#bruce wayne is bad at feelings

[melloollem]

Jason would never say what he felt out loud and neither would Bruce and they always hurt each other because between half-words Jason saw the worst in Bruce and Bruce saw a lot of his faults in Jason.

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I created this paragraph for a fanfic, but I think it's so good that it deserves its own post on my profile.

[ao3statistics]

This is self-made. And also slightly concerning. Date: 28.12.2023.

I assume no guarantee or liability for the completeness, correctness and accuracy of this chart despite my best efforts.

Includes fanfictions in all languages available on Ao3, NOT English only.

Includes all popular Ao3 tags directly connected to the tag "Bruce Wayne".

More charts will follow. :)

Want to have a chart for different pairings, headcanons etc. in your favourite fandom? Send me an ask!

[meowmeowmeowmeow4x]

Dark Blue Moon and the Suffering Sun Chapter 15

I can't believe we're at 15 already :O

MASTAPOST

Danny looked at Damian. Damian looked at Danny. They looked at the smoldering remains of the Atlantean barracks, the scores of soldiers whose feet were frozen to the floor or to each other, bearing incredibly precise scorch marks from the wrist ray (maybe he should take confiscate that soon). They looked at the retreating soldiers, some of whom were openly sobbing. Danny looked at the helmet Damian acquired from their poor Atlantean victims, and the bow and arrow strapped over his chest. He looked at the overflowing satchels full of plant-based food they had plundered from the town. The unluckiest of them sported Damian-shaped bite marks on their exposed skin, a very painful reminder to not enter the kid’s personal space.

“You said we were just gonna get a map.”

Damian crossed his arms and honest-to-god pouted. Or scowled. It was a scowly pout. “It was not my fault you lost control over your powers.”

Danny’s face went blank. “Who was the one who demanded to see the seahorses and stick around even after we got what we needed?”

And you know what? Danny could honestly admit the seahorses were pretty cute. Was it worth risking their lives? Probably not, even if with Danny’s powers, there wasn’t much risk to them at all. It was the principle of the thing.

Damian at least had the decency to look a little embarrassed. “Is it truly my fault if I wish to admire our planet’s marine biodiversity up close?”

“Yes, Damian. Absolutely.”

“It matters not. Besides, the Atlanteans deserve what happened to them.”

Now that excuse wiped the deadpan off Danny’s face, leaving him in open-mouthed disbelief.

Damian continued. “We have done nothing to them, and yet they regard our mere presence with fear, and take up arms despite there being no hostility from us.”

Danny looked back to smoldering ruins. Granted, it was just a barracks and a few watchtowers, but still. The Atlanteans fear of them was starting to feel a little justified. Did the first settlement Damian raided yesterday suffer a similar fate?

He ran his hands down his face. Scratch the bloodthirsty theory. He was beginning to think Damian intentionally got them caught to have an excuse to wreck the Atlanteans. Then there were the weapons. One look at Damian’s satisfied face as he looked over the destruction practically confirmed it.

Man, kids really were menaces, weren’t they? Maybe he should’ve thought more carefully before agreeing to travel thousands of miles alone with this chaos kid. Was it the siren instincts? Youngblood was similarly unhinged. Maybe it just released his inhibitions.

His distress must have been visible, because Damian tutted once his silence went on too long. “I was being merciful to them. With my skills, I could have easily gut them like the fish I very reluctantly eat, but no longer have to thanks to having plundered their food stores.”

“You know what? I’m not gonna even try to unpack all of that. That’s a job for my sister.” The elder siren patted his shoulders. “Get on, we’ve got places to go.”

Damian beamed as he swam around Danny and latched on, head held high. And honestly? Danny would be an absolute hypocrite if he said he didn’t absolutely enjoy whooping the high and mighty bigots a new one.

“Hey B.”

Bruce could hear the strain on Tim’s voice. Even now, the boy was clacking away at the Batcomputer. He probably hadn’t taken more than a five-minute break.

“Tim.” Bruce said. He considered his next words. He was never one for talking much. It had become difficult to emote strongly after that night in Crime Alley.

“Still hacking into the GiW, and going over missing person cases. Haven’t found anything. I’ll post you when I do.” Tim said, all in work mode. Bruce sighed.

“Thank you, Tim, but I know it’s getting late at home. When was your last break?”

Tim didn’t say anything, but Bruce could practically hear the pout.

“I know you’re worried. I am too, but the Batcave will still be there in the morning.”

Tim hummed, still defiant to the last. “We’re losing valuable time. I can handle it. I handled Damian’s… everything. This is nothing. I’ve only been awake for sixteen hours.”

And wasn’t that half the issue.

Bruce took a deep breath. Countless hours of miming with Alfred, and talking to cardboard cutouts of his children.

“I’ve been worrying, Tim.” Just calmly. Just ease into the words. Don’t freak Tim out or scare him away.

“All you ever do is worry, and now it’s Damian so you’re worried even more.”

“I’m…” The lump in his throat grew. It felt like breaking glass to push through. “I’m worried about you.”

Silence on the line.

Bruce continued, stumbling into dark. “H-How are you feeling right now?”

A chair scraped on the other end., followed by retreating footsteps. “Nope. Nope. Not doing this.”

Bruce’s stress hiked. “Wait, Tim!”

The footsteps stopped, although Tim remained silent. Words, words, words, words. What did his manual say about this kind of situation?

“Thank you. I know you and Damian haven’t been on the best terms. But it… It’s…”

Bruce rapidly flipped through his manual, before deciding on the right word, before Tim could get away. “It’s… I’m proud of you. I always have been. And I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

The footsteps resumed, twice as fast as before. Bruce could barely make out muttering about coffee hallucinations. That was good, was it? Bruce looked over his checklist over and over again. Surely he hadn’t missed something?

Maybe he needed to review his notes before talking to Dick…

Arthur Curry, better known to the world as Aquaman, regarded the messaged sent to the palace from the Pacific frontier. The kingdom had benefitted immensely once the zeta system and advancements in instant communication allowed for him to easily communicate with every corner of the country in seconds.

The contents were worrying. Very worrying, in fact. He would almost have dismissed it as impossible, if he weren’t keenly aware of how much damage a clever enough child could do. Memories of the various Robins’ exploits around the Watchtower flashed through his mind, giving him goosebumps.

Never again.

It was a luxury which appeared unable to be afforded to him, as an attendant entered the room and handed him a second message, bound in twine and seaweed. Arthur thanked her, and opened the letter.

Another raid by the same child, this time accompanied by a young teenager. A young teenage siren. The local barracks destroyed, several watchtowers toppled, and food stores plundered. The two sirens fled soon after. About thirty injured personnel, but no casualties, and no civilian injuries either, thank goodness.

It was one of the strangest raids parties he’d ever seen. Usually siren pods descended on vulnerable border towns like a landslide, bringing dozens or hundreds of warriors charging through the countryside, pillaging farmland and razing whole buildings to the seafloor. Arthur transitioned to the archives to continue his research, pulling thousand-year-old records from their carefully preserved cases. His earliest predecessors had seen countless deaths to these war parties, before the Atlantean military was formalised and modernised.

The raids also occasionally took hostages. Sometimes adults or the elderly. Usually children. Arthur’s heart ached at his most vulnerable subjects being stripped away from their families. Those hostages taken were often never seen again, even as Atlantean forces made repeated incursions into siren territory to search for them. They would always be repelled back before finding any.

But one pattern was always clear with the raiders. Although those barbarians took Atlantean children for whatever sick purposes, they never brought their own children to fight. Some of his people believed they didn’t even have children, that they spawned spontaneously as fully formed spirits of destruction and rage.

It looked like those theories were untrue. But what circumstances could produce such a strange result? The first report only described a single siren child, who looked to be about five years old or so by Atlantean standards. The second report confirmed the reappearance of that child, now in tandem with a teenager who still appeared very young. Were they brothers? The reports stated the older one had translucent white and black skin, almost like glass, to the point where even his internal organs were faintly transparent. The younger siren sported a dark green coat, and golden fins and highlights. Neither before or after they struck did the soldiers ever catch a glimpse of an adult.

Could they be orphans? Arthur’s heart panged. Even if they were technically his enemies, he hated the fact that children were the victims of this continued conflict. Despite attempts to work out a peace treaty between his kingdom and the sirens, it could never work out. Atlantis was one kingdom with one king, but the siren pods spent as much time squabbling between themselves as with Atlantis.

Outside of their age and lack of supervision, the children also sported another deviation: Their choice in weaponry. While the capital invested in preferred to traditional weapons, favoring especially polearms like the spear, trident and javelin. Siren war bands in the past favored the bow and arrow, using their superior speed to outmanoeuvre and outrange Atlantean soldiers. Many men and women were lost to their feigned retreat tactics, to the point where every new recruit had to be drilled again and again to never pursue ‘retreating’ sirens.

The elder of the two raiders fought with only his magic, firing icy beams and throwing spears of ice. This was where the duo was most similar to typical siren warriors, contrasting against the disciplined and measured sorcery taught to Aqualad and others his age.

What was alarming was how the younger boy fought. He slashed at one poor soldier who got too close with a sword in his first attack. Mauled six others with his teeth in the second. At ranged he wielded a strange contraption on his wrist, capable of rapidly firing concussive energy beams that let him suppress and disrupt soldiers triple his size.

The sirens were never interested in technological development in the same way as the Atlanteans did, and never had they possessed a weapon even close to as advanced as the one sported by the tiny child.

Arthur’s eyes furrowed. Could it be that some third party was supplying Atlantis’ enemies? How long before another army gathered, before the kingdom faced another existential threat like Pariah Dark had once posed?

Arthur’s Justice League communicator vibrated. The king of Atlantis picked up the call.

“Arthur.” It was Bruce. “This is urgent.”

“What do you need?”

“What information has your kingdom got on sirens?”

“What a coincidence, because I’ve just received two new reports from the Pacific frontier…”

“… As for this Phantom character, the culprit of the attack seems to match your description perfectly.”

Bruce furrowed his eyes. He marked the location where Phantom had last struck. The boy was heading south, along the California Current. For what reason? Was he migrating according to his needs as a species, or was he searching for another haunt? Was he going further south or would he turn west once he neared the equator and follow the current there?

Six months of stalking a human town, fighting off other sirens, only to abandon it once the GiW came out in force, and then start marauding Atlantean settlements out of nowhere? Something extraordinary had to have happened. According to Arthur, Phantom had never been seen by his soldiers before. Perhaps Phantom had completed whatever goals he had in Amity, and was transitioning to his next move on Atlantis.

Phantom was young, or at least appeared young. Likely no older than fifteen. The fact that no records show any similar pattern of behaviour ruled out the possibility of it being some kind of coming-of-age ceremony. It seemed Phantom was an outlier among his species.

If sirens travelled in pods, then where was Phantom’s?

“It’s funny you mention that, since he wasn’t alone. There was a tiny child with him. I think he was about five years old or so. The boy carried weapons like a warrior, and blasted my soldiers with energy beams from a futuristic wrist gun. I’ll sent you the sketch the commander sent me.”

Bruce confirmed his receipt of the sketch. His eyes widened.

Emblazed on the gun’s side was a very familiar logo, a flaming blue F for Fenton.

The conversation ended soon after, with Arthur promising to forward him translated copies of the reports.

Bruce clasped his hands, holding them tight as he pondered (not brooded, despite what Dick insisted).

It seemed Phantom’s lack of morality couldn’t sink further. He had manipulated Amity Island teenagers into assisting him, and now he was leading what was basically a toddler half of Damian’s age into dangerous battles against trained soldiers.

Bruce’s will hardened with righteous anger. This Phantom was barely fresh off his last crime before preying on another child. He had to be stopped.

Suddenly he had three children to save now.

Please be ok, Damian…

[nobodyfamousposts]

Another Miraculous Crossover Nobody Wanted (DCxML)

In the midst of so many Batfamily/Miraculous crossovers, the thing I feel so many people forget is that the Waynes are...well...themselves.

Sure, they're awesome vigilantes. Trained in martial arts and with great mental fortitude to help them against the likes of Scarecrow's fear gas, Joker's venom, and Mad Hatter's manipulations.

...the problem is that Hawk Moth is a whole different ballgame.

He doesn't target their fears or dreams. He targets ANYTHING. Like petty annoyances. Frustrations. Sleep deprivation. Obsessions. Things the Batfamily generally try to ignore on a regular basis.

If he can akumatize and reakumatize the same man over his love of pigeons and people who feel they've been wronged over silly reasons, there's SO MUCH that could come from the complete dysfunction/emotional constipation that is the Wayne family. Remember, ANY frustration or annoyance or upset counts. 

Meaning Ladybug and Chat will be having their hands full with the Waynes until they leave.

And given that Hawk Moth comes up with the silliest costumes and powers...

...the others would never let them live it down.

...

It was a beautiful day in Paris. And an absolutely wonderful vacation to the City of Love, where everything was peaceful and nothing was wrong.

Dick stood at the window looking out over the city.

Tim was on his computer doing some reports. Possibly Wayne Enterprises work, but more likely mission work.

Damien had apparently gotten tired of grumbling and was focused on sharpening his sword—which Bruce really shouldn’t have let him bring. But given the situation, he couldn’t argue against letting Damien have something that would help him stay calm.

Cass had found a magazine to occupy her time, though she seemed somewhat confused as to the male teen model that kept appearing in nearly every line.

And Jason…

…he was grinning. And watching Bruce with such anticipation, looking downright hopeful as he waited. Not helping was that he was holding what appeared to be a brand new camera, fully prepared to start recording.

Bruce knew why.

But he would not give him the satisfaction.

Because nothing was going to happen.

Absolutely nothing.

Bruce twitched.

SNAP!

And his pen cracked from the sheer amount of pressure he was putting on it. Which was admittedly an annoyance, but wasn’t that big of a deal…

…if it wasn’t the 15th pen he’d broken in the past three hours.

It was fine though.

Nothing was wrong.

He was calm.

Calm.

Calm.

A muffled voice could be heard from outside despite the room being on the seventh floor of a building. Which of course was a coincidence and not because someone was actually right outside the room….and the building.

And perhaps if Bruce tried really hard, he could convince himself was just someone singing a line out of “American Pie” and not someone talking about butterflies.

No.

Because there were no butterflies outside. Because he was fine!

Not the slightest bit upset!

At. All.

“That’s thirty-three…” Dick counted.

…

…

…

…Dammit.

Bruce sighed.

“Did she come back to the roof?”

“Actually, she never left.” Tim confirmed, not even looking up from his computer. “She stopped leaving after the last incident and has just been standing there for the past couple hours now, catching them as they come.”

A long pause.

“How…?”

“Her partner has been bringing her water and snacks. And keeping watch whenever she has to leave to hibernate or use the little bug’s room.”

Bruce groaned.

Why couldn’t it be a villain? Or a fan or stalker? He could deal with those. He dealt with them all the time.

It was the well intentioned young superheroes that he had a harder time dealing with. The ones that wanted to help but were misguided in not understanding that their help wasn’t necessary.

“Gotcha!”

“Thirty-four.” Dick droned.

…no matter how many magical butterflies implied otherwise.

“Maybe we should do what the nice Ladybug hero asked and finish up our business in Paris?” Tim suggested.

“I refuse!” Damien shouted, jumping to his feet. “This villain has made a mockery of us and it must not be allowed to stand! I will not leave until he has been caught and my sword has tasted his blood!”

“Damien, we don’t kill, remember?”

“I wouldn’t kill him.” Damien said, looking away with a pout. “Just…dismember him a bit.” He frowned, consideringly. “Maybe cut off his arms. He can’t continue villainy then, right?”

Tim sighed.

“So that’s a no on going home early then.”

They heard a noise from the roof.

“Is she leaving?” Bruce asked, trying to hide how hopeful he was.

“Nope. It’s her catboyfriend back again.” Dick replied, blithely.

Bruce sighed.

“Do you think they’re dating?”

“Dick.” Bruce warned.

“Because the city seems to be really hamming up the romantic angle between the two and it’s kinda hard to not see.” Dick continued. 

“Dick.”

“Even if it is kinda weird that they’re essentially shipping teenagers.”

“Speaking from experience there, Dickie Boy?” Jason cut in, cheekily.

“Stop it. Both of you.” Bruce ordered. “The goal of coming to Paris was supposed to be to deal with the emotional terrorism from Hawk Moth.”

“A little hard with all your emotional constipation there, B.”

Jason smirked.

“Or should I say ‘Justice Man’?”

Bruce twitched.

[bluejaysandblackbats]

The Spin Out

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: Jason Todd returns to Gotham after three years for the final time to win enough money to pay off Sheila's debts.

Chapters: 1/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s), Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Street Racing AU, No Capes AU, Jason Todd-centric, Hurt Jason Todd, Bad Parent Sheila Haywood, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Organized Crime, Jason Todd has PTSD, Jason Todd has Trust Issues, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Good Person Jason Todd, Stalker Bruce Wayne, Family Issues, Secret Identities, Secrets, Angst

Chapter One: Cigs

Jason neatly folded his clothes, watching his mother pace, smoking a cigarette. “Jason, it’s too dangerous. There has to be something-.”

“Nope. I’ll be home before the summer holiday ends,” Jason interrupted. He stood, gave her a sweet kiss on the cheek, snagged her cigarette, and sat on the foot of his bed. “I’ll take the boat out as far as Florida and drive the rest of the way to Jersey. I only need to stay long enough to get a hundred grand. Can you hold out until I get home?”He spoke with the cigarette between his lips, sharply inhaling once he finished his question.

“Jason, you’re only-.”

Lifting his mother off the ground, he set her down a few feet to his left and opened his drawer. “Mom, I’ll be fine. Do you mind if I bum a pack of cigs off you for the trip?” Jason questioned. He started smoking again after he moved in with Sheila. She reached into her back pocket and placed the pack in his palm.“If anything happens, I can always call your brother in Maine. Right?”

“Be careful. These things’ll kill you,” Sheila joked as she reached for him, pulling him into a hug. “I just got you back.” Tensing in her arms, he fought the urge to pull away. It wasn’t the first time they’d had money trouble of that proportion. Her last boyfriend cleared her bank account, and Jason had to sell his car. That stung. It took him three months to bounce back. He wanted a mother more than a peaceful life. So, he swallowed all the trouble that came with knowing her.

"Passport and fake ID… Where is it, Mom?" Jason questioned.

"Jason, why can't you stay here and do all that?" Sheila asked.

"Mom, we talked about this. They know me here. No one's gonna let me race in this town. Nobody knows who I am in Gotham, Mom. I can get in and out with fewer problems there," Jason explained as he rummaged through his drawers. Jason glanced at his mother and the guilty look on her face. “Mom, give me my ID. Please. Please. PLEASE.” He grabbed her hands, holding them to his chest. “Mom, I have three months to make one hundred grand… Or they will kill us. Do you understand that? They’re not kidding. Did you forget that gun he held to your head two weeks ago?”

Sheila pulled away from him. “Let me go with you—.”

“I wish you could, but it’d be more trouble than we can handle right now, Mom. Now, give me my ID and passport. I have an hour to get on the road, or I’ll miss my boat,” Jason replied. She frowned. “Murder, Mom. They’re gonna kill us.”

Sheila frowned, reaching into her purse for Jason’s ID and passport. “I almost named you Michael, you know. I was so sure you’d be blonde. Michael Peter Todd,” Sheila wistfully smiled as she held his hand. “Your father didn’t like that name.”

Jason tensed up and pulled away. “Mom, I have to go,” Jason whispered.

“Call me as much as you can,” Sheila whispered. Jason nodded as he zipped up his backpack. Slinging his bag on his back, Jason headed for the living room and sat next to his suitcase. “Do you have your lunch for the boat?”

“Mom, I’m alright—.”

“Jason, take your lunch. Please,” Sheila interrupted, “You’re a big guy now. You have to keep your belly full.”

“Mom, I’ll—. Yes, ma’am,” Jason whispered as he put his cigarette in the ashtray. “Thank you.” Despite his frustration, he would’ve done anything for her.

“I love you, Jason. I guess—. I’m worried about you,” Sheila whispered as she reached to fix a stray hair in Jason’s face. “You look so tired.”

Jason took his lunch out of the fridge and kissed her forehead. “Love you, Mom. I’ll be back before the end of summer,” Jason whispered, “Okay? And I’ll drive safe to the docks, Mommy. I promise.” Mommy. The word carried the same sugary sweetness he had when they first met. It was genuine. His love for her was real.

As he slipped out the front door with his bags, his breath caught in his throat. He swallowed the lump in his throat, quietly joining his friend from school in the car. “Pô! I can’t believe you’re leaving São Tomé,” his friend shouted, hanging off Jason’s jacket. “I could weep!”

Jason laughed and pushed his friend off. “Efigenia, I’ll only be gone for the summer. Efi—.”

“I want to go with you. Think of all the pretty girls that you’re robbing me of meeting,” Efigenia whined. Jason took her car keys and shook his head.

“It’s not that great. I’m working,” Jason replied.

“Still… It’s amazing that your mom’s letting you go to America by yourself,” Efigenia half-exclaimed, “And in your own apartment. I bet you’ll have all sorts of—.”

Jason’s face reddened as he shook his head. “Oh, yeah… I forgot. You wanna be a man of virtue for the rest of your life,” Efigenia teased.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason asked.

“Come on. Girls here are practically throwing themselves at you. And you, in all your Catholic guilt, shrink away from women like they’ve got the plague,” Efigenia explained, “Unless—.”

“If I was gay, you’d be the first to know,” Jason replied.

Efigenia glanced at him, raising her brow. “So, are you gay?” Efigenia asked.

Jason turned his head and rolled down the window. “I’m gonna have one more smoke before I go,” Jason mumbled as he lit a cigarette. “Efi, can you look after my mom while I’m gone?”

“Uh-huh… Why?” Efi asked. Jason tightened his lips around the cigarette as he blew a smoke ring out the window. Jason managed to keep his friends at arm’s length about his past and current home life. All Efigenia knew about Jason was he liked cars and motorcycles, graduated a year early, and never missed a Sunday at church. Everything else was unnecessary and messy.

He didn’t want to make any waves. Jason and Sheila had only been in São Tomé for three months. Before that, they were in Australia for a year. He went by Michael at that time. Before that, they were in Venezuela for two weeks… And Italy for another year. But Ethiopia came first. They lived and breathed Ethiopia until it nearly killed Jason. He still couldn’t talk about it, even after Sheila begged him to say something. That’s when he started smoking again, but he never spoke one word of blame to her. It wasn’t in his nature to complain about his mother.

“Jason, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ask you if you were gay—.”

“Oh, no. That’s not—. I’m nervous about—. I haven’t been to the States in a year. I don’t—. I don’t like traveling,” Jason replied, “I feel like an open wound, and every time I travel to another country, I feel like I’m bleeding out. I’m losing everything that makes me feel… Human.” Efigenia frowned.

“You never talk about traveling with your mom. I always thought you liked it because of how fast you pick up—. You adjust so fast,” she whispered.

“I love the destinations, but sometimes I feel like there’s no endpoint. Nothing feels like home,” Jason muttered as he took a long drag from his cigarette and blew out the window. He felt nauseous. Traveling always made him feel nauseous.

[calliopewayne]

Imagineif

‘Recognized. Batman. 02.’

‘Recognized. Robin. B-01  

Bruce stepped through the zeta-tube, fear burning in his veins for the first time in a long time. Robin followed closely behind giddy as a kid on Christmas morning. 

“I can’t believe I agreed to this,” Bruce glared at the numerous monitors in the entryway, each tuned in to a different viewpoint on Earth. He scanned the screens for any emergencies and growled when he saw nothing amiss. All things considered, he would rather be fighting an alien invasion. He grasped tightly to the bag of scones Alfred was kind enough to prepare.

 It wasn’t too late to turn back now. No one had seen them yet.  He could tell Superman the Joker escaped Arkham again. But Clark would be able to see right through his phony lie.  

“Wow!” Dick ran towards one of the windows, his bright-yellow cape flapping behind him. Bruce grumbled a noncommittal response. “Super cool!” Dick beamed, eyes wide in wonder as he basked in the ethereal light of outer space. “I can get used to this view.”  

“Nice of you to join us, Batman,” Superman appeared in the archway, crossing his arms over his larger-than-life chest. 

Everything about Superman’s demeanor was guarded and careful. He crossed his arms in an attempt to make himself seem smaller and casual. He avoided meeting Batman’s gaze head-on, fearing he’d take it as a threat. Clark wasn’t under any delusions that Batman and Superman would ever be friends. He kept his voice neutral, void of any emotion. 

“I swear you won’t regret it, sir,” Superman said, offering Batman a timid smile.

“Hrrmm,” Batman grunted. He already did regret it.  

Bruce stiffened and not for the first time felt a stab of guilt in the presence of Superman. It was odd being addressed by Clark in such a formal, detached, way. Bruce Wayne knew Clark Kent. He loved game night more than Christmas. Last night Clark couldn’t shut up about Batman finally joining the Leaguers for game night. He was hoping they could move past their differences and be friends. He didn’t realize they were already friends. 

Bruce should have told Clark, right there and then, but it never seemed like the right time. It was easier to allow Clark to believe Bruce and Batman were two separate people. If Bruce Wayne were here, Superman would have already invaded his personal space and hugged him, even though he wasn’t a huggable person. If Bruce were here Clark would have made a joke about Bruce’s lack of skills in the kitchen.

“Are those scones I smell?” Superman’s eyes widened, his voice growing an alcove higher. For a second he allowed Clark Kent to leak through the crevices.

 Bruce should have known he couldn’t hide Alfred’s cooking for long. Not when he was in the presence of an alien that could smell brownies baking in North Dakota all the way from outer space. Wordlessly Batman proffered up the bag of scones from under his black cape. 

“I didn’t know Batman could cook!” Superman said excitedly, taking the bag of scones from him. “I mean of course you can cook . . .” he bit through a chunk of strawberry scone, the sticky red jam dripping down his chin.  “You’re Bate-man - can do anything!” Clark said through a mouthful of scone. 

Bruce involuntarily winced. He didn’t know how long he could keep up this facade. It took all his willpower not to comment on Kansas’ poor eating habits. 

“Funny,” Superman swallowed, licking his fingers. “My friend’s butler makes scones just like . . .” 

    “Oh my Rao,” Robin gaped up at Superman, grinning ear to ear. “You’re Superman!” 

Superman sputtered in shock, spitting out bits and pieces of scone all over his suit, gaping at the kid at his side. He hurriedly set the half-eaten scone back in the bag and straightened up. Clark rubbed fruitlessly at the sticky jam on his chest to no avail. A real smile tickled Bruce’s features. He knew he made the right call bringing Robin along. 

“That is what the papers call me,” Superman smiled in amusement. “But my friends call me Kal.” 

“Can I be your friend?” Dick asked hopefully. “We can fight crime together and play dodgeball in space!”   

When Bruce decided for Robin to tag along, he neglected to take into consideration the fact that Dick Grayson is the head of Superman’s fan club. 

“I’d rather avoid crime fighting if I can,” Superman said evenly, but Bruce knew him well enough to pick up the judgmental lilt in his tone. “Say, Robin do you like air hockey?” 

“Love air hockey!” Dick grinned. 

“Wonder Woman would love a partner,” Superman said. 

“No way! She’s here too!” And Dick was off, eagerly hunting down the other League members. Bruce scowled. Traitor. 

“Nice kid,” Superman turned towards Batman. “How old is he?” 

“He just turned ten.” 

“Younger than I thought,” Superman said. “He’s a little boy!” Here we go again, Bruce ground his teeth together. It was a never-ending battle with Superman. “He should be enjoying his youth, not chasing after Supervillains every night!” Clark said passionately.

“That little boy has been through more trauma than you possibly could imagine,” Batman hissed. “Fighting crime helps him cope.” 

“He is not you!” 

“Robin is not your concern,”  Batman said brusquely, not leaving room in his tone for arguing. But he knew Clark wouldn’t let this go easily. Bruce had been at the receiving end of Clark’s rants about Batman. Batman taking a kid on patrol was the tip of the iceberg. 

“Adding more trauma isn’t the answer,” Superman explained. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about  he doesn’t need to punch . . .” 

“Bullshit!” Batman hissed. “You have two loving, very much alive parents who at this moment are probably up worrying about their naive son. You know nothing about true loss!”

“How do you know that?” Superman’s eyes turned crimson. The heat scorched Batman’s face and he took an involuntary step back, his breath hitching. He had seen Superman burn through state of the arts androids and level up entire buildings, but not once was that fiery gaze aimed toward him. 

Bruce squared his shoulders and matched Superman’s glare. “I’m Batman.” 

“Hera, help us,” Diana strolled into the entryway her features drawn taut. She had traded out her Greek armor for sensible jeans and a biker’s leather jacket with a spattering of stars on the front pocket.  

 “I can’t leave you two alone for a second without risking Armageddon,” her arms flew to her hips, looking every inch like a mother scolding her boys. “Kal-El,” she said, a hidden warning in her tone.  “That is no way to greet a teammate.” Dutifully Superman’s eyes dimmed back to cerulean blue, but his expression remained turbulent. “Batman apologize for being a dickhead.” Clark smirked triumphantly.    

 Bruce was not going to dignify that with a response. “Let’s get this game night over with,” He shoved past Superman and Wonder Woman and into the game room.  

Batman was immediately overwhelmed by the lack of monitors displayed. Superman insisted the game room would be a place of relaxation, not a ‘war room.’ A grave mistake. Lex Luthor or Bane could be heading their way and they won’t be the wiser. Fortunately, the game room was located on the main deck so if anything did go sideways - as it always did- Leaguers had easy access to zeta tubes in the next room.     

 An island wrapped around a decent-sized kitchen; it would make Mama K green with envy. Superman had stocked the fridge with all-you-can-eat junk food. Batman knew because Bruce had loaned Clark his membership card for WayneMart. 

Beyond the kitchen was a den; a sofa comfortable enough to sleep in faced a platinum-sized screen. At the moment a rerun of Star Trek was playing on the tv. A red and black checkered blanket hung over the edge of the couch, covering a duffle bag on the floor. Bruce saw the edge of a notebook poking out of the bag. Bruce felt a pang of guilt. Clark had been living here ever since the bomb destroyed his apartment. It was no wonder he was so keen on game night. He must be going stir-crazy alone in Watchtower. Clark had asked to come to stay at the mansion, but Bruce had chickened out. Clark was such a Nosy Nancy, one look in the basement and his secret will be out. 

   Some of the league members were already sitting around the kitchen table. Unsurprisingly Flash sat closest to the food, scarfing down chips and salsa. Dinah sat next to Oliver, playing a game of footsie with him under the table. When Batman walked in the noise died. All pairs of eyes zeroed in on him. Flash froze mouth indelicately full of chips. 

Bruce felt like he was five years old again, his parents abandoning him at school. Father had held him in his arms and explained, “You would be a lucky man if you can count your friends on one hand.” 

Bruce’s throat closed up at the memory and shuddered to think things hadn’t changed that much. His only friends were Alfred and a naive alien. He supposed Dick was his friend too, but he viewed him more as the son he never dreamed he could have. 

“Hi everybody!” Dick rocked back and forth on the ball of his feet. “I’m Robin!” he waved enthusiastically to the group. “We come in peace. I promise Mr. Gloom and Doom isn’t here to ruin your fun.” he flicked a thumb back at Batman. Batman narrowed his eyes at his young charge. 

“We were just about to start imagineIf,” Barry explained. “Clah . . . Kal loves this game.” 

His midstep didn’t go unnoticed by Bruce, but he chose to not say anything and sat in the empty seat next to Superman. Robin took the chair opposite him. Clark set up the board game, jotting down everybody’s names and explaining how the game worked. It seemed easy enough. Though the only problem was, Superman was the only Leaguer present he bothered to get to know. He supposed this was the point of game night, to ‘bond’ with his teammates. 

“Youngest present goes first!” Robin declared, snatching the dice right from under Superman’s outstretched hand. Bruce suppressed a chuckle at Clark’s annoyed face. Superman leans back in the chair, refraining from arguing. Robin rolled the dice which landed on 6 and moved the gray game piece. Just his luck it landed on Batman.

Robin drew a blue card. “Imagine if Batman were a piece of advice, which would he be?” He giggled. “One. Trust no one. Two. Be honest at all times. Three. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Four. Believe in yourself. Five. Failure is not an option,” Robin laughed at that. “And six. Dress for success.” 

“This one is too easy!” Diana slammed down her card facedown. 

Bruce knew exactly which one he would choose. His greatest fear was failing. He couldn’t live with himself if Gotham’s Underworld created another orphan on his watch. He put his card down. The rest of the gang followed suit. Slowly everybody revealed their votes. Clark and Bruce were the only ones to put down #5. Everybody else put down #1. 

“Seriously?” Batman caught each of his teammate’s eyes. “That’s how little you think of me?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The alien knows me better than you lot.” 

“Well, to be fair,” Barry piped up. “You’re not exactly the trusting type.” 

“I trust plenty of people,” Batman’s ears grew red. 

“Name two,” Dinnah challenged. “And Robin doesn’t count, he’s your ward.” 

“Superman and Commissioner Gordon,” Bruce responded without preamble. He also trusted Alfred with his life, but they didn’t need to know that. Not many heroes had a butler at their disposal. Well, Clark had Connie, but she was a robot. 

Two pink dots appeared on Superman’s cheeks. “Wha-uh really?” 

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Batman hissed. “And shut your mouth. You look like a codfish.” 

“Gods forbid, you allow yourself to have a heart,” Diana quips. 

The majority of voters moved their pieces on the board. This game was stupid. Clark and he were still stuck at the beginning. It would make more sense for them to match their card with the subject’s answer. Superman was after Robin. He rolled the dice, and go figure he landed on the Flash. 

Clark let out a bark of laughter the instant he saw the card, his eyes tearing up. “Imagine if the Flash were a villain which would he be?” 

“I fail to see what’s so funny about that.” Bruce cut out. Clark held up one finger to silence him. 

“One. Darth Vader. Two. Gollum. Three. Hannibal Lecter. Four. Lord Voldemort. Five. Cersei Lannister. Six. Reverse-Flash.” 

“What?” Flash screamed aghast. “No way!” he grabbed the card from Clark to examine it closer. 

Superman snickered. “Somebody f***** up the timeline again.” It was the only explanation for Reverse Flash’s name being mixed in with that bunch. 

The rest of the team followed suit with various bouts of snickers and giggles. Bruce stared petrified at the Boy Scout. He had never heard Clark utter more than a whispered, ‘damn it.’ Curse words sounded wholly unnatural and demonic coming from his lips. It made him want to go back to the cave and retrieve the jewelry. 

“That sick maniac,” Flash shook his head. “Even has to rule over Game Night.” 

“I think it’s hilarious.” Clark chucked. If Bruce didn’t know any better he would have thought Superman was drunk or on Joker venom. “Your villains crack me up. They’re funnier than the Joker.” 

It was a direct dig at him, but he wouldn’t rise to the bait. The vote was unanimous. Everybody put down Reverse Flash to Flash’s horror. He put down Gollum in spite. 

It was finally Batman’s turn. He groaned when he landed on Superman. At least this was someone he knew relatively well, but so did everybody else at the table. He hated losing at anything. This was his chance to up his game. He released a sigh of relief when he saw the card. 

“Imagine if Superman was attacked by an armed mugger. What would he do?” He couldn’t help smiling a smidge. This would be too easy. “One. Scream and hope someone comes to his rescue.” 

“Lois will definitely save you,” Barry said in a singsong voice. He puckered his lips and blew a red-faced Clark a kiss.

“And if she fails there’s always Maxima.” 

“Grow up,” Dinah kicked Oliver under the table. “Go on Bats.” 

“Two. Call the police and take down the mugger’s license plate (if available.)” Bruce shook his head. No mugger would be stupid enough to have their car parked nearby. “Three. Fight off the mugger with impressive Jujutsu moves.” Not exactly Clark’s style.

“Sounds more like you Batsy,” Barry leaned forward. “I’ve been meaning to ask . . . would you teach me some moves.” 

“Trust me, you don’t want him as a trainer,” Robin answers for him. “He’s brutal.” 

“I can only imagine,” Dinnah rolled her eyes. “Ollie is just as bad.” 

“Am not!” he protests. 

Bruce gritted his teeth. “Do you mind?” he snapped. “I’m trying to read here.” 

“Take a chill pill B-Man,” Flash holds up his hands defensively. “It’s just a game. Part of game night is bonding with friends.” 

“You’re not my friends.” He growled. “You are colleagues.” 

“I don’t see why we can’t be both.” Superman folds his hands together over the table, ever the diplomat. He could teach Wonder Woman a thing or two about diplomacy. “Your ‘colleagues’ as you so eloquently refer to us, will be more likely to have your back should things go south if you took the time to build a connection with them.”  

Human connection was his kryptonite. Batman and people did not mix. Besides, why would he need any of these Bozos when he had an alien in his back pocket? Or at least Bruce Wayne did. 

“Nice speech alien,” Bruce’s tone was unforgiving. He knew how much Clark hated to be called an alien, but it was all part of the facade of Batman. Clark preferred the term ‘Traveler.’ “Did you read that on a Hallmark card?” 

“Yeah, a Hallmark card shoved up your ass.” 

“That’s enough boys!” Diana slammed her fist on the table. “If you two do not learn to be civil towards each other by the end of the night, I will personally send you both to the Phantom Zone and you will have no choice but to put your differences aside and work together.” 

A plan was already forming in his mind. “We will just need an ounce of Kal El’s blood. Should be easy enough to procure in the Phantom Zone.” 

Clark opened his mouth to retort. “You low life, spoiled, sanctimonious. . . I would never let you, ” Diana silenced Clark with a quelling look. 

“Kal-El,” she warned. “Remember your upbringing. You know better than him. Do not rise to the bait.” 

 “Yes, mother.” Clark was such a pushover. Was he going to let her belittle him like that? Diana was not his mother. 

“Now. Continue the game,” Diana commands brusquely. “Prospiatheiseh na mein eisai malakas.” she chided in fluent Greek. Bruce’s ears turned pink at the vulgarity. 

“She just called you an asshole,” Clark translated for me. 

“You’re not the only one that knows three hundred languages.” 

“Really?” Superman’s eyes glimmer deviously at this newfound knowledge. “To neo sas kodiko onoma einai malakas.” 

“Kai si eheis to myalo enas morou,” Batman responded in turn. 

“Kalytera na eimai morou para paidofilos.” 

“Afiste to paidi mou!” Bruce growled. 

Diana shook her head bracing her hand against her palm. “Hera help me.” she looked up heavenward. “I’ve opened up the gates of Hell.” 

 “I want to play the game they’re playing,” Barry said. 

“I don’t understand anything,” Robin said. “But I’m pretty sure they’re not saying anything good.” 

[suguruslut]

“Wait!” Dick was looking at Bruce with hopeful, shining blue eyes when he glanced over his shoulder, fingers picking at each other nervously as he squirmed on the examination table. “Aren’t—Aren’t you gonna kiss it better?”

The time Batman got his booboo kissed, and one time he did the same for Robin

[batsyheere]

Bruce tries to adopt Ellie, who is immediately against it. She keeps throwing him off her trail and he keeps tracking her down. She's honestly concerned, and normally she would handle her problems by herself- but this is Batman.

So when Bruce gets a little too close and Ellie is just so tired... she calls for Danny.

"Mom!"

Cue college student, perpetually tired and overworked Danny "High King Phantom" Fenton appearing from the very shadows Batman normally does himself, seeing the situation and going off at this "clearly older man" chasing his daughter in the middle of the night.

Cue the most elaborate "stop trying to adopt my kid before I adopt yours" series of battles

[raynewolferune]

DC x DP Prompt: Bruce is bad at emoting but at least ghosts are empathic (too bad bat kids are not)

Was reading Twincognito on AO3 when I stumbled across this gem again:

~

" “Danny, Tim. I was just…checking in. Is everything alright?” Curse his inability to make meaningful conversation when it wasn’t a life or death situation.

They glanced at each other and shrugged.

Then Danny hauled himself out of the bed and walked over to Bruce.

Bruce tried not to let too much excitement show on his face. "

~

Now I really want to read a story where Bruce adopts Danny post Meta trafficking and is being his usual emotionally constipated self. His kids keep getting mad at him because he's treating their new meta brother who was trafficked poorly (generally being stilted in conversation with him, walking away hurriedly mid-conversation, avoiding Danny when he's feeling really awkward, etc). They think Bruce is discriminating against Danny for being a civilian, meta, dealer's pick, but really it's just Bruce being horribly socially awkward. Danny knows this because of ghost empathy and find the whole thing hilarious. The whole thing comes to a head with the Bat Kids staging an intervention in the Bat Cave.

[sleepy-writes-stuff]

DP X DC PROMPT #27

(Time for something a little more lighthearted/found family. Could probably also make this a crack prompt instead.)

(#) = Notes at the end of post

(*) = Just me building off of other ideas.

✦

Visitation Rights

When Danny went to list Dani/Ellie as his heir after she'd come back from her years of traveling the world, he was quickly informed that he already had one in line for the thrown.

"What? Since when?!"

The pretentious, floating eyeball looked like he wanted to be anywhere else other than here, providing information to King Phantom, but explained anyway.

"The day you officially achieved royal status, you permanently linked your being to the Infinite Realms. When this happened, however, a child was in the process of being created with the assistance of ectoplasmic runoff that's been leaking into the mortal world for centuries. As a result of your power being incorporated into the Realms at such a time, this human child retained an imprint of your core signature. The Infinite Realms itself has recognized this child as your offspring. Your... other offspring has yet to be recognized in such a way and would therefore be considered your second heir once claimed."

Danny stared at the Observant with wide, blank eyes that were slowly filling with dread and panic.

"Why are you just telling me this now?? My coronation was over a decade ago!" He held his face in his hands and gave a horrified groan at what he just learned.

"If you really wanted that clone as your heir, I'm afraid it's too late to change it-"

Danny's head shot back up with a snarl and furious green eyes.

"That's not what I'm upset about you walking cataracts! Eleven years! I've missed eleven years of this kid's life!! How could you think I-"

At a loss for words, he growled deep in his chest. Deep enough that it echoed throughout the halls and rattled the floors.

"Who is this kid, and where can I find them?"

Once given the information and learning of the child's other parental figures, he gets to work. A few weeks later, he appears in the home office of a well-known billionaire with a stack of papers that he promptly slams onto the desk in front of the startled man. (1)

"I demand visitation rights to our son, Damian Wayne."

✦

(1) Danny actually visited Talia first to get visitation rights. Needless to say, that didn't go very well. He's still got a couple knives floating around in his chest cavity because of it.

(*) ALSO! I'm not sure how this lines up with the DC/Batman timeline. All I figured out is that if Danny waited to be crowned until after he graduated college as an astrophysicist, which take 5 to 7 years, he'd be about 36 years old when he finds out about Damian. Bruce would be about 41, so the age gap is only 5 years. If y'all wanna make this Danny/Bruce, go ahead!

[bambeebirdie]

Okay consider Bruce Wayne is the very well known bankroller for the Justice League. Batman is still part of the league, but they don’t know he’s Bruce Wayne. So, due to Bruce Wayne being such a well known figure and very obviously connected to the Justice League, that has kinda made him a target for certain people which means the Justice League has decided to assign one of their members to help keep him safe. Insert notorious billionaire fighter Superman becoming the part time bodyguard of Bruce Wayne in this epic superbat romance

[everwalldigan]

Something about the Jason’s favourite spots being rooftops overlooking Gotham because of a combination of him being scared of confinement and small spaces and being in a body that feels too big and wrong for him (it would be to anyone who wakes up as a 6 foot+ shit brick house when they last thing they remember is being a gangly 15 year old who hasn’t had their growth spurt yet). Like almost every room feels suffocating but being on a rooftop overlooking Gotham will never fail to make him feel small and it’s one of the few things that remained constant in the roller coaster that is his life

[tanglepelt]

Dc x dp idea 113

Danny was falsely arrested. How dare the store. He may look homeless being on the run from his parents and all.

But really.

All he did was stuff the item in his pocket so he could help someone grab an item.

They didn’t even give him the chance to explain. He had the money. Sam insisted on giving him cash before he ran.

When they took his fingerprints he really didn’t mind. He was running from his parents not the government. As soon as he was left alone he’d high tail it out of Gotham.

To bad he wouldn’t be left alone. Being Bruce Wayne’s kidnapped son was not on his bingo card.

Now Bruce Wayne billionaire had never expected to have his son be found. Never for him to be found stealing food and obviously homeless.

[the-hype-on-tv]

well, we all know how bruce feels about feelings, right?

asdf;lkjaslkj "the family misses having you here" OH MY GOD JUST SAY YOU MISS YOUR KID, BRUCE.

[weewoow-20706030]

Jason and Tim: *literally the most traumatic experience known to man, one that changes how anyone would look at them (e.g. Jason digging himself out of his own grave or Tim blowing up the leagues bases)*

Dick *absolutely mortified*: and you didn't tell me earlier because...?

Jason/Tim: idk, it never came up.

Dick: that's something you bring up!

[bluejaysandblackbats]

The Spin Out

Fandom: Batman, DC Comics

Summary: Jason Todd returns to Gotham after three years for the final time to win enough money to pay off Sheila's debts.

Chapters: 2/?

Characters: Jason Todd, Sheila Haywood, Original Character(s), Bruce Wayne

Relationships: Jason Todd/Original Character

Additional Tags: Street Racing AU, No Capes AU, Jason Todd-centric, Hurt Jason Todd, Bad Parent Sheila Haywood, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Organized Crime, Jason Todd has PTSD, Jason Todd has Trust Issues, Jason Todd is Not Okay, Good Person Jason Todd, Stalker Bruce Wayne, Family Issues, Secret Identities, Secrets, Angst

Chapter Two: Sick at Sea

Jason fell asleep as soon as he got settled on the boat. He kept his arms crossed tightly over his backpack as the ship rocked violently in the stirrings of a storm. His half-full stomach turned flips even as he slept. Having nightmares of Gotham and revving engines and fire. Hellfire. He sat up with a start, swallowing hard to stave off the urge to vomit. His bunkmate gave him the bucket. “Didn’t take you for the type to get seasick,” the man mumbled. Jason hunched over the bucket, breathing through his nose. “You shouldn’t fight it.” Jason nodded as he spit up in the bucket like a child.

“I don’t get seasick… I just—. The heat’s making me sick,” Jason muttered. His shirt clung to his chest.

“What does hell look like in your dreams?” the man questioned. Jason shut his eyes. “In my dreams, hell is an airport terminal, and it gradually gets hotter and hotter—.”

Jason dry heaved. “What are you talking about?” Jason interrupted.

“You talk in your sleep. You said something about hellfire. I wondered what that looked like for you in your—.”

“A burning building. It’s hot, and there’s no way out,” Jason panted, “Is it this hot outside?”

“Probably not,” the man replied. Jason slipped his backpack on his back and walked through the kitchen to stand outside.

The rain poured down on his head, cooling his body. “Hey, what’s your name?” the man asked. “I’m Paolo!”

“Michael!” Jason lied.

“Michael, what’re you gonna do once you get to Florida?”

“I’m headed towards Philly after that to borrow my friend’s bike,” Jason replied. He slicked his hair back with one hand and dumped the bucket in the ocean. “Since we’ll be on the boat for four days, I’ll let you know now. I don’t talk much.” Paolo nodded.

“Sorry—.”

“You’re not bothering me,” Jason clarified, “I’m just—. I don’t carry conversations well.”

“Okay, well, I hope you let me know when I start getting on your nerves,” Paolo half-joked.

“You’re not. I don’t mind the company,” Jason replied. The boat rocked, knocking Jason into the bow’s railing. He held on tight, chuckling at the pounding in his chest.

“Hey, Michael, we should probably go inside,” Paolo suggested. Jason nodded. Jason joined Paolo in the cabin and dried his hair. “How old are you?” Jason looked up, carefully studying the man’s expression.

“I’m eighteen,” Jason answered truthfully.

He changed out of his wet clothes and wrapped a towel around his waist. “You’re younger than you look,” Paolo replied, “Want a drink?”

Jason nodded, politely holding the flask above his head and pouring the contents into his mouth. He smiled at the sweet hints of vanilla and honey in the whiskey. “Thank you,” Jason replied.

“No problem. Keep it. I’ve got the bottle in my bag,” Paolo replied. Jason smiled, raising the flask to Paolo before taking another sip. “You’re not much of a drinker, are you?”

“I suppose I’m not,” Jason chuckled, “I try to take it easy.” He set the flask to the side as he went through his suitcase for a change of clothes.

He slipped on a pair of shorts and grabbed his journal. There were pictures and phrases on every page. A travel diary filled with all his thoughts, fears, and lessons. He flipped to the nearest empty page and started writing an entry. Writing helped him relax. “What’s there to eat on the boat?” Paolo asked.

“Not sure. I’m not hungry, but my mom made me a hefty lunch. You want it?” Jason offered.

Paolo nodded as Jason opened his lunch bag and passed him a sandwich. Jason locked his diary and zipped it in his bag. He hugged it as he lay in bed. “You’re sick, aren’t you?” Paolo asked. “Can you take an Advil?”

“I don’t usually—. I’ll sleep it off,” Jason whispered.

“Okay, Michael,” Paolo replied, “I’ll be quiet—.”

“You don’t have to. I don’t mind the noise. I sleep better with background noise,” Jason interrupted.

“Alright, then,” Paolo replied, “I hope you feel better soon.” Jason smiled, nodding as he shut his eyes. Sleep flooded in while Paolo hummed a tune.

*

Jason’s fever broke the night before they docked. Paolo kept watch over him, reading in a low whisper. “It isn’t raining anymore,” Jason mumbled. Paolo perked up, setting his book aside.

“You’re awake. I was worried you’d need a doctor,” Paolo smiled as he approached Jason’s bedside. “Do you want something to eat? The other guy made soup.”

“Uh-huh,” Jason replied, “Actually, let me—. I’m gonna get cleaned up.”

“Michael, I’ll grab you a bowl while you’re in there,” Paolo offered. Jason smiled and went to brush his teeth. When he returned, Paolo sat facing Jason on his bed, eating a bowl of soup. “My son is sick… This is my first time being away from him since he was born.”

Jason frowned. “Is it serious?” Jason questioned.

Paolo shrugged and forced a smile on his face. “I won’t know until I get home. I went to São Tomé to find his brother and talk to him. He’s my wife’s son, and I thought he’d come to see his brother if I invited him,” Paolo explained.

“He isn’t coming?” Jason asked. Paolo shook his head. Jason took a sip of the broth, clearing his throat as he thought of something reassuring to say. “Maybe he doesn’t feel like he can come home. Give him a call when you get home”

“You think it’ll make a difference?” Paolo asked. Jason nodded.

“It would if I were him,” Jason replied.

*

When the boat docked, Jason called his uncle, Jeremy, on the phone to tell him he’d be in Philidelphia in two days. “Jason, I can drive there and meet you. How ‘bout I put you up in a hotel until I get to you?” Jeremy offered. “The last time I saw you, you were in Ethiopia. You sound better. Do you feel better?”

Jason took a deep breath. “I do… Um—. Uncle Jeremy, you don’t have to go through all that trouble. You’re in Maine. That’s like a two-day drive—.”

“It’ll do us both some good. You stay there and check out the beach and have fun. I’ll come and get you,” Jeremy insisted. Jason smiled.

“Okay… Thanks, Uncle Jeremy. How’s Auntie Miranda?” Jason questioned.

“She’s good. Jason, I’ll text you which hotel and make the reservation for Michael. Right?” Jeremy asked.

“Yes, sir. Thank you,” Jason whispered. Jeremy adored Jason despite the circumstances of their first meeting. Jason was catatonic when they met. The ground felt shaky under Jason’s feet, and his mind raced a mile a minute. Jeremy swooped in as an imposing figure, wading through the thick fog to nurse Jason back to health. He sat with Jason every day, feeding him and speaking to him. Jeremy was intelligent, well-informed, and gentle. The slow and soft cadence of Jeremy’s voice carried him through weeks of nightmarish stillness. Along with Jeremy’s soft fingertips’ therapeutic application of hospital-issued shampoo. That was Jason’s favorite memory. Still, he felt so unsure when speaking to his uncle. Jeremy’s softness was often masked under his tattoos and orotund voice. He stood at six-six with wide shoulders and hands big enough to palm a watermelon. It was enough to intimidate Jason, even as a young adult.

“Jason, try to have fun in Miami,” Jeremy replied, “And don’t call me sir. I don’t even take myself that seriously.”