#dami has just left the league of assassins and has to learn how to get along w them

[evasive-anon]

Jason was having a pretty OK time with the league of assassins, sure getting dunked in a lazarus pit sucked and Bruce turned out to be a scumbag who didn't care about him, but at least he isn't dead. He even liked most of the new skills he was learning there so on the whole being with the league seemed like a pretty good deal to him until Talia woke him up in the middle of the night and left him alone with two child assassins.

Or, a demon twins AU where when Talia realizes her father intends to have her boys fight to the death takes action first by deciding to take all her kids and leave the league. Talia either dies or is separated from them in the initial escape and now Jason just has a bag of supplies and a letter from Talia explaining the plan to get to Gotham. Jason has to get himself and two 7 year olds out of the Himalayas, across a desert, and over 12k miles to Gotham. Only now the league members hunting them down want them dead or worse and Jason isn't too confident that B will accept them given their kill counts.

Featuring:

Good Mom Talia. she loves her kids. Did she teach them to kill? Sure, but that's an important life skill.

Single Teen Mom Jason. He's the oldest and in charge but he also will not answer any questions about The Plan™ given he isn't committed to Talia's but also doesn't have a set alternative. Oscillates between looking forward to just dumping his new little brothers with Bruce so they'll be his problem and thinking of just moving somewhere random in the US and keeping them based entirely on how cute vs annoying they are at that time. Didn't realize how much he relied on Talia to help him with things until she is gone. He's really trying his best but he wasn't all that emotionally stable before this so hang in there.

Angry Smol Dami. He's still drinking the LoS punch and really dislikes that he is now considered a traitor. Can't stand that Jason won't answer any of his very relevant questions. Is actually very scared but will not show it. Misses his mom. Didn't even know he had siblings until his mom yoinked him out of bed that night and brought him to Jason and Danny and started all this. Physically the stronger twin. Thinks Danny is dragging them down in fights and also may blame him a bit because clearly his mother only did all this to spare him.

Danny, reincarnated with limited access to his memories and powers. Has been trying to keep his powers a secret. Talia knew about them but never told anyone but she may have hinted at it in her letter to Jason. Not the strongest physically but very good at stealth and social interactions. Didn't know he had and older brother or twin before Jason woke him up at Talia's instruction that night. Thinks Damian is mean and has faith Jason knows what he's doing even if that is very much untrue.

[hood-ex]

Prey to Sentiment

Read on AO3

Batbro Ages:

Dick: 20 Jason: 17 Tim: 13 Damian: 10

The sound of music was the first thing Damian noticed when the passage to the batcave opened. It was an upbeat tune that seemed to pound through the rock and limestone interior of the place. It was so jarringly loud compared to the rest of the manor that he found himself tuning into the lyrics without consciously choosing to. To his confusion, it seemed to be a song about a woman named Rio who enjoyed dancing on the sand.

Damian wanted to plug his ears with cotton to drown out the offending sound, but more than anything, he wanted to know who was blasting music in the cave. Surely his father did not listen to such garbage, nor did he allow it to play while he was working. Within the week Damian had gotten to observe his father, he knew that the man was nearly always silent. Bruce Wayne ate in silence, read in silence, exercised in silence, and patrolled in silence. It only made sense that his workspace would retain his preference for silence as well.

So no, it would be completely out of character for his father to play music in the batcave, which meant that someone else had been down here earlier. Judging by the sudden tenseness in his father’s shoulders, Damian could only guess that the culprit was still lurking around.

The only people Damian could imagine would be down here would be his father’s caped associates. That insufferable alien called Superman or possibly the blabbermouth speedster. Unless… his father was testing him and was planning to have him attacked as some kind of training exercise. Even though it was unlikely, Damian kept his eyes peeled for any sense of danger.

“There are some people I want to introduce you to,” Father said. He began to descend down the staircase, his feet making no sound. Damian followed suit and resisted the temptation to cross his arms over his chest. If there was someone threat worthy down here, he’d rather his hands be free to grab the knife tucked in his pants. He did allow a small scrunch of his nose since there was an unpleasant earthy smell in the cave mixed with a sharp saltiness that Damian couldn’t place.

He scanned beyond his view of his father’s backside and noticed that there was something different about the lowest level of the batcave. Typically, that was the section of the cave where his father kept his jet skis, ski boat, and the submarine. When Damian saw the cave for the first time a week ago, he had briefly looked down and saw that there was just enough seawater inside the cave to keep the vessels afloat. There had also been a large door at the entrance of the lower level that blocked off more ocean water from coming in, though it was obviously more of a device to keep people from entering the cave. The door had been locked tight before, but now it was completely wide open, allowing ocean water to slosh gently against the lower walls of the cave. The saltiness he had detected moments ago made sense now.

“Are you planning on going fishing?” Damian asked. He ended up crossing his arms anyways, hip cocked toward the support of the ridged wall. His father continued heading towards the lower level platform. The platform was only a few feet higher than the top surface of the water, making it easy enough to hop onto the boats. His father made no move to board any of the vessels, rather, he stopped at the edge of the platform and turned to meet Damian’s eyes.

“You’ll have to come down here,” Father said, “They won’t climb up there to meet you.”

Damian pushed off the wall with his shoulder and came down to the lower platform. “Who on earth are you referring to?” His arm nearly brushed his fathers when they finally stood next to each other. “Surely you don’t mean to introduce me to that trident wielding clownfish man.”

For a second it looked like his father was struggling between a glare and a small grin. Damian decided it must be a look of disapproval. People were rarely amused by him.

“No, not Aquaman,” Father said. Oh, of course. That was the clownfish man’s name. “Although somewhat related to him. You’ve met mer people before, haven’t you?”

Damian had, in fact, never met a mer person, let alone multiple of them at the same time. He’d certainly seen them when he was with the League of Assassins. Sometimes he would see them darting through the waves of the ocean, but he mainly saw them when his grandfather brought them in as prisoners.

Regardless, they were beautiful creatures, even though they rarely showed themselves above water. There were laws in place that kept mer people from being hunted like a typical sea animal, but it hadn’t always been that way. Damian supposed that was why the people of the sea were hesitant to make regular appearances outside of their habitat.

“Not officially,” Damian said after a few moments of silence. His eyes narrowed into slits. “I’m about to, aren’t I?” He instantly took a few steps back away from the ledge. His tongue curled, ready to reprimand his father for allowing mer people into the cave. Before he had the chance to do so, his father held up a hand.

“You don’t have to be scared of them. I’ve known each of them for a long time now and they know who I am.”

That only made Damian tense even further to the point where he was practically a replica of a dog with its hackles raised. He couldn’t believe his father had revealed his identity to others. Who were these people that had his father’s trust? Why were they privy to such a private part of his father’s life before Damian himself was? Damian technically knew the reason for the last question, and he couldn’t help but feel a little jealous that his father’s affection for the interlopers was likely stronger than his affection for his own son.

His father’s blue eyes watched him with calculated precision and Damian quickly schooled his features. He’d rather have his father think he was nervous instead of pinpoint his insecurity.

“I know things between us have been rough this past week, but try to be civil with them.” They mean a lot to me went unsaid. Damian rolled his eyes before dragging his feet back to his father’s side. He gave a stiff nod.

His father reached up towards the comm in his ear, which was interesting. That meant the mers had a means of communicating with him in the water and vice versa. While Damian was certainly wary of the situation, he had to admit he was a little curious about his father’s “associates.”

“Tim,” his father said into the comm. There was a small pause where this so-called Tim must have responded. “I have Damian with me. You can come inside now. Tell Jason he can’t have any of Alfred’s shrimp for a week unless he disables the music loop.” Then, muttered through clenched teeth as if pained to admit it, he said, “It’s been driving me crazy all morning.”

“Tt.” Damian had been ignoring the music still pounding through the cave up until that point. There had been another terrible song playing for the past three minutes. It went something like, “I’m having your baby. It’s none of your business.” It hit a little too close to home for Damian’s liking, and by the way his father was openly scowling, he figured he felt the same. However, it didn’t become an issue because the music abruptly came to a stop. The Jason character must have decided the butler’s food was worth far more than an annoyed Batman.

There wasn’t much indication that the mers had entered the cave other than the water itself taking on a more rippled effect. Seconds later, the water started sloshing more harshly against the walls and platform. Damian lifted his foot just in time to miss a wave of water from soaking his shoe. By the time he dodged a few more wayward splashes, hair and skin were beginning to emerge from the murky depths.

Two dark-haired males then rose up until their arms and chests were exposed to the air, water droplets trickling down their skin. The male with the larger and more muscled torso looked to be older than the slimmer, pale male. Both of their eyes were blue and rid of any irritation that a normal human’s eyes would experience when exposed to seawater. Their hands also had webbing between each finger, though the small white tissue scars covering them suggested that the webbing was not entirely durable. While interesting, Damian was more excited to see the mer’s tails, but so far neither of them had moved far enough out of the water to show a glimpse of them.

His attention was drawn towards the teardrop-shaped obsidian stones that were fastened to each of the mer’s throats by short silver chains. He wondered if they were gifts from his father since the necklaces did not look like the kind of colorful jewelry mers were known to wear.

During the time Damian had taken to carefully observe the two strangers in the water, he realized they were doing the same to him. The more intimidating mer drifted closer until he was leaning his arms against the side of the platform, making Damian take a few steps back. His eyes seemed to be drawn to the knife that Damian had concealed in his pants. How the mer had detected it, Damian had no idea, but it instantly made him feel more guarded.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, and normally Damian would have shrugged it off, but somehow it made it easier to look at the mers without showing his unease over the situation.

His father looked at the larger male. “Damian, this is Jason Todd.” This was said with a pointed glare at the mer, and the mer instantly sported a wolfish grin that displayed his sharp teeth.

Father then motioned to the smaller male. “This is Tim Drake.” Tim gave a hesitant wave, his webbed hand stretching out to full capacity. Father sighed. “Where’s Dick?”

Damian raised a brow, unsure of what that was supposed to mean.

“He got sidetracked,” Drake said, swimming up beside Todd. “A kid from a passing pod snagged his tail between two rocks and broke a few scales. Dick said he was going to show the pod where the mer-medic was. He should be here any second.”

From what Damian remembered, a pod was the mer people’s equivalent to a family unit. They mostly traveled while children in the pod were young before becoming more stationary in one area. From what he could make of their ages, Damian assumed Todd and Drake’s pods must be close by. If that was the case then did their pods also know the identity of Batman? Did they also come into the cave and chat with his father? Once again, Damian couldn’t help but feel like a complete outsider in the situation.

His father started talking to the comm in his ear, apparently demanding to know where the absent mer was located. Damian ignored him in favor of focusing on the mers present. Arms crossed, he stepped forward to the point of nearly stepping on Todd’s fingers.

“My name is Damian Wayne,” he said, chin tipping upwards. “I demand to know your relationship with my father.”

Todd and Drake shared a look with each other.

“You demand to know?” Todd asked, Gotham accent taking Damian by surprise. He gripped the side of the platform harder and pulled his torso further out of the water, intentionally leaning into Damian’s space. “How about I demand you rephrase your question?” Todd didn’t even blink as a water droplet from his hair trickled into his eye.

“There was nothing wrong with the phrasing of my question, bottom dweller,” Damian said, using a term he had heard his grandfather use when referring to mer people.

Jason’s tail, a mixture of black and red, appeared for a split second before coming back down to the water with a loud smack. Water sprayed in multiple directions and a large portion of it drenched Damian’s jeans and shoes. Outraged, Damian stepped on the heel of his right shoe to loosen it. Then, with well practiced aim, he flung the shoe straight into Todd’s smug looking face. Todd’s head snapped back on impact. His arms gave out beneath him, making him sink back into the water. Drake dodged to the side to avoid Todd’s flailing.

Damian heard Drake and his father shout at the same time.

“What the hell!”

“Damian!”

Suddenly, a wet hand shot out of the water and snagged one of Damian’s ankles in a bone crushing grip. He was yanked so hard that he lost his balance and fell on his backside with a startled gasp.

“Unhand me!” he yelled while trying to scramble for purchase on the wet floor. It was no use. He felt another tight squeeze around his ankle, and before he knew it, he was dragged into the disgusting water.

Saltwater immediately stung his eyes. He squeezed them shut and blindly reached towards his ankle to try and dig his nails into Todd’s hands, but the water slowed his momentum. Even kicking became difficult against the water’s resistance. He could feel his body being dragged back and forth through the water, his hair ghosting over his face every other second. Lungs burning, Damian tried to use his hands to propel his torso to the surface of the water, only to have Todd give a harsh tug downwards, keeping him from reclaiming oxygen.

A second passed where Damian genuinely thought his father was going to let this psychotic mer drown him. A heavy feeling of betrayal fell over him and he tried even harder to kick Todd in the face. Clearly, no one was going to save him. He had to save himself. That’s the way it had to be. Just like it always had been with the League of Assassins.

Just as he was about to try reaching for his knife, a high pitched sound vibrated through the water. It sent shivers down Damian’s spine, and for a moment, he thought there was a whale with them in the water. A sound like that was far too similar to the whale songs Damian had seen videos of. But then the biting grip of Jason’s hands disappeared from his ankles. A different set of webbed hands grabbed his wrist, propelling him towards the surface.

Damian reflexively sucked in a large breath as soon as his face was out of the water. He felt dizzy from the lack of oxygen. He tried to open his eyes and immediately shut them again after feeling the sharp sting of salt in them.

Whoever pulled him out of the water had enough sense to keep an arm around his waist. Damian half-heartedly dog paddled back towards the edge of the platform with the arm’s support. Another set of hands, his father’s hands, grabbed him under the armpits and scooped him out onto the platform.

Damian gasped wetly and dragged himself as far from the water as he could with the dead weight of his wet clothes holding him back. He noticed his father’s presence disappear from his side, only to be swapped with another person, supposedly the person who saved him. Vaguely, Damian could hear his father yelling in the distance. It was hard to make out the words with the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

The webbed hand returned to his back and gave it a few hard taps to help dispel any water Damian accidentally swallowed. “Go get him a towel and some tap water. He needs to flush out his eyes.” The voice was unfamiliar. There was no doubt that this had to be the other mer, Dick.

“Are you sure he doesn’t need some milk?” Drake asked from somewhere above them. And what? How was Drake possibly above them? He wouldn’t be able to breathe nor would he be able to walk with his tail. He tried to pry his eyes open to look, only to close them with a hiss after feeling how sensitive they were. Dick used his hand to slick Damian’s hair away from his face so more saltwater wouldn’t drip down into it.

“Oh krill,” Dick said, sounding exasperated and amused at the same time. “How long have you been waiting to use that reference?”

A bark of laughter echoed in the cave. “Way too long.”

“Should’ve waited longer!” Todd shouted during a pause in his and father’s argument.

“Jason,” Dick warned in barely concealed anger. “Shut it.”

Todd’s loud scoff startled the bats. Damian heard them scatter up above, their flapping wings getting farther away.

“Sure, okay. He insults me and hits me in the face with his steel-toed shoe, and I’m somehow in the wrong for showing him that actions have consequences?”

“Don’t even try to make it seem like that was a teachable moment. He’s just a kid—”

“Don’t treat me as if I’m some imbecile that needs to be handled with kid gloves,” Damian spat, rolling away from Dick’s gentle hand and sitting up on his own. “I’m capable of taking care of myself! I was just about to gut Todd with my knife when you stepped in unnecessarily.” Damian motioned in the direction of Todd’s voice. “I’d kill him right now if I was able to see properly.”

Damian felt his father’s hand close around his bicep. His first instinct was to knock the hand away, angry that people kept grabbing and touching him. First, it had been Todd’s biting grip on his ankle. Then, Dick’s supportive arm around his waist. Now, his father’s tense fingers on his arm.

He scowled. Their touch made him feel weak and vulnerable, and he was neither of those two things. No, Damian Wayne was no one’s victim. No one’s damsel in distress. He was too good for that. The blood running through his veins was proof of that.

“That had better be a joke,” Father said lowly. “I told you when you came here that we don’t kill. Ever.” The cold tone of his voice made Damian want to shrink and curl back up on the floor. Instead, stubborn as ever, he crossed his arms and turned his head in the other direction.

“I have the right to defend myself if he attacks me! If defending myself leads to his death then that hotheaded flounder was asking for it!”

Todd made a high pitched shrieking sound similar to the one Damian had heard in the water. Damian jumped slightly when Dick, who was still sitting right beside him, answered back with a mixture of shrieks and clicks of his own. It sent goosebumps down Damian’s arms. The shrieks didn’t sound as soft or musical out of the water as they had in the water. They were quick, biting, and fueled by anger.

“Ooh, you made mom mad,” Drake snickered, his voice sounding much closer than it was before.

Dick and Todd both clicked in the back of their throats simultaneously, which Damian could only assume was some variation of, “Shut up!”

Damian wondered if his father understood the mer’s heated conversation or if his silence was an indication that he was just as lost as Damian was. As far as Damian knew, translating the mer language did not come easy. Replicating it was even harder, if not impossible due to the different frequencies that could not be heard or replicated by the human body.

“That’s enough!” Father said after what felt like an eternity of nonstop vocalizations, causing the two mers to trail off into silence. Damian could have sworn he heard one of them hiss at one point. “You two need to cool off. Jason, get upstairs. Go help Alfred with dinner.” He paused for a second and then, most likely addressing Dick, said, “You’re drying up like a prune. Go soak for a few minutes.”

There was some mumbling and what sounded like feet pounding up the platform that connected to the top level of the cave. Damian internally cursed at the salt that was still keeping him from opening his eyes. He was desperate to make sense of how it was possible for the mers to be walking around the cave. All of them except Dick, apparently.

“You and Tim got the kid?” Dick asked.

Damian immediately scowled and clenched his fists. That was the second time he’d been called “kid.” Kids were not equals, and worse, they were not capable of much. Damian was the opposite. He would show both his father and these mers that no one was more capable than him. Then they would realize their mistake in referring to him in such a demeaning way.

“I got the water and towel right here,” Drake chimed in somewhere to Damian’s immediate left.

Dick squeaked twice, short and low.

“Huh?” Tim said. “Quit speaking in dialect.”

“Ugh. Forget it.”

Dick’s scales were rough and heavy sounding as they dragged across the floor. Damian wondered if it hurt or if the scales were tough enough to take some damage. His curiosity died as soon as he heard a large splash from behind him. He turned his attention to the remaining mer instead.

“What are you waiting for, Drake? Hand over the water immediately!”

Damian could only imagine the look of bewilderment on the mer’s face as Drake muttered, “Drake? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

[icerosecrystal]

The Love We Give To You

Mominette Month 2021

Day 02: Signs of Affection

Masterlist

Author's Note: Hey everyone! Day 2 was a lot of fun to write! I hope you guys enjoy it! Also, to make sure that no one is confused, I wanted to let you all know that this is not a continuation of Day 1.

It has been three months since Marinette married Bruce and became a part of the Wayne family. Bruce's and Marinette's had a great relationship. Bruce showed affection through cuddles and kisses. Not that he would ever admit to doing it. Alfred and Marinette had bonded over their love of baking, cooking, and mother-henning the children. They showed their affection when they offered to help each other. Whether it be with work in the kitchen or little hobbies. All of the children loved Marinette and showed their affection for her in various ways.

Dick loved hugs. The moment he spotted Mari in the room, he would bound over to her, a smile on his face, and squeeze the life out of her. She would always let out one of her tinkling laughs in response before returning the enthusiastic hug.

Tim liked to give her hugs and kiss her cheek in greeting. But for him, it was more his actions than anything. He would get her a cup of coffee and then babble to her about really anything. In turn, Marinette would patiently listen, adding her input when necessary.

For Jason, he didn't appreciate physical affection as much as his other siblings, but he still would allow some of it, but only ever from Mari. Jason would show his appreciation for Mari every time he helped her out with whatever she was doing. He would sometimes talk about he was feeling also. But his favorite part would be when Mari would indulge in his thrill-seeking activities with him. He loved that she didn't try to change anything about him, and he always did the same for her. He even tried to make a leather jacket with her help.

Cass liked connecting with people on a soulful level. So she would usually sit by Mari when she was designing something and meditate or even only watch her work. They would also meditate together at times. Due to Cass being born into the League of Shadows, she found a lot of physical affection to be strange. But she sometimes did hug Mari.

Stephanie was as enthusiastic with her affection as Dick was. She would bounce over and hug Mari every time she entered the room. She would also constantly cling to Mari and would urge her to make waffles with her.

All of Mari's new children showed her different signs of affection except for Damian. She didn't think that Damian should be as blatant with his love for her, but she wanted even the slightest bit of confirmation that he loved her.

A Week Later

Damian flopped down onto his bed in misery. He had just witnessed another hug session between Dick and Mari. Damian wanted that same love, but he was confused about what to do. He felt like he was betraying his birth mother by trying to show Mari love, even if Talia wasn't the best mother ever. Besides, why would Mari even want a former assassin child as her kid? She's probably happy with the rest of them. At least they were somewhat ordinary. Even Cass, the only other one that had only ever been an assassin, was a lot more passive than him.

He continued to mope about his problems before he suddenly had an epiphany! What if he tested her? He needed to make sure that she was worth loving. And so, the next day, when everyone but Marinette, Alfred, and himself was out of the house, he went to the Batcave. He then started sparring against some dummies. He was hoping that Mari would attempt to bond with him and offer to spar with him. And sure enough, after a few minutes of sparring on his own, a melodic voice behind him called, "Damian? Why are you sparring on your own?"

Damian, in turn, replied, "I had nothing better to do. Would you like to join me? I could teach you."

He watched as her face lit up with unspoken happiness before she stepped onto the mat. They both positioned themselves into a starting position for the spar. He then counted them down, "Three, two, one, go!"

He had barely uttered the words before Mari ducked down low, whipped her leg out, and swung it towards him, hooking the back of his ankle with her foot. The action resulted in him falling to the floor. He quickly jumped up and kicked her leg from behind, causing her to hit the ground. Before he could tackle her, she rolled on the ground and jumped up, punching him as she went. He quickly recovered from the hit and followed with his own, which she caught and flipped him over, putting him back on the floor once more. Before he even got the chance to try and get up, she clambered over him, putting him into an armbar hold. And with that, Mari had officially won the spar.

Damian stared at her in awe as she climbed off him, beaming in excitement. Mistaking his silence and awe for embarrassment and hostility, Marinette frantically tried to make him feel better, "I am so sorry, Damian! I didn't mean to be so aggressive! I know that you wanted to teach me, but I already knew how to fight! But I thought that I would pretend that I didn't! But you were giving me a challenge, and I accidentally started treating it as a real fight! You are an amazing fighter! I am so, so sorry–"

Before she could continue with her spiel, Damian interrupted her with a whisper, "You're awesome." Realizing what he said, he ducked his head, attempting to hide the blush that had made its way onto his cheeks. He quickly gave Mari a tight-lipped smile before running to his room, ignoring Alfred's questioning gaze. He had to think. Right now!

He quickly slammed the door and leaned his head against it. Okay. Things that he had learned today. Number one, Mari knew how to fight. Number two, She knew how to fight very well. Number three, Marinette was awesome. Number four, she was much better than his mother could ever hope to be. And number five, he wanted Mari to be his mom! And he knew how to do it.

Two Weeks Later

It had been two weeks since the spar between Mari and Damian, and much had changed since then. And everyone in the family knew it. But no one, except for Marinette and Damian, knew why.

The first thing that changed was Damian's attitude towards Marinette. Before, he would try his best to never be in the presence of his stepmother. But now, he didn't mind. Everyone could tell that he would try to delay his time spent with her. Not many people would realize it, but the Wayne family wasn't just everybody.

What changed next was how he responded to her words. Before, he would roll his eyes, ignore her, or huff. But now, he would still grumble, but it was always half-heartedly. And one time, they caught him smiling at Mari. The dramatic gasp that Dick let out didn't help anyone in figuring out what was going on.

Then he started doing little things, like pecking her cheek before he left for school. He would smile at her, give her a tiny compliment, paint while she designed. They were such small actions, but every time Damian did them, Marinette's heart swelled with happiness. She was in disbelief that Damian was showing his love for her! Yes, he wasn't as blatant about it as his siblings, but he still did it, and that made her all the happier.

But the day that things finally changed completely was when Damian Al-Ghul Wayne walked up to Marinette Dupain-Cheng and cuddled her. It was an ordinary Saturday. Everyone was up early except for Damian. But then Damian came in yawning and looked around. He saw Mari sitting on the couch stitching something. Damian trudged over to her and sat down next to her. He put his legs up on the couch and buried his face into her chest. Marinette smiled gently at his actions and put down her sewing things before putting her arms around him. She then started stroking his hair, and as if he was part cat, he preened at the attention and pressed his head to her hand in want of more strokes. Damian then mumbled, almost incoherently, "I love you, Ummi. You're amazing."

Marinette stopped stroking his hair in shock, and Damian looked to her worriedly, thinking that she was mad with his declaration. But instead, her face broke into a huge smile, and she hugged him tightly, breathing out, "I love you too, Dami."

All while this was happening, the rest of the Wayne family looked at the pair in awe. Finally, Jason spoke, breaking everyone out of their stares, "When did this happen?! And what did happen?!"

Damian looked over at Jason with a scowl and said, "I found out two weeks ago that Ummi is amazing. She beat me in a spar. Now, she's my Ummi, and none of you imbeciles can take her away from me!"

Everyone except the pair continued to be bewildered over the situation. That was when Dick spoke up, "Ummi?"

Damian looked ready to murderer them for not allowing him to cuddle with his Ummi, but all the same, he replied, "I heard a lot of children call their mothers 'Ummi' in the league, or at least in private. But Mother never permitted me to do the same, alone or in public. She said that I was the heir of the league and should, therefore, be as nonsensical as possible. But now that I have Mari, I finally have someone to call Ummi."

By the end of his speech, Marinette looked to be close to tears, and everyone else was looking at him in surprise. Marinette started clinging onto him, whispering, "I love you so much, mon cheri. I'll always be there for you."

Damian blinked back tears and clung back, saying, "I know you will. I am your favorite anyways." When Damian saw his siblings realize what he said, he jumped off his Ummi's lap and ran out of the room. Behind him, a herd of footsteps was heard, along with shouting from each of the children (except Cass). Each of them trying to convince him as to why he was wrong and why they were the favorite.

Back in the living room, Alfred had left to give Marinette and Bruce some alone time. Marinette beckoned Bruce over to sit beside her. She pecked his mouth before seeing the adoring stare. She raised an eyebrow and asked, "And what is it that you are staring at?"

Bruce pulled her closer, inhaling her jasmine scent, and mumbled, "Oh, nothing. Just looking at my beautiful wife that I can't believe I managed to marry."

Marinette flushed a deep red before punching his arm, "Sap."

"Your sap," he retorted back.

"Yes, my sap," she whispered before giving him a deep kiss.

As Bruce pulled away from her, he mumbled against her lips, "Besides, we all know I'm your favorite."

Marinette smirked before saying, "Oh, I don't know. Your son seems to be just as charismatic as you."

"Exactly–," Bruce started saying before he realized what she said. "Hey! Come back here you!" Marinette giggled as he chased after her trying to tickle her.

The rest of the family came into the room, trying to find the cause of the noise. But they stopped at the scene of their parents laughing together on the ground. Dick then yelled, "Cuddle time," and jumped onto his parents, the rest of the kids, even Alfred joining.

As they all laughed together, Marinette looked at every member of her new family. They were all so different, and that was what made them unique. Even their signs of affection were unique to themselves. But at the end of the day, she knew that they loved her and that she loved them. And that was all that mattered.

2011 words

Day 2 is done! And on time! I wonder how long that'll last!

~ ❄ Crystal ❄

@mominettemonth

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[jinmukangwrites]

@damianwayneweek Day 3 (6-15): “That wasn’t supposed to happen” | Reconciling with Tim | Autistic!Damian

Note: at this point, this is just "Damian cries and Dick hugs him" week. Someone send help. I love these two so much.

Warnings: angst and tears and Damian being a ball of separation anxiety.

---

The smell of sea salt mixed with the pollution of Gotham's coast is almost close to nauseating. If Damian hadn't already been feeling anxious and sick to his stomach, he would definitely be now.

And the thing is, he doesn't even know why.

It's been this way all night. It started before tonight, even. He's convinced himself it's probably something he had for lunch, but even a child would know that's a weak grasping of straws. No one ever gets sick from the food made in the Wayne Manor, not when Alfred is there to cook it.

But he tells himself it's because of that anyways. He feels sick to his stomach because the lettuce in his sandwich must have been old. Not for any other reason. And certainly not because his father has been off-world for the past month and Richard is once again holding the mantle of Batman while he's away.

"What do you say about heading home early?" Richard asks from where he stands besides Damian. The word home grates on Damians nerves for reasons that he... cannot bring himself to comprehend.

Damian nods his head, not saying anything. It's been a quiet night in Gotham anyways. His nerves feel fried from the constant anxiety pressing in his chest and he's sure the moment he gets to his bed he'll pass out.

Or at least stare blankly at the ceiling until he does.

The ride back to the manor is silent between Damian and Richard. Almost a month ago, it used to be loud with banter whenever he and Richard had a minute to themselves. They'd get back at the manor and Alfred would be there to pester them into taking care of themselves. Cassandra and Duke would enter and leave as they wished with the occasional appearances of Timothy and Jason. The only time they had to themselves was inside the batmobile, as there's not much private banter you can have while defending the streets either.

But it's silent now. Damian's chest and stomach hurts and no words seem to want to come to his throat, but he's not usually the one to start the conversations anyways. Something is keeping Richard silent as well. The thought that, for whatever reason, Richard doesn't want to talk to him makes his anxiety spike just the same as the thought of conversation.

It feels like the second they pull into the cave Damian's jumping out of the car and stalking towards the changing rooms. Alfred let's him stride past, lifting an eyebrow as he does, but he doesn't stop him. Alfred simply walks over towards Richard and offers him a cup of tea from the metal tray he's been holding.

Damian can hear the low rumble of words beginning to be exchanged between the two, but he's already too far away to make sense of them. He doesn't care to listen anyways. He just wants to get dressed and go to bed without anyone talking to him.

Without anyone asking him what's wrong. They must notice something is wrong, right? What would he say if they do ask? No. No one knows anything is wrong. Because nothing is wrong. Everything is okay.

He dresses into a clean pair of pajamas that feel fresh from the dryer and heads straight towards the exit of the batcave, not sparing Richard or Alfred a glance as he does so.

Everything is okay. He ate something bad for lunch.

That's all.

He manages to get all the way to his bedroom without running into anyone. Cassandra and Duke must be busy tonight, and he can't think of any reason why Timothy and Jason would be here at this hour of night. It's not surprising he didn't run into anyone. Why does he almost wish he had?

He shakes his head and closes the door behind him. Whatever is making him feel this way, it will go away if he rests. He's sure of it.

Wordlessly and single-mindedly, he removes the decorative pillows from his bed and pulls down the sheets. In a few practiced and fluid movements, he's under the covers and glaring at the ceiling, his stomach clenching.

There's glow in the dark stars above him, made of plastic and held to the ceiling with fun-tak. His eyes drift to a bigger glowing figure, it's circular and there's swirling patterns that mimic the global storm of Jupiter's surface. Another has two rings, like the planet in Treasure Planet.

Richard put them up the second month after Damian first came here. Damian had expressed... desires... to study and learn how kids who weren't raised in the League of Assassins lived. Glow in the dark stars was something Richard very much enjoyed getting off of Amazon that night, saying they were all the craze when he was younger. Every friend he visited had them in their bedrooms. His own childhood bedroom still has some old and dim ones hanging on the ceiling from when he convinced his father to get him some.

He didn't understand the appeal of them then. Nor does he now. Perhaps it's something to do with children in Gotham never seeing the actual stars because of the light pollution. All he knows is that in the desert he grew up in... these fake green plastic decorations do not compare to the galaxy he used to see as if the only thing separating him from the universe was a single pane of glass.

He turns away from the fake stars, closing his eyes, before they open again to glare now at his bookshelf, filled to the brim with books of all kinds and Cheese Viking figurines. There's a collectable coin there too, one Richard accidentally won way back when he decided to buy a mystery box from some website. It turned out to be pretty rare. He gave it to Damian and Damian got curious enough to look up the game.

It's his favorite game now. Because Richard found him a random gold coin.

Richard. His stomach clenches. Why won't it stop hurting? He has no reason to be this anxious.

No reason at all.

There's a soft knock on his door. Damian shifts so he's holding himself up on his elbows, watching as the door opens to reveal none other than Richard. His hair looks damp from a shower, which makes Damian wonder how long he's been glaring at random things in his room. He's dressed in an old Gotham Knight's tee-shirt with mustard stains around the right breast. Damian went to a game with him when he was wearing that shirt. He accidentally got shoved into Richard in the crowd, looking for their seats, when Richard was holding a hotdog. It got all over him, but the mustard is the only thing that persisted multiple rounds in the washer.

"Dami? You up?" Richard asks. Damian reaches over and turns on the dim lamp by his bedside.

Richard's eyes settle on him, and he smiles. It looks strained though.

That festering, lingering anxiety spikes.

"What is it?" He asks.

Richard walks into the room, then sits down on the side of Damian's bed. Damian bends his knees to allow room for him. He brings his pillow in front of his body and hugs it.

"Did I do something wrong?"

The question shocks Damian, as he didn't mean to ask it. It seems to startle Richard as well, because he goes stock still and looks at Damian with wide eyes.

It shocks them both, but it must be the reason if a bad lunch isn't.

Then, Richard breaks into soft laughter, rubbing the back of his neck. "I was about to ask the same thing, actually," he says, once the laughter dies down.

Damian frowns. Has Richard done anything wrong?

No. The answer is immediate. Richard hasn't done a single thing wrong. He's been nothing but his usual annoying and loud and pushy and kind and loving self since his father left and he came to keep the suit warm.

It almost feels like the beginning all over again. Waking up in the morning and smelling sweetened mocha instead of straight black coffee. Sketching in the afternoons by the fireplace in the family room and being interrupted by Richard barging in with a portable speaker, blasting the newest trending pop song. Going to bed with a goodnight hug. Bandaids snuck into Alfred's first aid supply that have cartoon and Disney characters designs. He's wearing a Frozen 2 bandaid now, on his knee.

If his father hadn't left with the rest of the Justice League, the band-aid would be a normal tan color and the day would be close to silent and alone.

It's feeling normal again, he realizes with horror. Because whatever mood Richard brings into the manor isn't normal. Normal is Bruce Wayne silently checking up on him throughout the day and calmly helping him with homework and giving tips on sketching techniques. Normal is leaning against the strong shoulder of his father as he tests those tips while his father reads a book, the only sounds to interrupt them being the ticking clock on the wall and the crackling of the fire.

Normal is... Normal isn't...

It's not this. He likes the time he spends with his father. He enjoys the wordless love and reassuring squeezes to his shoulder.

Normal isn't the loudness and silliness of Richard's affection.

And just like that, he finally knows what's wrong.

It feels the same as it used to be. Back when they thought his father was dead. Back when Richard seemed to be the only trusted adult in his life, and the daily interactions he had with him almost promised to be infinite.

And then they found out his father was still alive, just stuck in time. With the help of Timothy and others... They managed to bring him back.

And.

And.

And Richard left.

And Damian was left.

And.

And that wasn't supposed to happen. Was it?

He hasn't allowed himself to think about much. It was something neither of them had acknowledged or mentioned. Richard once said he considered adopting Damian if his father was dead. Damian didn't stop himself from taking comfort in that.

And it feels like history is repeating itself. His father is away. Richard is Batman.

However, now Damian knows that the second his father returns, Richard will be packing his bags and leaving. This isn't normal. He can't get used to this again. He loves his father. But Richard...

It hurt enough the first time, watching him go.

And it will happen all over again. He'll get comfortable with Richard and his daily hugs and laughter, and then he'll be gone.

Separation anxiety. He has separation anxiety.

"Oh buddy," Richard coos, wrapping his arms around Damian and bringing him to his lap to hold him better.

He's crying. Tears are running down his face and it's stupid, because he knows that when Richard leaves again, it won't be like he'll never see him again.

But he's crying, and it hurts. Hurts more than if he had eaten something bad. He clutches to the pillow between them and let's the tears fall.

"Tell me what's wrong," Richard soothes, probably the only person in the entire universe to not freak out when he cries. Probably the only person in the entire universe Damian would allow himself to cry like this to. "What can I do to help?"

"It's stupid," Damian says, through it's through a hiccupping sob, which makes it sound very not stupid to someone like Richard. He sniffs and rubs his eyes on the pillow, forcing his breathing to go normal and to stop crying. "It's nothing. Father will come back, and- and you'll go back to Blüdhaven, and everything will be normal again."

Richard stills, then sighs. "So it's about that," he says softly. Of course he immediately knows what Damian means. He tightens his hold on Damian. "You know when your dad comes back, nothing will change between us, right? Even if we're on the opposite side of the world."

"I don't want to be on the opposite side of the world," Damian snaps, shoving himself away from Richard and glaring. "I want- I don't-" he presses his face into his pillow and groans.

Dick is silent, then he shifts closer and wraps his arm around Damian's shoulder gently. "I know. I don't either. But... it's just the way things have to be. You know this. Just like you know that... that if you ever really want to, I can clean out my guest room."

Damian shakes his head, his feelings feeling so all over the place and raw. "I just- when father came back, I didn't expect you to just leave. I don't want to choose. I-"

"I know," Richard whispers. "I know. I love Bruce. He's my dad too. But, you know us. If I move back in, we'll be at each other's throats. I'm a grown man now, Dami. I have to be on my own. He's... Protective. He still sees me as seventeen years old. And he's your father. You should be with him."

Damian sniffs. He doesn't nod. He doesn't shake his head. Agree nor disagree.

Simply understands.

It's just the way things are.

He stays silent as Richard continues. "And you know that I'll always be there for you, if you need me. I'll drop everything for you. Just say the word. I'll be running, even if I'm on the other side of the world."

Now Damian nods. Let's the cotton of his pillowcase soak up his silent tears.

He doesn't feel much better, but he doesn't feel so awful anymore either. He supposes that's the best it will get in this situation.

So he just sits there until his head begins to dip with exhaustion and Richard pulls him in so he's laying against his shoulder. His eyelids droop, and they stay there, together, like they used to.

It's scary to allow himself to become attached to things, but he can never help himself with Richard.

The best that he can do is enjoy it while it lasts, and make the most of it.

Richard will be gone when father comes home, but for now he's here, and he's warm, and he's solid.

Damian falls asleep, and Richard doesn't leave that night.

[rason-rodd]

Snowmen and Assassins - Older!Damian Wayne x Fem!Reader

Summary: This is Y/N’s first Christmas among the League of Assassins but a monastery of deadly assassins is maybe not the right place to celebrate this winter tradition. 

Author’s note: Bat-Christmas Day 12 ;-) Damian in this story is highly inspired by Batman beyond! Damian as he took his grandfather’s place as leader of the League of Assassins. And I will fight anyone who doesn’t believe Adult Damian will be the most devoted boyfriend to ever exist. (#assassinprincecharming)

Tagged: 100% Fluff

Sitting at the candlelit desk that used to belong to his grandfather, working on a personal project that could not wait, Damian Wayne could hear the unclear yet outraged groans and growls of his counsellor – whose name was Zeh-Ro - echoing outside of the door. He was clearly angry but it was nothing new or surprising.     Lately, and especially since Damian’s reconciliation with his father and your arrival in the Himalayan monastery, the old white-haired man had taken the rude habit to question Damian’s every decision as leader of the League of Assassin in ways that were highly inappropriate for a man of his status. Of course this misplaced attitude was never welcomed or tolerated by the young leader, and each tantrums had all encountered either a stone-cold stoicism or a burning rage. A type of reaction Damian had inherited from his father, Bruce.             “This is highly unacceptable!” Damian sighed, fully aware that his bodyguard, Koru, would not be able to prevent Zeh-Ro from entering his private quarters any longer. “Let me see him!” The heavy wooden door suddenly burst open, making all the soft dancing flames shudder, almost in panic, as if they were aware of the incoming wrath. “What is wrong, Zeh-Ro?”   “This woman … This woman is a disgrace! How dares she?!” The red of his angry face was clashing with the whiteness of his dishevelled hair, a scarlet colour only Y/N and her light-hearted shenanigans could give him. “I’m sure whatever Y/N did it is not that terrible.” Damian declared with a discreet amused smirk. “Not that terrible? Not that terrible?” The old man repeated almost out of breath. “That woman has a knack of bringing shame to herself … and to ourselves … and to our cause. To you. She is a foreign child who knows nothing of our culture, nothing of our traditions. I said it before and I say it again. Her place is not here!” Damian put what he was doing in the drawer of his desk that he slammed almost violently and stood up. But not even his menacing eyes or his towering stature seemed to frighten Zeh-Ro who kept mumbling his anger at him. “Your grandfather would have never approved of her! The league does not approve of her! This silly infatuation needs to end and it needs to end now!”   “No.” Zeh-ro eyes widened suddenly. He had expected more that a single word. He had expected more consideration, even more anger. “No?” Damian didn’t bother to repeat and smoothly close the gap between him and his counsellor in an attempt to establish his undeniable authority on him.           “And from now on I would not tolerate you interfere in my privacy. My love life is none of your concern Zeh-ro, nor is Y/N.”           “But she…” Damian cut him short, tired of hearing and seeing the man. “I will hear no more. Now leave.” Fortunately, he beat a retreat and exited the room while muttering insults in Arabic that Damian chose to ignore. He had other matters to take care of.           Only when the man finally was out of sight, did the leader of the league choose to relax and lose his aggressive austerity. “Will he ever learn?” He asked Koru who almost allowed himself to smile. “I’m afraid not, master.” Damian sighed again and put on his long green kimono that he carelessly knotted around his strong waist. “What has Y/N done again?”     “ I believe it is better for you to see it, master.”

***

In spite of the cashmere gloves you were wearing, your hands were red and freezing just as your cheeks and the tip of your nose. Unsurprising since you had been spending the afternoon playing in the snow with the few children of the league who had been bold enough to follow you in your shenanigans.     Not that it had been your goal all along. In fact, you had never thought about asking anyone to follow you in your “Not so top-secret Christmas mission ” as you had named it when the little rascals had found you baking Christmas cookies in the kitchen this morning and curiously asked what you were up to.           Before that, you had just planned to bake for your lover and decorate a Christmas tree in your shared quarters, away from prying eyes, perfectly aware of the fuss your silly little actions would cause if anyone caught you trying to celebrate Christmas.         But then, the children had simply said, “We’ve never celebrated Christmas.” with their little eyes shining with sadness.      

And so here you were. Building snowmen right under the noses of mighty assassins glaring at you as if you were committing the most awful crime in the world.   Their reactions had hurt you at first, just as many other things they had done – or hadn’t done- since your arrival in the monastery in spite of all your relentless attempts at fitting in. But then you had realised that they should not matter and that you should focus only on the magic, on the happiness of the children by your side occasionally fighting with snowballs and acting - maybe for the first time of their life - as who they truly were, kids.

“Beloved?” You slightly jumped and dropped the small little stone carefully chosen to be the left eye of your snowman on the ground. “Damian.” You didn’t know how to react. Usually, Damian was always there to defend you, finding excuses to all the times your attitude wasn’t appreciated or approved by the league. But there was a difference between forgetting to remove your shoes at the entrance of Ra’s Al Ghul’s temple and celebrating an occidental tradition in a monastery of assassins. Maybe had you gone too far this time. “What are you doing?”         “Look… I know this looks bad. But it’s my first winter here, my first Christmas away from my family and I thought …”           “That you could celebrate it here.” He looked so serious you couldn’t tell if he was mad at you or if he simply was tired of you not being “the right paramour” for him – a term Damian’s counsellor had spit to your face quite a few times. “I get that I might have gone too far this time. I can stop if that’s what you want.”

Damian knelt to pick the little black stone you had dropped and suddenly, much to your surprise and to those around you, placed it on your snowman’s face. “By all means, continue.” And with a gentle timid smile, he turned around to where he came from. You blinked quite a couple of times; unable to believe what you had just seen or to demonstrate all the happiness this small action had given you.           But then you gasped as a huge snowball hit Damian right in the back of his head. “God damn …” He cursed more out of surprise than out of pain and turned back around with a glare you had never seen. Your eyes widened and you looked at the terrorised children who were all pointing at the culprit. Guess boldness and courage had their limits. “How dare you throw a snowball at the Demon’s Head? And behind his back?” He growled, definitely angry and the poor children looked down, petrified. “I guess someone has to teach you how to play fairly.”  

And then a snowball hit your shoulder, making you scream loudly. “Ahhh” But then you saw that Damian was laughing like you had never heard him laugh before. And goodness, how contagious it was. “You’re going to pay for this!” You harrumphed trying to remove the snow from inside your coat. “Choose your partners, kids. This battle is to death.”

***

“I let you win.” Damian declared as he removed his thick leather boots once in your quarters. “Plus you had better partners. Mine were all incompetent. I scored all the points myself.”       “Of course, Dami. Of Course.” You smiled and removed your wool coat to place it by the fireplace where you chose to stay a little to enjoy its welcome warmth after this cold afternoon outside.       “You know. You’re starting to show, beloved.” Damian said as he approached you to lovingly hug you from behind and kiss your neck, his strong hands on your slightly round belly that were keep a four-months little secret no one knew about yet. “Yeah. We won’t be able to keep hiding it for too long.” You put your hands on Damian’s, adoring his sudden proximity and his devotion to you and to your little one growing inside of you. “I guess that’s gonna make some people boil over.”           “Who cares?” He kissed your temple and let his soft lips remain on your skin just to smell its perfume. You let go in his embrace, wondering how this loving man could be the leader of such a deadly organisation. Speaking of deadly organisation …   “By the way, thank you for this afternoon, for defending me again. I know it often undermines you especially in Zeh-Ro’s eyes.” You heard Damian sigh and tense a little before turning you around to face him. “Beloved, when will you realise I do not care about what Zeh-Ro thinks, about what anyone thinks? I’m happy to defend you. At least it shows them that I am not my grandfather and that they can’t expect me to be him.” “ But …” You tried to protest and he gestured you to be quiet with a finger on your lips. “No buts. I love all the things you do here. I love all the love you bring to this place, to me. And I want out child to experience it. I don’t want him to live the joyless loveless childhood I lived.” You smiled at his words but your eyes reflected the sadness he had in his. You knew about his past, about Talia and Ra’s and all the things they made him go through, the exhausting relentless and abusive trainings and the heavy burden they had placed on his young shoulders when he was just a little boy. And so you cupped his cheek and softly kissed him in on tiptoe, keeping his broad body against yours that seemed so tiny and fragile in comparison to his. Though, the most fragile person in this room right now was him.               “I have something for you, beloved.” Damian said as he slowly let go of you for a moment to take something he had left in his desk. “I hope you’ll like it.”

You slightly shook the box he had just given you, curious to know what’s inside. “You know it’s not Christmas yet.”   “I know. It’s not really a Christmas gift” You narrowed your eyes trying to read in his what he was hiding from you. “Just open it.” He chuckled and you grinned, your hands already tearing the wrapping up. It was a wooden small box. “You’re not asking me to marry you, are you?” You asked cheekily and Damian laughed. “Not yet.” He smirked but you chose to ignore it for now, too excited to know what was in the box.

It was a beautiful Christmas tree star, certainly made of crystal judging by how fragile and translucent it looked, and definitely very ancient. “Damian, it’s beautiful.” “You like it?” “I love it!” You corrected as you delicately touched it with your fingertips. “Good. Cause there’s a Christmas tree in the main hall that is waiting for it.” He looked at your eyes brighten instantly and as beautifully and brightly as the star you were holding, glad he could finally make you feel at home as much as you could make him feel at home. “Merry Christmas, beloved.”   “Merry Christmas, Damian.”           Merry Christmas, indeed. 

[dukethomas]

Summary: Duke and Damian, over the years. 

Written for @duketectivecomics’ Duke Week! Day Four is Reverse Robin, though I modified it so it could be Reverse Batfam. Reverse Batkid? Still works.

-

Duke is nine. He’s Batman’s partner, Lark, and helping Batman punch the living daylights out of criminals helps him forget his parents’ grins and their laughter, and his laughter. (Bruce benches him whenever he’s working on a Joker case. Duke doesn’t complain.) It’s fun, and he’s good at it.

However, he’s heard enough about the League of Assassins, and he’s watched footage in training of Bruce fighting off a whole horde of Assassins (with a capital A) to know that these guys aren’t to be trifled with. And while Duke has spirit and guts and instinct and smarts, what he doesn’t have is the grace anyone in that footage has. He’s still training. He has a long way to go.

And he definitely can’t fight off an Assassin on his own. He’ll try, sure, but he has his limits.

So when he runs to open the door—he and Alfred have made a game out of it, because they kept running into each other whenever the doorbell rung. Whoever gets there first gets a fresh batch of cookies or tea made just for them by the loser—his eyes widen and his jaws drop when he sees Talia al Ghul.

And a boy, who’s taller than him, so Duke assumes he’s older. The boy sniffs and turns his nose up at Duke.

A few seconds too late, Duke settles into his fighting stance. His fists are up and he stares down Talia al Ghul and the boy, hoping something in his eyes would tell them to back down, something steely and indomitable, like all the books say.

Talia al Ghul chuckles. “Down, boy,” she says, her eyes glittering with mirth. “Neither of us intend to cause harm.”

“Speak for yourself,” the boy mutters, glancing at Duke, but Talia al Ghul doesn’t seem to hear it. The boy is unsettlingly quiet and still for someone who doesn’t even look that much older than Duke. He holds himself weirdly. It’s not unlike the entitled rich kid pose, but it’s also tense and lax at the same time.

Like how Bruce fights, Duke realizes. His mind is tense but his body is calm.

“Uh,” he says ever so eloquently. “Bruce! Alfred!”

Bruce shows up three minutes later, and the boy inhales sharply, but softly. Duke is already getting tired of the oxymorons.

“This,” Talia al Ghul says with a light flourish, “is your son. Damian al Ghul Wayne.”

I’m sorry, what?

Duke glances back at Bruce to see what he thinks, and Bruce’s eyebrows are tightly knit together. “You told me you lost the child,” he murmurs.

“I lied,” responds Talia al Ghul, a line of regret tracing her nonchalant tone. “My father’s wishes.”

And what happens after devolves into boring grown-up talk, so Duke stops paying attention. He keeps an eye on their respective body languages, in case this turns into a fight.

But he hates being by adults who are talking without him with nothing else to do, so he turns to the boy—Damian.

“Our names both start with a D,” he offers, smiling at Damian.

Damian doesn’t smile back. Instead, he scoffs, and says nothing else. What Duke has gathered is that Damian was raised with the League of Assassins, which means chances of him being an Assassin too are nearly one-hundred percent. But Talia al Ghul has years, decades, maybe centuries of training on Damian, and Damian can’t hide the worry in his eyes nearly as well. Plus, Duke’s good at reading people, Bruce says it’s a talent.

So he tries again to talk to Damian. “You’re coming to stay with us, right?” A small nod. Success! “I gotta show you all the good places to hide. It won’t hide us from Alfred, because Alfred knows all, but if you don’t want to listen to Bruce, well.” He gestures at Bruce and Talia al Ghul jabbering on about something adult-y.

“Tt,” is the only sound that comes from Damian, and it’s the third oxymoron so far. It’s simultaneously amused and disapproving, and that’s when Duke thinks he knows the problem.

Damian has a shadow cast over him, a long and dark one he can’t seem to shake.

Well, that’s fine. Duke has always clung to the light better than the shadows, he’ll just be Damian’s light as well as Batman’s.

-

Damian doesn’t warm up to Duke quickly, though not for lack of trying on Duke’s part. The older boy keeps brushing him away and getting all huffy, and downright rude. Once Duke sneaks up on Damian and he whips around with a blade pointed towards Duke’s head. Yeesh.

Duke eventually decides it’s easier to stay away. Do his Lark business, go to school, let Bruce deal with Damian.

And he thinks Damian resents him for that. Duke can see why—Bruce gets all stiff and cold with Damian, like he was in the first month of Duke living there, but he’s caught Damian lingering in the doorway of Duke’s bedroom watching Bruce hover around Duke more than once—but honestly? He’s just tired of it. And he wishes he could help, but clearly there’s something deeper there.

Still. Duke doesn’t dislike Damian. Damian’s just… rough around the edges. And sometimes those rough edges are deadly and sharp and Alfred tells him to stay away from knives in the kitchen (even though Duke’s fought off goons with knives before).

(And Duke’s used to rough edges, he thinks, shuddering as a boisterous laugh comes from the TV when he does his homework.)

“Hey, Batman?” he asks one night during a stakeout.

Bruce looks over to him, eyebrow clearly raised even if Duke can’t see it through the cowl.

Duke shines his flashlight into Bruce’s eyes, earning him a curse and a scowl. “When are you going to talk to Dami—um, D?”

“Put that down,” Bruce commands gently, pulling the flashlight away, but Duke just redirects it. “I’ve been talking to him.”

“Yeah, to tell him off! When are you going to treat him like your son, B? You treat me more like a son than him, and I’m not even—” He cuts himself off. “I’m not even your son.” Which shouldn’t feel like it’s gnawing at him inside to say, because it’s true. Doug Thomas is his dad and will always be, but…

He shakes his head. The focus is on Damian right now.

“Are you ever going to let him… y’know?” he blurts. He’s always finding Damian in the Cave (Batcave, Duke insists, but Bruce just ruffles his hair) wielding his sword. He has half a mind to ask Damian to train with him, because Duke knows if he wants to be better, he has to learn from the best. And Damian looks incredible when he practices. All fluid and graceful, like he learned how to fight before he could walk.

Bruce’s hand reaches towards Duke, then draws back. “We don’t use lethal methods, Lark.”

“Then teach him non-lethal methods.”

The answer seems clear as daylight to Duke, though evidently, not so much to Bruce. He hopes it helps anyways.

And then the thugs they’re on the lookout for walk into the warehouse with a confident swagger, and it’s showtime. By the time they’re done, Duke is grinning and bouncing, saying, “I just knocked that guy out, did you see that? That was so cool!”

Batman never loses his stony demeanor while in costume, but if the edges of Bruce’s mouth curve upwards on the Batmobile ride home, Duke knows to not tell anyone.

Unfortunately, his dreams are less than pleasant.

It’s his parents again. When is it not? They’re pressed up against the glass, his mom has this crooked smirk, and she snarls at him. She bangs her fist on the glass and yells, “I’m going to kill you!”

Duke backs up, finding only a foot of space between the glass and the wall behind him. “Mom,” he croaks out, but she doesn’t hear. She never does. “Mom, it’s me, it’s Duke, your son.” His eyes burn and tears come spilling out.

The lights flicker once, twice, before zapping out completely, leaving him and his parents in darkness.

His mom cackles, and tells him, “I know. I know!” and she’s more aware than she’s been in months, and she barrels her head into the glass. It cracks, shards of glass flying around Duke.

A plea is on his lips as she lunges at him, and he jolts up, his shirt damp with sweat.

He’s in his bedroom at Wayne Manor, he dully realizes. He’s still shrouded with darkness, but his parents aren’t here. They had considered moving his parents on the grounds, but ultimately decided against it.

He lets himself pant, gripping his bedsheets. Would he be a bad son if he thinks that was a good decision?

Duke hears footsteps outside his door and freezes, his heart pounding in his ears. He squeezes his eyes shut.

Someone opens the door, and there’s a click—a familiar one, from the light switch. Duke cranes his neck to see Damian entering, the older boy awkward and groggy in his movements, but there.

Damian is still in the doorframe, his eyes roaming the room and looking anywhere but at Duke. Something gleams in his left pocket. “I heard… there were screams. Did you need something, Thomas?”

“Please,” Duke whispers, eyes wide and staring at the shadow behind Damian. “Can I have a hug?”

Damian pauses, steps back, then moves forward, making a beeline towards Duke. He envelops Duke into a hug, oddly detached and patting Duke on the back, but a hug nonetheless. Duke leans into the touch, feeling a tear roll down his face and onto Damian’s shirt. “Sorry,” he mumbles, his throat tight.

“It’s… alright,” Damian replies. “I was already awake. And I have other items of clothing.”

For some reason, that brings on the sobs into full-force, with Duke gasping for breath as he lets it all out. Damian is there, still patting Duke on the back until it becomes a rhythmic comfort.

Duke doesn’t know when he drifts off to sleep, but he wakes up with Damian’s shirt draped over him with his green blanket.

Sunshine slips in through the curtains, hastily pulled open, as sunshine blooms in Duke’s chest. He sprints downstairs, jumping and skipping stairs like he’s walking on air.

“Slow down, Master Duke!” Alfred reprimands, and Duke shrugs and does as Alfred says, but only a little bit.

He almost runs straight into Damian, but he stops himself just in time. He opens his mouth to thank Damian, but Damian furrows his eyebrows at Duke and says, “Did you talk to Father? He spoke to me about training,” and a tension has been lifted from Damian’s shoulders. He’s springier.

“I think?” Duke says, knocking his knuckles on his head trying to recall what else happened last night. “Yeah?”

Damian stares at him, his brown eyes meeting Duke’s own with a hint of something gleaming in the light. “Thank you,” he tells Duke honestly.

“No problem!” Duke chirps. And before he can take it back, he says, “That’s what brothers are for.”

(He doesn’t take it back when asked about it later. The term “brothers” feels right, even if they only started having amiable conversations last night. He doesn’t think about the implications.)

-

It’s six months of non-lethal training until Damian is deemed fit to go out into the field. Duke leans on Damian’s shoulder as the older boy sketches out a mannequin with armor. It’s when “Shadow” is written in neat cursive that Duke realizes it’s meant to be Damian’s suit.

He blinks, his eyes drooping.

He doesn’t have patrol tonight, or tomorrow for that matter, but he really needs to lay off the late-night patrols. And the late-night training. He doesn’t want to fall asleep in the middle of class.

“That looks cool,” he comments, taking in the design. It’s gray and black, a bat in the chest. Damian fills in the outline of a cowl, and—

“Hey, wait, is this just a mini Batman costume?”

Damian stiffens. Almost imperceptibly, but Duke is busy soaking up Damian’s warmth right now, so he notices.

Duke moves the desk lamp so he can see the drawing more clearly. “C’mon, Damian,” he says, “I know you can be more original than this.”

“Tt,” Damian responds, still tracing over the lines he’s already drawn. “It has already proven itself to be a suitable design; why bother?”

A curl falls in front of Duke’s eyes, and he blows it away. Huffs, puffs, and the whole shebang. “Because you’re not Bruce? I have my own suit. I chose the colors!” Yellow with black accents, because it’s always been a hopeful color for Duke, and that’s what he wants to inspire—hope. Also, it’s a lark color scheme, minus brown, because wearing brown? Yuck.

Yeah, sure, Lark has been described as a child flashlight several times, but Duke stands by his decision. Even now, thinking about his suit makes him smile.

Damian pauses for a while after that. His hand stills. “Are you suggesting Father isn’t someone I should aspire to be like?”

“Be like,” Duke points out. “Not be. Seriously. I think you would look really cool in green!”

A scoff comes from Damian at that. “I chose the name Shadow for a reason, I will not go out in bright colors and compromise stealth.”

Duke yawns and snuggles closer into Damian’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Dami. I’m just saying, you don’t have to be Batman.” His eyes close, and it’s a sweet relief. Damian doesn’t respond for a while, so Duke adds, voice soft, “I think Lark looks cooler than Batman, anyhow.”

He wakes up on Damian’s bed, the older boy and his sketch conspicuously missing. When Duke heads down to the Batcave for training, he sees a new paper pinned. He recognizes the swoopy thin lines of Damian’s art, but the design is totally new.

The suit is wicked cool, dark gray and all jagged edges where the Batman suit has smooth lines, and a little circle to the side of the chest with a Bat rather than one spread across the chest. It’s cloaked rather than caped, the hood concealing hair instead of a cowl. A black domino mask with white lenses covers the eyes. Golden accent lines run throughout the suit, and Duke wonders if people affiliated with the Bat can only really have one color scheme: black, gray, and yellow or gold.

He grins, looking at it, but turns at the quiet footfalls he’s been learning to recognize.

“Good morning!” he chirps at Damian, who’s rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. Despite that, he’s already dressed, wearing a forest green sweater and black jeans.

Damian half-smiles and arches an eyebrow. “Do you still believe that Lark’s suit is the coolest?”

And c’mon, Duke has to defend his honor. He sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry. “Always and forever.”

“Well then, it appears you have been misinformed,” Damian hums.

Damian’s suit is completed within the week, and Duke has to admit—it looks even cooler when it’s real. Lark’s is still the best, though.

-

Duke would be lying if he says he isn’t dumbfounded every time he gets to visit the Watchtower. It’s in outer freakin’ space, of course he’s impressed. His headquarters is a literal cave. Even with four years as Lark under his belt, his jaw still drops.

Batman’s here for a routine League meeting. Normally, he and Damian don’t come with, but another sidekick—Duke makes a face at the word, he prefers the term partners, but the media sticks with that—debuted the other day. He goes by Kid Flash, and he seems pretty cool. Duke’s looking forward to meeting him… if the Flashes ever showed up on time.

Which they do not. So Duke and Damian wait, along with some others—Aqualad, Teen Lantern, Red Arrow, and Crush this time around—with Hawkwoman as their babysitter of sorts. She’s not the most thrilled with this assignment, but Duke can’t blame her, it’s pretty boring.

Duke and Damian sit with each other by the wall. Superboy should have been here but he and Superman had civilian duties to take care of, so they sit in comfortable silence.

He gives up within two minutes. It’s just too long to wait while doing nothing. He stands up to have a look around the Watchtower, maybe he can even find that huge window that shows off the expanse of space. His English teacher will love the words he writes about it.

Something catches his eye, a dull silver in the edges of his vision. Duke heads towards it, and to his delight, Hawkwoman left her mace on a table. A grin splits his face and he reaches out to hold it.

“What are you doing?” Damian hisses from behind him, pulling his hands away from the mace. “Don’t touch that!”

“But Shadow!” Duke argues. “It’s right there! It’s not even harmful, I think! It’s made out of alien metal, right? That’s so baller, I have to feel it for myself.”

Damian sighs and puts his head in his gauntlet-covered hands. “Nth metal, Lark. It’s made of Nth metal, and is potentially very dangerous.”

Duke takes the spare moment of distraction to hold the Nth metal, and he grins up into the ceiling. A mistake, he realizes as industrial lights beam down at him, causing him to squint and glance down.

Damian moves forward to pull the mace out of his hands, except there’s a quality to him, a certain golden sheen, and Duke backs up. He blinks, and Damian hasn’t even moved, but then he does, again, in the exact same way as before.

Damian’s lenses widen. “Lark, let that go. Now!” he commands. “It has an effect on you. Your eyes are—”

Duke blinks a few more times, not hearing the rest of that. His vision is so much sharper now. It’s making him a little dizzy, but he doesn’t say that.

Instead, he does let go of the mace, and it clatters to the floor noisily.

“Shadow,” he blurts, lurching forward.

Damian catches him and pulls him up into an embrace. Duke may be twelve now, but he’s reminded of his dad’s hugs. Firm and protective. He leans into it. “Are you alright?” Damian whispers into Duke’s ear.

Duke’s vision swims with lights and colors and brightness. He buries his face into Damian’s chest, relishing the darkness. He nods.

Damian’s hand rests on Duke’s back. “We’ll… we’ll figure this out,” he promises.

-

Duke swallows down a glass of punch at the side of the room in the middle of a gala. It slides down his throat and sloshes around in his stomach uneasily.

He stares at Cass, quiet for a ten-year-old but the brightest person in the room. Everywhere she goes, by Bruce’s side or not, people flock to her and their gazes are drawn in her direction. She glides through the gala graceful as the moon, but with the attention she’s getting, you’d think she’s the sun.

The gala is being held in celebration of Bruce’s adoption of Cass. A darling princess for the Wayne lineage, says one newspaper. Bruce Wayne’s pity adoptee, sneers another.

And Duke can relate. Bruce and Alfred tried to hide it from him, but the tabloids didn’t have anything good to say about him either. But Duke’s mind lingers on the difference.

He shakes his head, staring at his deep brown eyes through the cerise lense of the punch. It’s silly. Of course Bruce wouldn’t adopt him; Duke has perfectly good parents already. It would make the paperwork easier should—when his parents get cured.

“Something’s wrong,” Damian observes, walking up behind Duke.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Duke replies, ignoring the way his chest twists at the words.

He can practically feel Damian raise his eyebrows. “You’re lying, and we both know it. Come with me, Duke.”

Duke follows without a retort, and Damian leads him to the balcony. The gentle moonlight and starlight welcomes him more than the harsher lights of the chandeliers inside ever have.

“Since when did you become the emotionally intuitive one?” Duke asks, crossing his arms over the railing.

Damian huffs. “I am still not aware of what’s going on with you. But I am… I’m your older brother. It’s my duty.”

Duke hums at that. The description resonates deep in his bones, a familiar comfort, and it had never felt wrong. More like puzzle pieces snapping together.

Brother often means they share a father. It just as often can mean they do not. And Duke didn’t think they did—did they?

“It’s not Cass’ fault,” he says, playing a mental game with the Gotham skyline. He always tries to find his old neighborhood, before he got taken in by Bruce. It helps him remember, so one day, he might come home and he wouldn’t have forgotten. “It’s my brain that’s being fucky.”

“Language,” Damian reprimands under his breath. He then speaks in a louder tone, now meant for Duke’s ears. “I didn’t think so. You were never the resentful type. I’m grateful for that.”

Duke throws his head back to laugh. Five years ago, Damian would rather stab him than talk about feelings like this. Duke wanted to train with Damian. Funny how things change. “No, it’s—it’s something else. Bruce adopted Cass. That’s what’s bothering me, I think.”

Damian tilts his head at Duke. “Would you prefer for Father,”—Baba, now, behind closed doors, but Duke wouldn’t pry—“to adopt you?”

“No. I don’t think so. Would I? I already have a dad.” Duke sucks in a breath. He’d gone to visit them last weekend. No improvements, as per usual. Not even lucid enough to give Duke death threats.

“Family isn’t bound by blood,” Damian reminds him softly. “I have a brother now, and a sister. Who’s to say you can’t have two fathers?”

Duke blinks rapidly. His finger brushes the corner of his eye and comes away wet. “And I’m not a bad son? I’m not abandoning my dad for Bruce?”

“Absolutely not.”

And just like that, a dam bursts. One tear rolls down Duke’s cheeks, then another, then several more. Despite this, hope settles into his chest with the cool touch of the moon and stars.

“Thank you, Dami,” Duke says, jumping into a hug with the taller boy (though Damian won’t remain that for long—Duke shot up rapidly in the last year or so, and he’s quickly approaching Damian’s height).

Damian returns the hug, his chin warm against Duke’s shoulder when he tells Duke, “Anytime.”

-

Damian is dead.

Duke’s breath hitches, with quiet little Cass by his side and Steph and Harper there for moral support. The funeral is closed casket—the cover story had been kidnappers and an explosion, and thus, no body to bury.

Duke had seen Damian’s body. He and Bruce were a moment too late. Duke is fast, faster than Bruce when desperate, but he had glimpsed a moment into the future and fell back, momentarily blinded by the explosion that hadn’t even happened yet.

Maybe if he hadn’t relied on his powers, maybe if he’d pushed past that to run, maybe if he arrived a minute or two earlier, Damian wouldn’t have—

Cass squeezes his hand. Duke squeezes back, numb to the core. He lets go and steps back, into the shade of a tree.

Damian’s funeral is held on a day where the sun glares, its heat searing into their skin. It’s not right. Nothing about this is right. Damian is—was—seventeen.

After the funeral, Duke writes a note to Bruce. He writes that he’s resigning as Lark. He can’t do this anymore, not when Lark’s partner is Shadow as well as Batman. His words tumble out without eloquence, and his tears smear the ink.

He flees.

And maybe he’s a coward. He can live with that. But Gotham—the city of rebirth, he liked to call it. The city of new beginnings. The city that had always seemed like stubbornness and perseverance and hope. It was Damian’s beginning, but it was also his end.

And Duke remembers why another name was given to Gotham.

(City of death. Death and rebirth is the whole phrase. He can’t ever forget that.)

It’s marred with the memory of them, of Damian, of his parents, of the kid that hoped and told himself if no one else would help, he would. Duke can’t stay here. No matter how much this feels like a betrayal to his family, to his father that believed Gotham would shine true, to his mother who came here to start a new life, to Damian whose smile was like Gotham’s sun, he can’t stay. He can’t. He can’t.

So what if Duke is a traitor? He doesn’t have many left to betray.

Instead, he seeks refuge in Blüdhaven, notorious for being the only city worse than Gotham. A simple city, one that held no pretenses of goodness, one that wouldn’t betray Duke.

Duke thought he was Damian’s light, but now that Damian’s gone, he knows better.

Damian was a light all on his own, and without him, Duke’s light shatters into tiny shards.

One morning not long after the funeral, Duke wakes up to find the sun assaulting his eyes, which is a rarer occurrence in Blüdhaven than in Gotham.

He shuts the blinds and cries in the quiet, shadowed room, his chest heaving with every sob, painfully aware that every gasped breath is a breath Damian will never get to take.

-

(The next two years seem to fly by. Duke becomes Blüdhaven’s Signal, and begins to take on the local gangs. He dismantles them from the inside out, with a focus he didn’t often have before.

He becomes an emancipated minor at barely fifteen, and he enrolls himself into a public high school. He used to have a 4.0 GPA. Now, with late nights spent fighting, and early mornings spent applying makeup over the bruises, his school performance dips.

A boy, small and skinny, appears on his doorstep. Duke recognizes him—it’s Timothy Drake, the next door neighbor who Duke would visit every once in a while, the boy with the emptiest house Duke has ever seen. “I know you used to be Lark,” Tim Drake tells him, “that Bruce Wayne is Batman, and that Damian used to be Shadow.”

Duke flinches and nearly slams the door in tiny Tim’s face right there and then. (Duke is only two years older, but sometimes it feels like it could be centuries in between them.)

“I need you to be Lark again. Batman has been uncontrolled, lately. Violent.”

“No,” Duke says firmly, crossing his arms. “I’m not—I won’t go back.” Which is a lie. He briefly went back to finalize the emancipation. He avoided Bruce’s eyes, then.

“He needs you!”

“He needs his son!” Duke retorts. “And he has—he has Batgirl and Black Bat and Bluebird. He doesn’t need me.”

Tim only looks at him with steely blue eyes, and something in them causes a pit to drop in Duke’s stomach. Oh god, why didn’t he keep up with Gotham news, did someone else…?

Duke holds onto the memory of texting Cass yesterday. She said she was staying at Steph’s and Harper’s place, which meant all three are safe. (Right? Right.)

“I’m sorry,” he tells Tim earnestly, “but I can’t do it. I’m not that guy anymore.” And then the door shuts, with a soft click. Duke waits by the door until he hears Tim’s footsteps fade.

Jon Kent visits. Duke lets him in, and soon enough, teen heroes stop by Duke’s apartment in droves. Duke was only ever a reserves Teen Titan, to be called upon if there was an emergency; Damian was the one who made friends within the Titans, while Duke’s friends remained squarely in Gotham. Still, Titans stop by to say their condolences or just laugh over the counter with cups of instant hot cocoa.

It helps relieve the ache of loneliness. Duke doesn’t realize how much he needs other people to thrive until he calls for a Teen Titans study session and notices with glowing warm pride that his grades are straight A’s once again.

And… Duke travels back to Gotham. Not to stay, the wounds are still too fresh, but he has a conversation with Bruce, the man that has almost been a father to him for years now, and he thinks it might not be so bad.

Tim is Shadow now. Tim had a choice between Lark and Shadow, and he chose what he knows best. Instead, Steph becomes Lark while Cass fills in Steph’s shoes as Batgirl.

It’s almost a heartwarming picture of a not-quite family.

And Duke wonders if, one day, Damian might be a happy memory to look back to.

Of course, that’s when Damian returns.)

-

“You let him replace me,” Damian snarls, his hands balled into fists.

Duke freezes in place, staring at the man under the red helmet. Damian’s eyes glint with green, a sharp green that terrifies where the brown used to comfort. A shadow covers nearly three quarters of Damian’s face, but the green still pierces.

“Dami,” he says, his voice cracking. “You—you’re—”

Alive, Duke doesn’t get to say before Damian lunges at him with a knife, his eyes gleaming with madness.

-

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“Hey, yeah, Dami, it’s Duke, Harper and I finally found this number, I just… I just want to let you know you’re welcome back in the family whenever. Bruce isn’t even—he’s not even that angry anymore. All we want is for you to come home. We miss you. Please. I’ll call again if you don’t respond in twenty-four hours.”

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“Duke again. What the fuck, Damian? I know you’re seeing this. I saw you on the news. Someone managed to record a video of you walking out of that warehouse—we were going to ambush them tomorrow night, but I guess the first one there can call dibs. Anyways, I saw you check your phone. You know I’m here. You didn’t even kill any of them this time. Please come home. Calling again in twenty-four hours if you don’t respond.”

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“Am I the only one who leaves you voicemails? Does anyone else know you have this number, like, at all? That’s not the point. The point is that we’re still waiting. And you can come back whenever you’re ready. I just… yeah. Yeah. I’ll talk to you again in twenty-four hours.”

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“You know, Cass scared the shit out of Bruce the other day? She’s opened up a lot since after you… uh. Well. Anyways, you should have seen his face, Dami, it was hilarious. Almost as good as that time we put glitter into the vents of the Batmobile. I’ll talk to you again, yeah? Yeah.

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“I’m not actually part of the family, did you know that? Became an emancipated minor a few months after you died. I don’t know why I keep trying—if you won’t come back for family, who says you’ll come back for me? ...Does this sound sudden to you? For context, Bruce and I screamed at each other for a half hour straight about… never mind. I’ll talk to you la—oh, what the hell, you know the drill.”

“You have reached Red Hood. Do not try to contact me again.”

“...Dami? I’m in a little bit of a hurry here, but—whoa! Holy shit. I was wondering if you’d want to come to my graduation ceremony in Bludhaven next week? It’s, uh—fuck!—it would mean a lot to me if you were able to make it. I’m salutatorian. So no speeches but I’ll still look cool. Motherbitcher on a stick, I—tell me if you’re gonna come, alri—AHHHHHHHHHHH! You fucker, that hurts, I—why do I feel… dizzy…?”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“Thomas, you imbecile, of course it beeps. You need to answer me and tell me where you are. I—I will try again.”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“Answer me, where are you? Did you get yourself in trouble? Stupid, idiotic Thomas, why are you calling me on patrol?”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“...Duke? I will come to your graduation ceremony. I would—I would love to see you again. Please be alright.”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“Duke! I’m on my way. Please be alright, please be alright. If you die, I will hunt you down and throw you in a Pit, and the Pits are not to be trifled with. There’s no telling what you’ll come back like. But I… hey, watch where you’re going!”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“I’ve talked with Father. Isn’t that what you wanted? This is a terrible way to go about it. He has a tracker on you and I’m headed to your coordinates. Please be alright. I’ll… see you when I see you.”

“Hey! This is Duke, I can’t get to the phone right now, but don’t worry, I’m sure I’m fine. If it’s urgent, though, leave a message after the beep! ...Wait, does it beep?”

“Duke Thomas, you are a colossal dumbass. But I wanted to talk to you. Doctor Thompkins is checking you over, I’m trying to avoid Father and my replacement. I… I hope you’ll be alright. You’ve paled and you’ve lost a lot of blood, but Doctor Thompkins believes you’re salvageable. You’ll be okay.

“I didn’t get to finish my message, one of the earlier ones, I just realized. If you don’t make it out of this… I will hunt down an unused Pit for you, no matter the risks. Don’t you dare say you’re not part of this family, because that isn’t true in the slightest. You are my brother. I’ve been neglecting my duties as the elder brother. I—I promise to remedy that when you awake.

“Please be alright.”

-

“I got my phone back,” Duke says to Damian. Damian’s eyes are closed, as if he fell asleep, but his shoulders are tense.

Damian’s eyes flutter open. The green pierces through Duke’s chest, they’re nothing like what he remembers. He knows all too well he can scarcely remember his mother’s real laugh anymore. What if one day he forgets Damian’s brown eyes as well?

“I heard your message. Would you really…?”

Damian crosses his arms. “I meant every word.”

Duke grins, holding out his arms. “Hug?”

Damian accepts, gently embracing Duke. “Moron.”

A tear runs down Duke’s face, but it’s warm and filled with hope for the future. Their future. “That’s what brothers are for.”

-

“Tt,” Damian says, his voice modulated coming from underneath the helmet. “You seem to be doing alright with everyone living in the Manor. I am not needed.”

Duke frowns and revs his motorcycle. Damian lost his in the warehouse explosion, so Duke’s giving him a ride to the Batmobile. They’ll steal it, just like when they were kids. “You can’t hoist the oldest child responsibilities onto me, that’s not how this works. We share it, remember? Also, we all miss you. Lark,”—now Tim, after Damian made the attempt on his life, but Duke’s positive that Tim is inventing his own mantle now—“would be a little testy about it, but he really admired you, y’know. That’s why he took your name and not mine.”

They enter the Narrows, the grimy apartments and alleyways familiar, but they really have gotten better in the past decade or so. Duke still has an apartment in Blüdhaven, but he’s been going back and forth between both cities pretty frequently.

Gotham is his home. He can’t stay away long.

“I still haven’t properly apologized—” Damian cuts himself off. Duke turns towards where the Batmobile is parked, squinting to see what’s captured Damian’s attention.

A small boy, who couldn’t be more than thirteen, drops a huge Batmobile tire and runs.

Damian chases after him, with Duke close behind. “You gotta admit,” he says to Damian with a grin, “the kid’s got guts. Jacking tires from the Batmobile?”

They slow down as they find the kid, and share a look. The kid may have guts, but to even try must mean he’s desperate.

“Hey!” Duke calls, his bright as hell Signal outfit probably more inviting than Damian’s whole shtick, especially with the sword sheathed at Damian’s side. He turns on a little penlight attached to his keyring. “Hey, we don’t want to hurt you. How about we go out to eat?”

-

“Hey, Dickhead!” Jason yells up at the ceiling. Duke cranes his neck to see, and… yeah, Dick’s on the chandelier again. It shakes, the light scattering and dancing across the room.

Damian is sitting at the table, sipping at his jasmine tea. “Jason,” he sharply reprimands.

Jason’s tiny nose scrunches up. “Sorry, Mom.”

Without missing a beat, Damian asks in a tone quiet enough for only Duke to hear, “Do you ever miss when it was only us two?”

“Always,” Duke responds. “But I wouldn’t give up any of… this family for the world.”

And maybe they’re a little broken, but they’re trying to rebuild. Duke isn’t Damian’s light anymore, nor is Damian a shadow, or another light, or anything his younger self's mind could have dreamed of. They’re people. Living, breathing people who try their best, and it’s more of a partnered relationship than anything.

They help each other. They stick by each other’s sides and they learn, and they grow, and they find that they’re more alike than they think.

Maybe they’re not alright. But that’s alright. They’re trying.

“Besides,” Duke says after a brief pause, “it wasn’t nearly as funny when it was only me driving you up a wall.”

Damian snorts at that and elbows him.

And everything seems right in the world.

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[heyitsbugette]

Heart and soul

Not even everything in training that Damian Wayne was subjected to in the league of assassins nor the eccentricity of living as the only biological son of Bruce Wayne have prepared him for his greatest threat.

Luka Couffaine.

Anyone with eyes could see that there was a certain attraction on behalf of the heir for the sweet daughter of the best bakers in Paris, who with her kindness and charms she captivated the cold heart of the Prince of Gotham. And more than once Jason Todd joked with Tom Dupain about how it made a lot of sense for such a sweet girl to come straight out of a bakery, occasionally amusingly saying that the Dupain-Cheng kitchen was magical.

It was really confusing when the Robin was puzzled and stressed by feel tamed in the presence of his angel and surprisingly with the famous heroine Ladybug as well. Of course, he was teased until it all made sense to them, when together they find out the identity of the spotted heroine by Raven's deductions, his closest friend and ex-girlfriend. 

Raven, annoyed by the cowardice of her best friend, motivated him to go after his beloved right away. The youngest of the Wayne clan then did not know whether to feel grateful or offended when in the end he decided to heed the advice of the young woman of serious features.

His angel through his eyes became more and more perfect after the revelation, she knew how to fight and he did not need it to defend herself, Damian Wayne undoubtedly loved strong women. Such was their surprise when The Jagged Stone invited them by Marinette suggestion to reveal his pupil to them, the very one musician who he secretly hid under his wing for an entire year to prepare him to his debut, a boy with the ferocity of a pirate and the intelligence of a predator to words of the number one rocker in lists.

— Luka is somewhat shy at first, but when my little starlight introduced us I knew that the boy was born to succeed... Come on, dude! I mean-... Bruce, I guarantee that our collaboration between Wayne Enterprises, Rolling Stone Company and MDC will be legendary.

— I trust you, Jagged.

The fierceness in the artist's words could be seen for miles, convincing everyone with his confidence, and if the boy turns out to be as talented as they claimed, the launch of Anarka's son could generate a few million if his strategy worked. Bruce, by the way, looked amused despite the fact that his facial expression did not help at all to demonstrate it, always with his expressionless face and a curious gaze direct to his new partner.

But he could not speak in the same way for his children and how they were inusually calm, the ones who had always admired the singer were nervous with his presence, to the point that they were strangely silent behind him as they followed them, which was suspicious for the family's patriarch, they were not so well-mannered, but always noisy.

Damian, on the other hand, although he found Jagged's company pleasant, he had little mind in the older man's new human toy, he did not have time to be interested in another spoiled child with ambitions of glory and fame, because he only agreed to accompany his family for two reasons.

First and foremost, Marinette would be there. Second, he wanted to visit Fang, he had a great appreciation for the playful crocodile.

— Hey B! So will we finally meet the star boy they all were talking about so much?

— Indeed, Jason. Marinette arranged everything with Miss Rolling and they agreed on a small presentation to close the deal.

— Oh, cool.

The youngest of the clan hid his smile at the mere mention of his muse, heading to the recording studio where they took a seat next to some investors while Luka Couffaine was in front in his maximum glory on the stage, being assisted by a small French-Chinese girl who arranged his clothes meticulously between whispers that were dedicated, they seemed close. They laughed together as they whispered, as if they shared a local joke that only the two of them could understand, but it was when she blushed that the frown of Bruce Wayne's son became more noticeable.

No one with eyes could deny the obvious, Jagged's protegé was conventionally handsome; his seductive blue eyes that saw through his lens, a winning and playful smile. Although the boy was tall and slender, it was obvious that he was not a weakling at all, he had the figure in slim-fit, quite strange cause Couffaine had not exactly the kind of the lifestyle of an athlete.

Along with it, dark hair dyed in turquoise tips and aesthetic piercings adorning his ears up to the side of the helix. The guy in question have quite the look, dressed to impress in a grunge outfit designed precisely by MDC especially for him, he had a style that Jason Todd would say "You got it, brother!".

— Marinette, honey, stop. I think Luka looks handsome already.

— Oh, Miss Penny. He doesn't even need my help for that.

After so tender flirting, the aforementioned blushed noticeably in the same red shade that the heir saw in his furious vision. Did his angel flirt with another boy? But, It's not like he could demand explanations from her and he knew it, they weren't a couple or anything remotely similar. Yes, they were close and they spent a lot of time together, but if he saw it objectively she was not his.

Without option he was able to recover his composure ignoring the mocking smile that his older brothers gave him, he looked uncomfortable. But surely Marinette just wanted to be nice and give her friend a compliment to brighten his day only, that's the kind of person she was.

— Come on, Luka!

His mentor indicated as he launched himself into his couch while Penny sat next to him taking his hand. Both saw themselves as a pair of proud parents attentive to each movement that the guitarist made to prepare, the latter meanwhile looking out of the corner of his eye attentive to the little French girl with tender freckles inadvertently present, since of course she was his motivation .

His actions were unnoticed by everyone except for a certain green eyed boy who still did not trust the musician. He knew his kind, womanizers who went from girl to girl breaking hearts left and right, of course he only wanted to protect his angel from a guy who didn't even deserve to breathe her own air.

The punk man was... Like his father, sure. Or so he wanted to believe.

Oh! Yeah, Alright… Mmmm.

Gather 'round guys

It's time to start listening

Practice makes perfect

But perfect's not workin'

There's a lot more to music

That knowing where your cue's gonna be.

Okay, okay. The guy knows how to sing without the need for auto-tune, he gives it to him. But he wouldn't admit it, flattering the enemy is something that would never be available; he would not dedicate him the mere weakness of raising his ego.

Marinette deserves the best, which is indisputable to the dark-haired teen, and such was his victory when his angel realized the same thing when she moved on off the spinleless coward who was Adrien Agreste. Luckily Luka Couffaine would not last a day.

You can play all the right notes

But that don't mean you're movin' me

But if you can jump like David Lee Roth

Or pump your fist like you're Bruce "The Boss"

Bruce was perplexed at his mention, watching amused as the teenager endorsed the stage listeing with pleasure the laughter of the iconic artist who was stroking the crocodile that was rubbing on his legs. Marinette held back so as not to shout in support of Luka with the same passion with which he cheered her up when she triumphed, a star-shaped sparkle in her eyes was present with no intention of leaving.

If you got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll                        

Rock and roll

The American tried to no be disappointed when he noticed that she was not even aware of his presence, but would not allow anyone else to know it, he would be weak to allow the rookie musical to affect him because of how well he grabed the attention of his beloved heroine.

He wouldn't give his annoying siblings the pleasure of driving him out of his box, although Dick was close enough to get him by keep looking at him with pity. No, he don't need anyone's pity.

Strum it

Drum it

Slide across and run it

The stage is your home

If you learn how to own it

Like the greats did

There's no way that you can fake it

Just when he thought the half asian girl would continue to ignore him during the entire performance, he didn't count on her swapping seats with the pesky Drake to position herself next to him. Being impossible for the vigilante not to melt before her happy smile and with her gaze outlining that perfect silhouette that he would be fascinated to paint, he would not deny that she was his art, his source of inspiration.

— I'm so happy for Luka, Dami. You have no idea how hard he has worked.

— He's a lucky guy... I suppose.

She took his hand, pressing it a little against hers as she tried to suppress the emotion of seeing Luka start his career, how shes sitll as always emotional and enthusiastic when someone she loved achieve them goals, crying with them with joy when them dreams came true.

Such was the youngest of the Dupain-Cheng family, Damian experienced it first hand with each accomplishment that he got culminated. His angel always received him with some well made dessert and words of encouragement to encourage him to continue working hard.

That's the type of person she is.

You've got to feel the beat before you can move

Even though you're not wearing blue suede shoes

Makin' mistakes, but that won't matter

If you can swagger like old' pal Jagged

If you got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

You can rock and roll

If you live and you die

For the music inside

If the one for five never gets sold

Then you can rock and roll

Rock and roll

Luka playfully looked at his idol when he made reference to him in his lyrics, and this one who just left his seat at once to raise his hands in celebration, exclaiming proudly pointed out with determination, as he pull out a Bruce Wayne before the amused gaze of the brothers. He then gave way to a guitar solo finally performed with great technique, heating up the meeting in which investors fully convinced to invest in the musical prodigy.

— That's my kid, you lil shits!

Instead, unsurprisingly, the only one unimpressed was the legitimate heir to Wayne Enterprises. He rolled his eyes thinking that the oldest was a stocking sucker, a mere flattering of cute words and empty feelings.

Someone like that couldn't make his ladybug happy.

However, seeing her so delighted now releasing her hand to take herself putting bot hands in her own cheeks by giving them little taps to lower her blush was the final blow for him to declare his total displeasure to the amateur musician. Wayne hated that feeling of bitterness, so he huffed angrily.

Alright, now take it low.

Now I need my sunshine girl, right here, as the crowd starts to cheer.

Don’t take it personal, mate. Don’t get too emotional.

You know how It is...

"How dare you?! Do you want to die young or what?!" He saw red, of course, the fuckboy is flirting with his marigold in front of him, the nerve. And of course, the musician smiled when he saw him getting angry, it was clear that this was just a game, a provocation on how he was playing with him, only as a Couffaine could when fooling around with the object of his entertainment. 

He loved being loved and hated, it was fun.

— Uh ... We'll soon bury him, right?

— Yup.

Jason whispered to his brothers when they noticed the contained fury of the minor among them, they knew that once provoked the assassin prince there would be no human power to stop him.

Rest in peace, Luka Couffaine. Good friend, good artist. We will remember you for what you were, champion.

If you can scream like Axl Rose

Or sing like Christina show after show

If you've got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

If you've got a heart and soul

You can rock and roll

You can rock and roll

Ooh, yeah

You can rock and roll.

The performance ended with an innocent smile and an expectant look on behalf of the vocalist as soon as his fingers finished with the last chord of his guitar, so when he took it off he received the energetic baker's daughter in his arms who embraced him warmly when the high command of the label gave their approval of him.

Luka Couffaine would be the next star, the exotic apprentice of the living rock legend and MDC designs' most precious jewel.

Get moving, Austin Moon! Who knows you, XY ?!

— I told you! You did It, you idiot!

— Oe, oe! I must learn better than to doubt your trust in me, ma mélodie.

Tender giggles were heard from the girl's mouth as she hid her face in the teenager boy's chest, aggressively grabbing the lapels of his leather jacket in a desperate attempt to hide her blush at such a loving nickname. Then when looking away and raising her face to meet the relaxed features of the French guy, both succumbed to sharing a giggle at the moment when in a change of position the aspiring soloist kissed the back of the young woman's hand, who he regarded her as his most ingenious symphony.

Little did they know that a certain person burned with anger looking around him in red, after all he thought that he was the only person who made her smile like that. The green-eyed felt weak from falling to something as gross as jealousy, but no one had prepared him to endure a suave musician.

— Heya, pixie pop! Would you mind introducing your friend to us?

—Ah, Jay-Jay! I longed to present you all for a long time.

Luckily, it was the albino tuft guy who intervened to sneakily separate the couple, putting himself in the middle of both while embossing a charming smile and a relaxed expression on his face.

— Sup kid! Here's Jason Todd. You know, the cool one. And these idiots next to me are my brothers...This one at my right is Tim Drake, the coffee rat. And the other one with the stupid face is Dick Grayson, the dick. Oh, and the dwarf is lil D-...

— Damian Wayne.

Suddenly the mentioned one appeared, narrowing his eyes challengingly during the brief exchange of glances he shared with the artist in a non-verbal competition. Too bad the guitarist didn't know he was competing.

— Enchanté, guys. Mon trésor told me a lot about you.

"Ma mélodie? Mon trésor? Yah, this guy is asking for it… ” He chattered his teeth in anger and even without trusting the intentions of the stranger man, as he said before, he knew the ones of his type. Young rock stars were all the same.

— Guys.. This is Luka Couffaine ... My boyfriend.

Has anyone heard that? It seems that something broke slowly inside the american heir as how Damian could almost hear Kagami Tsurugi whispered on his mind: "You hesitated."

Heart and soul - The Jonas Brothers

[glassygate]

While scrolling through Miraculous Ladybug Aus, I came across these Marinette x Damian Wayne crossovers and I’m now kinda hooked. So like anyone who has anything to do with fanfictions, I came up with my own little story idea for these two that I may or may not write someday.

Both Mari and Damian are around 21-23 yo and have moved to study in New York. Design/fashion for Mari (obviously) and something like business for Dami

Damian has “gone Nightwing” and trying to be his own solo hero before taking his rightful place as Batman.

Bruce is already retired at this point (because he is like... 65+) and Dick is once again Batman so his lil’ bro can live his own youth for a while.

Mari is retired from superheroing but she still has Tikki as her Guardian companion.

Oh, yeah. Mari is the Guardian now and Fu is dead (natural causes).

And Hawkmoth was defeated when she and Adrien were about 18 so the Miracle box is now 100% completed.

Aaaand this ended up being a long one, so the rest is under the cut....

The two of them are both regulars in same Cafe, but they have never properly talked.

But then a gang running away from the cops decides to hide in the Cafe and take everyone in there hostage.

This includes both Mari and Damian

Damian isn’t pleased and trying to figure out how to kick their asses without anyone dying or revealing that he’s a superhero.

Mari is just trying to keep everyone safe.

So of course they end up working together by accident and save the day.

Damian is very impressed by this tiny woman whose face he has known over a year by now and who turned out being able to floor a man three times her weight.

But he’s also suspicious as hell because there is no way a civilian has skills like that.

So the only logical reason is that the pretty lady must work for the League of Shadows/Assassins/whatever

It wouldn’t be the first time his mother has send a spy to stab him on the back

So naturally, the next time Dami sees Mari he goes to talk with her to figure out who she really is.

Ends up asking her to come spar with him to see more of her moves. Mari agrees because the hostage situation made her feel kinda nostalgic and is itching for more action. Plus she has always found Damian attractive.

So they end up hanging out in a local dojo/gym/whatever every Saturday if their studies allow it

It turns out to be a great stress relief for both of them

Sometimes they go to see a movie or eat afterwards

Eventually Mari ends up telling Damian that she used to live in area where Le Papillon was most active to explain why she knows how to fight.

Also tells how her best friend/ex-boyfriend used to be Chat Noir.

She hates Gabriel for forcing Adrien to fight him for years and being willing to kill his own son for power

Afterwards Damian starts feeling more and more guilty about hiding his double life from her but at the same time he’s even more determined to hide it from her.

They start spending more and more time with each other but only realise they have been kinda going on dates after they are mistaken as a couple

It’s a weird situation for both of them because Mari’s relationship with Adrien was so different and Damian has never dated before.

They’re happy nevertheless.

One day Mari brings the Miracle Box to Damian and asks if she can keep it in his place for couple days.

She “needs it for her next school project but doesn’t want leave it in the school’s workshop and Damian lives closer to the campus”.

Also makes Damian to promise not to open it because it would bring bad luck to anyone who isn’t part of her family.

Damian is naturally amused and doesn’t believe it, but he gives her his word nevertheless.

Next day Damian gets call from Mari’s roommate telling that someone broke in their appartment and Marinette is missing.

And obviously Damian freaks out and goes full “obsessed Bat mode” while trying to find her.

After couple days of fruitless searching, Damian finally remembers the box Mari left in his care and decides to open it.

At first he’s confused by all the weird jewellery then freaks out after picking up the ring.

Plagg has never been so happy that it’s literally impossible to stab a kwami.

Eventually both of them calm down and Damian gets the basic kwami explanation from Plagg and learns that Mari is the Guardian of Miraculouses

Plagg also reveals that Mari usually has the Miraculous of Creation with her and he has a way to track it down.

No mention of Ladybug though but Damian is already making connections from the little he knows about Paris’ former heroes and villains.

Plus the box canonically has a big ladybug spot in the place where the earrings are supposed to be...

Instead of transforming, Damian just takes the ring with him and puts his own hero suit on.

Plagg of course doesn’t like it because humans are weak and this is not it’s supposed to work.

What follows has two possibilities: Either Damian finds that Mari was taken (and turtored to get her reveal where the box is) by the same people who were after Fu and destroyed the Guardians’ temple or he finds Ladybug while she is running away from these people.

If already captured, Mari swallowed her earrings to keep them from getting Tikki.

Can you get inner bleeding from swallowing an earring?

In both cases: insert a fight scene here, the identity reveal, “I thought I lost you” and all that jazz.

And then they both live happily ever after.

I don’t have the ending... Okay?

[batfam-imagines]

Choices

A/N: This one is a little long, and was an idea that has been stuck in my head for awhile. Not all of my ideas managed to make it into the story, mainly because I’m not that good of a writer!

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this! Italics mean sign-language. I know that’s not how the word structure of real sign-language works, but it’s just easier to write this way.

———————————————————————————–

Bruce watches the two videos in utter horror.  One is of Robin, his second son, his Jason, being beaten with a crowbar by Joker, and the other is of Sparrow, Jason’s best friend, Bruce’s only daughter, being held at knife-point by Harley Quinn. Bruce had an impossible decision to make. He could only save one of his children, which one was is going to be?

--

Batman’s knees buckle, his fingers scrabbling frantically through the rubble, desperate for any sign of life. He couldn’t have been too late. Joker had made him choose. He’d made his choice, and had still been too late. He couldn’t be too late.

“Batsy, Batsy, Batsy!” The Jokers voice seems to echo through Bruce’s head, it takes his sluggish brain a moment to realize he must have stolen a Comm unit. “Just a few minutes too late, Batsy! Poor little bird just kept beggin’ for ya! He was so confident that you’d show!” The scrape of a knife on metal is loud even over the Comm, “Now. What am I gonna do with this pretty little thing?”

Harley’s loud laughter seemingly echo’s through Bruce’s head at the realization: they still have Y/N. One of his children is still in danger. “Why don’t we cut off all her feathers, Mista J?! Birdies can’t fly without feathers!”

“Not a bad idea, Harley, but I was thinking something a little more … permanent” Bruce feels like he’s paralyzed. He’d never found out where they’d been holding Y/N because he’d been so focused on finding Jason, he thought he would have more time. “She’s been screamin’ an awful lot since we killed that other bird, why not make it so the bird can’t sing anymore!”

Finally, Bruce finds the strength to respond, “No! Joker, you said I had to choose! You said I could save one!”

Another manic cackle spills directly into Bruce’s ear, “And you could have saved one. You could have saved that little street-rat of a Robin, but you were too late. You made your choice, Batman, and you chose wrong” It’s obvious that Joker is moving. The knife continuous to scrape along metal, and those horrible gut-wrenching screams grow louder every second. “There’s no need for the tears, pretty bird! You’ll be joinin’ him soon enough!”

“Joker! You can’t do this!” Bruce can almost picture it, one of Joker’s hands in Y/N’s hair and yanking her head back, the other holding one of Y/N’s own knives to her throat.

“Oh, Batsy, when are you going to learn. I can do whatever I want!” There’s a slick sound of the knife cutting deep, and then harsh gurgles. Somewhere in back of Bruce’s mind he knows that the Joker must have taken out the Comm and help it right up to Y/N slit throat. After less than a minute, the gurgling quiets, “See what happens, Batsy, when you bring children into our game?”

--

Talia al Ghul watches the two figures move listlessly through Gotham’s streets. She turns to one of her guards, “And you are sure it’s them?”

“Yes, Mistress. We have had our spies watching them for two months now. The way they fight is a match to the deceased Robin and Sparrow”

“Interesting. We will be taking them back to the Compound with us. Gather the men, I will gather my Beloved’s children.”

Talia scales down the building, landing several feet in front of the two teenagers. Almost immediately the girl, Y/N if she remembers correctly, is in front of the much more injured male. Y/N’s vacant eyes hover near Talia, and she lets out a shrill whistle that makes Jason tense.

“I am not here to hurt you, little ones. I am here to help you, to get you off the street,” Y/N let out a curious sounding whistle, and Jason hummed softly in response. “That’s right, somewhere safe”

Slowly the two inched towards Talia, Y/N still keeping herself firmly between Jason any anyone else. Talia grinned, these two were the ticket to her Beloved’s heart. These two would become her perfect weapons.

--

It wasn’t until several weeks later that Talia’s father joined her in observing the two teenagers fight. While their minds had not been fully restored to them, their ability to fight had been.

“The girl has potential. Even without her mind, she fights with thought. The boy, however, he is not unlike a rabid dog, his only thought is to survive.” Ra’s watches as Y/N takes down one of the League members who had been sneaking up on Jason, “And yet they always fight for each other.”

“They care for each other, even though they do not who they themselves are. And they care for children. Many nights I have found Y/N or Jason, or both of them in Damian’s room, or indulging him in play fights” Talia watches her father out of the corner of her eye, “They both have potential, I just need a little more time to reach -”

“Enough, daughter. These pets of yours are taking up too much of your time. I have already allowed you to keep Damian, but I cannot allow you to keep both the child and these two.” Ra’s turns to completely face his daughter, “You have a choice to make, and I would suggest you choose wisely”

--

Talia had made her choice. She could not kill two children that her Beloved loved so much, and she could no longer bare to endanger her son. She had gathered as many people loyal to her as possible and was going to try and pull off an impossible scheme. She was going to use the Lazarus Pit on Y/N and Jason, and then have them run as far and as fast as possible with Damian. If this plan doesn’t work, then all of them would be dead by morning.

--

It had worked. Somehow Talia’s plan to get you, Jason, and Damian to safety had worked. The little four-year-old was curled up in your lap, having fallen asleep soon after the private jet took off. Jason is still shaking, the aftereffects of the Pit not having worn off yet.

Snapping your fingers, Jason’s eyes latch onto your hands, “Are you okay?” Even though the Pit had left nothing, but a scar wrapped around your throat, it had not been able to restore your voice to you. Thankfully Bruce had made you and Jason learn basic sign-language to communicate on stealth missions, and the two of you had just continued the education, becoming fluent.

“I’m fine. Everything feel so … fresh, you know? And I’m so damn angry at B for choosing me over you, and then getting both of us killed anyway”

“Watch swearing around Damian. And we got ourselves into the mess, it was our fault. It’s in the past. Focus on now”

“I know, I know. We get a second chance at life even if we both have crazy PTSD and Pit-Madness. Now we’re off to travel the world for a few years with a toddler to become the most deadly assassins alive” Jason rakes a hand through his now white streaked hair, “This will be freaking fantastic, Y/N”

“Better than being dead” Damian starts to stir in your lap from the constant hand movements. His jade-green eyes blinking up at you. “Good morning, little prince”

The smile he flashes at you would brighten even Gotham’s rainiest day, “Good morning, ‘Gale!”

Jason snorts and ruffles Damian’s hair, “Her name isn’t Gale, kid. Her name is Y/N”

Damian rolls his eyes with all the attitude a four-year-old could muster, and considering he was raised by Talia, it was a lot. “I know that, dummy! But she whistles like the Nightingales in Mother’s room. Nightingale is her new super name; I don’t have one for you Jay”

“It’s okay, little man. We’ll figure one out for me and you sometime soon. Okay?”

The little boy grins, “Okay. Where are we going?” This time he looks up at you for an answer, but you gently tap you throat and shake your head. “You still can’t talk? The green water didn’t fix you all the way?”

“No, it didn’t. When we were hurt, there were some things that couldn’t be healed all the way.” Jason glances over at you, at the scar the barely peeks out from the turtleneck.

“How can I talk to Y/N then?!” Damian’s lower lip wobbles dangerously.

“Don’t worry, kid. Y/N can talk with her hands, it’s called sign-language. Both us will teach you, and then you’ll be able to talk to Y/N as much as you want, okay?” Immediately Damian brightens, and demands to be taught something. “Alright, lets learn the alphabet first.” And that’s how the rest of the plane ride is spent, with you and Jason teaching Damian how to sign the alphabet.

--

It takes another six years for the three of you to end up back on Gotham, and the main reason you’re there is so Jason can kill the Joker.

“Jay, I still don’t think this is the best idea. We said that we were going to stay away from Batman, not antagonize him”

“I am in pain right now, Y/N. Can you patch me up and save the lecturing for later” Jason gingerly lays down along the couch as you pull out the first aid kit, “And plus, it’s not like I went looking for him! He and Dickhead attacked me!”

“Language, Jason. You know Y/N does not like it when you swear around me” Damian quietly closes his book and surveys the damage done to the only fatherly figure in his life, “I could kill them for you”

“Listen, kid, if I couldn’t take them, then you couldn’t take them” Jason hisses as you pour alcohol over one of his cuts, “And plus, Y/N doesn’t want you to go out while we’re in Gotham. Batman might find you”

Damian rolls his eyes, “I do not care about Bruce Wayne or Batman. He does not even know I exist. I do not need a father; I already have one”

“Aw, Dami, you’re gonna make me choke up!”

The ten-year-old scoffs, “I made my choice many years ago. You two are the only family I need. My father does not know of my existence, my mother never tried to contact me after sending me away, and my grandfather is constantly trying to kill me”

“We love you too, Damian. We can go out tomorrow night if you want, Jason will be resting” You throw a glare at Jason who just holds up his hands and grins.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Just as long as you bring back some tacos from that truck on 17th, the owner likes you more than me.”

Damian grins, “Of course, they have the best vegetarian tacos”

--

Damian, as always, is eager to put on his mask and hit the rooftops. Unlike Jason whose main goal is to cause chaos and keep all the focus on him, you and Damian are meant to stay under the radar, to gather as much information as possible.

“Stay low, stay quiet. Do not draw attention to yourself. If we are found, you hide, I will handle it. Understand, Shadow?” Being in the field without a voice is dangerous, it means if you get in trouble the only way someone can find you is if they can hear you whistle or follow the tracker that only Jason and Damian have access to.

“I know, ‘Gale. I will be careful, Batman will not even know I am in the city, I swear”

“Good. Now, let’s go before Jason comes with us” Jason chuckles from his seat on the couch and flips you the bird.

--

“The city is quiet tonight.” You glance over at Damian to see him perched slightly under one of the many gargoyles, trying to get out of the rain. “It does not seem as foul on nights such as this”

You snort, “Now that you said that, something is going to happen. Besides, I thought I told you to go home. You’ll get sick”

“I will not get sick from rain.”

Before you can reply, three figures land one a nearby building. Barely moving, you send a quick sign to Damian, one of the first words you had taught him, “Hide”

Immediately Damian slips further into the shadows, his much smaller body easy sliding between the stone structures. It takes almost 20-minutes for Batman, Robin, and Nightwing to finally leave, and another 15 for you to be sure they’re gone. “Come out, it’s safe”

“I hate this city. I hate that Jason feels the need to seek revenge and torment your former family. Why didn’t you and I wait for him elsewhere, like we had planned? Seeing them terrifies you, and that makes me hate them”

“I chose to come here with Jason. He needs us to keep him sane, and this city drives people insane much faster than most. When we lived on the streets together as children, Jason and I promised to always stay together, no matter what. We are here to protect Jason and to help him, little prince, that is what we chose to do as a family”

Damian lets out another sigh, “Fine, but as long as we’re in the city I want to fight Robin at least once, to prove that I am superior”

“Whatever you want. Now, let’s go mix up some trouble, I’m getting a little bored” You flash a bright smile at Damian and ruffle his wet hair.

“Sounds fun. I’ve been wanting to try out my knew knives”

“And then tacos. We can’t forget the tacos or Jason won’t let us hear the end of it”

———————————————————————————–

Let me know what you think! Send any ideas or requests you have to my Ask Box!

[kindaangelic]

Love Me a Little

Tim felt humiliated. He had never felt so vulnerable in his life, and with Dick, no less. He should have seen this coming, he should have dodged that bolt of magic, he should have moved faster, should've, would've, could've- But hindsight did nothing for the fact that he was now a tiny baby who was having his suitably tiny butt powdered by Dick Grayson, Mother Extraordinaire. “All done!” Dick crowed, administering a final, powdery, pat on his tush. “Don't you feel fresh now, Timmy?” Tim did feel as fresh as the morning dew, but he wasn't going to let Dick have the satisfaction of knowing that. Instead, he mewled plaintively, reaching out for the void to engulf him. By sheer happenstance, the direction in which he stretched was exactly where Jason was passing by after his nap. “Do you want to go to Jay?” Dick asked, bouncing him. “Jason, Timmy wants his big brother!” Jason blinked sleepily at his brothers and itched himself slowly, deliberately, before snagging Tim in one arm. “Hey, TimTam,” Jason yawned. “Don't you look all fresh and nice. Did Dickface give you a bath?” Tim squirmed uncomfortably, loath to relive the torturous memories of Bathtime. He let out a warbling wail, and looked angrily at Jason, who proceeded to mess up Dick’s hard work by blowing raspberries in Tim’s tummy, eliciting squeals from the unhappy yet tickled baby. “Hey, he likes it,” Jason said, completely misinterpreting Tim’s tortured noises for happiness. “Tim, who's your favourite brother?” Tim lunged towards Dick, making grabby hands at his saviour, who swept Tim out of the tickle monster’s arms. “Traitor,” Jason said good-naturedly. “It's lucky that he won't remember all of this when he turns back, huh?” “Oh, for sure,” Dick agreed. “Can you imagine him remembering all of this, or understanding us?” “Pfft,” Jason muffled a laugh, “I'm pretty sure he'd run away first.” “Yeah, it's pretty funny, huh?” Tim glared at his chortling brothers, and wondered if the League of Assassins was still recruiting. ----------- Tim dozed off as Dick and Jason carried him around the house, waking only when he felt a scratchy material on his face. Did those two numbskulls put him on the carpet!? Tim blinked awake, only to realize that the scratchy feeling was not from the carpet, but from where he was smushed against Bruce’s bare, hairy, chest, as the man lounged in front of the television where he was having his bi-monthly existential crisis. Said crisis usually consisted of asking questions such as am I really making a difference? Would my parents approve of my lifestyle? Why won't my children ever hug me? Why does Dick hug me so much? The answers to which were, in order, yes, I can't speak for the dead, because you're unapproachable, and because Dick has made it his personal mission in life to hug everything into submission, and frankly, his success rate is startlingly high. Currently, Bruce was cradling Tim and a bowl of popcorn (plain) against his bare chest and stomach, respectively, as the television blared news about Superman’s latest feat of hunkyness - rescuing a kitten from a tree - while Tim was having a mental freakout about lying next to Bruce’s nipple. Bruce came out of his stupor as Tim stirred awake and regarded his now infant son carefully. “I miss this,” Bruce said after a while. “You don't remember this, but you used to be here all the time when you were a baby. Perks of being the bachelor neighbor, I got to babysit you a lot. We used to do this a lot, too,” he admitted, gesturing at himself and the television, as Tim listened, enraptured. “My existential crises were different though. They were more centered around starting out as Batman and if I was really gay. I'm bisexual,” Bruce reaffirmed. Tim giggled, and Bruce smirked. “Yes, it seems so frivolous now, doesn't it? But when I was in my twenties, Superman’s pectorals haunted my dreams. Now, he haunts me in real life with his stupidity and talking and emotions, ugh.” Tim looked around guiltily, thinking back on all the times he had imagined Conner’s pecs bouncing. “Why am I talking about Clark?” Bruce interrupted himself. “Stupid Clark. This is father-son bonding time,” Bruce said, addressing Tim seriously. “As I was saying, you were here all the time. You said your first word here, you know. It was ‘bat’.” Bruce paused before continuing, “I should have known. I should have adopted you then. Maybe we would have had more time together, and you wouldn't have left home,” he said softly. Tim mashed his face into Bruce’s chest to convey his feelings, which Bruce seemed to understand. “You were my baby for the longest time, and I couldn't accept that you were going to leave. I keep losing kids and I don't know why,” he complained softly. “Dick went to crummy Blüdhaven, Jason died, came back, and hates me, Cassandra is in Hong freaking Kong, and Damian keeps calling me ‘Father’ like I don't know. Is ‘daddy’ too difficult a word? And you left and got a stupid flat in a stupid apartment complex,” Bruce grumbled. After a stretch of comfortable silence, Bruce hiked Tim up higher and looked him dead in the eye. “But I have you now, and I'm going to make the most of it. Prepare for hugs, Timothy my boy,” Bruce said, before cuddling Tim. Tim squeaked in shock, and made valiant attempts to avoid the Batman’s nipple, but appreciated the frank affection that was so rarely found in the house that did not come from Dick. ---------- “Your first word was not ‘bat’, as Master Bruce likes to think,” Alfred informed Timothy as he fed him tiny spoonfuls of applesauce. “It was ‘butt’. But Master Bruce does like his denial, doesn't he?” Tim clapped his hands gleefully, overjoyed that his first word had been said to cause someone affront. ---------- Just when he thought that everyone had had their fill of him as a baby, Damian showed up, looming ominously over Tim’s crib. Tim squeaked in horror at the purpose clear in Daman’s poisonous, green, eyes, and made to crawl away, but was held fast by the evil little gnome. “There is the possibility that this spell may not be reversible,” Damian muttered. “In that case, you will have to grow up all over again. This has been a blessing in disguise, the fates having given me the chance to forge a new relationship with you.” Tim cocked has tiny head, touched that Damian wanted to build on their relationship. “When I take the mantle of Batman, you shall be my new Robin!” Tim gawked as Damian went on to outline grandiose plans of how he and Tim would usher in an age of peace (he should have known not to let Damian read Orwellian Classics), and how with proper training, Tim would love his new elder brother and Batman. “...I shall have a high collar with my version of the cape and cowl. It offers more protection for my neck. For you, I shall keep the classic colour scheme, but we will be adding darker undertones. Here, try this on-” Tim was shocked when Damian pulled out a very small replica of the Robin costume of his imagining, and attempted to put Tim in it. Tim flailed, unwilling to indulge Damian’s fantasies of being his big brother, but failed, and was forced to look at his reflection in the mirror dressed in a modified Robin onesie. “There, see? Elegant and effective, offering brilliant range of movement and optimal protection. You will thank me for this later, Drake. In fact,” Damian paused, smirking, “you will love me, for I shall be the big brother that you never had.” Tim wailed at the thought, which brought Dick into the room. “Ooh, Bruce, look! Dami’s playing dress up with Timmy! They're so cute! And look at that!” Dick cried, pointing at Tim’s costume. “Did you make that, Dami?” Damian nodded happily. “It is for when I make Drake the Robin to my Batman.” “That's very sweet, Damian,” Bruce remarked. “I'm glad that you love your brother enough to make him Robin. I'm very proud of you.” “Thank you Father,” Damian said, preening. “You'll be a great big brother, Dami,” Dick cooed adoringly. “I know,” Damian remarked. “And with time, Drake will know it too.” Tim gulped, and willed the magic to fade faster from his body, if only to pound his little creep of a brother into the dirt for forcing him to play a role in his dystopian fantasies. ----------- “I'm sorry!” “Hmph.” “Timmy, I'm soooo soooorrrry!” “Hngh.” Jason buried his face in his hands as Dick continued to grovel. “Timmy, please! We didn't know that you could remember everything!” “You made me take bubble baths, Dick,” Tim reminded him sourly. “You made me dress up like a pumpkin, and then you took pictures! You powdered my butt. You touched my BUTT.” Dick slunk to the floor in horror while Jason gagged, prompting Tim to round on him. “And you! You put your entire uggo face in my stomach! You gave me raspberries! The gun-toting, feared anti-hero of Gotham, the Red Hood, gave me tiny tummy kisses!” Tim shrieked, pointing at a withering Jason, who promptly joined Dick in a pile of shame on the floor. In the chaos, Damian attempted to escape unnoticed, but was out of luck. “Don't think you're going to get away, you little creep,” Tim growled, snagging Damian by the waist. “‘You will learn to love me!?’ ‘I will show you what it means to be my Robin?’ What the hell, you little gremlin!?” “You should be honored, Drake!” Damian cried, attempting to scratch Tim’s eyes out. “I was going to make you into my perfect Robin!” “Oh my Gotham, that was creepy as fuck,” Jason mumbled quietly. “Dick, your little demon baby is a freaking creep.” “I was going to make you the best version of yourself, Drake!” “Dami,” Dick sighed, “you should love your brother in whatever form he is in. Tim loves you just as you are, don't you Timmy?” “I'd love him more if he was a hamster.” “Tim!” Unbeknownst to everyone, Bruce watched his children bicker from the safety of his room, and smiled at having his boys under one roof, together. Just as it should be. ---------

[mintcrash]

ok so I haven’t written anything in many mnay years, but procrastination and too Many Comics can do strange things.

Just some drabble which forms some coherent one-shot I guess.

Damian never liked Tim,but after this, he will never forgive him.

Basically Tim has to monior Damian in some ‘mandatory dress training’. Damian is cute and angry, Tim is a good brother, and Dick is less so.

~1800 words, literally don’t know what I’m doing, mindless fluff and poofy dresses.

—

Damian doesn’t know what to do. Damian Al Ghul: Robin, son of Batman, heir to the League of Assassins is absolutely stunned. He’s faced assassins, demons, beasts of unfathomable proportions. He has come so far in his few short years that immortals would be seething with jealousy. He came back from the dead, and he doesn’t know what to do. Trained by the world’s greatest, and here he stands, Tim Drake having frozen him in his tracks.

“You want…I’m sorry Drake, but what?”

“You heard me.”

“Drake, of all thi- this is ridiculous-“

“Yeah, well it’s a compulsory part of the training, and now you’ll fit into it, so get over here and put this on right now or I’m calling Dick.”

“-Tt-,” he scowled as he eyed Tim, glancing between his brother’s innocent, amused expression and the object of questionable origins in his arms, “You would enjoy this, you-“

Tim’s hands went up defensively, a film of glitter gracing his forearms. “Nuh-uh you stop looking at me like that right now demon child. This was definitely not my idea and I just want to get back to my case so if you wouldn’t mind-”

Damian snatched the pile of hoops and fabric from him. Honestly. What kind of family is this. “Well then, whose idea was it?” He struggled to turn the pale pink mess over in his arms, barely catching glimpses of the layers of tulle sticking out from what was presumably the bottom.

“Nobodys! I swear, this is actually a part of training,” Tim grimaced, ignoring the laugh building in response to Damian’s disgusted face, “Bruce makes all of us do it, but seeing as he’s overseas, Dick’s busy, and Jason’s who-knows-where, I’m in charge of…this.”

Damian wasn’t convinced. He could see Tim’s mouth twitching in that insufferable face he made whenever he had something to do with something unpleasant. He’s lying. It had to be some kind of sick Tim Drake joke. After all this time, he should be forced to wear, well, this. Despicable.

“For what possible reason – “

“Hey - don’t get me started runt.” Tim sauntered past the table, grabbing his coffee before planting himself in the nearest armchair with great satisfaction, falling into what looked like the least comfortable position any human being could manage. “I had to learn how to walk in it. Dick had to learn how to dance in it.  And – holy cow- Jason­ knows how to seduce anyone in it, so I’m sure that you, with your mighty mind can master all of that and more. Hey, I have to say though, it is easier than sitting in a pencil skirt, but doesn’t make your butt look nearly as good.”

Damian stared as Tim serenely sipped his coffee. He’d been through heels, and the cursed pencil skirts, but this? He stared at the pile in his arms with distain.

“Why does it have to be pink.”

“Hm? What was that?”

“I hate you Drake.”

  ----

  Two hours, a torn underskirt, a snapped hoop, a broken zip and four fake bras later, Damian Wayne finally came into the lounge so that Tim could assess him.

“Finally, took you - woah”

Damian’s cheeks flushed. He was used to being critiqued and hunted by his insufferable brother, not flattered.

“Well? Stop staring you trout, do I pass?”

His mouth just hung open. What used to be his little demon brother actually looked, well, really good. His hair had been ruffled from wrestling with the dress, which somehow made him look even better. The dress managed to frame his lithe, false-breasted body exceptionally. Alfred was probably the only reason it was still in one piece, and the old, pristine fabric of the training gown caught the fading light perfectly. A river of fuchsia sequins rippled like a tail down the centre, framed by black velvet stripes. A black collar complemented dark sleeves, flowing from a high-waisted pale pink centrepiece, ending in a thick black ribbon. From this stemmed a pink hoop gown, the rich satin glistening in the fading light from the half-open curtains.

Dang, his brother looked better than he ever did in that thing.

Snapped out of his musings by a sharp -tt-, Tim hastily responded, “It, uh- the colour…really, brings out your eyes, I guess.”

“Really Drake? Am I that good that I don’t require any real critique?” Damian swished, hands falling in a naturally petite manner to his hips.

Tim had to hold back a snort. “Well, if you really want to know, you’re as ugly as ever, and need a wig. Your hair is shocking. And your shoulders – I can tell you’re a little self- “

“I am n – “

“Don’t interrupt me, princess. As I was saying, you’re self-conscious. You’ve got to hold your shoulders back, puff out your chest a little - no not like – agh wait, lemme, more like this, see?” Tim stood as close as he felt was a safe distance to the dinosaur in a dress, but pulled himself into a ballerina stance. “It’s like someone’s drawn a string up your spine, yeah that’s a little better, but don’t be so tense, relax your shoulders a little. Yes. Much better.”

Tim continued to give instruction and Damian let himself relax a little. The dress wasn’t all uncomfortable. Besides, there was no denying Drake thought he looked good. At least a little.

After learning to walk, especially up and down stairs holding the length of puffy fabric, Tim called for Alfred to bring in the shoes. Combining them with the dress proved to be…difficult, but he only stepped on the hem twice, and that was because he was trying to stand up and the dress just got everywhere once you sat down.

Dancing was a lot harder.

“You know-“

“Yes, of course I know the waltz, you dimwit. And I am not dancing with you, no matter how much ‘practice’ anybody insists I need.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Tim sat back into his observing station, nursing his third coffee of the day, taking note of his brother’s movements.

“You’re doing the girl’s part, remember.”

“Shut up”

“…Keep your back straight, you’re losing-“

“Mm”

“…Relax those shoulders princess.”

“-tt-“

  ----

  Asides from the occasional misstep in the heels, which left a few new holes in the first layer of the skirt, and his tense shoulders, Tim thought Damian was more of a natural in the dress than any of them had been, except maybe Dick.

“Are we done now?”

Turning his head from a fresh brew, he sighted the pile of fabric sprawled on the furthest armchair. The second pair of heels had been kicked off and a light sheen of glitter rested with them on the floor nearby.

“Sadly, no.”

“What?!” The pile twisted as Damian almost fell on the floor, “You said one more dance-“

“Until I’m done, you still have something else to do.”

Damian’s face could probably boil water, but Tim wasn’t finished. “After this, you can remove the beautiful dress and reclaim your natural demon state. Besides, a normal gala usually goes for at least another twenty minutes. Put on that one pair of heels which you actually liked, and I’ll give my final assessment.”

Damian tutted, pulling on his shoes and staring daggers at his brother before finally straightening up and twirling one more time.

“Fine. Just…hurry up.”

Then Dick walked in.

He froze. Damian stiffened. Tim grinned.

“You…little…”

“DAMI!”

Dick spread his arms wide, soggy hair from his after-work shower flicking drips behind him as he bounded up to his little brother. Damian braced himself for whatever was coming.

“Damian it…you…it’s perfect! You look amazing!” He turned to Tim, “How’d you-“

“With a lot of patience.”

Both smiled like maniacs as Damian suffered their compliments.

“Oh Darlene, your dress is stunning tonight.”

“Oh Diana I love your shoes!”

“Dmitri, that colour really brings out your flawless skin.”

“And your eyes!”

“Did he get the posture right?”

“Most of the time”

“Dami, relax your shoulders-“

“So.  I’ve.  Been. Told.”

“Oh you have to give me a walk. Come on, just one? I promise I will never talk of this –“

“Shut up. I will, only because I want this torment to end sooner.”

So, Damian did. He glided flawlessly up the room, twirled liked only the finest of socialites, then turned to see – Grayson’s Phone. Abandoning any hints of walking, Damian pulled up the dress, revealing a half-on shoe. With a quick and expert flick of his ankle, it flew off and landed violently on the camera. Tim snorted, sharing a quick smile with the youngest. Dick just looked hurt.

“Aww, come on Dami! It’s compulsory for everyone to have documented photos of all important training events. Besides, Bruce needs photographic evidence of this occasion.”

“Shut up, Grayson. I swear if you show those to anyone I will slice your hand off.”

“Well, I think that about covers everything now.” Tim interrupted before Damian actually attacked anyone. He stood, and with the straightest face and most serious voice he could muster, said, “You have my permission, as your supervisor for this training session, to get out of the dress, until such time comes that it is needed for mission purposes. Also, I’ll have to write all this down, but you really need to work on relaxing your shoulders.”

Damian’s sour expression turned to Tim, “Drake, if you mention this to anyone, I will have a good reason to cut off your coffee supply for a week.” He turned with great flair, radiating an attitude fitting for his outfit, and stormed into the next room.

“Oh, and Damian?” Dick called before he slammed the door behind him, “Just remember, with the whole relaxing your shoulders thing, think of it like swordplay – you only tense before you strike. And if you do ever have to wear one of those, at least you’ll be prepared. Plus, Bruce had to have this training too, so-“

“Wait, what?!? Father had to- “

“Ohohoho yes he did.” Dick’s phone was back up as he searched for the ‘compulsory photographic documentation’.

Damian stalked over as fast as he could, hoisting the dress.  Tim rolled off the couch too. He was not going to miss this.

“He thought he should try it out when he made me do it. Justified it as ‘needing practice’ and ‘learning from a woman’s perspective’, but I don’t think anybody his size needs to put themselves through something they obviously can’t pull off. Now where’s…ahah!”

The room fell silent. The air was concrete as Dick held in the fiery laugh building in his chest.

“Is that-“

“Yes.”

“Gets me every time.”

“In pink-“

“Oooohhh yeah.”

“You know it.”

Damian was disgraced. Tim was choking back his laughter. Dick was…well, Grayson was beaming in the background of the photo, wearing the same dress Damian had on now. It…complemented his Father’s.

“Oh he really cannot pull that off.” Tim commented.

“I KNOW, right?! He kept telling me it was for experience but honestly I think he was just enjoying himself.”

Damian snuffed, “-tt-, he needs to relax his shoulders.”

Tim and Dick shared stunned glances before Dick mumbled, “Guess it runs in the family.”

[soepicsokim]

Chapter 11

Warning::::: Slight talk of suicide::::: Proceed with caution..... O Hey, I like your hair!

2 Days LATER:

 I’m on a mission to be as normal, well as human as possible. I’ve left Wayne Manor to move back to the house in Metropolis. I did this at the protest of both Dick and Damian. Damian didn’t want me to leave because he felt like I would forget him if I left. Dick didn’t want me to leave because, he knew I was at least halfway safe in Gotham. Plus with all the trauma Dick and I have experienced in the last two months he didn’t want me to experience signs of PTSD with out him or Bruce around.

 I still left Gotham and went back to my house. Everything seemed ok. I went to work and everyone seemed happy to have me back. It had been a long time since I worked at Bruce’s company but people acted as if I had been there the whole time. I shrug my shoulders and just go along with it.

I get to the office that Bruce gave me, it’s actually his office when he comes to work at the Metropolis branch. I don’t touch any of Bruce’s personal things, but I have added my own items to Bruce’s collection. There is a photo of me with my dad and Bruce. There is an image that Damian drew for me. It’s colorful with all different types of animals and things the he believes represents me. All of the images combine to spell out, Lydia.

I sit down and turn on the computer. The first thing that pops up is an IM from Bruce.

B: Good Morning, How are you doing?

L: I’m good Uncle Bruce. I have a massive headache but I’ll survive.

B: Top drawer right hand side. Extra strength pain meds.

L: You are the best Uncle Bruce.

B: Don’t tell your dad or Dick that.

L: Ha, how’s Dami?

B: Sulking.

L: He does that. I’ll visit this weekend.

B: He isn’t the only one that misses you.

L: Yeah I know. I’ll visit him later. I got to go Uncle Bruce. I have a meeting over at the Planet in 20.

B: Be safe. Good luck with Clark.

 I roll your eyes at Bruce’s last message. I have to see dad at this meeting whether I like it or not. So I grab my bag and make my way out of the building. It was a sunny day so I decided to walk the couple of blocks to the Daily Planet.

**************

 Ugh, Why did my dad have to sit next to me? I just sigh as Clark sits next to me and gives me a smile. I smile back at dad and then I hear Dick’s thoughts.

Because he want’s to get to know you, and he is your father.

I roll my eyes at Dick’s statement and give off a slight sigh.

 The meeting was about Wayne Enterprises, and me, the lost daughter of metropolis. Perry White wanted to do a piece about me and then a week later a piece about The Cat. So I sat there answering questions and listening to dad. In total, the meeting last for 2 hours. After the meeting Clark asked me to lunch and I just nodded my head.

**********

 Sitting in a coffee shop with Clark just feels awkward. “So, uh, dad, what’s new?” I take a sip of coffee and eye my father.

He takes a bite of his apple pie and looks at me. “Oh, you know same old same old. Anything new with you?”

 I narrow my brow at him, “Look I’m trying here. And are you seriously eating Apple pie? That’s so,” I wave my hand looking for the word, “American of you.“

Clark is just stunned at what I said. He blinks for a second then pushes his glasses up in a soft whisper he says, "Truth Justice and the American way, Lydia. So I guess, thank you.” He sighs and starts to talk at a normal volume, “I’m trying also. This is harder than I thought it would be.” That’s when I start getting mad.

 “Was it this hard with Conner? Or did you completely forget about me and accept him as your son?” That’s when I notice how clammy my skin has gotten. “Does he have a name? You know an, El name?” Clark nods his head and I gulp. It’s getting hard for me to breath. Clark’s eyes widen as he hears my heart rate pick up. He didn’t realize how hurt I was.

 “Hey, hey, It’s ok. Just listen to my voice. Cat, honey focus on me. It’s fine, nothing else exists other than you and me. Lydia. Baby please.”

 I look at my father and just shake my head. He is trying. That’s how he would talk to me when I was learning how to control my super hearing and vision. I shake my head, grab my bag and run out the door. I really do appreciate him trying but it hurts to even be around him right now. Clark tries to follow after me but I have always been faster than him.

*********

  Everything around me was a blur. I didn’t know where I was or why I was beating the hell out of a low life thug. Poor guy didn’t even have a reason for me to attack him but I still did. I was on top of him pounding his face in when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turn quickly about to throw a punch at the person who tried to stop my from getting rid of my pain.

 Bruce dodged my punch with ease. He notices my eyes widen when I see him and when I realize what time it is. “I need you to calm down. Robin, check on him.” Bruce points to the person I just beat to a pulp. “Lydia, I need you to calm down.”

 I take a deep breath and close my eyes. It’s bad when Batman and Robin have to step in. It’s even worse when I’m so lost in a fit of rage and sorrow and almost kill someone for no reason. “I’m so sorry. I don’t even know what came over me. I’m so-” I stop talking and just collapse on the ground and start to cry. This was Damian’s first night as Robin and when he saw how broken I was, it unnerved him.

 “Lydia, it is ok. Just breathe.” I hear Damian say as he attends to the person I just beat up. Bruce just looks at me. He slowly walks over to me and picks me up and carries me bridal style to the Batmobile. He tells Alfred to call an ambulance for the thug. Then with Damian in the back seat he makes his way to the Batcave. I close my eyes from exhaustion.

***************

 My eyes shoot open and the first person I see is Bruce dressed as the Bat, minus the cowl. “What the hell were you thinking?”

 “I wasn’t. I don’t even remember what happened until you stepped in. One minute I was running out on Clark and the next I’m here.” I start to cry again. “Bruce, I’m worthless as a hero. I’m pointless as a daughter. And I’m a disappointment as a niece. Maybe Lex and Ra’s were right. Maybe I deserve to be treated like a villain.”

Bruce is by my side in a heartbeat. “Shut up. You have been through alot in your life. Maybe you shouldn’t have left yet.”

 “Grandfather was wrong Lydia.” At Damian’s voice both Bruce and I snap our heads in his direction. “You are not a villain. In Grayson’s words, you are a princess who needs help finding her way back home.” He walks closer to me and looks me in the eye, “Do not forget who you are.”

Later that night:  

  After the episode I just had, Bruce sedated me and that’s when the nightmares begin. Damian is standing at the end of the gurney watching as my face twitches. It’s upsetting him to see me this way, but Bruce says it’s for my own good.

Dream:

 Everything seems normal, I’m walking down the streets of Gotham. The sun is shining and Dick is walking beside me. Hand in hand window shopping, laughing our heads off. It was everything I wanted it to be.

Real life:

 "I can hear her thoughts Bruce.“ Dick says looking at everyone else in the cave. "I don’t know if I want to hear what she is going to go through.” Dick pleads with Bruce. So Bruce just agrees and sedates Dick also, along with strapping Dick safely to a gurney for when the dream starts to go south.

Dream:

 “I’m so happy.” I say turning to give Dick a kiss on the cheek. He just chuckles pulling me closer to him. “I’m serious Richard. I’m happy. I’m a normal human now and I can’t hurt anyone. I’m finally free.” I let go of Dick and quickly spin around and giggle.

Real life:

“I don’t understand Bruce, what will having her sleep do?” Clark asks as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind my ear. Bruce just looks at Clark then watches Dick’s an my vitals.

"I put fear toxin in her sedative. It will help her drive out some of those demons she has. Dick is just along for the ride.“ Bruce says. He doesn’t want to make me suffer but he knows making me face my fears will calm me down just a tad. But what was my fear?

Dream:

"Lyds, It’s getting late. Let’s go home.” Dick offers his hand to me and I take it. For once in my life I wasn’t Superman’s daughter or Lex Luthor’s experiment. I was Dick Grayson’s girlfriend and he was by my side. Well everything was going fine until Dick and I got cornered by members of the League of Assassins.

Real Life:

 Bruce notices that my face goes from a smile to an instant frown. Dicks does the same, however, Dick clenches his fist like he is about to fight. “It’s started.” Damian sits in a chair next to me and waits. He knows this is not going to be fun to watch.

Dream:

 “Why, did Ra’s send you?” I yell at the assassins. Dick suddenly gets in a defensive stance and next thing I know the two of us are fighting. I’m getting cut and cut badly but so is Dick. It gets to the point where I have lost a lot of blood but still I’m able to fight. I’m standing over Dick’s broken and bloody body. When I see them, hell was about to break.

Real Life:

 “Hold her down! NOW!” Bruce is yelling at everyone in the cave to hold me down. My dad grabs my arms and holds them across my chest. “Since when did she have telekinesis?” Right as someone asks that Dick’s eyes shoot wide open and he is gasping for air.

Dream:

 “I don’t understand. Why can’t you just leave me alone and let me be happy?” I scream at the three men who created me, their weapon. The three pairs of eyes suddenly make their way towards me. That’s also when I notice Dick’s heartbeat has stopped. My father, Lex Luthor and Ra’s Al Ghul has killed the one thing in my life that made sense.

Real Life:

 Dick is by my side holding my hand. The second he touched my hand I calmed down and whatever was floating around me has now stopped. My screams stopped and my foot stopped twitching. But he could still hear the thoughts that I’m screaming in my head. “She’s in pain, Bruce. She thinks I’m dead.” Silent Tears are sliding down Dick’s face as my pain echo’s in his head.

Dream:

“We didn’t kill him Lydia. You did that yourself.” Ra’s tells me pointing his sword at me. I suddenly get defensive and fight Ra’s. I release all my rage on Ra’s as I become the very thing I didn’t want to be. I become a monster. I released all my pent up rage and fried Ra’s with my heat vision.

Real world:

 My body suddenly breaks into a cold sweat and I’m trembling. I keep turning my head back and forth to get away from what’s in the dream. “Bruce maybe we should stop. I don’t like seeing her like this.” Clark says walking over to where I’m lying. My heart rate has increased greatly and it has him worried. Bruce just grunts and watches me. I need to face these demons.

Dream:

Luthor was next. He didn’t say anything to me he just stood there watching my movements. Other than Ra’s, Lex Luthor was the man I spent a lot of my time with. I was his project. His pet. His toy. He created me. “You know dear girl, the only way to be happy is to destroy everything you love. Destroy it all and then start over. Build your own empire.”

 “I’m not destruction! I was supposed to be a new race of Kryptonian. You sick twisted Bastard!” With that Lex advances at starts to fight me. Every blow he landed he would speak, “Useless.” another blow, “Disappointment.” Another hit, “Pathetic."  A blow to the face, "Unwanted by the human race and unwanted by your father.” The last comment pushed me over the edge. I grabbed Lex and ripped him in half with my bare hands.

Real life:

  “Father, even Grandfather tried to get her to fight with her demons. What makes you think you can get her to do it?” Damian is standing by Bruce drinking a cup of tea. The last time he saw this happened to me, he was a small child. Talia said that Ra’s was cleansing my spirit of the unclean demons. Bruce just eyes Damian and then turns his attention back to me.

 “Dick, is she still in pain?” Bruce’s voice is soft but firm. Dick looks over to Bruce and nods his head. He was hearing everything I was yelling. He was even feeling the heartbreak I was having in this dream state.

Dream:

 “What about you? Are you here to try to kill me also?” I scream at my father. He takes one step towards me then he stops. “You let them take me. They tortured me. They raped me. They made me into a weapon to destroy whoever they pleased. AND YOU DIDN’T CARE!"  Clark takes another step towards me.

"You didn’t even want me. After mom died you sent me away. You blamed me for her death.” Another step closer. “And now you replaced me! You replaced me with a clone from him.” I point at Luthor’s broken body. Clark just takes another step towards me. “Say something Clark Kent!” With that last statement my father grabs ahold of me and wraps me in a hug.

Real Life:

“You!” Dick exclaims looking at Clark. “You are the main problem to all her pain. You abandoned her.” Clark has a look of horror on his face. He never meant to abandon me. He only wanted what was best for me. He looked for me after I was kidnaped. He never found me. He fell into a depression so hard that he went to Bruce and asked him to end him. Just because he lost me.

Dream:

I fall to my knees while in my father's arms. I can’t stop crying. After a while Clark speaks up, “I do love you. I forgive you. and I never wanted any of this for you.” I start sobbing. With every tear and noise that leaves me, my whole body shakes. Clark just holds me tighter. After a while my tears stop and I start speaking.

“I hate what you made me become. Because of you I became a killer. I became a weapon for the very people you taught me to dislike.” I sigh and pull away from Clark. “Daddy, please, I beg you. End me. I don’t want to be a toy in this game of good vs. evil anymore.” I hug my father again. “Please, just end me.” I hear my father sigh, and next thing I know everything is dark.

Real life:

Dick told everyone what was said between me and the dream Clark. Everyone in the cave was either in tears or on the verge of crying. My father grabbed my hand and told me he would never take my life no matter how much I begged. Dick kept telling me that everything was going to be ok.

 Damian stayed back away from me until every one either left to go do something else or they fell asleep. He just walked up to me and stared at my now peaceful sleeping face. “This is only the beginning. You know that don’t you.”

 Bruce disappeared in all the craziness at the end. Even though I wasn’t truthfully his niece, he viewed me that way. He broke me tonight, and he broke me hard. Now how was he going to put me back together?

 A/N: Poor Clark he is trying. If Lydia had a Kryptonian name what would it be? A broken Cat? So Sad. STAY TUNED

Tags: @kathlyan, @pinkwitch21, @solis200213, @speedypan, @memento-amare, @bat-lakota, @queen-of-all-the-fandoms, @femdamian, @just-a-girl-maybe, @teachingpanda, @keepjasontoddsafefromeveryone, @wynterrobin, @gobydana, @chi-townbatgirl, @nightwingdiva, @ellana-ravenwood

[iphoenixrising]

Not the original Justice is Blind anon, but man, I really like that verse. Hopefully more of it will sneak out of the old brain pan. :D

Hi babe. Ah, it’s such an interesting idea, like the logistics behind being a vigilante, and just! Yeah. So here’s a thing for your loves @satire-please will probably throw down about the Black Bird.

**

4

Getting out of Wayne Manor proved to bemore of a pain in the ass than he initially thought it should be. Most of his life, he’s had little adult supervision, fewpeople telling him when and where to go, or if he can’t. Really, Bruce was the first adult to set complicated rules,to hold him back or push him forward (you know, when he was that Robin), but even then, he still had freedom to movewithout restraints. If he needed to hit crime scenes, information sources,track baddies, and later, meet with his allies, his teams, he just went. Hemight shoot B a text, leave a note or something, but he was rarely hindered.

This? One of those rare times.

“We justgot you back from the League of Assassins,” B is arguing, trying to soundreasonable.

Ruffle of a newspaper, a sharp snap, but B isn’t really reading it, noteven skimming, there’s no shift of a thumb over the edges like when he’sconcentrating.

“I already had a way out and othercontingencies. Explosions, remember?” He deadpans, arms crossed over his chest(and since when did it feel odd to be talking to B without a mask orcowl on? When did he start getting an itch of discomfort being in the Manor?…Oh, right, since he’s fucking riff raff).“It’s not like I don’t appreciate Bat intervention, Bruce, I do. Thank-you forcoming, but I have other things that need attention—” Please let me just leavewithout fighting—not in front of Damian and Dick.

“And I am to assume,” Alfred Pennyworthbegins from a few feet by his right side, close to the buffet, smell of coffee,eggs, waffles, and something sharper,probably juice, “these things aremore pressing than a hardy breakfast, Master Timothy?”

Movement, soft steps, a slight heel onthe shoe against the carpet, stronger scent of coffee, warmth of body heat.Without a hitch, he holds out a hand and moves his face only slightly towardAlfred as the saucer fills his palm with a whole lot of familiar. His thumb maps out the engraved vines in the saucer, theW in the center while his first finger automatically dips over the rim of themug, checks how full it is before he lifts it to his mouth for a sip, and just—

God,Alfred coffee is like no coffee ever made.

(And no, he’s not thinking about the room upstairs that’s still his apparently or that Alfred remembershow he likes his coffee—nope, not goingto think about it. Not at all.)

“Crime never stops, Alfred,” hecounters, feeling the heat of gazes on him, standing by the long dining roomtable, in the t-shirt and sweats he woke up wearing (new, not borrowed?), bare feet and face, histoo-long hair probably still a mess with only some water and fingers to runthrough it.

“Perhaps not, young Sir, but itcertainly has a nutritious breakfast beforeplotting sundry nefarious deeds.”

He chuffs a laugh, holding the cup andsaucer. “This is all the breakfast I need, thanks anyway. I need to get back tomy Perch and check on the analysis I have running.”

Another sharp snap of the paper,rustling of it being folded, laid down (close to Dick’s left hand as usual).His empty gaze swings back to Bruce automatically, a Robin action that makes him pause because isn’t this little situation familiar—

Going over his cases with Bruce at thebreakfast table, giving out the details, working through the evidence andsuspects with him, Dick joining them whenever he was in from the ‘Haven. The twoor three of them breaking all the aspects down, looking for the hiddensubtleties, picking crime scenes apart, looking over photographs and analysisresults, circling the dining room table with cups of coffee and a bite of eggor waffle while they muse aloud to one another, while they work together—

It’s a whole lot of nostalgia right here, one that makes hischest tight (because they helped himalong the road to being a detective, to being a vigilante he could be proud of, and like it was all supposedto come back in some crazy kind of circle, here the fuck he is again).

“I can connect the big computer to yoursystem if you want the answers now.” Bruce gives him a way without making it seem so in a way that’s just so Bruce—pushing what he wantsindirectly (Clark has finally gotten as good at reading into it as he has),only pressuring when it’s necessary.

“Isolated V-LAN,” he answers softly,gaze pointing in the direction of Bruce’s voice, “it’s not on a network.” Andif he relaxes a little, just a little—

“If… it is a matter of—” Damian’s voicecuts in, makes his shoulders draw up on some long-established instinct (youknow, being thrown through glasscases and such) even though he’d known the current Robin was there because ofthe sweet musk and patchouli scent underlying Dick’s subtle aftershave, “—howyou must eat, Pennyworth and I have completed research to ascertain the mostappropriate methods of preparation and presentation.”

And here’s the part where he reallyshouldn’t ask any questions, at all.He should put the cup and saucer down, go back upstairs, take the shortcut ventdown to the Cave, find his cowl, and peaceright the fuck right.  

But again, should.

“…research.  About how I eat.” He says it slowly, notreally questions there, but the shifting, creaking, material on wood, theshifts of knees under the table cloth—

“Common practices to cook for thevisually impaired,” Damian explains in a careful, measured tone.

Dick, in his usual place at Bruce’sright hand, pauses in taking in everything (because Tim is back in the Manor)turns only slightly, eyebrows drawn, “you knew.You knew and you didn’t tell me. I’m so disappointed in you right now.”

The sound of cloth moving is theyoungest Robin shrugging, “I was aware, yes. It was, however, not my place totell you. Not without Drake’s permission.”

“Oh? But you could tell Alfred?”

The responding noise is anasty-sounding tt. “Pennyworth is thekeeper of the Bats, Grayson. Of course he must know. You, on the other hand,would poison Drake with your idea of cuisine.”

“I’m insulted, Dami. Tim likes my spaghetti and meatballs!”

And yes, actually, yes he did. Dick usedto put a little sugar in his sauce, just like Mrs. Mac.

Tim sighs softly as they banter backand forth (Robin and his Batman),holding the saucer and cup in the thumb and forefinger of one hand while theother massages the bridge of his nose. The last thing he wants right now is tobe thrown in the middle of their family breakfast—wrong Robin, remember?

“Thanks for looking out, Damian.” Heinterrupts their back-and-forth, catching the irritated tapping of Bruce’sfinger against his own cup and saucer. And, well, maybe he’d been somewhat anxious about trying to eat with all ofthem watching him, assessing, but that was really just a secondary reason. “Butno, I’m fine. Eating isn’t a problem.” Beingup in the Manor, in my old room isthe problem.

“Just working a case before the Leagueof Assassins came calling?” Dick asks, playing the more blatant card ofBruce’s.

Gingerly, he puts the saucer down onthe table, still ignoring the chair he knows is empty on Bruce’s left, has nointention of taking it up again.

“It’s something I need to get back to,”he replies instead, tone carefully empty because Dick and whatever crazy plan must be going through his head.

“Tim. You don’t have to go,” and it’s the tone of voice when alljoking aside. “Back at Ra’s place, we were serious—”

Sure.“Again, I appreciate the sentiment.”

He turns on his heel, finding thematter settled, and if he hadn’t spent most of his life here, had learned all the ins and outs of Wayne Manor early onduring long spans of crime solving, pacing all over the first floor, he’d havea hand on the wall to guide himself out.

As is, he doesn’t need it (and well, there’s a lot of things he doesn’tneed at this stage of the game), and can take the stairs, can find his old roomagain by muscle memory alone. His phone, previously left on the dresser (oldhabit—don’t think about how Bruce rememberedthat), talks when he hits the main button, an application he made himself.

“How can I assist you?”

“Activate Black Bird, trackingprotocol.” And he ducks slightly, runs a hand around—

Ah. There’s the vent.

“Black Bird activated,” the voice fromhis phone soothes as footsteps outside the open door are silent, but not Batsilent.

“There will be no need for that, MasterTimothy,” Alfred’s voice soothes as he enters the room, something in his handsswaying. “I have collected your suit and sundries.”

Unruffled as always, Alfred is probablyhere to help move it along. You know, outwith the old.

“I appreciate it,” he repeats,straightening, holding out a hand.

Alfred hums and hands the thing over,watching Master Tim’s fingers trace over the pack to find zippers and pouches,watches those fingers pause when theycome to safety pins and old band patches sewn in to the canvas with half-assedstitches.

Alfred fervently hopes it relays thecorrect message.

Tim goes still, dead eyes fixed on aspot just over Alfred’s shoulder. Apparently, he hadn’t gotten everything outof the Manor the first time.

Oops.

He opens his mouth to ask if there’sanything else he should be taking,but Alfred is already moving to the closet, filling in the stunned silence.

“I have taken the liberty of packing alight fare. I do hope you are still partial to my tomato and cheese omelets?”

Shit. His stomach rumbles slightly, andAlfred can probably hear it.

“Thank-you,” is what he can manage,digging into his old (Robin’s)backpack, fingers finding the slick edge of metal, the catch of his harness. Alittle more digging and the heavy cloth of the utility belt pouches, finallyhis fingertips nudge plastic, the side of a regular pair of shades.

Alfred is already back from the closet,standing close, “if you would, Sir?”

He pauses and something plastic touchesthe back of his hand, something with braille written on the other side. Hisfingers move over the tag hoodedsweatshirt; World of Warcraft design. A second tag replaces the first shoes; DC brand; black with blue DC logo.And Tim sits on the bed abruptly with the tag in hand, the other still in thebackpack, gripping the shades, yet to pull them out and on.

And he doesn’t need to see to know Alfred is giving him somekind of look, something that could behere is the last of your clothing, Sir.Please be careful on your way outor something that could even be I shallfetch another should this not be to your liking.

He’s in a bad place to make a guess.

“This is fine,” he finally breathesout.

“Very good. The t-shirt you are wearingis black with white lettering. It reads: The Physics is Theoretical, but theFun is Real.” (Someone obviously knowshim because that? Priceless. Enough that he sniggers) “The sweatpants are alsoblack with a white drawstring.”

He nods but Alfred moves away, pullingout a drawer in the bureau, “would you care for blue, white, or black socks?”

He catches himself from saying blue(since most of his blue clothing used to be the same color as Nightwing’s suit),“white please.”

“Certainly.”

He finally gets himself together enoughto slide on the shades, pull his extendable bo from the utility belt.

“Your hooded sweatshirt is on yourright side, the shoes will be here by your left foot, and the socks laid acrossthem.” And Alfred retreats a few steps, the sound of steps muffled, waiting onsomething.

Going with option number 1, Tim pullson his socks and shoes, sliding the tags in the pocket of the sweats. He slideshis arms through the sleeves of the hoodie, zips it up and adds the backpack.The bo (cane), pops out with the press of a thumb.

“The Rolls is ready at your convenience.”Alfred cuts in as he’s almost through the open door

Again, with the tone of voice, Option 1 or 2 hovers in his brain pan.

“My ride is on the way actually,” he counters,not turning back around. “I’ll be out of your hair soon.”

The impolite chuff is very familiar inthat being a pain in the ass will makethe butler angry kind of way.

“Master Timothy, if you would be sokind.”

This time, he does turn, bo in one handbecause he must have left something else that needed to be removed so the roomcan turn into a guest room or storage or—

But Alfred’s hands are a completelydifferent type of strength from Bruce’s. A strength that more to do with will. Hands that are recognizable withoutsight, and the grip on his biceps is something jarring, unexpected. It’s been awhile since he’s been…hugged (Dick’soctopus hold and Bruce’s self-recrimination hold notwithstanding).

“What is it, Alfred?” He askshesitantly, staying stiff because he’s only slightlyat a loss here.

“Promise to come back soon. And shouldyou need anything, promise you will call. If it is your preference I not tellMaster Bruce, Master Dick, or Master Damian, then I shall honor that request.However, simply call.”

His mouth works for a second, no soundcoming out.

“Alfred, I—”

“We’ve missed you,” the butler fillsin, “it would ease my conscience if I believed you really would call should you have a need.”

And the laugh is very not one of those ha-ha funny ones. Alfred’s grip justtightens.

**

In the entryway to Wayne Manor, Bruceis waiting. The smell of his cologne, and the utter stillness all he needs tobe able to tell.

The phone in his hoodie pocket chirps, “theBlack Bird has arrived at your destination. Twenty-one steps away.”

There’s a look exchanged between Bruceand Alfred. He doesn’t need to see it to know it’s happening.

“I have a ride.” He answers thequestion before Bruce even has to ask.

But there’s a hand on his shoulder, abig hand that does that familiar thing, groundinghim even after the last few years alone. “Promise you’ll come back beforeyou leave Gotham again.”

His smile is somewhat brittle, smallagainst the dark sunglasses hiding his dead eyes.

“At least patrol with me once if youwon’t come back to the Manor.”

“Batman has a Robin, B.”

The hand twitches and tightens, the oldmemories between them (“Batman needs aRobin!”).

B leans down just enough, “you’re still my Robin, Tim. You always will be,just like Dick and Jason. No matter what other name you take, you’re the boythat wore the tunic for me. You’re my partner. Don’t ever forget that.”

And—

Bruce plucks the glasses off his eyeswithout a hitch and wraps his arms around Tim again, just like he did in theCave, just like he did when he asked if adoption was okay, just like he didwhen it was a hard night and a shaky Robin needed something more than a “Good job.”

It’s so easy, too easy to sink in, togrip right back, fist his hands into the t-shirt, close his eyes, breathe outshakily. It’s too much, making his eyes hot for the first time in…

Well, nope, not going there.

He swallows around the lump in histhroat, but breathes in deep (and who called for hug day or some shit? Really, it’s getting to be a bit much, like where’s Jason Todd and please warn him if thatguy is looking for more than a little stab,stab, bang).

So maybe…he could just agree tosomething, make B feel better about this whole thing, “okay, Bruce. Before I go…something.I’ll call or…something. I don’t know. Patrol or whatever.”

The hand in his hair scratches at hisscalp (and really, it’s a weaknessokay? Steph is the one that figured it out first, so of course she’d spill itto Batman), rewarding him for openingup just a little. When it feels too nice, almost enough to make him sigh andcome back in to eat breakfast at the table after all, he pulls back, ahalf-smile making Bruce think Tim might actually look his age once and a while.The glasses are slid back on his face and Alfred gently opens the front doorfor him as both watch him go. Alfred leans in slightly to say a gentle, “becareful, Master Tim.”

The former Robin pauses long enough tosmile before he starts out into the sunlight.

And the World’s Greatest Detectivecalculates and considers—not for the first time since they brought a sleeping Timto the Manor after the fight with the League—just what the hell Ra’s al Ghulwants with the third Robin anyway. Since Dick and Damian are on a make Tim part of the family again, kick, they might be willing to do some leg work.

[redrobin-detective]

Business as Usual

Ok! So I did a little thing based off @timdrakeothy's AU (that I've been calling the Reverse Batman AU) where Bruce is included in the AU and is a smol bb dealing with all these crazy vigilantes. Also tagging @audreycritter for her brilliant contributions to the AU and me borrowing her idea of Jason's origin (which I'll find after posting and link here). Anyway, tiny Bruce trying to boss around ""his"" team is very entertaining for me.

“You’ve probably wondered why I’ve gathered you all here today,” 12 year old Bruce Wayne announces in that resolute, self-assured way that only a child can be. The team of tired vigilantes exchanged amused glances before going back to patching each other up after a rough patrol. They didn’t mean to end up in the boy billionaire’s orbit but one by one, they’d been drawn in first by Damian’s one man war against crime and stayed because of Bruce’s stubborn resolve to save the world. He financed all of their equipment and Batal had been using the cave system beneath Wayne Manor as his base of operations for the past five years since he’d left the League of Assassins and become Bruce’s “bodyguard”. If the kid wanted to think he was in charge, no one was going to stop him. Besides, it was pretty cute.

“Yeah Boss, we have been wondering.” Jason responded sarcastically but the fondness in his tone was evident. He hadn’t expected to be unofficially taken in by a rich kid he’d been trying to rob nor become a partner to the legendary Batal but he was happy here with these crazy nutjobs. Bruce either didn’t notice or ignored Jay’s flippant tone for he pulled himself up onto one of the operating tables so that he could look each of his team in the eye. Those tables were supposed to be for emergency surgery but they mostly ended up being high chairs for their fearless leader.

“With Alfred visiting family in England for the week, it’s up to me to maintain order around here. And I’m worried about how this team is being run. Your hearts are all in the right place but I’m afraid there are some things I can’t let continue.” Bruce says with all the seriousness of a reluctant businessman about to fire someone. Damian most certainly does not look amused as he crosses his arms and stares down at the boy he saved almost five years before.

“And that would be?” He asks as Brown leans around his muscular arm to beam down at Bruce, probably because she deems his pout to be another ‘Kodak moment’ as she puts it.

“Dick,” Bruce begins causing the 14 year old, who was in the middle of end of night stretches, to freeze. “I saw on the cameras you were on your own for exactly 39 minutes tonight and it was almost an hour last week. You’re just starting out; you can’t be without back-up out there. If you can’t follow these instructions, I’m going to have to bench you.”

“Come on B,” Dick moans, “I’m trained enough; I can do things on my own for five minutes without Batal breathing down my neck.” Damian sniffed, turning his attention onto his latest partner.

“He’s right, you’re still young and you still need constant supervision out there. If you’re not with me or someone else at all times, you’re not out at all.” Dami said sternly while Dick just deflated, there was no arguing with Batal Almafquda when he was like this. “Good observation Bruce, please continue.”

“Barbara Gordon is still running around as Batgirl,” Bruce continues pulling out a small notepad and observing his notes. “She’s getting better at learning to avoid your patrol routes but I want to put a stop to her activities before she gets hurt. We can’t encourage her behavior, no matter how cute Dick thinks she is.” Dick sputters in the background but Bruce continues on unperturbed, turning to Jason.

“I’m concerned you’re not taking this seriously Jason,” Jay rolls his eyes as the focus turns to him.

“I’ve been doing this for almost 3 years and I’m 18 so you can’t boss me around kiddo.” He says with a flippant shrug, “I don’t even live here anymore so you can’t hold that over me like ya used to.”

“No but I was here when the Joker kidnapped and tortured you for nearly a week because you hadn’t listened to our warnings about how dangerous he was.” Bruce said with too dark eyes while Jason’s face became blank at the mentioned of his abuse. “I’ve lost enough family and I don’t want to lose any more.” This of course brought all eyes over to Tim, who was glaring at the floor with a stern expression and his fists clenched in stress.

“And what did I do Bruce?” He rasps out, trying to get the visions of the sword going through his heart during what should have been a normal patrol out of his head. He recalls the sharp acidic sting of the Pit when Ra’s brought him back to use against Batal. He thinks of his short, terrible tenure at the League of assassin before Damian finally was able to reach through Ra’s brainwashing and allow him to escape. He thinks of his once steel grey-blue eyes that have become stained green, a permanent sign of his failure as a hero. “What other ways did I screw up?”

“You did not eat the fruit roll-up I put in your utility belt,” Bruce replies seriously and the absurdity of the sentence snaps Tim out of his painful reverie. “You haven’t been eating well enough lately; you’ve been working too hard. I told you to eat more fruits and vegetables but you wouldn’t eat the potato chips I gave you and I found the uneaten fruit roll-up still in your belt.” Bruce paused to wag his finger, “this is your last warning Tim or else I’ll make you stay home and let Alfred feed you.” Tim feels a weak laughter bubbling up in his chest not just at Bruce’s naïve earnestness on what counts as a healthy diet but the nonjudgmental care in the younger boy’s eyes.

“Yeah Tim,” Stephanie teases from beside Damian, “eat your fruit roll-up or you’re off the team.”

“Stephanie you need to put more effort into your schoolwork, your English grade dropped to a B- this last quarter.” Bruce adds with a disappointed raise of his eyebrow that is entirely inappropriate on a child who still has babyfat in his cheeks.

“I do plenty of studying! My teacher is a shrew and out to get me and why the heck are you looking at my grades you little gremlin?” Stephanie complained, putting her hands on her hips.

“I do it because I care Stephanie and I want you to get a good education so you can get a nice, well-paying job. So bring your grades up or you and Tim will be studying and eating fruit roll-ups together.” Stephanie grumbles while Tim sticks his tongue out at the girl, his earlier melancholy gone in the face of a chance to make fun of one of his best friends.  

“Cassie, you’re doing great as always,” Bruce says with a smile and a nod while Cass smiles back with that special smile she saves only for Bruce. “And lastly, Damian.”

“Yes?” The Arabic man asks, staring down at his employer in name but his child in every way else.

“You’re approaching the 60 hours without sleep which you know results in confusion, lack of concentration as well tremors and slowed reaction times. Alfred usually can get you to see reason but since he’s not here I’m forced to take drastic measures.” Bruce said seriously, letting his words sink in before he held out his arms to be held. “It’s nearly 3am, much later than Alfred lets me stay up. I was placed in your care during his absence so unless you want to deal with his anger, you’d better put me to bed. And I can tell you that I won’t go easily unless you go with me and ensure I sleep the whole night by staying with me.”

Damian stares down in incredulity at the child before him. Was he being guilted and blackmailed into sleeping? But then he notices Bruce’s pale face and dark circles under his eyes and he remembers that the boy hasn’t slept much since Alfred’s been away. Distance from the butler always made his nightmares that much more potent. This tactic was probably to help him sleep as well as Damian; the older man sighed and rubbed at his eyes. He had a good bit of work still left to do but he was feeling tired and he couldn’t just leave Bruce alone with his demons, threats or no threats.

“Drake, Brown, go over the files we took from Cobblepot’s computers tonight and see if anything sticks out. Cain, please get me that report on Zsasz’s underground fighting ring and then we’ll move in on that. Todd, you’re still on the Falcone murders get me that research but also finish your schoolwork, you’ve got class tomorrow. Dick and Bruce are going to bed.” Damian announced addressing his team as he stooped down to pick up their little leader. At 12, Bruce was getting to be too big to carry but there were some exceptions when the orphan needed a little extra care. He settles the warm, weight against his chest and sighs. “I’ll be going up too. Good patrol but Bruce is right, we are going to be making some changes around here. We can’t allow for any error in our operation, I will not lose any more people.” That said, Damian turned around and stalked up the stairs to Wayne Manor with Dick skipping after him.

“You know you can probably just put him in bed and he won’t notice, you don’t need to sleep with him.” Dick whispered as they passed through the grandfather clock. Bruce was already half asleep in his arms and would likely be completely asleep by the time Damian settled him down.

“We both know he would notice,” Damian responded back, “besides, there’s nothing wrong with giving the children some attention.” He said reaching out to ruffle Dick’s hair. “Now bed or I’ll make you join us. You have school tomorrow as well.” Bruce sighed sleepily into his shoulder as Dick ran up to the second floor and Damian took a moment to stroke the boy’s head. He was such a good-hearted child, so full of hope and a determination to see that no one else should suffer his tragedies. Damian would do everything in his power to make sure that Bruce was given the love he deserved, he deserved better than this life no matter what he claimed. His real talent was not just his brilliance but his ability to attract people due to his earnestness and keep them together as a family. Given the opportunity, Bruce Wayne could change the world. But not tonight.

“Let’s get some rest little one, you’ve earned it.”

[kindaangelic]

Brother Dearest, or Damian's Bonding with Tim

Bruce looked ponderingly at his youngest son, who was placidly milking Batcow in the corner of the cave. In all the time that he had been living with Bruce and his children, Damian had only managed to forge meaningful relationships with his animals, who loved him unconditionally and showered him with affectionate nuzzles, and Dick, who loved him unconditionally, and- Oh. Perhaps there was a pattern to this, Bruce mused, as he watched Dick cuddle up to Tim on the medical cot, squishing the younger boy as he curled himself around him like a snake. “Dick, don't smother your brother,” Bruce called. “Let him rest, he's sick.” Tim gave a sad sniffle as Dick slunk off to go and cuddle Jason instead. That could only end in tears, Bruce thought to himself, watching Dick slide closer, panther-like, to a recalcitrant Jason. Bruce directed his attention back to Damian, who was scoffing quietly at Tim’s pained moans, and frowned. This lack of empathy simply would not do. Bruce resolved to do something about Damian’s behavior towards Tim, but in the meantime, he took a moment to watch Dick try and fail in his efforts to snuggle Jason. ------------ It was late at night - or very early in the morning - as Bruce watched Damian putter around the Batcave in his too-long Gotham University t-shirt, courtesy of Dick. Bruce waited for Damian to walk a little closer before snagging his youngest and plopping him down on his lap. “Father! Have you been afflicted by Grayson’s ridiculous urge to “have hugsies”!? Release me at once!” “Not until I've said my piece,” Bruce hummed, adjusting Damian on his lap. “Now listen carefully, Damian, what I'm about to tell you is very important.” Damian perked up and sat at attention, eager to absorb whatever pearl of wisdom Bruce was about to impart. “You've been Dick’s Robin for some time now, and mine as well. You're doing a good job, and so I would like to give you some more delicate responsibilities,” Bruce said, then paused for dramatic effect. “It is your responsibility to look after not only the animals, but also your siblings, specifically Tim.” Damian made to scoff, but Bruce cut him off, “Your old father won't be here forever, and you know that Tim is sick. He tends to work himself to the edge, and I can't help but worry about what will happen to him once I'm gone.” Bruce let his words sink in, and felt a little guilty at how Damian’s eyes widened at the mention of his inevitable mortal death. “Robin holds the family together, he or she always has,” Bruce added. “Starting with Dick, then Jason, until the Legacy passed down to you. Dick only had me to take care of, but you have your brother as well. So Damian,” Bruce said, meeting his son’s wide eyes, “will you do it? Can I count on you to take care of Tim when I'm old and decrepit? Forever?” Damian squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. “I will,” he said firmly. “I will care for everyone, including Drake. He will know a love so fierce that he will learn to submit to my tender ministrations!” Bruce frowned at Damian’s war cry, but decided that it would have to do for now. ----------- Tim roused himself from the clutches of sleep, sniffling to clear his blocked nose. He rubbed his gritty eyes and forced them open, only to reveal poisonous green eyes looking right into his. “Agh!” Damian held up a pot of tea and a handful of Strepsils, and said, “Take these, Drake.” Tim hiked his blankets up to his chin in response, looking at the strained expression on Damian’s face. “What at you dong with your face?” “I'm smiling,” Damian hissed through (what Tim imagined were) his fangs. “Oh my god, why, you evil gnome?” The “smile” grew wider. “Because I love and care for you. Now,” Damian whispered sinisterly, “take your medicine, Drake.” “AAGH!” ---------- Tim ran upstairs two at a time, tears obscuring his vision. He had just argued with Conner about his unhealthy (it was not) intake of coffee, which resulted in Conner calling him a hopeless addict and declaring that coffee would lead to his downfall and that he would not catch Tim when he inevitably fell. This had resulted in Tim slapping his mouthy boyfriend and running out of Titans Tower all the way back to Wayne Manor, where he could drown himself in a pot of coffee and Dick’s All Purpose Hugs for Family and Friends. This was how Damian found his brothers, with Tim sobbing into Dick’s stomach, and clutching a bag of coffee beans to his chest. “How c-could he s-say that to me? After all the t-t-times he was upset about Clark, and L-Lex, and I calmed him down?” “I know, I know,” Dick sympathized, and imparted the age old bit of wisdom that Bruce had once imparted to him, “All men are dogs, and he doesn't deserve you.” Hidden behind the wall, Damian simmered with rage. If Drake cried himself sick, then he would make the clone pay. It was time for preemptive measures. ----------- Later that afternoon, Tim received a delivery of a bouquet of roses and a note that read: “Dearest Drake, I apologize for my inexcusable behavior with the hopes that you will see fit to forgive me. Please do not cry yourself into an early grave, for if you do, I shall exile myself to a life of misery in the far reaches of outer space, living with your memory as my only companion. Much emotion and mouth kisses unto you. Yours, The Clone.” Tim stared at the note in abject horror, before inspecting the roses, only to fling them away when he noticed that they were a pitch black colour with a crudely (creepily) drawn cardboard smiley face stuck to them that was saying “I LOVE YOU DRAKE” in a speech bubble. Tim’s resultant shriek was Damian’s indication that the plan had not been successful. ----------- With his original plan in shambles, Damian headed to Titans Tower. He strode inside, stopping when he got to Conner. Conner looked down at the tiny Robin in surprise, and was further shocked when he was yanked down to his eye level by his shirt. “Listen here, Clone,” Damian hissed, “If Drake succumbs to illness because you have caused him distress, I will skin you alive and present your pelt to him to have stuffed and use as target practice. You will make amends immediately, do you understand me?” He demanded, brandishing his favourite knife. Conner went cross-eyed as he nodded while trying to keep the blade in sight. “Good,” Damian said, satisfied. “You will now thank me for saving your relationship with Drake. Though he is the least of us, he is still far out of your league. Come to think of it, we Waynes are out of everyone’s league,” he muttered to himself. Conner continued to stare, dumbfounded, as Damian waited for his undying gratitude. “Bah, you're as dull as an ameboa,” Damian huffed. “Make amends quickly, Clone, I don't want to have failed in my mission because of you.” With that, Damian left, returning to Wayne Manor where he was anticipating Tim’s praise and everlasting worship. ------------ How wrong he was. “Damian,” Bruce said, discomfort written across his face, “come here.” Damian went to Bruce with his head held high, and smirked at Tim who was partially hidden behind Bruce. “Ah, Drake, you're here. Are you going to profess your undying love and worship for me now? It's to be expected, after all, I've been taking such good care of you.” Tim cried in horror as Bruce hid his face in his hands. “You see!?” Tim shrieked, “He's lost his mind! He wants me to love him!” “Of course I do! It is only natural, given my tender care of your person!” “AAGH!” “Damian-” Bruce started, but was cut off by Dick and Jason charging into the room. “League of Assassins spotted on top of the Gotham Metro! They're wreacking havoc in the city!” Bruce gave his younger sons a stern look before ordering them to go and suit up, hoping that Damian’s new obsession over Tim would not be a roadblock in their fight for justice. “Careful, Drake, don't take your old grappling hook,” Damian said earnestly, cutting into Bruce’s thoughts. “Here, use mine.” “BRUCE!” “Yes, yes, tell Father about my caring nature. I'm sure he'll be proud of me.” Bruce shook his head in despair and went to face the horrors of the night, which were infinitely better than the horrors in his house. ------------ “Damian, my Little Beloved, join us,” Talia purred for the millionth time. The fight had concluded, with the assassins having been dispatched by the Bats, and only Talia was left standing. “You belong with the League, it is your destiny!” “Mother, I cannot simply neglect my other responsibilities,” Damian huffed. “I am Robin, I have to look after so many things! I have Gotham, my cat, my dog, my cow, my Drake!” “AAAGGH!” Everyone turned to see Tim flying away as fast as he could, as Dick, Jason, and the wounded assassins collapsed from laughter. Talia looked questioningly at Damian, who only smirked. “My plans must be working, he's probably retiring early to get on a regular sleep schedule. Health is wealth, isn't it Mother? Mother?” Damian asked questioningly as Talia collapsed in fits of laughter as well. Bruce groaned, picking up his wayward children and making his way home. ----------- “Bruce, do something! It's not right, we’re brothers!” “Tim...” “I can't believe Dami has a crush! Awww!” “Shut up, Dick!” “Yes, shut up, son,” Bruce grumbled. “Oh my god,” Jason chimed in, “all that time he spent ‘hating’ Tim was just pulling his pigtails!?” “AWWW!” Bruce silenced his unhelpful children with a patented BatDad Glare (TM) and faced an angry Tim once more. “Tim, I know...” “He sent me flowers pretending to be Kon! He threatened Kon and made him cry! He made me tea! What the heckity heck Bruce!?!” Bruce hung his head. “I'm to blame for this,” he declared defeatedly. “Damian, come down here, please,” Bruce called, which had his youngest skittering into to the cave. “Yes, Father?” “Damian,” Bruce breathed heavily, “I think you may have misinterpreted the specifics of what I told you. When I asked you to take care of Tim-” “It wAS yOu!?” Tim yelled, horrified. “-I meant it in a brotherly fashion. I don't intend for you to care for him...incestuously.” Damian wrinkled his nose and stepped back in horror. “Father, how could you?” He demanded, aghast. “I would never! I have only been caring for Drake because you told me that he was infirm and that I must shower him with attention to make sure he stays healthy! I've been planning and plotting all to make sure that Dake stays in good mental and physical health!” The cave was silent after Damian’s defense of his actions. Finally, Tim roused himself enough to ask, “That explains the tea. What about the flowers and your creepy card, pretending to be Kon?” “I didn't think that you would see through the pretense,” Damian admitted, surprised. “You were weeping like a lovestruck fool, and I was concerned that you would cry yourself to the point of sickness, or be compromised in the field. The pretense was to snap you out of your mood. If left to me, I would advise you that the Clone is not worthy of a Wayne, and that you should discard him immediately. I would much rather you dated a worthy ally or even a foe, or better yet, remain celibate. Clearly, your romantic choices of Fatgirl and the Clone show your impaired ability to judge people.” Tim stared at Damian with wide eyes for several seconds before deflating. “So you were just...” “I was trying to fulfill the mission that Father has set for me! I shall not fail!” Tim burst out laughing maniacally and swooped Damian up into a hug. “Oh thank Satan! You don't have a crush on me! You're just socially maladjusted!” Dick and Jason looked disappointed that their ideas for their own family soap opera had not panned out, and sulked while Damian spluttered in Tim’s embrace. “Damn,” Jason huffed, “The Bold and the Batty just got cancelled. Guess I’ll have to start thinking of a script for my new family soap opera.” “Jason, your siblings do not exist for your entertainment,” Bruce growled. “Ah!” Jason gasped, as inspiration hit him. “But you do! In the next season of B.A.T.M.A.N., stay tuned as Bruce and Ollie get it on in a drunken one night stand! What will the batkids think? OW!” Jason cried as Bruce whacked him around the head. “Father!” Damian yelled, scandalized. “How could you!? I refuse to have that sub-par, arrow-toting, elf as my papa!” Bruce glared at his sons and slunk away into the shadows to ruminate about his two infinitely stupid sons (Dick and Jason), his traumatized son (Tim), his hyper-impressionable son (Damian), and to wonder when Cassandra would come back home.

[soepicsokim]

Chapter 9

 WARNING!!!!!! Talk of Rape!!!! WARNING!!!! Turn away now. Skip to the next chapter if you don’t want to read this. 

JANUARY

The two of us have been in the League of Assassins for two months now. I am currently training with Dick on one of the fields around the compound. Damian is watching us fight. When we fight each other or fight others together it looks like magic. Damian wanted to learn how to fight with me like how I fought with Dick.

    Ra’s has an assignment for Matt (Dick), Damian, and myself. Which is odd. Ra’s normally never sends Damian on assignments with me. If he does go on an assignment it usually is with Talia, not me. Something is wrong, very wrong.

 Dick side eyes me but then quickly focuses back to what Ra’s is saying. The three of us are to go after Deathstroke. Dick’s body stiffens, I can notably feel the tension in the room suddenly coming from him. Slade. Damian nods his head at Ra’s and then starts to walk back to his room to get ready to leave.

 “Are you coming Cat?” He asks once he gets to the door.

I turn and follow Damian. Dick is right behind me. “You will be dressed as The Cat. And Matt and I will wait in the wings and attack once Deathstroke appears.”

I raise an eyebrow at this 12 year old telling me how the mission will work.

    “Damian, I don’t think that’s a great idea. I know I’m a super and all but Deathstroke does have special weapons he can use to hurt me before you can ever get the first punch in.” I  say as I stop in front of his door and look down at him. “And besides a black leather outfit that shows off my body. Why not use my Assassins outfit?”

 “TT, because Grandfather wants to bring back The Cat. You will dress as The Cat. Now move and meet my in 10 minutes.” Damian says very sternly as he shoves passed me and into his room.

I look over at Dick and he shakes his head and walks into his room to get ready.

***********

    It took me all of the 10 minutes Damian gave me to get ready. I talking to myself not realizing Dick was hearing everything. Stupid child telling me what to do. I’m only staying here that way Talia doesn’t kill Dick. I don’t want to marry Bruce’s son. Stupid leather outfit. I make my way outside the gate where the boys were waiting.

 The three of us start making our way to wherever Deathstroke was last seen. “Hey princess, you can sit next to me and use me as a pillow.” Dick says as he pats the seat next to him. Damian shoots him a glare. I just smile and shake my head no.

 “You forget yourself Matt. She is promised to me.  If she is to fall asleep on anyone it should be me.” Damian’s voice was full of venom as he told this to Dick.

I give Dick a slight smile and then jump in the air to hover. “Thank you both of you. but I’ll just hover and take a nap. You should to the same Damian.” I say with one eye open staring at the boys. Dick, I’ll wake up in an hour and let you rest.

He nods his head, now he is on guard duty.

**********

    Dick, Damian and I, stick to Damian’s plan. I’m used as bait to pull out Deathstroke from his hiding place. Just like I had told Damian, Deathstroke had countermeasures against me. It seemed that he had been warned the three of you were coming. That’s how I ended up in the death grip of this sick, sick man.

    Deathstroke’s men had got the drop on Damian and Dick. I walked right into a circle of Kryptonite without even knowing it. The last thing I heard was Dick’s thought yelling at me to run. But by the time I registered what he said, Deathstroke had me on the floor. He ripped open my black leather outfit exposing my body to everyone in the room. He played with the knife up and down your body. Cutting me here and there. I’m crying from the pain, the loss of blood is starting to make me dizzy.

  Deathstroke forced Dick and Damian to watch as he had his way with me. As I lost consciousness, Deathstroke cut off the rest of my clothes and penetrated My body with his, member.  Dick was getting pissed by the second. The whole reason he was there. The reason he took Matt’s place in the League of Assassins was to protect me. Now within two days he had learned I stayed with the League to protect him and that he hated seeing other people touch me.

 Dick has been carrying around a panic button that sent an alarm to Bruce and the Watchtower, in case of emergencies with the League. So, once everything went south Dick pressed the button and hoped someone would show up soon. Out of the Justice League the first people to show up was Tim and Bruce. Tim made the mistake of freeing Damian first. Damian attacked Deathstroke and with one punch from Damian, and a bite to the shoulder, Deathstroke was out cold.

 Damian was at my side trying not to cry and demanding me to wake up. “Say something. Please Lydia say something to me. Don’t leave me.” Damian is sobbing and holding my hand. He was angry and hurt.

 Bruce helped free Dick. Within two steps Dick had torn off his mask and was at my side. “Lyds, please be ok. LYDIA don’t do this to me again.” He looks at Deathstroke’s body, “I’LL END YOU SLADE IF YOU KILLED HER!!!” He yells at the top of his lungs.

 By now, the entire Justice League has arrived. My father instantly got sick from the Kryptonite. So Bruce and Tim gathered the gems and took them away. Clark took off his cape and handed it to Bruce to put over my damaged body. Dick picked my up and carried me out of the building. He wasn’t going to let anyone hurt his ‘Princess’ anymore. Damian is right behind Dick with tears stinging his eyes. Dick carries me on to Wonder Woman’s jet and Diana flies the three of us up to the Watchtower.

A WEEK LATER

I’ve been awake off and on for the past couple of days. From what I can gather, I’m back in the medbay of the Watchtower. For some reason Superman’s cape is blood stained and hanging on the back of the door to my room. Damian is curled into a ball on the chair beside me holding my hand. While Dick is watching from the corner of the room.

    “When was the last time you slept Richard?” I ask, my voice is still hoarse and I still can’t talk above a whisper. But Dick still heard me and within a heartbeat he was at my side. I just smile up at him and reach for him with my free hand. “Hey, I’m ok. The two of you saved me. Please don’t cry Dick. I’m ok.”

    Dick just gives me a slight smile and brushes my hair out of my face and tucks it behind my ear. “It still should have never happened Lyds. I’m crying cause you're here and ok. I promise no one will hurt you like that again. I heard you screaming in my head, Lydia. And then the screaming ended. I thought you died.” His tears are streaming down his face and hitting my hand. Seeing him cry makes me cry.

  "I truly am sorry that you had to witness what happened. I knew it was a bad idea. Then you told me to run and I was so worried about you. I’m sorry you heard that. I’m so sorry Dick.“ I let go of his hand to reach for his face. My tears are fall down my cheeks. That’s when Damian shifts in his seat. "When was the last time Damian left the room?” I ask turning to look at Damian asleep.

 Dick leans into my touch, then he reaches up and grabs my hand again. “The last time he was pissed at the doctors for how they were attending you. He went to the simulator room. Why didn’t you tell me you were marrying him to keep me safe from Ra’s and Talia? I can handle them you know.” Dick gives me a smirk and holds my hand just a little tighter, he was afriad I would disappear.

 “Tt, please mother and grandfather would take you out before you ever saw them Grayson.” Damian says sitting up and wiping tears from his face.

Is he crying? I didn’t know the Demon spawn could cry.

“Are you well Lydia?” Damian says letting go of my hand, but scooting closer to me in his chair.

    “Yes, Dami. I’m okay. Are you okay? I’m sorry about what happened.” I sigh and break eye contact with him. Nothing that happened was my fault but I felt it was all my fault. Dick sighs beside mt and rubs circles with his thumb in my hand. Damian sees this and glares at Dick. I just shake my head and sigh again.

    All three of our attentions turn towards the door when we hear a knock. “Hey Lydia, Um Batman would like to talk to the kid.” Superman says as he walks into the room.

I look at Damian and give him a smile. “He is your father. Do you want Dick to go with you?” I look at Dick and he shakes his head as he slowly lets go of my hand and stands up.

    “No, I can handle this. Please show me the way, boy scout.” Damian says to my dad. Superman shoots me a, ‘we will talk about this later’ look. All I can do is give a smile as they walk out the door.

***********

 “How long?” I ask Dick as I turn over on my side. I wince at the pain but I want to see all of him, not just his face.

“How long what. Lyds?” He asks opening his eyes to look at me as I wince from the pain of laying on my side. It upset him that he wasn’t able to stop Deathstroke before he did what he did to me.

    “How long have you been able to hear all my thoughts? And Dick, it wasn’t your fault this happened.” I give him a small smile. I know he blames himself, but I know I’ve been able to hear his thoughts since before Matt’s death.

    “Since before I took Matt’s place as your guard. How did you know?” He looks at me with the saddest eyes ever. This person he loved was covered with bruises and cuts and it broke his heart, to see me this way for the second time it made him hurt.

 “Your thoughts and your actions. You would raise an eyebrow when the only thing that was said was what I was thinking.” I sigh and give him a smile. “So what’s with the S Shield in my face?” I point at the cape on the back of the door.

 “Oh, that. That’s how I carried you out of the building after, well yeah.” He says scratching his head. “Your dad placed it on you and I carried you out of the building. Fitting, you only get to be Supergirl when he deems you worthy.”

 I sigh and snuggle down into the bed. “I’m getting tired, babe.” I say as I close my eyes and drift off to sleep.

Dick just smiles and takes my hand and kisses it.

I mumble, “I love you.”

 “Sleep as long as you need, princess. I’ll be here when you wake up. Love you to.” Dick says as he falls asleep in the chair next to me. The two of our hands are interlaced and we both have a giant smiles on our faces.

A/N: Um..... yeah.Tags: @kathlyan, @pinkwitch21, @solis200213, @speedypan, @memento-amare, @bat-lakota, @queen-of-all-the-fandoms, @femdamian, @just-a-girl-maybe, @teachingpanda, @keepjasontoddsafefromeveryone, @wynterrobin, @gobydana, @chi-townbatgirl, @nightwingdiva, @ellana-ravenwood