#but bruce saw a full on child not even twelve years old

[mikakuna]

so dick as robin can want to kill the man who murdered his parents and bruce thinks no less of him, but jason as robin can want to be violent with pimps, rapists, and drug dealers because of his experiences growing up and bruce thinks he's going to become the dirtiest, nastiest murderous criminal in the world?

[soulmate-game]

Work burned me out, middle management positions are draining. What was supposed to be an angsty oneshot is now… yeah I’m continuing it. Not a full series, just a two-parter… hopefully.

Edit: I DON’T KNOW WHAT THE FUCK THIS CLUSTERFUCK OF AN EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER IS, but BUCKLE IN BECAUSE IT PROBABLY DOESN’T PASS SAFETY REGULATIONS! HOOOOO BOY

Part 1

—*—*—*—*—*

“…” she stared at the being in front of her, face frighteningly blank. Next to her, Bruce fidgeted.

“I’m not going anywhere, so you either gotta learn to love me real quick or get lost quicker,” the child snarked from where he was sitting upside-down on the bat computer chair. “And don’t call me Richard, my name’s Dick.”

“I don’t remember you working with a fetus, Batman,” Marinette slowly drawled, emphasizing the vigilante’s name despite none of the three of them being suited up. Dick shot up with a cry of indignation.

“I am not a fetus! I’m fifteen! I’ve been Robin since I was twelve!”

“Nope,” Marinette countered, unmoved. “I started out as Ladybug when I was twelve, and I was never as small as you,” she blatantly lied. Dick was already taller than her, which wasn’t much of an achievement considering that she was five-foot-one-inch tall. “You are six years old, tops.”

Dick let out an almost inhuman screech of complaint. Even as he rambled on angrily about how wrong she was, Marinette only nodded as if he proved her right about something.

“That was a good squawk though. Definitely a birdie.”

It took another twenty minutes before Dick ran off to tell on Marinette to Alfred, giving her and Bruce some alone time. With which she used to whirl to him and immediately hiss in equal parts fury and worry;

“Please tell me he wasn’t—“

“The timeline is gone,” Bruce reminded her, bracing her by putting both his hands on her shoulders. “He doesn’t remember.”

“Still!”

He let out such a heavy sigh that he seemed to deflate with it, his dark circles growing more pronounced.

“He wasn’t supposed to be,” he admitted softly. “When he turned sixteen, last time, I allowed him to form his own team of teen heroes. Supervised from afar by myself of course, not that they knew that. I had given them the order to stay back and guard their city, but they disobeyed me and snuck onto the battlefield anyway.”

Marinette rubbed at her temples, nodding. “Teenagers have a habit of doing that. This time around, can we ask Bunnyx to supervise them? She has all the energy of a teenager, so she’ll fit in, but the maturity of someone trusted to guard all the timelines.”

Bruce paused, thinking of what little he knew of the pastel rabbit themed hero, and then reluctantly nodded. “That… might be for the best. And giving them more opportunities to train with…” he hummed, hand on his chin. “I might actually change things up, in that case. Instead of jumping to put teens on their own in a tower, the old Justice League headquarters is more protected. And if we started with the ‘sidekicks’,” he gave very purposeful air quotes, “of other Leaguers, it would create a better support system than letting teenagers run around with… really, not enough regulation.”

“Gotta love hindsight,” Marinette agreed with a nod. “The whole teenagers by themselves thing only worked for my team because we were overly traumatized and each saw different apocalypses before we turned sixteen. Bunnyx could fix them herself back then, but still.”

“Best to do better by the new generation,” Bruce agreed with her unspoken statement. “I can still put that old team together again when they’re older, support their development elsewhere in the meantime.”

“Oh, and now that we’re done on that topic,” Marinette snapped her fingers before pointing to the staircase that Dick had disappeared up. “He’s going to make my life a living hell, isn’t he?”

Bruce groaned, offering her a lopsided grimace of apology. “He’s a menace,” he agreed. “He’s scared away any woman I’ve brought to the house, even though most of them are completely platonic. I have to make the press believe the whole playboy thing somehow, and inviting my friends over to chat is the easiest way to do so without breaking hearts for real. Dick hasn’t caught on yet,” Bruce rubbed his forehead. “His antics to scare away Selina Kyle are legendary already, and she’s sapphic. She couldn’t be attracted to me if I was the last man on earth.”

“Could have fooled me,” Marinette teased, suddenly impish. “She’s catwoman, isn’t she?”

Bruce narrowed his eyes, saying only: “Chat Noir. Year one.”

It was Marinette’s turn to grimace. “Point taken. But in my defense, he took way too long to realize he’s gay and watched too much anime at the time.”

Bruce let out one of his unfairly charming chuckles, changing position so that his arm was around her shoulders and pulling her to his side. She fit there surprisingly well, for someone almost half his size. She leaned into him, and the both just soaked in the comfort of one another for a long moment.

“You know,” Bruce started for a while. “If you want to stay in Gotham, we can make you another alter ego so that you don’t accidentally lure Shadow Moth here. Tell that fox of yours to make it seem like you’re in Paris and take some of the weight off of your shoulders for a change. Blackmail Constantine into charming some jars to keep the butterflies in until you can purify them.”

“Hmmm.” She closed her eyes. “Ladybird sounds nice. Fits with the bird thing that Robin has going for him.”

Bruce laughed. “That’ll really annoy him,” he warned, amused. Marinette’s close-eyed smile was pure mischief.

“That’s the whole point. I’m not letting a fetus win against me, bat-boy.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Marinette wasn’t speaking to Bunnyx. Bruce didn’t know what they had said to one another, but he could guess it had to do with Jason.

With his baby, who he just buried. The boy Marinette had thought of a son ever since he first brought him home. She had even smoothed things over between Dick and Jason, which he had considered nothing short of a miracle at the time.

But that miracle was nowhere to be seen now, with Marinette every bit as despondent next to him as he was. He wanted to be angry with her, he did, but he couldn’t. He had seen her blow up at Bunnyx, seen her try to hold her status as Grand Guardian over the bunny holder.

Bunnyx had simply said that she wouldn’t answer to Ladybug until after the grief passed then, and ran away into her burrow.

“Is this the payment?” He heard her whisper, her voice hoarse and broken. “For the do-over? We passed the old timeline. We took down Shadow Moth. Is this the price?” Tears dripped down her face silently, she didn’t seem to notice them. “Was I not a good enough mother? Should I—“ she stopped herself, shaking her head. He didn’t ask what she was about to say. Maybe he should have.

—*—*—*—*—*

Tim was great. He was too much like Marinette at times, which made Bruce’s chest ache, but he was a great Robin. A great son. His experience with Marinette proved priceless when it came to helping curb Tim’s overworking habits and caffeine addiction.

But not even Tim could find where Marinette had disappeared to, even with his detective skills surpassing Bruce’s already.

Tim was the first son of his that didn’t get to grow up with Marinette at all.

—*—*—*—*—*

“It’s fine, Baobei,” she whispered, stepping to the side. Behind her was the waterfall that hid the tunnel to the Batcave. “He’s not the one to blame. He did his best, even now he’s doing his best.”

“Then why does—“

“Because other people need him, and he has too big of a heart to turn them away,” her mouth tilted a little, smile lopsided and sad. “Timothy didn’t replace you. He just forced Bruce to live again. Bruce didn’t kill Joker, because he didn’t want to taint another child with the sight of murder.”

“And you?” The voice was dark, deadly, gruff. Older, and yet… so achingly familiar. She smiled at him again, soft and sad and… proud.

“I don’t have one,” she lied. She had tried, tried so hard. Bruce had gotten in her way first, and then the very same desire to not taint more children with the image of death.

But her baby needed a scapegoat, and she was willing to throw herself on the fire for him.

“That’s why it’s fine,” she repeated. “If this is what you want. Just, please. Let it end with me.”

This time, Marinette made sure she had the Time miraculous safely in her pocket. Nobody would interfere with this.

The bullet sent her into the flow of the waterfall, red flowing behind her like the carpet she used to walk down with Bruce whenever she released a new collection. She felt no regret as she closed her eyes and fell.

—*—*—*—*—*

The shot hadn’t been fatal. Red Hood might have been mad with Pit Rage, but his fondness for his only true mother figure was ever present. He simply wanted to see if she was serious about taking that shot.

His regret was immediate when she didn’t even try to dodge. The bullet had only grazed her shoulder, but she didn’t seem to notice that. She had been so ready to die— to let him kill her— that she had passed out before hitting the water. He dragged her to the Batcave, knowing he had a lot to answer for.

Bruce wished he could have found her sooner, found both of them sooner. But at least they were back.

—*—*—*—*—*

“… I mean,” she rocked on her heels. “You are growing a bit old for Robin…”

Tim glared at her, not appreciating the insight.

“Bruce is stuck in the timestream, and you aren’t doing a thing about it. I don’t hold your opinion very highly right now,” he snipped back. She snorted, glancing away.

As if that little stunt to “kill Batman” could ever fool her. She’d been there for the real thing, thanks, she could spot a fake a mile away. “He’s got Bunnyx going to find him. She owes me big time, let her do the heavy lifting for a change.”

“How many years have you held that grudge?” Barbara asked, eyebrows raised as she wheeled herself towards the bat computer. “Even Jason thinks you should have let it go by now.”

Marinette scoffed at the exact same time as a certain someone tutted next to her, making them look for a moment like a perfect pair.

Crossed arms, a scoff, annoyed glare? If a DNA test hadn’t already proven otherwise, they might have thought Damian was hers.

“Fetuses don’t get to judge me,” was her only argument before she turned on her heel and walked away.

“I am not a fetus! Lady Marinette, I am ten years old!”

—*—*—*—*—*

Bonus:

Jason was curled up around Marinette, despite being told numerous times not to crowd her on the med-bay bed. He argued that he shot her, so he gets to nurse her back to health.

Did she use her blood, tainted by years of use of the Ladybug, to purify his pit madness? Yes. Had he figured that out yet? Nope.

“Love you, Mom,” he murmured in his sleep. Marinette, who had been awake for about an hour already, smiled to herself.

“Love you, Baobei.”

[dannyphantom-justiceleauge]

The Top Man

Tim’s father had given him random pieces of advice through his childhood as well as a fairly strict expectation to follow said advice. Tim had never found it deeply helpful in his daily life but now, standing on the doorsteps of the Wayne’s, a file of evidence burning a hole in his backpack he thought of what his father had said.

the advice was this; “when you have a problem it helps to go straight to the top. don’t bother with all the little inconsequential people. go to the boss to get things done”

Tim thought this as the door opened and revealed the butler Alfred Pennyworth. he opened his mouth to speak and was struck by the thought that Batman, that Bruce Wayne, wasn’t really the top man. that there had always been someone in charge of Bruce Wayne even before he became batman. so instead of a demand to see Bruce Wayne and become Robin, which was what Tim thought he’d be saying when he came to the Wayne’a doorstep he said. “i want to help Bruce,” to a man who also wanted to help Bruce. a man who was also feeling the grief of Jason's loss. “make me your apprentice.”

Alfred Pennyworth for his part saw a five foot nothing twelve year old, looking at him with earnest eyes and too much determination. he had felt both a pang of deep grief and a surprisingly intense wave of nostalgia and deja vu. the boy looked remarkably like Bruce has, fresh from losing his parents and full of anger and grief and determination. the man had declared than that he would help people. what he hadn’t said was what price he was willing to pay to save those lives. heroics had always had a heavy cost, Alfred knew that from his time in the war and continued to witness it now, as Bruce gave and gave of himself, only to now be losing himself now that the cost was someone he cared about.

Alfred had been preparing to leave, to take a step back and selfishly leave Bruce to either self destruct or regain himself. Alfred wasn’t strong enough to watch his own son kill himself. and he wasn’t strong enough to pull Bruce out of his grief himself, not when he too was lost in the bitterness and anger of Jason dying.

he could not in good conscious ask another child to enter their lives. he could not ask this child, whom he vaguely recognized as time drake, to take on the burden of their graving family. he could not ask this child to make sacrifices for them.

but he also saw the determination and raw stubbornness in the child eye and... Alfred also knew it wasn’t an argument he’d win.

“what you’re asking for,” Alfred frowned, trying anyway. “is no easy task.”

Tim stuck his chin out and his smile turned confident and mischievous. “if this about what you guys have in your basement, i already know.”

Alfred found himself arching an eyebrow while inwardly he was quite alarmed. “then perhaps you should come inside.”

he stepped out of the way of the door and tim drake walked through at a polite pace and pretended not to be drinking in everything around him. when the door gently closed and Alfred quietly started leading the boy towards the lounge, Tim spoke again, quietly.

“Batman, Bruce, they need someone to keep their heads on straight. to make sure he doesn’t lose himself to the mask and darkness. robin... that was robins job. but i can’t replace him. not now. but batman still needs him or someone like him. dick said no, and you’re the only other person, who’s been able to help batman fight his own darkness.”

Alfred felt rather small at the statement; the reminder of Jason, the truth that he couldn’t be replaced. the fact that the boy had already spoken to dick, and the fact that the boy could still admire him, could still see alfred as anything but a failure....

“i have not been able to save Bruce from himself in a very long time. i doubt you will learn much from me.” Alfred felt older having said the words.

but Tim shook his head. “it’s not your fault that Bruce stopped listening to you. and you’re grieving too. i think that’s one of the reasons asking Dick didn’t work. you have enough on your plate handling your own emotions. but i’m not a Wayne. i’m just a regular civilian so i can offer a fresh set of eyes and hands. a fresh voice. and since i work for you, Bruce won’t be able to fire me or kick me out. i can help.” he said the words with such raw belief that Alfred felt the stirrings of home rise in his chest like the whisper of a ghost.

again Alfred thought that he was not going to win this argument.

“he won’t go easy on you. nor will i. you would do well to remember who the master of this house is.” he said primly. “becoming my apprentice means doing a number of daily chores to keep everything running. i will expect you to work hard, dress sharply, and always be available to provide whatever master Wayne may need. on top of that,” Alfred peered down his nose at Tim. “you will need your parents permission and i expect you to maintain your grades and health on top of the work you will do for me.”

Tim gave a small, concerning flinch at the mention of his parents. Alfred highly doubted that Mr. and Mrs. Drake would be enthused about their heir becoming a manservant to the Wayne's. but Tim seemed to rally and double down. “i’ll do what needs to be done.”

Alfred tried not to sigh and rub his forehead at the show of stubborn enthusiasm. he could tell this was going to be a lot of work. that this boy might be more trouble than he was worth. but thinking of Bruce, who hadn’t given him a nod of acknowledgement at this mornings breakfast, who had deep shadows under his eyes and who hadn’t laughed or smiled since his sons death...

Perhaps they needed a spot of trouble.

“then welcome aboard Manservant Drake.”

[jinx-jade]

Cries of a hummingbird part 1: First time

The first time the bats heard the scream was near the end of their patrol.

They had all tensed.

Each bat knew full well what kind of emotion the scream came from.

The screams were not of a victim. No, it was closer to the frustrated scream of a person after keeping themselves together for far too long.

It was someone forcing out their emotions, raw and unfiltered before they would lock it away once again. Pushing it all down into a small bottle, deep inside of them that always felt like it was about to shatter.

It was a scream in which if you were caught, no one would dare say a word or poke fun. If anything the person who caught you screaming or sobbing would simply sit with you till you were done.

The bats know those screams and sobs better than anyone else. They know the sounds of a soldier finally breaking down, having heard it from their family members and themselves.

That was most definitely what they were hearing right now.

 Oracle quickly gave them the location she pinned the sound coming from.

Except, when the bats arrived, there was no sign of anyone having been there.

Not a single hint that the rooftop was anything more than empty.

“Are you positive this is the place?” Batman questions.

“One-hundred-percent. Whoever was screaming should be there. I’m checking the security tapes now.” Oracle informed them.

The bats fell silent, looking around for anything they might have missed.

All of them were stiff. Most of them looked around awkwardly. A few of them tried to force themselves to relax, but there was a strange feeling that they couldn’t shake.

After a few moments of not finding anything, their comms crackled back to life.

“You... Uhm... you should see this.” Oracle hesitantly states.

The vigilantes looked at each other, question clear on all of their faces despite the masks they wear. A few moments later they began heading back to the cave.

Once they arrived, Oracle showed them the security footage.

They watched it again...

And again…

And again…

Yet they saw the same thing every time.

It was very concerning.

A blue, glowing circle appears. A girl steps out of it. The girl proceeds to break down.

That wasn’t the part that scared them. Sure almost all of them tensed at the screaming and sobbing. Yet that wasn’t the concerning part of the footage.

Once the girl, a child who looks no older than twelve, stopped screaming, her tear stopped as well. The only way you could tell she had broken down was by the tear streaks running down her face.

Once those had been wiped away, the only evidence left was this security tape.

The kid ended up coming back to scream or sob at a random time during the year, and not every time was at night.

The bats ended up doing nothing about this random magic child that would break down in Gotham. They honestly couldn't do anything about this.

Sure they would hear the screams once or twice a month but they could never get there in time to talk with her.

Slowly, the visits became less frequent. Going from twice a month to once a month.

Once a month to every other month.

Every other month to every three and a half months.

Every three and a half months to every six or seven months.

Sure the visits were lessening, but the sobs and screams became louder. They became even more unnerving for the bats to hear.

The bats ended up giving the kid a code name so they were easier to talk about.

Before they had a code name the bats had to refer to her as the crying child, the kid, and other names along those lines. While they weren’t bad or mean names, it felt wrong to call her that.

They each had their code name for her, but the main code name all the bats use is Hummingbird due to how small and fast she is.

They have all tried to talk to her, but are never able to catch up to her. She also seems to flee at the first sight of danger, be it actual danger or just the vague unknown is dangerous.

At this point, all the bats are emotionally attached to Hummingbird, whether she knows it or not.

One of the times Hummingbird showed up in Gotham, the Kents had been visiting Wayne manor.

The Supers hadn’t even tried to listen for any specific sounds. Clark and John could simply hear it as if the person was right next to them.

They looked to be in pain from the loud noise, even with Hummingbird being in the city and them being on the outskirts.

The Kents who could hear her tried to get up to help only for the bats to have them sit back down. The screaming subsided eventually, leaving the heroes with a lot of questions. 

“What do you mean that’s normal! People screaming like that is not normal!” Clark argued. The bats all look a bit uncomfortable with this topic.

“Pixie shows up once in Gotham to break down sometimes,” Jason says as he closed his book, so he could turn his attention to the conversation.

“Pixie?” John questions. “You know the person who was screaming and sobbing?”

“Tch. None of us have gotten close enough to interact with Shadow.” Damian states a little annoyed.

“We all have our nicknames or code names for her. Dick calls her Bluebell, Jason calls her Pixie, I call her Phantom, Cass calls her Mockingbird, and Damian calls her Shadow. Bruce and Alfred just call her the main name we have for Phantom, which is Hummingbird. We all use that code name for her.” Tim easily explains

“And this first started, when, exactly?” Clark questioned.

“About three or four years ago. We tried to track her, but she uses magic portals to get here in the first place. We attempt to talk to Hummingbird when we’re out on patrol, but usually the second she spots us she portals away.” Bruce informs them with a tired sigh.

“How old is she?” Louis asked.

“She looked to be about eleven or twelve when this first started. That would make her somewhere between fourteen and seventeen now. We don’t know for sure since we can’t get close enough to talk to her,” Dick answers.

“Have you tried approaching her as a civilian yet? Cause your vigilante suits might be what’s scaring her” John asked as if it was an obvious idea.

All of the Waynes realized their stupidity and proceeded to either groan, sigh, or facepalm.

[catxsnow]

BRUISES D.W.

Request: Hey honeypot! how are you darling? are you comfortable with writing older damian kinda smut? because i just had this idea where he has this super sweet girlfriend and one day batfam sees her with bruises on her neck and they think mayb damian hits her or something? and Tim mentions that he has seen bruises on her hips as well and they confront him and her and they tell the fam that's from sexy times and they are like "two days ago you were a baby. how are you an adult now?"

Warning: mentions of sex, bruising from s e x, Older!Damian

A/N: since someone wanted a requested post, here ya go :)

Word Count: 2.1k

Damian's brothers always saw him as the child of the family, even when he had grown up to be a fully functioning twenty-two year old. He was still treated like a kid when he saw his family and it drove him crazy. His whole life he had been just as old as them mentally and now that he was, they still treated him like a twelve year old.

When you came into his life, it was refreshing to have someone treat him as the adult he was. You respected him and he always showed the same to you. Your friendship was grand and always full of surprises. The biggest was the night that you no longer realized you wanted to be just friends, you wanted to be lovers.

Damian met you at the library on a cold night in Gotham. You were studying for an exam and he was looking for literature that his father didn't already own. He bumped into your table by pure accident and was thankful for his single moment of being a klutz.

You were a kind, quiet girl. Most people over looked you while those who got to know you knew that you were nothing like your facade. Damian of all people learned that the most. The more he got to know you, the more he saw that you were hiding a whole other side of you. You could be wild but only around those you trusted.

When you began dating, he saw yet another side of you. Damian thought you were wild when he got a few drinks in you - but in bed? He was amazed.

When you learned about Damian's secret life as a vigilante, he made sure to start training you. There was no way that he was going to leave you defenseless in case he wasn't there to protect you. So, at least once a week he would bringing you back to his father's home and teach you everything that he knew.

Most times the two of you worked in the background while Bruce did his own thing on the computers. Sometimes his brothers and sisters would show up and tease him. You never understood the nick names - demon spawn, baby bird, even little D. They must have been from when he was younger.

His family liked you. Dick was always excited to see you and had some sort of conversation to spark. He came to visit you and Damian quite often. Jason found you to be kind, reserved - not the kind of person he expected Damian to be with. Tim, Duke, Cass, and Steph thought you to be the sweetest person they had known.

You held a shy smile around them, hesitance in yours eyes. They were all so tough, it was hard not to be intimidated by them. Even Damian at first was difficult to look past his height and muscles. They never saw the other side of you that Damian got to see all the time. He always teased you for it.

For the first time in a long time, both Dick and Tim were at the Manor. They were supposed to be helping Damian and Bruce with a case but kept reaching dead ends. To pass the time, Damian got you back on the sparring mat to continue your skills. You came a long way since you first started, but no where near ready to take any of them down.

This was the third day in a row that you were down there, sweating your ass off and learning what it meant to truly have sore muscles. Damian had been staying at the manor all week and by the second night there he asked you to join him. He missed you in his bed. Of course, you couldn't deny his request.

You had already shed your shirt, the material was drowned with sweat. Damian was much the same with only his shorts and his ankle being tightly wrapped in a tension bandage. He always feared bruising you when you dueled like this, but with the litter of blue and purple already on your skin he couldn't do much about it.

Damian had suddenly kicked your ankle out from under you and you landed against the mat with a thud. He stuck his hand out to help you up, but you only tugged him down. Damian acted fast and instead of letting you get the upper hand, trapped you below him. A smirk was on your face.

Damian gazed down from your sweat beaded face, to the small bruises he had given you the night before. Five faint little circles were on your neck, all lining up perfectly with the pads of his fingers. He matched your smirk, thinking about your incredibly hot sex from last night. He was sure that there were still residual scratch marks down his back.

"Another round?" You toyed, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. He knew that you meant another spar, but his mind was stuck on the idea of dragging you up to his room and giving you more marks for him to admire. "Or did I tire you out this time?"

"Try to keep up, beloved," Damian narrowed his eyes. Teasing him like that wasn't fair - especially when his brothers were right across the room. He peeled himself off of you and bounced back up for another fight. You followed his lead, arms up and light on your feet.

Dick and Tim were watching from afar. The computer was running in the background and there wasn't anything that they could do until them. Bruce was at work and Alfred was somewhere in the Manor doing things. Titus napped by the mat where you and Damian were, his snores could be heard from where the two men stood.

Tim narrowed his eyes at the couple. You had been around for years, keeping to yourself and never really speaking up until necessary. It made him wonder about you; not in the fact of your loyalty, but if you were maybe too loyal. Every time you were over, some sort of bruise was visible on your skin.

At first, he chalked it up to you bruising easily - or that you were just a klutz. Then, they got more common. They were darker, bigger, often times in the same places that should have been hidden by your clothes. You never talked about them, and if someone brought it up, you changed the subject.

Tim was worried about you. Damian had always been a violent person, he was raised that way since birth. Sure, Bruce had changed him, Dick too, but old habits ran strong. It made Tim wonder if it was Damian purposefully leaving the bruises on you. Was he taking all of his hate and anger out on you?

"If you squint any harder you might get stuck like that," Dick joked. Tim turned away from you and Damian and up towards his older brother. "Damian's a good teacher, maybe she'll be as good as us one day."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Tim confessed. Dick raised his eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. "You ever notice how (Y/N) is always covered in bruises? Her legs, her wrists - she has bruises nearly every time we see her. I just... I wonder what Damian does behind closed doors. I'm not saying Damian would do anything terrible, but he was raised by Talia. Restraint hasn't been his strong suit."

"You think he hits her?" Dick suddenly became worried. Tim hesitatingly nodded. It wasn't something that he ever wanted to accuse Damian of, but the thought had crossed his mind more than once. "Damian would never do that... would he?"

"I would rather be safe than sorry," Tim decided. Their attention went back to the two of you. You had Damian's wrists pinned and the both of you were laughing so hard about something that tears streamed down your face. Looking at them, it never seemed like Damian would do such a thing. Tim also knew that you were too quiet to ever speak out about it if he did.

Damian pecked your lips and the two of you called it enough for the time being. You wiped a towel down your face before slinging it over your shoulders. Hand in hand, you walked over to Dick and Tim who were looking nervously between each other. There was no good time to ask such an intrusive question.

You wished to jump straight into the shower, but Damian insisted to check in to see if there was any process. "Is the computer done downloading th-"

"Are you hitting (Y/N)?" Tim blurted out. Your eyes widened at his sudden question and you felt Damian tense beside you. How dare he accuse him of ever laying a hand on you? Even when sparring he made sure never to hurt you. There were accidents, sure, but never intentional. To have Tim assume something like that? It was unfathomable.

To try and explain himself, Tim pointed towards the bruises on your neck that he had just noticed upon your approach, as well as the ones visible right above your shorts. Damian grunted beside you, understanding why Tim thought the way he did. You on the other hand, felt your face flare up with embarrassment.

Dick and Tim looked between themselves at your unexpected reaction. Damian gave them a look, hoping that they would understand without having to say it out loud. Unfortunately, they didn't pick up on it. Damian wiped a hand down his face, not believing that he actually had to explain this to his older brothers.

"I got them during sex," you muttered out. Their eyes widened at your answer and a flush filled their cheeks. However, Tim still wasn't satisfied with the answer of the bruises on your neck. There was no way that they were hickies - they weren't the right color or shape. Damian sighed, cringing as he perfectly placed his fingers were the bruises were.

"Oh I think I'm gonna throw up," Tim made a disgusted face. Damian had a smug look on his own. Not only did he prove him wrong, but he also made him extremely uncomfortable. Two birds, one stone.

"You're like twelve," Dick exasperated. Damian was still the same little boy in his mind. In no way should he be old enough to be having sex, especially by the looks of it, frequent sex. Seeing the two of you dating, it always seemed like a cute middle school couple - in no way did he think about you as adults.

"I'm twenty-two, Richard. You're a decade off."

"Decade or not, I still know too much now," Tim shuddered. You were thankful that Damian tugged you away from his brothers. You were still flaming with embarrassment from the encounter. Now, every time you would see them that would be all they could see: the bruises that Damian left around your neck.

Even if you were adults, like Damian said, you still didn't like the idea of his brother's knowing what happened between the two of you behind locked doors. Damian didn't seem to mind. Maybe because it showed how old he really was or that he got to prove that he was getting laid consistently.

All you knew, was that you were grateful that they didn't bring Bruce into this little theory and him finding out what you did to his son - or what his son did to you. Though, as the world's greatest detective, you feared he already knew the truth.

"Join me in the shower?"

"You're seriously thinking about sex right now? After that?" You raised your eyebrows. Damian's sex drive was impeccable - sometimes a little too impeccable. Dragging you from Gala's, pit stop on patrol, he even caught you between classes one time. Now, after his brother's teased him, he was still ready to go.

Damian shrugged. "You're saying you aren't? After all that teasing while we trained? I felt your heart rate when I showed them what the bruises were for, beloved. You got excited." You glared at him, knowing damn well that it was true. He squeezed just enough to get you thinking about your previous night.

"You're game better be good if you want to distract me from that shit show that just happened."

"When is my game ever not?"

[vivian24l]

DamiraeWeek2021

Day One: Family/In-laws

The Second Wayne Reunion

Damian tapped his fingers against the wheel.

“Anxious?” asked Raven.

“You know how last year turned out. I was surprised Father agreed to another reunion this year.”

One year ago, Dick had come up with the idea of having a family reunion. He had invited the whole Wayne family together under one roof once again. The results of the party didn’t end so well. Dick clearly wanted to make the reunions annual, because he once again invited everyone.

Damian took another left. They had to drive across Gotham to reach Wayne Manor. After getting married, he and Raven bought a stretch of land on the other side of Gotham. Together they designed their house and hired people to build it.

Damian let out a sigh. “That bastard, Grayson.”

“Language,” said Raven.

He glanced at the rear view mirror. Their daughter, Rashida, was asleep in the back. Although, she could be pretending. Rashida is an intelligent child, more mature than her actual age. However, she does tend to do dangerous things.

They pulled up at Wayne Manor at long last. Rashida woke up instantly.

“We're here!” she announced. The five year old got out of their car immediately to stretch her legs.

“Rae! Watch this!” shouted Mar’i. She flew up into the sky while Rae watched from the ground. Mar’i shot a green starbolt at a low cloud. The cloud lit up in green light before evaporating into thin air.

“Impressive,” commented Rae. She joined her cousin in the air. The two girls turned the clouds green and purple.

Sitting in deck chairs, Raven and Koriand’r watched the kids flying around.

“Did you teach her that?” questioned Raven.

Kori let out a laugh. “Of course not, Mar’i and Jacob discovered it. Speaking of Jacob, where is he?”

It was Raven’s turn to laugh. “I saw him with Jackson, they were building something out of Legos. How do you not know what your son is doing?”

“I’ve been very busy lately,” Kori defended herself.

“Hey sisters! Mind if I join you?” Stephanie didn’t wait for an answer, she took a seat in a chair across from Kori. “Cass and Babs will be here with the food in a few minutes.”

“Is Valkyrie joining us this year?” asked Kori.

“She sure is! Val better not drop out last minute,” said the blonde. “I can’t believe Dick allowed her to skip last year. I mean, like seriously? This is a family reunion and therefore Val can not be missing out.”

“She was on a mission,” said Raven. “Then again, you can’t blame her, this family can be quite a handful.”

“Makes me wonder how we are able to put up with them,” joked Stephanie.

-

“How’s the cooking going?” asked Raven.

Damian turned around to face his wife. “Fairly well,” he answered.

Raven nodded. She took in the scene. Pots and pans were on the stove. A large bowl of lettuce sat on the counter. Nearby stood a container of tofu, waiting to be opened.

“Where’s Richard? I thought he’d be cooking as well,” said Raven.

Damian let out a “tt”. He stirred the soup inside a large pot. “Grayson left an hour ago, he said something about napkins.”

“You do know that not everyone here is vegetarian, correct?” questioned Raven as she noticed that there wasn’t a single speck of meat in any of the dishes.

“I also know that they will have to pay for making me cook a meal for twenty people.”

“21, actually,” corrected Raven. “Valkyrie’s running late.”

“And there I thought she would skip like last year.”

Raven grabbed a spare apron. “I suppose it’s up to me to save everyone from eating tofu turkey tonight.”

“How heroic.”

-

“Mother? Father?” called Rashida.

“We’re in the kitchen, ibna,” answered Damian.

“What are you making?” Rashida stood on the tip of her toes and watched as Raven mixed together the stuffing for the turkey.

“Dinner. Would you like to help, love?” asked Raven.

“Actually I can not,” said Rashida.

“And why is that?”

“Mar’i and I are in need of some pots. We’re going to make popcorn the old fashioned way! But instead of making a fire, we’ll be heating it with our powers,” explained Rashida..

“Is anyone supervising you?” asked Damian.

“Of course, Uncle Jason’s helping us.” Rashida pulled a large pot out of the cabinet. “This will do perfectly,” she said. “Good luck on your cooking!”

“Should I be concerned that Jason is overseeing their popcorn-making?” asked Damian.

“You should have some faith in him,” said Raven.

-

“I think we’re done here,” said Raven.

Damian nodded. “This should be enough food for the whole family, including leftovers for everyone to take home.”

They have made a total of twelve different dishes, two-thirds of which are plant-based. Raven have also made five different types of pastries for dessert.

They left the kitchen to join the rest of the family in the living room. Selina was reading a book to her grandchildren. Rashida, however, was not with her cousins, she was throwing knives with her uncle. They took turns throwing from different positions, each time getting bullseye on the target board.

“Why couldn’t our daughter have some non-violent interests,” sighed Raven.

Damian smiled. “She’s the granddaughter of the first Batman and Trigon, and great granddaughter of Ra’s Al Ghul. And I should add that her adoptive grandfather also happens to be Superman. So I would say that throwing a few knives is perfectly fine.”

“I just want her to have a childhood full of peace and innocence, unlike ours,” Raven murmured.

“She is habibti, she is.” Damian held his wife close. They seated themselves on the couch and silently watched the scene before them.

The peace in the room could not be contained for long. Dick burst through the door holding a large bag.

“Guess what I got?” he sang.

Rashida didn’t even spare her uncle a glance. “A bag full of games,” she answered.

“Uh, yeah. Great guess, Rae,” stuttered Dick. It still intrigued him how she knew what was inside. Well she is her parents’ daughter.

Dick laid out the contents on the table. There was a wide variety of games from classic card games to Twister.

The doorbell rang as soon as he took out the last game.

“That must be Val!” Kori rose to answer the door.

A minute later, the said woman arrived in the room. She could’ve been a younger version of Cassandra, except her features are more sharp. The youngest of the Wayne siblings, Valkyrie was adopted at the age of thirteen. That was ten years ago.

She came just like her oldest adoptive brother, holding a large bag. All the kids, including Rashida, ran over to see what was inside.

“Alright, settle down first,” Valkyrie said. She pulled out four colorfully wrapped boxes and handed one to each of the kids.

Mar’i opened her box and gasped in surprise. “Thank you so much Aunt Val! They’re beautiful.” The twelve year old has received silver bracelets, similar to her mother’s, but with detailed markings on them.

When Jackson opened his box, his jaw dropped. Inside was a Build-Your-Own 3-Dimensional Holographic Projector. “Thank you Aunt Val!” said the eight year old.

Jacob’s gift was eight limited edition action figurines. “How did you-? How is this-?” The boy was so shocked to see eight expensive figurines, that were probably worth a hundred dollars each, in front of him.

“I have my ways, little one,” answered Valkyrie.

“Thank you so much,” he said, giving Valkyrie a big hug.

“Your welcome, and please I’d like some personal space.”

Rashida slowly opened her box. Inside was a white cloak. The fabric was quite unusual. It was soft, stretchy, thin, and light. Yet the fabric also felt strong, and sturdy. The bright ruby glowed in the golden clasp. Unlike Raven’s cloak, this one had sleeves. The hems and cuffs of the cloak were embroidered with intricate designs. Rashida slipped on the cloak, it fitted perfectly. “Thank you, Aunt Valkyrie,” said the five year old.

“There are no gifts for your siblings? Wow, how kind of you,” spoke up Jason.

Valkyrie smiled. “Of course not, only ones for the kids,” she pulled out two more boxes, “and the parents.”

Selina and Bruce gave her their thanks then  proceeded to open their gift. Silent received a full set of cat themed jewelry, while Bruce received a grey tie.

“I actually needed a new tie,” he said.

[mandoalorian]

Sugar and Spice [Max Lord x F!Reader] — Chapter 12

Summary: When you are evicted from your apartment by your toxic ex boyfriend and have no place to go, who do you turn to? Alone in the city as the countdown to Christmas begins, you find yourself applying for a job as the assistant of the world’s biggest entrepreneur; Maxwell Lord. Little do you know, he has other intentions for you. No doubt about it, this Christmas will truly be like no other.

Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: Smut, mentions of a previous verbally abusive relationship, typical 80s misogyny (but very little of it), mentions of food and drink, alcohol consumption. This is a sugardaddy x sugarbaby fic soooo… a daddy k!nk too oops.

But in this chapter: food mention, tooth rotting fluff. Our story comes full circle.

Author’s note: Here it is. The final chapter of Sugar and Spice. The Epilogue should be coming soon. I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I did, and I'd like to thank you all for supporting me and my writing. This was my first ever series and the love I got for it was unlike anything I had ever felt before. I love you all so much. (PS— i’m still sick with COVID so I am really really sorry if this is a poor chapter. I tried my hardest. Happy valentines day.)

MASTERLIST

PREVIOUS - CHAPTER TWELVE - EPILOGUE [coming soon!]

The second Maxwell engulfed himself amongst the soft satin blankets of his bed, he knew he was glad to be home. You climbed in beside him, and his eyes raked your body as he took in the sight of your baby pink slip on silk nightgown that you were wearing. He swallowed, and reached over to grab your waist and pull you on top of him. So there you were, straddling your sugar daddy after not seeing him for over a month. You pressed your palms against his bare chest and looked him in the eyes.

"There's something I need to tell you." Maxwell announced, knowing it had to be now or never. He couldn't keep hiding it. After the month in London and Alistair being brought back into his life, a lot had changed for him. He wasn't the same man he was back in December.

"About Ali?" you asked, tracing circles into his skin.

"Well, yeah. But— something else." Maxwell replied, shuffling around slightly. You sensed it was serious due to his tone of voice and your movements paused as you stared dead into his eyes.

"You don't have another secret child, do you?" you deadpanned.

"No!" Maxwell said defensively and you smiled softly. "It's about us."

You braced yourself. He'd been gone for a month, come back with a kid, and you were certain he was going to break the arrangement off with you. You pulled your hands off him and went to crawl off his lap, but his large hands landed on your thighs to hold you down.

"That night after the annual Black Gold Christmas gala… I saw you with Bruce and I got drunk and— my mom— and… I told you… I told you everything. About my father and having absent parents and. I said— I said— I said I was in love with you," Maxwell gulped and it took him every ounce of strength to not break his eye contact with you. He wanted to remain strong. You remembered the night like it was yesterday; clear as day. Of course, how could you forget the moment he said those words? And he hadn't spoken of it since, until now. Between you being held hostage by Tristan and Maxwell being whisked away to London, there'd hardly been an appropriate time to bring it up. "I swore that once I returned from the UK we would talk about this. So, Y/N, I have to tell you that my feelings haven't changed. It's been months, we've been together and apart. We've argued and fought but we've laughed and made love too. We've had distance— hell, I've been on the other side of the world for the past month but not a second has gone by where I haven't thought about you. About loving you, and kissing you, and even if you don't feel the same way, I hope you can forgive me."

"Forgive you?" You asked after a brief silence. You'd been waiting for what felt like a lifetime to hear these words, and yet you were struggling to comprehend them. It didn't feel real.

"For not doing anything or saying anything sooner. I should've said something sooner. I wish I had. I wish… I wish…" Maxwell rambled but you placed a finger to his lips, silencing him.

"No," you told him sternly. "No wishing. You don't need to make a wish because— everything is fine just the way it is," Maxwell's heart sank at your words and you watched as his chest deflated. "No!" you cried before trying to clarify. You didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "You have a successful business, and a son, and Max, you have me. You'll always have me. Because I love you too. I'm in love with you Maxwell Lord."

Max's chocolate coloured eyes widened at your confession as disbelief bolted through his body. Never in a million years would Maxwell expect that you would truly love him back. How could he expect anyone to love a man like him? Kitty hadn't. His mother hadn't. But you…

"I love you so much Max," you sighed before pressing a kiss into his lips. You caught a tear slip down his cheek and you quickly wiped it away. "Don't ever apologise for being you. Our story has been a whirlwind so far but it's not over. It's not over Max. I love you."

"I love you too." he whispered, wrapping his arms tight around your body when you kissed him again.

By the time Valentines Day rolled around, you swore it was like Maxwell and Alistair had never spent any time apart. The six year old boy was the spitting double of his father— personality and all.

He dived into your bed and jumped up and down.

"I got a card! Look daddy! I got a card!" Alistair beamed. Maxwell groaned and rolled over, holding a pillow over his head. You smiled tiredly and pulled the little boy into your arms.

"Good morning Ali, where did you get that?" you asked.

"It was on the kitchen table! Look mama, it's for me!" He squealed, pointing at the name that was inked in perfect calligraphy. Your perfect calligraphy. Your heart melted slightly at the little name he'd given you. "Mama". You figured it was something Maxwell had pushed, but he swore he hadn't, and that Alistair had decided that you'd be his mama from now on anyway. Kitty was out of the picture for good now, and you were nicer to him in the past two weeks than Kitty had been to him his whole life. That was the sad truth.

"Oh, so it is." you giggled, pressing a kiss into Alistair's forehead. You rolled over slightly and pat the middle of the bed, gesturing for Alistair to come and lay down in between you and his father.

"I only ever get cards like this on my birthday and Christmas. And today is neither of those days." Alistair pondered out loud, tapping his index finger against his chin as he thought. Just like his daddy.

"Do you know what day it is, Ali?" you beckoned.

You realised Maxwell must've finally woken himself up when his hand reached over to hold yours, his thumb circling your skin. You glanced over to him and saw that his big brown eyes were watching his son.

"Ummm…"

"It's the only day of the year where I can do this," Maxwell interrupted, pressing his lips against yours and kissing you. His sudden action was enough to take your breath away and Alistair went to make a noise of disgust. But Maxwell pulled away from your lips and placed a hand over his son's mouth. "And you, mister, can't do that!" he chastised, wiggling his finger with a chuckle.

"But daddy, kissing is yucky!" Alistair frowned, sticking his tongue out in dismay. You rolled your eyes, pulled the little boy on top of you and pressed another kiss into his forehead. Since you had a hold of him, Maxwell took the opportunity to tickle Alistair, erupting a scream of laughter. "Dad-daddy! Aaah daddy please!" Alistair laughed, kicking his legs and flailing his arms around.

"Have you worked out what day it is yet?" you asked the little boy once he'd settled back down. A small blush crept upon his cheeks.

"Va-valentines day?" Alistair asked, his voice timid.

"Are you telling me that my son Alistair has a valentine?" Maxwell gasped jokingly and Alistair's grin only grew wider with excitement.

"Can I open it?" Alistair giggled happily.

"Go on!" you laughed, giving him a small nudge.

You and Max both watched intently as Alistair opened the card. Of course, you had purchased the card and wrote it out. But seeing the excitement on Alistair's face when he read ‘love from your secret admirer’ was undefeatable. It was magical, and it filled your heart with so much love and joy. Alistair was new to your life, just as new as he was to Maxwell's, but if one thing was for sure, it was that you loved him just as much as you'd love your own child. And that wasn't lost on Maxwell.

He honestly expected you might have left him. Or grown distant upon learning that he had a son. But once again, you had proven Maxwell Lord IV wrong. You were unlike any other woman he'd ever met, and now that he had the two most important people in his life, he felt like he could accomplish anything. Nothing else mattered anymore. Just you and Alistair.

"My son, only six years old and already has a secret admirer!" Maxwell chuckled, shaking his head and wrapping his arms around Alistair. "But you'll always be my boy, won't you Ali?"

"Yes daddy." Alistair smiled a toothy grin.

"Us Lord men… we always get the ladies." Maxwell told his son, causing you to belly laugh. Maxwell shot you a joking glare and you tried to stifle any more of your giggles.

"On that note," you rolled your eyes and slid out of bed. "How does pancakes for breakfast sound?"

Both Maxwell and his son cheered with joy at the thought of pancakes. You remembered you even had some strawberries and cream left over from the night before which would go well with it. You pulled your silk robe over you and padded to the kitchen.

"Do you remember the plan?" Maxwell whispered quietly once you'd left the room, cradling his son.

"I do." Alistair beamed snuggling into his father's chest. Maxwell smiled a little.

"Tonight, yeah? After dinner." Maxwell reminded his son.

"Do you love her?" Alistair quizzed further, and Max's smile grew even more.

"I do," Max confessed. "More than anything."

"I think she loves you too." Alistair said softly.

"Yeah?"

"I see the way she looks at you," Alistair mumbled. "Like how Ariel looks at Prince Eric."

"Wh-who?" Max furrowed his eyebrows together and Alistair's jaw dropped slightly.

"Okay daddy. We're all watching The Little Mermaid after dinner." Alistair decided in that moment, his tone of voice leaving no room for question.

Maxwell quirked an eyebrow. "Really? And who put you in charge?"

"I'm a Lord," Alistair said proudly. "Besides, someone has to watch over you two lovebirds. Make sure you don't get yourself in trouble."

Maxwell couldn't believe the six year old boy. Alistair was definitely Maxwell's son, that's for sure.

Just as you were finishing up frying the last pancake, the kitchen phone began to ring. You answered it, surprised to hear the voice of your lawyer— or more accurately, Maxwell's lawyer. You had been using him to defend yourself on the case between you and Tristan. He had told you that Tristan was going to be locked away for a very long time, and that you'd won the case. A wash of relief flooded over you, and finally, things were beginning to look up for you and your little family.

You called down Alistair and Maxwell once breakfast was ready, and you served the heart shaped pancakes at the table. Maxwell came down a few minutes later than Alistair and he was holding on envelope. When he sat down opposite you, he passed you the envelope with a smug grin on his face.

"What's this?" you asked curiously, and Maxwell shrugged his shoulders casually as he sipped on his black coffee. He hadn't stopped smirking though. "Maxie, we agreed on no gifts this year?" you sighed, already feeling bad for not getting him anything.

"Baby, it's not exactly a gift. I mean, it's something for both of us. Something that's important to you and well… just open it, please." he urged.

You hesitated, exchanging a glance between Max and Alistair (who was already neck deep in pancakes), before sighing and opening the envelope. Inside was a letter from a retail agent? As you read the letter, your heart began to slam against your chest. No way.

"Max… you bought my old apartment building? The whole building?" you gasped, slamming your hand over your mouth in disbelief. "You bought it in both of our names?"

"Because I knew how much it meant to you. And how much your neighbours meant to you. They were all mistreated by Tristan, and that isn't okay. I bought the property from the council so we're the rightful owners now. And we won't overcharge rent like Tristan did. We don't need to. We'll refurbish the whole place. We'll give the families who live there a safe place that they can call home, and they won't have to worry about any abuse from Tristan, or their utilities falling apart, or bills… it'll be wonderful."

"Maxwell I- I don't know what to say I…" you were utterly speechless, tears filling your eyes. Obviously this was going to cost him a lot of money and a lot to upkeep, but for the first time, it felt like it wasn't even about money. It was a grand gesture, sure, but it was also the most thoughtful and unexpected thing he'd ever done for you.

"I love you." Max revelled and you smiled.

"I love you too." you replied, leaning over the table and pressing a kiss into his lips. You glanced back down at the letter, admiring the way your surname and Max's surname looked together on the sheet of paper.

At the start of December you didn't even own a car. You couldn't even pay rent. Now you were living in a suburban manor with your perfect little family. Amongst a little bit of sugar and a little bit of spice, you had found love, meaning and purpose. You'd found your soulmate.

Just as you thought your life was good and couldn't get any better, you didn't realise what Maxwell Lord had in store for you this evening. Your whole world was about to change.

---

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[heyitsani]

A Dream Ripping at the Seams

@damianwayneweek fic Reverse Robins

Word Count: 5024

Rating: Teen and up

Warnings: Referenced past child abuse, canonical character death mentioned

Pairing: None

Summary: He had planned the whole thing out.  The moment he had seen the notes in Richard’s file on the computer, he had known he needed to get him out of there and away from Batman as soon as possible.  He refused to lose another brother.  

Saving Richard because he failed to save Todd was his only priority.

Notes: Guess what! IT’S MY BIRTHDAY! And it also happens to be Reverse Robins day for Damian Wayne week!  So to celebrate, I wrote this fic to give to all of you lovely people.  But especially those in the RR Discord who are always willing to encourage me to run with an idea that comes up last minute.

Also, this fic ends abruptly and that’s the point.  I might continue it, I might not.  But it’s supposed to feel sudden and full of questions.

To clear up confusion: Dick was 10 when adopted, Jason died when he was 15 and Dick 11, Dick is 12 (nearly 13) when the story starts, and 13 when it ends.

You can also read it on AO3 here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian waited until he had the opportunity to get Richard away from the manor for the afternoon before he approached the subject with the boy.  He hadn’t been certain he would need to, at first, but the longer Richard was in the house with his father the more he saw the signs he had seen with Jason. And that meant he needed to act.

So he had asked Richard if he wanted Damian to pick him up from school one Friday in February so they could go for ice cream before dinner.  Richard had, unsurprisingly, agreed enthusiastically like Damian had known he would.  With the kid’s sweet tooth, he never turned down things like ice cream.  Especially since it wasn’t something the circus really got much of apparently.  Traveling in trailers didn’t allow for too many luxuries like freezers.

“Richard,” Damian started once they were seated on a bench in a local park, not far from a playground that the child was eyeing.  When the sapphire eyes turned on him, Damian took a deep breath and looked directly at him. “I know you have figured out what Father and the rest of us do in the night.”  Richard nodded, smiling as he licked his cone.  “Has Father approached you about training yet?”

The boy nodded again, and Damian pressed his lips together.  Twelve years old.  Twelve.  None of them had been that young outside of himself, but his situation was different. Being born into the League of Assassins made for a different upbringing.  “Is that bad?”

Shaking his head, Damian made sure his face was neutral before speaking again.  “No, but I have concerns.”  The boy blinked at him, but remained silent as though he was waiting for his brother to tell him what it was he was concerned about.  “You do not know of my childhood, but it was far from…pleasant. I was raised in a place called Nanda Parbat that trains people to be the kind of people Batman fights against.”

“But you were a kid?” Richard sounded confused; ice cream forgotten as he tried to sort through what Damian was saying.  And what he wasn’t saying.  “Why would you train a kid like that?”

“Because that was the way things were done there.”

“Then they were done wrong.”

Damian let out a soft laugh, corner of his mouth raising just slightly at the thought of this twelve-year-old child telling him that he had been raised wrong.  “Be that as it may, you are correct that I was a kid and that should not have been my childhood.”

Richard hummed and went back to his ice cream, looking out at a pair of dogs playing in the grass. Damian observed him as he watched the dogs, wondering what he was thinking.  He wasn’t sure how to ask the boy to do what exactly he was thinking, but he just hoped Richard would go along with it.  That he would agree to leave because this was not the life he should be living.

“Dami?”  Richard looked back to him, and Damian raised his eyebrows.  “You don’t want me to train with Batman.”  Damian shook his head.  “Ever?”

And wasn’t that the real question?

Damian wasn’t sure if he wanted Richard, the purest of them all, to be exposed to how ugly the world was the same way the rest of them had been.  It would ruin him.  It would steal the innocence that Damian found himself desperately wanting to protect. It would tear out everything good in him and leave him a shell.  

“Never,” he admitted quietly.  Richard dropped his gaze again and chewed on his lower lip.  “I want you to understand why.  My childhood aside, I do not want to see what happened to Todd happen to you. I do not want you to lose yourself the way I have seen Drake do.  I do not want you to realize the ugly truths of the world long before your time the way Cain or Brown have.  I want to protect you from all of that.”

With brows drawn down, Richard looked at him again.  He was looking at Damian with that look, the one he had seen Cain look at him with too many times to count.  The look that penetrated all the walls and shields he had put around his mind and heart.

“You want me to leave.”

“I want to take you away from here and hide us both until you are able to stand your own against Father on the subject,” he quickly corrected, not wanting Richard to think he wasn’t welcome in the Wayne family.  “I want to protect you from a fate I wish we all could have been protected from.”

Richard took a lick of his ice cream and Damian waited, worried the boy would tell him no and then tell his father everything Damian had planned.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Richard nodded.  “Okay.”

And Damian released his held breath, relief washing over him.  He could save one of them, the best of them.  He could do one right thing in his life, a life filled with so many wrong things.

“We leave in a week.” Richard’s eyes turned determined, and he gave a firm nod before looking over toward the playground again.

“Can I play after my ice cream is finished?”  Damian laughed and nodded, too relieved to deny him anything.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who is she?”  Richard asked, tugging on the black chuba Damian had selected for himself the moment they had touched down in Tibet.  The weather was fairly cool, and he hadn’t thought to purchase the proper wears before he had put his plan into motion. But thankfully he had anticipated needing to switch enough money into Yuan to get them by for the first couple of months.  It had made purchasing weather friendly clothing for himself and Richard much easier.

Looking down at Richard, Damian frowned and followed his eyeline to the familiar statue that stood at the top of the mountain, guarding over Nanda Parbat.  “She is Ruma Kushna,” he told Richard, who couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the beautiful stone statue.  He couldn’t blame the kid, he had been fascinated with the goddess when he had been younger.  She had been formidable and even his grandfather had spoken highly of the goddess. “She watches over all of those in Nanda Parbat.”

Richard frowned and looked away from the statue, blue eyes skittering over the various people wandering around the market they were making their way through in an attempt to find lodging.  “She is not kind then,” the boy said, looking up at Damian with a fierce look.

“What makes you say that?”

Richard shrugged and looked away, curiosity stealing the boy’s attention once more.  But Damian couldn’t forget that look for stubborn protectiveness that had covered Richard’s face in the moment.  It had been breathtaking if he were honest.  He couldn’t remember the last time someone had looked at him like that when they weren’t preparing to fight him for one reason or another.

Pausing at a stall with various spices that smelled familiar and distant at the same time, Damian gave the older woman a friendly smile.  “Tashi delek,” he greeted her, giving a small bow of his head.  “My son and I are looking for lodging, do you know of anyone with vacancies in their home that would spare space for us?  We are willing to pay.”

The woman seemed to consider him closely, glancing from him to Richard and then back again.  He knew his excuse of Richard being his son was flimsy when someone considered their age difference, but it was the story he needed to stick to for the time being.  He couldn’t risk someone looking too deeply into their relation if they thought they were merely brothers.  And Damian would be drawn and quartered before someone took Richard from him and returned him to Bruce.

“I have a spare sleeping quarter if you could spare your strength,” the woman finally replied, kindness heavy in her old eyes.

“Tuchi che!”  Richard exclaimed, smiling brightly at the woman who almost looked surprised at his enthusiasm.  Damian struggled to hold back a smile of his own as he gave the woman a firm nod, silently agreeing to her terms.

“I am Damian and this is Richard.  We are grateful for your hospitality.”  The woman chuckled and waved them off, telling them to scout the market for anything they might need since their packs were small and probably did not hold much out of the bare necessities.  “What should we call you?”

The woman’s smile warmed, and she leaned back.  “I am Amala,” she responded.  “Now go find you both some clothing that is not of the city but of the mountain.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“You are al Ghul,” Amala stated as she handed over the cup of tea.  Damian froze, eyes wide as he looked at the woman who still looked at him with that same kindness she had since that first meeting almost four months ago.  But he couldn’t figure out how she could possibly look at him that way if she knew who his family was.  “The League is well known in our village, as small as we may be.  They look after their own on the mountain.  But there were whispers of the Heir refusing to return and the Demon Head demanding justice.”

Looking down at his teacup, cradled in both hands to warm his palms from the cool night air coming in from under the door, he sighed before glancing back toward the corner where Richard was sleeping.  Confirming Amala’s words would put them both in danger of being discovered.  He had picked this village because it meant they were right under his grandfather and mother’s noses.  They would never look for him here.

But if he lied, he risked having to run with Richard again.  And the child was finally settling nicely in the village.  He had made friends with some of the other children and he was catching up on his studies.  The last thing Damian wanted to do was uproot him yet again.  His life had been disrupted enough since the death of his parents.

“I am he,” Damian admitted, looking back to Amala.  The woman smiled knowingly before pressing a finger to her lips in a ‘shhhh’ motion and Damian let out a sigh of relief.  “How did you figure it out?”

The woman shrugged.  “You have your mother’s eyes,” she said, as if that was enough to give it all away.  “And your mother used to bring you down here as a babe, just learning to walk the mountain.  I recognized you the moment you approached my stall at market.”

“Has anyone else?”

“Not that I have heard.”

But that didn’t mean they hadn’t.  If someone told his mother or even one of the footmen, Damian would need to pick Richard up and run.  He wouldn’t have a choice.  He probably should do it now before anyone had the chance to come after them.

“Thank you, for trusting us then.”

Amala waved a hand.  “I could see in your eyes that you were running from something.  That you were protecting your son from something.”  Damian held back the cringe at the word son, knowing she had to have figured out that Richard wasn’t his.  “You are safe in my home.  I will not bring harm upon you.  No matter if it is from up the mountain or from far away.”

Damian swallowed, bowing his head against the onslaught of emotion that hit him from her words.  “Thank you,” he whispered, unable to look at her just yet.  “Protecting him is all I am after.”  He looked over at Richard again and blinked away the tears.  “It is my only goal.”

“And that is what makes you a good father,” she said softly, “blood or not.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Baba!”  Richard called out; voice distorted as it came into the house from outside where he had been helping plant some new seedlings.  “Dami!”  That made Damian pause.  It had been a while since Richard had called him by his name, out of habit or fear Damian couldn’t be sure which.  But it made a small sense of panic arise in his chest and had him dropping the piece he had been sketching and immediately run out the front door.

He froze when he saw a man kneeling in front of Richard, black cloak and hood pulled over his head, hiding his face from Damian but not from Richard.  But when the man looked up, Damian felt his stomach drop.

“No,” he whispered, hurrying forward and pushing Richard behind him as he glared at Timothy Drake, his father’s second eldest but first adopted child.  “You are not welcome here, Drake,” he said lowly, English rusty from lack of use since coming to Tibet.

Drake held up his hands and took a step back, but Damian held tighter onto Richard who tried to move out from behind his legs.  “I am not here to cause trouble, Damian,” Drake offered.  And Damian knew him well enough to know the man was being honest.  But it didn’t mean he could let his guard down. “He doesn’t know I’m here.  He doesn’t know I found you.”

“Trackers.”

“Rerouted.”

Taking a deep breath, Damian glanced around before giving Drake a nod and herding Richard into the house, knowing Drake would following them.  “Richard, go work on your schooling.”  Richard looked up at him, frowning at the order, before glancing over at Drake.  “Now, Richard.”  And though Damian knew the child didn’t want to, Richard walked away with a pout to the table where his schoolwork sat waiting.  “How did you find us?”  

“It wasn’t easy, you covered your tracks better than any of us expected,” Drake said, eyes watching Richard as he took his seat and began writing in the notebook.  Damian could tell he was curious, but Damian needed answers before Drake got his own.  “I looked at footage we had searched through a million times and got lucky.”

“And Father doesn’t know? I’m meant to believe you simply didn’t tell him?  You?”

“He thinks I’m off world with the Titans.”

“That doesn’t answer why you didn’t tell him.”

Drake seemed to consider his answer for a moment before shrugging both his shoulders.  “Dick didn’t seem to be in distress in the footage I found. He looked like he wanted to be with you.”

“I explained it to him before we left.  He agreed to come with me on his own.”

“Why did you take him?”

A familiar anger built in his core and Damian had to push it down with a few deep breaths before he could answer Drake without yelling.  “Because I would not let him sacrifice Richard the same way he sacrificed all of us. Because since losing Todd, he has lost sight of the true mission and we have become nothing but soldiers to him. I would die before I let that man turn Richard another glass case bearing a bloodied suit of armor,” he growled, fists clenched tightly.  

Drake watched him with those eyes, the ones Damian had always hated because it always felt like he was a risk and Drake was calculating how dangerous he was in any given moment.  As if Drake was just like his father, with a file of ways to put an end to Damian because part of him was too dangerous to be trusted.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Drake finally said, looking back to Richard with a nod.  “I didn’t believe you could have taken him for anything other than his own good.”  The cool blue eyes looked back to Damian and had lost some of the calculating look.  “B won’t stop though, Damian.  He’s desperate to find you both even though it’s been over six months.  I don’t know how long until he realizes that you hid both of you in plain sight of the League.  Does Ra’s or Talia know you’re here?”

“Not that they have revealed to me,” Damian admitted.  “Our patron, she knows of my heritage and has sworn an oath of secrecy.  But she is League loyal due to their protection.”

Damian watched Drake fully take in the appearance of the home they were in, the simple nature of it all and Damian couldn’t help but wonder what the man thought of him now.  What did he think of the haughty Wayne heir who had loved to shove that fact in every ones faces, telling them that he was the heir to one of the richest men in the world.  That he was heir to Batman, the Dark Knight.  The Damian standing in front of Drake was far from that person as Damian could probably get.

“This has not only saved him,” Drake finally said, looking directly at Damian.  There was no lie that Damian could see and though he wanted to deny what his brother said, his eyes glanced over to Richard and knew it was the truth. He was not who he had been before they had left Gotham.  He had been losing himself in his own grief and it was only the deep seeded fear of losing yet another family member that forced him to pull out of it and take action.

But he couldn’t admit that to Drake, could he?  “I wouldn’t lose him the way we lost Todd.  I did what I had to do.  He never would have listened.”

“No, he wouldn’t have.”

“And has anything changed?” Drake frowned; eyebrows furrowed. And that was enough of an answer for Damian.  “He’s just become obsessed with finding us instead.”

Drake nodded.  “It’s been bad enough that Superman watches Gotham from afar to keep B from doing something he might regret.”  And Damian knew, yet again, that he had made the right choice in getting Richard away from that.  “Can I give you a burner that only I know about?”  Damian’s eyes snapped back to Drake, having drifted back to Richard yet again.  “I want to be able to give you a heads up if he comes your way.  It might not be much of one, but maybe enough for you to get a head start.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, having that option, but Damian also knew it might give his father access to the pair of them without Drake even knowing.  But Drake did know technology more than anyone else in the family. Perhaps it was a risk he could take.

“All right,” Damian relented, giving a nod.  Drake’s features looked relieved, to the point where Damian wondered if he had made the wrong decision.  But he could work on the device later and see if it had been bugged or tampered with in any way.

Drake dug into his small pack and pulled out a small phone, probably a prototype that Wayne Tech had decided wasn’t worth the trouble.  He quickly showed Damian how to turn it on and use the basic features before it was turned off yet again and Damian was tucking it into the pocket of his pants.

“I need to go, I can’t reroute much longer.  But if you need anything, please call me.  I have your back.”  Damian gave a nod before watching Drake walk over to Richard and kneel down to talk quietly with the teen.  He didn’t bother listening in, knowing Richard would tell him what was said later, but he did watch.  He watched Richard listen and nod, responding with his own words before reaching out and hugging the man around the neck.  

When Drake stood and turned to leave, Damian was fairly certain he saw a sheen of tears in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian knew something was different the instant he walked into the small house, even if he couldn’t immediately tell what.  It caused him to stop short in the doorway, Richard smacking into him because he had been too absorbed in the book of mathematics one of the men of the village had shared with him.

“Baba, what…?”  The child complained but Damian’s eyes focused on the figure in the corner of the room instead, not answering.

“Mother.”

The woman moved forward, like a serpent seeking prey, into the light with a smirk on her face.  “Son,” she greeted, eyes looking over his ragged appearance from his day of labor with a hint of distain before stopping on Richard. “You really do have too much of your father in you.”

Rolling his eyes, Damian shuffled Richard into the house and nudged him toward their sleeping corner. And though he didn’t think his mother meant them harm, he still kept his body between the two of them and coiled his muscles to prepare for a fight.

“What are you doing here? How did you even know?”

“Oh please, Damian,” Talia sighed and came closer before lounging in one of the chairs near the fireplace.  “Do you honestly think we weren’t aware the moment you landed in Tibet?  That we weren’t tracking you from the very start? You have forgotten your roots.”

Damian narrowed his eyes. “Then why did you wait so long to approach me?”

“Because we did not need you.”  That made Damian tense further.  The League needing him would lead to nothing good, he knew that deep in his core.  “I have something in Nanda Parbat that requires your attention before it can be dealt with.  And no,” she held up a hand to stop his question, “it is not your father. But it does have a link to him.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian couldn’t believe what he was seeing.  He couldn’t trust his own eyes in that moment.  It wasn’t possible.  Was it? No, he had seen the body.  He had been there as the coffin had been lowered into the plot and covered with dirt.  He had laid his hand on the tombstone and apologized for not being able to get to him in time.

But that was definitely Jason Todd in front of him.

“How is this possible?”  Damian asked, glad he had put Richard in his old rooms while he handled this.  Richard had known Todd for only a year before he had died. This was not something Damian wanted to expose the teen to before he knew what the point of all of this was.

“We are not certain. We can’t even say how long he has been like this.  He has been dead for nearly 18 months and we have had him here for the past six.” Damian frowned, walking closer to Todd, trying to catch the teen’s eye.  “He is alive and everything is in working order, but it is as though death stole his soul.”

“Of course it did!  He died!”  Damian snapped, looking back at his mother who stood a ways back watching but looked bored.  “We buried him.  We…” Breathing heavily through his nose, Damian looked back to Todd and shook his head.  They had mourned him.  And now he was there, living and breathing but lifeless.  Everything that had made him Jason Todd seemed to have been stripped away.  “What do you intend to do with him?”

His mother’s heels clicked on the marble floor as she moved closer and stopped once she reached the pair. He watched a slender hand reach out and pet the side of Jason’s face.  Annoyed, Damian’s hand shot out and grabbed his mother’s wrist to stop the obscene gesture.  “What do you intend to do with him,” he growled, gripping her wrist tightly and turning to fully face her.  He narrowed his eyes and stared her down, not willing to let her brush him off.  She had brought him here for a reason.

“We will put him in the Pit, of course,” she said, unaffected by the grip he had on her or the look on his face.  “We just wanted to see if a familiar face might wake him up first.”

“Mother,” Damian gasped, releasing her and stepping back.  “We do not put innocents in the Pit.  It is not done.”

Talia raised a brow and Damian glowered.  “There is no ‘we’, Damian.  You made your choice.”

“You cannot do that to him. He had anger before his death.  He was murdered brutally.  These are all things the League has always avoided in resurrections.”  Damian looked over at Jason’s empty eyes and frowned, shaking his head.  “You cannot sentence him to that Madness.  He is a child.”

“He is no more a child than any of you were.  My Beloved has only had one true child in his home and you stole him away in fear of him turning your precious Richard into the same monster each of you fight off daily.” Talia tilted her head, considering him. “You most of all, my son.”

“You created the monster long before he got his hands on it.”

A slender shoulder rose and fell gracefully.  “Perhaps, but you have Demon blood in your veins and you have always been destined for so much more than this charade of a life you have taken up.”

Damian clenched his jaw and looked away from his mother, unable to deny her words.  He knew this farce he and Richard had been living would not sustain them forever, but he knew it was what the teen needed at the moment. If he returned Richard to Gotham, his father would rip the child away from him and Damian would lose him to the fight he desperately wanted to protect Richard from.  The Bat would get into his head and Damian would lose.

No, returning to Gotham would never be an option until Richard was old enough to stand on his own.

“You could remain here. Take up your title again and we could train and teach the boy to be the very best.”  Damian immediately shook his head.  That wasn’t any better than the fate that awaited them in Gotham.  “It is only a matter of time before he finds you. He will exhaust all resources and then call upon me.  He will come to Nanda Parbat and hear the tinkling laughter that reminds him so much of the boy his own son had stolen away from him.  He will follow the sound to a yard where a teen with black hair and sapphire eyes kneels in the dirt, pulling weeds from around the plants that have just begun to sprout.

“He will watch in wonder at the change a year, perhaps two years, has made in the boy.  And then he will see the man who is responsible for the heartache and fear he experienced over that time, standing in the window watching the teen just as he had been.  And he will take him back.  He will threaten them both with everything in his itinerary until there is no choice but to return.”

“And then he will ruin him,” Damian whispered, closing his eyes because he knew his mother was right. It was the fear that kept him up each and every night.  His father would never stop searching and he would eventually get desperate enough to turn to Ra’s for help.  And he would come himself to plead his case because otherwise Ra’s would laugh in his face and behead whoever was foolish enough to come in his stead.

Opening his eyes, he stared into the familiar one watching him closely.  “You win.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Damian hated that his mother insisted on Richard being in the room with them when Todd was placed in the Pit, but he wasn’t in any position to argue.  He just hoped that nothing happened that would require him to use the sword strapped to his back in order to keep Richard safe.  The last thing he wanted was for the teen to see that side of him, the side that would require him to take up arms against another of his brothers.

But Richard stood just behind him, stubborn look on his face as he watched Todd over near the Pit. The green glow of the waters within gave the room an ethrial look but made Jason look sickly.  With that blank look on his face, Damian felt his heart ache for the boy he remembered.  He had tried harder with Todd than he had with Drake, but it didn’t mean he was the best of brothers.  He hoped the teen knew he had tried.

But emotions had never been his forte.

Thankfully, he was doing even better with Richard than he had with any of the others.  The teen had taught him much more than he ever thought possibly while he had taught the boy what little he had to offer outside of self-defense. Which, he had taught him as well. Just not to the same effect that training to be a Cape would have done.

“Are you ready to witness true magic, Richard?”  Damian frowned over at his mother when she entered the room and moved over to stand with the two of them.  He looked back and down toward the teen, who he found watching his mother with narrowed, untrusting eyes.  Good boy.

Damian had made sure that he always questioned his surroundings and stayed wary of those he didn’t know. Apparently, Talia al Ghul fell in that category.

The woman simply quirked an eyebrow at him before she walked over to where the footmen were getting ready to move Todd to the platform.  Reaching out, Damian tugged Richard closer to him in hopes to shield him from the coming disaster.  His mother might be certain this was a good idea, surely for her own gain, but he knew this was not something that should be done.  But as good of a fighter Damian was, he could not take on the entire League. And he would need to do just that if he wanted to get Todd out of there before he was manipulated and twisted into a shadow of the teen he had been.

“Let us begin,” Ra’s said as he took his place on the opposite side of the Pit.

[black-streak]

Little Pistol - Oops

Chapter 9

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Song by Vince Staples w/ Yugen Blakrok. It's from Black Panther, and while I'm aware Tim is often the pastiest bat, they asked for this when they mentioned Gotham in the lyrics and made it way too relatable to Tim's (here) and Jason's (canon) experience. Whoops. Also, I might've completely torn and sewn together bits of DC canon to my own liking because reasons.

This chapter is one of the few that was barely planned for. Um... Verbal abuse? Verbal abuse. Of a child. Mentions of neglect and abandonment.

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~---~

Jason had warned him it would happen far sooner than he'd like. Well joke's on him, any time was too soon. Too soon to see his own replacement. To see the person who was supposed to be his older brother but just turned out to be another person who'd abandoned him. Which is why he planned for this encounter. Planned for the moment they would corner him. Box him in. Take him down. Or at least, they would try to. Tim wasn't about to let that happen. He knew how to plan and evade and keep his cool with the best of them. Knew how to strategize and win against opponents that by all rights should be able to take him down without thought. How to use their emotion driven instincts to take them down. He'd done it hundreds of times with businessmen and rogues alike. A couple vigilantes wouldn't change that.

So he thought of every instance, every possibility, every reaction and planned accordingly. And how fitting he'd use this against them. After all, it was the one quality Bruce praised him on most. 

What he hadn't expected was to have Robin come across him alone. He'd thought of it, of course, but it had always seemed so unlikely with how much the new Batman mother birded the kid. 

Oh how wonderfully lucky he felt. Guess something had to go right in his life once in a while so the world could pretend it was balanced and good.

"Drake. I thought you might have the dignity to not be where you are unwanted.. I see you lost that as well," came the clipped, high pitched voice behind him. He had to give it to the kid, while lacking any sense of control, he had some skill. He reached up to turn off the comm link with Red Hood.

"Devin. If that is the standard for dignity, I suppose you never had any," Red Robin turned, a pleasant little smile staying firmly in place, "where's your babysitter, by the way? I thought you weren't allowed out after your bedtime?"

"It's Damian," the boy growled before turning cocksure, ignoring the last half of the comment, "or are you so dumb you can't even remember the name of the person who unseated you?"

"Funny, I thought it was you who struggled with names? Only seems fitting since you can't even say mine. Tell me, did you know that in many languages, addressing someone by their last name is a sign of respect?" He kept from grinning at the squawk of indignation he received, "You didn't deny never having dignity, so I'll assume I'm correct."

"I have more dignity in one pinky than you'll ever have," he failed to address the full sentence once more, but Red would allow it for now.

"I suppose you're right. You did make yourself disappear rather fast when it was made clear your mother and grandfather wanted nothing to do with you. Now if only you could take the hint now."

"You-" the kid started advancing, drawing his sword.

"Aww, poor baby, can't even fight with his words. Do you want to kill me because I'm right? Or because you know as long as I'm alive, you'll never be good enough?"

"I'm Robin! Batman chose me!" Red dodged a wild slash from the katana trained on him, carefully twisting out of the way but never fighting back, the same way he always had. The way Damian had come to expect by now. But he continued talking as they made their way around the rooftop, keeping the brat too angry to focus on technique.

"Yeah, a fake Batman. The real one had to die for you to be chosen. How does it feel to know your father didn't want you on the streets with him? That he didn't trust you. That he chose me over you every time?"

"Grayson was your brother and he chose me! You have no family," the attacks became more sporadic, angrier. Less in control.

"We don't share blood," despite the accuracy of the kid's words, he knew blood meant everything to Damian. And he knew how to use that against him. "My blood family is all dead. They can't be with me. Yours sent you away. Sent you to a father who didn't want you either. And when Bruce died, yours still wouldn't take you back," Red kept dodging, taking note of how the strikes lost all rhyme or reason as the boy lost words and started only letting out frustrated sounds, "Did you know Ras wants me as an heir? Has made so many offers and attempts to take me in? Your grandfather is so desperate to be my family, meanwhile he couldn't get rid of you fast enough. I wonder how that must feel? To know the only person who wants you is a man who only pities you?"

Right as a slash almost made contact, he drew his bow staff, deflecting the hit and disarming Robin in two perfect moves. It took him only a moment to pin the kid to the gravel beneath them.

"I'm Robin! I earned it!" Screamed from below.

Lowering his mouth to one ear, he spoke with quiet calm, only upsetting Damian further, "You are Robin. And you know why? Because Robin is a position given to those who have nothing left to cling to. Who need direction and commands to keep intact. It was never given to me. I took Robin because I wanted to. It was given to you because Dick saw how pathetically in need of it you were."

"I almost killed you, you weren't worthy," he argued, struggling against the pin.

"You only ever won because I let you. Because I never fought back. Because I knew Bruce wouldn't want me to. Now there's no one stopping me. You were never better than me. If you were, someone would love you."

The body below pushed and pushed and struggled until finally it settled down, angry tears glistening in the night.

"Run home, little Robin. You're unwanted here," he let go and watched the kid scramble up and away, straight into Red Hood. Launching backwards, Robin took one look at the crossed arms and tilted head of the bigger man and turned tail off the roof.

"How'd you manage to get that reaction out of the demon brat?" Hood asked as he picked his way over the where Red still crouched.

"He's useless when he lets his emotions get the best of him. Just had to hit the right buttons," he shrugged, pretending it was not a big deal. Like he hadn't verbally torn up a twelve year old just for being right.

"He got under your skin, didn't he?"

Grimacing, he stood and made way to the other's side, "You didn't hear, did you?"

"No," he admitted.

"I reacted to his words only in that I adjusted accordingly. Nothing was said in the heat of the moment on my part," he assured.

Sighing, Hood clapped him on the shoulder once, "If you say so. Let's call it a night, eh?"

"Yeah…"

[hasegawasosise]

In Numbers We Trust

Summary:

Prompt master: @outoftheframework

I like the concept of each of the kids having a number or having a thing where they count off. Not in a demeaning or dehumanizing way at all, just more so to use in dangerous situations. For example, a bomb goes off on patrol, and to quickly see if everyone is okay, the kids (including Steph and Babs) automatically start counting one at a time. Bruce can breathe again once the count reaches eight. This tradition begins to carry over to civilian life when the kids yell numbers across a crowded gala after the power goes out.

Beta Agenthandler

Bruce never planned on starting a family. He made a vow to live for justice. He would be the force Gotham needed. He would be the forever bachelor. Justice was his Lady Love.

But 90% of life’s plan was just that—a plan. Bruce would never have guessed he'd end up taking in a boy who called himself Dick Grayson. Technically his ward, but Bruce suffered a mid-life crisis every day from thereon, wondering whether it was the right choice for him to adopt a kid—or why anyone sane would let Bruce Wayne adopt any kid in the first place. It was a testament to Dick’s own awesomeness that he grew up to be a mostly functional adult—Bruce definitely wasn’t.

After Dick, he recruited an amazing girl named Barbara Gordon as another sidekick. She was not officially his adopted daughter, but by day two of working together Bruce registered her in his little hind brain as “my kid.”

Then another. Jason Todd not only stole the Batmobile’s tires but also Batman’s heart. The little boy taught Bruce more about street-smarts and how to be a better person right until his death. His realized depth of parental love made him wonder why he ever adopted anyone in the first place—and ended up losing them that way.

After what he thought was the last, another one came into his life without invitation. Timothy Drake was a genius detective. Out of his first four—yes, Bruce could still count—Tim was the most similar to Bruce. They had the same kind of upbringing amidst the Gotham Elite, they were both highly focused and detail oriented individuals. Tim was even smarter than Bruce, and he was the sole reason Bruce could continue functioning after Jason’s death. Tim was also the only one to believe he was still alive and brought Bruce back from when he was lost in time.

After Time was Stephanie Brown. A cheerful ray of sunshine that had her own worries, but could function the best out of all his children. She had the kind of light sarcastic humor to brighten up Bruce’s darker days. He gained a third daughter, Cassandra Cain, the most accomplished amongst his children in terms of stealth and combat, also his one darling princess.

Then Bruce was introduced to his—one and only—blood son, a little baby assassin who had the unfortunate tendency to stab first ask later. By this time, Bruce had a better handle on raising children highly susceptible to raising hell and violence (read: still an incompetent parent, but he knew how to tune out their nagging) and had no choice but to assign Dick  with Damian’s education on humanities and socialization.

He also had Helena, Terry, Matt, Duke, and Harper.

Bruce lost count.

It was the ultimate testament to Bruce’s parenting skill. He sometimes couldn’t remember how many kids he had. He could lose them in a Walmart and forget he was missing one. But thankfully, he had a secret weapon.

Since Jason, he assigned them all numbers. Dick was one, Barbara was two, Jason three, Timothy four, Stephanie five, Cass six,  Damian seven—although he always said he was the first—Duke was eight, Harper nine, Terry ten, Matt eleven, and little Helena was twelve.

Imagine that. Bruce had twelve kids. What was his vow again? Lady Love Justice? Don’t know her.

It became sort of a tradition. When the kids entered the Wayne manor, each of them wrote their number on the info board down in the changing room. They were also listed on a desktop note of the BatComputer. It became a ritual in which the last child would add their newest sibling into the list, so they knew who the next number was supposed to be, and that next child would be who they were responsible for. Well, except Dick who accepted all of them as his baby chicks. The number also became a little part of their identity—each of them would put their numbers on everything they owned from their doors to their batarangs to the containers in the fridge.

Bruce, most importantly, used the numbering system to check in on them. It started when Penguin detonated a bank and his robins were scattered fighting all the hundred thugs Penguin hired to keep Batman busy. The blast stopped the fight and Bruce’s heart dropped when he realized his coms were damaged and he immediately couldn’t keep sight of them. He immediately tried to think what he could do, and when he did,  he shouted at the top of his lungs.

“KID COUNT!”

“One!” Nightwing shouted from the top of the next building. Apparently he flew off the bank’s  roof when he realised it was going to burst.

Oracle was two but he knew she was safe in the clock tower.

“Three,” Red Hood drawled. Bruce wondered why he joined in, but was thankful nonetheless.

“Four,” Red Robin shouted from the opposite direction, because he was the sensible one who directed the civilians and police to safety.

“Five!” Spoiler laughed and flew to his side. “That was a doozy!”

“Six,” Black Bat said as she appeared beside Spoiler where they shared a hi-five.

“Seven,” Robin pulled out his swords from a thug’s leg. “Father, I need to clean my sword immediately.”

“No stabbing, please.” “Too late.” Bruce groaned.

“...Eight?” Signal. He was still new to the numbering system.

Batman let go a deep relieved sigh.

The police and civilians who were fortunate to witness the scene, collectively said ‘Oh’. It became a trending twitter before Tim deleted the topic as much as he could.

********

The counting continued though. Citizens who have lots of children (such as parents, teachers, sometimes even the Police teams), realised it was a quick method to ensure update of their progeny/students/teams condition. So they  The counting became sort of a Gotham Trend and eventually enlisted into Gotham’s Emergency SOP. Imagine that, having too many kids to count gave birth to a crucial disaster first-aid first responder procedure.

In all actually, maybe that was one of the top major contributions Batman has given to his city.

********

The kids themselves slowly embraced the importance and fun of the numbers. It created a sort of camaraderie-- even when the numbers didn’t correlate with their height. It used to be a nice isoquant curve when they stood side by side. But after Jason’s growth spurt and Tim naught growth spurt, Steph finding high heels and Cass love for Anti-flood Boots, the nice isoquant curve just became a jagged line not unlike a heartbeat rate.  

That aside, the numbering also slowly bled into their civilian lives:

1.

All of them counted before they entered the GothMart -- Alfred was there too, and suddenly Bruce became number 0. He was there to help Alfred because herding the kids was a massive job.

Dick was back for the weekend to spend time with his “babies” and refused to stay at home, because he wanted to sneak in his grocery list (gummy bears and cereals) into Bruce’s list so he could bring it back to Bludhaven and not spend a dime on it.  

Jason was there because Alfred asked him for help--he was the only one out of the brood with cooking talent and generally all responsible in the kitchen, i.e. Alfred could trust Jason to use his kitchen without blowing it up (shoutout to Tim and Duke who blew the kitchen for the fifth time this year).

Barbara stayed at home, watching over their base, but she was ready with her surveillance just in case they lost one of the broods.

Tim was half dragged, because he had spent the last 30 hours awake doing Bruce-knew-what, and only agreed to be dragged with the promise of sweet, abominable GothMart coffee with pink glitter (a cheap imitation of Starbucks, really) because Tim was fabulous especially after thirty hours of no sleep. And the surprisingly awesome coffee was a dollar--what kind of frugal millionaire didn’t appreciate a dollar of drinkable coffee?

Steph was the one who dragged Tim, with the help of Cass who just returned from Hong Kong for the weekend. Steph wanted to buy some new bras for Cass, something cool and sexy she could enjoy immensely. Bruce was not privy in this knowledge.

Damian was there to ensure his embarrassment of siblings didn’t kill themselves or humiliate the family. Wayne was his legacy afterall, and all of them reflected on his legacy, whether he liked it or not. Duke, the only one whom he could tolerate outside Cassandra (Grayson was mother) just poked his cheek and grinned. Duke might be tolerable, but it didn’t mean Damian didn’t want to stab him sometimes (Drake, on the other hand, looked like a nice pincushion to stab his sword into).

They counted 0 to 8 before they entered, orchestrated by Alfred.  

When they were ready for the checkout, 4, 5, and 6 were missing. Bruce finally found them at the children section, where Tim was busy defending his virginity from a Superboy Plushie, while Steph convulsed with laughter on the floor and Cass video-ed the entire thing.

Bruce refused to buy the cereals (Dick) / sexy lingerie (nope, nope, nope) / kitchen knife collection in black (Damian, as they didn’t need another stabby collection). But Bruce ended up buying the superboy plushie because it had been tainted (the store manager glared at him the whole check out time). At least Tim looked ashamed enough when he was handed the superboy plushie.

2.

The gala was in full swing, full of important people and not-so important moochies. Bruce was entertaining a group of usual donors (important and fun people!) while he saw Tim seriously discussing the stock exchange trends with several old, serious men. Dick was charming the usual group of ladies and young men, while Cass seemed to be hiding behind the potted plan.

Then, just like usual in Gotham, the lights went off. The room suddenly became dark and people started to scream.

“KID COUNT!” Bruce shouted. “Zero,” he added because of habit.

“One!” “Three!” “Four!” “Five and Six!” “Seven.” “Eight” “Nine.”

Wait, did he bring Harper with him? Harper was allergic to this kind of gala--and that was why he never fully adopted her into his Wayne name.

Oh well. The more number he got, the better.

Justice Lady love who?

[huilian]

Old Pains

AO3 Characters: Bruce Wayne, Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson, Cassandra Cain

Summary:Bruce knew his would be a life of pain. From the moment he decided to do this, he knew what it would cost. His time, his body, his soul, every single thing he owned. He chose this, he knew. But pain when you receive an injury is not pain every time you breathe. It is not pain every time you walk. It is not pain every time you want to sleep and found that you can't because all those pains you have pushed away in the day and night all came back to haunt you in your sleep.

A/N:Merry Christmas, have some pain! I had the idea when my ankle was acting up, but uni life got the better of me, so it had went away, but then act up again before I post this fic. That's how long it took to write this. Sorry!

***

Bruce had quite forgotten how it felt to be painless. There was always something bothering him, treading through his consciousness. The mangled joint he called his shoulder, which was always aching. The broken spine, the one he had almost succumbed to. Broken and mended, and then re-broken bones gave phantom pain Bruce could never quite ignore completely. The hundreds upon hundreds scars decorating his skin, which either itch or returned to him the pain he got receiving them. Bruce couldn't quite decide which one was worse, the itchiness or the pain.

Bruce knew his would be a life of pain. From the moment he decided to do this, he knew what it would cost. His time, his body, his soul, every single thing he owned. He chose this, he knew. But pain when you receive an injury is not pain every time you breathe. It is not pain every time you walk. It is not pain every time you want to sleep and found that you can't because all those pains you have pushed away in the day and night all came back to haunt you in your sleep. 

It will someday take his life too, this crusade of his. This he knew. It was not really something he would oppose. He knew that going in. It would take his time, his body, his soul, his life, and every single thing he owned. He would gladly give it. He knew that going in. 

He did not know that there would be others that would share this pain with him. 

Bruce did not know everything there is to know about Damian. It was a mistake he was trying to correct, but it was hard the way chasing a kitten is hard. The kitten itself would not come to you if he didn’t trust you, and the more you chase it, the harder it would run. Damian had not trusted Bruce, with a yet in that sentence if Bruce was feeling particularly hopeful that day. He had to keep reminding himself to let Damian come to him instead of chasing Damian around demanding answers. (It was Dick who gave him the kitten metaphor. It was very apt. It seemed that Dick knew Damian better than Bruce would ever be able to know him.) 

Bruce would try this way of letting Damian take the lead for some more time, then he would go and ask Dick again. It did not seem to work, because Damian had not gone to Bruce for anything at all, not from the smallest of things to the important ones. 

Like his spine. Damian’s spine. 

Damian was not even twelve yet. He had not gone through puberty, had not felt the awkward changes to his own body that would make doing a simple maneuver felt like trying to juggle ten maneuvers at once. He had not even been to high school. 

And yet, sometimes Bruce would find him laying down on his bed, clutching a hot compress to his back. The first few times Bruce just thought he had sprained something, and let him be. Damian did not appreciate it when you needle him with small things. But it happened again. And again. And again. 

Bruce was a detective. He was good at this. He knew what repeated pain in the spine meant. He knew that Damian would be feeling this pain for the rest of his life. Bruce wished Damian would have a long life, living until all his wishes and dreams had come true, but he knew even if Damian lived a long life, this pain would haunt him for the rest of his days. And Bruce would never wish pain on any of his children. 

"Damian?" Bruce asked. 

"Yes, Father." Damian said. He did not offer any other information. It had been like this every time Bruce asked Damian something. Damian expects you to already know what was happening in his life, and would never offer any additional information. It didn’t help that Dick was the one caring for him before. Dick could see through Damian as easily as he could see through Bruce, and would not need any more information. 

Bruce decided to go through this another way. “Have I told you the story of when I broke my back?” 

That got Damian’s attention. The boy was always interested in hearing Bruce’s stories as Batman. Maybe it was because he was raised to see Batman as something that should be attained, but nevertheless, it suited Bruce’s purposes for now. 

“No, Father, I believe you have not told me this story yet. I think that Mother or Grayson may have mentioned it, but I would be glad to hear the full story of it.” 

Bruce sat down on the sofa, and expected Damian to do the same. He did not disappoint. Bruce watched Damian sitting down on the sofa, cataloguing every movement he makes. There is no pain, not today, at the very least. Not from recent injuries nor from old ones. No pain on Damian’s back, at least for today. 

As Bruce began the story of how Bane had broken his back, and everything that entails from it, he realized that this was not the story children usually hear about their parents. Any other twelve-year-old would not be hearing about the time a criminal broke their father’s back. Any other twelve-year-old would not be taking notes on how to improve in their capabilities as a fighter from this story. But Damian was not any other twelve year olds. 

It should concern Bruce that the parts he was glossing over was not the violence, nor the destruction. No. The parts that Bruce was glossing over this story was Dick and Tim’s brief partnership as Batman and Robin, because he knew that Damian would take offense in that. Damian would not be bothered by the violence, because he had lived all his life in it. He had borne the marks of that, from the way he moved, to the way he did not move. The way he would bite his tongue instead of screaming out in pain. The way he hides his pain even though it bothered him every single day. 

As Bruce finished his tale, he very deliberately gave out lists of things that would lessen the pain, if not relieve if immediately. He gave out strategies to deal with back pain as a part of his story, knowing that Damian would be able to pick it up. A smart child, this one. How lucky was Bruce to be able to have him, and how it broke Bruce’s hearts that he missed ten years of Damian’s life. 

When Bruce saw Damian implementing the strategies he told him in the story, he pretended not to notice. Not just because Damian would stop using that tried and true methods if he even suspected for a second Bruce would not agree with it, but because he truly did not know how to feel about it. He was glad that he could bring relief to Damian’s pain, but at the same time, a child of twelve should not be dealing with spine problems. And so Bruce pretended he didn’t notice, and made a note to keep the heat packs always stocked. 

Bruce did not realize that Tim had worn his ankle brace to patrol. 

Tim had periodically worn the ankle brace off and on; Bruce had expected that. Any joint that is prone to injury, yet still used again and again will need to be supported. The ankle is one, the knee is another, and yet another is the shoulder. Bruce's most painful one is mostly the shoulder, even though all of those joints hurt on a daily basis. That is why he was not surprised to see Tim sporting an ankle brace. It was easy enough to explain too, most of the active children had a brace somewhere on their body, and Tim was notoriously a skateboarder. 

Tim had not skateboarded in so long, not since he became the CEO of Wayne Industries. He had not worn those ankle brace in quite some time either. 

Bruce just realized that Tim had worn his ankle brace underneath his costume when he returned from patrol. It was not weird that Tim had worn it, it was weird that Bruce did not realize that as something pressing. 

Had this really become their reality? Of pains and aches everywhere?

"Is your ankle okay?" Bruce asked. 

Tim startled. It was as if he didn't expect Bruce to care about this. It was as if he didn't expect Bruce to care about him. 

(Bruce cared. Of course he cared. It was just expressing it was sometimes difficult.)

"Yeah, it's fine. It's just acting out, you know?"

Bruce knew. He knew intimately how that felt. Bruce still wished none of his children have to feel that. 

"Do you need to take a break from patrol?"

"What?" Tim genuinely sound confused. Is it that confusing for Bruce to want his children to be safe? "It's nothing Bruce, just my ankle acting up. It does that sometimes. Nothing to worry about.” Tim shrugged. “I’ll be fine. It’s not going to be a liability on patrol.” 

Did Tim really think that Bruce only cared for him being a liability on patrol? Bruce just didn’t want his children to be feeling pain on a daily basis, not like he is feeling pain on a daily basis, but it seemed like all of them are. Tim, who is not out of his teens yet, who is not legally allowed to drink yet, is already feeling pain that will stay with him for the rest of his life. This was not supposed to happen. Bruce was supposed to protect them from this. 

“I’ll take it easy tomorrow if you’re that worried, Bruce, but honestly, I’m fine. I’ve been having this on and off for years now. It didn’t bother me that much anymore.” 

Bruce took from that sentence that it used to bother Tim, but he ignored it because he saw Bruce ignoring his own pain and thought he should too, and now it didn’t bother him anymore. It was not as reassuring as Tim no doubt meant it to be. 

Bruce wanted to say so many things. Bruce wanted to keep this precious child that he had been given safe and sound. Bruce did not do any of those things. Words are not his forte, especially words filled with emotions. He could play with it just fine, could solve questions and intellectual riddles, but when it came to emotions? Bruce did what he had always done. He grunted. 

Tim laughed. He honestly laughed. Why is he laughing? His safety is not a laughing matter. 

“Good night, Bruce.” Tim smiled, and then he head up to the Manor, hopefully to get some sleep. He had not been sleeping enough. (Bruce is aware that he is being a hypocrite, but he is allowed to be a hypocrite if it’s for the wellbeing of his children.) 

It was good to hear Tim laugh. He had not done that nearly enough too. 

“Bruce!” 

“Yes, Jason?” Bruce would still not be able to comprehend that his child, his Jason, is here in the Manor. He never imagined that he would be able to see Jason again, to hear him again. He never thought he’d be able to see Jason all grown up, instead of the lanky teenager he was before… Before. 

It was a gift that Jason was in the Manor, because it was very rare. It was even rarer that he would walk around the way he is now. Shirtless, with his whole torso open??. 

Bruce was still bitter that Jason grew up to be taller than him. Mostly because while he was a child, Jason was short. It figures that he would be the one to finally be taller than Bruce. But what really struck Bruce the most was how rigid and muscled up his boy had become. Oh, he had muscles as a child too, he wouldn’t be Robin without it, but it was not to this extent. Batman was supposed to be a shield, and so Bruce cultivated his body to be such. Broad and able to take the most damage. He did not want any of his children to make themselves to be like that too. (He did not want any of his children to make themselves take damage. He was supposed to take that damage for them.) 

Nevertheless, Jason is as broad as Bruce is now. Bruce had known it, had seen Jason with this new stature that is so different yet similar to his stature as a child, but with armor and uniform on, Bruce hadn’t really registered that Jason is now very, very different than the skinny, lanky child he had been. 

Bruce had also never seen the scars that littered Jason’s torso. Some of it Bruce knew he got from before Bruce had ever met him. Life on the streets in Gotham is harsh, doubly so if you are a child. Some Jason got from his tenure as Robin. Some, Bruce knew is a remnant from… the explosion. Most disturbingly, there is much more that Bruce didn’t know where those came from. 

Bruce knew, or suspected, that Jason had training before he came back to Gotham. He must have. His skillset is so much more diverse and honed than it was when he was Robin. Bruce never thought about, or didn’t want to think about, what kind of training that he would have gotten. 

Bruce was not a kind teacher. He knew that. He trained his children so that they could live. That result would not be from kindness. Gotham streets are not kind, and so Bruce trained them the way Gotham streets would treat them. But he was not harsh, either. He would not injure them for training purposes. Training is training, not grounds for punishment. 

Jason was hurt a lot during those years he was away. That much Bruce knew. Bruce wants to go hunt out those people and make them pay, yet he knew he would never do that. (He knew once he started, he won’t stop.)

“Bruce!” A snap of fingers. “Hey, Bruce, are you listening to what I say?” 

Bruce blinked. Cleared his mind. “Sorry, Jay. What were you saying?” 

“Did you know where Alfred put his cleaning supplies? I spilled marinara sauce on my sweater and I need to soak it, like, now. I won’t get it out if I don’t.” 

Bruce knows a lot of things, and Bruce knows most of the things in the Manor, but the location of the cleaning supplies was not a thing that he knew, or that Alfred deemed it fit to let him know. “I don’t know, Jay. Maybe ask Alfred?” 

Jason scrunched up his face. It looked exactly the same as the expression he used to have as a child. “Yeah, I should have known you wouldn’t know. Should have gone to Alfred right away. See ya, B.” 

As Jason walked away, still muttering under his breath, Bruce was greeted with the sight of Jason’s back, which had as many scars as Jason’s torso. Bruce wanted to ask how he got those scars. Bruce wanted to keep him safe so that there would be no more scars on Jason. Bruce wanted to ask if those scars bother him as much as Bruce’s own bothers Bruce, and Bruce wanted to share his tricks to mitigating the pain. But most of all, Bruce wanted to take all those scars and injuries, now and at the time they were inflicted, and let Jason be free of it all. 

Jason being in the Manor is as rare as it is. Bruce did not want to lose that. (The last time Bruce said something Jason didn’t like, he didn’t come to the Manor for months, not even to see Alfred. Bruce did not want that to happen again.) Bruce kept his mouth shut, and watched Jason walk away from him. 

Bruce would like to think he knew Dick. Bruce had spent almost half of his life with Dick, and that was the majority of Dick's life. But Bruce did not even really knew Alfred, and he had spent all of his life with him. So. He did not know Dick as well as he would have wished to. 

He did not know the story of every scar on Dick's body. There was once a time that he knew that: a time when Dick would tell it excitedly to him and he would pretend not to freak out because this was a child, his child, and he had gotten hurt. Now Dick tend to hide his injuries from him, or simply disappear until that injuries had healed. Bruce knew that Dick is a more than capable vigilante, and an adult. But Bruce will never be able to see him being hurt without remembering the nine-year-old boy. 

The man before him had many more scars and injuries than that nine-year-old boy. 

"B, stop staring," Dick said without even removing his hands from his eyes. It was like he had a sixth sense of knowing when Bruce was staring at him. (He probably did. Bruce had stared at him for so long that he would.) 

Bruce grunted.

“I’m fine, B. There’s no new injuries I’m hiding from you this time.” 

This time. Bruce wished that Dick would not hide any injuries from him at all, but of course that is not what happens. Bruce grunted again. 

“Ugh, fine! It’s the leg. I miscalculated someone’s weight and didn’t land as I should have. It’s fine. I’ll go and get the heat pack in a moment. I know I should have known better, and I should take more care of my leg. Just...let me stay here for a minute, okay?” 

Bruce loved it that the two of them could communicate without him saying anything. Dick had been with Bruce almost from the very beginning of it all. There is no need for him to say anything. But sometimes, like now, Dick did not understand fully what Bruce meant. Bruce knew Dick was expecting a lecture on thinking before leaping, or to amp up his training as to not make anymore mistakes like this again. Bruce knew Dick interpreted his scowl as displeasure on him making a mistake. 

This was not the case. Bruce’s scowl was because Dick had been hurt, again, in the crusade that was not his to begin with. Bruce wanted to say that to Dick, to let him know that he was both proud and worried about Dick’s achievements. But he will never say that, not in any foreseeable future, anyway. 

So Bruce did the next best thing. He went and took the heat pack from the (very big and extensive) first aid kit, and put it on the very spot that is hurting on Dick’s leg. Bruce knew precisely where it is. That injury, and every other injuries Dick had sustained during his lengthy career as Robin, Nightwing, and Batman, were his fault, because he was the one who put Dick in that costume. If he could not stop it from happening, then Bruce would memorize every single spot that Dick, and the rest of his children, had been injured in. 

(The spots that he knew of, anyway. Bruce was not so blind as to not know that there are many, many injuries his children hide from him. It broke his heart to know it.) 

Then Bruce put his hand on Dick’s shoulder, and kept watch as Dick went to sleep. 

“Cassandra?” 

The girl in question was sitting on a bench, staring at her leg. She gave no indication that she had heard him, but Bruce was sure that she had. 

So he spoke again. “Cassandra?” 

When even the second mention of her name elicit no response, Bruce walked to where she was sitting and crouched in front of her. “Cassandra?” 

She did not smile. She did not acknowledge him in any visible way, but he knew that she knows he is there. Her hand did not move from its position in her back. 

Oh. How could he not realize that when he came in? Bruce may not know every single injury on Cass’ body, but this one is hard to miss. David Cain was lucky that Batman did not do worse to him. 

Bruce lifted his hand, and slowly reached for Cass’ back, to the spot she was touching too. Cass wordlessly shifted herself to let Bruce touch it. God. She had been hurt here before, had been shot here and expected not to flinch as a girl, yet she still let herself be touched by Bruce. 

Bruce let his hand stay on Cass’ back. She finally looked into Bruce’s eyes. Bruce looked back. 

Moments passed. Words did not. They just looked at each other. 

Then finally, Cass smiled. A small one, unlike the ones she usually give him. (Cass have multitudes of smiles, and Bruce had the biggest one directed at him. It was a privilege he knew he did not deserve.) Bruce smiled back.

Bruce knew going in that his would be a life of pain. He did not regret any of his choices that led to this life. He regretted that his children’s life would be a life of pain too. 

[edyacouky]

Journey to the Past (1/10)

Hi everyone ! So here the first chapter of my JayRoy AU!Anastasia (movie 1997)

Hope the person who vote for it didn’t wait too long and won’t be disapointed. ＾ω＾

All of you enjoy your reading and don’t hesitate tell me what you think about it.

Can be read on AO3

                                                        ~*~

For Jason Peter Todd, there is a before and an after he meets King Wayne.

Before, he wakes up because of a loud terrifying sound, because of hunger and cold.

One day where he was particularly desperate, he decides to steal the tires of a luxury vehicle parked on Crime Alley at night.

Truly it wasn’t his fault that the owner was so stupid. And he will take the time to feel guilty when his stomach will be full.

He was already taken three of the tires when someone catches him by his vest.

“What the fucking hell?! Jason yelps

-That’s my line, kid. Where are my tires?”

Fuck. Fuck! The owner asks it calmly but in the street, Jason saw the nicer people outside being the most horrible inside.

He was so dead but he won’t give up without a fight.

“I don’t know what you mean old man. I just get by when I saw what happen to your car.

-So what for your tire iron?”

The owner’s face tells something to Jason but he was too panicked for his memories to work well.

“This!” He just said before hit this guy in his stomach and run

When he arrives to the empty apartment he was squatting, he take the time to breath and let the felling of dizziness goes. He really needs to eat soon.

First he has to sell the tires but he can’t do that with this guy looking for him. It would have to wait till tomorrow. He falls asleep, or just faint, on that thought.

What wakes up him was an odor of greasy hot fast food. His stomach gurgle at that but he was feeling too sick to be alert enough to understand where this smell came from.

He almost jumps at the window when he saw this weird guy for earlier seating next to his tires. The bag containing the food was next to Jason feet.

“What the hell, old man? Who found your stupid tires! Take them and leave me alone!

-Eat first.

-You bring the food for me? Why?

-See that as an advance.

-An advance for what?

-For putting back my tires.

-Do it yourself, big boobs!

-You prefer I go to the police. What’s your parent will think of that?

-Look around you, you stupid. You really believe I have parent?”

Jason must be more tired than he though. It was stupid to admit he was alone, defenseless.

“More reason for you to eat. And don’t make me call the cops.”

This guy was right. An orphan in cell, even juvenile cell, will not last longer.

Despite his better instinct, Jason eats everything the guy brings him.

“Take your time. You will bite your finger.”

Jason doesn’t listen to him. Who know if suddenly the food will be taking away from him?

He was so happy to not being hungry anymore that he accepts help the guy put back his tires. After all, the food was an advance maybe he will give him some money.

But when the job was done, he wanted Jason to get in his car.

“Dude, what for?

-The temperature will drop tonight. You can stay in this apartment. I bring you somewhere warm with food.

-Sound like a trap.

-Do you prefer be arrest.”

Again, Jason does an effort for not listening to his instinct. He wasn’t too hopeful about this guy will do to him but he realizes he was too tired to care.

Suddenly when he saw the Wayne’s Castle, Jason screams.

“Fuck! You’re the King!

-You realize that just know?

-Why should I think the King will be alone on Crime Alley at night? It doesn’t make any sense!

-I came to pay homage to my parent.

-Oh fuck! I steal to the King. I steal to the King the day your parent died. I’m so dead.”

This guy, The King Wayne, just laugh at Jason distress.

He brings him to the kitchen where an old man was still wake up and doesn’t seem surprise by Jason’s presence.

“Are you still hungry or thirsty, young man? He asks to Jason

-Thirsty. He admits after a moment

-Take place. I will serve you.”

Jason drinks the most delicious hot cocoa he has the chance to drink while the King asking about a room.

“Everything is ready.” The butler, Alfred, if Jason hears well

Then the King takes him to a room to change, Jason starts to panic but try not to show it.

“I am not a prostitute.

-I am not …”

Jason was sure the King will throw up on his expensive carpet and it reassures him a little.

“I can assure you I am having no sexual interest for child. Neither have I slept with someone without their consent.

-How do you know?

-What?

-Well … You’re the King, right? How do you know that the people who sleep with don’t feel obligate to do it? After all, you could make their life a living hell. Did you only sleep with other King or Queen?

-I never think about that like that. Bruce admits after a long pause. But I can assure you, I will not have sex with you. No one here will touch you without your consent. Wear your pajamas and go to sleep. Tomorrow, we will discuss about your future in the Castle.”

Jason stays awake a long moment that night. He was too afraid about this conversation. But the bed was too comfortable and he was too tired.

Jason would have been delight if he has to serve the Court. The servants have a life nice enough. But King Wayne; Bruce, tell him he will be his pupil. Like Richard Grayson before him. But at general surprise, the Council authorizes Jason, the street rat, to be adopted by the King.

After his meeting with Bruce Wayne, he wakes up in a comfortable and warm bed, his stomach always full.

He never really understands how lucky he gets. Not only the King didn’t want him dead for stealing him, but he also takes him to live in the castle.

At twelve years old, Jason becomes one of the most important people on the Country. After the King, but more than his eighteen years old kind of big brother, Richard Grayson who wasn’t recognize as the King’s son.

Jason though it was as weird as unfair. Not only Richard, that wanted to be calling Dick, was more appreciated by the Court than him, but he seems to be a future excellent leader.

“Why? Dick exclaims one private evening

-Dick, please.

-I do everything I can so you can be proud of me for six years.

-I am proud of you.

-So why this kid who appear to nowhere to rob you get to be the official heir, while I am still only your pupil?

-I don’t know. Bruce admits. I don’t understand why the Council refuses to let me adopt you.

-You are the King. Why don’t impose your choice?

-A king can’t rule without the Council. Like you said, you’re here since six years. Don’t you know yet that I have to compromise with them every day?

-If it was really important for you, if you see me as a son, I will be recognize as such already!

-You’re not fair.”

Dick glances at Jason before answering:

“I don’t care if you adopt other kids. You could have a hundred children if you want. But why …?”

Dick’s voice broke before he leaves the room without letting a chance to Bruce for reply.

                                                       ~*~

Barbara sight loudly and she rolls her eyes Dick was afraid they will fall.

“It is serious Babs. Dick scolds her

-Every two weeks you said the same thing.

-Now things had change. The Council accepts Jason as an heir! I don’t understand why?

-Look, the Council realize that Bruce will never married and never have biological children. Yeah we all hear their argument: “Jason is born in Gotham, and he is Jewish. And you’re not”. But truly it was the only way they found for admit Bruce was right saying you were his sons without admit they were wrong about you.

-But it is not fair. Dick said pitifully

-I know.”

Barbara hugs Dick who cries. The live in the Court was so difficult to support, fortunately Dick have good close friends.

                                                       ~*~ 

Knowing that the Council could make the King disown Jason as an heir if he wasn’t perfect, he did his best to deserve the chance life gave him.

The first lessons were really frustrating because they had at first; teach him things a younger kid should know. Most of the time when there were finish, Jason goes cry in his room because he thought he was too stupid.

But he loves learning so much and he never know enough, Jason managed to catch up and success easily in his History and Literature classes.

“Prince Jason, I thought that your lessons were finish for today. Alfred said when he saw the little Prince read an enormous book on his desk

-They are. Why? Did you need my help?

-Prince Jason, for the last time I serve you not the other way around. What did you read then?

-“Factitious disorder imposed on another (FDIA) Or when the society isolates the sick” by Doctor Harleen Quinzel.

-What such serious book to read for take a break. I was expecting you to read one of Jane Austen.

-It is a really good book, and terrifying.

-How so?

-It’s just … some situations look like what I saw at Crime Alley … and no one did anything. No one do anything.

-Oh, Prince Jason.”

Alfred was surprised every day how this young kid could move him.

“I’m sorry. That’s just stupid. Jason said while he wiped his tears

-No it isn’t. Alfred comforts him, putting his hand on Jason’s shoulder. And you know what?

-What?

-With your point of view of Crime Alley and the other desolate areas, you could maybe tell your Father how effectively help the population.

-Why should he listen to me? I am just a kid.

-The King has listen to Master Richard about difficulty that people from circus could encounter.

-Really?

-You may have to prepare a report with all your arguments and your solutions, but yes, the King will listen to you.

-I can really help people then? I am not here just to be pretty.

-Well, you will become a gorgeous man without a doubt. But no, Prince Jason, you are not here just to be pretty.

-Will you help me, with the report?

-It would be my pleasure.”

It takes almost one year for Jason to finish the report and have the nerve to show it to Bruce. He was so nervous that he throws it to Bruce’s desk before he can find his word.

“What is it, Jaylad?

-Nothing.

-Are you sure? It seems like it’s an important work for which someone has put all his heart.

-It’s stupid. I will understand if you don’t want to read it. That was stupid. Sorry.”

Jason tries to take back his report but Bruce opens it. Jason blushes furiously. He shouldn’t have listened to Alfred. Who Jason though he was to tell the King what he should do?

He wants to run but the fear paralyzes him. He wants to cry but doesn’t look like weak. He can’t even look Bruce’s face.

He must regret bring a Mister-I-Know-Everything to his life.

He jumps when Bruce suddenly stands up. How long did they stay like that?

Before he can say sorry, Bruce enlace him.

“Damn, Jason. I never knew half of what happen in Crime Alley.

-I didn’t do that for pity, Bruce. Jason groan embarrassed by the emotion in Bruce’s voice

-I know. But when I think of what could happen to you …”

Jason closes his eyes and put his hand on Bruce’s back.

“This things happen every day, Bruce.

-I know now. I will do everything I can to stop that.” Bruce promises him and Jason never feel more loved and listen before in his life

                                                       ~*~

To be the perfect heir, Jason has to be an excellent warrior too.

Despite their busy schedule, Bruce and Dick help him with his training in combat. Jason was truly surprised by the fact that Dick train with him even though he have every reason to hate him.

One time when Dick makes him fall in the ground because Jason hasn’t a solid guard, he jokes:

“I’m sure you train with me only for beat me.

-I will not lie, it’s a plus. Dick smile

-Keep laughing Goldie. Next time, I will make you bite the dust.

-You can always try, Littlewing.”

Dick has temper but Jason has a big mouth so they do a funny duo for the people who watch them train.

But mostly his trainer was Selina Kyle. She is a funny woman who is a fearing opponent. Jason likes her because even if she mocks him sometimes, she treats him like an adult, and she was also raised in Crime Alley. She knows him in a way no one in the Castle could understand him.

It was a childish wish but he wishes that one day, Selina and Bruce stop to flirt to get married. She is not exactly mom material but she makes an excellent big sister and Bruce happy.

He tries to make subtle comment about how perfect they will be together. But the adults just laugh and do like they don’t understand.

“Oh Kitten, Selina said, what do you want me to do with Bruce?

-Don’t you love?

-Depends which mask in wear.

-Which mask? What do you mean?

-He is not the same person with the Council, with you, with me …

-Which mask do you prefer then?

-Women need to have secret.” She smile with a wink

Jason pouts at this answer.

“Look, Kitten if you beat me I will answer you. Deal?

-Deal!”

Unfortunately, he didn’t beat her.

Sometimes the other opponents were some aristocrats. They were obviously against have him as their future monarch; especially since Jason encourage many laws for the poorest. But they can’t say anything directly. Jason says nothing about the real reason behind this bruise and bleeding.

“Jaylad if you don’t tell me what’s going on I can’t help you. Bruce tries to reason him

-I was in training. It’s normal I have some injuries. I have some when I fight against you too.

-Not like that.

-I’m fine, B.”

Bruce doesn’t believe him but without Jason’s testimony, he can’t punish this stupid rich kid and their stupid parent.

It doesn’t bother Jason because he knows that someday, they will stop making fun of him.

                                                       ~*~

With the years, Jason starts to be loved by Gotham’s people and other countries leaders. Jason especially loves when Princess Diana of Themyscira visits the country.

She was beautiful, strong and wise. Awkward with children but she talks to him like he is an adult. Plus, when she comes, the castle is always full of ice cream.

“Master Jason, Alfred scold him, this is not for you.

-I have to be sure it is not poisoned before it given to Princess Diana.”

                                                       ~*~

For Jason, life was good.

He even gets to celebrate his Bat Mitzvah at his thirteen. He lost hope that he gets one after the death of his two parents.

Of course, all of that become some kinds of political issue because of the Council. That count the point about which leader will be invited, which one will come in person or an ambassador, which present they will give. But Alfred, Bruce and Dick make sure it stays a familial event for Jason.

They give him their official present in front of everyone and their real present in private.

Bruce’s gift was a Star of David pendant where in the back was write “Don’t let fear dictate your behavior”. With stealing, Jason knows that it wasn’t cheat but that it wasn’t new ever.

He looks curiously at Bruce. He loves it and he didn’t care if it was a secondhand. It just doesn’t look like Bruce.

“It was at my mother. Bruce answer to his silent question

-What? Bruce, this is too much! I can’t accept.

-Why not? You’re my son. She will be delight that you have it.

-It’s just …”

Jason can’t help himself but glance at Dick. First, the pendant was too beautiful and he doesn’t deserve it. And he already feels guilty about the way he was treated compared to Dick.

“It was his father’s. Dick said gently showing him the watch he always wears

-No matter what the Council says, you are both my sons. Bruce confirms. And I know my parents will have loved you so much.”

Dick and Jason smile.

“So may I?” Bruce asks to Jason showing him the pendant

Unable to say a word so much he was moved; Jason nods and almost cries when the pendant fell on his chest.

“I will take care of it. Jason promises

-I know.”

Life was so good for Jason; even the movement against the regime didn’t worry him much.

This crazy anarchist Joker and his gang make actions to destabilize the kingdom for years. Unsuccessfully. Either they were too stupid to success or they weren’t really motivated.

But since one of Joker’s attack hurt Barbara, making her paralyzes and so stops her promising career military, Bruce was worried, almost paranoid. He refuses Dick leave Gotham for doing his military service, but he wasn’t an heir so he has no legal way to obligate him.

At twenty years old, Dick leaves from Bludhaven.

“Everything will be alright Jason.

-Of course. I am not a little kid anymore, you know Circus boy?

-You could repeat that when you will be taller than me, Littlewing.”

At that moment, Jason realizes how much Dick protects him against loneliness caused by their role for the Kingdom.

                                                       ~*~

At fifteen years old, Jason gets a chance to prove to Bruce he was right to take him.

“I could come with you for this diplomat mission; he told to Bruce, the subject of the meeting is the future of your nations, right? As heir, I am part of the future of Gotham like all the children we have to take care.

-That’s true that you are gifted with sweet talk.

-So ….? Can I go?”

Bruce seems to hesitate a long moment.

“Ok.

-For real?

-Yeah. I will discuss with the guard to assure your security and you will have follow strict rules, understand?

-Yeah! Anything! You will not regret it!”

If only they knew.

                                                       ~*~

The meeting happens in another continent, in a country that success stay neutral in most of the conflict that happen the last century. In this way, none of the guest could have resentment against this country or the leader.

While Bruce and Jason prepare themselves for the evening, Bruce surprises his son when he informs him he orders a new tuxedo for Jason for the occasion.

“It wasn’t necessary. Jason said smiling when he sees how beautiful the tissue was.

-Of course it was. Today you will represent all the children of Gotham. You have to be at your best.”

Jason put his tuxedo and looks at himself at the mirror.

“What? Jason asks when he saw how Bruce looks at him

-I just can’t believe how big you are now. I am still remembering this little kid who tells to his King that he was “a big boob”.

-I wasn’t that bad.

-No. Bruce laughs. And now you’re almost a man.”

Jason swaggers at that.

“I am a man. Jason retorts. We did my Bat Mitzvah when I was thirteen.

-Yes, you’re right.

-I am always right. Jason jokes

-I am really proud of you, son. Bruce tells him after a pause

-Thanks dad. But I don’t even say my speech. Maybe I’ll ruin everything.

-No you won’t. Don’t worry about that.”

They leave the hostel where they had a suite in to the Palace of the Kingdom. It was the Jason’s first mission and he does everything he can so it was perfect.

He salutes everybody; remember every name and every custom. He didn’t even stay at the buffet; he was too afraid he will stain his new costume or that someone will talk to him when he was eating.

They were finally taking place to listen to the different speech and start the negotiation for a new treated. Quickly that Jason expected it is his turn to speak in front of everyone.

He collects himself while he puts his note on the desk. He is so nervous for a moment he though he will be unable to talk and be ridiculous in front of all this important leader. While he inhales, he meets his father’s gaze. Bruce is calm and looks at him with self-confidence.

“Everything will be alright” Jason hears his father without need to talk.

And when Jason exhales, he is ready.

“Greetings everyone. If I stand before you today it is to speak on behalf of children, those of Gotham and those of all nations.

Our future lies between their hands. That is why it is our responsibility to provide all children, regardless of their birth, with education, access to clean water and food, and care. That's why we have an obligation to guarantee freedom for all children.

Among the treaties to be signed, one of them would put an end once and for all to the trafficking of children around the world.

These abominable traffickers, these monsters, kidnap children in each of our countries. They treat them as commodities, objects responding to a demand. They tear them out of their homes without distinction of gender and class.

And the only way to stop them is to join forces, to facilitate the transmission of information between our police forces. To create a world organization whose mission is to eradicate the trafficking of children, to protect them.

In the name of the future of our countries, on behalf of children, I beg you to put aside our differences. I beg you to set up this organization. I beg you to protect them.

I hope you will make the right decision.

Thank you for your attention.”

A thunder of applause resounds in all the room. Jason is bright with proud and joy. He did it. He was heard, all Gotham’s children were heard by him. He makes Bruce proud. At this moment he feels unstoppable, immortal.

Then craziness starts.

An explosion sound, surprising everyone. The front gate was destroyed by that explosion and suddenly an hundred, maybe a thousand of armed civilian enter the court and were coming for them.

Jason tries to rejoin his father as much as Bruce didn’t listen to his guards to come near him. When they fall in each other arms, Jason feels a little embarrassed by how relief he was. He was almost a man after all.

“What’s going on?

-An attack. We have to go to our vehicle and leave the country.

-What about the innocent? What about the government of this country? We can’t leave them.

-Jason, first your security then we will make a plan to save the day.

-But the children …

-Not now. Jason, I know it’s hard and awful but if we don’t leave we will die. Do you understand?

-I do.

-Good. Hold my hand and don’t drop it.”

Jason wanted to argue about that but a Queen push him while she was running and make him loose Bruce on moment. He supposes he can bear to hold his father’s hand.

For a moment, Jason though that they panic for nothing, because Bruce was so calm. But then, a group faces them and Jason knows the eyes they had. They were hungrier of blood and revenge. They even killed unarmed innocent servants.

“Run.” Bruce orders and Jason obeys

They were running, holding their hands. But the angry civilians come from every door, every windows. They were organizing in some way because none of them have improvised weapon and they have successfully block all the outings.

They were block in a room. They closed the door but some people start trying to push it.

“If it doesn’t have change … Bruce mumble while touching the wall. Ah!”

A click then a little opening appears.

“Jason, go.

-But it is too little for you.

-That’s ok. I will find you later.

-No. No! I can’t let you here. I am staying with you! Jason cries

-No you’re not. Go away.

-No. You tell me not drop your hand.

-And now I am telling you to go.

-No. Please. I don’t want to let you. I don’t want to be alone out there.

-Jason, do you trust me?

-What …?

-Do you trust me?

-Yeah I do.

-Then listen to me. I will not telling you to do that if it was dangerous. You will be safe.

-But what if they kill you? Jason murmurs afraid

-That won’t happen.

-You can’t know that.

-Yes I can. Because nothing will stop me to find you later. Ok?”

Jason can’t talk more with his tears. But he nods and hugs his father as strong and long as he can before he goes to by the opening.

Unfortunately, in the room there were other people as determined as the other to kill him. He was too small and quick for them so he manages to leave the room. He tries to escape them but Jason realizes quickly that he was going nowhere any exist. He was keep taking stair after stair in direction of the roof.

He takes his chance and enters in a room. Almost immediately, an arrow was aimed in his direction.

“Prince Todd?”

Jason knew this boy and sight with relief.

“Prince Harper. Where is King Queen?

-Where is King Wayne? Roy asks bitterly but regrets it when he saw the sorrow expression of Jason. Look, barricade the door while I try to get us out of here.”

Jason obeys while Roy hooks a cord to his arrow and shoots.

“I will go first. To be sure it is solid enough. You stay here and you wait for my signal, ok?”

Jason wanted to ask him which signal he will use but Roy disappear by the window.

“Unbelievable.” Jason groans glance worried at the door

He could hear them coming near him. It would be just a second. And his father was still somewhere, maybe beaten, maybe dead. Jason didn’t want to think about that but the though keep harass him.

From where Jason was, he saw Roy moves one of his arms. Maybe that was the signal. Jason wanted to keep looking to be sure but at the same time the door was broken and it didn’t have other choice to jump.

Everything was going fine. He was almost where Roy waiting for him when he feels something weird. One of the revolutionary had cut the cord. Before he can reach the building, he falls to the ground.

He takes him a moment but he stand up. Roy was calling him desperately so Jason makes him a sign to reassure him.

“Prince Todd, at your right!”

Jason turns his head and scream with furor and terror. There was more revolutionary and he has to keep running.

                                                       ~*~

Bruce would have killed himself how he was angry. Just after Jason disappear, there were more shot outside the room and the door finally broke but not for letting in revolutionaries. It was the guards that come save them.

“My King! We have to shelter you. Our reports inform us that the anarchy Joker is behind this attack. He will come for you.

-What is he doing here? He never leaves Gotham before.

-We don’t know yet. Our priority is your security.

-I will not leave without my son.

-My King, one team is already looking for him …

-I will not leave without my son.”

He tries to find Jason everywhere with the help of the guards. At a moment one of them saw Prince Todd jump by a window.

“Here My King!” A guard yells showing Jason

Bruce’s heart almost stops when he saw his son fall. But knowing that he escape the Palace, he agree to leave this place too. He goes in the city, hoping to find Jason.

There were so many dead, gunshot, screaming and tears. But all he can think of was Jason.

Finally, finally, he saw him across a street.

“Jason! He calls him

-Dad!” His son saw him too and they start running to each other

But the crowd was too panicked and they never reach each other.

One gunshot touches Jason and if it wasn’t enough the person who did it was Joker ridding on horse. His laughing become louder as he came close to Jason to catch his vest before he fall on the ground to drag the young boy.

Bruce run after them and he run and he run.

But he didn’t catch them. His son disappears in front of his eyes.

And what happens to Prince Jason Peter Todd becomes part of legends.

                                                       ~*~

There were a few rumors. One say everything must have been organize by the pupil Grayson who after the event become Prince Grayson, heir of the throne with Bludhaven as his principality. Other that Joker makes each member of his gang eats a piece of Prince Todd’s body. Some pretend have seen the Prince in some harem of a faraway country. As a prostitute or as a customer depending who tell the story.

And the rumor only grows because the King Wayne refuses to believe in his son’s death. Not only did he mobilize part of his army to find him, but he also promises a reward to anyone who brings him the lost Prince.

But the true is, even today, the Lost Prince didn’t return to his home.

[bluboothalassophile]

This Never Happened

Hello, this is @randomshadow85 who gave me a lovely request for some Cat Mom love, and that kind of has evolved into this so I hope you enjoy this multipart snippets! =)

Hopes for a Bastard Universe

Selina had soon learnt, upon saying vows with Bruce that she was now not only responsible for herself and Helena, but now she had willingly forged DNA report, legal documents, even a forgery worthy of the greatest praises stating she and Bruce had conceived and had a child named Jason Todd. Bruce had even drafted a statement about a hospital mix up and how Selina had thought she lost the baby. It wasn’t a stretch, Bruce was off floundering around with that bitch, and Selina had been in Gotham briefly; around Jason birth, so it wasn’t that far of a stretch. Leslie had helped with the forge, after she had secured Jason’s agreement, naturally.

Of course she already had Helena, and unwittingly she had adopted Terry because the baby had grown on her, which was what had her accepting this new reality.

Selina had adopted not one Bat but the four extras.

Dick, Cass, Tim, and Damian were all hers’ now. Hers, and she was seriously beginning to contemplate legally adopting all of them.

No matter, this brought her to the serious moment of her new motherhood, four months into her marriage as she bounced her knee and waited impatiently for her first Robin to notice her presence.

It’d been about four days since Dick and Kori had been forced to move here because Mar'i’s manifesting powers, and she had blasted the neighbor’s walls in one of her crying fits for food. Dick looked three steps from death and if someone didn’t intervene he was going to die next patrol. She sat there waiting for him to notice her as he blearily hunted for what she was guessing sugared carbohydrates, and milk.

Ten minutes later she decided he wasn’t going to notice her so she rattled the box.

“You looking for something?” she purred, and watched as a bedhead whipped around at her blinking his big blue eyes like an owl. He’d always been movie star handsome, she supposed, and staring at her with those big blue eyes she’d have thought he was B’s except that B had not had Dick in anyways until after Dick’s parents had died.

“When’d you get here?” he yawned, as he accepted the cereal from her then retrieved a bowl and spoon.

“Creature of the night,” she answered.

“Shit! Patrol!” he gasped and she caught his arm then and gently shoved him back as she stood and handed him his cereal.

“You are not going anywhere,” she stated.

“What!?” he sputtered.

“I’m putting my foot down, Boy Wonder, you are going to get someone killed. Probably yourself,” she stated.

“B!” he started.

“Has been doing this long before he adopted you and will be fine for a few nights,” she promised. “Eat, then you and Kori are going to bed and I’m taking Mar'i for a few nights.”

“Cat, you don’t…”

“I’m taking my grandbaby,” Selina stated icily and Dick blinked up at her. Don’t get the wrong idea here kid, I’m not replacing your mama, but you’re one of my Robins and what’s mine is mine, and I love ya kid. So you’re family, which makes Mar'i my grandbaby proxy by marrying your dad.”

“You… I didn’t…” Dick surged at her and hugged her tight then, Selina wrapped her arms around him tight. “Thanks, Cat, you were always my second mom,” he whispered.

“I love ya kid,” she purred as she stroked his hair, and marveled at how much he had grown. He used to be this tiny bendy thing, now he was now less bendy, but he was no longer tiny. He was twenty-five, and she was so proud of him as she buried her nose into his shoulder and smiled. He was hers’, her little Robin all grown up and a daddy now, she was so insanely proud of Dick.

“You and B should have gotten hitched sooner,” Dick mumbled. She laughed and shoved him to his seat and he drooped into it bonelessly.

“It would have ended terribly,” she predicted as she sat with her eldest and smiled at him.

“Nah, you two would have had spats, sure, but I think… I think you’d have saved Jay, Tim wouldn’t have been so lonely, Helena and Dami would be the same age relatively, and B would have been happier. He’s happiest with you, always was,” Dick sighed. Selina blinked at his admission.

“Damian wouldn’t be,” she stated for him.

“What?”

“If he ever cheats on me when we’re together, I’ll castrate him and nail his dick over our door, before burning all his shit on the lawn and robbing him of all his money, then destroying his reputation as Batman,” Selina assured levelly. Selina was not a second rate, cheap slut for that desert whore. No. She might be a street rat, but she sure as fuck would command loyalty from her lover because she gave him

“Ah,” Dick chuckled.

“How are you doing Dick?” She hummed.

“I didn’t think she’d have powers yet,” Dick sighed. “Seriously! She just floats all the time and shoots at me when she’s hungry, and she’s wonderful and amazing, but I want sleep Cat!”

“Which is why I’m taking her for the night.”

“Cat?”

“Hm?”

“When did you know, like really know, you loved B. Like full on head over heels, there’s no other love, know?”

She stared at the kid. “Are you second guessing what you and Kori have?” she demanded. She’d seen the way Dick looked at that alien princess there was no way that was fake love or puppy love like what he’d had with Barbara.

“I…”

“I was twelve,” Selina snapped. “I was twelve years old and I was playing with some fancy vase as B dorkily explained it’s history. He was a dweeb, and scrawny, but he had this look in his eyes. It’s a look I’d never seen, he wasn’t looking at me like I was filth or a criminal or a hellion, he was looking at me like I was his equal. He reminded me of a broken bird in need of a bit of love, so I decided to protect him.

“I was sixteen when he saved me. I was seventeen when I took his virginity and he disappeared. I was twenty-four when I saw him again, and I loved him every bit as fiercely as I did when I was twelve, even more so. I love Bruce, just as fiercely as you love that princess, so don’t think to give it up, ever, Dick. You better fight for Kori, because it’s not a Disney romance, real life is messy and a bitch, she doesn’t fight fair, and she’ll kick you in the balls while whistling, but what you have with Kori isn’t just worth the fight, it’s worth the world.”

“I will, I’m just… I don’t know what I’m doing,” he admitted.

“You finish that cereal, get up, and go hug the mother of your child and I spoil my grandbaby and we never speak of this again,” she smiled.

“Thanks,” he smiled weakly. “Mom,” he tested it.

“Lets stick to Cat,” she offered.

“You are like my mom, just so you know,” he murmured.

“I love ya too kid,” she smiled.

[secretlystephaniebrown]

A Golden Haired Ghost

I was in the midst of writing the next installment when I started writing a Bruce POV section, which strongly spiraled out of control. So I decided to write a short little thing exploring Bruce's role in this universe in general, since we haven't really checked in with him since the first entry.

And then we got this. It was really interesting, finally having to sit down and hash out what exactly had been going on in Bruce's head, and I hope you guys enjoy the results!

A Mouth Full of Blood A Soul Full of Sorrow A Face Full of Scars The Bitter Taste of Graveyard Dirt A Different Game ‘verse 

1. A Smile Like Sunshine

Bruce Wayne had given Stephanie Brown a costume of green, gold, and red, the name of Robin, and a utility belt full of gadgets, and then he had sent her off to war.

She was the oldest Robin to start; Dick had been ten, Jason thirteen, Tim twelve, but she was seventeen years old when she donned the mantle for herself. She was seventeen, had been Spoiler since she was fifteen. She had grown up, had fought for her survival on the streets of Gotham. She had given birth and given up the child. She was different than his previous Robins, but different still from Barbara or Cassandra.

She had a core of steel, this newest Robin. She had golden hair and a smile like sunshine and a laugh that filled the cave. She loved and hated with a firey passion like Jason, she was kind and stubborn like Dick.

She loved being Robin, loved belonging, loved the way they worked together, and although Bruce would have been reluctant to admit it at the time, that love was infectious.

She was Robin for only what felt like a glorious moment, but he knew. She would have been great, had the universe not snuffed her out.  

She fought with creativity, not grace, and her strength was undeniable. She was a light, bright beside him and his shadows, a kind, smiling face to contradict his scowl.

There was anger too, oh yes. She screamed and fought with him, she railed against injustice, at the flaws in the system. “It’s not right,” she would scream, tears streaming down her face.

“I know,” he would say, on his better days. “We’ll try to fix it.”

She was Robin, and Bruce Wayne sent her off to die.

And he would never forgive himself for that.

2. A Wrench in the Mechanism

She was breathing heavily, her eyes over bright, and she grabbed his arm. “I’m sorry!” She begged. “I didn’t know!”

“Robin.” Bruce pulled away. He didn’t have time for this. Gotham was drenched in chaos and blood. He didn’t think about her heart, or her fears. There was no time. People were dying. He would deal with this, deal with her later, after the city was safe.

She would be no help here—she was emotional and upset, and he needed to do this alone. Perhaps things could be salvaged, despite the damage that she had done.

“Robin,” he repeated. She stared at him, her mouth trembling ever-so-slightly, afraid. Later, after things were settled and with the benefit of hindsight, he would realize that she had thought he was going to take Robin from her.

He would then wonder: if he had, would she have stayed alive?

“Go to Orpheus,” he said, instead of voicing her worst fears. “Help him.”

“No!” She shook her head, her eyes wide beneath her mask. “Batman—Bruce—let me stay, let me help you, let me—”

Let me fix this.

She hadn’t known, he would tell Clark later, his heart heavy in a way that it had not been since Jason. He hadn’t told her about his plans to topple organized crime. The plan—months, even years, of efforts—toppled by one seventeen-year-old girl, who had thought Bruce was in space and couldn’t be reached. It had not even occurred to him to warn her of the plan. He had not realized that she still had her network of informants and friends from her days as Spoiler, and would hear of the meeting between the families, the gangs, and then try to disrupt the thing on her own.

Maybe it was to impress him, maybe it was to prove to herself that she was Robin, or maybe it was just because it was what she thought was right.

But she had crashed into the meeting, and kickstarted a war in the process. She had crippled his plans by publicly toppling Matches Malone in a humiliating fashion, and only afterwards, had she learned who he was, and that she had thrown years of plans out the window.

He might be able to salvage this, if Orpheus could just do what needed to be done…

But to do that, Orpheus would need help. Barbara had sent Orpheus the plan, the next step, the way forward. Things were almost in place, but to do that, Bruce needed Robin somewhere safe, and the safest place, where she could still be useful, was with Orpheus.

“No,” Bruce said. “Robin. Go.”

There was no time to explain. He could not coddle. She needed to do what had to be done and listen to him.

Stephanie Brown did not die, as some would say, because she was reckless, angry, or a girl. People would gossip, laugh, sneer, and discuss her death until there was nothing more to be said. Psychologists would pull her apart on television, every facet of their analysis wrong. Newspapers would speculate, and even the superhero community would whisper.

But Bruce knew the truth.

Stephanie Brown died because she did exactly what he asked.

Her eyes were full of tears the last time he saw her alive, as she nodded tensely, and ran to where Orpheus should be waiting for her, jumping from rooftop to rooftop, her grappling gun in her hand.

But Orpheus was dead, and the Black Mask had intercepted the message telling Orpheus where to meet Robin.

Stephanie Brown, on Bruce’s orders, ran right into a trap.

3. An Open Casket

Bruce had not been the one to find her, in the end. He wondered, years later, if she would have preferred it if he had. If that would have made it a less bitter pill to swallow, if she had been found by family, instead of by the police.

They had taken photographs, which Bruce had seen, later. The press would never find them—Barbara had gotten the digital copies, and Cassandra had destroyed the physical ones.

She had been unmasked, over the course of her five days of torture. Her eyes were open, staring forward, right at the camera, blood trickling out of her mouth. Bruce felt as if she was accusing him, demanding to know why this had happened to her.

He knew in intimate detail what had happened. He had read the reports from the police and the doctors, had seen the speculation, trying to reconstruct it. He even heard what the gangs said, bragging about what had been done to her, about how she had screamed.  

Bruce had not gone to the funeral. But he had visited her body, her coffin, the night before. She wore a skirt and a suit jacket, a seventeen-year-old girl, clothes she never would have worn while she was alive. They had styled her hair and done their best to hide her injuries. She would have hated it, hated all of it, of that much he was certain.

There would be an open casket, at the service.

There had not been one for Jason—at the time, Bruce did not yet know that Jason had not died. It had been a closed coffin to bury the body, which had been reduced to ash, and a scrap of uniform. It was beyond dental records, beyond facial recognition, and Bruce had accepted this. The real funeral for Jason Todd was in a glass case, in the cave, the closure he could never get.

(Jason would return a year after the funeral. Sheila Haywood had dragged him from that building, comatose and brain damaged. Lies, memory loss, and a twisted sense of loyalty, meant for Catherine Todd but stolen by Sheila Haywood, had kept him away before then. Leslie had found him, recognized him, saved him, and kept him away longer, until she was sure of his memories and identity.)

Bruce Wayne had built his son a glass memorial in a cave, to compensate for the closure he could not get from a body.

But Stephanie Brown was here, in front of him, and Bruce Wayne wept for her, standing over the broken body in a box.

He cried for the girl who had raced away from him to meet her killer, her hair floating behind her like a cape, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

He wept for Stephanie Brown, he wept for Robin, he wept for Spoiler, but he did not attend the funeral.

And Stephanie Brown, not knowing about this, would hate him for it when she was resurrected, and he would have nothing to say in his own defense.

4. A Golden Haired Ghost

There was a woman in a purple hood with blonde curls and a wide smile at the party, and Bruce felt his heart stop.

She was the right height, and the shade of the dress was the exact one that Spoiler had favored, the sweep and elegance of the dress the kind of thing that she might have chosen for herself.

For a moment, he wanted to stagger forward, to call her name, sure it was a dream of sorts, and that she let out that laugh, the one he had not heard since…

But it was not Stephanie Brown, and he forced himself to turn away.

It had been years, but she haunted him still. A golden haired ghost, mocking him for everything; his failures, his guilt, his inability to avenge her.

Stephanie Brown had died. He had buried her and mourned her. They all had. The loss had shattered Cass and Tim, inflicting wounds that even Jason’s return had been unable to even begin to heal.

So Bruce Wayne turned away, and avoided the woman who was dressed like his greatest failure for the rest of the night, not knowing that Stephanie Brown was watching him through the scope of a sniper rifle.

5. A Mistake

Stephanie Brown sat in the cell, staring at nothing, and Bruce Wayne watched.

She was scarred, battered, and she was so in ways that went beyond Bruce or Cassandra. (Bruce knew what she thought; she saw herself as broken.) Her fingers were crooked, her face was scarred, and Bruce had a role in those marks. She had cut her hair short, but in the cell, not allowed to access an electric razor, or indeed, scissors, it was already starting to grow out, her bangs hanging into her eyes.

He had not been inside to talk to her, not yet. Cassandra kept telling him not to; warning him that he would only anger her, that there was only hurt down that way.

But she was hopeful now, that maybe there had been enough time, or at least, that he could not possibly make things worse.

It proved how much she idolized and loved him, that someone as smart as Cassandra Cain underestimated Bruce Wayne’s ability to hurt Stephanie Brown.

He entered the cell, moving as silently as he could, half hoping to delay the realization.

“Give up Cass,” she called, not having looked up. “I’m a lost cause.”

“I disagree.”

She leapt to her feet, spun to face him, and then froze.

She wore a plain black shirt with a high neck and long sleeves, to conceal her scars. The drawers were full of colors that Cassandra and Crystal Brown had picked out with loving care, but Stephanie refused to wear any of the colors associated with Spoiler or Robin.

“What are you doing here?” It was a fair question; he had not visited her in some time. He had left that to Cass, Tim, Crystal, Barbara, and even Alfred. He had known he would not be welcome and had wanted to give her time.

When she had been dead, there had been things that he had wanted to tell her.

“I need to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms and widened her stance. Her eyes were stormy and dangerous as she faced him. “Then talk.”

Under that gaze, he faltered. Prepared speeches, ones that had rolled around in his mind for thousands of hours until they should be as smooth as polished glass, shattered completely.  

Stephanie Brown had always been good at undermining his plans.

He swallowed. “I… I know that Tim becoming Robin so soon after—well. After. I know how that looks.” Her expression did not change one inch. “When you were Robin—”

And then she started to laugh.

It was not the laugh that he remembered from when she was Robin; the light, wonderful laugh that felt as if it was filling all of Gotham, or at least the Cave. It was harsh and bitter, twisted and angry. It was a laugh for the Red Hood, not Robin.

“I wasn’t Robin,” she snarled, turning her gaze back to him. “I know what I was! You were just trying to lure Tim back! I wasn’t Robin, you liar, you bastard, you—”

“That isn’t true,” he said, feeling that the situation was spiraling rapidly out of control, slipping through his fingers like sand. “You were—”

“I never mattered! You didn’t come to my funeral, you didn’t even notice when I crawled out of my goddamn grave, you—”

“You what?” He said, startled. He had excavated the grave; there was an empty coffin, a fake, replacing it. He had assumed that Talia had stolen her body and placed her in the Lazarus Pit, some sort of twisted form of mercy or kindness, or perhaps cruelty. He knew a Lazarus Pit was involved, Talia had confirmed that. But how had she come back to life inside of her own coffin?

And how had he not noticed?

She let out a scream of fury and lunged at him, her hands grasping for his throat. He twisted out of the way, and she followed, her eyes over bright with tears she was refusing to let fall.

“Look at me!” She screamed. “I’m not her! I’m not who you want me to be!”  

She didn’t say who he wanted her to be, but she didn’t need to. Bruce grabbed her by the shoulder and threw her backwards, away from the door so he could leave. She sprawled in a heap on the floor, and ripped off the shirt she was wearing, exposing the horrific autopsy scar which her undershirt could not conceal.

“I’m not her!” She yelled after him. 

Cassandra was waiting for him, her eyes cold and disappointed.

“You screwed up.”

“Yes. I know.”

6. A Bat's Confession

“Don’t touch me,” she said, leaning away from him. The darkness and the rain made it difficult to tell, but Bruce could see blood, when lightning flashed.

“You’re injured,” he said, his hands remaining by his side, even though he wanted to reach out to her.

“Oh shut up!” She swayed where she stood, her hands pressing to the side where the wound was. “It’s not like you care!”

“Stephanie,” he said, her name heavy in his chest as he says it, as it always was. “You need medical attention. Let me help.”

For a moment, he thought she would refuse him, out of spite, and he would not have been able to blame her if she had.

But the injury must have been worse than he realized, because after a long moment of staring at him, she leaned against the nearby chimney. Finally nodding, she let herself collapse, sliding to the ground with a hiss of pain.

This truce that they had formed, since his resurrection, was an uncertain one. In his absence, she had grown, she had healed. She had a protégé now and was friends with Cassandra again. She was slowly, surely, carving herself a place in Gotham; a hero, not a crime lord.

But he didn’t have a role in that healing, in her new world, except as the man who had let her down, time and time again.

He moved forward, keeping his movements slow and well telegraphed, as he began to investigate the extent of her injuries.

“Do you remember,” he said, knowing what a risk he was taking. She had accepted his return, and no longer fled from him, but there was hurt and conditions and rules. She might run away from him if he said this, might be hurt again.

But he had to tell her this.

He had died once already without telling her. He had dared not entrust this to a message, had not included this in his last words to her. It had not felt appropriate, had felt like an excuse. “Do you remember, when you were Robin, the case with the Penguin’s henchman, Gates?”

“We didn’t realize his daughter— ” She hissed in pain.

“Yes. You saw her before I did. You pulled me back. I was angry, but you stopped me.”

Her eyes were closed tightly, and Bruce could see that tears were threatening to fall, but he pretended not to.

“That was important,” he said. “I… I needed you there. You understood. You were angry like I was, but you didn’t let it stop you from seeing what was important. You wouldn’t let me hurt him, because his daughter was watching.”

“Batman’s a hero,” she muttered, her voice shaky with pain.

“The innocent should not fear the Batman.”

She had looked so sure, when she said that. Seventeen years old, long blonde hair tumbling over her shoulders, chin steady, hands on her hips.

She wanted more from him, demanded more from him. Her childhood had only been the way it was because the system—the police, social services, Bruce himself—had let her fall through the cracks.

She saw him, with his flaws, and still had looked up to him, and still thought he could be a hero.

Maybe he shouldn’t say this next part. It might not help anything. His words wouldn’t change anything. She wouldn’t care about the reasons Black Mask wasn’t dead or in prison, wouldn’t care about glass cases that served as coffins, wouldn’t care about headstones that were visited months about the funeral. His words couldn’t change anything. Maybe she required action, not words, maybe there was some way or another that he could prove to her that he cared, instead of wasting his breath on words which could only reopen old injuries.

His explanations would not change how she died. It would change nothing. Not his failures, because even with the full context, he knew as well as she did that he had failed her, had been failing her all her life.

“I was stupid,” she said, her own coda to the story, not knowing what Bruce was thinking.

And it was that, more than anything that made his decision.

“No. You were young.” He wanted to reach out and push her hair out of her face, but he knew that gesture would not be welcome.

I have something to tell you,” he said. “And I need you to listen.”

7. A Broken Window

When Stephanie Brown was dead and buried, Batman had ripped his way through Black Mask’s headquarters. He had sent the others away, on pretenses of the police not trusting them after the war, but really, it was for this.

Rage and grief and guilt raged through him. He had spoken with the new police commissioner, Michael Akins, and he had been told that the Black Mask would not be facing legal repercussions for the war.

“There’s nothing to do,” the man said, furious and uncomfortable at Batman’s presence in his office. “We lost a lot of good people in the War, Batman, not just your sidekick. People are scared. Good cops are taking bribes, dirty cops have gone clean, half of the officers I trusted are dead or out and I don’t know if I can trust their replacements. It’s going to take years for me to clean out even one unit! And even if I could put together a task force I could trust, there’s no lawyer with enough guts to prosecute, no judge who can’t be bribed, no jury that couldn’t be threatened! We’re not getting a damned warrant to let us even prove anything. The mayor’s told me that even if we were handed probable cause from a cape, it’s the badge of the cop who took it and the evidence goes into the incinerator!”

Akins hasn’t been getting enough sleep. Bruce knows that feeling all too well. His own rest had been tormented by images of Stephanie Brown’s body, by the deaths of the war, of the fact that this was all, completely and absolutely, his fault. Akins had declared war on vigilantes, blaming them for the disaster, and Bruce could not even blame him, although the man had no idea that Bruce had literally been the one to cause it.

“And he knows it too! That smug bastard is untouchable, and he knows it. Why do you think he’s been so open about gloating? He killed my officers, killed your Robin, and he’s going to get away with it!” He slammed his drink down on the desk. “Do you think I like that? I hate it as much as you do.”

“He won’t get away with it,” Bruce growled. His heart was racing in his ears.

Years ago, when the Joker had proved once again that Arkham was incapable of holding him for long, Bruce had realized that he would never be able to have justice for his son.

He would not go through this a second time. He refused.

“Maybe not forever. But for now? He’s safe, and he knows it. The law won’t touch him.” The man stood up, and he pointed at the window. His hands were steady, and Bruce could see why Jim Gordon had selected this man as his successor. “Now get out of my office.”

Bruce had left, and then he had stood on a rooftop for a long time. Stephanie had always laughed at him, when she’d caught him doing that, even when she had been Spoiler. She had refused to allow him to be too serious for too long, needling him. “I know you’re physically capable of smiling, you can’t fool me!” She’d say, before asking him if she could drive the Batmobile.

He’d never let her.

And now she never would.

Clark Kent had pulled him back from killing the Joker after Jason.

But Clark was not here this second time; no one was, all of them sure enough that Bruce was capable of handling this, not realizing the risk.

If Stephanie would have been there, she would have known better. She did not idolize him the way Cassandra did, she did not have the faith in heroes that Tim still had in those days. She would have known better, and not let him go alone.

But she was not there; she was buried beneath a simple headstone.

The Black Mask was not ready for him; he was already sitting on his laurels, emboldened by Batman’s mourning period.

He was a fool.

Stephanie Brown was not his child; he had no such place in her life. At his best he was a mentor, an advisor, perhaps even a father figure, but he doubted it. At his worse, which was far more common than his best when it came to her, he was another doubter, an obstacle in her way to the greatness she should have achieved one day.

Later, she would think this was why she did not matter; her not being his child.

But Bruce was not thinking about that when he blew open the doors to the Black Mask’s penthouse.

All he was thinking about was a fifteen-year-old girl who had painted words on the side of a building, trying to stop her father, wearing a purple hood that she had sewn herself, refusing to go home because Batman had told her to.

The Black Mask was sitting down, surrounded by people who in another day and age might be courtiers. He recognized several of them; a few mobsters, some of the Mask’s men, and two working girl’s who Robin had been friends with.

But he didn’t care. He was only focused on Roman Sidonis, the Black Mask, the man who had killed Robin.

He leapt forward with intent to kill. Those who were armed drew their guns.

Was this how Clark felt? Invincible, like the bullets were nothing more than distractions? In the adrenaline and fury, Bruce wove between them with a precision that Cassandra would be proud of. Bruce threw out his hand, and batarangs slammed into hands, into the barrels of pistols, and into feet.

“You should run,” he snarled, a moment of mercy. It would be for the best that these men were not present for this.

They did, practically tripping over each other in their haste.

Bruce moved forward again, as if he had all the time in the world.

“You shouldn’t have come here,” Mask said. He had his gun out but hadn’t bothered to get to his feet. He was pretending not to be afraid, but Bruce knew that it was nothing but a bluff. “You’ve still got a lot to lose, Batman.”

Batman kept moving towards him, letting him grow more afraid with each footstep. Roman Sidonis was a coward at heart; a coward and a sadist, a monster who craved and loved power, yet so rarely struck out at anyone who could fight back.

“You don’t know what that girl spilled,” he babbled. “She gave it all up, you know. The caves, your name, and don’t think I haven’t had precautions taken—”

“She didn’t tell you anything,” Bruce said, grabbing Sidonis up by his silk shirt. Stephanie Brown had died, keeping Bruce’s secrets, and Bruce hated himself for that almost as much as he hated himself for the rest of it.

“You sound so sure, don’t you? C’mon, you know I’m good at what I do.” His warped smile was almost as uncanny as the Joker’s. “You should’ve heard her scream, and beg—”

Bruce let out an inhuman roar and threw Sidonis to the ground hard enough to wind him. And then he pressed a button on his belt.

The glass wall, overlooking the Gotham skyline, exploded with the force of the C4 packs that Bruce had placed there earlier, exposing them all to the blowing winds and rain. The wind howled through the penthouse, blowing papers everywhere, and rain blew in with it, making the sleek marble floor slippery. Glass was everywhere, and it crunched beneath his feet as Bruce moved forward once again.

“The fuck—” Whatever came next was cut off by Bruce grabbing him by the throat and hauling him towards the gaping hole in the side of the building.

That was when he saw them.

The two women—girls, they were girls, about Stephanie’s age, they were still here, staring at him with wide, fearful expressions. They were damp from the rain, their hair was a mess from the wind, but at least the glass had not injured either of them. They were scared, but they did not run.

One of them was blonde.

And her words echoed in his mind.

With a roar of fury, he threw the Black Mask out of the window, and for a moment, he just listened to the coward’s screams as he plunged downward.

The grappling gun went off a second later, but for a moment, he imagined it didn’t.

Dragging Sidonis back up, soaking wet and shaking in fear, Bruce leaned in close to the Mask’s ear.

“The police can’t touch you. Maybe you won’t face justice in court. But I will hunt you until the end of your days, Sidonis.”

Stephanie Brown had wanted him to be a hero.

“Enjoy your empire. It won’t last.”

Knocking him out took only a moment, and then he turned to those two girls.

“Let me take you home.”

8. A Hidden Smile

Stephanie Brown was a scrappy thing at age fifteen. Scrappy and unafraid and proud, refusing to back down a single inch.

“Aren’t you scared of him?” He heard Tim whisper to her after a lecture.

“Good guys don’t have to be scared of Batman,” she snorted. “Criminals are the superstitious, cowardly lot.”

And Bruce Wayne found himself smiling, with his back turned to her.

9. A Beginning

She stared at him as he finished that story. The rain was finally letting up, only leaving behind a pitch-black sky and the faintest of drizzles.

“You deserve to know,” he said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more. You were right. I let you down. You were my Robin, and I sent you away, and I shouldn’t have done that. You deserved… you deserved more.”

She laughed, and it was open and honest. It was still bitter, but it wasn’t the laugh she had given in the cell. It wasn’t the laugh of Robin, but it wasn’t the Red Hood either. Maybe it was something in between, or the start of a new laugh altogether.

“Well, I was a pretty shitty Robin.”

“No. You weren’t.”

She paused, uncertain of what to do next. He had no idea of what she was thinking about this confession. Had he done what he feared, and destroyed what progress they had managed to make since his own resurrection?

He was done dressing her injuries. He got to his feet, and offered her his hand to help her up.

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes stormy and conflicted.

But finally, she reached up her own hand, and placed it in his.

It felt like a beginning.

+1.

She stood in the center of the room, her helmet laying at her feet. Bruce moved to stand behind her, and she did not move away.

“They took her,” she said. She spoke quietly, as if the reality of the situation had not yet sunk in. He could hardly blame her. “I told her to go somewhere safe while I fought that… that thing, and they took her.”

Bruce wondered, if she could see the parallel that he saw. Did she see herself in Nell Little, in this moment?

He placed a hand on her shoulder, and again, she let him. The apartment, her home, was in shambles around them, and she remained perfectly still beneath his hand.

Nell Little had not gone quietly; Stephanie had trained her too well for that. Furniture was smashed, curtains ripped, and there was glass on the floor from a broken window. There was no blood anywhere to be seen, a small comfort. There might be fingerprints or hairs scattered somewhere—there had to be some clues to help them find her—but right now, Stephanie was not focused on that.

“You’ll find her,” he promised. He did not tell her anything else; it would not help. What use would there be, comparing their situations? There was no comfort there. Nor would telling her that he understood what she was going through.

She nodded once, then turned to leave the apartment, barely pausing to pick up her helmet.

Bruce followed her, only sparing one last glance for the object which had caused such panic, the identifier of who had taken Nell Little, who had snatched her so boldly from the home of the Red Hood.

On Nell’s pillow, lay a single owl feather.

To be continued.

[hellsbellssinclub]

Broken Nest for Broken Birds. Part 3

Part 1/ Part 2/ Part 3

Read it on AO3

Summary:

Dick Grayson. Jason Todd. Timothea Drake. Stephanie Brown. Damian Wayne.

All five were Batman’s birds. All five are broken in their own little ways.

Bruce Wayne struggles to keep his family together while keeping his more volatile children calm and feeling secure within their place in the family. But that is not an easy thing to do when you have five young adults with all very different needs that demand to be met and when you have your own issues to deal with.

*Follows the different Robin’s and Bat’s stream of consciousness as they deal with their day to day lives and try to figure out how to be a family together.*

Part 3. Dick Grayson. Age 22.

Unresponsive. Broken like a marionette puppet without her strings. Timmy looked like she has watched a world implode and she could have done nothing to save it while she sat in a space shuttle, safely away from the blast zone.

He should have been there, seeing Timmy home after they had been on patrol together with B. He should have made sure she was safe and well and that she had not been alone, especially after Bruce gave her that lecture and half about safety and not taking risks.

But he had left her. Gone and followed Bruce’s Orders once again and now he was looking down at the broken and exhausted face of the girl who was his baby sister. It wasn’t hard to imagine her on the ground, head twisted in an unnatural angle with blood around her head like a fucked-up halo.

He let her fall. He didn’t catch her. He wasn’t there to catch her. He had gone back to the cave like a good little Robin because he was Ordered to and now…

Dick felt lost as to what to do. He had failed another sibling. He was a terrible big brother. First Jason and now Timothea. She hasn’t spoken a word since she finished screaming and was she would only drink the tea that Dick had Alfred make, the one that Jason suggested before he took off on his bike, when Dick placed the cup against her lips. He wished he could be there alongside Jason. Away from the Manor and away from the biting feeling in the back of his throat that this was his fault for not being there with Timmy when she had finished patrol.

Timmy wasn’t doing anything much now that she stopped screaming her lungs out. Just breathing little choked and wet sobs under her breath. No more tears. She was still shaking and giving full body shudders as if she was in a snowstorm or the biting rain that Gotham has in winter time. Shock, most likely. Or the grief. Timmy wasn’t that close to her Dad or Step Mum but Dick knew she loved them. Seeing them dead like that… no child should ever see their parents like that. It is mentally scaring and destroying.

He should know. He still hasn’t gotten over his parents. Neither has Bruce or anyone else he knows who have found or saw their parents get killed. The Superhero community is full of heroes who have lost their parents or watched them get murdered. They even had made different clubs so that people could go and talk about their trauma and shit.

Not that any of the other Bats have ever gone to one of those clubs. Bruce is too fucking scared to admit his trauma of seeing his parents get shot when he was eight and is always high-key terrified that someone is going to turn on him because his Post-Traumatic Hypervigilance makes him to paranoid to trust anyone with his feelings. Jason was still on the outs with pretty much everyone. No one was sure how to approach the former dead Robin and he wasn’t inclined to go to any of the clubs anyway. Jay never had been in his first life and the sentiment was the same in this one too.

Dick had gone once, when he was still Robin. He didn’t go back again for another meeting. He never wanted to talk about what happened with his parents and looking back he probably should have tried. Really, he blames Bruce for his lack of healthy coping skills because all he ever learned really while living in the Manor was that unless it was all about to explode and end up with him hurting himself or someone else than Bruce was going to avoid the hell out everything and pretend that it was all normal.

And Timmy, poor little Timmy never qualified for any of them before now. She was as normal as one could possibly get before all this. She was just an average kid who wanted to do some good and she did. But at what cost? She lost all three of her parents, has been shot, stabbed and has nearly been murdered so many times in the past three years and Dick wanted nothing more than to go back in time and to tell the small girl who had come up to him with hopeful eyes that she should get lost and forget everything. That it wasn’t worth it at all.

But he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t. Besides all of the time related bullshit that would go with changing the timeline, Dick was selfish enough to say that he did not want to let the young girl go at all. He wanted her to stay. He wanted her and Jason to get along and for them to both be siblings without having to fear that Jason’s Pit Madness or whatever it was didn’t flare up and he wanted for Bruce to be surrounded by everyone who cares for him.

If wishes were fishes Dick would be able to open his fish market and make a lot of money, that was for sure.

Running a wet, warm cloth over Timmy’s face only got him a blink or two. She wasn’t reacting to anyone now. She just sat there, in the blood-stained clothes Bruce all but wrangled her into before the cops arrived at her house. She needed to change. To get out of the bloody mess and into something clean.

“Okay Tiny-Tim. Let’s get you out of these clothes and into the shower.” He doesn’t speak loudly, not wanting to startle the young girl out of whatever shock she was in.  

The lights are on but no one is currently home in Timmy’s mind right now. Looks like they are just going to have to call back later it seems. She wasn’t reacting or moving on her own. With the help of Bruce and Alfred, Dick was able to strip her out of her clothes and get her into the shower. There were wounds, fresh and painfully wounds all over her pale body. Some must have been from patrol because the stitches on her hips looked fresh and painful. And broken. He would need to fix that.

He knew that Tim’s team was downstairs and that Oracle had called them all as soon as the call came through that all the Drakes were dead. He knew that they were all there and were all waiting desperately to see Timmy. But Dick didn’t want them near her. She was fragile and needed to be handled with care. He knew that they all just wanted to help her and that was good. The overwhelming need to comfort a friend in need is what makes them all good people. Makes them the caring and thoughtful heroes they are.

But Timmy didn’t need any of them right now. She didn’t need them crowding her or being in her space. She needed family. She needed Dick and Bruce and Alfred and Jason when he has calmed down and maybe Cass and Steph because they were all family and that was all Timmy needed.

He knows he should not be thinking like that. Possessiveness was a terrible trait that he needs to let go of but it is hard, so very hard not to kick everyone out of the Manor and keep Timmy safe and isolated away from anything that could harm her. He shouldn’t be having these thoughts and he knows, he really does know, that these thoughts only happen because he lost Jay and he doesn’t know how to deal with that guilt even now that Jay was alive and here with them and-

And he needed to calm down. He needed to stop and think and act like Nightwing, the leader and big brother. He cannot afford to act like Dick Grayson here. Dick Grayson was a human disaster and won’t be able to help his sister right now if he starts acting like a self-centred idiot.

Still, looking down at her all but hanging loosely in his arms as he dried her off and sat her down on the large tub so that Alfred could redo those broken stitches, Dick just couldn’t help those feelings of possessiveness overwhelm him. And by the look on Bruce’s face, he was feeling it too.

Timmy was their Baby Bird. The one the adored and wanted to protect all the time because she was just so weak and small and Dick knew in his head that she was a force to be reckoned with these days and that she was well on her way to becoming an A list hero.

But in his heart, he still saw her as the baby faced little twelve-year-old girl who he taught how to throw a decent punch. She was the little sister he had always wanted when he was younger and still with the circus. He adored her and loved her completely.

And he did know that some of that love came from guilt. Guilt that he hadn’t been the best big brother he could have been to Jason because he had been angry at Bruce at the time. He had been so angry that Bruce had taken his Mother’s name for him and had given it to Jason without his permission that he had taken it out on Jason, rather than Bruce. And after their first and terrible meeting, Dick had known that he had forever fucked up his and Jay’s relationship.

If he had not have died, Dick believes that they may have eventually gotten along properly. That they would have worked something out. But Jason died and then he had a small, excited child who looked up to him and he couldn’t, wouldn’t let himself fuck it up like he did with Jason.

So, Nightwing became the always the cool, calm guy who is everyone’s big brother. At least to the younger generation that is. To his own team and friends, he was allowed to be a normal person with normal emotional outbursts. But since taking on being the younger teams ‘den mother’ and all-round mentor and big brother to Timmy, he has forced himself to be this person that doesn’t get angry easily.

Which is you know, absolute bullshit. Everyone calls Jason the Angry Robin but anyone with half a brain knows that Dick is the Angry Robin. The Robin that rages and explodes and leaves a trail of destruction in his wake. At least Jay has a reason for his anger. The Pit fucks with people’s minds and the trauma he went through with dying really did give Jaybrid a reason to lash out. Dick just gets angry and fucks shit up before someone calms him down.

He knew that Timmy didn’t feel like they loved her, especially since taking Jason back in. But they did love her. They love how she stumbled down in the morning after a long case or patrol and would look at them sleepily before stealing Bruce’s coffee. They loved how she would get excited about small little things and would ramble on and on until she blushes and stops because she realises that she is still talking. They love her enthusiasm and joy and how brilliant she is.

They love her. All of them do.

And watching her sit numbly on the edge of the bath, barely twitching or moving as the stiches go through her skin, broke their hearts.

One of them would have go downstairs soon and tell Timmy’s team to go home for the night and come back tomorrow evening. They needed to get some clothes for Timmy for the next few days, seeing as she only had over night clothes in the Manor. Bruce needed to send a few messages to his lawyers about getting custody of Tim.

There was so, so much that needed to be done. And Dick didn’t want to leave Tim’s side at all. His Baby Bird was hurt and needed help and the guilt was just eating him inside, telling him that it was his fault that she had to face this alone when he could have been there with her but he had not and-

And he would not be any help his sister, father, brother or grandfather if he let himself fall apart right now. There was work to be done and the quicker he gets it done, the easier it would be on all of them.

He may have given Jay three days to go and find out what he could but Dick would be damned if he doesn’t go out and help the younger man search. With the rage and guilt rising like bile in the back of his throat, Dick could say honestly that he was looking forward to beating some heads in. And to leaving the oppressive atmosphere of grief and pain that was seeping into the Manor’s walls.

But that will wait. Right now, there are jobs to be done. The jobs won’t ease the guilt or rage like a good ass kicking would, but they were necessary and needed. Alfred and Bruce can look after Timmy for a few hours or so while he does these few jobs.

He isn’t running away.

(He isn’t.)  

[bioticgoddess]

Happy Birthday Jason Todd

This was requested for Jason Todd/Red Hood’s birthday (8/16). Enjoy y’all!

Summary: It’s Jason Todd’s birthday; having died and come back, he doesn’t celebrate it - despite teh wishes the every other friend and member of the Bat Family. While he’s on patrol, you set up a little something.

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader  Warning: none. All the fluff! 

 I Don’t Do Birthdays

Having died and come back, and nearly died a few dozen times for good measure, Jason had no intention of celebrating his birthday. It was just a day on the calendar. A hot, muggy, swampy day in Gotham. As far as he was concerned there wasn’t a god-damned thing that was special about August 16.  At least that was his plan.

Yours...not so much.

He’d gone out on patrol hours earlier. Not that you could’ve convinced him otherwise without resorting to drastic measures. He didn’t bat an eye when you kissed him on the cheek and said you were going to stay in - your combat suit needed some mending anyway. Or so you told him. Alfred was a practically the patron saint of the Batfamily.  

You weren’t entirely sure how much time had passed between when you baked the cake and when you realized the stove was still on. But grazing the side of your hand on a hot burner had slowed your progress slightly. “Bloody fecking...god…”you cursed under your breath, eyes full of fire as you wrapped your palm in silver-sulfadiazine cream and burn gauze. Might not have been bad but it hurt like hell.

He’d gone out at midnight and swore to be back by three - it was one thirty according to your oven clock. Burn aside, that left you with just enough time to set out the small gift you’d gotten him and frost the cake once it finished cooling. First, however, you made sure the rest of the appliances were off. Would do you no good to burn down the apartment building. You could practically hear Jason tease you about yet another kitchen injury. “You fight with knives, use kunai and shuriken. Not a scratch, slice bread, twenty stitches,” he’d said once.

“There,” you smiled, with thirty minutes left as you arranged the cake on the breakfast counter opposite the stove. “Perfect.” There was one candle for each year and one for good luck - your mother’s tradition.

--

“I hate all of you,” Jason growled at his adoptive siblings. They were supposed to be out on patrol, not half celebrating his birthday. There were no cakes, no big presents (thank god) but still cards and that godforsaken song! At least Barbara could carry a tune. The others...he was sure his ears were bleeding as they caterwauled through Happy Birthday.

He heavily regretted his decision to go on patrol tonight.

“You love us,” Dick practically taunted, smiling broadly at his younger brother.

“Up for debate,” he snapped back arms folded over his chest.

Damian asked, “You’re still a child Todd.” He was sure Barbara had threatened him or something to get the demon spawn to participate. “Age doesn’t make you a man,” the boy mocked him.

Jason repeated to himself: I will not kill the brat. I will not kill the brat. [Y/n] would not be pleased. After a moment he said aloud, through gritted teeth as Tim proceeded with the annual birthday punches, “Old enough to make your life a nightmare.”

“And one for good luck,” Tim said triumphantly, hitting his arm a final time. At least it had been Tim this year. Barbara and Dick had both left bruises. Then again, Barbara’s turn had been his first birthday back and he was sure she wanted to kill him a second time out of spite. And Dick’s had been the  subsequent year, they’d been fighting so he was probably getting some kind of revenge. [Y/n] had declined to be the assailant last year and he’d thanked god you stated as much. He was sure you’d have hit him hard just for shits and giggles.

And he’d have let you.

He groaned loudly, “Yay. I’m another year older. Whoopdey fucking doo.”

“Language,” Barbara shot, glaring at him. Damian shrugged. He really couldn’t have cared less. The others had all heard worse. “So what are your plans,” she asked after a moment.

Before he could answer Tim suggested, “Nothing. He never does anything.”

“A proud Todd - [Y/L/N] tradition for August 16,” he chuckled, sporting a thumbs up instead of the middle-finger he wanted to give them. He could see your face if he did - scrunched up even under the domino mask with your brow furrowed and eyes narrowed at him. It was a look he’d seen you give dozens of rogues and their thugs. You’d used it on him a few times, like on patrol, it frightened no one. In fact, he thought it was kinda cute.

Dick waved a hand in front of his face, well, the helmet. “Dude, hello, earth to Jason. Did you hear me?”

“No. Clearly.”

“Do you want to go back to the Manor and do something? Bruce is out on patrol, so’s Helena,” he said, “Not like we or Alfred couldn’t make you a cake and we could just…”

Cutting him off Jason countered, “Or, I can go home. You guys can do whatever. And we can all pretend this never happened. Yea, I’m good with that one.” As the other four started to argue, listing off the merits of celebrating his birthday - they did every year - he took off. 

They wouldn’t follow him, they knew better.This was one of a handful of days that egging on the Red Hood was a poorer choice than usual.

--

“Babe, what’s...what’s this,” Jason’s voice echoed. For a minute you thought it was you mind playing tricks, then you realized you’d fallen asleep on the couch.

Groggily, you sat up. Rubbing the sleep out of you eyes you could see him staring at the table. Helmet beside the cake, eyes narrowed - from the side you could tell he wasn’t pleased with the turn of events. “Cake,” you said.

“And this,” he held up the box next to it.

Waving him on you said, “For you. Open it.” There was no wrapping paper, no ribbon, it was a re-purposed jewelry store bracelet box. Simple.

Jason looked between you and the box, too exhausted to argue. If nothing else, you at least weren’t trying to celebrate his birthday for your own enjoyment. The same couldn’t have been said for his siblings – even Barbara. Sighing, he set the box down for a minute, “[Y/n] you know how I feel about this.”

“Humor me Jaybird,” you said, the soft smile that he could never refuse spreading across your face. He felt less on edge as he worked off his gloves and jacket.

“Only because it’s you,” he said tossing his jacket over the back of a chair and picking up the box. He almost dreaded opening it as he inspected the plain white box for a moment. He was relieved that you hadn’t wrapped it or done anything of things you’d done to Damian. 

Granted he did remember the most recent of the demon spawn’s birthdays. You’d wrapped his gift in not one but twelve layers of wrapping paper. It hadn’t even been all wrapping paper – most of it had been more substantial things like duct tape and heavy duty posters. Even Bruce had gotten a kick out of the kid’s reaction to each layer and the snarky messages on them.

Today, however, two small pieces of tape were all that held the box lid closed. Nothing complicated.

Slicing the tape with his thumb, he pushed off the box’s lid. Sitting on a piece of gauze was a note, roughly the dimensions of the box. “Who complains about cake? No one. Mmm…cake!” He laughed, picking up the paper. Underneath there were several small bags, like the ones jewelers put rings or earrings in after repairs, filled with glitter. On the back of the note, in glitter pen (because of course), you’d written, “And glitter bombs to send the others.” There was one for each Bat-kid and even one for Bruce. “PS. I love you.” Underneath the bags was also a flattened piece of metal, about the size of a military ID tag.

Lifting it out his eyes caught the engraving on it, stamping really – like one of those souvenir pennies. On one side was his name and date and place of birth. On the other, the date he returned to Gotham as the Red Hood; that side was done in a stronger, deeper engraving style than the other. “What’s this,” He asked, looking skeptically at you.

“Well,” you said, finally standing up from the couch. Crossing to him, you rested your hands on his shoulders. “You take on too much love, this is a reminder. A token to keep you in the present.” One of your hand wandered to his cheek. Thumbs stroking those cheekbones and the little bit of stubble starting to come in you added softy,  “I don’t want to lose you again.”  Referring back to the days and weeks surrounding his death was always touchy. 

He smiled, looking at the piece of metal in his hand then turned to you. “You do that every day beautiful,” the grin was practically ear to ear as he seized you up in a kiss.