#but he’d be caught dead before asking Bruce for help after making a big deal about being independent and grown up

[dickie-birb]

The devil couldn’t reach me so instead he sent bludhaven apartments heating systems and landlords

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Pressing Issues

*Dick Grayson x Reader

*Summary: Detective Dick Grayson has never been annoyed by another person as much as journalist Reader.

*Warnings: Swearing, talks of gun violence (relevant to a case Dick is working on), mention of robbery (case mention), cop stuff. Let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: I made a post talking about this idea a while ago and finally wrote it.

Tip Jar

**********

When Detective Dick Grayson stepped on the scene, he didn’t expect anything different from what was told to him on the way there. He went about doing his thing - talking to the officers on the scene, chatting with CSI - when he heard his partner let out an exaggerated groan. Dick looked over, confused at the noise. His partner just rolled his eyes, nodding towards a woman with a press badge. “Man, why’d they send her?”

“Who’s that?” Dick asked. He’d never seen her before, but she was definitely attractive. He’d had a few press statements on other cases, and he never really saw the issue with the press. Maybe that was just from growing up around Bruce and all the media attention that brought, but the journalists he’d spoken to in Bludhaven had never been rude to him.

“That’s (y/n), she’s a monster.” His partner provided no further explanation as the woman walked up to them.

“I’m sorry, Miss, but you can’t be on the scene,” Dick immediately said. He was surprised the other officers didn’t stop her at the tape.

“Right, but those officers weren’t giving me any answers,” she told him. His partner let out a laugh.

“Grayson, you can deal with her, just get her out of the tape,” his partner said.

“Rodriguez, always nice to see you.” She smiled at his partner, but her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Haven’t gotten any better at your job since the last time we spoke, have you?”

“Grayson, get her out of here.” Rodriguez lost any amusement he had with the woman, and Dick knew he should get the journalist out of there before things escalated even further. Dick led her away from the scene, right to the edge of the tape but away from the small crowd that were always nosing around scenes.

“Detective Richard Grayson, how can I help you out?”

“(Y/n) (L/n), lead crime journalist for the Bludhaven Gazette. I wanted to get a feel for the scene before we put anything out about it,” she explained. “Anything you can share about what happened?”

“Alright, well we have two males hit in a drive-by, one dead on the scene. We don’t know much about motives or anything, but we’re suspecting rival gangs based on the fact this happened in a grey-zone,” Dick told her. It would be vague enough to satisfy her readers, but didn’t put anything too speculative out there. She was shaking her head as she wrote down what he said. “Wait, what’s all that about?”

“What?”

“The head shaking? What, you don’t agree with the police statement?” Dick was trying to joke with her, but he was still confused.

“It’s not a grey-zone, but I wouldn’t expect the cops to know that,” she said, challenging him. Dick tried to think back to his nightly activities, trying to figure out if he missed anything with how the city was divided. As far as he knew, this area was unclaimed. “Right, so that’s it?”

“Well, yeah. We just got on the scene not too long ago.” She just hummed, and he wasn’t sure if it was in acknowledgement or disapproval. “Hey, what’s your beef with Rodriguez?”

“For a Detective, he’s shit at his job,” she told him, clicking her pen as she put it back in her bag.

“Care to elaborate?”

“A kid got snatched, broad daylight, and Rodriguez was the lead on the case. Gave up after a few days. I dunno where you’re from, but where I’m from, we don’t give up like that, especially on a kid,” she said. “I wrote articles talking about it, and Rodriguez doesn’t like me because I called him out on it.”

“Wow, you’re pretty cutthroat,” Dick said, whistling lowly.

“I just don’t give you guys any slack. Be good at your job and you have nothing to worry about.” She smiled at him before turning on her heel and walking away. He watched as she put her phone to her ear, probably talking to someone back at the office. She scared him a little, but he was always up for the challenge.

**********

Rodriguez was right. Dick was always down for accountability, but the way you brought it into his life was a bit much. Every time there was even the slightest hint of a development, you were there with your opinions about what he was doing wrong, and if you ever had any praise for him, it was so sparse he couldn’t even tell it was praise. He was just trying to look through some files to piece together your little cryptic ‘it’s not a grey-zone’ hint, when Rodriguez tapped on his desk.

“What’s up?” He asked, looking up at his partner.

“You got a visitor.”

“God, don’t tell me…”

“Surprise, your worst nightmare is here, Grayson.”

“Aw, I got a new nickname?” You asked Rodriguez as you dropped in the chair next to Dick’s desk. Dick had to stop the groan from escaping him, really not wanting to deal with you.

“She’s your problem now,” Rodriguez said, walking away. Dick almost wished he could go with him.

“Alright, (L/n), what is it now?” Dick asked, putting down his files.

“You have ID on one of the victims and it was a guy with no connections to anything on the Underground, but no progress on the shooter? C’mon, Grayson, I thought you’d at least be better than Rodriguez.”

“I’m working with what I have,” he huffed, fighting the way he wanted to roll his eyes.

“You’re not looking at all your options. Put away the gang files, they’re not the ones you should be looking at,” you almost ordered him. “I’m practically doing your job for you at this point. I gotta run, I have an interview.”

“You’re leaving the Gazette?” Dick was almost hopeful. That would definitely make things easier on him.

“No, smart one, I’m the one doing the interviewing.”

“Wow, who would’ve guessed with your shining personality,” Dick shot back, finally annoyed.

“I’m a ray of sunshine, just not with cops,” you said with your fake little smile before leaving him there. It took everything to not slam his head against his desk.

**********

Dick always thought he was good under pressure, but this was intense. With your little article that came out the day after you talked to him - apparently your interview was with the victim’s wife - public pressure was increasing on the department tenfold. He hated to admit it, but you were good at what you did. He was almost pissed off at himself after reading the article, and that was saying something.

He needed to close this case so he could get you off his back, and he needed to do it fast. Not only did you put pressure on the department, now his superiors were putting even more pressure on him. He knew you were cryptic with what you knew, but you wanted him to put together the pieces. When he was out for his nightly patrol, he was trying to piece together what little hints you dropped.

Dick had to admitted he was silently fuming as he sat on the rooftop across from the scene of the crime. After all, what did you know? It’s not like you had access to the databases he did, both legally and in the legally grey. What did she mean it’s not gang-related? It has to be, this is disputed territory right now. 

And of course something sketchy had to happen while he was doubting you. A black town car pulled up to the block, someone getting out of the passenger seat and scanning the area before going back to talk to someone in the back. Dick cursed as he grabbed his binoculars, trying to watch the scene closer to see if he could get any more information from the sketchy scene. He zoomed in on the man in the backseat, a guy dressed in an expensive-looking suit wearing sunglasses at night (like an asshole), silver rings adorning his fingers.

“No way,” Dick mumbled, taking a picture of the rings to send to Barbara later. One of them in particular looked familiar, but he couldn’t exactly place it. “How the hell did she…”

After whoever it was seemed satisfied with how the scene looked, the person got back into the car and it pulled off, the tires screeching in the quiet of the night. As soon as Dick finished his patrols for the night, he sent the picture off to Barbara. She called him as soon as she ran the picture. “Hey, where’d you see this guy?”

“By the scene of that drive-by a couple weeks ago,” Dick explained. “I recognize that big ring he’s wearing on his middle finger, but I have no idea where from. Can you help me out?”

“Yeah, that’s a Baglio family ring,” she told him. “I can’t get an ID on the guy, but you remember that Italian family we were having trouble with out here? Same family.”

“Damn, she was right then. Technically not gang related. Hey, does the mob count as a gang?”

“I mean, technically, but they aren’t really recognized as gangs when it comes to like popular recognition. Does that really matter, though?”

“It’s a matter of me being technically right, so yes.”

“You’re annoying, has anyone told you that lately?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Okay, good talk then.”

**********

Actually having a solid lead meant that he was able to close the case a lot sooner than he previously thought. Sure, he wasn’t able to actually bag whoever was in the back of the town car, but he was able to track down the shooters. At the press conference announcing the arrest of the shooters, he could see you right there in the front row with the other reporters. Dick caught your gaze for a second, and he almost missed the small nod of approval you gave him. For a moment, he thought he’d finally get on your good side again.

Then again, the peace could only last for so long. Every single case he was on, he could bet there was an article about it soon to follow. You’d appear at every crime scene, moving on from antagonizing Rodriguez to finding Dick and immediately bothering him. You’d drop your little cryptic hints when he was having trouble with cases, and somehow they’d actually be useful once he decoded them. The thing that probably bugged him the most was how you managed to get to his desk almost every day he was working on particularly difficult cases. You never let him get to the point of forgetting about cases, especially for the ones that involved people that stayed away from the Underground.

He could understand not wanting cases to go cold, but the fact that you were coming into the precinct every single day to bug him about developments was a bit much. Dick could handle a healthy amount of shit talking, but there was just something about your shit talking that got him on edge. Everything about you just got under his skin, and seeing you so often was really not helping that out. It got to the point where he started trying to avoid you just to keep his sanity.

“Grayson, (L/n) just got on the scene, you wanna run?” Rodriguez asked as soon as he spotted you talking to the officers at the tape. Dick quickly looked around, trying to find someplace he could disappear to. The only real option would be to go look like he was talking to the CSI team, but he didn’t want to disturb them actually doing their jobs. Before he could make a decision, you were already approaching.

“Grayson, stop running from me. You know I know where you work,” you called out to him.

“I should really get you banned from the precinct,” he shot back, a small frown on his face. 

“You know you’d get bored without me,” you said, rolling your eyes. “So, whatcha got for me?”

“Why are you talking like you’re on this case? Technically I don’t have to tell you anything more than the other officers told you.”

“So what I’m hearing is go ahead and write whatever I want.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Ooo, that’s the first time I’ve heard you curse. I like it. So, what’s the news?”

“It’s a robbery, one injured, but we have a couple witnesses and it sounds like we have a pretty solid perp description. We’re just waiting for the witnesses to meet with the sketch artist and then we’re sending out the sketch to the papers and news outlets,” Dick told you. “There, satisfied?”

“As a matter of fact, I am. Glad this one’s an easy one, I’d hate to have to write about you again,” you told him, turning around with a small smile on your face. “See you later, Grayson.”

“I sure hope not,” he decided to call after you. He could faintly hear your laugh, but the thing that caught his attention was the fact that you decided to flip him off as you walked away. Dick froze for a second, not sure if he should be highly amused or pissed off. He settled for somewhere in the middle, leaning more towards being pissed off.

When you put out your article, it was a simple, tell the details, share the perp sketch type of article. Dick was pleasantly surprised that there were no real call outs about him; as a matter of fact, his name was only mentioned once with the request that anyone who sees or has information about the suspect contact the tip-line immediately. He smiled at his laptop, taking the lack of criticism as praise. He was even willing to take the shit talking from Rodriguez, because as far as he was concerned, Rodriguez was just jealous that he never got this type of reaction from you.

**********

Dick didn’t realize he actually somewhat enjoyed your company - if he could call it that - until you stopped bothering him. You moved on from targeting him, bugging other detectives and officers about their open cases. He would hear complaints, as well as some pretty unsavory things, about you from the people you were bothering, and he was surprised about the amount of times he almost jumped to your defense. You were the biggest pain in his ass - constantly bugging him about his cases and making sure that he didn’t forget about your existence - so why did your disappearance bother him so much?

He got used to seeing you around the precinct (just not talking to him), but then he noticed when you stopped showing up. You didn’t show up to crime scenes, you didn’t show up to the precinct, you just weren’t there anymore, and that worried him. He tried asking around about you, seeing if maybe you were there and he just didn’t happen to run into you, but he met the same response: relief that you’d stopped coming around. It got to the point where he was checking the Bludhaven Gazette’s website to see if you’d written any new articles. Nothing.

Dick figured there’d be no way to really contact you; it wasn’t like he could just call your job and be like ‘hey, why isn’t this journalist bothering me anymore?’. He tried pushing you to the back of his mind, but he found himself still looking for you. It annoyed him - even when you weren’t there, you still managed to find a way to bug him. Before he knew it, a month had passed without seeing you. Then, as he was trying to schmooze up to a DA at the Policeman’s Ball, he could hear the telltale groan of another officer. You were there.

Sure enough, there you were in a black cocktail dress, a flute of champagne in hand, talking to someone he vaguely recognized from a different precinct. He wanted to excuse himself from his conversation just to see where the hell you’d been, but he knew he couldn’t risk it. He’d just have to find you later.

Then you slipped away yet again. Dick kept seeing glimpses of you here and there, but he could never catch up to you. It wasn’t until you went to the bar that Dick finally found his opening. You were talking to someone, but he didn’t really care at the moment. He slid up beside you at the bar, ordering a drink. He could see you straighten up at the sound of his voice, knowing he had your attention. As he took a drink of the whiskey in his cup, he turned to look at you.

You were a lot more done up than you normally were when you were working, but he couldn’t say he strongly preferred either. You looked amazing either way, just in different ways. “(L/n), funny running into you here.”

“Grayson,” you greeted, taking a sip of your own drink. “I can hardly believe this is an accident considering the way you’ve been watching me all night.”

That took him off guard, just enough to make him choke on his drink for a second. As soon as he regained his composure, he tried to figure out how to come back from his blunder. “Well, yeah. I thought I was seeing a ghost considering how you just disappeared.”

Not his best work, but you gave an amused smile so he would count it as a win. “Aw, you missed me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. It was just weird not being bothered every second of my work day.” You tipped your glass back, the last of your drink passing your lips. He watched as you swallowed before putting the glass back on the counter, leaving some bills folded under it.

“Ah, I see. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, Grayson.” You stood from your seat, giving him one last look before turning to disappear back into the crowd. Dick would have to work fast if he wanted to catch up to you before you slipped through his fingers yet again. He paid for his drink and left a tip as fast as he could, scanning through the crowd for you again. You were about to disappear down the hallway towards the bathrooms, and he still had to make his way through the crowd as politely as possible while also avoiding conversation. Damn social conventions. 

You walked down the hall, wanting to escape to the bathroom for a few minutes to compose yourself, when you felt a hand around your wrist. You whipped around, not knowing who would be daring enough in a room full of police, just to see the last person you wanted to. “Grayson, let go of me.”

“No,” his voice was firm before he realized it must’ve been a little jarring to just get grabbed. “Sorry, but no.”

“What do you want?”

“Why are you even here?”

“It’s my job. I’m reporting on this damn thing,” you practically hissed, trying again to tug your wrist free from his hold. “Why do you care so much?”

“You’ve been MIA for a month and then suddenly you just appear here of all places? What gives?” He said, stepping towards you. You took a step back, trying to keep the distance, but your back just hit the wall behind you. You were forced to look up at him, the storm in his blue eyes surprising you. Why did it matter so much?

“I got sick, alright? My editor thought this would be an easy returner,” you snapped, trying to maintain your glare with him. It was a little difficult with how close he was to not get flustered, but you did what you needed to. “Why, did you miss me?”

You could tell that pissed him off by the smallest flare of his nose, but before you could take in the victory, he hit his arm on the wall above you. He kept it there, trapping you between his body and the wall. He wasn’t pressed against you just yet, but you wouldn’t be opposed to it if it was. “Why do you like pissing me off so much?”

He really didn’t see the opportunity he presented you with. You grabbed his tie the slightest bit, giving him the chance to pull away if he wanted to. When he didn’t, you used it to pull him down to your eye level. “Have you ever considered how fun it is?”

There was a moment of pure silence between the two of you, the faint noise of the party still going on just down the hall reminding you that you weren’t actually alone. Your gaze flicked down to his lips for just a moment, and then it was over. You don’t know who closed the distance first, but it didn’t really matter. The kiss was heated from the beginning, messy with tongue and teeth but you weren’t going to complain about it. Your hold on his tie tightened, pulling him closer to you. Dick’s arm moved from pressed against the wall above you, one hand fisting in your hair and the other wrapping around your waist to pull your body against him.

“God, I hate you,” Dick panted soon after he broke the kiss.

“Why do I get the feeling you don’t?” You tried teasing, even though your voice was a lot more airy than you would care to admit.

“You annoy the hell out of me.”

“I’m a journalist that doesn’t give cops any wiggle room, of course I do.” He rolled his eyes, making you smile. You pressed another kiss to the corner of his mouth. “But you still missed me.”

“I guess I did. Do you maybe wanna get out of here?” You raised your brow, knowing he had to know how that sounded. It took him a second, but it finally clicked. “Not like that! Get some food or something. You probably aren’t annoying all the time.”

“You underestimate me,” you joked, making him smile. He has a pretty smile. “But I’ll take you up on that. Just make sure you behave yourself.”

“You’re the one who kissed me!”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.” You freed yourself from his arms, making your way back down the hallway towards the exit. It took him a second, but you heard Dick following close behind. He pressed a hand to the small of your back, making sure you wouldn’t slip from his fingers again.

**********

Dress Inspiration

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299, @delaber

[analviel]

TIM DRAKE IS NOT ROBIN

It just so happens when Tim was planning to find Dick, his parents suddenly call him to tell him that there's a party or an event or just something on the other side of the world he can attend with them.

Sometimes they do this and Tim always says yes. It's as rare as leap years. Meaning it has happened only three times in his life before. He agonized over it. But you know, Tim's just a kid and there's no guarantee he can actually do something about Batman and Nightwing. Besides, Batman's been managing -if you can call it that- this long, with Alfred by his side, who's words certainly weights more heavily than the neighbours kid. He can afford a couple of weeks away from Gotham. By that time, Batman probably would've gotten his head straight. He's a hero, he's like, really strong, if anyone can get through this... besides, Tim figures Superman or Wonder Woman will do something before he truly crosses the line, right? Why would a kid know better than real superheroes, right? They must just be waiting until they're really needed. Right? Even though Tim personally thinks they should've at the very least locked Batman up somewhere he can't harm anyone or himself if they can't convince Dick to go back to being Robin. They're heroes.

Tim really wants to spend time with his parents. But before he leaves, he sends letters to every place he thinks Dick may be. The Titans Towers, his apartment in Bludhaven, where he lives with Starfire, Haly's circus, even to houses of his friends heroes. (Tim is twelve/thirteen alright. And one that has maybe below average self-awareness and his letters were very polite even if the act itself might've been vaguely sort of threatening).

So Tim leaves Gotham to spend time with his parents. It's busy, his parents keep him busy, and he doesn't have much time to dedicate to the news from Gotham. And really, if this is how it always is, no wonder his parents don't always have attention to spare on their kid in Gotham. So many things to do, so many things to attend, so many people to meet, and even more sites to visit. And the fighting. Tim hadn't realize it was this bad and suddenly thinks that, you know, it might've been better if he did stay back home. He realizes his parents actually brought him with them because they think a kid will somehow... magically fix them...??? Tim doesn't know, adults can be stupid.

Eventually, they realize the wrong in their ways and sends Tim back when his presence proves ineffective. Tim comes back to the city burning.

Well, not literally, but sort of.

Parts of it are burning. But not the whole thing. That's something.

Batman has been missing. And looking into it, at his last appearance, Tim surmise he retained a heavy wound.

(Or he's dead, not like they'll reveal it to the city just to cause more chaos and panic.) Batman seems to be out of the field and that was what Tim wanted, before he would've crossed the line.

Only, thing is, he'd already revealed too much weakness. The Batsignal had been taken down after one too many close calls on the perps they pick up. And the violence only raised from there.

(The first month when Batman and Robin and Batgirl's absence started to become suspicious. The second month Batman is deep in his spiral of violence. The third month Tim follows him around and then makes plants to pick up Dick that doesn't come to fruition and then sends his letters and then leaves. Six weeks with his parents, a few days from and to Gotham, two weeks to get caught up with what happened in Gotham. Batman is out, recovering, resting, dying, who knows.

Five months was all it took for Gotham to go to hell. And all it took was one dead son.)

Spoiler rises.

Gotham has a new champion.

Tim regrets that he hadn't been able to help. Tim will help.

Tim has a new champion.

Spoiler has a fixation on Cluemaster. It's not that difficult to go from there.

As long as, one, you know who was giving the police the answers to Cluemaster's gimmick. And two, that you know there even is a new vigilante because Spoiler is not like Batman who beats perps and leave them on the sidewalk for the police to pick up.

For wearing an almost eyesearing purple costume, Spoiler prefers to keep in the shadows and if not for the time Tim had trailed after Batman's madness, he wouldn't have learned the streets enough to notice the hints.

Tim purchase a laptop, watch tutorials day in and day out, buys pieces from junkyards to fiddle with wires and boards, and leaves Stephanie Brown a gift on her windowsill with a purple ribbon. Tim greets Spoiler over the comms. He calls himself Asset.

(It is not well-thought out because Stephanie takes to calling the mystery person who snuck into her room and refuses to give anything about themselves out 'Ass'. Tim did not actually sneak into her room but sent a drone to drop off his gift. Steph doesn't budge.)

Tim is not yet good enough to hack into cameras around Gotham. He finds he's good with a computer but not that good, his real talent lies not in the software but in the wires and soldering iron and the tiny bug camera/audio he has Spoiler plant around Gotham. If he can't take other cameras, he'll make them. (Also in case someone more experienced at hacking than he is manages to get in the system, Tim has a self-destruct button just for that. Yes, Dr. Doofenshmirtz is a good role models for mad scientist wannabes.)

A week is all it takes for Spoiler and Asset to get all the necessary evidence against Cluemaster. They celebrate. They are thirteen year olds and they just prevented a bomb from going off and put a bad man behind bars. They are high. They find more cases, for the most part C-rank villains and bellow but they also help with the big names by Spoiler planting more cameras and Tim sending the data and feeds for her to drop off to Jim Gordon. He is the only one who knows of the characters that have risen after Batman's sleep and can guess enough from Spoiler's stiff shoulders to keep that to himself.

Then...

Then it is six months and two weeks.

Tim watch from his now multiple screen behind his walk-in closet as a grave is dug out from the inside. Because S&A have put cameras everywhere just in case. After all, it's places you think are of no interest that criminals will sought to make deals in.

Tim does not send his partner to what may be a zombie but instead tells her to clear the direction Jason is stumbling towards. It takes him minutes to realize that Jason is patrolling his Robin patrol. Jason is sent to the hospital and Tim contacts them to list him under the Drakes, paying for his room and every other necessities. Has him transferred to the hospital that Drake medical industries is personally funding. When asked the name, Tim says Alvin Draper. He gets a cab to the hospital, finds Jason knocked out, peers at Robin's face. It's when they're alone, the previously dead boy's hands wrapped in bandages that Tim confirms in disbelief that as far as he knows, the boy matches Jason Todd. As if him digging his way out of Jason Todd's grave wasn't enough. Granted, Tim doesn't even know the shade of his eyes, so he's not the best judge.... Tim snaps a picture from different angles of the room and takes another cab back to Bristol while thinking up a story.

Tim knocks on the neighbour, tells them he's got something of Jason and if he can see Mr. Wayne. Tim is surprised himself by how relieved he is to see Bruce standing alive and well. Or not standing, leg and arm in a cast, an IV beside him on the couch in the drawing room. Tim weaves his story. Little Tim Drake wandering around Gotham, stumbles on a bunch of medic picking up a boy that Tim recognises as the neighbour's dead kid, pays for his hospital bills, takes a couple of pictures after the first aid or whatever and gives Bruce the pictures. Bruce makes his way to the hospital.....

I've lost steam at this point.

You decide if they arrive to see Jason and Bruce and Alfred is all tearful while Tim awkwardly leaves the room to resume his brainstorming on the S&A latest case, or they find an empty bed and Bruce goes on a frenzy tracking his undead lost son.

Additional idea: So Tim not being there didn't kill Bruce, but Bruce has been crippled and Batman is dead now. So without Robin, Batman did die.

Maybe Dick comes back to become Batman with Jason as his Robin, since that's not a combination often seen (Or the Batman Jason and Robin Tim, that's more common, though I'm loath to give up Spoiler and Asset). Around this time Babs comes back to the scene as Oracle with the birds of prey.

Additional additional idea to how they'll work with everyone back on the scene: since the Bats have the fighters and more equipped to report to time sensitive stuff, maybe S&A focus more on cold cases. Where Spoiler goes sneaking around, poking at old cases with Asset in her ears, figuring out puzzles and old clues, making breakthrough after breakthrough and bringing long overdue justice together.

Either the Drakes dies without Batman there to slap the poison out of Jack's hands because he's too busy searching for his son, or maybe they live with Tim able to direct Batman there immediately. Either way, Drake industry sponsors S&A, so now Spoiler also has toys like the Spoil... er plane??? Spoiler bike??? Eh, the name's work in progress.

[chyornaya-vdova]

She's gone, come Over

A collab with panda365 aka @gammacousin

Tony's made a stupid Titkot Challenge on Pepper and wants Bruce to do the same to Natasha. Obviously Nat is not amused and Bruce has to fear for his life.

AO3   ff.net

Tony’s whining again, grumbling in the lab with puffy eyes and a scrappy blanket over his shoulder. He jumps when Banner enters the lab, the door slammed behind him.

“What’d you do? Pepper kicked you out?” Bruce asked, wondering what Tony's done to make Pepper that furious with him.

Tony tried to compose himself, but failed. “Uh nothing. Just a joke. She didn't take it that well…“ He mumbled, looking away from his science bro.

Bruce sighed and held the bridge of his nose. “What did you do?“ Sure, it wasn't the first time this happened, but Pepper sounded more angry than usual when it came to Tony's shenanigans. And he should know, he was an expert when it came to anger.

“You know the latest app all the kids are using?“ Tony explained with a flourishing hand gesture “I tried one of the trends out. Didn’t end well.”

“And?”

“Annnd I texted Pepper a minute after she walked out the door and said ‘okay she’s gone, you can come over now’. And I waited.“

Bruce sighed again, long and deep. He could already guess what happened next. What did Tony expect to happen? That she won't be furious and won't throw him out? He held his forehead and thought about what he should say. This was just too ridiculous.

“You know how her nose twitches when she’s mad?” Said Tony, before he could think of anything to say.

“No.” Was all he could say in that moment.

“Well! It was twitching!”

“Is that really important right now…?“ He mumbled, not getting out of the sighing circle anytime soon.

Tony was supposed to be smart and then he did something as stupid as this. When Bruce looked at his friend again, he knew something bad would happen soon. Tony had this weird look on his face. As if he had a stupid idea that'll bring them into lots of trouble.

“No.“ Said Bruce before Tony could vocalize out his idea.

“I haven't said anything.“

“I said no.“

“What if I dare you? I’ll make a bet!”

He'll regret asking, “What bet…?“

“I’ll give you $500 to put towards your new microscope if you try the trend on Natasha the next time she leaves.”

Banner scoffed and put on his lenses, ready to focus on working, “I don’t have a death wish, thanks anyways.”

“Dude! Bro! Come on…! You have to live-!“

“Yeah! I’d like to.”

“$700…$1,000…eternal bragging rights with the boys? It’s bad luck to keep telling me no.”

“Look, when the time comes where Nat needs to take me down, I don't want it to happen like this, okay?“ Bruce grumbled. As nice as it sounded to have a new microscope, his life was at risk. It's not the same when Pepper's mad. Yes, she was creepy when angry, but Bruce swore to never ever get on Nat's bad side. Ever. And he was quite sure once she 'killed' him, the other guy would be next.

Tony tapped at his knee, jaw twisted in thought. “I’ll bargain with Cap on the next mission! No Hulk. Period. You can science behind the tech screen while we kick butt. Deal?”

Bruce bit his lip so hard it almost bled. He groaned, tugging at his curls frustrated. Before he could answer he needed to look at his options. Would it be really worth it? “I guess it won't matter if I'm dead...”

“If you live it’s an amazing story.”

He whipped around and counted on his fingers. “No Hulk on the next mission, a brand new microscope, and $50,000 down on a new house for Nat and I.”

Tony was visibly cringing. “Shi-rrr. Sure. Dang you’re expensive upkeep! One condition- this is all recorded via the security tapes for my viewing pleasure later. Okay? Deal?“

He already knew why Tony wanted it recorded. “You're gonna put the footage on YouTube and this children’s app, aren’t you?“ He asked, sighing once again.

“Nooooo, of course not! Who do you think I am?“ A liar. That's what he was.

Bruce hesitated for a few more minutes, weighing all his options again. Maybe if he already had the house, she probably, hopefully would be less pissed? He was thinking about surprising her with it anyway, so why not use it as a method to prevent his imminent death. Bruce sighed. “Okay. Deal.“ He already regretted it...

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

Natasha suiting up for an errand always took twenty minutes. She’s lingering in the hallway and strapped on her gear and a knife in a secret holster.

She yelled with her short hair bouncing, “Bruce! I’m getting sandwiches for lunch, what do you want?”

“Is the salami going to threaten your life?”

He pointed to her holster.

She smirked, tugging her belt a little tighter and reached for the keys, “Not if I kill him first.”

“Where are you going?”

“Whatever I see first. Tony's paying of course.“ Said the redhead, as she held up Tony's credit that she kept stealing from him.

“How-? You’re going to get caught one of these days.”

“I’m a spy, Vrach.” And it's not like Tony made it difficult for her. It was easier than stealing a lolly from a baby.

Bruce rolls his eyes, looking her over with a thought. “Do you have your phone on you?”

She tapped her side. “Yep. Should I text you where I end up? Can you text me your order?”

Bruce smirked, already trying to hide his evil thoughts and the unhinged nerves that accompanied it. “Yep! Sounds great!”

Natasha made sure she had everything she needed, before kissing Bruce's cheek. “Okay, I'm off.“ Bruce gave her a little wave, as she left.

He bit his cheek and watched and waited. Maybe if he lingered a bit longer she’d be halfway to pick up their lunch. He’d have a full half hour to prepare for the explosion.

Or maybe Natasha would just laugh it off...find amusement in the prank. Heck, she lives with a bunch of guys. She’s used to this...right?

“R.I.P, me...” Bruce reached for the phone, tapped his messages and clicked her name. He typed quickly;

‘She just left. You can come over.’

As he hit the 'send' button he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Now he had to wait...

He stood and dropped his phone back onto the table and circled around to head to his private office. He lifted a hand to the door handle and heard the sound of screeching tires pulling back up to the tower. Someone was driving recklessly. Dangerous considering New York streets. He entered his office and swung the door lazily closed. It sprung back open and hit the wall, forcefully. Almost as loud as the screech that followed...almost.

“Robert Bruce Banner!”

He cringed and looked up, trying to play innocent. The green shade in her eyes and the blush on her cheeks did nothing to help the situation.

Natasha stood there, his phone in her hand with her pupils the size of full on quarters.

“What. The. Hell?!“

“Uh-”

He couldn’t get a word in. She was talking again. “Who’s ‘she’?! ‘She’ who?!”

“She uh.. “ he stuttered, English shipping his mind. “She you.”

Natasha lifted her eyebrows. “Me. So I left and you thought it would be a good idea to call over your, what, your other girlfriend?!”

“I don’t have another girlfriend-“

“Did you realize you were texting me?! Who were you trying to text?!“

“Well, uh...“

“Give me your phone!” She dropped her head and charged like a bull, searching his pockets like an unhinged rabid animal.

“Natasha!” He squirmed away, receiving a slap to his shoulder in the process. “Ow!”

She screamed, pivoting. She dropped her own device in her circle, scrambling to locate his device. “Where did you put it?!”

“Natasha!” He followed her down the hall, finding just the slightest amusement in her demeanor. If she wasn’t a trained killer, unraveling his significant other might have a bit of play to it.

She slammed her hand on the table and lifted his phone, her lip trembling as she went off in a mumbled Russian. Bruce would prefer the screaming to the whispers. He knew she could hurl a knife in his direction at any moment with just the flick of her wrist.

“Betty?! Were you trying to text Betty?! You texted Betty, didn't you?!”

He looked at her, softly and kindly, trying to take a seat at the table she was hunched over at, frantic with his phone in her hand.

“Hey, honey-“

“Don’t you honey me! You’ll answer the damn question!”

“Okay, okay!” He lifted his hands in surrender. “Easy! Just take it easy.”

…there’s the knife. An inch away from his throat. Natasha held her frown, immovable in her position. “Answer. The. Question.“ She growled at him and it was pretty frightening.

“I will. I will. Let's talk, okay?” He managed to squeak out.

Romanoff glared at him for a few more seconds, before tucking her blade and hurled it at the wall, shattering a glass in the process. She forced a grin and dropped his phone. “Okay, let’s talk…”

“It was a bet, Nat.“ he grinned nervously, “I didn’t, mean to-.“

“Tony? Was it Tony? It was Tony, wasn’t it.”

“Nat. We’re just talking.”

Natasha tugged her jacket in a huff, standing a bit straighter with her same intimidating eye contact. Her jaw was tight, no doubt grinding his heart against her molars.

“It was a prank- that’s it.“ He reassured her as honestly as possible.

Her head tilted, an eyebrow raised. It was crystal clear that she didn't believe a word he said. “Really. That’s it?”

“I might’ve. Well I might’ve...”

“Talk, Robert!”

“I made a bet! Alright? I made a bet with Tony.”

She crossed her arms, her death glare was still there. “With Tony.”

“With Tony…it was a big bet.”

“Did you gamble away a kidney?”

“No…just...listen-“

“I am listening!” She hissed impatiently. Yes, he understood, she just wanted him to get to the point.

He looked up, those bright puppy dog eyes she would like to tear out at that moment, “Without cutting me off?”

Natasha walked over to her knife, took it down with a huff, and sat back at the table with a boot on the chair. With her fingers running along the blade she nodded ever so slightly.

“I’m going to die...” He mumbled to himself.

She nodded again, still staring at the knife. “We'll see. I'll be the judge of that.“ Nat answered, who obviously heard his mumbling. It was true, though. His life was in her heavily armed hands. It's usually a good thing, but he's never been on the receiving end before...

He laid his hands on the table. “Alright. First of all, there is no other girlfriend. Just you. You’re my everything.”

Natasha snorted with sarcastic laughter, again not believing anything he said. “Listen! Please. I made a bet with Tony, for us. For you and me. He was being stupid, he wanted me to do something equally stupid, so I said I would if he gave me $50,000.”

Now she looked up from her knife with a raised eyebrow.

“For a house! Tasha! Put away the judgement for ten minutes, I swear you can cut me open when I’m done talking.“ He sighed and crossed his arms. “It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Natasha looked back down at the knife in her hands. A few seconds ticked by. A minute. A very long and agonizing minute. “And that...that’s worth giving me a heart attack?”

“Well, uh…“ It kinda was, since now they had the house, but he still feared for his life and half lied to her instead. “No. No it’s not. I'm sorry.”

“This wasn’t funny.“ She scolded. Of course she was right. He knew it from the beginning.

“It wasn't.“ He agreed immediately. “Forgive me?”

She kicked the chair in front of her, still glaring. “I need a ten foot radius for the next 48 hours.”

“Sooo, I’m not forgiven.”

“I’ll think about it.” She reached back for her keys. “You never told me what you wanted for lunch.”

“Oh. Yeah. Well if you’re going to-”

“No no. You’re going with me. You obviously need to be supervised since apparently you can’t behave when I’m not around.” She scolded as if he's a little kid.

“It was a stupid prank!”

“Stupidity has its consequences. Get in the car.” Natasha turned around to go outside, but he wasn't quite done with her.

“Nat?“ She stopped and just looked at him over her shoulder. “Let's hug it out?“

“Ten foot radius.“ She reminded him, but he wasn't having any of it. Bruce opened his arms and gave her his best puppy look. The redhead glared at him and they stood there for a few seconds. Then, she eventually gave up and came back to hug him. Bruce wrapped his arms tightly around her, holding her as close as physically possible. “You're still not off the hook.“

“I know. You can punish me all you want. I deserve it.“

“You sure as hell do. You have five seconds left.“ Bruce listened as she counted from five downwards and only let go when she reached one.

“I love you, Nat.“ He said, but she answered with something he should've expected but honestly didn't in this situation.

“You're a dork.“ Natasha turned around to leave the room and on her way she waved at him to follow her, which he did.

“Well, I heard chicks dig that.” He couldn't help but reply, which earned him a slap on his arm, this time more gentle than before.

[collecting-stories]

Rick - ep. 09 - Georgia

Summary: After you and Daryl spend the afternoon together Rick and Michonne come over for beers, Rick finally figuring some things out.

A/N: I wanted to add more depth to the relationships in this version of the series. 

Georgia Masterlist | The Walking Dead Masterlist

☼ ☼ ☼ ☼

Daryl sat in the passenger seat, window rolled down as he smoked a cigarette, watching you sitting behind the wheel of his truck was more enticing than he thought it would be. He figured, this truck being akin to a child, that he’d be keeping an eye on you so that you didn’t damage her while you were driving but in fact it was just the sight of you in the driver’s seat, taking precious care of something special to him, that was making it hard to turn his gaze away.  

“Ya ain’t a bad driver.” Daryl commented, smoking blowing out the open window as he spoke.  

“I told you!” You laughed, “you know Rick Grimes?”

“Yeah, how do you?”

“Our mama’s went to school together, his mom’s my godmother. But he taught me to drive.” You supplied.  

A week before you got your permit your dad went on a week-long bender that resulted in his third stint in rehab. Your mom had asked Rick if he minded teaching you, telling him that your dad’s brother had passed away and he’s gone up to Virginia to be with his family. One year he’d caught the flu and another time an uncle in Tennessee had passed and he’d gone to bed with family’ because apparently your mother had married a family man.  

Rick had been happy to help and you’d been happy to have him teach you. If you could’ve had an older brother you were sure you would’ve wanted it to be Rick. He was a little older than you, Daryl’s age, but he had always hung back at kids' tables and parties and church picnics with you, never letting you feel left out.  

“He ain’t too bad.”

“Of a person or of a driver?” You asked, glancing over at Daryl as you slowed to a stop at a streetlight.  

“Both, likes to hassle me whenever he drops by.”  

“I didn’t know you were friends!” You said, already preparing all the questions you were going to ask him next time he came into the diner.  

“Ain’t clipping pictures to my visor or nothing,” he remarked, grinning when you frowned at him. There was a picture of Maggie and you from last year’s Harvest Festival clipped to your visor in your jeep and Daryl had teased you about it when he’d first noticed it there.  

“I’m gonna get a picture of me and clip it to your visor so you can see my smiling face every morning.” You replied.  

“Lucky me.” He managed to sound sarcastic as he said it but he thought immediately that he wouldn’t mind a picture of you in his truck, tucked away to look at whenever he was having a shitty day.  

“Where am I going once I get in to Woodbury?” You asked, crossing over the pike to take the back way into town. You liked backroads better than the main highways, something you and Daryl had in common. He wasn’t as much of a backseat driver as you thought that he would be.  

“The industrial park on the other side of Cartwright...ya know where that is?”

“As long as you tell me where to turn.” You passed the Woodbury diner, the chrome exterior catching the sun and drawing your attention. “We should get food there on the way back.”

“This ain’t a whole day thing...I got stuff ta do when I get back.” Daryl replied, taking a look passed you to the diner as the truck continued on.

“It’ll be fun, come on.” You begged, glancing over at him.  

“I’ll think about it.”  

-

Daryl lacked the ability to say no to you, something he had already known to be true but discovered over again when he told you to pull into the diner in Woodbury after a stop off at the bank to cash his check. You led him to a table in the back that had a tiny jukebox on it and he rolled his eyes as you ignored the menu in favor of finding a quarter.  

“Ya play any a that crap ya listen to I’m leaving ya here.” Daryl piped up as you dropped the quarter in.

“I was gonna play Dolly...it’s classic.”

He shook his head at you and you stuck your tongue out at him before settling on Bruce Springsteen. “You have a beef with the boss too?”

“Nah, this is fine.” He replied as the sounds of ‘I’m on Fire’ played in the booth. A little too on the nose, he thought, as he sat across from you watching you read over the menu.  

“Do you like working at the slaughterhouse?”

“I cut up dead cow all day long...not exactly the dream.” Daryl replied, “my brother got me the gig after I dropped out and I been working there since. Got bills to pay.”

“Does your brother still work there?”

“He’s in jail.”

“Oh. Sorry-”

“Ain’t your fault, he’s a fucking moron, got himself arrested. Been fucking up since we were kids.” He shrugged. He loved Merle but he certainly didn’t like him. Merle had gotten him in more trouble than he could keep track of.  

“I don’t have any siblings...I think I was enough.” You replied.

“I’m sure.” He teased, grinning at you.  

When the waitress came around to take your orders, she winked at you, assuming, you were sure, that the two of you were on a date. You smiled back at her and Daryl rolled his eyes when she walked away.  

“Are ya like that too?” He asked, “too perky for yer own good?”

“Probably. The happier you are the better the tip.” You replied, shrugging.

“I’m sure ya get tips just cause everyone knows who ya are.”  

“Well yeah.” You shrugged, “I can’t wait to get a different job.”

“Ya ain’t thrilled waiting on people all day?” Daryl asked, biting at his thumb to calm his nerves. He was sitting across from you at a diner and you were fishing in your bag to play the same Bruce Springsteen song over again.  

“No. I hate it. People are the worst!” You replied. There was nothing you could think of worse than having to deal with people all day. “What about you though? You have to deal with annoying people coming in to get their cars fixed.”

“Yeah I’m sitting across from one of ‘em.”

“Shut up!” You laughed, nudging his leg with your foot, “you love spending time with me.”

“You keep saying I do.” He said it but he knew that you were right. He liked spending time with you a little too much.  

-

Rick sat in the Adirondack chair that you usually occupied whenever you were over, cooler full of beer next to him. Daryl finishing some work on your jeep, showing Michonne the repairs he had done while Rick talked about passing his sheriff’s exam.  

“Ya ain’t President of the United States Rick,” Daryl cut off the second wind of the same story, laying his wrench down to look over at his best friend. Michonne laughed, shaking her head at the two of them. “Ya just made deputy.”

“Yeah and it’s a pretty big honor I’d say. Not everyone is out there making deputy D.” He replied, taking a swig of his beer.  

“Well as another person who made deputy, I’d like to point out that it isn’t the hardest thing in the world either.” Michonne piped up, grabbing a beer from the cooler. She handed one off to Daryl, taking a better look at the Jeep he was working on. A tassel made of different color yarns hung from the rearview mirror with an air freshener that looked especially feminine too, certainly not something Daryl would hang in his car. “Who’s Jeep?”

“Nobody’s, just doing a favor.”

“A favor for...” Michonne trailed off, popping the driver’s side door open. Daryl didn’t say anything as she slipped into the seat, taking a look around the inside. Vinyl stickers on the dashboard and as she scanned her eye caught the picture in the visor.  

“I been thinking the Jeep looked familiar to me,” Rick piped up. He’d thought one more than one occasion when he stopped ‘round his friend’s house that the Jeep he was working on was one he had seen around town though he couldn’t place it. “Just don’t know why.”

“That’s cause ya ain’t a good cop.” Daryl joked. Michonne laughed as she pulled the picture down and looked at it.

“I’m assuming it’s not Maggie Greene.” She said, handing off the picture to Rick.

“No, Daryl-”

“I’m just fixing her car.”

“What am I missing?” Michonne asked, looking between the two of them.

“She doesn’t need any trouble D, she gets enough of it.” Rick said, handing the picture back.

“I’m just fixing the damn car Rick. It’s my job.” Daryl repeated, tossing the wrench he’d been using, listening to it clang against the car before falling to the ground.  

“That was her backpack, wasn’t it?”  

“I didn’t ask her to come around.” He insisted.  

“You gotta stop seeing her.”

“I ain’t seeing anyone.” Daryl replied, “I gotta repeat myself? Ya ain’t her family, anyway. Ya can’t tell her what to do. Or me, for that matter.”

“Someone’s gotta look out for her.” Rick replied, “lord knows she’s not good at knowing what she needs.”

“What is going on?” Michonne asked again, stepping out of the Jeep and closing the door.

“Nothing’s going on.” Daryl snapped.

“I can’t believe your-”

“Swear to god Rick, I ain’t repeating myself again. Either shut the fuck up or get the hell off my property.”

“Whoa.” Michonne held her hand out when Daryl moved closer to Rick. She turned toward Rick, “I think you need to cool off.”

“We’re not done talking about this.” Rick announced, looking passed Michonne to Daryl. Before his best friend could say anything in response Rick was walking down the driveway to where his car was parked. He climbed in, slamming the door, before taking off.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Michonne asked, looking back to Daryl as he picked up the wrench he was using, “And don’t give me the ‘ain’t nothing’ excuse. I know when something is nothing and this clearly isn’t.”

“Said I’d work on her car cause she didn’t have the money to pay Dale.” Daryl shrugged.  

“And?”

“Don’t know.” He replied, honestly. He didn’t know and he didn’t like to think about it too much.  

“Come on D,”

“I said I don’t know.” He insisted, shrugging his shoulders in defeat, “I just like having her around.”

“You got a crush.” Michonne smiled, watching the way his face flushed.  

“I ain’t gonna keep ya ‘round if yer gonna make fun a me.”

-

taglist: @gigilame @sabertooth-potato @enrapturedbythemoon @oncemorewithfeelingg @thanossexual @yespleasejayhalstead @kylieeepalmer @cbarter @onemorebeautifulnightmare  @mainokutan @solllaris @twdeadfanfic @legit-emily @hopesxxhigh @coffeebooksandfandom @jodiereedus22 @tehfabbooty @thecaptainsgingersnap  @of-storms-and-sadness @twdeadfanfic @alwaysadreamingoptimist @bucky-barnes-babies @ly--canthrope @daryldixonandfrogs @jaycc7983 @easnuppa @imaginecrushes @tonystarkismyboy @watchmeaspire @harpersmariano 

[daringyounggrayson]

written for the lovely @aeligsido as part of a gift exchange!

Summary: After an argument with Bruce, Dick retaliates by running off to a not-so-safe part of Gotham. During his misadventure, he drinks a slushie, stops an attempted robbery, and lands himself in someone else’s trunk. He can’t exactly say that his current situation is a surprise, but that doesn’t mean getting out of it is going to be a piece of cake. Especially when he has a head injury working against him.

oOo

In retrospect, Dick made a lot of stupid decisions tonight.

The first stupid decision had been starting up the concert argument again which, at this point, is a losing battle that isn’t really about a concert anymore. Dick still doesn’t understand how going on a mission in space isn’t a big deal but going to a concert with a few friends who happen to be in college is. Especially since Dick met the “college kids” when they were all still in high school together. And, besides, a couple of the people he went on the space mission with are the same age as the aforementioned college kids.

Dick didn’t—doesn’t—even care about the concert that much; he’s annoyed that Bruce is being a controlling hypocrite and treating Dick like a child. He’s annoyed that after all these years of continuously proving himself to Bruce, the man still doesn’t trust him.

So what did Dick do to show Bruce why he should trust him? A series of stupid, stupid things that served the sole purpose of making Bruce angry. And to make it worse, Dick knew how stupid they were and chose to do them anyway. He knew he was being stupid when he left his phone at home, and he knew he was being stupid when he ignored Bruce’s use of Dick’s full name as he left the grounds. He knew he was being stupid when he immediately drove to a not-so-safe part of Gotham just so he could rub it in Bruce’s face later.

The point is, Dick knows it won’t be fun when he eventually has to face Bruce’s wrath and whatever punishment is waiting for him the second he gets home—but Dick doesn’t care. Right now, Bruce is an ass and Dick finally has some space to think, to breathe. Plus, just by sitting outside this gas station and drinking a cherry slushie at eleven o’clock at night, in perfect view of a security camera no less, he knows he’s making Bruce furious. That part’s fun. So is thinking about how Bruce is probably watching him from said security camera, fuming and trying to figure out how to handle the situation he’s found himself in. It’s almost worth the inevitable grounding. (Almost.)

It stays fun right up until Dick notices two guys walking into the gas station, hiding their faces. Dick watches them carefully, still sipping his slushie and doing his best to seem innocuous. The second they pull out guns, Dick runs in, wishing he’d brought his phone with him so he could’ve called the police first. Wishing he’d brought a mask so he could’ve had more options.

But, stupid mistakes already made, he only has one option: get their attention and disarm them.

What happens after entering the gas station is kind of a blur. He remembers getting their attention, and he remembers emptying bullets onto the floor, so he must have disarmed them. But he’s not sure how quickly or efficiently he’d done that; he’d heard gunshots, he’s sure of that much, but he doesn’t remember if anyone had been hit.

He also remembers that he’d been recognized as Bruce Wayne’s kid at some point, and the situation had quickly shifted from a robbery/mugging to a kidnapping. Dick remembers trying to resist, and he’s pretty sure he broke someone’s nose in the process. The last thing he’s sure about is being pinned to the ground. He can’t remember which goon had done that, but before Dick could so much as think about getting out of the hold, they’d slammed his head against the ground hard enough to knock him unconscious for a second, hard enough to disorient him long enough to shove him in a trunk.

Now, in the trunk, Dick realizes another stupid decision he’d made: he didn’t bring his Robin belt with him and now getting out of this isn’t going to be a piece of cake.

What feels like fifteen minutes later, Dick’s tied to a chair in some car repair shop with a skull-splitting headache. His situation isn’t exactly ideal, but he knows that if it comes down to it, he’ll be able to get out of this—he’s Robin the Boy Wonder after all. It just won’t be easy, and his odds of coming out of it unscathed aren’t exactly low. Especially since the two men have guns again and Dick’s pretty sure his head is already bleeding.

The more Dick thinks about it, the more he hopes that Bruce had been watching him on that security camera.

“Alright, kid, what’s daddy’s number?”

Dick tilts his head up to look at the guy holding the phone, trying to figure out why he wants a dead man’s phone num—oh. Bruce. He means Bruce.

Dick doesn’t usually have to type Bruce’s number. It’s not often that he calls Bruce, and when he does, it’s almost always on his cellphone, so Dick just dials from his contacts. He knows the number by heart anyway though. It’s just that the pounding in his head—the one that’s getting worse the more he tries to focus—is making it hard to think; it’s making it take longer to access the information Dick knows is there.

“Uh,” Dick starts, trying to recall the numbers and what order they go in. But then again, is it even worth it? Will Bruce answer a call from an unknown number? And what time is it? The odds of him answering drop significantly if he’s already on patrol. Maybe Dick should call Alfred instead.

Impatient, phone-guy kicks Dick’s chair, sending him back a few inches with a screech. Dick blinks as the world spins and his stomach threatens to give up his slushie.

“Come on! I’m not asking again.”

“Chill, man,” the other guy cuts in, voice sounding slightly off and distorted. He has dried blood on his face and his nose looks crooked.

Huh, Dick thinks, guess I did break someone’s nose.

“You chill.”

Another kick to the chair, and this time it forces a mouthful of cherry slushie into his mouth. Dick grimaces as he forces it back down, squeezing his eyes shut as someone yells at him and tugs his head back by his hair.

Dick rattles off Bruce’s number, hoping that he’ll answer so Dick can go home and forget about all of his stupid, stupid decisions. Maybe Bruce will even take pity on him and forgo the lecture and grounding—not that Dick will be leaving the house any time soon if this headache is an indication of anything.

A phone is shoved against his ear and Dick flinches at the contact, snapping his eyes open and looking around.

“Dick? Are you alright?” Bruce is asking, voice controlled but urgent.

“Where are you?” Dick asks.

“I’m on my way,” Bruce says. “Everything will be alright, I promise.”

Dick doesn’t feel alright; maybe Bruce hadn’t been watching the cameras. “Did you see me?”

“Wha—”

The phone is gone and the lights shut off.

“Shit, shit, shit,” nose-guy rambles, voice higher than before as he slaps his hand over Dick’s mouth. Dick twists his head to try to get out of the man’s grip but it doesn’t work.

“Shut up,” phone-guy hisses. “Do you want to get caught?”

“Come out with your hands up!”

Dick’s first thought is a sarcastic guess the GCPD isn’t completely useless, and his second is one of relief. The third is that he should probably help them out, so he starts shouting behind the hand covering his mouth and kicking his legs against the chair, trying to create as much noise as possible.

“Shit, shit, shit,” nose-guy repeats, working himself into a conniption. “What do we do?”

“Would you pull it together,” phone-guy hisses, simultaneously slapping his hand over nose-guy and trying to still Dick’s legs. “Kid, if you don’t chill out, I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

Dick knows a bluff when he hears one, and Dick also knows this guy knows he’s about to get caught and doesn’t want to add murder to his list of charges. So Dick keeps yelling, and—shocker—his head stays bullet-free.

Not even a minute later, a flashlight dances across Dick’s face, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut. When he opens them again, he can make out two police officers, both wielding guns and flashlights.

The one yells, “Hands up—now!”

The hand is gone from Dick’s mouth and his legs are no longer being held down.

“Okay. Keep them up and step away from the kid. Nice and slow.”

The other officer moves to Dick’s side, immediately going to untie the ropes. “You alright, kid?”

“Yeah,” Dick says, moving his arms in front of him and rubbing at his wrist once the ropes are gone. The officer presses something—gauze, probably—against Dick’s still bleeding head. He winces, holding back a hiss. “Aside from my head.”

“Sorry about that. EMTs are on their way,” the officer assures, keeping a straight face and not giving any indication of how bad the injury is. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Richard Grayson,” Dick says. Instead of looking at the officer, Dick watches as the wanna-be kidnappers are led out of the car repair shop in handcuffs.

“Alright, Richard, while we wait for medical to get down here, how about we call your parents and let them know you’re okay, yeah?”

Dick nods and rattles off Bruce’s number.

oOo

Dick’s would-be kidnappers were some of the worst he’s ever seen, and as Robin, he’s seen quite a few. They barely had him for thirty minutes, and that includes the time spent at the gas station. Their license plates got called in twice: once from the store clerk who found their license plate by checking the security footage, and a second time when Dick kicked out one of the car’s taillights and someone behind them saw Dick’s hand sticking out. And then—this part still makes Dick laugh—they just parked the car right in front of their so-called hideout. The hideout belonged to a friend, but they forgot about the silent alarm, so when they tripped it and didn’t key in the code to turn it off, the police were alerted a third time.

Bruce was probably tracking their call, too, but it wasn’t necessary because the police showed up at the car repair shop five minutes after Dick and his kidnappers did. Dick was almost embarrassed about getting knocked in the head by one of them, but he felt a little better when he found out that both of them were on their high school’s wrestling team—or at least, the EMT who apparently went to high school with them had been pretty sure.

“Richard’s right over here.”

Dick peels his arm off his face and opens his eyes when he hears the nurse. The curtain is pulled back and Bruce is standing there. The amount of relief Dick feels just by seeing Bruce is something he won’t admit to. It almost feels like that time he’d lost his mom at a craft store as a kid, specifically the moment when they’d found each other again and she’d pulled him into her arms. She’d been just as relieved as Dick, so much that she hadn’t berated him at all for running off. She’d just held him close and whispered Dick, thank god while pressing kisses into his hair.

“Dick, thank god.” Bruce looks like he’s experiencing a similar feeling, albeit the flipped version, the one his mom had felt. Or something close to it. Then, to the nurse, “Thank you.”

“Hey,” Dick says, quirking his lips into a small, brief smile.

Bruce’s brows furrow, looking Dick over and lingering on the bandage over his head where he’d needed stitches. Bruce is rigid, uncertain. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay, Bruce, honest,” Dick tries to assure. He sits up, moving his hand to reach for Bruce. Before he can complete the action, Bruce tugs him into a tight hug and it’s not until that moment that something in Dick’s chest unravels and he realizes he’s okay.

Bruce pulls back for a moment, scanning Dick’s face and looking like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. Just brushes Dick’s hair back before pressing a kiss against his forehead. Then he pulls Dick back into the hug, resting his cheek against the side of Dick’s head that’s still intact.

“Are you mad?” The evening started with a fight, one that hadn’t really been finished, and if Dick hadn’t left just to piss Bruce off, none of this would have happened. Though, the look on Bruce’s face and the heaviness on his shoulders tells Dick that he doesn’t care about that right now.

“I’m just glad you’re safe.” Dick holds his breath, waiting for the inevitable addendum. “We can talk about this when you’re feeling better.”

So, no punishment, but the conversation—the argument—isn’t over.

Dick scowls but, for whatever reason, he doesn’t pull away from Bruce’s hold.

Bruce shifts to sit beside Dick on the bed, keeping one arm wrapped around Dick’s shoulder in a side hug. Dick rests his head against Bruce’s shoulder, and Bruce presses a kiss into Dick’s hair. Dick doesn’t mind.

“Tired?” Bruce asks after a while.

Dick nods.

“Get some sleep. We’ll likely be here for a few hours.”

Dick groans. “Why can’t we just go home? I feel fine.” Well, relatively.

Bruce squeezes Dick’s shoulder. “According to your doctor, you have a concussion and likely a linear skull fracture. I doubt they will be discharging you anytime soon.”

“Yeah, but can’t you Brucie Wayne us out of this?”

“Not this time, chum.” Dick can’t see Bruce’s face from this angle, but his voice sounds like he’s frowning.

As much as Dick wants to argue his way out of the ER, he also wants to lie down again. His headache is getting worse and so is the nausea. He already threw up once and it’s not exactly something he wants to have happen again. Especially since Dick’s cherry slushie turned the vomit red, which understandably concerned the medical staff.

Dick sighs and lifts his head, and Bruce mirrors the action by pulling away and standing up. Dick lies down and Bruce hesitates before moving to a chair. Dick reaches to grab Bruce’s hand, which Bruce accepts immediately.

They’re quiet, Dick dozing for a while until the doctor comes back with the CT results, confirming both the concussion and the linear skull fracture. The good news is that Dick will live, the bad news is that he has to stay put for a few hours so they can observe him and make sure nothing goes wrong. He supposes it could’ve been worse, though; Bruce reminds him that they could’ve admitted Dick and kept him overnight.

Bruce calls Alfred to give him the update after the doctor leaves. Alfred didn’t come along because Barbara had already left for patrol and he didn’t like the idea of her being on her own and not having anyone to assist her via comms as needed. It had been the right decision, but when Bruce hands Dick the phone to talk to Alfred, Dick hears concern and worry and guilt in the man’s voice. It hadn’t been easy for Alfred to refrain from running to Dick’s bedside tonight, and he’s sure Alfred will hover for the next few days, but Dick won’t mind.

The phone call ends with Alfred passing on well-wishes from Babs and an exchange of I love yous between Alfred and Dick. Alfred lets Dick hang up first, and then it’s just Dick and Bruce once more.

Bruce not exactly being the best conversationalist and Dick being very much concussed, Dick decides to sleep some more. But before Dick falls asleep, Bruce’s chair shifts.

Leaning closer to Dick, Bruce murmurs, “I’m … I do trust you, Dick. And I’m proud of you—every day.”

They had exchanged a lot of hurtful words during their argument, but right now, none of them feel true. Not what Dick had said, and not what Bruce had said or hadn’t said. Funny how a crisis can make everything else feel so small and insignificant, if even for a moment.

“I know, B.” Dick reaches blindly for Bruce’s hand, squeezing it when he finds it. “Love you too.”

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

The Best Things ~ J.V. (part 11)

A/n: Don’t mind me, updating a series no one cares about lol. I’ve been toeing the line of what he’s like in other fanficiton and fans’ minds, but with this one I may just cover a side of Jerome y’all might really believe is out of character. I don’t care though. I’m having fun exploring a character and I’m having fun.

Word Count: 5400+

MASTERLIST

There was something different about waking up in the morning to Jerome still being asleep next to you. Or at least that's how Harley felt. Especially because this never happened, and considering what had happened last night. Maybe that was it. The night before was the main thing on Harley's mind as he slowly woke up, his head immediately filling with the memory as if denying him even a second dog bliss from it.

If he was being honest, it made him both terrified and exhilarated. They'd never had sex like that before. Slow and tender and soft. Words of praise had poured from Jerome's mouth nonstop, and it had sent Harley's body in a different way. Rather than fireworks, it was more like lava under rocks. Searing heat that crept through Harley's veins like it was trying to sneak. It made Harley feel infinitely close to Jerome. Made him feel tethered to Jerome. He'd never felt anything like that before, and from Jerome's reactions neither had he. It also gave both men a new fear. Or, a deeper rooted hold on a fear that already existed at the very least.

What if this ended?

What if neither man felt this ever again?

What if they'd unveiling something in themselves last night... and now, in the day time, the other didn't like it?

It was then that Jerome turned, facing Harley, where he'd had his back turned before. "I'm sorry about your friend." His voice was quiet, and Jerome wouldn't look at him.

Harley was surprised by that. He scooted closer, resting his forehead on Jerome's chest. The red head pulled the other man's body closer, tucking Harley against Jerome's own frame. He held onto him, protecting him from the world for a second. It was empowering when Harley leaned into it immediately, reaching his hands so he fisted Jerome's shirt so hard his knuckles turn white.

Jerome had never been comforting before. Safe. He'd never had someone take refuge in him before. It was intoxicating. It made him feel strong and unbreakable. It was more of a high than he'd ever felt before. Maybe just as good as when he put his little shows on and watched people panic and squirm. Harley finding safety in this moment was on par with all the moments other people had found danger in Jerome.

I guess when all you get is the same thing all your life, even if it's good, something new can have a strong effect on a man. Jerome had always been fear personified. He'd been a walking weapon of death and destruction, and somehow in that chaos Harley found himself making a home. It made Jerome feel incredible. Maybe he wasn't as bad as everyone thought.

"Can I see those drawings you did last night?" Harley leaned back so they were looking at each other. Jerome had an odd expression on his face. Not the one Bruce and Jeremiah wore when they looked at each other, but a very close approximation. It made Harley's heart pick up.

"Sure." He slid out of bed to pad to the living room, snagging his drawing pad and returning with it. He sat in bed this time, extending the drawing pad so Jerome could grab it.

The red head say up as well, taking the pad from Harley and beginning to slowly look through it. He took longer than Harley though he had the attention span for, drinking in the different angles and shadows of his own face. He seemed to be scanning it. At one point he reached up and touched his face, his eyebrows coming together. "What are you thinking, J?"

Jerome looked up, a look of concern and confusion on his face. "Is this really how you see me?"

It was Harley's turn to be confused. "What are you talking about?"

He seemed to struggle to explain a few seconds before weakly offering, "I'm beautiful." He immediately scowled. "You make me look... good looking." A deeper scowl. "I mean, I know I'm sexy don't get me wrong, but the way you draw me looks... looks..."

"Pretty?" Harley offered.

"Yes," Jerome groaned, like it hurt him.

Harley bit his lip for a second, thinking. "To me, you were always a work of art. Even before I drew you." He looked at the bed, fingers fiddling with the blanket. "You used to come to my mind all the time when you were dead. I thought of you constantly. Went to therapy over it because they thought it was a side effect of trauma." He snorted, shaking his head. "Turns out I was just infatuated with you." He looked back at Jerome then. "You came to me in dreams when I finally learned how to control my thoughts when awake. Even before we met that day, in person, I was obsessed with you. I used to draw you all the time. I told myself that it was to deal with the trauma of my parents dying, my fixation on death and murderers. People that were considered psychotic and dangerous. And maybe it was, in part. Maybe it began that way. But ever since the first second I saw you, you became this beacon of hope. Hope that in some world, with someone, I could be free from expectation and restrictions. That I could be wild and have fun and be GAY and not have to worry about what other people thought. You stood for the happiness I've been denied since the first day time I ever found anyone attractive." He paused. "Helped that you were incredibly attractive." Jerome giggled at that and Harley's smile widened. "You're so silly." Jerome scooted closer, kissing Harley so deeply he lost all of his breath. He leaned away after too short a time though, tilting his head. "Let's do something fun today."

"Like what?" Harley asked. He was getting good at keeping track with Jerome's zipping thought train.

Considering, Jerome grew quiet. "I want to take you on a date. Something nice." Harley deflated. "It's not smart to go out right now. We're trying to convince Bruce and the police that you're dead. If you're seen it'll all be over."

Jerome pouted. "Let me take you somewhere."

A long sigh came from Harley. "Do you want to die?" Jerome shook his head no. "Do you want to get caught and sent to Arkham?" Another silent no. "Then what the hell do you suppose we do that won't require any people, when we're in the middle of a huge city?"

Quiet groans and Jerome was flopping back on the bed, making Harley smile fondly. "I can't stay here forever, Harley! It's BORING. You get to go out all the time and check in on our dear brothers. Why don't I get to?"

"Because you'd be found out," Harley reminded patiently. "And entrapped. Or killed. Or entrapped and then killed."

There was a pause where Jerome was quiet. "You must go to Jeremiah's again and get me new information." Harley nodded, moving to get off the bed so he could get ready to head out. Jerome was suddenly moving though, pinning him before he could leave all the way. "But before you do that, I would like you to leave me with something to think about. Something to make this day a little more worth it." He licked his lips. "Entertain me, Harley." His eyes darkened and Harley shivered.

"Yes sir." - "Hey Harley!" Jeremiah greeted brightly. Harley chuckled at the boy. How was he twins with Jerome? That lightness and energy came so easily to this man, where Jerome struggled to even accept the idea of adorableness, let alone embody it constantly. But this wasn't the time to think about Jerome. "How did your date with the boy wonder go?" Jeremiah was bouncing on his toes. It was genuinely adorable. "He kissed me."

Harley launched to his feet. "What?" He was grinning, hands outstretched as if deciding on whether to grab him or pump into the air victoriously.

"Yeah!" Jeremiah squeaked.

"That's awesome!" Harley gushed. "Tell me everything! Wait- where's Ecco?"

"I already told her," Jeremiah dismissed, waving his hand through the air. "She picked me up afterward and I filled her ears with it all the way home.

Harley giggled, his nose scrunching in amusement. "I bet she loved that." Jeremiah blushed and Harley winked, nudging his friend playfully. "Okay well now it's my turn. Every detail Jeremiah, I'm serious."

And the red head eagerly delivered. The two boys talked for hours, going from the date and all that happened right into Harley waltzing around the room dramatically planning the wedding and the house and family that would follow. "You'll definitely need at least one dog. You both seem like cat people, but I bet your ass that you two raise a kid willing to rough house with a dog. It's got to be huge then. Like so big toddlers can ride on its back, and whenever it wants to go anywhere it'll just drag you along even if you want to go somewhere else."

At this point Jeremiah had covered his face, laying his hands on the counter and his head in the palms of his hands. "Please stop," he groaned, but both boys knew he had to hide his expression or risk showing off the radiant smile he'd hinted at earlier.

"Fine fine fine," Harley sighed, finally sitting back down. He chuckled, sitting back in the chair. He was lounging, legs spread and arms over the back of his seat. He looked comfortable. It was so different than the Wayne boy that had been seen on TV for years. The one Bruce talked about even. Harley really wasn't Y/n. He was... too much like Jerome to ever be that boy again. "What's with the frown?" Harley asked, raising an eyebrow.

Jeremiah debated on whether he should share his thoughts, but Harley leaned forward, showing that he knew Jeremiah was thinking something and that he wouldn't let it drop. Having gotten to the point where Harley could always pry information out of Jeremiah, the redhead didn't even bother fighting him. "I was thinking about how much you remind me of Jerome." Harley hesitated and Jeremiah rushed to add, "Not in a bad way. But your confidence and ease. Your very presence is so much bigger than it used to be. I didn't know you back then, but Bruce has mentioned how you guys used to be. Mostly because he obsesses over the worry that Jerome is still alive so it comes up often, because I always listen. Once he mentions Jerome, then we talk about how things were in my childhood and then it goes to how his childhood used to be and then you come up." He looked away, obviously self conscious about the way Harley's eyes were drilling into him.

"Do you lie to him?"

That caught Jeremiah off guard. "What?" He looked back with an expression like a deer in the headlights, or a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"Jerome talked to me a lot." Harley watched his words carefully, being sure not to reveal that Jerome STILL talked to him just as much. "And that day in the tunnels, when Jerome tried to kidnap you. He said you lied about your guys' past."

Jeremiah was quiet for a long time. "I don't lie to him." He paused again and Harley waited for him to continue. When Jeremiah realized Harley wasn't going to let it go, he continued. "I don't tell him what I used to tell our mom. I'm... ashamed. You were right when you said I contributed a lot to how Jerome turned out. But, you have to understand Harley he terrified me. He never threatened me per say, but I was the one who always found the bodies of the animals he mutilated. I was the one he talked about to his fantasies about other people. He... He used to say he was joking, and he never did anything until our mom, from what I know, but he was curious and he didn't have the same empathy as everyone else did. For animals at least."

Harley sighed. "He loved me." Jeremiah looked up sharply. "He told me so. And- and you know what, I believed him." Harley swallowed. "Did I ever tell you how we found out where you were?" Jeremiah hesitated before shaking his head. "Would you like to know?" There was a darkness in Harley's voice. One that made Jeremiah want to shy away. But, he was curious too. It was one of the fatal flaws him and Jerome had in common. So, even though he wanted to run, he nodded instead. "We went to your Uncle Zack's."

Immediately Jeremiah cringed. "Oh god."

"So you know what that man is capable of then," Harley eased, even though his expression had not changed at all. It was the same forced calm that Jerome had perfected. The similarity between Harley and Jeremiah's lost brother in that moment made anxiety twist in the redhead's chest. "You know, if I hadn't been there..." He shook his head. "He heated soup to boiling. He wanted to pour it into Jerome's mouth. Thank god I was there to stop that one. What would it have bee like, being a child against grown adults. No where to run, no one to turn to, and no mercy in sight. No reprieve. If I was Jerome, I probably would have killed that bitch you called your mother too."

Harley expected Jeremiah to snap at him,  but he didn't. It made the air get even more thick with dark tension. It set into reality not only what Harley had said, but what Jeremiah wouldn't. That he would have too. "I think I'm going to go work on my prototypes." Harley didn't say anything, so Jeremiah left him alone in the quiet.

There was a part of Harley that felt bad for ruining the mood after they'd both been flying so high earlier, but there was also a part of him that didn't care. So he stood up and left through the maze, standing outside to get some air. To breathe after the stifling pressure inside. He hesitated too long, though. If he had just left right then and headed back to Jerome and forgotten about the conversation for the rest of the day, he would have made it out of there with plenty of time. But he didn't. He hesitated and and he breathed and he closed his eyes and felt the sun on his skin.

That was what gave Bruce the time he needed to pull up to Jeremiah's front door just to see Harley standing there. The boy tripped as he got out of the car, his eyes wide and lips parted. "Y/n?"

Harley jerked at the name, flinching away from it. It eyes slammed open, his gaze hard and angry. After the conversation he'd just had with Jeremiah, he was not in the right place to face his brother. Yet, here they both were. "Mr. Wayne," Harley greeted bitterly.

Bruce looked like Harley had slapped him. "Where have you been?" He shook his head. "Where's Jerome?" He then remembered where they were and looked between Harley and the door that lead to the maze where Bruce's boyfriend was. "Why are you here?"

The chaotic barrage of questions made Harley relax. He had the control in this situation. "I'm here because Jeremiah lets be stay here, when I want to. I check in sometimes and talk to him." Any other answer would get him in trouble, and he didn't feel like setting off his brother so he stayed with the truth, ignoring the other two questions.

The Wayne boy stepped forward, settling on angry between the emotions he'd been battling before. "You're friends with Jeremiah?"

"Sort of," Harley shrugged. "And by the way, it's Harley."

Hands curled into fists and Harley found himself slipping into a sort of distant amusement. His stance solidified, arms relaxing and fingers twitching at his sides. Bruce got hit with the same thought Jeremiah had been before. Harley looked a lot like Jerome in that moment, but more sane. In control. He didn't have that same unhinged factor, which left him far more unpredictable. Harley had the air of someone who would kill everyone in the room and then get away with it. Not for chaos' sake, but because he simply didn't care. Seeing sanity int he face of someone so cold and distant and confident sent a chill down Bruce's spine. What had happened to the brother who radiated sunshine and painted the most odd paintings with even weirder origin stories? The brother that couldn't handle even a little confrontation, let alone stand empty handed and still look dangerous? "I guess it is." Bruce's voice was soft and broken. His anger had fallen away, exchanging for a heart break that made Harley shift away from it like it burned him.

The door behind Harley opened. "Wait wait wait!" The voice belonged to Jeremiah, who was scrambling between the brothers as if trying to stop a fight. Maybe it would have eventually turned into that, but as of now all that was happening was Bruce was staring a Harley, looking for answers, and Harley was looking anywhere except at his brother as he refused to give them.

"You know," Harley mused. "I seem to be ruining the mood a lot today. You two love birds spend time together and I'll keep my distance so that my unhappiness won't affect you. How does that sound?"

Jeremiah launched forward, catching Harley's shoulder. "Please," he begged softly. "Don't go."

"Do you want him to leave instead, because I can promise it won't be pretty if we're both here," Harley spat viciously. Jeremiah recognized a deeper level to the boy though. A hurt that was curling into his face. There was more than just anger driving him to run now. There was fear, and pain. Jeremiah had seen that look on Jerome's face far too many times to let Harley go now.

Jeremiah looked at Bruce. "Listen," he sighed heavily. "You're both important to me. I have three friends, and one of them is more of a body guard who's paid to hang around, and another is... more than a friend, if I'm lucky." Bruce couldn't help how his face softened. Jeremiah cleared his throat. "I need as many people in my life as I can get, because I already basically have no one. You guys are brothers, for goodness sake. Don't let life tear you apart like I let happen for me and Jerome." This he directed at Harley. The words seemed to confuse Bruce, but he stayed quiet despite that.

Harley on the other hand looked ready to go. "He doesn't want me here."

"I didn't say that," Bruce rushed before he could rein his self control.

Jeremiah perked up. "You're the one person that can actually reassure Bruce that Jerome is dead."

Ah, how wrong he was. Harley could not honestly reassure Bruce that Jerome was dead. He could, however, convince Bruce that Jerome was dead- and he was also the only person who could. No matter how much of Harley Bruce saw, every time the Wayne heir looked at the man who used to be his best friend, he would always see Y/n. Y/n, who had never once been capable of hiding his emotions or even considering telling a lie, let alone delivering one convincingly. Y/n, who had always valued honesty - especially when it came to family. Who valued trust over power. Who had been abused and pushed around and broken and destroyed, replaced by someone who used lies to get what he wanted like one uses hammers to drive in nails. Harley would lie without hesitation or regret, and Bruce would believe him because Y/n wouldn't lie, and even if he did, Bruce would be able to tell.

"I killed him myself," Harley reassured, looking Bruce in the eye without hesitation.

Bruce formed an expression that spoke of disbelief and doubt, but Harley could see through that into the desperation in Bruce's eyes. "You killed him?"

Harley sighed. "I do that now."

Obviously Bruce didn't like that, but he seemed to accept it at least. "Why?"

This part was easy. "Because he hurt you." Harley shrugged, kicking the dirt under his foot. "He had no reason to involve you. He just did. He didn't even consult me, and he didn't because he knew that if he had I would have said no. We had a deal- no touching you. He might be my partner, but you're my brother and that's more important. No one hurts you. I made that clear since the beginning." He swallowed. That wasn't totally true. In fact, that day he had encouraged Jerome to mess Bruce up a little. Even kill him. But there had been a hesitance to hurt Bruce since the first day even if it had faded over time. Because the truth was, above even Bruce and Alfred, Jerome was the most important person to Harley now. "He was jealous because I cared more about you. He's kind of an attention whore." That was true. Not that Jerome was jealous, but that he was a slut for attention. The more time Harley spent with him, the more obvious it became. Harley didn't mind in the least though.

Bruce seemed to take a moment to consider this and choose his next words before he spoke again. "He sounds obsessive."

Jeremiah scoffed. "If I had to describe Jerome in one words," he mumbled.

"When I was caught with Jerome at the fair, I only ended up there because the first thing Jerome thought about when he came back from the dead was that the last thing he'd thought about when he was alive was that he'd wanted to kill me." Harley scoffed. "He took his wanting to kill me through death with him. If that doesn't spell obsessed, I don't know what does." That was another truth, but yet again Harley didn't mind. He liked to think of being on Jerome's mind, haunting him as the red head had haunted Harley. He liked the thought that not even death could do them part. Or however that line went, whatever.

There was a sort of melting slouch of Bruce's shoulders. He'd given in. Harley had succeeded. "We're not just going to be brothers again. Neither of us are the same."

"The last time I saw you my boyfriend was trying to kill you, and before that I was convinced you'd been brainwashed by some cult, so yeah we have some catching up to do."

Bruce looked at Jeremiah who perked up. "Wonderful! Dinner, anyone?"

"Actually," Harley edged. "I think we both have a lot to think about. Maybe rushing it all tonight wouldn't be the best idea." For the first time in a long time, Bruce nodded in agreement with Harley. In fact, it had probably been the first time Bruce had agreed with Harley since he had stopped being Y/n Wayne.

"Fine," Jeremiah sighed. "But I expect you two to have a dinner together within the next week. I won't let you just avoid it."

Harley sighed and nodded, turning away from the other two boys and heading toward his car. "Use protection!" Harley called, smirking when he heard the boys behind him groan in unison. Before they could curse him though, he slipped into his car and closed the door, cutting off any attempts of communication. He turned his car on and drove away, letting his smile melt away when he was positive he was out of view. His hands tightened on the wheel so hard that his knuckles turned white. His jaw locked, beginning to hurt after a few seconds it was cemented so. Not wanting to get pulled over when he was in a car that wasn't technically in his name - he'd gotten it a long time ago when he still worked with Penguin - and was, more importantly, a wanted criminal. Focusing on safe driving only got him to the front door though. He slammed it closed, standing in his doorway glaring at the floor.

And then he snapped.

A scream ripped out of him as he reached for the closest things light enough to pick up and began throwing them across the room. Some - a vase, a few dishes that hadn't been taking to the kitchen yet, a table decoration - shattered, while most of it landed safely after crashing into more things - books slamming into chairs, pillows knocking things off the wall, a shoe hitting the edge of a full length mirror hard enough that it tilted, so on. Altogether, he was creating a lot of noise, destruction, and chaos.

Jerome ran into the scene, looking rather startled. Harley wasn't the angry type. He had never been, except the rare times Penguin had been able to unlock long since buried trauma that he wasn't dealing with. Oswald had taught him to both control AND channel his emotions, so that they could be expressed but also make you look more terrifying rather than show as weaknesses and wear you away to nothing. No one had seen this side of Harley except him yet, and Jerome wasn't quite sure how to handle it. In fact, it reminded him a little of... his mom.

When Harley finally stopped, he turned away from Jerome, curling his fingers around his short hair very tightly, tugging as he planted his forehead against the wall furthest from Jerome. The redhead paused before slowly making his way over. "Harley?" His voice was soft. The anger in his boyfriend had unlocked a fear in him that he hadn't felt like this since he was a child. He was scared of Harley losing it again, both because he didn't want to have this feeling get worse, and also because if Harley was upset enough to melt down like this, he might get destructive with himself rather than loose objects.

Or worse, Harley might get destructive with Jerome.

"I'm sorry," Harley croaked. He took a deep breath, finally dropping his hands and leaning away from the wall before turning to Jerome. This was closer to the Harley Jerome knew. A little exhausted from his heavy emotions, but otherwise solid and in control. "I'm sorry J." His voice was stronger now. More fluid and solid. He saw Jerome's expression and slowly approached. Jerome didn't move away. When Harley touched him, Jerome didn't flinch even though his pulse skipped a beat. Not something totally new with Harley, except that this wasn't a good spike. The emotion he felt was new when it came to Harley. "I'm sorry," Harley said again, pulling Jerome to him until their foreheads touched. "Did I upset you?"

Jerome's brain had short circuited a bit. After being free of his mom for years, he'd grown a solid defense against things that reminded him of her. But Harley had waited until he was past all of Jerome's walls and defenses. Until he had become Jerome's home and safety embodied. Seeing such anger now threw Jerome for a loop. How would he leave Harley now if things got bad like it used to be with his mom? I had taken Jerome eighteen years to kill his mother and get away from her, and she had been... terrible. How would he do the same to Harley, who had claimed all of the most important parts of Harley and become essential to Jerome's insanity. Harley was the one who calmed him after nightmares, and defused a situation that set off something that triggered backlash from Jerome's past. Harley was the one who saved him from his uncle and his brother and his past. How would he get rid of someone like that?

"You looked... like her." The words were soft.

Harley froze. "Jerome-"

Jerome turned away and left. He said some joke but didn't hear it, too busy trying to think about how to backtrack and defend himself again from these emotions with Harley's help. "Never mind," he breathily dismissed, waving his hand in the air.

Harley wasn't having it though. He caught the hand, forcing Jerome to stop and face him. His face was serious, but his eyes were soft. "I would never hurt you, do you understand?I might what I said that day I pulled you from that ledge, Jerome Valeska. You lead, I will follow. I love you and I will do anything you ask of me. You don't have to be afraid of me. Even if i get angry and break shit, you are still safe with me."

"You're so dramatic," Jerome sighed, looping his arm over Harley's shoulders. His body had relaxed though. Even if he did a fantastic job of brushing things off and playing like nothing effected him, Harley's words had brought him a sense of peace he would never admit he needed. "I mean, anything? You won't even let me leave or kill our brothers."

Harley blew air out of his nose upon remembering Bruce. "If that's what you really want."

"Really?" Jerome faced him, surprised. Harley had been so adamant about doing neither for the last several weeks. Why change his mind now? Unlike Harley, Jerome was not a good people reader. Not for details, at least. He could tell when someone was scared of him, or when they were intrigued or interested or disgusted. He couldn't read Harley's micro signs though.

Harley rolled his eyes. "Ran into Bruce on my way back today." His lips curled but this time it didn't make Jerome nervous. He couldn't even think why Harley would remind him of his mother. Jerome broke things when he was angry too. Harley hadn't even know Jerome's mom. He was getting side tracked, but Harley spoke again, pulling his thoughts back as Harley's voice always did. "Jeremiah wants us to make amends and catch up. Wants us to spend dinner together. Ugh."

"My brother trying to make the world perfect for him?" Jerome joked. "Never."

Harley chuckled softly. No matter his state, Jerome could always make him laugh. "Yeah. I just- Bruce stills wants me to be that weak little scared boy I used to be. I'm better now. Happier and stronger. Maybe that scares him because I didn't succeed the way he wanted me to, but that doesn't change the fact that I can fight for myself now. I don't just settle and lie down and take shit. If he had it his way, along with everyone in this stupid city, I would sit in a chair in the corner of every room and sit in Bruce's shadow, there to talk to him when he needs company but otherwise be ignored and be okay with that. Alone, by myself, maybe with a girl who I can have kids with." He shuddered and Jerome followed with a scowl. Neither liked the idea of that, "Even worse, I'd be working for my younger brother. Working at Wayne incorporated, or as some sort of side kick as he stop bad guys or whatever." He grunted in disgust. "As if they even know what bad is."

Jerome pulled Harley toward the couch and next to him. When they were both seated, Jerome continued to tug on Harley until the boy curled into the redhead's side. All cuddled up, both seemed to feel a lot better with the words of a future that made both of them sick still ringing in their ears. "You know, if we're going back to being gay and doing crime and all that fun stuff, it might not hurt to be around your brother."

Harley sat up, eyebrows pulled together. "Why him? He's just a cop wannabe."

"He's friends with Gordon though, isn't he? Can you imagine how much power you had at your fingertips when everyone thought you were good and harmless and not even a wisp of a threat? Now you're none of those things, and the only person who knows your true potential is Mr. Penguin." He shrugged, his smile growing. "I've seen you do it before. Heard stories about your escapades with the Little Man, and you've told me before how valuable sneaking is. Never something I did because I never could have pulled it off, but you..." He pointed at Harley, getting excited now. "Why isn't Bruce following you around, or questioning you, or taking you to the police in an attempt to find me?"

Tracing the pattern of the couch, Harley tried not to smirk. "I told him what he wanted to hear."

The smirk that Harley was repressing shone on Jerome's face like light from the sun. Brilliant and bright. He hopped up onto the couch into a crouch, his fingers dancing in the air like he was constructing an orchestra. "What a clever boy. Deserves a reward..."

Now Harley grinned. "What did you have in mind?"

[kgraces]

Surprise Siblings

A follow up to Tire Iron. Also available on Ao3!

Dick sighed, resting his forehead against the steering wheel. He really didn’t want to get out of the car, because that meant going inside the manor, which meant dealing with Bruce. He’d already had a long week at work, so a worse weekend was not something he had in mind when he clocked out this evening. His plan had been to do nothing but sleep and patrol, that is, until Alfred had called and told him it would be prudent for Dick to come back to Gotham for the weekend, which Dick took to mean: Richard John Grayson, get your ass home, now! 

So he went. The inevitable confrontation with Bruce aside, it would be nice to catch up with Alfred. Dick unbuckled his seatbelt, slung his duffel bag over one shoulder, and made his way to the front door. He stepped into the foyer, only to be greeted with the sound of laughter coming from the kitchen. His brain stuttered to a halt because the sound was so out of place. Baffled, Dick wandered into the kitchen, feeling his jaw drop as he took in the scene before him. 

Two kids were sitting at the counter, watching as Alfred baked a batch of Dick’s favorite chocolate chip cookies. The smaller of the two boys chattered excitedly, hands waving around as he talked. The other boy watched him in amusement, only cutting in to make sarcastic remarks, which set the littler one into giggles every time. Every now and again, he’d try to sneak a bite of the batter, but Alfred caught him each time with a gentle admonishment. Dick stood in the doorway, frozen in place. Alfred noticed him first. 

“Ah, welcome home, Master Dick. How was the drive over?” 

“Fine,” Dick said slowly. He couldn’t stop staring, wondering if he was hallucinating. The small boy smiled shyly and waved, and Dick waved back, feeling dazed. “Alf, why are there two tiny humans in the kitchen?” 

“Meet Masters Jason and Tim,” Alfred said, eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m afraid Master Bruce found them in a spot of trouble and decided to step in.”

“Nice to meet you,” Dick said, still a little dumbstruck. 

“We’ve actually met before,” the little one—Tim—said. “Did you know you gave me my first hug?” 

“What.” 

Tim’s face and ears turned scarlet, but it was Jason who broke the awkward tension, dragging Tim from his chair and into a hug. Tim gaped a little, startled, but he quickly melted into the hug. Dick’s heart twisted in his chest at the sight. He crossed the room and joined them, drawing the two boys into his arms. Jason shied away from the contact, but Tim leaned into it, smiling sweetly.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jason. And it’s nice to meet you again, Tim. Is that a thing people say?” Tim laughed a little, wrapping his skinny arms around Dick. “So,” he said, turning to Alfred. “I haven’t visited in three weeks, and B goes and adopts two kids in the meantime.” 

“His impulse control is abysmal,” Alfred replies sagely. 

“We’re not adopted,” Jason said. “He just has custody of us because my parents are dead, and Tim’s parents suck.” Tim pouted at him, but Jason rolled his eyes. “C’mon Timbit, we’ve talked about this.” 

“At least you two are here now,” Dick said. “Wanna tell me how that happened?” Both boys nodded, and Dick noticed Tim brighten a little. 

“Jason stole the tires off the Batmobile and knocked me out with his tire iron. Then Batman kind of caught us, and I blackmailed him a little bit.” 

“You stole the tires...and blackmailed…” Dick looked at the boys, both smiling sweetly at him, and burst into laughter. “My new little brothers are amazing, oh my God.” He paused, as a thought occurred to him. “Wait, how exactly did you blackmail him?”

“Oh, I figured out yours and Batman’s identities last year,” Tim said proudly. “I didn’t actually threaten him or anything.” He wrinkled his nose. “That would’ve been mean.” 

“How’d you figure it out, Timmy? That’s really impressive,” Dick said, ruffling the kid’s hair. Tim’s blush darkened again. Jason’s grin turned a bit wicked as he nudged the other boy in the ribs.

“When we met, you promised you’d do your quadruple flip just for me, so I recognized the move when Robin performed it a while later.” Dick’s eyes lit up.

“You’re that Tim? I still have the photo of us!” He smiled broadly at the boy, but he was internally fighting back an undercurrent of sadness, thinking of the last picture of his parents, given to him by a small little boy at one of Bruce’s galas, years ago. Tim blushed to the roots of his hair, but his smile never wavered. 

“Timmy’s a genius,” Jason said, grinning widely and slinging an arm around Tim’s bony shoulders. “Ain’t that right?” He asked, and Tim, somehow, managed to get even more flustered. He sputtered out a few unintelligible syllables, and both Jason and Dick broke into a fit of laughter. 

“Hey,” Tim complained, pouting adorably. “Jason’s awesome, too!” 

“I don’t doubt it,” Dick said, grinning. Jason stuck his tongue out at Tim, who just giggled in response. These two kids were adorable, and Dick couldn’t believe Bruce didn’t tell him about them. “I’m gonna go say hi to B, okay? Then maybe we can watch a movie or something.” The boys grinned at him, and Dick wandered up to the study, where Bruce was working on some paperwork for WE.

Dick leaned against the doorframe, tapping his knuckles against the solid oak. Bruce looked up and grinned at him, eyes alight with amusement. He set down his pen and folded his arms atop his desk.

“I take it you met Jason and Tim?” He asked. Dick nodded and moved into the study. He sent an annoyed look at Bruce, but the wide grin on his face diminished the effect.

“You should’ve told me. I would’ve brought presents,” Dick said. “It’s not every day a guy finds out he’s a big brother, after all.” Bruce rolled his eyes, but the fond look on his face didn’t go away. “Seriously though, where on earth did you find those two?”

“Crime Alley,” Bruce replied. “Jason was stealing my tires. Tim tried to stop him at first, but as soon as I showed up, the two of them banded together. They’ve been inseparable since.”

“Sounds like I’m going to have to come home more often,” Dick said. “We’ll be the Terrible Trio, and you’re never going to know a moment of peace ever again.”

“You boys are going to make me go gray far too soon,” Bruce grumbled. He stood, stretching his back as he crossed the room. He patted Dick’s shoulder. “It’s good to see you, son.”

Dick hesitated. Things with Bruce hadn’t been the greatest lately, but he was willing to take the olive branch offered to him. He smiled and pulled Bruce into a hug, and he was fiercely pleased when Bruce relaxed against him. He heard the sound of footsteps bounding up the stairs and stepped back, glancing over his shoulder to see Jason and Tim peering through the doorway. 

“Alfred sent us to check on you,” Jason said. Tim nodded in agreement, like a little shadow. “He said the lack of yelling was suspicious.” 

Dick snorted a laugh, and even Bruce cracked a smile. He waved the boys into the study, and they came trotting in together. Jason flung himself onto the couch, and Tim moved over to Dick, who wrapped an arm around him and dragged him into a hug. Tim smiled up at him, leaning into the warm touch. He sighed a little, resting his cheek against Dick’s shirt.

“He needs lots of hugs,” Jason said sagely, rolling his head to look at them from his spot on the couch. “Like, all the hugs in the world.” 

“I think I can help with that,” Dick said. His heart twisted a little at the sight of the little boy clinging to him, but he resolved to do what he could to be there for him. He seemed too tiny to have such a somber look in his eyes. He hid it well, but Dick could still see the loneliness clinging to him. “Do you two troublemakers want to watch that movie now?”

Jason and Tim both nodded, and Jason leapt up, grabbing Bruce’s hand and dragging him out of the room. Dick laughed at the startled look in his eyes as he was pulled away. He glanced down at Tim, who still had his skinny arms wrapped around Dick’s torso. The boy looked up at him with a sheepish smile. Before he could move away, Dick knelt down to offer him a piggyback ride. Tim climbed up onto his back, clinging to his neck. 

Dick carried Tim down to the theater room and set the boy down on one of the plush couches. He tossed a blanket over Tim’s head, laughing as he struggled to free his arms and face. Dick sat down on Tim’s left, and Jason plopped down on his other side. Tim wrapped the blanket around himself, all but swallowed by the fluffy material. Bruce turned on one of Dick’s old childhood favorites and settled in on one of the squishy armchairs. Dick passed Jason another blanket, taking a moment to steal a corner of Tim’s for himself. Tim curled up next to him, leaning his head against Dick’s arm as the opening credits began to play.

Alfred brought them a bowl of popcorn a few minutes later, smiling fondly at the sight of all four of his boys relaxing together. Dick draped an arm around Tim, and he wasn’t surprised when he realized Jason had already looped his arms around the boy in a side-hug. He also wasn’t surprised when Tim fell asleep halfway through the movie, still draped against Dick’s side. Jason lasted three-quarters of the way through before he fell asleep, too. Bruce and Dick exchanged amused smiles over the heads of the two sleeping boys. Everything felt warm and affectionate and absolutely perfect.

Sure, he hadn’t expected to come home to two little brothers, but Dick wasn’t complaining.

[cafecitowriter]

Peggy Carter Saves Infinity War

So hear me out. We always talk about how Peggy could’ve stopped Civil War and the Snap (which obviously she could). I’ve been re-watching the Infinity Saga with my friend before she goes back to work next week. We’ve gotten to the point where a week ago, we saw Infinity War, and then I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, of exactly how Peggy saves the day in Infinity War. Like seriously I haven’t been able to write because this idea has just consumed me and I needed to write something out if I wanted to go on with my life.

I might make this a full fic someday. We’ll see.

There are probably some plot holes in here since I am about to ramble from brain to paper without any editing, but just roll with it for my sake.

Insert your favourite “this is how Peggy got to the future” but for all intents and purposes, the Peggy I’m talking about here is also a super soldier for reasons. Also, Civil War never happened because of Peggy so they’re all friends yay.

Even just this little bit got kinda long so it’s under the cut here: 

Tony and Bruce are still the only (official) Avengers right in New York when they come to get the Time Stone - except Peggy’s also there. 

Wanda and Vision are on a romantic getaway type trip in Glasgow, while Steve, Nat, and Sam are close by them responding to something unrelated. So while they’re all friends, they’re still physically separated from each other.

I read a post once that said that Tony covers the people he loves in suits (Rhodey, Pepper, Peter). He and Peggy would have obviously bonded and become extremely close, so he made a (more subtle) suit just for her - though there’s nothing subtle about the colours on her suit matching the ones on Steve’s uniform. It’s nothing nearly as extravagant the ones he made for himself or for Peter (because she wouldn’t let him). It covers her body, has some thrusters on the soles of her feet that she can use to fly, and has an optional helmet that is similar to Steve’s but also has a clear portion that covers her mouth if she’s somewhere she needs to be fully covered. The suit lives in a red, silver, and blue bracelet that she can activate at any time. She’s never worn the full suit in all the years she’s had it, but he begs her to always have it at the ready just in case. 

When they take to the sky, Peggy’s glad she actually listened to him.

As they’re going up, she and Tony have the same realization: it’s a one way trip. While Tony calls Pepper, she calls Steve.

He picks up in the middle of the first ring.

“You’re going up,” he states immediately, his voice heavy.

She’s not surprised that he knows. It’s all over the news - that she can hear in the background of wherever Steve’s at.

Which means he can see the space ship that they’re chasing getting higher and higher. She wonders if he can see her, too.

“Yes,” she answers simply, because there’s no way around it. As it is they’re almost out of time before the call inevitably gets dropped.

“Thanos is coming, he’s after the infinity stones,” she warns him.

“Vision,” Steve realizes at once.

“You can’t let Thanos or his minions get to him. You have to protect him, Steve.”

“I will,” he says firmly.

She couldn’t help but think that it wasn’t any easier being on this end of the call, but she had to keep it together. Steve was strong for her, after all.

“When I get back, I’m going to take you dancing,” she promises.

“8 o’clock on the dot,” he agrees.

“We can start with something slow,” she offers, and she feels the tears burning in her eyes as she finds her way into the damn ship. “We can start with our song.”

“I promise not to step on your feet.”

This time, he finishes his sentence before they get cut off.

While Steve, Nat, and Sam don’t get to Vision before he gets stabbed, they do get there sooner, so he’s not as in terrible condition. The earth end of the movie goes very similarly to the movie at this point.

Everything goes pretty much the same on the space side too - until we get to the team on Titan fighting Thanos. With Peggy’s help, Tony manages to form the plan to attack Thanos and things are going pretty well with the extra hand.

Then Quill comes along and allows his own grief to get in the way.

But this time, they have one more person to help. (And seriously I couldn’t help but think that entire time that they just needed one more person to deal with Quill so that they wouldn’t lose their grip on Thanos ugh).

Before Tony lets go, Peggy screams at him to keep at the gauntlet with Peter. She then drops her arms from where she had them wrapped around Thanos’ neck and tackles Quill. They fight it out because SERIOUSLY QUILL CAN YOU NOT WAIT TWO SECONDS.

He’s stronger than she thought he’d be - put she’s Peggy goddamn Carter and she isn’t about to let the billions of people die because of some petulant man child.

While they fight, Quill yells at her, tells her that she has no idea what Gamora meant to him, what he’s going through.

Peggy, of course, is one of the few people that probably understands what he’s going through the best. 

While physically wrestling him, she tells him about losing the love of her life but not being able to mourn because it was World War 2 and they had work to do, lives to save.

She tells him that he needs to respect Gamora’s sacrifice and the only way to do that is to get the gauntlet off of Thanos and stop him for good. She tells him that she knows how hard it is, but he needs to be strong.

He owes the billions of lives at stake - he owes Gamora that.

Finally, the gauntlet comes off. 

Thanos is now fighting back even harder, Mantis isn’t going to be able to keep him down much longer.

Peggy lets go of Quill and dashes to take the gauntlet from Peter because he’s just a child.

There’s a big mess as Thanos “wakes up”, throws them all off, and they play keep away with the gauntlet. At some point, Peggy gets it and she takes off in a mad dash/fly away from Thanos. During this, she sneaks the stones out of their slots without anyone noticing (where do you think Tony learned it from?) and she places them in the bag that Shuri made specially for her out of Vibranium - among other things. It is tear-proof, can be adapted to a different sizes and strapped to her body in multiple different ways. Peggy never leaves home without it.

(Context: Peggy visited Wakanda with Steve when he went to ask T’Challa to help Bucky. She and Shuri became fast friends because they’re two kickass women who have so much respect for each other and we love women supporting women. Ya’ll can fight me on this.)

Thanos catches up to Peggy and tears the gauntlet away from her. He then throws her violently in a random direction. Strange opens up a portal that she flies through.

(How he knew that she actually had the stones, well he’s Dr. Strange so).

Peggy lands (hard) in Wakanda during their big battle - right in the middle of the field. She’s disoriented, aching, and lying on her back, but she needs to get those damn stones to safety and this looks the exact opposite of that. 

“Peggy?”

It’s Steve.

He’s bloodied and breathless, but dear god it’s her Steve.

He rushes to her and helps her on her feet. Before she can say anything, he’s kissing her bruisingly because he thought he lost his best girl but she’s alive and she’s here.

“Steve,” she gasps, pulling back, her fingers digging into his biceps. “There’s no time.”

“That’s because you’re late,” he whispers, still in shock.

“I have the stones,” she presses on.

“What?”

“I have four infinity stones on my person and I need to get them as far away from here before Thanos realizes I’ve taken then and follows me here.”

“We need to destroy them,” he told her.

“How?”

Still keeping one arm wrapped around her, he pressed his finger to his ear, speaking into the comms.

“Wanda, we have a package coming your way, be ready. Everyone else, if we want to win, we have to get Peggy to Wanda while keeping those things away from Shuri and Vision.”

Then there’s a whole other mess as Peggy rushes toward Wanda. It’s very similar to Endgame where everyone takes turns fighting with her (at some point she gets separated from Steve for a bit), covering her and getting her to her destination. (Also I want one of these people to be Bucky because she and Bucky were friends okay and they deserve a cool fight scene together).

At one point, her leg gets injured badly. Her thrusters are no longer working so she can’t fly and she’s alone. Cue Steve.

By the skin of their teeth, they make it to Wanda, Steve setting Peggy on the floor. They keep Thanos’ army at bay while Wanda destroys the stones and Shuri continues working. The battle rages on, but they’re starting to get the upperhand.

A portal opens in the sky. Steve, Peggy and Wanda look out the window, for a moment terrified that Thanos caught up to Peggy.

It’s not Thanos.

Well, not just Thanos, anyway. It’s Strange and Peter and Tony and the Guardians of the Galaxy and a one-armed, half unconscious Thanos. Without the Infinity Stones, they were able to team up and defeat Thanos. Strange never had to give up the time stone.

Thanos’ army realizes what’s happened, and they begin to flee.

With the extra time they bought, Shuri manages to get the mind stone out of Vision’s head. Wanda destroys that one too, for good measure.

After, they’re cleaning up the remnants of the battle, tending to the dead, to everyone else’s wounds. Steve is stitching Peggy’s leg back up and caring for her. They both know she’ll heal soon enough without his help, but Steve is still buzzing with adrenaline and energy and needs something to do with his hands and they’re not about to let each other out of their sights anytime soon.

Together, they watch Vision and Wanda hold each other, whispering sweet nothings and words of comfort in each other’s ears.

“You kept him safe,” Peggy tells Steve, who looks up at her with pained eyes.

“He offered to sacrifice himself when we figured out that our best chance was to destroy the stone.”

“It’s what we all would have done,” she agreed, her fingers now carding through his hair. “But you found another solution.”

“I thought about losing you when I crashed the plane. About you going up with Tony and Strange and the kid and the fact that I’d probably never see you again and... I couldn’t let them become us.”

“Funnily enough... in a way, they have become us,” Peggy told him, flicking her eyes to the pair. 

Vision kissed the palm of Wanda’s hand, both of them still clinging to each other.

Steve tilted his head until he was able to do the same with Peggy’s palm, closing his eyes.

They won. 

Once Peggy’s leg is healed and they’ve dealt with the fallout of Thanos, Peggy makes good on her promise to take Steve dancing.

[jasontoddiefor]

Batfam Fanfic Rec Sunday!

I’ve decided to do something worthwhile with my 1400+ Batfam bookmarks, therefore I welcome you to my first Fanfic Rec Sunday. Every Sunday I guess I’ll recommend fanfictions for a specific theme, AU, trope, etc.

Feel free to request specific themes or AUs and I’ll do my best to search for fitting fanfiction!

(”Oh, I’ve always wanted to read something like a Brooklyn 99 crossover!” ”I’ve got your back, young reader.”)

This week’s theme is Time Travel & Batman Beyond!

And I’ve got 28 amazing fanfics for you below the read more!

Have fun and don’t forget to leave these lovely writers a comment!

Title: A Gift to Cherish Summary: The wonderful thing about being hurdled through time and space is that Jason doesn’t have to deal with the fallout of not listening to Bruce. The awful, terrible, no good very bad part of hurtling through time and space is that he has no idea where he is. It’s all up to wormhole he was thrown into to decide where he gets spit out to. In which Jason is thrown into a future he never came back to, and gets to heal, just a little bit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20226775

Title: A Good Place Summary: Damian Wayne is kidnapped and sent back years through time. Together, he and Father – who's only been Batman for a mere six months –must figure out how to return him to his own time. Over the course of the next week, Damian discovers that Mexican gangsters do not mess around, that social workers find Bruce annoying, that Bruce might be a little messed up, and that crystal chandeliers create the fondest memories. Oh. And Alfred has hair. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13515501

Title: A hundred miles through the desert Summary: Finding himself nearly three decades into the past hadn't been part of Jason's plans for the day, but he could manage. Having no idea how he got there, no clear path home and a recently orphaned Bruce Wayne determined to drag Jason into his search for his parents' killer - that might be a little more complicated. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18197330

Title: And They’re Only Getting Better Summary: 90's!Tim Drake wakes up in his Red Robin body. Exhausted from a YJ mission, he chooses to focus on getting through a normal day so as not to disrupt things for his future self. But, y'know, his way. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10522401

Title: A Time to Reflect Summary: Bruce finds himself stuck in the past, and while waiting for the league to pick him up, struggles to get along with his past self. Plus being in a practically empty manor is a bigger adjustment than he'd like to admit. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20156707

Title: Back to the Past Summary: Bruce is Robin, his dad isn't Batman though, despite how similar the outfits are. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17237258

Title: Careful what you wish for Summary: Sometimes, Batman can’t help but miss the time when Dick was the one and only Robin. In a world with magical imps, he should have known better. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15009647

Title: Choose - Lose Summary: Tim looked to the empty space where the time traveler had stood, a forgettable man with a forgettable face in a forgettable shabby brown suit, and had made his unforgettable offer. You can save him. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18320876

Title: Cocoa in April Summary: There are strict rules when it comes to time-traveling. But when Dick is faced with an adorable young Bruce when he's accidentally sent back to 1988, he can't resist a conversation. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888914

Title: death sucks (and then you live) Summary: Red Hood is starting to put some serious plans in motion when he's attacked by a not-so-welcome blast from the past. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15532380

Title: Do Not Stand At My Grave and Weep Summary: I am not here I do not sleep. Terry wants to say he's okay with cemeteries. But taking your kinda boss, kinda mentor, kinda surrogate father-figure to his creepy family cemetery does not make him feel good. He didn't realize just how much Bruce mourns. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19378990

Title: In my arms Summary: There was nothing he could do. Nothing he could change. Those were the rules of the past. Besides, babies cried all the time, even if this was less a cry and more of an angry wail from a little one pushed past its limits. But still. He should have been on his way. He likely would have been, had this been a different home. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20728655

Title: Innocence and experience Summary: What starts as a normal patrol ends up shaking up the world of Young Justice when a boy claiming to be a future Robin drops from the sky while chasing after a man in white. The Team struggles to deal with Damian and the future he represents all the while trying to return him to his rightful time. But for what purpose is this new villain in the past and can Damian and the Team stop him? Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9224534

Title: I Used to Be an Adventurer Like You, Then I Took an Arrow to the Knee Summary: Stephanie was just on patrol and now she’s stuck somewhere, sometime, with Bruce. They bleed and bond and mostly try to keep each other alive— you know, just a Tuesday. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16437716

Title: life, if well lived Summary: Jason wakes up from a time-travel mishap to find Thomas and Martha Wayne hovering over him. Just another day in the life, right? ...Not quite. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18378512

Title: Lost and Found Summary: Bruce is dying. Slowly, painfully. Not going out in a blaze of glory and defiance for a greater purpose. He's caving under the weight of his own age, under the damage he's done to his heart through the years. Terry can't be by his side constantly to do damage control. More than that, he can't watch it happen with no reprieve. But there's no one else. Terry needs help keeping vigil by an ill Bruce's bedside. But the old man had kids once, didn't he? Are the bridges he burned unable to be rebuilt? As he observes, Terry definitely starts to wonder how this family used to be. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12214692

Title: meet the robins Summary: sad little orphan bruce travels to the future and meets the family he’ll have one day :) too bad he can’t stay forever :( Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2685095

Title: Mint Chocolate Chip Summary: Summer vacations have been going on just long enough for Jason to start getting bored, when he gets an unexpected visitor. From the future. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18860545

Title: no one seems to go Summary: “Father,” Bruce mumbles, “I am something of an outlaw.” “Were you always this dramatic, son?” Thomas asks, the bed beneath them shaking as he shifts. “Alfred.” Bruce snorts, shaking his head. “Theatrics are his speciality, remember?” Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15663957

Title: Of your own making Summary: Jason died. Then he came back, forty years too late. It takes time to adjust. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20211523

Title: One Big Batty Family Summary: In which Billy Batson and the McGinnis siblings join the present day Batfam. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1133567

Title: Oops I did it again Summary: "You're insane." Or possibly an insane dream from eating chili dogs before bed. Which one Jason wasn't sure since he had yet to pinch himself. "I'm a member of the longer existing Dead Robins Club that doesn't even give you a lousy shirt. Not shocking Jay." Link: https://archiveofourown.org/series/936921

Title: Raisin Delight Summary: A year after Jason Todd dies, Tim Drake and Bruce Wayne take on the case when they notice strange occurrences in Gotham city. This has disastrous consequences, but so do most things that Tim gets caught up in, so what's new, really. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15644082

Title: Realization Summary: Bruce makes a discovery while conducting a check-up on Terry. Takes place midway through the "Splicers" episode. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/377468

Title: Strange Manor Summary: Bruce let his eyes close to wallow for a moment in worry and fear for Jason. One second, two, three. He opened his eyes. Time to act. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13474308

Title: The Incandescent Rose Summary: Terry McGinnis (the new Batman) impulsively asks marriage proposal advice from his mentor and grumpy father figure Bruce Wayne. When the older man describes a proposal in which he had been yelled at and abandoned, Terry can't help investigate the matter by seeing some of Bruce's most knowledgeable friends and family members. This search prompts someone else into action. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19414228

Title: The Time Travel Problem Summary: Barry Allen and Clark Kent, follow Bruce around during a time travel mission through Gotham City's recent past. If only Bruce would stay focused. Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21143081

Title: Younger Bruce, Older Jason Summary: Jason wakes up in the dead of night to an unexpected visitor. (Like you’ve never heard that one before...) Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14867975

[marvelsdc22]

Savior

Intro: Hello, lovelies!! I hope you guys are having a good day/night!! This was requested by an anon!! I hope you guys enjoy!! :)

Note: Y/N has fire powers, fluffy af towards the end, I blame @caws5749​​ for making me so freaking soft last night nsbubfunfro.

Word Count: 1635

Hi there! I love your writing. I was wonder if you could write a fic with Wanda x reader. Set during endgame. While fighting thanos’ army she can’t find reader and then assumes the worst. Reader is busy fighting but finally sees Wanda as she’s fighting Thanos. Reader saves Wanda from the ship firing down. They finally reunite. Fluffy? Please and thank you!!

When Wanda vanished in front of your eyes, you thought that you would never see her again, she was your everything, she gave you hope when no one else could, she loved you just as much as you loved her; what made it even more hurtful was the weight of the small velvet box in your pocket that you had been carrying since you had planned to propose to her the night after the battle, now that was all but a shattered dream.

You were very skeptical when Scott Lang arrived, you didn’t know if he could be trusted and also he’d been stuck in the Quantum Realm for some time, so you weren’t sure his head was on right “How do you know this will even work?” You asked, sounding drained since it had been five years since the snap, five years since Thor took off Thanos’s head with his battle axe… Five years since you last saw her, you were tired of getting your hopes up only for them to crumble in front of you.

“Just trust me with this, building a time machine can’t be that hard” Scott said, shrugging some and watching as you and Natasha stared at one another while Steve looked at Scott with curiosity “We need Tony” you said finally, wanting to give this a shot even if it was just another failure at least you guys could say that you tried.

Getting Tony was not that easy, he was happy with his little family which was understandable, but you knew Tony would do it since he wouldn’t feel right if he didn’t try, so you gave him his time and watched as Bruce set up the time machine to test run it with Scott “Are you sure this is safe?” You asked, looking at Bruce who gave you a smile “Of course” he said, waving you off but you heard the crack in his voice “Oh lord” you sighed, going to stand next to Natasha who wrapped an arm around you, her having become your anchor over the past five years and vice versa.

You watched as Scott phased in and out, coming back a different age each time until he became a baby “He’s a baby” Steve said, looking at Bruce who just shrugged as he looked around the buttons all around him “He’ll grow” “Bring Scott back” Steve said sternly, you guys finally getting him back to normal and you released a sigh of relief “Somebody peed my pants… But, I don’t know if it was baby me or old me… Or just me me” he said, causing you to roll your eyes before you all looked at Bruce “Time travel!” He said, causing you to smack your forehead and sigh “I knew this wouldn’t work” you muttered before storming off.

Once Tony finally arrived, you guys got the machine to work correctly and after a lot of convincing from Natasha you joined to help “See you in a minute” she said, giving you a smile and you staying behind to help Bruce in case anything went wrong; after what seemed like hours, but really it had only been a few minutes, everyone started to return “Nat? Where’s Clint?” You asked, rushing to her side when she collapsed to her knees and gently holding her shoulders “A soul for a soul” she said softly, holding the soul stone in her hand and you frowning before pulling her into a tight hug “We’re going to make this right… For him and everyone else” you promised, rubbing her back.

You all surrounded Bruce as he held the gauntlet “You sure you want to do this, Bruce?” Tony asked, looking at him and watching as he nodded “I can do this” Bruce said, gesturing for you guys to step back and you finding Natasha’s hand for strength, feeling her squeeze it gently, you all watching as Bruce all but screamed in pain before he managed to snap his fingers, Tony rushing over to him once he dropped the gauntlet “Guys-“ you heard Scott say before there was an explosion.

When you finally came to your senses, you realized you were now under what was once the compound “Nat? Tony?” You called, looking around and slowly making your way through the rubble when you saw something shiny “The gauntlet” you said, rushing over to it and picking it up, freezing when you heard multiple noises and looking over, igniting your hand to see what it was and seeing outriders from Thanos’s army staring you down “Oh fuck” you said, throwing a quick fireball in their direction before you took off.

Once you were free of the gauntlet, you went and tried to help Tony, Thor, Natasha, and Steve fight Thanos; when both Tony and Thor were knocked out, you and Natasha did your best to double up on him, that ended with him throwing you to the side like you were nothing and Natasha being tossed off as well, you cried out when you landed, feeling a sharp pain in your back so you laid there and watched as Steve did his best with Thanos and when you thought all hope was lost, you caught a glimpse of portals being opened all around you.

When you saw the army that Sam brought and forced yourself to stand up, knowing it hurt but you couldn’t give up, not when there was now a chance “Avengers!” You heard Steve shout, causing you to smile since you knew what was about to happen “Assemble” and with that, you all took off fighting; as you were fighting, Wanda had yet to see you, which worried her because you could be hurt or her worst nightmare… You were dead.

She tried not to let that consume her mind as she went up to Thanos “You took everything from me” she seethed, her eyes bright red and a red aura surrounding her as she felt her anger spike “I don’t even know who you are” Thanos said, watching as she gave a small smirk “You will” she said before using her powers to lift herself and large pieces of rubble up throwing them at Thanos and showing no remorse as she pelted him with her powers, managing to disarm him and lock him in place before she lifted him up.

You looked over when you heard Thanos shouting, dealing with the Thanos minion you were fighting before you focused on the scene in front of you “Wanda” you said, knowing that red aura from anywhere when you heard Thanos say “Rain fire!” that sprung you into action, seeing Thanos’s ships aiming towards Wanda and everyone else “Wanda!” You shouted, racing towards her and your back pain long gone from the adrenaline, throwing up a fire shield to protect you both from the shots that managed to fire before Carol took care of them.

When Wanda saw the fire surround her, she stood there in shock before looking at you in disbelief “Y/N” you heard her say, you looking at her once you knew you guys were safe and dropping your shield, giving her a goofy grin “You’re alive” she said, hesitantly reaching over and cupping your cheek and you seeing tears in her eyes “I’m here, my love” you promised, resting your hand on hers and about to say more when you saw rubble flying towards you both “Look out!” You shouted, tackling her to the side and rolling you both out of the way “Lets finish this after we  kick the big purple thumbs ass” you said, looking at her and smiling when she giggled, helping her up before you both joined back into the fight, neither of you leaving each other’s side.

Once the battle and everything was over, Tony was transported to Wakanda to get the best healing there was while you and Wanda escaped to the small cottage you guys had outside of the city since you guys couldn’t stay at the compound for a while “I thought I lost you” you said softly, the two of you now cleaned from a shower and in comfortable clothes, Wanda checking you over to make sure you weren’t seriously hurt “I thought I lost you” she said, looking at you and knowing you both thought the other was gone, her gently running her fingers over your bruised back and causing you to hiss.

You rolled over when she pulled her hand away before you pulled her to you “I’m okay… You’re okay… And we’re together” you whispered, gently brushing your fingers through her hair and smiling at her “I love you” Wanda said, resting her forehead against yours “Marry me?” You asked, looking at her and watching as her eyes snapped open “What?” She asked, watching as you pulled away and dug around in your jacket pocket “It’s not as proper as I wanted it to be, but I lost my chance last time… I’m not letting it slip through my grasp again, I want to spend the rest of my life with you Wanda, if you’ll have me” you said, sitting on the bed and holding the open box in front of you.

Wanda stared at the ring, her jaw dropping as she scrambled to sit upright “Yes” she said softly, looking at you with tears in her eyes “You don’t even have to ask, it will always be yes” she cried, watching as you grinned and teared up yourself before you gently slipped the ring onto her finger, barely having time to prepare yourself before she launched herself at you and kissed you deeply, you melting into the kiss and thinking how you had a lot of time to catch up on, but you had all the time in the world.

Permanent Taglist: @rianncreates​​ / @5aftermidnight​​ / @youngandwildx7​​ / @stewie-castle​​

End Note: I hope you guys enjoyed!! If you want to be added to a Taglist, shoot me a DM or an Ask!! Have a good day/night!! Also! Join me and Madz tonight as we finish our Joint Blurb Night!! :)

Requests Open

[cassiecasyl]

Empty Space

prompts used:

Whumptober Day 8: Abandoned + Whumptober Day 19: Grief, Mourning Loved Ones

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Warnings: Sad, Heavy Angst, Panic Attacks, Blood Note: Among Us AU

Read on Ao3

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Sure, they had heard about the imposters, and their lethal games, and about their previous appearances on the Skeld. In fact, the ship seemed to be one of their favorite hunting grounds. Peter had never understood the motivation behind trying to kill a whole crew just for fun. It was horrible. But still, they had hoped it wouldn’t happen on their trip There were enough accounts of the Skeld making it to her destination safe and sound, and it was just damn Parker luck that this was one that wouldn’t. They hadn’t had much choice, with the Skeld being the only ship in their price range to cover their destination, and the imposters always seemed like such a faraway thing. Something that happens to other people. Not them. 

Yet, here he was, holding his aunt’s hand through their blue suits, pleading, shaking, hoping for her to respond. “May?” he asked, his voice hoarse and breaking from crying. Peter didn’t know how long he’d been here, all he knew that he had missed the meeting following the discovery of his Aunt’s corpse. His Aunt’s corpse. Aunt May is dead. The words still sounded faint and far away, like the whispers of a ghost. Peter couldn’t, wouldn’t let them sink in. 

May was now no more than the discovery of imposters among them, a stepping stone for them to win their sick game and a clue to start the crewmates’ investigation. Peter knew he should care about at least the last one, but he hadn’t been able to attend the meetings. He wanted to know who did this to her, who ripped open her body into half, who caused this unnecessary bloodshed. Who would kill an innocent bystander? Such a lovely, lively, and caring person as May? Just for fun? 

“Please, May,” he begged, “Wake up! You’re gonna miss the Kasterborous Supernova. We were so excited to see it, remember?” He felt terrible to remind her about this event only he really wanted to witness it. Sure, it was a once in a lifetime thing, but May had only been as excited because he was. It seemed like such a small thing now.

He couldn’t remember her last words. Oh god. How was he ever to know that those would be her last to him? And now he didn’t remember them. The last thing she gave him, and he simply forgot. It felt like a sacrilege. Warm tears left cold stains on his cheeks before they dropped towards the ground, wetting his suit, or landing on May’s. 

He had taken off his helmet to help him breathe. There was oxygen on the ship so he didn’t really understand the rule to wear the suit at all moments, and no one had bothered to explain it to him. Peter hadn’t dared to dismantle May’s face though, and he regretted not being able to see her. Before him lay an anonymous suit, the same color as he wore, ripped apart, and stained with drying blood. It was all too easy to convince himself that this wasn’t May. They had made a mistake, and May was still alive, in another colored suit, somewhere on this spaceship. Somewhere an imposter could lurk and just wait for the right moment to repeat the tragedy. 

Peter wanted to get up, to sprint to her and protect her, warn her, but he couldn’t move. Something had glued him on the ground, trapping him here with a dead body and his thoughts. May is dead. No. She would never laugh again, never scold him again, never mess dinner up again and then order take out. No. She would never fall asleep in front of the TV again, never bother him to eat or sleep when he was too engulfed or stressed in his work again. Nonono. Peter cried out, balled his hands against the unfairness of it all, but there was nothing to fight. 

“I larb you,” Peter remembered her to say, but her voice was all ghostly and not quite there, and it cut like reality.  

Peter’s breaths came out in gasps that never reached deep as if he was drowning in shallow saltwater. His dark blue suit was stained with blood just as May’s was, only instead of his middle, it was painting the ends of his limbs as he kneeled in the crimson puddle next to his guardian. He couldn’t breathe. The red seemed to climb up the fabric in little veins that almost looked like a spiderweb, the blue succumbing to the guilty liquid. Tears landed on them, washing some of it away, and falling to the ground tainted. Peter watched them in a trance, his ears not picking up his own wheezing gasps, and the pain in his chest only throbbing dully. 

Despite all their efforts, the veins spread and reached out to him. He didn’t know whether they were accusing him, or indicating him to be the next victim. Peter panicked at their implications yet didn’t, his emotions strangely numb to his brain’s instincts. His battling head started aching, and he felt slightly dizzy, but still, he didn’t care. Aunt May was gone, and he sat there covered in her blood like her murderer, and he hadn’t been there, and he couldn’t breathe so what if he just passed out right here? It wouldn’t be that big of a deal, would it? 

A gentle hand caught his falling body, removing him momentarily from his thoughts. He flinched away way too late, only now remembering his need to be alone. Then, with a flare of false fear, he realized that this could be the imposter. Anger bubbled up but depleted before it reached the surface, only coming out as hot air in quick breaths. Peter didn’t have the energy to fight. “Just take me,” he whispered, barely audible, and closed his eyes. He just wanted to lay down and be comforted by his Aunt May. This all was just a bad dream, right? It must be. He would wake up at any moment. This all would be over. 

“What was that?” The man in the red suit now spoke up, “I’m not the imposter, bud.” Peter opened his eyes to muster the stranger. 

“Why should I believe you?” 

The man shrugged. “You’re not dead,” he simply stated. 

“Yet,” Peter replied. 

“Look, bud, I don’t care if you believe me or not, but I’m not gonna kill you.” Peter could almost feel worried eyes staring at him, and somehow, he felt inclined to believe him. His shoulders fell as some tension left his body, and he frowned. “Mind if I join you?” The man asked yet sat down without waiting for an answer. Peter only stared at him, slightly annoyed yet strangely relieved. “How you’re doing?” He continued to inquire, but Peter simply continued his stare. He didn’t feel like talking. It would make it all true. Why was he supposed to answer anyway? Ah, yes, manners. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, was it?” He meant to faintly remember his name from the introductions earlier, “but I’d rather be alone right now. Thank you though.” 

Silence fell on them for a minute, before Mr. Stark answered. “I don’t believe that’s true,” his voice had now softened, “Something terrible just happened to you and I’m no good with emotions, but even I know that you shouldn’t just wallow here like this. It’s no good for you. Congrats on getting my name right, by the way. Tony Stark.” He offered Peter his hand, “And you are?” 

Peter blinked, trying to digest the words. They were too fast, too much, and he didn’t want them at this moment. His fingers tightened around May’s hand. “No,” Peter then spoke in a rough, yet definite voice, which sounded a bit too much like a spoiled child to him. 

“No?” Tony echoed, “Now that’s a peculiar name.” Peter shook his head. He was more there now, but he didn’t want to be. Here meant that his aunt was dead. And the man in the red suit was getting it all wrong. Or was he doing it wrong? 

“No,” he repeated, slowly, trying to let his mind catch up, “I’m Peter Parker.”

“Nice to meet you, Peter Parker. I wish it’d be under nicer circumstances though.” Peter looked back at the body next to him at that and the words cut deeply. No. It seemed his go-to word now. Too bad it wasn’t changing anything. No. May was dead. There was nothing he could do. No-no-no. He wanted to scream, and maybe he did, and the tears that had depleted under Tony’s distraction returned. “No,” he whispered, sobbed out from a body that had never felt this heavy. 

Suddenly, warm arms wrapped around him, slowly, testingly, and for some reason, Peter fell right into them. He felt safe here. Why? “May?” he asked weakly, but she was lying there in front of him, unrecognizable, motionless, dead. 

“I’m sorry, Peter,” Tony whispered, rubbing soothing circles over his back, “Was she your mom?” It was Tony, Peter then realized. Tony who comforted him, just a kind stranger. Yet why did he feel so safe? 

“Aunt,” Peter corrected before burying his face in the stranger’s chest, fighting another sob. Soothing warmth engulfed him, but he was so cold and far away. It barely had a chance against the spikes of pain that were working their way through Peter, again and again, only to pause for a little while before hitting again. 

“Shh,” Tony shushed him, rocking them slightly back and forth, “Just let it out. It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” Peter replied through a hiccup of tears, “It’s never gonna be okay.” 

“No,” He agreed. Peter halted a moment as Tony used his word before remembering that words belonged to nobody. He was just being selfish. Another sob rattled through his body that never seemed to run out of tears. 

After a while, Peter calmed down again. For a moment, he remained where he was, not ready to move yet. Then, he sat up, purposefully avoiding to look at the dead body. “Sorry,” he said, brushing his hand against his running nose. 

“Don’t apologize, kid. It seemed like you really needed to cry it out. You know, crying floods some stress hormones out, which makes you feel better, or something like that. Bruce could explain it to you. He’s the one in the green suit.” 

“Neat.” 

They sat in silence, neither of them willing to move even if only to not sit in blood anymore. Peter was perfectly content on being here, well, as content as he could be at this moment, and Tony was just there to grant him company. His hands still trembled from time to time though, which did not go unnoticed. 

After watching them for a while, Tony reached out to take Peter’s hands, stilling them. “They caught him. Thought you wanted to know,” he said, carefully observing Peter’s reaction. 

“Who was it?” Peter suppressed the anger in his voice almost successfully as grief overtook him again. The one who did this would pay for it. They’d meet justice, just as they deserved. Still, he was angry, he wanted to punch whoever it was, wanted to scream at them, and above all, he wanted to ask why. Why May of all people? 

“Some ugly guy named Thanos. He was in the purple suit.” Peter nodded. 

“What’s gonna happen to him?” 

“Already did. They threw him out of the spacecraft. Standard procedure for found imposters.” Tony shrugged slightly while Peter imagined the freezing coldness of space, the absence of air, the nothingness. Floating there, freezing to death in minutes. He shuttered. 

“That’s terrible.” 

“Yeah” Tony agreed, looking at the kid who had sympathy for his aunt’s murderer. Before, Tony had thought him too young to lose a parental figure, but now he seemed too good to ever have that happen to him. “If you want, you can help me with my tasks,” he offered, delighted to see some light reappear in the teen’s eyes. 

“That’d be nice. I was helping May, but, you know…,” he stilled, waiting for the tears to come, but they seemed to have run out for now. Tony nodded and stood up, holding a hand out to help Peter up. 

“I think a change of scenery will do you good,” he decided, “but first, you gotta abide by the dress code.” At Peter’s confused expression, Tony pointed at the helmet that lay forgotten on the floor. 

Tag List: @starrynightdeancas, @insaneasgardian​ (tagging you bc Among Us :))

[maurianasravenholdt]

A Reflection on Birthdays

Birthdays were the hardest.

Almost immediately after Bruce turned eighteen (eighteen years and 6 days) he left. There was little fanfare, a sparsely packed rucksack, and a hasty goodbye. And then Alfred was alone, standing in the gleaming manor kitchen, feeling utterly lost.

Not that he didn’t have purpose without Bruce. He was quite able to find fulfillment by himself, thank you very much. With the Master of the Manor gone, it was the perfect opportunity to leave, to travel, to bask in a Caribbean sun with a beautiful and witty lady friend.

But he couldn't work up the courage to go.

At first, it was reasonable. Master Bruce could return any day, after all. He would be heartbroken to come home to an empty house. But as days stretched on into weeks and months with no word, Alfred slowly tried to accept that Bruce, his son (if he were honest with his heart) was not returning any time soon. May never return.

So he left. Travelled in a daze. Back to London, across Europe. He told himself it was high time he relaxed. A lie, of course. Because everywhere he went he couldn’t stop scanning the crowds for a familiar face. His boy, just barely a man. He never appeared.

Eleven months passed. Then nearly twelve, and Alfred found himself drawn, slowly but surely, back to that grand old house. He told himself it was necessary to check in. Make sure the caretakers he left in his stead had followed instructions. Assure himself that his topiary had not overgrown.

Another lie.

Part of him longed for Bruce to come home for his 19th birthday. A special return. An acknowledgment of the family bond Alfred prayed they still shared. But the day came and went just like any other. Alfred felt foolish for even hoping. He tossed the carefully made cake into the garbage, and sadly put the candles away.

Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and he fixed his attention on the ceiling, taking a deep breath before putting a kettle onto an empty stove burner and lighting it.

He took his beaker of tea to the sitting room, planning on distracting himself with a good book, when a small piece of paper sticking out of the mail slot caught his eye. Upon closer inspection, he found it to be a postcard - a stunning scene of the Kusatsu hot springs in Japan. The message on the back was messy, and partially obscured by postage, but Alfred could make it out anyway.

“Doing well. Talk soon. Bruce.”

Alfred tucked the postcard into his pocket and smiled.

Read more on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112140

Birthdays were the hardest.

Richard Grayson was the most luminous spirit Alfred had ever encountered. Even after the murder of the boy’s parents, his brutalization at the hands of the residents at the Youth Detention Center, and the uprooting of his entire life, there was undeniable brightness inside him. An unquenchable fire that only reminded him of Master Bruce as a child because he was the absolute opposite. Any concerns Alfred had about Master Richard donning the Robin mantle vanished when he saw how simply joyful it made his young charge.

One morning, however, a few months after Master Bruce had taken the boy in, that gleaming essence seemed entirely gone. The boy sat, looking empty, staring at his untouched breakfast plate. Alfred took to one knee beside him and met the boy’s terribly lonely gaze.

“Master Richard, are you quite alright?”

At first the young one only shook his head. Then tears tipped over onto his cheeks. He scrunched his face tightly, trying and failing to force them back. Alfred watched and gently cupped the side of the boy’s face.

“Today is…” Dick began, “Today was...”

He took a heaving breath, steadying himself before continuing in a small voice.

“Today was my mom’s birthday. Or is. I’m not…”

He began crying in earnest. Heavy, grief stricken sobs weighed him down, and Alfred cradled him against his shoulder. All Alfred could do was hold him and stroke a calming hand down his back. When Dick’s wails had diminished to quiet sniffles, Alfred steadied him upright, holding his arms firmly, but with care.

“What was her favourite kind of cake,” Alfred asked with a small, careful smile.

“I don’t…” his breath hitched, like he might begin crying again, “I don’t know. We only ever had brownies ‘cause they were easy and I could help.” He wiped at his eyes hard with the heels of his palms, and Alfred produced a linen handkerchief from his pocket.

“Then,” Alfred said as he got to his feet and held out his hand to the boy, “let us make some brownies, shall we? Because someone as special as your mother deserves to be remembered in celebration.”

Tentatively, Dick nodded and smiled, then took Alfred’s hand, and they went to the kitchen together.

----------

Birthdays were the hardest.

If Master Richard was a sun, Master Jason was a supernova. All chaos and blinding fire. And gone in what seemed like an instant. The black hole left in his wake threatened to drag Master Bruce in and crush him. The haunted man that flew back from Ethiopia with a casket was not the same Bruce who left the manor just days before.

Master Jason had been headstrong, brilliant…

But the inescapable truth disembarked at Gotham International Airport.

Jason was dead.

The months that followed were dark. Bruce retreated deeper and deeper into his misery. When Master Richard learned of the tragedy and came to pull his mentor back to the light, it ended badly. Bruce struck him, and forced him from his home, intent on beating his rage-soaked anguish alone.

Alfred’s own grief had been eclipsed. Pushed into the shadows in order to keep Bruce from madness. But as the days slipped by, Alfred found himself staring at the calendar - one of the days had been circled in bright red, with a smiley face hovering over the words, “MY BIRTHDAY!!” His first instinct was to take the calendar down and dispose of it. If Master Bruce saw the barely legible scrawl that was Jason’s handwriting, it would only make matters worse.

He hesitated.

No, he concluded. Jason’s birthday would not be relegated to the dustbin because Master Bruce couldn’t cope with the truth that Master Jason had lived. He was loved, and he deserved to have his special day remembered.

Carefully, Alfred cut the calendar apart, saving the decorated square. He pulled out a photo album - his project to document Master Jason’s life with them so that, perhaps one day, Bruce may be able to look back on that time with fondness, not rage. He tucked the scrap of paper into a photo sleeve and captioned it, “Master Jason, excited for his 16th birthday.”

Then he slowly closed the album and cried.

----------

Birthdays were the hardest

The addition of Timothy Drake to their growing ’family’ was a singularly peculiar one, in large part due to the fact that Master Timothy still had a family of his own. Master Richard had lost his parents, and was subsequently lost, himself, in a savage system, Master Jason was long without a family, and had survived alone in homelessness and poverty. Master Timothy was, however, something of a next door neighbor. Ostensibly untouched by the cruelty that life could bring.

One particularly warm day in July, Alfred found Tim absorbed in his work in the dreadfully damp cave. “I trust you had a rather special day yesterday,” Alfred said as he placed a plate with small sandwiches on it next to the boy.

Without looking away from the computer, Timothy asked, “hm? Why’s that?”

“Birthdays do come but once a year, young master,” Alfred replied with a smile.

Tim rolled his chair back from the desk and looked at Alfred, confused, before recognition read in his features, “Oh. I guess it was my birthday.”

He shrugged, then returned his attention to the readout on the monitor in front of him.

“Your parents didn’t celebrate with you,” Alfred asked, incredulous.

“Nah. They're in Switzerland, I think? Somewhere in Europe for sure. Birthdays just aren't that big of a deal.”

Timothy’s face and posture contradicted his blasè statement. He looked defeated, and his shoulders slumped. Alfred felt something tighten in his chest, an emotion between anger and sadness he couldn’t quite place. The boy’s parents had abandoned him. On his birthday. A milestone Alfred had come to cherish for each of his charges, and one he had learned to never take for granted.

He feigned aloof disinterest and let Tim return to his case without further comment. Once out of sight, he rushed upstairs and set to work.

On any other day, he would have bristled at the mere mention of a boxed mix cake, but time was of the essence. So he pulled out a brightly colored package that touted the “chocolatey-est” formula and whipped it together, then popped it into cupcake molds (they bake and cool faster, after all), slid them into the oven, and waited. He hoped they would be finished in time.

Making the icing was a simple matter, accomplished while the small cakes cooled on a rack. At last, and perhaps a little too soon, he piped the vanilla frosting on top in an intricate swirl, dusted the cupcakes with sprinkles, and headed back down to the cave with candles in hand.

Tim hadn’t moved.

“You’ll find, young master, that birthdays matter a great deal in this household, and will not be forgotten.” Alfred placed a candle in the center of one of the cupcakes and lit it. “Happy Birthday, Master Timothy. You will make a wish.”

Tentatively, Tim blew out the candle and accepted the cupcake, then went back to his work. Alfred sighed and turned to head back up to the manor. He couldn’t force the boy to see the importance of small things like this. He would have to come to it on his own.

“Hey Alfred,” Tim called before he’d gotten too far away.

“Yes, Master Timothy?”

A small sniffle betrayed the boy, and he quietly said, “Thank you. It means a lot.”

With a smile, Alfred replied, “You are quite welcome.”

—————

Birthdays were the hardest

Alfred wasn’t proud to admit it, but he struggled to find fondness for Damian Wayne the same way he had for his other charges. The boy brought with him an unpalatable arrogance and he practically reeked of unrestrained violence. Present in him was none of Bruce’s sense of justice; no light or fire like Dick and Jason had carried. Nor any of the deep curiosity that followed Master Timothy.

In short, the Damian Wayne that had quite suddenly arrived at the manor was cruel.

Alfred barely had any time to adjust before another tragedy befell their family. Master Bruce was gone. And Dick was left wearing shoes he never wanted to fill.

Master Richard tried. He worked diligently, every day, to show Damian that the world was not a bleak landscape to conquer. Did everything in his power to teach him that family did not mean pain and relentless training. Even as the man Alfred was so very proud of struggled with his own twin griefs - the loss of another father and the loss of the autonomy he held so dear - Master Richard showed Damian unconditional love. As time went on, however, Alfred began to fear that Bruce’s youngest son was a lost cause.

But life continues, even in the absence of loved ones. February’s frigid air had set upon the manor, and Alfred made his rounds winterizing the grand old home, drawing the heavy curtains over the leaded windows in lesser used rooms to hold the line against drafts. He was somewhat surprised to find Damian in the library, sitting on the floor in front of the fire with photo albums stacked up around him. For a moment, Alfred feared the boy might burn the precious momentos, but there was something approaching tenderness in the way he flipped through the pages, pausing on each one to survey the pictures.

“I can hear you watching me, Pennyworth,” Damian said without looking up.

“Indeed,” Alfred replied without elaboration. He was in no mood to go rounds with the boy, and even the simplest conversations with him often ended in an argument. So he held his tongue and set to his task.

“Richard suggested I use some of my free time to study the other half of my lineage, and sent me here.” Damian lifted one of the albums, an old one from Bruce’s childhood. “Father was an unattractive baby.”

“All babies are unattractive, Master Damian,” Alfred said tiredly. “It’s part of their charm.”

“I was unaware today was Father’s birthday.”

The statement was quiet. Alfred almost missed it over the crackling of the logs in the fireplace. Damian’s voice lacked all of the pomposity that had become integral to his speech. He sounded every bit the child he was, and warm fondness tugged at Alfred’s heart.

“That it is,” Alfred confirmed as he walked to Damian’s side. With hesitation, he put his hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Perhaps we should celebrate it. Richard has been overly sentimental lately, and the display may help him regain what little emotional mastery he typically possesses.” The haughtiness was back in Damian’s statement, but Alfred could finally see it for what it was - a crumbling shield disguising a small, frightened boy.

Deciding to play along with the pretense, Alfred sighed. “Yes, Master Richard is often known for deep sentimentality. Though I personally find it to be one of his greatest strengths. Regardless, I agree, a celebration is in order.

With a final, curt nod, Damian gathered the photo albums together and carried them back to their home in an old wooden trunk. Together, he and Alfred walked down the hall - not hand in hand, but at least side by side.

“What was Father’s preferred confection?” Damian asked as they entered the gleaming kitchen.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Alfred lied, “but perhaps you can help me make brownies.”

Damian shrugged, “that would be acceptable.”

And though it was a day saturated in grief, Alfred couldn’t help but feel a genuine smile blossom on his face as he showed his grandson, hand over hand, how to make something sweet together.

Perhaps this was a birthday that wouldn't be quite so hard, after all.

Find it on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112140

[clickforspoilers]

bullseye.

WHO: Tim Drake @redrobin-timdrake & Stephanie Brown @clickforspoilers WHERE: The Manor & IHOP WHEN: Backdated to September 10th, 2020 WHAT: Tim finally leaves the house to get food with Stephanie and they talk about lots of things. 

TIM: With so much bullshit going on, Tim had thrown himself wholeheartedly into figuring out what happened to Dick, compiling files, and dealing with the League's upcoming mission. It was finally taking its toll. He missed just… any levity at all and sometimes felt completely dead on his feet. He was used to going without sleep or any kind of functioning schedule. But this… was so much. And he just… finally Tim Wayne needed a break.

It was with that realization that he pushed himself away from his computer and stepped out of the Batcave. Even the dim light of the Manor had his eyes squinting as he dragged himself, much like a dead man walking, to where Steph was. “Hey, Batgirl,” he said with a tired levity as he dropped down next to her. “You want to go get IHOP?” What time was it even? Was it night? Was it day? He had buried sleep with caffeine and twenty minute naps in his desk chair. “I just… need a break.” And IHOP was 24 hour. A true gift from God.

STEPH: Steph was worried about Tim. She'd been worried about him ever since Dick got shot. It wasn't uncommon for him to spend so much time in the Batcave, she was actually used to it, but he never left. There were plenty of nights she ended up falling asleep in a nearby chair, slumped over the desk. Hours later, she'd wake up and he'd still be working. Not even Alfred had been successful at getting through to him.

Patrol was dull and uneventful, which meant she got to end her night early. She was sprawled on one of the couches in the living room and editing a video when Tim walked in. Shocked, she instantly sat up with a grin. "Really?? You're finally accepting that you're a human who needs to eat? Yeah, let's go!" If she waited too long then he might change his mind. Maybe once he'd gotten a good meal, he would actually be able to sleep for longer than fifteen minutes.

TIM: Tim rolled his eyes before shaking his head. "Don't be a butt about it," he told her playfully before holding up the keys to the Red Bird. "I'll drive?" He offered. If she wanted to, he would surrender them, but he hadn't driven anywhere in a few days. Though... maybe he shouldn't? Tim didn't know.

Steph never really gave Tim a hard time unless it was really important or she was really worried. It worked well that way. Alfred and Dick could both mother hen, but not Steph. She would often just sit by him--or, in some instances, on him--while he worked, chatter or not chatter, just to keep him company. It mattered. It was meaningful. He appreciated her. And he appreciated that she was almost always there when he finally did resurface.

STEPH: "Hmm, don't think so, Boy Wonder." Steph snatched the keys from Tim's hand. She would take any excuse she could to drive, but she didn't really need one this time. Who knows how much sleep he'd gotten in the past... what, week? "Sleep-driving is a thing."

Unlike Alfred and Dick, she did her best not to fuss over Tim. She learned early on that he reacted better when she respected his boundaries and showed faith that he knew his own limitations. Sometimes she doubted if he actually did, but she was there when he skirted too close to the line. That was the only time she'd ever outright yell at him.

TIM: "Maybe i'm a better driver in my sleep," he argued playfully as he let her take the keys. He didn't actually care if she drove. He just wanted to spend time with her. He knew he had been scarce, and while she would understand as she always did, he wanted to make time for them. After all, aside from the making out and things like that, they hadn't really decided anything concrete about what they were again. He wanted to. Because Tim realized that somewhere between the moments of her bringing him coffee, falling asleep on his shoulder, or resting her hand over his while he used his mouse simply to touch him and remind him he was alive before letting him get back to what he was doing, he had begun to think of her like his girlfriend again. Honestly, he didn't know if there was ever really a way Tim wouldn't think of her at least partially like that.

He followed her bouncing blonde ponytail out to the garage where his little red car waited for them. "I could go for bottomless waffles. And, of course, the endless coffee."

STEPH: "Is that even possible?" Tim was a good driver, at least compared to her. Steph was a lot less meticulous about precision at least, but she also didn't have the tendency to get lost in her head. That combined with the years she spent as Batgirl made her insecurity less palpable. It was still there, but she didn't feel question every little thing or obsess over their status. She actually liked where they were. What if she ruined it by making it something concrete? It didn't mean she was single, though. That was something she took off her Facebook a while back. Now it was just blank. It wasn't anyone's business anyway.

Unlocking the car, she slid in the driver's seat. "Bottomless waffles are a given. Do you think they'll have the seasonal flavors out yet? Kind of in a pumpkin mood." Maybe it was still too early. "Ever think about going in costume? Everyone knows who we are anyway. Might be a good PR move, right? Vigilantes are people too."

TIM: "Never know unless we do it," he reasoned, though he was teasing. Steph did that. She brought out his playful side much more. It was always refreshing. Tim snorted. "We should do a promo for IHOP as Red Robin and Batgirl. We go there enough. In Gotham they had our names memorized, remember?" He shook his head before raising a brow. "But if you want to change, now's the chance. Not like i'm gonna complain about looking at you in your Batgirl suit." Or looking at her in general.

"I know they do pumpkin pancakes," he said, moving to get into the passenger seat and tugging on his seatbelt before watching to make sure Steph did up hers. "Not sure about Waffles."

STEPH: Steph considered it. "Maybe that kinda thing is better off planned." Tim looked half dead on his feet. Besides, it wasn't as if people wouldn't know who they were out of costume. She was less recognizable, but Tim was one of Bruce Wayne's kids. He got a lot of press even before people knew he was a costumed hero. The media never had any reason to look at Stephanie Brown, even after her father got caught. "You should take a break from being trapped behind a screen and go on patrol with me one night. We could do it then."

The IHOP wasn't that far, but she caught Tim's look. Wrinkling her nose at him, she fastened the seatbelt over her chest and untucked her hair from where it got trapped. "The waffles are better." She waited for the garage to open before pulling out and hitting another button to open the large gates. Once they were clear of the mansion and on the main road, she finally cleared her throat and reached over to take his hand. "You ready to talk about it?" She knew he wasn't doing okay, so she wasn't even going to ask.

TIM: "I will when I have it solved. I just can't get a match on the footage I picked up. The trajectory doesn't make sense for the shot. I think I have to take my camera angles a few clicks out." He was going to start rambling, but he pushed it down. He blew out a breath. Tim had to get this. He wanted to do it for Dick, to prove he could be there for him to and to make sure Dick knew that they were looking out for him. He had looked out for all of them for so long. He would return the favor. He wouldn't see his big brother in a hospital bed like that again if he could help it.

He relaxed as she clicked the belt, shrugging. "If we throw enough money at them, I bet I can get them to make you pumpkin waffles." It wasn't a question for Tim if he could get her something that made her happy.

As she caught his hand, he looked over at her from where he had been staring out into the black of the night while the trees blurred by, his exhaustion leading him to zone out a little. The question had him blinking. "Talk about what?" He asked dumbly, a little slower on the uptake after using almost all of his brainpower on the case.

STEPH: "What do you mean, it doesn't make sense?" Steph wasn't terrible, but the detective part of her training wasn't something she was best at. That was one of the reasons why Bruce had ended up not trusting her in the field. She jumped in, went with her gut, and even if she was right, it landed her in hot water.

That made her smirk. "I think you underestimate just how much I'm willing to pay for these pumpkin waffles, Timbers." Not that she had a lot of money. There was a settlement she got when her father passed away, but that was barely enough to get by. Bruce had an account opened for her, years ago, but it was rare that she used it. It never felt right.

She sighed, perfectly comfortable steering the car with one hand. "Everything." It wasn't just Dick, but everything that led up to it, including the whole Slade thing and Jason being arrested. It was a lot. Tim seemed to be retreating and handling the majority of it internally, which was... unsurprising, but it made her worry.

TIM: "There were two men across the street and partially obscured, but the shot Dick took came from above. So I went up and out two and a half clicks--standard sniper shot--and I didn't see anyone on any of the vantage points I searched. So it just... is no one. A shot further out than that would have to be a ludicrously good shot." He sighed. "I checked out the two men in the video, then I combed the personnel at NOVA, but that's taking a while."

"You? Nothing is surprising come from you and related to waffles." He shook his head fondly. He'd drop money without a thought for it. It wasn't like he used it all that much anyway.

Tim swallowed, looking out the front window at the road. There was... a lot. "Like... everything everything?"

STEPH: That made Steph frown. It didn't take a genius to know what Tim might be insinuating. There were only a few people who would be able to make a ludicrously good shot. When it came down to who was in the city and capable of it, the list was a lot shorter. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she glanced at Tim briefly. "You don't mean like... so good that only someone like Deathstroke could do it, do you? You're not saying that... right?" Just the idea freaked her out.

Amused, she squeezed his hand and let her fingers lace through his. "Don't worry, I love you more. Just a tiny bit."

She looked over at him again, her brow furrowing, but she couldn't take her gaze off the road for long. "Well yeah, that was the idea," she coaxed. "It might help if you talk about it. Pretty sure it would help. At least everything won't be stuck up in your head."

TIM: Tim pursed his lips as she pieced it together. Steph was smart enough to keep up, even if she was constantly looking down on herself. Maybe she thought he didn't realize. He did. He knew she wasn't unshakable. To him, she had no reason to be insecure. But he could understand where it came from.

"More than waffles. That's an achievement." He shook his head with a laugh, thumb moving over the top of her hand as she tightened the hold. "I... love you more thaaaaan--" He made a small show of thinking before deciding on: "Coffee. But, like you said, just a tiny bit."

The levity fell away as he let out a breath. He felt tired. He didn't know that he wanted to talk about it, but Steph wasn't just asking to talk. She had to be asking for connection, too. He was much more in his head than her, he thought. And he knew that could be off-putting. And maybe it would help if he let it. "I wouldn't even know where to start, babe."

STEPH: "Tim." Steph didn't really need him to confirm it. She could tell by his silence that he was thinking the same thing that she was. That made her even more freaked out. Pressing her lips together, she blinked as she focused intently on the road.

Laughing, she pulled her hand away long enough to smack his shoulder, then gave a heavy sigh and took his hand back. "I guess I asked for that. I'm actually a little shocked that I came out on top of coffee. Pretty sure you started drinking that stuff when you were, like, nine."

Her own smile faded when she heard him sigh. "Just start at the beginning. Or tell me what you're thinking right now." Steph had a hard time speculating about what was on Tim's mind. She'd tried before and she was almost always wrong.

TIM: “It makes sense,” he said flatly. “He came to Star City out of nowhere on some contract we didn’t know about. And I haven’t heard anything about it since then. Nothing on the Dark Web about jobs in Star City. Wouldn’t the employer still need it done if Slade didn’t do it?” He shook his head, mind going a thousand miles an hour as he plucked at strings to get it right. “And he started getting close to Dick immediately. He knew he had leverage on him. He could be playing some sick game where he had to get close to Dick for some reason so he could figure out how to do it without having all of us on him, right? We would never suspect if he made it look like NOVA. Meanwhile, while we were distracted he could keep working here in Star City.” It all made sense. It couldn’t be that Slade just changed because Dick cared about him. Not after two decades of what he did. Dick had always tried to pass on his optimism, but Tim was a realist and statistically, Slade was more likely to be running a con than actually doing something noble. He had had blips in the past, but nothing this long. The drawn out complexities were always a game. The games Deathstroke plays... His blue eyes darted to Steph’s. It made sense to him. Was he insane?

“I think I was eleven, but don’t quote me. It has been a long saga of coffee in a relatively short life.” He shook his head. “But coffee doesn’t cuddle as well as you do.”

“Right now? I’m scared shitless for Dick.” He didn’t swear often, but he was a little tense. “And everything’s weird and just... everything, Steph. Slade Wilson? Things have been messed up ever since then.” That had been when he and Jason had started fighting, too. When things had gotten so tense.

STEPH: Steph hesitated, a bit overwhelmed at the thought of something so convoluted and, frankly, fucked up. She didn't know Slade as well as everyone else did, or really have any kind of past with him, and she didn't fully know what he was capable of. But she took Tim at his word. She knew how Dick could be. It seemed insane that he would believe it to the point of getting killed, but it wasn't outside the realm of possibility. "I mean, that's true... but that's so..." Trailing, she shook her head slowly. "That's a really twisted way to kill someone, Tim. Is that something you think he'd do? Isn't he just in it for the money? And who would put a contract out on Dick anyway? Unless NOVA could have hired Deathstroke, and that's why it's not on the dark web or any of the usual places where you'd look." Would that make sense? She wasn't sure. "Dick's with him right now, Tim. What's stopping him from just making it look like an accident and cashing in?" It's not like Dick was on guard or expecting any of that.

That made her laugh. "I can think of a couple things I do a little better than coffee."

Shaking her head, she slowed down for a yellow light that she normally might have sped up for. She was too distracted to be impatient. "So am I. And yeah, it's weird. It doesn't make any sense, not from what I've heard about Deathstroke, but..." Dick was someone she knew a little better, but still not as well as Tim or Bruce. "There hasn't really been a chance for anyone to talk to Dick about this. He has to have reasons. And Bruce... does he seem worried about it? Has he even said anything? If he were suspicious, he would have intervened, right? Or..."

TIM: “I mean that would make sense. But like... he also made Dick love him ten years ago and then sent his kid to try to kill him before forming his own Titans just to get at Dick after everything. He does play games and do things to hurt Dick. He has in the past.” At her suggestion he could do it now, Tim shook his head. “It’s way too conspicuous. Our whole family is here. If there was a chance things could get back to him, he’d be in trouble. Clark’s here... a lot of people are here. It would have to be planned out.”

Tim grinned. “I mean, you doo give excellent massages.” He knew what she meant, and his ears were a little pink even as he played.

“Bruce has been so focused with the League. I haven’t talked to him or even gotten a feel from him. But he has to be weird about, right? Dick is an adult, so he can’t, like, forbid him from doing anything, though.”

STEPH: "I know. You're right." Steph knew she couldn't be naive about Deathstroke's intentions, especially given all that she'd heard about him over the years. It also made sense that he would want to stay under the radar, even if he'd chosen to do it in a way that put him directly on the radar, because this way he had Dick vouching for him. The thought made her feel a little nauseous. "That would be so fucked up," she said softly, her grip tightening on the steering wheel. "Does anyone know where he was that night?" Babs had the exact time Dick was shot, so it might be possible to backtrack and look at Slade's movements.

Rolling her eyes, she snorted softly. "Anyone ever tell you how cute you look when you're blushing?"

Steph thought about it. When she'd gone to see Dick the morning after he'd been shot, Slade and Bruce were both in the room. Thankfully Tim had warned her ahead of time, but it was still a jarring sight. "I think we're all weird about it, but Bruce has known about it longer than we have." The atmosphere in the room had been somber upon her arrival, but not necessarily hostile. "I just... he could have kept him from that room, right? Slade isn't, like, related to Dick or anything. And Bruce is stupidly rich. I mean, he let him sit right next to him."

TIM: "Yeah. Yeah it would. And admittedly, I don't know Deathstroke as well as some people." Which was already making the wheels in his head turn as he considered. He had originally considered hiring Rose after the dinner party, but he hadn't quite had a solid contract for her. Now, he did. And that was determining why her father had come to the city in the first place. He had to have said something. Some kind of story. But he was also perfectly capable of lying. Rose would see through that better than he would, as Slade's kid and someone trained--at least in part--by Slade himself. "I think I'm going to get in touch with Rose." Not that he relished the idea, considering he still remembered her trying to mount him at Titans Tower.

"Oh yeah. People on the street stop me, people tweet me. Everyone does," he teased before squeezing her hand a little bit. It was just... easy with Steph.

He thought for a moment. "Slade just showed up. Conveniently at the hospital. No one called him. It was like he had a tracker on Dick or something. Or maybe he knew he'd be in the hospital." He couldn't tell if he was going off the rails, but the theory actually seemed like a plausible lead. He hated it, but it didn't make it less plausible. "He told them he was Dick's partner, so they let him in. I guess if Bruce wanted him out, he could have made it happen, but only temporarily. Slade isn't exactly known for just taking things lying down, you know? If he wanted to be in with Dick, I'm sure he would have found a way."

STEPH: "I don't know Deathstroke at all." At this point Steph was taking Tim's word for it, but he was the smartest and most thorough person she'd ever known. Bruce was supposed to be smart, technically, even though his judgment was seriously lacking sometimes. Maybe she shouldn't be fazed by his lack of concern. "Rose? Seriously? Do you think she'd help? She seemed pissed at M'gann's disaster dinner, but..." Was she mad enough to go covert? "Do you think he'd tell her if he were up to something? They don't seem exactly close."

She raised her eyebrows playfully. "Yeah? Am I gonna have to fight someone?" Once they reached the IHOP, she reluctantly let go of his hand so she could park the car in the closest spot she could find. "I'm so excited!" Waffles.

Turning the car off, she hesitated before getting out of the car. As they walked in she kept her voice low, casual, but no one was anywhere close enough to overhear. "God, I wish I could have been a fly on the wall to see Bruce's reaction to that." As stoic as Bruce was about basically everything, it was amusing to consider.

TIM: “I know Rose hates her dad,” he reasoned. “Even if it’s complicated. I also know Rose is like her dad. So if I offer her enough money, she’ll sell him out. If he fed some story to her, it’ll be her job to either corroborate it or find out what really happened.” It made sense to him. “Besides, there must be something in her. M’Gann’s not stupid. She wouldn’t be close to her if she were evil. And she was a Titan, you know?”

“Nah, I’m just kidding around.” He couldn’t help but grin as her face lit up. Tim loved to see her happy, because her enthusiasm offset him so well, reminded him to come out of his own head sometimes. “Me too, I crave grease. Don’t tell Alfred.”

“I can’t believe they just... believed him.” He rubbed them back of his neck awkwardly. “Maybe he and Dick go together. Like visually, I don’t know. Bruce’s face was the typical flat look, but you could see the slight tension around his eyes. His crow’s feet deepen like ever so slightly.”

STEPH: Steph made a face, but she didn't like how Rose acted at the dinner party or the thought of working with her in the future, even though she knew she was a Titan. "I guess." She sighed heavily, shrugging. "M'gann's not stupid, but she sees the best in people. Like Dick." It might say something that they both were all tangled up in that family, for worse or for worse.

"Pretty sure that cat's outta the bag, Timbers." She grinned, thinking about the time Alfred caught her sneaking about a dozen chocolate eclairs into the Batcave. "What are you gonna get?"

Huffing softly, she waited until the waitress left them at the table before answering him. "Visually? Tim." She couldn't help but smirk. "Maybe they just figured it wasn't that far-fetched. It's not like... I don't know, anyone's going to question either of them." Bruce and Slade were intimidating. Just sitting in the same room with both of them made Steph nervous.

TIM: "Who else would I ask to look into it? Jason? Not likely. He wouldn't help me with this." Jason had already decided he didn't give a shit, and Tim wasn't the kind of person who could just not give a shit or stop caring about the well-being of his brother. It wasn't ever going to happen. "M'Gann's also a telepath. So if Rose were really dangerous, she'd pick up on something right?"

"Grand slam," he answered without much thought. Meat, meat, meat, eggs, hashbrowns and pancakes. Tim may be small, but the time he spent not at his desk was either sleeping, patrolling, or working out. Needless to say, he was hungry approximately always. "But I'll try one of your pumpkin waffles if you let me."

Tim grinned. "Well I don't know. Some people are into that, you know?" Shuddering, he added, "Not me. But like... some people." He shook his head. "I would have been much quicker to believe Slade was Bruce's partner if Bruce wasn't renowned for loving women very much. Or at least pretending to." It was no secret that Bruce Wayne in his youth had been considered a--gag--playboy. Tim read the tabloids.

STEPH: "Have you asked him?" Jason and Dick didn't seem as hostile as they used to be, even though Steph hadn't spent much time time with either of them after the dinner party. "I guess so," she agreed reluctantly. "She's been around Deathstroke and doesn't seem fazed."

Steph gave him a playful glare when he asked her to share her waffles. "Just how much do you think I like you?"

That made her scrunch her nose. "...Wow, what an image. No thanks. They're weirdly similar." Two sides of the same coin. It had made for an increasingly comfortable visit. Bruce gave short, terse responses, so she'd given up and asked Slade questions instead.

TIM: “No,” he said simply. The last time Tim had tried to talk to Jason it had gone badly. He wasn’t sure Jason would see a need to get involved. “I’m worried I’d just mad at him if he told me to stop worrying about Dick.” And he didn’t want more tension with him and his brother. He wanted to fix the rift that already existed. “I don’t want to mess anything else up.”

“Hopefully a lot,” he said, his grin softening. “Hopefully... as much as you used to?” When they had been together officially. He missed being her boyfriend.

“Yeah, I regret saying it now,” he agreed with a laugh. “Gross. And Slade would probably try to kill Bruce, right?”

STEPH: "Even if he did say that, you know he's just..." Steph sighed, rolling her eyes. "The way he is, it's a huge front. I knew a lot of guys at my school like him. Loud and mean and pretending like they don't give a shit."

Surprised, she looked up at him quickly. It wasn't often that anything made her blush, but that definitely did. "...Of course, Tim. You know that. I never stopped."

She made a face. "I hope so, or we would all have to leave the country. Can you imagine their conversations? It'd just be grunting back and forth. I guess Dick's into that." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wished she could take them back. She hadn't meant to apply that to Bruce.

TIM: “Yeah, I don’t know. We were closer once.” In truth, it made Tim sad, but he hadn’t really given up. He just didn’t think that this was the right thing. Or maybe it was. He wasn’t sure. Maybe Steph had a point. He sighed. “I’ll try.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “Things just got mixed up and messed up, right? Just...” After Steph had come back, they had tried again. And then Bruce has gone missing and then they just... never made it official again. “I feel the same, though. About you, I mean. Sometimes I feel like you’re the only real constant, you know?”

Tim blanched. “God. That’s... now that you’ve pointed out the similarities, that’s so weird to think about.” He gave a deep shudder. “I’m learning a lot about Dick.”

STEPH: Steph wouldn't call herself close to Jason, but she knew what he was about in ways Dick and Tim would find difficult to understand. They'd both grown up on the wrong side of the tracks. Her mother was still addicted to painkillers and it wouldn't surprise her if Jason had been exposed to something similar. Kids weren't just orphans for no reason. "Don't let him get to you."

Pressing her lips together, she nodded slowly. "Yeah. That's what I want to be, I mean, I'm not going anywhere. You and all those other stupid boys... and Cass and Babs, of course... you guys are my whole life. They're family, but you're... well, you know what you are."

Never had Steph felt so grateful to be interrupted by the waitress. She unwrapped her straw as their server walked away again, grimacing. "Let's just undo the last five minutes."

TIM: Tim had just reached out to catch Steph’s hand, resting them on the table. He shook his head after they ordered, wrinkling his nose. “Agreed. I’m more interested in you and me anyway.” He gave a wry little grin. “So I guess this is the part where i ask you to be my girlfriend. Again.”

It would be nice to have a name for it. He had slipped back into ‘babe’ and ‘baby’ with ease. Now he just had an excuse to do it. Not that she had ever complained before. His thumb ran over the back of her hand as he watched her fondly.

STEPH: Even though they hadn't talked about it, the same question had been on the tip of Steph's tongue for the past few weeks. She relentlessly pursued Tim in the past, before everything went downhill, but the years since her return hadn't been easy. It felt better to let Tim come back to her. She knew how badly she'd hurt him. "Really?" She asked softly, wrapping her fingers tightly around his hand.

There was only a beat. Then Steph was out of her seat and flinging her arms around Tim's neck, unmindful of where they were and who was watching them. "I can be your girlfriend again??" Every time he tried to answer she kissed him so he couldn't get a word out, giggling.

TIM: “Of course, babe. I wouldn’t just say that.” He moved to speak more when suddenly he had a lap full of Steph. It didn’t bother him in the least, though; he was used to it with her. And she was completely unabashed in expressing her emotions. It was so different to Tim and part of why he loved her.

“If you want,” he finally managed to get out. “But, uh, judging by the... this...” He thought it was a pretty good bet to assume she wanted it. Reaching up, he tucked her hair behind her ear before catching her cheek. It was good. This was the most human he had felt in so long. And he always felt more functional with Stephanie. Of course he did.

STEPH: Steph had always been direct and unabashed about what she wanted and how she felt. It might have bordered on overly confident, but a lot of that had to do with overcompensating. Tim didn't treat her the way she was used to being treated by the boys she dated. He saw actual potential in her. "I know, I just want to hear you say it again!"

Laughing, she reached for his hand and kissed the center of his palm, snuggling her nose against it playfully. "What?" She asked innocently, unable to keep a straight face for longer than a few seconds, and grinned. "I'm allowed to miss you, jerk."

TIM: “I want you to be my girlfriend,” he said, indulging her. Steph was worth so much more than so many people had made her believe. She was strong and smart and beautiful and good. Tim hated anyone who had ever made her feel any differently. He certainly wouldn’t. Not when she wanted him for whatever reason. He wasn’t going to mess that up.

He grinned back, though her attention did make him flush red. After all, though he had dozed off with her a few times and though they had made out after she painted her room, he hadn’t let himself get carried away with her. Not when he wasn’t sure. He had needed to think, but the more he thought, the more he realized he was a complete idiot for making her wait. “I love you, Steph. Still. And probably always, honestly.”

STEPH: The words made her face light up and she wrapped her arms around his neck, still sitting sideways in his lap. Tim was in a booth, so it wasn't as if she were causing a huge scene, but she could see a few people looking over at them. "Mmmm..." She drew out the hum playfully. "Okay. I'll be your girlfriend." It was so weird to say the word and to hear Tim say it, when no one called her a girlfriend in any capacity in years.

Kissing Tim and holding his hand had made her feel very much like they were back at the beginning again. It hadn't been a bad feeling at all. In fact, it was very much the opposite. They had the chance to do things over better. "I love you, too, and... yeah. I don't see that ever changing. This is it for me."(edited) September 10, 2020

TIM: He grinned at that. “Okay,” he told her. “I’m tweeting it, so you can’t take it back. Once it’s on the Internet, it’s forever. I don’t make the rules.” He had to arch awkwardly to reach his phone in his back pocket, but he had it out eventually and even pulled up the camera before raising a brow. “Selfie?”

He looked up at her, feeling lighter exponentially now that they had it all figured out. It was nice. They could now just... be. No confusion, and boundaries Tim already understood. They just worked.

STEPH: "And I'll change my facebook status, even though that's, like, so early 2000s." Grinning, Steph leaned in to fit herself against Tim's shoulder. She was sure to give him rabbit ears at the very last second.

TIM: He snapped the picture and then noted the ears with a groan. “Now I look like a dork, Steph,” he complained playfully, shaking his head even as he tweeted it out. “Also Facebook? What are you, 45 years old?”

STEPH: Rolling her eyes, Steph snatched one of one the napkins left on the table and tossed it at him. “Still cooler than you.”

TIM: “Probably,” he agreed. “Most people are.” Tim was a certified nerd, even if he was a member of the Batfamily. He thought it suited him well, and clearly she didn’t mind. “But I make it work for me.”

He considered for a moment. “Have you decided if you’ll make contact with Kiteman as your family?” He asked her gently, shifting the subject. He had told her about the connection when he had discovered it. As far as he knew, she hadn’t done anything with it yet.

STEPH: “It’s endearing,” Steph agreed. She thought all the boys were nerds in different ways.

The subject change made her sigh and she shrugged. “Yeah, eventually. I’ve just been putting it off.” She didn’t know what to say, or even if anything would come of it.

TIM: "Well I'm glad you think so," he teased before shaking his head. At least he had that going for him.

He was surprised when she said she was putting it off. Was it because Kiteman was one of the rogues? Steph's father had been... not great, too. He wondered if that was part of what was tripping her up. "Don't want to deal with it?" He prompted. "Or is it something else?" He didn't want to force her to talk, but he he didn't want to sit there and wonder what she was thinking, when he could just ask her.

STEPH: Steph shrugged, chewing on the edge of her thumbnail. "I dunno. I'm just not sure if it's worth it. If he'll even care. It's not like we know each other." Smirking faintly she crossed her arms and rested them against the edge of the table. "Plus he's one of the bad guys, which is probably why Bruce never told me. What am I supposed to do if we come across each other in the field? It's just... I dunno. I'll say something eventually."

TIM: "Kiteman's kinda... funny," he said. "Dick knows him. I could talk to him about it and see what he thinks? If you don't want to, I mean. Try to get a read?" He knew that Dick had worked closer with Chuck than he certainly had. "Some of the bad guys aren't so... bad. There's Selina? We know she's flipped back and forth."

STEPH: "Yeah, I know, I've met him. He sees things that aren't even there, Tim. I could tell and he might just forget what I said to seconds later. He's in his own world." Steph didn't know how the news would be received, but she also didn't want to be disappointed. Family had never exactly been something she could rely on. "No, don't ask Dick. I'll do it. I really will." Eventually.

TIM: "Okay," he said, holding up his hands. "I just don't want you to sit on it forever. Unless you decide that it's just more worthwhile to not say anything." Steph wasn't a Wayne, which certainly made things less complicated for the pair of them dating. But it also meant that her only family wasn't her family. He didn't know how she felt about that, but he didn't push her. He just reached out to cover her hand. "Whatever you want to do, baby."(edited)

STEPH: Frowning, Steph tugged on her straw and swirled it around in her drink anxiously. “I won’t. I’ll figure it out.” Maybe she won’t know  what she wanted to do until she actually saw him. She didn’t like overthinking things. Sometimes it was just better to go with your gut. Taking Tim’s hand, she reached for the syrup with the other. “Thanks. I’ll let you know whatever I decide... whenever I figure it out.”

TIM: "Okay. Works for me." He took a bite of the eggs, letting out a soft groan. "God this is the first, like, actual meal that i didn't take one bite of and then leave on the plate in... a really long time. God. A couple of weeks?" How had he been sustaining it? Sheer force of will and existential anxiety. Running a hand over his face, he let out a sigh.

STEPH: "That's insane, Tim." Steph sighed, but her tone was gentle despite her disapproval. "I'm surprised you haven't send Alfred into an early grave." After drowning her waffles in syrup, she cut off a huge bite. "You know how he worries."

TIM: "He tried to pull me out. I just... didn't want Dick to get hurt again, Steph. I'm still worried, honestly. And it feels... really rough that I wasn't there for him when it happened, you know?" He shook his head before idly pushing the eggs around the plate. "I needed to figure it out." Blowing out a soft breath, he shrugged. "And I still haven't quite. Even after all that work."(edited)

STEPH: "What do you mean? You were there for him, in every way you could have been." It wasn't as if any of them patrolled with Dick or had nightly check-ins. "You went to the hospital right away and you've been working your ass off to figure out who did this. And you will figure it out." Steph gave him a look. "But you have to eat meals, even if I have to force feed you bite by bite."

TIM: Maybe he wasn't being fair to himself, but Tim couldn't help it. He had been thinking about death and how easy it would be to lose one of his brothers since it had happened, and he hadn't been sure if maybe things would only get worse if he didn't solve it. They were always in danger. It was the nature of what they did. But he didn't want them to be any more in danger than they needed to be. He needed to protect his family as much as he could. And he needed to feel like, even though he hadn't been out in the field often due to the nature of his work with the League, he could still protect people in general. But maybe he was just spiraling to a place of abject unfairness to himself and Steph was reminding him of that.

"It isn't like I go into it thinking that I should ignore food. I just get caught up."

STEPH: "I know you don't. I'm not saying you do it on purpose. You just have to listen to the people around you. Alfred worries, but he knows what Bruce's limits are better than he does. Trust him. And trust me. You know I'm not going to nag you do anything unless I'm really worried." Nagging in particular was actually something she had a specific distaste for. And with the way things had been lately, Steph found herself getting closer and closer to that point. She was relived when Tim made the decision himself to finally leave the house so they could sit down and eat together.

TIM: "Alfred always worries," he muttered before shaking his head. He knew she was right. But he overthought everything. Overworked his own mind and his own motivations. "I do okay," he said. "I've been managing for a long time." Lifting his gaze, he met hers. "You don't need to worry, Steph. Promise."

STEPH: Steph rolled her eyes as she took another bite of her waffle. "Then listen to me if I say you need to eat. Then I don't have a reason to worry." Maybe it was selfish for her to want Tim to take care of himself, but she didn't like to see him run himself ragged. Sleep was another battle altogether, but maybe she could win the food battle.

TIM: "Fine," he answered before shaking his head. "I will try," he allowed. Tim couldn't promise that he wouldn't get wrapped up in what he was doing ever again. That his anxiety wouldn't put food far down the list of his priorities. But he would try. Because he didn't like that Steph was worried about him. He didn't like causing her any kind of pain and that was motivation to at least agree to attempt to be more conscientious.

STEPH: That was all Steph wanted to hear, really. She knew she couldn't expect Tim to be able to navigate himself into a healthy schedule or rely on him to suddenly develop healthy habits. It was a small win that he would agree to try. That meant she could always reference this conversation if were resistant or stubborn in the future. That was something. And Steph wouldn't abuse the power, either. She knew it was important to find out who did this. "Good."

TIM: The rest of the meal passed in companionable conversation. Things were always easy with her. She made him laugh, brought him out of his shell in ways that others didn't. Steph was comfortable, which, for Tim, was a godsend. For a man whose mind went a thousand miles an hour and whose anxiety followed him like a dark cloud, pancakes, eggs, and the effervescent blonde who, for some reason, wanted to be with him in spite of all his neuroses were like heat to the freezing. He was almost sad to pay the bill, though having eaten left him feeling tired and heavy.

It was early enough in the morning that nearly the whole house seemed to be sleeping as they pulled the Redbird back into the garage. They'd just gotten out when Tim bit his lip and caught Steph's hand. "Wanna come to my room with me?" She had her own room, he knew, but he didn't want her to go to it. Not when they could be close. When he could enjoy the comfort of having her with him. Tim was still processing a lot, and it would be nice to have someone else to put his mind on, even if he just ended up falling asleep with her.

STEPH: Steph paid attention to how much Tim ate, but she didn't give any sign of it. She knew he didn't want someone else to mother him. That was a role typically assigned to Alfred, or Dick, and she knew Tim could get frustrated if he were being treated as if he weren't competent. Instead she teased him and talked to him about patrol, even showed him a few videos that she was going to put on TikTok later. Some even had added music. She was still giggling at NOVA agents tripping over themselves trying to catch Cass as they were leaving the restaurant. The mood was lighter and she could feel it.

It still took her by surprise when Tim invited her to his room. She looked down at his hand and squeezed it, smirking a little as she leaned in to gently tap the tip of his nose. "I thought you'd never ask. Am I about to witness a miracle?" Tim Drake sleeping? She'd wanted to say something before, but she thought it would push her luck. The fact that he would offer on his own was a huge step forward.

TIM: "The miracle of Tim Drake sleeping?" He asked with a smirk. "Maybe. The magic of Steph Brown." He wrinkled his nose playfully before leading her up the stairs. His limbs felt heavy even as he pushed open the door and kicked off his shoes. It was all he could do to get his jeans off and his shirt over his head before he pulled the blankets back for her. "After you."

STEPH: Before Tim came upstairs, Steph had already been dressed for bed. All she had to do was kick off her shoes. She got under the covers, yawning as she slipped to the side and in her usual spot by the wall. It was where she always liked to sleep, tucked up in a little ball, and piled high with covers and blankets sometimes made it impossible for anyone to see she was there.

TIM: As she slipped over to the wall, Tim joined her, moving close and wrapping an arm around her waist. Catching her chin, he raised a brow. "Can I kiss you?" he asked her. Tim always asked, even if it was a little stupid. But he didn't want to ever assume. Still, he'd like to kiss her goodnight. And then he could kiss her good morning whenever they woke up. The thought made him just a little giddy, and then he felt a little silly for that too. But he couldn't stop the way his stomach tightened a little. It'd be good. This time, they'd be good. They weren't as young. Things weren't as complicated. Not for the two of them, at least.

STEPH: Steph always thought it was adorable when Tim asked her permission for something as innocent and sweet as a kiss. In the past, she'd never been as thoughtful. She smiled, reaching up to gently brush a few stray pieces of hair off of his forehead. "You can kiss me, Boy Wonder." It didn't matter if he weren't technically Robin anymore. That was what she'd always call him. The early years had left an impression despite what happened later on, but she would never want to forget everything they experienced together.

TIM: He gave a crooked little grin before leaning down to slide his lips against hers. He couldn't help himself as he caught her hip. Tim never minded when Steph all but jumped him for kisses and whatever she wanted. He knew he was probably a little overly ridiculous about it, but Steph had been through a lot of crap in her life. Tim wanted her to always feel valued, because he did value her. She deserved to know it. "I love you," he told her quietly, just a little shyly, even if it had been so easy for him to say in the restaurant. This context always felt different. Intimate.

STEPH: Every since they were teenagers, Steph found Tim's shyness to be endearing. She hadn't known his identity at first. As Robin, Tim was confident and impressive in all areas except flirtation. It was the only way she could shock him, and it wasn't as if she could keep up with him in the other areas. She playfully hooked her ankle between Tim's feet as she kissed him back. It felt comfortable, familiar, and she was blushing a little by the time he drew back. "I love you, too."

TIM: As she blushed, he pressed another kiss to her cheek. He didn't want to start anything tonight that he couldn't finish, but he didn't think that Steph would begrudge it of him as he pulled her close and buried his face in her neck. The scent of her skin and the familiar beat of her heart was all but hypnotic as sleep pulled at him. His eyes began to slip closed and he pressed another little kiss to her pulse as his breathing began to deepen.

[daringyounggrayson]

Here’s part 2 for the fic I wrote for @batfam-big-bang! Once again, thank you so much to my amazing betas @huilian, @tintinnabulation-of-the-bells and @yellow-warbler and my incredibly talented artists @annasartverse, @noroomforcream, and @zeribip <3

Summary: The double homicide at Haly’s Circus is not Bruce’s first case involving a child, and while there’s no overt indication that Bruce should react differently to this case, he supposes that his previous cases did not involve the witness known as Dick Grayson. On the surface, the Grayson case seems like any other gang case, but the more time Bruce spends with the boy, the more he begins to doubt his own instincts.

Part 1: AO3 | tumblr

Part 2

For the first time since this whole thing started, Bruce regrets not hacking into the Child Protection and Permanency system and forging a foster license. Sure, it would have raised a few eyebrows, and yes, dealing with the repercussions would have been exhausting. But he could have handled it; he has more than enough money to bribe the right people efficiently, and when required, he can be rather charismatic. As much as he hates to use his influence in that way, it would have been for a good cause. A less than ideal mean for a more than necessary end. And at least then Richard would have been safe.

Batman swoops in through a window, sending pieces of glass shattering around him as he takes down one of the Zucco’s henchmen. Shouting erupts across the room, but Batman’s already taken down another member, securing him with zip ties.  

“Where’s the boy?” he growls into the man’s ear.

“B-basement,” he says, voice garbled through his split lip.

Bruce stands, quickly surveying the room for a door. Spotting one, he runs toward it, flinging the door open and triggering more shouting. He leaps down the stairs, listening as the shouts turn into screams. In another scenario, Bruce would drop a smoke bomb and work in the dark, but they have guns held tightly in their hands and Bruce doesn’t trust them to avoid their hostage. Instead, Bruce takes them down overtly, his work somewhat sloppy as he hurries to disarm and restrain all of them so he can get to Richard as quickly as possible.

“Are you alright?” Bruce asks when he finally makes his way to Richard. He removes the gag gently and then moves behind the boy to cut the overly-complicated restraints.

“I think so—ahh,” he breaks off into a hiss and flexes his hand. When the rope falls, he brings his right wrist in front of himself, hiding it from Bruce’s view.

Bruce moves back to the front of the chair and kneels. “May I?” Richard nods and Bruce takes his right wrist. It’s already swollen, and Bruce is almost positive that it’s broken. Other than a small grimace, Richard remains stoic during the brief examination. “It’s likely broken. Are you hurt anywhere else?” 

Richard shakes his head. 

“Did they hit your head, give you anything?”

“No, just my wrist.”

“Do you remember who did it?” Bruce asks.

“The tall guy with the beard. I think he went back upstairs when they heard you come in,” Richard explains.

“Hnn. Can you walk?”

Richard nods, standing. He braces his right wrist with his left hand, holding it against his chest as Bruce leads him out of the house. “I got out of the ropes when they tied me up the first time,” Richard tells him, a touch of excitement—maybe pride—in his voice. “He grabbed my wrist before I could run away, though. I heard it crack when he twisted it.”

The excitement drops toward the end, but the detail of Richard’s escape attempt explains the complex restraints.

“Bastard,” Bruce says under his breath, but Richard must hear it because a ghost of a grin crosses his face. “You were very brave tonight. I—I’m glad you’re safe, Richard.”

Richard hums. “I’m just glad you showed up when you did.”

Bruce and Richard make their way to the ambulance parked across the street as the police rush into the house that’s now behind them. Gordon meets up with them, telling Richard he’d like to speak with him after he’s been treated.

Gordon glances at Bruce quickly, and before Gordon rushes off to join his officers, they share a moment of relief. Because the thing is, Zucco already tried to kill the boy once, and tonight, they had been expecting to find a dead child at worst and a dying one at best. To see that Richard escaped with only a broken wrist is cause for celebration, but it also begs the question: Why didn’t Zucco have him killed immediately? And what was he planning on doing instead?

Bruce intends to stay with Richard until someone else arrives to ride with him to the hospital. However, those plans are cut short when he sees a familiar shadow leap from a nearby roof.

“Don’t go anywhere without Gordon,” Bruce tells Richard. The boy nods, and when he turns to the paramedic, she nods too.

Bruce runs toward the shadow, but he quickly realizes they’re already too far ahead.

He calls the car and does his best to follow the shadow from the street. They’re moving fast and with a new purpose, one other than avoiding Batman. For a fleeting moment, Bruce wonders if the shadow is leading him to a trap.

The shadow leads Bruce to a familiar area not too far from where Richard was being kept. He’s lost the shadow’s specific location, but he’s confident that he’s caught up with them enough to go on foot. A good decision, too: the sound of shattering glass followed by a scream leads him to a nearby garage.

“Help!” a man yells, followed by another round of breaking glass.

Bruce picks up his pace, sharply turning into the garage only to find the people he’s been looking for for weeks: Tony Zucco and the Shadow. The Shadow is wearing a dark suit with knives across their chest that glisten in the light; their mask covers their entire head, the eye region reminding Bruce of an owl. They’re approaching Zucco in a calculated manner, knife held comfortable in one hand. There are pieces of glass bottles all over the floor, bottles Zucco most likely threw at the Shadow as a form of self-defense. Out of bottles, he’s left to crouch behind a garbage can and yell for the mercy of strangers.

“Batman, help! He’s trying to kill me!”

Zucco’s words are pointless—Bruce is already on top of the Shadow by the time he’s finished saying them.

The Shadow dodges easily with a grace Bruce knows he will never be capable of. The Shadow pushes Bruce aside and aims at Zucco again, but just before they can release the throwing knife, Bruce knocks them off course. Zucco cries out when the knife makes contact with his flesh, but it doesn’t cut his chest—he’ll live.

Bruce waits for the Shadow to make a move, fully anticipating for their spar to continue. The Shadow, however, has other plans.

They turn to Zucco. “This is your only warning: Do not harm the Grayson.” And then they’re gone.

In a matter of seconds, Bruce has Zucco restrained and handcuffed to a shelf, but the Shadow is long gone by the time Bruce chases after them. There is some relief in knowing the Shadow is closer to an ally than another enemy, but Bruce knows nothing about them or what their motives are. All he knows is that they aimed to kill tonight. This Shadow may not see Batman as an enemy, but until proven otherwise, Bruce will have to consider them as a threat.

Bruce returns to the garage, relieved that Zucco is both still there and not dumb enough to remove the knife.

“The police and the paramedics will arrive shortly,” Bruce tells him. “In the meantime, you are going to answer some questions.”

Zucco sneers. “And why would I do that, huh? I’ve done nothing wrong; I’m a victim tonight.”

“Richard Grayson is the victim,” Bruce growls. “His parents are victims. You are a murderer.”

“Says who? Some circus brat?”

Bruce is in Zucco’s face faster than either of them can blink, holding him up by his collar. “Don’t test me. What did you want with Grayson?”

Zucco’s quiet. Bruce shakes him once.

“We were just going to give the kid a scare, alright? No harm done. Just trying to teach him how things work in Gotham,” Zucco says.

“Why?” Bruce presses.

“The kid’s been spreading some nasty rumors; it’s disrespectful.”

“What. Were. You. Planning.”

“Okay, okay,” Zucco says, handcuff clanking against the shelf as he struggles in Bruce’s hold. “We weren’t going to kill the kid, alright? We’re not stupid. We were just going to send him off with a few friends for a while. They would have brought him back in about a week, nothing too bad.”

Bruce has seen the people who take trips after getting in trouble with some of the local gangs, and he wouldn’t describe their experiences as “nothing too bad.”

“Names.”

After Zucco spits out a few names, Bruce moves to a nearby building to wait for the police and paramedics, not able to stand being near Zucco any longer. He’s hoping this is it; that he can tell Richard it’s over.

Just when Bruce can make out the sound of sirens, Alfred informs him of a call from his civilian phone. Bruce takes it.

“Bruce Wayne,” he says in a cheerful voice. “What can I do for you?”

“Hi Mr. Wayne, this is Ms. Briggs with Child Protection and Permanency. Congratulations: You’ve been matched with Richard Grayson.”

oOo

To say Alfred was caught off guard by Bruce’s announcement that a child would be coming to stay with them for an indefinite amount of time would have been an understatement. Still, the older man has grown used to such surprises by now and he handled it well.

“For future reference,” Alfred says, breaking the paradoxically loud silence between the two, “I would appreciate slightly more notice before we have houseguests.”

“Alfred,” Bruce breathes, a hint of pleading in his voice. Alfred has already lectured him, and while he’s sure more lectures will come tomorrow after the man has slept and regained his energy, for now they share a shaky truce. Bruce hopes it can be maintained for the rest of the evening. “I told you as soon as I knew.”

As soon as he hung up with Ms. Briggs, Bruce had gone home and explained everything to Alfred in person. He assured Alfred that he’d had every intention of obtaining the foster license legally, and only then hacking into CPP to match himself with Richard if it became necessary. He told Alfred about Martin, how he must have been responsible for the early foster license, and that matching with Richard must have been a coincidence. Although, had Alfred asked, Bruce would have admitted that after tonight’s events, he’d planned to forgo the legal route and place Richard in his care, effective immediately. Honestly, he would have preferred the latter; now he knows he’ll be receiving a phone call any day from a Mr. Martin Sinclair to cash in on the “favor.”

(Hopefully, a favor is all that will come of this.)

Alfred sniffs. “I believe you have already admitted quite the opposite. Unless you are implying that you have been unaware of your own actions for the past month?”

“I was going to tell you,” Bruce says—again—now referencing the foster license itself and not Richard’s new custody arrangement. “Until tonight, I was starting to think I wouldn’t need it. Richard seemed to be doing well.”

“So you said.”

Bruce sighs, sliding a pillow into its case. An apology readies itself on his tongue, but he’s already given enough for tonight, so he swallows it. “This will be temporary, Alfred. Just until I can find a safe family to adopt Richard.”

“Of course.”

They finish putting the room together in silence. Alfred avoids looking in Bruce’s direction, which only makes Bruce’s guilt grow more. He knows this is the right decision, even if it’s not ideal. Bruce thinks Alfred knows that too, not that it seems to be doing much to smooth things over at the moment.

“I think that’s as best as we can make it with such short notice,” Alfred announces.

“Thank you,” Bruce says. “For your help.”

Alfred looks at him for a few seconds, a soft expression on his face. “Shall we wait downstairs for the lad to arrive?”

oOo

Two hours later, Bruce is pacing in the foyer, still waiting for Richard to arrive. It’s late, so late that it’s almost early.

“I’m sure they’ll be here soon, sir,” Alfred tells him—again. “Be patient.”

Bruce grunts, but he stops his pacing and takes a seat next to Alfred, resting his elbows on his knees and folding his hands under his chin. The more time passes, the more anxious Bruce feels and the more he doubts himself and his capabilities. Capabilities which seem to have dwindled since receiving the phone call.

Alfred rests his hand on Bruce’s shoulder and sighs like he can hear Bruce’s thoughts. Bruce leans into the touch, patiently waiting for Alfred to speak. 

“You have a big heart, Master Bruce, you always have. It’s the trait I am most proud of,” Alfred says. “Deciding to take in Richard, while very characteristic of you, is an enormous responsibility—as I’m sure you are well aware. I believe that you can rise to the challenge and be an outstanding guardian, but for as long as the boy is with us, he will have to be your first priority. Not Gotham.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs.

Alfred hums. “I am willing to assist you as needed, but assisting is all I will do. The boy will be under your care, not mine.”

“I know, Alfred,” Bruce murmurs again. “I . . . Thank you.”

Alfred squeezes Bruce’s shoulder once before letting him go. “Perhaps this will be good for you. Perhaps you two will be able to help each other.”

Bruce doesn’t know what to say, so they slide back into their silence. The silence is no longer loud, however; it’s comfortable, the way it should be.

Not even a minute later, headlights cut through the window. Bruce and Alfred both stand, moving toward the door. Bruce opens it and he and Alfred walk outside, watching from the porch as the car comes to a stop. Ms. Briggs gets out first and moves around to the back, opening the door. Richard steps out of the car, head tilted back and eyes glued to Wayne Manor, taking in its size. Bruce’s eyes, in turn, are glued to the blue cast on the boy’s wrist.

“Ms. Briggs, Richard,” Bruce greets with a warm smile, leaving Alfred on the porch as he approaches the car.

“Hello Mr. Wayne,” Ms. Briggs says, holding out her hand. Bruce takes it, and they shake twice before releasing.

She places a hand on Richard’s shoulder briefly, encouraging him to offer a quiet, “Hello Mr. Wayne.”

“You can call me Bruce if you want,” he says, to which Richard only nods.

“My apologies again for this happening so late,” Ms. Briggs says, “but as I explained on the phone, we have quite a special case here. I have some papers for you to sign.”

Bruce gestures toward the house. “Please, come inside. We can take care of everything there.”

“Perfect. Richard, do you want to grab your stuff from the trunk?” Ms. Briggs asks, pressing a button on her key fob as Richard nods and walks toward the back of the car.

“Here, let me,” Bruce says, following Richard. “I don’t want you to make your wrist worse.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Richard says in a barely audible voice.

Bruce smiles again, a smile Richard doesn’t return. It feels out of character, but the behavior isn’t unexpected; Richard has had what is probably the second-worst night of his life and he’s once again surrounded by strangers.

Upon opening the trunk, a wave of anger runs through Bruce when, instead of luggage or a backpack, he finds a garbage bag.

Bruce looks toward the social worker, who has moved to the porch and is speaking with Alfred. Bruce looks back to the trunk and picks up the bag, closing the trunk before he can give it another thought. “How are you feeling, Richard? I know tonight has been more than difficult.”

“I’m okay,” Richard tells him, still using that quiet, reserved voice.

Bruce hums, leading the two of them into the house. “You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

Richard continues his odd silence for the rest of the meeting. Bruce hands the garbage bag full of Richard’s clothing to Alfred, who takes it up to the room they had prepared. Bruce signs the papers and says goodbye to the social worker in record time, thanking her for everything she had done that evening as she leaves the house.

He turns back to Richard, taking in his empty expression, the bags under his eyes, and the blue cast on his right hand. He thinks of Richard sitting without his parents in a hospital emergency room, how he had been forced to go to his old foster home and pack up his belongings in a garbage bag. This would mark the third time he had been forced to move in with strangers, the third time he had been forced to shove his belongings into a garbage bag.

Bruce kneels in front of Richard, looking him in the eye to try to gain his attention. “Richard?”

Richard blinks, moving his eyes to look at Bruce. “Sorry.”

Bruce shakes his head, dismissing the need for an apology. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” Richard tells him softly, voice hollow. 

“Hn." Bruce thinks, trying to decide if he should push or let it be for now. He looks at Richard—his drawn face and closed posture—and goes with the latter. "Are you hungry?”

Richard shakes his head. “I had some crackers and juice at the hospital.”

“That doesn’t sound like very much to eat,” Bruce says. “How about we go into the kitchen and see if anything sounds good to you?"

“Can . . . can I just go to bed? I’m really tired.”

"Okay." Bruce stands, nodding in resigned agreement. “If you’re sure.”

Bruce takes Richard upstairs, pointing out his own bedroom before going into Richard’s. 

“If you need anything, I’ll be right down there,” Bruce tells him. “You can wake me up for anything, even if you don’t think it qualifies as an emergency.”

“Okay.”

Bruce swallows, then takes them back to Richard’s room. He shows him the ensuite bathroom, pointing out where the extra toiletries are kept as well as the shower covers for his cast. He also shows him how to work the shower, just in case he wants to take one before coming downstairs in the morning.

“Do you need help putting your clothes away?” Bruce asks, not allowing his eyes to linger on the garbage bag Alfred placed near the dresser. 

“No, I can do it.” 

The I can take care of myself echoes in Bruce’s head; Richard had used the phrase directly during one of their early meetings, but now he only implies it.

“If you change your mind,” Bruce says, and Richard nods in understanding. “I’ll let you get some sleep.” Bruce moves to the door, pausing in the doorway and turning to face Richard once more. “Goodnight Richard, I’m glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “Goodnight Bruce.”

Bruce hesitates for a moment, then closes the door with a soft click and goes to his room. Once there, he paces, waiting for something to happen. Nothing does.

He pulls out his phone, checking his news alerts to find that Zucco, predictably, hadn’t been taken to the hospital by the police. He had fled the scene, and while there had been a chase, the officers lost him. Bruce groans, running a hand through his hair. With how long it took the social worker to arrive with Richard, Bruce could have stayed to escort Zucco personally. Maybe then—

No. Going to the manor and waiting for Richard had been the right decision. Even if Bruce had stayed with Zucco, that was no guarantee that he wouldn’t have bribed someone to let him go, and with the kidnapping earlier, the station would have been too hectic for Gordon to do much. But Zucco is getting anxious, reckless even; he’ll be easy to find again.

Still, Bruce doesn’t get much sleep that night.

oOo

The first week with Richard is stressful. Bruce doesn’t go into work that entire week, which he’s sure he’ll regret when he’s eventually forced to return and finds a nightmare waiting for him. He spends most of his time trying to find Zucco, either from the cave or in the streets, meaning he hasn’t spent much quality time with Richard. Richard doesn’t seem to mind, preferring to spend most of his time alone even when Bruce is available. Bruce isn’t sure if this is the right thing to do, but he allows it. The boy is adjusting, after all, and Bruce doesn’t want to push him too soon. (Not that he’d know what to say even if he did want to push.)

From what little he’s seen of Richard, he’s learned a few things: the boy is still grieving, badly, and that grief is mixing with trauma. Bruce has awoken to screaming from night terrors on three separate nights in the past week, and he’s sure there have also been plenty of nightmares that Richard hasn’t shared with them. Richard doesn’t seem to get much sleep as a result, and Bruce has found him passed out in random parts of the manor twice.

What Bruce hasn’t learned, he already knew: Richard is very bright and observant. He’s managed to maintain his athletic abilities, and Alfred has told him that the boy wakes up early to exercise each morning. Bruce has asked Richard about his exercises, both out of curiosity and to ensure he wasn’t hurting his wrist. From the sound of it, Richard would enjoy the equipment Bruce keeps downstairs. That’s not possible, of course, so he invites Richard to use the house’s gym and Bruce makes a note to himself to buy some gymnastics equipment.

By the end of the week, Richard seems more comfortable, but he’s still quiet and reserved for the most part. There are glimpses, however, of the enthusiastic boy who would wait up at night to talk with Batman, and also glimpses of a happy boy from an earlier time.

It’s around this point that Richard starts sneaking out again. Bruce has been expecting it, and the alarm system informs him that Richard has departed before Alfred does. Bruce had already left for patrol, but he quickly circles back and is able to meet up with Richard before he’s technically even off the property.

“Now that’s impressive,” Richard says when Batman jumps out of the car and lands in front of him. “How do you keep finding me anyway? Did you put a tracker on me or something?”

“No.” Well, not tonight.

“Are you one of those computer hackers?”

“When it’s necessary.”

“That’s so cool! Could you teach me?” Richard asks, rising up on his toes ever so slightly.

“Hn.”

“I’m going to take that as a maybe,” Richard says, grinning.

“What are you doing out here?” Bruce asks.

Richard shrugs. “Couldn’t sleep.”

They’re in the woods surrounding the manor. When Bruce was Richard’s age, he had been too afraid to go in them alone during the day. It’s definitely not where he would have gone to relax.

“How is your new foster placement?”

“Fine, I guess.” Richard rubs the inside of his elbow. “Do you think when this is over they’ll let me go home?”

As Batman, Bruce had asked Gordon if it would be possible for Richard to be placed in Haly’s care. Someone had reached out, but Haly hadn’t been willing. “I’m sorry Richard, but that doesn’t seem very likely.”

Richard looks away, sniffing. “Figures.”

Bruce kneels down, taking Richard’s cast-free hand in his own.

“I just want to go home.”

“Is that where you were going tonight?” Bruce asks.

Richard shakes his head but says nothing.

“Then where?” Bruce presses.

“I . . . I was going to try to find Zucco,” Richard admits, looking anywhere but Bruce. “I was going to take a bus downtown and ask around; say he was my uncle. I thought that even if I couldn’t find him, he would hear that I was looking for him and come after me again. And then, and then you could arrest him.”

“Richard.” Bruce’s heart is pounding in his chest, eyes wide with fear for this child. “You know how unsafe that is.”

“Like you care!” Richard screams—screams—at him, pulling his hand out of Bruce’s grasp and throwing both of them above his head in anger. “My parents have been gone for two months”—Richard’s small fists land across the bat emblem with no regard for his cast and containing more strength than Bruce expected—“and Zucco is still out there! If you’re not going to do anything, then I will!”

The boy is crying—heavy, angry, hurt tears—and for a moment, all Bruce can do is stare at him, barely breathing as he watches the tears and feels the fists pound against his chest. He thinks this is my fault and he wishes that that thought wasn’t as true as it is.

Bruce grabs Richard’s hands, pulling them back down gently. “I’m sorry. This never should have happened to you. And I’m sorry I haven’t been able to find Zucco yet, but I am looking for him.”

Richard isn’t fighting his hold, but he’s still crying, gasping for breath every few seconds. “You promised! You said you would bring him to justice—that’s what you said!”

“I know. And I promise I’m doing everything I can. This case is my top priority.” And that’s the truth—the rest of the truth is that it’s not his only case. There are several other open cases that have needed his attention, the Shadow that he can sense watching them right now being one of them.

Richard’s lip trembles, but he doesn’t say anything, just stares at Bruce with a look of disappointment and doubt.

Bruce swallows, running the case through his head before calmly presenting it to Richard. “I’ve been collecting evidence and sharing what I know with Gordon. Last month, we found one of the men, Garry Peters, who was responsible for putting the acid on the lines. A warrant was put out for his arrest and he confessed. He’s not currently in custody, but he will be tried in court and he’s been fairly cooperative with the police in exchange for protection. He’s refused to confirm that this was Zucco’s plan, but he’s given other names.”

Richard’s breaths are slowing down, and he’s looking at Bruce eagerly. Richard already knows some of this information—Batman had told him personally—but it’s clear from Richard’s reactions that he had not known all of it.

“Peters shared the name of his two partners that night, Emmanuel Hebert and Rachel Clay. Both of them have been arrested. They also received bail, but they’ll be at the hearing. So far, everyone we’ve spoken to has refused to confirm Zucco’s involvement.”

“But I saw him,” Richard insists.

“I know, Richard. But Zucco is being protected, so even with your testimony, it’s difficult.” Bruce hates everything about this case, and having to explain this to Richard makes it that much worse. “But there was a breakthrough about two weeks ago when someone came forward with evidence that Zucco purchased the type of acid used on the lines. This person also provided more proof that the three people who were arrested worked other jobs for Zucco in the past, as well as circumstantial evidence that Zucco hired them for this job. It was enough for Gordon to get a warrant for Zucco’s arrest. That’s why he went after you last week.”

Richard nods, eyebrows slightly furrowed as he absorbs the information.

“He was spotted near where you were kidnapped but he escaped before an arrest could be made. I’ve been trying to track him down, but I’m also trying to collect all of the evidence I can to ensure that when Zucco goes to court, he won’t be able to walk.” And that Zucco’s charges will reflect what truly happened. Zucco had intended to kill the entire Grayson family that night, and Bruce will see to it personally that that is reflected in Zucco’s charges.

“What if you can’t find him?” Richard asks. “What if he leaves the city, or the country?”

“I will find him.”  

“Let me help,” Richard says. “You could use me as bait, that would—”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I am not putting your life in danger, and it’s completely unnecessary. Zucco is getting nervous; finding him will be much easier now.”

“Can I come with you?” Richard asks. “I’ll stay in the car, like last time.”

“Not tonight.” Bruce pauses. “Will you let me take you back to the house?”

Richard bites his lip. “Are you going to come back here again?”

Bruce looks at Richard, trying to decipher what his question means. “Yes. If you want, I can visit you every night and give you an update on the case until Zucco is found.”

Richard nods. “Then I’ll go back.”

oOo

Every night for the next week, Bruce keeps his promise and shows up at Richard’s window to give him an update as Batman. He tries to keep it as detailed as he can and answer all of Richard’s questions, but there’s often not much to report. Richard enjoys the conversations though, and he often leads them to discuss things other than the case. By the time Bruce leaves, Richard has done most of the talking. Richard, Bruce supposes, is lonely. 

Bruce feels more comfortable talking to the boy as Batman, and he wonders if that’s because Batman is less of a stranger to Richard than Bruce Wayne is, or if it’s because Batman can help the boy in a way Bruce can’t, meaning that there’s less guilt talking to him as the former. There’s also the fact that Bruce is keeping up something close to his public persona at home, ensuring that Richard doesn’t learn his secret. It’s exhausting and likely adding to his problems, but it’s necessary for now.

Bruce’s comfort and exhaustion doesn’t matter, however. The boy is hurting and lonely, and Bruce needs to make more of an effort to help Richard, not just his case. Richard is his priority, and Bruce needs to start acting like it.

“Ah, Master Bruce,” Alfred says when Bruce exits the car. “I would have called, but I thought it best not to worry you unnecessarily.”

Bruce pushes his cowl back. “What happened?”

Richard steps out from behind the car.

Alfred clears his throat. “I found him in the cave. It appears we have taken in another detective, sir.”

oOo

“I could help,” Richard insists for the millionth time this week. “You could train me and I could be your partner.”

“No.”

“I’m already a professional athlete,” Richard points out. “I’d be really easy to train.”

While true, that’s far from the point. “No. I’m not training a child soldier.”

Richard huffs and rolls his eyes. “I wouldn’t be a child soldier; I’d be a hero. Like you.”

Bruce spins his chair to look at Richard for the first time. With a hard glare, he tells him, “No. That’s final.” He spins his chair back around to face his screen once more.

Richard leans against the chair. “Why not? You need someone to watch your back and I’m right here. I could be your lookout, or at least your getaway driver.”

Bruce closes his eyes, exhaling in a slow, controlled matter, pretending he’s calm. “Richard.”

“Just give me a chance,” Richard whines. “I’ll prove that I can be a good partner.”

Bruce stands quickly, sending his chair rolling behind him. Richard takes a step back, but Bruce is too worked up to realize that he’s probably scaring him. He glares down at him, and the boy shrinks under his gaze. “No. This is not up for debate.”

Richard’s face crumples, then turns into a scowl. “You can’t tell me what to do. I bet I could find Zucco faster on my own anyway.”

“You are not to leave this house. Is that clear?”

Richard is silent for a long time. Bruce’s stomach twists, but he can’t give in.

Richard wipes his sleeve across his eyes before dashing back upstairs. Bruce sinks into his chair; he’s clearly not cut out to be anything close to a father.

oOo

A few days later, Batman receives a tip telling him where Zucco is expected to be later that night. Richard has been ignoring him since their fight, and Bruce has been trying his best to give him space.

“Richard?” he calls, knocking on the closed door. There’s no answer. “I have a lead on Zucco. If everything goes as planned, I’ll be taking him in tonight.”

Bruce hears the floors creak, telling him Richard has come closer to the door.

“You can’t come, but if you want, you can sit on the comms with Alfred.”

When there’s no answer after two minutes, Bruce sighs and steps away from the door, wondering how long children can stay mad.

oOo

Bruce has been Batman long enough to be able to look at a criminal and tell how desperate they are. Zucco is incredibly desperate, and when people are that desperate, they do stupid things. Reckless things.

“Put down the gun,” Bruce says firmly, holding back a growl. He quickly ducks as Zucco pulls the trigger, missing Bruce by at least a foot.

“Take me in and that kid will be dead by morning, understand?”

Zucco has a lot to lose by going to prison; there are many who would be happy to see him in a place where they have the upper hand.

“No one else dies.” This time, Bruce doesn’t hold back the growl.

He throws one of his metal discs, taking out Zucco’s gun. The man yells in frustration before taking off, tipping over whatever’s in his path to put something—anything—between himself and The Batman.

Zucco is already at his car and fumbling with the keys by the time Bruce catches up to him. Bruce is fast, but not faster than a car; he raises his hand to call the car just as something swishes past his ear. It lands near Zucco, and he yelps as it makes contact and forces him to drop his keys. Bruce picks up his pace, turning ever so slightly to see who threw the object. He’s expecting to see the Shadow again, but instead he sees a small boy running toward him, dressed in dark green athletic tights, a red leotard, green gloves, and a green mask over his eyes made out of what used to be a beanie.

Despite the attempt at a disguise, Bruce can immediately tell it’s Richard, and for a second, his world freezes over.

But then Richard is passing him, waving and smiling as he goes. He’s chasing after Zucco, who has decided to ditch the car and run toward the pier instead, zig-zagging as he goes.

Bruce presses the button on his belt. “The car will be here shortly,” he hisses at Richard when he catches up to him. “Get inside and stay put until I get back.”

“Make me,” Richard says brightly, speeding up and passing Bruce again. He’s pulling out an object from his pocket, aiming it at Zucco. Bruce recognizes it as his own throwing discs, something the boy must have grabbed from the cave.

He throws it and hits Zucco’s foot, making the man stumble.

Bruce grabs Richard’s left hand, pulling him back. “Car. Now.”

Richard, to Bruce’s surprise, listens. He slows to a stop as Bruce passes him, and Bruce reaches for his restraints as he approaches Zucco.

“You hiring kiddies now, Bats?” Zucco taunts through panting breaths. He’s backed into a corner, and he’s watching Batman with wild eyes. Something glints in the light, and Bruce recognizes it as a knife just before it comes racing toward his shoulder.

Bruce moves swiftly, dodging the blade with practiced ease. Zucco comes at him again, this time going for the restraints. Bruce jumps on top of the railing, careful to maintain his balance as the old wood wobbles under his weight. Zucco kicks at the railing, causing a piece to break off just as Bruce jumps back down to avoid falling over the edge.

He sweeps Zucco’s legs out and is on top of the man as soon as he hits the ground. Zucco swipes at Bruce’s hand with his knife, hitting him for the first time that night and making Bruce lose the restraints as well as a few drops of blood. Bruce disposes of the knife and tries to manually restrain Zucco, but Zucco is throwing punches like his life depends on it and it’s all Bruce can do to block the hits.

“Batman!” Richard yells.

Bruce follows the sound of his voice to see that the boy has found a hiding spot on a nearby roof. He’s pointing in the opposite direction, and Bruce shifts his gaze to see that two men have joined them, both of them armed.

No.

“Shoot!” Zucco yells.

A clink of metal followed by yelling tells Bruce that Richard threw another disc and hit his mark; a gunshot tells him he only hit one gun.

Bruce can’t see for sure, but it doesn’t sound like anyone was hit. The commotion is enough to make Zucco slow down, and Bruce uses that to his advantage and grabs a new pair of restraints from his belt, clapping them on Zucco’s hands. When he has Zucco handcuffed to the pier, he looks for Richard. Bruce sees him climbing down a fire escape, several discs held firmly in his hand like he’s intending to fight the two men by himself.

The men, thank god, are more worried about Batman than the kid and give him their full attention. They’re both holding guns again and they set off another round. Dodging them requires a level of attention and energy Bruce doesn’t quite have, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t thankful that Richard threw another round of discs, taking out one of the guns and hitting the other gunman in the arm, causing him to miss.

Bruce picks up his speed, jumping as he takes out the still-armed man. He kicks the gun away and throws a bolas at the other man before he can reclaim his own weapon. As he’s tying them up, Richard is running toward them, collecting the guns as he goes.

Both men are tied up by the time Richard is standing next to him, breathing a little fast but not nearly close to being out of breath.

Bruce wordlessly presses the button on his belt to call the car for the final time that night.

“We make a good team,” Richard tells him, a brightness in his voice that Bruce hasn’t heard in days.

“Get. In. The. Car.”

oOo

“What happens now?” Richard asks.

The two of them are sitting on a nearby roof, watching as Zucco and his two henchmen are put into separate squad cars.

“They’ll be taken in for questioning. Gordon has assured me that Zucco won’t qualify for bail, but I can’t speak for the other two. There will be a preliminary hearing, hopefully sometime this week, and depending on what happens there, a court date will be set.”

“Why wouldn’t there be a court date?” Richard asks, eyes never leaving the scene below. “You said there’s enough evidence to convict.”

“There is,” Bruce assures. “Zucco might take a plea deal.”

“Oh.”

They sit in a solemn silence until the squad cars pull away, Gordon riding in the car with Zucco. It isn’t until they can no longer see the cars that the two wordlessly move to their own car and go home.

oOo

Bruce sends Richard to bed without a lecture, deciding it can wait until the morning. Right now, Richard is still ecstatic about his adventure, and with Zucco finally in custody, Bruce is in a forgiving mood and doesn’t feel like crushing Richard’s spirit.

By the time he finishes writing up his report, Alfred has gone to bed and he expects Richard to have done the same. When he passes his room, however, he sees that the light is still on.

He taps on the door. “Richard? Can I come in?”

“Sure,” Richard replies quietly.

Bruce opens the door to find Richard sitting on his bed, still wearing his red leotard and green tights. Bruce crosses the room and takes a seat next to Richard on the bed. He doesn’t know what to say, but his instincts tell him that staying is the right thing to do.

“You can call me Dick, if you want,” Richard—Dick—says, looking up at him with the eyes of someone who’s seen far too much for someone so young. “That’s what everyone back home calls me.”

A smile tugs at Bruce’s lips, and he allows it to rest on his face for a moment. “Alright, Dick.”

Dick smiles too, but it lasts even shorter than Bruce’s.

“How do you feel? Bruce asks.

“I’m . . .” Dick stares at his hands, furrowing his eyebrows. He shakes his head, starting again. “I’m glad Zucco’s in custody, and I know you’re probably mad, but I’m glad I was there. It felt good. But I don’t . . . I don’t think I feel any different.”

Bruce pauses, taking in the statement. “What do you mean?”

“I thought it would be better, once we found him, but it’s not.”

Oh. “The grief, you mean.”

Dick nods and mumbles, “It’s stupid.”

“No.” Bruce wraps his arm around Dick’s shoulders, pulling him into his side. “No, sweetheart, it’s not.”

For the longest time, Bruce had thought that if he could just find his parents’ killer, it would fix everything and he would feel normal again. Maybe not completely, but when you’re hurting that badly, something is better than nothing.

“I miss them,” Dick says, a sob finally running through him and shaking his whole body. “It hurts all the time, Bruce. I just want it to stop.”

“I know.” Bruce rocks Dick back and forth, running a hand through his hair. “Shh, I know.”

Dick cries, and Bruce holds him. It’s not much, but it’s something.

oOo

“Good.”

“Oh, come on, B, that was great!” Dick calls from the mats. “Amazing even.”

Bruce smiles; the tumbling sequence had been impressive. “Hnn. Go again.”

“You said we could spar if I stuck it,” Dick protests.

“Afraid you can’t stick it twice in a row?” In reality, Bruce is trying to test Dick’s stamina, trying to figure out where his limit is and how far they can push it.

Dick rolls his eyes but jogs back to his starting place, takes a breath, and then goes again. Bruce watches as he launches himself into the air and contorts his body into a series of flips, landing briefly on his hands before going right back up. Dick lands for a final time, sticking his landing perfectly and breathing heavy. He lowers his arms and looks at Bruce. “Can we spar now?”

Bruce still struggles to understand how casually Dick can execute those skills like they’re nothing. “Water break. Then we’ll spar.”

“Yes!” Dick runs off to grab his water, and Bruce can’t help but chuckle at the enthusiasm.

Today has been a good day, and Bruce finds himself thinking about how the past two months have gone by in a whirlwind, filled with highs and lows.

The Grayson case has been officially closed. The court date has been set and everything looks like it will go in their favor. Despite the success of the case overall, there are still several loose ends that eat at Bruce on nights when he can’t sleep. The biggest being the Shadow, although that problem has seemingly solved itself. Bruce hasn’t felt the presence in weeks, and he hasn’t found a trace of the possible-vigilante anywhere. He hopes that whoever it was simply retired of their own accord, that something worse hadn’t befallen them. Like Haly’s true involvement with Gotham’s gangs, however, Bruce has been forced to accept that it's a mystery he’ll never truly solve.

More important than the case, Dick has been doing much better. He’s opened up to both Alfred and Bruce now, and he feels comfortable coming to them when he’s struggling. Even better, the night terrors have become less frequent, as have the regular nightmares.

Just as Alfred had predicted, Dick has been good for Bruce, too. He provides a light that Bruce so  desperately needed, and he’s made the manor feel like a home again. Bruce is realizing it’s something he doesn’t want to let go of anytime soon. He’s seriously considering making Dick’s custody arrangement permanent, though he’s still unsure how to broach the topic without making everyone uncomfortable. After all, Bruce still doesn’t feel cut out to be a father most days, and Dick has made it clear he doesn’t want a new one.

Another change since Dick first moved in is that they’ve been spending a lot of time in the cave, training Dick both physically and mentally for vigilantism. The boy hadn’t dropped the topic since he helped take down Zucco, and after only a week of pleading, among other tactics, Bruce had given in. He’s still holding out hope that this will turn out to be a phase, a temporary aspiration, but the further they go, the more certain Dick seems.

Bruce isn’t exactly happy about it, but he knows that Dick will do this with or without him. Bruce’s job is to keep the boy as safe as possible. Happy or not, Bruce can’t deny that Dick is good, extraordinarily talented for someone his age. He has the potential to be better than Bruce could ever dream.

A weight slams down against his back as Dick latches onto him. “Prepare to be defeated!” Dick yells into his ear.

Bruce grabs Dick’s forearms, pulling him off his back and onto the mats. Dick jumps up from his back and lands on his feet, falling into one of the stances Bruce taught him.

“Let’s see you try,” Bruce says, eliciting a smile from Dick, who has gained a mischievous glint in his eyes. “On three. One.”

Dick rises on his toes, preparing to charge.

“Two—”

“Three!” Dick shouts, cutting Bruce off as usual and running toward him.

Yes, Bruce thinks as Dick dodges Bruce’s defensive maneuver with a flip and a laugh, today is a good day.

[darylandbethfanforever9]

Downfall Of Us All: Chapter 9

Downfall Of Us All

Chapter 9 

AN: Things are going to get dark from now on, if anyone has triggers feel free to skip to the next part. Thank you to @jtargaryen18​, who helped me write this story and I credit her with co - writing this story with me.

Warnings: Kidnapping, Breeding, 

The police officers were in the front of the car and they were on their way. Tony was trying not to think worst case scenario. Something was off. Happy wasn't dead. He'd get to the bottom of it. Where the hell was Pepper? "Today is your first day at the compound?" he asked Lilia, When she nodded, he asked, "What do you do?" "AI engineering," she said with some confidence. That got his attention. "So, you're the new addition to the AI team? Huh."

"Yes, I have two engineering degrees and two medical degrees, I graduated from MIT." Liliya know explained quietly, Tony nodded as they reached the police station and were shown to the morgue. Where the hell was Pepper? He looked at the morgue attendant who gently pulled the sheet away, revealing the battered and beaten face of Happy. He felt like someone had punched him, he felt sick. Happy was really dead. "It's him, it's Happy. How did this happen?" Tony asked quickly, he wanted to know exactly what had happened to his friend. "That's what we're trying to find out, Mr Stark. We'll keep in touch with you and try contacting Miss Potts." Olivia reassured gently, Tony nodded numbly at her words. Lilia gently led him away and was relieved to see that a car had parked up to pick them up. Tony gave Steve and Natasha a grateful smile, as the four of them drove back to the compound in silence.

"Do you think Tony's ok, Bucky?" Sophie asked quietly, she was sweating from the training session and was trying to block Bucky's punches. Bucky sighed quietly, truthfully, he didn't think Tony was coping very well with the fact that one of his few friends had been murdered. He wondered where Pepper was? Sighing, he shook his head and gave Sophie a sad smile. "I don't think so, doll. Tony's gone through a lot this year, he saw Peter disintegrate in front of him, and then Pepper didn't want kids with him. It's been a rough year for him," Bucky said quietly, and swallowed. "And in 2016, he found out HYDRA used me to kill his parents in 1991. That's how your father got injected with the super-soldier serum, HYDRA wanted more Winter Soldiers." He explained grimly and sighed. "I've hurt so many people, Sophie. I don't know if I'll ever be able to make amends to atone for what I've done, but I want to." He said firmly, Sophie smiled. "I think you've already making amends, Bucky. You're considered a hero, and you've saved lives," Sophie reassured, as she looked at the uneven bars. She'd always loved this piece of equipment and had many female gymnastic heroes for this apparatus. "Are you going to show off your routine, that won you a gold World Medal, Soph?" Grace asked excited, proud of her sister. Sophie laughed and nodded.

Hopping up on the lower bar, Sophie mounted the bars, spinning then kipping up the top bar. A pirouette gave her momentum and then it was all flowing from there. Sophie went along from one move to the next, the entire routine as much a part of her as breathing. From Jaeger and then to Pak Salto, keeping her legs straight, keeping her toes pointed. Oblivious to the small crowd that had gathered to watch, she got ready for the big moves at the end. Adding an extra twist to the end of her dismount, she managed the landing without stepping out, caught off guard by the applause at the end. Bucky hadn't been able to take his eyes off her. Between dancing with her last night, to watching her twirl above him, he was fascinated with her. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she'd looked but had no idea what to say and the moment was lost when Clint, who stood behind Grace, winked at Sophie. "Hot stuff, but could you take down a man with those moves?" he challenged her. What he actually did was get the attention of both sisters, Grace giving him a playful shove back. "Let's find out," she told him. Sophie followed them back to the mat and Bucky grinned, watching Clint face the prospect of going against both of them. "Not what I was looking for, but okay," he joked. Then he looked to Bucky across the mat. "Help a fellow out?" Bucky shook his head, folding his arms across his chest and watching the two women begin to circle the archer. Clint winked at Grace. "You'll take it easy on me, right?" "When did I agree to that?" Grace told him, fighting a smile. Sophie came at him first and Bucky was proud to see her using moves he'd shown her. Grace followed suit until the sisters were circling him, making him really work for it as she fought off one and then the other. He blocked punches, he took Sophie's legs out from under her. It was Grace who caught him off guard, catching him with an elbow to throw him off balance. Sophie went in with Natasha's scissor takedown and Clint was flat on his back on the floor. "Damn," he called, staring up at them in a daze. "You're fast learners, I'll give you that." "I'll say," Natasha told them, no one having noticed when she entered the gym. "Sophie that was perfect." Sophie turned to smile over her shoulder at the spy, pleased that she'd nailed it that time. "How's Tony?" Bucky asked Steve as he approached. Steve shook his head. "Happy's gone and then he got more bad news on the way back from the morgue." "What happened?" Bucky asked concerned.

"Pepper sent him divorce papers, his lawyers are dealing with it but it's hitting him hard." Steve said quietly, everyone froze at his words as Tony entered with a dark haired young woman that had red highlights in her hair. "Everyone, this is Lilia Dumitrescu who will be with the AI team and will be working with Jemma, and Helen Cho." Tony announced smoothly, but everyone could tell he was near breaking point. Clint stepped forward to console him, but he quickly left to go in the direction of the lab. Everyone watched him go in silence, before Lilia spoke up quietly. "He's been quiet since we've come back from the morgue, he's only spoken twice.," Lilia explained quietly, her grey eyes concerned. "I'll go check on him, see if he's alright." Clint said quietly, nodding in thanks to the young woman who nodded at him.

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While Clint went to talk to Tony, Sophie and Grace with the help of the team decided to cheer Tony up. So, they decided to make him a cake. "Jarvis, what are Tony's favourite cake flavours?" Grace asked, and Sophie had wanted to do something for Tony in thanks for him saving their shop. If Tony hadn't bought their shop, then they would have lost their mother's business. It would have devastated them, if that had come to pass. "Mr Stark enjoys a tiramisu, and his mother's chocolate cake with a salted caramel frosting. Miss Drăgoi," Jarvis said kindly, Grace nodded as she and Sophie began baking the cake. "Is that chocolate cake?" Bucky asked hopefully, Sophie laughed while Grace smiled at the dark haired young man that was making Sophie like her old self. "Yes, a chocolate cake with salted caramel filling. We wanted to do a cake for all of you, and Tony." Sophie explained softly, when they saw Grace coming out looking sad. "Clint, Peter and Steve are with Tony. He's not doing great, Pepper's signed the divorce papers, and apparently she wants the Malibu house," Grace said quietly. Peter looked sad at hearing this, while Sophie and Bucky exchanged a grim look of understanding. Lilia looked saddened at what was happening to Tony and looked at Natasha who looked troubled.

Clint and Steve were both carefully helping Tony out of the room, after he confessed that he'd been tempted to have a drink. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "I can't stop being Iron Man, I can't. It's who I am, and I lost Pepper because she didn't understand." Tony said finally, tired and exhausted. He missed Happy.

"What happened to Happy?" Clint asked, still trying to catch up with everything. Peter tucked away his phone. Tony glanced up from there he slumped in the chair. "I don't know. At the moment, I don't know. I don't even know where Pepper is." "When's the last time you saw her?" Steve asked quietly. "When she slapped me across the face yesterday in front of most of you," Tony told him. Then his expression perked up. "I tried to call, and she didn't answer but considering that she'd divorcing me, I didn't think too much of that." Clint and Steve exchanged a concerned look. "Then she didn't show up at the office this morning," Tony rambled on. "Wait…" Pulling out his phone, he combed through the screens frantically. When he stopped, his eyes widened. "Happy was her driver last night when she left. Nothing new there. No one has heard from either of them since," Tony told them. "Happy is…" "Right." Steve glanced at Clint. "Where was she going?" "I don't know." And he looked sad he didn't know, calling Pepper's assistant. "Hey, Carmen, it's Tony. Where's Pepper?" Tony's face drained of colour and he stood. "When's the last time you heard from her? Hey, it's okay. We're going to find her, Carmen. She's been so upset with me being a total idiot that she's probably tucked in somewhere to recover from it. Okay? I'll be in touch soon. Thank you." "Shit, her assistant hasn't seen her since before she was here," Tony told Steve. Steve nodded, springing into action. "Tony, why don't you stay put in case she shows up or tries to make contact. We'll see what we can find." "Steve, she's okay, isn't she?" Tony sounded uncharacteristically scared. "We'll find her," Steve assured him, leading Clint and Peter from the lab. Bruce was heading towards them. "Bruce, Pepper's missing. Can you stay here and keep an eye on Tony?" Bruce's eyes widened in alarm. "I thought they were getting divorced?" "That's also true but right now, we don't know where she is." "Maybe she's just… upset?" Bruce offered. "Hope so," Steve said, leading Clint and Peter back to the living area of the compound. They found Bucky, Sophie, and Grace in the kitchen, working away on something. Nat sprawled over the sofa in the living room, watching television. "Nat," Steve called. Rising from the couch, she made her way into the kitchen to meet them. "What's up?" "Pepper fought with Tony in front of last night, here at the compound," Steve began. "She went out to the car, Happy was driving. Happy's body has been located. No one, including Pepper's assistant, has heard from her since." "Nat, take Bucky and Sophie and find out everything you can about where and how Happy was found," Steve directed. "Comb the car for any detail on Pepper's whereabouts." Nat nodded, Bucky patted Sophie on the shoulder, tipping his head towards the oven. "It's almost done, she told him. We can finish it later." "Clint, you and Grace go check out Pepper's office, her apartment, everything. See if you can find any trace of her." Clint nodded. "Get ready," he told Grace. "What about me, Cap?" Peter asked, looking eager to help. "You're with me," Steve informed him. "Let's go." "Right," Peter said. "I'm with you. Okay." Dashing around the counter, he hugged Sophie then Grace. "Be careful guys." Sophie and Grace exchanged a glance. They were heading on their first Avenger mission.

"We'll be careful Peter, you take care of yourself and Steve." Sophie said reassuringly, Peter nodded and left with Steve while she said goodbye to Grace and Clint. She hoped Pepper was alright.

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Clint and Grace drove to Pepper's apartment and parked outside the expensive building. Grace would guess that this condo apartment costed at least, millions of dollars. She and Sophie could never afford to live here, even if their business did pick up wealthy customers. They walked up to Pepper's floor, and saw the penthouse was untouched aside from the bedroom. There were clothes on the bed, but something felt off. "This feels staged, I don't know why but it feels fake." Grace said quietly, Clint nodded in agreement as they looked around and found a letter. It was addressed to Tony, and it was in Pepper's neat handwriting. Grace read it, while Clint searched around for any hint of where she could have gone. 'Dear Tony, Our marriage hasn't been working ever since you said that you wanted children, and I'm not ready for that commitment. Plus, I don't think it's fair having children while you're with the Avengers, it's too dangerous. I'm going away for a few months, to get my head cleared until the divorce is finalised. I hope you have a good life, Tony. Love, Pepper.' "We'll give this to Tony and the others, let's go check out her office." Clint said quietly, Grace nodded and they both left the penthouse silently. Grace couldn't help but get a sense that something terrible was about to happen. They drove to Pepper's office which was in Stark Tower and were shown to her office. Nothing was out of place, but Clint saw that someone had recently used the computer recently. The last log in, had been 11:30 PM and that had been to book a reservation at a hotel in England, called the Lanesborough Hotel. She'd bought one plane ticket with first class, and he sent this information to Tony who sighed quietly. "I'll tell the police what we know, thanks Clint and Grace." He said quietly, and hung up. "Poor Tony, he must be heartbroken," Grace said sadly, her blue eyes sympathetic as they left the building and got in the car. "Yeah, he really loved her. This doesn't make any sense, why would Pepper leave Happy and go to another car?" Clint said thoughtfully, as they drove back to the base.

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Bucky, Natasha and Sophie were searching the black limo that Happy had been found in and found nothing so far. Sophie couldn't help but feel like something was missing. She'd been searching under the car seat, when she used one of the gloves to pick up a Stark iPhone. It was still charged, but there were at least fifteen voice messages. She cautiously pressed the button, and her blood ran cold at the voice speaking. It was a Sokovian accent. "Hail HYDRA and the Red Skull!" The voice declared, before five gunshots echoed, and she heard someone slump to the ground before the voicemail cut off. She walked to where Bucky and Natasha had been searching and held out the phone to them. Bucky saw she was trembling, and her voice was a whisper. "I think it was HYDRA who killed Happy, Nat and Bucky."

Natasha's eyes narrowed, stretching out a gloved hand for the phone and slid it into an evidence bag. "Let's get this back to the compound and review everything on it." Bucky shook his head. "So, they killed Happy because Pepper was their target. Are they going to hold her for ransom? What is it they're after?" Natasha's gaze cut to Sophie and back. "You think they want us? Grace and myself?" "Fuck," Bucky muttered. "Maybe," Natasha told them as they finished sweeping the car. "You were hidden well here in the city and your parents knew that. I know it's hard to learn everything they kept from you all these years, but they had a reason for hiding things. If you didn't know, you wouldn't go looking." Sophie nodded. That felt right. Their mother, in particular, had been so overprotective of her girls. "Just help me do something," Sophie asked them both. "Help me protect Grace. After learning what she went through, I'm just afraid… what if they want her back? Bucky wrapped an arm around her shoulders and she welcomed the comforting weight of it. "We're not going to let them take Grace. Or you. Try not to worry, doll." Natasha smirked, turning back to dive into the car. When she didn't come back out quickly, Sophie and Bucky exchanged a glance. "Did you find something else?" Sophie asked. Nat rose from where she'd been digging beneath the driver's seat, holding up an empty syringe. Pulling out another evidence bag, she tucked it away. "Come on," Nat told them. "Let's get back."

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