#barbara snatching the lays though

[livelovecaliforniadreams]

[thegaysinmyhead]

DC X DP IDEA(?)

Guys why is literally no one jumping on a VERY OBVIOUS trope for ghosts??

FUSION?? LIKE STEVEN UNIVERSE STYLE??

Just–hear me out hear me out!

Ghost forms are just extensions of their core, so it makes sense they can be changed right?? Gems physical bodies are just extensions and projections of their gem!!

SO, if going by a lot of phanon core logic, it would make sense if ghosts can have conversations to like fuse or something. Probably to use in battle mostly (ghosts are obviously territorial) but can also be used for love or to protect a weaker/damaged core! JUST IMAGINE THE POSSIBILITIES!!

Danny being able to fuse literally Steven universe style w his friends because he's a halfa, Danny being able to fuse with Jason because he has a connection because of the pits (Halfa or Revenant Jason Todd), Danny fusing with LITERAL BATMAN as he's the ghost king!!

CAN YOU IMAGINE HOW TERRIFYING THAT WOULD BE???

Jason in the middle of getting sacrificed: :|

Danny, the one being summoned and seeing a poor baby ghost/potential boyfriend material and snatching him to protect him: :)

Bruce:

Tim:

Dick:

Barbara:

Steph:

Cass:

Jason: ¯\(°_o)/¯

Danny: Mine now :)

*he says as their body erupts into flames and they become the most bad ass looking ghost that kicks the cultists asses; Before they started lounging around and reading Jane Austen* (floating laying down is apparently more comfortable than just laying down on something solid, so its nice to float and read)

ORRRR

Justice League facing off an impossibly strong enemy that they have no choice but to look into outside sources to help defeat him (Trigon, Darkseid, something else that probably show up like 4 times a week lmao). Eventually, JLD get wind of a new ghost king who's supposedly kind and benevolent, which is races better than his old counterpart.

With the entire League's permission, begrudgingly Batman's, they summon the Ghost King as a last option and are ready to sacrifice anything for his help (within reason). Imagine their surprise when Danny Fenton, aged somewhere between 16 to 21, pops up in the portal looking frazzled and like he was woken up from a nap. Not even in his ghost form, just blinking owlishly at the League members while gaping like a fish.

"Holy shit—the Justice League?! I'm being summoned by the Justice League?! Ohmygod Tucker is gonna freak"

Constantine butts in looking nervous as hell and sweating buckets, "Your Majesty—"

"Just Danny's fine, I can't believe I'm being summoned by THE Justice League!"

"...Danny. We could really use some of your help, mate. See, we got ourselves an issue we can't really fix ourselves–"

"I'll do it. I'm not even joking, you guys don't even have to ask me twice,"

Everyone in the League (besides Batman) was watching with bated breath at the exchange. The confusion as a random teenager showed up was quickly washed away with how formally he was addressed, but it spiked back up when 'Danny' seemed to...hero worship them?

"—But!"

Ah, there it was. Can never do trades in the occult for free.

"I would really do it for free if I could man, honest! Just...I need to make a teensy weensy deal to be let out of the circle? You guys don't even have to let me do it on my own if you're worried I'll go rogue! You can tie me into a deal about one of you 'using my power' in exchange for like, a cup of coffee or something,"

Now everyone (except Batman, though he seemed to have a clenched jaw) was opening gaping as the omnipotent described being. Being offered something to great...in exchange for a mug of bean water? There had to be a catch, some sort of trickery, but Diana and many others could sense no ill intent on the young king. Constantine had even let up on the nerves as the being continued to speak, relief seeming to crash through his entire body when he realized none of them would have to give up their soul or something. Batman was the first to speak up.

"And if you were...to offer your power to one of us, what would that entail for the mortal or semi-mortal user?"

The king hummed and tapped his chin in thought, "Well, they'd probably be fine. Most of my power would be filtered through myself, so whoever is wielding it wouldn't go mad or suddenly overwhelmed with it. It'd be like turning on the tap while the well is underground, or something close,"

Batman nodded before Danny continued to speak.

"—But, obviously, I reserve the right to take away my power at any point if I see it needed. I would not be mind controlled, nor would I be drained, I would be an observer in the back of whoever decides to be at the other end of the contract until it's fulfilled,"

Constantine stepped forward once again, cigarette all but ash between his lips now, "Contract, right, mate. So uh, one of our sorry blokes gets access to your unfathomable power for the time it takes to beat whatever the hell it is out there. And in exchange, you get a cuppa? Maybe some biscuits and other treats with it to sweeten the deal?"

Danny smiled brightly at the ruffled looking blond and nodded, "Sounds good to me!"

All at once, the room dropped in temperature as the summoning circle around Danny became encased in ice. The ice shimmered an otherworldly dark blue, almost black, and stretched until it reached the feet of the young king. A spark lighted ontop of Danny's head before exploding into a flame, a crown taking shape through the smoke of the fire to sit upon the teenagers head. There was a flash of blue as a ring materialized on the teen's finger, as well as a cape seeming to sew itself from nothing to sit upon his shoulders. Danny looked sheepish as much as he looked serious, his eyes now emanating a neon green with hints of red in his pupil.

"This is kind of the awkward part, whoever what's to use my power will have to form the contract. I don't really feel comfortable with a super or meta using it, with how powerful I am it might cause more damage than repair it, so preferably a human or mostly human host?"

Danny looked so incredibly shy all of a sudden as he rubbed the back of his neck in an incredibly human gesture. The word's were out of Batman's mouth before he even realized he was speaking then.

"I'll do it," The Bat walked forward to stand beside Cobstantine. Constantine pinched his eyebrows together before letting out a nervous chuckle. Danny just seemed to light up.

"Ohmygosh I'm going to be core merging with Batman," the young king seemed to be doing another small fan-boy freakout before coughing and collecting himself.

"Right, right. Contract to do now, tell my Fraid about this later," Danny lifted up a flaming hand towards the edge of the summoning circle, motioning gently to the Bat.

"Heads up, this is going to feel really weird. Just keep holding onto me after the contract sets, and then make sure to get everyone away as fast as possible. You will grow, it's not gonna be very nice if other people are around because you'll squish them,"

The other League members around nodded mutely, eyes staring at Batman as they prayed and wished for his safety. Batman just gruffed and slowly placed his own hand into the awaiting palm. It didn't burn as he thought it would. In fact, it felt quite cold. Like the feeling of putting your bare hand into a pike of snow just to know how it felt. Batman forced himself not to shiver as he felt the contract form through the handshake. The young king sent him a reassuring smile before he seemingly vanished.

No, not vanished. There was a bright light in Bruce's gloves hand that shook with power. The light—sphere, orb?—sunk into his palm, and this time Bruce did shiver. It felt like the biting winds of a blizzard as it crept up his arm to settle in between his ribs. There was a ringing in his ears blocking out the noise around him, but he could faintly make out images of the League rushing away from him and giving a very large berth.

There was a building in his chest, and he felt it pulse like a second heartbeat. Bruce pulled his hands to his sternum and clawed uselessly as the hevlar, the freezing cold threatening to consume him whole inside and out. His chest pulsed, and he fell to the ground in a heap. Bruce heard some of the members try to rush to him, but the JLD held them baback. There was a cracking like ice pulling away from itself, like glaciers splitting, and all of a sudden Bruce felt power rush through his veins.

It should have been overwhelming, it should have terrified him into immeditely creating contingencies, it should have drove him mad with power, but it didn't. Bruce didn't realize his form had grew until he opened his eyes (when did he close them) and blinked down at the members of the League. They were so...small compared to him now. Bruce felt more than he saw the flames dance from his collarbone, and they flickered up high around his thankfully still cowled face. Though, it seemed his face was the cowl right now.

Bruce turned to the being they were fighting (and losing to) moments ago, and smirked. He felt the spike of fear, and he suddenly knew that this thing didn't stand a chance.

.

.

.

GUYS I KNOW BRUCE WOULD NEVER AGREE TO POWERS LMAO LET ME DREAM THO I THINK HE WOULD LOOK COOL ASF AS A GHOST!!

[shivada-jade]

soulmates!

soulmate!au because im weak. you're weak too.

characters: bennett, zhongli, diluc ➡ mentions: barbara, lisa, guizhong, hu tao, kaeya, crepus warning(s): bennett luck (he gets hurt a lot), wrote this at 2:48am so my writing may or may not make sense

bennett: feels the same emotions from the other, but the emotions have to be strong and genuine

he never understood your sudden bursts of sadness. it would come at the most inconvenient at times.

for as long as he could remember, the emotions that weren't his are mostly sad. he asked his dads about it and gently told him his soulmate system is feeling emotions from the other.

after crying from an unknown pain, he made it his soul purpose to constantly be happy all the time, no matter how unlucky he could be so you can be happy too.

his dads worry when he falls down and scrapes his knee, but he would always reply with, "i'm not hurt! my soulmate is hurt!"

he would then clutch the fabric on his chest tightly, like he's been stabbed with a sword and say, "my soulmate hurts right here."

he heaves a breath, "it doesn't compare to whatever luck i get."

"this pain is bearable," he convinces himself when he comes out a hilichurl camp in cuts and bruises.

"your soulmate needs you to be happy for them," he chastises himself for shedding a tear when another adventurer wronged him.

he visits barbara to heal his wounds and asks how she always looks so... happy, so smiley.

"all it takes is one smile to make yourself happy. it can be a slow process but it works!" she singsongs, "miss lisa showed me a study about it."

ever since barbara explained, he smiles the brightest of smiles in mondstadt. he refuses to let other adventurers let him down, worried he might hurt you more than it is.

soon, he finds out that he feels no sadness coming from you. he feels no weight on his shoulders. he feels happy after Good hunter ran out of food for him.

these are not my emotions, he thinks, a wide grin creeping it's way to his face.

he lets out the loudest laugh, giggles, and various joyous noises. he's never felt so happy in his life. for once, he feels lucky, because for once, you're finally happy in the other end of his invisible red string of fate.

his luck skyrockets when he sees a person around his age, with a gorgeous smile adorning their features. he knows its you, sitting by the fountain making wishes. he knows it's you when he sees your eyes that hold so much emotion.

it was as if his heart was tugging him to where you sat.

he's never felt so lucky to have you as his soulmate.

"thank you giving the best smiles"

zhongli: every time he passes his soulmate, he hears the sounds of bells ringing

now, zhongli never thought he would have a soulmate because of his past title of 'archon.' soulmate systems are a tricky thing. he knows there are so many ways to know your soulmate system.

the common system was their first words tattooed on themselves. many others had the ability to know when they meet them, in other words, a count down.

but zhongli never had those two, nor did he have faith in the soulmate system until the lantern rite festival.

walking by the busy streets, he muses to himself how pretty liyue is under the blanket of the moon and stars. he hears the merchants call to customers, attracting and waving at them to buy their products. he hears the clink of the mora in their bag is loud; the laughter from the children young and old marry a soft smile to his face.

he freezes, hearing something that should not belong in the lantern rite. the sound of bells ringing. it isn't any cow bell, or school bell. it's the sound of echoing, melodious wedding bells ringing his ear.

he vaguely remembers his friend guizhong mentioning about this rare particular soulmate system when she still roamed teyvat.

a soulmate!

zhongli stands straighter, eyes grazing on the sea of people, trying to see if anyone stopped to hear the bells he heard. he mutters a few apologies when people bump into him with lanterns in their hands, but that doesn't matter to him.

fate brought someone for him to love. it's just that... he doesn't know where.

he walks forward, he walks backwards to where he came from. he walks to the docks then to the top of liyue harbour, but he can't hear the sound of the bells again.

he doesn't panic. he doesn't rush, because he knows fate will bring you back together. he just doesn't know how long until he'll hear the bells again.

it came to him a surprise when he hears the bells everyday after that.

everyday when he sits at third-round knockout he hears the sound of bells behind him, but when he turns, he knows you've left already.

he sighs, blowing on his tea before taking light sips. it seems he won't be meeting you today.

one day, the ringing just stops. there's no sign of you, or your presence. zhongli assumes you're just taking a sick day, or you've decided to rest, but after a week of not hearing the bells, he worries.

archons, how he wanted to look for you, but he doesn't even know who you are. hu tao encourages zhongli to take the day off and look for you, so he did.

walking aimlessly in liyue, doubt crosses his mind. what if you were here for a business trip and left? it wasnt until he passes by a stunning figure he hears the bells again. he stiffens and turns to you when you stopped next to him.

"thank goodness," he says, slightly covering his smile with a gloved hand.

your eyes sparkle as you look at him, "thank goodness indeed."

diluc: lost possesions will come to your soulmate

for as long diluc knows, strange things always end up in his possessions: hairclips, pens, coins, and archons forbid- his soulmate's overdue bills.

his father laughs when younger diluc comes home dragging a wagon and the biggest teddy bear in history, because how on teyvat does someone lose a teddy bear taller than a door. crepus watches his son struggling to drag the big toy home and sees his other son pushing the wagon from behind, also struggling.

"what do you have there?"

all the response he gets are grunts. the side of his eyes crinkle with mirth, seeing his two sons having trouble bringing it home.

"father!" diluc calls out with a grin missing two of his front teeth, "i don't know where it came from. it's like it appeared from the sky."

"it actually did fall out of the sky!" kaeya says, "we were at the vineyard and i saw diluc get crushed!"

"i did not get crushed."

"did too," kaeya retaliates, sticking his tongue out.

that was the first time diluc heard of this certain soulmate system. lost things from his soulmate go to his possession; lost things from diluc go to his soulmate's possession.

crepus glances at his boys and gets an idea. he calls for them to follow him, and they do, obediently. he leads them to his room, pulling out a treasure chest full of frilly clothes, dresses, outfits that range from a farmer's outfit to a noblewoman.

"this chest is where your mother kept her favourite things," crepus pulls out a necklace from the bottom of the case. "this necklace was particularly her favourite."

diluc can see why. he's mesmerized by the ruby sparkle it hangs. the gold chain complimenting the red jewel and making it complete.

crepus clutches the necklace, looking at it longingly before placing it back in the chest. he places out all the old clothes from the container and lays it on his bed.

"you can keep your soulmate's things here like i once did. your pops is getting too old anyway, i-"

kaeya interrupts crepus jumps on the clothes that are on the bed, creating a havoc in the room. he jumps on the bed with so much energy even after diluc tells him about the story of the 5 little monkeys jumping on the bed.

though, crepus is having none of that. he picks up diluc by his small arms and flings him to kaeya, looking like a bowling ball knocking down a pin. the two boys gasp for air, shooting dirty looks at their father before they chase him out of the house.

the corner of diluc's mouth twitch up ever so slightly, remembering when he first knew of his soulmate. it would take a very observant person to notice his smile. he polishes the glass behind angel's share's counter. under the filtered sunlight, the glass glints. satisfied with the cleanliness.

the chest his father game him was fill of trinkets his soulmate had lost over the years, and good grief. his soulmate must be the most disorganized person ever. he remembers walking to dawn winery and a sack of mora drop on his feet. it wasn't a pleasant feeling, but the thing that has diluc worried is how his soulmate tends to lose the biggest things like a 7-foot-tall teddy bear.

diluc is about to place the wine glass on a cupboard until SMACK.

a thick paper hits his face from seemingly nowhere and so he knows that is his soulmate losing the tenth thing for the day. he has a room dedicated for the things his soulmate has lost, and he thinks he might need a second room.

he pulls the paper off his face and his eyes widen in shock. this two-inch thick paper are legal documents. loan agreements. overdue loan agreements.

[Name] [Last Name]

he notes the name in his head. [Name] owes the fatui 35 thousand mora as interest. what kind of reckless person- then it hits his mind. that sack of mora that fell from the sky was that 35 thousand to pay off the loans.

he knows where to go. he leaves the wineglass on the counter for charles to pick up and hastily grabs his coat and leaves the door.

"liyue, liyue, liyue, and the fatui." he chants in his head. loans. he greets his maid before ascending to his room. he snatches the mora that dropped on his feet and sprints out the door to retrieve his stallion.

a few hours at most to make it to where his fated partner was at, and so he sets off.

arriving at liyue is strange, seeing diluc's attire did not match the city, and seeing his hands are holding the reins of his horse tightly. a strange traveler from a foreign land... with a majestic stallion. he looks like a prince straight out of a fairytale.

he lightly pats his horse, urging to go a bit faster from the trotting they were doing until he meets the gaze of a distressed person in front of the fatui.

"i swear! i had the money and the papers just today!"

diluc scoffs, knowing who they were now, and they did not have the money today. they lost it a week ago.

"listen," the masked fatui grumbles. "im just here to do my job. if i don't have the money in my hands right now i'll-"

diluc jumps off the saddle and unloads the sack of mora from the side, dropping it on the fatui's hand with a seething glare, yet still polite.

"i believe they owe you 35 thousand? sounds about right, no?" he says, letting his diplomatic side show a bit. "for the sake of it, why not amuse me and take this, david. hmm?"

the fatui goes rigid, hearing his name. he slowly lifts his eyes up, "master diluc." he curtly nods and skittishly walks away. one time david spilled drinks at a mondstadt political gathering. he spilled it on diluc.

the ragnvindr waits for the fatui to walk away before turning to his, supposedly love of his life.

"you're the one who lost a 7-foot-tall teddy bear when i was six," he points out, waiting for your response.

his soulmate sheepishly smiles, "well- i would have a good defense but hey, did you at least enjoy having a 7-feet-tall teddy bear fall on you?"

"i did, along with a glass mug falling on me as well."

"i just cant believe how you never lose your stuff!" they retort, "the only thing i got was a missing tooth from you."

the tip of diluc's ears turn the same colour as his hair, but still wears a stoic expression. "i'm diluc ragnvindr," he greets, slightly bowing his head.

"and i'm yours"

part 2: with ganyu, kaeya and thoma

[darkfearsandkittyears]

Y'all, it's Whumptober! I'm super excited!

Okay, uh...funny story [and super embarrassing for me] I am a highly unorganized person, I have a calendar in my room, but it's so much easier to check the date on the huge calendar in the kitchen! So, I calculated the days till October in August, and promptly forgot to write prompts and outlines, [even though I pants most of my works].

Fast forward to today, when I see my mom writing down the October events. I was like, oh, she's just reminding herself for next month.

Then I realized.

I literally forgot that September comes right before October.

I literally thought that I had another month to plan ideas.

One of you come whack me on the head, I really need it.

Anywho, let's get on with the show!!

"Come on, Damian! Reach for it." Jason dangled Damian's bottle, inches from the baby's hands. Damian whined and stretched his arms out as far as they would go, attempting to snatch his bottle.  Jason smiled at the child. "Scoot forward. Like this." He demonstrated, pulling his body along with his arms.  Damian stared at him as if he'd grown a second head, then cooed a little.  "Yeah, it looks whack. But come on." Jason shrugged and put the bottle down, wagging Damian's little toy dog instead. On what planet did this qualify as a dog? It looked more like a deformed elephant.  The woman at the store had insisted it was a dog….he had to get Damian some more toys. All the parenting books said that babies needed good toys for development. "Come on buddy, get your..animal." Jason called. Damian laid his head on the quilt and sucked his thumb. Jason snapped a quick picture as the little boy nodded off, tuckered out by 'tummy time'. "Come on Dames, don't fall asleep just yet." Jason said, grunting as he got to his feet. The wound he'd sustained wasn't helping any, and the painkillers weren't working right, thanks to the pit.  Oh well.  "Come on kid, you can't fall asleep on your stomach." Jason rolled the sleepy baby over on his back. Big blue eyes batted up at him, laced with sleep.  Looked like Bruce, a little.  House of Wayne.  Once upon a time, Jason had wanted to use the kid as leverage...but this was a baby, and his brother. He'd realized that, but realized it a little late. Damian deserved to grow up, shielded from batdad's nonsense and in a world without Joker.  Godamn it, Talia was right.  Having a 'family' around him had cleared his head. And screwed up his plans. Majorly. But he wouldn't trade it for anything.  Besides, he'd nearly had Joker's brains splattered against the wall yesterday, right in front of Bruce's face.  He'd make them watch, make them all watch when he pulled the trigger on Joker. For himself. For Barbara.  For Damian. Maybe then, when Joker was dead, he'd present Damian to Bruce. Let Bruce wage war against the House of al Ghul while he and Damian ran for the hills. Then they'd double back and destroy both families. He couldn't kill Bruce, not until Damian was older. Jason was no Willis Todd, he was far from willing to force his brother into a life with no father. Picking sides would be Damian's choice, when he got older. But for now, it was Damian, Jason and Talia against the Joker and Batdad.  Not a hard fight.  Especially when Jason had the upper hand.  "We're gonna be just fine." Jason smiled down at the sleeping baby. "We're already winning." Damian's eyelashes fluttered, and he let out a tiny snore. Jason picked him up and transferred him to his playpen, then wandered out of the living room and into the bedroom that he'd converted into a gym.  A rumble of thunder burst through the room, and Jason paused, hoping it wouldn't wake Damian up. That was pretty loud, for thunder. The ground seemed to shake with the sound.  The pull up bar he'd installed yesterday clattered to the ground, and he flinched lightly as an image of a crowbar flashed before his eyes. It felt as if something had hit him in the back, but he chalked it up to imagination. He was probably imagining the fog around him too.  Some things Joker gave him, he could never get rid of.  But Damian began to cry, loud, hysterical wails that sent fear up Jason's spine. Another rumble broke through the air as Jason sprinted out of the room. A sickening crack ricocheted through the house, and Jason unwillingly moved to the left as something brushed his right shoulder.  A support beam.  "Damian!" Jason had never moved so fast, weaving past and through the falling drywall and wood. He was only feet away from the playpen when Damian's wails choked to a stop, as if someone had turned them off. Through the fog and falling objects, he reached into the playpen and curled around the child, shielding him with his body as he tried to find an exit.  Damian's body was limp in Jason's arms, not a cry or a coo. Jason risked a

glance at the child's closed eyes and pale, dust covered face. He shoved the blanket up to cover Damian's nose and rushed blindly into the direction of the doors. Behind him, a beam fell and what was left of the house shuddered.  An eerie feeling washed over Jason, settling right in the pit of his stomach. Everything went quiet, but Jason tensed, alert.  A hot burst of air slammed into his back, and he knew he'd been right to keep alert. Jason grunted as he was thrown into what was left of a wall, which crumbled, pinning his legs down. His mind fogged like a static TV, and he could feel warm air.  Fire.  Then realization hit.  Damian was no longer in his arms.  "Damian. Damian!" His throat was raw, coated in drywall dust and dirt. But he yelled on, hoping, needing to hear anything from the rubble.  But there wasn't a sound.  Jason pulled his leg from under the rubble and plowed through it to the best of his abilities, climbing over and under and around piles of garbage that had once been a house. There was an odd feeling in his leg, the only other thought that wasn't an urgent repeat of, "Find Damian!". But he quickly suppressed the feeling, because through the fog and dust and smoke, a tiny hand protruded from under a beam. Jason attempted to lift it, but couldn't. Damian was trapped under an air pocket, but any wrong movement would send it all crashing atop him.  A lever.  Jason searched desperately for a board or pole to use as a lever, but saw nothing. But then his eyes scanned over his own leg, and he had to look back at it.  His foot was quite literally facing the wrong way. The odd feeling vanished and became a sharp pain that nearly took his breath away.  Focus, Jason. The League had trained him as a sniper, and he was good at it. He excelled, even.  But all snipers knew how to do one thing. Hyperfixate. And that skill, with the help of adrenaline, might just save both his and Damian's lives.  Jason looked around the room once again, eyeing the position of the beam that Damian was under. If he could manage to get across the rubble, he could crawl into the air pocket and rescue Damian. Jason pulled his body up and over rubble, ignoring the extreme pain that was now burning through his body. At some point, that white agony would get the best of him, but for now, adrenaline was masking most of it.  "Damian!" Jason called again, nearly falling over a piece of wall. His broken leg slammed into a sheet of metal, which dislodged. The beam began sliding, and Jason screamed, unwillingly. He felt his legs propelling him towards where his brother lay, and he pulled Damian into his arms and cringed as the beam fell down around them.  "Damian...Dames." Jason panted as the dust settled, smoothing the dirt off his brother's pale face. The baby was too pale. He had to get him out of here. The falling rubble was controlling the fire, but smoke inhalation would kill them. And Damian had been unconscious for far too long, but there wasn't a single scratch on the child to evidence any injuries. Jason growled in frustration. "Damn it!" His entire body hurt, his leg most of all. Adrenaline was wearing off...the pain was mixing with the green light of the pit, and together they nearly blinded him.  Rage, and pain. Great combination.  He looked around for a way out. It was like a grave. Tight, and hard to breathe.  No Jason.  No.  His breath caught, and he knew he'd just screwed up. There wasn't enough air in his lungs, and he could breathe it in quickly enough. He clutched Damian to his chest and tried to get in a breath, to no avail.  Whimpers punctuated his breath, and the rational part of him could have laughed at himself.  But he couldn't. Whimpers turned to screams, and nothing made sense anymore. He screamed the only name he knew would come for him. "Bruce! Bruce, please!" He could hear his own screams dying out, feel himself losing a grip on consciousness. "Dad! Dad...Bruce…" His voice rasped into a whisper, and he gritted his teeth. "Batman! Dad! I need you! Please...please dad!"  Not a soul

stirred.  "That's right. He's not coming for you." Joker whispered sadistically.  Jason shook his head desperately, tears mixed with blood running down his face. "Shut up, you stupid clown! Please! Bruce. Bruce! Please!"  Like a miracle on Christmas eve, a ray of light shone into their prison, and a familiar shadow fell across Jason, along with another pound of dust. Damian wailed, and Jason shielded himself and the child against the dust, then spiraled into an exhausted darkness.  Four hours later, he pulled himself out of the pit of unconsciousness. "Dami?" Jason slurred, exhausted.  "He's fine, Jay. With Alfred."  That voice.  Jason made an attempt to bolt upright, only to find that he was secured to the bed.  "You have two broken legs, five ribs, son." Bruce muttered, undoing the restraints.  They must have given him some hefty painkillers, since he could feel nothing. "Call me son again-" Jason snarled, his voice cracked and dry. "How am I your son, if you had the nerve to let him live?! I gave you the choice last night, Bruce. Save me, or save him. You threw a batarang at my throat instead."  "Jason-" Bruce looked wounded, his jaw working with words he didn't know how to say.  "No! You don't get to "Jason" me. Not after what you did. You don't deserve to have your son."  "Jason."  Jason looked up at Bruce. "What?"  "I put a batarang in your throat?"  Disbelief surged through Jason. "You didn't know? All those years of aiming those damn things, and you didn't know?" Bruce's face was as stone cold as ever. "No." Jason had probably imagined the look of sorrow on his father's face. It wasn't like Jason meant anything to him anymore. "It only nicked me, lucky for you. Doesn't even matter, I'm alive. Surprising, isn't it? You wanted me dead and him alive. What, you got a crush on him?" He looked away, unwilling to meet Bruce's eyes.  "I hate him, Jason. I just can't kill him."  "You screwed me over Bruce. All this," Jason gestured to himself, "Is your fault."  "You have a son, Jason." Bruce said softly.  "He's not my son. He's my brother." Jason replied, tone dark. "He's your son."  There was a dead silence that almost resonated. Jason chanced a look at Bruce.  For once in his life, the man looked truly stunned.  Did he break him? "Bruce…?"  "Talia's child?" Bruce whispered.  "Yes." A sudden whim forced him to add, "And you can't have him. You're not going to get him killed too." "I wasn't going to make him a Robin."  "Cut the bullcrap, Bruce!" Jason screamed, startling both himself and Bruce. "Yeah, maybe I almost got us both killed, but I've never put a gun or a batarang in his hand and told him to throw it!"  Bruce hesitated before speaking. "It wasn't your fault. The city was destroying a building, and the explosion shook the foundation of other buildings. I couldn't get to you two as quickly as I should have. I'm sorry, Jaybird." Bruce sighed. Sorry. Sorry doesn't cut it, Bruce, Jason wanted to say. "Whatever, Bruce.", was all that came from his throat. "Not the first time you've forgotten me, anyways."  "If I had known-"  Rage surged through Jason. "Save it! Why the hell is he still alive? That's my only question. Why. Isn't. He. Dead? Don't kill him. Fine. But let me kill him. Look at Barbara! Isn't what he did to me enough?! When will it be enough, Bruce? When he murders Damian?" Hands gripped Jason's shoulders, and he stopped his tirade. "Son…" Bruce began, then stopped. Jason could feel his face crumple, not a word slipping past his dry lips. "I can't kill him, Jason. I can't let myself go off that edge. "You failed me, Bruce. When will it be enough?"  Bruce didn't answer. Jason swallowed against the knot in his throat and spoke roughly. "I just want him dead. All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. That, the abandonment, it doesn't even hurt anymore, but I wanted you to kill him. For me." Jason's face twisted into a scowl that thankfully repressed the tears. "Make him die." He spat. "I can't, Jason. I'm sorry Jason. It's meaningless, but I'm

so sorry." Bruce looked physically pained.  He's acting, Jason told himself. "If you're sorry, don't let him hurt anyone else."  "I can't promise that."  "I know you can't. But I can!" Jason yelled, finally. But instead of his rage getting the best of him, it all just evaporated. He felt nauseated, as if someone had punched him in the gut. But all he vomited up were words, words that he shouldn't say. "All I ever wanted was to make you proud...then you left me with him. I don't care about that...but didn't you care about me?"  Bruce's expression darkened to something that Jason had never seen before. "I put the Joker in a body cast for a year. That permanent limp he has is evidence of it. I couldn't bring myself to murder him, because in his dead eyes, all I saw was myself in him. And it was all too peaceful. He tortured you for months. I'll torture him for the rest of his life." Bruce said the words like a vow, determination lacing his tone. Jason stared straight ahead in shock. Silence settled over the room.  "You-when was Joker dead?" Jason finally asked, almost dreading the answer.  "Dick killed him when he found out what happened. I couldn't let him live with the remorse, so I revived him." "Dick….killed him." Jason repeatedly slowly, almost dumbly. He wanted to feel anger that Bruce had brought the damn clown to life, but he couldn't.  "He always had a temper." Bruce said lamely.  Oh great, both of them were shutting down their emotions and verbalization. "Didn't think he'd go that far." "I did. He loves you, Jason."  "Don't talk to me about Grayson. He managed to do what I've been trying to do." Jason managed a rough laugh. "Isn't it funny, Bruce?" Bruce only stared at him, a near pitiful expression on his face.  It wasn't until Bruce hugged him that Jason realized that there were hot tears streaking down his cheeks. Slowly, Jason hugged back, blinking back the stinging wetness of his eyes.  This, all this 'emotional seminar with the Batman' was a total mistake. So Jason let go of Bruce and pushed him a little to regain personal space.  Bruce unsurprisingly was fine with taking back his boundaries. "You're doing alright, Jaylad. You took in a son that wasn't yours and you're raising him."  "I took him in for all the wrong reasons." Jason bit his tongue. "And what are your reasons now?"  "Touchè."  Parents...and adoptive older brothers make mistakes with kids. They fail them and screw them up. But Jason's mistakes with Damian could be fixed.  Jason couldn't. Not until the clown died. "You can always make the present better than the future." Bruce said.  Dammit, old man. "Whatever." Valid points.  Very valid points. "Who else trained you in manipulation?"  Bruce just looked confused. Either this was more manipulation, or Bruce being bipolar by the days.  Whichever one, Jason would try his luck. It was a mistake, destined for disaster.  But he just couldn't help himself.

[emachinescat]

Mama Bear

A Tales of Arcadia Fan-Fiction

by @emachinescat @whumptober2021 day 3 - Sticks and Stones May Break My Bones But... ("who did this to you?")

Summary: After Jim’s fight with Draal, his mom sees his bruises, and Mama Bear is unleashed. Post-Win, Lose, or Draal.

Whumpee: Jim

Words: 2,603

Note: This fic was inspired by what Barbara said in 1x13 about Jim coming home from school covered in bruises. As is my way, I took the idea and ran with it.

TW: none

Barbara Lake had always considered herself incredibly lucky that her son turned out as well as he did. It wasn’t her own doing, she was sure of that – she always did the best she could, but being a single mom meant she’d had to work extra shifts to support her small family and never felt like she was there enough.

No, Jim was just a really good kid.

Not many moms could boast that their sixteen-year-old son could cook better than they could, let alone that they made gourmet lunches and dinners (and breakfasts, on most weekends), not just willingly, but happily. And not many moms could brag that their sixteen-year-old son did the dishes or kept the house clean or put aside his own wants and dreams to take care of his overworked mother. Who got up early to leave flowers on their bedside table after a long night at work, or who tucked them in after they fell asleep on top of the covers, still in their scrubs, because they’d been too exhausted to do anything else.

Barbara tried not to brag too much about Jim. She knew that he did have a social life of his own, and as far as she could tell, he was fairly well liked at school and she didn’t want to embarrass him if any of his friends found out just how much he doted on his mother. But sometimes she couldn’t help it, and she’d find herself rambling to her beautician or the nurses at the hospital or sometimes even a long-suffering patient about how her son was one-of-a-kind. He didn’t get into trouble at school, didn’t fight, didn’t skip school, and almost never missed curfew.

Until one day, he did.

It wasn’t even like it was a gradual change. There was no slow fade. She didn’t watch him slowly descend into bad grades or late nights or midnight calls about museum break-ins. There were no signs. He went to bed one day, the same as ever, and then suddenly he was getting into trouble at school, getting into fist fights, missing curfew, breaking into museums in the dead of night. Not only that but his grades – which had always been slightly higher than average – had plummeted, and he’d developed dark circles under his eyes like he never slept and sometimes he moved around like he was an eighty-year-old man and though his good nature and kind heart remained, it seemed strained at times. He still did sweet things for her, but not as often.

At first, she’d thought he was burning the proverbial candle at both ends and his lack of sleep was taking a toll on his mental and physical health. As a doctor, she’d seen firsthand what lack of sleep could do to a person. Their entire personality would change, or fizzle out, and their judgment would be severely impaired.

But then she’d seen the bruises and her sleep-loss theory flew out of the window.

***

Two weeks ago

Barbara thought boundaries and independence were a valuable part of a child’s development, so she always knocked before she entered Jim’s room. Of course, if he were gone, she wouldn’t bother.

On this particular day – one of her rare days off – she was sure he wasn’t home. She hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t seen his bike propped up against the side of the house or in the garage. The container of store-bought chocolate chip cookies (she had neither the time nor skill to bake them herself) she’d left out for him hadn’t been touched. For all appearances, Jim hadn’t gotten home from school yet.

And so, she didn’t knock as she approached his bedroom door with a laundry basket propped on her hip. Jim always did his own laundry, but she’d seen how tired and overworked he’d been lately and wanted to ease his burden however she could.

The sight that greeted her when she nudged open the door and flipped on the light was one that would stick with her, tattooed onto her mind’s eye, for the rest of her life.

Jim was asleep on top of his unmade bed. It looked like he’d gotten halfway undressed and then decided to forgo comfort for sleep, and lay on his stomach in only his jeans. One shoe was on, the other halfway under the bed. But what arrested her attention so violently was the great rainbow of bruises arching across his back and stretched around his side, disappearing beneath his stomach where he lay on the bed.

She couldn’t help herself. A horrified shriek escaped her, and Jim sprung up so quickly it made her head spin. The panicked look in his eyes did not escape her notice, nor did the way he made a desperate reach for his pocket, like he was trying to grab something – trying to defend himself? When he saw who was in his room, and that they were alone, and that there was no danger, the raw fear faded, though a hint of panic remained.

“Mom!” he squawked, crossing his arms across his chest like that would be enough to hide the dizzying array of green, purple, yellow, and black that blanketed his chest. She noticed with surprise the lean muscles of his arms. Jim had always been fit, but never strong. He’d never said anything about a gym and he’d never been serious about sports, but she filed this information away for later and focused on the problem at hand.

Her stomach twisted as her doctor’s eyes traveled slowly, deliberately down her son’s bare torso. The bruises were worse on his stomach and chest, something she hadn’t thought possible, and she realized with horror that some of them were days, maybe weeks, older than others. This – whatever this was – was not an isolated incident.

Rage like she’d never felt before, like the protective energy of all mothers who had come before her collected into one finely-honed sword, pierced her soul as she came to the only conclusion that made any logical sense: Someone had done this to her son.

When she spoke, she barely recognized her own voice, cold as the furthest depth of the ocean, shaking with unmitigated fury.

“Who did this to you?”

Jim’s answer didn’t surprise her, but she also didn’t believe it for a second. “No one. It… was an accident.” She watched, lips crammed together in an impossibly thin line, teeth grinding against one another, her hands trembling with a righteous anger she had no outlet for, as Jim slowly reached out for the shirt he’d left in a heap at the end of the bed, the other arm still wrapped protectively around his torso. She didn’t stop him. She would absolutely be examining his injuries fully before the evening was done, but for now, she’d seen enough. The sight of her son’s bruised flesh would burn in her memory forever, more clearly than when she saw it right in front of her.

Skittishly, like a cat caught sniffing around back alley garbage cans, he snatched up the shirt and swiftly pulled it over his head. He couldn’t hide the flinch as he raised his arms to pull the fabric over his head. As he did so, she got the full view of his torso, and the wild, impossible thought flitted through her mind that it almost looked like some giant hand had wrapped around his body and squeezed. The image, however nonsensical, sent waves of nausea crashing through her. Her anger swelled again, and the crest of it burst forth, no longer containable, and the only person she could release it on was the one who was actively lying to her.

“James Lake, Jr. – do you think I’m an idiot?!”

Jim froze, his hands stilling completely as he adjusted the neck of his tee. He had never heard his mother direct such cold fury at anyone, let alone himself. “W-what? Of course not, Mom. I just–”

“You expect me to believe that you accidentally hurt yourself this badly? That you woke up one morning and you were covered in bruises? Jim, I’m a doctor. I see people come in for less than this. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have fractured ribs.” Now the anger was giving way to panic. “And don’t think that I haven’t noticed that some bruises are newer than others. This isn’t something that just ‘happened’ and it’s not an accident. So tell me. Who – the – hell – did this to my son?”

A small, ridiculous surge of satisfaction bubbled up inside of her as she watched Jim’s mouth fall open. He’d never heard his mother utter a word stronger than darn before. She’d always been very careful about the language she used in front of him. But his condition released something feral inside of her, and it was honestly a bit of a shock that nothing stronger came out.

She watched his face, saw the conflict in his eyes, knew with even more surety that he was hiding something big from her and trying to decide if he was going to answer truthfully. Well, tough luck. He wasn’t leaving his bedroom until he answered her question.

He must have seen this in her eyes, for after a moment, he dropped his gaze. Heavily, he sat down on the foot of his bed and stared down at his hands. “Mom, I… can’t. I just can’t. I’m sorry.”

At this, the fear took center stage again, and Barbara fell to her knees in front of her son, cupping his face in her hands. The tears she’d been holding back with such determination threatened to fall at the way he unconsciously leaned into her touch. His eyes closed briefly, and for a moment he was a child again, sniffling from a scraped knee and being comforted by his mother. That moment ended all too quickly, because his scraped knee was actually a bruised and battered torso, and he wasn’t a child anymore, and he was in trouble.

“Jim. Whatever is going on, I promise, I won’t be angry. But someone is hurting you. You can’t deny that. What is happening to my son?” She tried not to speculate – dared not speculate – but so many possibilities chased themselves through her head, each one worse than the last. Bullies? Abusive teacher? Drugs?

He sat for a moment, a slumped, defeated statue with too much weight on his young shoulders – Young Atlas, Walter’s voice echoed in her mind. She saw the exact moment when he made his decision. He squared his shoulders, set his jaw, and met her eyes once more. Something brewed within those beautiful blue depths, but what it was she couldn’t say. Was it regret? Guilt? Fear?

“It really was an accident,” he finally said, voice slow and measured.

“Jim, really–!”

“I’m telling the truth, Mom!” he insisted so fervently that she was tempted to believe him. Almost.

“Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?” she demanded. “What kind of ‘accident’–”

“A Vespa one,” Jim blurted, and his eyes flickered down to his hands in shame. “I… a friend gave me a ride on his Vespa. I was on the back and got thrown off and rolled halfway down the embankment before a tree caught me right in the ribs.”

Fresh panic wormed its way into Barbara’s mind at Jim’s confession. As horrible as it was, part of her desperately wanted to believe him. If he had been in a vehicle accident, then no one had been deliberately hurting her child. It was just his own irresponsibility and stupidity.

“When did this happen?”

A beat. Then, sheepishly, “... yesterday.”

But – “What about the older bruises, Jim? Did you get into two Vespa accidents?”

“Paintball,” Jim answered without missing a beat. “We had a whole thing a few months back. Guys versus girls. And I got hit. A lot.”

Barbara recalled clearly the size and location of the older bruises that had peeked out from underneath the fresh, reaching ones. They could have easily been from punches or kicks, but it was feasible that the bruises could have come from being shot at close-range by a paintball gun.

Deep down, something still nagged at her. But Jim’s explanation was a siren’s call and she was so tired of swimming.

“Do you promise me you’re telling the truth?” The gaze she fixed on him one would have withered a succulent.

Without hesitation, Jim answered, his voice clear, strong, and insistent. “Yes.”

Relief flooded through her, and she squashed the last remaining doubts, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “In that case, you are grounded.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “What, really? You promised you wouldn’t be angry!?”

“I’m not angry, I’m disappointed. Let’s see, you know how I feel about both paintball and those Vespas and yet you went behind my back and nearly got yourself killed. You’ve been lying to me, Jim, keeping secrets. Is this why you’ve not been sleeping? Why you’ve been so distant?” It didn’t explain why he’d been getting into more trouble than usual, but right now she would take what she could get.

The slightest of hesitations. “Yeah.”

She considered, eyes burning into him, for a long moment, then she sighed, the sound of every evil thing escaping Pandora’s box, and she clapped her hands together briskly. “Okay, come on.”

Jim cocked his head to the side. “Where are we going?”

“The hospital.”

Jim groaned. “Mom, I’m okay. I’m just bruised.”

“I’m not taking any chances, mister. You could have fractured ribs. You should have been rushed to the hospital as soon as the accident happened. Who is this friend, anyway? Why didn’t he take you to the E.R.?”

Jim scratched the side of his neck. “You wouldn’t know him,” he evaded, and Barbara made a promise to herself to revisit this point later. “And we were afraid we’d get into trouble…”

“Well, you did, kiddo. Now, get up. We’re going to the hospital, you’re getting x-rays, and then we’re getting ice cream.”

Jim blinked up at her. She wondered if he realized his arm was curled protectively around his ribs as he slowly eased himself off the bed. “Ice cream? I thought I was grounded.”

“You’re hurt, Jim, and I’m your mother. I’m not a monster.” A soft smile pulled at the corners of Jim’s mouth at her words, and not wanting him to get too comfortable, she added, “You are grounded, though. Absolutely. You’re not going anywhere after school for at least two weeks. And depending on the x-rays, you might not be leaving your bed for a while, either.”

“Mooom.”

“Don’t you ‘mom’ me. Now, put your other shoe on. Let’s hussle. I want you looked at as soon as possible.”

What she didn’t see as she turned to leave the room was the heavy curtain of guilt being drawn over Jim’s face.

Later, she’d drive him home with a diagnosis of two cracked ribs and deep bruising across 80 percent of his torso and a bottle of muscle relaxers for the pain. They’d get ice cream and he would mope about bedrest and she would try to cheer him up (but not too much; he was still grounded, after all). But behind the pain of his injuries lurked a deeper, fierer ache that no balm could soothe, no medication could ease.

With every lie, he could feel the chasm widen between him and his mother, and it hurt more than a few broken ribs and bruises ever could.

[singtheskyandfightlikehell]

BatFamily Headcanons: Stuffed Animals

In an attempt to productively combat my recent writer’s block, I’m practicing writing the batfam characters through short character study fics (which I will post once I make enough) and comparative headcanons. I might end up making short fics out of these, as well, since some of them got a bit long anyways

Today I decided to explore how many stuffed animals each member of the batfam (plus an adjacent character or two) has, what they think of them, how they got them, etc. I’ve got eleven characters on this list (and I’m still missing some, sorry)

Bruce:

Bruce put aside stuffed animals when he was eleven, deciding it was time to become serious. However, since acquiring children, he has been gifted a number of stuffed animals, ranging from a small and realistic brown bat to a child-sized bear wearing his cape and cowl. None of the children know this, but he keeps them all in a prominent position in his walk-in closet. Sometimes, when he has a particularly nasty fight with one of his kids, or he discovers something (like an injury) that they were hiding from him, he’ll tell the stuffed animals all the things he struggles to tell his children in the hopes that, one day, he’ll figure out how to express himself when it actually counts.

Alfred:

Alfred has no stuffed animals of his own, but he keeps the old, worn teddy bear that was once Thomas’ and later Bruce’s, alongside the somewhat lopsided bunny that Martha attempted to sew for Bruce when he was two. They sit side by side in a spotless glass cabinet filled with other memories that various members of the family have at one point or another attempted to cast aside.

Dick:

Dick has a pair of stuffed elephants, Eleonore and Zitka, and a teddy bear of his own, all from the circus. Most of the time they sit on the shelf under one of his nightstands, but when he has a particularly bad day, he’ll hold them all tightly until he falls asleep. If he’s crying, he finds it slows the tears to press kisses to the tops of their heads, or just smoosh his whole face into them. Sometimes, if he’s having a particularly good day – especially if no one else is sharing in his good mood – he’ll tell them about whatever made him happy. The rarest occasions are a bittersweet combination of both, the moments when he dwells on his happiest memories of his parents. When this happens, he is more likely to address them than his family, talking to them like old friends who were “there” for the things he’s recalling. It reminds him of the parties he would host as a small child, attended by his stuffed animals and his parents and sometimes other people from the giant family that was Haly’s, and for just that moment he’ll feel suspended somewhere between grief and content.

Barbara:

Barbara had lots of stuffed animals growing up, but as she got older, she gave most of them away. The only one she kept was a little otter that her father gave her for her first birthday. She doesn’t remember this, of course, but they have an old home video of that day which she’s seen a few times, and she know it’s one of her dad’s favorites to watch when he’s feeling nostalgic. She does remember the way she used to drag the otter with her everywhere she went when she was about four, and it’s so worn now that all of its original fluffiness has disappeared. She sets it up near her main computer and uses it in place of a rubber duck.

Jim:

When Babs decided she was too old for her stuffed animals, Jim was instructed to give them away at one of the Gotham children’s toy drives he helps run as commissioner. Only about half of them ever make it out of the house, because he keeps looking at them and remembering little moments that involve each of them. He has two boxes full of them that he swears he’s going to bring to the next drive, but he’s been swearing that for over ten years now.

Jason:

When Jason first arrived at the manor, he swore up and down that stuffed animals were dumb kids toys that he was way too old for. The first time Dick showed up at the manor after Jason was there, he brought a plush dog he’d picked up on the way there, unsure what to get his surprise new brother but not putting an excess of thought into it either. After all, he wasn’t about to ask Bruce what Jason might like. Jason made a show of scorn and tossing the toy in the trash, but when Dick was gone he dug it back out. When he was sleeping, he clutched the dog protectively against his chest like it might be snatched away at any time. When he wasn’t sleeping, he kept it hidden in a box wedged under a floorboard beneath the bed, alongside his other contraband. It was there when he died and it’s still there now. Every time he’s in the manor, he thinks about sneaking into his old room to retrieve it, alongside some of his other old belongings, but he never does. His reasoning alternates between not caring, being too old for toys, not wanting to set foot in his old room, and not wanting to get caught caring after all these years.

He does however have an obnoxiously long bright red snake that Roy won at some sort of archery carnival game while they were supposed to be tracking a suspect. He’d griped at Roy for wasting time with frivolous games, a complaint that was very on brand for their relationship. He’s pretty sure Roy saw through him, though, and understood the real reason he was so antsy to leave the carnival, given his soft apology later that night. He also recently acquired a floppy stingray, a gift from Lian for his latest birthday. She told him that she’d gotten to pet a stingray at the aquarium where she’d bought it, and it reminded her of him. Specifically, she’d said he was, “Kinda dangerous and maybe a little scary, but actually really soft to anyone who’s nice enough”. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that description, but the gift had a place of pride, resting atop an old model of his helmet that Roy had “defaced” with a sweet message that always made Jason smile.

Cass:

Cass grew up without stuffed animals, and was honestly a little confused at first about why she might want one. The first one she ever got was a tiny key-chain cat that was given to her by a little girl she saved. She was unsure what to make of the object itself, but she treasured it as a symbol, proof that she was doing good in the world. It was Steph who convinced her to look for more, to look for stuffed animals in her “style”. Eventually, she got two of the most different ones she could find: an iridescent octopus packed tightly with beans and made of a coarse fabric, and a large fluffy goose that squished like a cloud and was made of the softest fabric imaginable. She likes tossing the octopus lightly in the air to feel the weight of it, and faceplanting into the giant goose. She also has a big bear holding a plush heart that Steph got her for their first Valentine’s.

Tim:

Tim’s relationship with stuffed animals is a bit more complicated. He had five growing up: a dog, a bear, a lion, a rabbit, and a lamb. They had names, stories, personalities, and they were his friends (his only friends, at the time). When he was seven, he woke up one day to find them gone. His mother scolded him for his tears, explaining that he was too old for baby toys, and that his attachment to them would only hinder his path forward. For years, he felt ashamed whenever he thought of his grief towards them, because he knew they were just toys, he knew he was being a baby about it, and yet…

It wasn’t until he was fifteen years old and stumbled across an article about autistic people and the projection of feelings onto objects that he understood why he had been willing to sneak out at night to search through pawn store after pawn store and – once – the landfill in the hopes of seeing his beloved toys again. As a teen in the Wayne household, he knew he could get as many stuffed animals as he liked, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so after what had happened before. He got one giant, floppy moose, barely half a foot shorter than himself, that he clings to like an octopus when he manages to lay down, whether he succeeds in falling asleep or not. Additionally, on a night after Jason made amends with the family, Tim returned to his room to find a fifteen inch plush latte with a cute little face on the mug portion and a sticky note on top that simply read: Sorry for trying to kill you a bunch. My bad :) He keeps it on top of his dresser, and while he doesn’t really hug it, he did discover it was the perfect object for chucking at his siblings’ heads whenever the situation calls for it.

Steph:

Steph loves stuffed animals. While she never got any of the fancy brand name ones, or the luxuriously soft ones, or the hyper-realistic ones, her mom had a tradition of buying her one for every birthday, Christmas, and Easter. She soon had quite a collection, and – like Tim – she gave them all names and personalities. She played out complex scenarios with them and the few dolls she had, designing an intricate world of wild concepts and plots. She also used her stuffed animals to conquer her fears, like thunderstorms and darkness, by pretending they were all more scared than she was, so she had to be brave for all of them. Steph still has her whole collection, as well as quite a few “nicer” (though equally loved) ones that she has acquired from various Waynes. At this point, pretty much everyone in the Wayne family has given her a stuffed animal at some time or other. For a couple of years now, she has taken to posing with her massive collection and making fake family Christmas cards to send out to everyone she knows, where she will update them on the well-being of any plushie they’ve given her.

Duke:

Duke also has a great love of stuffed animals, although he doesn’t match Steph for quantity. He only had a few beloved animals growing up, all of which he’s held onto (a panda, a penguin, a turtle, a frog, a leopard, and a pikachu). Since being fostered by Bruce, Duke has taken to searching out and buying only the rarest stuffed animals he can find: an anteater, a platypus, a manatee, a sloth, and an axolotl have made the cut so far. Bruce knows about this and has taken to keeping an eye out for anything interesting whenever he’s out. After accidentally mentioning it at a gala one time, it has since become his favorite topic, as getting drawn into an intense discussion with Bruce Wayne about where to acquire strange plushies for his son elicits one of two reactions from his guests: delighted awws or hilariously awkward attempts to steer the conversation back to high society definitions of business and pleasure. At Duke’s request, a large shelf was built around the top of his room, so that all of his stuffed animals can sit comfortably and be clearly seen.

Damian:

Damian was much like Jason when he arrived at the manor in more ways than one, but his determination to prove himself above stuffed animals was certainly on that list. He sneered at his siblings’ attempts to treat him like the child he swore he wasn’t. And honestly, even after he began to lower his walls just a little, he still wasn’t particularly fond of stuffed animals. Sure, he privately thought they were cute, and sure he might (might) find himself holding one at night if it happened to have been left in his bed by an annoying sibling, but in general he preferred live animals to fake ones. Real animals had personalities and feelings, fake ones did not, it was as simple as that, no matter what Stephanie claimed. But as time went on, Damian found himself acquiring a small army of stuffed animals against his will. Some of his siblings (Jason, Tim, sometimes Duke) gave them to him because they found it funny to watch him growl about how he was not an infant in need of deceitful comforts. Some of his siblings (Dick, Cass, sometimes Duke… sometimes his father as well) would give them to him because they knew he liked animals so they assumed he’d like imitations of animals as well. Steph would just give them to everybody, every now and then. But regardless of motive, Damian soon found his room overflowing with stuffed animals that were moderately cute but ultimately pointless.

It wasn’t until a patrol a few years after he’d taken on the mantle of Robin that he discovered a solution. Tim had hidden a tiny stuffed bear in the medical supply compartment of his utility belt, a felt bandage wrapped around its little head. He hadn’t been wounded, but the young girl he’d rescued had been bleeding from a wound that looked worryingly dirty. The bear had fallen out of the pouch, right into her lap, and she’d stared at it with wide eyes, surprise halting the flow of her tears. She’d held onto it the whole time he disinfected her arm and bandaged it, and afterwards he had insisted she keep it. For the first time that night, she’d smiled. After that, Damian began taking a few of his many stuffed animals out on patrol with him, ready to hand out to any and all injured, lost, or otherwise traumatized children once he’d rescued them from their troubles. Eventually he began running out of toys he’d been gifted, even though he kept getting new ones, so at some point he begins to regularly sneak out for the sole purpose of acquiring stuffed animals to hand out. He never tells his siblings, but he suspects they’ve found out anyway, when the presents they give him drastically decrease in size.

[keikoayano]

Toby Shines

So, this is not edited, formatted, or processed in any way. I thought it and I typed it out and now I am going to post it, so please don’t hold it in too high of a regard. A fix it fic of sorts? I’m coping, basically, and needed to get this idea out of my head. Not true to RotT canon either

Claire is the one that finds Toby in the rubble

She’s clawing at the rocks, desperate, tear streaked

AAARRRGGHH!!! is the one that is by her side to immediately help, pulling Toby out of the pile carefully

After a moment of coughing and getting his feet back under him, Toby stops suddenly

Looks around

Claire and AAARRRGGHH!!! are by his side like always, the others not far away

He whips his head around quick enough to give him a headache and starry vision

Still doesn’t see him

He’s shaking without realizing it, mind not processing a thought except to FIND JIM

Surely he is still stuck in the rubble like toby had been moments ago

He turns, wordlessly, and dives to the nearest pile, hands grabbing for debris

Claire is silent, watching

Walks over, kneels down by him, places her own shaking hand on top of his

This movement causes Toby to still

Her hand starts to grip his, a lifeline, nails digging into Toby’s skin

He is led away from his rubble pile with AAARRRGGHH!!! one step behind them

Jim is laying on top of a huge stone like a shrine, broken and bruised

Unmoving

Toby’s scream is ripped from his lungs before he even knows what he is looking at

Claire does not try to stop him as he scrambles up to Jim’s side

Instead, she drops like a stone near Jim’s other side, weak fingers pulling the amulet out from the dust where it fell as Jim dropped, tears marking the ground

It is blood splattered

It is cold

So is Jim

Toby cradles his head for a moment, pressing close, breathing short and ragged and hurting

He snaps out of his trance the instant he hears Claire break her silence with a whine

He reaches one hand out to Claire, seeking her for the strength of them both

He wraps his fingers around hers, holding them strong enough to bring numbness, not that either of them can tell, or care

She drops the amulet, disgusted by it, by the thing that brought them together and took Jim away

Toby watches it fall, into the dust, onto the ground, speckled in tears and blood, and all the things that never should be

He gently moves Jim’s head to Claire’s lap, knowing he will be safe there

He turns to the amulet

And he ROARS

Claire clings to Jim, surprised, this is not Toby, this is confusing to her muddled brain

And yet, this is Toby, and she is SCARED of him, of this roar of anger and desperation

Toby snatches the amulet from its place on the ground

It WILL bring Jim back to him, to them all

He is not taking no for an answer

He summons the hammer and brings it down

Brings it down

Brings it down

Until AAARRRGGHH!!! is there, pulling the hammer away, pulling Toby into his fur to hug

Toby shouts to be let go

DEMANDS to be let go

Deciding it best to let him destroy in his anger - after all, that was AAARRRGGHH!!!’s way of releasing anger too - he does

Toby is back to Jim’s side in an instant, and the anger is gone, only gentleness, only love

He places his forehead to Jim’s again and takes a shuddering breath

Opens his eyes again to see Claire’s face, that she is scared, that she is resisting the urge to RUN from him, only still from her determination and the inability to leave Jim’s side

Something clicks in his brain

Of course the amulet wasn’t going to respond to anger - especially not the one he helped to rebuild

He turns and picks it up, cradles it despite the anger still bleeding through his heart

He closes his eyes once more

Breathes

Thinks of the moment he first met Jim when they were five and every moment since

Breathes again

When he opens them, the first thing he sees is the familiar glow of the amulet

He feels the answering hum of it to his call, his plea, his desperate demand

In spite of everything going on around him, Toby grins

Afterall, an amulet that chose Jim chose Toby as well. They’re a package deal

He never cared to wield it before, was happy to be the sidekick, the one by Jim’s side

Now he has to, refuses any other choice

And so the amulet glows brighter

And so. Does. Toby.

Claire feels the breath return to her lungs as familiar blue covers Jim’s body

Tears pinprick her eyes as she watches, and her heart thumps for what feels like the first time since Bellroc and their titan crumbled

The glow starts to flicker, and she hears Toby scream out

She rests Jim’s head on the ground, brushes his hair back, gives him a whisper of a smile

Then she reaches out and makes a demand of her own, forces her magic to flare to life no matter how tired she is and how much she aches of overuse

She reaches for Toby and the grin on his face widens, and it drags a smile to her own lips

Purple joins the amulet blue

Within seconds the trio is surrounded

Douxie’s magic threads into sync with Claire’s

AAARRRGGHH!!!’s hand curls around Toby’s shoulder

Blinky has one hand on Jim’s own, and another on Claire’s arm

Aja and Krel whirl around them, unable to remain still, but providing a constant hum of their own energies

(Vex is just standing by the side idk, he’s definitely there though)

Barbara finally arrives and does not miss a beat comprehending the situation, and curls around her son, a shine of determination in her eyes even as they well with tears

Toby smiles ever wider as the power and love of his friends pull at him, whip his hair around, burn impossibly bright but never to hurt

He thinks of Jim again.

How if he was Jim, he would not only bring himself back, but all those lost in the past battle

Bring back Jim. Bring back Nari. Strickler. Nomura. All of them.

As he thinks this, he hears a giggle, a gust of wind

The whisper of the leaves blowing by

A bright pink flower shimmers to existence by where Jim rests, and that is all Toby needs

The slice of a blade cuts through the air, and he knows that Nomura is there, because the cut of a blade is never far from her, even when she never raises it against them anymore

He waits a moment more, and hears a beat of wings, and Barbara’s soft cry

His mind drifts to Draal and knows that peace has been made with his death, and that the amulet will not extend this power to bring back someone with no regrets of life

Toby laughs at the distant sound of Draal’s pounding on the rock, though

Maybe he made that one up, he’ll never really know

Draal is always with them anyway

Finally, finally, Toby feels one of the most familiar feelings in his entire life

The presence of Jim by his side

And he knows things are right again

He knows the breathless laugh that he releases can be heard by them all

He takes another breath and can feel it in his heart when Jim does too

His eyes flutter open, dazed, exhausted, unfocused

Feels his mother’s hug around him

Sees the amulet shining a hundred shades of blue, of green, of purple, of gold

Senses the comfort and love of his friends, of his family, of his group of Trollhunters

Knows in his heart that Toby is smiling

And what kind of best friend would Jim be if he didn’t smile back?

[calypsoff]

Seventy.

Robyn asked and I didn’t forget what she asked me, she wants to go away for the weekend so like the good husband I am. I am taking her away for the weekend which wasn’t cheap, hotel wise. I wanted her to get some peace and quiet, and this place will give her just that. Placing Robyn’ case in the trunk, I swear I am in love with both of my cars but this one. The Urus will be used the most because of my family, I can’t be making my wife, well my pregnant wife sit in the Aventador. But this will be used the most, it’s only a weekend away so I just put my clothes in the case with Robyn which she then started saying I am creasing her clothes, she was being dramatic for no reason, but I am excited, we get to spend time together alone. Rorrey is still here, he is getting into my business a lot, in a good way though. He just minds his business too, like with Mel. I like her but she was always randomly in my bedroom or asking Robyn to stay in the bedroom with her and it was a little annoying but at the same time, she isn’t a bad person. Rorrey just sleeps here and then we see him downstairs, that is normal but it’s whatever, I like him being here anyways, but he said he will be going soon. He said he will look after my business while I am away for the weekend, its’ kind of him to do that “all packed up eh” looking behind me “yeah, I can’t wait to drive this big girl. This car it amazing, look at her. Robyn chose well, what you finna do anyways on your own here” pressing the button so the trunk can close “I think I am going to have a party here, joking. Just going to relax, watch your numbers rise on your website, you’re doing well you know. Making a name for yourself, just got to ignore Rakim. Catch him on the streets don’t attack him, he is wanting you to do that, you know how many times you have dodged a sentence” I snorted laughing “I know, I got it. I am going to be good” Rorrey is right, I need to be good.

Opening the car door “you wany anything from inside?” I asked Robyn, I just pumped some gas which isn’t cheap, I ain’t used to these prices actually “maybe Icee please? Some snacks, I feel a little snacky” I snorted laughing “snacky huh, you know you can’t eat in this car?” Robyn looked over at me, I know behind those shades she is glaring at me “so you going to let me be hungry is that it? Your daughter has to remain hungry because you don’t want dirty marks on your car” grabbing my card, I cringed closing the car door. I will let Robyn rant on her own, she is being very snappy with me. I think she is hungry; I will put it to that. I locked the door as I walked off, I don’t want nobody kidnapping my wife now. I laughed to myself, shaking my head as I kept laughing because imagine that happening, I mean I would be panicking “thank you” I said as some guy held the door open “you Chris Brown?” looking up and at the guy “uh yeah” I said confused “oh wow, you Rihanna husband. You a cool dude” he got his hand out, shaking his hand “thank you” I laughed “man, I am visiting and I meet you here” nodding my head smiling “thank you brother, thank you” he seems a nice man “thank you for stopping” walking off smiling.

Opening the car door with the biggest grin on my face “you locked the door why?” she is so moody “because I didn’t want anybody to kidnap my wife, that is all baby. But I bought you a bag full of snacks and a large Icee” holding it out to her “mhmmm thank you” she snatched the drink and bag, getting into the car and closing the door “what is wrong? Tell me” she has been extra moody “you said you would rub my feet and you didn’t, you did not nothing but play games with my brother. Then you said you would get me breakfast, then you didn’t” letting out an oh “I am so sorry, it slipped my mind. I am sorry, this weekend is about us. I am very sorry, your brother is a bad influence” I get why she is mad now “yeah, I hope this drive isn’t long. I don’t want to be in the car for too long, please” I chuckled “baby it’s not, it’s about two hours, or even less. Come on, we can have fun and sing together” Robyn looked over at me and she couldn’t help but smile “see, how beautiful do you look smiling. I am sorry, I am. It’s about us” I want us to have a good time, I don’t want Robyn to be moody “well I feel like we haven’t spent time together, it’s a little annoying you know, but I will let you off” thank god she will.

I chose Santa Barbara because it’s not that far but also we can spend time together in peace without anyone around, I think we will be staying in the hotel for the weekend. I booked The Ritz-Carlton that has ocean views, the room itself is a lot of money, I hope she likes it. We had to walk up the steps to the room, it’s so private too and we are overlooking the beach, it’s very peaceful here. Robyn is looking at the hotel room with every details, she is making sure it’s what she likes “so?” placing the case down “I am happy” I grinned “I have to admit, it’s breath-taking Chris. I love how you always think of every detail and when you choose you think of everything, we can walk down there at night. And oh my god from here we can see the sunset. Also the open fire on the balcony, oh my god. I love it” wrapping my arms around her “you love it then” pressing a kiss to the back of her head “I am in love” I cooed out “with me or?” I dragged out “no, not you. Why would you think that?” now she is a damn lie “did I do good though, don’t worry. I will massage your feet and whatever the hell you want me to do, you all pouty and shit for no damn reason” she is spoilt, that is all I know “you better, I am getting all nervous about giving birth. I need to use the bathroom; I will be back” nodding my head letting her go.

Pulling my hood over my head as I blew out the smoke from my lips, I am sat outside having a blunt. Robyn is still in the bathroom, that pussy bitch Rakim is really just pissing me off, like he out there doing the most for what. Like using that I cried, it makes no sense. Placing the blunt between my lips, I look rough as shit on camera. I ain’t think I look that bad, taking a selfie. Adding a caption ‘Hiding from the pregnant wife’ pressing send, just as I was pressing send Robyn come out. Looking up from my phone “what’s up?” pulling my blunt back “sit there, not too close now. I am smoking” she is so moody “I am constipated again, and I got haemorrhoids, I am in pain. So much pain” biting on my bottom lip, I am unsure of what that is “what is that?” I am confused “I am struggling to use the toilet Chris, because I am straining this has happened. I think I have been eating badly during your birthday and when my family has been hurts, so I am now struggling. I can’t sit properly, my butt is sore” letting out an oh “that means no sex huh” Robyn scoffed and got up in a huff “I didn’t mean it in that way, come on Robyn” too late she is not happy once again.

Once I put my blunt out I thought I would see to the pregnant wife, I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just instantly thought of sex, I shouldn’t be so selfish when her body is going through the change and mine isn’t “Robyn, come on. Don’t be like this with me, what I said was a joke, I promise you I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just said it out loud, I promise you Robyn I didn’t mean it I am so sorry if I offended you. It is not about sex every time, I just find you sext no matter what. Like even if you having issues I still love you” Robyn’ emotions is everywhere, now she is crying “hey, stop. Why are you crying now?” crouching down to the bed “because I am in pain, I don’t think sitting in the car helped. And then I know you want sex but now I feel useless, don’t look at me” she hit my arm away “I will go and get you something to help yeah? You just lay here, I will get something to help with it, don’t worry about it. I won’t look at you either” getting up from my position, my wife is going through it so let me be as supportive as I can be in this moment of time, it ain’t even about sex. I just really want us to have a good time.

Waiting at the counter to get some help, I ain’t know what to be buying at all so I need the help. Too much shit to choose form in CVS “next” the lady smiled at me, pulling my hood over my head and I got to the counter “hey uhm, my wife is pregnant and she has haemorrhoids and is in real pain, like she is crying a lot, she can’t go toilet so I need something to help her with that, anything really” the lady smiled nodding her head, I hope she doesn’t know who I am “so she has the burning sensation?” I shrugged, I have no idea “erm, I guess. She is crying” the lady smiled “ok, just give me a moment” she walked off, looking around me sighing out. I do not want people knowing who I am and start writing posts about this shit, Robyn will not be happy about it “so we have this cream, this will soothe and shrink the haemorrhoids. It needs to be reapplied every time she uses the bathroom and I suggest you use the wipes too, for around the area. Tell her she needs to have brown breads, things that it will make it easier for her to pass, but I recommend these for her, this will help. Lots of rest for the mother” nodding my head, I will take anything right now “this will hopefully work, it needs too because she ain’t doing well” I chuckled.

Pushing my hood back as I got back into hotel room “twin, I am back” making my way to the bedroom, I love this hotel room. It’s like an apartment too with a beautiful view “I am sorry Chris” she apologised as soon I got to the room “it’s ok, don’t be. I can only imagine how much pain you are in, it’s not nice for me to make jokes and stuff but I got some stuff for you to use, it will soothe you butt” Robyn breathed out smiling “really?” grabbing the cream out of the bag “here baby, so you want me to do it for you?” throwing the cream on the bed “don’t be stupid, I don’t want you to do that” I shrugged “let me, I mean I do eat your ass out so what? Let me put it on and then you sleep good, also use these wipes for when you go to the toilet” getting the wipes out “I don’t deserve you, I have been in so much pain. Like I thought I would be ok but sitting in the care for so long really put me in a bad way, then when I went toilet. I cried, I cried so much. So it’s been making me moody, but I think once this kicks in I will be ok” I feel bad “sorry for like making the joke about sex, it’s not always about that” I can be so dumb sometimes.

Robyn didn’t want me to put cream on her butt, so instead I am just snuggling her in bed “you’re a good husband Chris, like honestly. I have really won in life, no matter what I know I have won because you are so good to me. I appreciate you so much” I chuckled “so when you sucking my dick then?” Robyn hit my leg from behind “you are so annoying but really, I have won. Thank you, you deal with my moods and you are taking it well, I love you Poppa. Our daughter is so lucky to have you as a father, you are going to spoil her in love, and I can’t wait to see it. You are so caring towards me, and always there to run out of the door to help” she is really praising “my head is getting bigger and bigger, thank you twin. I don’t ever like to see you in pain, and I would do anything to take it away, just rest Robyn. You need it, then tomorrow we can have a fun day” pressing a kiss to the back of Robyn’ shoulder “I will hopefully feel up for it, sorry about this mess” resting my head against her shoulder “stop it, I don’t care” she is being stupid now.

[thecasperanfamily]

Sock Monkey--a Casperan Family oneshot

Inspired by this post 

Gods damn Barbara’s sense of generosity, Zoe thought as she watched Lin, sleeping peacefully in his crib on the other side of the room. He was happily cuddled up to the most cursed item that had ever been under their roof. Which was saying a lot, considering Douxie’s career. 

Zoe would never be able to pinpoint exactly what it was about sock monkeys that put her on edge. Perhaps it was the leering, gaudy smile, or the soulless button eyes. Whatever the case, her first encounter with one in the mid 1950s had left her shaken like no magical creature ever did. And now she had to live with one, because her husband’s friend’s mother had decided to get each of her grandkids one of these abominations for Christmas, and unfortunately, Lin was included in that list due to Barbara’s uncanny ability to acquire new family members via adoption. Not that Zoe could count that as a fault, seeing that she was not actually related to anyone in her household either. 

It wouldn’t have been so bad if Lin had not immediately taken a shine to it. He had been showered with innumerable gifts for his first Christmas, many of which were from people he’d never actually met, but it was the damn sock monkey that he chose as his favorite. He had not put it down once since pulling it out of the box, and that had been more than twelve hours ago. 

“No mysterious disappearances,” Douxie had whispered as she instinctively recoiled from the toy her son excitedly held up to her. She’d plastered on a fake smile and given Lin a stiff nod as she affirmed through clenched teeth that she saw it, and yes, that was very nice of Auntie Barbara. She had begrudgingly given her word that the toy would not vanish in the middle of the night, so now there was nothing she could do but glare daggers at it from across the room as she lay on her side of the bed, muscles tense as though prepared to spring upright at a moment’s notice. 

The mattress shifted as Douxie turned over, giving a soft sigh as he draped an arm over her and buried his face in her shoulder. 

“Mmph...Zoe? You’re still awake?” he mumbled, clearly having sensed her unease through her aura. 

“I will never sleep again,” she hissed, eyes still fastened on the unholy object her son was drooling all over. 

“....What?” Douxie lifted his head just enough to follow her line of sight. “...Oh gods.” His head fell back against the pillow and she heard him groan softly. “S’just a stuffed animal, love.” 

“It’s staring at me.” 

“Then stop looking at it.” His arm tightened around her waist, and he cuddled up to her with a contented hum. “If it was dangerous, then at the very least, Nari would’ve sensed it and said something. Now go to sleep.” There was a long silence. Zoe scarcely even blinked, still lying as rigid and tense as ever. Douxie groaned into her shoulder again and shifted. “...Zoe, I can’t sleep when your aura is buzzing like that. Please, for my sake, just ignore the sock monkey.” 

The hedgewitch did not budge. With yet another groan, Douxie pushed himself upright and threw back the covers, sucking in a sharp breath as the cold air rushed over him. He moved around the bed and silently crossed the room to Lin’s crib, where he somehow managed to extricate the stuffed animal from his son’s grip without awakening him. Zoe’s aura hummed as she sensed Douxie’s magic swirling around him for a moment, a whispered spell passing his lips. The toy glowed a gentle blue for a moment before returning to normal. Douxie placed it back in the crib, carefully draping Lin’s arm over it before drawing the blankets up to the baby’s chin. 

“What’d you do?” Zoe asked softly, finally taking her eyes off of the cursed thing to watch her husband collapse back on their bed and burrow beneath the covers. 

“I put a detection spell on it. If it gives off even the faintest signature of hostile magic, we’ll hear a high-pitched screaming. Is that good enough for you?” 

“...Fine,” Zoe huffed, admitting her defeat by turning over and letting her eyes close. She felt Douxie’s lips brush her forehead and heard him mutter something that sounded suspiciously like “paranoid old lady,” but she found herself too tired to offer an appropriately scathing retort. Instead, she let the sound of his breathing and the familiar pulse of his aura lull her to sleep. 

*****

Five hours later, they were both wrenched from slumber by a piercing wail, and a horrible sensation that something was terribly amiss pressing down on their auras like a cold, fierce hand. Douxie yelped and fell out of bed with a clatter, while Zoe lept up like a startled cat and pawed at her nightstand in search of her wand. 

“I TOLD YOU!” she shouted, brandishing a pencil for a moment before she realized that it was not the object she had been seeking. “I TOLD YOU IT WAS EVIL!” Douxie was fumbling with his vambrace, trying to summon his staff, as the wailing increased in intensity. Zoe snatched up her wand and dove for Lin’s crib, ready to wrestle her son from the jaws of death if need be. 

The wailing diminished as she grabbed the edge of the crib, preparing to wrench the bars out of place. Two large, tear-soaked eyes stared up at her plaintively, and tiny hands reached for her desperately, as her son’s aura churned and twisted with grief. 

“It’s...not the monkey,” Zoe uttered in a flat voice. “...Of course it’s not the monkey.” She heaved a sigh that was far too deep for this time of the morning, and tossed her wand back onto the nightstand. Lin whined and strained to reach her, his hands opening and closing pleadingly. Zoe lifted him up and settled him against her shoulder, but he continued to fuss and squirm unhappily. On the other side of the room, Douxie was still gripping his staff and blinking in confusion. Archie and Nari had arrived on scene by now, both looking just as sleep-mussed and bewildered as the parents.

“I sensed great distress,” Nari said anxiously. “And loss.” 

“Loss...?” Douxie mumbled, clearly still half-asleep as he slumped against his staff. “I don’t think anybody’s lost...oh.” He put his staff away and joined Zoe beside the crib, bending down to pick up the sock monkey from the floor. “It must’ve fallen out while he was asleep.” Lin’s eyes widened as Douxie held the toy out to him. He released Zoe’s shirt and grabbed the monkey, clutching it like a lifeline. The tension in the air immediately dissipated. Zoe felt the baby slump against her contentedly as he stuffed one of the cursed thing’s ears in his mouth. 

“...You cast a detection spell that makes a wailing sound...on an object that belongs to an infant,” Zoe deadpanned, shooting Douxie a look that was equal parts exhausted and exasperated. 

“It was two in the morning and you wouldn’t go to sleep,” he huffed. 

“...A wailing spell. When our son’s primary means of communication is crying.” Douxie stared at her blankly for a long moment, jaw slack, before whirling around and clapping his hands together a little too enthusiastically.

“...You know what? I need some tea. Anyone else want tea? Nari, you like tea, right?” He snatched up Archie from the floor, the Familiar giving an indignant hiss and scrambling to get out of his grip.

“Is it not a bit early for--oh.” Whatever she had been about to say was cut off as Douxie pulled her out of the room with him, Archie spitting and writhing under his arm. 

“...Your dad’s an idiot,” Zoe told Lin, collapsing onto the bed with a huff. “...And your monkey is cursed.” 

Lin chose not to respond. He merely cuddled closer and continued to gnaw on his toy.

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets VI

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

•••

“I’m not telling you, Jonathan!”

You didn’t ask for this, for Jonathan to come banging on the door of your motel room, still dressed for Will’s funeral and demanding why he would think you were crazy a few days ago in Indianapolis.

“Did it have something to do with this?” Jonathan reached into the inside pockets of his jacket, pulling out a folded up photo and holding it out for you to take. “Did it have something to do with that- that thing?”

You snatched the photo out of his hands and looked down at it, a quick and sudden wave of anxiety going through you. You could barely make out the figure in the glossy photo, but you knew you’d seen it before. “No, it didn’t.” Holding the photo away from yourself as if the monster you had heard in your nightmare the night before could get you through the photo. “But I’ve seen it before.”

Jonathan scoffed a bit, going to the dresser in your room and pulling one of the drawers open. “Hey!” You exclaimed, about to tell him not to touch your things.

He pulled out a pair of jeans and tossed them your way. You barely caught them, the two different pant legs being on either side of your shoulder. “Get dressed, meet me in the car.” He instructed.

“Woah, hey!” Jonathan moved for the door, and even though you were still in your pajamas you followed him when he left the room and was walking down the walkway to the stairs. “Jonathan, what are we gonna do?”

He stopped by the staircase and turned his head to you, the jeans still on your shoulder. “You wanted to help find my brother, right? And you didn’t think twice about getting in the car with me to go to Indianapolis without any explanation. Do you need one now?”

Jonathan was right. You hadn’t needed an explanation for why the two of you had been going to Indianapolis. And he was right about the fact that you didn’t need one, even now.

“No.” You shook your head, watching as he nodded and went down the stairs. “Give me ten minutes!” You added, running back into your room.

You changed as quick as humanly possible into the pair of jeans he’d thrown at you, and into a clean T-shirt, before grabbing your hoodie and your converse, not bothering to put them on as you grabbed your bag and ran out.

You’d left the Byers’ house after Lonnie came around, not feeling comfortable around the older man. So you’d given Joyce the number to the motel room and left. You were still a bit surprised that she believed you, that she’d taken you to her home, and talked while the two of you got things together to try and talk to Will. And you hadn’t gonet to the funeral, feeling as though you’d get weird looks, since you were ‘new’ to town, and didn’t really know the Byers, at least not according to the rest of Hawkins’ residents.

•••

You were sitting quite a bit away from Jonathan as he fired shots into the space between empty beer cans he’d set up. And even though you had no room to judge, since you’d never even held a gun before, you kinda assumed that by now he would have at least grazed a can, but he didn’t.  

And considering that he said he stole it, you were hoping he knew how to at least aim with it, at least get it somewhere near the cans. And you were relieved when you found Nancy could actually aim and hit something, you were a bit relieved. And even more so when she gave you something to use as a weapon. And even though it was an axe, and you’d never held something like an axe, you’d accepted it.

Jonathan had informed you about how Barbara Holland went missing, and that the photo he’d shown you was of the thing that took her, the same thing that took Will. Which meant that they were both still alive, and the reason you were out here with them, walking aimlessly through the woods to try and find the thing.

Following loosely behind Jonathan and Nancy, watching their argument. While walking. This wasn’t how you wanted your day to go. You didn’t want any of this in your day. You didn’t need any of it. The knowing where Will had to be, and the brief memory of falling into where he was when you were just trying to get away for awhile.

You didn’t really want to be here either, with a guy who you knew as your uncle, and Nancy Wheeler, who was dating Steve Harrington.

Steve was confusing, and it was all confusing. Why you were here, how you’d taken a single step and hell into the deep dark hole of hell with the devils themselves roaming around, why the young version of your dad was missing, and in that hell hole that you could barely remember it was all confusing. And something that was now bugging you, why out of everything, you were thinking about Nancy’s words to Jonathan, that the guy Steve had shown everyone a few days before wasn’t really him.

Because you didn’t know if she was right or wrong.

“Nancy. . .”

“Whose side are you on?” She demanded, turning her head to you when you came up next to her after Jonathan and her had the argument, with Jonathan having the last word.

“My own?”

She huffed a bit and went to follow after him with you following her. There was a tension between the two that you knew there wasn’t between her and Steve, but you didn’t want to be the one to point it out, besides, you weren’t good with relationships or relationship advice. “What’s your favorite class?” You inquired, walking up next to her

“What?”

You turned your head to see her staring at you while you both walked. “Just tryna get to know you, I guess, pass the time easier. So, what’s your favorite class?”

She shrugged a bit, giving a moment of thought before she answered. “I like most of them, I don’t really like math, and if I want to get into the senior class I want for colleges to even think about accepting me in, I need to take Mr. Mundy again next year.”

A smile came to your face as you listened. You were good at that. Having always been quiet as a kid. “Mr. Mundy’s a dick. I hope I don’t get him next year.”

“What about you? Your favorite class?”

“I like art. Mr. Montgomery is nice.”

You continued to talk to Nancy most of the time, about things that would normally be small talk, but became full conversations between the two of you. And she was the definition of a suburban girl, but in a good way. You were a bit envious if you were to be honest. Growing up in a small town gave a sense of community, and trust. You were sure she’d never felt as if she couldn’t trust someone who lived in the same town as her. The ability to not feel as if everyone had bad intentions.

You’d grown up in a city, with your dads drilling it into you that you needed to be safe, not to talk to strangers, and never follow a strange man, or woman if they said they had something for her, and to mind your own business unless someone was hurt and needed help. They’d given you pepper spray at the age of eight and taught you how to hold it and then at the age of thirteen they got you a weird baton thing that you could jab people with if they were trying to hurt you.

“You do art? Are you good at it?”

Nodding you gave a sad smile. “I learned from my dad.”

Both of you stopped walking at the same time when you heard something. Almost like a whimper. Exchanging a look, acknowledging that you both heard it. “What, are you two tired?” Jonathan questioned, almost as if he was done with the entire situation even though it had been his idea.

Your response was a ‘sh!’ while Nancy told him to shut up. “We heard something.” Nancy responded. You followed the whimpering noise, it grew louder as you got closer to it, and as Nancy shined her flashlight to the ground in front of the three of you, you could see the dying animal on the ground.

The deer was bleeding from the neck, and laying on the ground, reminding you of a video game you’d played once. And the name of you called the monsters in that place came back to mind. Wendigo. You’d called it a Wendigo even though they grew into what they were, they weren’t made into it by eating another human.

“Oh, god.”

You stayed standing while Jonathan and Nancy kneeled by it and looked down at the whimpering animal. You’d never seen something like this in real life and it made you nauseous.

“It’s been hit by a car.” Nancy said softly, laying a gentle hand on the base of the deer’s front leg. “We can’t just leave it.” You watched carefully as Nancy cautiously brought the gun up, but her own feelings of sympathy for the animal preventing her from bringing it up much higher, and you could relate.

“I’ll do it.” Jonathan offered, hand out to take the gun from her.

“I thought you said-”

“I’m not nine anymore.”

Nancy handed the gun to Jonathan and stood back up, with you grabbing her arm and pulling her back to stand beside you while Jonathan stood up as well, aiming the barrel of the gun to the deer’s head.  At least you hoped it was the head.

But when the gun made that preparatory sound of putting the bullet into place to be shot, something pulled the deer away so quickly that it scared all three of you. Nancy grabbing your forearm while you held her wrist and stared at the spot the deer had been in horror.

“What was that?” Nancy asked quietly.

You followed the trail of blood, to a certain area. Still sticking closer to Nancy. You were the youngest one there, and you were finding a certain kind of fondness for the older girl. You didn’t know what it was, but she reminded you of your aunt.

“Nancy, what is it?” You questioned quietly, walking over to her, seeing the tree she was shining her light on. And you saw the missing bark  and the goo surrounding it. You knew how’d you’d gotten here, and it was still terrifying. How you’d fallen through something like that, and how you’d crawled through something just like that one to get out.

“Don’t go in there.” You told her, so lowly and so scared that she turned to look at you. Eyes watching at how your hands gripped at the ends of your dress.

“Why?”

“If you wanna go in there, I’m gonna go first.” It was a sudden gush of bravery for you. Pulling off your bag and kneeling down, looking at the blood of the deer who had been dragged into the hole through the tree.

“What?”

You reached out into the tree, looking back to Nancy. “I’ve been there before.” not bothering to grab the flashlight from her as you reluctantly crawled into the hole. If Will was down here, or Nancy’s missing friend, you knew the fear they’d be going through.

The cold hit you first as you felt some of the goo get into your hair while finally seeing the familiar scenery of darkness and never ending sky. The almost ominous vine like tubes that were along the ground and wrapped around the trees.  Crawling completely out, you stood up, eyeing your surroundings as Nancy came out shortly after, flashlight in hand as she stood next to you.

You both slowly made your way through a few trees before a sudden growl came and Nancy shined the flickering light in the direction of the growl, showing the almost emaciated figure, tall and foreboding as it growled while continuing to eat the deer that had been pulled away.

Nancy took small steps back before stepping on one of the vines, the loud ‘crunch’ almost deafening as it echoed.

The thing turned it’s head, mouth opening like petals of a flower, with teeth instead of a pretty design. Nancy screamed while you turned, grabbing her arm and running back. Nancy screaming out for Jonathan while you stayed quiet. The way you’d stayed almost the entire time you’d been in here before. Survival mode being flicked on.

You could hear the distant yells of Jonathan calling out for her and then for you while you tried to find the hole you’d crawled through.

You pulled her behind a tree when you saw the silhouette of the monster, arms hooked together like you used to do with your friends, before. But that was usually because you were close with them or needed comfort, this was for her and for you. To keep her so close so you didn’t lose her.

The echoing sounds of the monster’s low growling made her grip on you tighten. You heard Jonathan’s voice again, and so did Nancy, heads turning in the direction that the voice came from, the hole in view. A red light shining through.

You grabbed her hand and carefully walked over when you heard the monster walking away. “Go.” you told her. “I’ll be right behind you.” It was barely a murmur as she nodded and kneeled down, crawling through the smaller hole. It was smaller than what you remembered. As soon as she was in you were in after her.

You could hear Jonathan pulling her out and as soon as you saw her body no longer blocking the moonlight, you were reaching out, hand grabbing on to the bark of the tree and pulling yourself out, sitting on the leaves and dirt of the forest floor, watching as the bark moved back into place to cover the hole.

Once you’d all gotten back to the Wheeler’s home, you’d been given a change of clothes, that were more like pajamas,

“How’s she doing?” It was a simple question, a stupid one. How could Nancy possibly be doing when she just witnessed something horrifying. The thing that took both Jonathan’s brother, and her best friend.

“I don’t know. She’s startled, and in the shower.”

You nodded, grabbing the clean jacket that Nancy had offered you to take on your walk back to the motel, even though she didn’t want you or Jonathan to leave. But Jonathan was just as upset as she was, so he was staying. You’d remained unfazed by what had happened. Like it was all just a game.

“When you said I would think you were crazy. . . what were talking about, if not that- that thing?” Jonathan asked, pulling a sleeping bag out of Nancy’s closet

You stopped and looked at him, seeing him staring at you. You gave a small smile. With everything happening right now, who was to say he wouldn’t believe you? “You asked why I cared. I care because Will’s my dad. You’re my uncle, and Joyce is my grandmother. One of those. . . passages opened where I was, in my year, I fell through it, and then I went through another one, which is how I got here. And if you need proof, I can tell you that his favorite song is from The Clash, and that he has a birthmark on his right arm.”

He just stared at you while you pulled the jacket on and grabbed your bag. “That’s why I said you wouldn’t believe me.”

•••

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers​​​ @jxnehxpper​​​ @yllwtaxi​​​ @songofcosplay​​​ @potatopooper05​​​

[babsxkean]

right down the rabbit hole

like the war of words i shouted in my sleep, and you passed right by. i was in the alley surrounded on all sides. the knife cuts both ways. if the shoe fits, walk in it, til your high heels break. and i fell from the pedestal, right down the rabbit hole. long story short, it was a bad time.

Who: Barbara Kean-Gordon, mentions of Jim Gordon, Jervis Tetch, Peter Gordon ( @jim-gcrdon / @rabbiitholes )

What: Babs wakes up in the hospital, fighting to remember how she got there.

When: December 13th 

Where: Gotham Hospital 

Triggers: kidnapping, coma, hospitals 

Her eyes flutter open, though what she sees -- bright fluorescent lights above her, set in blindingly white ceiling tiles that swim like she’s underwater -- doesn’t pull any kind of response from her brain. 

As they close again, she hears a voice say: “Mrs. Gordon?”

She floats for a while. Though the sensation isn’t entirely unpleasant, there’s a vague, wordless sense of -- the word won’t come to her. Her thoughts are less than thoughts, and seem as fragile as autumn leaves, easily ripped away by a shift in the wind. She can’t hold onto them long enough for them to even really form, and she doesn’t try. 

Slowly, that vague, wordless sense strengthens, until it becomes something like dread. Even this is too much for her to really grasp, and she lets it go, continuing to float. 

Sounds and sensations start to break through, though they’re intermittent. A steady beeping sound, which comes in and out as if played on a badly tuned radio. The soft sound of footsteps. A murmur of voices. 

When her eyes open the second time, she sees the lights above her again, the beeping sound continuing somewhere to her left. The word hospital rises up from the depths of her consciousness. But what it means, and especially what it means to her, won’t come at once. 

She drifts away, but for less time. That dread won’t leave her alone, and now it has names attached to it: Peter, Jim.

She sees their faces in her mind, and though her eyes remain shut, a whimper claws its way from her throat. Her fingers flutter, and she becomes aware of something soft beneath her fingertips. 

Blanket, she realizes. And then, again: hospital.

Her eyes open for a third time, and this time, she realizes where she is -- the word hospital actually connects. She can’t remember how she got here, but that doesn’t matter to her, at least not right now.

“Peter?” she croaks. 

Her voice has sharp edges that scrape against her throat. Still, she tries again: “Jim?”

Barbara’s head feels too heavy to lift, though she desperately wants to look around her. Even turning her eyes is like trying to push a stone wheel, but she manages it, just in time to see a nurse coming toward her.

“Everything is alright, Mrs. Gordon,” she says. “Don’t worry.”

Swallowing, Babs says, “My baby? My husband? Please…”

The nurse’s fingers feel wonderfully cool against her forehead as she strokes back Barbara’s hair. “Your baby is fine,” the nurse says. “And Commissioner Gordon is fine, too. Everything is fine, I promise.”

Whimpering softly, Babs tries to sit up, but the nurse pushes her back. Her head throbs and her stomach twists, but she fights against the nurse anyway. “Let me up!” she says. “Let me up. I want my family! I want to see them! Where are they?” 

“I promise you, they are perfectly fine,” the nurse says, her tone as mild and soothing as if Babs is not trying her level best to hit her. Although this might be, at least in part, because her attempts are a miserable failure, since it appears her arms aren’t ready to listen to her. 

In fact, she realizes belatedly, one of her arms is wrapped up in plaster from the wrist to the elbow. The nurse takes her moment of distraction to grab her gently by the shoulders. 

“Please lay down, Mrs. Gordon.”

She falls back against the pillows, her breath hitching, her expression mulish. “I want my family,” she repeats, as if the nurse is deliberately keeping them from her. “Call them.”

“Okay,” the nurse murmurs. “Okay, we’ll call them, alright? But you have to lay here and be still.”

Babs scowls at her. “I’m not a child, don’t talk to me like that,” she huffs. 

The nurse just smiles, which further infuriates her. “I’ll be right back,” she says, and turns with a graceful, efficient movement, gliding from the room. 

“I hate you,” Babs grumbles under her breath. 

She closes her eyes again, though now she is trying to think. She is certain that, somehow, her family is in danger -- or at the very least, something is wrong, somehow. Or--

Something was wrong? How long has she been here?

When the nurse comes back, Babs pushes herself up on her elbow, trying for a more conciliatory smile. “Excuse me,” she says, like she wasn’t just trying to punch this woman in the mouth a few minutes ago. “How long have I been here?”

The nurse’s smile is a little more wry this time, but she says, “About a week.”

Babs swallows. A week? Jesus, what happened to her? “Do you know why I’m here?” she asks, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. 

“From what I understand, you fell,” the nurse says. “You were unconscious when they brought you in. You hit your head -- not surprising, after an accident like that. You have a broken arm, in addition to a few broken ribs.” 

You fell.

She swallows again, a fragmented memory coming back to her. The crack of the railing as it snapped beneath her weight, the sickening swoop in the pit of her stomach as she felt herself slip over the edge. 

But how had she gotten there?

She puts her good hand over her eyes, her fingers trembling. Babs hears the nurse’s footsteps as she pads away again, saying something about medication. 

She remembers being taken from the house -- the two of them, herself and Peter. She remembers begging them to leave Peter alone. 

They had ended up...at her parents’ house? Yes. The following days are a blur, no matter how hard she tries. 

So how had she gotten here?  

“Jim,” she says. She had tried to call Jim. Had she actually managed to get through? Yes, yes -- she had broken from his control to call her husband. Had begged Jim to come, told him Jervis had taken her and Peter. Then Jervis had snatched the phone from her. He had been furious with her.

She would have never imagined he could get so angry with Alice. He had wanted her to do something -- something she hadn’t wanted to do, and she had resisted. Her temples are throbbing from the effort of forcing herself to remember. It’s like pushing her thoughts through sludge. 

She can’t recall how they had gotten back upstairs. What had Jervis wanted her to do? Peter had been watching them, she’ll never forget his wide blue eyes glued to the two of them as they argued. 

Jim. 

Yes, that was it. He had wanted her to hurt Jim, and she wouldn’t do that. She could never. She and Jervis had fought. He’d shoved her. The railing of the balcony in the old house had broken underneath her. She had fallen. 

She shudders, pulling the thin blanket closer to her chest. “I want to go home,” she mumbles, pressing her face into her pillow. 

Babs hasn’t even realized the nurse has returned, until she feels the woman’s light touch against her cheek. 

“I know,” the nurse says softly. “Soon.” 

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ At long last; a *very* belated Roaring Twenties Rarepair Exchange gift for the amazing @bobbimorseisbisexual (lazyfish), who prompted “Scis & Spies + Regency AU".

This fic was inspired by the show Gentleman Jack, which is technically set in the Georgian era but it's pretty close! It’s also the longest thing I’ve written in like a year, and my first ever S&S fic! Though it may not be apparent from the appalling lateness, I had a great time writing this; I hope you enjoy it too <3

Rated T. Mostly fluffy. Relationships: Scis & Spies (Bobbi x Simmons x Fitz x Hunter, polyamory)

Read on AO3 (3800wd)

The Jacks and the Gentlemen

Barbara Elizabeth Morse was a woman of a peculiar kind. She always had been.

Ever since she had developed the capacity to loathe things, for example, Barbara had loathed her name; in particular, the foremost. But the fact that she insisted on being addressed as “Bobbi” instead was merely the first in a long line of deviations she took from the expected norm of her assigned sex so that by young adulthood, she had permanently marked herself as quite the oddity.

Growing up, Bobbi had no interest in the banal niceties expected of a woman of her station, and less than none in frills and petticoats or tending house. Even learning the arts and languages and traipsing around her family’s estate on horseback became dull and boring after a time. What was the point after all, Bobbi reasoned, of broadening one’s horizons if one was only permitted to gaze at them from the safety and mundanity of one’s lace-curtained bedroom window? What was the point of developing a sharp mind if it was allowed only to consume and perform as it had been told? It was a gilded cage to be sure, but a cage nonetheless, and so Bobbi dedicated much of her life to spreading her wings and flying free of it.

To this end – and despite much protest from her hand-wringing family - Bobbi left the comforting cloister of her estate and travelled the world; whereupon she discovered and indulged in many a fascination that had been denied her for so much of her young life. She experimented with tailored coats and hats, trousers, cravats… She studied science and medicine, biology, strategy… She delighted in romantic challenge and chase and left many a heart broken in her wake. She was even married for a time, to a disgruntled British naval officer, but it didn’t stick. Few things did as, quite the opposite of bored, Bobbi became rather restless; all but consumed by the need to discover what the world held in store for her.

When came the news that she had to return home, it was devastating. Without the benefit of hindsight, it hardly seemed to Bobbi that there could be a new and equally enticing journey about to begin. Yet, she had never been one to be cowed by things not going her way, and so she held her head high – a little too high, perhaps, when she insisted upon driving the carriage home herself; fearing, not that she would admit it, that her recently-returned nightmares of the carriage walls closing in around her would finally come true.

Bobbi endured the talk of her home town with as much dignity as she could muster – and as both a woman of high class and exceeding stoicism, that amount was not insignificant. Still, she could not entirely pretend, to herself at least, that it did not bother her; the way they all seemed to talk about her as though she was the small one, the poorly achieving one, having done nothing with her life but travel and dabble in knowledge after knowledge. Even the ones she thought might understand seemed to be hopeful that her return was a sign she was ready to settle down, and the more times this was insinuated, the more Bobbi wanted to cut off her own hair, denounce all civilisation, and steal away into the night. She had the skills and the courage to do it now. The only thing stopping her was the need to rebuild her estate before her family’s finances collapsed entirely and left a few dozen good people out of work and home.

… Although, if she were being completely honest, it did not hurt matters that she had also been invited for tea with the newest and most curious of her neighbours, one Miss Jemma Anne Simmons.

Miss Simmons was a pretty young woman, but her arrival was making a splash in the papers as much for her scientific mind as for her elusive inventor fiancé, and her appearance of apparently Shakespearean beauty. So, as much as Bobbi had been weighed down by tired social occasion after tired social occasion with the socialites that flittered through town on the ever-changing wealth of this new age of industrialisation, she had a feeling in her gut that this one was going to be different.

That feeling certainly was not nerves, Bobbi insisted to herself as she stepped over the threshold of the Fitz-Simmons house – and then again, as she was announced and ushered into the parlour, to find Jemma in all the resplendent glory the papers had promised. The woman seemed delicate, refined, and delightfully feminine in all the ways Bobbi knew she herself was not and Bobbi – who had always been a rather brash sort – felt herself oddly humbled by Jemma’s smile.

“Good afternoon,” Jemma greeted, “it’s Barbara, isn’t it?”

Bobbi couldn’t help but cringe. “Please,” she requested, “call me Bobbi.”

“Oh yes, of course. My apologies.” Jemma curtsied a little – and was that a blush? “It’s lovely to have you, Bobbi. Would you care for some tea? Of if you would prefer, I can send for coffee…”

She reached for the bell, but Bobbi raised a hand to stop her.

“Tea would be wonderful,” she agreed. “Young Hyson, if you have it - black, with no sugar. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Jemma nodded, and began to pour. And yes, that was definitely a blush. Bobbi was even feeling a whisper of her own as Jemma added – as if she was trying to hide how desperately she wished Bobbi to acquiesce –

“I wonder if we might take tea outside this afternoon. I’ve been positively beleaguered with meetings today and I must see to my plants.”

A woman after her own heart. Bobbi smiled.

“Of course. We should stretch our legs after all.”

“Then it is decided.”

Bobbi’s heart dared to flutter in her chest as Jemma’s cautious hostess’ smile erupted into a beaming grin. The woman took hold of her skirts – revealing boots much like Bobbi’s own, rather than slippers that might have matched her otherwise refined ensemble – and took off out of the parlour door with great gusto. Finding herself drawn to follow, this time undeniably by more than her botanist’s interest alone, Bobbi strode after Jemma as best she could while reeling at her own spoonishness.

As they traipsed across the lawn, Bobbi marvelled in the delight Jemma seemed take at being out of doors, and drank in the prelude to the greenhouse – half snatched away by the wind though it was – with which the other woman was regaling her. Bobbi found herself entranced by Jemma’s spirited expression; the way she revelled in the trials and tribulations of seeking and transporting her large collection of exotics, unfazed even as the wind began to pull locks of her perfect hair from its arrangement and blow them unceremoniously into her face. And then –

“Oh, excuse me, Bobbi,” Jemma pleaded, and her expression narrowed into a scolding sort of glare. Bobbi followed the line of it and saw a ladder propped against the side of what appeared to be a disused chicken coop, and a figure hunched atop the rickety roof in an overcoat and goggles, fixing some contraption or other to the highest point of the pitch.

“Ho, Fitz!” Jemma hollered, as the figure lost hold of a tool and it fell to the dirt. He cursed.

“That’s Fitz?” Bobbi blurted. “Your Fitz?”

“You sound surprised,” Jemma noted.

“I meant no offence, it’s just – I’ve met quite a few of these entrepreneurial types and generally they’re rather… obnoxious.”

Jemma scoffed. “Oh, believe me: he’s plenty obnoxious.”

Resolute, she handed her cup of tea to Bobbi, hitched her skirt up a little higher with both hands and made a bee-line for the chicken coop, until she was close enough that her boots were in the muck.

“Fitz!” she called again.

“Yes, love?”

Fitz’s head jerked up at the call, and he saw her and Bobbi and apparently not the loose tile on which he had stepped. Before he could do any more than yelp in surprise, he had slipped and fallen flat on his back, coughing and spluttering and winded. His curls looked madder than ever as he lay there in resignation, and spat a soiled feather from his pouting mouth.

“Ugh, Fitz!” Jemma lamented. She locked an arm with her fiancé and hauled him out of the sludge. “I told you to wait until Mack could come down and help with all this.”

“Mack and I are building the mechanical milling machine,” Fitz corrected. “This is a sonic fox repellent. It’s just a prototype but – Oh, sorry. I’m Fitz, by the way. Leopold Fitz, technically, but please don’t call me that.”

“Barbara Morse, technically,” Bobbi greeted. “But please don’t call me that either. I prefer Bobbi. Sonic fox repellent, you say? Let me know if it works – I might have to purchase a couple for myself.”

“Well, uh, thank you, but um –“

“But Mack will be here any minute, dear,” Jemma interrupted, waving Fitz toward the house. “Go and clean up now. Go! Honestly.”

“Yes, dear.” Fitz rolled his eyes, but smiled at his fussing fiancé as he retreated toward the house. Jemma slogged the rest of the way to the chicken coop and retrieved the screwdriver he had dropped, setting it on a step of the nearby ladder in case he went looking for it later. Bobbi looked on with nought to do but hold the two teacups steady, and she was a little surprised to find that despite what perhaps should have been a heart-wrenching reality check - to discover that the most recent object of her affection was indeed happy with someone else - Bobbi felt nothing but delight. No jealousy, no despair. And, if anything, a redoubled sense of yearning.

“Sorry about him,” Jemma apologised as she returned to Bobbi’s side to fetch her tea. “He’s a lovely man, really, and very intelligent, but he’s not accustomed to being complimented by beautiful women.”

“Well, with you around you think he’d be used to it by now.”

Jemma laughed, and raised an eyebrow as she took a sip. “Careful, Ms. Morse, you’ll give a lady ideas.”

The delivery of it was coquettish, light-hearted, but still Bobbi couldn’t help feeling that she’d crossed a line. She thought of poor sweet Fitz, and her heart sunk.

“I- I’m sorry, Miss Simmons. I meant nothing of it. Just that… Mr Fitz is a very lucky man.”

Seeing that she had sent Bobbi skittering, Jemma hurried to backtrack so emphatically that she almost spilled her tea.

“Oh, please! No need to apologise, it is all in good spirit – It was I who misspoke without the proper context. You see, Bobbi – may I still call you Bobbi? – your reputation precedes you in this regard but perhaps mine does not. Oh, dear.” Flustered, Jemma paused to gather herself and suddenly wished very dearly for a side table on which to deposit the lukewarm, useless beverage in her hands. “You see, I have been known to uh, entertain the attentions of the fairer sex myself. Not only am I not in the slightest offended by your perfectly innocent compliment, but I- I’m afraid I must confess I’d rather hoped you were being flirtatious.”

Bobbi gaped. “But… Fitz? I couldn’t. You’re engaged. It’s- it would be-”

“Fitz and I have an understanding,” Jemma clarified. At least, she phrased it like it was a clarification, but Bobbi only stumbled deeper into her confusion. She’d only seen the pair interact for a few odd minutes and already the connection was clear.

“He doesn’t- He’s not in love with you?” That man? Are you sure? Perhaps she would have to rethink her own calibration for stoicism if he had managed to keep that a secret.

Jemma shook her head.

“I’m not explaining this right. It never comes out simply, does it?” She clicked her tongue, tutting to herself as if musing on a new location for a particular pot, and not resolving the several short circuits sparking off inside Bobbi’s mind right now. It seemed like hours before she finally began again to explain:

“Fitz and I have been friends for the longest time,” she said. “As we grew and discovered that each of us had rather taken to those of our own sex we thought, if we were to live and love as our true selves well then, why not make it a marriage of convenience? Of course, he went and fell in love with me, didn’t he – and I him, do not misunderstand me: by some very blessed coincidence, we are very much in love. But our arrangement still stands. Fitz would not take offence in the slightest if you and I were to… explore any possibilities that may… arise.”

“…Right.”

“I can see that you need some more time to process,” Jemma observed. “Well, if I haven’t scared you off entirely – let’s say no more of it, for now. Come. Let me show you the greenhouse.”

They said no more of it for the rest of the afternoon, and for several days after that. They wrote little notes back and forth, about tea and chickens and foxes and plants, and very much not about the other topic of the day. Jemma waited for Bobbi to broach it and Bobbi – despite thinking about the arrangement with increasing regularity as time went on – dared not. The exact reason for it eluded her; did she fear that perhaps she had misread something, and that Jemma had not in fact, meant what she had said after all? Did she fear being the other woman – as she had been asked and offered many a time by men and women alike who did not have such an arrangement with their partners? Or did she fear the opposite instead; that she had finally found someone as unusual and brilliant and queer in every way as she herself was? Perhaps even two someones?

No doubt, there was some combination of all three tangled up in this knot in her chest, but it was the latter that kept Bobbi going to her desk in the middle of the night, pulling out a pen and paper, and not… quite… putting… the words down.

Or putting them down, and crossing them out.

Or putting them down, and throwing them in the fire.

As she watched the pages curl and blacken, Bobbi could taste the bitter memory of the last time she’d found herself in such a position. She had few regrets in her life, but one of them was that day; the day she’d let (or rather, driven) her former husband’s last words to her fall into the fire. There had been a lot more anger involved that time around, she recalled, and no shortage of jabbing at sparks with the fire iron, to make sure she’d got every last bit. This time, it felt like a step in the wrong direction. Like she was waiting to release the breath she was holding, or for the knot in her chest to untie and it never would.

I fear I must, were the last words she could discern now, from the letter she had burnt. She reached for the poker with a tremor in her fingers, and gritted her teeth. One good jab, and it would all be over. Then again, there was a blank spot just there. She could save it, if she were careful – and quick, as the words were already shrinking before her eyes.

I fear I  

I fear

Fear  

And then they were gone. And her breath was still caught in her chest but she lifted her head. She may have burned her bridges with the Midshipman after all, but she could still remember that infuriatingly rakish daredevil smile of his.

“Come on, love,” he used to like challenging her. “A little fear is nothing to be afraid of.”

It was something that had always bound them; the rush of taking risks, the revelling in new horizons. It was every reason she had to have left her home in the first place; perhaps that was what had made their relationship last so long, despite the warning signs. And as Bobbi reflected upon this image of herself, kneeling at her hearth, clutching a fire poker with a shaking hand at some unearthly hour in the morning - and not for the first time at that - she had to laugh. This was exactly the reason Hunter had broken up with her and after all this time she had to admit, the limey was right: as much as she purported to be bold and confident, to love a challenge, she was a coward when it came to affairs of the heart.

But Bobbi was no fool. She knew regret, and she knew the value of a wasted opportunity. She had regretted leaving Hunter enough times in her life thus far; she dared not waste such an opportunity again.

So she stood, and reached for her coat. Never mind the nightgown, never mind ringing for Davis; Bobbi figured, she could tack a horse herself just as quickly and if she didn’t take action now the fear might just get the better of her. Perhaps the boots, though, rather than these flimsy slippers – yes, she should take the boots.

She pulled them on in a fluster, hopping in through the stable door, and tacked up in the dark as fast as her fingers remembered how. Of course, she could walk to the Fitzsimmons’ – they were only next door after all, just a little ways down the road - but it was far too late at night for that, and God forbid it would give her too much time to think.

Fortunately, Belle was fleet of foot and it was not long at all before she was clattering up the FitzSimmons’ driveway, her heart in her throat. There was a carriage she did not recognise in a nearby pen. Did they have a guest? Should she turn back? Belle whinnied low as if warning her, and Bobbi swallowed her fear once again. If she did turn back, no doubt she would find herself achingly alone by the fireplace for many more nights in her life, and as much as she treasured her independence, she didn’t want it to be like that. Not when it didn’t have to be.

Bobbi slid from the saddle, and as she tied Belle to a nearby post she spared a thought of gratitude that she had decided to wear boots for a little relief against the chilled and dewy cobblestones. With a deep breath, she approached the threshold, and knocked, and rang the bell.

Seconds passed, and though she counted them along their way they still somehow felt like minutes. Like hours. Bobbi watched every breath steam in front of her and after the third she closed her eyes and reluctantly wondered what it would be like to just give in to the dread, and forget the whole thing.

Just as she was on the knife’s edge of giving up, however, the door opened a crack.

It was Fitz, with his soft curls and his shirt loose and dishevelled, and upon recognising the figure who stood at his door, a rather bewildered expression.

“Jemma, dear,” he called, “I think- I think it’s for you.”

And so Jemma came to the door as well, and looked Bobbi up and down. A frown crossed her features, concerned and curious, as she ushered Bobbi inside.

“Are you alright?” she wondered. “I… hadn’t heard from you.”

“I know.” Bobbi bounced on the spot. With adrenaline keeping her blood pumping, she hadn’t realised it was quite so cold. “I know. It’s my fault. I meant to tell you so- so many things. I was flattered- I am flattered. Exceedingly so. I just…”

“It’s perfectly understandable,” Jemma assured her. “I should never have sprung something so… unconventional on you like that!”

“But being unconventional is why I like you.” It blurted out with no restraint, and Bobbi felt her heart warm when Jemma smiled. “And it’s not the- the arrangement itself that worries me. I suppose I thought you were mocking me; that you might not have been taking me seriously.”

“Bobbi.” Jemma looked her square in the eyes, and very deliberately reached out a hand to take hers. “We were very serious – and still are, if you’ll have us.”

Fitz nodded his agreement earnestly, and at last, Bobbi felt the knot in her chest begin to untie.

“Well then,“ she confessed, “I suppose my answer is yes.”

Jemma beamed, and clapped in delight.

“Wonderful!” she cried. “Won’t you come in for a drink to celebrate?”

“Certainly,” Bobbi agreed. The fear was fading much faster than she had anticipated, and she smiled at her companions with genuine warmth in her heart. “I would love a brandy, if you have it.”

“I’ll pour you a glass,” Fitz said, and scoffed. “If Hunter hasn’t taken the last drop.”

“If- who?”

Bobbi stammered, and let Jemma and Fitz usher her into the lounge without protest, with hardly a thought as she checked back over what she had heard. Surely it couldn’t be…

“Where’ve you been, lovelies?”

That voice, she knew it. The spinning, slightly drunken dance he was doing as he poured himself a glass. Even that scruffy beard, and the medallion of St Anthony that gleamed on a leather thong around his neck as he turned away from the fireplace and back toward the door - Bobbi couldn’t see it from this far away but she knew, she knew that’s what it was.

Apparently, he knew her just as quickly too, as he froze mid-dance and mid-pour and stared. Not too long ago, he would have made a snide comment to try and to get a rise out of her – speak of the devil? she could imagine he would say - and a rise she would gladly have given him. But this time he simply… stared.

“Uh…” Fitz wondered from the sidelines. “Do you two know each other?”

Jemma elbowed him, and hissed for him to hush, but it barely registered to Bobbi. She was too busy watching Hunter, waiting for him to burst the bubble of nostalgia and rose-coloured glasses she had no doubt shaded him with. Any second now.

Instead, he smiled, and held the last glass of the brandy out to her.

“It’s good to see you, Bob,” he said.

“It’s good to see you too.”

[bigskydreaming]

This is a post about Boone aka Shrike.

I am making this post about Boone aka Shrike from Robin: Year One and later stories, solely so that reading this post on mobile will bring up “other posts like this” and show all the other posts I have made about Boone aka Shrike from Robin: Year One and other stories. LOL.

Because I’m back on my ‘people should make Boone aka Shrike and his archrivalry with Dick more of a thing’ bus.

Look, I will maintain until the day I die that Shrike has literally EVERYTHING needed to deliver on the same thematic elements people cite interest in JayDick and Sladin for....with the added bonus of....a Dick/Boone ship wouldn’t be incestuous or rely on a huge predatory age gap.

I mean, granted, it still won’t do anything for people who are into those ships purely BECAUSE of the incest or the huge predatory age gap, but I mean like, I work with what I can work with. Like I’m not even trying to change peoples’ minds there so much as just point out alternatives for anyone who just comes to those ships looking for the specific dynamic that personally I think is more real and evident with Dick and Boone than it ever will be with him and anyone else.

But really, the ONLY thing Boone needs to be serve the same narrative function is like...a higher profile, and more use of the character. I mean, some more infamy and slots in his win column wouldn’t hurt either, but you know. Whatever.

Anyway, point is, so Robin: Year One.

That was the story where Dick got hurt badly by Two-Face when he was still new to being Robin, and Bruce freaked out and fired him for the first time, also making the blunderhead move, in his freak out and new to being a parent thing, of saying it was Dick’s fault the judge had died, when Dick had literally just been trying to save Bruce’s life.

So Dick figures if he can’t be Robin, there’s no point to him being there, since Bruce doesn’t want or need a son (take that stories that act like Dick even at age 10 or 11 wasn’t already secretly hoping to be adopted). So Dick ran away and stayed on the streets where he took down Mr. Freeze all on his own, and in doing so drew the attention of something called The Vengeance Academy.

This was run by a guy named Shrike, who had some of his men snatch Dick off the streets after he caught their eye by taking on Mr. Freeze, and brought to the Vengeance Academy. It was a front for the League of Assassins, a place in Gotham where they trained kids as assassins and vetted their potential for being taken to the League itself for training.

Attendance was not elective, lol, it wasn’t like they asked Dick or any of these kids if they wanted to join, but most of them had nowhere else to go, so like Dick, they stayed and trained and went on missions Shrike assigned them as part of their training.

One of these other kids was named Boone, and he had something of a leadership role among the other kids, and was at times almost friendly with Dick and at other times saw him as a rival because of Dick’s own skills. And when they went out on missions, like, Dick stopped the other kids from killing some guards after they’d knocked them out, which pissed off Boone because it was Dick undermining his position as leader in the other kids’ eyes, especially when Shrike validated Dick’s decision when they returned to the Academy, by saying they should never kill people they aren’t getting paid to kill, as its a waste of their skills.

So like, point being, the two of them had HUGE potential for the kind of dynamic Dick and Jason are often characterized with, where they have mutual respect but are mutually vying for the approval of the same figures.

Anyway, after a few months (R:Y1 was vague on the timelines but was clear about the fact that Dick was at the VA for at least a few months, with captions like ‘weeks passed’ etc)....Dick eventually manages to sneak off long enough to sneak into the Batcave and leave a note for Bruce about the Vengeance Academy, what its up to, where to find it, etc. But Dick still goes back, rather than wait for Bruce himself, because he still doesn’t think Bruce wants him anymore.

Eventually, Shrike happens to get hired to take out Two-Face, and of course happens to assign Boone and Dick as the leads to conduct that assassination. They and the other boys break into Two-Face’s mansion, Dick’s literally holding a gun on Harvey and having flashbacks to Two-Face beating him almost to death and Bruce firing him in the aftermath and everything that’s happened since then....but at the last minute, Dick decides he won’t do it, throws the gun away instead, and as Two-Face’s guards all burst in, the boys all run.

But then back at Vengeance Academy, they of course all tell Shrike what happened, and Shrike just starts beating on Dick, shouting how ungrateful he is, etc, etc, what a waste of time and effort he’s turned out to be....and that’s when Bruce arrives, takes on Shrike’s men, etc. 

In the confusion, Shrike slips away, and then at some point, he and Dick end up facing across from each other on a rafter high up by the ceiling...where Shrike figures out that Dick is the one who alerted Batman and starts in on him again, but Dick defends himself....and that’s when Two-Face and his men burst in, having tracked them somehow, and in that ensuing commotion, someone shoots Shrike, he falls from the rafter and ends up impaled on some rebar on the floor or something like that.

Which is where Boone finds him, as he lays there dying, and Boone’s shown being considerably distressed, because he’d been there a lot longer than Dick and had been shown to be significantly attached to Shrike and viewing him as a father figure he was desperate to prove himself to, unlike Dick who was there because he felt he didn’t have a choice or anywhere else to go.

And of course Dick goes back with Bruce, who tells him how much he’s missed him and of course he wants him and is sorry for everything he said and did, they reconcile, Dick becomes Robin again, etc. The very last two pages of the mini end with Dick being introduced to Barbara for the first time by the Commissioner, when she’s on the roof with him while he’s talking with Batman and Robin....but also, Talia comes to survey the remains of Vengeance Academy, since it was League-affiliated...and takes Boone with her back to the League for further training.

Eventually, Boone grows up to take the name Shrike for himself, in honor of his former teacher, and he’s OBSESSED with avenging the original Shrike by killing Nightwing, who he knows is his former classmate, due to Robin then Nightwing’s style of fighting, and his penchant for using escrima sticks. 

(Interestingly, Dick only started using escrima sticks as his signature weapon in his first solo Nightwing title, with this stemming from Chuck Dixon’s writing him doing so....and Dixon also wrote R:Y1, which is where he then established that Vengeance Academy is where Dick first learned to use escrima sticks and gained a preference for them. So its always been kinda fascinating to me that Dick’s had his skills with those since literally his very first year as Robin....BUT then never used them as Robin, while Batman’s partner....but after becoming Nightwing and moving to Bludhaven, for whatever reason returned to using those particular weapons and making them his signature).

Anyway, point is, Boone calls Dick Freddy, because that was what he knew him as when they were kids....after he ran away, Dick started using the alias Freddy Lloyd. Lloyd was his mother’s maiden name, and I used to think Freddy was a reference to Alfred, but only recently realized that its actually Dick’s dad’s middle name.

So Shrike was brought back in the Nightwing solo title as a recurring enemy of Dick’s, with varying degrees of effectiveness. In later years, he was kinda made into a joke and not treated as much of a threat, but for awhile there, he was characterized as very much being a threat to Dick, and at a similar level skill wise, thanks to his own extensive League training. He captured Dick in their first encounter in Bludhaven, where he then tried to figure out Dick’s real identity by running his fingerprints and DNA (though Babs was able to intercept his attempt to run those through the system and replace the findings with a fake profile). He also even managed to defeat Dinah, though as much by trickery as straight out and out fighting...but still, Dinah’s one of THE top hand to hand combatants in the DC universe so, not exactly a small feat. He also faced off with Tim and Cass at one point, while they were Batgirl and Robin, and though he defeated Tim relatively easily (this was still fairly early in Tim’s career as Robin though), he ultimately lost to Cass. But again, who doesn’t lose to Cass, y’know?

So I mean, he definitely has skills and is a credible threat. Dick beat him after Dinah and Babs rescued him from Boone that first time, and Boone ended up in Bludhaven’s prison.....but then escaped and was later hired by Blockbuster as one of the assassins gunning for Dick. He and Dick had one more epic fight as one of the final elements of the Blockbuster arc, but by this time Dick was channeling so much rage when he went after Blockbuster at his mansion, where Shrike was lying in wait, that Dick pretty much just kicked Boone’s ass up and down the street and around the corner and left him chained up to a flagpole. 

Like, I’m pretty sure that fight is what’s made later writers deem him not as high caliber a fight or threat as he later was referenced as being, but that wasn’t really the point of that fight, lol. How handily Dick kicked his ass there was in context clearly meant to read as just how fucking enraged Dick was at this point, due to Blockbuster’s campaign against him, and how much Dick’s OWN threat level went through the roof when he allowed himself to use that degree of anger while fighting Boone, rather than repress it. It was very much a “you’re only in my league when I’m afraid to go full throttle, when I take the safeties off though its no contest” kinda thing.

But anyway, he didn’t get used much again pre-Flashpoint, and hasn’t made an appearance since, to my knowledge, but using pre-Flashpoint based settings or continuities....Boone’s very much a credible threat to Dick, has a ton of history with him, and a huge ax to grind with their last encounter having him vow that this wasn’t over between them. 

And like the thing is, its not just about getting revenge against Dick because he blames him for the original Shrike’s death. Like, its very much a rivalry that stems back to before the first Shrike died. Boone has pretty much always been shown to desperately want, need to be better than Dick, that’s what keeps him coming back and that’s what he really holds against Dick and always has...and its not just their skills, its that Dick’s a hero, that they ultimately came from the same place but Dick’s loved and revered for his skills and choices while Boone has nothing and no one, and insists its because Dick took away the only person Boone ever had....though the reality that both of them are probably perfectly aware of is that Shrike never actually gave a damn for any of the kids he trained, even if he showed favor to Dick and Boone in particular. But Shrike for a time made Boone feel special, made him feel like he had a place and a purpose, and its clear he’s never really found anything like that ever again....and really, he never had it at Vengeance Academy either, but he’s been able to romanticize it in his own mind and memories as being otherwise.

Whereas for Dick....this relationship always had so much more potential than anyone ever truly delved into, but the basic material and hints were always there. My read of them was always that for Dick, Boone kind of embodied the idea of being his own dark mirror....he was an example of what Dick could have been, if he’d embraced VA and Shrike the way Boone had, out of a lack of options, instead of returning with Bruce and giving him another chance, and Bruce taking another chance on Dick. 

In a lot of ways, R:Y1 - even though its events only happened because of shit Bruce never should have laid on Dick, driving him away in the first place....looked at through the eyes of a ten year old Dick Grayson who’d in the span of a couple years gone from losing his former circus home and parents, to juvie (Dixon wrote both R:Y1 and the Robin origin that had Dick go to juvie, so that was the specific context for all stories related to Shrike), to Wayne Manor, where he ultimately became Robin....and after not even a full year as Robin.....Dick then ended up on the streets and then spending months training at a facility for orphans and street kids to be made assassins....before ultimately returning to Wayne Manor, Bruce and being Robin.....

Like, its easy to see how to Dick, all of this probably looked almost like Bruce had saved him from worse circumstances and his own worse nature not once, but twice....even if the second time could have been avoided. The point is though, I don’t think Dick ever forgot his time there, his own desperate need for Shrike’s approval (and he did very much want it while he was there....he was hurting, he’d gotten used to having an adult who cared about him again, and with him feeling like Bruce had rejected him and in doing so taken away all the approval he’d given him previously, make no mistake, Dick very much DID desperately want an authority figure’s approval, and his rivalry with Boone WAS a two-way street. 

Dick perhaps wanted Boone’s friendship a little more than the other way around, I’d wager, given that Dick’s a more social, friendly person by nature, he wants to get along with people....but VA was a very definitively dog eat dog kind of place and Dick did not seem above reveling in the scraps of approval Shrike threw him at times like the mission he and Boone fought about, even though he knew how much it dug at Boone to see himself knocked down a peg by their teacher with the latter then praising Dick at the same time.

So my point being...I don’t think Dick’s ever forgotten his time at VA, or what he felt like while living there.....how close he came to shooting Two-Face in revenge for all that he blamed Two-Face for costing him....as well as remembering that for awhile, he and Boone very much were a kind of friends, even if they never were like say, he was with the Titans (who he’d yet to meet at this point in the timeline). Like, I’d characterize the two of them as one of those things where they probably wouldn’t have been friends under other circumstances, or even call themselves friends, but it was more they were the only ones who displayed having any kind of connection to each other, at a time and place in their lives where they didn’t really have anyone else.

So all of that added up, yeah, to me, Boone in Dick’s eyes is a kind of regret, and road not taken. He’s what Dick could have been if Dick didn’t have Bruce in his corner...if he, like Boone, hadn’t had anyone BUT Shrike. Dick likely can easily look at Boone and see what his life might have turned out like if he HAD shot Two-Face that night, because I don’t think Dick would ever believe there’s any way Bruce would have taken him back after that....meaning that he really WOULD have had nowhere else to go at that point...and thus easily could have ended up continuing at VA or even going to the League with Boone and Talia.

And because of all of that, my read on Dick’s attitude towards Boone was always that....its a blend of defensive antagonism and also some guilt and romanticized nostalgia. Dick’s defensive in response to Boone’s antagonism, because he isn’t to blame for Shrike’s death and knows it, just as he knows he’s not really worth mourning and didn’t care about either of them....but Dick’s ALSO defensive because every time Boone hurls an accusation at him about how Dick’s not any better than him - not skill wise, but as people - Dick, IMO, ABSOLUTELY AGREES AND BELIEVES THE SAME. The flip side of the coin that is seeing Boone as what he could have been....is that he himself then, is perhaps what BOONE could have been, if Boone had been the one to get the opportunities that Dick had. 

And THAT, I think, is the source of the weird almost guilt that Dick has occasionally had in regards to Boone...this belief that he isn’t innately any better than his one-time sorta friend, and that he’s not any innately more deserving of the opportunities he got via Bruce, and that Boone never was afforded. That with someone in his corner, rather than just seeking to exploit him, Boone could have been every bit the hero Dick grew up to be. That he really did have someone who loved and cared for him, in Bruce, while Boone only has his desperate, misguided belief that Shrike felt the same about him, because there was nobody else to even point to as a possibility for that. I think when Dick thinks of Boone, there’s always this kinda hazy ‘what if’ where he idly wonders what if he could have convinced Boone that Shrike’s death wasn’t his fault, or that Shrike didn’t care about them...and got Boone to come with him, or got Bruce to find Boone. What if he’d tried reaching out to Bruce about VA earlier, or not avoided him so long, and Bruce had been able to come earlier, when there was a chance that other boys besides just Dick could have been ‘saved’ from the life Shrike tried to convince them was the ONLY life path where they’d have any power or influence, where they’d ever matter, at all.

So...I just think there’s so so so so many possibilities with this largely untouched little corner of Dick’s history, and this one specific character it intersected with, and hardly has ever been followed up on. Boone and Dick have just soooooooo much potential to have the intense, emotionally charge love/hate kind of rivalry between a hero and villain or even just mercenary or antihero, that Dick’s so often characterized as having with Slade or Jason.....

But the thing is, here? There’s no need to invent or embellish antagonism between Dick and someone else, the way fandom’s largely made up the iconic antagonism between Dick and Jay. The antagonism is very much real, between Dick and Boone, very much understandable, and most importantly, very much MUTUAL. It exists on Dick’s part every bit as much as Boone’s....Dick was almost kinda gleeful about kicking Boone’s ass that first time in Bludhaven and coming out on top, in a way that he rarely is in his victories....because its very easy to see how these two could easily slip back into a familiar rivalry and desire to one-up each other, the way they had as desperate, emotionally neglected children. Dick has the potential to be PETTY with Boone in a way that people WANT to write him being with others where he’s just NOT and likely never would be, because Dick’s someone who’s aware of how others perceive him, and privileges he has that others don’t, and stuff like that....all of that plays into why Dick so often tries so hard and intently to be his best self with people even when he’d rather not be.

But with Boone, you can potentially throw all that out the window, due to the very precise nature of when and where in their lives that Boone and Dick had their short term but very emotionally impactful pseudo-friendship and early rivalry. Because even if Dick feels a little guilty for getting the life he did and that Boone didn’t - that’s not his FAULT, and he does know that too, just as he knows he’s not to blame for the things Boone resents him for.....and even if part of Dick probably feels a little sorry for Boone, he also knows that doesn’t mean that Boone hasn’t made his own choices and there comes a point where its put up or shut up time, and you can keep blaming anyone and everyone for your life or you can look around and acknowledge that here and now, nobody is holding a gun to Boone’s head and saying you have to kill people, you have to fight Dick for this and this reason....and so on that front, Dick can more willingly and without guilt push back against his own feelings of guilt and pity and let out his own pettiness and resentments for Boone having made him into this scapegoat.

All of which makes for a perfect storm of emotionally charged interactions any and every encounter between these two highly skilled individuals with equally extensive lifetimes of training under their belts....all against a backdrop of mingled resentment, nostalgia, and squandered potential brotherhood thanks to this bubble in time from both their childhoods where they were briefly friends, brothers in arms, rivals, and both everything the other had and everything the other never became or ever wanted to be.

With the cherry on top being that Boone is literally the ONLY LIVING PERSON IN THE WORLD....who has knowledge or awareness of the ten or eleven year old Dick Grayson was at one of the darkest periods of his life, where he believed himself completely alone and unloved and with NOTHING LEFT TO LOSE. Meaning that when Boone - and Boone alone - says he knows Dick in a way that nobody else does or ever could, even BRUCE, that he knows a side of Dick that nobody else will ever be privy to, that tiny sliver of Dick Grayson that stood over Two-Face’s trembling body with a gun and had the POTENTIAL to pull the trigger.....

He is absolutely and one hundred percent correct.

Like...you can’t TELL me that’s not good stuff.

Also, I’ve just always loved that trope where one person refers to someone by a name NOBODY else knows them as....with that name having meaning to the two of them alone.

Like to Boone....Dick is Freddy Lloyd. He knows that’s not Dick’s name, he always knew that, just like Boone probably isn’t his.....but the person Boone knew was named Freddy Lloyd, and that person was real, even if nobody else has ever truly known “Freddy” because that’s not who Dick has ever been to them, or who he’s been AROUND them. Boone might not know Dick’s actual real name and where to find him in the phone book, but he’s known from day one that Nightwing’s secret identity is Freddy Lloyd, like he knew instantly from seeing Nightwing fight with a pair of escrima sticks that the person under the mask was his old friend Freddy, and that Nightwing used to be the first Robin which means Robin was Freddy too. He lived with him for months, neither of them wearing masks, he would recognize him if they passed on the street.

(Although with this point, its why I’ve personally always been kind of dubious about the plot point of having Boone try so hard to figure out Dick’s real identity....like, honestly, that story point doesn’t really hold up. Boone SHOULD be able to identify Dick as easily as he identified Nightwing. Dick Grayson, ward and eventual adopted son of Bruce Wayne, has been a HIGHLY visible individual at various points in his life. 

I can easily believe that Bruce invested considerable effort in keeping Dick out of the public eye when Dick first came to live with him and was still adjusting and recovering - in fact, given that all of this is in context with the juvie origin, I’ve always headcanoned that Bruce probably spared no expense in covering up Dick’s time there as much as possible, so he wouldn’t be bombarded with additional stigma from people misconstruing that, and with more than enough evidence against the state for fucking up so badly with Dick there, he could have slapped any official evidence of Dick’s time there with so many gag orders nobody felt safe breathing a word about it.

All of which is to say, its very plausible to me that Dick wasn’t publicly recognizable by the time he ran away during Robin: Year One, and Bruce certainly wouldn’t have advertised that, and who knows what strings he had to pull or things he had to fake to keep CPS off his back until he found Dick, out of fear that otherwise, people would take Dick away once he did get him back. So I can imagine Freddy not being recognized by Shrike or Boone while he was with them. What I can’t imagine is Boone never turning on the TV or reading an article about Bruce Wayne and family in years after that, and ever once thinking to himself that Dick looks JUST like his old friend Freddy...and once you have that thought as a starting point, it SHOULD definitely be possible to dig a little deeper and find out stuff that confirms it, like the timelines of Dick coming to live with Bruce versus being mysteriously unavailable or out of sight anywhere, until just after the fall of Vengeance Academy, etc. But yeah. My point is, I maintain that Boone absolutely knows that Nightwing is Freddy is Dick and that particular plot point is dumb.)

Anyway, my point with that tangent is like....imagine Boone and Dick tangling at various points over the years, both equally determined and invested in coming out on top....with many of these encounters happening at times Dick is away from his family, like when he was living in Bludhaven....

But inevitably, they’re bound to clash in full view of the Batfamily, who bear witness for the first time to this unleashed side of Dick NONE of them have ever seen, never even imagined him acting like this, holding this....grudge against someone with a seemingly equivalent grudge and none of them can really account for why. Imagine their reactions to hearing Boone casually call Dick “Freddy” and like...this means something to Dick, he’s not surprised by it, but he’s not treating it like its some alias from a random undercover op, like, its like he IS Freddy, like its his own name, but at the same time...who the fuck is Freddy? They all want to know. Even Bruce might have trouble placing Boone or his connection to Dick at first, because there’s no reason he would have ever found out the alias Dick went by at the time, if Dick never felt a reason to tell him.

Imagine the truth of where and when and how Boone and Dick are connected slowly unfolding (to my recollection, in the comics I don’t think he ever even told Babs the full story, even after she and Dinah saved him from Boone....just a few terse references, from what I remember, and again....according to the same writer to write all of these various connected stories....Boone actually knew Dick BEFORE Babs even met him for the first time as either Dick Grayson OR Robin).

Its entirely possible the rest of the family doesn’t even know any of R:Y1 happened. Sure, I think they all know the basics of Two-Face beating Dick almost to death when he’d only been Robin a short time, but do they know that Bruce fired him then? That Dick ran away to live on the streets and then ended up being trained as an assassin for months by a League-affiliated supervillain? I’d doubt it, because who would tell them? I can’t imagine its a time or a part of his life Dick wants to volunteer to anyone, and Bruce probably still feels guilty so I doubt he’d ever volunteer that information. And Alfred I imagine would feel its not his place to be the one to drop that info on any of the others without Bruce or Dick’s say-so. 

Like sure, Bruce has files on all of that time, probably, but even with their hacking prowess, would even Babs or Tim have had time to hunt down and go through every single file Bruce has ever created....especially ones he might have tucked away for being particularly sensitive or private, and how do even the best hackers guarantee hunting down files they don’t even know they’re looking for? For that matter, it strikes me that as much as we tend to make a fanon trope out of Babs or Tim knowing everything about everyone because they can access any file, even hidden or locked ones...that IS intrusive and there’s plenty of old files about Bruce or Dick they probably never looked at because there’s a point where that’s none of their business, like if its not an official case they need info for, they should be asking directly, not snooping behind closed doors.

So....its entirely likely, the more I think about it, that all of this would be a family secret that would be an utter revelation to most of them in its entirety.

And you think there’s potential for resentment between Dick and Boone.....imagine throwing the family into it, and how Dick’s brothers and sister feel about this mercenary and assassin who claims to know more about their brother than they do, know him better than any of them ever have....and think, from a certain angle....oh fuck, he’s actually not entirely wrong?

Just.

More Boone. More Shrike. More Vengeance Academy.

THERE IS SO MUCH UNTAPPED POTENTIAL THERE, UGGGGGGGH.

Also also also: I present to you - in context of all of the above - the possibility of magical body or life swapping stories a la Freaky Friday??? Like....UMMM COULD YOU IMAGINE??!!!

[iamfitzwilliamdarcy]

Title: His Father’s Heart

Characters: Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne (some), and OCs

Summary: A priest must have a father's heart, and Fr. Todd has had a good example. Or, the one in which Jason is a priest and starts a school. (a03) 

Note: -shows up 4 months late with Starbucks and too many epigraphs- Happy (extremely belated) birthday to @catie-does-things!!! I finally finished this fic and have 9 pages of a google doc to give you <3 We discussed this once and then I just Ran with it (this fic is also how i learned there is no midnight Angelus???) 

Religion that is pure and undefiled before God and the Father is this: to care for orphans and widows in their affliction....

-James 1:27

“Without confidence and love, there can be no true education. If you want to be loved…you must love yourselves, and make your children feel that you love them.”

“The school was not the end; it was rather the instrumental means for improving the way of life.”

-St. John Bosco

The school that never was supposed to be started with three boys. 

Many would say it was Fr. Todd, who worked tirelessly for the crime, addiction, poverty ravished community he served. But Fr. Todd knew, and he knew God knew as well. 

The school started with three boys, huddling behind the dumpster in the alley adjacent to St. Maria Goretti Catholic Church. 

It was, when Fr. Todd reflected on it, the Hand of God, pushing them where they needed to be, beyond where they thought they ought to be. He was, after all, a diocosean priest, not of a teaching order, and kept plenty busy by the daily happenings of parish life. He had no room in his life for a school. 

He was, though, also very much his father’s son. 

And his father was not the kind of man to leave three, shivering boys in an alley because he was busy. Neither was the Lord, Jason reminded himself, who was in the least of these. 

So he squatted down beside them, enough of a distance they didn’t feel cornered but close enough that he was a presence. And said, “Good evening.”

They were clearly brothers, with the same almond eyes and thick black hair. Even the one whose was curly fit in the set. Hunger made their faces gaunt, but beneath it, if one knew how to look, one could see the same jawline, the same off center nose. 

The oldest one shifted to be in front of his brothers, glaring at Fr. Todd. “Go ‘way,” he said. “I know what you collar people do my momma told me and I say go way.”

Fr. Todd frowned, but kept his face and voice soft. “I promise,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you. My momma warned me about dangerous men too.”

The boy continued to glare, not convinced. “I have food,” Fr. Todd offered, and the younger boys shifted behind him. Even the oldest betrayed himself with longing in his eyes, though he quickly masked it. “And a warm bed.”

The little ones were sold, but the oldest was smarter. He clearly wanted the food and the bed, but he didn’t trust a stranger.  

Smart enough, Jason thought. He himself hadn’t trusted Batman when they’d first met. 

Better the evil you know, right? 

Jason rocked back on his heels, thinking. “Stay here,” he told them. “I’ll be right back.”

He got up and quickly returned to the rectory. He called the Bishop, waking him up in the middle of the night. Jason, who had requested the exorcist more than any priest in the entire state, had earned that privilege. 

“Almost time for the Angelus,” he said cheerfully, before the bishop warned him about the optics of three boys staying in a priest’s rectory, then added a small lesson of what the Lord would do, contrary to the optics. 

He made a few sandwiches, snagged a couple of water bottles, dumped Fr. Dominic’s hot chocolate from the stove into a thermos, grabbed a blanket, pocketed his cellphone, and made his way back to the alley. 

He sat down, cross-legged, still enough distance the boys didn’t feel trapped. “Here’s the deal,” he said, handing out the sandwiches; the oldest boy didn’t stop the younger ones, but he still eyed the bread and meat in his hand like it was poisoned. “You can let me help you or I’m going to have to call someone else who can. 

“The cops?” asked the littlest one, and Jason nodded. “I can’t leave you out here. It’s going to drop below freezing tonight. I have a contact with GCPD, but I won’t lie to you, if we go that route, likely you’ll end up in a group home and the foster system, if they can’t find your mom or she isn’t able to take care of you.”

“She’s dead,” the oldest said abruptly. 

“I’m sorry,” Jason said. He knew what that was like, to find your mother dead, to have nobody else.  After a pause, he added, “When my mom died, my adopted father caught me stealing the hubcaps off his car.”

The middle one laughed a little and Jason smiled at him. “It was pretty scary, but he turned out to be a good man. He’ll help you, too, if you let him.”

“We don’t  need  help,” the oldest boy asserted. The sandwich seemed to give him strength and he glowered at Jason again. “I told you.”

“That’s not one of the choices,” Jason said. 

“Who’s your dad?” the middle one piped up. 

The older boy threw him a dirty look, but Jason answered, “Bruce Wayne.” 

The little one leaned forward, eyes wide, and whispered, “He knows Batman.” 

Jason whispered conspiratorially back, “So do I.”

That, more than anything, sold the younger two. Even the older, still wary, agreed to come back to the rectory with him.

Fr. Dominic was awake, grading papers at the table. He eyed the three small boys, smiled, and said, “I was so sure my hot chocolate went to a good cause and looks like I was right. Who do we have here?”

The oldest boy gave his younger brother’s a stern look, one that looked out of place on his young face, but they ignored him. The littlest piped up that his name was Joey and Liam was the middle and his biggest brother was Tucker. Dominic shook each of their hands solemnly, even Tucker’s, and then let Jason slip away to make a phone call.

Dominic was still awake when Bruce Wayne showed up in Lululemon joggers and a henley at the rectory and deposited a sleeping nephew into Jason’s arms.

“Since I’m a good Catholic and all,” Dominic said, “I won’t say there are too many kids. Just seems like a lot for a rectory at 1am.”  

“We’re night people,” Jason said apologetically, raising his eyebrows at Bruce.

“Dick’s sick,” Bruce explained as Johnny snuggled his head into the crook of Jason’s shoulder. “And Barbara’s out of town. I couldn’t get out of the Mansion without this one tagging along.”

He held up a bag and said, “It should be enough clothes for a couple of days. I swung through the store and got some toothbrushes too.”

“You’re a blessing,” Jason said, stepping back to let Bruce in. 

Bruce grunted in acknowledgement. Then muttered something about needing a throat blessing before he caught whatever illness Dick had come down with. It was, apparently, hitting him hard.

“St. Blaise’s Feast Day isn’t for a few months, but I think I know a guy who could hook you up,” Jason teased, shutting the door and following him towards the kitchen.

Dominic had gone ahead of them, and his grading had turned into discussing the religion test questions with the younger two boys while their brother watched from his place leaned against the counter.

Tucker eyed Jason and Bruce as they came into the room, and Tommy in Jason’s arms. “Who’s that?” he demanded.

“Nephew,” Jason told him. Jerked his head at Bruce as an introduction, but Bruce beat him to it, holding out a large hand and saying “Bruce Wayne.”

Tucker did not shake it, eyeing Bruce suspiciously. As Bruce dropped his hand, the kid said, abruptly, “My momma used to work for you. ‘Fore she got sick.”

It was the most he’d said after telling Jason to go away, and it was the type of thing Bruce would take personally.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t help her,” Bruce said after a moment. “I would like to help you now.”

When the boy didn’t answer, Jason gestured to the bag and said, “Bruce brought some clothes for you to change into after you clean up. You can take my room for the night, the bathroom’s attached.”

Tucker eyed them like he was waiting for the catch, but when none came, he abruptly moved away from the counter to usher Liam away from Dominic and snatch up Joey’s hand. He glared at the adults as he shut the door to Jason’s room behind them, as if daring any of them to try anything. 

“You were that defensive,” Bruce reminded him quietly, so that Dominic couldn’t hear. “When we first met.”

Jason knew. He’d been cocky and brash, but it had never really covered up the fact that he’d been a distrustful 11 year old who didn’t really know how to look out for himself. 

“I got ahold of Jim,” Bruce continued, louder. “Said he’d send a social worker in the morning but odds were in my favor of being able to foster while they sort it out.”

“Gordon can’t decide that,” Jason muttered, with a head shake, but the way Gotham rolled, the commissioner did have a lot of influence.

“Do you need me to stay?” Bruce asked. He glanced at Dominic, then took a step forward and settled his hand on Jason’s shoulder. 

Jason smiled at him. “I think I can survive on a couch for one night.”

“He slept on a cafeteria floor at last year’s high school retreat,” Dominic piped up. 

“Kid forgot his sleeping bag,” Jason said with a shrug, shifting his nephew’s weight. Johnny had crashed since getting here and was dead weight in Jason’s arms, drooling slightly on his shoulder. 

Jason caught Bruce’s eye, who smiled a little. They both knew Jason had slept on harder than a cafeteria floor before.

“I’ll come back in the morning,” Bruce said. 

Jason raised his eyebrows higher. “For Mass,” Bruce agreed. He paused, and added, “Alfred will send food I’m sure.” 

“Yes,” Dominic cheered quietly, raising a hand in victory. 

He rose to lay his hands on Bruce and Johnny with Jason, to offer them a blessing before they left.

“You know,” Dominic said thoughtfully, after they were gone, watching the closed door of Jason’s room, behind which the shower was still running, “those kids are smart. Think Bruce would enroll them at St. Xavier?”

Jason frowned. “It’s far from Wayne Manor. He’d do it, but I don’t know how the kids would like that commute.”

“Far from here too,” Dominic agreed. He yawned and stretched as if to prove his point. “Speaking of, I should get some sleep. Take my bed, I’ll take the couch.”

But Jason shook his head. “I want them to be able to find me if they need to.”

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

 It took a long time for the boys to settle in with Bruce as a foster; the younger two settled better They’d had to switch out of their public schools because they were not districted there anymore. They hadn’t been to school in  a while anyway, Jason gathered. 

There was plenty of catching up for them to do, Dominic somehow found time to tutor them in between his own papers and gradings and other priestly duties. 

The boys, like the rest of Jason’s family, became a semi-permanent fixture at the rectory.  

*************** 

That was how it started. There was Dominic’s numerous mentions of St. Xavier being too far away, of the boys’ intelligence, the need for a more individualized approach that private school would afford.

There was the lady at the parish who sobbed to Fr. Todd one morning that she could not afford Catholic school and her district was not a good place for her children--no education, she said, just violence. She was scared they’d join a gang or start using drugs. St. Xaxier had scholarships to offer, but it wasn’t enough, and she had no way of getting her kids to school so far away. 

“St. Maria Goretti parish has always been in the thick of the throes of poverty,” Fr. Paul, the pastor, had said gravely when Jason had mentioned it to him later. 

There was the altar boy who tarried too long at the church after Mass, following Fr. Todd like a duckling, asking theological questions. He never wanted to go home and sometimes sat on the church steps doing math homework until Jason let him inside to pray. 

There was the 17-year-old drug dealer Officer Grayson picked up off the streets; Dick got him set up with a WE program but conditionally that he stop dealing and earn a high school degree, but going back to high school hadn’t put him in the best environment, and he was dealing again within the year. 

There was child after child, and family after family, who needed something more.  

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

Cardinal Tolan was the one who first brought up the school. Fr. Paul was retiring, and Jason appointed pastor in his leave. 

“The Nashville Dominican sisters are looking in this area to open a school,” the cardinal said. “I think maybe St. Maria Goretti parish could be benefited by that.”

Jason nodded. “A boys school,” he said, as way of agreement. “We’ll need one for the girls as well. The Sisters will know what to do.” 

“We have a donor,” Cardinal Tolan added, thoughtfully. “I’m sure he has enough for two.”

“And boarding,” Jason said, thinking hard. “We’ll need housing for some of them. Students need to feel like it’s home.” 

Cardinal Tolan looked at him a long time, then said, “Truly, you have a heart after the Father’s.”

“I had a good example,” Jason replied, flushing a little. 

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

It was another two years before the school was built. The sisters moved in, Fr. Todd was appointed chaplain, and the first year saw only 15 students from 9-12th grade, Tucker among them. 

He’d been the most resistant to Bruce and Fr. Todd over the years, though Jason accepted that he loved as best he could. His brothers adored them, more than Jason anticipated. They’d become altar boys at St. Maria Goretti’s as soon as they’d been able, and had cried when CPS had finally tracked down an aunt nearby to take them in.

They stayed in contact throughout the years. They continued in their service as altar boys, and had dinner at least twice a month with Bruce. Jason usually joined, when obligations allowed him. 

When the school opened, their aunt enrolled Tucker, the only one high school aged, right away. Full scholarship, she’d told a bewildered Jason, who knew the diocese hadn’t been able to set up any scholarships yet. 

Leave it to Bruce, he thought ruefully. 

*************** 

By the time the schools were ready to open younger grades, Joey and Liam were ready for high school, and they joined Tucker, now a senior,  at Maria Goretti’s. The younger ones were still rambunctious, but Tucker had grown into a rather solemn young man. He frequently did his homework at Jason’s kitchen table, mouthing quietly to himself or asking Fr. Dominic to read over his papers, while the younger boys played sports or just waited for their aunt to be off work and pick them up. 

He graduated salutatorian with a full ride to Catholic University in DC. 

Jason, handing out diplomas at his graduation while the school secretary announced names, didn’t cry a bit when Tucker shook his hand, and then leaned in to whisper, “thank you.” 

He did look out and find Bruce, caught his gaze, and smile. 

Bruce understood.

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

Two years later and new Masters degree to join the one he already had, Fr. Todd was appointed principal and chaplain of the school. He’d been involved from the start, as the parish pastor, but now he took even more responsibility. 

“Should’ve been a Salesian,” the cardinal teased, when he told Jason.  

Fr. Todd laughed and shook his head, “Maybe a Domican at that. But God saw fit to use a simple parish priest.” 

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

Four years later, Tucker sat in his rectory, a month out from his college graduation.  

Bruce had been over for dinner but Tucker declined a ride home to his aunt’s. There had been something on his mind all night, Jason knew. He’d danced around the issue of a post-graduate career, awkwardly steered the conversation away from a Wayne Enterprise job waiting for him as soon as he said the word. 

It wasn’t until Bruce left, after exchanging a significant look with Jason, and Jason had poured them a rather heavy nightcap, that Tucker blurted out, cheeks flaming in embarrassment, “Will you wrote me a recommendation for seminary?” 

Fr. Todd lowered his glass and blinked at the boy in front of him. Now 22, Jason could still see the small defiant, malnourished boy that had huddled in his alleyway. Something like pride and warmth rose up in his chest. Had this been how Bruce felt, all those years ago, when Jason himself had given up the red hood for a white collar? 

After a long pause, Fr. Todd managed, “For here or for Mount St. Mary’s?”

Tucker looked up, surprised. “Here,” he said firmly. And still too much of a hooligan, finished what could have stayed unspoken, “obviously.”

Jason said, “Of course.”

He took a sip of his scotch, suddenly feeling the prick of tears at his eyes, and looking at the young man before him, remembered a little boy hiding behind a dumpster on a cold winter night, and then a little boy stealing hubcaps off the Batmobile, and then man God had sent him to save his life. 

[mattzerella-sticks]

#LikeYouBatWay, Day 4 of Batflash Week - Secret Relationship & High School/College

Barbara Gordon is a detective. She never lets herself get distracted from the clues. There's nothing more important than solving a mystery. Except every PI has their girl Friday, and in this case Barry fits the description.

After realizing her feelings for her friend are more than platonic, what will she do? Is there a chance that Barry might return her affections? Or does he not like her that way?

She'll just have to take the risk... but she won't be doing it alone.

During lunch the girls don’t always sit together, busy either with school clubs or other friends. But they set aside every Wednesday in their schedules to eat at the same table. All six of them would gather in their designated spot and catch up on what they missed. Diana introduced the idea after a whole week passed when the max occupancy of their group never went over three. They agreed that they needed one lunch where all that mattered were each other. And nothing save an emergency would distract any of them from enjoying it.

Barbara wouldn’t call her feelings an emergency, but she could barely focus on Kara complaining about their chemistry teacher as she pushed her food around. Especially when the mush took the shape of a lightning bolt. She rested her chin on her elbow and sighed dreamily, a sappy grin blossoming on her face.

“Babs!”

She startled, arms flapping dramatically as she fell back with a yelp. When Barbara recovered it was to five curious stares bearing down on her. “Yes?” she asked, as if she wasn’t sprawled on the floor.

“Are you okay?”

Barbara shot up, cheeks burning. “Am I okay? Who asks that kind of question - of course I’m okay do I look not okay? Because I’m not. I mean, I am - I’m okay…” Strangling her bat ears on her hoodie, Barbara nearly tore them off.

Zatanna laid a hand on her shoulder, smiling. “We were calling your name for a full minute but your mind was a million miles away.”

“Oh, yeah,” she tried playing it off, scoffing, “I was thinking about a project that I have due tomorrow, obviously. It’s… yeah…”

“Really?” Kara smirked, poking at Barbara’s plate, “does it have to do with electricity ?”

Barbara glared, smearing the lightning bolt. “No!”

“Because it’d make sense,” she continued, “why you were doodling lightning all throughout History - although the hearts? And inside them… Barbara Gordon plus Barry Allen -”

“Kara!” Barbara hissed, “Why were you looking at my notes?”

“You know I don’t pay attention in that class. When she mentioned we had a test coming up I’d hoped you’d written it down or something.”

About to launch into a lecture on vigilance, Barbara gets sidetracked by Zatanna squealing at her other side. “Barry Allen? You have a crush on Barry Allen?”

“Not so loud, Zee!” she whispered, glancing around to see if anyone noticed. Thankfully Barry didn’t, the senior joking around with Hal and Oliver a few tables away. He glanced over, though, and caught her staring. Barry smiled and waved, Barbara returning it albeit weaker. The crooked smile fell among the chorused cooing from her table.

“Barry’s one of the nicest guys in school,” Jessica said, “You’d be so cute together!”

“How did this happen?” Karen asked, “You weren’t acting like this the other day?”

Barbara bit her lip, cutting off her own excited squeals. “Okay,” she started, “well I was staying late at Sweet Justice, working on that stolen chemicals case remember?”

The others left, each having their own plans to attend to. Barbara didn’t mind, content to figure out the mystery. Especially since none of the others shared her passion for them. She noticed how their eyes glazed over at times, Kara almost always snapping and telling her to get to the point. Being alone meant she could piece the clues at her own pace.

However an hour in she needed a change in scenery and took her research from their base and up to the public space of Sweet Justice. Commandeering a table she told Barry to keep her floating in milkshakes until she was done. While Barbara pieced together more of the scene, the lynchpin tying the case together was lost to her. “What am I missing… What am I missing? ” she groaned, slumping onto the table.

That’s when Barry stopped by with her fifth milkshake. He leaned over Barbara and studied her notes. “This looks like too much work for extra credit,” he chuckled, “What seems to be the problem?”

Barbara sighed and sat up. “No it’s not extra credit I’m… trying to guess where this thief is going to strike next! I’m stressed and not even milkshakes are helping.” She still snatched it from his hand, because they aided in other ways besides mystery solving.

Barry smiled. “You want to maybe talk about it?”

“No, no,” she waved him off, “I wouldn’t want to bore you.”

“You kidding? I love mysteries!”

Barbara stopped slurping her drink. “You do?”

“Of course,” he nodded, sitting across from her, “To me, mysteries are like a kind of science. There’s testing theories, sifting through data, comparing samples…” Barry launched into a passionate explanation of forensics that Barbara tuned out. Instead she focused on the lightning crackling in Barry’s eyes, his beaming smile, and how he practically vibrated from excitement. These thoughts led her onto a path with one obvious conclusion.

Barry Allen was cute. From there she was doomed.

“We spent the entire night talking over the case,” she gushed, remembering it, “And because I had someone to talk with it helped me see a clue I glossed over by accident! It was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”

Kara rolled her eyes. “Of course you’d fall for a nerd .”

Barbara pouted at her friend, ready to launch into another lecture when she noticed the troubled expression marring Diana’s face. “Diana,” she said, “is something wrong?”

“Are you sure this is wise, Barbara?” she asked, “It’s a wondrous thing, these feelings of ‘the crush’. But you remember how I acted when… Steve … was around. Do you think this could interfere with our mission?”

“It won’t!” she promised, grinning, “because this won’t be a crush for long!”

Zatanna gasped, squeezing her arm. “You’re gonna ask him out?”

“In a way...”

Kara rolled her eyes. “It’s a yes or no question, Babs. Simple. Don’t try and complicate it any further.”

Barbara slammed her fork onto the table, fire burning behind her determined gaze. “I can’t ask him out! That’s too risky! But don’t worry, I have a plan. And it’s going to work.”

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

The next day Barbara shuffled into school defeated, dragging her backpack behind her. All the usual pep was replaced with a crushing, frustrated disappointment. She could only focus on the storm clouds hanging overhead, so she didn’t see the hand that shot out and dragged her backwards.

“You don’t know who you’re messing with -”

“Barbara, calm down,” Diana said, squeezing her arms, “it’s only us.”

Her friends gathered around her, each wearing their own best worried features. Zatanna’s pouty lips and Karen’s shining eyes were in fine company alongside Diana’s set jaw, Jessica’s drawn brows and Kara’s clenched fist.

Barbara preempts them all. “I’m fine.”

“That’s a lie if I ever saw one,” Jessica sighed, laying her hand over Diana’s on Barabara’s shoulder. “You can tell us Babs.”

“Or,” Kara said, “we can use Diana’s lasso on you.”

Diana rejected the idea immediately. “I don’t use my lasso on my allies… if I don’t have to.” She glanced at Barbara, “I don’t have to, do I?”

Unable to find a weak link their fencing, Barbara accepted her fate. “You don’t,” she said, slumping into a nearby desk, “I’m… I’m a little upset.”

“A little?” Karen said, “Barbara, we’ve never seen you frown for this long! What happened?”

She wrung her hands. “Remember how I told you all that I had this plan to deal with Barry and my feelings… well… it kinda, completely... fell apart on me.” Barbara squeaked the last part in a rush, hiding behind her fingers when done. After a beat of silence she looked between her fingers at her friends.

No one seemed too shocked.

“Really?”

“Well,” Diana rubbed her neck guiltily, “when you told us what it was we… didn’t think it would work.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me!”

“We didn’t want to burst your good mood,” Zatanna said, “and there was a chance it could have worked… a teeny-tiny, little chance .”

“It would  have worked!” Barbara shouted, “If the world would’ve stopped butting in at every possible moment !”

Diana guided her into her seat again. “Why don’t you tell us what happened. From the beginning?”

Steeling her nerves and gathering her courage, Barbara thought back to yesterday and began.

After school Barbara ran home to gather supplies for her plan. Knowing Barry liked mysteries, she decided to create one of her own. Leaving a clue for Barry to find, he would hurry over to the perfect location finding Barbara waiting for him in a surprise date. “It was so totally perfect,” Barbara sighed, “until…”

She set up the small picnic first, knowing there’d be no time after dropping off the note at Sweet Justice. However racing over on her scooter in high spirits, Barbara didn’t count on her location being the scene of some drama.

“I mean a park is Ivy’s stomping ground,” Kara said, “Should’ve thought of that when picking a place.”

“You beat her though, right?” Karen asked.

Barbara nodded. “With help from Barry.” He zipped in, already in costume, surprised to see Ivy there. “I tried to salvage it,” she continued, “while he was dealing with her I scrawled another note and dropped it where he could find it.”

And when he read it Barbara zipped away, picnic basket tucked under her arm.

Arriving at the new location she caught Barry in the middle of a heated battle with Giganta. “Go to the docks, there was a villain. Go to the zoo, another villain! Until finally I thought the park would work with Ivy gone. But then…”

The darkness made it difficult to see; Barbara wouldn’t let that stop her. She lit flashlights and shoved them into the ground around the blanket. Barry wouldn’t miss her. Panting, still in costume, Barbara didn’t realize anyone else could see her, too.

“My, my, my! Who has bright red hair, a face so fair, and a wit unmatched and rare?”

Her friends groaned. “The Riddler?” Zatanna scoffed, “I thought we sent that creep packing last month?”

“He must’ve escaped,” Barbara shrugged, “And given his M.O., when Barry showed up…”

“The true mastermind behind today’s villainy!” Barry cried, holding The Riddler up by his collar, “Of course it had to be you! No one else would have left those riddles just lying around!”

“What?” he asked, “I don’t - I don’t know what you’re talking about -”

“You’re going back to Gotham where you belong !” Barry said, punching once more and knocking him out. Shouldering the unconscious villain, he turned to a gaping Batgirl. “Thanks for the assist all day, Babs - I mean… Batgirl . We make a pretty good team!” She couldn’t answer him, too shocked to speak. “I’ve got this no problem, and you can get return to your… night picnic .”

Stepping over a stray flashlight, he caught sight of a sandwich she laid out in preparation. “Oh! Turkey pesto! I love those - you don’t mind…?” To him, her silence was answer enough. With his other hand he snatched the sandwich, thanked her, and ran off.

“And that’s what happened,” Barbara sighed, “My whole plan… ruined .”

She expected sympathy from her friends. Kara’s obnoxious laughter was anything but understanding. Barbara glared at her friend while she bent over.

“Oh, man,” she breathed, “how can the fastest man alive be so slow on the uptake . Ha!” Humor infectious, the others began giggling as well.

“Not you, too!”

“Sorry Babs,” Zatanna giggled, “it’s so… horrible .”

“Then why are you laughing?”

“That’s why we’re laughing!” Kara snorted, wiping a tear from her eye. Regaining composure, she returned to full height. “Okay, seriously though, what happened was a whole mess of bad luck.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Oh Babs,” Jessica reached out to her again, “it was only a minor setback. Not a total failure -”

“It was though!” Barbara jumped up, “If it happened maybe once or twice it would have been a setback! Everything that went on yesterday was fate telling me it’s not supposed to be.”

“Don’t be silly, Barbara,” Diana said, “the Fates do not concern themselves too heavily with matters like this. I’m sure it was all really bad luck.”

She hid behind her hands once more, screaming into them. Barbara heard Karen whisper to Diana, “I don’t think she meant the actual Fates…”

Jessica dragged her into the light, squeezing her hands. “Look, you shouldn’t give up hope yet.”

“Hope?” Kara scoffed, “I thought you were the lantern of willpower?”

“Which is why,” she continued, “Babs shouldn’t give up. It was only one night. Maybe the next one won’t be so bad.”

“How can you be so sure?” Barbara asked her, “Who’s to say the same thing won’t happen again?”

“Because someone else will be fighting crime that night…”

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

Barbara pulled at her hoodie strings while walking side by side with Barry, tamping down the blush rising to her cheeks. Every so often they bumped into each other and she had to cut off the squeals rising in her throat.

“Y’know,” Barry started, “it was pretty empty in the museum tonight, not that I didn’t mind. Meant we didn’t have to wait to see the new exhibit. Usually, though, there are all sorts of crowds the first few days. Weird, right?”

She chuckled, swallowing around the clump of nerves in her throat. “Well we did go an hour before closing, so it’s not that weird...” He shrugged, agreeing with her cover.

When they entered the museum there were a lot of people still hanging around. An exhibit on a recently discovered pharaoh’s tomb from Egypt always drew interest. Especially since inside they discovered artifacts that looked alien in origin. Parts of a spaceship alongside strange cloaks adorned with metallic feathers meant that there was more about Prince Khufu and his wife Chayara researchers hadn’t realized.

It wasn’t only everyday civilians who were interested, either. As they made their way through the hall of magnets Barbara noticed a shadowy figure creep around a corner. Her heart fell into her stomach.

Luckily Barbara was prepared that time. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she stopped Barry, “wait for me?” He nodded, and Barbara snuck behind a plant to radio for her friends. While Karen slipped by without notice, Kara zipped through like a hurricane. Barry hadn’t seen, though, too preoccupied playing with some of the magnets on display. Everyone else did and quickly cleared the room.

It took careful coordinating and precision to ensure Barry remained unaware of the activity happening in the museum, but they managed to see the exhibit and avoid the villain. There were close calls, especially when examining a few of the hieroglyphics. The shadowy thief was right behind them, claws sharp and ready. Barbara snuck out a bat-a-rang only for Jessica to lock it in an emerald bird cage.

Now, far away from the museum, she hoped that was the end of any villainy for the day.

“Thanks again for inviting me,” Barry said, smiling at her, “it was a lot of fun.”

“Totally! I had fun, too! I mean, of course I’d have fun because you’re a pretty fun guy to hang around… not that I only think you’re that I mean - I mean you’re more than that! You’re…” she squeaked to an end, tugging the strings on her hood too far and causing her hood to pucker over her face. Quickly she tears it off, completely embarrassed.

Barry had moved on, obvious to her faux pas. He stood by a hot dog vendor staring at the contents. “You want a hot dog? My treat.”

“Sure!” Barbara stepped over, bouncing while the vendor made their hot dogs.

From out of the corner of her eye, however, she spotted a familiar silhouette charging towards them. Two lamp posts burst, glass shattering from uncontrolled lightning blasts. She glared, growling. “Livewire.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” she shoved him towards the cart, “I need to tie my shoe.” Kneeling she lit up her communicator again. “Anyone free to deal with Leslie? She’s inbound!”

No one answered her, but Barbara heard bushes rustle nearby. Diana jumped out and tackled Leslie out of the street and away from them. Zatanna whooshed after her, purple glitter trailing behind.

“I swear,” Barry huffed, hot dogs in hand, “I thought I heard -”

“Nothing! You heard nothing!” Barbara took her snack from him and dragged Barry away, arms looped together, “It’s so beautiful tonight, not a care in the world. No crime or anything, really! So there’s no reason to think of the quiet as anything suspicious, okay !”

“Okay?” Barry dug his heels in, stopping them, “Any reason we’re zipping by it?”

Barbara snorted, “Didn’t think you had any problem with going fast?”

“No, but usually I’m the one caught speeding,” he chuckled, “what’s got your engine revved?”

She ducked her gaze, shuddering a nervous breath. Barry watched her with an easy grin, not pressuring her any further than his simple question. Barbara drew upon the strength and courage she reserved for fighting crime into this moment, knowing that it’s perfect for revealing her feelings. Ignoring her nerves, Barbara turned to face him again. “Barry, I -”

“Oh, hold that thought.”

He shoved his hot dog into his mouth and pulled his phone out. Checking it over, Barry sighed and his smile melted into something softer. He sent a quick text and pocketed it again.

“So?” Barbara asked, “anyone important?” At the back of her mind a voice whispered something horrible that floated around like a gnat she couldn’t shake.

“Wha - oh, sorry,” Barry blushed, shrugging, “Um… look, I hate to cut and run…”

Barbara’s mood fell, her bubble burst. “What?” she whispered.

“I had fun today, really,” he said, “we should hang out more, outside of Sweet Justice and work , y’know? I’ll see you in school tomorrow!” Then he zipped away into the city, Barbara left behind in the dust. Her hot dog slid out of her bun, slapping the ground and condiments spraying everywhere. A tear forced its way onto her face and trailed down her cheek.

“Oh Barbara,” Jessica started from behind laying a hand on her shoulder, “I’m so-”

“Please,” she cut her off, “Don’t say it.”

“What a jerk though,” Kara scoffed, “All the hard work we went through to give him a great day - I crashed through Venus !”

“Kara,” Zatanna hissed, “stop making this about you! Can’t you see Babs is hurting!”

“Not as bad as Barry’ll be hurting,” she said, cracking her knuckles, “I say we corner him before school and -”

“No.”

“What?”

“No,” Babara said, hurt fading into steely determination, “because I’m not giving up. There’s nothing to feel sorry for yet.”

Jessica whooped, clapping. “That’s the spirt, Barbara!”

“May Aphrodite bless you on your quest for love,” Diana said.

Barbara waved at her friends, running, “Thanks for all your help girls. But now it’s time for Batgirl to take point!”

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

She found him on a rooftop, facing the shadows in his Flash costume. “Barry!” she yelled, “Barry!”

Barry startled, spinning his heel. “Batgirl,” he said, glancing behind him, “What are you doing here?”

“We didn’t finish our conversation,” Barbara huffed, stomping her way over, “You left .”

“I - I know,” he started, hands raised between them, “but we can do this tomorrow at school, can’t we?”

“No!” she said, “We can’t. Because I had a plan in place to tell you that I liked you but it didn’t work out and then I had another one and my friends helped me except you had to go and ruin it by running away just as I was about to confess the deepest secrets of my heart and - and - and…” Barbara puffed up her chest then slowly deflated.

Barry stared wide-eyed during her speech, mouth open.

It irked her. “Well? Are you gonna say something ?”

Jolted into action Barry’s cheeks burned to match the color of his costume. “Oh, well um - that’s real sweet Babs,” he said, scratching his neck, “I like you, too, but…”

He didn’t need to finish. “Oh.”

“I’m really sorry Babs -”

“No, no,” she stepped back, arms crossed, “it’s okay. I… I probably should’ve taken all that happened as a sign it wouldn’t work out.”

“No, no Babs,” Barry continued, hesitatingly reaching over to her, “don’t be so hard on yourself… it’s not what you think. I… I think you’re really cool and smart and - and I like how we both have similar interests and I’m probably as big a fan of Bats as you…”

“How is that supposed to make me feel better!” she asked, “You’re basically saying we’re perfect for each other except for one small thing -”

“I’m already dating someone!”

His outburst stilled her frantic mind. Barry froze, obvious to her that he didn’t mean to share that little piece of information with her. The irritation and annoyance waging war inside her cooled off into a reluctant disappointment. “Oh…”

“Yeah,” Barry said, “Babs, I… I think you’re amazing, and anyone would be lucky to be with you like that but… we’re perfect the way we are. As friends. And I hope this doesn’t come between us?”

Her heart softens at his plea; his words comforting to hear. “Of course,” she said, “But… if we’re friends, I don’t think we should keep secretsbetween us…”

He stiffened again, gulping. “I mean,” he rubbed at his neck, “some secrets are okay -”

“Please!” Barbara cut him off, “You can tell me. You already told me you were dating! Can you not tell me? Is it someone I know? Is it? Is it?”

Barry glanced behind him, “Well… kinda -”

“Who is it? Who is it, who is it, who is it, who is it ?”

“Batgirl.”

Her body shut down from shock. She recognized that voice, having heard it from listening in on frequent calls with her dad. From the shadows her hero emerged. “Batman!”

“Hello,” he said, smirking.

There was so much she wanted to say to him, but given the whirlwind of recent events and her confusion, she chose the first thing that crossed her mind. “I thought you’d be taller?”

His smirk fell into a frown, and instantly she shifted into overdrive to fix it. “Not that it’s bad I think I imagined you so tall because I’ve never actually seen you only heard about you and, well, my imagination went wild so you’re not too short. I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting to see you here I mean why are you here is there a villain you’re chasing? Do you need me to partner with you to chase them? Is that why you’re here, is it? Is it, is it, is it -”

“Batgirl,” Barry stopped her, looking particularly flustered, “he’s not here for any of that.”

“Then what would he be doing here! On this rooftop, at this time of night, hiding, with you…” The clues flew at her rapidly, from Batman’s expectant stare to Barry’s shaking hands and everything in between. “Oh my God…” she shouted, “you’re dating -”

Barry’s hand blanketed her mouth. “Please, it’s a secret for a reason.”

She pried his hand off of her. “Secret?” she asked, “Why would you…” Barbara gasped, glaring at Batman, “it’s because he’s older than you! Batman, how could you -”

“What?” Barry said, “No, Babs, he’s not - yes, he’s older, but by like two years .”

“Two years?” Barbara repeated, “What! How are so young ? I thought you’d be as old as my dad !”

Batman scoffed, scowl deepening. “I’m not that old.”

“Explain yourself!” she demanded, pointing at him. And when Barbara realized what she had done she softened her expression and added, “please?”

“No one would take Batboy seriously,” he said, “and technically I am a man. A young man.”

“That… makes sense,” Barbara said, “But this…” She gestured between them, asking without any words.

“It kinda came out of nowhere,” Barry admitted, “I was on my way home from a shift at Sweet Justice…”

Barry decided not to speed his way through the route like he normally did, slowing down  and enjoying the evening. “Like I thought we were going to do earlier,” Barry chuckled. As he crossed the street, however, he noticed a crawling vine and his attention was captured. Knowing it wasn’t a normal sight Barry changed into his costume and followed it.

“I was in town to capture Ivy,” Batman told her, “you remember, I told you this when you pretended to impersonate your father.”

“You knew that was me!”

“Of course I did. I’m Batman .”

“Anyway,” Barry rolled his eyes, “I stumbled on Ivy near the school and confronted her -”

“Just as I touched down, ready to haul her away.”

Their first meeting wasn’t perfect. Barry ran in front of one of Batman’s bat-a-rangs, getting frozen in the process. Batman didn’t realize Barry could create mini tornadoes and was blown away at one point. And throughout the battle they were fighting with each other.

“We didn’t get Ivy that night,” Batman said, “but… other things sort of fell into place...” He flashed a brief smile Barry’s way, causing the other boy to preen under the attention. Barbara cooed at the display. “But we’ve been keeping it under wraps.”

“Distance, secret identities,” Barry added, “it’s something neither of us had to deal with before, and we’re working through this in our own time…”

“So,” Batman continued, “can we trust you to keep this secret, Batgirl?”

There weren’t any doubts. “Of course you can. I’m honored you even told me about this.”

“Why wouldn’t I,” Batman said, advancing towards the rooftop, “Barry’s mentioned you before. That along with your outstanding track record in the field… you’re a great hero, Batgirl. You wear the bat well.” He held out a grappling hook, winking at Barry. “I’ll text you later.” Batman shot off into the night.

Batgirl watched him leave with stars in her eyes, floating. She was brought back to Earth by a gentle hand on her shoulder.

“Hey,” Barry said, “are you sure you’re okay with this? With me not… well -”

“Are you kidding?” Batgirl shrieked, hugging him, “Batman said he likes what I’m doing. Batman! That’s better than any relationship!”

Jumping around with Barry in her arms would have made her dizzyingly happy. She was, but for reasons she didn’t expect.

Rejection never felt so sweet.

[awkwardbluefish]

Cake to the Hood

A/n - Happy Birthday Jason Todd!

Warning: Swearing

—

“Okay, what the hell was that for?” Jason demands, voice going from electronic to his familiar Gothamnite drawl as fingers catch on the latch and pull the hood off. He had just cleaned it yesterday damnit, a whole damn hour getting rid of boot marks and muck off the surface and then dickface throws a fuckin’ cake at it! He was so dead once Jason wiped the white frosting off it.

Dick merely cackles, falling through Jason’s window like a bloody pretzel and crashing into Jason’s ankles. He’s tempted to stomp on his head but then he’d have to clean his boots too and he isn’t about to force more labour onto himself even if it was technically Dick’s fault.

Only when he manages to stop laughing like a hyena and slapping cream carpeted floor like a seal, does Dick finally answer. The bastard. “Guess!” He chirps, rolling onto his back so he can successfully pull off the domino still attached to his cheek bones.

Jason sends him a scowl, dropping the cake ridden hood at his brothers face and lips twitching down further when the bastard merely catches it. Dick sends him a grin, hugging the helmet to his chest like some form of a teddy bear, smearing frothy icing on biceps. The fucker was way too cheerful for a black eye and a bruising cheek. Vaguely he wonders if he could get away with giving the bastard matching panda eyes. Now that would be good payback.

He’s done many things to deserve revenge, but a cake being thrown at him? That was just plain weird. He’s broken bones, teased the younger brats mercilessly. He’s also ate all of Dick’s cereal out of pure spite yesterday. Even the lucky charms. Jason hates lucky charms. He doesn’t think Dick knows that just yet though. “Payback for eating your freakishly large cereal collection.”

Dick goes eerily still and Jason is most probably going to die, again, but it was worth it for his reaction. Slowly Dick stretches to a stand, no longer hugging the hood and appearing to hold it as a potentially flying projectile instead. Ocean blue eyes glare into forest green and Jason genuinely feels a stab of fear flow through his veins.

“Your lucky today is special. Really lucky.” If this is how Nightwing becomes a villain Jason wants credit.

He blinks as Dick does a 180 with a shake of his head and is suddenly grinning, tossing him back his hood. He’ll need to vacuum later; the sprinkles have gotten everywhere. He huffs, snatches the oiled rag hanging by the window. It was a handy place to keep it, surprisingly.

“So ya throw a perfectly edible cake at my helmet that I could’ve eaten? Ya fuckin’ serious right now? Could’ve just told me to take it off, at least I’d actually get ta fuckin’ eat it then.” Jason grumbles, scrubbing at the frosting stuck in the little nooks of the scratches and the camouflaged kinks on the side. “What’s so special that you had to throw a fuckin’ cake at me in three in the morning’ anyway? Jesus bigwing.”

With as much of the cake scraped off as possible, he decides chucking the oil ridden rag at the idiot in front of him is the next best action. Again, infuriatingly, Dick catches it with a small grin that was slightly bemused. What wasn’t Jason getting now?

“Really?” Dick asks, looking fondly exasperated. Gross. Jason gives him a look and Dickface looks absolutely delighted. Jason’s too late to abort the mission. “Oh my god, you’re just like Babybird!” He exclaims, squealing and flapping his arms up and down. Jason blinks.

“And how am I like that caffeine addict exactly?” Jason demands, gently laying his hood on the coffee table beside his couch. It’s the top floor. No one would see.

“Timmy always forgets his birthdays.” Dick teases and Jason blinks. That’s not what he was expecting.

“It is not my birthday.” Jason states simply.

Dick shakes his head, biting his bottom lip with his teeth to supress the obnoxious grin. “It’s definitely your birthday.”

“Give me a calendar.” Jason demands, he’s tired and he smells like cake and smoke. He needs a shower. He just needs to prove the fucker wrong and he can finally go get some well needed asleep.

Dick happily complies, messing with his gauntlet. A second later and a blue holographic screen lights up the tiny apartment. Hadn’t they switched the lights on? Considering they were still two centimetres from the open window pumping chemical fumes into his tiny safehouse, Jason would take that as a no.

“It’s not and I will prove it to you,” Jason mumbles, eyeing the screen. He blinks. “Oh. Never mind. Happy Birthday to me.”

A wheeze of air escapes his older brothers’ lips, stomach tensing with strain before bubbles of laughter tears through the air. Jason’s stomach coils with warmth before ice carves its way through his veins. With a flick, the lights are on. Dick and Jason hadn’t moved though, someone was in his house. Fuck he was getting rusty. A warm palm cups the back of his neck, puffs of air brushing against a brown jacket as warm laughter and chatter arises from behind them. He resists rolling his eyes, instead hip bumping the laughing form away to turn and greet his guests. A head is quickly dug its way between his shoulder blades as Dick absolutely fails to get himself together.

Damian is sitting on the back of the lime green couch, a frown on his lips but the furrowed brow crinkled in amusement gives him away. Stephanie is cackling, her shoulders shaking in mirth, white pearly teeth stained orange with the cheezles between her lips. Barbara’s emerald eyes catch on his forest green ones, a smile pulling at glossed lips while pulling a striped plastic bag onto her lap. Cass makes the first move though, gracefully leveling herself to her feet from the crisscrossed form on the carpet, a warm arm wrapping around his waist as another pushes their older brother away. Soft lips press against his cheek, completely ignoring the stubble lingering there from yesterdays’ shave. Jason rakes his hand through the charcoal hair, belly rumbling with a chuckle or two as she leans into the touch.

“Did the stakeout mess with your head that much?” Tim asks and Jason scowls at the boy nestled on his beanbag, Alfred’s cotton stitched blanket woven over bony shoulders. How hadn’t he heard the babybird? Beanbags are far from quiet after all. If anyone asks, he blames the non-existent cake crammed in his ears.

“Don’t be mean to the birthday boy!” Dick butts in, expertly dodging around Cass’ frame to snap on a party hat on Jason’s head. At least it isn’t black, he decides as the neon green seems to glow in the dim lighting. Tim rolls his eyes, lips pulling up with that rare small smile of his. Jason doesn’t smile back, but it’s a close thing.

“Yeah,” Jason puffs out his chest with a smirk, “don’t mess with the birthday boy.”

Cassandra squeezes his waist as Damian groans and rolls his eyes. The boy lets gravity take him, falling forward onto the cushions below, limbs bouncing with the impact. Robins, dramatic little birds. Jason would know. Stephanie snickers, stuffing one more sugar coated junk into her mouth before full on prancing the one metre to poke and prod at the boy.

“I hate you.” Tim decides, no heat behind his words. Jason detangles himself from Cass hug, placing a chaste kiss to her forehead before striding over to plonk himself onto the boy, grinning with his teeth at the distressed noise the boy manages to squeak out in a gasping breath. Jason merely smirks as fingers dig into his jacket, palms pushing against back muscles. They both now if Tim really didn’t want to be sat on, he wouldn’t be.

Ding.

Dick pauses messing about with placing plastic cups and parcels on the coffee table, straitening up with a grin. Jason watches bemused, wiggling to get comfortable on Tim’s stomach as Dick yanks the door open, basically throwing Duke inside. Alfred and Bruce stride in much more gracefully, a small smile on both of their lips.

“Happy birthday, Master Jason.” Alfred says, two bulging plastic bags placed gently by Barbara’s feet near the coffee table. Jason ducks, smiling to himself at the mans fond expression. Alfred simply smiles at the top of his head and Jason feels no guilt wiggling forcefully down onto the laughing boy underneath him. It was his birthday and yet these shits were taking the micky out of him. The bastards, Jason thinks fondly. A cool hand pats his cheek and Jason stops his withering, pausing to grin at his grandfather and to accept the kiss to his hairline.

Bruce pats Alfred’s shoulder in passing, raising a brow at Tim’s undignified squawk as Jason digs an elbow to his side. He doesn’t say anything though, a smile teasing at his lips. Jason hears Bruce’s knees crack before seeing the older man kneeling. A hand brushes through his locks, blunt nails scratching at his scalp.

“Happy birthday, chum.” Bruce murmurs and his voice is so soft, so fond that Jason doesn’t really know what to do. When all else fails diversion is the next best step. He is not dealing with mushy feelings right now.

“Look, all of this is nice and all but if anyone throws a perfectly edible cake at me again, I will become a cannibal so I can eat something.”