#batmanbingo2020

[daringyounggrayson]

here's a compilation of all of my prompt fills from @batmanbingo2020! thank you to everyone who sent requests! 💙

Follow the links below to read the prompt fills on tumblr, or read them on AO3 here

Reverse Age with Damian, Jason, and Tim

Scars with Alfred and Dick

Panic Attack with Dick and Roy

Breakdown with Bruce and Jason

Ghost with Dick and Jason

Ice Cream with Dick and Bruce

Summer with Dick, Damian, and Bruce

Seizure with Dick

Joins the Family Early with Dick and Damian

Amnesia with Dick

Isolation with Dick and Bruce

Bedridden with Dick and Bruce 

Illness with Dick, Damian, and Bruce

Earthquake with Alfred

Recovery with Dick and Bruce

Hostage with Dick

Shot with Dick and Alfred

Drowning with Dick

Drugged with Dick and Roy

CPR with Dick and Jason

Hallucinations with Dick and Bruce

Death with Dick and Tim

Hospital with Tim and Jason

Hypothermia with Dick

Jason Comes Back Right with Jason and Alfred

[ckbookish]

Murmur in the Quiet Hours Batman Bingo 2020: Mission Gone Wrong

Clark felt like a bucket of ice had been dumped over his head.  He woke up just as cold and as suddenly as if it had.  His heart was racing.  Looking around the room, he scanned past the shadows and darkness.  There were no intruders, no lurking figures watching him.  

Clark slumped back onto his pillow again and closed his eyes.  Had he been dreaming?  An unexplainable urgency filled him.  He rolled over and looked at the alarm clock on his nightstand.  

Four.  

It was only four in the morning. He closed his eyes but found he no longer felt the pull of sleep.  

Clark groaned as he got up.  His feet barely brushed the floor, as he allowed himself to hover slightly.  The hard wood was cold.  Delaware was colder than Clark had expected.  He loved the city, but being this far north and near the ocean meant that it was always cold and damp.  Clark wondered if it had seeped into his bones yet. Many thought that Superman didn’t feel the cold, but it was the farthest from the truth.  He felt it all the time, but the sun’s warmth was usually enough to block it out.  Or at least it had been in Kansas.  Clark hated to admit just how many times he had blown clouds past or back out to sea,  just to help make the winter months in Metropolis more bearable. Ma had scolded him for doing it too often, so he now tended to spend more and more time flying above the clouds.  Anything to get the sun's warmth.

Clark made it all the way to his coffee pot, before the feeling of cold hit him again.  But this time the cold was accompanied by a whisper.  

Superman stilled, his hand hovering next to the handle of his coffee pot.  

Superman .  

Clark hated his hearing.  He hated that it was impossible to completely escape the sound of people calling for him.  Unless he banished himself to the far reaches of space he would always hear something .  He sighed and grabbed the pot.  

Superman .

Clark closed his eyes and trusted his smell and memory of his kitchen to guide him in filling the machine with coffee grounds and water.  The first year Clark had been active he had nearly worked himself to death.  He answered every call.  He had been fired from his job at the Metropolis Press.  He hardly slept or ate.  It wasn’t until his dad pulled him aside that Clark had slowed down.  

The forming of the League had helped.  It was relieving to see it wasn’t just him.  

But no matter what missions or scheduling that the League, the Planet or he gave himself,  he refused to break his promise to his father.  He would rest.  He was supposed to be resting.  He might not be human but he was just a man.  

Superman .

Clark, broke the coffee cup in his hand.  The porcelain ricocheted off the counter and cupboards.  Clark bit back a strangled scream.  He was tired.  He was--

Superman ?

Clark froze.  He knew that voice. But-- he had never heard it sounding so sad.  Was that-- no.  

Continue reading on AO3

[heyitsani]

Got my Batman Bingo card last night! Oh the stories I'll be writing. Can't wait to get started.

[huilian]

Character: Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne

Summary:  One person's hobby can quickly be the entire family's business, especially with a family like this (aka, Cass's adventures with ballet featuring her relationship with her siblings and Steph)

***

It’s rare that Cass would willingly sit in front of a laptop for an extended period of time for something that is not a case. It’s even rarer that her schedule would coincide with Tim’s enough to allow them to be sitting in front of their laptops together. (Well, separately, but in the same room at the same time. So, close enough to being together.)

It’s only because Tim has been expecting it for a few minutes now that the sound of a laptop being slammed closed doesn’t startle him. Tim looks up to find Cass putting her head into her hands while saying, “Ugh.”

“What’s wrong?”

“This… this damned website!” Cass all but shouts. “How am I supposed to know which shoes fit me best if I haven’t worn them ever? I’m reading your website to figure that out!”

“Umm… Cass?” Tim is now confused. Very confused. “Can you backtrack a little? What shoes?”

“Ballet shoes!”

“I thought you have them already? What shoes have you been wearing to class then?” Cass has been taking dance classes for months now. She must have ballet shoes, there’s little to no chance of her doing all those classes barefooted. Tim knows that ballet requires special shoes, which is about 50% of his current knowledge about ballet.

“Not those shoes. These are the… the… the pointe shoes!”

Tim is now even more confused. “So? There you go. The shoes you’re looking for are those pointe shoes.”

“No! There’re different kinds of them!”

“Huh?”

“Different brands and models and years and… and the endless modifications!”

“Okay.” Tim raises his hands placatingly. This sounds like an information problem, which he can help with. “Can I maybe, you know, look at the website? Maybe I can help?”

Cass slides her laptop to Tim. Tim closes his own laptop, then opens Cass’. Fifteen tabs greet him from the screens of Cass’s laptop. Tim sees that this is not the only window opened, and is then greeted with another three windows, each having tabs ranging from ten to thirty. Huh. It’s usually Tim who has that problem, opening too many tabs and windows and finding himself trapped in an information hellhole before he looks up to find that he has spent the entire day reading about the probabilities of oak tree getting struck by lightning.

Thankfully, that same thing has prepared Tim for this day. He quickly skims about every other tab. About a quarter of them is measuring tips, half of them are blogs with fitting and choosing tips, some are lists of pros and cons, and the rest are catalogs.

“Are all of these for choosing pointe shoes, Cass?”

“Yes,” Cass grits out.

“I… I never knew there are so many brands of pointe shoes.”

“Exactly! How am I supposed to choose if there’s so many of them!”

Tim, armed with his years of experience of sorting through bullshit on the internet, finds the most promising blog article titled ‘How To Choose Your Pointe Shoes: Guide to Getting the Best Shoes’ and starts to read.

“It says to go for a professional fitting? Maybe we should do that.” Cass makes a sound of protest. “I can start researching, but it’ll take ages and I’m not sure I’ll get it right. I’m pretty sure that poor pointe shoes fitting causes injuries, Cass. When do you need it anyway?”

Cass mumbles something. Tim, whose attention is now partially reading the section titled ‘Shank Strength’ and wondering what on earth a shank even is, doesn’t catch it at first. Then, the connecting nerves between his ears and his brain rebooted, and Tim screeches out, “Tomorrow? Yeah, no. We’re going to a professional fitting right now.”

“Ugh.”

“Cass,” Tim says, drawing out the syllable.

“Ugh.”

“Come on.”

“Ugh.”

“You’re seriously gonna make me read all of this before tomorrow? Have some mercy, Cass,” Tim teases. But seriously, he doesn’t want to have to read all of it in the short time-frame he has. He can do it, but then he’s gonna skip dinner and forgoes sleep and rest entirely and he just got Alfred to stop hounding him to go to sleep after his latest incident . He doesn’t want to have to do it again.

“You’re gonna do it anyway.” He is, but still. It’s the thought that counts. “Fine. It can’t be worse than comparing the box length of Grishko and Bloch.”

“Great! Let’s go!”

“Do you know where?”

Tim freezes. “Shit.” Now he still has to research the fitter in Gotham, and vet the places, and do all sorts of things he was hoping to not have to do by going to a fitter. Damn it.

Cass, being the absolute horrible sister that she is, just laughed at him.

“It’s your shoes, Cass! You do it!”

“No. You read about it. It’s your project now,” Cass smiles triumphantly.

“You are the worst.”

“I am the best.”

***

Jason only comes to the Manor to return Alfred’s pans, swear to god. There’s about half a dozen of Alfred’s pans (because even though it’s Bruce’s money that bought them, they are Alfred’s pans) in his latest apartment, and it’s getting ridiculous. Maybe take a book or two from the library while he’s there, because even with all of Bruce’s fault, he still keeps the library well-stocked with Jason’s favourite books.

So how come that leads to him being dragged by Cass to the Cave?

“Cass. Cass, please,” he tries.

Cass’ response is only to drag him even faster. How a girl half his size has the strength to drag him down the Cave’s stairs, Jason doesn’t know.

“Cass.”

“You said you don’t have anything else to do today. So you can do this.”

“Well, Cass, I-”

“It’ll be fun. You only have to sit. You can even read the entire time.”

“What if-”

“Alfred agrees.”

Jason sighs. “I doubt this is what he meant when he told you to go somewhere else to practice, Cass.”

“I asked him. He agrees.”

Jason sighs again. The problem is, she did ask Alfred, and Alfred did agree. Though why Cass chose to ask Alfred for permission to use Jason as a living, human barre for her ballet practice after Alfred banished her from using the kitchen countertop is a mystery. Maybe she thinks that Jason is not going to protest if Alfred said yes?

“Why me? You can have literally anyone to be your personal barre, Cass.”

“You are the right height.”

There’s nothing to say to that, is there? What’s Jason going to do, argue that he is not the right height? He doesn’t even know how high a ballet barre should be. Besides, Cass is right. Alfred already said yes, and he even went so far as expressing his delight in seeing Jason interacting with his siblings outside of their ‘nighttime activities’. So there’s that. There’s no arguing with Alfred when he had given out his verdict like that.

They arrive at the Cave, and then Cass drags Jason towards the empty space somewhere in between the sparring mats and the computer. Then, she lets Jason’s arm go, which should be enough of an opening for Jason to escape, but Jason knows what Cass can do. She’ll just catch him and drag him back. Jason accepts his fate and stays put even when Cass leaves his side to in search of a chair. Cass finds one, then drags it over, and then says, “Sit.”

Jason, who knows that this girl can easily force him to sit, sits. Cass smiles and nods her approval. She scrolls down on her phone for a while, and then music fils the Cave via the speaker system Bruce installed. Jason allows himself a small shake of the head. It’s just like Bruce to install a speaker system and then let it go to waste by preferring to brood in silence.

Cass puts her hand on Jason’s shoulder, and starts dancing. The hand is feather-light throughout her first combination, and Jason knows enough about ballet to know that this meant Cass doesn’t particularly need a barre to do the movements.

But. Well. It’s not half bad, watching his sister dance in between reading his book. That, coupled with the knowledge that Alfred is somewhere upstairs, most definitely preparing Jason’s favorite foods, made Jason relax.

“Stop moving!” Oh. Jason relaxing meant that his shoulder is now not in the same place it was before.

Jason smiles and says, “Sorry, sorry,” surprising himself that he actually meant the apology.

***

“Cass? Are you there?” Cass had promised to teach Steph a new throw today, but she’s not in the Cave, so Steph is now up in Wayne Manor, hoping she’ll find Cass in her room. “Cass? You promised to show me that throw, remember?”

Steph hears movement from inside Cass’ room, so she opens the door, considering Cass to be well and truly notified of her presence by her hollering in the hallway, only to be greeted with the sight of Cass with surgical tape and cotton balls in her hands. Steph goes to full-alert mode immediately, because anything or anyone that can get Cass to be hurt is a huge threat.

(Steph still hasn’t forgotten about Lady Shiva.)

“Cass, are you alright?” Steph says.

“I’m fine.”

“Where are you hurt? Do I need to call Alfred? Or dr. Thompkins?”

“I’m fine, Steph,” Cass’ voice is calm, but Steph has seen her take a bullet and still talks in the same calm voice as she is using now, so that is not an accurate meter to gauge Cass’ wellbeing.

“You’re holding bandages, Cass. You’re hurt.”

“I’m fine. Watch out for the bucket.”

“Bucket? What bucket?”

“That bucket,” Cass points to her right.

“Why do you need a bucket?” Steph pauses, then the implication of a bucket in Cass’ bedroom hits her. “Are you sick as well?”

“No, it’s for my toes.”

Toes? What? “Okay, back up. Your toes?”

“Ballet.” Oh. Oh . Now that Steph is no longer worried that Cass is going to bleed out, she realizes that Cass is not putting on the tapes, but pulling it off. Oh, again. “Can you push the bucket here?”

Steph pushes the bucket, which Steph now notices is filled with ice, towards Cass with her foot. Cass puts her feet inside, groaning all the way.

“Ballet?” Steph asks. It seems weird that something so innocent can make Cassandra Cain react this extensively. But again, Steph has long learned not to underestimate anything.

“Ballet,” Cass answers.

“Is it the pointe shoes thing? I’ve read about it somewhere. That’s why I don’t want to go into ballet,” Steph says, lifting up a towel that’s next to Cass and replacing its position.

“Yes.”

“Does it hurt?” Steph puts her head on Cass’ shoulders, looking up a while to check whether or not this is okay.

“Yes,” Cass says, both as an answer for Steph’s question and Steph’s unspoken question.

“Can you still teach me that throw?”

“Yes. Give me a few minutes.”

“Okay.” They sit in silence for a while, until Steph suddenly has a thought. “Is it weird that you can take bullets without flinching, but groans at this, or is it just me?”

Cass hums. “It’s a different kind of pain. Never had it before. Not prepared for it.”

“Okay, but is it weird, or is it just me?”

“It’s weird.”

“Are you ready to teach me that throw now?”

“Sure.” Cass pulls out her feet and motions for the towel. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because of this.”

Steph hands her the towel, and says, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

***

Dick is walking down the hallways of the Manor when he hears Cass swearing from inside a bathroom. Normally, that wouldn’t be a cause of alarm, but since the only reason he’s at the Manor today is because Cass has a ballet recital and everyone is going to go watch it, Dick calls out, “Cass? Is there something wrong?”

“No!” Cass’ voice replies. “Yes! No! I don’t know!”

Okay, that warrants further investigation. “Can I come in?”

Cass makes an affirmative sound, so Dick opens the door, just in time to see Cass putting on false eyelashes in a truly dangerous fashion. As in, almost putting it straight into her eyes. Yeah, something is wrong.

Of course, the false eyelashes do not stick the way it’s supposed to, because Cass is not putting it on properly. Cass swears, again, and picks up the fallen eyelashes from the sink. Dick has seen enough.

“Do you know how to put those on?” Dick says.

“No! Why do they keep falling down? I’m doing it exactly the way they told me to!”

Dick takes a look to the false eyelashes on Cass’ hands, then to Cass’ eyes. “It’s too long for your eyelids, Cass.” Dick frowns. It has been a while since he has to handle false eyelashes. “At least, I think that’s why they keep falling down.”

Cass, who has been furiously dabbing glue to the false eyelashes, looks up to him with wide eyes. “You know how to do this?”

“I mean… I guess, yeah? My mom used to put this on for performances. She would let me help, sometimes.”

“You know how to do this!”

Dick takes a look at Cass’ hopeful face, then says, “Do you want me to do it for you?”

“ Please .”

“It’s been a while since I’ve put this on on anybody. It’s not going to be perfect.”

“ I don’t care . Just put it on.”

“Okay, then. Do you have scissors?”

Cass looks at him, and scrunchs her nose as she says, “No.”

“I’ll get one. Do you want to…,” Dick searches his memory for the times he helped his mom put on false eyelashes, “...clean the glue from the eyelashes? Too much glue will make it stick less, if I’m not wrong.”

“How come too much glue makes it stick less ?”

“I think it’ll make it stiff or something. My mom always cleans the glue off before putting it on. You don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Dick says, but Cass is already picking off the dried glue from the false eyelashes.

When he returns with scissors that’s suitable enough ( not the kitchen scissors, Master Dick), Cass is already sitting down on the toilet.

“Are you still sure about this? I’m not sure I can do a good job, Cass.”

“You will not be worse than me,” Cass says, which, considering she almost poked her eye out trying to put it on, Dick is inclined to (grudgingly) agree.

“Alright. Close your eyes.”

Cass obediently closes her eyes. Dick picks up the false eyelashes from the sink and starts to measure it to Cass’ eyes.

“You did this a lot,” Cass says.

“What? Make-up?”

Cass hums. “ Stage make-up.”

“Oh. I guess, yeah, back at the circus. I didn’t have to put on false eyelashes, though.” Dick dabs on the glue to the eyelashes and starts to gently place it to Cass’ eyelids. “But everything else, yeah. Can you open your eyes?”

Cass opens her eyes, and that makes it clear that one of the ends is misplaced. Dick makes a motion for her to close her eyes again.

“Can you do the rest of my make-up too?” Cass says while Dick is pulling down the misplaced end.

Dick stops, surveys the state of Cass’ face, noting the base already on and the mostly done eye make-up, then says, “You just need some blush and lipstick, and you’re done.”

“Do it anyway.”

Dick exhales out a small laugh. “Fine, little sister. Is there anything else I can do for you, oh most talented princess?”

Cass’s response is to stick out her tongue.

“Don’t do that! You’ll make it harder for the lipstick to stay on!”

Cass opens one eye (one that’s not the one Dick is working on now, thank god) and locks eyes with Dick as she proceeds to lick her entire lip. Dick should be annoyed, but he just laughs harder.

***

Damian watches his sister dance in the exercise room. Not the practice and training space down in the Cave, but in the exercise room upstairs that Father remade to be a dance floor with floor-to-ceiling mirrors after too many incidents of pointe shoes flying in the Cave. Cassandra is truly a master of her body, and watching her do this, a very different use of her body than fighting, is mesmerizing. Damian has watched Cassandra’s dancing before, of course, the entire family went out to watch Cassandra’s recital, but that was with make-up and costume and stage-lights. This, just Cassandra with her leotard and tights in the bare room, is somehow a purer and more hypnotizing version.

It has been brought to Damian’s attention that he should do more moving sketches. Damian reviewed his drawings and concluded that that suggestion has value. He has been drawing more still-life lately, and it would be well to branch out from it. So here he is, debating whether or not to ask Cassandra to allow him to sketch her in her practice.

Damian is tempted to just start drawing, but Richard had said to ask for permission before drawing anyone after Damian had just started sketching his brother’s acrobatics practice. Before Damian can decide on anything though, Cassandra notices him and beckons him over.

“Cain,” Damian greets.

Cassandra tilts her head.

Well, now or never, Damian supposes. With her body-language reading capabilities, Cassandra might already know what Damian is there to do and is simply waiting him out. “May I sketch your dancing?”

Cassandra smiles. “Of course, little brother.” And without waiting for further clarification, she simply moves backward enough to not kick Damian with her dancing and starts where she left off. Damian, perplexed but satisfied enough not to make a fuss, sits down on the wooden floor and opens his sketchbook. He has never sketched a person dancing ballet before, and this is a welcome challenge.

As if she knows what is going on, Cassandra switches her routine, moving to a slower piece with lots of holds and balances, all without losing her graceful movements. It is infinitely easier to sketch this routine, especially with Damian never drawing ballet movements before.

Damian doesn’t say anything. He has a feeling that his sister already knows his appreciation for the change. Why be redundant and say it?

It’s a surprisingly pleasant way to spend an afternoon, especially when Cassandra grows tired of watching Damian sketch and drags him into joining her in a routine. He protests at first, only to give in eventually. And if he ends the session with laughter, well, nobody has to know.

(And if he plans on giving Cassandra a painting of her dancing sometime in the future, well, nobody has to know that either.)

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

written for the @batmanbingo2020 square “Superboy”

Relationship: Tim Drake & Duke Thomas, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent Characters: Duke Thomas, Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake Additional Tags: Little Brothers, Meet the Family, POV Duke Thomas, basically duke is a little shit to kon and tim

Summary:

Duke tilts his head, squinting in confusion. “A thing? What thing? You aren’t taking my brother out on a date, are you?” The way Kon’s eyes widen is too funny not to laugh, but he holds himself together, determined. “Excuse me, but what exactly are your intentions with him?”

[h0ly-guacamole-batman]

Starting a little late, but that’s one down!

Batman Bingo 2020: Thunder

thunder only happens (when it’s raining)

Dick and Jason have a long overdue conversation regarding a certain psychotic clown.

Set sometime between the last chapter and epilogue of my Young Justice/Bat Fam AU Come Alive.

[batmanbingo2020]

Batman Bingo is a all-fandom event. All are welcome to participate. There are no limitations on what you may write for this event! 

The card order form is open! Find the form on my profile. You may also submit trope requests, if you want to see more added to the list of options. 

How does it work?

Select at least 25 prompts from the list and you’ll receive a card with a random assortment of those prompts. Then, try to get BINGO by writing fics for each prompt! You may write anything, any length, and any ship, but you can only mark off one square per fic. Please be sure to tag your work NSFW if appropriate. 

Feeling daring? Select the ‘send me a random card’ option, and you’ll get a completely randomized card!

Tag your work with #batmanbingo2020 or @ this blog, and I’ll reblog all SFW works! 

Cards will be sent out final week of December or first week of January! Reblog this and spread the word! 

[dysfunctionalbatfam]

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Major Character Death

Huge thanks to @batmanbingo2020​ for the prompt card! Your card was the best gift that week <3

~

It was no secret that Damian loved drawing. On warm, breezy autumn nights he’d sit on the balcony and paint the swirls of colors that dappled the trees with Alfred curled up beside him. On winter mornings he’d wake up to the cool, crisp air on his face and try to recreate the beautiful, intricate snow that would fall and decorate everything it touched in a misty wonderland of white. Summer bustled with life, and the bright lights and laughing people would contrast with the foggy skyline of skyscrapers, and in spring flowers bloomed and the animals danced with joy.

Damian loved drawing the same way that Tim loved photography, because he could capture such happiness and beauty for forever before it was bound to die. A spark of warmth could be summoned on a dreary evening just by flipping open his sketchbook.

And so, Damian loved drawing everything around him, from the dusty, aristocratic furniture of the Manor to his family, and of course, nature. Anything that captured his attention and heart would earn a special place in his sketchbook.

But everything changed when one day, he met a boy in the attic.

~~~

When Damian had first moved in, he had brought some art supplies from the League. While Talia wanted him to master all of the arts, they didn’t encourage drawing nearly as much as they did in martial skill. The manor was huge, sure, but he had remembered that some of his supplies are kept up in the storage.

Itching for his traditional inks, Damian climbed into the attic. It was dusty and dark - but not as much from unuse. Drake used to more frequently come up here to develop his photos. This area, draped with shadows and isolated from the rest of the Manor, made a good darkroom for him where he could keep his photos away from the light while he dipped them in the chemicals. He was filling through the boxes stacked up in one corner when he saw a glow from a corner of the attic.

“Tt. Drake’s being careless,” he had started to mutter, when he realized something that he would never admit. While Tim would be sloppy when running on sleepless nights, one thing that he’d never be too careful about were his photos. Damian remembered once when Tim accidentally turned on a light in his darkroom, and a piercing screech could be heard through every single edge of the Manor. And really, the Manor was huge. His photo ended up absorbing too much sunlight and he had to throw away his precious film.

In short, Tim would never leave a light on near his photos. Besides, when was the last time he had been here, anyway? As they were growing up, Damian’s brothers moved further away from the family to pursue their own life, and somewhat abandoned some hobbies that they used to enjoy, when they still had the time to.

Damian cautiously approached the dim light. At first, it was just a muddy speck of light that even his sharp eyesight couldn’t catch onto. Once he edged closer, he saw a boy, not even much older than himself. He was transparent, and glowed softly in blue, but some faded colors still remained. His black hair, his piercing blue-green eyes, and his strong jawline and tanned skin. However, there was something else about him that also remained.

The boy was completely battered up. Damian knew that it was an understatement, judging by the boy’s condition. He was cut up and his bones jutted out at awkward angles. His skull was smashed in. Some pieces of his flesh were torn off, leaving cracked bones. Blood was still trailing down his body. It looked like he had been beaten in with a crowbar and blown up.

And what he was hardly wearing - were the tattered remains of the Robin uniform.

Damian let out a shriek that would rival Tim’s himself.

Read the rest at https://archiveofourown.org/works/22474486/chapters/53702455! I most likely would make this a series.

[pudding-bretzel]

Rating: General Audiences

Category: Gen

Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Bruce Wayne

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Jum Grodon, Catherine Todd (mentioned)

Summary: Dick knows the importance of promises. His parents taught him early on that he's never to break one, so he's also careful when he makes a promise. He won't make one if he can't keep it. With this one though? He might need some help from his mentor and guardian to make sure this one is kept as well.

Or: Dick finds himself a stray Jason.

He’s tiny. Impossibly and adorably tiny.

Dick knows that there are other things – more important things – he should think about, like is he alright? Is he hurt? What happened? How did he get here?

But all he can think about are the black curls, ruling freely on his head and the big eyes, looking back up at him in both fear and awe. His clothes are tattered and dirty, as is the bit of skin not covered by cloth. In between the dirt Dick can see bruises and – is that blood?

Dick’s hand grips the Batmobiles door more tightly as he watches the boy cower on the other side of the backseat. He can’t possibly imagine who would dare to hurt a little boy. Then again, he’s seen enough in his time as Robin to know better. Adults are capable of horrible things if the price is right or even just to get rid of some pent-up anger.

“I’m sorry.” The voice is impossibly small and barely reaches Dick’s ears. He watches confused as the boy tries to put even more distance between them, though unsuccessful. His back is already pressed against the other door of the car.

Dick knows the look in the boy’s eyes, though he can’t think of a reason as to why it appeared there. Robin might be relatively new to Gotham, but by now the citizens know he’s here to help them. To keep them safe.

But the little boy before him looks terrified of him.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you,” Dick tries to reassure the boy, but it doesn’t seem to have any effect. Instead, the other glances a bit to his left, before swiftly returning his gaze back to Dick. The movement is so quick Dick almost misses it but luckily, he doesn’t. Just like in one of his comics, he can feel a lamp light up over his head.

He quickly loosens his grip on the door and tries to relax further.

The response is immediate, as the boy’s shoulders slump and his fearful gaze starts to disappear.

While Dick is relieved to see him calm down a bit, the action also confirms his suspicion. He was scared of Dick. Scared that I would hurt him. And all because Dick forgot one of the major rules Bruce taught him when handling an abuse victim.

And as much as it pains him, that’s what the little boy before him is. At least his behavior and outer appearance so far hints towards it. And in all his righteous fury at the adults who did this, Dick made the boy belief that his anger was aimed at him.

He might be Robin for quite some time now, but, apparently, he’s still making mistakes. Or maybe it’s the fact that they’re not in the field right now. They’re in the Batcave, a place to calm down, relax and lose the tensions of patrol, and somehow the boy before him managed to sneak into the Batmobile without Bruce or Dick noticing.

Continue reading

[theawkwardvirgin]

Prompts Are Open!

Choose a bingo square, tag it either BatmanBingo2020 or FoundFamilyBingo, no slash or explicit, Batfam only.

Previous prompts:

Stealing the Batmobile

David Cain

College

Traditions

Cooking/Baking

Illness/Forehead Kiss

See more on my AO3

[daringyounggrayson]

Out of curiosity, where did you get the prompts for Batfam bingo? Is there like a blog that runs it?

yeah, I got my card from @batmanbingo2020! I submitted a request and picked some prompts and then they sent it to me. last I heard they were planning to continue doing cards/turn the blog into a general Batman bingo blog (no year), but I'm not sure if that's still the case so you would have to ask them. hope that helps!

[cdelphiki]

Batman Bingo 2020

I haven’t been posting this as I post my one-shots, so I thought I’d make a master post instead.  I’ll update this as I continue fulfilling prompts.  

“I Love You.”: The Thing About Apples and Trees  

Jason has a nightmare and Bruce reminds him he’s loved.

Baby Damian: Second Chance 

Talia escapes the League with her infant son in tow. She goes straight to Batman.

Jason Doesn’t Die: To Cheat Death 

Bruce, in a panicked state, calls for Clark when he finds Jason, resulting in Jason not dying.  

[ckbookish]

Seeking Silence on Shortwaves Batman Bingo 2020: Riddler

Dick lay on the ground as words washed over him.  He wondered if Bruce would ever interrupt.  He had an override that he could use to stop Tim from hogging the airwave, but he only used it when he needed to tell them something.  Dick hadn’t ever thought about their system being flawed.  Batman could always override the comms. He could tell Robin information when they were separated despite the fact that it was a half-duplex system.

Dick hadn’t ever thought of it as an unsafe system or questioned its efficiency.  But now as he lay blinking back the blackness that threatened to swallow him whole, he felt differently.  He wasn’t even supposed to be in Gotham. He should have grabbed one of Bruce’s headsets.  Then he would be able to hit the override.  It seemed rather short sided that Robin didn’t have his own override now that he thought about it.  

He had joined patrol as a last minute addition.

He’d only come to help Tim with a school project.  He’d only stayed for patrol on a whim, and now he was sitting trapped in a tank filling with water, as he blead out trying to solve this dumb riddle alone, listening to Tim rant and about a game he played with friends last weekend.  

Normally Dick would be happy to listen to Tim talk.  In fact, Dick thought it was one of his favorite sounds in the world.  Tim rarely allowed himself to be excited about things.  Hearing him speak so freely and openly to Bruce and him about his plans was refreshing.  Dick only wished it wouldn’t be at the cost of his life. Dick shook his head.  No, he couldn't die not… not like this.   Not so soon after Jason.   He glanced down at the blade in his side wondering if it was piercing anything overly necessary for living.  

He shifted slightly,  blade had sunk down to the hilt and Dick could feel it grinding against a bone rather painfully.  But that was only half the problem.  He could sit here bleeding for a long time,  He just needed to stay still and kept pressure on the wound.  No, the real problem was he was facing two ticking clocks.  One was blood loss, and the other was the amount of air he had left.  

He half wondered if he could tear his uniform to plug the spout that was pouring water into the tank.  It had a grate over it, likely to prevent that exact action from occurring.  

Dick sighed.  The only way he was getting out of here was by solving Riddler’s puzzle.  Dick turned back to the board just on the other side of the glass.  He hated playing villains’ games, but he hated it even more when he was struggling to stay conscious.  The board swam in and out of focus as he shifted slightly to see it better. The water had come up to the top of his crossed legs.  He tilted his head back and took several deep breaths.  

Continue reading on AO3

[heyitsani]

We Don’t Share the Same Blood

Batman Bingo 2020: Ice Cream/”You are my dad, right?”

Word Count: 2026

Rating: General 

Warnings: Dick’s low self-worth, is that a warning?  This is fluff peeps, not much to warn about.

Pairing: None 

Summary: When Bruce is unable to attend parent/teacher conferences at Gotham Academy with Damian, Dick steps up and takes his place.  The evening ends with ice cream and a revelation that puts to rest a lot of questions Dick has been asking himself.

Notes: Dick get a little stuck in his head here, but it’s mostly fluff.  These brothers give me life and this makes me happy after such an awful Damian day yesterday.

I also put it all under the cut because there wasn’t a really good “preview” cut off point.  Not because it’s NSFW or anything.  Good, clean fun here.

You can also read this on AO3 here

While the idea of having kids and a family one day had always been one that Dick had subscribed to, he had never thought he would take the less traditional path.  He always expected to settle down with a partner, maybe marry them, and then have children through conception or surrogacy.  Yes, adoption had been an option to consider, but he had always wanted to make sure that his family genes continued through at least one biological child.  Not because he wanted his kids to look like him, but because he wanted a piece of his parents to continue on, even when they couldn’t.

He wanted a Grayson to be in the world after he had gone from it.  He wanted to be selfish on one thing.

What he hadn’t thought would happen was that at the age of 27, he would be taking custody of the son of the man who had taken him in after his parents had fallen to their deaths. He hadn’t expected to be doing it alone with no one but the man he thought of as a grandfather to guide him. Sure, Bruce hadn’t always been the best father, but Dick had always thought he had done the best he knew how. Mostly.  And Dick had always expected to have Bruce to fall back on when he felt like he was drowning in the ocean of parenthood.

But he hadn’t had Bruce.

It had been him and a child who hadn’t wanted Dick.  Damian had wanted Bruce, not a poor substitute in the shape of Dick.  And the young Wayne had made it clear from the very beginning that Dick was nothing but an inconvenience.  That he wasn’t Bruce and he never would be.

Then things had started to change.  Jason stopped trying to kill them and Tim was off trying to find the man they all loved like a father.  And Damian stopped fighting Dick every step of the way.  He still fought, but he slowly started opening up to the older man and things started to fall into place.

They were good.  Dick was happy and Damian was flourishing.  He watched the kid go from an angry murderous brat to a haughty self-entitled brat.  And then, eventually, Dick started seeing an actual child emerge.  And he did everything he could to foster that in Damian.  He tried to give him back the childhood that had been stolen from him.

And Damian slowly became a son.

And then Bruce came back.

And Dick felt like his entire world was torn away from him and there was nothing he could do about it. It had hurt.  It had burned.  And he had punished himself instead of taking it out on Bruce.  Because it wasn’t his fault.  And it certainly wasn’t Damian’s fault.  

So, Dick had done the only thing he could do.  He went back to his apartment and kept his distance so Bruce had the opportunity to become a real father to Damian.

At least until Gotham Academy was calling him stating Damian needed someone to pick him up because he was ill, and Bruce was not answering his phone.  Dick had still been listed as a secondary contact and Damian had asked for him over Alfred.  And, of course, Dick had dropped everything and gone straight to the school he had once graduated from to pick his brother up from school.

He hadn’t even considered saying he wasn’t able to.  Not for Damian.  Never for Damian.

And though the kid looked green around the gills, he looked far too grateful when Dick appeared in the doorway of the nurse’s room.

That day Dick had moved himself back to the primary contact for the school and promised Damian that he would always come when his brother called.  Always.  It didn’t matter what he was doing, if Damian needed him then he would be there.  Like he had always tried to be for all of his siblings since he had failed Jason so spectacularly when he had first come to the family.

Damian was different, though.

Outside of the fact that Dick had blurred the lines of brother and parent in his own heart, sometimes he felt like Damian did the same.  Like Dick was something more than just another brother.  And a part of Dick hoped that was true.  Even if the other part of him felt beyond guilty for taking that from Bruce.  It wasn’t like his father figure had meant to be taken away from them for a whole year, forcing Dick to step into far too many roles that he had never wanted. Including, “father” for a kid who would have rather been anywhere else.

“Are you even listening to me, Richard?”  Damian’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, reminding him where they were and why.

Right.  Parent/teacher conferences that Bruce couldn’t be bothered to attend because the League had called on him.

“Sorry, Dami.  Got stuck in my head.”

Dick wasn’t surprised to see the teen heave a heavy sigh.  “I was explaining that these meetings are droll and pointless.  I am performing excellently in all of my courses and I don’t understand why we have to bother.”  Snorting out a laugh, Dick reached out and ruffled Damian’s hair.

“It’s so I can hear teacher’s gush about what an amazing student you are.”  His words were met with an eye roll before they continued their path to the first classroom.  And though Dick knew the teachers would all tell Dick that Damian was a bright kid and was very diligent, he knew they would also tell him that he was not the average middle schooler.

And Dick was well aware of that.

“Well, if it isn’t Richie Grayson,” a familiar voice called out.  Glancing over his shoulder, Dick smiled the familiar face of one of his old school friends.

“Hunter Blake, how are you?” Dick held out his hand to shake the other man’s but was surprised when the other man ignored it and found himself pulled into a hug instead.  It was quick, gentle, and over before Dick could really react but it still caught him off guard.  

“I’m good!  What are you doing gracing the halls of Gotham Academy on PT night?”

Glancing down at Damian, Dick was surprised to find the kid smiling brightly.  “Uh, I’m here with Damian.  Bruce couldn’t make it, so I’m filling in.”  Dick shook off the surprise at Damian’s expression just as he had the hug and looked back to Hunter.

“I don’t know why I never put that together.  I’m guessing you two are heading to my classroom now?”  Hunter looked down to Damian and Dick saw the teen nodding out of the corner of his eyes.  “I’m Damian’s art teacher.  Come on, I was just dropping off a forgotten purse in the office so I’m heading back that way too.”

“I didn’t realize you ended up teaching here.”

“Well, they certainly love to hire their graduates when they can,” Hunter laughed, and Dick nodded.  The trio walked in silence for a few more feet before Hunter was waving an arm toward a room.  “This is us.  Why don’t you go get your portfolio, Damian, while I talk to Dick?”  The teen wasted no time in hurrying off to grab something.

“So art?”

“I enjoyed it as a kid, turns out I’m pretty good at it but not good enough to make a living.”  Dick glanced around the room and took in all the art on display and shrugged.  

“You must be good with kids? Damian always talks about his art projects.  It’s obviously his favorite class.”

“No one has talent like him. He’s by far my most talented student. Probably the most talented student I’ll ever have.”  Dick followed Hunter to a wall of landscapes and immediately he could point out which one was his brothers.  The forest behind Wayne Manor was unmistakable but the style was one Dick had framed around his own apartment.  “He’s quiet and he’s reserved, but he is an artistic genius.  I hope he is encouraged at home to cultivate it?”

“I have numerous pieces framed around my own apartment.  I know Bruce has a few in his various offices as well.”  If anything, Dick had always worried that they had pushed it too much. But Damian was stubborn and if he didn’t want to do something then he didn’t do it.  So if he hadn’t wanted to draw, then he wouldn’t.

Hunter smiled brightly and clapped a hand on Dick’s shoulder.  “I’m glad to hear it.  I would love to be able to say I have a Damian Wayne original hanging in my classroom one day.  I’ll let him show you his portfolio.  I’ve got other parents to mingle with.”

“Thanks, Hunter.  Good to see you.”  Hunter said a you too before turning to approach a mother cooing over her daughter’s work.  Looking down to see Damian holding a book in his hands, Dick smiled and moved to sit at one of the desks so his brother could show off.  And Dick couldn’t stop the swell of pride in his chest as his brother showed him piece after beautiful piece.

When they had gone through the entire book, Dick smiled at Damian and told him just how amazing everything was and he watched the teen glow under the compliment.  As if it meant something coming from Dick.  Something more than it would had it come from someone else.

“What do you say to some ice cream?”

“That would be an acceptable end to this evening,” Damian agreed after he had returned from putting his portfolio back in it’s place.  And Dick couldn’t agree more because ice cream was an acceptable end to just about any evening.

“Richard,” Damian called softly as they walked the street with their individual cones.  Dick hummed in response as he watched the other people on the street, enjoying the cool but not cold night air.  “Thank you for attending tonight.”

Looking down, Dick smiled. “Of course, Little D.  I know I’m not Bruce, but I’ll always be where you need me to be.”

“Yes, you are not Father,” Damian agreed.  And though Dick knew that, the words did sting a little.  “But in full disclosure, you may not be Father, but you know you are my dad, right?”  Freezing in place, Dick stared at Damian as he processed his words.  He wasn’t Damian’s father but he was his dad.  That is what the teen had said.  

“Dames…”  Dick wasn’t sure what to say.  Did he tell him that he couldn’t do that to Bruce?  Did he thank him?  Did he hug him?

“I apologize if I have overstepped, but I thought you should know.”  There was an awkwardness to Damian and a slight blush on his cheeks, like he was embarrassed to admit such emotion.  It made Dick melt.  “I have spoke with Father about this regard and he told me that it was completely understandable, given the time you and I have spent together.”  Bruce knew?  And he apparently didn’t care.  “But I just wanted you to know that you may be my brother on paper, but to me you are more.”

“Thank you for telling me,” Dick finally responded, voice thick with emotion.  He wanted to say more, he wanted to gush all of his emotions onto Damian and make sure he knew that Dick felt the same.  That no matter what happened, Damian would always be his son. “It means more than you know.”

Nodding his head, Damian looked from Dick to his ice cream cone and then started walking again.  “Come, Baba.  Jon’s birthday is approaching, and I must find a gift to give him or I will never hear the end of it.  You shall aide me on this mission.”

Baba.  Dad.  

“Of course, Dames.  We wouldn’t want to disappoint a Kent.  You’d never survive the puppy dog eyes.”  Dick spoke through the happy tears that built in his eyes at the name, following his son down the street to see what the shops could offer.

[huilian]

Ring… Ring…

Ugh. Who’s calling at- Steph checks her alarm clock- one p.m. on a Saturday? 

Huh. Okay. Maybe a lot of people are going to be calling at one p.m. on a Saturday. 

Steph groans. How is this her life? Going on patrol until 4 a.m. practically every night, then going to class, and then her training sessions and gear check-up. Not to mention the open cases she would have. It’s no wonder that she’s asleep at one p.m. on a Saturday.

Bats, she swears. They snuck up on her without her realizing and before she knows it, she’s one of them. 

Steph gropes her nightstand for her phone and puts it on her ears. “Hello?” she mumbles out. 

The ringtone answers her. 

Shit. She forgot to actually answer the call. 

Squinting from the phone’s light, Steph slides the ‘accept call’ button and then put it back to her ears. “Yeah?” she mumbles again. 

“Hello, Stephanie,” Bruce’s voice answers her. What did she do now? “I’m wondering if you need any transportation to go to the Manor tonight.”

Wait. Hold up. What transportation? Why does she need to go to the Manor tonight? 

Steph frowns. She’s not missing any cases, is she?

Steph bites her lips, not wanting another lecture from Bruce if her missing a case is the reason she’s being summoned to the Manor, but then, if a lecture is the reason why, Bruce isn’t going to say the Manor, much less ask if she needs transportation. He’s just going to order her to be in the Cave before patrol tonight and be done with it. 

Steph decides to ask, “Why am I going to the Manor tonight?”

Silence greets her. Huh. It seems that Bruce is as confused as she is. 

A rustle on the background, before Dick’s voice comes out of her phone. “Hey, Steph, this is Dick. We have that gala tonight? You’re invited?” 

“What gala?” Steph is getting even more confused now. “I don’t know about any galas. Much less being invited to one.”

“Hold up,” Dick says. An argument follows, but Steph is too sleepy and tired to try to parse out the entirety of the argument from the bits and pieces she can hear. She just lets the argument wash over her. 

Finally, Bruce asks, “Have I sent you the invitation for tonight’s gala, Stephanie?”

“Nope,” Steph answers, too tired to rack her mind for an invitation, but still very confident of her answer. She would notice an invitation to a Wayne Gala. 

Her mom would notice an invitation to a Wayne Gala. 

“Ah,” Bruce says. A moment later, her phone pings again, and Steph, eyes still squinting from the phone’s light -seriously, why do they make phone screens so bright?- opens the message and reads it. 

It’s an invitation. 

To the Wayne Gala. For tonight. 

Which Bruce apparently forgot to send to her. 

Damn it, Bruce. 

“Hi, Steph, this is Dick again. Sorry for Bruce being, for lack of a better word, a dick. We know it’s super last minute, and you don’t have to come if you don’t want to. We’ll blame the whole thing on Bruce.”

Steph reads the invitation again. A gala at the Wayne Manor, tonight, at 8 p.m., to raise money and awareness for innocent families of criminals. So that’s why they want her to come. 

She doesn’t want to go. She really doesn’t want to go. She doesn’t want to be poked and prodded and interrogated by the upper class of Gotham. She especially doesn’t want them to look at her with a mixture of pity and disgust that only the wealthy can perfect. 

She mumbles something to the phone in line with that. She doesn’t really know what she actually said, but Dick seems to get the gist, because he says, “Alright then, Steph. Have a good day. I’ll tell Tim and Cass and Damian that you won’t be coming. Like I said, we’ll blame the whole thing on Bruce. It is his fault. I’ll see you after the gala for patrol!”

Steph grunts something that could be charitably called a goodbye before shutting down the phone. She’s going back to sleep. 

***

Wait. Did Dick say Cass is going to be there?

***

She’s going to the gala. Damn it all to hell, but she’s going to the gala. Cass is there, and she hasn’t seen her in ages, so Steph, despite everything in her mind telling her not to, is going to the gala. 

The only problem is that her entire makeup stash is empty. Don’t ask her why. She also doesn’t know. 

Sure, she can go makeup-less. It’ll make a statement, yada-yada-yada, but she doesn’t want to be prodded and interrogated anymore than she already will be. Women wear make-up to galas, and those who don’t will be asked why, etc. etc. etc. Steph doesn’t have the energy to defend that to an entire room full of pricks. 

So she’s going to need make-up, but she doesn’t have any of it. Like seriously. Not even her foundation and lipstick, which she knows she has a lot of. 

Oh. She lent them to Kara for a case a couple of days ago. Damn it. 

She can ask for her mom’s but, her mom’s makeup is so different from hers. 

Wait. She’s doing this to spend some time with her best friend. She can just ask for Cass’ makeup, and they can spend the time together!

An excellent idea, Steph. Why the hell didn’t you think of this first?

She moves to call Cass, but stops before she reaches the phone. Cass is not going to answer her phone. It’s Cass. 

She might as well just go to the Manor and break into Cass’ room. 

***

“Cass!” Steph yells, lengthening the syllable. “Open up!”

Nothing. 

Steph breathes in, then yells again. “Cass! I’m coming in!” She opens Cass’ door and turns on the light in the room. Of course Cass is still asleep. Steph can’t even blame her, because she too, wants to be asleep. 

Can’t they both just skip the gala and nap in Cass’ room?

Before Steph can flop to Cass’ bed, however, Cass wakes up. She blinks up at Steph blearily and barks out, “What?”

Steph shrugs. “I was going to ask to use your makeup for the gala tonight,” Steph flops to Cass’ bed anyway, “but I’m thinking we both should just skip and stay here.”

“Can’t,” Cass groans. “Alfred.”

Steph winces. If Alfred is involved, then they have no way of getting out of this gala. 

“Fine,” Steph sighs. “Then I’m using your makeup.”

“I don’t have any,” Cass mumbles out. 

Steph turns to Cass, panicked. “What?” she screeches out. “I came all the way here to steal your makeup, Cass. I don’t have any either.”

“Just go without,” Cass mumbles again. She yawns, before saying, “I am.”

“No!” Steph objects. “I don’t want to be a spectacle anymore than I already will be!”

Cass is silent for a while, long enough that Steph is afraid that she’s fallen asleep again, but eventually, she says, “Let’s use Babs’.”

Oh! That’s a great idea! Why didn’t Steph think of that before?

“You’re a genius!” Steph says, smacking Cass’ arm. She just grunts back, pulling Steph’s arm into her own grip and using Steph as a pillow. 

Oh well. Steph guesses that they can spend a few more minutes napping. 

***

Steph wakes up, feeling content. That feeling only lasts for one second, however, because the moment she sees the clock in Cass’ room, she panicked immediately.

It’s six already. How the hell are they going to go to Babs’ tower, use her makeup, then come back to the Manor, and get ready for the gala, all before eight?

“Cass,” Steph hisses. “Cass, wake up! We need to go!”

Cass mumbles something and goes right back to sleep.

“Cass!” Steph says, louder. “Wake up! We’re going to be late!”

No response. 

Heavy-duty artillery, then. “Cassandra, if you don’t wake up, I’m telling Babs about that time with the-”

A hand clamps Steph’s mouth. 

“Shh,” Cass hisses out. “Don’t say that.”

Steph makes a face at Cass. Even though Cass’ hand is still on Steph’s face, Steph is sure that Cass knows that she’s doing. 

Evidence? Cass makes a face back at Steph. 

“Are we going or not?” Steph says, muffled by Cass’ hand. 

Cass seems to understand perfectly though, because after making another face, she sighs, “Fine.”

Steph pumps her fist. “Come on, then! We’re already late as it is!”

Cass groans, but eventually gets up. They spend a few minutes detangling themselves, because, apparently, in their sleep, they manage to make a giant pretzel with their bodies. 

Correction. Steph spends a few minutes detangling them, because Cass, the little shit that she is, just laughs at her. 

It doesn’t take too long, thankfully. They’re out and speeding to Babs’ tower before long in Cass’ bike with her driving. 

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but Steph is starting to regret agreeing to ride Cass’ bike. Honestly, who taught this girl how to drive? Steph is going to kill them, as soon as she can stand up without puking all over. 

“Cass!” Steph yells, trying to get her voice heard. “Slow down!”

“I thought you want to get there as fast as we can!” 

“Not at the cost of puking my guts out, Cass! Watch out!”

Cass laughs, swerving to dodge the car coming in their direction.

“Cass!” Steph screams. 

“It’s fine!” 

“It’s not fine!”

“It’s fine!”

“You’re a menace to society!” Steph screams out, clutching Cass’ waist as she swerves, at high speed, yet again. 

“I’m a delight!” comes the answer. And well, Steph can’t argue with that, can she? Even if Cass is a menace.

Finally, finally, they reach Babs’ tower, in one piece. Steph is never letting Cass drive her anywhere, ever again. 

“Come on.” Cass tilts her head towards the elevator, not looking dazed at all after that ride from hell. 

“Just…” Steph gasps. “Let me… catch my breath.”

“You’re the one who doesn’t want to be late. Come on.”

And with that, Cass walks into the elevator. Steph gives her a look, before surrendering and getting into the elevator too. 

Once they’re up and in Babs’ apartment, however, something very wrong is clear. Babs is not home. 

Steph frowns. This is not good. “Have you called Babs we’re coming?” she asks. 

“No.” Cass shrugs. “I thought you’re doing it.”

Steph stares at her. “Cass,” she says. “Cassandra. The very best of the best. Defeater of Lady Shiva. My bosom friend. What, and I can’t emphasize this enough,” she gestures with her hands, “the fuck?”

Cass just shrugs again. “I thought you’re doing it.”

Steph breathes out. “We’re fucked. We’re absolutely fucked. Just dig our graves now, Cass. We’re going to need it.”

“Relax,” Cass says. “We can just grab what we need and go back. No big deal.”

“Are you crazy?” Steph grits out. “It’s Babs. She’s going to find out, no matter what we do.”

“Then she already knows,” Cass says nonchalantly. “We might as well go get her makeup.”

Steph opens her mouth to argue, but she can’t say anything with that logic. Babs probably already knows the moment they reach the Tower’s threshold. They might as well go through with it. 

“Fine,” Steph sighs. “But,” she points to Cass, “if she comes, I’m telling her it’s your idea.”

“Fine,” Cass grumbles. But then, she says under her breath, “It’s your idea in the first place.”

“Excuse me?” Steph turns to her. “My idea?”

Cass sticks out her tongue. “Makeup. Your idea.”

Steph opens her mouth, offended, before closing it again. Yeah, okay. That is her idea. But not breaking into Babs’ room!

“You know what?” Steph says, resigned. “Let’s just get the makeup and get the hell out of here.”

Cass lifts her shoulder in the universal gesture of ‘sure’. 

“No going back,” Steph warns. 

Cass nods. 

Steph nods back.

Here we go. 

***

They’re halfway through rummaging Bab’s stash of makeup when they hear the sound of wheels rolling. Shit. Babs is home. 

Steph makes eye contact with Cass and then, at the same time, they stuff Babs’ makeup back in the bags, trying to remember how all of them are organized before.

“Quick, quick, quick,” Steph whispers. 

“I’m trying,” Cass whispers back. 

Lady luck is not on their side, however, because just as Cass is putting the last product in, - a truly amazing eyeliner, where did Babs buy it?- the door opens. 

Babs looks at them. They look back. 

“I know this looks bad…” Steph smiles awkwardly, “but we can explain?” 

Babs frowns, opens her mouth, closes it again, then pinches the bridge of her nose. “I don’t want to know, Stephanie,” she sighs. “Just… just don’t make a mess, yeah?”

Cass gives her a thumbs-up. Babs takes another look at the two of them, before sighing again and rolling out. 

Steph grimaces. They’re fucked. They’re totally fucked. 

[dottie-wan-kenobi]

written for the @brutaliabingo square “The Batman” and the @batmanbingo2020 square “Baby Damian”

Relationship: past Talia al Ghul/Bruce Wayne Characters: Talia al Ghul, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne Additional Tags: Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Young Bruce Wayne, Baby Damian Wayne, POV Bruce Wayne, Good Parent Talia al Ghul

Summary:

Instantly tense, Robin steps away from him, putting on an air of calm ease. Batman doesn’t move, simply narrowing his eyes at the intruder.

At, of all people, Talia al Ghul.

He doesn’t bother to wonder how long she was hiding, or what she might’ve seen or heard. In fact, he has no doubt she’s been here the whole time, somehow evading him like she always has. Her skills are certainly a match for his own—it’s not surprising that she was able to send a message directly to him. He’d assumed it was someone he knew, or rather who knew him, but he hadn’t expected her. It’s been a long time since they last saw each other, almost a year, and they hadn’t parted on the best of terms. (He still wonders what could’ve happened between them if Ra’s hadn’t forced him to leave, if Talia had gone against her father.)

Pushing the thoughts away, Batman notices something off about her immediately. Her clothes are far from the luxurious, perfectly tailored robes she’s always wearing, but instead rugged jeans with rips at the knees and a plain, dark hoodie. Her hair is shorter, too, and unstraightened, swishing in soft curls around her shoulders. Even with the shadows obscuring her, she’s beautiful.