#if this was Bruce they would have had a screaming match and nothing would have been resolved

[arabian-batboy]

There's something about Batman Dick understanding the feelings of Damian and being able to see things from his point of view, because he too was in his shoes at one point that simply warms my heart.

[nightingale-prompts]

Lay Me to Rest- DCxDP Prompt

Warning: Blood and gore

There has been a series of murders across the country. Each death was varied and self-inflicted. At first, they all seemed like suicide but each had a strange range of symptoms before death.

Sudden paranoia, incoherent mumbling, screaming or yelling, going in and out of their homes sporadically, random fixations, and finally self-harm.

The victims were teachers, parents, businessmen, truckers, and even a crime novelist. All unrelated and in different states.

Each victim didn't seem to have a connection until an investigation discovered that each one had been an active serial killer. The body counts ranged from as little as 5 to as much as 23. The killer was named the Serial Serial Killer which wasn't creative but it was catchy. Some called them the Angel of Vengeance but most thought it was cringy and overdramatic. Many people didn't want them to be caught but others hotly debated letting a killer dispense justice when their crusade could easily turn into them killing people for innocuous things.

The police were still questioning whether this killer even existed. One thing was clear, there was a trail and it led straight to Gotham. A goldmine for them. Naturally, Batman had gotten a hold on the case and began an investigation.

The biggest question was how the killer found their victims and how they knew that they were killers.

The answer was obvious. They didn't need to figure it out. They just needed to wait. Why just in the effort to investigate when a serial killer tries to convince you to leave with them? So bars are the obvious place. But that's shaky at best since there is a period of torment that takes place that allows the victims to return home. The killer doesn't care if the victims could call the police, perhaps because they know their victim won't.

Bruce started to build a profile. He saw a pattern here. Each of the victims had a preference for their victims as well. They targeted young people, mainly boys. Odds are the Serial Serial Killer matched that description or age range. So bars weren't the hunting ground. So parks were more likely to go unnoticed and boys tended to hang out there longer after dark.

The killer was more than likely a victim himself so he may have a few scars but probably not noticeable enough that his would-be assailants would be turned off. There is no ignoring the predatory nature of the victims. Each killed children for gratification in some form. It's not that the boy is attractive but he probably has traits that the victims found attractive in children. So babyfaced, short, native, and polite.

There was much else Bruce could get. There was nothing concrete and he still didn't understand the method that was used. So far this was guesswork.

It wasn't until a few weeks later while he tracking another killer that he found his answer.

Dr.Kinder a Biologist by day and a killer who experiments on his victims at night had picked up a promising new lab rat a week ago. He had intended to slowly dissect the boy. He had gotten so used to the screams he stopped using anesthetics besides he wanted to see how the fear response caused the organs to shift.

To his surprise the boy didn't fight, in fact he seemed to jump to the table and say he didn't need restraints. Disturbing. But he was restrained anyways.

As the doctor cut him open the boy didn't react, only humming to himself as he watched the doctor.

"What are you hoping to find?" He asked. "I'm getting bored and this bearly hurts."

The boy annoyingly never stopped talking and never missed a chance to ruin the moment. There were never any screams or cries but incessant talking.

Dr.Kinder found the boy disturbing so he simply took an axe and chopped the boy into pieces. Not once did he make a sound. The doctor thought it was over but the next day the boy was back. He sat on the autopsy table kicking his feet in nothing but his bare skin.

"What the hell are you?" The doctor gasped in horror.

"I'm bored. Play with me again." The boy purred.

Bile crawled up his throat as the doctor restained this...thing again.

This time the boy spoke differently.

"You cut me up last time. Did you do that to the last boy. After you...you know." A sick grin spread across his cheeks.

The doctor cut open his neck this time and let him bleed out.

Everyday he came back and every day the doctor killed him until the time between his death got shorter and shorter. The days began to blur and he had no idea how long he had been doing this. But that thing kept talkimg to him.

Dr.Kinder stared down at his desk at the papers trying to think of anything but-

"I wonder what people would think about what you've done. You're a disgusting and depraved man doctor. Look at what you've done to me." The sing-song voice of that demon called out.

He could feel those blood-soaked arms wrapped around his neck.

He flinch as he pushed the thing away.

"Oh, are you going to beat me or stab me this time? Ooo, or are you going to put me through the woodchipper again?" The demon asked as the doctor wrapped his hands around his throat.

He just kept squeezing until the boy went limp. It never ends. The blood never goes away. It covered every surface of the room. Dripping, conjugating, and spreading into every corner. Whenever he turned his head he could see body parts spread across the room in the pools of blood he could they the faces of the others that he had killed. Each face wretched in agony.

"You hold on better than the others. I've been eaten, torched, and disemboweled before but after coming back a few times they usually end it after a few words. But every time they don't feel guilt. They just don't want to face consequences." The boy said. "Do you even remember my name? The one I told you when you picked me up on the side of the road or was I just another body to use and discard? I used the name of your first victim. I hoped you'd notice."

The doctor knew he couldn't kill the boy but he could end himself. He had tried it once but just like the kid he came back without a scratch.

"Not yet. This is your life now. Come on, let's taste death together. Again and again and again and again and-" he repeated over and over.

This was hell. This was his hell.

But it came to an end eventually. Dr.Kinder put an end to himself in a gruesome display.

Batman had only caught the tail end as he faced a young boy standing an a pool of blood.

****

"Yeah, that thing is like a worse version of a revenant. Doesn't really have a name yet to describe it. It's undead for sure. You kill it and it just comes back." Constantine said "Why did you bring it here?"

After a long bath and some new clothes, the kid looked normal as played on a phone given to him.

"Look, I didn't know what else to do." Bruce explained.

"You leave it alone!" Constantine said exasperated "Look they are harmless to anything they don't bear a grudge towards. Think of it as a force of nature." Constantine said.

"I just want to know how to stop him." Bruce said.

"Well you can't kill it but you can't bring him back entirely. You can just soothe it 'till it stops targeting its victims. It must have died pretty gruesomely to go to these lengths. You need to find where it died and lay it to rest. Properly." Constantine sighed knowing that appeasing this soul would be more than just difficult.

"Danny, come on. Let's go." Bruced said putting a hand on the boy's head as Danny stood up to leave.

"Okay. Bye!" Danny waved to Constantine.

[clockwayswrites]

Ficleting Together Start:

cw: internalized abelism as issues with therapy and mental help, injury

Jason had an imaginary friend. He hadn't always. He wasn't like most children who had one when they were just learning to understand the world around them. He hadn't even had one on the streets when he was so desperately lonely for anyone to offer him kindness. No, Jason hadn't had one until he had become Robin— until he had become magic.

He didn't actually think his friend was so imaginary.

Bruce and Dick did, though. It was actually the first conversation that they had that didn’t end in shouting in months. Jason had listened to the whole thing through a vent on the other side of Bruce’s study. There were concerns of him regressing. Apparently it was something that could happen to traumatized— and fuck he hated that word, traumatized— children when they finally got somewhere safe.

Dick thought Jason would benefit from therapy. Worse, Bruce agreed. It turned out that went Jason took part in the shouting match it could be so much worse.

“I’m not crazy! I don’t need to see a fucking therapist!” Jason screamed.

He wasn’t helping his case, he knew that. But he wasn’t crazy! They couldn’t lock him up. He wasn’t crazy. It already felt like he was locked up. The study felt suddenly small. The lights too bright. The furniture too big. Bruce and Dick were too big.

“Jay-lad, that’s not what we’re saying,” Bruce tried.

“I’m not talking any pills!”

“No one is talking pills, Jay,” Dick said. He stepped forward, reaching a hand out.

It would be comforting. Jason knew that. Dick’s touch was always comforting.

He gave great hugs.

He wasn’t like—

Jason ran.

Jason bolted out of the room and past Alfred and out the door and into the woods that surrounded Wayne Manor. He ran past trees and shrubs and rocks that all looked the same. He ran until his legs were burning and he couldn’t catch his breath and—

The dirt, damp from the fall rainstorms gave under Jason’s feet. For a moment he was standing on nothing. It felt just like when Bruce had said that he had arranged a therapist for Jason. It felt like his world had fallen out from under him. And then Jason was falling, tumbling down the rock face that up the small hillside that Jason had been running along.

He screamed as something in his leg snapped, the noise was cut short as his head bounced against the rock and snapped his jaw closed. Even when he stopped rolling, the world swam around him. Jason closed his eyes and tried to stop himself from hurling. It was close. Jason lost time counting his breaths through the pain.

And then they were there.

Jason knew it, he always knew it.

It’s why he didn’t think they were imaginary.

He couldn’t help the sob that ripped from his throat as he felt their presence settle against his side. “I’m not crazy. You’re real. I know you are.”

Jason didn’t hear their response. It wasn’t like they spoke. But Jason could feel their response: a rumble of reassurance, a bubble of wry humor that Jason didn’t understand, and an undercurrent of worry.

“I’ll be okay,” Jason said. It had started to get dark. When had it started to get dark? “I’ll be okay.”

A cold sensation pressed against his brow.

He could close his eyes for a little longer.

He’d be okay.

“Jason! Oh god, Jason. Bruce! It’s over here! Please be alive.”

Jason whined as hand touched his neck.

Murmured Romani filled Jason’s ears as his world went black.

---

The voted prompts were Danny/Jason, soulmates/bond, Eldritch. This isn't going where I thought it would, but that's the fun of it! I might just tack all the parts onto this thread an not do an update thread since this shouldn't be too long (famous last words) but we'll see. I have at least two scenes that I know I want to do.

[roxineedstosleep]

Can you do platonic batfam with a male reader who is like Hunter from the owl house

Imagine having a manipulator uncle and is a clone of someone

Clones have no personality.

Not at least in the interim of their realization.

At the beginning they know what they want and that, then, when they interact with a more real world they realize that they are nothing and at the same time they are someone.

The emptiness that comes with realization, anger, loss, parendiza and acceptance are things that take time. They take time, tears, reproaches, rejections, acceptances, cries, screams, health and so many other things.

Conner surely understands what the reader is going through, he knows what it means to be someone's clone and not knowing what else to do for oneself.

Conner didn't know he could be himself until he stopped trying with Clark.

The reader… well.

Being Dick Grayson's clone wasn't something you'd like to have known.

Worse yet… meeting Dick and then the whole family was even worse.

You no longer knew if your affections, hobbies, likes and dislikes were a macabre work of genetics or because that's what you'd really be if you weren't a clone.

You were- are? soooo much like Richard.

But at the same time you were so different. His dark light skin was like a beautiful bronze compared to your uneven brown skin. It looked like your hair waves were hideous compared to his perfectly wavy hair. His eyes were the perfect shade of blue, well-place mole on the chick, his voice was more enchanting than yours.

Every time you saw him more and more, you felt as you looked in the mirror something about your appearance warp into an eternally striking malformation.

Your nails or your fingers didn't seem to be straight, your teeth were getting bigger and twisted(?), your hair was not manageable, your skin started to get more pimples or pores… nothing seemed to have an end.

You were too young to even be considered Dick's twin, at best, like Damian, you could be considered his younger brother… his son? To old for that?

Well, like Conner, someone had to have given the egg for that cloning thing to work.

That wasn't the point.

The point was that you were everything Richard wasn't. You never would be and never would become.

You didn't have the strength or the agility or the courage or the chutzpah.

When Bruce found you, it was as if he had stopped time and locked you in the Batmobile until Zantana and others came to see what they should do with you. You were just looking for the quickest way to buy candy. A simple detour around a corner and all of a sudden you were being pecked and bewitched by a bunch of people in tights who wouldn't stop asking you questions or wanting to get inside your head.

Your only mistake was scape from the orphanage for candy.

When the spells failed, when the manipulations came to nothing and when everything looked like it was going to end with you ten feet underground behind a ditch… they resigned themselves to completing the last box in the "kidnap a civilian" kit: they had to see if you were a fucking clone.

Bruce didn't even think of Dick as a possible cloning victim in the first place.

You didn't look like him… not in the right way. At least from Bruce's perspective; being the genius detective that he was.

Bruce had just squeezed the wheel of possibilities with the DNA of everyone registered in the Watchover system… the genetic co-incidence was just that.

A fucking co-incidence.

And Dick, he had the terrible luck to show up as a match. But even with that proff he did not believe it.

You, you couldn't be a clone, you had to be something else. Didn't you?

Your son? a mistake from the past?

No.

You were just the result of a crazy ex-girlfriend, an idiot Dick and a test tube.

They took you with them. You couldn't walk around without anyone watching you. Besides, a mansion was better than a low-security orphanage. Wasn't it?

But it didn't help any.

To them, to Dick himself, you were just a token that everyone was replaceable.

Bruce wanted to test if you were trainable to be Robin, but you could barely run without dying in the attempt. It didn't matter how many days you stayed in training or fighting.

Nothing worked.

Your belly was visible, your fatigue was or seemed chronic (some cloning error?), your appearance definitely resembled Dick but not in the right way. Or at least that's how you began to perceive it over time. As they, the Waynes, used to constantly emphasise to you.

Sometimes you could stand for hours in front of the mirror wondering if you were really a clone or if the machine had broken down.

And just as your relationship with your image began to deteriorate… the relationship with the members of the house didn't even seem to get off to a good start.

Damian didn't know how to treat you, Jason definitely looked at you with pity, Tim watched you like a lab rat, Alfred and Bruce tried to make up for all their faults with you.

Dick… Dick, like Clark, didn't want anything to do with you or relate to you.

At the beginning he tried. I mean, one of his best friends is a fucking clone, who was fiercely rejected by the person who should be his family. Wouldn't it be hypocritical of him to reject you?

But it was no use. The few times you did hang out together it was clearly awkward for both of you. And even if anyone asked how you were related, Dick was quick to reject any connection.

"He's a friend's cousin, I babysit." "Oh, a co-worker's son." "He's one of the Wayne Foundation kids."

Over time Dick really emphasised that he wanted nothing to do with you, or to know about you or even to consider accepting your existence. He pulled away, with different excuses or reasons to the point where there was no reason why they should relate to each other.

So, seeing that nothing could ever be the same again… you decided to take the next step.

Clearly they didn't want to see you. They didn't want to relate to you.

Dick was, much to your consternation considering that he even never get you a proper ID, your legal guardian, but even he didn't make a big deal out of it.

Damian wouldn't give you the time of day, Alfred and Bruce were always busy, Jason for clear reasons didn't want to be there, and Tim had a purely clinical interest in your existence.

Why be with them? Well, you needed a roof over your head, yes, but other than that there was no reason why you should waste your time and effort wanting to be there.

You were taken off the streets almost as an adult, you could see your way to entertain yourself until you could get out of there. You didn't have the same pressure as they did with public image, you didn't have to go to galas or society balls.

So, you looked for other ways to entertain yourself.

First it was sports, but you sucked. Really sucked.

The arts didn't seem to be your thing, even if you tried.

Dancing was also out of the question and singing, even though you weren't terrible, wouldn't bring you any kind of personal satisfaction.

That's when the clandestine outings came in.

You drank, you tried drugs, you did whatever it took to get out of the Wayne family's sight for more than a day.

There were bad experiences, definitely, but it seemed like life wanted to somehow make it up to you for everything it put you through.

Before long, you found relatively decent people.

People who, in the worst situations, you wouldn't hesitate to ask for help.

There were even times when you would spend up to a month or more away from the family home and never get a call or message about your whereabouts.

Before you knew it, the years passed and you had turned 18… or at least you could say so considering you were a fucking clone.

Months away from the Wayne's, calculating that time away from home, I'd say it was a total of 2 cumulative years that you were away.

And you were happy in those months far from the Wayne mansion. You had two good friends, who were in and out of drugs just like you. They would meet in a small, ramshackle studio and eat and get a job to survive together. When the going got tough, you'd rush back so your buddies could make ends meet.

Sometimes you would even send them some food and old clothes that everyone in the house was reluctant to throw away.

Many of your clothes were, ironically, things that others had left behind. Not because you didn't have clothes of your own, but it was easier to finish wearing worn out clothes than to wear something new that you could wear later.

But that wasn't the point.

You didn't know anything about the Waynes at that time, and they didn't know anything about you.

And that seemed to work just as well for them.

Worked perfectly for you as well.

You didn't have to deal with them, they didn't have to deal with you. Wasn't that the best thing?

If you came back alive, with tattered clothes and calloused hands, they wouldn't say go. It didn't matter if you'd spent most of the winter sleeping without heat or if you moved the bathtub into the living room to avoid flooding the floor during the rainy season.

You were invisible to them. And you were happy about it.

But, like everything else in life, nothing seemed to be enough, everything seemed like a sick joke and no matter what you did, you always ended up in the same mental hole that kept you from moving on.

You don't even know how the fuck you ended up like that.

It was just a party, a private fucking party with your two best friends. Jackovy had brought a new sour candy (real sugar tasty candy) to try, Luz brought her own special drinks. You had gone out of your way to make spicy mac and cheese that had just the right amount of creamy yet tangy cheese. What was the worst that could happen?

A fucking Joker bomb, half a block from Jackovy's ramshackle building, that's what. Just as the three of you were halfway through dinner, ordering takeout for something sweet for dessert…. a stinking bomb shattered the front windows to the street and Jackovy jumped on you to get you out of the place.

Without thinking too much you grabbed Luz by the arm, and both of you held on to Jackovy's large figure to escape from the building that was collapsing second by second. As soon as Jackovy put one foot out into the street, the whole building collapsed and you pushed him and Luz as far away from the collapse as you could, they pulled you in time, but your leg got caught in some of the debris.

You didn't want to see it, you didn't need to see it, but that leg was definitely broken. You didn't know the severity, but from what Luz was shouting in her native language and the insults your other friend was hurling you knew that a bandage wasn't enough.

Clearly, as if it were a bad joke, because the Joker really was a lousy comedian, it wasn't long before Gordon and a member of your family arrived at the scene of the crime.

It seemed so strange to you, so weird.

They really were good at acting their double persona. I mean, you never saw Dick be gentle with you before. Not when you broke your arm after trying to climb the chandelier like he once did. Not when Bruce yelled at you until he was hoarse because he couldn't do gymnastics.

You never saw Bruce act carefully when pulling out the debris. You didn't feel Dick's desperate way of calling a paramedic like fake.

But, it didn't matter.

Really, if you didn't get over that everyone in the family had taken acting classes you could believe a little bit about their acting.

Really, omitting all the obnoxious disinterest you had in them, you could say they were worthy of an Oscar for best acting or at least they were too professional to care whether you were the forgotten clone in the house or not.

As soon as one of the two wanted to get into the ambulance with you, you shouted Luz and Jackovy's name for them to follow you. The paramedics didn't know what to do, but there wasn't much to say about it either.

"Only family members or couples can join-"

"Jackovy is his husband" Luz had shouted, noticing how you were trying to run away from the nurses' restraints " Besides he always use his husband's"

"A child can't be an adult's boyfriend-" Dick had tried to say, frightened looking at Jackovy, who definitely looked to be at least about 27 years old. His prominent beard and his height and musculature really made him look old, how funny that he was only a couple of years older than you or Luz.

His unfriendly face didn't help the current situation either, but that didn't matter. The point was that Jackovy had health insurance in his name, so why did the technicalities of the safe age of consent matter now?

"I'm 23, his MY husband, he's coming with me" You interrupted.

The opinion of two men in dark spandex didn't matter anyway. You're married? Perfect, the husband has more right to be with you in the ambulance.

Your friend stuck around while Luz stayed behind to see if anything could be salvaged from the wrecked apartment.

Neither you nor Jackovy or Luz felt sorry for the place, it didn't belong to either of you, it was just an old building used as a game room. But, some things were of sentimental value.

If they could be salvaged it was worth a try. Also, probably many of the drugs were there. Was a better option to clean it before the police started to seek there.

Getting to the hospital and getting your leg fixed was easy. Making sure the fake marriage paperwork and the fake ID Jackovy had gotten for you passed as real was the tricky part.

You and Luz had done a perfect job in creating all the false documentation in order to generate a fake ID.

Better job of adding a little more age to you.

They knew your ID was functional, as you had even been able to get your friend out of the police lockup on a couple of occasions.

But the fake marriage paperwork they weren't sure about. those were, in a better word, almost new. Not even more than a week.

They would not have been created had it not been for your friend's last minute idea to be covered in this way. Jackovy did it expontanea.

It was fraud that paper, not that your ID was any less fraud than that certificate, but at least you only had one ID.

Jackovy had several marriage certificates with different people's names on them. Some for a greencard, others like you, who needed to be able to use health insurance.

But the paper passed as valid, Jackovy's insurance cover most of the expenses and now you could get some rest before you could leave for Luz's now truly owned apartment.

The bad joints, at the end of the day, had ensured that you didn't lose the money you had saved… but for some reason had lured a falsely concerned family into the hallway outside the room you temporarily had in the hospital.

What the fuck were they doing there?

[puppetmaster13u]

So I am rotating the batfamily, but not like, civilian or vigilante. I am slowly rotating them all having a Malone-sona of sorts that is their in to organized crime.

Like you can't tell me people wouldn't start noticing this family that the bats, the literal cryptids and monsters of Gotham, don't even touch and lets continue to operate despite taking the older crime families apart.

And to Gotham that screams power.

Alfred = Albert “Old Al” Malone I wanna say that he doesn't go out as 'Old Al' often, but gives off Godfather sort of vibes. Usually sitting there with an old cane (that definitely has a sword, they're all dramatic like that lol) half in the dark with a cup of tea or other drink. He gets to stretch his acting skills and honestly the kids definitely had a say in the persona. Old Al is something they all made together and they have fun implying so much fun shit.

Kate = Mary “Madam” Malone She definitely gives off 'snap your spine over her knee if not for the fact it would get your blood all over her clothes' vibes. Stylized nails, hair up in fishtail braids or ponytails or whatever, looks like she could tear out ones throat and they'd thank her. It's a running gag that she's in finances, even if no one in the underbelly believes it.

Bruce = “Matches” Malone I mean, it's classic Matches (though most probably assume that Matches isn't his real name) who seems rather chill until someone breaks the rules. Gives off vibes that he doesn't usually get his own hands dirty but will do so to make a point, and enjoy doing it. He sometimes uses Matches to check in on places he can't as a shadowy cryptid, and it's not like the lower income areas would fully trust Brucie Wayne.

Barbara = Madison “Maddie” Malone Now let's be honest, Barbara enjoys messing with people, she enjoys knowing every little thing as Oracle, and she definitely does that as Maddie. The thing is, no one knows how she learns about things, other criminals search for a traitor, for a leak, for anything, and get nothing. Which is utterly terrifying. Because there has to be some sort of information network, there has to be. And somehow they're so good that they're indistinguishable to any others.

Dick = Micheal “Mikey” Malone Honestly Dick uses this chance to get into a bunch of fights just for fun. Flirts a bit more freely but doesn't really have an interest in actually getting with someone. Just has funs and is known for throwing his own parties that usually end in free-for-all brawls. He absolutely loves being able to have parties that are the opposite of galas he's usually dragged into.

Cass = Molly Malone She's quiet and graceful, but she takes it to unnerving levels as Molly. Looks slim but carries guns on her at all time to better differentiate between Cassandra Wayne, Black Bat, and Molly Malone. Everyone knows if you need a weapon, guns, meelee, whatever, she's the one you go to. Gotham help you if you cross her though.

Jason = Peter “Petey” Malone Where Molly Malone goes, everyone knows Petey will be there as well. Jason absolutely adores the time he gets to do so, it's his turn to be silent and dramatic. Everyone can recognize the jagged scar over his neck, they can recognize it from corpses the Bats have gotten their talons on. Honestly he's delighted in being able to be Cass' enforcer of sorts and just have a good fight. Even if he complains about how making his Malone mute makes it where he can't quote Shakespeare like he wants to.

Steph = “Mia” Malone Ah yes, the explosive Malone. The one who has more arson charges than Firefly. Or at least she would if she was caught, but the entire Underbelly knows it was her. Steph is living her best life being able to pull all sorts of pranks and crazy shit and takes several ideas from Harley. Honestly she probably smells like gasoline or smoke all the time, and definitely put glitter in her hair. Maybe even has red hair as a Malone as well.

Tim = Alvin “Al” Malone He still goes by Alvin Draper too, which results in half the underbelly thinking that Draper is his middle name. Honestly he's having the best time, everyone knows to come to him for forgeries and less than legal identities, which he loves to create. I mean just look at how many new identities he creates for himself alone. He enjoys this type of thing, and hey, it's so easy to keep track of whose identity is fake when you're the one who made them. Plus it also lets him do good for those on the run for good reasons, a way to make sure people are safe.

Duke = Dennis “Denny” Malone Everyone knows Denny was adopted, but y'know what, I bet they don't care. And you know Duke is utterly insane, like jump off a bridge to escape the cops and create the We are Robin gang insane. And he gets to play that up as Denny. He will put forth the most batshit ideas and actually pull them off. I bet he uses his future-sight to cheat at different games and pool tables and all sorts of things, but no one can ever prove it. Because there is no proof, and the other people playing just has to deal with it.

Damian = “Mini M” Malone The little baby of the family, who everyone knows the older Malones absolutely dote over. This is his chance to act like an actual child, just with a hint of art theft. Hey, it wasn't like they got it legally either, so it's free game, especially if they weren't taking proper care of the art or a pet. He's just pleased to get to have even more pets, and that Goliath his demon dragon-bat gets to go on walkies.

Jarro = Jadan “Lil J” Malone Now Jarro is delighted to have a third mech, and is even more delighted for people to believe Damian (or technically M jr) and him are twins. Gives off someone is going to die- of fun with Mini M, and honestly enjoys being able to use his natural telepathy to be a small horror movie child that knows too much. Like will stare up at someone with wide eyes covered in blood and the others in Gotham's underbelly still aren't sure if the blood was his or someone elses. (it was neither)

================================================

Honestly I might write a oneshot or something for the Cryptid Batfam focusing on just them as the Malones family.

[theskit]

Stickers AU

Important!!!

On the mobile app, direct linking gets rid of the readmore cuts!

If you came here via direct link, or wish to use the direct links to another part of the story, and DO NOT want to spoil the surprise stickers, please click on my blog name to go to the actual post after using the link.

Also, due to the apparent shadow banning of people with long tag lists, I will make a master post that people can subscribe to for updates.

Part 10

Master Post

《Prev

Red Hood and Nightwing coming to the cave on Sunday night with tales of their own encounters with the sticker kid had unfortunately not given them as much to work with as Tim had hoped.

Jason was tagging along more to hear about their encounters and to see the rest of the stickers than providing much in the way of evidence himself, what with having his helmet cams and comms shorted out for the duration of his encounter and not bringing his own sticker with him.

There was some friction when Batman and Robin made it back to the cave, it being a fairly slow evening for Gotham with no sign of the kid, which made sense if he'd gone all the way to Bludhaven to bother Nightwing.

Bruce had wanted to compile all the evidence together, and while Dick had been obliging, after they'd gotten the frankly hilarious sticker off of him, Jason had promptly refused to hand his over. Much like Damian, he'd claimed it as his own and would hear nothing else about it, only providing a picture of it after a lot of coaxing from Dick.

The corrupted audio/video file had also been less than helpful. Besides a flurry of green-tinted gray static snow and laughter so distorted it almost sounded like screaming, there was nothing else recoverable.

The sheer degradation of the files was actually impressive. That was either very good tech, or a very strong meta ability. Either way, they needed to find this kid and figure out what was up with him.

Dick at least had managed to both lay eyes on and semi-converse with the kid, though that was also bringing up questions. Such as: how did he get out of a dead-end alleyway? Which, while similar to the disappearing acts he'd pulled in Gotham, those had at least been on rooftops with clear, if possibly inadvisable, access to escape routes all around. As well as the question on why the kid was wearing a blood stained hoodie.

Yes, they had figured he'd injured himself to some degree last night, but why hadn't he changed out of those clothes? Did he not have access to more? Was the kid in a bad living situation here in Gotham instead of having come in with the rest of the out of towners for the ghost hunting convention and the stickers were something unconnected to him that he'd somehow gotten ahold of?

If that was the case, they might be looking at some sort of meta trafficking escapee, since the boy's accent very much labeled him as not a native Gothamite and most people would not move here with a meta ability with Batman's supposed dislike of metas in Gotham. A stance Bruce had taken more to discourage metas from possibly getting targeted by the revolving door of Gotham's Rouge gallery than any real prejudice.

Despite everything, the convention was still their best lead, so it was decided they would go investigate as civilians tomorrow for the last half-day it would be held and try to find more clues.

The description of a short, young male, with blue eyes and dark hair, an echoey voice, possibly still wearing a bloodstained hoodie, was not a lot go to off of in a crowd of hundreds. Maybe they would get lucky and find where the stickers came from, which might give them more of a lead.

Bruce was reconsidering the effectiveness of coming to the convention as Brucie Wayne instead of the small time criminal Matches Malone, regardless of how that may have effected that alias, as he was accosted by another non-gothamite.

Bruce had forgotten how those outside of Gotham tended to act around celebrities. People native to Gotham usually had a strong mind-your-own-business attitude regardless of where on the social scale they happened to fall.

Smiling for yet another photo, Bruce hoped his slightly-less-widely-recognized children were having more luck moving around the convention to check for leads, having abandoned him to fend for himself after the third photo ambush.

Coming on the last half-day might have also been a miscalculation, even if they hadn't had much of a choice with the timing, as it seemed to make people even bolder, knowing they would leave the city in a few short hours.

Dick was having fun roaming around the convention. Seeing all the booths set up with either crystals, tarot cards and other mystical odds and ends or EMF meters, magnetic field detectors and more scientific equipment for ghost hunting.

It all mostly went over his head, but it was interesting to talk with different people and hear all the differing accounts and history, both historical and personal, behind their choice of what equipment or mystical dodad worked best.

He'd even seen a few people cosplaying as The Ghost Busters, and he swore he'd seen a couple in full hazmat suits for a moment before he lost them in the crowd.

He had forgotten how interesting conventions could be when they weren't constantly crashed by Rogues. Dick would have to try and find time to go to more of them. The eccentricities on display reminded him fondly of all the different personalities you could find in a circus.

Damian scowled as he made his way through the crowds. This was ridiculous. There was no practical use for most of the things displayed in the various booths, as most wardings against Pit demons needed to be cast by those with magical or mystical bloodlines as far as he was aware, and to date there was no known scientific way to capture or quantify Pit demons.

Most of the 'evidence' provided by both sides was also suspect. Generally involving blurry photographs and 'spooky vibes'.

There was also a marked dearth of younger people in the crowds. Mostly consisting of small children accompanying their parents with few teenagers, such as a redhead female approximately his age he'd spied a time or two due to the eye catching color of her hair, to be seen.

Jason had decided to leave the convention a little early. Despite the fun he had watching Bruce get mobbed by out of towners with his Brucie mask on, something about wandering the crowds was riling up the Pit.

Maybe it was the crowds themselves, all those people blatantly not from Gotham, who *did not belong* here. Or maybe all the talk of death and ghosts and what came after, but *something* had his aggression ramping up out of the blue as he made his way around the convention.

Randomly feeling the need to punch something wasn't exactly new, but the sheer number of times he'd started seeing green out of nowhere was worrying, so he'd called it quits.

He'd check in with Dick later to see if any new leads had been found.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief as Jazz came to collect him. Everything was already packed up in the RV and it was time to grab whatever he wanted for the ride back as their parents wanted to get ahead of the leaving crowd.

He'd been feeling something wandering the convention for the last few hours. Not quite enough to set off his ghost sense, but definitely at least ghostly-adjacent.

He'd been doing his best to navigate away from the feeling any time it drew near, not wanting a fight to break out between him and whatever territorial spirit had decided it was a good idea to haunt ghost hunters.

Hitting up a nearby coffee shop for a hilariously named Deathwish coffee and a pastry for the road, Danny saw a guy wander in, take in the line almost out the door, and nearly fall into a seat instead.

Holding his head in his hands, it looked like the guy was almost nodding off where he sat. Poor dude had eyebags darker than Danny had the time Technus, Skulker, Ember and a swarm of Blob ghosts had all decided the night before a major test was a great time to invade Amity with their shenanigans.

Taking pity, Danny ordered a second coffee, handing it to the guy with a little surprise attached before heading out. Hopefully it would brighten his day a little.

"You look like you could use this."

Tim glanced up from his seat at the coffeeshop table as a younger teen placed a large coffee cup and a few napkins down on the table.

The other boy was out the door before Tim could even fully process that some kind soul had taken pity on him and saved him from having to stand an eternity in line before getting his hands on the much needed caffeine.

Blessing whoever it was silently, Tim took a large swallow, closing his eyes a moment as the strong coffee helped kick his brain back into gear. Ahh, Deathwish, my beloved, hallowed be thy beans.

Standing up, he grabbed the couple of napkins to take with him, feeling an odd stiffness to them. Shifting the top napkin out of the way, Tim boggled at the sticker staring back at him for a moment before bolting out the door.

Looking around frantically, he was just in time to see the boy on the other side of the road, getting into a frankly absurdly proportioned vehicle before it sped down the street, barely keeping from sideswiping at least three other cars before careening around a corner and out of sight.

Well, he thought as he glanced from the sticker to where the vehicle had disappeared, at least something that... distinctive, should be easy to track down...

@mygood-bitch99 @stargazer-luna @easily-broken-by-emotion @dolfay @britcision @cyber-geist @is-this-even-relatable @alcorbearson @fisticuffsatapplebees @thegatorsgoose @my-mom-calls-me-rat @some-rotten-nest @crystalqueertea @meira-3919 @wandererofthestars @seraphinedemort @bjurnberg @blep-23 @stargirl1331 @bianca-hooks123 @addie-lover-of-stories @pickleking8 @iconicanemone @sarina-elais @mur-ururu @sailor-goddess @dragonfirefeather @nutcase8691 @ravenpainter @liandrin @jaguarthecat @russetfur1128 @purefrickingspite @oakskull @vythika96 @molasses-being-slow @satisfactionbroughtmeback @serasvictoria02 @tkiesai @breesperez139 @dhampir-princess @redhoneysugarorange @gildedphoenix @iglowinggemma28 @f4nd0m-fun @therandomartmaker @mandyne-1001 @learning-to-fly-on-my-own @solarisaetherlumine @zeldomnyo

[alyakthedorklord]

I’m having dramatic thoughts about Damian being born to Fem!Bruce ok I’m having THOUGHTS

(TW for alluding to Damian’s conception being nonconsensual)

Okay so set the stage of our Drama- Fem!Bruce (or just AFAB idc) is out on patrol or something and League Parent (Either Talia as in canon, or Ra’s if we’re feeling the creepy old man tonight) drops Damian off with “Hey, watch our son that you birthed and then I stole and let you think was dead for ten years, there’s some infighting in the league.”

(If we’re using Ra’s as dad then Talia is absolutely trying to kill Damian for the position of heir)

Bryce is, understandably, shocked. Her other children? Even more so. Because what do you mean you had a biological child? How did we not know about this?!

Damian isn’t old enough to be pre-robin unless he was cryogenically frozen. Did Bryce really hide a whole fucking pregnancy from them?

Dick is screaming, Jason shows up because he has to see this shit for himself, Bryce is standing in silence, staring at the results of every single test she can think of to confirm that yes, this is her son, this is her Damian, all the info matches up…

Tim tries to speak up, but Jason just turns on him, asking if he’s ready to be replaced too. Bryce didn’t even have to go looking this time!

Tim looks him dead in the eye and points out the birthdate(and death date) on file for Damian Wayne.

It’s exactly eight days before Jason was taken in.

How did Dick and Jason not know about this?

Because they weren’t there.

In the short period of time when Dick was striking out on his own, and before Bryce picked up Jason, League Baby Daddy of your choosing shows up and takes advantage. A simple greeting, a spiked drink, a blurry night, and a pregnancy test later…

Bruce is, as always, in any universe, is terrible at communication. But honestly she can be excused in this case. How exactly do you tell your wayward son ward that, after chasing him off because he was “being reckless” and “putting himself in danger,” you’ve gone and gotten taken advantage of, trusted someone that you had absolutely ZERO business trusting, and now you’re pregnant with an Al Ghul baby? And you’ve decided to keep it? That this isn’t you replacing him or demanding he return, because you understand his need for space, but also you desperately want him back with you because you’re scared but you can never admit it?

How do you do that in a text? Because Dick is not answering the phone.

You don’t. Thats a conversation you have face to face. So the messages Bryce leaves are all “there are some changes and i’d like to talk to you” “there may be a new member of the family soon” “please answer me chum”

Dick doesn’t answer.

Meanwhile, Gotham crime is being weird because “hey robins gone! Dynamic duo is out!” And Bryce is being careful because of her belly and sometimes she has to take breaks and hormones are bullying her and nothing is going her way right now.

And them she goes into labor too soon.

And something goes wrong (League Baby Daddy happens) and she’s told her baby is dead, and now she’s lost two children.

She recovers, and goes back out onto the streets, taking her rage and pain out on the criminals that got a little too bold with her in a hospital bed…

And then there’s a street rat jacking the tires off the Batmobile.

The fucking audacity. The guts. The challenge in his bright blue eyes, the sneer on his lips, the shaggy black hair. Skin just a bit darker than hers, not quite an Al Ghul’s deep olive but somewhere in the middle.

Is this what her Damian would have looked like? Is this what her son would have grown up to be?

Maybe its the hormones, maybe she’s projecting. She knows its a bad idea, but Bryce takes the kid home. Alfred gives her a knowing and slightly disapproving look, but accepts the new child with open arms, because there’s worse things. Jason fits in easily, and soon enough, Batman has a Robin again, and Bryce is smiling again, and begins to heal from the pain of losing Damian.

But Dick? Dick is PISSED.

Upon seeing news of a new Robin/Wayne, he finally looks though his messages, and comes to the wrong conclusion that Bryce was looking for a kid to replace him this whole time. She might have tried to get his input, but had eventually made a decision like this without him. And so he’s back, and he’s angry, and Bryce gets defensive because Jason is a good kid and she can’t use her dead baby to win an argument, not when the wound is so fresh.

So life continues. Jason dies, comes back, is angry because he listened in on a few arguments and now ALSO thinks Bryce actively hunted him down to be Robin, and now she’s done the same with Tim.

Bryce keeps quiet, because how is she supposed to explain after all these years? Jason is right to be angry. She let her emotions get the better of her and dragged a sweet boy into her life. The loss of all three if her children was her own fault, because she put him into the line of fire. There’s no excuse for that.

So years pass. Tempers settle somewhat, Bryce holds her grief close to her chest because she can’t do that to her children, but… then Damian is back. And it all explodes.

The story comes out in bits and pieces. Tim figures out a timeline based on the rest of the info in the file, and Bryce and Alfred slowly fill it in.

And like- they’re all still angry, and it is justified, because what the fuck, Bryce. But also…

Dick is horrified. He had been so angry, so so angry, reading those messages that he now knows, with this new information, were a cry for help. Bryce had been desperate and scared and wanted nothing more than to just talk to him after their fight, and when he had come back after something like this had happened he had immediately started another fight.

Jason isn’t sure how to feel. He hadn’t been taken in to be a replacement soldier, he had been taken in to be a replacement son. What is he supposed to do with that? Knowing that Bryce had seen him at his worst, and taken him in and shoved down her grief to help him?

Tim is wondering if every time Bryce backed away with an unreadable expression, it hadn’t been keeping herself emotionally distant, it was grief for the sons she had lost.

Steph is realizing that Bruce wasn’t lying, when Steph had to give her own baby up and Bryce had hugged her and said “I understand.”

Damian is sitting in a corner wondering what the ever-loving FUCK is going on. Why is everyone crying this is pathetic. Father take him home he prefers the threat of imminent death.

[celaenaeiln]

Damian: Richard! He won't give me the remote!

Tim: It's my turn! You had it last time!

Damian: You said that last time too!!

Tim: And I meant it!

Damian: Richard!

Tim: Dick!

Dick: *on the comms* please. I'm not even done patrolling yet.

----

Dick: *having a serious conversation with Bruce*

Tim: *running in* Dick he scratched me!

Damian: *running in after* Richard, he's lying, I barely even touched him!

Tim: You literally dug your nails into my skin! Look!

Damian: There's nothing there!

Dick: Bruce-

Bruce: I need to catch an uber.

Dick: I checked your schedule, you don't even have anywhere you need to go-

-----

*on a cruise*

Jason: so you decided to go with the purple one?

Dick: Well, it's not really purple, it's wine-colored and while I was in korea, did you know they have palette matching shops?

Jason: wait, really?

Dick: Yea, so you go into the place and they try several different colors against your skin to see which one would suit you best and then they try different shades. Since I have a warm skin tone they gave me a bunch of suggestions to try so I'm trying them out.

Jason: huh. Looks good.

Dick: Thanks! I'll-

*sounds of screaming and yelling*

Dick: What's going on?

Jason: I don't know, probably kids just having fun. So what were you saying?

Dick: um..oh! That I'll send you-

Frat Guy 1: *running by talking to his friend* -dude I still can't believe I'm going to see it! I thought this cruise would be so boring since most of us couldn't be here!

Frat Guy 2: I know right?! Who thought we'd see people getting arrested in the middle of an ocean?!!!

Dick: ..arrested?

Frat Guy 2: *still talking* who even happens to just own a sword in the first place?!

Frat Guy 1: WICKED!!

Dick: ....jay, I'm not mishearing that right?

Jason: Mishearing what?

Dick: He said sword. He said sword.

Jason: I didn't hear anything.

Dick: *running after the frat guys to find a crowd of people with Tim and Damian in the center and cruise ship officers*

Damian: -UNHAND ME YOU HEATHENS, OR I WILL TRULY SHOW YOU HOW I USE THE SWORD-

Tim: Officers, I promise these nunchucks were used as decoration. They were just in the swimming pool by chance. I have no idea what's going on or even why I just happened to have them but I promise that-Dick! Tell them it's all a misunderstanding! If it wasn't for Damian, none of this would've happened!

Damian: *whipping his head around* RICHARD! TELL THESE PEASANTS TO RELEASE ME AT ONCE AND TAKE THEIR HANDS OFF MY MOTHER'S SWORD-

Dick: Oh my god what happened???

Officers: Sir, are these kids yours?

Dick: what happened??

Officers: We recieve reports of two assailants attacking each other with prohibited weapons. We will be taking them into custody.

Dick: wait, wait, what? I'm sure it's a misunderstanding, there's no way, they're jsut kids-

Officers: Sir, as their legal guardian or parent, you have to come with us.

Dick: I-Jay, can you-

Dick: *turning to see Jason filming with the biggest grin on his face* Jason.

Jason: what??? You're telling me to stop filming this comedy goldmine? Roy's gonna love this so much.

Dick: Put. Down. The. Camera. And come over and help me.

Jason: Fine, fine. *muttering under his breath* hehehe I still have the spy cam to capture all of this on heheheheheeee.

-----

Dick: *Waking at at 2 am bc of a call* hello?

Tim: DICK HE STABBED ME!

Dick: what?

Tim: HE STABBED ME! DAMIAN STABBED ME!

Dick: damian? Damian stabbed you? But aren't you in New York? He's supposed to be in Gotham.

Tim: *screeching* WELL HE ISN'T ANYMORE!!!!!

Damian: *muffled* Richard he's lying! He cut himself in a kitchen knife because he thought he could cook! He's just blaming me because he wants attention!

Tim: Go away! Dick!

Damian: *mumbled* Richard!

Dick: *already dressing tiredly* yup. i'm on my way.

[browniesarethebest]

Hi hiii, I'd read your Robin in a nest of bats a while ago, and found it again recently. Its, I'm my opinion, one of the best reverse Robin's au's out there. I'm not sure if it's a headcanon, but pretty much every Damian and Dick fic has damian sometimes calling Dick baba. Could you write a fic where Dick see's Damian as a father figure, and calls him dad in either Romani or Arabic?

Aw thank you! You got it!

Dick believed he was cursed to lose everyone he loved.

Maybe it was an exaggeration, but Dick had already experienced so much loss during his short life. After losing his parents, Dick thought there was nothing left to live for in this world. Thankfully, Bruce had been kind enough to take him in and give him a new family. He had siblings and aunts and uncles...

...and a father again.

The pain from losing his parents would never truly go away, but his new family's presence was able to soothe it, and Dick let himself believe that he could give his heart freely.

He should have known that nothing good lasts forever.

Dick didn't really remember the moment he was told that Bruce died. He remembers screaming and screaming and screaming, but other than that it's a blur. He remembered someone holding him, though he wasn't sure who. He just knew that the arms were strong and warm, and they were the one thing keeping him from falling to pieces, never to be put back together again.

There was a terrifying moment when he came back to himself where he wondered where he would go. He had no trust in the Gotham Family and Children Services, and they certainly had no love for him. There was no way Dick would get a third chance, and he knew that if he went back in their custody, he would certainly die.

Even if it was by his own hand-

Not to mention that Jason and Tim were also under the spotlight. Tim was a little safer since he was 17, and GFCS weren't really looking to find another place for him, but Jason was 13 and also prime for the taking.

Thankfully, Damian fought hard to keep them in the family. Dick had seen Damian angry before, but never like this. He could still see the social worker cowering as Damian ripped into them for even thinking of taking his brothers away. Dick had been hiding behind him, clinging to Damian for dear life. The rest of his family surrounded him, eyes shadowed as they glared at the social worker. The man practically ran from the Manor once it was clear that Damian was not letting them go.

Dick never mentioned the fear he had seen in Jason's eyes that day, and Jason never mentioned it either.

Dick had never really cared for Bruce's money before, but he was thankful for it when Damian hired the best lawyers available. It wasn't an easy fight, but the court was no match against the unstoppable force that was Damian, Steph, and Cass.

Even after being being told that he and Jason could stay with them, the Manor still received random "wellness checks" to make sure that they were being taken care of properly. It pissed Dick off to no end, but Steph explained that Bruce had gone through the very same thing when he had first started taking in kids. It didn't really make him feel better, but he figured that if Bruce had been fine, Damian would be fine too.

Dick's family was slowly falling apart around him. Tim had run off to prove that Bruce wasn't really dead, and Stephanie had followed after to make sure he didn't die. Jason was locking himself up in the library more and more, and he knew that Cass would often sneak in and sit with him as a silent support. Dick found himself gravitating towards Damian more and more, following the man around like a duckling as he put out metaphorical fires and worked on transferring everything to his and Steph's name.

With everyone else either gone or distracted, it was Damian who primarily took care of Dick. Despite how busy Damian was with his new responsibilities, he still made time for Dick. It was Damian who read to him when he asked. It was Damian's arms he woke up in after screaming himself awake from nightmares. It was Damian who held him while he cried for Bruce and took him out for ice cream after to try to make him feel better. It was Damian who made sure he still made it to school and ate three meals a day.

"You must keep your strength up," Damian said, hands on Dick's shoulders. "You have walked through Hell before, and you can do it again."

Dick's lip wobbled, "I don't know if I can. I'm tired, Dami."

His older brother squeezed his shoulders. "You will not be walking alone. You will never be alone again, not if I have anything to say about it."

The tears spilled over. "But you can't promise that! What if you die too?"

Damian's face spasmed for a moment before smoothing out. Dick didn't comment on it, still trying to keep himself together as best as he could.

His eyes widened in shock as he suddenly found Damian's arms around him, pulling him close to the man. He tensed up, unsure what to do.

"This will not be like the circus, Richard. Father and I have made sure of it. I won't say it's impossible that something will happen to me or our siblings, but even without us, you are not alone. Were anything to happen, multiple members of the Justice League, Timothy's Young Justice, and even Stephanie and Cassandra's Birds of Prey have volunteered to step up to take you in."

"Really?" Dick asked, breath hitching.

Damian pulled back, moving his hand up to cup the back of Dick's head. "Have I ever lied to you?"

Dick shook his head, too overwhelmed with love and relief to reply.

Dick knew that Damian was trying his best, going far out of his comfort zone to continue providing care and comfort to Dick. He was putting up such a strong front that it took Dick much longer than he believed it should have for him to realize that Damian was struggling too. Even after all the years living with Bruce, Damian still struggled with showing his emotions at times. Dick knew Damian believed he had to be the strong one for his siblings, but Dick thought the others sometimes forgot that Damian had lost his father too—his biological father.

Dick saw the cracks under Damian's shield one night when he went to Damian's room after a nightmare.

"Dami?" Dick whispered as he opened his older brother's door. Dick had expected his older brother to be asleep, but he was surprised to see Damian already sitting up and jerking in surprise at Dick's voice.

Damian cleared his throat and set something aside. "Ah, Richard."

Dick hesitated at the doorway. "Are you busy?"

Damian let out a breath and waved the boy over. "No. No, come in."

Dick climbed onto the bed and leaned against his older brother.

Damian glanced down at him. "Another nightmare?" Dick nodded silently, and Damian let out a sigh. "You can stay here tonight."

"Thanks, Dami." Dick's eyes drifted over to the item Damian had set aside. It looked like a picture frame. "What were you looking at?"

He felt Damian stiffen, and there was a beat of silence.

"...Did I say something wrong?"

"No! No." Dick flinched as Damian turned towards him. Dick still didn't look convinced, so Damian sighed and picked up the picture frame, holding it out for Dick to take.

It was a little difficult to see with only the light from Damian's lone lamp, but it looked like a much younger Bruce with a very young Damian. Dick swallowed back the sudden wave of tears and studied the photo closer. Damian looked to be about his age and was frowning in the picture while Bruce had a small smile on his face. Dick stared at the young Damian, resting his fingers on the glass above the boy's face.

"This was taken just a few months after I came to the Manor. I was still getting used to being with Father, but we had had a good day that day, and Alfred wanted to commemorate it."

"You look so grumpy. Were you always as grumpy as you are now?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "I suppose I was by your definition. Showing emotion often meant weakness in the League of Assassins, so I was taught to hide them. Even with Father's and everyone else's influence, that never really went away."

Dick beamed up at him. "That's okay! I like you just the way you are!"

Damian's eyes softened, and Dick couldn't help but feel proud that he could make Damian relax. "Thank you, Richard."

They both fell silent as they looked at the picture, before Dick spoke up again.

"Is hiding your emotions why you always call Bruce 'Father?' Did you always call him that?"

"Somewhat, yes. 'Father' is a less emotional word than 'Dad' or 'Tati' as you used with your own father, as well as any other word. It also showed the respect I felt for him as I had been raised on stories about him from my mother before meeting him when I was ten."

"So, you always called him that?"

Damian was silent for a moment. "...No. When I was very young, I would call him 'Baba' around my mother. It is the Arabic word for 'father.'"

Dick blinked before smiling. He wrapped his arms around Damian and closed his eyes, nearly falling asleep due to the late hour. "'Baba.' That sounds cool. Thanks for sharing with me, Dami."

"...You're welcome, Richard."

They fell asleep not long after that, both taking comfort in each other's presence.

Dick thought about that conversation a lot over the next few weeks. He and Damian continued to grow even closer. and Dick had a crisis as he realized he was starting to see Damian the same way he saw Bruce when he came to the Manor. Dick tried to deny it—Damian was his older brother, not a father figure—but Damian had taken on Bruce's role as his caretaker, and Dick could not deny that that had somewhat changed their dynamic.

Dick ended up avoiding Damian for a few days, wracked with guilt about replacing his dad and Bruce. He knew there was nothing wrong with seeing Damian as a father figure as he had worked through this guilt the first time it happened with Bruce (and a therapist), but he still couldn't help but feel this way.

It all came to a head when Dick was injured during patrol. One of Penguin's goons caught him by surprise and got a good hit in, resulting in Dick getting a concussion. Damian had rushed him back as soon as the Penguin had been captured, cursing the entire way. Dick wasn't sure he had ever heard Damian be so vulgar.

The ride back was a blur—one moment he was in the Batmobile and the next he was being tucked into bed by Damian. Dick squinted up at Damian, struggling to figure out what was happening, but Damian was being unusually gentle, and Dick was tempted to just lay back and enjoy it while he could.

"D'mi...?"

"Get some rest, Richard. You are suffering from a concussion, but you should feel better in the morning. I will be here to wake you every few hours to check on you."

Dick hummed. Sleep was quickly claiming him, and his bed felt so nice. If Dick closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that it was Bruce and not Damian. Dick felt a pang in his heart, but he was far too exhausted for it to have much effect.

"'Kay... Night, Baba..."

He heard Damian inhale sharply, but Dick was asleep before he could ask.

(When Damian tried to bring it up the next morning, Dick would have no idea what he was talking about.)

[roipecheur]

After reading Stephanie's (very short) Robin arc (free my girl), the broad strokes of my perfect Robin Steph arc would be:

Spoiler runs into Batman during the time Tim had to quit being Robin because his dad found out

After Steph materially helps with whatever Batman's working on tonight, he invites her back to the cave

She's suspicious, but accepts

He breaks out the 'Batman needs a Robin' speech on her, and Steph is actually reluctant to accept because 1) she cares about how Tim would feel, 2) she doesn't know if she wants to voluntarily put herself under Batman's control as his sidekick after the way he treated her, and 3) she thinks he's probably just using her to lure Tim back like he did before (he is)

Jealously over Tim and another girl doesn't factor into it because 1) Steph could have just talked to him which makes that stupid and frustrating, and 2) Tim and Steph already had the 'jealously over another girl' arc. Do something else

The Robin Steph arc lasts a whole year, a full 12 issues plus some crossovers--let her meet the Titans etc. If the Ric Grayson arc could last 20 fuckin issues and Knightfall could last however long, Robin Steph can last 12.

Her run includes a 2-3 issue arc where Dick trains and patrols with her and gives her his seal of approval. He was Robin first, and the mantle is incredibly meaningful to him on both a textual and meta-textual level; he should get to meet and assess each new Robin

While Steph shouldn't be perfect (no one is or should be just starting out), she was Spoiler with no special gear on training for a fucking while, and she's both managed not to die and had some prior training from Batman and the Birds of Prey. She should at least do a decent job and should have learned from Tim how to take it seriously

Her relationship with Tim should continue throughout with him providing support / advice and acting as her Oracle if Babs can't do it, or maybe taking on that primary role for her if Babs is too busy with the Birds of Prey and Tim still wants to feel involved without breaking his word to his dad

I can believe Steph disobeying orders to save Bruce's life....just not the stupid way she did it in canon and the way she acted like nothing was wrong after. Reading about the decision to kill her in the War Games arc, it honestly did feel like they had to shoehorn the narrative in a particular way

So, Steph should save Bruce from 99% certain death and instead of being apologetic about disobeying orders like Tim was, they get into a screaming match back at the cave, and Bruce says he can't trust her and fires her

(Is he actually worried about losing another Robin and emotionally constipated about it? That's anyone's guess)

War Games happens, and it's both of their faults.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

First time reader met Bruce either in general or to talk about the arrangement in arranged reader verse?

Of all the prissy little girls at this birthday party, you were the worst. Dressed in white from head to toe. Keeping carefully to the paths and never straying too far from your nanny. Or taking more than a modest nibble of any sweet.

It made Bruce itch to shove you into the nearest mud puddle to see if he could provoke you into a snit. It would be incredible to see you throw a tantrum. He bet you could scream with the best of them.

And finally, when he watched you wander down the path a ways, holding your doll, watching a group of other girls running across the grass- he got his opportunity when someone told him to go long to catch a frisbee.

So he did.

And when you tumbled into the puddle- tulle and bows flying, he felt a little bad. Just a little. When you were covered in mud and dirty water, lip trembling as you looked up at him.

But if you were going to say anything, you didn't get a chance. Adults swarmed around you with towels and fretting. Nothing though, could have prepared him for your little cry of anguish when you saw your doll. In her matching white dress. Ruined beyond repair.

___________

If Bruce had known who you were then, he might not have shoved you in a puddle. But- knowing who he was then, he might have waited until you were by the pond and shoved you in there; just to see the bigger splash.

Still. As he watched you fidget with your tennis bracelet and cross and uncross your feet- agitated and annoyed with being forced to wait for the meeting he called, he knew you wouldn't complain.

"The girl never cries." Your father was fond of bragging. "Never whines. She knows her place."

He'd said it as a selling point. As if he were selling the runt of a litter of puppies and trying to make up for your size.

Not that he cared about any of that. He didn't care about your "dowry" either. He only gave a shit that you were convenient. Good cover. And you'd make for good pictures, as gross as that made him feel. At least he wouldn't have to waste time dating you. And when the time came for kids. Well... he'd figure that out later.

[the-woker]

The whole Jason Todd is girl-coded debate thing admittedly just rubs me the wrong way.

I understand that there are people who consider gender as a concept and there are other people who consider gender to be something very real. Both are correct and very valid statements of expression, but someone who is genderless and has a heavy respect and fondness for the feminine and people with such experiences, I feel like what we are declaring 'girl-coded' should probably be a bit more analyzed and taken with more care.  

I have no ill-will to any of the people who post about this, they all seem like kind people, and everyone is entitled to their opinions and to posting them.  There is nothing wrong with projecting onto a character, identifying with their struggle and using that to cope with your trauma.  As someone who’s favorite character of all time is Jason Todd, and enjoys gender-weirdness,  and has been severely mistreated for being perceived as feminine before, I understand entirely. 

But there's a point when I can't help but feel uncomfortable with assigning being violent, a victim, “hysterical angry-like a girl”, expressing rage via screaming, and looking up to women in general as 'girl moments' and explicitly stating these as the reasons a male character is girl coded. And those have been the very specific points I have seen cited as what traits Jason has that make him "girl-coded."

I'm putting this all under a read more since this discussion is really not that deep, nor is it really relevant to the average Jason Todd tag surfer. It's just something I keep seeing talked about in the past few months.

Admittedly, just to begin with, the argument that what makes Jason ‘girl-coded’ is the fact that he is a victim in general, has strong connections with women, tends to like strong and muscular women, and has been vitriol in his screaming matches with other characters simply does not sit well with me as an explanation for what people are associating women with.  A female character can indeed do everything Jason did in a comic story, and I would enjoy it greatly, however staking these specific traits of his as the “feminine” ones is treading into a dangerous territory.

Especially since I’ve seen a few times now that people are claiming Jason and Batman’s fight in UTRH to be a Patriarchy metaphor and how Jason represents women’s struggles. The first problem I have with that claim, is very simply that Jason and Bruce’s fight is explicitly not about Bruce being a system that failed to protect Jason.

Nor is it about a pressure for Jason to return to conforming to Bruce and his rules.  Bruce wants him back with him, because Bruce loves Jason, but at no point does he attempt to force him to return to him, nor does he even force him to stop killing.  He certainly gets in the way and he prevents several of them, but when given the direct choice to either kill or force Jason to stop killing, he simply walks away and only intervenes after Jason attempts to kill Bruce himself. Calling this an analogy for women fighting against oppression by an organized system designed to exploit them, is not an apt metaphor, as likable and sympathetic as it is towards Jason, and I’d personally recommend avoiding it.

In general, on that topic.  The argument could be made for other male members of the Batfam (take Dick Grayson’s constant sexual harassment for being a ‘pretty boy’ for example.), but Jason is also simply just not a victim of the Patriarchy.

Unlike Stephanie Brown, Jason was accepted immediately by Bruce as Robin and as part of the family.  He was murdered by his mother for being an obstacle in her operation of stealing from starving people, and by a madman who killed him for being one of his nemeses.  His murder was upsetting but had nothing to do with him not presenting himself as society claimed he should, nor for not obeying said society's customs and arbitrary rules.

Under the Red Hood is a fascinating, engaging, philosophical, and extremely emotional piece of media and it’s a favorite for many people (including me) for a reason.  Highlighting Jason’s actions as being a ‘girl moment’ when he is intentionally trying to push past Bruce’s only boundary, however, is an uncomfortable idea to proclaim. Especially considering when and how Bruce tries to negotiate and reason with Jason. Jason quite literally holds their relationship, and his life, over Bruce in an attempt to get him to behave how he wants, claiming that he does so as an expression of femininity has horrible implications. Jason is entirely allowed to do what he wants (I enjoy it greatly. His violence is very sexy and honestly we should bring it back) but that is a gender neutral choice, and I wouldn’t say that this run nor his backstory have much in common with women’s struggles to label them as “clearly being such”.

Additionally, The narrative is also not portraying Jason as “hysterical”; this was his first proper return to comics after 20 years. The intention of the narrative is to challenge the morality of Batman and to open an in-universe line of discourse for a discussion that for years, has been, and still is relevant in the comic community.  

Jason’s death was notoriously the moment that Batman got closest to breaking his rule and so they brought Jason back to be the character who pushed him on why he maintained it.  They made Jason angry and violent to raise the stakes of what the Joker did to him, and to raise the question of if there was a crime so horrible that it was a moral failing to continue the pacifist approach to criminal reform.  Jason is being treated in a significantly kinder light than most of the characters we would traditionally see doing these actions.  We all agree Lock-up was a bad guy, we can agree that the League of Assassins is wrong, but we’re given a chance to take Jason at face value and are not immediately told how to feel despite the narrative showing us his violence in a raw and uncut way. Killing a bunch of drug dealers while rising in the ranks of the drug trade yourself is hardly a selfless act of good after all. 

Disclaimer 1:  I don’t think Jason is entirely wrong about many things.  But I simply do not believe Bruce “owes” him killing, and that it is wrong of Jason to demand this of him or anyone for that matter. Nobody owes you their innocence and you aren’t entitled to breaking anyone’s boundaries. 

Disclaimer 2:  I cannot stress enough how much I like Jason.  This post is not meant to make anyone feel bad, or make Jason seem like the “bad guy” of the fandom.  It’s simply a disservice to his character to write him off as nothing more than an angry victim and call it an expression of femininity, and a reminder to be a bit more careful when labeling and assigning traits. 

[luvrodite]

kicking my past self for locking tumblr on my laptop i hate writing on my phone !!!!!! but anyway sorry thinking about The Boy and thinking about jason…jason who isn’t really himself but for the sake of this walk with me please please please

thinking about how you move into this big old manor, with its drafty halls and wide, wide rooms, a home too large for the eccentric old man who meets you, bruce wayne who shakes your hand and looks a little fearful as he moves through the rooms during your tour. you note the portrait that hangs in the foyer, large and its frame gilded, a little boy clinging to his side — he looks much much younger in this painting, no sight of the silver that takes up nearly his whole head now, wrinkles nowhere to be found. but it can’t have been that long — the date on the plaque is only a little over a decade old. there is something else in his eyes, something that wasn’t there then. but what would you know. you’re just the nanny.

he leads you to a bedroom, pristine, untouched, and curiously — home to not a child, but a porcelain doll. blue eyes stare lifelessly back at you as he deposits the thing into your arms, barely larger than a toddler. you cradle it, unease growing the more he talks, addressing the figure as though it were real, a twitch of his brow as he says something, the twist of his mouth when you think he believes you won’t see.

you chalk it up to grief — losing a child changes people. he’s been nothing but kind to you, if a little unorthodox. how could you fault him for the loss of his boy, one he had loved dearly, if the contents of the room are anything to go by. books that line an entire wall, a smudged handprint that matches the paint on the walls stamped into the white of the windowsill, accompanied by a much larger one. it tugs at your poor heart.

he takes your leave — a business trip, he says, one he expects to take him from home much longer than he anticipates. but you’ll want for nothing, he assures you, patting your hand, stroking the head of the doll — your payslips have already been scheduled and if you need anything, the town is only a short distance away. they’ll take care of you there, he says tightly, eyes flickering down to the mass in your arms. a funny look crosses his face, but it vanishes before you can place it.

and then, it’s only you. and the doll, of course. jason, he’d told you, but it is so eerily still, so lifeless and unmoving, that a real boy’s name does not suit it. the car vanishes up the road, and you are left all alone.

only, you aren’t. things begin to disappear and there is the distinct feeling of eyes on you that you try to chalk up to the isolation. but you can’t, because as hard as you try, there is no explanation for the absence of your underwear, the shirts that go missing and reappear in places you had not even occupied. footsteps in the hall, the sound of laughter.

you might be going mad.

you feel rather like a frog in a vat of water, burning slowly without even realising it. you ought to have run the moment you stepped through the doors of this beautiful, terrible home, you realise when you wake to the solid figure of a man at the foot of your bed.

your first thought is to scream, but a rough palm is pressing over your mouth before the sound can even slip out — absently, you think, what’s the point? who is there to hear you scream so far out here? in the dim, your tearful eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, heart seizing in your chest when you make out the porcelain mask atop his face.

that cupids bow, the cut of rosy cheeks, down to the very last detail — it’s him.

i think about a child whose death had not been avenged, returned from the grave to haunt a father who had been too late. a wrathful spirit, tormenting the man to his last days — saved only by an offering in his place.

unwittingly, your answer to the notice in the paper, seeking nanny for child, had sealed your fate long before you’d ever even passed the threshold of wayne manor. there is no one to save you.

and you had made your peace with the disturbances, fear addled mind accepting your stay would be spent co-inhabiting with the ghost of a boy gone too soon. you’d accepted his whims, then, damning yourself unknowingly, keeping to the routine you’d dismissed in the beginning.

the doll itself lies far away from you now, in its own bed, tucked in with a kiss to the forehead — he’d destroyed a few dozen volumes in the downstairs office when you’d forgone it once. you stare up at the man, the cause of all your haunting, not a spirit but real, solid flesh and blood. he looms over you.

there is a solid weight pressing into the space between your legs, and you remember the missing lace, satin stolen by unseen hands, cotton that would turn up amongst your clean laundry despite having never been loaded.

your name, whispered into the air, hangs between the both of you.

[rubydubydoo122]

“Don’t.” He wrapped his arms around himself and didn’t dare look Batman in the eye. He couldn’t. If he did, he doesn’t know what would happen. “Don't. Please don’t say you’re sorry because I will forgive you immediately, even though I shouldn’t.”

Aka, I think that Gotham Wars sucks and that the writers should let Jason and Bruce be happy, but this makes for some great Angst :)

Ok Jason, calm down. You’re just going to get the antidote and leave. That’s it. 

Jason drew in a deep breath. He couldn’t think about– him because if he thought about– that man, he would get angry, and if he got angry he would have another panic attack.

Because he was chemically altered to feel fear instead of anger.

And yeah, Tim said it was mind control, ( he actually said it was a “backup personality” at first, which caused another panic attack, so Tim just settled for mind control) but Ba— that man, had basically medically induced a panic attack. And they wouldn’t stop. Jason was having the worst month of his life. And that included the time he was dead. That included the time he spent with the League of Assassins. That included the time he was brought back to the place he literally died by Batman . 

His hands started to shake, and he felt the blood drain out of every limb in his body, leaving his ears ringing. 

In… two…three… four, hold… two… three… four, out… two…three…four. 

Jason didn’t dare telling himself he was ok, because he wasn’t. Nothing about this was ok. The person he thought was his dad , did this to him. 

No. Jason couldn’t think like that. Bruce had stopped being his dad a long time ago. From the moment that batarang slit his neck, Jason no longer had a dad. 

The ringing in his ears had stopped, leaving the room filled with the rushing sound of blood. His fingers were cold even though he was covered in sweat. 

Jason glanced at his phone. He had been determined to get to Tim’s without an assist. Except it probably wasn’t a good idea to drive. And Tim’s apartment was on the other side of Gotham. And Jason couldn’t walk, because it was Gotham, and he couldn’t fight. 

Because of Batman . 

His hands started to shake again, so he took a deep breath. Tim was still working on the antidote, so he wouldn’t bother him. Stephanie was in class, Duke was on patrol, Cass never really liked him, Damian’s too young to drive(and he would be really mean about the fact that Jason was having panic attacks) so that left…Dick. 

And according to Tim, Dick was furious on Jason’s behalf. 

Jason rested his chin on his knee, taking a breath as the line rang. 

“Jason?” He could already hear the worry laced in his voice

“Hey.” Jason hated the way his voice wavered. “Um… I’m supposed to go to Tim’s, uh, today, but I dont… I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drive there myself?” He took in a breath, “I was wondering if you could— I mean, if you’re not free I totally understand— I mean, this was dumb. I’m sorry for bothering you, I’ll—“

“Jason, shut up. I’ll be there in ten.”

Dick found Jason in his safehouse curled up against the couch staring at a spot on the coffee table. Dick was finally getting used to Jason being much bigger than him, but at that moment, he looked so small. Like the kid who would lurk in the corner while Dick and Bruce would get into screaming matches. Jason looked like he hadn’t slept or eaten for days. 

Dick knocked on the doorframe, “Don’t think too hard. Your brain will break.”

Jason turned his head to face Dick. “I dunno, might be too late for that.” He looked tired- done . Even so, he tried to give Dick a smile. One that didn’t even reach his cheeks. One that looked so… broken. 

He wonders if that’s what Jason looked like when he first came back. Between moments of fighting with all of the family, he was sitting alone in one of his safehouses curled up in the exact same position he was in now. 

There were about a million things Dick wanted to ask Jason, all variations of " are you ok?” But the only thing that came out of his mouth was, “Are you ready to go?”

Jason just nodded and stood up, blinking a couple times, which definitely meant he hasn’t eaten in a while. He shoved his feet into a pair of crocs and followed Dick out.

The car trip was quiet and Dick wished it wasn’t. He just wanted his brother to make some sort of quip, or even yell at him. Except Jason couldn’t yell, because Bruce took that right away from Jason and replaced it with fear.

He gripped the steering wheel.

No, that wasn’t Bruce. It was his backup personality, or whatever the hell that meant. 

Dick pulled into the drive through for O’Shaughnessy.

Jason pulled his head away from the window, “What are we doing here? I thought we were going to Tim’s.”

“We are, but I’m 90% sure he hasn’t eaten anything in the past 24 hours and I haven’t had lunch yet, so, yeah, burgers for all of us.”

He was actually doing it because Jason looked a lot thinner than the last time he’d seen him, so it was for him. Though the Tim thing could very much be true. He was probably burying himself in helping Jason, so he would have to think about what happened. 

Dick ordered three burgers, one without onions for himself, one without mayo for Tim, and one with extra pickles for Jason. And two Zesty Colas for him and Tim and a Strawberry Milkshake for Jason.

Dick parked in the parking lot so he could pass Jason’s food over to him, “eat.”

Jason put the burger back in the bag, before returning to stare out the window. “I’m not really hungry, Dick.” 

It was honestly scaring Dick how withdrawn Jason was being. “You look like you haven’t eaten properly in weeks” he took the burger back out and threw it at him, “If you don’t start eating that, we’re not leaving the parking lot.”

They had a mini stare off before Jason begrudgingly started to unwrap his food. 

So Dick started the car up again. 

It’s not like Jason was actively trying to not eat. Stress cooking and stress baking was one of Jason’s more healthy coping mechanisms. It had always made him feel like his mom was holding his hand while they mixed a bowl of batter together. It made him feel like Alfred was right next to him in the kitchen. Especially since he died. So Jason tried to make something as soon as he got to his safe house. Except he didn’t realize he would be taking his anger out on the cookie dough. He didn’t realize he would have a panic attack and drop the entire bowl. And it happened again when he tried to crack an egg for breakfast. And again when he was chopping a carrot for a fucking snack. It just became a chore to figure out what he could make without giving his heart a reason to explode. And constantly regulating your thoughts so that they don’t cause you to feel like you’re going to die has been such a top priority that food has been on the bottom. 

But the burger was nice. It was the closest thing he’d had to a home cooked meal since—

No. 

No. That memory gets to be locked down deep down because he can’t remember the good times with him, not when Jason won’t ever have a moment like that with him again because the kid that Batman bought a burger for was dead. 

The bite that had been in his mouth had turned to ash. His heart started to pound in his ears and the half finished burger in his hands started to shake, as the knots in his stomach squeeze bile out into his mouth. 

“Dick, pull over.”

“What?”

A bag, he needs a bag. Jason dumped the contents of the fast food bag out into the middle compartment and puked into it. 

Jason thought, from the moment he walked into the manor, that he was safe. That no one inside the walls of that house could hurt him, like his dad had. That no one would leave him like his mom had. He thought he’d finally been worthy of being loved. Bruce had held the promise of being safe. He was Batman for crying out loud, he could protect anyone. He was a hero. Jason had thought Bruce had loved him, and maybe he did. Maybe Bruce just loved the Jason that was 15. The one that died. The one that’s dead. Dead, dead, dead. The one that was bloody and burned, and so goddamned trusting and always looking for the best in people and hoping that maybe if he put enough love back out into the world, it would maybe, just maybe give him some back.  

“Jason, breathe with me.” There was a light thumping under his hand, as it slowly rose and fell. 

He tried to take a deep breath as his hand rose, but his breath hitched. 

“I can’t.”  

After really bad nightmares, Jason used to wake up in panicked cries. He still does. And every time he still expects Bruce to come rushing into his bedroom and hold him until he stops. But he never comes. Bruce is never there when Jason needs him anymore. He can no longer protect him, because he’s the one hurting him. And he just keeps going back to him and getting hurt again and again and again. 

“Yes you can, Little Wing. You’re one of the strongest people I know. You can handle a little breathing.”  

Jason took a deep shaky breath as his hand rose again, shuttering a breath out as it fell. 

And again. And again, until his breath stopped shuttering on its way out. 

The car had been pulled over, and Dick was currently squatted outside of the open passenger seat, with Jason’s hand against his chest. 

He crossed his arms over the dashboard and buried his face in them “This isn’t…fair.” 

“This isn’t right .” The firmness and anger in Dicks voice made Jason peer over at him. 

“Dick…”

“No. You’re currently incapable of getting angry, so I’ll do it for you. This is so fucked up . All of this! The fact that Br-“

“Don’t.” Jason cut him off. If he has to listen to a rant about… him, he’s not going to make it to Tim’s before his heart implodes with anxiety. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I don’t want to even think about him right now.” His eyes started to burn so he turned his face back into his arms. “I just want all this to be over.” 

Dick nodded. “Yeah. Ok.” 

It took them five minutes to get to Tim’s apartment. They didn’t let themselves in through the window like they usually would because Dick was not sure Jason could scale the fire escape without passing out, and that would not be good. At all. 

Tim opened the door for them and immediately rolled back in without even sparing them a glance, “I’m almost done. Just give me, like, ten minutes.”

Jason, however, was fixated on the fact that Tim was missing a leg. “Where the—“

“Ten minutes, Jason.” Tim rolled around a pile of chip bags and a pizza box to get to his desk. 

Jason picked up the pile and put it in the trash. And then looked at the state of… everything. It was a mess. Usually the mess was more controlled, like in the kitchen it would just be on the countertops, the living room would only have shit on the coffee table, but Tim’s apartment just looked like a tornado passed through. 

Dick stopped Tim from getting to his desk though, and placed the food in his hands, “Take a break and eat, Tim.”

“Ten minutes.”

Jason maybe accidentally found himself putting things away for Tim. Stress cleaning was a thing he’d picked up from Alfred, and his safe house had been spotless since before he was gifted with chronic anxiety. 

It also wasn’t the first time he’d stress cleaned Tim’s apartment, so it wasn’t that out of character. 

Though it was slower because Jason found that if he went too fast a burst of stars flooded his vision. 

Tim tried to maneuver around Dick but failed, “Come on, you’re not making Jason eat. And he’s two steps from passing out!”

Jason crouched down to pick up some papers that were littered across the floor “I am not.” He stood back up, and realized the edges of his vision was darkening. “And I… ate in the… the, um, car.” 

“He threw it up.” Dick moved to guide Jason to the couch, “Sit down, and stop cleaning. Tim, take a break and eat.” Dick made his way to the kitchen. 

“I have to finish this.”

“Timbo, I think I can handle waiting while you eat.”

“No, you don’t understand—“

“Nope. I don’t want none of that from you.” Jason pulled his knees up to his chest and rested his head on them. “ You mean more to me than your brain. Or your skills. We’re the outcasts in a family of outcasts. We have an understanding of each other. A solidarity. And you’re making me say some really sappy shit. Which is rude, and I wouldn’t’ve had to say if you just ate the damn burger.”

Tim’s mouth hung open for a second, and then closed. And then He went to unwrap his burger, mumbling something about older bothers making him do everything . 

“Ow!” A pack of saltines hit Jason in the head. He took a deep breath to calm the sudden lurch of his stomach. “ Dick .”

“Don’t call me names when I’m being nice to you! I’m making you tea.” There was a clattering in the kitchen, “Is this good?” Dick came into view holding a box of ‘Numi Organic Tea: aged Earl grey’ it had always been Alfred’s favorite, and it held a lot of nostalgia for Jason. Sunday afternoons sitting on the kitchen countertop with Alfred drinking tea and just talking. 

“Yeah, but don’t steep it. You always make it taste like water that has cardboard soaking in it.”

There was a slight snort that came from Tim. 

“Eat your crackers.”Dick brought a mug filled with hot water and the box of teabags to Jason, “you’re going to regret this slander in the future.”

“It can’t be slander if it’s the truth.” Jason grabbed a bag and settled it into the water. 

Though the three of them ate in silence. Too much had happened in the past month. Too much of their lives had shattered beneath them, and they were trying to put the pieces back together. Well, it was more like they were just staring at the mess in front of them trying to figure out where to start. 

Tim finished first and immediately went back to working. Then once Dick was done he went searching around the apartment for equipment to administer the antidote. And with them working together, it took five minutes for the antidote to be ready. And then after Jason was given the antidote, he would ask Tim what happened to his leg. Because Jason was 80% sure that Tim wasn’t telling him the story because of his chronic anxiety. 

If Tim didn’t want to tell him, that was also fine. It did take months for him to tell them that he was missing a spleen. 

“After we give you the antidote, I might ask you some things to get you angry. See if it’s working. Ya know.” Tim passed the tourniquet and syringe to Dick, as Dick disinfected his arm. 

Jason hadn’t flinched away from a needle in years. Not since Alfred and Leslie had perfected their methods to make Jason comfortable around needles, and he could handle being hooked up to an IV in the batcave. 

Though maybe it was the adrenaline and fear that had been coursing through his body for the past month that caused him to recoil when Dick brought the needle close. 

Or it was probably the fact that Batman was staring at them through the window. 

Dick grabbed his hand. Jason felt a small pinch on his inner arm along with the cold feeling shooting up his arm. Except it didn’t stop his heart from racing. Why wasn’t the antidote working. 

He brought his shaking hands to his lap and waited for the blood rush. 

“Jason, what’s wrong?”

Batman was here

“He doesn’t like needles.” It was the gruff sound of the voice that kept him up at night. The voice of the person who had refused to kill the person who’d killed him. The voice of the person who had brought him back to the place he died to relive his last moments. The voice that had told him he loved him, yet had drugged him moments earlier. 

Despite the panic, Jason didn’t miss the way Tim immediately rolled his chair around. Jason didn’t miss the way Dick moved in front of both of them. 

Jason closed his eyes. He’s not here, He’s not here, he can’t be here. He won’t be here because he doesn’t care . He never cared. 

“Bruce, you need to leave.” Dicks voice was dangerously low. A firey rage behind his eyes that was obviously being held back for the sake of his brothers.

“Jason, I just wanted to say—“

“Don’t.” He wrapped his arms around himself and didn’t dare look Batman in the eye. He couldn’t. If he did, he doesn’t know what would happen. “Don't. Please don’t say you’re sorry because I will forgive you immediately, even though I shouldn’t.”

“Jason–”

 He glanced up, and his stomach lurched when all he met was white-out lenses. “Take off the cowl, Batman. I deserve to speak to Bruce.” 

Batman turned around, and for a moment, Jason thought he was going to leave. Just like he had that night with the Joker. Moments before a batarang was embedded in his neck. 

But Batman closed the blinds, pulled his cowl back, and turned back to Jason. He searched his face trying to figure out why Bruce was here. Was this another ambush? Was he trying to stop Tim from giving Jason the antidote? Was he going to inject Jason with the weird fear toxin again? Or was Bruce actually here to apologize.

“I don’t know where I stand with you anymore.” He stared at a stray pen that was on the floor, “I don’t know if you see me as an ally, or a threat, or a villain.” Jason felt his heart creep up into his throat as he debated saying the next part, “I used to think that you saw me as your son.” He looked at Bruce, “But that was a contingency plan. I’m not Superman, or Martian Man-Hunter, or the Flash. So why did you have one for me ? Do you have one for all of us? Do you have one for Dick, who’s been by your side practically since day one? Do you have one for Tim, who’s always been right there to make sure you’re on the right path? If they were just plans to help you sleep better at night, then that’s fine, Bruce. I’m fine with that. But you actually used it on me.  I haven’t been able to do basic tasks in the past month without dropping whatever was in my hands because they were shaking so much. Without feeling like my heart’s about to explode.”

“Jason, if I had been in control, I would’ve never done any of it. Zur—“

“Is still you. Is Batman without Bruce. Is your subconscious. So that means deep down, you’ve never trusted me. That means, deep down, I’ll never be enough for you. 

“I can’t… I can’t keep going around this merry go round with you, Bruce. Where you start to trust me, and I think maybe things can get better between us, but then we start fighting again.”

“Jay, lad, Things can get better between us.” Bruce took a step forward, and Jason flinched back into the sofa, as his vision blurred slightly, “Please. Please don’t say that. They can’t . And you know they can’t. Because you don’t understand what your actions mean to me. 

“When you brought me back to Ethiopia, when Damian died, asking me to relive the worst day of my life to figure how to bring him back, knowing you didn’t do that for me, it made me feel like I was never worth the effort. It made me feel like I was just a kid you put a roof over. It reminded me that I was never your son. Not really. 

“And back when I first came back to Gotham, and I was asking you to kill the Joker, I knew that your stupid moral code would never actually do it, but you didn’t have to throw a batarang at my neck. You could’ve made some effort to let me know you were glad to see me alive. 

“ I wasn’t asking for revenge. I was just… I was scared. All my actions that night were because I was scared and I thought— I thought that my dad, who was the protector of the whole world, would save me from the monster that still haunts me to this day,” He wiped his face, “All I wanted was my dad.” He took a shuddering breath in, “And it really hurts, when the only time I’ve heard you say ‘I love you’ since I’ve come back, maybe since ever, was after you chemically changed me to have chronic anxiety whenever I’m angry, but I guess that’s what I get when I’m only ever angry when I’m scared.”

Jason looked up at the ceiling fan and then back to Bruce, “If you call me I’ll come. If you need me I’ll be there. But it doesn’t stop it from hurting. It doesn’t stop me from feeling like an idiot every time we go around and around and around. It doesn't stop me from hating myself for falling for our ‘phases of better’ over and over and over again. But it gives me hope every time that one day we can go back to what we were before I died.” He looked down at his hands, “If you had done this to anyone else, someone who didn’t deserve it, I would’ve never forgiven you. But I already have.”

“Jason…” too many emotions flashed across Bruce’s face for Jason to read. 

“Bruce, I forgive you. Isn’t that what you came here for?” 

Bruce’s eyes were more gray than blue. They were glassy, like he had tears welled up in them. But that couldn’t be possible, he was Batman. Yet he still blinked rapidly, like he was trying to get something out, “I am so sorry I have hurt you so many times.”

Jason looked at the floor. 

Tim looked at Jason. 

Dick looked at Bruce. 

And Bruce put his cowl up and left.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: anxiety?

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

and here’s bentley, having issues, and a little soft hurt/comfort-ish dad-ness from bruce <3

part three

❝ WORRY YOURSELF SICK ❞

SUNDAY — AUGUST 2 — 6:18PM

“I THINK IT WAS MR. GREEN, IN THE BILLIARD ROOM, WITH A CANDLESTICK,” Dick stated, moving the green pawn and candlestick piece into the appropriate spot on the game board.

It was a golden Sunday evening. Bentley, Damian, Dick, Bruce, and Duke were playing a board game in the den. Well — everyone but Bentley. He was trying so hard to pay attention to what was going on; he really was, but it wasn’t much use. The anxious buzz and nag beneath his skin was on overdrive all the time now, getting worse and worse as the day drew on. School started tomorrow. 

Tomorrow.

Not to mention that he also had a meeting with his social worker after said school. Not that she was scary or anything, she was really nice (and had been the social worker on Tim’s foster placement and adoption, actually.) But the mere thought of having someone in the Manor that had the power to take him away in an instant gave him enough to worry about.

To top it all off, whatever was happening with Damian was getting subtly worse. Bentley was sure Bruce had noticed — he was the Batman, after all. Damian had gotten into three separate screaming matches with Tim within two days after Bentley saw him miss the knife. One of which was on patrol. (Which they both got heavily reprimanded for afterwards. Bentley had scuttled up to his room by then, out of the line of fire.) Tim hadn’t come back to the Manor since that night.

Damian had actually been doing fairly well keeping the peace between himself and Tim recently, despite a few angry glares and insults here and there. But it all kind of… blew up in the past week, and Bentley was completely oblivious as to why. He’d been starting to think they were growing out of their hatred for one another — after all, Tim was edging on nineteen, and Damian was newly twelve. 

Bentley had heard vaguely of the trainwreck that ensued when Damian took the mantle of Robin right out from under Tim’s feet. (He was pretty sure Dick was Batman at the time, because Bruce was missing? None of that had been cleared up for him.) Apparently, there was no warning, consideration, or even conversation about Tim handing down the title of Robin to Damian, he was just written off like a bad movie character. He was just Robin and then… he wasn’t. Bentley assumed that was enough to make him dislike Damian a fair bit. But Tim wasn’t the problem, the one that was angry — it was Damian.

Bentley would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little thrown off by the sudden and prominent rage that emanated from the assassin when Tim was around. Sure, they had their moments, but it hadn’t been this bad since Bentley got there. He didn’t think Tim had done anything wrong recently, either. He was pretty much near one or the other at any given time, and he hadn’t seen a single thing that would entice this level of reaction from the assassin.

Part of him just hoped it would get cleared up soon. Because Tim hadn’t been to the Manor in almost four days, not even working in the Batcave, and Bentley missed him. 

Navigating when to provide normal communication or when to give Damian space was tiring. Bentley sure didn’t want to bother him or be overbearing, especially since he was already unhappy. And the way he had to oh-so-carefully watch his words and his mannerisms around the angry assassin only added another layer of twitchy nervousness. 

With the addition of school starting and the social worker coming, Bentley had been nothing more than a tightly-wound ball of anxiety for the past two days. 

He felt bad about it all, because he and his anxiety was just another layer of unnecessary stress on the whole household. Another kid Bruce needed to worry about. When anyone in the house was the least bit off, Bentley’s unending nervousness about not bothering them and not making anything worse made him all off, too. A burden. Which was exactly what he was trying not to be. 

His own anxiety was making him anxious, and he couldn’t focus on anything. Was this how he was going to feel for the rest of his life?

“Bentley?”

He finally snapped back into reality when Dick called his name. He glanced up at him, watching the man’s shiny blue eyes bounce across his face calculatively. Bentley sucked in a breath and looked away, grabbing his cards off the tabletop with a quiet sigh.

“What was it?”

Dick cleared his throat. Bentley could feel all the eyes around the table lingering on him, and he didn’t like it.

“Green, Billiard Room, Candlestick. If you can’t prove me wrong, I win,” Dick stated. Bentley kept a straight face even though he literally had all three of those cards in his hand, and Dick could not have been farther from winning.

Silently, he turned the Mr. Green card toward Dick, who groaned and marked it on his paper.

The game dragged on for what seemed like eternity, and Bentley spaced out probably half a dozen more times before it was over. Duke won. Bentley didn’t care enough to be jealous.

Alfred called for dinner about ten minutes after the game was finished. It only ended up being Bentley, Damian, Duke, Cass, Bruce, Dick, and Alfred at the table. No Tim, no Jason, no Steph. 

Conversation was stiff. Not too stiff, knowing Dick, but stiffer than usual. Damian didn’t say a word, opting instead to eat slowly and keep his mouth full for as long as he could. Alfred made spaghetti — which Bentley learned was one of his favorites — but tonight there wasn’t much room inside of him for anything but that stupid, pesky anxiety. So he choked down a couple bites and called that good, even though his plate looked untouched. He didn’t feel like eating right then. His stomach was cramping a little from all the worrying. Bentley wasn’t a stranger to literally worrying himself sick, and — while he hadn’t actually thrown up from it since he moved into the Manor — he wouldn’t be surprised if what little spaghetti he ate made a second appearance before the morning at the rate his anxiety was climbing.

When dinner was coming to a close, Dick declared that he’d be leaving for his apartment in Bludhaven.

Bentley wanted to cry.

But he didn’t. He sat for the rest of the meal and said his goodbyes to Dick and gave hugs like a good little kid, flashing fake smiles whenever he could because he should’ve been fine. He didn’t have a good reason not to be, actually. He wasn’t sick, he wasn’t hurt. He wasn’t abused or neglected like he had been for his entire life thus far. (He’d learned those words from his social worker. Which he found interesting, because neglect was a common word in Tim’s file from Bentley’s father, he remembered, and abuse was riddled throughout the earlier years of Jason’s. He hadn’t known at the time that he was experiencing both of those things as well.)

But none of those things were happening anymore. He was safe. He was provided for. He was cared for. So he was fine.

He continued to be fine while they cleaned up dinner and fine while they watched a documentary. He said he was fine when Bruce inquired gently about him not eating much. Just not hungry. He was fine until bedtime and he was fine saying goodnight to everyone. Because he was fine. He was more than fine. Finer than he’d ever been.

So why did he lay on top of his comforter in a shaky little ball with a (badly) cramping stomach and the urge to cry from 9:00pm all the way to 11:47pm? That didn’t seem very fine.

The bedroom lights were out, but the bathroom was on. It didn’t matter because he hadn’t been able to get a wink of sleep. How was he supposed to? 

He listened to the occasional animal sounds from outside, the wind. He rubbed the fabric of the comforter between his fingers and fiddled with the edges of the pillowcase. He even let Alfred (the cat) in when he heard him meow in the hallway and took to gently stroking his fur, but it didn’t help. His mind wouldn’t stop long enough for him to take a breath and get it together.

He kept glaring at the nicely folded Gotham Academy uniform on his dresser. At the fully-stocked navy blue backpack on the floor next to it. At the class schedule and map sitting nicely next to the uniform for him to stare at in the hallways. He couldn’t talk to people. Heck, right now, he couldn’t even talk to Damian, and Damian was practically his only hope of surviving school. Duke was a senior, he’d be on the other side of the building, far from Bentley and his problems. How was he going to talk to other sixth graders (strangers.) if he was too afraid to talk to the seventh grader he lived with? 

He wished Dick was home. He knew how to make things better. Or Tim, he seemed to have a handle on anxiety. Or even Jason, who was pretty much readily available when Bentley was afraid. It might not have been storming, but he sure felt like this when it did.

But they weren’t home. It was just him, Damian, Duke, and Cass upstairs. And he didn’t want to bother any of them.

So he laid in his bed until the clock struck 12:17am, when his stomach started to churn in a familiar, nauseous manner. He opted for curling up tighter in the bed and trying to force himself to sleep. Sleep would have been a nice escape right about then.

…But he had no such luck. He couldn’t stop thinking. Thinking about getting laughed at by classmates, about getting stabbed by Damian for saying the wrong thing, about being taken away and put in a foster home with different parents and different kids. 

When it was 12:28am, he finally pulled himself out of the bed. Trying to fight away the nausea had gone horribly, and if anything, he felt worse. He just wanted to go to bed.

He shuffled across the hardwood and, being as quiet as he could and avoiding the creaky boards in front of his doorway, he pulled the door open. The lights were out, but downstairs was glowing just a little. He pushed himself forward, not really sure of where he was trying to go, padding down the hallway and tip-toeing down to the first floor. The dim lights in the kitchen had been left on. He wondered if someone had shown up in the night and left them on, or if they just stayed on after dinner cleanup was done. 

He wrapped his arms around himself, tugging at the sleeves of his hoodie as he moved forward. Walking around had helped him not feel like he was going to throw up, at least. 

His mind was still spinning about school and Damian and the social worker when he ended up at Bruce’s bedroom door.

He’d gathered from stories he’d heard that every Wayne child had woken Bruce in the night before. Be it for care when they were sick, or to flee from a nightmare, or simply because they were lonely or couldn’t sleep. The rational part of him knew Bruce wouldn’t mind. The other part, the part that dubbed him a burden, hesitated to knock.

He didn’t want to bother him. But his stomach still hurt pretty bad and he… didn’t really want to be alone.

He didn’t knock. But he did reach up and test the doorknob, and when it turned freely, he pushed the door open.

He could see Bruce beneath the dark covers, sleeping. It was pitch black in there. No bathroom light, no lamp, nothing. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything else from the Dark Knight himself.

He vaguely saw Bruce lift the comforter a bit on impulse, assuming whoever had opened the door wanted in the bed. Bentley wondered how many times his kids had wandered into his bed at night.

He stood there in silence for a moment before he whispered: “Uh… Bruce?”

In a matter of seconds, he was sitting up, and had flicked the lamp on. His hair was a little bedraggled in a way he’d never seen it before, but his eyes were suddenly and surprisingly awake, alert. “Bentley. What’s wrong?”

Bentley stared straight down at his socks, the hem of his sailboat pajama pants suddenly becoming very interesting.

“Um, I don’t… I guess I, uh… don’t feel very good,” He stammered uselessly, twisting his fingers together in front of him. He guessed telling him he was feeling bad because he was afraid of school sounded pretty pathetic, so he left that part out. He wasn’t supposed to be pathetic.

Bruce pulled the comforter off of his legs and pushed himself to the edge of the bed, opening one arm a little. Bentley awkwardly shuffled over there and sat down next to him without a word. 

“What doesn’t feel good?” Bruce asked quietly, pressing the back of his hand to Bentley’s forehead to gauge his temperature. “You don’t have a fever.”

“My stomach,” He replied sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers in his lap. “It… hurts.”

Because of school. He felt really dumb right then.

Bruce hummed lightly, wrapping an arm around Bentley and rubbing his shoulder. “Have you been nauseous?”

“A little,”

A quiet beat passed. “You didn’t eat much at dinner. Were you feeling bad then, too?”

“No,” He stated, then decided that was probably a lie. “I mean, not really… I… I don’t know.”

He felt his face flush a shade of red, and Bruce’s eyes were starting to bore holes into the side of his head, and he kind of just wanted to start crying. He pulled his knees up in the bed and wrapped his arms around them.

“That’s alright. Let me grab you some medicine to settle it a little, okay? I’ll be right back.”

Bentley nodded lightly, and got kind of cold when Bruce left his side to make for the adjoining bathroom.

Maybe he should’ve just stayed in his room and dealt with it alone. He hated waking people up in the middle of the night.

Bruce returned not a moment later with a couple little chewable things in his hand. “Here you go. They even taste like fruit.”

Bentley held out his hand, and Bruce deposited two little pink things into his palm. They tasted like very fake cherry.

“You haven’t felt bad until now?” Bruce questioned, kneeling down on the floor right in front of the bed where Bentley was seated. They were of similar heights then, the bed was pretty low, but Bentley was still a little taller where he was sitting.

“I mean… it just now got bad,” He explained quietly, staring down at his own knees. “I… don’t know how to explain it. I don’t think I’m sick, I’m just…” Nervous? Anxious? Pathetic? “…I don’t know.”

Bruce hummed softly, and a glint of nostalgia came and went from his eyes as he traced Bentley’s face with his gray irises. “Would you happen to be nervous about starting school tomorrow?”

Bentley rested his chin on his knees. And that’s what happens when you try to hide something from the world’s greatest detective.

Well, what did he have to lose now? He nodded.

“This used to happen to Tim, too,” Bruce reassured. He stood from the floor and sat back down on the mattress, next to Bentley. “Sometimes being afraid can make you feel sick. Have you been thinking about school all day?”

“I tried not to…” Bentley trailed off. “But I can’t. I can’t stop thinking about… everything that can go wrong. And Damian’s been upset, and I’m worried about annoying him, and Ms. Stacy is coming tomorrow and I always get nervous when she comes…”

He looked down and hid his face in his knees, mostly because his eyes were starting to water. “I can’t even sleep.” He winced when his voice wavered slightly.

“Hey. Take a deep breath,” Bruce said softly. Bentley obeyed, and the large circles the man was rubbing on his back helped a little. “Let’s talk about it, okay?”

“Okay…” He sniffled lightly. He was able to keep the tears in his eyes, but he didn’t lift his head yet.

“What about school makes you feel nervous?”

Bentley sucked in a breath. “Everything. It seemed… fun, at first, but now I’m just scared. What if I… get lost? Or go to the wrong place? What if other kids don’t like me? I can barely talk to people and I’m going to be around a bunch of them, without...” 

“Without what?”

He pulled his knees in tighter. “You. Dick. Anyone.”

Bruce kept on rubbing his back. “Well, I’m sure Duke or Damian would be more than willing to walk you to class for the first week or so,” He explained quietly, and Bentley lifted his head a bit, looking over at him. He had a light, reassuring smile. “If you’re nervous to talk to people, that’s okay. You wanna know a secret? I bet ninety percent of the kids in class with you are a little nervous, too.”

Bentley blinked. “Really?”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t think any of my kids went a year without being nervous on the first day. Even Damian was nervous when he first started at the Academy,”

Well, that did make him feel a little better, knowing that Robin was nervous about school when he first started.

“Dick was ten, too, when I took him to the Academy for the first time. He got out of the car, took one look around, and started crying,” Bruce’s eyes sparkled with a certain fondness at the memory. “I had to stand in the back of his classroom for a few hours before he was comfortable enough to let me go.”

Bentley smiled lightly. Imagining a little Dick Grayson was hard, and he could only imagine him in a Robin suit, because when he was that young he would’ve definitely been Robin.

“Jason was twelve his first year, and really excited. But when the morning came, he couldn’t stop rambling. On and on, asking me how I thought it would go, what would happen here and there, and I had to keep saying I don’t know, Jason. It’s going to be fine, Jason,”

Bentley didn’t realize that the knots in his stomach were starting to ease up just a little. But he did realize he was finally getting a tiny bit sleepy, now that he was next to Bruce, who was really warm and a really good back-rubber.

“Tim had been going to Gotham Academy before I met him, but he still got really nervous every year. The first year I was fostering him, he was so worried about his classmates judging the fact that he lived with me that he threw up right before we left. He was fourteen then,”

Bentley hummed. “Did he go to school?”

Bruce nodded. “I offered for him to stay home, but he said missing the first day was more embarrassing.”

Bentley almost snickered. That sounded like Tim.

“Damian was ten, too, and was more quiet about it than the others. Deathly quiet. All morning. I thought I was going crazy,” Bruce stated. Bentley leaned into his side a little bit more, and Bruce put his arm around him again. “Turns out he was really nervous about talking to people, too. He just sat in the car for a while when we pulled up, then took a deep breath and went inside. He was obviously the least dramatic about it all. But you know what?” 

Bentley looked up at him. 

“Everything they were nervous about, they didn’t actually have to be nervous about at all,” He explained quietly. “Dick was the class clown by the end of the week. Jason made great grades and joined a bunch of clubs. People asked Tim about me, but none of them were mean about it. And Damian… well, he… he still doesn’t have many friends, but he’s made a couple since then.”

Bentley stayed quiet. So did Bruce, for a minute, but then he spoke again.

“If it really scares you, we can still look into homeschooling. I don’t want you to dive into something that makes you uncomfortable. Especially something this different than what you’re used to,”

Bentley shook his head. “No, I want to go. I do. I just…”

Bruce kept rubbing his shoulder with the hand that was around him.

“… can I stay in here with you tonight?” He felt kind of childish asking it, but he didn’t exactly want to go back to his room and lay in bed alone, where his mind was free to keep reeling. He kind of just wanted to be… he didn’t know. Grounded?

“Of course,” Bruce ran a hand through the child’s head, pushing his scraggly red hair back out of his eyes. It might’ve been another sneaky way to check his temperature, just in case. “Are you starting to feel a little better?”

Actually, now that he thought about it, his stomach didn’t hurt all that much. “I think so.”

“Good. If you still don’t feel well in the morning, you really don’t have to go, okay?” He reassured. Bentley nodded into his shoulder. He was really starting to get tired now that he wasn’t wallowing in his own anxiety anymore.

“Okay,” He whispered.

A few quiet beats passed, and Bentley let himself lean into Bruce a little more. 

“C’mon, let’s get you to sleep, bud. You look like you might keel over on me.”

Bentley huffed out a breathy laugh,  and Bruce helped him get situated on the other side of the giant bed, all tucked into his dark sheets. He sort of felt bad for encroaching on his sleep, but he was too tired to dwell on it that much. He was just glad he’d helped him feel better.

“Wake me up if you wake up feeling worse, alright?”

Bentley hummed lightly. He guessed he’d just see how he felt in the morning. On the first day of school.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @cademygod

[glass-frogs-and-dragons]

Who would you call if the world was ending?

Prompt 887 by @creativepromptsforwriting (@creativepromptfills xo)

Fandom: DC

Summary: The world is ending and, of all the people he could have called, Jason ends up calling Bruce

Pairing: Jason Todd/ Roy Harper (minor)

Beep beep. Beep beep.

The caller you are trying to reach is occupied or out of service. Please, leave a message.

Beep.

Hey Bruce, It’s… It’s Jason. I’m pretty sure you already know, given that it’s you and all, but… yeah. The world is ending and people are doing jack shit about it! Big surprise there. I… you weren’t the first person I was planning on calling. I mean, you didn’t even make the first fucking ten, but… Look, I didn’t want to tell you about this, but Roy’s also doing it and I suppose I should too. Come clean about shit, I mean, tell you stuff. 

I’m not going to apologise for what I did. We both have different ideas of justice and yeah, I killed, but I killed because those fuckers had too many second chances and didn’t fucking take them. I may have gotten a morbid sorta thrill out of it at first, but I don’t fucking like it. I do it ‘cause it’s what I gotta do now. But, whatever I do, whatever your fucking reasons are not to let me come back home, I’m not the only one at fault here.

Dickface always said that taking care of family is one of the most important things, hypocritical as that may be, and I ain’t gonna be at fault for that. I have taken care of my family as well as I fucking could, and the fact that none of you bats have noticed should give you a hint about the problem, huh? The fact that none of you knew? 

…

Joder, no puedo hacer esto. Esto ha sido un error.

…

I have a husband. I have a daughter too, and they are the best fucking thing to happen to me, possibly in my whole life. I feel the luckiest man to have them, and I honestly don’t fucking get how you could fuck all of us up this badly if this is what having a child feels like. The reason I never told any of you (except for Alfred. You can’t hide secrets from Alfred) is because… well… they’re my family. You would judge and think they’re not enough, or that I’m not enough and drive us apart somehow, even if you don’t mean to.

And that’s without mentioning any bat business.

I- Roy is asking me not to be too mean to you. I guess he’s right, but he can’t really have a full conversation with Ollie without it ending in a screaming match, so who’s winning here?

Okay, he’s telling me now that he can, thank you very much, but Oliver’s a fucking prick so he won’t even try to. And he’s also telling me that daddy issues aren’t a competition, Jaybird. Que se joda.

Anyway, I just wanted to tell you that… yeah, well, the world is ending and there is nothing Roy or I could do about it. I mean, is there anything anyone can do? Arrows and guns? How the fuck would we be useful? 

I know that if you had actually answered the call, you would be yelling at me about duty and shit; asking me to do the fucking impossible like always. Well, guess fucking what? I am doing my duty to my fucking family because they are the most important to me, and I fucking wonder what-

…

Roy’s telling me to stop fighting with you, and he’s right. It ain’t my business anymore. What you decide to do with your fucking dysfunctional family, leave me out of it. I was just hoping, for their sake… Fuck, I’m going to regret this, aren’t I? But hey, the world is fucking ending, so who cares, right?

I miss my dad, okay? I miss the guy who would take me to museums and watch movies with me and comfort me when I had nightmares. Yeah, he might have kinda sucked at it but at least he was trying and he was there and I thought he might have fucking loved me. Because a parent’s love is meant to be unconditional and maybe the other brats and Dickface miss you as much as… as much as I do. 

You can actually be there for them, make me the guinea pig or whatever.

I wanted… I wanted a home and a family to come back to when the world was crumbling down and mira por dónde, now it is! And… and Roy and Lian and I will stay together as a fucking family until we get pulled under. I called to apologise, but fuck that. I doubt you’re even at home with your kids, so right now I don’t owe jack shit to you because you can’t do the bare fucking minimum to be a father. 

I guess… I guess this is goodbye, then.

Seems fitting that the one chance I get for this you can’t even answer the damn phone.

Goodbye da- Goodbye, Bruce.

____________________________

Unread messages: (1)

From: B stands for Bitch

Come home, Jaylad. The whole family is here. Bring Roy and Lian too, they’ll be safe… Read more

Translations:

Joder, no puedo hacer esto. Esto ha sido un error.→ fuck, I can’t do this. This has been a mistake.

Que se joda→ He can go fuck himself

Mira por dónde→ guess what