just wanted to let you know.”

“What happened? Is your dad okay?” There was some mumbling in the background and a growl from his papa. “Handle it. I have something to take care of that is more important.”

“He said he’s good, but something weird happened at school. I think he just needs to see you.” James heard his papa grunt over the phone and then a door shutting. “We’re turning onto the street from school now.”

“I’ll be in my office; Sheila is being told you’re coming now. Just come right up. Let me talk to Dad.”

“Papa wants to talk to you,” James held the phone out to his dad, despite knowing neither of them liked talking on the phone while driving.

“Jay,” his dad said, voice slightly more strained than it had been just moments ago. “No, I just need to see you for a moment. I know you’re busy today. I just need a few minutes.” There was a pause in the conversation on his dad’s end and James tried to strain his hearing to listen to what his papa was saying but he wasn’t having any luck. “No. No, Jay. I know. I’ll explain when we get there.” His dad listened, glancing over at James for a moment before he came to a stop in front of the building. “We’re here. No. We’ll be up in a minute.”

His dad didn’t bother saying anything else before he hung up the phone and handed it back to James, who watched his dad closely as they got out of the car. The familiar mask of Richard Grayson-Todd slid back into place and James just frowned more. He hated that mask.

“Hello you two!” Sheila’s ever cheerful voice greeted them as they stepped inside after his dad handed his keys off to the valet out front. “Mr. Grayson-Todd is already up in his office. Can I send anything up?” She asked as she held out a bar of chocolate that she kept in her desk just for James.

“Thanks, Sheila,” James muttered as he took the bar.

“Thank you, Sheila. I think we’ll be fine though. This is a short visit; I know his calendar is full today.” The girl nodded sagely to his dad and James could see that she could see the cracks in his mask. She had been working for his papa for long enough that she knew them before they were married in the eyes of the public. “Call me later tonight, I’d love to have you and Gracie over for lunch this weekend.”

“Of course,” she smiled brightly, turning back to the computer she had been focusing on before they had come in.

“Come on, Jamie,” his dad said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder to guide him to the elevator. The palm scanner allowed them access to the top floor where his papa’s office was located without having to key in the security code, and soon enough they were headed up.

The doors hadn’t even opened and they could already hear his papa growling at someone. And he heard his dad sigh in response. But he didn’t smell annoyed or frightened. No, he smelled guilty. But James couldn’t figure out why. He hadn’t done anything.

“I said to handle it,” the doors opened to reveal his papa talking on his phone with his back to them. But the sound of the door opening caught his attention and he turned toward them, visibly sniffing the air before frowning at his mate. James stepped forward and gave his papa a hug before heading down the hall to where the kitchen was located so he could get a drink for himself.

A glance back before he entered the room revealed his dad with his face buried in his papa’s neck and his papa’s arms wrapped tightly around his dad. A sight he had seen plenty of times in the past, but this was different. He couldn’t put his finger on the reason why, but it was.

The clock on his phone told him that about twenty minutes had passed when his papa came in to find James sitting at the table eating the chocolate Sheila had given him.

“Hey buddy,” his papa greeted, dropping into the chair across from him.

“Is Dad okay?” He watched his papa nod his head as he broke off a piece of the chocolate for himself. “What was wrong?”

His papa sighed and leaned back into his chair, glancing over his shoulder toward the door before looking back to James. “You remember the talk we had about the people who had used your Dad for their own devices and hurt him in the process?” James nodded; he would never forget that conversation. “Well, a few of those times it was…physically focused.”

“Physically? Like because he’s good looking?” His papa raised an eyebrow. “Kids at school call him a MILF.” The older man snorted at that.

“Oh, Dick would hate that. Don’t ever tell him.” He let out a few more chuckles, shaking his head, before he went back to serious. “But no, not because he’s good looking. I mean in more nonconsensual ways. Do you understand?” It took a moment for it to hit him but then James jerked back, and his eyes flew toward the door.

Rape. His papa was referring to rape.

“But…that…” He looked down at the table and tried to figure out what to do with that information. It made sense. His dad hated when people outside of the family and their close friends touched him without him initiating it. And the air had shifted when that alpha had touched his fingers earlier while handing over the card.

“I can see you working out the issue in your mind right now. You understand what the trigger was today?”

“That alpha…” His papa nodded and sighed. “But I don’t understand why we had to come here? People have touched him without his consent before and I’ve never seen him react like this.”

“I’m usually already there.” That was true. “And the intention matters. Your Dad said that he could smell what that piss poor excuse of an alpha wanted,” his papa growled. “And that he knew about me but broadcasted his intent clearly anyway.”

That was disgusting.

“It’s not a part of your Dad’s past that he likes to have known, but we both thought you deserved an explanation. And now you know for future incidents.” James nodded, pushing the rest of the chocolate away no longer interested in it. “He’s also going to be a bit on the smothering side tonight. He doesn’t like that you had to witness this.”

“He’s always so good at hiding things.” His papa hummed. James had to wonder how many times his dad had been hurt before he had learned how to fool the people around him. “Papa?”

His papa hummed again and watched him from his spot, rocking onto the back two legs of the chair he sat in.

“Does Grandpa know about what happened to Dad?”

With a shake of his head, his papa set his chair on all four legs and folded his arms on the tabletop. “Your dad will never admit it and the rest of the family is probably in denial about it, but Dick is his favorite. It’s not a purposeful thing and it’s not really anything Dad has done. Not even anything the rest of us have done,” his papa explained. “But your dad was B’s first kid. And he was basically sunshine personified, he still is despite all the shit he’s gone through. But Dick came to him when B needed that. He chose your dad. Yes, he chose Uncle Tim, Uncle Duke, me and Aunt Cass, but Dick was the original. And Dick is everything I think Bruce wished he could be.”

James could see that. He knew that his grandfather’s parents had died when he was about the same age that his dad’s parents had died. And despite that tragedy happening in front of both of them, they were like night and day.

“So, what does that mean?”

“It means that while Bruce couldn’t avenge me for what the Joker did, he wouldn’t have hesitated to do it for your dad.” James opened his mouth to argue that fact, but his papa held up a hand to stop him. “I got over that fact a long time ago. Your dad helped me move past that hatred and anger, and B and I were able to deal with our issues. But Bruce has been kept in the dark about this for that specific reason. He never would have hesitated to take out the people who hurt your dad.”

James considered what his papa said before sighing. “What about you?”

“What about me, pup?”

“What did you do when you found out?” He watched as a dark look passed over his papa’s face and that was enough of an answer for James. The people who had touched his dad in that manner would never touch someone like that again.

“Hey Jamie, you ready to head home?” James and his papa looked up at his dad who was now leaning against the doorway. He looked significantly better, but still a bit frayed around the edges. “Travis is here to collect you for that meeting off site,” his dad told his papa, who swore under his breath and pushed out of the chair.

James stayed seated while his papa walked over to his dad and placed his hand against his neck, leaning down to kiss the top of his dad’s head. “I can figure the rest of the night out if you need me to come home early.”

“I’m okay, Jay. This was enough. I’m going to stay in tonight though.”

“I’ll call Damian and Jon?”

“Nah, I’ve already asked Tim if he and Kon could do a sweep since Harper is with Dami. We’ll see you when you get home, though.” His papa nodded and pressed a kiss to his dad’s lips before slipping out of the kitchen.

“Take care of your dad, Jamie. Call me if you need to,” he called out, glancing over his shoulder to give James a look that his dad couldn’t see. James only nodded before looking back to his dad.

“Can we order pizza?” James asked, standing from his chair and grabbing the remaining chocolate to hand to his dad, who always had a sweet tooth. The man chuckled softly and took the candy.

“Yeah, Jamie. We can get pizza.”

“And build a nest in the living room to eat and watch a movie in?”

“That sounds perfect, pup. Just perfect.” James felt relieved when his dad leaned down to kiss the top of his head and he saw his papa nodding his approval halfway down the hall. Shower him with love and affection. James could do that.

#omegadickweek #omega dick grayson #omega nightwing #alpha jason todd #alpha red hood #nightwing #red hood #dick grayson #jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #tim drake #kon-el #conner kent #timkon #jaydic #damijon #tw: noncon

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quillsareswords · 5 years ago

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Coping

Damian Wayne

(angst)

Vampire Reader, because I have a problem.

Coven: for all purporses of this fic, a Vampire coven is an organized underground society of Vampires. Often take pleasure/amuse themselves by partaking in violent and cruel acts toward Humans.

WARNING: USE OF UNIDENTIFIED DRUG AS A COPING MECHANISM (ESCAPE).

Prompt List // Masterlist (in bio)

When Bruce had told you what happened, it'd knocked the breath clean out of you.

When you'd tore off on your bike, helmet strapped on, eyes glowing a dangerous shade of red behind a dark visor, no one had moved to stop you.

When you cut all communication, they started to worry.

When the waterfall parted and the doors drew open, everyone had sucked in a breath.

You wouldn't look at them. You couldn't. Your eyes remained on the cement floor before you. Your tongue locked behind fanged teeth.

You could feel their stares. Bruce, Dick, Alfred, Barbara, Tim. All of them staring at you with horror, disappointment, and fear in their eyes. Dick's eyes were glistening with tears—you could see the shine out of your peripherals.

Your grip on the rear gasket of your helmet tightened, nails digging into the plastic. Not that it particularly mattered, anyway. The bloody crack down one side, peppered dents, and shattered visor put it beyond repair.

Heavy footsteps echoing angrily through the otherwise silent cave, you marched right through the small cluster they'd formed. You still couldn't bear to see their faces.

Bruce called out to you and stormed toward the elevator. At the wide doorway to the Medbay, Alfred waited dutifully as you passed. He would have treated the many cuts and bruises newly littering your skin, or stitched the holes in your jeans, your jacket, or your shirt, had you stopped. But you didn't.

Again, Bruce called you. He called you by a moniker you no longer deserved. This time, you could hear his boot steps gaining on your own.

Then, his hand his on your shoulder, and you're stopping abruptly to spin on your heel. You smacked his hand away, fury burning red-hot in your eyes. "Don't fucking touch me," you snarl.

His mouth hangs open for a moment. He recovers quickly. "Where is he?" He sounds breathless, and he looks tired. Terrified.

You all but leap away from his touch as he reaches to grasp your forearm. The rest of his family gather behind him, all anxious eyes and shivery hearts. You look away. Hurl your helmet across the cave with as much rage as you can pack into the motion. It shatters like glass and leaves an indentation where it hits the wall. "Gone."

Bruce let's out a breath that shakes as hard as your hands. "Gone?"

Dick braves a few steps forward. "What do you mean, gone?"

You bear your fangs and shout your answer, "Dead, you idiot!" It's angry and raw and pained. The word reverberates off the rock walls, echoing back in your ears like piercing needles.

You can't stand the look on Bruce's face, or the pain in Dick's eyes. You turn away, crossing the short distance to the elevator back up to the Manor. You punch in your code and slide in before the doors are comple open.

You should have known better. You should have been there. You should have seen this coming.

You'd warned him about that damned building at least a hundred times. You'd warned all of them. As unassuming as those dirty brown and red bricks looked, the horrors they held were beyond their pay grade.

You knew, though. You'd seen it.

It was a nest, you explained. An old, multipurpose building bought by a suspicious little group decades ago. Likely by the founder, but you weren't sure. A Coven, you'd said. Nothing to play around with.

You'd seen the spark in his eyes. A challenge. You did your best to stomp it out as quickly as you could, and you succeed. You made him promise that he'd stay away from it. And he never broke a promise to you, as cheesy as it seemed.

You had been keeping tabs on them since you'd moved to Gotham, a few years back. It was after they'd approached you, knowing you had a few strings to pull inside the circle of local vigilantes. You'd never liked Covens, but you were fairly new in town and decided that it was worth seeing how others like you acted around one another here. When you'd seen the horrors within those brick walls, you'd turned down the offer for a place among their ranks on the spot.

You should've known they'd turn their eyes on your partner. You just hadnt thought they'd be so bold.

They knew you, after all. They knew what you were capable of. That's why they invited you. They knew your power.

Or at least, now they did. With a building of bodies and blood and flames licking at those filthy bricks, you were sure they knew.

The steel doors pulled apart, a grandfather clock sliding to the side. You moved out and down the hall as quickly as you could with a new limp.

Hours later, you're locking a deadbolt to a dingy door in a dark apartment.

The first thing you did was shut off the heating. You didn't mind the cold—you hadnt since you were Turned—but Damian did. The warmth only reminded you of him.

Next, you unlaced and kicked off your boots, then tossed your jacket toward the kitchen counter on your way through the doorframe.

Then, you find yourself staring blankly into the freezer.

A to-go box, a tub of ice cream, a shelf of tofu, six ice packs, and a bottle of rum.

All of it his.

You slam the heavy door and growl. You growl, because if you don't, you'd whimper.

Finally, you're relacing your boots and marching back out to the city in a different leather jacket.

• • •

Even from across the street, the strong scent of alcohol burns your nose. Red eyes hide behind dark glasses, picking carefully through a steady stream if exiting patrons.

In such a bad part of Gotham, you aren't questioned about such dark glasses so late at night, nor your lonesome leaned against a brick wall in a dim alley.

Finally, your eyes find one man, stumbling about like a newborn fawn, dopey grin, and sloppy words spoken to the breeze.

You push off the wall and cross the slow traffic on the street.

For nearly three blocks, you tail him. Waiting for a buddy to catch up, a phone to ring. Your suspicions are confirmed when no such thing happens.

At last, he all but collapses against the cement wall of a building, obviously fighting for consciousness.

You move in.

As he begins to fall to the ground, you catch him by the collar of his shirt and swiftly haul him into the nearest alley. You slump him behind a dumpster and crouch next to him.

"Sorry bud," you grumble, ripping the collars of his coat and shirt from the base of his neck, "but I could really use a pick-me-up."

Teeth sink into flesh with a sickening noise. Blood draws immediately, spilling out just a little faster than you can drink it. You gulp it down with a desperation you haven't felt in years.

Eventually, the intoxication hits you. Your mind grows fuzzy at the edges, and thoughts become sluggish and tired.

When you've had your fill, you brace yourself against the wall for stability to stand.

You breathe deeply, taking in all the wild, horrid smells of this wretched city.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Your head turns slowly, to peer over the arm still braces against the wall. You arch an eyebrow, glasses slid lazily down your nose. Tim Grayson. No, no. That's not right. Tim. Tim Bake. Drake. Tim Drake. You snort. "What does it look like, Red?"

You can imagine the horror in his eyes as he stares at you from the other end of the corridor. His quiet for a long few seconds. "I thought you laid off the, uh . . . live feeding."

You pushed off the wall, found your balance with little difficulty, and whipped the excess blood from your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. "Yeah. I did." You stalked closer, hands shoved deep into your pockets. "About the same time I took up the whole hero gig." You waved your hand around in a general sense, before returning it to your pocket. "For obvious reasons."

You stopped a few feet in front of him.

His grip on that bo staff loosened. The sneer of disgust at his mouth softened. You wonder if he can see it in your face.

You're both very quiet for a very long time.

Unfortunately, it didn't last. "You know," Tim started, voice timid and soft, "he really loves you." He'll be back. For you, if nothing else."

You rolled your shoulders. Shifted your gaze. That rock is awfully neat.

"Did you . . ." Your eyes meet his, briefly, before he continues. "Did you see it happen?"

And just like that, whatever buzz you've built up off drunk man's blood subsides. You go rigid again, and your hands are shaking again.

He deserves to know.

"Yeah," you whisper, voice curling like smoke in the air, but it's not in the same way Tim's breath does. "I was so close I could have touched him."

He doesn't reply.

You shrug off the chill that runs down your spine. Your eyes glow a little brighter. "Shouldn't you be patrolling?"

Tim glances back down the alley, the way he'd come. "I was. Then I heard there was some shady person hanging around a bar down the street . . . I'm guessing that was you?"

You nod.

"Right." His eyes drift back to the man slouched beside the garbage. "Is he, uh–"

"No." Liar.

He nods stiffly.

You blow a hard breath through your nose. "I'd better be on my way."

"Uh, hold on," he grabs your arm before you turn away completely, but the look you throw him has him shuffling a step or two back. "Bruce wanted me to tell you, if I saw you, that he wants to talk to you."

You roll your shoulders higher, turning back down your side of the brick passage. "Tell him to shove it," you growled.

"You aren't the only one who lost him, you know," he says suddenly.

You try hard, you really do. But in the end, you've already got him pinned to the wall. When you speak, it's dangerously low and he can't tear his eyes from yours, gleaming threats under moonlight. "You weren't there. You didn't have the chance to stop it." Your teeth were bared, pink-stained fangs on full display and you snarled. "It wasn't your fault."

Forcefully, you released him. Hands shoved back in your pockets, a silent promise to your lover lingering in the back of your mind, you stalk off again, vanishing around the corner and into the shadows.

Tim watches you go.

• • •

Your head is absolutely spinning. You feel dizzy, despite laying perfectly still on your beat up sofa. Colors and shapes swirl behind your eyelids, entertaining you easily in the silence. Your mind is numb, vague thoughts blurring around the edges.

God you love this. You'd never done drugs like this before, partly because you were young and partly because it wasn't who you were. But you needed something stronger than second-hand drinking. You couldn't keep seeing his face. You couldn't keep hearing his voice.

So here you were, half asleep on your empty, dark apartment, exactly a week after that night. You didn't know that, though. You were blissfully unaware of the date, the time, and the dimming sunlight creeping beneath and above thick, drawn curtains.

Your jacket is still half on from the night before, boots still loosely laced on your feet, one flat on the floor and the other tossed over the arm rest opposite your head.

Your lips are parted in a dopey smile, fangs only barely visible through the crack.

You jolt at the knocking.

Red eyes snap open, lips clamp shut. Colors and shapes just barely line you vision and you silently search for the source of the noise.

Your eyes hit the door, finally, and you see the shadow shifting in the crack of yellow light beneath the door.

Standing from the couch is a task of it's own, as you have to take a good minute to find your balance. Whoever it is knocks again. Boots barely leaving the floor as you cheat steps, you make your way to the door and flip the deadbolt, before you haul the door open.

Dick stands before you. His clothes are rumbled, and he looks as though he'd rather be absolutely anywhere else.

You have to squint against the buttery hallway light, using a flat hand to shield your eyes from what seems to you like a bare bulb. "What?"

He looks a little startled. You aren't sure why.

(In reality, he hadn't anticipated your eyes to be do dark around the edges with days old makeup, or your complection to look so sickly.)

Your jacket has fallen down on one side, now bunched around your elbow. You make no move to fix it, obviously leaning against the door for support.

He stammers before he answers. "Are you okay?"

You know there's a reason he's asking you. There's something big that happened, but you aren't sure what it is. Was it recent? What's it about? "Yeah?"

He blinks at you dumbly once, twice. "Really?" He runs a hand through uncombed hair. "Nobody's heard from you since the, uh . . . since last week. I thought I'd check on you." He doesn't meet your eyes.

You rest your head against the door, too. "Uh, thanks, I guess." Your eyebrows slump together.

Now his gaze flickers to yours. "Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little . . . out of it."

You nod, wood scratching your scalp. "No no, yeah, I'm totally good. Little high, is all." You shrug, as if you've said nothing out of the ordinary.

His eyes blow wide. "You–You're–? High?"

"Mhmm."

Again, he stares. "Are you serious?"

"Well," you make a face, "yeah. What do you do when you wanna, uh . . . I don't know. I had a reason, but I kind of forgot it." Your head raises from the door and you snap your fingers. "That's it! I wanted to forget something."

A blank stare hits you. His jaw is left slack by astonishment. Shock? You aren't sure.

"Anyway," you scratch the back of your head, "what did you come here for?"

This seems to rouse him from his daze, but the expression that replaces it pulls at your heart. He seems disappointed, maybe even a little sorrowed. "I, um. I wanted to check on you after what happened to Damian."

There it is.

Your mood sours immediately, stills and snipets if memories flashing through your mind like a messy animation. Your eyes hit the floor as his screams rip through your subconscious. Eyelids squeeze shut.

Your thoughts are still muddied. It feels like trying to pull something free of tar.

"(Y/N)?"

"You should leave."

"But–"

"You should leave," you repeat, eyes cracking open just enough to see his. You ignore the blurriness and the knot in your throat. "Now."

He nods silently. He understands. "I'll come back in a few days," he warns. You nod.

Your deadbolt is back in place before he's to the elevator.

Peering around the apartment, at the dark shadows lining every wall and outlining every piece if furniture, the mixed drink on the coffee table, the empty vile beside it; your press your back against the door.

Your gaze turns to the bedroom door, still closed from the night you left. You haven't had the strength to even near it.

A dim, deep red light casts odd shadows over his face, especially from where you lay beside him. His eyes look odd, too. You aren't sure if you like the way his features appear, bathed in red.

"What are you thinking about?" he asks you, eyes meeting yours in the semi-dark.

You continue to trace careful patterns into the back of his hand the nail of your middle finger, cradling it in your other palm. "Nothing worth talking about," you assure quietly. "Just you."

"Are you insinuating that I'm not worth your words?" He cracks a grin, though it's lopsided and tired. He's been out all night. The sun is coming up, and yet he's only just going to bed.

You opted to call it an early night. The shine in his eyes had you sure he needed the company.

You'd always been good and weeding out the good night's from the bad. Maybe it was just because you'd experienced them yourself, or maybe you were just more observant than you should be.

You chuckle softly. "Well obviously. Why do you think our schedules contrast do much?"

He smiles at you directly. He's silent for a moment. It's long enough that your gaze moves away from your hands and his to his eyes, to see if he's fallen asleep. You find his eyes staring deeply into yours.

"I love you so much," he states, voice all velvet and honey, every syllable dripping adoration.

You scrunch your nose. "And I love you more than the stars and the moon, but what's got you saying it now?"

You only ask because he isn't typically so forward about it. You've always had to look for it, seek it out between lines of poetry or small favors or little gifts. His love is always coded and complicated, and it's part of why you love him so dearly.

He doesn't answer you. Instead his eyes refocus on your hands. He focuses on the shapes you're drawing. He listens closely to your breathing.

He's never going to tell you that he came so close to death only two hours before hand. He'd felt the icy grip on his heart, threatening silently to freeze it completely.

You enjoy the quiet moments before you both nod off.

You tear your eyes from the door. Focus on the floor. Focus on breathing. Focus on the sound of blaring horns and roaring engines outside. Focus on anything but the laughing silence.

And laugh it does. It cackles at you, howling with a malicious roar, hell-bent on pounding the understanding into you: you're all alone now.

No one is coming for you now. No one is going to pick up the phone now. No one is going to be sliding into your bed at noon. No one is going to surprise you with hand crafted chocolates you can actually enjoy. No one is coming home.

You squeeze your eyes shut again. You can't go in there. You've been sleeping on the couch for the past week, blankets thrown over every curtain hanger to keep out the sunlight. You've done it to the entire apartment. The second bedroom, the bathrooms, the living room, the attached kitchen. You'd come to associate the sunlight with him.

From sunkissed skin to stories of life before cloudy Gotham, your mind thought sunlight and Damian was never far behind.

You can't take it.

You cross the room in a blur, picking up the glass from the table and hurling it at the opposing wall.

It shatters on impact, splattering dark red liquid down the wall and splintering glass all over the wooden floor.

• • •

Your posture slouches as you trek down a wet sidewalk. You don't know exactly where you are, which isn't the best idea, but then again, you haven't been having many of those lately. You aren't even paying attention to anything around you. Music playing through your headphones, eyes trained straight ahead.

The people around you don't spare you much attention. Some darkly dressed seventeen year old shuffling around in a hoodie is the least of anyone's concerns, this time of night. You know this. You use this.

At the sound of a particularly sharp car horn, your eyes jolt sideways, mostly out of instinct. Just some bastard too impatient to wait for the light to change.

You take the moment of broken concentration to look around some. You're a few blocks from that building, you realize.

You turn immediately. Start walking the other way, keeping your distance from the buildings and the main stream if people by walking right next to the road. Sure, you're gonna have to dodge a few street signs but–

"Josephine!"

Your eyes jump again at the shriek. Your body goes rigid, your mind recognizing the panic in the man's voice instantly after patrolling for too many years.

You haven't been out properly since that night, and you aren't sure if you ever want to out again. But those instincts never seem to leave. There's no off day once you've gotten into the swing of things.

You see it before you realize it. Across the street, a little girl, about seven or eight, with dark hair and brown skin, chasing after a robotic dog as it turns and rolls right into the road.

Before your even have the chance to regard the situation, you're charging into traffic. You hoodslide a towncar as the horn blares, and then you're leaping out if the way of a Ford. You race through the temporarily empty lane, and then you're bringing down and scooping the little girl and her toy up and ducking off the road completely.

You set her down in front of the stricken looking man, who proceeds to thank you profusely. You forge a tight lipped smile and tell him it's not a problem, that you're just happy to have been fast enough.

And once again, you're on your way.

By the time you make it home, the sun is starting to think about rising, and your playlist has cycled through twice. You unlock your door with a dry throat, a blank white plastic bag in the crook of one arm.

The room is dark when the door opens, but you smell a person the second the hallway light spills in.

You don't tense. You recognize the remaints of expensive calogne before you even get in the door. "Morning, Bruce." You lock the door behind yourself and flick on the kitchen light.

He still stands in the shadowiest part if the large room, behind the armchair by the window. "We haven't heard from you in two weeks."

"Dick came by," you stated. You kept your back to him, pretending to be too busy putting away two pints of A Positive.

You can't look at him.

You can't look at his face, especially. It's too similar.

And besides that, you already know why he's here. His son is dead, and you are the only one who knows what happened.

"That was six days ago." You hear the give in his tone. He doesn't want to talk about this any more than you do, but he has to know. He moves toward you. "You were supposed to come back. Tim said he told you."

"He did," you assure, getting a glass down from the cabinet by the refrigerator, mostly empty plastic sack in your other hand.

You hear anger seeping into his voice. "Do why didn't you?"

Hesitance. The glass is on the counter, but you aren't pouring yet. Your eyes are on the splash back in front of you.

"(H/N)–"

"Don't call me that," you growl. His steps stop. "Don't call me that."

"(Y/N)," he corrects, "I have to know what happened to my boy."

Your shoulders slump. You have to flatten your hands on the countertop to ground yourself. The bag of red liquid lays on the counter beside the glass, waiting to be poured. You stay that way for a good minute, weighting your words carefully. You reach back into the fridge, but your hand hesitates over the bottle.

Fuck it.

You grab it by the neck and twist off the cap. You half off your glass, and leave the bottle open on your counter. You open the bag and add it's contents to the glass, emptying the bag and filling the cup.

You aren't even sure you'll get a buzz off of this, but you're more than willing to try.

Bruce watches you carefully from the end if the counter on the other side.

"Drink?" you offer, holding out the bottle of rum where he can see it. It almost feels wrong, to offer up something of his so freely.

He pauses before he answers. "No."

You bob your head. Turn around. Lean against the counter. You swirl the concoction idly. You still don't look at him. You keep your gaze on the painting in the living room, through the wide gap in the wall between the counters and the cabinets.

You remember when he was still painting it.

"I told you all not to go around that place," you begin. Your voice is gravely and sharp, a hardness he hasn't heard from you in a long while guarding your words. "This is exactly why."

"What is it?"

You take a long drink. You revel in the burn it leaves. Your eyes glazed over. "A Coven nest. They gather there, live there, thrive there. It's like a church for a particular group." He crosses his arms and leans against the wall. "They do things there I hope you never see.

"You see, a lot of vampires like to believe they're above humans. That they're inferior. Some Covens use them like animals. Bull fights, gory plays and musicals. You've seen Interview With a Vampire, yeah?"

He nods.

"Kinda like that. Sometimes worse, sometimes not as bad. I've been watching that particular Coven since I got to Gotham. They approached me shortly after I started the gig, wanting to know if I'd join them. I turned them down, obviously." Another long drink.

"I told Damian and the rest of you to stay away from that block. It's crawling with Vampires like that. I didn't want to see any of you getting snatched or worse. I should have wiped them out then and there, looking back. But I didn't. Just watched. Kept tabs.

"Then you called me. Told me he was gone without a trace, and you said he'd been down at that old car rental place. I knew the area. That's why I didn't wait for details.

"When I got there, they already had him tied and ready for something. I still don't know what they were planning on doing with him. I didn't ask questions, because I didn't have time. They jumped me the second I got inside. I had most of them dead or dazed by the time I got to the Big Kahuna."

When you didn't continue, Bruce prodded. "And?"

Your voice came back quiet. "And I wasn't fast enough." You downed the rest of your drink and slid it towards the sink. You misjudge the trigectory, and it slides off the edge and crashes to the floor. You stare down at the chunks and splinters of pink stained glass darkly. Emptily. "I couldn't get to him fast enough, and Regdoral killed him right in front of me."

Bruce was silent for a long time. Neither of you moved to clean up the mess you'd made. "When we went to check the building–"

"I know."

He follows your gaze. His words are softer than you expect. "What happened next?"

You chuckled, but there was no humor there. "I snapped," you shrugged. "I slaughtered every one of them where they stood. Burned every one of them in the Crypt."

Bruce doesn't speak.

Your next words are hardly a whisper. So light and airy that Bruce has to strain to hear them. "Did you find him?"

He goes quiet as well. Then, "Yes."

You close your eyes. Bite your lip. You pinch your palm. Anything to jolt your mind away from him. The memory of that silver sword gliding through him with a sound that still turns your stomach.

"Why did you leave him?"

You pick at a spot on the lip of the counter. "I dunno. I guess, maybe, some part of me hoped he'd beat me home. Maybe he'd been faking his death for one reason or another. Maybe I thought if–if I didnt–"

You sniffle. Your teeth sink into your lip and red spills down your chin and over your tongue.

Bruce shifts his weight. He wants to comfort you, but he doesn't know how, or if you'd let him. He doesn't what to do.

Your legs are shaking as hard as your hands, but they don't last as long. Your knees give out, and you go sliding to the floor, tears streaming freely down both cheeks.

Neither of you move for a long time. Neither of you speak. Not until you stand, shakily, supporting yourself with the counter.

"Bruce," you all but croak. He turns his eyes on you. "I miss him so much."

"I know," he replies quietly, risking a few steps toward you. "We all do, (Y/N)." He rests a hand on your shoulder. He's testing.

You slip forward from the counter, wrapping shivering arms around him in a desperate pursuit of comfort.

He gives it willingly, hugging you tightly.

You cry. He cries. All in a dark, bitter silence that traps you in a place you once knew as a home.

PART II COMING SOON

#damian wayne #damian wayne blurb #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne x vampire

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iwritethat · 5 years ago

Text

Jason Todd: Paint Job

A/N: Here we go again :)

>>>>——————————>

"Oh my god, is this symbol painted on your bike?"

"Of all things, that's what you pick up on?!" The vigilante yelled back in an exasperated yet distracted tone, evidently frustrated as he released his sleeping hold on the final thug.

"I wouldn't have if it wasn't so bad - it's all over the headlight. You do this with your helmet on or something?" You wittily responded, standing from your crouching position in front of his motorcycle.

"I don't have to explain myself to you now run along and stay out of trouble!" Red Hood waved you off, at this point simply wanting to get on with the rest of his night.

"Ooooh, look whose getting defensive - how 'bout you bring it to my shop, (L/n) Autos, tomorrow night once I'm closed and I'll give it a custom paint job free of charge, think of it as a..." Your hands rested on your hips as you drifted off toward the end of your statement apparently in thought. The way your brows furrowed was quite cute actually.

"A thanks for saving your life?" The vigilante cockily finished for you once getting on his bike, but you shook your head and sassily shot him down.

"Ew, no. An upgrade, I mean wow."

"Rude, so ungrateful nowadays." The tone was unbelievably sarcastic and you knew he was rolling his eyes under the helmet but you couldn't care less, only folding your arms and responding with a dead tone.

"Uh Huh, I'll see you tomorrow 11pm. Got it?" You called after him, the male speeding off into the night - maybe Mrs C keeping you late had its meanings. God that mysterious woman...

In honesty you didn't think he'd show up, or if he'd even heard you after he'd raced off. Maybe you should've thanked him for preventing those assholes from robbing you instead of insulting his ride yet you stayed up after closing just in case.

A diligent knock brought you back to reality, the sound of clanging metal echoing through your workshop as you heaved open the massive entrance door. There stood your knight in leather armour, helmet still covering his identity as he leaned against the wall.

"That offer still open?"

"For that atrocity, hell yes." You internally winced at your inability to be kind to your saviour but breathed a sigh of relief when he laughed and handed you his keys.

"How long do you want it?"

"Hmm, give me a week."

"Whatever you want doll." And with that he was gone, off grappling across Gothams skyline with nothing but effortless beauty.

It had been a taxing week without his baby, but hopefully you didn't disappoint - Jason creaked open the door to your unique workshop, immediately noticing his newly designed motorcycle and it took his breath away.

"Woah..."

He walked around it admiringly, fingers delicately tracing your beautiful handiwork as he went, still unable to comprehend that this masterpiece was once his bike before coming to a stop at the station a metre or two away and inspecting your handwritten checklist.

Red Hoods ‘Thank You’:

• Matte Black = nice finish

• Red line detailing throughout cuz the guy likes red apparently.

• Detachable symbol, nicely painted

• Fixed engine -> more efficient

• Customised weaponry

• Taunt Hood about upgrades

A content laugh escaped him at the mocking words, you truly hadn't changed since he'd been gone and it only made him miss you more - where were you anyway??? He'd carefully scanned the area, finding your sleeping form curled up on the couch and shaking his head he made his way over, stopping in front of you with an amused expression only faltering when he took in your appearance. A red hoodie draped your figure - his hoodie, the sleeves reached the joints of your fingers and it was now stained with motor oil over the time you'd worked in it but honestly you rocked it better than he ever did. He’d given it to you when you were walking through Gothams back alleys together, yourself smugly complaining about the dropping temperatures before Jason had mercilessly thrown it at you rather than admit he cared about your wellbeing as his closest friend. It didn’t stop you from taunting him about his feelings though.

It was apparent you'd attempted to wait up for him so you could check off the last thing on your list but had failed to do so, it was rather late and you'd clearly worked hard on his ride that day. Jason knew he shouldn't wake you, and he couldn't handle making conversation knowing you wore what was once his, that you hadn't forgotten him. Instead he covered you with the fluffy blanket folded over the arm and left $500 on the table beside the takeout bag marked with 'C's Diner', memories of that place came flooding back and he'd silently decided to take Roy there that week. Muttering a thanks before leaving, Red Hood took his bike and left little evidence of ever being there at all.

The scent of the 60’s themed diner was always pleasant, it was a common occurrence for you to stop by after working late. It reminded you of Jason, and the elderly owner remembered you two well considering the liveliness you both once brought and honestly that charming woman was basically a parental figure in your life. Although she always has a suspiciously omniscience aura about her - Nanny McPhee incarnate as you and your lost friend had joked when you were children.

Unbeknownst to you, Jason remembered this place too though he regularly avoided it until tonight and ensured to drag Roy along with him out of convenience. The pair sat in a booth discussing Jason's bike upgrades when a mug of hot cocoa was set in front of Jason much to his confusion.

"Excuse me, I'm pretty sure I didn't order this."

"Ah, it's on the house. Mrs Cayce’s orders." The (h/c) waitress who Jason knew wasn't an employee proudly winked, saluting the elderly owner who waved over to him.

"Hey uh... do I know you at all? Just you seem familiar and Mrs Cayce clearly does..."

"Nope, don't think so, I would've remembered a beauty like you." The ravenette shrugged, you nodded walking back over the counter to converse with the owner once more.

Roy gave his partner a questioning glance, the sudden realisation and content smile briefly crossing Jason's features had him worried.

"Damn... Mrs C remembers me, I was hoping she'd forget. A friend and I used to come in here on the regular before the whole death thing, sometimes even help out and we would always order this."

"I didn't know Jaybird, sorry... But for the record this is the best diner we've been to in a while and I get if you don't wanna talk about it - but woah who was the waitress, d’ya think she’s single?" His partner questioned, gaze lazily drifting over to your laughing form.

"That was the miracle responsible for my bike, but (Y/n) doesn't work he-"

"Really?! EXCUSE ME?" Roy abruptly cut his best friend off, ensuring his wave caught your attention - eyes practically sparkling after hearing that information.

"What the fuck was that?! Don't, it's more conplicat-" Jason grabbed Roys offending arm, pinning it down to the table with his hushed warning.

"Despite me bringing over the drink earlier, I'm not actually a waitress here so you might wanna call -"

"(Y/n)! They're nice boys who probably wanted to talk to a beautiful lady, would you be polite for once in your life?" Mrs Cayce's words caused you to wince, your 'motherly scolding' spurring a frustrated sigh but in the end the judgments always brought you not necessarily what you wanted but what you needed.

"... How can I help you sir?" It was incredibly forced, as was the brief uninterested smile you gave them and the low but polite tone.

"I'm Roy and this is Jason. I was wondering if you could take a look at my ride if that's okay? The Red Hoods' or whoever’s is pretty sweet and he gave all credit to you." Admittedly, they noticed the positive change in demeanour at the mention of mechanics as Roy continued his request.

"Seriously?! He did?! Yes, 100 times yes! I’d lo- wait... Jason... as in Jason Jason? I do know you, don't I?" You were on the verge of squealing before that name registered, how the face matched your memories of your long lost friend and almost immediately your attention focused solely on the ravenette in front of you.

"..."

His silence wasn't considered useful, although his signature guilty expression gave it away, the awkwardly sheepish smirk he always wore when he knew you were right, his facial features were more mature and he was more handsome than you remembered - though you'd wished he'd never died in the first place. In fact you didn't even give a second thought to how he was sitting before you, instead trusting in the happiness he always blessed you with when in his presence.

"Fuck you nerd." Instantly you'd excitedly tackled him to the booth cushion regardless of your contrasting vocabulary, his arm wrapped around your waist whilst the other grabbed the back of the booth for stability since you'd almost pinned him to the seat.

"Rude much?" He abruptly commented, a playful undertone to his voice.

"Give me a break, you're supposed to be dead! I don’t know how or why but it's me Jason, we've always told each other everything..."

"I know, I didn't want to put you through anymore pain."

"You were a pain that I enjoyed having dumbass." Your tone was soft, more meaningful than he'd expected and it encouraged him to tell you everything.

"(Y/n) I-"

"Save the explanation for later, let me just enjoy your company for now and then I gotta show you my place! I managed to get my own mechanic shop and I fixed up Red Hoods bike - the Red Hood! God I have so much to tell you!" Despite knowing the excited tone you held was technically for him, he had no intentions of telling you who he was just yet, after all he was more than content to have you in his life again rather than longing for more of your time when saving your dumb ass under his alias.

That was the only reason he'd come to your garage that night, to enjoy your familiar company a little longer, if it were anyone else he wouldn't have bothered but for you? He'd still do anything for you.

"Me too doll, for a start this is Roy Harper..."

The owner Mrs Cayce carefully studied the scene, towel drying off your favourite mug as she continued to watch with a small smirk on her features and mysterious glint in her eyes.

"Why, it's about time you finally brought those two together isn't it Universe? Better late than never I suppose - but don’t you start any love triangle business ya hear?"

#jason todd #jason todd imagine #jason todd x reader #red hood #red hood imagine #red hood x reader #dc #dc imagine #roy harper

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elementalwriter67 · 6 years ago

Text

The Death of Penguin

Pairings: Best friend Jason x Reader, Best friend Roy x reader

Word count: 3019

Summary: Jason has just killed the Penguin on live TV and you and Roy rush to help me knowing that a certain Bat isn’t going to be too happy about what just happened and fearing for the life of your friend.

You dropped the coffee cup that you had been holding your mind racing a mile a minute as you tried to process what you had just seen on TV uncaring of the fact that you were currently being scalded by fresh coffee. Your mouth was hanging open and your hand was still hanging in the air as you stared at the TV that had cut away to a news report, you couldn’t believe what you had just seen. Your best friend, the man you had known pretty much your entire life, had just shot the Penguin at point blank range on live television in all of Gotham. Jason Todd had just killed the Penguin on live TV after he had promised that he wouldn’t kill anyone. You stood there for a few moments still staring at the TV not even listening to what the newscasters were saying before your brain finally caught up to what was happening and you jumped into action pulling your phone out of your pocket as you raced to your bedroom.

“Come on, come on, come on, come on pick up, pick up you son of a bitch pick the fuck up.” You muttered as you rushed about your room gathering your gear and hurriedly pulling it on as you listened to the annoying ringing of the phone desperately waiting for the person you were calling to pick up.

“Hey! This is Roy Harper speaking how may I help you?” Roy’s voice came over the speaker you hadn’t felt so relieved in a while as you pulled on your body armor.

“Roy! Thank god. It’s (Y/N) how quickly can you get to Gotham?” You asked him as you fell on to your bed pulling on your shoes.

“Depends what’s going on?” He asked but you could hear him getting ready on his end, you weren’t one to call and immediately ask if he could get here without there being a good reason.

“It’s Jason he just shot the Penguin on live TV, so I need you here like yesterday.” You informed him and there was a beat of silence and for a second you almost thought that Roy may have hung up on but he spoke up before you could say anything.

“I’ll be there in a hot minute, any idea on where he could be?” Roy asked and you shook your head as you pulled on your own helmet switching your phone call to the one in your helmet.

“No idea he hightailed it off the scene but Jason going awol isn’t my biggest concern it’s Batman that’s my concern.” You said as you grabbed the rest of your gear and then climbed out of the window of your bedroom and out onto the fire escape.

“Shit you’re right, ok, alright, how far away are you from where it happened?” Roy asked as you climbed up onto the railing of the fire escape and dropped down to the ground below rolling on impact and coming to the stop beside your motorcycle.

“I’m on the other side of the city, but I’m heading out now to find him how quickly can you be here?” You asked him as you hoped on your bike, starting her up and peeling out of the alleyway without a second thought.

“A minute maybe three, I’m leaving now add on some time to find Jason but I’ll be as quick as I can,” Roy responded and you nodded as you raced down the streets of Gotham weaving in and out of traffic as you went ignoring the angry honkings of other people.

“Ok, just get here as quickly as you can, we have to find Jason before Bats does.” You told him.

“Got it, be there soon,” Roy responded before the line went dead.

“Call Alfred Pennyworth.” You stated as you took a sharp turn kicking your leg out and dragging your foot across the ground to stabilize you as you took the turn. In the corner of your eye, you watched as Alfred’s little profile pic popped up followed by a calling icon for a couple of seconds before focusing on the road again and pushing the bike to go faster. The phone rang a couple of times before Alfred finally picked up the phone just as you zipped around another corner speeding towards the last place that the cops had seen Jason.

“Alfred please tell me that Bruce saw none of that.” You begged him and there was a moment of silence before he sighed and you already see the look on his face.

“I’m sorry miss (Y/L/N) but he’s already left to deal with master Jason as he put it,” Alfred responded and he didn’t sound happy about what was going on either.

“Fuck! God damn it! For once in his life could he not be a fucking stalker.” You cursed as you pushed the bike to go faster hitting the nitro button because now this was a race against the clock, if you didn’t get to Jason before Bruce did then there was no telling what Bruce would do to him.

“(Y/N).” Alfred’s tone was heavy and serious pulling you out of your panic thoughts and back to the current call you were on.

“Make sure that Jason is ok, while I do not approve of what he did he has never been one to kill just because he can so you make sure that Jason is ok and. You give Bruce hell.” Alfred’s voice was filled with determination and a part of you was relieved that Alfred didn’t hate Jason because of what he did, a fact that you knew Jason would need later.

“I’ll do my best.” You stated before hanging up the call and sighing heavily as you burst out on to one of the main roads only to come to a screeching halt as you looked up at the sky above you in complete and utter disbelief. There was a building the size of a city block was currently falling from the sky. You blinked a couple of times as you continued to stare at the building your first instinct said to find a way to stop the building from crashing into the city, but you were coming up blank as you stared at the building. How the hell were you supposed to handle this and find Jason at the same time? A crashing spaceship maybe you could have managed that, a crashing plane you definitely could have handled but a crashing flying building as big as a city block fuck that the city was screwed. You’d need the justice league to handle that and there was no way you were calling the justice league lord knew what they would do with Jason when they found out what he did.

“Can this night get any better? I mean can it?” You muttered to yourself as you drove into an alleyway. Cutting the engine you jumped off the bike and grappled up onto the nearest building getting a better look at the building which was still very much falling.

“Please tell me you see the falling building too?” You looked over at Roy as he landed next to you staring up at the sky just as dumbfounded as you.

“Yes, I see the building too.” You responded and he nodded.

“Ok good, where’s Jason?” Roy asked moving on from the building accepting what was going on and how the two of you couldn’t stop it as he looked around the area trying to see if he could spot Jason anywhere. You, however, looked up at the falling building your stomach sinking as you remembered a conversation you’d had with Jason about how cool his new super secret hideout was and how no one would find it.

“How much do you want to bet that he’s up there.” You said pointing up at the building and Roy looked up at the building sighing heavily as he dragged a hand down his face.

“So first he shoots Penguin in the face and then he’s in a flying, crashing, building the size of a city block? Do you ever wonder what we did with our lives that made them so boring in comparison to his?” Roy asked and you shrugged.

“I don’t need to wonder I know, we didn’t die when we were sixteen.” You responded and Roy chuckled as he notched an arrow and aimed up at the burning building while you raised your grappling hook.

“Damn us and our inability to get kidnapped by the Joker when we were sixteen.” Roy joked and you smirked barely hiding your own chuckle as you shifted your finger to the trigger and prepared to fire at the building.

“Yeah damn us.” The two of you were about to fire at the building when suddenly the entire building exploded right before their eyes.

“Jason!” You and Roy shouted in unison as the two of you stared at the explosion in abject horror. You dropped your hands to your sides the grapple hook dangling loosely from your fingers as you stared at the falling remnants of the building, that was when you noticed there was something that didn’t look anything like falling debris. Blinking you reached up and pressed a button on the side of your helmet your vision zooming in on the falling object to see that it was Jason who crash-landed on a roof a few buildings away.

“Roy! Over there! You shouted dropping your hand from the side of your helmet to instead grab ahold of Roy’s arm and pull him towards the edge of the roof.

“Woah? What? What’s going on now?” Roy asked watching as you raced forward without any hesitation jumping off the roof and onto the next roof rolling on impact because of the significant drop in height.

“Jason’s alive and he landed on that roof not too far away! Follow me!” You shouted back as you jumped and grappled on to the next roof. Roy’s eyes widened but he didn’t question you as he chased after you, the two of you running and jumping over the rooftops only to come to an abrupt stop as you saw Jason and Bruce fighting on the next rooftop. Well, fighting wasn’t exactly the word you would use for it, it was more like Bruce was currently using Jason as a punching bag. Gasping you took a step back when you saw that not only was Bruce using Jason as a punching bag but he had also been hitting Jason so hard that he shattered Jason’s helmet.

“Oh, my gods.” You breathed out as you watched Bruce punch Jason so hard in the face that he went flying backward landing several feet away from Bruce.

“He’s beating the shit out of Jason, we have to do something now before he beats him to death,” Roy stated as his grip on his bow tightened and he glared at Bruce.

“I know, but what the hell are we going to do? There’s no god damn way we’ll be able to take on Bruce by ourselves we’re not strong enough to do that.” You responded as you watched as Bruce ripped Jason’s symbol off of his chest and tossed it to the side. You clenched your jaw as you put your grapple hook away, your hands twitching to grab your guns and shoot at Bruce.

“Then we don’t fight Bruce, we distract him enough to get Jason out of there and then we go somewhere safe,” Roy stated and you nodded watching as Bruce started dragging Jason across the roof by his broken helmet anger raging inside of you at the sight of that.

“I’ve got a safe house not to far away from here that Bruce doesn’t know about we can go there and make sure Jason isn’t dying before we get out of the city. You know what to do?” You asked him as you stepped up to the edge of the building and Roy nodded as he pulled an arrow out of his quiver and aimed it at Bruce.

“The old shoot and gas got it,” Roy said. You nodded in silent agreement as you pulled your guns out of your holsters and you waited until Roy had moved to another roof not too far away before speaking up. Once Roy was on the other roof you jumped down onto the one that Bruce and Jason were on.

“Hey, Batass!” You shouted as you raised your gun and fired at Bruce, nothing that would kill him but it was enough to get him to drop Jason in order to dodge your bullets. You winced at the sound Jason’s head made when it smacked against the roof but you didn’t take your eyes off of Bruce your guns still raised and pointed at him.

“(Y/H/N) what do you think you’re doing?” Bruce asked his hands balling into fists as he glared at you taking a step towards you. The anger that was radiating off of him sent chills down your spine and had the hair on the back of your neck standing up. You had never seen Bruce this angry before and if you were being honest it was starting to scare you and you forced yourself to stay where you were your eyes never leaving Bruce.

“Stopping you from continuing to beat the shit out of Jason what does it look like?” You asked him your voice firm and aim steady as you stared at him waiting to see if he would attack you like he’d attacked Jason.

“Stand down (Y/H/N),” Bruce said after a minute of silence and you shifted your grip on your guns slightly as you also shifted your stance, there was no way that you were getting out of this without a fight.

“I’ll stand down when you leave Jason alone and walk the hell away from us right now.” You stated your words dripping with firm anger as you continued to glare at him. There was no way that you were going to let Bruce keep doing what he was doing.

“You know I can’t do that, he killed Penguin he deserves to be punished,” Bruce stated and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. You got being upset with Jason about killing Penguin, you got being pissed off about the fact that this is the second Bat to kill a villain under his watch, but what you didn’t get was how he thought that Jason deserves this. Deserves to be beaten until he was barely conscious and looked like he was about to die any second now.

“He deserves this? He deserves to be treated like your own personal punching bag? He deserves to be beaten to near death? He deserves to be treated like he’s nothing more than another one of your goons?! HE DESERVES THIS?!!! Do you even hear yourself?!! How does he deserve this?! How does he deserve to be treated like your personal punching bag?! How does he deserve any of this?! All he did was kill penguin! How is this any different from what Batwoman did to Clayface?!” You shouted at him doing an amazing job at keeping your hands still because all you wanted to do right now was slap him silly with the butts of your guns.

“This is completely different from what Batwoman did!” Bruce shouted back and you shook your head in exasperation as you stared at him like he’d grown a second head.

“How is this different from Batwoman?! Because he did it in front of all of Gotham?! Because you can’t sweep this under your all magical Batman rug and hide it from the eyes of the public?! Because he killed another one of your little play dates?! This isn’t any different from what Batwoman did! They both killed one of your little play dates the only reason you're more pissed off at Jason is because this is the second one of your little cronies to go off the deep end and kill someone! Face it! You’re just pissed off about the fact that you can’t control them anymore! That they’re not your good little soldiers like you want them to be! BECAUSE ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOUR STUPID LITTLE REPUTATION AS THE SUPPOSED PROTECTOR OF GOTHAM!!!” You shouted and that little jab seemed to be the final straw as Bruce lunged at you.

“Roy! Now!” You shouted as you jumped away from Bruce narrowly missing his hands as he tried to grab you. You rolled away from him landing next to Jason and Bruce spun around to attack you again but before he could Roy fired his arrow and it landed directly next to Bruce. The sudden appearance of the arrow caused Bruce to pause for a fraction of a second, but it was long enough for the bright pink smoke in the tip of the arrow in one giant puff of smoke. You were quick to grab ahold of Jason’s body pulling him away from the smoke that was quickly enveloping the area as Roy landed next to you and helped you pick Jason up off the roof.

“(Y/N)... Roy?” Jason groaned out as he leaned heavily into the two of you.

“It’s ok buddy we’ve got you,” Roy said as he placed a hand on Jason’s chest stabilizing him slightly and making sure that he didn’t fall over.

“Come on Roy we’ve got to get him out of here before it’s too late.” You muttered to him and Roy nodded. The two of you hauled Jason towards the edge of the building and got him down to the ground and into the nearest car before speeding away from the building and to one of your safehouses as fast as possible. All before the smoke even cleared leaving Bruce standing there alone on the rooftop more pissed off than he had been before but for now the three of you were safe.

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lil-nest · 6 years ago

Text

The Talon and the Demon’s Heir, prologue: Envole-Moi

Fandom: Batman comics Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson Warnings: Implied/Referenced Rape Summary: ‘The verse sang "fly me away". As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away. One day, someone did.’ or Dick used to be a Talon, until this kid got him out of the Court and threw him into another prison. Only this time, they both plan to escape - with Batman's help (AU Talon!Dick, Dick and Damian are the same age)

Read on AO3

He could only watch as blood seeped from the wound, slowly flowed along the blade, and dripped to the ground.

It was either that or looking in those cold, wide, glassy eyes, and how could a dead person have such an accusatory look?

What had he done?

Talia offered him a glass of herbal wine to appease his tremors. He gratefully accepted it.

All it took was a glass of wine.

When the new dawn came, he did his best to put that day behind him and avoid thinking of it at all cost. But whenever he did, he was blinded by the blood and the pain and the shame.

Had he looked back on it, he might've wondered why he couldn't remember what happened next.

Even then, he probably would have put it on shock.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(Shock really was a powerful thing.)

He left the League after that. Went to Gotham, swore to never kill again, and became Batman.

It was a lonely life, that of a vigilante. Of course, there was Alfred, but despite his best qualities, he wasn't the liveliest of companions.

Then came the circus. The acrobats, the fall. The orphan that was so much like him.

Bruce knew Gotham's system could do nothing for Richard. He knew the kid needed the stability and empathy a group home couldn't provide, the closure GCPD would be unable – unwilling – to give him.

He knew only him could save that boy.

He left the circus that night decided to shelter him, if only for a while, until he could find his parents' murderer.

Had he been honest with himself, he would've admitted that he wanted more than temporary, that he wanted the light he had seen on that trapeze to shine in his home.

Even then, he couldn't have known that the boy would disappear right after the incident.

It wouldn't have changed anything.

(The Batman was powerful, but so was the Court.)

Once, when the circus was in France, he heard a song that really moved him. He didn't remember the lyrics – didn't understand most of it, really – but he knew the verse sang “fly me away”. It was about children born in misery who fight for a chance to get out of it.

As he performed back then, he hoped he was good enough to fly the poor kids in the audience away, if only for a night.

As he cried after the Court sent him to his first murder, he sang that line again and again, hoping someone might come fly him away.

But days went by, then months, a year, and no one ever came.

Until one day, someone did.

He was sitting in his room – cell – when a child no older than him barged in, sword in hand.

Apparently, the intruder had been forbidden from taking prisoners, but nothing had been said on gaining allies.

He blinked, prompting an explanation.

As he was a held in a cell, he was considered the enemy of the intruder's enemies, and as such, he was given a choice: if he didn't want the intruder to drive a blade through his chest, the Talon had to drive his own through his old masters'.

It wasn't a hard choice, really. Although...

"I do not have a blade," he answered, gathering his claws. "I have ten."

And so he followed his new ally, their psycho mother and her army of killer ninjas, and proceeded to murder the Court.

When all was said and done, Talia refused to bring the Talon with them. She did not trust a soldier who had so easily turned against his previous masters.

She could not really explain that to Damian, however, as he argued that he would not betray the League because he would be treated as he deserved, and find a new reason to fight for their greater purpose.

She couldn't risk her kid realizing that he was in the exact situation he had saved his new friend from.

She was defeated when Damian pointed out that the Talon had saved his life, too, and thus, by the sacred rules of Nanda Parbat, he had a debt to repay and needed him by his side to do so.

The League of Shadows was supposed to be the first stone of the new, perfect world they wanted to create. If they did not follow its principles, how could they claim that moral high ground?

(Of course there wasn't any moral high ground, nor was there any greater purpose apart from dominating the world, but Damian could not know that. He was still too young.)

So he followed them to Nanda Parbat, where the Talon became the new guardian of the Heir to the Demon, and Richard became Damian's first, only and best friend.

If asked, he could not have told why he had been so adamant about not killing the Talon. There had been something in his posture, this mix of cold despair and dignified acceptance.

Fortunately, no one would ever have dared ask, otherwise that something might have been identified as pity – sympathy, even. Such weak feelings did not suit Ra’s Al Ghul’s grandson.

Neither did the warmth that spread in Damian’s chest whenever his new bodyguard was near, or the icy grip that clenched his heart when his grandfather had considered disposing of him.

Richard was dangerous.

Yet, Damian could not help but feel that the kid was his salvation.

The Talon was loyal, and seemed to take his mission to heart. But that was not what made him appreciate his presence so much.

Richard was kind, as kind as a member of the League could afford to be – sometimes even kinder, which had led to painful punishments Damian had had to give him himself. Yet Richard had never blamed him for those, had merely smiled and settled back into their routine, as if nothing had happened.

He knew as soon as Richard started doubting. The boy didn't mumble in his sleep, nor had he changed his behavior. But he knew.

He also knew he had to report these treasonous thoughts, knew he had to eliminate a potential threat before it could turn into a security breach.

But he didn't.

How could he? Somewhere, somehow, he had started to trust Richard more than his own mother or grandfather.

Instead he told him. Not in so many words, of course, that would have been too dangerous. But they were past needing words to communicate.

So Richard explained. Distant memories of his mother's teachings, a deep rooted conviction that he couldn't explain, except it had to come from before, from a time when he was not Talon.

That was it. This was more than enough to warrant execution. This was heresy. But Damian was curious. He wanted to know about these evasive concepts that challenged everything he had learned.

Nanda Parbat valued truth, but perhaps truth did not reside in Nanda Parbat.

Thus they started plotting. It quickly went far past “dangerous”, but it was too late. Every bit of the new moral code they built together from Richard's hazy memories and the few outside people they managed to interrogate – mostly locals they were sent to kill – made more sense, until they saw this little fault in the carefully constructed logic of the Sacred City's laws.

Slowly, it all came apart. They started seeing the hypocrisy behind every word.

They immediately stopped their research. This was too much, this was too dangerous. They needed out, quickly, before someone caught them.

At night, Damian dreamt of being far away, somewhere he could try out these new morals. Above all, he dreamt of names for this warmth: more than trust, it was brotherhood, fondness.

At night, he blessed Richard for freeing him.

During the day, the two kept honoring their wrong duties.

During the day, Damian cursed himself for trapping the Talon.

They needed to get out. But getting out in itself was the easy part. The problem was how to stay out. Once the League would realize their betrayal, it wouldn't be long before they were found and disposed of.

There were exactly two ways of escaping the League's grasp: being impossible to find – which they didn't think was actually possible – or being somewhere the League preferred not to send its men – they didn't think there were places the League's men couldn't go with enough means, but there were places that weren't worth the trouble.

Namely, the USA. Or at least the places most protected by the Justice League.

It was really unclear who would win the fight, in an all-out war between the League of Shadows and the Justice League, but neither side truly wanted to find out, as whichever won would find themselves so weakened in the outcome that any other enemy would be able to finish them off.

This was the reason the League of Shadows had tried to gain a foothold in Gotham through destroying the Court of Owls, but like every previous attempt, it had failed.

Gotham was their destination, it seemed.

That actually could work, as Damian remembered his mother saying his father was American. She also told him he was a great warrior, and what a shame it was that he was so stubborn and unable to realize the League of Shadows held the hope of humanity.

Damian was starting to think maybe his father had been right in leaving while he could. Perhaps his father was using the Justice League's presence as an advantage. Perhaps his father's presence was also part of the reason the League of Shadows had troubles gaining some influence there.

Perhaps his father would be willing to extend his protection?

There was only one way to find out.

The first issue would be to figure out who his father was. True, he had this little birthday battle bets going on with his mother, but he could not afford to wait until he could beat her.

He didn't think he would be able to do much in a meeting controlled by the League, anyway.

Fortunately, Richard had more experience in betraying his alliances, and was better at using their resources against them – as shown by how he had managed to sneak his claws in his cell.

Damian's father was obviously a man of interest for the League, which meant information about it had to be stored somewhere accessible to the leaders, a file most probably complete with a DNA sample. Considering that they had a walking and breathing example of Damian's DNA, it was only a matter of time before they matched it with his father's.

Not that Damian had any illusion: obviously he wouldn't have access to that file. But maybe, just maybe, Richard could get clearance to the uncensored database.

Breaking his own leg was both painful and humiliating. It was necessary, however, and if there was one teaching Damian would keep from his time in the League, it was the ability to put his goal before his personal safety.

Thus impaired, Damian had to stay home for this outside meeting he was supposed to follow his grandfather to, which meant his mother had taken his place, leaving him relatively unsupervised. He didn't doubt he would pay for this ill-timed incompetence. It didn't matter anymore, though.

As Damian's bodyguard, Richard stayed too. He took a blood sample from his friend, and went on his way to the labs.

This was the tricky part of the plan. If someone tried to attack Damian while he was unguarded, or if someone saw that Richard wasn't where he should be, or if he didn't manage to erase all traces of this research once it was done... suffice to say the results would be unpleasant for both of them.

Luck, however, seemed to be on their side, and Richard did not come across anyone during his trip. All for the better, as he was not exactly thinking clearly on the way back.

Damian's father did not just benefit of the Justice League presence in the US. Damian's father was a member of the Justice League.

“Damian Wayne-Al Ghul, Demon's Heir, Son of the Bat” certainly had a nice ring to it, Richard thought.

This had just gotten interesting.

Once Damian had gotten over the fact that his father was his grandfather's nemesis, they began to draft a plan.

Actually, as far as plans went, what they had wasn't anything his strategy teachers would have been proud of. (They were all dead, anyway. What did they know about safe plans?)

They used all the few contacts they had managed to make during their search for truth, and managed to obtain a burner phone, which they used to sent a text to Bruce Wayne's personal cell, hoping the man would believe them.

Maybe there was a deity somewhere, or an all-powerful law of balance that decided they both had had enough bad luck for a lifetime, or maybe Batman was just that thorough.

One way or another, he came.

To say he was surprised when he received a text from an unknown number in the middle of a meeting with his shareholders saying he had a son with Talia al Ghul – of all people – would have been a gross understatement. He was confused and disbelieving and angry and ashamed and he honestly wasn't sure what else, because he kind of blacked out.

Alfred – bless his soul – managed to appease the spirits angered by Bruce’s abrupt departure, as well as calm the man down and help him decide what to do.

Not that there was an actual question about that. If this was true, then his son had been living in the League of Assassins for more than ten years, and that was unacceptable.

If it wasn't, there was someone out there who knew not only his secret identity, but also about his brief time with the League.

Either way, he needed to investigate.

He landed the jet as close as he dared to the complex, and camouflaged it as best as he could. He had no doubt that it would be spotted, but hopefully he'd have enough time before it happened.

He was sneaking in a corridor, trying to guess where Talia would accommodate his son, when he received an alert that someone was trying to open the jet. He swore under his breath.

He had to find this child. But he knew if he took the child and didn't manage to leave with him, Talia would make sure he would never have this opportunity again.

For now, however, she didn't know why he was here, and if he left, she would assume it was only to steal information, and he would have time to plan another infiltration.

Praying a god that he didn't believe in that his son would forgive him, he made his way back to the jet.

When the vehicle came into view, he half expected guards trying to identify it. Maybe even Talia or Ra's, if he was unlucky. He had not expected two small figures fiddling with the lock.

As he approached, one of them turned around: the face was unmistakably that of his son. It seemed he had found a friend, then.

He crossed the distance separating him from the boys, concealing his apprehension.

“Need a ride, boys?” He asked in his best sarcastic gothamite tone.

The second head rose to face him, and he was surprised to recognize it.

He had had more than a few nightmares about that poor circus boy he had failed to save.

Just what was Dick Grayson doing with the League of Assassins?

This had just gotten interesting.

#fanfiction #batman #damian wayne #dick grayson #bruce wayne #talon!dick #AU #cw implied rape

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saultnpeppah · 7 years ago

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Father’s Day

Hello all! This is a submission for Day 4 of WonderBat week 2018. Topic of the day: Holidays!

As always, I do not own Justice League or its characters.

Bruce Wayne laid in his large bed, gently stretching as he began to stir. He had come in late from patrol, having helped Gordon and the GCPD find and stop Penguin from stealing a priced diamond, only to find his wife up and waiting for him, unable to sleep without knowing where he was.

He turned in the bed, his hand running over his wife's empty spot, before he let out a sigh. He loved waking up to her next him, her dark hair splayed over her pillow as she laid curled on her side. He and Diana had been married for five years, and he had come to love having her as his partner in every aspect of life.

There was a small knock on the door, causing Bruce to raise his head, before the door swung open. Bruce heard the pitter patter of small feet and smiled, knowing exactly who was standing besides him. "Morning Daddy!"

Bruce turned towards the edge of the bed, smiling wider when he saw his daughter standing near the bed. "Good morning sweetheart," he said as he sat up, placing his bare back against the headboard, before he reached down and picked her up. "Where's Mommy?" he asked, placing the three, nearly four year old, on the bed besides him.

She pointed to the open door and opened her mouth to speak but the two heard Diana's voice as she walked up to the opened door. "Allie, I said Daddy was still asleep."

Diana walked up to the door, stopping when she saw her husband sitting in the bed with their daughter. "I'm sorry if she woke you," Diana said. "She wanted to give you something."

Bruce looked down at his daughter. She was practically Diana's twin, with her thick black hair and bright blue eyes, and he knew that when it came time for her to be interested in dating, he was going to have to fight the boys off with a stick; a very big stick. "It's okay," Bruce replied, turning his attention to his wife, who was still standing in the doorway.

Her hair was braided down her back, out of her face, letting him see just how beautiful she was. She was dressed in a robe, the sash tied just above her pregnant belly.

He watched as she walked over to the bed, before he grabbed her arm and pulled her down in his lap, earning a small shriek. "Bruce," she said with a giggle, grabbing her husband's shoulder to stabilize herself.

"Morning," he said with a smirk, before he placed a kiss on her lips.

"Daddy, no kiss Mommy," Allie said, placing her small hand on his cheek. She tried to push her father away from Diana, forcing Bruce to pull away from his wife.

Bruce let out a chuckle before he turned to his daughter. "Why not?" he asked. He watched as Diana turned to face Allie, a smile on her face.

"Because," she said with a pout, "You don't give me kiss."

Bruce laughed, before grabbing Allie's face and kissing each cheek repeatedly, forcing the child to laugh ecstatically. "Better?" Allie nodded and sat down next to Bruce, allowing her father to kiss Diana once more. He quickly moved his hand to her stomach, his smile widening when he felt the baby begin to kick. "Someone's up," he said, moving his hand over Diana's belly.

Diana nodded. "He's been moving all morning."

Bruce continued to move his hand around Diana's belly. When Diana was pregnant with Allie, she hardly moved, and it was very a rare event to feel her kick. With his son, it was nonstop. Now that Diana was seven months pregnant, she hardly had a moment when he was sitting still.

"Allie, the baby is awake," Diana said, watching as Allie's little head shot up and her eyes widened.

Ever since the two had told their daughter she was going to be a big sister, she wanted to be involved in anything baby related. Anytime Diana went shopping for the baby, Allie would tag along, picking what she thought were the best clothes. She even made sure her mother and father named her brother something she liked; she was very adamant about that.

"My brother!" she exclaimed, jumping up. She carefully trotted over to the other side of Diana and plopped down on the bed, before she placed her head on her mother's stomach. "Hi brother," she began, talking to the baby, who responded with a kick, causing Allie to giggle.

Allie continued to speak to Diana's belly bump, her mother gently running her fingers through Allie's hair while she looked up at Bruce. "Allie, what did you have for Daddy?" Diana asked, patting her daughter's back.

Allie quickly stood, jumped off the bed, and ran out of the room, returning a moment later with a card in her hands. "Here Daddy," she said, handing Bruce the card.

"Thank you," Bruce said, turning the card over. On the cover was his daughter's artwork, complete with a picture of him as Batman holding her. Inside was a few scribbles written in purple crayon, Diana's neat handwriting underneath. Happy Father's Day Daddy! Bruce closed the card, his heart swelling with pride. "Thank you sweetheart," he said.

"You welcome," she replied, running over to Diana's side of the bed and pulling herself up onto the mattress.

Bruce looked over at his daughter, the smile never leaving his face. He had never imagined he would be a father, let alone have two children with the woman he loved. Sure, he had raised Dick, Jason, and Tim, but there was something about bringing a child into the world that he couldn't explain. He remembered the day Allie was born, and although she had given everyone a scare, he couldn't have imagined a better way to celebrate his first Father's Day.

Bruce sat at the Batcave's computer, his cowl pulled from his face, and read the file on the screen. He and Tim had been working on a case that would send Falcone to prison for years, however he wasn't finding the one piece of evidence that would seal the deal. It was beyond frustrating.

His pregnant wife wasn't making things any easier. Diana, who was due at the beginning of next month, paced back and forth behind him, irritating him beyond reason. "Could you please settle down," he said, not turning around to face her, although he didn't need to turn to know Diana was giving him the evil eye.

Ever since Diana had announced her pregnancy to the league, Bruce made her promise to take it easy, not wanting her or the baby to get hurt. After she had entered her last trimester Bruce, as well as Clark, had suspended her from the league, leaving her to stay at home and fill her days with nesting, something even she was getting tired of. She was ready for the baby to come, and with each passing day, she got a little more agitated.

"Could you please shut up," Diana said, as she continued to pace.

Bruce quickly turned in his chair to face his wife. He carefully thought over his next course of action, knowing the last thing he wanted was to piss off a hormonal Amazon. "Come here," he said softly, opening his arms for her.

Diana made her way over to her husband, sat in his lap, and curled up to his chest. She sighed when he wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his body. "What's wrong?" he asked, gently brushing a loose strand of hair away from her face.

Diana let out another sigh. "I'm nervous about this," she confessed. "What if I'm a terrible mother? What if I screw this baby up? What if-"

"You're going to be an amazing mother," Bruce said, interrupting Diana, before he placed a kiss on her forehead. "And if you screw her up….well then we'll have to just have another one." Diana pulled away from Bruce's chest and glared up at him. "I'm joking," he said with a laugh, earning a smack onto his chest. "But in all seriousness, we're as prepared as we can be. Plus, Alfred has already been a great help, and he's not going to let us do this alone. He knows we'll find a way to mess it up if he leaves us unattended."

Diana laughed and nodded. "Thank you," she said. She quickly stood from his lap and began to walk away, before stopping with a groan.

Bruce quickly stood from his seat and rushed over to his wife. "What's wrong?" he asked, pulling his gloves off.

Diana opened her mouth to speak, however another wave of pain hit her, and she let out another groan. "Baby. Coming. Now."

Bruce nodded his head and scooped up his wife, before running up the stairs and into the manor, calling Alfred's name the entire time.

"Master Bruce?" Alfred said, coming out of the kitchen to meet Bruce. "What is going on?" He took one look at Diana in Bruce's arms, sweating and gritting her teeth, and knew immediately what was happening. "I'll get the car," he said, rushing out the door.

Bruce rushed towards the door after Alfred, however Diana placed her hand on his chest, forcing him to stop. "Bruce, change," she said, forcing him to remember he was still in the Batsuit. He gently placed her down on one of the chairs and left the room, returning a minute later breathing heavily, dressed in a dark shirt and basketball shorts. "Did you just grab the first thing you found?" Diana asked, laughing at her husband's attire.

She knew the birth of the first Wayne child, a child with Wonder Woman no less, was going to be well documented in the papers, which meant Bruce was going to have nonstop photographers trying to catch a glimpse of him. It was very unlike him to be out in public in a suit, whether it was freshly tailored or the Batsuit. "I'll have Tim bring me a change of clothes later. For now, we need to get you to the hospital."

He quickly scooped Diana up again and ran out of the manor, glad to see Alfred waiting for the two in the car. He quickly helped her into the back seat, jumping in behind him, before Alfred took off.

Bruce took a deep breath and rested his head against the headrest, gently placing his hand on his wife's thigh. "It's going to be okay," he said, more trying to convince himself than her.

Sixteen hours. That's how long it had been since Bruce had whisked Diana to the hospital, how long it had been since Alfred had ran nearly every red light in Gotham, how long it had been since the start of Diana's labor. And yet the youngest Wayne had still yet to make her grand debut. Sixteen hours of intense contractions, Greek curses, and profuse sweating, and Diana was still nowhere near close to delivering the baby.

Bruce had tried to convince the doctors to move forward with a C-section, but Diana was adamant that she could do this naturally, and as long as the baby was fine and healthy, the doctors did what Diana had asked.

So Bruce stood near Diana's side, watching as his wife grew more and more uncomfortable. She was in pain, but she was too stubborn to do anything about it. "You know Princess," he began, placing his hand gently on her forehead, "I could have them give you something for the pain." He gently pulled the sweat soaked hair out of her face, before stroking her cheek with his thumb.

Diana shook her head and let out a groan, before taking a deep breath, trying to compose herself. "I'm fine Bruce," she said, flaring her nostrils as she got through the contraction. When it was over she looked up at Bruce and smirked. "She's stubborn like her father."

Bruce chuckled. He opened his mouth to speak, however he was interrupted by a knock on the door. The door opened a moment later, Diana's eyes widening when she saw who was walking into the room. "Mother? How?"

Hippolyta shut the door behind her and walked over to Diana, her hand grabbing her daughter's firmly. "You did not think I would miss the birth of my grandchild," she said with a smile, giving Diana's hand a small squeeze.

"But, how? I thought you did not approve of Bruce," she said, her eyes glancing up to meet Bruce's.

Hippolyta nodded as she ran her fingers through Diana's hair. "When you first married, I did not approve. You were, are an Amazon, and I did not want you to be tied to any mortal man." She looked over at Bruce, offering him a small smile, before she continued. "But I've seen how he treats you, how much he loves you, and I would be a terrible mother to not want my daughter to have this happiness." She squeezed Diana's hand once more. "Soon you will know how that is."

Diana offered her mother a smile, before she reached up and placed a hand on Bruce's shoulder. "Thank you," she said, knowing Bruce was the one who had arranged her visit.

Bruce nodded and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You're welcome Princess," he said, his eyes meeting Hippolyta's. The two hadn't always been on the friendliest terms, but when Diana had come to him a few months ago, scared that she was going to ruin things with their daughter, he knew he had to get the Amazonian queen to reunite with Diana. She needed her, especially during this important milestone in their lives, and he would push his pride away to give Diana anything.

There was another knock on the door before the doctor and two nurses walked into the room. "How we doing Diana?" she asked, walking over to where Diana laid. She checked Diana's chart, taking note of how long the two had been there, before she lifted the sheet covering Diana's lower half.

"Just peachy," Diana said, tightening her grip on her mother's hand as another contraction began.

The doctor chuckled, pulled on a pair of gloves, and checked Diana. "Well, we did it," she said, placing a hand on Diana's knee. "Time to have a baby."

Diana narrowed her eyes at the doctor. "We? You mean I did it," she said, holding in another groan. After about the fifth hour, Diana's pleasant demeanor quickly went out the window.

"Of course," the doctor replied, glancing up at Bruce with a sympathetic smile. "Now with this next contraction you're going to start pushing." She looked over at the machine that was monitoring Diana's contractions, her smile widening when she saw another contraction coming. "Okay Diana, deep breath, push."

Diana grabbed Bruce's hand and began to push hard, wanting nothing more than to get her daughter out. She pictured the little girl in her arms, sleeping peacefully, and suddenly all the pain wouldn't matter. She was brought out of her thoughts by Bruce groaning. She looked over at him, her eyes widening when she realized what she had done. "I'm so sorry Bruce," she said, releasing his hand. She watched as he grabbed his aching hand, knowing she had broken at least a few fingers.

She stopped her pushing and tried to place her hand on his arm, laughing when he held his hands up and away from her. "I only have two hands," he said, "Use your mother's hand."

Hippolyta glared up at Bruce, before squeezing Diana's hand. Diana chuckled, knowing her husband would get over it eventually, and began to push as another contraction hit.

Two hours of nonstop pushing, and countless contractions later, and Diana was no closer to getting the baby out than she was when she first started. The doctor had spent her time going between Diana and other patients, making sure her nurses knew to come get her if there were any changes.

Bruce, who was growing anxious by the minute, continued to pace the room, wondering what was wrong. Why was this taking so long? Surely by now the doctor was going to ignore Diana's wishes and take her into surgery. He knew she'd be mad at first, but the safety of her and the baby was more important.

He listened as Hippolyta continued to soothe Diana, gently stroking her hair, whispering encouragement. She was growing weaker and he wasn't sure how much longer she would be able to go.

"Diana," one of the nurses said, watching as Diana laid back on the bed after a long and heavy push. "I can see her," she said. ""We're nearly there." She turned to the other nurse and told her to get the doctor, before turning back to Diana. "Give me another big push."

Diana shook her head, reaching for Bruce's good hand. "I can't do it anymore," she said, panting. She was exhausted.

Bruce placed his face against hers, kissing her cheek, before settling into the crook of her neck. "You can do it Diana," he whispered, squeezing her hand. He felt her shake her head. "Come on Diana, you're a warrior, fight."

The doctor burst through the door and slipped on a pair of gloves, before settling in where her nurse had been sitting. "Oh I see a little head," she said, slipping on a gown. "Big push Diana."

Diana took a deep breath and pushed, her body going into overdrive. "Head's out Diana," the doctor said, her eyes carefully glancing over at the monitors.

The monitors began to beep loudly, the baby's heart rate beginning to speed up. "What's happening?" Bruce asked, his eyes widening when he began to hear the beeping get faster.

The doctor stood and turned to one of the nurses. "Prep for surgery," she said, before turning to Bruce. "The baby's heart rate has spiked. She's in distress. If we don't get her out now, she could go into shock."

Bruce squeezed Diana's hand tighter. He knew she was going to have to fight now more than ever. Their daughter depended on it. "Diana, he began, placing his arms around her. "She needs you to do it. Fight Princess."

Diana nodded against his chest and began to push as hard as she could, her lips unable to hold back the scream. Diana gave it her all, pushing as hard as she could. She needed to get her daughter out; her pain didn't matter.

Diana felt her daughter leave her body, before she let out a sigh and fell back on the bed, crying. Bruce grabbed her face and kissed her, before placing his forehead against hers. Time seemed to stand still as the two of them waited to hear their daughter's cries fill the room.

Bruce closed his eyes, concern filling his mind when he heard nothing. Was she okay? Why was she so quiet?

Finally the baby began to cry, making everyone release the breath they didn't know they had been holding. Bruce opened his eyes and kissed his wife, allowing her to wipe the tears from his eyes, before he looked over at the doctor. "Go to her," Diana told him, placing her hand on his face, before she turned to face her mother.

Bruce walked over to where the doctor was cleaning up his daughter, his eyes glancing down at the crying baby. Ten fingers, ten toes, and powerful lungs. She was perfect.

"12:03, time of birth," the doctor said, as she continued to wipe down the baby. She saw Bruce next to her, before she glanced over at the calendar and smiled. She quickly placed a cap on the baby's head and swaddled her in a small blanket, before placing her in Bruce's arms. "Here she is dad," she said, watching as Bruce took the baby, gently cradling her in his arms. "And Happy Father's Day."

Bruce looked down at the baby as she began to settle down, his eyes filling with tears that threatened to fall. She had a head full of dark hair, and her eyes were just as piercing as Diana's. He turned to face DIana, a smile gracing his lips when he noticed that it was now Sunday, Father's Day; his first. He walked over to his wife and took a seat next to her on the bed, before kissing the baby's forehead and placing her in Diana's arms.

Diana stared down at her daughter, their daughter, and smiled. She was exhausted, but she was right; the pain she had been in a moment ago no longer mattered. "By the Gods," Hippolyta said, looking down at her grandchild. "She looks just like you Diana."

Diana looked down at her daughter, her eyes releasing some of the tears she had been holding in. "She's perfect," Diana said, using her finger to gently stroke the baby's cheek. "My little Alexandra," she whispered, placing a kiss on the baby's forehead.

Bruce watched his wife and daughter, smiling at his family. He couldn't think of a better way to spend Father's Day.

Bruce starred at Diana, as she stood from the bed and walked over to the closet, before Allie climbed into his lap and snuggled up to his chest. "Alfred has breakfast ready for you downstairs," Diana said, taking off her robe and slipping on a summer dress. "The boys will be over at noon," she said, turning to Allie. "Come Alexandra, we need to give Alfred his present."

Allie gave Bruce another hug, before jumping off the bed and running out the door. "Alfie! Alfie! Alfie!" she began to chant, running down the hall and down the stairs.

Diana began to laugh before she glanced over her shoulder at Bruce. "You coming?"

Bruce nodded, tossing the blanket off his body, and stood from the bed. "I'll be right down." He watched Diana walk out, his gaze lingering on his wife, before he let out a content sigh. He had never imagined he would have a family, and once Allie had come into his life, he couldn't imagine it any other way.

@fyeahwonderbat

#wonder woman #batman #wonderbat #wonderbatweek

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cait-writes-stuff · 8 years ago

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How Far I’ll Go

A/N: Thanks to @memento-scribet and @uncpanda for encouraging me to go rogue and write this one despite having other fics to write. I’m glad I did!

Prompt: This one’s shamelessly based on ‘How Far I’ll Go’ and ‘Where You Are’ from Moana. The reader is Bruce’s half-Atlantean daughter who he keeps away from the ocean. The ocean has always called to her and she had no idea why until her father finally comes clean as to who she is.

“I thought I’d find you up here.” Dick said startling. You let out a shriek and almost fell out of the tree branch you were sitting perched on but Dick reached out and stabilized you.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that asshole!” You cried punching your brother square in the chest. He flinched and rubbed the sore spot that you had just created.

“Ow! It’s not my fault you were too in your own little world to hear me coming. I was calling your name for like five minutes before I spotted you.” He replied defensively. “What are you even doing up here anyway?” He asked.

“Just thinking.” You sighed and turned your gaze back out to what had your mind preoccupied. From high up in this tree you had the perfect little nook that gave you a clear view of Gotham City and the rivers surrounding the island that flowed into the wide blue ocean that expanded beyond the bay. You often stared at the sun’s blinding glint across the water’s surface and wondered what lay below it’s depths. The line where the sky met the sea seemed to call out to you but you never knew how you could answer that call. You were absolutely mesmerized by the ocean but it was the one place that alway seemed to be kept just outside of your reach.

“Earth to [Y/N].” Dick called waving his hand in front of your eyes. “You disappeared again.”

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

“Well anyway, Dad wants to talk to you. You should probably go inside.” Dick said before climbing down the tree. He stopped at the base of the tree and looked back up to you. “Are you coming?” He called up. You took one last glance towards the sparkling sea before descending from the tree.

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get your panties in a wad.”

“You wanted to see me Dad?” You asked, peeking your head into the study where he was working on some paperwork. Your dad glanced up and smiled proudly at you. He set his paperwork down and rounds the desk before putting his hands firmly on your shoulders and gazing directly in your eyes.

“[Y/N], you are my daughter and I would stop at nothing to keep you safe but I think it’s time you knew the truth about our family.” He said leading you towards the tall grandfather clock.

You’re heart sped up, absolutely sure that this would be the moment that your father finally opened up and talked about your mother. For as long as you could remember he would always avoid talking about her and when you asked he quickly changed the subject. You loved your father but you had an undeniable desire to know about the missing half of you.

Your father reached out and opened up glass protecting the clock face and moved the hands of the clock to a specific time. The old clock rung once before it swung open to reveal a dark passageway.

This was not what you were expecting.

Your father motioned for you to follow him down the passage and you apprehensively stepped into the dark corridor. When you reached the end of the corridor it opened up into a large cavern that was covered with platforms that held everything above the water below. You took in your surroundings noticing everything from the supercomputer to the cars and the giant T-Rex. In the corner you saw a row of display cases that held costumes that were emblazoned with a familiar bat insignia that often lit up the night sky above Gotham without fail each night. Your father is . . .

“Batman.” You whispered. “You’re Batman.” You stated. Your father nodded once and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“I should have told you sooner, I know. I wanted to keep you out of this world for as long as possible but I think it’s time you are allowed to make your own choices.” He said. “You and your siblings are Gotham’s future, [Y/N]. Your brothers have chosen to walk this path with me and if you decide that this is what you want I will gladly teach you everything I know.”

“You mean I would become . . .?” You trailed off not really sure what this meant for your future and what your father was offering.

“What you become is up to you. I won't be around forever, I am just giving you the foundation to become the hero that this world will one day need.” Your father explained. Your heart swelled at the honor that was being shown to you. It was clear now that this was a rite of passage for your family, a rite that all your brothers had gone through. A swell of pride filled your chest to be trusted with the family’s greatest secret.

“I won’t let you down, Dad.” You promised.

“I know you won’t.”

“Did she say yes yet?” You heard a voice whisper from a nearby corner.

“I can’t hear if you keep talking dumbass.” Another voice retorted.

“Oh my god guys! Shut up! You’re going to get us caught.”

“-Tt- Amateurs.” Damian sneered at the corner where your brothers were clearly hiding.

Your training started almost immediately after being brought into the fold. After everything settled down again you felt disappointed that you were trusted with this secret but yet your father still refused to tell you about your mother. It felt unfair to you.

Being the newest family member to join the effort you were often relegated to monitor duty. You didn’t mind it so much because you soon figured out that the Batcomputer had classified files on just about anything you could think of. On a particularly slow night your curiosity got the better of you and you typed in your own name into the database. The computer pulled up your file which had just about anything you could know about you (you had hoped it would have something that even you didn’t know). Your eyes scanned for anything that could possible do with where you came from.

Mother: [REDACTED]

The words stared down tauntingly at you from the bright monitor. Frustration and anger welled up inside of you. Why didn’t he trust you with this? What was your father hiding?

Before you could do any more digging on the subject matter you heard the Batmobile roaring into the entrance of the cave. You quickly closed out of the files you were looking at and attempted to calm your expression so that you didn’t look as enraged as you felt.

“Slow night?” You asked as your father stepped out of the Batmobile.

“It’s the calm before the storm.” He grumbled.

After discovering that your mother’s name had been redacted from your file you later tried to ask your father about your mother again. He gave you a hard frown, not saying anything on the matter except, “[Y/N], in time you'll learn just as I did that you must find happiness right where you are. Whatever reason you have for pushing this, drop it. It will only bring you pain.” He then walked away, leaving it at that.

Your heart deflated at your father’s words and you resigned yourself to never finding out who you truly were. You had a family and a role here so maybe it was time that accepted things for what they were. Your mother had never been in your life and if your father was so resistant to tell you anything there must have been a reason to shield you from her. She would never be in your life and it was time for you to accept that fact. But then why did it still feel like you would never feel complete without at least knowing who she was?

“[Y/N], I want to show you something.” Your father said almost a year into your training. You were well on your way to stepping into the role that your father saw for you and you were eager to prove your worth. In the time since you had been relegated to monitor duty you honed your skills and carved your place by your brother’s sides. You were easily finding your future by your family’s side but you still could help but to feel you didn’t quite belong as well as you should.

“What is it?” You asked curiously.

“You’ll see. Suit up and follow me.” He instructed. You quickly dawned your mask, changed into your uniform and followed your father to whatever he had in store for you.

As it would turn out, your father was taking you to a place that very few ever had the privilege to even see: The Watchtower. You were completely in awe of the place, it was everything you imagined it would be and more.

“Oh wow. . .” You breathed looking out the observatory window that overlooked Earth. You were astounded by the sight. The oceans were a deep sapphire with scattered swirling white clouds obscuring the view of the surface. The continents you once thought large and expansive now seemed like small islands isolated in a sea of blue and white.

“Amazing isn’t it?” Your father said, admiring the view right alongside you.

“It’s funny, I’ve seen this pictures of this view countless times but nothing beats seeing it with your own eyes.” You said, not able to take your eyes off the sight. Even from this far away the ocean still seemed to enrapture you.

“My thoughts exactly.” Your father chuckled. “Come on, there are some people I’d like for you to meet.” Your father said guiding you away from the window. You looked back over your shoulder to steal one last glance at the sight before you turned your head back and allowed yourself to be led into the Justice League’s meeting chambers.

Your father spent a while showing you around the Watchtower and introducing you to various people. They were all kind and friendly in greeting you. You were quite honestly starstruck in meeting a few of the heros that your father introduced you to but none had you more starstruck more than meeting Aquaman in the flesh.

“Hello. It’s good to meet you again after all these years. The last time I saw you you were just a little guppy.” Aquaman greeted, extending his hand out to you. You took hold of his hand and eagerly shaked it.

“It’s such an honor to meet you, your highness! I think you are just amazing! What’s Atlantis like? Does the kingdom span across the whole ocean or is it just isolated cities? Oh! What are the cities like? I bet they’re just spectacular!” You said, talking a mile a minute. Aquaman chuckled at your excited line of questioning. Your father gave you a hard warning look which immediately resulting in the end of the questions you had wondered all your life.

“Sorry.” You apologized rubbing the back of your neck sheepishly.

“You’re curious, no shame in that.” Aquaman dismissed. Your father’s eyes narrowed at him. If Aquaman had been anyone else, your father’s hard glare would have reduced him to a puddle of fear. Aquaman looked at your father curiously. “You haven’t told her?”

“We should be going.” Your father said taking your arm and leading you out of the room. You looked back over your shoulder at Aquaman, you still had so many questions for him. Before your father could lead you out of the room, Wonder Woman stepped into his path.

“A word?” She requested. She looked at you briefly before clarifying “Alone?”

Your dad glanced at you hesitantly before nodding curtly. “Make this quick.” He said before disappearing with Wonder Woman. When your father was gone Aquaman reappeared by your side.

“Stubborn and prideful, as always.” He said shaking his head sadly. “It’s not my place to tell you what he should have shared with you all along but just remember when the time comes you are your father’s daughter. Mind what he says but remember if a voice is calling out to you to follow where your heart leads, that voice is who you are.” Aquaman said, placing a hand on your shoulder. His words resonated deep in your heart but how could he possibly know what you had never dared to tell anyone before?

“I-I don’t understand.” You stuttered.

“You will in time, young guppy.” He offered, patting your shoulder gently. Your father returned from his meeting with Wonder Woman, Aquaman excused himself and your father quickly led you back home. When you got back to the cave, your father pushed off his cowl and sighed. He braced himself with both hands on the table and bowed his head.

“How much did he tell you?” He asked, his voice sounding defeated.

“Nothing! What’s going on? Everyone’s talking in riddles around me and honestly it’s pissing me off!” You cried in frustration. Your father didn’t answer you and turned to walk towards the Batcomputer. He pulled out the chair from the desk and collapsed into it with a sigh. He hung his head in his hands and rubbed his face.

“It was stupid of me to think I could keep this from your for forever.” He said, leaning back in the chair and sighing. “You aren’t from this world, [Y/N], not entirely. Your mother was Atlantean. When you were born she left you on my doorstep and went back to the sea without ever looking back. I’m sorry I thought I could protect you if I kept you in the dark.” Your father confessed.

So there it was. After all these years, there was your truth.

The truth wasn’t as satisfying as you thought it would be. To come to find out that the reason you didn’t have a mother was because she didn’t want you in the first place? It hurt. And to find out that you didn’t even belong in the world that you had grown up in made your heart ache. So much about you made sense now but you wished your truth was different, you wished you could feel more satisfied.

You tried to search for the words you wanted to say but came up empty. You wanted nothing more than to run as far as you could and just keep running so that’s what you did. You got on one of the motorcycles stored in the cave and raced to the only place that had ever provided you with solitude. You raced through the city until you finally came to a beach on the outskirts of the city that overlooked the ocean.

You walked along the rocky beach looking out towards the line where the sky meets the sea. The glint off the water and the crash of the waves against the shore calmed you. You took your shoes off and threw them to the side and stepped up to the water's edge and let the cold sea water wash over your toes. You let your eyes slip close and just enjoyed the sounds of the water and the cries of the gulls.

You opened your eyes back open and looked longingly out to the water. Knowing what you knew now you wondered where your home truly was. Was it here with your family where you knew you would never quite belong or was it somewhere in the unfamiliar depths of the ocean that had always called out to you?

You had been standing at the edge of the water for as long as you could remember never knowing why the sea called out to you. Now you knew but if anything that only strengthened the draw. You wished you could be the perfect daughter, the human daughter, that your father hoped you would become. You desperately wanted to be the daughter he could trust would one day fill his shoes to protect the surface but doubt filled you. Would you always turn back to the water? Was that where you truly longed to be, even if you would be met with an empty ocean?

Everyone in your family had their role. They were happy with their role. So why couldn’t you find it within yourself to accept yours? Would you ever be satisfied in playing along when the voice inside you pulled you elsewhere?

“What’s wrong with me?” You sobbed dropping to your knees in the water. You dug your fingers into the sand below you as the water soaked through to your skin. Your tears flowed down your cheeks and dropped to mix with the salt water of the sea.

You were so confused. You had no idea what your place in this world was now.

Warm soothing arms wrapped around your shoulders and pulled you to a strong chest. You let out a sob and wrapped your arms tightly around your father, not ever wanting to let go. As you sobbed against him, he soothingly stroked your hair and rocked you.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispered, his voice thick with painful emotion.

“Who am I?” You choked out. You father smiled sadly and lifted your chin, pushing a lock of hair away from your face and behind your ear.

“Only you can answer that, [Y/N].” He said. He then pulled something out of his pocket and slipped it into your hand. You looked down at the object to see a wide gold bracelet that had intricate swirls and waves curling around it. At the top of the band was a silver shell imbedded in the gold. “This was your mother’s, it was all she left with you when she left you in my care.”

“It’s beautiful.” You admired, running your fingers along the gentle curves and turns of the design.

“You’re a part of both world’s, [Y/N]. As much as I always wanted to keep you safe here on the surface I understand if you feel the desire to go out there and find out who you are destined to be.” Your father said. “I was the same way when I was your age.” He smiled bittersweetly. Tears welled you up in your eyes and you constricted your arms around your father in a tight hug.

“If I go there's no telling how far I'll go.” You whispered into his chest.

“I know.” he replied. “Just . . . promise me you’ll come back home when you figure out what it is that you want.” He requested, unshed tears glimmering in his own eyes.

“I promise Dad.” You swore tearfully.

“I will always be proud of you [Y/N]. I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for.” He said gently cradling your cheek. You knew it must have been hard for him to give you up like this and it was equally hard for you to leave but your heart told you that you had to do this. You had to find what’s beyond that line that you have yet to cross.

One day soon, you’ll find out how far you’ll go.

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne imagines #batsis #batsister #batman #Batman imagine #batman imagines #dc imagine #dc imagines #dick grayson #nightwing #aquaman #aquaman imagine #aquaman imaignes

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audreycritter · 8 years ago

Text

Stabilized

This should go up on AO3 soon and I'll add the link. I'm still on official hiatus from fic prompts and chapter updates, but I'm writing other things as I have time and inspiration strikes. This was spawned out of a brief conversation about a specific line of dialogue and it was fun to write. It got sappy and I do not apologize. Stabilized Gen/Family Bonding Tim Drake + Bruce Wayne Rated T for Language ~2500 words The Batmobile roared into the Cave and the engine cut-off, plunging the bay into silence. Only voices from the medical unit carried over when Batman leapt out of the car. “How is he?” he called, pulling back his cowl as he hurried up the steps. “Dazed and a little incoherent,” came Alfred’s reply. “I'm still assessing him now.” Bruce had been on patrol with Damian when Oracle had informed him over the comm that Tim had been taken back to the cave with a head injury of unspecified severity. Cassandra had found him and then had fallen silent on the comms after letting Oracle know. He climbed the steps to see Tim perched on the edge of the gurney, a bucket in his hands. It looked freshly rinsed. Cass was sitting on the countertop with her arms wrapped around her folded legs. Alfred was prepping a CT scanner they'd invested in after an earlier nasty head wound. “Is Robin with you?” Alfred asked, glancing over as Bruce took in the scene. “He's with Batgirl,” Bruce said, not taking his eyes off Tim. “Miss Cassandra might appreciate your help in engaging Master Timothy’s attention.” “Listen,” Cass said, when Bruce took a step closer to them. Tim had still not noticed his arrival, or if he had, he had given no indication of it. “Tim. Tell me again. Becoming Robin.” “So,” Tim said, his word slurred. He leaned forward over the bucket and nearly toppled off the gurney. Cass slid forward, a tangle of limbs unfurling and stretching toward him in the same instant Bruce put a hand on Tim’s shoulder and gently pushed him upright again. “So,” Tim repeated, “you know, you know the first part.” “Green. Girls. Fast cars,” Cass supplied, weight braced on her hands on the countertop. She held her body aloft, an inch above the surface, by her splayed palms. Bruce’s heartbeat stuttered, knowing and hating this origin story. He loved Tim but he tried not to think often of why Tim was there. “Exaaaactly,” Tim said. “Gone. So, B, you know B, he's a fucking disaster. Like Cass you don't even know how bad. He was erratic and violent and reclusive like a baby kangaroo. Cass, don't laugh at me, I'm serious,” Tim’s voice took on a pleading tone and Cass was in fact, giggling behind her hands. She'd dropped back to the counter to cover her face. “Baby kangaroos are dangerous, Cass. They have really strong legs but they hide, too,” Tim sounded near tears. “Okay,” she said, consoling. Bruce felt like he wasn't doing much to help other than ensuring Tim wouldn't topple over, but he was also reluctant to miss the rest of the story from Tim’s perspective. “He was hiding and I knew where to find him,” Tim said. “I snuck in. Who gives a fuck about rules, not me. I never have. Anyway I found him, and he was all like, ‘What are you doing here, punk? Aren't you Jack Drake’s kid?’” Bruce had half-anticipated this part of the story, but he has not anticipated that Tim’s voice would rise to a falsetto while imitating Bruce’s lines instead of dropping to a lower octave. He had to stifle a sudden laugh. Cass’ eyes were shining and Bruce realized belatedly she'd said “again” earlier. She had wanted him to hear this. “Then what,” Cass prompted when Tim’s attention began to drift. “Oh,” Tim said. “Oh yeah. So. So, I found him. And he was angry. But I just told him the truth. I said, ‘bitch, you need some kid to stabilize you, and I guess I have to be it.’” Bruce, despite his twinges of guilt and amusement, could not actually argue with the truth of this summation. “I seem to remember more pleading on your end, Master Timothy,” Alfred interjected a bit defensively. “No, that's pretty much it,” Bruce said with a wry grin. Cass beamed at him unabashedly. Tim turned as if surprised and looked up at Bruce standing next to him. “Hey, bitch,” he said in a sluggish tone. “I mean, Bruce,” he amended without apology. “Hey, kid,” Bruce said. “They told me you hit your head.” “That's stupid,” Tim spit out bitterly. “Something else hit my head, not me. I'm not an idiot.” “Brick wall,” Cass said. “That,” Tim said forcefully, pointing a finger at her. “What Rainbow Daughter said.” “True name,” Cass clarified for Bruce. “Secret.” “The scanner is ready,” Alfred said. “Master Timothy, if you might lie back?” “Try and make me,” Tim said. “I can go back out there. I'm fine!” “Tim,” Bruce said, a little sternly, and Tim sighed and reclined on the bed, still clutching the bucket. “Has he been nauseous?” Bruce asked Alfred. “No,” Tim answered. “I just like this bucket.” “Ask him questions,” Alfred said. “Keep him awake, if you might.” “Favorite dinosaur?” Cass asked before Bruce could think of anything. “Velociraptor,” Tim answered with a scoffing noise. “What kind of question is that.” “Movie?” Bruce asked and Cass gave him an alarmed expression. From inside the portable scanner Tim sniffled hard and bit back a sob. “Dumbo,” he whispered a second later. “Favorite happy film,” Alfred amended, giving Bruce a severe look. “One must specify.” Cass added a reproving frown to this, and a nod, as if it was common sense. Inside the machine, Tim sniffed again and answered in a steadier tone, “No such thing. Is Bruce still there?” “Yes,” Bruce answered. “Tell them. There are no happy films,” Tim insisted. “I'm sure there are some happy films,” Bruce countered slowly, looking to see Alfred’s still disapproving reaction to this concession. “But you haven't seen any,” Tim said sourly. “You can't think of any. Art is misery.” Bruce, who had been feeling slightly bewildered by his apparently massive misjudgment moments before, knew immediately that this was something he could salvage. “That isn't true,” he argued, ignoring the absurdity of disagreeing with a stubborn teenager who had a probably massive concussion. “What about the photo essay on abandoned research labs in Gotham?” “The one I did for Wired?” Tim asked hesitantly. “Yeah, that was fun.” In the corner of Bruce’s line of sight, Cass bit her lip to hold back a pleased smile. “Nikon or Canon?” Bruce asked next, dragging a wheeled stool over to the gurney and sitting down. “Digital or traditional?” Tim asked, his whole body now otherwise still. “Both,” Cass said. “I guessed.” “Canon for digital, Nikon for traditional,” Tim said. “Were you right?” “Yes,” Cass said quietly, despite having no proof of this. Bruce didn't doubt her. He himself had been fairly certain. “Hell yes,” Tim said triumphantly. “Sibs know shit.” “Sibs know shit,” Cass repeated solemnly, like it was a vow of some kind. For all the weight they gave it, Bruce supposed it might have been. “I'm gonna sleep,” Tim announced with a yawn. “It's so cold in here.” “Tim,” Bruce said, instead of trying to persuade him otherwise. “Which USSR camera model did you prefer?” “You don't remember that,” Tim said as if it were obvious fact. “No way.” “Of course I do,” Bruce said, because he did. “Zorki-6,” Tim said with a fond sigh. “Why?” Bruce asked, because he wanted to keep him talking and because he'd always been curious about the antique camera Tim had spent a long spring season taking everywhere. He'd come to Bruce’s office after school most afternoons to sit on the couch and do homework and fiddle with the settings. He'd take pictures from the window, or traipse around the building with the camera, and develop them in the darkroom at the manor afterward instead of going home. But Bruce has never asked-- Tim had been skittish about his art then, likely to tuck it away if anyone paid attention. “Because no one else that I knew had one,” Tim said. “And it smelled like your old briefcase.” Bruce was so acutely aware of Cass sitting nearby and Alfred beside him overseeing the machine as it powered down that it didn't take much effort to retain his face’s composure, but there was a moment where it nearly broke in surprise and sentimental warmth. “Good smell,” Cass said. “Hell yes,” Tim said again. “One of the best. Like vanilla extract.” Bruce was frozen on the stool while they discussed this and he exchanged a look with Alfred that told him, without words, that his semblance of facial control was likely a myth. “Ew,” Cass said. “Bitter.” “I told you, you can't taste it,” Tim said. “Extract is gross to taste.” The machine rolled back and Tim was prone on the bed, still, the small bin wrapped in his arms. “This is just a cursory glance,” Alfred said, “but I don't see anything concerning. His heart rate is still a tad elevated.” A suspicion bloomed in Bruce’s mind and his frozen limbs moved again. He slid the stool down toward Tim’s head and leaned over the bed, looking into the boy’s face. “Tim. How many shots of espresso did you get in your red eye tonight?” “Oh,” Tim said, thinking. “Before I fought with the wall.” “Yes,” Bruce said, a smile quirking one side of his mouth. “Uh,” Tim said, meeting Bruce’s gaze and then looking down at the bin. “You’re going to be pissed.” “I won't be,” Bruce said, promising to himself as much as Tim. “If you tell me, you might get to sleep soon.” “I'm so tired,” Tim allowed. “Really. Like, it's been days. Fudge. I'm so tired.” “C’mon,” Bruce said, and he felt Cass move behind him before he saw her at his elbow. Cass bent forward and kissed Tim’s forehead. “You tell,” she said. “Or else.” “Seven,” Tim whined with a hand over his eyes. “Seven, okay? And maaaaybe a Red Bull. I'm a robin. It gives me wings.” “Well, that solves that mystery,” Bruce said, sitting up. “Al, mark this one down as a minor concussion and an excess of caffeine consumption.” “Master Timothy,” Alfred said, aghast. “You ought to know better.” “I said don't be mad!” Tim protested. “Master Bruce made such a promise,” Alfred replied sharply, with worry in his voice. “You will be staying here for a few days, is that understood?” Tim nodded sullenly and stuck both arms in the air, suddenly, the bin clattering on the floor when it fell. “Carry me,” he ordered. “I can't feel my legs.” Cass reached over and prodded his knee; Tim’s leg jerked away. “Liar,” she said simply. “I'm compromised.” Tim jiggled his arms, held out in a zombie-like fashion. “Somebody. I don't want to sleep in the cave.” Bruce stood up and slid an arm under Tim’s shoulders and another under his knees. Tim slumped against him, unresisting, as he straightened. “Night, Timmy,” Cass called from her reclaimed perch on the counter while Alfred muttered under his breath. When Bruce glanced back, she'd scooted down to hug the older man around the neck and Alfred patted her hands. “How bad is your headache?” Bruce asked as he climbed the steps in the cave. “Middling,” Tim mumbled against the batsuit Bruce was still wearing. “And anxiety?” Bruce prompted next, knowing from experience the side effects of that much caffeine. He'd gotten a few stern lectures from Alfred when he hadn't been much older than Tim. “Um,” Tim said, “pretty shitty. How'd you know?” “When was the last time you asked me to carry you?” Bruce questioned in reply. “I think the answer is probably never.” “I was serious about my legs. They fell asleep,” Tim said, his head still turned against Bruce’s chest as Bruce side-stepped through the narrow door. The boy sounded almost asleep already, but more lucid than earlier. “I didn't want to fall in front of you guys.” “Hm,” Bruce said. He rounded the corner and began climbing the second set of stairs. Tim had never, even with muscle, been very heavy. “I miss you,” Tim mumbled when they reached the top. “I try really hard not to be bitter about Damian, but I miss how things were before. When it was us.” “Me, too,” Bruce said, knowing he meant it and that no one else was around to hear. He knew Damian would take it the wrong way and was glad he was still out, but he felt the same way about each of them as Robin. He did miss the days when he was out on the rooftops with Tim. “I know it wouldn't be the same,” Tim said, as if consoling himself. “Handle,” Bruce prompted, stopping at the door. Tim flopped his hand over and swung it wildly around, reaching without looking. When his fingers landed on the knob, he turned and his grip slipped off. “It's locked,” he complained. “I don't know where I left the key.” “I can kick it open,” Bruce said, considering. “But Alfred might be upset. I could pick the lock. Or we can go down the hall and you can steal my bed for the night.” “Where would you sleep?” Tim demanded groggily, and Bruce took that as his cue and headed further down the hall. “The couch in my office,” Bruce said. “Or a guest room.” “Your bed has good pillows,” Tim mumbled when Bruce worked the knob with his knee and pushed the door open. He carried Tim across the room to the bed and stood there for a moment, then dropped him abruptly onto the comforter. “Bruce,” Tim complained, laughing. He crawled under the covers until all but the top of his head had disappeared and from under the thick blankets, he sighed. Bruce sat on the edge of the side table and reached over and ruffled Tim’s hair. “You did stabilize me, you know,” he said quietly. “I know,” Tim said in a drifting tone. “You can't keep doing this, Tim,” Bruce said when Tim rolled over and pressed his hand against Bruce's outstretched hand. “Come by my office. Or we can patrol. But you need sleep. And less caffeine.” Tim nodded and yawned. “Okay,” he said. “Sorry.” “You're a good kid, Tim,” Bruce added. He wished he said it more often. “You too, bitch,” Tim said, and then he giggled. It sounded young and childish coming from him. “Sorry. Sorry. I mean, thanks. My heart is still going crazy.” It was Bruce’s turn to yawn. “You okay?” he asked. “I need to get out of this suit.” “Mhm,” Tim said. “M’good. Night, Bruce.” “Goodnight, Tim,” Bruce answered, standing. “Shout if you need something.” The answer was a soft snore. Bruce closed the door behind him and stopped to pick the lock to Tim’s door on the way down the hall. It was unlocked. Bruce grinned.

#Bruce Wayne #Tim Drake #fic blogging #batman #batfam #batfic

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