#may be non canon compliant dc universe oneshot

[intriq]

another sneaky teaser at upcoming chap 1 of new fic

im hoping to get this chapter out soon and hopefully its not disgustingly short (metaphorically banging my head into a wall)

tag list: @skullkidwithsunglasses @millyhelp @astrelz (<— difficulty tagging cus no one pops up lmao 😭)

[intriq]

Grief

batfam grief fic that i've been working on for far too long! is finally here! im back with the angst bois. i'd also like to apologize if this is insanely inaccurate/ooc of them bc lol its me

characters: Bruce, Dick, some of Tim

dividers thanks to cafe kitsune as always

There are five stages of grief. Bruce knows this. He’s dealt with them before.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

Acceptance isn’t a stage Bruce has really gotten to yet. He doesn’t think so, at least. Not sure he ever will. He’s faced the anger and depression before, when his parents died. How he’d taken his anger out on the criminal underbelly of Gotham, using his anger to cleanse her streets of crime. Then spend hours in front of his parents grave, unable to think nor speak.

Now he has another grave to sit in front of, too. Jason’s grave. His second Robin, the one who he wants to make the last. He doesn’t want to doom another boy to death, not when he’d failed Jason.

Some days, Bruce can’t help but wander Crime Alley. Like he was hoping that someway, somehow, he’d run into that scrawny kid Jason had been back then. He’d give anything to see him trying to steal a tire off the Batmobile again. Anything. Hell, he wouldn’t even mind being hit with the tire-iron again.

He also sometimes wonder if Dick blames him just as much as he blames himself. If only he’d been a little faster. If only he could have been quicker, then he could’ve saved him. Saved his son.

Sometimes, when he closes his eyes, he can still see the explosion before him. The bright glowing hues, vibrant enough to leave specks of color behind his eyes for days to come. The sudden wash of heat, the ringing in his ears. Some days he can still hear and see the explosion that took his son from him, left him as a failure of a father and mentor.

He makes himself remember his failure by putting up a memorial of Jason in the Batcave. Curse him if he ever dared to forget his greatest failure; the failure to save his son.

The failure of not being able to protect him.

Dick could never blame Bruce. Bruce hadn’t been the one to set that bomb. Bruce hadn’t been the one to beat Jason senseless. But that didn’t mean he had the courage to go over and visit.

Not when Jason’s memorial, even his own grave would be there to taunt him. To give him a bitter reminder that his little wing was gone. He wishes he’d visited Gotham more often before Jason died, spent a little more time there. His way of grieving Jason’s death is quiet, with his emotions doing all the talking behind the doors of his apartment.

Dick is broken by the loss, but he is nowhere near as shattered as Bruce. Dick is used to working alone now. Bruce has to grow used to the quiet. How he can’t turn to ask his Robin a question to keep him on his toes and alert.

He also has to see how Alfred sometimes forgets to not set out an extra plate where Jason would sit to eat. Pot roast doesn’t taste quite as good as it used to; no matter how good of a cook Alfred is. It just makes him nauseated by the smell of it; and now it had been Jason’s favorite.

Criminals whisper and talk about how Joker seems to have broken Batman, with the way he wanders. The Gotham Gazette talks about how distanced and quiet billionaire Bruce Wayne seems. Citing testimonies from Wayne Enterprises employees of how he seems to look out the windows if his office; as if he were in a different place. In a trance.

Of course, Bruce doesn’t try to let this impact his work. He works more than he used to. Makes a record of locking up criminals and going through dizzying stacks of documents in mere hours.

Bruce busies himself. Drowns himself in work he knows that can be easily delegated to Lucius. Works himself until he’s dead tired, unable to keep his eyes open a moment longer. Even with the aide of caffeine, he still manages to fall asleep. Most nights his efforts are fruitful, and he doesn’t dream. That’s what he wants, to dream of nothing but a void. But that’s only most nights.

Other nights, Bruce dreams. He dreams vivid memories of that night. It’s an endless loop, though. Each time he thinks he gets close enough to save Jason, the warehouse explodes before him and he’s right back to where he started. Running, failing. Running and failing. Running, failing, repeat.

Over and over again. It’s the same ending each time; plays out the same each time. All until he finally wakes up and is freed by the waking world from the relentless cycle.

Bruce once dreamt that he succeeded; saved his son in time. Cradled his son’s broken body in his arms and told him he was sorry, holding him as gentle as he can so he doesn’t hurt him further. That time he’d even told his son, in that dream, that it’s okay to fail sometimes. He didn’t have to be the perfect Robin. That he didn’t need to be as great of a Robin as Dick was. That he was good enough in his own right, in his own way. Even apologizing for never saying it when he should’ve, promising to say it more often.

And then he woke up.

He woke up and remembered that he hadn’t saved his son. That he didn’t get to him in time. He’d been too late, just like his apologies were coming far too late.

When Tim first comes into the picture, taking the mantle as Robin via means of blackmail, he wasn’t expecting the void it had left for him to fill. Bruce always seemed careful around him, sometimes nearly calling him by a name that wasn’t his. Jason. It happened quite a bit the first few weeks, and Alfred had almost mistakenly had him sit where Jason used to.

Tim does his best to learn about Jason. Trying to find scraps of information throughout the manor, trying to piece together what he needed to figure out just how big the void he was filling was. And it’s hard to find much of anything, besides pictures. But he did learn more from the library, which had been neglected since his death. Alfred came in to clean it, of course. But it otherwise was devoid of people.

Tim learned about Jason through the books he’d read, reading his annotations. Noting how some books seemed more loved than the others. And what he deduced was simple.

He could be Robin, but he could never be the same Robin neither Dick or Jason were. He could never completely fill the shattered void left by Jason’s violent death. And he hoped he never would.

Sometimes Tim can’t help but feel like he doesn’t belong. The way the memorial for Jason stands in the Batcave, almost like a hovering promise to tell Tim that he had no right to be here. What good had he done, forcing a man to take him on in the same role his dead son once held? What right did Tim have to sit in the mantle of Robin? What audacity?

Perhaps even now, Tim will wonder what right he had. What right to demand to be Bruce’s next Robin. Because he’ll never know, truly. He may think of himself as better than Jason, but is he truly?

tags: @brucewaynesspouse @fallingwaynes @mysticalemmi @slutforjasontodd @sylvemooniet @ceyla016 [<---hi there!]

i feel like im forgetting some people to tag lmao

[intriq]

Midnight

warnings: mentions blood, death, little bit of fighting, depression, mentions of guns/getting shot, etc etc NO USE OF Y/N

Part 2 of Little Moon

Part 1, part 2, part 3

Word Count: 5.7k words

Authors discussion n shizzle:

Hi y’all sorry this took so long to do. But it’s here and I’m happy and it’s long as FUCK.

Like it’s twice as long as part 1, and it’s so bad everyone voted I break this up into a 3rd part so like, yea

I’m publishing this while the 2 yr old I’m babysitting is down fr his nap so like woooo

I’d like to thank my beta readers n co owners of Little Moon for reading this shit (I’m sorry if u cried): my bestie aka @deaths-favorite-star , terra, Apollo (Taylor swift and bat brat versions), bri, and lilac

mostly cus without them this wouldn’t even be possible/done lol

let’s get on w this shall we? Hope you all enjoy <3

❉ ╤╤╤╤ ✿ ╤╤╤╤ ❉

Months have passed since your death.

In those months the children of Bruce Wayne, whether adopted or biological, grieve. All of them mourned you.

There are seldom times your grave is without fresh flowers or some sort of visitor, who either sits in silence or just talks to the headstone in a conversation that they know they’ll never get your input on again.

Your bedroom is in the same state of familiarity, too.

On some days, Alfred has to force Bruce to get out of bed or to even come home.

No one looks at Alfred quite the same anymore, but no one looks at Alfred with the same disgust as Alfred’s own reflection.

✧✿✧

Since the funeral, family dinners went from being twice a week, to just once.

And then they went to once a month, with Alfred having to just watch as the number of people who attended them dwindled, before eventually they came to a total stop.

✧✿✧

Today is another day of distant and silent mourning, as Alfred stands in his room, looking through pictures of you and Bruce as children.

Down the hallway as Alfred looks at a picture of you on your seventh (7th) birthday, he hears Cassandra softly crying down the hall in your bedroom.

During your birthday that year, when you’d turned seven (7) years old, Alfred remembers how the only thing you’d asked for was a cake. Specifically, you requested that he let you help him bake your birthday cake.

Alfred can’t help but smile, even just slightly, as he remembers how big of a mess you’d made when you had attempted to dump the entire bag of flour into the mixing bowl.

He also can’t help but remember that after a long day of celebrating your birthday, it was the first night since you’d come to live with him and Bruce that you hadn’t woken up once because of a nightmare.

✧✿✧

Alfred had been in Bruce’s study when the news came.

A tray of food in hand, he’d been begging Bruce to eat something. Anything, even if it was just a piece of toast that he hadn’t prepared himself.

“Master Bruce, you haven’t eaten in the past few days. Please, take at least one bite.”

Bruce only raises his head, dark circles under his eyes as he just blankly stares at him. An almost soulless look, one that gives a hollow feeling of emptiness.

Across the desk in Bruce’s study are papers, books, various gadgets in states of disrepair or in the middle of being made, as well as schematics for them that have the occasional ring-shaped coffee stain on them.

“Not now, Alfred. I have things to do,” Is Bruce’s only reply, a hoarse and exhausted sounding tone held within his words.

Alfred’s coming words of protest are silenced by the sounds of an alarm going off. Not too loud but neither too quiet, but just enough to make Alfred go silent.

NEW HUNTER DETECTED

That’s what the screen on Bruce’s computer read.

Various screens pop up on Bruce’s computer, each showing feed from different CCTV cameras of a person moving through Gotham and killing vampires in their wake.

The videos in question had been saved from numerous different days in the past few weeks, all adding up together once there was enough saved to trigger the algorithm that Tim had made. Specifically, it was designed to use the cameras around Gotham to track and keep note of Vampire Hunters and vampire attacks. Made solely to help prevent someone else from suffering the same fate you did.

All to prevent them from having to lose someone else.

Bruce and Alfred watch as the videos play, watching as the new hunter the algorithm had detected took out various vampires across the city of Gotham. But what made Bruce rub the drowsiness from his eyes as he leans forward, peering closer at the numerous video feeds was not because of how they looked.

No, it was because of how they moved.

The way they moved was eerily familiar. The way they moved with such precision that only got better and better with each new video feed that grew to be more recent was what had Bruce holding his breath.

While they had kept you from knowing the world of Vampire Hunting most of your life, they hadn’t let you be completely defenseless.

Which was why it was so eerie to see that the way this person was moving, was by using moves he’d only ever taught you. It was unmistakable, really. Bruce had grown up with you, knew most of the little habits you had. He knew you better than he knew himself sometimes.

Bruce is unsure if he wants to let himself grow delusional about whether or not it was who he thought it was. Should he? Could he? Was it even worth the pain it’d bring by opening up old wounds, to bring back the choking hold of grief?

Bruce can feel Alfred staring at him, because he gets that same feeling of familiarity. But it should be impossible. It couldn’t be possible.

But was it? Could it be?

Alfred sets the tray of food down on Bruce’s desk, taking the opportunity to clean up some of its disorganized mess. But it’s only because he doesn’t want to let his mind wander like Bruce’s is. He already lets it wander far enough when he looks through photo albums and when he sees his face reflected off the tea he drinks in the morning, in the mirror, off the windows, and on the screen of Bruce’s computer.

Bruce doesn’t even acknowledge the tray of food Alfred leaves on his desk, only getting up after receiving a notification on the screen that the new hunter was spotted again. Bruce already felt the idea of who it could be creeping into his mind and clinging there, leaving him wondering. Wanting to know. Needing to know, to get his question answered.

“I’ll be out for a while.”

“Will I expect you back for dinner today, Master Bruce?”

Alfred is only met with silence as Bruce grabs what he needs and heads out the door. Which gives him his answer.

“At least come back unscathed, Master Bruce. I don’t think they want you to join them just yet.”

“Don’t act like you know what they would’ve wanted, Alfred.”

Alfred goes quiet again. He understands, after all. He knows Bruce is still hurting, just like the others are. Alfred was the last person to see you alive, and was the only one there when you drew your last breath. They resent him for that.

But they also can’t look at him the same after knowing that it was because of him that you drew in that last gasp of air, held in his arms in that cold, dirty alley whilst the sun rose in the distance.

What makes it worse was just how often you used to like watching the sun rise. It was often when the others finally returned from their patrols, having spent all night hunting down vampires to make Gotham even just a little safer.

And every time, you’d be there, waiting for them. You’d welcome them home, tend to their injuries, and if they had a particularly rough night you’d even make them something, though it was usually some sort of baked dessert, like cake or cookies. And even though Bruce had a disdain for anything overly sweet, he’d still eat whatever cake you’d baked for him, even if it was so sweet it made him feel nauseous.

But no matter how much of a disdain Bruce had for sweet foods in general, he never could quite turn them down when you made them. You always had a smile with comforting words to follow, all to mask just how truly worried about him you were. Bruce knew that you always wanted, deep down, for him to stop being a vampire hunter. But you knew he couldn’t nor wouldn’t stop, so you always kept quiet about it.

If you weren’t so worried, if Bruce did anything to ease your worries, would you have let him know that you wanted to be walked home that night? He’d seen the unsent text message. Tim showed it to him. It’d been easy for Tim to find, with how unprotected your phone was from hackers and the like. You had deleted the message, and Bruce knew why.

It was because you felt guilty about even thinking of asking for his help. You knew how busy he was saving Gotham from vampires, which meant you could never work up the courage to ask him. He’d already helped you so many times before, and you barely could do anything to help him. Would things be different, Bruce thinks, if he’d texted you to make sure you got home safe instead of focusing on his patrol? Would you still be here, alive and well? Would you be here, saying goodbye to him as he heads out, telling him to stay safe?

Bruce forces the thoughts to shake free from his head as he swiftly departs, not allowing himself to turn around, knowing only that his heart would ache when he doesn’t see you there waiting for him. It’s always hurt, because the first few days he’d always mistakenly hear you calling out for him, sometimes even thinks he’d see you in the corner of his eye.

But whenever he’d turn and look, you weren’t there, and Bruce remembers.

✧✿✧

It takes a few minutes for Bruce to track down the new vampire hunter who’d somehow been able to avoid making Tim’s detection system go off, as it should have alerted Bruce to their presence months ago. The night is cold since autumn is right around the corner, and it reminds Bruce of just how cold that night was when you’d been brought to Wayne manor.

Bruce reminds himself to focus as he follows the new vampire hunter, who moves through Gotham as if they know the place by heart. Which almost seems odd to know every part of Gotham, when they’d only been detected less than six months ago. It’s odd, because the system has only had a record of their existence from that time frame. The program couldn’t even pick up data from normal Gotham citizens from before that to link it back to them.

It was odd.

So, so incredibly odd. Almost an off-putting, eerie kind. The type you get when you walk down the street at night and suddenly don’t feel alone, like you shouldn’t be there.

Bruce has this odd, eerie feeling for almost fifteen minutes before he realizes. The world’s greatest detective, they say, and it took him fifteen minutes of following this new vampire hunter to realize they were leading him in a circle. That they knew they were being followed.

When Bruce realizes he’s been following the new vampire hunter blindly for fifteen minutes in that same circle, the vampire hunter seems to know, too.

“Took you long enough to notice, Batman. You're getting awfully slow.”

Why does that voice sound so familiar?

Why does Bruce feel like he’s heard it somewhere before? And why is the familiarity hurting him?

Bruce leaps down from the rooftop he rests upon, landing on the street beside them. That feeling that screams in Bruce’s head that he knows who this vampire hunter is, who they are underneath the mask, is hideously strong. Almost sickeningly so.

But who is it?

Bruce narrowly avoids the punch the vampire hunter has swinging his way when he snaps out of his thoughts. Getting distracted and in a daze when confronting someone isn’t smart, he knows that. He taught Dick and Jason never to lose focus in a fight.

But yet here he is, losing focus.

Jason would probably find it ironic if he were here right now.

“Focus, Batman. Isn’t that what you taught those boys of yours?”

Behind Bruce’s mask, his face is scrunched up in confusion. Contorted as he continues to try and avoid getting hit, because he hates just how easy it is for him to lose focus because of just one thought.

But yet, even despite how familiar these moves are- which are the only reasons he’s able to avoid them even at the last possible moment- there’s something that bothers him, something that he realizes. The vampire hunter who is fighting him, attacking him, isn’t doing it with the purpose most others would.

It’s almost like it’s some sort of warning, as they change the trajectory of their moves to only hit the most non-vital points. Areas where it won’t do anything but leave a nasty bruise.

Which is odd, considering Bruce now realizes after a particular glint in the fluorescent lighting of the street lights that line the roads of Gotham, when the mask of the vampire hunter before him slips just enough when Bruce finally strikes back is that there are fangs.

Fangs.

The vampire hunter right in front of Bruce, the one that has managed to evade program that Tim spent weeks coding, the same vampire hunter that is refusing to strike Bruce anywhere vital as if some sign of guilt, is a vampire.

A vampire, hunting down and killing other vampires. Killing them. In a most brutal fashion, too, based on what Bruce and Alfred saw in the collected video files.

Why is a vampire, a creature that exists to attack and feed off of humans, trying to avoid hurting him?

Why?

Bruce can’t make sense of it. He can’t. There is virtually no reason for any vampire in Gotham, in the entirety of this world, that they would be trying to not hurt him.

Most vampires attempt to kill him on sight. So why isn’t this one? Why is it acting so… odd?

Bruce twists around the outstretched, reaching arm of the vampire hunter as they move in a pattern that Bruce is quickly learning. They never differ or change the pattern, no matter how often Bruce is able to evade their attacks. And with that open window of opportunity, he takes the chance to collect a sample of their DNA.

Some blood, to be specific.

The vampire… hunter lets out some sort of noise of pain. Not quite a shriek, nor a yelp, but just a noise. And just as soon as they started attacking Bruce, they are trying to flee.

And before Bruce can attempt to stop them, they are gone.

But that’s fine, because Bruce has what he came for. A blood sample.

Enough for Bruce to test, to compare to others in the database to see who they are.

Because that is the question lingering on his mind. Who is it? Just who is this new vampire hunter that has been able to leave a growing pile of bodies in their wake in just mere months?

✧✿✧

Bruce doesn’t waste a moment, ignoring Alfred’s pleas to let him look over and treat his injuries, as minor as they are. Just a few bruises that will heal.

He doesn’t waste a moment in immediately getting to work on finding out who that vampire is. Who the vampire hunting down and killing other vampires is, who they are underneath that mask.

After loading the sample into the batcomputer, he waits. Sitting there with so much impatience, so eager to find out who it is. It’s almost suffocating just how badly he wants it to just finish already, to just show him the results.

Alfred takes the opportunity, though, to place another tray full of food in front of Bruce. Because it’s now been a few days since Bruce last ate, and the only thing he’s done is keep himself hydrated.

Bruce attempts to protest, but he relents at the painful gnawing in his stomach. No longer able to keep himself sufficiently distracted to not notice just how hungry he is. But all he does is take small, slow bites, watching the progress the batcomputer is making on the sample.

He eats so slowly that by the time the sample is eighty [80] percent analyzed, the food has grown cold. So cold that it makes Bruce not want to eat anymore, even if he’s barely even touched any of the food. But Alfred is happy anyway, because he’s happy that Bruce has something in his stomach.

Even if it’s not a whole lot.

✧✿✧

When Bruce saw the results, his mouth went dry. His chest felt like an unrelenting void, filled with a crashing tidal wave. The creeping feeling that fills him is just as terrifying.

Alfred had to practically pry Bruce away from the batcomputer, as he mumbles nothing but words about how the results had to be wrong.

How there was no possible way that the blood sample belonged to and came from just who the batcomputer said it did.

So now here everyone was, called here by Alfred. Stated to be an absolute and utter emergency, and that excuses would not be tolerated. It was absolutely mandatory, and emergencies were to be ignored because this was the emergency.

Jason didn’t want to be here. Dick didn’t want to be here.

None of them wanted to be here. Not in the same home they’d ‘grown up’ in, that now held nothing but bitter reminders of a certain death. The death of someone they viewed as a child, a sibling, a parent. A role model.

You. Your death.

But yet here they are. Unable to avoid it, because it was an order. An order that it was an emergency, and no one could turn away when someone raises the alarm about something being an emergency.

When everyone arrives, Bruce is already seated in his office. He almost seems emotionless, like there isn’t even an ounce of life behind his eyes as he simply stares ahead, blankly.

He doesn’t even react when they all close the door behind themselves, his eyes only moving up once Dick stands in front of him.

“Why were we called here, Bruce?”

Dick’s voice sounds tired. But that’s because he is tired. He’s so, so tired of grieving. Of mourning you. Of feeling like that total and utter failure that he knows he is because he got lazy on one stupid patrol.

He’s tired of feeling like this. Feeling like he’s stuck in a deep pit of sadness and guilt, sadness because you died. Guilt because you died when he wasn’t looking hard enough. But yet, there’s also anger.

Anger at himself.

But Bruce doesn’t have the energy to answer Dick’s question, so Alfred does the talking. He shows the videos, also shows Bruce’s encounter with the vampire hunter. Everyone doesn’t quite understand just why there was an emergency meeting being called over a vampire hunter. Sure, it was alarming they were a vampire but that wasn’t cause for an emergency.

That is, until Alfred shows the results from the batcomputer. Results of who the DNA belongs to.

And while some seem surprised, some in a state of utter shock, others just feel.. Numb. Like there was nothing they could feel besides the ever consuming pit of nothingness in their chest.

But everyone is in disbelief, just as Bruce was. Is, more like.

The results showed a one-hundred [100] percent match for the last person they expected. The last person they even wanted to believe it could be.

You.

You, who was supposed to be dead. Buried six [6] feet under the ground in the cemetery on the grounds of the Wayne manor.

Dick wants to feel sick. Jason, too. Damian feels his stomach lurching as well, but he doesn’t let it show. He refuses to.

They all don’t want to believe the results are true, just as Bruce did. Because it should be simply impossible, right? They all made sure you were dead before burying you.

“But that’s impossible. We made sure. Alfred-... He…” The words choke and die in Tim’s throat. But everyone knows what he means. How could they not?

Alfred made sure, because he was the one who dealt the killing blow.

Those are the words that go unspoken. The truth, as disgusting and heavy as it is.

But is it the truth? Did Alfred actually deal the killing blow?

And the truth is, they hadn’t double checked. So lost in their grief over your bloody body that Alfred brought back to the manor they hadn’t even bothered to check and make sure that Alfred had actually shot you in the heart.

They had just assumed he had.

“Alfred… You.. You checked, right?”

Dick’s voice is shaky, as ragged and rushed as his breathing. He feels like he already knows the answer, but god does he want to be wrong.

But the way Alfred clenches his jaw and his eyes focus on that abandoned tray of food from much earlier, food long since grown cold, gives Dick his answer.

“Bruce? You checked, right?”

Tim is the one to ask this time. Because surely, there is no way that Bruce didn’t check and confirm for himself. He’s thorough, he always is. There isn’t any realm of possibility that Bruce didn’t check… Right?

Right?

When Bruce doesn’t answer, there’s a look of disbelief on just about everyone's faces. Bruce Wayne, the ever thorough and the world’s ‘greatest detective’, renowned vampire hunter Batman, didn’t double check that you were dead?

“You checked, right?”

“No. I didn’t.”

And now everyone is left with the horrifying, dawning realization of just one thing. A simple thought that is horrifying to picture, to imagine. To even now be known as a reality.

They’d practically buried you alive.

Everyone quickly dispersed after that. No one could stand to be in the same room as each other, because even though they know they rightfully have no right to blame one another, even though they could blame themselves, it’s all they think about.

You were alive. Alive.

All this time you’d been alive while they mourned you. While Dick blamed himself, while Damian blamed Dick for the reason you were no longer present.

Damian feels sick to his stomach at just how angry he was at Dick in the past. Of the things he’d said to him, blaming him for your death. When you weren’t even dead.

Jason can feel nauseating guilt creeping in his chest, too. Ripping open a swallowing, fathomless pit. He’d screamed at Alfred. Been angry with him, caused him so much pain. Alfred hadn’t even killed you, and he’d been so angry at Alfred.

But the sudden appearance of the vampire hunter is making sense. It coincides with your death, somewhat. With the recovery period a vampire would need to recover from a wound like the one you’d taken.

But it makes so, so much sense.

✧✿✧

Six months ago is when Cass was out tracking a vampire. Well, more-so a large nest of them. One that held connections in various cities, dangerous and leaving an endless, bloody wake of victims.

Perhaps it was because of the grief clouding her mind, that thought of how this group could be the ones responsible. The one responsible for your death.

So she got sloppy. Just a little bit. Enough to make a small error that she normally wouldn’t make.

Cass hadn’t taken the time she usually did to make sure she was sure of just how many vampires actually lived in that nest before she charged into it to take out the vampires that resided there. The information hadn’t been totally accurate, it’d missed a few vampires. So she’d been quickly overrun, out of supplies with not even enough bullets to last her.

But just as Cass thinks she’s going to die for her margin of error, as she decides to resign to her fate because hey, it means she’ll get to see you again, the vampires that are about to kill her are dead.

And there’s a figure standing over their bloody remains that seems oddly familiar to Cass. But she can’t quite place it. At least, she couldn’t then.

“I thought you were taught better than this. This is a stupid mistake, even for you.”

Before Cass can ask the obvious question that’s scratching at the back of her mind, the figure is gone just as quick as they appeared. Leaving nothing evident of their presence, besides the dead vampires.

✧✿✧

They’d all been in some sort of predicament caused by their overwhelming grief that meant they’d needed someone to save their ass. And you had. You’d been there to rescue them from their mistakes every single time.

You’d saved Cass from death, been there to save Jason during the few times he’d been distracted [even if all he’d glimpsed of you was your retreating silhouette], and so much more.

But why had you never shown yourself to them? Why had you let them wallow in their own self pity and grief over your death, when you hadn’t even died?

Perhaps there was an answer to this question they didn’t yet have.

But it was no matter. They had time to get the answer they so desperately wanted. They had a means to find you the next time you appeared, all they had to do was wait.

✧✿✧

And wait they did.

It took almost a week before you appeared again, presumably to lay low for a while after that encounter with Bruce. As if it would stop them from figuring out the truth.

They’d even checked your grave. And god, were they horrified to find that it was empty, just as they’d feared.

But yes, when you’d appeared again after lying low for a week, Jason was the one sent to go talk to you. You’d always had a soft spot for him, after all.

So in his Red Hood gear, he approaches you. He wasn’t even sure if he should be surprised that you seemed to know he was there the moment he’d landed on that same rooftop as you.

But maybe he should, since he knows neither Bruce nor Alfred gave you any training to be a vampire hunter. They wanted you to stay as far away as possible from it, after all.

But perhaps that distance is why you’d never stood a chance the night you’d been attacked. Maybe it was the lack of making sure you were prepared to face the threats that lie in the very shadows they hunted in.

Jason sees your moments from fleeing from the way you visibly tense up and flinch when he steps closer to you, so he stops. He entirely freezes, because the last thing he wants is for you to disappear again.

“We know it’s you,” Is all Jason calls out, paired with your name instead of the nickname he’d always refer to you by. A parental nickname, something similar to the way children call their parents Mom or Dad, but entirely different and unique to you.

Jason watches the way you seem to think, still frozen in a stance that says you're seconds from fleeing, that him making the wrong choice is all it takes for you to disappear. But this time it’d be Jason’s fault that you're gone, not Dick’s.

“We aren’t mad, I promise.”

Bad thing to start off with, Jason. Now you’ll think they all were mad.

“What I meant to say is… We all miss you. When you died- thought you died, we didn’t know what to do.”

Jason is practically grasping at straws. He can see his words aren’t reaching you in the way he is hoping, wanting them to. He’s never been good at the comforting stuff, never been good at talking someone down. Not like Alfred is, not like Dick is. Not like Barbara, too.

What would they even say to you?

Jason feels lost, because just why did they send him to talk to you, instead of anyone else?

Well, not sending Alfred is understandable. He’d been the one to shoot you, and Jason knows that he wouldn’t want to see the Joker again, to be the one to talk to him. But what about Dick and Barbara? What would they do?

Jason doesn’t even know if attempting to continue to comfort you is worth it, especially not when it doesn’t even seem to be working.

“Why?”

Those words slip past Jason before he can even get a chance to stop himself. But it’s a question he really, really wants an answer to. Well, not just want. He needs to know. He needs to know why you’ve let them all sit and rot inside their grief and despair, even as understandable as it may be for Alfred because even he understands that seeing the person who killed you is not easy.

Well, not that Alfred even killed you. Almost killed you, which Jason understands. The Joker had almost killed him then, too. Instead he’d lived because some weird ‘miracle’ left him being some freak of nature, a half human but not entirely vampiric person.

Like some curse.

“I was supposed to be dead.”

“I get that.”

“Plus.. I’m a vampire, Jason. I’m a danger to you guys. What if.. What if I lose control? Like I did that night?”

He knows what you're talking about. The night you’d attacked Bruce before… Alfred shot you. Jason remembers hearing about it from a very heartbroken Bruce, although the heartbreak wasn’t easy to see on the surface. But Jason had known. So had everyone else.

After all, they’d all been pretty much trained and raised by Bruce. They knew what he was feeling- most of the time. Though they couldn’t see it as easy as Alfred did.

“We could’ve found ways around it that didn’t mean you totally avoided us,” Jason says those last words with more bitterness than he should’ve. He knows he has no right to be angry, doesn’t even deserve to be. But he can’t help it, not with how he can only rethink on just how he’d treated Alfred because of it.

“Because of that we treated Alfred-” He cuts himself off, not wanting to spew those words out. Doesn’t even want them to fall past his lips. But it’s far too late, judging by the way your eyes narrow and your head practically snaps toward him.

“What did you all do?”

The venom in your voice when you hear those words is unmistakable. Sure, you wouldn’t be able to look at Alfred the same because he’d been the one to shoot you, but you still understood why he had.

You were a vampire. Something dangerous, and he was doing what needed to be done.

Before Jason can even try to backpedal he’s already spewing to you how everyone’s treated Alfred since you’d ‘died’. Everything. Including how he’d screamed at Alfred after hearing what your last words were from him, down to him destroying his room, Bruce’s new attitude, everything.

“Why would you all do that?” You’d hissed almost immediately after he’d finished telling that tale. Disbelief is just about the only thing you feel, along with those other bitter emotions you were currently feeling.

“He killed- we thought he’d killed you, and we just.. We were angry! Because he took you away from us!”

When had you even marched over to him? Was it while he was speaking those venomous words about how Alfred had killed you, taken you from them? Or was it sooner?

Was he blinded by his own emotions to even notice?

Nevertheless, you're pretty much right in his face, and while Jason is expecting you to scream at him, maybe even yell, raise your voice somewhat, you don’t. Perhaps it’s worse that you sound calm.

“Alfred did what he needed to, what he had to.”

“But you were our family!”

“I do not deserve special treatment because I helped raise you all. Not because I was the person Bruce viewed as a little sibling, and the person Alfred viewed as his own child.”

“But-”

You silence him by raising a hand up, your eyes squeezed shut in the way it does when you’d had headaches in the past, pinching the bridge of your nose between your index finger and thumb.

“Tell me, Jason, would any of you have been able to do it then, hmm? Do you know how hard it was for Alfred to even point the gun at me without his hands shaking? Without crying? Would either of you have been able to pull the trigger instead of Alfred?”

Jason stays silent, and when you open your eyes to glare at him, demanding an answer like those times you’d interrogated him after he’d been stupid and nearly gotten himself killed on those patrols back when he was younger, back when he was just Robin and training under Bruce’s watch. 

And he only shakes his head.

“But I promise I’ll be back.. Someday, I don’t know when. Don’t know if it’ll be soon, or if it’s not for years ahead. But I can promise that, okay?”

You really didn’t know just what else to say, honestly. You already had plans for what your coming moves were, for your motives. You knew Jason was wondering that just by glancing at him, even if you couldn’t see his face behind his helmet.

“And if you want, you can try to help me, if it’ll make you.. I don’t freaking know, feel better, I guess?”

“How?”

“You’ll see. It’ll be an answer to my motives and why I’ve been so secretive I guess. I’ll tell you how you can help me later.”

Jason wants to say something, but he doesn’t know if he should even be surprised you already know what it is he wants to say. “Oh, and don’t tell anyone I’m letting you help me. That part stays a secret, got it?”

Jason only nods in reply, and with that, you’ve disappeared from Jason’s sight, leaving him alone on that rooftop to think through his thoughts. And of your words, of course. To muddle them over, to debate whether or not he even accepts the notion of helping you.

With keeping it secret being the price he pays.

❉ ╧╧╧╧ ✿ ╧╧╧╧ ❉

[intriq]

✿ how i think some dc universe characters would react to you looking up to them [viewing them as like, an older sibling]

so i feel like general backstory for this would be maybe you being taken in after the loss of your family. like some sorta wild ass adoption like in my little moon oneshot.

reader is most definitely shmol. you are baby. probably no older than like, 11 or 12 or something. just, in general, you are a child

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

Bruce...

...was definitely kind of surprised the first few times you'd followed him around everywhere. He couldn't quite figure out how someone a little younger than Damian's age was able to find him so curious, following him around with just those adorable big round eyes full of admiration.

He finds you just about everywhere he goes. When he's walking around Wayne manor, he spots you hiding behind a corner just watching him.

He starts getting concerned when he even sees you following after him on patrols as Batman, too.

But his attempts at telling you to stay at the Wayne estate with Alfred to be futile, as he sees you just learned to hide in plain sight.

So eventually he just gives up and makes sure you stay close when he's out and about. If he gets into a fight? He makes sure you stay up and out of reach as he takes care of business.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Jason...

...most definitely was mean to you at first. Didn't understand just what part of you thought he was someone that should be looked up to. He used to kill people, after all.

He doesn't think of himself as someone worth admiring because of the torture he was put through by the Joker. He thinks you should be looking up to someone like Dick or something.

But yet even when you follow him around no matter how often he's mean to you, he's surprised. He's surprised because he figured just being rude would turn you away.

But yet it didn't, and your still following him around like some sort of lost puppy. Like a lost puppy that was admiring him.

The look in your eyes when you think he does something cool takes him by surprise, too. He's not used to it, and he just usually scoffs and says "whatever" or something along those lines.

He does come to tolerate your presence after awhile. Maybe even welcome it, because your like a little light in the dark of his world. A little light he will do everything to make sure doesn't get snuffed out by the cruelty he knows all too well of.

He'll eventually give up on making sure you don't follow him on his patrols, too. He seriously doesn't want you to, because he doesn't want you to one day see him use lethal force [if he ever has to]. But yet, you keep following him.

So he just adapts around it. Just like Bruce, he makes sure you are up and away from the fights he's in so there is little to no chance of you getting hurt.

If your on a rooftop and he sees a villain coming towards you two? He's charging towards the criminal/villain and making sure the fight takes place on the ground. He does not want to let there be a chance you get injured.

After all, injury means chance of death. And he doesn't want to have to see you die.

So odds are, your probably sitting on the edge of some buildings rooftop, legs swaying over the edge as you just watch him do his thing, admiring him as always.

He'll tolerate your admiration and your view of him as a big brother/role model, as long as he has the means to keep you out of harms way.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Tim...

...definitely thought that you following him around everywhere was pretty adorable. After all, you were just a little kid. And he most definitely knew in an instant you looked up to him.

It just kind of boosted his confidence, y'know?

He is a little alarmed by you following him around when he's on patrol, he makes sure to instill into you that you are to not do that. But you probably don't listen, which results in him quite literally racing around Gotham trying to lose you so he can patrol without worrying your going to get hurt.

Has probably called Bruce to tattle on you being away from Wayne manor because you were following him, resulting in Batman suddenly appearing to forcefully bring you home.

This usually makes you upset, because all you want to do is see all the cool things Tim get's up to!

So he'd probably bring you gifts back to make up for it. Like maybe snacks, candy, or some cute little stuffed animals if you're a fan of them.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Dick...

...definitely just let that get to his ego. He always views himself as role-model, big brother material.

But he is very sweet to you, though. I can see him getting you small gifts from time to time, and if he finds something interesting on his patrols as Nightwing, I can see him bringing it back to show you.

Definitely likes to scare the shit out of you if you started following him on patrol. He'd go around a corner, and when you'd turn that corner and don't see him, you'd be super confused and then suddenly your screaming bloody murder because he'd appeared from behind you and just yelled in your ear.

If he's patrolling as Nightwing during the day and your walking to and from school/work? I can see him walking with you, talking to you about your day or the things he's seen on patrol so far. He'd take the detour for a little while to make sure you get to where you need to be, and safe all the while!

And the moment he's escorted you towards your destination, he'd ruffle your hair and tell you to let him know when you leave so he can come walk with you again before he leaves. [only after seeing you physically get inside and disappear from his line of sight of the building you'd been headed to.]

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Cassandra...

...probably thought you were weird, at first. I mean, you were pretty much everywhere. At school, she'd see you just staring at her from within the crowds.

She'd see you whenever she had to visit Wayne manor, staring at her from around a corner, or attempting to hide at the top of the staircase.

She definitely did not nearly have a heart attack the first time she spotted you staring at her while she was on patrol. As far as she was aware that day, you didn't know about her Batgirl alter ego.

You did, of course. But she didn't know that. She was less surprised the next couple of times it happened, sometimes catching you from the corner of her eye when your walking somewhere in Gotham just stopping to look at her as she goes by.

She did eventually start thinking it was interesting that of everyone, you chose her to look up to. To view as a sort of big sister.

She gets used to it after awhile, but she doesn't really get why you look up to her that way.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Babs...

...most definitely thought it was the cutest thing in the world that you looked up to her when she found out.

She'd definitely tell you about all the cool things she'd found on patrol, or would send you random five [5] second clips of the different things she saw. Maybe even a few photos here and there.

If she was ever on patrol with someone else? You definitely bet your getting all the funny pictures if they ever had the misfortune of getting into embarrassing situations.

She'd definitely like to bring you to the different places she'd find on patrol. [if they weren't in the downright awful parts of Gotham]

She seems the type to let you babble about stuff you are interested in to her just so her patrols aren't so boring, because she'd probably be calling you on nights that it's super quiet with seeming to be a little too peaceful for her liking.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Stephanie...

...was, needless to say, definitely caught off guard.

She was most definitely pretty sure there were others in the bat family that would make better role models than her, but you'd always tell her that she was the coolest.

Definitely gave her a little confidence boost whenever you'd tell her why you looked up to her.

If you ever called her big sister/big sis, she hands down immediately would never let a thing happen to you. She'd never admit it, though. Not out loud, at least.

This is mostly because I can see her and Cassandra having that sort of relationship where they relentlessly tease the fuck out of each other. And if Cassandra ever learned that she would hands down be willing to bend a few over own moral rules to keep you safe?

She'd never hear the end of it.

If you were ever needing to be in any bad part of Gotham to walk back to Wayne manor, she'd always be right there to walk with you.

If she wasn't walking right next to you, she was following you from the rooftops of different buildings to make sure you were safe.

Never stopped thinking you were weird for looking up to her, never got used to it, either.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

Damian...

...does genuinely not understand why you think he's so cool. Doesn't understand why you smile whenever he just tells you a story about something he did on patrol.

"Stop smiling at me," He'd tell you. "Stop staring at me." He'd also say.

He'd call you weird, and would get all grumpy whenever you'd just stay optimistic and continue admiring him.

If you start following him on his patrols? He's unintentionally started a game of chase because he's hopping rooftops and scaling down fire-escapes to try and outrun you so he can have his peace and quiet again.

It works for awhile, but eventually you start learning how to keep up with him really well so he just gives up after an hour.

He may seem like he hates it on the outside, but on the inside it's the highest form of compliment for him.

Eventually it's almost a form of "I Spy" for him, to try and spot you amongst his surroundings. Whether it be at school or on patrol. You're just about everywhere he is, almost 24/7.

Thinks your weird for looking up to him or viewing him as a big brother, but he secretly likes that you do.

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

[intriq]

Letters - Alfred

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader.

Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Little Moon,

I hope you’ve been… well. I hope things are doing better for you, certainly much better than they were a few months ago.

Better than how things have been for me, at least.

The others don’t stop by the manor much anymore. Cass sticks to your old bedroom, Duke seems to wander aimlessly, Jason and Steph seem to visit your grave just as much as Tim and Barbara have lately.

But most of all, Bruce is always in his study or in his room, and Dick? He hasn’t come around once since you’ve died. I’ve only overheard he’s been locking himself inside his apartment in Bludhaven.

Everyone thinks he’s punishing himself for your death, and he certainly is. But if anyone should be punished for your death, I’d say it should be me.

I.. I was the one that pulled the trigger, after all. The one that took you away from this world, as dark as Gotham may be.

You always did find a way to be some sort of light for everyone around you, even when you were a child. I always wondered how you could appear so happy all the time despite how often you cried because of your nightmares.

I spend most of my time keeping busy. Cooking meals Bruce won’t eat, cleaning again and again. Sometimes spend a few hours out of my day looking through pictures of you.

I remember how, on your tenth birthday, you wanted to go to the zoo. The one that recently opened in Metropolis, specifically.

You’d even practically begged for Bruce to come with, and I can still remember just how often you’d dragged him around to see all the things you wanted to see. While he may have seemed unamused, he was certainly happy to keep you entertained.

I even remember how long you spent looking for a gift for Bruce’s birthday that year, too. His sixteenth birthday and you wanted to make sure it was a gift he’d really like.

Truly it didn’t quite matter. He would’ve liked anything you got him, even if it was some toy from the store or anything else you quite liked at that age.

I keep most photos the manor has up of you in my room now. Ever since your funeral, ever since your death, no one’s been really able to walk in through the manors front entrance.

When they do, they usually sit there for a few minutes and stare at those photos. Or just shut their eyes and briskly walk past.

Do you remember all the times we’d spend in the manors kitchen when you were younger? How often we’d make something- anything- to make you feel better?

I certainly do.

I remembered how often you’d get at least something everywhere. Whether it was flour, sugar, or even eggs, you always managed to make a mess. But that’s fine, because I could never tire out of cleaning those up with you.

I would give anything, in fact, to have to clean up flour or cake batter off the kitchen floor at some random hour in the night again.

I would give anything to come downstairs to the manors kitchen and see you baking because you were stressed over school or something at work. I would give anything to have to wake you up in the morning because you slept through your alarm.

I’d give anything and everything to be able to talk to you again, my little moon.

But I also wonder if you’d resent me. Do you hate me, for having to kill you? Do you hate me as much as I hate myself? Would you ever be able to forgive me for what I did one day? Or would you tell me that it was okay, that I did what I had to?

I so desperately wish that things could be different. I want them to be. You used to jokingly say we wouldn’t be able to do function as a family without you, and truly? You were right. We can’t function. Much less look each other in the eyes.

The family dinners you used to love so much have been dwindling. Becoming less and less often, with less and less of the others showing up. But I think it’s because they can’t help but stare at your empty seat when they do.

I still sometimes forget you aren’t here for dinner anymore. Still make your favorite dish, set up a plate just for you in your seat, only to be reminded. I think that’s why Bruce doesn’t eat outside of his study now.

Bruce feels like he failed you. Jason, Barbara, and most of all, Dick, too. But if anyone failed you, it was me. I could’ve tried to look for other options before killing you, but I didn’t.

Even though the question of “what could we have even done” is there, I can’t help but think I could have done something different. Something that didn��t have the outcome of me having to watch you, my child, get buried before me.

There are so, so many things I still wish to see. I want to see you grow up more, see you achieve all the things you dreamed. But now I won’t even have that chance. You won’t even have the chance to one day see Damian graduate, which is something I know you were excited to see. Nor will you get to see Cassandra graduate, either.

They’ll probably still have a seat reserved for you anyway. Right in the front row. I’m positive they’ll still mention you in their graduation speech, just as the others did.

I’m sure they will remember you for a long, long time. I know we will all remember you for a long time. You are nowhere near as replaceable as you used to think you were.

It’s a fact that you aren’t replaceable to me, either, my child. My little moon.

-Alfred Pennyworth

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Tim

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader. Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Lunar,

It's been a few months now. Which feels weird, because it feels like it's only been a few days.

Maybe not sleeping will do that to you. Drinking enough caffeine to keep even an elephant going, as Babs like to say.

Babs said your number was given to someone else recently. I managed to help her recover some old voicemails from you.

Recovered some for myself, too.

At least, I'm pretty sure it was recently. I'm not too sure. Everything felt like it was a blur while I was working on this new program. I named it after you in a way, I guess.

It's called the Localized Unified Network Advanced Radar System. L.U.N.A.R.S. for short.

It's like your still here, looking out for us, in a way. Like the times you'd make us food after we got back from a patrol, or how you'd patch up our wounds.

You always wanted to try and help us in some way, right? That's what Bruce used to always say.

The L.U.N.A.R.S. program or system is designed to alert us when vampires appear, when there are vampire attacks, and when new vampire hunters show up. It's all done by using the CCTV cameras in Gotham.

A system that should've existed so, so long ago.

I thought these past few months were a dream. Thought maybe it was just one big hallucination since I'd spent so many nights focusing on that program. Focused on coding it.

I guess the only thing I can think of to describe how I felt when I woke up last week to seeing the card for your funeral was... Disappointment. Maybe sadness, too. Grief. I don't really know.

I was just disappointed to see it, is the main thing.

Babs has been checking in on me more lately. I think she's trying really hard to do the things you used to now that your gone. Like making sure I'm taking care of myself.

I finally did what you wanted me to, at least! Cut back on caffeine, even if it's just a little bit. It's not a big improvement, but I did cut back just a little.

Would you say you were proud of me, if you were here?

I hope you don't mind I stole one of the pillows off your bed, by the way. Woke up holding it after I finally slept when I'd finished coding the program.

Woke up to the reminder that you aren't here anymore.

Will this ever stop hurting? The grief? The sadness? All these emotions I've been feeling since you've died?

I want them to.

I just want to stop hurting.

-Timothy Drake

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Duke

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader. Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐ Dear Lunar,

I was away when you died. Came back and only learned that you weren't here anymore after your funeral.

First thing I saw when I got back to the manor was your grave. Your grave. The first thing I saw.

I don't really know what to do. I was too late to save my own parents, and now I was too late to save you?

Would I have even been able to save you, or have I just never been strong enough to save the people that matter to me?

Why have I always failed to save the people that matter? I save people I don't know all the time, but.. I couldn't save my parents. I saved others, but couldn't save you.

Didn't even get a chance to try and save you, either.

Going into your bedroom feels like walking into a memorial, or something frozen by time. The only thing that makes it feel weird or just.. not real is the fact you aren't in there anymore.

I don't even remember what our last conversation was about, either. I do know the last thing I said was "see you when I get back".

But I didn't get to see you when I got back. All I got to see was your headstone.

-Duke Thomas ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Damian

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader.

Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Lunar,

Why? Why didn't you ask for help when you needed it?

Why did you not tell someone, anyone, that you were walking by yourself? That you were lost?

I hate you for dying. I hate Dick for not trying hard enough that night. He shouldn't have been so lazy. It's all his fault. It's his fault that your dead, that you aren't here.

Your stupid for not asking someone to walk you home if you were scared. It's stupid to feel bad about asking for our help, Lunar.

But yet, I feel like I can't help but be angry with myself. With Dick, too.

You'd probably tell me not to be angry with Dick, but this will be the only thing I can't listen to you about. Because I have every right to blame him, just as much as I blame Alfred.

Because why wasn't it me instead? Why do I have to be half of the wretched thing that took you away?

I hate myself. Hate my genes. Hate that I'm a dhampir. I feel disgusting.

Everyone else probably thinks I'm disgusting, too. I know I didn't ask to be born a dhampir, born half human. But am I even human at all? Do I even have the right to call myself half human?

Do I have the right, when half of me is the same disgusting monster that got you killed?

I hate how quiet the manor is. I wish I could go back in time and listen to the music you always had playing when you were busy doing things, like work or whatever.

I know I used to tell you to shut your music off because it was terrible back then, but... It's really not. I promise.

I listen to your playlists sometimes. Yeah, emotions are stupid and I shouldn't feel them, but you used to tell me all the time I'm just a kid.

I am still just a kid, right?

Am I just a kid, or am I some sort of monstrosity?

-Damian Wayne

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Bruce

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader.

Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Moon,

I'm not exactly sure what to put here.

There's so many things I can think of to write here, but this paper can only hold so much. Which means I need to think of specifically what I want to say.

The manor has been quiet since you've died. It's the kind of silence I never expected to have to live with, since there was always something going on before. But it's quiet and almost empty-feeling now.

I guess you could say I have so many things I regret not doing with you. Things I wish I could do differently.

For one, the distance I tried so hard to put between you knowing of me being a vampire hunter. Between you knowing the others were vampire hunters.

If I didn't try to hard to keep you from knowing, would you have known what to do? How to defend yourself better? Known where to avoid?

I wish I didn't spend so many days just focusing on my vampire hunter work. Wish I took more breaks, like you wanted me to. Maybe we would have had the opportunity to talk with each other more.

This is probably the first time I've ever actually missed eating something sweet, which I know you'd find odd, since you know I didn't have a taste for them. In fact, I've always kind of hated sweet foods, but never yours.

I'd always eat yours without complaint. Still would, too.

I'm glad you never followed up on Alfred's suggestions of decluttering. I hope you don't mind I took that stuffed animal you loved as a kid for myself. I'm not ashamed to admit to you that it helps me sleep at night.

Did it help you when you were younger? When you had those nightmares?

I know it helps me.

But in regards to how I'm feeling, like I was told to write in this letter to you, even if you'll never read it, I can't think of any full sentences to put.

Not really, at least.

I guess I feel guilty that I couldn't ease your worries. Your anxiety about asking me for help. You do know I would've dropped everything to walk you home that night, right..?

Would you have asked if I made sure you knew?

Gotham can go nights without me hunting down vampires if it meant you felt safe walking home.

Hell, I'd even give up protecting Gotham as a whole to make sure you felt safe every night, Moon. You deserved that much, at least.

I should have had the bravery to follow after Alfred. Been there when you died. I was always your older brother, kept you safe from things. Made you feel at ease.

And the one time I couldn't, I let you down. I failed you. Failed you all because I didn't have the heart to kill you myself. I hope you at least weren't scared, that you...

I know you wouldn't like how I've treated Alfred since. How you wouldn't like how we all treat him since.

I know I shouldn't be angry at him. But I don't know how else to feel, when he was the only one there. He was the only one that got to say goodbye to you.

I'll be out of space here soon, since I guess I can't help but write on the back of this page.

I guess this is just a chance I get at saying goodbye to you.

I'm sorry I put so much distance between you and the world of vampire hunting. It's probably because of that distance that you aren't here anymore. It's all my fault.

I think the only thing that could even be seen as positive is that you aren't in pain. And that you will never have to deal with your nightmares again. I still remember as if it was yesterday just how hard you'd cry when you had nightmares.

Did you know I used to wake up because of them, too? But only because of your screaming and crying?

I'd just sit there, lying awake, mostly staring at the ceiling. Count how long it took for Alfred to calm you down. He'd always leave after ten exact minutes when you'd finally calmed down.

Were you able to even fall back asleep after those?

I should finish up what I want to say, since there's only a bit of blank space on this paper left.

What I really wanted to say was that I was sorry. I really, really am. I'm sorry I failed you. Sorry that I failed to be your big brother.

I hope you can forgive me someday.

-Bruce Wayne

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Dick Grayson

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader.

Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Lunar,

I want to apologize to you. So, so many times. Over and over if I could.

It sucks that I'll never be able to apologize to you in person for failing you. I wasn't even far, and yet because I wasn't paying attention on one patrol it caused us to have to say goodbye to you.

Well, Alfred got to say goodbye in person. We have to say goodbye to your grave.

God, I wish I looked around a little harder that night. If I did, would you still be here?

If you were still here, I'd be able to still look forward to how you greeted me with whatever baked goods you made. I'm gonna miss stopping by the manor just for those.

I haven't had the heart to visit your grave yet. Can't muster up the courage to even show my face around the manor, since it's my fault you died.

It's always been my fault. It's all my fault. Damian is right. He always is.

Damian was right when he said that I shouldn't have been so lazy. That I should've gotten off my ass and patrolled a little more actively. Maybe if I had, we wouldn't have had to say goodbye to you.

We wouldn't have had to bury you if I had.

I'm sorry I failed you, Lunar. I'm so, so sorry. I can't help but be sorry. I'm so tired of waking up to you not being here anymore. So tired of it.

I'm tired of missing your presence. I hate it. I hate having to realize I'll never be able to talk to you again.

How am I even gonna do this anymore? How am I supposed to go out there, as Nightwing, and live with myself knowing that I was just a few measly miles from where you got attacked that night?

Would you even be able to forgive me, if you were still alive? Would you have blamed me, as much as I blame myself?

As much as Damian blames me?

Jason's been dropping by lately, bringing me leftovers. Bringing me just stuff to eat, since I guess he kind of knows I don't have the energy to cook for myself.

Much less get out of bed on most days.

I know you'd tell me not to blame myself, probably, but I can't help it. What else am I supposed to do? Tell myself it was okay that I just didn't feel like being thorough one time and it got you killed?

I don't think I can ever forgive myself, even if the grief counselor tells me to.

Even if you told me to.

-Dick Grayson

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Steph

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader. Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐ Dear Lunar,

I remember when we first met. How I didn't want to accept any of your advice or care for a long, long while. I remember just how long it took for me to even warm up to the idea of accepting that you just genuinely cared about me.

I try to drop by your grave to talk to you sometimes. Not sure what to do when I'm sad besides just.. do that.

I think everyone's been a little more distant with each other, too. I mean, sure, I only really rarely stop by, but...

Nothing feels quite the same. Or right.

Tim buries himself in code, Cass is always in your room, crying. Everyone feels so different. Like a part of them is just missing. But that would be right, I guess.

Because your missing. Gone. Not here anymore.

Maybe that's why I don't feel the same anymore, either. Haven't been able to put my finger on just quite why until I sat down to write this letter.

I know you used to always tell me to be careful, not to take more risks than necessary. I wonder if you'd be upset if you knew that I guess I just... Don't care anymore.

I don't care if taking a risk when I'm out and about could get me injured, or killed. I don't see the need to keep myself safe anymore.

Not when none of us could keep you safe.

Cass almost died while clearing out a vampire nest recently. Since your death, we've kind of just... Haven't been quite as thorough as we used to be. Don't make sure the information is totally accurate so we don't get hurt or killed.

I wonder if we only were as thorough because we didn't want to worry you more than you already were.

But either way, if taking more risks than necessary may give me the chance to see or speak to you again, then so be it. Even if you don't want me to see you again so soon.

-Stephanie Brown

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Next Song : Red Carnation

Series: Hanahaki

Character: Talia Al Ghul

⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

[intriq]

Letters - Barbara

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader. Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Star,

I wish I hadn't put off giving you a vial of werewolf blood. Or even my own.

I wonder if you would've had a better chance at getting out of that attack without being turned if I had. Would you be alive if I did?

I wish I knew how to help Dick. He's been pretty much absent, and I've seen Jason constantly taking leftovers and not returning with them when he leaves the manor with them. I wonder if he's bringing them to Dick.

I know Jason likes to say he isn't good at the whole comfort thing, but I think he just doesn't know how to put it into words. I think he's better at comforting people through other means.

I wish Dick could come to understand that we don't blame him. It isn't his fault. Damian may say it is, but he's just angry. He's an angry kid whose losing someone he viewed as a parent.

Damian's not used to grieving. Your the first person close to him that he's ever lost.

Your number was given to someone else yesterday. Which means I can't listen to your voicemail anymore, or text you when I miss you.

Tim was nice enough to help me get some old voicemails I deleted years ago for me to listen to. Voicemails from you, specifically.

I know Tim saved some himself. Think he listens to them from time to time, while he works. He's been so busy working on this new program that I feel like he isn't taking good care of himself.

Think he forgets to, since you used to always remind him to. I promise I'll try to pick up where you left off regarding that.

Jason and I were the first to visit your grave. I make sure to visit at least once a week, leave you flowers on your grave. Tim does too, more-so than me. He has a hard time remembering what your favorites are sometimes.

I miss having you around, you know.

Miss being dragged around by you so you could show me something you found, or a cool place. It was always my favorite part of the week, you know?

Those days we'd just go out and see the things you found.

I'm sorry I was too busy for us to hangout the last week you were alive. I'm really sorry.

-Barbara Gordon ‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

Letters - Cassandra

after the reader's death, in a time after part 1 and before part 2, the batfam receives therapy and as part of their therapy, they write grief letters to you, the reader.

Italics are used to represent smudged words due to tears

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎┌──═━┈━═──┐

Dear Lunar,

It's been a few weeks since your funeral. The silence in the manor feels... Weird. Different.

The air about the manor doesn't feel quite the same, too.

Everyone's trying to focus on their own things, I guess. I have too. But focusing on taking care of vampires is... hard. It's strange, because I used to be able to focus so well.

But now it's almost like trying to do that is such a chore since you've died. Wonder if you'd give me advice like other times, or if you'd tell me to take a break.

We, as in the others and I, were told to write these letters to you. Grief letters, or something like that. Something to allow us to pour out how we feel since you've died. Damian wasn't really wanting to do it, saying he thought it was stupid or something.

I still caught him doing it anyway, though.

We're supposed how we feel since you've died, so...

I don't know. I guess I don't really know how to put into words what I'm feeling. Not used to whatever it is I am feeling, though. I just cry, feels like all I know how to do. Cry and hug a pillow, sometimes pretend its you.

I miss when you'd give me a hug whenever I needed to cry. Probably one of the things I'll definitely miss about your presence.

You'd probably know the word to describe how I'm feeling. You were always good at that, the emotion stuff. Putting things into words.

Your room feels empty, even if all your things are still there, too. No one goes in there much anymore, besides Alfred. I see him come and go from in there sometimes, though I think it's no more necessary to keep dust from collecting on your things.

I managed to buy some of the body spray you used to wear a lot. Took a bit to find, but I did. Didn't want your room to start smelling any differently than it does now.

The only time I seem to actually get good sleep seems to be when I'm in there, too. Don't wanna mess up your bed so I just made myself somewhere to sleep on the floor.

Hope you don't mind that I spend more time in your room than my own, or that I've cleared some space on your desk to do schoolwork and stuff. I focus better in your room.

Planning on stopping by your grave tomorrow, after patrol. I wish I could say "see you then", but I'm not even sure if that would be the right words to say. Or write.

-Cassandra Cain

‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎‎ ‎└──═━┈━═──┘

[intriq]

I DEMAND girldad!Dick Grayson

Please - 🌻

anything for u sunflower

girldad!Dick Grayson who most certainly has stupid little nicknames for his little girl. Do not under estimate this man. If he's got stupid nicknames for his s/o, he definitely has some for his kid.

girldad!Dick Grayson who probably has dressed his kid up in the dumbest shit ever. Like that one carrot costume I reblogged.

girldad!Dick Grayson who was probably all pouty and sad when his daughter went to school for the first time.

girldad!Dick Grayson who is devastated when he learns her favorite hero is not Nightwing, but in fact probably Batman or one of his adopted brothers' hero/vigilante identities. He'll pout about it for ages.

girldad!Dick Grayson who takes photos of his daughter every chance he gets, wanting to capture as many precious memories as he can.

girldad!Dick Grayson who probably tries to get his daughter interested in gymnastics only to just pout when she absolutely abhors it.

girldad!Dick Grayson who is devastated that his daughter as a toddler had a streak of calling him "Dickhead" after he let Jason watch her one time. Jason wasn't allowed to babysit after that.

credit to kimjiho1 for the dividers