#bruce isn’t allowed to heal so he keeps hurting his kids in the same ways

[geneticdriftwood]

i’m having thoughts about batman vs green arrow, and how the central characters shape the stories their supporting casts are allowed

like, in batman comics, bruce’s story is about being permanently shaped by a grief he can never move on from (his parent’s deaths, and later jason’s death). the premise of batman, bruce’s unyielding dedication to his mission, requires that bruce always be living in the shadow of his formative trauma, always responding to it. structurally, he can never be allowed to heal (because a happy bruce wayne isn’t batman), which means he can’t really grow. his supporting cast can develop and grow in their own right, but they can’t leave (bc they’re batman characters), so they stay stuck in the same unhealthy dynamics with bruce. this creates a narrative paradigm where positive change rarely sticks, cycles aren’t broken, and the easiest story to tell is a tragedy. bruce isn’t allowed a happy ending, so nobody who loves him gets one either.

now compare this with green arrow, where ollie’s stories are so often about having the humility, courage, and determination to take accountability for your mistakes and change for the better. transformative change is his whole deal! it’s the point of the island! and his relationships with his supporting cast reflect this. ollie messes up, he learns from it, and his relationships with other characters develop and improve accordingly. the point of the story is that ollie changes, making change possible for everyone. and so green arrow books present a paradigm where characters are allowed to grow in ways that stick, where harm can be learned from instead of brushed aside, and where happy endings aren’t guaranteed but do largely feel possible. yk?

[bleufrost]

Guiding Light

Summary: Even though your team finally trusts Loki enough to give him a chance, you still have to help him realize he's not the monster he sometimes thinks he is.

a/n: this is within the same universe as There's Just Time but it can also be read as a standalone (: more notes at the end for anyone who wants to read them!

Words: 1,921

Warnings: angst, self doubt, theres also fluff so dont worry!

If we come back and we're broken Unworthy and ashamed Give us something to believe in And you know we'll go your way

You never really realize how loud everything is until Loki cuts you off from his energy. Now, that isn't to say that Loki leads a tranquil existence, it's actually quite the opposite. Loki's emotions are incredibly sporadic and loud; so loud in fact, that they have become nearly identical in nature to the crashing of waves against the shore. Deafening, yet with the promise of calm once you come to recognize it as home. Without the roar, everything you’d rather drown out comes back to the forefront of your mind. That is exactly what is happening right now.

Tony’s bubbling anxiety to get his hands on something new clashes with the forced control of Bruce’s psyche as you enter the lab. The opposing energies nearly incapacitate you. “Hey, have you guys seen Loki?” You sit next to Bruce, your focus on his hands as he moves some things around on a screen. It’s a lame attempt to center yourself, but it helps a bit when a drill sparks to life in Tony’s hands. Bruce smiles at you apologetically and you shake your head.

“What’s that, kiddo?” Tony’s voice barely registers over the monotonous sound of the drill and you try to signal for him to turn it off, but the attempt is in vain. Instead of continuing to scream, you wait it out until Tony finally seems to be finishing up. The drill powers down and he smiles at you in that way that only he can; as though he truly believes that the world can wait for him. You can’t exactly blame him, you did wait, didn’t you?

“Okay, what’s up?” He places the drill down and brushes his hands off on his pants.

“I was just wondering if you’ve seen Loki around?” He looks to Bruce and they both seem to mutually agree that they haven’t. Tony shrugs at you.

“Sorry, kid. No Reindeer Games around here.” You roll your eyes at the nickname and he lets out a loud laugh. “Okay, thanks.” Getting up, you exit the lab and head for the common room.

It takes a few more tries, and by the time someone finally tells you they spotted him, your head is racing. There are so many different emotions and waves of energy in so limited a space, it exhausts you. Often you found navigating it all to be a fun game, but that was only when you had an anchor. Unfortunately, your anchor seems to be a little lost at sea.

When you do find Loki, he’s staring out a large window on one of the top floors of the compound. There’s a book abandoned in his lap, his finger resting on the page as though he had drifted mid sentence. The bright sky reflects on his eyes in a beautiful show of light. Anchors and waves, you knew Loki was all of it to you.

“Hey.” It comes out as only a whisper as you approach him slowly. It’s so soft, you almost doubt he hears it at all. Of course, he does though. He’s a god and, with great pain, you also know that he’s very used to being on his guard.

Loki’s eyes move from the clouds above and over to you. You’re not sure if the lights are playing tricks on you, but you swear that there are small hints of unshed tears in his crystal eyes.

“Hello.” If you thought your voice was soft, Loki’s is hardly there at all. It shakes ever so slightly at the end of the word, and if his shielding emotions wasn’t a dead giveaway, his demeanor most definitely is. Something’s wrong.

Your feet take slow, tentative steps forward. Neither one of you breaks eye contact, and when you attempt to push your energy over to him as some form of comfort, it hits a wall. He’s using his own magic to deliberately block yours from reaching him. Your feet stop moving and you can see in the way that his eyes glint that he’s aware of how distanced he is keeping you.

“Loki, what’s hurting you?” It’s a simple question, but that’s all it takes. After over a thousand years spent dancing around problems and masking insecurities, your willingness to openly address such intimate pains was still so novel to him.

The first few times he had spoken to you, really spoken to you, all illusions set aside and with no intent to trick you, he had been struck hard by your lack of judgement. All Loki ever knew was how to hide the most vulnerable parts of himself because others would use them against him. WIth you though, the vulnerability was exclusively used as a bridge to growth. You had told him once that energy flowed toward energy. It was made to grow. Naturally, because he was composed of all different kinds of untamable energy, it was only inevitable that he would continue to evolve into a stronger version of himself if he chose to recognize the points that were draining him.

Energy moves toward energy, and so he allowed his to move to you.

“I don’t feel I belong here. I’m not worthy of forgiveness.” The confession twists your heart into a knot. It hurts to hear the insecurity lacing his voice, but the emotions that seep into you hurt even more. With his wall down, you can feel the nervousness, fear, anxiety, and overall sense of loathing that Loki has been carrying by himself. You understand why he blocked himself from you, but you’re so incredibly relieved to be sharing his burden.

It takes a second for you to acclimate to the new feeling, but your feet take you the rest of the way to him as soon as you do. You’d never run from him, no matter how intense it may be to stay.

“No, no. Even just your ability to share that with me proves that you’re more than worthy, Loki.” The unshed tears come to the surface, slipping past his eyes and running slowly down his cheek. Your hand instinctively comes up to rest against his face.

“There’s not one of us here who hasn’t done things that we regret. Things that have hurt people and that we wish we could take back, but we can’t.”

More tears fall from his eyes and he looks at you so lost and frightened that you fear your heart may break.

“How do you live with it?” His eyes search yours for answers, and you wish you could tell him something that could help right now. Unfortunately, all experience you have with this calls for an agonizing amount of time to pass before even a hint of relief begins to seep in. There’s so much to do before forgiveness can come; not from others, but from yourself. It does come, though.

An idea sparks to life then, as you recall everything you’d done to make amends for the lives you had damaged, Forgiveness, understanding, healing. You knew these feelings and, luckily, that was all you needed.

Your other hand raises slowly, a soft blue light wrapping around the edges of each finger as it hugs around your skin. You hold your hand out to Loki, knowing that he needs to be the one to initiate this. You can offer yourself, but he has to choose to accept.

His large hand comes up, nearly meeting yours before he stops mere centimeters away. He can feel a slight wave of the emotions that you hold in your hand, but that same fear of being unworthy holds him back. Does he even deserve this kindness that you show him? You know he deserves that and so much more, but the doubt still makes him struggle.

The back and forth pull is not lost on you. Your thumb strokes the sharp curve of his cheekbone, finding your own comfort in providing it to him. His eyes close at the motion, and when he opens them again, the fear is gone.

Loki slips his hand into yours, finding the empty spaces between your fingers to be a perfect fit for him. He clings to you like a lifeline, and you very well may be one to him. You know he is for you.

Your light engulfs him, flowing up his arm and straight into his chest, his mind, his heart. Anywhere he needs it, your light will find him and help him feel okay. Every memory you had, every emotion, and every tear was placed into that light. Relief. Forgiveness. For Loki, it was hope.

“You do whatever you can to make up for it. You can’t fix everything, but sometimes just trying is enough.” Loki takes in your words and continues to let your energy hug him like a warm blanket. Trying. He could do that.

When he’s ready, he lets your magic go. Immediately, some of the doubt returns, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. Not when you’re here.

“Thank you.” The air around you seems to spark to life and you find your energy starts to pull toward Loki. It was odd; unlike anything you’d felt before.

Of course, there were certain people that naturally caused your powers to want to be near them. Their energies were calming enough or provided with just the right amount of curiosity that stoked the childlike wonder in yourself. You always knew exactly why you were being drawn to them. This time, with Loki, it was different. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact emotion of yearning that drew you to him. All you knew was that you felt connected.

Deciding that this moment held enough excitement for the two of you, you left it alone. Maybe you could ask about it some other time when things were a bit calmer. Right now, you just wanted Loki to relax. There were many things about your abilities that you were still yet to explore. This was probably nothing.

Loki’s hand guided you out of your thoughts and back to him. He brought you closer and smiled. “Sit with me?”

You immediately reciprocated his smile. Loki may think that his well crafted charm is the most endearing thing about him. You know that’s not true. By far the most compelling and radiant thing about Loki was the unfiltered appreciation he had for the smallest things in life. Sitting beneath a blue sky sounded like heaven when he offered it up with such a gorgeous smile.

“Of course.” You let go of his hand to lift yourself onto the cushioned bench he was sitting on. It’s long enough to provide you with enough room to place distance between yourself and Loki, but you don’t. When you’re settled, Loki finds your hand once more. He squeezes it gently and lifts the book with his other.

“Would you like me to read to you?” He raises the book a little higher so you can see the cover, but quite honestly you don’t care what he’s reading. You just like to hear his voice. You nod happily. “Yes, please.”

Loki offers you one more genuine grin and sets to work, reading the words on the page like a poet sharing their most prized work. You can feel him, deafening the world around you until you’re lulled back into a calm that only his noise can guide you to.

As he reads, your connected hands glow with an energy that neither of you intentionally brings forth; it just happens. Even without trying, some things just do.

a/n: I realized that I was making little references to moments/memories in the main story that I really wanted to write, so thats what these mini pieces will be! on that note, the second chapter should be up by saturday at the latest. i had some computer problems which sucks lol, but its getting done! after that, i'll be trying to get the new chapters up before the premiere of the next loki episode. have a lovely day yall!

[fancyfade]

so ive been debating editing chapter 3 on my fanfic to make 1 scene line up more from canon. (chapter 3 is this one, where the characters deal with the aftermath of battle for the cowl, Tim finds out Damian’s Robin, and Dick and Damian move to the penthouse)

I’m debating making the Tim finding out Damian’s Robin scene a little more canon compliant along what happened in Red Robin (link) for a few reasons, the main of which is in the scenes that I’m writing next (like... chapter 47 lol), Tim and Dick do have to talk about what transpired when Dick made Damian Robin. Potential reasons for change

In my fic Tim kind of just left on his own without a push, but I’m not sure if Tim would have left on such bad terms if there wasn’t the complication of Damian antagonizing him and him feeling as if Dick was picking Damian over him (even though in the comic we saw Dick trying to de-escalate and get Tim’s back, it still felt that way to Tim)

I dislike the way some of this was handled in the comic and I can’t really comment on it in my fic if I just retcon it out

it seems fair-er I guess if Tim is allowed to have flaws just like Cass and Damian and Dick all have flaws in this fic. i know many tim stans think otherwise, but punching a ten-year-old victim of child abuse in the face out of anger is wrong.

the con side is obviously this involves Damian getting hit and that kid has been through so much already. I’m really trying to figure out how it works with character dynamics vs like. give the poor kid a break-ness.

anyway if I did decide to replace the current chapter 3, this is what it would be replaced with (only the first scene, the second would be the same). If you are a reader of the fic feel free to leave your comments. I would do an “oh and I edited chapter 3″ note before the relevant stuff was mentioned if I go through with this, I wouldn’t like expect everyone to know what happened. Some of the dialogue is not like exactly like in canon (cuz thats boring and also to match with what I wrote the first time) but the feeling/ beats should be similar

Gotham’s finally had a bit of lull in the violence, and Dick is just wondering how he’s going to do this.

He’s accepted that Damian’s his responsibility – seeing the kid shot in the chest made that perfectly clear, as much as he would’ve liked it to be otherwise. He felt like he was way too young to be watching out for a kid in any capacity other than cool older brother, especially a kid who’s as difficult to get along with as Damian. He was a great fighter, of course, and he knew it – Dick’s not sure he’s ever heard the kid be humble about anything. To make things worse, Dick feels like he’s constantly stuck in the middle between Damian and the kid he actually views as his younger brother – Tim, who Damian tried to kill. Evidence in point:

“Robin?!” Tim asks once he’s gotten back on his feet and Dick's explained his plan – away from Damian, who's still recovering from surgery.

“You made Damian Robin?!” Tim asks again.

Dick sighs. He’s in the cave, in a Batman costume he feels doesn’t fit right at all with the cowl off, and Tim’s still in his regular clothes. He has no idea how to explain this to Tim – no idea how to make him feel like he’s not being replaced. Dick never wanted to be the one doing the replacing – he remembers how much it hurt to find out that Jason was Robin from the papers, and that was after he officially stopped being Robin. Tim never quit – and Dick’s not about to make him – but he has to come home to the guy who tried to kill him getting his name.

“Tim, I know this looks bad, but Damian needs this.”

“Remember when we thought Bruce was going to retire after Crisis?” Tim asks. “Batman and Robin was supposed to be us. You and me. Not you and the psychopath that tried to kill me.”

“Tim, you’re not my sidekick, you’re my partner – ” Dick takes a step towards Tim with his hand out, prepared to offer sympathy, but Tim shakes him off angrily.

“Obviously not!”

“And Damian needs me way more than you do. If we don’t keep an eye on him, he’s going to kill again.”

Tim scowls intensely. “That should really not be an endorsement for being Robin, Dick! He’s a killer! He belongs in jail!” Tim swallows a little and then lowers his voice out of shouting range. “Dick, he didn’t try to kill me because he for some reason thought it was the only way to stop me from doing something bad, as far as I can tell he just wanted to replace me. We’re talking about someone with absolutely no sense of right or wrong.”

“Of course he doesn’t have a sense of right or wrong. He’s a ten-year-old child who was raised as an assassin from birth!”

“Lots of our villains have really sad or sympathetic reasons for doing crime, that doesn’t mean we team up with them.”

“Are you serious?” Dick asks. “This isn’t the same, Tim.”

“How not?”

“Well for one,” calls Damian's voice from the stairs, and Dick can't help but cringe and think not now – “I'm a lot better than them.”

Dick's cringe only intensifies when he turns around to see what Damian is wearing. His new Robin costume.

Tim's hands clench into fists the instant he sees Damian. Dick knows he has to de-escalate things quick before Tim and Damian have another fight.

“Damian,” Dick says, trying to keep himself carefully neutral-sounding. “Shouldn't you be resting?”

Damian lifts his head up slightly so his nose is in the air, and walks down the stairs almost normally. There's only a little hesitation in the twist of his torso, a little stiffness of his right arm.

Either he's zoned out of his mind on painkillers or depressingly good at masking his pain for a ten-year-old.

“Please,” Damian says. “I was trained in the League of Shadows. Do you really think an over-the-hill ex-Robin could put me down?”

Tim's fist clenches further, and so Dick says, letting a bit more urgency slip into his voice, “Damian, shut up. Now.”

Damian puts his left hand on his hips and looks intentionally at Tim. He adds, “I'm not Drake – ”

He's barely got the word out before Tim leaps forward and punches him in the face. Dick's out of his seat, grabbing Tim to hold him back, who is still distressingly struggling against him, like he wants to keep up the assault despite the fact that Damian fell to the floor.

“My name is Tim Wayne!” Tim shouts as Dick is still holding him back.

Damian gingerly sits up. Dick prepares to release Tim, prepares to stop Damian if he has to, if he decides to get revenge. But he doesn't. He just briefly braces his right side with his left hand before wiping the blood off his face.

“I let you get that shot in, Drake,” Damian says, again dropping intentional emphasis on Tim's original last name.

As he does, Tim struggles forward.

“Tim, back off!” Dick says, because Tim still isn't cooling down –

“I want you to feel good about yourself,” Damian continues.

Tim seems to relax his stance slightly, so Dick, possibly in an error of judgment, lets Tim go. But Tim doesn't try to attack Damian again, he just shakes Dick off and starts stomping away. “You want me to back off? Fine.”

He's going for the exit.

If he leaves –

Dick can't chase him. He's not sure that he can leave Damian alone –

“Tim, wait!” Dick says, taking a step forward. “Bruce is gone. But I still need you.”

“For what?” asks Damian and damn it is there anything this kid isn't going to try to ruin?

“Shut up, Damian,” Dick says again, even though as far as he knows he's just going to wind up pushing Damian away too –

And Tim leaves.

Dick turns to look at Damian. The kid's already back to his feet, like nothing happened, and Dick takes a step forward to inspect the injury – though he's really more worried about the gunshot wound than Tim's punch. Both Tim and Damian had wound up injured pretty badly during the chaos that gripped Gotham in the rumors of Batman’s death. As his new and not-improved version of Batman, Jason had tried to kill them both, which Dick is way less than pleased about. He’d been kind of hoping that they could talk Jason down, but this seems like a line he doesn’t know if Jason can ever un-cross. He shot a ten year old in the chest.

Damian grabs Dick's wrist as he reaches out.

“Are you all right?” Dick asks.

Damian scoffs. “You're worried about Drake? I've been hit harder sparring my mother.”

“I was thinking about the gunshot.” Alfred had said the primary damage was blood loss and a punctured lung (well, traumatic pneumothorax, but Dick knew what he meant) and given the kid a minimum of four weeks downtime to heal.

It's hard to tell due to the domino mask, but Damian adopts the position of a kid who's rolling their eyes, head slightly tilted to the side with a loll. “It's not enough to impersonate Batman, now you want to impersonate my mother?”

Dick doesn't know how to approach the mother thing, so he doesn't even try. He just explains the logic for being Batman – (and there is logic behind it. It's not like he wanted this). “Someone has to step up and convince Gotham things can get back to normal,” Dick says. “And serial killer Batman wasn't going to cut it.”

“Did you at least take care of him?” Damian asks.

Dick knows that Damian isn't actually worried about Jason's wellbeing, so he says, “Do you mean 'did I kill him'?”

“Tt. Obviously.”

“Obviously not.”

Damian presses his lips together in a thin line.

Dick might as well get this out of the way now. He's going to have to sometime. “Alfred wants you out of the field for four weeks.”

“That's preposterous!” Damian shouts, and as he shouts, he coughs. He rubs his chest quickly and then glowers at Dick when he sees him staring.

“Damian, you could have died.”

“I didn’t.”

Jeez, doesn’t this kid have any sense of his own mortality? Though, Dick supposes, growing up around Lazarus Pits and a centuries old grandfather might make that impossible.

“I’m not a fool, Grayson, I know I’m not capable of healing instantaneously. I’ll take a break for one week,” he offers, like it’s a huge concession on his part.

“Four weeks,” Dick says.

“What about you?” Damian asks. “Didn’t you get injured?”

“Not as badly.”

“Are you taking a break?”

“Someone needs to convince Gotham that Batman’s not dead,” Dick says. Also, he doesn’t want to take a break. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts. Losing Bruce. Failing Tim.

“Tt. Then I don’t need one either. I’m younger. I heal faster.”

Dick actually has no clue whether that’s true, because he’s not a doctor, but he knows that people usually say kids heal faster.

Dick swings his arms a little, trying to feel them out. They’re still stiff, and as they move, a jolt of pain shoots through him. Even when he’s not moving, his shoulder is still sore. He knows that he might get injured going into the field like this and that it’s not a smart decision – last time he went into the field while still healing, he wound up blowing his secret identity to Blockbuster.

He decides that at least if he’s going into the field, he won’t tell Barbara and Alfred about it. Okay, so that’s probably not the smartest of his plans. Most plans that you have to hide from people who care about you aren't smart.

“I’ll take a week long break with you,” Dick concedes. “And we can see how fast you’re healing.” The second part is a lie, of course. He's not going to supersede Alfred's orders on medical matters.

Dick sighs a little. He figures that while they’re both on bed-rest duty, though, he can try to figure out how to set things up so they can operate effectively once they get a clean bill of health.

“How do you feel about not living in the manor?” Dick asks.

“Kicking me out already?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, I wouldn’t be living here either,” Dick says. It’s true. He’d rather not feel like he’s living in all of Bruce’s old places, wearing Bruce’s old costume, … replacing him, essentially. He needs a place he can clear his head.

“Where would you live then?” Damian asks skeptically.

Dick shrugs. “The penthouse, maybe. Bruce already made a bunker nearby, so we could operate out of there pretty easily.”

Damian narrows his eyes. “Why do you keep saying ‘we’?”

Because you are ten and not ready to live on your own. But Dick just says, “Well, you’re Robin now, right? That means you’re pretty much obligated to team up with Batman.”

“Batman isn’t here, Grayson. He never will be again, no matter how much you play dress-up.”

Charming kid. Like Dick didn’t already know that.

“You know I operate effectively alone, right?” Damian continues. “I don’t need to be hand-held and babysat like all of Father’s previous partners.”

Dick figures that it’d be a jerk move to remind Damian he just almost died and therefore really shouldn’t be on his own. Instead, he says, “Well, Alfred’s staying with me, so unless you want to get all your food and clean the house by yourself, you have to put up with me.”

“Tt . I don’t need a servant. I’ll just eat at restaurants.”

“On who’s money?”

“In the event of his death, my father’s assets should have transferred to me. His blood son.”

Oh boy. Dick rubs his face. “Does this have to be a thing, Damian? No one’s doubting your capacity to take care of yourself but I think it’d really be easier if we were operating out of the same building. “

A long silence on Damian’s part. “Fine,” he says eventually. “I’ll allow you to stay at my penthouse.”

My penthouse. Of course. But Dick takes it. “All right,” he says. “Let’s move in.”

[arsonistslut]

Suddenly...Liu woke up. His face didn't feel like it was burning anymore, and the sunshine that flowed into his room was starkly different from the darkness of the room he was just attacked in. It wasn't just that, though, everything around him seemed to be in a sort of dreamy haze. He was about to stand when his brother burst in the room. Liu nearly jumped out of his skin, quickly realizing that the scars that riddled Jeff's body before were totally gone. Was everything from before just a dream?

"Wake up, bro! You're gonna be late for school!"

All he could do was just stare at Jeff, confusion riddling his face.

"You alright, man?"

"..Y-Yeah, I'm fine!"

Liu rushed out of his bed and began preparing for school as his brother waited downstairs, rushing down as well once he was ready and walking into the kitchen, expecting the same wordless room where his parents usually were in the morning. Carla looked over at her son and smiled as she ruffled his hair.

"Good morning, you two!"

"Mornin' mama!"

Liu thought something was deeply wrong. His brother was never this jovial, and their parents barely ever talked to them in the slightest, and that was for 15 years! Was..was that all a bad dream? Was all that Sully shit a bad dream, was Jeff getting set on fire a bad dream? When him and his brother got to the school bus, Jeff sat next to one of the other kids, and Natalie sat next to Liu.

"Hi, handsome!~"

"Hey, Nat! How are you?"

Liu was thankful that at least she didn't change.

"I'm doing really well, my dad's recently gotten arrested, so now I'm living with my grandma, she's a sweetheart!"

"O-Oh, that's great!"

"Hey, did you hear about Jeff's new girlfriend?"

"No, he never told me! What's her name?"

"Cassie! I'm gonna be honest, those two are the cutest. They're such sweethearts, they're practically made for each other!"

"That's wonderful!"

Liu then looked outside the window..he couldn't help but wonder how he'd just realized this, but it was such a beautiful day outside! The birds were singing, the flowers were blooming, days like this came practically once every century in New Orleans. Maybe everything from before really was just a bad dream.

A delighted giggle came from Sully as he watched Liu go about his day in the world he'd so carefully crafted for him in his head.

"Finally safe..safe from the horrors that would taint your pure soul."

Nina boredly flipped through the late night channels, sighing as she wasn't able to find anything that interested her. It was far past her bedtime, and her eyelids were getting heavy, so when a particularly eye-catching news report showed up, it grabbed her attention right away.

"And now, we turn to New Orleans, which has been the site of a brutal massacre tonight, as 7 people have been recently found brutally murdered over the course of an hour. Police are not releasing any names of the victims, but they have apprehended a suspect who they believe is the killer, 17 year old Jeffrey Woods was recently arrested after having set the house of Bruce and Aurora Arkansas on fire. The lone survivors of this horrible night are reportedly one individual, along with the daughter of Bruce and Aurora. Liu Woods, Jeffrey's brother, has gone missing, if you have any information regarding where he may be, please contact the police. We do have footage of Jeffrey's arrest, but be warned, it may disturb some viewers."

The TV then showed footage of a group of police officers surround a pale teenager, his whole body caked in blood. Jeffrey shrugged and laid his knife down on the ground, placing his hands behind his head and allowing the police to arrest him. As he was led to the back of a cruiser, Jeff looked into the camera.

"You win some, you lose some, I guess."

The TV then cut back to the clearly shaken reporter.

"We'll provide more information as it comes to us. IN other news.."

Nina shut her TV off, a wide smile growing on her face. She couldn't quite place her finger on it, but she related to Jeff. What was keeping someone like her from going on a rampage like that...? Snatching her laptop off her desk, Nina quickly logged onto 4-Chan and started a thread. She pondered over what to call it, then typed in an adequate name.

"Jeff's Killers."

Chapter 19: "Nothing but pure evil"

"Jeffrey..do you feel even the slightest bit of guilt for your actions?"

Woods had shown no shame throughout his trial. No guilt or remorse for his actions. He sure as shit wanted to, but when the judge asked him that question, he couldn't restrain the smile that came to his face as he remembered how good it felt to plunge his knife into his father's head, how good it felt to snap Troy's neck, how good it felt to drop that match. Besides, wasn't Zalgo right? This was going to keep happening until he died.

"I don't. They all deserved what they got. Besides, I didn't have any other choice."

Silence followed his words. Some gasped, some began to sob, some just laughed in amazement, but most of the courthouse was silent.

"Jeffrey Woods..you are nothing but pure evil. This court finds you guilty of all charges, and sentences you to death."

The judge forced back tears and pointed toward the door.

"Get him out of here.."

Woods was led away by a pair of policemen, and the courtroom cheered as he was led away.

"And then, my sentence got reduced to life in prison, and now..here we are, doctor."

"I see.."

Dr. Oborn wrote down more notes in his clipboard, before looking back up at his patient.

"Doc..can I ask you a question?"

"Of course, Jeffrey."

"...Was that judge right? A-Am I just..evil?"

"While murder is a horrific crime, and many people do seem to see you as nothing more than a psycho who killed for fun, I've spoken with you for over a year now, and I don't believe you to be evil. After what you've told me, I now know that your condition was likely caused by the trauma you referred to earlier."

"..Doc, I.."

Jeff let out a burst of relieved laughter, almost tearing up from joy at the doctor's words.

"You h-have no fuckin' clue how much that means to me! I..I thought I was a lost cause for the longest time..I-I mean, people don't feel happy when they kill someone, y'know?"

"You're not a lost cause, by any means. We've made incredible progress today, and I believe that you will be able to comfortably integrate back into society soon enough. Although, I am confused by one thing."

"What?"

"..How did you know about the things that happened after your hospitalization?"

"Zalgo showed me."

"Zalgo? Who is that?"

"Zalgo is the reason I believe in the afterlife. Apparently, it's a medical miracle I even survived the incident at the party, let alone heal so quickly that my body's now one big lump of scar tissue. Zalgo helped me to survive."

"This is the first time you've mentioned this.."

"Demon."

"Demon to me. You have previously stated your beliefs in Leveyan Satanism, so is this a sort of..representation of the devil?"

"No, the devil isn't real. Zalgo is. Look, can we t-talk about something else?"

Dr. Oborn placed one of his hands on Jeffrey's shoulder, growing concerned due to his growing..worry, almost.

"Is everything alright, son?"

"I...didn't get a lot of sleep last night."

"Nightmares, again?"

"No, I saw things, doctor..I've seen how this world will end."

"You've seen the apocalypse, you say?"

Jeffrey then just shook his head, something he feared he would do suddenly worming it's way into his brain unannounced.

"Jeff..are you having intrusive thoughts?"

"I..I don't want to hurt you, you don't deserve it.."

"Nothing will happen to me, son. I'll be just fine!"

"You..you sure?"

"I'm positive."

"Thank you, doctor.."

"Of course-"

Dr. Oborn was pleasantly surprised when Jeff reached across the table and hugged him, but didn't hesitate in hugging his patient back.

Chapter 20: A new terror

"Listen, man, I know what I saw! Some lanky motherfucker was running around my backyard, and wearing a white hoodie! They didn't catch Jeff The Killer, he's still fucking running-"

Carlos Kennedy changed the channel of his radio, confused as to how someone could genuinely believe that it was a good idea to log onto a radio show, ramble about how you believed a convicted killer was still able to run around your backyard, and think you'll be taken seriously. His attention to that was quickly interrupted by seeing a person lying near the road, face down. The good Samaritan quickly stopped his car and got out, rushing over to the seemingly unconscious person that was lying in a ditch.

"Hello?! A-Are you-"

A knife to Carlos's throat quickly cut him off, blood spraying out of his wound. The girl who stabbed him lifted his corpse off the decoy, a teenager in a white hoodie and a somewhat poorly made, but nonetheless effectively scary Jeff The Killer mask.

"Good work, Jethro."

"All I did was sit here, but thanks, Nina."

This was the first recorded murder committed by Jeff's Killers, after a year of just being a bunch of teenagers hanging out in an abandoned house where a bunch of patricide took place.

[chachacancan]

Some broad strokes about a Daemon!au or a bastardized HDM!au featuring Jason and the batfam:

When Jason dies, his daemon dies with him. But when Jason comes back to life, his daemon doesn’t, because daemons don’t leave bodies behind to return to; they turn to dust. So Jason digs his way out of his grave, stumbles across town, and nobody wants to help him, because he clearly has no daemon and it marks him as like, really strange, potentially dangerous, and in Gotham, that means “do not get involved”.

And let’s say, that Talia had somebody posted in Gotham to kinda listen in to the rumours because she wants to keep an eye out for Bruce. And then that contact catches the whispers that there’s this kid living rough in the streets that apprently has no daemon. He relays that information to Talia, and she’s curious, because as far as she knows, she’s only ever met one other person sans daemon, and it’s her father, who has repeatedly bathed in the Pit.

Talia recognizes Jason, surmises that he must’ve come back from the dead, and brings him to the League to try and fix him some. When Jason doesn’t come out from his catatonic state, Talia dunks him in the pit.

Enter a confused, hurting Jason that’s been run off from the League cause Ra’s is pissed, and who now has to deal with the reality that he’s died, and that he’s miraculously come back, and that his daemon (a significant part of his life, supposed to be the reflection of his soul) is still gone.

And the Joker is still alive.

And so this Jason is angry yes, but also kind of empty cause he feels like he’s missing part of himself. It hurts him to see the new Robin out there fighting crime, yeah, he feels betrayed and he feels like he was expendable, but it also hurts to see Tim Drake with his gorgeous eagle daemon alongside Bruce.

When Jason trains around the world he’s shunned because he doesn’t have his daemon with him. He sees people doing a double take, looking to the sky in case maybe his daemon’s a bird just flying overhead, or looking to his pockets cause some people have tiny daemons like field mice. He lets people think what they want, but it does bother him, no matter how nonchalant he tries to appear. It’s hard to be around people with daemons because it reminds him of what he’s lost, nevermind the fact that it constantly reminds him that the only person who can kinda sorta relate to him is Ra’s fucking Al Ghul. Full hurt, absolutely fuckall comfort at this point.

When Bruce realizes that Jason’s back, he doesn’t realize that his daemon’s gone — a big part of bat training is to learn how to distance yourself from your daemon (up to a kilometre!) because you can’t disguise a daemon, and because it’d be kinda suspicious if both the batman and Bruce Wayne have the exact same daemon at their side. So it isn’t unusual for the bats and the birds not to have their daemons in the vicinity. Bruce thinks Jason’s daemon lurks around at a distance, just like his own.

And the thing is, nobody realizes that Jason’s daemon is gone for a long time. It’s months after the “big confrontation”, and Jason’s more or less gotten over having a batarang thrown at his head. It’s when he and the family are tolerating each other, and it’s Alfred that realizes.

Say Jason’s injured on a patrol, can’t really do anything by himself, and Alfred’s put his foot down cause no grandson of his will starve because they’ve broken a few bones and are too stubborn to accept help, no sir. And Jason allows Alfred to come by his safe-house with supplies, and to help him change bandages and such.

So Alfred notices that Jason’s daemon isn’t around, and at first he thinks maybe she’s just wandering about, but the more be comes by, the more he realizes that she’s never around. And so he asks.

And Jason has to say that she didn’t come back when he did. Definitely a good cry here, and definitely a good hug too, because Jason deserves all the hugs. It’s the first time Jason acknowledges that his daemon is gone. There’s something final about saying it aloud.

Alfred snitches to Bruce because this is important information that Jason’s father should now, really.

Bruce of course, has no tact and goes to confront Jason about it. Then a cathartic discussion/screaming match between Jason and Bruce (as you do) where they both admit to some wrongs, but mostly it’s Bruce understanding that Jason isn’t just angry, he’s grieving. Bruce lost his son, and Jason lost everything — even his daemon.

Jason’s never going to be the kid Bruce remembers, and he certainly can’t be whole ever again, so he doesn’t care what Bruce thinks killing is doing to him or his psyche or his morality anyways. That’s what Jason thinks. And Bruce? Bruce can’t accept that. Because despite having changed — having grown up — Jason has so much Jason in him still. And he might’ve lost his daemon, but it doesn’t change the fact that he’s still Bruce’s son, damnit. And Bruce is a stubborn old bastard who doesn’t know when to back off.

I don’t know how I’d end this honestly. I feel like Jason returning to the batfamily right away would be a non sequitur. He’s spent so long on his own. But maybe Jason mellows a bit after that. He doesn’t have to hide as much now that the cat’s out of the bag, and it’s good that he socializes more now. Maybe he finds that he isn’t as hollow inside as he thought. Maybe he starts feeling good about it all once in a while, and that’s progress, and eventually he finds he doesn’t mind being around people and their daemons that much anymore.

Maybe he heals just a little.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Comfortably Numb

Part 5

Warnings as always. This isn't terribly dark. Again, more informative, but a fun little lead up towards the future, so there's that. (Take note of the way Marinette describes her movements, it's not extremely important, but gives a little insight to her mind.)

(Closed list) People I've had on hold for a week: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Sitting in a coma for a year was only mildly less terrible than sitting in a grave for however long. 

On the one hand, Marinette was in a coma for a much longer period of time as far as she could tell. On the other, she was alive and could feel this body. Could hear the nurse read the newspaper to her, always announcing the date at the beginning of the visit. Sure, most of the news of this local area meant very little to her, but beggars can't be picky or whatever the saying was. 

Still, nothing could possibly beat the feeling of waking up fully. As these eyes (Both! They both opened now!) took in the room, she decided to focus in on her nurse. Watching the little delicate movements and shifts and attempting to replicate them to ensure all her nerve endings still worked. That muscles, large and small, still responded to commands, nothing paralyzed or unresponsive. While every movement strained against itself, everything still worked to some extent. Weak, but there. It seemed laying mostly still for over a year and a however much longer had deteriorated the muscle mass. Not surprising, but annoying when she desperately wanted to work her body into a frenzy just to prove she could. 

Laying there a little longer to take stock of healed over injuries, she came to the realization that this throat felt weird. She opened the mouth and attempted to ask the nurse, only for nothing to come out. Narrowing eyes, she reached out and gently tapped thin fingers on the nightstand next to the still reading nurse, drawing his attention to her.

Startled molten gold met her and suddenly he was up and taking the vitals, checking everything to be sure Marinette was truly awake and okay. He started speaking in a soothing, soft voice, though she could barely focus on the words enough to process them. Reaching out again, she stopped him midstep and then brought that same hand up to the throat to indicate the problem. She couldn't speak.

The man seemed to understand and nodded along, quickly paging a doctor and coming back to her, pressing a button to gently prop her up and slowly adjust a few machines before turning back and slowly asking a few basic yes or no questions. 

Did she know who she was? Yes, she was Marinette, stuck in the once dead body of her soulmate. She shook to indicate she didn't. With the state of the grave, she doubted she would be welcomed back to the manor. Best not to let them know who Jason was and have them contacting Bruce.

Did she know where she was? A hospital. She gave a nod for that.

Did she know the date? Yes, the nurse had read the date every day for a little over a year now. That much was easy to agree to, despite the timeline confusing her.

Does she know what happened to her? Well yes, but she shook her head no. She couldn't very well explain dying by Joker's cruelty while in the wrong body as Robin and climbing out of a grave. That was like, three separate identity reveals to one stranger. It also made zero sense and she'd probably end up institutionalized.

With the knowledge that she understood him and wasn't brain dead, the man informed her of the various injuries she knew of, plus a few bonus ones that alluded her. Then, he mentioned her inability to speak.

While all of the breaks and bruising had healed up well, the damage to the vocal chords had been horrific and while they did their best, the damage was done. They couldn't even remove them without it potentially cutting off her airway or esophagus.

She was effectively mute.

Marinette finally woke up after a year in a coma and however long in that grave and she still couldn't scream to her heart's content. This was stupid.

All she could do was glare off into space, ignoring the doctor that came in to do a checkup. 

…

After a week they took her off feeding tubes and IV only hydration and started reintroducing a liquid diet. Progress was slow and painful, but necessary.

After another two weeks they brought in soft solids like pudding and oatmeal. This is also when they first tried to help her stand up a little on her own and fine motor control was finally stable enough to write short phrases on a white bored. Rehabilitation was turning out to be an annoyingly long process.

After a month in this place, she finally left her room for the first time and abruptly realized they transferred her to a children's hospital at some point. It made sense. Jason was about fifteen when she died for him and small due to his time on the streets. Stunted growth, likely. They probably assumed she was about fourteen right now, despite the year technically making them sixteen. Even then, it would make the cutoff for a children's facility.

The bright colors across the walls and floors jarred her a bit after the nothing of so long, but was a welcome change. She tried not to glare at the little sick kids running about as she wheeled slowly along corridors, not quite able to walk on these stick thin legs.

Reports of a child John Doe had been filed, but no one really looked at those that hadn't lost their kid, so no one who would recognize Jason ever saw his report. She would be here a while. At least until she recovered enough to be considered okay for discharge. Then she would be put into the system as an orphan. She had no intention of staying long enough to see that through.

Jason and her had taken to the streets before and would thrive out there more than in any foster home they could find her. For now, she would settle back and allow the recovery process to take control. 

…

Or so she thought. She'd only been awake for a little over a month, but she guessed the file must've been put through when she first came in to try and find his guardian. Someone, somewhere, recognized Jason Todd. 

Whoever they were sold the information to Talia Al Ghul.

The woman came in the middle of the night and stole Marinette away. With this weak body and useless voice box, struggling didn't even seem like an option.

Where would it get her, anyways? Dropped off a rooftop and possibly stuck in a grave again? Talia could kill her again and she wouldn't stand a chance in defending herself. Marinette was not willing to take that chance, so she stayed complacent in her kidnapping.

Talia asked many questions of her, curious as to the state of her new play thing. She had to have known that Jason was supposed to be dead. Marinette didn't bother with paying the questions any attention. It's not like she could respond and she felt hesitant to reveal the inability. She worried over what Talia would do upon finding out the extent of the damage. Would keeping Jason be worth it to her?

Either way, she sensed the ever festing frustration in the older woman with every passing inquiry left unanswered. The look in her eyes spoke of a willingness to torture the information out of her.

Good luck with that. 

At the same time, what could Marinette possibly lose at this point. She already died once and had no home to return to. The once ever present tug in her mind was long gone and hadn't returned with her resurrection. She already lost Jason and her old life. If she actually died again by Talia's hand, would it kill her as well by this point? The body was as good as hers what with the lost connection. Either she could either actually die in it now or she was immortal. When it came to it, with no connection or way to truly live on or track down her past life, she had nothing left to fear.

Eventually she came to a decision. Looking up at the woman before her, she lifted a hand to point to the throat and quickly made a slashing motion across it, which Talia immediately nodded in understanding at. She left for a moment only to drop into the seat across the way again and drop a notebook and pen between them. Marinette picked it up and slowly wrote out a phrase.

'Vocal Chords destroyed.'

Talia only nodded and gestured to continue.

'Long coma, deteriorated muscles. Not much function.'

"And coming back from the dead? How'd that happen?" 

Marinette only shrugged. She truly didn't have an answer. Luckily that seemed sufficient an answer.

"Your brain is fully functional though. I can see how closely you're watching me. Waiting and observing. Not nearly as reckless as your past actions made you out to be. Perhaps dying has that affect though."

Marinette only watched silently as Talia mulled the thought over.

"And the damage otherwise?"

'Mostly healed over. Weakened though.'

The following conversation continued much the same. Talia asked questions and either answered them herself or waited for a short response in return. It didn't take long to get the full extent of the situation hashed out. Talia seemed to regard her with an excited gleam now and reassured her that that could all be fixed. Not to worry, the process only hurt a little. In the end, 'Jason' would feel all better.

Marinette wasn't sure exactly how to respond to this news. Yes, the promise of healing faster and possibly regaining her voice was a tempting offer, but in the end, she knew the woman wanted something from her. The price of health would be steep, of that she seemed sure. Again, she couldn't help but wonder what her alternatives were. This would happen whether or not she consented. Might as well make it feel like she had some control over the situation, if only for the comfort it lent her. She gave a jerky nod and watched the woman's smile grow.

Letting this head loll to the side, Marinette blanked out on everything else, falling into a restless sleep for the duration of their journey to wherever they were going.

…

Over the next few weeks, she woke up in random locations, being carted off into a hotel and up towards their rooms. She was never allowed to leave the room or do much more than eat and drink and use the restroom. It was similar to how she imagined prisoners lived, only in nicer conditions. Talia, while adjusted to live in any conditions, preferred to live luxuriously after all. And it wouldn't do to have a random, half dead kid following her around, raising questions all the time. Marinette couldn't truly blame her for that. She remained hidden.

…

At the end of their travels, she followed Talia out of the final hotel room and out into a cab. The cab dropped them off at a seemingly random location only for the two to walk out into the dessert. She wouldn't be surprised if that cab was only a front for the league. They walked for well over an hour, Marinette lucky to have healed enough to walk so long, even though it started to wear her down after the first thirty minutes, only determination to not be left behind moving her forward.

Talia must've stolen her without informing anyone else of her intentions. Otherwise, she's sure they would've taken a more direct and less discreet route. As it was, they reached a cave entrance and made their way down and down until eventually they begin to veer down different paths, Talia disabling traps as they went.

Eventually they reached an opening into a glowing green room, the glow emitting from a massive pool in the center. Something about the place set her on edge. The glow reminding her of Plagg's toxic green eyes and letting off what had to be a magical aura. Talia smiled down at her in a reassuring manner, putting a hand to the small of this body, nudging her forward.

Calculating the risk, it seemed her best bet to go along with the woman's plan. Talia would want her alive, so surely this wouldn't kill her. Plus, Talia seemed sincere in her promise of healing this body up and Marinette might as well be a walking lie detector at this point. The woman meant her every word. Taking a deep breath, she only hoped this magic would accept her as well as the miraculouses had.

Hovering a foot over the pool, she hesitated only a moment before remembering Kagami's advice from all those years ago. Hesitation had never helped her before and had no place here. Blinking, she nodded and let herself drop down into the pit.

[astyle-alex]

[Fanfic] Museum Mishap | the BatFam

I’m posting an older fanfic to kick off my attempt to be more involved with the Tumblr Fandom community!

Museum Mishap  |  Chapter 6/6

Fandom: the DC Universe, Batman & co. Pairings: Jay x Tim Characters: Jason Todd, Tim Drake, Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson Rating: Gen Audiences Warnings: None

Total Word Count: 38,590

Summary:

Middle-School Tim Drake is on a field trip to the Science Museum, but with a WE exhibition of top-secret new technologies being staged in the basement, Tim separates from his classmates and breaks into the staff-only areas by using the skills he's developed over years of stalking Batman and Robin.

Current-Robin Jason Todd catches him in the act, but he's not there to confront Tim for trespassing or truancy - he's there because there's a rumor on the street that Tim Drake knows Batman's real name. And the rumor's gaining ground, quick, drawing in the wrong kind of attention.

When a Drug-Lord decides to take the rumor seriously enough to kidnap the little genius, Jason jumps into the crossfire. It all goes downhill from there. Fast.

(Jason is 14, Tim is 12)

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

Museum Mishap Chapter 6: Safe

           It’s five weeks after Jason disobeyed Batman’s orders to drop the idea of investigating the rumor that a random rich kid knew the vigilantes’ secret identities.

           Five weeks since Jason let himself be kidnapped by the upstart drug lord Lorenzo Sabini in an attempt to protect the kid who was Sabini’s real target – the kid rumored to know impossible things about Batman and Robin.

           Five weeks since Jason’s leg was broken – in the line of a duty he never should’ve been asked to shoulder, never should’ve been allowed to feel bound to carry – and Bruce Wayne rediscovered the impossible duality of being responsible for the life of a child that he’d somehow managed to forget. That had faded from his mind when Dick had grown up enough to go off on his own – without his Guardian having any legal say in stopping him.

           Batman has been able to bury the raging concern, the guilt he bears for introducing Jason to such a dangerous lifestyle – for not doing more to discourage his interest. Batman is able to silence the voice that says Jason acted honorably, if stupidly, by insisting that Robin needs to do better, to be better, so that he can keep the boy inside the costume safer.

           But Bruce is having trouble letting Jason heal.

           ‘Suffocating’ Jason calls his attentions, merely ‘stupid codling he doesn’t need’.

           Jason submitted to three weeks of strictly bedrest – a godsend if Bruce could ever believe in such things. He’d offered only mild resistance to being benched for six weeks – to rigorous and thorough PT, and light, careful exercise and a slow return to the training regimen that kept shaping Robin’s growing body into something more heroic than the average simple human.

           But there was no point in even trying to bring up the idea of retiring Jason’s pixie boots for good – of trying to convince him to stand down from the Vigilante fight.

           Bruce knows that, but he still tries it – once, in a terse conversation that gets shut down before he even makes it to the first point of reasoning – and then he swallows the rest of the worry and buries it in silence alongside his fury at Jason’s constant reckless disregard for his own safety. Bruce knows he can’t stop Jason, can’t force him out of the cape, so Batman vows to train him harder, push him further, make him stronger, make him faster, more durable, more prepared – keep him safer.

           It’s a compromise.

           And it has to be enough.

           Because Jason is already back on his feet.

           He broke his own way out of the cast almost a week ago – refused to apologize or sit for another casting – and though Alfred’s managed to somehow force him into a sturdy brace, guilted him into maintaining his use of the crutches… Jason’s been back inside the Cave twice already while Batman has been out – at least twice.

           The Cave’s security cameras have caught him on the Salmon Ladder the last two nights in a row – going through two sets his first night back, and four the next. So that was two nights, at least, that security footage showed Jason working out inside the Cave, but it was possible there were nights he wasn’t tagged on the Cave’s security footage. Dick had certainly learned to sneak down without being caught on camera. Bruce doubted that Dick would share his secrets with Jason – but it was not beyond possibility.

           Bruce kept meaning to add more cameras, to ensure that every inch of the cave was covered by an unblinking eye equipped with filters in Starlight and infrared, but that project kept getting sidelined somehow. He kept getting distracted.

           Because his kids kept getting hurt.

           But it’s been five weeks since Jason got hurt.

           He’s getting better, and his bullheaded determination is just the same as it was before the injury – the stubborn streak still apparent, now even more so if anything had changed.

           But there’s something else about Jason that’s different.

           Bruce almost can’t see it – almost convinces himself it’s not happening, because he’s so damn hopeful that it is happening that his chest constricts with this strange kind of joy or pride or something and he doesn’t know what to do with it.

           Because Dick and Jason are talking.

           Not fighting, talking.

           Alfred’s caught them playing video games. Together.

           They were supposed to be doing homework – Jason’s been back at school for three weeks and while Dick’s purposefully selected freshman college classes don’t require constant attendance, they do give assignments that need to be turned in online – but still…

           Dick and Jason are getting along.

           His adopted sons are becoming brothers.

           Bruce notices.

           And wants it to be real so badly that it hurts.

           Batman notices, too.

           But Batman notices other things, as well.

           Batman notices how the Wayne Boys have befriended the kid Jason got himself kidnapped alongside.

           Batman notices how Nightwing volunteers to swing off on his own every night for a cursory once over of deterrence through Coventry and around the area in the Upper West Side where Sabini’s gang and the rumors they’d acted on had run amok – had being the operative word, seeing as how the entire area had been scared so straight there hasn’t even been a purse snatching in over a month.

           Batman notices how quiet the supposed-civilian kid at the center of those rumors is when he’s home alone – which is often – how the only thing he talks about out loud, in range of Batman’s listening devices, is how much he admires the caped crusaders and how much he wants for their ramshackle team to work together as brothers and sisters in arms – to work through their issues and be a kind of family.

           Batman notices.

           And he watches.

           And he’s concerned by what he sees.

           So tonight, as Nightwing swings off towards Coventry – with a big smile and a wholly unnecessary flip – Batman decides to investigate the kid firsthand.

           The civilian’s name is Timothy Jackson Drake and he is twelve years old, enrolled as a sixth grader at Gotham Preparatory Academy Primary Campus. His parents are Jack and Janet Drake, famed globe-trotting researchers and archeologists, and the second generation of Drakes to head up Drake Industries – a leading Wayne Enterprises competitor. The Drakes reside in the mansion that neighbors the Wayne Estate – another statement of how DI both complements and competes with WE.

           Timothy Drake seems mostly unremarkable.

           He’s skipped two grades, and his teachers say he’s got a remarkable mind, but he lacks significant social skills and spends most of his time alone – tinkering with some project or other. He’s never demonstrated a particular drive to be anything when he grows up, but he’s applied to the Wayne Tech summer camps three years in a row – despite being under the age requirement – and his bedroom is littered with DI equipment and half-finished robots he’s clearly engineered himself in the hours and hours he spends unsupervised.

           Lucius Fox likes him.

           In the way that some people like puppies.

           Bruce isn’t even entirely sure how Lucius Fox discovered the Drake kid, but it’s in his files in the Batcomputer – Fox has his name on a recruitment list, circled in red sharpie with a smiley face next to it.

           So, Timothy Drake is a smart kid.

           But he’s just a kid.

           According to all of Batman’s information, Timothy Drake is just a kid.

           A civilian who happened to have a bad stroke of luck and got his name wrapped up in a rumor founded on nothing more than a junkie’s word and some evidence that the kid in question was a vigilante fan.

           Is still a fan, somehow, despite the circumstance that admiration landed him in.

           Timothy Jackson Drake seems like nothing more than a dedicated fan – a child, not a threat. But the evidence is so peculiar – there are ridiculously strong indications that the rumor carried truth, and yet… the notion that the child knows nothing is so convincing that Dick and Jason agree on it… which in and of itself makes the evidence seem suspect…

           Thus, Batman is set on investigating the matter further for himself.

           A twelve year old civilian would be in bed at this time of night, tucked safely into the labyrinth of the Drake Mansion.

           So as Nightwing peals away to the west, Batman plots a course northward.

           He’s planned this carefully. His choice of direction does not immediately alert Nightwing to his intentions. He’s been rotating where he patrols after splitting off from Nightwing, moving counterclockwise by a dozen blocks every few days. Now he’s pointed right towards the Robbinsville area, where he’s stashed one of his getaway vehicles – a rather bland, all-black motorcycle that’s nothing special, but is quick and maneuverable enough to get him to the Drake Estate and back before Nightwing realizes he’s deviated.

           He even has Batgirl prepped to back Nightwing up if something happens – Barbara is visiting her father this weekend and doing research for her own case in Chinatown. She might not be actively patrolling, but Batman had been sure to give her warning of his activities.

           He trusts her discretion, and he knows she would be as worried as him about Nightwing's probable – and possibly willful – oversight of the threat posed by Drake. Batman does not want to think Nightwing would be so foolish as to dismiss a threat simply because it doesn't seem actively threatening – or worse, because he wanted to curry favor with his adoptive brother – But it’s always better to be safe.

           So, Batman is tracking north – from slightly further east than he’d originally planned, drawn off course by what seemed to be a mugging, but quickly resolved as Batman ID'd a drunk man resisting as his friend took away his keys – and he’s determined to get to the bottom of Drake’s capabilities and influence.

           He’s about to swing down to the last tall building before the midrises and family homes of Robbinsville take over Gotham’s footprint when he spies a figure huddled on the rooftop.

           Had Batman been approaching from his planned route, he wouldn’t have seen the figure until he touched down on the roof – within easy knife throwing distance of the stranger, with no chance to react if an attack was imminent.

           Carefully, Batman swings around to the far side of the building and climbs silently up to roof level after landing on a balcony. He creeps close enough to ascertain that the would-be assailant is small – even with a massive jacket attempting to keep out the late January chill, the figure is miniscule… a child.

           Concern leaps, unbidden, into his chest as he wonders what could possibly bring a child onto a freezing cold rooftop in the middle of the night. The apartment building is not the lowest rent residence in the region, but it has its fair share of alcoholics and abusers. It would not be unheard of for a child to sneak away for what respite they can get and the Bat knows that this situation takes precedence to his Drake investigation.

           Batman is just about to announce his presence – From far enough away to hopefully prevent the kid from falling off the roof in fright, though he has his grapple gun ready just in case – when the kid shifts.

           An eerie blue glow lights up the crouching figure’s face as his phone flares briefly to life.

           It's Timothy Jackson Drake.

           Batman frowns, continues to silently observe.

           Drake curls more tightly around his knees. He huffs – breath turning instantly to steam that catches in the city's light – And mutters, “He should be here by now... There’s no sirens, no breakouts, nothing to keep him away… unless he’s not coming this way tonight… but he should be… he’s been moving north… but maybe I miss-counted the interval, or maybe I’m too far north… but this is the best vantage to check on Robinsv-”

           His mumbled monologue – which Batman is certain he is not intentionally speaking aloud – is interrupted by a sneeze.

           “Bless you,” Batman says, stepping from the darkest shadows.

           “Thanks,” Tim returns.

           A beat passes, and then Tim whirls around with a string of oddly pronounced Chinese curses spilling from his tongue.

           “Batman,” Tim breathes, awestruck and a little bit fearful.

           “Timothy,” Batman returns, “I hear you’ve been looking for me.”

           It’s true, the kid had just mumbled as much. There was no one else he could possibly be waiting for here, not with the details he’d murmured about having tracked to find him.

           “Um, kinda,” the kid admits.

           He’s not as surprised by Batman’s recognition of him – of the Bat using his name directly – as Batman would’ve thought. He is nervous though, antsy. Batman scans him for weapons, but nothing notable shows up in any of his cowl’s filters and the coat is too cumbersome for any shapes beneath it to be positively identified.

           Tim does have something in his hands, though – something he’s clutched close to his chest. Bare fingers glow ghostly in the night, tremble in the freezing air.

           It’s not a weapon that he’s holding, or a camera – like might be expected and acceptable from a fan. It’s a set of note cards. Note. Cards. Like he’s practicing for a speech.

           On an ice cold Gotham rooftop in the middle of the night.

           Bruce Wayne is thrown by that. Far enough to make Batman pause.

           Batman regards the kid standing before him in the darkness.

           Timothy Drake stares back.

           “Did you have a reason?” Batman asks eventually.

           “Huh?”

           “To be looking for me, did you have a reason?”

           Timothy looks down at his hands, at the half-crushed note cards he’s holding. “Yeah,” he says slowly, quiet with the kind of resignation Batman knows is guilt.

           “Well?” Batman prompts when Timothy offers nothing more.

           The kid flinches, and Batman fights a wince of his own.

           The obvious reasons Nightwing has for underestimating this kid assert themselves plainly. He is a child, small for his age and easily frightened. There seems no reason to suspect him of anything – except that he was waiting on a rooftop for Batman, intentionally. A rooftop even Batman didn’t know he would be visiting until about a week ago.

           “I’m worried about Robin,” Timothy admits. “And Nightwing, and Batgirl, for that matter, but mostly Robin.”

           “Why?”

           Another flinch. Bruce Wayne consciously tries to reel back the Batman ‘grr factor’, as Dick has termed it. And yet… Timothy clearly knows more than he should. Perhaps the gravel and growl is worth it to extract that information.

           “Because they need you to listen to them – that’s why you fought with Nightwing to begin with, right? You, um, you passed his mantle on without letting him explain why he didn’t want you to?” Tim’s actively struggling to make eye-contact.

           Batman doesn’t verbalize a response.

           He’s evaluating how this kid could possibly know what he does without knowing the names beneath the masks – it’s possible, he supposes, but extremely unlikely.

           “I get why you didn’t, he was still a kid and not very good at making his important points clear, but when he went to California, he didn’t want you to let him go, he wanted you to bring him home,” Timothy rambles, losing his battle for eye-contact.

           Batman scowls.

           Timothy swallows dryly. Consults his notes.

           “They need you to help them,” Timothy says.

           Batman’s scowl deepens, and he must make some sound because Timothy doesn’t just flinch this time, he yelps and curls into himself. His cards get squeezed so tightly they pop out of his hands and scatter across the rooftop. Timothy dives after them, but the roof is wet with the afternoon's snow shower and the antifreeze that keeps it from becoming ice.

           There is no recovering the careful presentation Timothy clearly had planned for this meeting. But Timothy isn’t willing to admit defeat immediately.

           “Timothy Jackson Drake,” Batman says as the kid in question scrambles with his wet paper, frowning at the smudged and ruined ink like he should have been able to plan for that – like he should’ve had a contingency.

           At Batman's voice saying his full name, Timothy freezes and stares up at him like a frightened deer.

           “Tell me how and why you have come to know so much about the relationships between the Gotham masks.”

           “That’s not important,” Timothy says. Quick, dismissive, like the point truly doesn’t matter in his world-view, or to his understanding of his place in it.

           “It’s not?”

           “No. What’s important is that you’re not letting them do their jobs,” Timothy accuses.

           And then he promptly freezes and stares up at Batman like he just then has realized not only what he said, but how – how direct and confrontational it was.

           “They don’t have jobs,” Batman replies, level and calm. “They are children.”

           “Not when they're wearing masks,” Timothy snaps back immediately. “When the masks are on, they’re vigilantes. Nothing else.”

           Batman narrows his eyes at Timothy's temerity.

           And fights himself to keep from agreeing with Timothy’s point. But his disagreement doesn’t make it any less true. No matter how much he wants to remember that under the masks the heroes who have joined his crusade in Gotham are children, he can’t ignore the truth of Timothy Drake's words: when the masks are on, they’re not children – They can’t be.

           Batman cannot ignore that – can’t pretend it away.

           But he can insist on one smaller truth. “They do not have jobs.”

           Timothy glared – actually glared at Batman in full cape and cowl and scowl – and said firmly, “Their job is to make sure you remember why is it that you do yours.”

           Batman blinked behind the lenses of his cowl.

           “That’s not how it works,” Batman defends. Weakly – he knows.

           But he’s not entirely sure what to do with this child, this strangely mature tiny human with hope and sweetness and innocence – and uncomfortably valid points – lecturing him like Batman is the errant child here.

           “You can’t possibly be that stupid,” Timothy says – a moment later looking wide-eyed and horrified by his words, yet still going on with speaking as if his mouth had detached itself from is brain and was running on a will of its own. “They care about what happens to you, which makes you care about it. They need you alive, and you – on some level, at least – recognize that need. It keeps you safer. And it makes you be a better person, in trying to set a good example for them to follow. And that’s important.”

           Tim pulls more air into his lungs, enough for another leg of his tirade, and goes on, “Without Robin, Batman is too violent, too aggressive… like Green Arrow starting to gain ground in Star City; you’re too much like the criminals you hunt to make a genuine, lasting difference. Without Robin, you’re just scary. Robin tempers you; makes you an inspiration – makes people believe that you aren’t just hurting bad guys, but also protecting good ones.”

           Tim manages to close his mouth and keep it shut after that – if only by the simple force of his clear mortification sealing off his words.

           “Timothy.”

           Terrified eyes peer up at Batman.

           “What do you know about us capes? There was a reason Sabini had an interest in you and I’m not convinced it was just a junkie’s word and evidence that you’re a fan,” Batman lays out simply – calmly, regaining control of this discussion.

           “I know that you’re necessary,” Tim replies in a squeak.

           Eyes narrow behind the lenses of the cowl.

           Tim ducks his head, fully aware that he has not answered Batman’s question.

           “I know that Gotham needs you,” Tim reiterates. “I don’t know who you are beneath the masks, and I don’t want to know. I just want to help you keep Gotham safe. Because I’m not a mask, I’m just a fan… but I can still help.”

           Batman regards the young civilian carefully. He has Jason’s spirit and determination, Dick’s unyielding sweetness, and Barbara’s practical acceptance of humanity’s flaws.

           “You don’t know our civilian identities?”

           Tim shakes his head. “I don’t care about them.”

           Batman does not believe him – does not believe that he doesn’t know, or that he doesn’t care. Timothy Drake knows more than enough to be dangerous.

           Dick has always been a terrible judge of character – in some ways, he always sees the best in people, in their potential – so his support of Timothy Drake as a non-threat means little.

           But Jason is the most astute observer of humanity Bruce has ever encountered – he can read a person’s entire psyche in a gesture, find their cracks and weaknesses and apply just the right leverage to break them. And he’s never thrown from thinking that a seemingly innocent person is capable of doing a great deal of damage – would never underestimate a threat like that.

           Case in point: how he hadn’t let go of the potential threat Tim posed to begin with.

           Jason had decided Tim was safe.

           Batman decides to trust his Robin’s judgement; Bruce puts faith in his son.

           Batman heaves a sigh.

           “It’s time to go home, Timothy,” he says. “This is no place for a child to be, and you shouldn’t be out at this time of night.”

           Timothy frowns.

           “It’s my city, too,” he mumbles.

           Batman takes no quarter and as soon as he gets a nod of permission – Jason’s taught him how to work with children who aren’t like Dick, with an insatiable desire for physical contact – Batman hoists Timothy up and settles him on his hip. Batman holds tight to the child and shoots his grapple gun to carry them down to street level. He sits Timothy on his motorcycle and speeds across the city to Drake’s own door.

           There is no one home.

           Concerning in a very different way.

           Batman knew the Drakes were away. Bruce didn’t realize the implications of that beyond how Timothy was left unsupervised – hadn’t until right now.

           “Do you want me to come in,” Batman asks, awkward and uncertain of whether it would help at all to walk the kid to his bedroom. Batman should not linger – should not even consider the idea of tucking this neglected child into bed – but Bruce cannot quite bear to drag himself away just yet. He needs to know that Timothy is safe.

           Timothy is staring at him like he’s shown up as Batman to a career day at school.

           “Why?”

           “No one’s home.”

           “No one’s ever home,” Timothy replied blankly, adding. “I don’t need a real babysitter, let alone Batman. But Nightwing probably needs backup.”

           Batman nodded. Accepted that he needed to push the Bruce in him down until they finished with the night’s patrol.

           Tomorrow he could look into Timothy Drake’s circumstances.

           “Be safe, Timothy,” Batman fare-wells. “Stay off the streets, and be careful, or this will not be our last conversation.

           “You be safe, too,” Timothy replies. “Or I’ll just have to find you again.”

           Batman almost chuckles. He waits until Timothy locks the door behind him, and then he takes his motorcycle back to where he’d stashed it across the bridge from Robbinsville.

           He meets up with Nightwing and finishes patrol.

           If he’s more reticent than usual Nightwing doesn’t comment.

           The teenager is still wearing the blinding goofy smile of his, broader now after a successful sweep of Coventry – no new rumors of Tim Drake. And he’d saved a cat from where it had gotten stuck on a gargoyle after it had slipped out of its apartment and ventured off an inopportune ledge beside the balcony.

           And because that’s the kind of hero Dick is, he chatters on incessantly about the cat and how it wailed and scratched him at first and yowled as he swung around the building, but then it purred and refused to let him go when it realized he’d brought it home.

           Beneath the cowl, Batman almost smiles.

           When he and Nightwing make it back to the Cave, Jason is not down there – the only evidence that anyone has been down there since he and Nightwing left is the snack left out for them by Alfred. Jason is in bed, asleep and dead to the world when Bruce slips in to check.

           Jason is safe.

           And Dick is safe.

           And Alfred and Barbara are safe.

           His family. Safe.

           And Tim is… safe enough for the moment.

           Tonight, Bruce will sleep.

           Tomorrow he will reevaluate the child and his circumstances.

           But tonight, Bruce Wayne basks in the truth that has a Family.

           And his family is home, and safe.

           It’s a foreign feeling.

           But a good one.

||  Read on Ao3 | Read on FF.net | Follow my updates on Patreon  ||

[dented-nado]

Only if you want but maybe 18 “I can’t breathe” with superbat? It might be more angst than fluff but maybe supes is helping bat calm down from a panic? Love your stuff! 💕

[[Sorry this took so long! But once I got writing! I couldn’t stop! So I hope you enjoy this ficlet! It takes place in canon-verse - Dick has just quit as Robin and Bruce has a lot of rules for being Batman. Enjoy!]]

 Batman as a meaning, sometimes changed… depending on what Bruce either wanted to enforce or punish himself with.

It could be something as simple as “Batman doesn’t eat Nachos” or “Batman doesn’t eat a lot of sweets”.

Those were rules meant to control his diet and discourage himself from emotional eating. Though it also meant he didn’t always let himself have a little fun when it came to dining at all.

Being dedicated as he was to organization, he had all the Batman rules written down - in a small black book he kept in a locked drawer in the bat-cave.

Rule #1: Batman doesn’t cry

Bruce hated crying, especially in front of people. It made him feel vulnerable, it made him feel weak… and most of all, when he cried, he couldn’t control it. Not being able to control some part of himself no matter how small infuriated him. He sometimes wished he was a cyborg or a computer that was easily programmable and he could do being Batman and doing his work without pesky emotions or trauma getting in his way.

There were some times - times he wasn’t very proud of, he had felt tears slip out of his eyes among his teammates, he had the bat-cowl to hide them. But he knew that both Clark and J'onn knew every damn time he had started crying. J'onn didn’t tend to bother him about it, and would pretend he didn’t notice, because he knew Bruce didn’t want it to be noticed.

Clark would do the same… for the most part. Bruce knew he tried, hard, for his sake, because he knew that -especially in the Batsuit- that Bruce didn’t want to acknowledge he had gotten emotional over something, or something they encountered had brought up old feelings, opened old wounds that had never healed or gone acknowledged. Except… Clark would bite his lip and look over at Bruce with sad eyes, like he wanted to talk, somehow encourage Bruce to open up, somehow convey that it was okay even for the Bat to sometimes cry… because he himself struggled with the fact that even the man of steel was allowed to cry.

But he didn’t, at least not in the moment, because if he called it out, Bruce would shut down and lash out, deny it, because Rule Number One: Was Batman Doesn’t Cry.

Even if Bruce Wayne cried, Batman couldn’t cry.

Rule # 2: Batman doesn’t panic.

Batman always had to be in control. Of himself and the situation. He couldn’t panic. He wasn’t supposed to panic. If he panicked… who would be the one to figure it all out if not him? So, he absolutely could not panic.

Except he had panicked before. He had broken that rule.

Sometimes it was in a quiet ‘silly’ way, like when he had been in the bat-cave with the cowl down - Clark right by his side after they had a long day dealing with various catastrophes - when asked:

“Hey B… you sure your okay? After today?”

Bruce’s brain had short-circuited when asked if he was okay for some damn reason and had answered:

“Peachy-keen and Squeaky Clean.”

“…What?”

Clark had swallowed hard to keep from chuckling. Bruce put his head in his hand.

“Fuck… its something Dick used to say.”

“Sounds like a young Dick Grayson thing to say…” Clark had paused, Bruce willed the pink in his face to go away and pleaded with every higher power in existence that his ears wouldn’t turn pink as well and stand out like a damn stop-light on his pale sun-deprived skin.

“Were you thinking about him B?” Clark had asked slowly.

“……”

This came up against Rule #3: Batman doesn’t lie for stupid reasons.

Bruce found himself having trouble following this one the most.

“No…”

“Bruce.” Clark had said in a disappointed tone.

“Yes.” Bruce immediately replied, changing his answer. It was a little ridiculous how Clark could manage to get him to stop lying the same way Alfred could just by speaking in that ’oh your better than that.’tone.

“Have you talked to him lately?” Clark asked.

Bruce knew Clark was perfectly aware he was treading on dangerous territory, but it didn’t seem to phase the super-man at the moment.

“… I don’t think he wants to talk.”

“I know he quit as robin but…”

“He was furious at me for not telling him about Batgirl… among other things… I think… and we haven’t talked since.”

They sat in silence as Bruce stared forward blankly at his computer.

“I’m never doing it again…” He had said finally in a low voice.

Clark had landed on the ground from his floating position and put a quiet hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “Doing what, B?”

“I wasn’t a good parent. I wasn’t ready to be a parent, I… I think I was projecting onto him, so I thought our goals were aligned, but they weren’t… I don’t know why I thought… I would be good for him, I was terrible for him.” Bruce found himself babbling.

He had just broken Rule #4: Batman doesn’t talk about feelings or personal events to anyone.

But then again… his cowl was down, so maybe it wouldn’t count… but on the other hand he was still in the suit.

At some point along the way of becoming friends with Clark Kent, he had broken and completely obliterated Rule #5: Batman doesn’t trust anyone. Because he had come to trust Clark. Batman had come to trust Superman. It felt dangerous… the way Clark had slowly gotten him to open up, feel safe, feel comforted. It scared him… but he treasured it at the same time. So sometimes… the fact he had broken that rule didn’t always feel so bad.

“I think you did the best you could given the circumstances… and maybe your goals were aligned at one point and he just… changed. And I don’t know B, I was peeved at my parents when I was about Dick’s age.” Clark said with a slight shrug.

Bruce’s head whipped towards him. “Why? I mean maybe I don’t know parents well but… yours seem so…”

Clark smiled and chuckled. “Perfect?” He floated back up in the air and 'sat’ on nothing next to Bruce’s chair, criss-crossing his legs. “No, but really. I thought about running away even… I was going through some stuff, it was… hard going through puberty, gaining powers, and realizing your an alien that fast. I briefly resented them not telling me… it was worse than just not knowing I was adopted, I was an adopted alien. I felt lied to, and like I didn’t belong anywhere.”

Bruce leaned forward curiously. He had never heard Clark really talk about his childhood or teenager-hood before. “Eventually I realized… they were just trying to give me a normal childhood, where I could feel like a normal kid. They never wanted me to feel like I didn’t belong, and eventually we talked about it.”

He twiddled his thumbs. “I know its far from a one-to-one with what your going through with Dick… I’m sure you both have a long list of things you could have done, should have done… and it just… blew up without either of you realizing it was blowing up. ”

Bruce nodded quietly in response. “I probably had it coming. I don’t think I taught him how to deal with his anger in a very healthy way. I’m not exactly a model of mental health…” Bruce mused. “I know sometimes been letting fighting be a way to deal with things rather than dealing with them… that’s probably not a good thing, is it?”

“Probably not… but I think you’d be hard-pressed to find a single person in the league that doesn’t sometimes use fighting as an emotional crutch.”

“Hmm…” Bruce had replied quietly.

They sat in silence for a long moment again, Bruce drifting back into deep thought, that was until a warm hand covering his surprised him and jolted him out of his thoughts.

“I think you’ll talk about it eventually, B, he isn’t going to stay mad forever, and you still raised him.”

“I just hope he finds what he’s looking for… but it honestly… might be in his best interests to… to never see me again.” Bruce said, his own hand now covering his own mouth as he felt himself dangerously get close to breaking rule #1.

“I… I don’t want it to bother me, I don’t… I don’t want to think about it…” Bruce stammered.

Clark’s hand traveled up Bruce’s arm and he wrapped his arm around his shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. “It’s okay to be upset about it B… I’d be more concerned if you weren’t upset about it. He’s your son.”

“I don’t… I don’t think he sees me as his father, why would he?”

“B…” Clark said softly.

“I keep… loosing people, I don’t… I don’t know why… I don’t know why I keep…. I keep…” Bruce made a growl of frustration as his eyes began to water. “I’m… sorry.”

“It’s okay don’t apologize, you don’t have to apologize for feeling.”

“I … I can’ breathe…” Bruce stammered in-between gasps of trying to force himself to pull himself together.

“Don’t try to force yourself to stop,  It’s okay, B, really, just let it out, its okay…” Clark whispered calmly and softly.

“Batman doesn’t…”

“Forget Batman for a second, your more important. Besides! Who says what Batman can and can’t do?” Clark said pulling Bruce into an even tighter hug.

Bruce couldn’t help a sniffle. “I did. I have a rule-book and everything.”

Clark sighed and pressed his cheek against Bruce’s. “Of course you did you goofy-bat.”

Bruce grumbled but slowly closed his eyes and let himself feel Clark hold him as he slowly began to calm down and breathe again.

“I just want to be… better… I wish I had been better.”

“Well if you want to be 'better’ - which is not the word I’d pick by the way…  don’t leave out the possibility of talking to Dick once you’ve had some time apart… You both need time to sort yourselves out. And you could also start by not writing silly rules for yourself and holding yourself to an impossible standard.”

Bruce snorted. “If I don’t make the rules for Batman, who will.”

“Hmm.” Clark replied.

—

A week later, Clark visited Bruce again in the cave. He and Dick still hadn’t talked, or run into each other. It still… hurt. But Bruce was now open to talking when it was time, but now wasn’t the time.

“I got you a little present.” Clark said, once again hover-sitting next to Bruce.

Bruce raised his eyebrow at him. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t forget my birthday again, did I?”

“You’ve forgotten your own…” Clark began before shaking his head. “No, that’s not it, and the occasion is 'your my friend and I wanted to do something for you’.” He replied with a sheepish smile.

He handed Bruce a very carefully and meticulously black wrapped flat present with a yellow bow on top. Bruce had to smile a little on how it matched the Batman aesthetic, clearly, Clark had an attention to detail that he had to appreciate. Clark waited patiently as bruce went through his routine of very carefully unwrapping the gift to avoid ripping the paper and found a maroon colored notebook inside.

Bruce glanced up at Clark curiously before opening the notebook to find Clark’s hand-writing inside.

“Superman’s ”“'rules”“ for what Batman can and can’t do.”

Bruce smiled a little wider and kept reading.

Rule #1: Batman is allowed to cry.

Rule #2: It’s okay for Batman to not have everything figured out right away.

Rule #3:  Batman can have some fun and laugh sometimes because he has a smile and a laugh that lights up a room and has probably the cutest dimples I’ve ever seen.

Bruce’s heart skipped a few beats.

Rule #4: I’ll always be your friend, and I care about you, a lot… so Batman should never forget that.

Rule #4.5: I love you. Batman doesn’t have to feel the same way, but he should know that.

Bruce looked up at Clark with wide eyes. Clark was turned slightly away, face beet red.

“I know… I can’t help being a hopeless romantic, I’m sorry… but…”

“Clark… I…” Bruce’s words caught in his throat, heart feeling like it was going to fall out. “This is… really… really … sweet… thank you.”

Clark glanced back at Bruce finally with a little shy smile. “Your welcome.”

“I do have to add one little thing though…” Bruce said with a slightly cheeky look, getting out his pen.

Clark looked him over slightly startled “What’s that?”

Bruce quietly with a calm smile wrote down the words that had caught in his throat, but he wanted to say in one way or another anyway.

Rule #5: Batman loves Superman too… and thinks he should know that too.

He turned the book slightly so Clark could read the additional rule, he was incredibly amused by the way Clark lit up and looked so over-joyed he might actually start glowing.

“Do… Do you think maybe Batman could change his rule about no dating within the league?”

Bruce leaned forward with a hum. “Everyone else seems to break it all the time anyway so it might not be a very good rule anyway.”

Clark laughed. “The team is still together even with the drama it can cause from time to time.”

“Then I think I will get rid of that rule, and maybe Rule #6 - is "Batman can date” especially if I don’t want to break rule #3" Bruce stood as he and Clark quietly locked hands.

“That’s true, I’m going to hold you to that one especially.” Clark said decidedly.

“I always thought my laugh was scary… Is it also weird I didn’t even know I had dimples?” Bruce asked, feeling a little giddy for once.

“Well when you force any laugh its scary, but when I’ve seen you genuinely laugh before….” Clark almost looked a little wistful “It… makes me swoon a little…. it is kind of bad you didn’t know you have dimples B, but its okay.”

“Hmmm…” Bruce hummed. “Guess there’s still things for me to learn.”

“Guess Batman doesn’t know everything.” Clark teased playfully.

“No, and he doesn’t have to know everything, Rule #2.” Bruce replied now leaning against Clark slightly.

“Rule #7 that I just made up, there’s always still time to figure things out. And that’s okay.”

“That’s a good one, I have to write it down really quick.” Bruce said reaching for his pen.

—

Bruce handed Clark his old notebook as he replaced it with Clark’s sweet gesture of a rulebook, allowing Clark to flip through the old rules.

“Why Nachos specifically? Do you like Nachos?”

“I fucking love Nachos.” Bruce replied with a mournful sigh.

“Wow, good to know. Sounds like you have a sweet tooth too?”

“I do. It’s horrible.” Bruce argued.

“Oh no its not.”

“It is when you eat your feelings, and I don’t have super-metabolism, I didn’t get spend ages getting these rock hard abs only to fuck it up by filling myself up with all the nachos and sweet things I’ve always wanted to eat and forced myself not to.”

“Point taken, but for the record, you can  enjoy yourself and eat things you like. Besides, Alfred has told me you don’t eat enough anyway.”

Bruce grumbled. “Oh great, please tell me he hasn’t already shown you my baby pictures.”

Clark gasped. “No But I’m definitely going to ask him next time I talk to him.”

“Fuck.” Bruce groaned.

“Rule #35 Stop getting excited whenever Clark is around… you get excited when I’m around??” Clark said cheerfully.

“…. No….”

“B…”

“……..Yes.”

“Awww, B!”

Bruce mumbled and grumbled for a moment because he couldn’t help himself.

“That’s so sweet.”

“Your the sweet one here, don’t accuse me of such things.”

“You’re sweet too though! Sweetest bat around.”

“Clark.”

“Bruce.”

Unable to keep up his grumpy facade, Bruce smiled very slightly and sighed over-dramatically. “Well… thank you.”

They both locked eyes for a long moment, then jumped suddenly when Bruce’s phone dinged and scared the crap out of both of them, making them jump.

“Who the hell is…”

Bruce picked up his phone and looked at the name over the message that had been sent and froze.

“It’s Dick…”

Clark’s eyes grew wide and he floated forward slightly.

“Hey… idk if you want to talk about it. I talked to Barbara, I think we should. If you want, idk.”

Bruce immediately tapped the message open, wondered if he should wait so it didn’t seem like he was desperate or constantly checking his phone to see if Dick had texted him, then decided “fuck it” and answered anyway.

“Yeah, we should talk about it. Catch up. Let me know when/where works for you.”

Dick replied almost as fast as Bruce had. “You sure you don’t need to work around…. … work?”

“No. This is more important right now. Work can wait.”

“Okay… I get off work in an hour, can you get to Bludhaven by then? I’ll send you the address.”

Bruce found himself tilting his head, curious as to what job Dick had gotten since he quit as robin.

“Cool. I’ll be there. Hope your doing okay.”

“…Yeah… you too. See you then.”

Bruce looked up at Clark. “You were right… he wants to talk…”

Clark beamed at him and put his arms around his bat-boyfriend. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I…. thank you… so much Clark. I’m still worried I’ll mess it up but…”

“It’s going to be okay B, your going to be okay, he’s going to be okay, we’re going to be okay.”

Bruce leaned against Clark’s chest and sighed. “Yeah… It’s going to be okay…”

[kawaiijellymonster]

So I’ve got a note in my notes app called “Fanfic lines that should be in a hall of fame” and it’s gotten pretty long so I figure I’ll toss it on here so yall can enjoy it, most of them are: mha, zukka, miraculous ladybug, harry potter, and I think one is from a comment on a hannibal amv, But here you go:

Stain sold papers because he just had an aura about him that drew people in, like people who slow down to look at car crashes.

“The Rumor Come Out: Does Todoroki Shoto is Gay?”

Izuku spent the next week going to his normal martial arts classes, studying, and drinking gallons of coffee. Not healthy but he could deal with it. His body was never meant to be permanent.

So no one was watching when Mei placed her forehead against his, breath fanning across his face as she spoke. "Wake up Loki… the world needs you."

“No probs ‘lil listener!” Hizashi said, striking a dramatic pose. “I’ll be your DJ all through the night, bringin’ you such rockin’ hits as safety, security and sweet dreams!”

“This is stupid! Screw the waiting and screw these stupid butterflies. They're not paying rent, the little shits--”

Experimenting with unstable genetic mutant abominations is more of an art than a science, really."

Several looks pass across both their faces. “No flying for a month,” Sirius declares. That sucks, actually. But he’s also a hundred percent certain he can get them to cave on that in two weeks tops. “Okay. Is that for the breaking into the Ministry, destroying the Department of Mysteries, making a bargain with Voldemort, or bringing all my friends with me?” “It’s for recklessly endangering your own life again,” Remus says, “and while the punishment very much doesn’t fit the crime, we’re a bit at a loss for what else to do.” “It wasn’t reckless!” he protests. “We had a plan and everything, and we even brought an adult! An adult Order member! Also what else were we supposed to do, let Snape die?” Sirius takes a deep breath, but Remus steps on his foot before he can put it in his mouth. “Which is why you’re only getting flying privileges taken away and not thrown in a cell in Azkaban for our sanity and your safety.” As if any cell could hold him. “I accept your terms.”

“Who’s Theophania?” Sirius asks. Harry hesitates. Perhaps bringing her up was his smartest decision, strategically speaking. “If I tell you you’re not allowed to throw me in Azkaban. Or ground me.” “This isn’t a negotiation,” Sirius repeats. If Blaise has taught him anything, it’s that everything is a negotiation. “She’s a friend.” “And?” Sirius repeats. Remus suddenly grabs onto Sirius’s shoulder, “Wait. Petrifying - during your second year - is Theophania - she’s not the basilisk.” “No, they killed it,” Sirius says automatically. Harry remains silent. “Harry!” He rubs his nose. “It turns out I’m not that good at killing things. Unkilling things, however? My specialty.”

“It’s okay,” Nanaia says, “you don’t know. What do you do when you don’t know something?” “Try something you do know and hope it doesn’t make everything worse?” For some reason, Horace looks sad at that answer, and Dumbledore shifts from one foot to the other. “No,” she says, “you ask for help.” Oh.

“It’ll piss off your son,” he answers bluntly. “Fuck that kid,” Riddle Sr. says

“You played me!” “Like a cheap kazoo”

Batman sighed, before speaking in a voice that was so unlike his usual growl that most of the other League members almost fell out of their chairs. Diana and Clark seemed to be used to it. “Damian,” he started. His voice was still deep, but a regular-deep, instead of I-just-swallowed-six-buckets-of-gravel deep.

“She loved James too,” she assures, and the confidence she says that with allows him to breathe, like someone has let go of his lungs. “It is possible to love more than one person at the same time. She loved your father with the type of love that’s – that was like a shooting star, burning and bright and touching everyone around them. Her love for Severus was different, and in the end it wasn’t the type of love either of them could handle.”

You’re better at it now then many people are after leaving a full apprenticeship, and you’ve only had a year of lessons a couple of times a week instead of years of intensive study. Do you know why that is?” “Luck?” he offers weakly. For some reason, he doesn’t like the direction this is going in. “No,” she says. “To be good at healing, the way you are, the way I am, you need a certain combination of things. Intelligence, power, control, but more than that. Stubbornness, a tricky balance of flexibility and inflexibility, and a constant, brutal assessment over your own skills. And something else.” “A propensity towards poor life choices?” he suggests. Poppy shakes her head, not taking the bait. “No. You have to care. You have to care about everyone, even people you dislike, and you have to care so much that if feels like it’s killing you, you have to care and that care has to hurt, until the only thing that hurts worse than caring is not caring. To be good at this, you have to let it hurt you.”

“You two shouldn’t have bothered dressing formally for Albus, he’s a bitch.” Harry doesn’t have any idea what’s going on, but he’s loving it.  

“It was on the syllabus,” Zuko whispered conspiratorially to his mother. Sokka gasped. “You know I don’t read those!” “This is your own fault then.” “I like to be surprised. The procrastination keeps me humble.”

sometimes you remind me of the stars youre gorgeous and happy and can always brighten me on the darkest days and even when youre dampened you can guide me home

“imagine you are the only person who loves to play chess more than anything but nobody else in the world has ever heard about chess. and then you see a person holding a chessboard. it’s like your whole world was reborn”

"I wanted to be a stripper in middle school," Izuku said. Yup, that's a good cover.

What you’re asking for isn’t fair or right. You can’t ask a person for more than they’re willing to give

In Mei’s words, “You have about five minutes of ‘fuck that one thing in particular.’ Make them count.”

“Mei, let me introduce your new best friend. This is Momo. She has a Quirk that lets her make anything as long as she knows its composition inside and out. All you have to do is buy her dinner,“ Izuku said,

The cameras were looped. The bots were hacked. It was a good day to be a villain.

“None. The alarm never left the building.” “Really? Why is that?” “Mei finished first and decided to do you a favor. However, you've got the fire alarm just starting to go off and that's on a different circuit. Take a fast way down.” “Understood,” Hitoshi drawled. A moment later he was looking back at the crew. “Ladies and Frenchman. We take the express.”

Quinn is talking like that actually answers his question when it really, really doesn’t. “If you don’t start making sense, I’ll cry.”

“You’re one of my best students,” ze says. “You should understand the importance of timing. Speaking of, you’re late for your next class.”

Fuck, he totally is. “Thank you for that very confusing answer. I’ll think of you while crying myself to sleep.”

He’d wondered if that was what bravery was, to be quiet even when you were hurting so much you wanted to scream.

maybe bravery was also running screaming at the thing that nearly killed you, to keep it from killing someone else.

“Apologies are not difficult. Good apologies revolve around three basic points. One, I acknowledge what I did was wrong. Two, I regret that you were harmed. Three, this is how I plan to make sure it does not happen again. That’s all. Apologies are easy.” Then she’d glanced at them all again, evaluating. “And if you become very, very good at your job... they will be the absolute hardest thing you ever do.”

“Even though we’re a bunch of migraine-inducing hellions who are smart enough to know when something is a bad idea and stupid enough to still do it?”

“You’re like the nice china that Al only brings out for Christmas. Except Bruce just realised that I stole it, and chipped it. Maybe it’s time I give it back before I shatter all the pieces.”

she won’t co-parent my perfectly reasonable and well-behaved children.” Clark snorts. “Damian’s trying to stab Tim, right now.”

"Oh, my knight in shining armour. What would I do without you?" the teen droned, placing a dramatic hand on her head. 

"I think you mean 'knight in shining leather', M'Lady. And without me, you would be left alone in this kingdom of lies.”

"It's a kingdom, alright. It'll topple sooner or later." "That's the spirit!" Adrien laughed.

Here’s something that a harbinger of tragedy would never find the courage to admit: there are moments in between the bitter self-hatred and the visceral, tangible consequences of your sins in which you almost think you’re worthy of forgiveness; of second chances; of a life beyond your greatest regrets. It’s a unique brand of pain,

“Go directly to horny jail. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.”

“You can’t wait around for him to be sorry,” Izuku says. He’s quiet now. This isn’t something that’s meant to be shouted. “Maybe he’ll never be sorry. Maybe he doesn’t know he did anything wrong, or he doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter.” Cautiously he takes a step forward. “You can’t depend on the people who hurt you to be the ones to make it better, or it’s never going to get better. They’ll only disappoint you, or hurt you even worse, and then they’ll be gone and you’ll be waiting forever.”

Midoriya may be strong as hell, but that just means looking out for him has to be a team effort.

How would his new adoring fans react if they knew he raised a villain? He's no All-Might. His pillar's made of toothpicks, and it's not gonna take much to crack it.”

Tensei approaches Rei, “Okay, this plan is childish, unprofessional, and a discourtesy to this school's reputation. That being said, when do we nail the little twat?

Hinata is dead. Deceased. Passed away, laid to rest with a headstone that reads Here Lies Hinata Shouyou, Killed By A Wink And A Blown Kiss.

It’s dangerous to be a bad father when you have life insurance

[whatcouldgowrong-ohthat]

Hurts to be Human: Chapter 1

Here’s the link to the: Prologue 

Shout out to @songforhema for helping me out XD 

Summary: Bucky and you had struggled for a while, maintaining a less than healthy relationship before finally deciding that maybe simply wanting someone isn’t enough anymore. So what happens when time passes, people change, but feelings never leave? (Bucky and Reader eventually get back together!)

Warnings: Cussing, references to a negative past, fluff

Also! I’m going to be doing my best to post gifs that have something to do with a particular moment in the chapter. So yeah, have fun!

Chapter One — Time Heals All Wounds? I Call Bullshit.

“Hey, Y/N, when you’re done with that table, you can go home.”

She looked up, a relieved smile appearing. It made the corners of her eyes crinkle sweetly. Normally Y/N was the last person to leave, locking up and putting everything away because he trusted her to not break anything. However, there was one day once a month where he let her leave early so she could get a goodnight’s rest for her morning session. It was a relief, in all honesty, having someone like a boss who understood that mental health was just as important as her job. And Michael? He was like that dorky dad kids would normally get embarrassed by, trying to keep up with the times and tell “relevant” jokes. Still, she found herself staring at his appearance, struggling to get used to his shaved head and glasses. It was a recent change and after knowing him as the guy with the silver ponytail and goatee, she wasn’t sure how she felt about it. “Thanks, Mikey!”

“Don’t call me that.”

Y/N laughed before turning her attention back to her customers, she offered that warm smile and Southern charm that she’d learned and developed over her years in this town. It provided better tips for her and usually, the customers were friendly, so it came almost naturally to her. Any assholes normally got the boot from the big guy. “So what can I get for you guys?”

Click!

The sound of her key turning in the lock signaled her arrival back to the apartment. Four years and even after all this time she still couldn’t bring herself to call the place home. It didn’t feel right. Kicking the door shut behind her, she didn’t bother turning on the lights, instead simply relying on the moonlight streaming through the window. “H.D.,” you called, dropping your bag on the kitchen counter. “Here, kitty, time for dinner.” The little runt of a kitten was something she’d found in the apartment when she’d first moved there. Its two faces, one half pitch black and the other a vibrant orange, reminded her of her favorite comic villain — Harvey Dent. Why she named the cat after a villain, she wasn’t entirely sure, but it stuck. H.D. stuck with her, never warming up to any guests that came by. She was a ferocious little beast. Setting her bowl on the counter, Y/N filled it with wet food and set it on the counter, confused as to why the cat hadn’t made an appearance yet.

“Don’t you think this middle-of-nowhere town is a bit of a step down from New York?”

Immediately Y/N reached into the drawer next to her, grabbing her gun and aiming at where the voice had come from. Across the bar, hiding in the living room’s shadows on a recliner was none other than Nick Fury. In his hands was a content H.D. purring as if there was no tomorrow. A knowing smirk was on Fury’s features as H.D. looked up. A small meow escaped the feline as if she was trying to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

“I see you haven’t lost your touch, Agent Y/L/N.”

Y/N knew Fury wasn’t a threat. She knew he wouldn’t be here unless there was a reason. However, even knowing that, she didn’t lower the gun. She had walked away from his neck of the woods years ago and had no intention of going back. “You always hide out in women’s apartments?” Raising an eyebrow, she watched as H.D. hopped out of Fury’s arms and crossed the room, her target being the food that Y/N had laid out for her.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, not really. How are you, Y/L/N?”

“I was doing just fine until about two minutes ago.” They studied one another, calculating each possible move that could be made in the next few moments. When she didn’t see him reach for a weapon, didn’t see him make a call for help, she lowered the gun. “What are you even doing here, Fury?”

“I’ve had Maria keep tabs on you.”

“Of course you have.” There was no surprise there. Fury liked having an eye on the whole deck of cards. Whether she had quit or not, she had the training and know-how to be a potential threat. Still, it unnerved her to know that he had gone so far as to pay a personal visit.

“How’s therapy?”

Through gritted teeth, “Fine.”

“Nightmares?”

Fist clenched, “I have coping mechanisms.”

“Healthy ones?” He took her silence as a yes. “Your anxiety attacks?”

Shoulders tensed. “Maintained.”

“Suicidal thoughts?”

The air grew tense. Why was he skirting around his reasons for being here? Why was he talking to her as if they’d been friends all this time? “What is this about?”

Fury studied her. “You seem healthier.” He had to make sure it was true, that Maria wasn’t feeding him false information by accident.

“Guess the country does wonders for the brain.”

He laughed. “I call bullshit on that. You’re a city girl, Y/N. Always have been.”

“People change.”

“No. They don’t.” Oh, she wanted to punch him. But maybe it was right. Maybe this was why she couldn't convince herself even after all this time that this wasn't home. “They get better, sure. Healthier, stronger, or the opposite, but that sort of thing? Not so much.”

“Is this some fucked up doctor’s visit?”

“Not at all. I have a mission for you.” He made it sound so simple, so matter of fact. That was Fury though. She shouldn’t be surprised.

Her mind drifted to the team, the Avengers. They had been her family for almost three years. Then… She shook her head, not wanting to think about that one particular guy. Every time, her heart sped up in a way that made her wish she never left. “I don’t do that anymore.”

“Maybe not, but you still got it.” He was hiding something. She could tell. “They need you.”

“No, they don’t.”

“Y/N,” he muttered, rolling his eye. Fury took a seat and leaned back, crossing his right leg over his left knee. She knew that move, that lean. This wasn’t just a boss coming to give orders, but a friend asking for help. “They have faced Loki, Ultron, Hydra, each other, and Thanos twice…Each time they barely made it and that’s a little unsettling for a man like me. Over those years people have come and gone and you are one of them. However, the reason you left wasn’t that you weren’t cut out for the superhero gig.”

“I wasn’t —“

He kept talking as if she hadn’t interrupted. “It was because you needed to take care of yourself. And that’s fine, I understand and can certainly respect it. I don’t know many people that would have taken the steps you did. Hell, Stark didn’t.”

“He tried.”

“He couldn’t,” Fury corrected. “But all that being said, the Avengers have been a fractured bunch for a while. Wanda and Vision are doing their own thing. Banner is enjoying retirement on a beach somewhere.” She chuckled, appreciating that Bruce took that chance. “Thor and Danvers are off-world and don’t need to be around for everything.” His voice trailed off, showing he was running out of options.”

“T’Challa?”

“Is there if we call, but he’s a bit busy running a kingdom. I’d rather not call him in if I can help it. As for his sister, she visits frequently to help with new tech.”

“Strange?”

“I dealt with Stark’s attitude for years. I’d rather not do the same with him.”

“Okay,” she muttered, setting the gun on the counter and shoving her hands in her back pockets. “There’s still more, Fury. Peter? Scott?”

“Both are Avengers, but Parker’s a minor. He’s not around as much as he could be in the future. Scott works with what he can, helps often, but the man does have a daughter.”

“Same with Clint,” which meant he wasn’t an option either. “Sharon?”

“Recruited already.”

“Then why do you need me?”

Fury watched her curiously, knowing she was running out of people to list off. He’d never force Y/N to come back to the Avengers. She’d fought her skeletons for years just to get to this point. She was happy, whole without having to use anyone as a crutch. He wouldn’t allow himself to take that away from her when he’d known her almost as long as he’d known agents like Hill, Barton, and Romanov. He’d already lost one of those agents, but Fury wouldn’t let himself lose any more. Not if he could help it. But watching her, he could tell she was itching to come back. Her instincts weren’t all that rusty. All she needed was a chance to get back in. So now was time for the pitch. “Your guys are struggling.” She flicked as he referred to them as hers, looking away and running her fingers through H.D.’s fur. “It seems the government is making another attempt to rid the world of Wilson’s role”

“He isn’t Captain America. Hell, he’s insisted he isn’t.”

“Dons the shield, gets the name. That’s how everyone’s looking at it at least.”

“Get Sharon and Peggy to take care of it.”

“I would, but” he trailed off, earning more of her attention. That could only mean one thing.

“What did Bucky do?”

Disbelief rang clear in his voice as he asked, “Do you not watch tv?”

“Nope. It isn’t recommended to me. You know, all things considered.”

He could understand that. It seemed every channel was talking about the next awful thing or the latest bombing or some form of violence. She didn’t need to have something that filled her brain with 24/7 negativity that she would feel responsible for. “Barnes hasn’t done anything yet. He’s been doing a lot better.” Fury noticed how she smiled but chose not to say anything. For now. “That being said, we have people like that Quentin Beck guy coming out and tarnishing the Avengers name.”

“And since Bucky has his history, all eyes are on him?”

“You know how he handles the pressure.”

“Still don’t see how does this include me.”

“You’re the face everyone associates with Bucky’s first glimpse of growth. Every press junket, every interview, you were there. It became this whole thing where one of you was always associated with the other. You keep, not only Barnes but also Wilson in check. That is something we desperately need right now.” He sighed softly. Here goes nothing. “We think there’s another guy like Quentin lurking around, biding his time till one of these guys makes a mess we can’t cover-up. Then —“

“The hero ‘Captain America’ gets forced into retirement and out comes a new ‘hero.’”

Fury nodded, glad that he was talking to someone who fully understood his concerns. “Exactly.” Sharon had argued with him when Fury had mentioned bringing Y/N into this, thinking it might be worse for her and the soldier back in New York. Watching Y/N now, he could feel in his gut that he was making the right call. “There have been calls, videos, photos — you name it and the press has had it. Their reputations are getting tarnished, but this isn’t exactly something that requires all the heroes on my contact list.”

Wry smile in place, she shook her head as she asked, “Just a stubborn former Avenger and agent?”

Fury grinned. There she was. “How’s it sound? Got a deal?”

——

The Avengers Compound felt emptier now that heroes seemed to come and go as if the exit was a revolving door. It was irritating, but something these two men could understand. They continued on their morning run, Bucky easily passing up Sam over and over again. It was getting to the point where Bucky would say, “On your right.”

After hearing it for the fifth time, Sam shouted, “Cut it out, old man!”

“Old man?” Bucky laughed, the belly laugh bursting through him as he grinned from ear to ear. “If that’s the case, why can’t you keep up, Birdbrain?”

Sam growled, fighting every fiber in his being to send Redwing after him. That’d give the soldier a workout, he was certain. “I swear to god, Sharon is going to have to keep me from kickin’ your ass.”

“Gotta catch it first!”

Bucky took off, feeling the burning hole in the back of his head that came from Sam’s intense glare. Yeah, Sam would find some sort of way to get payback, but for now? It was just entertaining as Hell.  “Hey,” Sam shouted after him, slowing down when he felt his phone buzz in his back pocket. Answering it, he was confused as to why Sharon was calling him. She knew he’d be on his run. “What’s up, Carter?” He looked at Bucky’s back as the man continued running, a frown appearing as he heard what the woman had to say. “And no one thought that was information we needed to know?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Okay, I’ll let him know.”

Hanging up, he saw the jet slowly approaching and tried shouting after the idiot in front of him with a loud, “Hey, Buck!”

Bucky looked up when he heard Sam, brow furrowing when he saw the jet ahead. He slowed down as it landed nearby, both men shielding their faces as the autumn leaves were sent flying through the air. He was confused, knowing that Sharon normally let them know about these sorts of things. What Avenger was paying a visit? As the jet-powered down, he looked at Sam and asked, “You know anything about this?”

“Only about ten seconds ago,” Sam grumbled, irritated not at Bucky, but rather at being left in the dark. He looked over his shoulder as Sharon came outside. It was clear she was trying to keep her face void of emotion, but he knew her. She was just as concerned for the man standing next to him as he was. “Maybe you should head inside, Buck. Sharon and I got this.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, turning away from the jet to focus instead on his friend. He knew Sam was concerned and there was cause for it. It had taken a while for Bucky to make progress in therapy and took an even longer time to get him to this level of ease. Assuring him, Bucky explained, “Sam, I’m not nearly as much of an ass as I used to be. I can handle greeting an Avenger.”

“That’s good to hear.”

Sam winced as Bucky looked back, the sound of Fury’s voice catching him off guard. However, that feeling was nothing compared to when he saw who was standing just behind the spy. He felt his stomach churn as if a bunch of butterflies took off simultaneously. His heart twisted, beating so loudly that he could hear it in his ears. Fingers fidgeting, he clenched them into fists as he took a shaky breath and tried to keep himself from running. Towards where his gaze was fixated on or in the opposite direction, he wasn’t sure. But either way, there she was, walking straight towards him.

Y/N.

On top of her head was a pair of sunglasses, her hair cut in a style he had never seen her try before. Where she had developed an eating disorder during their last months together, she looked healthy now. She was practically glowing, that sparkle in her eyes back where it belonged. Time worked in her favor and suddenly he found himself feeling extremely self-conscious.

“Hey there, Y/N/N,” Sam teased, unable to keep himself from smiling when he saw her. While he didn’t appreciate this being thrown at them out of the left-field, he would be one of the first to admit that he missed having Y/N fighting alongside them.

“Hey, Sammy.” She grinned and Bucky felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. That smile made the whole world seem brighter, better. A part of him, a big part of him, wished she’d smile at him like that. Her gaze shifted to him, bright smile dimming, but still just as sweet.

Fidgeting from one foot to the other.

Biting the corner of her lip.

Fiddling with the strap of the duffel hanging off her shoulder.

He knew her tells. She was nervous.

“Hey, Y/N.” He smiled and noticed how her shoulders almost immediately relaxed.

“Hey, Buck.” There was a moment of silence before she pointed to his head. “You cut your hair.”

He felt his cheeks burning, clearing his throat as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh…yeah, I did.”

“It looks good.”

Sam looked from one to the other. If he could raise his eyebrow any more, it would be on top of his head. These two… Looking at Y/N, he gestured to the cage in her left hand. “What’s that?”

“Oh!” She looked down at the cage and that smile of hers came back. “This is H.D.”

“A cat?” The boys asked the question at the same time, equally confused. When Y/N was part of their team, she didn’t want an animal. She thought they were too dependent on people, too needy. Now, not only did she have an animal, but she was carrying it with her like it was family.

Bucky was curious. He had to ask, “What made you get a cat?”

“It’s — Um, it’s kinda a long story.”

She readjusted her bag and Fury said, “You two can catch up with her later. Sharon?” The boys looked behind them, not realizing that Sharon had made her way to stand only a couple feet behind them. “Can you take Y/L/N to her room?”

“Yeah, of course. Come on, Y/N.”

“See you later, boys.” She walked between them, her shoulder bumping Bucky’s. It seemed the touch was registered not only by him but also by Y/N. He noticed how she quickened her steps, determined to create as much distance between them as possible.

Bucky couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way she walked was similar to the girl he’d first met. Each step was filled with that same confidence, but there seemed to be something else, something more. He just didn’t understand it. Scratching the back of his neck, he couldn’t help but grumble to himself, “I thought the time was supposed to heal all wounds.”

Sam watched him, that all-knowing smirk resting almost lazily on his lips as he glanced from Bucky to Y/N and back again. Shaking his head, he knew this was going to be a lot of trouble. Part of him was hopeful, wanting the two to find a way to grow and work things out. The other? The other was more realistic, knowing the odds weren’t exactly in anyone’s favor. Watching Bucky out of his peripheral vision, he told him, “Yeah, I’m calling bullshit on that.”

Chapter Two - Can We Pretend

[thegreenfairy13]

Dog Sitter Part 15 - Epilogue

A Gobblepot fanfic. When Oswald loses his dog Ed, Jim Gordon finds it and does an excellent job when it comes to taking care of the mobster’s furry friend. Read it on Ao3 here. Thank you @mexican-texican for the beta <3!

For a while, he and Jim work perfectly together. They’ve arrived in a safe little bubble where nothing hurts and nothing is real.  

Jim comes to the mansion almost every day, whether to play with the dogs or care for Martin. Some mornings they wake up entangled in each other's arms, feeling warm and safe before their days start anew. They don’t talk much about the past, ignore it as if it has almost never existed. Of course, it has led them to where they are now, but neither of them is willing to admit that.

Oswald pretends to still be a gangster, Jim pretends to still be an incorruptible cop while they take down the Penguin’s opponents one by one. They are playing house, acting as if they’re normal people, before turning around, gritting their teeth, and pulling their weapons.

Oswald isn’t delusional, knows their bubble will burst rather sooner than later but it’s nice for now. It’s nice coming home and finding Jim standing in his kitchen, arguing with Martin whether to remove the crust from the bread or not. At one point, he has simply moved in with them but they’d be both hard pressed to pinpoint when and how it exactly happened. Jim still keeps his apartment, though.

The gangster knows their arrangement won’t magically heal the cop’s depressions or lift the guilt from his shoulders; It’s simply a patch distracting them both from reality.

But for now, Jim has given in - entirely. He dove into their relationship with the same vigor he does anything and everything.

Once committed to Oswald, it seems there’s no turning back or any second thoughts on the cop’s part. He’s dedicated to the mobster and his little family as much as he’s dedicated to his job. The little kiss pressed to his temple every night right before he falls asleep is proof of that.

Maybe it is because Oswald has truly given him everything he always desired, right down to Gotham’s twisted version of a home complete with white picket fences and a son to care for. Never mind the fact the little boy in question is astonishingly well versed when it comes to guns and knives.

How shocked the Captain had been when first walking in on Oswald giving his kid a lesson on gun safety. But soon he had adapted to the facts, had taken the weapon from the child’s hands, and corrected his stance. Jim Gordon has fallen for a mobster and is too weak to fight it any longer.  

Oswald thinks their fairytale will end when the Gazette finds out about their affair. They depict Jim as the worst kind of hypocrite, the fallen hero-cop who would now team up with Gotham’s enemy number one.  

To his surprise, Jim merely shrugs it off. “I’ve been a monster in the eyes of the public before - and a saint,” he added. “Nothing new about that.”

At this point, Jim is already accustomed to his colleagues despising and even outright hating him. Of course, they make jokes about him, call him names for not only being with a man, but with the man he has hunted for so long. His quest to arrest Cobblepot had endangered the members of the GCPD more than once and now he openly shares a bed with the enemy? The sheer audacity! But in the end, the cops breathe a sigh of relief through their noses and thank whatever deity they believed in for the peace and quiet now blessing the precinct. They don’t know he and Jim are fighting their own, lonely war against the other criminals populating Gotham.

To the gangsters, the Penguin is a wizard, a being equipped with almost superhuman powers to get James Gordon to bend his knee and accept how the city is run. To the GCPD, James Gordon had finally seen the light.

It’s exactly that kind of credulity that makes their job somewhat manageable, and it reminds Oswald of his first years in Gotham. He’s back to doing what he’s best at: scheming and manipulating people, playing them like his personal puppets. Only one thing is different now, he’s got Jim Gordon watching his back. It makes him feel alive, powerful, giddy.

Yet their arrangement is bound to end, Oswald knows, and he dreads the day this false idyll will come crashing down and shatter his heart and soul. He’s absolutely certain that after everything he has done, being happy and in love will only be a fleeting experience, a footnote in his existence, a gift given to heighten the pain about to follow.

Still, he’ll enjoy each and every second right until the end, hoping he’ll be prepared when their final day together comes.

The end comes in the shape of Bruce Wayne.  

One day, the boy turns up on their doorstep, demanding to talk in private to the Captain of the GCPD. He isn’t afraid of either of them, knowing full well Gordon would never allow for the desperate orphan he once promised to find the murderer of his parents to get hurt.

Oswald knows the Wayne boy is here to pass his judgment, and unlike Harvey, who is too corrupted himself to properly speak up against their relationship, the boy is morally superior to them all. Bruce Wayne has come to take Gordon back home and fight crime properly, sincerely, and not by merely fooling the world.

The mobster turns on his heel, leaves them alone as requested, wondering how long it will take for Jim to storm upstairs, pack his bags and flee the mansion. It doesn’t take long, though. Only moments later, the Captain comes after him.

Jim unlaces his shoes and settles down on the bed beside him. They don’t talk, just lie close to each other like so many times since that day on the pier when Gordon finally decided to rather work with and not against Cobblepot. The cop takes the gangster’s hand, entwines their fingers and places the Penguin’s hand above his heart.

“Bruce Wayne believes I have broken my promise to protect Gotham.” In the stillness of the room, his voice is louder than an explosion and Oswald tenses beside him. Of course, the boy wouldn’t understand, but his verdict on Gordon is everything. Should Jim have lost the kid’s trust, chances are good he’ll turn his back on Oswald.  

“I told him you and I are now doing everything in our power to change this city,” he carries on. “I told him what you have given me. That day on the pier, when you demanded me to arrest those dealers, no blood was spilled, no one got injured and maybe hundreds were saved. I told him we didn’t stop there, that we carried on and on.”

“Isn’t that right, Oswald?” Jim turns onto his side, faces him as if seeing him for the first time. It’s different how he says his name now. It doesn’t any longer sound like an insult but like a prayer, an endearment, a love confession.

“It is,” Oswald confirms, slowly allowing himself to breathe again.

“We’re truly making a difference now,” he carries on, eyes still trained intently on his mobster. “And we’re not caring whether our reputation is about to get damaged in the process.”

At this point, Oswald isn’t certain Jim is talking to him or just reassuring himself he made the right decision but it doesn’t matter anyway.

“I told Bruce that we’re, despite everything, lost causes.” Jim snorts self-deprecatingly. “But at least we’ve admitted to being what we are. Maybe one day, he’ll become what I could have never been. The hero this city deserves and a symbol of hope. But as long as that doesn’t happen, we’ll protect Gotham as best as we can.”

Oswald hums in agreement. There’s nothing he can say. Not after he’s been so certain Bruce Wayne would set the cop’s head straight and drag him away from him, tossing him into solitude again in the process.  

Shifting closer, Jim’s fingers start dancing up and down Oswald’s spine. Those big blue eyes burnt their way into his soul the very first time they met. How could it happen that Oswald Chesterfield Cobblepot has given a single human being so much power over him? Jim is counting each bone leading up to his head, cradling it carefully in his hands once he arrives.

They have both seen the malevolent darkness that is a part of each other’s being and somehow learned to live with it, accept it, even.

Jim pulls him into his arm, bestows a kind of safety upon him not even his mother was ever able to give him and closes his eyes as he presses a tender kiss against his mouth. This is what coming home means. All those years, Oswald had been missing exactly that . He can’t truly describe what that means. He simply feels like finally calming down, no longer longing or yearning for the missing piece of a puzzle. Thiswon’t be taken from him, not any more and finally, the Penguin is at ease.

For Oswald, it had always been Jim. Only Jim. Solely Jim.

“I never thanked you,” the cop breathes against his lips.

“What for?” he asks back, too distracted to figure out what his man might mean.

“For giving me back hope when I had none left.”

Whatever Oswald wants to say in response get swallowed by an insistent kiss as Jim rolls him unto his back and nimble fingers start undoing buttons.

Maybe he’ll never get a proper declaration of love, the mobster thinks, when reaching for his man in return. But then Jim had never been especially good with words either. He’s only good with actions and with pursuing his goals and never taking a step beside his chosen road.

Lucky for him, Jim has chosen him to be his fate now.  

[wardennews]

IronStrange Bingo 2019 - Whump

Alternative Title: Battle Scars

Rated - T

The doors to the Medical Wing slammed open with a resounding ‘thud’ as James and Minowa burst through them carrying Stephen and Tony respectively. The unconscious duo was gently set down on a bed together, and the assassin pulled his lover into his arms as Bridget surged into movement, slinging Restoration spells left and right. “What happened?” The mage barked in an authoritative tone as the rest of the team came through the doors as well.

Aria hissed as her husbands helped her sit in a nearby chair, propping her ankle up on another. “The guy we were fighting-- The Controller-- he hit them with some kind of magical mumbo jumbo, dunno what it was supposed to do-- don’t even think about it, Bridget Ivorsen!” She snapped in a loud, sharp voice as the woman moved to approach her at the sight of her swollen ankle and foot. “My foot will keep, but if you don’t concentrate your full effort on figuring out how to wake them up, I will pop a cap in your knee!” Her husbands quickly hushed and comforted her as the blond got back to work, Ulysses moving to rub and massage her shoulders as Craig retrieved an ice pack.

A soft whistle escaped Dorian as he passed his husband a low-grade pain reliever potion for the abrasion down his arm. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard Aria threaten to shoot any of us before! Must be the pain talking.”

“Or the worry,” Zevrael added as he knocked the potion back, a sigh of relief escaping him as the scrape healed completely within the course of several seconds.

Logan approached them all at that moment, slipping his phone back into his pocket. “Just got off the phone with Lokes. He needs to let Laura know what’s going on, but he’ll be over as soon as possible. Also told Wade what’s happening, he’ll pull Rem, Pete, Slei, and Jör aside to talk to them and reassure them. Holly thinks it would be best to not let the younger kids know quite yet.”

A sudden cry of “Antonio!!” drew everyone’s attention, Emma flying into the room with a distraught look on her face. “Is he alright??”

Bruce approached the beds with two IV bags, a grim look on his face and a flicker of green in his eyes. “Tony and Stephen got hit by some kind of spell-- we don’t know what kind, and we’re not sure what the effect was. They’ve both been knocked unconscious, though, we can’t seem to get through to them.”

“Let me try! My telepathy-- I might be able to reach him!”

“Don’t.” The sudden thundering voice stopped everyone in their tracks as they turned to stare at James. The assassin slowly released Alduin, who turned to face the brunette woman with a stern look in his black and crimson eyes. “We have no idea as to the nature of the spell he used-- if it is affecting them both in the same way simultaneously, there is a chance you could be sucked into the influence as well. Zeymahu would send us to the Soul Cairn if we allowed any harm to come to you.” Icy-blue eyes filled with tears, even as the woman nodded her agreement.

After a moment, several voices called in unison, “Uncle Al?” The Stepford Cuckoos crept forward from where they’d slunk in through the door, standing behind their mother and looking up at the male. “Uncle Tony and Uncle Stephen are going to be okay, right?”

The dovah blinked for a moment at the title the girls had given him before a deep, rumbling sigh escaped him, and he gestured the blonds forward. Once they were close enough, he hugged each one individually, kissing their foreheads in a comforting gesture. “Rest assured, Diibriinahkine, we will do everything in our power to make sure they come back to us. I would ask that you follow the same instructions I just gave your mother, however. I will not risk your health and safety in an effort to bring them back.” The Cuckoos sniffed and nodded, gathering around the male to huddle against him. Slit-pupiled eyes raised to Emma, who was still tearful but now smiling with gratitude towards him. Alduin gestured her towards them as well, and the brunette joined in on the group hug without hesitation.

Bridget shot them a smile before the sound of Loki’s voice drew her eyes to the side. “Alright, what’s going on?” The ebony-haired god rolled up the sleeves of his emerald green turtleneck in preparation. After receiving a quick overview of the situation, Loki began casting spells of his own, and after a few minutes, he hissed with a small flinch. “I’ve identified the spell, but the implications…” He pulled his magic away, running his fingers through his own hair. “It’s mental magic, meant to take two people closely connected to each other in some way and force them to relive the other’s worst memory, or memories if it revolves around multiple.”

A choked noise escaped James, who closed his eyes at the news. “Bozhe moy, after what they both have been through? How do you even pick?? I would imagine Stephen’s would involve his car accident... ”

Emma had a hand covering her mouth, a look of utter horror and fear on her face. “I was there for Antonio after certain things-- Afghanistan, Stane, Whiplash, AIM… New York… Ultron…” She closed her eyes, tears beginning to roll down her cheeks as Alduin took the chance to pull her close to comfort her. “And they have to relive it…? God help them and keep them both strong.”

The group all looked at each other, grim expressions on their faces. They all knew there would be a fallout of absolutely massive proportions from this event… but none of them were looking forward to finding out exactly how deep the hurt ran in the soulmates.

---

The entire group was quiet as cups of tea and coffee were passed around in the early hours of the next morning. Most of them had gotten no sleep, Aria only getting a few hours for the sake of letting the skele-gro do its’ work on her fractured ankle without causing her more discomfort. The mood in the room was somber, everyone glancing over towards the bed with Stephen and Tony intermittently.

Finally, a sharp gasp from Stephen caught everyone’s attention at once. The sorcerer sat up straight in the bed with a look on his face that was anguished and heartbroken in a way they’d never seen. Bridget and Loki shot each other a quick look before slowly approaching him, drawing his tear-filled blue-green eyes to them. “What the fuck was that?” He finally croaked, throat tight and voice cracking.

Bridget swallowed before slowly replying, “You and Tony… you were hit with some kind of magic that forced you to relive Tony’s worst experience… or experiences, depending on what they were.”

To their surprise, Stephen went deathly pale as his eyes snapped to where the genius was still lying prone next to him. “Tell me he isn’t reliving mine!” Getting stunned nods from the duo, he made a horrified, desperate noise before he was repositioning them both in a flurry of movement so they were face-to-face. Before they could ask what he was doing, he pressed his forehead to Tony’s, the Eye of Agamotto around his neck opening and beginning to glow and pulse a bit. The genius’ body suddenly lit up with a brilliant orange glow for a second before it shattered outwards, Tony coming to in the same moment with a cry that chilled the blood of everyone in the room.

Stephen sighed with relief as he pulled Tony into his arms, the brunette man collapsing into him and curling up in a ball as he began to sob uncontrollably. “I know, I know babe, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” The sorcerer choked out with tears of his own rolling down his face as he tried to comfort the distraught man.

“H-He killed you!” Tony wailed in a broken voice, prompting sharp inhales from everyone in the room. His was clinging so tightly to Stephen’s robes that the knuckles of his fingers were white. “He killed you again and again, and you just kept going back, and I couldn’t make it stop, couldn’t save you--!”

“It’s over, love, I’m still here, I’m still alive,” Stephen reassured him, maneuvering them both so Tony’s ear was pressed to his chest right over his heart, hoping the beat would help ground the man he loved so dearly. He ran his fingers through the brown locks under his chin as the genius continued to sob and babble a little, though it was beginning to slow now that he had something else to focus on.

The others in the room looked at each other in complete and utter silence, tears in more than a few eyes. Though none of them were willing to ask, the same question was running around in every single one of their minds:

What had Stephen gone through to warrant a reaction like this?

---

“What memory did you see?”

Stephen looked away from his mug of tea to glance down at Tony, who was curled up in his lap with a mug of his own, whiskey-brown eyes slightly distant as he asked the question. Levi was draped over both of them like a blanket, wrapping around them in a makeshift hug. The sorcerer had sling-ringed them both to their bedroom as soon as the genius was able to express the desire to be alone, and they’d been sitting in quiet for several hours at least. The question was the first he’d spoken in all that time, having been content to simply remain curled up and grounded by the solidity of Stephen’s physical presence. After a moment of quiet, Stephen sighed and put his cup to one side. “Tony, do you know the idea of ‘big T’ traumas versus ‘little t’ traumas?” Getting a negative shake of the genius’ head, he continued. “So, ‘big T’ traumas are distinguished as an extraordinary, unexpected event that leaves the victim feeling helpless, or like they have no control over their life or current situation. That includes things like natural disasters, car accidents, sexual assault, or being in an active combat zone.” He began to run his fingers through Tony’s hair as he continued. “What you went through in Afghanistan, Siberia, Bucharest, the events with Stane, AIM, and whiplash, they would all count. But I didn’t see those.” He pressed a kiss to Tony’s hair. “Instead… I got countless memories of ‘little T’ traumas. I…” He took a deep breath to center himself. “I had to watch Rogers, Maximoff-- your whole team-- berate, belittle, and demean you over and over and over again, and I felt how every time it was like a knife to your gut and another sliver shaved off of your self-esteem.” The sorcerer wrapped his arms around his genius, burying his nose in his hair as he trembled a bit. “Vishanti, what they said and did to you-- don’t you dare believe a word of it, Anthony Edward Stark, you are a brilliant, kind, compassionate man, and you deserve the world! I wish I’d been here back then, I would never have let them say that shit--!”

Tony floated his own mug to the bedside table before turning to bury his face in his soulmate’s shoulder, feeling wetness on the top of his head as tears of frustration and shared pain began falling from Stephen’s eyes. Of all the things for Stephen to have experienced… he hadn’t realized that what the Rogues had said and done had inflicted so much emotional damage to him. Thinking back, though, it made sense. Between his father being an outright abusive asshole, Obadiah building him up for the purpose of using him, being used over and over again… Yep, definitely made sense now. He let Stephen hold him for a while before he pulled away a bit to gently press a kiss to the man’s lips. “I’m not okay… but I will be.” He admitted to his soulmate, whiskey brown eyes filled with tears even as a spark of hope flickered in them.

“I know you will be. You’re so strong, Tony, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.” Stephen pulled him forward to rest their foreheads together, remaining quiet for a few seconds before speaking again. “I don’t need to ask what you saw.”

The hitch in Tony’s breath was audible, especially loud in the relative quiet of the room. “You pulled me out in the middle of it…” His voice cracked towards the end, beginning to tremble as the memory surfaced again. “How many times, Stephen?”

“Tony--”

“How many times did Dormammu kill you, Stephen?”

Absolute silence filled the room for several seconds as whiskey brown bore into blue-green. Finally, the sorcerer swallowed and closed his eyes. “I don’t know the exact number… I stopped counting after 1000,” He whispered.

The genius’ breath caught, agony lancing through his being. “I just saw a few hundred-- He killed you--?!”

Stephen’s eyes snapped to Tony, horror filling his eyes. “You felt that many?! No, baby, you should never have-- Vishanti,” He pulled Tony against his chest again, tears beginning anew in both men, “I was going to tell you eventually, but I never wanted you to experience any of it!”

“--I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t save you--”

Neither man got any sleep that night, the tears not stopping long enough to allow for such.

Neither man was okay in that moment… but deep down, they knew they would be.

[marvel--for--life]

Stucky + Pregnancy

A Stucky addition of Starker + Pregnancy

~ After Peter and Tony announce that they’re expecting, Bucky starts getting jealous. Don’t get him wrong, he’s very happy for them both, elated to see them both practically glowing at each other, but the announcement causes old thoughts to rise up again.

~ Bucky remembers most of his old life. There are parts that are still a bit fuzzy, and some memories he probably will never get back, but after HYDRA is out of his head for good, memories start flooding into him. One memory that had stayed hidden until the announcement was a time when Steve was still small. They were curled up in their bed in Brooklyn, fully dressed with every blanket they owned on the bed surrounding them to try and keep warm (and keep Steve from getting pneumonia again). They had passed the time by thinking up their future lives, plans of getting married and having kids. They knew it wouldn’t happen, given the laws of their time, but it had put them both in a good mood and left them warm and fuzzy. Now, living in the twenty-first century though, Bucky wants the old memories to become reality.

~ Admittedly, Bucky hadn’t been thinking. He was oddly nervous to talk to Steve about the possibility of a child, and he could never think of any way of even approaching the topic besides just saying “let’s have a kid”, and truthfully, that didn’t seem like it’d go over well.

~ Bucky’s brilliant (read: idiotic) plan had been to throw out the box of condoms in their bedroom and lie about it, but of course, sitting there with a pair of scissors and the box was how Steve had found him when he came back early from his run with Sam. Being caught in this peculiar position hadn’t been his plan for alerting Steve of his desire, but life didn’t really go Bucky’s way.

~ Steve, while he was confused and a tad hurt that Bucky hadn’t just told him, was more than happy to help Bucky get what he wanted.

~ It takes a few months before Bucky finally begins to feel different. He’s got the stomach pains and nausea that he’s seen Peter suffer from, and truthfully, he’s been eating more than he and Steve together, so he gets the tiny spider to help him out.

~ Steve nearly breaks down the wall to the bathroom when he hears the heavy thump of a body fall. He’s shocked to see Bucky lying on the floor passed out with a tiny little white stick in his hand.

~ When Bucky comes to, Steve is playing with his hair and smirking at him. A blush runs all the way up to his hairline, and he purposefully ignores the other as he begins to push himself up. “So?” Steve asks, leaning forward to press a kiss behind Bucky’s ear.

The blush across his cheeks darkens, and Bucky mumbles, “Shut up, punk.” Steve laughs softly and nuzzles the other, smiling when a shy but happy smile spreads across his mate’s face. “We’re gonna have a baby.”

~ Peter screams when Bucky tells him the news, and Bucky, while shocked at the outburst, can’t help but be happy and smile and celebrate the news with the youth. He and Steve are going to have a baby.

~ It’s when Peter’s twins are two months old that Bucky suddenly feels strange again. There’s a pain, sharp and throbbing, in his lower gut. When he goes to the bathroom - because that’s what a sensible person does when they’re feeling stomach pains - it’s not what he was expecting. The pain increases, and when Bucky eventually finds it in himself to stand, there’s blood. 

Suddenly, Bucky can’t breathe. It feels like the world is collapsing, and everything is growing dark. A sob bubbles up from his throat, and he can’t stop the rush of absolute terror and hatred that comes with it.

He slips out of their bathroom, using his stealth training to hide from everyone in the tower until he gets to the hospital bay. Sneaking into the room, he finds Dr. Cho in the back of the lab, looking at some test results. She nearly screams when he sneaks up on her, but she jumps into action when she sees his distress.

The news is exactly what Bucky knew and feared it would be: he lost the baby.

~ Bucky has absolutely no idea how to tell Steve. He stays curled up in their bed for the rest of the day, the pain in his abdomen still not subsiding. Helen had warned him that the pain and aches would last a few days, but the emotional pain is a lot heavier and harder to take.

~ Steve comes home from a mission, covered in sweat and grime three days later, and immediately makes a plan to shower before he goes looking for Bucky. Only… the brunette is curled up in bed at seven-thirty at night, and it looks like he hasn’t moved in a while. “Buck?” he calls, moving towards his side of the bed.

Bucky sniffles softly, and Steve suddenly feels a cold dread covering his body. Bucky hasn’t had a bad day in quite some time, but this seems like it did back in the beginning, back when the Soldier was still getting used to not being the forefront of Bucky’s mind. “Darlin’?” he calls, reaching out and petting back the brunette’s hair, only to suck in a breath at the tears staining Bucky’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky whispers, voice cracking. “I’m so sorry, Stevie.”  Steve is confused and aching as he watches his mate fall apart, sobs wracking his frame and causing him to shake. He quickly pulls Bucky into his arms, nuzzling his hair and kissing his skin. Bucky continues to cry and whisper apologizes over and over, and Steve whispers sweet nothings, trying to comfort his mate even as his confusion continues to mount. It isn’t until Bucky whispers the words that he realizes what has upset his mate so much, and he feels his own heart shatter. “I’m sorry, Stevie. I’m sorry I lost the baby.”

~ It takes a long time for them both to move, but Steve carries his mate into the bathtub, holding him and allowing them both to settle in the warm water. When the tears stop and the water has grown cold, Steve carries them both back to bed, lying his mate down and curling around him. The next few days are quite on the Rogers’ floor.

~ Telling the Avengers is heartbreaking. Everyone is crying. Nat and Peter curl up with Bucky on the couch, and the three of them stay together for two days straight, their respective mates bringing them food and adding to the cuddles.

~ Bucky spends a lot of time with the Stark twins. He and Steve are the two most hands-on babysitters of the Avengers, and Peter and Tony are happy to be of any help at all when it comes to their healing. They spoil the twins just as badly as their parents do, and that’s probably why they're the favorites.

~ When the twins turn nineteen-months old, Bucky finds out that he’s pregnant again. There are a lot more tears associated with this one.

~ Sadly, this one lasts even less time. About a month after finding out, Bucky loses the baby. This time though, he loses hope with it.

~ For a while, Steve and Bucky focus solely on the twins. Peter and Tony are pregnant again with their little girls, and the massive growth of their family leaves them in need of the extra hands, so the twins get to spend a good amount of time with their favorite uncles.

~ It doesn’t happen for quite some time. The twins are five now, and the triplets (who are absolutely adorable) are three when Bucky goes to visit Helen for a routine check-up only to learn that he’s pregnant again.

~ Bucky is absolutely terrified of the news, but when Helen calls him and Steve down again to talk about a plan, he feels a bit more relieved. Helen thinks that Bucky might not have had enough nutrients with his previous pregnancies, and his serum had caused the babies to grow quicker and the lack of nutrients had been lethal, so she starts him on an extremely strict diet that includes a lot of supplements.

~ This time, Steve and Bucky are very prepared. Bucky spends a lot of time relaxing and keeping himself busy with anything that doesn’t require much energy (which he absolutely hates). As much as Bucky hates it, Steve adores being able to spoil his mate and take care of him while he carries their child.

~ When they reach the sixth-month mark, Bucky grows nervous. It was around this time that he lost their first baby, and the pain and fear have never fully gone away. He’s terrified about losing another one, but he visits Helen often to check on the baby’s well-being.

~ Steve and Bucky honestly try to not get too excited about the baby for a very long time. It isn’t until he begins to show that they honestly allow themselves to celebrate the fact that they’re once again pregnant.

~ At eight-months, Peter and Tony as well as the rest of the Avengers throw Steve and Bucky a baby shower. Bucky is terrified at the same time he’s overjoyed, but at the end of the day, he’s surrounded by the people that are his family with a rounded belly and a baby that is happily pressing against his rounded his and Steve’s linked hands.

~ It’s only two weeks later that Bucky goes into early labor, and with it, the fear intensifies extremely. Steve is there though, holding his hand and gently petting back the brunette’s hair. He whispers sweet words of encouragement as the operation takes place, kisses along the brunette’s hairline, anything to help soothe Bucky.

“I promise, Buck, whatever happens,” he whispers, listening to Helen talk softly to Bruce on the other side of the sheet, “Til the end of the line, darlin’, til the end of the line.”

Bucky sniffles, trying to keep all of the emotions in as they start to bubble up again. “Til the end of the line,” he agrees softly with a small nod.

“Not to interrupt a sweet moment,” Helen’s voice suddenly becomes clear as she peeks over the edge. “I think you want to see someone.” And suddenly, there he is. A tiny little thing that’s absolutely furious; their baby screams and flails his small arms, but Bucky and Steve swear neither of them has ever seen something so beautiful.

~ Once they’re out of the operating room and resting in their own bed, Bucky can’t look away from the small boy in his arms. Steve is resting on his other side, arm tightly around his mate’s waist and one hand gently petting their little boy’s hair. “He’s beautiful,” Bucky whispers, unable to look away from the sleeping child’s face.

“He is,” Steve agrees softly. “Gets it from you,” he adds with a sappy smile. Bucky gives him a half-hearted glare before immediately returning his attention back to the boy in his arms.

“He needs a name,” he says softly, resting his head against his mate’s neck. “We never picked one…”

“You’re right,” Steve agrees softly, burying his nose in the other’s hair. “Do you have any ideas?”

He hums softly, letting his eyes slip closed for a minute as the exhaustion from the day begins to take control. “Grant,” he finally says.

“Grant?” Steve asks skeptically. “You want to give him my middle name?”

Bucky nods slightly, opening his eyes and looking back down at the small boy. “Yeah… He looks like you after all,” he points out. Steve tries to hide the smile fighting its way across his face.

“Grant James Rogers?” he offers.

Steve can feel Bucky’s smile against his neck, and he smiles wider because of it. “Perfect.”

~ Grant James Rogers is the cutest baby Bucky has ever seen. He’s got little waves in his blonde hair, and when he finally cracks his little eyes open, they’re the most beautiful shade of blue he’s ever seen. He smiles like a ray of sunshine, and he doesn’t fail to make everyone around him smile either. He is also a wonderfully easy baby. Bucky has heard from Peter about the nightmare babies can be during the night: about how they tend to wake up often and fuss and keep him and Tony each awake for several hours several times a night. Grant, however, sleeps like a log every night. Bucky has actually had to wake him up before to feed the little fella in the middle of the night, but he always goes right back to sleep as peaceful as he was earlier.

~ Steve likes to take Grant out on runs on nice weather days. Grant loves the bouncing movement of his father’s steps. He screams and giggles like mad, clapping his little tiny hands with almost every step Steve takes. Steve never minds stopping to take pictures of them together.

~ Steve has always had several sketchbooks of Bucky, but now he’s got at least ten full ones from Bucky’s pregnancy and Grant’s birth, and the little thing is only six months old.

~ His favorite drawing is of a sleeping Bucky lying on the floor, a baby bib over his chest and a sleeping Grant on top of it. Anthony and Benjamin are sleeping at Bucky’s side, and the girls are asleep on his mechanical arm. Steve can’t even deny the fact that that picture (because he’s not stupid and he knew he had to snap a picture before the opportunity disappeared) is his background and will probably always be.

~ Happy with their only child, it comes as a massive surprise when Bucky ends up pregnant again.

~ This time they have a little girl, and thankfully, it’s the smoothest of Bucky’s pregnancies thanks to Helen. Sarah Winifred Rogers is the opposite of her brother and almost exactly like Steve in personality. She’s feisty and loud, and she absolutely hates falling asleep alone.

~ On a lot of Sunday mornings, Bucky will wake up before anyone else in his family. Sarah will join him in the kitchen as he makes breakfast. She’s usually drooling all over his shoulder now that she’s sleeping in her favorite spot, and he’s got a towel there to protect himself (it doesn’t do much truthfully). Every time before breakfast is finished, little Grant is crawling out of his bed and joining him.

Grant comes in and clings to his mother’s leg, and Bucky always showers him with some kisses before telling him to take his sister to the master bedroom. Bucky follows behind with a massive tray of food. After setting the tray on the bedside table, he takes Sarah from Grant, who happily climbs on the bed and jumps on Steve until he wakes up.

They spend the morning curled up in bed together, eating and laughing and merely enjoying their family time. Sunday quickly becomes Steve’s favorite day of the week.

[trustonlylokiposts-blog]

Diagnosis: Chapter 2

Stark Tower and Nailing an Interview: chapter two.

 I said my goodbyes to Koda and summoned an Uber, they smelled better than Taxis and I wanted to impress my interviewer. My long brown hair was pulled back into a neat pony tail, I wore a black blouse and a black pencil skirt, a green silk shawl, a modest silver necklace. I opened my phone and checked my messages, a few friends from the clinic I used to work at had all spammed me with questions, apparently I should have elaborated on where I was going to interview, and who I was going to work for. And who I was going to be my patient, or patients. I was excited

Trust me, I’ve never felt this excited before. I mean, practicing medicine for the Avengers, that’s insane.

I also had a few concerned texts from my mom after I had told her what happened the night before. Coming from a small town in Utah meant that we never had to worry about cat calling, potential rapists. I reassured her I was fine, and that Koda does a fantastic job of keeping me safe. As we neared the tower the driver broke the silence, “Stark Industries? What kind of secretary are you going to be?” I snorted, “Actually I a medical doctor. I am applying to be the Avengers on staff physician.” After a moment of really awkward silence, “Oh, my apologies doctor..” We pulled into the entrance and I stepped out, waving goodbye and rating him at a salty 5 stars. I stepped inside and walked to the front desk and cleared my throat, a women with a tight platinum blonde bun looked up at me. She plastered a fake smile and asked how she could help me. I explained that I was here for an interview for The Avengers physician. I let her scan my ID and take my picture which she printed off and put inside a little clip labeled “visitor”

I made my way to an elevator and followed the directions on which floor to head to, as the elevator made it’s way up the tower I began to feel slightly nervous, this kind of job sounded amazing, what if a more competent physician applied? I knew I was brilliant and was known as a prodigy, (not to toot my own horn) But for an opportunity like this, there had to be all kinds of amazing doctors applying. The elevator opened and I stepped out, woah. I was greeted to something I would expect in a high end Penthouse. A large open room with tall windows that boasted an excellent New York view, near the windows were several luxurious couches and loves seats, to my left was a bar that had more high-end liquor than the entire state of Utah could ever allow in a single building. “Ah, look at that our young doctor appears!” I was fairly surprised to see that it was Tony Stark who greeted me, I stepped forward and shook his hand with a warm smile, “My name is Doctor Julie Stirling, it is my absolute pleasure to meet you, thank you for this incredible opportunity.” Stark grinned at me and lead me to the bar and pulled out a stool for me then sat down and gestured for me to follow suit, which I did while trying my best to keep my jaw from hitting the floor. “Can I offer you a drink? Water, tea, coffee, I wouldn’t recommend alcohol this early, but you do you.” I chuckled and declined his offer as I pulled out of resume, cover letter, and a list of my references and their recommendations and admirations. Tony skimmed through the information I handed him and let out a low whistle. “29 years old and already such an incredible physician, young, brilliant, capable, a genius among men! You remind me of myself” Stark added with a chuckle, “I did hear that you abruptly left  your previous job while cursing your employer out. Care to elaborate on that?” I bit my lip and felt embarrassment rise through me, “I.. It’s not like me sir, he is a very disrespectful man and I had enough. I knew my skills and knowledge were going to waste and I couldn’t stand being belittled anymore. Trust me when I say I am very professional and my bedside manner is excellent I-“ Tony cut me off with a wave of his hand, “Trust me I know about Doctor Wallis, that creepy old man has brought nothing but complaints from the people I’ve asked. Plus hey, I need something with the backbone to stand up for themselves. You’ll be working with some thick headed assholes, myself included. I need to know you wont be pushed around when it’s unnecessary.”

Tony looked through my resume once more and added “You are young, and you don’t have as much experience under your belt as the other applicants but.. That might actually prove useful. I need a fresh mind, something who is willing to take a step into medicine that may be more complicated than what other doctors have studied and worked with. And reading about your incredible track record of absolutely blowing away the universities you studied under I am certain that you learn quickly, and you’re fast on your feet too.” We talked for a little longer, Tony explaining how things generally worked around the tower, “Most of your responsibilities are focused on the Avengers, however if needed I will have you tend to Stark employees as well. However they all have their own doctor they see when necessary. I guess you’re just a backup when needed. But I don’t think it would come to that, plus you will have enough on your plate anyway. With keeping up with the team and building your understanding of erm.. Otherworldly beings,  Dr. Banner is also adapt in medicine and is incredible and will work along side you when it comes to finding things that can keep up with different physiologies and metabolisms.” Tony stood and motioned for me to follow, “I like you kid, come with me, I’m thinking I want to hire you. But I need you to meet someone first. He has been so gracious as to agree and let us heal him. He allows us the possibility to understand Asgardians and well.. He has no choice to be here and isn’t quite healthy enough to do much about it anyway.” I followed Stark through a set of doors and was led down a hallway and through another set of doors, I raised an eyebrow when I noticed what looked like two SHEILD agents guarding the entrance. Stark breezed past them and opened the doors and walked in, I followed closely but halted when I noticed a hospital bed, connected to a few IV’S and a heart monitor was the one and only Loki. He was propped up on the bed reading a book. He was pale, way paler than he was when he was last seen on TV. His hair was an absolute mess and while he seemed tired he also gave off the vibe that he was still not to be messed with. Stark cleared his throat and introduced me, “hey Prince of Jokes, we have someone who might possibly be tending to you. Say hello!” Loki looked at me and I felt myself tense, How in the actual hell am I suppose to take care of him?

“Hello, worry not mortal, I am under very direct orders not to cause chaos, else I am thrown back into my cells on Asgard which would not be pleasant due to my current condition. It appears that aiding Thor in stopping the Dark Elves from destroying everything and consequently being stabbed by a kursed blade only earns me a break from my imprisonment on Asgard, to one here. To be a test subject for idiot Midgardians to use their barbaric technology to learn how to heal their precious Avengers.”

Tony rolled his eyes and said “Don’t worry, Thor was able to get some direction to help heal him, under these special circumstances it would be difficult to keep him from dying without a little Asgardian aid, they have provided strong drugs to give his body the energy and… Cider?” “Seidr” Loki cut in, “Seidr, anyway, that is some of what we have running through his veins right now. His body heals at an incredible rate but what went through him on that strange elf planet puts up a lot of fight. Combining drugs that keep his energy from draining we can allow him to do most of the healing on his own. What you will be doing is keeping a stable eye on his vitals and pain. We do have very potent pain killers for when he needs them. Trust me you’ll know. You think he’s a prick now? Wait until his ouchie is hurting, he’ll bitch at you until you either decide to give him the precious drug or kill him.” Loki rolled his eyes, “I would hardly call it bitching, if you even could fathom the amount of pain I am forced to endure while under the mockery of mortals you would be irritable as well.”

I looked Loki over then looked back to Tony, “I think I can handle him, at least as long as he continues to be relatively harmless.” Loki sneered but said nothing, Tony clapped his hands together. “Yes! Okay, I am going to offer you this job. For the foreseeable future Loki is your main concern. Keeping his pain under control, his healing on track and making sure his bandages are changed and infection is avoided. He may be ‘godly’ but he still is vulnerable at the moment.” That earned an insulted scoff from Loki that Tony promptly ignored, “Thor was told that Loki’s estimated healing time should be a month if everything goes smoothly. After Loki is healed we will go from there. Oh, because you are our on sight physician I have provided a modest apartment here at the tower. Your home will be located on the same floor as the handful of Avengers who live here. Thor is off and on when it comes to being here on earth, but you’ll get to know Natasha Rominoff, Clint, Bruce, Steve, and of course myself.”  

Over the next couple hours I was given a thick stack of nondisclosure forms, another thick stack of pretty much everything that Tony and I had discussed before, a bunch of notes on dealing with Asgardians, more specifically wounded Loki, an in-depth description of my salary, paid time off, and work related perks. I was given a set of keys and taken down to what was called “Avenger’s floor” I walked to the end of the hall with one of Stark’s employees, she was a bubbly redhead who seemed super pumped to be here at all times. “Here is your home!” She opened the door and waited for me to enter before following me. “You have two bedrooms and two bathrooms, a full bathroom with the master bedroom, and a half bathroom in the hallway.” Alex, as she had liked to be called stood in the center of the large room. To my right the apartment dipped down slightly into what would easily be a modest living room, tall windows that made me feel a little light-headed reminded me of how high up I was. Although you really did get a killer view from up here, and there were massive grey curtains that I could pull over if I needed to. To my left was a large dining and kitchen area, it was also very open, it already had a dining table that could gracefully seat six people. Behind the table was a rather cozy kitchen, I didn’t need anything fancy, in fact this really was more than I was expecting. Alex let me take it all in before leading me down the hall, the first door on the right she opened and gestured for me to follow. “This is the guest bedroom but could easily be a study, or anything you want really.” The room wasn’t small, but not overly huge either. I didn’t expect to have many guests so a study would be really nice. Alex made her way out of the room and guided me to the next door, “and here we will have the master bedroom.” I stepped in behind her and looked around. This room had to be about half the size of my old apartment. It had a nice window that let in sunlight and fresh air without making me feel like I was going to fall to my death. I walked to the end of the room and opened a door to find a master closet, “Huh, don’t think I have enough clothes to come even close to fitting in here.” I laughed to myself but Alex tilted her head, “aren’t doctors supposed to be rich?” I really laughed this time, “yeah, but not starting out. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs. My last apartment was pretty much a cement box.” My preppy tour guide shrugged and opened the door to reveal my bathroom. A freaking Jacuzzi tub sat at the far end of the room under a beautifully arched window, gorgeous white curtains were tucked back. I took in the sight, a large walk in shower, a complicated looking toilet.. A Bedit?  And a marble sink blew me away.

Alex left me to explore the rest of the apartment on my own, there was really only the guest bathroom left anyway, and while it was a nice bathroom, it’s just a bathroom. Tony had given me a week to get myself moved and settled in, then it would be time to work. I was actually pretty proud of myself for convincing Tony to allow me to keep Koda, (it was less “convincing” and more me telling him that I am a package deal and Koda comes with me.) I had to show him every ribbon she’s earned, ever certificate and proof of vaccines. But he agreed and I was excited to bring Koda on this new adventure with me.

[my-one-love-is-music]

It Takes Two Ch. 6

Super excited to finally get this chapter out! As always, I'm in love with this fic and enjoy writing it so much!

If you weren't aware, this week has been jaytimweek and I have 5 new fics posted so when you're done with this and if you want some more sweet jaytim goodness from me, there's some new stuff to read! ^.^

Enjoy!

Also on AO3!

“The two of you aren’t dating are you?!” Dick exclaimed, going pale.

Tim gaped at him and tried to get his mouth to form some sort of explanation to kill that thought immediately.

Jason sighed heavily. “God just let me pass out again so I don’t have to deal with this bullshit. No, Dick we aren’t dating. And if you gave Tim enough time to actually explain what happened that fact would become clear pretty fast.”

Bruce cleared his throat. “So what happened exactly?”

Tim sighed heavily and stared down at where his hands were fisted in his lap. “You know that we’ve been working on that human trafficking case, right? Well, a few days ago, we were pretty sure that we tracked down the guy who’s behind it all. Someone who works for him, if not him, got the jump on us and knocked us out. When we woke up we were strapped down to these tables in the old abandoned hospital.”

He glanced up to make sure that everyone was still with him before continuing. “Well, the scientist behind it told us that Jason and I were now connected by our pain and that everything either of us felt would be shared.”

“What do you mean you’re connected by your pain?” Dick interrupted.

“He means exactly that,” Jason grumbled.

“It’s how I knew that Jason was hurt last night,” Tim supplied. “When he was…what happened to you exactly?”

“Let’s see…after I took down the gang I was going after, I had a tail following me. They got a shot into my side which made me lose control of my bike and because of that, I slid into the side of a brick building,” Jason rattled off.

Tim winced. “That explains why the pain was so intense that I vomited then.”

“You vomited?!” Jason asked, moving to sit up, but quickly winced and fell back to the bed with a hiss.

“Yeah, it was pretty bad,” Tim said with a sigh.

“So when Jason was hurt last night, you felt all of that?” Dick asked.

“Yeah. It wasn’t like I actually felt like I’d been shot, but I felt the burst of pain that comes with that, if that makes sense. I know it’s kind of hard to understand when you haven’t experienced it first hand, but just know that we know if either of us are hurt when we’re not around. I think that’s the simplest way I can put it.”

“I can’t believe this,” Dick muttered. “This is absolutely crazy.”

“Well we are in Gotham,” Jason huffed. “All kinds of crazy things happen in this city.”

“Do you have any idea how to break this connection?” Bruce interrupted before a fight could start. “Have you managed to track down the scientist who did this to you yet?”

“I’ve been doing some research and looking into things,” Tim said. “I’ve gotten some information on the scientist and have his actual identity, but we haven’t had any luck in tracking him down. After the incident in the hospital he’s been pretty hard to find.”

“And you didn’t stop to consider that it would’ve been helpful for us to know this information a little sooner? Say, before Jason crashed into the side of a building and you passed out on a rooftop?” Bruce asked.

Tim nearly winced. There was an underlying hint of anger in what Bruce was saying and Tim could only imagine how disappointed he must be in them for letting this kind of thing happen. “We thought that we could handle it,” he muttered.

“Well it’s obvious that you couldn’t. And things might not have gotten this bad if you’d trusted the rest of us enough to tell us. Now…because of the recent event and what you’ve just told me, you two aren’t allowed to patrol until we get this fixed.”

“Bruce!” Tim protested.

Bruce held up his hand. “Jason needs to recover from his injuries from last night and I can’t have either of you running around when a serious injury could cripple both of you and make things even worse. So no patrolling until we get this fixed. Tim, you’re going to send me all of the files and information that you’ve collected on this case and I’m going to start looking through them.

“I’ll let you continue to compile research if that will keep you from trying to suit up, but any and all leads that you uncover will be sent directly to me or Dick, understood?”

Tim sagged back against the pillows that he’d been propped against and nodded.

“Good,” Bruce said. “The last thing is that Jason is going to be staying with you in your apartment until we get this fixed.”

Tim and Jason shared a confused look.

“Why?” Jason asked.

“Because you need to recover from your injuries and Tim can help look after you. It’ll give him something to do and I don’t trust either of you on your own with something as big as this hanging over your heads. Any threats that might come your way while you’re civilians will be able to be fielded by both of you and once you’re healed, taking care of them should be no problem,” Bruce explained easily.

“You can’t be serious. That’s total bullshit! We don’t need to babysit each other!” Jason argued.

“If you’re not willing to share Tim’s apartment, I can easily have you put on lockdown here in the Manor. We have plenty of rooms and I’m sure that Alfred will have no problems with making sure that you don’t strain yourself or irritate your injuries.”

“On second thought,” Jason said quickly, “sharing an apartment with Tim sounds great. But only on one condition: Tim isn’t allowed to cook.”

“I can cook just fine!” Tim exclaimed.

Jason leveled him with a look. “I highly doubt that. Isn’t there some sort of rule that says you only subsist on takeout and frozen dinners?”

Bruce sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead. “Save the bickering for when you get to Tim’s building, please. I’ll have Alfred get the car ready for both of you and he can drive you back to your apartment. Try not to kill each other before then.”

Tim watched him walk off and stuck his tongue out at Jason in what was an entirely mature reaction in his opinion.

Dick shook his head. “Good luck you two. Try not to kill each other until we can figure this out.”

Tim buried his head in his hands with a groan. “I can’t believe that this is happening.”

“We couldn’t exactly keep it a secret after last night,” Jason said softly and paused in thought. “Did you really vomit?”

Tim looked over at him and nodded. “Yeah. It wasn’t my initial reaction. I felt the pain from when I assumed you got shot first. That brought me down to my knees. It’s pretty strange how I can usually grit my teeth through the pain of a gunshot wound when it happens to me, but experiencing it secondhand is so much worse. It was when you crashed into the building that caused me to vomit, I’m sure. Needless to say Bruce was freaking out about that and I was fighting him because I knew that I needed to get to you.”

“But Dick found me?” Jason asked, brow furrowing.

“Yeah…because I passed out when I tried to stand back up.”

“Christ,” Jason hissed. “Looks like there’s even more to this connection that we don’t understand.”

“I know. I feel like everything up until now has been so easy to deal with and that things are just now starting to…get…worse…”

“Tim?”

Tim swung his legs off the hospital bed so he could face Jason. “Jason do you think… I mean could this be a sign that whatever Anderson put together the first time hasn’t been fixed? And that the same problems exist with his experiments? With us?”

Tim could feel his panic rising and he knew that wasn’t a good thing. He needed to remain calm in the face of this all, especially if he wasn’t going to be able to patrol indefinitely.

Jason frowned and shook his head urgently. He gently eased himself into a sitting positon so that he could match Tim’s posture. “No. It can’t be. It’s got to be just that we’re learning more about it. Last night was a new set of circumstances. Up until that point, neither of us had experienced that much pain while we were sharing this connection. He had to have made improvements on it. He wouldn’t be experimenting with it again if he hadn’t.”

“But, Jason-“

“No, Tim. The same thing that happened to those kids isn’t going to happen to us. I won’t let it happen to us. I promise. Just trust me, okay?”

Tim bit his lip and looked over Jason’s determined expression. He still had a very bad feeling about everything that was happening and what might still be in their future, but he’d accept it for now.

“Okay,” he said softly.

Jason seemed to relax at that and brought a hand to his side. “Damn, I’m not looking forward to having to come back from this injury.”

“At least you’ll have a lot of time to recover before you even get the chance to beat up bad guys again.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “That won’t stop me from beating you up if you insist on being a little shit.”

“Language, Master Jason,” Alfred spoke up as he crossed the floor of the Batcave with a wheelchair.

“Sorry, Alfred,” he grumbled.

“The car is waiting in the drive. Are the both of you ready to go?” he asked.

“Absolutely,” Jason sighed with relief. He gently eased himself from the bed and eagerly sat down in the wheelchair.

“I’m surprised that you’re so willing to accept help,” Tim commented. “Usually you’d want to do everything yourself.”

“That may be true, but after being slammed into the side of a building, everything hurts and the last thing that I want to be doing is moving.”

“Touché,” Tim said, hopping down from his own bed and following Alfred from the BatCave.

Bruce was waiting next to the car when they made it outside. Alfred and Tim helped Jason stand from the chair and gingerly helped him into the backseat. Tim gave one last look to Bruce before he walked to the other side of the car and climbed in the backseat with Jason. Bruce ducked his head so he could see both of them in the backseat.

“Remember, no patrolling. And send me all the information you have on this case. This shouldn’t be any problem to get fixed once we dedicate more resources to it.”

“If it wasn’t a problem to get fixed, we would’ve fixed it already,” Jason grumbled.

Bruce sighed. “Just stay inside and keep out of trouble. We don’t need you getting hurt worse than you already are.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jason said, pulling the door closed before he could say anything else.

Tim tried to hide his smile. He really did, but Jason caught it and winked at him, drawing a chuckle from Tim.

“I can’t believe you just did that,” he snickered as Alfred pulled away from the Manor and headed down the drive.

“Well he can see how difficult finding this scientist is when he gets your case files. Then he won’t be in such a good mood when he can’t find the idiot who did this to us. Hell, you’ll probably be able to crack this case from the comfort of your own apartment before he even gets very far.”

“Master Jason, language please,” Alfred admonished gently.

Jason sighed. “Sorry, Alfred.”

Tim let his head fall to the side so he could stare out the window. It was still early in the morning. The sun was just cresting the horizon and the early morning workers were on their way to their jobs. That also meant there was no traffic and they quickly made it through several streets. Tim still felt tired after the several hours he’d spent unconscious and knew he would be more than tempted to go back to sleep once he got inside his apartment and could lie down.

“Here we are Master Jason and Master Timothy,” Alfred said, turning into the underground parking garage below Tim’s building. He pulled into a spot that was right next to the elevator that would take them up to Tim’s apartment and stepped from the car.

Tim climbed out as Alfred began to gently help Jason stand from where he was seated. He pulled one of Jason’s arms around his shoulders and Tim took the other. They moved in front of the elevator doors slowly and Tim reached out to press the call button. The wait seemed far longer than it should have and Tim could feel the strain that Jason was going through as it got harder and harder for him to remain standing. He sucked breaths through his nose harshly and Tim glanced up to find that a muscle jumped in his jaw as he clenched his teeth together abruptly.

Tim nearly sighed with relief when the elevator did arrive and they stepped in as quickly as they could while being mindful of Jason as to not cause him anymore pain. The ride to the upper floors was much faster and Tim anxiously tightened his grip around Jason’s waist when they finally made it to his floor. He ignored the curious look that Jason was no doubt giving him in favor of helping him from the elevator and down the hallway.

It was awkward getting his apartment door open and shuffling in sideways, but they managed without upsetting Jason’s injuries.

“We can take him to the bedroom,” Tim said quickly.

Jason scoffed. “I don’t need to take the bed. You can just put me on the couch.”

Tim shook his head and Alfred spoke up. “That would not be wise, Master Jason. The couch would not allow you to relax properly and would cause you to take more time in healing.”

Jason grumbled under his breath as they continued down the hallway towards his bedroom.

“If it’s that important,” Tim broke in with a huff. “You can move onto the couch after you’re healed.”

“I’m counting on that,” he argued pettily.

Tim rolled his eyes and kicked the door to his bedroom the rest of the way open, thankful that it was somewhat clean for once. He didn’t need to be chastised by both Jason and Alfred over the state of his things. They eased Jason onto the bed slowly and Tim carefully placed both of his pillows behind Jason so that he could recline onto them.

Jason grunted as the movements pulled at his muscles and injuries, but managed to relax against the pillows with a sigh and closed his eyes.

“Excellent,” Alfred said, stepping back. “Is there anything else that I can help you with? Some food perhaps? Or does your apartment need any additional cleaning?”

Tim internally winced at the lack of food that was probably in his kitchen. He didn’t want Alfred to see that. “No thank you, Alfred. I think that we can handle it from here.”

“If you are certain, Master Timothy. If you need anything else, do not hesitate to call the Manor. I would be more than happy to bring you some dinner to speed the healing process for Master Jason.”

“Maybe later, Alfred,” Tim said, following him out of his room and to the front door.

“Of course, Master Timothy. Good day and rest well,” he said, stepping out into the hallway.

“Bye, Alfred,” Tim said before shutting the door to the sight of Alfred’s retreating back.

He sighed and leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling exhausted even though he’d gotten several hours of sleep earlier.

“Tim?” Jason called. There was an edge to his voice that he couldn’t quite place, but he resigned himself to the fact that he’d probably be left to wait on him hand and foot over the next several days. If anything, Jason was going to enjoy it and try to make him do ridiculous things.

“What?” he sighed heavily and pushed off the wall so that he could trudge back down to the bedroom. He crossed his arms and stood in the doorway.

Jason was giving him a look that he couldn’t quite decipher. “Come here,” he said, beckoning Tim over.

“Why can’t you just tell me from where I’m standing in the doorway?” he grumbled, but walked over to the side of the bed. “It’s not like there’s anyone else around to hear what you’re going to say.”

Jason’s expression softened when Tim was within arm’s reach. “We’re going to be okay, alright? It’s going to take a lot more to bring us down than just some stupid scientist, I promise.”

Tim’s shoulders sagged. The fact that Jason could read him so well would’ve been unnerving if they hadn’t been connected for the past few days and shared the same experiences in more than one way.

“I know,” he admitted. “It’s just frustrating. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do when I don’t have something to focus on or some bad guy to catch. When I’m just stuck here in my apartment…”

Jason quirked an eyebrow at him. “Last time I checked, you aren’t the one who’s stuck in bed with injuries.”

“Sorry.”

Jason shrugged and then winced. “Okay, no shrugging,” he said with a sigh. “It’s no big deal. I’ll heal.”

Tim’s lips quirked at the accidental rhyme.

“And who says that you can’t do anything? You can still do research and plan and figure something out. There’s no way that those guys are going to be able to hide from your big brain. It’ll just mean that we can’t do the busting ourselves. And maybe once Bruce gets a look at all of the evidence that you’ve put together so far, he’ll be able to find some cure to make us better.”

“I still have to send my files to him, shit,” Tim said, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised he didn’t give Alfred a flash drive for me.”

“Alfred’ll be back around before you know it and you can pass off a copy of your stuff to him then. I’m sure that his Alfred senses were tingling when he walked through here.”

“Alfred senses?” Tim asked, lips quirking up at the corners.

“Of course! He knows where every speck of dirt and dust is located and feels the need to clean it. And he knows how much food is in your kitchen and what types of food you have stocked on top of that,” Jason explained in all seriousness.

Tim cringed. “That’s a little worrying.”

Jason smirked. “Only if you have empty cabinets and junk food to hide which considering who we’re talking about, is pretty likely.”

Tim rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Just get some sleep. The sooner you heal, the better.”

Jason carefully maneuvered himself so he was mostly lying down and let out a shaky breath when he let his muscles relax.

Tim hesitantly took a step away before looking over Jason again. “Is there anything that you need or are you good?”

Jason waved off the comment, not quite able to plaster on a smile. Tim could finally see the exhaustion that he was hiding and how tired his eyes looked. The crash must’ve taken more out of him than Tim had originally realized.

“I’m fine. I just need a little more rest and I’ll be back in tip-top shape. Which is what you should be doing too. Get some sleep and we can both worry about what we’re going to do next later.”

Tim nodded and backed out of the room, pulling the door gently shut behind him. He quietly padded away from the door and made his way to the kitchen. Even with the few tendrils of tiredness that were pulling at his limbs, he knew that his mind was too awake to even allow him to lie down, let alone sleep.

He made a quick pot of coffee and sat down with a steaming mug on the couch before pulling his laptop towards himself and pulling up the files on their case. He read over the information again quickly and sighed. They had no current leads on other hospital employees who were associated with Anderson. Tim knew that it wouldn’t be impossible to track down some of them and get more information, but that would take a lot longer than if they had someone who they knew could offer some insight.

He thought back to the human trafficking ring that had started this all. And he got an idea. Feeling a little more confident in what he was working on, he pulled up the GCPD website and quickly gained access to their files, pulling up the recent missing person’s reports that had been filed over the past few days. Anderson didn’t seem like the type of guy who would give up his work so easily just to go into hiding. Which meant that he was still working or still had someone working for him.

And Tim wasn’t the type of guy who would just leave a case for someone else to solve when he had all the resources and opportunity necessary to solve it himself.

[redrobin-detective]

how do you think the pre-boot verse would have reacted to tim's "death"? especially the batfam and the titans?

Badly. Let’s take this during the end of Pre-52, so say around the end of Red Robin and into Batman Inc.

Bruce would be devastated, again. He’s just come back from death only to find he’s lost another son and worse, things got so bad for Tim because he was working hard to bring Bruce back. Bruce will inevitably feel guilty, for allowing Tim to be Robin, for letting the situation degrade to the point where Tim died. We’d see Jay’s death all over again: Batman will be reckless and violent, push away his family members, not take care of himself and let himself wallow in his guilt and grief. Damian would suffer the most, you don’t got to be a detective to see that Dami’s arrival was the last straw that caused Tim to spiral downhill. He lashes out at Damian, makes cruel comments about Damian and him ruining everything. Depending on whether Tim comes back, Bruce might not ever recover. Tim was his rock, the one to ground, without him, Bruce will drift again.

Dick would be devastated too but in a more conventional way. He’d grieve like crazy and cry for days but he wouldn’t lose himself, he can’t not after seeing what’s happening to Bruce. He’ll throw himself into his work and his remaining siblings. He makes a greater effort to repair things with Jay and Dick basically steals Dami away from the Manor. It’s become a toxic environment for the boy and Bruce isn’t taking care of him. So Dick loves and nurtures the heck out of Damian, smothering him and assuring him Tim’s death wasn’t his fault. Their bond improves immensely while the already tenuous bond between Dami and Bruce withers. Dick doesn’t go by the Manor much anymore, no reason to, Bruce doesn’t want to see them and dick doesn’t want to see Tim’s empty room.

Jason would be the best off but still feel guilty as all hell. He didn’t know Tim, didn’t like him but they were family in some sense. And suddenly he’s just gone and Jay’s never going to get the chance to get to know the kid. He’s not sure he would have ever forgiven Tim for what happened but, damn, now he’ll never get the chance either way. It’s also really striking to see how Bruce just degrades right in front of him and becomes this grief stricken madman. Everyone confirms that this is how B acted when Jay died and suddenly Jason can see why 13 year old Tim felt the need to intervene. Suddenly he’s getting an idea of what Tim was like beyond his anger and he’s now feeling bad for lashing out at the kid who really hadn’t deserved his scorn. But not much he can do about that now. He finds solace in Dick who’s reaching out again, worn down by his own grief and trying to save his remaining family, and Jason finally takes that outreached hand. Because this life sucks and the people you love are going to get hurt and die so he’s going to try and make things better with Dick and make sure Damian doesn’t get lost along the way. It’s a spotty relationship, ups and downs, fights and tears but Jason is trying, for Tim’s sake, he’s trying.

Damian also feels really bad, not just because Bruce is blaming him but because, like Jason, he had an antagonistic relationship with Tim that was partially his fault and never resolved. By this time, Damian had developed a respect for Tim but he never got the chance to say it to the older boy. He becomes quiet and less of a braggart than he was, the death really hits him hard because he thinks he’s come so far and yet here he is, still the same as ever. Bruce is cruel and barely talking to him so Dick picks him up and moves him into his ratty apartment. the situation isn’t good by any means but it’s better than the abuse he gets at the Manor. Dick is struggling to be there and available for Dami when he’s clearly on the edge himself, Damian tries to hide his own problems so not to burden Dick which in turn makes his older brother more worried. They manage and they heal but Tim is always a sore subject for him and he does his best to go back and trace Tim’s footsteps through notes and videos to try and understand the boy he’d barely known.

Okay my fingers are hurting so I’ll do these characters a disservice and be quick. Cass would be very upset, take it out on criminals like Bruce but also bounce back the quickest. She’s sad yes but she can’t let another death bring her down. Stephanie is devastated too, just lays on her bed and sobs for days, weeks, looking over old photos and text messages. She’d loved him so much and now he was just gone. But once she’s cried her tears and isolated herself, she slowly begins to move on. She returns to school, starts heroing again and even has contact with the batfam again. She’ll work with Bruce but prefers the Birds and the other Bats. She’ll always cry whenever Tim is mentioned, but she’s got to move on. Babs is sad and she serves as a rock for the family but she wasn’t as close to Dick as she was the others, she cared for him but the world keeps turning. Is always there to nurture a grieving friend and help them heal.

The Titans will be completely anguished. The core four were so tight, so close but Tim was really the heart of the group. He was the one keeping them together with his plans and his human optimism. He kept YJ from falling apart and the Titans together through all the things the went through. Kon and Bart had died and come back but Tim was human… and it doesn’t look like he’s returning. It shatters the group, they put their hero personas aside for a while to get over the immense loss they’ve suffered. Cassie will go back eventually, probably Bart too but Kon was really shaken. Tim helped him learn how to be a person, showed him what it was like to be real, to be happy. He can’t imagine a world without Tim and was really struggling with it. Maybe after years he’d go back to heroing, but it would take a lot of convincing for him to work on a team, especially one with humans. He can’t suffer that kind of loss, not again.