#not included is steph and tim and dick who have been roped into keeping their date from being crashed | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

luxaofhesperides · 8 months ago

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Date Night Continuation ; requested by @xysidhequeen!

Duke has yet to see Stray.

Or, at least, he doesn’t think he’s seen Stray yet.

He could be anyone here, during the club’s Masquerade night, full of people covered in glitter, leather, and fancy masks covering most of their faces. Duke’s heard about this club before, seen its name pop up in some of Tim and Steph’s investigation, but he’s never gone inside.

But the note Stray left him at the GCU Museum Archives lead him here, with only the instructions: find me if you can lover boy.

So here’s Duke, scanning the crowd of masked club-goers, searching for Stray.

He shares a quick smile with a few people, smoothly wandering past searching hands, hoping for a dance. The drink he carries is just sparkling water so he doesn’t look out of place, undercover as he is. Duke is here as himself, not as the Signal, and it leaves him feeling exposed.

The clothes Steph picked out for him also contribute to that feeling, to be fair. It’s not all about him feeling more vulnerable outside of being Signal; in a crop top and tight dark jeans, it’s hard to feel covered at all. Wearing it, and the mask handed to him at the door, makes him feel like a different person as he weaves his way through dancing bodies all lit up by colorful lighting.

Every head of dark hair catches his attention, but none resemble Stay.

Duke really hopes this isn’t a joke. He doesn’t want to get his heart broken at the club.

He takes a moment to stop and lean against the wall next to the stairs that lead upstairs to the offices and VIP rooms, sipping on his drink. The crowd dances out, and a group of women next to him are singing offkey and happy, without a hint of insecurity as their drinks spill out of their cups and over their hands.

Stray is clever. He’s always got a snarky comment on his tongue and a laugh to follow. He slips out of every tight situation with ease, and though they all suspect he has some sort of power, Catwoman refuses to confirm.

Stray wouldn’t lead Duke to this club just to hide in the crowd.

Finishing his drink, Duke sets his empty glass on an unattended table, then glances around to make sure no one’s looking at him.

Then he steps back and pulls the light around him to shift and cover him, hiding him from sight.

The stairs lead up into a dark, dimly lit hallway. The floor must have been built with sound dampeners in place, the loud music turned into a distant throb of bass.

Instead of the modern, black and sleek look of the club downstairs, the upper floor is must more elegant. An oriental rug in muted green colors decorates the hallway and abstract art pieces hang on the walls.

All the doors to the VIP rooms are closed and require keycard access.

The office at the very end of the hall, however, has light spilling into the hallway from the barely opened door.

On silent feet, Duke makes his way down the hallway, double checking the placement of all the security cameras. There’s one in the corner, but surely seeing a door move slightly won’t make the security guards think there’s an intruder; so far, no one’s connected it to the Bats, but there has been an uptick in people reporting haunted buildings in Gotham.

Guess it’s time to add another building to that list.

Duke pulls open the door until he has just enough space to enter. The office appears empty when he looks around, taking note of the large wooden desk in the back and the leather couches to the side. This is definitely a place where mob leaders meet with the club owner to either get a share of the profits, setting up a meeting with other gangs to sell weapons, or deliver drugs to be sold in the club.

And there’s also an impressive display of items in a cabinet in the back, the glass doors giving perfect views of the antique watches, Chinese fans, and small stone sculptures of animals. All are evenly spaced out, making it clear that something has been stolen that was once in the empty space between a fan on display and a bird painted in gold.

He checks that there are no cameras in the office. Then Duke releases his hold on the light around him and uses his powers to try to see if he can see where Stray went after hitting the office.

A faintly glowing outline of Stray appears, taking out a stone wolf before carefully closing the cabinet door. But instead of heading to the window to make his escape, this past visage of Stray turns to the couches and sits down, facing the door. He doesn’t move again after that.

Duke tilts his head, then closes the office door completely. It won’t be enough to keep Stray from slipping away again, but it will at least prevent anyone from finding them up here.

“Did I keep you waiting?” he asks as he heads for the couches. With his powers still active, Duke can see where Stray has hidden himself, invisible to anyone who isn’t Duke.

“And here I was, thinking I was being so clever. I thought your powers had to do with shadows?”

Strays voices rings out clear from the couch, then he fades back into sight. Duke gladly lets go of his power, blinking his eyes behind the mask to adjust to normal vision again.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” he responds, watching as Stray gets to his feet, stone wolf in his hands. It holds a strange green glow, shining out of a crack in the stone along its back.

He can’t pay attention it for long, though, as Stray crosses the distance to meet him. Selina has certainly taught him well; every movement is purposeful and elegant as he circles around Duke, reaching out with a gloved finger to drag his touch along the exposed skin of his back.

His touch is electrifying and sends shivers through Duke’s body. He barely dares to breathe as Stray completes his slow circuit around him, looking him over with dark eyes.

“Did you get dressed up just for me?” he purrs, leaning closer to Duke.

“You wanted a date,” he replies, “I’m not one to disappoint.”

“But apparently, I am,” Stray pouts. “This is part of the chase, okay? I’m not the type of guy to take you to a club for our first date.”

First date? That’s… implying things Duke very much wants to be true.

“Why’d you stay, then? Just to tease me?”

Feeling bold, with no eyes on him but Stray, Duke catches him around the waist with his arm and pulls him close. “Or were you hoping to have your way with me while no one’s around?”

Stray’s cheeks turn a deep, charming red. His flirtatious persona falls apart as he turns his face away, trying to hide behind his hands. The heat of the moment fades away into something lighter, more like the fun they’re used to when they’re chasing each other on rooftops. Duke smiles and gently knocks his head against Strays.

“Come on,” he says, “Don’t get all shy on me now.”

“I can’t believe Cat said that this would be easy. I can’t handle acting like that for so long!”

“Wait, were you purposefully trying to act like Catwoman?”

Stray nods, embarrassed. “She gave me a bunch of tips and promised that they would work on Bats. Which they do, but I wasn’t prepared for you to hit back!”

“Stray,” Duke begins, holding back a laugh, “You know that I want to date you, right? Not Catwoman.” Just the thought makes him mentally shudder in disgust. No way would he ever be into Selina, not after he’s seen her with Bruce. Plus, she practically the same age as him mom. And anyways, who has time to chase after Selina when Stray is right there?

“I know, but I haven’t gone on a date in like, years. I panicked, okay!”

“Well, if you’re done with being chased, how about we get out of here?”

Stray perks up, finally lifting his face from his hands. “Sure. I’m still going to take this with me, though.” He holds up the stone wolf, as if Duke had forgotten.

“That’s fine.”

“Really?” Stray squints at him suspiciously. “Not going to make me put it back? Tell me off for stealing?”

Normally, he would, but Duke doesn’t care much about what happens to the trinkets of a profitable club owner with ties to different mob families. “Does it look like I’m here as the Signal?”

Stray looks him up and down, consideringly, then taps the side of his masquerade mask. “Well, you’ve got a mask on, don’t you? Isn’t that all you Bats need?”

“We also need a reason to get involved and risk having our identities exposed. This isn’t one of those times.”

“So, what, if I steal while on a date with you, that’s fine?”

Duke shrugs. “I mean, I’d prefer if you didn’t, but you’re not hurting anyone and the club owner is rich enough to buy more shit. Besides, you have a reason for taking that instead of any of the gold, right?”

“Right,” Stray answers slowly, as if he wasn’t expecting Duke to by cool with it. Which is strange, since Duke wouldn’t be trying to date Catwoman’s apprentice if he wasn’t okay with a little bit of crime in his love life. It’s one of the first things he got over when he came to terms with his crush.

“So?” Duke prompts. “We heading out now?”

Stray laughs, a little disbelieving, and smoothly slips out of Duke’s grasp. “Sure, we can go. Keep up if you can, lover boy.”

And then he’s out the window, scaling to the top of the building. Duke hurries to follow, making handholds from shadows to give him a boost. Stray stays visible this time, thankfully, so Duke can easily track his path over the rooftops, giving chase.

Stray stops every so often to make sure Duke is following. He moves with intent, clearly leading them somewhere, and Duke is more than happy to follow his lead. He jumps onto roofs, freerunning recklessly, and passes through shadows every so often to close the distance between them a little more. Every few streets, Duke catches a glimpse of flashes of the wild grin decorating Stray’s face and it pushes him to go faster, to keep up, to catch him.

He finally slows to a stop on the top of a high rise in the Diamond District, making his way up the side of the building with ease, despite how hard it is to move on the large, smooth, glass windows. He waits at the very top, peering down to where Duke uses shadows to travel up to join him.

Duke doesn’t bother with giving himself space to land, choosing instead to step right into Stray’s space, walking them away from the ledge with his hands on Stray’s waist.

“Caught you,” he breathes, catching his breath.

Stray’s shoulders shake lightly with bitten back laughter and his eyes are bright, googles pushed up to the top of his head.

“Only because I let you,” Stray replies. This lighthearted mood fades a bit and he reaches up to trace the bottom edges of Duke’s mask. “If you’re serious about this, you’ll have to take this off, you know.”

“I know. I’m fine with it.”

“Really? I thought Bats were super protective of their secret identities.”

“Selina knows all of us by name. We’ve known her for years. Honestly, I’d be shocked if you didn’t have some idea of who we are by now.”

“It’s still a pretty big secret to let loose,” Stray says, carefully saying nothing about if he has his suspicions or not. “Especially with me. I’ve only been here for a year.”

That’s one of the arguments Bruce presented when Duke mentioned going on a date with Stray. It’s a valid argument, don’t get him wrong, but there wasn’t much to say after Duke listed every single Rogue and hero who knew their identities. They might use that knowledge at times to target them as civilians, but even Gotham’s Rogues don’t want the Bats to leave; he may stop their crimes and do terrifying amounts of physical damage to them, but he also protects them from trigger happy cops who don’t value the sanctity of life.

Besides, Duke’s aiming for mutually assured destruction. Secret identities are important, for both Duke and Stray. So long as they can hold each other’s secrets, build trust around that, then they’ll be fine.

“I’m fine with it. Just as long as you’re fine with letting me know who you are under the mask.”

“I was planning on telling you even if you wanted to keep the mask on,” Stray admits. “Here, let’s sit down.”

He turns and walks towards the center of the roof, where a picnic blanket is laid out, with pillows for more comfortable sitting and two baskets waiting for them. Duke had been so focused on Stray that he missed it completely, and his heart skips a beat when he realizes that Stray had gone out of his way to make sure they had a nice first date with as much privacy as they could get.

The flirting and the chase has been fun and all, but Duke is especially weak to being romanced to sweetly.

“You set this up for us?” he asks as he follows Stray to the picnic blanket.

“I told you I wasn’t going to have our first place be at a club. I’m better than that.”

“No need to get defensive,” Duke smiles, sitting down next to Stray. “It’s very sweet. Just caught me a little off guard.”

“Yeah, well.” Stray shrugs, fiddling with the stone dog in his hand. He lets out a breath, sets the stone dog down, then pulls off his gloves and holds out a hand to Duke. “It’s a bit late, but hi. I’m Danny.”

What else could Duke do but take off his mask, after that? “Danny, huh? It suits you. I’m Duke.”

He doesn’t shake Danny’s hand. He lifts Danny’s hand up to his mouth and presses a soft kiss to his knuckles. “And I still want to take you out dancing. Is it too early to ask for a second date?”

It’s such a treat to see Danny’s cheeks flush red, his blue eyes bright and shining. It’s such a treat to get to have him outside of masks. There’s no persona they have to play, no responsibilities keeping them from simply being with each other.

“Definitely not,” he answers shyly. “Now stop being such a flirt and eat some dinner, I’m starving and I worked really hard on it.”

“Oh shit, you cooked?”

More and more, it’s clear that Danny is the guy of his dreams. Cute, funny, romantic, and cooks? Damn, Duke’s gonna need to step up his game for their second date.

“Yeah. I think it turned out good, but I also had a lot of help because I’m not used to cooking with ingredients that don’t fight back.”

Duke pauses where he’s unloading the first basket, full of still warm tiny potatoes, oven roasted to perfection and coated in herb butter. Ingredients that don’t fight back? Slowly, Duke sets the potatoes between them as he tries to make sense of the words. “Are you just used to working with live animals or something? Angry lobsters?”

“Oh, no. The food in my house growing up was always super contaminated and it made food come to life and attack us. The sausages liked to band together and try to revolutionize. They’re pretty vicious.”

“Okay, you have got to tell me more.”

Grinning, Danny does just that as he unloads his own basket, setting out plates and utensils.

It’s the most fun Duke’s ever had on a date. They spend hours on that roof, just talking, long after the food is gone. It’s only when the world goes fully dark in the hour just before dawn that they agree to head home to get some sleep.

They’re going to need it. Their second date is set and planned for the next night and Duke already can’t wait to see Danny again.

Dancing in the rain ; requested by @wandixx!

He hadn’t been expecting the Signal to chase after him. It is, after all, well after midnight, and he had seen the vigilante out earlier during the day.

Maybe the Bats are understaffed tonight, he muses as he leaps over the rooftops, a wild grin on his face. Being on the other side of a chase is a lot of fun, he’s discovering. He can see why Selina enjoys it so much.

Though, it probably has to do more with who’s chasing her than it is the chase itself.

But Danny’s become a bit of an adrenaline junkie after a few years of being a hero, fighting ghosts and governments. He’s not a hero anymore, especially not in Gotham, but being Catwoman’s partner in crime is way more fun than being responsible for everyone’s safety.

It’s like he’s doing anything bad, either. Selina can steal whatever she wants; if they couldn’t protect things against her, then should they really have it? Danny doesn’t focus on jewelry or gems. No, he takes ghost artifacts or items contaminated with ectoplasm back to the realms where they won’t cause problems to any humans. There are enough ecto-contaminated people in this world, solely from Amity Park. Best not to let that number grow.

So here he is, leaping over rain-slicked rooftops and only using a little bit of flying to keep ahead, holding a cursed pocket watch that a ghost had requested he return to them, with the Signal chasing after him, disappearing into shadows and popping up unexpectedly.

“Stray! Get back here!” Signal yells, and Danny takes a moment to spin on his heel to face the vigilante to stick his tongue out at him, then backflips away.

“I didn’t even steal anything important!” he returns, tossing the pocketwatch in the air ahead, then jumps up to catch it and scales his way up to the roof of the next building.

“Seriously,” Signal says, suddenly in front of him. “Stop running and we can talk this out.”

“Woah!” Danny tries to get around him, trips over his own feet, and crashes into the Signal’s chest.

“Careful, there.” He looks up to see the Signal’s smile, and he absolutely can not be blamed for having his half dead heart skip a beat. He’s in the arms of a hero who’s smiling at him so sweetly, what’s a guy to do? “Ready to talk now?”

Danny goes intangible for a moment, smoothly sliding out of the Signa’s grip. “Nope,” he grins, starting up the chase once again.

The rain isn’t very strong, and the drops feel cool against his face as he runs, getting a little more air with each jump as he uses more of his flight to keep ahead. He can hear the Signal chasing after him again, heavy footsteps that start and stop unpredictably as he travels between shadows.

Just to be safe, Danny stashes the pocket watch inside his chest, leaving his hands free to grab onto the rough brick of the walls and scale them up, aiming to go higher and higher. Maybe if he finds a good building, he can dramatically fall off the edge and fly away invisibly.

“Got you!”

The Signal pops up out of the wall and grabs Danny, who yelps and tries to pull his arms away. The Signal is too strong, and his tight grip on Danny’s wrists is warm against the chill of the rain.

They stand there for a moment, just staring at each other as they try to catch their breath. And then, “Is that any way to treat a guy?” Danny jokes, trying one last time to pull his wrists free.

“It is when it’s you,” the Signal replies. “Man, you sure know how to run.”

“I’ll be sure to put that on my resume for my next heist.”

“Seriously, can we talk?”

Danny eyes him curiously. The other Bats mostly tried to take back whatever it is he’d stolen that night, occasionally trying to get information from him. None of them had outright asked to have a chat with him. The Signal at least has some manners, compared to the rest of him. There’s no harm in sticking around for one conversation.

It helps that the Signal is cute, especially when he had saved Danny a few weeks ago.

Sue him, he’s a bit soft on the Signal. Wouldn’t anyone be with their favorite hero?

“Alright,” Danny says, relaxing. “Go ahead. Talk.”

“Great! Okay, um.” The Signal bites his lip and Danny should really look away, but his eyes are fixed to his mouth. He doesn’t speak for a solid minute, during which Danny really begins to feel the chill of the rain. “Can I get less comments from the peanut gallery?” he says suddenly.

“What?” Danny laughs, confused.

The Signal sighs. “My comms are on. The others are being annoying. If they wanted to ask you questions, they should have caught you first.”

“Oh, protecting me from the big bad Bats? My hero,” Danny says sweetly, pretending to swoon. Except, the Signal follows his movements, releasing his wrists to catch him by the waist, holding him steady. Danny’s breath hitches, and from how close they are, he has no doubt that the Signal heard it. They freeze for a moment, then the Signal dips him like some fainting Victorian maiden.

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind sweeping you up in my arms.” The smirk on his face only lasts a moment before he grimace and says, “I shouldn’t have said that on open comms. Man, they’re annoying. It’s not my fault I know how to flirt.”

Danny…

Well. Danny short circuits for a moment, running the words over his mind again, then blushes so hard he’s sure there’s steam coming off his cheeks. “You’re flirting?” he squeaks. “With me?”

“Flirting,” a new voice confirms, making them both jump, stumbling against each other as Black Bat hops down onto their rooftop. “Both shy and silly. I’m better.”

“You can’t even ask out Spoiler,” the Signal retaliates.

“She can’t even WHAT?” Spoiler yells as she also vaults herself over the alley below to join them. “You want to ask me out?”

Though she doesn’t say anything, Danny can practically feel Black Bat’s glare through her mask. The Signal winces, then says, “Oops.”

“Man, you can keep yourself busy, clearly Sig doesn’t need backup,” Spoiler says. “I need to go on a date with Black Bat. The rest of you suckers are on your own!” And then she grabs Black Bat’s hand and grapples away.

There’s a beat of silence, then Danny and the Signal share a glance and start laughing.

“Well,” Danny says, “Good for them! Good for them.”

“They’re probably just going to Bat Burger.”

“And are you going to be treating me to a burger any time soon? I should be compensated for this conversation, you know.”

“Please, if I was taking you out on a date, it wouldn’t be to Bat Burger. I’d take you out dancing.”

It sounds like a date his dad would take his mom on. It sounds nice. Danny smiles and leans in closer to the Signal, taking hold of one of his hands. With the other, he puts Signal’s hand on his waist, then brings his own up to the Signal’s shoulder.

“Why not dance with me now?”

Danny leads them in a few clumsy turns of a waltz, silently thanking Sam for forcing him to take a few ballroom dance lessons with her. The Signal seems a little dazed, following his lead, and when he lightly squeezes Danny’s waist, he shivers.

Catwoman should be done with Batman soon. They had agreed to meet up at the newly opened Vintage Boutique in Diamond District, and he intends to beat her there.

Reluctantly, Danny pulls away from the Signal with one final spin, and hops up onto the edge of the roof. “If you can find me during the day,” he says, “Then I’ll dance with you again. See you around, Signal!”

And with that, Danny hops backwards off the roof, free-falling towards the ground before he lets gravity lose hold of him and slips into invisibility, flying up just as the Signal peers over the edge, searching for him.

Unable to help himself, Danny floats closer until he can give the Signal a quick kiss on the cheek, then flies off, grinning wildly.

He certainly can’t wait to see the Signal again.

Maybe if he hired a few guys to pretend to rough him up while Signal’s out patrolling…

Well, either way, this cat is already half dead so he can jump straight to satisfaction bringing him back. And, hopefully, back into Signal’s arms again when they won’t be interrupted by other Bats.

He’s already looking forward to it.

. . .

[send me a ghostlights prompt!]

#ghostlights #dc x dp #dp x dc #dcxdp #dpxdc #prompt fill #my writing #dukes pov now!!!#and now we have more of these adorable flirty boys (who are just barely old enough to be in the club dont worry)#not included is steph and tim and dick who have been roped into keeping their date from being crashed #duke cashed in a few favors for this and with the condition that he tells them all about it once its done #theyre gonna tease him a whole lot for getting back at like. 4am lol.#but theyre also gonna see how much he likes danny and decide to support duke while also trying to meet stray and make sure he doesnt break #sr #for anyone who missed seeing this addition :)

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sqoiler · 4 years ago

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On the Thursday of the last week of kindergarten, the DVD that Miss Martinez was going to play turns out to be scratched beyond recognition, and so she gets out construction paper, scissors, markers, and glitter glue.

“Father’s Day isn’t for a few more weeks,” she says. “But why don’t we make some cards, just like we did for Mother’s Day, okay?”

The kids all get to work, reaching for the pile of brightly-colored paper. Stephanie Brown, who will be turning six in August, is the last one to get up. She shifts through the leftover colors--black, a pukey shade of green, blue, white. She picks up the black one and takes it back to her desk. She does not want to make a stupid card for her stupid dad. The other kids at her table are enthusiastically chattering about their dads’ favorite colors and jobs and drawing crayon drawings onto the paper. The girl next to her is cutting a snowflake out with safety scissors.

Steph picks up a white crayon and stares at her blank card. Across the room, Dexter raises his hand.

“What if we don’t have a dad?” he asks. Steph remembers from Mother’s Day that Dexter has two moms.

“Make a card for someone else,” Miss Martinez suggests. “Your grandfather, maybe. Or a neighbor, or a hero.”

A hero?

Steph looks at the black card before her, and her white crayon. She smiles.

And she makes a Father’s Day card for Batman.

-----

On the Monday of the last week of first grade, Mrs. Arnold, the art teacher, sits down her class and passes out white paper.

“Father’s Day cards,” she explains. Stephanie Brown, seven in August, considers making her own father a card. She didn’t get him anything last year but he didn’t seem to notice, and she’s not really that mad at him this year. But he didn’t seem to notice, and when Steph thinks about it, she thinks Robin probably doesn’t make Batman a card. Steph could make another card for her own dad at home, and make one for Batman at school.

Mind made up, she reaches for black markers and gets to work.

-----

On the Tuesday of the last week of second grade, Stephanie Brown, almost eight years old, sits down in art class and carefully draws a black blob with pointy ears, and a red and green and yellow stick figure, next to it, and she tries to remember what Nightwing looks like, and when she can’t remember she just draws Robin again but bigger.

HAPPY FATHER’S DAY, she writes in red marker, and she closes the card.

------

On the Wednesday of the last week of third grade, Mrs. Arnold passes out watercolors in art class with pieces of thick paper, and tells them to make presents for their dads. Stephanie Brown, nearly nine, hasn’t seen her dad in almost four months, and she uses up almost all the black water colors at her table painting a picture of Batman.

------

On the last week of fourth grade, nobody sits down their class to have them make Father’s Day cards.

On the Thursday before Father’s Day, Crystal passes Stephanie Brown, age almost-ten, a card bought from the store and tells her that they’ll mail it to Blackgate the next morning. Happy Father’s Day, the card says. You’re the best dad ever! the card says.

Steph stares at it for a long time.

Then she tears out a piece of notebook paper and folds it in half, taking the rainbow gel pens she got in December and picking up the pink one. She squints at it and sees that it’s nearly run out, so she picks up the purple one instead.

When she’s done drawing Batman and Batgirl and Robin and Nightwing, she decides she likes purple, and she folds the notebook paper inside the card her mother gave her, and she doesn’t mail anything to Blackgate the next day.

-----

On the last day of fifth grade, Mr. Robinson turns on The Great Mouse Detective and sets out a stack of colored paper and scissors. He tells the class they can do whatever they want during the movie and even sets up chips and cookies, then he sits in the back of the classroom and maybe falls asleep. Stephanie Brown, ten-going-on-eleven, wants something to do with her hands, so she takes a black piece of paper and cuts out a batsymbol. She learned how to draw them by sticking her head out her window at night and looking at the sky, and she’s proud of her newfound skill. When she’s done cutting it out, she’s not really sure what to do besides maybe tape it to her shirt, but her dad’s been out for a week now and she thinks he’d be mad if he saw that.

Instead, she folds it in half and writes HAPPY FATHERS DAY across the middle using white-out. Skye, the girl who sits next to her, leans over and asks what she’s doing, and Steph pauses. She’s...she’s not really sure why she keeps making these. To prove a point, maybe. She’s not really sure what point, though.

“Do you think Batman ever gets cards?” she asks in a whisper.

“Yes,” Skye says. “Probably every day.”

“Oh,” Steph says. “Well, I probably won’t send it then.”

“Okay,” Skye says, and then she downs half of her dixie cup of orange juice and turns back to the movie. Steph puts purple glitter glue on her batsymbol.

------

On the first week of April, Stephanie Brown, age seventeen, pulls a plastic bin out from under her desk. There’s a cardboard box beside her, and two other cardboard boxes on her empty mattress, full and taped shut. There’s a full duffel bag of clothes next to her, and her posters from her walls have been taken down and rolled up. All she has to do is finish going through her desk, and then she’s done. The rest of her things will be sold or something, she’s not sure.

She pries off the lid of the bin before her and takes out old school binders and ragged notebooks, paper folders falling apart and ancient art projects. She lifts out a collage she probably made in seventh grade and tries to decipher the meaning behind it. There is a cutout of red heels from Kohls on top of a blue betta fish.

Steph decides it will go in the trash pile and sets it aside, lifting out a yellow plastic folder. She opens it, curious, and lifts out a black paper batsymbol. She gasps when she opens it.

Her Father’s Day cards!

Of course, she had never sent them, so she has all--she counts quickly--six of them. She looks them over, laughing at her kindergarten misspellings and looking at the evolution of her drawing ability fondly. This is--she totally forgot about this. Steph closes the folder reverently and puts it on top of her duffel bag. There’s no way she can get rid of this--especially with the purple cape still in the hidden part of her closet. Especially not with where she’s packing up to move to.

----

On the third Sunday in June, Stephanie Brown, age eighteen-in-August, takes up her yellow plastic folder from where she hid it under her new mattress, and she leaves her room, tucking it under her arm. She gets like four steps down the hall before another door opens, and already an accusing voice says, “What’s that?”

Steph whirls around.

“None of your business,” she says. Tim makes a face at her and she makes the same one back, because she is very mature. To prove her maturity, she slides down the banister on her way to the kitchen.

Dick and Cass are in there, doing the dishes. Steph watches them for a second and then says, “Why do you have dishes at this hour?” ‘This hour’, upon checking, turns out to be almost noon, but nobody wakes up early in this house.

“Breakfast for Alfred,” Cass says.

“You can do that?” Steph asks, thinking that Alfred would get offended if someone tried to cook for him.

“You can today,” Dick says, shrugging, and Steph frowns, realizes that they ganged together to make breakfast on Father’s Day for Alfred and didn’t invite her.

It was probably an accident, she reasons, but then she remembers Tim and turns to face him.

“Why didn’t you make breakfast for Alfred?”

“I was sleeping,” he says.

“He’s impossible to wake up so we called it a lost cause,” Dick says. “We have extra pancakes, though, help yourself.”

Steph is still a little affronted, but she knows that she��s the newest person in the house and she’s only staying here until her mom’s done with rehab and whatever, so they probably didn’t think she’d want to be included, even though Alfred is everyone’s grandpa, even Babs’s. She goes to pick up a pair of pancakes and bites into one, deciding syrup can wait, and she leaves before they can rope her into conversation. Besides, she’s a little scared they’ll start referring to whatever plans they have with Bruce, and she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to react.

She heads to Bruce’s study and pushes open the door, glad to find him in there. She thinks if she had to search for him she’d probably lose her nerve and chicken out. Bruce glances up for like half a second and then looks back at the computer, and she takes a deep breath and steps inside fully.

Now or never, she thinks, and so she marches right up to him and slams the yellow folder on the desk.

“What’s this?” Bruce says, and Steph isn’t really sure how to explain, so she says, “It’s, uh, I found it when I was packing my stuff, and it’s...it’s from a while ago, but I thought you might, um…”

She trails off as he picks up the folder and opens it, raising an eyebrow at the contents from inside. She kinda wants to look at his face, but also totally doesn’t want to do that, so instead she looks at the desk, and opens her dumb mouth back up. “They always used to have us do Father’s Day cards at school or whatever and I never wanted to make one for Arthur so I made those instead ‘cause...well I don’t really remember why but whatever I thought you might want to see them.”

“Stephanie,” Bruce says, and she shuts up and bites her lip, looking up at him. “You...made these?”

“Yeah,” she says. He looks back down at the cards in his hands, all spread out--even the one that was intended for Arthur that Steph never sent. He touches the one from kindergarten. “Um. You can keep them.”

Bruce stands up. Steph isn’t really sure at all what he’s thinking, but he steps away from his chair and wraps his arms around her, holds her tight.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

“Happy Father’s Day,” she says, and when he squeezes her she closes her eyes, exhales, and squeezes him back.

(based on this post x) (ao3 here x)

#(posts fathers day fic in december)#stephanie brown #bruce wayne #brotp: slap #my writing #long post

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violetsmoak · 5 years ago

Text

Pieces of April [5/?]

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21099044/chapters/50202530

Summary: On the anniversary of his death, Jason’s second life takes an abrupt new turn and he’s faced with a challenge that neither Batman nor the All-Caste prepared him for.

Rating: PG-13 (rating may change later)

Warning(s): Past Jason/Isabel, kidfic, minor canon character death (pretty sure you can guess who, not either of our boys!), I’ll add more warnings/tags as I think of them.

Canon-Compliance: Takes place in between the two RHATO series, so after Roy and Kori and before Artemis and Bizarro.

Author’s Note: And now, for a change in POV!

First Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Of course, right after Jason leaves, the baby wakes up.

And starts to wail.

Tim freezes, all of his reflexes seemingly dissolved by the unyielding sound that such a tiny creature should not be able to produce.

Whatever Jason said about him being calm, in actuality, he’s completely freaked out over this whole baby thing.

Over the whole Jason’s baby thing.

This whole situation is just not in his area of expertise, nor does it require any of his previous training. And he can’t really see a situation where, on the infinitesimal chance Jason decides to give up vigilantism and become a stay-at-home-dad, he’d ever ask Tim of all people to babysit.

But then, right now, Jason’s not here.

The nurse from earlier returns, offering him a sympathetic look.

“It’s about time for her next feeding,” she tells him. “Do you want us to take her, or would you like to do it?”

Take her, please, Tim wants to say but bites his tongue.

He wasn’t talking out of his ass when he acknowledged that babies needed to be held. Human contact is good (even if that wasn’t basic medical knowledge, his own semi-neglected childhood can attest to that) and he all but volunteered himself for this to help Jason. He should at least do what he can.

Holding down the fort apparently includes holding down the baby…

“If you could just show me…?” he suggests, a sheepish smile pasted on and hopefully hiding his inner unease.

As expected, the woman’s expression turns into a mixture of amused and charmed. She chatters, motioning for him to take the chair Jason was sitting in before; Tim sits and lets her arrange the baby in his arms, showing him a light, gentle rocking motion to try to calm her.

“I’ll be right back with her formula,” the nurse says, though Tim barely hears her over the furious wailing.

He squints down at the scrunched-up face, trying to figure out how he ended up in this situation. Also, what exactly possessed him to call Jason his partner?

Because it’s the first believable thing to come to mind that didn’t involve spontaneous resurrections?

And technically, it’s even true. Sometimes.

And he was worried about Jason.

They may not be brothers, but they are family, and with that comes a certain awareness of each other. He knew the minute he saw Jason outside the dive bar that he was freaked out. He decided he would help him then, and he’s not about to back out now even if things have become way more complicated than anticipated.

The nurse returns with the bottle of formula, and as soon as she’s explained how to properly position and feed the baby—apparently there’s more to it than just sticking a synthetic nipple in her mouth and waiting for her to chug—and prevent gas, she vanishes again.

To allow them “bonding” time.

Not what I thought I’d be doing when I got up this morning…

Tim’s done the baby thing before—sort of. But Steph’s daughter was bigger when she was born. Jason’s is tiny, and Tim is half expecting her to break into pieces before his eyes. Whatever manufactured confidence he had before, had been in the moment—and mostly for Jason’s benefit.

It had been imperative to get the infant out of the other man’s arms while he was clearly on the verge of a panic attack. Especially since no one ever knows how a cornered Jason Todd might react.

Not that I think he’d ever hurt an infant, but he doesn’t exactly process shock the way normal people do. It never hurts to have contingencies.

As he watches the baby guzzle her formula with surprising gusto, Tim finds himself going over a mental list of things that have to be dealt with if they’re going to get through life’s latest curveball more or less intact.

Paperwork for the baby. Arrangements for the mother’s body.

Isabel Ardila.

He knows her name only from the files as the woman Jason was seeing prior to the Joker’s last assault on the bats. She was caught in the crossfire, forcibly dosed with heroin to play on Jason’s past traumas, and following her recovery, ended things with Jason.

Or Jason ended things with her, Tim’s not sure. He never asked and he doesn’t intend to.

However it ended, clearly there was enough estrangement that she didn’t bother to tell Jason he was a father. It’s a decision he can, unfortunately, imagine the reasons for, even if he’s not sure he agrees with them.

Not like we can do anything about that decision now, though.

The baby slowly goes limp in his arms, and Tim has a brief moment of irrational, paranoid panic—has she been drugged?—before realizing she’s just fallen back asleep.

“Right. Because that’s a normal thing that babies do,” he murmurs to himself, and carefully maneuvers himself over to her crib to put her down on her stomach, like he’s seen in countless television commercials.

Then, uncertain, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and does a quick internet search, balking at the sheer amount of SIDS related articles, and scoops her up again to reposition her on her back.

Should probably tell Jason about that when he gets back…

Assuming Jason comes back.

Or even wants his help.

Which, Tim decides, he’ll offer anyway. Though that may mean playing to his strengths more than anything, preparing for every eventuality and having a series of back-up plans.

He highly doubts Jason’s thinking of any of that right now.

Phone in hand Tim begins typing quickly, pulling up tabs in his search engines for whatever concern pops into his head as he reads.

He suspects Jason is too uneasy about the whole situation to want to keep the baby, so Tim’s going to have to research adoption agencies through official and unofficial channels.

Open or closed, not sure what option he’d go with.

And then, there’s always the small chance he will keep his child. It’s a possibility that seems as likely as Bruce’s sudden predilection for joining the Russian ballet, but stranger things have happened in the family.

He skims through several forums and advice blogs for how to care for a newborn, makes a list of important supplies they might need in the immediate future and forwards it to Tam.

It’s several minutes later that his phone chimes, notifying him of her list of replies.

- Why the hell did you send me a list with diapers?

- Is this for a baby?

- Omg, did you kidnap a baby?

- Is that a thing that happens?

-First ninjas, now baby-napping?

Tim sighs and rolls his eyes. Normally he’d find her bemused and slightly-panicked responses a little amusing, but he doesn’t have the energy to go into details, even if Jason hadn’t sworn him to secrecy.

-A friend of mine has an emergency. Drop everything off at my apartment, please.

There’s a beat, another chime, but Tim doesn’t get a chance to read the message as his screen suddenly switches. The air is filled with a generic ringtone that Tim hastily mutes, eyes flicking to the baby and back to his screen. The number flashes ‘Unknown’, but Tim recognizes the number from earlier that day.

He stands, wanders away from the crib to answer quietly. “What is it, Harper?”

“Jay called me,” the older man says without preamble. “Told me everything. About the kid, about Isabel.”

“Yeah,” Tim agrees quietly. “I’d say shock is an understatement.”

“No shit.” He sighs. “Listen, I talked him down as much as I could, but the rest is on you.”

“What? Why?”

“He says you’ve been helping him.”

“For now, until someone more qualified comes along,” Tim retorts, implication heavy in his voice.

Roy catches it because he lets out a bitter laugh. “Sorry to burst your bubble, bird boy, but that ain’t gonna be me.”

“What are you talking about? You’ve been in literally the same situation.”

“And I can’t right now. So I need you to be there for him.”

“He needs his friend,” Tim argues. “And he’s made very clear I’m not one of those.”

“Then you'd better become one fast, because I can’t.”

“Why the—” Tim’s eyes flick to the infant, and he can’t help giving in to the impulse to censor himself, lowering his voice, “—heck not?”

“Because I’m in a bad place right now,” Roy snaps. “I’m not in a good way for being around a kid, okay? I…” He pauses, like he’s weighing something, and then exhales. “I…fell off the wagon again.”

Tim's stomach sinks.

“Roy…”

“Don’t tell Jaybird,” Roy orders. “I just…I need to sort myself out before I can be any kind of help for him. I show up there now, I’ll just add to his problems.”

“But—”

“This is you being tagged in, okay? Don’t fuck it up.”

There’s a harsh click in Tim’s ear, leaving him listening incomprehensively to the dial tone for several seconds.

“Are you…are you kidding me?!” he hisses after a moment, only just refraining from throwing his phone across the room in frustration.

He didn’t realize before Roy’s call just how much he was counting on someone else to step in and take over in the emotional support department.

I’m not cut out for this. This sort of thing…it should be Dick. Or Alfred.

He spends the next hour once again reviewing what he did to get roped into all this.

When Jason comes back—and something inside Tim unknots in relief that he did come back—he’s as ashen-faced as before. This time, though, there’s a determined set to his shoulders.

They stand and stare at each other in silence for a good five minutes before Tim realizes Jason’s waiting for him to speak first.

Right. Tagged in. Let’s do this. Ease into it.

“So, what are you going to do?”

Tim winces.

Yeah, that wasn’t exactly subtle.

Jason doesn’t seem to notice the awkward, though.

“No idea,” he replies heavily, leaning against the doorjamb and letting his head thunk lightly against it.

“Social Services is obviously an option.”

“No way in hell,” Jason snaps, straightening up and looking fierce. “I don’t trust them. And you can’t tell me with all the Wayne resources you’ve got access to, we can’t find something better.”

Tim expected that. He might not have had the exact same harrowing experiences with foster care as Jason did, but his very brief stint left him with a hint of that same disillusion with the system.

It’s not something I’d wish on any kid, least of all Jason’s.

“We can look into it. Organize the best possible adoption scenario without dealing with Social Services. There are actually a lot of couples in the community who would be willing to adopt.”

“No. This kid isn’t growing up anywhere near capes or masks or stuff like that.”

Okay, that’s understandable. It also makes it less likely he intends to keep her.

“Whatever we do, it will take some time,” Tim cautions. “Placing a child with a family isn’t going to be as easy as sticking someone in Witness Protection.”

Jason snorts and shakes his head. “Only you would think that’s easy.”

“So, now that that’s figured out—what are you going to do once the tests are finished?” Tim asks, focussing on the practical. “I don’t find a family within the next day or so, you’re going to need to bring her somewhere. Assuming you’re adamant about keeping the rest of the Family out of this?” That receives only narrowed eyes in response. “Stupid question, sorry. But she’s going to have to stay somewhere until then. I wouldn’t recommend leaving her here at the hospital, for a number of reasons.”

Jasons frowns, thoughtful. Then,

“I’ll keep her for now,” he decides with a heaviness that Tim suspects is caused more by fear than dislike of children. “Until we find a better place for her. Some family that won’t mind doing this in private.”

“Okay,” Tim nods. “On that note—where exactly will you take her?”

Jason falters, looking like he’s not entirely sure what to say to that.

“I…my safehouses aren’t exactly babyproofed.”

“I don’t think that’s an issue until they start crawling,” Tim replies, trying for humor but the very idea sparks another flash of panic in Jason’s eyes. He’s looking at Tim now with something dangerously close to expectance, and a realization hits Tim.

He doesn’t want to be alone with this.

And it’s the fact he’s never seen Jason look so vulnerable that sparks a truly terrible idea.

I’m so going to regret this.

“I have a spare bedroom,” he offers, earning a sharp glance from Jason. “Just until you wrap your head around this and figure out the next move.”

He half expects Jason to scoff, or laugh in his face or say something insulting.

It’s decidedly worrying when the only thing that happens is Jason’s shoulders slump and he nods.

Jason’s shoulders slump, and he nods.

“Yeah. Yeah, that would be…good. Thanks, Drake.” He pauses, considering something, and then adds, “Tim.”

Next Chapter

________________________________________________________________

Your feedback matters! I want to know what you think of my story, so feel free to leave kudos, a comment or as many of these emojis as you want and let me know how you feel!

❤️️ = I love this story! 😳 = this was hot! 💐 = thank you for sharing this 🍵 = tea spilled 🍬 = so sweet and fluffy! 🚔 = you’re under arrest! the writing’s too good! 😲 = I NEED THE NEXT CHAPTER 😢 = you got me right in the feels

#jaytim #jaytim fanfiction #babyfic #accidental baby acquisition #enemies to lovers #Tim Drake #Jason Todd #Baby!Todd #coping with big news #eventual slash

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secretlystephaniebrown · 6 years ago

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Hands Curled Like Talons: Chapter 2

... things got busy, okay? but WE'RE BACK

A Mouth Full of Blood A Soul Full of Sorrow A Face Full of Scars The Bitter Taste of Graveyard Dirt A Golden Haired Ghost A Different Game ‘verse Previous Ao3

Stephanie Brown sat in a corner of the Bat Cave, and her hands shook as they lay on her thighs.

The Cave was crowded, packed tightly with vigilantes of all stripes. Cassandra was there, Duke by her side, occasionally turning her eyes towards Steph, as if to make sure that she was still there. Duke had brought Steph a glass of water, an hour ago, and she had drunk it to placate him, like she had eaten the sandwich that Alfred had brought her twenty minutes ago. It was a hollow motion, but it provided them reassurance that she was, in fact, alive.

She did not have the heart to tell them that Talia had once told her that she had been catatonic and still would eat and drink and fight.

Tim was across the room next to a man known as Batwing, with Tam Fox, who he was trying hard to pretend he wasn’t dating around Steph, as a strange form of acknowledgement for the connection that had once existed between them, going over footage of Steph’s apartment, looking for clues.

Dick Grayson and Damian and Colin were standing next to Bruce, arguing about something that Steph probably should care more about than she was.

Barbara Gordon, flanked by Dinah Lance, a woman that Steph remembered dearly from those golden days as Spoiler, but who probably had not spared a thought for Stephanie Brown in years, held court in a corner, speaking on a headset, directing the Justice League and her Birds of Prey, ensuring that the rest of the world did not fall apart, even as Gotham fell into chaos.

There were others in the Cave—Katherine Kane, Selina Kyle and her unfamiliar protégé, Helena Bertinelli, Onyx, a woman with blue hair who she had never seen before, another woman with no face in a blue trench coat, and Jason Todd—but she was numb to all of them. They might as well have been passersby on the street, for all that Stephanie Brown absorbed them.

Perhaps she should be grateful, that so many had rallied when Nell was in danger, even if none of them were here for Nell, and certainly not for her. Bruce and Barbara and maybe even Cass had called them, and they had come flocking, to seek the little lost girl. It was an impressive force, that they had put together, and they stretched out further, into the rest of the world, with them being only the tip of the spear point.

If a force like this had existed, all those years ago, would she have survived those fateful three days at the hands of Roman Sidonis?

Old scars, scars that not even the Lazarus Pit had healed, throbbed with old pain, and she closed her eyes against it, trying her best to stop from shaking until she fell to pieces.

Her very bones felt as if they had been transformed into ice. Goosebumps crawled along the length of her skin, despite the heat that was produced from all of the bodies in one place.

Nell Little was gone, and statistics danced behind Steph’s eyes whenever she blinked. Statistics that told her that Nell was dead. Beyond that was a further dread, a dread that went back to a children’s rhyme that she had chanted in time with the slap of a skipping rope on concrete.

“Speak not a whispered word of them / Or they'll send The Talon for your head.”

What could she have done, to bring this tumbling down upon them?

If the Court was real, they had evaded the eyes of the Bats since at least Stephanie Brown’s middle school days. Why had they chosen now to reveal themselves, to risk the wrath of the Batman and all of his followers, to take a single little girl who was under theirs, and more specifically her protection?

“Stephanie?” A familiar voice pulled her out of her reverie, if not her numbness.

Kara Zor-El stood before her, her face a strange expression of concern.

On autopilot, Steph tried for a flirtatious smile, but it felt flat and dull on her face, and only deepened the lines of worry on the other woman’s face.

“Supergirl,” she said. “How’s Metropolis?”

“Better now that you’re not in it,” Kara said. Her eyes were an inhuman shade of blue—Superman and Superboy were the same way. Her hair was a paler blonde than Steph’s had ever been, not quite platinum but not Steph’s golden waves that she had once been so proud of.

She was gorgeous and whole and wonderful and her eyes were full of real worry, despite the dig.

She was everything that Stephanie Brown was not, in short.

Stephanie Brown was dangerous, and Kara knew this. She had known this since that first night in Metropolis, when she had kissed her. She had known this when Stephanie had pulled out a fistful of Kryptonite and ran away. She had known this when she had come to the Cave, after Bruce Wayne’s death, and found the woman here, tension humming through the air.

Now…

Kara could remember Scarlet. She had been young, and worried for Stephanie Brown, and small. Scarlet had been in Metropolis, that day on the rooftops; that day of fire and kisses that bruised.

And she was missing.

Stephanie Brown met her eyes, and Kara’s heart skipped a beat. Stephanie’s heart beat almost lethargically, but Kara knew better than to be fooled. It was shock, of sorts, and a sort of shock that Kara had seen before.

Nell Little was missing, and Stephanie Brown was going to destroy herself over this.

Kara had been wrong, before. She had been so sure, back in those early days of the truce with the rest of the Bat Family, won after the Battle for the Cowl, that the truce, that peace, that uncomfortable compromise, would shatter into a million pieces, because Stephanie Brown would not accept limitations, would not last long under the shadow of mistrust, under the weight of all of that painful and loaded past.

She had been wrong.

Stephanie Brown, the Red Hood, had stayed. She had stayed when Bruce had returned, she had stayed through thick and thin, through good times and bad…

But none so bad as this.

Stephanie Brown was on the verge of falling apart or exploding, and Kara wasn’t sure which one was more dangerous.

The rest of the room was watching, keeping an eye on her, because she was one of them, even if she didn’t want to be, even if they didn't want her to be. Stephanie Brown, with her messy golden locks, sheered short for convenience, with her scars and her leather jacket, was one of them.

But she might not be, after all of this was said and done.

Stephanie Brown was like fire. She was dangerous and destructive, beautiful and deadly, and she consumed everything around her, whether she meant to or not. If she exploded, it would be outwards, and the collateral could be the entire city… or everyone around her, including Kara.

Kara was not used to being hurt, not here, in this world.

She wasn’t good at staying away from dangerous things.

“Did you see anything?” Stephanie said, her voice surprisingly steady as she met Kara’s eyes.

“No,” she said. She had spent hours looking, on Barbara’s request. She had scoured Bludhaven too, searching for any hint of these Talons and Owls and especially of Nell Little. “They must have used lead, wherever they took her.”

Stephanie Brown closed her eyes, and took a breath so deep and so long that Kara worried it might shatter her.

“Of course,” she whispered. She pivoted on her heel and stormed up the stairs, throwing her leather jacket off as she went, leaving her helmet behind.

Kara followed her, drawn by some instinct that she could not quite place.

The steps up to the Manor felt longer than usual, dragged on by each beat of Stephanie Brown’s heart. Kara could have raced up them, of course, but she kept pace, staying only a few steps behind Steph, each step just loud enough to let the Bat know that she was here, that she could say something if she wanted to be left alone.

Stephanie said nothing at all, and Kara kept following.

The Cave had been too small, too full of people, to deal with the explosion that was rattling around in Steph’s ribcage.

There was a room, purple and soft, a room for a child that was never going to come back, a child that had been buried in the ground, and Steph walked towards it, ignoring her silent, Kryptonian companion.

Nell Little was gone, because Stephanie Brown was a failure. She had brought this down upon them, somewhere, somehow. She had angered the Court of Owls, had awoken a fairytale, a nursery rhyme, and now it was war.

How many wars was it now, wars for Gotham, had she soaked her hands in? Her first rampage, her second brutal reign as the Red Hood, the Battle for the Cowl, and now this? A War of Owls, a War for Gotham?

She had brought the sky falling down around them, and surely, eventually, the other Bats would finally admit what they all already knew; that Stephanie Brown was cursed, and outsider to them and their ways, and that she would never be one of them again, if she had ever been in the first place.

The scream that was building in her throat pressed against her lips, threatening to bubble over, but she held herself back, biting her tongue before the taste of blood filled her mouth, and she gagged.

“Do you think this is a game?”

“Stephanie?” Kara asked, and Stephanie grabbed the nearest vase and vomited.

The taste was foul but Stephanie gripped the vase with both hands so tightly that she thought it might break, breathing heavily as her shoulders shook, the tears threatening to break loose.

Nell was gone, and Nell was in the enemy hands, and Nell had run right into a trap, and they weren’t going to find her.

The vase was taken out of her hands, and a glass of water was pressed into it.

“It’s not your fault, Stephanie,” Kara said, and those alien blue eyes of hers were full of kindness as Steph drank the water.

It was kindness that Steph did not deserve.

Kara Zor-El had been a convenience, back in Metropolis. A useful team-up to take on the Black Mask’s expanding operations into Metropolis, to try to draw him back in to Gotham, where he felt safe, and where Stephanie could be sure that she could reach him.

The team up had been a convenience, because Kara was bulletproof and didn’t ask too many questions, and everything else that had followed had just been… natural. Kara was beautiful and funny and clever, and Steph hadn’t had a single regret, even if it had ended in literal flames.

Kara didn’t know, not really. She had watched the buildings go up in flames, but she hadn’t seen the true depths of who Stephanie Brown was, or know what she was really capable of. She hadn’t seen her shoot Tim Drake through the leg in order to kill one of the Mask’s men. She hadn’t seen her beat him to a bloody pulp, only stopping because Cassandra Cain had intervened.

She hadn’t seen Stephanie Brown bring down a roof on her and Bruce’s heads, just in the desperate hopes that she might kill the Black Mask with them, not caring if either of them had lived or died, as long as she had gotten her vengeance.

Kara did not understand, even if she thought she did, what exactly Stephanie Brown was.

Maybe none of them did, downstairs.

Stephanie Brown was no hero, was not the girl with a laugh and a purple cloak that had gone into the ground. She was not Robin or Spoiler, she was nothing but the tattered and bitter remnants of that girl, and what was left was a killer, a monster.

She still was the woman who had nearly beaten Tim Drake to death with her hands, because he had dared to take on the weight of her crimes for himself, who had ran away from everyone who had ever loved her for fear of what would happen if she allowed them to see her.

She had pretended for months upon end, trying to be something she wasn’t, trying to create the illusion of someone who could, maybe, be a hero again one day, but now, Nell was missing, and Stephanie was under no pretensions about how this had happened.

“It is,” Steph whispered. “If I hadn’t—”

“Stop that,” Kara said.

“Stop what?” Steph threw out her pain towards Kara, sharpening her words like the knives that she no longer used, because Cassandra Cain had asked her to stop, because Cassandra Cain was still trying to build her dead best friend up out of the scraps that was Stephanie Brown. “Stop knowing what I am?”

She stepped closer to Kara, throwing aside the empty glass.

“I’m a killer. I don’t do that anymore, but that doesn’t change what I am.”

“You—”

“I can’t bring them back,” Steph snapped. “I came back, but they don’t get to, and maybe that’s good for most of them, but there’s no way that nobody I killed could have changed, could have been better. Why do I get to live and they don’t? Why do I get to change, and they don’t? Why do I get a second chance, Kara?”

Kara opened her mouth.

“I’m going to get Nell back,” Steph said. “One way, or another. I’m going to get her back. And who knows? Maybe I’ll back down that hole again. Maybe I won’t. But I know that I’m done. After this? I’m done.” She closed her eyes.

“There’s never going to be enough to fix what I did.”

She was never going to be Stephanie Brown, the Girl Wonder, again. She was never going to be young and full of a joy that tumbled outward, boundless, swinging across rooftops. She was never going to be Spoiler again, full of a youthful righteous rage and a fierce and persistent knowledge that she was helping people.

Maybe she had once been that girl, who had been Cassandra Cain’s best friend, Tim Drake’s girlfriend, Bruce Wayne’s Robin, Crystal Brown’s daughter, but she was nothing but a spiteful shadow of that girl. She had taken everything any of them had ever given her and crushed it beneath her feet in the name of her vengeance.

She had been dead for days before they found her body, and she had never forgiven them for that, and the entire city of Gotham had paid, because she had been unable to accept that they had limitations, that they had been unable to avenge her, that they had been too… good to compromise like she had, to put her killer’s skull beneath the barrel of the gun, to take that decision into their own hands.

Stephanie Brown had been unavenged, and so the entire city had paid, because she was selfish and angry, and she would have robbed them of their greatest protectors in the name of her revenge. In her desperation to kill Roman Sidonis, she could have killed Batman, would happily have done so, if it meant that the bastard had just been dead.

The girl who was Robin had ran straight into a monster’s arms, believing herself to be helping, and it had been the thing that killed her. Her trust in Batman, her attempt to do right, had killed her, had led to her being six feet beneath the ground and clawing her way up through graveyard dirt.

What was left after the graveyard, after the Lazarus Pit… that wasn’t Spoiler, wasn’t Robin, wasn’t anything that any of them could recognize, not really.

What Stephanie Brown was now, was a killer and a monster, and nothing could ever change that.

When she opened her eyes, Kara was gone, and Stephanie Brown was standing alone in a hallway, with a shattered water glass at her feet.

The room was full of whispers and the rustling of feathers.

Nell Little kept her eyes tightly shut and kept her breathing even, terrified of giving any hints that she was awake, when she didn’t know where she was.

“She’s old,” one person said.

“Not too old,” another said. “You were older.”

“She fights well.”

“Yes.” A hand, gloved and strange, brushed against Nell’s forehead, and her eyes flew open without her meaning to, but it was only in time to catch the barest hint of a black, eyeless mask and the tail end of a feathered cape.

Nell Little sat upright, and her cape was missing.

There was a room, filled with children, all staring at her with wide, strange eyes.

The room felt like a room in a movie; large and concrete, the sheets thin and scratchy, the blankets grey and worn, the lightbulbs protected by cages.

They had taken her armor and her cape and her mask, leaving her in the tank top and leggings she wore beneath them. At the foot of the bed she was in, lying atop the covers, there was a folded set of clothes; grey and blue in color, the same clothes as the other children wore.

There were five others in the room, one in each of the beds.

They all stared at Nell, but did not get up.

“Hello,” Nell said. “I’m Scarlet.”

The one right across from her looked at her with wide, panicked eyes, and held a finger to her lips.

Nell frowned and got to her feet.

There were no windows, in this room that was not quite a cell. It was small, with the six beds almost pressed against each other, the ceiling just high enough that if Nell stood on her toes and reached, she could not quite reach the caged frame of the lightbulbs. The seam in the wall that marked the door was not quite invisible, and it resisted all of Nell’s attempts to push or pull it open.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, and Nell pulled back, yelling.

All five of the others had followed her, their eyes strange and wide, eerie in their silence.

One of them, a different one than before, pressed a finger to his lips, staring at her with wide, amber eyes.

Nell jerked her arm out of the grip of the girl who had shushed her the first time, glaring at all of them.

“Who are you?”

This time, all five of them pressed their fingers against their lips desperately. The first girl, with tangled hair that might have once been red, but was now dull and limp, pointed at the door, then held her finger up to her lips again.

“They’ll punish me if I keep talking?” Nell guessed.

All five of the others nodded.

They were strange, these children, with their matching clothes and scared eyes. Nell was not quite the oldest of all of them—there was a boy, one who had done nothing to distinguish himself, but whose hair was the longest of any of them, who looked to be her age or a little older.

“Do they punish you?” Nell whispered. If it was just her, she could take it. Steph had taught her to be strong, had given her the tools that she would need to take it. If it was just her, she would scream and batter at the doors and when they came to punish her, she would make them fight for every inch.

But Steph would come for her, and so she wouldn’t risk the others, even though they were strangers, just to make herself feel better.

The others nodded, all of them looking down, and Nell took a deep breath, and nodded.

Relief shining in their faces, the other children took her hands and led her to the bed furthest away from the door.

The smallest of them all—the last boy, who looked to be seven years old, with straw colored curls—climbed beneath the bed, and returned, carefully cradling in his arms a handful of treasures.

There were two feathers, a handful of small steel balls, a shard of mirror, and two equal sized lengths of a wooden pole.

The boy offered Nell these eclectic items; the toys, Nell realized, that they had to play with, in this small room.

Nell, unsure, selected one of the poles, and the girl with limp-red hair took the other one, and enthusiastically raised hers, motioning for Nell to come forward.

The three boys took the balls and feathers and set up a crude game of marbles, while the last girl, the one with black hair and freckles that were fading, took the mirror and sat on the bed, staring at the door.

Nell stared at this scene, unsure of what to make, of these strange children in this strange room, before finally lunging forward with her stick to combat the other girl.

She parried easily, with a fierce grin, and as she grabbed Nell by the wrist to pull her forward, a whisper carried from her closed mouth to Nell’s ear.

“My name is Carrie,” the other girl whispered, and Nell’s eyes widened as she continued to spar, a strange kind of hope kindling in her chest at this tiny sign of rebellion.

#A Different Game Verse #Stephanie Brown #Kara Zor El #Nell Little #Bat Family #DC #Steph Writes

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