#not even bad parent Bruce wayne landed right

[dcxdpdabbles]

Freelance Inventor Part 2

Dedicated to @jimmysorsprinkles Thank you for enjoying my random dabbles. I saw that you wanted more Dads, Danny/Bruce, who are unknowingly co-parenting, so here it is! (set during the first prompt through the years of Danny just being a dad whenever he's home)

"I just don't know what to do," Bruce admits, watching Dick stomp about in tiny angry circles, muttering in his native tongue under his breath. He's been out there for about a half hour, doing laps in the yard. Danny knows he deliberately chose to do so under the window leading to Bruce's office.

The kid definitely wanted his guardian to know he was mad at him .

It was the fact Dick was unconsciously hunching his shoulders, curling his fist, and even raising his knee slightly higher than he needed for his stomps that were a nod to Bruce whenever the man was upset.

It seemed like Dick had picked up habits from Bruce during his short time here. If anything, Danny thought it rather cute if it weren't for the fact Dick was so upset.

"What happened?" He asked, standing beside Bruce, overlooking the pre-teen throwing a fit.

Bruce's frown is sharp and hinted with just the edge of uncertainty that anyone who didn't know him well would have dismissed. "He was being reckless in one of our extreme sports, and when I rightfully scolded him for it, he took it as me not trusting him."

Danny tilts his head, considering. It's been over three years since he became acquainted with the Waynes, and in that time- between his travels, his inventing, and his general desire to learn all he could in any way he could- he noticed that Dick was very quick to anger as a defensive mechanism.

This clashed horribly with Bruce's own mechanism- which was shutting down or at least emotionally wise. While Dick sneered and raged against the world, Bruce tried his best to forget he was human and detached himself from the situation.

Which wouldn't be so bad if it didn't feed into Dick's insecurities or Bruce's anxiety when they both reacted to adverse situations.

He has spoken to Jazz about it, and his sister has given him some advice that has helped him smooth things over with the young boy. Empathizing and paraphrasing the boy's issues was a big step in letting him feel heard and his feelings acknowledged.

For Bruce, he treated him like a ghost who had never seen a human. Plenty of ghosts were never human, were born in the ghost zone, or had been there for so long that they had forgotten what humans were like. Danny took time to explain why someone reacted the way they did- at least, why he thought so- and never made Bruce feel less for needing the help.

It was fun, in a way, to see Bruce's eyes lighten up with understanding and get him to talk about his rooted issues, but having to do so on carefully balanced tones and word choice. Phantom had so much practice de-escalating ghosts that it was a walk in the park with Bruce.

"I'll talk to him," Danny promised, leaning over to rest his hand on Bruce's shoulder and not batting an eye when the taller man landed down to rest his forehead on Danny's shoulder.

Where Bruce couldn't say in words, he yelled in his actions. It reminded him a bit of Wulf.

Bruce took a deep breath before nodding. "Thank you."

Danny hummed, reaching up to pet Bruce's hair like he would soothe Wulf, on days the werewolf would twitch too much at the door slamming, and suddenly his friend was mentally back in Walker's prison. "No problem. But, I will also be speaking to you later, and you are going to listen to Dick's side of the story without interrupting at dinner."

"Yes, Danny"

Alfred threw him an approving smile as he marched outside to meet Dick's rage-filled eyes and nervous hand twitching. He could catch the ending bits of whatever rant the boy was muttering.

"You're right. Bruce is an idiot sometimes." He starts grinning as the boy's eyes narrow further.

"You don't speak Romani."

"I may not understand what you're saying, but trust me, I feel it." Danny chirps, watching Dick's shoulder relax a little. " What did he do this time?"

"You won't even believe it!" Dick snaps, and then he's off, Danny keeping pace with him step by step as the boy works himself into another frenzy.

Later that night, Dick explained that he hated how Bruce made him feel so belittled and unimportant, his voice tight with a itch to fight, and Bruce carefully- with significant prompting from Danny- explained how he didn't mean it that way. He was only worried that he was about to watch Dick die in front of him, and he couldn't live through losing his family again.

Dick looked shocked to be considered family, and Danny swore he helped the boy sneak into Bruce's office, which so happened to have the adoption papers Bruce was hiding. Alfred gave him a large sample of pudding for dessert.

______________________________________________

"Hey, kid," Danny whispered, watching Jason tense up momentarily. It's not overly noticeable, but Danny has grown used to seeing little ghost blobs show emotions by how they twisted and twirled over the years, so he could tell what the slight tightening of the fingers around the book meant.

Anxious.

It would be understandable if Jason had been present for another one of Dick's and Bruce's explosive arguments. He came from a household that had an older male figure beat him whenever Willis got in a mood, so while he knew that Bruce or Dick would never hit him, Jason still tried to make himself scarce.

Jazz was the one to point out Jason's usage of escapism in the form of books to comfort himself, and so Danny took whatever time he could manage to read the same books as Jason while on his travels.

"What?" The boy grunted, voice soft but weary.

Danny sits across from him, making sure to stay in Jason's eyesight at all times. He had realized in only his second visit after meeting Jason that the boy did not like having someone too close in his space.

He grew up on the streets where being weary of older men kept him alive- Danny would never fault him for what he had to do to survive.

Unlike Dick, who was always down to talk about why he was upset if only to rant, Jason preferred to have a distraction. So he offers him a smile that he hopes projects You're safe with me and pulls out a book from his bag.

Jason's eyes light up at the cover. "I had some theories on Mr. Darcy being in love with Mr.Bingley before he met Elizabeth, and Bruce won't agree with me. Help me find citations as proof?"

"It's so obvious that he was, how can the old man not see that!" Jason snorts, tilting his head in a cute habit that he picked up from Dick. He really looks up to his big brother no matter how tense things can get.

Danny is glad he's gotten Dick to explain to Jason that he didn't hate him, but he was going through a lot, and Jason as a street kid, understood on some level.

"The old just hate listening to other people's suggestions even when we're right!." Jason leans over to read the book Danny places between them, considering Jane Austin's work while Danny files away the real reason he's upset with Bruce.

Later, after Jason and he present a bemused Bruce with a report on why Mr.Darcy is bi and had feelings for his best friend before meeting his wife, he tells Bruce to explain why he didn't consider Jason's suggestion in their extreme sport.

Jason goes to bed that night with a better answer than "because I said so," and Danny forces Bruce to go up to his room and re-read Pride and Prejudice to connect with his youngest.

Alfred offers them extra blankets and pillows since the two get so caught up reading to each other that Danny just decides sleeping in Bruce's bed is easier than walking down two wings to the guest rooms.

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

"I'm not going to bed," Tim snapped when Danny knocked on his door. His fingers are flying over the keyboard of his computer, his little face glowing from the computer screen, and Danny is almost reminded of himself whenever he gets caught up in his work.

It may worry Bruce and Alfred, but Danny is a Fenton. He knows what it's like to have his brain run over time and sacrifice sleep or meals to get his ideas into the world.

His mother is the same, his father is the same, his sister is the same, and even Danny's clone is the same. It's fitting that the little boy he caught following Batmam around with a camera is the same since he all but forced Bruce to adopt him.

He hadn't meant to.

He had been testing an air purifier when he returned to Gotham since Bruce and the kids were out of state, and his ghost hearing picked up the sound of a camera click.

Imagine his surprise that when he turned to the roof opposite him, he found the tiny little face of an eleven-year-old staring back, holding a camera, and Batman swinging away in the distance. Danny became attached to Tim that night, even after he chased the boy down to ask if he was safe.

He did not like the implications of his parents always "working" while Tim ran amok in Gotham.

It took almost two weeks of following Tim around Gotham to help him with his photos before the boy allowed him to take him to Wayne Manor. It took three more before Bruce realized that Danny wouldn't allow Tim's parents to win him back, and together, they took the Drakes to court.

Danny has never been more grateful that Bruce was loaded with money and that his inventions gained him contacts in high places that wouldn't mind taking the Drakes down.

Tim was a lot like Bruce- where he shut down- but he needed people to be around him more. Sometimes just sitting in the same room- where Tim could glance up and see him- was enough for the boy to be at ease.

This was great for Bruce, who thought he didn't need to do much to make Tim happy- until Danny reminded him that Tim was a poor boy who was gutted for any form of parental approval.

He had to almost punch Bruce after overhearing him tell Tim he was proud of him, but there was room for improvement. Bruce meant it as helpful, constructive criticism, but Tim- whose parents all but drilled how useless he was- only heard criticism.

Only heard, he was not enough.

So now Tim was going, who knew how many hours without sleep, trying to fix whatever issue he thought he had caused. How a fourteen-year-old could have caused issues at his adoptive dad's multimillion-dollar company was beyond Danny, but it meant a lot to Tim, so he didn't need to understand it.

He just needed to respect it.

"Don't want you to," Danny grunts, throwing himself on Tim's queen-sized bed. "I just wanted to know if I could crash here. Bruce pissed me off."

Tim's fingers pause. "What did he do?"

"He tried to tell me how to handle my inventions' payment. I'm a freelancer! I know how to do that." Danny complains while twisting under the covers. Tim slowly turns around to look at him, but he acts like he doesn't notice. "I know he'll try to talk to me in the guest rooms, but he won't find me here. I just don't want to listen to another "I can do it better" lecture."

After a moment's pause, Tim admits. "He did the same to me and my team."

He means Cassie, Bart, and Conner. The little team of photography buddies Bruce introduced Tim back when they started homeschooling him. Dani suggested pulling Tim out of school is one of the best advice his clone ever gave him.

Tim took the pictures, Cassie and Conner modeled, and Bart made the clothes. Their work was slowly gaining traction online, and Tim seemed to glow whenever the Team was mentioned.

"Course he did." Danny sigh. He leans back into the pillow. "Know why he did it, too. Bruce doesn't want me to be taken advantage of, but it's hard not to hear him think I can't keep up, especially when my family is doing the same thing."

"Yeah," Tim's voice is soft. "It's frustrating that all your hard work is overshadowed or that everything you've done so far doesn't prove that you know you can."

Bingo. Danny discovered Tim's issue; now he just needs to bring it home.

"I know I'm great at what I do. You said so yourself- my past proves I am crazy good at work. I leave other people breathless in awe all the time. I can adapt and overcome so much faster than others. Bruce can see that, but he forgets to praise it." Danny huffs like he's trying not to be forgiving, and it causes a smile to unwillingly appear on Tim's face.

"I'll talk to him tomorrow but today I'm being petty and hiding. Thanks for letting me sleep here"

"You're welcome, Danny." Tim goes back to his typing, but only after a minute or two of Danny asking if he can turn off the light does the boy save his work and shut his computer down.

The room is plunged into darkness but Danny doesn't need the light to see how Tim sinks into his mattress. Tim is smart- crazy smart that every part of him that's Fenton crows with pride- and he can easily see through Danny.

"Thank you Danny" He doesn't say what for but he doesn't need to.

Danny reaches over, grabs the blankets, and makes sure they cover the small shoulder, tucking Tim in properly. "Any time kid"

The next morning, Bruce wakes them up with a powerpoint of all the things he thought were impressive about Tim and his team's last photo session. A powerpoint for Pete's sake.

But it makes Tim smile so much that Danny lets it slide. At least he listened when Danny chewed him out for forgetting to praise Tim.

Alfred offers Danny some of his private tea jars, which according to Dick, means Danny is in for life as Tim, Jason, and Bruce go over the PowerPoint again. Jason has begone to heal for his bitch of a mother's betrayal a few months ago.

Thankfully, Danny was in the area when he called and reminded the lady why she should not mess with Bruce's kids. Dani paying her a visit in her jail cell was just the Fentons' sending their regards.

(His dad gave Dani the ani-creep stick, and his mom hacked the cameras to loop. Jazz just watched hours of her to realize what made the woman scream and cry before sending the clone on her way. It was a good family bonding moment)

No one believed the woman claiming to be haunted that her son was Robin. Honestly, where on earth she got that idea Danny would never know.

His Jason, the sweet school-loving boy who graduated as valedictorian, running around punching criminals? Honestly, what was she going to claim next?

Bruce being Batman?!

Please.

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Family? Assemble!

Reporter: Gotham News, and we have a new supervillain on the line. Mr Phantom, what are your demands at the moment? Phantom with lack of sleep and with tears: I..I want a titanium model of a spaceship! And to get a good night’s sleep and to go to the local school…and some fudge and.. Reporter: Oh, my bad. Just one question for clarification, are you by any chance an orphan or are your parents villains? Phantom: I prefer the term mad scientists Reporter: Okay. So, Gotham news! And with me on the line is the new potential child of Wayne or Batman. Want to know how two serial adopters will share a child leading a double life? Stay with us and find out. Now let's check in with Jessie for our weather report. Phantom: Wait, what?

~~~~~

Danny spends the night running from the Red Hood with a bag of fudge, Red Robin with a pot of coffee, Batman with the adoption papers and, for some reason, Brucie Wayne with an idea of internship at a space station. Ha! The Justice League will never let a ghost into orbit. Not that Wayne can blackmail superheroes or smth. Danny: Fuck you all! I’m done with vigilante activity, I’m not your competitor! What do you want from me? And I’m done with crazy billionaires too. I swear, I’d rather be adopted by a local mob boss just to piss you off! ~Later~ Danny *sees peering out of the corner Matches Malone*: Are you kidding me?! Robbie *jumps off the roof and lands right behind Danny*: Stop running, lil brother, No one’s left the family yet. Minnie: What about Neal? Robbie *shakes a knife with a bow on the handle negatively*: He’s on sabbatical, that doesn’t count. Anyway, it’s a gift for you, cub. Danny: Um, thank you, but my lab scalpels are definitely sterile, and your blade was in who knows who before you brought it here. Robbie: It’s brand-new! And Archie decorated it with a ghost on the handle. Look! It's cute! With a smile and… Dick: Hands up! You’re under arrest for trying to steal our new member! Minnie: Why is he yours, damn cop? Selina: Boys, don’t fight. He’s mine. Schrodinger’s cat is still a kitten. Killer Croc: No way, my niece is staying with me. Danny: Uncle Waylon? Long time no see. Ra's: My grandson needs steady access to ectoplasm. Danyal, come with me. Danny: Over my dead body! Oh shiii…I mean no. Anyway, don’t you think the alley’s getting a little crowded?

~~~~

Killer Croc: Is he still mad at me? RR: Danny doesn’t talk to uncles who tried to eat his beloved brother Red Robin. Killer Croc: He wasn’t even your brother then. What do you want? An apology from me? RR: That would be nice.

~~~~

Danny: I didn’t think the GIW agents would really fear the reputation of Gotham and not follow me. What a relief! Jason *quickly throws the knife into the sink*: Wow, you got lucky. Alfred: Master Jones, why don’t you eat your steak? I thought last week you were complaining to Batman that 'cause of him you got not many prey. Croc *pulls a piece of white robe from the teeth*: Well, now there is a lot of it. Bruce *gives Jason and Croc the side-eye*.

~~~~

Ra's: You do realize that Malone, Wayne and Batman are the same person, right? Boy, you were born into a family of geniuses, don’t disappoint Grandpa. Danny: Triple pocket money, triple gifts for the holidays, the opportunity to complain about the same family member three times. No, Grandpa, I definitely don’t understand. Ra's: Smart little weasel.

~~~~

Selina: Okay. Purely theoretical. Do you like to steal? Danny: I wouldn’t say that. But somehow I stole the sword from the fright knight. And also stole few jewels but then I was under the mind control. I returned them. Well, the crown and ring of the king of the ghost zone I also took without permission. Oh, and the answers to the test once. And I’m really sorry about the last one. Neal: I feel the story behind it but I prefer to know nothing about it.

[starry-bi-sky]

show me how to lay my sword down long enough to let you through - clone^2 ch1

A little boy has landed in Amity Park, and he looks suspiciously like the 13-year-old Damian Wayne living in Gotham. Good news: he landed in front of Danny just as he was finishing up his fight with a ghost. Bad news: the little Damian-look-alike doesn't speak a lick of english, has a sword, and seems very keen on using it whenever he can. Against Danny specifically.

Danny already has his own issues to deal with -- like how it's not even been a year since he found out he was a clone of Bruce Wayne specifically, with all the identity issues that come with such a revelation -- and a stab-happy six year old that was very obviously a clone of Damian Wayne was not one of them. However, the kid was alone in a foreign country, and despite his hostility, it's very clear that he's terrified.

Call him a bleeding heart, but Danny takes him home.

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womp i wrote it and posted it. truly, it was only a matter of time before i did. my clone^2 au except now it's a fic! Here is the humble beginnings of this au if anyone is interested. The full thing is also posted below the read more if you want to read it here instead.

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Danny knows more than he probably should about ghosts, ectoplasm, and all things relating to it — courtesy only in partial credit to his parents and largely to every ghost, spirit, mythological creature, and conceptual entity taken sentient form he’s ever come across in the last two years of his run as Phantom. 

For example: he’s learned how to classify the difference between a ghost and a spirit when the words are synonymous with each other. He knows that ghosts cannot pass into the Realm of the Living without a naturally-made or manmade portal that splits the seams between dimensions like holes being chewed through a shirt. 

He knows that spirits are just weaker could-be ghosts that are trapped in the Living Realm, unseen by the Living, with unfinished business until someone can come along to help them move on. He’s helped quite a handful of them in the last two years thanks to his clairvoyance, but the city has more spirits than he could possibly know how to deal with. So his efforts are like trying to empty a pond with a bucket. 

Danny still tries, anyway. One afterlife saved is one afterlife saved, right? 

What he also knows is that natural made portals are exceedingly rare. That they occur when ectoplasm in any given area for some reason or another currents against each other, condensing and building in energy and density until eventually something gives and like snow on top of a roof it caves in and creates a portal. 

He knows that these natural made portals typically only last a few seconds at a time, and vary between the size of a rodent and a marsupial no bigger than a wallaby. He knows that most natural portals only last from a few seconds to a few minutes, with the record-holder being five minutes from a portal that was the size of a toddler. 

And the reason they never last so long is because ectoplasm is an energy, like most energy, it usually has somewhere to go. It cycles through plants, through the animals, through the ground, anywhere it can reach. It’s cousins with solar energy in that sense. Meaning it, usually, has little opportunity to clash and current with the rest of the ambient ectoplasm in the area.

But it does happen, albeit rarely, and only for a few seconds. Like the equivalent of a static shock; it’s only there for a moment before it collapses in on itself and disappears. 

So with that being said, Danny likes to think he’s — maybe not an expert — but fairly knowledgeable about the existence of natural made portals. The Ever-Infinite Bridge Between Realms is ever-expanding, ever-growing, and with it so is the information he has on it. Anything could become obsolete in a moment. 

And the only reason he’s thinking about it is because his parents were talking about portals in the kitchen earlier that evening, talking about their portal specifically, but Danny latched onto it, and his mind wanders. He’s not sure why they were talking about it, the portal has been running, unfortunately smoothly for the last two years. He has the scars and eyebags (and trauma) to prove it. 

Besides, his mind should be on other things. 

Like the goddamn flying snake he’s been chasing across the city skyline for the last thirty minutes. An amphiptere his mind unhelpfully supplies, a word he grabbed nearly two years ago when he first started out as Phantom and was desperately looking up the various ectoplasmic creatures slipping through his parents’ portal. 

Some of them didn’t have proper names — like a three-eyed fox he once saw with the tail of a peacock and hooves of a goat. He managed to lure it out of the alleyway it backed itself into with a nasty burger. It tore into it with the fervor of a starving coyote and Danny let it finish eviscerating the burger before sucking it into his thermos.

It was incredibly disturbing to watch at the time, since the thing had an almost beak-shaped muzzle, but now he wishes he was back in the alleyway trying to coax out a ecto-fox-griffin thing rather than chase after what was basically a dragon with no legs — it doesn’t even have the decency to be a wyvern. 

He’s only keeping up with the stupid snake due to his grappling hook, something Danny made a year ago in order to keep up with the ghosts flying around the city, and his best fucking self-made invention yet — made from the discarded inventions from his parents’ lab — with his jawbreaker gloves coming in at close second, if only because he gets to call them his jawbreakers. 

(It was remarkably simpler than the grappling hook — he just reinforced the knuckles on his gloves.) 

Because as much as he likes running, he was going to give himself a heart attack if he chased every ghost he came across on foot. It’d take him all night just to find one. And there was something inherently freeing in the terrifying, adrenaline-rushing sensation of soaring through the air with nothing but hard ground below and endless sky above. 

The amphiptere twists its head and looks behind it, and Danny gives it a little shit-eating grin from behind his mask and a small, two fingered salute. The mane of feathers behind the snake’s head puffs up like a frilled lizard, and it opens its maw to hiss — this distorted, almost screeching sound — at him menacingly. 

Danny, in response, scoffs under his breath and waves a hand in front of his nose. “Ugh.” he mutters, scrunching up his nose as the snake’s hot breath hits him square in the face. “Someone should throw you one of those dental doggie treats.” 

The snake, of course, doesn’t hear him over the sound of its shrieking and the wind. When it twists back around, it dives to the ground, flicking its tail harshly like it’s hoping to hit him as it goes down. 

Finally, Danny thinks, dodging out of the way with a twist of his body, and follows it down into the factorial district of Amity Park. It’s already disappeared somewhere when his feet hit the sidewalk, but the buzzing of his ghost sense still tingles on the back of his neck like a seventh sense. So it’s still nearby. 

Danny’s grappling hook retracts with a quiet, zipping noise. He hooks it onto the loop of his jeans, and stalks down the side of the road. 

Spirits linger beside the buildings. Men, women, and kids wearing clothes from all different time periods congregating in groups and conversing with one another, playing, watching him. Cities never sleep, they doze, and the dead come out at night when the living aren’t there to wake it up. Danny’s spoken to them many, many times. 

“Excuse me.” He murmurs, tapping a man in overalls and a railroad cap on the arm. If it weren’t for his faint green glow and how he wisps at the edges, the man would almost look alive. The man turns to him, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead when he sees Danny. “Have you seen a flying snake coming through here?” 

The man blinks at him, “As a matter o’ fact,” he says, adjusting the cap on his head, “I have. Flew down the road like a bat out of hell.” The man points down the street, and Danny leans around him to see. “Thought it was gonna knock me righ’ out my work boots.” 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, making a low ‘hn’ sound in the back of his throat. “Did you see if it went into one of the buildings?” He almost hopes it did, he could probably try and sneak up on it that way. Man, he needs some kind of stunner or something. 

“Right in there.” The man tells him, pointing to an old brick factory with the windows grimy and cracked. Of course, Danny sighs out of his nose. If he squints, he can see a green glow coming through the glass. 

If he’s lucky, he won’t run into the Box Ghost while he’s in there. He turns to the man and nods politely, “Thank you.” And when the man nods back, Danny turns and hurries down the street. He weaves around the spirits congregating around him, he’s heard from one-too-many spirits how irritating it is to be walked through by the Living. 

The door is rusted and locked when he finds an entrance, only made worse by the chain wrapped around the door for good measure, with a padlock. Of course. Rolling his eyes, Danny reaches for his pocket and pulls out a lockpick — too many times doing this has taught him to bring one along, just in case. 

(Man, he was envious of ghosts’ abilities to just phase through things. It would save him a lot of trouble. And roadburns, bruises, broken bones, and every other injury known to man.)  

He jams the lockpick into the padlock, jiggles it roughly, and unlocks it with a soft click. “They need better locks.” Danny mutters, pulling off the chain carefully with quiet, metallic clattering, and putting it on the ground. He jams the lockpick into the door lock, and with a little more finesse, unlocks that one too. 

The door opens with a heavy creak that has Danny scrunching his shoulders up to his ears and his mouth pulling back with a sharp inhale. Shit, he freezes in place, darting his eyes around for the amphiptere. 

He sees its glow off in the corner, stark ectoplasm green against the red brick walls, half hidden behind empty conveyor belts and forgotten, empty metal barrels. It doesn’t notice him, with the door open he can hear a loud crrrchk-ing followed by intermittent bangs. 

It’s chewing on something, wriggling around like a cat playing with a toy mouse. Danny silently creeps in and slips through the gap between the door, closing the door behind him slowly. His eyes never leave the amphiptere. It still doesn’t notice him. 

Two years isn’t that long to teach yourself how to be stealthy, but when you’re doing it every night, you learn quickly. Danny keeps himself low to the ground and his footsteps light. The amphiptere is oblivious to him; its clanging, hissing, snarling drowns out the room to any other noise. 

As he gets closer, Danny unhooks his thermos again. There’s a quiet click as he opens the lid with a press of a button, and the thermos hums to life in his hand, warming up against his palm. He creeps around the conveyor belt, his breathing slow and steady. 

When he reaches the amphiptere, its back is facing him. It coiled itself close to the ground, its jaw clamped around a metal barrel that’s been crushed like a tin can down the middle. Danny clenches his teeth, discomfort shivering down his spine. That could’ve been his arm had it decided to fight back. 

Silently, he raises his thermos at the snake, and with his arm steady, his thumb slams one of the buttons. There’s a recoil like he’s firing a gun, and Danny finds his purchase on the ground as a beam of light lashes out and hits the snake. 

The reaction is immediate. The amphiptere drops the barrel with a hideous, furious shriek and lashes out, trying to escape from the beam dragging it towards the thermos. But Danny’s long since learned that the pull of the thermos is much stronger than most ghosts, so long as he doesn’t disturb the tractor beam. 

One thing is for certain — keeping the damn thing steady is one hell of a forearm workout. His arms used to shake after a fight, and they’d feel sore in the morning. Not so much anymore since Danny started working out with Sam.

(Tucker declined when they asked him if he wanted to join — he’ll stick with his tech and walking on the treadmill.)  

When the amphiptere disappears inside the thermos, Danny slams the lid back on and slumps with relief. Finally, he groans quietly, clipping the thermos onto his belt and pressing his hand to his lower back to stretch. There’s a satisfying pop-pop-pop, and Danny sighs from his nose. He’s calling it a night. 

He glances at the time on his phone. It was three am, fantastic. He has school in four hours. 

Other than the snake, tonight had been blessedly quiet. Danny spoke to some of the spirits lingering around Third and Main downtown, got some of their information so he could start helping them with moving on — two murders and then a simple fetch quest, — chased down a few other ghosts — most of them just ecto-entities, but there was a young ghost child who he had to play hide and seek with before she would agree to be taken home in the thermos. 

He also got into a fight with a fellow teen ghost who wanted to see the “Death-Touched” and if Phantom was as good a fighter as the rumors say he was. Danny’s been called “Death-Touched” since the night he snuck into the lab and released every single ghost his parents had trapped in cages, that wasn’t unsurprising. A little a lot ominous at first, but Danny is nothing if not adaptive. 

He’d kicked the other teen’s ass, dragged him into the thermos, and moved on. 

But other than that, tonight had been tame. So before Murphy can come and kick him in the teeth, Danny’s calling it a night. 

Danny is one step towards the exit when he hears a loud, suctioning noise followed by something akin to a glacier cracking down the middle. His heart sinks instantly to his feet, and the chill of his ghost sense crawls up his throat and freezes the back of his teeth. No mist spills out, yet. 

Ah, fuck. Danny stifles a groan, turning back around. There goes the rest of his night. 

A portal the size of an acorn swirls into existence right before his eyes, and then rapidly grows. Swirling like a whirlpool, it grows bigger and bigger until it’s half the size of him. The bigger it gets, the tenser Danny becomes — the bigger the portal is, the bigger the ghost that can slip through gets. 

Please don’t make him face the snake’s fucking cousin. Danny prays, rapidly scurrying back with his hands raised defensively. He scowls under his mask, and waits tersely for something to fall through. Whatever comes through, he hopes it’s friendly. Or slow. Or maybe both. 

Danny doesn’t get another winged snake. 

Instead, a child stumbles out of the portal. A non-glowing, living-colored child who couldn’t be any older than six, and who rapidly spits out a phrase in a language Danny doesn’t catch. Danny’s hands drop slightly from his side, bewilderment settling in the back of his throat. 

As the child rights himself, the portal dissipates behind him with a hissing sigh. It takes Danny’s ghost sense with it, and the chill evaporates from his mouth. 

Oh, oh no. 

Danny’s heart drops from his feet straight into the ground. Six feet into the ground. Oh, fuck. 

That was a living child. That was a living child. That was a whole-ass living child.

If natural portals were rare, then whatever the hell this was — teleportals, Vlad’s teleports, whatever — was unheard of. The only time he’s seen a portal that transported someone from one place to another on the same plane of existence was Vlad. His man-made teleportals. 

Natural portals between one place to another? He’s never heard of such a thing. And one just opened in front of him and spat out a child. A human, living child. A portal just kidnapped a child.  

A child who, Danny realizes, is holding a sword. A katana, of all things. One that was designed to match his size. A child who was, for a lack of better words, wearing something Danny would expect a ninja to wear. A child who was dressed from head to toe in black. 

A child who looks suspiciously like a baby-faced Damian Wayne. Brown skin and green eyes and all, but with youth still clinging to his cheeks. It couldn’t be Damian Wayne himself — that boy was thirteen, and Danny would’ve heard from Sam if something happened to him. 

So this meant either two things: Damian Wayne was just now turned into a child and dropped into Danny’s lap, or this was a clone of Damian Wayne. Danny was thinking it might’ve been the latter. 

Fuck you, Murphy, he thinks instantly, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip. This was mean. 

He stares, uncertainty — and perhaps a little bit of nausea — forming a pit in his chest, as the child makes eye contact with him. The air is silent and thick — with dust, asbestos, or just the silence, Danny isn’t sure. Maybe all three. But they stare at each other for a long, suffocating moment. 

Then the kid — Damian — lunges at him, his sword quickly unsheathed.

“Shit!” Danny dives back, just barely dodging being grazed by the gleaming blade. That was fast. Danny isn’t around living kids often but that was too fast, that much he knows. Kids don’t move that fast on their own. Not without being taught.

Damian spits something at him in that foreign language, his face twisting with anger, and the kid turns himself and lunges once again. Danny dodges again, swatting the sword away reflexively with the side of his gloved hand. 

“I can’t understand you.” He tells him, his voice comes out rougher than he meant it to, and it comes out muffled from his mask. Please tell me you know English, he hopes, hopping up onto the old conveyor belt. 

“'Akhbirni 'ayn 'ana walan 'aqtulak.” Damian snarls, chasing up after him with worrying ease. Danny swats away another stab at him, frowning when the blade leaves a cut in his leather glove. It doesn’t reach skin, but the fact of the matter is that Damian still cut his glove. 

He doesn’t know English either, great. Perfect. Fantastic, even. Danny backs up on the conveyor belt, twisting away from Damian’s attacks with… well, not relative ease, the kid is faster than Danny’s expecting, but he’s not getting hits in. So some ease. 

But Danny’s been fighting ghosts for the last two years. Fighting entities capable of moving at the speed of light leaves you with quick reflexes and even quicker eyes. Damian jumps up to try and kick him in the face, and Danny ducks down and dashes off the conveyor belt, hopping to the next one over.   

When his feet hit the belt, he uses the momentum to leap up onto a rusty shelf. His fingers dig into the sides, and he climbs, vaulting his legs up to the top once he’s high enough. He twists around and stares down at Damian, instinctively crouched on his fours. “I’m not fighting you.” Danny says sternly, watching the kid hop after him. “I don’t fight the living, and I don’t fight kids.” Living ones, that is. Youngblood was fair game. 

Damian scowls, pointing his sword at him accusingly from the conveyor below. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd wawajahani 'ayuha aljaban!” Then he’s jumping up after him, doing an impressive flip in the air before latching onto the lower shelves and climbing up. 

Admittedly, Danny is rooted to his spot with disbelief. What the fuck? “Who taught you that?” He says unwittingly, bewilderment slipping into his voice. Seriously — who taught him that? What six year old knows how to do a backflip at this age? Who made you, kid?

Naturally, Damian doesn’t answer him, and Danny grabs his grappling gun and aims it at the rafters. With a quick pull of the trigger, the hook shoots out and wraps around one of the beams. Danny yanks back, and he braces as the cord yanks him forward in return. When he reaches the beam, he pulls himself up as the cord unravels itself and retracts back into the gun. 

Danny shoves his gun back onto his belt, and disappears into the shadows of the ceiling.

Just in time, Damian was at the top of the shelving unit he was just on, and the kid stomps his foot angrily. Briefly, a smile tugs at the corner of Danny’s mouth, amusement fizzing out in his lungs. “Tawaqaf ean alrakd!” The kid yells, his hands shaking at his sides. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni ya Lieazir!” 

He swivels his head around, his face scrunched up in the dark room as he searches the rafters. Danny silently crawls across the beam, stooping low and moving slowly, and never taking his eyes off Damian. 

The kid is wound up like a spring, and jumpier than a war vet on the Fourth of July. It’s a little funny, but as Danny creeps through the ceiling, the kid only grows more frantic. The only light coming through is the muffled, yellow dim of the streets, and the moonlight that was in the middle of waning from gibbous to crescent. Good enough that Danny can see the kid’s face shifting from anger to fear. 

“Laeazir!” He yells again, and his voice cracks. Danny stills. “Akhruj huna Lieazir!” 

Okay, it wasn’t funny anymore. Danny holds his breath, watching as Damian’s expression fluctuates between scowling fury and wild-eyed panic. He’s twisting on his feet, whatever lethal grace he had earlier from their brief fight is gone now, replaced with clumsy, fawn-like alarm. 

Damian breathes in deeply, and Danny can see the whites of his eyes when he turns his head wildly in his direction. “Azhar nafsak!” 

He’s scared. Danny realizes, pricking up slightly from the rafter. He’s scared. That’s why he attacked him, he’s scared. Of course he is, Danny thinks, feeling like an idiot. He crawls over the beams again, creeping around Damian, keeping his gaze sharp on the kid’s feet. With how much he was spinning, he’s a little worried he was going to fall off the shelf. 

Of course he’s scared, he thinks again. He’s a kid, he doesn’t know any English, and he’s alone. Danny can’t imagine what’s going on through his head — of course he’s scared. He must be terrified. He looks terrified. 

Danny raises himself up carefully, gripping onto the rafters, and dashes across quickly. Damian whirls around towards him, his hands flying to his katana at his sheathe. His fear smothers on his face, and Damian tenses up defensively. 

The grappling gun finds its way back into Danny’s hands, and Danny shoots it at a beam connected to one of the pillars. When it catches, he leans to the side, and lets himself fall. The cord goes taut, and Danny flicks a small button on the side that allows him to lower to the ground with some relative ease. 

With his back to Damian, he hears a quiet scuffle and the shelf creaks. When his feet touch the ground, he tugs on his gun and the cord retracts. Danny can hear quiet, rapid-approaching footsteps coming up behind him, and he shoves his grappler back into its place and whirls around. 

And immediately, reflexively, catches the blade being swung at him with both hands. Shit, he wheezes out harshly, eyes widening in shock. The blade digs into his hands, but there’s no sting — his gloves had taken the brunt of the hit. They were probably ruined after this, but Danny’s less upset over that more than he is relieved. 

Damian glowers up at him, and this close up, Danny can very barely see a watery sheen covering his bottom eyelashes. His heartstrings pull, but it doesn’t stop him from curling his fingers tight around his katana to prevent him from pulling away. 

“Let me help you.” Danny says, rushed. He doesn’t understand him, the obvious part of his mind whispers. He needs to get him to understand him. Damian’s arms tremble slightly, he pushes down harder on Danny’s hands. But he doesn’t budge. 

He tries to yank it back instead, and it gives slightly — only for Danny to readjust his grip, despite the fear spiking in his heart. Cold metal kisses at part of his palm. It’s cut through his glove more. “Put the sword down.” 

“'Ayn 'ana.” Damian snarls at him, there’s still a tremble in his voice. “'Ayn 'akhadhatni.” 

A low, frustrated sound emits in the back of Danny’s throat. “I can’t understand you.” He snaps, if the kid would stop trying to kill him for five seconds, maybe they’d be able to get somewhere. “And you can’t understand me.” But if you’d stop attacking me, I could figure out a way how. 

Something takes mercy on Danny — because Damian gives up on trying to take back the sword. He lets go of the handle, and Danny sees an opening. Immediately, he tosses the sword off to the side, ignoring the clattering and skidding it makes against the concrete floor. The kid is fast, but Danny is faster. He wraps his hand around Damian’s forearm and yanks him forward. 

Damian yells angrily, and Danny traps his arm against his chest and twists him around so that his back is to his chest. Danny is also stronger. Both as a given from his size, and what he does every night. Trapping Damian against him is easier done and said, and Danny immediately sits them both on the ground once he has a good purchase on him. 

“'Utliq sarahi!” Damian yells, thrashing against him violently. Danny simply tilts his head up to prevent Damian from headbutting him in the chin, and wraps an arm around his torso tightly so he can fish for his phone. “'Ayuha alqadharatu! 'Utliq sarahi!”

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying but he can guess, and he readjusts his arm when Damian nearly slips out. “No.” He says curtly, and when he gets out his phone, he sets it down briefly so he can pull his glove off. With his other arm preoccupied with keeping Damian still, Danny tugs it off with his teeth instead.

Silently, he inspects his palm for any injuries from the katana. He hadn’t felt anything, but it doesn’t hurt to check. He smiles faintly, relief weighting off his shoulders, when all he finds is a small cut near the meat of his palm. Not even deep enough to bleed. It stings, but it won’t even scar. 

He picks up his phone again, and with his mask on he can’t use the facial recognition. Danny taps in his password with his thumb, and quickly pulls up a translator. In his arms, Damian continues to thrash around, twisting and trying to pretzel himself out of his grip. 

“'Ana Damian Al Ghul, dam Ras Alshaytan!” Damian demands. Danny is a little worried that he might bite him, and he hoists him back up onto his lap when he tries to wriggle down. “Yajib 'an tastamie li'awamiri ya Lieazir!” 

Al Ghul. Danny’s never heard that last name before, and he pauses from his typing to frown. “Hm.” Damian — the original, that is, not the clone in his arms, — went by his father’s surname, and Danny can’t remember if it was ever released what the mother’s last name was. 

He quickly swaps the tab on his phone to a new one, and types into the search bar: ‘Damian Wayne mom last name’ and clicks enter. There’s a few seconds where his phone is loading, and then it pulls up the results. And with it, is a chunk of text from the top article: Damian’s mother was kept anonymous for her privacy’s sake. Who she was, what her name is, it’s all unknown other than that she was Chinese-Arabic. A remarkable feat of anonymity in the grand scheme of things and the all seeing eyes of the internet. 

“Hn.” Danny’s mouth presses into a line, and he glances down to Damian. Original Damian’s maternal surname was unknown, and now he knows that his clone was calling himself Damian, what was the off chance that ‘Al Ghul’ was a random last name given to him, and wasn’t actually his mother’s surname?  

…Not likely. Or it was a low chance. 

Putting that aside, he swaps back to the translator and converts what he wrote into Arabic. Damian’s mother was Arabic-Chinese, and the language Damian was speaking didn’t sound like Chinese. So, fingers crossing, he hopes it’s Arabic. 

Turning up the volume as far as it could go, he looks back at Damian, whose struggling and yelling has slowly begun to cease. Danny doesn’t trust it, and he smiles a little amusedly, that’s not going to get me to let go. He checks the translation to make sure it’s what he wants it to say, and then hits the play button. 

[I can’t understand you, but my name is Danny. I want to help you.] 

Damian jerks, hitting his head against Danny’s chest in surprise. “'Utliq sarahi 'ayn 'ana?” He sneers, “'Ana last bihajat limusaeadatikum.” 

“I just said I can’t understand you, bud.” Danny sighs, once again adjusting his hold on Damian. The kid kicks at him and misses him entirely. His arm was starting to get tired from the strain of holding Damian on its own, so Danny puts his phone behind him and swaps them. 

He honest to god gets hissed at when he has to adjust Damian as well, and Danny pauses for a moment just out of pure wonder at the boy in his arms. He was hissed at, as if he was scruffing a stray cat. He was so telling Sam about this when he gets this kid home.  

Smiling faintly, Danny pulls his other glove off with his teeth, checks for injuries, and then with a little bit of contortion, grabs his phone and pulls it back up. Then his train of thought catches up to him, and he freezes just as he’s about to type into the translator again. 

Take him home? The kid? Danny can’t do that. There wasn’t any room in the house, and how would he explain this to his parents? 

‘Hey mom, dad, this is Damian. He’s a clone of my genetic template’s son! Yeah, yeah, that template, the one who just so happens to be the old college buddy that you accidentally cloned instead of dad? The one who just so happens to be capable of suing our family out of existence if he happened to catch wind of my existence? Oh, where did I find him? Last night while I was out. Why was I out? Oh, because I just so happen to be the Phantom, your sworn enemy and the ghost-hunting vigilante who you are convinced is also a ghost. Can we keep him?’ 

Yeah, yeah, he can see how well that would go down. He might as well take off his mask and tell Bruce Wayne he had a clone already. But… where else would Damian go? He doesn’t know any English, he was alone in a foreign country with no money, no way to get home, the worst thing Danny can do is abandon him right now. 

Danny presses his mouth into a thin line, a frown beginning to pull at the corner of his lips.

…He could figure something out with his parents, Jazz will help him once he explains the situation. And if he can get Damian to agree to stop trying to kill him, then they can both make it back to Fenton Works before sunrise… Hopefully. 

Pressing his mouth into a thin line, Danny starts typing into the translator again. [You’re in America right now. The translator doesn’t translate the name of my city well, but we’re in Illinois. You are very far from home.]  

Damian jerks once again, twisting his neck to look up at Danny with disbelief. “'Amrika?” He says, the corner of his up curled up. Danny nods curtly, he doesn’t need to know Arabic to know what ‘Amrika’ means. “Hadhih Amirika?” 

Danny nods again, “Yeah, America. You’re in Amity Park.” He points to the ceiling, and gestures around them slowly. Damian watches him carefully, his eyes narrowed. “Am-i-ty Park.” Danny says, enunciating the syllables slowly. 

Green eyes narrow at him further. “Amity Park.” Damian says, slowly and sharp. When Danny nods, he drops his head and Danny tilts slightly in order to see as Damian casts the room a disdainful look. “Amity Park.” He repeats, voice full of enough venom to kill a full grown man. 

He can’t help himself, he snorts to himself and grins underneath his mask. The sound causes Damian to snap his head back up at him, and return his glower full force. He tries to wriggle again, but, like all other times, it’s in vain. 

“Sawf tutliq sarahi.” Damian orders, mouth twisting back into a scowl. Danny almost wants to tell him that his face will freeze if he keeps doing that. He’s already got his thumb hovering over the keyboard. “Yajib 'an 'aeud 'iilaa aldawrii.” 

Danny types into his phone, [I want to help you. You don’t know English, so getting around on your own will be next to impossible. If you promise not to attack me, I will take you back to my home and we can figure out how to get you home.] 

It’s… okay. Danny doesn’t really want to help the kid get home. Wherever that is, it’s teaching a child how to kill people, and it’s making clones of people. Statistically, that’s a bad sign. It also means that, for all intents and purposes, Danny should help the kid get home so he can find out whatever this organization is and, hopefully, put a stop to their cloning. 

However, Danny has his own city to take care of. Amity Park is full from head to toe with ghosts and spirits, and with his parents playing whack-a-mole with the portal’s door controls, he doesn’t feel comfortable leaving the city for even a few days. His parents can catch a lot of ghosts in only a few days. 

His parents can spill a lot of blood in only a few days. 

The evil cloning organization that made Damian will just have to be something Danny can leave in the capable hands of the older, more experienced heroes. For now, he can try and stall Damian’s homecoming and also keep him safe by keeping him housed. 

Damian, instead of wriggling again, slumps against him with a throaty huff. Danny peers over his head, checking to see if he was just pouting or had, somehow, passed out. Damian was scowling, his shoulders slumped up slightly, and Danny internally coos. 

He’s pouting. It was adorable.

The boy is silent for a long minute, a scowl carved like marble in his face, and Danny is content — no, wait, slightly content. He still wants to get home at a semi-reasonable time, — to wait him out. He is stronger, bigger, and faster than him. Eventually, Damian makes a low grumbling noise, something Danny can almost mistake for as a groan, before the kid slumps against him. 

“​​Hsnan, sa'abqaa maeak hataa natamakan min 'iieadati 'iilaa aldawri.” He says, sounding significantly less full of indignant rage, and more so full of indignant irritation. He also no longer wriggles, and Danny feels hope sparking low in his gut. Did he finally get through to him…?

More seconds pass by with the two of them just sitting there in silence, before Damian wriggles again — but rather than trying to escape, he twists his head to give Danny a dirty, expectant look. Danny frowns, confused, and then jerks — Oh! Oh! 

He fumbles for his phone, [Was that a yes? Nod if it was a yes?] 

Damian scoffs at him, looking very much like Danny was nothing more than dirt under his shoes. But he nods curtly, “Naeam sa'adhhab maeak.” 

Danny cheers, loudly. The hand curled around his phone punches skyward, like a fistbump to the ceiling, and Damian drops his head away from him. He yells something at him — probably telling him not to be so loud, but Danny pays it no mind. He’s only focused on the pure, utter, relief, pouring into his lungs and trying to trick itself out of his mouth as a laugh. 

Yes, yes! He convinced him! That’s one less worry to worry about, and as Danny drops his hand with his phone, his other arm starts to loosen up around Damian's waist — something Damian very much notices. As he stiffens up and is halfway through shoving himself out of his grasp. 

Danny lets him go, remembering abruptly the mask on his face. He lets Damian get to his feet, but he’s quickly scrambling soon after, not to grab him again. But to scramble for the katana he’d tossed out of the kid’s reach. Damian exclaims behind him, but Danny has his fingers curled around the handle before the kid can chase after him. 

When he stands and faces Damian again, the kid is all puffed up with rage again. Danny doesn’t doubt that, if the kid is trained to be some… kind of ninja…. that he has more weapons on him. But Damian looks more focused on his sword, so Danny holds up his phone-hand in a gesture to hopefully make Damian wait before he attacks him. 

“Wait, wait, wait!” He cries. Damian does, fortunately, and Danny quickly types into his phone again. [I will give you back your sword, and I will show you my face when we reach my home. But you must promise you won’t attack me once I do.] He pauses for a moment, and then types in as well: [I’ll also show you how to use the translator so we can talk both ways.] 

He doesn’t know if Damian even knows what his… father? Looks like, or what his feelings on him are if he does. But Danny was going to cover his bases, and if there was the off chance that Damian held negative feelings for his dad, he didn’t want the kid to attack him, again. 

(It probably wasn’t a good idea to do this at home, but at this point Danny just wants to be in his room.)

Damian eyes him up suspiciously, tense as a wooden plank and hunched like he was ready to pounce anyways, but he nods curtly. “Aeidak.” 

“Okay.” Danny breathes out, slowly straightening up. He’ll take that as Damian promising not to attack him. “Okay, good. Good.” Lowering his hand, he pockets his phone back into his jeans and flips the sword around so that the blade is pointing downwards. He holds it out for Damian, and the kid, quick as a whip, snatches it back from him and sheathes it into its scabbard. 

Great, finally. Now he can leave. Danny’s hands drop to his sides and he wriggles his fingers at Damian, absently gesturing for him to grab his hand. He turns his head away, searching for the door. “Let’s go.” 

No hand takes his, which Danny should have expected, so he drops it back to his side and leads Damian to the exit. The kid sticks close to him, but keeps just barely out of sight from his peripherals. His steps are quiet, Danny would say almost silent but that wasn’t the case. If he wasn’t paying attention, though, he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Ninja stuff, probably. Danny’s a little, no, a lot concerned that he’s so good at that. 

Ancients, bud. He thinks again, disbelief returning like a hand around his throat. Danny keeps glancing back at Damian to make sure he was still there. Just who, exactly, made you? 

When they get outside, the night air hits them cooler than it was inside. Spirits were still lingering around the sidewalks, chattering amongst each other and throwing him various, curious glances. Danny suppresses a frown, but can’t stop himself from making a low ‘hm.’ 

They probably felt the shift in the atmosphere from the portal opening. It may have dissipated, but the excess was still lingering around. Without his focus solely on Damian, Danny can feel it too. Like a fog in his chest. Or, perhaps more accurately, like going through the day in a tired glaze, only to be hit with pin-startling clarity. The spirits were probably trying to soak up as much as possible in order to gain a stronger physical form. 

Which, unfortunately for them, wouldn’t happen from this portal alone. Too many spirits trying to do the same thing. Not enough ectoplasm. 

He leads Damian down the steps, and over to the sidewalk. On instinct his hand reaches for his grappling hook, but Damian, still loitering in his peripherals, tenses up. Oh, right, Danny thinks, and switches for his phone instead, this is a two-person trip. 

It’d probably be rude to just grab Damian and start flying. Damian might try and stab him, or worse, try and get out of his hands again. The mental image of Damian falling nearly fifty-feet in the air flashes behind Danny’s eyes, and he represses a shudder.

Yeah, let's tell him first. 

His fingers fly across the screen. [I’m going to use a grappling hook to get us back to the house. It’ll be faster. I’m going to pick you up, hold on tight.] 

Damian scoffs at him, but nods. Danny pockets his phone, swaps it out for his grappling hook instead, and lets Damian look at it for a minute before he crouches down and wraps his free arm around Damian’s legs and hoists him up. 

Something gets said to him by Damian, harsh and scowly, probably an insult, but he wraps his arms around Danny’s neck and his legs tight around his torso. At this point Danny just rolls his eyes and adjusts his arm to hold him tight around the waist. “Hold on.” He mumbles, and points his gun to the sky. 

Flying through the city is admittedly trickier with the extra weight on his front and only one hand free, but Danny takes it as a challenge rather than a problem — if only so he doesn’t think too much on it. Damian’s fingers claw into the back of hoodie the moment his grappling hook pulls them through the air, it borderlines almost painful, and Danny doubts he could drop the kid even if he tried. 

There are a few close calls where Danny nearly clips the edge of one of the skyscrapers, but it takes one easy twist and a little bit of spinning to correct the angle. The threat of it sends a rush of adrenaline through his veins, and Danny can’t say he didn’t laugh a few times. Becoming Phantom turned him into an adrenaline junkie, he thinks.  

Damian doesn’t seem to be having much fun though, his grip suffocating on Danny and his face buried into his shoulder. He’s choking Danny a little, but he wouldn’t dare try and correct it while in the air, and it’s only bringing him mild discomfort. 

Not fast enough but all too soon, Danny is touching down near the residential area of Amity Park where the buildings are too small for him to grapple through. He drops onto one of the apartment rooftops, and his feet are barely touching the ground before Damian clambers off him like a wet cat trying to claw its way out of a pool. 

With the sound of his grappling hook receding, Danny laughs low under his breath. “Flying not for you, bud?” He asks, slightly breathless and grinning under his mask. The hook clicks into place in his palm, and Danny shoves it back onto his belt. 

The kid glares at him amidst brushing off his clothes and patting at his sides. His hand brushes over his sword, and when he feels the hilt still there, Damian drops it. The kid straightens up like a soldier — immediately killing Danny’s sky-flushed mirth in the process — and stares up at him, awaiting orders.

Danny’s smile falls, and he clears his throat. Okay, he thinks, checking himself over for anything out of place, before looking back to Damian. Resolve hardens like cement in between his ribs. He’s not going back. Not if I have anything to say about it. 

He moves around Damian and steps over to the roof ledge, swiveling left and right for the direction of his house. Which is unnecessary, he can see Fenton Works from a mile away, but he does it anyways. Anything to distract him from the discomfort that’s been sledgehammered at him. “This way.” He murmurs, gesturing for Damian to follow. Shuffling feet, and Danny can sense more than see the little boy at his side. 

Considering the way he saw Damian hopping around earlier, Danny is confident in his ability to roof hop with him — confidence well deserved because Damian follows him with relative ease. Which is still real damn worrying, but he can dwell on it when they get to the house. 

Still, he keeps a close eye on Damian the entire time they’re leaping rooftops. The boy was six, he didn’t have the same stamina nor height that Danny did — it’d be too easy for Danny to lose him on the way to the house because he couldn’t keep up, or he decided to change his mind while Danny was distracted and book it in another direction. 

They reach the house in no time, and Danny’s fishing for his key from his belt the moment his feet hit the concrete of the rooftop. Damian remains behind him, an ever-constant shadow as Danny ducks under the various legs, wires, and poles of the OPPS Center and unlocks the door to the roof. 

Getting to his room is a relief. The strange, buzzing sensation that settles through Danny’s eyes like a thin film whenever he’s using his ‘scary eyes’ dissipates, and he’s kicking off his boots with a low sigh before he can really think it through. He’ll put them back in their place when he’s done — but for now, he just wants them off. Damian pools in behind him, slinking off to the corner of the room as Danny shuts the door. 

His room is spotless — a cleaning habit he’s kept meticulously since he wanted to be an astronaut. He had planets hanging from the ceiling, glow in the dark stars muttered against the walls, and posters of astronomy, Dumpty Humpty, and NASA plastered beside the stars. And a large corkboard hanging above his desk. 

“Finally.” he groans, twisting his hips and stretching out his back before reaching over and turning on the hanging lights. A soft orange glow fills the room, and Danny turns just in time to see Damian jump in surprise. He’d moved over to Danny’s bookshelf on the opposite side of the room, his body half turned away and tilted like he’d been inspecting it. 

Danny stifles a smile, and tugs off his thermos and grappling hook and places them on the desk. Damian straightens up, shuffling away from the bookshelf and back over to him, his brows beginning to furrow with a look of determination. 

He marches towards him, “Laqad wasalna 'iilaa manzilika, walan ealayk 'an tafi bikalimatik watakhlae qanaeaka.” 

Danny doesn’t know what he’s saying, but Damian points to his face while he’s speaking so Danny figures it out relatively quickly. Besides, it’s not like he’d forgotten either. He has to take off his mask to sleep, and it’s easier to change when he’s not wearing it. He grabs his phone from his pocket.

[I know, I’ll take off my mask. But remember: you can’t attack me.] He hits play, and watches Damian scoff for the nth time, roll his eyes, and nod. As if to reassure him, or to prove that he wasn’t going to attack him, Damian folds his arms behind his back. 

Briefly, Danny feels himself nearly frown again at Damian’s almost soldier-like posture. But he has time to worry about that later, he shoves his phone back into his pocket. Danny raises his hands and curls his fingers around the bottom of his mask. 

Carefully, mindful of the straps, Danny pulls it off. The cool air immediately rushes over his damp forehead, and he quickly shakes his head with bated breath to get the strands of hair plastered to his skin off. He locks eyes with Damian, tense, and with air trapped in his lungs. 

Damian’s eyes widen comically, his scowl softening for a moment. For a moment, Danny thinks that maybe things will be fine…ish. But then Damian’s face is scrunching up again, his face sharpening angrily, and his hands reach for his sword. 

“Dijaal!” He hisses, fire lighting in his eyes as he grabs for his katana.

Danny takes a step back and holds his hand out, narrowing his eyes defensively. “Hey, hey, hey!” He hisses back, he points a finger at Damian accusingly, arching an eyebrow. “You promised!”

Apparently, the tone of ‘no takesies-backsies!’ transcends language, because Damian freezes where he stands and simply remains glowering at him. Danny raises his eyebrow higher, locking him in a staring contest, and Damian takes his hand off the hilt. 

Great. Good. Fantastic even! Crisis avoided, and no parents woken up in the process. That’s a success if Danny’s ever heard one. He keeps his eyes on Damian, before slowly reaching for his phone again. It’s like having a stand-off with a bull. A tiny, six year old-sized bull with a sword rather than horns, but a bull nonetheless. 

He gets his phone out safely, and gets out the translator. Again. [I know I’m a clone of your dad. I didn’t ask to be. I still want to help you.] And he does, he so much does. Danny was a bleeding heart, forever and always. If he can help, he will. He hopes that the blood he is made from won’t stop Damian from accepting that help. 

Damian stares him down, eyes narrowed like he’s trying to analyze Danny’s every move. Danny stays still and lets him, waiting for the jurisdiction of the small assassin. 

Whatever it is that Damian sees, it causes him to drop his hands to his side with an irritated sigh just like before. He says nothing, but the resigned slump of his shoulders tells Danny all he needs to know, and he beams. 

Success, he thinks, laughing quietly in earnest. [Stay here.] He quickly types into his phone and plays. He reaches for his thermos. [I need to release the ghosts in my device, then I’ll show you how to use the translator.] 

He plucks the thermos from his desk and tosses his phone over Damian’s head and onto the bed. It bounces, Damian grumbles something under his breath, and the phone bounces again. Danny puts the mask down, and dances out the door and down into the lab with practiced ease.

When he returns, Damian is snooping around his room, looking around his desk this time around. He straightens up when Danny steps into the room, and Danny doesn’t bother addressing it — instead he grabs his phone again and gestures for Damian to sit on the bed with him. 

It takes a painfully long amount of time to show Damian how to use the translator, with a ton of repetition and fiddling around. But they manage, finally, to get a system up where Danny will type something into the translator, play it back to Damian, and then hand the phone to Damian. Damian then would swap the translation, use text-to-speech, and play it in english. 

Naturally, text-to-speech has its flaws, and Damian is only recently learning how to read, so Danny figures out the translation errors on his own. They don’t talk for long, Damian is shut off, snooty, and reserved to him. All Danny knows is that his name is Damian Al Ghul, and he is the blood son and second heir to something called the League of Assassins. 

How cheery. “League of Assassins” sounds definitely evil. Ancients, Danny doesn’t wanna know. He’ll have to get involved if he knows any more. 

He lets Damian fiddle with the translator more in regards to searching his closet for clothes for Damian to wear. He doesn’t have any shorts that will fit, but he pulls out an old NASA t-shirt that still somewhat fits him, and tosses it to Damian. 

After much arguing, he gets Damian to wear it, and he gives Damian the bed. That takes less arguing — Damian is all too happy to sleep in a bed rather than the floor, and Danny pulls his beanbag chair out from its nook to shove it under his desk. 

He’s still awake by the time sunlight begins peeking over the buildings, his eyelids heavy and sore with exhaustion, and his limbs feeling loose and disconnected. He’s fixed up his gloves — torn from the katana, but now half-heartedly sewn up with thread and a lot of muttered swearing on Danny’s part. His mask is shoved in a hidden pocket in his backpack along with his thermos. 

Damian is fast asleep in bed, and with nothing else to do, Danny keeps his sharp eye on him. Swamped in Danny’s shirt and curled up under the covers, Damian is teeny. Well, he was small even before that, but it is even more apparent when tucked under blankets meant for people bigger than him.

And, for perhaps the third time that night, Danny is hit with just the sheer longing of how much he wants to help him. Danny is the hand that feeds, and Damian has a lot of teeth. The cut of his gloves is more than proof enough of that. But Danny wants to help him, Damian has no one else here to. Danny, so far, is the only one who can help him.

He is also hit with the sheer magnitude of what he’s just done — the terrifying revelation that Danny’s just taken in the clone of his template’s son. What the hell does that make for him and Damian’s relationship? Genetically, Danny is technically his father, but they’re complete strangers to one another. 

What does that mean for Danny? It’s been four months since his parents revealed their betrayal. Their lies. Their backstabbing, earth-shattering, fifteen years of astounding— the truth to Danny about his… birth. Four months isn’t long enough to deal with something like that. He is still questioning everything he does — whether his actions belong to him, or to Bruce Wayne.

And this? This just takes the fucking cake.

Danny breathes in deeply, snapping himself out of the slow-creeping spiral threatening to drag him under the waters of his mind. His eyes flick to the window. It’s too early to think about this. Much, much too early. He slinks into his beanbag with a low groan, stifling back a groan. 

He can worry about the identity crisis and his crisis of autonomy later. Later, when he’s not mind-numbingly exhausted and already mentally fragile from that alone. Not when there’s a teeny baby assassin sleeping in his bed who happens to be his son? Cousin? Brother? template’s son’s clone. 

With sunlight peeking through the windows, he slinks out from under his desk to prepare for another day.

[avaritia-apotheosis]

5 Universes Parallel and 7 Perpendicular

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse

A DPxDC Crossover // Read on [AO3] [FF.net] // Fic Masterlist

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse. 

This time, Trouble’s name went by Danny Fenton. Some random kid— “hey I’m fourteen!” — with an impossible physiology and a soul that not even the most desperate demon or benevolent angel would take. Not because Danny is in any way particularly good or evil, but because Constantine is 99.998% sure the Lords of Hell and the Heavenly Hosts even knew what Danny’s soul even was in the first place. 

(If you could even…call it a soul, anyway. He isn’t sure how he can explain it, and Danny has zero clue at what Constantine’s asking for anyway. “It’s science,” Danny would say with a shrug. “Weird science, anyway. Something about ectoplasm and imprinted consciences and mutations in the DNA. I’m not sure on the specifics, but my parents can tell you.”)

Of course, being lost in another fucking universe probably didn’t help.

He clips another cigar and lights it. Cuban, full-bodied, good blend; he got it as a bonus from some clients a few weeks back and he’d been slowly making his way through the pack. He lets the smoke settle on his tongue before he puffs it out, slinging his legs up to rest on top of the coffee table with a groan. 

Danny scrunched his nose at him, uncrossing his arms to go over and open a window. 

“What?” Constantine rolled his eyes, gesturing to the boy with a cigar. “You don’t get to complain. You don’t even need to breathe.”

“Yeah and smoking still makes everything smell like crap. It’s a terrible habit, y’know.”

He huffs, smoke billowing out, and makes a note to himself to smoke like he’s a goddamn dragon just to annoy the kid. “Hey, I think putting up with a bit of my bad habit is enough compensation for having to help your penniless ass, brat.”

Danny scoffed. “It’s not like I had any choice in that.”

Which was the crux of the matter, of course. See, Constantine has had his fair share of inter-dimensional or inter-planar travel. But shit like parallel universes …well, that was more the Justice League’s purview anyway. All those alternate universes where everything is a distorted mirror of their own reality—and apparently home to way too many evil Supermen to be comfortable with— not exactly Constantine’s cup of tea. He’s had his fair share of experiences with them, but definitely not enough to actually help someone whose universe is nowhere even remotely similar to his own.

Oh, according to Danny his Earth did have a London and an America and a Korea, etc. The majority of their countries were the same, give or take a few that only seemed to exist in Constantine’s universe. But it was the people where they differed.  Remarkably, there was no Justice League in Danny’s world. Or any kind of superheroes at all. ( Like in comic books? Danny had said when Constantine asked.)

As far as Danny knew, he was the closest thing that came to a superhero in his world and half of the time people just consider him a menace.  Even big shot ‘civilians’ like Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, or Oliver Queen were non-entities in that parallel world. Instead they got some creepy asshole called Vlad Masters who should probably get another hobby that isn’t ‘terrorizing a fourteen-year-old.’

But where this strange alternate world lacked in martians and cosmic world-ending threats, they made up for with a shit ton of ghosts. Which brought them to their current predicament: through a ridiculous set of circumstances that Danny really didn’t want to explain, the kid managed to tumble through a rift in the Infinite Realms (something that Constantine hasn’t heard of but you’ll be damn sure he’s gonna make it his business to know) and landed probably five parallel universes and seven perpendicular universes away from  his own earth and right in front of Constantine’s doorstep. (No, those were probably not the correct scientific terms but Constantine was a fucking occultist not a physicist so sue him.)

(Actually, don’t. He’d rather not deal with it.)

Constantine did try his best to do right by the kid. He’d taken Danny’s case up to the Justice League to see if they had the tech that could send the kid home. No such luck at the moment. And even if they did, they weren’t sure if they had the capabilities to connect to not only Danny’s specific branch in whatever cosmic tree was keeping everything afloat, but the correct version of Danny’s universe as well. Constantine’s other contacts said much the same thing.

And since Danny Fenton didn’t exist in this universe, he felt bad leaving the kid alone, so he offered him room and board at his place until they could find a way to get Danny home. (Or until the kid got sick and tired of Constantine’s antics and just moved out.)

(Or until Danny died. Constantine had a pretty bad track record of getting his friends killed by association, y’know. Though considering Danny’s half-ghost… could he even die again?)

(Better not push his luck.)

Constantine set his cigar aside. Danny’s still by the window, elbows propped up on the sill, eyes trained a thousand miles away. No— ‘light-years’ is probably the correct measurement here. 

Constantine rests his chin against his knuckles. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Danny shrugged, chin nestled against his open palm, fingers curled near the seam of his mouth. Nervous nail-biter, maybe? “Just…worried.” His voice is level, but you could feel the anxiety nestled deep within from the sharp staccato of his fingers against the windowsill. Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. “I’ve never been gone this long from Amity Park before. It tends to…attract a lot of annoying ghosts, and it’s up to me to make sure their trouble doesn’t get too out of hand.”

“Ah. Define trouble.”

Danny laughs. “It depends on which ghost it is, I guess. Some of the regulars honestly just want to annoy me. There’s the Box Ghost—yeah that’s literally what he calls himself, he controls boxes, no I am not making this up—who should really learn to just stay in the Zone already. I think my record for beating him is like 15 minutes, and 10 of those minutes was just trying to find him. Skulker’s a bounty hunter that’s just dead set—pun intended—on skinning me for my pelt. I don’t know what he’s gonna do with that pelt, and at the rate things are going I don’t think I’ll ever find out. I’ve probably destroyed more of his robot suits than anyone else.”

Some of his rogues want to skin him? Huh. Maybe Constantine should be more concerned about how nonchalant Danny is when describing all of this. “If you got regulars, then that means you also got ghosts that only come in sometimes, right?”

“Yeah…” Danny raked a hand through his hair. “It’s part of the reason why I’m so worried. Those kinds of ghosts have been coming up at an alarming rate recently. Like, the last ghost I dealt with was this guy named Undergrowth. He’s big, green, looks like a giant weed, and is pretty much able to control all plant life. He took control of the entire town and essentially enslaved everyone using mind vines. I literally had to develop a new powerset just to fight him.”

“Huh. Must be tough, having to fight all this on your own.” 

“It is, yeah…but I’m not alone. My friends help me.”

Constantine lowers his feet to the floor. He scoots up to the edge of his ratty old sofa and pats down the spot next to him. “Friends? That’s good, at least. Tell me about them.”

“Well…” Danny let out a sharp exhale, eyes wavering between the window and the empty spot on the couch as if deciding where he’d be more comfortable being at. Eventually, he pushes himself away from the window and tentatively sits down on the couch, fingers drumming against the burgundy cushions. “There’s Sam and Tucker. I’ve known Tucker since forever ago, but the two of us became friends with Sam back in middle school. They were there with me when I, well, became this. And ever since then, they’ve been helping me fight all the ghosts that’ve been coming through the portal.”

There’s a smile on Danny’s lips as he talks about them. Soft but bright. A flash of teeth every time he has to hold back a laugh whenever he suddenly remembers a funny story. He talks about Tucker’s genius with technology, Sam’s interest in the occult,  and how the two of them have a running argument regarding their food preferences. He goes into anecdotes about their adventures, and how so many of Danny’s own victories couldn’t have been done without their help.

“Sounds like you trust them,” Constantine said.

“With my life.” There’s an air of gravity in the way Danny said those words. As if they were an unwavering truth of the universe.

He placed a comforting hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Then trust that they’ll be able to hold down the fort until you get back.”

Danny’s eyes widened a fraction, before he hung his head low, smiling sheepishly. “Yeah, yeah, I guess you’re right.”

Suddenly finding himself feeling very awkward at this almost-tender moment, Constantine slapped his knees once and pushed himself off the couch. “Well, best stop your worrying for now, kid. Come on, grab your jacket. Let's go get some Nando’s.”

Danny’s brows scrunched up in confusion. “The heck is Nando’s?”

“Oh you poor, poor, American. Come on, let me introduce you to the wonders that is peri peri chicken.”

Trouble often found Constantine like maggots to a corpse. But maybe this time, he didn’t mind Trouble so much. 

[rapz-rites]

Family Time

Damian Wayne x Reader Headcanon

Meeting Damian’s family and getting close with them

A/N: This is my first time writing ANYTHING so plz be nice. I won't do any major writings, just small head canons and maybe rabbles. Saving the big stuff for all you professional writers.

Word Count: 1,704

Warnings: Jealous Damian, injured reader, threats, implied smut

Meeting the Waynes

You and Damian have been dating for about 5 months now.

Damian has already met your parents and they LOVED HIM.

He was polite, respectable and always said the right things at the right moment. DAMN HIM!

Now it was time to meet his family.

You’re pacing back and forth questioning your entire existence while Damian is sitting on the edge of your bed trying to calm you down.

“Do my clothes look good enough? Does my hair look good? What if they think I’m with you for your money? What if they think that I’m a gold digger? Do they know that my family is also very wealthy? What if they think I’m a stuck up spoiled brat? OMG WHAT IF THEY HATE ME?”

You’re digging yourself a deep hole of negativity until Damian grabs you by your shoulders forcing you to look at him.

“Beloved. You’re going to be fine. Everything about you is perfect and my family will love you”

He always knew what to say and when. DAMN HIM!

“Thank you. Ok. I think I’m ready, let's go!”

As damian pulls up to the manor, you start to rethink your decision

“Is it too late to cancel lunch? Would they believe I suddenly got ill?”

“Beloved, as I said before they’re going to love you”

As always he was right.

You and his family immediately hit it off and got along well.

A little too well for his liking.

He knew his family would like you but what he didn’t know was that you would spend more time with them instead of him. DAMN HIM!

Bruce

Bruce loved you for his youngest son

Damian as had a girlfriend before, Raven, but after they broke up, he thought Damian would never open himself up to anyone again

Even though you and Damian are a kind of opposites and balance each other out, you understand him and what he’s gone through

He was the one of the first people, after your parents and Alfred, to learn about your relationship

Though business isn’t your first option as a major, you still want to learn as a backup

Who better to learn from than the man who runs on of the top companies in the country

Bruce offers to teach you the basics and even a small internship at WE

You refuse the internship but gladly take the lessons

Dick

Dick is an acrobat

You did gymnastics for 4 year

What could go wrong?

A LOT

Dick tries to teach you a double full out

You already perfected a full out

You’ve always had trouble perfecting your landings

It didn’t come a surprise to you when you were able to perfectly do the flip but mess up the landing to bad you twist your ankle

Damian is furious with Grayson for teaching you suck a difficult move knowing there was a chance of you getting hurt

Damian is about to lunge at Dock ready to attack until you stop him

“Damian, stop. I’ve twisted my ankle plenty of times trying new gymnastic moves. I’ll be fine in like 2 weeks. You don’t need to hurt Dick, I knew the risks”

“Ok. But if Grayson teaches you another move and you get hurt, he will need to sleep with both eyes open”

Normally, Dick would be somewhat frightened by one of Damian’s threats but he’s in shock from how quickly you calmed him down

He’s going to call you from now on everytime Damian is angry

Jason

You and Jason connect over your interests in books

You two form your own book club

You two discuss the book you picked out for the month and talk about many other books you two have read in the past

Both of you love to read a book and watch the movie/show that goes along with it

You two argue over which aspects were better in the book or the movie/show

“Elena and Katherine are blonde in the books though”

“I know that Jason. I read the book too. But let’s be honest Katherine is better as a brunette than a blonde. It fits her personality in the show way more.”

“You’re right.”

“I think it’s Nina Dobrev.”

“It definitely is.”

“I would have liked to see angel Elena though.”

“ME TOO!”

Tim

Tim had a nack for tech

You were attached to your phone

Of course you two got along

Tim taught you tricks on the computer and showed you secret games companies hide

You had learned from Damian that Tim was a bit of a caffeine addict

Damian’s words were “Drake will be the caffeine addicted idiot in front of a screen or head deep in a case”

You take it upon yourself to find caffeine substitutes to try and help his addiction

He is reluctant at first but gives it a try

After a few months Tim is drinking less coffee than before

He still drinks coffee but limits himself to only 3 cups a day, much better than 2 an hour

He drinks more water and gets in more sleep than before

Damian who never openly admit it but he’s happy his older brother is being healthier and taking better care of himself

Duke

You and Duke bonded over your similar senses of humor

It also helps that he’s also on TikTok as much as you

The two of you jokingly talk in TikTok lingo

“Bombastic side eye”

“Criminal offense side eye”

“Duke this is probably the most important question I’m about to ask… Team Hailey or Team Selena”

“I’m offended that you even have to ask. Team Selena til the day I die. Alex Russo practically raised me”

Everyone else is looking at the two of you confused

Damian is used to this already

When you asked him the same question you went on a 3 hour tangent and it was evident who’s side you were on

Damian didn’t care about “silly celebrity drama” but since he knew it would make you happy, he chose Selena

Cass

Cass is a pretty quiet girl, almost mute

With family she barely ever talks, with strangers she uses sign language

Once you learned Cass communicated mostly with sign language you took it upon yourself to learn

When you we were first introduced to Cass you signed

“Hi! My name is Y/N, you must be Cass. My sign is rusty, I’m still learning. Nice to meet you”

Cass gave you a small smile and you were ecstatic

According to Damian Cass almost never smiles and even if she does its for a split second

You both enjoy each others quiet company, watching movies or painting nails and braiding hair with Stephanie

The more time you and spend with Cass the more she opens up to you

After a few months, she starts giving you short answers without signing

“If you could only wear one color nail polish for the rest of your life, what would it be and why?”

“Black…”

“Good answer”

Steph

You and Steph connect as feminists

“Anything a boy can do we can do better”

Steph often includes you in any competitions he has that are girls vs boys

Does she include you because you can be used against Damian?

Yes

Are you upset about it?

Absolutely not

Why?

You love beating Damian in any possible way

Other than competitions, you both love pranking the boys

You two prank damian the least because you know well enough that damian can hold grudge and you love to cuddle at night

Pranking Tim is best

Before he got better he would fall for anything because he was too sleep deprived

He would fall for the simplest broken screen video on youtube almost every time

Once he started getting better, you two had to up your game

Your favorite prank on Tim was the fake virus that played the SHrek opening over and over on blast

Alfred

You couldn’t forget about Alfred now can you

Whenever you enter the manor Alfred is always the first one to greet you

Whenever you are waiting for Damian at the manor you go straight to Alfred and talk with him

You often assist him with whatever he’s doing

Baking, cooking, cleaning

He finds it refreshing a young person would help him

The others would try and help but often with miss up and make some kind of mess

One year they tried to make Alfred’s favorite cake for his birthday… and failed… miserably

They didn't include Damian because eventually he would take over and the cake would basically be made by him and not all of them, although he would’ve made it perfectly. DAMN HIM!

After 3 failed attempts they opted to buy a cake they knew Alfred would like from his favorite bakery downtown

Though they ruined the kitchen, Alfred was touched at the effort they put to try and make his favorite cake

Even though, none of them, except Damian, are allowed to cook or bake in the kitchen without his supervision

Back to Damian

It soon becomes evident as you spend more time with his family that Damian is jealous

Damian loves that you get along with his family, but he misses the quality time between just the two of you

You felt bad because you thought you were neglecting your boyfriend

So you made the executive decision to make it up to him

“My parents are out of town for the next two weeks”

“Business trip?”

“Yup. Do you want to spend the week?”

“No siblings?”

“Nope just you”

You lean in placing a soft kiss on his lips and pull back

You giggle when you see him lean in for more and he gives you an unamused look on his face because you refused to kiss him back

“So do you want to spend the week? We’ll have the place all to ourselves”

“Let's go. I already have my bag packed”

That entire week is just you and Damian hanging out and enjoying each others company

You give him all the kisses and cuddles he wants

He even knows just want to say to get more 😉

DAMN HIM!

OMG OMG OMG!!! I did it. Took me a hot minute but I got it done. I wish it was this easy with my assignments and homework. But I hope you enjoyed this.

[veryace-ficrecs]

Duke Thomas Fic Recs

This list will include all ratings and tags, so read at your own discretion! :)

Stuck-On Sunshine by zodarii_dae - Rated G

The Signal tends to interact with kids a bit more than his nocturnal coworkers. Even in Gotham, there are more kids out at two pm than two am. Those kids want to show their appreciation for the hero keeping them safe. What better way to show that than with stickers?

A Special Expection? No, A Son by Raccoonwriter - Rated T

Duke was excited to meet the Justice League until they start to ask and talk about things Duke didn't want to here.

breathing down your neck by Batbirdies - Rated G

Duke gets sick on Friday. Joker breaks out of Arkham on Saturday. It’s radio silence, until it’s not. — When Duke is benched with the flu the Joker attacks a small Gotham neighborhood with Joker venom. Duke knows he’s not well enough to help, but with stinging memories of his parents still trapped in their own heads—he has to do something. Bruce has a few things to say about that.

Frightening, But Not Afraid by snackbaskets - Rated G

When the family is hit by a new strain of fear toxin, safety is in numbers. Unfortunately, three members of the flock are still out there, afraid and alone. Bruce may not be the best at comforting his children, but apparently, he can let his wings do the talking. ((aka, the classic fear toxin hurt/comfort but with a splash of the classic wings-make-u-feel-safe hurt/comfort))

birds and brothers and other assorted synonyms by hoebiwan - Rated T

Duke isn’t an idiot. He knows it’s a bad idea to go into the underground tunnels of Gotham where people disappear for years on end and occasionally (if they’re lucky) stumble out coated in cobwebs and madness and blood. So he takes a flashlight and a water bottle and a bag of trail mix and lots and lots of beef jerky whenever he goes. If he ends up trapped down there, wandering in hopeless circles (which Duke thinks is important to note having never happened), at least he’ll have food. Also, the weird little kid dressed up like a miniature Talon likes the M&M’s in Duke’s trail mix.

the scientific method by orphan_account - Rated G

5 stupid ways Duke's siblings discovered how his powers worked, and 1 time he figured it out for himself.

"You have no idea," Dick said. "I had to live through all of their teenage years. They were each independently obsessed with Mythbusters at separate points in their life. I'm pretty sure Cass and Tim have wanted a meta to experiment on since they were 14, but Bruce always said no."

Duke Thomas Hates Bullies by Gemini_00 - Not Rated

Everyone loves that Duke Thomas isn't like all those other crazy Waynes. Everyone loves that the Signal isn't trying to get himself killed. Duke may not see Bruce as his dad, but he is definitely part of the bat family. and nobody is going to bully his family. Or, Duke Thomas Kicks Ass.

Keep Your Head, Your Backbone, and Your Heart by MrMich - Rated T

The last thing that Duke expected on what was supposed to be just a regular patrol was being suddenly thrown five years into the past, coming face to face with a darker, more violent Batman than the one he knew, a broken family, and a Tim who was a foot shorter than Duke, and not even Robin yet.

A silent shadow flitted past him, just barely visible on the cave walls. He went rigid, tracking the shadow in the corner of his vision. And then he dropped to the floor, just in time, as a familiar black gloved fist passed overhead. He just barely missed being hit by the punishing blow that would have landed right on his temple for a sure concussion if he hadn’t dodged. “Batman?” Duke yelled. He somersaulted forward, just barely avoiding another strike. “B, what are you doing?!” “Who are you,” came the growled response. A shiver crawled down Duke’s spine at the grim hostility in Batman’s voice that promised violence, and something tightened in the back of his throat.

WHEN EARTH FINDS STARS. by orpheusaki - Rated G

"Let it be known that I completely detest the implications of what this situation is mirroring," Red Hood grumbles to himself and it's the longest string of words Duke has heard from any so-called Gotham vigilante, let alone the one who's known for shooting more than he is talking. "The fuck?" Duke mutters, because if he's already going to die, he might as well try and make sense of it. "I'm not going to care about whatever sob story you have," is what Red Hood replies with instead of explaining, "Where are your parents?" "Gone," is all Duke says, because it's really none of this guy's business. It's also the truth. Somehow, Red Hood sounds even more anguished about this information than Duke is, "Ah shit." (Duke steals the tires off Red Hood's bike and somehow gains a family.)

Leadership by PepperSoniRoni - Rated G

Nightwing offers Signal a chance to lead a small group for a mission. Duke is wary, but accepts the challenge. He proves to be a rather great leader.

Takes place after Season Two of Young Justice, and ignores Season Three (I still haven’t seen it, unfortunately).

You Would Not Believe Your Eyes by Tiptapricot - Rated G

No metas are allowed in Gotham, so what does that mean for Duke?

Dayshift Shadow Work by IzzyMRDB - Rated G

So, when he realised one day once he looked down that he was missing his shadow, the first thing he checked was to make sure he wasn’t also glowing. Can’t have a shadow if you’re the light source after all. Nope, not glowing. Weird. AKA Duke's shadow works like Peter Pan's and immediately chooses violence

Runs in the Family by motleyfam - Rated G

Duke has a migraine and just wants a bit of peace. Tim understands this better than most.

The League of Assassins: An Indepth Exploration of the World's Most Prolific Group of Assassins by Hint_of_Elation - Rated T

Duke Thomas presents a documentary about the League of Assassins. Warning: Bruce Wayne did not approve this film.

Tequila by Sohotthateveryonedied - Rated T

Bruce steps into Duke’s path, blocking him from venturing further into the house. It takes a moment for Duke to register the new obstacle before him. His mouth drags into a lopsided grin. “Bruce! Wha’s—wassup? How’s your night goin’?” “You’re drunk," Bruce accuses. “Me? No way. No way. I would never do that.” Duke hiccups. “Totally sober.”

Who, Me? by Listentothelittlebird - Rated T

People thought Duke was the responsible one. People often forgot Duke ran with a gang. A gang named after Robin, sure, but a gang nonetheless.

bathtub cookie crumbs by ghostellie - Rated G

Duke finds him in a bathtub on the third floor. It’s an old fashioned thing, a clawfoot porcelain tub settled in an otherwise empty room in a far, abandoned corner of the manor, dusty despite Alfred’s best efforts. Tim’s seated at an awkward angle, sideways in the tub with his head rested on one edge and his knees slung over the other, fully clothed and half covered in dust. A pink box of sugar cookies, no doubt stolen from Jason’s stash, rests on his chest. He meets Duke’s eyes as he enters, shoveling a bat-shaped cookie in his mouth.

Duke Thomas VS The "Good Child" Stereotype by PepperSoniRoni - Rated T

5 Times Duke Tried To Prove To Bruce He Wasn't The Responsible One, and 1 Time His Siblings Knew Better (& used it to their advantage) Because Duke is relatively new, he hasn't opened up completely to the family. He tries to follow Bruce and Alfred's rules, but he doesn't always succeed (nor try to). It's during these times Bruce still manages to pin the blame on someone else. His siblings, of course, see this. And whatever are they supposed to think? Well, Duke's clearly doing it on purpose! (This is really just me being salty about fanon characterization, and an attempt to cram as much Crazy-Totally-Not-Sane-Duke as I can into a single fic)

that which you cannot bear by britishparty - Rated T

There is no backup for the Signal. Duke reminds himself of this regularly, like a prayer through gritted teeth: there's no one to catch him if he slips, to replace him if he stops. So the Signal can't give up. Just can't, like an immutable law, an undeniable truth. He has to win every fight. There isn't any other option. Duke Thomas makes himself invincible. Untouchable. Then he loses.

[errorryx]

shitty batman fanfiction

So AO3 went down last night, and my friend @armyanimal156 was in the middle of a fanfiction and couldn’t finish it, so I offered to finish it for him. I used my vague understanding of comic book storytelling from my brief Marvel comics phase in 2019, plus the very minimal knowledge i picked up from some of my mutuals' posts, to assemble this nonsense. This is Damian What’s-his-face’s Journey of Self-Discovery, originally typed out stream-of-consciousness into Discord and then edited into a more digestible format.

Please for the love of god understand that this is not my usual writing style and also I'm not in this fandom and don't know shit about fuck. This is just a very long shitpost. ok enjoy

—

Damian, the newest Robin who was raised by assassins, was about to go on a journey to atone for his sins. He used Batman’s credit card to buy himself plane tickets to Eurasia and Africa, because there was a package deal he saw online or whatever. He decided to fly economy because he had self-esteem issues and thought he didn’t deserve first class.

He arrived in Eurasia, which in DC comics universe is the name of a small country in the continent of Syrup. Unfortunately, when he saw who was waiting for him at the airport, he was shocked.

“Mom?” Damian said. “Dad? Other Mom? That one guy?”

That’s right, it was the four assassins that raised him. The comics didn’t mention the other two assassins, Dad and Other Mom, because they weren’t relevant to the other stories being told. He calls his grandpa “that one guy.” This definitely isn’t someone poorly retconning comic canon into the fic after being told new information or anything like that.

“Yes, Damian, it’s us,” said Other Mom (that’s her legal government name). “We need your help. We’re going to assassinate the President of the United States.”

“No way,” Damian said. “I’ve changed. I fight for justice now.”

“Is that so?” that one guy said. “Then you should know that the President of the United States is actually evil and deserves to die.”

Damian wasn’t sure if he could believe that one guy, because he was a supervillain. But he decided to trust him just this once. He went and found the President of the United States, who was on a diplomatic mission to the small Syrupean nation of Eurasia, and shot him point blank on live television, Joker-movie-style.

Thankfully for Damian, that one guy was telling the truth: the president was evil and everyone had been secretly hoping for someone to assassinate him. People celebrated in the streets, and Batman and Tim and Drake and whoever else called and told him he did a good job. Even better, his mom patted him on the back and told Damian she was proud of him, which made him feel somewhat better about his childhood trauma.

Then, the president came back as a zombie who was impervious to bullets and wanted to eat everyone’s brains. Everyone was very upset about this, including all four of his assassin parents, and Batman, and Drake and Josh. Damian decided his best bet was to run away from his problems instead of facing them like a man, so he used his plane ticket to Africa and escaped.

—

The plane landed in Africa, which in DC comics universe is a small island nation in the Specific Ocean. Damian had never been to Africa before, but it was a popular tourist destination for its pristine beaches and overpriced coconut cocktails. However, after arriving on the island, he quickly learned that everything was owned by a mysterious billionaire known as Bruce Wane, Bruce Wayne’s twin brother who has never been mentioned in the comics before because he wasn’t relevant to any of the stories being told.

After some investigating, Damian learned that Bruce Wane was secretly a supervillain who terrorized the island, who went by the name of Badman (like Batman, but bad). Badman had a sidekick named Robbin. When Damian went up against this pair, Robbin pickpocketed him.

“Hey!” Damian complained. “I saw that! Don’t steal my stuff!”

“Damian,” Badman said in a fake deep voice, Dark Knight-movie-style. “If you want your wallet back, you have to join me. You can be Robbin 2.” Robbin looked upset about this, but didn’t say anything.

“No way, bitch,” Damian said (he gets to say swear words because of his childhood trauma). “Batman is way cooler than you.”

Badman took a few steps back and did a triple backflip. “Bet your stupid Batman can’t do that.”

Damian had to admit that Batman could not do that. “Fine, you win. I’ll join you.”

He followed Badman and Robbin to the Badcave (like the Batcave, but bad). Badman began explaining his plan to take over the world by dropping a bunch of badbombs (like batbombs, but bad) on top of the small island nation of Africa and then the rest of the world.

“That’s a really cool plan,” Damian said. “Can I have the password to your computer? I want to play Roblox.” BECAUSE AS IT TURNS OUT THIS KID IS LIKE TWELVE YEARS OLD HOLY SHIT WHY IS HE FIGHTING CRIME. WHY IS HE ASSASSINATING PEOPLE. WHAT THE FUCK MAN???

So Badman gave Damian the password to the badcomputer (like the batcomputer, but bad), which was, of course, “nanananananananabadman” and gave him unsupervised internet access.

Of course, Damian immediately hacked into the mainframe and set off every badbomb in the badwarehouse (like the batwarehouse, but bad). The Badcave exploded and everything was ruined. Then, Damian revealed that when Robbin was busy pickpocketing him, he was actually pickpocketing Robbin at the same time! He opened Robbin’s wallet and looked through his stuff.

As it turned out, Robbin’s ID picture looked the same as Damian’s, because they were secret TWINS and CLONES and TWIN CLONES. Robbin’s real name was Damien with an E. 

Robbin looked very sad, and he asked Damian if there was a way he could learn to be good instead of bad. “I could take you back to Batman,” Damian suggested. “You could be Robin 2. Actually, more like Robin 27 at this point.”

“That sounds great,” Robbin agreed, and they flew back to Gotham City together.

—

“Jesus Christ, not another one,” Alfred said when they got back.

Batman just shrugged and said, “This might as well happen.”

“It’s going to be really confusing around here if there’s two Damians,” Cass (one of them is named Cass right? or Cath? idfk) said. Everyone decided to call Damian with an e “Dame” and Damian with an a “Ian.” This detail was included despite the fact that it never came up again.

They turned on the news, which was conveniently at the beginning of a report about Badman, who had miraculously survived the explosions. He had now teamed up with the zombie president and vowed to destroy Batman and his league of child soldiers.

The zombie president staged a hostile takeover of the American troops, which was easy because the guy who replaced him was a wimpy loser. Soon the entire US Marines were outside Batman’s house, which apparently isn’t the first time this has happened, but this time they had all been turned into zombies. Which also isn’t the first time that’s happened. Writing an original plotline in DC comics is probably impossible.

So began the epic battle between Batman’s orphanage and the zombie marine corps.

Everything was going well for the good guys, but then Damian got into trouble. It looked like he was about to get seriously injured, until Damien jumped in front of him at the last second to save him, only to get bit by one of the zombies and become infected.

Soon enough all the zombies were defeated, but it didn’t feel like a victory, not when the twinclone kid they met ten minutes ago was dying in front of them.

“Listen, everyone,” Damien said, while slowly turning green (the color of zombies). “I know we just met each other, but the ten seconds of kindness I got from you were better than the entire rest of my incredibly traumatic life. So please, don’t mourn me. Put me out of my misery, and go save the world in my honor.”

Damian nodded and lifted his gun. “I was raised by assassins, in case anyone forgot,” he said. “I can do what needs to be done.” He proceeded to shoot Damien in the head.

But it didn’t do any damage at all, because as previously stated, zombies are impervious to bullets. So Damien finished turning green and stood up. “Please don’t eat our brains!” one of those other batkids said.

“Huh,” Damien said. “I don’t really want to eat anyone’s brains. I think I’m fine, actually.”

As it turned out, the zombie virus didn’t induce the desire to eat brains. The president and the entire US marines were just like that.

So the entire group hunted down Badman and the President and dropped batbombs (like badbombs, but not bad) on top of their heads, and they both exploded into one zombillion pieces.

Everyone lived happily ever after, and Damian now had a twinclone zombie brother and felt a lot better about his childhood trauma.

The end

—

bonus: more discord screenshots from last night for additional context, featuring my other friends @diligently-metastasizing (dyke lego homer) and @avloki-pal (wet ghost cat)

[brucewaynehater101]

Have your dose of angst and bad dad Bruce as I torment him.

Fair warning, I didn't want to edit it. It's raw

His bones ache. After decades of harsh rooftop landings, broken healed and broken again bones, scars upon scar tissue, and strenuous training to always be in shape enough to save one more life, his body pays for it.

When he started the mission at eighteen, he didn't quite know the costs. As all kids at eighteen, where they feel both mature enough for the world and young enough to believe that, Bruce thought he was willing to pay any price to save Gotham. He convinced himself, after the wounds that littered his body were sewn shut, that his parents would have wanted this. They would have been proud of him.

So he continued to throw himself into a city of grief and pain. He made a mask of his family's name to wear a bat suit in the name of justice. He brutalized his enemies, but he also offered them redemption.

Barely into his career as the Dark Knight, he saw himself in a child. The bright clothes, tendencies to do daring acrobatics, and inability to sit still were starkly different from the freshly orphaned Bruce Wayne. Yet, the all-consuming rage, the loneliness, and the desire to wield vengeance were a mirror to young Bruce.

He wasn't ready to be a father. In fact, he was barely old enough to handle an infant, much more a grief-stricken nine year old who burns to make his world right again. Bruce should leave Dick in more capable hands. Despite his reservations, Bruce opened his home.

For the first time in over a decade, Wayne Manor felt lighter.

It shouldn't surprise Bruce that he's the first voice the old man hears. The lilting sound berates him, but he's steadfast in disregarding the presence. Bruce's weathered hands cramp, and he drags a cloth against glass. In the reflection of the display case, he glimpses a nine year old glaring at him. A yellow cape flutters as the kid turns away and stomps to another part of the cave.Bruce merely sighs.

The man has to take a break when the pain becomes unbearable, but he doesn't move from his vigil. He stays in front of the row of vitrines.

As if emboldened by his lack of attention, a different voice giggles from behind Bruce. The man closes his eyes and mourns.He can still hear the pitter patter of feet as they approach him. He doesn't dare to look.

"Ignornin' me, old man?"

Even though he knows better, Bruce's eyes peel open at those words. His head slowly turns in acknowledgment. The sight of a grinning twelve year old nearly knocks the older man onto his knees. The kid proudly displays red, yellow, and green as his expression indicates his teasing tone. Bruce's breath is shaky and he slams his eyelids close.

He can feel the disappointment from the teen, like a sword in his gut. He would prefer the blade over this cruel mockery of memories.

When the apparition ceases, Bruce doesn't feel relief. He doesn't feel dread either. He feels resigned.

With the ache in joints reduced from the rest, he brandishes the rag and moves to the next glass pane. His movements are slow and careful as they clear any smudge of dust from view.

This time, when Bruce becomes aware of the thirteen year old, there's no sound to accompany his arrival. The boy analyzes the crumbling man in front of him, and his worry is evident in his stillness. Bruce doesn't dare to face him. For this particular memory, that's hardly new.

The kid waits patiently, but he fades before his mentor ever addresses him.

Bruce moves on to the next case.

Her face is completely covered, but the set of her shoulders indicates her readiness to fight. She doesn't quite trust the man in front of her, but the fifteen year old specter has hope. It's obvious she's prepared to either join Bruce or fight him. If only Bruce would talk to her. His hands continue to wipe the glass, and the teen seems to roll her eyes as she turns away. Bruce knows she's not disappointed in his lack of answer. She expected it.

The man lowers his arms for another break, the pain racing up to his shoulders.

The next appearance is just as silent, but her gaze is softer. The seventeen year old moves until her image is reflected for the older man. Despite his refusal to even glance at her, forgiveness is evident in her eyes. She graces him with a small smile before leaving.

Bruce lowers his gaze to the hands that constantly betray him.

A sharp tsk brings him out of his brooding. He dares to peek over his shoulder before gazing back at the cases. The cloth is raised once more.

“Father.”

The ten year old's gaze is heavy and Bruce bites his lip until it bleeds. The tension of a kid fearful of a revered stranger's anger bleeds between the two of them. The only sound is the russle of clothes as Bruce keeps cleaning.

Bruce feels the ghost approach and the man quickens his pace. He needs to dust these displays.

There's another tsk as the kid turns away.

Bruce moves on to the next display.

“It's as simple as picking up the phone, B.”

The older man doesn't acknowledge the sixteen year old. No matter what the apparition says, it isn't that simple. Even if Bruce called any of his kids, they wouldn't answer. He knows that.

The teen sighs and shakes his head. He adjusts the red jacket in disappointment. It's obvious his mentor won't listen to him.

Just like the others, he leaves.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: none

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

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

sorry this is so short, AGAIN, I’m STILL having trouble deciding where to cut these chapters off 😭 we’ll be out of the medbay in the next chapter i promise

part forty-five

❝ AWAKE AND ALIVE ❞

SUNDAY — SEPTEMBER 13 — 4:04PM

ASTEN DIDN'T WAKE UP UNTIL FOUR THE NEXT DAY. 

Bentley had been drifting in and out of consciousness for hours. Every now and then Alfred would run a test, or give him some more pain medicine, and every single time, Bruce was there just like he said he’d be. A few times, Dick was there with him. Once, Jason was. It was a blur up until somebody started screaming, at which point Bentley was suddenly very much awake.

He was disoriented and didn’t even have time to realize who was screaming until the screaming stopped, and a few people were grouped around Asten’s bed.

Bentley blinked and took hold of his surroundings again. Jason and Alfred were near Asten’s bed. Dick and Damian were in the other room, along with Barbara. Tim, Duke, Steph, and Cass weren’t there. 

Bruce was right next to Bentley, where he said he’d be. And… something warm was right next to Bentley.

He glanced down at himself and realized that he wasn’t the only one in the bed, but that, since they were both so small, Nico had curled up on the end of the mattress like some kind of cat and was sleeping there, completely unaware of the sound or movement around him. 

Suddenly, Asten wasn’t screaming anymore, but crying. Crying so pitifully and terribly that it reminded Bentley of the night his parents died. 

“It’s alright,” Bruce said, and instinctively, his hand came up to rest on the top of Bentley’s head, drawing his attention away from Asten.

He looked around again, his eyes landing on future Nico, who was standing strangely in a dim corner, watching Asten closely. With a glance around and a wink in Bentley’s direction, he zoomed across the room with a blip that made him disappear in a warp of light.

Bentley and Asten were both awake. Did that mean his job was done? That he was gone?

“How are you feeling?” Bruce questioned. Bentley took a second to focus on his body. His head was hurting pretty bad, and so was his whole abdomen where he’d been stabbed. His ankle was sort of throbbing as well. He was still kind of floaty and loopy, though, which meant some pain medicine was probably working.

He ended up shrugging. “Everything kinda hurts.”

Bruce’s hand began to move in his hair. “I’m sorry. You’re due for more pain meds in about an hour.”

Bentley said nothing, but glanced back over at Asten, who was being quietly consoled by Jason. He wasn’t just crying anymore — he was hyperventilating and shaking and looked a whole lot like Bentley thought he looked during an anxiety attack.

Bentley inhaled. “Will he be okay?”

Bruce’s hand continued to move through his hair and kind of really reminded him of Dick.

“Yes, bud. He’ll be okay,”

A few moments of silence passed where Bentley could only sort of make out what Jason was saying to Asten. He gave up halfway through listening because it was too quiet.

In the midst of the quiet, Dick came into the room with a bright (but at the same time dull?) look on his face and in his eyes. Bentley attempted to push himself so he was sitting up, and while it was still very painful, it was successful this time — Bruce situated the pillows behind him and whatever little pain meds were still working were doing a very good job for a kid who’d been impaled. 

Dick walked over, and in one swift movement, hugged Bentley as gently as he could.

“I love you so much, kiddo,” It sounded like his eyes were misty — Bentley didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he relaxed into the familiar embrace, bringing his arms up and around Dick’s shoulders in return. This sure does beat dying alone in a pile of debris.

“I love you, too.”

When Dick moved (which took a long time, but no one had expected any less.) Damian was standing behind him, near Bentley’s bed. 

Dick moved out of his way, and a moment of silence passed where no one did anything. Bentley was just happy to be there — happy everyone was there. Happy to be breathing.

Damian moved quickly toward Bentley, like he was ripping a bandaid off, making a decision before he could convince himself not to.

Damian hugged him.

Bentley was frozen and tense for a solid three seconds before he decided that might make Damian not want to do it again. Then he hugged him back. Had Damian ever actually… did Damian even hug people? Bentley wasn’t sure he’d ever even seen Damian hug someone.

“I am glad you are alright,” Damian said, stiffly removing himself from Bentley’s embrace. “I am in your debt.”

“No you’re not,” He replied, searching Damian’s face for any tinge of emotion. There might’ve been a layer of something clouding his eyes. Might’ve.

“You saved my life,” Damian replied simply, crossing his arms. “I can not take generosity like that for granted — I owe you.”

“I already have everything I need,” Bentley replied, and he saw Bruce smile in his peripheral.

Damian sighed. “One day, you will need me. Then we will be even.”

Bentley said nothing, but nodded in response. 

Just then, the other someone curled up on the medbay bed began to shift.

Bentley glanced down at Nico, who was laying next to his legs, just in time to see his blue eyes flutter open and bounce around. They landed on Bruce, on Damian, on the bed, the walls, on Dick, who was off to the side.

When they finally landed on Bentley, you’d have thought he was a parent coming home from deployment. Nico nearly fell off the bed at the speed that he moved, whamming into Bentley in a way that definitely would’ve hurt worse if he wasn’t hyped up on so many drugs.

“Whoa, Nico, easy,” Bruce started.

“I was so scared. I woke up when you were having surgery,” The blonde muttered, hiding his face away — probably because he was nearly in tears. “I was afraid you wouldn’t wake up.”

Bentley, although stunned, hugged him back. “It’s okay, I’m fine.”

Nico made a funny sound. “You need to learn what those words mean.”

Bentley said nothing, and after a minute, snickered. “I guess so. Are you feeling better?”

“A lot,” Nico replied, finally letting go of him. “Y’know, less pukey and sick and stuff.”

“That’s good,”

A moment of silence passed. Nico glanced over at Asten, so Bentley did, too. 

He was still crying, but not as badly as before, and Jason was standing next to the bed, facing away from Bentley, talking. 

In a flash and a blip, Nico crashed into Asten, too. 

Jason backed off, turning on his heel and letting his eyes rest on Bentley with a little fond look.

“Hey, kid. How are you feeling?” Jason questioned. He ruffled his hair for only a second, to which Bentley smiled.

“It still hurts,” He replied honestly. “But I’m okay.”

Jason smiled faintly. “I’m glad.”

Bentley smiled, and the room fell into quiet again.

He glanced over at Asten and Nico. Nico was still hugging the life out of him, and Asten was simply letting him. Bentley met his eyes over Nico’s shoulder. They shared a faint smile.

Everything would be okay.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

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

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere @beatyoutothatusernameloser

[nari-writes]

Blogging (and other dangerous activities likely to get you adopted by the Batman)

Inspired by Latchkey by goldkirk

Tim wakes up to Batman in his room.

It- well, it's not fair to say it's a surprise, but seeing the looming figure in his window does make his heart seize. Even after the time Tim's spent watching him with the Robins, it's still nerve-wracking to have Gotham's nightmare show up. Especially since Batman does little to dissuade the notion that he's here on genial business.

Maybe Bruce has figured out he knows and is going to silence him. Maybe this isn't actually Batman, but Man-bat, and Tim's about to be twelve-year-old bat jerky. Maybe-

His parents are home this week though, so if he really wanted he could probably scream and get himself some thinking time; but as he takes a breath to decide what to do, Batman puts a gloved hand over his mouth.

And, ugh. It smells kinda gross. Like leather and motorcycle fumes. Probably the right Batman, but also. Super gross? Why does he smell so bad? When did he last rinse his gloves?

“You've been blogging.” Batman says, which isn't a question but is a very unhelpful non-sequitur.

“Mmrnhm?” Tim says, largely unintelligible but not entirely intending words.

What the shit. Batman's only here because of the blog?

Also, unfair. He'd had to jump through so many hoops to spoof his IP and make his own VPN and switch which library he posted from, and Batman still found him? This sucks.

“Don't scream,” Batman says, and Tim nods. Batman pulls his hand away slowly, potentially having expected Tim to lie, but Tim's not stupid. Batman doesn't have to do this nicely, even if he is a kid, and Tim also knows that if he did scream, Batman would either a) be prepared and gag him again or b) vanish, and then Tim would be in trouble with his parents. Either option sucks, so he'd rather opt for the one that lets him keep taking in the details of Batman's suit. It's hard in the dark, but still way easier than through his camera.

“It could've been my parents,” Tim says, when it seems Batman's waiting for him to answer his earlier not-question. Batman hums, and Tim wiggles back so he's against the headboard. “Yeah, I figured you'd already researched their flight times. Have to try though, right?”

“The blog. Why?”

“It's-” he starts, because there's so many reasons and he doesn't actually know which one Batman wants. Or, actually, would like the least? Probably 'I wanted to see you in action' would land with the grace of a sleep-deprived Jason Todd, but 'I was lonely' may be worse. 'I didn't expect it to blow up?' may be okay, but in the end he hesitantly settles with: “I just think that- seeing you, being- human? Or, showing you have humanity- was important.”

“Did you ever think that I wouldn't want that?” Batman asks, and Tim shifts awkwardly.

“I mean. Yes? But also, the way people- talk about you and the Robins. It sucks.”

Batman's mouth looks very displeased.

“It just, it shows that you're human!”

“How do you know?” Batman asks, and he actually kinda sounds like Bruce Wayne now, like this is a joke he's used before, and Tim thinks through what he'd been about to say very quickly and shuts his mouth with a snap. Ow. Now his teeth hurt.

Batman, on the other hand, does something to his cowl that makes him look like he's very slowly raising his eyebrow. Is it weird to think he looks tense, looks more threatening now, even though he'd literally just been looming with the promise of violence? Tim swallows hard.

“I don't?” he offers, his voice breaking, and he literally doesn't think he's ever been more humiliated by puberty. “I mean, I don't! Know you're human, that is. You could definitely be an alien if you wanted. Or a spirit of revenge, or-” Tim flops backward on his bed and pulls his blanket over his head. “I shouldn't be so bad at this,” he mumbles, and doesn't think about he's definitely going to die because Batman's suspicious and Tim's an idiot when he's tired.

Batman is damningly silent, but when Tim finally, hesitantly, peeks his eyes out from the hem of his blanket, the Dark Knight is still standing in his room. Actually, he's half-hunched over Tim's desk, looking at the corkboard of Tim's photos and reminders. He reaches out, and Tim's heart thuds. “Oh, please don't!” he says instinctively when Batman grazes Tim's camera. Batman stops and tilts his head over his shoulder to look, and Tim swallows down the anxiety clogging his throat. “Please don't take my camera. I can get another one but I- that one was-”

“Stop taking photos of us.” Batman says, short and to the point.

“Stop posting them to the blog?” Tim offers, and this makes Batman turn around properly, looking at him head-on again. He's judging Tim, now, and Tim wonders what part of him will be found wanting. In Batman's eyes is Tim's wealth a precursor to change or stagnation? Does he think Tim should be doing more with his life? Or does he simply expect that this is a rich kid's hobby, no sentimentality involved? Bruce Wayne took his billions and made himself a hero and Tim knows he can't do the same, considering his parents are in charge of the Drake fortune, but there's probably a million other things he could be doing that don't involve stalking superheroes.

“You're a child,” Batman says slowly, and his voice has lost the harder overture that's affected his speech so far. “When Batman is out, it is late, and dark, and dangerous. You are a child and shouldn't be anywhere near-”

“I don't go close!” Tim protests, “I'm not stupid!”

“There are always people in Gotham. What does it matter if you're not in the area of the most danger when you're still in danger?”

“I'm not stupid,” Tim protests with a hiss that contains more vitriol than it really should, considering his conversation partner, but he can't help it. “If you never saw me how'd you think anyone else could?”

“How do you know I never saw you?” Batman asks, like a challenge, and Tim scoffs.

“Come on, you think I don't know that if you saw me out there, you'd have me thrown in the back of the Batmobile and at the closest precinct before I could blink? Jason almost-” Tim freezes, then quickly blurts, “-before he took your tires, and got adopted by Bruce Wayne, Jason tried to do the same thing whenever he saw me. I know what I look like, to people in Crime Alley.”

Shoot, shoot, shoot, this is actively a terrible lie; Batman only needs to ask Jason when he met Tim and the whole thing would be blown. And, also, name-dropping a specific kid, like Batman would remember who stole his tires? The connection is tenuous at best and damning at worst.

“You've been taking photographs of us since you were eight?” Batman asks, sounding horrified, and Tim winces internally. Please forgive me, Robin, he whispers in the back of his mind, and then says with all the glib disdain he can muster:

“Well, you let Robin go out when he was barely older than me. It's the same thing.”

He has never seen Batman do a full-body wince before. He's not entirely sure he could get Batman to do it again, and wonders if he should add it to his board of accomplishments. He’d have to encode it if he did, even if the board’s mostly for his own reference, but imagining it pinned up next to his photography awards is making him feel a bit hysterical. Then again, that could also be the fact that Batman is still in his room and Tim is lying.

“He was not eight-”

“I just think that unless the same orders get applied to him I think you're being a bit of a hypocrite. He’s actively in more danger than I am, considering he ends up in grabbing range of Rouges and I don’t.”

“I will be telling your parents,” Batman growls, and this time Tim smirks.

“Yeah? And how do you think that's going to go for you?” Tim can almost exactly imagine it: there's no way his parents will believe Batman, because it's crazy and they'd be freaking out over Batman in their house, and if he does it as Bruce Wayne it'd be a crazy coincidence for Tim Drake, known genius, to have access to. If Tim hadn't already solved their identities, that connection alone would probably tip him off.

Well, maybe Batman wouldn't think about the potential implications - academic strengths don't always translate to detective-solving skills, and it's just Batman's misfortune that in Tim's case it's a little bit the other way around. Detective skills that he's carefully and stubbornly honed have led him to a dogged dedication to his studies.

“Robin is a trained professional,” Batman says, and Tim volleys back with,

“Yeah and I'm not doing the same thing he is at all, so my standards can be different.”

“Tim Drake,” Batman says, this time actively growling his name, and Tim doesn’t know if he should cackle or wince. For one thing, he’s pretty sure Batman has lost this verbal volley, which is why he’s pulling out the doom and darkness voice.

On the other, this is the voice he uses on men triple Tim’s size and with twice the bravery (and crazy), and having the full force of it directed at him makes his stomach drop. He clutches his blankets, fabric pulled tight, and tries to pretend his hands aren’t shaking.

“The blog is being removed - do not start it again. I will not see you on Gotham’s streets again during my patrol.”

The lens of his mask are so narrow that the white is barely visible. He holds Tim’s gaze, like he’s imparting the orders, like he’s checking to see Tim’s fear will keep him obedient, and then nods slowly. The cape swishes behind him as he puts Tim’s camera back on the desk, and then he’s leaving. Leaving, and Tim’s secrets are safe and he is unharmed and undeterred.

“You won’t,” Tim whispers as Batman slips out his window and into the dark.

[alittledoseofchaos]

Marvelous Miracles (Please Disregard the Ghosts)

Pt. 2

Prev. Next,

this crossover includes Miraculous, DC, Marvel, and DP. I'm not gonna list each individual crossover in the tags (I list Maribat and dp×dc because I know those can be difficult to block sometimes and it makes it easier for this fic to blocked). If you don't like these, the title (exactly) is a tag so this fic can be blocked that way too.

Alfred Pennyworth, despite what most people claim, does not know everything. He knows Bruce Wayne is Batman, his son, and a father. He knows he would give his life for his grandchildren. He knows that the world needs people like his family, even if he doesn't always like it. He knows that something in Paris, France is bad enough for Master Bruce's old friend Jared to suggest that one Marinette Dupain-Cheng move to Gotham of all places, but he can't for the life of him understand what it is.

His family is incredibly paranoid wary at heart, and for good reason too, so it comes as no shock that they began investigating the girl's life. What is surprising is that they can't find a single reason for Jared's concern. School reports show cases of bullying and victim blaming being ignored, which is mildly concerning, but not the life threatening problems Jared has promised them. Thorough research finds that her parents are busy, but hardworking and loving parents. In fact, after learning who the girl's parents were, Alfred messaged an old friend of his. Unfortunately, Gina Dupain, grandmother of the girl in question, provided more questions than answers when she mentioned something about evil butterflies. Everyone they talk to sounds just as mad with terror as the last.

Master Bruce, never one to leave a child in danger when he uses that brain of his, agreed to host the girl. His family is still at work trying to figure out the girl's backstory as he picks the dear up from the airport. He's early, and not as young as he used to be, so he waits for her in the plain van. He sat watching the camera feeds as the plane lands and begins unloading. His curiosity grows as miss Dupain-Cheng comes to a sudden halt as her foot lands in the building. From what he could tell, there is nothing around that would cause this abrupt stop, yet she is still standing there, frozen with one foot in the building. Displeasure crosses his aged face as someone behind the girl pushes her forward. She starts walking again, but her movements are stiffer than before.

Her blue-grey eyes shine with unease and dart between all the exits warily. Alfred climbs out of the car, intent on getting her out of there as soon as possible. He grabs a sign with 'Felicity Garcia' written on it, the agreed upon name that hopefully wouldn't draw anyone's attention. His brows furrow with determination.

Alfred Pennyworth does not know everything, but he knows that he'll do right by this girl.

🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇👻🕷🐞🦇

Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows many things. She knows that she would risk everything for her friends. She knows that she'll never get to be a normal girl with a normal life until Hawkmoth is taken down. She knows that something is wrong and that nobody has noticed. She knows that something is there, in the corner of her eye. She knows that someone is watching her. She knows there are many mutterings, but nobody is talking. She knows that Gotham is Crime Capital of the US, but this? This was something much darker. Something she is sorry to have seen, because now she is going to have to do something about it.

She feels another shiver dance down her spine and thanks the kwami that she wore such a thick grey sweater. She pushes aside thoughts of sinister intentions and scans the almost empty building. She hums lightly as she spots a sign with 'Felicity Garcia' written on it. The elderly man holding it is wearing a beige sweater and regular jeans, but something in her screams that he shouldn't be wearing anything other than a suit.

"HI! I'm Felicity Garcia! Are you here to pick me up?" She asks cheerfully. The gentleman's smokey grey eyes twinkle as he replies.

"Of course not, I'm much too frail for that." She smiles at the passcode. As they walk towards the doors, someone behind them spills their coffee. She turns to the woman that is now drenched in coffee. Without hesitation Marinette rushes over. She pulls out napkins and an anti-stain stick. She offers them up to the woman freely. Distrust fills the woman's eyes as she takes the offered objects. The woman nods in thank you as she walks away.

Marinette stares at the space where the woman had stood for a long while before she moves again. As she heads to the van, pity and determination mixes into a jumbled mess inside of her.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng knows many things, like how she is going to do anything to help these people in a place too dark.

Next

[ao3feed-superbat]

Sickness of waiting under your thumb (sickness from you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PCaectl by Only_The_Queerest_Gods_Hypnos_and_Apollo Bruce Wayne convinces himself that the best way to save the world from Superman, and the Kryptonians, after the events of Black Zero, is to eliminate any and all Kryptonians. Including Superman. Just another one of his contingency plans. Routine. Straightforward. But there was nothing routine or straightforward about accidentally falling in love with Superman along the way, outside of his Bat Persona, all Bruce- Nor will there be anything straight-forward or routine to have to kill him for his goals, his ideals, his planet. Especially as Superman is still so in love with him. For anyone who had wondered if things had gone a slightly more wrong angle during the Superbat love stories when Bruce had intended to kill him originally: a what if of hope, terror, betrayal, love and, inevitably loss, and the reality he has to face along with it. Words: 3157, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Rao (DCU) Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Holy shiit I made myself cry whilst writing this, no like seriously a tear jerker, I wrote this all in one evening, After drinking, and after a sad dream, so I am so sorry this is soo sad, if you can't handle it right now please don't read it right now, Sad Ending, Sad Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Acts Like a Sad Wet Cat, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Protective Bruce Wayne, clark kent straight up dies i don't know how else to tell you this, Dying Clark Kent, Euthanasia, but like no not really at all, but bruce almost convinces himself it is, I am so sorry, Kryptonite (DCU), injections/ needles : TW, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred is Bruce's dad and no I will not apolgise, whilst listening to 'woke up' from Marceline in Distant Lands, loving clark kent, Oblivious, CLEARLY TOXIC RElATIONSIPS : TW, Bruce Wayne convinces himself it's 'for the world', ha yeah right, Paranoid Bastards, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, but they're not and he is, so suck it Bruce, DEATH : TW, PARTNER ABUSE : TW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, References to consensual sex, brief - Freeform, brief vague description of a corpse at the very end, sorry - Freeform, Love, Not a great one though, PURPOSELY NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP : TW, Lies and Deception, love everlasting, from one party, CLARK that is, goddamn i'm going to cry again, I'm Going to Hell, vague extra-terrestrial religious references, Rao (a god of Krypton/ a heavenly body/ star ) - mentioned, mentions of a/slight description of a seizure, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, I love him for it, normally love bruce wayne, but seriously here fuck him in this story, he's trying, not good enough though, Vomiting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/PCaectl

[ao3feed-brucewayne]

Sickness of waiting under your thumb (sickness from you)

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/rU806eu by Only_The_Queerest_Gods_Hypnos_and_Apollo Bruce Wayne convinces himself that the best way to save the world from Superman, and the Kryptonians, after the events of Black Zero, is to eliminate any and all Kryptonians. Including Superman. Just another one of his contingency plans. Routine. Straightforward. But there was nothing routine or straightforward about accidentally falling in love with Superman along the way, outside of his Bat Persona, all Bruce- Nor will there be anything straight-forward or routine to have to kill him for his goals, his ideals, his planet. Especially as Superman is still so in love with him. For anyone who had wondered if things had gone a slightly more wrong angle during the Superbat love stories when Bruce had intended to kill him originally: a what if of hope, terror, betrayal, love and, inevitably loss, and the reality he has to face along with it. Words: 3157, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Fandoms: Superman - All Media Types, Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Man of Steel (2013) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: M/M Characters: Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, Alfred Pennyworth, Rao (DCU) Relationships: Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent & Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred Pennyworth & Bruce Wayne Additional Tags: Holy shiit I made myself cry whilst writing this, no like seriously a tear jerker, I wrote this all in one evening, After drinking, and after a sad dream, so I am so sorry this is soo sad, if you can't handle it right now please don't read it right now, Sad Ending, Sad Bruce Wayne, Bruce Wayne Acts Like a Sad Wet Cat, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Communicating, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is Bad at Feelings, Protective Bruce Wayne, clark kent straight up dies i don't know how else to tell you this, Dying Clark Kent, Euthanasia, but like no not really at all, but bruce almost convinces himself it is, I am so sorry, Kryptonite (DCU), injections/ needles : TW, Good Parent Alfred Pennyworth, Alfred is Bruce's dad and no I will not apolgise, whilst listening to 'woke up' from Marceline in Distant Lands, loving clark kent, Oblivious, CLEARLY TOXIC RElATIONSIPS : TW, Bruce Wayne convinces himself it's 'for the world', ha yeah right, Paranoid Bastards, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, but they're not and he is, so suck it Bruce, DEATH : TW, PARTNER ABUSE : TW, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, References to consensual sex, brief - Freeform, brief vague description of a corpse at the very end, sorry - Freeform, Love, Not a great one though, PURPOSELY NOT A HEALTHY RELATIONSHIP : TW, Lies and Deception, love everlasting, from one party, CLARK that is, goddamn i'm going to cry again, I'm Going to Hell, vague extra-terrestrial religious references, Rao (a god of Krypton/ a heavenly body/ star ) - mentioned, mentions of a/slight description of a seizure, Clark Kent is a Ray of Sunshine, I love him for it, normally love bruce wayne, but seriously here fuck him in this story, he's trying, not good enough though, Vomiting read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/rU806eu

[dick-the3rd]

I think I'm past being mad at Batman vs Robin 3 and now I just think about it and just think it's hilariously funny

How can you write something and then make absolutely EVERYONE hate it?? Waid didn't manage to land one thing right this issue

Truly a feat

[forestlingincorporated]

I wanna talk about Janet Drake

I’m not against exaggeratedly evil versions of Tim’s parents, tbh. It’s fanfiction, if we can depict an Exaggeratedly Good version of Bruce (which we can, and I do, and I love) then we can depict the Drakes as Exaggeratedly Bad. As someone who personally identifies with Tim, and his brand of complicated parental abuse in particular, I find it cathartic to uncomplicate that abuse and rescue him from the Obviously Evil Bad People. 

That said, since much of comics lore is passed down word of mouth, the oral tradition surrounding Tim has developed this idea of Janet as The Worse Parent between her and Jack that was never really present in the comics. We see much LESS of Janet, and we have 20 years worth of comics depicting Jack as a neglectful hotheaded idiot who ultimate does love his son. More importantly, Jack isn’t very much LIKE Tim, so there is a habit to attribute Tim’s traits to his mother... and, as someone who really really identifies with Tim, Tim has... some negative traits. Tim can be a bitch sometimes. He’s fiercely intelligent and sweet and kind, with a strong sense of justice, but he can be cold and judgmental and unthinking - he fights those traits, but he does have them. 

And it is perfectly fine to depict Janet that way. I’ve enjoyed depictions of Cold Calculating Janet Drake, but it’s not the ONLY option, and I want to challenge fans to consider different avenues. Tim could pick up these traits from anywhere: a nanny, Mrs. Mc Ilvaine (”Mrs. Mac”), a teacher, tv, Sherlock Holmes novels, Bruce Wayne himself. Tim is capable of not being like EITHER parent. 

So, what do we KNOW about Janet? (I’ll also touch on Jack, but only in scenes he appears with Janet.) 

When Janet was first introduced she was depicted as a gentle but “modern” woman. This was written in 1989, told by a 13 year old Tim, so this theoretically was meant to take place in 1979. I’m not here to give a lecture on the history of sex discrimination in the united states, but much of the legislation protecting women in the workforce or surrounding women’s bodily autonomy would have been very very new in this initial depiction. 

Here, Janet is shown to be encouraging, emotional, maternal, and projects her own feelings onto Tim. Jack is shown to be slightly sexist, possibly discouraging, but not overbearing. And the artist is shown not to know how to draw children. 

To insert some speculation, I think it’s important to note all the Drakes witnessed a terrible murder/accident that day. I point this out, because this is the last time Jack and Janet are depicted this way. It’s possible they changed as a result of this event specifically. 

However, this is also a story being told by Tim. It’s also possible these events aren’t really “real” at all, and Tim is misremembering what his parents were like as a three-year-old, possibly projecting a more palatable version of his parents into the narrative. This is entirely up to personal interpretation. 

In fact, the Drakes are shown in Legend of the Dark Knight attending Haly’s Circus, and the artist knows what a toddler looks like and they’re depicted as already having a slightly strained relationship. Jack is clearly on the defensive, and Janet seems to be passive-aggressive, though she could just be attempting to explain the situation to her toddler honestly. The intended tone isn’t especially clear. 

I do want to point out, in this depiction, Tim isn’t being carried like he was in the previous one. He’s walking ahead of his parents, which isn’t a terrible horrible crime, but could be dangerous in a crowded place like the circus. Might be a subtle hint to his parents overall neglect. 

Back to A Lonely Place of Dying, in Tim’s memories of the night he discovered Robin and Dick Grayson were the same person at nine-years-old, his parents are home, and watching TV together while Tim played... trucks, idk, in the living room with them. (This is semi-interesting, because you could say “oh, Tim liked vehicle toys as a kid” or you could extrapolate that this is another subtle indication of Jack’s sexism, providing Tim with appropriately “boy toys.” Either interpretation is valid. If Tim was assigned female at birth, would they have been given “girl toys,” or allowed to play with whatever they wanted?) 

This is, to my knowledge, the only panel of the Drakes when Tim is between ages 3 and 13. They’re all together, which might indicate that the Drakes were home more often when Tim was 9, only later going on business trips when Tim was “old enough” but... 

This is Tim’s boarding school when he’s 13. While most boarding schools in the US are for grades 9-12, Tim is clearly not a freshman at age 13; look how much younger the other kids in this panel are. In the US, the youngest you can attend most boarding schools is 7. 

That means Tim could have begun going to boarding school anytime between 7 and 13. He most likely spent all of middle school in boarding school, at least. There are an almost infinite number of possible ways the Drakes handled having a business that required lots of international travel, an archeology hobby, AND a very young child. Janet staying home until Tim was 7, 11, 13, is equally possible as the Drakes having a nanny until 7, 11, 13. Tim just doesn’t talk about that period of his life very much.

(”What about Mrs. Mac?” - it is unclear when Mrs. Mac begins working for the Drakes. We only see her when Jack comes out of his coma. She could either be a long standing staff member, or a recent hire.) 

Note: I’ve seen it said that it’s canon that “According to Tim, when his parents were home, they made a point to try and include him in their activities, bringing him along to events that were normally adults only.” I have never seen this panel, or I don’t remember it, so I cannot confirm, but I also cannot debunk this because... comics. 

By the time Tim is 13, Jack and Janet are away on business trips a lot, with limited communication, and no firm return date. If I’m feeling generous, I’d say it was harder to communicate internationally in 1990 than it is today. If I’m not feeling generous, I’d say the Drakes are extremely wealthy, and international communication was easier than ever before in the 80s and 90s. They’re not even going home to see Tim in a week or two, they’re going home and calling Tim at boarding school in a week or two. 

Even Bruce thinks its weird, though he doesn’t say so to Tim’s face. It’s written almost as if Tim’s parents’ neglect was meant to be a plot point that just got forgotten about. 

Tim’s parents are fighting at this point (their poor assistant), but Janet still goes with Jack on these business trips. And she’s clearly involved in the business, somehow, but the comics never SAY what Janet’s JOB is. We’re told Jack is the exec, but Janet is ONLY ever referred to as Jack’s wife, though they’re later described as the “heads” of the company, plural. 

Just to be clear, this is Jack’s business. There’s a perception that Jack is a bad business man because he and Janet fight over company decisions, and Jack looses the business after Janet dies, but Jack looses the company YEARS after Janet dies, and maintains it for about a year after No Man’s Land at that. We’re not told how Jack looses the business, but he’s got to be doing something right. Janet isn’t necessarily the “real brains” of Drake Industries. 

And I’m not... gonna... touch the... exploitation and racism because... I’m not qualified to do that. But, here’s the panel. The Drakes sure seem exploitative and racist in their business decisions. Someone else can... analyze that with more nuance. 

Regardless how how long they’ve been fighting, when their lives are in danger, the Drakes fall back into a loving husband and wife. Their marriage may be falling apart, but they do care about each other. 

I want to show these panels because it shows that Tim and Jack do have things in common. They’re both level headed in a crisis and can be somewhat cold in their practicality. Janet meanwhile and silent. Jack is later willing rant and rave at their captors, but Janet remains silent. 

That is, until they’re alone, and she finally lets herself fall apart. 

God, Jack can be obnoxious. Janet just looks miserable and resigned. I actually think Tim takes after his parents in this respect in equal measure. Tim can have a temper, but he can also be fairly melancholy and defeatist. 

Jack keeps reminding Janet to be strong and in control, which could be period typical sexism? But Jack seems so practiced and ready with the words of encouragement, and with Tim’s history with depression, I wonder if Janet has an inclination towards it as well. 

As the end approaches, when Jack brings up Tim, Janet seems to have a lot of regret. She talks about “wasting” the good things, and I don’t think it’s too big of a stretch to assume she’s talking about time spent with her only child. 

From this point on, Janet is at times spoken of, but not seen. Like here, when Jack says Janet wouldn’t approve of him and Tim being so “far apart.” He says this after he tells him he takes back his threat to send him back to boarding school, which might imply Janet was against the idea of boarding school? Though she obviously lost that argument when she was alive. 

Jack will of course renege on this later, but that’s Jack Drake for you. 

Or here in Tim’s illness induced dream, where he gets everything he wants. Though, since this is a fantasy of Tim’s, where his father and girlfriend are both more accepting and understanding than they are in real life, I would take this depiction of Janet with a grain of salt. 

After loosing Drake Industries, Jack thinks about Janet (though, they call her Catherine/Cathy for some fucking reason) during his depressive episode. And... uh... 

Hallucinates a Valkyrie???? Is this symbolic of suicidal thoughts, or is she... real? Or is he seriously hallucinating? 

Anyway, we’re not here to discuss Jack’s mental state, the fact that he forgot Tim’s birthday, or that concerning “I was going to knock some sense into you but you’re still bigger than me” statement from Tim, we’re here to talk about Janet. And even though this entire arc is about Jack mourning his first wife, they don’t SAY anything about Janet herself at all. I mean, they don’t even get her name right, so I guess what was I expecting. 

Then there’s Origins and Omens, which also doesn’t say anything about Janet, except that Tim’s memory of her is faulty - Janet was poisoned, her assistant Jeremy’s throat was slit on television, but Tim seems to have conflated the death he did see with the death he didn’t. 

The only piece of canon to suggest that Janet might be cold, is Tim compares her to Thalia. And even then, he’s really just saying Janet was protective of him. It’s kind of a scary look to make at your kid, but Bruce does the same thing, so. 

I do want to say... it’s not 100% clear if Tim is even talking about Janet. He could be talking about Dana. Dana was observably protective of Tim, though I don’t think he’s ever called her mom. He PROBABLY means Janet. 

And finally we have Tim visiting his mother’s grave (in a duel Christian/Jewish cemetery, make of that what you will), where Tim says she was “a little religious.”

And that’s it! That is all we know about Janet Drake in New Earth. Hardly the Mom From Hell, but she isn’t perfect. I’d be interested in seeing some alternate depictions of her within the fandom. 

I’m still gonna eat up Terrible Parents From Hell like a starving puppy dog, though. Just some food for creative thought. 

[jackdaw-and-hattrick]

Family, they’ll drive you insane!

Pt. 1

Danny’s classmates were staring at him. Not anything new; he’d been bullied throughout his school career, so he tended to ignore the whispers and backward glances. What he couldn’t miss was when the girl he’d been calling French Braid since they first started Introductory Psych (Jazz’s orders) a few months back decided to snap a pic while she thought he was focusing on his notes. Like Danny had focused on anything not related to space or engineering in his half-life, he’d expected it to end up on a “secret” group chat, you know, the usual. He’d hear about it; of course, he would; there were no secrets kept from the dead and only some from the half-dead. What he hadn’t expected was to wake up at fuck all in the morning to his usual social media updates courtesy of Tucker (yes, memes are a love language, thank you very much) and, instead of the usual celebrity gossip and cat pics, was his very own dumb mug in all its glory. The tagline? New Wayne Just Dropped??? Secret Bruce Wayne/Harley Quinn love child??

Well, that was new. Below were two more, one of a middle-aged man in a close-fit suit smiling broadly at the camera. Danny had to admit there was a striking similarity between him and the man (Bruce Wayne, he guessed. He’d never really cared about celebrities). His hair was black and shone in that off way that Sam said always reminded her of ravens (she claimed that’s the only reason she ever dated him) and ice blue eyes. He had a stronger jawline than Danny but the same high cheekbones and barely concealed eye bags. The other picture was of a woman, one he recognized, though they’d never met. It was Dr. Quinzell; he recognized her from the shrine in Jazz’s room. The Dr. was a different story than Mr. Wayne, but there were still some similarities. They had the same big eyes, a small button nose, and the same slightly lopsided smile that spread from ear to ear. Danny’s jawline matched her’s more closely than Bruce’s. All three had dimples Danny had spent his life ignoring. (You can only take being bullied ‘bout somethin’ so long before you get sensitive about it.) So yeah, if you were looking in from the outside, you’d see the resemblance. Too bad for them; Danny already knew who his parents were, not that they were on speaking terms just now.

Now, Danny had two options here. Either ignore it or lean right in. Arguing doesn’t work. Ever. So Danny did what he always did in these situations; he made everything worse. He made himself a TikTok account, specifically, and reacted to the original video with a solid fifteen seconds of (slightly maniacal) laughter, followed by a wink. There, given anyone found this, it should shake things right up.

(“Like an ant terrarium,” his brain so helpfully supplied, “Like a bag of goldfish”)

His chaotic task of the morning accomplished, Danny got back to getting ready for school, (and after absolutely not skipping breakfast, no sirree!), he headed out. Luckily, Chad (his roommate) hadn't slept in the apartment for about a week so that he could escape unscathed and un-annoyed. Poe, Danny’s favorite roommate, seemed to be out as well. Hopefully harassing a hungover Chad.

After everything with his parents, Danny, he’d got the Hell outta dodge (and Danny knew a thing or two about Hell). See, Danny had come out to his parents, and well, it could have gone better.

(At least they didn’t dissect me) he reminds himself, thinking of his parents (At least it could have been worse)

(It’s better when it’s worse, then you aren’t waiting for the other shoe to drop.)

Tuck forged his transcript, and Sam’d set him up with a weekly allowance of a few hundred dollars. Her allowance, actually, plus some whenever her grandma snuck her a little something extra. Rich people, right? Somehow, against all odds or reason, Danny had managed to land a full ride to Gotham U via the Wayne STEAM scholarship project. He hadn’t even known he’d applied. The whole thing was Jazz’s idea, but… It was Jazz; if she had a plan, it probably was gonna happen, one way or another. So she’d submitted some old blueprints of his. A battery, he thinks, or maybe his upgraded (functioning) version of the Fenton Phone. Wam, bam, thank you, ma’am. Now Danny was attending free of charge with a pension, housing, and a fast track to the Wayne Research and Development department. Minus the roommate (Chad, Poe was an angel), it was a good setup.

It was cold outside, at least, judging by the thick coats and “knit” hats. As far as Danny was concerned, it was just balmy, but then so long as the temp was above 0* K, there wasn't much chance he’d notice. (there was an idea, tomorrow, he was gonna have to try something a little new with his outfit). Classes, while better than high school, dragged on nonetheless. He got his usual goodie bag of sideways glances and snickers (seriously, what about him made people so pissed and condescending?). Then around noon, something shifted. People were staring, sure, more than ever, but now they seemed almost… Scared.

Danny knew scared. In fact, some would say he was kinda an expert in the field (fuck off, Scaredy Crow, the adults were talking). He tasted it every time a bomb threat came in, every time a call came through after a Joker attack. For him, fear was as tangible as the smell of rain in the air. Danny knew that people picked on him because they were afraid, even just a little, of the kid in their chem class who never could wash off the offputting smell of death and ozone, like the child of a smoker who never felt clean. Everyone just trying to get one up on the jerk who made them so uncomfortable just by existing. It got worse after he died and then escalated on his ascension.

This? This was different. This fear was more focused, more concentrated. A deep-seated uneasy which seemed to permeate the air for miles. It felt like when he was in his Phantom form. Like he was a palpable threat. Danny kept his head down; no point stirring the pot. Finally, his day classes finished (he had precisely two night classes, but fortunately, they were both online). He turned on his notifications. Sixty-seven missed calls, mainly from Tucker, but a shocking number from Jazz for this to be a non-emergency. None from Sam, so likely not the actual end of the world, but still not great. Finally, after grabbing empanadas from a food truck and a milkshake for strength, Danny called Tucker and Jazz.

“THERE YOU ARE!!!”

Ok, wow, that was Jazz. Calm, sane Jazz.

“HAVE YOU CHECKED YOUR TIKTOK?!?” Tucker yelled, equally excited.

“...Umm...” Danny said, shifting through his admittedly crowded home screen, “Just gimmie a second… Holy shade!”

There were an ungodly number of notifications on his literal one single reaction.

“Alright, that's... Weird. But why are you guys trying to combust my phone?”

That was an exaggeration. His addition of Fenton Phones pretty much never caught on fire without a source after getting too many notifications... These days.

(He was thinking of designing one that would combust after a randomly generated number of calls. You know, for funsies!)

“Hold on, gimme a second!” Tucker scrambled to send Danny a link to whatever nonsense was cutting into his free time. “Here we go!”

A video popped up on Danny’s screen. It was the video he’d reacted to earlier, but where he would have stood on screen was a very familiar doctor, mirroring his reaction. Fifteen seconds of laughter, followed by a wink. Down in the tags, a sentence; “#Hey kiddo!#Long time no see!”. A very familiar grin stretched across his face.

“I don't see the issue here.”

“There isn’t one!” Jazz said, still glowing like a rave and with far too sharp of teeth, “It's just... Dr. Quinzell!!! -Your video!!! -Called you kiddo!”

“Focus, Folk, I need sentences.”

Jazz took a couple of deep breaths, the screen dimming noticeably as she centered herself.

“Danny, Dr. Harleen Quinzell, my childhood hero, is not only being mistaken for your parent, my parent by association, but she’s reacting positively!”

“Easy, Ska,” Tuck said, “She’s reacting, not handing over adoption papers.”

Jazz hummed, rocking a bit and still glowing.

“Hey,” Danny admonished, “don't ruin her dreams!”

“So what are you gonna do with this?”

“Oh?” Danny smiled even wider, “I’ve got a few ideas.”

“Oh no, I know that look!” Tucker said, his grin betraying him thoroughly, “That's… Hmm… Gimme a second.”

Tucker pulled up two photos, a screenshot of Danny and the unmistakable Harley Quinn Grinn™️.

“A true family resemblance!”

Dying at this idea I just had: People become convinced Danny is the love child of Bruce Wayne (known manwhore) and Harley Quinn, because

-he looks just like a young Bruce, if (somehow) marginally paler, but with Harley’s button nose and big eyes.

-Then there’s his big, Harleyesque personality with Bruce’s faith in humanity and both’s proclivity for taking action against what they see as wrong.

-He’s a gymnastics champion like Harley with real intelligence buried deep under layers of plain silliness, though much more capable sobering up when situationally appropriate.

-Dangerous big animals love them and they have no answers why

-Both Danny and Bruce have BDE (Big Dad Energy)

-(also both Danny and Harley are high key metas but everyone just doesn’t mention that)

Both Harley and Danny do everything in their power to feed the rumors (without saying anything directly, that would be cheating), including Harley egging Bruce on camera while shouting “pay up bitch!” And Danny taking up wearing one of Harley’s jackets.