#ch: stephanie

[delusionsofgrandeur13]

CASUAL

two weeks and his dad invites you to his beach house..

chapter three

NSFW!! MDNI. seriously. please look away.

tim drake x reader

readers can expect: many sexual acts, sex sans condom, shower sex, semi-public fingering, oral like reader receiving and face fucking, blurry relationship lines, missionary and cowgirl, etc. i went buck wild and so reader did too.

one chapter left, it’s just gonna keep getting crazier. thanks for waiting so patiently, it’s a LONG one. enjoy!!

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“well, i need you to decide now.” 

“this would’ve been a lot easier if you’d given me even a week’s notice..” you trail off under your breath, rolling your eyes. 

you’re gonna have to call out of work, and see if your neighbor, or maybe lydia? could water your plants. you’d have to write up a note on which plants need some sun and which need more water than others. you’d need to make sure you have everything you need, from shorts, sandals, a bikini, to definitely something fancier, knowing tim’s family. 

you sigh, shaking your head, lost in thought.

“no?!” tim asks, incredulous. you snap to, blinking. 

“what? no. yes, i’ll go with you. calm down.” you reply, making a face when he huffs at you. 

———————————————————

earlier 

“you look antisocial.” bruce wayne’s voice echoed around the empty den, the ice in his whiskey glass clinking as he set it down.

“i’m the president of a frat. being antisocial is borderline—no, downright impossible.”

bruce rubs a hand over his face, sighing. 

“i know that, tim, and you know that, but we: the family, the frat…” bruce sighs again. “we need the good publicity.” 

“it’s been a few weeks already, though.” tim gestures with his hands, getting exasperated. feeling like he’s trying to climb out of a sand pit. he will not be winning this argument. “doesn’t enough happen in gotham that people have already forgotten?” 

“you’d think, right?” bruce chuckles darkly, shaking his head. “but unfortunately for you, no.”

“but—bruce, i’m not dating right now. who am i supposed to bring?” tim looks incredulous, his hands spread wide. 

“you’ll figure it out.” bruce is hiding a smile behind his whiskey glass, taking a long sip.

“oh, come on—,” tim shuts his mouth when bruce holds up a hand. 

“you have a month.”

———————————————————

the week of..

seagulls call out to each other as the sea crashes beneath them, the sun a spotlight onto this beautiful little town you’d never thought you’d see. 

old, colonial style houses with gardens full of obnoxiously huge hydrangea bushes, beautiful old women walking their pedigree cocker spaniels, golden retrievers, groomed poodles. the town center built on brick, with shops selling salt water taffy and artisanal, locally made ceramics. an old mustang drives past, rumbling down the cracked, well-worn streets. 

the air itself feels premium, a deep breath bringing the fresh smell of clean earth and a lower note of salt from the ocean’s immediate presence. 

it’d be overwhelming if it didn’t seem so perfect, the smile on tim’s face sending your heart stuttering. why didn’t you get out of gotham more often? 

he grabs your suitcase from the trunk, setting it onto the gray gravel of the driveway with a crunch. how did they make even rocks look expensive? you take it, wheeling it over to the front door the best you can, tim behind you. 

“master timothy.” an elderly man dressed to the nines opens the door, his mustache and beard gray but groomed to perfection. “they’re expecting you in the backyard.” 

“we’re late?” you hiss to the boy next to you as he starts after the butler.

“..nah,” tim replies, looking back to give you a lazy and meant-to-be reassuring smile. you breathe in again, thinking about what this place would smell like as a candle.

“timmy…” the closest guy shouts, raising the cup he’s holding. his deep brown skin shines in the sunlight, glistening along with his wet swim trunks as he reclines on the deck furniture. 

the blonde girl next to him turns, along with the girl she was talking to, who’s smaller, with a haircut not too different from tim’s. you try to roll your shoulders back as they take you in, the blonde girl giving you a solicitous smile. 

the back yard is beautiful, and huge, the grassy lawn neverending, the pool attached to an almost pool-sized hot tub and a bar, tall trees surrounding the fence for privacy, but not blocking the sunlight. 

the butler comes out with a tray of sandwiches and a refilled pitcher of lemonade, to cheers from the group.  

the sun starts to set before you know it, and exhaustion sinks into your bones. your face hurts from smiling, voice scratchy from all the talking. 

making a hasty excuse, you scamper inside. the silence of the kitchen helps loosen the vice on your ribs, letting you breathe in the cool air. 

the butler watches you with an amused look from where he stands, behind the kitchen island. you notice him with a start, trying to play it off as the corners of his eyes crinkle into well-worn divots.

“could i please get some water, mr...?” 

“pennyworth. but just alfred, please. and you are?” he extends his hand, nodding as you tell him your name, shaking his hand how you were taught to. “it’s lovely to meet you. would you like a bottle of water or a glass?” 

“just a glass, if that’s alright.” you fidget, putting your hands behind your back. 

“of course it’s alright, dear.” he hands you the glass, filled with frigid water but no ice. you thank him, gulping down a sip. “is there anything else i can do for you? show you your room? the bathroom?” 

“maybe just my room, if it’s okay.” you say, clearing your throat. 

he takes you upstairs, opening the door to your bedroom for the week with a sweeping gesture. your suitcase sits across the bed on the floor, your covers turned down. an open window beckons evening air inside, the smell of salt and flowers drifting into the space. 

“your room, miss.” 

“thank you very much, alfred.”

your new favorite place in the world, and it’s tim’s?

you shut your eyes, burrowing deeper into the cooled sheets and comforter.

tossing and turning, you can’t seem to shake the rolling feeling in your stomach that you’re not really supposed to be here. you settle onto your stomach, your face smushed into the pillow. a soft, cool hand brushes hair from your forehead, trailing down your burning skin to rub your back. 

eyes glued shut, you sigh contentedly. the restlessness leaves you in waves, peace settling into your bones. 

you feel the press of lips against your temple, and you fall into sleep as the presence fades. 

the house is alive, the smell of bacon flirting with your nostrils. you roll out of bed, pulling on a hoodie and putting your hair up. 

you come down the stairs, greeted by a small smile from cass who’s walking a loaded plate of pancakes to the table. your stomach growls, and duke chuckles from behind you.

“don’t worry, alfred’ll get you right.” 

you smile in reply, nodding sheepishly. you follow him to the kitchen, grabbing the plate he hands to you, taking it to the table. 

everything’s set, the bacon’s settled next to a steaming bowl of scrambled eggs, a pitcher of orange juice next to the basket of pre-toasted bread. 

the sound of footsteps hits your ears, tim yawning as he enters the dining room. a faded old hoodie hangs off his shoulders, pajama pants slung low on his hips. he stretches like a cat, overdramatic as ever. but his hoodie rises, and your eyes track the line of hair leading from his navel, disappearing into his waistband. your mouth starts watering, definitely from the food. not because you just remembered his habit of going commando in flannel pajama pants. he passes your side of the table, tugging at your ponytail.

tim seats himself across from you, shooting you a sleepy smirk. dark circles ring his eyes, his hair tousled. 

“good morning,” he says, his voice deep and thick with sleep. butterflies play tag in your large intestine as you and the table return the greeting. 

tim raises an eyebrow, the bacon plate in his outstretched hands. you nod eagerly, and he chuckles quietly at the look on your face. duke chatters to cass about how he hopes to even out his tan at the beach tomorrow, steph quietly talking to alfred about his dinner menu for the week. 

his bare foot pokes yours, and you stretch out your legs, slotting your feet between his on the ground. he leans over the table, the epitome of innocence as he shovels food into his mouth. 

the day is mellow, one spent to laugh and chat with new friends, to twine your fingers into tim’s hair and scratch. 

you’re given a tour of the small town, tim buying you your favorite flavor of saltwater taffy at the candy store, a souvenir necklace, the deep blue pendant made of seaglass. the way it catches the light reminds you of his eyes. 

later, bruce wayne and his eldest son, dick grayson, arrive. cass notices the rumble of the engine first, starting the charge into the house with her siblings following. tim stretches out a hand for you to grab, leading you in. 

“hello, hello!” dick says, gathering his siblings into a big group hug.

he brushes away your hand when you try to shake his, pulling you into a quick hug as well. 

“you must be here with tim,” dick says, his eyes twinkling and full of warmth. “welcome to the family!”

“what do y’all think..family game night?” duke asks, holding open a cupboard door, revealing stacks and stacks of board games.

“not monopoly, though!” steph shouts. “bruce is way too good at that one.”

“i beat him last time we played,” tim whispers into your ear, the smirk on his lips clear in his voice. 

he wins a game of uno, folds quickly in the following game of poker, salt water taffy as the chips. the wrapper crinkles as he pushes the candy out into his mouth, tucking the trash into his pocket. the hollowing of his cheeks as he sucks at the candy shouldn’t be as erotic as it is. 

steph rolls her eyes, pulling her pile of taffy away from him. 

“you always give up so early.” she says, tim’s eyebrow raising in response. 

“what’s it to you,” he replies, crossing his arms. cass laughs, duke chuckling under his breath. 

“either way,” dick says, “i’m gonna smoke you losers.” 

bruce drops his hand, effectively shutting him up. 

“royal flush!” duke shouts, pointing. cass’s eyebrows are touching her hair, her mouth a perfect ‘o’. steph scoffs, snatching up a taffy from her own stash to chew angrily. 

tim smirks, sliding an arm around your shoulders. 

“you’ll get ‘em next time, tiger.”

__________________________________________

the next day

“it’s probably a crime to ignore the way you look in that suit, babe.” 

you scoff, rolling your eyes. “too cheesy. try that on a different girl and see where it gets you. i am not the one.” 

tim smirks, crossing his arms. his sun kissed biceps look back at you as he leans in.

“i’ve gotten your pants off without a word, and i can do it again.” 

“shut it, drake,” you shove him, laughing. 

“usually i try to open it, doll.” he replies, and you roll your eyes again, starting down the beach. 

you look back, adding a sway to your hips when you see his eyes locked onto your retreating figure.

“tease!” he shouts after you. 

you bask in the sunlight, sliding your sunglasses up to watch the guys toss around a football. dick throws a perfect spiral to duke, who jumps to catch it one-handed. tim tackles him into the sand, dick cackling all the while. 

cass motions to you, and steph nods, stretching her long legs out onto the blanket, feet nested in the sand. 

“so,” she starts, tilting her head as she looks at you. “you and tim, huh?” 

you blush, nodding. cass rolls her eyes at steph, giving her a look. 

“yeah, yeah.” steph says, shaking her head. “look, did he tell you about us?” 

you furrow your eyebrows, tearing your eyes away from the boys by the water. 

“his family? of course.” you say, unsure. cass sighs.

“no, like, me and him,” steph says, her words sending your stomach off of a 50 foot cliff. 

“..no, he hasn’t.” you say, keeping your tone light. 

“we used to date, that’s all. nothing special for me, or anything.” she waves her hand. “water under the bridge, for sure. definitely got closer with his family, in the long run.” cass nods approvingly, giving you a reassuring smile.

“like, i promise there’s nothing there. it was a long time ago and we realized we’re much better off broken up.”

“okay,” you say, drawing circles in the sand.

“i just wanted to make sure you knew,” she continues, as you look up. “i knew he was never going to say anything.” 

you nod, leaning back onto your hands. “well, no hard feelings. i promise.” 

steph gives you a firm nod in return, her lips pulling into a grin. 

“i think we’ll be good friends.” 

cass hands you a peach ring from the bag. 

—————————————————

later, 

you head upstairs to shower before dinner, tim waiting a beat before following you up the stairs. 

he can barely take it, thinking about how you looked on the beach today. 

he wanted to take you right there on the sand, roll around with you until he had you on top of him, hips clapping into his as you bounce on his cock. 

he had to get you away, all to himself.

it was almost dinner time anyways. you two should probably work up an appetite, no?

steam envelops the room, the beat of the water on tile drowning out the soft moans that escape from your lips. your leg’s wrapped around his waist as he pounds into you, his eyes darkened with desire. tim’s barely able to hold back the rough noises leaving him, grunting as he watches the way your tits bounce with each of his thrusts. 

need burns through his body, sending waves of heat off of him onto you. you know he’s about to come, can see it in the furrow of his brows and stutter of his hips. 

he moans into the crook of your neck as he finishes, burying his hot cum deep inside of you.

you blink and tim’s beneath you, your back pressed against the shower wall as your leg rests on his shoulder. 

a rough lick across your clit has you arching away from the pristine tile, tim’s first three fingers buried inside of you, pushing his cum deeper. 

he’s relentless, sucking at your clit, messily shoving his fingers farther and farther into your pulsing hole. you can’t take it, the sensation making your thighs shake, your toes curl. you throw a hand over your mouth as you cry out. and before you know it:

you’re coming onto his tongue, and he laps it up, suckling and kissing away the mixture of your fluids. 

he kisses his way over your stomach, licking a flat stripe up the valley of your breasts. you grip at his back, scratching into the muscled skin. he moans from where he’s situated, sucking your nipple into his mouth as he works the other with his fingers, arousal burning ever hot between your thighs. he moves, and your resulting whine is swallowed by him as he kisses you, passion laced in his lips as his tongue dances with yours. you lean into him, arms around his neck, letting him hold you up on your shaky legs. 

gathering shampoo into his hands, he lathers it into bubbles before massaging it into your scalp. you practically go limp, his long fingers working, fingernails softly scratching. 

he carefully rinses out every sud, smoothing conditioner into your hair to let it sit as he grabs the soap bar. 

he slides it along your skin, his flushed cheeks and swollen lips making your heartbeat pound so loudly in your ears it’s a wonder that he can’t hear it.

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

dinner’s at the local lobster restaurant, their neon sign winking at you as you enter. 

you’re happy: it’s not somewhere hoity-toity with seven spoons just for different courses. you know how to eat lobster, you know how to get messy. 

the plate in front of you makes your mouth water. you’re famished, the butter dripping off the corn on the cob and pooling under the herb-laden lobster has you blinking in disbelief. 

the rest of the table digs in, and duke watches in awe as you crack your lobster easily. 

“how’re you so good at that??” he asks, jaw dropped. 

you giggle, sucking the butter off of your finger, extremely aware of tim tracking the movement like he’s a wolf and you’re a bunny. funny, he does chase after you wherever you go, doesn’t he?

you beckon to duke, who hands you his plate. the shell of his lobster cracks easily for you, even with your butter-greased fingers. you slide it back over to him, bruce giving you a nod, a warm smile. 

“she’s so cool, but she never has the time to do anything. trust me, i’ve asked.” dick sighs.

you ponder this, pointing your seafood pick at him. 

“are you sure she’s not just saying she’s busy?” you ask, and dick’s eyes widen.

“yes, i swear. she’s got a ton going on. always, always working.” he says.

you nod, chewing on another bite of food.

“just take her lunch. on her break. find out where she likes to eat and what her order is and bring it to her. have a date at her workplace.” 

duke and dick’s eyes widen in unison, and duke nods. 

“dude. that’s perfect.” 

“why didn’t i think of that?!” dick says, disbelief painted across his face. the face he’s making along with the plastic bib is too much for everyone, just beyond comical. 

steph giggles beside you as cass snorts, the table dissolving into laughter. even tim chuckles, shaking his head. 

––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

that night 

“it’s not like he was given a month in advance, or anything.”

you can feel yourself opening and closing your mouth like a fish. A MONTH?

and he took his sweet time, too. floundering around, always looking like he needed to say something to you every time he saw you. 

god, he’s so baffling!

“he—he asked me two days ago.” you’re looking at your hands, folded in your lap. you were barely even able to squeak out that sentence to her, feeling like it was some big secret or something.

“you’re his girlfriend, and he took a month to ask you to come on a family vacation? we do these every year, the date is always on the calendar..” steph’s looking at you with wide eyes, shaking her head. she looks baffled too. that’s somewhat reassuring.

a low knock sounds at your door. you look to steph, who shrugs. 

“yeah?”

no reply, just tim sweeping the door open before lifting his arms to hold onto the door frame. 

steph rolls her eyes, and you just look at him expectantly. 

“steph, i need to talk to her.”

“..okay?” 

he leans against the frame, crossing his arms. his biceps bulge, looking bigger in the low light of the lamp. 

“alone?” 

steph looks to you, and after you nod, gets up with a sigh. 

“yeah. whatever.” 

she brushes past him, and he moves quickly, the door closed and click locked behind him. 

“what do you want,” you start, but he’s over to you before you can blink. his arms circle your waist, and your palms rest on his chest, smooth, like it was choreographed. 

“you.” he smiles as you roll your eyes. “i missed you.” 

“….uh-huh.” 

he pulls you impossibly closer, looking deep into your eyes. 

“you’re so cute when you’re annoyed with me.” 

you try to push him off, and he relents. but instead he grabs your hands, walking back until he hits the bed, sitting. you’re standing over him now, your hands naturally going to his neck as you play with his hair. he’s been letting it grow since summer started, but you know he’ll probably want to cut it soon. 

you thread your fingers into the little curling hairs at his nape, cherishing the length while he has it. you know he’ll spend a week after his trip to the family barber obsessively looking in the mirror and messing with his bangs until he’s (barely) satisfied. 

“where’d you go?”

you blink, his gaze boring into yours. you feel your cheeks heat as you realize he’s been studying you as you drifted into nowhereville thinking about his haircut habits. ridiculous. 

“nunya.”

he scoffs, an amused look on his face as he raises an eyebrow at you. 

“oh, really?”

“mmhm. yep.”

he digs his thumb into your hip, right where you’re ticklish, and you yank a little where your hand is gripped into his hair. 

“okay, okay,” he holds his hands up in surrender, and seeing the opportunity, you grab them and push him onto the bed, straddling his hips. 

he makes a surprised noise that has you stifling a giggle as you hold his hands above his head. 

your turn. 

“you think it’s sooo cuuute when i’m annoyed, huh?”

he nods, a stupid grin on his face. 

“you’ve got that right.” 

—————

he moans into your mouth, one that would’ve been loud, were you not tongue deep. 

you roll your hips against him again. you can feel the wet spot on his boxers through your panties, and you lean back to tug him free. 

his length bobs out, and he’s hard as a rock, a pearl of pre glistening on his tip. you swipe it off with your thumb and he slaps a hand to his mouth to stifle a groan. you’ve been relentless, to say the least. and you don’t plan on stopping anytime soon. you push his bared cock against his stomach, not bothering to remove anything but your shirt as you rock back and forth against it. 

“god, fuck! fuck me,” he pants, his hands gripping into your thighs in a way that’ll no doubt bruise. 

“i will if you’re good.”

“if i’m good—,” 

and you know he would’ve finished his sentence in some smart-aleck way if you hadn’t leaned back, running a finger over his tip. 

his exhale is a whimper, his eyes slammed closed. 

you pull your panties to the side, spreading your folds over his shaft. the wet warmth of the spot between your legs has tim hissing, his hands clenched so tightly at your hips you’ll be bruised in the morning. you move your hips back, sitting up on your knees. 

he looks so concerned, you giggle, the idea of you moving just devastating to him. 

you grab his cock, pumping it in your hand before lining it up with your entrance. you’re so wet, so ready, that you bottom out easily. you’re not paying any attention to tim, your hands planted on his chest as you roll your hips over his, the friction sending shocks of pleasure up your body. you press tim further into the mattress, his groans mixing with the wet sound of your bodies melding together. 

“tim,” you pant, and he knows immediately, starting up exactly where you stopped, his hips lifting from the bed to drive his cock deeper into you. throwing your head back, you suppress a moan feeling the way tim’s hitting that perfect spot.  

__________________

tim can’t believe how good it feels to have you clench around him like that, pulling him further in. his back is damp with sweat, his skin hot against yours. 

he loves having you underneath him like this, letting him pound you into the bed like you don’t have to walk around tomorrow. 

your nails scratch into the soft skin of his back, the thought of bearing evidence of your pleasure makes his eyes roll back. 

he whimpers into the crook of your neck as he fucks into you, the roll of his hips driving him deeper and deeper still. 

but you want his attention. you need his attention. you’re not just some plaything of his.

“so i’m your girlfriend, huh?” you grit out, fingers grabbing at his chin to keep his eyes on yours. 

“where’d you hear that one?” tim replies, his slanted brows becoming angry slashes on his face, the darkness exaggerating his features in an unrecognizable way. 

“your family, tim.” you say, smirking when you feel his hips stutter and stop, the look on his face making you giggle. “what, like i wasn’t gonna hear about it? i’m living in your dad’s house.” 

he’s opening and closing his mouth like a fish, and when he opens it again, you stick your middle and ring fingers in. his eyes widen with surprise, but he relents, sucking on your digits, swirling his tongue around them. 

“now move.” you say, feeling him jump inside of you. he can act high and mighty all he wants, but he’s aching to finish just as much as you are. tim starts up again, snapping his hips into yours. 

you pull your fingers out with a pop, using how wet they are to rub circles on your clit, just how you like it. tim’s eyes are huge, he’s unable to stop watching the way you’re using him for your own pleasure. 

two can play at that game, can’t they?

—————————————————————————

the next day

you’d really love to be concentrating on the conversation you’re in, but that’s borderline impossible with the way tim’s playing with your clit. 

his fingers pet over your lacy underwear, hidden by the long tablecloth and your dress. 

you fight the urge to curl your toes in your dressy sandals, tim’s hand nothing but a hard surface to grind up against. as he chats with mr. whoever about who knows what, he’s pulling your panties to the side, sliding a finger through the gathering slick to then push it into you. 

you stop breathing, thinking about the amount of people surrounding the two of you. 

he’s slow, methodical, trying to make you loud while he stays quiet.

he turns his attention back to your clit, noting the way it’s making you squirm.  

you turn the resulting moan into a cough, nothing tim’s smirk. asshole. 

tim rubs slow circles around the little pink bud, tutting under his breath at you when you try to cross your legs. you sigh, giving him a little nod, and he continues, pulling you right to the edge just to stop. you bite back a gasp at the sudden lack of stimulation, your pulse pounding out a beat between your legs. 

you’re coming around his fingers, pussy clenching as you try to pull him deeper. you feel heat creeping up your neck, burning your ears and cheeks as you fall apart for him in public, the noise of the party growing louder and louder in your ears. you grab your drink, gulping down the cool liquid. 

he pulls his hand away, slowly, nonchalant as ever. 

your pussy flutters around the lack of him, and you ache for another release, three, four. you doubt you’ll ever be truly sated when it comes to tim and the things he does to you.

he grabs his glass, spilling a little on his fingers. without so much as a glance to you, he sucks the liquid off of his middle digit, the one still warm from being inside of you. 

“well, montgomery, i think that if you continue to build your portfolio in such a way, it'll cause financial ruin down the road. i suggest you have it sent to my father’s assistant at wayne enterprises and i’ll take a look at it for you, find you some new stock.” 

mr. montgomery nods at tim’s suggestion, obviously trying to suppress how eager he is at the chance to have timothy drake-wayne look at his poor attempts at investing. 

ice clinks in glasses as soft music floats over the garden from the band in the corner, string lights twinkling overhead. 

his arms cross over your lower back, guiding you to sway along to the beat as you rest your head on his shoulder, your arms circling his neck. 

the spot between your thighs still aches from where his hand was, where his fingers had been pushed deep inside of you. 

you know you’re being watched, a sweet smile plastered to your face as the select few members of the press allowed in snap shots of you and tim. 

you can still feel your pulse down there, and you pull ever closer to tim. you feel his already hard cock react, twitching from where it’s pressed between your bodies.

haven’t even touched him, but he’s walking around with his need for you obvious. you’re shocked he hasn’t pulled you into an empty bedroom yet. 

probably too much press present.

the song ends, and tim breaks the embrace, those on the dancefloor clapping politely for the band. 

he leads you off to the side, saying he’s going to grab something to drink. you nod, feeling eyes on you, trying to not look like you’re shrinking into the corner, but trying to shrink into the corner. 

you’re in all white, pristine linen that feels dirty from being pressed up against tim like that in front of press, bruce’s friends, his family. 

it’s been awhile now, and the crowd’s cleared away from the little poolside bar, no tim in sight. 

“hey,” dick says, sidling up next to where you’re waiting. “you all good?” 

his thick eyebrows are knitted with concern, and he’s so endearing you can’t help but want to tell him the truth. 

“yeah,” you smile, watching his face relax in response. “just waiting for tim. he said he’d grab me something to drink, but..” you look around, lifting your hands as you shrug. 

“well then, this is perfect.” dick says, handing you one of the champagne flutes he’s holding. 

“thank you!” you gush, beaming up at him, cheeks rosy. did manners skip a generation in this family? 

dick returns your smile, grabbing your elbow to pull you closer as a guest pushes by. he asks about school, interrogating you about your major. 

he smirks when you talk about the mess hall food, laughs at a retelling of the time you fell down the stairs in a lecture hall, nods with fervor when you talk about protests on campus, eyes crinkling when you bemoan the way bubblegum flavored vodka smells on drunk breath. you don’t remember the last time someone paid this much attention to you, his eyes locked on yours as you talk with your hands, gesturing about with your glass. 

the golden, bubbling liquid has you babbling, giggling over whatever quip dick inserts into the conversation. you realize that you’re being rude, cutting yourself off abruptly, much to dick’s surprise. 

“but enough about me! what’s going on with you?” you rush out, shutting your mouth to give dick the stage.

dick chuckles, his grin like a little spotlight. 

“i’ve been working for the nonprofit side of wayne enterprises recently, trying to get a feel of where we could best help gotham.” he starts, and a sense of hope rises in your chest, flutters its wings delicately against your ribcage. 

“that sounds wonderful, dick!” you say, feeling yourself smiling like a dork. what a good idea. “does tim help with stuff like that?” 

dick notes the hopeful tilt in your voice, the responding sinking feeling in his chest. he’s got to take the chance while he can. 

“sometimes, but look—,” he starts, sighing into his glass. “tim’s not..he’s never been in a good relationship, honestly.” 

you look up, confused. 

“and that’s never been the fault of the other person.” he runs a hand through his hair, a little apprehensive. his eyes dart around. “that’s all i’ll say on the subject.” 

your mind’s reeling, moving through thoughts at lightning speed. you can’t say you’re surprised, but can you even do better? 

his face when he laughs flashes in your brain, the deep blue of his eyes, the little smile he gives you when he sees you after a long time. how he holds you, teases you. he brought you flowers on your birthday, paid for you to get your car a brand new radiator, driving you everywhere when it was in the shop getting fixed. 

the forehead kisses, the feeling of his hands on your waist, the press of his lips on your neck. you’d turn the way he smells into a candle if you could, a cologne that you could spray everywhere he wasn’t. 

the way he holds your hand, like he’s scared you’ll run if he lets go. the look on his face when you talk about guys in your classes, moving away from gotham after college.

and—

what would’ve happened if you’d met dick first? his blue eyes that hold a warning, contrasting with his light brown skin and his smile: one that’s easy, that he wears often. 

or stephanie, tim’s ex-girlfriend? would she have warned you away? held you close to her instead, defending you as a best friend would?

or even cass, silent, and obviously endeared towards her family—it seemed as if even through her love she was able to see past the shiny teeth and empty promises tim peddled. 

but you? it was too late for you. you were in much, much too deep. 

tim had to run off to the bathroom. there was no other way. he felt like he was going to explode if he didn’t. 

he darted up the stairs, knowing the house would be completely empty. locking the door to his bathroom (the one en suite to his room) he undoes his belt with practiced speed, yanking his boxers down. 

the ones he’s wearing are your favorites, the pair you steal to wear every time you sleep over. the thought sends his cock jerking, the tip red and swollen, already dripping precum. the last time he was this hard you’d been on your knees under him, and that memory alone almost has him repainting the bathroom door.

you were so ready for him, sitting next to him at dinner. so warm, and so, so wet. the feeling of you clenching around his fingers is all he can think about as he fucks his hand, bracing himself against the counter. your little gasps, the thin line your lips formed as you tried to bite back moans, all while tim was two fingers deep in your pretty pussy, curling his digits further into you. was he not supposed to react? 

and then dancing afterwards, his body pressed to yours lengthwise—he’d already been hard, but was practically dizzy from how fast the rest of his blood rushed to his cock. 

so that’s why he’s here, biting his lip so hard he’s probably drawing blood, harshly tugging at the length of his cock, eyes squeezed shut.  

tim groans, cum covering his hand as he shudders, breathing heavily. 

cleaning himself up, he hears laughter from the backyard. happy, full laughter, not the kind that most guests at the party would have. but you’re not most guests. tucking his shirt back in, he buckles his belt. 

he leans over, peering down through the window pane to try and get a glimpse of who you were so animatedly talking to. he goes up on the balls of his feet, and growls.

his brother.

“getting her drunk, dick?” tim’s voice sends a chill up your spine, feeling his presence behind you. you look down at your drink, watching the bubbles float to the surface, popping when they reach the top. tiny little deaths, tiny little fireworks. 

“no, just doing what you couldn’t.” dick replies, a tight-lipped smile glued to his face for onlookers. 

you try to suppress the shocked expression you feel your features reaching towards, opting to take another swig. you sling an amicable smile at dick, looping your arm through tim’s as he glares at his brother. 

in an attempt to ease the tension, you turn to tim. 

“have you chosen your classes for next semester yet?” 

“hm?” tim replies, distracted. “oh, my career consultant does that for me.” he smiles, that cheshire cat smile, and grabs your drink from you, tilting his head back as he finishes it. 

“did you hear she’s planning to ask bruce for a letter of rec?” dick says, smiling warmly at you, but addressing tim. 

“she..what?” tim looks at you, his eyebrows furrowing, his facial expression leaning into incredulity. 

“yeah, for my international affairs internship this fall. i told you about it last month, and..” you trail off, remembering that he hadn’t seemed like he was listening then, either. “well, anyway, i figured mr. wayne would be a good person to ask, and dick agreed, so.” 

you shrug, feeling like you’re shrinking by the second. 

“i’ll help you, babe. good idea.” tim relents, punctuating his sentence with a kiss to your temple. 

looking down, you squint. what is that on tim’s shoe?

——————————————————————————

the next day 

“you’re full of shit, drake,” a voice growls from the speaker of his phone. tinny, but the power behind it is evident nonetheless. 

“me? i’m full of shit, todd. me.” tim spits out, body language directed at his phone like the caller is really there. 

“did i stutter?”

tim scoffs, a sneer distorting his features as he delivers his next blow. 

“i don’t know why i entertain this. you. one push of the button and you’re dead to me.” 

“that was low, drake, but i can’t say i expected anything else.” 

“hmph.” tim’s scrubbing his hands over his face, through his hair. 

“but this shit? stop being such an asshole. i know that’s almost impossible for you,” the voice continues. “but this poor girl doesn’t deserve it. i have half a mind to pay her fucking college tuition. in your name, mind you.” 

tim’s rendered speechless, opening and closing his mouth. the voice chuckles. 

“you want me to stop selling to your ‘frat bros’?” the speaker says, the end of his sentence dripping in sarcasm. 

“i think i made that plenty clear,” tim says, words being grit out from behind his teeth. 

“so stop being a shithead.” 

tim’s fist clenches, and he almost hangs up. 

“still don’t see what the fuck this’s got to do with her.” he says. 

“you don’t need to see anything. i’m trying to keep the people of gotham safe.”

“..by selling them drugs?” tim laughs, sounding a little crazy. 

“mmph, well. if that’s how you want to phrase it, then yes.”

the call disconnects, and tim tosses his phone on his bed, a little too harshly. 

_________________

“let’s go.” tim snarls, pulling you into your room from the hallway. his grip on your hand loosens when he notices how wide your eyes are. 

he’s wearing that look on his face where he wants to yell but won’t. the resulting silence is usually worse than if he’d just do it. 

“is everything okay?” you ask, keeping your tone light.

his response is a jerky nod, grabbing your things from the dresser to toss into your open suitcase on the floor.

“can you at least fold them?” you plead, and he glances at you. you’re smirking, but it falters when you see the cold fury in his eyes.

you push the door closed, locking it before coming to stand right in front of him. 

his eyes widen when you drop to your knees, unbuckling his belt, pulling his boxers and jeans down. 

you pull at his shaft until he’s hard, cooing over his angry, red tip and cupping his balls in your hand. 

kissing along the side of his cock, he threads his fingers into your hair as he watches you go down on him. 

his lips are pulled tight as he fights the urge to thrust into your mouth, to fuck your face. but that’s why you’re on your knees.

“let loose, drake.”

he nods, letting out a shaky sigh. you brace your hands on the top of his thighs, relaxing your throat as he slowly pushes himself deeper into your mouth. 

he keeps an eye on your face, watching your reaction as he slowly starts to thrust, your cheeks hollowed as your lips stretch to fit his cock.

tears stream down your cheeks, your hair tangled into tim’s fingers as he uses your mouth to get off. he’s gentle, but his pace is still relentless, your mouth so wet and warm. the look on his face is almost pained, like it feels too good. you know he loves having control like this, figured it would be the quickest way to calm him down, tire him out too much to be angry without actually dropping your pants. 

you look up at him, holding eye contact as he watches you bury your nose into the tuft of curls at the base of his cock. one last push of his hips, and you know he’s done, informed by months of experience at the way his stomach muscles tighten and he throws his head back.

a groan escapes from behind his gritted teeth, his hands gripping harder at your hair as he comes in your mouth. 

white, hot ropes of cum paint the back of your throat in excess as he falls apart, your hands pumping his length to get every last drop. 

he moans, eyes rolling back as you bob your head. but he stops you before you can get him worked up again, arousal rolling through his body as you let him out with a pop. 

you pull his pants back up, and he buckles them, getting you on your feet and leading you to the bed where he sits you on his lap. 

tim wipes your tears away, licking his thumb to smudge off runny makeup. you get a kiss on the forehead as he smooths your hair down, a kiss on the lips as he rubs your aching knees. 

__________________________________

rolling down the window, you wave like a little kid to your new friends, beaming at alfred, who returns the favor with a shy smile and a raised hand. 

“bye!”

“bye! see you later! bye!”

“bye cass, steph!! bye dick!! bye duke!!” you quickly pull yourself back into the car when tim tugs on your shirt, and once you’re buckled he rolls up your window.

he settles his hand onto your thigh as he makes his way down the driveway, speeding off down the road.

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tim drake's fan club:

(taglist)

@dfgcbgdc @benditlikegumby93 @agent-nobody-knows @jaybunsblog @astermos-74 @ravenna-reid @borutoistrash1-blog @slut4animedilfs @nuggget-consumer-9000 @turtleturtleturtleturtleneck @hellishattempt @trashhighwaybird @sergeant-angels-trashcan @lilithskywalker @natsukicookies @flowrs-on-an-empty-windowsill @athenastar27 @timdrakeisasugardaddy @1cxndy

(also added those interested in new parts, i can remove you from the taglist, just ask!)

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[geneticdriftwood]

persephone's in hell; a rooftop conversation

for @mysterycitrus

persephone's in hell, @mysterycitrus // white winter hymnal, fleet foxes // assorted dc comics

[batfamilycentral]

Stephanie Brown in Batgirls Vol. 1 (2022), art by Jorge Corona.

[dcmultiverse]

Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown and Carrie Kelley in BATMAN: CAPED CRUSADER (2024)

[chief-of-restless-hearts]

Bad Company

Chapter 26: Small Mercies

[Ao3 link]

. . .

Cassandra would not cry out. She had not even the temptation to. Her father had taken this from her, as he had all other things. Still, her body screamed. That gentle man, that Alfred—his wavering outline loomed over her, pressing down on her leg, making it worse worse so much worse—

Something was crushing-squeezing her left hand. Someone, with long, pale hair, was sobbing. It was Spoiler. Stephanie. Why was she crying?

Had he hurt her? The grenade. It must have—

She wrenched against her body’s foreign reluctance, and the world blinked black.

A new shadow penetrated the fog. The Batman’s shadow, in Stephanie’s place. He, who she had failed. His dark shape stooped, his cape falling over her like the darkness that was already returning to her eyes.

Did he know how she had let the Hunter escape?

She had failed him, and his lost Robin, utterly.

Failure, chanted her pain. Its throbbing accusation followed her into the dark.

    + - + - + - + - +

    The unremitting glow from Oracle’s computers permeated the entire clocktower, bathing every surface, highlighting every crevice, and each of the needle-sharp teeth in Cassandra’s snarl flashed electric blue.

Bruce gazed down at her placidly, arms hanging peaceably among the folds of his cape without compromising his barrier between Cassandra and the downpour outside.

‘Let me help’, trembled silently through her battered frame. She had bent so defiantly close to him that he could mark the twitching of her shoulders with every too-sharp breath. The tell-tale trickle of sweat trailing down from her temple. Mottled burns stark against her sickening pallor, thinly disguised by fury.

“—less than eighteen hours since your surgery, Cass! You shouldn't even be standing, let alone—”

Bruce was himself only half aware of Barbara’s pleas, but Cass might as well have been deaf to them. Her wild glare never shifted from Batman’s mask.

Had the explosion robbed her of her hearing? Until they could examine her further, there would be no telling the extent of the damage. But regardless of whether or not the reason was physical, one thing was certain: in the time since Cassandra had awoken, she had not spoken a single word.

As even Barbara’s voice fell away, true silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the girl’s ragged breaths and the soft patter of water dripping from the hem of Batman’s cape, residual rivulets from the sweeping gales that were still rattling against the glass clock-face.

He drew long, slow breaths to ease the violent tension fighting for control of his every muscle. Batgirl’s faceless, nameless assailant was not before him now. This was Cass. A child. Who was, at least for this moment, his. She was reading him as he relaxed, inch by agonising inch.

Wait, she read in his disciplined calm. He forced his eyes to fix beneath her tangled mass of black hair, where the bandages began just under the left side of her chin. He followed them downward. Her gray tanktop and shorts fully exposed the gauze that littered half the surface of one leg and the entirety of the other, that dangled limply from her hip. She shuddered furiously at his surveyal, and at the entreaty in his gaze as it returned to hers: Heal.

She struck her bandaged left leg, unflinching, and pointed toward the trap door in the clockface window that, in his haste, Bruce had left ajar.

Patience, his stillness returned.

She bluffed a strike mere centimeters short of his right arm. It had, unbeknownst to her, been sprained nearly to the point of breaking the night before, and its brace was concealed entirely by his cape. An injury only she could have sensed without seeing. An accusation: Hypocrite.

Batman remained a placid, immovable stone. No.

Her dark eyes glittered with fury. A tremor ran up her body, beginning in her legs, building in her chest, her throat, and she screamed.

The stairwell door behind him burst open. Two sets of footsteps stumbled into the room, and Bruce felt at least some of the tension ease out of his limbs.

They had made unexpectedly good time.

He watched as Cass’s defiant snarl shifted past his shoulder to fix on the two intruders. Her expression slackened.

“Shut the door behind you,” he called without turning. “Come—”

“Batgirl!” shouted Barbara, trying to follow as Cass pushed past Bruce toward the two figures standing in the doorway: Tim Drake and Stephanie Brown.

Between the two stunned young faces, it was clear who Cass had set as her target. Stephanie resembled a pillar of salt—stricken by terror or guilt?—as Cass lurched toward her on her one functioning leg, propelling herself onward by pushing against desks, walls, until at last her outstretched hands cupped Stephanie’s face, poking and prodding her with an utterly intent expression.

“I—” Stephanie croaked, “I wasn’t hurt. I’m fine.”

She couldn’t resist a glance down at ‘Batgirl’s’ right leg. The wrongness of its shape between the curve of her thigh and calf.

Bruce studied Stephanie’s expression critically. That sallow, guilty impression he’d had of her a few moments before returned full force. She looked sick.

“Stephanie,” Batman said briskly, startling her attention away from Cass. “And Tim. Thank you for coming. Oracle?”

For the first time the children seemed to take in the clocktower room, the elaborate arrangement of computers, wires, and clockwork, and ‘Oracle’, who sat, unmasked, in the center.

Her expression appeared calm, assured of her choice, a risk he could never have asked of her. Bruce hoped, as he withdrew, that she knew he was grateful.

Barbara adjusted her glasses and braced to begin. “We need one, or both of you, to stay here, in this room, for as long as possible.”

“What’s happened to Batgirl?” Tim asked sharply.

Cass whirled to face Bruce again with renewed rage oozing from every inch of her half-bent form. He returned her gaze evenly.

“Batgirl, we’ve been through this,” Barbara’s voice cut in. “You’re in no condition for combat, let alone to go after whoever did this to you. We don’t even know who he is—”

“Hunter,” Cass spat, wavering slightly until she twisted her body upright again. “Killer. Find him, find Robin.”

The silence fell thick and hard.

Bruce stared into Cass’s wild expression, at the fury, pain, and guilt, and felt all that and more simmering within his own gut.

“Batgirl…” Barbara said softly, and then whirled to type something into the computer. The largest screen snapped up an image of the only hunter Cass could have meant. “Is this—”

Cass gave an answering snarl.

“But he wasn’t wearing anything like that,” Stephanie said. Every pair of eyes in the room whipped toward her, and she faltered uncertainly. “He—the man who, who y’know—he was wearing civilian clothes. A trenchcoat. How would she know it was him?”

Bruce felt his heart hammering against his ribcage, again screaming at him the same instinct he had demanded Cass restrain when she had attempted to pursue her assailant: no longer nameless, no longer even faceless.

Deathstroke.

“She would know,” Barbara said, in a strained voice.

    + - + - + - +

    “Tall, but old. And he had an eyepatch, I think.”

“Details, Stephanie. We need you to be more specific than that.”

Oracle was typing furiously. Stephanie fidgeted beside Tim and his equally uncomfortable-looking folding chair. These rapidfire questions had been the last thing she’d expected when she’d been called to the tower. What she had expected hadn’t happened yet. At least, not beyond that look Batman had given her when he’d first said her name. Piercing through her, making her stomach drop into her water-logged socks.

“So, this Deathstroke,” she interjected before Oracle could shoot her another question. “You’ve heard of him?”

Oracle’s pale lips pressed tightly together. “Not now, Stephanie. Please. These questions are time-sensitive.”

Stephanie was about to ask what she meant by that when she was distracted by a motion to her left. Batgirl was slashing toward Batman with an open hand. Stephanie blinked, now openly staring at the pair, who had resumed the stand-off she and Tim had first found them in. Batgirl’s strike had been a feint, it hadn’t touched Batman, and he hadn’t so much as flinched. Her teeth and eyes flashed as though he’d insulted her.

“You didn’t call us here to question us,” Tim said, a statement rather than a question.

Oracle’s fingers faltered and stilled over the keyboard. “No,” she sighed. “Both of you understand how much we’ve entrusted you with, don’t you?”

Tim nodded solemnly. Steph felt her own head wobble numbly.

Oracle searched their faces for a long moment before continuing. “I agreed to share my face, and my workspace, because we have no other choice. Batman and I can’t force Batgirl to stay off the streets, even in her current condition. Believe me, we’ve tried before. But you two…maybe you can do something for her that we can’t.”

“What?”

“Just,” She bit her lip, her eyes drifting toward Batman and the feral girl. “…give her a reason to stay.”

  . . .

  Stephanie sank down on the floor beside Batgirl, who, having finally given up on whatever she’d been trying to communicate to Batman, had tucked herself between a bookshelf and the far wall with her bandage-ridden legs drawn up to her chest. Stephanie stole a glance at the girl’s face—what little she could see of it. Just above Batgirl’s crossed arms gleamed two dark, terrifying eyes. Stephanie quickly looked away.

Tim, following a few awkward attempts to get Batgirl to speak, had wandered back toward the computers where Batman and Oracle were having some kind of intense vigilante conference. This had left Stephanie nursing an irritated twinge of betrayal. And yet, here she was. Without any right to walk away. She squeezed her eyes shut, drew a deep breath, and looked over again.

Not even a hint of resentment or accusation lived in Batgirl’s unwavering gaze. Instead, in that silent exchange, Stephanie felt… studied. As though she were one of those spiders she’d seen Batgirl pluck from the batcave floor and watch with round-eyed delight as they skittered across her fingers. Stephanie’s mouth felt dry.

“Sorry I called you spooky,” she whispered.

Batgirl didn’t blink.

“…the Ruiz lead?” Oracle’s voice murmured.

“We discussed the situation,” Batman responded. Something about his tone tugged at Stephanie’s attention. “As anticipated, there would be no benefit in my going to New Mexico.” Oracle murmured something questioning that Stephanie couldn’t make out. “It’s been four months,” Batman answered shortly. Almost defensively. “We would learn nothing more than what they’ve already told us.”

“…That the boy they met was the same one we’ve always known,” Oracle finished quietly.

Tim was drifting back toward Stephanie and Batgirl, the wince of discomfort in his face mirroring Stephanie’s own feelings. Even if they couldn’t be accused of eavesdropping, Stephanie still felt like an intruder.

Tim joined them on the floor in a silence that the two still figures by the computer did not disturb. Stephanie traced circles into the faint layer of dust beneath her fingertips, strangely disturbed by the eerie vigil, and half-tempted to break it by the time Batman’s gravelly murmur cut across the room. “…For that man to be released now, of all times.”

Oracle straightened abruptly, as though his voice had startled her out of a trance, and shook her head with a frown. “If Zucco tries to start up his old racket, we’ll have him back behind bars before he knows what’s hit him. He’s the least of our worries right now.”

‘Who’s Zucco?’ leapt to the tip of Stephanie’s tongue, but a warning look from Tim stopped her. She scrunched up her face at him in response.

A funny little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He glanced over his shoulder, seeming to consider something before he leaned closer to whisper, “If you’re curious about what’s really eating Batman… Today is the first Robin’s birthday.”

He looked so satisfied with himself for knowing that useless piece of information. “How would you know?” Stephanie whispered back irritably. “And what do you mean the ‘first’ Robin?”

His smug expression slipped a little at her second question, but he just shrugged one shoulder and turned away. Evidently the conversation was over. Something about this small gesture sent angry heat rushing to Stephanie’s cheeks. She jolted to her feet.

“Am I the only one here who doesn’t know what’s going on?” she demanded. Batman and Oracle both turned, as though finally remembering she was even in the room. “Just give me something, alright? I don’t even know who this ‘Deathstroke’ guy is, let alone what he has to do with Robin.”

Oracle stared at her, brow furrowed. Batman stared too, and something in that masked look made the heat in her face chill to a pallor.

Batman turned to Oracle. “I’ll check in post-patrol,” he said briskly, already moving for the open window.

Batgirl lunged from her corner. In the time it took Stephanie to turn her head, the girl was almost upon Batman, arm recoiling to strike. Batman whirled, unbalancing her with a single deflection and pinning her against the floor.

Stephanie blinked, and Batgirl was restrained, helpless, wheezing and trembling with pain or fury. Looking on stupidly, she glanced around, saw pain in Oracle’s face, and Tim, for once, seemed as lost as she was.

Slowly, Batman released Batgirl and rose to his feet. She did not attempt to rise.

“Your welfare is my responsibility,” he said, low, but with earth-shattering gentleness. “Your responsibility is to heal.” A pause. “Do you understand?”

Batgirl remained still, remained trembling, even as he disappeared through the ajar trap door.

With an awkward cough, Tim raised his hand. “Hey, Oracle? If you’re about to start answering questions, I’ve got a few myself.”

  . . .

  “This is…this is screwed up.” Stephanie raked a hand through her tangled hair, making the knots even worse. “Just, so screwed. So this, this assassin, kidnapper guy, he came to Gotham…why? Just to—” She pointed to Batgirl, the words sticking in her throat. The girl had sat up, but otherwise hadn’t moved from the spot where Batman had left her. Her chin was resting on her uninjured knee, her eyes seeming to stare at nothing.

Oracle laced her fingers tightly together on her lap. “That is an excellent question, Stephanie, one that we hope you might be able to help us answer.”

Tim raised his hand again, as though he were in a classroom. Stephanie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “You tried to trace Deathstroke’s retreat, right? Obviously. And you must not have found much of anything, because if you had, you and Batman would be pursuing that lead right now.”

Oracle’s laced fingers whitened. “Correct.”

“It’s got to be the cameras, right? They’re looped. Like they were last month, during Cluemaster’s disappearance.”

Oracle froze, her lips forming around the word ‘Cluemaster’, and she whirled toward her computer. Tim bent forward to watch, a satisfied gleam in his eyes.

Stephanie stood back, and fidgeted. For all that her Dad’s last supervillain stunt had something to do with the missing Robin, her input, once again, wasn’t needed.

Her dad had dropped off the grid for a couple days that she had spent tucked away in the batcave, apparently for her own protection. As though she were the one who needed it. As soon as her dad had been nailed, they let her out, and Spoiler again hit the streets. Batgirl had found her mid-patrol, somehow, dogging her steps, watching her. As the nights went on it had become almost a game, trying to beat Batgirl to the action. Stephanie hadn’t asked for a guardian angel, but it hadn’t taken long for her to realize she hadn’t minded the company.

Stephanie waited through two agonizing, keyboard-clacking minutes, and left.

She walked over to Batgirl, who acknowledged Stephanie’s approach only with her eyes, that followed her.

“Batgirl,” Stephanie blurted out. “Fight me.” The girl just stared. “Wait, uh—what I mean is, I need you to give me a crash-course in ass-kicking, so, so that…next time…”

Stephanie ducked her head, biting down hard on her lower lip.

A beat passed, and then the girl rose with improbable grace. She assumed some kind of sparring stance, and something in the gleam of her eyes made Stephanie take a step back.

“Wait, shouldn’t we use a training mat or somethi—”

Batgirl’s grip had already closed around her wrist, and Stephanie hurtled head over heels to slam down flat on her back.

“…Crash,” Batgirl rasped.

Winded, Stephanie blinked up at the girl’s distinctly wolfish grin. “And she’s a comedian too,” she wheezed, but a grin was already spreading across her own face.

  + - + - + - +

  Barbara turned as Tim practically bounded from his seat, eagerly asking for his own turn against Cass. Cass’s lean form turned to face him, not only prepared, but laughing.

Barbara’s lips trembled into a smile, and she sighed out the tension that had flooded her ever since those two kids had entered the clocktower with their naivety and enthusiasm that was a shade too familiar for comfort.

But this almost made her dare to hope that everything might just turn out alright.

    + - + - + - +

  Stephanie pushed through the Clocktower door with sweat plastering her bangs against her forehead, her ponytail matted, and her costume balled up in her backpack. She glanced toward the computers, and sure enough, Oracle was already looking at her sideways.

“What gave you such a workout?” she asked.

“Gym,” Steph said too quickly.

Oracle met her defiant stare a moment longer before turning back to her screen. “If you say so.”

Tim was already crouched beside Batgirl, who seemed to have been redirecting his hands into a blocking position. Both of them had gone still. Batgirl staring shamelessly into her face, and Tim so obviously avoiding her eyes.

“What?” Steph snapped at the two of them. Neither reacted, and she stormed over to Oracle’s chair instead. “Fine! I went out as Spoiler tonight, and yesterday, and the night before that.” Oracle didn’t acknowledge her. “Just say what you’re thinking already!”

Oracle’s shoulders rose and fell with a sigh, and she turned her wheelchair to face Stephanie. “Look, Steph, it’s been wonderful to see you bonding with Batgirl, and I honestly cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done for her in these last few days.” She drew a breath, and Stephanie stiffened in anticipation for what she knew she was about to hear. “But there is a difference between sparring with her and running half-cocked through Gotham as an untrained vigilante.”

And there it was. “This ‘untrained vigilante’ helped you catch Cluemaster if you haven’t forgotten that already,” Stephanie snapped. “I haven’t. Me and my mom were the ones who had to live with the mess my dad made of our lives, and the reason we don’t have to spend our nights afraid he’ll come home is because I did the right thing.”

“We would have caught him anyway,” Oracle said, more softly this time, but that only made Stephanie angrier.

“I got him put away sooner. Every day makes a difference with him.”

The computer beeped. Loudly, insistently. Without hesitation Oracle turned to address it. Steph was crossing her arms with a huff just as Superman’s face—The Superman—filled the computer screen.

“Oracle speaking,” Oracle said briskly. “Masks and code names only.”

Dazed, Steph’s hand wandered toward her own shoulder, reaching for the Superman cape her father had ripped from her back long years ago. Tim suddenly appeared at her side, his eyes glowing with the same disbelief.

“Understood,” he conceded with a nod. “Now, this isn’t strictly business. Is Batman there?”

“He’s on patrol, but if this is important I can connect you to his comm.”

“I’d appreciate that. This has to do with Robin.”

Barbara’s hand, extended toward a switch beside the console, faltered.

“It’s good news, Oracle,” he added quietly. “Nothing too major, but he deserves to hear it.”

She flipped the switch. “Batman, the Justice League wants to speak with you. Is this a good time?”

The transmission crackled expectantly. “Wire them in,” Batman’s voice grunted.

“You’re connected,” Oracle said to both of them.

Superman smiled slightly, but his gaze lowered from the camera. He was no longer addressing the people on the other side. “Batman, thanks for finally picking up.” No response. Something rueful tugged at the corner of his mouth, and he glanced again at the screen. “Oracle, I’d appreciate it if you stayed on the line. Green Arrow has something to say.”

Oracle’s teeth clicked together at the name, but she said nothing.

A man Stephanie might have mistaken for a Robin Hood cosplayer if he hadn’t looked so naggingly familiar stepped into view. “Hey, Bats.” The man hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Uh, actually, I brought someone here who can explain the situation better than I can.”

A girl, around Stephanie’s age, with a long blond ponytail, stepped up beside him.

“Batman?” She cleared her throat, braced her shoulders, lifted her chin. “My name is Artemis Crock. And my father and sister have been hunting Deathstroke and Reneg…I mean, Robin…for the past four months.”

Sportsmaster, Cheshire, the HIVE.

The girl’s story went on and on. The names meant nothing to Stephanie, or to Tim either, judging by the slight furrow between his brows, but to Oracle? Judging by the furious activity on her keyboard, those names meant something to her. More than something.

Artemis grimly recounted their battle with Deathstroke and ‘Renegade’, her injury, and how she had run away from her father as soon as she had healed sufficiently to succeed. Green Arrow had found her practicing vigilantism in Star City, and now, here she was.

And the reason?

“When a civilian got caught in the crossfire, Robin didn’t hesitate. It was like he forgot we were there, that we were trying to kill him. In that moment all he could see was that kid under the rubble, and…ever since then I’ve wished I’d run to help, too.”

So familiar. So…easy.

A masked, red-haired boy in what looked like a redder variation of Green Arrow’s costume pushed into view, forcing Artemis to lean sideways with a grimace.

“She’s one of us now, and it’s all thanks to Rob! Didja catch that everybody? And by the way, Cyborg, you sick of these old squares yet? The new T-tower’s bein’ built with your dough, and we need someone who actually knows how to use all that junk, y’know? We gotta straighten out all our crap before Rob comes back.”

Green Arrow bent forward to say something inaudible, but the boy just scoffed.

“Yeah, yeah, apologize all you want, but don’t think I’ll let you forget that you all doubted him when he’s always been the best of us—”

The boy went on until the topic drifted into an interrogation, with Batman and Oracle alternating the line of questioning. As they filed through a thousand seemingly insignificant details, Tim remained enraptured throughout, but Stephanie wandered back toward Batgirl, who had hung back from the computer gathering. Nearly an hour passed, during which they alternated between sparring—if those lessons could be called that—and sitting back to watch the screen. Eventually the questions wound down to a close.

“Batman,” Artemis said again, her voice subdued. “Robin is in danger, and I do hope this will help you protect him from…all of them, but. I’m also afraid for my family. Neither of them is a match for the Terminator, and Jade—” A watery sheen filled her eyes, her expression pinching painfully. “She found me two days ago, and… she said that she’s going after the Terminator because of me. If you can, protect them. Please.”

When the screen blinked back, Oracle sat back, waiting. A few seconds later, Batman’s voice crackled through the comm.

“All is as expected.” His voice sounded rougher than usual. “I’ll be in the cave. Keep in touch.”

Steph headed back over to the computer. “Hey, about what that ginger kid said. Did you ever doubt Robin?”

Oracle shot her a sideways glance. “No. And before you ask, neither did Batman. We knew Robin better than most.”

“What was he like?” Tim asked, practically vibrating with excitement. “In person, I mean. I met him once, so I think I know, in a way, but still.”

Oracle reached for a drawer, and began rifling through a series of folders.

“See for yourself.” She pulled up a glossy photograph of a scrap of paper that had a phone number scrawled across it. “Robin wrote this note on January first in a New York brothel front. We know this because,” Oracle drew a long, tight breath, “a few weeks later, a fourteen-year-old girl came to the rebuilt Teen Titans tower with a story. She claimed that she’d met Robin. Recognized him, though he denied who he was. But then, a few hours later, Deathstroke handed her this slip of paper, told her it was ‘from Renegade’, and left. The number led her to a shelter for abused women and girls. They took her in. Changed her life.”

“Hold on,” Tim interrupted, “Deathstroke delivered Robin’s message? Why would he do that?”

Oracle turned away to carefully return the photograph to its place. “I don’t know. But don’t you see? This is exactly what happened with Artemis, and that elderly couple from New Mexico, too. Robin barely brushed shoulders with these people, and look at what they have to say about him. That’s who he’s always been, and obviously it hasn’t changed.”

“It’s almost hard to believe he’s held out this long,” Tim mused, a distant look in his eyes. “We’ve got to find him before Deathstroke pushes him too far. Makes him do something he can’t take back.”

Oracle went ramrod-stiff at Tim’s final words. Startled, Stephanie glanced between her and Tim, who was too dreamy-eyed to notice.

“Go home, you two,” Oracle said at last, in a strange voice. “Get some sleep.”

“This Robin,” Stephanie said abruptly, as she felt the timeline of her life begin to interlock with a yellow cape, stark against the night sky, “he helped to catch my dad a few years back, didn’t he?”

“He did.”

Stephanie left with the realization of how much she had to thank him for. Regardless of whatever Oracle wasn’t telling them, she could have hugged him for that. She hoped she’d have a chance to.

    + - + - + - +

    “You’re healing. That’s…good.”

Something was absent behind Cass’s eyes. She hadn’t challenged Bruce once since that first night, though he’d made a point of visiting her daily. She gazed back at him from her perch on the back of a sitting chair, her injured leg dangling over the side. He studied her placid expression, searching for a sign that this was patience and not despair. But Oracle had told him how Cassandra had begun sparring with Stephanie and Tim, how she had seemed to improve.

Steph arrived, dropping her backpack by the door before joining Tim by the bookshelves. Her face was flushed, her hair wind-tousled. Bruce’s lips pressed together grimly, but there was no time to address the possibility that Spoiler had returned to the streets. Making a mental note to ask Oracle about it later, he returned his attention to Cass.

“I’ll be out of the city for a couple days. Justice League emergency.” He hesitated. “You’re in good hands.”

Cass’s lips stirred slightly, as though she were about to speak. She stayed silent. Reluctant, he turned to leave.

The League’s recent gesture made this aid the least he owed them. The leads they had accumulated over the past week were loose, fluttering fragments of a larger picture that still need to be gathered together and studied. For now, he could entrust it to Oracle’s hands.

He placed a boot on the windowsill, the brisk night wind spilling through the opening as he undid the latch.

A signal beep from the computer monitor. Barbara addressed the alert swiftly, and Bruce waited with trepidation. Had the League conflict escalated so quickly?

“Batman,” she said.

He rushed to join her by the monitor and read the message, vaguely aware of the two teens gathering behind them.

A motel address. A video attachment, and a timestamp. The date March twenty-second, and a one-word message:

‘Hurry’.

  . . .

  The attachment contained security footage of a motel parking lot. It recorded nothing of note, save for an inexplicable timestamp skip, and a strange white blip that Oracle had seen before.

“Those sure are some fireworks in the New York sky tonight, eh?” Having quickly overcome his initial alarm at The Batman’s appearance in his office, the motel manager was leaning across the counter with curiosity glowing in his eyes. “Woulda thought at a time like this, your kind was needed up there.”

Bruce finished his survey of the room, his gaze lingering on the creased map beside the door.

“I’m looking for a sixteen-year-old boy with dark hair,” he said briskly.

The man’s face lit up as though Batman had just described his best friend. With an easy tongue he recounted a good-humored boy he’d met a couple days before—on the twenty-second, he confirmed when pressed—and went into great detail on the boy’s (clearly false) story about a fishing trip.

“He ain’t in some kinda trouble, is he?”

Bruce studied the man’s suddenly sober expression for a long moment before withdrawing Stephanie’s sketch from his belt. “He will be, so long as he’s with this man.”

The manager bent across the counter to squint at the drawing. While rough, and a tad over-stylized with its oversized, angular eyes, it was legible enough. And if the depicted expression had been rendered perhaps less than neutral, the result hadn’t quite warranted criticism. Especially when the artist’s young face had glowed with such accomplishment.

The man’s expression slackened into something like dismay. “That man…he said he was his father.”

“He is not,” Bruce snapped.

The man’s eyes lifted to meet his, subdued. “What can I do?”

The original footage of the night in question had already been overwritten in the usual two day cycle. A search of the rented room revealed little more. Any belongings had been long since removed, any fingerprints wiped away. The camera loop had begun before their vehicle had entered the parking lot, and the manager had been unable to provide a description.

They had left abruptly, the beds inside undisturbed.

Why?

There had been a high wind-speed that night, deafening howls, but the hotel manager remembered hearing a woman’s shout.

The far end of the motel lot faded into a patch of woods, preceded by patches of dried mud that Bruce’s cape brushed as he crouched to examine the great gouges in the earth.

Three sets of prints—no, four.

Bent almost double, he pursued them through the trees and underbrush. Two of the sets were smaller, two larger. The prints trampled each other ruthlessly, save for one heavy boot-tread that had avoided the other prints as painstakingly as Bruce’s own. Heavy near the toe, stooped and swift.

It would be too easy to assign names to the jumbled trail, his heart hammering harder at the instinct, or fear, that was already deciphering the tale.

In the prints he saw the long smear of a fall. And a dark, pooling splatter.

Bruce rubbed the unnaturally rust-tinted dirt between his gloved fingers. He fought to keep them steady, but still, the discolored grains sifted through them. Useless, empty hands.

“We can’t know it’s his until we test a sample,” Barbara’s voice murmured through his comm.

The trail continued, veering left, toward the road. “No time,” he said, already pushing on through trampled thorns and brush.

‘Hurry’, had been the sole message from their source. Speculation was dangerous, but who else could it be, if not the nameless caller who had led Batman across the sea to come within arm’s reach of his Robin, his—

An impression in the dirt stretched out before him, the outline of a fallen body, the size of—

Bruce’s knees struck the earth before the swarm of tracks, no longer swift, no longer urgent. Circling the body on the ground.

“—atman, do you read me? Batman—”

  + - + - + - +

  “Batman!” Oracle repeated.

Stephanie and Tim leaned in closer to the monitor’s live feed from Batman’s mask. A vague fuzziness made it difficult to properly comprehend what they were seeing, but it looked like…

“They captured him,” Batman’s voice crackled through the speakers. “The Crocks.”

“We can’t be certain,” Oracle began, but Batman wasn’t finished.

“Robin lured them away from the motel, to prevent casualties. He was unprepared for combat, and…alone.”

You said ‘captured’, Stephanie couldn’t bring herself to say, fingernails digging into her sweat-slick palms. How do you know they didn’t—

“We know from Artemis that Deathstroke was their primary target,” Batman continued. The camera view shifted, as though he’d risen to his feet. “They made no attempt to disguise their tracks. They wanted him to follow.”

The camera pushed through branches, soon reaching a street. Solid asphalt, with no more tracks to follow. Stephanie felt her stomach sink.

“Oracle. Scan the tire tread.”

“On it.”

Stephanie watched Oracle analyze the pattern, and Batman was already making his way back to the Batmobile.

But her thoughts were still on the two mercenaries who had attacked Robin, but hated Deathstroke as much as she did.

“They’re no match for Deathstroke,” she murmured.

Tim looked over at her sharply. “You’re right.”

Caught off guard, she blinked at him in surprise.

“In all likelihood, wherever this trail leads, it’s already over. They’ll all be long gone.”

“Then we’ll search out a new lead,” Oracle said, shooting a look in his direction. “This is all we have, Tim.”

“But if we already know Robin is back with Deathstroke, this seems like a waste of time.”

“Tim,” she repeated.

“We don’t know how serious Robin’s injury was. Deathstroke may not have had the option to take him all the way back to New York, assuming he wanted to keep him alive. Maybe Deathstroke took him to a safehouse nearby, or even another motel—”

“We don’t know that Robin was injured,” she countered tersely, glancing back toward Batman’s camera feed. “That blood could just as easily have belonged to Sportsmaster or Cheshire.”

“But can we afford to take that chance? It’s only been a day! If Deathstroke did bring him somewhere close by, they might still be there, and the longer we spend following this—”

“Stop.”

Something in Oracle’s tone made Tim’s mouth snap shut. Statue-still, her hand stayed raised in a motion for silence. But her eyes weren’t on Tim.

“Is someone else on the line?”

Silence. Stephanie held her breath, her ears strained to hear whatever Oracle must have picked out.

“Check the nearest hospital,” crackled through the speakers, the voice muffled—young, “…you morons.”

“Who is this?” Oracle demanded, racing to work something into the computer. “Is this the anonymous caller? Hello?”

But even Stephanie had heard the click of a terminated transmission.

Oracle hissed out sharply through her teeth. “I couldn’t trace the connection in time.”

“A hospital is out of the question,” Batman said quickly. “Deathstroke would never risk it.”

But Stephanie could see on Oracle’s screen that she had already started the search.

Stephanie tried to imagine the man who had hurled a grenade at her, who had nearly killed Batgirl, being desperate enough to drag Robin into a hospital. She couldn’t.

And yet.

“But we don’t know the guy well enough to say that, do we?” She asked quietly. “I mean, no one’s even been able to tell me what he was doing in Gotham without his mask.”

“And that note from New Years,” Tim rushed to add. “We’ve seen him do things for Robin before.”

Tim looked at Stephanie, something in his eyes saying what neither of them dared to say aloud. As though he knew that her memory of the ruthless old man from the park was beginning to look far too much like her dad. Her lowlife excuse for a father. Would he have taken a similar risk for her? As much as the thought twisted at her insides, Stephanie knew the answer.

Just because he was her—

Oh God.

She clapped a hand over her mouth before a strangled noise could jump out. A hand wrapped around hers. Tim.

“This is sick,” she whispered. Gently, Tim squeezed her hand, and released it.

“Covenant Hospital,” Oracle exclaimed. “Batman. We have footage.”

Through the camera feed, the Batmobile whirled around, engines roaring toward its target.

“The trail is still warm. They left last night, but we can trace the looped camera feed through the city. We’ve got them.”

Oracle was smiling as she spoke, and behind her glasses, her eyes sparkled. As though the battle were already won.

“And then what?” Stephanie burst out, startling Oracle out of her reverie. “You told us what happened the last time Batman found Robin. What makes you think this time will be any different?”

Some of the light dimmed in Oracle’s eyes. “We’ll make this time different.”

“To do that, you’ll need more boots on the ground.” Stephanie said, fighting to keep a neutral expression. “Batman can’t go after them alone.”

Just like that, Oracle’s face closed off. Stephanie felt Tim go stiff at her side.

“We’ll contact the Justice League if possible,” Oracle said neutrally, as though she’d misunderstood.

“It won’t be,” Steph retorted. “I’ve seen the news.”

Oracle ignored her.

Stephanie felt the knot in her chest flare into anger. “You used to be Batgirl, right?”

Oracle’s shoulders twitched. Stephanie’s stomach gave a guilty lurch, but her next words rushed out of their own volition.

“I looked up to you. You made me think maybe I didn’t have to sit back and wait for Batman to save my family. And look, I know this new Batgirl has insane assassin skills, but you? What right did you have to put on a costume and fight that I don’t?” Stephanie whirled to face Tim. “And you could back me up a little. Or are you hoping Batman thinks you’re special enough to be the next Robin?”

“Of course not,” Tim snapped, too quickly, too angrily. His cheeks flushed beet red.

Her mouth dropped open. “You do want to be Robin!”

“Stephanie!” Oracle hissed. “Keep your voice down. Please.” She glanced significantly toward the half-closed door to Batgirl’s room, where the girl had collapsed into one of those dead-to-the-world comas of hers that Oracle called naps.

“Listen,” Oracle continued in a low voice. “You don’t know what we’ve been through this past year. We’ve lost too many kids. And this week, we almost lost two more.” She paused, searching Stephanie’s face for understanding. “You’re not the only one we’re trying to keep off the streets.”

Stephanie blinked rapidly under the woman’s solemn scrutiny, water building at the corners of her eyes though she didn’t know why.

But then something clicked. Her eyes widened with horror. “You’re benching Batgirl permanently, aren’t you?” Oracle’s expression pinched, as though pained. “You can’t. It’ll kill her!”

“We’re trying to save her,” Oracle whispered fiercely. “The damage is already done. She needs to find other things worth living for, and that’s what you’ve done for her.” Oracle drew a shaky breath, her eyes squeezing shut for a moment. “Thank you.”

Stephanie clenched her trembling hands into fists at her sides. “You don’t get it. No, you really don’t get it. You and Batman think we’re different from you, like we’re not just as ready to put our lives on the line as you are. But Batgirl,” Stephanie’s words caught in her throat, “she didn’t hesitate before shielding me with her body. She didn’t give a single thought to her own wellbeing. And from what I’ve heard, Robin is just the same.”

Stephanie scrubbed a sleeve across her itching eyes, and fixed Oracle with a glare.

“You know, I’ll bet the reason you couldn’t bring him home the last time was because you were treating him like a victim in need of rescue. And when did Robin ever see himself that way?”

“Robin is a hero,” Tim whispered.

Stephanie shot him a baffled look. “That’s just what I was saying, what are you—”

“No, Steph, I agree. Oracle, you and everyone else who cares about Robin—you’ve been treating this like a kidnapping. You’re looking for a victim. And yeah, maybe he is one. But did we forget that Robin is a hero?”

Steph glanced between Tim’s animated expression and Oracle’s slackening realization. “God…” she breathed. “Dear God…”

Oracle whirled around to say something into her mic, and Tim turned back to Stephanie. “We need to go back to square one and ask why Renegade exists. Why, and how, with all we know about Robin, has Deathstroke managed to keep a hold on him all this time. What meant more to Robin than anything else?”

“His friends,” Batman rasped, almost inaudible behind the static. “Of course. He would have done anything for them. For us. Anything…”

Stephanie glanced again toward the camera feed, noticing for the first time that the Batmobile seemed to have stopped moving. And was the camera shaking? Oracle continued murmuring into the mic.

But Stephanie was beginning to understand. “He became Renegade for the same reason he became Robin?”

“Of course he did,” Oracle said. She locked eyes with Stephanie. In the brief moment before she turned away, Stephanie recognized absolute gratitude. “The Titans. We need to contact them.”

Batman’s voice returned, more clearly this time. “I’ll reach Titans Tower within the hour.”

“I’ll continue tracing Deathstroke’s route. Stay in touch.”

Stephanie turned away. This moment wasn’t about her in the least, and she could live with that. Even if some issues had been left unresolved, at this rate, she might even get a chance to talk it over with Robin himself.

Until then, at least someone needed her. Carefully, she pushed Batgirl’s door open and peered inside.

Where she found an empty bed, tangled sheets, and wind swirling in through the open window.

“...Batgirl?”

    + - + - + - + - +

    The four crimson furrows along the right side of Dick’s neck glared back at him from the bathroom mirror. Cheshire had only narrowly missed his throat and larynx, sparing his voice. Small mercies.

A little ball of sweat trickled down his collarbone, despite the ever-present chill of Slade’s base. One of its few constants. Now, the temperature barely wicked the heat from his shivering skin.

He hadn’t had a chance to ask Slade about that yet.

Wincing, he drew back from the sink, taking care not to turn his head too abruptly. Over the past couple nights the wound’s shiny flesh had dimmed to a throbbing pink, but its puffy ridges were still held together by little more than a few tidy black stitches. As he pressed the bandage back into place, his thumb brushed the right side of his jaw, and the slight dip rimmed by powder-burned stippling. His fingertips wandered higher, tracing the faint white line that ran diagonal across his cheek, and the pale, hairless stripe through his left eyebrow.

With time, his neck wounds would fade to a similar shade.

He studied his pale, patchworked reflection. It might be Dick Grayson’s face staring back at him, but would anyone recognize it? Anyone, at least, who wasn’t Slade?

He turned abruptly from the mirror, provoking another twinge in his neck.

The base was quiet. Too quiet.

The main room welcomed him with the yawning silence of a tomb. He scuffed his socked feet intentionally against the coarse cement floor, and the faint sound echoed a mockery of his footsteps from every distant dark corner.

He tipped his head back to squint into the pitch blackness obscuring the gears that hung high above his head like heavy, crushing boughs, and thought of the distant opening of the fan, and the little book wedged into the gear directly below it. For the first time in he-couldn’t-remember-how-long, his eyes were taking a while to adjust to the dark. The looming shapes looked strange to him, somehow.

And the steel forest was quieter than he’d remembered.

The clank and grind of the lift rattled across the room. Dick approached as Deathstroke emerged from the sliding door, dressed for business and armed. His dusty leather boots said he’d seen action, though Dick could tell by a glance that whatever had happened, it hardly winded him.

But that didn’t mean much. Slade had already defeated both the Crocks singlehandedly, completely unarmed.

And Dick had been trying very hard not to dwell on the reason why.

“You look more like yourself,” Slade said lightly.

“Heard from the Crocks?” Dick managed to ask.

“No sign,” Slade said, ambling to a stop a careless few steps away. “Yet.”

Dread and relief mingled with the achy waves of ice and fire under Dick’s skin. Dull, phantom pain.

“S…” his tongue faltered numbly between a title and a name, but his hands trembled with urgency. “I need more antivenin.”

“You don’t. You’ll feel the lingering traces of venom in your system now, but that can’t be helped. It’ll have to flush out through natural means.”

“Meaning…?”

“Your blood will replace itself,” Slade said briskly.

“…Including the infected blood cells,” Dick finished. Slade nodded. “But until then, how long will it—” How long will it hurt?

“A few months.” Slade tugged sharply at his right glove. “Four.”

It might have been another wave of heat that sent a shudder down Dick’s body. Four months. Four entire—

Slade’s fingers pinched his jaw. Tipping to the side until it pulled at the stitches in Dick’s neck. Just as Dick had a few minutes before, he tugged away the bandage to survey the damage. Tight-lipped, Dick waited for Slade to finish, but already Slade was replacing the bandage and pulling away. Not, however, before his single, intent eye flickered across Dick’s scrapbook of scars.

‘Admiring your own handiwork?’ leapt viciously to the tip of Dick’s tongue.

But a realization struck him, then; in the time since he’d stepped out of the elevator, Slade hadn’t removed a single scrap of armor.

“Get changed.”

“For…” Dick faltered, “a contract?”

“Your new uniform is in the gym. Beside the desk.”

Less than twenty-four hours had passed since Slade had shaken Dick awake in the hospital, unhooked him from the machines, and half-dragged him out through the window to the waiting car below. Less than a day, and Dick’s neck was held together by luck and a few loops of string.

Slade’s hand landed on his shoulder, steering him toward the sliver of light at the far end of the room. Glancing down at Dick’s face, whose eyes hadn’t shifted from his, Slade gave his shoulder a brief pat. “Buck up. This’ll all be over soon.” He pulled away to stride toward the waiting door.

“Hey,” Dick said, not following. Slade halted. Dick searched the hint of masked profile he could make out, silhouetted against the distant light. “Are you…” he hesitated. “Is everything okay?”

Slade looked at him.

Dick remembered snatches of what had happened three days ago, before and after Cheshire had ripped into his neck. Those snatches had told him enough about the man behind the inscrutable mask he looked into now, who he now owed his life to. That same man would know the dangers of placing undue stress on the wound—and he would care—but even now, Slade still hadn’t removed his mask.

The moment lingered, precarious as a knife balanced on a fingertip. As though even a breath might make it fall.

Slade turned away, jerking his chin toward the door.

“Let’s get this over with.”

[roguestorm]

Batgirls + horror books and movies

[inabcck]

@adversitybloomed sent: ❛  when was the last time you ate something?  ❜

Stephanie looked at the clock to see what time of day it was before looking back at Mulan. "I had some waffles for breakfast." That was some hours ago though and she had been holed up working with Babs and Cas on a new cartridge. The goo formula was almost perfect and if they could figure out where they went wrong with it then it would be ready to use. She was staring at the formula on her screen for she wasn't even sure how long now, but it couldn't have been that long right? But the clock suggested must worse than what she thought so she pushed away from her desk and the screen she was staring at getting up slowly to stretch.

"Are we going out to get food then? Is that why you ask?" Sure she had waffles for breakfast, but waffle houses had other food too... "There is a good waffle house around the corner." Steph moved grabbing her hoodie off the back of her chair and pulling it on over her head. "We should go get waffles."

[paladinlungs]

character tags:

[sonnetheart]

character tags:

[sundrunked]

trust me. i can handle a dangerous man. - stephanie brown / @desastreorcalamite !

jason watched her for a moment, evaluating. steph was fierce in a way he could respect, seemed like she knew how to handle herself. "mm. for some reason, i believe you. probably'd end up feeling bad for the sorry bastard by the time you were done with him." ( he wouldn't. he wasn't soft like that, more the type to tell her to kick his face in a little more. but it was the sentiment of the thing. ) he crossed his arms, glancing away briefly. "still, doesn't mean you have to by yourself. i'll be around. or whatever." he wasn't sure why it mattered to him so specifically, having her back when she was still a near stranger.

[thirstdere69]

2012 art again.

these are two ocs that mean a lot to me. on the right is hazel nylan, a girl who has anger management problems and a major case of ennui. on the left is stephanie mccormick, an admittedly kinda bitchy girl who loves to dance and is hazel's childhood friend. they have a messy relationship that blossoms to something sweet.

[friskalicousbiscuits]

Neglected The Mask!reader x platonic Yan!Batfam

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8 Ch.9 Epi

I’d also like to say this Reader is Gender Neutral or at least you can pick your gender. Most of the pronouns are “you” and when they are referred to by other people, it’s “they” so… Yeah! Have fun reading and tell me if there are any spelling mistakes or things that don’t make sense.

Chapter Seven

[Name] Wayne POV - Unpossessed

6:12am - Friday

You pressed the final piece into the puzzle. After the last 10 minutes of Damian and Skillit arguing about whether or not your little brother was hiding a piece, Damian eventually slammed it on the table, crossed his arms and turned away from you both to look forward as Alfred plated some pancakes, setting them down in front of him.

Wow.

“Dramatic much?” Skillit asked the other boy, ignoring the heated glare Damian threw at him. Alfred also set a plate of pancakes in front of you as well. Though, you weren’t allowed to eat because as soon as you picked up a fork, Skillit grabbed your arm and tried to pull you away.

“Wayne still has to eat, whatever-your-name-is.” Damian bit out, munching on some pancakes.

“And that’s too bad, boy. We have places to be. School and whatever kids nowadays do.” Skillit mocked as he went back to dragging you away. You both passed Duke and Stephanie who were standing out in the hallway… suspiciously? It seemed suspicious. You didn’t know why.

(“Shoot! They’re coming this way! Act natural!” Steph whisper yelled at Duke as she made a show of leaning on the wall and turning towards the other boy.)

You made sure to nab your bag from the book bag pile by the door. You almost missed it as Skillit didn’t stop for a single moment.

Is this a good time to add that you’re not exactly dressed? You’re still in your pajamas, same pink fuzzy slippers, as the ones you wore during your rule violating from a couple days ago. Skillit ditched the Peter Pan get up too. He was only wearing socks though.

Also… Ace is here?

The dog was patting beside you both, tail wagging as it followed. Skillit threw it annoyed glances every now and then. You wanted to tell him to stop because hey hey hey, that’s your baby. But alas, you kept your mouth shut.

By now, you were all somewhere along the first part of your trek to school: the long walk. You were pretty sure you three could make it in time. It took you about an hour and 40 minutes, without traffic, to get to school on your own. You guys left the manor at about 6:15 and school started at 7:45. You’d be late but maybe if you legged it…

You glanced to Skillit and Ace.

Skillit let out a yelp and Ace let out a whine of confusion. As for why?

Well, you didn’t wanna be late.

You had each of them tucked under an arm and were now running. Who knew a 12-year-old-presenting 4000 year old was heavier than a German Shepherd? You weaved through any crowds, jumping over any cracks or glass or even worse, needles.

God, slippers were freaking hard to run in!

The pink, fuzzy things kept nearly falling off your feet were causing you to trip. You looked down at them bouncing on one foot yet keeping your momentum while trying to wave your other foot around to fix the slipper.

A bark could be heard from Ace. Skillit leaned over to yell in your ear, “That meant to look out, idiot!”

You looked up just as you were about to crash into… Condiment Man?!

You literally threw your body out of the way, ignoring another yelp forced out of the boy under your arm. You were pretty sure Ace was just enjoying the ride. You glanced back at the rogue, ducking and nearly falling forward to avoid a blast of mustard aiming for the back of your head.

“Look forward!” Skillit yelled again, slapping at your stomach, probably trying to get you to let him go. You followed his demands, not letting him go but looking forward, and turned a corner. Just ahead was a bus stop. All you had to do was cross the road and you’d be there. You could either directly cut through the road or you could take the crosswalk which was further down the street.

Decisions decisions.

A set of barks came from Ace. Was that dog for “Cut through. Condiment Man’s behind you, also duck.” It probably wasn’t, but you ducked anyway. Mayonnaise spurt past your head and landed on the pants of some guy in front of you. You tried to look back again but Skillit smacked your stomach once more and told you to keep your eyes on the road again.

The understanding Ace thing a little too Masky, wasn’t it?

You were approaching the road faster now. You decided that if the dog hadn’t led you astray earlier, he might not lead you astray now. Thankfully, the cars were held up at a stoplight and not speeding down the street, anxious to flatten you. You didn’t stop running though. You instead did about the stupidest thing ever.

You jumped over a dang car.

You made the running jump and tucked your knees really close to your chest. Skillit did the same. You also heard a loud scraping sound that almost made your eardrums shrivel. When you touched down onto the other car lane, somehow managing not to embarrass yourself after jumping over a car, you threw yourself out of the way of almost slamming into the side of another car. From behind you, you heard a guy shout from the road.

“Your mutt scratched my car, jackass!” The man’s hoarse, yet loud voice carried over. That didn’t stop him from still driving away when the light turned green.

“Sorry!” You shouted over your shoulder as you finally slowed to a stop.

You’d made it to the bus stop.

That when the adrenaline decided to wear off. You put Skillit and Ace down as you slumped onto a dirty seat, chest starting to heave. You ignored Skillit’s yelling at you and Ace’s nuzzling into your hands so you could pet him.

You don’t think you’ve ever run like that before.

You pet your pup as Skillit continued to rant on and on until you interrupted him.

“So you’re actually coming to school with me?” You asking, still panting from that run.

“What?” Skillit looked at you as if you were stupid. “No! We’re skipping it.”

“What?! I can’t skip school! I’m already on thin ice due to that uniform violation!”

Skillit gave you a ‘poor you’ look before rolling his eyes. “I assure you, no one cares about whatever you’re talking about.”

“I—” You cut yourself off so you could heave a sigh. Your breathing was finally starting to slow again. “Fine. Fine, can I at least call the school and pretend that I’m sick or something?”

“Yeah sure.” He waved a hand dismissively as he sat down next to you. You pulled out your phone to check the time. 6:50. You noted you had no new no new notifications. You did swipe away Sammy though. After Red Hood pulled you out of the party, she’d called and texted a bunch of times. You’d already replied to them and listened to her ranting about never disappearing on her like that again. You went to your contacts app and found their number, pressing the call button.

It rang for a couple seconds until Mrs Sharpay finally answered. “Gotham Prep, how may I help you?”

You pulled the phone away from your ear and cleared your throat before putting on your deepest voice. “Ah… yes, uh this is Bruce Wayne?”

“Mhm…” She sounded suspicious.

“Sorry, I’ve never done this before. I normally leave this stuff to Alfred, my butler. [Name], my 12th grader I believe, won’t be coming to school today, they’re sick.” You tried to play up some ditziness and cluelessness. Weaponizing the Brucie persona was something you’d never thought you’d do. You wondered if the Gotham Gossip magazines had any nicknames for you?

[Name]-ie maybe?

“Oh. I see.” Ms Sharpay started typing something, judging by the sound of the keyboard clacking. “Poor thing. I hope she gets be…” Your brain tuned out as Skillit slapped your arm and pointed to the sky.

“Look! It’s Shai!” He whisper-yelled, looking up. Your gaze followed. Skillit’s shadow, Shai, was floating through the air, eating a hotdog. It didn’t have a mouth so you honestly had no clue how I was eating. Skillit ran after it. You stared for a moment before realizing that you were about to leave him to wander Gotham alone, and ran after him. Ace leapt up to run too.

“…yne? Mr. Wayne!” Ms Sharpay yelled into the phone startling you.

“Sorry! Sorry, it’s just that my youngest ran off! I really have to go. Bye!”

“Wai—” You hung up on the poor woman and pocketed your phone as you watched the boy run ahead.

Shoot! Shoot! Shoot! You can’t loose Skillit in Gotham. He was literally powerless right now!

“Ace! Hunt that kid down!” You shouted at the dog who barked in response, running ahead of you. Both Ace and Skillit turned a corner. You hear an ‘oof’ and a whine from Ace. You sped up and turned the corner too.

No one better hurt your baby— babies. Why in the world do think of Skillit as your baby.

Instead of running into Skillit getting mugged or something by some no good thief, you literally ran into someone. Someones actually.

You toppled over onto Ace who was on top of Skillit who was on top of a blonde man in a trench coat.

Tim Drake - Red Robin POV

7:35am - Friday

Tim walked through the school doors with the blankest expression on his face. Why? Because it was school.

He didn’t want to enter but he had to, of course. He assumed today would be a regular school day. That was disproven by a simple sentence from the front desk lady. “Oh, Mr Drake! Pass along a hello to me for [Name], would you?”

Tim snorted and kept walking. “They’re probably already here.”

“Oh? But your father called them in sick.”

That one sentence. That one sentence is what made him pause. Why? Because Bruce doesn’t do that. “Really?” He turned to her.

“Mhm, I was talking to him all about [Name] but then his youngest ran off and he had to go catch the boy.” She sighed. When would that’ve happened? Tim doesn’t remember that happening at all today.

“I see. At what time exactly?” He asked, gears turning in his mind.

“Well, I don’t know exactly—” He cut the woman off rushing to the desk.

“Then check the call logs!” He tried his best not to yell. The front desk lady obviously didn’t like this and rose a manicured brow. Though, at least she did check them.

“6:51, Mr Drake. There.” She shooed him off to class after that. While walking, he pulled out his phone.

He needed to call you now.

God, his sibling might’ve been kidnapped. His sibling that has no form of self-defense training. His sibling that is not a vigilante.

Fuck.

He sent you a text first. It didn’t go through. Fuck. He sent another which also didn’t go through. Okay, he could always call you. He swiped out of your chat, just to stare at the wall. Fuck. His staring caused his thumb to accidentally hold down on your icon. The little bubble that popped up as a result caused his eyes to be drawn back to the screen.

Right, he needed to call y— wait a damn minute you’re blocked.

He squinted at his screen. In red was the word unblock under your icon. He blocked you? When did he do that? Wait, shit, was that why you weren’t answering?

He pressed the unblock button and sent another text.

Tim: Where are you? Sent at 7:41am

No answer. No immediate one anyways. At least you responded about twenty minutes later. He went to hole up in the bathroom to avoid hall monitors during the wait. Those 20 minutes were… horrible to say the least. His mind was thinking too much. Thinking about all your interactions, the first time you both met, etcetera.

Did he ever explain that behavior to you all those years ago? That behavior from when he first met you? Did you still think he gave you the cold shoulder? He’d remembered the day you confronted him about it.

(“I just don’t want to be friends with you, okay?” Tim said, trying his best to sound annoyed. You’d cornered him after school. He didn’t like that, but then again, he hadn’t liked anything recently going on with you both either. “You’re annoying.” He bit out. He was trying to hurt you, he’d known it. And he’d succeeded too.

He’d remembered the way you’d stared at him. As if that single sentence broke your heart into a million pieces. He watched your eyes water, he’d watched you sniffle, but you didn’t say anything. Instead, you’d just walked away.

He’d wished you’d yelled at him instead.)

A couple weeks before that day you’d both gotten along just fine. You’d both been friends. When Tim was first introduced to you, it’d been a little after he became Robin. He’d remembered ranting on and on for hours about photography and Batman and Robin. You’d ask questions about his hobbies, crack jokes, he’d always wanted an older sibling. Being an only child could get quite lonely. He’d thought it’d all been sincere too.

Then, it was one stupid comment at school that’d ruined that relationship. Tim doesn’t even remember what it was. All he knew was that it was something about his relationship with you. How you never really cared or how you were only humoring him. Something like that.

And well, when it came to certain things, Tim could be an extremely insecure boy.

So when he’d gotten home from school, he avoided you. Shied away. Hid. Not wanting to confront someone who’d actually thought he was annoying.

And he’d watched your heart break at that.

Every. Single. Time.

Until eventually, you’d gotten the hint. Left him alone. Stopped trying to mend something that required two instead of one to heal.

And oh how it’s eaten him up insi—

His phone dinged.

[Name]: School? Sent at 8:01am

Enough going down memory lane!

He swiveled a distant gaze away from a random tile on the bathroom floor and responded almost immediately.

Tim: Bullshit. The front desk lady said you were sick and that Bruce of all people called in to excuse you. Sent at 8:02am

Tim paused for a moment before adding:

Tim: Am I talking to a kidnapper? Sent at 8:02am

[Name]: No??? Sent at 8:02am

Tim: Prove it. Sent at 8:03am

[Name] or whoever it was using their phone didn’t respond for a bit.

[Name]: Can I FaceTime you? Sent at 8:05

Tim sent them a thumbs up and soon he got a call. It was of you walking, the camera giving him a view at an upwards angle.

“Hey, Tim.” You said moving the phone up so that it was now looking down at you. Was that…

“Is that Ace?” He asked exasperatedly. A bark could be heard from your end.

“Yeah, he says hi too.” You sounded so nonchalant.

Way too nonchalant for a kidnapping.

He squinted at his phone again, looking at your surroundings. From what he could see, you were somewhere on the sidewalk. Walking with Ace. Someone else was next to you. “Who’s else with you? Where are you? Why aren’t you at school?” He asked rapid fire questions.

“Uh… Well, there’s me, Ace, Ski… Sid. Sid, that’s his name. And this guy’s Mr Constantine.” You angled the phone towards Ace, this Sid kid and—

“Woah woah woah, what the hell?! Why are you with Constantine?!” Tim knew he sounded confused.

“Ah Well, we kind of dog piled on him on accident and now we’re taking him for breakfast… er lunch? Brunch. We’re going to a pizza place. Want me to bring you a slice if I make it back to school in time?”

“Uh… sure?” Tim replied hesitantly before shaking his head. “You didn’t answer my last question. Why aren’t you at school?” He asked slowly.

He doesn’t think he’s had an easy conversation like this with you in a while. Forgive him for being a little… unprepared. Though, honestly, you were acting like Dick. Super flippant about all this.

“Oh, I had to find something with Sid. Ace came along too for some reason.”

“So you skipped school…?” He asked slowly.

“Yeah. Called in and pretended to be Bruce.” You said as you stopped and pulled open a door. A bell chimed. It was probably the pizza place. The camera was back to looking at you from an upward angle. You looked down at it as you asked, “Don’t tell him please?”

“I… won’t. Promise.” Tim said numbly. He really didn’t know how to feel about this. You were a goody two shoes last he checked. You didn’t skip school. Then again, he hasn’t really known you for the past… what? Four years you’ve lived in the same house?

“Thanks!” You smiled at the camera. “Listen, I gotta go and order the pizza. The others are finding a table. What slice do you want?”

“The one with canadian bacon, onion, and artichoke hearts.” Tim said after a moment.

You paused your presumable walking to the counter to look at the camera. You wrinkled your nose, yet he could still see the smile on your face. “Ew. How about meat lovers? It has bacon.”

“That’s fine, but don’t disrespect the combo. It’s actually delicious. And I’m not a freak like Duke.” Tim said in defense. “He’s the one that likes pineapple.”

“Ew again. I’ll get him that. And Stephanie?”

“Anchovy.”

“You’re joking right?”

“Dead serious actually.”

You hung up after that with a laugh. Tim sat in that stall in silence for a little bit longer. So long that his ass grew stiff and he remembered he had class. That was when he got up.

Even then, he was stuck the rest of the day remembering how close you’d both been.

And he never even got that slice either.

Alfred Pennyworth - Agent A POV

6:42pm - Friday

Alfred was cleaning.

What? It was his job.

Though, he’d admit he was doing it slightly earlier than normal. Room cleanings were normally on Sundays, but he’d decided to spice things up a bit. He also wanted to free that day for playing some chess with Gordon in the park. No one needed to know that part though.

He was going through all the relatively easy rooms first. That meant he re-did Dick’s bed, dusted Jason’s bookshelves, and was now on his way to [Name]’s room. Now don’t get Alfred mistaken, sure he did the first two first, but yours by far, was always the tidiest and left him only to do small things. Such as a light dusting near your desk, and that was it.

At least… that was what he was expecting before he walked in.

He stared, dumbfounded at the sight. Clothes or strewn all about the room, some even over the ceiling fan. (When you change, you spin, so of course things go flying). There were so many shoe prints on your carpet, carrying the dirt and grime of Gotham with them. (You normally left your shoes on the shoe rack in your closet, the mask does not do that. It probably couldn’t even take off its shoes in the first place.) Specifically, the prints were mostly leading to your bathroom.

…what he found was worse.

There were a bunch of burn marks in the ceramic of your sink. (That was where you burnt the paper of Bruce stolen from the billboard. You didn’t know where else to burn it. The only reason the fire alarms didn’t go off was that as soon as you saw the smoke, you threw a towel over it, climbed on top of your sink, and made sure to disable the fire alarm, lest you wake everyone up.) A gun eerily similar to one of the Joker’s was hanging from one of the towel hooks. Your towel was on the other one.

When he bent down and opened the open the cabinet beneath your sink he found dozens upon dozens of bottles with Jarritos labels.

Was this the start of a new hoarding habit? Or did you simply become so questionable in the timespan of a week that this was something else entirely?

He slowly closed the cabinet and breathed a sigh. He stood and got to cleaning.

He spent nearly 30 minutes on the burn marks alone.

When he exited after about an hour, because all those things he mentioned before weren’t even the start of the strange nonsense you‘d been hiding, he decided to get to work on your bedroom.

Which… now that he saw the bathroom was suspiciously tame.

He placed the discarded clothes in a basket a basket, and got to vacuuming extensively. The shoe marks were mostly gone, but he’d likely have to bring in some more cleaning supplies. After that, he did your bed, which probably the cleanest thing there and finally stopped at your closet.

He took a breath and opened it.

Nothing.

Suspiciously nothing.

That is, until a dollar bill slowly floated down, curling in the air until rested on the ground.

Where did that come from?

He looked up. On top of a shelf was a weave basket. The bill must’ve slipped through the ga— was the basket tipping?

Alfred greeted with a face full of money as it fell directly onto his head. He felt the bills scatter down him, probably now all over the floor.

After standing perfectly still for a moment, the door opened.

“Ah… shoot.” Your voice. Perfect.

Alfred took the basket off his head the final few bills scattering away. There you were in the doorway accompanied by Ace and a little boy.

“Alfred, I can explain—”

“Please do.”

He watched you fumble for words. “…I won the lottery?”

Not only did you probably get this money through incriminating means, but you were lying to him too? “You don’t seem so sure of yourself— also, who’s that boy?” The child, pouting, stomped over to your bed and crawled under the covers. Ace hopped on the bed and curled around his form, wagging tail calming.

“Ignore him. And— uh, okay I didn’t get it from a lottery.” You mumbled, eyes trailing to the side as you probably thought up another excuse.

Before you could say another word, Alfred stepped closer. “[Name] are you safe?” He asked, placing his hands on your shoulders. You jolted and still looked away from him.

“Yes. I am.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m not in danger or anything.” You said quickly.

“Then why…?” Alfred tilted his head towards the pile of money on your carpet. “Are you gang affiliated now?”

“No?!” You sounded appalled at the thought.

“You stole this on your own then?” Alfred asked, hands tightening on your shoulders.

“I— yes.” You sighed, sounding resigned.

Alfred stared. What had happened to this child? You were a good one. One to never steal or lie… yet here you were proving him wrong. His hands started feeling your head. “Did you hit your head recently?”

“What?”

“Did you. Hit your. Head. Recently.”

“No?” You sounded concerned now.

“Then has anything else like that happened?”

“Not really.” You stepped back, now standing in the hallway. “I mean, I fell into the harbor on Sunday, but—”

“You fell into Gotham Harbor?” He stepped closer again. “How?”

“I was sitting at the docks.” You quickly said. He knew he was backing you into a wall.

He didn’t care.

“Wha— when were you at the docks?!” He didn’t remember driving you.

“I don’t remember, okay? I— It was night though.” You looked away from him again. He could tell you felt guilty. You should be. Wandering Gotham at God knows what hour, falling into Gotham Harbor, that cesspool? You should know better.

Part of your words made him pause though. “Last Sunday night there was a storm. I know that for a fact because lightning struck a patch of grass near the barn.”

You were silent. That told him everything he needed to know.

“How did you not drown?!”

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?! You could’ve nearly died in waters like tha—” Alfred was cut off by the sound of his batphone ringing. He was needed in the cave. This early though? He pulled it out and looked between both hit and you.“We’ll be discussing this later. With your father.”

That made your eyes widen. “What, no! He doesn’t need to know anything about this.” Your hand reached out to stop him. A stern look had that hand stopping.

“End of discussion.”

Extra Info:

1.) Duke as the Signal saw the entire run to the bus stop and the hopping over the car. He took a video and sent it to the BatChat before going to apprehend Condiment King.

Steph: Got a future Robin up in here 🙏 Sent at 6:37am

Bruce: Duke, please help them. Sent at 6:37am

Babs: Now that I think about it, B, why didn’t you make [Name] a Robin? Sent at 6:38am

Bruce: Tim came along. Sent at 6:39am

Tim: I’m the reason [Name] wasn’t ever a Robin?? Sent at 6:39am

Bruce: Yes? I’m surprised you didn’t know. Sent at 6:44am

2.) You are not in the group chat if you can’t tell by the timestamps of when these messages were sent and how you remark about not having any new messages around 6:50. They forgot to add you, they just assume you’re like Jason and only look at the chat and barely, in your case never, respond. 3.) I for some reason, cried while writing the Tim background??? 😭 it’s not even that bad 4.) Constantine a bit from after you all ate pizza together:

John smoothed out his coat. Free food on another’s dime. Not a bad way to make up for losing the shadow thief. He’d been chasing it before he ran into those children.

Now, to find the bloody bastard.

All three of you guys left in search of Shai the Shadow once more.

5.) Alfred did not find your mask because it was inside of one of your nightstand drawers instead of on top of it.

Taglist: @yourtypicalhuman09 @cupid73 @yhin-gg @galaxypurplerose @xxgrimripp3rxx @hai-there-how-are-you @suckmyballzfr @yarn-mony @patatasolitaria @deathbynarcisstick @depressed--therapist @eyeless-kun @mary-jinx @natllo @d4rkf10w3er @mintynilla @whognuthis @bat1212 @blapbloep @vanessa-boo @randomlyappearingartist @otakusimp1 @iansimpsforeveryone @like-thechocolate @cruzerforce4256 @sirenetheblogger @mrmacwaffles @p1nkh3artz @23xfgg @venomsvi @ceramic-raven @conqcakes @flightless-magpie @numbu5 @moon0goddess @itsberrydreemurstuff @inyourmomsbussy @mybones537 @cleverruinsobject

[clockwayswrites]

A Hill to Die On, Ch 5, P 1

masterpost (this is a first draft, please no editing or concrit <3 my brain is very fatigued and migraine is looming)

It was only because there was no one else in the apartment that Caroline let herself pace. Well, no one than the other people who shared the body with her. Apparently Dick had managed to invite all the girls. Cassandra, Stephanie, and Barbara were all coming along on the shopping trip with her and Dick.

Dick had said that he’d spoken with them each about, well, her and Alvin existing, but she didn’t find that as reassuring as she hoped that it might be. She trusted Dick about the fact that he did talk to each of them, but she found, shamefully, that she didn’t exactly trust Dick not to be taking the reactions at their very best. There was a big gap between not minding her existence and really accepting it. She wasn’t sure where the girls fell in that spectrum.

Tim was trying to reassure her, which was weird. Because, she could tell that Tim was nervous and uncertain as well. There were a lot of reasons that Tim had never really accepted what she and Alvin were and several of those reasons were the Bats and Birds.

He couldn’t lose any of them.

She couldn’t either.

The ringing of the doorbell scattered her thoughts.

Caroline pulled on the strings of her (Tim’s? Too big. Jason’s?) hoodie and pushed her shoulders back. It was okay. She could do this. If they hated her, she’d just make sure not to be around them again. That should be easy enough with three people in the body.

She glanced at the screen by the door, safety first and all that, before opening it to the gaggle of girls.

Well, girls and Dick who honestly blended in very well.

“Who did your make up?” Caroline asked.

“Team effort,” Dick answered with a grin.

Caroline gave a little snort before she forced herself to actually look at the other. “Hi, I’m Caroline. I’d say nice to meet you, but.”

“Have we all actually met you?” Stephanie asked as she pushed through the group some to lean forward.

Barbara just rolled her eyes and her wheelchair both, causing Stephanie to lose her balance and almost toppled.

“Rude,” Stephanie huffed, but followed the others inside.

“You have, at least in some way,” Caroline answered as she brushed some of her hair behind an ear. She had put in the dangly star earrings that Danny had gotten her. They were a small comfort within all of the uncertainty of the day. “I’m pretty much who fronts at galas, but this is the most… me I’ve been around some of you.”

“And you never wanted to say hello?” Barbara asked.

Of course it had to be Barbara who had to ask. She was one of Caroline’s inspirations as both the original Batgirl but also as Oracle. Caroline sat lightly on the arm of the couch, since it seemed they were settling in to talk first. “Of course I did. But… we didn’t really acknowledge ourselves as different people exactly for the longest, even if the truth was in the back of our mind. I think Tim would have stopped me. And even if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have risked that for him.”

“Risked… being you?” Cass asked as she took a seat and folded her legs under herself.

Caroline smiled sadly. “Risk point out how not normal we are.”

“Okay, but Tim—Fuck! Caroline,” Stephanie corrected herself with a grimace. Caroline tried not to mind the slip. “But Caroline, we have never thought Tim was normal. I knew that from the moment I thew a brick at his face.”

“You two have the weirdest relationship,” Caroline said.

“Yeah we do! Dude was my lamaze partner,” she said proudly. Then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Or fuck, wait, was that actually Alvin?! Have I met Alvin?”

“Pretty much.”

“Yes!” Steph threw her arms up and collapsed onto the couch. “I’ve met all three. Suck it, losers!”

Caroline couldn’t help but laugh softly at that. “Well, so has Dick and maybe Babara.”

“Oh,” Cass said. “That laugh. Heard that laugh before. That is your laugh.”

The wounder with which Cass said it made Caroline want to hide away (or at least blush). (She was pretty sure that she was blushing.) “Oh, yes, I suppose it is.”

“Like it,” Cass said.

Caroline found herself relaxing a little at the certainty that Cass was approaching her with. “Thanks. Our psychiatrist thinks that the more I have… permission to be myself, that the more those differences will come. It’s a little hard though, because all of us are used to being chameleons.”

“Which is part of the reason for this shopping trip!” Dick said. He stepped forward and draped an arm over her shoulder. Caroline let herself lean back into the touch. “We’re going to make sure that Caroline gets new clothing that fits and is all her’s and some decor stuff that she likes.”

“Well, Tim might steal some of the clothing,” Caroline said. “I think I’m a good excuse for him to explore that side of himself. But I really do need clothing that fits.”

“Outfits are something that help you a lot? To feel more you, I mean,” Barbara asked.

Caroline nodded. “Make up and hair styling too. I really like that our hair is longer now so that I don’t have to wear a wig to feel like me.”

“I like how you style it,” Stephanie said. “It looks so different from Tim’s.”

“That’s because Tim is lazy and doesn’t put any product in it,” Caroline said. “But thank you, Stephanie.”

“Stephanie?” she asked, nose scrunched up in offense. “Dude, no, Steph. It’s not like we don’t already know each other! I know we still have to get to know each other better but, like, we can start off as friends, right?”

“And family,” Cass said.

“You had better call me Babs.”

Dick squeezed her shoulder. Maybe he had done a good job talking to them after all.

Caroline ducked her head, embarrassed by how fond she was feeling about all of them right then. “Friends and family then. I like that.”

[stove-top96]

Wicked Game

Ch. 03

Y Batfam x Gn Reader

Featuring Platonic: Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Stephanie Brown, Cassandra Cain, Tim Drake, Damian Al-Ghul Wayne

2.6k words

Ch. 02 <- Ch. 03 -> Ch. 04

Class schedule

1st period - Art

2nd period - Maths

12:00 - 1:00 Lunch

3rd period - Biology

4th period - English

3:50 Dismissal

4:00 - 6:00 - Basketball practice.

“You know they’re gonna flip when they wake up,” Dick muttered, arms crossed as he stared down at your limp body.

You looked peaceful for once. That constant tension in your shoulders had finally eased, the nervous twitch in your fingers stilled. Even that crease between your brows—the one that would show up whenever you were thinking too hard or worrying too much—had softened. Sleep smoothed over all the sharp edges life had carved into you.

“They’ll understand eventually,” Bruce said, dismissive but gentle, his voice quieter now.

He reached out, brushing a few strands of hair from your face with a touch far softer than anyone would expect from Batman. Moments like this were rare—when he could just be a father, taking care of his kid.

Without a word, he lifted you from the desk you’d passed out on, cradling you like something fragile. The rest of the family fell into step behind him as he carried you to the Batcave.

"You sure they won’t notice?" Steph asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She lingered near your side, eyes flicking from your face to your arm, then back again.

“There may be some discomfort,” Damian replied coolly, “but it’ll fade. They won’t even realize it’s there.”

His confidence was unsettling—but it worked. Steph nodded and stepped back.

You’d been running yourself ragged for weeks—missing meals, taking late night shifts, throwing yourself headfirst into practice after practice. It hadn’t gone unnoticed. They were worried. Terrified, even. Gotham was dangerous and they couldn’t protect you if they didn’t know where you were.

So they decided to make sure they always would.

In the Medbay, Bruce laid you down gently on the table. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. You looked so small there, so still. Alfred was the first to break the silence, rolling in a tray of neatly arranged medical instruments.

He cleaned your forearm methodically, the antiseptic smell sharp in the air. The needle was thin, almost invisible. It wouldn’t scar.

As he inserted the tracker beneath your skin, the family watched in silence. A mix of relief and guilt weighed heavy on the room.

They weren’t taking your freedom. Not really. They weren’t locking you in, or chaining you down. For now they’re making sure you were never completely out of reach.

It was the only compromise they could live with, for now.

Once the procedure was done, Bruce carried you again—this time to one of the manor’s guest rooms. He laid you in bed, pulling the covers up with surprising tenderness. He lingered for a second longer than he meant to, brushing his fingers across your temple.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispered.

—————

Jason knew life wasn’t fair.

He was born into the world already losing, already clawing just to stay above the surface.

So maybe that’s why it was almost funny—in a cosmic, messed-up kind of way—that he’s the only one you haven’t met.

Jason Todd. Bruce’s second son. The one who died.

If you’d seen him tonight, you probably would’ve screamed. Or passed out. Or just left Gotham entirely.

And yet, it still doesn’t feel fair.

He should get to meet you. Know you. Love you.

He deserves that much.

With a sigh, he rakes a hand through his hair, the strands curling under his fingers. He pulls on his jacket, straps his gear in place. The routine helps. Keeps him grounded.

The guns are loaded. The helmet’s clean.

His phone buzzes.

A message from Dick.

<Dick>

it’s done.

Jason stares at it for a moment. Then opens the app.

A single, pulsing red dot glows softly on the screen—your location.

The manor. Safe.

His lips curve into a smile.

You’ll probably never understand why they have to do this. Why it has to be this way.

But that’s okay.

Jason has a different plan—his plan. One the others don’t know about. One that won’t hurt you if you ever find out.

One that keeps you close.

—

The warehouse near the coast was cold, damp, and smelled like rust and salt. Penguin was rumored to be getting another shipment in tonight.

Another bust. Another patrol.

But for Jason, it felt different.

Worse.

There was a brightness to the team tonight. A lightness in the way they moved, spoke, even fought.

Even Bruce and Damian seemed lighter.

It wasn’t hard to figure out why.

They’d spent time with you. You all Shared dinner, talked, and spent time together.

Jason’s nails dug into his palms, teeth clenched behind his helmet. He didn’t realize how tightly he was holding his fists until a familiar voice snapped him out of it.

“Oh—they were so nervous,” Dick said with a laugh. “It was adorable.”

Jason’s jaw tensed.

“Is that so?” His modulated voice came out low, hiding his frustration.

“They appeared stressed,” Damian added casually, “but with a few more meals, they will grow comfortable.”

Jason wanted to shove Damian into the nearest crate.

Their voices were like nails on a chalkboard.

Why was he stuck on patrol with them tonight?

“You should’ve seen them, Jason,” Dick added, voice all too smug. “You’d have melted.”

That was it.

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

The roar of engines echoed through the warehouse walls—Penguin’s men were arriving.

Before Dick or Damian could say another word, Jason launched himself forward.

No plan. No warning. Just rage.

Guns disarmed. Bones broken. Metal clashed and bodies dropped.

Jason tore through them like a storm.

By the time the last thug hit the floor, his chest was heaving, breaths sharp and uneven.

He stood over Penguin, battered and unconscious, fists still clenched at his sides.

Behind him, footsteps.

“Temper much?” Damian drawled, cocky as ever. “You better get that under control before you see Y/N.”

Jason didn’t turn around.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared down at the man on the ground, eyes burning behind his helmet.

It’s not fair.

They got dinners, conversations, memories.

And him?

Nothing.

But they didn’t know everything.

Jason just remembered his plan. A way in they hadn’t seen.

Soon, he thought, as a slow smile tugged at his lips.

Soon, he’ll be closer to you than any of them.

—————

Your eyes flutter open, still fuzzy from sleep. Exhausted from your late night, you instinctively roll over to go back to sleep.

But something’s wrong.

This isn’t your room.

Your blood grows cold, then panic races through your chest.

You rip the sheets off and scramble to your feet, but white dots cloud your vision. You collapse to your knees before you can even reach the door.

Your head pounds, each beat like a hammer inside your skull.

You try to lift a hand to your temple—but you can’t. Your arm feels like it's on fire.

The door slams open, but you barely register it. Tears blur your vision as you cradle your useless arm.

Someone's hands grab your shoulders.

You flinch, looking up—

Dick. Kneeling in front of you, blue eyes full of something like concern.

Damian looms in the doorway, arms crossed, watching you.

"Y/N, are you alright?" Dick asks softly, voice laced with concern. He holds your gaze, waiting.

You look between him, Damian, and your arm. It doesn’t look broken, but the pain is unbearable.

"I—w-why am I here?" you choke out.

Dick smiles. Calm. Reassuring. Too perfect.

"You fell asleep at Tim’s desk," he says, voice smooth. "We tried to wake you, but you wouldn't budge. So we moved you to the guest room."

You want to believe him.

God, you want to.

But you know you would never fall asleep here. Not with them.

"...No..." you whisper. Tears stream down your face.

"No?" Damian's voice snaps like a whip. He steps forward, anger flashing in his eyes.

Dick shoots him a sharp glare, silently telling him to back off.

"I wouldn’t do that," you sniffle, meeting Dick’s gaze.

He just smiles again. That boyish smile.

"Then you must’ve been really tired," he chuckles.

Liar.

"Then why do I hurt so much?" you mutter, voice shaking with anger.

Dick freezes—only for half a second—before smoothing his expression again.

"What do you mean?" he asks, dripping with concern.

"My arm," you grit out. Tears blur your vision again. "Why can’t I move my arm?"

Dick blinks, looking almost genuinely puzzled.

"I have no idea. Maybe you hurt it during your game yesterday?"

You stand, backing toward the bed. Every instinct in you screams run.

"Why did I just pass out at Tim’s desk and wake up in agony?" you hiss.

Tim got your number without permission.

He lied to you.

They fed you and 45 minutes later you just conveniently passed out.

There’s no way any of that is a coincidence?

"How are we supposed to know?" Damian snaps, stepping up beside Dick. His glare sharpens, like he’s offended you’re questioning them.

"What did you do?" you hiss, backing up another step. Your hand fumbles on the nightstand until you find your phone, quickly shoving it into your pocket.

"We didn’t do anything," Dick insists, still with that fake calm. "You’re overthinking this."

"Then how did Tim get my number?" you shout, voice cracking.

Dick opens his mouth, but you cut him off.

"I know he didn’t get it from Brandi. He lied to me."

They freeze.

Share a glance.

You don’t miss it.

Caught.

"What was that?" you shout, pointing at them. "I know you did something!"

"I’m going home."

You shove past them, but Damian’s hand shoots out—gripping your wrist.

Pain explodes up your arm.

You scream, jerking back. Damian’s eyes widen as he instantly lets go, staring at his hand like he can't believe he hurt you.

You don’t wait. You run.

Dick calls after you:

"It’s okay, Y/N! I’m sure if you just let Tim explain—!"

You don’t care.

You don’t need an explanation.

You just need to get the hell out.

Twisting and turning through the endless halls of Wayne Manor, you pray you don’t run into anyone else.

Somehow, you make it to the front door.

You slip on your shoes with one hand, heart hammering, and bolt.

It’s still only 10:00 a.m. You’ll have the whole day to hide. To think. To breathe.

The subway ride is a paranoid blur—you keep glancing over your shoulder, half-expecting to see one of the Waynes stalking you.

But no one follows.

When you get home, you barely make it to your bed before collapsing, curling into yourself, trying to sleep off the pain and the fear.

Trying to pretend today never happened.

—————

You wake up to the screeching of your alarm. With a sigh you roll over and shut it off.

You dreaded going to school today, the thought of seeing Tim again made you sick. Your arm throbbed, your eyes stung from crying, and your stomach felt ill. but you couldn’t afford to miss a class.

You wonder if the GCPD found Tim’s attackers yet, you silently prayed they didn’t.

With a grown you got out of bed and haphazardly got ready for school.

Looking in the mirror your eyes were so puffy from crying all weekend and your hair was a mess. You splash cold water on your face hoping to ease the swelling, and run a brush through your hair to somewhat reduce your rats' nests. As you finish up the rest of your morning routine you glance at yourself in the mirror— still a mess.

You skipped breakfast today, you haven't been able to keep much food down this weekend.

The subway to school is agonizing. All you are able to think about is bio class, and what will happen when you see Tim again.

You just focus on your breathing the whole ride to school. You don’t have to see Tim tell 1 O'clock today, until then you’ll just have to manage.

Your first two classes fly by, it’s only until Mr Snyder hands you back your Math test.

See me after class. Written in bright red sharpie.

you groan and sink back into your chair.

You were so sure you nailed that test.

You spent the rest of class numb, staring at the clock until it finally rang.

Dragging your feet to Mr. Snyder’s desk, you kept your eyes glued to the floor.

“You wanted to see me?”

He gave you a look full of pity you didn’t want.

“Y/N… I know math isn’t for everyone, but after last week’s test, you’re sitting at a 53. You need at least a 65 to keep your scholarship spot.”

The words barely registered.

Basketball was everything.

Without it, you had nothing keeping you here. Nothing at all.

“You have four weeks to raise it,” he added gently. “Plenty of time.”

You nodded numbly.

Maybe Brandi could help. Maybe you could pull it off.

You had to.

”thank you” you mumble before making your way to Lunch.

Lunch with Brandi flys by, it’s clear she wanted to know all about your time at The Wayne Manor, not noticing the way you stifinined when the topic was brought up. You kept your answers short and vague, avoiding most details.

Brandi had enough stress in her life. And although you two were friends your friendship was still fresh— you’ve only known her for a few weeks, you didn’t want to scare her.

Besides, would she even believe you if you told her? Would anyone?

That’s probably what they wanted, to continue to torment you and have no one believe it.

Did they enjoy tormenting people? Making their lives miserable? Especially when there was a clear power dynamic?

The thought made you shiver.

Before you could think about it for too long the warning bell rang. You froze. Biology was next. You would have to see him.

As you slowly stumbled over to your class you grew more and more nauseous, your legs felt like led, and your bag became heavier. As you rounded the corner and stepped through the door you saw him.

Tim Drake.

He glanced up from his phone and smiled directly at you. His smile was like any other smile you’d give your friend. It was so casual, so normal, it was like Saturday never happened.

You were going to be sick.

You turned around and rushed to the bathroom as fast as you could and emptied your stomach.

After flushing the toilet and rinsing your mouth out you stared at yourself in the mirror.

What do you do?

Mrs. Young hasn’t seen you yet, you could just go home, email coach saying you're sick.

Nodding to yourself in the mirror, you grabbed your bag and left.

The ride home was much more relaxing than the one to school. You emailed coach saying you were sick and would see him tomorrow, before plugging in your headphones and listening to music the rest of the way home.

When you got to your building, you noticed cardboard boxes littering the hallway.

Someone was moving in.

You snorted to yourself. Who the hell would choose to live here?

You made it to your door just as a man lugged another box toward the unit next to yours.

He caught your eye and smiled.

“I’m Jason Smith,” he said.

Something about his smile made your skin crawl. Like he knew something you didn’t.

But you forced a polite nod. No reason to be rude.

“Cool. I’m Y/N. See you around.”

You turned to unlock your door, feeling his eyes linger on you just a little too long.

He chuckled under his breath.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Looking forward to it.”

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Hey y’all I’m back. I had to get surgery from when I broke my wrist snowboarding and I applied to so many scholarships for collage, I also got diagnosed with dyslexia and dyscalculia which kinda hindered my motivation to write but than I got over it cause I love writing so much, plus i had like 3 drafts that somehow got deleted, i lost a request from an anon which sucks. But I’ve outsourced, now I’m writing on docs than just copy and pasting it. I dont wanna make promises about when I’ll be posting but it should be a lot more frequent now!! Also some of the tags dont work so y’all might have to fix that in your settings.

If y’all have any one shot ideas please lmk I need more inspo!!!

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 16

Hi! Ch 17 is done and will refocus back on Batsis 🙃idk when ch 18 will be done because I feel like I'll rewrite a lot of it over and over again until I either like it or get tired of it :))) so, ENJOY!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 16 >>next

Jason was the first to walk into your room. Not like he hasn’t memorized every little detail. He enjoyed sneaking in to look at your drawings, seeing what he had missed while he was dead, the trinkets you had. Unlike the others who were afraid to touch stuff, to even look around, he walked around like he owned the place. And then his foot fully broke through the already brittle floorboard you broke.

The crime lord pulled his foot out, cussing and swatting away at Bruce’s worried words and helping hand. “Huh.” Jason furrowed his brows, crouching and pulling out two shoe boxes and a few dusty drawings. “Never saw these.” He said while sitting down with one box, the drawings were quickly snatched by Damian and the other box was opened by Duke, everyone taking a journal from it.

Jason’s box was full of sketchbooks and newspaper clippings of her achievements. These sketchbooks seemed to be focused on the family and their bat counterparts. He snorts at a drawing of a Robin where you wrote “Booty shorts are a terrible choice for fighting crime” immediately showing it to Dick. “That’s your robin.” The acrobat mutters, pouting. “What?!” Jason pulls the sketchbook back to squint at it. “Nuh-uh! And even if it was, it’s still your fault! I was trying to imitate and impress you.”

Dick in any other situation would have teased him for the slip, but he couldn’t. He remembers how angry he was at being essentially fired and replaced, not for being unable to continue, but because Bruce felt guilt at how close Dick was to death. And then Jason came, and then he died. Dick remembers how mean he was to both Jason and you, just because he was afraid. Afraid of getting attached, afraid of letting someone in just for them to end up like his parents, and afraid of being replaced and brushed off.

But that’s what he did to you. He and Jason learned to get along, but to you, he was still distant, he brushed you off despite how he was afraid of that happening to him. He remembers always glancing over his shoulder at you after finding an excuse to not interact with you and how it always hurt seeing how sad and defeated you looked, how one day you just stopped even acknowledging him unless he talked to you.

The journals didn’t help his guilt. “I always wanted a big brother. Richard doesn’t seem to like me, but he has started getting along with Jason. I think it’s because I’m a girl and Jason is into gymnastics like him. Maybe he'll spare me some glances if I show interest in that too.” Ignoring how many times you misspelled gymnastics, his fingers traced the words a few rows below simply stating that he refused and yelled at you for getting in the way.

Stephanie and Duke were raking the little books for a mention of them besides “Bruce took in another kid.” They both felt guilty for not trying to get to know you, but while Duke was fixated on him being older and knowing he should have tried, Stephanie thought it was weird how you didn’t come to either. You were still a kid, still young, still curious- so why didn’t you go out of your way to greet them to get to know them, even Damian asked them questions. “Stephanie and Duke do seem nice, friendly. But so did the others. It’ll be another rejection.” Oh- you had given up trying to fit in their lives by then.

Cassandra felt a lot of emotions, sadness mainly. She didn’t mean to come off as rude and mean, like she didn’t care because she did. She cared. She still does- it’s just the anxiety you displayed, the sadness that slipped through- she didn’t know how to deal with it, it was overwhelming to her, so she ran, hid, and watched you from the shadows. Cassandra loved watching you paint and take care of the garden, it was her favorite activity. She handed the diary she finished to Bruce. She has many regrets, but this one she’ll fight to fix.

Barbara and Tim didn’t want to read what you had to say about them, they knew. So, they stuck to Alfred to see the many trophies you had. They brushed you off, brushed off anything you tried to do to impress them, Tim going the extra mile by belittling you. Barbara wasn’t present much, she wasn’t Bruce’s kid. But Tim, like the other, was. He saw how heartbroken you were when they’d have family nights and nobody bothered inviting you, how after Cassandra came and they welcomed her with open arms you just stopped bothering, ignoring everyone, doing your own thing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t fight for you, he saw everyone ignore and brush you off, so he did the same, finding you annoying for no other reason than you simply existed. You existed and were the only person he could be mean with without anyone saying anything. The only person he could express his anger on. Tim cringed at the memories. You were just a child.

Alfred knew he mostly gave you attention out of pity rather than a pure need to take care of a kid who needed reassurance and love. His loyalty and care stood with Bruce, first and foremost- and yet it hurt to see himself through your eyes. Cold, only doing his job, just another shadow, were some of the words you used. He couldn’t read more, it reminded him too much of the words he used to refer to his own father once upon a time, so he carried on with cleaning. His hands shook as he wiped medals, trophies, shelves, dusty paintings, anything he could.

“Why are the science and sports medals hidden behind the others? They’re still first place.”  Tim couldn’t help but mutter out loud. “She didn’t do those because she liked or wanted to. She won those to impress us, specifically, you two.” Jason muttered as his eyes skimmed through the diary in his hand, skipping things about him. He changed, he isn’t running after Dick anymore, there’s no need for him to read what he knows he messed up. You already told him, anyway.

Damian is honestly happy you left before he came to the manor. Seeing the drawing for more than just lines, the subtle way you drew hints that the family were barely strangers to you, always in their shadows, their back always turned to you, their faces always devoid of features, just blank voids- he knew what you were trying to depict, he saw the anger and sadness and despair in every stroke. To him, these were as good as words written in your diaries. He is happy because he didn’t want to see how you would have drawn him, what kind of feeling you’d attribute to him because he knew he wouldn’t have been kind. Damian would have seen you as a threat, an obstacle to his place as the rightful heir. He would have been mean, throwing insults, he would have tried to kill you. He also knows better now, they have lost their chance, he was sure of it, but not him.

Bruce had been clutching the same journal for a while, his eyes unable to leave the little throwaway comment in a long paragraph. “Officer Gordon lied to me. He lied when he said Bruce Wayne is my father, he lied when he said Bruce would love me.” He’s been afraid to see more, but what else could he do? He wasn’t stupid. Emotionally constipated, sure, but he knew his indifference and coldness hurt you, especially at a time when he knew all you needed was warmth and hugs, but he was so scared of the whispers in the back of his head. He was sure keeping his distance would have kept you safer than him being close to you.

His eyes continued reading, and reading, and reading, until he couldn’t anymore, the tears making everything too blurry for him to make out. The younger you blamed herself, deemed herself inadequate for his love and attention, but as you grew you realized that you’re not to blame, you were the child, and he was the adult. “He’s supposed to be my dad but he doesn’t even act like my legal guardian. If it wasn’t for him being a public figure, I would have forgotten how he looks.” And “He publicly recognized everyone else. Everyone but me. Is he so ashamed of me that he just wants me to rot locked away in this hell he calls home?” just kept flashing in his mind as he buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was relieved that he didn’t remember how you sounded... He just cries harder at the traitorous thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and you know, getting used to the dorms and all of that.” Mark shrugs. Before you could tell Debbie about your day, you covered your mouth, sneezing into your elbow. “Bless you.” Debbie and Mark said after your third sneeze in a row. “Thank you. That was weird.” You hummed while sending Jason a text to stop talking about you. Lately, superstitions have grabbed a hold of you. “Um, anyway- I spent my day like usual, helping around, uh, spent quite a long time at the altar meditating- John taught me how to summon stuff.”

Your smile matched Debbie’s once she complimented you for doing so much in one day, chest puffing at her attention. Your eyes went back to your phone only when the conversation changed, being met with two photos, one of Bruce curled on your bed, clutching one of your plushies to his chest while reading and crying, the second was of Dick in a similar state, but on the ground clutching at your drawing and paintings. “Couldn’t catch the others.” Jay texted after. You cringed and swiped your thumb to text back. “Fuck that’s pathetic. Weirdos. Tell Bruce to stop touching my plushies.”

Your brows furrowed, your other hand immediately zooming in on the picture of the man. “That mother- mmm.” You stopped before you could cuss, texting the crime lord again. “And stop reading my shit! They’re supposed to be private!!!” Jason didn’t respond back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Damian’s eyes tracked over every single letter his mother wrote, memorizing every word, every phrase, skipping over her displeasure with how his father had treated you, over her questions on how the man had been treating him.

From how effortlessly his mother deemed that his sister had moved cars, buildings, and people, to how Talia had called her a lovely young woman but starved for praise and love, mentions of her lip trembling at the genuine compliment Talia had given to how willing his sister was to help with even mundane stuff such as carrying bags for the elderly- he took it all in.  

He memorized everything and then let the letters about the few days Talia had observed you go through the flame of the little candle he had lit, the fire slowly eating the paper as he set it in a tray. His eyes moved to the papers branded with Gotham High’s emblem. Damian doesn’t need the letters, not when he’ll crawl his way into your life soon enough.

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[roguestorm]

Batgirl (2000) #28 // Batgirls (2022) #3