#david cain when I get you WHEN I GET YOU.

[noirecheris3]

cassandra cain u make my head and heart ache

[parker-artio]

The Batfamily in who I think is the most flexible to least flexible (w/ my reasons)

Richard (Dick) Grayson- I feel like this one just makes sense, no extra information needed. He’s the last Flying Grayson, he’s cannonly super fucking flexible, not much information needed.

Cassandra Cain- Once again feel like it’s a given. She’s a baller dancer, and she moves so agile on her feet it’s practically obvious she’s flexible and easy to move

Damian Wayne- Oddly enough I think this boy is like a wet noodle when he wants to be, he is flexible. But you’d never know unless you see his ass play limbo or some shit.

Timothy Drake- He gives flexible. He probably tried to practice Dick’s moves in his room alone when he was a kid and stalked Batman and Robin. He would definitely be more flexible than Damian if Damian didn’t have his young age. Tim could easily surpass Damian in terms of flexibility if he wanted, but he just chooses not to stretch everyday (bad idea)

Stephanie Brown- She’s like Tim- does NOT stretch enough. But she could rival Tim in terms of flexibility if she actually wanted to, she can probably do flips and splits better than Tim, but when it comes to back flexibility he’d win by a landslide

Duke Thomas- He’s got a bigger build, like a quarterback who’s only a freshman kind of build. He’s good at flips, dodging, and jumping, but I don’t think he does any kind of stretches that would improve his flexibility, just the kind of ones that would make sure it’s still working.

Jason Todd- Bro is built like a double fridge with a top AND bottom freezer. He’s massive. He’s got muscles that can rival his siblings HEADS. Hes tall, he’s beefy, and he’s a marksman. He’s flexible enough to do flips and cartwheels, but he cannot do anything that involves twisting his body up.

Bruce Wayne- He used to be just like Tim flexibility wise, but then he stated to adopt kids.

Barbara Gordon- This is in no way a jab at her, I fucking love her. Before the wheelchair she’d be placed between Damian and Tim. But now she’s got her shoulder and upper back- that’s it. Which is as flexible as she can get them, but it’s also half of her body. I love her so much though, she’s badass and without her everyone would crumble. So it doesn’t matter if she’s flexible or not.

Alfred Pennyworth- He’s old.

If we want to add Kate, i firmly believe she’d be placed Steph and Duke. She’s flexible, but also just enough to do all of the stuff she needs.

(I know there’s so many other members I could add but ppl only seem to care for these guys- but I might make a more thorough and longer one, with more family members, like Harper, Selina, Helena [depending on what universe], Claire, Luke, David, Cullen, ect.)

[casscainmainly]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY CASSANDRA CAIN!!!!!!!

For Cass' birthday, I'm gonna do a little dive into Cass and gift-giving! Not a super formal meta but just going through some significant moments where gifts are involved.

Cass' very first appearance in Batman #567 is a gift - she gives an apple to Barbara. The association with teachers and apples is of course apt, but it's also significant that Cass gives a gift for the first time. Gifts represent relationships, agency (choosing to give someone something), and ownership. In a way, gifts are the very opposite of her upbringing!

Then, in Azrael: Agent of the Bat #61, Babs explains gifts to both Cass and Azrael. I really like this set-up because, with Jean-Paul there, Cass is not made to feel like she's the only one who doesn't know. Here Babs leans into the relational aspects of gifts: "when you get a gift, or give one, you feel valued and... not alone."

In Batgirl #33, we really see that 'not alone' aspect. After a disastrous encounter with David Cain (where we learn Cass' birthday!!), Cass returns to her base dejected and sad. Then Bruce shows up and gives her a gift, and it cheers her up. We don't know what the gift is - the giving is what's important, showing how much Bruce cares for Cass (this is also, if I recall correctly, the first time we really see the word 'father' in association with Bruce).

Only four issues after Bruce gives her a gift, it's David Cain's turn; he gifts her a knife that he gave her before as a child. #37 is a heartwrenching issue, diving into Cass' relationship with Cain. In the end, she decides to destroy it, symbolising her desire to break off connection with him. In light of her acceptance of Bruce's gift, it's clear that gifts are incredibly important symbols of her relationships to people.

Skipping way ahead to Urban Legends #10, Cass gets Dick for Secret Santa and helps him out of a jam as a gift! I love how Dick is super grateful here, and I think it makes complete sense for Cass to do service-oriented gifts rather than purchasing something. Gift-giving will always be super special for Cass, but now she's getting used to casual, lower-stakes gifts, showing just how far she's come from her first introduction!!

But of course the major gift of her life is, and will always be, Batgirl. In Legends of the Dark Knight #120, it's the first gift she received from someone who isn't David Cain, and getting to wear that symbol - a symbol, to her, of compassion and redemption - is a step in overcoming her guilt and self-hatred. The fact it's presented as a gift (in a box) is also really important. "When you get a gift[...] you feel valued and... not alone." After years and years of wandering, Cass is finally gifted a home.

So happy birthday to Cassandra Cain, and may you get all the best gifts in the world!!!!! Here's to 2025 holding a lot more wonderful Cass things in store for us!!!

[spacedace]

Fuck whatever DC is doing with the al Ghul's characterizations and story lines, I've decided that from now on the al Ghul's are gonna be DC's version of the Addams Family instead.

Now I don't mean just give the various al Ghul's the exact personalities of the various Addams and call it a day. That's boring, that erases all the interesting parts of the al Ghuls, that's just using "find & replace" and not actually adding anything. I mean give them the vibes of the Addams Family.

Keep the al Ghul's as the al Ghul's with all their scheming and machinations and world domination attempts but give them all the unhinged energy, the casually insane view of the world, the deranged levels of love and devotion for family. Make them that group where objectively they are batshit insane but also you cannot argue with the fact that they are indisputably the most stable and functional family in the entire universe.

They're creepy, they're kooky, they're mysterious and spooky. Ra's many opulent homes and impenetrable fortresses are a museum and the al Ghul's really are a screa-um whenever people come to see-um (or when they lay waste upon their enemies in a surprise attack that has been planned for months and is just the first domino in a series that will ultimately lead to achieving a far greater goal).

They all love each other and want each other to be happy, they express this primarily with stabbing and murder attempts (its fine, death is a thing that happens to other people).

And forget the League of Assassins being a cult. Just make the whole vast globe spanning organization a collection of cousins/aunts/uncles/dear old friends ect. No one (not even the al Ghuls, if they cared to keep track of such things) is sure who is actually related to them and who just got absorbed into the ever expanding family tree based on their vibes being right.

(Is Sensei Ra's father you ask? Well he's certainly someone's father - probably.

Anyway have you heard about Cousin Cheshire? Despicable poisoner of a young woman, capable of the most horrific things imaginable - yes she is the sweetest dear. Like I was saying though, she just had a baby!

Everyone in the family is just so excited to throw a baby shower to celebrate! Ubu has really gone all out with the spike traps, he does so love getting to welcome a new addition to the family.

Talia of course has cultivated a brand new strain of the most toxic plants imaginable to make a brand new kind of necrotizing poison. You know, as a nice little romantic gift for Cousin Cheshire and that young man of hers. It really is so important to make sure you take time for you and your partner to go on dates and have a few pitched battles to the death on dark rooftops in the pounding rain when you have children.

Now there is some to-do about it all of course, you know how family get together can be. Everyone is arguing over who should get to give little Lian her first weapon and what it should be. Nyssa is pushing for grenades but Ra's is insisting on a sword - he's traditional like that you know - but Dusan has the vote so far on throwing knives. You know the kind that have the little divots along the edges of the blades them to make it easier to get the poison you dip them in to stick.)

I'm just saying that the al Ghuls should be a delightful cross between the Bond Villains they were originally conceived as and the lovingly unhinged Addams Family. It just feels correct in my heart.

(Again keep the interesting aspects of the characters and the nuances of who each of them are like their drive to save the world through destroying humanity and their strong environmentalist leanings and their constantly playing 5D chess and everything, but like, take away the racism and the cartoonishly evil for no reason bullshit and give them some fun feral energy to go along with it).

[themyscirah]

OMG sorry i fell asleep last night so i didnt see ur top 5 ask.

BUT! top five NON-lantern dc characters!

No dw I literally rbed it like 2hrs ago you're good

This one was actually really hard for me. I didn't realize how many characters I love would technically be counted under "Lanterns" haha

1. Amanda Waller

2. Cass Cain

3. Ben Turner

4. Sandra Wu-san

5. Kenan Kong

I generally bounce around the DCU looking for acclaimed books more than I do following specific characters but these are some of my faves that I love to think about and that keep popping up in my mind. And Kenan. : )

[xwritingdixonx]

To Kiss or To Kill. | Daryl Dixon |

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Masterlist

Summary: You and Daryl's relationship did not start kind. It did not begin as a friendship that turned sour over a quarrel. It began with fists and insults and continued this way until unforeseen circumstances leave you discovering that maybe Daryl and you were cut from the same cloth.

Warnings: rivals to lovers trope, daddy issues, language, descriptions of fights + bodily injuries, brief mentioning of homophobia, attempted SA, Reader is mentioned to be bisexual.

Word Count: aprox. 10k

Era: Prison to Alexandria

A/n: This is not my proudest work and I definitely think I could've done better with the material but I hope it can still be enjoyed!

Song recommendations: Ultraviolence - Lana Del Ray, Daylight - David Kushner , Sun Bleached Flies - Ethel Cain

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A lemon is sour from the start and rots with age.

The relationship you shared with Daryl could be described as said lemon.

It was nearing the end of summer. And though this meant the end of scorching heat, the winter proved to be a difficult season for survival. This morning at the prison had begun like any other. Daryl, Maggie, and Glenn we’re set out on a run to find any supplies necessary for the growing community. With all the new folk after the fall of the Governor only a few weeks before, it put more pressure on the group in their endless searches.

The town in which the prison resided did not hold many options when it came to scavenging but there was one place not yet explored. Pike County High School, the only high school in the small town of Zebulon, Georgia. Daryl thought the plan was futile. What was he to find in a high school besides dusty textbooks and inappropriate drawings in the bathroom stalls?

But none the less, Rick sent the trio on their way with a list of items in hand.

The school was as Daryl expected. Papers were thrown about the floors. Windows were broken leaving glass shards to crunch underneath their boots. Desks and chairs were thrown about. And worst of all, there was an eeriness that loomed the chaotic halls. But there was something else hanging in the air, stillness.

Maggie banged her gun on the rusted lockers and waited for any walkers to make themselves known. But the silence that followed was so loud you could practically hear the wind gliding through the shattered windows. Daryl took it a step further and threw a chair down the hall, creating a loud clattering noise as it collided with the wall. Yet still, nothing.

"Alright," Glenn muttered, his uneasiness just as high as the others. "Let's get what we need and get the hell out." Glenn pulled the list from his pocket, "Daryl find the nurse's office, take whatever you find no matter how unimportant it seems. Rick asked us to find some good books for the kids." Glenn passed the list over to a very unamused Daryl.

"Guess I ain't smart enough to find some books."

Daryl walked the halls of the school, crossbow in hand, keeping his ears peeled for any movements that weren’t his own. The silence unsettled Daryl for two reasons. There could be someone residing here which would make sense with the absence of walkers. But he could not shake the thought that there were once children who roamed these halls. Kids who were Carl’s age now. Kids who were planning who they wanted to be, and what they wanted their lives to be. But now their dreams were just as grim as these empty halls.

He spotted it as his gaze wandered from the walls to the floor.

Droplets of deep red stained the tile, varying in size and opacity. Daryl dragged his fingers along the droplets, smearing the coagulated blood. The blood was not as dry as Daryl had hoped.

Daryl drew his bow closer to himself, resting his finger on the trigger, and slowing his steps as he followed the trail of crimson dots. They led him exactly where he needed to be, the nurse's office.

The wood door creaked open, the natural light from the windows lighting the room. The scene worsened in the room. There were now blood smears staining the floors, cabinets swung open and drawers left agape. Someone had obviously barged in in a hassle, with desperate need to help themselves.

What concerned Daryl was the adjoined room to the far left, he could not see into the area unless he approached it directly. Keeping his bow up, he proceeded. Just as the tip of his bow peeked its way around the corner, it was knocked from his hands with a single blow.

Daryl had not known what knocked his bow from his grasp but he sure as hell felt the hit to his jaw.

The punch you had thrown sent a throbbing through your right hand, and the tendons in your arm fizzled with the sudden force. The man reacted quickly, grabbing you by both arms and pulling you away from the wall you had been hidden behind.

You ripped an arm from his grasp quick enough to unsheathe the blade on your thigh. The struggle continued, both of you equally pulling at the other in an attempt for dominance while simultaneously avoiding the cut of the blade. Random objects clattered to the ground in the tussle, including an old coffee mug falling and shattering.

The wound you had acquired on your leg was not helpful in this situation. Had your adrenaline not been so high, you would have dropped long ago. While you struggled to keep yourself standing, Daryl was simply shocked at the brute force of the woman in his grasp.

You paused for a moment, your grip on your knife tightening until your knuckles turned white. Just then you were able to look at him. Daryl saw the determination in your eyes. And though there was determination, there also seemed to be a pleading.

But with one forceful shove, you fell back, your leg buckling under you and your head hitting a cabinet.

A painful gasp left you, feeling the poorly done stitches rip your wound open again. Dropping your knife, your shaking hands grasped at the wound on your thigh as you pulled your back up against the cabinets. Your chest heaved with a mixture of adrenaline and pain. The skin on your thigh seared hot, every nerve around the wound throbbing.

Had you been paying attention, you would’ve noticed the man grip up his bow that was now aimed at you. It gave him time to examine you. You did not look dirty and unkept as other survivors had. Your hair was pulled back into a messy braid at the back of your head. Clothes black, all the way down to your boots. Holsters for weapons hung from your hips and thighs. And a pair of dog tags dangled around your neck.

“Daryl!” Maggie and Glenn came rambling through the door, weapons drawn. Daryl held a hand up to them, signaling that he was fine. The school was not one of great size, it did not surprise Daryl that they’d heard the tussle.

With the arrival of two new faces, you made an attempt to grab the blade you’d drop. But Daryl was quick and kicked the blade away leaving your hand to smack against the tile floor. Now left with no weaponry and not even a stable body to defend yourself, you’d figured you’d start begging to them or praying to God.

“I-I just want to leave. I’m-“ The sudden sharp tingle in your thigh cut your words short. You clenched your jaw tight and shut your eyes waiting for the muscle spasm to pass. “You’re not going anywhere on that leg.” Maggie holstered her gun and met you on the floor. There was a hesitation to her but in her heart she knew leaving you would be a death sentence. “My daddy can help you.”

“Maggie…”

“Glenn.” Maggie’s tone was stern, sending her husband a threatening glare.

While Maggie began to ask you questions, she motioned for the two men to scavenge the room. “What’s your name?”

“Y/n…”

Maggie pulled a handkerchief from her back pocket, scooting even closer to you. She motioned for you to lift your leg, “I’m Maggie. That’s Glenn and then Daryl.” She slipped the fabric beneath it, tying it in a tight knot around your wound. You winced at this, resisting the urge to pull her hands off of you.

“How many walkers have you killed?” Your eyebrows furrowed at the question. Had you known you were meant to keep track, you would’ve started long ago. “I don’t…know…a lot?” Your words were stuttered and shaken considering the pain you felt. You saw the man you had just fought glance at you from the corner of his eye. You began to debate if you should feel guilt for attacking him.

“That’s okay,” Maggie gave you a kind smile, “How many people have you killed?” She watched your face falter and your eyes shift to the ground then back to her. “Eight, I think.” Maggie gently nodded, her tone becoming slightly more serious “Why?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time.”

Maggie’s eyes met yours and for a moment, while you held each other's gaze, there was an understanding. An understanding that only another woman could begin to fathom.

Your arrival at the prison was nothing short of chaotic. The run starting as three and returning as four, though a possibility, was not expected.

A man with a beard pulled Daryl aside beginning to hound him with questions, Maggie supported you as you stood while Glenn ran off shouting the name Hershel. Much of everything after that was blurry. You could remember the man with the white beard mainly due to his kindness and gentle touch while he took care of your wounds. And you remembered the name Rick being tossed about in conversation.

"Let her rest." Hershel patted Glenn on the shoulder, muttering him a thank you for his help.

You lay flat on your back, your head and leg propped up with a pillow. You could not say it was the comfiest bed you'd ever laid in. You weren't even sure it was cozier than where you slept the night before. You fought the tiredness away, unsure of falling asleep in an unfamiliar community. But the medicine Hershel gave you made you drowsy. And soon every muscle felt heavy and your eyelids heavier.

You were unsure of how long you'd slept, only being startled awakened by the clank of metal. Rick noticed his mistake immediately pulling his hand away from the door of the cell, now standing with a guilty look on his face. "I'm sorry. I forget how loud these things are." You took a deep breath in an attempt to calm your beating heart. Rick entered the cell, opening the foldable chair Hershel had previously been sitting on.

"Was gonna drop these off for when ya woke up." Rick held up a glass of water and some type of protein bar. You adjusted yourself into a more proper sitting position, sending Rick a nod. As your mind awoke you became very conscious of your lack of pants, pulling the blanket farther up your waist. You were grateful that Ricks seemed to avert his eyes.

"I'm Rick.” His accent was noticeable.

“Y/n.” Just like your own.

“Maggie and Daryl told me a little bit about you but I wanted to speak with you directly.”

Rick held a certain type of authority to him. He spoke to you politely while still holding himself with dominance. A certain awkwardness became present when Rick spent a tad bit too long racking his brain for a question. “M’sorry about attacking, uhm… Daryl.” You decided to cut the awkwardness yourself.

To your surprise, Rick chuckled at your apology. “Please don’t apologize.” He looked at you, still with a smile on your face. “You were doing what you thought was right.” Rick shifted in the metal chair, resting his elbows atop his knees. "Did you serve?" Rick pointed to your neck, "Is that how you learned to fight?" You instinctively reached for the dog tags hanging from their chain.

"No no, they were my dads." You rubbed the smooth metal anxiously, feeling the indents of the letters and numbers imprinted. "I was an only child, only daughter at that, so my dad was rather protective of me... He had me in every boxing or self-defense class he could afford." A chuckle followed your words, reminiscing on the memory. Rick could understand your father's need to protect, having two children of his own.

"Rick." A gruff voice interrupted your conversation. The man named Daryl took up the doorway. When his eyes met yours, he seemed to falter under your gaze. He nudged his head in the opposite direction, asking for Rick to come with him. "Alright." Rick stood from the chair with an exasperated sigh, "Imma leave this right here for ya." Rick placed the water and protein bar on the chair in his place.

On his way out, he turned to you, "Maggie's gonna bring you up some clean clothes and help you get washed up. That alright?" His kind, yet tired, eyes sought an answer. You nodded and muttered a quiet thank you in return.

Your time in the prison since then could only be described as isolating. The injury on your leg kept you mostly restrained to the bed in your newly appointed cell. So, most of your time was spent with Maggie, Hershel, and occasionally Rick coming and going. Maggie cared for you in any way she could, nourishing you with food and assisting you in showering and changing. She had seemed to take a liking to you, as you did her, and you assumed you could now call her a friend.

However, there was another you don't think you could call much of anything.

Maggie helped you outside to the courtyard after you’d expressed that you were going mad looking at the same four walls. She’d left you with the book of Little Women, a blank leather journal, and a blue ink pen. “Holler if you need me, okay?” Maggie gently patted your shoulder before departing to meet Glenn only a few yards away.

Being outside after your imprisonment for the last 5 days, revived something in you. The heat from the sun's rays provided warmth on your skin but the cool breeze prevented you from overheating. You could not remember the last time you'd been outdoors without your head on a swivel or without the fear of being someone's dinner.

You could not focus on your book or your journal with the people who walked about the courtyard throwing glances your way. Everyone had heard about, the girl with the leg injury, with time. Random passers-by flashed you smiles, small waves, or even shy hello’s all of which you felt inclined to return.

“Y/n?” Though the voice was familiar, it did not stop the annoyance of having to put your pen down once again. You looked to the man, “Hi Rick.” Rick gleamed with a smile on his face “I’m glad to see you out here.”

Rick took it upon himself to take a seat at the table across from you making it obvious he desired to continue this conversation.

"Were you able to think about what we talked about?" Rick came by yesterday evening with a proposition for you. He invited you to join in with the group of people who went on runs for the community. Once you were fully healed, of course.

The only downside to this was who your main run partner was to be, Daryl. Rick saw something between you that you weren’t quite sure you saw yourself.

Daryl felt a wave of awkwardness standing behind Rick as he spoke to you. The same awkwardness he felt only a few days before standing in that doorway. Daryl knew of Rick's plans having been talked to about it only a few hours before.

He felt no need for a run partner. He was perfectly fine going about on his own but Rick thought the opposite.

What if something happens to you?

What if you get stuck somewhere?

We can’t afford to send search parties out for you.

All valid arguments from Rick. But Daryl had no desire to hear any of it. His stubbornness made him deaf.

Daryl could very clearly see you now. Whatever dirt and grime washed away revealed a remarkable woman. Your hair appeared soft and your dark eyes almost sparkled with the sun. He could see the definition of muscles on your biceps, highlighted by the short sleeves of your shirt. How you composed yourself screamed confidence as if you knew you were too pretty for a world so ugly.

And it infuriated him.

“Yeah, I uh...I wanna help any way I can.” Rick seemed pleased with your answer though the person behind him did not. You shifted in your seat, feeling Daryl’s eyes burn into you. In an attempt to redeem yourself, you spoke again, “If there’s anything I can do now, I want to.” Rick nodded at this, “We’ll find ya something.”

You could hear Daryl scoff from behind Rick. And though you tried to ignore it, you could not help the sour look you gave him in return. Daryl saw this as an invitation to continue his pronounced distaste.

“Don’t need someone who can’t walk holding me down.”

"Don't need someone who couldn't fight a girl holding me down."

Your response was quick-witted and more degrading to Daryl's masculinity than his insult to your injury. If you weren't mistaken, Daryl's eye twitched.

Rick stood from his seat to begin their exit, knowing the lengths of Daryl's temper. "You ain't nothing I couldn't handle." The chuckle you responded with and the glint of excitement in your eyes at the looming argument tested Daryl even more. "Sure, Daryl."

It was the first time you'd ever spoken his name to him. And he never stopped thinking of it for days to come. The way it rolled off your tongue and sounded with that southern twang. It left him restless at night and irritable during the day.

When your leg had healed and you'd grown tired of cleaning the library or serving daily meals, your first outing with Daryl was set. And it started just as rocky as it ended.

"Ya get bit, I ain't gonna hesitate to put a bullet in yer head."

"Why wait? I'm standing right here."

You remained quiet after that, not wanting to push the tension even more. But even the simplest of questions left Daryl huffing and puffing. It started with you asking how his morning was going. And it ended with you asking why he was such a prick.

It was a silent ride home.

You'd like to think you'd tried to find his good side in those beginning days but you soon began to question if such a thing even existed. Any time you were kind to him, he retaliated with anger. It brought out a certain type of frustration in you that you didn’t know was possible.

Within your time at the prison, you'd made yourself an esteemed part of the community. You used your [now useless] degree in agriculture to help build the gardens and begin the planting of any seeds you could find. Rick took a heavy trust in you and appointed you a seat on the prison council. And you'd shown your skills in scavenging, even when you had Daryl breathing down your neck.

It was difficult to pinpoint exactly when this whole charade started. Perhaps it had started in the nurse's office, in the courtyard, or on your first run together. But it did not matter where it began because there was one thing for sure, there seemed to be no end.

You both had a hold over another, in a way no one else did.

Daryl hated your confidence because he lacked his own. He hated that you were quick to go toe to toe with him. Because many others were too scared. He despised that you were so smart, a college graduate. And he especially hated when you spoke so highly of your father. Because he didn’t have a father to talk about at all.

But there was always a ting of something in all of his hate. Jealousy.

You hated his ego. You hated the fact that he contradicted everything you said. You hated when he called you names. Princess, he’d say or, miss college graduate. You hated that he never even tried to get to know you; to know that you weren’t this pretentious brat he painted you to be. Despite being with each other on a regular basis, there was a lacking of personal connection.

Neither of you truly knew the other. Where did he grow up? Has he ever broken any bones? What was his favorite candy as a child? When did he have his first drink?

Daryl pondered the same of you. Who taught you to braid your hair? You spoke of your father but never your mother, what happened to her? Why the dog tags? Have you ever loved another?

It was a day familiar to all the others. Your hot morning tea whirled about in your mug, your feet gliding gently around the grounds of the growing garden. After all your laborious hours in the Georgia heat, it was gratifying to see the various plants take bloom. Knowing there'd soon be a garden big enough to feed the community gave you satisfaction and perhaps a sliver of peace.

"You comin' or what?"

And there goes another blissful morning pissed down the drain.

Your long braid fell from your shoulder to your back when you looked at the disgruntled man. "We might need to find you a new mattress." You made your way to him, shoving your mug into his chest, "You can't ever seem to find a good side to wake up on." He scoffed, involuntarily taking your mug. The two of you, along with Michonne and Glenn, were set out on yet another run. Not one of great importance nor would it take that long of time but nonetheless it was still time spent around him.

Daryl followed behind you as you continued your way back to the prison, mug still in hand. "Michonne and Glenn are waitin' while yer staring at some fuckin' bushes." It was your turn to scoff, "They're not bushes. It's food. And a lot of fucking work."

Oh, Daryl knew how much work it had taken from you.

In the weeks he'd spent out in the gardens, his eyes worked more than his hands. He couldn't not look. You wore a tank top every day with the same black gardening gloves and dog tags dangling from your neck. The muscles in your biceps were always highlighted from the hours of digging. The blistering sun always had you drenched in sweat leaving your skin constantly glossy. Words couldn't describe the way he felt when it was dripping down your neck and into the crevice of your breast.

He was outraged for the entire three weeks.

"Whatever."

The mug in his hand became very apparent to him. "When the hell ya give me this?" He now strode beside you, approaching the car at the gates. You smiled to yourself, "A while ago."

Daryl would have preferred to ride his bike to avoid being trapped in such a confined space with you. But it was, “A waste of gas” as Rick would say.

You weren’t exactly sure what Daryl had done. But he had particularly did you in today. So greatly that you almost walked home. Glenn had to beg you to come back. Perhaps it was the way he glared at you that threw you over the edge. So cold and hostile. Or the way he stepped all over your feet, cutting you off mid-sentence, always thinking that he was right. You were simply always wrong.

This particular run would change the trajectory of your relationship forever. 

You and Daryl had split in the strip mall, deciding to cover more ground separately. The strip was usually overrun with a hoard of walkers but as of late, they seemed to be diminishing one at a time. It had become clear enough to begin digging at the stores it held. Some random clothing stores, liquor shops, a CVS pharmacy, and dead restaurants.

You were rummaging about the pharmacy, most of it already picked through. 

Examining the bottle of prenatal vitamins in your hand for Maggie, you heard footsteps. Thinking it was Daryl you spoke. "It's not like these expiration dates even matter anymore." Blind to your danger, you turned to face him.

Before you were given time to react to the two strange men, you were grabbed by the back of your neck, pulling at the nape of your hair, a blade held to the side of your throat. The bottle dropped from your hand, clattering to the floor. You grasped the man's arm attempting to keep the blade from your skin but you'd failed; cuts appeared on the delicate skin.

"Stay." The other man reached for your gun belt, unholstering your weapon and keeping it for himself. You kept your calm but your eyes widened with fear. "Scream and you'll die." The short man with the knife moved it away from your throat, his hand freeing your neck. The other man, who had taken your gun, now had it pointed at you.

It was loaded. You knew because you were the one who'd loaded it that very morning.

"Ya can't just come into the place we've worked so hard to clean up and start taking things...we need some form of payment."

"I have my bag." You offered hoping they would merely steal your things and go. Slowly, not taking your eyes off them, you moved your pack off your back. "There's food and ammo and other supplies." Your bag was snatched from your hands with haste. "Thank you." It wasn't genuine, just taunting.

"But that's not what we want." Their eyes looked at you more hungry than any walker. Once you realize what they meant, tears begin to blur your vision. You could feel them begin to come closer to you. Feeling helpless and too stunned to cry out for Daryl, you weren't sure if you should start fighting or begging.

Daryl heard your continuous screeches from down the way, dropping his bag of clothing. "Y/n!" His feet carried him to you swiftly. You cried his name shoving one man off of you from your pinned spot against the shelves. It was foolish of Daryl to begin shooting so wildly.

Luckily you moved to the floor in avoidance of the bullets, covering your head and blocking your ears.

You kept yourself crouched on the ground, deaf to what was happening around you. Until a hand grabbed your bicep and hoisted you from the ground, "Come on, we gotta go." For once you were relieved to see Daryl.

But you wouldn't be for long.

"We shouldn't have split up!" Daryl shouted. He was walking too fast for you to keep up, as he did at times. You trailed behind him stumbling your way over the branches and leaves in an attempt to make it back to the road with his bike. "You always got stupid fuckin' ideas!" Daryl's adrenaline was still pumping, too ignorant to think of you. He muttered to himself, “Course there was people, walkers don’t just clear out by themselves.”

He marched onto the blacktop.

"Ya talk big game just to not do nothing to help yourself." Daryl was angrily throwing the green brush off his bike, removing it from its hidden spot in the treeline. "Always talkin' 'bout yer daddy and what he did for ya." Daryl said this more to himself but it didn’t fail to reach your ears.

"Well, where was he now yuh?" Daryl turned around to face you, his chest heaving. Only to catch you in the midst of buttoning your pants. Guilt dreaded him.

You didn't care to hear his insults. And you had no desire to get on that bike and be so close to him right now. 

"I.." Words couldn't find themselves in your mouth. All you could focus on was the way everything felt frozen yet moving at an intense speed at the same time. Daryl saw the way you struggled with yourself.  

There was a twisting pain within your chest as your panic only grew. "Y/n." Daryl put his frustrations aside, the situation becoming clear to him now. He swallowed down his pride and reached a hand out to you. Before his fingertips could even graise the fabric of your shirt, you took a step back. "No." You spoke gently, looking out to the woods instead of to Daryl; all you could fathom now was the desire to escape. 

"Y/n," Daryl repeated more soft, "We gotta go home." 

"I don't want to." You turned back to him abruptly. He could see the tears irritating your eyes. Where your hands lay across your chest, you could feel your rapid heart. 

"Why not?" Daryl couldn't understand why you wouldn't want to go home. It was safe, it was comfortable. Two things you desperately need right now.

"I can't, I…I can't get on the bike right now." Your frustration with yourself was growing. 

Why couldn't you just get on the bike? 

Why couldn't you breathe? 

Why didn't you listen to Daryl and not split up? 

Why was Daryl being so kind to you suddenly? Was it pity? You hated pity.

"Alright." Daryl watched the tears begin to roll down your cheeks. "We can walk, it's alright." There was no way of making it back to the prison on foot before sundown. Daryl knew this. But it was a sacrifice he was willing to make for you.

Daryl gripped the handles on his bike, walking the heavy machine down the road with you in tow. You were seemingly able to calm yourself down. The only thing remaining now was shame. You were embarrassed that Daryl had seen you so vulnerable. And you were even more embarrassed that he had to save you.

All the countless years felt wasted. All that time spent in the ring or on some thin gym mats. All those tireless nights where your father wouldn’t allow you to rest until you got one more. It was a phrase all too familiar.

You knew Daryl was annoyed having to walk, his huffs and buffs gave it away. The sun was beginning to set. "Daryl we can drive." You tried to persuade for the third time. "S'fine." 

"Daryl, it's getting dark." 

"S'fine!" He shouted back frustrated with the disappearing sun. You stopped in your tracks. "I know somewhere we can sleep."

You could hear the soft sounds of the water flowing down the river bed. The moon allowed a glow onto the water, gleaming with the current. Crickets and cicadas chirped in the night air like music to your ears. Despite the struggles of being in the wilderness alone, nights like this made you miss it. 

"What ya doin' over there?" Daryl asked sitting a few feet behind you at the fire. "Nothing."

You pushed yourself from the ground, making your way back to him. Daryl bitterly smoked his cigarette. You didn't need to ask to know why he was so irritated, you could already imagine. Perhaps catching the fish for dinner was what did it. Or the hundreds of pounds of metal he walked for miles. Or maybe he actually was mad about having to save you. Or the simple fact that he was stuck out here with you. 

You couldn't pick one.

No words were spoken, just the sounds of the wilderness and the crackling of the fire. It allowed you to think.

You began to wonder if you'd ever actually hated him. Because how could you hate someone you'd grown such an attachment to? How could you hate the person you screamed out for in your time of need? There were countless days where he'd anger you so much you thought you might actually strangle him. But somehow you always went right back. You always met him at the gates or stumbled upon him at breakfast. 

Staring off into the fire you began to accept that you all along had been trying [and presumably failing] to win him over. "You okay?" Your eyes looked from the fire to him. His cigarette no longer present, "M'fine." You replied. 

Daryl would be lying if he said he wasn't worried about you. Just because he didn't care for you at times, didn't mean he doesn't care about you. "It happened a couple times out on the road. I could handle it then...I just..." You shifted where you sat, "Got surprised today was all." To hear this wasn't the first time but a time of many, gutted Daryl. 

You had become more afraid of encountering a man than a walker. 

Daryl was never angry with you. He was more angry with himself, unable to protect you from finding yourself in such a situation.

"Wasn't yer fault. M'sorry." Shockingly, Daryl's guilt overshined his ego.

You let out a deep sigh looking back out towards the water. You knew his apology was sincere but you couldn't find the courage to acknowledge it. "I was just thinking about how I miss it out here sometimes. The sounds, the views, the peace."

Your confidence and sharp tongue did not seem present at this moment. Looking back to him, he seemed completely entranced by this newfound gentle side of you. "But that's only one percent of it, isn't it?" Daryl never took his eyes off yours, the fire casting an orange glow within them. "Yeah."

The other ninety - nine percent was the actual survival. All the bloody fights. The permanent anxiety. The sleepless nights due to fear. The painful emptiness of your stomach. The constant blisters on your ankles [that never healed] from running or walking. And the unbearable hopelessness. 

"Were ya always alone?" Daryl had always been curious. You shook your head, "No." He nodded his head and looked away, leaving it at that. He had no desire to make your night even more miserable by talking about the ones you'd lost.

"It was just me and my brother for awhile."

"Meryl?" 

Daryl furrowed his eyebrows knowing he'd never mentioned him before. 

"Maggie's talked about him briefly." 

"All nice things?" Daryl asked sarcastically. 

"Not really." Your attempt to stifle your laugh was a failure, the smile lingering. But this did not anger Daryl the way you thought it would. Instead, he had his own small smile, scoffing and shaking his head. "He wasn't the best at times...but he was my brother ya know?"

You nodded muttering a, yeah. 

Daryl flicked the butt of his cigarette into the dying fire. Knowing this was the first and potentially last time you'd ever speak to another so tenderly again, you continued. 

"I was an only child. My mom died in childbirth when I was eight…so I never got siblings." 

"M'sorry."

"Don't." You didn't say it to be cruel. You grew up hearing sympathy after sympathy, you did not need anymore. "I was never alone though. I had my Dad. And my aunt and uncles helped take care of me so I was surrounded by my cousins all the time...I guess I did have siblings in a way." A nauseating wave of nostalgia rose in your throat, silencing you for a mere second. 

"My mom died when I was young too. 'Cept my Dad was just some drunk asshole, didn't care 'bout nobody but himself." Daryl couldn't deny his slight envy towards you. You grew up with a father who cared for you and your safety. It made him wonder how you'd ended up alone in the end.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't need yer apologies Y/n."

"I know."

The fire was no more. Only red hot embers burning on the rocky gravel. And it made you think that perhaps it was symbolic that the fire was slowly diminishing as your conversation grew more gentle. 

A few minutes of silence had passed before either of you spoke again. "Look at us, talking to each other, treating each other like human beings for once." You joked with a laugh in an effort to replace the depressing mood. 

You actually heard Daryl chuckle even though he lowered his head in an attempt to hide it. His eyes glanced at you, your own cheeky smile dimpling your cheeks. If this is what having a personal connection with Daryl was, it was dangerous.

Why did it take so long? 

Was what you wanted to scream at him.

I could've loved you if you'd just given me a chance. 

"Maybe we have more in common than we ever allowed." 

Daryl broke eye contact with you, staring down at the glowing embers, chewing on his bottom lip. And he did the only thing he ever learned how to do when he felt something. "Night Y/n." 

You didn't know why you expected anything different. 

"Goodnight Daryl." 

Daryl took his vest off, rolling it up and using it as a makeshift pillow. He turned away from you, his back tauntling in your face. 

You stayed up a little while after, too overwhelmed by thoughts to rest. Unbeknownst to you, Daryl could not rest either. In fact, he did not sleep that entire night, only allowing himself ten-minute naps here and there. The only sense of relaxation he felt was when he'd check over his shoulder and see you in blissful sleep. As if nothing and no one had ever touched you. 

When Rick asked what'd happened, Daryl lied. Saying you'd been outrun by a hoard and had to crash somewhere safe for the night. The days continued on, and what happened that day was not spoken of again. But there had come an understanding that Daryl and you were indeed, more in-common than ever allowed.

Patrick approached Daryl and you at breakfast as you mapped the run for the next morning. "H-hi!" Patrick greeted sheepishly, giving a small wave to the table. Maggie and Glenn greeted him first. Then you, pulling your attention away from the map on the table to him; giving a polite smile and nod. "Hey Patrick, everything okay?" Rick asked from where he sat beside Daryl. "Yeah..." Patrick was nervous on his feet, awkwardly pushing his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. "I wanted to ask Daryl and Y/n if I could join them out there?" 

There was suddenly a stiffness in the air. Glances were exchanged between the lot of you. "Patrick I-" Rick scratched his beard awkwardly, finding a response for the boy.  Patricks's confidence plummeted. He had spent hours building up the courage to ask, only to be met with stiff glances. 

"How old are you Patrick?" It was an odd question for you to ask but it did not come without reason. "Uhmm fifteen." 

You rose from your seat making your way over to him as gently as your feet would allow. Come, you spoke gently reaching an arm out to him. 

Patrick began to walk with you. 

"I was younger than you when my father began to enroll me in fighting classes…a short time after my mother died.”

Pausing your words, you continued your stroll until you stopped just before hitting the grass. "He told me that you could never be too young to be prepared for what the world was to through at you...What does that mean to a little girl who only wanted to play with her Barbies?"

Patrick listened to you intentively, entranced by the way you spoke.

Looking out to the green gardens, you seemed lost in thought for a second.  "I don't think your question is outrageous. I just don't think you're prepared." Patrick seemed to understand this answer more, nodding his head.

You knew the day would come when the prison folk grew tired of looking at the same walls and more curious about the world beyond. Especially the children. You'd seen the group of kids over by the fences, close enough to look at the walkers but far enough away for safety. It was often that they were scolded by the adults. 

"I know I’m not a fighter. I’m not like you or Daryl or even Carl. But I just wanna…” Patrick paused, “be brave for once.”

You couldn't help but smile at the innocence of the boy. 

"You can't go out there knowing nothing Patrick." He had finally begun to accept defeat but the long face and disappointed eyes tugged at your sympathy. 

"I can teach you. Just as my father taught me." Patrick's eyes lit up with hope. "Th-thank you Y/n." He gleamed with excitement, reaching a hand out to shake yours. You were truly at a loss of words with no choice but to shake it in return. 

You'd spent day after day out in the field with Patrick. You taught him how to block blows, how to hold and use daggers, and much more. He was skittish and shaky most days but he was trying. In place of your days with Patrick, you were skipping your usual days with Daryl. You truly hadn't thought he'd mind much. If anything, you assumed he'd be happy to finally have a break from you.

"I feel like this wouldn't hurt that bad." Patrick commented. Carl was punching the book Patrick held, having begun to invite himself to the practices. Thick index books were the closest thing you'd find to a punching bag. You chuckled, "It hurts more than you'd expect."

Daryl approached the three of you. You could hear his footsteps. You’d recognize them even in the dead of night. They were gentler than normal as if he wished to not disturb. "It hurts more if you have rings on." Patrick looked at you curiously, "Did you used to wear rings Y/n?" You nodded happily. "All the time.”

You turned to finally face Daryl. "Hey." You greeted, taking the last few steps to meet him. "Hi." Daryl looked about, chewing on his bottom lip. "You ain't been showing up for runs." It almost, almost, sounded as if this upset him. "I've been here," you motioned to the young boys, "You know that." 

Daryl nodded.

Of course he knew. He saw you every day, always wanting to come over and join but never allowing himself to. 

"You really serious 'bout all this?" Daryl nudged his head to Patrick and Carl. You let out a deep sigh. You asked yourself the same question. Was this serious? Did you really plan on taking a kid outside the gates? There was a chance this was all for nothing at all. But what you did know was that it kept your mind at peace and your days busy.

"I don't know. I thought we could at least take him down to the river. It's nice down there, it's not far, would get him outta here for a few hours." 

The river.

"Alright."

"Alright."

You sat alone at dinner that night, needing quiet time after hanging out with teenage boys for the majority of your day. You poked about your rice and veggies, still working on the copy of Little Women. "Hey." Daryl greeted. The day was growing late, the sun beginning to disappear from beneath the trees; he'd presumably just gotten back.

"Hi." You looked from your page, secretly happy he was giving you an excuse to put it down. Daryl's eyes looked anywhere but your own. "I-uh...got something for ya." Daryl dug into his front pocket, grabbing the handful of metal. He placed the rings on the table, making their own clattering noise together as they fell.

You seemed bewildered at this. "What...uh." Daryl chewed nervously on his thumb. He'd searched through this town and the next to find them for you, rummaging through old antique stores and dusty jewelry boxes. Picking out the ones he thought you’d like; which could mean nothing at all. “You didn't have to."

"S'fine." You nodded, the smile finally creeping it’s way to your features. "Thank you, Daryl." You were flattered. Flattered to think that for once, he'd actually listened to you. "Do you wanna go get dinner and come sit?" You offered.

"Yeah, I'd like that."

A certain closeness was growing. The arguments slowly became banter. And the war of dominance diminished. You began to work together as partners, mapping runs and brainstorming improvements for the prison. Instead of using your skills against each other, you’d began to find the perfect balance between.

Daryl joined you most days with Patrick. He found that he had no desire to go beyond the gates unless you were in tow.

There were moments when sheer frustration retook hold of you. But never did it reach the lengths as before. It came with reason, with a pleading, instead of merely arguing of who was right and who was wrong.

You turned the rings on your fingers about as you walked to the dining area outside. Daryl was a ways away, smoking his morning cigarette. “Morning.” You greeted, crossing your arms and taking your spot beside him. “Morning.”

The end of summer was near, mornings were chillier than usual but days still hot from the sun. There was a curtain of peace over this particular morning. The smell of Daryl’s cigarette filled your nose along with the morning dew. His presence comforted you. “I think it was around this time last year when you guys picked me up.”

Daryl blew the smoke from his lips, “Yeah, biggest mistake ever.” He joked. This earned a laugh from you. Daryl watched the joy on your face; it scrunched your eyes and accentuated the apples of your cheeks. “Yeah, I bet.”

He couldn’t take his eyes from you and a heaviness weighed within his chest. Because he knew, just as you did, that it was not only friendship lingering. It was more.

“I think I’m gonna go out, make sure the path to the river is clear.” Daryl knew what this insinuated. “We’re taking him out today?” Daryl had begun to hope that all of your time with Patrick was nothing, that it was merely something to fill up the days. “It feels like a peaceful day…” You could hear the uncertainty in his voice. “Besides, Patrick’s not been feeling good, I doubt he’ll even want to go. It’s the effort that means something to him.”

Hmm, Daryl hummed. You nudged your elbow into him, “Keep an eye on him for me, okay?” Daryl hummed in response again. “D…” You nudged him again as if needing a more reassuring answer for your verbal contract. The nickname perked his ears and heated his cheeks. Looking to you, he nodded.

You gave him a thankful smile. “Be safe!” Daryl shouted to you as you began on your way.

Arriving back to the prison you could feel within your gut that something was wrong. The sympathetic eyes that Michonne greeted you with solidified this.

Daryl recognized your footsteps entering the cell block.

“What's happened?" Daryl rushed to stand in front of you, blocking your path. It was eerily silent. “Come on.” Daryl placed his hands on your shoulders trying to turn you away. You shoved his hands from you, slipping past him.

"Y/n.” Daryl could not stop you from continuing on. Your expression was stuck in a state of confusion and shock as your feet guided about the chaotic cell block. It smelled of metallic blood and bitterly sour. Almost as though you'd stuck your nose in a gaping infected wound. When you'd turned your head to glance into a cell, you saw him.

Patrick lay still on the ground, an arrow lodged in his skull. An airy gasp left you, clutching your hands to your chest. It was as if you couldn't take your eyes away. Your eyes still not yet communicating to your brain what you were looking at. But when it did, the only thing you could seem to focus on was the arrow. An arrow.

Daryl watched the realization settle on your features when you turned to him. For once, Daryl felt a sense of fear. And it only worsened when you began towards him. 

It was as quick as a breath. You unsheathed the dagger on your hip and aimed it at him. 

"Y/n no!" 

Daryl caught your wrists, the blade mere inches from his right eye. Though he stopped the blade, your brute force did not stop him from being shoved into the closest wall.  

"I told you to look out for him!" You yelled through your glassy eyes.

He had no words for you, pure guilt blocking any defense or insult.

"I had to." You scoffed at this, "I can't trust you to do anything." 

"Y/n it's not his fault. It was an accident." Rick reasoned with you.

With his back pressed against the wall, he had fully submitted himself to your wrath. His guilt would let you kill him now if you'd like. His hands around your wrist did not hurt nor squeeze to withhold your strength, they began to merely rest there.

Your rapid breathing began to slow to deep inhales and exhales, ones that moved your entire chest. Your eyes remained steady on his, the world drowning out around you. 

While his eyes showed remorse, yours burned with anger; eyebrows furrowed, hot tears slipping down your cheeks.

With one forceful shove, you ripped your arms from Daryl's grasp, his back bumping the cement wall. The dagger made a clattering noise to the floor, having been lost from your grasp in the process. You stood there for a moment looking to Daryl as if waiting for something.

"M'sorry."

His apology only seemed to anger you, your face once again turning hateful. You took a few steps back before making your exit.  

When time came to take care of the ones lost, you helped dig their graves; in defiance of everyone telling you not to. Your hands covered in splinters from the blistering wood of the shovel’s handle. The once thriving and growing prison become melancholy, a heavy cloud of sorrow always above.

You and Daryl had not spoken for days. You'd ditched any planned runs that had been scheduled. But without fail, Daryl waited every morning for you, on the off chance you'd join him again. And when you never did, he kept an eye on you from afar. 

You had become quiet and distant. He seemed to only find you chatting with Maggie or Glenn and on the off chance, Rick. You were on fence duty every day presumably taking out every bit of anger on those poor dead bastards.

You'd been out there day after day, nothing but water in your system, running off of pure spite and grief. You'd be out there till your adrenaline wore off and your body gave up on itself from exhaustion. If Daryl wasn't mistaken he had spotted you crying on some days; but that bloody pipe never left your hands.

You had begun to wake up earlier than Daryl, always managing to slip away from him just in time. You ignored him at every meal and walked by him as if he was a ghost. 

Daryl couldn't deny the itch of missing you. He longed for you to look at him again, to smile at him and call him names. He began to even miss when you yelled at him, as cruel and loud as you could be. 

Daryl couldn't continue on like this. You were torturing him.

He had awoken particularly early this day, ensuring he was in the kitchen long before you; knowing you never skipped your morning tea.

Exhaustion was all you could feel. Your body raged against your decisions every day. Your arms were sore, hands red and raw from gripping the damn pipe so hard. But you could not allow yourself to be around him. You couldn't stand to be trapped in those cells, indulged with pity.  

Wrapping the strap of the fingerless gloves around your wrist, you wandered into the kitchen. Glancing up, you saw him, stopping your steps. The kitchen was dark on this early morning, the sun not yet fully risen. 

Every thought Daryl had vanished from his mind. Every speech he'd rehearsed or apology left him in an instant. He hadn't known seeing you face to face, alone, would leave him so breathless. Daryl could see your exhaustion even in the dim light. Your usually neat braid had been done in haste, it was sloppy and hairs fell messily into your face. The constant emotional distress dragged on your features.  

"I had to see ya."

You crossed your arms over your chest, closing yourself off from him. "So you just waited for me here." Your tone was venom to him. Daryl swallowed sharply, second-guessing his actions. "Ya get yer tea every mornin'." It would be flattering to think he'd memorized your everyday routine if it was any other time. But you couldn't find that now. 

"Was gonna go out..."

He wasn't. Daryl would only go if you were in tow.

You scoffed at him. Had he truly gone through all this effort just to ask you to join him on a sleazy run? 

Your attitude hurt Daryl more than he'd like to admit. "Just wanted to see if ya wanted to come with me?"

You knew why he actually was here. Scratching the skin on your arm nervously, you said, "No Daryl." 

“Why the hell not?” Your mouth dropped agape. Astonished at his mere audacity. “Why not?” You repeated back. Daryl looked at you blankly. Should he apologize? Or should he begin his stubbornness rant about all the ways it wasn't his fault? You shook your head, "You're pathetic."

The fire was lit once again.

You'd insulted his ego and his efforts to meet you here. But most of all, you'd insulted any feelings he'd developed for you.

Daryl's face switched from hurt to a hateful glare in a second. You didn’t care to continue on with him, turning and disappearing into the hallway. Daryl’s anger took hold of him as he rushed after you. “M’pathetic?” He followed after you, stomping like a child.

You ignored him, continuing on, letting the door slam in his face when you exited outside. Daryl following suit in your path did not falter. Carol and Rick turned their attention to the commotion.

Daryl and you spewed insults at each other. You'd reached down in yourself, past the grief and guilt, and pulled any degrading thing you could manage to say to him. And he did the same. No words you said could possibly cut him as deeply as his actions cut you.

"I shoulda left ya out there!" 

"Yeah I wish you fucking would've..." You took a step closer to him. "But you couldn't because you fucking needed me." 

"I don't need you." 

"You fucking need me." You repeated. 

"Yeah? Then you need me!"

"I don't fucking need you! I never needed you."

Daryl lowered his tone, narrowing his eyes. He was mere inches from your face, your foreheads almost touching. “Ya didn't need me out there, hm?" He watched your furrowed eyebrows falter. Daryl knew he was crossing a line but couldn't find it in his heart to stop. "Where was yer daddy that day, yuh?"

Your glassy eyes looked up at him attempting to form your own degrading insult. "What? Say it, come on say it Y/n." He egged you on.

You only think about yourself, just like your father.

But you refrained, swallowing your words along with your tears. "Fuck you." Daryl watched you walk away, wiping at your face. "Fuck you!" Regret dreaded him. He watched as you continued on, your body shaking from a mixture of adrenaline and tears. He could have run after you then, apologies spewing from his mouth but his stubbornness kept him still.

The prison fell that same day.

Amid chaos and destruction, Daryl could only find himself to look for you. And when he finally accepted defeat, he could only pray that you'd made it out.

You had fled on your own. Fighting your way through to return to the comfort of the wilderness. After a few strenuous days on your own again, you'd found Carol and Tyreese; joining them with the girls. The blisters on your feet had returned as did the heaviness deep in your chest.

You thought about him more than you'd like to admit. And Carol did her part in reminding you of him on the daily. You'd begun to dwell on how you'd treated him in those final days. You’d denied yourself the comfort of his company. You urned for him to be gentle to you once again. To speak to you so deeply and sincerely as he had before. To comfort you amidst your grief. All the draining nights of crying yourself to dehydration, you desired for him to be there.

You’d never been hugged by Daryl but in your mind, his touch would’ve healed a thousand gaping wounds.

"I regret it deeply now." You'd say to Carol.

"I'm sure he feels the same." She'd respond.

A longing for your life to return as it was among those prison walls struck you down every hour of every day. The wish to go back to that morning and accept his offer. To take his hand and go beyond the walls. Maybe one more day together would’ve fixed everything. And you wouldn’t be left with the guilt of leaving things off on a bad note; never to see him again.

The smoke rose above the tree line, only making you more anxious. With Tyreese and Judith safely at the cabin, [or so you thought], you kept guard at the road. Keeping an eye for anyone making an escape.

Kill them if they weren’t one of us. Carol instructed.

But the sound of gunfire made you unsure of anyone’s survival. Fuck, you muttered to yourself out of frustration. You glanced constantly down the road and amongst the trees, hoping for a familiar face.

You turned your last surviving ring anxiously about your finger. A rustle in the woods grabbed your attention. You gripped your gun closely in your hands, stepping towards the tree line. When it was deemed clear, you continued on, your boots crunching on the leaves.

Your ears perked at a sudden snap of a twig. Whipping your body around, you pointed your gun.

Daryl aimed his bow to you, the tip of your weapons mere inches from the other. Your breath caught in your throat. His eyes were tired, his face bruised. But you couldn't say you looked any better.

Both your fingers lingered over your triggers, though neither of you would shoot. Daryl lowered his bow. Looking at you with teary eyes. You lowered your own weapon, looking to him with the same unsure gaze. There seemed to be a mutual understanding that neither of you had the energy to fight. Daryl wanted to reach out to you but the looming fear of rejection didn’t allow him. "Y/n?" Maggie snapped you from your daze. “Maggie?” You rushed to embrace her, discarding Daryl.

The weeks spent on the road proved to be difficult. Everyone grew more hopeless by the day and this hopelessness only grew when it became loss after loss. There was no time to heal from one loss before having to mourn another. First Bob, then Tyreese, and then Beth. You’d glued yourself to Maggie after Beth just as she did for you after Patrick.

Daryl mourned Beth in private. You wanted to be there for him, to provide him a shoulder to cry on. But he’d shut you out, just as you’d done to him. And besides, you never even tried, too focused on Maggie to consider it more than a thought.

You and Daryl had become strangers once again. There was no room for forgiveness, no time to spew apologies to each other, and no space to coddle each other through the pain.

Alexandria came to the suffering group, shining a new light of hope and a more secure future.

But this meant you could not hide from him anymore nor him you. The known could no longer be left unspoken.

You’d slipped away from the main house to the house next door that belonged to the group but was yet to be used. Daryl was first to notice your absence, asking where you’d gone so late. When he was told, the urge to follow after arose.

The front door was left unlocked, allowing Daryl entry. “Y/n?” The house was dimly lit, an amber glow looming from across the room. Daryl saw your figure sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. A liquor bottle sat atop the coffee table reading, Honey Whiskey, along with an empty glass seemingly for him. The other was in your hand, resting on your thigh. He couldn't help but think how perfectly you the liquor was; bitter yet soothing and sweet.

Daryl didn't know what told him to sit beside you but he did not resist the urge.

Nothing was said, the both of you staring off into the gas-lit flames. Your eyes studied the fake logs that were engulfed by flames, comparing it to how real wood burns. Daryl craved for you to speak to him. He didn't care if it was hurtful. Any words, cruel or no, were better than this silence. "Y/n..."

"I forgive you." Daryl went still. You hadn't given him time to breathe.

"What?"

Just then you turned, your freshly cleaned hair falling over your shoulder. The fire cast a glow on your features; highlighting the bridge of your nose and emoting a sparkle within your eyes.

“I said I forgive you.” It was the gentlest tone you’d ever spoken to him in, almost a whisper.

“I don’t think I had reason to be angry in the first place. I was just trying to blame someone that wasn’t myself.” You reached forward, popping the cap from the bottle and pouring Daryl a glass. You handed it to him, along with a slight smile. It tugged at his heart.

“M’sorry…bout what I said that day. 'Bout your Dad...Wasn’t right.” Daryl swirled the liquor about his glass, wondering where you’d found it. You took a deep breath before speaking on, “My daddy disowned me.”

The dog tags around your neck suddenly felt as though they weighed fifty pounds. It was a burden you carried around your neck every day, hoping the weight would be lifted lighter if you just spoke highly. "Why?" Daryl couldn't help but ask. You hesitated, your mouth gaping but no words following. "Because I loved a woman." You flashed Daryl an insecure smile, unsure of how he'd react. "I lost her about a month before you guys picked me up. That's why I was alone."

Daryl felt a whirlwind of emotions hit him at once.

How many times had he thrown your father in your face like some jealous brat?

“I think I resented ya a lot. Thinking ya had a father that rolled out the red carpet for you." Daryl had found his own courage in a now empty cup. You took note of this, pouring more for him. "I know, D."

"M'sorry."

"I know that too."

After that, a soft silence fills the room. The two of you sit peacefully, content with the weight slowly lifting from the shoulders of your friendship. But there was another topic to relive before you could truly sweep up all of the choked-off fragments and furnish them with conclusions.

“Patrick uh…”

“Ya don’t gotta talk about that Y/n.”

“No, I need to.”

The liquor wasn’t persuading you to talk nor to act a certain way, you’d barely drank any.

A deep sigh left you and you rested your back against the couch. “Patrick talked about his parents a lot. He said that his mom wanted him to be brave…That’s why he wanted to go out, he said that he felt like a coward. He’d always been safe in Woodbury then the prison.” Your words were quick and shaken.

Daryl listened attentively, taking sips of the whiskey in hopes it would calm his mind. “He thought that if he went out, even once, he would be brave… like us.” You motioned to you and Daryl. A smile rose on your face. “He also just really wanted to impress you, he was so excited when you started joining us in the mornings.” You took a sip from your own cup finding strength in the liquid.

“I know you always thought it was silly but…Patrick reminded me a lot of my cousin. He was my best friend until my aunt moved to a different state. I promised to keep in touch but I started college, got distracted, and only saw him on holidays.”

Your words trailed as if unsure of what was to be said.

“Until he jumped off a fucking overpass.” You could feel Daryl’s sympathetic eyes looking at you. “In his note, he said he knew he was a coward but he couldn’t be here anymore.” Your lip began to quiver but you quickly covered it with a swig of liquor. Daryl was left to think while you choked your tears down.

"They were brave." Daryl said in hopes it would relieve some of your guilt.

You placed your glass on the table beside the couch. "And dead they are." The tears could no longer be drowned in whiskey. You covered your face with your hands. Your body trembled violently, sobs racking your chest. Daryl put down his own glass. “C’mere…c’mere please.”

Daryl scooted closer to you, grasping for you to meet him halfway. You met him gladly.

You gripped your arms around him tighter, resting your head on his shoulder. A deep sigh of relief left both of you, melting into the other's embrace. “You’ve never hugged me before." You commented with sadness, your words mumbling against the fabric of his shirt; now wet with tears. "I know. M’sorry.” He could hold you all night if need be, to make up for all the nights he hadn’t.

He smelled of pine from the soap he'd used to wash. But the familiar scent of motor oil and cigarette smoke could never be washed from his skin. At first, it annoyed you. You'd complain that the oil gave you headaches and scold him about his unhealthy habit. But now, no four walls of any house could provide you the safety and comfort of Daryl's broad figure.

You pulled away from him but your hands did not leave him. They dragged down from his back to rest comfortably in his own. Your soft skin caressed his calloused hands. Your forehead rested against his. He did not remove himself from you but merely looked down, avoiding your gaze. "Ya been drinking a lot Y/n, ain't in the right mindset right now." You shook your head, "No Daryl...”

Your nose bumped his own as you scooped your head down, capturing his lips in yours. You taste of the bitterly sweet liquor, your lips still slightly damp from the tears that fell only moments ago. He resists before giving in to his longest desires. It made his nerves feel fuzzy. “I love you.” Your words mumbled against his lips.

The kiss turned from gentle to desirable in time, lips moving in sync together. His hands moved to either side of your face, ensuring to keep you close. You began to lay back, hoping Daryl would follow. He was quick too, ensuring his body weight did not crush you.

Needing a moment to breathe, you parted from him. Your back relaxed against the plush couch all your tense muscles turning to putty beneath him. Daryl's head fell to your chest. He felt your own heartbeat, just as quick as his own. "Love ya too."

Daryl's hands freely wondered you. He gripped your thighs, feeling the jagged scar on your thigh through the thin pajama pants; remembering the day you met. "I fell down a hill." Daryl stopped his lingering hands, "What?" There was a ting of a smile on your face. His eyes sparkled with admiration. "I was fighting a walker and I fell downhill. I think I got stabbed by a tree branch or my own knife, I never knew." You admitted shamefully. Daryl dropped his head to your chest again, chuckling.

His laughter sent vibrations through you, triggering a laugh of your own. You bring your hand to the back of his head, stroking his messy brown hair. “Why don’t you stay here with me tonight?” Daryl lifted his head, the fire dimly lighting the right side of his face. He nodded.

"I'd like that."

[provecfy]

No but I seriously can't even fathom how painful Cassandra's existence has to be.

Like, we explore exactly how horrible witnessing death is for Cassandra, she reads the pain and the understanding and the regret on a dying body, she experiences death along with its victim on real time, she is the one human being who will never get desensitized to seeing a person dying, it is even worse for her than for anyone else, and she is surrounded by death

Her entire dedicated rogue's gallery (David Cain, Shiva, the Mad Dog, the Unburied, etc) makes a point of killing any and all by-standers and she always has to see it

Imagine the most traumatic death you have ever seen or heard about, imagine the grief or the disgust you felt when you first came across it, imagine experiencing that at the same time you experience the pain of the dying person and then imagine reliving that memory two, three, ten, twenty times every night and it's always like the first time and you never get used to it, and you'd be imagining a normal Tuesday for Cassandra as Batgirl

It's agonizing, my legs shake just thinking about it, I can't even picture getting up from my bed every morning with that curse over my head. And you're telling me Cassandra, this normal human without powers and with a support network that is lackluster on a good day, not only gets up every morning but lives with it? That she can manage a semblance of normality? How much willpower does it take? I am truly floored by how amazing Cassandra is.

[dc-gotham-instincts-wild]

DC BATFAM FANFIC IDEAS

Bruce not telling anyone in the JL his identity and one day he casually mentions something only an orphan would understand. - The JL members who are orphans understand. The others don't. - The entire JL gets concerned.

Tim's nervous (Read: really scared) around Jason. Jason does not like this and wants to fix it. Wait, why does Bruce glare daggers at Jack Drake? - Jason: I sense child neglect. Dad's already onto it, i see. Ok so how do i use this to get Tim stop fleeing the room whenever i walk in.

Sort of an AU fic where Bruce and Oliver were close friends (Read: brothers and that's what they see each other as) as kids, still as adults, and as vigilantes they work pretty well together, they recognized each other instantly even in cape, and while the the JL doesn't know their identities, each knows the other. - Also they're both autistic and somehow chaos ensues after Flash overhears them talking one day at the Watchtower and now the JL wants to know how these work so well.

Bruce was a wild child and so is Damian.

Jason adjusting to being under a roof, right after Bruce found him.

The first days of Tim's being Robin. Bruce and Dick are concerned, while, oblivious, Tim is doing things that only neglected kids do. He is surprised others care. Dick sets out to change this.

AU where Jack ends up being a crap dad. Bruce has had enough and steals legal custody. - Bruce: Well you had one chance at being a dad and you blew it. - Bruce: Tim's my kid now. - Jack can't do anything about this. To Tim, Jack is 'Father'. Bruce is 'Dad'.

Some of the villains notice that the other vigilantes and even Red Robin himself like joking that 'RR's folks don't even notice that he practically lives at our place, they won't notice him sneaking back in at 2AM'. - Until one day they joke about 'RR's dad blew it. B took legal custody'.

Flash has ADHD but tells no one. The other see the signs tho. Batman calls him out on hiding it. Why Bat? Welp, the other nominated him. GA joins his autistic buddy tho.

This isn't Batfam but Billy/Captain Marvel accidentally drops some street child stuff. The League, of course, pick it up.

Bruce has trust issues. No specific event- just it was that way after his folks died. The JL figures it out that it's not just how he is, he just generally doesn't trust people. They figure out that something happened to make him this.

The JL has to come to Gotham for a mission. They have to stakeout in a graveyard. At some point while they still have a few hours, Batman slips off. When *insert any JL member(s)* find him, he's standing above two graves. They catch him saying "Hope you're proud, Mom, Dad." - Chaos ensues from this.

Kid!Dick has a nightmare. Bruce allows his kid to spend the night with him.

Cass gets into a fight with David Cain. She is shaken. Bruce is there for her, though.

Duke has a nightmare.

Tim tries to sneak outside after having a nightmare. Bruce catches him because he's a Dad. He sensed a disturbance in the force. Anyway instead of getting mad he makes it clear who Dick learned it from and tickles Tim to bits and then carries him back to bed lol.

That's all i got for now lol. Might update it if i get more ideas.

[bitterrobin]

you, batman/batfamily fan, can you be normal about parents and their flaws without making them exaggerated abusers?

can you absorb the fact that Jack and Janet Drake were not perfect parents, but they still loved Tim? and that Tim loved them enough that he tried to tear a razor sharp boomerang out of his father's corpse with his bare hands? that the Drakes were not millionaires who forced high society values onto their son for the sake of a public image? (that they weren't even rich for that long of a time?)

can you be normal about how the deep recesses of poverty affect a family unit while allowing a parent nuance? can you write Willis Todd without making him a classist caricature of an abuser? can you write Catherine Todd and Crystal Brown without portraying their drug addictions as fodder for their children's whump? (I added in Crystal bc she canonically suffered from drug addiction, but I haven't seen much of her in fics tbh)

can you accept that as much an abuser David Cain was, he still loved Cassandra enough that he utterly fell apart when she left him? That he was genuinely astonished/proud of her when she spoke to him for the first time even as she threatened him? he still sucks majorly, but you can't deny that he loved her. that's what makes their relationship so painful.

can you be normal about Talia al Ghul? can you write her without making her an ooc rapist or child abuser or cold dragon lady? can you acknowledge that every ounce of her characterization surrounding Damian is vastly different from her original pre-Morrison personality to the extent that og Talia would never even have a child in the League?

can you pick apart when a parents portrayal is out of character, that a writer made them hit or neglect their child because above all else they exist for drama and action? that you can find DC characters who actually had traumatic childhoods instead of grafting them onto a Bat-character? (> this last sentence is mostly about Tim btw)

Exploring a character's parents and how they affected them is always interesting, but I've seen fics that genuinely steer towards character assassination rather than an exploration of events written in the comics. They exaggerate a parent's portrayal not to write about a complicated parent-child dynamic but so they can have Bruce or Jason rushing in to comfort them (yes, this is about the Tim Drake shrimp fic). Idk, I think most of my ire just stems from the fact that content about Mia Dearden or Todd Rice or Grant Emerson aren't widespread, Mia specifically always gets explored in Bat-circles as someone that just adds to Jason's character rather than analyzing her on her own, in addition to the constant hell that Talia goes through in both canon and fanon.

[erinwantstowrite]

Could you tell me what you like about Stephanie and Cass as characters? I haven't read any of the comics so everything I know about the characters has come from fanfiction and every time they are in a fic they always feel so one dimensional and it really bothers me. Stephanie is always just talking about waffles or pulling pranks with glitter or being super nosey. And all Cass ever does is sneak around and pat people on the head and the only dialogue she ever has is something that feels like the author is infantilizing her. So many people like them and I know there is more to them as characters I just rarely find a fic they are included in where they feel as fleshed out as Dick, Jason, Tim, Damian, etc.

OH BUDDDYYYYYYY i was in the same boat for a while. i genuinely had no idea that they were far more involved in bat stuff than what they were in fics. they're so often overlooked (so is Duke) and it makes me crazy because they have SUCH amazing character concepts!!! they're still on my to-read list so i'm not an expert and this is just what i've gathered from my pre-requisite research, but!!!

stephanie is the daughter of one of Gotham's villains, the Cluemaster. she became the Spoiler because she wanted to be his opposite, wanted to be better than him. he was an abusive asshole, both physically and mentally, and Stephani even hates her blonde hair because it's the same color as her father's. she has a close relationship with her mother, who is still alive. Stephanie is incredibly intelligent and she deserved so much better when she took up the Robin mantle when Tim's father made him put it down. at some point in the comics, she got pregnant as a teen (not Tim's, but they were dating when they figured it out?? i think? she didn't cheat on him). she wanted to be a mom so badly and she loved her baby so much. the panels where she was dreaming of playing with her baby make me feel ill because she deserves the world. she had to give the baby up for adoption because she was so scared her father would find the baby and hurt/kill them, and she didn't let herself see the baby after they were born because she knew she'd want to keep them if she held them. she didn't even know if it was a born or girl. I'm pretty sure Bruce was the one who found the baby a good home somewhere where Stephanie's father can't find them. at some point, she "died" but it was really something she had to fake? for some reason? and she trained with a doctor i think (was it Leslie?) for a WHILE. Tim had no idea that this was faked and it kind of fucked him up but this ain't about him right now. she did actually die at some point and i'm pretty sure Cass was there with her, though i am hazy on if she was revived right away or later on

and Cass. god,,,, she was also a victim of her father, David Cain. her mother is Lady Shiva, who you might have seen mentioned in Tim fics. both are highly trained assassins and considered the best of the best. David raised Cass to not understand any spoken language, so she could not speak it for a very long time. the only language that she did know was the art of body language, and she had the ability to see things that so many other people can't. that's how she's able to pick up on most everything, so she was still incredibly intelligent. one day her father made her kill someone, her first ever kill, and what she saw in the man's dying body was so agonizing that it forever changed her. she was so horrified by what she had done that she refused to kill. (in my opinion, this makes her the best candidate for taking up Batman's position but the writers are cowards.) she either ran away or was sent away by her father? (this is where it starts getting hazy for me because i still have comics to read). i don't know what happened in between for sure, but she did end up learning how to speak and understand words, and i think it's a popular headcanon that it can sometimes overwhelm her so she sticks to one words or sign language for communication, but she CAN speak now. she considers Barbara to be like her mother, as Babs was the one who mentored her and took care of her. she's a very loving person and i think her friendship with Stephanie is sweet. even if you don't ship them, they're soulmates of some kind

that's about as much as i know but i'm still learning!! if any steph or cass fans want to add on to this, feel free to infodump here and mayhaps leave your comic recommendations? :3

[tsuvvy]

Oh Sister of Mine - Chapter 3

A Match

A trip to Arkham raises some questions. Questions you still refuse to answer. And questions revolving a father of two kids he’s broken.

Warnings: None really, this chapter is rather tame

Word Count: 2.2k

Bruce hated going to Arkham. Whether it was because he was staring at faces that stared back in anger and disdain that could rival the angriest of monsters or not, he's not sure.

But he has to be here. He puts his priorities into finding out who you are.

“You have any ideas?” Dick asked, his arms crossed as he leaned against the wall, staring at Bruce.

“None.” Bruce answered.

A knock sounded on the door.

“You guys ready for ‘im?” A guard asked when having peeked into the room.

“Yes, we are.” Bruce answered.

“Alright, c'mon,” the guard spoke, roughly pulling Kerrim into the room. His originally slicked back brown hair now messy.

“Hey, hey, easy!” Kerrim announced when he was pushed toward the chair.

“Hurry up!” The guard yelled at him before leaving to let Bruce, dressed as Batman, and Dick, dressed as Nightwing, ask their questions.

“Well, well, the big Batsy's got some questions for me, huh?” Kerrim grinned, looking up at the vigilante who kept a straight face.

“The kid, where did they come from.” Bruce, or Batman asked.

“Did you kidnap them?” Nightwing spoke up. “Pick em’ up off the streets?”

“I don't see how it's your problem,” Kerrim smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Just some worthless kid.” He shrugged.

“Hey, watch it.” Nightwing said, gaze narrowing on him. “They're a kid. They deserve better.”

“They have better!” Kerrim announced, an arrogant smirk still on his face as he spoke. “You know how useful the skill to kill is?”

“Who are they?” Nightwing asked, walking up to the table and looking down at the cocky man.

“Hell if I know,” Kerrim cockily shrugged again with a soft breathy laugh.

“What do you mean?” Nightwing asked, his brows furrowing.

“I mean, I got no clue about that freak.” Kerrim spoke in a condescendingly slow way, making sure Nightwing understood.

Batman was done. He stepped forward, grabbing hold of the collar of the arkham inmate prisoner uniform. His grip terrifying Kerrim. Batman hoisted the man out of his chair.

Kerrim's eyes widened, and his heart rate picked up. “Hey, hey, what the hell!” Kerrim yelled.

“Tell us everything.” Batman told him firmly.

“O-Okay, Okay!” Kerrim yelled. “I'll tell you, fuck, just let me go!!”

Batman listened, dropping Kerrim roughly back into his seat. His breaths were labored as he stared at the vigilantes with wide eyes.

“Get talking.” Nightwing told him, almost warning with an almost amused smirk on his face.

“A-Alright. Okay!” Kerrim rushed out. “I don't know the damn kid, okay!? They're not my deal! I like… Borrowed the freak from some guy!”

“You're withholding information.” Batman saw through him.

“I'm, I'm not!” Kerrim had hesitated in fear. “Okay, fine!” He screamed. He couldn’t take the threatening gazes from both of the men interrogating him. “The guy was named like.. Something Cain! I don’t know the ass! I never saw his face!” Batman and Nightwing exchanged glances. “He said that weirdo kid was the best he had, that they wouldn’t mess up or whatever. Guess he was wrong..” Kerrim slouched, looking away from the two as he grumbled.

“What? You mean David Cain?” Tim’s voice came through the other end of the phone Dick held, “You gotta be kidding.”

“I’m not,” Dick spoke back into his phone. “He didn’t say the first name, probably deemed it not important. But how many people other than Cass and his asshole of a father do you know witht the last name Cain?”

It was silent for a moment. “I can look through the database when I get back.”

“Don’t bother.” Dick told him. “I have a feeling Bruce has a plan.” Dick looked Bruce who was staring at the Batcomputer. More specifically, he was staring at the screen no one had closed since last night. A picture of you and a picture of Cassandra side by side. The words ‘Closest Match’ still on the screen.

“Alfred is watching the kid right now,” Tim told him, “Damian said if he’s not busy he might watch them next, and I offered to if he can’t.”

“Where’s Cassandra?” Dick asked.

“She’s hanging out with Barbara and Steph,” Tim told him through the phone. “They thought she could do with some distraction from last night and everything, she’s been really spacey since the kid passed out again.”

“Alright, thanks,” Dick said before exchanging goodbyes with Tim and ending the call. He put his phone down, soon looking at Bruce. “So?” He asked, “What do you have cooking in that dark head of yours?”

Bruce glanced over his shoulder at his oldest adopted son, the cave becoming quiet before he finally spoke, “We need to run another dna test.”

You woke up differently than you had before. The pain before was mostly gone. Your arm was sore, however. It happened a lot.

The use of your electricity strains your muscles and causes them to be sore. The more you use the electricity the more your body will hurt awhile after.

“Mhh..” You groaned softly, peeling your eyes open. You blinked for a moment, adjusting your gaze before looking up. You tried to sit up, but it hurt.

“No, don’t sit up.” A familiar voice spoke from beside you. Your gaze whipped over, to see the boy you had been attacking before passing out again. He was sat comfortably in a cushioned chair that had obviously been moved closer to the bed you lay in to sit closer. He held a book in his hands, one he was now putting a bookmark in. Your body tensed, which he noticed. He also noticed how your guard raised. “Calm down, I won’t do anything.” His voice didn’t lack in the stubborn attitude it was so used to. His voice almost carried a lilt of concern.

You didn’t know why, but his words were somewhat comforting. You hated how the result of his speech was your shoulders somewhat relaxing. Sure, they were still somewhat tense, but they were a bit more relaxed now.

“How is your head?” He asked as he placed the book he had been reading on the bedside table. You watched his hand carefully. Your gaze however, flickered to the glass of water, bottle of pills, and a tray of those little sandwiches Alfred had made for you earlier. Your gaze turned back to Damian. “Your head?” He asked again, pointing at his own head, “How is your head?” His voice was surprisingly not condescending, though he did speak a bit slower this time, making sure you would catch his words.

“Fine..” Damian’s eyes widened just a bit. Your voice. It was hoarse but it was softer than the other times he’d heard your short and brief responses. It hit him now, you were just a little kid. Sure, you two were quite obviously close in age. He’d gotten better; he was in a better place now. But you? You were still in that hellish hole, he could tell.

“Here..” His voice was softer as he grabbed the glass of water, slowly moving it towards you, trying not to startle or trigger your aggression. You flinched quite quickly, curling your body into a bit of a tight ball. But when nothing happened, your gaze would shift between Damian and his hand that held the glass. “It’s just water.”

It took a moment. One of a tense silence. But after a little while, you hesitantly and cautiously raised your sore arms. Your hands were shaky as you went to slowly the glass from he. He waited until you had a firm grip on the glass before he let it go.

You slowly brought the cup to your lips, making sure to at least keep Damian in your peripheral. You hesitantly sipped from it. It was soothing on your sore and haorse throat. Soon, you were practically chugging it. Damian watched. You two sat in silence for a little while after you had finished the water.

“These are for you,” He said, moving the tray of little sandwiches onto the bed, “Alfred made them.”

You looked to the sandwiches, then to him, and your gaze flickered between the two a few times before you put the glass down and moved your hand towards the sandwiches. You didn’t know why you felt more comfortable around Damian, but there was something about it that made you feel like you didn’t need to have your guard up. Of course, you still did, but there wasn’t as much reinforcement on the guard like there usually is.

Damian took the glass off of the bed as you chomped down on the little sandwich. He placed the glass on the bedside table once more.

“Hey,” You looked at him. Your gaze wasn’t particularly kind. “You’re safe now.” He told you. You stayed quiet. He couldn’t read your gaze. But, he had a pretty good idea of what you might have going on in your head. He had a pretty good idea that you had no idea what that meant.

You tensed when a knock sounded on the door of the room. Damian looked to the door, giving you a glance. He looked at you, giving you a reassuring gaze that you would be alright. Even if you didn’t pick up on it or understand what it even was.

Damian stood from the cushioned chair he was sitting in, he moved towards the door; you watched him carefully.

“What?” He asked once he had opened the door. No remnant of any reassuring or soft look on his face like he’d been giving to you.

“Hey,” Dick greeted quietly, peeking in to see your tense figure on the bed. He caught your threatening gaze. A soft sigh came from him, and a soft look of empathy took over his face. “Bruce want’s to run another dna test, do you have anything we can use?” He looked back to Damian.

Damian turned to look in your direction, looking for anything that might be of use. His gaze zeroed in on the glass that now had your fingerprints and saliva on it. He didn’t say anything as he started coming towards you. Your body tensed more. You looked behind him. Dick was beginning to step into the room.

“No!” You yelled, catching both Damian and Dick off guard.

Damian followed your gaze, looking behind himself to see Dick with one foot through the door. “Stay where you are,” He told him.

“Okay,” Dick told the two of them in a somewhat panicked voice, moving his foot back and standing just outside of the door frame.

Damian turned back towards you, “It’s okay,” He told you, his voice lightening. “He won’t come in, it’s fine, okay?” Your threatening gaze was shifting between the two of them. Soon, you realized Dick wouldn’t come in. He would stay right where he is outside of the room.

“O-..” You paused in a struggle, “Okay..” Your voice was slightly shaky as you looked back at Damian. Your gaze was familiar. It was vulnerable and pained. He gaze a gentle nod before beginning to slowly move towards the bed once more. You watched carefully as he took the glass from the bedside and moved back to the door to hand it to Dick.

“Thanks,” Dick said once he took the glass, “I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Okay.” Damian responded.

“Hey, um..” Dick looked back at him after a step, just before Damian had closed the door. “How.. How are they?”

Damian glanced back at you. You were still tense, watching the two very carefully. “They’re broken.. Emotionally and physically.”

Dick’s expression grew pained. He could only imagine the stuff you have been through. “Right..” Dick said softly, now beginning to walk away. Damian closed the door, taking a quiet breath before turning back to look at you.

“More sandwiches?” He raised a brow at the now empty tray of sandwiches. You looked down at the tray for a moment, your gaze landing back on him before you nodded weakly.

“Do you think it’s actually going to come up with Cass’s dad?” Tim asked as he dusted the glass for the fingerprints.

“I’m not sure,” Bruce said, his arms crossed as he watched Tim’s movements with the glass carefully.

“There’s also the possibility that they could share a mother,” Tim mentioned, “Lady Shiva.”

“Yes, that is also a possibility,” Bruce agreed, watching Tim stand from his spot and head over to where they insert their dna samples. He put the fingerprints in and then moved to the Batcomputer, setting the dna match testing to a criminals category.

“We're back!” A woman’s voice rang out. Bruce and Tim turned around just before they began to run the dna test. Stephanie, Barbara, and Cassandra were walking into the Batcave now. “What’s up, wasn’t Dick supposed to be here too?” Stephanie asked.

“He had relationship stuff with Kory,” Tim told her.

“What are you doing?” Stephanie asked again, putting a hand on the head rest of the chair Tim sat in and looking at the Batcomputer.

“We were just about to run another dna test on the kid,” Tim answered.

“You wanna stay?” Stephanie asked as she looked back towards Cassandra who’s expression had sullened. Everyone was silent for a second, staring to Cassandra and waiting for her answer.

“I’ll stay.” She finally answered.

“Okay,” Tim said, taking her answer. He turned his head, like the rest, back to the computer. There was a tense and stiff silence.

It took a moment for Tim to finally the enter key to analyze the dna. Tim pushed the swivel chair farther away from the desk. Everyone watched, anxiously awaiting what the results might be.

And then, finally.

“David Cain”

“A Match”

<- Chapter 2 Chapter 4 ->

Taglist: @redh00dsbf @02006 @shikanosn @rainnyydaysworld

[deadsetobsessions]

He doesn’t know how they got here, but Jason’s thankful for it. It’s not often that he speaks to Cass, when Jason’s passions are words and righteous murder and Cass’s passions are distinctly not that, but when they do speak, they manage to get along. Somehow.

“So, why don’t you kill?” Jason leans back on the couch, his favorite mug filled with Alfred’s hot chocolate.

Cass is curled against the arm of the sofa. She looks at him, head tilted. Jason knows she’s reading him, but he’s not sure what she’s finding. It’s humbling, and intimidating, to know she sees more than what he allows to show.

“I can see,” she says. “That one time… I killed. I saw. Pain. Fear. Desp- des- not wanting to die.”

“Desperation?”

Cass nods. One of her fingers fiddle with the material of the couch. Jason knows she’s allowing him to see the motion. He knows it’s her silent way of showing him trust.

“There is more. To dying. Like… like they see their lives-They think- remembers. Loves. Their life- regret, love, everything. It goes through-” Cass taps her temple.

“Their lives are flashing through their heads?”

“Yes. Good. Bad. Everything. I see.” Quieter, Cass adds “I know. I know them, then. I killed a life that I know. They love. Everyone, have something they love. I kill, I kill that love.”

“That must suck.”

Cass leans back. She nods, neck releasing their tension and eyes less hunted, more accepting.

“Yes. I don’t want to- I don’t want to be the end.” Cass swivels her shoulders towards him, now. “Why… why do you?”

“Me?” Jason… hasn’t thought about it for a while, nor too deeply. But this is Cass. And her honesty deserves an honest reply. “I kill because some people shouldn’t be left alive to hurt and kill others”

“Not about… Bruce?”

Jason took a sip of his hot chocolate. Cass settled more into the couch, her eyes clear and watchful.

“It used to be,” he admitted. “About him, I mean. It used to be about vengeance. But then I came back to Crime Alley, and then I saw the kids getting hurt instead of being protected. They’re innocent. And then, it wasn’t about Bruce anymore. Killing is just the means to an end now, for me.”

“Do you- not regret?” She makes a gesture at his leg, where on a normal day, his holsters would be.

“I try to make sure I don’t kill people I’d regret, no. Like, you know how sometimes you guys arrest muggers?”

Cass nodded.

“Sometimes,” Jason said, remembering the days of digging through trash for food and the lingering hunger that rumbled through his younger self’s stomach. “They mug people because they’re desperate. I don’t kill those guys. But people deal to kids? Who hurt sex workers? Rapists? They’re doing irreparable harm, with full knowledge of their actions. For profit, mostly. If they’re willing to ruin lives, then they should be ready for their own to be ruined. It’s justice, for people like me.”

Cass studied him. “Justice…?”

“The only kind us Alley kids could ever appreciate. Arresting an abuser, a threat, and having that stick is for the privileged. Having that threat removed completely is relieving.”

“Can’t trust the world to be fair. But death, is fair.”

“Yeah. I think if I saw as much as you do, it’d be harder to do. But I think I’d still kill, because one person’s suffering after a life of being evil is worth the safety of so many others. To know… well, I guess I’m glad I don’t know what that’s like.”

“I see.”

“I know you do,” Jason grins at her. “But not killing is an act of courage too. Even if B makes it seem like it should come instinctually.”

“Yes. He does not connect, with Damian. Does not understand, fully, how hard. To unlearn.”

“Yeah.”

They sit in silence for a while after that, listening to the sounds of their family clambering around in other rooms.

“Hey, Cass?”

Cass turned back to him.

“I would kill David Cain for you.”

He would. It makes the Pit seethe when he thinks about how much David Cain and Lady Shiva hurt Cass for her to get this insanely good at reading people. He hopes she sees the pure honesty and sincerity he feels at that declaration

Cass puts a hand on his shoulder and squeezed once. Twice.

“Okay. Thank you.”

“No objections?”

“… would not feel too bad.”

Jason snorted.

“Yeah. You and me both.”

He doesn’t know how they got here, but he’s thankful for it anyways, because he understands his sister just that much more now.

[casscainmainly]

Do you remember Cass having any moments where she was like, the way I was treated as a child was not okay and I’m not happy about it? The only thing that comes to my mind is her desire for physical and emotional connections with others. It’s such an interesting juxtaposition between Steph who resents her father and what he did and Cass who still loves her father even after everything he did to her. Like, being isolated for so long seemed to greatly lessen any hard feelings Cass had for her upbringing, and I guess what I’m asking is did she eventually expand her worldview in a way that changed her feelings about her childhood?

This question is sooo interesting. I don't think she ever comes to a full understanding of how abusive her childhood was, but she definitely is aware of some of it:

Batgirl (2000) #50 / #33

Particularly in #33 (the above second panel), when she's asking Cain "who do you think you are?", she's realising the way she was treated was inhumane. She's asking him what gave him the right to do that to her. It's the second most confrontational she ever gets with him.

Steph is absolutely a great contrast to this, but her friendship also allows Cass to process some of her abuse. It's the same for her relationship with Tim:

Batgirl (2000) #28 / #59

In Steph and Cass' convo, Cass is relating to another abuse victim - she's recognising, on some level, that what her dad did to her was abuse. Steph also emphasises that what Cass experienced was worse. Tim, similarly, says that Cass' childhood was 'horrible'; in the next panel, Cass thinks she doesn't know what it's like to have a 'real' father like Tim's. I think having Steph and Tim as counterpoints helps her see David Cain as abusive.

Then there's Batgirl (2008) #6:

The most confrontational Cass has ever gotten with her dad. Cain's characterisation is iffy, but everything Cass says here builds on her development in Batgirl (2000). It's the ultimate moment where she realises everything he took away from her: reading, speaking, play, family, and above all, choices.

She tries to save him immediately after, so I don't think she ever stops loving him (particularly not in New 52, where he tries to save her life and dies). But she does acknowledge what he did to her, and why it was wrong. I just don't think she allows herself to understand the extent of the wrongdoing, because that absolves her of the responsibility of her murder, and she can't grant herself that mercy.

[bet-on-me-13]

The Hades and Persephone AU

So! It had been a coincidence. One of the Rouges Cass had been chasing down had dropped a stray Bullet Casing, and she had managed to miss it as she ran after them. All they could hear through the Comms was her startled yelp as she tumbled 3 Stories, directly onto her Back.

Batman had rushed to the scene, hoping that his daughter was still alive, but when he got there he came across a very different sight. A Tall, shadow covered Knight Carrying Cass in his Arms. Before he could do anything, the Shadow Knight turned away and walked deeper into the Alleyway, were a Lazarus Green Portal stood waiting.

Batman could only watch as his critically injured daughter was kidnapped by some sort of Dark Armored Demon. And into a Portal glowing with the same light as a Lazarus Pit no less.

When he returned to the Cave, Bruce immediately contacted Constantine. Within the Hour, Constantine had arrived and had been lead to the scene where Cass had been taken.

"Well, I don't know what you did to catch their ire but it seems like Orphan was kidnapped by a Realms Being." He explained, "And by the looks of it, by the Right Hand of the Ghost King himself. How did you manage this?"

"Where can we find her?" Asked Batman in a Hard Tone. This was his Daughter, and she had just been kidnapped by Royalty from another Realm. He didn't know why, but they were going to pay.

"Well, the Ghost Zone is a treacherous Realm. Ordinarily I would advise against even considering going there, but I know you will either way."

Constantine gave them Directions to a small town in Illinois, where supposedly a pair of Techno-Mages had managed to open a Permanent Portal the the Ghost Zone. They would have all the Weapons, Armor, and Transportation he would need to venture into the Zone.

Finding the Tecno-Mages was easy (though they preferred the term Ecto-Biologists), and surprisingly convincing them that they needed their help was even easier. Once Batman explained that his Daughter had been kidnapped by a Being from the Zone, they offered their help immediately.

"We understand, if it had been one of our own Kids who had been kidnapped, we would be doing the exact same. If only we could get into contact with our Son, he has connections in the Zone that may be have been useful, but he's been busy for the past few days."

After a day of preparing, the Team was ready to delve into this alternate dimension to save their Missing Family Member.

...

Meanwhile Cass is living out her Mythologically Accurate Romantic Fantasy (I have a headcanon that Cass adores myths). She was basically Kidnapped like Persephone, except it was under very different circumstances.

Basically, David Cain had made a deal with the Previous Ghost King. David would be given access to Fresh Lazarus Pits for the League, and in return the Ghost King would be given his daughters hand in marriage upon her Death. And while Cass was technically still alive, her Near-Death Experience had drawn enough Ecto to her that it pushed her Liminality past the point of Human Limits. She was no longer technically Alive, so the Contract had activated.

Thankfully, when Fright Knight noticed his new Queen-To-Be's condition, he had rushed her to the Far Frozen to be healed. Then he brought her to the Castle and had informed Danny of the development.

Now, Neither of them was really ready to be married, but a Contract like that needed to be canceled by the one who made it. And Pariah was still locked in his Box. So, they had delved into the Ghost Writers Library to see if they could find a Loophole.

And Study Dates have never been so fun.

Even though she isn't ready to be married yet, Cass still thinks that Danny is kind of cute. And she likes his goofy little smile, and his slightly glowing eyes, and his smooth white hair, and-

Oh, that Persephone comparison might have been a little more accurate than she thought...

[aingeal98]

The thing about Cass is that the law holds very little value to her sense of right and wrong compared to Bruce. She's like oh the government thinks this man should die? Let's break into the execution chamber and break him out. Tim wants to call the police? That's stupid when I can just keep fighting bad guys until I get the answers I need. A assassin hesitates before killing a kid? Projection levels firing high today let's break into the CIA baby.

But then you bring up the one area of life where there are no easy feelings, where everything is complicated and it hurts: Her childhood with David Cain. He shot her for fun and she loves him and he loves her and showed her stars and constellations as a kid and he made her kill a man. And no one will understand that for the longest time the only part of her childhood that felt clearly deep bad wrong was the kill. The rest of it was... Not fine but something she misses sometimes. And no one else will ever understand why because it doesn't make sense to anyone except Cass.

So you bring 17/18 y/o Cass a case of child abuse, especially one that's not as clear cut as physically violent parent, where the father is a good man but a criminal by law, and the mother is cold, neglectful and uncaring, and that's the one time where Cass will rely on the law. David Cain is a bad man because he made her kill. He loved her but he was a bad father because he made her a criminal. Cass sees this man who is a thief (neutral to Cass, bad to the law) who loves his daughter, and her projection levels go through the roof. Yes the woman is abusive but Cass hasn't processed her own abuse. David is bad because he's a criminal not because he hurt her. She can't make the decision who the good parent is. She can't even decide how she feels about her own father.

Except it's not true, she does make the decision. On a different day, one where Cass was not reeling from the revelation of David cain being her biological father, she might very well choose not to let the man get arrested, to help him with his daughter. The law is something Cass falls back on only when her sense of purpose is in disarray. Twice we see her falter, when she let's the father get arrested and earlier in another issue when she puts the man back on death row. Both cases she projects hard, on the death row killer and on the daughter of the thief. Both times she ends the story miserable and with a deep sense of wrongness. She followed the law, she followed their version of justice.

And her gut tells her that this is not right. This is not how things should be.

Cass believes in herself. Cass believes in gut instinct for right and wrong.

Cass believes that she is an evil murderer, not someone who can ever fully belong with the actual heroes. There is something rotten inside of her, and when the situation is too similar, when she's reminded that she was raised to be a killer, a weapon who can never truly be good, just desperately trying to prove herself while feeling she never can...

Cass deferres to the law. And she hates every second of it almost as much as she hates herself.

[galaxymagitech]

I was asked for context and comics panels for my previous post about that time Bruce got himself and Cass drugged on purpose so they could fight because “She had things she needed to get off her chest. I did too.”

It’s not…quite as bad as it sounds, but it’s definitely unhinged. And honestly, I think it's still pretty bad.

So, first: context. Bruce fires Cass from Batgirl and sends her off to a nice apartment alone. Cass feels that Bruce is pushing her away and challenges him to fight her in Batgirl (2000) #50. Bruce says he doesn’t want to fight her, but Cass insists that he’s lying. (The fact that he's lying will become important later.)

They fight a little, with Bruce mostly just keeping Cass away and defending himself as necessary. In the process, they are both exposed to a chemical agent called Soul, which is “the liquified essence of pain, bitterness, frustration, and rage.” Oh, and inhaling it turns you into a homicidal maniac.

Bruce tells Cass to stop fighting him because he doesn’t want to hurt her. The phrasing...doesn't sound good out of context: "Stop this now, Cass. Before I'm forced to hurt you." But he means it literally; Soul will make Bruce hurt her. Cass is like, “hah, like you could.”

So they fight. This time, it’s an all-out battle.

I tried to get some shots of Cass hitting Bruce, but couldn't find any good ones. Because of Batman’s gadgets he surprisingly seems to be winning this fight. And also there’s the fact that Cass isn’t really fighting to hurt Bruce, but actually trying to kiss him on the cheek (it’s complicated).

Dick tries to interfere (of course he does) and gets punched in the face by Cass for his trouble.

Batman ends up causing an explosion on a bridge and they almost drown, but Cass kisses him on the cheek the way she had to fight David Cain to do when she was younger, and the drug seems to have worn off when they surface.

Right. So, excluding the fact that Bruce seems to want Cass to be more loyal to him than Barbara (maybe that’s an uncharitable interpretation, but it certainly seems like it to me), it’s kind of sweet. They cuddle the way Cass’s father never let her and Cass says she’s loyal to the concept of the Bat. Sure, they fought pretty violently, but they were under the influence of a rage drug, right?

Well, they were, but...

So, I want to point out a few things here.

Bruce had the equipment to prevent this and expected the exposure, but chose not to protect himself and Cass from the drug.

Bruce states that fighting and violence is "the core of [Cass's] being...of her soul." Which is just...wrong, in my opinion. The core of her being is her empathy and compassion, not fighting. She was trained in violence since birth, and yet Bruce so easily judges her to be nothing more than that at her core. And I think that's kind of horrifying.

The fight wasn't just to help Cass express herself. Bruce explicitly states that he also had things to get off his chest. And apparently his method of getting things off his chest is...hitting fighting Cass while they're both under the influence of rage drugs.

Yeah. Anyway, it...does seem to have worked. Cass and Bruce resolved their issues with the fight. And Cass doesn't seem mad at Bruce. But it is admittedly an extremely questionable mentoring technique.

(Later on, Bruce uses violence towards his mentee again as a form of "communication" when he hits Tim on a rooftop in Batman (2016) #71. I don't know that these two incidents are really comparable from a "is Bruce a bad parent" perspective, but they do create a through-line of Bruce using violence as communication. I doubt the writers of Batman #71 were purposefully calling back to a post-crisis Batgirl comic, but it still wasn't a new idea at the time.)

(Batman (2016) #81)

Yeah. Bruce and Cass have plenty of sweet moments, but some of the stuff in Batgirl (2000) is pretty messed up.