#kleine asbar

[nyxtastic]

inktober 2019 - #17 ornament

[morweneledhwen]

kleine-asbar replied to your post: Watching US news in the past few weeks has been...

Hate to say it, but it’s not been that fast - everything that happens now has been in the making for decades and will probably take equally long to undo, unfortunately.

Yeah, you’re right there. But so far there’s been more like... the potential for self-destruction, while this year all the pieces fell finally into place and it actually happened.

I wonder if it will ever be undone, to be honest. There’s just so much that is messed-up about this country, I wouldn’t even know where to start. =/

[fleetsparrow]

kleine-asbar replied to your post:*me with every Doctor Who group post I see* where...

Not a huge Doctor Who watcher, but put me down as another Nine fan.

Yesssss.  I shall amass an army of Nine fans and we shall sit in our Nine bubble together.

[myreverie]

kleine-asbar said: I love Pearl sfm. I’m behind on the episodes (I’m at #44), since I watch them as I translate, but the way she loves people when she does always moves me.

oh man, are you translating? that’s awesome! though probably very time consuming aha!! i’m not sure how spoiler free you’ve remained, but i can assure you, her love only gets more real as the series moves along. pearl isn’t necessarily my favourite gem, but she is undeniably the most complex and well-characterized character in the show. pearl-centric episodes are by far my favourites. 

[wonderfulworldofoz]

kleine-asbar replied to your post: kleine-asbar replied to your post: you know i...

Oh yes, if you have a fascination for fallacies, that whole post is a goldmine.

I usually overlook the fallacies if the overall argument is still sound (cause sometimes it’s just accidental bad wording) but when something like this happens then I can’t ignore how the form reflects the content. Both are shitty.

[newphonewhosthis]

kleine-asbar replied to your post:there are so many things i’d like to say to that...

Thanks, I feel better after writing that XD I’d still be interested in what you wanna say though, but I understand not always feelin’ it.

nah don't worry, it'd be just repeating your arguments, maybe with more flare to it bc lawyer *gestures vehemently and throws a shoe* but it'd be more for self satisfaction than to add anything new to the discussion uwu;;;

[epigenetics]

For the meme, 1,2,31 & 36?

1. What fandom(s) do you read?

Right now I only search out Batfic (and mostly only Dick Grayson and Bruce/Dick fic, haha).

I looks up fics for other random fandoms occasionally, but these are usually fleeting phases.

2. If you could request more of a certain type of fic, which would it be?

I would like to see more Bruce/Dick longfic, waaah.

Especially fic rooted in more recent canon. By which I mean I would just like it to include the whole extended Batfam, like Cass, Steph and Damian, along with the usual suspects of Alfred, Tim, and Babs/Oracle, and maybe stuff like Dick becoming Batman, etc. :)

Said longfic would ideally have lots of sexual & romantic tension. And lots of sexy resolution of that tension. XD Plus be characterised in a way that I don’t find irritating and alienating. I mean, I don’t have to agree with it, but at least keep the characters recognisable and don’t be spiteful in your characterisations.

31. Do people know that you read fanfiction?

I assume this means if anyone in RL knows, haha. And mostly, know. I think my sister suspects because she knows I used to read it as a teenager, but gosh, it’s just too difficult to explain and most people just don’t get it. Sadly.

36. Has a fic ever left you unable to fall asleep or think about anything else?

YES. It doesn’t happen often, but when it does… idk, it’s just so great. To find a story that gives you so many feels~~. I was reading old fic rec posts the other day, and I noticed that one of the OTP fics that definitely did this is Hanging Work by Cereta. 

Like, this is how I described it on a re-read: 

You know how sometimes you read something, and it just gets… seared in your brain? Like, it invades your id or something.

Hanging Work will do exactly that to you.

[fuckyeahbatfans]

↳congratulations kleine-asbar!

[brucedickficathon]

[FIC] In Dreams by kleine-asbar (Part 2 of 4)

Title: In Dreams (Part 2 of 4)

Author: kleine-asbar

Rating/Warnings: NC-17. Abuse, angst, creepiness, idiot plot, purple prose, underage sex, violence.

Summary:  I finally went through with my plans to write that thing where Regular!Bruce & Dick (I’m using a mix of Grant Morrison/New 52, only Damian isn’t dead because that’d suck donkey balls) meet Bruce & Dick from Frank Miller’s notorious (and glorious XD) All-Star Batman and Robin. Sparks fly, yo. Fists, too.

Note: Accompanying art by lokiet, which can also be found under the cut below!

Mod note: Due to its length, this story will be posted in four parts over the next week. Part 1 is here.

--------------------

--------------------

I. It's a warm, breezy night out in Gotham. And all in all, Dick Grayson, Nightwing, can think of worse ways to spend his time than a little game of catch down by the docks. It's just his luck, however, that the two players happen to be ten-feet-tall, venom-enhanced manbeasts, and he's the ball; because of course he is. "Throw him to me, Herbert, I'm wide open!" One of the behemoths booms, and then, to Dick, "We're gonna break your pretty little face, elf-man!" "Gee, thanks for notici – oop!" Dick shoots through the warm air like a projectile as Herbert tosses him with brute force. Well; that's actually the best thing that could've happened. He flips mid-air, before the other giant's welcoming fists can receive him, lands safely on his feet, and then the two lumbering thugs groan in quick succession when they're both hit in the brow with a wingding. Nightwing laughs, but deep down inside, he fears death. He always does. It's one of the first things Batman has taught him, to never forget the presence of death. It's always with them, looming, one false movement, one hairline away, and he needs to remember it even when he's laughing and quipping, and flipping through the air, even when the adrenaline is shooting through his veins, when he's having fun. He has his issues with the man, but that's a good lesson, one that has saved his life more than once. The hairs on his neck stand up as he hears a blood-curdling scream, a noise that signifies that the two monster-men are now done toying with him, and are going into killing mode. Fine. He's good for it. One of them – the one that had let out the battle cry – is now stumbling towards him, blindly slamming his fists in his direction while blood runs into his eyes. He's not exactly precise, but Dick knows he has to stay sharp – one kiss of that fist, and he's pancake batter. "Why can't you guys be jolly like the say in the movies?" He complains, diving through his opponent's massive legs to throw him off balance … only to find the other brute's shadow fall over him as he emerges. Whoops. These guys are definitely faster than they look. He sees the big thug grin with his tumor-infested mouth, and then a humongous fist swings at him – "HEY!" -missing him by and inch when a bag of sand suddenly flies at the giant's head and explodes on impact, robbing him of the rest of his vision. Dick's enormous foe howls, covering his hideous face with his big paws. Nightwing breathes a life-affirming sigh of relief. Pretty crude maneuver, but it's always nice to get some help in this city. He briefly gazes into the direction that the sandbag has come from – What he sees almost gets him killed. It's been years since he's seen someone in that costume outside of Halloween, and it's definitely not Halloween. The boy is standing on a nearby pile of shipping containers, hands on hips in a familiar pose, grinning as he watches Dick battle it out with the two brutes. His mind thinks for a split-second, Damian!?, but that can't be. The stature and complexion are all wrong, and Damian wouldn't get caught dead in that leotard, he's said that multiple times, even though no-one was asking. Still, Dick thinks he knows this kid. There's something about him, his smile, that gives him a sense of spooky déjà-vu… He stares until the boy's smile suddenly slips, and he screams, "Watch it!" And that's when Dick very nearly dies. He notices the growing shadow around himself in the nick of time, and rolls away a second before a large foot can ground him into mush. His heart is racing. That was a close one. He spins around on the ground, kicking his attacker's heels out from underneath him. "Seriously," he shouts, spitting out a mouthful of dirt, "Never heard the term 'gentle giant'? Anyone?" He's as loud and animated as he can; anything to distract the Demolition Brothers from that boy up there. His help had been very welcome, and Dick is totally going to buy him a giant cheeseburger meal for that later, but the kid doesn't know what he's getting himself into. These are some mean, next-level bruisers. If he thinks putting on a vintage Robin suit will make him invincible … Dick knows from his own experience how that can end badly really quick. He's not gonna let another kid go down in that suit. "Come and get me!" He chirps at his attackers, which is probably pretty unsubtle, but those two don't seem like the types for subtlety, anyway. Good thing that they have all the strength of a pair of freighters, but are about as graceful, too. Dick is busily zig-zagging between them, getting them to punch each other instead of him, but they're not getting as tired as he'd like them to. He's not exhausted, but he can already feel the strain. They're two, and he's one; he can't stop moving for even a second, or else they'll – He hears hollering, and his heart stops when a flurry of red, green and yellow drops from the sky. No please no - That's when he sees the boy do a triple somersault in the air, and suddenly becomes very calm. Oh; he's got this. Robin lands firmly on Herbert's shoulders, making him roar and flail his arms around in an attempt to be rid of him. But to no avail. Now the boy is riding him like a pony, steering him into the containers he's been standing on, and he laughs while he does it, and Dick almost shivers with the recognition. No time to ponder, now. Now he only has one big bad bruiser to look out for, which means his work is getting indefinitely easier. And the dude is obviously off his game, startled out of his wits by the Teen Wonder's sudden appearance, which is exactly what Teen Wonders have always been good at. It gives Nightwing enough time to loosen the wire he always carries with him, and fashion a few nice, tight restraints for the thug and his buddy while he dodges his sluggish attacks. Slinging it around his feet and legs is a cakewalk. "Timber!" He calls out when his opponent drops into the dust, and it sounds as if Robin is totally finding that funny. They work together to tie the hulking, unconscious bodies into a neat package, both using the same type of knot. With a few injections of the antidote, the two monster-men will be shrinking back into decently-sized (and probably very frightened) bodybuilders in no time. Yep, these two will be going straight into the rehab program.  When they're done, Robin hops on top of the thug pile and cockily, proudly sits on it, kicking his legs, which elicits a few soft grunts. Dick looks at him, and his adrenaline levels go off the charts, and it's not just the pleasure of a job well done. He can't make sense of it, but he knows. He knows where he knows him from. It's eerie. And super cool. And eerie. "So," he finally says, casually leaning on their defeated opponents. "Thanks … me?" The boy blushes at that, then he giggles, which only causes Dick's smile to widen. "Um." Robin (Dick needs to label him 'Robin' in his head, or else his skull will explode) looks down at his pixie boots for a moment, then scratches the back of his head, then looks at Dick again, still blushing. "So, I know this is weird, and it's hard to explain," he starts sheepishly, putting his hands up in a helpless gesture, "But … if I told you that the Batman from your world was dragged into my world because of some inter… inter-dimensional whatsit, and then he, uh, took me back with him, would you just. Would you just go with that?" Dick has to chuckle at his flusteredness. He gets it. He wouldn't know where to start explaining Zebra Batman or Zur-En-Arrh-Batman to someone, either. He smiles wryly. "Sure." "Oh, good." Robin looks almost shy when he smiles back at him. Dick can't stop grinning. Turns out, his last therapist had been right. He doesn't hate himself deep down inside. He looks at his mini-me, and all he wants to do is cuddle him and ruffle his hair and take him out for ice-cream, their favorite flavor, and then go kettcar racing with him, maybe. "You're adorable," he titters, before he can help it. Robin scrunches up his nose, which is exactly what he would have done if someone had said that to him at that age. Dick covers his mouth, chuckling. "I'm … I'm sorry." Robin slides down the pile of goon, puts his hands on his hips again, and gives Dick a very, very close examination. It'd almost be a little weird, if Dick wasn't as curious about the kid as he is about him. "Hm," he finally makes, after he's done looking Nightwing up and down. "So. This is what I grow up to be?" It's Dick's turn to feel sheepish. His cheeks grow warm. "Yeah, I guess?" He can't resist showing off a little, pulls out an escrima stick and twirls it through the air. "Unless you come up with something better?" He squints at him, and then his heart almost bursts when he sees Robin look at his boots with a pleased little smile on his face, and hears him mumble, "Cool." It's a sweet, awkward moment, until Robin clears his throat and becomes all business, which is almost too cute for Dick to take. "Batman wanted to make sure you're, er, you're still in one piece," he reports. "'cause, you know, he brought me here and we're not sure what it did and whatnot. But there was this thing, and there was also the huge fire on Amusement Mile, and he didn't know which site you were at, so we split up." Finished, Robin grins, crossing his arms. He looks pleased with himself. "He was so sure you'd be at Amusement Mile," he scoffs. "His face'll be so red." There's something about the pure, direct affection in Robin's voice when he mentions Batman that makes Dick uncomfortable. But, hey, where this kid's from, him and the Bat are probably still bestest of friends, or something. Dick is not gonna ruin that for him, until it ruins itself. If Robin notices the slight shift in his mood, he doesn't mention it. "He's asked me to take you home," he says. "Batman. You coming?" "Home?" Dick furrows his brow. "Is that what he said?" They boy shoots him an odd look, but then he quickly corrects himself. "Uh, no. He said to bring you to base. He wants to talk. About. You know." He gestures at his person. Dick cocks a brow. "I sure hope so," he says dryly. He's still ailing from the last time Bruce had neglected sharing vital information with him, and at this point, he wouldn't even put it past him to acquire himself a Mini-Dick, and then not talk about it. The kid's cheeks flush with excitement at that. "Can we go? Please? I wanna see the look on his face when he sees I found you first!" Dick stays silent. The idea of talking to his mentor fills him with the exact opposite of excitement. He hasn't quite forgiven him for what he and the others had went through these past months, culminating with that night in Arkham; a harsh, cruel reminder of the level of hubris that Bruce is operating on, how quick he is to dismiss them, even if they'd all die for him. It had become hard to face him after that. Dick is still responding to his distress calls, whenever Bruce isn't too stubborn to send one out. He still watches his back. He cares. But putting some distance between himself and Batman had been … refreshing. Especially since Bruce's meandering attempts at seeking forgiveness tend to be short-lived, and then he pulls the rug out again, like he … like he kinda does now. With this. Seeing Robin, seeing himself so eager to do Bruce's bidding, tail practically wagging, it drags up memories that hurt. And you can't even say that Dick is making things all about himself when they aren't, since this time, it's literally about himself. The more he thinks about the whole situation, the more uncomfortable he gets. However; it's hardly the boy's fault. He shrugs. "All right. I'm really kinda curious to hear the long version of this story," he says. He almost thinks he sees Robin shoot him a sly look at that. Maybe he's put off by the obvious sarcasm in Dick's voice. But he seems far too eager to deliver him to Batman to get into it. They're already on the way to Nightwing's bike when Dick notices something else. "Boy, your costume looks pretty rough," he observes good-naturedly. It really does. All rumpled, and with weird stains on it. It's hard to believe that Batman had even let him go out like that. He really must've been in a hurry to find him. "Ran into trouble along the way?" Robin blushes at that. He starts fidgeting with his vest. "Eh," he says, a little too casually, "We were kind of in a rush." Something about the way he says it sticks out to Dick. He presses his lips together. And then it hits him like a sack of bricks, why this is so weird, why it bothers him so much, even though his mini-me is the most adorable thing ever; and he wants to smack himself for not realizing it earlier. Bruce took him from somewhere. He'd been world-hopping again – which might not have been his fault, to be fair – and then he somehow ended up with a teenaged Dick Grayson, and he saw him, and he simply took him. Dick – the grown-up one – doesn't talk to him for a few months, and he finds himself a younger, more eager, more devoted version, and takes him home with him. Like he's his to take.  It's messed up. And he kinda wants to see Bruce's face when he tries to explain to him how it's not messed up. "Fine," he mutters through his teeth, when he and the little one take a seat on his bike, and kicks the ignition. "Let's hear it."

  II. They're down in the tunnels leading to the Batcave when they hear footsteps and agitated voices. Or, more precisely, one very bossy, agitated voice. "They're here! I have to see!" "Damian. Slow down." Dick sees Robin stiffen when he hears Bruce's voice ring out to them. It's a little weird. But he's quickly distracted by the other voice coming towards them. "Tt, no way. You cannot tell me you have a tiny version of Grayson, Father, and then ask me to slow down." "He's not tiny –" Bruce grumbles, dark voice echoing from the walls. "Oh boy, here we go," Dick mutters, corners of his mouth twitching. A shadow creeps towards them on the wall, and then Damian bursts around the corner, wearing his own Robin suit, face dark and taut with excitement. Bruce is right on his heels, dark cape swooping behind him, face unreadable. Damian stops dead when he sets his eyes on the other Robin; and Robin, next to Dick, does the same. "Oh," they both say at once, and the instant dislike is downright chilling. Dick looks from one to the other. Right. Robin is older than Damian is, but they're both close enough in age to compete with each other. It's bad enough with Tim. And now Bruce has dragged another dark-haired, blue-eyed kid into it, and they're both Robins, on top of it. There can only be one at a time; Bruce of all people should've known better. Who would've thought that seeing his mentor again wouldn't be the most uncomfortable part of this. "Relax, Damian." Dick tries a smile, even though the situation weirds him out on oh-so-many levels. "He's me." Well, Damian likes him at least, right? Batman And Robin Will Never Die? "I can see that," the son of the Bat intones, lips pursed, but the look he gives Robin doesn't get friendlier, at all. "Nice suit," he drawls. "If you can call it that." "Hey –" Dick raises his voice in protest, but the two teens ignore him. "Yeah? Right back at you," Robin sneers at the younger kid, "Is that a hood? D'you know what any thug with half a brain will do with a hood?" "Tch, perhaps if you're slow, and bad at your job -" Robin is shockingly quick to curl his fists up at that. Damian does the same. Dick's gaze flickers over to Bruce, who watches the scene unfold with a remarkably helpless look on his face, and can't suppress a grin. Yeah. Good luck with that. Bruce catches Dick grinning at him, and it prompts him to finally take charge of the situation. Or try to, at least. "Damian!" He barks, and then, "Dick!" "Yeah?" Both Graysons respond at the same time. Bruce looks flat-out exasperated. Dick can't fight the Schadenfreude tunneling through his system. Batman's in over his head. He's so in over his head. The older man is visibly fighting the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Can we. Please. All head into the situation room so we can talk about this." "What's there to talk about?" Damian snaps. "I insist that tiny Grayson get out of those rags immediately, he's making a mockery out of my position –" "Hey, I did some excellent work in those rags –" Dick pipes up. "I'm taller than you - " Robin hisses at Damian, a nasty threat in his voice. "Everyone - " Batman growls. "Gentlemen." They all turn around when the fifth voice joins the fray, and tempers cool down immediately. It's Alfred, master of defusion, carrying a tray with tea and sandwiches. He's as poised at ever, but then he spots Robin, and his face lights up. "My word," he says warmly. But he doesn't seem surprised. Bruce must have prepped him in advance. Alfred looks from Nightwing to Robin with a twinkle in his gentle eyes. "This is the most beautiful photo opportunity I was ever not allowed to take," he remarks, shooting Bruce a quick glance. Dick can see Robin relax under the butler's friendly gaze; he obviously trusts him, and Dick is pleased to know that some things are the same no matter which universe. Damian pouts when he sees them exchange a brief smile. "Pennyworth is our butler," He mumbles, lest Robin get any ideas. "I am the butler of this house, Master Damian," Alfred points out politely, "And if you all don't mind me intervening, I think the situation room is an excellent idea. I will be serving there. Feel free to follow me." He's speaking softly, but with authority; no Bat or Bird would ever think of disobeying the man. They walk the rest of the way in a small procession. Damian and Robin seem to be competing over who gets to walk closer to Batman, bumping into each other in a progressively hostile way in the narrow tunnel. Dick isn't sure if he should laugh, or step in before one of them starts slamming the other one's face into the wall. Damian is a fierce kid, and Robin … Robin seems a little more aggressive than Dick remembers himself being. But that might be rose-tinted glasses, who knows. He has to chuckle despite himself when Batman eventually gets fed up with both of them, and gently grabs them by the capes to drag them along. Ah. Not-so-sweet nostalgia. They reach the situation room without further incident. When they step in, Bruce holds Dick back at the door. He leans in confidentially, while at the same time keeping a respectful distance. He seems a little awkward with him, but that makes sense. They haven't spoken in a while, and now Dick finds out that Bruce has been hanging out with a teenage version of him, which is both sad and creepy as all get-out. "Thank you for coming," Bruce says quietly. "Really, I appreciate it." Dick can tell that he means it; he can also tell that he's genuinely sorry about the radio silence between them. But he doesn't smile, doesn't acknowledge the thanks. He's still mad at him, and besides, whatever the hell is going on here, he's brought it on himself. "It'll make sense in a minute," Bruce promises him through clenched teeth. It's easy to tell that he really wants Dick to believe it. "Doesn't it always," Dick replies dryly. That's what Bruce never seems to get. It's not about making sense. Batman always has reasons, and they always make sense on some level, but that doesn't make the things he does less off-putting or hurtful.  Bruce frowns and makes an odd gesture, as if he wants to touch Dick's arm but can't quite bring himself to do it. Instead of wondering about it, Dick looks over Batman's shoulder at Robin and Damian, who are morosely claiming a mounted car skeleton and an examining table to sit on, respectively, because no Robin can just sit down in a chair normally, ever. Then, he gives the older man a comforting, but sarcastic pat. "Well, pal, looks like you need all the help you can get," he quips, then walks past Bruce to hop onto the desk. As soon as he sits down, Damian scrambles over to squat next to him, still pouting. Obviously, his father is not the only adult in the room he feels territorial about. Dick isn't sure if he should feel flattered, or drop his face in his hands at the madness of it all. He leans over to his little former partner. "Give him a chance?" He whispers. Across from them, Robin has received some tea and a sandwich from a doting Alfred and is tucking in with great appetite, while Damian stares at him with a look of cold disdain on his face. In his ragged, stained tunic, with his bruised shins and arms, his face and ruffled hair still covered in dirt from their little riverside adventure, he really looks more like a street ruffian than a squeaky clean Teen Wonder. Dick thinks it's endearing. Robin sees him looking, stops chewing and shoots him a grin with his mouth full. "Ugh," Damian mutters next to him. "Grayson, please tell me you were never like that." "I'm still like that, especially when I'm hungry, and you know it," he replies cheerfully, mirroring Robin's grin. Damian scoffs. "If I fought him, you'd still root for me though, ri – oh come on," he ends with a frown when he sees Dick cast him a warning look. "I can hear you, ya know," Robin comments, chowing down on his sandwich, "Havin' my legs out doesn't make me deaf." He swallows, flashing Damian a cocky, remarkably cruel smile. "And, I'd kick your a – " He stops mid-profanity when his eyes meet Batman's. As soon as he sees Bruce take his place in the center of the room, he hops off the car's hood and busily flits over to be by his side. He climbs a metal bar behind him so he can loom over his shoulder, like a pet bird. Dick bites his lip. Had he really been this clingy? That's a little -  Bruce clears his throat, and the entire room looks at him. Now both Bruce and Dick have a Robin peeking over their shoulders. Dick isn't sure anymore if this is a real situation, or a bizarre, semi-therapeutic waking dream about their combined issues or something. The only person looking remotely not ridiculous is Alfred in the corner, who does not have an eager teenager attached to his hip. Meanwhile, Bruce starts the talks with a quickfire round of "well done"s, which is another clear sign that he feels he needs to make up for something. He compliments Damian for his quick intervention at the burn site downtown, then thanks Robin for aiding Nightwing down at the docks. Dick watches Robin's cheeks glow at that. "He would've died if it wasn't for me!" The teenager blurts out excitedly, before Bruce can turn to Dick to deploy some praise in his direction. Dick feels a strange knot in his stomach when he realizes that his mini-me is not above competing with himself, either. He kinda wants to point out that Robin's appearance had been what had almost gotten him killed, in the first place, but it seems childish. Damian and Robin are already vying for approval hard enough. Dick doesn't … he shouldn't need it. "I sincerely doubt that, Robin," Bruce tells him firmly, and then his voice thaws a little when he adds, "Nightwing is one of the best. He's in a class of his own." "Yeah, he's really good," Damian barks next to him, which sounds very much like Suck it, tiny Grayson! Dick crosses his arms, frowning. He'd usually be moved to hear both Damian and Bruce acknowledge his abilities, but it feels as if this whole exchange isn't about him, at all. Robin hangs his head, humbled. But the pout on his face looks grim. "You did good, kid," Dick tells him quietly, because it feels like he needs to hear it; and because it's true. "Nice work." Robin's mouth twitches, but his head stays low, and overall it seems as if it would've meant more coming from Batman. There's something gentle in Bruce's expression when he looks at the kid. "That I don't doubt." "Eh. You weren't there," Robin mumbles, but now he's smiling to himself. Dick watches them both, unsure what to think or feel. Bruce turns to him next. "Di – Nightwing. Would it be all right if I gave Robin one of your old suits to wear? His is. Not fit to be worn." Dick narrows his eyes. That's a weird, weird question for Bruce to ask. Sure, Dick is somewhat attached to that uniform, but … well, Bruce hadn't asked before he'd put Jason Todd in it. And then later, Tim had put it on when Dick had refused to wear it again. It doesn't seem like his to give away. He understands that Bruce is attempting to show him some sort of courtesy by asking that, but … it's coming a little late in the game, really. "Uh," he shrugs. "Sure." He looks over at his smaller counterpart. "You do look like you've been through the wringer," he smiles. Robin looks weirdly proud at that.  Bruce looks uncomfortable. He clears his throat. "Alfred. Would you please show Robin the wardrobe and help him pick something that suits him? Thank you. Robin, go with Alfred. Go ahead, it's fine." The teen looks a little miffed to give up his plum spot next to Batman, but the prospect of mulling through Dick's old stuff seems to be incentive enough. "Yes, Sir," he says, almost achingly obedient, "Right away, Sir!" Dick can tell it takes Damian every little bit of restraint not to imitate him. Alfred, on the other hand, seems completely thrilled to show the boy around. He puts a paternal arm around him as Robin bounces away with him. Damian waits until they're barely out of earshot. "Why even give him a suit?!" He hisses at his father. "He's not going to be Robin. I am. You're not thinking about going on patrol with him instead, are you – no offense, Grayson –" "None taken," Dick responds dryly. In a way, he's relieved that Damian has started ranting, so he doesn't have to be the one addressing all this weirdness. "I'm – I'm putting my foot down," Damian pouts, and Dick can see that he's as nervous about losing the cape as every boy has been before him. He probably remembers how he got the suit, himself – because Dick had taken it from Tim, and given it to him. And now the first, the very first to wear it had somehow returned. "It's not about taking him on patrol, Damian." Bruce comes closer, lowering his deep voice. "I want him to feel safe. That's important. I need to work with him. That's why I took him. That's why I … I had to take him." Now that Dick sees him up close again, and now that Robin and Alfred are gone, he notices something. Bruce looks tired and tense, yes, that isn't new, but he also looks … distraught, almost. As if something is eating away at him. And before he knows it, that dumb part of him that can't bear to see him like this rears its head. "Bruce, what's wrong," he asks quietly. Even Damian grows quiet, now that he's starting to understand that his father has sent Robin to fetch a suit partly so he could talk to them, in private. Bruce's jaw seems to almost tremble a little. He seems distressed. "It may not be immediately obvious, but. He's … he's not well." It gives Dick a sinking feeling in his stomach. But somehow, he's not surprised. As adorable as the kid is, there is something … off about him. "What - what do you mean?" He asks anxiously. "Is he … sick? Is he …" Bruce's voice is hollow. "I think he's being mistreated. I think he's being abused." Dick's eyes widen. He feels a sudden hot, searing pain in his chest. He and Robin aren't related by blood, of course, and they may not even technically be the same person, but the idea of someone hurting him, it cuts deep. But before he can say anything, he hears Damian scoff. "Tt, and he took it? Not much of a Robin, is he? He doesn't seem to have a lot going for him –" For a moment, it looks as if Bruce will slap his son in the face. Dick hasn't seen him that cold and furious in a long time. And Damian sees it, too, which is obvious from the way all color leaves his face as his father sets his eyes on him. "No-one chooses to be abused," Bruce hisses at him, cold rage in his voice. "It's never the victim's fault. It's not about weakness. This is the dumbest thing I have ever heard you say, Damian. I'm disappointed in you." Damian looks startled and hurt. Dick can't help but flinch at Bruce's words along with him. He's entirely right, but it still seems harsh. "You're right." Damian lowers his gaze, turning into a timid little boy again under his father's scrutinizing stare. His lip is trembling "I'm … I'm sorry, Father." "All right," Bruce huffs, visibly still angry, but trying to calm down. "Don't forget it." There's a pause until Dick speaks up. "So … what happened," he asks reluctantly. "Who would – " He says no more when Bruce doesn't answer, and averts his gaze instead. A cold chill runs down his spine when he understands. Oh Part of Dick's brain won't even hear it. The thought alone makes him nauseous. But … he's no stranger to alternate versions of people he knows. He's seen worlds in which Superman was an evil dictator, he's seen versions of Bruce himself turn monstrous under some harmful influence. If there's one thing he knows, it's that this is not impossible, even if every fiber of his being refuses it. He has to hold on to the edge of the desk for support; he feels dizzy. He hears Bruce softly say, "Dick …" It's quiet until Damian mumbles, "That's so creepy," summing up what they're all probably thinking. Dick looks up again as soon as he feels ready. "Anything I can do to help," he tells Bruce. "Seriously, anything." For some reason, Bruce seems abashed by that. "You've already done enough," he mumbles. That's … another strange thing to say. Dick hasn't done anything yet, except for coming here. "It's going to be temporary," Bruce continues, still looking away. "I know it's wrong to keep him here. And I've discussed it with him, too. But I want him to get better. In the meantime, I will find a way to breach into his world again, so I can find … the other one. And then, him and me will have words." It's clear from his tone that those words will include all of his knuckles. It gives Dick a sort of dark satisfaction. Bruce exhales deeply. "All I ask for is your patience," he says to Damian, a little friendlier again. He looks reluctant when he turns to Dick. "And you … I can only hope you understand …" Dick nods. He understands. He also understands, however, that there's more to this that Bruce isn't telling him. He seems honest about the part he is telling them, but … Dick's known him for too long; it's impossible for him not to notice that he's holding out. But maybe this is not the right time to ask all these questions –  "You have a bunch of stuff back there!" All three of them flinch a little, but Robin seems too excited to notice. Or perhaps he doesn't care. Now that Dick knows what he thinks he knows, Robin's big grin seems a little more strained than before. But he doesn't miss a step as he strides toward their little group along with Alfred, in a fresh suit and busily chatting away. "What's up with all those fedoras and mustaches and wigs? We … he doesn't have that many costumes. Do you dress up all the time? Is that a thing? We never – " He stops abruptly when something on the other side of the room catches his eye. Dick follows his gaze, and swallows. Oh boy; he's found the memorial case. Dick and Damian both watch, somewhat mortified, as he approaches the bright Robin uniform behind the glass and examines it with interest, curiously plugging on his lower lip. "What's this for?" He wonders. Dick casts a nervous glance in Bruce's direction, but the older man seems at a loss for words. He'd always been especially vulnerable when it came to this case. It's Damian who speaks up. "That's for Jason Todd, the second Robin," he explains, not unkindly. He's obviously pitching in an effort to be less of a jackass towards Robin now, because deep down Damian isn't a bad kid. "He died. It's okay though, he came back to life. There was also a girl Robin, the fourth one, and she almost died as well, but she's Batgirl now. I'm the fifth. And actually," he adds, probably in a bid to impress the other boy, "I nearly died, too, a few months ago when my Mother made me fight that clone of mine, but I prevailed." Robin has a strong reaction to that. Which isn't surprising, considering how insane a lot of it sounds. What's weird, though, is that he doesn't focus on "he died and came back to life", or "my mother sent my clone to kill me", but – His smooth cheeks grow flaming red. His hands are turning into fists in their green gloves, and his laser-guided glare goes directly to Bruce when he roars, "There's been five?!" He sounds like a scorned girlfriend. Dick … Dick really wants to go lie down somewhere. "I never," the corners of Bruce's mouth are drooping. "I never planned for it to turn out that way."  He sounds solemn, almost defeated. There's something about this kid that seriously throws him off his game, it seems. Robin's fierce mouth flies open in protest. "So hey!" Dick leaps off the desk, clapping his hands and getting back in on the action, even though he feels more and more weirded out with every freaky minute. He turns to the enraged teen, smiling. "The night isn't over yet. How 'bout I give you the tour? We could scale some rooftops together. You can show me all your tricks, and I can show you our Gotham. And I promise I'll tell you anything you wanna know. C'mon," he adds, when Robin keeps pouting, "You can't meet your doppelganger, and then don't hang out with them, right? It'll be fun." He does it partly to adjourn this ultra-strange meeting, but most of it is genuine. Now that he knows what the kid has apparently been through, he wants to do something nice for him more than ever. Besides … Dick knows how hard it is to open up about matters like that, and perhaps it would be easier for the boy to talk about it with, well, with himself. Perhaps he could get something out of him. Help him somehow. If not, they could at least still have fun. Robin looks intrigued. But then, he immediately looks at Batman for comment or permission. He cocks his head to the side like a curious bird. "Can I go? I'll be good. Promise." A small smile plays around his lips as his gaze darts back and forth between Bruce and Dick. "I'll use discretion." That seems like an odd choice of words. "Uh. Don't worry," Dick mumbles, a little thrown off. "I wasn't gonna take you to Park Row and start lighting Bentleys on fire." Bruce seems to ponder the suggestion for a moment. "That's an excellent idea," he then concludes, though he looks like he's passing a gall stone as he says it, "Thank you, Dick." "Yes!" Robin pumps his fist into the air, which looks very cute, though the quick mood shift seems a little disquieting; however, Dick himself had hardly been normal at that age, as far as he comprehended what that was. Before they leave, Bruce comes over to him once more. "Nightwing. We'll talk later," he says quietly. "I promise." "All right. Get in touch," Dick tells him, and it feels so awkward, as if they're not former partners, best friends, blood brothers, but strange, stilted acquaintances. But he decides not to make this his number one problem right now. And really, the number of times he's heard Bruce make that promise … It's when Robin goes to say goodbye to Batman before they leave that one last strange thing happens. Only it's not that strange, actually. It's pretty familiar. Dick sees him sweetly bite his lip before he smiles. Then he breathes, "Okay, seeya later," in that tone, tugging a strand of black hair back behind his ear like a flustered schoolgirl. He looks like he has to try hard not to flirtily run his gloved finger down the older man's armored chest. And it tells Dick everything he needs to know. He cringes. "Hey, you coming?" He calls out, trying to sound chipper. "The city's waiting," and I really really need to get out of this cave. Damian strolls over to stand next to his father as they watch the two Graysons take off together. "I really want to know what these two are going to talk about," he confesses, as soon as they're gone. He's still a little shaken by the verbal lashing he's received – even though he understands why it had happened – but the fact that Father is still talking to him has rekindled his confidence. Besides, all of this is too interesting to keep quiet about it. His heart does a happy little leap when his father puts a hand on his shoulder. "You will," Batman announces. "We are trailing them."

  III. It's almost 3 am when they find themselves on a rooftop with a cool view of the cathedral, and lie down to look at the sky. The city's lights seem muted, but they haven't died down completely. In Gotham, they never do. Since the fire and the mutant attack this evening, there hasn't even been a Bat signal to distract them. It's been fun. If there's one thing Dick knows, it's that no matter how weird you are or how much trouble you find yourself in, a nightly dive always makes life seem bright and easy. They hitch rides atop the subway cars speeding through the city, then challenge each other to a chase across multiple roofs. They have this cool thing where sometimes, they can anticipate each other's movements like they're telepathic, and sometimes they completely surprise each other. Dick is at the top of his game, he can go faster and higher than ever before in his life, having internalized the skill-sets of Robin, Nightwing and Batman. But Robin is quick and nimble and utterly carefree, and his lithe body allows him access to corners that Dick can't reach anymore. Seeing it makes Dick laugh and gasp and holler, while also making his heart hurt with nostalgia. They interrupt their game to stop a stick-up at a Seven Eleven. Small Potatoes, but Dick still has to stop Robin from kicking a scrawny punk's face into the ATM machine. "It's how we do things," the kid says, shrugging, as he lets off the whimpering crook. The vendor is really grateful however, and loads them up with free hot dogs and slushies and candy bars despite Dick's polite insistence that vigilantes don't do bartering. But Robin looks kinda hungry, and Dick could eat something, so they end up on that roof, splitting the loot between them. Dick isn't sure anymore if he should ask him stuff, at all. Maybe it'll only make him uncomfortable. If what Bruce says is true, he'll be around for a while anyway, and there'll be another chance. They've barely spoken since they'd left the cave, save for shouting quips and taunts at each other, and it seems to make Robin so happy. Dick had always been happy doing that, too. They're very similar that way. If the choice was to talk about your problems, or crack wise and hop off a ledge, it was always wise-cracking and ledge-hopping; he has a very deep understanding of that. "I kicked the Penguin off this roof once, I think," he remarks after some silence, looking around for confirmation. "Yep, I remember that crack over there; this is the one. He had that gigantic death ray canon with him, super impractical. Penguins should never go this high." He raises his head to lazily point at another roof, three buildings across. "And over there … Deathstroke, I think. And that one over there – I wanna say alien invasion, but don't quote me on that –" "So." The crushed ice rattles in its cup when Robin abruptly puts his drink down. Dick isn't sure if he's been listening at all. "How'd you screw it up?" Dick blinks up at him. "Screw what up?" "You know." The boy sits up, parking his chin on his bruised knees. He sounds impatient, and Dick realizes he's been waiting to ask this for a while. "Why'd he kick you out?" "He didn't –" Dick pauses. Well, uh. Well, technically speaking, yeah, Bruce had kicked him out back then. There's no way around it. "I didn't screw up," he says, barely pulling his teeth apart. It still hurts to hear it put like that, and he hates that a little. He props himself up on his elbow to watch Robin. "Do you think that's the only way not to be Robin anymore?" He asks gently. "To screw up?" The kid snorts. "How else?" "Maybe because you decide you want to do something new? Make a name for yourself, try new challenges," Dick suggests. He's unsure who he wants to convince here. "Y'know, change ain't bad." That much is true. And if Dick is honest, he loves how his life has turned out, for the most part. He's proud of who he is. It doesn't change the fact that he'd been an aimless, depressed sack of sad for a while when Bruce had split with him. It's almost like the kid knows. How could he not; he's him. "What really happened," he pries on, unimpressed. Dick sighs. He closes his eyes. "I was shot." "Ah," Robin says quietly. If he's compassionate, or worried for himself, he doesn't show it. "It was pretty severe. Bruce thought I might die. And when I didn't, he … he decided it'd be best for me if I …" He stops again, bites his lip. The fact that Bruce had thought he could decide that for him still makes him mad. He realizes that Bruce had been as terrified of him getting killed as he had been when he'd thought Bruce had died, but … but still … It's not as if he has to say any more, though, since Robin is clearly getting the gist of it. "Hrm," he makes, after letting it sink in, and drops down on his back again. And then: "You shouldn't have gotten shot, then." Dick spins around to him, anger flaring for a moment. He doesn't need to hear that, the least of all from this … from himself. "Dude -" Robin turns his head to him. "What." Dick's anger collapses in on itself and is replaced by a melancholy feeling when he looks at the kid in the red and green suit. And realizes that, at this point in his life, Robin would always, always take Batman's side, against everyone, even if that someone was Dick Grayson. Whatever Batman – his Batman – had done to him, it hadn't been enough to make him hate him, and sadly Dick isn't surprised by that, at all. He thinks back on that scene down in the cave, and can't resist. "You know," he says after a fashion, tentatively, delicately, "When I was your age, I … I had a crush on him, too." He'd somehow expected Robin to blush, or fidget, or loudly deny everything (which is what he would have done), but the boy stays weirdly calm. He turns toward him with newly rekindled interest. His voice is hoarse. But a little meek, too, as if he's humbled to share this with someone. "Yeah…?" Dick sputters out an embarrassed laugh when he realizes he's never admitted this to anybody before, not to Babs, not to Roy or Kory, not to Tim, obviously. But … well, saying it to Robin – to Dick – now, it's like saying it into a mirror.  Except for how it isn't, at all. "Yeah – um," he runs his fingers through his hair. He's said it to get Robin's reaction, but now he's the one who's flailing, as those queasy, awkward memories flood his brain. His voice gets a little more high-pitched even, with the result that him and the kid don't sound that different, now. "I know how it is. It's … it's rough," he squeaks. "Spending almost every waking moment with someone you look up to so much, trying so hard to be the best you can, and suddenly you have to deal with those, those butterflies in your stomach, and … your pants …" Oh boy, why is he still talking. He should've stopped talking a full minute ago. Dick feels hot, grabs his drink and downs it in a few thirsty gulps. That was such a long time ago, though. Sure, sometimes, he still feels that, that draw when he's standing close Bruce, but that's okay, he's made his peace with it. He's not gonna fall down that rabbit hole. He knows that Bruce Wayne, Batman, remains forever unattainable; easy to fall for (to him, at least), impossible to have a relationship with.  Dick winces. He feels like a tool; this kid, this Robin, he probably has a boatload of complicated, messed-up feelings for whatever Bruce he knows, and now here's his adult self, babbling about his dumb crush. The conversation doesn't seem to hurt or frighten Robin, however. He looks at Dick through the whited-out lenses of his domino, absorbing every word he says. It almost seems like his nostrils are flaring, but it's hard to tell in the dark. "And?" He asks after a while, when he realizes Dick isn't continuing. His tone is sharp. "Then what? Did you do stuff with him?" Before he can help it, Dick barks out another startled laugh. He feels terrible about it, because the look Robin is giving him is not funny at all, and this topic is not funny at all, either. "Heavens, no!" He blurts out. "No. No no. I mean, that … that would have been …" There's something almost accusing in Robin's voice when he asks, "That woulda been what." Dick falls silent. The last thing he wants is for Robin to feel like a freak, for something he has no control over. He kinda wants to put a comforting arm around him, but he doesn't want to touch him without permission, either. He shoots him a concerned look, letting the nightly breeze cool his very hot face. "You know," he says quietly, leaning over to him. "It's just that … sometimes, when you really admire someone, and when you love them, you think they're perfect. And that they can do no wrong. But they can, and they do. They'll do things that hurt you, that are dangerous, that are wrong. And it's okay to question that, and it's okay to get- get out of- " He isn't sure if Robin understands what he's struggling to express, and he'd never find out. Because right then, a plucky little grin flits across the boy's face, and he grabs Dick's head with both hands, digging his fingers into his soft hair as he pulls him down, and kisses him, kisses himself on the mouth. It's a coy, teenage kiss at first, then it turns into something almost unbearably needy and tender. Dick shudders when he feels Robin's tongue slide into his mouth. Robin – Dick – lets out a little sigh, and then slings a bare leg around his waist, squeezing his stiff, frozen body. He's stroking his older self's face with his gloved hands, nibbling and sucking on his mouth with raw, curious affection, and then Dick feels him press his cup against him with no reservations. All in all, it doesn't last longer than perhaps four seconds before Dick gets it together and pries the kid off, but it feels like soul-tainting, sanity-destroying eternity. He's shaking, heat and cold washing over his body in relentless alternation. He feels nauseous.  He sure hadn't anticipated that. "Wh-what the –" He gargles. Robin's smile is not cute or adorable at all. "Oh c'mon," he purrs, still kneeling spread-legged above him, "Like you didn't wanna know what it's like." "I- I didn't –" Dick shivers, presses the back of his hand to his mouth, cold sweat dribbling from his brow. He feels violated. Robin snickers and reaches down to touch his cheek. "Don't be a –" He yelps when Dick shoves him off to get to his feet. His knees are shaking. He doubles over, pressing one hand on his thigh for support, and uses the other to point a warning finger in Robin's direction. "Young man," he gasps, 'cause he doesn't know what else to say, "Do not. Do that again. Not to me. Not to anyone. Understood?" "Aw, what's the big deal?" The kid protests, pouting at him from the floor. "It's like doing it with myself, ain't it? Don't tell me you don't do that." "You're sixteen," Dick groans. Robin chuckles. "Really? That's your problem? So if I was you but older, that'd be cool?" Dick thinks about that perhaps a moment longer than necessary. "No," he then mumbles, rubbing his burning cheeks with his hands, "That'd still be like doing … doing it with a relative –" "Psh, how would I know?" Robin shrugs. "I'm an orphan." Dick tears his hands off his face, and stares at him. Bruce is right. Something has happened to this kid, something that's really messed with his head. It turns his stomach, yet he still wants to take him into his arms and squeeze him and keep him safe. But then he'd probably try to make out again. "You hate me now," Robin says, gloved hands on his thighs. "You think I'm gross." It breaks Dick's heart. "No," he says softly. "No, that's not at all what -" "Eh, I should probably head back, anyway. It's really late." The boy gets up, straightening his collar and cape. He sounds dismissive, but he seems faintly crushed as he avoids looking at his grown-up self. Dick's heart clenches up when he realizes how badly this kid wants someone, someone older, to tell him he's not bad. "Robin," he whispers. "Dick. Really, it's okay. It's gonna be okay." "Sure." Robin is already stepping up to the ledge, grappling hook in hand. "It's been real, Nightwing. I'll be seeing you. 'night." "R –" But he's already gone, swept up by Gotham's breezy night air.

----- It would've been easy to chase after him; but Dick chooses not to. It'd only mean opening up another freaky chapter in this bizarre saga he's been tossed into, and he isn't sure if that would benefit anybody right now, not without a good night's sleep in between for all of them. Who would've thought that battling two killer mutants in a shipyard would be the easiest part of his day. He heads home, deciding he'd give Batman a quick call to make sure that Robin got there back okay. He has no doubts that Bruce is still up, probably busily tinkering with solutions for this latest problem, and nervously awaiting the return of his new protégé. So he's a little surprised when he comes into his apartment, and finds Bruce there, towering dark and silent in his living room, waiting for him. He's not surprised that he'd found his way in; Bruce had never had any trouble with that. But he's surprised to see him actually make true on his promise. That's … nice, even though he's not sure he's really keen on having another talk tonight. Dick yawns, too exhausted to even feel weird about having Bruce there for the first time in what feels like ages. It's odd - despite all the problems they have, whenever Dick is feels really beat … he finds Bruce's presence very comforting. "Hey, thanks for letting all my blinds down for me," he quips lazily, tossing his keys into the bowl next to the door. "That's very thoughtful of you." Bruce doesn't respond, he just stands there with the narrow, icy cold slits in his mask glowing in Dick's direction. But he's not too bothered by it. It's not as if they hadn't had tons of conversations that had started out this way. Dick casts another look at him before he starts rummaging for the milk in his mini-fridge. "New suit? I like it. But you didn't have to dress up all fancy to come here. I'm not … I'm not even that mad anymore." He peels open the milk carton, takes a sip. "Look. I think you're right, okay? The kid could use our help. But. I was thinking …" He lowers his head, bites his lip. He's not quite ready to disclose to Bruce what had happened between him and Robin tonight, but he has to at least voice his concern. "Y'know, I was thinking, maybe it's not for the best if he hangs around us all the time. You or me. Maybe we should bring in someone more … neutral. You should ask Leslie, she's really good with this stuff …" Still no word from the man. He's standing there like molded out of the shadows. Dick can barely make out his firm, pronounced chin and the stern hard mouth. It doesn't occur to him to turn the light switch. He's – they're both too used to moving in the dark, it seems natural. And Dick is used to Bruce acting like a malfunctioning robot in conversational situations, too - but it's getting a little weird now. Perhaps Bruce is still mortified from that awkward spectacle back at the cave, perhaps he's still working through his guilt over taking Robin, or he's attempting to reassert himself by being extra-broody, who knows, but Dick doesn't want to play.  He gives him that sourly smile again, like earlier in the Batcave. "Hey, as much as I like the sound of my own voice, you clearly swooped in here to say something. Feel free to jump in anytime – " That's when Batman opens his mouth, and all the hairs on Dick's neck and arms stand up. An ice-cold chill runs down his spine when realizes I should've known I should've KNOWN for the second time tonight, that just because people look the same, they're sometimes not the same. Batman only says two words. His voice is rough and cruel and gentle. "Sleep now." A small capsule rolls across the floor, bumps into Dick's feet, and opens with a hiss.

--------------------

  (to be continued in part 3, which will be posted next week)

[nyxtastic]

inktober 2019 - #11 snow

[morweneledhwen]

kleine-asbar replied to your post: When you should have gone to bed hours ago but...

Fist bump!

Arww, man, thank you. You’re amazing, too! *fist bumps back*

[fleetsparrow]

kleine-asbar

 kleine-asbar OMFGIt’s so next level ridiculous I...

I know. There’s been way too many words wasted on this nonsense already, and very little of them seem to have been heard.

Seriously.  It must be nice to be so secure up one’s own ass and ignore actual criticism and commentary from others.

[nyxtastic]

inktober 2019 - #10 pattern

[nyxtastic]

#9 screech

[fleetsparrow]

kleine-asbar

 OMFG

It’s so next level ridiculous I don’t even know what to say. You can’t get through. It’s like…hands on my face. Holy crap. Everyone who likes that post should be so deeply embarrassed.

Seriously.  The amount of sheer bullshit coming out is just too thick to wade through.  No wonder they can’t actually defend their shitty opinions.

[fleetsparrow]

kleine-asbar replied to your photo:Bad pic, but finally found the perfect belt to go...

Looks rad :D

:D  Aw yeah, lookin’ good, feelin’ good!