#i don't know what the one for bruce and gordon is so i will guess | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

devilfic · 7 months ago

Text

❝right place, right time❞

VIII. whatever keeps you around.

parts: previously / next plot: bruce has a proposal for you. pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x gn!reader. cw: surgeon!reader, secret identities, slow burn, brief discussion of slight suicidal ideation/martyrdom, drug (and the injection of drugs) mentions, you will not guess what trope I managed to include in here. words: 6.9k. a/n: plotting this series makes me feel like charlie day pointing at a wall of red string

“…You won’t like it.”

It's clear what you have to do. You'd realized it when Gordon came to you, so of course Bruce did too. If you were going to make this right, you would have to face this head on. "I know what I have to do," you start, "I need to lure him out."

Bruce's expression shifts. Whatever you've said seems to be the wrong answer, "That... won't be necessary."

"What? What else can I do?"

"What did Gordon tell you about Dimitri?"

Your head throbs as you recall the memory, "Uh... he said he believes I'm next on Dimitri's hit list. He also said Dimitri hadn't anticipated me being at the house."

"Right, because Russo didn't want anyone knowing where he was." Bruce turns to his computer and brings up Russo's file, "After his divorce and the death of his son, he holed up and started erasing himself from the internet. As far as his neighbors know, he was constantly alone. You already know how hard it was to find him on your own, and unless Dimitri knew someone keeping tabs, it doesn't stand to reason that he found him any easier. But you, on the other hand," Bruce opens a search engine and types in your name. You're unsettled when the screen fills with results, most of them news articles from the night you'd been held hostage, "your name and face was everywhere after the gang war."

When the reporters had shoved cameras in your face and begged for you to tell them about Batman's heroic rescue, you hadn't thought twice about it, still fresh from the throes of gore and violence in the ER. Friends, family, coworkers: almost everyone you knew had seen it.

It clicks for you then, "If Dimitri planned on killing us both and I was easiest to find, why didn't he come for me first? I mean... it was me and Alex who ruined his life. If he wanted anyone dead more, wouldn't it be me?"

"I wondered the same thing. With the know-how and the right connections, anyone could find where you live just by name alone. Russo, on the other hand, is almost anonymous. It doesn't make sense why Dimitri would target Russo first."

"Do you think maybe it was a warning? Maybe he wanted to scare me."

"If he wanted to warn you, he wouldn't kill the guy in his house where no one checks up on him. Days would've passed before anyone noticed the flies in the windows."

"I don't get it."

"Do you remember how long it's been since you were taken hostage?"

Your mind lands on a weak estimate, "I don't know, a week and a half?"

"It's been over two weeks. According to the wardens, Dimitri stopped being a problem for them after the first few years. Friends with a rough crowd but he rarely got caught up in anything. Didn't have the heart to. So why, after 17 years, does he break out?"

Your stomach drops, "He saw me."

"And realized that while he was rotting away with nothing to live for, you were a hero," the word sickens you to hear, "on the front lines, saving lives, being saved. Your life went back to normal."

You grip the side of Bruce's desk with the sudden urge to vomit up everything you'd eaten today, which, frankly, wouldn't add up to much more than water and crackers.

You'd said it yourself: you'd gotten to live a life that Natalie, Dimitri, and Alex never would. Of course he wanted you dead. "So then I have to lure him out."

"And put yourself in danger? No."

"I’m already in danger, Bruce. What if he goes after the others? My parents? My coworkers? The other cops at the shootout? We have to end it now."

"This isn't the only way."

"It's the best way."

"Last time he had a knife, you could defend yourself. Barely. What if next time, he has a gun?"

"So what, you just want to do nothing?"

Bruce turns away from you. He gnaws on his lower lip, "No, I want to bide our time. Look into him more. I need to know if he's working with the Vipers again."

You watch him as he begins typing away at his computer, but you can't process what he's looking for through the haze of anger that washes over you. You lean on the desk, craning your neck up at his face to make him look at you, to understand how ridiculous he sounds, "We don't have time for that. His grudge is with me. I should meet him now and end this... either he gets what he wants or- or..."

Or what? Your stubbornness peters out. You don't know what. You see yourself standing face-to-face with Dimitri, his knife raised, ready to bury itself into the cushion of your chest. And nothing.

The you in this vision has no weapon.

"You don't think you're going to survive this." Coming out of your mind, Bruce is now looking at you, brows furrowed. He looks... mortified.

You scramble to cover your tracks, "That's not true. I'd have you there."

"But you don't want me there. You want to go alone. You think you deserve it."

"God, what are you? My therapist?" Your words flit out of your mouth in a rush, tongue nearly slipping up to defend yourself. You push away from the desk when you start feeling overexposed.

Bruce follows you, "You're not 16 anymore, this isn't some gang fight where you throw all your chips in because you can't see a year ahead of you. You've made a life. You've got people to lose, you said so yourself. I know what it's like... the survivor's guilt. You relive that day over and over-"

His words are making you feel sick to your stomach again and you lurch forward, finger in his face, "Don't you fucking preach to me-"

Almost as immediately as you'd raised your finger, Bruce snatches your wrist in his hand, yanking you close enough to be imposing, staring down at you with the same power that the Batman had used. It was so sudden that you quickly fall slack, wrist going limp in his grip.

It had completely sobered you of your tantrum, and for better or for worse, you were forced to listen to him, "Stop feeling sorry for yourself and think. You see this ending with you dead because you want to make up for the shit you did. You think that's what Alex wants? For you to bleed out in an alley like she did?" And just like that, the fire roars in you once more, but your other hand can't slap him across the face before he's caught that one too, "No future? What about all the people you've saved? Could still save? Face it now because you may not get another chance: you're alive. Do you want to be or not?"

You want to hurt him, turn his skin red and give it a place among the other bruises that glitter and glare down his torso, and as your hand shakes in his hold, you are forced to understand that you are angry because he is right.

You'd felt this same anger before. When your parents told you Alex was a bad influence on you. When Russo looked you in the eye and told you that you didn't have it in you to pull the trigger. It was maddening. He had clocked your suicide mission before even you had, had seen you in his mind's eye the way you saw yourself: disarmed, a lamb to the slaughter, a sacrifice for the greater good, a speedbump.

You could see Batman tackling him to the ground over your dying body. You couldn't see yourself getting up the next day.

After the frustration leaves Bruce's eyes, he's looking at you with something softer. You feel known, uncomfortably so, as he waits for you to meet him there.

And when you do, you hate how you collapse into him. Even more, you hate that he takes you up into his arms, holding you steadfast, as understanding as you needed him to be with all your fear of admitting it. The solidness of his body reminds you of the night he'd first held you, and that just makes you cry harder.

It feels different from last time. Where there was armor is now warm skin, the likes of which you hadn't felt in a while. If you had told your past self you'd one day be standing in Batman's cave, hugging Bruce Wayne and crying over the permanence of your mistakes, you might have diagnosed yourself with head trauma.

You screw your eyes shut in a vain attempt to put the tears to rest, your freed hands practically clawing at Bruce's warm back for some purchase, some stability. He doesn't seem to mind. He just holds you closer.

After a few minutes, you force yourself to speak, sniffling away the last remaining tears you'd allow yourself to shed, "You said I wouldn't like it. Your plan. What is it?"

"To disappear."

You wrench yourself back. Bruce is dead serious. "What?"

"I've considered it from all angles-"

"What do you mean, 'disappear'?"

"All but one of the prisoners Dimitri broke out with are still missing. How do we know they're not all working together? How do we know that you luring him out won't draw them out too? You were the easiest target before, not anymore."

"Say what you mean, Bruce. What do you want me to do?"

"I want to hide you here," he winces as he says this, as if aware of his words only now that they're out in the open, "with me."

"You're shitting me."

After a while, Bruce's face hardens, "I told you you wouldn't like it."

Liking it or not liking it was nothing. You'd advanced past "like". You were firmly out of your depth here.

You slip out of Bruce's hold and he lets you, standing rather awkwardly as you rub a hand across your mouth. Despite earlier, it now feels uncomfortably dry. You glance at Bruce and then at his screen, the tab with your name and face plastered all over it hovering in the background. "You want me to disappear off the face of the earth while you track him down. Leave my home, leave the people I care about, abandon my job. You want me to hide."

"I don't know how else to protect you. Not until we figure out what we're up against." Bruce watches you spin away, scoffing into the air, "You noticed it when you fought him off, didn't you? Something was really wrong with him."

You see flashes of Dimitri's feral stare, the way he staggered and swung. He was like a rabid animal in a cage. "Of course there was, he was trying to kill me."

"Beyond that," Bruce insists, "he wasn't right. I've seen it before. He was on something."

"Most people are these days. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd... I don't know, gotten his hands on drops or something-"

"It wasn't drops. Gordon told me."

"The detective?"

"He said they found a syringe with traces of venom in it. Dimitri's shooting up. That's why he was so strong."

Your mouth drops open in disbelief, "Venom? Great. Somehow worse than Drops."

"If he's on that drug, he's definitely addicted. It also means you won't stand a chance against him. This is why I'm telling you to stay here," Bruce steps forward, eyes imploring yours. You're dumbstruck by the heavy earnestness there, "stay in the tower. Hide here for a few days. Let me handle this."

"If he's on venom, it means he doesn't think he can handle you on his own," you wring your hands, flitting through images of the Dimitri you remember, "he was always really small. Even at fourteen, he hadn't really sprung up. He was scrawny and small and couldn't defend himself. Suddenly Gordon's saying he's almost twice the size of what I remember. Have you ever fought someone on venom?"

"Once or twice, somewhere between fixes. Why?"

"General has this kind of... sedative that we use when we get patients dealing with the effects. It's not perfect, but it does help calm them down enough to help them. Maybe we can use it to help him."

"The strain is constantly changing," Bruce watches you deflate and clears his throat, "but if I can get that sedative, I can use it as a base to make a new one."

"You need clearance to get your hands on that stuff. I'm going with you."

"What part of disappear do you not understand?"

"One, I never agreed to do that, and two, if Batman gets caught stealing from a hospital, that'll make you public enemy number one. You need my help, so let me help you."

Bruce is looking away, rolling his bottom lip between his teeth even as you zero in on him. You're getting flashbacks of that same Bruce from when you'd first met him here in this tower. All tender-eyed, even as he tries to put on a face for you, "And I need a drink," you rub your temple next, catching a glimpse of Bruce watching you from his peripheral, "You've got those, don't you?"

It turns out Bruce has plenty. There's a whole cellar full of them, the kinds you see in MTV Cribs with the low recessed lighting and mahogany shelves gleaming with polish. It makes sense for him to have it, but less so when he tells you he doesn't actually drink any of it.

"You weren't drinking at the party, either. Even though everyone else thought you were." You brush your hand along the shelves, careful not to knock any bottles loose. "Is that a trick to keep people spilling secrets? Or to keep from spilling your own?"

Bruce hovers near the entrance with his arms folded and back pressed to the wall, carefully watching you peruse his selection, "Maybe I don't like the taste."

"That's good. Men in Gotham die from alcoholism at a higher rate than any other city in the state."

"Really?"

"Really. You don't smoke either." Bruce blinks at you, "Just get shot at. And stabbed."

He says nothing.

Your hand lands on a red aged older than your mother and you stand to the side, looking expectantly at him. You're afraid that if you try to pick it up, you might knock down the whole row.

Slowly, Bruce pushes himself off the wall and glides over to you, grabbing the neck of the bottle in one hand and looking to you for approval. You try not to shrink yourself when you nod.

You follow him out of the cellar, flinching when the lights dim behind you and the door rolls shut all on its own. He guides you to the kitchen where night still hangs over Gotham outside the window, but the time on the stove clock warns of early morning soon.

Bruce pulls out two glasses and fills yours with wine and his with cranberry juice from the fridge. You could almost laugh at the pairing.

Once he slides your glass to you, you take a seat at the island and take a sip, "I need to ask you something. I get now why you refused me at the station, but then you came back. Why did you change your mind? I mean, neither of us knew Russo would be dead when we got there. Were you just going to let me hate you?"

"Yes." His simple response draws a quick, stifled laugh out of you.

"Are you always this... chaotic?"

Bruce leans his elbows on the countertop, hunching in on himself, "I always meant to tell you who I was. I just didn't know when. And I didn't mind if you hated Bruce Wayne, but... you trusted Batman. I didn't want to break that trust. Even if it meant telling you earlier than I planned, I wanted to give you some closure."

You think about the fear that had paralyzed you back then, thinking that Bruce Wayne was some big, bad criminal hiding behind polite society. Then you think about the real man, hiding behind a mask. You fidget uncomfortably, struggling with feeling somewhere between grateful and nauseous. Your eyes catch the stitches on his shoulder and you itch to wipe away the dried blood that had dribbled from the cut, "You said you were looking for Dimitri when you got that. Did you..."

Bruce catches your eye when you fail to finish your question. "No," he answers solemnly, "which is only part of our problem." He stands to his full height, flexing bruised knuckles against the counter, "I ran into one of the guys that broke out with Dimitri tonight. That's who gave me this. Dimitri isn't working alone."

You frown, "Is he trying to shake you? Why leave clues at all?"

"Because these people want me dead. The guy from tonight? I booked him a year ago for trafficking women. Earlier led me to a fringe group of Falcone's."

"You've been looking for Dimitri all day?"

"I haven't stopped since we found Russo. I couldn't."

You rub your arms, feeling the room grow chiller by the second, "So... so he's leaving clues to people who hate you. To keep you occupied." Bruce nods. "So he can get to me?"

"After last night, he knows the Batman is on your side."

"Dimitri wasn't out when you got on the scene. Do you think maybe he's taking venom because these guys warned him about you?"

Bruce smirks, rolling his eyes as he takes a sip from his glass, "As a precaution, sure. And now he has reason to believe I know you. If he's going to go after you, he's going to shoot up each time."

"That stuff is nasty. You're big and scary when you're on it but as soon as the effects wear off-"

"You deflate like a balloon. It's also stupid expensive, so he's either got real generous prison pals or he's being used. It's why I need to know if he's working with the Vipers. They might be supplying him."

How you'd gone from an ordinary surgeon to a detective in the span of mere weeks was beyond you. You're beyond just treading water. You're diving into the abyss.

Your brain struggles to make real what is before you. Bruce, still shirtless, drinking delicately from a glass as he watches the night sky shimmer from the kitchen window. And you, sitting across from him, cracking open one of his family's expensive bottles that, frankly, puts your pantry vinos to shame. Playing vigilantes like schoolchildren. Except the blood on you both is very real.

Your arm throbs at being remembered for once tonight. Bruce notices you touch it, "You need to get some rest."

You know he's right, and you're not arguing for the sake of arguing when you say, "I can't sleep yet." But he can tell there's more on your mind as he waits silently, almost egging you on to lay yourself bare. You swear you're not arguing just for the sake of arguing, "And I don't want to disappear. I want to be alive."

Bruce says nothing. The silence isn't humiliating like you'd think it be, even if the first few seconds leave you feeling just as laid bare as you thought you would. No. It feels acknowledging. Understanding, even.

For the first time, you look at Bruce and feel like you understand him. If he was really Batman, then he would know better than anyone why you would want to put yourself in danger. But beneath that, with the meager knowledge of who Bruce Wayne is, you also think you understand him too.

He'd mentioned the survivor's guilt. While he'd played a much more innocent role in the whole ordeal, you couldn't imagine the weight on one's chest knowing that two people you love didn't get to go on but you did. It's a lot to ask of a child barely coming to understand the mortality of one's own keepers.

The choice to be alive for someone like that is a deliberate choice. Constantly made every morning.

"There is another way," Bruce muses, "but you'll like it even less."

"Don't leave me hanging."

"We could go public."

"What?"

"You said disappearing would mean abandoning your life. And it would. No one could know where you went, who you were with, but there's always the chance someone might slip up. It's the safest option but it's not what you want. So don't hide." Bruce's eye contact is deep and unwavering. Compared to earlier, he seems to trust you're willing to listen this time, "Be mine."

For the nth time tonight, you are rendered nearly speechless. Nearly. "Are you fucking with me?"

Bruce's eyes narrow, "No."

"Did you just... proposition me?"

"I made a proposal."

"You're asking me to date you."

"Publicly. Batman has more enemies than allies, but Bruce Wayne has the people. If you and I are publicly linked, it tells everyone looking for you that the world is watching. It makes you more visible, as well as anyone who comes after you."

"You haven't slept," you reason, "clearly. And you're delirious."

"I haven't slept, no." But he looks fairly sober for someone who hasn't slept in a day. He is a different breed, this Bruce Wayne.

You peer out the kitchen window and see the black sky dipping into a blue horizon, "Then sleep on it and come up with something better."

Bruce rounds the island until he's standing beside you, looking down at your barely touched wine, "There's some spare rooms upstairs. You can take your pick." It dawns on you that you may not be going back home any time soon. "You know your way around."

You suppose you deserve that dig.

Then he's leaving you, glasses abandoned, home for you to explore. You don't realize how thick the air had gotten with him right next to you until he's gone.

You half-expect Alfred to pop up somewhere nearby, but there's nothing. This far up, there is no city to listen for, no neighbors slamming doors. You are in a cold house all alone. You suddenly wish he'd stayed to keep you company, even if the weight of it was beginning to take its toll on you. Left alone, you only had the sunrise.

You watch until the sky has all but chased the night away, and then you head upstairs.

You didn't think you'd get much sleep in a stranger's bed, but you're being roused by a sharp, successive rapping at your door several hours later. It jolts you awake, kick-starting your heart, and you clumsily tumble out of the million thread count sheets to open the door.

Alfred stands there fully dressed for the day, one hand tucked in his pocket and the other still raised to knock. Upon seeing you, he lowers his fist, "Morning," he starts, looking away as soon as he meets your eyes, "breakfast is ready. Come get it before it's cold."

He does not give you a choice in the matter. He's already limping toward the staircase without another word.

After you get your heart to settle down, you follow after him, preening yourself as you pass hallway mirrors and portraits of the Wayne family through the generations. You hadn't come down this hallway when you'd found the terminus elevator, so you stumble to a stop in front of a portrait of a young Bruce grinning ear to ear.

It startles you. His eyes are soft, a gentle humming blue untouched by wrinkle or darkness. He must've been especially young here. Glancing at a nearby portrait of his parents, you find him the spitting image of his father. You look around and realize there are no portraits of Bruce at this age.

Bruce. He might be at breakfast, and the mere thought of having to discuss what occurred last night almost turns you right back around to the guest room, but your stomach rumbling begs you not to. You still walk quietly, peering around corners in case your stomach changed its mind.

You find you're cautious for naught when the only person standing in the kitchen is Alfred, chopping up fresh fruit.

"I hope you don't mind that I moved your things," he gestures with his paring knife to your surgical tools neatly congregated on the counter, "I cleaned them too."

"Oh. You didn't need to do that."

"There was blood, so I'm afraid I did." Alfred places a bit of pressure on "blood", and you quickly take note of his short tone.

Still, all the same, he then gestures to the island and implores you take a seat in front of an empty plate. Without asking, he begins pushing steaming hot food onto your plate, "Tea or coffee?" He asks, barely looking up at you.

"Uh, coffee is fine. Thanks." You watch Alfred pour you a mug and wonder if the awkwardness with him is any more preferable to the awkwardness with Bruce. Alfred is passive-aggressive, Bruce is... aggressive. You remember how the latter had left off your night together and find yourself feeling warmer toward Alfred. "How long have you been up?"

"Since 6, although I woke a few times through the night."

You wince, "Sorry."

"No need to apologize. I did think Bruce had invited you over under different circumstances, so... not as alarming, all things considered." Your grip on your fork slips and it clatters to the marble. Alfred barely reacts.

"He needed stitches." Is all you can get out.

"Yes, I'm well aware."

You glance up at him, "You saw?"

"When he first arrived home, yes. I was the one who helped stop the bleeding."

You stare at the coffee sweating in your cup, recalling something Bruce had mentioned last night, "Bruce said you were the one who used to stitch him up."

"Yes."

"If you were there, why-"

"It's what he pays you for, isn't it?" Alfred almost snaps back at you, slicing a strawberry into quarters with more edge than needed.

You recall something else next. The softness in Alfred's face the day you first came here, arguing with Bruce in the very room next door. You'd wondered what it had all been about.

"I've done alright, haven't I?"

"He said something else too," you start, careful as you choose your next words, "about how much you worry about him." You fiddle with your mug, pretending not to feel the heat of Alfred's eyes on you, "I think the reason he hired me is because he was worried about you."

You just catch the tail-end of Alfred's frown, "Worried about me? Why?"

You probably aren't close enough to either of these two to laugh about this, but you do anyway, "Isn't it kind of obvious?"

"Nonsense. We always discussed... if it would come to it, that if he were to pursue this life further, that he would recruit professionals who might aid him in his work. It was the natural thing to do."

"Maybe, yeah. But would he have really needed me if you weren't already doing everything else for him? You've taken good care of him this long. I mean, the aftercare you gave his bullet wound was exceptional. I accused him of talking to other doctors."

Alfred busies himself with scraping his strawberry halves into a bowl, "It's basic knowledge. You learn that kind of thing in the service."

"Or when you invited me to watch you two spar. You know his body probably better than he does. You're fantastic, Alfred." You couldn't say you weren't also trying to butter him up to better his feelings toward you, but you were speaking truth all the same.

In a very British way, he rebuts your compliments and spoons some fruit into a glass, beginning to layer some yogurt over top them, "Regardless of reason, you are here now, and I'll have you know that every part of your contract covers this. Wayne Enterprises will exhaust every possible legal tool at our leisure if you speak of any—any—of this to anyone. Master Bruce's identity is safely guarded, and regardless of his trust in you, I will not hesitate-"

"Whoa, whoa, hey. I would never tell anyone. Not after all Batman has done for me." You press a hand over your heart for emphasis, "He is just as much my patient as Bruce Wayne is, and he didn't have to pay me to take care of him."

Alfred still stares you down like a guard dog, paring knife still clutched in his fingers. After a moment, he looks away from you and points at your plate, "Eat. It's getting cold."

So you do. It's good so you say as much, counting any point toward his affection as a good thing. If you could get Alfred to trust you, you'd call that a win.

The tension in the air dissipates over time, and after you've licked your plate clean, you and Alfred are sharing coffee together. "Bruce isn't joining us?"

"I've stopped expecting him to be awake this early." You glance at the clock that reads 10:12. "He has adopted a near-fully nocturnal lifestyle."

"The night that he crawled through my window, he was there at the hospital the next morning like nothing happened. He doesn't do that often?"

"Before last year, it was a rare occurrence. While he's dedicated himself to his role more recently, if he can avoid it, he will."

You think back to what knowledge you do have on Bruce's charity work and his friendship with the Mayor. You'd worked shifts just as long, but you couldn't imagine showing up to work mere hours after getting shot in the stomach and having to put on a brave face about it. You almost feel bad for calling him out on it in front of everyone.

But then again, if you hadn't, would you even be sitting here?

You swirl the last vestiges of coffee in your cup, trying to picture a world in which you'd gone and found that empty office to nap in instead of toddling behind Rudy and Em and Alfred and Batman. The Batman.

The novelty of it brings a fresh wave of dizziness over you. You had been exposed to so much information over the course of the last 12 hours that it hadn't fully settled in on you what Bruce was. You didn't think that your brain would process it even if he was standing in cowl and cape right in front of you.

"I suppose you'll be staying with us for the near future, if Bruce has anything to say about it," Alfred stands from his chair beside you and puts your dishes in the sink, "shall I inform your security detail or would you like to?"

You don't know what to say to that. "I'm... I think I should talk this over with Bruce first. It may not need to come to that."

The butler shrugs. "I'll be attending to some house duties for the rest of the morning. Should you stay for lunch, let Dory know, hm?" You give him a weak nod and watch as he makes his way from the sink and heads down another hallway out of sight.

Not too long after Alfred leaves you, you hear the doorbell ring. Bruce hadn't mentioned to you that any guests would be here today, but then again, the two of you had had more important things to discuss last night. You check your reflection in the glass of the kitchen window, wondering if there were any hidden doors in the bookcases that could hide you from whatever Wayne Enterprises exec that was coming to talk business, but you wouldn't trust yourself not to break something in the process.

You hear two pairs of footsteps approaching from the elevator and turn to see who it might be. You first recognize Dory, fluttering between frantic small talk and making sure not to trip in her kitten heels as she guides her guest into the living room. You stiffen as soon as you see him.

Detective Gordon catches your eyes instantly, his own widening. Dory says something about going to fetch Bruce before she quickly ascends the stairs, leaving you and James staring at each other across the distance. In one hand is a notepad and pencil, and the other fixes his tie, almost as if at a loss for words. He greets you, hesitantly leaving where Dory had left him to approach you, "I saw the boys out front but... I didn't expect to see you here."

"Me neither." You reply. "Is everything okay?"

James glances up at the stairs as he passes underneath, "That depends. I followed up on your request."

Shit. Of course a cop would do their job when you least expect it. You slip out of your chair and rush to meet him halfway into the kitchen, "Did... did you find something?"

"I can't say much right now. I'd like to talk to Mr. Wayne, but-" The sound of Dory's heels clacking against the wooden stairs makes James lower his voice, "-you being here complicates things."

Bruce is wearing a shirt this time, thankfully, though you're not expecting him to look as put together this early after what Alfred had said. He towers behind Dory's much smaller frame in a pair of loose black pants and a matching turtleneck, looking in a fashionable state of undress as he pads barefoot into the room. With hair slicked back and stubble freshly shaved, he doesn't look like someone caught unaware. He's fixing the sleeve of his sweater when he extends a hand to Detective Gordon, bright smile and all, "Detective James Gordon, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Mr. Wayne, I'm sorry for dropping in unannounced. If this is a bad time, I can come back." James gestures to you.

Bruce's look at you is empty, devoid of any detectable emotion or thought. It strikes you as unsettling, the same way a cashier at the end of their shift isn't really looking at you, "Oh, no. I was just on my way to work when I felt unwell. I called my doctor over but it was nothing to worry about. A little stomach bug, is all."

You do look like you'd just come over in a rush. You're still in your lounge clothes from the night before, and your medical supplies are still in the kitchen where Alfred had left them. James seems to notice, but he doesn't look any more relaxed. "That's good to hear. I don't want to keep you too long, but truth is, I have some questions I'd like to ask you if you have the time."

"Is something wrong?" James glances between you and Bruce, something the latter doesn't miss, "is it sensitive?"

"It's about the party you threw here the other night, Mr. Wayne. For Mayor Reál. I hear you invited quite a few Gotham politicians to celebrate the passing of the mayor's new bill, correct?"

"That's correct."

"And I understand you're quite invested in Gotham politics in general, much like your father."

"I am. My mother and father were very interested in the city, and Mayor Reál breathed new life into that for me after the election. I do what I can to support the cause."

"And that cause is...?"

Bruce takes the skeptical tone on the chin, smiling wider, "A safer, fairer Gotham. For everyone."

This Bruce was nothing like the Bruce you had all to yourself. He taps into that persona from the party with ease. Watching him is like watching a performance. "That's good, good. I notice you try to make an effort with charities in the city, donations and the like. You recently donated a new wing to Gotham General."

"I did. Increasing access to medical care for the citizens is important to me. My doctor, a talented surgeon at General, knows this well." You flash a timid smile when both Bruce and James look to you.

"And you also financially support politicians in Gotham."

"Occasionally. Anyone I feel has Gotham's best interests in mind."

"And have you found members of Gotham's political parties to be unusually forward in requesting your support, Mr. Wayne? Perhaps a little too pushy, maybe."

Bruce wears confusion well, "Not necessarily. I'm not easily pressured into doing things I have no interest in."

"Of course. How about any attempts to win over your support? Publicly or otherwise."

"I'm not sure what you're asking, detective. I'd love to help, but I don't think I have the information you're looking for."

James nods, holding his chin high, "My apologies. I should've been clear from the beginning. My question is: have any politicians or members of law enforcement offered you anything in exchange for your financial or public support? I have reason to believe there may be someone with high clearance exchanging confidential information with civilians. Especially ones who can pay. I'm just looking for a lead."

James frames his question well, even though any fat cat familiar with the cops could see the hidden question. Bruce frowns, tilts his head, shaking it slowly, "That's awful. I don't currently know of anyone doing such a thing, to me or anyone else. But I can keep an eye out. I can only imagine how dangerous that might be."

"Exactly. We'd like to nip it in the bud as soon as possible."

"Of course. Do you have a card? Perhaps I can contact you if I hear anything."

James fishes out his card and hands it over, "I don't want to put you in a bad position, only pass along what you know if you feel safe enough to do so."

You notice Bruce is flicking the business card between his fingers as a fidget, though he keeps his attention respectfully on the detective. "Absolutely. Thank you, detective. Dory can show you to the door."

The detective nods and follows Dory out of the room. As soon as the two are out of earshot, Bruce's expression softens as he presses his back into the counter. You wish you could sink into the floor. "To be fair," you begin, "I didn't think he'd find anything."

Bruce side-eyes you, "That was you?"

"I thought my criminal boss was going to blackmail me to keep his secrets."

"Criminal boss." You think he's trying to mock you, but his eyes are surprisingly guilty when he looks at you, "Alfred wasn't kidding. I really didn't handle this well."

"No, not really." You don't mean to kick him while he's down, but you can't lie either. Even now, you were still making meaning out of this whole thing.

By all means, you've gone from knowing nothing about him, to understanding even less, to fearing him, to this. With Batman on the other hand, you'd felt nothing but loyalty and trust in him up until the very last second. Now they were both the same person, and the meager hours of sleep you'd gotten hadn't cleared all that up just yet.

You wonder who you're supposed to see now. Batman or Bruce Wayne? Why was the line separating them blurring the more you thought of them?

"So, did you ever come up with a better idea?"

Bruce does not offer one. You'd dreaded that.

"You already know what I think. No matter how we go about this, there's going to be something. So what do you want to do?" Bruce's eyes follow your ever minute expression, laser-focused on you. "Whatever you choose, I will keep you safe. I promise you."

He feels so staunchly Batman in this moment, even with the soft voice of Bruce, watching over you. Through all your uncertainty, this you believe him on.

And you're exhausted, you find. Your arm is beginning to throb again. You crave the reprieve of a bed but not your own, to your surprise.

"I'm going to trust you, Bruce," your voice wobbles as you say it out loud, "I'm going to trust you like I trust Batman."

Bruce holds eye contact with you for a few moments, "Okay."

"Can I ask... why are you dressed so nice?"

"We're going to get the sedative."

"You're going as Bruce?"

"It's the middle of the day. Yes, I'm going as Bruce. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

You fluster, suddenly reconsidering this entire plan. You'd pictured Batman skulking on the rooftop while you Mission Impossible'd your way into the medicine cabinets for what you needed. Walking in with him—the real him—would draw attention you didn't need, "You're only going to make me look suspicious."

"I'm your patient, and more importantly, I'm a donor."

"You will stick out like a sore thumb."

"That means when people are looking at me, they're not looking at you." You open your mouth to argue but he's already cutting you off, "Do you want me to drop you off at your place or do you want me to send someone to get your things?"

You're aware of what he's really asking.

You heave a sigh, "Drop me off. I can't promise Judith won't hurt someone if she finds a stranger in my house."

a/n: mj stop having the reader move in with bruce when their life is put in imminent danger challenge impossible

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne scenarios #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne #batman x reader #batman scenarios #batman fic #batman angst #batman fluff #the batman #battinson x reader #battinson #dc #mjwrites #bw; rprt

202 notes · View notes

skittles-secrets · 15 days ago

Text

his (adoptive) brother's best friend - jason todd x afab reader (he's ur roomate/frenemy)

what to do when you get cut off from your bestie and your roommate is your opp

your fingers were so cold in the winter air that they could barely even comprehend the fact that you were holding your phone to your ear, red with the chill. as soon as (your biggest opp you roommate who actually tolerates you) answered the phone, you spoke enthusiastically. "jasonnnn, hiiiiii!!"

he was.. not the most impressed to say the least in response to this. "what do you need this time?" it's so like jason to be like this. you're.. well.. you. he could never bring himself to stand you, no matter what team you were on together (you'd been through multiple.) does that mean anything? to jason, not really.

"got drinks with this dude for free drinks but he was kinda standdoffy and making fun of people who live in crime alley and it hurt my feelings because you live in crime alley so i thought of you and told him i had to go to the bathroom and left out the back door," you explained, the frown almost visible in your voice, "needa ride."

you sat down on a bench, 'in memorial of jim gordon' permanently engraved into the piece of metal nailed to the center of the bench. you huffed out a breath at the words on the bench, your warm breath mingling with the cold wind in a soft fog.

jason cleared his throat. oh no, was he sleeping? "why couldn't dick?" he inquired exasperatedly, seemingly fed up with your antics. you heard shuffling from his end. he must be in bed. you didn't even think to check the time when you called him. you felt bad, suddenly, but your cold free hand gripping against itself in your coat pocket screamed otherwise, so you stayed on the phone.

y/n sighed at that and answered with attitude, "i was cut off?? i swear you were there when bruce told me i wasn't allowed to bother dick while he's on patrol anymore." there was a slight slur in your tone. it wasn't bad, because you weren't drunk drunk, you were just drunk.

"must not have been, don't recall," jason retorted. "rude," y/n uttered, but she got where he was coming from having just been woken up by his annoying lady friend. but the cold was getting to her face now, and she couldn't even move her lips to talk.

she did this every month or so to at least one (adopted or biological) wayne child. she shared an apartment with jason, but always felt more comfortable being with someone like dick because he was never rude and always understood her.

" 'm on my way, taking your car, don't call again." he finished off with a beep to signal the end of the call. you let your phone, which was hot from the overheating because you used it for a call, drop to your lap, while your hand joined the other in your coat pockets. they were clenched in fists, trying to make up some lost warmth, but it wasn't doing too much to help seeing as the clouds looked like snow clouds.

you realized that you never really gave jason your location before he ended the call. your snap location was on, but you didn't even know if jason had snap or was even friends with you. you had a tendency to accept whoever requested to be your friend and not really checking the name or username. you guessed he'd figure it out since he was so confident that he wouldn't need another call from you.

you realized that he must have like a tracker on you when you caught a glimpse of your truck and license plate pull up to the curb close to your bench. you smiled at the sight, he didn't even take his motorcycle because he knew you weren't a fan, and especially so not when drunk.

you stood up and grabbed your little purse, triple checking for all your belongings, a measly $15 dollars in your wallet, a lip gloss, and pepper spray (you could never be too careful in a place like crime alley, everyone knew that.) that was all you brought, so you were free to stand up. that's what you did.

you walked up to your car and climbed in. jason didn't bother helping you up, he knew you were a big girl, and he wouldn't even do that for a girlfriend if he had one or even if they begged him to.

"thank you," you mumbled to him. he seemed tired, but he still got up for you. he only really nodded. the two of you drove back off to your quiet and humble apartment in silence.

m.list | next part

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd dc #dc #dc x reader

93 notes · View notes

katheriensapple · 2 months ago

Text

Fic idea: Batman and Joker acting like a real life toxic couple while not being in an actual relationship (and making everyone extremely confused).

Bruce: the only thing he gave me for Valentine's Day last year was a rather average hostage situation and 2 stab wounds. Can you believe THAT?

The Batfam: ????

...

Joker: what did take you so long? Oh, let me guess. I bet you were with Eddie as always.

Bruce: *stops trying to beat the Joker and just stays there, looking exhausted; as if this were a pretty old argument* Joker, we've had this discussion before. I'm not seeing other rogues because I think they're better than you, but because they'll kill everyone in this city if I'm not here to stop them. Is it so hard to understand?

Joker: *tries to stab Bruce for the third time in this interaction*

....

*after his latest scheme, Joker is put into Arkham again and while the guards search him for dangerous objects, Bruce approaches and grabs Joker's phone off the table.

Dick: *assumes that Bruce is looking for more information about Joker's plan, but still tries to see what Bruce's reading and well...* Hey B, why are you reading his two years old messages?

Bruce: because I don't know what he was doing in a two weeks interval exactly two years, five months, one week, four days, seven hours, ten minutes and fifteen seconds ago. And I need to know it...

Bruce: *then his expression turns terrifying blank* he was texting Lex Luthor, calling him dear...

....

Bruce: can you ask the hostages if they can wait a little bit more? My batsuit is wrinkled and I don't want the Joker to see me like this. It won't take so long...

Gordon: ....

#fic ideas #batjokes #dc comics #batman #joker #they're so crazy #and everybody knows except them #Bruce thinks that expecting a Valentine's Day gift fron your nemesis is like #perfectly normal #and a hostage situation is a perfectly normal gift #they use couple language without being an actual couple #like they could call their fights a 'date'#and think all superheroes and supervillains make the same thing #and I'm obsessed with the idea of Bruce not wanting the Joker to see him #when he's not perfectly dressed for the occasion #and jealously is like an everyday feeling #'why is the Joker texting other people?'#'why is Batman fighting other people?'

90 notes · View notes

blackbirdi · 9 months ago

Text

Game Night (Not a Good Idea)

Brief Description: Things heard during Wayne family game night.

Point of View: 3rd Person

Word Count: 1334

Character: Batfam x platonic!Reader

Every Sunday Bruce tries to get all his kids (whether adopted or not) back to the manor for supper and a game night. And while some of the time the games are fun and a bonding moment for everyone, most of the time it's a battleground.

Things said playing: Super Smash Bros

A very pissed off Timothy Drake: DAMIAN! I AM ON YOUR TEAM; STOP PUSHING ME OFF!

–––––––––––

A frustrated Stephanie Brown: DODGE IT! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?

Y/n L/n: *Playing the game for the first time in years* I don't know the controls...

–––––––––––

Jason Todd throwing his controller against the wall after his team lost for the seventh time in a row: THIS IS BULLSHIT!

***

Things said playing: Twister

A defeated before the game even begins Duke Thomas: No. Straight up, no. We all know Dick's going to win; what's the point in even playing?

–––––––––––

A very flexible and cocky Dick Grayson: What do you mean you can't reach the green circle? It's literally so easy!

Jason: *His eye twitching* Kill yourself.

–––––––––––

A tired of the complaining, Bruce Wayne: Dick, you're not playing this round.

Dick, heartbroken: What? Why?

The rest of the Batkids: *Cheering*

***

Things said playing: Jenga

Damian Wayne, who just knocked the tower over: DRAKE BUMPED INTO ME! HE MADE ME KNOCK IT OVER JUST SO I WOULD LOSE!

Tim, who is sitting over ten feet from him: What? No, I didn't.

Damian: YES, YOU DID!

–––––––––––

A very confused and slightly disappointed Barbara Gordon: Why did you choose that one?

Y/n, who chose the most difficult one to remove: *Practically in tears* I DON'T KNOW!

–––––––––––

Anyone after knocking the tower over: I fucking hate this game.

***

Things said playing: Among Us

*While they're waiting in the lobby (the game hasn't even begun)*

Tim: It's Damian.

Damian: Fuck you.

–––––––––––

Bruce, after being the first killed for the fifth time in a row: Do you hate me that much?

Steph (a crewmate): *Walking past Bruce's body and not reporting it* Yes.

Babs (a crewmate), who people are now suspecting: You're not supposed to give any hints that you got killed, Bruce.

–––––––––––

*Y/n and Cass being revealed as the imposters*

The Batfamily after being positive that Y/n and Cass were the only ones who weren't the imposters (other than those murdered): WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU WERE THE IMPOSTER?

Y/n and Cass: *Cackling*

***

Things said playing: Charades

Jason, after they ran out of time and didn't guess it: *Looking at the card* What you acted out was not fucking Ratatouille.

Damian, who was very much not doing anything to hint towards Ratatouille: YES, IT WAS!

–––––––––––

Babs after picking up the most complicated things possible to act out: What the fuck is this?

–––––––––––

Bruce: I burned the zombie card by the way.

Jason, Tim, Steph, Damian, and Y/n: *Groaning in disappointment*

***

Things said playing: Just Dance

Cass: *Doing everything perfectly*

Everyone else: How the fuck are you doing that?

–––––––––––

Cass: *Giggling* What are you doing?

Y/n: I don't fucking know.

–––––––––––

Tim: HOW DID DUKE GET SECOND!?

Duke: I am the epitome of a graceful dancer, Tim. *Proceeds to trip over the coffee table and land flat on his face*

***

Things said playing: Any game involving riddles

Any of the Batkids: I CALL DUKE/STEPH!

–––––––––––

Bruce: *Reading a riddle that was writing in Shakespearean (ye old English)*

All of the Batkids: w h a t

–––––––––––

Duke/Steph: I'm telling you, it's *correct answer*

Jason: No, it's not. It's *very much the wrong answer*

Duke/Steph, feeling petty: Fine, we'll go with *Jason's answer*

Bruce: It's *the answer Duke/Steph originally had*

Duke/Steph: *Waiting for Jason to admit they were right*

Jason:

Jason, who refuses to take the blame: Jeez, you're terrible at this game.

***

Things said playing: Spoons

(if you don't know what Spoons is, search it up because I don't know how to describe it, but it is the most fun game ever and you're missing out.)

Y/n: *Holding onto the spoon like her life depends on it* YOU CAN'T GRAB IT FROM ME! IT'S ALREADY IN MY HAND!

Steph: *Clawing at Y/n's hand* GIVE IT HERE!

–––––––––––

Dick: *Cradling his hand* I think Jason broke my hand.

Jason, with the most "I don't give a shit" voice ever: Damn. That sucks.

–––––––––––

All the Batkids at one point: *Quite literally throwing themselves across the table to grab the last spoon*

Bruce: *Tired Dad SighTM*

***

Things said playing: Monopoly

Jason, who owns all but one railroad: I swear to God, Tim, if you land on the last railroad and buy it...

Tim, lands on the last rail road: *Buys it*

Jason: *Lunges across the table to strangle him*

–––––––––––

Y/n, after buying Park Place a while ago: *Lands on Boardwalk* You bitches are about to be financially murdered.

–––––––––––

*After red hotels have been added to over half the board, and there are at least two green houses on every spot*

Duke: Can I just stay in jail?

***

Things said playing: Uno

Cass: Uno!

Steph: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Tim: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Y/n: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Jason: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Duke: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Dick: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Damian: *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Babs: Sorry, Cass *Places Pick Up 4 card*

Cass:

Cass, trying not to fucking snap: You guys fucking suck.

(I'm sobbing. She's picking up 28 cards. NOOO, CASS)

–––––––––––

*It's down to just Tim and Damian; the others have all gotten rid of their cards*

Tim, after being skipped for the fifth time in a row: *Near tears* HOW MANY FUCKING SKIP CARDS DO YOU HAVE?

Damian: *Placing another one down* Yes.

–––––––––––

*Whenever someone wins*

The rest of the Batkids: *Starts a fist fight*

*Cue Uno getting banned from being played at a Game Night.*

***

Things said playing: Mario Kart

Babs, throwing a green shell: *Bounces off the wall and hits her instead of the person ahead of her* I'm going to kill someone.

–––––––––––

Dick: *Picks Rainbow Road*

The rest of the Batkids: Fuck you.

–––––––––––

Cass, before they start playing: Oh, I suck at this game.

Cass: *Wins over half the races*

–––––––––––

Jason: DID YOU JUST FUCKING BLUE SHELL ME!?

Y/n: Yup.

Jason: YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I WAS JUST ABOUT TO WIN!

Y/n: That's why I did it.

–––––––––––

Steph: *Getting pissed that she got 2nd*

Bruce: *Trying to console her* It's fine, Steph. It's just a game.

Steph: JUST A GAME!? JUST A GAME, HUH!? THEN YOU FUCKING PLAY IT, BRUCE!

Bruce: *Too scared to play with his kids because of how angry he's been seeing them getting* No.

Steph: That's what I fucking thought.

–––––––––––

Y/n, after being hit by Jason's red shell for the third time in a row: *Throwing the controller at Jason* I'M DONE! I'M FUCKING DONE!

Jason: *Cackles*

–––––––––––

Tim: *Looking at someone else's screen and not realizing it* I am so good at this.

*His character is actually continuously hitting a wall*

–––––––––––

Duke: *Gets a blue shell* It's over for you, Cass!

Damian: *Uses Thunderbolt, thus getting rid of Duke's blue shell before he can use it*

*Duke, trying to stop himself from attacking Damian*

–––––––––––

Damian: *About to get first place* And victory is–

Duke: *Blue shells him* That's what you get, you little bastard.

*Damian proceeds to literally bite Duke*

––––––––––

*Bruce, trying to ban Mario Kart from Game Night*

All the Batkids: BOO! I'm not coming back if you do.

*Mario Kart has not been banned*

***

Bonus! (Involves only Babs, Dick, Jason, Steph, Cass, Tim, and Y/n)

Things said playing: Cards Against Humanity

Y/n, holding the prompt for this round: *Looking at the responses the rest gave her* You all are fucking terrible human beings.

Babs: It's a damn game, Y/n. No one actually meant it.

Dick: Hey! My card was not that bad!

Cass: Come on, it's funny!

Jason: Yes.

Steph: Thank you.

Tim: You're one to talk.

291 notes · View notes

spencerwayne-todd · 1 month ago

Text

Keeping up with the Waynes

(This one's kind of long; I apologize)

Vicky Vale (Main reporter for the Gotham News): Welcome back to Gotham News! Tonight, we have a special surprise for you; an exclusive interview from some of our local billionaires! Please welcome celebrity couple Jason Todd and Spencer Wayne!

Me, whispering: I HATE Vicky Vale.

Jason: Me too. She's always hitting on me and it's annoying.

Me: And she REFUSES to acknowledge me as your wife.

Jason: I hate Vicky Vale.

Me: Me too.

LATER, IN THE INTERVIEW.

Vicky: So, Miss Wayne-

Me: Mrs. Todd.

Vicky: -Mrs. Todd, what do you have to say about Jason-

Jason: Mr. Todd.

Vicky: *gritting teeth* Mr. Todd's statement last week when your brother, Damian Wayne, was found tied up in a tree?

Me: Statement?

Vicky: Yes, according to local news sources, Jay- Mr. Todd was quoted as saying "The brat was in desperate need of a behavioral lesson." Are we to believe that Bruce Wayne is failing to teach his children basic human decency?

Me: I believe that my husband was using a rhetorical device known as sarcasm in the form of irony. It's actually quite common, and our family is known to use it quite extensively.

Vicky: Hahaha, you're so funny, Spencer.

Me: Thanks. I would have been lobotomized in the 1920s.

Jason: *snorts*

Vicky: ...Yes. Anyway, yesterday, Gotham police commissioner Jim Gordon said, and I quote "We have reason to believe that Gotham crime lord Red Hood was involved with the incident." When it was pointed out that the Red Hood does not typically leave his victims alive, Commissioner Gordan said "We believe it was a prank." Now, what reason would notorious crime lord Red Hood have for 'pranking' a Wayne family member?

Jason: I don't know, I mean the guy's a prankster, I guess.

Vicky, incredulous: You're saying that crime lord Red Hood, with over 200 confirmed kills, is a prankster?

Jason: I mean, it seems like it.

Vicky: And why would he be pranking Damian Wayne?

Jason: I don't know, Vicky. Ask him!

Me: *hides laughter*

AFTER THE INTERVIEW, DRIVING HOME

Me: Pfffftt.

Jason: What?

Me, bursting out laughing: Ask him? Vicky Vale is terrified of all things Red Hood, and you say "Ask him?!!"

Jason, starting to laugh: It seemed like the right thing to say!

Me, doubling over in my seat in laughter: Oh my goddd!!

#keeping up with the waynes #dc rp #oc rp #roleplay #rp #batfam #batfamily #batman #dc comics #jason todd #batman family #batman comics #batfam shenanigans #batfam headcanons #spencer wayne todd #red hood #vicky vale

49 notes · View notes

bluespiritshonour · 1 year ago

Text

Why is it always Robin has to prove himself to Batman? Be it any Robin. And no, I'm not talking about characters, because Bruce—Bruce is like “Everyone must prove themselves to me but I'm not answerable to anyone” that motherfucker. Very IC.

I'm talking about stories, about narratives—why does every Robin-centric narrative has a “prove themselves to Batman” arc—but Bruce's arc never involves proving himself to anyone?

Why, after the events of the Tower of Babel, Bruce didn't have to work to gain the Justice League's approval? Why didn't he have to work to redeem himself, dammit!

Yes. He had to reveal his identity. But then, it wasn't his idea. It was Clark's. It's fundamentally different from Dick unmasking in front of the Titans: Dick feels in his bones that it isn't fair that he's the only one masked and the Titans are up for mutiny, so he made an executive decision.

It didn't even occur to Bruce to do it. Dammit, the fucker wasn't even trying to get back into Justice League. Clark had to persuade him. And no, I don't mean he should have gone and begged them to let him in. He doesn't need them.

But let's be honest: none of the Leaguers need the League. But humanity does. That's why they put their differences aside and band together.

Bruce is selfless when it comes to sacrificing his family a la Batman : Ego. Oh!—it's Bruce's children that are dying in Batman's mission. Isn't he so noble?—the picture of tragedy? The greiving father? The man who can't even have a steady romantic relationship because Batman wouldn't let him? So selfless—until he isn't. Until the JL—in other words, a planet full of people—need him to swallow his pride. Then, he isn't selfless anymore.

He's selfless when he's a father sending his children to war for the greater good—but he's not selfless when it's time to swallow his pride, to take the risk of trusting someone even after being traumatised and betrayed—for the greater good. (And honestly his trust issues seem narcissistic when surrounded by people like Dick, Alfred and freaking Commissioner Gordon!)

You know who does it? Dick Grayson. That's who. The “trust no one” maxim has been drilled into him by Bruce, but even then he chooses to trust. Not because he's stupid, but because it's a requirement. He totally expects to be stabbed in the back; he isn't naïve. But he'd rather be betrayed than have someone be barred from help because they seemed suspicious. It's canon in Titans. He says it in words, look it up. To Brother Blood, I guess.

Bruce didn't have to work to get on the League's good side. He just had to reveal his ID to regain trust and that, too, was Clark's idea.

And that's not an attempt at redemption, because if it was, then why did Clark have to do it too? Clark didn't do anything to deserve it. But Bruce forces him to and Clark agrees: for the greater good that the League trusting each other would ensure.

Clark Kent, who chooses to forego a mask so that people trust him. Literally, it comes down to that. Who has to built his whole civilian life around the fact that he shows his bare fucking face to the whole world.

And honestly, if I were to throw genre convention aside and read the text the hard way, Bruce doesn't seem really all that bothered with keeping his ID a secret. He's nothing compared to Clark. I mean. Come on, look at the number of people who know Bruce's ID and the number that know Clark's and tell me. Fucking tell me who's more serious about that stuff.

Bruce's entire existence hinges on other characters’ kindness, in and out of universe. In-universe there's this massive brigade of people who know his ID and keep it a secret. Out of universe, writers who show him to be the best even though Clark, Diana, Dick are all more worthy than him.

This is what you get when you let little incels run creative industries.

What did Bruce ever have to do to redeem himself to anyone? Literally anyone? Bruce would let Gotham burn if it meant he keeps his colossal pride intact. But oh, send his children to die: woe is him, this greiving father, so tragique—would absolutely do that.

He isn't even a hero. You know the impact of Batman: Ego and BtAS pales when put next to his very selfish acts when it comes to himself.

Because always—ALWAYS—the uwu factor in Bruce's stories aren't personal.

Not like it's in Clark's who has to face xenophobia because he's an alien. He's natural existence—his powers that are a part of him existing—being called a threat. He still helps.

Not like Diana who comes to the Man's World and decides to stay behind despite it being, well, a Man's World. That would never really respect her as much as it respects a man, any man, even though she's a literal Goddess. Coming and staying in Man's World for her means loneliness. Being immortal and watching every friend she ever made become a memory. But she chose to do it. Because at the end of the day, it's not about her. It's about helping people.

But for Bruce, in true male-is-default fashion, it's about losing people. People he loves.

His parents' death, Jason's death and so on and so forth. I'm not saying losing someone is not painful. I'm just saying it's always about his manpain.

Making the victim's pain his.

292 notes · View notes

theamityelf · 3 months ago

Text

Okay, I'm trying to familiarize myself with Batfam stuff, because I lowkey think they'd be fun to write for. (Never seen any of the animated series or read any Batman comic with Robin in it.)

What I have so far:

Bruce Wayne. Obviously. That's a Batman. Parents killed in an alley outside a theater, he maybe trained with some assassins (and Talia al Ghul is a character who's related to that somehow I think; she might be an assassin), and he's Batman. I know who Batman is. He doesn't kill; that's his rule.

Alfred. Butler. Secretly really good at weapons? Just generally hypercompetent and would probably be killing people if not for Bruce.

There's a bunch of Robins, which I will list. It seems like a lot of them have straight black hair and blue eyes; if true, it's wild that they didn't vary that more. I hope the fandom does something else, lol.

Dick Grayson first. He's the circus one who got adopted when his parents died. He's good at flips and stuff because circus. Not sure the specifics of his parents' death, but I suppose it triggered Bruce? And so Bruce was like, "I gotta adopt this kid." And he later became Robin. And then he did Teen Titans (which I haven't seen, but one of my college roommates watched Teen Titans Go a lot) and dated Starfire. I think he's the one whose costume is sometimes blue? But I'm not sure. Personality-wise, I think maybe he's generally positive and responsible. This is the first Robin, so he's probably got standard Robin characteristics and grew up with the standard amount of superhero angst. Not too much, not too little. I feel like I'd like Dick Grayson if I knew the character well. Oh! He's also called Nightwing, right?

Jason Todd next. He's, like...a street orphan? And I think he's the one with the white in his hair. He got killed by Joker with a crowbar and then came back angry because Batman didn't kill Joker. And I feel like things remained tense with him after that in canon but fan works have them resolve things, but like I said, I have not consumed any of his canon. I'm just going on vibes. Personality-wise, I'm thinking rougher-edged than Dick. Um, Red Hood, right?

Tim Drake is next. I genuinely don't know if and when he was adopted, because I'm pretty sure everything I've consumed about him was just like, "No, he has parents. But he figured out that Bruce Wayne is Batman, so he gets to be Robin." But I also think he lives with them? I think he's more upbeat than Jason; he fully opted into all of this.

Wait, Barbara Gordon is somewhere in there, right? Probably before Tim. I don't know what she's really doing, but she's Jim Gordon's daughter and I think she becomes Batgirl. Does she get killed by Joker? Jim Gordon is like, Batman's favorite police guy. He's the one who's always lighting the bat signal.

Full disclosure, I know Stephanie Brown is someone, but I have no idea who she is or what she's doing or when she comes into play, and iirc I think I saw a Tiktok that implied she straight up lives somewhere else. I guess Barbara probably does, too. And I guess Dick probably moved out to do Teen Titans, although it would be very funny if he didn't. I'm sure a lot of fan works just have them all live together; if the Marvel fandom could put everyone in Stark Tower, the DC fandom can move everyone into Wayne Manor.

I know that Cassandra Cain is deaf, and I think she's a street orphan, too? And I feel like there was some connection between her and the kid from the Birds of Prey movie. Maybe same character; I feel like I remember reading criticism about her not being deaf in the movie. I also don't know when she comes into play, but I'm pretty sure she's one of the straightforwardly adopted ones. But I'm just guessing that because I'm not aware of any reason for her not to be.

Duke Thomas is the black one, and I think he was kind of on the Tim Drake track of figuring out the Batman stuff. I don't know how he came into play either. I think he's called Signal? Does he have an electricity thing, or am I mistaking him for a different character? There are a lot of black superheroes with electricity powers. Personality-wise, I think he's just generally cool and good-natured, but I'm not sure whether that's an actual canon thing, or if I've just consumed content that misrepresents his whole deal. Whatever the case, I'd probably love him if I knew more about him. I feel like I'll like all of these characters.

Damian Wayne, biological son of Bruce and Talia. (Though, if I'm mistaken about that, then that's really funny.) He's, like, an analyst type, which means we've got a lot of characters who are specifically characterized as analytical. (I hope knowing more about them will make it easier to vary the kind of intelligence. I want them to have different specific strengths and weaknesses. They probably do.) And I think he might have also been trained by the assassins, but I'm not sure. Personality-wise, I'm pretty sure he's distinctly creepy. Like, I think he's the creepy genius child trope, and all serious and formal. I like that trope.

#dc comics #batfam #bruce wayne #talia al ghul #alfred pennyworth #dick grayson #jason todd #tim drake #duke thomas #barbara gordon #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne

77 notes · View notes

nuvolisa · 7 months ago

Text

Land where I land

It’s unusual for Jim to call him at the Police Station for anything. Even during the worst of cases, the officer has always tried to not get him involved or to come to him once everything was settled.

So, when he calls late at night, Bruce knows that something isn’t right. No villain attacks, no escapee from Arkham, no robberies, and no bomb threats: does Jason need to get bailed out of jail again?

Jim Gordon’s voice is somewhat sarcastic as he speaks over his desk’s phone. “You’ll find out when you see it.”

Bruce is not looking forward to it.

It’s late, too late for any sane and law-abiding citizen to be out at such an hour. What could’ve possibly happened to cause such a mess that he needed to get involved? Couldn’t Jim just have used the Batsignal if things were that bad?

Instead, when he enters the building, the old commissioner is snickering. Bruce is definitely not good with emotions, but he thinks he’s making fun of him. He doesn’t find it funny.

“What's going on?”

Bruce Wayne is confused, confused as to why the officer is so cheerful, confused about why he would call him here in the first place. Did he find his job that amusing?

“We’ve found this girl… well, let’s just say that she basically landed right on the back of an officer, and seemed to be confused, likely she’s an immigrant.”

Bruce was stunned.

“You called me here… for a kid who’s lost?”

James Gordon places a hand on top of his shoulder. “Do you know any French?”

This was going to be a long night.

There is a woman in the interrogation room, talking to what looks like a girl not older than fifteen, at least from her height. From behind the glass, he can’t see very well.

“Sophie, come out for now,” says Jim on the interphone, and the CPS worker obliges, waving tenderly at the girl she’s been interrogating.

Sophie Dallway comes to the other side of the interrogation room and fixes her skirt. Bruce notices that she must’ve dressed up in a hurry, but he understands: it’s quite late in the night.

“Did she tell us something?” asks Jim with a small amused smile under his mustache. Bruce’s on the verge of exploding.

“Not much, to be honest. She keeps telling the same story, she has no idea how she got here and what happened. She insists on letting her go, that she’ll find a way.”

“We can’t do that,”

“I told her that, she just started shaking.”

Jim looks down. “Good,” he says, sarcastically. Then he turns around to face Bruce, “Your turn now.”

“What?”

“Go in there and talk to her, Wayne.”

“But why?”

Jim shoves him out of the room with a half-hearted pat on the back. “You’ll guess soon enough.”

The interrogation room is surprisingly dark. The small yellow lamp hasn’t been changed since probably the 1960s and the empty metal chair doesn’t help to give a welcoming environment to a child. He can barely make out her silhouette, but he trusts Jim, he has to.

He opens up the folder on the metal, icy-cold table, and starts reading. “So, your name is…”

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng,” she completes the sentence for him, hesitantly.

Bruce is already lost, he doesn’t know what to say anymore. “You’re from Paris, is that correct?”

"Yes," she replies softly, "but I don't know how I ended up here in... Gotham, is it?" Her voice is tinged with confusion and a hint of fear, well hidden behind her thick, native French accent. He doesn’t fail to notice the urgency in her hand movements.

He scans the document one more time. Everything she has said to the CPS worker seems rather unfamiliar, he can’t for the life of him understand why he’s been involved in this case. He closes the folder and looks up sternly.

At that moment, it finally clicks. The teen is here, sitting in front of him, and she has two dark black pigtails that look almost blue under the light. Her eyes are two perfect sapphires with the tint of a calm sea. Her lips are in the shape of his mother’s, small and heart-shaped, and don’t hide the small pointy canines that Damian has. Despite the dark and gloomy atmosphere, the girl brightens the room, even with the terror easily readable in her pupils.

Bruce feels like fainting.

Marinette is rambling about needing to go back to Paris, but her words don’t fully reach his ears, it’s all rumbling background noise. The only thing he can hear is his racing heart, threatening to dig a hole and come out of his chest.

“Who are your parents?” he asks, with a stoic face, interrupting her quite abruptly. Bruce immediately notices his faux pas: he can’t let this overwhelm him, he can’t afford to be emotional anymore.

“Tom Dupain and Sabine Cheng,” she answers, her eyes low on the ground. “They’re bakers…” she whispers. Bruce manages to catch it. The names are unknown to him.

“Do you have a number we can call?” he asks, but she shakes her head.

“No, I have their numbers saved on my phone, which is… back in Paris.”

This feels like a joke. He wants to turn around and ask Jim if it was Clark’s idea, but he realizes that whatever this ordeal is about, this poor girl, who looks so much like a carbon copy of himself, is disoriented and scared.

Bruce has a sympathetic look in his eyes. “Do you remember what happened right before you got here?”

Her voice is soft, it reminds him of someone.“I was in my room, getting up for school when I just… there was a blue light and I was here.”

He notices immediately that she is lying: her eyes look at her right, and she instinctively starts touching her face, her earrings, her neck. But why would she? Wouldn’t it be better for her to give the entire truth so that they can just send her home?

“That’s… peculiar,” he comments, trying to indicate that he doesn’t believe her. Not that he doesn’t believe she has just popped out of nowhere, which would be nothing compared to the sheer amount of strange things that happen in Gotham, but that she’s not telling the whole truth.

Her smile contorts into an embarrassed expression. “I know but… I can’t tell you much more.”

“Why?”

Marinette awkwardly fixes her posture. He can’t believe that such a petite girl, who wears pink ribbons and a pastel t-shirt for school, looks actually so much like him. “We… can’t really talk about what’s happening in Paris. Mayor’s decree. Technically, it’s the former mayor’s decree, but it’s still valid.”

That’s concerning, to say the least. He turns around to gesture to Jim that this is something they have to discuss. But what could possibly be happening in Paris that needs to be hidden from the rest of the world?

“I understand your fear, Marinette. But why is there an information block in there in the first place?”

The girl freezes. “I can… I can’t tell you,” she murmurs. His heart contorts at seeing the expression on her face, the same of a small puppy who has been abandoned. The irony of it doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You can. You’re not in Paris right now, so any decree doesn’t affect you. I’ll make sure to protect you, don’t worry,” he says, trying his best to reassure her. Bruce is very good at faking confidence and charisma; but at real compassion and genuine affection? He’s hopeless.

Marinette still looks like she is being tortured, like she has seen a ghost. Yet, she starts explaining what exactly happened in the last two years. He understands her hesitance: magical jewelry, possessed people, domestic terrorism. This city is in dire need of help, and he knows what he will be talking about at the next Justice League meeting.

As he hears the girl explain and analyze the villain in detail, every doubt clears from his mind. That is certainly his daughter. If her overall look wasn’t enough, the way she describes accurately every move and every action taken by the villains to terrorize her city would convince anyone that this is his long-lost kid. From the way Hawkmoth lured in citizens using complex schemes, to the way Mariposa’s attacks are far more well-organized and diligently planned.

His mind starts wandering as the girl keeps on telling Paris’s story. Her skin is pale and reveals on her arms burn marks, old cuts, and bruises. She’s incredibly small and thin despite being the daughter of a baker, and it makes a lot of questions pop up in his head. She doesn’t have the body of a hero, but she sure has the mind of one.

The papers that the CPS worker gave him tell him that she’s fifteen. He tries to think who the mother of this girl could be. It was too early for both Talia and Selina, and the timeline doesn’t match with Vicky Vale either. He looks at her once more, and it hits him like a brick.

It couldn’t be. But also, it is the only possibility. He doesn’t want to believe his own mind, but logically he already knows who it is. Zatanna Zatara. It is impossible to ignore now: she looks exactly like her. A drop of sweat runs down his spine. Why didn’t she ever tell him?

Come to think of it, he hasn’t heard from the woman for fifteen years. His head hurt. Does that mean that Marinette has… No, it’s best to think about this later.

“Sir, are you okay?” she asks, seeing that he doesn’t seem responsive to her story. The sweet tone of her voice makes him feel another gut of pain in his chest.

He shakes his head. At that moment he realizes he hasn’t even told her his name. He wants nothing more than to dig a hole, crawl in it and die. He thankfully can’t hear Jim Gordon laughing his ass off in the other room, or else he would try to jump out of a window, no gear on.

“Yes, sorry. Call me Bruce, by the way. There’s no need for such formalities, I’m here to help.” He offers her a smile that looks so forced it could make her vomit.

She doesn’t look any better. “Can you help me go home, Bruce?” she pleads, eyes filled with tears and determination. Her voice, however, betrays her.

“I’ll see what I can do,” he replies. He needs to get out of here and fast. Bruce doesn’t know whether to strangle Jim Gordon or kiss him.

The contents of his stomach threaten to come out, and he quickly comes out of the room, trying to keep up his usual stoic demeanor. As he reaches Jim’s office, his eyes look bloodshot, and he has to consciously stop himself from trembling.

The old man is smiling smugly from his desk, and as he looks up from the paperwork he’s throwing around, he says: “So?”

Bruce tries his best to not scream, not yell at him ‘What the actual fuck, Jim?’, not throw the entire paper bin on the ground. His voice isn’t as cold as usual.

“Can we get a DNA test done?”

Jim’s laugh echoes in his ears, and it feels like mockery. Bruce desperately wishes he slept that night.

Sophie Dallway downs her coffee and makes her way to the room, a tad bit more awake than she was before. She looks at the necessary paperwork, and this looks like a complicated case, judging by how much she has to sign.

But as she pushes open the door, she’s met with silence. No one is there, Marinette Dupain-Cheng is gone. Bruce has already lost any trace of his daughter, mere minutes after meeting her.

Whole series here!

#miraculous ladybug #marinette dupain cheng #bruce wayne #bio dad bruce wayne #maribat bio dad bruce #batman crossover #miraculous tales of ladybug and chat noir #ao3 fanfic #fanfiction #mlb #batman #dc #nuvolisawrites

56 notes · View notes

joker-dc-rp · 1 year ago

Text

Joker rates the Batfamily

Let's see how our bat brats stack up, shall we?

Bruce Wayne/Batman: My beloved Brucie bat! He's truly my soulmate, no notes needed. One day I will kill him and defile his corpse. 10/10.

Dick Grayson/Nightwing: Ah, yes, the original Boy Blunder. He was annoying then and he's annoying now. Sometimes I can still hear the patter of pixie boots...followed by machine gun fire. Hehehehe! 6/10.

Barbara Gordon/Batgirl: Barbara, Barbara, Barbara. We had such lovely, intimate times together. Definitely one of my best moments on camera...maybe not hers, though. Haha. 7/10.

Jason Todd/Red Hood: Ohh, this one is my favorite. Not only was his death a highlight of my career, he even came back from the dead just to torment ol Batsy even more! Ha! It kills me! Or him. Same thing. 9/10.

Tim Drake/Red Robin: Ugh, this kid. He's a smart one, I'll give him that, but he's no fun at all. I call upon all fanfic writers to give him more trauma immediately. 3/10.

Stephanie Brown/Spoiler: Interestingly, I don't know this one so well. I suppose she's smart enough to stay away from me. Though with a father like that, I'd wanna lie low too. 2/10.

Cassandra Cain/Orphan: This one gets on my nerves! Not only does she pack one helluva punch, but she doesn't find any of my jokes funny! Of all the insufferable little--!! -100/10.

Damian Wayne/Robin: This kid has absolutely no sense of humor, none of the charm of his predecessors. I guess he got the sour face from his grandpa. The swords are a nice touch, however. 4/10.

Duke Thomas/Signal: Ah, yes, the new kid on the batblock. This one should be interesting, considering what I did to his parents. Lots of potential here, but for now he's just an overdressed flashlight. 5/10.

#batman roleplay #batfamily #batfam #bruce wayne #dick grayson #jason todd #barbara gordon #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #damian wayne #duke thomas #dc joker #joker roleplay

123 notes · View notes

shinyspanishgem · 1 month ago

Text

Ok but I'm taking guesses as to what happens kn Absolute! batman, a bingo card basically.

-Edward eventually becomes the Riddler, and the answer to his last riddle is an inside joke of their friend group, the last test to check his theory for Bruce being Batman.

-On the opposite, he doesn't become the riddler, and he's the Oracle of the group, but answers the comms in riddles beacouse he's a jackass.

-Just by the two of them being in close proximity, penguin/riddler is going to rise from it's Gotham (TV) ashes.

-Harvey lives happily and nothing happens to him, he only keeps his "two" motifs (trust)

-Batman has a "this isn't you" moment with every single one of them, just imagine this mammoth of a man going the talking route after axing a goon in the face, playing favourites much?

- Waylon Jones wears crocs, no further comment, or crocodile print.

-Mama Martha, just more mama Martha and please don't die, stay away from pearls

-Since Gordon is the mayor, It's Barbara who sets up the Batsignal

-Selina is the smartest of all of them, beacouse I say so, also can I please see my girl.

-Selina stealing Harvey's coin just beacouse it would be funny tbh

-One of the members of the friend group talks about Batman, in front of Bruce, without knowing it's him (bonus points if he's insulting the Bat)

-Harley's story doesn't revolve around the Joker (or at least not romantically, maybe she's also a billionaire? Omg Ivy's her sugar baby), but she still has Hyenas don't you take that way from her

#absolute batman #batman #rogues gallery #headcanons #bingo card #edward nygma #harvey dent #killer croc

21 notes · View notes

fractualized · 2 months ago

Note

Zdarsky’s run on Batman ends soon, thoughts? 🎤

lmao I feel like I could either toss out a dismissive one-liner or rant for like a dozen paragraphs. Guess I'll go with the latter.

We'll, I'm certainly not going to miss him at the helm. I read Batman: The Knight, and even though I agree with the criticism of the end, it showed competent storytelling with a good emotional core, which is the most basic of standards, but let's be real, this is comics, I'll take competent any day. And when his Batman run started, I had caught up on Snyder-King-Tynion Batman and was excited to follow a run in real time.

I'd say I stopped having a good time when Bruce got sent to the alternate universe. Penguin faking his death was fun. Bruce being pursued by a dramatic robot version of himself was fun. Bruce again fretting about protecting the family was… par for the course. Calling back to Zur-En-Arrh didn't bug me because I hadn't read that full storyline yet, so it felt like a gateway to digging back into lore. Bruce surviving a fall through the Earth's atmosphere was too fucking ridiculous but the kind I can look past. (Imagine you're a DC writer. You have the idea: lol what if Batman got out of this by surviving a fall from the moon. You have opened that door in your mind. Do you have the will close it or would you be like FUCK IT LET'S DO IT?)

The Red Mask universe, however, dragged any momentum at that point to a stop, and I honestly don't care enough to dig deep into all the reasons why, which I guess gets at the core of what was wrong with the Red Mask universe. (Skeleton Jim Gordon was the most interesting thing but he was just a temporary side effect or something? Whatever.)

But, of course, since I'm a Joker fan, Darwin Halliday was a major sticking point as the most boring Joker to never joke. Nearly everything Zdarsky did with Joker was a major sticking point.

It still drives me crazy that from Snyder to the Zdarsky run, we had a Joker who tried to force Bruce both away from the batfam and Selina and back to basics multiple times, so their battle could be one-on-one again. We had a Joker who, after Bruce left him to die, was notably depressed and suicidal at the end of Joker 2021. He is still that way at the start of The Man Who Stopped Laughing.

And you could follow from that with the basic beats of what Zdarsky did. You could say Joker is disillusioned with his relationship with Batman, and that's why he turns to Zur-En-Arrh, a real Batman. But no, everything has to be too fucking complicated. We have do yet another retcon of so much other stuff and say that Joker always was looking for Zur. And we have to a weird take on Three Jokers because people were really biting at the bit to get a real answer within canon like a decade after Johns wrote that nonsense?? I don't know, I don't do marketing research, but I'm pretty sure if they just quietly never addressed it, it would be fine.

And the freaking Captio stuff. Ugh. UGH. I really just. I feel like this is a product of overthinking. "Well, Batman is so thoroughly trained, it only makes sense that Joker had at least some of the same training to beat him." No. Fuck that. We don't need that. Joker rivals Batman out of sheer audacity. I like that it doesn't really make sense that a clown pushes him to the limit. I like the juxtaposition of Bruce having to do so much training and learning to survive, but Joker is a cockroach revived by the narrative. I like Joker being a plague and a mystery that Batman cannot resolve. I like Joker being essentially absurd. No, it doesn't make sense, but he's here to stab you out of love and you better know how to dodge.

So much of Batman comics now are not about telling a fun Batman story. They're stories about Batman stories, just circling back and cannibalizing each other into a total fucking mess, and putting the city on the brink of destruction so much that those stakes no longer have meaning. There has to be a writer out there who wants to get back to just telling a smaller action/detective story that makes the reader give a shit about what's happening instead of feeling like maybe they're just not getting it, like they missed homework.

And I say that as someone who started reading Morrison's full run when Zdarsky's started so I could have the Zur background. I had to pause when Morrison's writing got to be too much (for the bad reasons!). I intended to jump back in again, but then Zdarsky's run nosedived and the effort no longer seemed worth it.

Especially when everything paused for Gotham War. Jesus Christ. The only good thing to come out of that was Rosenberg's second Red Hood issue. But speaking of Gotham War, I do wonder if there'll be an article years from now that will reveal Zdarsky had to deal with too much editorial fiat. He had to interrupt his Zur story not only with the badly executed Catwoman plot and the Knight Terrors, but cram in a Three Jokers explanation.

And speaking of Rosenberg, I can't end without mentioning that because he started TMWSL around the same time Zdarsky started on Batman, and they both had their protagonists dealing with other versions of themselves, man, there was such potential for a crossover event. Me and my pals had lots of fun theories about how these series would converge, because the idea that they wouldn't seemed ridiculous. There were two Jokers in TMWSL, and at the same time in Batman #131, Halliday seemed to have created three of them. I didn't like Halliday, but still, what did that mean? It would be ridiculous for those developments to be unrelated, right? RIGHT?

Joke's on us, as usual. 🤪

#ask #anonymous #batman #joker #dc comics #chip zdarsky

15 notes · View notes

dcficrecs · 5 months ago

Text

I'm a Good Pretender

By on shipNslash on AO3

I just finished the first chapter of this, so my apologies if the rest of the fic isn't as good, but the last line of the first chapter was actually so genius I had to share. Minor spoilers for how Dick finds out Bruce is Batman, I guess. Although everyone knows that he does find out eventually, so the only spoiler is how. In this scene, Batman is interrogating Tony Zucco's old cellmate. He refuses to talk and Batman just knocks him out.

The whimpering tapers off until it's just blubbering and then nothing but unconscious breathing. Batman drops him with a sigh, stopping only to zip tie his hands to his apartment radiator.

What a waste of his time-

Creak.

Batman freezes, melting into the shadows out of instinct more than any sort of training. He peeks around the corner, ready for- for…

For anything but that.

Crawling in through the seventh story apartment window is a young Richard Grayson, dark jeans and black hoodie the only thing separating him from the glittering Gotham backdrop of flickering street lamps and red and blue sirens. He pads across the creaky floor on silent feet and stops only when he sees the unconscious resident.

The boy mutters something in an unfamiliar language but it's clearly a swear.

Bruce, never one to waste a dramatic entrance, steps forward a foot. "It's a little late to be out of bed, Richard Grayson," he whispers, voice still as loud as a gunshot in the silence.

"Câcat!" To his credit, when the kid jumps three feet in the air, he lands without a sound. Even more impressively, he doesn't have any other reaction besides for dropping a hand almost imperceptibly into his pocket- a weapon? "Holy fuck. You're Batman."

He cocks his head to the side, trying to get a clearer shot with his contacts. "Yes. How’d you scale seven flights of an exposed building?”

"I’m good at climbing,” the boy says dismissively. “You know my name. Why?" Chin tilted back, eyes a bright splash of anger in the dark- Richard is more confident in this moment than Bruce Wayne has ever been in his entire life.

Instead of answering, Batman nudges the man between them with his boot. "I know it's not a coincidence that you're here. What was your plan?" He's burning with curiosity.

"I- I was going to make him tell me where Tony Zucco is. I know he killed my parents and the last person he associated with was this piece of shit." Richard sounds angry. Fascinating. "What'd you do? He’s not dead, is he?"

"I don't kill people, Richard."

"Stop saying my fucking name unless you tell me how you know it."

Bold.

"Your face has been in the news a lot lately. I've been trying to solve your case."

The kid seems to crumple. "...why? The police obviously don't give a shit."

"That's not true. It's not exactly police procedure to discuss the details of a double homicide with the couple’s orphaned eleven year old." Bruce almost winces -that wasn't good socializing- but Batman doesn't care about those types of things so, for now, neither does Bruce.

Richard doesn't seem to care either. "First I'm going to catch him and then I'm going to kill him. And if you think anything is going to stop me, you're not as smart as they say," he spits out.

Bruce almost laughs, if only in disbelief. Who is this kid?

Instead, he pages Gordon with the address. There's usually an officer patrolling this block. "Listen, kid-"

"Dick."

"Excuse me?"

"My name." God, Bruce feels like he's looking in a mirror. For all that the boy doesn't look anything like an eleven year old Bruce Wayne, that burning rage is achingly familiar. "Nobody in this stupid fucking city might care about me, but I have a name and it's not Richard," he spits like a swear. "It's Dick. Dick Grayson."

Okay, now you know how he met Batman. Here's how he met Bruce (The second time, anyway. The first is at the circus, after his parents' murders). And for context, Miss Lopez is Dick's social worker. More context is that Alfred met with Dick at the orphanage and said that Bruce offered to buy Dick's parents' trailer and all their belongings and give it to Dick whenever he was ready.

Carefully pulling on a more refined accent (Mama loves southern France, she thinks their dialect is ‘fancy’), he jerks to his feet and gasps. “Mister Pennyworth! You came!”

“I told you I would,” the old man says simply, pushing the door all the way open.

And behind him stands-

“Do you remember Mister Wayne, Richard?”

Dick almost collapses under the weight of-

Strong arms, wrestling him to the ground. “Don’t look. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Just don’t look.”

So, yeah, maybe he’s off his game a little, but the first thing that pops out of Dick’s mouth is, “you don’t look like a billionaire.”

Mister Pennyworth laughs in a distinctly British way while said billionaire makes a face that Dick would hazard to describe as a pout. “It’s early,” he mumbles, shoving his pale hands into the pouch of his hoodie.

Aw hell, Dick thinks and suddenly feels guilty. Even though he really shouldn't because it’s true. He’s dressed like a homeless person, layers of old clothes and mismatched aesthetics, and he even has a ratty backpack over his shoulders. Shouldn’t a billionaire have someone to carry his stuff for him?

They’re saved from the awkwardness by Miss Lopez, who sweeps into the room in her usual chaotic way, her stupidly big bag overflowing with all the stuff she never seems to need.

She doesn’t even acknowledge the two men already in the room. “Really, Richard? Again?” She asks, sounding so tired.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whimpers. (He’s not). “I won’t do it again, Miss Lopez, I swear!” (He will.)

He watches her deflate. “Oh, Richard. What am I supposed to do now?”

“Can’t I just go back to-”

“Please don’t bring up the circus again-”

“But it’s where I belong-”

Mister Wayne interrupts, his voice painfully quiet. (Mama says enunciation makes the difference between talking and speaking.) “I'll take him.”

…what?

Dick and Miss Lopez both freeze. She just now seems to realize that they’re not alone and Dick can pinpoint the exact moment she recognizes who’s standing in front of her.

“Oh my god. You’re- Oh my god. Hello, Mister Wayne!” She gushes, the hand not holding up her stupidly big bag reaching up to swipe at her hair.

Mister Wayne doesn’t exactly look like the type of person to judge someone for a bad hair day but even Dick feels the urge to fidget under the weirdly intense stare. He knows better, though, and keeps himself perfectly still while Miss Lopez and Mister Pennyworth start talking about things like state certified foster homes and mandatory wait periods and generous donations.

He follows along with that side of the conversation with perfect ease. People with enough money can do whatever they want and Mister Wayne has ‘more money than God’ according to the cop who brought him in. The only thing he doesn’t understand is…

“Why?” He asks when there’s a lull in the conversation.

Intense eyes lock onto him. “Hm?”

“Why are you offering to help me?” Dick asks. He knows he’s blowing his act. The optimistic orphan would never look a gift horse in the mouth. But he just doesn’t get it. “You don’t even know me.”

Mister Wayne shifts so that he’s facing Dick head on instead of Miss Lopez and Mister Pennyworth, who are looking over a thick legal document. “You don’t have to. I’ll still help in any way I can. If you'd rather try a different foster home, I'll pay for a lawyer,” he murmurs and Dick gets the impression that this is more talking than Mister Wayne has done in a long time.

To be fair, he seems harmless. Dick doubts he’s a pervert or something. There are plenty of less famous orphans he could have snatched up if all he wants is to cop a feel. And he definitely isn’t a good actor, so this has to be at least a little genuine.

When Dick doesn’t answer, Mister Wayne sighs and crouches so that they’re almost eye level. He’s very tall and Dick is very not tall, okay? And he doesn’t say any stupid shit either, like ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ or ‘how are you doing?’ that everyone else seems so insistent on. Instead, he pulls an envelope out of his backpack and offers it to Dick wordlessly..

“Um. Thanks.” Dick takes it, checking to make sure that Miss Lopez isn’t watching before opening it-

Holy fucking shit.

Mama and Papa’s faces smile back at him, a chubby cheeked Dick balancing on their shoulders in front of the Eiffel Tower.

This time, the tears in his eyes are real. “Mister Wayne…”

“I want to help, Dick,” he whispers.

There’s a long list of thoughts running through Dick’s head right now.

He’d somehow forgotten that Mister Wayne has his parent’s trailer. He wants to kiss the picture of his family, safely sealed inside of a little plastic bag. He knows that he’s going to juvie. He knows that Mister Wayne is his best chance at getting out of juvie. He knows it’ll be way easier to sneak out of some big mansion than it will be to break out of a detention center. He knows that Tony Zucco is still alive and roaming free.

But all he can think about is the fact that he’s only told one person in this god forsaken city his real name and it was Batman. So why did Bruce fucking Wayne just call him Dick?

Literally holy shit. I love obscure details that the reader can miss, sometimes is supposed to miss, becoming important later on. I sure as hell missed it.

This fic is good so far, but one thing I know I don't like is the tags saying that Dick's parents were slightly abusive. That's just too out of character for them for me. But I am really into any 'Dick Grayson becoming Robin' fics right now, so I'm trying not to be picky. If this fic does end up being good despite that, I'll probably post more excerpts here.

22 notes · View notes